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THE UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 THE WILMER COLLECTION 
 
 OF CIVIL WAR NOVELS 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 RICHARD H. WILMER, JR. 
 
^ILMJER COLLECTION 
 
 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive ► 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/stringtownonpikeOOIIoy 
 
CfHE ^vas as bright as a ivilJ red rose ; 
 ^ She ^vas as fair as a lily that groRus 
 
 In Palestine ' 
 
Stringto wn 
 
 On the Pike 
 
 A Tale of Northernmost Kentucky 
 
 By 
 
 John Uri Lloyd 
 
 Author of ** Etidorhpa," etc. 
 
 \ 
 
 With Illustrations 
 
 New York 
 
 Dodd, Mead and Company 
 
 1900 
 
Copyright, igoo 
 By DoDD, Mead and Company 
 
 All rights reser'ved 
 
 UNIVERSITY PRESS JOHN WILSON 
 
 AND SON • CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A. 
 
Contents 
 
 Page 
 
 Stringtown on the Pike i 
 
 Chapter 
 
 I. The Vision in the Moonlight 4 
 
 II. Cupe's Story and the Omen 12 
 
 III. The Lost Deed 24 
 
 IV. The "Corn Bug" curses the Parson . . 31 
 V. Judge Elford's Decision 35 
 
 VI. The Dilemma of the <' Corn Bug "... 41 
 
 VII. <'The Best of the Devil and the Law too" 48 
 
 VIII. The Story of the Colonel 53 
 
 IX. The Story of the Parson . . ... 66 
 
 X. The Fearful Storm of New Year's Eve, 1863 76 
 
 XI. Into the Storm passed the Minister ... 81 
 
 XII. " Look out fo' the Red-Head Boy "... 90 
 
 XIII. The Arrest of Cupe 94 
 
 XIV. Court Day . 99 
 
 XV. Stringtown Jail 103 
 
 XVI. Cupe in Jail 108 
 
 XVII. " Too slow fo' a Coon an' too fast fo' a 
 
 Possum " 116 
 
 XVIII. The Trial of Cupe 120 
 
 XIX. The Right of Clergy 130 
 
 XX. Judge Elford ... = ,. 137 
 
 iii 
 
 603015 
 
Contents 
 
 Chapter Page 
 XXI. Why the Honey Bee don't suck Red 
 
 Clover 140 
 
 XXII. '< God made de Sign " 149 
 
 XXIII. Susie is Lost 153 
 
 XXIV. Cupe's Advice to his Dog 156 
 
 XXV. The Haunted Hollow 159 
 
 XXVI. Despondent Stringtown 170 
 
 XXVII. "Red-Head" 173 
 
 XXVIII. Spirits 182 
 
 XXIX. Cupe's Story of the Past . . . : . 185 
 
 XXX. CupE purchases his Wife 195 
 
 XXXI. "A Fearful Sign" 200 
 
 XXXII. The Spirits affect Dinah 204 
 
 XXXIII. Old Jew Mose and Sammy Drew . . . 210 
 
 XXXIV. The Village Circle of Stringtown . . 213 
 XXXV. The Love-Song of the Rebel Soldier . 217 
 
 XXXVI. "Dinah, Cupe mus' leave de Cabin" . 222 
 
 XXXVII. Red-Head, Captive 228 
 
 XXXVIII. Return of the Refugees 232 
 
 XXXIX. Cupe's Plea for Susie's Name .... 236 
 
 XL. The Fearful African Ordeal Test . . 246 
 
 XLI. The Stringtown School 252 
 
 XLII. Susie's Introduction to the Stringtown 
 
 School 257 
 
 XLIII. The Challenge of Red-Head .... 261 
 XLIV. Red-Head's Story of the Feud . . . 265 
 XLV. "Tell me, Jennie, tell me what it is" 274 
 XLVI. " Strange Sensation that, the Begin- 
 ning of Love" . 279 
 
 iv 
 
Contents 
 
 Chapter Page 
 
 XLVII. The Voice of the Night 284 
 
 XLVIII. The Weird Form against the Sky . . . 289 
 
 XLIX. Susie, Red-Head, and Samuel Drew . . . 293 
 
 L. Cupe's Threat 301 
 
 LI. The Magic Mirror 306 
 
 LII. My Second Journey over a Path I never 
 
 YET had Trod 318 
 
 LIII. "Never, unless Duty Calls, shall I return 
 
 TO Stringtown" 324 
 
 LIV. Farewell to Susie 329 
 
 LV. Professor Samuel Drew ....... 333 
 
 LVI. The Stringtown Poison Case 337 
 
 LVIl. Susie Pleads for Red-Head 341 
 
 LVin. "Pow'ful Interestin' Story" (i John, Hi.). 351 
 LIX. "More lives than one must go if Red- 
 Head dies " 359 
 
 LX. Trouble in Stringtown County Court . 361 
 
 LXI. Susie, Red-Head, and Myself Again . . . 366 
 
 LXII. "The Feud is over, Holcomb" .... 371 
 
 LXni. A Strange Love-Story 382 
 
 LXIV. "I came to say Farewell" 390 
 
 LXV. "You have fought and I have loved" . 395 
 
 LXVL "To WHAT has Ambition led?". . . . 405 
 
 LXVn. The Music and the Voice die out forever 409 
 
Illustrations 
 
 Susie. Dranjon by Corinne C. Trimble Frontispiece 
 
 " She was as bright as a wild red rose ; 
 She was as fair as a lily that grows 
 In Palestine." 
 
 Page 
 
 Bloody Hollow. " In this silent dell I now lay alone " . 6 
 
 The Strlngtown Grocery where the Village Circle met . . 54 
 
 The abandoned Stringtown Schoolhouse n 6 
 
 " Where once stood a battery of brass field guns " . . . 234 
 
 " I bade all my Stringtown friends good-bye " . . . • 2S6 
 
 " I love the dust of that old pike " .... ... 362 
 
 " Where cluster others who live to love, and pray and die in 
 
 Nazareth" 402 
 
 *^* The Kentucky photographic scenes are by 
 Mrs. John Uri Lloyd 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 ¥- 
 
 MY name is Samuel Drew, and I am now professor 
 of chemistry in the University on the Hill. When 
 I think of my boyhood, memories of the Kentucky pike 
 arise, and I recall the experiences of Sammy Drew, a 
 barefooted child. The boy who, in August's heat, be- 
 tween noonday and mid-afternoon, dared to walk bare- 
 footed upon that road, raised his feet quickly. I know 
 whereof I speak, for I often relieved my blistering soles 
 by slipping aside into the weed-lined by-paths, preferring 
 them, even if they passed near the honey-locust tree, 
 under which danger lurked in the great brown thorns 
 that always menace the barefooted boy of Kentucky. 
 That pike is yet vivid to memory. Again I see the dust 
 of bygone times. Again the sun's fierce rays force mc 
 to greater laziness. Often I seek a shade tree at the 
 roadside, there to find the grassy brink of a grateful 
 spring and, leaning over the sward, bury my face in the 
 hard limestone water, drinking deep and long. Then, 
 thoroughly content, I sit on the overhanging sod in the 
 shadow of the tree, and spatter the cool water with my 
 toes, bathing a stone-bruise in the very fount from which 
 I drank. With nose-tip close to the water's surface, I 
 eye the flitting cloud shadows, scan the reflected tan- 
 freckled face, and watch the water-bugs and crawfish as. 
 deep in the limpid pool, they stir the sand in the vein's 
 I I 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 mouth. Finally I turn upon my back and gaze into 
 space, dreaming of nothing, thinking of nothing. 
 
 From earliest school-days chemistry excited my keen- 
 est interest. When but a child I sat absorbed during 
 the experiments made by the teacher while he instructed 
 the advanced class — the class in chemistry — of our 
 country school. By chance I finally obtained a copy of 
 " Comstock's Chemistry," and day by day kept abreast 
 with the students who recited in that subtle science. 
 
 Either luck or fate made a chemist of me, — luck, be- 
 cause the subject chanced to be taught in my room ; or 
 fate, because " what is to be will be." I could not carry 
 a rule in " Brown's Grammar " from one day to another, 
 and I still detest the word " grammar " because of those 
 twenty-six artificial rules. If I committed to memory 
 some portions of history, in a week thereafter I mixed 
 the incidents, unless they were connected with something 
 of chemical significance. I could not have remembered 
 from day to day whether Gustavus Adolphus fought in 
 the War of the Roses or conducted the Thirty Years' 
 conflict. Of everything but chemistry my head seemed 
 vacant. All else slipped through as a wind-struck fog 
 flies through a leafless woodland. The result was that, 
 though other subjects filtered out of my brain as through 
 a sieve, chemistry remained securely caught by the mind 
 meshes. I should add, however, that historical events 
 connected with the enticing science remained, as, under 
 similar conditions, did mathematical signs and formulae. 
 Chemistiy served as a nucleus of attachment. My one- 
 sided mind caught the chemistry of a subject and bound 
 thereto or blended therewith all connected matters, as 
 alcohol blends ether and water. The teacher scolded 
 me often in the kindness of severity for my indifference 
 
 2 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 to other subjects. I was one of the blockheads ; at least 
 he seemed to regard me as such, not appearing to know 
 anything of my one talent. The little boys of my row 
 each learned something concerning everything, as do all 
 mediocre brains, and one by one passed beyond me; and 
 I, in humiliation, sat conspicuous among younger chil- 
 dren, absorbed in the one unreached study that was des- 
 tined in after years to wreck my life. Chemistry ! 
 Would to God I could blot out the word ! 
 
CHAPTER I 
 
 THE VISION IN THE MOONLIGHT 
 
 RETURNING unexpectedly to my little home one 
 Saturday afternoon, I found Professor Drake, the 
 village school-teacher, in conversation with my mother. 
 Before my presence was noticed — for, being barefooted, 
 my step was noiseless — I caught the fragment of a sen- 
 tence : " It is painful to be forced to tell a mother these 
 facts about her son, but duty compels me to say that I 
 despair of teaching him." Then seeing me, he paused 
 and said something about continuing the subject at an- 
 other time. Slow as I was in some respects, his words 
 needed no interpretation. My cheek burned in humili- 
 ation, my heart beat violently ; for it is not pleasant to 
 one mentally incapacitated to hear the fact stated, and, 
 less still, for one who loved his mother as intensely as I 
 did, to realise that the most painful part of her life of de- 
 voted privation was small in comparison with the distress 
 that resulted from my stupidity. I was indignant, and 
 felt tempted to return and upbraid the teacher, for were 
 not his words the immediate cause of my mother's sor- 
 row ? Her face was expressive of despair. But the 
 facts were on the pedagogue's side ; and, moreover, I 
 appreciated that he, too, grieved over my misfortune. 
 I fled from the house and aimlessly moved on, medi- 
 tating, miserable. I climbed the back fence into the 
 
 4 
 
The Vision in the Moonlight 
 
 woodland pasture, upon which our little garden jutted, 
 and after crossing it wandered away from Stringtown, I 
 cared not whither. An hour passed, and my anger and 
 mortification subsided. I ceased to think of the inci- 
 dent ; indeed, no record remained to remind my now 
 dormant intellect of the fact that I existed. My mind 
 had become as unconscious of all external things as it 
 was of inherent emotions. My limbs moved irrespon- 
 sively and my body automatically passed along. I 
 fancy that I had assumed the condition of a brute of 
 the lower class or a creature like the turtle, the differ- 
 ence being that in my brain an intellectual spark rested, 
 and through it the drowsy I of self could be excited into 
 consciousness, while the lethargic mind of the turtle 
 rests irredeemably in the unreachable shadows without. 
 The great distinction between man and brute is that 
 man knows he is man, and the brute knows nothing of 
 himself. I existed and was awake, it is true, but in this 
 trance that possessed me knew nothing of external 
 things. 
 
 The sun sank slowly toward the distant tree-tops, 
 and still I wandered without method. The village dis- 
 appeared behind me, but, regardless of my whereabouts, 
 I strolled dreamfully along until at last I stumbled over 
 an inequality in the grass. And as the flash shoots 
 upward when a spark touches a fibre of gun-cotton, so 
 the sudden fall caused my mind to dart back into self- 
 consciousness. The instant I fell I became aware of 
 the fact that never before had I ventured into the 
 present locality. I next observed a shadow that the 
 sinking sun seemed to throw toward me. A long 
 shadow upon the hill behind which he was disappearing, 
 stretching toward me, took the form of a gigantic cross, 
 the apex reaching to and touching the mound beside me. 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 This did not, at the instant, cause me the least concern; 
 a shadow is but a shadow. I raised my eyes to seek 
 the object that broke the ray of sunshine, and, child that 
 I was, marvelled then at the miracle ; for smooth, as if 
 planed by hand, the top of the hill stretched across my 
 field of vision ; there was no intervening object between 
 the sun and me. The face of the day king, unmarked 
 by tree or shrub, shone clear and untarnished over a 
 horizontal ridge-summit that was fenceless, objectless, 
 as straight as a ruler. Stretching down the barren hill- 
 side, came those rays straight into my face ; and down 
 that smooth hillside projected toward me, as if it had an 
 intent in thus pointing at myself, the great grey shadow 
 lay sharp, and as still as if carved in stone — an effect 
 without a cause — and just beyond its tip I lay trembling. 
 I now realised fully my location. He who heeded 
 not the warning to avoid that spot bred trouble for his 
 future. Never before had village boy dared to press the 
 grass where I reclined. Never before had child beheld 
 either sunshine or shadow from the place I occupied, — 
 a spot, it was said, the Indians shunned because of its 
 evil influence on him involved in its occult mazes. In 
 the tradition of the early settlers an Indian maiden had 
 here met a tragic death ; and we knew that it was here 
 that the father of the " Corn Bug " (so nicknamed be- 
 cause of his propensity for the juice of the corn) had 
 been murdered. In mature life no intelligent person 
 believes ghost stories or these absurd Indian traditions ; 
 tales that cluster around every precinct of our land and 
 find resting place in the minds of children and of ignorant 
 people. But to us children, and to the negroes with 
 whom we were so intimate, that place was accursed, and 
 would so have been held by us, even in the face of any 
 testimony to the contrary. Although the soil was rich, 
 
 6 
 
 m 
 
cq 
 
The Vision in the Moonlight 
 
 bushes of sassafras and persimmons — God's emissaries 
 for worn-out grounds too poor for other plant existence 
 — refused to grow on or near the spot. In this 
 silent dell of the " dark and bloody ground," that 
 from a distance we children, venturing cautiously, 
 had once timidly approached, whisperingly pointed to, 
 and then, huddled together, ran from as if from Satan, 
 I now lay alone. My heart throbbed and thumped, 
 my flesh quivered at I knew not what, my limbs 
 refused to move ; and the face of the great sun, clear 
 as crystal and bright as molten silver, sank slowly 
 in the west. Simultaneously the weird earth shadow, 
 that singular grey cross, fell slowly toward me. I 
 watched it lengthen until the distended arms crept over 
 my form and enveloped me, and then a quivering play 
 of changing sunset-lights spread about the sky, amid 
 which at last the upper rim of the sun disappeared, the 
 rays flickered ; yet, strangely enough, before twilight 
 deepened darkness fell upon me. Whether the shadow 
 to which I refer was an object from the material or out- 
 side part of life that appeared to my real eyesight, or a 
 shade from the inner circle that impressed my percep- 
 tive faculties, I shall not presume to say ; the reader 
 may form his own conclusions concerning the cause of 
 the phenomenon. I report only what I witnessed ; and 
 I yet recall vividly the spectral outline of this weird, 
 strange shadow, stretching without discernible cause 
 down the long, barren hillside. I remember that as I 
 lay prostrate on the lone tomb, gazing at the approach- 
 ing umbra, I wondered first if it would reach my feet, 
 and then, as its apex passed over them, if its great arms 
 would engulf me. I remember to have given a sigh of 
 relief as the last vestige of the sun was about to disap- 
 pear j for I had unconsciously accepted, without think- 
 
 7 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 ing it out, that should the arms of the grey cross reach 
 my body, my Hfe would end with the sinking of the sun 
 and the lengthening of the shadow. Then I recollect 
 that as the upper rim of the crescent sun sank and 
 passed from view, and the final slanting rays bent 
 themselves and streamed upward, the arms of the 
 cross at the same instant passed over my body, — and 
 I recollect nothing more. How long I lay in the dew 
 of the blue grass I cannot say, but when I regained 
 consciousness it was as if I were awakening from a 
 dream. 
 
 It seemed as though I had been possessed of a vision, 
 yet no details remained. I had surely experienced the 
 knowledge of sweets and sours, sorrow and pain, peace 
 and distress, but not of things, thoughts, or sights. A 
 black object, wrapped in black paper, has an existence in 
 the night, although it cannot be seen ; a fragment of 
 platinum foil, thrown on a surface of molten silver, has 
 an existence in the light, yet is not to be seen ; a trans- 
 parent object in a transparent liquid held between the eye 
 and the sun /V, and yet is not perceptible to the sight. 
 Thoughts and experiences of my sleeping self had been 
 realities, but to my waking self were not real. I had 
 lived and died, had passed into other realms and back 
 again, and experiencing all, I yet recollected nothing. 
 This struck me as more than strange ; but only for an 
 instant did I think of the occurrence, for I realised im- 
 mediately that I was not now alone. As yet I had not 
 opened my eyes ; but as the sleeping child intently 
 watched becomes restless, stirs before it awakes, so did 
 I feel the presence of some body or spirit other than 
 my own. 
 
 Cautiously seeking to discover the person gazing at 
 mCj for my nerves were conscious of that piercing eye, 
 
The Vision in the Moonlight 
 
 I raised myself upon my elbow and peered about, to 
 see standing close behind me an Indian girl, tall, erect, 
 beautiful. By the light of a full moon I saw her form 
 clearly, distinctly, and noted that her head was decorated 
 in gaily coloured feathers, and that her dress was made 
 of the draped skins of animals. Her bosom was partly 
 covered, partly bare; her face and bust together, as 
 I now recall the scene, making a picture that might 
 serve as an artist's ideal. One hand rested on her side ; 
 the fourth finger of the other was placed upon her lip, as 
 if, in the language all nations understand, the language 
 of signs, she were bidding me be silent ; and thus she 
 stood, with elbows extended, gazing before her. She 
 made no movement, and, as one entranced, I lay mo- 
 tionless at her feet. She seemed to be listening for a 
 sound, and to fear that I would move or speak ; but I 
 was powerless and could not move. 
 
 Then again I observed a strange phenomenon. The 
 graceful position her form unconsciously assumed cast a 
 shadow over the earth, on and up and into the clear sky. 
 Over the crest of the hill, back toward where the sun 
 had sunk, the figure of a gigantic cross high in heaven 
 was uplifted, — a perfect cross. The distended elbows 
 of the maiden created the two shadow-arms of the weird 
 cross, and from behind her, shining through her form as 
 through a haze, I saw the rising moon's face. Marvel- 
 lous apparition ! The visage of the moon peered at mc 
 through her very body, and thrust that shadow over the 
 earth and into space beyond. Strange — I remember to 
 have thought — strange that when facing the sun I 
 should have closed my eyes upon a cross upon the earth, 
 and opened them upon an overlying cross in heaven. 
 Yet while this query led my wondering thoughts, it did 
 not surprise me that the girl's form was translucent ; 
 
 9 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 neither did it seem remarkable that I heard, in answer to 
 my mind's words, the reply, — 
 
 "Not strange at all. The figure before you was 
 present while the sun still shone, but such creations are 
 invisible in the sunlight. She it was who absorbed the 
 radiance of the sun's rays, and thus permitted the shafts 
 of darkness behind her to cast back at the sun the skel- 
 eton of that depleted sun-ray. The shadow observed on 
 the hillside in the sunlight resulted from the dominating 
 power of the shade of darkness behind. To mortals the 
 sun prevails over all else, but to other existences shade is 
 the reality. She whom you now see is only per- 
 ceptible when a person occupies the peculiar position, 
 both of body and mind, that you now enjoy ; not every 
 one can see what you behold." 
 
 My reverie was at this point suddenly interrupted ; a 
 second shadow crossed the moon's face, and I beheld, 
 stealthily approaching the girl from behind, an Indian 
 with uplifted stone axe. I tried to scream, to move, but 
 could not. The smile on the face of the unsuspecting 
 girl remained sweetly, wildly beautiful. Behind her 
 countenance that other face peering through her own — 
 as if the tracing of a saint were thrown before the picture 
 of a devil — leered, sinister, desperate, ugly ; and through 
 both of them the moon was shining. I tried again to 
 warn her of the danger, but could not break the spell 
 that bound me ; staring, motionless and powerless, I saw 
 the uplifted war-axe of the phantom chief sink deep into 
 the black hair that covered her spectral skull. 
 
 Following now a sheep-path along a hillside, now a 
 corn-row through the field, now a dry creek-bed, I ran. 
 Whether my course led to the right or the left con- 
 cerned me not. I only asked to leave that hateful valley 
 as far behind as my strength would carry me. Could I 
 
 lO 
 
The Vision in the Moonlight 
 
 have known the way, I would certainly have fled to my 
 home ; but I sped bewildered, and saw no familiar land- 
 mark. A sudden rustle of the bushes at my feet caused 
 my heart to jump, my steps to halt ; a timid rabbit 
 crossed my path, vanishing in the darkness as quickly as 
 it had sprung from cover. Again I fled, only to halt, trem- 
 bling ; an object, black, of mammoth size, of strange 
 shape, appeared before me, and as I stood transfixed the 
 monstrous form grew before my eyes, evolved from 
 nothing. Floating from out the air, it towered to the very 
 heavens above ; and then as suddenly as it had appeared 
 did it shrink and assume the familiar form of a black cow. 
 She advanced along the path upon which I stood, stead- 
 ily and peaceably, possibly ruminating over subjects too 
 deep for human cogitation. Quickly it flashed upon my 
 mind that to trace back the path the cow had trodden 
 would carry me to the barnyard and the home of her 
 owner, and acting on the impulse, I fixed my gaze upon 
 the moonlit ground and steadily walked along that well- 
 defined cow-path. When next I raised my eyes, the 
 light of a candle shining through a window gladdened my 
 sight ; with rapid step I reached an open doorway, and 
 without knocking or even sounding a cry leaped into 
 the room. As I made that last spring forward, it seemed 
 as though unseen hands clutched my coat-sleeves, as 
 though goblins and ghosts threw themselves upon me, as 
 though weird arms encircled my form and clutched my 
 ankles and feet, and as though superhuman things cried 
 and moaned about me. 
 
 II 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 cupe's story and the omen 
 
 A DELIGHTFUL sensation came over me as I lay 
 in security once more among human beings. 
 Only those who have been through experiences such as 
 I suffered can appreciate the relief I felt. God help the 
 coward ! God pity him who, frightened, lies powerless 
 with consciousness intact. Fright blots out all other 
 pain ; and he who adds one useless pang to the suffering 
 of a terrified creature must answer for that despicable act 
 in the hereafter where sins are expiated. 
 
 Exhausted, bleeding, suffering physical pain, and yet 
 content, I rested upon the floor, mentally taking note 
 of the surroundings. The room was that of a plain log 
 house. The floor was very rough, being made of hewn, 
 split beech logs, the rounded portion down, the edges 
 roughly jointed together. The furniture was of the 
 simplest description ; the place was lighted by a single 
 candle. A girl and a man occupied the cabin, the latter 
 none other than the " Corn Bug ; " and it was evident 
 that I had wandered from my course perhaps in a spiral 
 out and back again, for the valley in which I saw the 
 strange grey cross was, I well knew, but a short distance 
 from the rude log house in which I now was sheltered. 
 The other occupant of the house was to me unknown : 
 a singular little creature, with great eyes and round face 
 encircled by wild flowing hair, a curious child who fas- 
 
 12 
 
Cupe's Story and the Omen 
 
 cinated my gaze despite my pain and terror. The 
 silence caused by my strange entrance was at length 
 broken by the " Corn Bug." 
 
 " Sammy, what 's the matter ? " he said. 
 
 " I am lost," I answered. 
 
 " Not while you are here." 
 
 " I was scared." 
 
 "Wall," he continued slowly, " thare ain't no bars 
 ner catamounts now ; why did n't yo' lie down beside a 
 fence er in a briar patch this warm night an' sleep ? " 
 
 *' I was too scared." 
 
 "What scared yo', sonny ? Thare ain't no varmints 
 hareabout." 
 
 " I saw something terrible." 
 
 " What war it ? Tell me what yo' saw." 
 
 " I can't," I replied with a shudder. 
 
 " Wha' wa' yo' ? " 
 
 " In Bloody Hollow." 
 
 The look of incredulity passed from his face; he came 
 at once to my side, raised me from the floor, led me to 
 his own chair, and seated me by the side of the little girl. 
 
 " Cupe," he called out, — " Cupe, yo' lazy nigger, git 
 up; the boy 't yo' told me about es here." 
 
 There was a noise overhead, and then through a hole 
 in the ceiling appeared two legs, and Cupe began the 
 descent of the ladder which led to the cubby hole of the 
 attic. 
 
 " What fo' yo' call Cupe, Ma'se ? " 
 
 " The boy, Cupe, the boy 't ye said would come from 
 Bloody Holler. Here es the boy." 
 
 The white-headed negro manifested no surprise. 
 
 "I done tole yo' so, Ma'se," he said reflectively; *' I 
 knowed he wah com'n' ; de signs nebbah lie, Ma'se ; de 
 figgah in de fiah, de hoodoo tracks in de ashes, de tings 
 
 13 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 dis nigger saw an' hea'd when de chicken crowed las' 
 night fo' midnight, tings what de white man doan know 
 nuffin' 'bout, pinted t' de movin' ob de spell. Ma'se, 
 tings p'dicted am come. Ole Ma'se, yoah pap, sleep in 
 Bloody HoUah an' den he died es Cupe said he would ; de 
 gearl sleep in Bloody Hollah, an' now de boy am heah. 
 De end ob de spell am nearly come." 
 
 " What air yo' talkin' about, yo' black scoundrel ? " 
 muttered the " Corn Bug." 
 
 " Nebbah yo' min', Ma'se, dah ain't no use in bor- 
 rowin' troub'l ; nebbah yo' min', Ma'se ; de spell will 
 end fo' yo' when de yeah ends, an' den yo' an' ole Cupe 
 mus' part." 
 
 " Talk sense, Cupe, talk sense ; I told yo' to come 
 down out ov your loft, not because I want any ov youah 
 goblin nonsense, nor any ov youah nigger signs, but ter 
 tie up the scratches on this youngster's feet ; can't yo' 
 see he es tired an' sore an' scared nearly ter death ? 
 Move, yo' black rascal, move ! " 
 
 Old Cupe, muttering to himself, obeyed ; he washed 
 and bound up my lacerated feet, having first anointed 
 them with a sweet-scented soothing ointment made of 
 the resin of the sweet-gum tree. 
 
 " Now for his supper," said the " Corn Bug." " Stir 
 yourself, Dinah ! " 
 
 Then I noticed another form gather itself, as if 
 it were created from the shadows. From the edge 
 of the hearth, where, motionless, she had been huddled, 
 an old black negro crone arose and silently busied her- 
 self arranging my supper, which proved to be simple 
 enough, but very sweet to the taste. Then when the 
 task was done and the dishes had been removed, she 
 slunk back to the shadows, and in the edge of the light- 
 flittings, where the seen and the unseen blended, crouched 
 
 14 
 
Cupe's Story and the Omen 
 
 again on the hearth, clasped her hands around her 
 ankles, drawing them close to her body, and rested her 
 chin on her knees. Part of her form was visible in the 
 firelight, part was blotted out ; and thus she crouched 
 motionless, silently eyeing me. When I had finished 
 the meal, Cupe again began talking to the " Corn Bug." 
 
 " Ma'se, yo' mus' lis'n t' what Cupe says, case he 
 means yo' well. Dis nigger hab nuss'd yo' since yo' 
 wah a little tot ; he hab raised yo', honey. He nebbah 
 lef yo', chile. When uddah niggers desarted de planta- 
 tion, Cupe stood by yo', an' yo' knows dat eb'ry bressed 
 word he ebah tole yo' wah God's trufF. Now lis'n, 
 Ma'se ; de preachah nebbah spoke mo'ah serous dan 
 Cupe do now. De signs p'dicted am come. Cupe hab 
 kept t' hisse'f what ole Ma'se tole him in de ole man- 
 sion house dat bu'n down ahftah Ma'se wah killed, an' 
 now de time am come fo' yo' t' know what Cupe hab t' 
 tell t' yo.' Yo' calls et nigger signs, but lis'n, Ma'se. 
 Who stuck closer t' yo' all dese yeahs dan dis nigger 
 hab done ; an' what fo' should Cupe fool yo', Ma'se ? 
 Now white man an' nigger mus' not try t' circumbent 
 Prov'dence ; an' de time am come fo' Cupe t' act, case 
 Cupe am done gwine t' tole yo' sump'n' now what no 
 man ebah know 'cep'n' Cupe an' de dead folks what caint 
 talk t' de likes ob yo'. Lis'n t' Cupe's story, Ma'se. 
 
 " Ole Ma'se, yoah pap, wah a wile chile. Night- 
 time come, he wah rac'n' ober de country cotch'n coons, 
 danc'n' shindigs, gwine ter places wha he nebbah ought 
 t' had be'n, actin' up in ways dat ole Cupe doan care t' 
 memberlec', an' doan intend t' memberlec'. Wall, one 
 mahn'n' in de time ob de yeah when de 'simmons wah 
 jes git'n' sof an' de 'possum wah git'n' fat an' de co'n 
 wah bein' shocked, ole Ma'se come home an' say t' 
 Cupe: ' Cupe, lay in de back logs an' git de mansion in 
 
 IS 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 order ; fer on de las' day ob de yeah dah '1 be a wed'n', 
 an' yo' niggers '11 hab a missus.' 'Fo' de Lawd, dis 
 nigger wah s'prized. He wah not 'quainte' wid all de 
 signs den, else he would hab seed de ebil com'n'." 
 
 A low chant, melody without words, negro melody 
 that harmonised strangely with Cupe's pathetic expres- 
 sions, arose from the lips of the shadow-clad old crone. 
 Evidently her mind was vibrating in unison with Cupe's 
 words, and until the chant died away old Cupe stood 
 silent. Then he resumed : — 
 
 " Howsumebbah, Cupe knowed some tings, an' he 
 say t' ole Ma'se : ' Ma'se, doan bring trouble on yoah 
 head.' Ole Ma'se ansah ; ' Yo' brack rascal, why cain't 
 one man marry es well es 'nuddah ? ' ' 'T ain't dat, 
 Ma'se,' Cupe say: ' de marryin' is all right, else de 
 good Book would n't say so. It am de time. Nebbah 
 marry on de las' day ob de yeah, lessen yo' want trouble. 
 It am a slap in de face ob Prov'dence, Ma'se, Wait 
 one day longah, Ma'se ; all de niggers 'II tole yo' trouble 
 come lessen yo' lis'n t' 'vice.' 
 
 " ' What a nigger know 'bout Prov'dence ? Damn 
 yoah nigger nonsense ! ' say ole Ma'se. 
 
 " An', suah nufF, when de las' day ob de yeah come, 
 he did marry Missus Alice, yoah mudder, one ob de 
 sweetes' creatures. Lawd ! Lawd ! chile, but she wah 
 a honey ! But all de niggers shake der heads an' slip 
 away de wed'n' night, an' stan' roun' gloomy-like, an' 
 whisper t' demsels, an' suah nuff nigger sign come out 
 right; an' de end ob dat mistake ain't come yet. Nebbah 
 mo'ah did Ma'se hab any luck. One night de bahn 
 buhn ; next winter six ob de best niggers done run off t' 
 Canerdy ; dem fool niggers. Den ole Ma'se gits cross 
 an' takes powerful strong t' his cups, an' night ahftah 
 night dat sweet young missus would hab t' sleep in her 
 
 i6 
 
Cupe's Story and the Omen 
 
 big room wid Aunt Dinah on de flo' by de bed, an' ole 
 Cupe on de flo' by de doah outside in de hall. An' 
 missus would cry herse'f t' sleep, an' in de mahn'n 
 when ole Ma'se come home swearin' an' cross, she, 
 honey deah, would fro her arms 'roun' his neck an' — 
 oh ! wall, Ma'se, what 's de use ob 'memb'h'n eb'ryting ? " 
 
 " De honey deah, de honey deah!" moaned Dinah; 
 " bress de sweet chile." 
 
 " Shet yoah mouf, Dinah ; dis am no time fo' 
 blub'rin' niggers," Cupe rudely said ; and then con- 
 tinued : 
 
 " So at las', one stormy night ole Ma'se git on horse- 
 back an' ride off t' de tab'n, an' dat night yo' come inter 
 de world, Ma'se honey. Bress de soul ob yoah deah 
 angel muddah. When de nigger what go fo' ole Ma'se 
 fin' him, he wah playin' keards at de tab'n an' he cuss 
 an' swar case de nigger say missus wan' him quick, an' 
 nebbah a step would he move till mahn'n come ; an' jes 
 befo' ole Ma'se step in de doah de angels carry de sweet 
 missus out ob de windah. She lib only a few hours 
 ahftah she see de face ob her baby chile, Yo' am dat 
 chile, Ma'se. De doctah know she could n't las', an' he 
 ax her ef she hab any word t' say befo' she go t' 
 glory ; an' she say say yes, an' ax fo' Cupe. 
 
 " Lawd, Lawd, Ma'se ! dat wah awful hard times. 
 Cupe take his shoes off, an' tiptoe in de room, an' kneel 
 down by de bed, an' cry like a baby, an' say very gentle- 
 like : ' Fo' de Lawd, honey, Cupe ain't t' blame fo' de 
 troub'l, case he wahne' Ma'se ob de ebil what come ob 
 marryin' on de las' day ob de yeah.' An' she say, berry 
 weak-like: 'T ain't dat, Cupe; yo' alls am yinnercent. 
 What I wan' t' say am 'bout tings wot comes heah- 
 oftah.' Den she say : * Cupe, when I am gone, dis 
 little yinnercent babe won't hab no muddah an' de Lawd 
 
 17 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 only knows what kind ob a fahdah.' Cupe he keep still 
 an' make no ansah, fo' what could he say ? an' he only 
 cry an' cry. Den missus say : ' Cupe, nebbah yo' lebe 
 dis chile ; nebbah ; promise me dat, Cupe.' An' Cupe 
 say : ' Fo' de Lawd, missus, I promise.' Den missus 
 say : ' Cupe, yo' is a nigger, an' all niggers can't do 
 what dey wants t', but yo' is not a fiel' nigger, yo' is a 
 fam'ly nigger, an' yo' will nebbah be sold, nebbah.^ An' 
 nebbah mus' yo' lebe dis chile 'cep'n' it am fo' de good 
 ob de chile.' An' 1 swar befo' de Lawd t' missus dat 
 nebbah de weddah shall be too hot, nebbah too cole, t' 
 keep Cupe from doin' his duty to de new blos'm. An' 
 den she reach out her han', monstrous weak-like, an' 
 ole Cupe smuddah it wid kisses, an' keep a kiss'n', 
 fo' he could n't talk, an' he had n't nuffin' else t' do." 
 
 A wail came from the crouching form on the hearth. 
 A wail that spoke as words could not have done of the 
 impression Cupe's story was making on the solitary wit- 
 ness of that night's experience. Old Cupe stopped his 
 discourse and this time waited patiently until the last 
 sound died away, then resumed as if there had been no 
 interruption. 
 
 " An' den de doctah, he say : ' Cupe, lay de han' back, 
 Cupe ; ' an' de doctah go sof'ly t' de doah an' call Aunt 
 Dinah, who had gone out t' cry, an' he say t' Dinah : 
 ' Take de chile, Dinah ; yo' am now de mammy ; ' an' 
 den he smoove de cubbahleds an' Cupe say how easy- 
 like missus go t' sleep when she git de trouble ofF her 
 min', an' de doctah say : *■ Yes, Cupe, nebbah t' wake.' 
 An' den ole Cupe look close at de face an' see dat de 
 deah young missus wah dead. Her sweet spirit had 
 
 1 Great distinction was made between family and field slaves. 
 Family slaves often were free to talk as the master's children were 
 not permitted to do. 
 
 i8 
 
Cupe's Story and the Omen 
 
 gone t' glory while ole Cupe kiss de han' ob de missus 
 what wah. 
 
 " An' Cupe moan and cry an' de doctah come an' say, 
 monstrous sah'ful-Iike : ' Doan yo' know, Cupe, dat she 
 am happy now ? Dah ain't no swar words, dah ain't 
 no tab'n, dah ain't no coon dawgs yelpin' all night wha' 
 she am now.' Cupe say : ' 'T ain't dat, Ma'se Doctah ; 
 case she am gone t' glory, de Lawd knows she am happy 
 now ; 't aint dat — but de ebil sign.' ' What ebil sign ? ' 
 say the Doctah , an' Cupe say ; ' Trouble, pile on top 
 ob trouble ; fo' de deah missus is done gone t' glory an' 
 Cupe had de han' kiss'n' it like es it wah alibe. No 
 wussah sign could be. God help the chile, Ma'se Doc- 
 tah ! God help de blos'm ! ' i An' de doctah could n't 
 no moah ansah sech argyment dan de preachah kin. 
 He say, says he : ' Nigger signs air nigger signs.' 
 
 " Now Ma'se honey," Cupe said, suddenly addressing 
 the " Corn Bug," " Ma'se honey, hab Cupe not done 
 what he promis'd yoah deah muddah ? Hab he ebah lef 
 yo' ? Hab he not stuck closer t' yo' dan a tick sleep'n' 
 b'hin' a dawg's ear ? Hab de weddah ebah be'n too hot 
 er too cole fo' Cupe t' sarve yo' ? Hab yo' ebah got 
 any sarse words back when yo' cuss ole Cupe ? Ma'se, 
 yo' know dat ef yo' had done what Cupe wanted, yo' 
 would hab been well edye'cate' an' a fine gem'n like 
 Ma'se Manley am. Yo' knows dat ole Cupe trot ahftah 
 yo' from de day yo' wah a chile until what yo' air now, 
 an' hab begged an' prayed dat yo' lis'n t' Cupe when 
 yo' go on de wile track." 
 
 " Yes," conceded the " Corn Bug ; " " yes, Cupe, 
 yo' hev been a good nigger." 
 
 " Wall, what fo' Cupe lie now, Ma'se ? What fo' 
 
 1 No worse omen could appear than for a chicken or animal of 
 
 any kind to die in one's hand. Old Cupe received a fearful stroke 
 
 when he held that dying hand. 
 
 ^ ^ 19 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 Cupe say tings dat am not so ? Lis'n, Ma'se honey ; de 
 day befo' ole Ma'se wah killed Cupe wahn' him ob de 
 danger in de air. Ma'se he laff, at first, but Cupe say 
 t' him, es he say t' yo', ' What fo' should Cupe lie ? ' 
 When ole Ma'se heah dat argyment he lis'n' like an' say 
 t' Cupe, ' Cupe, life am mighty onsartin'. Nigger sign 
 er no nigger sign, life am onsartin', an' I guess, Cupe, I 
 might es well es not tells yo' some tings t' do in case 
 yoah uddah nigger signs am right ; not dat I b'lebe in 
 tings yo' talk 'bout ; fo',' says ole Ma'se, says he, ' nig- 
 gers am 'stish'us.' Den he go on, kindah talkin' to 
 hisse'f: ' Howsumebbah, niggers am not fools. 'Sides,' 
 say ole Ma'se, ' yo' is true t' yoah friends, Cupe, an' 
 dat 's moah dan I can say fo' de white people what sit 
 on de seat an' play keards 'longside me.' So he git 
 solium' like, an' say, says he : *■ Cupe, if yoah nigger 
 sign consahnin' me comes true, an' dey hab monstrous 
 often come out right, dah air uddah nigger signs what 
 will come true consahnin' tings heahoftah. Cupe,' Ma'se 
 say, *■ I hab be'n a fool, Cupe, an' it air too late t' quit. 
 I hab be'n a fool, Cupe, an' I knows it an' don't keer t' 
 quit, case et air pleasant-like now t' be a fool. But yo' 
 hab stuck t' me an' t' de chile, an' de time may come 
 when yo' will wan' t' be free.' An' den he took a 
 papah out ob his pocket an' say, says he : ' Dese heah 
 papahs am all 'cordin' t' law, an' when yo' show dem, 
 yo' is a free man.' 
 
 " Cupe he take de papah, an' try t' t'ank him, but de 
 Ma'se go on wid de talk an' would n't let him say 
 nuffin'. ' Keep yoah mouf shet an' doan gib me no 
 back talk,' he say. ' Dah am jes one ting fo' yo' t' do, 
 an' dat air t' stick t' de chile.' 
 
 " ''Deed I will, Ma'se. I done promise de missus 
 dat de night de angels come.' 
 
 20 
 
Cupe's Story and the Omen 
 
 " ' Stick t' de chile, Cupe,' he say. An' den de Ma'se 
 stop talkin' an' walk ofF. 
 
 " So much fo' yoah pap, an' now fo' yoah gran'pap 
 an' my pap." 
 
 " Go on," said the " Corn Bug." 
 
 " Wall, yo' knows es well es Cupe, dat ole Ma'se, 
 yoah pap, wah killed in Bloody Hollah, an' he wah tole 
 by Cupe dat he would be killed likes he wah, jes es 
 Cupe tole yo' 'bout dis boy comin' t'-night an' de gearl 
 com'n' de day dat she did come. Howsumebbah, dat 
 doan consahn yo' jes now. What I gwine t' say con- 
 sahns ole Ma'se's fahdah, de fit'n Colonel ; he wah yoah 
 gran'pap, an' my pap wah his nigger, jes es Cupe air 
 yoah nigger. An' what pass' between ole Colonel, 
 yoah gran'pap, an' my pap, yoah fahdah nebbah know'd, 
 case the sign wah not right an' Cupe could n't speak 
 widout de sign ; but now de sign p'dicted am heah, an' 
 Cupe gwine t' tole yo' 'bout what yo' nebbah 'spected 
 in all yoah bohn days. 
 
 " Ole Ma'se's fahdah (yoah gran'pap) say t' Cupe's 
 fahdah (my pap) long years ago : ' All dese lan's b'longs 
 t' me; all ober behin' de big woods is mine; all 
 dis part ob dis country is mine.' Den he took pap 
 to his iron trunk w'ich he brought from Mexiky 
 wha' he wah fit'n 'long wid Ma'se Butler, who lib' in 
 Cah'lton — de chist what nebbah no libbin' soul 'cep' 
 de ole Ma'se had seen into befo', an' he op'n it an' say, 
 says he : ' Dese heah papahs am deeds fo' all de lan's 
 yo' can see if yo' clime de highest tree on de plantation. 
 Now', says he, ' if dis heah son ob mine doan tuhn out 
 good — an' he doan promise much, an' Lawd knows I 
 hain't done much need'h t' make him good — yo' keep 
 dese papahs till he dies ; den gib 'em to yoah boy, Cupe ; 
 an' tole him what t' do wid em. He am a fam'ly nig- 
 
 21 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 ger an' won't be sol'. But ef my chile act like a man, 
 yo' can gib him dese papahs an' all dis money.' Wid 
 dat he showed pap a pile ob gol', sech es I nebbah 
 'spected t' see in all my bohn days." 
 
 " You 're lyin', Cupe, yo' know yo' lie," said the 
 " Corn Bug." " I hev seen inside yer iron chest, an' 
 thare ain't no papers nor no gold in et neither." 
 
 " Nebbah do yo' min' de chist, Ma'se ; nebbah yo' 
 min' 'bout de gol'. Yo' don't git none ob dat ; it goes 
 to de chillun what sleep in Bloody Hollah, case de sign 
 say so. Now yo' knows, honey," Cupe continued, " yo' 
 knows, Ma'se honey, dat yo' nebbah hab be'n settled 
 steady, so dat Cupe could do what ole Ma'se axt. De 
 bottle am yoah mastah, an' it wah de mastah ob' yoah 
 pap an' yoah gran'pap, so Cupe hab jes kep' de papahs es 
 my pap kep' dem ; an' de money an' de papahs hab 
 been waitin' fo' de sign, an' now de sign am heah." 
 
 " What sign, yo' black fool, what sign ? " asked the 
 " Corn Bug," with an eagerness which showed that he 
 was more interested in the story than he cared to admit. 
 
 *' De sign what folks dat doan b'lebe in signs nebbah 
 see," Cupe replied ; "• but dese two chillun wah mixed 
 up in de sign ; Cupe hab done tole yo' dis day, Ma'se, 
 when de sun wah shinin', dat dis heah boy would come 
 when de bat flap, an' de owl hoot t'-night, an' dat Bloody 
 Hollah would mix itse'f a'gin in de consahns ob dis 
 fam'ly ? " 
 
 " Yes," the " Corn Bug " reluctantly admitted. 
 
 *' Now lis'n," continued the negro. " Doan temp' 
 Prov'dence, Ma'se ; dah air tings de preachah doan 
 know ; tings dat teachahs can't read out ob books ; 
 tings an ole nigger knows bettah dan book-larned folks. 
 Dah air tings white men can't teach a nigger ; 'case 
 nigger sense ain't altogeddah same es white man's sense ; 
 
 22 
 
Cupe's Story and the Omen 
 
 an' dah air tings a nigger can't splain de how an' whah- 
 foh ob t' white folks, 'case white folks' sense ain't 
 'zac'ly like nigger sense. Kin de dawg 'splain how he 
 cotch de trail ob de coon ? Nced'h am all niggers de 
 same. S'pose Cupe should try t' show dese half white 
 niggers, poo' mean trash, what my gran'pap larn from 
 his ole mammy, who bring dat sense wid her out ob de 
 hot Gol'coast 1 country, what could Cupe do ? Nuffin'. 
 Might es well try ter teach white folks es sech niggers. 
 Ya, ya, ya," he chuckled. "Now, sit still, honey, sit 
 still, an' Cupe will show yo' sump'n' what '11 s'prize yo'." 
 
 ^ Gold Coast, the part of Africa Cupe's grandfather came from. 
 
 23 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 THE LOST DEED 
 
 HE closed and locked the door, then untied the cur- 
 tain string and lowered the green paper curtains, 
 and next climbed the ladder that I had seen him descend, 
 telling me to follow him. He opened the cover of an 
 iron chest, and, after fumbling about inside it, asked me 
 to look into its depths. The bottom was covered with 
 a layer of bright gold coins, of which Cupe took a few 
 pieces and then secured a large folded paper, yellowed 
 with age, covered with red seals of wax and tied with a 
 dull ribbon that once perhaps had been of some bright 
 colour. Together we descended to the room below, 
 where Cupe showed the paper and the gold to his 
 master. 
 
 The " Corn Bug " stared in amazement, and was 
 reaching for the money when Cupe stopped him. 
 
 " Yo' can't tech de gol', Ma'se, de gol' am not 
 fo' yo'." 
 
 " Give me the paper," the man impulsively demanded. 
 
 " Heah am de dokyments, Ma'se, de papah what ole 
 Colonel, yoah gran'pap say ter my pap would gib yo-uns 
 all de lan's yo' can see from de top ob ole Hick'ry." 
 
 The white man took the paper turned it about, eyed 
 it curiously, and then handed it back to Cupe. He 
 could not read. 
 
 "Yo' see, Ma'se," said Cupe, " de sign says dat yo' 
 wah not t' read dis papah ; it wah to be read by de boy 
 who saw de sky cross in Bloody Hollah." 
 
 24 
 
The Lost Deed 
 
 " Here 's the boy," said the " Corn Bug," " but I 
 hai n't heard him say nuthin' 'bout no sky cross." 
 
 Old Cupe turned toward me, and as he did so the ne- 
 gro crone half rose from her place and leaned partly out 
 of the shadows. 
 
 " Tole us 'bout de sky cross yo' saw," said Cupe. 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 " Dah wah a cross in de sky, an' a cross on de earf, 
 chile ? " 
 
 I nodded. 
 
 " An' yo' saw de hant ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes, I saw it." 
 
 "An' mu'd'h'n?" 
 
 " Yes, and murdering, too." 
 
 " De cross am gone, an' de blood am gone an' dried 
 dese yeahs dat 's gone, but de hant move on. Back t' 
 yoah place, Dinah, yo' brack fool ! " 
 
 Dinah sank into her former position, and Cupe turned 
 to his master. " De boy what see de cross am t' read de 
 papah, hab not Cupe done tole yo' ? An' de boy what 
 seed de cross am heah." 
 
 The " Corn Bug" seemed not to be surprised at the 
 corroboration I gave of Cupe's prediction. '* Adzacly," 
 he said, "adzacly." 
 
 I took the document and after laborious study managed 
 to decipher it. Even then none of us understood more 
 than the general purport of the paper. But old Cupe 
 had faith in its authenticity. He exultingly cried, when 
 I had laboriously spelled out the last word : 
 
 "Cupe done tole yo' so, Ma'se; now what yo' got 
 t' say 'bout de tracks in de ashes, an' de figgah in de 
 fiah, an' de uddah tings what Cupe saw, an' yo' couldn' t 
 understan' an' will nebbah know how he saw dem ?" 
 
 " Why did n't yo' give me that paper long ago ?" 
 
 2$ 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 demanded the " Corn Bug." " Where hev yo' kept 
 these things ? I hev seen inside thet empty old chest 
 often." 
 
 '' Take care, honey, take care ; doan ax quistions too 
 libely ; 't ain't safe t' fool wid dese heah solium' tings 
 like white folks does wid book readin'." Then Cupe, 
 growing more serious, added : 
 
 " Ma'se when de new yeah come yo' an' Cupe '11 part. 
 Dese chillun air t' take yoah place, Ma'se, fo' yo' 11 go 
 t' yoah long home. Dat ting am sart'n, Ma'se, de long 
 home am suah t' come. Cupe measure' de cedah limbs 
 ag'in t'-day, an' de young sprout on de long limb stan' 
 six feet from de body ob de tree. Dah am room fo' a 
 coffin undah dat limb suah, an' yo' know yo' wah de 
 man what sot out dat cedah tree." ^ 
 
 " Yes, an' will plant another next spring." 
 
 " Plant'n' will be done in de new yeah, an' yo' will be 
 dah, but yo' won't hole de spade, an' it won't be a tree 
 what 's planted. Hab not Cupe done tole yo' ob what 's 
 suah t' come t' de man what set out a cedah ? Ma'se, 
 when de robins flock nauth t' de roost in de thicket 
 nex' March an' talk in de gloom ob ebenin', yoah ear 
 won't heah de chirpin' voices ; when de sugah watah 
 drips in de Feb'uary sunshine, yo' tongue won't taste de 
 sweetness ob de sap, an' yoah eye won't see de bright- 
 ness ob de sun ; an' when de wahm wind blow an' de 
 snow melt in de spring, yoah cheek won't feel de breff 
 dat come out ob de souff." 
 
 " Ef I lis'n' to yo', Cupe, I would stop breathin' in 
 order to save my life. Yo' hev a sign fer everything." 
 
 " Suah yo' will stop breevin' 'case de dawg Dgawge 
 
 1 The negroes believed that death would come to the man who 
 transplanted a cedar tree, when the lower limbs grew to be the length 
 of his coffin. 
 
 26 
 
The Lost Deed 
 
 Wash'n't'n see yoah hant an' de cedah limb on de tree 
 yo' sot am long nufF t' cubah a coffin. De tree am 
 ready, de groun' am ready, an' de spade am waitin' in de 
 shed. But dah am mo'ah t' say t' yo', fo' de uddah sign 
 say dat ole Cupe, who nebbah desahted yo' in life, won't 
 be by yo' side when de las' call am made. Yo' will hab 
 comp'ny, Ma'se, comp'ny heah when yo' start, an' com- 
 p'ny on de way dahabouts. Cupe doan 'tend t' say jes 
 wha' yo' air gwine, er how long de new partner '11 stick 
 t' yo' an' de sign doan say wheddah de landin' place am 
 hot er cole. But when yoah heaht am still an' de mouf 
 am shet tight, de eyes am closed ahftah de silver qua'tahs 
 am taken off, de heels air close t'geddah, an' de toes 
 p'int up, when de cubbah ob de box am screwed down, 
 ole Cupe '11 be back by yoah side a'gin. An' when yo' 
 air laid in de groun' undah de cedah tree yo' planted, 
 close beside yo' deah muddah, who rest undah de limb ob 
 de weepin' wilier, an' who go t' glory when yo' wah 
 bohn, ole Cupe '11 be dah. Bettah yo' begin t' git ready 
 fo' dem tings what is p'dicted an' bettah yo' make yo'- 
 se'f good wid de pahson, 'case de pahson am might'ly 
 mixed in yoah affairs, Ma'se, an' dese chillun am mixed 
 too. De signs wahn't quite clear when Cupe read dem 
 dat night, dah wah shaddahs, but de omen on the harf 
 done mix de affairs ob yo' an' de pahson. Doan yo' 
 know, Ma'se, dat when yo' fin' dis baby gearl on de 
 Bloody Hollah grabe dat ole Cupe say take her home an' 
 her mate '11 follah 'case de sign say so ? an' hab yo' not 
 done growl an' cuss ole Cupe an' chss de sign, ah, doan 
 yo' lub de chile now like she wah yo' own, honey ? an' 
 ain't de boy heah now ? " 
 
 " Nigger nonsense," said the " Corn Bug." 
 " 'T ain't safe t' 'fy solium' tings ; bettah shake ban's 
 wid de pahson, Ma'se ; nebbah min' de nigger nonsense, 
 
 27 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 make fren's wid de pahson, case dah come a time when 
 de pahson skeah off de fiah bran' an' keep off de debbil 
 too." 
 
 '' I 've no use fer Pahson Jones er his mummery. 
 When next I see the pahson, I 'II show yo' how I make 
 friends with his likes." 
 
 " De signs am, Ma'se," continued Cupe, heedless of 
 his master's scoffing, " dat Cupe '11 stay in de cabin 
 ahftah yo' am gone ; de gearl '11 stay, an' de boy '11 come 
 ag'in." 
 
 He stopped, went to the fire, and gazed intently into 
 the mouldering embers, then slowly said : " De boy '11 
 come ag'in t' de cabin in de night-time. De sun am 
 shinin' on both dere heads, but a cloud am risin'. De 
 boy am gone, but bress de Lawd, honey, Cupe am still 
 heah wid de gearl." 
 
 Then after a pause he stirred the ashes, smoothed 
 them out, moved his fingers over the surface, seeming 
 to read from the embers as one reads from a book. 
 
 " De gearl am in trouble an' go from de cabin ; she 
 go' t' de boy; it am in a big house; she kneel on de 
 flo' befo' de boy an' de boy cubbahs his face wid his 
 ban's an' shakes his head." With a puzzled look the 
 negro began mumbling unintelligibly, made another little 
 pile of ashes and flattened it out, then spoke again : 
 
 " De gearl wid bended head an' tear mark on de 
 cheek come slowly back t' de cabin, dis same cabin, 
 lookin' behin' her to'ards de boy. De boy am in a 
 cu'yus place, wid glass fixin's an' bottles all 'roun' de 
 room ; but he am sah'erin' too an' am lookin' back 
 to'ards de gearl. Dey am not chillun now ; he am a 
 man, an' she am as pretty es a peach. Lawd, Lawd, 
 honey ; but Cupe am still wid her. She am monstrous 
 sah'ful, an' her eyelids am swelled ; she come back t' de 
 
 28 
 
The Lost Deed 
 
 cabin an' cry an' moan, an' t'row her arms 'roun' ole 
 brack Cupe's neck, an' den she an' Cupe go up t' de 
 mount'ns. Bress yoah soul, chile ; bress yoah soul, 
 honey ; God bress yo', honey ; God bress yo' ! " 
 
 Ole Cupe arose and picked up the child, hugged her 
 to his bosom and stroked her dishevelled hair with his 
 bony fingers, before he returned to his incantations. 
 Another period of mummery with the ashes and Cupe 
 laughed aloud: "De clouds am gone, an' de sun shine, 
 but it shines fru brush. De chillun am t'geddah in de 
 ole Kaintuck Ian'. T'ank de Lawd, Ma'se ! " ex- 
 claimed the old negro, then suddenly he drew back and 
 stared into the embers, saying to himself: "What's de 
 meanin' ob dis ? Smoove dem ashes out, Dinah, 'case 
 sump'n' am wrong wid de sign." Suiting her actions to 
 his words, Dinah leaned over and smoothed the ashes 
 with her long, bony fingers, then sat m the shadows, 
 swaying her body back and forth, humming a soft, low 
 song, without words. I crept timidly forward, and 
 gazed over the shoulder of the kneeling seer. I saw 
 that he took three short bits of brown straw and laid 
 them parallel on the perfectly smooth ash surface, the 
 fragments being about three inches apart. " Dah am a 
 new face stan'in wha' de boy stood, it air a boy wid a 
 red head. Dis am de newcomah, de red-head boy," he 
 said, pointing to one straw •, " dis am de boy out ob 
 Bloody HoUah," pointing to the second straw ; " dis am 
 de honey gearl," pointing to the third. Then, as he 
 spoke, it seems to me that I saw a marvellous thing : — 
 that a perfect coffin-like tracing form crept about the 
 straw of the newcomer, and then that straw caught fire. 
 Old Cupe chuckled, pointing to the straw which repre- 
 sented myself. After a lapse of some minutes this also 
 became surrounded by a similar mark that grew before 
 
 29 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 my eyes ; then it began to burn, and almost simulta- 
 neously the last straw, that representing the girl, turned 
 black, then changed into white ashes, snow-white ashes, 
 but I swear it did not burn. Old Cupe threw himself 
 upon the floor and moaned in apparent distress. He 
 did not interpret the result of his incantation other than 
 by this emotion, but quickly arose, and took me by the 
 hand : " Chile," he said, " yo '11 sleep in de bed upstairs, 
 an' Cupe '11 sleep on de flo' by yoah side. Come, chile, 
 it am late in de night, come." 
 
 I was too much exhausted to do anything but sleep, 
 yet that night I dreamed. It seemed to me that once I 
 opened my eyes to find old Cupe standing by my bed 
 in the light of the moon that streamed through the little 
 window, mumbling to himself, moving his bony fingers 
 over and near my face as he had done over and near the 
 ashes, and I caught the words : " Cupe bettah strangle 
 de life out ob him now ; but cussed am de pusson who 
 breaks de workin's ob de spell." Next morning I 
 was awakened early by a searcher, for the country had 
 been aroused over my absence, and when I reached my 
 home and was folded in the arms of my mother the in- 
 fluence of the night's strange incidents disappeared. 
 
 30 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE "CORN bug" CURSES THE PARSON 
 
 I HAVE now to record a memorable meeting of the 
 village circle which formed about the stove in the 
 country store, during which the " Corn Bug " created a 
 sensation. Without apparent provocation, he indulged 
 in a tirade against the Rev. Mr. Jones, and instead of 
 making friends with that gentleman, as old Cupe had 
 advised, would have driven him from the room had not 
 Professor Drake interfered. The assembled villagers 
 were astounded by his violence. The minister had in- 
 curred his dislike by an attempt to reform his dissolute 
 habits, an attempt that unfortunately resulted in arous- 
 ing the wrath of the person whom he aimed to serve. 
 The " Corn Bug " from that moment adhered to a 
 dogged determination to drink more freely. This even- 
 ing he seemed unusually vindictive, and without any 
 direct incentive viciously assailed the pastor. 
 
 " Sech people as yo', pahson, air like drone bees, 
 always ready ter make a show ov yerselves, but never 
 ready ter work. Yo' eats the best the land raises, yo' 
 talks ter the prittiest girls, an' sits beside them too ; yo' 
 wears the best clothes, yo' rests in the shade in the 
 summer an' loafs by the stove in the winter. Yo' wears 
 kid gloves like a woman, an' preaches 'bout duty, but 
 never acts et 'less takin' care ov your own carcass es 
 actin' duty. Yo' air never cold lessen yo' lies in bed 
 too late ov a winter mornin' an' gits yer muscles stiff 
 
 31 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 because yo' air too lazy ter git up an' make the blood 
 move ; an' yo' never gits hot except when goin' through 
 the sunshine in the summer from the shade ov a tree ter 
 yer dinner. Yo' Methodists air es afraid ov water es a 
 mad dog, an' would never save a soul ef, in order ter do 
 so, yo' had ter wet yer feet in ice water, when you 'd 
 let the other feller's one soul go an' save yer own two 
 soles. Pshaw ! I hev seen Hard Shell Baptists an' 
 Campbellites break the ice at a baptisin' an' walk right 
 inter a pond ov ice water a mile away from a fire ; an' 
 yet yo' stands by a stove an' dips the tips ov yer fingers 
 in warm water an' sprinkles et over a baby an' calls thet 
 ' workin' in the Master's field.' 
 
 " Yo' would n't laze around all the week, an' eat an' 
 sleep an' sleep an' eat, ef yo' was n't too lazy ter work 
 like a man should work," he continued, growing more 
 insulting as he proceeded : " Yo' would n't take what I 
 am a-givin' yo', either, if yo' had the spunk ov a sick 
 rabbit er the energy ov a sleepin' 'possum. Yo' would n't 
 cross the street in a shower ter save a dyin' child, an' 
 yo' would n't dare crack yer finger in the face ov a 
 turtle-dove fer fear yo' might get pecked." 
 
 Professor Drake arose and indignantly demanded 
 order. The pastor had listened in silence, making no 
 response, but it could be seen that his passions were 
 much moved and that he was holding himself in check 
 only by strenuous effort. 
 
 " One duty of gospel ministers," he replied rather 
 sadly as the echoes of the insulting voice of the " Corn 
 Bug " died away, " is to teach tolerance and practise 
 forgiveness. God knows it would be easier to strike 
 now than to keep down my anger ; but how can we 
 follow the Master we serve, and not forgive those who 
 wrong us ? How can we ask others to heed our words 
 
 32 
 
The "Corn Bug" curses the Parson 
 
 unless we set an example ? No doubt, my friends, 
 ministers frequently err. Yes, my hearers, yes, minis- 
 ters are often to be blamed for errors of judgment or for 
 self-indulgence. They are not always the bright ex- 
 amples in holy living they should be. Perhaps they live 
 in too great luxury ; perhaps they have too many 
 pleasures ; perhaps they are not willing to undergo 
 privations as they should. My friend," he continued, 
 turning towards his adversary, " I thank you for this 
 lesson, over which I shall ponder, and by which I shall 
 endeavour to profit ; and if ever it chances that I can 
 return to you the kindness you have shown me in this 
 view you have given me of myself, if you ever have 
 need of my services in an extremity, you will find that I 
 shall not hesitate to wet my feet in your behalf. Neither 
 shower, snow, nor storm, neither heat, cold, nor darkness 
 shall keep me from my duty in the future, if they have 
 ever done so in the past." 
 
 Was it chance, or was it a link in the "spell," that 
 caused the door to open just before the speaker pro- 
 nounced the last sentence ? Old Cupe, with uncovered 
 head, his white wool and beard contrasting strongly with 
 his shiny black face, stepped into the room, stood before 
 the minister and said : 
 
 " When de yeah goes out be ready, pahson, when de 
 yeah goes out." 
 
 " Nigger nonsense is nigger nonsense," said the 
 " Corn Bug," suddenly becoming quiet and in a half- 
 apologetic way, turning from Mr. Jones and addressing 
 Judge Elford ■, "never mind the black fool." Then, 
 turning to Cupe, he abruptly asked: "Did yo' bring 
 them thare papahs ? " 
 
 The negro handed him the yellowed deed, which 
 was passed to the judge. 
 3 33 
 
The "Corn Bug" curses the Parson 
 
 " Jedge," said the " Corn Bug," " this 'ere papah air 
 ov more or less valyer, 'cordin' ter what 's written an' 
 who wrote et. I ain't eddycated ter understand the 
 sense ov sech things, an' don't purtend ter know what 
 lawyers knows, an' this papah is a law papah, es any one 
 can see by the red sealin' wax an' other marks." The 
 judge untied the faded ribbon, deliberately unfolded the 
 time-worn script and silently read the contents. 
 
 " Where did you get this document ? " he asked at 
 length. 
 
 " Cupe, the lazy thief, has kept et fifty years an' 
 more among his nigger things." 
 
 " Where did you get it ? " said the judge, meditatively 
 addressing Cupe. 
 
 " Ol' Colonel, Ma'se's gran'pap, gib it ter my pap." 
 
 " Why did n't you show it sooner ? " 
 
 " De sign wah not right." 
 
 " What sign ? " 
 
 " Nigger sign, Jedge," interrupted the " Corn Bug." 
 " Don't ax the fool nigger any more questions ; he don't 
 know nothin'." 
 
 Without replying, the judge carefully refolded the 
 paper, placing it in his pocket. " I will study the docu- 
 ment at my leisure and give my opinion at a future 
 time," he said, after a pause. 
 
 34 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 JUDGE ELFORD's DECISION 
 
 IN winter, time passes slowly in the country, and 
 especially did it seem to linger while Stringtown 
 was awaiting Judge Elford's report concerning the " Corn 
 Bug's " deed. Each Saturday evening the circle met and 
 considered such subjects as were of general interest to the 
 community. At one time the party assumed the func- 
 tions of a tribunal, and without any expense whatever 
 to the participants a neighbourhood quarrel was amicably 
 settled by the judge and teacher. The Rev. Mr. Jones 
 read two papers on semi-religious subjects the same 
 evening, and the second Saturday in November the 
 teacher presented a carefully prepared essay which was 
 discussed by the wiseacres of the circle, and listened to 
 by the other members and a few visitors. At the fol- 
 lowing meeting the colonel — Colonel Luridson — told 
 a story of adventure, and afterward, by way of diversion, 
 the floor was cleared, and to the pat of Jupiter (pro- 
 nounced Juba) by ole Cupe, who always attended his 
 master, a couple of young " buck " negroes rendered a 
 dance. These Saturday night entertainment parties 
 drew a large audience. The subjects discussed were 
 not necessarily of a trivial nature, although when Mr. 
 Jones was absent much light gossip crept into place. 
 Art, literature, politics and even science were not neg- 
 lected. We were country people of simple tastes, but 
 
 35 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 paved streets, bright lights, noise, confusion, the glamour 
 of fashion and the vanities of society are not necessary 
 for intellectual development. Urban surroundings are 
 not essential to discipline children for leadership in any 
 walk, educational or commercial. But enough of this ; 
 I must pass to the record of our meeting the second 
 Saturday evening in November, 1863, ^s shown by the 
 yellowed stenographic notes of the grocer's boy, now on 
 the desk before me. 
 
 That night the room contained a large and anxious 
 audience, for it had become noised about that the legal 
 document under consideration pretended to convey to the 
 " Corn Bug " much of the land in Stringtown County. 
 If it was accepted by the judge as genuine and legal, to 
 many persons in that assemblage, who placed implicit 
 confidence in his judgment, it meant the loss of accumu- 
 lations of life-long toil. The full force of the disaster 
 that would come to the community in case the floating 
 stories concerning the document were sustained was 
 known to all ; many were the quiet discussions that had 
 been held concerning its final effect. The lengthened 
 deliberations of the judge had mdicated that important 
 disclosures were to be made, and this inference was sup- 
 ported by the fact that under his direction the county 
 surveyor had run a series of lines about the section 
 named in the will, and had made careful calculations 
 concerning it. Hence it was that amid perfect silence 
 Judge Elford adjusted his spectacles and read from a 
 carefully drawn manuscript, 
 
 " The paper which I hold in my hand is a Virginia 
 colonel's military warrant, and calls for five thousand 
 acres of land, more or less. The document is in good 
 form and was drawn up during the last century under 
 the laws of Virginia, while Kentucky was still a part of 
 
 j6 
 
Judge Elford's Decision 
 
 that territory. The boundary of the land included in 
 this survey is exactly located as follows : 
 
 " ' Beginning at the great boulder over Clear Spring, 
 thence east to the blazed road in Fowler's Valley, thence 
 north to the fork of Bear's Creek, thence west to Fow- 
 ler's Valley, thence south to the starting-point.' Now, 
 Fowler's Valley passes diagonally through this territory, 
 and the description is otherwise in exact conformity 
 with the present landmarks, known by the same names. 
 Since a line run by the county surveyor at my request 
 demonstrates that the land embraced in this military 
 claim covers about five thousand acres, there is in my 
 mind no doubt but the survey is authentic. However, 
 a discrepancy involving many acres would not discredit 
 the title, for the early surveyors of Kentucky made no 
 allowance for hills and valleys or for unequal surfaces, 
 and, indeed, owing to the abundance of land, cared 
 little about precision of survey, taking care only that 
 enough was given. For example, one Kentucky patent, 
 cited in a recent court decision, which called for four 
 thousand acres, actually embraced over nine thousand 
 acres ; and some lands, as many persons have found to 
 their distress, have been granted by patent two or three 
 times. These old military titles have always been a 
 source of great trouble in Kentucky, and purchasers and 
 settlers have found themselves continually confronted 
 with the fact that their possessions had been previously 
 granted to others or were claimed by others. 
 
 *' In order, therefore, to overcome this confusion and 
 to establish clear titles, corrective legislative acts were 
 passed from time to time, first by Virginia and subse- 
 quently by Kentucky. In 1796 it was laid down that 
 adverse possession of the land for a period of twenty 
 (20) years constituted ownership and completed the title. 
 
 37 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 However, no blanket law of this description can be 
 equitable, for in many cases large tracts of land were 
 actually stolen by virtue of the opportunity that the mis- 
 chievous law created ; and in 185 1, the following cor- 
 rective act was passed : ' An action for the recovery of 
 real property can only be brought within fifteen years 
 after the right to institute it first accrued to the plaintiff 
 or the person through whom he claims.' Legal con- 
 tests by reason of these surveys and legal enactments 
 have probably cost the landowners of Kentucky more in 
 the aggregate than the entire realty of the Commonwealth 
 is worth, 
 
 "Now, under the twenty-year possession act of 1796, 
 the tract specified by the warrant under consideration, 
 were there no exceptional circumstances, would have 
 been outlawed long since and the warrant of Colonel 
 Hardman would have no value whatever ; but certain 
 conditions peculiar to this case, considered in connection 
 with the amendment of 1851, render it questionable 
 whether a court of equity would not sustain the claim of 
 the heir. True, Mr. Hardman has never held posses- 
 sion of the land, but his dispossession has been from no 
 fault of his own, and his father was in the same predic- 
 ament. His grandfather, the old colonel, located the 
 land properly, obtained a military warrant for it and 
 recorded this warrant, as I find, in the Virginia Land 
 Office, where the fact slumbered unseen. He placed 
 the document in the hand of an irresponsible party, 
 instructing him under certain conditions to give it to his 
 son at a certain time. This was not done, but, instead, 
 the paper was handed to another irresponsible party, and 
 has now turned up after three-quarters of a century. 
 
 "The old colonel could not foresee the course the 
 paper would take; the son knew nothing about the docu- 
 
 38 
 
Judge Elford's Decision 
 
 ment, neither did the son's son, the present heir, who 
 presented it to me at once on its discovery. The deed 
 has not been neglected by any responsible party ; the 
 inheritors, in ignorance of their possessions, have lived 
 constantly on other possessions that lie adjacent to part 
 of the land described, vv^hile strangers have profited from 
 its use. The question is, will the court dispossess those 
 who are now in possession in order to give the rightful 
 heir his just inheritance, or will the court take from Mr. 
 Hardman a property of which, through no act of his 
 own and no intention of his ancestor, he has been 
 deprived these many years ? In my opinion, the land 
 should in equity revert to Mr. Hardman, but we have 
 here an extraordinary condition that can only be 
 decided by the Court of Appeals." 
 
 The judge ceased, and silence such as seldom fell 
 over the members of the circle ensued. Perhaps each 
 man was waiting for his neighbour to speak ; perhaps all 
 alike realised the significance of that momentous power 
 resting with the court of last resort. Then Mr. 
 Nordman, the old gentleman from above Stringtown, 
 arose and moved toward the door, but stopping a 
 moment, without any display of emotion, remarked : 
 " Ther comes a time, Judge, when a piece of cold 
 iron is mightier than the law; and if this old deed takes 
 in my land, I now warn all within hearing that I will 
 not be dispossessed. My father and mother lie in the 
 graveyard back of my house, two children of my own 
 sleep by their side, and a spot under the willow is 
 marked for Mrs. Nordman and myself to rest in. I do 
 not fancy being buried in a public graveyard, and damn 
 me if I will be buried in another man's land. When 
 the sheriff steps into my front gate he must come armed, 
 suh, It will be a fair fight, and as I am getting old ^nd 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 stiff, my hand may miss its mark, but if it does, I will 
 sleep under my own willow-tree. Tell the sheriff, gentle- 
 men, that when he comes to dispossess me of the 
 property my father earned, he must be ready to draw a 
 bead the minute he steps inside the gate, suh." With a 
 courteous bow the old gentleman left the room. 
 
 40 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE DILEMMA OF THE " CORN BUG " 
 
 EXPRESSIVE glances were cast around the circle 
 when Mr. Nordman passed out, and the grocer 
 remarked in an undertone : " I don't envy the sheriff 
 his job ; the old man shoots like a ranger. I will bet a 
 boss he don't sleep under the tree." Then the circle 
 lapsed into silence. Many hearts were heavy over the 
 disclosures the judge had made, and he, too, felt the 
 gloom that settles over one who, having economised his 
 earnings until the period of rest should come to an 
 industrious man, finds the savings of a lifetime likely to 
 be swept aside by a penstroke. At last the " Corn 
 Bug" spoke : 
 
 " Js'^g^? I don't adzacly grasp all the pints ov yer 
 speech, but I believe I kin see the drift ov the thing. 
 Ef I catch the idea, this paper es ginuinc, an' nigger 
 Cupe told the truth. The land es mine ? " 
 
 "That is my present opinion." 
 
 " Now let me ax a quistion, Jedge. Ef I am right, 
 the deed calls fer five thousan' acres ov land ? " 
 
 " It does, Mr. Hardman." 
 
 " The line begins at Clear Spring boulder, runs ter 
 Fowler's Valley road, then ter Bear Creek fork, then 
 ter Fowler's Valley cross-road, then back ter the 
 boulder." 
 
 " Yes, so the survey records." 
 41 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 "Thet takes in old man Sawyer's farm ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Wall, Jedge," said the " Corn Bug" thoughtfully, " I 
 hain't much love fer the likes ov him. There hain't 
 no honest bone in his body, an' et goes without sayin' 
 thet he cheated Widow Longing out ov thet very farm. 
 Yo' see, Jedge, with all respect ter the court, the law 
 helped old Sawyer ter steal the land, an' nobody knows 
 et better than yourself, Jedge ; but yo' need n't begin 
 ter apologise now fer the law's wrongs, vo' would never 
 git through. Oh, wall, the widder died in the poor- 
 house, an' ef I hev my say, old Sawyer will trot in thet 
 direction. By the way, Jedge, ef I am right, this deed 
 calls fer the Humses boys' farm ? " 
 
 " Certainly; their farm is near the centre of the plat." 
 
 *' Wall, sense them fellers got home from college 
 they hain't no 'count, nohow. They holds up their 
 heads an' snufFs the air when they passes common folks. 
 They talks too highfalutin' fer sensible folks, anyway ; 
 they puts a mo- on their 'lasses an ' a po- on their 
 'taters an' slings on style like as though their grandad 
 had n't worked in a deadenin'. This part of the world 
 ain't good 'nough fer sech stuck-up people. Guess I 
 won't care ef they hev ter move out ov this section, an' 
 I takes et nobody else will cry their eyes out. How- 
 somever, Jedge, how 'bout the village ? Does the deed 
 call fer the village, Jedge ? " 
 
 "Yes. Here is a rough map of the claim. This 
 crossmark represents Stringtown." 
 
 " Wall, I declare. All these dooryard lots an' back 
 pastures ? " 
 
 " Every lot, house and barn." 
 
 " Who would hev thought the nigger knew so much, 
 I 'U be a rich man, Jedge, a very rich man." 
 
 42 
 
The Dilemma of the "Corn Bug" 
 
 The judge nodded his head. 
 
 " The teacher's lot ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " The tavern lot ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " The two Miss Ruby's lot ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "The widder's?" queried the "Corn Bug," glancing 
 at me. The widow was my mother. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Yer own lot, Jedge ? " 
 
 " Yes." - 
 
 " Gewhillikins ! And the graveyard ? " 
 
 " The graveyard, too, but not the tombstones." 
 
 "Tombstones, Jedge, ain't fit fer nothin' but side- 
 walks ; those who wants 'em kin take 'em off my ground. 
 Wall, I '11 be a rich man, Jedge ; I kin eat what I wants 
 ter, I kin drink what I wants ter." 
 
 The judge smiled and a forced laugh went around the 
 circle. 
 
 "Jedge, I don't want the two Miss Ruby's lot. 
 These girls I hev known sense they were tots. They 
 speak sof'ly ter me, Jedge, an' et kinder makes me 
 ashamed ov myself — when I drinks too much I don't 
 like ter meet 'em then. Yo' see, Jedge, I sometimes 
 drinks too much." 
 
 " So I have heard." 
 
 " Wall, et don't matter, I won't hev thet lot. Neither 
 does I want the widder's property. Sammy," he called, 
 " come here. Bub." I obeyed, and he placed his hand 
 on my head and stood looking me in the face. 
 
 " Does yo' 'member the day when three boys found 
 me layin' in the briar patch in the back paster ? Does 
 yo' know thet the other brats mawked an' called me 
 
 43 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 names, never mind what — I kin 'member 'em ef I was 
 in my cups ? " 
 
 « Yes, sir." 
 
 " Does yo' recollect thet yo' brushed the flies off my 
 face an' put my hat over my eyes an' spread yer hand- 
 kerchief over thet, an' then went fer Cupe ? " 
 
 I hung my head, but my silence plainly admitted the 
 truth of what he said. 
 
 " Go back ter yer seat, child, go back. Jedge," he 
 continued, '' I gives thet boy two thousan' dollars ter 
 eddycate himself with. He hain't strong 'nough ter 
 work an' he must larn how ter skin workin' folks ef he 
 lives 'spectable. Make a lawyer, a doctor, er druggist. 
 Sonny. Remember, Jedge, when I dies this boy es ter 
 hev two thousan' dollars in gold an' the little girl at my 
 house es ter hev my land an' all the rest. I adopt thet 
 girl, Jedge. Cupe the nigger knows whare the money 
 is, Jedge. I hev seen a few ov the gold pieces, but 
 hev n't teched et, an' yo' must give et es I says. I war 
 drunk once, Jedge, an' more than once, but I ain't drunk 
 now. Yo' see, Jedge, every drunk man ain't dead er a 
 fool, no more than every dead man er fool air drunk." 
 
 " Better make your will in writing if you want it to be 
 legal," said the judge. 
 
 " Now, Jedge," the " Corn Bug " continued, as if he 
 had not heard the remark, " the teacher hev done a pile 
 of good hereabouts. Ef I had known what war best fer 
 me an' lis'n'd ter Cupe I would hev been eddycated too, 
 but thare ain't no use in all ov us tryin' ter be smart, 
 Thare must be some gentlemen an' some workingmen in 
 the world, thare must be some eddycated people, an' 
 some who don't know nothin'. Et ain't the man who 
 knows the most who air happiest, an' et ain't the man 
 who hev done the most good who gits the soft seats ter 
 
 44 
 
The Dilemma of the '^ Corn Buo;" 
 
 rest in. I hev n't done nothin' fer nobody, an' I don't de- 
 sarve nothin' from nobody, an' here I finds a loose plan- 
 tation. The teacher hev taught a pile of larnin' ter 
 others an' made lots ov folks rich who hev used his larn- 
 in', an' he hain't got nothin' but a house an' lot ; an' ef 
 these law fellers in Frankfort, who don't care a damn fer 
 either ov us, says so, he's ter be kicked out an' I' m ter 
 git the lot. I don't want his lot though, an' I won't hev 
 his lot, an' I don't want yer lot, Jedge, either. But the 
 tavern, Jedge, the tavern." 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 "Thet 's the place fer me, fellers. I never b'l'eved 
 thet I could git a chance ter live in a tavern ; thet's the 
 next thing ter flyin' through Heaven, Jedge. Howsom- 
 ever, thare es somethin' ter say on t' other side ov every 
 quistion. Ef I gits rich an' lives in a tavern then I kin 
 git all the licker 1 wants. Ef I gits all the licker I wants, 
 I will drink so much licker I won't hev sense 'nough 
 ter know when I wants licker. Ef I don't know nothin' 
 an' I won't ef I lives in a tavern, I can't want any more 
 licker, an' I would es soon be dead es not ter want 
 licker. This air a tough quistion, Jedge, fer sech a feller 
 as I am ter conumdrate. 
 
 "Now, es ter the graveyard. What good will a 
 graveyard do me ? I hev stood with my hat off in thet 
 graveyard in winter an' in summer watchin' buryin's. I 
 hev seen mothers cry over their babies an' hev seen 
 children kneel 'round the graves ov their mothers. I 
 hev a graveyard ov my own behind the cabin, an' thet's 
 'nough for me. I never wants ter own a public grave- 
 yard. It es hard 'nough, Jedge, ter hear people sobbin' 
 on their own property, an' ef I should own thet town 
 graveyard I would feel es though all those cryin's ov or- 
 phans an' sobbin's ov mothers were 'round me. I 'd 
 
 45 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 dream 'bout 'em in the night, an' I 'd be afeard ter even 
 drink 'nough ter git happy dreams, fer a man who has 
 licker-dreams air very sensitive an' must hev a clear con- 
 science. He muss n't hev any devilment in his mind ef 
 he air in his cups, else he dreams ov snakes an' sech. 
 Besides, Jedge, I kinder don't know 'bout the vartue ov 
 the law when et comes ter the graveyard case. Ef a 
 person don't own the six feet ov ground he lies in, what 
 does he own ? Et don't seem es ef the Lord would 
 bring men an' women inter the world an' grow 'em ter 
 full size without givin' 'em land 'nough ter hold their 
 bones. I kinder feels thet et air a farce fer a feller with 
 five thousan' acres ov land growin' up in briars an' per- 
 simmons ter say he owns the six feet ov ground his dead 
 neighbour lies in an' who don't want no more than six 
 by two. Guess, Jedge, the lawyers kin keep the grave- 
 yard fer their fee ; they won't give me all this land fer 
 nothin' ; they hev n't no feelin's neither, an' won't care 
 ef the graveyard their neighbours rest in es ploughed up. 
 " J^^g^? I ain't talkin' altogether ter yo' now, but am 
 arguin' ter myself es well. Yo' see, Jedge, while I 
 don't cast no reflections at nobody, still I likes ter talk 
 ter myself. Thare ain't no harm in thet. Old Squire 
 Slickum always talked out loud ter himself, an' he wa'n't 
 no fool either. One time I asked him what he did it 
 fer. Yo' see, Jedge, I am given ter the same habit, an' 
 I kinder wanted ter git an argument ready in case some 
 fly-up-the-creek person asked me consarning the sar- 
 cumstance. The Squire said thet he talked ter himself 
 fer three reasons. First, he liked ter talk ter a smart 
 man, an' second, he liked ter hear a smart man talk. I 
 hev forgotten the other reason, but et don't make no 
 diff'rence. You -all won't take no offence at my 
 excuse, an' I only asks yo' ter 'member thet I tells this 
 
 46 
 
The Dilemma of the "Corn Bug" 
 
 story es ^ an excuse, fer et air dangerous ter say out loud 
 ter others what one thinks ov lawyers. A man air 
 never sure ov keepin' out ov their clutches. They air 
 after everybody. Ef a fellow hain't got nothin', he 
 wants what some other feller has got, an' pays a lawyer 
 ter help him git it, an' the lawyer never renigs. Ef he 
 has got somethin', he has ter hire a lawyer ter help him 
 keep et. Et air funny, Jedge, ain't et, thare air only 
 one sure winner, an' thet air the lawyer. I am talkin' 
 at random ter myself, Jedge, an' don't mean nothin' 
 personal." 
 
 " I know that you do not reflect on me," replied 
 Judge Elford, " and I am aware that many attorneys do 
 disreputable things in the name of the law. However, 
 Mr. Hardman, were it not for the law, honest men 
 would be the prey of designers. Take this case of your 
 own as an example ; in my opinion, the Court of Ap- 
 peals will dispossess me, a man of law, of my life sav- 
 ings, and, were I on the bench, and your case before 
 me, no self-interest would influence in the least my de- 
 cision." 
 
 " I ax yer pardon, Jedge," said Hardman, " I war 
 talkin' at random. I war not thinkin' ov the good yo' 
 lawyers do, but ov the bad. I sometimes fergits the 
 good things what happens, but hangs onter the other 
 side, an' thet air the fault ov other people es well es 
 myself." 
 
 1 Pronounce the s as z. 
 
 47 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 " THE BEST OF THE DEVIL AND THE LAW TOO." 
 
 THE " Corn Bug " paused for a moment, and went 
 on with his rambling talk, which none present 
 cared to interrupt, knowing that he had some object in 
 view that could only be discovered by allowing him to 
 finish in his own way. 
 
 " Ef thet air deed air legal I will be a very rich man, 
 maybe too rich. Somehow, p'r'aps et air possible fer a 
 feller ter be too rich. But ter the pint ; ef this paper 
 (holding up the deed) is correct, Jedge, I will become a 
 landlord an' own all this corner ov the country ? " 
 
 " The law allows it." 
 
 " Every lot in the village ? " 
 
 " Unquestionably." 
 
 " Every farm inside these lines ? " 
 
 " Every wood, field, orchard, and garden." 
 
 " Jedge, all these people will have ter pay me rent ? " 
 
 " Yes, or you can expel them." 
 
 " Widders, orphans, storekeepers, tavern-keepers, 
 school teachers, preachers, poor people, rich people ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I won't hev ter work. I kin just put my hand in 
 my pocket an' take out a dollar when I wants ter ? " 
 
 " Well, it looks that way." 
 
 " Now, Jedge, what right hev I ter this land ^ What 
 hev I done thet et should b'long ter me ? " 
 
 48 
 
"The Best of the Devil, &c." 
 
 " The law will give it to you if the Court of Appeals 
 so decides." 
 
 " Jedge, I hain't done nothin' on the tract, an' these 
 other people hev cleared the land, burned the brush an' 
 ploughed up the roots. Mr. Nordman told the truth, et 
 ain't mine, law er no law." 
 
 " The deed of your grandfather carries the land to his 
 heirs." 
 
 " Wall, p'r'aps yer law is powerful 'nough ter make 
 et right, but et seems es ef et helps steal. I guess, 
 though, I ain't ter blame fer the law's mistakes, an' ef 
 the land es mine, why ov course I must obey the law. 
 
 " Lord, folks, but 1 kin live high. P'r'aps et ain't 
 best to live too high either. Sometimes now I lives too 
 high an' sings too loud an' talks too much. Guess I hev 
 talked too much ter-night. Ef I hev my pocket always 
 full ov money, Jedge, won't I treat the crowd an' won't 
 I punish the eggnog ! I '11 be rich, awful rich. I '11 
 hire a clerk ter collect rents ; I '11 sit in an office an' 
 count money. Et must be awful satisfyin' an' elevatin' 
 ter count money all day. I '11 wear store clothes on 
 week days an' eat sardines, an' drink mint julips every 
 day in the summer, an' eat oysters an' drink eggnog every 
 day in the winter. I '11 build my office next ter the tavern. 
 This paper hev raised my calculations high, an' I hev 
 kinder been arguin' an' enjoyin' myself out loud. Thare 
 air two sides ter every quistion though, es you hev said 
 more than once, an' I bed better look a minute at the 
 other side. 
 
 " Jedge, I hev lived in this neighbourhood fifty years 
 comin' next January. I hev worked on week days an' 
 rested on Sundays, an' hev lived es well as I desarvcd 
 ter do. I wears warm jeans clothes an' I never suffers 
 with heat er cold, lessen I am in my cups an' lays out. 
 4 49 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 You-uns all earned yer homes an' farms an' yo' owns 
 'em, law er no law. I don't want ter throw any ov 
 you-uns out ov the homes yo' hev saved, an', Jedge, yo' 
 know thet the city man who once threw the widder an' 
 childern inter the snow said thet rich men air ter be 
 pitied fer they hev ter make rules they don't like thet 
 bears hard on some people. One ov the first ter go 
 would be the Widder Drew. She can't pay no rent ; 
 an' the next would be the orphan Ruby girls, they hain't 
 got no money. I know a good many other people in 
 the village who can't pay no rent — the Lord only knows 
 how village people do make a livin', an' rich men like I 
 am goin' ter be can't make no 'lowances. Either pay up 
 er git out. Take yer house ofF the lot. The flesh is 
 weak, Jedge, an' I am afeard ef this deed turns out ter 
 be good, I will make rich man's rules first, an' shake 
 ban's with the law second, an' go ter the devil third. 
 My conscience will be ruined, Jedge ; the flesh es pow- 
 erful weak. I don't do nobody no harm now ; I works 
 an' sleeps an' eats an' drinks an' hev a clear conscience. 
 I eats what I wants when I kin git it, an' pays fer what 
 I drinks, an' am happy, an' ain't carin' fer nothin' ner 
 nobody. 
 
 " An' this here paper," holding up the deed, " is the 
 dockyment what makes you-uns all this trouble, Jedge ? " 
 
 " You understand its import." 
 
 " An' makes me rich ? " 
 
 '' The richest man in the county." 
 
 " Ain't thare no copy ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Comreds, et would be pow'ful fine fer a feller like 
 me ter wear store clothes week days, an' eat sardines an' 
 oysters when I wants 'em, an* drink eggnog all the 
 winter and julips all the summer. Et would be glorious 
 
 50 
 
"The Best of the Devil, &c." 
 
 ter git even with them Sawyers an' Humses an' a few 
 other skinflints an' stuck-ups. But I can't afford no 
 disgrace ter my conscience. I don't want ter turn wid- 
 ders an' orphans out ov their homes ; I can't take rent 
 money fer Ian' I did n't earn, an' yet et 's an awful 
 temptation ter the likes ov me." 
 
 He opened the deed, looked at the red seal, carefully 
 folded it and tied it again, stroked it lovingly, half thrust 
 it into his pocket, turned toward the door, then recon- 
 sidered, came back and drew the document out again. 
 " Et air an awful temptation, Jedge, ter the likes ov me. 
 I tastes the eggnog now an' smells the julips." Then 
 he stood meditatingly and silent. 
 
 " Jedge," said Mr. Hardman, at last, " I hev got the 
 best ov the devil an' the law too, an' you-all kin go 
 home an' sleep. The village ain't mine, law er no law, 
 an' I ain't a-goin' ter help the law steal. I gits drunk 
 with my own money, which ain't no harm ter the likes 
 ov me an' don't hurt no other feller ner the Lord either, 
 but I never intends ter buy nothin' fer myself with the 
 money I 've squeezed out ov widders an' orphans, an' I 
 don't intend ter let the law make me a thief first an' a 
 wretch second. Folks, I hev downed the devil, an' the 
 law, which taken together air mighty hard fer a man ter 
 do. I don't intend ter hev no fam'ly disgrace, an' I 
 don't intend ter steal nothin'. Fellers, old man Nord- 
 man won't hev ter shoot the sheriff." 
 
 He opened the stove door and thrust the dry docu- 
 ment into the blaze. A flash as of tinder, a pufF, a 
 twisting, blackening paper, and then — ashes. Those 
 about drew back in amazement. 
 
 "Yer kin go home an' sleep, folks," said the Corn 
 Bug turning from the stove, " thare ain't no copy ter 
 disturb you-all, an' thare ain't no tavern, sardines, eggnog 
 
 51 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 an' julips fer the likes ov me. Come, Cupe, come, we 
 don't live in the hotel no more ; it air gittin' late, it air 
 rainin', an' the mud air deep b'twixt here an' the cabin." 
 The " Corn Bug " opened the door, and together with 
 old Cupe stalked out into the darkness. 
 
 52 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE STORY OF THE COLONEL 
 
 NEW Year's Eve, 1863, had been set apart by 
 the Village Circle as a special holiday, the inten- 
 tion of the members being " to see the old year out " 
 and listen to the reading of a special paper by the pastor, 
 Mr. Jones, which was to be replied to by Colonel Lu- 
 ridson. The "Corn Bug" had "taken sick," as the 
 doctor expressed it, the morning after the meeting men- 
 tioned in the preceding chapter, and his illness proved 
 to be serious. Too obstinate to care for himself, the 
 eccentric fellow neglected medical aid, and acute pneu- 
 monia, a common fatality in many parts of Kentucky, 
 had followed, quickly succeeding an ordinary cold, 
 
 Thursday, December 31, 1863, dawned warm and 
 sultry. The thermometer registered seventy that morn- 
 ing, and about noon a heavy mist settled over hill 
 and valley. This was followed in the afternoon by a 
 drizzling rain that sifted down in fine particles, which 
 sopped the grass and stuck together the pendent dead 
 leaves always clinging, during soft weather in mid-winter, 
 to the lower beech limbs. 
 
 In the evening the members of the Stringtown Circle 
 met according to expectation, but owing to the storm 
 many of them were detained and straggled to their 
 places. The " Corn Bug " alone was finally absent : as 
 has been said, he lay dangerously ill in his humble cabin. 
 The grocer's boy sat, as usual, behind the counter, ready 
 
 S3 
 
Strlngtown on the Pike 
 
 to take notes in shorthand on a quire of white paper 
 such as is used for wrapping tea, and I sat on a stool 
 beneath the hanging lamp, just back of the favored 
 members of the Circle. Silence fell upon the persons 
 who first presented themselves : a shadow seemed to 
 hang over the Circle. 
 
 The reserve was finally broken by Chinney Bill 
 Smith, a bearded man, who vowed when Fort Sumter 
 was bombarded, never to cut his hair or whiskers until 
 the South was free. This man regaled the Circle by 
 relating the story of " the mother of Sam Hill's wife's 
 sister," the story teller being typical of more than one 
 person well known and popular in the commonwealth of 
 Kentucky.! 
 
 From the humorous sketch of Chinney Bill Smith it 
 was apparently a long step to the dissertation which fol- 
 lowed, an essay on storms, delivered by Prof. Drake. 
 Yet it was characteristic of the Circle that it could pass 
 with relish from one extreme to the other. 
 
 At the conclusion of Professor Drake's essay, the 
 evening being not very far advanced. Judge Elford 
 addressed Mr. Jones. 
 
 " Pastor, it is your turn now. Let us have your 
 promised essay on Death, to be answered by Colonel 
 Luridson." 
 
 The pastor arose, threw his long hair back from his 
 forehead and mildly remarked : " Before beginning to 
 read I will say that the title does not always clearly 
 define the contents of a book ; and while my paper deals 
 with the subject of death, its caption is ' The Life 
 Line.' " Then in a slow, deliberate tone, quite in con- 
 
 ' This story was a monstrous exaggeration, quite humorous and 
 yet threaded with satire and irony. Although a welcome diversion 
 in its place the author believes it better to exclude it from this book. 
 
 54 
 
^ 
 
 -•a 
 
 i: "*= 
 
 b. 
 
The Story of the Colonel 
 
 trast to that of bald, spectacled Prof. Drake, the essayist 
 read on uninterrupted and without pause until he reached 
 the closing sentence : — 
 
 " Let us think, then, of the end point of this drama. 
 Since none can foresee just when the tread on the life- 
 line will falter, let us accept that it matters little whether 
 in the morning or the evening it be that we take the 
 awful plunge. To-day, never to-morrow, loosens our 
 hold of earthly problems." 
 
 Then raising his eyes from the paper, he glanced first 
 at Judge Elford, who, immovable, made no response, 
 then at Prof. Drake, who, leaning his head on his hands, 
 gazed intently on the floor. Then his questioning look 
 passed without response successively around the circle, 
 from one to the other, and finally rested again on the 
 face of the colonel, whose part it was to answer the 
 essay. Standing alone, gazing intently at the upright 
 colonel, the parson folded his arms across his chest and 
 deliberately said, looking directly into Luridson's eyes : 
 " Do you know, my friend, you who are to reply to this 
 essay, do you know when you or I will loosen our hold 
 on the life-line ? Are you prepared for the end of the 
 game of life ? " 
 
 What play of thought sped from man to man as the 
 eyes of these two met cannot be told in words, but could 
 be felt by those who caught the meeting of those eyes. 
 'T is not when steel meets steel, nor when flint meets 
 flint that the fire flies, but when steel meets flint. Per- 
 haps none present realized that such opposites were face 
 to face. 
 
 For a second neither moved. The parson held the 
 unfinished essay in his hand, while the colonel stoically 
 chewed his quid of tobacco, apparently indift^erent to 
 surroundings. Suddenly the latter, looking the tranquil 
 
 55 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 parson in the eye replied as if impelled by a mental 
 question exacted from him by his opponent : 
 
 " You can put your paper away, Mr. Jones," he said. 
 " I have heard enough and am ready to say my speech. 
 Pahson, no preacher ever told the truth bettah than you 
 have told it. 1 look fierce, they tell me, Mr. Jones, but 
 I am very tendah hearted. I would n't cause a shivah of 
 pain to man, woman, or child, and I would n't hahm 
 even a snail. You use words too big for me ; I can't 
 answer you aftah the same style, but, as old General 
 Haydon, of Virginia, used to say : ' It don't mattah 
 much about the grammah so we get the sense.' I 
 reckon, Mr. Jones, that I kin tell a story about as well 
 as you kin, but I can't talk in a general way as you do 
 about unseen things. I must relate something about 
 what my eyes have looked at ; I can't sling in high- 
 toned words either : but if any man undertakes to beat 
 me in stating plain facts 'bout what he knows, you kin 
 bet, suh, he has got to speak straight. Folks can undah- 
 stand Richard Luridson without a dictionary. 
 
 " I agree with you. Reverend, when you say that no 
 fellah knows just when he is going to hand in his tickets, 
 and to all of us the thought of death is damnably un- 
 pleasant. My heart is tendah, I '11 swear to it gentle- 
 men ; I ain't to blame if my beard is stiff. The heart 
 of a hard-shelled turtle is as soft to the touch as that of 
 a mouse, suh. Once when I shot a wild pigeon, an 
 innocent little bird, and picked the creature up, it turned 
 its little head towards me and looked me in the eye. 
 What cause had I to take that small life ? a life sacri- 
 ficed for a mouthful of black meat ^ Pahson, you may 
 believe me or not, but that was a cruelty my tendah 
 heart throbs over yet. But I ain't a coward, Mr. Jones ; 
 there is a distinction between brutality and bravery, and 
 
 56 
 
The Story of the Colonel 
 
 when it comes tc a fight I am always on hand. I have 
 seen pious-like men of the church, more cruel than I 
 am. I have known deacons who kneel in the ' Amen ' 
 corner, hunt all day Saturday with a gun, seeking a covey 
 of harmless quail, and shoot them down like flies, — take 
 the lives of these helpless creatures that nevah insulted 
 any man ; and the next Sabbath these same pious fellahs 
 sit in church trying to look like angels while the preacher 
 reads out of the Good Book, ' Thou shalt not kill ! ' I am 
 a consistent man. Judge," continued the colonel, " I don't 
 pertend to be religious, but I do claim that I am con- 
 sistent J and while my heart is very tendah, as I have 
 admitted, yet no man dare insult me." 
 
 " While you were reading your sober rigmarole, 
 Pahson, 1 wah thinking ofF and on of a case in which I 
 wah consarned in ole Virginia, and jest when you stopped 
 and looked up I had reached the p'int where I seized the 
 gullet of the critter ; and as you lowered the papah and 
 looked me in the eye, it seemed as though that same 
 young fellow's face rose up befoah me. But pshaw ! 
 what 's the use of thinking about things that hev passed 
 away ? That fellow brought his punishment on his 
 own head." 
 
 The colonel lapsed into silence and stared at the stove. 
 
 " Tell us all about it, or let Mr. Jones finish his 
 essay," requested the clerk. " Go on with your story," 
 urged a chorus of voices. " I relinquish the field and 
 beg you to oblige us," added the parson, in a slightly 
 ironical tone. 
 
 " Wall, since that day I hev n't talked about the 
 episode, fer, as I hev already told you, there ain't no use 
 in worrying over the troubles of another fellah, especially 
 if the other fellah is dead, and it don 't do no good, 
 either, to think about the mistakes that other people hev 
 
 57 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 made, and that there fellah made the mistake of his life 
 then and there. The blunders of dead people should be 
 fergotten." 
 
 Again the speaker paused. The eyes of the judge 
 and the teacher were fastened inquiringly upon the par- 
 son, who now seemed out of place, yet preternaturally 
 calm. " Continue your narrative. Colonel Luridson, " 
 he said coldly ; " you have said that you are not a 
 coward." 
 
 " I hev kindah gloomy feeHngs to-night and can 't tell 
 a story quite as well as I should," resumed Luridson, 
 casting a black look at the parson. " Once, ovah in ole 
 Virginia, I wah walking along a meadow path smoking a 
 cigar, thinking of nothin', as most people do when they 
 are smoking, when suddenly I stopped just as I was 
 about to step on a great black snake stretched in the 
 walk. I raised my heel and stamped the head of that 
 sarpent into the earth. I am sech a soft-hearted fool, 
 that I can't look back at that display of brutality with- 
 out shuddering. Not fer the snake ; no, I hev killed 
 hundreds of sech varmints, but fer a little baby snake 
 that I then saw stretched beside the mothah — a little 
 innocent snake not longah than a pencil. That night 
 there was a rain-storm, and I '11 swear, gentlemen, that 
 1 lay awake an hour thinking of the poor critter perish- 
 ing. I am a very tendah-hearted man and am not to 
 blame if my cheek is rough." 
 
 Evidently the vain braggart was loth to describe the 
 event of "honour" that he had unwittingly introduced. 
 
 " The story, please," quietly insisted the parson. 
 
 " Wall, it is not much of a story, aftah all, and I kin 
 give it in a few words. I s'pose you admit, Pahson, 
 that back in ole Virginia there is more honah among 
 gentlemen than there is in other places, and begging 
 
 58 
 
The Story of the Colonel 
 
 pahdon of the persons present, more gentlemen to the 
 acre. It don't require book learning in ole Virginia to 
 make a gentleman, neithah does book learning make a 
 gentleman anywhere, 'though, as a rule, it does no harm; 
 but, as you know, ole Virginia turns out gentlemen of 
 both kinds, gentlemen bohn and gentlemen learned. I 
 b'long to the first class of gents, which, begging pahdon 
 of some of the persons present, I considah the highah 
 class." 
 
 " The under class," remarked the parson drily, " know 
 something about your type of gentlemen. But we are 
 all impatient to hear your ' episode,' as you call it. We 
 know you are a gentleman, but are waiting for the 
 story." 
 
 " Wall, suh, a gentleman of old Virginia, of the first 
 class can't be insulted. If a fellah attempts to insult 
 him, either the fellah dies or the gentleman dies. In 
 either case no dirt sticks to the gentleman, fer his boots 
 air on. You see, pahson, there is another phase of the 
 mattah when it comes to the question of honah, a phase 
 that common people, low-bohn people, cannot raise 
 themselves into. The highah strung the gentleman, the 
 easiah it is to affect his honah, and to a high-strung man 
 the smallah the reflection the greatah is the insult. Only 
 persons of the highah order can comprehend this fact. 
 Now, up North," and Luridson turned directly upon 
 Mr. Jones, " where the finah qualities do not appeah, 
 where a gentleman is nevah bohn a gentleman, insults 
 air taken that in ole Virginia would be remembered to 
 the third generation. Colonel Clough of my county 
 killed the grandson of the man who insulted his grand- 
 fathah. Not that the colonel's grandfather did not kill 
 his man (fer he did), not that the colonel's father did not 
 kill the man's son (fer he did), not that the son of the 
 
 59 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 man the colonel's father killed had done anything per- 
 sonally to injure the colonel (fer he had not), but because 
 every killing of that family done by his descendants 
 raised the honah of the ole colonel. There hev been 
 twelve men shot with their boots on by the descendants 
 of Colonel Clough, and I saw four of 'em bite the dust. 
 You bet that family proposes to keep untarnished the 
 honah of the great colonel." 
 
 Once more the equivocating speaker faltered, and 
 once more Mr. Jones, as though determined to compel 
 the delivery of the promised narrative, said in a low, 
 insistent voice : 
 
 " Your own story, colonel, your own story." 
 " Wall, it ain't a long story, and it ain't the only 
 episode of the kind I hev experienced. I can 't see why 
 I think of this one jest now, either, fer I hev been en- 
 gaged in others more exciting, but you seem to drive me 
 to it. There wah, fer example, jest aftah I became of 
 age, a disturbing character in our parts who went around 
 insulting persons generally by asking questions about 
 their affairs, but he knew well enough who not to insult. 
 He nevah but once touched one of the bohn gentlemen 
 of our county, and nevah again did his tongue wag 
 about any one. This is how it wah ; one day he met 
 one of our niggahs, and in an impudent sort of way asked 
 a question concerning our family. Now, Pahson, our 
 family affairs air not the public's property, and when 
 that niggah told me of the impudence of the inquisitive 
 person, it meant pistols, and it wah pistols. It wah n't 
 my fault that he would n't shoot, and stood like a mummy 
 with his pistol in his hand looking at me when ole Tim 
 Warman counted three ; and I guess as he felt the sting 
 of the bullet that let out his heart's blood, that he wished 
 he had n't asked the niggah of a bohn gentleman whether 
 
 60 
 
The Story of the Colonel 
 
 his young mastah had reached home safely the night he 
 drank too much licker and raised hell in the village. It 
 ain't safe to question niggahs about their mastah's 
 affairs." 
 
 The Virginian here turned his eyes away from the 
 parson, who now stood as if he were an antagonist, de- 
 termined not to let him escape. 
 
 " Why do you evade your duty ? " he asked lowering 
 his voice. " Are you a coward, Mr. Luridson ? Your 
 last episode, not your first." 
 
 Fire flashed from the colonel's eye ; he cast a quick 
 glance at the parson, who with folded arms stood facing 
 him, and then, as if respecting the cloth of the man of 
 God, or subdued by that placid gaze, he turned his eyes 
 toward the ceiling. 
 
 " The last affair to this date you mean, Pahson, not 
 necessarily the last one. No man knows when he 
 may strike a quarrel, any more than he knows jest when 
 he may slip off the tight-rope you were preaching of," he 
 replied, leering in a sinister way at the parson. *' You 
 want my episode, and you seem to want it bad. Now 
 you shall hev it, and I call these gentlemen to witness 
 that you forced me to relate it. I 'm not ashamed of 
 my record, nor afraid to make a clean breast of it, but I 
 hev done all a gentleman can do to save trouble, and if 
 trouble comes it ain't my fault. 
 
 " This is the way it happened : 
 
 ''I hain't much schooling, but I hev enough to ansah 
 all the use a bohn gentleman has fer book learning. I 
 went to school until I could read the newspapah and 
 write a fair letter, and then I found it useless to spend 
 more time with books. I did n't intend to write a novel 
 or edit a dictionary, and I did n't propose to fool away 
 my time on matters that were of no particular value to a 
 
 6i 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 gentleman of leisure, so I dropped school and turned my 
 attention to foxes and dogs. 
 
 " Wall, that ole schoolhouse stood until this war of 
 secession came, honerable as a schoolhouse should stand ; 
 but aftah our forces retired and the Yankee lines were 
 advanced beyond us, the house was disgraced by this 
 damn Freedman's Bureau.^ You would n't believe it if 
 a gentleman like myself did n't certify to the fact, but a 
 Yankee wah sent to our section and a niggah school wah 
 started in the very house where I had carved my name 
 on the bench. Gentlemen, a niggah school." 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Jones, "tell us about the '■niggah* 
 school." 
 
 " There ain't much to tell, fer it did n't last long. A 
 meeting of neighbourhood gentlemen followed, and 1 wah 
 delegated to direct that Yankee to close the doors and 
 leave the country." 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 " I laid the case befoah the young man who taught the 
 school, and one word led to anothah until, finding that 
 he wah determined to persist in his offensive course, I 
 told him that he must either close that school or fight." 
 
 " And he fought you ? " 
 
 " No. The long-haired varmint had n't spunk enough 
 to fight ; he turned his back, said insolently : ' 'Scuse 
 me, please, but I hev this duty to perform,' and shut the 
 doah in my face." 
 
 "And you — " 
 
 " Kicked the doah down, seized the stripling by the 
 throat and squeezed his life out. I did n't intend to kill 
 the boy, fer he wahn't moh 'n half grown ; but aftah I 
 got my clutches on his throat and thought of the insult 
 
 ^ The Freedman's Bureau was established in March, 1865. 
 62 
 
The Story of the Colonel 
 
 he had given me and saw a niggah's face behind my ole 
 desk, I grew desperate, and when I threw him onto the 
 floor his face was as black as the skin of the niggahs 
 around him." 
 
 "And then — " 
 
 " Nothin'. I wiped my hands on my kerchief, called 
 my dogs and left the fool niggahs and their cowardly 
 teachah. I had done my duty. I had given the Yankee 
 and the niggahs a lesson, and I don't hev no squeams 
 now over the episode. If he had been a bohn gentleman 
 I would hev shot him in his tracks ; but as it wah, I 
 choked him as I would a varmint. Nothin' but a coward 
 is ever choked to death. Perish me, if any damn, long- 
 haired Yankee shall insult Colonel Luridson." 
 
 " What was the man's name ? " 
 
 " Jones, suh, Jones. Same name as youhself. Pah- 
 son, a very common name," he said with a sneer, "and 
 a very ordinary man, suh." 
 
 Mr. Jones stood for a moment as if unconcerned : no 
 change of facial expression, no movement bespeaking 
 unusual interest in the subject so abruptly ended. Then 
 he spoke in a soft, low tone, so sweet and mild that it 
 is strange his voice could be heard through the roaring 
 of the storm that now suddenly flared up — as if the 
 closing of the story had been the signal for its tumultu- 
 ous onslaught. 
 
 " See," he said, " the clock points to twelve. The 
 New Year is upon us ; " and as we turned our gaze 
 upon the face of the clock, one by one the husky gong 
 struck, each note of the asthmatic cry quivering hoarsely 
 until the next peal came. At the last stroke the parson 
 dropped upon his knees. " Let us pray," he murmured. 
 The building trembled in the tempest, the hanging sign 
 squeaked and cried as it flapped back and forth, the wind 
 
 63 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 moaned and sung through the stove pipe, the shutters 
 banged to and fro, but all were unheard by those who 
 unexpectedly were called to listen to the sweet, solemn 
 prayer of the man of God. 
 
 He prayed for his suffering country, now in the throes 
 of civil war; for the people of the colonel in Virginia; 
 and his brave countrymen in the Southern army ; he 
 asked blessings on the community in which he, a man 
 of the North, then chanced to dwell ; also on his own 
 people at home, and prayed for his own brethren in the 
 trenches. Before closing he asked God to forgive the 
 last speaker, who, a self-confessed murderer, stood unre- 
 pentant ; and finally he murmured a prayer for the soul 
 of the unsuspecting boy-teacher who, in cold blood, had 
 lost his life by the hand of the murderous colonel. 
 
 Then, without rising, Mr. Jones took his note-book 
 and pencil from his pocket, and, resting his hand on the 
 soft cushion of his vacant chair, carefully wrote a few 
 sentences in it. Rising, he tore out the leaf and handed 
 it to the village clerk, who was also secretary of the 
 church. " Read," he said solemnly, " read aloud, and 
 then present it to the trustees." 
 
 " To the Officers of the Strirtgtown Methodist Episcopal Church. 
 
 " This, my resignation, is to take effect at once. No longer 
 a teacher of the Word, no longer a mediator for others, I must 
 ask others to pray for me, a sinning suppliant. 
 
 •* Osmond Jones." 
 
 Then, standing erect, he faced Colonel Luridson, who, 
 undaunted, returned his look with a defiant scowl. 
 
 " Pahson," said Luridson, "Pahson Jones, were it 
 not fer youah cloth I would make you eat the insult you 
 hev jest given me — me, a Virginia gentleman. At 
 youah request, I told this story to please this com- 
 
 64 
 
The Story of the Colonel 
 
 pany. You hev called me a murderah, suh — me, a 
 gentleman of honah, suh. I will not stand the insult, 
 pahson or no pahson — prayer or no prayer. You took 
 advantage of youah cloth, and you shall eat youah 
 words, or by the bones of my grandfather you will sing 
 youah next song and breathe youah next insulting pray- 
 er in — " 
 
 " Check your wrath," interrupted the parson, without 
 the least excitement. " Listen to me. You have told 
 your story ; now I shall tell mine. If you are a brave 
 man you will not flinch. I have heard your words, and 
 you are bound to listen to what I am bound to relate, 
 and which, notwithstanding the task you have imposed 
 upon me, I shall tell as deliberately as you have spoken." 
 
 65 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE STORY OF THE PARSON. 
 
 " TNSCRUTABLE Providence has led us together, 
 ■*- Colonel, me from the North and you from the 
 South. That we are both of one honourable people is 
 evidenced from the fact that from Bennington and from 
 Saratoga, to the moss-clad Southern glades where Marion 
 camped, our ancestors fought for a common cause, free- 
 dom for the white man. Shoulder to shoulder your 
 ancestors and mine faced the same enemy, each patriot 
 ready and willing to die for the land he loved, a land dear 
 alike to North and South. Nobler men never lived than 
 our forefathers, Colonel ; for while yours, on the verge 
 of starvation, were fighting in Virginia, mine, half frozen 
 and with empty stomachs, were battling in New Eng- 
 land. Thank God for the patriots North and South, 
 who gave us a country of which both have great reason 
 to be proud. 
 
 " You have given your version of an affair in which 
 you participated, you, a descendant of a Revolutionary 
 hero who served and died with Washington. You se- 
 lected what you consider the proper method of righting 
 a fancied wrong, the manly way to maintain the ' hon- 
 our' of your distinguished grandfather and yourself. 
 Now, I will give the history of the man you killed, 
 who, like yourself, was a descendant of a soldier who 
 faced the British enemy, and fell near where now stands 
 
 66 
 
The Story of the Parson 
 
 the monument of Bunker Hill. Notwithstanding your 
 different methods of life, neither you who live nor he ^ 
 whom you killed can be considered the descendants of 
 cowards." 
 
 Either the speaker's voice had insensibly fallen, or 
 the storm without had increased in violence to such a 
 degree as to overcome its low murmur. The words 
 were scarcely audible, and as the last sentence was 
 spoken a pause ensued in which one heard only the 
 shrieking of the frantic wind. 
 
 " There are good reasons, Colonel Luridson, why 
 men cannot see life's duties exactly alike ; and while 1 
 freely overlook your extravagant ideas of personal hon- 
 our, it is a pity you cannot have equal charity for the 
 views of my people. You were reared in the South, I 
 in the North. Your land is balmy and pleasant most of 
 the year, mine cold and cheerless. Your soil is easily 
 cultivated and productive of great returns, our land is 
 hilly and covered with granite boulders, around the bases 
 of which men search with the hoe to find a nest here 
 and there for a few grains of hard, yellow, scrub-flint 
 corn. Your winters are so mild that stock scarcely 
 seek for shelter, and your herds graze in open air the 
 year through ; our winters are so long that when spring 
 comes the entire crop of the summer has been consumed 
 in feeding a very limited number of animals. You be- 
 came the heir of plenty by the result of that battle for 
 freedom, in which both our ancestors served so valiantly, 
 while it brought to us only a barren heritage. While you 
 have been free to roam at will, watching for fancied in- 
 sults and cultivating belligerent passions, I have been 
 compelled to work unremittingly, and thus our distinc- 
 tive environments have created our different views of 
 life. Each of us should in consequence have forbear- 
 
 67 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 ance for the other. I had to gain a livelihood, and was 
 forced to spend the results of my little savings to secure 
 the education necessary for the ministry, while you were 
 provided for by the property you inherited, and were not 
 obliged to labour." 
 
 The parson was interrupted by the grocer, who, ever 
 mindful of his guests, stepped forth and heaped the fire 
 with coal ; the long-legged clerk, who had never before 
 been known to move the relic of a chair on which he 
 sat, actually broke the record and hitched it toward the 
 stove. Mose, the Jew — patient, pleasant Mose incap- 
 able of sarcasm or hatefulness, even when his people had 
 been abused by idle-mouthed Gentiles, and whose face 
 had never before lost its smile, now drew his nail-keg 
 seat a foot forward, even edging himself into the circle 
 of Gentiles. 
 
 " Is n't this a fearful night to be on picket duty ? 
 God help our exposed brethren of the North and South," 
 said Professor Drake. There was no reply, and the 
 eyes of the spectators turned again to the actors before 
 them. The colonel, now pressing the preacher to the 
 climax, as the preacher had previously done to him, said : 
 
 " Let 's have the story, Pahson, not an oration about 
 our common pedigree. I don't catch the connection." 
 
 " The story you soon shall have, sir ; I wished to 
 show that you and I may each revere the memory of the 
 other's ancestors. I wished also to remove the stigma 
 you have tried to cast over the man you killed, and to 
 say. Colonel, that your honoured ancestor fought for his 
 country, as thousands of noble Southern soldiers are now 
 doing, and as Colonel Luridson is not doing. Your 
 ancestors of Revolutionary fame did not choke stripling 
 lads with pens in their hands in behalf of falsely imputed 
 insults, sir." 
 
 68 
 
The Story of the Parson 
 
 Involuntarily the colonel's hand sought his back 
 pocket, but as he made the movement two members 
 of the Circle sprang to their feet. The parson waved 
 them back. 
 
 " Shame, shame. Colonel ! " he said calmly, " I have n't 
 even a pen ; besides, I have not told my story ; you are 
 bound in honour to listen patiently to my story." 
 
 " Then be quick about it," said Luridson savagely, 
 and be careful of youah words, or I won't promise fer 
 my temper. Jest now you came near going to the other 
 Jones, and ancestors or no ancestors, cloth or no cloth, 
 I warn you not to rile me ag'in." 
 
 " I was born and reared in New England," continued 
 the clergyman without noticing the insult, "where men, 
 women, and children must work for their living, and I 
 assure you they consider it honourable to do so. I was 
 the elder of two boys, and much older than two sisters. 
 Our little home nestled at the base of a mountain spur, 
 within a short journey of the ill-fated historical Willey 
 House, and there, hidden in a nook that even tourists 
 seldom find, the days of our peaceful child life came and 
 went. Before our cottage stretched a small meadow, 
 through which wound a clear brook fresh from the birch- 
 covered mountain in its rear. One corner of this 
 meadow was a garden, and included also a small rye 
 field, which gave us our dark rye bread. We had not 
 much beyond the necessities of life, but we were happy. 
 We roamed the mountain side Saturday afternoons,' 
 caught fish in the brook and helped our father till his 
 little fields. In winter evenings we cracked nuts, ate 
 apples and listened to our aged grandmother's stories of 
 wolves, Indians and of the revolutionary wars ; during 
 winter we attended a neighbourhood school. You never 
 beheld such scenes as we sometimes witnessed there ; 
 
 69 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 you have never ploughed your way to school through 
 waist-deep snow nor slept in the garret under the clap- 
 boards and waked to find the snow sifted in furrows 
 across the coverlet. 
 
 " Such environments teach us to love one another more 
 dearly, bring us closer together, strengthen family and 
 neighbourly ties, make our joys a pleasure to others, and 
 move others to mourn with us in sorrow, bind human 
 lives into one, give to us faith, hope, and charity. 
 
 " You spoke of the fine sense of honour that exists 
 among your people, but, my brother, could you have 
 been schooled, as I have been, to think of the sorrowing 
 friends, the mourning wife, children, or sweetheart, and 
 the agony with which love looks into an open grave, 
 your ' tender ' heart, which bleeds at the recollection of a 
 dying baby snake, would not forget its tenderness and 
 gloat over cold-blooded murder in behalf of wounded 
 ' honour.' " 
 
 As in harmony with these pathetic words, as if to im- 
 press their force upon that little circle, at this point the 
 building trembled more violently than ever, the storm's 
 fury seeming even to bend it out of its upright position, 
 and, springing from its seat on the topmost shelf, a glass 
 fruit jar shivered into fragments on the floor directly 
 between the two upright men. 
 
 But the cry of wind and crash of glass were unheeded 
 by the spell-wrapped actors who stood facing each 
 other, and the audience began now to realise that these 
 two men were personally concerned in both the story 
 the Virginian had told and that which the parson was 
 relating. The colonel was stoically gazing into vacancy. 
 " Thus," continued the parson, " my boyhood days were 
 spent until my brother grew to manhood, and my dear 
 sisters were in the early bloom of maidenhood ; my 
 
 70 
 
The Story of the Parson 
 
 aged grandmother, with her stories of the long-ago, had 
 gone to eternal rest, and my patient, loving mother, like 
 a guardian angel, moved quietly about the house, 
 thoughtful of all but herself, typical of thousands of New 
 England mothers who forget themselves in their plodding 
 life-work. I 'm thinking now of a typical New England 
 winter, during which there was never a thaw after the 
 opening snow flew ; every day after November first the 
 frost crept deeper, every night the cold grew stronger, and 
 when the days began to lengthen we had already experi- 
 enced winter enough for the whole season. It had been 
 decided long previously that I should go to an academy to 
 study for the ministry, and each member of our family 
 had scrimped and saved for years, in order to gather 
 together the necessary means. My devoted sisters had 
 even spent several summers as dining-room waiters in a 
 neighbouring mountain hotel, adding by this sacrifice 
 their earnings to the family hoard. But God moves in 
 mysteries; the week after New Year's Day my father 
 was kicked by our horse and instantly killed. We were 
 drawn to the churchyard by the same horse ; and as we 
 bowed our heads about the open grave. Colonel, the 
 snow which had been shovelled aside stood on a level as 
 high above the earth's surface as the pit before us sunk 
 beneath it. Next day the winds swept back the snow 
 drift, and a cloak of pure, unruffled whiteness told that 
 God conducted the close as well as the opening of that 
 drama. God was with me then, but God only knows, 
 my brethren, whether the hand of Providence is with 
 me now. 
 
 " We returned to our desolate home and spent as 
 best we could the remainder of the sad winter ; but with 
 returning spring and the cares of the sugar bush our 
 sorrow abated, for the duties of life cannot be thrown 
 
 71 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 aside even at the behest of grief; and he who best 
 serves his Creator looks not backward, as you yourself 
 have said, Colonel. Realising that I had no chance now 
 for my contemplated education, my ambition was thrown 
 aside, and the usual life cares were resumed. How 
 long this ran I cannot say, but long enough to give me 
 many heartaches over withered prospects. Still, the 
 unexpected often happens. Friends, you cannot imagine 
 the joy that followed the reception of a precious letter. 
 Our Congressman, unbeknown to us, had interested 
 himself in our behalf with the Freedman's Bureau ; my 
 brother received by mail a great envelope marked 
 ' Official,' and in it came an appointment as — school- 
 teacher — in — Virginia." 
 
 The Colonel, whose gaze had been riveted upon the 
 ceiling, shot a quick glance at the speaker; evidently 
 he had anticipated the closing information, and after the 
 sudden start he stoically resumed his former position. 
 Mr. Wagner stopped whittling ; Professor Drake, un- 
 comfortable, busied himself in straightening the edges 
 of a pile of books ; Judge Elford grimly chewed his 
 quid. The pastor stood motionless a moment, appar- 
 ently lost in thought, then he slowly took his note-book 
 and some papers from an inner pocket and handed them 
 to Mr. Wagner, saying : " Please mail these to-morrow 
 to the address inscribed on the fly-leaf of the book." 
 
 At these words Luridson turned half way toward the 
 wall, and drew his half-closed hand from his hip pocket ; 
 an object could be seen in its palm which glistened like 
 a bright bar of iron ; a click followed, the hand returned 
 the gleaming object to its former place, and the colonel 
 stood immovable before the pastor. 
 
 There was a lull in the wind without at this juncture, 
 and taking one step towards the colonel, the pastor 
 
 72 
 
The Story of the Parson 
 
 continued, in a soft, tremulous tone : " Need you be 
 told what followed ? A telegram, a sobbing mother, 
 distracted sisters, brother on bended knees, alone, in an 
 attic room, registering with God an oath to revenge the 
 infamous crime and not to relent until the murderer 
 had been brought to judgment. Since that day Heaven 
 has kept me from encountering the slayer of my brother. 
 The fellow fled. Colonel, and you know, brave as you 
 pretend to be, that he who stands before me now is a 
 fugitive from justice and fears to go back to his Virginia 
 home ; neither does he dare to let his honourable Vir- 
 ginia countrymen know his hiding-place. You have 
 discredited your ancestors, you are shaming the brave 
 Southern soldier, and have no claim on the glorious 
 mother of States, Virginia." 
 
 The Colonel made a quick motion, as if to strike the 
 speaker, but Mr. Jones calmly held out his open hand, 
 and in response to the silent command Luridson re- 
 sumed his former position. 
 
 " Long," continued the pastor, " I struggled to over- 
 come my wrath, vainly struggled to forgive, and at last 
 I vowed that while our Master kept us apart no inten- 
 tional act of mine should bring us into conflict ; but if 
 God Almighty led us to each other I would consider 
 that it was by His will, and for a single purpose, and — 
 the hour has now come." 
 
 The hand of the colonel sped toward his hip pocket, 
 but not so quickly as the pastor's arm sprang out, for as 
 springs the tongue of a lizard, too rapid for eye to fol- 
 low, so sprang the pastor's arms ; and as a quivering 
 sparrow gives one glance of despair, and one only, 
 when falls the unexpected shadow of the hawk upon him, 
 so gave the colonel one upward turn of the eye ; and 
 as the talons of the fierce bird of prey, crunching through 
 
 73 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 bone and flesh, creep into the vitals of the death-struck 
 bird, so crept those finger-ends into the tissues of the 
 colonel's throat, closing the throbbing arteries beneath, 
 damming up life's crimson's current until, under the 
 pressure of the fluttering heart, blood flowed from mouth, 
 nose, and ear, and the very eyeballs turned purple. 
 
 The teacher sprang forward, so did the judge, but loo 
 late ; the crime had been committed in the space of a 
 a breath ; taken by surprise, they could give the unfor- 
 tunate man no help ; the pent-up hatred of years had 
 been concentrated in that fearful grasp. That wild 
 throwing of the arms, gurgle indescribably horrible, at- 
 tempted swelling of the breast, instant blackening of 
 the face, frightful upturning of the eyeballs, followed by 
 the rush of blood from the mouth and nostrils, were 
 sights that haunt me yet. 
 
 As falls an unclasped garment in a heap, so sank the 
 Colonel, dead upon the floor. 
 
 Folding his hands upon his breast, the pastor ad- 
 dressed Judge Elford : " A murderer has gone to judg- 
 ment, a murderer is born for judgment : I give myself 
 up to the law." 
 
 Paralysed, stunned with horror by what they had 
 witnessed, the members of the circle stood like frozen 
 figures, motionless and dumb around the erect parson 
 and the fallen braggart. How long I know not, only I 
 am sure that from my place in the rear, where I had 
 crept close to old Mose, I saw the amazed group stand 
 aghast, staring first upon the slayer and then upon his 
 victim. 
 
 Next I beheld, as in a dream, that the village doctor 
 raised the head of the vanquished man, tore open the 
 garments covering his chest, loosened his collar, placed 
 a hand upon his breast and kneeled expectantly for a 
 
 74 
 
The Story of the Parson 
 
 brief period, then with a shake of the head slowly arose 
 and pronounced the word, " Dead." " Strange," he 
 said, " that a single squeeze like this should be followed 
 by death. I have seen men choked until the tongue 
 hung out of their mouth, and yet they revived. There 
 is no evidence of life in Luridson, however : the shock 
 must have burst a blood-vessel in his brain." 
 
 The witnesses of the drama now regained their self- 
 control, the palsy passed, their minds were liberated from 
 the stupefying spell, and simultaneously several men 
 stepped forward. In silence the dead colonel was straight- 
 ened out upon the floor and covered with a strip of 
 muslin torn from a bolt. A messenger with lantern in 
 hand was dispatched for the village undertaker, and old 
 Mose volunteered to perform the errand. During this 
 period the pastor stood silent, with downcast eyes ; the 
 judge sat apparently apathetic, and, obeying a common 
 instinct, the members of the circle automatically resumed 
 their usual places, waiting for the end of the strange 
 New Year celebration. I, however, against my will, 
 now that the old Jew, Mose, was gone from my side, 
 found myself crouching, shivering next the stove, near 
 Osmond Jones, the preacher, who alone was standing. 
 Seeing me, he reached down and placed his hand gentlv 
 on my head. 
 
 " Child," he said, " would to God you had stayed with 
 your mother to-night." 
 
 75 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 THE FEARFUL STORM OF NEW YEAR's EVE, 1 863 
 
 THE calm which had subdued, for the time, the 
 usually active and sometimes boisterous proceedings 
 of the villagers was in impressive contrast with the wild up- 
 roar of the winter tempest. The storm raged, if possible, 
 with increasing violence in the utter darkness around the 
 building in which lay Colonel Luridson's stark corpse, 
 surrounded by many who watched, but no one who 
 deeply mourned. The judge at last rose, and was about 
 to speak, for the very silence had become oppressive, 
 when the door of the room was flung open, and old 
 Cupe, the faithful slave of the " Corn Bug," with the in- 
 coming blast burst into the midst of the company. Daz- 
 zled by the brightness, he stared about the room, and it 
 could be seen that he was benumbed and suffering with 
 cold. His garments were covered with ice, his beard was 
 hidden in frost. Catching sight of the physician, neglect- 
 ing the bright stove that must have seemed so grateful, 
 he impulsively exclaimed : 
 
 " Quick, Doctah, quick, Ma'se am dyin' ; he wan's 
 yo' too, Pahson ; quick, Pahson ! " 
 
 The doctor went to the door, stepped outside, returned, 
 and closed the strong valve against the blast. 
 
 '' Not this night, Cupe. A man would freeze before 
 he could find the cabin." 
 
 " Yo' mus' go, Ma'se Dock, yo' mus' go, fo' nebbah 
 will Ma'se lib till mahn'n'." 
 
 *' I will not go this night," said the doctor emphati- 
 76 
 
New Year's Eve, 1863 
 
 cally. " It is better for one to die than that two should 
 perish." 
 
 After a period of silence the negro's self-possession was 
 restored, and he became again the garrulous Cupe, prone 
 to argue regardless of the importance of the message to 
 be delivered. 
 
 " Et doan make no difF'ence nohow," he muttered, 
 " dah ain't no use in a doctah when deff comes a-walkin' 
 in. Niggah signs am suah, but doctah stuff am unsahtin. 
 De sign am not t' be disembayed. What fo' did Cupe 
 walk absent-minde' like inte' de house t'-day carryin' an 
 axe on his shouldah ? ^ Didn't Cupe knowdatsech a 
 sign mean' suah deff t' some pusson, an' fo' de Lawd, de 
 debbil make him do dat awful ting. An' when Cupe 
 t'ink ob de awfulness ob de transaction an' step back t' 
 lebe de room, dah settin, in de op'n doo'way wah dat 
 dawg Dgawge; an' he jest look up in Cupe's eyes es 
 sah'ful-like es ebah a dawg could look, es ef he say t' 
 his old frien', *■ Cupe, yo' hab gone an' done it, suah.' 
 An' then when Cupe cotch de awfulness ob de 'stake 
 an' look down at Dgawge quistionin'-like, de dawg raise 
 his head an' open his mouf an' howl long an' skeary- 
 like, lookin' all de time in Cupe's face es moanful es de 
 young missus in de big house on her dyin' bed look, in 
 de long-ago. God save Ma'se, dah am no 'scapin' de 
 aftahcomes ob sech signs es dese. De sign in de ashes 
 de night dat de boy come out er Bloody Hollah done 
 pinted t' Ma'se dead dis New Yeah night. De axe 
 sign t'-day done say he gwine t' die, an' den de dawg 
 what set in de doo'way an' howl am de sartin sign ob 
 deff, case he see deff com'n' ! But de su'est sign ob all " 
 
 1 To carry an implement of outdoor work into the house was a 
 sign of death. To such an extent was this believed that the artist 
 who sketched the portrait of old Cupe could not prevail on him to 
 enter the house with the hoe on which he is leaning. 
 
 77 
 
Strlngtown on the Pike 
 
 (and Cupe's voice became yet lower and more measured), 
 " de su'est sign ob all am dat de cedah tree limbs what 
 Ma'se planted am es long es a coffin now — Cupe 
 measure dem ag'in t'-day. Yo' kin stay heah, Doctah, 
 dah ain't no use in yoah stuff nohow ef deff am in de 
 room. De signs what nebbah fail am pintin' t' sahtin' 
 deff, dah ain't no good in doctah's stuff now," 
 
 Having thus disposed of the doctor, the messenger 
 turned to Mr. Jones. 
 
 " Ma'se wants de preachah. He hab not ax fo' de 
 doctah ; he say : ' Cupe, go fo' de pahson, I mus' see de 
 pahson.' An' den Cupe say, sed he : * Ma'se, did yo' 
 make frien' wid de pahson like ole Cupe say t' do ? ' 
 
 *•' * Shet up yoah black mouf an' go fo' de pahson, an' 
 doan wait too long, fo' I feel pow'ful weak-like,' say 
 Ma'se, an' he give Cupe sech a look as t' say dah ain't 
 no time t' lose. 
 
 " An' de face ob de dead missus rise up, an' Cupe 
 heah de words ob de promise he made dat sah'ful night t' 
 de honey chile what am an angel now. Den he say t' 
 Ma'se : Ma'se, I swear t' yoah deah muddah dat nebbah 
 de weddah should be too hot an nebbah too cole fo' 
 Cupe ter sahve de chile Heaben sent t' her, but dis am 
 de las' time ole Cupe kin sahve yo', Ma'se,' and den 
 Cupe lite out an' heah he am. Ma'se Preachah, yo' 
 will go, suah yo' will ; de sign mix yo' an' Ma'se Honey 
 up wondahful-like." 
 
 The preacher hesitated, but not from fear of the 
 storm. He looked at the sheet that covered the lank 
 form of the colonel, then replied, speaking more to the 
 audience than to the negro : 
 
 "I am not a minister — but — a murderer." 
 
 The negro gazed at him in wonder, then following 
 the parson's glance, he stepped to the sheet and raised it 
 
 78 
 
New Year's Eve, 1863 
 
 cautiously, far enough only to give a view of the face of 
 the colonel, and started back w^ith staring eyes. 
 
 " Fo' de Lawd, Ma'se Preachah an' did yo' slew^ de 
 colonel ? " 
 
 « I did." 
 
 The negro's self-composure returned immediately. 
 
 " Who 'd ob b'lebed it, Ma'se ! An' yo' so u^eak- 
 like. Yo' am a bettah man dan yo' looks t' be, Ma'se 
 Preachah, an' ole Cupe knows yo' sahved him right. 
 Go t' Ma'se Hardman, nebbah mind the colonel." 
 
 The preacher made no reply. 
 
 " Doan David slew Gliah," Cupe continued : " doan 
 de Lawd slew de wicked Belshazzah, doan de people slew 
 Stephen in de name of de Lawd an' doan yo' slew de 
 wicked colonel case de Lawd want him killed ? " 
 
 The parson looked inquiringly at the judge. 
 
 " Parson," responded the judge, " your resignation 
 has never been accepted by the church. You are yet 
 legally a minister. The church must accept the resig- 
 nation you wrote in order to consummate the act." 
 
 " But the murder ? " 
 
 " That point remains to be established. If this case 
 comes to trial, the evidence may show that you acted in 
 self-defence. If I am not mistaken the colonel cocked 
 his pistol while you were still talking and standing de- 
 fenceless with both hands exposed. He half drew his 
 pistol before you grasped his throat. If I am correct, 
 he now holds a loaded pistol in his hand. Let us see." 
 And raising the sheet, the judge carefully drew the col- 
 onel's right hand from its resting place, where it had 
 fallen partly covered by the coat, and with it came a 
 tightly clasped pistol. 
 
 " I saw him draw the pistol," said I ; "it caught in 
 his overcoat's lining and got tangled up." 
 
 79 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 The judge regarded me curiously. " Do not forget 
 what you saw, child." Then, turning again to the 
 minister : 
 
 " Another second," he said, " and you would have 
 been a dead man, Parson ; self-preservation is the first 
 impulse ; you were unarmed and had made no aggressive 
 motion. You did your duty, Mr. Jones, and did it 
 bravely ; the case is self-defence ; and, whatever may be 
 true of New England, you need fear neither judge nor 
 jury in Kentucky." 
 
 Still the parson hesitated. 
 
 " Go ! " said the judge in a tone of authority, point- 
 ing to the door ; " humanity calls." 
 
 Drawing his overcoat tightly around him, without 
 speaking a word, the parson moved to the door, opened 
 it, and passed out. 
 
 "De end am not yet," said old Cupe, speaking to 
 himself; " de sign pinted t' two men dead dis night, but 
 de colonel wah not one ob dem. Heah am one what 
 de sign miss. Am de sign wrong ? Fool," he mur- 
 mured, " fool nigger, not t' know dat two defFs could n't 
 come alone in de face ob sech signs. Ef et am moah 
 dan one, et am not two, et am free er seven er nine." 
 
 " Do you remember what the ' Corn Bug ' said to 
 Mr. Jones the last time they faced each other in this 
 room ? " asked the teacher, heedless of Cupe's mutterings. 
 
 " Yes," said the judge. 
 
 " I have it written," interrupted the grocer's boy ; 
 turning to his stenographic book, he read : " ' You 
 have n't the spunk of a sick rabbit and you have n't the 
 energy of a sleeping possum ; you would n't cross the 
 street in a shower to save the soul of a saint, and 
 you would n't dare crook your finger in the face of 
 a turtle-dove for fear it would get pecked.' " 
 
 80 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 INTO THE STORM PASSED THE MINISTER 
 
 WHEN the door of the grocery closed behhid him 
 the pastor paused, turned, grasped the door- 
 knob, and stood with his back to the storm. Insensible 
 now to external things, he did not feel the raging cold 
 outside the room he had left, and gave no further thought 
 to the glowing warmth within. He dropped upon his 
 knees and raised his hands in supplication ; then, rising, 
 he drew his hat firmly down and strode out of the feeble 
 light which struggled through the window. 
 
 He did not think of the course he should take — there 
 was no path that night. He did not reason his way — 
 no power of reason remained. His mind was wrapped 
 in despondency, his spirit was lost in anguish so deep 
 that this hurricane, the maddest storm American history 
 records, was unnoticed and unfelt. There is no other 
 explanation of the part he took that night. To have 
 attempted thought concerning surrounding things would 
 have been fatal to his errand ; to have reasoned would 
 have lost him the way. Under such conditions and in 
 such blackness to look for roadways, to seek familiar 
 objects, to attempt to guide one's self by the intellect, 
 would be to walk in circles, turn here and there, stagger 
 like a drunken man, stumble, fall, and perish. The 
 man did not care to see the way. Sensible neither to 
 6 8i 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 the cutting hail, the shrieking blast, nor the intense cold, 
 he ignored that king of storms. Leaving the Stringtown 
 pike, he struck into the fields and moved on. As if it 
 were a balmy autumn day, and the breeze simply fanning 
 the cheek and cooling the brow, as if life's pleasures 
 were before him and happy thoughts behind, he strode 
 onward. Presently he turned aside ; something he 
 neither saw nor felt blocked the way. A herd of swine 
 huddled together crushed one another, each seeking to 
 creep beneath the others, striving to press nearer to the 
 centre of the heap, vainly trying to escape the piercing 
 cold that all night long crept through and through from 
 beast to beast, until, when morning broke, not one re- 
 mained alive. Scarcely had he passed them by when 
 close beside him a mournful cry sounded ; but the wail 
 of anguish did not catch his ear nor did it sound again, 
 for it was the last cry of some hapless beast that, strug- 
 gling, had fallen helpless, and would not rise again. 
 Caring not for man nor beast, the pastor moved onward, 
 guided by he knew not what, toward a light he did not 
 see. Over hills, through the woods, across frozen 
 creeks, climbing fences, jumping gullies, seeking neither 
 path nor road, he sped. 
 
 At first the shooting hail stung the skin, leaving little 
 indented spots, but the sense of pain soon ceased beneath 
 the quieting touch of benumbing cold. At first, the 
 wind had waved the flowing hair that encircled his brow ; 
 but soon the beating hail and congealing frost had 
 matted it together and frozen it to his skin and coat. 
 At first, his arms and his fingers moved freely ; but they 
 rapidly grew insensible to pain or touch and finally hung 
 stiff and motionless. The man knew nothing of all 
 this, knew not that the creeping cold was nearing his 
 vitals ; little cared for life or death. 
 
 82 
 
Into the Storm passed the Minister 
 
 At last the pastor's eyes were greeted by a slender 
 ray streaming through a little window near the door of 
 a cabin. He tried to raise his hand and grasp the door- 
 knob, but could not. Both arms were numb. He 
 shouted, but the cry was lost in the roar of the blast ; he 
 listened, but no answer came, only the tumult of the 
 sweeping storm. Again and again he cried, and then in 
 desperation threw himself against the door, crushed it in, 
 and fell forward into the room. He tried to rise, but 
 his hand could give no response to his will ; his fingers 
 rattled against the floor ; his arms refused to bend. By 
 chance, he pressed his heels against a crevice in the 
 rough-hewn floor, then he raised his head, next his 
 shoulders, and finally, as a worm creeps up, his body 
 rose, and at last stood upright. 
 
 Edging along the wall, he reached the swinging door 
 that now slammed in and out obedient to the whim of 
 the varying blast, and pressing his weight against it suc- 
 ceeded in closing it, even to the snapping of the catch. 
 Just then the flickering flame in the great fireplace 
 flashed upward, lighting the room. 
 
 The cabin was built of unhewn beech logs. The 
 spaces between the logs were chinked with stones and 
 the interstices had been filled with mud. In the ceiling 
 was a square hole to which a ladder reached ; the floor 
 was puncheon. At one end of the oblong room a 
 chimney-place covered much of the area. A window 
 opposed the fireplace, and another was cut beside the 
 door. The hearth was made of a single, large flat fossil 
 stone from out the creek bed. On that stone stood an 
 iron oven, a few kitchen utensils, and in the huge throat 
 of the chimney hung a crane to hold the kettle or sus- 
 pend the roast. The furniture of the room comprised 
 a small table, a few chairs and a bed. On the wall 
 
 83 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 hung a brace of horns, a couple of guns, some arrows 
 and a powder flask and pouch that once had been in 
 service. All this the pastor saw as the fitful fireflash 
 glimmered ; for the quickened intellect of the man 
 whose life, resting on the edge of one world did not 
 reach yet a foothold in the other, comprehended quickly 
 all that rose before his gaze. To the dying pastor time 
 was precious, and a single flash carried to his brain 
 what, under other circumstances, might have remained 
 long unseen. 
 
 Then he fixed his gaze on the wan visage of the 
 " Corn Bug," who stared back again from the coverlets 
 of the bed ; — a face in which only two great eyes and 
 a stub nose were visible, for a mass of tangled beard 
 and matted, unkempt hair covered all but the staring 
 eyes and whiskey-dyed nose, while the body of the 
 wretched man sank back. 
 
 The man was not alone ; for Mr. Jones saw another 
 form in the shadows, half reclining, half sitting on the 
 opposite side of the bed — the form of a child, a 
 young girl with dishevelled, flowing hair. She seemed 
 to have been startled from sleep by the intruder, but she 
 made no movement and asked no question. And still 
 beyond these two, on the hearth, in the edge of the 
 chimney, so indistinct that it was a question whether it 
 were a shadow or a substance, he caught sight of a 
 sombre tracing that resembled a human being, and yet 
 seemed not altogether human — a dusky mask that 
 seemed thrown before and yet might have been a part 
 of a form behind. 
 
 The flickering fire started up and sank again, the 
 shadows played in dissolving waves about the room. 
 The wind without, in unison with the dancing shadows 
 within, rose and fell, singing strange songs, which 
 
 84 
 
Into the Storm passed the Minister 
 
 verberated through the many half-chinked crevices of 
 the logs. 
 
 Never had the New England Parson heard the play 
 of the wind at midnight in a house of logs, nor had he 
 ever gazed at such a scene as this. In that Kentucky 
 land, man nor child had ever taken part in such a drama, 
 nor, after that New Year's Eve, 1864, has any man 
 heard such fiercely wild wind music. The two men 
 gazed long at each other, but both held their voices. 
 
 The child broke the spell, and it is well that she did 
 so, for the men seemed unable to utter a word. Each 
 seemed to have transfixed the other ; neither had the 
 power to move. It was a nightmare spell, and as in a 
 nightmare the life may flee before the body can be 
 induced to move, so, had no living being spoken, the 
 spell that held these men might have ended as nightmare 
 sometimes ends. 
 
 Impulsively the little girl threw her arms about the form 
 of the bedridden man, and then she laid her fair, chubby 
 cheek against his rough beard, keeping her eyes riveted 
 on the face of the silent parson. She stroked the 
 matted hair of the uncouth man, and, searching with 
 her face beneath the shaggy moustache, sought to kiss 
 his lips. Even the suffering parson could but contrast 
 the holiness of dawning childhood and the horrible re- 
 pulsiveness of self-wasted manhood. 
 
 The child spoke pleadingly, as she toyed with the 
 uncouth visage : " Uncle, uncle, speak to me. Uncle 
 Hardman ; " but the dying sinner, released from silence 
 by that voice, spoke, not to her, but to the man. 
 
 " Come here, Pahson, come here. I ordered Cupe 
 ter find yo', an' the brack rascal did his duty ; he 
 said he would send yo' ter me, an' he did. Wall, Pah- 
 son, bygones es bygones. I riled yo' once, Pahson, 
 
 85 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 but I did n't mean half I said, yo' see, Pahson — come 
 closer — we who air bad hev a kind o' hatred fo' yoah 
 kind, jest 'case yo' air good an' we air bad ; there ain't 
 no other reason. An' when the corn-juice gets hold ov 
 us we say cussed things we always half feel toward the 
 like ov yo', but don't always speak. Wall, Mr. Jones, 
 I asks fergiveness now, and aftah yo' does what I wants 
 yo' ter, then yo' must kneel down, an' pray fo' — come 
 closer, Jones. I ain't strong now an' I can't speak loud. 
 I swore at yo' once, Pahson, an' said yo' dare n't wet 
 yoah shoe soles in ice water ; yo' hev beaten the words 
 back." 
 
 Mr. Jones moved slowly, painfully across the floor. 
 The girl in fear clung closer to the sick man ; the par- 
 son saw by the nearer view that the child was very beau- 
 tiful, and also by that nearer view perceived that the man 
 became more hideous. 
 
 " Pahson," continued the sick man, " in a trunk in 
 the loft above es money, gol' an' silver — a fortune. I 
 hev seen some ov et, Mr. Jones, gol' es there. Cupe 
 says my grandad captured et from a British paymaster 
 an' hid et in the chist ; but et don't make no dift'ence 
 wha' et came from ; et ain't safe ter ask quistions ov any 
 dollah. All I own, land an' money, all but two thou- 
 san' dollars, the girl must hev ; write et down quick, 
 Pahson, write et down." 
 
 " Where is the paper, pen or pencil ? " Mr. Jones 
 asked. 
 
 " I hev been raised with the niggers an' by the 
 niggers, too. Nevah had no use fo' papah an' pencil." 
 
 " Then I cannot do what you wish," said the parson. 
 
 " But yo' must do et ; did n't the jedge say the night 
 I burned the deed that I must make a writin' will ? 
 Ain't this child ter be taken care ov an' the boy ter be 
 
 86 
 
Into the Storm passed the Minister 
 
 given money ter edycate him ? Yo' must write et down, 
 Pahson," he pleaded ; " the end ov the nigger spell es 
 here, the nigger spell thet linked yo' an' me tergethah, 
 Mr. Jones, an' yo' must write. I can't talk no longer, 
 fo' I am very tired." 
 
 " I left my note-book and pencil behind me ; I 
 cannot." 
 
 " Can't you write on a slate, mister ? " asked the girl ; 
 " I can." 
 
 " She can't write ; she knows her letters, but calls 
 makin' pictures writin'," interrupted the " Corn Bug." 
 
 " I can write, and I 've got a slate full of writin'," 
 protested the child. 
 
 " Where is the slate ? " asked the parson ; " give it to 
 me quickly." 
 
 The child ran to a corner of the room and returned 
 with a slate to which a pencil was attached by a string. 
 " There, mister, see the writin'," and she pointed to 
 the child drawings with which one side of it was covered. 
 
 But the parson could not use the pencil ; his fingers 
 refused to obey his will ; he was helpless. 
 
 " Write," said the " Corn Bug," " write, Pahson, er 
 I will die without makin' my cross. See, mahn'n es 
 comin', et es daylight now, an' Cupe's nigger sign said 
 thet with this mahn'n's light I would die. Quick, 
 Pahson, I want ter make my cross." 
 
 By an effort Mr. Jones pressed the slate between his 
 wrists. " Make your letters, child, as I tell you to do." 
 And obedient to his command, she slowly spelled, letter 
 by letter, word by word, the shortest will on record in 
 Stringtown County, to which as witness the pastor 
 managed to sign his name. " Now for your cross- 
 mark." 
 
 The dying man seized the pencil, and as he did so 
 S7 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 the old crone arose, and advancing from out the chim- 
 ney jamb (for she was the shadow), stood over him and 
 said, partly as an apology, partly to herself, " I'se 
 a nigger, but ef signin' ob papahs am t' be done, I 
 wants t' see de makin' ob de cross. Cupe, he say, 
 ' Dinah, doan yo' nebbah let no signin' ob papahs be 
 done by Ma'se lessen yo' sees de makin' ob de cross.' " 
 
 With the negro crone on one side and the child on 
 the other, the " Corn Bug " made the cross ; and then 
 his partly relieved mind reverted to the future. 
 
 " Would yo' pray fo' the likes ov me, Pahson ? " 
 
 But the parson, too weak to rise, near to eternity as 
 was the " Corn Bug," shook his head, and murmured, 
 " I cannot, I dare not." 
 
 " Can't you pray, Mr. Preacher ? " asked the girl ; 
 " why, I can say the prayer my mother left me." 
 
 " Pray for both of us, child," murmured the parson 
 with a last effort. Kneeling upon the puncheon floor, 
 with her little hands clasped and her child-like face 
 turned upward, the girl interceding for the dying profli- 
 gate and the wretched murderer lisped the simple prayer: 
 
 Now we lay us down to sleep, 
 
 We pray thee, Lord, our souls to keep ; 
 
 If we should die before we wake, 
 
 We pray thee, Lord, our souls to take. 
 
 But neither of the men heard the end of the touching 
 invocation •, before the words were hushed the spirits of 
 both had broken their bonds and followed the message to 
 the bar of justice. 
 
 The morning light suffused the room, the break of 
 the bitter cold Friday morning, January ist, 1864. The 
 rising sun's rays paled the fire-flash ; the shadows van- 
 
 88 
 
Into the Storm passed the Minister 
 
 ished ; the wild winds subsided, and excepting the biting 
 cold without and the frozen creatures scattered over all 
 the land, no evidence remained to tell of the storm which 
 had come and gone. When the door of that lonely 
 cabin was opened by the searchers — for searchers 
 started from Stringtown with the break of day — they 
 found the negress hovering over the embers on the 
 hearth, folding in her embrace a sleeping girl. In the 
 rude room, on the bed one man lay, and beside the bed 
 another man kneeled, while between them, tightly clasped 
 in the stiff fingers of him who kneeled, a child's slate 
 rested. Over the upturned surface of this slate awk- 
 ward words were scrawled, and at the tip of the index 
 finger of the man on the bed, him who clutched the 
 pencil, they saw the sign of the cross. 
 
 I will to 
 
 Sammy 
 
 Drew, the 
 
 widow's son 
 
 , two th 
 
 ousand dol- 
 
 lars. All 
 
 else to 
 
 Susie, my 
 
 adopted child. 
 
 
 
 Joseph 
 
 Hardman. 
 
 
 His X 
 
 Witness 
 
 Osmond Jones. 
 
 89 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 " LOOK OUT FO' DE RED-HEAD BOY " 
 
 THE spring of 1864 came and passed, the summer's 
 sun mounted into the heavens and shone bright 
 and hot. Nature and man seemed intent on covering 
 and removing as quickly as possible all traces of the 
 disastrous storm that closed the year 1863 and ushered 
 in 1864. Twisted and broken trees sent out new 
 sprouts, which quickly shrouded the staring scars and 
 wounds. The balmy south loaned new songsters to 
 lurk in thickets that had risen again from where, on that 
 fateful night, brush and briar had been beaten against 
 the earth. The prolific rabbit had multiplied until once 
 more its tracks were seen in the dust of the pike. The 
 dove and the yellow-hammer, during the cruel cold spell 
 following the storm, had left their haunts and sought the 
 barnyard to sit in huddles upon the fence, and feed with 
 the farmer's fowls about the feet of domestic animals ; 
 but now again the one walked with nodding head in 
 the pike dust, while the other pecked and thumped 
 merrily upon the topmost bough of the dead beech in 
 the forest. Nature in the flush of summer had forgotten 
 the painful touch of the dismal winter ; and when in the 
 early spring men collected the scattered rails and rebuilt 
 their fences, cleaned up the broken timber, and burned 
 the useless brush and limbs, they too lent a hand in the 
 great scheme of repair ushered in by the lengthening 
 days and strengthening power of the sun's rays. Before 
 
 90 
 
''Look out fo' de Red-head Boy" 
 
 the month of May had passed, scarcely a memento was 
 left to tell of the hurricane that brought distress and 
 disaster to a continent. Still, an occasional reminder 
 could be found imbedded in the luxuriant grass near 
 Stringtown ; bleaching bones that but for the storm of 
 New Year, 1864, might yet have been flesh-clad, were 
 familiar to the sight. 
 
 I stood beside Cupe in the valley of a meadow ; a 
 weather-worn skeleton cumbered the ground at our feet. 
 Through the strewn ribs crept the heads of a bunch of 
 young iron-weeds. The vine of a wild potato threaded 
 the eyes of the bleaching skull ; the long grass fringed 
 about and pierced through and through the articulated 
 vertebras ; a shin-bone with hoof attached moulded on 
 the sward. I gave the shin bone a push with my bare 
 foot, and a swarm of ants, uncovered by the act, scam- 
 pered from beneath, each with a white larva in its 
 mouth. I laughed aloud and beat the frightened insects 
 with a stick ; the moist earth became a pulp of strug- 
 gling limbs and bodies mixed with loam, and under the 
 rain of blows the slaughtered innocents were lost in 
 common ruin. 
 
 The black man seemed not to observe the act; he 
 gave no heed to my multi-crime, but mumbled over his 
 thoughts : 
 
 '' De co'ht am not fo' niggers, 'case niggers ain't 
 white. Ef a white man am drunk an' a fool, he kin 
 sw'ah away de life ob a nigger ; ef a nigger am sobah he 
 ain't got sense 'nufF 'cordin' to de co'ht t' tell what he 
 knows. What 's de use ob Cupe goin' t' co'ht, an' 
 tellin' de truf 'bout de will ob Ma'se ? Cupe am a 
 nigger, an' Dinah am a nigger too." ^ 
 
 1 Negroes were permitted to testify in Kentucky if negroes only 
 were concerned, but in cases where the interests of whites were af- 
 fected, they were excluded. 
 
 91 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 " Dinah saw your master sign his name to the will," 
 said I. 
 
 " But she am a nigger, an' et doan make no difF'ence 
 what she saw ; she am brack, an' de co'ht doan take her 
 nigger talk." 
 
 " Ain't it queer about that money ? " 
 
 " Dah ain't nuffin p'culiar 'bout et. De witches an' 
 sperrits wah out dat night. Fo' de Lawd, when Cupe 
 go fo' de doctah de ebenin' ob de storm, de gol' wah all 
 in de chist. When de const'ble take p'session ob dat 
 chist nex' day — dah war n't nuffin' t' be seen." 
 
 The old negro leaned over and gazed intently on the 
 object at his feet. He rested one foot on the skull, and 
 whispered: "Dah ain't no use in fightin' Prov'dence ; 
 de sign say dat de gol' wah fo' de gearl, an', will er no 
 will, et am fo' de gearl. Chile, chile, de sperrits what 
 make de sign kin carry 'way de gol'. 
 
 *' Ya, ya," he added, in a hoarse whisper, " es easy es 
 t' pint t' what 's com'n' t'-morrah ; an' gloomy am de 
 sign what pint t' Cupe an' yo' ! " 
 
 He intent on his soliloquy, I absorbed in listening, 
 alike were oblivious to the approach of two men on 
 horseback, who, leading a third horse saddled, but rider- 
 less, having entered the field from the woods road, neared 
 our position. A stick snapping beneath the hoof of one 
 of the horses caused me to raise my head, but the noise 
 appeared not to attract the attention of my companion. 
 The old negro did not raise his eyes from the face of the 
 skull, but in a monotonous undertone said : " Dah am 
 troubl' fo' Cupe an' yo' too, boy; et am in de air an' 
 am com'n' fas.' Tole Dinah t' take good care ob de 
 Susie gearl when Cupe am gone, an' Sammy Drew, yo' 
 look out fo* de Red- Head Boy." 
 
 Having ridden to within a few steps of us, one of the 
 92 
 
"Look out fo' de Red-Head Bo 
 
 V 
 
 men alighted, produced a legal paper, placed his hand on 
 the shoulder of Cupe (who now for the first time gazed 
 in his direction) and said: "By order of the Court I 
 am commanded to arrest you, Cupid Hardman, and 
 secure your person in the county jail." 
 
 Old Cupe made no reply. The sheriff pointed to 
 the empty saddle. The black man's stolid face gave no 
 evidence of emotion ; unmoved, he repeated his former 
 words in a low tone. 
 
 "Tole Dinah t' take good care ob Susie, an' yo' look 
 out fo' de Red-Head Boy." Then he slowly mounted the 
 horse. The three turned and rode away. 
 
 93 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE ARREST OF CUPE 
 
 MOTIONLESS I stood over the dismembered skel- 
 eton. Forgotten was the soliloquy of the aged 
 negro, out of mind his story of the past. To a child the 
 name of the law is sacred ; in a boy's mind an officer of 
 the law stands exalted, above and beyond the ordinary hu- 
 man. Slowly the three men on horseback receded in the 
 distance, while I gazed at them with hand-shaded eyes. 
 Their horses walked with downcast heads through the 
 long meadow grass, but when the fence that bounded 
 the woods-road was reached and the bars were " put up" 
 a brisk pace replaced the walk, and soon the figures dis- 
 appeared. Neither of the men cast a look backward ; 
 not even when waiting for the dismounted officer to 
 replace the bars did Cupe give a glance in my direction. 
 Just before their forms vanished in the shadows of the 
 drooping beeches a melodious howl arose in the dis- 
 tance — a cry that one who has heard the notes of a 
 Southern darkey's dog can appreciate — and all was still 
 again. Then, and not until then, did I move, but as 
 the three passed into the depths of the forest I turned and 
 followed a sheep path that led in the opposite direction — 
 across the meadow, around the neck of a tangled thicket, 
 through a woodland pasture, where, mounting a slight 
 hill, I came within sight of a log cabin that rested on the 
 slope beyond the summit. Bare and desolate, the trunk 
 of a tall, shell-bark hickory tree, with top broken off fifty 
 
 94 
 
The Arrest of Cupe 
 
 feet from the eaith, stood near by, a relic of the New 
 Year storm ! A square enclosure in the garden behind 
 the house was marked by a group of little mounds, on 
 one of which, shaded by a cedar tree, the grass was 
 younger and of a brighter green than on the others ; these 
 were the most conspicuous objects about the cabin. 
 
 An aged negress, her head bound in a red bandanna 
 handkerchief, sat inside, with a child on her knee. She 
 was combing the long, dark locks of the little girl, at the 
 same time singing in a rasping tone a weird ditty that 
 only persons reared by or among the blacks could have 
 understood. Unseen, I stood silent, looking at the two 
 figures ; but my shadow striking across the floor caused 
 the old woman to turn quickly. 
 
 " Come in off dat doah-sill ! What fo' yo' dare do 
 sech a fool ting es t' come t' a fren's house an' stop in 
 de open doah ? Yo' bring trouble on de fam'ly suah by 
 sech actin' up." 
 
 " Yes," I said, " there is trouble. Aunt Dinah." 
 
 " Come in off dat doah-sill, I tole yo', an' took a 
 cheer. Doan make de trouble wussah dan it am, ef 
 dah am trouble on yoah min'." 
 
 I entered the room and seated myself on a shuck- 
 bottomed chair. 
 
 " Now fo' yoah trouble. What am it ? " 
 
 " Cupe has been arrested." 
 
 The old negress dropped her comb and gazed at me 
 in wonder. 
 
 "Spoke ag'in, chile." 
 
 " Cupe has been arrested." 
 
 "What fool stufF yo' gibin' me? What fo' should 
 Cupe be 'rested ? De chicken house am full ob fowl, 
 de pastyah am alibe wid sheep an' pigs, de turkey talk 
 all day t' de grasshoppah, an' de guiney-hen cry ' pot- 
 
 95 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 rack, pot-rack ' all night 'roun' dis cabin. De bah'l ob 
 flour an' de meal sack am full, an' de fat sides an' de 
 hams am drippin' grease in de smokehouse. What 
 moah do any nigger wan' ? What lyin' fool wah et 
 who 'rest Cupe ? " 
 
 " The sheriff of the county." 
 
 " Lawd ! Lawd ! but wah it not de const'ble ? " 
 
 " No, it was the sheriff." 
 
 " Fo' de Lawd, de case am ser'ous, suah ! De 
 sheriff don't trabel 'bout cotchin' niggers what grab a 
 chicken fo' de toofache." 
 
 Gradually the gravity of the case dawned upon the 
 mind of the old crone, but only to increase her inco- 
 herent wrath. She engaged in a tirade of abuse, ques- 
 tionings and jabberings in which the sheriff, the law, the 
 liars (unknown) who had defamed Cupe, and lastly poor 
 old Cupe himself, came in each for a full share of 
 vituperation. 
 
 Finding myself neglected, I turned to depart ; but now 
 the negress, quieting her jargon as suddenly as she had 
 begun, said : " Yo' mus' eat a bite, chile. Dinah mus'n' 
 fergit her mannahs even ef yo' did bring trouble. Sit a 
 minit an' eat a bite." 
 
 "I didn't bring trouble. Aunt Dinah; the trouble 
 came before I saw you." 
 
 " Did n't yo' come t' a fren's house an' stan' in dc 
 open doah ? " 
 
 " Yes, but that did not make the trouble, for Cupe 
 was arrested before I came," 
 
 " Yo' doanknow nuifin' 'bout sech tings an' yo' ain't 
 golified t' speak. De doah-sill sign kin work boff 
 ways. Ef a ting es, et es, an' fool argyments ob pussons 
 what doan know de sign's powah can't change de fac's. 
 Doan yo' stan' on de doah-sill, I axes ? " 
 
 96 
 
The Arrest of Cupe 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Doan de trouble come ? " 
 
 « Yes, but — " 
 
 " De sign wah workin' backward, chile ; close yo' 
 mouf wid dese wittles." 
 
 She quickly placed a dish of honey, a loaf of salt- 
 rising light bread and a glass of milk upon the clean 
 table, and once more I ate in that cabin which it seemed 
 my footsteps could not evade. The girl sat quietly and 
 eyed me ; did she remember my former visit ? During 
 the repast I gave Dinah full particulars concerning 
 Cupe's arrest. 
 
 As I arose to depart Dinah asked : " An' what word 
 did Cupe send t' Dinah ? " 
 
 " He said : ' Tell Dinah to take good care of the 
 Susie child.' " 
 
 Dinah seemed pleased with the trust ; then she 
 whispered : " An' what did he say to yo', chile ? " 
 
 " He told me to ' Beware of the Red-Head Boy,' but 
 I don't know what he meant." 
 
 " Yo' will know some day, honey ; yo' will know to 
 yoah sorrah some day." 
 
 She leaned over and spoke in a low, guttural tone : 
 " De day ob trouble am com'n', an' de Red-Head Boy 
 am mixed in de ebil sign. Cupe read de omen, an' et 
 say dat de Red-Head Boy an' Susie an' yo,' chile, am 
 edgin' on t' sahtin deff. Et say dat de Red-Head Boy '11 
 die sudden an' dat yo' an' Susie '11 be de cause ; an' dat 
 yo '11 die sudden, an' dat de Red-Head Boy an' Susie 'II 
 be de cause." 
 
 " How did he read it, Aunt Dinah ? " 
 
 " He read et in de glass, de sign glass what p'ints t' de 
 act dat ain't been acted." 
 
 " And what of Susie, Aunt Dinah ? " 
 7 97 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 " De sighn wah monstrous cu'yus 'bout de gearl. Cupe 
 read de omen twice ; et wah monstrous cu'yus." 
 
 "Tell me about it, Dinah." 
 
 " De honey gearl wah alibe suah, but folks looks at 
 her es ef she wah dead. She wah suah alibe, an' she 
 wah dead." 
 
 " How could she be alive and dead, too ? " 
 
 " Dat am what trouble Cupe. De sign say she am 
 dead an' dat she am gone out ob de worl', but suah she 
 am still alibe. She wah walkin' an' a talkin' aftah de 
 sign p'int t' her bein' gone from out de worl'. Dere 
 wah a shaddah on de face ob de glass, de shaddah ob a 
 great big Cross." 
 
 " You 're fooling, Aunt Dinah ; how could each of 
 us boys and Susie be the cause of the death of one 
 another? That cannot be." 
 
 " Deed, chile, I ain't foolin', et am de p'intin' ob de 
 sign. Et can't be done, yo' say, but de sign say et mus' 
 be done, an' Cupe say et will be done. But de omen 
 say dat befo' de fulfilment ob de spell in de time t' come 
 de Red-Head Boy mus' sit alone in de cabin ob Susie. 
 Lis'en, chile ; dah ain't no harm t' come till he sit all 
 alone in Susie's cheer in de night." 
 
 Too well acquainted with the superstitions of the 
 negroes to consider seriously this prophetic outburst, I 
 smiled and turned to depart. 
 
 The old crone stepped outside the doorway, took me 
 by the hand, and looked me steadily in the face. 
 
 " An' Dinah say too, watch out fo' de Red-Head Boy" 
 
 98 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 COURT DAY 
 
 STRINGTOWN is situated eight miles from the 
 " county seat " of Stringtown County, where stood 
 the county jail. In order to reach this important spot, 
 the traveller from Stringtown follows the Mt. Carmel 
 pike to Mt. Carmel Church, and then branches to the 
 Turkey Foot road, which follows a creek bed four miles 
 to its source. On the summit of this rise stands the 
 village honoured by holding the court-house of Stringtown 
 County. 
 
 Like other county seats in Kentucky, at the time 
 under consideration this was subject several times a year 
 to the flow and ebb of a human tide. The tide was 
 high in Court week, but during the intermediate periods 
 stagnation prevailed. 
 
 At the time of Quarterly Court, in June, from every 
 section of the county, on the first day of Court week, 
 men on horseback could be seen " going to Court." 
 These as a rule started in pairs, or parties of three or 
 four ; but as they journeyed onward the byways merged 
 into main roads and the isolated groups upon them co- 
 alesced until, when the village was reached, a steady 
 stream of horsemen came pouring into its main avenue. 
 
 In this county seat, even to the very day before Court 
 convened, stagnation ruled supreme. The two grocery 
 stores were open for traffic between Court periods, but 
 
 99 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 attracted none but home patrons ; the two taverns were 
 ready for business, but even their bar-rooms were quiet 
 and the long rows of shed stalls adjacent to each tavern 
 were empty, and the horse racks in front of the groceries 
 and the taverns were vacant. The court-house, built 
 like a church, excepting that it was the proud possessor 
 of a second story and four whitewashed round brick pil- 
 lars in front, stood, the day before Court, with closed 
 eyes ; the iron gate was locked, the pepper-grass and 
 shepherd's-purse grew high and luxuriant between the 
 flat-rock paving stones, and the dog-fennel covered the 
 edges and far into the street unmolested even about 
 the long rows of horse racks that bounded " Court- 
 House Square." 
 
 In the early morning, each hot summer day, a little 
 business was done in each store ; the barkeepers found 
 occasion to wash a few glasses and bruise a little mint ; 
 the barefooted boy drove his cow to and from the pas- 
 ture, and a smell of frying ham or bacon and browning 
 corn-bread or biscuit hung at breakfast time about each 
 residence. But as the sun mounted into the sky a uni- 
 versal lethargy settled over the scorching village, and 
 not until the slanting shadows of evening fell did life 
 reappear. 
 
 The idle sojourner might spend his time in this lazy 
 village, and between Court periods, even to the day 
 before Court, find nothing more exciting than an occa- 
 sional dog fight, unless, perchance, it were a quarrel 
 between the owners of the dogs. 
 
 Lazily the sun came up the day before Court ; lazily 
 the inhabitants of this sluggish village moved, when they 
 did move ; lazily the stray pig meandered along the side 
 of the unpaved streets, picking up an occasional morsel ; 
 lazily a flock of gabbling geese waddled through the 
 
 100 
 
Court Day 
 
 dusty road seeking the nearly dried creek bed adjacent 
 to the village ; lazily the unshaven barkeeper, with closed 
 eyes, sat before the inn on the flat stone pavement in his 
 tipped-back chair. One could not easily have found a 
 creature in this village that was not infected by the lazy 
 sun, which, day after day, crept through the sky and 
 leisurely sank toward the earth into the tree tops, glow- 
 ing a second through the branches, seemingly undeter- 
 mined whether it were not best to pause awhile upon 
 earth's edge before dropping over and rolling out of 
 sight. 
 
 Opening of Court day brought a change. Bustle in 
 and confusion about the tavern. The long dining-room 
 tables were " set " by break of day ; the kitchen stove 
 was red and furious, the negro servants moved as if they 
 actually enjoyed motion ; piles of vegetables, a quarter of 
 beef and several boiled hams spoke of the coming feast. 
 The freshly shaven barkeeper, with freshly filled bottles 
 and a pile of freshly cleaned glasses, no longer sat beside 
 the door in the tipped-back chair ; he too was ready for 
 action. The iron gates that barred the main entrance 
 of the court-house yard were open and the windows to 
 that " Hall of Justice " were unshuttered. Even the 
 stray geese had moved to other scenes, the wandering 
 pig had not been loosed that morning, and the boy had 
 come and gone with his cow before the sun had risen. 
 The village was awake and the very buildings themselves 
 took on a different air — the residents were in touch 
 with life again and eager for the coming fray. The 
 word fray is not inappropriate, for many were the men 
 who had ridden to this court-house on horseback and 
 returned home in an improvised spring wagon hearse ; 
 many have been the feuds that, argued in the Court of 
 Stringtown County's capital by the mouths of the law- 
 
 lOi 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 yers, have been settled, immediately after the Court 
 adjourned, in the street by the mouths of pistols. 
 
 Men came to Court, antagonists led to enmity by 
 some trifling incident, and grouped themselves into clus- 
 ters ; one clan went to Jim White's tavern, the other 
 went to Jo Sweet's. They stood in separate groups about 
 the streets, and scowled, but did not speak when first 
 they chanced to meet ; they visited their respective bar- 
 rooms again, and grew surlier and thought meaner 
 things with each uplifted glass ; now they growled when 
 group met group and looked defiantly at each other ; 
 another visit to the tavern, and when the antagonistic 
 groups next came together their tongues were loosened, 
 pistols flashed in the sunlight, and another " case " was 
 made for the opposing lawyers to beat the air over at 
 the next term of Court. 
 
 102 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 STRINGTOWN JAIL 
 
 INTO Stringtown County Seat from the flat Creek 
 road the three horsemen rode leisurely towards the 
 county jail. As they passed, a boy swinging on a grape- 
 vine that dangled from a hackberry tree near the first 
 house by the roadside gave a yell that carried with it the 
 information that only a country boy can put into a 
 wordless cry. Immediately from the house a number 
 of faces peered, some black, others white, and yet, aside 
 from the cry of the boy, no other voice was heard. 
 Scampering from his place, he ran after the passing 
 horsemen, following their footsteps in the dust ; the yell 
 of the boy was repeated as house after house was neared, 
 and a flash of faces could be seen in the windows -, an 
 occasional female form, perhaps with broom in hand as 
 an excuse for outdoor appearance, stood motionless on 
 the front porch ; a gathering of boys thronged about 
 the heels of the horsemen, and old Cupe, well known 
 to every person of that village, became the centre of 
 attraction. 
 
 Time and again had he ridden on horseback into that 
 village unnoticed ; but now, he was stared at by men and 
 women, followed by hooting boys and preceded by 
 snarling dogs, for each boy owned a dog, which, as his 
 young master fell into line, sprang from cover and 
 joined the four-footed advance-guard. Thus Cupe, 
 
 103 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 with his snow-white beard, his bleached woolly pate, 
 his shiny, wrinkled face, his garments of patches of 
 many colours, was ushered to the jail of Stringtown 
 County. The troop of snapping dogs, that included in 
 its membership every species, from a short, bench-legged 
 fice to one gaunt coon hound, moved in front; on either 
 side of the prisoner rode an officer of the law, while 
 behind came the troop of urchins, black and white. 
 The advance-guard needed no director ; on they went 
 to the blind street that led to the county-jail ; into this 
 the troop of dogs turned, and simultaneously arranged 
 themselves about the entrance to the jail. Too well did 
 they, dumb brutes as they were, know the ending of the 
 journey of these horsemen. Then, amid the clustering 
 of boys and dogs, the three horsemen dismounted and 
 pressed their way through the gaping crowd. A heavy 
 knocking at the door brought the " Innkeeper," who 
 signed a paper handed him by the sheriff; the form of 
 the black man vanished within the gloomy structure ; 
 the two officers remounted, and, leading the riderless 
 horse, turned back toward the world without ; the boys 
 and dogs scampered after them, and the back street was 
 vacated by every creature — with one exception. The 
 great, gaunt, old coon hound, with lank sides, made no 
 movement when the others departed ; he stood with 
 drooping ears and uplifted nose silently facing the door 
 by which the negro had entered. His nostrils sniffed 
 the air, his ungainly tail slowly wagged back and forth, 
 his long, red tongue lolled from between two ivory incis- 
 ors, and from its tip an occasional drop of spittle fell 
 upon the earth. Motionless he stood with eyes set upon 
 the grim door; and then, closing them, he pointed his 
 nose straight upward, and from his throat a long, plain- 
 tive howl arose that, beginning low and weird, reached 
 
 104 
 
Stringtown Jail 
 
 to a height seldom heard from hound's throat, and then, 
 descending, died away in plaintive sadness. Again the 
 dog howled and listened ; and not hearing a reply, again, 
 louder than before, he bayed the silent door. This last 
 appeal seemed to bring an answer, but one that human 
 ear could not have caught. Turning from his place, 
 the animal crossed the narrow street and carefully 
 selected a bed of thick dog-fennel beneath a clump of 
 wild black-currant bushes, turned "three times 'round," 
 sinking each time lower than before, and then dropped 
 upon the earth and curled himself into a heap, where 
 with eyes closed, his sentinel nose pointing toward the 
 new home of his old master, he lay motionless. 
 
 The jailer conducted Cupe to the second story of the 
 jail and halted before one of the back cells. 
 
 " Ef et am pert'nent t' de yocasion," said Cupe, 
 " befo' yo' go t' de trouble ob openin' de doah, de pris'nah 
 ud ax a quistion." 
 
 " Certainly," said the jailer. 
 
 " Fo' some fo'ks dis heah room am all dat kin be 
 'spected, but fo' me, ef et am de same t' yo', a front 
 room am moah t' de taste." 
 
 The jailer thrust his key into the lock. 
 
 "Yo' know bery well dat Cupe am not gwine t' make 
 yo' no trouble, an' he doan ax no — " the negro stopped, 
 put his hand to his ear, as if listening to a sound un- 
 heard bv the jailer — it was the mournful howl of his 
 old hound — then gave a sharp, penetrating whistle, and 
 continued his sentence — " lux'ry. Ef de front room 
 am empty, et won't cost yo' nuffin' moah t' open an' 
 lock dat doah instead ob dis heah doah. A doah am a 
 doah t' de man what opens it, but dah am reasons t' de 
 man what rests in de room fo' wantin' t' be behind one 
 doah instead ob 'nuddah." 
 
 105 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 " Well, I don't see what 's the use of growling at this 
 room," said the jailer. 
 
 " De fac' am, Ma'se Kindum," said the negro, quick 
 to observe that in getting a reply he had gained a point, 
 " dat Cupe am not growlin' at de room, but at de place 
 de room sits in. Ef de sunshine an' de moonlight could 
 come into de room yo' hab s'lected fo' Cupe, dah 
 would n't be no sort ob argyment. But Cupe hab seen 
 de sunshine an' de moonlight all ob his life, an' he doan 
 know jes how long a spell he '11 be heah. Yo' hab 
 knowed Uncle Cupe sense yo' wah a chile, Ma'se Kin- 
 dum ; yoah chllluns know him too, an' doan knows no 
 hahm ob him needah." 
 
 The jailer withdrew the key, led Cupe to the front of 
 the building and opened one of the two front rooms. 
 
 With tattered hat in hand the negro bowed and cour- 
 tesied as only one of the old black uncles of Kentucky 
 could do, but his profuse thanks were largely lost upon 
 the jailer, who without a word turned and departed. 
 
 Stepping to the barred window, Cupe remarked : " De 
 sunshine an' de moonlight am monstrous thin when dese 
 heah windahs am considahd, an' et am cut inter slices 
 by de iron bars, but Cupe hain't done nufHn' t' make 
 him afeard ob light what shine cleah in de sky er froo 
 cross bars eider. 'Sides, he wan' t' talk t' his fren' ; " 
 and pressing his sable face against the bars old Cupe gazed 
 intently up and down the street. " Et am monstrous 
 strange," he murmured, " ef Dgawge Wash'n't'n hab 
 gone back on Cupe." Presently his aged eyes caught 
 sight of a weed in the opposite fence corner that, as his 
 voice sounded, began to vibrate as if uniform blows were 
 being struck upon it, and peering at the clump of dog- 
 fennel at its base he made out the curled-up form of his 
 faithful dog, who, with beating tail, raised nose and open 
 
 io6 
 
Stringtown Jail 
 
 eyes, was staring at the face of his master. " Yo' am 
 only a dawg," said Cupe, " but yo' may hab work t' do, 
 Dgawge Wash'n't'n, befo' yoah teef git dull ; put yoah 
 head down an' stop yoah tail, an' keep yoah strength 
 ready fo' de time ob need." 
 
 107 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 CUPE IN JAIL 
 
 THUS the jail life of these two friends began ; one 
 contented outside the bars, chained by love to him 
 within the cell ; the other, seemingly not less contented, 
 behind the grating. Loquacious Cupe and howling 
 " Dgawge Wash'n't'n " both grew silent under the con- 
 ditions of their fate. The negro became sullen and 
 refused to talk concerning his " case " ; and all the 
 spirit seemed to have left the dog, who lived on day after 
 day seemingly without food, but only seemingly, for the 
 hound of Kentucky knows how to prowl at night. An 
 attorney had been provided by the Court to defend 
 Cupe, but the old darkey declined positively, although 
 politely, to answer any question or make any statement 
 beyond the fact that " es the Co'ht did n't git no 'vice 
 from him t' begin wid et did n't need none t' end wid. 
 Ef de Co'ht doan know its own business, et ain't fo' 
 Cupe t' teach et." 
 
 " But my object is to help you." 
 
 " Then, Mr. Lawyer, yo' may es well spar' yoah 
 breff, fo' Cupe doan need no help. He hain't done 
 nuffin' t' be 'scused fo', he hain't stolen noh hid no 
 money, an' he doan 'tend t' hab no 'scuses made by 
 lawyahs fo' what he hain't done." 
 
 " But you admit that the money was stolen ? " 
 
 "Yo' am de man what say so — not me. Ef Cupe 
 io8 
 
Cupe in Jail 
 
 had said de money wah stolen he would help find de 
 t'ief. But de fac's am Cupe doan 'tend t' 'fy Prov'dence. 
 De law am mighty, but de spell an' de sign am mightier, 
 an' yo' kin tear dis nigger's eyes out befo' he will cross 
 de workin' ob de sacred spell. De money am gone, Mr, 
 Lawyer, et am not t' be seen, an' et will stay gone until 
 de sign come right fo' et t' come back." 
 
 " If the sign don't come right before Court opens, you 
 will go to Frankfort Penitentiary, Cupe." 
 
 " Dah am honest men in de penitentiary an' t'ieves 
 loose on de outside, Mr. Lawyer, an' yo' can't make 
 Cupe try t' sarcumvent de signs by no sech argyment es 
 dat." 
 
 The days passed. A few weeks would bring the con- 
 vening of the Court. Not one word would Cupe say 
 concerning the problem as to the disappearance of the 
 money, that much-talked-about gold. At last the per- 
 plexed lawyer conferred with Judge Elford, of String- 
 town, concerning the case, and that personage made a 
 visit to the jail and appealed to the stubborn prisoner. 
 He was ushered into the cell of his humble friend, who 
 appeared to be very much surprised at the honour ex- 
 tended by the unexpected visitor, but quickly recovering 
 his wonted presence of mind, his first act was to apolo- 
 gise for the barrenness of his temporary residence. 
 
 " Yo' mus' 'scuse de poverty ob de s'r'ndings, Ma'se 
 Elford, 'case de fittin's ob de room am fo' pussons what 
 doan keer fo' lux'ries. Ef yo' had 'nounced de fac' dat 
 yo' 'tended t' call, de conveniences would hab been sech 
 es de yocasion demands." 
 
 " Never mind the room, Cupe ; I came to talk with 
 you." 
 
 " 'Deed, Ma'se, yo' 'sprise de ole nigger ; take de 
 cheer." 
 
 109 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 The judge seated himself in the only chair the cell 
 afforded, and Cupe stood expectant before him. 
 
 "Cupe, your attorney informs me that you refused to 
 give him information concerning the lost money. Now 
 you know that I am your friend, and I have come from 
 Stringtown expressly to advise you to tell everything you 
 know about it." 
 
 "Yo' am my fren', Ma'se Elford, 'deed yo' is, an' 
 Cupe hab known yo' sense yoah muddah held yo' on her 
 knee. When Cupe first saw yo', yo' wah a baby in de 
 ahm, an' now yoah hair am white." 
 
 "True, Cupid, true." 
 
 " An' no man in all dis county ebah say a word ob 
 wrong 'g'inst yo', Ma'se Elford. Yo' am a fren' t' 
 Cupe, yo' say, an' Cupe say, no bettah fren' could Cupe 
 hab." 
 
 " Then, Cupe, do as I direct and befriend yourself." 
 
 "An' what do yo' 'vise ? " 
 
 " Tell your attorney all you know concerning this 
 matter. You are in a serious position and in great 
 danger of going to the penitentiary for life." 
 
 " Yo' doan mean it, Ma'se Elford ? " Cupe said 
 appealingly. 
 
 " Yes, I mean that unless you tell all you know and 
 assist in recovering this money it will be my painful duty 
 to sentence you to the penitentiary." 
 
 " Et ain't de pen'tensh'ry, Cupe don't keer fo' de pen'- 
 tensh'ry, it am de sah'ful 'vice yo' gib. What hab Cupe 
 done t' yo', Ma'se, fo' t' make yo' ax him t' steal ? " 
 
 " Cupe ! " exclaimed the astonished man, " I ask you 
 to steal ! What do you mean ? " 
 
 " De money am not fo' Cupe, et am not fo' de law- 
 yah, et am fo' de chile. De spell say so, an' whoevah 
 bre'k de workin' ob de spell steal from de poo' chile. 
 
 I lO 
 
Cupe in Jail 
 
 Ma'se, yo' memberlec' de day dat Cupe wait on de table 
 when yoah wed'in' wah ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " An' yo' memberlec' when de missus yo' lub wah 
 buried in de earf, he stan' by de grabe wid de strap in his 
 han'. Yo' memberlec' what Cupe say den ? Es de 
 pahson read out ob de good book an' close de page an' 
 raise his eyes an' say, ' Earf to earf an' dust to dust,' de 
 shaddah ob a cloud rise sudden like, an' de great drops 
 ob rain spattah obah de coffin lid, an' dey keeps a-fallin' 
 while de shiney coffin case wah bein' sot down into de 
 grabe, an' when Cupe rise up from holdin' de head-strap 
 yo' wah lookin' inte' Cupe's face. An' den what did 
 Cupe say ? " 
 
 " ' Blessed are the dead the rain falls on,' " replied the 
 Judge. " I remember very well how you said that to 
 me then." 
 
 "An' so do Cupe. An' when Cupe comes t' die, 
 Ma'se, he doan wan' no ebil sign t' follow him inte' de 
 tome." 
 
 " Of course not, Cupe." 
 
 " Ma'se, yo' 'spect t' go t' meet de sweet gearl de rain 
 fell on when yo' kneel in de yallah dirt an' bow de 
 head ? " 
 • " God knows I do, Cupe." 
 
 " An' what hab Cupe done dat yo' should ax him t' 
 go t' de debbil — what hab de ole nigger done t' yo', 
 Ma'se Elford ? " 
 
 "Nothing, Cupid — nothing. I know too well your 
 faithful heart to see you suffer as you surely must unless 
 you assist the law in clearing up this mystery, which I 
 firmly believe you can do." 
 
 " Ma'se Elford, Cupe kin 'scuse yo' de sin yo' ax 
 Cupe t' do 'case yo' doan know what Cupe know an' 
 
 II I 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 can't see de ebil ob yoah words ; but, de gol' am fo' de 
 gearl, an' t' dat yinnercent chile it mus' go. De spell 
 am workin' out 'cordin' t' de sign, an' ef de law pull 
 Cupe's arm an' leg off, ef et buhn de flesh an' scotch de 
 bone ob de ole nigger, no word will he say t' blame yo'. 
 Ef yo' be de jedge t' hab et done, no cry shall come 
 from Cupe. But when yo' ax Cupe t' bre'k de workin' 
 ob de sacred spell yo' raise de debbil t' burn de nigger's 
 soul. De sweet missus what die wid her han' in Cupe's 
 han', in de long day back, an' a troop ob angels, am on 
 de uddah shore, an' when Cupe lay down an' die, an' 
 his sperrit go t' de shinin' Ian' he mus' say t' de angel 
 missus, ' Cupe did his duty by de chile yo' left, an' he 
 Stan' faithful by de chile Susie what come in his place.' 
 Ma'se Elford, yo' am pow'ful welcome in de present 
 'bidin' place ob Cupe, but ef yo' keer fo' de feelin's ob 
 de ole brack man, doan ax him t' steal money from de 
 orfun chile, doan ax him t' lose de sweet smile ob de 
 deah missus what die in de ole mansion ob de long-ago. 
 De breezes ob summer am pleasant t' a brack skin, de 
 sunshine feel good t' de wrinkled face, but de pen'tenshry 
 am cool, an' de nigger am used t' work, an' ef he die in 
 de prison standin' up fo' de right ob de orfun, he will 
 step out ob de prison shade int' de sunshine ob Heaben." 
 
 The man of law was abashed and silenced by the 
 rebuke of the unlettered negro. He saw that no living 
 man could influence the fanatical slave. Rising, the 
 judge held out his hand. 
 
 " T'ank yo', Ma'se Elford fo' lis'nin' t' de argyment 
 ob de ole nigger, but et bre'ks his heart t' hab yo' go 
 widout takin' a drink ob milk er a drop ob sump'n'. 
 Howsumebbah, yo' will 'scuse de barrenness ob de 
 yocasion, 'case Cupe did n't 'spect sech comp'ny." 
 
 The days passed swiftly. The entire community 
 
 112 
 
Cupe in Jail 
 
 became deeply interested in the pending trial. The 
 large sum of money that had disappeared from the iron 
 chest in Cupe's room the night of the hurricane would 
 have been a godsend to the attorneys, and the county as 
 well, could it have been found, for it seemed that the 
 '' Corn Bug " had left no legal heir. So Cupe's anxious 
 counsel strove to obtain a confession, apparently for the 
 purpose of saving the negro from the penitentiary. 
 " Ef de gol' am gone, et am gone, an' Prov'dence doan 
 want no nigger t' put in his mouf," persisted Cupe. 
 The key to the chest had been found on Cupe's person, 
 indeed he did not deny the fact that the gold had been 
 in his charge to the date of its disappearance, but still he 
 disclaimed secreting the money. At last the conviction 
 became general that, realising that his master could not live 
 until morning, Cupe had hidden the gold before he had 
 started for the physician on that fearful New Year night. 
 
 Immediately after the visit of Judge Elford his home 
 was sought by the lank village clerk, who stood nearly 
 alone in that he believed in Cupe's innocence, and so 
 expressed himself to the judge, Elford made no de- 
 claration concerning his own opinion, but said that his 
 every argument had been used in an endeavour to induce 
 the old negro to disclose the location of the treasure. 
 The judge volunteered the information, however, that 
 Cupe most determinedly resisted every appeal to assist 
 in clearing himself from suspicion of having committed 
 the crime. He shook his head when the clerk asked 
 concerning what might be the result to Cupe in case he 
 remained steadfast. 
 
 "The evidence is circumstantial, but sufficient to con- 
 vict him." 
 
 " And is there no chance ? " asked the self-constituted 
 champion. 
 
 8 113 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 "None," the judge replied; "at least," he added, 
 " none that his attorney will think about." 
 
 The clerk looked up inquisitively. 
 
 " No," Elford repeated, " none that will likely be 
 thought about." He went to his book-case, took from 
 it a well-worn volume, opened it and laid it on his desk. 
 Then, as if in answer to a voice calling him, put his 
 hand to his ear and listened. " I shall return in a few 
 moments," he remarked, and passed from the room. 
 
 There was no intimation in the tone of the judge 
 that a connection could be drawn between the legal 
 document he had opened and the case of Cupe. 
 Apparently the book had been taken from the shelf with 
 an object that had no bearing on the presence of the 
 clerk. And yet Mr. Wagner felt that in this book was 
 the clue that Cupe's attorney would overlook and that 
 the judge could not honourably mention. He moved 
 to the open volume, and glanced at the heading of the 
 page. It was a report of a case in the Barren County 
 Circuit Court, but the heading was sufficient for the 
 sharp-eyed and quick-witted clerk, who needed but one 
 glance, and then, before the judge re-entered, stepped 
 back to his place. 
 
 No allusion was made by either man to the open book. 
 
 " Should you like to visit Cupe ? " said the judge ; 
 " you know him well; perhaps you can draw from him 
 the secret, and serve the commonwealth where others 
 have failed." 
 
 " Yes," replied the clerk ; " I shall go in the morning." 
 
 Judge Elford sat down at his desk and wrote an order. 
 
 ' Mr. Joseph Kindimi, Keeper of Stringtown County Jail. 
 
 " Dear Sir : You will admit the bearer, Mr. Wagner, to 
 the cell of Cupid Hardman as often as he calls, and permit him 
 to remain with the prisoner each visit as long as he wishes. 
 
 (Signed) II4 "J. B. Elford." 
 
Cupe in Jail 
 
 The clerk bowed himself out, the judge closed and 
 replaced the book, and then sat in meditation. " It is 
 the only chance for misguided old Cupe, who means no 
 harm," he murmured ; " God forgive me if I have done a 
 wrong." 
 
 "5 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 "too slow fo' a coon an' too fast fo a possum " 
 
 A CURIOUS spectacle was that of Mr. Wagner, 
 who, after his interview with the judge, made 
 repeated journeys to the prisoner in the Stringtown 
 county jail. Astride of a mule, his long legs nearly 
 dragging the earth, the man of music as well as letters 
 patiently rode back and forth. The order of the judge 
 gave him immediate access to the cell of Cupe, and his 
 visits were invariably of extraordinary length. Not a 
 little curiosity was excited in the mind of the jailer, who, 
 however, recognising that the order of the judge relieved 
 him from all responsibility, gave himself no personal 
 concern. The tongues of the village gossips naturally 
 were not less active than were their minds ; and every 
 morsel of evidence, imaginary or otherwise, concerning 
 Cupe and his secret was chewed threadbare. The case 
 became renowned. A score of " killings " could not 
 have excited the interest which this mystery raised. 
 Cupe was the subject of general comment and specula^ 
 tion, and could he have known the remarks that were 
 made about him he would — providing he was as vain 
 and fond of notoriety as at that time were most of his 
 race — have been a happy " nigger." Of these remarks, 
 however, he rested in ignorance, occupying his time as 
 best he could between the interviews to which he was 
 subjected by his attorney and the visits of his friend, the 
 Stringtown clerk. 
 
 While it is true that his counsel had been appointed 
 Ii6 
 

 fe^ 
 
"Too slow fo' a Coon, &c." 
 
 to defend him, it was no less true that this same attor- 
 ney was deeply interested in uncovering the hidden gold. 
 The lawyer's personal fees would unquestionably be 
 greater if he could be the means of discovering the 
 money, and his professional reputation would also be 
 increased. So, at last, after all attempts to induce the 
 accused to unbosom himself had failed, he decided that 
 he would search the garments of the negro for evidence 
 of some description, for, possibly, Cupe had something 
 secreted about his person that might shed light upon the 
 subject. The jailer, on being questioned, said that the 
 only search, so far, had been of the pockets of the old 
 slave, and that nothing was found therein save a knife 
 and some unimportant trinkets. " I shall bring a change 
 of garments for the old fool," said the lawyer, " and 
 have the patches of the ragged ones ripped apart." 
 
 That afternoon Cupe heard a gentle rap on his door ; 
 a key was awkwardly thrust into the lock and hesitat- 
 ingly turned. The door swung back, and in the door- 
 way stood the youngest child of the jailer, a little boy of 
 eight. " Uncle Cupe," said the child, " the front door 
 downstairs is unlocked, and you can go home." The 
 old darkey patted the urchin's head. 
 
 " De sunlight am monstrous sweet, honey, but de 
 shade am s'lubrous, chile. Who tole yo' t' open de 
 doah fo' Cupe .? " 
 
 " I jest heard pap and the lawyer talk and say that 
 this would be the last day you would be here, and I 
 thought I would let you out." 
 
 " Yo' did, chile, yo' did ! an' so it am t' be de las' 
 day ! Go back, honey, an' doan yo' nebbah open no 
 uddah jail doahs ; keep yoah han' oft' de key." 
 
 " You are goin' to have a new suit of clothes. Uncle 
 Cupe." 
 
 117 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 " Who tole yo' so, chile ? Cupe doan wan' no new 
 clo's." 
 
 " Mr. Putter will bring them to-day, and take away 
 your old patches." 
 
 " Take de key out ob dat doah, chile, an' hang et 
 back on de hook yo' took it from an' doan yo' say 
 nuffin t' nobody 'bout tryin' t' let Cupe out ob de jail, 
 'case yoah pap won't like t' hab yo' tole it. Shet de 
 doah, honey, Cupe am bery comfor'ble heah, fo' de 
 shade am good fo' de 'plexion." The negro again 
 patted the head of the innocent little one and gently 
 closed the door. The key was turned, withdrawn, and 
 silence reigned again in the cell of Cupe, who stood for 
 a time meditatively. 
 
 " An' so dey gwine t' take 'way de ole clo's, an' fo' 
 what? Dah ain't no use in runnin' no risk, Cupe; 
 bettah yo' fix de mattah now." 
 
 Stepping to the grated window, he cast a glance across 
 the street. " Yo' am in yoah place, Dgawge Wash'n't'n ; 
 am yo' ready fo' yoah duty ? " The dog raised his 
 head, stood upright and cast a joyful glance at his mas- 
 ter. " Stan' still till I tole yo' t' come, Dgawge — stan' 
 still." 
 
 Grasping the knee of one leg of his trousers with his 
 hand, old Cupe gave a bright yellow patch a jerk that 
 tore it from the brown garment beneath, which, strangely 
 enough, proved to be perfectly sound. Then he opened 
 a slit in one edge of the patch and removed from it a 
 tiny iron key. " Yo' is safe now, but yo' will be safah 
 wid Dinah," said he ; then he replaced the key in the 
 fragment of cloth and rolling it compactly, tied the 
 package firmly with a string that was drawn from 
 beneath another patch. Stepping to the barred window 
 again, Cupe spoke to the dog, who, expectant, stood 
 
 Ii8 
 
"Too slow fo' a Coon, &c." 
 
 in the position he had assumed upon first hearing the 
 voice of his master. 
 
 " Come heah, Dgawge," said Cupe ; " yo' hab work 
 t' do now ; come heah, yo' houn'." The dog advanced 
 slowly, until he stood with upturned face beneath the 
 little window. "Yo' see dis heah jew'l ? " said Cupc, 
 holding the roll beneath the bars ; the dog gave a low 
 whine. " Yo' am t' carry it home, Dgawge. Go home 
 wid it ! " commanded Cupe emphatically. He flipped 
 the parcel into the air, and it fell into the open mouth 
 of the faithful friend. " Go home t" Dinah ! " com- 
 manded his master again ; and instantly the brute turned 
 about, gave a leap that carried him to the opposite 
 fence, the next carried him over the fence, and then he 
 vanished in the weeds in the direction of Stringtown. 
 
 As the dog disappeared the negro turned his gaze 
 diagonally through the grating, and caught sight of the 
 attorney, who had just rounded the corner of the blind 
 street. He was advancing toward the jail, and beneath 
 his arm carried a " store " wrapped package. 
 
 " Yo' kin come in ef yo' wants t', Mr. Lawyah," 
 chuckled the negro ; " de front doah am unlocked, an' 
 yo' need n't knock. Yo' am welcome t' give Cupe a 
 new suit ob clo's now. Ya, ya," he chuckled, " yo' am 
 a smaht man, Mr. Lawyah, but some smaht men am 
 like some dawgs, an' caint cotch nuffin. Dey am too 
 slow fo' a coon an' too fas' fo' a 'possum." 
 
 119 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THE TRIAL OF CUPE 
 
 AND SO old Cupe faced the day of his trial. Ob- 
 stinately he held to his illogical course to the last 
 moment. Perverse in his determination to make no 
 defence, faithful to his inherited and loved superstitions, 
 careless of the effect his fanaticism might have on 
 himself, heedless of the pleadings and scoldings alike of 
 friend and attorney, with dogged indifference he main- 
 tained the position he had taken from the moment of 
 his arrest. The search of his old garments shed no 
 lisht on the cause of his taciturnity, and when the case 
 was called in court the defence could offer no rebutting 
 argument to refute the strong but circumstantial charge 
 of the prosecutor. 
 
 When Cupe was ushered into the court room, Judge 
 Elford, cold and solemn, occupied the chair of justice ; 
 the twelve jurymen, the majority of them white-haired 
 farmers, each with a box of sawdust at his feet, sat owl- 
 like in the jury-box; the contending attorneys in front 
 of the judge frowned from opposite sides of a small 
 table that held two piles of books ; before the table 
 rested an oblong iron chest, riveted with hammered nails 
 that bound to its side several heavy crossed iron hoops. 
 The hinges of this box were of hand-workmanship, and 
 the massive clasp in front was of hammered iron. 
 
 But few witnesses were called in behalf of the com- 
 monwealth, and none for the defence. The witnesses 
 
 120 
 
The Trial of Cupe 
 
 sat on the front bench, and, contrary to Cupe's former 
 assertion concerning " nigger " testimony, Aunt Dinah, 
 with the little girl clasped in her arms, sat among them. 
 Cupe was conducted to his place in the prisoner's box, 
 and seemed the least concerned of those directly inter- 
 ested in the case. All eyes were turned upon him and 
 followed his every motion, as, indifferent to the gaze of 
 the packed assembly, he threw himself carelessly into 
 his chair, crossed his legs, leaned over and utilized the 
 sawdust box at his feet, then throwing back his head 
 closed his eyes and slowly chewed the remnant of a 
 leaf of tobacco. Although a prisoner, the old darkey 
 was a picture of contentment, seemingly as much at ease 
 as a man in perfect freedom of mind and void of care 
 might be, his mouth keeping time to his foot, that wab- 
 bled gently up and down. The case was called, the 
 witnesses were sworn one by one, and as each gave tes- 
 timony it was evident that until I arose none of them 
 had seen the money. Then the first direct and conclu- 
 sive evidence was offered concerning this treasure, and 
 for the first time old Cupe exhibited an interest in the 
 proceedings. I knew that my testimony was likely to 
 be harmful to my old friend, and when the sharp prose- 
 cutor, having led me to the discovery of the old land 
 deed, next asked if Cupe had exhibited any of the coin, 
 I hesitated. Then it was that the foot of the darkey 
 ceased to vibrate, the closed eyes opened, and before the 
 judge or counsel could anticipate the words he kindly 
 said : " Tole de truff, chile." 
 
 A sharp rap from the gavel of the judge was not 
 enough to silence the old negro, who repeated : 
 " Tole de truff an' shun de debbil, chile." 
 And so the story of how I had seen the layer of coin 
 in the trunk was told, the words that could only help to 
 
 121 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 sentence the old man to the penitentiary. One by one 
 the threads of the web had been drawn by the prose- 
 cutor ; the existence of the money was proven, and the 
 facts that it had been in Cupe's charge, and that the 
 box was locked when the key, which had then been used 
 to unlock it, was taken from him the morning of the 
 storm, were also laid before the jury. The astute mind 
 of Cupe caught each thread of the testimony ; he could 
 not fail to see, when the witness bench was cleared of 
 all except Dinah and the child by her side, that his case 
 was hopeless. Yet he gave no evidence of despair, but 
 with half-closed eyes sat as if his part were that of an 
 unconcerned listener. 
 
 At last the prosecutor called the name of Dinah 
 Hardman, who arose and advanced to the stand. Won- 
 der expressed itself on the face of Cupe, who mumbled : 
 *' Fo' de Lawd, an' yo' doan 'tend t' let dat nigger 
 swoah ! " This was the view taken by the defence 
 also, for a lengthy argument followed, in which the two 
 piles of reference books were nearly demolished by op- 
 posing counsel. At last the judge gave his decision, to 
 the effect that while the case was one in which the com- 
 monwealth was deeply concerned, still no white person 
 was likely to be injured or defamed by the unusual pro- 
 ceeding. It was really a case in which negroes would 
 testify on each side, and the Court which proposed to 
 allow Cupe to tell his story would not exclude the tes- 
 timony of Dinah. 
 
 Alas, poor Cupe ! Dinah, his faithful wife, corrob- 
 orated the evidence I had given concerning the incident 
 in the cabin to the very point where I had hesitated, and 
 then she too wavered. It is hard to force a wife to 
 speak the word that consigns her husband to the peni- 
 tentiary, and even the judge seemed to feel the injustice 
 
 122 
 
The Trial of Cupe 
 
 of the law. He was saved the painful duty of issuing 
 the command, however, for once again the prisoner in- 
 terrupted the proceedings : 
 
 " Tole de truff, Dinah." 
 
 This time the gavel of the judge was laid gently on 
 the desk, and he said kindly : " Speak, Dinah." 
 
 And when Dinah had spoken, all doubt concerning 
 the matter was at an end ; the gold I had testified to 
 have seen in the chest was shown to have been in it to 
 the night of Cupe's departure ; the key had been in 
 Cupe's possession from the time the chest was placed 
 in his charge to the time it was handed by him to the 
 constable. 
 
 The witness bench was now clear, the case of the 
 commonwealth had been made out, the prosecution 
 rested, and old Cupe's doom was about to be sealed. 
 Nothing the defence might offer could save him from 
 the penitentiary. He remained with head thrown back, 
 his mouth and feet moving in unison, his guileless face 
 as free from care as when he rested on the corn-shuck 
 chair before his cabin door after a hard day's work in 
 the coolness of a summer evening. 
 
 The closing words of the commonwealth's attorney 
 — " We now rest our case " — came at last. The 
 audience drew a long breath, the jurymen as by a single 
 thought changed their positions, and it could have been 
 observed that a huge plug of tobacco and the bright 
 jack-knife of the foreman passed successively from man 
 to man through the jury box and that without exception 
 a liberal slice was cut from it by each juryman, all glad 
 of an opportunity to exchange an old quid for a new 
 one. Several persons in the audience left the room at 
 this point, but remained away no longer than it might 
 have taken them to go to the nearest tavern and return ; 
 
 123 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 and in a few moments the lawyer for the defence arose 
 and made his opening speech, maricedly brief, in which 
 he laid great stress on the past record of the defendant 
 rather than on the strength of his case. 
 
 He admitted to the judge that his only witnesses would 
 be those who would testify to the honesty of the prisoner 
 and to his good character, and, waving his hand over 
 the audience, he added : " I make no distinction in the 
 personality of the witnesses, any of the gentlemen from 
 Stringtown will serve the defence." 
 
 His plea for sympathy was adroitly expressed, but the 
 judge ruled out all such evidence, stating that the charge 
 against Cupe was specific and that direct rebuttal of the 
 commonwealth's evidence would be necessary. This 
 ruling, certainly anticipated by the counsel, left him 
 without any defence whatever other than the statement 
 of the erratic prisoner, who might be expected to convict 
 himself rather than prove his innocence. 
 
 Cupe sat with closed eyes, uplifted face, wabbling 
 foot and working mouth ; but he was not asleep, for 
 when his name was called by the clerk he rose, held up 
 his hand and was sworn. Then occurred an innova- 
 tion in the history of that court, for the judge arose 
 and delivered a terse, unusual address to the opposing 
 attorneys. 
 
 "The Court proposes that this witness shall be given 
 the privilege of telling his story in his own way and 
 without any interruption whatever from either opposing 
 or friendly counsel. The defendant is not versed in 
 technical terms, and might readily be led or driven to 
 do himself a wrong if an attempt were made either to 
 guide or disturb his speech. In the case under consider- 
 ation — a very important one to the commonwealth — 
 the object is to discover the gold as well as to convict 
 
 124 
 
The Trial of Cupe 
 
 the thief. The evidence introduced by the common- 
 wealth has clearly established the existence of a large 
 treasure, but no ray of light has been thrown on its pre- 
 sent location, and Cupe is evidently the only person in 
 a position to serve the State by revealing the truth. He 
 can lighten his sentence by doing so." In conclusion, 
 the judge called attention to the fact that Cupe stood 
 alone, with all the world against him, and that under the 
 circumstances he must be given full liberty to speak at 
 length ; and, " if any questions are to be asked of him," 
 the judge added, " I shall propound them to the satisfac- 
 tion of both plaintiff and defence. Are you willing, 
 gentlemen ? " he asked of the two lawyers ; and both 
 answered in the affirmative, as well they both might, for 
 neither the case of the commonwealth nor his own case 
 could be injured by the negro. 
 
 "Cupid," said the judge, "you may speak now; tell 
 these gentlemen all you know about this subject, and re- 
 member, Cupid, you have sworn before God Almighty to 
 tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth." 
 
 Looking the judge in the face, Cupe removed the 
 shredded fragment of tobacco from the rubber-like lips 
 that covered his toothless gums. 
 
 " Yo' is bery condescendin', Jedge," he said, " t' gib 
 an ole nigger de 'spicuity ob dis yocasion. Howsum- 
 ebbah, it won't take long t' spoke all he hab t' say con- 
 sarnin' de case yo' am 'nquirin* 'bout. Dese heah 
 gem'n an' ladies what hab spoken befo' hab lef ' mighty 
 little fo' Cupe t' talk 'bout, 'less it be de ole chist, which, 
 'cep'n' Dinah, Cupe am de only pusson who undahstan's. 
 Dey hab tole monstrous straight stories, dese gem'n an' 
 ladies, an' Cupe kin sahtify t' de correc'ness ob dere 
 statements an' et 'fords him pleasure t' say dat de trufF 
 am in dem all." 
 
 125 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 " The old fool ! " the prisoner's counsel muttered. 
 But at a look from the judge he refrained from making 
 an open interruption. 
 
 " Begin with the last time you saw the gold and tell 
 us all you know about its loss. Never mind what 
 others have said." 
 
 " Wall, Ma'se, de las' time I saw de gol' wah as 
 follahs : Ma'se Hardman wah growin' pow'ful weak de 
 las' day ob de yeah, an' Cupe knowed dat de nex' 
 mahn'n' 'ud see him a dead man. De signs had written 
 dat fac' free times obah. An' den Cupe say t' Ma'se, 
 ' Doan Cupe ask yo' t' make yoah peace wid de pahson ? ' 
 and Ma'se say in his same ole way, ' Damn de pahson ! ' 
 An' den he cough ag'in bery weak-like an' look so 
 cavahnous dat Cupe spoke ag'in an' say, ' What yo' 
 gwine t' do 'bout de Susie chile when yo' lebe de planta- 
 tion fo' de uddah side ob Jordan ? ' An' den Ma'se look 
 kinder serous-like an' say, ' Brung me some ob dat gol' 
 an' let me see et ag'in ! ' An' den Cupe an' ole Dinah 
 go t' de lof an' unlock de i'on box, an' Cupe take 
 a han'ful ob de shiny crittahs, an' brung 'em down, 
 an' Ma'se pick 'em up out ob Cupe's han' one by one in 
 his fingahs, an' drop each piece ag'in case he too weak 
 t' hole de stuff. An' den he say, ' Put de gol' back, 
 Cupe, it am no use t' me now, an' lock de box an' go 
 fo' de pahson.' " 
 
 At this point the attorney for the defence arose and 
 began to stride back and forth across the floor, and as 
 he passed my side I heard him mumble, " The old fool ! " 
 
 " An' den Cupe take de gol' back an' spread it ag'in 
 in little piles all obah de bott'm ob dat chist an' pack de 
 cotton waddin' close 'bout et." 
 
 Interrupting himself, the negro advanced to the iron 
 box, turned the great key, raised the lid and peered into 
 
 126 
 
The Trial of Cupe 
 
 its depths. He gently turned the box on edge so that 
 the judge and jurymen could see its bottom, and then, 
 moving his hand back and forth over the surface of 
 the inner part of the chest, he repeated : 
 
 " An' Cupe spread de gol' money all obah de bery 
 bott'm ob dis chist. It wah five pieces deep an' eb'ry 
 spot ob de bott'm wah cubbahed vv^id de shinin' crittahs. 
 An' den de lid wah put down keerfully, an' de cubbah 
 wah pressed t' its place, an' de key ob de cubbah wah 
 turned, an' den dat key wah tooken' out an' put into 
 Cupe's pocket." 
 
 Cupe again interrupted himself at this point to mor- 
 alise on the chest, but it could be seen that the Court 
 was getting a straight story, one that would send Cupe 
 to the penitentiary on his own words. 
 
 " An' yoah bott'm wah cubbahed wid gol', yo' honey 
 ob a chist ; an' wha' am yoah gol' now ? Befo' de 
 Lawd, yo' am a fren' what sticks t' de ribs." The old 
 negro peered intently into its depths, he moved his bony 
 fingers lovingly over the bottom and fingered each of the 
 protruding rivets — he seemed to derive pleasure in the 
 touch — giggled to himself and arose, smiling. " Yo' am 
 a true fren', yo' ole chist ; why doan de jedge ax yo' what 
 yo' did wid de gol' ? " Abruptly turning to the judge, 
 he said: "Ax de chist, Jedge." 
 
 " Never mind the story the chest might tell," said the 
 judge ; " what did you do next ? " 
 
 " I put on de obahcoat an' pulled de comfort obah my 
 ears an' drew on de coon-skin mittens an' stahted into 
 de storm fo' de pahson in Stringtown." 
 
 " You did not hide the money ? " 
 
 « No, sah." 
 
 "You started for Stringtown with the key of the chest 
 in your pocket ? " 
 
 127 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 " Wid dis heah key s'cuah'ly in de pocket ob de 
 pants," and Cupe held the key aloft. 
 
 " Is that the chest, Cupe ? " 
 
 " It am de chist ; dah ain't no uddah chist like it dis 
 side ob Mexiky, wha' Ma'se Hardman got et in de wah. 
 Yo' know, Jedge, he fought wid Gen'ral Butlah ob 
 Cah'lton." 
 
 " Is there no other key, Cupe ? " 
 
 The old darkey rose up and faced the judge. " What 
 yo' ax, Ma'se ? " 
 
 " There is no other key ? " repeated the judge, leaning 
 over and gazing intently at the negro. 
 
 For once it seemed as though Cupe's native wit had 
 deserted him. He stooped down, thrust the key to its 
 place, removed the great iron from its socket, held it up 
 to the judge and said : 
 
 " Dah am moah dan a t'ousan' keys in de worl', 
 Ma'se ; yo' knows dah am uddah keys ; what fo' yo' ax 
 Cupe sech a quistion es dat ? " 
 
 " I mean is there another key like the one you hold 
 in your hand ? " 
 
 "Yo' ax es t' wheddah dah be 'nuddah key cap'ble ob 
 unlockin' de lid ob dis chist, 'nuddah key like dis key ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Den Cupe kin ansah de quistion, case he knows de 
 ansah. Dah ain't no uddah key like dis one, dah nebbah 
 hab been but one key t' fit dat keyhole sense Ma'se 
 brought de box from Mexiky. Ef Cupe wah on his 
 dyin' bed an' de fires wah buhn'n' fo' his soul, an' de 
 good Lawd should say, ' Cupe, yo' kin save yo'sef de 
 red-hot pitchfork ob de debbil ef yo' say dah am 'nuddah 
 key t' dis cubbah,' Cupe could n't say de word t' save 
 his soul lessen he would lie. Dah am no uddah key, 
 Ma'se." 
 
 128 
 
The Trial of Cupe 
 
 " And so, Cupe, you left the gold in the chest that 
 evening ? No person could have opened the chest with- 
 out the key, and it was in your possession until it was 
 delivered to the officer appointed to take charge of the 
 effects of your master ? " 
 
 "'Zac'ly." 
 
 " How could the money have got out of the chest ? " 
 The judge spoke severely, and, eyeing Cupe, pointed 
 into the empty box. 
 
 "Who say et git out ob de chist?" retorted Cupe, 
 "not dis nigger." 
 
 " It is not there." 
 
 The negro dropped on his knees again and gazed into 
 its rusty interior. " Suah dah ain't no gol' t' be seen, an' 
 Cupe am glad et ain't t' be seen. De sign what nebbah 
 lie say de gol' wah fo' de gearl, but ef et could be scraped 
 t'geddah by de const'ble et 'ud go into de pocket ob de 
 lawyah. Yo' am right, Ma'se Elford, de chist won't tell 
 no tales t' de lawyah, an' Cupe hab tole de truff an' 
 nuffin but de truff es he swore t' do. Dah ain't nuffin 
 moah t' say." He lowered the cover of the chest and 
 turned the key. 
 
 Vainly did the judge try by art and persuasion to in- 
 duce the old man to add to or detract from his statement ; 
 he declined to alter his testimony in any way, but seated 
 himself in the prisoner's box, thrust a shred from a leaf 
 of tobacco between his lips, where, like a straw between 
 two rubber shoes, it wabbled from side to side. With 
 closed eyes and see-sawing foot, old Cupe sat silent. 
 
 Then the attorney for the defence arose, and in a de- 
 spondent tone, addressing the judge, said : " I submit the 
 side of the defence to your Honour without argument 
 and throw my client on the mercy of the Court." 
 
 129 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THE RIGHT OF CLERGY 
 
 NEVER did the court of Stringtown County con- 
 vene with spectators more intensely interested 
 and more prompt in assembling. When the clerk made 
 the opening cry every place was filled, and even the two 
 side aisles were partly occupied by chairs brought from 
 the bar-room of the nearest tavern. The universal 
 opinion was that the jury must find Cupe guilty ; and 
 the only question which perplexed the village was re- 
 garding the penalty likely to be inflicted. The charge 
 of the judge was soon delivered ; it was short, and so 
 clearly drawn as to leave the jury no alternative but to 
 bring in a verdict against the defendant. As the twelve 
 men filed slowly from the room it required but little of 
 the spirit of prophecy to foresee that they would soon 
 return. After a brief consultation the jury came back 
 to the box, and the announcement was made by the 
 court officer that they were ready to return their verdict. 
 
 " Gentlemen of the jury, are you agreed ? " asked 
 the judge. 
 
 " We are," said the foreman, and handed the Court a 
 paper, from which his Honour read aloud : 
 
 " We do unanimously agree that in wilfully secreting 
 a large sum of money which had been entrusted to his 
 care Cupid Hardman is guilty of high crime against the 
 commonwealth of Kentucky." 
 
 " Stand up, prisoner," said the judge, " while the sen- 
 tence of the law is pronounced." 
 
 130 
 
The Right of Clergy 
 
 Cupid arose and looked the judge in the face. Then 
 occurred a strange thing, for a cry from one in the aisle, 
 who was standing upright at the back of the room, broke 
 the stillness. 
 
 " I ask for justice ! " 
 
 Audacious interruption this, in a Kentucky court. 
 
 The judge looked steadily at the intruder; every face 
 was turned in the direction whence the startling cry had 
 come ; every face, I may say, but one. Cupe neither 
 moved nor changed expression. 
 
 In the rear of the centre aisle, with a leather-bound 
 book held high in his hand, Mr. Wagner, the Stringtown 
 clerk, stood expectant, and as the eyes of the assembly 
 turned upon him he repeated : 
 
 "Justice ! justice ! I ask for justice — justice at the 
 hands of the Court, your Honour ! " 
 
 " Justice is the right of him who appeals to a court 
 of justice," answered the judge. " For whom do you 
 ask justice ? " 
 
 " For the prisoner before you, for the slave, Cupid 
 Hardman." 
 
 " Justice he shall have in accordance with the testi- 
 mony. Listen to the charge." 
 
 " Hold your word, your Honour. I ask for justice 
 in the name of equity, not according to the testimony. 
 Listen, your Honour, listen until you hear the statutory 
 claim of him who demands the right." 
 
 Bearing aloft the book, the uncouth man advanced 
 slowly down the aisle until he stood before the bench. 
 Then, thrusting the volume into the hand of the slave, 
 he spoke in a deliberate,, slow tone, looking straight into 
 the face of the judge. " I claim for this slave, Cupid 
 Hardman, the Right of Clergy^ and this demand I make 
 in the name of the law of this great commonwealth of 
 
 131 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 Kentucky and on behalf of justice, for I believe him to 
 have done no crime." 
 
 The judge folded his arms on his chest and not less 
 deliberately replied : 
 
 *' The claim is a legal one and accords with the 
 statutes of the commonwealth. Open the book, Cupid 
 Hardman, and if you can read aloud the Constitution of 
 the United States,' the brand may be applied to your 
 hand and you may go forth freed from the charge pend- 
 ing against you." 
 
 The aged negro opened the book and read (or re- 
 peated) word for word the entire Constitution of the 
 United States, and, having handed the book back to his 
 champion, stood awaiting the next motion of the Court. 
 
 " The brand ! the brand of fire ! bring in the brand ! " 
 ordered the judge in a faltering, low tone. 
 
 Turning toward the aisle, the lank clerk again held 
 up his hand, which, high above the heads of the people, 
 could be plainly seen from the corridor without. In 
 answer to that signal, following the footsteps of the 
 Stringtown clerk, advanced a figure familiar to nearly 
 all who were present — the figure of the old Jew, Mose. 
 
 The habitual, emotionless smile wreathed his glossy 
 face, a smile that contrasted strangely with the solemnity 
 of the occasion, a smile unquestionably out of place in 
 the present assembly. He carried a tinner's charcoal 
 furnace fired to redness, into the living coals of which 
 was thrust a searing iron such as is used to-day for 
 branding beasts. Placing the heated furnace on the 
 floor before the negro, the Jew drew the brand from the 
 glowing brazier and stood awaiting the next order of 
 the judge. 
 
 "Sheriff^ proceed with your duty ! Cupid, holdout 
 your hand ! " ordered the judge. 
 
 132 
 
The Right of Clergy 
 
 The sheriff grasped the hot iron, Cupe extended his 
 bare palm, the heated metal came in contact with the 
 living tissue, a puff of blue vapour shot from the contact 
 surfaces, a sizzling sound followed, and a shudder swept 
 over the spectators, many of whom covered their faces. 
 A quick cry, loud and shrill, pierced the air when that 
 vapour curled upward, and with a bound the little girl 
 leaping from the arms of Dinah, sprang between the 
 executioner and the victim. Striking up the hand which 
 held the hot iron, she threw an arm around the waist of 
 Cupe and stood defiantly beside him, shaking her tiny 
 fist at the sheriff of Stringtown County. 
 
 But Cupe, with extended arm still held before the 
 sheriff, made no attempt to avoid the ordeal. He had 
 not flinched, no cry of pain broke from his lips, no 
 struggle to escape the brand of fire. 
 
 " 'Scuse de chile, Mr. Sheriff," he said gently, as with 
 his left hand he tenderly stroked her hair. " She am but 
 a leetle gearl an' lub de ole nigger. Go on wid de act ! " 
 
 "Enough! enough!" ordered the judge; "you are 
 free to go home, Cupid ; you are freed from the sentence 
 of the Court, by the Right of Clergy" ^ 
 
 1 "The last time this plea was allowed in Kentucky was in the 
 Barren Circuit Court, where a negro was on trial for rape before 
 Judge Richard Buckner, and as the prosecutrix was a white woman, 
 he was sentenced to death, owing to the bitter prejudices of a white 
 jury, although the evidence against him was clearly insufficient. The 
 learned judge, heartily sympathizing with the poor wretch, thought 
 of this plea as a means of escape for him, and instructed his attorneys 
 to make it. The negro being tendered the United States Constitu- 
 tion, and found able to read it, he was accordingly burned in the hand 
 and discharged from custody. The plea was shortly afterward (in 
 1S47) abolished by the Legislature." — Sixth Kentucky Law Reporter, 
 p. 508. This statute was carried into Kentucky law from England 
 where, as is known, the " Right of Clergy " was allowed but once to 
 a claimant who was then branded in the palm or on the ball of the 
 thumb to prevent a second appeal. Few Americans are aware that 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 Many of the audience came to the bondman's side 
 when court adjourned and shook the uninjured hand. 
 Men praised the negro's fortitude, for Kentuckians love 
 a brave man, be he black or white ; and old Dinah, 
 mumbling to herself, bound the heroic man's hand in a 
 red bandanna handkerchief. At last the room was va- 
 cated of all but the court officers, the friends of Cupe 
 and the late prisoner. 
 
 " You are free to go home," repeated the judge. 
 
 " Yo' hab de t'anks ob an ole, ign'rant nigger, Ma'se 
 Jedge, fo' yoah many kindnesses, but Cupe 'ud like t' ax 
 a quistion." 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " Kin de chist go nome wid de nigger ? " 
 
 «Yes." 
 
 Cupe made a low courtesy, stooped over, and with 
 his uninjured arm attempted to throw the heavy box 
 upon his shoulder. The sheriff came to his assistance, 
 and by their combined efforts the burden was lifted to 
 its brawny resting place. As Cupid left the court room 
 the sheriff remarked : " Devilish heavy for an empty 
 box." 
 
 The judge made no reply. 
 
 And so the gold I had been promised and on which 
 I had built great air castles was lost to me forever. 
 With dragging feet I moved from the door of the court- 
 house to the wagon of Mose, the huckster, and there, 
 with arms clasped over my head, with face hidden from 
 the light, leaning against the hind wheel of that dilapi- 
 dated vehicle, I sobbed gently and nervously kicked the 
 sod on which my tears were falling. The horse of the 
 
 this curious old law ever had a footing in our land. See " Neck 
 Verse," usually Psalm li. i, which if the prisoner could read entitled 
 him, after branding, to his freedom, thus saving his neck. 
 
The Right of Clergy 
 
 Hebrew, untied at the rear of the wagon, stood munch- 
 ing the remnant of a dinner from the worn trough which 
 hung on the back part of the wagon bed ; but I gave no 
 heed to the beast, even when its hairy lips were flipped 
 carelessly against my cheek. A flock of barn pigeons 
 whistled about my head and alighted near my feet, pick- 
 ing up the scattered grains of corn that had dropped 
 upon the ground from the mouth of the horse, but for 
 once my hand forgot its cunning and no stone was 
 raised. Aunt Dinah, leading the little girl, passed 
 me and climbed into the wagon. Mose placed the 
 brazier in the wagon, having previously emptied the 
 fiery contents on the roadside, then harnessed his horse 
 and proceeded to hitch the faithful beast in the shafts. 
 I heard next the footsteps of old Cupe approaching, the 
 iron chest upon his shoulder. The chest was deposited 
 on the ground near me, and as the negro straightened 
 up, the 'bus to Stringtown, filled to its utmost capacity, 
 rolled by. A cheer went up in honour of Cupe, who 
 waved his bandaged hand in return. As the omnibus 
 rattled along I raised my eyes, and beheld near me in 
 the tail of the covered wagon a round, red face, sur- 
 mounted by a mop of bright red hair : it was the face 
 of a boy about my own age. A derisive smile spread 
 over the florid countenance, a mouth was " made," into 
 which more sarcasm and irony were thrown than can be 
 put into any other countenance on earth than that of a 
 malignant boy, and a hand, red as a duck's foot, placed 
 its thumb on the red nose and twisted its fingers. It 
 was hatred at first sight. I, who stood by the wagon 
 wheel, forgot my own troubles, straightened up and 
 shook my fist defiantly back at the boy in the tail of the 
 'bus, and, grasping a clod (no stone was near), hurled 
 it at the retreating form. As the vehicle vanished in a 
 
 135 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 cloud of dust Cupe placed his hand on my head and 
 muttered : 
 
 " De signs am fulfillin' monstrous fas' an' de meanin' 
 ob de sign t' yo' am — look out fo' dat Red-Head 
 Boy ! " 
 
 136 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 JUDGE ELFORD 
 
 THE following day another interesting trial was 
 conducted in the Court of Stringtown County. 
 The force of the commonwealth was expended in a vain 
 attempt to disprove the legality of the short will of the 
 " Corn Bug " as recorded on the slate of the child and wit- 
 nessed by the dead minister. Again the judge permitted 
 the evidence of the negress Dinah to be taken, and in 
 summing up the case, declared that both in intent and 
 deed the law had been complied with in the drafting of 
 that unusual will concerning the authenticity of which 
 there was no doubt, for the handwriting of Mr. Jones 
 was well known and Dinah testified that it had been 
 drawn by the direct command of the " Corn Bug." The 
 property of the " Corn Bug " was not claimed by kindred 
 and, other than a disinherited, adopted brother, there 
 were no possible heirs in law, for death had ended the 
 line of descent. In sound mind and health, Mr. Hard- 
 man had openly stated in Stringtown, in presence of the 
 Court and others, that the land and all but two thousand 
 dollars of the gold (that had no legal existence) was to 
 go to the girl. She was his heir, and the Court must 
 certify to the legality of the will and appoint an adminis- 
 trator for the child. For that office the judge named 
 Mr. Wagner, the clerk of Stringtown, who at once 
 qualified and received his appointment. Thus when 
 time for adjournment arrived that day, the tragedy be- 
 
 137 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 gun in the tempest of the dying year, 1863, had closed 
 so far as it concerned the present term of the String- 
 town County Court. 
 
 When Judge Elford returned to his home, exhausted 
 by the cares of the days that had preceded, his form was 
 bent more than usual and his footsteps lagged as he 
 moved from the door of the 'bus to his own threshold. 
 But he made no complaint. And when the kerosene 
 lamp was lighted and the window curtains of the small 
 front room were drawn after supper, the faithful student 
 and unselfish judge sat once more before his desk, which, 
 with its bookcase above, constituted the greatest treasure 
 of his lonely house. 
 
 Gone were his children, out into the world, — they had 
 left him long ago ; gone was the wife of his bosom — 
 many years she had rested beneath the sward enclosed in 
 Stringtown's white-palinged fence ; gone were the am- 
 bitions of boyhood and manhood ; all had been swept 
 away by the resistless broom that had brushed the years 
 into oblivion. His life had been spent unselfishly in 
 behalf of his countrymen and his beloved Common- 
 wealth ; no charity had appealed to him in vain, no 
 wanderer had gone from his door unfed, penniless each 
 New Year found him and penniless each old year left this 
 man who spent the material returns that came with each 
 season in behalf of his fellow-men, and gave his intel- 
 lectual self to the cause of justice. Alone in his modest 
 study sat the weary, venerable Kentucky judge, typical 
 of hundreds of others who lived thirty years ago in that 
 border State. 
 
 And as he sat in the dim lamplight of that modest 
 room the record of his years arose before him, bearing 
 again to his gaze the mother from out the long, long- 
 ago, the boyish feet, the spring of youth, the ambition 
 
 138 
 
Judge Elford 
 
 of middle age and lastly the closing of life's hopes and 
 cares in the edge of the ending that was yet to come. 
 And then, as the chain of thought-links closed, he rose, 
 took from its place in the bookcase above him the leather- 
 bound volume that he had opened in the presence of the 
 village clerk, opened it again to the same page, that 
 which gave the account of the Case in the Barren County 
 Court, and read : " I claim the Right of Clergy for this 
 slave." Then Cupe's face came up and the past was 
 pictured. Again he saw the open tomb into which the 
 casket had been lowered ; Cupe kneeling beside once 
 more with strap in hand ; again the face of the old darkey 
 was raised as it had been in the long buried past ; the 
 raindrops fell, patter, patter; the sound of the vanished 
 raindrops, deadened to all but him who sat alone that 
 night, came again to life, and the mood-struck man 
 heard from memory's chamber the voice of the old 
 negro who by his command had been so recently tor- 
 tured, gently repeat : " Bressed am de dead what de rain 
 falls on." 
 
 Slowly the head of the careworn man fell upon the 
 hands that were now crossed over the open volume. The 
 aching forehead touched the printed page, and as recent 
 events crushed into his mind the lips again murmured 
 the sentence spoken over that book, in that same room 
 the night of Mr. Wagner's visit : " God forgive me if I 
 have done a wrong." 
 
 139 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 WHY THE HONEY BEE DON't SUCK RED CLOVER 
 
 ACORN-SHUCK chair, tipped back in the sun- 
 shine, stood beside a cabin door. Cupe, with 
 crossed legs, one foot resting on a round of the chair, 
 sat balanced thereon. The hanging foot was beating 
 time to an aged violin, keyed to the highest tone, from 
 which came the familiar tune : " Run, Nigger, Run, or 
 White Man '11 Catch You," a favourite with ante- 
 bellum darkeys. The hand that held the bow was ban- 
 daged, but that did not disturb the peace of mind of the 
 owner or injure in the least the tune he scraped from the 
 loved instrument. Near the door a gaunt coon hound 
 was peacefully sleeping, his nose between his forelegs, 
 the tips of his flabby ears falling to the earth. In front 
 of the negro stood a little girl with clean face and 
 smoothly combed hair. She was clad in oddly cut gar- 
 ments, very prim, stiff, almost fantastic, but faultlessly 
 clean. She was enjoying the music, and from time to 
 time would clap her hands and dance artlessly and joy- 
 ously. The lively tune, quite out of keeping with the 
 player's sedate appearance, was accompanied at intervals 
 with snatches of songs, of which the following are fair 
 samples : 
 
 Ya — ya — ya — ya — ya, 
 
 Look upon de mantelpiece, 
 Han' me down my candle grease, 
 Grease my cart an' grease my gear, 
 Grease ole Ball behin' de ear. 
 140 
 
why the Honey Bee, &c. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Dance, chile, dance. An' a walk ole Hogan walk, 
 An' a walk ole Hogan walk. An' a walk ole 
 Hogan walk, ole Hogan walk along. 
 Ya — ya — ya — ya — ya. 
 
 De little bee suck de blossom, 
 
 De big bee make de honey, 
 De nigger wo'k terbacky, an' 
 
 De white man spen' de money. 
 Chorus. 
 
 Dance, chile, dance, etc. 
 
 When I went down ter Shin Bone Shank, 
 
 De creek wah wide an' deep, 
 I put my foot on de grey goose' back. 
 
 An' she carried me 'cross de creek. 
 Chorus. 
 
 Dance, chile, dance, etc. 
 
 At each call of " Dance, chile, dance," the girl pranced 
 and scampered around in true negro style, and when the 
 chorus was over waited expectant for the next stanza. 
 Occasionally old Cupe excitedly jumped from the chair, 
 holding his violin and bow aloft in his uninjured hand, 
 and with characteristic negro step and comical motion 
 joined in the dance, continuing to sing. Then, seating 
 himself, he changed the tune and sang a few verses, the 
 last one running as follows : 
 
 Some fo'ks say dat de nigger won't steal, 
 
 But I caught six in my corn fiel', 
 Tied 'em down wid a little piece ob twine. 
 Up wid my whip an' I gib 'em ninety-nine. 
 Chorus. 
 
 Dance, chile, dance, etc. 
 
 Wha'd yo' come from, knock a nigger down, 
 
 Wha'd yo' come from, Apalackytown. 
 Wha'd yo' come from, knock a nigger down, 
 
 Wha'd yo' come from, Apalackytown. 
 141 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 " Oh, Uncle Cupe," chimed in the child, " did you 
 whip the niggers ? " 
 
 "Yes, chile, yes, and heah am de string what dey 
 wah tied wid. Ya, ya." And old Cupe pulled a slender 
 piece of twine from beneath a patch, for once more he 
 wore the patched garments of many colours that had 
 been taken from him during his imprisonment. 
 
 " Tell me a story. Uncle Cupe." 
 
 " What shall et be 'bout, chile ? " 
 
 " Anything you will tell me." 
 
 The negro cast his eyes about, and they rested on a 
 jabbering flock of ducks. " I '11 tole you why de turkey 
 say ' tuck, tuck ' an' de duck say ' day, day.' " 
 
 The child clapped her hands. 
 
 " One time de turkey an' de duck git t' yargerin' 
 'bout which could wake fust in de mahn'n. An' 
 befo' dey go t' sleep dey settle de mattah by 'greein' 
 among demsels dat de fust dat wake should tole de 
 uddah dat he see de day. Up t' dis time de two had 
 roosted t'geddah on de groun', but dis night de turkey 
 tuhn his back on his fren'. De ole turkey roost up in 
 de top ob de tree, an' early in de mahn'n see de light 
 creepin' obah de hill ; but de duck who sit on de groun' 
 could n't cotch de gleamin'. An' de turkey called down, 
 ' Tuck, tuck,' an' de duck wake up. I tole yo', chile, 
 dat de duck am a sly crittah. He know dat de stupid 
 turkey see de light, but dat de ole fool had n't sense nuff 
 t' say so. An' de duck hollah back ' Day, day, day ! ' 
 an' he win de bet. Ebah sense dat time " (and Cupe 
 looked very solemn) " de turkey hab said, ' tuck, tuck,' 
 an' de duck hab said, ' day, day.' Ebah sense dat time 
 de turkey hab roost in de tree an' de duck hab sot on de 
 earf. Dese birds wah close fren's once, but dey hab 
 monstrous little use fo' each uddah now." 
 
 142 
 
why the Honey Bee, &c. 
 
 The child applauded and said : " Tell me another 
 story, Uncle Cupe." 
 
 Again the negro looked about for an object lesson, 
 and caught sight of a honey bee sucking a white clover 
 head in the grass-plot at his feet. 
 
 " I '11 tole yo' why de honey bee doan suck red clovah." 
 
 The child repeated her applause, and the old negro 
 continued : 
 
 " When de Lawd make de honey bee an' de bumble 
 bee he make red an' white clovah de same mahn'n'. 
 An' de Lawd take de two bees to de iiel' ob clovah an' 
 he sot em on de fence an' 'pared t' gib 'em some 'vice. 
 An' when dem bees see de clovah patch an' smell de 
 honey, dey doan wait fo' no moah observashuns, but make 
 a bre'k fo' de blos'm, lebin' de Lawd standin' 'side de 
 fence ; an' dis actin' up make de Lawd pow'ful cross. 
 An' he grab at dem two bees es dey fly 'way, an' cotch 
 de honey bee ; but de bumble bee wah too sharp fo' him 
 an' git 'way, an' he hide in de clovah patch. Den de 
 Lawd say t' de honey bee, what he hold 'twixt his fin- 
 gahs : ' Yo' caint git 'way 'til yo' make up yoah min' t' 
 one ob two tings.' De bee ax what dey wah, an' de 
 Lawd spoke de word wid be bark on it : 
 
 " ' Ef yo' suck red clovah, yo' can't wo'k on Sunday. 
 Ef yo' wo'k on week-days an' Sundays, too, yo' can't 
 suck red clovah. Yo' kin take yoah ch'ice.' 
 
 " An' den de bee, he know de Lawd am in earnest, 
 an' he debate de subject obah 'til de Lawd git tired ob 
 waitin', an' say : ' Ef yo' doan make yoah min' up pow'- 
 ful quick yo' 11 git de life squeezed out ob yo' ; ' an' he 
 gib dat bee a leetle squeeze. An' den de honey bee 
 hollah out dat he choose t' wo'k eb'ry day ob de week, 
 Sunday an' all. So de Lawd make him promise not t' 
 suck red clovah blos'm, ef he 'low him t' wo'k on Sun- 
 
 143 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 day, an' de honey bee hab nebbah suck a head ob red 
 clovah, nebbah. But de bumble bee, what did n't make no 
 promise t' de Lawd, suck bof red an' white clovah week- 
 day an' Sunday." Again the child clapped her hands, and 
 Cupe thrust a fresh leaf of tobacco into his flabby mouth. 
 
 " Tell me another story, Uncle." 
 
 The negro shaded his eyes with his unbound hand, 
 and gazed intently over the distant hill. " Chile, what 
 yo' see com'n' obah de rise on de Stringtown pafF? " 
 The girl turned in the direction indicated, and quickly 
 answered : "A man, Uncle." 
 
 " Jump down, honey, run t' Aunt Dinah." Cupe 
 arose with this unceremonious dismissal and walked 
 toward the man, muttering as he did so : " P'r'aps et es 
 bes' ef de conbersashun ain't hea'd by de honey chile; 
 dah hab be'n bodin' signs ob late, an' et may be bes' fo' 
 Cupe t' be alone. Las' night when de moon go down, 
 de cheer an' de table creek an' crack, de kettle move on 
 de harf, de doah push in an' out, but dah wa'n't no wind. 
 De sign wah bad, an' Cupe am suah dat trouble am 
 movin' 'bout." He turned back at this juncture, and 
 spoke to the sleeping hound : " Yo' may come, Dgawge 
 Wash'n't'n," and the old dog, obedient to his master's 
 word, arose, yawned and came to his side. 
 
 The stranger was Mr. Wagner, who was warmly wel- 
 comed by the negro. Well might Cupe bid him a 
 cordial good-day, for it will be remembered that by 
 means of the patient instruction of Mr. Wagner, illiter- 
 ate Cupe acquired a knowledge of the Constitution of 
 the United States, and thus saved himself a term in the 
 penitentiary. The tragic occurrence, vivid in the mind 
 of the old negro, led him, on meeting the clerk, to ex- 
 travagance of speech and to thanks so prolific as to give 
 the hearer no opportunity to say a word. 
 
 144 
 
Why the Honey Bee, &c. 
 
 " An' t' t'ink dat Cupe distrusted yo' when he seed 
 yo' com'n' an' feared dat yo' brung bad news. Wah 
 dah ebah so mighty a 'stake ! Come into de house, 
 Ma'se, an' take a glass ob milk an' see de chile what 
 yo' gladden wid de sight ob Uncle Cupe. Et wah a 
 mighty close shave, Ma'se, an' t' t'ink dat Cupe wah 
 afeard yo' brung bad news." 
 
 The visitor entered the cabin and partook of a drink 
 of fresh buttermilk, but notwithstanding Cupe's cordial 
 welcome seemed ill at ease. At last he said : " Cupid, 
 you are aware, are you not, that I am appointed guar- 
 dian for this little girl ? What 's her name ? " 
 
 The countenance of the negro changed in an instant, 
 and he gave expression to the oft-repeated sentence of 
 surprise. 
 
 "Spoke ag'n, Ma'se. De name am Susie." 
 
 *' I have been appointed guardian for Susie." 
 
 " Yo' hab moah t' say ; go on." 
 
 "You know, Cupid, that this is not an appropriate 
 place to bring up a child. You and Dinah have not 
 the opportunities necessary to the education and culti- 
 vation of the girl. She is the heir of this large farm, 
 and should have the advantages of a good education, and 
 the company of playmates befitting her station." 
 
 The shrewd negro intuitively grasped the meaning 
 of the pointed words of Mr. Wagner. 
 
 " An' why doan yo' let de nigger go ter de pen'tensh'ry 
 ef yo' 'tend t' take 'way de chile ? What fo' yo' lead 
 him back t' sorrah ? Stan' up, Dinah, an' beg fo' de 
 sake ob de honey deah. Yo' doan mean et, Ma'se 
 Wagnah, yo' doan mean et ; yo' am jokin' wid de poo' 
 ole man. Yo' 'udn't take de blos'm, yo' udn't cave 
 in de heaht ob de two ole fo'ks ? " 
 
 " Cupid, I am in earnest. The child must remain in 
 lo 145 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 my care in Stringtown. Judge Elford appointed me ad- 
 ministrator." 
 
 The old slave fell upon his knees, and with uplifted 
 hands, with all the force and extravagance of the negro 
 language, begged for the child he had raised. " De 
 honey am our chile, I foun' de baby an' its muddah half 
 starved on de grabe in Bloody Hollah. We wahm et 
 by de fiah, we sit up in de night, an' watch obah et in 
 de day ; we promise de ma'se what wah t' keer fo' et es 
 ef et wah de baby chile ob de ma'se hisse'f. Yo' won't 
 take de pritty chile 'way, et am de light ob day t' de two 
 ole fo'ks who hain't nuffin else t' lib fo'." 
 
 " It must be, Cupid : for the child's sake, it is best. 
 However, you need not feel so disconsolate. Aunt Di- 
 nah and yourself will have opportunities to visit Susie 
 often, and she can come to the cabin occasionally. Re- 
 member, this is her cabin and land, you and Dinah are 
 her slaves, and you may have the care of the land and 
 live here." 
 
 But explanations and soft words made no impression 
 on either of the negroes. Although Cupid did all the 
 supplicating, it could be seen that Dinah was not less 
 heart-stricken. She stood by Cupe's side and silently 
 wept, clasping the frightened child, who did not under- 
 stand, yet realised that she was concerned in the trouble 
 that had fallen on her two friends, the only friends she 
 knew in the world. Weeping she clung to the neck of 
 the old woman. 
 
 But the scene finally came to an end, and Mr. Wag- 
 ner insisted that the child be given to his care. " You 
 may bring her clothes later, Cupe," he added. 
 
 " De clo's will come befo' da'k," replied the old man, 
 " but yo' bettah let de chile change dem ole slippahs fo' 
 de new pair. Dem wah put on fo' de purpose ob de 
 
 146 
 
why the Honey Bee, &c. 
 
 dance." The change was made, and then Cupe offered 
 no further objection to the decision of the Court. 
 
 Clasping the frightened little girl in his arms her un- 
 couth but kind-hearted benefactor retreated along the 
 path by which he came. The sobbing child made no 
 resistance nor outcry. Cupe stood in the cabin door, 
 the violin lay at his feet, the flock of ducks jabbered be- 
 side the fence, but were unheard, the bumble bee buzzed 
 in the clover patch, but unseen. There was no song 
 now in the heart of the forlorn man, no music, no folk- 
 lore stories in his soul. His eyes followed the retreating 
 figure of the lank officer with the child in his arms, until 
 together they vanished beyond the crest of the distant 
 hill. Then his gaze turned upon the vacant spot 
 where, a short time before, Susie had danced to the tune 
 of his merry violin, and a tear sprang to his eyes and 
 rolled down his wrinkled cheek — the first tear he had 
 shed during the sorrowful interview. Old George 
 Washington lay curled up beside the door, and Dinah 
 on her knees, holding in her hand a child's plaything — 
 a gourd cut to look like the head of a man — moaned 
 inside the cabin. '"-An' dah wah trouble com'n'," said 
 Cupe; " de sign couldn't lie. When de table an' de 
 cheer talk t'geddah, an' de doah move in an' out in de 
 still night, et am a sign ob saht'n trouble. But dah am 
 deeper trouble yit to come ; when de two boys mix in 
 de 'fairs ob de honey gearl, dah am worsah trouble fo' 
 Cupe." 
 
 Then he spoke to Dinah : " Git up, yo' fool nigger, 
 what fo' yo' blubberin' like a sick sheep ? Doan yo' 
 know dat eb'ry fellah hab t' stan' his own toofache ? 
 Doan yo' know dat cryin' salty tears doan stop no bleed- 
 ing heaht ? Git de chile some clo's, fo' de night am 
 com'n' ! " 
 
 147 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 A little while later the devoted man might have been 
 seen slowly trudging along the path the clerk had trod ; 
 over his shoulder he carried a bundle containing the 
 clothing of the child ; now at his heels, with downcast 
 head, as if he entered into the sorrow of his master, 
 walked George Washington. 
 
 148 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 " GOD MADE DE SIGN'" 
 
 THE home of Mr. Wagner was on the Stringtown 
 pike, about one-third of the distance between the 
 southern and the northern extremities of the village. 
 Its owner was not in affluent circumstances ; still he 
 lived comfortably. An unmarried sister acted as house- 
 keeper, and it would have been difficult to determine by 
 their countenances which was the older. However, no 
 question could arise concerning their relationship, for 
 the maiden lady, fully as spare and nearly as tall as her 
 lank brother, possessed features so similar as to bespeak 
 the close family connection. Her face was kindly in its 
 expression, and it was evident that Susie had fallen into 
 good hands. The thoughtful judge had made no mis- 
 take in the selection of the child's guardian. 
 
 To this home, that rested its face against the edge 
 of the pike, and its heel-like shed in the narrow lot that 
 stretched back to the woodland pasture, the village clerk 
 carried the unwilling charge he had taken from the home 
 of Cupe. The girl was still sobbing ; she had refused 
 the kindly advances of such of the neighbours as chanced 
 to be in the street, and would not be comforted. It 
 chanced that I stood before my mother's door as, to- 
 gether with her new guardian, she passed by, but she 
 gave no sign of recognition when I called her name. 
 Judge Elford came out of his house and took her kindly 
 by the hand, but she buried her face in the shoulder of 
 
 149 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 the man who carried her, and refused to speak. The 
 sister of Mr. Wagner was alike unsuccessful ; she could 
 get no kind word ; the untamed child refused to eat and 
 refused to play. She fell asleep sobbing, and was gently 
 laid on the little bed that had been prepared for her by 
 the expectant and puzzled spinster. Then it was that a 
 tap was heard at the door, and on opening it the bent 
 form of Cupe appeared. Handing Miss Wagner the 
 package of clothes, he silently turned away and vanished 
 in the darkness. 
 
 A few moments later Judge Elford was disturbed by 
 a similar knock, and opened the door to find the dis- 
 consolate negro on the threshold. 
 
 At the pressing invitation of the judge, Cupe stepped 
 inside the door, but, in accordance with the custom of 
 old slaves, refused to sit down. 
 
 " What can I do for you, Cupid ? " 
 
 " De light ob de cabin am gone, de clouds am risen, 
 an' Cupe ax fo' comfo't." 
 
 " But what can I do for you ? " repeated the judge. 
 
 '*• Yo' kin send de man ob sorrah ter de pen'tensh'ry, 
 fo' he ain't no moah use heah. Yo' kin do de duty yo' 
 spoke 'bout las' week, Ma'se Elford." 
 
 " Indeed I cannot. You have freed yourself from the 
 penitentiary by the Right of Clergy." 
 
 " De law am pow'ful strong when a man wan's et 
 weak, an' monstrous weak when a man wan's et strong ; 
 ef a man wan's t' git out ob de pen'tensh'ry he can't git 
 de doah op'n, case ob de law ; ef he wants t' git into de 
 pen'tensh'ry he can't git dah case ob de law. De law 
 am monstrous cu'yus." 
 
 " But you don't want to go to the penitentiary, 
 Cupe ? " 
 
 "'Deed I does, case dah ain't nuffin t' lib fo' out ob 
 ISO 
 
"God made de Sign" 
 
 et now dat yo' hab took de chile 'way. She am white 
 an' Cupe am brack ; but de chile wah raised from a baby 
 by de brack man ; de ole nigger promise Ma'se Hard- 
 man t' keer fo' her 'til deff come, an' he promise de 
 muddah ob de chile befo' God t' watch obah her 'til she 
 wah able t' keer fo' herse'f. Dese am serous tings 
 t' promise t' de ma'se what am dead an' t' de angel 
 mammy, an' t' bre'k de wo'd am wicked, an' Cupe doan 
 want t' be walkin' free an' not doin' what he say on his 
 knees he 'ud do. Ef de nigger am in de pen'tensh'ry 
 an de dead ma'se come an' say in a dream : ' Why ain't 
 yo' keerin' fo' de blos'm ? ' Cupe kin say back : ' Caint 
 yo' see dat de nigger am in de jail ? ' Ef de spcrrit ob de 
 muddah ob de chile come floatin' into de cabin an' say : 
 ' Wha' am de baby Susie what yo' fin' on de grabe in 
 Bloody Hollah ? ' what kin Cupe say ef he am free t' 
 walk 'bout ? 'Deed, Ma'se Elford, I does wan' t' go t' 
 de pen'tensh'ry, an' ef yo' keer fo' de peace ob min' ob 
 de ole man yo '11 sen' him dah." 
 
 " Go home, Cupid, go home and sleep. You will 
 feel better in the morning. Susie is well, has a good 
 home, and will see you often." 
 
 " An' yo' won't lis'n t' de claim ob de sah'rin' 
 nigger ? " 
 
 '' I cannot." 
 
 The old negro opened the door and hesitated on the 
 sill. " An' yo' caint sen' de nigger t' de pen'tensh'ry ? " 
 
 " No, Cupid." 
 
 " An' yo' caint gib him back de chile ? " 
 
 The judge shook his head. 
 
 " Do yo' see wha' Cupe am stan'n' ? Et am on de 
 doah-sill, Ma'se Elford, an' dat sign say bad luck t' yoah 
 argyment. Lis'n t' what de ole nigger tole yo' now. 
 De law say dat de chile can't lib wid Cupe, but de sign 
 
 151 
 
String town on the Pike 
 
 say dat she mus' lib wid Cupe — ef she Hb, Ef de law 
 am right, de sign am wrong. Who made de law ? " he 
 vehemently asked. 
 
 " Wise and good men," replied the judge. 
 
 " An' God make de sign. Do de wise man set hisse'f 
 'bove de Lawd ? Ma'se Elford, yo '11 lib t' see dat de 
 Lawd am biggah dan de law." 
 
 153 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 SUSIE IS LOST 
 
 JUDGE Elford found as the days passed that the 
 child whose lot had been cast among the negroes 
 refused to be comforted by her friendly benefactors. 
 She moved about disconsolate in her new home, spirit- 
 less and moping the hours away. She shrank from Miss 
 Wagner, she asked for no love, and gave none. To 
 escape the gaze of men and children, she would sit for 
 hours in the back yard of the cottage, where, secure 
 from prying eyes, she spent the time listlessly gazing at 
 the sky or the forest in the distance. Neither Cupe nor 
 Dinah visited her, and both declared they would never 
 do so. The entreaties of the judge and Mr. Wagner, 
 even the threats of the latter, made no impression on 
 either of them. 
 
 " Ef yo' caint keer fo' de chile, what fo' yo' took her 
 'way from de home wha' she wah happy ? Ef Cupe 
 go t' see de honey, it '11 only make de mattah wussah, 
 fo' she '11 cry her eyes out when he come back." 
 
 " But you can tell her that it is best for her to stay in 
 her new home. You can explain to her that she can 
 be happy if she will try to forget her past life." 
 
 " An' dah am uddah tings Cupe could tole her what ain't 
 true es easy es dat, but de fac' am yo' tire yo'selb tryin' 
 t' 'fluence Cupe t' do anything t' circumbent de spell. 
 Dah am but one outcome t' dis heah mattah, eidah yo' 
 
 153 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 mus' let de chile lib wha' she b'long er yo '11 stan' 'side 
 her grabe. De spell say dah am no uddah endin'." 
 
 Persuasions were of no avail. Cupe had a ready an- 
 swer for every argument and sat looking as glum as a 
 death's-head. Thus the child lived in her new home 
 until one morning when the care-worn housekeeper went 
 to awaken her, the little bed was found empty. The 
 girl had disappeared. The day before she had asked 
 some trivial questions, and in the course of her conver- 
 sation had referred to one of Cupe's wild sayings. Miss 
 Wagner had taken the opportunity to explain that Cupid 
 was mistaken in his methods, and that in time the child 
 would understand his errors. Susie stood with down- 
 cast eyes, from which fell a few glistening tears. It 
 was evident that she took the disparagement of Cupe to 
 heart. She left the room, seated herself in the sunshine 
 of the back yard, and to the time of going to bed did 
 not speak a word. The next morning the child and her 
 garments were missing. From beneath the very touch 
 of her faithful guardian, catlike she had slipped out, and 
 into the back yard, out and into the great wide world 
 of which she knew so little. Could the sleepers in the 
 modest dwelling have seen her that night, they would 
 have seen her clasp her garments in her arms, and in 
 bare feet tiptoe to the kitchen door ; they would have 
 seen her turn the key as cautiously as an experienced 
 burglar might do, then, with instinctive forethought, re- 
 close and lock the door from the outside ; after which, 
 in the light of the rising moon, the artful child dressed 
 herself rapidly, even to carefully tying her shoes. At 
 last, stealing through the little garden, she climbed the 
 back fence into the woodland pasture and ran toward the 
 distant forest. 
 
 A startling whisper went from mouth to mouth in 
 154 
 
Susie is Lost 
 
 Stringtown, when the news went forth that the ward of 
 Mr. Wagner had disappeared. The search, begun in 
 expectation of soon finding the child, continued through 
 the entire day. Wells and cisterns were probed, ponds 
 were di'agged. 
 
 155 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 cupe's advice to his dog 
 
 MR. WAGNER at once visited Cupe, taking me 
 along, for I was known to be a close friend of 
 the old negro. He was sitting in the accustomed chair 
 beside his cabin door. He had turned for solace to his 
 faithful violin, and long before the visitors reached the 
 cabin we caught the mournful tones of a plaintive tune 
 that spoke the mood of the musician's mind. George 
 Washington looked up and growled, but, evidently un- 
 der the command of an undertone from his master, 
 closed his eyes and lowered his head. Cupe gave no 
 sign of salutation ; he continued his dolorous tune until 
 the intruders stood close before him, and could distin- 
 guish a few lines of one of the most plaintive of negro 
 melodies : 
 
 Yo' ask what make dis niggah weep, 
 
 Why he like uddahs am not gay, 
 What make de teahs roll down his cheek 
 From early dawn till broke ob day ? 
 
 Interrupting the song, Cupe lowered his violin, arose 
 and placed his chair before the man, but took no notice 
 of me. 
 
 "What are you doing, Uncle Cupe ? " 
 
 "Sah'rin'." 
 
 " Have you seen Susie ? " 
 
 " No sah." 
 
 156 
 
Cupe's Advice to his Dog 
 
 " She disappeared last night." 
 
 " I hab n't seed nuffin ob her." 
 
 " I thought that perhaps she had returned to her old 
 home." 
 
 " She hab not be'n heah, an' I hab not seed de 
 chile." 
 
 " You are sure, Cupe, that you know nothing of her 
 whereabouts ? " 
 
 " I hain't seed her, I tole yo', an' I hain't hea'd from 
 her sense yo' took her 'way." 
 
 " You will help us search for her, Cupid ? You 
 know the land well, you will assist in her recovery ? " 
 
 " I hab had nuffin t' do wid de takin' ob de honey, 
 an' I will hab nuffin t' do wid de bre'kin' ob de spell. 
 De cheer an' de table talk ag'n last night, de doah shake 
 in an' out, an' Cupe wah waitin' fo' news ob trouble." 
 
 He dropped his voice, and added : " An' when 
 Dgawge Wash'n't'n an' Cupe go out t' trail de coon, 
 de headless dog come ag'n. Et wah down by the bars 
 wha' de ole man Doty wah killed, an de hant dog slip 
 close an' trot by Cupe's side, an' when Cupe walk 
 slow de dog widout de head go slow, an' when Cupe 
 move fas', de hant move fas'. An' nuffin but nigger 
 kin see dat sign ; ole Dgawge Wash'n't'n could n't see 
 de crittah. Et wah a monstrous bad sign, an' Cupe tink 
 ob de chile an' pray de Lawd dat de sign wah not pintin' 
 t' de yinnecent chile." 
 
 Mr. Wagner, realising that he was losing time arguing 
 with the superstitious old man, turned to go. 
 
 " Yo' had better look in de cabin befo' vo' lebe ; yo' 
 might feel es ef de nigger had 'varicated ef yo' doan." 
 
 Cupe opened the door, and Mr. Wagner stepped into 
 the room. Dinah sat beside the hearth with bowed 
 head, but no other person was to be seen. Cupe 
 
 157 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 pointed to each corner, to the empty space beneath the 
 bed, and conducted his visitor into the loft, which con- 
 tained no visible objects excepting the iron chest, some 
 strings of dried corn, bunches of seeds and medicinal 
 roots and herbs that hung about the rafters. 
 
 Leaving the house, Cupe insisted on a search being 
 made of the shed-stable ; indeed, he seemed afraid that 
 some spot in which the child could be secreted might be 
 overlooked. As Mr. Wagner entered the door of the 
 shed-stable, my old black friend spoke to me in a low 
 tone : " Did yo' see de Red-Head Boy ag'in ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Keep yoah eye op'n, peel yoah eye fo' dat chile." 
 
 Whatever else he might have said was lost, for at this 
 point Mr. Wagner returned from his fruitless search of 
 the shed and announced his intention to return to 
 Stringtown. 
 
 As the visitors departed, Cupe bestowed upon them 
 a very low bow, and having returned to his cabin and 
 seated himself on the familiar chair, reached up to the 
 hand of tobacco over his head, stripped a part of a leaf 
 and thrust it between his flabby lips. 
 
 " Come heah, Dgawge Wash'n't'n," he commanded ; 
 and the four-footed friend laid its lank head on the knee 
 of his master, who took its nose between his thumb and 
 finger. " Yo' hab work t' do, Dgawge, wo'k t' do t'- 
 night, Dgawge Wash'n't'n. When yo' hab wo'k t' do 
 keep yoah nose cool." 
 
 " Dinah," he cried, " Dinah, don't yo' gib Dgawge 
 nuffin t' eat till mahn'n." 
 
 158 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 THE HAUNTED HOLLOW 
 
 THE remainder of the day indolent old Cupe sat in 
 his chair, seemingly contented when awake, but it 
 would have been difficult to say just how much of the 
 time he was awake. Occasionally he hummed a negro 
 melody, again he would change the exhausted tobacco 
 leaf between his lips for a fresh one, but much of the 
 time with closed eyes he sat motionless. Just before 
 the setting sun reached the horizon its slanting rays 
 streamed into his face, and then he called to Dinah : 
 " Brung de ole slippahs ob de honey chile and call Dgawge 
 into de cabin an' den shet bof de doahs, an' keep him 
 dah." 
 
 Dinah obeyed without question. 
 
 Cupe took two tobacco-sticks and fastened the shoes, 
 one to the end of each. He began then to walk side- 
 ways, holding the sticks at arm's length, so that the 
 shoes hung near the earth far outside his own tracks. In 
 this manner he slowly passed along, and as he did so 
 caused the shoes to step as if a child were walking par- 
 allel with his own footsteps. Across the dooryard, over 
 the fence, down and across the little creek at the base 
 of the hill, he trudged, and then, making a circuit, he 
 came back again to the starting-place. 
 
 " De deed am done, an' now dis nigger '11 see ef 
 Dgawge Wash'n't'n am in fix fo' de work ob his life. 
 Let de dawg out, Dinah ! Come heah, Dgawge." 
 
 159 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 The dog trotted out of the house. Taking the nose 
 of the brute between his thumb and finger, as he had 
 done before, the negro muttered : " Et am cool an' 
 pleasant like t' de touch — de nose am fixed fo' de 
 work. Yo' see dese slippahs, Dgawge ? " — and Cupe 
 held them before the eyes of the dog — " Yo' see dese 
 heah slippahs ? " 
 
 The dog whined gently. 
 
 " Yo' am no fool, Dgawge, but yo' bettah smell de 
 leather, fo' yo' hain't no time fo' 'stakes now," and 
 with these words the shoes were held to the dog's 
 nose. 
 
 " Now am yo' ready fo' de test ob yoah life, 
 Dgawge ? Go fin' Susie I Go fin' de chile ! Hunt 
 fo' Susie, Dgawge ! " 
 
 At once the old cur thrust his nose close to the earth 
 and began a zigzag trot about the dooryard. Cupe 
 watched him intently, and when he neared the trail of 
 the slippers became visibly excited. At this instant the 
 hound stopped ; raising his head and dropping his lower 
 jaw slightly, he gave a cry that stirred the heart of his 
 master with pleasure. 
 
 '' Yo' am tellin' de truff^, suah ! yo' am de crittah 
 what kin keep yoah nose cool ef de weddah am wahm. 
 Fin' Susie, Dgawge ! Go fo' Susie ! " 
 
 In reply, the dog started in a long lope with extended 
 nose scarce depressed toward the earth, thus showing 
 the acuteness of the trail ; following the exact course 
 of the circle Cupe had made, he returned to the starting- 
 point. " Yo' am a daisy of a dawg, yo' hab wo'k t' 
 do, but yo' don't git no suppah till yo' do et. Keep 
 yoah nose cool, Dgawge." 
 
 Carefully putting the slippers into his breeches' 
 pocket, Cupe, in obedience to the call of Dinah, step- 
 
 l6o 
 
The Haunted Hollow 
 
 ped inside his cabin to partake of his own supper, 
 while the hungry dog lingered outside the door. 
 
 Returning after the meal was over, the old man 
 looked at the star-bedecked sky, from which the last 
 tinge of twilight was fast fading, and then glanced at 
 the spot where his dumb comrade rested. 
 
 " De hour hab come, Dgawge, de hour ob trial." 
 
 Slipping on a roundabout jacket that hung on a nail 
 near the corn-shuck chair, and thrusting into its pocket 
 a twist of leaf-tobacco, the old man turned to the open 
 door. " Dinah," he said, " ef yo' doan see de dawg an' 
 me befo' mahn'n, dah ain't no cause fo' feah." 
 
 " De moon doan rose 'til midnight ; what fo' yo' go 
 ahftah de coon now?" asked Dinah. 
 
 " Nebbah yo' min' de moon ; dah am uddah crittahs 
 dan coons." 
 
 " Yo' hab lef ' yoah ax, Cupe, yo' hab lef yoah ax ! " 
 cried Dinah, as her husband disappeared in the gloom. 
 
 " Dah am no need fo' de ax t'-night ; de crittah what 
 we hunts now am not in de tree no' in de grapevine 
 tangle." 
 
 The huntsman and his dog were now alone together 
 in the starlight. 
 
 Taking the path toward Stringtown, their course led 
 them toward the brow of the hill. But before reaching 
 the hill Cupe struck the toe of his left foot violently 
 against a projecting stone. He immediately stopped, 
 turned back, retraced his steps to the door of the cabin, 
 and then recommenced his journey, muttering : 
 
 " Ef et had be'n the right toe, et 'ud hab be'n a sign 
 ob good luck, but t' stump de lef toe am an ebil sign. 
 Dah ain't no resk t' be run t'-night. Dah ain't — " 
 
 The slave stopped, his bent body sunk yet nearer the 
 earth ; his mouth, still open, left the sentence incom- 
 " i6i 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 plete. He heard a rustle in the grass just before him, 
 and then a full-grown rabbit hopped into the path, halted 
 momentarily, turned its great eyes, that yet glittered in 
 the dusk, full upon the negro, and with a bound crossed 
 the path and disappeared in the briars. 
 
 " De wussest sign what could be ; de rabbet nebbah 
 cross de paff outen de journey am leadin' t' hahm. An' 
 et stop t' say, ' Go back, go back, yo' nigger, go 
 back ! ' De crittah say et wid ets eyes. Monstrous 
 bad am de endin' ob de walk ob de man who go on when 
 de rabbet cross de paff ahead ob him, Dat wah not a 
 libbin' rabbet, fo' de dawg did n't see er smell et. Et 
 wah a hant." 
 
 Back to the cabin went the negro and taking two ob- 
 jects from a string behind the door, he carefully placed 
 them in his pocket. " De cha'ms wah fergotten, an' de 
 hant rabbet know et — de cha'ms t' keep off de hoodoo 
 from Dgawge Wash'n't'n an' Cupe. Now de start am 
 right." 
 
 Having thus corrected a grave blunder, Cupe moved 
 rapidly until he reached the brow of the hill. Leaving 
 the path at this point, he sought a small thicket, within 
 which, by daylight, could have been seen an enclosure of 
 stone that marked the foundation of an old building. At 
 each end of the ruin two piles of stones were crumbling 
 in the weather, the debris of the chimneys of the haunted 
 mansion. 
 
 " Dgawge," said the negro addressing his dog, " yo' 
 am in de sacredest spot on earf, de spot wha' de missus 
 slep' her las' sleep. De shinin' face ob de suff'in' chile 
 wah tu'n' t' glory from wha' stan' de 'simmon tree by 
 yoah side. An' Cupe he kneel on de flo' ob de mansion 
 what wah, an' hoi' de dyin' han'. De sah'rin' times 
 am back ag'in, Dgawge, de eye ob de missus look into 
 
 162 
 
The Haunted Hollow 
 
 de heaht ob de nigger, de sweet face rise up an' speak 
 'bout de blos'm ob a chile she lebe wid Cupe an' Dinah." 
 
 The old man knelt in the grass and raised his face to 
 the star-lit heavens. 
 
 " De blos'm am an angel now a-singin' hal'ujahs wid 
 its muddah, but wha' am de Susie chile what take its 
 place ? Cupe am sah'rin' fo' de Susie gearl case he 
 swar' t' watch obah de new chile. Dgawge, yo' kin 
 smell tings what Cupe caint smell, but yo' caint see all 
 de tings dat de nigger kin see. Ef yo' could an' 'ud look 
 to'ard de ole well yo' 'ud see a man stan' — a man, 
 Dgawge — de ole ma'se dat hab walked an' walked an' 
 caint git no res'. He play keards when de chile wah 
 bohn an' swar' at de sweet missus once too many times, 
 an' fo' dat debbilment he hab t' walk de briar patch now. 
 Cussed be de man who bring trouble t' a young muddah. 
 Dah ain't no peace on earf, dah ain't no place in Heaben, 
 de debbil hab no use fo' sech a sperrit. Yo' caint see 
 him, Dgawge. Ef yo' could see what Cupe see, yo' 'ud 
 stick yoah tail 'tween yoah legs an' run home t' Dinah. 
 Come on, Dgawge, dah ain't no moah time fo' hant 
 seein', we hab work t' do t'-night." 
 
 George and his master started, and soon the cry of 
 the old hound floated in the air, and at once a whistle 
 loud and shrill broke from the lips of Cupe. " Come 
 heah, Dgawge ! Come back, Dgawge Wash'n't'n ! " 
 
 Obedient to the command, the dog came to his side. 
 
 "Yo' mus' n't act up any fool tricks t'-night, I tole 
 yo' ! De rabbet am all right when we hunt rabbet, but 
 et am not fo' yo' dis yocasion. No moah rabbet, 
 Dgawge," and the old man boxed the ears of his friend. 
 " Now walk b'hin' till I tole yo' t' hunt." 
 
 The negro strode forward, the dog, with hanging head, 
 following at his heels until the lights of Stringtown 
 
 163 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 came into view. Stopping then, the old man crouched 
 in the grass and again spoke : " Dgawge, dah am no 
 coon, no 'possum, no rabbet t'-night. De time am come 
 fo' wo'k, an' ef yo' doan wo'k t'-night, de end ob yoah 
 life am heah." Feeling of the dog's nose, the negro 
 chuckled, and then taking the little shoes out of his 
 pocket, he held them before the eyes of the dog and 
 touched them once more to his nose. " Hunt fo' Susie, 
 Dgawge ! hunt fo' Susie ! slow," as the dog started off, 
 " slow, Dgawge ; de night am long." 
 
 The dog disappeared in the darkness, and Cupe, turn- 
 ing his steps so as to inscribe a circle about the String- 
 town lights, wended his way slowly over the uneven land. 
 From time to time he stopped to cheer the sagacious 
 hound, which could be heard pressing through the bushes 
 and occasionally, when on a ridge, could be seen pictured 
 against the sky. Old Cupe, accustomed to nocturnal 
 exploits with the dumb brute, knew exactly what he was 
 doing as he circled about, and needed nothing more than 
 the occasional sounds, that to an inexperienced ear would 
 have conveyed no meaning, could they have been heard, 
 to tell that the faithful animal was scouring every foot 
 of territory in the vicinity. At last the steps of the ne- 
 gro led to a grapevine thicket in a ravine, and soon from 
 its depths a loud howl came, a howl that to other persons 
 than Cupe would have sounded exactly like the cry that 
 led to the punishment of the dog at the time his ears 
 were boxed for trailing a rabbit. 
 
 The cry had hardly subsided before Cupe gave a 
 whistle, and soon the dog came to his side. " Dgawge, 
 de 'possum am sweet t' de taste when the sweet'-tatah 
 an' de frost am heah, but not t'-night. Yo' hab bettah 
 wo'k t' do dan tree de 'possum, Dgawge," and again the 
 patient creature's ears were boxed. '' Now min' yoah 
 
 164 
 
The Haunted Hollow 
 
 nose, Dgawge," and Cupe touched it again with the little 
 shoe. " Hunt fo' Susie, Dgawge, hunt fo' Susie ! " 
 
 The ground was slowly covered, fields of corn, 
 open pasture, waste briar patches and woodlands. The 
 Stringtown pike was crossed below the village, and 
 on the return circuit crossed again above it, near the 
 home of Mr. Nordman, the old Kentucky gentleman ; 
 the Mt. Carmel pike was also crossed and the heavy 
 beechwood at the junction was passed, and yet no 
 evidence of the movements of the dog and master 
 could be heard other than the sound made by an oc- 
 casional broken stick or a rustle of the bushes. Then, 
 at last, the discouraged negro realised that he had com- 
 pleted the circuit of the village, for he stood near the 
 spot where the circle began. The old man called his 
 dog, and when he approached spoke to him as only a 
 deeply earnest negro of the olden time could speak to 
 a dumb brute. " De sign wah bad, fo' et wah de lef 
 toe, but did n't Cupe go back an' staht ag'in ? De ebil 
 ob de sign wah chahmed away, suah. De fault am not 
 wid de nigger, but wid de dawg. Yo' am not workin', 
 Dgawge, yo' hab been foolin' yoah time away." The 
 harangue ended with a threat and the information that 
 the village must again be tramped about, and that the 
 next circle must be larger. Again they started around 
 the village, but before doing so receded from the pre- 
 vious circle, so that this circuit would be much greater 
 than the other. Patiently they passed over the land as 
 they had done before, until the Stringtown pike below 
 the village was reached. At this point, just as the 
 negro prepared to climb the rail fence, he stopped and 
 then sank upon the ground. " Stan' still, Dgawge," he 
 slowly muttered ; " dah am dangah in de ole pike ; stan' 
 still." 
 
 165 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 Peering through the rails, the kneeling negro saw, 
 first, two silent horsemen approach ; following which 
 came a troop of about a hundred men, riding two 
 abreast. When opposite the negro the troop halted, and 
 then from beneath an adjacent tree a slight figure stepped 
 to the side of the leader of the band, spoke a few words 
 and disappeared toward the village. The troop resumed 
 its way, and at last, about as far behind the cavalrymen 
 as the advance guard had preceded them, came the rear- 
 guard of two horsemen. 
 
 The tramp of the horses' feet, the occasional rattling 
 of a sabre against a wooden stirrup, the smothered 
 cough of an afflicted rider, and the cavalcade that had 
 been pictured against the starry skies disappeared in the 
 gloom. 
 
 " Dah am sorrah com'n' t' someone t'-night ; de 
 cav'lry doan trabel at midnight fo' fun. Befo' dis raid 
 am obah some rebel boy '11 be to'n from de muddah 
 what he come home t' see. Ef I knowed who dem 
 blue coats wah ahftah ! Damn dat young cuss, dah am 
 mischief in de air, but dah am uddah wo'k fo' Cupe 
 t'-night. Dah am trouble fo' uddahs as well es de rebel 
 boy." 
 
 He moved on; the two pikes were crossed, the 
 shadows of the beechwood were traversed and the 
 second circuit of the village nearly completed when a 
 cry from the dog broke upon the air, a cry that brought 
 old Cupe to a stop so sudden that the foot was arrested 
 in the air, slowly lowered, and then the negro fell upon 
 his knees. No whistle broke from his lips this time, 
 no scolding of George Washington, but in its stead the 
 murmured words : " De Lawd be praised ! stan' still, 
 Dgawge Wash'n't'n. De track ob de chile am foun'. 
 Steady, Dgawge, stan' steady, Dgawge Wash'n't'n." 
 
 1 66 
 
The Haunted Hollow 
 
 Rising, he advanced to the spot from which the cry 
 had come, and kneeling again beside the dog the thank- 
 ful negro burst into tears and threw his arms about the 
 dumb brute's neck. As he knelt thus the full moon 
 slowly arose, for the night had half wasted away, and 
 yet not until it threw a broad glare did patient Cupe 
 give the command to move onward. Then he said : 
 " Slow, Dgawge. Go t' Susie, Dgawge. Steady, ole 
 man," and the dog leaped into the darkness. 
 
 The slow, creeping motion that had characterised the 
 movements of Cupe during the night now changed to a 
 trot ; the steps were long, and he rapidly covered the 
 ground. A howl came regularly from the throat of his 
 unseen leader, a howl that to Cupe's practised ear was 
 sufficient to keep him fast in the trail. He used his 
 eyes to avoid obstructions, but relied solely on his ear 
 to keep track of the dog. The moon rose high into the 
 heavens ; woodland, meadow, and thicket were trodden 
 with no change in the cry of the dog, no sound from 
 the lips of his master. The child had wandered in zig- 
 zag lines, had struggled through briars and bushes, over 
 hills and through valleys — if, indeed, the dog were 
 trailing the child. At last even Cupe grew doubtful, 
 and whistled, which signal was understood as a com- 
 mand to stop. On reaching the brute, who in obedi- 
 ence rested in his tracks, the negro spoke as follows : 
 
 " Am yo' lyin', Dgawge, am yo' lyin' or tellin' de 
 truff ? Ef de chile hab been wha' yo' hab trabeled, de 
 yinnecent hab walked her legs off. Am yo' lyin', 
 Dgawge ? " Stopping in the middle of the sentence, the 
 speaker reached out his hand and picked from a briar a 
 small piece of cloth, which he held before his eyes. 
 The light of the moon fell full upon the fragment, and 
 then Cupe completed the broken sentence — " An' heah 
 
 167 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 am de ansah — yo' am tellin' de truff. Go t' Susie, 
 Dgawge, go t' Susie," 
 
 Back and forth, in and out, the man followed the cry 
 of his dog that night, ever intent on the object of his 
 search, hoping each moment to hear the bay announcing 
 that the child had been found at last. But there came 
 no change of note ; the monotonous howl that first 
 struck the ear was maintained, until at last a great loop 
 had been made, and the step of the master, following the 
 cry of the dog, turned toward a spot well known to the 
 superstitious negro. Nearer and yet nearer they drew 
 to the point that disturbed the mind of the slave, until at 
 last he could no longer control his fear, but whistled to 
 his companion, and together they came to a stand on the 
 top of a grassy ridge. 
 
 " Yo' bettah go slow, Dgawge. Dah am dangah in 
 de air ef yo' go into de hainted hoUah widout de cha'm. 
 God bress de rabbet what cross de paff an' send us back 
 fo' de cha'm. Hole still, Dgawge ; " and taking from 
 his pocket a rabbit-foot attached to a string, the negro 
 hung it around the neck of his dumb friend. He drew 
 another rabbit-foot charm from the same pocket and 
 threw it around his own neck. " Go slow, Dgawge, 
 de debbil am in Bloody Hollah. God help de chile ef 
 de debbil fin' her dah." The rabbit-foot charm even 
 seemed not altogether to remove the distrust of the old 
 man, who glanced uneasily about as he moved slowly 
 into the valley. He mumbled to himself, possibly re- 
 citing a word charm, but still he kept bravely after the 
 yelping hound. 
 
 At this point, when the dog had reached the base of 
 the hill, he gave a yelp so diff^erent from the monotonous 
 cry that had preceded it that even an inexperienced per- 
 son would have noticed the change of tone. It was a 
 
 1 68 
 
The Haunted Hollow 
 
 single, sharp yelp, followed by a loud, long cry that made 
 the valley echo. The negro rushed forward, careless 
 alike of ghost or goblin ; and there, reclining on the 
 grass, her head pillowed on a hillock that the slave knew 
 only too well, was the object of the search. 
 
 The dog stretched himself upon the earth, licking the 
 hand of his young mistress, and the moonlight threw its 
 mellow rays over the hollow. 
 
 The frightened negro wasted no time ; he raised the 
 girl in his arms and rapidly left the valley of evil omens. 
 His faithful dog, his night work at an end, weary and 
 exhausted, with hanging head, followed at his heels. 
 The grey of morning mingled with the moonlight as 
 Cupe opened the door of his cabin, where old Dinah sat 
 waiting for her husband. She gave a cry of joy as she 
 recognised her young mistress ; but Cupe, with the 
 proverbial gruffness of such as he, said : 
 
 " Shet yoah mouf, yo' fool nigger, an' doan yo' wake 
 de honey chile. Give Dgawge Wash'n't'n his suppah, 
 fo' he hab done his wo'k." 
 
 169 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 DESPONDENT STRINGTOWN 
 
 OBLIVIOUS to the occurrences related in the pre- 
 ceding chapter, Stringtown slept. Extraordin- 
 ary events were required in 1864, to waken her people. 
 The tramp of cavalry had become a familiar sound. A 
 nocturnal raid had ceased to be novel. Long trains of 
 army wagons, the curses of mule-drivers, the crack of 
 black-snake whips, the sound of blows belabouring the 
 backs of the patient brutes, were constant day and night 
 along the dusty pike. The beating of drums, and the 
 music of bands, the singing of enthusiastic men in bright 
 new uniforms, the mirth that always accompanied the 
 recruit marching South to " glory," sounded in the ears 
 of our people so often as to excite no further comment. 
 The tramp of veterans when transfer of commands 
 brought old soldiers back from the war, men with whom 
 the lack of bluster and of mirthful singing was in marked 
 contrast to the behaviour of the new-made soldier, did 
 not disturb us. One looked forward to waving flags, 
 valiant cavalry charges, and pictured battle scenes in 
 which, amid cheers of comrades, the waving banner was 
 proudly carried on to the ramparts of the enemy : the 
 other had known war in its reality ; war which meant 
 burned dwellings, weeping mothers, children huddled 
 into groups, lands devastated, homes destroyed, distress 
 and famine, pain and suffering to the innocent •, and 
 these experienced no ecstacy in thinking of battle charges 
 where blood flowed from friend and foe, no pleasure in 
 
 170 
 
Despondent Strlngtown 
 
 reminiscences even of success where fire, smoke and 
 death once prevailed. The places vacated by lost mess- 
 mates, and the shrinking forms of suffering children and 
 bereaved mothers, taught a sorrowful lesson to him who 
 had taken part in war. 
 
 We of Stringtown slept during the passing of the 
 squad of cavalry which Cupe saw tramping up the 
 pike, and we also slept while the same raiding troop 
 returned from a saddened household with a single pris- 
 oner, the rebel son of Mr. Nordman. And if String- 
 town's people knew nothing of this tramping of a 
 hundred horses, how could they have been aware of 
 the stealthy footsteps of the old slave who that night 
 had twice encircled their outskirts? Why should they 
 awaken, when from a distance the old hound raised 
 his voice beside the negro who searched for the lost 
 footsteps of the wandering child ? 
 
 But when morning came, with unabated energy the 
 search was resumed. Aid was solicited from the 
 country about, dogs were employed, but either the 
 trail had cooled or the strange dogs were not gifted 
 as was George Washington, for they found no trace 
 of the wanderer's track. A party of seekers strag- 
 gled to the cabin of Cupe, who sat as usual beside 
 the cabin door, his old dog asleep at his side. 
 
 "Yo' doan p'tend t' say dat yo' hain't foun' de chile 
 yit ? " 
 
 " No signs of her. Lend us George ; perhaps he 
 can strike the trail." 
 
 *' Yo' am welcome t' de dawg, but he am no 'count. 
 He am like his ma'se. He doan trail de 'possum an' de 
 coon now, he hain't got sense nuff in his ole head fo' 
 huntin'. Go wid de gem'n, Dgawge ; git up, yo' lazy 
 houn', an' go wid de gem'n ! " 
 
 171 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 The visitors whistled to the dog, which listlessly and 
 with drooping head followed them from the door. 
 
 "Ya, ya," said Cupe, when the men had disappeared, 
 " yo' am buhn'n yoah candle at de wrong end when yo' 
 walk 'way from dis cabin. Yo' might es well look fo' 
 an eah ob cohn wid thirteen rows es t' look fo' de 
 gearl wha' yo' am gwine." 
 
 In a short time old George slunk back and resumed 
 his former location. Cupe still rested beside the door ; 
 Dinah sat in the back doorway ; no other person was to 
 be seen. 
 
 Stringtown's search continued until, after several days 
 had passed, hope departed from every breast. The child 
 was given up as lost. Rumours arose that could not be 
 traced to any authentic source, and yet were passed from 
 mouth to mouth, to the effect that Susie had straggled to 
 the pike and was found by a band of Northern soldiers 
 marching south, who carried the homeless waif away. 
 This rumour grew into accepted fact when a soldier 
 on furlough, returning from the front, stopped at one 
 of the Stringtown taverns and told of a child who, pet- 
 ted by her new-found friends, was now in the Army of 
 the Cumberland. 
 
 172 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 " RED-HEAD " 
 
 "^"T^OOK yoah las' look at de ole plantation, Dinah, 
 
 JL res' yoah eyes fo' de las' time on de Ian' wha' 
 yo' wha' bohn. De fragrance ob de cohn when et am 
 in silk, de bread what yo' make wid de frosted 'simmon 
 an' de cracklin', de sweet-'tatah an' 'possum am no 
 moah fo' yo'. De Ian' ob yo' fahdah am no moah yoah 
 home ; trial an' sorrah am t' come fo' de two ole niggers 
 in de cole Canerdy country," 
 
 Dinah, sitting in the doorway, made no reply, and for 
 a long time Cupe sat mute, lost in meditation. 
 
 " De ansah say dat de grabe hab cubbahed de body ob 
 de missus an' de body ob de ma'se, an' dat de blos'm 
 chile am dead an' buried an' dat Cupe hab done de long- 
 made promise out. Et say dat when de dead am satis- 
 fied de backwa'd work ob man am done." 
 
 Dinah looked into the face of her husband and asked : 
 " Am yo' suah de dead am satisfied? " 
 
 " Suah. Dinah, I is suah. De switch ob de weepin' 
 willah tree droop down an' hang long obah de spot 
 wha' Cupe stick de twig obah sweet missus' grabe ; de 
 cedah bough cubbahs de grabe ob de chile she call her 
 blos'm. Dah am no yallah clay t' be seen, but dah am 
 trouble yit. Dah am trouble com'n'. 
 
 " When Cupe go las' night t' wha' de ole house wah, 
 he feel de touch ob de sperrit ob de dead. He look at 
 de spot wha' de bed ob de missus stan' de night de 
 blos'm wah bohn, an' he speak t' de missus like es ef she 
 
 173 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 wah by his side, an' den he lis'n fo' de ansah. Dah 
 wa'n't no sound ob voice, but de ansah come out ob de 
 air an' out ob de moonlight." 
 
 " What yo' see t' pint t' new trouble ? " 
 
 " When I sahch in de bed ob de sage, dah wah many 
 young sage plants growin' ; dey am moah dan a ninch 
 high. Et wah not a week sense Cupe scratch dat bed 
 obah, an' now de seed am up. Dah am trouble fo' de 
 man what plant de seed ob sage an' trouble fo' him who 
 let de sage seed sprout." ^ 
 
 "De sage am a suah sign. But am de sperrit ob ole 
 ma'se satisfied ? " 
 
 Low and husky was the reply. " He am walkin' yit, 
 but dat doan consahn us niggers. He swar' at de un- 
 bohn babe, he cuss de new-made muddah, an' he mus' 
 walk fo' his own sins." 
 
 "An' Susie?" 
 
 " Et am fo' de good ob dat chile dat de change mus' 
 come t' yo' an' me. Kin we keep her cubbahed fer- 
 ebah ? She am sittin' in de cabin in de mahn'n an' in 
 de cabin in de ebenin'. She am in de cabin all day 
 long. She go out wid Cupe in de night fo' a brefF ob 
 air, but de eyes am heaby an' de mist hang low. She 
 mus' hab sunshine, an' dah ain't no chance heah." 
 
 " An' yo '11 lebe de home wha' yo' wah bohn, de Ian' 
 wha' yo' always lib, de grabe ob de ole fo'ks an' de 
 chillun fo' de sake ob de strange chile ? " 
 
 " Doan I tole yo' so ? " 
 
 " But yo' am not yoah own ma'se, an' I am not 
 yoah nigger. Yo' caint lebe an' I caint go." 
 
 " De papahs ob freedom wah drawn up by de missus 
 befo' she go t' glory, de papahs am ready fo' de Co'ht." 
 
 1 To plant sage seed is a sign of death or severe sickness to one 
 of the family. 
 
^'Red-Head" 
 
 " Fo' bof ob us ? " 
 
 " Fo' Cupe." 
 
 " An' yo' 'ud hab Dinah run 'way like de fiel' nigger 
 do ? " 
 
 " Dah ain't no use in yargyin' wid a woman," indig- 
 nantly replied Cupe. " Shet yoah brack mouf, Dinah, 
 git yoah duds ready fo' de long journey." 
 
 At this point a slight change in the intensity of the 
 light in the room caught the eye of the alert old man. 
 " Tsh! " he whispered, " dah am a shaddah on de flo' ; 
 tu'n yoah eyeball back, Dinah, an' tole me what yo' see 
 befo' de back windah." 
 
 Cautiously the old woman raised her head so that a 
 side glance could be taken of the window back of Cupe. 
 
 " Et am a boy." 
 
 " An' de head ob de boy am red, Dinah ? " 
 
 " Suah." 
 
 " Wha' am Susie ? " 
 
 "Playin' wid de gourd doll." 
 
 " An' de boy kin see de chile ? " 
 
 *' He am lookin' at de chile." 
 
 " De deed mus' be done ; de Red-Head Boy hab seed 
 de gearl, de spell am wo'kin'. Dgawge" — and Cupe 
 addressed his sleeping dog — " Dgawge, ish! tree 'em, 
 Dgawge ! tree 'em quick ! " 
 
 Bounding through the open door, the dog made a 
 circuit around the house, and at once a cry of distress 
 came from the window where the head of the boy had 
 appeared. Shuffling through the door and around the 
 cabin, Cupe found the dog standing over the prostrate 
 form of the " Red-Head " Boy. 
 
 "An' yo' hab come at las', yo' ebil-spell chile!" 
 Cupe gave this welcome and glared down into the face 
 of the defiant boy, who scowled back at the old slave. 
 
 17s 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 " An' so de debbil hab sent yo' es de spell p'dicted, yo' 
 red-head cuss. De spell what say dat Cupe an' Dinah 
 an' de chile mus' lebe dere home, an' dat when de doah 
 am closed at las' yo' will sit alone in de cabin." 
 
 Taking the prostrate boy by the ear, Cupe raised him 
 to his feet, and face to face the two scowled a moment 
 in silence. Then, still holding the ear firmly, the negro 
 led the boy to the door of the cabin. " Brung my hat, 
 Dinah, an' brung de bottle what stan' on de shelf." 
 
 " De bottle am empty." 
 
 "Did I ax yo' fo' a full bottle, yo' fool nigger? 
 What fo' yo' talk back ? Brung me de bottle on de 
 shelf like I says." 
 
 This order brought the desired bottle, a pint flask. 
 Putting it into his pocket, old Cupe spoke to the boy: 
 
 " Ef yo' fool wid Cupe, yo' am foolin' wid yoah life, 
 yo' East Kaintuck scrub stock. What fo' yo' stop in 
 God's country ? Why doan yo' go on t' Posey County, 
 Engiany, wha' de likes ob yo' belong ? " 
 
 The boy made no reply. 
 
 "I wah stan'n' by de Stringtown pike when de wagon 
 what held yoah debbilish carcass come down from de 
 Kaintuck mount'ns, an' jes den de ho'ses stop fo' res'. 
 Dah wah two scrawny ho'ses, foah dawgs, a coop ob 
 chickens, a man an' woman, a lot ob dirty chillun, an' 
 yoah red head." 
 
 No reply from the boy. 
 
 "An' when de quistion wah axed, 'Wha' yo' come 
 from ? ' de ansah ob de man what dribe wah, ' East Kain- 
 tuck mount'ns.' An' when de quistion wah axed, 
 ' Wha' yo' gwine t' ? ' de ansah wah, ' Posey County, 
 Engiany.' " 
 
 Still there was no answer. 
 
 "Why yo' stop in Kaintuck, yo' red-head cuss? 
 176 
 
"Red-Head" 
 
 Why yo' not go on t' Posey County, Engiany, wid de 
 tribe what bring yo' ? " 
 
 " Old Nordman is my uncle ; I came to live with 
 him," said the boy surlily. 
 
 "An' yo' brung shame on yoah uncle fo' habin' sech 
 kin. Yo' come from East Kaintuck t' lib wid yoah 
 Uncle Nordman, but de man who dribe dat wagon doan 
 go on ; he stop in de city an' jine in de blue coat army. 
 De moonlight am not bright, but Cupe am a nigger — he 
 kin see in de night. Dat feller wah de man who 
 cap'ned de cavalry on de Stringtown pike de uddah night, 
 when yo' slip from undah de tree an' whispah in his eah. 
 He wah de man." 
 
 "I'll get even with yo', yo' black nigger, fer I've seen 
 the girl, an' I'll tell where she es." 
 
 " Yo' will ? " 
 
 " Yes, an' I'll get the fifty dollars too. Mr. Wagner 
 hes offered fifty dollars fo' news of her." 
 
 "Pint yoah nose fo' home an' walk slow, yo' debbilish 
 imp ; ef yo' run, de teef ob de dawg '11 make yo' wish 
 yo' had gone on wid de East Kaintuck litter an' crost de 
 ribbah, wha' de likes ob yo' b'long." 
 
 The boy did not move nor say a word. 
 
 " Tu'n yoah face to'ard de pike like I tole yo' ! 
 Move, yo' sorrel top, er I '11 pull dis eah out by de root." 
 
 The boy sullenly obeyed, but it was evident that Cupe 
 intended to accompany him. With the old dog in front 
 and the negro close behind, they started for the village. 
 Before reaching it, however, at the command of Cupe, 
 the course was changed, and passing through the fields 
 along the village outskirts the group reached the pike 
 near the house of Mr. Nordman, who, as usual on sum- 
 mer afternoons, was sitting on the front porch of his 
 home. 
 
 " 177 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 On entering the yard Cupe took off his hat, and 
 bowed low to the owner of the house. After the usual 
 salutations had been exchanged, he said : " Dah am 
 sadness obah yoah face, Ma'se Nordman, an' I 'spec' 
 dah am sorrah obah de heaht ob de missus t'-day." 
 
 " Yes, Cupe, we are in trouble." 
 
 " An' well yo' may sorrah, fo' dah am trouble in de 
 house an' dah am trouble out ob de house. Yo' will 
 'scuse de nigger fo' sayin' et ? " 
 
 "Say on." 
 
 " Yo' am sah'rin' fo' de chile, de rebel boy, what 
 come t' see his muddah ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " How come de Yankee sojers t' fin' out he wah 
 home ? " 
 
 " God only knows. Uncle Cupe. I did not think 
 that I had an enemy in the world capable of stooping to 
 such an act." 
 
 At this juncture the Red-Head Boy attempted to walk 
 away. Cupe eyed him as he turned toward the corner 
 of the house and mildly observed : 
 
 " Chile, yo' need n't go ; bettah yo' stay an' heah de 
 conbersashun out, case Cupe hab sump'n' t' show yo' 
 in de pike when he go back." The boy took the seem- 
 ingly artless words as a command ; he returned reluctantly 
 and sat down on the edge of the porch. 
 
 " De Stringtown fo'ks doan know de rebel boy wah 
 home ? " 
 
 " Yes ; many of them called to see him, but no man 
 in Stringtown would inform on him." 
 
 " His bruddah, Ma'se Jim, de Yankee cap'n, had be'n 
 home too." 
 
 " Yes ; they met by appointment." 
 
 " Yo' hain't no cause t' spishun none ob de niggers ? " 
 178 
 
^^ Red-Head'* 
 
 " No, Cupid ; not one but would have made any 
 sacrifice for that boy. His old auntie is crying now in 
 the cabin." 
 
 " Yo' hain't no cause t' spishun no one on de place 
 an' no cause t' spishun no one in de town ? Mon- 
 strous strange ! I 'spec' de Yankees jes happen t' come 
 in de night an' dey jes happen t' stop befo' yoah house. 
 Pow'ful cu'yus. Dey station dere men at de back an' 
 at de front ob de house — jes happen t' do it; dey make 
 a ring ob muskets in de moonlight all 'roun' de mansion. 
 Den dat loud knock come on de doah, de sleepin' chile 
 wah pulled out ob bed, de han'cuffs slip obah his wrists, 
 an' he wah put on de back ob one ho'se what jes happen 
 t' hab an empty saddle." 
 
 " Yes, so it seems," answered Nordman meditatively. 
 
 " De sojers come wid only one empty saddle ? " 
 
 No response. 
 
 " Dey go no fa'dah up de pike, but tu'n back ag'in ? " 
 
 No reply. 
 
 " De niggers wah cryin', de muddah wah cryin', de 
 ole man wah sw'arin' in hims heaht an' keepin' up a 
 monstrous t'inkin', he am t'inkin' an' sw'arin' yit. But 
 yoah t'inkin' doan do no good, de feller what tole on de 
 bov am not foun'." 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Do yo' know who cap'ned de blue coats ? " 
 
 " He did not come into the house. However, he 
 only did his duty unless — " the old man paused. 
 
 Suddenly changing the subject, the negro said : " Yo' 
 mus' 'scuse de pertness ob de quistions, but yo' know 
 dat Cupe hab b'en in trouble too ; " he held up his 
 branded hand and displayed the livid mark in its palm, 
 " an' dis am de fust chance he hab had t' git de inward- 
 ness ob dis painful yocasion. Cupe did n't come t' see 
 
 179 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 yo' t' be 'quisitive, he come t' ax ef yo' 'ud do him de 
 kindness yo' hab done so ofFen ? " 
 
 A smile came over the face of the old Kentucky 
 gentleman, and he thumped with his cane on the floor of 
 the porch. A negro lad, dressed in a single garment 
 that was sleeveless, beltless, legless, (a Lindsey shift), in 
 obedience to the call soon stood before him. 
 
 " Pig, take Cupe's bottle." 
 
 Cupe took the empty flask from his pocket and 
 handed it to the lad. 
 
 " Fill it out of the second barrel in the far cellar." 
 
 Cupe made his best courtesy and the boy disappeared, 
 to return shortly, holding the bottle filled with the amber 
 liquid. 
 
 " T'ank yo', Ma'se Nordman, yo' liben de sperrit 
 an' gladden de heaht ob de nigger. Ef yo' wan' Cupe 
 t' sahve yo', a word am all yo' need say." He turned 
 to go, then suddenly resumed the thread of his former 
 conversation. 
 
 "Ef yo' fin' dat de feller what cap'ned de sojers know 
 de chile wah home an' set de trap t' cotch him ? " 
 
 " If I could find the scoundrel I 'd shoot him on 
 sight." 
 
 *' An' ef yo' fin' de feller what tole de sojers on de 
 honey ? " 
 
 " I '11 shoot him like a dog." 
 
 The old darkey chuckled, courtesied low and turned 
 again to depart. Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, 
 he said : " May de chile sittin' at yoah feet, de boy, yo' 
 am so kind t' come t' de pike wid Cupe ? Dah am a 
 cu'yus track in de dust dat might yinterest de boy." 
 
 " Go," said Mr. Nordman. 
 
 Passing together to the edge of the pike, as if they 
 were the best of friends, Cupe leaned over and pointed 
 
 1 80 
 
"Red-Head'* 
 
 toward the smooth furrows in the dust ; but this was 
 merely a blind, for no track was to be seen. 
 
 " An' yo' come from East Kaintuck wid yoah moun- 
 t'n manners," he whispered. " Yo' eat yoah own kin- 
 fo'ks dah, yo' 'possum, an' yo' b'gin yoah debbilment 
 heah by bitin' de ban' ob de man what feed yo', an' who 
 hain't no spishun ob de sin in yoah heaht. De wicked 
 deed am done an' caint be undone, er Cupe 'ud squeeze 
 yoah neck like es de pahson did de colonel." Pointing 
 into the dust, the negro continued : " Yo' saw Susie in 
 de cabin ? " 
 
 The boy did not reply. 
 
 " Ansah de quistion ; yo' saw Susie in de cabin ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Ef yo' say one word t' man er chile 'bout de gearl, 
 Cupe '11 tole Ma'se Nordman 'bout what he saw when 
 yo' meet de sojers on de Stringtown pike de night de 
 raid wah made. Ef yo' whispah de fac' to any man 
 Cupe '11 choke yoah life out fust, an' tell Ma'se Nord- 
 man 'bout who cap'ned de raiders second. So suah es 
 God made Adam, yo' debbil from East Kaintuck, ef 
 ha'm come t' de Susie chile, yoah red head 'II stop hatchin' 
 debbilment in de Ian' wha' yo' hab no bis'ness t' be. 
 Min' yoah mouf now, keep yoah han' off dat fifty dol- 
 lahs and sabe yoah neck." 
 
 Straightening up, Cupe courtesied once more to the 
 gentleman on the distant porch, and, together with his 
 dog, passed from sight. 
 
 I8l 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 SPIRITS 
 
 ETURNING to the cabin, the negro resumed his 
 usual position in the chair beside the door, first, 
 however, handing Dinah the bottle, which, in conse- 
 quence of having been sampled on his return trip, 
 was not now entirely filled. But before it reached her 
 hand the wary old man put his finger on the vial, close 
 to the upper surface of the liquid, and remarked : " De 
 lickah am heah, yo' kin see de top mark ; doan yo' let 
 none ob et sweat fru de glass while Cupe am gone." 
 
 Long he sat in meditation, chewing wisps of tobacco 
 which from time to time he stripped from the ever- 
 present hand of the leaf above his head. Finally he 
 arose, took a spade, and strode into the garden, back to 
 the graveyard. Digging next to the foot-stone that 
 marked the resting-place of his mistress of other years 
 he unearthed a large closed stone jar. Removing the 
 cover, he took out an oblong tin box, again covered the 
 jar, returned the soil and carefully sodded the disturbed 
 earth's surface. Taking the box in his arms, he carried 
 it to the stable, and there thrust it into an empty meal 
 sack, which he then threw over his shoulder. Return- 
 ing to the house, he spoke to Dinah : " Yo' know de 
 papah what de muddah ob Susie wrote an' lebe in yoah 
 charge ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " She say t' yo' dat ef de painfulness ob her life ebah 
 182 
 
Spirits 
 
 had t' be known, dat de papahs wah t' be used fo' de 
 sake ob de chile." 
 
 " Dat am what she say." 
 
 " Brung me de papahs, Dinah ; dat time am come." 
 
 Dinah hesitated. 
 
 " Doan yo' heah ? Am yo' gittin' deaf er losin' yoah 
 senses ? Yo' bettah be keerful, yo' hain't got much 
 sense t' lose." 
 
 Dinah dived her hand into the corner of the cupboard 
 and produced a package neatly wrapped in newspaper, 
 which she handed to Cupe, who placed it in the sack, 
 which he threw across his shoulder and started for 
 Stringtown. The old dog with nose against the ground 
 trotting lazily at his heels. Dinah in the doorway 
 watched the retreating figure. Mumbling to herself, 
 and accompanying her voice with an occasional shake of 
 the head, she stood long after the form disappeared ; 
 then returning into the cabin, she glanced at the little 
 bed where Susie, tired of play, had carelessly thrown 
 herself and fallen asleep. She hesitated a moment and 
 then went straight to the mantel-piece, taking therefrom 
 the bottle Cupe had brought from Mr. Nordman's. 
 Carefully tying a thread around the bottle exactly on 
 the top line of the liquid, she uncorked the vial, raised it 
 to her lips and drank a deep draught, half emptying it ; 
 then, smacking her lips, she stepped to the water bucket, 
 and poured water into the bottle until the liquid's sur- 
 face struck the thread again, which latter she then re- 
 moved. Finally she replaced the bottle on the shelf. 
 
 " Yo' am a sly old fox, Cupe Hardman, yo' am a sly 
 ole coon, but Dinah — ." Whatever she might have 
 intended saying as a continuation of her soliloquy was 
 lost, for, glancing at the little bed, she again caught 
 sight of the sleeping face of Susie. 
 
 183 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 Dropping on her knees, the old negress clapped her 
 lips upon the delicate hand that lay upon the white 
 coverlet, murmuring : 
 
 " De win' blow cole an' de snow am deep in de 
 Canerdy country ; de nigger lub de Kaintuck sunshine, 
 de sweet-'tatah an' de 'possum ; de grabe ob de ole fo'ks 
 an' de chillun am bery deah t' de brack fo'ks' heaht, 
 an' de cabin an' de fren's what lib in ole Kaintuck am 
 presh'us. But when Cupe say t' Dinah, fo' de good ob 
 de chile, de deed mus' be done, Dinah '11 let de fiah go 
 out on de cabin harf, an '11 close de cabin doah ; she '11 
 took a las' look at de ole home, an' wid Cupe an' de 
 honey chile '11 slip away in de night." 
 
 The head of the negress fell upon the coverlet, her 
 eyes sought the bottle on the mantelpiece. For a long 
 time she rested in this position, then attempted to rise, 
 but irresistible languor held her in place. She reached 
 up her hand, pointed to the vial, and wanderingly spoke : 
 " Yo' wah sweet t' de taste, yo' honey bottle, but yo' 
 caint tole Cupe nuffin, fo' de line am on de mark." 
 Her eyes closed dreamily and she mumbled : " De 
 Canerdy Lan' am cole an' de grabes ob de missus an' 
 de chillun in Kaintuck am deah, but fo' de good ob de 
 Susie chile an' de lub ob ole Cupe, Dinah '11 close de 
 cabin doah ferebah." 
 
 184 
 
CHAPTER XXIX 
 cupe's story of the past 
 
 TRUDGING through the gathering dusk of the 
 evening, Cupe, with the sack on his back and the 
 dog at his heels, reached the outskirts of Stringtown. 
 He climbed the fence about one of the back lots, near 
 one of the frame houses, and struck an alley-way, that 
 led to the pike. Walking then along the sidewalk, he 
 reached the door of Mr. Wagner. Once before, bearing 
 the clothing of Susie, he had stood before that door, and 
 having delivered his bundle had retreated with heavy 
 heart. Now again with another bundle he stood on the 
 same spot, hat in hand, his white head conspicuous in the 
 gloom. Mr. Wagner opened the door, and recognising 
 Cupe, invited him in. 
 
 " You may drop your sack by the side of the door j it 
 will be perfectly safe." 
 
 " Ef et am de same t' yo', Ma'se Wagnah, I '11 sot et 
 inside de room." 
 
 " Certainly, do as you choose." 
 
 Cupe not only " sot et inside de room," but he 
 deposited it at his very feet, standing bareheaded beside 
 the odd-looking package. 
 
 Mr. Wagner made no attempt to induce the visitor to 
 be seated, knowing that Cupe's negro training would 
 not allow him to sit in the parlour of a white man. 
 Looking about the room, Cupe spied upon the wall a 
 trinket that once belonged to Susie. Beginning the con- 
 
 185 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 versation after the manner of the negro, he addressed the 
 trinket instead of Mr. Wagner. 
 
 " An' wha' es de Susie gearl what carry yo' in her 
 han' ? Am yo' lonesome in de silence, do yo' lis'n fo' 
 de tongue ob de pert chile dat am gone ? " 
 
 Mr. Wagner could but feel a pang of remorse. He 
 knew that Cupe was speaking to him, though addressing 
 the inanimate trinket. 
 
 Turning from that Cupe directly asked : " An' hab 
 yo' hea'd any news from de honey gearl ? " 
 
 *' None, excepting the statement of the furloughed sol- 
 dier, who saw a child in camp before Murfreesboro." 
 
 " An' did yo' send a man t' see ef et wah Susie ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but he could find no trace of her. The 
 Army of the Cumberland is constantly changing its 
 location, and there has been heavy fighting. Cupe, 
 God knows that I thought I was doing my duty to the 
 child. Would that she were in her old home with you 
 again ! " 
 
 " Yoah yintention wah good, Ma'se Wagnah, an' 
 Cupe doan bear no blame t' yo'. De trouble wah dat 
 yo' tried t' cross Prov'dence an t' bre'k de workin' ob 
 de sign. Cupe hab t' say es how he am t' blame fo' de 
 crime, an' not yo'." 
 
 " You, Cupid ! Why, you begged for possession of 
 your charge. Your pleadings brought tears to my eyes, 
 your voice has never left my ears. Had I listened to you, 
 Susie would have been happy in your cabin now." 
 
 " Et wah de Co'ht an' not yo', Ma'se Wagnah. Yo' 
 did de biddin' ob de law, but de law am not es strong es 
 de sign, fo' de sign am de biddin' ob God. Et wah 
 Cupe who es t' blame, doan I tole yo', fo' he lose his 
 head when de day ob trouble hove in sight." 
 
 " How were you to blame ? " 
 l8^ 
 
Cupe's Story of the Past 
 
 " Ef Cupe had had his wits, he 'ud hab brought de sack 
 vo' see on de flo'. De fool nigger lose his sense." 
 
 Mr. Wagner looked inquiringly toward the sack. 
 
 "■ Ef yo' '11 lis'n t' Cupe he '11 tole yo' what he should 
 hab said de day yo' come fo' Susie." 
 
 " Go on." 
 
 Standing on the floor, the old man began his story. 
 He forgot himself, he lost sight of his hearer, his tongue, 
 keeping time with his vivid memory, became eloquent, 
 as the words fell from his lips. 
 
 " De day what perish long ago wah gone. Et went 
 into de da'kness when ole iMa'se Hardman wah foun' 
 dead in Bloody Hollah. De niggers shet demselbs in de 
 cabin, skeahed nigh t' defF. De witches wah plattin' de 
 ho'ses' tail in de bahn, de owl wah sittin' in de top ob 
 de hick'ry tree lookin' mighty wise, but sayin' not a 
 word. De sign wah in de air, an' Cupe go out in de 
 night an' look in de watah ob de spring an' read de 
 word. Et say dat young ma'se 'ud die on de New Yeah 
 night, es yo' know he did die, an' dat Susie chile 'ud 
 come es she did come, an' et say moah dan dat ; but yo' 
 am consarned only wid what et say 'bout de chile. An' 
 den de long yeahs pass, an' one mahn'n Cupe say : 
 ' Ma'se, t'-morrah mahn'n 'bout day broke Bloody 
 Hollah '11 mix etself ag'in in yoah affairs.' 
 
 " ' Damn Bloody Hollah ! ' say de ma'se. 
 
 " ' A chile '11 be foun' by de lone grabe.' 
 
 " ' Shet up yoah nigger signs ! ' say de ma'se. 
 
 " ' An' de chile '11 come an' stay in dis cabin.' 
 
 " ' Close yoah lips, I tole yo' ! ' an', sayin' dat, ma'se 
 walk ofF. 
 
 " But when de grey ob de mahn'n come, Cupe wah 
 stan'n' by de doah ob de cabin, an' ma'se he op'n de 
 doah an' walk out, es Cupe 'spected him t' do. He 
 
 187 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 look kindah queer when he see Cupe stan'n' dah, an' 
 den he say : ' Cupe, yo' kin come wid me ; I 'm gwine 
 t' show yo' dat nigger signs am fool signs.' But Cupe, 
 he know dat de omen wah wo'kin' on de ma'se, an' he 
 keep his mouf shet, an' follud de ma'se, who go straight 
 fo' Bloody Hollah. An' when ma'se an' Cupe stan' on 
 de hill an' look fru de fog, sump'n' wah to be seed in de 
 hollah, sump'n' dat in de grey ob mahn'n wah mon- 
 strous queer lookin'. Et wah on de Bloody Hollah 
 grabe. An' ma'se he stop a minit kindah s'prised like, 
 an' Cupe raise his han' an' pint down into de Hollah 
 obah de shouldah ob de ma'se, an' say : 
 
 " ' De signs am come'n true.' 
 
 " ' Et am a cow,' say ma'se, an' tuhn back. 
 
 " ' Et am not a cow, et am de chile pinted t' by de 
 sign,' say Cupe, An' jes den de crittah rise up an' stan' 
 on de grabe. Et wah tall an' slim an' red an' white, but 
 de fog wah t'ick, an' only de colour an' de size could be 
 seed. Et wah an awful sight, a skeery ting. 
 
 " ' Et am not a chile,' say ma'se, an' he kindah 
 shiver. 
 
 " ' An' suah et am not a cow. Ef de sign am wrong 
 et am monstrous queer,' say Cupe. 
 
 " An' so ma'se stan' skeered like, an' Cupe wah kindah 
 solium case de sign wah wrong. De crittah wah not a 
 chile an' not a cow an' not like any uddah crittah. Jes 
 den de breeze raise de fog, an' et show a lone woman 
 holdin' sump'n' in her arms. De woman wah in a 
 white dress, an' de bundle she hole wah red es blood. 
 An' ma'se he look kindah cu'yus like at Cupe, an' den 
 he swo' a cuss word, an' down into de Hollah he go, 
 Cupe by his side. Befo' God, Ma'se Wagnah, et wah a 
 lone woman, an' in her arms she hole Susie wrapped in 
 a red shawl. 
 
 1 88 
 
Cupe's Story of the Past 
 
 "An' ma'se he say kindah cross-like: 'Wha' yo' 
 come from ? ' An' de woman pinted to'ard de Norf. 
 An' ma'se, he ax : ' Wha' yo' gwine t' ? ' An' she 
 look down at de grabe. Ma'se, he stop a minit an' den 
 say : ' Yo' am not alone, uddah people am gwine 'long 
 on de same road, an' de soonah some ob dem gets t' de 
 end de bettah fo' de worl',' say ma'se. 
 
 "• Den ma'se look at de chile, an' kindah see sump'n' 
 in ets eye t' make him t'ink a minit es Cupe 'spected 
 him t' do when he seed dem eyes ag'in. He tuhns on 
 de woman sudden like an' say : ' What fo' yo' brung 
 dat chile heah ? Wha' yo' git dat chile ? ' 
 
 " An' de woman say : ' Yo' know de look ob de eye 
 ob de chile ? Wha' else kin de chile go ? ' 
 
 "*To de debbil, wha' ets fahdah gwine, de coward.' 
 
 " An' then ma'se look ag'in at de chile, an' say : ' De 
 eyes ob de chile go back t' de day ets fahdah wah young. 
 I see de sweet boy a-sittin' by my side ag'in. De dim- 
 ple' cheek, de white skin. De eye ob de chile befo' me 
 call back de day ob long ago.' Den he tuhn on de 
 woman savage-like : ' Woman, I swo' once by all de 
 gods an' debbils dat ef ebah de fahdah ob dat chile, er 
 kin ob de fahdah, sot foot on de ole farm, ets life 'udn't 
 be wufF de coppahs on a dead nigger's eyes. An' now 
 yo' brung de ole times back, de times when de ' — den 
 he bre'k ofF — ' damn de ole times ! ' he say. 
 
 " De woman look down at de grabe an' cry. De 
 chile look up into ma'se's face an' laugh, an' hole out 
 ets little arms, an' den Cupe spoke, fo' he see wicked- 
 ness risin' in ma'se's eye. 
 
 " ' Ma'se, yo' swo' ef ebah de fahdah ob dat chile, er 
 kin ob de fahdah, sot foot on de ole place yo'ud do 
 mu'd'h.' 
 
 "' Yes,' say ma'se ; ' an' one ob de varmints am heah 
 189 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 now, an' I 'tend t' choke de life out ob de brat.' He 
 reach out his han', es ef t' grab de chile, an' den Cupe 
 step betwixt de two. ' Hole yoah han' ! ' Cupe say, an' 
 strike et down. ' De fahdah am not heah an' de chile am 
 not stann on de groun\ Yo' hab mu'd'h in yoah heaht, 
 an' hab no right t' act out de oaff les'n de chile am 
 stan'n' on de earf.' 
 
 " Ma'se stop a minit, an' den he say : ' Come t' de 
 cabin ! ' 
 
 " An' de woman come. Dah wa 'n't nuffin moah 
 said, she jes come an' stay. De woman sleep wid de 
 chile in de loP, an' Dinah sleep on de flo' ob de loP, an' 
 Cupe sleep on de flo' ob de cabin room beside de bed ob 
 ma'se. But de sign wah come true ! 
 
 " Ma'se he keep away from de woman an' nebbah 
 speak t' de chile fo' a long time. But he keep a mon- 
 strous lookin' at ets big, roun' eyes, an' moah dan once 
 Cupe cotch de tear drops stealin' down his rough cheek. 
 But Cupe doan say nuffin fo' feah et 'ud cross de sign. 
 
 " One day de muddah ob Susie say t' Cupe : ' Git me 
 some writin' papah.' An' Cupe when he go t' String- 
 town git a sheet. An' when he han' et t' her, she look 
 at et kindah cu'yus like, an' say : ' Et am not nuff. I 
 wan' t' write de story ob de chile.' An' Cupe nex' day 
 git a whole pack ob big-size papah an' a dozen bright 
 pencils. An' de muddah ob Susie take de papah an' 
 write an' write. De days come an' go, an' she write 
 an' write. Ma'se he doan say nuffin an' doan ax no 
 quistions. He had n't any writin' sense. An' at las' de 
 woman wrap de papah up an' write sump'n' on de out- 
 side ob de pack. 
 
 " Den nex' mahn'n she say t' ma'se : ' Dah am nusses 
 wanted down in Tennessy.' 
 
 " An' ma'se he say : ' A namb'lance train fo' de Souf 
 190 
 
Cupe's Story of the Past 
 
 am campin' in de fiel' by de pond ob Mr. Nordman 
 now.' 
 
 " An' de woman say nuffin fo' a time, an' den she go 
 t' de cupboard an' take from et de red shawl what Susie 
 wah wrapped in de mahn'n she wah found in Bloody 
 Hollah." 
 
 Cupe paused and turned his eyes to a tiny, well-worn 
 shawl hanging from a peg in the wall, and in a solemn 
 tone remarked, pointing with his finger as he did so : 
 *' Dah am de bressed gahment now." 
 
 Then he continued : " An' den de muddah took de 
 chile in her arms an' cry. Ma'se he kindah feel dat 
 sump'n' wah come'n, an' he say : ' De war am not fo' 
 chillun.' 
 
 " De woman stop a minit, an' den she say : ' May de 
 chile stay ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes,' say ma'se ; ' but ef de fahdah put foot on de 
 place, dah '11 be a grabe dug ; et '11 be fo' him er me.' 
 
 " Den she sot Susie in de little hick'ry cheer what 
 Cupe done made fo' her, an' clime t' de lof ' an' come 
 down wid de bundle ob papah an' lay et on de table. 
 
 " ' What am in de bundle ? ' ax ma'se. 
 
 "'A load ob sin.' 
 
 " She take from her pocket a little purse (Cupe held 
 up a silk purse) an' she lay et on de papah an' say : ' Et 
 am all I hab.' Den she pick Susie up an' kiss an' hug 
 her an' cry obah her, an' Dinah cry an' ma'se an' Cupe 
 kindah feel bery solium' like. ' Doan none ob yo' follah 
 me,' she say. ' De wages of sin am defF,' she muttah t' 
 herselb, an' tuhn from de doah. But ma'se an' Cupe go 
 out too, an' es de doah shet stan' by her side. ' What 
 'bout de papah yo' write ? ' ma'se ax. 
 
 " She stop an' look at ma'se an' Cupe, an' den 
 she say : ' Ef ebah hahm pint t' Susie yo' kin use de 
 
 191 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 papah. Et '11 tole yo' wha' Susie hab de right t' lib an' 
 et '11 gib de chile de libin' she am 'titled t' er et '11 brung 
 shame t' de home ob a man who doan wan' no shame.' 
 
 " ' What am in de papah ? ' 
 
 " ' De story ob a life ob sin.' 
 
 " ' An' de chile am mixed in de crime, de yinnecent 
 chile ? ' Cupe ax. 
 
 " ' Yes.' 
 
 " ' Yo' lie, yo' lie, yo' muddah ob de chile,' ma'se 
 say ; ' dah nebbah wah sin on an unbohn babe, an' no 
 sin hab come t' Susie sense she wah bohn.' 
 
 '' * Et wah case ob de muddah's sin.' 
 
 " ' Yo' lie ag'in ! De muddah what bear de chile, de 
 muddah what hole de chile t' her bos'm when de cussed 
 man hide hims head, de muddah what face de shame an' 
 face de worl' wid de chile in her arms am pure — by all 
 de gods she am pure ! Et am de man who sin', an' yo' 
 know et, de coward who sneak off an' lebe yo' t' bear de 
 chile alone, de cur who sit smilin' now. Et am nebbah 
 de muddah wid de chile on her bos'm, but always de 
 man who am de sneakin' dawg, de sinnin' brute, de 
 coward ! ' 
 
 " Den de muddah ob Susie say : ' Ef yo' am right de 
 worl' am wrong, fo' de worl' say de chile an' de muddah 
 am de sinners. An' et wah case ob de sin dat I take 
 my chile an' go 'way fo' de good ob de fahdah, who am 
 safe.' 
 
 " ' But,' she go on, * ef trouble rise up an' yo' wan' 
 Susie t' stay in de cabin, let de story be read. De man 
 who de papah pints to '11 send money.' 
 
 " ' Damn de man an' damn his money ! ' say ma'se. 
 ' Nebbah yo' min' de money ; when yo' am back from 
 de war yo 'II fin' de chile in de cabin, an' dah '11 be a 
 place fo' yo' ; but no place fo' his dirty money.' 
 
 192 
 
Cupe's Story of the Past 
 
 " She turn t' go, den she stop ag'in. ' Be keerful 
 who reads de story ; et am not to' scandal tongue,' she 
 say. An' den she walk 'way. She go alone t' de 
 yamb'lance train ! " Cupe stopped. 
 
 " And did you hear nothing from her afterward ? " 
 Cupe took from his pocket-book the clipping of a 
 newspaper, which Mr. Wagner read aloud : 
 
 A NURSE KILLED 
 
 A shell from a rebel battery near Dallas, Georgia, Tuesday 
 morning struck and instantly killed a nurse. She came in an 
 ambulance train from Kentucky, but nothing is known of her 
 history. Heedless of her own safety, she moved about the 
 field, succouring the wounded of both armies. Careless of her- 
 self, in the thick of battle, while holding a canteen of water to 
 the mouth of a dying soldier, her life was suddenly destroyed. 
 Nothing that could give a clue to her identity was found among 
 her meagre effects, nothing but an addressed, stamped envelope, 
 in which was a request that in case of her death a simple state- 
 ment of the fact be mailed in the same envelope, and that no 
 effort be made to find her friends. Only this and the following 
 request added as a postscript : *' Please lay me out in white." 
 
 As Mr. Wagner ceased reading, Cupe broke in : 
 
 " She say, ' De wages ob sin am defF,' an' she am 
 dead, but befo' God, de sin wah not hern." 
 
 " A sad story, Cupid, but it is told too late. The 
 mother is dead, the child is lost." 
 
 " Ef de chile could be foun', Ma'se Wagnah ? " 
 
 " Impossible ! " 
 
 " 'Ud yo' gib de keepin' ob de chile t' de brack 
 fo'ks ? " 
 
 " The child is gone.'^ 
 
 Cupe leaned over, opened the sack at his feet, took 
 from it the oblong package of manuscript handed him by 
 13 193 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 Dinah, and said : "When de candle am Ughted t'-morrah 
 ebenin' in de grocery Cupe '11 come t' de grocery-store 
 meetin'. Yo' hab de papah written by de woman lyin' 
 in de battle groun' ob Georgia. Ef yo '11 read de lines 
 p'raps yo' would raddah de chile stay wid de nigger." 
 
 The negro turned to the door : " De writin' am only 
 fo' yo' ; et am none ob Stringtown's consahn." The 
 door closed and Mr. Wagner retired to his room. 
 
 When morning broke, the village clerk sat in his 
 chair; the manuscript before him had been read a 
 second time ; his head rested on his hand, the lamp 
 still burned, for Mr. Wagner, in deep reflection, gave 
 no thought to the passage of time. 
 
 194 
 
CHAPTER XXX 
 
 CUPE PURCHASES HIS WIFE 
 
 CUPE after leaving Mr. Wagner did not go directly 
 home. Instead, with the sack over his shoulder, 
 he sought the dwelling of Judge Elford. Once before 
 he had passed from door to door of these two houses, 
 and this second reception at the home of Judge Elford 
 was nearly a repetition of the first one. The negro was 
 invited into the sitting-room, and in kindly tones asked 
 to state his business. 
 
 Glancing about, he threw in a side remark, by way 
 of introduction : 
 
 " De bot'm ob de cheer yo' wah sittin' in am in 
 trouble ag'in, Ef yo '11 let de nigger took et home, he '11 
 put in a new bot'm ? " 
 
 " All right, Cupe," said the judge, knowing well that 
 this was not the business which brought his caller at 
 that hour. 
 
 '' Et am many yeahs sense Cupe larn' t' bot'm cheers. 
 De cohn-shuck twist am hardah dan de hick'ry strip, an' 
 de hick'ry bot'm las' de best." 
 
 " Let it be a hickory bottom." 
 
 " Lawd, de dimes an' qua'tahs what Cupe made 
 bot'min' cheers fo' Stringtown fo'k," the old darkey 
 remarked, and reached again into the sack ; taking 
 therefrom the heavy oblong tin box, he stepped defer- 
 entially to the desk of the judge and placed it before him, 
 inserted a tiny key into the lock, turned it, raised the lid 
 and stepped back, 
 
 195 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 Beneath the cover lay a neatly folded paper, which 
 Judge Elford opened and read at Cupe's request. Then 
 he looked in surprise at the negro and remarked : 
 
 " Your freedom, Cupe, you are a free man ! These 
 papers were drawn up fifty years ago ; they are properly 
 signed and witnessed." 
 
 The old man chuckled. " Dah am 'nuddah papah," 
 he said. 
 
 " Yes," the judge continued, reading again : " This 
 paper is a bill of sale. In consideration of twelve hun- 
 dred dollars, to be paid by Cupid Hardman to the legal 
 heir of your recent master, Dinah is to be freed." 
 
 Again the negro chuckled : " An '11 yo' count dc 
 money in de box ? " He leaned over, by an effort 
 carefully inverted the box on the desk, and raised it. 
 Within were coins of every size and description. The 
 astonished judge, though rejoicing in his humble friend's 
 triumph, was reluctant to undertake the tedious task 
 suggested by the negro, who himself realised that it 
 was a task. 
 
 " Dah am 'zac'ly twelve hund'd dollahs. Yo' kin 
 take yoah time t' count ct." The wrinkled fingers of 
 the slave playfully stirred the medley of coins. Picking 
 up a silver dollar, Cupe scrutinised it closely, saying : 
 " De mark am on yo' yit — de mark ob de file. Kin 
 yo' memberlec' de night yo' wah handed to Cupe, de 
 night ob de shiveree ? De bright young missus in de 
 house on de pike han' yo' t' Cupe, an' say : 'Fo' waitin' 
 on de table, Cupe.' God bress her sweet face ! Cupe 
 sees her yit es she smile at de nigger dat wed'n' night, 
 de night she marry Ma'se Nordman. But de face am 
 sah'rin' now — one chile wearin' de Blue, de uddah 
 wearin' de Grey." 
 
 Unwrapping the tissue paper from a five-dollar gold 
 196 
 
Cupe purchases his Wife 
 
 piece, Cupe abruptly addressed the judge : " Did yo' 
 ebah see dis shinin' piece befo' ? " Then continued, 
 without v/aiting for an answer : " An' why should yo' 
 know de coin from ets bruddahs ? Yo' hab seed many 
 like et, suah. But Cupe mahked dis beauty, an' heah 
 am de mahk." He pointed to a tiny cross. *' Do yo' 
 min' de day Cupe hole de strap an' let de coffin ob de 
 missus down into de earf ? An' do yo' min' dat es 
 Cupe pass yoah doah dat night yo' came out an' slip 
 de shinin' gol' into his han' ? Dis am dat coin, Ma'se 
 Elford." Cupe turned it slowly between his fingers. 
 " Et am es bright es de day et wah buried, an' de face 
 ob de angel missus in Heaben am shinin' bright es dat 
 gol'. De grabe caint rub de shine off de gol' yo' gib in 
 her name. But dah ain't no use in sech memberlectins. 
 De money am all honest now, fo' Cupe made et square, 
 but de Lawd knows wha' some ob et hab be'n." 
 
 The negro paused in his speech, and fingered the 
 gold. The judge was silent. Evidently his thoughts 
 were in the solemn past, which had been recalled by 
 Cupe's artful tongue. By and by he asked : " Is this 
 money for the purpose of buying your wife, Dinah ? " 
 
 " Et am. Dis nigger hab be'n sab'n' de money fo' 
 de pu'pose. De patch ob t'backah what he raise in de 
 Satuhday afternoon am buhned long, long ago ; de rabbet 
 what he sell t' Stringtown fo'ks am gone, an' pow'ful 
 many ob de fo'ks what eat et am dead ; de cheer bot'ms 
 what Cupe put in hab been wo'n out, but de money dey 
 brung am safe. Yo' kin count et at yoah ease, Ma'se 
 Elford ; et am all dah." He turned to the door. 
 
 " Take the papers, Cupe, your own and Dinah's 
 freedom papers." The negro hesitated. " Ef et am de 
 same t' yo', Ma'se, de papahs an' de money may stay 
 t'geddah. Mebby dah won't be no use fo' de papahs. 
 
 197 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 Cupe doan wan' no disgrace on his head, an' doan 'tend 
 t' hab no disgrace." 
 
 " Explain your meaning." 
 
 " Ef some mahn'n de cry come t' Stringtown dat Cupe 
 an' Dinah am gone, ef de cabin am empty an' de doah 
 locked, ef dah hain't be'n no good-bye said, de fo'ks ob 
 dis heah town '11 'cuse Cupe an' Dinah ob stealin' dem- 
 selbs an' runnin' 'way t' Canerdy. Ef sech tings come 
 will yo' Stan' in de co'ht an' show dat freedom papah ob 
 Cupe an' count dc money he pay fo' Dinah into de box 
 ob de co'ht ? " 
 
 " I will." 
 
 " An' sabe de honah ob de two ole slabes ? " 
 
 " You may depend upon it." 
 
 Again Cupe turned to the door, and again he stopped. 
 " But ef Cupe an' Dinah keep libin' in de cabin, bettah 
 yo' keep de papahs an' de money, an' keep all de fac's 
 t' yo'selb ; an' ef Cupe an' Dinah die in de cabin, de 
 papahs am t' be read by de preachah at de grabe's side, 
 fo' Cupe wan's t' go into Heaben free, an' t' hab a free 
 wife too." 
 
 " And the money ? " 
 
 " De money am fo' Susie, ef she ebah am foun'." 
 
 " Susie is gone forever." 
 
 " Do yo' 'member what Cupe tole yo' de night he 
 Stan' in dis room an beg fo' de chile ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " He say : ' De law say dat de chile caint lib wid 
 Cupe, but de sign say dat she mus' lib wid Cupe.' An' 
 Susie am gone ferebah, yo' say, but Cupe b'lebe in de 
 sign, an' Cupe say dat she am not gone, but '11 come 
 back when de law am out ob de way." 
 
 " What do you mean, Cupe ? " 
 
 " 'Ud yo' let her stay wid de brack fo'ks ef she wah 
 t' come back ? " 198 
 
Cupe purchases his Wife 
 
 The judge looked quickly at the earnest old slave and 
 a sudden light came over his face. " Yes," he impul- 
 sively added, " if Susie is found her home may be with 
 you until she asks to go elsewhere." 
 
 " An' so God am greatah dan de law," said Cupe. 
 " Yo' may fold dem papahs 'way, Ma'se, case Cupe doan 
 'tend t' be freed. Ef he wah a free man he could n't 
 stay in de cabin. Et am monstrous pleasant t' be a 
 slabe an' not t' worry obah de rent er feed. Et am 
 pow'ful satisfyin' t' de soul t' open de eyes in de mahn'n 
 an' see de cohn a-growin' an' heah de chicken an' de 
 duck crowin' an' a-talkin' an' t' know dat de flour sack 
 an' de meal bah'l am full. Cupe an' Dinah '11 jes wait 
 in de cabin an' be slabes 'til dey die, an' ef Susie comes 
 back t' Stringtown she '11 fin' de cabin doah open an' de 
 cubbah spread on de table. Jes sot de money to 'side 
 fo' her in case ob a rainy day, an' read de papahs ob 
 freedom obah de grabe ob de niggers, an' den gib de 
 money t' de Susie chile." Cupe backed out of the 
 room and closed the door behind him. 
 
 The lamp that threw its light over the open book 
 wherein Mr. Wagner once had read the lines that saved 
 Cupe, " By Right of Clergy," lighted the desk, now 
 weighted with coin collected during that man's many 
 days of bondage. As the door closed the judge mur- 
 mured : " Thank God the negro has found the child, 
 but how can I explain to Mr. Wagner that he must give 
 up Susie ? " 
 
 199 
 
CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 " A FEARFUL SIGN " 
 
 THE edge of winter, moving down from the North, 
 had brought mist and cloud. The air of the 
 day just passed had been saturated with gloom and 
 shade. The clouds hung low ; they scraped the tree- 
 tops in the woodland on the hill, but no rain had fallen 
 from their sombre folds. Instead, cool breezes arose 
 that grew cooler as the day sped and fairly cold when 
 evening came. If the sun moved across the heavens 
 that day no ray from it reached the earth. The pre- 
 ceding night had turned directly into leaden day, the 
 dreary day had worn itself out and disappeared in gloom ; 
 there had been no twilight of morn or eve, there had 
 been no blending of light and darkness. 
 
 When Cupe stepped into the house of Mr. Wagner 
 it was still daytime, yet the lamp was lighted ; when he 
 stepped out again night had come, but no brighter lamp- 
 light was needed than before the day had fairly sped. 
 
 There was no moon, but had there been a full moon 
 high in the heavens no ray could have pierced that thick 
 cloak. The heavens and the earth were hidden from 
 sight. When Cupe left the door of Judge Elford the 
 darkness above and below had run together ; distance 
 had disappeared ; there was no near, no far. 
 
 Never before had that night-loving man felt the 
 200 
 
*'A Fearful Sign" 
 
 weight of darkness. He stood in the street and rubbed 
 his eyes;, opened them wide, muttered and stood ex- 
 pectant, but saw no light save an occasional window 
 gleam, which served but to deepen the surrounding 
 blackness. 
 
 " Et am monstrous strange fo' a nigger t' be caught 
 by de da'kness, et am s'prisin' cu'yus. When a nigger 
 sleep et am in de sunshine ; de sof'ness ob de sunshine 
 am soovin' t' de eye. When de night-time come, do 
 cat, de dawg, de coon, de 'possum an' de nigger am on 
 dere feet. De night-time am de time fo' de brack man 
 t' be awake, de daytime am de time fo' de nigger t' 
 sleep. An' so et wah in de hot Guinee country Cupe's 
 gran'dad come from, when eb'ry creature sleep in de 
 day an' run in de night. Dat habit am wid de nigger 
 yet." 
 
 Cupe struggled along, aided by the slender light that 
 came from an occasional window, until he turned into 
 a field below the village. Then impenetrable darkness 
 closed in upon him ; the tree-top, waving above, made 
 no mark against the sky, the horizon gave no streak to 
 lighten the gloom ; above and below the deepest dark- 
 ness reigned. 
 
 Suddenly to the right he caught sight of a moving 
 light that floated slowly in a horizontal direction over 
 the earth, seemingly a few feet above its surface. The 
 eyes of the negro were riveted on the phenomenon, 
 which — a globe of light, not a flame — flitted in and 
 out of sight as it passed behind a clump of bushes or a 
 tree trunk, to reappear again. Following the undulating 
 surface of the ground, it moved steadily along, now to 
 the right, now to the left, but ever onward toward the 
 spot where stood the man whose eyes were fixed on the 
 strange illumination, which was neither spark nor flame 
 
 20I 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 nor any form of fire. There was no wind. The negro 
 thrust a finger into his mouth, withdrew it and held it 
 in the air above his head, but no touch of coldness came 
 to either side j and still the glimmer flittered back and 
 forth, careless alike to path or road, drawing closer with 
 each change of direction. 
 
 When but a few feet from the negro its direction 
 changed, and then for the first time it started straight 
 for his person, floating about a foot above the earth. 
 This final action was responded to by the old man, who, 
 until this time, but for the single movement by which 
 he had tested the wind, had stood like a statue. With 
 a motion strangely rapid for one so aged, he jerked his 
 coat from his person, quickly turned the sleeves wrong 
 side out, and then drew it on again. The globe of light 
 vibrated as if in response to the action, tremulously 
 moved up and down like a lantern in a wave-rocked 
 boat, then turned to the right, passed about five feet 
 from the negro, and proceeding now in a direct line dis- 
 appeared in an adjacent thicket. 
 
 " Yo' cussed Jack o' Lantern, an' ef yo' had got on 
 dis nigger's back yo' 'ud hab rode him 'til mahn'n. But 
 Cupe know how t' circumbent yo', yo' debbil's light. 
 No Jack o' Lantern dare tech de man who w'ars de coat 
 wrong side out. Yo' sly cuss, yo' wabbled about es ef 
 yo' wah not keerin' fo' de nigger, but yo' caint fool dis 
 chile. Lawd, but et wah a close call ; fo' ef yo' had 
 come from b'hin', yo' 'ud hab jumped on de nigger an' 
 rode him till de light ob day. Niggers hab be'n cotched 
 by de Jack o' Lanterns and rode all de libelong night, 
 obah de hill, fru de briars an' in de grabeyard. An' 
 when dey come home in de mahn'n, tired an' near 'bout 
 dead, de ma'se say dey hab be'n out t' a shindig dance ; 
 but et am God's fac' dat de Jack o' Lanterns cotch 
 
 202 
 
"A Fearful Sign" 
 
 niggers what doan know de coat sign, an' ride 'em like 
 es ef dey wah ho'ses." ^ 
 
 His quick ear caught a familiar sound, the breaking 
 of brush, caused by the motion of an animal in a 
 briar patch. A smile broke over his face and he joy- 
 ously called out, " Come heah, Dgawge ! " and the 
 dog's cold nose soon touched his hand and his side 
 rubbed against the negro's leg. Reaching his hand into 
 his pocket, the slave took therefrom a roll of twine ; 
 one end of the string he tied about the neck of the dog, 
 the other he held in his hand. " Keep in de pafF an' go 
 home, yo' fool ! " ordered the master, and together man 
 and dog moved onward. " Dis am a monstrous shame 
 t' any nigger, an' t' t'ink dat Cupe should ebah feel de 
 disgrace ob such a ting es dis. Et am lucky dat et am 
 night, fo' de shame am moah dan Cupe could bear in 
 daylight. But de dawg caint tole nobody, an' nobody 
 but de dawg am heah t' see de shame ob de nigger. Et 
 am a monstrous shame, an' et am a fearful sign ; de 
 Lawd only knows de meanin' ob sech a sign." 
 
 ^ If the old negroes did not believe that to wear a coat wrong side 
 out would protect them from the " Jack o' Lantern " they affected 
 as much. They also affected to believe that the negro caught by 
 one would be ridden until morning. 
 
 203 
 
CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 THE SPIRITS AFFECT DINAH 
 
 STEP by step these companions, the faithful brute 
 and the bonded slave, had journeyed from String- 
 town, until now the dog's nose was prone against the 
 front door of the cabin, which Cupe could not see. 
 *' Dah hab be'n f 'mil'ar signs 'long de pafF, but de dawg 
 caint talk an' de da'kness ob night am cubbahin' de way. 
 Dah wah a roun' rail on de las' fence we climbed, et 
 wah suah de fence what once stood befo' de cabin, but 
 dah ain't no cabin heah. Ef de ebil sperrits hab mobed 
 dat fence an' bent dat pafF t' fool de ole man, dah am 
 trouble befo' his steps, an' he mus' move monstrous 
 keerful. De debbil may be restin' at de end ob dis walk. 
 An' de dawg won't move no moah. Et am de fust time 
 dat dawg hab gone back on his ma'se. Go home, 
 Dgawge Wash'n't'n ! " A jerk at the string, and the 
 dog in reply bayed long, tremulously, and stood still, his 
 nose close against the cabin door. " Et am a painful 
 howl yo' am makin', Dgawge. I hab nebbah hea'd sech 
 talk befor'. De voice yo' speak when yo' tree de coon, 
 de 'possum er de rabbet am plain, but Cupc nebbah 
 hea'd yo' talk befo' like dis. What yo' see t' make 
 sech talk es dat ? An' only t' t'ink ob de shame ob de 
 nigger." Suddenly he raised his head, snufFed the air, 
 and dropped the string. " Et am t'back, et am de han' 
 ob backey what hang 'side de cabin doah. De smell am 
 not t' be mistook'n." Again he snufFed the air. " Et 
 
 204 
 
The Spirits affect Dinah 
 
 am de cabin yo' hab treed, Dgawge ; yo' nebbah treed 
 de cabin befo', an' dat es why yo' talk so strange." 
 Reaching out his hand, the door was found, and Cupe 
 at once gave a loud rap. There was no response. 
 Again he knocked, with no better result. Cupe slowly 
 moved his fingers over the door. The latch string hung 
 out. " Befo' de Lawd, an' what am de mattah wid 
 Dinah ! " Opening the door, he groped about inside, 
 reached the mantelpiece, struck a match, and lighted the 
 candle. The child lay asleep on the little bed. Dinah, 
 with head thrown back so that it rested on the edge of 
 the bed, lay sprawled upon the floor. 
 
 " By de bones ob my gran'pap ! " 
 
 No other word did Cupe utter, — that unusual expres- 
 sion, a relic of his old master, expressed the depth of his 
 surprise. Stepping to the prostrate form, he held the 
 candle before the sleeper's lips ; the flame leaned out- 
 ward ; breath was there. Raising it slightly, he moved 
 the light back and forth before her eyes. No move- 
 ment. " Et am monstrous strange," he muttered. 
 Kneeling, he placed his nose close to her lips, and at 
 once a scowl spread over his black face. " De cause 
 am cleah ef de night am da'k." Cupe stepped to the 
 mantelpiece, and grasping the bottle, held it before the 
 light. " De cause am not so cleah," he mumbled, as he 
 saw that the surface of the liquid marked the exact spot 
 where he had left it. Shaking his head, the old negro 
 uncorked the bottle and raised it to his nose : " Et am 
 lickah." He thrust the neck into his mouth, his flabby 
 lips sucked about the shoulder of the bottle, gurgle after 
 gurgle followed, and when he replaced the flask more 
 than half the contents had disappeared, " Et am a 
 shame," he muttered, " et am a shame dat a gem'n 
 mus' swallah so much watah fo' so little lickah." 
 
 205 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 Grasping Dinah by the shoulders, Cupe gave her a 
 violent jerk, which raised her fairly upon her feet ; and 
 as she opened her eyes, he thrust the woman upon a 
 wooden-bottomed chair with a shock that brought her to 
 consciousness. Standing before her, Cupe shook his fist 
 close to her face and said, in a deep, dramatic tone : 
 
 "Dah am direful signs t'-night ; dey come from in de 
 cabin an' out ob de cabin, from de air an' from de earf." 
 
 Dinah, dazed and drowsy, only stared back at the old 
 man, who continued : " De signs am t'ickenin' an' 
 pintin', but de debbil only knows wheddah de end am 
 good er bad." 
 
 Still no reply. 
 
 " But de signs am not so worryin' es de nigger's dis- 
 grace." 
 
 " What disgrace ? " queried Dinah, rubbing her eyes. 
 
 " Dah hab be'n double disgrace on Cupe dis night." 
 
 " What done disgrace yo' ? " 
 
 " Cupe hab queered hisse'f, fo' he hab be'n los', an' 
 yo' hab brung disgrace t' him too." 
 
 " Dah hab be'n no disgrace ob yoah wife, ef yo' hab 
 be'n los'," retorted Dinah, with offended dignity. 
 
 " Dah hab be'n two disgraces ob Dinah. Yo' hab 
 be'n drunk, an' yo' hab stol'n lickah. Dah am no wus- 
 sah a sin dan t' steal lickah." 
 
 •■' Befo' God, Cupe Hardman, dis nigger hab n't seed 
 ner teched a drop ob lickah fo' a yeah ! " 
 
 " An' dah am now anuddah disgrace, fo' yo' hab tole 
 a lie. De debbil hab got yo,' suah." 
 
 " De bottle am jes' es yo' lef ' et, Cupe Hardman ; et 
 am on de mantelpiece an' am full." She turned her eyes 
 to the vial, and was startled to find it half emptied. 
 
 " De bottle am 'witched ; et wah full t' de line," she 
 added. 
 
 206 
 
The Spirits affect Dinah 
 
 Cupe held up his hand, motioning her to cease speak- 
 ing, but the alarmed woman continued : 
 
 " De ebil sperrits am in de house, dey hab be'n in et 
 all day. When Dinah heat de graby in de skillet an' 
 poah de watah out ob de cup into et, de skillet fly into 
 pieces. De debbil broke dat skillet, suah." 
 
 " Yo' wah drunk, yo' fool, an' dreamed yo' poahed 
 watah into de skillet, but yo' poahed et into de bottle. 
 Yo' drunk a gill ob whiskey, an' den yo' fill de bottle up 
 wid watah, an' hab be'n dreamin' like a drunken nigger 
 dreams. De debbil '11 git yo' lyin' soul." Dinah 
 pointed to the hearth, where fragments of the vessel 
 were scattered. " Do de dream bre'k a skillet ? " 
 
 Cupe, more disturbed by the evidence of the broken 
 skillet than he cared to admit, said solemnly : " Yo' hab 
 be'n pow'ful wicked. Yo' know yo' drunk de lickah." 
 
 " An' what ef I did took a drop, yo' hain't no cause 
 t' jaw. Yo' bettah clean yoah own toof befo' yo' pick 
 Dinah's." 
 
 " What yo' mean t' 'sinuate .'' " 
 
 " Wha' yoah million patch, Cupe Hardman ? " 
 
 " What yo' talkin' 'bout ? " 
 
 " De night de fust singer sit in de tree an' sing, six 
 weeks ago t'-morrah night, yo' slip out ob de cabin an' wah 
 gone 'bout an hour. Yo' come back wid two watah- 
 millions in de meal sack 'cross yoah shoulders." 
 
 " De cause am easy t' 'splain." 
 
 " Yo' got no million patch, yo' stealin' nigger." 
 
 " I tole yo' de cause am easy t' 'splain. De million 
 yo' foun' in one en' ob de sack wah growin' cross de 
 pafF, an' Cupe jes ease de paff, fo' feah et hurt some 
 fellah's foot." 
 
 " But de uddah million." 
 
 " De sack wah lop-sided den, an' Cupe could n't 
 207 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 carry et. Et wah a sin t' waste de fruit, so he go back 
 an' eben de weight by sHppin' ets mate from jes inside 
 de fence an' put et into de uddah end." 
 
 " Bettah yo' say nuffin 'bout de drop ob lickah, Cupe. 
 Et wah pow'ful sweet t' de taste, an' so wah de millions. 
 Dinah taste em bof, an' am gollified t' speak." 
 
 " Dinah, fo' de sake ob de smoove argyment yo' make, 
 dah will be fergibness dis once, but ef ebah yo' does sech 
 a ting ag'in, so suah es my name es Cupe Hardman 
 I '11 sole yo' down Souf." 
 
 " Yo '11 sole me Souf, yo' nigger ! yo' bettah own 
 yo'selb befo' yo' talk 'bout solin' uddah fo'ks ! " 
 
 " Dinah, yo' am in my pocket. I bought an' paid fo' 
 yo' t'-night, an' ef ebah yo' disgrace yoah owner ag'in 
 es yo' hab dis night, yo' bettah look out, fo' de tramp t' 
 Georgy am sahtin suah." 
 
 " An' hab yo' bought yo'selb too? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " De Lawd be praised, Cupe ! I know yo' hab be'n 
 sabin' money fo' fifty yeahs, an' I know yo '11 use et 
 when de time come. Ef we am free niggers, we kin 
 walk t' Canerdy in de daylight." 
 
 " Et am de sacred truiF, Dinah ; yo' hab got sense 
 nuff t' see in de daytime, ef yo' am a woman. A 
 woman am like a dish-rag, Dinah, she am monstrous 
 convenient in her place, but ef she git out ob et she 
 ain't wuff nuffin t' nobody. Doan yo' fergit yoah place, 
 Dinah." 
 
 This diversion changed the current of Cupe's 
 thoughts, and he dropped at once the subject of Dinah's 
 failings and recurred to his personal misadventure. 
 
 " Dah wah 'nuddah sign, an' et wah a disgrace t' 
 Cupe. His eyes wah los' t'-night, an' de nigger had t' 
 tie hisse'f t' de dawg t' fin' de cabin," 
 
 208 
 
The Spirits afFect Dinah 
 
 " Wah yo' drunk ? " The wife's eyes twinkled. 
 
 " Et wah sperrits suah, but ebil sperrits, not lickah, 
 an' de en' am not yet." 
 
 " P'raps de same ebil sperrits shet yoah eyes, Cupe, 
 what take de lickah out ob de bottle t' git Dinah into 
 trouble." 
 
 " Zacly," said Cupe ironically ; " but yo' bettah be 
 keerful dey doan do et ag'in. De bodin' signs am 
 thick'nin' up. Keep yoah eyes peeled, an' be ready, fo' 
 ef de workin' ob de sign am ebil, de cabin doah '11 close, 
 an' yo '11 staht wid Cupe fo' de Norf in de night-time." 
 
 M 209 
 
CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 OLD JEW MOSE AND SAMMY DREW 
 
 THAT night I sat in our home by my mother's 
 side, brooding over the humiliations my apparent 
 dullness daily brought upon me at the Stringtown school. 
 Hitherto I had borne the stigma in dumb, indifferent, 
 careless fashion, but as perceptions quickened, my short- 
 comings that had long been manifest to others, suddenly 
 flashed into mental view. Shame reddened my brown 
 cheek, and realizing that the Stringtown school was no 
 longer the place for me, I implored my mother to allow 
 me to seek instruction elsewhere. Never in Stringtown 
 could I win the respect of my comrades nor of myself, nor 
 regain the ground that had been lost. That distasteful 
 front row at school, where I sat among the little boys, 
 — the hateful scene, daily enacted, left an indelible im- 
 pression upon me, and all these humiliations were vivid 
 at this moment. At last it became impossible to restrain 
 my grief and I cried in despair, " I cannot go back, I 
 cannot, I cannot ! " 
 
 " But," pleaded my mother, " we are very poor. By 
 close economy we can live here where we own the little 
 home your father left us; elsewhere we would starve. 
 God has blessed us with health; for this be thankful, we 
 cannot ask him for wealth." Tears streaked their way 
 down my cheeks, but under the soothing tones of my 
 mother's voice the gush of grief had given place to a 
 mood of seriousness. 
 
 At this point in our conference a knock interrupted 
 2IO 
 
old Jew Mose and Sammy Drew 
 
 the scene, and when I opened the door Mose the Jew 
 entered. His smiling face gleamed in the lamplight, and 
 by invitation he seated himself at my side. 
 
 Mose was dressed in his holiday garments, and, per- 
 haps in order to suppress our curiosity on that account, 
 he told us that he was returning from the city. Once 
 a year, every September, Felix Moses, in a new suit of 
 clothes, met in religious ceremony with his own people 
 in Cincinnati. But, so far as we knew, until the next 
 fall he did not again seek the house wherein his kinsmen 
 worshipped. On his return from the present trip he 
 had sought our home ; and so unusual was it for him to 
 visit a townsman except on business, as to cause both 
 my mother and myself secretly to wonder. Divining 
 our thoughts, Mose soon enlightened and likewise 
 amazed us. 
 
 "To-morrow night I shall start to join the rebel 
 army." 
 
 " You, Mose ? " exclaimed mother. 
 
 " Yes. I have sold my horse and wagon, collected 
 my accounts, bought a young horse and outfit, and six 
 of us start South to-morrow night." 
 
 " You are neither young nor a fighting man and your 
 people do not love war." 
 
 " I am of the tribe of Judah. My people love peace, 
 but have taken part in war since the beginning of his- 
 tory. Our wealth has contributed to the maintenance 
 of the cause of all nations and our bones have whitened 
 the battlefields of every land, ancient and modern." 
 
 " But this war is not of the Jews' making." 
 
 " We are at home in all countries, and the Jew makes 
 sacrifices for the right as he sees it." 
 
 " Your people are mostly in favour of the North ; do 
 any of your Jew friends champion the South ? " 
 
 211 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 " Old Man Nordman has a son in each army ; who 
 can say which son is in the wrong ? " 
 
 Evidently the man had considered the subject from 
 every side. He rose to depart — held out his hand — 
 and as he did so, took from his coat pocket a package 
 and handed it to mother, saying — " Your child has no 
 longer a father," he said sadly. " I know that you built 
 great hopes on the money that was to come to you by 
 the will of the Corn Bug. But that is lost. I have no 
 use for money now, I may never return, and if I do I 
 can begin anew. Use the money you find in this pack- 
 age to educate the boy." 
 
 Some spot in every life is sacred ; neither pen nor 
 tongue should touch the arcanum that lies in some of 
 these depths. 
 
 212 
 
CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 THE VILLAGE CIRCLE OF STRINGTOWN 
 
 A CLEAR sunset ushered in the next night, the 
 evening that brought the first frost of the season. 
 Mist and cloud were brushed away by a wind from the 
 north, which left the air sparkling and crisp. The 
 voices of the green-winged singers that for six weeks had 
 joyously chirped in tree and shrub, and their relatives, 
 the katydids, that during the summer had called and 
 answered each other, were hushed. No rustling leaves, 
 no cry of insect, no motion of bush, broke the still, 
 crisp night. Great was this contrast to the shrieking 
 blast, the banging shutters, the creaking sign and the 
 beating sleet, that rang their changes when our village 
 circle had met, ten months ago. 
 
 The quiet air, penetratingly cold, spoke of frost and 
 foretold that slivers of ice before morning would surely 
 form in the shallows of exposed hoof-tracks. For weeks 
 the swallows had been flocking in the meadows. Their 
 noisv chirps but the day before had sounded in the ear 
 of the passer-by. Gathering from their nesting places, 
 these glossy songsters during the summer had collected 
 into great flocks. The tops of the dead trees about the 
 meadow pond of Mr. Nordman were black with their 
 glittering forms. Never before had they seemed so 
 noisy. But when next morning broke, the upstretched 
 branches were bare, the field was deserted. Buried in 
 the cloud depths above and out of sight of man, they 
 
 213 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 had risen in the night and turned their eyes to the 
 South. 
 
 As a rule, few stars could be seen of a summer even- 
 ing through the heavy-laden atmosphere. But now, 
 responsive to the crisp, transparent night, numbers of 
 tiny points sprang into view and twinkled. The star- 
 built sickle, which during the early part of June crossed 
 the meridian in the evening's twilight, now had sunk 
 below the western horizon. The Great Dipper, which 
 during the early summer evenings had balanced itself over 
 the meridian's line, the bowl west, the handle east of it 
 now, low in the north, hung just above the earth's edge 
 The milkmaid's path, which in June had started from 
 the northwest, marked its way close to the eastern hori- 
 zon, to slope down and disappear in the southeast, was 
 now a broad, white band overhead, extending across the 
 sky from the northeast to the southwest. 
 
 One by one the members of the Circle " dropped " 
 into place that frosty Saturday evening, until, when the 
 lamps were lighted, most of the inverted nail kegs upon 
 which the villagers seated themselves were occupied. 
 The clerk, Mr. Wagner, sat in his mutilated chair; 
 Judge Elford balanced himself upon his one-legged seat, 
 and Professor Drake, book in hand, sat on his bookcase 
 high stool, beneath the lamp. 
 
 But in the shadow cast by the stove-pipe, Cupe 
 slipped quietly early in the evening, and stood in the 
 corner. Whenever the door opened he was screened 
 from sight, but his willing hand closed the door after 
 each newcomer. Down the aisle, before the counter, 
 stretched the only vacant strip of floor unbroken by 
 stool, keg or other obstacle. It was the reserved spot 
 where stood the grocer's patrons while their packages 
 of tea, sugar and other trifling purchases were being 
 
 214 
 
The Village Circle of Stringtown 
 
 wrapped. Recognising the business right of the pro- 
 prietor, the circle invariably reserved this space for his 
 convenience. 
 
 Suddenly when there was a pause in the talk the 
 quiet, frost-breeding air brought to our ear the click of 
 metal striking against stone. At the sound all listened 
 with raised heads. Cupe softly turned the knob and 
 opened the door slightly, lapping his ear over the edge. 
 They had not long to wait, for soon the clatter of many 
 hoofs beating the stones of Stringtown pike came 
 through the still night air. Only one word was 
 spoken : " Yankees.^' The grocer stepped to where I 
 sat, grabbed the armoured saddle, dragged it from be- 
 neath me and thrust it hastily into an empty salt barrel, 
 which he inverted and rolled beside Cupe, after which 
 act he quickly lifted me to a seat on its head. A pile of 
 bundled garments, blankets, canteens, belts and other 
 accoutrements on an exposed shelf was hastily seized in 
 willing hands and stuffed as unceremoniously into the 
 empty nail-keg seats from which each man arose. 
 Quickly all the contraband articles were concealed and 
 the kegs again inverted. Every man now sat silent in 
 his accustomed place. Only the old negro had been 
 deliberate ; it was he who deftly concealed a contribution 
 from our Stringtown girls, a package that contained a 
 satin banner stitched by loving fingers. White ground- 
 work in one corner of that folded flag was starred in 
 blue and the banner was embellished with three broad 
 stripes, a white one bounded by two red bars. The 
 emblem had previously been wrapped in rubber cloth, 
 and Cupe thrust it carefully into a capacious pocket. 
 As the grocer handed the flag to the negro he remarked : 
 " The Yankees '11 not sarch a nigger." 
 
 In a few moments the door opened, and the Red-Head 
 215 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 Boy of Nordman entered. He shot quick glances about 
 the room, then, as unconcerned as the other occupants 
 seemed to be, stepped to the counter, asked the grocer 
 for five cents' worth of raisins, making a face as he did 
 so at me as I sat on the barrel, and I viciously mouthed 
 back again. Then there came the sound of rattling 
 scabbards, the clash of metal against metal, the door 
 opened and a man entered dressed in blue. He was an 
 officer, and glanced searchingly around until his gaze 
 lighted on the Red-Headed Boy, who seemed to stare 
 indifferently back at him, exactly as did every other 
 member of the circle. 
 
 " Evening, friends," said the soldier, " a cool night this." 
 
 " Rather fresh," replied the grocer. 
 
 " How far is it to Nordman's pond ? " 
 
 " 'Bout half a mile." Then, pointing to the boy, the 
 grocer added, "This boy lives with Mr. Nordman." 
 
 The cavalryman's quick eye surveyed the room again ; 
 his scrutiny was directed successively from face to face ; 
 he turned his attention again to the grocer, who, seem- 
 ingly oblivious to the inquisition, stood with folded 
 arms. 
 
 " Come on, sonny," the soldier said, addressing the 
 boy, "show me the way to Nordman's pond; we camp 
 there to-night. Good-night, friends." 
 
 The boy followed him, but as he passed old Cupe, the 
 negro leaned over, and putting his rubber lips close to 
 the suspect's ear whispered : " Yo' bettah look out, yo' 
 sly debbil, yo' am spinnin' de fre'ds ob yoah own 
 shroud." 
 
 Another rattle of sabres and squeaking of leather, a 
 word of command, a tramp of horses' feet, and in a few 
 moments the circle of men within the room again sat in 
 silence. 
 
 2l6 
 
CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 THE LOVE SONG OF THE REBEL SOLDIER 
 
 STEPPING from his place behind the door, Cupe, 
 evidently anxious to leave the room, addressed Mr. 
 Wagner : " An' may de nigger ax, did yo' read dem 
 papahs ? " 
 
 "Yes;" said the clerk glancing at the judge. 
 
 " An' hab yo' nuffin t' say ? " 
 
 Again the clerk glanced at the judge, and slowly 
 drawled out, "Not now," emphasising the word 
 " now." 
 
 "An' yo' may wait too long ef yo' doan look out," 
 mumbled the negro. 
 
 Turning to Judge Elford, the slave asked : " An' hab 
 yo' anyt'ing t' say t' Cupe, Ma'se Jedge ? " 
 
 "No," said the judge, sharply, "not now ; " and he, 
 too, emphasised the word " now." But he did not glance 
 at the clerk. 
 
 Bowing, the negro seemed inclined to ask another 
 question, but instead stepped back to his place, for at 
 that instant there came a second interruption from with- 
 out. Sounds of muffled footsteps in the dust before the 
 grocery, the gentle squeak of saddle leather, — just suffi- 
 cient to indicate to ears familiar with the sound that 
 mounted men were cautiously slipping from their horses, 
 — and then whispering voices were heard. A face was 
 now pressed against the glass panel in the door, and a 
 pair of eyes gazed into the room. More than one hand 
 
 217 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 sought a side pocket ; the grocer stepped quickly to the 
 rear of the store, turned, and in the gloom stood facing 
 the door, with a bright object thrown across his arm, — 
 an object that glittered in the faint light. 
 
 " Hist ! " he whispered ; " ef et es a raid, we have 
 work to do." And then a double tap or rap was struck 
 upon the door, a rap that seemed to be understood by 
 all, for the grocer dropped his gun and stepped back into 
 the light, and each hand was withdrawn from the pocket 
 that had so suddenly encased it. The door opened, and 
 six Stringtown County men, two of whom were mem- 
 bers of the village circle, came into the room. It was 
 evident that this body of men was expected by some, if 
 not all, of the members present, but the raid (for we 
 knew full well the unconcern of the blue-coated soldier 
 was assumed) had aroused suspicion. Even Cupe, as 
 shown by his secreting the Confederate banner, was one 
 of the initiated, and even he accepted that the blue- 
 coated soldiers had slipped back, for I heard him mutter, 
 " Damn dat Red-Head cuss ! " 
 
 The nail kegs were suddenly inverted, their concealed 
 contents were removed and parcelled out to respective 
 owners. The coats of the intruders were thrown open 
 and the new leather belts were hastily buckled around 
 each waist. The grocer produced seven pistols from an 
 unseen receptacle, one for each of the six-belted holsters, 
 the seventh being laid upon the counter. A blanket roll 
 was then taken by each man, who quickly stepped to his 
 horse and strapped the roll to the back of the Mexican 
 saddle, and then returned to the room ; where, amid a 
 series of hand-shakings, in which all joined, the booted 
 and newly armed men prepared to make their last fare- 
 well to Stringtown friends. But the saddle on which I 
 sat, still hidden in the inverted salt barrel, lacked an 
 
 2l8 
 
Love Song ot the Rebel Soldier 
 
 owner, and one pistol and belt lay unclaimed on the 
 counter. A whispered consultation was held by the 
 adventurous volunteers, who were preparing for a peril- 
 ous attempt to slip through the Federal lines into the 
 South to join the Confederate forces. Evidently these 
 men expected a companion who had failed to appear, and 
 for whom they were restlessly waiting. 
 
 " Comrades, we may never meet around the old stove 
 again ; let us have a last song before we start," said one 
 of them. " Let it be to our sweethearts. Captain." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I am a Southern girl, and glory in the name, 
 
 I boast of it with greater pride than glittering wealth and fame 5 
 I envy not the Northern girl her robes of beauty rare, 
 Though diamonds deck her snowy neck and pearls bespread her 
 hair. 
 
 " Huzza! huzza! for the Southern girl so fair. 
 
 Huzza! for the homespun dress the Southern ladies wear. 
 
 " Our homespun dress is plain, I know, our hats palmetto too, 
 But then this shows what Southern girls for Southern rights can 
 
 do. 
 We send our sweethearts to the war, but, dear girls, never mind. 
 The Southern soldier Ml not forget the girl he left behind. 
 
 " Huzza! huzza! for the Southern girl so fair. 
 
 Huzza! for the homespun dress the Southern ladies wear." 
 
 When the song was ended, it was thought unwise to 
 linger, but just as they were about to depart, the man 
 they were expecting entered. The new-comer was 
 Mose the Jew. His face was wreathed in smiles, those 
 eternal smiles, and a familiar chuckle he was wont to 
 make when pleased greeted the assembly as he lifted the 
 saddle and carried it from the room. Returning, he pro- 
 ceeded to belt and arm himself as the others had done. 
 "The flag — the flag," said the club-footed cavalier, 
 
 219 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 *'we must not forget the flag." Old Cupe stepped for- 
 ward — not to the man who spoke, but to Mose, to 
 whom he handed the rubber-bound parcel. Then he 
 turned and addressed the leader : " Bettah yo' go out de 
 Mt. Carmel pike an' cut 'roun' de county co'ht-house 
 an' git back ter de Stringtown pike by de souf road. 
 Steer cl'ar ob de pond ob Ma'se Nordman." 
 
 "Yes," interrupted another, "•a squad of Union cav- 
 alry is camping in the pond-field." 
 
 " We know it," was the reply ; " Mose followed them 
 beyond the Campbellite Church and has just returned." 
 
 In single file they left the room, Mose bringing up the 
 rear, to my amazement accompanied by my chum, the 
 grocer's boy, who as he passed handed me the key to his 
 box of papers. " Take them," said he, " take them 
 home with you, Sammy, pictures, short-hand notes, all; 
 if I get back from the war, I'll want them, if not — " 
 He faltered, tears sprang to his eyes, he held out his 
 hand, which I grasped. Then he turned and ran from 
 the room. The occupants of the circle crowded close 
 upon the retreating forms, and soon the storeroom was 
 deserted. The squad of rebels unhitched their horses, 
 quietly mounted them — the grocer's boy springing up 
 behind the Jew — and then they turned toward the 
 South. Without another word this group of resolute 
 men and the chum of my childhood, whom I never saw 
 again, started in a brisk trot up the Stringtown pike. 
 And I recall now that after the sound of the horses' 
 hoofs died away in the distance, we who lingered outside 
 the grocery caught the strain of a song from afar that 
 seemed almost like an echo. The musical voice of the 
 rebel captain came floating to our ears, bearing a couplet 
 of the ode he had sung in praise of the Southern girl, the 
 verse in which occurred the lines : — 
 
 220 
 
Love Song of the Rebel Soldier 
 
 " We send our sweethearts to the war, but, dear girls, never mind, 
 The Southern soldier '11 not forget the girl he left behind." 
 
 But the love song soon died away, as did the tramp of 
 the horses. The bareheaded watchers stood a moment 
 in the night air, then re-entered the grocery, the broken 
 circle formed again, and each man sat silent, gazing at 
 the stove. 
 
 Then occurred a curious thing. The Red-Headed Boy 
 of Nordman had returned, and, unperceived by me at 
 least, had entered the room with the others, but appar- 
 ently without an object, and, after glancing about, he 
 quietly started out again. As he passed, Cupe, reaching 
 down from his station near the door, caught him by the 
 ear and held him fast, whispering a few words as he did 
 so. 
 
 Turning to those about the stove, the negro asked 
 Judge Elford, " An' hab yo' nuffin fo' suah t' say t' 
 Cupe ? " 
 
 «No." 
 
 '• De signs am fulfillin' demsel's monstrous fas'," the 
 negro mumbled. " Yo' won't fergit t' count de money 
 in de desk an' read de papahs befo' de Co'ht, of yocasion 
 'quires ? " 
 
 " I have promised to do so," replied the judge. 
 
 Turning to Mr. Wagner, Cupe asked, " An' did yo' 
 read de writin' I lef ' yo' las' night ? " 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " An' caint yo' say nuffin t' Cupe ? " 
 
 " Not now, Cupid." 
 
 With a troubled look, old Cupe, leading the Red- 
 Headed Boy by the ear, left the grocery and passed out 
 into the starlicrht. 
 
 221 
 
CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 " DINAH, CUPE MUS' LEAVE DE CABIN " 
 
 THE time consumed by Cupe and his prisoner in 
 reaching the cabin was not sufficient to permit 
 them to leisurely walk that distance. They must have 
 run part of the way, for in a very short time the cabin 
 door was thrown open, and holding the boy firmly the 
 negro entered the room. " Brung me de (ox trap an' 
 chain, an' de chicken-house lock, an' a strap, de debbil 
 am t' pay." 
 
 Dinah obeyed ; Cupe's voice evinced his suppressed 
 excitement. Forcing the captive into a rustic chair, they 
 bound him securely ; a long strap was wrapped about 
 both the chair and the body of the boy, and locked by 
 a padlock to two staples that for some other purpose had 
 been previously driven into a log behind him. Thus 
 the boy sat with his back against the wall ; his arms 
 were strapped tightly to his side, but his head, forearms 
 and hands were free. Cupe drew the table close to his 
 bound victim's knees ; the boy's hands could easily move 
 about its surface. A large pan of water containing a 
 dipper was placed on the table, a liberal supply of pro- 
 visions was thrust alongside it, and after this had been 
 done Cupe said : " Yo' am likely t' want fo' comp'ny 
 befo' long, yo' East Kaintuck scrub, an' yo' may git 
 hungry befo' de comp'ny calls. Dah am grub t' eat an' 
 watah t' drink, an' while yo' wait, yo' kin tell yoah story 
 t' yoah ma'se, de debbil." The boy's eyes gleamed 
 with hatred, but he made no reply. 
 
 222 
 
'^Cupe mus' leave de Cabin" 
 
 Then the negro turned to Dinah. For once his 
 method of addressing her exhibited less of the ruler and 
 more of the companion. The affection that had ever 
 been a part of his true self, but which was generally 
 masked by grufFness, now crept to the surface. He took 
 her hand, led her to the fireplace and seated her in a low 
 corn-shuck chair on one side of the hearth, himself tak- 
 ing a similar chair opposite. 
 
 " Honey," he said slowly and tenderly, " de min' ob 
 yoah husban' am runnin' back t'-night — back t' de 
 days ob de long ago. Dah hab be'n joy an' sorrah fo' 
 de heaht, wa'm an' cole fo' de flesh, Dinah, 'twixt de 
 night yo' leP yoah home on Grassy Creek an' now. 
 Min' yo' de ole time, Dinah — min' yo' de time when 
 Cupe came ridin' dat fust Satuhday night t' de cabin 
 doah ? " 
 
 " I min' de time, Cupe." 
 
 " Yo' wah a beauty ob a wench, Dinah, yo' wah de 
 flowah ob de Ian'. An' well do Cupe min' dat night, 
 too. Befo' he staht fo' de trip dat Satuhday ahftahnoon 
 he Stan' befo' ole ma'se an' say : ' Dah am a monstrous 
 pritty gearl on Grassy Creek.' An' ole ma'se say : ' De 
 fa'dah away de bettah ; et am well she am no closah 
 dan Grassy Creek.' An' Cupe ax may he borrah ole 
 Prince ? an' ma'se cuss an' damn de wench on Grassy 
 Creek, but Cupe doan say nuffin ; an' when ma'se stop 
 Cupe jes Stan' still, fo' while de ma'se cuss an' sw'ar' he 
 doan say de word no. 
 
 " ' What fo' yo' stan'n' dah fo' ? ' ax ma'se. 
 
 " ' Fo' de loan ob ole Prince t' ride t' Grassy Creek.' 
 
 " ' Yo' kin go,' say ma'se, ' but min' yo' am back by 
 foah o'clock Monday mahn'n.' An' es Cupe staht t' 
 t'ank him fo' de kindness, ma'se say : ' Shet yoah mouf.* 
 An' den Cupe ax : ' What 'bout de pat-a-role ? ' 
 
 223 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 " An' ma'se, he take a papah out ob his pocket an* 
 write de pass, an' say : ' De pat-a-role '11 gib yoah brack 
 back a wa'min' ef yo' ain't home by foah o'clock 
 Monday mahn'n.' 
 
 "Min' yo', Dinah, dat Satuhday night ? " 
 
 Dinah bowed her head. 
 
 " An' min' yo' how supple Cupe wah den, Dinah ? " 
 
 Again she nodded. 
 
 " Yoah cabin wah down in de hollah jes back ob 
 yoah ma'se's house, Dinah, an' es Cupe ride up t' de 
 doah yo' step t' de sill — et wah a monstrous good sign, 
 Dinah. Yo' wah stan'n' in de yard befo' de doah, an' 
 Cupe pull up de ho'se an' look down an' say a sof 
 word, an' yo' smile up in his face. An' Cupe jes git 
 down an' stick de switch he hole in his han' in de sof 
 earf keerless like — a fool nigger who am in lub ain't 
 got no sense — an' he take de bag ob cohn off Prince an' 
 Stan' et 'side yoah doah an' lead Prince t' de stable. 
 
 " Min' yo' dat bag ob cohn, Dinah ' " 
 
 A tear ran down the cheek of the old woman. 
 
 " Dah wah a bluebird on a pole in front ob yoah 
 cabin, an' a lady bluebird sat in de little doah befo' de 
 nes'. Jes den de man bird wid de bright, blue coat an' 
 red breast come from out de air an' light by her side ; 
 an' Cupe pint t' de cooin' birds an' say : ' Dat sign am 
 good.' An' yo' make no ansah, but take Cupe by de 
 han' an' lead him into de cabin, an' he sit on one side ob 
 de harf, an' yo' sit on de uddah. But we two niggers 
 hab no need fo' fiah dat night, Dinah. 
 
 " And when de niggers see dat bag ob cohn stan'n' by 
 yoah doah, Dinah, dey pass de word 'roun' ; dah 
 wah n't no buck nigger boddah yo' ag'in. Eb'ry 
 Satuhday night, when Cupe ax fo' de pat-a-role pass, ole 
 ma'se growl, an' den he write Cupe de pass, an' at las' 
 dah wah a wed'n'. 224 
 
u 
 
 Cupe mus' leave de Cabin '* 
 
 " Min' yo' de weepin' willah befo' de doah ? Et wah 
 de bad sign ob yoah life, Dinah, an' Cupe wah de cause. 
 De switch he stick in de groun' wah a twig ob weepin' 
 willah. De nex' time he call on yo' de buds had 
 broken ; de nex' time de lebes had sprouted ; de weepin' 
 willah-tree wah planted by de han' ob Cupe, an' de 
 trouble et brought wah befo' yoah doah, Dinah, an' 
 settlin' obah yoah cabin. Cupe could n't say nuffin, but 
 he know de ebil spell wah on ; dah am no way t' change 
 dat awful willah-tree sign. Et runs fo' fifty yeah, 
 Dinah, An' when de fust chile come t' smile on us, de 
 pure little blos'm widout any tech ob white — eben de 
 sole ob de feet wah not white — yo' wah so happy, 
 Dinah, an' proud ob de pure nigger blood in ets brack 
 cheek. Den Cupe slip out an' stan' by dat willah slip 
 an* pray t' all de gods fo' de sign t' change. But et wah 
 no use, Dinah ; de little blos'm grew big 'nuff t' creep t' 
 de harf, an' den et close ets eyes an' pass away." 
 
 Dinah sat silent, tear after tear rolling down her cheek. 
 
 " An' 'nuddah chile come, an' grow up t' set in de 
 doah, but de shaddah ob de willah fall an' rubs ets life 
 out. Foah blos'ms what come t' us on Grassy Creek 
 wah blighted by dat ebil willah-tree shaddah ; dah am 
 foah grabes 'bout es long es an ax handle, side by side, 
 in de ole Grassy Creek grabeyard." 
 
 Dinah rocked back and forth, sighing and moaning. 
 
 "An' den Cupe beg ole ma'se t' buy yo', Dinah, an' 
 brung yo' home, an' ma'se say yo' wah a comely nigger, 
 an' Grassy Creek wah too far fo' Cupe t' ride ebr'y 
 Satuhday ebenin', an' he buy yo' fo' twelve hund'd 
 dollahs an' build de cabin fo' yoah nes'. But et wah n't 
 no use, de ehil sign go on. 
 
 " Min' yo' de night las' week when Cupe wah gone 
 from sundown till mahn'n ? " 
 15 225 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Dinah, he slip back t' de ole cabin. Dah dat deb- 
 bilish ole tree stan', ets limbs wavin' in de night air. 
 Cupe step t' its side an' cuss et in de moonlight. De 
 long fingahs move in de wind an' rub on de head ob de 
 nigger, but Cupe had swo' by de chillun what am gone 
 t' kill dat tree when de fifty yeah had passed, an' et wah 
 fifty yeah when de sugah watah run las' spring. An' he 
 took his ax an' chop es nebbah he chopped befo'. De 
 chips fly like lebes in wintah, an' de ole tree tuhn t' one 
 side an' fall bump on de groun'. Den Cupe scattah 
 salt on ets stump an' put his foot on de ole debbil's 
 back an' cuss de hoodoo tree." 
 
 Dinah chuckled. 
 
 " Dah hab be'n thirteen blos'ms t' cheer yo', Dinah, 
 sense dat switch wah sprouted, an' eb'ry chile es brack 
 es Cupe. Yo' hain't had no shame t' bury, Dinah." 
 
 Cupe pointed to the hearthstone between them. 
 
 " Dinah," he asked, "min' yo' de fac' dat nebbah hab 
 two chillun sat side by side on de great stone ? An' 
 now yoah head am white, yoah face am wrinkled, yoah 
 han' am skinny an' yoah toof am yallah. Dah am 
 thirteen little grabes — foah on Grassy Creek an' nine 
 b'hin' dis cabin. Et am a hoodoo numbah, but now de 
 ebil spell am obah. De willah-tree am dead. De 
 missus an' all de ole fren's am sleepin' quiet ; de wicked 
 ole ma'se am walkin' — he only am movin' ob all de 
 fo'ks yo' knew when yoah cheek wah plump, yoah toof 
 white an' yoah skin shiny." 
 
 Dinah was sobbing softly, and Cupe fell upon his 
 knees on the spot upon the hearth to which he had 
 pointed, and took her hands between his rough palms, 
 lovingly stroking the bony fingers. 
 
 " Dinah, t'-night Cupe mus' lebe de ole cabin. De 
 226 
 
ii 
 
 Cupe mus' leave de Cabin'' 
 
 signs am all fulfilled, de fifty yeah ob pain am passed, 
 an' we two niggers am free from de willah-tree spell. 
 De Susie chile only am lef t' pint back t' de sacred 
 promise, an' t' sabe dat chile, an' lib up t' de promise we 
 made de young ma'se, Cupe mus' lebe de ole home." 
 
 He took from his tattered pocketbook a paper that, 
 although he could not read, he evidently fully compre- 
 hended, and held it out to his wife : " Yo' may stay in 
 de cabin, Dinah, ef yo' wants t' stay, an' when de 
 mahn'n comes ef yo '11 take dis papah t' Ma'se Elford, 
 yo '11 git yoah freedom an' kin go back t' yoah ole home 
 on Grassy Creek, de cabin wah' yo' stood in de doah 
 when Cupe ride up fifty yeah ago." 
 
 ^' An' ef I doan take de papah ? " 
 
 " Pack yoah duds an' bid farewell t' de Ian' ob yoah 
 birf, fo' when t'-morrah sun rise Cupe an' Susie '11 be 
 down in de Licking Hills wid dere faces tu'ned to'ard de 
 cole Canerdy Ian'." 
 
 Again he held out the paper. " Dinah, will yo' go 
 back t' de ole cabin on Grassy Creek, er will yo' walk 
 into de night wid Cupe ? " 
 
 The woman pushed back the paper and repeated the 
 vow made twice before : " De Canerdy Ian' am cole 
 an' de grabes ob de missus an' de chillun am deah, in 
 ole Kaintuck, but fo' de good ob de Susie chile an' de 
 lub ob ole Cupe, Dinah '11 close de cabin doah ferebah." 
 
 22/ 
 
CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 RED-HEAD, CAPTIVE 
 
 IT was needless for them to consult concerning the 
 next step. Their conversation had often been of 
 such a nature as to prepare both for the course they 
 must pursue in case it became desirable to "run away." 
 Rapidly they moved about the' rough room, selecting the 
 various articles of clothing or the utensils that might 
 prove of use in their wanderings. They recognised that 
 little could be carried, and consequently few household 
 articles aside from the provisions were disturbed. The 
 only exception to this exacting rule proved to be the 
 garments of Susie, for these were all neatly packed by 
 Dinah in an oilcloth sack, the mouth of which was 
 closed with a draw-string. 
 
 The captive boy sat silent, closely watching the busy 
 pair, who, upon the contrary, seemed to give him no 
 attention. In a short time the hasty preparation was 
 made, the slaves were ready to start for Canada, one 
 with a basket, the other with a bag. Then Cupe turned 
 to the boy, and standing before him said abruptly : 
 
 " Yo' am a debbil from the mount'ns, yo' Red-Head 
 cuss, an' hab no place 'mong civil fo'k. Why doan yo' 
 go back t' yoah pap ? " 
 
 " Can't, yo' old nigger," the boy answered insolently, 
 
 " Wha' am yoah pap ? " 
 
 « Dead." 
 
 228 
 
Red-Head, Captive 
 
 " Yo' bettah go back t' yoah ma when yo' git loose." 
 
 « Dead." 
 
 The negro's heart gave signs of relenting. In a more 
 kindly voice he said : 
 
 " Hab yo' no bruddahs ? " 
 
 " One." 
 
 "Yo' bettah go t' yoah bruddah." 
 
 The boy shook his head. 
 
 " Am dah a reason why yo' doan go ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " What am de cause ? " 
 
 "Dead." 
 
 The old man started unconsciously; then he lowered 
 his voice : 
 
 " An' hab yo' no sisterin, chile ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 *' How many sisterin ? " 
 
 "One." 
 
 " Caint yo' go an' lib wid de gearl ? " 
 
 Tears moistened the eyes of the captive boy ; he 
 shook his head. 
 
 " Ef Cupe '11 unlock de chain an' open de doah will 
 yo' go back t' de mount'n gearl ? " 
 
 Again the boy shook his head. 
 
 " Tole us de reason, chile;" and automatically the 
 slave arranged the provisions on the table more con- 
 veniently, " Tole us de reason, chile." 
 
 " Dead." 
 
 The man stood a moment in silence. 
 
 " An' hab yo' no uddah kin but Ma'se Nordman ? " 
 
 " No other." 
 
 *' Et am a shame, et am a sin an' a shame." 
 
 " What ? " 
 
 " Dat yo' hab come t' Stringtown. But yo' caint help 
 229 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 et, yo' am mixed in de sign ; " then, suddenly, with the 
 word " sign " the negro changed his manner of expres- 
 sion. That word brought back to his mind the fact that 
 the boy was destined to work evil according to the 
 " sign." The superstitious old man forgot the former 
 softened voice ; no touch of pity was left in his heart ; 
 his tone grew harsh again : " Yo' cub ob Satin, an' et 
 wah good fo' de libin' an' no hahm t' de dead ef yo' wah 
 dead too ; " and he turned away. 
 
 A vicious look came over the boy's face, he clenched 
 his hand, and tried to shake his fist at the speaker. 
 Neither spoke again. Susie, ready dressed — for the 
 child had not been disrobed that night — was taken from 
 her bed, wrapped in a woollen shawl, and, still asleep, 
 was gently clasped in the arms of the man ; her head 
 rested on one shoulder, while the bag of clothing de- 
 pended by a strap from the other. 
 
 Dinah, bearing the provisions, as if determined to 
 make good her thrice-told promise, opened the cabin 
 door, stepped outside, and stood ready to close it. But 
 just then Cupe, who, too, had reached the door, cried, 
 " Come back, Dinah ; dah am a fren' t' go wid us, 
 an' a fren' t' say good-bye." 
 
 He laid the sleeping child on the bed, and stepping to 
 the hearth, raised one of the flat stones, taking from be- 
 neath it three large kidney-shaped beans, each at least 
 an inch in diameter. These he put into his pocket, 
 addressing them as he did so : — 
 
 " Ef de time ebah comes t' act, yo' kin do yoah work ; 
 but yoah mouf hab be'n long shet sense yo' grew in de 
 hot Guinee Ian'. An' now fo' de las' word from de 
 oldest fren' ob all." 
 
 He took his fiddle from the peg and raised it to his 
 shoulder; his eyes closed, his chin dropped until it 
 
 230 
 
Red-Head, Captive 
 
 touched the instrument, and then his expert fingers 
 touched the strings. 
 
 Plaintive was the melody wafted into the air as the 
 unlettered musician drew the bow. From his warm 
 heart came the pathetic touch that vibrated the strings 
 until they fairly spoke. He played only one air : — 
 
 " We'll hunt no moah fo' de 'possum an' de coon. 
 On de meddah, de hill, an' de shoah. 
 We '11 sing no moah by de glimmah ob de moon, 
 On de bench by de ole cabin doah. 
 
 " De days go by like de shaddah on de heaht, 
 Wid sorrah wha' all wah so bright, 
 De time am come when de darkeys hab t' part, 
 Den my ole Kentucky home, good-night." 
 
 When the last note died away, the child was taken up 
 again, and at last the door closed behind the fugitives. 
 
 But now Dinah stopped. She lingered with bowed 
 head before the home she had deserted. Tears coursed 
 down her wrinkled cheeks, while Cupe, equally affected, 
 but too stoical to exhibit his emotion, stood by her side. 
 The old woman raised her hand and, pointing to the 
 door, her finger nearly touching it, huskily asked : 
 
 " Min' yo' de sign ob defF, Cupe ? " 
 
 "What sign ob defF? Dah am many signs ob 
 deff?" 
 
 " De Bloody Hollah sign. Doan yo' see et am come 
 true ? De Red-Head Boy am all alone in de cabin^ he am 
 sittin'' in de cheer ob Susie." 
 
 231 
 
CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 RETURN OF THE REFUGEES 
 
 IN the autumn of 1868, several years later, two negroes 
 accompanied by a girl about eight years of age, 
 passed down the west side of Vine Street, Cincinnati. 
 
 They approached the Ohio River bank, and then 
 stood gazing intently on the Kentucky shore. Not a 
 word had been spoken since they first caught sight of the 
 opposite bank of the river. Their quaint attire and 
 strange bearing led a party of impudent wharf children 
 to collect about them. Neither of the negroes who 
 gazed so intently across the river noticed the group of 
 urchins that was rapidly increasing in number, but the 
 child, withdrawing her gaze from other objects, turned 
 her eyes first at one and then at another of the encircling 
 party, who insolently stared back again. At this point 
 the carpet-bag in the hand of the old man was loosened ; 
 it fell upon the bouldered street and rolled upon its side, 
 resting partly on his large feet. But he did not seem to 
 feel its weight. Raising his arm, he pointed to the green 
 Kentucky hills in the distance, but did not speak. A 
 tear rolled down the cheek of his companion, the old 
 woman, for it needed but this action to cause her to give 
 way to suppressed emotion. She, too, dropped her 
 satchel and clasped her hands, extending them toward 
 the hills that rose beyond the city. A howl of derision 
 now came from the throats of the circle of children, and 
 a mischievous boy suddenly jumped forward and grabbed 
 
 232 
 
Return of the Refugees 
 
 the fallen sack. The girl snatched her hands from the 
 grasp of the negroes, sprang upon the bent form of the 
 rude meddler, threw her wiry arms about his neck, and, 
 with a display of unexpected strength, threw him to the 
 ground. The incident broke the reverie of the negroes, 
 who, moving with greater suppleness than seemed pos- 
 sible to persons so aged, resumed possession of both the 
 girl and the bag and retraced their steps to Second Street, 
 turned to the right, and sought the entrance to the great 
 new suspension bridge. 
 
 An hour afterward they slowly passed along Lexington 
 Pike in the outskirts of Covington, and subsequently 
 tramped up the long two-and-a-half-mile hill beyond the 
 city limits. They were very tired, and frequently 
 stopped to rest on the grassy roadside, when the child 
 would bury her head in the lap of the negress, and that 
 she closed her eyes in sleep was evident from the effort 
 it required to arouse her. At last the party passed over 
 the crest of the hill where stood the toll-gate, and then 
 they moved down into the evening shadows that now 
 closed rapidly about the winding road, which soon sank 
 into a ravine, and then crept deeper still in order to de- 
 scend by easy grade into the valley that must soon be 
 crossed. To the left, one behind the other, on the slope 
 of the opposite hill, could be seen ridges of earth that 
 even in the shadows were yellow. Behind these stretched 
 trenches deep enough to shelter armed men ; once they 
 were rifle-pits, and in 1862 commanded the pike; they 
 overlooked it in 1868, and, nearly obliterated by time, 
 they border it now. But unless the eight graves dug in 
 1862 near the crest of that hill are yet inviolate, no sol- 
 dier. Blue or Grey, holds these silent redoubts. On be- 
 yond the trenches into deeper shadows plodded the three 
 wanderers ; the road curves, the rifle-pits and the dark 
 
 233 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 ravine are now in the rear. Looming high on the hill 
 to the right appears at this point old Fort Mitchell, as 
 silent as are the abandoned yellow trenches ironically 
 standing guard over the peaceful valley. But the aban- 
 doned fort disappears too behind the wearied travellers, 
 who now pass into the broad valley, still treading the 
 pike. Thickets on either side spring from stumps 
 where, in order to give free range for cannon and mus- 
 ket, all the trees were felled in 1862. But the war is 
 over. A flock of sheep is resting where once stood a 
 battery of brass field-guns. Fences burned for camp- 
 fires have been replaced by new ones ; no scattered 
 cracker boxes, no broken army wagons, no limping 
 mules, no mark of tent or of camp litter remain in the 
 grassy fields bordering the road where a few years pre- 
 viously tens of thousands of armed men had bivouacked. 
 Gone are all these, — the glittering guns, the caissons 
 and cannon, the army, and the tramping sentry. 
 
 The travellers moved more slowly, the white pike 
 turned grey in the deepening twilight, the grass-grown 
 fields changed to black, and the foliage beside the pike 
 lost its colour. Dusk turned to night. From a pond 
 across the valley came the cries of frogs, some deep and 
 guttural, others shrill, and yet others, unlike either croak 
 or chirp, appeared to sound in harmony with the com- 
 plaint uttered by the sombre rain-crow. From a clump 
 of bushes nearby a rabbit leaped into the dust of the 
 pike. The man dropped his sack, grasped the arm of the 
 woman tremblingly, and the human figures stood gazing 
 at the tiny form at their feet. The wondering rabbit 
 stayed but a moment, then swiftly sped across the road, 
 and disappeared in the weeds. 
 
 Without a word, the pilgrims turned and retraced their 
 steps, dragging their coarse shoes wearily in the deep 
 
 234 
 

 
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 3: 
 
 
Return of the Refugees 
 
 dust of the pike back to the silent fort that could no 
 longer be seen in the darkness. As they entered the 
 shades of the gloomy hollow the cry of a hoot-owl broke 
 upon the air; coming from a shrub within the solitary 
 fort, now on their left ; then, from a dead beech-tree 
 that rises above the graves of the soldiers behind the 
 rifle-pits on the crest of the other hill, sounded the 
 answering cry of the old owl's mate. The woman 
 touched the man on his left shoulder, and he turned to 
 catch sight of the tiny crescent moon shining through 
 the limbs of a dead shrub. Again the old woman 
 touched his shoulder, his left shoulder, and pointed to 
 the brush-screened new moon. 
 
 That night the travellers rested with a negro friend 
 who lived in Rat Row, and the next morning turned 
 their footsteps down the Ohio River. They tramped 
 along the shore by easy journey, stopping often to rest, 
 never at a loss for lodging places, until they reached a 
 point opposite Carrollton, where they called the ferry- 
 man and crossed the river. From this point they struck 
 back into Kentucky, following the road that parallels 
 the beautiful and picturesque Kentucky River until 
 Carrollton was left far in the rear. Then they struck 
 into the hills and moved in the direction of Stringtown. 
 " Et wah a long way ' roun '," said Cupe, " but de 
 rabbet knows ets bisness. De longes' way 'roun' am 
 de safes' way home ef de rabbet cross de paiF." 
 
 235 
 
CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 cupe's plea for Susie's name 
 
 ON a knoll back from the road stood a colonial 
 mansion, an hour's ride from Stringtown. Before 
 it stretched a woodland pasture that gently sloped from 
 the house. Great sugar-maple and venerable walnut 
 trees shaded this spacious lawn, which was artistically 
 ornamented by clumps of yucca and groups of cedar, 
 pine, and juniper trees. A picturesque drive led from 
 the door of the mansion, down the slopes, through the 
 grounds to the front gate. A dense osage orange hedge 
 bordered the opposite side of the road. 
 
 In an easy-chair on the porch of the house sat a grey- 
 haired man ; a party of merry, young people was pre- 
 paring to enter a large carryall that stood on the drive 
 before the porch. Two of the pleasure seekers — young 
 girls — kissed the man and said : " Farewell until morn- 
 ing, papa ! " Then the party drove down the avenue 
 on to the public road and disappeared from sight. The 
 man on the porch in the shade of the trees leaned back 
 in his easy-chair and watched the sun go down ; gently 
 rocking, he pufFed a cigar, the curling smoke of which 
 could be seen by one with good eves from the distant 
 Iredge bordering the street and extending opposite the 
 mouth of the avenue that led to the house. Three 
 faces, two of them black, the other white, peered through 
 the hedge commanding a full view of the solitary figure 
 on the porch. Twilight deepened, and from the log 
 
 236 
 
Cupe's Plea for Susie's Name 
 
 cabins behind the house came another vehicle, a spring 
 wagon, laden with negroes dressed in gay-coloured, holi- 
 day attire. The three figures drew back at their ap- 
 proach and concealed themselves behind the thick part 
 of the hedge. 
 
 The wagon passed down the avenue, turned out into 
 the road and disappeared in the direction of Stringtown. 
 The man on the porch, the sole occupant of the 
 deserted house, unconscious of their watchful eyes, pufFed 
 his cigar. 
 
 Evening drew near ; the dew and the shadows of 
 night fell together. The man threw the stump of his 
 cigar into the lawn, entered the house, lighted a lamp 
 and without drawing the curtain seated himself at a 
 table and began to read an historical record of Kentucky. 
 Thus he sat alone until deep darkness brooded over all 
 things without the house. 
 
 Unrest tormented him. Dropping the book and 
 lighting a cigar, the uneasy watcher threw his feet upon 
 the arm of a tall chair, dropped his head upon the back 
 of the rocker, faced the window and gently puffed his 
 cigar. With lips pursed together, he threw a thread of 
 white smoke into the room and dreamily gazed upon it 
 with half-closed eyes. The deep blue that curled up- 
 ward from the tip of his cigar contrasted sharply with 
 this vapour-mixed cloud. The circle of smoke sped to 
 the ceiling and shattered itself against a projecting 
 decoration. Another ring, moving like creeping cotton, 
 followed the first; trembling, weaving, seemingly un- 
 decided as to whether it should move up or down, the 
 phantom balanced itself in the air, then collapsed and 
 disappeared. A third followed the second ; softer, 
 whiter, more perfect than the others, it moved upward 
 more gracefully. The thin thread of blue from the tip 
 
 237 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 of the cigar between the forefinger and thumb of the 
 nicotine dreamer followed this retreating circle; it thrust 
 itself into the centre of the vortex ring, then lapped ovei 
 it, and before the combination burst spread as a revolv- 
 ing sheath from above its upper edge. 
 
 Into the stillness and the silence passed another fairy 
 ring ; a feather's touch would have crushed it, an up- 
 starting puff of air would have been fatal. Slowly this 
 fifth wreath moved upward ; drawing the blue thread 
 from the cigar's tip into its depths, it balanced itself 
 exactly in the torpid air, and then, just before collapsing, 
 the man who faced it saw from the inner circle, where 
 blue and white mingled, a pair of eyes, blue eyes, spring 
 into existence and gaze down into his own. 
 
 The hand that held the cigar dropped, but the man 
 was unconscious of the movement ; his mind turned 
 from the picture above to a scene of other years, when a 
 pair of living eyes, eyes exactly like these, gazed be- 
 seechingly into his own. These phantom orbs from out 
 the burst fairy wreath had reflected a glimpse of other 
 days. Then his glance dropped to the night-black win- 
 dow ; there, set in a face of darkness quite different 
 from the blackness about it, hung two white eyes that 
 gazed in upon him who dreamed as waking men some- 
 times dream. The startled watcher turned back to the 
 sun-white wreath above ; it had vanished. He dropped 
 his glance to the black face in the window ; the eyes 
 were gone. Not a word did he utter, but grasping the 
 decanter by his side, turned it up and drank deeply of the 
 amber liquid ; then, as if to test the correctness of his 
 senses or to face the spell that bound him, threw his 
 head back, gazed intently upward, puffed at the cigar, 
 and a wreath softer than a cobweb and as white as snow 
 sprang into existence. Floating in space as only vortex 
 
 238 
 
Cupe's Plea for Susie's Name 
 
 rings can float, enlarging, drawing from above and 
 below, from without and within, growing larger and 
 softer and purer as it expanded, this thing of beauty, 
 alive to the sight, but dead to the touch, expanded to 
 the size of a child's face ; then from out its depths a 
 portrait from the past sprang again into life, a child's 
 face, a baby face with great, beseeching eyes. Startled 
 as he had never been before, the man shrank, dropped 
 his cigar upon the carpet, and his gaze fell again to the 
 window ; there, close against the glass, gazing in upon 
 him intently, as had the wreath-face from above, peered 
 beseeching eyes like those he had just seen. That same 
 face looked upon him from out the night; brightened by 
 the lamplight, set in the frame of blackness, this implor- 
 ing face was older, sadder, yet identical with that mind 
 picture framed by the fairy wreath. 
 
 Springing from his place, the man threw the door 
 wide open ; for a time the darkness blinded him, and even 
 when he pierced the depths nothing was to be seen but 
 the streaming light that from the window marked its way 
 across the drive and into the clump of trees beyond. 
 
 He slammed the door, turned the key, sprang to the 
 window and pulled down the Venetian blind. The 
 slatted shade fell to its place almost with the turn of the 
 key, so rapidly did he move, but simultaneously with its 
 rustle a heavy knock sounded on the door, a knock that 
 made the silent house echo. Notwithstanding the expe- 
 riences through which he had just passed, without any 
 hesitation whatever the man turned the key and again 
 threw open the door. A flood of light streamed across 
 the porch, showing three figures, one a child that stood 
 in front of the open way. They entered without invita- 
 tion and the host blurted out angrily : " What the devil 
 do you want ? " 
 
 239 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 " An' hab yo' fo'got de ole man, Ma'se ? " 
 
 " What ! Cupe and Dinah." 
 
 " An' Susie, Ma'se, an' Susie." 
 
 « Who is Susie ? " 
 
 " Doan yo' know de chile ? " 
 
 " No ; an' I don't care to know her. When did you 
 get back, Cupe ? " 
 
 " Look at de honey gearl," said the negro, ignoring 
 the question. " Look at de chile ag'in, Ma'se." 
 
 Something in the tone of the old negro startled the 
 owner of the house. He put his finger under the chin 
 of the child, turned her face up to the light and gazed 
 down into her wondering eyes. The eyes in the smoke 
 wreath were on him again, the face in the window was 
 now a face in the room. A twinge of pain that did not 
 escape the quick eye of Cupe passed over his counte- 
 nance ; memory served the man truly, and in a flash he 
 saw a child in the arms of a beseeching woman. And 
 he remembered, too, that together mother and child had 
 passed out into the night, out of his sight, out of his 
 life. 
 
 " No, Cupe, I do not know her," he said, and turned 
 to the negro. '■'■ Now answer my question. When did 
 you get back ? " 
 
 Again the negro drew the attention of the man to the 
 girl. " Doan yo' 'lect de muddah ob de chile ? " 
 
 "No; and I care nothing for either the child or its 
 mother. What brings you here to-night ? " 
 
 Glancing about the room, the negro caught sight of a 
 hand-mirror, left on the table by one of the young ladies. 
 Picking it up, he handed it to the man. " Look into de 
 glass, Ma'se ; see de eyes dat look back in yoah face an' 
 den look at de eyes ob de chile." 
 
 A flush spread over Mr. Manley's face ; he raised his 
 240 
 
Cupe's Plea for Susie's Name 
 
 clenched fist, but the negro making no motion to evade 
 the blow, said in a low, respectful tone : 
 
 " ' Deed, Ma'se, Cupe doan mean no disrespec'. 
 Look at de eyes ob de chile, an' look in de glass an' den 
 look at de face ob de chile an' t'ink ob de woman vo' 
 lubbed in York State, an' who follud yo' back t' Kain- 
 tuck. She tramped out into de night, a lone woman, 
 wid yoah chile in her arms, from dis same room." 
 
 The hand of the man trembled ; he dropped the 
 glass and sank into a chair. The negro closed the door 
 and locked it, gazing constantly at the man, who for a 
 moment made no effort to renew the conversation. 
 " Ole Sukey," continued Cupe, " who buy her freedom, 
 saw yo' in Sah'toga wid de muddah ob de chile. She 
 wah bright an' pritty, an' de smile wah on her face." 
 
 Manley's anger blazed out. " Cupe Hardman, when 
 morning comes your back will answer for this night's 
 work. Out of my house, you impudent vagabonds. Back 
 to Canada, back with that brat, or by God I '11 — " 
 
 The negro sank upon his knees and held up his hands. 
 " Cupe an' Dinah raised yo', Ma'se, on de ole Hardman 
 fa'm. Dey lub yo' now es ef yo' wah dah own chile. 
 Min' yo' not de story ob yoah life ? Lis'n t' Cupe befo' 
 yo' dribe dis little chile 'way. Yoah mudder an' yoah. 
 pap once libbed in Stringtown ; dey wah poo' people, 
 Ma'se, an' yo' wah a wee babe. Den de sickness came 
 to yoah house an' den deff. Bof yoah muddah an' yoah 
 pap wah carried t' de grabeyard. An' den ole ma'se say : 
 *■ Dinah, kin yo' raise de orfin Stringtown chile ? ' an' 
 Dinah say : ' Es easy t' raise two chillun es one.' An' 
 ma'se brung yo' home nex' day, a little boy wid gieat 
 eyes — no uddah chile but yoah own kin hab sech 
 eyes — "and Cupe glanced at Susie. "An' yo' grew 
 up 'long wid de chile I lub so well, de boy whose mud- 
 i6 241 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 dah die long 'go. But dah wah no use tryin', yo' two 
 boys wah cross-grained an' tough, yo' fight an' bite an' 
 raise de debbil, an' at las' sep'rate — yo' know why. 
 De fa'm wah not big nufF fo' bof ob yo'. Ef ebah yo' 
 had stepped foot on de ole place ahftah de las' act yo' did, 
 Ma'se Hardman 'ud hab killed yo' suah. But he keep 
 his mouf to hisse'f fo' de honah ob de fam'ly. Ma'se 
 Hardman gib yo' dis fa'm when yo' tuhn 'way ; de Ian' 
 wah rich an' yo' wah smaht ; et am a biggah fa'm now. 
 Yo' am a fine gem'n an' a rich man, Ma'se." 
 
 " Well, but why are you here, Cupe ? " said Mr. 
 Manley. " Why are you here to-night ? Do you want 
 help, money ? " 
 
 The negro shook his head. 
 
 " What is it, Cupe ? " 
 
 Pointing to the child, the black, still kneeling, said : 
 " Look at de Susie chile, doan look at Cupe." 
 
 " I have never seen the girl before, Cupe ; I swear by 
 the Lord — " 
 
 Cupe held up his hand : " Doan sw'ar' et out, Ma'se." 
 Then he added : " She hab no muddah." 
 
 "Well." 
 
 " She needs a faddah." 
 
 The man raised his fist, but Cupe again held out his 
 defenceless hand. "She needs de name.'" 
 
 " What damned scheme is this ? Nigger Cupe, by 
 God I '11 stretch your neck on the old elm in the back 
 pasture sure as Heaven lets me live till morning. Out, 
 out of the room ! When daylight comes the hounds 
 will be on your track." 
 
 No movement was made by the kneeling negro ; with 
 upstretched hands, uncovered head, he looked beseech- 
 ingly upward. Down the cheeks of his wrinkled face a 
 tear trickled. 
 
 242 
 
Cupe's Plea for Susie's Name 
 
 " You shall be thrashed until your back is bloody as 
 sure as the Lord — " 
 
 He was again interrupted by the kneeling black, who 
 held up his hand, the palm exposed. " See yo' de scar 
 in de han' ob Cupe ? " 
 
 " What is that to me ? " 
 
 " Dah am no feah fo' de flesh in de heaht ob de man 
 who b'lebes in de sign. Save de honah ob yoah own 
 chile, Ma'se, an' den cut de back ob de nigger." 
 
 " I care nothing for your signs. Go ! " 
 
 " Gib de Susie chile her name," pleaded the negro ; 
 *' the yinnecent gearl hab asked, ' Am I only nigger 
 Susie ? ' Lis'n, Ma'se Manley, please lis'n. In de cole 
 Canerdy Ian' Susie libed wid Cupe an' Dinah, who take 
 her out ob Kaintuck. De yeahs come an' go, an' et 
 wah cole near 'bout all de time. Cupe work in de day 
 an' Dinah stay wid Susie, an' no ha'm come t' any ob 
 dem — but et wah not like libin' in de ole cabin in Kain- 
 tuck. Cupe come home one night, an' Dinah say : 
 ' Susie ax a quistion t'-day.' ' An' yo' ansah et, Dinah ? ' 
 'No.' 'What wah de quistion?' ' She say, " In de 
 school I sit in de seat wid Mary Jones, an' in de uddah 
 seat sit An'e Moo'e, an' in de nex' seat sit Lucy SmifF." 
 " E'zac'ly." I ansah. ' An' den I tu'n de subject by 
 sayin' : " De teachah am a kind man ef he do weah a 
 coa'se, woman-like dress an' a string ob beads." She 
 say : " Yes ; but he ax my name ag'in, an' I tole him, 
 ' Susie.' ' Susie what ? ' ' Jes Susie.' An' den he say : 
 ' Tole de fo'ks yo' lib wid t' sen' de uddah name t'-mor- 
 rah, an' tole 'em I '11 call t' see 'em soon.' Am I only 
 Susie, Aunt Dinah ? " she ax, an' a tear come into her 
 eye.' 
 
 " ' Dinah,' say Cupe, ' Dinah, when de mahn'n comes 
 back we '11 start t' ole Kaintuck, back fo' de name ob de 
 
 243 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 chile.' An' heah we am, Ma'se Manley. Dah am 
 nuffin moah' t' say." 
 
 No reply was made by the man, but his anger seemed 
 to have been somewhat soothed. 
 
 After an interval Cupe continued : " Dah wah bad 
 signs on de way back an' dah hab be'n ebil omen sense 
 de good ole Ian' wah reached, but heah de chile am at 
 las' in de home ob her pap. Look up, Susie." 
 
 The child raised her face, and gazed into that of the 
 white man. 
 
 "She doan ax fo' money, she doan ax fo' Ian', cr 
 dresses, er rings. She doan ax fo' nuffin money kin 
 brung, er fo' what doan b'long t' her; de yinnecent 
 chile ax fo' de name she am 'titled to an' ax et ob de 
 big, rich man who tu'ned a lone baby out into de worl' 
 outen a name. De debbil nebbah did nuffin wussah." 
 
 " You insulting scoundrel — " 
 
 " Cupe an' Dinah lub de gearl an' lub de Ian' ob 
 Kaintuck bettah dan all de worl' b'side. But fo' de 
 good ob de chile, ef yo' '11 take her into de house an' 
 open yoah heaht t' de yinnecent orfin, an' gib her de 
 name she need an' yo' owe t' her, we two ole niggers '11 
 tu'n back to de cole Canerdy Ian' an' nebbah look on 
 her face ag'in. Please, Ma'se Manley, an' de Lawd '11 
 bress yo' in de day ob jubilee." 
 
 Mr. Manley pointed to the door. 
 
 " Fo' de lub ob yoah chile, yoah own chile, Ma'se .? " 
 
 Still he pointed to the door. " Go ! " 
 
 The old man arose. Dinah for the first time moved 
 to the front ; she stood to the right of Mr, Manley, 
 Cupe to his left. 
 
 " Will yo' damn yoah own chile by stealin' her name 
 'way ? Bettah steal her money er cut her froat." 
 
 Mr. Manley raised his clenched fist. " Dog of a 
 244 
 
Cupe's Plea for Susie's Name 
 
 nigger, you lie, you lie ! " The negroes sprang forward 
 simultaneously. Cupe wrapped his long arms around 
 Manley, holding him tightly. Dinah jerked forth a 
 strong strap, and before the prisoner realised what they 
 were about lashed his ankles together, while with another 
 strap she bound his arms close to his side. The move- 
 ments of the actors were unexpected, the strength dis- 
 played was unlooked for, the expertness with which they 
 did their work amazing. The prisoner became a pris- 
 oner without realising the fact until he was bound, and 
 then he instantly regained his natural calmness. 
 
 " You '11 be flogged in the morning until your back 
 is raw, Cupe," he quietly said. 
 
 But Cupe before replying set the helpless man in his 
 easy-chair, then said : " De lash am not so painful es 
 de brand ob de fiah. Cupe kin stan' dem bof. Ma'se, 
 de Lawd knows Cupe lubs yo' yit, but he lubs de Susie 
 gearl moah. Yo' hab done wrong t' yo'selb, Ma'se, an' 
 yo' hab done wrong t' Susie, yoah own chile." 
 
 " I have not, Cupe. The Lord knows — " 
 
 Cupe again interrupted him. 
 
 "■ Two times befo' yo' call on de Lawd. Do yo' 
 wan' t' lebe de mattah ob de trufF ob yoah words t' 
 de Lawd ? " 
 
 " The Lord witness that I have had no part in 
 wronging that child." 
 
 " De Lawd mus' be de witness; yo' .hab called de 
 'zact numbah ob times on de one who kin prube de 
 right. De Lawd shall be de jedge." Then slowly, 
 earnestly, as if uttering a sacred command, he said : 
 
 " Brung de o'deal bean, Dinah, brung bof de o'deal 
 bean." 
 
 245 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE FEARFUL AFRICAN ORDEAL TEST 
 
 SOMETHING in the tone of the old man startled 
 the prisoner. A chill crept over him. Brought 
 up as he had been with the negroes, he realised that 
 unless the intruders had been reckless of personal danger 
 or sure of the success of their undertaking they would 
 not have been so rash as to commit such an outrage on 
 a Kentucky gentleman. It might mean death to them. 
 
 For the first time in his life Mr. Manley felt the 
 sensation of fear. Too well did he realise the extent to 
 which a fanatical fatalist, such as he knew Cupe to be, 
 would carry his measures, did he believe it a duty im- 
 posed by supernatural power. 
 
 " De bean, Dinah, gib me de bean." 
 
 Unbuttoning the bosom of her dress, the woman 
 drew forth a leather bag. Cupe opened it by means 
 of a draw-string and poured into his palm three kidney- 
 shaped beans, each about half an inch in diameter and 
 two inches long, which he held before the prisoner. 
 
 " Ma'se, ef Cupe had be'n bohn in de hot Afriky Ian' 
 he 'd hab be'n a king. Dis is de bean my gran'dad. 
 King ob de Gol'coas' ob Afriky, brought t' America. 
 Et wah raised on a sacred vine dat only kings might 
 grow. No uddah man wah 'lowed t' touch de precious 
 bean." He reverently raised one of the nuts between 
 the tip of his forefinger and his thumb ; " Et am de 
 sacred ordeal nut" he said in an undertone. 
 
 246 
 
The Fearful African Ordeal Test 
 
 " Et kin tole ef a man am lyin'. Ef a man am 
 s'pected ob killin' anuddah man de o'deal nut kin prube 
 de fac'. Ef a man am s'pected ob hoodoo work, de o'deal 
 bean kin show ef he be a hoodoo man. De woman 
 what act de witch kin fool de doctah an' her husban', 
 but she kin not fool de o'deal bean. De o'deal bean am 
 God's bean, an' only de son ob a king kin make de o'deal 
 test. Cupe am de son ob a king." ^ 
 
 "God Almighty, Cupe," cried Manley, "you are 
 carrying your superstition too far ! " 
 
 " De Lawd am goin' t' prube ef yo' hab be'n tellin' 
 de truff 'bout de Susie chile." 
 
 "That devilish bean has no power; it is senseless." 
 
 " De o'deal nut kin do no ha'm to de yinnecent, but 
 et am suah defFt' de guilty man. Yo, need hab no feah 
 ef yo' hab tole de trufF, but de man who take de o'deal 
 test had bettah say his prayers ef de lie am on his lips." 
 He turned to the woman : " Make de drink, Dinah ; " 
 and Cupe handed her one of the beans. 
 
 1 This is according to the custom of the natives at the mouth of the 
 Calabar river, Africa. But instead of a painless death the suspected 
 person (or rather, victim) always perished miserably, suffering most 
 intensely. In this connection the following by W. F. Daniell, Esq. 
 On the N'atives of Old Calabar, in the Edinburgh New Philosophical 
 Journal, Vol. 40, 1846, pp. 313-327 (p. 318), is of interest: "The 
 Government of the Old Calabar towns is a monarchical despotism 
 rather mild in its general character, although sometimes severe and 
 absolute in its details. The King and chief inhabitants ordinarily 
 constitute a court of justice, in which all country disputes are ad- 
 justed, and to which every prisoner suspected of capital offences is 
 brought, to undergo examination and judgment. If found guilty, 
 they are usually forced to swallow a deadly poison, made from the 
 poisonous seeds of an aquatic leguminous plant, which rapidly des- 
 troys life. This poison is obtained by pounding the seeds and macerat- 
 ing them in water, which acquires a white milky colour." To the 
 above it may be added that this " Ordeal Test " was applied also to 
 persons who displeased the ruler and who consequently made this 
 a means to an end. 
 
 247 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 Dinah had often been called to assist in the mansion 
 during parties and celebrations given in other days. 
 Straight to the kitchen she went, crushed the bean and 
 pounded it into meal. Then she poured cold water 
 over the powder, set the pan on the wood embers still 
 glowing in the stove, stirred its contents slowly and 
 watched the liquid until it simmered. During the 
 period she mumbled strange words, made curious passes 
 and motions with her hands, over the decoction, and 
 once with her husky voice she sang a weird air such as 
 no civilised musician ever cast into notes. At last the 
 task was done. Cooling the decoction by holding the 
 pan in cold water, she poured the potion into a tumbler, 
 artfully decanting it from the dregs and carried the tea to 
 Cupe, who sat facing the helpless man. 
 
 The little girl in the meantime had fallen asleep and 
 rested on the sofa, but now her eyes were wide open. 
 
 " Ma'se Manley," said Cupe, taking the glass in his 
 hand, " et es wid sorrah dat Cupe, who lubs yo' so 
 deahly, feels de 'cessity ob honorin' yo' on dis yocasion. 
 But yo' make him do et ; free times an' one extra yo' 
 call de Lawd t' witness de fac' yo' swo' to. De word 
 ob a fine gem'n am great, but de powah ob de o'deal 
 bean am greatah. Yo' may drink t' de glory ob de 
 Lawd." He held the cup to the ashen lips of the 
 man, who made no movement. 
 
 " Drink de o'deal tea, an' ef yo' hab tole de truff yoah 
 res' 'II be sweet an' yoah wakin' pleasant." 
 
 "You black scoundrel ! " answered the helpless man ; 
 "you fanatical lunatic! I won't swallow a drop." 
 
 " Yo' call' on de Lawd an' yo' mus' drink t' de Lawd. 
 Et pains Cupe t' 'blige yo' t' op'n yoah lips, but he hab 
 drenched ho'ses an' mules, an' kin drench a man. Drink, 
 er Cupe 'II poah de sacred tea down yoah froat." 
 
 248 
 
The Fearful African Ordeal Test 
 
 " Cupe, do you want to murder me ? Dinah, when 
 I was a chiM you held me on your knee, you have told 
 me stories by the cabin fire, you have dressed me in the 
 morning, watched over me during the day, and put me 
 into bed at night. Dinah, am I not the orphan child 
 you raised ? " 
 
 " Cupe am de son ob a king." 
 
 " Dinah, I gave you money to buy tombstones for 
 your children." 
 
 " De sacred o'deal comes from God, cussed be de 
 pusson who bre'k de cha'm." 
 
 The man turned an imploring look on Cupe, who 
 answered : " De o'deal bean am ha'mless t' de yin- 
 necent." 
 
 " Don't poison me, Cupe ; I ain't a dog. Shoot me. 
 A man should not die by poison." The negro shook 
 his head. The prisoner made one last appeal. 
 
 "My children, my two girls," continued Mr. Manley. 
 "For their sakes." 
 
 " Dah am free gearls." 
 
 The man shook his head. 
 
 Cupe pointed to the sleeping child. 
 
 "No." 
 
 '* God help yo' Ma'se. Down wid de o'deal." 
 
 There was no hope now ; that no had steeled the 
 negro's heart. By a method that must have been taught 
 the mixer of the ordeal by one who was expert at forc- 
 ing a liquid down the throat of a struggling person, Cupe 
 and Dinah forced the prisoner to drain the strange potion 
 to the dregs. Not a drop was spilled. Then Dinah 
 went to the kitchen, washed the glass and pan, removed 
 every evidence of disorder made by herself, and re- 
 turned to find Cupe still facing the now very frightened 
 man. 
 
 249 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 " Cupe," he said, " I feel strangely. There is a 
 whirling in my brain; you have poisoned your old 
 friend, Cupe." 
 
 " De o'deal am ha'mless t' de yinnecent." 
 
 " Cupe, I know nothing about the mother of the 
 girl. I have never seen the girl before." 
 
 " De woman who carry de chile in her arms say dat 
 yo' dribe her out into de night. She wrote et all down, 
 an she swo' t' dat papah befo' de Stringtown jestice ob 
 de peace." 
 
 " My daughters ! " moaned the man, who now real- 
 ised fully his position — poison in his blood, disgrace in 
 the future. " Cupe, I beg you not to let that paper 
 come to light — I beg you." 
 
 " Et hab be'n read by de Stringtown clerk." 
 
 The man's mind wandered ; the deadly African ordeal 
 was burning out his nerve power. 
 
 " Save me, Cupe, save the honour of my children," 
 he implored. " In the drawer of that secretary you will 
 find diamonds and pearls." 
 
 Cupe shook his head. Too well did he know the 
 symptoms of that fearful ordeal, from which no man 
 ever recovered. All who drank that potion were guilty. 
 
 " De jewels doan all b'long t' Susie." 
 
 " Take them all, but burn that paper. You mean to 
 doubly murder me, Cupe ? " 
 
 " De Lawd am yoah jedge, not Cupe." 
 
 The eyes of the man were now fixed on vacancy, his 
 breath came spasmodically, his skin turned ashen white. 
 " God help me. God save my children ! " 
 
 No sign of sympathy was exhibited by the witnesses 
 of the tragedy. Standing by his side, they coldly 
 watched his spasmodic struggles until the life of the 
 miserable man went out. 
 
 250 
 
The Fearful African Ordeal Test 
 
 " Dinah," said Cupe, " de Lawd hab be'n de jedge. 
 Bressed be de name ob de Lawd ! " 
 
 In the grey of morning the merry frolickers returned. 
 In the cheerful sitting-room Mr. Manley sat in his easy- 
 chair, his head bowed on his folded arms that rested on 
 the stand before him. In his hand, between the fore- 
 finger and the thumb, was the ashened stump of a cigar. 
 The lamp burned dimly, an open book lay face down on 
 the table, beside it stood a decanter and a glass. 
 
 The doctor came. " Death was instantaneous. A 
 painless touch at the heart, a drooping of the head; 
 peaceable as an infant's sleep, came his last call." 
 
 The preacher came. " A good man has passed away, 
 his name honoured throughout the land that knew him. 
 His every act was that of righteousness ; never did the 
 poor or wronged appeal to him in vain. The soul of 
 honour, his course on earth was a just one. Typical 
 of sincerity, his every act is clear to the world, his 
 record is open to the inspection of whomsoever will. 
 Peaceably, as death should come to one who stands ever 
 ready to die, did death come here. Touched by the 
 kindly finger of God, this upright man went contentedly 
 to his final home in the bright beyond." 
 
 251 
 
CHAPTER XLI 
 
 THE STRINGTOWN SCHOOL 
 
 THE bell on the pole in front of the Stringtown 
 schoolhouse had sounded the ending of the after- 
 noon recess. Boys and girls together in struggling dis- 
 order crowded through the door into the room. In a 
 few moments the noisy group had been distributed, and 
 the majority at once became absorbed in the lessons that 
 were to end the task of the day. Professor Drake had 
 called the class in history to the recitation bench and 
 had even asked a question of the head student, when the 
 proceedings were interrupted by a knock. 
 
 Every head in the room was raised, each pair of eyes 
 were fixed on the entrance. " Open the door, Sammy 
 Drew," came the order from the teacher, and I sprang to 
 do the honours of the occasion. Before me stood Mr. 
 Nordman, the old gentleman who lived on the String- 
 town pike, south of the village. With a nod he passed 
 me by and in his genial manner reached out his hand to 
 Professor Drake. But I did not close the door, neither 
 did I move in nor out. Close behind him, and now 
 facing nie, stood a boy about my own age. Our eyes 
 met ; the devil could not have leered more wickedly 
 than did he as his eye caught mine. His turned-up 
 nose grew more pointed, his thin red lips drew tightly 
 and stretched over his gums until I saw impressions 
 of his teeth marked in white through their very sub- 
 stance. His hat was held in his hand — a hand as red 
 
 252 
 
The Stringtown School 
 
 as the foot of a duck ; his mop of red hair glistened in 
 the sunshine like oak leaves after a frosty spell in 
 autumn — red as are the leaves of the autumn oak, red 
 as is no other shade of red. 
 
 Then occurred an amazing thing ; while yet I faced 
 the boy his impish eyes flashed and created sensations in 
 my mind that words could not have done. " We two 
 are enemies." Perhaps my own eyes answered his stare. 
 Be this as it may, all the viciousness of my nature up- 
 rose, and back into his face I leered as insolently as did 
 he into mine. His lips turned whiter still as he drew 
 them more tightly over his closed teeth, and sure as 
 truth can be written, his crimson ears wagged back and 
 forth and mocked me. Then while yet they waved 
 before my eyes, the scalp of his head began to creep 
 backward ; it drew upon the crown until his elongated 
 forehead reached near to his ear tips, after which the 
 flexible skin flipped suddenly back and gyrated round 
 and round, then back and forth, moving, as it did so, 
 that mop of hair, which, as the movements of the scalp 
 ceased, rose up as do the bristles on a wild hog's back. 
 Never before had I seen such gymnastics ; never since 
 have I seen his equal. 
 
 But an instant did it take for these things to come 
 and pass. I alone saw him, and he alone saw my face, 
 for my form closed the jar of the door. We raised our 
 fists as by a signal, and then, just as the teacher's voice 
 broke upon the air, we sprang at each other as do boys 
 who hate each other. Boys fight with teeth and fists 
 and finger nails and feet, and so did we, to the credit of 
 the most vicious. Unmindful of blow or bruise, of bite 
 or finger clutch, we fought in a manner worthy of those 
 who fight in behalf of a good cause, but neither good 
 nor bad cause had we for which to fight. It was simply 
 
 253 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 fight. The bruises made by the stony pavement on 
 which we rolled were unfelt, the blow of the fist that 
 " smashed " my nose and bloodied my face and gar- 
 ments gave me no pain, the bite that left the print of 
 two sets of teeth on my arm did not concern me. I 
 gave as good as I received — that point alone was my 
 ambition — and when we two combatants were parted 
 by Professor Drake and Mr. Nordman it would have 
 been difficult to say whether either had been punished 
 more than the other. " A devilish good fight on short 
 notice," said Mr. Nordman, in a tone that bespoke no 
 ill will; but Prof. Drake took another view of the 
 matter. A gross breach of discipline had been com- 
 mitted and a strict rule of the school broken. 
 
 We were led inside, and then Prof. Drake chalked 
 two small circles on the floor. Side by side, each in his 
 ring, stood the Red-Headed Boy and myself, both defiant, 
 each more vicious than before. My blood was scat- 
 tered over his garments, and clumps of his red hair were 
 sticking between my fingers. The eye next me was 
 closed, the ear on the same side was lacerated and 
 bloody. " A devilish spunky pair, I say," added Mr. 
 Nordman, who now occupied a chair on the rostrum 
 beside Prof. Drake. But the indignant teacher made no 
 reply. 
 
 " Samuel Drew," he spoke severely, " explain to me 
 the cause of this disgraceful aff^air." 
 
 1 made no answer. There was no " cause " to 
 explain. 
 
 " Did this boy say anything to warrant you in striking 
 him ? " 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " Did he strike you first ? " 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 254 
 
The Stringtown School 
 
 " Had he struck you previously ? " 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " Did he give you reason to fight ? " 
 
 « Yes, sir." 
 
 " What did he do ? " 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " Nothing ! and yet gave you reason to fight him," 
 said the teacher ironically. 
 
 " Yes, sir," I answered. 
 
 Turning to the other boy, Mr. Drake asked : 
 
 " Did Sammy say anything to you ? " 
 
 « Nuthin'." 
 
 " Did he strike you first ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Have you and Sammy fought before this time ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Why did you fight r " 
 
 " Fer nuthin'." 
 
 The eyes of Drake dropped to the floor. As they 
 did so, the lacerated ear of the Red-Headed Boy, the ear 
 toward me, moved up and down, back and forth. The 
 young devil was mocking me again. I could not answer 
 him in the same way, but I scraped a tuft of his hair 
 from between my fingers, and as he eyed me, slyly I 
 twirled it before his gaze. The war was still on. 
 
 " It will do no good to flog these boys," said Mr. 
 Nordman, who it could be seen was not disturbed over 
 the combat. 
 
 " I am not in favour of physical punishment," an- 
 swered the professor. " I do not whip boys. Discipline, 
 however, is necessary. I must punish them severely." 
 
 " Professah," spoke Mr. Nordman, " will you permit 
 me, sah, to make a suggestion ? " 
 
 " Certainly. I shall value it.'* 
 
 255 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 *' I am an old man and have learned some things as I 
 have passed along. Blood is blood, sah, and blood 
 counts. Young folks are not old folks. I cannot say 
 that I can see anything wrong about what these boys 
 have done, unless it be in the place selected for the fight. 
 It wah fair on both sides, and neither of them showed 
 the white feather. School is for study, I '11 admit, but 
 not all of it can be study and, by Gad ! when the time 
 comes that American boys are punished for an innocent 
 tussle and taught never to fight, sah, the prospect for 
 our country is devilish bad, Professah ! " 
 
 Again the professor flushed. 
 
 " I am an old man, Professah Drake, and you will 
 take kindly what I have to say. Don't punish the boy 
 who faces the music, but him who runs away. If you '11 
 persuade Sammy to fight no mo'ah during school hours, 
 I ansah for that chap," and he pointed to my antagonist. 
 " But unless something strongah than yoah rules prevent, 
 they will fight it out yet, sure as shooting, Professah." 
 
 Professor Drake mused a moment. 
 
 " Sammy, take your place at your desk," he said. 
 Looking about the room, he selected a vacant seat. 
 separated quite a distance from my bench, for the new 
 boy. 
 
 256 
 
CHAPTER XLII 
 
 Susie's introduction to the stringtown school 
 
 AS I sat at my desk that afternoon, my mind reverted 
 to the past. I recalled that it had really been 
 predicted that this boy and I were to be antagonists. 
 Then, as my meditating mind drew a still clearer view 
 of the past, I recalled the exact words of the black 
 omen-reader who had warned me to '■^ Beware of the 
 Red-Head Boy ! " Back and forth ran fragments of 
 the long-neglected prediction, until at last I caught 
 another sentence : " Et say dat de Red-Head Boy '11 die 
 sudden, an' dat yo' an' Susie '11 be de cause ; an' dat 
 yo '11 die sudden, an' dat de Red-Head Boy an' Susie '11 
 be de cause." 
 
 There sat the evil object of the omen-reading seer ; and 
 then, as the last part of the sentence ran again through 
 my mind, I glanced over among the girls, at one who 
 came among us in the early part of the present session. 
 I remember that morning well. She was accompanied 
 by old negro Cupe, who stood with bare head beside the 
 open door while her name was being recorded and her 
 bench place selected. Every morning the negro brought 
 his charge to the door, every evening when school was 
 dismissed he stood patiently waiting outside. A little, 
 shrinking bit of a girl was she, strangely dressed, neat, 
 clean, starched and prim. I recall her timid look as she 
 stood that morning before Professor Drake — the shy 
 17 257 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 glance she shot about the room, the shrinking, drooping 
 eye that fell to the floor as she met the gaze of those 
 about, for all eyes were fixed upon her — a new 
 scholar. 
 
 " Your name, child ? " asked Professor Drake, who 
 with pen in hand was prepared to enter the name on the 
 school record. It was merely a question of formality, 
 for all of Stringtown knew the girl, all of Stringtown 
 knew her history, how she had disappeared when the 
 two negroes did and returned again with them from 
 Canada. 
 
 " Susie," was the low answer. 
 
 " Your other name, please ? " 
 
 " I am only Susie." 
 
 I who sat near caught the flush on her cheek as her 
 eyes drooped. 
 
 The teacher seemed inclined to ask another question. 
 Then, perhaps because he too noticed the cheek flush, 
 forbore and motioned her to be seated. 
 
 " Children," he said, speaking to the school, " we 
 have a new scholar to-day, one long absent from String- 
 town, but whom I have wished since her return to 
 number among us. This child " — and he looked at 
 Susie — " deserves to be treated with the utmost kind- 
 ness. She is my especial charge for she has excited my 
 personal interest. While no favouritism can be shown 
 by me for or against any pupil, still I wish it to be 
 known that whoever mistreats this child will incur my 
 severest displeasure ; and that those who aid and favour 
 her will please me very much. Let the older girls take 
 an interest in her welfare by assisting the little girl in 
 every way possible, and in making her school-days 
 pleasant." Then looking about the room, he said : 
 '' My child take your seat at the desk with Jennie Man- 
 
 258 
 
Susie's Introduction to School 
 
 ley." Jennie Manley was the youngest daughter of the 
 planter who had suddenly died one night a few months 
 before. 
 
 And so Susie came shrinkingly into the Stringtown 
 school in the commencement of this session, the school 
 I had dumbly attended all my school life, and to which, 
 now came the Red-Headed Boy of Nordman. We three 
 were at last together in the same room. 
 
 The girls of our Stringtown school gave Susie a warm 
 reception ; they opened their hearts to the waif, and 
 soon the wild child was made to feel at home. Bright 
 and cheerful, grateful for little kindnesses, she made for 
 herself a place in each heart, and Professor Drake had no 
 need to ask further favours in her behalf. 
 
 Not so warm was the reception the boys of our school 
 gave " Red-Head." His advent, it is true, had been such 
 as to merit their admiration, and his subsequent deport- 
 ment was defiant enough to please any Kentucky-bred 
 boy. But he made no friends. He came alone to 
 school each morning, alone he left when study hours 
 were over. During recess, if the weather was fair, he 
 sat on the fence and whittled, taking no part in the 
 games of the boys ; if the weather was bad he sought a 
 lone spot inside the room. His sarcastic face leered at 
 all who approached him. Within a week no boy spoke 
 to him, he in turn gave no word to others, and an occa- 
 sional cat wail could be heard when his back was turned. 
 But no other boy sought a direct quarrel. By common 
 consent, it seemed, the field was left for us — we two 
 who were conspicuous in that we never looked at each 
 other and alone gave no taunt when accident brought us 
 together ; too deep was the hatred that down in our 
 natures spoke from each to the other, rendering no 
 taunt necessary. War had been declared when first we 
 
 259 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 met, and it seemed evident that no peace could come 
 between us until the fight had been finished. 
 
 And so the " Red-Head " came and went ; never did 
 he seem to look at any girl, surely he did not speak to 
 any boy. As I recall those days I perceive, as I could 
 not then, that if ever a boy stood isolated in the world 
 that Stringtown boy was alone. And as I think of the 
 dreary part our school was to him, I cannot but ques- 
 tion, had I not met him half way and struck that blow, 
 would he have struck me ? If we had not fought that 
 afternoon in the old Stringtown schoolyard, would the 
 chain of events that followed have been diverted ? Had 
 the boys and girls of our school sought to befriend him, 
 as we might have done, and should have done, would 
 the evil in his make-up have strengthened as it did ? 
 Would goodness and grace have upstarted and displaced 
 the pernicious emotions that seemed to then dominate 
 his life ? I cannot answer, and these musings are not 
 pleasant, for it is evident now that there was cause to 
 seek for evil in myself. 
 
 260 
 
CHAPTER XLIII 
 
 THE CHALLENGE OF RED-HEAD 
 
 MEMORY is not less vivid than is sight. I can 
 see that uncouth boy now as plainly as I saw 
 him then. Sitting on the line fence that separated our 
 school from the neighbour on the south, his favourite 
 place was a conspicuous locust post, that near the pike 
 line gave a good view both up and down the street. 
 His employment consisted in watching this road, whit- 
 tling a stick and sharpening his great horn-handled 
 knife. I might say that his main object seemed to be to 
 scan the pike; for even while whittling, his bright, little 
 eyes were ever glancing about as though he were expect- 
 ing some one. Watchful may better express the sen- 
 sation that comes now to my mind as I reflect over his 
 method and deportment. That knife needs also a word, 
 for it was ever in his hand. It was not an ordinary 
 pocket-knife, but big enough to " stick a hog." True, 
 the blade closed into a rude buckhorn handle, still it was 
 not such a clasp-knife as merchants carry in stock. It 
 seemed to have been rudely made by a blacksmith. Be 
 that as it may, Red-Head knew how to use it. Indif- 
 ferent to our games or pastimes, he held himself aloof, 
 knife in hand, perched upon the fence, gazing up the 
 pike. Yet occasionally he did take part in some boyish 
 turn. 
 
 We were playing at hop-skip-and-jump, we school- 
 boys. The game had drawn itself down until the two 
 
 261 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 rival jumpers of the school confronted each other. 
 Every boy but Red-Head had taken part, and he, in- 
 different, sat on the fence idly gazing first up the pike 
 and then down upon the striving contestants below him. 
 A sneer from some boy met his ear, but sneers were not 
 new to him. 
 
 " Afraid to jump, Red-Head ? " cried one. 
 
 " Who 's afeard ? " 
 
 " Red-Head ! " piped in another. 
 
 Slowly climbing down from his perch on the opposite 
 side of the fence from us, the mountain boy closed his 
 knife, and with a run and a jump sprang straight toward 
 the tall fence. High into the air his lithe form rose, 
 drew itself into a knot as the top of the fence was 
 reached, doubled a somersault in the air, then over with- 
 out touching, over and far beyond was he when those 
 heels struck and marked the soft earth. Never before 
 had such a jump been made in the Stringtown school- 
 yard — or rather, I should say, into the Stringtown 
 school-yard. We village boys stood amazed at the feat 
 of the youth from the mountains, who gave us no word, 
 but went back to his post, climbed the fence and turned 
 his gaze again toward the south. 
 
 Some time after that we were shooting at a mark, the 
 weapon being a rifle of small bore (a squirrel rifle), the 
 object a sheet of paper on a plank against a distant tree. 
 " Strange amusement that for children ! " some may say. 
 True, but I speak of Kentucky in the 'sixties. Again 
 some defiant boy singled out Red-Head and challenged 
 him to join us — dared him to shoot. Indifferent as he 
 had been in the jumping contest did he seem in this. 
 Leaning the gun we used against the fence, he stepped 
 to the line, and before we could anticipate his object, 
 from an inside pocket of his jacket he drew a bright 
 
 262 
 
The Challenge of Red-Head 
 
 revolver. Raising it, without aiming, he fired and 
 waited the result. Several boys sprang to the mark ; 
 there was the bullet hole in the plank far above the 
 wildest shot we had made. A cry of derision, a series 
 of cat mews, a chorus of sarcastic jeers, rang upon the 
 air. 
 
 " Better git a rest," sneered one. 
 
 " Fools ! " he said, " thet 's the mark tcr shoot at. 
 Ef yo' wah raised in the moun'ns, an' would shoot at a 
 whole sheet ov papah, they 'd take yoah gun away an' 
 drive yo' off. Thet 's the mark, I say — one bullet hole 
 fer the centre an' five in a ring jest 'roun' et." As he 
 spoke his arm was raised again, and as fast as the trigger 
 could be pulled came five shots. Again we sprang to 
 the distant mark, and there, in a close circle, equal dis- 
 tances apart, was a ring of little holes. I recall the 
 exact words he had used, " One bullet hole fer the cen- 
 tre an' five in a ring jest 'roun' et." 
 
 But, alas ! our challenge resulted in disaster to the 
 expert marksman. No boy of the Stringtown school 
 was permitted to carry a pistol. That weapon was 
 positively prohibited by Professor Drake, who considered 
 the carrying of a pistol by a boy to be sufficient cause 
 for expulsion. We had been deeply absorbed in our 
 sport, and as the hand that held the spent revolver 
 dropped, the boy who held it was taken by the shoulder 
 in the firm grasp of our teacher, who, unperceived by us, 
 had from behind joined the group, every eye of which 
 had been fixed on the mark. 
 
 Red-Head was led away by his captor, while we who 
 had been the cause of his arrest, but who had escaped, 
 hung our heads. 
 
 In a moment the bell calling us to the room rang, and 
 knowing that trouble was in the air, we sought our 
 
 263 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 places. There sat the teacher ; near him the empty re- 
 volver lay on the table, and before him stood the captive 
 child awaiting the outcome of the crime he had com- 
 mitted in thus breaking the strictest rule of our village 
 school. 
 
 Then spoke Professor Drake, addressing the culprit : 
 " It is against the rules of this school to carry concealed 
 w^eapons. Some years ago a boy was killed by his class- 
 mate in this very yard, and since that no pistol has been 
 allowed in school. I must punish you severely, but be- 
 fore doing so it is but just that I should ask why you 
 have disgraced yourself by breaking this rule ? " 
 
 *■'■ I hain't disgraced myself, an' I hain't hurt nobody." 
 
 " But you surely know that it is wrong to carry a 
 weapon like this." 
 
 " It ain't wrong fer me ter carry ct." 
 
 *' It is never right to carry a pistol in a civilised com- 
 munity." 
 
 " Teachah, ef yo' knew my story, yo' would n't say 
 et 's wrong fer me ter carry a gun. Ef yo' hed been 
 through what I hev, an' looked fer what 's com'n', yo' d 
 carry one too." 
 
 This was said half persuasively, half defiantly. The 
 head of the boy was raised proudly ; no appearance of 
 shame bespread his face, no drooping glance. " I hed 
 the gun in my pocket when I fought thet feller " (he 
 pointed to me), " an' did n't use et. I don't intend ter 
 shoot boys. I hain't but one use fer et, an' when the 
 time comes I '11 need the gun awful bad, teachah." 
 
 " Tell me your story." 
 
 " Et's too long, an' don't consarn nobody but me." 
 
 " Tell me why it is right for you to carry a pistol. I 
 command it. Tell me all." 
 
 264 
 
CHAPTER XLIV 
 
 red-head's story of the feud 
 
 " T 'M from the moun'ns, I am, I don't know jest now 
 A we'uns came ter live thar, an' et don't make no 
 difF'r'nce. We always lived in the moun'ns ov East 
 Kaintuck. Our house w'an't no great shakes, et jest 
 hed two rooms an' a mud chimney. Thet's all. 
 
 " Dad said, said he, one day when I wah a little thing, 
 an' he pinted back over the hog-back hill b'hind the 
 cabin — ' Don't none ov yo' children cross the divide. 
 Keep this side ov Bald Hill, fer thar's a feud' twixt Hol- 
 combs and we-uns.' I can't remember when he fust 
 said this, et war when I war too little ter remember, but 
 he said et often. An' we never crost the hog-back hill, 
 none ov us, fer dad said thet the feud war ofF till the 
 Holcombs er we-uns broke et by cross'n' the divide. 
 An' es we grew bigger, brother Jim an' me, mam kept 
 us up in the story ov the feud. 
 
 " ' Ef et ever happens thet the feud es on ag'in,' sez 
 she, ' thar won't be no end ter et es long es thar es a 
 Holcomb er a Nordman livin'.' She said et hed been 
 one ov the bloodiest feuds ov the moun'ns, an' more 'n a 
 dozen hed been killed on each side, an' she showed us 
 the row ov Holcombs on one side ov the graveyard an' 
 the row of we-uns on tother side. I axed her what the 
 feud war 'bout, but she said, said she : ' I don't jest re- 
 member. Et b'gun befoah I come inter the family, but 
 
 265 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 et don't make no difF'r'nce 'bout the beginnin', thet don't 
 consarn us.' 
 
 " An' dad, he did n't talk much 'bout et neither, but 
 when brother Jim an' I could hold a gun he taught us 
 all 'bout shootin' ! ' Et air fer bus'ness p'r'aps,' he said ; 
 ' ef the feud begins ag'in yo' boys '11 be in't.' There ain't 
 no mo'ah ter say, teachah, 'bout the feud, an' I don't 
 know nuthin' mo'ah. Jim an' me I'arned ter shoot, an' 
 et did n't make much difference what et war we shot at, 
 we hit et. An' dad grew monstrous proud ov us, an' 
 one day I heerd him say ter mam thet he did n't care 
 now ef the feud war on ag'in. But he kept tellin' me 'n 
 Jim ter keep this side ov Bald Hill, an' we did. Jim 
 war 'bout two years older then me, teachah. 
 
 '' But one day we started a young deer, an' et run fer 
 the divide. We bed n't no guns, fer we war out fishin', 
 but es et war a leetle critter, we started ter try an' ketch 
 et runnin'. We did n't notice whar et run, an' befoah I 
 knew et, we war goin' down the moun'n tother side ov 
 Bald Hill. Jim war ahead an' mighty close on the deer 
 when bang went a gun in the thicket, an' Jim dropped." 
 
 Here the boy stopped, hung his head and drew his 
 coarse sleeve across his eyes. " 'Scuse me, teachah," 
 he said, " I ain't used t' talkin', an' et makes me tired t' 
 speak so 'long." 
 
 In a moment he resumed : " I run t' Jim an' raised 
 his head, but et war no use, he did n't know me. He 
 war dead. A minie ball bed gone in jest above one ear 
 an' out jest below tother. I could n't do nuthin' fer Jim, 
 an' so I drapped him an' started ter sneak fer the thicket. 
 I wanted ter see who done the shootin', an' I did see, 
 too. I did n't go straight for the spot, but snook ter the 
 right an' got inter a hollah, an' then I crept up till I 
 come near ter the place the smoke come from, but thar 
 
 266 
 
Red-Head's Story of the Feud 
 
 want no one thar. Jest then I looked back, an' slippin' 
 'long the hillside, I saw a man stooped over tryin' ter 
 keep the laurel thicket 'twixt Jim an' hisself. He got 
 'twixt an' old stump an' Jim an' cocked his gun an' 
 looked up. He war a monstrous tall man, Old Holcomb. 
 He could see Jim a-layin' thar, but he didn't seem ter 
 care fer him, an' I saw thet he war lookin' fer me. 
 Lord, teachah, ef I hed only hed my gun then ! 
 
 " But es I did n't, I jest laid low an' then slipped inter 
 the briars, an' sneaked 'roun' the hill an' made fer home. 
 
 *' Mam an' dad an' little Sis war sittin' at the table 
 eatin' supper when I stepped inter the door. ' Whar 's 
 Jim ? ' mam axed. 
 
 " ' Shot ! ' 
 
 " Dad got up an' pinted ter Bald Hill. *■ Hev yo' boys 
 crost the divide ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes.' 
 
 " ' Es he dead ? ' 
 
 " I jest put a finger on each side ov my head. ' Minie 
 ball,' was all I said. ' He 's lyin' jest over the hog- 
 back.' 
 
 " Dad turned ter the fireplace an' took down his big 
 b'ar gun — the big b'ar gun — ' I '11 bring Jim home. Yo' 
 folks keep in the cabin till I come. Don't yo' go out.' 
 
 " ' The feud 's on ag'in,' war all mam said. But she 
 blew the coals up an' commenced ter run bullets fer 
 the big gun an' she set me ter cleanin' up the rifle an' 
 revolvers. 
 
 " But dad did n't come home till long after dark, an' 
 he did n't come home then nuther. Sis an' I went ter 
 sleep, but I guess mam did n't, fer 'bout daylight I war 
 waked by a knock on the door, an' es I opened my eyes 
 I saw she war dressed. She took down the ir'n bar an' 
 let dad in ; he hed Jim in his arms. ' The feud 's on/ 
 
 267 
 
Strino;town on the Pike 
 
 he said. ' Thar '11 be a grave dug 'cross the hill too 
 when we bury Jim. Et war a long shot, but I caught 
 him through the winder.' 
 
 '' ' Who 'd yo' git ? ' asked mam. 
 
 " ' Don't know whether 't is the old man er the boy, 
 they 're 'bout the same size, but et's one ov 'em.' 
 
 " Well, teachah, we buried Jim in our row, an' next 
 day Sam Holcomb war buried in thern. Then we all 
 got ready ter kill an' be killed. Thar wa'n't much ter 
 do but ter kiver the winders close, ter keep the guns 
 clean an' then sneak in an' out the house. Et war 
 watch an' sneak an' hunt an' sneak. We killed all our 
 dogs 'ceptin' one fice thet stayed in the house ter bark, 
 fer they hedn't sense 'nough ter keep out ov sight, an' ef 
 a dog war seen in the bushes et would give us away. 
 One night mam war shot by a ball that come through 
 the winder. Et war jest a little crack, but big 'nough 
 ter let light out an' a bullet in. She wa'n't killed dead, 
 but she could n't live long, an' she knowed et. ' Red,' 
 she said ter me, ' take good care ov little Sissie. She 
 air too young to fight, but when she 's grown up she '11 
 marry an' raise a family ter help carry on the feud. An' 
 Red,' she said, ' make me one promise.' 
 
 " ' Go on, mam, I '11 do et.' 
 
 "'Don't yo' let up on the feud. Red. Et must be 
 ter the end.' 
 
 " ' Yo' need n't make me promise thet,' 1 said, ' I '11 
 fight et out.' 
 
 " ' I'd die happy ef your dad were livin' ter help yo'.' 
 
 " ' Never mind dad,' I said. ' Thar air only one feller 
 left over the hill, the old man. Dad shot three ov 'em 
 before they got him, an' I shot one, an' we can't expect 
 ter hev all the luck.' " 
 
 Here the teacher interrupted. " Why did n't you go 
 268 
 
Red-Head's Story of the Feud 
 
 for a doctor? Perhaps your mother's wound might not 
 have been necessarily fatal." 
 
 " Doctor nuthin'. Thar wa'n't no doctor 'n fifteen 
 miles ov our place ; b'sides, ef I hed opened the door 
 thet night I 'd hev got a ball too. Yo' don't know 
 nuthin' 'bout the moun'ns an' the feuds, teachah." 
 
 " You say that your father had been killed ? " 
 
 "Yes; fergot ter mention et, but he hed been shot 
 down 'bout a month befoah. Next mornin' I shut Sis 
 in the cabin an' sneaked over ter Jones' an' axed him 
 ter come an' bury mam ; an' I tell yo', teachah, things 
 war monstrous quiet 'bout our place fer a time after thet. 
 Sis hed I'arned ter keep still an' stay in the house. She 
 war only 'bout three years old, but she hed seen some 
 bad dahs, teachah, an' hed lots ov sense fer sech a little 
 thing. Jim war shot, dad war shot, an' mam war shot, 
 but thar wa'n't but one Holcomb left. An' it war Sis 
 er me next ef I could n't git him first ! " 
 
 For the second time the narrator stopped and drew 
 his coarse sleeve slowly across his eyes. " Et makes me 
 tired, I says, ter talk so long, teachah, but I '11 git my 
 wind an' be rested in a minit." Then he continued : 
 " I war too little ter use the big gun, an' hed ter trust 
 to the pistol er the light rifle, an et wa'n't fair now, fer 
 Tom Holcomb war the tallest man I ever seed, an' he 
 shot with a Springfield musket. But when a feller 's in 
 a feud, et don't make no difference 'bout the size. Et 's 
 kill er git killed. I did what 1 promised mam I 'd do 
 es best I could. I hed n't much chance, fer I hed ter 
 slip in an' out the cabin an' watch fer my own life an' 
 care fer Sis an' try ter git a bead on Holcomb. But 
 't wa'n't no use, things war ag'in me. I slipped out one 
 mornin' through the back door ter git some meal, fer 
 thar wa'n't a bite ov bread in the place, an' when I came 
 
 269 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 back the front door war wide open. When I saw thet 
 open door I feared et meant trouble. I crept inter the 
 house the back way, an' thar in the open door, huggin' 
 her little rag doll, sat Sissie. I could see the head ov 
 the doll over her shoulder. The sun war shinin' bright 
 in her face, her back war toward me, her little head 
 leaned ag'in the side ov the door, an' she looked es 
 sweet es a pictur. ' Sis,' I said, ' Sissie, yo' mussent 
 sit in the doorj Tom Holcomb '11 git you, Sis.' But 
 she did n't say nuthin'. ' Guess she 's asleep,' I thought, 
 an' slipped ter her side an' jumped at her an' cried, 
 ' Boo f Boo ! ' But she did n't move." 
 
 The boy's head dropped again, his chest heaved con- 
 vulsively. Sob after sob broke the air. Suddenly con- 
 trolling himself, he defiantly turned toward us boys. 
 "I'll thrash the feller what laughs et me. I ain't a 
 coward ef I did cry." 
 
 " My child," said the teacher, as he brushed away a 
 tear from his own eyes, for the affecting climax came so 
 suddenly as to unnerve him too, " no one blames you 
 for crying. I condemn myself for leading you to tell 
 in public this pathetic story of your life. It is I who 
 am in fault, but I did not know what was coming. It 
 is a shame." 
 
 " Yes," answered the boy, " et war a shame ter shoot 
 sech a chunk ov lead through sech a little bit ov a girl. 
 Thet bullet war big 'nough ter kill a b'ar. But I '11 git 
 even with Holcomb yit." 
 
 " I meant that it is a shame that I let you tell this 
 sorrowful story here." 
 
 " Et ain't done yet, teachah. The little thing hed 
 opened the door ter sit in the sunshine, an' a bullet the 
 size ov your thumb hed ploughed through her chest an' 
 out her back. I picked her up an' laid her on the bed, 
 
 270 
 
Red-Head's Story of the Feud 
 
 an' then took an' old satchel an' put a few things inter 
 et (I hed n't much) an' carefully wrapped up the little 
 bloody doll, an' put thet on top. I hain't got nuthin' 
 else now ter mind me ov Sissie but thet doll. I barred 
 the front door an' slipped out the back way, out an' over 
 the spur ter Jones's house. I took my pistol — thet 's 
 the very pistol " (he pointed to the weapon on the table) 
 " an' left the guns an' everything else. 
 
 " ' Et ain't fair,' I said ter Jones ; ' Holcomb's too 
 big fer me.' 
 
 " ' Goin' ter run away ? ' said Jones. 
 
 " No ; goin' ter go away ter grow bigger. Tell Tom 
 Holcomb thet ef he wants me I '11 be in Stringtown on 
 the Pike." 
 
 " ' An' ef he don't foller yo' ? ' 
 
 " ' When I 'm big 'nough ter handle a Springfield gun 
 I '11 be back ag'in. Tell him the feud 's on till one er 
 the other ov us es shot.' 
 
 " ' An' Sissie ! air yo' goin' ter leave Sissie ? ' " said 
 Jones. 
 
 " ' She don't need me no longer. Yo '11 find her on 
 the bed in the cabin. Bury her in the row, 'longside 
 ov mam. I shan't go ter the buryin', fo' I can't run no 
 risk ov old Holcomb's gun.' 
 
 " Thet 's all, teachah." 
 
 Drawing the child to his side, Professor Drake gently 
 smoothed the unkempt red hair, parting it with his 
 fingers in the place a part should be, but seldom before 
 had been seen. Then he spoke : 
 
 " And you expect Mr. Holcomb to follow you to 
 Stringtown ? " 
 
 " I looks fer him every minit, an' I hev ter watch 
 sharp. Thar ain't no other head like mine, an' es soon 
 es he sots eyes on et he '11 draw his gun. Thet 's why 
 
 271 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 I sits on the fence-post watchin' the pike ; ef I cotch 
 sight ov him first, et '11 help me powerful much." 
 " If he observes you before you see him ? " 
 " Holcomb's a dead shot, teachah, an' my head 's a 
 good mark. Thar ain't much chance. Teachah," he 
 continued, " please give me back my pistol an' give me 
 leave ter carry et, fer I needs et bad. I hain't no other 
 friend this side ov the graveyard in the moun'ns. Ef 
 I fights any ov these 'ere boys I '11 use my fists er a 
 stick er a stone. I '11 bite an' scratch, like the girls do, 
 I '11 pull hair like thet feller " (he pointed to me). " I 
 promise thet I '11 not use a gun lessen Holcomb comes. 
 Ef he does, et '11 mean the endin' of the feud one way 
 er tother, an' ef I hain't no gun et '11 be his way sure. 
 I 'm a bad boy, teachah, es yo' folks looks et me, but 
 yo' hain't seed things es I 've seed 'em. Yo' wa'n't 
 raised in the moun'ns, an' none ov yo' hain't no feud 
 ter fight out. Please give me back my gun. I '11 jest 
 set on the fence and won't bother nobody." 
 
 Deeply moved by Red-Head's dramatic story. Prof. 
 Drake stood for some moments in silent meditation. 
 " I perceive there comes a time," he mournfully said 
 to himself, " when duty demands that wrong be con- 
 tinued in behalf of wrong that has been established. 
 Alas, the law under which these people live makes that 
 which we call wrong into what they call right ! It is 
 wrong for me to allow this boy to carry a pistol with 
 murder in his heart, and surely that is the object. But 
 a greater wrong it would be to render him defenseless, 
 for he might in that condition encounter his enemy, the 
 misguided armed man, who would shoot him on sight." 
 Then taking the revolver from the table, the teacher 
 handed it to the pleading boy. " Child," he gently 
 said, " as a special privilege, I give you permission to 
 
 272 
 
Red-Head's Story of the Feud 
 
 carry this weapon, which you need to defend your life, 
 but I shall speak to Mr. Nordman concerning this affair, 
 and endeavour to reach and disarm Mr. Holcomb, or at 
 least prevail on him to keep away from Stringtown." 
 
 " Nordman knows all 'bout it, and he takes my part. 
 But yo' needn't try t' stop Holcomb. He knows every 
 hole in the moun'ns, an' he don't intend t' quit 'till the 
 feud's fought t' the end. No one kin edge in. It's 
 him an' me fer et, teachah." 
 
 i8 
 
 273 
 
CHAPTER XLV 
 
 " TELL ME, JENNIE, TELL ME WHAT IT IS " 
 
 \ 
 
 THE fall session passed, the holidays came and 
 went, the spring session had nearly worn itself 
 away. The evil predictions concerning us three chil- 
 dren had passed from my mind, and no longer disturbed 
 over the Red-Head Boy, I looked forward to the coming 
 autumn, when I hoped that my life in the Stringtown 
 school would terminate. The session's close ap- 
 proached, Susie in loving friendship with all the girls, 
 my antagonist without a friend among the boys. Well 
 do I remember that fateful last morning. 
 
 That morning, of which the date is lost and need not 
 be revived, for the story I have to relate does no credit 
 to any day, the girls of the Stringtown school were, I 
 perceived as I sat in place before school opened, in sub- 
 dued excitement. Whispering groups in earnest con- 
 versation indicated that something of importance had 
 occurred to disturb them. When a boy chanced to 
 approach the lips would cease to move, but would be- 
 gin to buzz again on his departure, indicating that the 
 subject-matter was fit only for girls to hear. I sat alone 
 in my place, and so did Red-Head. We two boys had 
 troubles of our own. Red-Head and I had met again, 
 had " mouthed " each other, had parted to await by ap- 
 pointment the ending of the session now near at hand. 
 I knew full well that Professor Drake would not over- 
 look a second fight, and my antagonist knew that Mr. 
 
 274 
 
"Tell me, Jennie, what it is" 
 
 Nordman had promised that he should be obedient and 
 break no rules. He sulked in his place, scowling at 
 whomsoever chanced to meet his gaze, while I sat 
 glumly in my place meditating over the coming fight. 
 The prediction of the old negro Cupe sprang to my 
 mind ; I looked across the room to the girls. Susie 
 was not in her place. Then it was that I first chanced 
 to observe the whispering group with heads close pressed 
 together, and as the moments passed I sat silently eyeing 
 them, studying their movements, and at last I concerned 
 myself enough to wonder what could have occurred to 
 create such subdued excitement In their ranks. 
 
 The door opened, and Susie tripped into the room. 
 I watched her as she passed down the open space before 
 the door, across and past the spot where once the teacher 
 had marked two circles on the floor for Red-Head and 
 me to stand in, until she reached a group of girls who, 
 on opposing seats, sat with heads together, leaning across 
 the aisles. These girls shrank back, gazing intently into 
 her face as she drew near, but made no offer to return 
 the pleasant greeting. A cold stare was their response, 
 and beneath it the smile on Susie's face disappeared. 
 She was only a child, but no words were necessary to 
 tell to her the story carried by those unfeeling eyes and 
 shrinking forms. She passed along with downcast face, 
 her satchel of books hanging upon her arm. From the 
 cheek toward me the blood had fled, leaving a surface 
 white as dough ; I saw those roses fade as I have some- 
 times seen a beautifully tinted evening cloud deaden and 
 turn to leaden hue. Down the aisle toward her own 
 desk passed the child while on either side, peering at her 
 as girls who have the devil in their hearts only can, sat 
 those Stringtown girls. But Susie looked neither to the 
 right nor to the left, although it could be seen that she 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 felt the touch of those scornful eyes. Her deskmate, 
 Jennie Manley, the youngest daughter of the " upright " 
 Mr. Manley, sat in her place; but as Susie approached 
 she too drew away as though the touch of the garment 
 of the approaching girl might be unclean. The child 
 stopped short, the satchel of books slipped from her 
 nerveless arm and fell upon the floor. Pleadingly she 
 raised her clasped hands, then dropped into her seat and 
 imploringly turned her pallid face upon her deskmate. 
 Her form seemed to draw into itself as does the delicate, 
 shrinking, sensitive plant when touched by a rough hand. 
 Her words came low and tremulous, but I caught them : 
 
 " Tell me, Jennie ! tell me what it is ! " 
 
 For reply the deskmate drew back again. Then 
 came whispers from about ; the busy tongues of String- 
 town girls were loosed. Slowly the kneeling child arose, 
 and turned back toward the door; she did not stop to 
 pick up the fallen satchel ; a rosy apple touched by 
 her foot rolled across the floor to the rostrum, but she 
 heeded it not. The whispers grew louder as she passed 
 back along that vacated aisle, and then as she reached 
 the middle of the open space before the door, one tongue, 
 bolder and more vicious than the others, sang in sarcastic 
 monotone, " Only Susie, Nigger Susie, ^igg^^ Susie ! " 
 
 Had the girl been instantly petrified she could not 
 have stopped more suddenly. A pallor came over her 
 face. Her beseeching eyes wandered about from one 
 to another as if appealing for help from a sympathetic 
 soul, but no response other than a malicous stare met 
 her gaze, and she turned again toward the door. 
 
 The Red-Headed Boy of Nordman sprang across the 
 floor and threw his left arm about the shrinking girl, 
 who dropped her head convulsively upon his shoulder. 
 Raising his clenched fist, he shook it viciously at the 
 
 276 
 
ii 
 
 Tell me, Jennie, what it is" 
 
 group of girls, and shouted : " I kin thrash the brother 
 ov the girl who said them words ter this un ! " Giving 
 them no time to reply, he continued : '' I kin thrash 
 any boy in school ov my size ! I 'm a bad boy from 
 the Kaintuck moun'ns, but I ain't bad 'nough ter be a 
 brother ter sech a set es you-uns ! I 'm awful mean an' 
 bad ! I kin knock the eyes out ov a pig an' watch et 
 stumble 'bout ; I kin pull the legs off ov a frog an' 
 watch et try ter hop ; I kin break the wings ov a bird 
 an' watch et flutter — them's the things I kin do! 
 Whatever 's bad es fun fer me ! I kin do anything 
 mean thet any other boy ever did, but I ain't mean er 
 bad 'nough ter be a brother ter sech a set es you-uns ! 
 Bring on yer brothers, I says, bring 'em one at a time 
 er two at a clip, an' I '11 thrash the lot ! I 'II fight with 
 fist er teeth er club er stone er gun ! I 'm Nordman's 
 Red-Head Boy, I am — thet's what yo' calls me, an' thet's 
 me, an' I 'm a devilish bad un ! I 've killed my man too 
 up in the moun'ns, an' I '11 kill another er get shot myself." 
 
 He stood defiant, vicious, malignant. The skin on 
 his head began to wabble, as if making sport of his 
 hearers ; the ears moved back and forth again as they did 
 the day I faced him ; and I saw, too, that he and Susie 
 stood together on the spot where he and I had once 
 stood. But my admiration for him now supplanted mv 
 hatred. I sprang from my place and moved toward the 
 two children, holding out my hand. " Let me be with 
 you and Susie," I said, "we three together. Let us be 
 friends." 
 
 " Back," he cried, " er I '11 hit yo' ! I want no 
 friend in Stringtown ! I hate yo' all, I hate everbody 
 on earth. I hate Susie, too, 'cause she 's been born, 
 but I takes up fer her now not 'cause I cares fer her, 
 but 'cause yo' all hev thrown her down." 
 
 277 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 " You need not hate me any longer, I am your friend 
 now ! " I cried. 
 
 " I '11 hit yo' ef yo' don't go back ! I ain't no friend 
 of yourn ef yo' air ov mine. We 'II fight et out day 
 after school closes." 
 
 In a very different tone he spoke now to Susie, " We 
 two air alone, Susie. Yo' hain't no name ter be proud 
 ov, an' I hain't never hed none at all. You 're ' only 
 Susie,' an' I 'm only Red Head. I '11 take yo' home ter 
 nigger Cupe, an' I'll thrash the feller what insults yo' 
 ever ag'in." He looked at the girls and spoke in an 
 earnest tone, and with language such as I could not 
 have expected him to use. " Girls, yo' air meaner 'n 
 pison an' sneakiner 'n snakes. This un hain't done yo' 
 no harm, an' she ain't ter blame fer the deviltry ov the 
 coward ov a father who desarted her. I hearn all yoah 
 whisperin' ; my ears kin stand up an' cotch mighty low 
 sounds. I know all yo' said, an' I answers all ov yo' 
 now. I takes back what I promised the teachah 'bout 
 shootin' in this school. I '11 shoot the brother ov the 
 first girl who even makes another whisper 'gainst this 
 one. Ef she ain't no brother I '11 shoot her dad, an' ef 
 she hain't no dad" — he stopped — "I'll take et out 
 ov her own hide, but I '11 not kill her. Don't fergit 
 what I says, fer I means et. 
 
 " Come, Susie," he continued, " we hev no use fer 
 this place now. Yo' an' me air alone in the world. 
 Yo' air Susie nobody an' I am nobody, the Red-Head." 
 Turning to me, he added : " Yo' wants ter shake hands, 
 but we two don't shake no hands till after the fight. 
 I '11 meet yo' in Indian Hollah where yo' said yo 'd be 
 the mornin' after school shets up, but thar ain't ter be 
 no shakin' ov hands." 
 
 Never again did either he or she enter the door of the 
 Stringtown school. 278 
 
CHAPTER XLVI 
 
 " STRANGE SENSATION THAT, THE BEGINNING OF LOVE " 
 
 THE morning after the close of school found me 
 alone, on my way to the appointed spot. Spring 
 had opened, the blue-grass was tall in the fence corners, 
 the corn in the field had been thinned and ploughed 
 for the first time, the apple bloom had long since fallen, 
 and the approach of summer had been heralded by sev- 
 eral hot days that had successively grown hotter. I 
 "stopped in the back yard of our home before crossing 
 the fence that bounded the pasture, and climbed a pole 
 that held aloft a box in which a pair of bluebirds nested. 
 Inside it were two little ones. I took them carefully 
 out of their nest, looked into their ugly open mouths 
 and replaced them not less carefully. Then I descended 
 and moved slowly onward, for I was ahead of time. 
 Next I lingered on the edge of the pond that had 
 been made by damming the ravine that crossed the back 
 pasture. Muskrat holes were in abundance along the 
 bank, and as I stood quietly, a head rose in the water 
 near my feet, then disappeared as the timid creature 
 caught sight of my intruding form. 
 
 War was in my heart, but not war against the inno- 
 cent. More than one rabbit hopped from cover and 
 disappeared in the bushes as my foot crossed the briar 
 patch beyond the pasture, but no stone followed. From 
 the tip of a fence post on the right a male partridge 
 
 279 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 sang " Bob White ! " to his nesting mate hidden near by 
 in the grass, and from the fence on my left came the 
 answering cry of another partridge. Both birds were 
 singing undisturbed when I passed from sight. Instinct, 
 I suppose, led me to thrust a long pole into a hollow log 
 in the thick woods that lay just beyond the briar patch, 
 and to my surprise out came a snarling fuzzy opossum 
 that when touched gently by the stick turned on its 
 side, coiled itself into a ball, closed its eyes, raised its 
 lips and laughed silently. I moved onward, leaving the 
 grinning beast unharmed. Through these woods and 
 then over the hill I passed, into the meadow, over the 
 next ridge and down its side into Indian Hollow. As I 
 turned the top of the last ridge I caught sight of a dis- 
 tant form, that of a boy about my own size, who, 
 mounting the opposing ridge, directed his steps down 
 the slope toward the point I was approaching. It was 
 Red-Head, my expected antagonist, who true to his 
 agreement, met me in the ravine where tradition said 
 rested the dead Indians. Not a word did either of us 
 say as we slowly neared each other ; there was no 
 necessity for words, we knew our errand. I wore a 
 roundabout jacket, which, just before we met, I jerked 
 off and threw upon the ground. But he, the vicious 
 boy of recent days, folded his arms across his chest, 
 lifted his head and made no aggressive movement. I 
 raised my fists and prepared for the tussle, but instead 
 of a like movement, he said : " Hit me in the face ; hit 
 me hard ! " 
 
 Nor did he yet make any offensive motion, neither did 
 he offer to protect himself. " Hit me, I says ! Take 
 thet club ! " (he pointed to a heavy stick.) " Beat me 
 on the head ! " 
 
 I gazed at him in amazement, but made no movement. 
 280 
 
The Beginning of Love 
 
 I was so near that as he spoke I felt his warm breath in 
 my face. 
 
 " I 'm a fool an' yo're afeard ! " he said. " Ef yo' 
 war in my place an' me in yourn I 'd beat yo' down 
 befoah a mi nit passed. I tell yo' I want ter be beat in 
 the face, I want ter be knocked down, an' yo're afeard 
 ter do et." 
 
 " I did n't come here to beat a boy with folded arms ; 
 I came to fight." 
 
 " Yo' can't fight me. Not because I don't want ter 
 fight, fer I do, but because I 've been a fool." 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " I promised not ter fight yo', but I did n't promise 
 not ter show yo' thet I 'm not afeard of bein' hurt. I '11 
 not strike back, but I dare yo' ter beat my head with the 
 club. I wants ter git paid fer bein' a fool. I '11 not 
 flinch. Hit me, I say." 
 
 " I shall not do it. Who made you promise not to 
 fight me ? " 
 
 His eyes snapped. " Nobody made me, I don't allow 
 no one ter make me do nuthin'. I jest promised not ter 
 fight yo', an' I '11 do what I promised." 
 
 " Whom did you promise ? " 
 
 " Susie." 
 
 He stood before me with folded arms, this wild moun- 
 tain boy, my mortal enemy. "Susie begged me not ter 
 fight yo', an' I promised. I 'm a fool, but not a 
 coward." 
 
 " Why did she beg this of you ? " 
 
 " I don't know an' I don't care. She says thet I 
 did n't do yo' fair when yo' offered ter stand by me in 
 school. She 's a girl, an' she cried when I told her thet 
 I intended ter thrash yo' ter-day, an' I promised not ter 
 do et i but I hate yo' like sin, an' yo' hate me, an' I 
 
 281 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 know et. We '11 come tergether some day, yo' an' 
 me. 
 
 " You need n't talk so sure about whipping me," I 
 replied. " You would have had to work before you 
 thrashed me. I don't thank Susie for interfering any 
 more than you do," I continued, " but if you can't fight 
 me now I '11 not hit you now." He made a grimace at 
 me and turned to depart. Disdain was in his eye, 
 hatred was in his heart, but the wild beast had found his 
 master in a little girl. 
 
 I stood until he had passed over the hill ; not once 
 did he glance back ; then as his head disappeared 
 beneath its summit I sank upon the grass. A double 
 sensation came over me; regret that the boy had met 
 Susie was commingled with elation in the thought that 
 she had endeavoured to prevent him from hurting me. 
 Why should I have experienced either sensation ? But 
 I did, and my mental argument was carried further. 
 " Might not I have hurt him f " came next in the 
 thought line ; " and might not her care have been for 
 him P " 
 
 Strange sensation that, the beginning of love ! I had 
 previously thought of the girl as I would of any other 
 person ; until now, only as I would of any other child ; 
 but when my antagonist told me of her care for one of 
 us two, and said that she extracted from him the promise 
 not to fight, I hated him the more for that fact. I 
 hated him now, strangely enough, because of Susie — 
 the girl I had not seen for weeks, never in my life had 
 tried to meet, and who had not even entered my thoughts 
 since last we met. 
 
 It seems almost like romance to say that love, such as 
 sprang into my heart when my antagonist named that 
 girl, could have had place in the soul of a child of my 
 
 282 
 
The Beginning of Love 
 
 age. When I came down that hillside to fight my an- 
 tagonist I had no thought of love other than for my 
 mother, and he whom I sought was but an enemy. 
 When I passed back again along that same grassy slope 
 he was not only an enemy but a rival, and I realised 
 that I was in love with the outcast girl of Stringtown. 
 
 283 
 
CHAPTER XLVII 
 
 THE VOICE OF THE NIGHT 
 
 THE war was long since over, peace had come to all 
 the land. No armed men tramped our pike. 
 The Blue and Grey had joined hands never to unclasp 
 them. 
 
 Persistently since Mose the Jew gave us that money 
 had I begged to be permitted to leave the Stringtown 
 school, but my mother shrank from the parting; and so I 
 returned time and again to my accustomed place in the 
 front row among the little boys. 
 
 But finally a marvellous change came upon me, and, 
 no longer a dumb child, I moved toward the advanced 
 class of Stringtown. Possibly my previous dullness re- 
 sulted from lack of expressive power, how else can one 
 account for the sudden awakening of my intellect ? Can 
 brain cells store up impressions that lie temporarily be- 
 yond the will, but which are destined some day to open 
 and become in an instant a fountain of stored knowledge ? 
 Be this as it may, my mind opened to books, and lessons 
 of the past came vividly before me. In one year I 
 caught up with my old classmates in most studies, but 
 never in all, for those twenty-six rules in Brown's gram- 
 mar stood unlearned yet to shame me. My unexpected 
 progress excited the admiration of the old professor, and 
 at last he asked my mother to permit me to seek an 
 education in the North. 
 
 284 
 
The \''oice of the Night 
 
 When, therefore, my mother finally agreed. Professor 
 Drake arranged for me to enter a preparatory institution 
 in one of the Northern States ; and finally I left String- 
 town, a passenger on the old stage-coach. Securely 
 pinned in an inner pocket of my shirt rested the amount 
 of money necessary for tuition, board and incidental 
 school expenses, and in another pocket-book, an old 
 timer that as a boy I had usually carried empty except- 
 ing a few reference cards and clippings of newspapers, 
 was enough money to pay for my railroad ticket and my 
 meals. Ignorant of the ways of the world, I started out 
 in the world for an education, not schooling alone ; for 
 while education consists partly in book lore, it more 
 largely comprehends wisdom gained outside of books. 
 Astute old Professor Drake ! Well did he recognise 
 this fact. None knew better than he that so far as book 
 study was concerned his Stringtown school offered ad- 
 vantages sufficient to carry me several years further — 
 yes, perhaps to the door of the University. 
 
 I remember now that he once told mother in my 
 presence that a boy should rub against others and become 
 self-reliant ; that he should conquer homesickness and 
 learn to stand alone in the world, and that it is best, if 
 he be possessed of good habits and strength of character, 
 that he should experience these things before he becomes 
 a man. " A child may retrieve himself in case he makes 
 an error ; a wise child is benefitted and profits by mis- 
 takes. Give a boy a chance to use his mind, and then, 
 if he errs, as he will, encourage him to correct the error 
 and profit by the lesson." 
 
 Prof. Drake had been entrusted with the secret of our 
 new-found wealth, and he it was who spread the infor- 
 mation concerning my prospective school plans, adroitly 
 adding that an unknown friend contributed the scholar- 
 
 285 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 ship. Evidently he foresaw that busy neighbors would 
 question aloud as to how the Widow Drew could afford 
 to spend money enough to educate her son abroad ; and 
 in order to quiet those " busybodies " he had assumed 
 the " responsibility of the occasion." 
 
 But before I tell of things that occurred after I left 
 Stringtown that autumn, in my round-about jacket, my 
 long, baggy trousers, my dress that from shoe to cap 
 pictured the crude country boy, it is my duty to relate 
 the incidents that occurred the day before I left my home. 
 
 That day I bade all my friends in Stringtown farewell. 
 Never since has parting from friend or home been to me 
 so full of pathos. 
 
 " Sammy," said the grocer as he thrust into my 
 pocket a present, that was already tied neatly, thus 
 showing that he had thought of my departure, " don't 
 forget Stringtown." And then he squeezed my hand 
 until the fingers ached. As though I could ever forget 
 my old home ! 
 
 Venerable Judge Elford held me long by the hand, 
 looking me full in the face. " Child, it has been many 
 years since my boy Charley went from our village to a 
 college in Ohio ; he was about your age when he left 
 Stringtown." Then his voice trembled, and he said no 
 more. I knew the story of his boy ; there was no need 
 for him to tell it. 
 
 Nearing the home of Mr. Nordman, the old gentle- 
 man on the pike south of Stringtown, I first caught 
 sight of a boy on the fence by the side of the front 
 gate. It was Red-Head. I drew near, he gazed in- 
 tently up the pike, toward the south, and gave me no 
 recognition. I opened the gate and closed it. I could 
 have touched him had I cared to do so, but neither of 
 us gave the other the greeting of a glance. 
 
 286 
 
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 ^ 
 
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 ^ 
 
 >3 
 
 
 o 
 
 ^ 
 
 §3 
 
 
 •-> 
 
 
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 ^•^ 
 
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 ^ 
 
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 -i:! 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 Q 
 
 s 
 
 ■^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 =q 
 
 a 
 
 ^ 
 
The Voice of the Night 
 
 « And so you start North to-morrow ? " said Mr. 
 Nordman. 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 " My hat, child j come with me." I handed it to 
 him, and together we walked through the house and 
 down the back walk, back to the graveyard where stood 
 a single shaft. " You're going North, my boy, and 
 you'll hear hard words about your Southern friends. 
 Say nothing back ; they of the North do not know us 
 of the South ; say no hard word back. We're whipped, 
 Sammy, but we were men. My own dear boy, who 
 loved the North, rests on yon side of that shaft. He 
 to whom the South was dear sleeps on the other side. 
 God grows the grass alike over each ; the snowdrops 
 bloom no earlier ; the roses' scent is no sweeter, over 
 the one than over the other. The wah is over, child." 
 
 The village clerk, Mr. Wagner, drew me down by 
 his side as he seated himself on a bench. Alas ! his 
 chair was long since whittled into bits. " Have you 
 told us all good-bye, Sammy ? " he asked. 
 
 « Not all, yet." 
 
 He looked down a moment and whittled the stick he 
 held in his hand. " Sammy," he said, " I have made 
 one mistake in life, an honest man can make none 
 greater. You will soon be old enough to know that to 
 be happy you must be contented." 
 
 I looked at him curiously, for the expression was a 
 conundrum, while he whittled again ; then he stroked 
 my chin gently with his lank forefinger, and next with 
 the tips of his thumb and finger, he twitched a film of 
 down that had appeared on my upper lip ; then he 
 continued : 
 
 " An old bachelor is not contented, Sammy. He's a 
 misfit, and deserves the pity of mankind, and if he's 
 
 287 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 honest he won't deny it. It don't make any difference 
 how he dresses, what he eats or drinks, he's only a 
 human fragment, and if he don't say it openly he knows 
 that it's true. Be a man, Sammy, and when you fall in 
 love, as you will, tell your sweetheart you love her ; 
 then, when you are able to support her, marry her and 
 live contentedly and respectably." The lank clerk 
 heaved a deep sigh, but I made no answer. We parted 
 and that sigh sounds yet in my ears when I think of 
 Mr. Wagner. 
 
 So I went from end to end of Stringtown, bidding 
 one and another farewell, getting blessings and advice — 
 curious forms of advice and strange blessings. 
 
 288 
 
CHAPTER XLVIII 
 
 THE WEIRD FORM AGAINST THE SKY 
 
 THE years passed, and finally a well-formed and 
 well-informed young man, I came home on top 
 of the same old bus, driven by the same driver. Now 
 I was ready to start out into the world to make a living, 
 and I will add that a position had been offered me in a 
 college well-known throughout our land, the position of 
 assistant to the professor of chemistry. 
 
 The bus was late the afternoon I came home for the 
 last time from school. The driver called me mister now 
 and spoke in a formal manner that I did not like. For 
 the first time I appreciated that I was no longer the 
 Sammy Drew of former years. In deference to my 
 request, he checked his team before my mother's door, 
 where I alighted ; before that time I should not have 
 presumed to ask that favour, nor would he have granted 
 it to little Sammy Drew. 
 
 I experienced a strange sensation that afternoon, for 
 it seemed as though Stringtown no longer possessed me 
 as a part of herself. I felt like a visitor. The houses, 
 too, were surely very much smaller than when first I 
 knew them ; the pavements more narrow, the flat stones 
 of the walks were uneven and very rough ; strange that 
 I had never before observed this last fact. A group of 
 boys looked up at me as I passed ; without a word of 
 recognition they resumed their marble playing. I then 
 felt a mental depression ; for on that very spot but a 
 19 289 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 few years before, playing marbles, I kneeled in the dirt, 
 a boy of Stringtown known to every other boy and 
 knowing every boy. Again my heart sank, and yet 
 again and again, as recurring incidents or new objects 
 thrust upon me the fact that four years of absence may 
 produce great changes in a village if the absent one was 
 once really a part of the village. Only the person who 
 looks with a stranger's eye will say that change comes 
 not to human homes and human hearts in a sleepy vil- 
 lage that seems to the indifferent observer to stand 
 unchanged as decade after decade passes. Stringtown 
 was no longer Stringtown to me, neither was I now a 
 part of Stringtown's people. " Mr. Drew " and " Sam- 
 uel " fell on my ears and grated on them, but there were 
 a few exceptions ; to some persons I was still Sammy. 
 The man who first used that familiar term was Judge 
 Elford. He took me by the hand and looked me in the 
 face. " Sammy," he said, "you did not get into trouble 
 and did not send for me, as I feared you might and 
 asked you to do in case you needed me ; you have my 
 admiration. A splendid record you have made, but the 
 end is not in sight ; you may yet require my advice. 
 Remember, Sammy, you promised to follow it when the 
 time arrives." 
 
 I wandered into the pasture the next evening to watch 
 the sun go down. First, the contact part of a cloud 
 bank toward which I walked was tinted with a silver 
 sheen, then as his form passed down behind the black 
 body a ribbon of silver formed upon the undulating 
 upper edge, a narrow border that from the earth on 
 either side where cloud met horizon followed in veriest 
 detail its uplifted undulations until the edge was all aglow 
 in silver. The shadows fell about me as I still walked 
 toward the cloud, following a path that led into the west. 
 
 290 
 
The Weird Form against the Sky 
 
 The ribbon of changing colours faded out, and a strange, 
 gloomy twilight seemed to fall upon me, although I 
 knew that the sun had not yet touched the horizon and 
 that the darkness was premature. Then deep down in 
 the cloud, from a slender crevice that formed on the 
 instant, a silver ray burst forth and, lighting up a spot of 
 earth, illumined a motionless female form, before unseen, 
 a form that in the sunburst I saw was that of Susie ; but 
 no longer a child, for the fleeting years had brushed the 
 child away. 
 
 And then the ray of sunshine lifted, swept gracefully 
 across the heavens as does a mighty searchlight, and 
 glancing fell agam to the earth, striking now the hill 
 before me ; but between the two earth touches the sil- 
 ver changed to red, and with the crimson came tinted 
 shadows that played about the spot where rested now 
 the red sun ray. But to these I gave no further notice ; 
 for from where I stood in the valley I saw uprise upon 
 the summit of the hill a form that seemed more than 
 twice human height. But a moment shone the red glare, 
 for night settled quickly down, leaving only the outline 
 of that form against the uprising cloud bank. Then 
 curious movements possessed the sky picture , the erect 
 form changed to that of a bent figure ; the hands and 
 arms moved strangely out and in, and at one time, with 
 outstretched arm leaned forward, pointing into the valley 
 beyond, where lay the Stringtown graveyard. Nor was 
 that form alone, for an object heretofore unseen sped 
 from near him and flitted along the path. But as it did 
 so the upright figure uttered a cry, shrill, wild, like that 
 of a savage. As the cry struck the air, the small crea- 
 ture scampered back affrighted and clasped his little arms 
 tightly about the long legs of the erect being, whatever 
 it might have been. Too old was I now to fear goblin 
 
 291 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 or ghost, too skeptical had I become to believe in spook 
 of any kind, else I should have turned and fled from the 
 spot J for it seemed as though that picture against the 
 sky could not be natural. Then while yet I gazed the 
 form suddenly fell to the ground and disappeared from 
 sight ; and as it did so a wild cry floated to my ear, fol- 
 lowed by a laugh that might have been human, but which 
 seemed not like any other laugh my ear had ever heard. 
 Then came silence. 
 
 Instead of turning back, as once I should have done, 
 I started forward, following the path in the meadow 
 toward the summit of the hill ; but when I neared the 
 spot where once had stood the apparition nothing could 
 be seen. Too dark was it now to distinguish objects. I 
 lingered a moment and then strode on, when my foot 
 struck a soft obstacle in the path. I stooped and reached 
 down. My hands surely touched the form of a child — 
 my fingers followed the bare legs and feet, then passed 
 over the face of a child. Raising the little form in my 
 arms, I moved to the right, toward the spot where on 
 the hill I had seen the girl standing in the silver light. 
 
 292 
 
CHAPTER XLIX 
 
 SUSIE, RED-HEAD, AND SAMUEL DREW 
 
 AGAIN in the night I stood before the cabin of 
 Cupe, where I hesitated a moment before the 
 door. I dreaded to meet the superstitious old negro. 
 The experience of that first night, when, a child, I ran 
 terrified into the open door, the incident that occurred 
 during the second nocturnal visit, when the strange night 
 voice spoke twice in my ear, coupled with the cold re- 
 ception that he gave me then, led me to hesitate before 
 again entering that abode. And then I remembered 
 that he had predicted my coming thrice in the night, and 
 I had vowed that I would not do so. I felt now an an- 
 tagonism toward him not only on account of his having 
 involved me in his superstitions, but also because his 
 predictions had been partly verified. For the third time, 
 notwithstanding my assertion never to do so again, I 
 stepped out of the night into the cabin of Cupe, who 
 seemed not at all surprised at my entrance. 
 
 " Brung de gem'n a cheer, Dinah." 
 
 " Don't concern yourself about me. Uncle Cupe ; see 
 what can be done for this child," and I laid the boy on 
 the bed. 
 
 Breath was in the little form, the muscles twitched, the 
 limbs moved convulsively, the hands closed and opened 
 irresponsively. Each muscle seemed to be awaiting its 
 turn to contract and relax, " De chile hab be'n in pain, 
 suah," said Cupe. I knew nothing about how the child 
 
 293 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 was hurt or how he came to be where I found him. To 
 me the mystery was as to how he could have shrunk in 
 size. When I saw him on the hilltop he stood lank and 
 tall. When I stumbled over his form in the path he 
 had contracted to the little boy before us. Still, these 
 thoughts were of secondary importance now ; the child 
 needed help, and I knew nothing about how to give it. 
 Not so Cupe, who quickly opened the waist, directing 
 me to rub the limbs and body with the palms of my 
 hands. He ordered Dinah to make a hot drink, and 
 from a flat bottle that he drew from some secret place he 
 prepared a toddy that in teaspoonful doses was slowly 
 poured into the mouth of the child, who automatically 
 swallowed it. Under the combined influence of the 
 stimulant, the hot tea, and the friction, the little one 
 opened its eyes and regained consciousness. The limbs 
 now ceased contracting, the twitching muscles were 
 quieted, and the eyes opened. Listlessly the boy lay on 
 the bed, rolling his eyes, then I observed Cupe's de- 
 portment toward myself, and contrasted therewith the 
 severity of his demeanour when last I came to his cabin. 
 Now he seemed intent on serving me; he spoke respect- 
 fully and with great deference ; before, he had been 
 domineering and insolent. " Foah yeahs hab pass', 
 Ma'se Samuel, an' at las' yo' hab come back t' String- 
 town. An' how does de ole town look t' yo' now ? " 
 
 I remembered the prediction he had made concerning 
 the change that time might bring in my affections for the 
 village, — a change that I now realised had already to an 
 extent occurred. 
 
 " I find many changes in Stringtown," I answered. 
 
 " An' am yo' suah de changes am not in yo'selb ? " 
 Then, without waiting for me to answer, he added : 
 " How 'bout de gearls ? Hab yo' foun' a sweetheaht in 
 de Norf ? " 294 
 
Susie, Red-Head, and Samuel Drew 
 
 " I have not, Cupe. I told you that I should come 
 back in four years, — see — " I drew from an inner 
 pocket the metal case that he had handed me when, four 
 years since, he pushed me out of the cabin into the night. 
 " I carry this with me, Cupe." 
 
 Before he could reply came a knock on the door, and 
 without waiting to be ushered in the intruder lifted the 
 latch and entered. 
 
 The Red-Head Boy of Nordman, but no longer a 
 boy. Tall and lank, at least a head taller than myself, 
 he stood before us lithe and supple, red-faced and impu- 
 dent. I sat by the bed rubbing the forehead of the 
 child, who had, as yet, said not a word. But as his eyes 
 fell upon the face of the intruder his form shrank as if 
 struck by a sudden blow, and with a cry as if of pain he 
 threw his arm about my neck and sobbed convulsively. 
 Then it flashed upon me that the tall form I had seen on 
 the hill was that of Red-Head, and, connecting therewith 
 the present movements of the frightened child, I reasoned 
 that the intruder had been the cause of his suffering. 
 Indignation possessed me. Tearing the clasped arms of 
 the child from my neck, I thrust him upon the bed and 
 faced the new-comer, who stood full a head taller than 
 myself; but this fact gave me no concern. " And you 
 it is," I said, " who delight in frightening helpless 
 children, you who stoop your head when you enter a 
 door ? " 
 
 He sneered, but did not answer, 
 
 " Out of this house ! " I pointed to the door, but he 
 made no movement. I sprang toward him, and tried to 
 strike his face ; he drew his head back, stepped aside, 
 and I passed him by. Turning suddenly, I sprang again 
 at the intruder, viciously striking at him with my fist ; 
 he artfully evaded the blow, and, reaching out his lank 
 
 295 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 arm, grasped one of my wrists and then the other. The 
 strong lad held my two wrists in one hand, and with his 
 ugly countenance close to my eyes, laughed in my face ; 
 then giving me a sudden twirl, he sent me spinning to 
 the farther side of the room, I was frenzied now, and 
 knew not what I did. That leering face and sarcastic 
 laugh were more exasperating than a blow of the fist 
 would have been. It was evident that he could have 
 beaten me to the floor had he cared to do so, and the 
 fact that I had been spared was humiliating. The devil 
 possessed me, and realising that I could not cope with 
 him fist to fist, I sought a weapon, and found it in the 
 form of Cupe's double-barrelled shot-gun that stood in 
 the corner to which he had hurled me. I grasped it, 
 and, with my back in the corner, raised and pointed it 
 toward him, when a form burst from out the door at the 
 back of the room. It was Susie. Had she been a sec- 
 ond later I would have pulled the trigger ; I shuddered 
 as I dropped the butt of the gun on the floor, for she 
 stood in the line between Red-Head and myself, and I 
 realised how near I had come to firing the weapon as 
 she stepped in the line of sight. Susie, with the eyes of 
 Susie of old, but not exactly the same face, and surely 
 not the form of the wild girl I knew four years ago. A 
 more matured expression of countenance, a womanly fig- 
 ure, had replaced the face and form of the girl, yet had 
 brushed away no charm or grace the girl possessed. She 
 stood motionless before me in the lamplight. A wild 
 rose had been placed in the bosom of her gown, another 
 graced her hair ; these, when last I knew her, she would 
 not have worn as she wore them now. 
 
 " The gun is loaded," she said. " Is it murder they 
 teach boys in Ohio ? " Abashed, I placed the weapon 
 back in the corner while she turned to Cupe. " Uncle 
 
 296 
 
Susie, Red-Head, and Samuel Drew 
 
 Cupe, you must answer for this ! I '11 not have such 
 things done in my house ! " 
 
 " 'Deed, Missus, an' I couldn' help de boys come'n, 
 need'ah could I help 'em fight'n." 
 
 She turned to Red-Head. 
 
 " And you ? " 
 
 " Did n't fight. Thet feller tried ter fight, but I 
 would n't. He 'd hev shot me too ef yo' hed n't come. 
 Ask Cupe ? " 
 
 " You need not ask Cupe, ask me," I broke in. " Red- 
 Head tells the truth. I tried to fight and could not. 
 He is stronger than I am, and he knows it. I have 
 been poring over books, he has been running through the 
 fields and woods. I have been sitting before a desk, he 
 has been exercising his muscles all day long. I have 
 been developing my brain, he has been developing his 
 frame and body. I 'm a fool for giving him a chance to 
 show me that I am weak and that he is strong in brute 
 strength. I have acted the dunce in trying to strike 
 him with my fist. It must be brain against muscle 
 hereafter, Susie, and when brain meets muscle, brain 
 always wins. I assure you that I shall not fail again 
 when the time comes for me to strike him down. I 
 shall not fist fight him, though ; he can go his way, I 
 shall go mine." 
 
 " Then, Mr. Drew, there '11 be no fight, for he 
 promised me long ago not to hurt you." 
 
 " So be it, Susie." 
 
 " But de sign say dey mus' be de deff ob each uddah," 
 mumbled Cupe. '- Et say dat de Red-Head Boy '11 die 
 sudden, an' dat yo' an Susie '11 be de cause ; an' dat 
 yo' 11 die sudden, an' dat de Red-Head Boy an' Susie '11 
 be de cause." 
 
 " Thar 'II always be two sides ter the path we meet 
 297 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 on," said Red-Head, addressing me. " Yo' keep ter the 
 right, an' I '11 keep ter the right. Thar 's room ter look 
 about without looking at each other, and thar 's room ter 
 whistle, ef we can't keep our mouths shet when we 
 meets on the same path." 
 
 " So be it, but mind that you keep to the right," I 
 answered. He left the cabin, without a word of fare- 
 well to any one. 
 
 The child rested on the bed, asleep. " Susie," I said, 
 " I am ashamed of having fought Red-Head in your home, 
 but he tortured that little child near to death, and I 
 could not help doing it. My temper got the upper 
 hand of my judgment. Will you pardon me ? " 
 
 " Red-Head is wild and meant no harm, I am sure," 
 she replied. " He speaks softly to me, he shows me 
 many kindnesses ; his face is red, his hair is red, but 
 through no fault of his own. He loves the country, he 
 loves the hills, and valleys, the woods and vines and 
 flowers." 
 
 "And yet he tortures children. Miss Susie." Never 
 before had I said Afiss to her, and as I did so now she 
 flushed. I saw the flush — it shaded her face until the 
 hue of the cheek touched that of the petals of the wild 
 sweet briar on her bosom. 
 
 " He is uneducated," she replied, " and needs sym- 
 pathy, not blows. You say that he tortured the child 
 — are you certain that he did ? Mind you not the day he 
 stood by my side in the Stringtown school and defended 
 me, a helpless girl ? Do you think, Mr. Samuel, that I 
 was not tortured then ? " 
 
 " Did I not also stand by you, did I not offer him my 
 hand and ask that our past enmity be forgotten, did I 
 not take your part then, Susie ? " 
 
 " Yes," she said, and her eyes dropped. " Yes,but — " 
 298 
 
Susie, Red-Head, and Samuel Drew 
 
 « But what ? " 
 
 " You came second." 
 
 It was my turn to flush. It was true that I did go 
 second to her side then, seemingly I still stood second. 
 And then my heart thumped, for the first time I knew 
 how deeply I loved this girl, who argued so naturally in 
 behalf of my antagonist. 
 
 " Mr. Drew," she continued, " I am nobody but 
 Susie. I have been taught by my guardian, Mr. Wag- 
 ner, and Professor Drake, and expect to go to college, so 
 that you perceive I am not as wild as I should have 
 been had you not begged me to take the education ; still 
 I am ' Susie Nobody,' and I live in the cabin with Cupe 
 and Dinah. You helped me escape absolute ignorance, 
 and for your kindness in guiding me as you did I sin- 
 cerely thank you. Yes," she continued, " in behalf of 
 two persons do I thank you." 
 
 " Who else, Susie ? " 
 
 "Red-Head. He is not the vicious lad he would 
 have been had I grown up as rude as I might have 
 done." 
 
 I bit my lip. " Susie," I said " I hate that name ; 
 I wish no thanks for him, nor will I take any." 
 
 " I give them on my own account j I do not hate the 
 name," she answered. Then there came over me a 
 sudden impulse to tell her that I loved her. " Susie," I 
 said eagerly, " listen. There was something I wanted 
 to say four years ago. I did not say it then. I must 
 say it now. Susie, I — " 
 
 I caught her hand. She did not resist nor with- 
 draw it. 
 
 " Missus," broke in Cupe stepping to the girl's side, 
 " de young Ma'se Samuel mus' be tired ob standin' so 
 long. 'Scuse de ole man, but de muddah ob de chile 
 
 299 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 on de bed '11 worry monstrous much lessen et be toted 
 home. Ef de young ma 'se will break ofF de conber- 
 sashun, Cupe '11 go 'long wid him t' Stringtown t' 
 tote de chile." 
 
 The interruption angered me, it was obviously inten- 
 tional. I recalled how twice before he had prevented 
 me from speaking as I had just been about to speak. 
 But the interruption had been made and Susie had left 
 me ; for she turned to the bed, where she gently stroked 
 the child's forehead. " Yes," she said, " Uncle Cupe 
 is right. The little one should be taken to its home." 
 In a few moments the slender form, still asleep, was 
 carried forth, its head resting on the shoulder of the 
 negro. Before leaving the cabin, however, I lingered 
 a second, a second longer than I would have done had 
 the occupant been other than Susie ; just a second 
 longer than I might have done had it been any other 
 girl did I hold her hand in mine, and as I dropped it 
 I asked : 
 
 *' May I come again ? " 
 
 " Why not ? " she answered. " This is Kentucky." 
 She took the wild sweet briar from her hair and handed 
 it to me. 
 
 "Thank you, Susie," I said. " May I not also have 
 the other ? " and I pointed to the rose in her bosom. 
 
 " That is for Red-Head — perhaps," she replied. 
 
 300 
 
CHAPTER L 
 
 cupe's threat 
 
 CUPE was old when first I knew him, but he seemed 
 no older and no more decrepit now than then. 
 With the boy over his shoulder he took the lead that 
 night, asking no help, and held it until the village was 
 reached. He was very sullen. Every attempt on my 
 part to engage him in conversation resulted in utter 
 failure ; he would not talk. So in communion with 
 myself I followed at his heels. 
 
 Before reaching the place where the negro should leave 
 Stringtown we drew near the house of Mr. Wagner. 
 Although it was late, a light shining through the window 
 of the front room indicated that the village clerk had 
 not yet retired. 
 
 " Ma'se Sammy," broke in my companion, " Cupe 
 hab a word t' say t' Ma'se Wagnah, an '11 be obleeged ef 
 yo' '11 stop a minit an' heah de conbersashun." 
 
 He turned into the little yard, knocked on the door, 
 and together we were ushered into the room, where, as 
 has been related, many years before he had stood with 
 the heavy box of coin and the manuscript of Susie's 
 mother. I was invited to seat myself, and did so, but 
 Cupe remained standing. 
 
 " Ma'se Wagnah," he said, "yo' min' de day in de 
 yeah gone by when yo' come t' Cupe's cabin an' tole 
 him how es de Co'ht had made yo' de guardyen ob de 
 little Susie gearl ? " 
 
 301 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 " Yes, Cupe, very well." 
 
 " Min' yo' de trouble de gearl yocasioned yo', an' dat 
 de jedge say she could stay wid Cupe till de time come 
 fo' her t' lebe der cabin ob her brack fren's ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " She wah es full ob fun an' sunshine es a bee tree es 
 ob honey, an' she keered nuffin 'bout no one but de ole 
 brack fo'ks. She hab be'n like honey ebah sense. She 
 wah a spritely gearl, Ma'se Wagnah, a little ting, but 
 now she stan' tall an' supple." 
 
 " Go on, Cupe." 
 
 " When de little gearl use t' sing, et wah loud like de 
 fiel' lark, an' when she dance', et wah keerless like wid 
 her gahments. But now she doan dance no moah befo' 
 de cabin doah, an' when she sing, et am sof an' hum- 
 min', like de tu'tle dove." 
 
 Again he stopped. " Go on," said Mr. Wagner. 
 
 " An' when de pert chile use t' gaddah de flowahs in 
 de spring, she bunch 'em in her han' an' den put 'em in 
 a glass ob watah on de table ; but now she doan bunch 
 de flowahs no moah, she jes pick one er two wil' roses 
 an' stick 'em in her ha'r er in her busum. Et am a 
 monstrous change, Ma'se Wagnah." Now his voice 
 sunk very low. " An' when de boys roam obah de 
 Ian' dey use t' hunt in de woods an' skate an' swim in 
 de pond an' drink out ob de spring down by de milk 
 house. But now dey go by de spring t' stop monstrous 
 ofFen at de cabin fo' a cup t' git a drink ob watah, er t' 
 ax some fool quistion what doan mean nuffin, er t' act 
 up one way er 'nuddah." He looked at me. " Mon- 
 strous little uxcuse et takes t' bring 'em t' de cabin now. 
 Two ob em come t'-night, an' Susie she lingah in her 
 room t' fix up befo' she come out." 
 
 " Well, Cupe, what must I do ? " 
 302 
 
Cupe's Threat 
 
 " Et 's time de gearl lef' de cabin ; Lawd knows dat 
 Cupe an' Dinah lubs her moah 'n all de worl', but de 
 gearl's place now es wid de white fo'ks. Take her 
 back, Ma'se Wagnah ; fo' de good ob de honey chile, 
 take her back ! " 
 
 " I understand, Cupe. You feel that she has grown 
 beyond your care." 
 
 " Et makes de nigger sad t' say et." 
 
 " I '11 see Judge Elford and arrange at once for her 
 future. She is a bright girl and should go away to 
 school." 
 
 " Min' yo' de readin' ob de papah her muddah wrote ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " She doan wan' t' go t' school, ner t' go t' any home 
 t' live outen she hab de name she 'titled to." 
 
 " That paper carries no evidence that the Court could 
 use to give her the name of her father." 
 
 " An' mus' she be ' Nigger Susie ' always ? " 
 
 " She will be only Susie until she marries." 
 
 " Yo' know, Ma'se Wagnah, dat ole Ma'se Manley, 
 who die so sudden, wah her fahdah. Yo' know he libed 
 a monstrous good life heah es fo'ks b'lebed, but de kin'- 
 heahted man died s'prisin' sudden. Had he lived longah, 
 he might hab give' de chile de name she 's 'titled to. 
 Et's a pity he died so early." 
 
 Mr. Wagner shook his head. 
 
 " Ef Susie caint hab her name, de name ob de Man- 
 ley gearls shall stan' disgrace'," said the earnest negro. 
 " Ef de debbil es t' foller de deah chile, he '11 stick 
 his fingahs into de ha'r ob de uddah gearls too. Ef yo' 
 caint gib Susie her name, Cupe '11 brung shame t' dem." 
 
 " Beware, Cupe ! " said the now disturbed man. 
 " You intend to do right, but will surely accomplish 
 mischief." 
 
 303 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 "When Cupe went t' Canerdy, he went by de town 
 what de writin' ob Susie's muddah tole 'bout. He stop 
 t' see de man ole Aunt Sukey knowed, Aunt Sukey who 
 saw Ma'se Manley wid de muddah ob Susie, Cupe 
 paid de lawyers fo' gittin' all de fac's, he hab de swohn 
 papahs, he hab de ev'dence ob de New Yo'k Co'ht es t' 
 Ma'se Manley. Cupe doan mean no mischief, but ef 
 de Susie chile caint git her name, he '11 raise de debbil 
 wid de name ob Manley." He turned to the door, but 
 before going delivered this parting shot : " De New 
 Yo'k jedge said dat in New Yo'k ef a man libed wid a 
 woman in open es ef dey wah married, dey am married. 
 De lawyer's common marriage, he called et. Dat ef a 
 chile wah bohn t' dem, et wah his chile an' titled t' his 
 name an' his money too. Dat de deed wah fact ef de 
 proof ob de deed wah suah. An' Cupe hab all de proof 
 in brack writin', even t' de swarin' ob Aunt Sukey an' 
 ob de New Yo'k jedge. Ef Ma'se Manley hab any 
 chile 'titled t' his name, et am Susie" 
 
 " For God's sake, keep your mouth shut, Cupe ! I 
 shall consult Judge Elford at once about this matter." 
 
 " Bettah yo' let no grass grow undah yoah feet, Ma'se 
 Wagnah, fo' Cupe am gittin' monstrous ole, an' doan 
 'tend t' die an' lebe de gearl widout de name she 's 
 'titled to." 
 
 " Mr. Wagner," I said, " this is all strange to me. I 
 catch part of Cupe's meaning, but much of it is obscure. 
 Still, I take it that Mr. Manley, who died by a paralytic 
 stroke, was the father of Susie." 
 
 " Yes, she is his child. He was followed to Ken- 
 tucky by the girl's mother, who left the baby in charge 
 of Cupe's master, Mr. Hardman, the half-brother of Mr. 
 Manley. Do not, however, speak of the fact you have 
 learned, the secret is to be well kept if Susie is to be 
 
 304 
 
Cupe's Threat 
 
 protected. A simple statement of fact cannot serve her 
 interests, while it can bring sorrow and shame to many 
 others." 
 
 " Mr. Wagner, when I left Stringtown to go to school 
 you gave me some advice. You told me that when I 
 found the girl I loved, I should tell her so. I am now 
 of age and in a fair way to make a living. 1 love Susie 
 with all my heart. I cast no blame on her for the shame 
 her father wrought. Upon the contrary, I now despise 
 the name of the man who wronged her, and 1 love her 
 none the less. I am willing to share my name if she 
 will accept it. Give her a good education, I beg of 
 you, do your duty as her guardian, and look to me to 
 furnish the name she needs. That is — " I hesitated. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " If she will share it." 
 
 " Cupe knows," I added, and turned to address the 
 old man, but he had silently slipped away ; only Mr. 
 Wagner and myself were present. The negro had 
 gone from the room either before or after my declara- 
 tion was made, I knew not which. He had left us with 
 the expressed threat to " raise the devil with the name of 
 Manley." 
 
 305 
 
CHAPTER LI 
 
 THE MAGIC MIRROR 
 
 SLEEP did not readily come to my eyes that night, 
 and the snatches of slumber brought little rest. 
 Distressing dreams that seemed to be joined to not less 
 painful periods of waking possessed me. When morn- 
 ing broke I arose fatigued and with swollen eyes. My 
 mother perceived that something weighed upon my 
 mind, and suggested that I might not be well ; but I 
 passed the matter lightly. Although painful dreams 
 came to me all that night, I remembered but one in- 
 cident, wherein occurred a question : " What is the 
 object of life ? " 
 
 Memory of the scenes of the previous evening and 
 the threat of Cupe concerning the Manleys disturbed 
 me. I feared that he might carry his threat into im- 
 mediate execution, and I will add that I now felt not 
 only a personal concern, but a legitimate right to inter- 
 fere. With this thought in mind, I started for his cabin 
 without any well-formulated plan of action. But it was 
 not to meet Susie that I went this time to the home of 
 the dead Corn Bug. I intended to talk with the old 
 negro, and for the once I hoped to find the girl absent. 
 
 My object being to discover something further con- 
 cerning the past life of his charge and to tell Cupe 
 that by reason of my conference with Mr. Wagner, her 
 guardian, I had, to a degree, assumed a personal respon- 
 sibility concerning her future. I will admit, also, that 
 
 306 
 
The Magic Mirror 
 
 I was ao-grieved over the manner in which the old slave 
 
 DO 
 
 had treated me on the two occasions in which I had 
 been prevented from telling the girl that my thought 
 was for her, and I now proposed not only to inform him 
 of my intention, but to give him to understand that I 
 should submit to no further impertinence in this direc- 
 tion. " Neither has the old fool," I said to myself, " a 
 right longer to thrust on me his negro superstitions ! " 
 
 As I reflected in detail over the manner in which he 
 had played upon my childish credulity, and had even 
 made me take part in his incantations, I felt both indig- 
 nant and humiliated. " I '11 have no more of it," I 
 said, and in this mood reached the cabin. No signs of 
 life were to be seen about the place, no dog curled before 
 the step, no Dinah, Cupe nor Susie. I knocked on the 
 door, and imagined that I heard a sound within, but 
 the door remained closed and no voice bade me enter. 
 Then I stepped to the window ; it was close curtained. 
 I walked around the dwelling, to find that with one 
 exception the other windows were also draped. The 
 exception was the room in the new addition to the 
 cabin, the room of Susie, but that, too, was unoccupied 
 and the door leading from it into the cabin was closed. 
 A moment I stood there studying with my eyes the 
 scene within. Simple, indeed, were the home surround- 
 ings of this girl, and yet in good taste. A picture cut 
 from a magazine, a home-made ornament worked by 
 girlish hands, a few knick-knacks, such as she might 
 cherish, and an assortment of books that astonished me. 
 History, science, art, literature ! I knew the works, 
 some of them, others as yet I had not seen. Admiration 
 for the girl had previously possessed me, now I knew 
 that it had not been misplaced. 
 
 This was all I saw — with one exception — that of 
 307 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 the pencil drawing of a young man — my own face 
 surely — conspicuous in a rustic frame on the little 
 dresser near the window. Evidently the sketch was by 
 Susie; and slipped into the frame was a rose, a dried 
 wild rose. As I pressed my face to the glass of the 
 little window of the room a sense of shame came over 
 me ; my action unmanly. " Forgive me, Susie," I said 
 to myself, " I 'm a churl, a sneak ! " and in this mood I 
 passed back to the front door. 
 
 I was convinced that the home could not be deserted, 
 for seldom, if ever, did all the occupants of a negro 
 cabin leave the premises unguarded, and I questioned 
 then as to whether from a distance I had not been 
 observed ; and naturally I inferred that my unbidden 
 company was distasteful, and that Cupe had taken this 
 means to teach me that my visits were not to be con- 
 tinued. " The impertinent old fanatic," I thought ; 
 " to what end may he not carry his superstitions, born 
 of ignorance and bred in arrogance ? " I raised an axe 
 handle that stood beside the doorway and beat the heavy 
 oak door as though to splinter it. I made the old house 
 ring, for with each blow I grew angrier and thought 
 meaner things, I who had no right to even question the 
 reason of the action of any occupant of that home. 
 Then, as I rested, the door opened and Cupe stood 
 before me. No smirk on his countenance now, no 
 welcome smile, no courtesy and bow. 
 
 " Yo' Stringtown boy from de Norf, ain't dah room 
 nuff outside fo' yo' t' walk ? " Then without waiting 
 a reply, he added : " De Susie gearl's not in de cabin." 
 He closed the door in my face. 
 
 Never before had I known an old-time negro to do 
 such an act as this ; hospitality was born and cultivated 
 in the hearts of the old Southern home slave, and for 
 
 308 
 
The Magic Mirror 
 
 Cupe to behave in this manner was unpardonable. I 
 raised the axe handle, and with both hands grasping the 
 shaft, struck such a vicious blow on the door as to 
 benumb my fingers and jar the stick from my grasp. 
 The door, strong as it was, could stand few such attacks 
 as that, and I presume Cupe reaHsed the fact, for once 
 more he threw it open, stepped to one side and awaited 
 my entrance. I lost no time in accepting the opportun- 
 ity ; the negro closed the door immediately, and I ob- 
 served that he bolted it too, for I heard the draw of the 
 iron bar. I heard it, I say, for although the sun was 
 shining brightly outside there was no ray of light within. 
 Absolute darkness prevailed. 
 
 " I tole yo' de Susie gearl am not t' home." 
 
 " I came to talk to ^yoz/," I answered, coolly, " not to 
 see Susie." 
 
 " De time am not 'pitious an' de mannah ob de 
 come'n am not perlite. Doan yo' see de doah am 
 slow t' open ? De sign am bad, I tole yo'." 
 
 *' Shut up about your signs and incantations. Never 
 let me hear you mention them again. I wish no more 
 of them." 
 
 *' An' ef yo' wish no moah, why doan yo' keep 'way. 
 Hab Cupe ebah gone t' hunt yo' up an' shove 'em down 
 yoah froat ? Doan yo' always come t' Cupe, an' doan 
 yo' start de spell ? De twine ob de spell am tangled 
 'bout de feet ob Cupe an' Dinah and Red-Head an' Susie 
 an' yo'selb. An' yo' am de one who did de act ob de 
 tangle. But Cupe would n't care ef de sweet gearl wah 
 free ; de sign twine might be 'bout de necks ob yo' two 
 boys. Did n't yo' start de spell, I axes ? " 
 
 I felt the justice of the rebuke, but was determined to 
 have my say. " I 'm tired of all this foolishness." 
 
 " De doah am b'hin' yo', an' de way am cleah t' de 
 ^ 309 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 sunshine ; shall Cupe open et an' let yo' out ? Yo' hain't 
 got no invite t' stay." 
 
 " I tell you I came to talk with you.'''' 
 
 Then I felt an object touch my knees. " Take de 
 cheer an' do yoah talkin' moah comf'ble." 
 
 I sought the back of the chair with my hand, found it 
 and seated myself. " Cupe, why don't you light up 
 your room ? raise the curtain." 
 
 " Yo' come t' talk 'bout fool signs, Cupe hab de con- 
 bersashun in him eah ; go on wid de talk, fo' de eah 
 doan need no light." 
 
 I felt somewhat disturbed. The absence of the 
 women, the mysterious movements of the negro, his 
 well-known fanaticism and his methods were not calcu- 
 lated to enliven me ; besides, this absolute darkness, 
 when it should have been light, was depressing. 
 
 '' Cupe, since I came to this cabin as a child I have 
 been imposed upon more than once by your superstitions. 
 You led me to expect to fight Red-Head, and the men- 
 tal impression you made on my young mind induced me 
 to hate him. I presume that you accomplished the 
 same end with Red-Head. You led the unsuspecting 
 girl Susie to look forward to trouble that was coming 
 between us two boys, and she, too, became involved in 
 your silly signs. You must stop this nonsense now." 
 
 " An' yo' doan b'lebe in de sign \ " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " When de chicken cock crow at midnight, am et a 
 sign dat mahn'n '11 come .? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Do yo' ebah know a mahn'n not t' come ahftah de 
 crowin' ob de chicken ? " 
 
 "You old fool." 
 
 " Yo' say yo' doan b'lebe in signs ? " 
 310 
 
The Magic Mirror 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Yo' b'lebe in de alm'nac ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 '' De 'clipses, de da'k an' de light ob de moon, 
 'cordin' t' de alm'nac, am right ? " 
 
 " Yes ; they are predicted by calculation." 
 
 "Yo' b'lebe what yo' see written in de alm'nac 
 book ? " 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 " Cupe '11 ask yo' t' read a page fo' t' let him see ef 
 de Susie gearl kin read es apt es she might." 
 
 He lighted a candle, and took from near the fireplace 
 a Farmers' and Mechanics' Almanac; clumsily fingering 
 the pages, he thrust the open book before my face. 
 " Read de wo'ds ob de alm'nac an' tole me what de 
 gem'n what write et say. He am not bery p'lite in de 
 pictah, an' he seems t' be pow'ful much hurt jes below 
 de ribs." I glanced at the page and over the well- 
 known illustration read, " Signs of the Zodiac." 
 
 Cupe chuckled, " An' yoah book ob fac's am a 
 sign book. Bettah yo' say nuffin moah 'bout Cupe. 
 De book say de moon '11 change, an' suah de sign yo' 
 read in de book am good, fo' de moon do change. Et 
 say de 'clipses '11 come, an' de sign am good, fo' dey do 
 come. What yo' see in de book am good, an' Cupe 
 sahtify t' de fac', but what Cupe kin see wid his eyes an' 
 heah wid his eahs am jes es good es alm'nac signs." 
 Suddenly changing the subject of the discussion, he 
 asked : 
 
 " Doan yo' meet de Red-Head Boy es Cupe p'dicted \ " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Doan yo' two boys fight ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Doan de Susie gearl come betwixt yo' ? '* 
 311 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 « Yes, but — " 
 
 But without heeding me the negro added : " An' 
 did n't Cupe p'dict de come'n ob dem all ? " 
 
 " You guessed some things, I will admit." 
 
 " An' so does de alm'nac book guess some tings. 
 But Cupe doan guess. He sees 'em all, he knows 
 moah'n he tells, an' he kin tell moah 'bout yo' dan yo' 
 tells too." 
 
 " Tell me something I know that has happened and 
 not been told." 
 
 '' Yo' stood in de city by de stone wall wid de carpet- 
 bag at yoah feet an' met de long-haired man. Yo' went 
 wid him t' de play-house. Yo' los' yoah money, an' 
 den yo' go an' stan' on de bridge lookin' down in de 
 watah, an' yo' come monstrous neah jurnyin' down into 
 de ribbah. But yo' could n't jump, fo' de end ob de 
 spell wah not den. Yo' did n't tole no man 'bout de 
 'sperience yo' meet in de big city, an' yo' doan 'tend t' 
 tole no man, ner yo' doan wan' Cupe t' tole no man." 
 
 " You old devil," I said indignantly, " how did you 
 find out these things ? " 
 
 " I read 'em in de glass, I see 'em wid my eyes, I 
 heah de conbersashun wid my eahs es easy es I talk t' 
 yo' now. Yo' look in de alm'nac book fo' de sign, an' 
 yo' doan git much but moon an' 'clipses. Cupe see de 
 movin' ob de past an' de come'n ob de future, an' yo' 
 call dem fool signs. He wah readin' de future when yo' 
 knock so loud on de doah." 
 
 " You 're an old liar, Cupe. Some man told you 
 these things about me." 
 
 " An' yo' wan' t' see wid yoah eyes ? " 
 
 " I dare you to show me the things you claim to see." 
 
 " Memberlec' dat Cupe doan ax yo' on. Yo' am de 
 feller what ax de quistion." 
 
 312 
 
The Magic Mirror 
 
 '' I dare you to show me the manner in which you 
 read the sign." 
 
 " Dah am moah 'n one way, but one 's nuff fo' yo'. 
 Sit still an' doan move, yo' sign chile, sit still, an' yo '11 
 see de passin' ob de past an' de come'n ob de nex' 
 spell." 
 
 He lighted a candle and from some unseen receptacle 
 produced a black object like a mirror, about twelve inches 
 in length and nine inches in diameter. It was concave, 
 and black as pitch. This he placed in my hands, ex- 
 plaining that I must look into its concave surface. As 
 my fingers touched the curious object, everj/^ point of 
 which was black as asphaltum, a curious sensation ran 
 over my body, a strange tremble that seemed to be car- 
 ried into my frame from out my finger-tips. The dim 
 glimmer of the candle, that lighted the room but little, 
 and the thing I touched but could see not at all, the 
 solemn voice of the negro, the air of mystery with 
 which he moved and spoke, following the remarkable 
 manner in which he had outlined the experiences I met 
 in Cincinnati, and that I supposed were locked securely 
 in my own breast, unnerved me and my hands trembled. 
 
 "What is this thing, and where did you get it?" I 
 asked. 
 
 " Et am de sign-glass, an' I got et from de man who 
 doan make no alm'nacs. Cupe hab trabelled Norf, an' 
 hab trabelled Souf, an' hab sot monstrous close t' men 
 who hab be'n out in de night an' in de sunshine wha' 
 de summer am all de yeah long. Yo '11 see moah in dat 
 glass dan yo' ebah read in any book, an' when yo' git 
 fru, yo '11 not hab t' ax Cupe t' tole yo' de nex' news 
 what 's come'n, an' yo' won't be consahned in wha' Cupe 
 got de glass need'h. Look down an' read — read de 
 glass." 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 I lowered my eyes, and as I did so the negro blew out 
 the flame of the candle ; again I was in absolute dark- 
 ness, gazing at or toward an object in itself black even 
 in daylight. " Cupe, this is nonsense ; light up the 
 candle, open the door ! " I said. But still I gazed into 
 the mirror's depths, for strange movements began to play 
 in the air near where I felt the surface of the thing should 
 be, and then an uncouth object shot from out one side of 
 the mirror and assumed the shape of an ugly human face. 
 
 " Look in de sign-glass, chile, an' talk when de spell 
 am obah," but no reason had the negro to make this 
 charge now, for as suddenly as it appeared did the face 
 vanish, and I now gazed in fascination down into its 
 depths, yes, through it into light beyond. This is what 
 I saw. 
 
 The motion of the air at first was similar to a thick 
 mist blown back and forth in the night before an ilium- 
 inated object that could just be distinguished deep down 
 in the bottomless distance. Then came a gyrating move- 
 ment that swept the vapours into a spiral which revolved 
 as does an eddy of water, sucking the vapours into a 
 vortex centre, which seemed to pass down into the in- 
 creasing brightness beyond. As the vapours disappeared 
 into the eddy, the light rapidly brightened, and soon I 
 sat looking into a sunshine scene in which no object 
 appeared, nothing but a curious light, soft, pleasant, 
 soothing. Then came a shadow, and as by magic a 
 scene uplifted oefore my eyes, a scene of the past in 
 which I had taken part, and all the incidents of that night 
 of terror in which as a child I first ran to this cabin, 
 followed each other in rapid succession. I saw minutely 
 every phase of that scene, from the reading by Cupe of 
 the sign in the ashes to the vision of the little girl sitting 
 at the table. 
 
 514 
 
The Magic Mirror 
 
 Next came a blank in which mists whirled again, and 
 then appeared the scene in the grocery, where, that night 
 in 1863, stood Parson Jones confronting the picturesque 
 Colonel Luridson. I heard the storm again ; the sleet 
 and wind of New Year, 1864, beat upon my ears, the 
 movements of the men about that stove and their con- 
 versation were again a part of my life, and I saw myself, 
 too, sitting in the circle even until the climax came and 
 the hands of the parson leaped out and grasped the throat 
 of Luridson. I saw and heard as if I were an observer, 
 and then, as for the second time, I gazed at a scene in 
 which an actor, I sat now an observer. I cried aloud 
 and the scene changed. 
 
 Next came, one by one, the principal incidents I have 
 recorded in this history of my life and which I need not 
 again relate. The quarrel with Red-Head in the valley, 
 the farewell to Stringtown, the pathetic ride on the old, 
 rocking stage, the subsequent experiences in Cincinnati, 
 touched upon by Cupe and which I had never described 
 to any one, the life in college, the return to Stringtown, 
 the recent incidents, and at last I was led to the present 
 moment, and saw myself sitting in my chair gazing into 
 the magic mirror. Yes, I sat in the cabin of Cupe 
 holding that occult glass, into whose depths I was peer- 
 ing and, remarkable statement, I was surely looking at 
 myself. A feeling of awe came over me, a desire to 
 drop the glass, and yet I could not. Spellbound my 
 eyes followed the young man (myself), who next handed 
 the glass to the negro by his side and passed out of the 
 cabin. He walked slowly, with bowed head, seemingly 
 in deep meditation ; but once did he stoop (and then I 
 could not catch the object he picked up) until, raising 
 his eyes, a girl appeared before him. The two spoke, 
 then I saw him take her hand and plead for something, 
 
 315 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 but in words I could not catch, for the voices were very 
 low. She stood with drooping eyes and seemed to with- 
 stand the earnest solicitation, for she shook her head, 
 and at last they separated, he moving slowly away toward 
 Stringtown, she toward the cabin. And as she passed 
 along I observed that her eyes were filled with tears. 
 
 I next followed the lad until I entered the village. I 
 saw the door of my home open, and then I stood by 
 my mother's side pleading for something in words that 
 again I could not catch. Eye seemed to be the more 
 acute of the senses now, for while I heard an indistinct 
 hum of voices ear could not catch the words. Earnestly 
 I pleaded with my mother, and as I did so, I who saw but 
 could not hear, grew deeply interested in the nature of 
 the conversation, for I felt that it concerned my recent 
 interview with the girl. Involuntarily I moved the 
 mirror nearer my face, and then, instantly, darkness 
 enveloped me. I sat in absolute darkness back in the 
 cabin ; the charm was broken. 
 
 I do not know how the negro learned that I had 
 broken the spell — possibly I made some noise ; at any 
 rate, he lighted the candle, took the "sign-glass " from 
 my hands, opened the door, drew up the curtains, and 
 then said : " An' did yo' see de story ob yoah life ? " 
 
 *' I had a curious experience, surely," I replied, in a 
 respectful tone I should not have used preceding the 
 " experience." 
 
 " An' did yo' reach de cabin ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "An' did yo' go pas' de cabin an' see de tings what 's 
 come'n ? " 
 
 " I saw myself walk away from this cabin, if you call 
 that ' tings what 's come'n'." 
 
 " Yo' did n't git t' de end ob yoah trabels, yo' did n't 
 316 
 
The Magic Mirror 
 
 see de cole face an' de crossed ham's, yo' did n't see de 
 endin' ob de spell twixt yo' an' Red-Head ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 *■ Yo' did n't fin' de meanin' ob de sign what say dat 
 Susie '11 be gone from the worl' an' walkin' still ? " 
 
 " No ; I moved the mirror and the scene disappeared." 
 
 " Et am monstrous strange, de endin' ob de spell fo' 
 Susie. Cupe hab read de endin' ob Red- Head an' ob 
 yo', too, but he caint git no sense out ob de endin' ob 
 Susie. Gone out ob de worl' an' yet in et, de spell say. 
 She wah surely walkin' ahftah de sign p'dict she wah 
 gone from de worl'. De pure white face wah sweet es 
 an angel, she wah in ole Kaintuck suah, she wah movin' 
 an' talkin', yit de sign say she wah gone from de worl'. 
 Et am an awful ting t' Cupe t' not see de cleah endin' 
 ob de spell fo' Susie." Then he turned to me and 
 spoke kindly : " Chile, Cupe doan mean no ha'am t' yo', 
 he hain't said no disrespec'. Yo' hab slandered de sign 
 what doan come out ob de alm'nac book, but befo' yo' 
 speak at random ag'in yo'll see dat de sign-glass kin show 
 what de alm'nac book caint. Yo' hab seed de tings 
 what yo' know am wonct be'n, an' yo' hab seed de 
 come'n steps, an' yo' caint help but walk in de way yo' 
 saw de signs movin'." He pointed to the door. " De 
 come'n ob de sign am axin' yo' t' go on." 
 
 I left the cabin, and passed down a path that led to 
 Stringtown. 
 
 317 
 
CHAPTER LII 
 
 MY SECOND JOURNEY OVER A PATH I NEVER YET 
 HAD TROD 
 
 MANY and varied vi^ere the emotions that passed 
 through my mind as I left that door. What 
 strange mirror had Cupe in his possession that could 
 lead me to imagine that I was looking at my past move- 
 ments ? " Pshaw ! " I said aloud, " the negro has 
 made a fool of me." 
 
 But there came then to mind the curious manner in which 
 he touched upon my movements in Cincinnati. Slowly 
 I passed along, stopping often to think over the incidents 
 related, and then it occurred to me that I had passed 
 that way before. Yes, I saw that I was simply retrac- 
 ing a path over which I had recently walked ; and yet I 
 knew that I came to the cabin by another path, and that 
 not for four years had I been there previously. Objects 
 by the wayside were familiar, and as I passed along I 
 anticipated those that would next appear. 
 
 I stooped over and picked a modest little blue blossom 
 that peeped from a tuft of grass by the path — I had 
 picked that same flower before from beside that exact 
 clump of grass — and as I pinned it to my lapel I appre- 
 ciated that once before I had pinned that identical flower 
 to the lapel as now I did it. 
 
 " Strange," I thought to myself, " I meet detail ex- 
 periences now that I did not notice when reading the 
 mirror, but which I perceive, now that I am reminded 
 
 318 
 
My Second Journey, &c. 
 
 of them, are surely repetitions of past incidents." And 
 then I caught the fact that the mirror seemingly opened 
 conspicuous phases of life and held them before my gaze, 
 but left the impress of others to be revived on my intel- 
 lect. These reflections sifted through my mind as I 
 passed for the second time along that narrow path, the 
 path I had recently seen myself following, and then my 
 thoughts turned towards Susie and unbidden came to my 
 lips the lines of a favourite song of that day : 
 
 'T was down in the meadows, the violets were blooming 
 
 And the springtime grass was fresh and green. 
 And the birds by the brooklet their sweet songs were singing, 
 When I first met my darling, Daisy Deane. 
 
 " Don't sing the song out, please." 
 
 I had turned a sharp angle in the thickest banked 
 hollow and Susie stood before me. She was slowly 
 walking toward her home ; her downcast eyes were 
 shaded by her sunbonnet, and her gaze rested on the 
 path before her. She raised her eyes and fixed them on 
 my own, this child woman, whose youthful face, not- 
 withstanding her childishness, was womanly in expres- 
 sion. " I have been to the cabin. Miss Susie," I said ; 
 " it may be my last visit, for soon I start North to pre- 
 pare for the task I have assumed ; but you know that 
 you said I might come again." 
 
 Not heeding my words, the girl extended her hand ; I 
 took it in my own, and held it too long, I fear, before 
 releasing it. " Mr. Drew," she said, " you must come 
 no more to my home." I began to protest, but she 
 interrupted. "Do not deny me this favour; I am in 
 earnest, deeply in earnest. Come no more to my cabin, 
 avoid Cupe, avoid Dinah " — she hesitated an instant, 
 just enough to show that she had hesitated — and con- 
 tinued : " Bid me good-bye forever." 
 
 319 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 " Susie, this is cruel. What have I done to provoke 
 you ? Did I not ask you to forgive my rudeness the 
 night I met Red-Head in your home ? " 
 
 " I bear you no ill will for that," she answered. " I 
 was partly at fault, and I am sorry for my last remark ; 
 I did not give the rose to Red-Head." 
 
 " I already know that, and yet I thank you for telling 
 me. But why did you tantalise me, what object had 
 you in declining to give me the second rose, why did 
 you irritate me by leading me to believe that you in- 
 tended to give it to him ?" 
 
 " Am I not a girl ? Why should you take that so 
 seriously ? Had you the discernment of a girl you 
 would not have asked me to give you the second rose ; it 
 was foolish in me to proffer you, unasked, the first one." 
 
 " Let the matter drop. I have one of the roses and 
 Red-Head did not get the other. Susie, twice only in 
 four years have I called at your home to meet you ; at 
 neither time did I get the chance to tell you why I made 
 the visit." 
 
 " Nor must you tell me now." 
 
 *' Susie, I'll not leave you this time without having 
 my say. I — " 
 
 " Please, Mr. Drew," she interrupted, " first listen to 
 me. 
 
 " Go on. Miss Susie. But when you have finished I 
 shall tell you what twice before I have tried to say." 
 
 Not heeding me, she continued : " I am a lonely 
 girl reared by the negroes. I have been wild and care- 
 less, but am so no longer. If I have a father, he has 
 no child in me. My mother was shot during the war, 
 I cannot remember her. Youth has been in my case a 
 strange story of negro lore and superstition, of human 
 neglect and inhuman loneliness. I remember less of 
 
 320 
 
My Second Journey, &c. 
 
 pleasure than of trouble, less of kindness than of rude- 
 ness. I am prematurely old in some things, but this is 
 not my fault ; no other girl in Stringtown has had cause 
 to think as have I of things that crush the joys of child- 
 hood. No girl companion ever crosses the threshold of 
 my home, nor do I meet any in their own. Why 
 should I be young ? Mr. Dreu^, to think as I have 
 done since I vi^as taught my place among people is to 
 learn more of some things than many who are much 
 older know. To feel the undeserved touch of shame is 
 to realise what shame really is. To meet the shrinking 
 eye and the withdrawn hand, to hear the sneer of the 
 heartless tongue, brings care and sorrow that brushes 
 youth away early. I am alone with Cupe and Dinah ; 
 nearly as old in feeling, I sometimes imagine, as are 
 they. You have been kind in thinking of me. I don't 
 know why you act as you do, but you are indiscreet and 
 have no right to injure yourself and wrong me by per- 
 sisting in your visits. I wish to be left alone; and 
 while I feel deeply grateful for your good will, I cannot 
 permit any further attention." 
 
 " Susie, you wrong both of us by this idle talk. You 
 are a girl, and yet you take life as seriously as if you 
 were a full-grown woman." 
 
 " Cares and thoughts that are bred of snubs and 
 sneers have cut off my girlhood. I have already told 
 you that. I have no mother to take a mother's part for 
 me ; I must be a woman. I know some things too 
 well to require information from others concerning 
 them, and one of these is that you have brought me 
 much trouble." 
 
 " I, Susie, I ? " 
 
 " Yes, you. It was you who asked that I might be 
 educated, who led me to receive the instruction that 
 21 ^21 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 enabled me to understand my position in life. Were I 
 the wild ignorant girl I should have been but for your 
 interference, I might now be happy with the negroes, 
 knowing nothing concerning the world nor of what 
 others have and are in the world, nor yet of what I arh 
 myself. You did a wrong, Mr. Drew, in thus showing 
 me what other girls are, and in picturing my utter dis- 
 grace and absolute helplessness. I could not have felt 
 these things had you left me in ignorance." 
 
 " Miss — " 
 
 " Nothing but Susie, if you please," she interjected, 
 observing that I hesitated. 
 
 " Susie," I continued, " these things that you brood 
 over concern me not at all and do you no harm. You 
 magnify your misfortunes ; you misjudge men and 
 women ; you wrong your friends and hurt those who 
 would be your friends. I speak from my heart, Susie ; 
 you wrong me too, and to prove it I shall tell you 
 now what I came twice before to say. I — " 
 
 " Stop," she cried ; " before you finish the words you 
 intend to speak, I would ask — have you spoken to 
 your mother ? " 
 
 Surely the girl knew what I intended to ask. Her 
 manner showed that, and now my heart leaped, for her 
 tone was not that of one offended or unfriendly, but 
 rather of earnest questioning. 
 
 " No ; but she will make no objection to — " 
 
 " First ask her, and if she makes no objection, you 
 may come to the cabin and finish the question you would 
 ask of me. Promise to do this," she pleaded. 
 
 " You have my promise, Susie, but you need have no 
 question concerning the result. I shall return to-night 
 — yes, this very afternoon. I '11 tell you then that 
 which I have started three times to say." 
 
 322 
 
My Second Journey, &c. 
 
 She shook her head. " You will not come back 
 to-night, neither will it be to-morrow nor yet the next 
 day. No, never. You may meet me by accident, I 
 may come to you — Cupe says that I '11 kneel on the 
 floor and with tears in my eyes beg justice of you — 
 but whether this is true or not you will never come to 
 me with these words on your lips again." 
 
 " You will never come again," she continued ; " others 
 have turned away, none are left but Red-Head and my 
 guardian — none, and you, too, will come no more. 
 Farewell." Her hand trembled as I again clasped it, 
 and now its touch was cold. Her eyes met mine, and 
 I saw that they were filled with tears. " May I have 
 the flower you wear in your lapel ? " she asked. " Why 
 do you ask that of me ? " I said. " Take it, though, 
 and if ever you need a friend, one who will grant your 
 every wish, you who claim that you have no friends, 
 need but show that flower to me. Whatever it may he^ 
 and wherever I may he^ you have hut to askT 
 
 "Thank you, and farewell, Mr. Drew. You have 
 been kind to me, but very thoughtless I think about 
 yourself. I forgive you the wrong you have done in 
 the unsought education that shows me my position. 
 But I wish that it could be forever lost." 
 
 I stood in silence. She turned and walked up the 
 path the way I came, vanishing around the clump of 
 hazel, and then I turned toward Stringtown. Now 
 came again to my mind the vision that the mirror 
 pictured ; all I had seen therein had been repeated, 
 verified, and in addition my ear had now heard the con- 
 versation that the mirror failed to give. 
 
 323 
 
CHAPTER LIII 
 
 " NEVER, UNLESS DUTY CALLS, SHALL I RETURN 
 TO STRINGTOWN " 
 
 MY patient, loving mother, whose life had been a 
 constant sacrifice for her son, once a source of 
 deep humiliation, now an object of pride, sat that after- 
 noon in the little room sewing by the centre table. I 
 entered with quick step, with happy heart, with no mis- 
 givings concerning the result of my mission. The 
 fulfilment of my desires had been to her a source of 
 great pleasure heretofore ; she had never denied me a 
 request that was right and that could be conceded. 
 
 " Mother " — I said, seating myself beside her chair, 
 — "I am now twenty-one years of age. 1 have a good 
 position, where advancement is certain, and where I 
 shall win yet higher honours. In order to prepare for 
 the course I have mapped out I must leave Stringtown 
 in a few days. Before going, however, I wish to speak 
 with you concerning a very important subject." 
 
 " Go on, my son," said she, laying aside her sewing. 
 
 " Mother, you know that I have been offered an 
 assistant position in chemistry. I hope to make a better 
 home than this for you in a few years, and to give you 
 a life of peace and rest. For me you have worked your 
 fingers sore, have slaved since I can remember." 
 
 " You must first make a happy home for yourself, my 
 boy ; that should be your object, one to which, in case 
 of necessity, your old mother may come and end her 
 
 324 
 
"Never, unless Duty Calls, &c." 
 
 days. But for a time at least I shall not think of leav- 
 ing Stringtown. Look forward to a home of your own ; 
 seek no higher ambition. You will some day meet one 
 you can ask to go with you to the end of your journey, 
 and be with you, to love you and be loved. This I 
 hope to see accomplished before I die." 
 
 " I have met her already, mother," I said in elation, 
 " and I came to ask your permission to speak to her, to 
 get your blessing on both of us and your favour for her." 
 
 *' So soon, my son ! Are you not hasty ? I thought 
 and spoke of the future. I had no suspicion of this 
 love ; you did not tell me that you had found a sweet- 
 heart in the North." 
 
 " Nor have I." 
 
 " And yet you keep no company with Stringtown 
 girls." 
 
 " No, and shall not. I am in love, but my love is 
 neither in the North nor in Stringtown. I love the girl 
 who lives with Cupe and Dinah, the girl called Susie." 
 
 My mother dropped the garment she held in her 
 hand. 
 
 " You do not mean it, Sammy." 
 
 " Mother, I speak the truth. I love Susie better than 
 life." 
 
 "• Susie who ? " 
 
 The question was cmel. My mother, she to whom I 
 came in absolute confidence, she, too, emphasised the 
 word who^ and as unmercifully as any Stringtown girl 
 had done. I stood up in anger, indignation for the first 
 time toward my mother entered my heart. 
 
 " ' Who ? ' why, Susie, only Susie, and I who am 
 concerned most of any care for nothing else. Some day 
 she will be Susie Drew, and then I '11 beat the face of 
 the man who says ' Susie who ? ' to me, and I '11 teach 
 
 325 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 the — " but my mother had spoken the word '-'■who^^ — 
 I did not finish the remark. 
 
 " My son, you must listen to your mother. Have 
 you asked the girl to marry you ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 "She is an adventuress, — yes, vi^orse, a girl without 
 character, one who has no friends among respectable 
 people, who is shunned by the village girls and neglected 
 by the village boys. Her history is one of shameful 
 birth, if report speaks true ; to be disgraced by birth is a 
 lasting stigma unforgivable. Subsequent environment has 
 added nothing to remove the stain, — she has been negro- 
 bred. Listen to your mother, my dear boy, see her no 
 more." 
 
 " And this from you, mother ! " 
 
 " Yes ; I am old enough to speak advisedly. You 
 are young, a pretty face excites what you think is love, 
 — it is puppy love, my child, and when the face is out 
 of sight will soon fade away. You cannot realise that to 
 marry that girl will be to blast your life and disgrace 
 your mother. How did this artful adventuress manage 
 to entangle you ? She 's a dangerous girl. Surely the 
 villagers do not know of the affair, or else I would long 
 since have known of it." 
 
 " Mother, I cannot take this kindly, even from you. 
 I must have my say. I am no longer a child. Susie is 
 as pure and holy as was ever girl or woman. She has 
 been unfortunate in birth ; she does not know her father, 
 much to his shame, and not to her disgrace; her life has 
 been a dreary, lonely one, and her companions have been 
 her books and the negroes. From the one she has prof- 
 ited, the others have served her well, — be it said to their 
 credit and to Stringtown's discredit. You say that I am 
 possessed by ' puppy love,' that when the face is gone 
 
 326 
 
" Never, unless Duty Calls, &c." 
 
 the love will fade away. That is not so. You say that 
 to marry Susie will be to blast my life, that my marriage 
 to the girl will disgrace you, my mother. And why ? 
 Because of an unwritten law that scoundrels make, and 
 society follows, that reaches even such as you, and does 
 not credit you, who seek to save discredit from your son. 
 You called that girl an adventuress, but the facts are that 
 your son made the advances. I sought her, but she gave 
 no encouragement. I forced my attentions on her, and 
 she met them coldly. She has been wronged by you. 
 I must say this, even to you, mother." 
 
 I sank on my knees by her side, and as if I were again 
 a child, buried my face in her lap, while tears, born of 
 humiliation, indignation, disappointment, and sorrow, 
 gushed from my eyes. She gently stroked my hair, back 
 and forth, as she had been wont to do when I was a 
 child. 
 
 " Heed the words of your mother, Sammy. Disgrace 
 that falls upon and lingers over the name of woman can 
 never be brushed away." 
 
 " But she has done nothing wrong, this forlorn girl ; 
 she is helpless." 
 
 " The world makes no allowance for the fact that the 
 girl is not at fault ; she is unfortunate, and must accept 
 the odium that rests upon her name. Does not the Bible 
 say words to the effect that the sins of the parents shall 
 be visited upon the children ? " 
 
 " Don't make me hate the Bible, mother ! " 
 
 « My child ! " 
 
 " Listen now to me, mother." I arose and seated 
 myself on my chair, calm, composed. " I shall leave 
 Stringtown to-night — yes, this very night. My vaca- 
 tion scarce commenced, ends to-night. Never, unless 
 duty calls, shall I return to Stringtown, unless you give 
 
 327 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 me permission to go to Susie as a suitor, free to ask her 
 to be my wife, or unless Susie permits me to visit her. I 
 have made a fool of myself in my usual way, — that of 
 thoughtlessly acceding to a request that I should never 
 have granted. I intended to ask Susie to be my wife 
 to-day, and then to ask your blessing ; but thinking only 
 that you would approve of it, I agreed to ask your con- 
 sent first." 
 
 " Thank the Lord, my child, that some far-seeing 
 friend, one who comprehends the effect of social disgrace, 
 has prevented this terrible mistake. Whoever he or she 
 may be, my heartfelt thanks and gratitude go out to him 
 or her. Had you not made this promise, you might 
 now have been in the toils of the adventuress." 
 
 " You have blessed the girl ; for this I thank you," 
 I said, but added no further word of explanation. Then 
 I arose and strode back and forth across the little room. 
 Suddenly I turned to my mother : 
 
 " I shall take the bus this evening for my new posi- 
 tion. My trunk is scarce unpacked. I shall leave 
 Stringtown now.'" 
 
 328 
 
CHAPTER LIV 
 
 FAREWELL TO SUSIE 
 
 I STEPPED into my room and wrote a note which, 
 hastily sealing, I addressed with the simple word 
 " Susie." What else could I have used, what else but 
 *' Susie l^P^ho f " Then I called a boy from the street 
 and paid him liberally to deliver it immediately. The 
 letter was permissible, for although I agreed not to call 
 on her, I had not promised the girl that I would not 
 write. 
 
 Love letters, I have heard, are not as a rule very edi- 
 fying to others. This, my first, last and only love letter, 
 I shall, however, venture to reproduce. 
 
 Dear Susie : You say that I wronged you in inducing Mr. 
 Wagner to educate you. To this I take no exception. You 
 think that you have been led by that education to see yourself 
 disgraced. With this I take issue. By reason of it you perceive 
 better the sins of men and women who make social laws to pro- 
 tect the strong and oppress the weak, to elevate the villain of a 
 father and damn his innocent child. I shall leave Stringtown 
 this afternoon on the evening bus, and by your command I go 
 without calling on you. You induced me to promise to leave to 
 my mother a question that concerned myself more than all 
 others, you bound me to an oath that I cannot break, but which 
 your discriminative eye foresaw would lead to my defeat and to 
 my present distress. For this I blame you. Let, then, my 
 charge against you balance the one you hold against me. And 
 now to the future. I leave Stringtown anxious to complete the 
 sentence which, incomplete as it is, I shall hold sacred until my 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 mother gives me the privilege of returning to your side or until 
 you permit me to come and finish it. I obey my mother 
 because you command it, otherwise I should firmly insist on 
 using my ow^n good will ; you know what that will is. I sol- 
 emnly swear that it shall never change while life lasts. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 Samuel Drew. 
 
 Then I turned to help my mother pack the trunk 
 that a few days previously came with me from the 
 North. In a short time it was strapped and rolled to the 
 gate. I bade her farewell, and at last as the shadows 
 lengthened started for the bus which, delayed by an acci- 
 dent, late that afternoon rolled into Stringtown. As I 
 mounted the box to the familiar seat beside the driver, 
 old Cupe shuffled to my side and thrust a letter into my 
 hand, then left me without a word. The four-in-hand 
 rolled ofF, stopped a moment before my mother's door, 
 where my trunk was thrown aboard, and then rumbled 
 on again. Once more I saw mother standing with 
 handkerchief to her eyes, but this time I felt that had 
 she cared more for her boy and less for the traditions of 
 society, joy might both have brightened her face and 
 gladdened my heart. 
 
 Then I opened the letter that lies now before my 
 eyes : 
 
 Afr. Samue/ Drew. 
 
 Dear Friend : In reply to your letter, it is my opinion that 
 you wrong your mother. She should not be blamed for loving 
 you too well to permit you to disgrace yourself. I am unfor- 
 tunate, through no act of my own, it is true, but yet unfortunate, 
 and I know it. Were I in the place of one of your Stringtown 
 girls, and she in mine, I would probably shun her as now I am 
 shunned. The mark of shame rests over my life. The social 
 rules that govern people cannot be changed, nor should they ; 
 
Farewell to Susie 
 
 for to relax social vigilance would be to open the door to crime 
 and immorality. I have racked my brain over the matter, have 
 read and studied social science, and although I am young, the sub- 
 ject has disturbed me for years. You have my thanks for your 
 good will — this I have told you before. You will merit them 
 the more if you look to your own future, and forget the past so 
 far as it concerns me. Undo your hasty, thoughtless pledges, 
 strive to excel in good deeds and leave the negro-bred girl 
 Susie to pass in peace wherever chance or duty leads her. Mr. 
 Drew, you are far above me. Of all the persons I know, Red- 
 Head alone stands in actual sympathy and on an equality with 
 such as I. Let, then, my life be spent in sympathy with those 
 to whom such as I must be in touch, let the unended sentence 
 you have three times commenced rest unfinished forever. 
 
 Very truly yours, 
 
 Susie. 
 
 While I was reading the letter the driver stopped the 
 team in order to arrange a defective piece of harness on 
 one of the horses, and as I raised my eyes I saw Red- 
 Head beneath a tree by the right-hand side of the road. 
 Tall, erect, lithe, he stood not more than twenty feet 
 from me, gazing directly into my face. A sensation akin 
 to pity for the young man came over me, a kindly feel- 
 ing for one neglected as he had been. I raised my hat 
 politely and bowed. But he, without any recognition 
 whatever, gazed stoically into my face and whistled. 
 Then the devil touched my heart, and in a low tone, 
 that was the more effective because of this fact, I asked : 
 " Why do you not go back to the mountains ; cannot 
 you handle a Springfield rifle yet ? " He made no 
 replv, and I continued : " How about that mountain 
 feud ? Holcomb will get tired of waiting for you to 
 grow bigger." 
 
 Indifferent to the taunt, he stood motionless. The 
 coach now moved on, and as it did so I spoke the 
 
 331 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 meanest words I ever used : " You 're very w^illing to 
 talk fight, you who dare not go back to the mountains 
 where lives old man Holcomb." But even this brought 
 no reply ; like a statue he remained in the shadow, 
 watching the stage on which I sat, watching it until 
 around a bend in the pike the lumbering vehicle dis- 
 appeared from his view. 
 
 332 
 
CHAPTER LV 
 
 PROFESSOR SAMUEL DREW 
 
 INTO the University I stepped with embittered heart 
 and rebellious spirit. Ambition still possessed me, 
 but not such ambition as should have animated a poor 
 widow's son with my prospects. The professor whom 
 I was to assist greeted me kindly, and I found him to 
 be a charming old man, engrossed in the love of his 
 science. He took pains to introduce me at once to 
 those of his colleagues who still lingered about the 
 University, although most members of the faculty were 
 now enjoying their vacation elsewhere. 
 
 " You please me very much, Mr. Drew," he remarked 
 during our first audience. " Not many young men 
 would sacrifice their summer vacation as you have done 
 in order to acquaint themselves with the exacting details 
 of a new work. It speaks well for your future, for while 
 genius is often useful and sometimes leads to fortune, 
 the men who make successes of their lives are those 
 who work while others rest. Surely it must have re- 
 quired more than a little self-sacrifice on your part to 
 leave your mother, your friends, your — " he glanced slyly 
 out of the corners of his eyes — " your sweetheart ! " 
 
 " Let it pass," I answered ; " forget that I came 
 before duty called me. I shall do my utmost to credit 
 myself in the future." 
 
 Many were the compliments the old professor gave 
 me, for my daily application pleased him, and when the 
 
 333 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 president returned from abroad, he praised me in my 
 very presence, informing him that I had sacrificed my 
 vacation and devoted my entire time to the University 
 work, " and," he added, " credit for the changed con- 
 dition of the laboratory and chemical department is due 
 to his personal efforts." But I thought of the girl who 
 once stood before me in the path near Stringtown, and 
 the events that had followed the request she made ; of 
 the bitter spirit and heart madness with which I came to 
 this work ; and realising how unearned was the praise 
 bestowed upon me, demurred. 
 
 " You are mistaken," I said. " I deserve no credit." 
 
 " Tut, tut, boy ! and to whom is the credit due ? " 
 
 The answer and the question were alike unexpected ; 
 the eyes of both were quizzing me. 
 
 " To Susie." 
 
 The old man chuckled, and slyly poked the president 
 in the ribs with his thumb, a thing I did not expect to 
 see a dignified professor do to a great president. 
 
 " And who is Susie ? " 
 
 That hateful term again, " Who is Susie ? " Could 
 I never get away from it ? But regard for the men led 
 me to be decorous now and to suppress my indignation. 
 
 " She 's a girl, and lives near Stringtown." 
 
 Again the professor chuckled. " Let the credit be 
 with Susie; " then he added : " Let us hope the time may 
 come when we may meet Susie in the University." 
 
 " She '11 never come to this University while I am 
 here, and never again shall I visit Stringtown while she 
 is there. We are nothing to each other, for she will 
 not have it so. I beg you, though, to give Susie the 
 credit for my early appearance, and pass the matter 
 forever." 
 
 " Pardon us, Mr. Drew ; we unintentionally touched 
 334 
 
Professor Samuel Drew 
 
 a tender spot ; pardon our thoughtless familiarity," said 
 the professor. Thsy passed from the room and I turned 
 sadly to my work. But I could not help thinking that 
 the old professor reminded me very much of Judge 
 Elford, and I could but wonder how the dignified presi- 
 dent of a University could be punched in the ribs with- 
 out being offended. And so I began my new found 
 task which grew more enticing as the seasons passed, 
 during which period, true to my word, I refrained from 
 visiting Stringtown. 
 
 The death of good old Professor Longman, who died 
 after a short illness, left me, in the middle of a subse- 
 quent session, in full charge of the classes, and faithful 
 attention to my duties, together with the commendations 
 he had bestowed upon me during his life, led the trustees 
 subsequently to appoint me to the vacancy, to which 
 knowing well my youthfulness, I did not presume to 
 aspire. But it seems that the president had declared 
 in my favour and was not afraid of young blood. He 
 appeared personally before the Board and expressed him- 
 self to that effect, which left them no reason, had they 
 been so inclined, to seek elsewhere for a successor. 
 Hence the Announcement of the University on the Hill, 
 following the death of Professor Longman, bore my 
 name as Professor of Chemistry, and thus it was that 
 I became unexpectedly honoured ; but of this I need 
 say nothing further, for I was now a man, and knew 
 that hard work had earned that position for me. 
 
 The middle of the session following my appointment 
 found me one day sitting in my private office reading 
 a letter from my mother. It contained the usual loving 
 messages, and the neighbourhood gossip was also brought 
 to date. But its ending, which I reproduce, cast a 
 shadow over my heart: 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 Mr. Nordman, the old gentleman who lived beside the pike 
 south of Stringtown, died suddenly this morning. He had been 
 very feeble, but otherwise seemed to enjoy good health. He 
 was attacked with a misery in his stomach immediately after 
 breakfast, and died soon after the doctor reached his bedside. 
 
 I held the letter listlessly in my hand and mused: 
 " Now he, too, will lie in the little graveyard behind 
 the house." And musing thus, the single shaft in the 
 family graveyard appeared before my mind-sight ; that 
 shaft to the south of which rested his child, the Southern 
 soldier, and to the north of which lay the Union son. 
 And next came to mind and sight the form of Mr. 
 Nordman, as the day before I left Stringtown, he led 
 me to the spot where rested his two boys. And then 
 recurred the words of advice he gave me as we parted : 
 " The grass grows no greener, the violets bloom no 
 earlier, over the one than over the other. ' The wah 
 is over, Sammy.' " 
 
 •■' The war is surely over now for you, Mr. Nord- 
 man," I sadly said to myself, and then turned to my 
 work. 
 
 336 
 
CHAPTER LVI 
 
 THE STRINGTOWN POISON CASE 
 
 THE lectures passed day by day, the laboratory 
 classes were drilled, as usual, and yet that sen- 
 tence of Mr. Nordman rang in my ears and came un- 
 bidden to mind when no cause seemed to excite it. 
 
 The figure of Mr. Nordman seemed constantly before 
 my eyes, his words rang ever in my ears, and try as I 
 might I could not beat them out. 
 
 " What had Mr. Nordman to do with me, that the 
 announcement of his death should thus concern me ? " 
 I asked this question, and then argued that this domina- 
 tion of my mind by his form and voice was simply the 
 result of habit, a fit of melancholy permitted it, a sour 
 stomach, perhaps, induced it. Surely Mr. Nordman's 
 death was of no greater concern to me than was that of 
 many other men in Stringtown who had died since I 
 knew the village. Then came a second letter from 
 Stringtown, a letter in a strange hand, but which bore 
 the well-known Stringtown postmark. It was written 
 by the attorney who had prosecuted old negro Cupe in 
 the trial wherein he was freed by Right of Clergy, and 
 I learned from it that the writer was again prosecuting 
 attorney of Stringtown County. Let me give the letter 
 in full : 
 
 My dear Professor Drew : As prosecuting attorney of 
 Stringtown County, it becomes my duty to engage an expert 
 chemist in behalf of the Commonwealth. Can I secure your 
 
 ^^ 337 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 services ? The case is one of importance, and knowing you as 
 I do, and knowing, too, the esteem in which you are held bv 
 the people of our county, I hope that you will consent to serve 
 us. We wish an analysis made of the contents of the stomach 
 of Mr. Nordman, whom you probably remember. I will add 
 that I guarantee your fee, which will be paid by the adminis- 
 trator of the estate. Please let me hear from you at once. 
 
 Sincerely yours, 
 
 Z. B. PUTTEN. 
 
 I turned to my desk and at once accepted the offer, 
 giving explicit directions concerning the manner in which 
 the suspected parts were to be secured, sealed in the 
 presence of witnesses and then expressed to my address. 
 The letter posted, I turned to my books and sought the 
 sections devoted to the detection of poisons, after which 
 I sat in meditation. Do not "coming events cast their 
 shadows before ? '* In what other way than on this 
 hypothesis can I account for the persistence with which 
 I had been pursued by the form and words of Mr. Nord- 
 man ? Then came the thought that in the course of 
 events duty would demand that I go once more to 
 Stringtown. Duty calls, and while away in her behest 
 I may chance to meet Susie. 
 
 Then I mentally thanked Mr. Putten, the prosecuting 
 attorney, for his confidence in my ability, and did not 
 feel unkindly toward Mr. Nordman for the part he had 
 taken in my personal affairs. 
 
 But when the express package reached me, that 
 wooden-bound box securely encased in hoop iron, a sen- 
 sation which I cannot correctly voice in writing came 
 over me. And when my assistant opened the box and 
 removed from it the large glass fruit jar closely wrapped 
 in stiff manilla paper and sealed with red wax bearing the 
 official stamp of the sheriff, I felt a sinking of the heart j 
 
 338 
 
The Stringtown Poison Case 
 
 for I was not accustomed to handle such fruit as that jar 
 contained. But a duty is a duty, I thought, and a 
 gem from the Jewish Talmud came to my mind : ^ 
 
 A man along that road is led 
 Which he himself desires to tread ; 
 
 and for the first time I questioned if my repeated use of 
 the word duty, in connection with this affair, was not 
 due to an attempt on my part to argue my conscience 
 down. But it was too late now to retreat. Ambition 
 as well as duty bade me go on. Then another verse 
 from the Talmud formulated itself unbidden and rang its 
 changes in my mental ear : 
 
 Ambition, as its fate, death and the grave await. 
 
 " Open the package, William," I said to my assistant, 
 " remove half its contents, securely close and seal the jar 
 containing the other part and place it in a cool situation 
 in the laboratory cellar." He did as directed, and I 
 turned to my test tubes and reagents. 
 
 Systematically I began the task I had undertaken — 
 the examination of the contents of the jar with the 
 object of discovering if it contained a poisonous body. 
 There is no need of a record of all the details of the 
 process. It is enough to state that no mineral poison, 
 no inorganic poisonous acid, was discovered, nor yet the 
 formidable prussic acid. Neither was phosphorus pres- 
 ent nor any poisonous metal or salt thereof. There was 
 no trace of an arsenic compound. The most exacting 
 tests gave negative results only, and at last I turned to 
 search for the vegetable bodies known as alkaloids, which, 
 as a rule, are so energetic in action ; strychnine, mor- 
 phine, atropine, being typical of the class. It will be 
 
 1 See "Gems from the Talmud," by Rev. Isadore Myers, B.A. 
 
 339 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 seen that these bodies embrace the most fearful of the 
 poisons, and, let me add, are detected as a class by cer- 
 tain well-known reagents. 
 
 William stood with chin resting nearly on my shoul- 
 der and watched the first drop of the sensitive test-liquid 
 slip down the side of the test tube and strike the surface 
 of the acidulated solution I had made from the suspected 
 material. As the two liquids mingled a white cloud 
 sprang into view, and as the denser drop of Mayer's 
 Test sank slowly down into the yellow liquid, following 
 the inclined glass tube to its very bottom, a white cloud 
 marked its pathway, and when the liquids were shaken 
 together a milky solution resulted. Another and yet 
 another drop of the test solution was cautiously added, 
 and the liquids successively mixed, producing yet deeper 
 milkiness ; and at last, under the gentle agitation of the 
 turbid liquid, changed into a clear solution holding clots 
 of dirty white precipitate, which, when the tube was 
 allowed to rest, settled to the bottom in a heavy layer. 
 
 I turned to my assistant, but no words were necessary ; 
 to one conversant with alkaloidal tests this reaction char- 
 acteristic of the group needed no explanation. Our eyes 
 spoke the message that required no tongue to interpret. 
 But not content with this, I took successive but very 
 small portions of the original liquid and tested them sev- 
 erally with other reagents for the alkaloids, with unmis- 
 takable returns from all. Then, as I made a careful 
 record of the result in my note-book, I said : " The 
 next step is to identify the alkaloid." 
 
 " I would expect strychnine," my assistant remarked, 
 " for these precipitates seem to me much like those of 
 strychnine." 
 
 340 
 
CHAPTER LVII 
 
 SUSIE PLEADS FOR RED-HEAD 
 
 " ** I ''HAT point must be determined," I replied. " It 
 -^ may be strychnine or a mixture. I shall not 
 prejudice myself concerning it." And in the end, after 
 several days had passed, I was fairly well satisfied, al- 
 though there were some points in connection with the 
 chrome-sulphuric acid test which puzzled me. The 
 blue-violet colour surely did appear, but it was not as 
 characteristic as I should have liked. But after I ob- 
 tained white microscopic crystals of an alkaloid on a 
 slide which gave the reaction, I said : '' You were cor- 
 rect in your prediction, William ; strychnine must be 
 present, and such shall be my testimony before the 
 Court of Stringtown County." 
 
 But that evening, for the first time, misgivings arose 
 in my mind. They came during the dinner hour, when 
 a companion made an idle query tnat I could not satisfac- 
 torily answer, and so turned lightly aside, but it led me to 
 questionings. I arose from the table and sought my room. 
 I picked up a light novel, but could not interest myself in 
 its contents. I turned to Chatnbers' Miscellany^ and by 
 chance opened Volume H. to the record of cases wherein 
 many men had suffered death on circumstantial evidence 
 that in itself seemed with each case to be conclusive 
 of guilt, but which afterward was shown to have been 
 erroneous. That work gave me the shivers. I turned to 
 the Bible, and read part of the Book of Job and laid it 
 
 341 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 down. I picked up Myers' Gems from the Talmud, 
 and caught but one sentence : 
 
 With the measure with which man metes to men, 
 It will be measured to him again. 
 
 I closed the book, drew on my overcoat, and in a 
 gathering winter storm started for my laboratory. It 
 was dark, very dark, and yet I went on in the night, 
 for that verse and my disconcerted emotions impelled 
 me to go then and to go there. Lighting up my room, 
 I took out the reagents and the suspected liquid and 
 carefully verified the reactions. I opened the books 
 that are authority on phytochemistry, and studied the 
 pages word by word. Closing them, I stood in thought ; 
 then with my hand on the pile of volumes, spoke aloud : 
 " If there be error in this work which I have done, ;'<?« 
 are at fault, not I. But why should I question ; am not 
 I a disciple in science and is not science infallible? Is 
 not the chrome reaction of strychnine one of the cer- 
 tainties in chemistry ? Even to your bitterness have I 
 tested you," I said, addressing the liquid before me. 
 But still a doubt possessed me, a questioning that would 
 not have been had I possessed enough liquid to obtain 
 large, pure crystals of strychnine ; nor would it have 
 been a question in face of the reaction, had no human 
 life been at stake. I raised the window and leaned out 
 of the opening ; the scattered flakes of snow that were 
 falling struck my heated forehead, imparting a pleasant 
 tingle with each tiny contact. The cool air was refresh- 
 ing, for my brain was hot. Dark were the other build- 
 ings in the University grounds, dark was the country 
 beyond, for my private laboratory was situated in the 
 second story and permitted a view of the distance. 
 Across the field of my vision came then a stream of 
 
 342 
 
Susie Pleads for Red-Head 
 
 moving lights ; the night train from the South was ap- 
 proaching, and I watched it until the animated creation 
 disappeared from view behind the building, and next I 
 heard it whistle for the station. Feeling better now, 
 for the cool air and the diversion of thought had re- 
 laxed my nerves and soothed my brain, I turned again 
 to my task, determined to go once more with great care 
 over the work and end it. I do not know how many 
 minutes I devoted to the manipulation — it must have 
 taken half an hour — when came a ring of the bell of 
 the outer door. I raised the window, and saw by the 
 feeble light of the transom beneath that two figures stood 
 just outside the entrance. Two of my friends, I con- 
 jectured, and with this thought in mind spoke : " Open 
 the door — it is not locked — and follow the lighted hall 
 to my room. No. 13. You need not knock, open the 
 door and enter." 
 
 Again I turned to the tube I held in my hand prepa- 
 ratory to the final test, my back to the door, and was 
 thus employed when it opened. A voice I once knew 
 so well, but had thought never to hear again, spoke : 
 *' May I come in. Dr. Drew ? I would speak to you." 
 
 I turned my head. There stood Susie, and behind 
 her, in the background, appeared the familiar face of old 
 Cupe. I replaced the tube in the rack and next ex- 
 tended my trembling hand to the girl. " Susie," I said, 
 as I asked her to be seated, " this is unexpected." 
 
 Unintentionally I glanced at the clock ; the girl's eyes 
 followed mine. " It is late. Professor Drew. I felt 
 that, but the train was behind time, and I must return 
 early to-morrow morning." She spoke reservedly. 
 
 " Please be seated," I said, for she had not yet taken 
 the proffered chair. But she made no movement. 
 Standing before me, she gazed straight into my eyes, 
 
 343 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 and by that glance threw back into my life the wild love 
 of other days, the love that had never been suppressed, 
 but which, long encysted in my heart, needed but the 
 sight of its creator to cause it to burst again into life. 
 
 " I came to meet you, Mr. Drew," she replied, " to 
 ask a question — yes, to beg a favour." 
 
 " If in my power, you need only ask it." 
 
 A smile came over her face, a smile that flitted on the 
 instant. " You have my thanks in advance for your 
 good will ; and yet I have not named the favour." 
 
 " Susie," I impulsively replied, " your will is law to 
 me. Tell me what you wish." 
 
 " Promise me that you will not visit Stringtown until 
 after the next session of our quarterly Court." 
 
 I stood in astonishment. " Why do you ask this ? " 
 
 " Promise me not to come." 
 
 ^' But I have legally contracted to testify before the 
 Court. I am bound to appear." 
 
 " And does this recently made duty to others so easily 
 overcome your thrice-volunteered pledge to me ? " 
 
 " My reputation demands that I attend that Court as 
 an expert witness. I shall advance my position as a 
 professional chemist by doing so." 
 
 " It is but a little favour that I ask, and already you 
 have promised to grant it. Do you value more your 
 self-ambition than your word to me ? " 
 
 " I cannot break my contract." 
 
 " A friend of yours bids me say a word to you in case 
 I fail, a friend who knows of my visit here." 
 
 " And who may this friend be, Susie ? " 
 
 " Judge Elford. ' Tell Sammy that I say the expert 
 chemist is not an honour to science. Tell him that if 
 he values his reputation, to decline to take an expert's 
 part in this or any other case while conditions are as 
 
 344 
 
Susie Pleads for Red-Head 
 
 now and chemists make themselves partisans for the side 
 that pays them. Tell him that I say keep away from 
 Stringtown during the coming Court session.' " 
 
 " The judge has spoken too late, and you come too 
 late, Susie. I am powerless. See " — I pointed to the 
 apparatus about me — " for days have I worked on this 
 Stringtown poison case, have recorded the results, am 
 ready to testify to the facts. I must go to that Court ; 
 duty calls me." .^ 
 
 " And so by means of these glasses you have estab- 
 lished the nature of events that once occurred in String- 
 town. A man you have not seen for years has died, 
 and you propose to swear concerning the cause of his 
 death ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And may I ask, do the sign-glasses augur good to 
 the living, or is the omen such as to lead you to String- 
 town to swear a man onto the gallows ? " 
 
 " Susie, this is not sign lore, this is science. Long 
 since I wiped out of my nature those superstitious signs 
 and omens of which you speak, but which have now no 
 credence with me. This is science, 1 say, and science 
 speaks unerringly concerning that which is ; she tells, 
 too, of things that have passed and predicts those yet to 
 come." 
 
 " But you did not answer my question. Do the 
 glasses say that Mr. Nordman died of poison ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but I beg you to keep the fact to yourself. 
 I should not tell you this." 
 
 The girl dropped on her knees. " No ! I say no ! he 
 was not poisoned ! " All her composure, her irony, her 
 sarcastic tone of voice, vanished. She wrung her hands, 
 and kneeling thus appeared for the first time a pleading 
 woman, with the heart emotions of a woman. " No, 
 
 345 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 Mr. Drew, I say it was not poison, even if your science 
 swears it ! " 
 
 " Compose yourself, Susie." 
 
 " You are the only man I fear ; no other chemist 
 can come to Stringtown County and impress a jury of 
 our people as your words will do, or antagonise them as 
 they may do. Say that you will not come ! grant me 
 this favour ! " 
 
 " I cannot." 
 
 She drew from her bosom a folded paper and took 
 from it a pressed and dried blue flower. " When we 
 stood in the path near my home in old Kentucky the day 
 we last met, you gave me this flower, and of your own 
 accord told me that if ever I wished a favour and pre- 
 sented this flower the favour should be granted. ' What- 
 ever it may be and wherever I shall be,' you said, ' you 
 have but to ask.' I bring you now the flower, and on 
 my knees I beg you to fulfil the promise made the girl 
 long before you contracted with Mr. Putten to read for 
 him the signs in the glasses. Is not the word given to 
 me in the years that have passed as sacred as the legal 
 contract you made but a few days ago ? T ask you to 
 drop this Case, to come not to Stringtown during the 
 next term of Court. Believe in me, Mr. Drew ; accept 
 my pleadings before you do the signs and omens that 
 you read in these tubes and vessels. I am alive, I have 
 breath, consciousness and love. Those vessels are dead, 
 insensible. Will you not take my word before that of 
 lifeless objects, which I, who live and reason, say have 
 not told the truth ? " 
 
 " I cannot. Ask anything else but this. See, that 
 blue-violet colouration of strychnine." I held the vessel 
 and applied the test before her eyes. 
 
 Dropping the withered flower on the floor, she arose 
 346 
 
Susie Pleads for Red-Head 
 
 and placed her foot upon it. " And this you call duty, 
 this breaking of a sacred promise given to one who 
 treasured your words and had no hope for happiness 
 beyond the bare words you then spoke, and those other 
 unframed words you wished to utter and which I longed 
 to hear you say. You now speak of duty, but this man- 
 ner of duty that you are acting I call murder, for your 
 words will hang an innocent man ! " 
 
 " Of whom do you speak, Susie ? whom am I to 
 hang by my evidence? " 
 
 " Do you not know ? " 
 
 " I do not." 
 
 " Red-Head. He is charged with poisoning Mr. 
 Nordman, and lies now in the jail of Stringtown 
 County." 
 
 Suddenly there came into my heart a sensation akin 
 to exultation. Red-Head, my antagonist of former 
 times, my rival yet, charged with murder, and the evi- 
 dence resting in my hands to convict him. Once I had 
 a doubt concerning the reaction for strychnine ; I came 
 this very evening in a questioning mood, for some things 
 concerning the colour were not quite clear ; but there 
 was no doubt now. 
 
 " Susie," I said, and I spoke with deliberation, " do 
 you remember the evening Red-Head held my hands 
 together and sneered in my face, the evening in your 
 home when I told him that never again would I fight 
 him after the manner brutes fight ? Do you recollect 
 that I said the time would come when I could use my 
 brain instead of my fists, and predicted that brain would 
 win ? Do you recollect that ? " 
 
 The girl no longer shrank from me, she no longer 
 stood in supplication, but with erect head and flashing 
 eye she answered : " And this you call the triumph of 
 
 347 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 brain over muscle ? The unsophisticated country boy 
 who lies in the jail of Stringtown County's seat is to be 
 hung by you, the professor of chemistry in this great 
 University ! The prisoner is defenceless, and yet he is 
 as innocent as he is defenceless. When the noose 
 tightens about his throat your position as a chemist will 
 be established, you say. God help you, man of science, 
 you who permit ambition to trample down your love for 
 woman, to crush your humanity to man, to break the 
 sacred pledge given in confidence to one who trusted 
 you ! " 
 
 " Susie, as sure as the sun ever shone I found strych- 
 nine in that specimen. As God lives, I swear it. " 
 
 " But if Red-Head dies a criminal and afterward it 
 should be proven that there was no strychnine in your 
 glasses ? " 
 
 " That day or night — yes, that very hour, I will pay 
 the penalty with my own life. I know how to mix 
 potions that leave no mark and yet do their work 
 promptly. If this be not strychnine my life goes out." 
 
 She turned to the negro, seemingly without having 
 heard my fearful pledge. " Bring the money, Cupe ; 
 other inducements than the pleadings of a lone girl must 
 be made, to affect a man bound to science." 
 
 The negro came forward, bearing a valise, from which 
 he took a heavy box ; this he placed on the table near 
 me. " Ma'se Sammy, et am de gol' out ob de ole chist 
 in de grabeya'd. De false bott'm what de little key 
 op'n'd cubbahed what de sheriff could n't fin'," 
 
 He opened the box; it was filled with gold coin; 
 never had I seen so much gold, never before had such 
 wealth been within my grasp. 
 
 "Take it all, Mr. Drew, and spare Red-Head. I ask 
 you to fulfill the promise made me years ago, and I 
 
 348 
 
Susie Pleads for Red-Head 
 
 bring you here a fee that will exceed many times that 
 paid by the prosecutor of Stringtown County. By right 
 of priority, by right of a sacred promise, by the profes- 
 sional touch of gold, I ask that you serve me and not 
 the Commonwealth." 
 
 '' You humiliate me, Susie. I cannot sell myself, you 
 know it." 
 
 " Take it all, and keep away from our Court. Let 
 the boy live." 
 
 " I shall go to the Court of Stringtown County and 
 testify to the truth." My eyes were fixed upon her 
 face, my voice was firm and determined. She saw that 
 no hope remained. 
 
 "You will regret this decision, but I now say never 
 shall your evidence hang Red-Head." 
 
 " But if he is proven guilty ? " 
 
 " He must not hang. Now I shall seek the man who 
 will listen to the appeal of justice, who can stand between 
 this uncultured country boy and the scaffxald. I came 
 to you of my own will, not by the counsel or consent 
 of Red-Head. He defies both you and your art; he 
 said to me : ' Goto the mountains of Eastern Kentucky, 
 take this letter ' " (she drew a letter from her pocket) 
 " ' find the man addressed and say to him that Read- 
 Head lies in the jail of Stringtown County, charged with 
 murder that he did not do.' " 
 
 I reached out my hand ; she did not put the letter into 
 it, but held it before my eyes so that I could read the 
 superscription : 
 
 Old Man Holcomb, 
 Bald Knob, Kentucky. 
 
 She turned to depart, preceded by Cupe, who bore the 
 heavy package of gold ; but before she closed the door I 
 
 349 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 spoke again : " Susie, the night is dark. Let us forget 
 that we have had this difference. May I not go with 
 you, Susie ? " 
 
 " I have no fear of any living person. Of the dead 
 there is no danger." Then she spoke again one last word 
 of appeal. " Mr. Drew, as you value human life ■ — 
 and more lives than one must go if Red-Head dies — I 
 beg you not to come to the next Court session of 
 Stringtown County." 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 " On your own account I plead with you, do not run 
 this great risk. Grant me this little favour." 
 
 Again I refused, and the next moment, alone with my 
 thoughts and with my science provings, my beaker 
 glasses, test tubes and reagents, I stood questioning the 
 future. 
 
 350 
 
CHAPTER LVIII 
 
 " POW'fUL INTERESTIN' story " (l JOHN, III) 
 
 THE mountains of Eastern Kentucky, their stores 
 of endless wealth, of mine, of quarry, and of 
 wood, their picturesque knobs and rocks, valleys, tor- 
 rents, brooks and solitudes, must one and all be seen to 
 be appreciated. 
 
 There are taller mountain chains than these, and 
 larger ones, too ; grander canons are to be seen in the 
 Yellowstone and along the Colorado, and in the Rockies 
 rise higher bluffs of black and red stone. No lava beds 
 in these Kentucky mountains speak of volcanic action, 
 no volcanic peaks cone the sky. The Laurentian chain 
 of Canada bears endless tear-bound firs, these do not ; 
 there is no other Tacoma than the one which in Wash- 
 ington State glitters in the sunlight and commands 
 homage from both the ocean of waters on the west and 
 the ocean of sand on the east. And yet while bluff and 
 ice and snow and fire and lava are not in the Kentucky 
 Mountains as they are elsewhere, charms there are which 
 no other chains possess. 
 
 The girl who pleaded with the University professor 
 for the life of Red-Head was now traversing these moun- 
 tain wilds on the back of a mule. Faithful Cupe trudged 
 on foot by her side. For some days they had been 
 beyond the track even of mountain wagon wheels. The 
 bluffs were either overhanging above or precipitous below, 
 but always present. The streams were often bank-full, 
 so that in order to progress long circuits were necessary j 
 
 351 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 but still she kept on her way, preceded by a young man, 
 who spoke but little and seemed concerned only in reach- 
 ing his destination. At last they neared a deserted cabin, 
 windowless and roofless. The chimney had fallen, the 
 logs were decayed and the mud chinking between them 
 had disappeared. A brook ran in the gulch near it, 
 while behind stretched a rock-clad hog-back hill that 
 separated this brook from the stream beyond. Hitching 
 their horse in the ravine where ran the trail, the young 
 mountaineer tramped a path to the site of the old cabin, 
 the girl following. 
 
 "Here's the place," he said, "but et ain't no great 
 shakes." 
 
 The girl stood a moment looking at the scene of deso- 
 lation, and as she did so her mind reverted to the String- 
 town schoolhouse and to the story of the feud related by 
 the Red-Headed Boy. The door was gone but frag- 
 ments of the casing still hung by two beaten iron nails, 
 and the rests for the iron bar that once held the door 
 were yet in place in the logs beside the doorway. She 
 seated herself on the heavy timber sill. Her eyes fell 
 to the projecting log by her side. A dark blue piece of 
 metal, partly coated with a white crust, was imbedded in 
 the end of it, a piece of metal from which the wood had 
 partly rotted away. With her fingers she scraped the 
 soft wood mould from about it, and then raised from its 
 resting-place a flattened weather-corroded minie bullet, 
 around which still were to be seen the creases that once 
 held the cartridge shell in place. A shudder came over 
 her ; she dropped the fragment into her pocket and raised 
 her eyes ; there in the trail below them, the muzzle of a 
 long gun in his hand, stood a grizzled old man looking 
 intently at that picturesque scene — the beautiful girl 
 seemingly so out of place in the doorway of those ruins. 
 
 352 
 
"Pow'ful Interestin' Story" 
 
 At this instant the young man caught sight of the 
 intruder. 
 
 " Thet 's him." 
 
 " Who ? " 
 
 " Old Holcomb." 
 
 The girl arose and started back along the trail, this 
 time preceding her companion, back toward the tall man. 
 His form was lank and uncouth, his hair thin and white, 
 his face covered with a crop of beard that had been 
 roughly trimmed with the scissors. He did not speak, 
 nor did the girl until she stood close beside him. 
 
 " Are you Mr. Holcomb ? " 
 
 " I 'm Holcomb." 
 
 " I came to bring you a message." 
 
 " From who ? " 
 
 ''An enemy." 
 
 " I hain't but one, an' he 's a coward." 
 
 The girl's eyes flashed, her fists clenched hard together, 
 the bullet in her pocket burned the flesh it pressed against. 
 She took it out and held the disfigured mass of lead 
 before his face. 
 
 " He was n't coward enough to shoot an ounce of 
 lead through a four-year-old child." 
 
 Not a movement did the man make. His eye pierced 
 her through, but she did not flinch. " An' who be yo' 
 ter tell Holcomb this; 'dy want ter wedge inter the 
 feud ? " 
 
 " Never mind who I am. I know who you are and 
 what you did. But I did not seek you to talk over these 
 things. I came to deliver a message." She took from 
 her pocket the letter she had already shown to Professor 
 Drew, and held it out. 
 
 Takmg it, but without opening it, the man asked : 
 " An' hev yo' come fur ? " 
 
 '^ 353 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 "From Stringtown." 
 
 " Yo' can't git back ter Hawley's claim ter-night, an' 
 thet 's the nearest stoppin'-place. Yoah shoes air thin 
 an' yo' air shiverin' like a young lamb in sleety weather. 
 Yo' wants ter be warmed up an' fed up, an' yo 'd better 
 go crost the divide ter my cabin, an' we '11 settle the 
 other matter thar. Yo '11 hev ter stay all night ha'ar- 
 'bouts." 
 
 These words were spoken in a kindly tone, and the 
 girl realised that he told the truth ; but she knew, too, 
 that excitement, not cold, was responsible for her shiver- 
 ing. Mounting their horses, the two travellers followed 
 the old man to his home. 
 
 In the common room, of that cabin, while she sat close 
 to the fire, he held the letter long in his hands, turning 
 it about and eyeing it curiously. " Guess yo '11 hev ter 
 read et ter me," he said ; then tore it open and handed 
 it to the girl, who complied, reading as follows : 
 
 HoLCOMB : I 'm Red-Head. I did n't come back ter the 
 moun'ns ter finish the feud 'cause I promised Susie not ter fight 
 lessen she married Drew. Then I 'tended ter whip Drew first 
 an' shoot yo' next. But I can't do either, fo' I'm in jail. 
 Drew 's got the pull, too, an' lessen I git help he '11 hang me 
 fo' killin' a man I did n't kill. I 'm not a pizoner, an' yo' 
 know et. I 'm not a coward, an' yo' know et. What I wants 
 is fo' yo' ter come ter Stringtown an' keep me from bein' hung. 
 You ain't much ov a friend, but yo've got grit an' got sense 
 an' kin shoot, an' that's the kind ov a friend I needs now. 
 Yo' know et 'ud disgrace the family yo' fought fer, an' the 
 family you fought, fer me ter be hung, an' I mussent be hung. 
 Ef yo'll come, tell Susie, 'n she'll tell me. Come ter the 
 Stringtown County Court an' stop the hangin' an' end the 
 feud. Red-Head. 
 
 When the girl ceased reading Holcomb took the letter 
 354 
 
"Pow'ful Interestin' Story" 
 
 and scrutinised it again. Evidently his thoughts were 
 not altogether in ihe present, for after a period of silence 
 he musingly remarked : 
 
 " Ef he 's like his kin, et 's the truth he told when he 
 said thet he 's not a coward. Them war a brave family, 
 an' grit, else thar'd been mo'ah 'n one Holcomb livin'." 
 
 Turning to the girl, he said abruptly : " I 've sot in 
 this old cabin nigh onter twenty years waitin' fer Red- 
 Head. I 've watched the trail in winter an' laid in the 
 shade in summer fightin' sketers an' flies an' keepin' my 
 eyes on the path ter git the drop on him befo' he seed 
 me. But he didn't come. Then I thunk thet he'd 
 turned coward, but no moun'n Nordman ever showed 
 the white feather ; 'n he said too when he left : ' Tell 
 Holcomb I '11 be back when I kin handle a Springfield 
 gun.' An' when I seed yo' two a-ridin' up the gulch 
 I felt monstrous good, fer I thought p'raps he 'd come 
 back, but without his moun'n manners, fer no moun'n 
 man in a feud would hev rid in the open like yo' did. 
 An' I saw yo' tramp up ter the old cabin an' sot down 
 an' pick the bullet out ov the log. Then yo' saw me, 
 fer I seed thet black-ha'red feller war not Red-Head, 
 an' stepped inter sight." 
 
 The girl shuddered, and the speaker said : " Sit closer 
 ter the fire, little one ; I 'm pow'ful sorry fer sech 
 squeemish buds es yo' be." Then he asked : " Red- 
 Head 's in jail the writin' sez ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 « Fer killin' a man ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " War et on the square ? " 
 
 " He did not kill him. Mr. Nordman died suddenly, 
 and Red-Head was charged with giving him poison." 
 
 Holcomb sat in silence a time, and then spoke in 
 355 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 reverie : *' An' he axes help from Holcomb, me who 
 wanted to shoot him befo' 1 died, me who killed his 
 father an' his mother an' his little sister, me who hev 
 lived alone in this cabin fer twenty years beca'se his gun 
 an' the guns ov his kin hed killed every other Holcomb 
 but me. Et 's a shame thet sech a family es his'n an' 
 sech a family es our'n should be disgraced by the puttin' 
 ov one ov 'em in jail fer pizonin'. I hates Red-Head 
 beca'se of the feud, an' I wants ter shoot him pow'ful 
 much, but ef he gits hung we can't fight et out." Turn- 
 ing to the girl again, he asked : " Are yo' sure thet he 
 did n't pizon the man ? " 
 
 " I know he did not. He swore to me on his bended 
 knees that he did not, and — he lores me." 
 
 " An' yo' loves him ? " 
 
 " I am his friend." 
 
 '' Chick " — and the old man reached out his lank 
 hand and gently stroked her hair — " chick, Holcomb 
 is awful sorry fer you-uns, fer Holcomb es bound ter 
 kill thet boy." Then he mused again, " Child, ef 
 Holcomb '11 swar' off the feud, an '11 go ter Stringtown 
 an' save Red-Head, will yo' marry Red-Head an' move 
 ter the moun'ns ? " 
 
 The sirl covered her face with her handkerchief. 
 
 " An' ef Holcomb '11 make over his property ter 
 Red-Head an' yo', will yo' name the first boy baby 
 Holcomb ? " 
 
 The girl made no reply, but sobbed quietly. 
 
 " Thar ain't no use in sayin' nuthin' mo'ah; you-uns 
 understands we-uns, an' yo' may go back ter Stringtown 
 an' say ter Red-Head these words : ' Old Holcomb says, 
 says he, thet he '11 be on hand when the day comes fer 
 business, an' that he'll save the honour ov the two families 
 one way er nuther.' Now stop yer cryin', little one, fer 
 
 356 
 
"Pow'ful Interestin' Story" 
 
 thar ain't no danger ov the shame ov hangin' come'n 
 ter Red-Head." 
 
 When " early candle-light " appeared, which was the 
 time for retiring, Holcomb brought an antiquated book 
 from out the cupboard, a copy of a Bible that had 
 once been much used, " Et have been many a day 
 sense a woman sot in this cabin. Thet 's the Bible 
 ov my gran'mam, whose great gran' mam brought et 
 from Inglan'. After she died et war read by my wife 
 every night, an' war being read by her that night when 
 Red-Head's dad shot through the winder 'n killed our 
 boy, who wah pow'ful religious, too." He turned the 
 leaves of the book, evidently seeking a certain chapter, 
 but as he could not read, Susie wondered how he ex- 
 pected to locate it. Suddenly he stopped. " Thet 's 
 the place now." A great brown blot of irregular 
 shape was splotched over one of the yellowed sheets. 
 " Thet 's the blood ov the boy. Mam never finished 
 the chapter, she could n't b'ar ter look at the place ag'in. 
 I 've wanted ter hev et read out fer twenty years, fer 
 et 's a pow'ful interestin' story. Ef yo' '11 jest read the 
 chapter out we '11 hev prayers, an' then yo' kin go ter 
 bed in the nex' room." And when Susie had finished 
 reading the " pow'ful interestin' story " ( i John, iii.) 
 Holcomb said : " Them 's my sentiments too," then 
 kneeled and offered up prayers in a homely way that 
 spoke of his earnestness and faith in the teachings of 
 his parents, "Now, chick," said Holcomb, "yo''ll 
 sleep in the nex' room, 'n this young feller 'n me '11 
 sleep in this 'n. The nigger kin go ter the outside 
 cabin." 
 
 " Ef yo' please, sah, Mr. Holcom', de nigger '11 jes lie 
 down befo' de doah ob de room de chile sleeps in. He 
 doan 'tend ter run no risk ob cotchin' cole in de wood- 
 
 357 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 shed, an' he doan 'tend ter hab de chile in one house an' 
 Cupe be in de uddah. Ef de Susie gearl speaks in de 
 night, Cupe '11 be in his place befo' de doah." 
 
 Next morning the three persons, old Holcomb in 
 front, returned along the mountain trail. All day long, 
 with his heavy rifle over his shoulder, the old man con- 
 tinued in the advance ; finally, near sundown, he relin- 
 quished his charge to a man who stood before a double 
 cabin near the road, and who in some manner had been 
 advised of their approach and was expecting them. 
 " Yo '11 stop fer the night ha'ar, an' in the mornin' he '11 
 see yo' ter the next stop. Thar ain't no danger ter yo' 
 in these moun'ns now, fer Holcomb hev passed the word 
 'long thet yo 're his friend an' air ter be shown ter the 
 stage line. Et 's sure death ter the feller what troubles 
 
 yo'." 
 
 Taking the hand of the girl in his rough palm, the old 
 man again stroked her hair with the other, as he had done 
 in the cabin, gently, tenderly ; then in a low tone, very 
 low, said : " An' yo '11 name the first boy Holcomb, 
 won't yo', jest fer the honour ov the two families, an' fer 
 the sake ov the old man who hain't no kin left ter leave 
 his name to ? " Then without waiting a reply, he added : 
 " Tell Red-Head ter rest easy, fer Holcomb '11 be on 
 hand an' stop the hangin' sure ; ef thar ain't one way 
 ter do et, thar air another ; thar '11 not be no disgrace of 
 hanging on yo-uns an' we-uns, child." He turned and 
 left the party in the hands of their new protector, and in 
 the dusk of evening passed from sight up the gorge that 
 led back into the higher mountains. 
 
 358 
 
CHAPTER LIX 
 
 "more lives than one must go if red-head 
 
 DIES " 
 
 THE day arrived for me, the chemist of the Univer- 
 sity, to return to Stringtown on my professional 
 errand, and I decided to start the week previous to the 
 convening of the quarterly Court. Carefully collecting 
 the reagents, apparatus and the specimens of the contents 
 of the suspected stomach, I next fortified myself with my 
 books of authority. These were packed in a specially 
 arranged valise, which, I may add, I did not this time 
 lug across the Suspension Bridge which stretched be- 
 tween Cincinnati and Covington. 
 
 Sleepy old Stringtown was reached at last, and there 
 at the door of our old home stood my mother. She was 
 feeble now — I caught that fact from afar — her hair, 
 too, was very white. I shall say nothing regarding our 
 meeting, which concerns ourselves alone. That even- 
 ing 1 walked down the narrow sidewalk toward the 
 grocery store of Mr. Cumback, meeting a few old 
 friends on the way and several strangers. I opened the 
 door of the grocery, the door against the glass of which 
 years before I had seen the white face of a rebel soldier 
 press ; that very pane of glass was in place, for I recog- 
 nised it by a well-known blemish across its centre. A 
 circle of men sat around the old stove, and Mr. Cum- 
 back stood behind the counter. Most of the members 
 were new to me, although three of the old-time partici- 
 
 359 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 pants were present. But how changed ! Judge Elford 
 was grand in his venerable, patriarchal appearance, very 
 feeble but his intellectuality had not diminished ; white 
 was every thread of his beard and of his flowing hair. 
 He arose as I entered and grasped my hand ; his eye 
 pierced me through, but very kindly was that eye- 
 greeting. ^' Welcome back to Stringtown, Sammy," he 
 said; " these years we have been expecting you on old 
 friendship's account, but now that you come on profes- 
 sional business we are not less delighted to greet you. 
 You honour us, my boy. We have kept watch of 
 your upward course, and hope that you will never forget 
 that your land is Kentucky, that you were once a 
 Stringtown boy, and that here you have many friends." 
 Then Professor Drake took his turn, giving my hand a 
 gentle grasp. " Sorry you did not come last night, Mr. 
 Drew, for I read a paper on evolution and talked about 
 that very interesting subject. You could have given us 
 much information concerning it. Don't fail to help 
 your old friends by a good word, Samuel, whenever 
 occasion permits it." 
 
 360 
 
CHAPTER LX 
 
 TROUBLE IN STRINGTOWN COUNTY COURT 
 
 JUDGE ELFORD arose, and locking his arm in 
 mine moved toward the door, as he did so excusing 
 both of us to the circle. " Mr. Drew will return an- 
 other evening," he remarked. " I would speak to him 
 in the quiet of my home to-night." Something in the 
 tone of his voice led me to know that he wished to talk 
 seriously in private, and as if to impress the fact more 
 emphatically, we walked in silence to his home. 
 
 ," Did you notice the tall, white-haired man who left 
 the room before we did ? " he abruptly asked. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " That man has been in Stringtown for a week. He 
 stops at the tavern, but has no business here, unless it 
 be in connection with this case in which you are con- 
 cerned. He has been asking questions of all kinds re- 
 garding Red-Head and yourself, and has inquired into 
 every detail of the poisoning affair. He has interested 
 himself in Red-Head's record since he came among us 
 as a boy. That he is not alone is shown by the fact 
 that many uncouth men call to see him, but they soon 
 depart. The rumour has gotten out that he is a friend 
 of Red-Head, from the mountains, and that a scheme 
 for the boy's rescue is contemplated." 
 
 " And how am I concerned. Judge ? " 
 
 " That I shall now tell you, Sammy. Would to God 
 361 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 you had kept out of this case ! You were asked to re- 
 main away from Stringtown until after Court week, were 
 you not ? " His eyes were upon me. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And the messenger told you that such was also my 
 desire and advice .'' " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Did you forget that twice you promised to follow 
 my advice when the time arrived for me to serve you by 
 asking you to grant me a favour ? " 
 
 1 made no reply. 
 
 " As a judge, sworn to do the duty of a judge to this 
 great Commonwealth of Kentucky, I could not well do 
 more. As a friend to you, I could not do less. Why 
 did you not take the advice of your two friends ? " Be- 
 fore I could answer, had I any reply to make, he contin- 
 ued : " Ugly things are being said in Stringtown. The 
 people of Stringtown County, too, are concerned in this 
 case, more so even than when old Cupe was tried for 
 stealing the gold. There are factions among us, and 
 some viciousness begins to creep out ; not that Red-Head 
 has made friends, but that this thing of sending outside 
 the State for an expert to testify against one of our citi- 
 zens is an innovation." 
 
 " But why do they accept that my testimony will 
 be against him ? " 
 
 " Because you are engaged by the prosecution, and 
 people believe that chemical experts sell their evidence 
 and give their testimony to support the claims of the side 
 that engages them ; and," he added, " it also seems to 
 me that expert chemical testimony is not always on the 
 highest moral plane." 
 
 " But I surely found strychnine. Judge ; should I not 
 give my evidence ? " 
 
 362 
 

Trouble in Stringtown Court 
 
 " It is now too late to retreat, and for this reason I 
 would speak to you in confidence, Sammy. Your father 
 was my friend ; you need advice, as I once felt you 
 might, and even though I am to be the judge of this 
 case, I am in duty bound to give it." 
 
 " You have my thanks for your interest, and I regret 
 now that I did not take the hint you sent by Susie." 
 
 "• Had I not believed that you would listen to her 
 pleadings, I might have made it stronger, but it is now 
 too late. Sammy," he continued, " are you satisfied con- 
 cerning the chemical provings you have made ? " 
 
 "I am." 
 
 " Is it not probable, or at least possible, that you place 
 too great credence in statements made by authorities in 
 whom you confide .'' " 
 
 "No, for I have verified the reactions." 
 
 " May not conditions unknown to you induce other 
 bodies than strychnine to give the same reactions ? " 
 
 " Positively not." 
 
 " Are you " — he hesitated slightly — " proof against 
 prejudice that on the one hand binds you to blind confi- 
 dence in scientific methods, and on the other hand leads 
 you to desire to help the side that secured your services ? " 
 
 I winced, for I felt the thrust even through the kindly 
 tone of the judge. 
 
 " I am a man of science, and free from prejudice." 
 
 " The faith you men of science have in human au- 
 thority, and the sneers you cast on the Supreme Ruler, 
 and the dogmatic conclusions of men who search in fields 
 your science is too feeble to invade, seem to me very 
 near man-worship or egotistical fanaticism. Sir" — 
 he spoke severely now — "I fail to see the difference 
 between your blind allegiance to ever-changing science 
 and the fanatical faith of a superstitious slave bound to 
 
 363 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 signs and omens, which result from the empirical obser- 
 vation of cycles of phenomena ; but let that thought pass 
 and turn to your own self. Are you free from human 
 error ? " 
 
 " Yes, in this case, for I have gone over the reactions 
 again and again," 
 
 " Enough, Sammy, enough ; would that I, too, felt 
 this same confidence in man's infallibility and in the sci- 
 ence that holds you in her toils. I am an old man, my 
 child, and have met many dramatic and pathetic experi- 
 ences. I have seen men shot in the heat of passion, and 
 have sentenced men to the gallows on the testimony of 
 witnesses who saw the plunge of the knife or the flash 
 of the pistol held by the murderer. But never yet have 
 I been forced to condemn a man to the gallows on the 
 evidence of a person who was in another State at the 
 time of the murder, who not only did not see the crime 
 committed, but who knew nothing about its occurrence. 
 And, Sammy, while duty to the Commonwealth will not 
 permit me ever to shrink from doing my duty to man 
 and men, in all earnestness I pray God to strike me dead 
 before on the expert testimony of Samuel Drew I am 
 forced to hang this boy. Mark well your words, Sammy ; 
 on them rests a human life. A defenceless man to whom 
 life is sweet lies now in the Stringtown County jail, — 
 one from whom no man has the right unlawfully to take 
 one bright day. Mark well, too, the position of your old 
 friend, the judge, who begs you to err on the side of hu- 
 manity rather than to do a wrong in the belief that sci- 
 ence is infallible. Give this helpless man the benefit of 
 every doubt, whether it humiliates your science, disturbs 
 your dogmatism, or checks your ambition. In after 
 years you will find that you have made no mistake." 
 
 I arose to go, arose without conceding that there was 
 364 
 
Trouble in Stringtown Court 
 
 a chance for me to err or relent. At the door the judge 
 held my hand long, and after bidding me good-bye said, 
 in the most earnest tone I had ever known him to use : 
 " God grant, Samuel Drew, that you do not cause me 
 to hang an innocent man ; " and after I had passed from 
 his door he called me back. " Sammy, there will be 
 trouble next week ; bear up bravely, dare to do right 
 even though it be at ambition's expense. Sammy," and 
 his voice sank very low, almost to a whisper, as his lips 
 spoke into my ear, " keep what I say in confidence. 
 The old man you saw leave the grocery is named Hol- 
 comb ; he came to me last night and I drew up his will. 
 He left all his possessions, both real and personal, to 
 Red-Head and Susie, share and share alike ; but said 
 he, ' In case Red-Head dies — and he may die suddenly, 
 but will never be hung — it must all go to the girl Susie.' 
 There '11 be trouble in Stringtown County Court next 
 week, Sammy." 
 
 I attempted to withdraw my hand, but the speaker 
 firmly held it and continued : 
 
 " This is Kentucky, not Ohio ; Kentucky, Sammy." 
 
 From the door of Judge Elford I turned with heavy 
 heart and lagging footstep toward the home of my 
 mother, realising now that the coming week would bring 
 a death crisis to some one I knew, and for the first time 
 I appreciated the fact that I was not a mere onlooker. 
 
 These closing words were in my mind when I raised 
 my eyes from the ground because of a step that sounded 
 on the stones ahead of me. A tall form came into the 
 moonlight, passed me close and disappeared behind me. 
 It was the old man from the mountains. 
 
 365 
 
CHAPTER LXI 
 
 SUSIE, RED-HEAD, AND MYSELF AGAIN 
 
 THE morning of the trial dawned, and I entered the 
 special bus that had been engaged to take two 
 attorneys, the judge, a few close friends of these gentle- 
 men — a few jurymen among them — and myself to 
 Court. It was the way that I had passed to the trial 
 of Cupe. 
 
 I looked neither to the right nor to the left as we 
 passed through the village, but followed Judge Elford to 
 the court-house, where I felt a sensation of relief as I 
 entered the portals of that stone building, with its great 
 round pillars in front and its iron-barred jail in the rear. 
 I then held my final audience with the prosecuting 
 attorney, and at last stepped into the court-room of 
 Stringtown County. 
 
 The judge sat in his place exactly as he did when 
 last I saw him, years ago, in that same seat. Time had 
 enfeebled him physically, but not mentally, for that fine 
 intellectual face and placid brow were surely the more 
 impressive by reason of the lines that age had deepened, 
 and by the touch of brighter silver left in his snow-white 
 beard and hair. 
 
 The jury was in its place, its members typical of the 
 former jury before which in this very room I had been 
 a witness ; some of them may have been the same indi- 
 viduals. Before each man stood that ever-present box 
 of sawdust, and from the movement of their jaws or the 
 
 366 
 
Susie, Red-Head, and Myself 
 
 pouched cheek it could be seen that none needed to be 
 instructed concerning the object of these utensils. I 
 seated myself by the side of the prosecuting attorney, 
 and then raised my eyes to the chair where sat the man 
 charged with murder, the very place and apparently the 
 same chair in which Cupe once sat. His hair was red 
 as of yore, sorrel-red, like no other hair I had ever seen ; 
 his eyes were fixed on my face, those same little yellow 
 eyes ; his red ears and that florid face covered with 
 freckles were before me again, lanker and longer was 
 that crimson neck. I looked him square in the eye, 
 and then my glance, not his, fell to the floor, but not 
 before I caught a glimpse of a gentle movement of the 
 left ear, the mocking movement familiar in other years, 
 and I knew that he yet defied me. 
 
 When next I raised my eyes they caught the form of 
 the sheriff, who with a brace of pistols in his leather belt 
 stood close to the prisoner, and then I turned to the 
 audience. The room was filled with men, and no one 
 needed to tell me they were from both near and far. 
 I recognised many Stringtown men, I also saw many 
 whom I felt were men of Stringtown County, and there, 
 too, sat the tall man from the mountains of Kentucky. 
 In full view of the prisoner, neither seemed to notice 
 the other. He was flanked on either side by a line of 
 men dressed in the same manner as himself; indeed, I 
 should say that he formed the central figure of a group 
 distinct from our home folks, but they seemed not to 
 know each other. 
 
 And then my eyes turned toward the front row, 
 scanning each face until they rested on that of one I 
 had not thought to meet again in the Court of String- 
 town County. There sat Susie, her eyes fixed on 
 space. My heart fluttered and I wished that instead 
 
 367 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 of sitting by the prosecutor I were in the place of old 
 negro Cupe, who sat by her side. Then came a mental 
 inventory, and by a mind-flash I saw that we three, 
 Susie, Red-Head and myself, were once more con- 
 fronting one another and our fate ; and I saw too, that 
 seemingly we had drawn into the turmoil all who both 
 loved and hated us, and it seemed to me as though, be it 
 superstition or not, every condition necessary to a tragic 
 end of one or all was now perfected. I knew the nature 
 of the men about, I knew that many men had but to 
 put their hands inside their coats to defend their honour 
 or their friends, and I realised, too, that every man 
 present knew both his enemy and his friend ; but no 
 evidence of this fact could be seen in face or action. 
 Then I turned again to Judge Elford, he whom every 
 man in the room respected, he who stood now before 
 all this assemblage sworn to sift the right from the 
 wrong, and who I knew — for he had told me so — 
 believed that before this case closed some of those 
 present would have seen their last of earth. 
 
 The case opened in the usual way, and interest soon 
 centred in the evidence that came rapidly before the 
 Court and jury. The prosecution announced that it 
 intended to prove that poison was the cause of Mr. 
 Nordman's death and that the drug had been purchased 
 by the prisoner, and administered by him to the victim. 
 To this the attorneys for the defence interposed a denial, 
 feebly it seemed to me, although it is possible that being 
 in the dark concerning the nature of the evidence to be 
 offered, they could not in opening make their denial 
 stronger. As the trial progressed it could be seen that 
 the judge proposed to confine both parties to a strict 
 statement of fact, for every attempt to interject side 
 issues or to go into personalities was skilfully defeated 
 
 368 
 
Susie, Red-Head, and Myself 
 
 by his rulings, and yet the day passed before the prose- 
 cutor was ready to call me as a witness. Every step 
 was tenaciously combated by counsel for the defence, 
 who, as the theory of the prosecution unfolded itself, 
 became aggressively violent and left no stone unturned 
 in his attempt to discredit a witness or cast a doubt on 
 the evidence. When time for adjournment came that 
 night, the prosecution had proven : 
 
 First. That Red-Head and Mr. Nordman had quar- 
 relled a few days previously to his death. It was 
 shown that, out of patience with his indolent habits, 
 Mr. Nordman had that day scolded him for not work- 
 ing. The witness who testified to this stripped tobacco 
 in Mr. Nordman's barn and heard every word of the 
 altercation, and also heard Red-Head swear that he 
 would be revenged. 
 
 Second. The village druggist testified that he sold 
 Red-Head one-eighth ounce of strychnine. His book of 
 poison sales on which the entry had been made and dated 
 was produced and admitted as evidence. The prisoner 
 had stated that the strychnine was for Mr. Nordman, 
 who desired to put it in the carcass of a lamb that had 
 been killed by foxes, which latter he hoped to kill when 
 they returned to feed, the coming night. 
 
 Third. The servants testified that Mr. Nordman 
 arose in good health the morning of his death, ate a light 
 breakfast, as was his habit, and that Red-Head alone 
 breakfasted with him. Very soon thereafter he was 
 stricken with a severe pain in the stomach, and then 
 they gave him a dose of laudanum and called the 
 physician. 
 
 Fourth. The physician testified that he found Mr. 
 Nordman in great pain, muscular convulsions having set 
 in and paralysis of the legs. He administered an emetic, 
 24 369 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 to which, however, the patient did not freely respond. 
 In reply to a direct question of the prosecutor, the wit- 
 ness said that the case presented all the symptoms of 
 strychnine poisoning. 
 
 This closed the evidence of the day, and I was in- 
 formed by the prosecution that my testimony would be 
 taken immediately after Court convened the next 
 morning. 
 
 370 
 
CHAPTER LXII 
 
 " THE FEUD IS OVER, HOLCOMB " 
 
 THAT night I awoke often, for in my ears rang 
 again and again the words of Judge Elford : 
 " You will hang the prisoner, Sammy." 
 
 That sentence still dominated my mind when Court 
 convened next morning; but when I looked at the pre- 
 siding judge no evidence of emotion on his part could be 
 seen ; passive and composed he sat looking about the 
 room, apparently as unconscious of personal responsibility 
 as any of the spectators. I seated myself by the side of 
 the prosecutor and proceeded to arrange my specimens, 
 reagents and the apparatus. The eyes of all in the 
 Court were now concentrated on me, even to that of 
 the prisoner, who, scarce ten feet distant, sat beside the 
 armed sheriff. Seemingly absorbed in manipulative 
 operations, I yet noticed every movement of those about 
 me ; from time to time I raised my eyes only to catch 
 the fixed gaze of whomsoever they rested on, whereso- 
 ever they turned — jurymen, sheriff, attorney for the 
 prosecution and for the defence, Holcomb from the 
 mountains, Cupe, Red-Head and Susie, all — all I say 
 but one, Judge Elford. He seemed unconcerned regard- 
 ing either my presence or my movements. 
 
 That he awaited my convenience I knew, and that 
 this famous case had drawn itself down and had focussed 
 itself on me I also knew. Amid intense stillness, friend 
 and foe, faction, feudist, judge, prisoner and jury were 
 
 371 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 awaiting my voice. I turned my eyes to the jury ; not 
 a mouth was in motion, firm set were each pair of jaws, 
 never before had such a thing been known in Kentucky. 
 The last touch was given the vessels before me, and then 
 I whispered to the attorney by whose side I sat : " I am 
 ready," and raised my eyes to the face of the judge, 
 who, catching the movement, without awaiting voice to 
 bid him open the Court, bade me arise. A strange inno- 
 vation did he then make, an innovation that struck me 
 to the heart ; for instead of turning me over to the clerk 
 to be sworn, as had been done with all other witnesses, 
 he too arose, and before him I held up my hand, and 
 from him came in deep, measured tones the question of 
 that solemn oath : " Do you solemnly swear to tell the 
 truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth .? " 
 
 " I do." 
 
 My voice startled me. If any man who reads these 
 lines could have been in my place, he too would have 
 been startled by that first word. The past, with its pre- 
 sentiments and omens, now crystallising into form, the 
 midnight pleadings of the girl I loved, the solemn advice 
 of Judge Elford, yet were in my ear. The ominous 
 circle before me, the doubt concerning the reception of 
 my testimony, and lastly the pensive face of Susie to my 
 right and the hateful face of Red-Head to my left were 
 enough to dispossess one more experienced. But the 
 sensation that followed these words passed and in the 
 calm that followed I became myself, ready to protect my 
 reputation. I looked at Red-Head ; his gaze was fixed 
 on me ; our eyes met, and I saw in them the full 
 measure of hate I felt in my own heart ; and then I 
 said to myself: "If I don't hang that fellow he will 
 shoot me dead when next we meet. If brain does not 
 conquer now, it will be muscles' turn next." Point by 
 
 372 
 
"The Feud is Over, Holcomb" 
 
 point the prosecution drew from me the statement that I 
 had examined the suspected liquid for all known poisons, 
 both inorganic and organic. And then I was led to the 
 reactions of strychnine and to its location among the 
 poisons. These I gave in detail, the particulars of which 
 need not be repeated, and finally I was asked : 
 
 " Did you get those reactions from the substance 
 tested ? " 
 
 " 1 did." 
 
 " Have you specimens of the substance ? " 
 
 " I have." 
 
 " Can you show the jury and the Court the group test 
 for alkaloids and also the colour of reactions of strych- 
 nine ? " 
 
 " I can." 
 
 " I ask, then, that Professor Drew be allowed to cor- 
 roborate his testimony by experiments that will substanti- 
 ate his words ; " and on this point, after a legal battle 
 with the attorneys for the defence, the judge ruled in 
 our favour. Then I made the tests for alkaloids with 
 the group reagents showing the presence of alkaloids. 
 Next I made the respective colour test with morphine 
 which did not respond and then with strychnine which 
 did, each juryman craning his neck close about me in 
 order to get a good view of the purple or blue-violet 
 colour that sprang into existence in that porcelain dish, 
 where the strychnine test was applied, to fade away into 
 green and red. 
 
 " That is the reaction of strychnine," I said, and 
 proved it by means of a crystal of pure strychnine. 
 
 Then came the final question : " You swear that you 
 found strychnine in the contents of that stomach ? " 
 
 "I do." 
 
 Opposing counsel now viciously assailed me, but to 
 373 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 no avail, for I brought forth my authorities and showed 
 that this test was accepted by chemists of the world, and 
 that Fowne, Fresenius, Turner, all considered it conclu- 
 sive, and at last triumphant, I was dismissed. 
 
 Judge Elford now came down from his chair. " Re- 
 peat the tests that I may see them close," he said. He 
 stood over me, and side by side, both with strychnine 
 and the suspected substance, I gave the test for alkaloids 
 and also the colour test for strychnine. The same violet- 
 blue colour came with both. 
 
 " Will no other substance produce that reaction ? " 
 
 " None." 
 
 " This is a great world ; there are many countries in 
 it ; do none of the thousands of forms of vegetation in 
 these various lands act as does this substance ? " He 
 spoke into my very ear. 
 
 " Not to my knowledge. Science says no." 
 
 " The servants administered a dose of laudanum, and 
 laudanum contains morphine. Is not morphine an 
 alkaloid ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I have testified to the fact that I also obtained 
 the colour reaction of morphine, but that alkaloid will 
 not give this strychnine reaction. Morphine is present, 
 so is strychnine." 
 
 " Have you tried this test with every plant, shrub, 
 tree, leaf, root, bark, fruit, that grows ? " 
 
 « No, sir ! " 
 
 " Have you tried it with all that grow in Stringtown 
 County ? " 
 
 " No, sir ! " 
 
 " Have you tried it with all that grow in and about 
 Stringtown village ? " 
 
 " No, sir ! " 
 
 " Have you applied this test to every form of herb, 
 374 
 
"The Feud is Over, Holcomb" 
 
 fruit, vegetable, grass, leaf, that grows on the farm of 
 the late Mr. Nordman ? " 
 
 " No, sir ! " 
 
 " Or in his dooryard ? " 
 
 " No, sir ! " 
 
 " Can you, then, in the face of the fact that you have 
 not tested these myriads of other substances, swear that 
 this is strychnine ? " 
 
 " On the strength of these authorities " — I pointed 
 to my books — " and on my investigations, and on the 
 fact that no other known bodies produce the same reac- 
 tions, I can." 
 
 " You revived the strychnine crystals, it seems " — 
 he pointed to the microscopic slide. 
 
 " Yes, sir ! " 
 
 " Will no other substance produce such needle-like 
 crystals ? " 
 
 " I know of none to do so and then react as they do." 
 
 " Would it not have been well to get from the con- 
 tents of that stomach enough of the pure strychnine 
 to kill a rabbit, and show its poisonous action in that 
 way ? " 
 
 " I had not enough of the material." 
 
 " You are willing " — and now the judge spoke very 
 slowly and deliberately — "you are willing, then, Samuel 
 Drew, before Almighty God, knowing that on your 
 words hangs the life of a human being, to swear that 
 strychnine, only strychnine, nothing but strychnine, 
 could have produced that reaction ? " 
 
 " I am." 
 
 The eyes of the man of justice fell upon his book, 
 and he made a note. I turned my eyes to the prisoner ; 
 he sneered in return. I sought the face of Susie, but no 
 expression other than sadness could be seen. Then the 
 
 375 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 attorney said, " The witness may be excused," and I 
 turned my gaze upon the floor. After the cross-exam- 
 ination which did not in any way break the force of the 
 evidence the case was ready for the defence, the prosecu- 
 tion having proved : 
 
 First. Mr. Nordman and Red-Head had quarrelled. 
 
 Second. Red-Head had bought strychnine of the vil- 
 lage druggist. 
 
 Third. Mr. Nordman had been suddenly stricken by 
 a severe pain in his stomach, accompanied by paroxysmal 
 muscular contractions. 
 
 Fourth. Strychnine was present in the contents of the 
 stomach. 
 
 But night was on us again, and Court now adjourned. 
 The next day was consumed in evidence for the defence, 
 then came the rebuttal by the prosecution, which right 
 was waived. 
 
 The fourth morning found the audience in place ; had 
 photographs been taken, the same faces would have been 
 seen in the same places, so far as the persons directly 
 interested in the case were concerned. I do not like to 
 reflect over the address of the attorney for the defence, 
 who, following the opening speech of the prosecution, 
 and realising that the evidence was against him, turned 
 all his eloquence in the direction of emotional humanity. 
 He depicted the unfortunate position of the homeless, 
 helpless young man before us. He pictured my conspic- 
 uous place in life ; he drew the sympathies of that audi- 
 ence to the prisoner, and upon me he directed their ill-will 
 and scowls. Hatred flashed from many an eye as he 
 took that little porcelain dish in his hand, and said : 
 " That man comes here from the North, he touches a 
 liquid with a bit of stuff, and it turns blue, violet-blue, 
 for an instant. He asks you, men of Stringtown County, 
 
 376 
 
"The Feud is Over, Holcomb" 
 
 CO hang a resident of Stringtown County because this 
 blue colour cornea in a dish. Kentuckians, did ever 
 Kentucky Court witness such a farce ? When a man 
 plunges a knife into another, a witness may swear to the 
 fact, for that is evidence of fact. When a witness 
 swears that he saw the flash of the gun or pistol, and saw 
 the victim fall, that is competent testimony ; but when a 
 man comes from afar and touches a dish with a glass 
 rod, and asks you to hang a Kentuckian because a spot 
 of porcelain turns purple, that is audacious presumption, 
 and is neither evidence nor testimony. Kentuckians, I 
 swear by all that is holy, that if you become a party to 
 this monstrous crime, a few dollars hereafter will hire a 
 horde of hungry chemists from the North to show a 
 colour in a dish to whoever cares wrongly to gain an in- 
 heritance or wishes to hang an enemy. There will 
 scarcely be time to keep the gallows oiled, so rapid will 
 be the hangings in Kentucky. No rich man will rest in 
 his grave with a whole stomach, for these ghouls will 
 find chemists to swear that all who die are poisoned." 
 
 Turning to me, he shook his finger in my face. 
 " There sits a man who lived once in Stringtown, who 
 should love his village and his State, but who comes back 
 to us to hang the companion of his youth. He and the 
 prisoner were boys together, they sat in the same school- 
 house, played in the same schoolyard, lived in the same 
 village. One is a /«<?«, the other a chetjiist ! but I say 
 in all earnestness, that I would rather be the innocent 
 Kentuckian who hangs — the man^ my friends — than the 
 renegade who hangs him ! " The attack was vicious, and 
 I realised that his words could move men to violence had 
 no violence been previously contemplated. Why did 
 Judge Elford allow this personal attack, some persons 
 may ask ? It was not his place to prevent the defence 
 
 377 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 from breaking my testimony by any method possible, 
 and when the attorney was through I realised that, re- 
 gardless of the verdict, I was disgraced in the land of my 
 old home, and I felt, too, that men present were ready, 
 perhaps by violence, to take the part of Red-Head, 
 should the jury decide that he must hang. 
 
 But the closing argument of the prosecution modified 
 conditions somewhat, and the charge of the judge to the 
 jury was so clear and comprehensive as to leave no cause 
 of complaint by either party. 
 
 " The evidence is circumstantial, but it is necessarily 
 so in cases such as this, for those who poison others are 
 never seen to do the act. They are like thugs who lie 
 concealed in the night and deal a man a blow from be- 
 hind. And yet," he added, "not only must the jury be 
 convinced beyond a doubt that the prisoner bought the 
 strychnine, but that strychnine was in the stomach, and 
 that the prisoner administered it. If such has been 
 proven by the testimony offered, the prisoner is as much 
 subject to the severest penalty of the law as though he 
 had fired a bullet into the victim." 
 
 Much more did this learned man say to those who 
 held the life of the prisoner in their hands; coolly, im- 
 partially, clearly, was the charge given. After the judge 
 concluded that afternoon the jury retired, and then we 
 sat awaiting their return, — sat until the evening's shad- 
 ows were nearly on us. 
 
 No longer an object of attention, I changed my place 
 to one of less conspicuity. I drew my chair back into a 
 corner made by the witness box and the prisoner's raised 
 platform, and from that position found that I could 
 observe the entire room, and be less exposed to peering 
 eyes. To my left sat the judge, to my right, in the 
 
"The Feud is Over, Holcomb " 
 
 second row of spectators, sat Susie and Cupe, and 
 directly in front of me the prisoner. By his side stood 
 the sheriff with exposed pistols ready for a touch, and 
 beyond these two, nearly in line with them, sat old man 
 Holcomb amid his men from the mountains. When I 
 looked at Red-Head, I could see the sheriff and Hol- 
 comb, for they were all in line and covered by the same 
 field of vision. Buzzing voices broke now upon the ear, 
 for during the recess the tongues of the men of String- 
 town and of Stringtown County were loosed. I fancied, 
 too, that many coats that had been buttoned previously 
 were now open, but this may have been fancy. 
 
 How would these men take the verdict of the jury in 
 case it was against the prisoner ? What would be their 
 programme ? I looked at Holcomb ; he made no move- 
 ment, nor yet did any of his clan. Red-Head sat impas- 
 sive ; Susie's eyes were downcast; Cupe seemed to be 
 asleep ; Judge Elford rested his head on his hand, and 
 tapped the desk gently with a pencil ; the armed sheriff 
 stood upright and still. Then at last came a message 
 to the judge, who sent back an order, and soon the jury 
 filed slowly into the room and stood in line while the 
 foreman presented a folded paper : 
 
 " We do hereby find the prisoner guilty of murder in 
 the first degree." 
 
 Then Judge Elford rose, and as he did so I caught his 
 glance, and so did others, for he swept his eyes about the 
 room, resting them now and then on a face. Finally 
 they turned to the prisoner. " Stand up, prisoner," and 
 Red-Head arose. 
 
 Slowly, distinctly, the judge pronounced the sentence 
 of death. Had I been the murderer the message could 
 not have affected nor shocked me more. Not a muscle 
 did Red-Head move, not a tremor in his frame, not an 
 
 379 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 evidence of fear or shame did he exhibit. And when 
 the words were spoken, " I do hereby sentence you to 
 be hanged by the neck until you are dead, and may God 
 have mercy on your soul ! " he gave no show of emotion. 
 But I saw him glance toward old Holcomb, who then 
 awkwardly arose, a picturesque figure, and amid silence 
 as intense as that in which Cupe figured in this same 
 room many years before, he politely asked of the judge : 
 
 " Is thar no hope fer the boy, Jedge ? Kin an old 
 friend from the moun'ns do nuthin' fer the lad ? " 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 '' Ef I '11 go down ter whar he stan's an' take his 
 place — will yo' let the boy go free ? " 
 
 " I cannot." 
 
 " Et 's a life yo' wants, yo' man ov law, a life fer a 
 life, but et seems ter me thet et ain't fair ter take a 
 young one fer thet ov the old man who bed lived his'n 
 away. I 'm old, Jedge, an' the boy 's young ; take me 'n 
 let him live et out." 
 
 " I cannot." 
 
 " He 's the last ov his fam'ly, Jedge, an' I 'm the last 
 ov mine. Thar ain't no hopes fer me, but the boy hes 
 prospects." 
 
 The judge shook his head. 
 
 Holding out his left hand and pointing his long finger 
 at the upright prisoner, whom he faced, the old man 
 slowly said : " He an' his'n killed every Holcomb but 
 me, an' me an' mine killed every moun'n Nordman but 
 him Thar's a feud betwixt him an' me, an' et must 
 be fought ter the end fer the honor ov the two fam'lies 
 what 's dead." 
 
 Then came a movement so quick that I, who had 
 both Holcomb and the prisoner in line, hardly caught its 
 import before the deed was done. The right hand of 
 
 380 
 
''The Feud is Over, Holcomb." 
 
 the old man suddenly drew a pistol from some unseen 
 pocket, and with one sweep of the arm discharged it full 
 into the chest of Red-Head, who, with eye close fixed 
 on the speaker, as that movement was begun, caught 
 one of the weapons from out the belt of the sheriff. 
 Younger, quicker and more expert, his hand was not less 
 sure ; the two flashes lighted the room as if but one, the 
 two reports were simultaneous. 
 
 A drop of blood sprang into view, just in the centre 
 of the forehead of the old man, who dropped lifeless into 
 the arms of his companions. The prisoner stood up- 
 right ; his face turned white, his lips moved slowly, and 
 as by a mighty effort he said : " The feud is over, 
 Holcomb." He struggled to stand, and murmured : " I 
 did n't pizon Uncle Nordman ; I shoots like a man ; 
 et 's a lie, I say." Then he sank slowly into his seat, 
 raised his head by one last effort and muttered : " Bury 
 me beside ov little Sissie in the mou'ns, and bury the 
 doll with me. I hain't no other friends but Susie and 
 the doll." 
 
 I, who sat near him, heard every word and saw every 
 movement he made. That flash came from a weapon 
 which did not rest, that bullet went straight to its mark 
 in the dusk of evening from a moving pistol ; and then 
 I thought of the five holes in a circle around a centre 
 shot made on a mark in the Stringtown schoolyard in 
 the years that had passed. 
 
 381 
 
CHAPTER LXIII 
 
 A STRANGE LOVE-STORY 
 
 NEITHER the next day nor yet the day following 
 did I return to the University. I had arranged 
 for an absence of two weeks, and of this three days 
 remained. Fortunate is it that this was so, for I was 
 not in condition to attend to my class duties. The 
 tragic ending of that trial unnerved me. In the privacy 
 of my home I repented over and again of my course in 
 the matter of this expert testimony ; not that I had any 
 question concerning its scientific accuracy and truthful- 
 ness, but because I appreciated that I had gone out of 
 my way to assume a responsibility I could easily have 
 declined. The penitence I did involved no change of 
 character, and probably had I to do the work over again 
 I would have made no change of conduct. The vicious 
 personal attack of that lawyer for the defence ran ever 
 through my ears, the pleadings of Susie in my laboratory 
 the night of the storm, and the generous entreaty of 
 Judge Elford in the privacy of his home — in which he 
 asked God to strike him lifeless rather than that he 
 should be forced to make a death charge on the expert 
 testimony of a chemist — would not be quieted. To 
 this may be added the effect produced by the dramatic 
 climax of the trial and the last words of Red-Head, 
 spoken when, for the first time, the only time, his skin 
 was white. I visited no one in Stringtown, I saw no 
 
 382 
 
A Strange Love-Story 
 
 one, and yet, I r-^peat, not yet was it remorse that pos- 
 sessed me. The second day of my seclusion passed, and 
 late that afternoon came a double surprise. Old Cupe 
 appeared bearing a letter to my mother, who retired from 
 the room to read it, leaving Cupe standing near where I 
 was seated. I exchanged a pleasantry with the negro, 
 to which he replied in his usual polite manner. Then 
 he added : 
 
 " Ma'se Samuel, yo '11 'scuse de ole man ef he ax a 
 quistion ? " 
 
 " Surely, Cupe." 
 
 " Et seems t' de fool nigger es ef Red-Head might 
 hab been alibe had he gone back t' de mount'ns 'bout 
 ten yeahs ago ? " 
 
 « Yes, Cupe." 
 
 " An' he would hab gone but fo' Susie." 
 
 " Probably." 
 
 " An' ef yo' had not come back t' tole de trufF 'bout de 
 pizon, recken de jidge might hab let him gone scott free ? " 
 
 « Possibly." 
 
 " De fool sign what yo' might hab fergot 'bout said 
 dat Red-Head 'ud die sudden an' dat Susie an' yo' 'ud 
 be de cause ob et. Fool sign, nigger sign, yo' know." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " But et 's monstrous cu'yus how et jes happened t' 
 come true — " 
 
 At this point my mother returned and dismissed the 
 negro, who did not have a chance to finish his " quis- 
 tion," but he had said enough to illustrate that he still 
 watched the record of the evil omen. 
 
 " Sammy," began my mother, " I hope to-morrow in 
 part to repair the wrong I did when I forbade you meet- 
 ing Miss Susie Manley." 
 
 " Miss Susie Manley ? " I asked in surprise. 
 383 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 "Yes, my son." 
 
 " Explain yourself, mother." 
 
 " The girl known as Susie, the adopted daughter of 
 the dissolute Corn Bug, was in reality the child of his 
 half-brother, Mr. Manley, who met her mother at a 
 Northern watering-place. He kept the matter secret, 
 but in some manner Judge Elford learned of it, and at 
 once visited that part of New York State to investigate 
 the subject. He found that Mr. Manley became in- 
 volved in a love affair with this woman and married her 
 in secret very soon after the death of his first wife — so 
 soon that publicity would have been a reflection on him- 
 self and a humiliation to his children. For this reason 
 perhaps, absolute secrecy was observed by him. The 
 judge states that he acted cruelly, even to leading her to 
 believe she was not married, and brutally driving her 
 from his door, but that was years ago, and no good to 
 the living can come of uncovering those inc' 'ents. The 
 sinful man went down to sudden death without having 
 done the child justice. Judge Elford found the record 
 in New York State clear and perfect, and on his written 
 statement, and a legal process as well, the girl has come 
 into her own good name and her share of the father's 
 fortune. This I did not tell you sooner, knowing that 
 you were worried over the case in which you were to be 
 a witness. But that professional subject is now off your 
 mind, and the future only concerns you." 
 
 " Mother, I thank you for telling me this, but I asked 
 no Court record to give me the privilege of loving Susie, 
 nor could I love her better had she a hundred birth cer- 
 tificates from the Court and from Society. You are too 
 late, however, in voicing your good intentions, for the 
 girl loved another; he is dead, and I testified against him. 
 She will never forgive me — never ! that I well know." 
 
 384 
 
A Strange Love-Story 
 
 " Susie will dine with us to-morrow ; she has accepted 
 my invitation. Cupe brought the note. This is a sur- 
 prise that I had in store for you, but for good reasons I 
 did not speak of it before receiving her acceptance of my 
 invitation." 
 
 " Susie corning here to dine with us ; are you sure of 
 it, mother ? " 
 
 " Read her answer." 
 
 " And yet, mother, I cannot believe she will, be pleased 
 to have me present. I fear the result of our meeting may 
 be painful to both of us." 
 
 " My child, you do not understand women. They 
 are not always what they seem to be, nor do they always 
 know themselves. Possibly Susie did not love Red-Head 
 as you thought she did, and even if it is true, she will 
 now turn to another." 
 
 I did not reply, for I was perplexed. My mother was 
 not a match-maker, and I felt that she wished only to 
 undo a wrong that she had previously done the girl and 
 myself. But she did not know all that I knew ; had she 
 done so, she would never have arranged a meeting. The 
 girl who came to my laboratory in a winter night and 
 begged me in behalf of Red-Head to remain away from 
 Stringtown, who stood indignant before me when I de- 
 clined to do so, who threw into my face the words, " God 
 help you, man of science ! " and then left me late at 
 night in that storm to seek the old man in the mountains, 
 could have no love for me. This my mother did not 
 know, or she would never have sought to bring us to- 
 gether beneath her roof. 
 
 At the expected hour the next day Susie came. Self- 
 possessed as she had always been, no evidence of grief 
 or traces of sorrow were on her face. We talked of 
 other times, of other lands and of current events. My 
 25 385 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 mother left the room. But still no word did we utter 
 concerning the tragedy through which we had so re- 
 cently passed, or of the incidents in which we had taken 
 part during the years that were gone. But I thought 
 of all these things, and I think she did too, although 
 no mention was made of aught that lay nearest my 
 heart. 
 
 When the hour for her departure arrived, I turned with 
 her into the way that led back through the pasture toward 
 her home. On the distant fence sat Cupe awaiting his 
 charge, and when he saw us he shuffled on ahead, leav- 
 ing us far behind walking together in the meadow. At 
 last we stood again in the shade just where we stood once 
 before on the crooked narrow path that led through the 
 valley ; in the very spot where I had handed her the 
 flower that afternoon long ago. Did she think of that 
 day ? I cannot say, but I know that I did, and impul- 
 sively, as I had done before, I caught her hand. 
 
 " Susie, when we last met in this valley I stood before 
 you as I do now, pleadingly, but you begged me as a 
 personal favour to ask my mother's permission to finish 
 a sentence that I longed to speak, and this request, in a 
 moment of weakness, I foolishly granted. I asked her 
 consent, as I promised you to do. Yesterday she spoke 
 again, and I am now free to say all. For I too have waited 
 long." I seized both her hands, pressed them between 
 my own palms and told my story. 
 
 She looked down into the grassy path, and replied : 
 " I accepted the invitation to your home to-day because 
 I wished you to tell me this that I might answer. It is 
 now too late. It is now too late." 
 
 " Susie, if it is too late, you have been the cause, 
 not I. I loved you then, I love you now. Is a man's 
 love so light a thing ? " 
 
 386 
 
A Strange Love-Story 
 
 " Mr. Drew, I am no coquette, and I have not sacri- 
 ficed my womanhood by leading you to express your love 
 for me in order to reject it. I have led you to say what 
 you have said in order to free you from a hopeless attach- 
 ment. This distress I once saved myself by asking you 
 to wait, as I knew you must wait if you sought your 
 mother's permission to speak. I gave myself this chance, 
 for I wanted to say yes ; I hoped that it might some day 
 be possible for me to say yes, as you have wished me to. 
 But to-day, without any hope whatever, I repeat it is now 
 too late." 
 
 " Do you love me, Susie ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I will never love anyone else." She had 
 withdrawn her hands from my grasp and stood with 
 downcast eye twirling a leaf between her fingers, then it 
 dropped on the ground. 
 
 " But you once loved Red-Head ? " 
 
 " As a friend ; misfortune drew us together. We 
 were both homeless. He was nobody but Red-Head. I 
 was Susie Nobody. Our sufferings and our persecutions 
 were in common. What could I do but cling to him 
 after that incident in the Stringtown school ? He loved 
 me, too, and he also knew that I loved you. Had he not 
 been true to the promise I forced from him by reason of 
 the love he bore me, long since muscle, and not brain, 
 would have won. Had I not pleaded with him, he would, 
 years ago, have done you harm, for murder was in his 
 heart. I loved you, and I saved you, but I sacrificed 
 myself in doing so. This I also wished to say before 
 you left Stringtown, for I long to have you think kindly 
 of me ; that is why I came to-day to your home, for this 
 purpose I am with you now." 
 
 " Susie," I said sadly, " I ask your pardon for the 
 words I spoke, for the unjust things I felt. Let the past 
 
 387 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 go. Be my wife ; leave Stringtown, with its hateful 
 memories; go with me to the North." 
 
 " It is now too late, I say, unless " — then she 
 stopped. 
 
 " Unless what ? " 
 
 " Unless I, too, learn to be a chemist and become as 
 assured as are you that strychnine killed Mr. Nordman." 
 
 " With your education for a foundation, two sessions 
 of special application will be sufficient to accomplish 
 you so that you can apply all the tests I used." 
 
 " And will you be my teacher ? " 
 
 " Gladly." 
 
 *' Will you promise to act toward me as though I 
 were any other student, to neglect me personally, to 
 reprimand me for my awkwardness, and be patient with 
 me in my dulness, to speak no word of love ? " 
 
 " Yes, if you will it so." 
 
 " I shall apply for permission to matriculate in your 
 University," she replied. " I shall ask to take a special 
 course in Chemistry, for that alone is what I need to 
 free myself from this suspicion." 
 
 " And when you are convinced of the accuracy of 
 the tests I used, will you be mine — my wife, Susie ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I hope it may end that way." 
 
 " It cannot be otherwise. But women are creatures 
 of deep prejudices and are often controlled by their 
 emotions and not by reason. What if you should not 
 be convinced ? " 
 
 "You will need my prayers, and shall have them." 
 She slipped her arm into mine, and we walked to her 
 home in silence. She understood me, and at last I 
 understood her. 
 
 After the parting I retraced my steps toward String- 
 town, and when I reached the spot where she stood 
 
 388 
 
A Strange Love-Story 
 
 between the hills I stopped and picked up the leaf 
 dropped at the moment she said, " Never will I love 
 another." I placed it carefully in my note-book, and as 
 I did so a face came from out the thick bushes that close 
 bound the path ; so close was it that I could have 
 touched with my finger the intruder. 
 
 " Ma'se Sammy, de spot fo' de sayin' ob yoah lub 
 speech wah slubrous, but de bush what meets de lebes 
 'bove yoah head wah a bad omen. De leaf yo' hab 
 picked up am a hoodoo leaf, et am de leaf ob de witch- 
 hazel ; de cunjah woman use et too." 
 
 I saw that Cupe had been concealed in the tangle, 
 and had heard our words. " Cupe," I said, " I tell you 
 again that I care nothing for your omens and charms. 
 Let the witch's leaf work its devilment, Susie and I 
 understand each other. You take good care of your 
 mistress, and I will answer for the safety of the keepsake 
 leaf in my vest pocket." The head of the old negro 
 was withdrawn, there was no reply, and again I turned 
 toward Stringtown. 
 
 389 
 
CHAPTER LXIV 
 
 "I CAME TO SAY FAREWELL" 
 
 IN my laboratory in the University on the Hill once 
 more I became absorbed in work. The past 
 seemed like a dream ; it might have been accepted as a 
 dream but for the presence of Susie, who faced me in 
 the classroom when I lectured, who patiently bent over 
 her desk in the hours of study, and who perseveringly 
 stood before her table in the experimental laboratory. 
 She came to her work regularly, and attended to her 
 studies as persistently as though her ambition centred 
 only on the science of chemistry. No word of praise, 
 however, did she get from me, for she gave me no 
 excuse to speak it ; no chance occurred by which I could 
 break my promise of personal neglect ; she would not 
 have it, and she knew how to hold me off. Strangers 
 were we seemingly to each other, although my coldness 
 was not self-sought. I was the weaker of the two, 
 much the weaker ; I craved to hold her hand again as I 
 did that evening in the path which led through the 
 witch-hazel bushes, but she gave me no chance. I 
 would surely have broken my vow, I could not have 
 helped breaking it, had she but given me a glance such 
 as she could have given ; but no glance came ; she was 
 not cold, nor yet reserved — no, nor indifferent. The 
 same eye that in the valley path led me on to speak of 
 my love now held me aloof. I taught her chemistry as 
 
 390 
 
'' I Came to Say Farewell " 
 
 methodically as I did the others ; only that far could I 
 go. No familiar word or pleasantry could I nerve my- 
 self to utter. She knew how to control herself and to 
 manage me ; she was strong and appreciated her power, 
 for more than once when I was determined to ask her to 
 reconsider her course and grant my prayer she gazed 
 into my face, and then my tongue failed. It was silent 
 love on my part, love that made my heart ache and gave 
 me greater pain than ever came from out the hate I once 
 bore Red-Head. 
 
 There came a day when this girl who gave me no 
 word or glance other than that of deep regard told me 
 that she had decided to go to Europe for a season. My 
 heart sank. We stood alone in the University grounds; 
 she had taken the opportunity of our meeting on a by- 
 path to tell me. 
 
 " Susie," I replied, " you do not know what I have 
 suffered since you came here. You have tantalised me 
 beyond endurance ; you know that I worship you, and 
 yet you turn me off as if I were made of stone. And 
 now you intend to leave for Europe, you who promised 
 to be mine when chemistry enough was gained to enable 
 you to verify the tests I once made for strychnine." 
 
 " I shall not break my promise." 
 
 " Then you will marry me, Susie ? " 
 
 " When I return I shall come to you, and shall stay 
 with you forever, unless — " She paused. 
 
 " Unless what, Susie ? " 
 
 " Unless you need my prayers." 
 
 " Twice have you said that you might have to pray 
 for me, Susie. What do you mean ? " 
 
 " That I may not find the test for strychnine as I 
 hope to find it. I am deeply troubled, Professor Drew ; 
 not cold, not heartless." 
 
 391 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 " And if you are not satisfied with my tests ? " 
 " More prayers will be needed than you will say, and 
 I shall devote my life to offering them." She left me 
 standing on the walk meditating over her words, and 
 soon thereafter she departed from the University. Cupe, 
 who had been her servant in the boarding-house, left, 
 too, when she did, but he gave me no parting word. 
 He had been very grum since our meeting in the 
 thicket ; possibly he was offended over the incident con- 
 cerning that leaf of witch-hazel which I refused to throw 
 away. 
 
 Another year passed. Premature grey hairs were 
 reflected from my mirror, for my beard and hair, too, 
 were touched with frost. My mother slept in the 
 Stringtown churchyard. I had learned to act the careless 
 man, to cover my heartache, to smile and say idle words 
 to women who led me to speak them ; to throw back 
 the laugh into the face of the man who lightly touched 
 upon my bachelor life. But these were superficialities, 
 beneath which throbbed an earnest heart longing for the 
 breaking of the dawn which would bring Susie back, for, 
 with the fanaticism of a fatalist, I felt she surely would 
 return. 
 
 I sat alone in my room one evening in December. 
 A flood of painful reflections came over me, and as was 
 my wont when possessed by melancholy, I arose and 
 paced the room back and forth. But as this brought no 
 relief, I next muffled myself and started to the laboratory 
 to brush away the torture of thought by means of the 
 diversion that work afforded, for I had learned that work 
 alone could crush these pangs. It was not unusual for 
 me thus to pass my evenings, and the janitor gave him- 
 self no concern when he observed a light in my private 
 
 392 
 
'^I Came to Say Farewell" 
 
 rooms. But I could not smother my heartache in 
 study. Again, as I had done that memorable night when 
 Susie came to plead for the life of my rival, I threw up 
 the window and leaned out into the blackness. The 
 trunks of the trees beneath me could be seen where they 
 cut the rays of light from a feeble lamp, but their arms 
 above were lost in the gloom. A soft wind laden with 
 moisture was blowing from the south, and it also bore 
 misty drops, not yet heavy enough to be called rain, but 
 still denser than fog. These beat against my skin, and 
 were very pleasant to my heated face. A sigh came 
 from the direction of the two briar-clad graves ; it rose 
 and fell as did the breeze, keeping time to the wind that 
 blew through the leafless branches. 
 
 Suddenly there was the sound of footsteps on the 
 gravel walk and someone rang the bell. 
 
 " Open the door; it is not locked. Follow the halls 
 to my room, No. 13 ; you need not knock," I called, 
 and turned again to my thoughts. 
 
 " May I come in, Professor Drew," and I turned to 
 meet Susie, who stood in the doorway. Springing up, I 
 caught her hand and drew her into the room, while 
 close following came Cupe, who remained standing 
 while we seated ourselves beside my table-desk. 
 
 " At last you are here again, Susie," I broke out 
 ardently ; " I have waited so long for your return ; you 
 come now to stay until death parts us." 
 
 She shook her head. " To-morrow," she said sadly, 
 " I must return to Kentucky. To-night you look upon 
 Susie for the last time. Mr. Drew, I came to say 
 farewell." 
 
 " Girl," I cried, starting up excitedly ; " you will 
 drive me mad. I have been led to hope and have then 
 been heart-wrecked, until I now am desperate. You 
 
 39^ 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 thrust the knife into my heart while yet I was a boy, 
 and then you held me off and turned it just enough to 
 wrack my soul. Now I tear it out and cast you off." 
 
 She, too, arose, and stood with downcast face, while I 
 turned and paced back and forth across the floor. 
 
 " Go ! " I said fiercely, and pointed to the door ; " both 
 of you." Neither girl nor negro moved, both remained 
 standing, and at last, relenting somewhat, I stepped close 
 to Susie, and in a low tone said : 
 
 " Do not look into my face ; turn your eyes the 
 other way, for I fear their touch. Tell me what it is 
 that brings you here to-night." 
 
 " I have already said that I came to bid you farewell, 
 Mr. Drew, and to add that wherever you may be in 
 future you shall have my prayers. I go to kneel and to 
 work, to do whatever good one feeble woman can in the 
 path that leads to final peace." 
 
 " I do not understand you." I spoke more gently. 
 
 " Nor can you. When I left this school I hoped to 
 return to give you my love and become your wife. But 
 I cannot marry a — " she stopped short. 
 
 "A what, Susie?" 
 
 " Do not ask me, for I cannot tell you." She cov- 
 ered her face with her hands. 
 
 " I demand it." 
 
 " Sit down, Professor Drew, and be patient. I will 
 tell my story, and then you may supply the missing 
 word." 
 
 394 
 
CHAPTER LXV 
 
 " YOU HAVE FOUGHT AND I HAVE LOVED " 
 
 " "VTEED I repeat the story of our first meeting, how 
 -*-^ with bleeding feet and sheet-white face you 
 ran into our cabin that night many years ago ? Never 
 since have I failed to see you when I closed my eyes 
 and thought of that incident, which Cupe and Dinah 
 took care I should not forget. They kept your name 
 in my mind, yours and that of Red-Head, I was taught 
 that a spell linked us three together; faithful were the 
 two negroes to their superstitions, in which I too be- 
 lieved, for I was not less ignorant than themselves ; 
 then came the journey to Canada, which I recall vividly, 
 although I was a little child. The movements of the 
 old slaves that night, the chaining of Red-Head to the 
 wall, the departure from the old cabin and the pathetic 
 farewell to the graves behind it, seem strangely real to 
 me yet ; but let that pass. In my new home, near 
 Quebec, I was baptised into the Catholic Church, and 
 Cupe, too, learned to conform to the sacred ceremonies 
 — for this the Lord be thanked. A miracle was it that 
 led me from that Kentucky cabin to the holy portals of 
 Saint Anne. I was young, it is true, and knew not the 
 meaning of all I heard in that sacred spot ; but the seeds 
 of truth were sown, and young yet was I when one day 
 we left that land of snow, as Cupe said, to find for me 
 my name. I could tell a dramatic story of a toxic 
 
 395 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 potion that a Kentucky man, my father, was forced to 
 drink soon after we entered the State. He pleaded and 
 struggled and fought to escape the ordeal test, and, re- 
 fusing still to grant my birthright, passed into the death 
 struggles ; but no good can come of reviving that 
 incident. 
 
 " At last we were settled again in our cabin home, 
 and then you came and stepped across the conjured 
 threshold. Cupe and Dinah whispered about you after 
 you left, and Dinah made another conjure for you as she 
 had done before. Then came the incident in the String- 
 town school and the cruel words of Jennie Manley. 
 You remember the part Red-Head took that day ; need 
 I repeat it ; need I remind you that, leaning on his arm, 
 I left that school for ever ? Red-Head and I were 
 thrown much into the company of each other thereafter ; 
 no other friend had I, no girl companions, no sister's 
 love, no woman's counsel, no mother to offer words to 
 guide me. A negro-bred child was I ; superstition came 
 with every breeze from without and every whisper from 
 within the cabin ; and the hatred Red-Head bore you 
 came also into my life to disturb me. But I yet read 
 and studied of other things ; my mind unfolded as my 
 form developed, and you know that, thanks to Mr. 
 Wagner and yourself, I received a good education 
 abroad. Finally you came again, as you may well re- 
 member, for it was the night you fought Red-Head in 
 my presence — as I never can forget." 
 
 " Tell me, Susie," I interrupted, " why did you give 
 me one of the roses and say that the other was for Red- 
 Head ? " 
 
 " Because I was a girl ; there is no other reason, 
 there need be no other. For the once I teased you, bu^ 
 I was a girl." 
 
 39^ 
 
''You have Fought, &c." 
 
 " You placed that reserved rose on my picture, 
 however." 
 
 *•' I thought of you only. I say, forgive me." 
 
 « Go on." 
 
 " Then came the question you asked when we stood 
 in the path in the valley, and then I did not do my duty. 
 I led myself to hope against hope. I should have said 
 no positively, but in a moment of weakness I deferred 
 the painful parting, in the hope that it might not be 
 necessary. Do you know that when I sought you in 
 this room to beg you to keep away from the Court of 
 Stringtown County, I came prepared to tell you of my 
 good name and to say yes, had you asked me to be 
 yours ? " 
 
 " You do not mean it, Susie ? " 
 
 " Surely, I was then aware of my birthright, and had 
 you not turned from me, had you not crushed my heart 
 by your coldness, had you sacrificed but a trifle of your 
 ambition for the love of your fellow-man, I would have 
 told you all. But you chilled me by refusing my simple 
 request, and I left you, for I had promised Red-Head to 
 carry a message into the mountains ; you know the rest, 
 you know the result. I kneeled beside the dead boy, 
 dead because of you and me, and then arose and linked 
 my arm in yours to help Judge Elford protect you from 
 the men about you. When I bade you farewell that 
 night. Professor Drew, we had approached the parting 
 of the way. 
 
 " Now the time has arrived for me to bid you fare- 
 well again, and for ever ; never again will we walk arm- 
 in-arm or meet on the same path." She wrung her 
 hands, but did not weep. Tears might have eased her 
 heartache, but no tears came. Suddenly she stopped 
 before me. 
 
 397 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 " You do not know what it is to live a tainted life- 
 course. You cannot comprehend the sufferings of those 
 who long for a touch of kindness from humanity, but 
 who meet instead the scorn of men and women. Oh ! 
 the misery of a hungry heart. I had done no crime, no 
 stain was on my life record, yet no friendly word came 
 to me from girls of my age, only glances that made me 
 shrink and creep back into the wilds. A woman longs 
 for love ; if a woman is happy, she must be loved." 
 
 " But I loved you, Susie, and you repulsed me." 
 
 " For your own sake did I do so. You did not know 
 what you asked, but I saw the danger you were in. 
 Better be dead than disgraced ; this my own experience 
 taught. My love for you was too deep to permit me to 
 bring to you ruin." 
 
 " Susie, had you married me, the taint, had there been 
 any, would have been brushed away. You are super- 
 sensitive, you magnify those things that have been close 
 to you. You have wronged us both, Susie ; you should 
 have married me and let me care for your future." 
 
 " Had I done so Red-Head would have shot you dead. 
 You might have been mine no longer than a day. I 
 saved your life as well as your good name by asking you 
 to wait ; I knew more than you knew then, and of these 
 things I know more than you do now. I did not say no ; 
 I only asked you to wait, Mr. Drew." 
 
 " But now you can say yes. Red-Head is dead, and 
 no stain of birth rests on you, Susie." 
 
 I read in her face the story of despair ; there was no 
 cry of anguish — none was needed — for voice could 
 not have carried the heart touch imparted by that look. 
 
 '' You once made a pledge, Susie, as I did ; and these 
 two pledges were recorded when we both were young 
 and foresaw not the future. The penniless Stringtown 
 
 398 
 
<'You have Fought, 8cc." 
 
 boy could not discern the independent man who was yet 
 to be, nor could the outcast girl divine that in a day to 
 come, her name would be the same as that of the proud- 
 est man in Stringtown County. And yet these very 
 things have come to pass. You were looking forward, 
 hoping against the impossible, to a time when the unjust 
 taint that saddened your heart vyould be removed ; I was 
 wishing for honours and position which seemed improb- 
 able. Those youthful pledges were blunders ; let us 
 bury them." 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 " Susie, an oath is no more sacred, if it be the output 
 of a foolish heart or of inexperience in the affairs of men 
 or of error of judgment, than a child's empty promise. 
 You were a foolish girl, I a silly boy ; the oath of each 
 was an error. Now when these absurd errors of both 
 heart and intellect can be seen, is it right that our lives 
 should be further sacrificed ? Rather, is it not a duty 
 that we should make amends for the crime we have done 
 in fostering this stupid fanaticism, which has kept us 
 apart in the past and bids fair now to wreck our future?" 
 
 But she made no answer. 
 
 " What is the object of life, Susie ? To rise in the 
 morning and go to rest at night, to plan and scheme and 
 work ! To laugh a little, smile a little. To speak a 
 kind word or say a harsh one, to lighten the heartache 
 of a fellow-man, or make his life more bitter ! To 
 make amends for errors, to fight, to love ! " 
 
 She raised her eyes. " You have fought, and I have 
 loved," and again her eyes drooped. 
 
 Then abruptly she asked : " Will you give me back 
 the little box I handed you that night in the cabin in 
 order that you might keep in mind the fact that I too 
 had made a pledge ? " 
 
 399 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 I drew from an inner pocket the tin box ; it had 
 never left me. 
 
 " And must I give this up ? " 
 
 "Yes; no man has the right to such a keepsake as that 
 from a woman in the place where I am soon to be." 
 
 I opened the box and drew from it a lock of black 
 hair. 
 
 " Can I not keep this lock of hair ? " 
 
 She reached out her hand, but I hesitated and made no 
 motion to return the box. " The keepsake was only 
 loaned you, Mr. Drew." 
 
 I pressed the tress to my lips and then gently laid it 
 across her palm. As I did so the empty, coffin-shaped 
 box fell upon the floor. Old Cupe shuffled forward and 
 picked it up. 
 
 " De shape am gruesome, Ma'se Drew. Yo' p'r'aps 
 memberlec' dat Cupe pinted t' de shape ob dis box de 
 night he han' et t' yo'. But de sign am fool sign, yo' 
 know." 
 
 " All signs are fool signs." 
 
 " P'r'aps yo' memberlec' dat yo' shake de han' ob 
 Cupe 'cross de doah-sill dat night, too. Guess dat fool 
 sign hab 'scaped yoah min'." He stepped back into the 
 shadows. 
 
 Then Susie resumed : " And this reminds me that I 
 am not here to argue over things that might have been ; 
 and reminds me also that I have not told you why I 
 came to-night. Listen. You applied the colour test for 
 strychnine, and on that test Judge Elford gave the 
 charge that led to the death of poor Red-Head." 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 " Laudanum was administered to Mr. Nordman be- 
 fore the physician came," 
 
 "Yes; I found morphine too, but no other alkaloid." 
 400 
 
"You have Fought, 8cc/' 
 
 " Professor Drew, are you aware that Mr. Nord- 
 man took his usual bitters before partaking of his 
 breakfast ? " 
 
 " And what of that ? Has not a Kentucky gentle- 
 man the right to take his dram before breakfast ? " 
 
 " Are you aware that it was a tonic made of wild 
 cherry bark, golden seal root, and whiskey ? " 
 
 I saw that while the girl had not yet unfolded her 
 scheme she was driving me to a corner. Suddenly we 
 became antagonists. 
 
 "Why did you come here to-night," I said. " Have 
 you not done enough of wickedness in wrecking my 
 past life ? But for you Red-Head would have gone 
 back to the mountains." 
 
 " I repeat, Mr. Drew, the tonic Mr. Nordman drank 
 was made of golden seal root, wild cherry bark, and 
 whiskey." 
 
 " The fact, if it be fact, has nothing to do with the 
 strychnine," I sneered. " That is a very common tonic 
 in Kentucky. 
 
 " Golden seal contains a colourless, innocent alkaloid." 
 
 I stood so near that I could easily have touched her. 
 Her eye was fixed on mine, and I felt its force when 
 she spoke that name, golden seal. I saw now, too, the 
 end of her argument, and that she proposed to claim 
 that I had mistaken this substance for strychnine. 
 
 " I '11 squeeze her pretty throat," I thought to myself. 
 " The love of other men has suddenly changed to 
 hatred ; for less than this other men have strangled 
 women they held dear." I raised my hand ; the mus- 
 cles of my wrists were fixed, the fingers claw-like ; the 
 devil possessed me when I lifted my arm against that 
 defenceless girl. 
 
 But a black face came now between us, a black hand 
 
 26 401 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 pushed the girl back. " De gearl am but a chile, Ma'se 
 Samuel ; lis'n t' de chile." 
 
 Thrusting the negro off, I attempted to reach again 
 for the throat of Susie, who, making no movement, 
 stood seemingly undisturbed. Then I was looking into 
 the muzzle of a pistol. " Yo' 'blege de nigger t' keer 
 fo' de chile ; better yo' let her go on wid de story an' 
 den go back t' Kaintuck. Cupe am monstrous suah yo' 
 caint hurt de chile." 
 
 There was no effort to sham action. I knew that 
 the negro would shoot before I could harm his charge. 
 My arm dropped and the watchful guardian slunk 
 back. Then Susie continued : 
 
 " Golden seal, I said." She looked me in the eye, 
 awaiting my answer. 
 
 " Even if this is so, that substance is not a poison, 
 nor does it give the strychnine poison test." 
 
 She took from her pocket a small vial containing a 
 white powder. " Will you test that powder for strych- 
 nine ? " 
 
 I turned to my reagents, always convenient in this 
 laboratory, and applied the test. The blue-violet colour 
 of strychnine sprang into existence. " It contains strych- 
 nine," I said with some agitation. 
 
 " It does not." 
 
 " Susie, that is strychnine. I have sworn to it be- 
 fore, and now reaffirm my statement, but I add to it 
 the further oath, as in this very room I have done be- 
 fore. My reputation is at stake. If that he not strych- 
 nine my life goes out" 
 
 " Please do not think of violence. I beg you to do 
 no harm to yourself. I, too, made a pledge that night, 
 a silent vow, and am now on my way to begin its fulfil- 
 ment. Now I seek you to release you from thought of 
 
 402 
 
« H 
 
 SI 
 
"You have Fought, &c." 
 
 me, not to judge you further. This I promised you to 
 do. My object is but to show you that I must go else- 
 , where than with you. Put up the weapon, Cupe. Pro- 
 fessor Drew would not harm me." 
 
 I was silenced. Again I tested the powder, first 
 for alkaloids, then for strychnine, and again the char- 
 acteristic colour appeared. " It surely contains some 
 strychnine." 
 
 " No trace of strychnine, Mr. Drew, I assure you. 
 Under these conditions, your test is at fault. I believed 
 you were wrong when you testified before the Court. 
 I knew that Red-Head told no lie. You swore by your 
 tubes and glasses, but I believed in the word of a human 
 being in whom I trusted. You were a great chemist, 
 I a weak girl. You powerful, I helpless. And yet I 
 was right and you were wrong." 
 
 " And so you assert," I continued, " that strychnine 
 was not present ? " 
 
 " Alas, yes ! You have but to properly mix hydrastine 
 and morphine to obtain the colour reaction of strychnine, 
 although neither will give it alone. These two sub- 
 stances vou admit were present in the material you 
 tested, do you not ? " 
 
 « I do." 
 
 She held out her hand. " Good-bye, Professor Drew. 
 I shall leave you now ; at your leisure in daylight you 
 may verify my statement." 
 
 " Where are you going, Susie ? " 
 
 " Where neither taint of birth nor dishonour rests on 
 any soul ; where purity of heart and love of God are 
 one and inseparable ; where ascend the prayers of those 
 who live not for themselves, but to work in humanity's 
 behalf. If from this peaceful Mother Home I go out 
 into the world, it shall be to serve mankind, and when 
 
 403 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 the life-work to which I devote myself henceforth is 
 done, my body will rest in the blessed home of the 
 dead, where cluster others who live to love, and pray 
 and die in Nazareth. But while I live you shall not 
 want for prayers, my brother." She extended her 
 hand. '' Bid Susie farewell for ever." 
 
 She turned to the door, and then my self-possession 
 deserted me. Leaping forward, clasping her arm with 
 both hands, I held her back. " Come back, my dear 
 one," I cried ; " you have no right to bury yourself 
 alive ; you can live with me, and yet pray for me, and 
 serve mankind and God, too, by living in the world." 
 
 Then uprose the words Judge Elford once had spoken, 
 a prophecy now : " Such a lovely creature must be holier 
 and lovelier if blossomed untarnished in heaven." 
 
 She dropped her eyes, and I saw a tear glisten and 
 then roll from her half-closed lashes. 
 
 " I cannot. The pledge is made." Still I held her 
 hands. 
 
 " Thank God for the one tear you have shed, Susie. " 
 
 Preceded by Cupe, she moved into the dimly lighted 
 hall and then drew her arm from my grasp, passing 
 onward until by an angle both were shut from my sight. 
 And then I stepped to the front window, threw it up 
 and again leaned out. From toward the left, where slept 
 old Scroggins and his sister, came the weird song that 
 the night sometimes sings ; it rose as my wild heart- 
 cry had done, and died into nothingness, as had my 
 fruitless pleadings. From beneath me just then two 
 forms passed into the feeble light of the gas-lamp and 
 next were swallowed in the darkness beyond. 
 
 404 
 
CHAPTER LXVI 
 
 *' TO WHAT HAS AMBITION LED ? " 
 
 I CANNOT say how long I leaned out of the 
 window. My heart was desolate. That mournful 
 tune of the wind and the two forms that vanished in the 
 night as the sad refrain wore out were companion pieces 
 which by eye and ear carried despair to my soul. But 
 at last I did turn back and closed the window. On the 
 table stood that vial of white powder and beside it also 
 the dishes used in testing it. 
 
 To my mind came the fearful oath I made to Susie 
 when I affirmed that strychnine surely existed in that 
 test case. " I know potions which leave no mark and 
 yet do their work promptly. If this be not strychnine 
 my life goes out." I turned to my locked cupboard, in 
 which were to be found my most valued and rarest 
 specimens. Opening it, I took therefrom a wide- 
 mouthed bottle containing a quantity of small plant 
 bulbs and a letter. Removing the letter, I replaced the 
 bottle of bulbs, and turning the key, seated myself before 
 my desk. Unfolding the letter, which was post-marked 
 in a certain part of Arkansas, I read as follows : 
 
 My dear Professor Drew : By mail to-day I send you a 
 plant which grows in this section and a few bulbs from the 
 same species. These possess remarkable powers. Three 
 children recently ate of them and died slowly and painlessly. 
 They retained possession of their full mental powers to the last. 
 
 405 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 My efforts to relieve them were aseless. I have tried the 
 tincture of the bulbs on rabbits ; they became languid, seemed 
 not to suffer at all, but slowly wasted away. At last they quietly 
 went to sleep and did not awaken. In the same manner the 
 children died. Please give me the name of the plant, and also 
 investigate its constituents. 
 
 Sincerely yours. 
 
 The name of the writer I suppress ; he is a reputable 
 physician. Across the face of the letter in my own 
 writing I find recorded : " Too dangerous a drug to 
 be made known through science to the public." Twist- 
 ing the letter, I touched it to the flame, watching it 
 burn to the last spark, and then I turned off the gas 
 and went home. The next day I asked William, my 
 assistant, to remain after school hours, saying that I 
 had a powder to investigate. Together we applied the 
 strychnine colour test, to which it responded. Then 
 pure white alkaloid of Golden seal and pure morphine 
 were separately tested, no blue-violet colour occurring 
 with either. Mixed in proper proportion (one part 
 of the alkaloid to four of morphine), the reaction of 
 strychnine asserted itself. 
 
 I said to my assistant : " Bring me the reserved por- 
 tion of the material we tested in the Stringtown poisoning 
 case." 
 
 He went to the basement and returned with it. This 
 substance we also tested, with the former result. The 
 next day we purified the crystals, and by appropriate 
 method, now that I had an inkling of the nature of the 
 mixture, I separated the alkaloids. No strychnine was 
 present. 
 
 '* I can supply the word Susie did not speak when 
 she refused to finish a sentence, William." 
 
 406 
 
"To What has Ambition Led" 
 
 " What word : " 
 
 " Never mind. I shall do my duty." I opened my 
 private locker, and took the bottle containing the bulbs. 
 " William, crush these bulbs in the iron mortar, add 
 alcohol, make a tincture of them. Be very careful ; 
 this makes a powerful potion. William," I added, " I 
 shall be very busy for a time writing a work which I 
 wish to complete within three months. I shall consider 
 it a favour if during that period you will assume all 
 possible details of the laboratory. You may leave me 
 now ; I wish to begin." 
 
 PVom that day I spent my spare time at my desk. 
 I lived my life over and passed again through the scenes 
 which concerned me in my boyhood. And each day, 
 with the cold determination of a fatalist who had sworn 
 to do an act of justice, I took ten drops of the tincture 
 made of the bulbs from Arkansas. From day to day 
 I grew weaker, but suffered no pain. My friends were 
 at last alarmed. I gracefully submitted to the closest 
 examination that the medical profession could make, but 
 no fault could be found with any organ. No specialist 
 could discover an abnormal condition. Still, I lost 
 strength, flesh, and energy. At last I kept to my room, 
 and then became confined to my bed. Wise old Doctor 
 Smith thought he knew everything, but I smiled at his 
 lack of knowledge in this case. He was a professional 
 man of attainments, — la scientific man, and we were 
 both taking a lesson of our master, empiricism. At last 
 he declared that his tonics and stimulants had on me no 
 more effect than water ; and then I asked : " Doctor, 
 how long will I last if no sudden change for the worse 
 occurs ? Do not be afraid to tell me. Doctor. I knew 
 ten weeks ago that your remedies could not avail in my 
 case." 
 
 407 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 "Professor, you will surely last two weeks," he replied. 
 "What puzzles me, however, is that you have no symp- 
 tom of disease, no pain, no loss of appetite, no fever, no 
 delirium, no depression. Your temperature is normal, 
 your heart-beats strong and full ; you are well in every 
 way, but are slowly wasting." 
 
 " I have been declining for ten weeks," I answered. 
 " But death like this is pleasant ; at least, it would be to 
 one whose mind is free from remorse. Will you do me 
 the favour to send William to me. Doctor," I asked, 
 " and at once ? " 
 
 " It is useless to attempt to deceive you ; too well 
 you appreciate your condition," replied the physician. 
 " I shall send William, and to-morrow will call as usual, 
 hoping that this last prescription will effect a change." 
 I smiled in reply, and the wise man left me. 
 
 " Be seated, William," I said when he came ; " I 
 have a favour to ask of you and a story to tell. But 
 before beginning, lock the door : we must not be dis- 
 turbed. Now, open that drawer, take from it the 
 package of manuscript, put it on the table and after 
 this interview, in detail at your leisure record and add to 
 the manuscript the substance of this interview. Draw 
 your chair closer to my bedside, for talking exhausts one 
 as weak as I am." 
 
 Here ends the manuscript as written by the hand of 
 Professor Drew. J. U. L. 
 
 408 
 
CHAPTER LXVII 
 
 THE MUSIC AND THE VOICE DIE OUT FOREVER 
 
 MANY of the residents of Northern Kentucky can 
 recall the familiar form of old Cupe, a black 
 man who, with violin in hand, during the summer 
 months wandered about that section of the State. His 
 garments were of many colours and patterns, and were 
 abundantly and curiously patched. Old and feeble was 
 he, queer in action and shrewd in tongue, but polite to a 
 fault. To one man he would give a curt question, to 
 another a shrewd reply or a comical side remark, but 
 always would he ask of each : " Hab yo' seed de Susie 
 chile sense I gwine dis way ? " or, " Hab de deah Susie 
 chile gwine yoah way ? " Some considered him a pro- 
 fessional vagrant, others thought him demented, although 
 there were people who knew that he was searching for 
 his life charge, who disappeared from Stringtown seem- 
 ingly without bidding any one farewell. It was gener- 
 ally accepted that the childishness of age had touched 
 him, and all agreed that the demented old man was 
 harmless. 
 
 Three days before the close of the Period of Retreat 
 at beautiful Nazareth, in Kentucky, the Mother Home 
 of the patient Sisters of Charity, the form of old Cupe 
 might have been seen advancing along the road from 
 the village of Bardstown. Reaching the entrance to the 
 grounds that surround the quiet building which shelters 
 
 409 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 those self-sacrificing women, whose greatest pleasure 
 lies In doing charity in the world, and in praying for the 
 betterment of mankind, he passed the entrance and 
 reached the broad avenue that leads to the central build- 
 ing. Passing along this, he came to a lane which led to 
 the right and terminated before an uplifted cross bearing 
 the form of the Saviour, while at its base were many 
 rows of modest white tombstones. The old man bent 
 the knee, as is the wont of all good Catholics before a 
 sacred shrine (although he was not a Catholic), and then 
 passed on toward the house before him. It was the 
 hour of five, the hour for closing the service in the little 
 chapel which nestled to the right of the great home 
 building. From out the front door came now the good 
 Sisters in their sable dress and white caps ; silently they 
 scattered over the grounds, each absorbed in meditation. 
 The negro stepped to the side of the elm-flanked road, 
 took off his tattered hat, and with bent form stood as 
 silent as were the nuns who passed in pairs and in groups. 
 The eyes of a few were raised as they met his shadow 
 on the drive, but they dropped at once; still the major- 
 ity moved on without making any recognition whatever 
 of the presence of the lonely man who had entered that 
 sanctuary. Then along the path came one of the throng 
 whose face arrested the gaze of the negro. His torn hat 
 now dropped to the ground, the hickory cane fell from 
 his nervous grasp, and then he kneeled on the gravel 
 with eyes riveted on the girl. Raising his arms, he ex- 
 tended them toward the silent woman, " Susie." 
 
 Hearing the voice, she raised her eyes and caught 
 sight of the intruder. A sudden start, a step toward the 
 kneeling man, a reaching out of her arms, and then, as 
 could be seen, by a strong mental effort her form re- 
 sumed its normal position, her eyes dropped again to the 
 
 410 
 
The Music and the Voice, &c. 
 
 ground, and she too passed on, and walked through the 
 lane that led toward the crucifix. 
 
 The negro arose and remained standing by the edge 
 of the gravel roadbed, until the silent Sisters retraced 
 their steps, but this time the face he knew so well passed 
 him by, no upturned eye met his look, no faltering step 
 nor outstretched arm ; and as night fell the aged wan- 
 derer turned and left the sacred grounds. 
 
 The next afternoon the old man again stood beside the 
 avenue at the very junction of the path, again he kneeled 
 and held out his arms toward the sweet-faced girl, and 
 imploringly called her name ; but this time she made no 
 recognition of his presence. True to her vow, with- 
 standing temptation — for this friend of other days stirred 
 her emotions to the heart-depths — she passed, and turned 
 back to leave him in the gloom of evening standing, vio- 
 lin in hand, as before. But the next afternoon the Re- 
 treat of Silence ended, for the eight days of prayer and 
 meditation had passed, and then the faithful nuns came 
 out of the church talking with one another, and free to 
 speak with whomsoever they met. And now the girl 
 called Susie sought at once the spot where the negro 
 stood ; she held out both her hands, and burst into tears. 
 
 " And is this dear old Cupe ? " 
 
 " Et am Cupe. He hab trabelled up an' down, up 
 an' down, lookin' fo' de Susie chile." 
 
 " Susie no longer, Cupe ; no longer the Susie you 
 knew in the world." 
 
 " Yo' am walkin' an' talkin' an' yo' hab de same 
 sweet face." 
 
 " Tell me of Aunt Dinah." 
 
 " She am pow'ful weak, an' sits in de ole cabin waitin' 
 fo' Susie ; an' each time when Cupe come up de walk an' 
 look in de doah she say, ' Wha' am de Susie chile ? ' 
 
 411 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 An' den Cupe say to hisse'f, ' Go back, ole Cupe, an' 
 walk up an' down till de gearl am foun'.' " 
 
 " Did you get the money I placed with Judge Elford 
 to care for you and Dinah during your lives ? " 
 
 " Et am all safe waitin' fo' de Susie gearl t' come 
 back an' spen' et." 
 
 " That can never be, Cupe." 
 
 *' An' caint yo' go back wid de ole man ? " 
 
 " No ; this is my home, and that lane leads to my 
 final resting-place. Never yet did one of my sisters 
 break her vow, nor shall I. Go back to Dinah, Cupid, 
 say to her that Susie is no longer a part of the world." 
 
 He thrust his hands into the mass of rags in which he 
 was clothed, and took out a purse well filled with bills. 
 " Yo '11 honah de ole man by takin' de money." 
 
 " Is this part of the money I left with Judge Elford to 
 support you and Dinah ? " 
 
 "Et am." 
 
 " Carry it to Dinah. I have no need of money ; I 
 am comfortable." 
 
 " An' mus' de ole man go home alone an' say t' 
 Dinah de dear gearl '11 nebbah come back t' de cabin ? " 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 " Could n't Cupe an' Dinah come t' a cabin h'ar'bout 
 an' lib wha' dey kin see de big house yo' libs in ? Et 
 'ud be monstrous soovin' t' de ole man." 
 
 " No, Cupe ; bid me good-bye and go home to 
 Dinah." 
 
 " Please, Missus Susie, yo' needn't feah no troub'l ; 
 Cupe '11 jes come down t' de walk in de ebenin' an' stan' 
 by de side ob de road, an' he won't say nuffin' t' boddah 
 yo'. Yo' may pass up an' down, an' Cupe '11 look 
 on yoah sweet face, an' den tu'n 'bout an' go back t' 
 Dinah." 
 
 412 
 
The Music and the Voice, Sec. 
 
 " I am with you always, I love you as much as ever. 
 But you must not come here to live. Go back to Dinah 
 and be happy in the old cabin." 
 
 "An' dis am de end," he muttered, " de end ob de 
 walkin' up an' down, an' up an' down." Then he 
 added : " Ef yo'll be de one t' say good-bye, an' '11 let de 
 ole man stan' heah fo' a bit t'-night, dah won't be no 
 cause t' scold him, fo' in de mahn'n he'll be walkin' 
 back t' Stringtown. Honey chile, he wants t' stan' 
 heah till de sun goes down, till de da'kness settles obah 
 de Ian' an' obah de house what shets yo' up ferebah." 
 
 " Good-bye, Cupe, my dear old Cupe," said the sweet- 
 faced Sister. She pressed his black, wrinkled hands be- 
 tween her white palms, while the tears trickled down her 
 cheeks. Then she turned and left him standing where 
 the cemetery path joins the great elm avenue which leads 
 down to Nazareth. 
 
 The shadows settled as fall the shades of summer's 
 evening in this midland between the North and the 
 South. The mournful cry of the whippoorwill, that 
 strange bird of night, arose from out an old elm to the 
 right, and from the left came the answer. Then rang 
 the bell that summoned the nuns to prayer and repose, 
 and soon thereafter, throughout the great house, each 
 light went out. And now occurred a thing unknown 
 before in Nazareth. From near to where moaned the 
 gloom-birds a soft strain of music floated onto the air 
 and into the windows of the nuns' silent house. The 
 melody was that of a single violin, its tone so plaintive 
 that it thrilled each listener with a sense of sadness. 
 The good Father in the little house to the right stepped 
 to the door ; seemingly heaven was sighing to some one 
 in that great bank of buildings, where all was dark and 
 still. Then a husky voice, which, wordless to all but 
 
 413 
 
Stringtown on the Pike 
 
 one, seemed scarcely human, arose and blended in the 
 melody ; but to that one of the listening nuns it breathed 
 a familiar refrain : 
 
 Yo' ax what make dis darkey weep, 
 
 Why he, like uddahs am not gay ; 
 What make de teahs roll down his cheek 
 
 From early dawn till broke ob day ? 
 
 The music and the voice died out forever; the moon 
 cast the elm trees' shadows across the vacant avenue 
 where stood the mourning singer ; once more arose the 
 cry of the night-bird. 
 
 THE END 
 
 414 
 
RARE BOOK 
 COLLECTION 
 
 THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 AT 
 
 CHAPEL HILL 
 
 Wilmer 
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