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 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 H novel 
 
 BY 
 
 MARIA LOUISE POOL 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 dally" "out of step" "the two SALOMES' 
 "MRS. KEATS BRADFORD" ETC. 
 
 NEW ' K 
 
 HARPER & B r ; xi R S PUBLISHERS 
 
 ^895 
 
 
By MARIA LOUISE POOL. 
 
 OUT OF STEP. 
 
 THE TWO SALOMES. 
 
 KATHARINE NORTH. 
 
 MRS. KEATS BRADFORD. 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON. 
 DALLY. 
 
 Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $\ 25 each. 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
 Copyright, 1895, by Harper & Brothers. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. A LETTER I 
 
 II. A HORSEBACK RIDE 22 
 
 III. AN INTERRUPTED MEAL 4I 
 
 IV. DR. AMMIDOWN , 59 
 
 V. ON THE FRENCH BROAD 79 
 
 VI. COMING TO PREACHING 96 
 
 VII. YOUNG DALVECKER II3 
 
 VIII. "WE WILL FIGHT TOGETHER" I30 
 
 IX. "THE CHAINS, THE SHINING CHAINS" I46 
 
 X. WITH DALVECKER 163 
 
 XI. THE mother's LETTER 180 
 
 XII. "MUTUAL REGARD" I97 
 
 XIII. NOT BUDDHISM c . . 213 
 
 XIV. BREAKING DOWN c . . . . 231 
 
 XV. THE RELAXING WOMAN 248 
 
 XVI. OLD MAID DROWDY'S 264 
 
 XVII. "A MAN MAY BE A FOOL ONCE IN HIS LIFE" . . . 280 
 
 XVIII. RETURNING STRENGTH 298 
 
 XIX. "A LITTLE PLEASURE" 316 
 
 XX. "PROOF armor" e . 333 
 
 XXI. "emotionalizing" 351 
 
AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 A LETTER 
 
 She was hurrying along the road with her shawl wrapped 
 so closely about her that her thin shoulders, with their sharp 
 bones, were defined so plainly that one could not help being 
 sorry for her. 
 
 Her shawl was striped blue and white, the blue having 
 gone into the white and the white into the blue on that 
 occasion, long ago, when its owner tried the experiment of 
 washing the garment. 
 
 She always said she "guessed she made a mistake in put- 
 tin' sody into the water, but she shouldn't make the same 
 mistake again ; there was that much about it." 
 
 She wore a black straw hat with what was called a *'dish 
 brim." This brim made an excellent shade now over the 
 upper half of her face. Only the narrow chin and small 
 mouth were in the sunlight. This light revealed relentlessly 
 the two long wrinkles, one on each side of the mouth, and 
 the sagging of the cheeks which begins to come soon after 
 middle age. Where is the patent -medicine man who will 
 take away that last dreadful sign of the years from the aging 
 woman ? In doing that he will seem to annihilate time, and 
 will also become fabulously rich. 
 
 Not that Almina Drowdy would have employed any such 
 
2 AGAINST HUiMAN NATURE 
 
 means. She would have said that the Lord had seemed to 
 make women on purpose to grow old, 'n' she didn't reckon 
 she was so foolish as to try to stop the Lord's work. She'd 
 had her time of being young and not being exactly a fright 
 either, and what were you to expect? — that you'd have 
 more'n one chance in this world ? And now Miss Drowdy 
 had come to a dish hat and a faded shawl, and to a sublime 
 unconcern as to how her dress " hung." 
 
 The road stretched out white and dusty before her ; it 
 looked as if it would never end. But Miss Drowdy knew 
 that just beyond the farther clump of white birches there 
 was a turn, and bevond the turn there was a house. It was 
 to this place that she was going. 
 
 She glanced up at the sun. Then she walked faster still. 
 
 " I hadn't ought to have come out," she thought ; " 'n' my 
 bread a-rising. Well, if I have to eat sour bread it's my own 
 lookout. I ain't got no men folks, thank the Lord, to find 
 fault!" 
 
 Before she reached the corner she put her hand down 
 suddenly to her skirt, and then stooped still lower till she 
 touched the bottom of her deep pocket. She pulled out a 
 letter and looked at it. 
 
 " It'd been a great joke if I'd got the wrong one," she said, 
 " I have so many," with a laugh that softened the lines in her 
 face wonderfully, and gave some hint of what the face had 
 been fifteen or twenty years ago. 
 
 Five minutes later she had opened the outer back door of 
 a little house which had so long an "L " that it was a great 
 deal more L than house. But by this time the visitor had care- 
 fully dropped all appearance of hurry ; she entered leisurely. 
 
 "Thatyou, Alminy?" 
 
 The question was put by a woman who sat in a low rock- 
 er by the north window. 
 
 This woman was sewing buttons on the vamps of shoes 
 with a rapidity that made the very air twinkle about her. 
 Her needle and thread hesitated for the briefest space as she 
 spoke, then they went on again. 
 
A LETTER 3 
 
 "Yes," said the caller, " it's me — I should think, Livy, 
 you'd about perish with them buttons. How many has the 
 baby swallered this morning?" 
 
 The hand of the woman addressed flashed out to the 
 length of a long, new needleful. She held the hand sus- 
 pended as she answered : 
 
 " I do hope and believe it ain't got to any of um so far 
 to-day. But they ain't seemed to hurt him a mite." 
 
 " No," said Alminy, "they agree with him first-rate. I 
 d'know but shoe-buttons are better'n milk for children of his 
 age." 
 
 "You always make fun of everything, Alminy," said the 
 other, reproachfully. 
 
 "Do I? Well, I'm thankful I can make fun," was the 
 response. " The land knows there's no need of trying to be 
 solemn in this world." 
 
 After this there was a silence for several minutes, during 
 which the new-comer watched her sister intently. For the 
 two women were sisters, though there was not even a " fam- 
 ily look" in common between them. 
 
 " I s'pose there ain't any news, is there ?" at last asked 
 Olivia. 
 
 Almina hesitated slightly before she replied, but her com- 
 panion did not notice the hesitation. 
 
 " I had a letter yesterday," she said, finally, " and I didn't 
 . sleep a wink last night." 
 
 " Mercy sake !" exclaimed Olivia, " I didn't know as you 
 was correspondin' with anybody." 
 
 " No more I ain't." 
 
 Olivia waited ; but she kept on working as she waited. She 
 knew that her sister would tell her news when she was ready 
 to tell it, and that she would not tell it before. She had 
 learned long ago that "it was no use to waste breath ques- 
 tioning Alminy." 
 
 At last she glanced at her companion. She saw that her 
 sister's gaze was fixed in an unseeing way upon the window. 
 She saw also that the hard, rough hands were clasped tightly 
 
4 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 on the gingham apron which Almina had neglected to take 
 off before she started from the house. In her anxiety Olivia 
 could not sew fast enough. Her thimble presently caught 
 in her thread ; she gave the thread a twitch and broke it. 
 She began to be afraid that the man would come for the 
 case of shoes before they were finished. She wished that 
 Almina would speak ; or else she wished she had stayed at 
 home. 
 
 Finally Olivia's patience gave out. She tried to thread her 
 needle and could not. 
 
 " I'll bet a dollar I've broken the eye to this needle !" 
 she exclaimed. " That last paper wasn't worth a cent," 
 
 "I wouldn't let Freddy git to the needles," said Almina, 
 rousing, " they might not be as good for him as buttons. I 
 s'pose some things are really better for a baby's inside than 
 others." 
 
 The speaker laughed nervously. 
 
 Olivia's eyes flashed with annoyance. She wanted to ask 
 her sister to stop being so provoking, but she shut her lips 
 tightly and did not speak. 
 
 In a moment Almina rose from her chair and began w^alk- 
 ing about the room. She took off her hat and threw it on 
 the table. There were wrinkles of excitement upon her 
 forehead, which was still delicate and almost handsome, with 
 its soft hair, which would "ring up," lying loosely about it. 
 She w^ould have scoffed at the idea, but she was still an in- 
 teresting woman ; that is, many a stranger would have been 
 likely to think so, but here in her native village no one 
 thought anything about her, save that she was an old maid 
 and lived by herself, with money enough to support her in 
 that small way which called for a very little sum per week. 
 
 Almina paused at length by her sister's chair. 
 
 " I s'pose you remember Roger Crawford, don't you, 
 Livy ?" 
 
 Olivia put down her shoe, and looked up with wide-open 
 eyes. 
 
 " Oh, Alminy !" she cried, " of course I remember him. 
 
A LETTER 5 
 
 But I didn't know but you'd forgotten him. I hoped you 
 had." 
 
 "Forgotten him!" repeated Almina. "That ain't likely. 
 But I must own I ain't thought of him so much late years. 
 God does let time, as it goes on, do something for us. If He 
 didn't I d'know what we should do." 
 
 The speaker's hands were hanging beside her ; they were 
 shut fast as hands involuntarily shut at some intolerable 
 memory. 
 
 Olivia reached forward and took one of those hands in 
 both of her own. The buttons fell rattling on the floor from 
 her lap as she did so. 
 
 " More buttons for Freddy," Almina said, a flash of 
 fun coming to her gray eyes ; but the fun subsided in- 
 stantly. 
 
 "You don't mean you've heard from him?" asked Olivia, 
 keeping hold of her sister's hand. 
 
 " Oh no ; no indeed. But I've heard from his daughter." 
 
 "Then he's dead.?" 
 
 " I don't know. Read that, then tell me what you think. 
 I'm sure I don't know what to think myself" 
 
 Miss Drowdy drew the letter from her pocket and tossed 
 it into her sister's lap. Then she began walking about the 
 room again. Her lips were pressed tightly together; the 
 lines on her forehead were still more marked ; the darkness 
 under her eyes was heavier. 
 
 But still there was a curious kind of triumph in her as- 
 pect — a triumph as of one who has again wakened from half 
 a life into a life containing more than the sordid every-day 
 cares. Suffering might be life, but torpor was not, even 
 though it might be mistaken for peace. 
 
 Olivia was not, as she would have said, much used to read- 
 ing writing. She held the sheet in both hands, and held it 
 far from her, though she had not come to spectacles, and 
 could see perfectly well. Somehow she could not quite 
 bring her mind to the written words. She was thinking of 
 Roger Crawford. The thought of him had not crossed her 
 
6 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 mind for years. Now it seemed to her that she recalled 
 everything about him " in a flash." 
 
 Roger and Almina had certainly been what is called "in 
 love " with each other, and see how it all turned out ! Oliv- 
 ia did not understand anything about being in love, and 
 therefore she did not in the least believe in any such state. 
 It was unnatural and really quite indelicate for a woman to 
 feel anytliing more than respect and a moderate liking for a 
 man. 
 
 If it had not been for that affair with Roger, and for the 
 fact that Almina had a silly streak of sentimentality in her 
 somewhere, she might have married Dr. Newcomb ten years 
 ago, and been living now in that brick-ended two-story house 
 right in the middle of the village. 
 
 Dr. Newcomb had lost his wife, and Almina Drowdy was 
 his first choice for his second partner. 
 
 Olivia, comfortably married and settled, had argued and 
 pleaded with her sister to become Mrs. Newcomb. 
 
 " There ain't a thing against the doctor," she said. " You 
 can't say, Alminy, as there's a thing against him ; now, can 
 you ?" 
 
 "Why, no, of course I can't. Who said there was?" had 
 been the response. 
 
 Olivia had gazed despairingly at her sister. 
 
 "And you like him, don't you?" 
 
 " Yes, indeed." 
 
 " Then why don't you marry him ?" . 
 
 At this point in every conversation Almina had laughed in 
 the most irritating way as she answered, 
 
 " I don't know as it's any reason why I should marry a 
 man because there isn't anything against him, and because 
 I like him. I know half a dozen men in this village whom 
 there isn't anything against, and whom I like." 
 
 " But they don't want to marry you," said her sister. 
 
 " No, they don't, and that's a fact. So that puts them out 
 of the question." 
 
 And then Almina had laughed again, and her sister had 
 
A LETTER 7 
 
 sighed and said that there wa'n't no use ; Alminy was jest 
 as odd as she could be. And she had added, warningly, 
 
 "You know you're growin' older every day. The men '11 
 be lookin' for younger women. You can't expect many 
 more chances." 
 
 "I know it," was the reckless response. 
 
 In her secret heart Olivia had wondered if Roger Craw- 
 ford, or rather the memory of him, had had anything to do 
 with making Almina so odd. But Almina had been a little 
 odd always, and of course she would grow more and more 
 so, since she refused " to settle." What could you expect of 
 a woman who deliberately refused to settle ? And there was 
 but one way made known whereby a woman could settle. 
 
 All these thoughts and memories were in a jumble in 
 Olivia's mind as she sat thero with the shoe vamps about 
 her, trying to read the letter her sister had given her. 
 
 She turned over the sheets and looked at the name 
 signed. She read it aloud. 
 
 "Temple — Temple Crawford. What's that mean .^ That 
 ain't no kind of a name. Is it a girl ? What makes you 
 think it's a girl?" 
 
 " I think so from the letter," answered Almina. 
 
 She stopped her walk in front of her sister. 
 
 " Temple was Roger's mother's maiden name. I s'pose 
 that's why he named his daughter so. He thought a lot of 
 his mother." 
 
 The tones of the speaker were so different from her ordi- 
 nary voice that Olivia looked up at her in a kind of fright. 
 
 "Here," she said, extending the paper, " I wish you'd read 
 it. 'Taint very plain writing. I s'pose you've made it out 
 once, 'n' you can agin. Jest read it to me, will you?" 
 
 Almina took the letter, and, still standing, read it aloud. 
 
 " To the one who was Almina K. Drowdy^ of Hoyt, Massachusetts. 
 
 "Dear Madame, — I had a letter from father last night. He said 
 he thought he should be dead by the time I got it. He went to 
 Manitoba for his health almost a year ago, and I haven't seen him since. 
 
S AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 You see, I don't know which to tell first, for I'm not used to writing, 
 and my pen won't say anything I want it to. I'll Avrite just as things 
 come into my head. I'm a girl, though folks don't seem to think so 
 when they just hear my name without seeing me. My grandmother was 
 a Temple ; my father always said that there wasn't any better name un- 
 der the canopy. So he named me that. It doesn't make any difference 
 to me. My father was a queer kind of man. I reckon I love him, be- 
 cause he's my father ; but I get along mighty well without him. And I 
 do as I please now, and I make Sally do as I please, and Bartholomew. 
 You ought to see Sally ; but then you will see her, of course, when you 
 come down. Here is the check that father sent for you to come down 
 with. You see your name is on it. He wrote he was sure you'd come 
 just the same without the check if you had means ; but he didn't know 
 whether you had means or not. He wanted me to be sure and tell 
 you that I needed you. He said that would be enough for you. But 
 he's just plumb mistaken about one thing ; I don't need you one bit. 
 I'm getting along splendid. I ride horseback most of the time. Some 
 days I ride for hours without meeting up with a single solitary soul. I 
 like it. I always have some of my dogs with me, and Little Bull would 
 just as lief take a piece out of the calf of a man's leg as swallow the liv- 
 er wing of a roast chicken. So, you see, I needn't be afraid as long as 
 Little Bull is Avith me. He's a common yellow dog, but I know you'll 
 like him when you get acquainted with him. That is, if you ain't one 
 of the fool kind of folks who are afraid of dogs anyway. If you are 
 afraid you'll be bowdaciously sorry you came here, for there are more 
 dogs than people here, and I'm glad of that. Bowdacious is one of 
 Sally's words, and I think it's excellent. It's so expressive. I like 
 words that mean something. But father's always tried to have me talk 
 what he calls English. If he's really dead I reckon I ought to try more 
 than ever to talk English. I can talk it well enough if I want to. How 
 my pen does go on ! But I knew it was just no use at all for me to try 
 to write as the Complete Letter-writer instructs. I wouldn't write that 
 a-way if I died for not doing it. 
 
 " I want you to address me like this : INIiss Temple Crawford, Bus- 
 bee, North Carolina. That's three miles away, and part of it on the 
 State road, and the State road isn't much fun ; but I ride to Busbee 
 two or three times a week, and I shall go every day when it's time to be- 
 gin to expect to hear from you. You must tell me when you think you'll 
 arrive. You are to stop at Asheville Junction, and not go on to Ashe- 
 ville, you know. I'll be there with the wagon. If you are afraid of 
 dogs I wouldn't advise you to think of coming at all. If you do come, 
 and turn out to be the kind I like, I shall be powerful glad to have you 
 here. \Yith great respect, 
 
 " I remain your obedient servant, 
 
 " Temple Crawford." 
 
A LETTER g 
 
 " Postscriptum. — I wrote this letter three days ago, and now, when I 
 come to read it over, I'm afraid I haven't said enough about your com- 
 ing. And I've read father's letter over again, and there are these sen- 
 tences in it. It seems to me somehow you ought to know these sen- 
 tences : ' Tell Almina Drowdy that if she has not forgotten the old days 
 — if she really cared as she thought she cared, and as I, too late, found 
 that I cared — she will come to mv daughter. That is all I ask. When 
 she knows Temple she will decide whether to take her home to New 
 England. But first, she must see the child in her own home. She will 
 . not be likely to understand the girl otherwise. And she must under- 
 stand her before she judges her.' 
 
 " I don't know what this means, but perhaps you do. It sounds sen- 
 timental to me, and if there was ever anything that father was not it was 
 that. Don't forget to let me know, so I can be at the Junction with the 
 wagon and the mules." 
 
 Almina stopped reading. Her hand dropped, with the 
 sheets held tightly. 
 
 It is impossible to tell how very strangely this epistle 
 had sounded in that prim, decorous little New- England 
 room. 
 
 Olivia pushed the remaining vamps from her lap in her 
 helpless astonishment. 
 
 " Mercy, Alminy !" she exclaimed in a half-whisper. Then, 
 as her sister did not speak, she added, in the same voice : 
 "You ain't thinkin' — it ain't crossed your mind to think of 
 such a thing as — as goin', has it ?" 
 
 The two sisters stared at each other. But in truth Almi- 
 na did not see her companion in the least, though her eyes 
 were fixed upon her. She was thinking with that vague in- 
 tentness which is, after all, but a phase of memory. She was 
 seeing herself at twenty years. She was wondering why she 
 did not feel older now, 
 
 " Say," began Olivia, "you ain't goin' to tell me that you 
 have got the slightest idea — why, it's out of all sense ! It's 
 jest outrageous ! I sh'd like to know what Roger Crawford 
 was thinkin' about. I declare I should !" 
 
 The other woman tried to rouse herself. 
 
 "What?" she asked. 
 
lO AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 "You ain't been listenin' a natom," remarked Olivia, with 
 some resentment mingled with her alarm. 
 
 " Well, no, I haven't. But you needn't be mad about it," 
 was the answer. 
 
 Almina looked down at the letter, which she now carefully 
 folded. 
 
 " I'm all worked up," remarked Olivia, " and it's so sudden, 
 too." She tried to speak calmly. 
 
 "Most things that we don't know anything about are kind 
 of sudden," said Almina. 
 
 She turned and sat down in a chair near. She bent for- 
 ward, and rested her chin on her two hands. She was never 
 conventional about anything, even her attitudes, and this lack 
 of conventionality had always worried her sister. What 
 could be expected of a woman who had refused to marry a 
 man when she had nothing against him .'* 
 
 In her secret heart Olivia was convinced that such a 
 woman was liable to do almost any strange and monstrous 
 thing. 
 
 Olivia glanced at her sister. She tried to speak meekly 
 as she said that "she s'posed when the time come that Al- 
 miny would tell what she thought of a letter like that. As 
 for her, Olivia Wilson, she was free to say it was the strangest 
 thing she ever seen. How old was that girl, that Temple 
 Crawford, anyway ?" 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " Ain't you any idea ?" 
 
 " No, of course not." 
 
 Almina sat up straight. Her face had such an unusual 
 expression upon it that her sister was really frightened. She 
 rose and moved to the door. With her hand on the latch, 
 she said she would get a few drops of red lavender and 
 some water. It didn't make much matter what kind of a 
 spell was coming on ; red lavender was good for all spells, 
 whatever their nature. 
 
 Almina burst into a laugh, rose, and went to her sister's 
 side. She put one hand on Olivia's shoulder. 
 
A LETTER II 
 
 " I do wish I believed in red lavender as much as you do, 
 Livy," she exclaimed. " But I don't need any now." 
 
 " Can't you relieve my mind, Alminy V wistfully asked the 
 other. 
 
 " If I could relieve my own mind I'd relieve yours," was 
 the answer. 
 
 " I shouldn't think you'd give such a matter a thought." 
 
 " Wellj I do. I laid awake all last night givin' it thoughts." 
 
 "Oh, Alminy!" 
 
 Olivia's comely, unwrinkled face began to pucker as if its 
 owner were about to cry. 
 
 "But how can you go.'"' she asked, despairingly. "You 
 can't leave your hens or your pig ; 'n' you live so far off 
 'taint handy for my husband to do your chores." 
 
 " You could take my hens, 'n' you could eat my pig," re- 
 plied Almina. 
 
 Olivia now began really to weep. 
 
 "So you are goin' !" she cried. "'N' North Caroliny's a 
 dretful place. 'N' Freddy '11 grow up, 'n' you won't know 
 any of his cunnin' ways." 
 
 " Oh dear !" responded Almina. " I told you I ain't made 
 up my mind. I guess I'll go home now 'n' p'raps I shall 
 have some light." 
 
 The speaker walked to the door and opened it. She 
 passed through it, and Mrs. Wilson returned to her chair, 
 gathering up the scattered vamps in a confused way. She 
 was "all upset in her mind," as she told herself, and she 
 began to fear seriously that the man would come for the 
 case before they were all buttoned. 
 
 She was trying to thread her needle, and failing on ac- 
 count of the blur over her eyes, when she heard a sound in 
 the next room, and in a moment her sister entered again. 
 
 She had a child in her arms. This child was rubbing its 
 eyes with its fists, and yawning till one saw the red roof of 
 its mouth and its few milky-white upper teeth. 
 
 " What do you think he was doing now ?" asked his aunt. 
 " He was off the bed, and had got as far 's the suller door." 
 
12 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 I 
 
 The mother sprang up and held out her arms. 
 
 " Who left that suller door open ?" she exclaimed. " That 
 door '11 be the death of me yet. Somebody's always leavin' 
 of it open. Give him to me. It's no use for me to try to 
 git that case of shoes done, for I can't do it." 
 
 Almina put Freddy in his mother's lap, and now really 
 started for home. She turned when she was in the yard to 
 look back. She saw Olivia rocking back and forth with her 
 boy's head on her shoulder. Olivia did not see her sister at 
 all. It was as if she had forgotten her. 
 
 "Why should not I go?" was the question in the woman's 
 mind. " Livy has Freddy. I'm glad she's got him. And 
 I — why," with a smile, "I've got my hens and my pig. I 
 ought to have had a dog. Yes," beginning to walk very 
 fast, " there wa'n't only one reason why I shouldn't have had 
 a dog — and that was 'cause I should have got to lovin' it 
 so. It's such a foolish thing to git to lovin' — now," with an- 
 other smile, "there ain't no such danger 'bout hens and a 
 pig ; though I did hear of a woman that set an awful store 
 by a hen. But, as for me, the way a hen '11 pull up one leg 
 out of sight, look at you with one eye, and wink upward, 's 
 enough for me. I can't love a hen." 
 
 Nevertheless, when Almina Drowdy reached her own 
 home she went to the barn and took some corn in her 
 apron. She flung this corn about in the yard, calling in 
 a high voice as she did so, "Cut, cut, cut!" and the white 
 Brahma hens began to gather, picking up the corn so fast 
 that their bills on the gravel made a noise like falling hail. 
 
 Almina's face settled into a deep gravity as she watched 
 them. 
 
 " Livy's got enough," she said aloud. " I could give 'em 
 to old Widder George. Yes, I could do that. But I'd give 
 the pig to Freddy, 'n' he could call it his." 
 
 The woman turned from the flock of eager fowls. She 
 looked over the fields upon which the early spring sun was 
 shining. The meadow opposite was beginning to show 
 green places; the clumps of young willows — which ought to 
 
A LETTER 1 3 
 
 be rooted out — were revealing in iheir slender stems that 
 the sun had come again to the north. There was a smell of 
 warm, wet earth in the air. Almina sniffed that odor. She 
 didn't believe the ground smelled like that anywhere else in 
 the world. 
 
 She shook the last kernel of corn from her apron. She 
 felt the letter from Carolina in her pocket. She knew that 
 she longed to see Temple Crawford. 
 
 "She ain't had no bringin' up," she said, as if to the hens. 
 And then : 
 
 "I s'pose I could let my house, somehow." 
 
 A fever seemed to have entered into her blood. She did 
 not know that she had already decided to go to Carolina. 
 She did not know it even the next day, when her sister came 
 over early in the morning to inquire. She told Olivia that 
 she couldn't seem to make up her mind. Sometimes she 
 was drawn one way and sometimes another. She couldn't 
 see her path clear. 
 
 " Can't see it clear ?" cried Livy. Then she stopped. 
 What was the use? It was incredible to her that her sister 
 could give a thought to a letter like that. 
 
 She looked around the room, as if in search of some 
 means by which she could impress upon Almina the strange- 
 ness of her even considering such a request from Roger 
 Crawford's daughter. 
 
 She had never quite understood about Crawford. She 
 was three years younger than her sister, and had been not 
 quite eighteen when the affair happened. It had not been 
 considered necessary to inform her in regard to any of the 
 particulars. She only knew that Almina had been ready to 
 be married, and that she did not marry. Crawford did not 
 come. Instead there came a letter from him somewhere in 
 the South where he had to go on business. Almina had re- 
 ceived the letter the day before the date set for the wed- 
 ding. She had gone up-stairs to her own room to read it. 
 After a while she had come down to the kitchen, where her 
 mother and Olivia were. No one had been surprised that a 
 
14 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 letter should arrive ; there had been one nearly every day 
 since Roger had gone, six weeks before. 
 
 Olivia remembered to the minutest detail all concernins: 
 that time. But no one told her anything. When she had 
 asked her mother what was the matter, she had been an- 
 swered that " things have turned out so's there 'ain't goin' to 
 be any wedding. Other arrangements have been made." 
 
 And that was all. Naturally she had almost forgotten 
 Roger Crawford in all these years. But now she recalled 
 him, and hated him with renewed freshness, as with the 
 thought of him came the memory of what her sister's face 
 had been then, and for long after. 
 
 But Almina had borne up bravely. She had informed her 
 friends that the engagement was broken, and when asked 
 where Mr. Crawford was she had replied that he was obliged 
 to stay in the South. She did not even specify that he was 
 in North Carolina. But every one knew he was there, for 
 the woman who kept the post-office saw that his letters of 
 late had been postmarked at Asheville, and as she knew, 
 therefore a great many others knew, for what post-mistress 
 is going to keep to herself a knowledge so valuable? 
 
 But no one was aware of one fact which Almina communi- 
 cated to her mother that night. Mrs. Drowdy was a woman 
 not given to the expression of affection. But she loved her 
 children, though she never caressed them, and seemed to 
 think that caresses were an infallible sign of what she would 
 have called "flatness." 
 
 It was in the middle of the night that she had risen noise- 
 lessly and gone into her daughter's room. She found the girl 
 lying perfectly still upon her bed. Mrs. Drowdy extinguished 
 the light she carried, and laid herself silently down by her 
 child. She put out her hand and groped for her daughter's 
 hand, and, having found it, she lay motionless. 
 
 It was a long time before Almina spoke. At first she 
 felt something like resentment that any one, even her moth- 
 er, should intrude upon the solitude which just then was the 
 only thing she wished for. 
 
A LETTER 
 
 15 
 
 But at last she spoke. 
 
 " Mother," she said in a whisper, " I did not tell you all 
 the letter said." 
 
 A pause, during which Mrs. Drowdy did not speak. She 
 only held the hand more closely. 
 
 " He is married already." 
 
 " What !" 
 
 Mrs. Drowdy started up to a sitting posture. In the dark- 
 ness her face grew purple with the anger that surged up to 
 her brain. This was even worse than she had thought. It 
 had even come to her mind that perhaps things might be 
 explained, and the marriage take place, though she felt that 
 she, herself, could never forgive Roger Crawford, and never 
 wanted to see him. But she had decided that she would ap- 
 pear to forgive him for her child's sake. 
 
 "Yes," said the girl, "he was married four days ago. He 
 wrote to me right away after — after — " 
 
 Almina's voice stopped. 
 
 Mrs. Drowdy waited a moment before she said, in a dry, 
 even voice : 
 
 " He is a scamp, and you are well red of him. You'll live 
 to see the day when you'll despise him, 'n' thank the Lord 
 you ain't his wife." 
 
 "I wish I could despise him now," said the girl. 
 
 The next moment she cried out in a passionate voice: 
 "Oh, how can I stop loving him ! It will kill me to go on 
 loving him like this !" 
 
 " No," said the mother, sternly, "it won't kill you, either. 
 I know 'bout human nature. Things don't kill. I'm goin' 
 to try to think of something to take up your mind." 
 
 "Neither mother nor daughter slept that night; but they 
 did not talk any more, save for a single word now and 
 then. 
 
 When Mrs. Drowdy, in the early dawn of a summer morn- 
 ing, went back to the room vv^here her husband was now dress- 
 ing, she was met by the anxious question, 
 
 "How's Alminy?" 
 
l6 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 " I guess she's as well's she can be. That vile wretch is 
 married to somebody else. He told her so in his letter." 
 
 Benjamin Drowdy did not speak, but he looked murderous. 
 
 His wife went on. 
 
 " I hope you c'n spare the money to let her go to her 
 Aunt Johnson's for a few months. It '11 be a great change ; 
 and Cordelia Johnson is a good woman, and a wise woman, 
 if she is my sister. Everything '11 be new. Alminy '11 be- 
 gin to git interested after a while." 
 
 Mr. Drowdy did spare the money. The Johnsons lived in 
 Boston, and they had money enough to travel a little when 
 they chose. Almina spent nearly a year with them. When 
 she came home she looked so well that everybody said that 
 Alminy Drowdy was gittin' over her disappointment first- 
 rate. They guessed she hadn't much deep feelin' after all. 
 
 Olivia Wilson felt her hatred for Roger Crawford revive 
 as she gazed at her sister in consternation that Almina could 
 feel anything but repulsion at the thought of Crawford's 
 daughter. And what a letter that girl had written. 
 
 "I'm supprised," said Olivia, "that you don't dislike even 
 the thought of Temple Crawford." 
 
 " Why should I dislike her?" Almina fixed her clear gray 
 eyes on her sister's face. 
 
 "Why? Because — because — why, I never seen nothin' 
 so outrageous. And the way that man treated you ! Of 
 course he never loved you !" 
 
 " I know he didn't treat me well," was the response, " but 
 I think he loved me ; and " — here the woman's voice changed 
 greatly — " I've decided that I've loved him all these years." 
 
 "Oh, Alminy!" 
 
 This was what Olivia always said when other words failed 
 her. She made up her mind then and there that she would 
 not speak another word on the subject of her sister's going 
 to Carolina. But she broke her resolve so far as to say in a 
 melancholy manner a few days later that she didn't see how 
 Alminy could go away when Freddy hadn't half got through 
 having such cunnin' ways. 
 
A LETTER 17 
 
 But Almina did go. She gave the hens to the Widow 
 George and the pig to Freddy. She found a woman to live 
 in her house until it could be let, and in one week from the 
 time she had received Temple Crawford's letter she was in 
 Mr. Wilson's open wagon, and he was driving her to the sta- 
 tion to take the cars that connected with the Fall River 
 boat to New York. 
 
 Her sister, having left Freddy in charge of a neighbor, was 
 sitting on the back seat with her, and was crying gently and 
 exasperatingly all the way. 
 
 Once Mr. Wilson looked back over his shoulder and asked 
 with an impatience which he could not restrain : 
 
 " Livy, ain't you 'bout cried 'nough ? This ain't Alminy's 
 funeral — nor mine, neither." 
 
 Olivia tried to speak steadily as she answered that it might's 
 well be a funeral fur's her feelin's were concerned. 
 
 Almina herself was not gay, but she cheerfully prophesied 
 that Freddy would take up his mother's mind. 
 
 " And you know I sh'U write real often," she added. 
 " Besides, I may come back any time." 
 
 But Almina could not help crying when she hugged her 
 sister at the station before the cars came. 
 
 " If I should happen to stay a good while," she said, 
 brokenly, "don't let Freddy forgit me." 
 
 "No, no, I won't," sobbed Olivia, and the train rolled 
 along, and seemed to sweep up Almina Drowdy into itself, 
 and then dash off again. 
 
 " I can't seem to make it seem real," said Olivia, as she 
 and her husband drove back along the familiar country 
 road. 
 
 "Then if you can't I do wish you'd stop cryin'," said Mr. 
 Wilson. "I'm awful sorry myself she's gone, 'n' I think 
 it's a fool's errand. But Alminy's old enough to do what 
 she pleases. Now, do cheer up, Livy." 
 
 So Olivia gradually cheered up, and by the time she was 
 back again with Freddy she had begun to be reconciled. 
 
 And the neighborhood, after it had raked up that affair 
 
l8 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 about Roger Crawford and talked it all over again, subsided 
 with perfect calmness into the habit of seeing some one else 
 in Almina's house and in her pew at church. 
 
 Almina herself could hardly have had a more strange feel- 
 ing if she had suddenly cut adrift from this planet and had 
 taken passage for Mars. 
 
 But she did not regret. With every hour that passed her 
 mind turned more and more strongly from the place she had 
 left, and towards the place to which she was journeying. 
 
 She believed that she was a hard-hearted wretch, because 
 she did not think more of her sister and of Freddy. Here 
 she smiled. 
 
 " Is it possible," she asked herself, " that I'm going where 
 I sha'n't know how many shoe-buttons Freddy swallers, nor 
 how many times the cat scratches him ?" 
 
 Almina had never been out of Massachusetts, therefore 
 even the houses of Fall River, as seen in the spring twilight, 
 had a foreign look, and she already felt as if she were in a 
 strange land. 
 
 When she walked over the planking that led to the 
 steamer she could hardly believe she was in America. 
 Without really having given any thought to the matter, she 
 now knew that she had expected this craft to be a kind of 
 ferry. 
 
 There was a crowd of people. Somehow she was pushed 
 along into a dim, electric-lighted place where women were 
 sitting on magnificently upholstered couches, and where 
 negro men in blue uniforms occasionally walked through, 
 their feet making no noise on the thick carpet. There was 
 a gentle motion ; there was the sound of wheels outside hur- 
 rying along the wharf, the cries of drivers, the ringing of en- 
 gine-bells, and presently a voice somewhere shouted : 
 
 " All ashore 't's goin' ashore !" and then the enormous 
 bulk that was the steamboat became possessed of a little 
 more motion. 
 
 Almina all at once was conscious of a choking sensation. 
 Hardly knowing what she did, she rose and hurried out 
 
A LETTER I9 
 
 through the large doors by which she had entered the ladies' 
 cabin. She was possessed by a longing to see her country 
 
 again. 
 
 She stepped outside, not minding who pushed against her. 
 
 There were the shores of Massachusetts sliding away 
 from her. Her hands held tightly the package of lunch 
 which her sister had carefully put up for her. It was not 
 yet dark. The sun had gone down, but there was a cool, 
 apple-green tinge over the west. The air from the land 
 blew in a steady, chill breath. 
 
 Almina shivered. She did not know that there were tears 
 
 on her face. 
 
 But when she turned to go back to the cabin it was curi- 
 ous that she was not thinking about leaving home. The 
 words in her mind were : 
 
 " I do wonder why I always think of Roger as a young 
 man," and her thought added, coldly, " Mebby he's dead j 
 yes, I s'pose he's dead." 
 
 But no tears came. Strangest of all was the fact that 
 from the moment she had contemplated this journey she had 
 felt as if she were young again. She scoffed at this thought, 
 but she could not quite put it away from her. Going by a 
 large mirror she accidentally looked at herself. 
 
 " Oh, goodness me !" she exclaimed in a whisper, as she 
 saw the middle-aged face. " I guess I ain't so young that 
 everybody '11 be fallin' in love with me on this journey." 
 
 She sat down on one of the gorgeous chairs and forced 
 herself to eat a doughnut, although swallowing a morsel 
 seemed wellnigh impossible. 
 
 The stewardess came and asked her if she had a state- 
 room. 
 
 "I 'don't think I have," she answered. 
 
 The black woman replied that she would probably know 
 it if she did have one. 
 
 "Yes," said Almina, with a nervous laugh, "just the same 
 's I'd know if I had a bandbox or an umbrella, I s'pose." 
 
 The attendant moved away, and presently Almina saw her 
 
20 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 talking and laughing with a yellow man in a blue coat, and 
 nodding towards her. 
 
 The night pi^ssed somehow. She spent it lying motion- 
 less on a mattress on the floor of the cabin, in a row of other 
 mattresses and other women. Two or three times in the 
 dim light she saw a black man stepping along between the 
 beds. But no one seemed to mind him. 
 
 And in the morning there was New York. She was out 
 on deck before the sun was up. She did not feel like crying 
 now. The new day, the magnificent picture of the city that 
 lay, calm and still, under the crimsoning sky, held her gaze. 
 The glitter of the water, the white paths left by the ferry- 
 boats and tugs, the whole effect of superb life not yet 
 awakened for the morning, thrilled and stirred the woman 
 with an emotion she had never felt before. 
 
 She wondered how any one could ever think of criticising 
 that figure standing with commanding pose and torch up- 
 held. She remembered having read in a newspaper some- 
 thing derogatory. She supposed there were folks just made 
 to find fault with everything. 
 
 When she left the boat which transferred her to Jersey City 
 her mind was strained to the utmost to assure itself that she 
 was actually in the right city and really in the right car. She 
 knew that cars were always being detached and sent off on 
 other tracks, for no other purpose, apparently, than to take 
 people to places where they did not want to go, and to cause 
 them to buy new tickets that they might get back again. 
 
 In recalling the remainder of the journey it seemed to 
 Miss Drowdy that she did nothing but ask conductors if it 
 were really true that she was in the right car. 
 
 Nothing would convince her that she could ever reach 
 Asheville Junction. She could not give her mind to the 
 strange sights which hour by hour glided by her. After- 
 wards she remembered them. 
 
 She would not take a sleeping-car. Why should she do 
 so, when it was an impossibility for her to sleep a wink ? 
 
 But she must have been dozing when a woman in a 
 
A LETTER 21 
 
 deep scoop bonnet came and sat down beside her and 
 asked, " Where be yo' from ?" 
 
 "Massachusetts," said Almina, proudly. 
 
 «' What township's that ?" was the next inquiry ; and Al- 
 mina's pride gave place to pity for one who had never 
 heard of Massachusetts. Could it be possible?" 
 
 The woman had a grimy face with sharp cheek-bones and 
 sunken eyes. She had a calico bundle which she kept from 
 rolling off her lap with two hands which ended in long, black 
 nails. 
 • " Gwine fur .?" she asked, pleasantly. 
 
 "To Asheville Junction." 
 
 " So'm I. It's thur nex' place." 
 
 " Is it .''" eagerly. " I must have dropped asleep." 
 
 Almina grasped her satchel and sat up rigidly, ready to 
 jump off at an instant's notice. 
 
 " Do you know anybody by the name of Crawford .''" she 
 asked, after a silence. 
 
 The woman ruminated. 
 
 " Naw. Reckon they don't live on thur State road ?" 
 
 " Oh, I don't know," helplessly. After this there was si- 
 lence. 
 
 Presently the train began to slow. Almina stood up in 
 her place. She forgot her fatigue in her excitement. 
 
 It was certainly at Asheville Junction that Temple Craw- 
 ford had said she would be " with the mules." 
 
II 
 
 A HORSEBACK RIDE 
 
 Almina Drowdy was left standing on the platform at the 
 junction with the woman in the scoop bonnet. There seemed 
 to be nobody else there. A roped and battered trunk had been 
 thrown off. This trunk had just come from New England. 
 
 Almina, weary and faint and dazed, looked about her. 
 The great hills standing here and there almost frightened 
 her at this moment. In the distance were blue or cloudy 
 peaks — Almina had lived in a flat country. She could 
 hardly breathe as she looked at these mountains. For an 
 instant she forgot that any one was to meet her. 
 
 "Don't you know whar yo' gwine?" asked the other wom- 
 an, hesitatingly. " 'Cos if yo' don't, come 'long of me, an' I'll 
 fry ye some meat an' cakes. You'll be welcome.'^ 
 
 The last words with an indescribable drawl. 
 
 There was no mistaking the genuineness of this hospitable 
 offer. 
 
 Almina turned. She felt so desolate that she tried to 
 draw herself up with pride. 
 
 " My friends will come," she answered. Then she choked 
 with sheer homesickness. " You're dretful kind," she added, 
 " but I guess I better wait right here." 
 
 She watched the wearer of the scoop as she walked down 
 the yellow road. She went with a slouching, long stride. 
 
 Almina turned away and felt more forlorn than ever. She 
 went and sat down on her trunk. She tried not to see the 
 mountains. Nothing should make her Remain in such a 
 country as this, Olivia had been right. She ought to have 
 known enough to stay at home. 
 
A HORSEBACK RIDE 23 
 
 A long-bearded man followed by two hound dogs came 
 shambling from the other end of the platform. He fixed a 
 contemplative gaze upon the woman sitting on her trunk. 
 
 " Waitin' ?" he said at last. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Having received this answer, the man shambled into the 
 station. The dogs came up, and carefully and exhaustively 
 sniffed at Almina, then they also went into the station. 
 
 Almina gazed feverishly up and down the road which 
 crossed the track and seemed to lead eventually into dread- 
 ful mountainous wild spaces. 
 
 Within fifteen minutes' time two small loads of wood 
 passed. They were not at all like New England loads. 
 
 Almina wished that she had never accustomed herself to 
 drinking coffee, because if she had not done so she would 
 not now suffer so for the want of it. 
 
 No mules visible anywhere. There was a white pony 
 with a woman on its back coming at a furious rate along the 
 road at the left hand. 
 
 But this pony did not interest Almina in the least. She 
 watched it, however, and very soon it became plain that it 
 was coming to the station. 
 
 The animal kept up its headlong speed until the very in- 
 stant it stopped, and then its rider was apparently discharged 
 from its back, instead of dismounting, as is the custom. She 
 landed on her feet, fortunately, and Almina now saw that 
 she was a girl of twenty, perhaps, though her dress gave a 
 younger appearance. Her skirt was short, of some kind of 
 faded red stuff; she wore a black velvet garment which did 
 not fit, and had the appearance of being really a man's sack- 
 coat. The sleeves were very long and turned up at the 
 wrist, so that the wearer's hands might be unfettered. 
 
 These hands were bare, and tanned to the very last degree 
 of brownness. It was a startling thing to see on the left 
 hand a quite magnificent diamond ring. A soft felt hat was 
 on her head. 
 
 Brown leather leggings were on this girFs ankles, and 
 
24 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 dilapidated congress boots covered her feet. There was a 
 spur attached to one of these boots. 
 
 This person advanced straight to the woman sitting on the 
 trunk and stopped before her. 
 
 "Almina K. Drowdy?" she said, in an interrogative 
 manner. 
 
 Ahnina jumped up. 
 
 "That's my name," she answered. 
 
 " I thought you couldn't be anybody else," said the girl ; 
 and she added, with the utmost frankness, " I made sure 
 when I was coming down the road there that nobody but a 
 Yankee could sit like that on a trunk." 
 
 The Yankee's tired face flushed a little, and the Yankee's 
 eyes darted an unpleasant fire. 
 
 "Oh, please don't look that way!" exclaimed the girl. 
 "You'll have to make up your mind not to get mad with me, 
 for if you do you'll be mad most of the time. And really, 
 I'm powerful good at heart." 
 
 Here the speaker laughed. She stopped laughing imme- 
 diately, and looked intently at her companion. She ad- 
 vanced a step nearer. 
 
 " I'm going to like you, I do believe," she said, " I'm mighty 
 thankful for that. I was getting along well enough without 
 anybody, though. I reckon you know who I am .?" 
 
 Almina replied that she could guess, but that she didn't 
 feel called upon to guess. 
 
 " Temple Crawford," was the answer. " I'm not much to 
 look at, but there's a most awful lot to me when you come 
 to know me," another laugh. 
 
 " I was lookin' for mules," now remarked Almina. 
 
 She had entirely forgotten her hunger and her fatigue in 
 her interest in what she privately called " the specimen " 
 before her. She wondered what the people of Hoyt, Mass., 
 would say to this girl. 
 
 "For muels?" repeated the girl. "Oh, I know it. I was 
 coming with the muels and the wagon ; only when I went to 
 harness I couldn't find the gears — that is, only part of the 
 
A HORSEBACK RIDE 25 
 
 gears. I got one mule hitched to the wagon, and I had to 
 give it up. Sally was gone, and Bartholomew was gone ; and 
 so there was an end to it, for the gears were gone, too. But 
 Thimble was left. That's my pony. So I saddled and 
 bridled, and I picked up my needles and flew ; and here 
 I am." 
 
 It would be quite impossible to imagine any one more 
 free from shyness or embarrassment of any kind than this 
 girl. And yet she did not strike Miss Drowdy as being 
 iDold ; only as utterly without self- consciousness. The 
 woman hardly knew whether to be shocked or not. 
 
 " You see," remarked Temple, " I didn't put Buncombe 
 County on it." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Why, Buncombe County on my direction to you when you 
 wrote. But I got your letter all the same. You look about 
 fainted away. I'll make 'em give you some breakfast over 
 yonder. It's a boarding-house. They say the coffee there's 
 enough to make you wish you'd never been born. Come. 
 Your trunk '11 be just as safe if you don't sit on it every 
 minute." 
 
 The girl took hold of Miss Drowdy's arm gently and be- 
 gan to walk her across the track towards a two-story house 
 that stood at a little distance. 
 
 This house the two entered at the rear door; and imme- 
 diately you entered here you felt as if you were in a log- 
 cabin. There was an enormous fire on an enormous hearth, 
 and a general black, dingy look diffused over everything. A 
 bed was in one corner — a bed which still remained as its oc- 
 cupant had left it. 
 
 A thin woman in a dark, flapping calico gown came for- 
 ward from somewhere where there was the sound of frying. 
 She creased her cheeks in the form of a smile as she saw 
 her guests. 
 
 "It's yo', is it, Miss Temple?" she said. "Howdy this 
 mawnin' ? Set by, won't yo' ?" 
 
 Almina could not help feeling that she was having a thrill- 
 
26 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 ing and unusual experience. In her inmost soul she had 
 never believed that anybody ever said " howdy." She had 
 seen that word in books, and had always considered it a 
 made-up term. Now she had actually heard it. 
 
 " I want you to give this lady a breakfast," said Temple. 
 " Give it to her right soon, for she's starving. She's just from 
 Massachusetts." 
 
 The woman turned her cadaverous face towards Almina 
 for an instant. 
 
 " I've hearn there was such a place," she said, as if she 
 still doubted the fact. 
 
 Then she left the room, her petticoats flapping about her 
 ankles. 
 
 Almina sat staring into the fire. She did not think now 
 that it made much difference whether she ever had any- 
 thing to eat or not. She might as well die first as last. And 
 she should never know any more of Freddy's cunning 
 ways. 
 
 At this thought she could not help smiling. She looked 
 up and found Temple Crawford's eyes fixed upon her. They 
 were rather unusual eyes, of a golden black, and they were 
 set wide apart, under heavy, straight brows. But the brows 
 were not dark, they were light brown, as was her hair, which 
 was shingled like a boy's. 
 
 This close-clipped hair revealed plainly the shape of her 
 head, which was high above the ears, and markedly full also 
 in those regions where phrenologists used to locate the af- 
 fections and passions. But phrenology is now an exploded 
 science, and this girl's head, perhaps, was no index to her 
 character. It was, nevertheless, somehow a notable head, 
 and now that the drooping felt hat was removed, Almina 
 could not help gazing at it. 
 
 " I reckon you're thinkin' about your home ?" said Tem- 
 ple, as she caught her companion's glance. 
 
 " Yes," was the answer, " and about you, too. You don't 
 look like your father one bit." 
 
 The girl advanced and sat down in a chair near Almina, 
 
A HORSEBACK RIDE 27 
 
 contemplating her closely. Instead of replying, after a si- 
 lence she said : 
 
 " I think you have awfully good eyes." She sighed heav- 
 ily. "Too good. And if you stay with me you'll be miser- 
 able if I'm not a respectable sort of a girl." Another sigh. 
 "And I'm not. I'm a wild animal, and I like to be. That's 
 the very worst part of it, Miss Drowdy : I like to be a wild 
 animal. I reckon I mav get to be kind of a Nebuchad- 
 nezzar. He ate grass, didn't he? I sha'n't eat grass. But 
 I don't like folks, and civilization, and smiling when you 
 want to swear, and making believe, and all that kind of thing. 
 Do you. Miss Drowdy ?" 
 
 " I don't like makin' believe." 
 
 "Then you don't like civilization ?" 
 
 Temple pushed back her chair. 
 
 " I smell your fried chicken going to the table, and here 
 comes Mrs. Frady to tell you to go out there and eat." 
 
 The girl accompanied the new-comer into the next room, 
 where there was a long table on which were a great many 
 unwashed dishes and an enormous quantity of apple-butter 
 in a big cracked dish. There were denuded chicken-bones 
 here and there among the dishes. 
 
 A troop of five dogs came from somewhere unseen, and 
 accompanied the women into this apartment. They were 
 smooth - haired hounds, and they walked about the room 
 with the solemnity of aspect which is peculiar to hounds, 
 raising long, melancholy noses into the air in the direction 
 of the clothless table. 
 
 The mistress of the house pointed to a chair, and advised 
 Almina to " dror right urp " in front of a fresh plate of chick- 
 en and biscuit. 
 
 Almina obeyed. She had no more than drawn up before 
 one of the hounds did the same. He sat down close to her 
 and pushed his nose against her. Another hound immedi- 
 ately stationed himself on the other side. Almina was not 
 afraid, but she did feel somewhat hampered, and found it 
 difficult to bend forward far enough to reach the biscuit. 
 
28 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 The mistress hustled a few bones into a soiled plate, then 
 pushed the plate towards her guest. The dish slid along the 
 table and paused near Miss Drowdy. 
 
 " Them thur dawgs," said Mrs. Frady, " are everlastin'ly 
 hongry. Jest toss um thur hind-laig of a rooster now an' 
 then, willyo'?" with a laugh, and directing her request to 
 Almina, who immediately seized one bone and then another, 
 which she administered alternately to the hound nearest 
 her. There were two or three crunching movements, and 
 then, as Temple expressed it, they were just as ready for 
 roosters' hind-laigs as they ever were. 
 
 "You eat your breakfast and Til feed the dogs," said the 
 girl. 
 
 Meanwhile Mrs. Frady, having dumped the biscuit and 
 chicken and the coffee-pot on the table, had disappeared in 
 some back region, where her flat drawl could be heard in 
 one continuous stream, uninterrupted by the sound of any 
 other voice. 
 
 " She's talking to herself," remarked Temple. " She does 
 it all the time, unless she's at her eatin's or her sleepin's." 
 
 Almina drank some of the black drink which was called 
 coffee. She choked a little over it. She swallowed some 
 chicken. She had long since passed the stage of hunger, 
 and was now in that state of faintness and fatigue when it 
 seemed to her that she could never eat again. 
 
 The five dogs were grouped in a partial circle in front of 
 Temple, who tried to distribute bones impartially, and who 
 administered reproof and reproach when there was too much 
 snatching. 
 
 "Now don't you be as greedy as human beings," Almina 
 heard her saying. " Jim, you let Short Tail have this. 
 Stop! You villun, you ! Fll pull it out of your mouth! 
 You've had three to Devil's one. Devil, why don't you pitch 
 in 'n' get your share ? Jim, you sha'n't have the whole skel- 
 eton of that rooster !" 
 
 There was a scuffle ; growls and yaps, dogs leaping high 
 with front paws extended eagerly ; and the girl standing 
 
A HORSEBACK RIDE 29 
 
 with flushed face and sparkling eyes in the midst, with her 
 hands held up, and a bone in each hand. 
 
 Almina hastily pushed back her chair. She felt as if she 
 were in the midst of a dog-fight. There seemed a hundred 
 hounds, all standing on their hind-legs and pawing in the 
 air. They were whining and growling and slobbering. They 
 were making frantic leaps up at the bones, and falling back, 
 sometimes rolling over on their spines with their legs in the 
 air. 
 
 " I ain't afraid of dorgs," said Miss Drowdy, " not as a gen- 
 eral thing ; but I should think that if there was any such 
 thing as ketchin' hydrophoby, why, then, you'd ketch it." 
 
 The girl tried to push the animals away from her. She 
 bustled and stamped and drove until she had forced the 
 troop out at the open door. 
 
 She came back to Almina's side. There was the sparkle 
 of sheer, soulless animal spirits in her eyes. 
 
 "They haven't got hydrophobia, so I can't catch it," she 
 answered. " I suppose they've spoiled your breakfast." 
 
 "I found I wasn't hungry, after all," answered Almina. 
 "I guess I'll pay that woman, and then what shall we do? 
 I c'n go 'n' set on my trunk over there to the deepo a spell 
 longer, though 'tain't any great fun." 
 
 Temple picked up her hat from the floor. She stood 
 swinging it in her hand and gazing at her guest. 
 
 " Do you mean you're going to pay Mrs. Frady ? No, in- 
 deed. She'd be mad to think of taking pay for any one I 
 brought here. We'll start right away for home. I'm pow- 
 erful sorry I couldn't come with the muels. You see, Bar- 
 tholomew's been aiming to have the gears fixed for ages ; 
 and I s'pose he has taken them to-day, of all days, and he 
 knew I was coming to meet you. Sometimes I think the 
 whole poor white race might just as well be in Tophet, and 
 be done with them." 
 
 Almina felt her face flush and then pale with amazement 
 as she heard the fresh young voice calmly make this remark. 
 
 " What ?" she asked, with some sternness. 
 
30 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 " In Tophet, I said," was the answer. 
 
 " Do you think that's pretty talk ?" 
 
 " Oh, I don't know about that," returned the girl, easily ; 
 "it's most mighty true talk, anyway. But there's Sally. You 
 just wait till you've seen Sally." 
 
 As Temple ceased speaking she put on her hat with an 
 entire absence of girlish manner, as if she had been a boy. 
 
 " Come on," she said. She led the way out of the house 
 by a different door from the one by which the two had en- 
 tered. Almina hurriedly put on her bonnet as best she 
 could. She caught up her satchel and her umbrella, and 
 hastened after her guide. She found Temple waiting out- 
 side. The girl was looking at a river which ran at the very 
 end of the sloping yard. It ran broadly and yet swiftly, 
 under drooping tree branches. 
 
 " That's, the Swanannoa," said Temple, in a different 
 tone from any her companion had yet heard from her, and 
 w^hich made Almina take a step towards her with a sudden 
 desire to touch the girl caressingly. " I wouldn't give a 
 cent for my life if I had to live it away from a river and 
 from those hills." 
 
 As she said the last word Temple snatched off her hat 
 and swung it towards the hills, towering everywhere in the 
 distance ; some of them so near, however, that their out- 
 lines showed with no veiling and beautifying haze. 
 
 She turned towards the woman, who was gazing steadily 
 at her. 
 
 " My father used to say," she began, " that everybody was 
 a fool about at least one thing, and ever so many people 
 were fools about everything. He said I was a fool about 
 rivers and mountains. What do you think. Miss Drowdy ? 
 What are you a fool about ?" 
 
 " Everything, I guess." 
 
 Almina gave a short, hard laugh, that she might not 
 sob. 
 
 What with her fatigue and her coming into such a strange 
 country, and the excitement of meeting Roger Crawford's 
 
A HORSEBACK RIDE 3I 
 
 daughter, and finding her so much different from anything 
 she could possibly have imagined, the Yankee woman found 
 it difficult not to become hysterical. She had often said 
 that if there was one thing she hated it was a ^' hystericky 
 woman." 
 
 " Yes, indeed, everything," she repeated, with an appar- 
 ently uncalled-for emphasis. 
 
 She glanced up to meet Temple's eyes. 
 
 " I shouldn't have said that," responded the girl. " But 
 if you stay with me I shall find out." She turned towards 
 the river again, as she continued : " I brought you out at 
 this side of the house so that you could see the Swanannoa. 
 I didn't know but it might sort of rest you to look at it. 
 Running water washes away hate and sorrow and all bad 
 things, you know." 
 
 "Does it.?" 
 
 Almina was sure that she should burst into a violent fit 
 of crying if this thing continued another moment, and she 
 wished that she could stop trying to find some resemblance 
 in Roger's daughter to Roger himself. 
 
 " Oh, yes, it does. You'll find it out fast enough. Now 
 let's come." 
 
 Temple turned and walked rapidly to the front of the 
 house. The white pony was standing there, its bridle 
 pulled down over its head and twisted about the trunk of 
 a tree. 
 
 " Get right on," said Temple ; " it's only about four miles, 
 and I can walk well enough." 
 
 " Get on where ?" asked Almina, desperately. 
 
 She was thinking that she would ask when the next train 
 started for Massachusetts, and that she would take that 
 train. 
 
 " On Thimble, of course. He's most always gentle. And 
 I shall walk beside you." 
 
 "But I can't get on him, and I couldn't ride him if I 
 did." 
 
 Almina spoke with such decision that she seemed angry. 
 
32 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 The girl faced about and gazed at her. Every woman, 
 old and young, rode among the mountains. What did this 
 mean ? 
 
 " Anybody can ride Thimble," she said, with some con- 
 tempt. " He doesn't trot at all." 
 
 "What does he do, then?" was the helpless question. 
 
 " Why, he paces, and single-steps, and gallops. He's a 
 regular angel of light for a pony. I could go through fire 
 and water on him." 
 
 " Well, I can't, and that's the end of that." 
 
 Almina turned about and looked for a spot where she 
 might sit down. She again thought of the train for Massa- 
 chusetts, and calculated how long it would take to get back 
 home. She found the stump of a tree, and placed herself 
 on it. 
 
 Temple stood a moment with her hand resting on the 
 hogged mane of her pony. She was gazing at the woman 
 sitting there. 
 
 " Your face looks somehow as if you had some will-pow- 
 er," she said, suddenly. *' Besides, there isn't a wagon, and 
 horses to go with it, short of about as far as 'twill be to get 
 home. The two that belong here have gone to Asheville ; 
 the ones I could get, I mean. I'm going to lead Thimble 
 up to that stump." 
 
 Almina could never tell why she rose and clambered on 
 to the stump without another word of remonstrance. She 
 got herself into the saddle in some way. The pony imme- 
 diately walked across the railroad. Temple walked beside 
 him. The girl contemplated her mounted companion with 
 unaffected solicitude. She had hung the satchel on the 
 pommel. The umbrella Almina still retained in her own 
 hand, and with the same hand she somehow managed to 
 clutch at something — in her confusion she hardly knew 
 what. 
 
 " If you'd sit up straight you'd be much more comforta- 
 ble, besides looking better," remarked Temple, with great 
 frankness. 
 
A HORSEBACK RIDE 33 
 
 " Don't talk to me 'bout sitting up straight," was the re- 
 ply. " I feel 's if I moved a grain I should fall off." 
 
 " Now, that's curious," said Temple, seriously. " I didn't 
 know any one could feel that way on a horse's back. It 
 must be a dreadful way to feel." 
 
 " Yes, 'tis a dretful way. How fur is it .?'' 
 
 "About four miles. When you let the pony canter a 
 little it '11 be a great relief to you." 
 
 Almina held fast to the pommel with one hand, and the 
 horn with the other. Her attendant adroitly caught the 
 falling umbrella. 
 
 "I never sh'U canter," said Almina, feebly. 
 
 " Why not ?" in great astonishment. 
 
 "'Cause I'm afraid." 
 
 Miss Drowdy did not know herself. She had always be- 
 lieved that she was rather a strong-minded woman. Now 
 she was ready to sob violently, and to plead with this dread- 
 ful, tyrannical girl to let her get down to the ground. 
 
 " How can you be afraid ? What are you afraid of .'"' 
 asked Temple, who seemed to be actually unable to imag- 
 ine Almina's state of feeling. 
 
 "I d' know," was the answer. " I can't tell whether it's 
 the boss, or what 'tis." 
 
 The girl came nearer and put one hand over the woman's 
 cotton - gloved fingers that were clasped tightly over the 
 horn. 
 
 " I reckon you're plum tired," she said, in a low voice, 
 
 Almina could not help being moved by that voice. She 
 had never heard one like it; it was fresh and young and 
 clear. But it was not those attributes that moved her. 
 Some one who was more accustomed to the analysis of 
 what puzzled her had decided in her own mind that, young 
 as Temple was, there was a compelling power in her voice 
 that made it more effectual than any mere sweetness. 
 
 "I guess I never was much tireder," was the answer; 
 " 'n' I'm all bewildered. I ain't used to travellin', and I 
 should think I'd been travellin' for a month." 
 3 
 
34 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 As Almina spoke in a desolate, dry way, her eyes were 
 fixed on the ring upon the hand which was still pressed 
 tightly over her own. 
 
 " Is that a real di'mond ?" she asked, presently, in some 
 awe. 
 
 Temple raised her hand and turned it so that the jewel 
 sent out sparks of light in the sunshine. 
 
 " Real ?" she repeated. Then, with a flush all over her 
 face : " Yes, it's as real as the magnificent woman who 
 gave it to me." 
 
 "I don't think I ever seen a genuine di'mond before," said 
 Almina. " They be bright, ain't they ? So 'twas a present ?" 
 
 The speaker was really interested in what she was saying ; 
 but she was making a great effort to try to detach her 
 mind from the fact that she was on horseback. 
 
 " Yes, 'twas a present," replied Temple. " The first 
 time I saw her I happened to be of service to her. Ill tell 
 you about it some time if you care to have me. She took 
 the ring from her finger and gave it to me. I told her I 
 didn't want to be paid. But she said she wasn't paying 
 me ; she only wanted me to remember that I had met her. 
 As if I shouldn't remember ! Miss Drowdy," with a sud- 
 den change of manner, " are you suffering a good deal ?" 
 
 " Yes, I be !" in an ungovernable outburst, " 'n' I'm goin' 
 to git off of this pony this minute. I won't stand it, 'n' that's 
 a fact ! Whoa ! Stop ! Whoa !" 
 
 The pony stopped and turned its head in an inquiring 
 surprise. 
 
 Almina slipped off to the ground. She did not find the 
 distance nearly so great as she had expected. When she 
 felt the firm earth under her feet she began to think once 
 more, as she told Temple, that she had a mind of her own, 
 and wasn't quite an idiot. She seized her umbrella and 
 appeared ready to take up a line of march in any direction. 
 
 " If anybody uses that pony it '11 be you," she said. 
 " When I know I'm makin' a fool of myself, why it's my 
 own fault if I don't stop it." 
 
A HORSEBACK RIDE 35 
 
 Temple took the umbrella from her companion ; she 
 strapped that and the satchel on to the saddle. Then she 
 gave the pony a little push as she said : " You'd better go 
 along home, Thimble, before the muels get all the rough- 
 ness." 
 
 The pony tossed up its head, looked around at his mis- 
 tress, then broke into a little amble up the hill they had 
 commenced to mount. 
 
 " I s'pose he knows his way home ?" interrogatively re- 
 marked Almina. 
 
 The girl glanced at her and then laughed. She made no 
 other reply. 
 
 The two walked on side by side. In a quarter of an hour 
 they left the public highway and entered upon a mountain 
 wagon-path that curved this way and that constantly, some- 
 times rising steeply, sometimes almost level. 
 
 Temple walked with a free, easy step, her movements un- 
 impeded by the short skirt she wore. She glanced from 
 time to time with a kind of pitying inquiry at the woman 
 near her. She had never seen such a woman before — one 
 who could neither ride horseback nor walk up mountains. 
 That must be a very strange condition of life where one did 
 not ride and did not go up mountains ; a very tame condi- 
 tion, indeed, and life could be hardly worth living. 
 
 " There seem to be pretty views all round here," said Al- 
 mina, in a breathless way. 
 
 The girl turned again and looked at her. She smiled, but 
 made no attempt at a reply. 
 
 Presently she asked Miss Drowdy to sit down on a fallen 
 tree. Miss Drowdy obeyed. She watched the girl step 
 here and there, and finally pause before a small tree, from 
 which she began to cut a slender shoot. She handled her 
 jack-knife with skill, and in a few minutes she had trimmed 
 a staff which she brought to Almina. 
 
 " You can use that," she said. " I reckon it's a flat coun- 
 try where you come from. It must be dreadful to live in a 
 flat country. I would rather die." 
 
30 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 The two started on again. Almina began to feel that 
 there was no end to these mountain roads, which were only 
 tracks made by the trees having been cut down and carts 
 and horses passing round the stumps until a sort of path had 
 been made. Sometimes they crossed acres of ground where 
 were standing like ghosts groves of dead trees stretching 
 naked branches out into the air. The wind made a strange 
 sound in these branches — a sort of scraping, guttural noise. 
 The ground under the trees was green with springing grain. 
 
 With every rod she went Almina made a fresh vow that 
 she wouldn't give in ; that nothing should make her give in. 
 Her back and legs ached, there was a white circle about 
 her mouth, a red spot on each cheek. She put her stick 
 resolutely and fiercely on the ground and endeavored to pull 
 herself along by it. 
 
 There were to be four miles of this. Well, she would be 
 dead long before the end of the four miles was reached. It 
 would be a good thins: to be dead. She had been a fool to 
 leave her home for the sake of Roger Crawford's daughter. 
 She almost began to doubt if this were his daughter. 
 
 She paused, leaning on her stick and panting. Her com- 
 panion paused also, and gazed at her. 
 
 " I s'pose you be really his child, ain't you ?" she asked 
 when she could command her voice. 
 
 The girl's eyes opened still wider. 
 
 " His, you know," went on the woman, nervously — "Rog- 
 er's. It all seems so strange ; 'n' I'm kinder turned round 
 in my mind. Bein' in them cars so long, 'n' then meetin' 
 you, 'n' findin you so — so sort of dif 'runt." 
 
 "So different?" 
 
 " Yes, indeed. I guess you'd think so if you could see 
 yourself in that red skirt, 'n' that velvet co't, 'n' that hat, 'n' 
 them leggin's, 'n' that sharp thing on your heel " — here a 
 pause and a quick-drawn breath before Almina continued in 
 a sharp whisper — " 'n' that hat that ain't like any hat I ever 
 seen under the canopy. Folks wouldn't think you was a good 
 girl if you wore that hat up in Hoyt." 
 
A HORSEBACK RIDE 37 
 
 Temple put her hand up to her head ; she glanced down 
 at her feet and her skirt; then she flung back her shoul- 
 ders. 
 
 " But I'm not up in Hoyt," she answered. 
 
 The woman still leaned on her stick ; her prim dress 
 looked very strange by the side of her guide, and somehow 
 out of place among these trees. 
 
 "And you be really Roger's daughter ?" repeated Almina. 
 There was a wistful tremor all over her tired, thin face. 
 
 She felt that, in some mysterious way, she was losing 
 something of the fair romance that for so many years had 
 hung about the thought of her lover. 
 
 "Yes," said Temple, "I'm his daughter, the only child he 
 ever had. I don't see why it seems such a wonderful thing 
 that he should be my father. There was nothing wonderful 
 about him, anyway. He was just as selfish as he could be. 
 I reckon that was because he was a man, wasn't it?" 
 
 " Why, Temple Crawford !" 
 
 " What ?" 
 
 " To speak so of your father !" 
 
 Almina's face became quite firm again in her reproof. 
 
 " Well, that's the truth, anyway, and why shouldn't I say 
 it? I know he's my father. If everything went exactly right 
 there never could be any human being more agreeable than 
 he was. But things didn't go exactly right very often. 
 You'd better sit down again, Miss Drowdy. Here's another 
 fallen tree. I s'pose I don't realize that a person can get 
 tired walking among these mountains. We'd better have 
 kept Thimble. Perhaps I can whistle him back. He'll be 
 sure to stop and eat somewhere on the way home." 
 
 Almina sat down. She was now in that state of fatigue 
 when she could not hold herself steady, when she was sure 
 she should never be rested again, and never "see things 
 straight." 
 
 The girl turned her face up the mountain. She thrust 
 her hands into the pockets of her coat, tipped back her 
 head, and immediately Almina heard a strong, penetrating 
 
38 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 whistle that sounded along the solitary spaces, carr3dng far 
 up the acclivity. 
 
 Temple wheeled around, still with her hands in her pockets. 
 
 " It was wrong for us to let him go," she said again. 
 " But he's almost sure to come back. He's a good fellow, 
 and we understand each other." She sprang forward. 
 "Why, Miss Drowdy, are you as tired as that .^" 
 
 She knelt down by the woman's side and put her arms 
 about her. Almina smiled feebly and made a great effort. 
 She felt herself in a horrible nightmare from which she could 
 not escape. And Massachusetts so far away ! 
 
 " I'm kinder used up," she said, faintly. 
 
 In spite of herself she let her head drop on the young 
 shoulder near her. But she made a fierce effort to retain 
 her consciousness. She had a feeling that she should never 
 be able to respect herself again if she should faint or do any- 
 thing like that. " Almina Drow^dy faint !" 
 
 The sting of this fear roused her a little. But she could 
 not yet lift her head from the shoulder which was held per- 
 fectly still. 
 
 After a few moments she was able to say in a half- 
 whisper : 
 
 " You see, I ain't slep', 'n' I' ain't et ; 'n' I guess I was 
 some excited." 
 
 After a pause she added, with a slight and whimsical smile 
 at her own folly : 
 
 " They used to call me nervous when I was a girl ; mebby 
 I ain't outgrown it." 
 
 Here she tried to raise her head, but a firm hand prevent- 
 ed her. Temple did not speak immediately. 
 
 She looked strong and dominant as she knelt there on one 
 knee by her guest. 
 
 " I'm afraid I didn't realize that folks could get so tired," 
 she said at last, as if she were making an apology. "Don't 
 move yet. I wish somebody would come along in a wagon. 
 But it isn't in the least likely. There ! Don't you hear a 
 horse's step ? No } But I do ; and it's Thimble's step. 
 
A HORSEBACK RIDE 39 
 
 light and quick. There he is ! Dear old fellow ! Sweetest 
 fellow in the world ! Come to your own true-love !" 
 
 As she made these exclamations Temple did not rise. 
 She still continued to support Almina. But she extended one 
 hand. The pony paused a few paces away, gazing at the 
 group with neck raised and ears pointed sharply forward. 
 After a brief examination he came nearer and fumbled with 
 his lips upon Temple's outstretched hand. 
 
 Almina's umbrella and satchel were still strapped to the 
 saddle. The pony's mouth was green. 
 
 "You've been at somebody's new wheat," cried his mis- 
 tress. 
 
 "You must mount again, now," she said, turning to her 
 companion. "You never can walk the two miles more ; and 
 it's up the mountain, too." 
 
 Almina did not reply. She rose, much as if she were 
 about to have a tooth extracted. She had made up her 
 mind. And she was ashamed of the weakness she had dis- 
 played. She could not walk. Therefore she must ride. 
 
 The pony was brought up accurately alongside of the tree. 
 Again Almina got into the saddle, and again she did not 
 know how she did it. 
 
 The girl walked close by the pony. So they started. 
 Sometimes the path was very steep. Once, in a depression, 
 they crossed a hurrying stream of water which Temple spoke 
 of as " the branch." She walked calmly through this water, 
 which was up to the tops of her shabby congress boots. 
 
 "Now your feet are wet," exclaimed Almina, " 'n' you'll 
 ketch cold." 
 
 " No, I sha'n't. I don't think I ever had a cold in my life." 
 
 On they \vent. Once the woman ventured to say tenta- 
 tively that she supposed they should get there some time. 
 
 " Oh, yes," was the cheerful reply. 
 
 Going at a foot pace it takes a good while to travel near- 
 ly four miles along the side of a mountain. And often these 
 travellers found that a tree had fallen across the road and 
 a circuit had to be made. 
 
40 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 Almina was so far roused that she asked why the folks 
 didn't take away those trees, and the reply was : 
 
 " They're aiming to." 
 
 A clear, ringing bark was heard a short distance away 
 where the light was greater, as if there were an opening. 
 
 " That's Little Bull," said Temple ; he's heard us." 
 
 More barking in different keys. 
 
 " They've all heard us," continued Temple, " and they're 
 coming to meet us. I'm glad you're not afraid of dogs, 
 because you'd have a truly devilish time here if you were." 
 
 She spoke quite as if devilish were the word she want- 
 ed, and as if she were not afraid to use it. 
 
 One more slight turn in the road. 
 
 " There's the place," said the girl, " and here are the 
 dogs. Brace up, for they'll go all over us. You'll think 
 you're going to be eaten up. But you'll come out alive." 
 
Ill 
 
 AN INTERRUPTED MEAL 
 
 A TROOP of five dogs rushed pell-mell, with open throats, 
 down a clear slope towards the two figures that had just 
 left the woods. They came from a building standing half 
 way up the space, or rather from a group of buildings. 
 One of these was a comparatively large log-house ; some- 
 what in its rear was a smaller one. 
 
 From the open door of this latter dwelling there stepped 
 a tall woman. She put one hand to her hip and the other 
 above her eyes. She was easily erect, with head thrown 
 back. She was not large because she was fat, but by rea- 
 son of a stalwart, strong frame. She did not know in the 
 least what a magnificent pose she took. Almina Drowdy, 
 looking up with weary eyes, had only a dim sense of some- 
 thing unusual. She was not conscious of much save the 
 hope and belief that she was nearing a place where she 
 could get off that little horse, shut herself up in a room, 
 take off her gown and lie down. She had not taken off her 
 gown since she left Hoyt. She had a conviction that if she 
 could divest herself of that garment her mind would imme- 
 diately begin to clear. 
 
 The dogs leaped upon Temple. They had the appear- 
 ance of devouring her. They drew back and crouched down 
 on their front paws, barking furiously. They sprang into 
 the air, whining sharply. They smelled exhaustively at Al- 
 mina's skirts. 
 
 " Don't any of um bite ?" she asked, feebly. 
 
 "Oh, yes, indeed," was the reply; "but they generally 
 are sure to bite the right person." 
 
42 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 Almina tried to smile as she expressed the hope that she 
 was not tlie right person. 
 
 " Oh, you're safe enough," said Temple. 
 
 In a moment more they had come within a few yards of 
 the woman. She advanced a step, now, with a hand on 
 each hip. 
 
 Miss Drowdy's dazed eyes saw that she was a "yellow 
 woman." 
 
 " It's Sally," said Temple, by way of introduction. 
 
 Sally now threw up one hand with an unconsciously 
 dramatic movement. Her eyes were fixed on the thin, el- 
 derly face from which nearly every vestige of life and ex- 
 pression had been squeezed by fatigue and excitement. 
 
 Sally made a stride forward. 
 
 " Master King !" she exclaimed. She extended her 
 arms, took Almina from the saddle, and carried her into the 
 house. 
 
 Temple lingered a moment to get the satchel and the 
 umbrella ; then she hastily unbuckled the girths and the 
 throat-lash, and slipped off saddle and bridle, dropping them 
 on the floor at the end of the wide stoop that ran along in 
 front of the house. 
 
 The pony gave a little snort and cantered away at his own 
 will. 
 
 The girl stood an instant on the porch, and looked off to 
 Mt. Pisgah in the distance in front and at her right ; her 
 glance swept over the different peaks, blue or black. She 
 turned and gazed at Busbee Mountain, which was so close 
 that it almost seemed to lean forward towards her ; it re- 
 vealed the seams and gullies on its surface. There were 
 hills and mountains everywhere ; there were no level spaces. 
 Sometimes there were hollows, and these hollows were usually 
 green with springing grain. 
 
 The sun was shining straight down into Temple's face, 
 for she had thrown off her hat. 
 
 She did not seem to mind the sun. 
 
 As she looked abroad she suddenly pressed the palms of 
 
AN INTERRUPTED MEAL 43 
 
 her hands tightly together and extended them, her face ra- 
 diant. 
 
 Very soon she turned and went into the house. This 
 house was of logs, and it was all ground-floor. 
 
 The girl walked through three rooms until she came to the 
 door of the fourth. This she had selected for her visitor. 
 
 Almina was lying on the gay-covered bed in this apart- 
 ment. There was a patch of sunlight from the one small 
 window, and this patch was in the middle of the floor. 
 
 " The idea !" cried Almina, as soon as she saw the girl. 
 
 " What is it ?" asked Temple. 
 
 " Why, didn't you see that woman pick me up 's if I'd 
 been an infant babe .'' Yes, an infant babe. And she put 
 me on this bed, 'n' she wanted to undress me. The idea ! 
 I jest wish the folks in Hoyt could have seen me. But it's 
 jest as well they didn't. Who is that woman, anyway ?" 
 
 The speaker rose on her elbow and looked with blinking 
 eyes at her companion. 
 
 " Why, that's Sally," was the answer. 
 
 " But she's a — well, she's a negro, a colored person, ain't 
 she ?" with some hesitation. 
 
 Miss Drowdy did not know exactly how these people 
 were mentioned in the South. 
 
 " She's not exactly a negro," replied Temple. " She's 
 what we call a bright woman here." 
 
 " A bright woman ?" 
 
 Almina was helplessly confused before such a remark as 
 this. 
 
 " Yes, bright-colored, you know. An octoroon, or quad- 
 roon, or something like that." 
 
 "Oh." 
 
 The Yankee stranger closed her eyes for a moment. 
 
 Temple searched about and found a shawl, which she 
 pinned up at the curtainless window so that the light should 
 not be so glaring. It had never occurred to her before that 
 there were no curtains anywhere in the house. 
 
 By a great effort Almina kept her smarting eyes shut. 
 
44 
 
 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 She heard the girl moving quietly about the room. She felt 
 the blanket which Sally had thrown over her drawn up 
 more about her shoulders. She continued thinking about 
 Sally. It was very curious that she had been conscious of 
 a sensation of relief and comfort the moment the " bright 
 woman " had lifted her from the pony. It was true that 
 Sally had smelled strongly of tobacco, and of something in- 
 definable which might be what Almina in a general way 
 called " dirt." And she was a colored person. She had 
 heard Sally whisper, 
 
 " Pore critter, yo' ! Pore critter !" as she bore her bur- 
 den into the bedroom. 
 
 And somehow it had been a comfort at that time to be 
 called a pore critter. 
 
 Sally had told her that she would bring some tea and 
 toast " right soon." This she said as she laid Miss Drowdy 
 on the bed. 
 
 " Oh, don't ! don't !" Almina had cried. " Le' me be, 
 now ! Only jest le' me lay here and sense that I ain't in 
 the cars. I want to sense that I ain't in the cars." 
 
 " Oh, laws !" had been the response. " I'll let yo' be fas' 
 'nough. Stay hyar a week ef yo' wan' to. But ain't yo' 
 hongry ?" 
 
 " No, no. I ain't got over that cawfy I had to the deepo. 
 I d' know when I shall git over that cawfy. It Stan's by 's 
 if I'd et a biled dinner. I jest want to be let alone." 
 
 When Temple had shut out the sun and had covered her 
 guest she stood hesitating ; but she soon left the room. 
 She went out of the house and across a space of a few 
 yards to the small log-house which was Sally's kitchen and 
 sleeping and smoking place. 
 
 It was now a smoking-place. Sally was sitting on her heels 
 in front of an open fire. She had just picked up a live coal 
 with her bare fingers, and was putting it skilfully on top of the 
 tobacco in her pipe, sucking hard at the stem as she did so. 
 
 She flirted her fingers in the air, looked at the figure in 
 the always-open doorway, and gave a short laugh. Then 
 
_^ AN INTERRUPTED MEAL 45 
 
 she bent forward and stirred something that was in a skillet 
 that stood over a heap of coals drawn out on the stones of 
 the hearth. 
 
 Having stirred this she looked once more at Temple, 
 laughed again, and now exclaimed : 
 
 " Laws-a-mercy me ! Oh, law me !" As Temple made 
 no response to these exclamations Sally asked : 
 
 " Is she gwine ter stay ?" 
 
 " I don't know. I expect so." 
 
 Sally pulled strongly and thoughtfully on her pipe. She 
 turned her face so that she might gaze at her companion 
 more conveniently. 
 
 " She seems sorter delikit," she said at last, but not as if 
 that were what she had been thinking of saying. 
 
 " I don't think she's delicate at all," said Temple, deci- 
 sively. 
 
 "Oh." 
 
 A short silence, broken by Sally, who said : 
 
 "She ain't what yo' might call much of er horsebacker, 
 is she, now ?" 
 
 " No," said Temple, with such solemnity that Sally re- 
 strained her laugh. 
 
 She rose to her feet. She threw back her chest and put 
 her hands on her hips, clinching the pipe tightly between 
 her white, strong teeth. 
 
 The young girl was somewhat more than the average 
 height of women, but Sally looked down upon her. 
 
 The colored woman now gazed at her companion inquir- 
 ingly, something as an animal might gaze, with a questioning 
 that was not acute or well discriminated, but that was strong. 
 
 Temple met the glance of the yellowish, dusky eyes. 
 She always was conscious of a peculiar sensation when she 
 looked into Sally's eyes. It was as if she had a glimpse of 
 wild, uncivilized days, of furious loves and hates, of some 
 tiger life whose passions were like fire, tempest fury, and 
 with the curious, undisciplined, unreliable warmth of heart 
 and nature which often goes with such a make-up. 
 
46 ■ AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 For Sally's unrestrained experiences were mostly behind 
 her. She was not a young woman. To Temple she seemed 
 old. She was, perhaps, forty. She was entirely unedu- 
 cated ; she could not read nor write. But she had lived 
 much with educated people, and she did not use the real 
 negro dialect. She had times of trying not to use it. But 
 she was very far from talking English. 
 
 She spoke in a sort of throaty voice that may almost be 
 said to belong to her race, and it had in a marked degree 
 the indescribable, thick, honey sweetness and mellowness 
 of the African tone. The white face and the dark, marked- 
 featured face were turned towards each other for a mo- 
 ment. 
 
 " Wull, honey," said Sally, at last, '' be yo' glad or be yo' 
 sorry .?" 
 
 Temple took a few steps about the room. She had 
 thrust her hands into her coat-pockets. Her cropped head 
 was bent. She was used to talking confidentially, in a 
 measure, with Sally. 
 
 "I don't know," she said at last. "I had to send for 
 her, because of father. But I think," lifting her head, "we 
 were getting along mighty well as things were. I reckon," 
 with a slight laugh, " that she's going to be the thing they 
 call a chaperon." 
 
 "What's that.?" 
 
 " Oh, I can't tell you so you'll know. It's something that 
 young girls need to keep them from going straight to de- 
 struction." 
 
 Here Temple burst into a louder laugh. 
 
 Sally took her pipe from her mouth and smiled broadly. 
 
 " Laws, Miss Temple, you ain't gwine ter distruction ; no 
 sich er thing. An' if yo' war, ain't I hyar, I sh'd like to 
 know ? I swar I'd holp you frum gwine. Yo' carn't git 
 nowhars nigh distruction while Sally's roun'. No, yo' carn't 
 do hit." 
 
 Temple smiled intimately and gratefully at her com- 
 panion. 
 
AN INTERRUPTED MEAL 47 
 
 " Sometimes," she said, " I have an idea that it must be 
 great fun to go to destruction ; just while you're going, you 
 know. But when you really get there, I suppose the fun 
 stops." 
 
 " Oh, ye^" said Sally, as one who knew, " it stops right 
 thar. But what makes yo' talk that-a-way, chile ? Thar 
 ain't no 'casion. Yo' jes' as safe hyar's when your par 
 was hyar. Eggsac'ly." 
 
 Sally did not put her pipe back in her mouth. She held 
 it in her hand. She did not look at the girl, but gazed into 
 the fire as she asked : „ 
 
 " Reckon she'll try ter boss us roun' any?" 
 Temple seemed to think the question was a joke, for she 
 laughed and made no attempt at replying. 
 
 "What '11 Mrs. Ammidown think?" now asked Sally. 
 She looked suddenly at the girl as she put this question. 
 
 But Temple did not answer this question either. She 
 walked up to the fireplace, carefully pushed a log back 
 with the toe of her wet boot, then stooped to peer into the 
 skillet. 
 
 As she lifted her head she asked : 
 " Chicken ?" 
 
 " No, rabbit. Bart, he foun' a couple in them snares," 
 was the answer. 
 
 Temple walked to the door. She stepped without, 
 paused, and glanced back to say, impressively : 
 "Remember, Sally, lots of sweet 'tater." 
 Temple sauntered back to her own house. The largest 
 of the dogs that had come to meet her rose from a recum- 
 bent position near Sally's door-step and accompanied his 
 mistress. He was a white Newfoundland — white, save for 
 one black ear, and a splotch of black down his neck on the 
 same side. That is, he would have been white if he had 
 ever been clean. There were moments in his life when, 
 having just come up from a prolonged swim in the French 
 Broad, Yucatan was of a beautiful fluffy white. But those 
 moments were rare and very brief. He was usually tinged 
 
48 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 with the yellow soil of the roads, and dingy with the dark 
 loam of the cultivated places of the farms. Still, clean or 
 dingy, it was a pleasure to look in this dog's face and 
 meet the glance of his well-opened brown eyes. Yucatan 
 had a great deal of dignity ; so much, in fact, that it was 
 not on first acquaintance usually known that he had a 
 great love of fun also. 
 
 Having reached the middle room, where the largest fire- 
 place was. Temple picked up a couple of "cord -wood" 
 sticks that were lying on the hearth and flung them on the 
 fire. She lifted them with tolerable ease, but they were too 
 heavy for her to put down as gradually as she ought to 
 have done. The coals flew out over the uncarpeted, untidy 
 floor. This floor showed plainly that this was not the first 
 time that coals had done thus. Temple seized a broom 
 from a corner and swept the fiery pieces back again. Then 
 she drew up a chair, and, after considerable pulling and 
 coaxing, she succeeded in removing her sodden shoes. The 
 feet that she thrust out towards the huge fire were covered 
 with black stockings. It is dreadful to relate that these 
 stockings had various holes in them through which the 
 white flesh showed plainly. 
 
 Yucatan established himself gravely on his haunches at 
 the other side of the hearth from his mistress. He also 
 gazed contemplatively at the blaze. He did not reveal in 
 the least by his manner that he had seen the holes in those 
 stockings. And yet it was plainly evident that he must 
 have seen them. 
 
 Occasionally the dog turned his eyes slowly upon his 
 companion. 
 
 Temple's head was leaned against the back of her chair, 
 which was a very comfortable rattan lounging-chair. In- 
 deed, the chairs and the beds in this log- house were the 
 chairs and beds of an extreme civilization. Roger Craw- 
 ford had not intended to be uncomfortable. 
 
 The girl had her hands clasped on top of her head. 
 Her wet stockings began to steam in the heat. 
 
AN INTERRUPTED MEAL 49 
 
 Yucatan stretched forward and sniffed at the feet. 
 Then he looked at the owner of them. 
 
 Temple smiled in lazy content. She held out her hand, 
 and the dog came and sat down close to her, leaning his 
 big head on her lap. 
 
 " You needn't pretend to be shocked at my stockings, 
 old fellow," said the girl ; " you are a sight to behold your- 
 self. I can see some of the loam from the Bucknor farm on 
 your flanks ; there's soil from the north side of Busbee on 
 your chest ; and the State road is daubed all over you. 
 When were you on the State road last, dear one ?" 
 
 Yucatan thumped the floor slowly with his enormous 
 tail. But he made no other reply. 
 
 Temple gazed with indolent intentness down at the face 
 on her knee. 
 
 " I do believe," she exclaimed, " that there's a place be- 
 tween your eyes that is clean enough to kiss." 
 
 She bent down and kissed the place. The tail thumped 
 again, more decidedly than before. 
 
 Temple resumed her position with her head against the 
 chair-back. She became very quiet. After a few moments 
 the dog settled down on the floor with his nose between 
 his paws. There was no sound in the room save the occa- 
 sional falling of an ember in the fire. 
 
 Sometimes one of these burning embers would roll out 
 on the hearth ; but fortunately none rolled as far as the 
 planking. 
 
 Temple was fast asleep. Of course the door was open ; 
 it was rarely closed in the daytime. But the fire was so 
 large, and the girl was so thoroughly used to having a room 
 this way that she did not feel cold. 
 
 After an hour Sally appeared in the doorway. She stood 
 looking in. Her figure had a distant background of moun- 
 tains. This background seemed fitting. 
 
 She made no noise, and presently disappeared. 
 
 Yucatan had raised his head and gazed at her, but had 
 put it down again, not thinking it necessary to move. 
 
50 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 Another hour passed, and the girl still slept. She had 
 been restless the night before, for she had been secretly ex- 
 cited about Miss Drowdy's coming. She had resented be- 
 ing commanded to invite her. Things were going on ex- 
 cellently exactly as they were. Temple was out of doors 
 all day, either on foot or on horseback, and that suited her. 
 Sometimes she put on her best frock, and, instead of the 
 slouch hat, a little stiff turban with a feather in it, and, hav- 
 ing previously brushed Thimble and tied a ribbon to his 
 bridle between his ears, she rode him into Asheville. She 
 went to the stores and bought candies and writing-paper. 
 Candies to eat, and paper upon which to write wild poems 
 and rhapsodies — things as wild as, and more incoherent 
 than, the scenes among which the girl lived. 
 
 She knew very well that these things were not worth any- 
 thing at all as literature. 
 
 But she said to herself that, absolutely, she could not 
 live if she did not at least try to express something of the 
 ineffable glory that was in a mere life among these moun- 
 tains. Just life and mountains and rivers. Why should 
 any one ask for anything else ? 
 
 That woman from Massachusetts had said that there 
 seemed to be "pretty views about here." 
 
 Temple thought that she herself had behaved very well 
 indeed when she refrained from an outburst of contemptu- 
 ous fury as she heard those words. 
 
 But somehow, in spite of all, the girl had no contempt for 
 the woman who had said that, and who could not ride 
 horseback. She was aware that not much could be ex- 
 pected from one who could not ride and who had not lived 
 among mountains. Great allowances should be made for 
 such people. Temple was fully resolved to make those 
 allowances. And she did not dislike this new-comer, who 
 had evidently had so few advantages. 
 
 The girl supposed that Miss Drowdy must at one time in 
 her life, years ago, have been in love with her father, Roger 
 Crawford. It must be so ; although it seemed quite impos- 
 
AN INTERRUPTED MEAL 51 
 
 sible when you came to think of it. But then people's 
 fathers, when you came to think of that, also, had been 
 young, and had been lovers. 
 
 Temple, in the time which had elapsed between writing 
 to Miss Drowdy and that lady's arrival, had had long and 
 serious seasons of thinking of her father. She did not care 
 very much for him, and she was quite positive that he did 
 not care very much for her. Still, she felt for him some of 
 the attachment of custom and habitual companionship. 
 
 Now, as she sat in the chair at the fire, before she went 
 to sleep, it seemed to her that the next moment he would 
 enter at the open door and come forward — a tall, thin man, 
 moving gracefully, always having his grizzled beard and 
 hair trimmed carefully ; though he was not very particular 
 about his dress, generally lounging about in a somewhat 
 rubbed velvet coat. His pointed beard and long mustache, 
 the latter scrupulously and persistently pulled out and 
 turned up at the ends, made a rather picturesque effect 
 under a mountaineer's hat. Mr. Crawford had not yet 
 given up glancing frequently at mirrors, though he lived on 
 a mountain side in Limestone Township, North Carolina. 
 He still had handsome teeth, which gleamed pleasantly 
 under his mustache when he smiled. 
 
 Sometimes, when looking at him, Temple used to put the 
 inquiry to her own mind : 
 
 " I wonder if he is the kind of man whom women would 
 love ?" 
 
 When Mr. Crawford had gone to Manitoba for his health, 
 and when the letter had come about Almina K. Drowdy, 
 then Temple had said to herself: 
 
 " There's one of the women who loved him." 
 
 And she had been very curious. She supposed it was 
 Yankee dialect which Miss Drowdy spoke. Her father did 
 not use dialect of any kind. 
 
 Of her mother the girl remembered a few things which 
 made the memory something always vivid and powerful. 
 
 Mrs. Crawford had been a Louisiana woman. Sally, who 
 
52 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 had been her servant since both were children, always as- 
 serted that her mistress had married Mr. Crawford "fur 
 lurv." She had remarked at the same time that, in her 
 estimation, love was the last reason on the " yarth " for 
 marrying. 
 
 In answer to Temple's insistent questions as to why she 
 thought thus, the yellow woman had said that " a pusson 
 war jes' likely's not ter lurv ten or twenty times ; but nat- 
 cherly a pusson couldn't expect ter marry that away." 
 
 And Temple had fully agreed with the latter part of this 
 assertion. 
 
 From dark hints and darker looks the yellow woman had 
 given the girl to understand that love was a passion of a 
 short and tempestuous life, and likely to recur again and 
 again. 
 
 Therefore the selection of a husband could have nothing 
 to do with love. 
 
 To Temple Crawford the selection of a husband had not 
 yet become of any interest. Her life was full. Had she 
 not her horse, her dogs, and the whole world of mountain, 
 tree, and rushing river ? 
 
 In her momentary snatches of thought on this subject 
 Temple acknowledged to herself that it must be that the 
 ordinary woman was much absorbed in the thought of a 
 husband. That was surely the way of the ordinary woman. 
 But then that kind of feminine human being was so very — 
 well, so excessively ordinary that she could not continue to 
 think of her. 
 
 The second time that Sally appeared at the door of the 
 cabin she walked in and began to pile up the coals with the 
 tongs. As she was lifting a log to put on the fire Temple 
 moved, opened her eyes, then yawned and stretched her 
 arms high over her head. 
 
 "Oh, how hungry I am!" she exclaimed. "Oceans of 
 sweet 'taters, Sally ?" 
 
 " Oceans," answered Sally. 
 
 " Stewed in brown sugar and butter, Sally ?" 
 
AN INTERRUPTED MEAL 
 
 53 
 
 " Shore, dey be," was the reply. 
 
 " Then let's eat. Put the dinner right on the table." 
 
 Temple rose. Yucatan also rose. He sniffed in the air 
 towards the yellow woman who had brought in with her an 
 aroma of rabbit and other good things. 
 
 But Sally made no immediate movement to go. 
 
 " Youse done forgot one thing," she said. 
 
 Temple looked about the room. 
 
 " De shapron pusson what's come fum de Norf," said 
 Sally, in her most throaty voice, " ter keep yo' from destruc- 
 tion." Then she giggled deep down in her chest. 
 
 Temple threw out her hand in a gesture she had uncon- 
 sciously learned from her companion. A look of dismay 
 passed over her face. 
 
 " So I had," she cried. '' She must be starved." 
 
 The girl darted out of the room. Sally walked deliber- 
 ately into the apartment at the right where a table stood 
 with some plates, tumblers, and knives and forks on it. She 
 moved these tumblers and plates about in a casual manner. 
 It was not worth while to hurry, save upon rare occasions, 
 and on those occasions this woman could work like a lion — 
 supposing lions were given to working. 
 
 This dining-room seemed also to be a little log cabin in 
 itself. It had its own outer door, open of course ; its own 
 fireplace, where was a pile of ashes, from which thin streams 
 of smoke went up into the chimney. 
 
 Temple paused outside of Miss Drowdy's door. 
 
 It was now almost five hours since Almina had stepped 
 from the cars at the junction. 
 
 She had taken off her gown the moment she had been left 
 alone in her room. Let it be said in parenthesis that this 
 room also had its outside door, and its own chimney and 
 hearth. Almina had wrapped a shawl about her, shut her 
 outside door, and carefully pulled an old trunk against it, not 
 finding any lock. The other door she had let remain simply 
 closed. 
 
 She had looked at herself in the glass ; had declared 
 
54 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 forcibly that she was a " reg'lar fright," and had then laid 
 herself down again on the bed, and drawn quilt and blanket 
 up over her head, and down to her nose. She had an- 
 nounced to herself that she was "jest as wide-awake as a 
 fish," and then immediately she had fallen into a deep 
 sleep. 
 
 She was in this sleep when she heard a knock on the 
 inner door, and instantly began to dream that it was Freddy 
 who had grown tall enough to knock. 
 
 But on the second sound she started up with an infini- 
 tesimal kind of a scream, followed by the cry, " Where be I .''" 
 as she looked frantically round upon the log-walls, where the 
 spaces were stuffed with what looked like mud. 
 
 " Aren't you hungry ?" asked a voice outside. 
 
 Then Almina knew that, wherever she was, she had never 
 been so nearly famished in her life. 
 
 "Yes," she answered. She was going to ask if it were 
 dinner-time ; then, knowing that it must be long after noon, 
 she inquired if " there was a meal goin' on .'"' 
 
 "There's a meal going to go on the minute you come 
 out," was the response. " And please, please don't stay to 
 prink ; there's nobody here but us, and I am starving. I 
 feel as if I should swear blue blazes if you stop to put on a 
 dinner-gown, or any such." 
 
 Refreshed by her sleep, Almina was able to answer glibly 
 that all her dinner-rigs were in her trunk, and her trunk 
 was to that station. 
 
 It then came home to the girl standing in the next room 
 that she had entirely forgotten to make any arrangement for 
 the bringing of the trunk. She found comfort in remember- 
 ing that Bartholomew had not yet come back from Asheville. 
 When Bartholomew did come back — 
 
 At this stage in her remorseful thoughts the door in front 
 of her was opened a crack, and Almina asked, deprecating- 
 ly, "Could I have about a pint of water? I think mebby I 
 could git 'long with a pint. I s'pose you have water in these 
 mountains.''" 
 
AN INTERRUPTED MEAL 55 
 
 Temple turned to fly, but before she took wing her guest 
 detained her by saying : 
 
 "And some kind of a dish sootable to dab my fingers in, 
 'n' to wet a rag so's I can wipe off my face. I hate to trou- 
 ble ye." 
 
 Temple did not stay to listen any longer. She ran to her 
 own room, which was at the farther side of this group of 
 connecting loo:-houses. 
 
 Uncivilized as her manner of life might be considered, she 
 was quite up to the enlightened standard in regard to ablu- 
 tions. 
 
 She took her own bowl and pitcher. Her face was red 
 with vexation at herself that she should have treated her 
 guest in this way. She ran back again with soap and 
 towels. 
 
 She was waiting before the fire when Almina appeared 
 with face pink from having been rubbed with a towel, and 
 with hair carefully done on crimping-pins to be taken out 
 "before tea-time." 
 
 Sally came striding in with the dish of rabbit in one hand 
 and the sweet potatoes in the other. 
 
 Almina tried not to show how hungry she was. She made 
 a pretence of being deliberate. And Sally's presence em- 
 barrassed her. And they had not much more than begun to 
 eat before the white Newfoundland stalked in through the 
 open door and sat down solemnly by his mistress. He was 
 immediately given the leg of a rabbit, which was a mere 
 nothing. 
 
 He was hardly seated before there entered a medium- 
 sized mongrel, smooth of hair and yellow of color. He sat 
 down on the other side of Temple, and he also received the 
 leg of a rabbit. This last arrival was Little Bull. He 
 had a square jaw, with under -teeth protruding. One eye 
 had been gouged out, but had healed in a scientific manner, 
 so that, according to Temple, Little Bull really had quite a 
 distinguished appearance, as if he were a retired general. 
 Perhaps this distinguished appearance was increased by the 
 
56 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 fact that one ear had remaining only a shred, the major part 
 having been torn off in some forgotten battle. The eye of 
 Little Bull which had not been gouged out had a red light 
 in it which accorded perfectly with his jaw. 
 
 Temple laid down a morsel of hot biscuit that she might 
 put her hand on the round, smooth head. Then she hastened 
 to caress Yucatan lest he should suffer from jealousy. 
 
 "If either of these dogs is within a mile of the house you 
 needn't be one bit afraid," remarked Temple to her guest. 
 
 Almina was reviving with great rapidity. She was not 
 thinking so continuously of Massachusetts and home. 
 
 "You mean that they'll be so far off they can't hurt me.?" 
 she asked. 
 
 " No ; I mean that they won't let anybody else hurt you." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 Almina had given up pretending not to be hungry. She 
 was eating in that steady, business-like way that gives no 
 sign of possible cessation. As she allowed her hostess to 
 help her a third time to the stewed sweet potato she re- 
 marked that she was afraid she was turning into a mere ani- 
 mal. She asked the girl if she didn't think one ought to 
 keep the spiritual part uppermost. 
 
 Temple replied that she had never thought much about 
 the spiritual part ; she considered that — 
 
 Having proceeded thus far, she paused and looked at the 
 doorway, for some one had appeared there. 
 
 "Oh, Bart," exclaimed the girl, "I hope you've got the 
 gears mended. I want you to take the mules and go right 
 down to the junction for — " 
 
 Here Temple stopped again and pushed back from the 
 table. She asked, in a moment, 
 /'What's the matter, anyway?" 
 
 Almina now turned squarely round and saw a tall, grimy 
 boy of seventeen or eighteen standing louting just within the 
 room. 
 
 The boy hitched a little as he stood. He kept his gaze 
 on the floor. 
 
AN INTERRUPTED MEAL 57 
 
 " It's that there Thimble," he began, and then stopped. 
 
 The girl rose ; on each side of her a dog rose also, and 
 stood. 
 
 " Is anything the matter with Thimble ?" 
 
 When she put this question each dog glanced up at her 
 with an indescribable air of putting himself fully on her side 
 of the affair, whatever the affair might turn out to be. 
 
 The boy shuffled with his big, muddy feet. But he made 
 no answer. 
 
 "Is anything the matter with Thimble ?" repeated the girl, 
 her voice taking on a tone which made Miss Drowdy's heart 
 begin to beat in her throat. 
 
 Bartholomew this time did not dare to hesitate in his re- 
 ply. But before he could speak Little Bull growled dis- 
 tinctly. Still he continued to stand by his mistress. 
 
 " He's be'n an' curt hisef," said the boy. 
 
 "Cut himself! Oh, you've done it! Where is he? 
 Where is he ? Speak, if you don't want me to kill you !" 
 
 Temple seemed to her guest to leap across the space 
 which separated her from the figure at the door. And the 
 dogs leaped with her. They sprang upon the boy ; he fought 
 them off with his fists. 
 
 Temple caught hold of his collar. 
 
 "Where is Thimble.'*" she cried again. 
 
 The girl's face was white. And yet her face, as well as 
 her eyes, seemed in some strange way to be on fire. 
 
 Almina had risen also. She was carried away by the 
 force of the girl's passion. All her education had taught her 
 to believe in restraint, but her heart went out in spontaneous 
 sympathy with the vigor and abandon of Temple's emotion. 
 
 " By thur lower shed," gurgled the boy. 
 
 He was down on his knees now with the dogs at him. 
 
 Temple turned and ran down the slope. 
 
 After a slight hesitation the dogs ran after her. But Bull 
 came back once to smell at Bart, who had staggered up to 
 his feet. 
 
 Bart kicked out at him, and muttered, " Cuss yo ' !' 
 
 } in 
 
58 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 This remark Bull took with calmness. He finally decided 
 that, since his mistress did not consider it necessary to re- 
 main and punish this creature, and since she had not re- 
 quested him to do so, he also would go down to the lower 
 shed and see what it was all about. 
 
 Sally had not been in the room, and now Almina was left 
 alone. She stood undecided. She was wondering if this 
 kind of scene was of frequent occurrence, and was it custom- 
 ary for ponies to cut themselves among these mountains .'' 
 and if there was a cut there would have to be bandages and 
 — she wished that she had brought some Arabian balsam 
 with her. 
 
 She did not hesitate any longer. She hastened to find 
 Sally. She told the yellow woman to get an old sheet and 
 hurry down to the lower shed as fast as she could. 
 
 Sally was standing in the middle of her house. At the mo- 
 ment of Miss Drowdy's appearance she had a fragment of the 
 frame of a rabbit in one hand, and a thick piece of corn pone 
 in the other. She was alternately gnawing at the skeleton 
 and biting into the corn bread. 
 
 " What's up ?" she asked, after having heard Almina's re- 
 quest, and suspecting instantly that this Yankee woman was, 
 as she phrased it to herself, " running mad." 
 
 " That person you call Bart said the pony had cut him- 
 self," was the answer. 
 
 Sally dropped her rabbit and her bread. 
 
 " Oh, Lord !" she cried, " then Bart's be'n a doin' sum- 
 pin' with him. Miss Temple she won't stan' it if nawthin' 
 happen ter dat pony. Go 'long an' be er helpin'. I'll bring 
 everything." 
 
 So Almina began to run down the slope. But she ran in 
 a stiff, middle-aged way, and not as Temple had gone, " like 
 a raging wild animal." 
 
IV 
 
 DR. AMMIDOWN 
 
 As Miss Drowdy went down the hill she gathered impetus 
 from the going until it seemed to her that her legs were 
 moving on their own account and were running away with 
 her. And she was confused and could not recognize her 
 identity. Was it really herself, Almina K. Drowdy, spinster, 
 of Hoyt, Mass., who was going at this unseemly pace down 
 a North Carolina mountain ? And why did she feel that 
 unusual exhilaration of spirit ? Was it what she had heard 
 spoken of as the " mountain air " ? She had never breathed 
 mountain air before, and she did not know of what it was 
 capable. 
 
 And where was the lower shed ? And when she came to 
 the lower shed should she be able to stop herself? She 
 was almost afraid that something had deviploped in her legs 
 that would make them keep on going after the owner of them 
 wished to halt. 
 
 She followed a curve in the path. A few rods before her 
 she saw a dilapidated building, with a roof slightly slanting, 
 and with boards and shingles held in place on the roof by 
 some stones and two or three small pieces of planking. Even 
 at such a moment Miss Drowdy's thrifty eye took in the con- 
 dition of that structure. 
 
 In front of it stood the pony. A stream of blood was 
 trickling down its white fore-leg. He was standing quite still, 
 with his head bent downward towards his mistress, who was 
 kneeling on one knee and clasping her hands tightly about 
 the upper part of the slender limb. 
 
 She had evidently been in this position for some minutes, 
 
6o AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 for there was a strained and painful look in her face. Her 
 mouth was shut so tight that her lips were white. 
 
 As Almina drew near, the big, white Newfoundland walked 
 up and snuffed anxiously at the blood on the ground. Lit- 
 tle Bull, who had had time to arrive since leaving Bart, was 
 sitting on his haunches close to the group; he now turned 
 his nose heavenward and howled. 
 
 "Oh, do lemme help you!" exclaimed Almina, breath- 
 lessly. " What is it ? I told Sally to bring a sheet." 
 
 "Thimble bleeds horribly if I let go," said Temple in a 
 low voice. "I couldn't find a cord in the shed here. There 
 never's anything anywhere. Oh," with a quick breath, 
 "somehow ray hands get stiff so soon !" 
 
 She looked up at the long, intelligent pony face drooping 
 towards her. Then she sobbed heavily. But she did not 
 relax her hold. 
 
 "You want to tie something above the cut?" asked Almi- 
 na, quickly. 
 
 " Oh, yes, yes !" 
 
 The woman had not even a handkerchief about her. But 
 she remembered her home-knit yarn garters. She threw up 
 her skirt and unwound one of these garters. 
 
 " Here," she said, " lemme bind it on." 
 
 Temple lifted her head, which had drooped again. 
 
 " Be quick ! Be quick !" she whispered. 
 
 She watched her guest as she deftly and thoroughly bound 
 the garter above the wound. 
 
 " Hold on a minute longer," said Almina. " I want a 
 stick, or something. I know how to do it. I saw the doctor 
 up to home when Jimmy Bean cut his leg." 
 
 " There's' the handle of a whip in the shed," said Temple. 
 
 Almina found the handle. In another moment she had 
 in effect a tourniquet arranged. 
 
 The girl watched her. From that moment the Yankee 
 woman held a different place in Temple's mind. Miss 
 Drowdy could not ride, and found it difHcult to walk up 
 mountains, but — 
 
DR. AMMIDOWN 6l 
 
 The girl's heart glowed. 
 
 She took her hands from their hold. She remained on 
 her knee a moment watching the slow trickle of blood ; the 
 flow had nearly ceased. Then she rose and turned towards 
 her companion. She sobbed again, this time more heavily. 
 But her eyes were dry. 
 
 " I'm going to love you, Miss Drowdy ; yes, I do believe 
 I'm going to love you," she said. 
 
 The woman felt a sudden melting of her heart as the 
 voice, curiously sweet with an abandonment of gratitude, 
 came to her ears. 
 
 "I hope so; I hope so," she answered. She wondered 
 why she whispered as she spoke. 
 
 Temple turned back almost instantly to the pony. She 
 put a hand on each side of his face and looked at him for 
 an instant, her lips quivering as she did so. But she did 
 not speak until she had released the animal's face. 
 
 She glanced up the hill. 
 
 "There's Sally !" she exclaimed. The yellow woman was 
 running towards them. She had a large white roll under 
 one arm and what seemed to be a clothes-line in her hand. 
 
 She drew herself up with an abruptness and a strength 
 that reminded one of a sinewy and supple horse. 
 
 " Fo' de Lord Gawd !" she cried out ; "whose blood's dat ?" 
 
 Temple did not reply. She snatched the white cloth 
 from the woman and began tearing off broad strips of it. 
 
 Presently the cut was securely bound, and the girl was 
 leading the pony slow^ly up the hill. 
 
 Almina and Sally walked behind. Yucatan and Little 
 Bull and three other dogs walked still farther behind. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon. The sun was almost to the 
 fringe of trees on the top of one of the distant western 
 mountains. The shadows were very deep in the hollows 
 below. The air w^as so still that the sound of the full-flow- 
 ing French Broad came up from the valley off to the left of 
 the little procession. One of the cows that Bart was driv- 
 ing up the mountain lowed in a mellow, prolonged tone. 
 
62 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 In another moment the sun dropped out of sight. Then 
 the marvellous flush began to spread over the top and sides 
 of Busbee. 
 
 Almina's eyes distended painfully as she looked about 
 her. Peak after peak stood against the growing violet of 
 the sky. Almina felt as if she must pray. 
 
 Involuntarily, and with a gesture hitherto unknown to her, 
 she clasped her hands together. She wanted to raise them 
 thus clasped to the heavens. But she did not. She felt 
 somehow that it would be theatrical if she should yield to 
 the impulse upon her. 
 
 Temple turned into the yard of a little building not far 
 from the house. To Almina's judgment there seemed to 
 be a great many worthless, shiftless little structures here 
 and there. 
 
 "I'll bed down de pony, Miss Temple," said Sally. 
 
 "No," was the reply. "Go on. I'll take care of him. 
 Put some water on to heat. He shall have a warm mash." 
 
 Miss Drowdy lingered. She saw Temple fork out some 
 straw and make a bed of it. Then the girl examined the 
 bandage. Then she put her arms around Thimble's neck. 
 
 " They sha'n't hurt my own true love," Miss Drowdy 
 heard her say. 
 
 The pony seemed quite comfortable ; perhaps a little 
 languid. He put his head down and fumbled with his lips 
 for some bits of " roughness." 
 
 When Temple emerged from the hut where she had put 
 the horse, the boy Bartholomew was coming down from the 
 house, swinging a milkpail in one hand. He was shuffling 
 along by the two women when Temple said, 
 
 "Stop!" 
 
 The boy stood still. 
 
 Without meaning to do so, Almina also stood still. She 
 saw that Temple's face was thunderous. 
 
 "You were riding Thimble?" said the girl. 
 
 The boy moved his feet. His under-lip hung out. 
 
 The girl's voice deepened. 
 
DR. AMMIDOWN 63 
 
 " You were riding Thimble ?" she repeated. 
 
 " Ya'sm," was the answer. Bart edged away a little as 
 he spoke, but Temple followed him. 
 
 "I told you never to mount him." 
 
 Miss Drowdy's face began to grow red with excitement as 
 she heard Temple's words and voice. 
 
 " I rode him to thur branch for water," said Bart. 
 
 "I told you to lead him." 
 
 Silence on the boy's part. He was digging the toe of his 
 broken shoe into the black soil. 
 
 "You made him fall!" 
 
 " Naw. He fell hisself — 'gainst er billy-hook what war 
 'gainst er lawg." 
 
 Bart raised a surly, frightened face. He saw his infuriat- 
 ed mistress coming at him. He lifted one arm and bent it 
 before his head. But it did not seem to defend him. Tem- 
 ple struck out like a young Fury, and Bart fell — but only to 
 his knee. He scrambled up again. Temple walked on, 
 with Miss Drowdy, horrified, by her side. 
 
 It seemed to the woman as if she must speak. She 
 glanced at her companion. The girl's eyes were full of 
 fire. 
 
 "Miss Crawford — Temple," began Almina. 
 
 The sirl turned to her. The woman found that she could 
 not say another word. 
 
 The two entered the house by the door of the largest 
 room. Almina sat confusedly down in a chair in front of 
 the hearth. She bent forward and spread out her hands, 
 though she was not cold. 
 
 Temple passed on into the next room. Impelled by an 
 acute interest, Almina rose and went to the outer door. 
 
 The purple was now deepened on all the mountains to the 
 east. Almina had heard of an "amethyst light," but she 
 had never quite believed in any such thing — it was just 
 poetry. But here was the amethyst color — a miraculous 
 tint so beautiful that Almina's pulses swelled again. 
 
 She saw Temple come out of Sally's cabin with a pail of 
 
64 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 hot water in her hand. She went down towards Thimble's 
 stable. 
 
 " Can't I help you ?" asked Miss Drowdy. 
 
 "Thanks; there is no need." But Almina did not go in. 
 She stood there looking about her. Already the color was 
 fading. A wind swept up from the river. It seemed to 
 have the scent of arbutus blossoms in it. Could it be that 
 it was time for those flowers, and that they grew here ? 
 
 After a while Almina went and got a shawl. She put it on 
 her head and sat in the open doorway. She saw Sally go to 
 a shed near by, lead out a mule and saddle it. Then Temple 
 came from one of the numerous outer doors and mounted 
 the mule. But first she went to Thimble's stable again. 
 Miss ,Drowdy supposed it was Temple ; but the girl was 
 dressed now in something that seemed in the dusk like a 
 close, plain skirt and dark jacket, with a little stiff hat on 
 her head. It was almost like a disguise. She mounted the 
 mule and rode down the mountain in the direction of the 
 State road. From some place unseen, Yucatan rose, and 
 Almina saw his white shape loping along the path. Then 
 Little Bull trotted briskly after. But he was called sharply 
 back by Sally, who walked out from her hut with a pipe 
 clinched between her teeth, her hands on her hips, a small 
 shawl twisted about her head. 
 
 Almina asked if Miss Temple were going away. 
 
 "Gwine ter Asheville fur de doctor," was the answer. 
 
 " The doctor ?" in surprise. 
 
 " Fur de pony. She ain't gwine ter run no resks 'bout 
 dat pony. She was dat pernicketty she wouldn't let me go." 
 
 Sally walked slowly back and forth before the door where 
 Almina sat. She smoked and gazed about her. 
 
 The Massachusetts woman began to feel utterly desolate. 
 The black shapes of the mountains frightened her. That 
 large yellow woman might suddenly turn into a fiend. Who 
 could tell what yellow women might do? 
 
 Almina rose. She asked timidly if the door couldn't be 
 shut. 
 
DR. AM MI DOWN 
 
 65 
 
 Sally said, "Laws, yas," and good-naturedly closed the door. 
 
 Almina hovered over the fire on the hearth. She won- 
 dered what her sister was doing in Hoyt. And had Fred- 
 dy gone to bed .'' It was difficult to keep from crying. 
 
 Temple, riding in the sombre darkness under the trees 
 and letting her mule pick its way, not only felt like crying, 
 but yielded to that feeling. 
 
 She was thinking of how Thimble had looked at her 
 when she was kneeling by him, gripping him so tightly that 
 the blood might not come in that dreadful way. 
 
 The tears dropped on her cheeks and rolled off on the 
 little jacket that she had outgrown. Thimble ? Why, he 
 had been part of herself for five years. Her father had 
 bought him almost before the pony had been broken. She 
 had risked her life in training him. If anything should 
 happen to that pony — here the girl drew a deep breath and 
 set her teeth. She set her teeth because she thought of 
 Bartholomew. Perhaps she should kill that boy some time. 
 If he ever mounted Thimble again she should certainly feel 
 like killing him. It was just as well to rid the world of such 
 vermin. And no one, absolutely no one, should mount 
 Thimble without her express permission. 
 
 What a dull old brute this mule was ! In her mind she 
 said " muel." She had taken up some words that the 
 negroes or poor whites employed, and the use of them had 
 become second nature to her. 
 
 She pressed her spurred foot against the beasf s side. 
 He broke into a clumsy trot. She was now on the public 
 road. There were the lights of the junction shining in the 
 valley. Four miles away she saw the brilliance in the sky 
 above Asheville. She continued to urge her beast, which 
 did not want to trot, and was continually floundering back 
 into a walk. 
 
 Frequently the girl met carts coming from the city. In 
 these carts, slouching forward with elbows on knees, often- 
 times were neighbors of hers. They peered at her, and 
 then said : 
 
66 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 " Howdy, Miss Temple ?" and she nodded in return. 
 Sometimes she said " Hullo " in response. 
 
 " I knowed ye by yer white dawg," said one, with a laugh. 
 
 Yucatan loped along soberly by the mule's side. Once 
 in a while he stopped and smelled for a few minutes at 
 something by the highway, then came racing on, overtook 
 his mistress, and settled into his lope again. 
 
 At last there were the houses of Asheville ; there were 
 the scores of twinkling lights at Battery Park Hotel ; there 
 were the now solemn, dark shapes of mountains round 
 about the town. 
 
 Temple did not hesitate. She went straight along a cer- 
 tain street and halted at a gate over which burned a lamp, 
 on which was the name " Dr. Sublitt." 
 
 The girl slipped quickly out of her saddle and tied the 
 bridle to a post. She went into the house. But in a mo- 
 ment she came back. The corners of her mouth drooped 
 in disappointment. She hesitated but an instant. She 
 put her arm through the mule's bridle and led him around 
 past the court-house. Occasionally she met a man who 
 doffed his hat to her and at whom she smiled in absent 
 recognition. She went in at the grounds of Battery Park. 
 
 A black boy came out and took charge of the mule. The 
 girl walked in. She did not ask any question of any ser- 
 vant. She went up one flight of stairs and knocked at a 
 door. 
 
 There was a slight rustle, the frou-frou of silk skirts, and 
 the door opened. 
 
 A tall woman, in a light-colored silk gown which trailed 
 behind her, and which had a big bunch of sweet-smelling 
 roses in the corsage, uttered an exclamation and then seized 
 Temple's arm and drew her into the room. She smiled 
 down at the girl an instant ; then she said : 
 
 " Well ?" interrogatively. 
 
 " I came in after Dr. Sublitt," said Temple, " but he isn't 
 at home ; the man told me he had gone over beyond Beau- 
 catcher, and would be gone all night." 
 
DR. AMMIDOWN 67 
 
 " Who's ill ?" asked the young woman, quickly. And she 
 added, " But, since you are here, there's nobody but Sally 
 left." 
 
 " It isn't Sally ; it's Thimble," was the answer. 
 
 "Thimble ? But how did you come, then ?'' 
 
 " I came on a muel — a mule, I mean. But oh, ]\Irs. 
 Ammidown, don't ask questions ! I want a doctor so as to 
 be sure we've taken care of Thimble all right. I could have 
 relied on Dr. Sublitt. Now please tell me where to go for 
 one, and don't hesitate. I can't bear it if you hesitate. I 
 thought I never should get in here, anyway. A muel's no 
 good." 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown was standing with her hands clasped 
 behind her, looking at her unexpected guest. She was still 
 smiling a little, though at mention of the pony she tried to 
 look more grave. 
 
 " I must hesitate until I can think," she answered. " You 
 might find all the doctors out. There's an epidemic of in- 
 fluenza, or something of the sort." 
 
 She took a turn across the room, still with her hands 
 behind her. The girl stood near the door, gazing intently 
 at her companion. The long silk trail swished softly be- 
 hind the lady as she moved. She came back to Temple. 
 
 " If you wouldn't mock I'd offer Dr. Laura Ammidown," 
 she said. 
 
 " What, you yourself ?" exclaimed Temple, trying not to 
 show too much impatience. 
 
 " Yes, I myself. You must remember that I am a reg- 
 ular, full-fledged physician, with five years' practice some- 
 where in the past." 
 
 " I do remember that you told me," was the answer, 
 " but you never say anything about it, and I never think 
 of it." 
 
 " Naturally. Will you trust me ?" In spite of her effort 
 not to hesitate, Temple did hesitate before she said : 
 
 " But the pony isn't sick ; he's been cut ; he bled. Do 
 you think — " Here she stopped. 
 
68 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 " I paid special attention to surgery," said Mrs. Ammi- 
 down. " I could cut off your head, Temple Crawford, and 
 take up the veins and arteries so that you should not bleed 
 to death." 
 
 As she spoke the lady held out her right hand and 
 looked at it with a glance of admiration for what it could 
 do, perhaps for what it had done. 
 
 " Then I wish you'd come," responded the girl, hastily. 
 " But that gown — you'll be ever so long taking it off, and if 
 Thimble should begin to bleed again — " 
 
 Temple's face set in a resolution to contain herself in 
 some way. 
 
 " Ever so long, shall I ? Let the event decide." 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown laughed slightly, the laugh showing that 
 her mouth was large and that her teeth overlapped each 
 other, though very white. It was an agreeable mouth, nev- 
 ertheless. This was the kind of woman who would make 
 any feature almost, however ugly, agreeable. Who was 
 that woman of the French court who was fascinating and 
 apparently beautiful in her old age when she drooled, and 
 as she sat playing cards was obliged to have her chin bound 
 up with a handkerchief ? 
 
 " Go down and give the order for Mrs. Ammidown's 
 horse to be saddled instantly — instantly. I could ring and 
 order it myself, but if you go it will give you occupation." 
 
 Temple left the room without replying. She was used to 
 doing exactly what she pleased, and she was in no mood 
 now to run the risk of a servant's delay. She gave the or- 
 der, and she made her way to the stables and saw it obeyed. 
 
 She was surprised to find Mrs. Ammidown in cap and 
 riding-habit waiting at the door when she came round with 
 the groom and the horse. 
 
 *' I didn't believe it," she explained, in a relieved voice. 
 
 " I know that," was the repl}^ Mrs. Ammidown sprang 
 from the groom's hand. Temple got into her saddle by 
 herself at the same moment. Yucatan darted on ahead as 
 if for a reconnoitre. 
 
DR. AMMIDOWN 69 
 
 The two kept together down the street from Battery Park. 
 Just as they turned the corner on to the road that stretched 
 out towards the junction, a man on a large black horse came 
 cantering up the hill. The light of a lamp fell upon him, 
 and Mrs. Ammidown involuntarily pulled her horse in. 
 
 " Is that you, Richard V she asked. 
 
 She spoke eagerly and gladly. The man, who had not 
 been noticing anybody apparently, turned and mechanically 
 lifted his hat. 
 
 " Oh," he said, " it's Laura, is it ? Well, you see IVe got 
 here." 
 
 His glance wandered to Temple, then back again to the 
 one who had addressed him. 
 
 " Go and have your dinner, then wait in my sitting-room 
 at the Battery," was Mrs. Ammidown's next remark. " I 
 don't know when I shall be back." 
 
 The man looked again at Temple ; he said nothing, but 
 continued to look at her for the space of the fraction of a 
 moment, when the two women went on. Then he half 
 turned his horse as if to follow them. But he did not 
 follow. He made his horse canter on to the hotel. There 
 he partook of an extremely abstemious meal for a man who 
 had ridden horseback in mountain air all day. 
 
 Then he informed the clerk that he wished to be shown 
 to Mrs. Ammidown's room, that he was her brother, and 
 would wait there for her return. 
 
 He wrote in the register the name Richard Mercer. 
 
 Meanwhile Temple tried in vain to make her mule keep 
 up with the steady, fast gallop of her companion's horse. 
 But when the city was well behind them she gave up this 
 attempt. 
 
 " You go on, please," she said, " and I'll come as fast as 
 I can. Sally will take you to Thimble. I almost think 
 he's doing well, but I couldn't rest without knowing posi- 
 tively." 
 
 So Mrs. Ammidown let her horse go still faster. It was 
 by reason of this arrangement that Almina Drowdy, during 
 
70 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 a restless walk about the log-house, with rubbers on her 
 feet and a shawl on her head, saw^ in the semi-darkness 
 what seemed a horsewoman coming up from the trees into 
 the clearing far down the slope. 
 
 Sally was asleep by her own hearth. The dogs were the 
 only live things that shared Almina's watch. And now, led 
 by Little Bull, these animals scrambled down in full cry at 
 the new-comer. 
 
 Almina knew that this was not Temple, for Temple was 
 on a dark mule, and this was a light horse that was easily 
 climbing the path at a swift walk. 
 
 Almina, to use her own words, " felt just as skittish as 
 could be " when she saw this person approaching. At first 
 the dusk prevented her from knowing certainly whether it 
 were a man or a woman. If a man, of course he was ca- 
 pable of anything in the way of horrible crime. IMiss 
 Drowdy had a vague belief that men in these mountains 
 lived but to do evil deeds. 
 
 She wondered if Little Bull would be of any account as 
 a protector, and could she set Little Bull at that person's 
 throat. 
 
 She drew her shawl closer about her head, and resolved 
 to stand her ground in the doorway of the house. 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown came directly to her. When within 
 comfortable speaking distance she asked, quickly : 
 
 " Where's the pony ?" Almina sighed with relief. She 
 advanced a step. 
 
 " Oh !" she exclaimed, " you're a woman, ain't you ?" 
 
 " Of course I am. Where's the pony ? And have you got 
 a lantern ?" 
 
 " And you ain't a moonshiner ?" confusedly questioned 
 the other. 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown laughed. She urged her horse yet near- 
 er. She thrust the too demonstrative yellow dog down with 
 her hand. 
 
 " No, I'm not a moonshiner. I'm the doctor come to see 
 Miss Crawford's pony." 
 
DR. AMMIDOWN 7I 
 
 This also was confusing, for Almina was not used to 
 women doctors ; she didn't know whether she beheved in 
 them or not. But she roused herself. She tried to shake 
 off the sense of bewilderment that had been upon her ever 
 since her arrival. She did not know anything about a lan- 
 tern, but she knew where Thimble was. She took a lamp 
 and matches, and led this unusual doctor to the wretched 
 little hut where the pony spent his nights. 
 
 When within its shelter, with the lamp lighted, she was 
 conscious of the swift, comprehensive glance that swept 
 over her. 
 
 It took Mrs. Ammidown but a short time to learn that 
 everything proper had been done, and that Thimble was as 
 rioht as he could be under the circumstances. 
 
 The two women went back to the house. They sat 
 down on opposite sides of the hearth and looked at each 
 other. Almina shrank a little as she encountered the keen 
 
 eyes. 
 
 " Have you come to stay with Temple Crawford ?" asked 
 Mrs. Ammidown, so gently that her question lost some of 
 its abruptness. 
 
 " I — I don't know," was the hesitating answer. " I guess 
 I have. She sent for me." 
 
 " Sent for you ? Ah !" The lady leaned forward towards 
 her companion and into the firelight. 
 
 " What do you think of Temple ?" she asked, this time 
 using a more incisive tone. 
 
 " Think of her ?" repeated Almina. Then she added, 
 weakly : " I can't tell. I ain't much acquainted with her 
 yet. I only came this morning." 
 
 Then she asked herself if it were only this morning, real- 
 ly. Her change of surroundings had somewhat obscured 
 her natural sense and shrewdness. She felt that she was 
 dull, and she also felt that she could not help being dull. 
 She "hadn't got her bearings yet" she told herself, and 
 things were so extremely different. She had always known 
 theoretically, and had always said that she supposed " that 
 
72 
 
 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 there were places in the world where they did do things 
 different from what they did in Hoyt, Mass." Still she had 
 not been prepared to find so great an unlikeness. 
 
 She stared at the face opposite in the firelight ; and she 
 did not know whether she liked that face or not. 
 
 " Surely you cannot see a girl like Temple and not in- 
 stantly have some strong opinion concerning her," said Mrs. 
 Ammidown. 
 
 " I don't think I've come to my senses yet," returned 
 Almina, helplessly. " I was struck down there to the 
 deepo this morning when she come to me as I was settin' 
 on my trunk. I was struck by her face ; 'n' her jacket ; 
 'n' her way of talkin' ; 'n' that spur thing on her foot. I 
 wouldn't have said that I should like any such kind of a 
 girl, but I declare " — pausing to gather emphasis — " I do 
 like her already." 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown nodded. She held up one large well- 
 shaped hand between her and the fire. 
 
 "What do you think of her yourself?" inquired Almina, 
 with increased courage and clearness of mind. This wom- 
 an doctor did not put her down, after all, as she had expect- 
 ed her to do. 
 
 " I .'*" said Mrs. Ammidown. She rose suddenly and 
 stood with her hands behind her, as it was a habit with 
 her to stand. " I don't know what I think of her. I think 
 a thousand things — strong, intense, delightful, dreadful. Ev- 
 ery time I see her I ask myself what she is going to take 
 from life for her own. Look at her eyes — ' spirit, fire, and 
 dew.' Look at her .chin — strong, matter-of-fact, common- 
 sense. If she hadn't that chin she would drift into pur- 
 poseless emotion ; having it, I've not the least idea what 
 she'll do. Now she loves the mountains, her pony, and her 
 dogs. I never saw any one love mountains, a pony, or dogs 
 as she does. She saved my life the first time I saw her : 
 swam into the French Broad and took me to the bank, af- 
 ter I had tipped myself over in a ridiculous little shallop 
 which I would use on- the river. That was a year ago, 
 
DR. AMMIDOWN 73 
 
 down here, not far away. I naturally thanked her rather 
 warmly. But she laughed at me, and said that she could 
 swim almost as well as she could ride or walk. She tried 
 to conceal her contempt for a person who could not swim. 
 There's a lot of common-sense in your face," looking sud- 
 denly and penetratingly at Almina, who was particularly 
 pleased with this compliment, as she had begun to fear that 
 she had never had any common - sense, after all, " so I 
 wanted to know what you thought of Temple. But here she 
 is now." 
 
 The sound of hoofs was heard. In a moment Temple 
 opened the door and walked in. She looked eagerly at 
 Mrs. Ammidown, but before she could speak that lady said : 
 
 "He's all right." 
 
 " And I needn't worry ?" 
 
 " Not the least. You arranged a famous tourniquet, 
 didn't you ?" 
 
 " Oh, I didn't do that ; it was Miss Drowdy who did 
 that." 
 
 The girl looked warmly at Almina, who tried not to re- 
 turn the glance. Temple walked impetuously to her side 
 and took her hand, holding it closely an instant. 
 
 *' I saw what the doctor did when Jimmy Bean's leg was 
 cut," she said, modestly. 
 
 " That was lucky for Thimble," said Mrs. Ammidown. 
 
 Temple sat down Turk fashion on the floor in front of 
 the fire, and between the two women. 
 
 " I hate a mule," she remarked, with force and with 
 seeming irrelevance. "This one fell lame, so that I was a 
 good while getting home." 
 
 There was a scratching at the door. 
 
 " There's Yucatan. He was as disgusted with that 
 beast as I was." 
 
 She rose and let in the Newfoundland, who immediately 
 selected a good place by the fire and sat down. He rolled 
 his eyes round upon the assembled company, seemed to 
 consider them worthy of his presence, and then began 
 
74 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 carefully to lick his paw, which he had cut slightly on a 
 broken bottle in Asheville Street. 
 
 Temple stood a moment in silence. Then she exclaimed 
 that there must be something hospitable that she could at- 
 tempt, and what was it ? Eating and drinking were gener- 
 ally considered the things for guests to do. Was anybody 
 hungry .? She was, for one. She would have Sally fry a 
 chicken and make some tea. Mrs. Ammidown would stay ? 
 
 Certainly Mrs. Ammidown would stay. She said that 
 her brother had arrived from Tennessee that evening, but 
 that he could not find a more comfortable place than her 
 room. 
 
 It was nine o'clock before the fried chicken and the 
 rice curry were on the table, and the three women were eat- 
 ing as those eat who are out-of-doors among Carolina 
 mountains. 
 
 Almina was sure that it was very strange to eat at this hour, 
 and she would probably begin to have dyspepsia immediately. 
 She did not believe there had ever before been a Drowdy 
 who had eaten chicken and that hot kind of rice at that 
 time of night. She dared not think what these things might 
 do to her. And the talk began to be so strange that she 
 was fascinated and frightened. She didn't know as people 
 could talk in that manner. She began to watch Temple in 
 a bewitched kind of way. 
 
 After supper, and while Sally was going to and fro be- 
 tween her cabin and the larger cabin, the girl went to her 
 own room, and came back with a violin. She walked with 
 it held in position up to her shoulder. She flourished the 
 bow over it, but did not yet touch the strings. 
 
 Sally had just placed a large waiter covered with dishes 
 on her head, and she had a pile of plates in her hands. 
 She paused and gazed. 
 
 " Fo' Gawd's sake, Miss Temple, yo' ain't gwine ter play, 
 air yo' ?" she asked. 
 
 " Perhaps," said Temple, who had now begun to tune 
 the instrument as she stood at one end of the room. 
 
DR. AMMIDOWN 75 
 
 Almina was afraid that this would be too much for her. 
 She had never seen a woman with a violin before ; she had 
 never believed that a fiddle was a woman's instrument. A 
 melodeon now — 
 
 She drew herself up in her chair, and prepared to endure 
 whatever might happen. And it was her bedtime, too. 
 Everything was all turned round here compared with the 
 way she was used to having things. 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown — ought she to be called Dr. Ammidown ? 
 — was in one of the large chairs near the fire. Almina saw 
 with distrust and reproof that this lady was not sitting ; she 
 was lolling. She had sunk down in her rocker, and her 
 feet were stretched far out in front of her. She was gazing 
 with half - closed eyes at Temple, whose head was bent 
 slightly to catch the sounds as she screwed up the strings 
 and picked at them. 
 
 "Why don't you want her to play, Sally?" asked Mrs. 
 Ammidown, without turning her head. 
 
 " 'Cause," was the reply. The yellow woman had not left 
 the room ; she was still standing in a fine pose with the tray 
 on her head. After a moment she added, " It gits into my 
 blood somehow, an' it gits into my spine. She don't play 
 as the niggers play, she don't." 
 
 " Oh, your blood and your spine ?" repeated Mrs. Ammi- 
 down. 
 
 She turned and looked at Sally. 
 
 " If I were only a sculptor," she exclaimed, with animation, 
 " instead of a woman who was once a doctor, and who is 
 now a rich widow — " 
 
 " Go about your work," said Temple, peremptoril}^, show- 
 ing that she could be Sally's mistress as well as her com- 
 panion. 
 
 The yellow woman left the room. 
 
 Temple lifted her fiddle to her shoulder, and drew the 
 bow in one long sweep across all the strings. It was in 
 tune. 
 
 " Play ' Dissembling Love,' " said Mrs. Ammidown. 
 
76 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 For the life of her, Miss Drowdy could not explain why 
 she should feel so excited. She confessed to herself that 
 she was " all creepy, crawly." 
 
 That had been green tea that she had taken with her 
 supper. And green tea always did make her drunk. And 
 what was " Dissembling Love," anyway .'* 
 
 She didn't like the sound of that name. It couldn't be 
 any proper kind of a piece to play, and for a young woman, 
 and on a fiddle ! Her whole life at home rose before her in 
 strong reproach. If this were really Roger Crawford's 
 daughter she would probably never be able to do a thing 
 with her. It was a mysterious dispensation of Providence 
 that she had been allowed to come down here to North Caro- 
 lina. She almost began to believe that perhaps it had been 
 an all-wise arrangement that had prevented her from mar- 
 rying Roger. 
 
 Temple played a few bars. Then she stopped abruptly. 
 She looked at Mrs. Ammidown, who was gazing beneath 
 lowered lids at her. 
 
 "I suppose you think there is such a thing as love ?" said 
 the girl, suddenly. 
 
 " Oh yes, I think so," was the answer. 
 
 Almina stirred uneasily, but she said nothing. 
 
 "What makes you think so?" now inquired Temple. 
 
 She had laid her violin across her knees. 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown drew herself up a little in her chair. 
 
 " I think there is such a thing as love because I have 
 felt it," she answered. 
 
 Almina wondered why the speaker did not blush, and she 
 blushed for her. 
 
 Temple's lip curled up expressively. 
 
 "Then I suppose you married for love?" she said. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " How disgusting that must be !" said Temple, in a voice 
 to suit her scornful lip. 
 
 Almina's blush deepened. This was not the way they 
 talked of love in Hoyt. This girl must have been brought 
 
DR. AMMIDOWN 77 
 
 up even more strangely than had at first appeared. Almina 
 wondered if Temple could be reformed. 
 
 " What do you mean .?" asked Mrs. Ammidown. 
 
 " Why, I mean what I say — disgusting," was the answer. 
 " IMen don't really care. Men are the only kind of animals 
 that I could not possibly love." 
 
 " You haven't seen many men," remarked Mrs. Ammi- 
 down. 
 
 " No ; but I know^ them, I know them," wdth increased 
 emphasis. " Animals !" in an exclamatory whisper. . 
 
 " Temple, you really hadn't ought to talk that way," said 
 Almina, anxiously. " It ain't exactly modest." 
 
 " Besides," said Mrs. Ammidown, " girls often talk like 
 that; but women are going to love and marry to the end of 
 time." 
 
 " I wasn't speaking about marrying," said Temple, very 
 unexpectedly. 
 
 " I thought you were," was the response. 
 
 " No, only of love. If I should think I loved some one 
 — only I could never think so — and then should be married 
 and get over loving — and everybody does get over it — then 
 I should hate myself and be utterly wretched. I've de- 
 cided that it would be better to marry, only I sha'n't marry, 
 just because I felt real friendly to some man. And then 
 we should be comfortable, and never have any great happi- 
 ness to — to fall from, you know. Yes, I've decided that." 
 
 *' Oh, you've decided that ?" 
 
 " Yes, I have. And somehow I never thought about men 
 as girls in novels do. They always seem to think men are 
 so attractive and wonderful and fine. They're not. They're 
 just brutes — selfish, coarse, repulsive. I am sure the most 
 refined of them are repulsive when you come to know their 
 natures. I know them better than you think, Mrs. Ammi- 
 down." 
 
 " Merciful Heaven !" cried that lady. 
 
 " Temple," said Almina, remonstrantly, " you forget yoiir 
 father." 
 
78 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 " No, I don't forget him, either. He was as selfish and 
 as coarse at heart as he could be, and my mother knew it 
 too. My mother — why, what have I said ? You n,eedn't 
 look so shocked, Miss Drowdy. But, then, perhaps you 
 were in love yourself with father. I should think you must 
 have been. But, you see, you didn't have to live with him, 
 so I suppose you never found him out, and he never got 
 sick of you and let you see him just as he was. Oh, I 
 know what men are." 
 
 Temple put her violin to her shoulder and again began 
 " Dissembling Love," which she now played through with a 
 sort of wild, untutored skill which made her hearers feel as 
 if she were playing on their hearts. 
 
ON THE FRENCH BROAD 
 
 When she had finished the piece Temple put the fiddle 
 on her knee again. 
 
 Almina wanted to cry, and she did not know whether it 
 was the music or the green tea that affected her. And how 
 dreadfully that girl had just talked ! 
 
 " I suppose," said Temple, earnestly, looking first at one 
 of her guests and then at the other — " I suppose that religion 
 is a good thing." 
 
 " Capital," said Mrs. Ammidown, with a smile. 
 
 "Yes," said Temple, "that's what folks say. I've tried 
 several times to get it. I've been to ever so many camp- 
 meetings. I reckon my heart must be as hard as the 
 nether millstone they tell about. There's Sally, she gets 
 religion almost as often as she goes to preachin'. Don't 
 you think there's something mighty queer about religion, 
 Mrs. Ammidown ? Now you think you've got it, and now 
 you think you haven't. It must be a lot better than love, 
 anyway." 
 
 " Temple !" from Almina. 
 
 " Ma'am ?" 
 
 " Don't you think that mebby 'twould be just as well not 
 to — not to — " 
 
 Poor Miss Drowdy paused, unable to find the word she 
 wanted. For the short time she had been in North Caro- 
 lina words seemed to her unusually incapable of expressing 
 what she felt. 
 
 " Not to make light of cereous things," quoted Mrs. 
 Ammidown, with a great appearance of soberness. 
 
8o AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 TemjDle again gazed from one to the other of the two 
 women with an expression of great surprise. 
 
 " But I'm not making light," she responded. " I've 
 tried awfully hard to get religion. I reckon it's the one 
 thing needful ; and that's the thing I'm after. Sometimes " 
 — here the girl bent forward to Mrs. Ammidown with a sort 
 of beseeching look in her face and attitude — " when I'm 
 out riding alone among the mountains, and they're so grand, 
 so beautiful, I feel as if I should die just because they are 
 so wonderful, and my heart can't take it all in, and yet it 
 keeps trying to take it in, you know. And I've often 
 thought that if I could have religion, somehow I could bear 
 to have the mountains and the sky so beautiful ; and I 
 could bear to love Thimble and Yucatan as I do now — " 
 
 Temple hesitated; she clasped her hands over her violin, 
 and the strings gave out a low, melodious sound. 
 
 " If the world keeps on being so magnificent," she con- 
 tinued, *' I don't see but that I shall have to be religious, or 
 I shall go wild with it all. It's when I'm alone with my 
 pony and my dog that I — that I suffer most with my heart 
 feeling as if it would burst, you know. Now, don't you 
 think that religion would make a difference ?" 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown did not respond at first. She was look- 
 ing with a gentle intentness at the speaker. 
 
 As for Almina, she also was watching the girl ; and she 
 was thrilled in some unusual way. She wished that she 
 might cross over to where Temple sat and put her arms 
 about her. But she did not dare to do that. And there 
 was a dreadful flavor of heathendom in the girl's words. 
 Miss Drowdy had never before heard of any one who 
 wished for religion for such a purpose. It wasn't proper. 
 Almina was quite sure it wasn't proper. She must say 
 something. 
 
 " Temple," she began, in a rather unsteady voice, " I do 
 hope you ain't got into the wrong track. I never kncAV in 
 all my life of anybody's wanting religion for such a reason. 
 It don't sound right. Why don't you ask your minister 
 
ON THE FRENCH BROAD 8l 
 
 about it ? Mebby he c'n throw a Httle Hght. It's a minis- 
 ters business to throw light." 
 
 "I haven't got any minister," replied Temple. "I 
 keep going to preachin'. Sally says if you run kind of 
 short of religion the thing to do is to go to preachin'. 
 And I've shouted with 'em, and I've gone forward for 
 prayers." 
 
 As the girl paused Mrs. Ammidown smiled at her ; then 
 she put out her hand and patted Temple's fingers, which 
 were still clasped above her fiddle. 
 
 " I s'pose," said Almina, with painful earnestness — " I 
 s'pose there are ministers to Asheville." 
 
 " Lots," replied Temple. She lifted the violin to her 
 shoulder again, and drew a little wail from its strings. She 
 leaned her head back on the wall, against which she had 
 tipped her chair. 
 
 " I reckon I'm a devilish hard case," she remarked, 
 " but if I don't change my mind I'm bound to get religion 
 sooner or later. I pray every night. I really don't see how 
 a fellow could live among these mountains and not have to 
 pray." 
 
 Miss Drowdy sank back in her chair. She was shocked 
 at herself because she was not really more shocked at 
 Temple. 
 
 "That ain't the way to talk," she said, feebly. 
 
 The girl was making a sort of whispering noise with her 
 bow on the strings, and her head was bent as if listening. 
 But she replied, 
 
 " That's the way I feel, and why shouldn't I talk so ?" 
 
 " But you must pray not to feel so," responded Miss 
 Drowdy. 
 
 " I ain't aiming to pray in that line," was the answer ; 
 and now Mrs. Ammidown laughed. She glanced deprecat- 
 ingly at the other woman and began to speak, but she 
 stopped immediately, for her words were lost in the sound 
 that suddenly burst forth. 
 
 It was the dogs dashing away from the house, barking as 
 
82 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 they went. Yucatan, lying near his mistress, growled in 
 a deep bass, but he did not think it worth while to lift his 
 head. 
 
 Temple rose, and laid her violin on the table. 
 
 " Somebody is coming," she said. And no one climbed 
 this part of the mountain who was not coming to the Tem- 
 ple residence. 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown sat upright and looked at her watch. 
 
 " I had actually forgotten to go back to Asheville !" she 
 exclaimed. 
 
 A knock as if from a whip-handle came on the door. 
 The dogs had stopped barking, but the Newfoundland now 
 raised his head and growled again. 
 
 A man's voice outside asked, 
 . *' Is this where the Crawfords live?" 
 
 And directly Sally was heard saying, 
 
 " Yes-ir ; right hyar, suh. Won't ye 'light an' warm ?" 
 
 " Don't you open the door !" cried Almina, hurriedly. 
 "'Tain't no time for decent folks to be round." 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown looked surprised and annoyed. She 
 walked to the door herself, as if she knew who had come. 
 But Sally ushered in the new-comer, who entered with a 
 certain assurance that yet was not unpleasant. 
 
 "Richard!" exclaimed Mrs. Ammidown, "why did you 
 come ?" 
 
 Mercer stood just within the room, with his hat and 
 whip in his hand. He glanced all about him. He was 
 dressed in a thick, short coat, corduroy riding-trousers, and 
 brown leather leggings. He had very long gauntlet gloves 
 on his hands. 
 
 " I came because I thought it would be better for you to 
 have me ride back with you than for you to ride alone," he 
 answered. 
 
 " But how did you know where to find me ?" 
 
 " Oh, easy enough. The groom who saddled your horse 
 told me that Miss Crawford had come for you. After that, 
 of course, I could find where Miss Crawford lived on these 
 
ON THE FRENCH BROAD 83 
 
 mountains. Now, perhaps, you will present me to the 
 ladies, Laura." 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown presented him. Temple bowed dis- 
 tantly ; Miss Dowdy rose and shook hands. 
 
 " We were just wishing for a minister," said Mrs. Ammi- 
 down, with a hint of mischief in her smile, " and lo ! here 
 comes one." 
 
 Upon this Temple gazed intently at the man now sitting 
 at her hearth. 
 
 " Is it true ?" she asked. " Are you a minister?" 
 
 Mercer turned, and met the simple, direct glance. 
 
 "Yes," he answered. 
 
 Temple pulled her chair somewhat nearer. She was not 
 in the full light of the fire, which was flaring with pine 
 knots ; but Mercer was in the full light. 
 
 " I am surprised," said the girl. 
 
 " But why ?" asked Mercer. His mind was already stir- 
 ring with a piercing kind of interest. 
 
 " I don't know why," replied the girl ; " but " (hesitating) 
 " I reckon it's on account of your looking so much like a 
 gentleman." 
 
 Miss Drowdy flushed, but there was no added color on 
 Temple's face. 
 
 " But don't you think a minister can be a gentleman ?" 
 asked Mercer. 
 
 " Maybe it's possible,' was the reply, " but it isn't usual 
 'round here." 
 
 Temple really said " hyar." Before any response could 
 be made to this remark, the girl went on, 
 
 " And you give preachin's ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Temple's face showed a still deeper interest. 
 
 " I've been trying to get religion for some time," she said. 
 
 "I hope you will keep on trying until you do get it." 
 
 Mercer spoke with the utmost earnestness. A glow, 
 other than that from the fire, came to his smoothly shaven, 
 strong-featured face. 
 
84 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 " Oh," said Temple, " I'm bound to have it, somehow or 
 other. Sally seems to get it easy enough. She says it 
 comes from shouting, and sometimes from spasms. She's 
 had spasms so that she's bounded round on the floor, and 
 only her head and her heels touched the planks. I sup- 
 pose that's the power, isn't it, Mr. Mercer.'"' 
 
 Mercer knew that his sister was looking at him, but he 
 did not show that he knew. 
 
 "That's what I call nervous excitement," he answered. 
 
 " But isn't it religion ?" in surprise. 
 
 Mercer's eyes were upon the young girl, and his eyes 
 alone showed the unusual interest he felt. The glow had 
 faded from his face. He sat perfectly still, one leg crossed 
 on the other, his gauntleted hands clasped over his knee. 
 His somewhat narrow face was so calm that his sister 
 could not restrain a secret feeling of admiration, for she 
 knew him well enough to know that he was not calm. 
 
 She used to say to herself, in thinking of her brother 
 Richard, that she supposed it was not in human nature to 
 be both broad and deep. She privately believed that there 
 never was any one whose outlook was clearer, and at the 
 same time more limited, than was Richard's. She consid- 
 ered that her brother was a specimen of a human being 
 who had actually " experienced religion," though person- 
 ally Mrs. Ammidown was as far away as possible from 
 understanding what that phrase meant. 
 
 Temple repeated her question. She could not see that 
 the young man was obliged to make an effort to answer. 
 
 " No," he replied, " though it may be the path to it." 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown did not restrain a movement of im- 
 patience. 
 
 " Oh, don't," she exclaimed — " don't spoil this evening 
 by that kind of talk! Be kind and reasonable, Richard, 
 and leave revivals to some more appropriate season." 
 
 "Any season is appropriate for the saving of souls," was 
 the answer. 
 
 Mercer's tone now had a kind of vibration in it that was 
 
ON THE FRENCH BROAD 85 
 
 a hint of what the voice might be when he addressed a 
 company. This tone thrilled Temple. Her eyes dilated. 
 
 " I should think," said the girl, speaking slowly, " that you 
 might be the kind of man who could scare the devil away." 
 
 No one spoke and no one smiled. Temple was so deep- 
 ly in earnest that it was impossible to smile. 
 
 In the silence that followed she spoke again. 
 
 " I'm very glad you've come, Mr. Mercer," she said, "for 
 the devil makes great craps hereabouts. Sally says she be- 
 lieves the whole of Limestone Township's given up to the 
 evil one." She said "craps." 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown rose suddenly. She walked to the 
 chair where she had thrown her jacket and hat. As she 
 went she caught sight of Miss Drowdy's face, and she 
 began to laugh nervously. 
 
 " Let us go home !" she exclaimed. She put on her hat. 
 Temple had not apparently heard her ; she was standing, 
 and still had her eyes fixed upon Mercer. 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown drew on her jacket. With a movement as 
 if she had changed her intention she walked quickly over to 
 Temple and placed her arm lightly but caressingly about her. 
 
 " I'm going now," she said. " Please stop thinking about 
 your soul for a minute, and play some little thing for me." 
 
 Temple moved, glanced at her friend, and smiled. The 
 smile so changed her face that the man sitting by the 
 hearth had a curious notion that an entirely new pulse had 
 stirred somewhere within him. 
 
 The girl took her violin again. The instant she had it 
 in her hands her whole aspect changed — just as if, Miss 
 Drowdy thought, she had flung away religion, and was 
 never going to think of it again. 
 
 She threw back her head, and as she drew the bow 
 across the strings she half closed her eyes. She began to 
 play, and at the same time to sing in a half-voice : 
 
 "A little bird in the air 
 Is singing of Thyri the Fair, 
 
86 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 The sister of Svend the Dane; 
 And the song of the garrulous bird 
 In the streets of the town is heard, 
 
 And repeated again and again." 
 
 With the last two or three bars she made a few sliding 
 motions across the room, keeping time to the peculiar lilt 
 of the music. 
 
 " Oh, thank you ! thank you !" cried Mrs. Ammidown. 
 " Now we are going. Good-night, Miss Drowdy. Good- 
 night, Temple. I shall come and see about Thimble," 
 and the woman hurried from the room. 
 
 Mercer shook hands formally with the two whom he was 
 leaving. He had a way of closely holding the hand and 
 bending over it. When he raised his head and looked at 
 Temple as he thus bade her good-night, the fact that im- 
 pressed him most was that he could not formulate a dis- 
 tinct opinion about her. And it was his habit to formulate 
 distinct opinions concerning people and things. 
 
 As the brother and sister rode slowly down the moun- 
 tain towards the highway they did not speak for a long 
 time. When they had started Mrs. Ammidown had said, 
 questioningly, 
 
 " Well, Richard ?" 
 
 And Mercer had turned to her and responded, 
 
 " Well, Laura ?" 
 
 After that the woman resolved to keep silence. 
 
 Up in the log-house Almina had risen to her feet. She 
 said she had noticed that there was no lock on the door 
 of her room, the door that led right outside. 
 
 Temple recommended that her guest have Yucatan with 
 her. Miss Drowdy replied that she didn't know which 
 she'd rather have in her room, a burglar or that great dog. 
 
 Temple made no reply. She was playing her fiddle 
 again, and dancing slowly with its strains. So Almina re- 
 tired, with the feeling that the world was a much more re- 
 markable place than she had thought it to be ; and also 
 
ON THE FRENCH BROAD 87 
 
 with a conviction that Temple Crawford was going to fiddle 
 and dance all night. Perhaps that was the way girls did in 
 this outlandish country. 
 
 Though she went to bed late, it was impossible for Almi- 
 na to sleep late in the motning. Soon after sunrise she was 
 peering out of the little windows. Wreaths of mist were 
 curling slowly along the sides of the distant mountains, and 
 the tops were hidden. There was no live thing in sight. 
 But presently a rift of fog opened for a moment and dis- 
 closed a mule, with a girl on its back, walking down the 
 slope to the west. It was Temple, in her slouch hat, her old 
 red skirt, and the velvet coat that had once been her father's. 
 
 Almina thought she would go and help get breakfast. 
 She was resolved to make herself useful. She started forth 
 strong in this resolve. She went through the rooms until 
 she came to the one where the supper had been eaten the 
 night before. 
 
 There was the table, half cleared ; even the chairs had 
 not been set back. There was a fire on the hearth, because 
 the logs put there had not burned out. There was no ap- 
 pearance that betokened that there would ever be a break- 
 fast. 
 
 Almina stepped from the door, which was open, towards 
 Sally's cabin. She found that person squatting on her 
 heels in front of an immense fire, smoking, and contem- 
 plating the blaze. 
 
 " MawninV' said Sally, affably; "gwine fur a walk?" 
 
 " No," replied Almina. Then she stood silent and help- 
 less. 
 
 The yellow woman smoked, and looked into the fire. She 
 did not wish this intruder to enter, so she did not ask her 
 to do so. 
 
 Miss Drowdy was startled to find that she was fast be- 
 coming ravenously hungry ; she was startled, because she 
 feared that it might be all day before Sally would decide to 
 get breakfast. And in Hoyt one had breakfast at six, dinner 
 at twelve, and supper at half-past five. 
 
88 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 " Where's Miss Temple ?" she asked. 
 
 " Dunno. Reckon she's gone down ter de Broad ter 
 meet urp with her young man." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 Almina's hair began to rise. 
 
 Sally repeated her words, with the added information 
 that Miss Temple's young man was in the habit of coming 
 down the river from Asheville two or three times a week 
 " 'bout dis time in de mawnin'." 
 
 Miss Drowdy could not mistake her duty now. She must 
 follow Temple. Already she had an interest in the child. 
 And what had she come to North Carolina for if not to 
 watch over the girl ? 
 
 " Which way is the river ?" 
 
 Sally rose from her heels, came to the door, and pointed. 
 
 " That-a-way," she said. 
 
 Almina hurried into the house, and almost immediately 
 emerged from it with a shawl and her best bonnet on. Her 
 trunk had not come, and she was obliged to put on her 
 best bonnet. 
 
 Sally, now standing at her door and still smoking, saw 
 Almina going towards the river, holding up her skirts with 
 both hands, and carefully picking her way over the rough, 
 wet ground. 
 
 " Laws, miss, you ain't gwine to follow her, be yo' ?" she 
 asked, in extremest surprise. 
 
 Almina turned. 
 
 " Yes, I be," she answered. Then she went on. 
 
 She was thinking that if Temple had a " beau," and he 
 was a decent, respectable sort of a man, there was no rea- 
 son why he shouldn't come to the house in a decent, re- 
 spectable way. 
 
 As she walked Almina found herself thinking that a girl 
 with that kind of eyes would probably go to the bad — un- 
 less, indeed, that kind of chin might save her. 
 
 The sun was coming out ; that dense line of mist over 
 the river was lifting, wavering lightly here and there. Be- 
 
ON THE FRENCH BROAD 89 
 
 tween these lines the water sparkled a quarter of a mile 
 away. And beyond all, framing in this little spot in the 
 universe, were the mountains, with Pisgah, king of them all. 
 
 In spite of her anxiety, the scene had its effect upon the 
 woman who had passed nearly all her life on a level bit of 
 ground in Massachusetts. She was under the influence 
 of a kind of exhilaration which she did not understand came 
 from the air and the scenery. She recalled Temple's words 
 of the evening before : that she needed religion to help her 
 bear this love and delight and awe. 
 
 Once, as the mists gave a wide upward sweep and the 
 sun poured light on the peaks of the Twin Brothers, Al- 
 mina involuntarily paused. What was it that she used to 
 read about " the strength of the hills " ? And why did she 
 have that strange desire to recite some lofty, wonderful 
 poetry ? But she knew no poetry of any kind. She was 
 only a poor finite in the presence of infinite. Only there 
 must be a spark of glory in her somewhere, a spark that 
 was akin to all this outward glory. 
 
 Almina put her hand over her eyes as if to shield them, 
 though the sun was behind her, A space on the river sud- 
 denly shone and smote her gaze. Into that space there 
 came a small white boat, with one figure in it. 
 
 This was the figure of a man, who was rowing with long 
 strokes, and who was at the same time gazing hard at the 
 banks on the eastern side. 
 
 Suddenly he drew in his oars and, pulling off his cap, 
 waved it eagerly. Then he immediately began rowing 
 again. 
 
 Miss Drowdy had now forgotten the scenery, and was as 
 resolved as any rigorous old duenna could be to know what 
 was happening. 
 
 She grasped her skirts again in her hands, and went trem- 
 bling down the decline. 
 
 Presently a wandering brier branch grasped her by the 
 ankle and made her sit down quickly. 
 
 There was the boat, and there was Temple calmly step- 
 
go AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 ping into it, just as if she were doing the most proper thing 
 in the world. And now Almina saw that the girl carried a 
 green bag, which she held carefully. 
 
 Almina could never tell why, all at once, her intention to 
 step between Temple and her beau died out of her mind. 
 
 Perhaps it was because the brier was very firm and very 
 grasping ; perhaps it was because of something else. As 
 she sat there, still held tightly, the mule, which had on a 
 bridle but no saddle, came leisurely up from the river shore, 
 cropping the new springing grass as he walked. 
 
 In the boat the young man carefully put his guest in the 
 stern. 
 
 " You're awfully late," he said ] " I've been rowing up and 
 down here no end." 
 
 " I reckon you were in despair," remarked the girl. 
 
 " Yes, I was." 
 
 " Have you been swearing like a fiend .?" asked Temple, 
 looking smilingly up at her companion. 
 
 " Like a dozen fiends," was the prompt answer ; " the air 
 has been blue." 
 
 The young fellow was leaning on one oar and gazing 
 down delightedly at the face below him. 
 
 "That's right," responded Temple. "I don't care if you 
 have been impatient. I'm glad of it. The last time you 
 made me wait an hour. Did you bring anything to eat?" 
 
 The young man knelt down and pulled a basket from 
 under the seat and handed it to Temple, who opened it 
 quickly, selected a thick piece of cold roast beef and a bis- 
 cuit, and began to eat hungrily. 
 
 " If you had brought chicken I should have sworn my- 
 self," she said, in an indistinct voice. And she added, " You 
 are just as good as you can be." 
 
 The young man frowned at this. He felt that he would 
 rather be called wicked. 
 
 " There's a pickle in the bottom of the basket," he said, 
 gloomily — " a large, long, fat one. You are just hke any 
 other girl, Temple Crawford; you love pickles." 
 
ON THE FRENCH BROAD gi 
 
 Temple drew forth the preserved cucumber and bit off a 
 piece. 
 
 '' Have all your girls been fond of pickles ?" she inquired. 
 Then, with a haste that had some confusion in it, she con- 
 tinued, " But I ain't one of your girls." 
 
 " No," was the emphatic response, " you are not one of 
 'em ; you are my only one." 
 
 " I understand," was the rather enigmatic rejoinder. 
 
 After a few moments of what might be called concentrated 
 eating. Temple said, 
 
 " I»wish you'd be tuning my fiddle." 
 
 The young man frowned again, but he took the green 
 bag and carefully drew out the instrument. 
 
 He sat down and snapped the strings. The boat was 
 rocking softly on the water where the sunlight was lying. 
 
 It was a mild morning, like some balmy May when May 
 is particularly kind. 
 
 This young fellow felt that it was spring, indeed, in his 
 veins ; and he showed this fact in his countenance, for he 
 had one of those interesting faces which can facilely reveal 
 what is in the owner's heart. He could look love and ad- 
 miration in the most charming way. His chin was a bit too 
 much underhung, but eventually, no doubt, a beard would 
 conceal that defect. He had full red lips, and very white 
 teeth, and a hint of a mustache. His front head also re- 
 ceded somewhat, but his dark hair was curly and his fore- 
 head went up in a peak each side, much like the brow in 
 some portraits of Lord Byron. He was dressed in rough, 
 suitable clothes, and the picturesque way he had with his 
 necktie was also apparent in his whole appearance. 
 
 Temple finished her breakfast, and brushed the crumbs 
 from her lap with a decisive movement. 
 
 She extended her hand. " Give me the fiddle," she 
 said, " and get your own. I'm going to learn a lot this 
 
 morning." 
 
 "Are you? Well, you can't learn if I don't teach you," 
 was the reply. 
 
92 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 Instead of giving her the instrument, the young man took 
 the hand and held it closely. Then he bent down and 
 kissed it. 
 
 " It's odd how you like to do that," said Temple. 
 
 "Odd?" was the sharp response, and the hand was 
 dropped. 
 
 "Yes," went on Temple, unmoved, "it's a curious thing. 
 I've noticed that you take my hand rather often, and seem 
 to want to hold it. What makes you ?" 
 
 Mr. Yale Boynton looked for an instant as if he would 
 swear, as he said he had been sw^earing before the girl 
 came. But he thought better of that inclination. 
 
 " Don't you want to be near any one you — you care for ?" 
 he asked. His face was red, and his eyes sparkled with 
 anger. 
 
 "Well," reflectively. Temple was going on with the tun- 
 ing of her violin, but she paused in her employment. " Yes, 
 I do," she went on ; " there are two persons whom I can't 
 hug enough." 
 
 " Two } Oh, the — " Boynton pulled himself up in time. 
 
 " You were going to say the devil," said Temple. 
 
 " Yes, I was." 
 
 " You may say it," kindly. 
 
 Boynton's face showed his confusion and indignation. 
 This was not the first time he had longed to be sentimental 
 with his companion. 
 
 "Temple Crawford, I do wish you were a little more like 
 other girls !" he cried. 
 
 " I thought you approved of me because I wasn't like 
 other girls." 
 
 The young man groaned. Temple's brown hand, with the 
 ring on it, was gently stroking the dark wood of her violin 
 as though she were caressing it. 
 
 " I never said I approved of you," began Boynton, hotly. 
 " I said you drew me, you bewitched me, you — you — " 
 
 The quick-coming words were interrupted by Temple's 
 laugh. 
 
ON THE FRENCH BROAD 93 
 
 The young man's voice sank to a low tone. He gazed at 
 his companion. He was already beginning to learn that he 
 had a very effective way of looking when he chose. 
 
 "You are cruel, cruel !" he murmured. "Who are those 
 two whom you hug ?" 
 
 " Those two ? Oh, my horse and my dog." 
 
 The young man uttered an exclamation of thanks. 
 
 Temple was contemplating him with great interest. 
 
 " You did that so well," she said, in something like his 
 own murmur, "when you said 'cruel, cruel,' you know. It 
 made things seem so interesting, some way ; though I can't 
 understand why it should be interesting or agreeable for a 
 girl to hear herself called cruel — cruel to a man, I mean. 
 Can you explain that, Mr. Boynton ?" 
 
 The young man was dumb for a moment. He thought 
 that he would have known well enough how to reply, if this 
 girl had been talking mockingly, with that airy persiflage 
 with which he was even now becoming acquainted in soci- 
 ety. But Temple was speaking in earnest. There was 
 not the least doubt about that. And this fact bewildered 
 Boynton, and charmed him indescribably at the same 
 time. 
 
 She never seemed to be moved in the least by the eyes 
 he made at her. He was almost ready to believe that she 
 supposed it was the habit of young men to make eyes, as it 
 was their habit to smoke cigarettes. 
 
 " Can you explain that ?" she insisted. 
 
 " No, I can't," he answered. 
 
 " All right, then," was the instant response, " and now 
 let's drop it and go at ' The Kerry Dancing.' I want to 
 learn that. And I wish you'd sing it. Your voice is very 
 small, but it is sweet, what there is of it." 
 
 So it happened that ]\Iiss Drowdy, still sitting on the 
 bank in her best bonnet, was aware of the fact that two 
 violins were being played upon in that boat, and that a 
 tenor voice was singing with great expression. She caught 
 herself listenino: intentlv. 
 
94 
 
 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 "O the days of the Kerry dancing! 
 
 O the ring of the piper's tune ! 
 O for one of those hours of gladness, 
 
 Gone, alas ! like youth, too soon. 
 When the boys began to gather in the glen of a summer night, 
 And the Kerry piper's tuning made us long with wild delight. 
 O to think of it, O to dream of it, fills my heart with tears." 
 
 Suddenly Temple dropped her bow and let her violin 
 slide down from her shoulder to her lap. She turned her 
 face, now pale and resplendent, towards her companion. 
 Her lips quivered ; her eyes were full of tears. 
 
 " Don't let's play it any more," she whispered. "It makes 
 me so happy — and so unhappy !" 
 
 She clasped her hands. Young Boynton laid aside his 
 fiddle so quickly that it clanged as if hurt. 
 
 He flung himself down on his knees by the girl, and put 
 one hand over her clasped fingers. His eyes were glowing. 
 At that moment he was a magnificent picture of a youth in 
 love. 
 
 But Temple drew away as much as she could in that 
 small space. 
 
 " Don't shrink from me ! Don't shrink from me !" cried 
 Boynton, under his breath. Then he whispered, ardently, 
 " Oh, how I love you ! There never was any one like you 1" 
 
 Temple remained motionless, looking down at him for an 
 instant. 
 
 " You take advantage of me," she exclaimed at last. " It 
 was the music and — and — oh, I don't know what it was ! 
 Sometimes I wish I didn't feel anything. Now get up and 
 let us play ' Money Musk.' " 
 
 " I should think you might smile at me the least little bit 
 in the world," pleaded Boynton, " just enough to keep me 
 alive." 
 
 He tried to speak lightly in his chagrin, but his voice 
 trembled. And perhaps it was this tremor that changed 
 the girl's aspect. 
 
 Her eyes softened as she looked at him now. But, then. 
 
ON THE FRENCH BROAD g5 
 
 if he had only known it, they did so also for Yucatan and 
 for Thimble. 
 
 " I want to keep you alive," she said. 
 
 She touched with the tip of one forefinger the curl that 
 fell farthest forward on the young man's forehead, for his 
 hat was off. Then, as she saw that he was about to press 
 nearer, she said, quickly, in the most matter-of-fact voice, 
 
 "It's 'Money Musk' now, Mr. Boynton, and you just re- 
 member that I'm a cold-blooded creature who doesn't know 
 anything about love. In all the books that I've read, ev- 
 erybody who loves is unhappy. Now !" 
 
 She drew her bow, and dashed into the twinkling time of 
 the old tune she had mentioned. 
 
 Meantime on the bank, among a cluster of large, glassy- 
 leaved rhododendrons, sat the lady from Massachusetts. 
 
 She had ridden herself of the brier. But several ticks 
 had now taken possession of her ankles, and were boring 
 actively into this new flesh. 
 
 "I'm goin' to wait," said Almina, emphatically — "I'm 
 goin' to wait till she comes back ; 'n' then I'll jest see what 
 she has to say for herself." 
 
VI 
 
 COMING TO PREACHING 
 
 Miss Drowdy was a woman of resolution and persistence, 
 or she could not have held out during the two interminable 
 hours which followed. But even interminable hours come 
 to an end. 
 
 The two in that boat did not row any; the craft just 
 drifted slowly, very slowly, down the stream, and they played 
 their violins almost every moment. 
 
 The woman left her place among the rhododendrons, and 
 followed a few rods along the shore. But she was right in 
 her conclusion that they would come back, that Temple 
 might land at the long trunk of a tree which, fallen into the 
 river, made a sort of wharf. 
 
 When the girl did step upon the tree Miss Drowdy walked 
 firmly down to meet her. She felt very firm, indeed ; in 
 fact, quite rigid. She did not smile in the least when Tem- 
 ple came close to her and held out her hand, saying, in her 
 melodious, slightly drawling voice, 
 
 " Good-mawnin'. Ain't it lurvly out-doors to-day ?" 
 
 " If that young man wants to see you. Temple Crawford, 
 why don't he come to the house .?" asked Almina. 
 
 " Oh, he does come," was the answer. 
 
 " Do you know," went on the elder woman — " do you know 
 you've been out with him more than two mortal hours, 
 alone ?" 
 
 "Yes, ma'am." 
 
 The girl looked in surprise at her companion. Then she 
 smiled brightly as she said, 
 
 "I was feared you'd get most bawdaciously tired." 
 
COMING TO PREACHING 97 
 
 " You seen me, then ?" 
 
 "Oh yes, of course. And finally I begun to think you 
 must be going to stay till I come back. Queer about it. 
 What did you do it for? For a long time I thought you'd 
 just come to look at the mountains." 
 
 " I knew your father, Temple Crawford, and I wanted to 
 take care of his child." 
 
 The girl laughed as if greatly amused. 
 
 "My father?" she exclaimed. "I've been wondering if 
 you were in love with him. He never took the slightest 
 care of me in his life. I've always done what I pleased 
 every hour of the twenty-four. Were you in love with him ?" 
 
 She said " lurv " instead of love. She seemed greatly in- 
 terested in this question. But she saw that her companion 
 hesitated about replying. 
 
 "You needn't be afraid to tell me," she continued, "but, 
 as for father, I don't believe he ever loved anything in his 
 life." 
 
 Miss Drowdy was trying to discover how she had so sud- 
 denly and completely lost control of the situation. She 
 wondered if it were because she had had no breakfast and 
 was so faint. 
 
 " I — I was interested in your father," she began. 
 
 Temple suddenly put her arms about the woman who 
 walked by her side, and whom in her young vigor she had 
 an impulse to protect. 
 
 "Then I'm sorry for you," said the youthful, attractive 
 voice. 
 
 Bewildered, invincibly drawn to this girl, Miss Drowdy 
 tried to get herself in hand. If it had only been so that she 
 could have had a cup of coffee it seemed to her that she 
 could have done better. 
 
 "You ain't respectful," she began. 
 
 "Oh, don't bother about that," said Temple. "I respect 
 you, anyway. Anybody's got to respect you." 
 
 Almina drew a long breath. 
 
 " I want to speak to you about that young man," she said. 
 
g8 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 " I've got to ; it's my duty, you see. Be you engaged to 
 him ?" 
 
 " Oil no," with a laugh. 
 
 "Are you goin' to be engaged to him ?" 
 
 " I reckon not. I reckon I'm not the kind of girl to be 
 in love. And I s'pose a girl's got to be in love to be en- 
 gaged, hasn't she?" 
 
 " She ought to be." 
 
 Miss Drowdy was very positive on this subject. Like 
 most old maids, she believed in love, and could not reconcile 
 herself to thinking of marriage as a bargain. 
 
 " Two or three times I've kind of had a notion," said 
 Temple, " that I was in love with Yale Boynton ; but, gen- 
 erally speaking, I'm plumb sure I ain't." 
 
 " Oh, dear," said Miss Drowdy, " then I wish you'd stop 
 goin' out in a boat like that with him. Is he a likely young 
 man ?" 
 
 "I don't know. Likely?" 
 
 "Yes; respectable 'n' — 'n' scrabblin'. Can he git a good 
 livin' ? 'n' would he be a good provider, do you think ?" 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " Has he got religion ? Is he pious ?" 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 "What do you know about him ?" 
 
 " Not a thing," was the frank answer. 
 
 "Merciful sakes ! How'd you git acquainted with him?" 
 
 " Why, I had my violin down by the Broad one day last 
 summer, and this fellow came along in his boat; and he had 
 a violin and was playing it. And he stopped and spoke to 
 me. After we had talked a little he came ashore. I found 
 he could play a lot better than I could, so I asked him to 
 teach me. He came to the house sometimes. But it's ever 
 so much nicer to be on the river. Of course I didn't see 
 him in the winter. He went away somewhere." 
 
 Here the girl paused. 
 
 Again Almina was shocked because she was not more 
 shocked. 
 
COMING TO PREACHING 
 
 99 
 
 " And he makes love to you ?" 
 
 " Sometimes — at least, that is what you'd call it, I 
 reckon." 
 
 " Then the end of it '11 be that you'll love him — if he don't 
 give up." 
 
 Temple paused in her walk ; her companion stopped also. 
 
 "Love him?" repeated the girl, with just a perceptible 
 emphasis on the pronoun. 
 
 She gazed off at the mountains, her face becoming softly 
 illuminated ; her lips closed with an almost passionate 
 curve. 
 
 Looking at her now, Almina was dimly conscious, woman 
 though she was, of that strange and subtle attraction of mere 
 sex which is in some women so greatly developed. 
 
 It is a mistake to assume that only men are aware of this 
 attraction, this mystery for which there seems no explanation. 
 That woman child who is born into the world possessing 
 this power draws to her unconsciously. If she be good we 
 yield unresistingly ; if she be bad we make a fight, but we 
 generally yield all the same in the end — unless we run 
 away. 
 
 Temple turned suddenly towards her friend ; she put her 
 arm again about Almina's waist. 
 
 " It seems so ridiculous to talk of love," she said. "Didn't 
 I tell you I am cold-blooded.? I can imagine friendship 
 and affection, but I don't understand anything else." 
 
 Miss Drowdy's look expressed her astonishment. 
 
 " I guess you ain't in earnest," she said. 
 
 " I am." 
 
 "Then I guess you ain't ever seen your face in the glass," 
 was the impressive response. 
 
 Temple laughed ; she passed one hand quickly from her 
 forehead down to her chin. 
 
 "I don't know what you mean," she said. 
 
 " Mebby you'll find out some time," answered the other. 
 
 The two had reached a path that led from the Frady farm 
 through the Crawford estate. There were no real roads 
 
lOO AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 hereabouts ; but these trodden ways went here and there 
 over the mountains. And frequently they were ob- 
 structed by trees which had fallen and were hardly ever 
 removed. People jumped these trees or climbed over them, 
 or went around them. 
 
 At this moment, a little ways down the path, a horse was 
 just jumping over a fallen black oak. The horse bore a man 
 on his back, and this man swung off his cap, cantered up, 
 and dismounted. 
 
 It was Mrs. Ammidown's brother, and, seen now in the 
 daylight, he bore that resemblance to his sister that a 
 face carved in marble might bear to one painted in rich 
 colors. 
 
 It was a curious thing that when Mercer spoke his voice 
 might make you think he possessed a warm opulence of 
 nature which did not betray itself in his face — at least, not 
 ordinarily. 
 
 The man had seen these two while he was at some dis- 
 tance along the path, and he had hurried his horse, making 
 him leap as he would have made him leap had the barrier 
 been twice as high. 
 
 He now walked by Miss Drowdy's side, and his horse fol- 
 lowed him as a dog follows. This animal had not belonged 
 to Mercer for five years and been his daily companion with- 
 out learning many things. 
 
 Mercer glanced across the elder woman and said to 
 Temple, 
 
 "I was going to call on you this morning. My sister 
 thinks there's a building used as a school-house on your 
 farm, Miss Crawford. If there is, I shall preach in it as 
 soon as I can let the people know." 
 
 "Oh, shall you?" 
 
 Temple's eyes grew bright with her interest. 
 
 Mercer looked at her longer than was necessary. She 
 met his eyes with a fearless expression of asking and longing. 
 
 "Perhaps you, at ie^st, can tell us something," she said, in 
 a fervent voice. 
 
COMING TO PREACHING lOI 
 
 She had the effect of bending towards him as she went on, 
 though in reality she maintained her upright position. 
 
 " You know we are told to seek and we shall find, Mr. 
 Mercer. Now it seems to me that I have been seeking 
 all my life. Only I have never found — never. Shall I find, 
 Mr. Mercer? It isn't that I'm not happy — don't think that. 
 That would be a lie. It's just that I'm too happy. Yes, too 
 happy. You see, just to be alive here with these mountains 
 all the time — to sleep with them — to wake with them — to 
 have my horse and my dog — to be alive — to be alive !" 
 
 The girl had paused in her walk, and the others had 
 paused with her. Almina had a vague fear that this was not 
 the way any one ought to talk. Particularly was it somehow 
 wrong for a woman to talk thus. And how could one be 
 too happy.'' If this happiness came on account of having a 
 lover — but, notwithstanding the interview on the river, Al- 
 mina, romantic as she was, did not ascribe Temple's words 
 to that cause. 
 
 Mercer's thin, ascetic face was turned towards the girl. 
 In spite of the priest and the monk in him, the man in 
 him — the unregenerate man, he would have said — thrilled 
 strongly. 
 
 Temple, after her pause, suddenly added, 
 
 " It's because I want to learn how to bear it," 
 
 " I've often been appealed to for help in unhappiness," re- 
 turned Mercer, " but never in happiness. The poor wretch- 
 es among these mountains don't come to me with your griev- 
 ance." 
 
 Temple's big soft hat was pushed back from her forehead. 
 She had the baize bag holding the fiddle in one hand; the 
 other hand was thrust into the pocket of the old velvet coat. 
 
 She was gazing with unfaltering intentness at the man be- 
 fore her. Just behind Mercer his horse had stopped. The 
 animal had taken a mouthful of leaves from an oak shrub 
 and was chewing them, a leaf or two protruding from his 
 loosely moving lips as his benevolent, equine face showed 
 above his master's shoulder. 
 
102 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 Mercer felt a sort of undefined emotion, something that he 
 was quite sure he must fight. 
 
 "The poor wretches," said Temple; "yes, I know that's 
 what they are. They are like vermin among my great 
 mountains. They don't care for the hills, nor for the sky, 
 nor for anything but whiskey and bacon." 
 
 Mercer stepped forward as if with an uncontrollable move- 
 ment ; and it was with an uncontrollable movement that he 
 put his hand lightly on Temple's arm. His eyes burned, but 
 his pale features were quiet. 
 
 "It's my work to teach them to care for something besides 
 whiskey and bacon," he said, his impressive voice seeming 
 to make the still, sweet air quiver in response to an uncon- 
 querable purpose. 
 
 The two looked at each other for an instant. 
 
 Then Temple said, her eyes shining and her voice un- 
 steady, , 
 
 " That's a noble work ! But you never can teach them. 
 You see, I know them ; I live here." 
 
 Mercer drew himself up. He made a slight movement 
 as one might who is settling armor upon himself for a 
 contest. 
 
 " I know them, too," he answered, " and they are men and 
 women ; therefore to be moved in some way." 
 
 He did not linger. He drew back a step for the two 
 women to pass, taking off his hat as he did so. 
 
 He mounted his horse, and rode along the path and out of 
 sight among the trees. 
 
 That afternoon he knocked at the door of his sister's room 
 at Battery Park. 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown was half lying in a long chair. She was 
 holding a book in her hand. 
 
 " Well," she said, " I knew your step, so I knew I needn't 
 rise. What's the matter ? If you wouldn't think me irrev- 
 erent I should say you look as if you had found the Holy 
 Grail." 
 
 "No, no," said Mercer, who was standing in front of his sis- 
 
COMING TO PREACHING 103 
 
 ter and looking down at her as if trying to bring his thoughts 
 to her exclusively. 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown shut her book. She touched the spring 
 which changed her couch into a chair. 
 
 "It is impossible to lounge near anything so upright as 
 you, Richard," she said. " If I could change my backbone 
 into a steel column, I suppose you'd approve." 
 
 "You are as nature made you," said Mercer, absently. 
 
 " Therefore, let me pass for a woman," was the response. 
 " Did you get your school-house ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Then now you'll canvass for the Lord in Buncombe 
 County." 
 
 There was more pity than mockery in the woman's voice. 
 There was affection in the way she leaned forward now and 
 took her brother's hand. 
 
 He bent over her and smoothed her hair with his other 
 hand, but he did it absently. As he did not speak, his sis- 
 ter went on, 
 
 " It's a pity you don't belong in this century, Richard. 
 One of those old flesh-mortifying, sin-tormented monks must 
 be occupying your body. Oh, it's a great pity !" 
 
 " What do you mean, Laura ? You don't know what you're 
 talking about. I'm doing the Lord's work. Is there any- 
 thins: orreater than to save souls ? What is all the world 
 compared with one poor sinner saved V 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown made a little sound like an expostulatory 
 moan. 
 
 " Oh, I know you are in earnest," she exclaimed. " And 
 it's dreadful to be really in earnest. You ought to be able 
 to move the foundations of the world. Perhaps you will 
 move them." 
 
 Mercer made no reply to this remark. He went and 
 stood beside the window, looking out. He was accustomed 
 to his sister's worldliness. He deplored it, but he was too 
 much used to it to be really shocked. He often told him- 
 self that he sinned much in not being more moved by her 
 
104 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 sin. He knew he tolerated sin in her, and he never meant 
 to cease fighting evil in himself and in everybody else. He 
 often wished that wickedness was visible, incarnate, and he 
 could attack it with a scourge. He had many times been 
 conscious that he longed to take a handful of cords and flay 
 himself for his sinfulness. He wished that he could believe 
 in the efficacy of such flayijig, and of hair shirts, and of peas 
 in one's shoes. If he had been born a few centuries earlier 
 he could have had faith in such measures. 
 
 " I suppose that the Miss Crawford out there is the one 
 you wrote me about — the one who saved you from drown- 
 ing?" at last said Mercer, without turning from the window. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown was too wise to make any remark or to 
 ask a question. She knew her brother very well. 
 
 " She seems an unusual sort of girl," he said. 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Ammidown, once more. 
 
 " I saw her to-day again." 
 
 " Oh, did you .'' Did she say how the pony is getting 
 on?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " I'm going to see the pony before dark." 
 
 The speaker drew out her watch and looked at it. There 
 was a smile on her face as she glanced at her brother's 
 back. And there was a little wonder and surprise also. 
 For this was the first time she had ever heard Richard say 
 even as much as this about a woman. 
 
 "It appeals to one to see a girl like that in such a 
 place," now remarked Mercer. 
 
 " I think it does," was the response. " I'd like to take 
 her with me." 
 
 Mercer turned with a quick gesture of dissent. 
 
 " You would make her a worldling," he said. 
 
 " Oh, dear !" exclaimed the woman. " Does it never 
 strike you that you are ridiculous, Richard ? Who talks of 
 worldlings in these days ?" 
 
 " I talk of them," was the severe answer. " It's my mis- 
 
COMING TO PREACHING 105 
 
 sion to try to save them. These poor creatures in the coun- 
 try here are just as much worldlings as — " 
 
 " As I am, Richard," interrupted his sister. " But how- 
 do you classify Temple Crawford V 
 
 " I don't know — I don't know. She says she longs for 
 
 religion because — just think of it — because she's so happy. 
 
 It's only the miserable usually who want God to comfort 
 
 them." 
 
 " ' That soul is dumb 
 
 Who, woe being come — ' " 
 
 "Don't !" cried Mercer, breaking in upon his sister's quo- 
 tation. " Religion is nothing but poetry or literature to you. 
 I pray it may be something more to that girl." 
 
 There came that peculiar note into the man's voice. 
 
 " I suppose," said Mrs. Ammidown, "that the soul of that 
 girl isn't worth any more than the soul of a poor white, is 
 it?" 
 
 Mercer's brow contracted somewhat. 
 
 " No," he answered ; " a soul is a soul in God's sight." 
 
 The woman flung out her hand in a gesture of contempt. 
 She evidently restrained a desire to say some stinging thing. 
 When she did speak a moment later she seemed perfectly 
 good-natured. 
 
 "You'll find strange soil to work on in Temple's char- 
 acter. She is the most emotional and the most unconven- 
 tional being I ever met. She is very ignorant. She learned 
 to read somehow — she never exactly knew how. She has 
 told me about it. Her father didn't care. She went to 
 school a few months in that little hut where you're going to 
 preach. You can imagine what curious kind of teaching 
 there was there. Her whole heart has been given to her 
 horse and her dogs, and the mountains and rivers. Serious- 
 ly, Richard, I sometimes think it's a wise thing to give one's 
 heart in that way ; human beings, you know, are not worthy 
 to receive much." 
 
 " But her father ?" questioned Mercer. 
 
I06 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 He seemed too interested to sit. He had moved away 
 from the window, and was walking here and there about the 
 room. His face, however, was set in that resolute calm in 
 which he had drilled it. 
 
 " Oh, her father," said Mrs. Ammidown, with another gest- 
 ure — " he was an indolent, intellectual, unworthy scamp. I 
 call him a scamp, though I don't suppose he ever committed 
 a crime. He used to read, and smoke, and stroll about the 
 mountains in a broad hat and velvet coat, with a mustache 
 like a musketeer's. He had the peculiar, misty, cloudy, ab- 
 sent look of an opium eater. I'm sure he was an opium 
 eater. Possibly that was why he cared not in the least that 
 his daughter should be educated. He did get her food to 
 eat, because he got himself food, I suppose, and allowed her 
 to share it. But he hardly provided her with clothes. If 
 she had been a boy she would have had only his cast-off gar- 
 ments. As it is, she wears his coats now. And she is actu- 
 ally picturesque in them, too — which speaks volumes for her 
 capabilities in that line." 
 
 '•' But what supports her ? She must be obliged to have 
 some money, if ever so little, living there. We all have to 
 have some money." 
 
 " Well, I fancy you'd be surprised if you knew how litde," 
 was the reply. " But there were two or three hundred dol- 
 lars left in a bank here in Asheville when Mr. Crawford went 
 to Montana, where he died. Temple thinks that sum a fort- 
 une. But she never has had money to use, so she very rare- 
 ly gets any of this. Sally runs the farm. Sally's no ' triflin' ' 
 yellow woman, I assure you. She is energy in the flesh when 
 she pleases. She follows the plough, she makes that evil 
 lout of a Bartholomew work. She hasn't any system — she's 
 a sort of wild woman, in a way ; but she brings things to 
 pass. You should see her walking up the mountain with a 
 basket of picked-up wood on her head. I envy her. Why, 
 she might be Boadicea or Semiramis, only I suppose neither 
 of those women carried wood on the head. And Sally is a 
 mine of old, strange stories that thrill and rouse one. Tem- 
 
COMING TO PREACHING 
 
 107 
 
 pie is actually intimate with her. They talk for hours to- 
 gether. Temple knows that wonderful, savage, generous 
 nature, and loves it. I've had glimpses into Sally's soul, 
 glimpses lurid and stirring and tempestuous. It's really 
 Sally who has brought up the child. And she has told her 
 curious tales ; she has imbued her with something mysteri- 
 ous and Oriental. My dear brother," looking up with a 
 smile into the man's face, " if you begin a study of Tem- 
 ple Crawford I don't know whether to congratulate you 
 or commiserate you. She says she wants religion. She 
 has been with Sally to many preachings. She has seen 
 Sally converted several times. The process is attended 
 with groanings and shoutings and contortions, and it is a 
 process which seems to have to be repeated ; it doesn't 
 last even the seven years that vaccination is said to hold 
 good." 
 
 " You know very well that I don't consider that groanings 
 and contortions make religion," said Mercer, " though some- 
 times the coming of salvation may be accompanied by much 
 mental and consequently physical disturbance. I'm sure of 
 this, Laura." 
 
 Again the woman said, " Oh, dear !" as if she had no words, 
 and would not try for any. 
 
 " But this woman, this Miss Drowdy .'"' asked Mercer. 
 " How came she here .'"' 
 
 "Oh, that's one of Mr. Crawford's moves which shows 
 how wise he was, and what a shirk. He knew that Miss 
 Drowdy, once she was here with Temple, would never for- 
 sake the child again ; that Temple would always have a con- 
 scientious friend. I suspect that he was once a lover of the 
 Yankee woman ; very likely he jilted her ; but she cherishes 
 and adores his memory, you may be sure. And she'll cher- 
 ish his daughter. Yes, it takes the thoroughly selfish man to 
 make such a move as that." 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown now rose from her chair. She went to 
 the glass and passed her hands over her face, as if to rub 
 off the impress of thought. 
 
loS AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 " If you'll excuse me, Richard," she said, " I'll get ready 
 to ride out there now. Temple will never forgive me if I 
 neglect her pony." 
 
 Mercer walked to the door. " I wish," he said, looking 
 back, "that you would not talk in your mocking way before 
 the girl. It's — it's really horrible of you." 
 
 " But I won't — I won't ; I give you my word," w^as the 
 quick reply. " When do you have a meeting in that school- 
 house .'"' 
 
 " To-morrow night. I've been riding about among those 
 people, talking with them and giving notice. And I shall 
 take in the other side of the mountain and towards Busbee 
 to-morrow. It's moonlight now, and they're always glad to 
 go to preaching, you know. It's a kind of excitement and 
 pastime to them. I know that as well as you can tell me, 
 Laura. But I want to get their attention ; I want to make 
 them understand that religion means a good many things : 
 that they shall stop drinking whiskey ; stop beating their 
 wives and putting them to the plough ; stop swearing ; stop 
 their brutish — no, not brutish, but human licentiousness. 
 I'm going to help them. I affirm to you, before God, Laura, 
 that I'm going to help them." 
 
 The man's voice vibrated with the man's earnest soul. 
 His eyes flamed. 
 
 Laura Ammidown, " caviller," as he would have called 
 her, vibrated in response. Her face flushed a little. 
 She walked across the room and caught her brother's 
 hand. 
 
 " Dear Richard," she said, just above a whisper, " at least 
 you are sincere, and sincerity goes a great way. I shall be 
 at the preaching to-morrow night." 
 
 " No," said Mercer, "why should you go ?" 
 
 " Don't fear," she returned, " I sha'n't scoff. Indeed, I 
 can't scoff when you really get under way." 
 
 The next evening by eight o'clock, though Mercer him- 
 self had not yet arrived, the meeting might be said to be 
 " under way " most decidedly, in one sense. The little log 
 
COMING TO PREACHING IO9 
 
 school-house was crowded ; nearly all the men had long, yel- 
 low beards and rough, uncut locks. Their eager, demand- 
 ing eyes were fixed on the door, through which the preach- 
 er was to enter ; for the preacher was late. They wore wool 
 shirts, and their rough trousers sagged from the hips. They 
 had not taken their seats, but were lounging, in more or 
 less striking attitudes, about the room. Every few moments 
 some one would take a big piece of light-wood from the 
 heajD by the hearth and throw it upon the fire. This fire 
 filled the cabin with a glowing, yellow flare. The men spat 
 into the coals. They did not talk much. There were more 
 women than men, but these were seated ; they were too 
 weary to spend any energy in moving about. And they were 
 not good-looking, like so many of the men ; they were wrin- 
 kled and sallow and toothless. Their eyes were dull. They 
 passed their lives in bearing children ; in cooking " hog and 
 hominy " ; in plodding along mountain furrows behind the 
 plough ; in smoking in some rare moment of rest by the 
 chimney ; in rolling a lump of snuff lovingly beneath a 
 loose under-lip ; in drinking illicitly made whiskey. These 
 also wanted religion. Religion to them was like a sort of 
 whiskey that was not so common as what they kept in a jug 
 in some corner. 
 
 And black men and women were there, too. There 
 was a kind of scintillating animation in their faces; a 
 sort of a shine, as of light glancing on polished black 
 wood. 
 
 Of course, the cabin door was open. The brilliance of 
 the burning fat wood mingled with the cold, bright moon- 
 light that was lying in long bars wherever it found an open- 
 ing among the trees. 
 
 The smell of spring was filling the night with fragrance. 
 There was all about among the woods the odor of the arbu- 
 tus, which was now past its prime. Frogs were peeping 
 in hollow places where water stood. There was no wind. 
 The trees barely moved their leafing twigs. 
 
 Two or three times a big negro sitting behind had struck 
 
no AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 the first notes of a hymn and had been joined by the 
 others. 
 
 They were now rolling out the words : 
 
 " Be my themer I shall last, 
 Jesus, Jesus crucified !" 
 
 The syllables went roaring outward into the night, and 
 then died away. 
 
 What had those words meant ? Impossible to tell. Did 
 the singers know ? 
 
 Presently from outside, and coming constantly nearer, was 
 heard a contralto voice singing strongly : 
 
 * 
 
 " De little chillen's feet so weary!" 
 
 Instantly the whole company joined in. The very world 
 appeared to be filled with the melody. 
 
 ' ' So weary, so weary, Lord ! 
 
 De little chillen's feet so weary, Lord ! 
 
 Call de little chillen, Lord ! 
 Come ! Come ! Little chillen, come to me !" 
 
 Before the last line was reached Temple Crawford ap- 
 peared in the doorway. She had on the big hat and the 
 velvet coat. Her hands were in the coat pockets ; her head 
 was thrown back ; her eyes shone. She stood still, just with- 
 in the door, and finished singing. She repeated the phrase 
 " Come to me " with an abandon of fervor that made the 
 two women behind her shiver with a sort of fearsome ec- 
 stasy. One of these women, Laura Ammidown, ascribed this 
 ecstasy merely to her own susceptibility to certain phases of 
 emotion. The other woman, Almina Drowdy, believed this 
 emotion to be part of religion. 
 
 " Somebody '11 be sure to experience to-night," she thought 
 with exultation. 
 
 She looked with wonder at Temple. She hoped that 
 some time she should know what to make o^that girl. She 
 
COMING TO PREACHING III 
 
 watched her as she shook hands here and there with those 
 horrible -looking mountain people. Almina felt that she 
 couldn't shake hands in that way. The long-legged, brawny 
 men clustered around Temple. They asked her about her 
 pony; they inquired what kind of craps she was "gwine to 
 make this year." They recommended turning over " that 
 there bit er land ter thur west." One of these men, young, 
 with hair which appeared to have been combed, and which 
 lay, sleek and yellow, back from his temples and behind his 
 ears, pressed bashfully, but resolutely, up near to the girl. 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown, standing by the fire with her elegant 
 wrap now held negligently on her arm, watched this young 
 man with instant interest. She had never seen him before, 
 but she was aware that she liked him directly. It was a dis- 
 tinction to be clean and well groomed among this " herd " ; 
 herd was the term the lady mentally used. 
 
 This young fellow's forehead was very white, his eyes 
 clearly blue and transparent, his cheeks tanned. A straw- 
 colored mustache swept away in a fine curve on either side 
 of his upper-lip. 
 
 "You plumb promised me. Miss Temple," Mrs. Ammi- 
 down heard him say, "that you'd let me plough the west slope 
 with my new oxen. You did. Miss Temple. Sally an' Bart 
 carn't make no headway ploughin' of that slope. They carn't. 
 Say I may curm ter-morrer, Miss Temple ; say I may!" 
 
 Temple looked at him and smiled. 
 
 " When will she learn not to smile like that ?" Mrs. Am- 
 midown asked of herself 
 
 The young man flushed with delight. 
 
 " Now, Lincoln," said Temple, " that's just what I was 
 wanting — your oxen for that slope, you know. Our muel 
 can't do hit. Sally was saying yesterday that if she could 
 get Lincoln Dalvecker's oxen to turn urp that sod, she 'n' 
 Bart could make a mighty fine crap. I do wish you would 
 come. We c'n swop work somehow, I reckon." 
 
 The young man gave a little delighted laugh which made 
 his face charming. 
 
112 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 " I ain't aimin' to swop work," he answered. " I'll be 
 shore to be there by sun-up ter-morrer." 
 
 "Link Dalvecker's allers in luck," exclaimed one man. 
 "But yo' may jes' know, Miss Temple, as thur ain't a man 
 nowhars on the mountings in Car'liny but 'd jump at thur 
 chance to plough that slope. Now, be thur.?" 
 
 The speaker turned towards the group of men as he put 
 the question. 
 
 There was a laugh and a shout of " Naw ! nawJ That's 
 thur gospel trewth — 'tis !" 
 
 Even the women joined in this, though they did it more 
 languidly, having no spare strength to put into anything. 
 
 Temple thanked them with a simple sincerity. She turned 
 and glanced at Mrs. Ammidown and Almina as if to say, 
 
 "These be my mountaineers." In another moment a 
 voice asked, 
 
 " Whar's thur preacher? Ain't we gwine ter have no 
 preachin' ? I'll be dad-burned if I warnt no preacher ter be 
 foolin' of me. I curm to preachin' ; I curm fur three mile 
 t'other side Busbee to git religion. My 'oman tole me not 
 ter darst to curm back 'thout I brung religion. Say, now !" 
 
 There was a darky snicker at this in the rear of the room. 
 But if was hushed instantly, as Mercer appeared in the door- 
 way. 
 
 He was dripping wet, and his face was flushed almost to 
 a purple hue. 
 
VII 
 YOUNG DALVECKER 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown advanced a step towards him, but Mer- 
 cer motioned her back. 
 
 He walked into the room and up to the fire, standing back 
 to it. 
 
 " I'm sorry I'm late," he said. " I started early enough, 
 but I was detained." 
 
 He glanced down at his wet garments, hesitated a mo- 
 ment, as if in doubt whether to make any explanation, then 
 he went on as if speaking of the most commonplace affair. 
 
 " There was a drunken fellow trying to cross the Broad in 
 a boat. Of course he capsized, and he was too drunk to 
 swim. I had to go in after him, and then I had to take 
 him home. Has any one got a hymn-book .'' But it's no 
 matter. Enough of you will know this." 
 
 And standing before the fire, with the water trickling off 
 him and making a little pool at his feet, Mercer began to 
 sing, 
 
 " Hail to the brightness of Zion's glad morning ! 
 Joy to the lands that in darkness have lain ! 
 Hushed be the accents of sorrow and mourning, 
 Zion in triumph begins her mild reign." 
 
 For the whole of the first verse no one joined him. His 
 resonant and triumphant voice went on by itself. All those 
 dull, ignorant, besotted faces were turned towards him, and 
 the firelight shone on them. 
 
 From the moment he had stepped into the room Mercer 
 had control of the people within it. That he had just pulled 
 
114 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 a man out of the river, and had come to them without going 
 back to change his clothes, had a decided weight with every 
 one there. 
 
 Laura Ammidown was angry with her brother, and anxious 
 about him, but she was conscious of that stirring of admira- 
 tion which a recklessness of self, however absurd, is likely 
 to excite. 
 
 When Mercer began the second verse, voice after voice 
 joined in with fervor, and with strange pronunciation. 
 
 " Hail to the brightness of Zion's glad morning, 
 Long by the prophets of Israel foretold ; 
 Hail to the millions from bondage returning ; 
 Gentiles and Jews the blest vision behold." 
 
 Mercer did not go on with the hymn. 
 
 He had heard his sister's thin but sweet soprano ; but he 
 did not so much hear as feel the contralto notes that filled 
 the cabin with magnificent sound. 
 
 He knew that Temple's gaze was upon him in that in- 
 tense and hoping way which might almost inspire a block 
 of wood to be eloquent. 
 
 "Are you returning from bondage?" he asked, suddenly, 
 his eyes gazing over the whole assembly. 
 
 Not one among that company w^as so stupid as not to 
 know that " the power " would be displayed this evening. 
 Dimly, but eagerly, they felt the stirring of the coming ex- 
 citement. It was going to be a good meetin'. 
 
 A strange, and what they thought holy, intoxication would 
 get them — that was it. It is a singular fact that man is an 
 animal that longs to be intoxicated in some way — to be 
 stirred beyond his normal condition. 
 
 Mercer's tall, broad - shouldered figure stood erect and 
 dominant before the fire. There was something compelling 
 in him. Even his sister felt it, and could not throw it off, 
 though mentally she scoffed at herself for her weakness. 
 
 As for Almina, she yielded without a struggle to the force 
 
YOUNG DALVECKER I15 
 
 which she called the spirit of God. It had come down to 
 make men flee from eternal wrath, 
 
 Mercer gazed about him. His glance took in every per- 
 son. Each person felt that it was to him, to his very soul, 
 that this evangelist had come. 
 
 "Are you returning from bondage?" 
 
 The preacher repeated his words, his voice knocking at 
 every heart. " From the bondage of sin to the freedom of 
 the Lord Jesus Christ." Then he paused. Almina sat with 
 terrible yet delicious chills chasing each other over her. 
 She glanced at Temple, wondering if the girl would get 
 religion. 
 
 Temple was looking straight at the speaker. 
 
 In the pause there was a movement at the door. With- 
 out glancing that way. Temple was aware that Sally was in 
 the doorway, and she saw beside her the great white bulk 
 of the Newfoundland Yucatan. 
 
 The girl made a slight motion with her hand, and the 
 yellow woman and the dog came to her side. There was 
 no room on the benches. Without any hesitation the 
 woman sat down on the floor in front of her mistress. She 
 drew up her legs and clasped her hands over her knees. 
 The dog seated himself on his haunches, gazed at Temple, 
 and slowly thumped the floor with his tail. 
 
 In the silence of this slight interruption Almina was look- 
 ing forward with mingled misery and happiness to a power- 
 ful delineation of the eternal anger from which mortals must 
 some way escape. 
 
 Mercer's eyes wandered over his little congregation ; they 
 came to the girl directly in front of him. Temple's eyes 
 were still upon him absorbedly. 
 
 A sudden change of intention came to the preacher. He 
 had intended to talk of the awful consequences of sin, the 
 terrors of everlasting damnation. He had meant to exhort 
 his hearers to flee — flee from the wrath to come. 
 
 His penetrating voice suddenly asked in its softest ac- 
 cents, 
 
Il6 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 " Is there a man here who remembers that he loved his 
 mother — or his father — or his wife — or any one in the whole 
 Avorld ? Is there ? Is there ?" 
 
 Mercer's glance, now inexpressibly gentle and sweet, went 
 again from one to the other of those stolid, ignorant, unthink- 
 ing faces. His words may have had some effect, but there 
 was that in the man's presence, the mysterious something 
 which is given to some human beings, and which makes them 
 leaders, which had far more effect. 
 
 A faint, tremulous voice, that yet came from a bearded 
 man, behind the others, was heard saying, 
 
 " Yes, yes — fur shore — fur shore." 
 
 Then there was a movement through the whole company, 
 and murmurs of assent. 
 
 Sally rocked herself to and fro, and groaned deep down in 
 her chest. Temple sat perfectly still, her hand on Yucatan's 
 head. Mercer was aware that her face was towards him. He 
 was so intensely aware of it that he passed his hand invol- 
 untarily over his eyes that he might more fully give himself 
 up to those others — those animals in the guise of men and 
 women who were so in need of the salvation of love and 
 peace which Jesus Christ had brought into the world. 
 
 A man near the door sprang to his feet. He had one 
 hand on his hip ; he flung the other out fiercely. 
 
 "There's my little gal — my little Tressy" — he cried, "lurv 
 her ! I'll be damned if I don't lurv her !" 
 
 Mercer turned like a flash upon this man. 
 
 "Yes, yes!" he exclaimed, " now you know what I mean. 
 You love her, and you like to do what will please her. She 
 likes to do what will please you. You'd do anything for her, 
 because you love her. You'd die for her. There's some- 
 thing in every heart here to-night that knows what I'm talk- 
 ing about." 
 
 There was another movement. A light came upon dull 
 faces, and grew, and grew. Sordid life of "crap making" 
 and drinking and licentiousness seemed to drop away, 
 piece by piece, like old rags from a beggar's body. It was 
 
YOUNG DALVECKER II7 
 
 not a God thundering curses at them, but a God loving 
 them. 
 
 At the end of one of the sentences Mrs. Ammidown sud- 
 denly began to sing, 
 
 "Oh, love divine, that stooped to share 
 Our sharpest pang, our bitterest tear ! 
 On Thee we cast each earthborn care ; 
 We smile at pain while Thou art near." 
 
 No one seemed to know this hymn among the natives, but 
 at the third line Temple's strong, rich contralto joined in, and 
 supported and bore up the other voice ; and thus the two 
 sang to the end of the hymn. 
 
 The instant the words ceased Mercer broke forth into 
 something quite different. He had no platitudes about the 
 sentiment of religion then. He talked about drunkenness 
 and laziness and wife-beating and adultery. 
 
 He lashed the people, and they took his lashing; nay, they 
 crouched to it. They writhed, they groaned, they swore with 
 occasional outburst that it was God's truth he was speaking. 
 They gazed at each other. 
 
 One great fellow with a beard down to his waistband, and 
 big boots caked with yellow mud, sprang up and shouted, 
 
 *' By thur devil ! I tell you-uns what 'tis, this man is a-tell- 
 in' thur trewth ! I'm gwine ter reform, I be ! I knocked my 
 'oman down yisterday. She war damned pervokin'." He 
 glanced round the company. " You-uns know jes' how damn 
 jDervokin' my 'oman c'n be. But I ain't gwine ter knock her 
 down ergin. Never onc't. I sw'ar hit. 'Tain't no work 
 fur a man — to be knockin' down women — 'tain't. Other 
 preachers don't talk religion that makes er man do dif'runt. 
 This is thur religion fur me. I'm gwine ter do dif'runt. Some 
 of you-uns jes' spout er prayer as '11 fit my case." 
 
 The man threw himself down on his knees, and covered 
 his face with a pair of grimy, hairy hands. 
 
 Even Mrs. Ammidown could not smile at the grotesque 
 speech or the grotesque speaker. Her face was set in a 
 
Il8 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 more earnest look than was often seen on it. Genuine emo- 
 tion is such a power, such a contagious power. 
 
 Temple was leaning forward as if she were listening for 
 something more and something different from anything she 
 had heard — or rather as if she were even now hearing the 
 beginning of that something. Her eyes were still on the 
 preacher. Mrs. Ammidown, glancing at her, saw that the 
 intent eyes of the girl did not really see Mercer himself, but 
 that they were gazing beyond him, through him ; they were 
 searching. 
 
 As for Mercer himself, he was glorified, exultant. He had 
 never before been so conscious of doing the Lord's work, of 
 being in deed and in truth a laborer in the vineyard. He did 
 not know why it was. But this evening a greater glory had 
 been vouchsafed to him. It was as if he had been sealed 
 by the Almighty as one who was worthy to work and to be 
 blessed in his work. 
 
 His eyes sought Temple's. " Who is going to pray for our 
 brother.?" he asked. 
 
 Temple slid down to her knees. Without knowing that 
 she did so, she leaned heavily against Sally's stalwart frame 
 as she had often leaned when she was a child. 
 
 She began to pray. Afterwards she could never remem- 
 ber anything she said at that time. She could only remem- 
 ber the ecstatic state of her mind in the conviction that God 
 had at last given to her that she should " experience relig- 
 ion," that she should have a new heart with which to serve 
 him all the years of her life, and for an eternity in heaven. 
 This she remembered, and that she longed so fervently that 
 God would help that man who had asked for prayers that the 
 very fervor would insure the answer. 
 
 Sally shouted fiery words of triumph now and then in her 
 mellow African voice. There were continuous exclamations 
 all about in the room. 
 
 It was Mrs. Ammidown alone who could discriminate 
 enough to know how wonderful the girl's prayer had really 
 been. 
 
YOUNG DALVECKER 
 
 119 
 
 Miss Drowdy burst out in a quivering, excited treble, 
 
 " Glory to God most high !" 
 
 And now the negroes were rocking to and fro, and moan- 
 ing and shouting. Some of them were openly watching Sal- 
 ly, who was famous among them as one who could have the 
 power beyond them all. She could contort her strong, big 
 frame ; she could writhe and undulate like a snake ; her face 
 would be set, her lips foaming. 
 
 Temple, the moment she had ceased praying, rose to her 
 feet. She pushed Sally aside and moved towards the door, 
 the men crowding back to let her pass. Behind her walked 
 the white dog. 
 
 The girl and the dog made their way to where the heav- 
 ens looked down on them. Temple had left her hat, but she 
 did not know it. 
 
 She walked blindly down the mountain, the dog following 
 close at her heels, his head and tail drooped. 
 
 Suddenly the girl stopped. She turned her face up tow- 
 ards the sky. She stretched out her clasped hands. 
 
 " This must be religion," she said, aloud. " I've wanted 
 it for so long. It was that man who brought it. It was that 
 man, because he is God's ambassador — God's ambassa- 
 dor." 
 
 The stars glittered down upon her. She remembered a 
 phrase she had read the day before, 
 
 " In the night only Friedland's stars may shine." 
 
 She thought she knew now what those words meant. She 
 had a feeling that all mysteries might be revealed to her 
 now. And the ineffable glory of the night, of the dark 
 shapes of the mountains, of the moist odors, of life and 
 youth, did not at this moment make her heart ache so. 
 That was because she had religion ; she would now be 
 able to bear the wonderful happiness which came from just 
 being alive. 
 
 " Temple ! Temple Crawford ! Where are you ?" 
 
 Some one called from up the slope. 
 
 The girl stood silent, loath at first to answer. Yucatan 
 
I20 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 turned and looked up, then glanced at his mistress, as if 
 questioning her. In the stillness that followed the call, a 
 horse hitched at the school -house neighed shrilly; then 
 another neighed and pawed, sending some stones rattling 
 down. 
 
 " Where are you ?" repeated the voice. 
 
 Then Temple saw a figure detach itself from the dark- 
 ness under a tree, and come across the patches of light 
 towards her. It was Mrs. Ammidown, and she was hud- 
 dling her shawl up about her head and shoulders. 
 
 There was shouting, and a snatch of a hymn from the 
 house ; then the preacher's voice, strong and persuasive. 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown came swiftly to Temple, threw a fold 
 of her wrap over the girl, and drew her close within her 
 arm. 
 
 " Really," she said, " I was afraid to have you out here 
 alone. In your exalted state you might unfold wings and 
 fly away. And then, when the reaction came, your wings 
 would suddenly fail and you would fall. My dear, I wanted 
 to be near, that I might catch you when you fell." 
 
 Temple turned towards her friend. 
 
 " When I fell ?" she questioned. " But I shall not fall." 
 
 " Oh, my dear little girl !" exclaimed Mrs. Ammidown, in 
 a tender whisper. 
 
 Temple moved uneasily. 
 
 "You need not pity me," she said. And then, ardently, 
 " No, don't pity ! Any one might envy me to-night. You 
 see," with a confiding motion towards the woman, " I've 
 got religion — at last — at last." She clasped her hands 
 again, and threw them outward. " I never thought I had it 
 before. But to-night, when the preacher talked like that, 
 something in my heart yielded — the Holy Ghost came in — 
 I wanted to help people — to help these wretches around 
 here. And you, Mrs. Ammidown — can't I help you .?" 
 
 But the woman could not at first reply. She was very 
 near to tears. 
 
 She was asking herself if there were, indeed, something 
 
YOUNG DALVECKER I2I 
 
 real in this state of mind which controlled Temple ; some- 
 thing which would not pass away, and which would affect 
 life itself. 
 
 Her brother believed so ; there had been a time when 
 she would have believed it. But now ? 
 
 She gazed wistfully at the girl's glorified face. 
 
 " It is a condition of the nerves," was what the woman 
 was saying. And forlornly to herself she added, " Every- 
 thing is a condition of the nerves — everything. And when 
 our nerves are dead, where is the soul .''" 
 
 The physician in her, the materialist physician, became 
 awake to the danger of the excitement which ruled Temple. 
 
 At that moment Dr. Ammidown wished that she knew 
 positively whether religion, love itself, were all a mere 
 matter of magnetism and neurosis. What particular nerves 
 might be called the nerves of religion ? Had they been 
 discovered and labelled ? A phrase of a famous doctor 
 came into her mind, *^ The nerves that make us alive to 
 music spread out in the most sensitive region of the mar- 
 row, just where it is widening to run upward into the 
 hemispheres." 
 
 It was with a womanish shudder that Mrs, Ammidown 
 recalled the hour in the dissecting-room when those nerves 
 had been laid bare in that body — that body which had 
 once been as alive as she was now, but that was then lying 
 dead — dead, on the marble. 
 
 " Oh, the mystery that we call living ! And the mystery 
 that we call death ! The knife of the dissecter could find 
 neither the one mystery nor the other. The informing fire 
 — what was that ? Where was that '? 
 
 All these things rushed through the woman's mind as 
 she stood there with her arm around this girl who had 
 within her such powers of sensation. And again the in- 
 satiable spirit asked, Was it all nerve sensation ? And 
 what would be left if all sensation were taken away ? Only 
 death ? 
 
 "Can't I help you?" 
 
122 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 Temple pressed still nearer her companion as she re- 
 peated this question. She was eager to begin to do some- 
 thinsr. 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Ammidown, promptly, " you can do 
 something for me." 
 
 She was all physician now. The dilated eyes and brill- 
 iantly pale face of the girl alarmed her. 
 
 " Oh, what is it ?" 
 
 " Come up the slope with me." 
 
 "What, and leave the preaching? I was going back." 
 
 " Never mind the preaching. You have had enough." 
 
 "But those people — they will listen and sing for an 
 hour longer. They may have another blessing." 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown restrained the words that rose to her 
 lips. 
 
 " They are blocks, stolid blocks," she said, imperatively ; 
 "they can bear any kind of dissipation. But you — child, 
 you have no idea of your own face at this moment. Come, 
 let us go and see the pony." 
 
 She took Temple's hand, and led her up the path. Tem- 
 ple yielded. 
 
 " I thought you said the pony was all right," she said. 
 
 "So I did. You can soon ride him. But let us see him, 
 nevertheless — and the ox. I want to see the ox." 
 
 Temple glanced in wonder at the speaker. 
 
 " I don't know what you mean," she said. 
 
 " Never mind, but come." 
 
 They went on in silence until they were opposite the 
 shed which held Thimble. 
 
 " This is the place," said Temple. 
 
 " But, come," responded the woman. 
 
 She \vas fearing every moment that the girl would assert 
 herself, and that there would come into Temple's manner 
 that authority and power to be obeyed which belonged to 
 her. But she allowed herself to be led. They stopped at 
 the rickety old shanty where Juba, the ox, lived. Juba 
 ploughed when Bart or Sally chose to plough with him. 
 
YOUNG DALVECKER 123 
 
 Most times, however, he was mildly browsing in far past- 
 ures, and sometimes coming home for " roughness " when 
 pastures failed him. 
 
 The door, which had fallen down and had not been put 
 up, allowed the moonlight to stream in upon Juba, who was 
 meditatively chewing as he gazed over the bar which kept 
 him from going out into the wide world. 
 
 " I suppose he is kind ?" asked Mrs. Ammidown, as the 
 two stopped in front of him. 
 
 " Kind? Oh yes. Besides, I shouldn't be afraid of him 
 if he were not kind," was the answer. 
 
 " Go in there and lean against him ; put your arms 
 around his neck and hug him." 
 
 " What ?" 
 
 The girl stared through the moonlight at her compan- 
 ion. Already there was a trifle less of stress in the young 
 face. 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown laughed a little. 
 
 " It is your doctor who speaks," she said. " People with 
 your sensitive nerves are generally afraid, and, being afraid, 
 they can't avail themselves of a thousand things good for 
 them. But you are not afraid. These dumb animals carry 
 comfort for such as can take it." 
 
 Temple's face relaxed so that she could smile slightly. 
 
 " Oh, I know what you mean," she exclaimed, " I know 
 very well. Often when I've been out and seen such won- 
 ders of glory and beauty — the mountains, you know, and 
 the sky — I have found that I was better able to bear it — to 
 bear life, you see — " 
 
 Temple seemed to leave her sentence unfinished. 
 
 She stooped beneath the bar and went to the side of the 
 ox, putting her arm over his neck and resting heavily upon 
 him. 
 
 The animal turned slow eyes towards her, ceased his chew- 
 ing for a moment, then, with a movement of throat and 
 mouth, recalled the " cud " and began again upon it. 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown leaned her arms on the bar, and ex- 
 
124 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 tended a dried cornstalk towards Juba, who calmly appro- 
 priated it. 
 
 Temple put her forehead down on Juba's shoulder. The 
 shining pallor was leaving her face. 
 
 " How calm he is !" she said. " I fancy I feel his calm- 
 ness iftid his strength coming into me. But then, I, myself, 
 am strong." 
 
 The doctor looked at her admiringly. 
 
 " Yes," she responded, " you have not only nerve, but 
 muscle and brawn. But, you see, nerves are things which, 
 give them rein, wear through muscle and brawn." 
 
 " Tm not afraid." 
 
 " In truth, neither am I — much. But this getting relig- 
 ion—" 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown stopped. She was conscious that she 
 was on uncertain ground. She had not yet decided in her 
 own mind just how much there was in " getting religion." 
 If there were in reality anything, then, in Heaven's name, 
 let it give all it could. She would not wish to deprive poor 
 human nature of any comfort it could get. 
 
 Temple did not ask her to finish her sentence. She was 
 still leaning against Juba, and absently passing her hand 
 over the ridge between his horns. She began to hum, 
 
 "Oh, love divine, that stooped to share 
 Our sharpest pang, our bitterest tear." 
 
 " It was Dr. Holmes who wrote that ; and it was Dr. 
 Holmes who told just what part of marrow and little scraps 
 of our body make us feel music." 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown spoke wdth a trifle of impatience. 
 
 Temple was not impatient. She looked calmly at the 
 woman on the other side of the bar. 
 
 " I don't see why you care so much to find out what 
 makes us feel," she said. " It's enough that we do feel. 
 My father used to say that any one was a fool who \vas al- 
 ways analyzing. Please give Juba that bit of roughness at 
 
YOUNG DALVECKER 125 
 
 your feet. See, he thanks you. Do you. think I am what 
 you call nervous now ?" 
 
 Temple extended her hand, and i\Irs. Ammidown took 
 it, holding it a moment, and gazing at the face before her. 
 
 The elder woman was not able to divest herself of a feel- 
 ing that this hour was in some way a turning-point with the 
 girl ; she could not have told why, however, and she disliked 
 to have an emotion which she could not understand. And 
 she was conscious of some anger towards her brother. Now 
 she was away from the influence of his presence, her anger 
 began to grow. 
 
 " No, you are not nervous," she answered, " but you are 
 intensely excited. I always did say that a person who had 
 strong health and sensitive nerves could command heaven 
 and hell." 
 
 " Yes," said Temple, " but it's heaven that I shall com- 
 mand." 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown suppressed a groan. Why does the hap- 
 piness of youth make an older person groan .'' 
 
 There was the sound of feet coming hastily from the di- 
 rection of the school-house, and presently young Dalvecker 
 came in sight under the trees. He hastened forward, tak- 
 ing off his hat as he did so, his long, sleek hair looking 
 sleeker and yellower than ever in the moonlight. 
 
 "I couldn't stay no longer; I couldn't noways stay'thout 
 you war there. Miss Temple," he said. 
 
 His admiration for the girl was so open, so ingenuous, 
 that Mrs. Ammidown smiled with liking at him. At the 
 same time she inwardly shuddered at thought of this girl's 
 returning the young man's feeling. 
 
 Dalvecker had been to school in Asheville one term, and 
 ever since he had been trying not to talk like the mountain- 
 eers. Particularly had he been trying since he had known 
 Temple, now more than a year ago. He felt that he didn't 
 succeed very well in his attempts at civilized conversation, 
 and he could not help being very glad wdien Temple herself 
 lapsed into mountain dialect, as she was liable to do at any 
 
126 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 time, in a degree. At such times the young fellow had wild 
 hopes that his suit might not be hopeless. He knew very 
 well that he himself was not worthy of her ; but his station 
 he was quite sure was superior to hers. Did he not live in 
 a " plank house " with real windows to it ? And the Dal- 
 vecker farm was known to be the very best on Cain Creek. 
 And his father was dead, and his mother adored and obeyed 
 her only son. 
 
 When the young man thought over all these advantages 
 he was not dejected ; but as soon as he was actually in 
 Temple's presence his confidence flew away, and he could 
 have thrown himself on his knees and begged the girl to 
 have mercy on him, and give him one glimmer of hope. 
 
 " That was wrong," said Temple, seriously, "you ought to 
 have stopped to the preaching." 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown turned and walked up towards the house, 
 the shining of the hearth fire through the open door beckon- 
 ing her. 
 
 The young man came close up to the bar across Juba's 
 door. The moonlight touched the lower half of Temple's 
 face, revealing the somewhat full lips and the strong chin. 
 The upper half of her face was illuminated by her shining 
 eyes. The moon's radiance is particularly kind to the 
 human countenance — it softens defects, and seems to lend 
 bewitchment even to what might be ugly beneath the 
 sun. 
 
 Dalvecker gazed at the girl in silence a moment before 
 he replied. His heart was beating in his throat — even in 
 his finger-ends. A thousand times he had pictured to him- 
 self the possibility of being alone with Temple like this. 
 Would such luck ever be his ? He had met her on horse- 
 back many times ; he used to prowl along those paths 
 which opened into magnificent views, for such paths were 
 the places where he was most likely to see ahead of him, 
 or in some twist of the road, a white dog and a white 
 pony. 
 
 Sometimes Temple would let him ride by her side a few 
 
YOUNG DALVECKER 127 
 
 miles ; but she was like some wild thing of the woods when 
 she was in the woods with her dog and her horse. 
 
 This was different. Still he found it difficult to speak ; it 
 was on account of that throbbing in his throat. 
 
 When he could command his voice, all he said was, " But 
 you didn't stay to the preachin' yourself." 
 
 The girl seemed to be gazing over his head into the 
 lighted and shadowy spaces behind him. 
 
 " That was different," she answered. 
 
 " How different ?" 
 
 " Why, you see " — she was looking at him now — " you 
 see, Lincoln, I had just got religion, and I had to go out of 
 the house, into the outdoors, or I couldn't bear the — the 
 glory of it." 
 
 Dalvecker did not know just what to say ; he was deeply 
 fearful that he should not say the right thing. A strong, 
 hot anxiety was upon him. 
 
 Finally he asked : 
 
 " Did religion curm to you when you was prayin' ? Oh, 
 that was a beautiful prayer ! jest beautiful ! Did it curm 
 then ?" 
 
 " Yes," she answered, hesitatingly ; " yes, I think it must 
 have been then." 
 
 "What was it like?" 
 
 The young man was impressed that he would do well to 
 continue speaking on this subject, that he might detain his 
 companion here. He feared that she might all at once go 
 back to the preaching. 
 
 Temple left the ox and came to the bar where Dalvecker 
 stood. Her face was now all in the moonlight. The man 
 gazed adoringly at that face. 
 
 A sharp glint from the diamond on Temple's finger 
 struck his eye, and at the same instant seemed to stab 
 his heart. He did not know where that ring came from, 
 and he had imagined and suffered a great deal about it. 
 
 He felt now like snatching the trinket from its place and 
 flinging it down the mountain. 
 
128 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 " What was it like ?" he asked again. And he added that 
 he had often thought he must get rehgion somehow; he 
 reckoned that it was a good deal safer when a man came 
 to die. 
 
 " I wish you'd try to tell me how it is, an' I 'low I'll make 
 out to get it somehow. Yes," earnestly, " I'll shorely have 
 it, now you've got it — shorely." 
 
 Temple put out her hand and laid it upon Dalvecker's 
 sleeve. A tremor came over him, but he stood motionless. 
 If he moved in the slightest degree she might think to take 
 away her hand. He was not so blind that he could not 
 see that the touch was on his arm in an entirely imper- 
 sonal way. 
 
 " It's somehow like a great white light — and like strength 
 — and like a father's love — only I don't know what a fa- 
 ther's love is — and like all beautiful things — and as if beauty 
 would not smite you so any more. You know how beauty 
 hurts, Lincoln ,?" 
 
 " Yes — yes," ardently. 
 
 It was characteristic of this girl that she did not in the least 
 understand that his answer might refer to something very 
 different from anything that was in her mind. Besides, if 
 she had been asked to consider the subject she would have 
 decided promptly that she was not beautiful. And she 
 was not. But young Dalvecker was of a different opinion. 
 As she stood there leaning on the bar, with that pale ef- 
 fulgence of moonlight upon her, the man shivered with 
 the sense of what seemed an unbearable emotion. He 
 was blindly groping for the cause. He could not under- 
 stand. He had seen a good many girls — they had red 
 cheeks and sparkling eyes, and, until they were broken 
 down by hard work, there was a kind of beauty about them. 
 He felt that they must be prettier than Temple. Pretty? 
 Why, Temple wasn't pretty at all. She was — here Dalvec- 
 ker's pulses gave a great, intoxicating beat — she was lovely, 
 lovely — and the look in her eyes — The young man tried 
 not to go down on his knees there in front of the ox shed. 
 
YOUNG DALVECKER 129 
 
 It occurred to Temple that perhaps she might be the 
 instrument of bringing religion to Dalvecker. He had just 
 said he would surely have it, now that she had it. 
 
 She looked at him more attentively. 
 
 " Why can't you experience right now .'*" she inquired, 
 earnestly. " Yes," she repeated, " right now. You know 
 that now is the accepted time." 
 
 " I know it," he answ^ered. He moved uneasily. " Some- 
 how I don't quite understand how to begin." 
 
 She leaned forward eagerly. 
 
 " Give your heart to God," she said, in a half-whisper. 
 " He will take it, and cleanse it, and you can live for Him." 
 
 " Oh, Temple !" cried Dalvecker. " I want to. You 
 holp me! You tell me how! If you'd only holp me I 
 could do anything." 
 
 Her eyes rested on him with a tender interest. 
 
 " I'll pray for you night and morning," she said. 
 
 The young man caught her hand impetuously. She did 
 not withdraw it, for she thought he was thinking of religion, 
 and not of her. 
 
 She was viewing him as a human being to be saved. 
 
 " I don't see how I'm ever to go right 'thout you," he 
 said. " You jest marry me. Temple, an' I'll be plumb 
 shore to get religion, an' keep it to er dead certainty. 
 Now, I will ! Come, now, you marry me. I wouldn't give 
 an old set of gears for my life if you don't. But you c'n 
 do any earthly thing with me if you're my wife." 
 
VIII 
 "we will fight together" 
 
 Temple did not blush in the least. She gazed seriously 
 at her companion. She rather wondered at the great ex- 
 citement in his face ; but she immediately accounted for 
 that by the fact that he was seeking religion. She had 
 been under great excitement herself a short time ago. She 
 recalled Dr. Ammidown's prescription for her. 
 
 " Perhaps you need to lean against Juba," she said. 
 
 Dalvecker gazed helplessly. She did not look as if she 
 were mocking him, but why should she say such a thing as 
 that ? 
 
 "Yes," she went on, examining his countenance yet 
 more closely, " I'm sure you need Juba. It's such a lovely 
 way to get calmer. And you know Mrs. Ammidown is a 
 doctor." 
 
 Dalveckers face turned very red. 
 
 " I reckon you're making fun of me," he said. 
 
 "Oh, no! no!" 
 
 " I want you to be my wife." The young man sturdily 
 repeated these words. 
 
 Temple seemed to bring herself to a contemplation of 
 the meaning of what he said. 
 
 " I ain't much myself," he said humbly, " but I'd be 
 shore 'bout religion ; an' I've gurt a plank house, an' I 
 love you." 
 
 " Yes," said Temple, " I reckon you wouldn't say so if 
 you didn't." 
 
 Dalvecker burst into an oath. Then he tried to control 
 himself so that he could say with tolerable calmness that 
 
"we will fight together" 131 
 
 he hoped she'd forgive him ; but swearin' was sometimes 
 the only way that a man could find words strong enough. 
 
 Temple accepted his apology. She had heard too 
 much swearing to be unduly shocked. She said that she 
 reckoned he knew that she wasn't the kind of girl who could 
 love anybody. 
 
 If Dalvecker had been less vitally interested he would 
 have been amused. As it was, he was aware that a great 
 confusion was growing upon him. 
 
 " You see," said Temple, " I've always been sure that I 
 could only be very friendly — I couldn't be what you call 
 'in love.' And I wouldn't want to be. I'm cold-blooded. 
 And I'm powerful glad I am. I don't think there's any 
 need of loving a man as the novels tell about. Regard, 
 and respect, you know, and all that. And identity of in- 
 terest, and — and — and the same religion. You see, my 
 mother married for love, and she was wretched. She left 
 me a letter about it. I've read that letter a great many 
 times." 
 
 Poor Dalvecker could not speak directly. He was so 
 bewildered that his under-jaw dropped a little. He was 
 not nimble minded ; and it was a long moment before it 
 occurred to him that her words might in a way be construed 
 as encouragement. She might possibly marry him, even 
 though she was one of that kind of women whose tempera- 
 ments make a warm affection impossible. 
 
 " If you'd marry me jes' because you was my friend," 
 he said at last, " an' then convert me, you know. If I had 
 you with me I sh'd stay converted." 
 
 His tone was very beseeching. "Won't you think of 
 hit ? Oh, do think of hit !" 
 
 Temple hesitated. Then she glanced up at the young 
 man again. She was thinking that she had had a strong 
 regard for him since they were boy and girl. 
 
 " If you like, I'll consider it," she said. " But "—hold- 
 ing up her hand quickly — " you needn't call anything settled 
 in the least. No ! no ! Don't come near me ! I dislike 
 
132 
 
 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 to have people come near me — only Thimble and Yucatan. 
 Now go. I've so much to think of. And I want to pray 
 and give thanks." 
 
 Temple suddenly stooped and came out of the shed, and 
 walked quickly up towards the house. 
 
 Lincoln Dalvecker stood and watched the slim, rapidly 
 moving figure. Then he also walked away ; but he did not 
 go back to the preaching. He made a rapid plunge into 
 the woods. Since he could not be with Temple he was 
 glad to be alone. At first he was greatly depressed. He 
 did not know that it is considered hopeful not to be refused 
 downright. Still he gathered hope, and when he told his 
 mother the next morning what had been said, she in- 
 stantly assured him that Temple had "jest as good as 
 said yes " ; and she believed her own words. Why, indeed, 
 should not any girl be glad to marry Link ? 
 
 She proceeded forthwith to inform this one and that one 
 of her son's engagement. News travels with wonderful 
 quickness even in a wilderness of mountain-side. Every 
 one within fifty miles knew within a week's time that Tem- 
 ple Crawford was going to marry Link Dalvecker, and 
 every one thought she was doing well. She would have a 
 plank house to live in, and Link's farm lay so good near 
 Cain Creek. It was only feared that Link's wife wouldn't be 
 one that would work as women are expected to work. But 
 no doubt she would get " broke in." It was extremely 
 noticeable among these mountains that the women were 
 broken in — they were that if nothing else. It might almost 
 be said that they were that and nothing else. 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown, sitting alone by the fire in the log-house, 
 was thinking of the meeting she had just left. She was an- 
 noyed that she had been somewhat moved. In her estima- 
 tion to be moved by any such cause argued some innate 
 weakness. 
 
 She had piled on the fat-wood sticks, and the great flames 
 leaped up and made the place from the open door look as 
 if it were on fire. 
 
"we will fight together 133 
 
 The Newfoundland walked softly across the floor and 
 stood beside her. She knew that Temple must be coming, 
 and the next moment the girl entered. She leaned against 
 the wall near the fireplace in silence for a time. 
 
 The elder woman would not speak. She had put her head 
 back against her chair and was gazing at her companion, 
 whose face was radiantly thoughtful. 
 
 Sometimes a louder strain of song could be heard from the 
 school-house, or a wild shout of " Glory ! Glory!" 
 
 " I'm thinking about marriage." 
 
 It was Temple who said this at last. 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown sat upright. She had supposed Temple's 
 thoughts to be occupied by conversion and religion. 
 
 "I have known young girls to think of marriage," was the 
 response. 
 
 But Temple did not seem to hear this remark. 
 
 " I should not want to marry," she said, " unless I thought 
 I could do a great deal of good." 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown made a slight sound that was not exactly 
 a groan. 
 
 "To do good," continued Temple, "of course ought to be 
 the first object in life." 
 
 She glanced down at the woman sitting near her, and re- 
 ceived an ambiguous smile in response. 
 
 " To be the means of saving a human soul must be the 
 greatest good one can do," now remarked Temple. 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown remained perfectly still, though in doing 
 so she resisted a great desire to get up, to take the girl's arm, 
 and demand to know what she meant. She \vas so much 
 interested in Temple that she was moved by what she called 
 her " notions " more than she wished to be. And Temple 
 was constantly taking up notions and being ruled by them, 
 for the time being, 
 
 " I thought you said you were considering marriage," now 
 said Mrs. Ammidown, with a gentleness that was suspi- 
 cious. 
 
 " Yes, I am," was the reply. 
 
134 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 "Well, I don't quite see the connection. But then I am 
 stupid." 
 
 " If you thought you could save a man's soul — save it from 
 endless perdition — by marrying him, wouldn't you do it.?" 
 
 Temple said "do hit." Her face was quite colorless, her 
 eyes full of brilliance. Mrs. Ammidown had a curious and, 
 for some reason, distressing fancy that the girl's chin seemed 
 to have still more resolution than usual in its contour. 
 
 ''No, I wouldn't." 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown's answer was low but distinct. 
 
 "You would let him go to hell ?" was the next question, 
 put with intense solemnity. 
 
 " Certainly I would — unless I loved him." 
 
 Temple placed her hands together in a way she had. 
 
 " There's no question of love," she said, " not the least, on 
 my part — as you understand it." 
 
 " Oh ! . Then there is some particular man who wishes 
 you to save him from hell by marrying him ?" 
 
 Temple made a slight writhing movement. She did not 
 like to hear the matter put in just that way. 
 
 " I suppose he thinks he loves you ?" asked Mrs. Ammi- 
 down. 
 
 " I reckon so." 
 
 Temple left her position and went to the table. She took 
 up her violin which lay there. She picked the strings a lit- 
 tle, as if it were a banjo. Then she seemed to bethink her- 
 self; she put down the instrument quickly. 
 
 "You don't understand me," she said. "I think friend- 
 ship and respect are enough to make a woman marry a man. 
 I think what — well — what you call love is merely something 
 gross and of the flesh. I reckon it's natural for men to feel 
 that, but not for women. It's enough for a woman to have 
 a cordial liking, and affection — and — and so on." 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown looked at the speaker in silence. She 
 thought that she had never felt quite so helpless in her life. 
 She wondered what Temple contemplated doing. Whatever 
 it was she wanted to snatch the girl away from it. 
 
(i WT-C MTTT T t'Tr'TJT' T' r» /"• T? T tj T? TJ '-• 
 
 WE WILL FIGHT TOGETHER^ I35 
 
 " May I ask where you got these ideas ?" finally inquired 
 the elder woman. 
 
 " You see," said Temple, " I've always had them. To be- 
 gin with, you know, I'm cold-blooded ; I have a cold tem- 
 perament." 
 
 As the girl made this favorite assertion of hers, Mrs. Am- 
 midown said, 
 
 " Oh !" and then said nothing more. 
 
 "Yes," continued Temple, "and I've thought about these 
 things, and I'm really convinced. My mother must have 
 known. Don't you think my own mother knew, Mrs. Am- 
 midown V 
 
 " How can I tell ? You know it is possible that she might 
 have been mistaken." 
 
 " Oh no ; she was very clear and positive. She wrote a 
 letter for me to read when I was fifteen. I only remember 
 her a very little. She was lovely — she is like a lovely dream 
 to me always. She had such dark, sweet eyes." Here the 
 speaker's voice faltered. But she went on immediately. 
 "Sally knew her. She had Sally for her servant, and so 
 Sally can tell me ever so many things about her. Would 
 you like to see my mother's picture ?" 
 
 Temple went out of the room and returned with a little 
 case holding an old-fashioned ambrotype of a girl of about 
 Temple's age. The face had that indefinite something which 
 denotes an ardent, tropical, and perhaps undisciplined nat- 
 ure. It had also an equally undefinable resemblance to 
 Temple without tokens of her strength of character. 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown looked at the picture in silence a moment 
 before she said, 
 
 " She, at least, did not love in a cool, matter-of fact way." 
 
 " That's just it," eagerly exclaimed Temple. " She didn't 
 love in the right way, and she was wretched. She knew 
 where she had made the mistake. And she wanted to keep 
 me from such a mistake. And, besides, my temperament is 
 so different — but why do you smile in that way ? What do 
 you mean by that kind of a smile ?" 
 
136 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 " I mean nothing — absolutely nothing." 
 
 " But you do — only you won't tell." 
 
 Temple stood holding her mother's picture and looking 
 at it. Presently she asked, 
 
 " Would you like to see that letter ? I've always wanted 
 to show you that letter because " — she hesitated ; then she 
 knelt down by her friend and leaned her arms upon her lap, 
 looking up into the face above her — "because I am so. fond 
 of you. You've been so kind to me, you know." 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown pushed back the thick, short hair on the 
 girl's forehead. 
 
 " It's not so very difficult to be kind to you," she said. 
 Then, with a sort of strenuous earnestness, she asked, 
 dquickly, 
 
 "Will you tell what man's soul you are thinking of saving 
 by becoming his wife ?" 
 
 Temple answered, promptly, 
 
 " Link Dalvecker. He says he's sure he can keep religion 
 if I'll marry him." 
 
 Again Mrs. Ammidown had that helpless feeling which 
 came to her now and then with reference to Temple. The 
 girl's simplicity seemed to take every weapon from the 
 hands of the elder woman. 
 
 "Are you going to oblige him?" she asked. 
 
 " I told him I'd think about it," was the answer. 
 
 " If you told him that he'll be sure you'll accept him." 
 
 " I don't see why." 
 
 " It's the truth, however. You'll find out. Will you let 
 me see your mother's letter?" 
 
 Temple again went to her own room. She returned with 
 a thick letter carefully wrapped. 
 
 " Don't read it here," she said. " Take it home with 
 you." 
 
 She remained standing near her guest, looking down at 
 her with wistful intentness. 
 
 "Well, what is it?" inquired Mrs. Ammidown at last. 
 
 " It's about religion," was the quick answer. The girl 
 
"we will fight together" 137 
 
 went on hurriedly. " Don't you want the Lord to come 
 into your soul and take possession of it ?" 
 
 The other seemed to try to answer, but she gave up the 
 attempt. She resolved not to say anything reflecting on 
 Temple's "experience." She did not know how much 
 there might be in it. Who could tell } Her brother be- 
 lieved in such things. She rose quickly and made a mo- 
 tion as if throwing off something oppressive. She walked 
 to the door. 
 
 " The preaching is over," she said, with an air of relief. 
 " See the black figures in the moonlight. I'm glad I'm to 
 have a canter of a few miles before I go to bed. I'll meet 
 Richard, and we'll mount at the shed where our horses are. 
 If he doesn't take cold it will be one of the latter-day mira- 
 cles. Good-bye, dear. May I advise you not to think 
 too favorably about saving a man's soul by becoming his 
 wife ?" 
 
 The speaker walked out quickl}', and the next moment 
 joined her brother, who was coming up the slope. 
 
 " Let us hurry," said Mrs, Ammidown, with some author- 
 ity; "a good gallop is all that will save you. And I have 
 something to tell you." 
 
 In a few moments the brother and sister were galloping 
 as swiftly as possible along the rough path that led to the 
 State road. Once in that road they went still faster. As 
 the horses were climbing a hill Mercer said : 
 
 " What is it you have to tell me .?" 
 
 " I will call it a question of ethics," was the answer, " and 
 we'll wait until I have put you into your bed and you are 
 drinking a dose of hot whiskey. If you come to an un- 
 timely death from jumping into the French Broad after a 
 drunken man you will have to give up the saving of souls ; 
 at least, in this world." 
 
 Later, when Mrs, Ammidown was sitting beside his bed, 
 Mercer went back to the subject of ethics. 
 
 " Perhaps it isn't ethics at all," was the answer. " It's 
 about that Crawford girl." 
 
138 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 She was openly watching her brother. " I suppose she 
 is converted ; any way, she thinks she is." 
 
 " I hope it's a true conversion, and not merely emotion," 
 responded Mercer, strongly. 
 
 " Of course. You'll be interested to know that your 
 convert is going to try to save some one directly." 
 
 Mercer was looking full in his sister's face. When she 
 had said " that Crawford girl " he was conscious of a thrill 
 of interest which he resolutely set himself to ignore. He 
 had a tolerably well formed belief that anything sponta- 
 neous, involuntary, must perforce be something to be ig- 
 nored or fought; something of the original devil lurking in 
 us all. 
 
 " I suppose a new convert is very eager to convert 
 others,'' remarked Mrs. Ammidown. 
 
 Her judgment told her that she need not be sorry in any 
 way for the man before her. She gazed at him in admira- 
 tion. Richard always seemed to her like a tempered, keen 
 blade without a scabbard. She leaned against the bed and 
 stroked his hot forehead. 
 
 " Did Miss Crawford wish to convert you ?" he asked. 
 
 " Yes ; but what troubles me is that that young fellow 
 with the yellow mustache wishes Temple Crawford to con- 
 vert him. He thinks he can't save his soul without her 
 help." 
 
 Mercer moved his head away from his sister's hand. His 
 face hardened perceptibly. 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown went on, 
 
 " But a worse feature is that Temple herself wishes to 
 help him save his soul." 
 
 " Don't be flippant," said Mercer, severely. 
 
 " I don't feel flippant in the least. But I wish you 
 hadn't converted Temple to-night. She's a girl who carries 
 an idea into action at the earliest possible moment." 
 
 Mercer's face was now so composed that his burning 
 eyes seemed set in a frozen countenance. 
 
 " Does Miss Crawford love this young man ?" he asked. 
 
"we will fight together" 
 
 139 
 
 "That is the worst feature of all," was the prompt re- 
 sponse. "She doesn't love him." 
 
 " And she is considering a marriage with him ?" 
 
 " Yes ; for his good." 
 
 Mercer was silent for a few moments. Then he said, 
 
 " I think I will get up." 
 
 His sister pushed back her chair. 
 
 " Not until morning," she said, sharply. 
 
 " Now. I have something to do. I want to see Miss 
 Crawford. You said once that she often sat up late. I 
 shall get back there before midnight. If she is up I shall 
 see her; if not I must wait until to-morrow." 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown did not waste another word. She rose 
 and left the room. Very soon she heard her brother's door 
 shut. She went to the window and threw up the casement. 
 The moon was in a clear heaven. The night was soft. 
 The mountains, with Pisgah as monarch, stood solemnly 
 against the deep-blue black of the sky. 
 
 Horse's hoofs sounded distinctly on the road from the 
 stable. Mercer came into sight, riding swiftly, sitting erect 
 and determined, like one who never failed to do what he 
 resolved to do. His sister knew very well that he would 
 have ridden off just like this if he had known that an old 
 and ugly woman contemplated doing what he thought to be 
 
 wrong. 
 
 Temple Crawford was not an old and ugly woman, and 
 Mrs. Ammidown wondered much concerning the coming 
 interview. 
 
 She closed the window and sat down to read the letter 
 Mrs. Crawford had left for her daughter's warning and 
 guidance. 
 
 Mercer's horse galloped steadily on. When he was where 
 his rider could see the log-house the animal was suddenly 
 hushed to a walk. 
 
 The windows of the house were light, and the door open. 
 When Mercer drew nearer he heard the girl's voice sing- 
 ing, 
 
140 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 "Oh, my Lawd, don't you forgit me, 
 Oh, my Lawd, don't you forgit me, 
 Oh, my Lawd, don't you forgit me, 
 Down by Bab'lon's stream !" 
 
 Another voice joined loudly in " Down by Bab'lon's 
 stream." And then there was a swift clapping of hands, 
 and melodious, guttural exclamations that the man knew 
 could only come from a negro, 
 
 Mercer slipped down from his horse. He stood a mo- 
 ment with the bridle in his hand. He lifted his cap and 
 gazed reverently upward for a brief space, asking help 
 from that source of Almighty help which he knew had 
 never failed him. 
 
 Then he let go the bridle. His horse would stay near 
 until his master came back. 
 
 Temple was standing before the fire. Her hands were 
 clasped above her head, and she was singing fervently, 
 rocking back and forth from her toes to her heels. On the 
 hearth, her knees drawn up and clasped by her hands, was 
 the yellow woman, who, when she did not sing, released 
 her knees and clapped her hands vigorously. 
 
 In the instant that Mercer looked before he stepped for- 
 ward. Temple changed her attitude ; she took two or three 
 wild dancing steps across the hearth, singing all the time, 
 
 "Oh, my Lawd, don't you forgit me." 
 
 Sally saw the minister first. She sprang to her feet with 
 the agility of a panther. 
 
 " Lawd bress us !" with a broad, dramatic gesture. 
 " Hyar's de preacher right yer now, honey ! Look be- 
 hind yo' !" 
 
 Temple turned quickly as Mercer came forward. 
 
 " I hope you'll pardon me. Miss Crawford," he said, wdth 
 cold precision, "for coming at this hour. I shouldn't have 
 intruded if I hadn't been sure you had not retired. I must 
 
"we will fight together" 141 
 
 tell you that I felt it to be my duty to see you as soon as 
 possible." 
 
 Sally's eyes were on the speaker. There was something 
 peculiar in them. She did not speak again, but walked 
 out of the house and left the two alone — save that Yucatan 
 had come forward to investigate. 
 
 Temple sat down and looked up at her visitor, who re- 
 mained standing, and who also looked at her, but with a 
 veiled gaze that made his glance remote and impersonal. / 
 
 He was standing near a chair, but he did not put his hands 
 upon it as most people would have done. He thrust the ^ 
 
 fingers of his left hand into his tightly buttoned coat. i' tf^- 
 
 " You know a minister is interested in all that con- 
 cerns his people," he said. "You are one of my people 
 now." (y~' 
 
 " Yes," said Temple. 
 
 " My sister has just told me of your intentions as regards 
 young Dalvecker." 
 
 "Yes," said Temple again. "Though I don't exactly 
 know what my intentions are yet." 
 
 " Your thoughts, then. May I talk freely with you ?" 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 The girl continued to gaze up at him. Mercer did not 
 change his attitude, but in spite of himself there was a 
 change in his face. His glance became less impersonal — 
 as if his eyes were something apart from him, something 
 which he could not quite control. Suddenly Temple rose 
 and exclaimed, 
 
 " I'm so glad you have come ! A minister can advise 
 one. I think I could do a great deal of good if I were 
 Link's wife. I suppose we are here to db the most good we 
 
 can. 
 
 Mercer was aware that his mouth was so dry that his 
 tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of it. He was aware 
 of this fact with a deep and angry surprise. This girl was 
 nothing to him, absolutely nothing. He was going to treat 
 her precisely as if she were — well, as if she were any one of 
 
142 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 those unkempt, dingy-faced women with a wad of snuff 
 under her lip. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " but there are some sacrifices that God 
 would not ask us to make." 
 
 " Are there ? Are you sure ? God loves sacrifice, doesn't 
 He?" 
 
 ** Certainly." 
 
 Having pronounced that one word, Mercer did not, for the 
 moment, attempt another. 
 
 He had seen this girl in all for so very brief a space that 
 it was absurd that there should be anything in his mind but 
 a general care for her well-being. He tried to reassure him- 
 self by thinking, what was the truth, that he should be doing 
 this thing if she had been any other person who was contem- 
 plating what he considered a wrong action. But somehow 
 this thought did not reinforce him as it ought. 
 
 He could not help thinking of Temple's eyes. Why were 
 they just like that .-^ What was there in them? He had 
 never in his life asked these questions before, and he had 
 never meant to ask them. They also were absurd. He 
 was interested in Temple because she had a soul to be 
 saved. He told this with great emphasis to himself ; but 
 even while he told it he knew that it was a lie ; and a lie is 
 of the devil. 
 
 While he was casting about in his mind for some words 
 that should smite with cutting strength, as with a sword. 
 Temple spoke again. 
 
 "There's Lincoln Dalvecker's eternal welfare to be con- 
 sidered, you know ; but more than that, there are the moun- 
 tain people all about. Don't you think I could do them 
 good? Oh !" passionately, "you can't know how I long to 
 do good !" 
 
 Mercer had a painful conviction that for the first time in 
 his life he did not understand himself. Worse than that, he 
 was not quite sure that he securely held the reins over his 
 neck. He was like one dazzled. That power of personal 
 presence which others had felt when with this girl, and of 
 
"we will fight together 143 
 
 which she was totally unconscious, was having its effect now 
 upon this man who had in his heart devoted himself to what 
 he considered God's work. There was a great deal of the 
 spirit of the Middle Ages in Richard Mercer. 
 
 He made another attempt to speak, and this time he 
 said, 
 
 "You are among the mountain people now." 
 
 "Yes; but you see, as Lincoln's wife, I should be identi- 
 fied with them ; I could devote my life. I could be a mis- 
 sionary all the time. I could be the means of saving souls." 
 
 For the first time since he had chosen his life work the 
 Rev. Richard Mercer was aware that the phrase " saving 
 souls" failed to stir him to enthusiasm. 
 
 " Don't you see ?" she asked. 
 
 "I think I see what you mean," he answered, coldly. 
 
 She looked at him in surprise. She was somehow dis- 
 appointed. She could not understand why he did not urge 
 her to go on. But he did not. 
 
 As she looked at him a subtle change came over her 
 mood. She suddenly dropped her eyes. 
 
 " I wish you would advise me," she said with some hu- 
 mility. Then, with timid interrogation, " I reckon you're a 
 man of God, ain't you ?" 
 
 " I try to be." 
 
 " Then you'll know what to tell me." 
 
 Mercer was struggling with himself that he might be able 
 to advise her without the slightest reference to his own feel- 
 ing. What was the affair to him personally ? Absolutely 
 nothing. When he should have passed a few months work- 
 ing among these people he would go on to another field, and 
 he should never see this girl again. 
 
 It was a strange fact that the words " never see this girl 
 again" shook him as if they had been something tangible. 
 Was it possible that he had esteemed himself strong because 
 nothing of consequence had ever tried his strength ? 
 
 "Yes," he answered, quickly. "I shall know what to tell 
 you. Don't marry that man. Don't do it. Is it that you 
 
144 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 want a great space — much to do ? Is it ? Answer me. 
 Will your enthusiasm hold out? Tell me." 
 
 Mercer's eyes blazed across the space between him and 
 the girl. He was fighting against a primitive, furious tempta- 
 tion to go out and throttle that yellow-haired youth, lest this 
 girl might be persuaded to marry him. He wanted to be in 
 the open air and wrestle alone against this unheard-of emo- 
 tion. The very atmosphere here was alive with the pres- 
 ence of Temple. 
 
 Mercer wished also to stand there and look at her — to 
 stand there forever and look at her. He did not under- 
 stand it at all. He did not in the least believe in anything 
 like this. No well-regulated mind ever succumbed to any- 
 thing of this kind. 
 
 His thoughts ran on in such fashion as he stood there 
 meeting the glance of Temple's warm-colored, dark eyes. 
 It was impossible to tell whether eyes of such a hue were 
 really warm, or only had that appearance. Temple's light 
 hair was rumpled confusedly. She had rumpled it afresh 
 when she and Sally had been singing by themselves after 
 Miss Drowdy had left them. There was always much of the 
 unusual in the girl's appearance ; perhaps this appearance 
 was intensified now. 
 
 "Will it last?" 
 
 Mercer repeated his question authoritatively. 
 
 "Oh," exclaimed Temple, "I'm sure it will. Still, how 
 can I tell ? I never experienced religion before. But Sally 
 has. Only hers doesn't hold out. She has the power, you 
 know. The Holy Ghost gets right hold of her." 
 
 Temple said " right holt " with an unconscious but perfect 
 negro intonation. 
 
 Mercer inwardly shrank from these phrases. 
 
 " It's the helping others — the being of use — it's the ser- 
 vice," he began quickly, " that tells whether the thing is real 
 or not." 
 
 But Mercer found that he could not go on in that way. 
 He would not make the attempt any more. 
 
"we will fight together" 145 
 
 "Do you love young Dalvecker ?" he asked, abruptly. 
 
 " I like him so much. And he's very — very respectable." 
 
 " Do you love him ?" 
 
 Temple drew a little nearer. 
 
 "You see," she said, in a confidential tone, "I don't be- 
 lieve in that kind of thing. I know better than that. It 
 doesn't amount to anything." 
 
 Mercer was confounded. His sister had hinted at this. 
 But when a man came to stand opposite such a face and 
 have the owner of it speak in this way, the effect was con- 
 fusion. 
 
 Mercer made up his mind. And he never hesitated after 
 he had decided. 
 
 " Since you feel that way," he said, " and since you want 
 to work in the vineyard, marry me. Join me in this glorious 
 labor. We will fight together on the Lord's side." 
 
IX 
 
 *'the chains, the shining chains" 
 
 Temple was silent for so long after this rather peculiar of- 
 fer of marriage that it became somewhat difficult for Mercer 
 to maintain his impassive attitude. He quite recognized 
 that it was necessary to be impassive. He was so mascu- 
 line — I had almost said so blindly masculine — that he be- 
 lieved everything she said of herself. It was, indeed, evi- 
 dent that she was sincere ; but a sincere person does not 
 always know what the truth is. 
 
 Temple put her hand up to her head; she ran her fingers 
 through her hair. She did not blush, as why should she.? 
 It was only an offer of partnership to which she had listened. 
 
 "Oh, dear!" she exclaimed at last, "I'm so confused. I 
 want to think about what you have proposed." 
 
 And then she remembered that she had said something 
 like that not many hours ago to Link Dalvecker. 
 
 These two experiences coming in the same evening, when 
 no one had ever spoken in this way to her in all her life be- 
 fore (for with her young Boynton did not count), affected her 
 with an irresistible sense of the ludicrous. She was too much 
 excited to control a semi-hyslerical laugh, and it burst forth. 
 
 Mercer's face became red. He drew himself up stiffly. 
 He reached for his hat, which he had placed on the table. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," he said. " It does not seem to me 
 a matter to excite laughter." 
 
 Temple stopped laughing instantly, and became very 
 grave. 
 
 " I hope you'll forgive me," she said, humbly. " I don't 
 know what made me laua;h. I reckon I must be tired." 
 
"the chains, the shining chains" 147 
 
 There was so much genuine humility in her voice and 
 manner that one must necessarily forgive her directly. 
 
 Mercer stood with his hat in his hand. 
 
 " I will see you again in a day or two," he said, now able 
 to speak as if in reference to a business arrangement, " and 
 you can give me your answer. In the meantime let me sug- 
 gest to you to bear in mind what I have said about the 
 wider field of labor which you would have as my wife. You 
 would go with me — you would help in the meetings ; you 
 could work acceptably, I am sure. Good-night." 
 
 Temple said " Good-night" in response. She went to the 
 door, and saw the man mount his horse and ride away. She 
 was so tense with the accumulated excitement of the day 
 and evening that she mistook that tenseness for strength. 
 Strong-nerved and full of health as she was, she did not un- 
 derstand that her excitement and her fatigue might now 
 make it impossible for her to think of any subject in just pro- 
 portion to all phases of it. 
 
 She had returned to the fire, and was standing before it, 
 thinking that, after all, she was not tired in the least, and 
 that it was now so late that she need not go to bed that 
 night, when the door leading into the next room opened, and 
 Almina appeared. She had her big blanket-shawl wrapped 
 about her ; her bare feet were thrust into her boots, whose 
 heels clicked on the boards as she came forward, with an air 
 of being ready to fly backward on the instant. 
 
 " There ain't no man here now, is there ?" she asked. 
 
 "Oh no." 
 
 " And you ain't expectin' no more of 'em?" 
 
 "Oh no." 
 
 "Then I do wish you'd jest shut that outside door. I 
 ain't hardly seen it shut sence I've been here. 'N' I want 
 to set down by the fire a minute. I can't sleep. I'm jes' 's 
 nervous 's I c'n be. It always did make me nervous to go 
 to a revival meet'n'. But I wouldn't miss one for anything 
 in the world." 
 
 Temple closed the door. She came back and wrapped 
 
148 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 Miss Drowdy's shawl carefully about the thin, shivering 
 shoulders. The Yankee woman was painfully conscious that 
 she was not yet herself; that she " hadn't got her bearings" 
 since she had come to Carolina. 
 
 It was to her like being in another world. Her shrewd 
 sense had not had time to assert itself. 
 
 And to live in a house where the outside door was never 
 shut ! And where there was no up-stairs ! She was trying 
 to wait patiently until her senses should come back to her. 
 She had written home to her sister in Hoyt that she ap- 
 peared to be underwitted since she came to Limestone 
 Township ; but then, she had added, " maybe I've always 
 been underwitted, only I hadn't found it out." 
 
 It is not soothing to a person's self consciousness to make 
 such a discovery. 
 
 " I thought I saw a man riding dow^n the slope," said Miss 
 Drowdy. 
 
 " 'Twas the minister," said the girl. 
 
 Almina felt more underwitted than ever. She gazed at 
 Temple to see if she could detect any sign that it was an un- 
 usual thing for a minister to make a midnight call on a 
 young lady. But she could see no such sign. 
 
 " Ain't it — ain't it ruther late for calls V 
 
 Almina put the inquiry feebly. She did not know what 
 was the proper point of view. 
 
 " I don't know what time it is," replied Temple, care- 
 lessly. 
 
 " It's goin' on one o'clock," was the solemn response. 
 
 " Oh, is it ?" still more carelessly. 
 
 "Yes, it is. And it don't seem proper to me, exactly — " 
 began Almina. But she paused, for Temple was not a 
 girl to whom to talk concerning conventions and propri- 
 eties. 
 
 " I s'pose he come about your soul," finished Almina. 
 
 It would certainly be proper to come at any time about 
 one's soul. 
 
 Temple was sitting on the hearth opposite her guest. She 
 
" THE CHAINS, THE SHINING CHAINS " 149 
 
 had her hands clasped over her head. She was thinking 
 that she was glad Miss Drowdy was with her. She was in 
 the mood to consult her. She particularly liked to get peo- 
 ple's ideas, and then do exactly as she pleased. She had a 
 way of asking a person's opinion as if the opinion would 
 have weight with her — and sometimes it did have weight, 
 for a few hours. 
 
 "You see, I'm all alone," she began, "for Sally couldn't 
 advise me. Mr. Mercer told me he thought I could do a 
 great deal of good if I married him and helped him in his 
 work. And before that, Link Dalvecker, you know — or don't 
 you know ? — thought I could be sure to save his soul if I 
 married him. So you see — " 
 
 Up to this point the girl had been deeply serious ; but now 
 her sense of humor suddenly came uppermost again, and she 
 began to laugh excitedly. 
 
 But Almina did not laugh. She bent forward towards her 
 companion, her shawl wrapped so tightly about her that she 
 looked like a stick. 
 
 " Do you love either of them ?" she asked, with intense 
 seriousness. 
 
 Temple stopped laughing. 
 
 " Oh, how odd it is !" she exclaimed. "Why do you and 
 Mrs. Ammidown ask that the first thing? And Mr. Mercer 
 wanted to know if I loved Link. Now, you see," in an elu- 
 cidating and argumentative manner, "it's rather foolish 
 than otherwise to be in love. Because, you see, if you are, 
 you get over it very soon, and settle right down to friend- 
 ship ; so why not begin with friendship ? Then you wouldn't 
 be disappointed or grieved if your husband stopped being in 
 love with you first. It would all be understood and settled 
 at the very beginning." 
 
 Almina gradually sank back in her chair as she listened. 
 She was thinking, among other things, of that doctor up at 
 home who had asked her to be his wife, and whom " there 
 was nothing against." That there was nothing against him 
 had been reason enough, apparently, why she should say yes 
 
150 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 to him. But somehow she couldn't say yes. Had she been 
 wrong ? Here was this young girl — 
 
 At this point in her thoughts Almina stared yet more in- 
 tently at the girlish, strong face before her. She supposed 
 the world must be changing, and she herself, not changing 
 with it, was getting so old-fashioned that she could no longer 
 understand. Perhaps young men and women did not in 
 these days fall in love with each other. They arrange a 
 bargain, a partnership, and therefore there was no more any 
 sharp disillusion. Which way was better } 
 
 If Almina had been asleep she would have thought she 
 was now dreaming. But a revival meeting, as has been 
 stated, was sure to keep her awake. She rubbed her eyes. 
 
 "I guess I ain't very wise,'' she remarked. ''I guess it 
 ain't worth while for you to try to explain anything. It 
 wouldn't pay." 
 
 Temple's eyes were so bright, they gleamed so ; her face 
 was so pale, her lips so red, that Almina was tempted to 
 recommend valerian, or something of that sort. But she 
 reflected that the girl had strong reasons for being excited ; 
 had she not just experienced religion, and had not the 
 preacher just offered marriage, not to speak of Dalvecker's 
 proposal ? 
 
 Temple clasped her hands over her head again, and 
 walked quickly a few times back and forth along the hearth. 
 
 " But, you see, I want to make you understand," she said. 
 " Somebody's got to understand. I shall be wild if I can't 
 talk it over with somebody." 
 
 " I should say you were kind of wild now," said the elder 
 woman. 
 
 " It seems as if I couldn't have chances enough to do 
 good," said Temple, not noticing her companion's words. 
 " I long to work for the salvation of everybody. I want them 
 to know what it is to have the Holy Ghost descend into 
 their hearts. I believe I could help convert people. And, 
 you see, if I should be a preacher's wife I should have so 
 much more chance. I could work for more people. I al- 
 
"the chains, the shining chains" 151 
 
 most think I have the gift to rouse. Do you think I have 
 the gift to rouse, Miss Drowdy?" 
 
 " Oh, dear ! I should certainly think so ! If you don't 
 have it I'm sure I can't tell who has," was the answer. Al- 
 mina added, questioningly, " I s'pose you've about made up 
 your mind to have him, 'ain't you .'*" 
 
 Instead of answering, Temple knelt down and flung her 
 arms across the big chair in front of her. She began to 
 pray aloud. Miss Drowdy shaded her eyes with her hand 
 and listened, and as she listened she thrilled in response to 
 the passionate words of entreaty and adoration and thanks 
 which came pouring from the girl's heart through her lips. 
 
 When the words ceased Almina rose quickly ; she went 
 and flung her arms about Temple. The woman was sob- 
 bing with emotion, 
 
 " It seems," she said, brokenly, " as if you had a great 
 work before you." 
 
 Temple did not speak ; indeed, she could not. She lay 
 with her face pressed down upon the chair. 
 
 Yucatan, who had been listening uneasily throughout the 
 entire petition, now ventured to go to the side of his mis- 
 tress. He sniffed at her hair, then he dropped his head and 
 gently licked one of her hands, which hung down from the 
 chair. 
 
 The dog's touch made the girl stir. In a moment she 
 rose. 
 
 " I'm going out," she said. " I must go out under God's 
 heaven." 
 
 She looked round for her hat. Yucatan, who never failed 
 to understand the phrase "going out," began to wag his tail. 
 He also looked about for the same thing. It was one of his 
 most delightful privileges to bring her hat to his friend, and 
 he always availed himself of an opportunity. 
 
 He presently made a dive at a distant corner and re- 
 turned with the felt in his mouth, wagging his tail violently. 
 
 " But is it safe — so late ?" anxiously asked Almina. 
 
 " Ask Yucatan if it's safe," was the answer. 
 
152 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 Temple and the clog left the house. Almina saw them go 
 quickly along the pasture-land farther up the mountain. 
 From that pasture she had already learned could be had a 
 far extended view of the peaks round about. Those peaks 
 were now standing in a glory of moonlight. The valleys 
 were lying, dark and mysterious, between. 
 
 Almina, as she stood looking forth from the door, shiv- 
 ered with lonsfins and dread. 
 
 She pulled her shawl again about her shrinking shoulders. 
 
 '' I declare," she said, in a whisper, " there ain't a thing 
 here as 'tis up in Hoyt." 
 
 She closed the door, and went to her chair by the fire. 
 She huddled herself down in it, and spread out her hands to 
 the blaze. She would have preferred to go to bed, but she 
 felt it her duty to sit up for Temple. She also felt it to be 
 extremely uncertain when that person would return. She 
 rather admired the girl for going off in that way. Almina 
 remembered that there had been several times in her own 
 life when it would have been a great relief if she could have 
 run away like that. But in Hoyt folks stopped at home^ 
 and worked, and talked just the same as usual, no matter 
 what happened. 
 
 When, two hours later. Temple came back, her face calm 
 and exalted from her communion with the mountains, a deep, 
 still radiance in her eyes, she found her guest sound asleep 
 in the arm-chair before the coals on the hearth. 
 
 Temple did not disturb her. The girl did not think it was 
 worth while to go to her own room. Already on the eastern 
 verge of the world there were coming some faint, pearl hues 
 of morning, but morning would still linger long before really 
 arriving. The girl took a shawl and wrapped it about her. 
 Conventional in nothing, she laid herself down on the warm 
 hearth. The Newfoundland immediately placed his huge 
 bulk beside her. In five minutes the dog and his mistress 
 were asleep. 
 
 The sunlight had been warm for two or three hours on the 
 front of the log-house when the yellow woman, a pipe be- 
 
"the chains, the shining chains 153 
 
 tween her teeth and with her hands on her hips, came with 
 long, slow strides from her cabin. 
 
 She gently pushed open the door and looked in. 
 
 Almina returned the look silently. Then she rose and 
 made her way noiselessly outside. She was trembling with 
 what she called a "complete unstrungness." 
 
 " For the land's sake," she whispered, " if you've got any 
 tea, make me a cup as strong as Samson." 
 
 The two walked towards the other cabin. 
 
 Sally took her pipe from her mouth. 
 
 " I'm done shore der ain't no tea," she said. " I war 
 aimin' ter go ter Asheville, an' when I went I aimed ter git 
 tea, fur shore. 1*11 meek yo' er cup er cawfy 'fore yo' c'n 
 wink, ef yo' say der word." 
 
 Sally looked with patronizing pity at her companion. 
 Miss Drowdy could not ride, she couldn't tramp up and 
 down mountains, and she preferred tea to "cawfy." Still, 
 Sally was aware that she liked the " pore little Yankee." 
 
 While the coffee was brewing, and while Sally was frying 
 some bacon to go with it, Almina walked about in front of 
 the house. There were still some wreaths of mist floating 
 here and there on the mountain-sides. Miss Drowdy was 
 gazing about her, carefully holding up her skirts as she 
 did so. 
 
 As she gazed she heard, very much softened by the dis- 
 tance, the sound of a violin from the direction of the French 
 Broad. 
 
 "There's that fiddling feller of Temple's," she said to her- 
 self " I wonder if he's expecting her. " 
 
 She suddenly forgot her extreme need of nourishment or 
 stimulant. She walked along the path she had once before 
 taken when she had followed Temple down to the river. As 
 she came nearer the music sounded still more clearly, and 
 she was presently aware that the player was also singing. 
 She could not catch the words, but she stopped to listen, 
 and as she listened a smile came to her face. She had so 
 decided a vein of sentiment in her make-up that she was 
 
154 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 conscious now of a slight pang in regard to this young man. 
 What could a girl who was contemplating life as Temple 
 was now contemplating it do with a young man with a fiddle? 
 
 As Miss Drowdy walked on very slowly, the song ceased, 
 and presently there was the sound of footsteps approaching 
 rapidly. The next moment Yale Boynton pushed impatient- 
 ly through the rhododendron shrubs and came forward. 
 
 There was a warm eagerness on his face which instantly 
 gave way to an extremely visible annoyance. 
 
 He took off his hat as he exclaimed, 
 
 " Oh ! I saw a woman's gown among the bushes ; I hoped 
 — I thought — I — " 
 
 He stopped and looked crossly beyond his companion, as 
 if seeking for some one. 
 
 " I guess youVe looking for Miss Crawford," remarked 
 Almina. 
 
 " Yes. She let me think she would be down to the Broad 
 this morning," was the reply, 
 
 Almina indulgently gazed at the handsome, youthful face 
 before her with its frown and the vexed look in the eyes. 
 
 " She hadn't waked up when I came out," she said. 
 
 " Hadn't waked .''" exclaimed Boynton. 
 
 He frowned ; he ground his heel into the soft, black 
 mould. 
 
 "No," said Almina; "she didn't get to sleep very early, 
 and she was mighty tired." 
 
 " I didn't get to sleep early, either, and I was tired too," 
 was the response, "but I was out starting from Asheville on 
 time, you may believe. I want to see her. Is she going to 
 sleep all day, do you think.?" 
 
 The speaker was so pretty, and so disappointed, that 
 Almina did not resent his petulance, and she supposed that 
 he must be very much in love. 
 
 As he spoke Boynton was still gazing beyond Miss 
 Drowdy and towards the house. His face changed sud- 
 denly; his eyes sparkled. He took a step forward, then 
 waited. 
 
"the chains, the shining chains" 155 
 
 Almina turned, and saw Temple coming towards them. 
 The girl's face was flushed ; one cheek was of a deep crim- 
 son ; her eyes still had in them a cloudy, sleepy expression. 
 When within a few yards she stopped and passed her hands 
 over her face, yawning as she did so. 
 
 Almina suddenly remembered her breakfast, and hurried 
 towards it. 
 
 " I done forgot !" cried Temple. 
 
 "That's just like you; but I didn't forget. I couldn't. 
 Do you think I shouldn't remember every minute that I was 
 going to meet you this morning, and that you were going 
 to finish learning the ' Kerry Dance' ? Say, do you think I 
 shouldn't remember ?" 
 
 Temple was looking at the young man with a feeling of 
 surprise and self-questioning. 
 
 She could not understand now how she had been inter- 
 ested in him at all. It really must have been pleasant for 
 her to be with him — yes, it must have been. But it appeared 
 impossible now. 
 
 " How odd you look !" he cried. She made no answer 
 to this, and he added, " Come, let's go down to the boat. 
 My violin's there." 
 
 She did not reply to this, either. She was trying to ad- 
 just herself to the fact that he could not excite her interest 
 any more. 
 
 " What's the matter ?" he asked, brusquely. " What 
 makes you look like that ? Where were you last evening ? 
 Something seems to have come over you. I say, you don't 
 know what a jolly lunch I've got for you." 
 
 He put out his hand as if to lead her down the path. But 
 she did not apparently see the hand. 
 
 She replied to one of his inquiries, 
 
 " I was to preaching, down in the school-house," she said. 
 
 "To preaching?" He laughed. "Oh, by Jove! now, 
 I wish I'd been there. I've always meant to go. But 
 somehow I never did. I reckon 'twas a rousing time, 
 wasn't it ?" 
 
156 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 " Yes, it was." 
 
 Temple spoke so coldly that her companion began to be 
 frightened. He scowled again. 
 
 " I got religion," the girl said. 
 
 " The deuce ! Oh, that's too bad !" 
 
 " You needn't speak like that." 
 
 " That's too infernally bad ! And I can't believe it," 
 persisted the youth. 
 
 " You ought to be glad of it." 
 
 " It isn't going to last, is it .'"' 
 
 " I hope so." 
 
 " But it doesn't usually, does it ?" 
 
 " Oh, I don't know. I only know it ought." 
 
 " Ought ? Why, Temple Crawford, don't you know it 
 spoils any one .'"' 
 
 The girl had her hat under her arm. She now put it on 
 her head, pushed up the brim, and half turned from the 
 young man, her eyes wandering over the mountains. After 
 the excitement of the previous night she was suffering from 
 a reaction. But she did not know why she was so depressed 
 and listless. She had a vague idea that this depression was 
 because of sin. 
 
 " I hope it does spoil people for this world," she said, 
 after a pause. 
 
 " So you're going to talk that way, are you ? Well, 
 as long's I'm in this world I don't want to be spoiled 
 for it." 
 
 The young man spoke vehemently. He was aware of a 
 painful stinging in his eyes and a compression upon his 
 throat. He was looking fixedly at the face near him. He 
 perceived that it was strangely remote. Indeed, it hardly 
 seemed like the face of Temple Crawford. 
 
 But the attraction of the girl's personality was still as 
 strong as ever over him — stronger, since he began to fear 
 she was removing herself from him. 
 
 She did not reply. She continued to look off at the 
 Twin Brothers, upon whose heads the clouds were settling. 
 
"the chains, the shining chains" 157 
 
 Boynton was furiously conscious that she did not know he 
 was looking at her. 
 
 " I hope you're not going to give up the ' Kerry Dancing/ 
 are you ?" he asked, speaking as amiably as possible. 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " And your violin ?" 
 
 " I haven't decided that yet. I haven't had time to make 
 up my mind." 
 
 " Perhaps the preacher will tell you what to do with your 
 fiddle," sneering. "Who is the preacher?" 
 
 " Mr. Richard Mercer." 
 
 And here Temple recalled something there had been in 
 Mr. Mercers face, and she blushed, and then blushed again 
 with irritation. 
 
 " Oh, I know about him. He won't let you have your 
 fiddle, you may be sure of that." 
 
 " I hope I can give it up, though I do love it a great deal !" 
 
 " Are you going to hold on to your horse and dogs .''" 
 
 Temple put her hands together. 
 
 " Oh ! Surely there is no need !" she exclaimed. " I — 
 I — it would hurt very much to give them up." 
 
 She turned with an involuntary movement towards Yuca- 
 tan, who had followed her from the house. She looked at 
 him in silence. 
 
 " I reckon Mercer's the kind of man that '11 advise you to 
 give up a thing you like just because you do like it ! I 
 swear there's no sense in the whole business ! Can't you 
 look at a fellow. Miss Crawford, as though you knew he was 
 in the same world with you .'"' 
 
 Temple turned her eyes to the clouded face near her. 
 
 " I reckon you don't consider it's wicked to eat, do you, 
 even though you've got religion ?" 
 
 This question recalled to Temple the fact that she was 
 hungry. Her last meal had been not long after noon of 
 the day before. The meals in the Crawford residence oc- 
 curred at the most irregular intervals. One could not cal- 
 culate on them in the least. 
 
158 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 "I'm hungry, I do believe," said Temple. 
 
 Bo3'nton's face brightened. 
 
 " Then come down to the boat. I told you I had a jolly 
 lunch. Some of those fat liver pie things — I thought we'd 
 try them — and two bottles of lager. Come." 
 
 Boynton turned, and held back some of the branches of 
 the thick-growing shrubs that Temple might pass. The 
 two went down to the old tiee trunk which made the land- 
 ing. The young man hurried as if he feared that his com- 
 panion might suddenly decide not to accompany him. But 
 Temple did not think of going back. She sprang into the 
 boat moored there. She beckoned to Yucatan, who imme- 
 diately followed her, and sat down gravely in the bottom of 
 the craft with the air of having to be very careful lest he 
 might overturn the whole thing. 
 
 The violin was lying on the stern seat. Temple lifted the 
 instrument and held it tenderly, passing her fingers over the 
 strings, and bringing out a musical clash of sound. 
 
 The young man looked at her furtively. He smiled faint- 
 ly, but was careful that she should not see that he did so. 
 
 He opened a bottle of beer, filled a travelling-cup, and 
 gravely handed it to her, saying, 
 
 "You look awfully tired. Drink that, while I get the 
 grub out of the basket." 
 
 Temple put the violin across her lap, and then drank. 
 
 The soft wind blew freshly down the river. The mists 
 upon the heights began to lift again and drift away as the 
 sun grew stronger. 
 
 The girl felt that her mood was changing. She was none 
 the less resolved about religion, but religion did not seem 
 to require so much in a certain way. 
 
 She still retained the violin as she ate, with keen relish, 
 the rather indiscriminate lunch Boynton had brought. 
 
 Her spirits rose higher and higher. But she did not talk 
 much. She smiled at her companion's chatter. The ex- 
 pression of extreme weariness left her face. She was be- 
 ginning to appreciate the pleasure of this relaxation. 
 
" THE CHAINS, THE SHINING CHAINS I59 
 
 As for Boynton, his heart was bounding again. He was 
 in the habit of telUng himself that he knew girls rather well. 
 He had been quite frightened this morning, however. What 
 a hideous arrangement it would be if Temple should take a 
 fanc}^ to keep up that notion about religion ! But she was 
 coming out of it all right. 
 
 He was shrewd enough not to return to the topic. He 
 now gazed openly at the girl in the stern. Still he could 
 not please himself with the idea that she was thinking of him. 
 
 In fact, she had fallen into one of her states of what 
 might almost be called semi-trance, when mere existence 
 was a joy so intense as to be somewhat oppressive. 
 
 There was in her possession the river, the sunlight, the 
 great Appalachian range, and life. 
 
 Boynton gently took his fiddle from her knees. He put 
 it under his chin and drew his bow tentatively across the 
 strings, his eyes on the girl. 
 
 In a moment he began to play and sing in half-tones, as 
 one might say. 
 
 At first Temple did not notice what it was he sang ; she 
 only knew that it was nothing which made any discord with 
 her mood. Indeed, Boynton had too good taste to run any 
 risk in his selection. 
 
 But he was so relieved to find that she did not insist on 
 seeming as she had seemed up there among the rhododen- 
 drons, that he became a bit more reckless than he had been 
 before. 
 
 Hitherto he had tried to have before him the undoubted 
 fact that this girl who lived in the wilderness, and who 
 went riding about in such a dare-devil way, was a girl to 
 flirt with, perhaps, but not to marry. 
 
 But now the conviction had come upon him with great 
 force that there was no other woman in the world whom he 
 could possibly think of marrying. 
 
 He could not help believing, also, that, if he should con- 
 fess this state of mind, Temple would agree with him. 
 Still— 
 
l6o AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 The doubt that would obtrude itself made his exceedins:- 
 ly sweet tenor voice even sweeter than ever, and his hand- 
 some young face handsomer than ever. 
 
 This was what he murmured in his tenor voice at the 
 girl: 
 
 " Oh, blest be he ! Oh, blest be he ! 
 Let him all blessings prove, 
 Who made the chains, the shining chains, 
 The holy chains of love !" 
 
 Boynton sang these lines and then was silent for a mo- 
 ment, making a little interlude on the strings. 
 
 He was irritated that he could not in the least tell whether 
 his companion had heard him or not. She did not change 
 her attitude of lounging in the stern, with one arm over the 
 Newfoundland who sat beside her ; her face was turned up 
 the river. 
 
 Boynton sighed deeply and ostentatiously. Then he 
 began again : 
 
 " Oh, blest be he ! Oh, blest be he ! " 
 
 and sang the words even more insistently. 
 
 He made a little clang with his instrument as he finished, 
 and he almost dashed it down beside him. 
 
 " I never saw such a girl !" he cried. " You don't seem 
 to have any heart. Can't you look at me? All this scenery 
 is going to be here right along, but I shall have to go 
 away." 
 
 Temple turned her eyes towards him. 
 
 "Have you heard a word I've been singing?" he asked. 
 
 " Oh yes. It was all about the chains, the shining chains, 
 the holy chains." 
 
 " Of love," added Boynton, significantly. 
 
 " Yes, I think it was of love," responded Temple. 
 
 The young man snatched up the fiddle again. And now 
 he did not veil his voice, but sang, sonorously : 
 
"the chains, the shining chains" i6i 
 
 " If you love a lady bright. 
 
 Seek and you shall find a way. 
 
 All that love should say, to say, 
 
 If you watch the occasion right." 
 
 Having finished this song, Boynton leaned towards Temple, 
 who did not seem to see that he did so. She glanced at him 
 and laughed a little. 
 
 " It's quite funny that so many of your songs should be 
 so very sentimental," she said. 
 
 Boynton drew himself up. 
 
 "I don't think it's funny at all," he responded. "And 
 let me tell you one thing, Miss Crawford : I've resolved to 
 watch the occasion right." 
 
 She laughed again at this remark; she made no other re- 
 ply. And she did not notice how he flushed and scowled. 
 
 She took up the violin. She held it lovingly across her 
 lap, and, still holding it thus, as some women violinists do, 
 she began to play. She sang out strongly arrd with a note 
 of victory, as befitted the words : 
 
 "Summer is a-coming in, 
 
 Loud sing, cuckoo ; 
 Groweth seed and bloometh mead, 
 And springeth the wood now. 
 
 Sing, cuckoo, cuckoo." 
 
 "You see, one needn't always be sentimental and love- 
 sick. Love is only a small part of life." 
 
 She spoke the last words with an ominous seriousness. 
 She extended the instrument. 
 
 " Take your fiddle," she said. " It's wicked to fritter 
 away one's days in this way. I want to do some good work 
 for the Lord. I want to help bring souls to the right way. 
 Yale Boynton, you needn't frown. Just tell me if you don't 
 think about saving your soul, and about doing all the good 
 you can ?" 
 
 Impossible to resist the manner, the intonation — all the 
 
 II 
 
l62 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 more impossible because Temple was so unconscious of 
 what her manner and intonation were. 
 
 Boynton pushed out his under-lip. He wished he were 
 not in a boat which would wobble so if he threw himself at 
 his companion's feet. 
 
 "Yes," he said. "I think about doing good sometimes; 
 but you'll find it's all bosh about experiencing religion and 
 that rot." 
 
 " Stop ! Don't you know I've experienced ? And it's 
 going to make a difference with me, too. You may not 
 think so, but it is. I sha'n't come down here to meet you 
 any more, for one thing. I think it's frivolous, and I sha'n't 
 do it. I'm going back now. You've been mighty kind, Mr. 
 Boynton," relenting somewhat, " to teach me to play, and 
 to bring sandwiches and beer and such. And I'm much 
 obliged. But I'm going to think of other things." 
 
 " What things ?" asked Boynton. 
 
 There was a stubborn look on his face. He extended 
 his hand and took hold of Temple's arm, for she had risen 
 as if to leave immediately. 
 
WITH DALVECKER 
 
 Temple stood perfectly still. She would not try to go 
 while her arm was held thus. But she resented the 
 touch, and Boynton was discerning enough to see that re- 
 sentment. 
 
 His hand dropped. 
 
 "What other things are you going to do?'' he repeated. 
 " I should think you might tell me. I'm a human being as 
 well as all the people you are going to convert. Do stay a 
 minute longer. Don't you consider that my soul is worth 
 saving? Because if you don't think so, I do. Now, Tem- 
 ple Crawford, be a little bit kind to me, can't you .?" 
 
 He was very boyish and very pleading. It suddenly 
 occurred to him to take her at her word. 
 
 "What's the matter' with me that you can't begin by 
 making me over and helping me to get religion ? Don't 
 you call me worth saving, I should like to know?" With 
 insistent repetition. 
 
 " Everybody is worth saving," she answered. " God loves 
 everybody." 
 
 At first Boynton could hardly believe that she was seri- 
 ous. It seemed incredible to him that this woman, who had 
 seemed to have such a wild flow of animal spirits, should 
 really have taken up this fad. He called the change a fad 
 in the privacy of his own mind. 
 
 He gazed at her with a sharp inquiry in his eyes. Cer- 
 tainly there was something in her face that he had never seen 
 before. And whatever that something was, it was accom- 
 panied by a good deal of resolution. He considered it a 
 
l64 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 rather curious fact that he felt more drawn to her than 
 ever. The fact that there seemed to be a barrier rising be- 
 tween them had the effect of stimulating into a stronger life 
 what had first appeared to be only a fancy. 
 
 Boynton's face partook of what he called the "deadly ear- 
 nestness " of this new mood. 
 
 He longed to take the girl's hand and draw her to him ; 
 but he knew he must not do that. 
 
 "Please sit down," he said. "You needn't go yet. I 
 want — I wish — Oh, can't you let me join you in this 
 change in your life?" 
 
 The young man heard himself speak in some surprise. 
 Still he was sure he was thoroughly in earnest. There 
 was something in the girl's face and presence which had a 
 strange influence over him. He did not mean to let 
 any experience that she might know come between them. 
 And yet he had no consciousness of being in any sense 
 a hypocrite when he became as serious as his compan- 
 ion. 
 
 Temple sat down again. She was thinking that perhaps 
 here was work for her to do. And she must not withhold 
 her hand from any labor for the Lord. 
 
 As she looked at Boynton she was vaguely struck by the 
 curiously facile features which now expressed nothing but 
 a sort of solemn eagerness. For the first time it came to 
 her that her companion, though he might be impressible, 
 was not profound. She had never been accustomed to 
 analyzing anything or anybody. 
 
 But she must do what she could. 
 
 " If you're going to be religious," he said, " why, then 
 I'm going to be religious, too." 
 
 " But that isn't the right motive," she remonstrated. 
 " That's starting out wrong." 
 
 " No matter, if I get into the right path finally. Temple " 
 — the young man's voice changed into a minor key — " you 
 see, I can't get along without you. I can't, and it's no use 
 trying." 
 
WITH DALVECKER 165 
 
 Without moving in the least the girl yet seemed to with- 
 draw in some way. 
 
 " But you've got to get along without me," she said. " I 
 sha'n't come here again." 
 
 She could hardly believe that she had ever cared to 
 come. Between the girl who had found amusement in 
 Yale Boynton's society and her present self there was such 
 a gulf that Temple was bewildered. But, then, having re- 
 ligion made a great difference, naturally. 
 
 She looked with serious, anxious intentness into Boynton's 
 eyes. 
 
 "You must not talk like that to me any more," she said. 
 "I will not listen to you." 
 
 Boynton grew pale. 
 
 " Aren't you going to let me see you ? Won't you let me 
 come to the house ?" he asked. And then, before she could 
 reply, he continued, hurriedly, "You must teach me how to 
 be pious — you can't refuse to do that. You've got to help 
 me be good. I don't see what your religion's good for if it 
 doesn't tell you to help everybody. I say, you can't refuse 
 anything like that." 
 
 His face began to flush with his eagerness. 
 
 Gradually, as Temple continued looking, an incongruous 
 expression of amusement came into her countenance. She 
 had just recalled what Lincoln Dalvecker had said. It was 
 very odd that these young men — her thoughts could not go 
 any further. 
 
 She suddenly covered her face with her hands. She felt 
 sure that she was wicked to feel any inclination to laugh. 
 But certainly there was something very ridiculous in it all. 
 
 At first Boynton thought Temple was crying, and this be- 
 lief gave him a certain satisfaction. But immediately he 
 discovered that she was laughing, and his vanity directly 
 assumed that she was laughing at him. 
 
 He turned away with such abruptness that the boat tipped, 
 and Temple nearly lost her balance. 
 
 "I didn't know I was so amusing," said Boynton, fiercely. 
 
l66 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 " ' Tisn't that ! Oh, 'tisn't that !" exclaimed Temple, now 
 greatly distressed. " Do forgive me ! Now I'm going. 
 Good-bye." 
 
 Boynton seized her hands and held them fast. 
 
 " But what's to become of me ?" he reiterated. " Aren't 
 you going to help me ? Don't you think I want to be 
 saved ? If you think it's best to have religion, why, I'm 
 going to have it, too. Do let me come and talk with you 
 about it !" 
 
 " Go to Mr. Mercer. He'll tell you. He knows so much 
 more than I do. Don't you see " — smiling somewhat trem- 
 ulously — "don't you see, I've been religious such a little bit 
 of a while that I don't know much yet. But I hope to — I 
 hope to. It's such a glorious thing ! Oh, you've no idea 
 what a glorious thing it is to feel all at once that the dear 
 Lord loves you — ^just you, you know, as if there were no one 
 else in the world. It's such a great thing that you want 
 every one to know it, too." 
 
 Boynton forgot his anger. 
 
 " Can't you try to help me, then ?" he asked. 
 
 Temple stood hesitatingly, 
 
 " I don't know how. I long to help you. I — Mr. Boyn- 
 ton," hesitating again — " I'll pray for you. I reckon you 
 don't know how it is to pray when you really love God, do 
 you ?" 
 
 " No," said the young man. 
 
 Temple turned and knelt down by the stern seat. She 
 did not cover her face, but turned it up towards the sky with 
 her eyes closed. 
 
 She began to pray with that fervid outpouring which is so 
 powerful in its effect upon a listener. 
 
 Boynton stood a moment gazing steadfastly at the face of 
 the girl. It seemed to him that from a fancy his feeling for 
 her had become a demanding love. He watched her, ob- 
 serving the long, light lashes that were drooped, the strong, 
 vivid contour of her face. Then, all at once, he sank down 
 on his knees beside her, and began to follow the words of 
 
WITH DALVECKER 167 
 
 her petition. She was very personal. She talked of him 
 and his needs to God as if she were talking to a devoted 
 and all-powerful friend. 
 
 When she ceased she rose quickly. She would not be 
 detained. She sprang from the boat and hurried up the 
 hill, brushing the heavy shrubs aside and almost diving 
 through them, her dog close behind her. 
 
 Boynton knew that he must not speak to her nor follow 
 her. He sat in his boat and looked after her as long as 
 she was in sight. Then he flung himself forward and 
 leaned his elbows on the side, his hands thrust into his 
 hair as he gazed down into the water. 
 
 Temple did not pause until she reached her home. She 
 found the door open and Miss Drowdy sitting by an enor- 
 mous fire, a plate on her lap, a cup of coffee standing on 
 a chair near her. There was a dog stationed on each side 
 of her. 
 
 " I told Sally 'twa'n't no use to set the table jest for 
 me," remarked Almina, " 'n' ther was no tellin' when you'd 
 come back. You must be about starved." 
 
 " Yas, Miss Temple," said Sally, who was just coming in 
 with a plate of fried chicken, " I tole Miss Drowdy as how 
 yo'd be despit hongry. I tole her as 'ligion was one of 
 der hongriest things on der face of der yarth." 
 
 The yellow woman drew up another chair and deposited 
 the plate of chicken upon that, well within reach of Almina. 
 
 "I'm dretful hungry myself," Almina said, apologet- 
 ically, "but I thought 'twas the mountain air; I didn't 
 think of its being religion." 
 
 Sally laughed far down in her throat. 
 
 " I reckon we kin find 'nough fur yo' t' eat. Now, honey," 
 to Temple, "what '11 ole Sal git fur yo' ?" 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 The yellow woman gazed solicitously at the girl. 
 
 " Dat ain't no way," she remarked. " All dem times I 
 got 'ligion I neber lost one meal." 
 
 Temple smiled. She was leaning far back in the chair. 
 
l68 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 with her feet stretched towards the embers on the hearth. 
 Her face was w^orii and white. 
 
 " I haven't lost a meal," she ansvvered. " Tve been 
 down to the river, and Mr. Boynton had brought some 
 lunch." 
 
 Sally grinned broadly. 
 
 " I heard his fiddle," she said. "You ben fiddlin', INIiss 
 Temple ?" 
 
 " No ; that is, not much." 
 
 Sally stood contemplatively gazing down at her mistress. 
 
 " I never could come to no onderstandin'," she re- 
 marked, " as to whether the Lawd liked fiddles or whether 
 de Lawd hated fiddles. Somehow dey don't seem so kind 
 of holy as orgins, now, do dey ?" 
 
 " Of course it depends upon what you do with violins," 
 replied Temple. 
 
 She felt that she was not quite qualified to discuss this 
 subject. But at this moment she had an inclination tow- 
 ards rigidity in regard to everything. 
 
 She asked for a cup of coffee, and Avhen Sally brought it 
 she took occasion to inform her mistress that somebody 
 " be'n 'quirin' roun' fur her not so very long after sun-up." 
 
 Upon being questioned further, she reluctantly acknowl- 
 edged that the person thus inquiring was young Dalvecker. 
 
 Temple's face clouded. With every moment that had 
 passed since her interview with him she had grown more 
 and more troubled regarding her answer to him. 
 
 She now rose. She stood looking irresolutely at Miss 
 Drowdy, who was still pecking away at the leg of a chick- 
 en. In response to this look Almina explained that she 
 didn't know as a woman could be so hungry as she had 
 been. She further added that it didn't seem good man- 
 ners, somehow, to eat almost a whole chicken, besides the 
 amount of corn pone which Sally had brought in. 
 
 " I feel like a cannibal," she said, '' and the worst of it 
 is, I ain't truly ashamed." 
 
 Temple's gaze was rather absent. She walked to the 
 
WITH DALVECKER 169 
 
 door, and then paused. She was not in the habit of telling 
 where she was going, but now, in deference to her guest, 
 she remarked that she reckoned she should ride out Cain 
 Creek way. 
 
 When she had gone. Miss Drowdy asked, 
 
 "Where is Cain Creek way.?" and then was immediately 
 sorry she had put such a question. 
 
 Sally was brushing the hearth. She answered that Cain 
 Creek "war dat kind of ur stream as run so fur one way 
 an' so fur de oder way dat a pusson couldn't tell whar 
 another pusson bad gone onless dey knew sumpin' more to 
 de pint than jes' Cain Creek." 
 
 Having replied thus, the yellow woman walked out of the 
 house with a waiter of dishes on her head. She turned 
 thus poised, and saw Temple leading the white pony from 
 his shed. The pony had on saddle and bridle. His in- 
 jury had not been severe and was now practically well, 
 and his enforced idleness made him spring away furiously 
 when Temple had seated herself on his back. He tore 
 down the path, snorting as he went. His rider sat calmly. 
 Thimble had rushed along in this way too many times for 
 her to be discomposed. Her spirits rose as she went. 
 The little white sprite leaped the trees that had been felled 
 across paths to stop travel ; he galloped gallantly along 
 clear spaces ; he tossed up his neck with its thick hogged 
 mane ; he neighed shrilly as if in response to some unheard 
 greeting. All the time the girl sat him with seeming neg- 
 ligence, swaying as he swayed. 
 
 Even at this pace it was more than an hour before 
 Temple drew in her pony and looked down into a valley 
 where a river thundered along a steep bed, going through 
 fields bright with growing grain. In one of these fields 
 stood a two-story white house, a house without blinds and 
 with narrow windows, but with a long stoop extending 
 across the front. There were some cows on a slope tow- 
 ards the north. On a few rods of flat ground a pair of 
 horses were slowly dragging a plough, which was held by a 
 
I70 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 man in a red shirt. His brown trousers were tucked into 
 tall boots heavy with the damp, dark soil. 
 
 In another place a woman was dropping corn and a man 
 was covering it. 
 
 The mountains stood all about as background. The sky 
 was a pale, warm blue, and crows sailed deliberately across 
 it, cawing hoarsely. But through their cries could be 
 heard the gay, challenging notes of newly mated song 
 birds. 
 
 The pony stood perfectly still, its wise face also turned 
 towards the picture below him, as if he also were surveying 
 it with appreciation. 
 
 The girl sat quietly in the saddle. Her heart was filled 
 with the beauty of the world. Her eyes looked tense and 
 strained. Her lips were parted. For a moment she forgot 
 why she had come to Cain Creek. 
 
 Suddenly a child's voice shouted shrilly dow^n in the 
 valley, 
 
 " Somebody's come on ter thur land !" 
 
 Then dogs barked, and came racing wildly towards the 
 intruder. 
 
 The woman dropping corn stopped, and pushed back her 
 sun-bonnet. The man leaned on his hoe and gazed. 
 
 The man who had been holding the plough glanced once ; 
 then he left his horses standing in the furrows, swung off 
 his hat, and ran swdftly up to the horsewoman. As he ran 
 he was aware of the picture made by the wdiite pony and 
 his rider — aware of it with a leaping of pulses and a wild 
 joy that seemed too great, for an instant, to be borne. 
 
 His long legs quickly left the space behind him. He 
 leaned up against Thimble, and grasped Temple's ungloved 
 brown hand. 
 
 " This is jest mighty good of you, Temple !" he exclaimed. 
 " It was jest like — like — oh, the brightest sunlight in the 
 world when I saw you up here. I was thinking about you — 
 I'm always doin' that. But I was planning how to make 
 the house more convenient 'fore you come. They've got a 
 
WITH DALVECKER 171 
 
 house to the Junction — John Case's new one, you know ; it 
 makes work easier for the women. An' you're goin' to have 
 jest as easy a time as can be wlien you're here, you know, 
 Temple." 
 
 Link Dalvecker's words almost tumbled over each other 
 in his happy eagerness. When he stopped. Temple only 
 said '• Don't " in a beseeching tone. 
 
 Then there was silence between them for a little time. 
 
 But Dalvecker could not be thus rebuffed. He had taken 
 such heart of grace in thinking over his last interview with 
 this girl, and his mother had been so positive that he was 
 accepted, that he also had become positive. 
 
 His mother, in the fulness of her knowledge of girls, had 
 also counselled him not to mind any "gal's notions." She 
 assured him that the notions in "gal's heads was beyont 
 anything on the whole yarth." He was to pay absolutely 
 no attention to them. A gal said anything and everything, 
 especially a gal like Temple Crawford, who hadTDcen a wild 
 colt all her life. 
 
 Nevertheless, Link wished now that Temple had not said 
 " Don't " in that way, though, of course, it did not mean 
 anything — it could not mean anything. She was just a 
 "gal," that was all. 
 
 He drew a long breath of relief as he reached this con- 
 clusion. 
 
 He still leaned against the pony's side, and he still held 
 Temple's hand as he kept his eyes on her face. 
 
 He was wondering how he had lived all these years 
 within a few miles of this girl without making himself sure 
 that she would eventually belong to him. Certainly she 
 would belong to him. As if the repetition of this phrase in 
 his mind carried with it a doubt, the young man's face 
 flushed a deep red, even under the tan. His eyes flashed. 
 The hand hanging by his side shut tightly. His temper 
 was not one which could bear much opposition. 
 
 But Temple was not noticing him. Her gaze was going, 
 with slow dwelling here and thefe, over the scene before 
 
172 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 her. For the moment she had forgotten her newly acquired 
 rehgion. 
 
 " I'm wonderin' what you're thinking," at last said Link, 
 trying to be patient. He was longing for her to look at him, 
 to give him a personal glance. What eyes, he thought, she 
 had ! His very heart had gone into their depths. Did any 
 other woman ever have such eyes, or any other man love 
 them so ? 
 
 Temple moved a little in the saddle. She became con- 
 scious that her hand was closely held, and she with- 
 drew it. 
 
 Dalvecker sighed audibly ; then he repeated his remark, 
 and she made an effort to reply. 
 
 " The mountains," she said, " and the sky — the whole 
 world — " 
 
 Then she remembered that she had religion. She also 
 sighed. She looked down at her companion. 
 
 " I don't see how heaven can be as beautiful as the Car- 
 olina mountains, do you, Link .'"' 
 
 But the young man found it an effort to try to think 
 enough to answer. He only said, impetuously, 
 
 " I don't want no heaven better'n this — jest to be nigh 
 you, Temple." 
 
 And again the girl said " Don't !" and this time more 
 pleadingly than before. 
 
 The adoring passion in Dalvecker's eyes became clouded. 
 He felt that he could bear a great deal of everything that 
 did not come between him and Temple, but that he could 
 bear absolutely nothing that did. 
 
 " I'm dead sure," he began now, *' that I don't know what 
 you're aimin' at. You come down to thur house. Mar's 
 got sumpin' she wants to show you. Mar's awful pleased 
 to think that you — that I — that we — " 
 
 The young man paused in his stammering, his face burn- 
 ing, his eyes glowing. He was going to put his arm about 
 Temple as she sat there, but she tried to shrink away. He 
 frowned, and his arm dropped to his side. 
 
WITH DALVECKER 173 
 
 Temple, to her great surprise, was finding it more and 
 more difficult to say what she had come to say. 
 
 When she had started she* had thought that it would not 
 be very hard to tell Link that they would not think any more 
 of what was said right after the preaching. 
 
 She was positive that nothing had been settled then. But 
 evidently Link and his mother believed that everything was 
 settled as they wished- The girl was growing bewildered 
 and rebellious. 
 
 " Come," he repeated, " mar's got some quilt or sumpin' 
 she wants to show you. An' I want you to tell me whar to 
 put thur pump. I've done made up my mind I'll have a 
 pump. You ain't goin' to draw water." 
 
 His voice sank to a tender tone, and he leaned more 
 closely upon Thimble, who maintained his position, ears 
 cocked, and long face seriously turned towards the valley. 
 
 " It isn't any matter about the pump !" exclaimed Temple, 
 almost with a savage intonation. 
 
 "But I ain't going to have you drawing water like the 
 women round hyar," reasserted Link, " an' you sha'n't follow 
 thur plough. Thur Dalvecker women ain't no call to follow 
 thur plough," with some pride. 
 
 Temple sat up straight. She gripped the bridle. Instead 
 of looking at her companion, she gazed in a cowardly manner 
 down at her bridle hand as she began to speak. 
 
 " What do you think I came over to Cain Creek for ?" 
 
 " Oh, Temple, I hoped 'twas to see me." 
 
 " Yes, it was." 
 
 Now the girl lifted brave eyes and met the intent, mascu- 
 line gaze, which did not swerve from her face. 
 
 " Yes," she said, " it was to see you, and tell you that 'twas 
 all wrong — our thinking of marrying, you know. I can't do 
 hit — oh no, I can't do hit 1" 
 
 Dalvecker's face darkened. His mouth shut closely, but 
 he stood quiet. 
 
 " I didn't say I would," went on Temple, her low voice 
 seeming to her listener like a sharp knife. " You must know 
 
174 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 I didn't say I would, and somehow you've understood I did 
 say so. They told me I ought not to say I'd think of hit — 
 that men always thought it was the same as saying yes. I 
 don't see why men should think so, though. But I can't 
 think of hit. I've come to tell you so, Link. Oh, dear. 
 Link, don't look like that! Please don't!" 
 
 To the pony's great surprise Temple suddenly flung one 
 arm about Link's neck, while she bent her head down on 
 the top of the young man's felt-hat. Her own felt-hat fell 
 off at the same moment, revealing her short, tumbled, light 
 hair, w^hich looked almost ashen in this strong sunlight. 
 
 Dalvecker's mother, who had resumed the dropping of 
 corn in the lot down in the valley, glanced up as Temple's 
 head dropped down on that of her son. She smiled in the 
 cavernous depths of her cape-bonnet, and then she remarked 
 to the man who was following with his hoe, 
 
 "That thur gal's what I call in lurv; an' no wonder. 
 She's gurt er good man. My son ain't, one of thur dad- 
 burned kind as '11 be rough on a 'oman. She's rid all thur 
 way from Fairview hyar jest to see Link. She's in lurv, 
 she is." 
 
 It will be observed that Mrs. Dalvecker, widow, unlike 
 her son, had never been to school in Asheville. 
 
 She laughed as she ceased speaking. The man with the 
 hoe had looked up at her first words. He also laughed. 
 And he remarked that Link "allers did hev thur luck." 
 
 To this Mrs. Dalvecker responded that she hadn't 
 nawthin' against Temple ; but she reckoned as 'twar Tem- 
 ple as was in luck. Jest to think of thur plank house! An' 
 Link war layin' out fur er pump !" 
 
 The thought of the pump seemed tOk incapacitate Mrs. Dal- 
 vecker from further speech. 
 
 Up on the height young Dalvecker was not thinking that 
 he was in luck. 
 
 He stood quite motionless, with Temple's arm about his 
 neck. It seemed a long time before he could speak. Fi- 
 nally he said, in a whisper, 
 
WITH DALVECKER 175 
 
 " Don't be so sure 3'ou can't lurv me, Temple. I'd try to 
 git along with jest a little lurv at first." 
 
 "'Tisnt that." 
 
 Temple raised her head, and took her arm from the man's 
 neck. 
 
 " It isn't any question of love, anyway. I told you I 
 didn't love you. I only had an affection for you, you know. 
 But I didn't know but I might do more good by marrying 
 you. You said how I could help you — keep you religious, 
 and—" 
 
 Dalvecker's face had been growing blacker and blacker. 
 Now he burst out, 
 
 " It's that damned young fool from Asheville !" he cried. 
 " The feller with thur fiddle ! You lurv him. Temple Craw- 
 ford ! Jim Frady said as how you met urp with him, an' 
 went in his boat, an' fiddled, an' sung, an' — an' — It's him! 
 He sha'n't fiddle no more ! I'll kill him 's I would er mad 
 fyst !" 
 
 The girl did not try to reply at first to this outbreak. She 
 gazed down at Link. At last she said, solemnly, 
 
 " I don't lurv him. Link !" 
 
 Dalvecker believed her instantly. His face began to be 
 less distorted. 
 
 "But it doesn't make any difference," said Temple — 
 " about us, I mean." 
 
 "Why not? It's gurt to make a difference." 
 
 "No; I've made up my mind." 
 
 " Who is it, then ?" fiercely. 
 
 " I don't know what you mean. Link." 
 
 "What man is it that you do lurv ?" 
 
 The barbarian beneath Dalvecker's skin began again to 
 come to the surface. 
 
 " Nobody." 
 
 " Then I'm going to hope." 
 
 " No, no ; I wish you'd listen to me now. Link." 
 
 The man stood still and waited. 
 
 Things were growing clearer to the girl, as things will 
 
176 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 suddenly grow clearer sometimes in the fire of unusual ex- 
 citement. 
 
 " I want to tell you what my plan of life is." 
 
 It was in this moment that Temple's plan of life became 
 defined. 
 
 "Tell me. I'll try to bear it." 
 
 Dalvecker did hope. He could not help hoping since 
 that assurance that Temple did not love the fiddler. There 
 was positively nobody else. And this talk about not loving 
 any one was unnatural, and he did not believe it. Women 
 talked so strangely sometimes. But they didn't mean 
 much. 
 
 Temple was thinking of a power she had felt recently 
 developed in her. She called it a religious power. When 
 she prayed there was in her consciousness a fervid force 
 which she knew moved others as well as herself. She 
 must use this gift for the Lord, who had bestowed it upon 
 her. 
 
 Yes, everything was clear to her now. It was God him- 
 self who had given her something by which she could bring 
 people into the fold. It was God himself who was opening 
 the way of great usefulness in letting her have the oppor- 
 tunity to be a helpmeet to a man like the preacher. 
 
 Couldn't she make Link Dalvecker see this? She saw it 
 so strongly. She had not yet learned that another person 
 cannot occupy our point of view, no matter how strenuously 
 we try to put him there. • 
 
 The girl's gaze went off to the mountains again. How 
 grand, how glorious life was ! How favored she was in be- 
 ins: allowed to serve the Master ! She had all her life felt 
 such longings for she knew not what — of great work. And 
 now this work had come to her hand. All her life she had 
 wanted to fling herself unreservedly into something that 
 should take her and hold her. All her life — and her life 
 seemed long to her. She had a sense that she was very 
 much older than this young man who could not seem to take 
 his eyes from her face. 
 
WITH DALVECKER 
 
 177 
 
 " I'm waiting for you to tell me," Dalvecker said, at 
 length. 
 
 He distrusted every moment of silence during which she 
 looked like that. 
 
 Temple glanced at her companion, but for some reason 
 she could not continue to look at him as she said, 
 
 " I've been trying to see my way clear, and now I do see 
 it. I shall marry Mr. Mercer, and work with him. You see 
 how — but. Link — " 
 
 She stopped suddenly. She had been going to explain 
 her plans, but the words all at once seemed useless, without 
 meaning. She had not known that any one could show such 
 agony as she saw in Link's face. 
 
 And, strangest of all, he did not seem to understand. 
 And it came upon her with owerwhelming force that she 
 could never make him understand. 
 
 Link was standing up straight, his head flung back, his hot 
 eyes fixed on Temple's eyes. 
 
 When she stopped speaking he did not break the silence. 
 It was she who spoke again. 
 
 " Dear Link," she said, " it's all so plain to me." 
 
 "Do yo' lurv him?" he asked, as he had just asked about 
 "the fiddler." 
 
 There was surprise and impatience in her voice as she 
 said, 
 
 " It's so odd that everybody asks that. No, I don't love 
 him. Why should I ? I can respect and admire him. If 
 I did fancy I was in love I should just have to get over that, 
 and then what better off should I he} Besides, I'm not the 
 kind of girl to be in love." 
 
 Dalvecker made a quick movement as if he could bear no 
 more. He raised his clinched hand into the air, crying out, 
 
 " No, I reckon you ain't thur kind of gal ! If you was 
 you'd stop tormentin' me so ! You just put me into hell 
 with your ca'm kind of talk !" 
 
 Temple's face quivered with wistful wonder. 
 
 "I reckon you think you're in lurv," she said. 
 
 12 
 
178 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 " I know I am," with ill-suppressed fury. 
 
 "Then it must be awful — awful," she responded, impres- 
 sively. "I'm glad Tm not that sort of person. There's suf- 
 fering enough in this world without love — I mean that kind 
 of love." 
 
 She gathered up the bridle which she had let fall on the 
 pony's neck. But she continued to look at Dalvecker. She 
 was inclined to be indignant with him. Of course, he could 
 not really feel as he seemed to feel. She could not quite 
 believe in the reality of his emotion. So true it is that what 
 we have never felt we cannot understand. 
 
 " I'll be going now," she said. 
 
 "No! No!" 
 
 The young man seized the bridle so forcibly that the 
 pony turned and nipped at his wrist, leaving a purple mark. 
 
 " You can't mean hit ! You can't mean hit !" 
 
 Dalvecker choked on the w^ords. And yet it seemed to 
 him that he was giving his whole strength to the effort to 
 control himself. Because he did not burst forth into wild 
 oaths, because he did not tear Temple from the saddle, take 
 her to the house yonder and shut her up there, he was un- 
 der the belief that he was controlling himself. 
 
 "We won't talk any more. I'm going," she said, " and I 
 mean it; I mean it all. But I can't tell you how sorry I 
 am. Can't we be just the same friends. Link .''" 
 
 But Dalvecker could not answer. He nodded vaguely. 
 It was as if he were in the grasp of some malignant mon- 
 ster that was shaking him up and down, and he was dan- 
 gling helpless in that grasp. 
 
 He saw Temple ride away. His eyes seemed to have 
 flames in them. 
 
 He could not remember the time when he had not meant 
 to have that girl for his wife. And he had always had what 
 he meant to have. 
 
 At the topmost part of the path along which Temple had 
 come she stopped her pony and turned about. The young 
 man saw her wave her hand at him. He heard her cry, 
 
WITH DALVECKER 
 
 179 
 
 " Good-bye, Link ! Good-bye ! I want you to come and 
 see me !" 
 
 Link took off his hat and waved it. His hand appeared 
 to perform the act without any command from his mind. 
 
 When the girl was out of sight Dalvecker had sense 
 enough to know that he must go back to his ploughing, or 
 his mother would come and question him. 
 
 He turned himself towards his home. It was only a few 
 moments before that he had been planning how to make 
 the work easier for Temple. There was the house, with 
 the green about it ; there was his mother going right 
 on dropping corn, and old Chris Jinks was covering it. 
 Dalvecker could hear the sound of the hoe as it slid under 
 the earth. Jinks's little boy was beneath an apple-tree firing 
 stones at a robin's nest. 
 
 Dalvecker's outward sense told him that the farm had 
 never looked so well. And he resented that fact. 
 
 He wanted to grip hold of something. There was noth- 
 ing to grip, however. He thrust his hands into his pockets. 
 
 " It's just — oh — " He paused, for there was no word 
 strong enough. " Oh, it's just hell !" he whispered. 
 
 Then he walked down to where his horses were calmly 
 standing in the freshly turned earth. 
 
XI 
 
 THE mother's letter 
 
 Mrs. Dalvecker saw her son return to his plough after 
 his interview with his sweetheart. 
 
 She set down the basket which held the seed-corn, and 
 went striding over the furrows to him. She wanted to tell 
 him again what a lucky gal Temple Crawford was. 
 
 She waited until his horses came back along the line of 
 their work. 
 
 Link was tempted to turn and run away ; but he came on, 
 ramming the plough furiously down into the earth that 
 rolled richly away from the share. A flock of hens was in- 
 dustriously pecking along behind him. 
 
 "Jest stop, will yo' ?" commanded the woman. 
 
 The young man stopped. He pulled the great flap of 
 his hat far over his face and waited. 
 
 " Did yo' tell her 'bout thur pump ?" asked the mother. 
 
 Link nodded. 
 
 " Thur ain't no pump on none of thur mountings." 
 
 Having said this with an air of pride, Mrs. Dalveck- 
 er spat emphatically, and then drew her hand down over 
 her mouth to remove any too visible traces of expectora- 
 tion. 
 
 " I reckon that Crawford gal ain't none too good to draw 
 water same's her man's dad an' mam hev drawed." 
 
 These words were tempered with a good-natured laugh. 
 
 " She ain't gwine ter draw water hyar," was the response. 
 
 Mrs. Dalvecker pushed her sun-bonnet back quickly. 
 
 " Hev you-uns an' her ben quarrillin' .?" she asked, sharp- 
 ly. "She mought better luke out. Thur ain't no sech 
 
THE mother's letter i8i 
 
 chance 's Link Dalvecker nowhars in Limestone Township. 
 She better luke out fer herself." 
 
 There was no response to this. Link stood sullenly gaz- 
 ing at his mother. 
 
 " I hope you-uns didn't give in to her in no ways," said 
 Mrs. Dalvecker. " Yo' mus' jest take yer stand an' be boss 
 from thur fust." 
 
 Link turned away. He grasped the plough-handles so 
 that his finger-nails showed white with the strain. 
 
 " Mar," he said, " yo' shurt urp. I'm gwine ter boss my 
 own business. Mebby me an' Temple sha'n't hitch no 
 ways." 
 
 " Wha-at !" 
 
 Link felt beside himself. 
 
 " Mar," he said again, " will yo' shurt urp ?" 
 
 He hurriedly unhooked the horses and sent them off, 
 with the chains dangling against their legs. He walked 
 after them. He would have liked to put a thousand miles 
 between him and every human being who had a right to 
 speak to him. He had a dreadful feeling like hatred tow- 
 ards Temple. " To be friends with her !" she had said. 
 
 Mrs. Dalvecker stood in the ploughed field with her sun- 
 bonnet tipped back, watching her boy. 
 
 As she watched she mechanically pulled from somewhere 
 in her dress a small paper bag of snuff, poured a little pile 
 into the dingy palm of her hand, and then tossed the pile 
 into her mouth. She tossed so dexterously that she did not 
 lose a grain, but it was all done mechanically. She wanted 
 consolation, and she applied to her snuff-bag without know- 
 ing that she did so. 
 
 She did not stand long. She turned in the direction of 
 the large barn which was at the top of the field. She walked 
 towards it with those long steps that so often characterized 
 the walk of the mountain women. 
 
 " What's urp ?" asked Chris Jinks, glad of an opportunity 
 to rest on his hoe-handle. 
 
 " Nawthin'," was the answer. " Yo' go on er plantin'." 
 
l82 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 Jinks continued to rest his long length on his tool while 
 he watched Mrs. Dalvecker, who disappeared in the dark 
 cavern of the barn. She very soon reappeared, now mount- 
 ed on a tall roan horse. She cantered off over the field, 
 and was soon out of sight in the way taken by Temple. 
 
 "She lied," said Jinks to himself, taking off his hat and 
 passing his hand over his head. " Sumpin' is urp. Him 
 an' her has fought. Durned ef I wanter hev Link Dalvecker 
 turned against me. He's all right ef he has what he wants. 
 But ef he don't hev hit—" 
 
 Jinks passed his hand over his head again and neglected 
 to finish his sentence. 
 
 The long legs of the roan took him swiftly over the rough 
 way. Mrs. Dalvecker was sitting on a man's saddle, but 
 she maintained her position with a negligent security that 
 was an accomplishment possessed by nearly every woman 
 hereabouts. Her little wad of snuff w^as safely lodged 
 beneath her lower-lip ; her bonnet was pushed back so that 
 the upper part of her yellow forehead and the front of her 
 grizzled hair were visible, but the pasteboard projected so 
 that her mouth and chin were concealed. 
 
 This horsewoman paused and deliberated a moment 
 when she had reached the place where Temple had ap- 
 peared less than an hour ago. 
 
 Then Mrs. Dalvecker turned right into the woods. She 
 calmly put her steed over fallen trees and zigzag fences, 
 and the gaunt animal never flinched. He set his bony 
 face forward in a brave way that was habitual with him. 
 
 In half an hour the rider came out on a path that 
 wound upward towards the west. She stopped her horse 
 and looked down the path. 
 
 " She mought hev gone," she said aloud, " but I reckon 
 she hain't." 
 
 She was right in her reckoning, for it was hardly a mo- 
 ment before a white pony, with a girl on his back, came in 
 sight still farther down the mountain. 
 
 Temple was riding slowly. Thimble going at his little 
 
1 
 
 THE MOTHER S LETTER 183 
 
 amble. The girl had her hat in her hand, and sunlight 
 and shadow were continually flecking her face and figure 
 as she came forward. 
 
 Mrs. Dalvecker cantered towards her, and stopped in 
 front of her. 
 
 " Howdy," she said, with some sharpness. 
 
 Thimble stopped of his own accord, knowing his man- 
 ners, and his mistress responded, 
 
 " Howdy," in some surprise. 
 
 " I curm fur yo'," remarked the woman, peremptorily. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " I curm fur yo' — I 'low you'll go back right now along 
 of me." 
 
 Temple was silent, gazing at Link's mother, who had hith- 
 erto been all smiles to her. 
 
 " No," said the girl, " Tm not going back." 
 
 There was a heat in her face and in her eyes, but she 
 spoke quite calmly. She was asking herself if it were 
 possible that Link had been complaining to his mother. 
 
 " You be," was the response. " Thur's Link — he's er 
 ravin' urp an' down thur crick. He's bound ter do his'ef 
 er damage. An' I'm bound ter stop hit. Hyar's you cur- 
 min' down ter see him ; some gals don't be a cavortin' 
 round arter their fellers in this style. Some gals waits to 
 home fur thur men to curm to see 'um. But you jest run 
 arter my boy, an' then you'll quarril with him, an' he's that 
 mad I shouldn't wonder ef he'd shot his'ef 'fore this. You 
 curm long er me now, right smart. I ain't feared of no up- 
 start gals as runs arter their men. An' he layin' out ter 
 put in er pump !" 
 
 It was as if the memory of the pump was too much for 
 Mrs, Dalvecker. She bent forward, and put a yellow, skin- 
 ny hand on Temple's arm, grasping it tightly. 
 
 The girl's eyes dilated, and a flush deepened on her face 
 and neck. After a moment she said, 
 
 " I wish you wouldn't touch me. I don't like to be 
 touched." 
 
l84 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 She glanced down and saw the nails, with their black 
 rims, on her companion's hands. She shuddered. She 
 was trying to remember that she had religion. Surely this 
 was a time when she ought to make use of such a possession. 
 
 " Don't like ter be touched !" repeated Mrs. Dalvecker. 
 " I don't know's I care. What you ben doin' to my son — 
 my son, who's better 'n you-uns any day.? An' he layin' out 
 fur er pump ! I say, you mought drar water ! An' yo' run- 
 nin' arter him !" 
 
 Mrs. Dalvecker was gradually raising her voice. A nar- 
 row yellow stream was starting from each corner of her 
 mouth and trickling down. 
 
 "You mus'n't touch me," said Temple again. She was 
 aware that a shudder ran over her at the contact of that 
 hand. 
 
 Then all at once a flood of pity and longing came into 
 her soul. What did all this matter ? What did anything 
 in the world matter when we thought of the Lord who had 
 loved us and died for us .? 
 
 He had suffered everything, borne everything for our 
 sakes. And should not she. Temple Crawford, gladly bear 
 such discomfort as this ? 
 
 Mrs. Dalvecker was looking in the girl's face, and she 
 saw the sudden and, to her, mysterious change that came 
 to it. 
 
 In her surprise she released the arm, staring as she 
 did so. 
 
 It was Temple who now bent forward and touched the 
 woman's shoulder, her fresh young eyes seeking the faded 
 and sunken ones, with a look in them that stirred and 
 strangely moved Mrs. Dalvecker. 
 
 She had been like an animal rushing out to protect its 
 young. Link was suffering. This girl had made him suf- 
 fer. Therefore, she sought this girl that she might make 
 her suffer also, if she would not restore happiness to Link. 
 
 But now, as the eyes of the two met, Mrs. Dalvecker's 
 indignation began to subside, she could not tell why. 
 
THE mother's letter 185 
 
 Temple, in her simplicity, went straight to the thing up- 
 permost in her thoughts. 
 
 " You see," she said, " I found the Lord at the preaching 
 the other night." 
 
 " Did yo' ?" 
 
 Mrs. Dalvecker asked the question gently. She had 
 been to preaching many times in her youth, and once she 
 thought she had " experienced." But it did not last. That 
 was years ago. She had given up going to preaching. She 
 would have said that she laid out to have religion before 
 she died. She wanted to " die rejoicing." 
 
 " I'm trying to be good," said Temple. " Oh, I am cer- 
 tainly trying ! And to live near to good things, you know." 
 
 She removed her hand from the woman's shoulder and 
 leaned it on the \vithers of the tall roan, bending forward 
 from her saddle as she did so, her whole force seeming 
 to pour forth the light of aspiration and intense belief. 
 
 " Perhaps you could help me," she said, her voice thrill- 
 ing along the nerves of her listener, and taking the woman 
 back to those young days when life was full of sensation. 
 
 "Help yo'?"said Mrs. Dalvecker. "I can't— I can't. 
 I never gurt no religion as stayed by me — none. Mebbe 
 thur preachers wa'n't thur right kind. Mebbe my heart 
 war like thur nether millstone. 'Tis now, I reckon." 
 
 " No ; oh no ! You have such a kind heart, dear friend. 
 Only it's the natural heart. We must get rid of that, you 
 know, mustn't we? I want you to do something for me 
 to-night. Will you ? Will you .?" 
 
 Impossible to describe the power of moving and win- 
 ning that there was in Temple's voice and eyes. There 
 was an overflow of sincerest well-wishing, a kind of love 
 going out from her. 
 
 "Ter-night?" asked the woman. "Thur ain't nawthin' I 
 kin do ter-night." 
 
 " Oh yes, there is. Will you remember ? This evening, 
 when the sun gets to the top of the Twin Brothers, will you 
 pray for your soul just as you did when you were young ^ 
 
l86 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 And I shall pray for you, too, at that very time. And God 
 will hear us. I know He will. He has promised. And 
 He isn't hke us; He never forgets a promise." 
 
 Mrs. Dalvecker's gaze was on the illuminated face so 
 near her. She hardly recognized herself. She had been 
 dull for so many years, save where her son was concerned. 
 Now a chill went down her spine, while at the same time a 
 warmth came to her heart. 
 
 " I reckon I'll promise," she said, no longer using her 
 loud, strident tones. 
 
 " I knew you would," said Temple, ardently, *' I knew 
 you would. We shall have a blessing — we surely shall. 
 Good-bve." 
 
 Temple sat up straight. The pony started forward, and 
 had gone a few rods when the woman roused herself and 
 called after the girl. 
 
 *' Thur's Link, yo' know !" she shouted. 
 
 Temple turned. 
 
 " He'll explain it all," she answered. " Do make him 
 know that I must do my own work. The Lord has called 
 me." 
 
 She shook the lines on Thimble's neck. But she turned 
 once more to see the woman motionless on the tall roan. 
 
 When Mrs. Dalvecker reached home she was still dazed. 
 There was Chris Jinks, leaning on his hoe as if he had not 
 moved during her absence. She rode into the barn, got off 
 her horse, and pulled saddle and bridle from him. Then 
 she sat down quickly on an upturned half-bushel measure ; 
 she covered her face with her hands. It had been years 
 since any tears had come to her eyes, but now they came 
 and overflowed. Inextricably mixed in her mind were the 
 face and the tones of the young girl she had just left, 
 and the thoughts of religion and God and heaven, and 
 a vague, strong longing to be something more than what 
 she was, and different from what she was — the same long- 
 ings that had been in her heart in her youth, and which in 
 later years she had supposed belonged only to youth. 
 
THE MOTHERS LETTER 187 
 
 All her anger against Temple was gone. She could not 
 be angry with her, she did not know wh}^ 
 
 Temple rode directly home. But she could not rest. She 
 wanted to be at work for God all the time. 
 
 When Bartholomew came slouching forward to take the 
 pony, she asked him if he had been to preaching. He 
 said, " Naw'm ; reckoned he didn't care for hit." 
 
 The girl stood watching the youth as he unsaddled 
 Thimble and then took a bunch of hay to rub off the animal. 
 He rubbed slowly, up and down, making a kind of hissing 
 noise as he did so. 
 
 " Bart," said the girl, softly. Bart turned his heavy face, 
 hardly raising his sullen eyes as he did so. 
 
 But Temple did not shrink. She felt as if an inexhaus- 
 tible fountain of love was in her heart — love that could take 
 in this inert, vicious mass before her. 
 
 " Vv'ell, 'um," said the boy at last. 
 
 Temple came nearer. 
 
 " Tm afraid I haven't always kept my temper towards 
 you as I ought,'' she said. 
 
 She was telling herself that she certainly did feel loving- 
 ly towards even Bart ; and if she could feel lovingly tow- 
 ards him, it must be that she really had religion. 
 
 No response to her remark. 
 
 " And I want you to forgive me," she said. 
 
 No response, save a slight grunt. The boy took a fresh 
 bunch of hay and rubbed the pony's flank. 
 
 " You must forgive me," insisted Temple. " Can't you ?" 
 
 " Yes, 'um. I kin forgive yo' well enough. I don't care 
 how yo' treat me. 'Tain't nawthin' to me." 
 
 The girl was silent. She was wondering if there were 
 any way to reach Bart. As she stood, there was a slight 
 noise at the door of the shed ; then a little whine. She 
 looked around. The Newfoundland was in the doorway. 
 He was standing on three legs ; his left front paw was 
 dangling helplessly. A streak of damp red went down the 
 white hair of his chest. 
 
l88 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 Temple cried out. Her face grew crimson and then 
 white. She flung herself on the dog, and clasped him in 
 her arms. She had wondered why he had not followed her 
 to Cain Creek. 
 
 Yucatan winced and whined, but he licked his mistress's 
 cheek and wagged his tail. 
 
 On the floor, with her dog in her arms, Temple lifted a 
 furious face towards Bart, who had dropped his wisps of hay 
 and now leaned against the wall, not looking at anything. 
 
 "You did hit!" cried the girl. "Oh!" — bending her 
 head to Yucatan's neck — " my own dog ! my own true 
 dog !" 
 
 Then, with head up again, and more furiously than be- 
 fore, 
 
 "You did hit! You — you villain! Oh, I shall kill you 
 some day !" 
 
 "Yes, 'um," said the boy. "Thur critter snapped at me. 
 I flung er sharp rock. 'Twas down in thur bresh, thur ! 
 Sally seen me, or I'd er lied 'bout hit." 
 
 Temple rose, gently detaching herself from Yucatan. 
 Her hot eyes gazed searchingly about. There was the 
 handle of a rake, broken from the rake itself. She ran tow- 
 ards it, seized it, swung it furiously, and it came cracking 
 down upon Bart's shoulders. 
 
 Then it dropped from the girFs hand as if it had been a 
 red-hot iron bar. She stood one instant glaring at the 
 boy; then she covered her face with her hands and moaned, 
 self-contempt stinging her intolerably. 
 
 But the boy did not moan. He had shrunk when the 
 blow fell ; he tried to dodge it, but, having taken it, he 
 pressed his lips together in silence. He was very ugly to 
 look at as he stood there. 
 
 After a moment the girl removed her hands. She gazed 
 at her companion and seemed to try to speak. There was 
 a dreadful fight going on in her soul. 
 
 Something was telling her to ask Bart's forgiveness, and 
 something was telling her not to do so. 
 
THE MOTHER S LETTER l8g 
 
 Yucatan crept nearer to her, and put his head on her 
 foot. 
 
 "Bart," said Temple, sharply, "go and tell Sally to 
 come here." 
 
 "Yes, 'um," answered Bart, and he moved towards the 
 door. But he stopped before he left the shed. He stopped 
 to say, in his husky voice, 
 
 " I'm glad I hain't gurt religion, I am." 
 
 Then he went out. 
 
 When the yellow woman reached the shed ten minutes 
 later she found Temple lying on the floor and the dog 
 stretched beside her. The pony was standing near, a long, 
 dry blade from a cornstalk depending from his mouth. 
 
 But Sally did not see Thimble ; she scarcely saw the 
 dog, because of her anxiety about her young mistress. 
 Temple was sobbing heavily and dryly ; she was absolutely 
 gasping with the agony she was suffering. 
 
 Sally knelt down by Temple ; she put her great, mus- 
 cular hand on the hot forehead. 
 
 " Now, don't yer take on so. Miss Temple. Yo' take 
 everything so hard — so dreffle hard. Yo' suffer so, yo' do. 
 Curm now, de dawg '11 be all right. His leg's hurt, dat's 
 'bout all. We'll hev Mis' Ammidown out hyar, an' put it 
 in two sticks. Laws, Miss Temple, we'll fotch him 'round 
 all right. Don't take on so ! Bart am er limb er Satan, 
 . shore !" 
 
 Sally sat down and lifted Temple into her arms. 
 
 "My own dog!" said Temple, brokenly, "my true lurv ! 
 My Yucatan, that's always lurved me best of all ! And, oh, 
 Sall}^, I thought I was a Christian ! And I did want to kill 
 Bart. I struck him. I tell you, Sally," a fierce flash com- 
 ing to her eyes, " I just wish I'd struck him harder !" 
 
 " Bart ain't no 'count," soothingly answered Sally. 
 
 Temple was silent a moment. She was still sobbing. 
 Then she said, 
 
 " Perhaps Bart '11 stop my being a Christian and helping 
 to save souls." 
 
igo AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 "Yo' jes' be reasonable," soothingly, from Sally. "Bart 
 can't. Yo' jes' go right ter Asheville arter Mis' Ammidown 
 ergin. It'll take urp yer mind, won't it, honey ? Yo' jes' 
 
 go." 
 
 Without waiting for any answer, Sally put the saddle again 
 on the pony's back. She bridled him ; then, with her arm 
 thrust through the bridle, she stooped over her mistress, 
 who was now sitting on the floor with her hand on Yuca- 
 tan's head. 
 
 The yellow woman smoothed the girl's hair, picked up 
 her hat, and put it on. 
 
 " We jes' gurt to hev Mis' Ammidown," she said. 
 
 Temple made no response. She rose and got into the 
 saddle. She looked down at the dog, who had risen pite- 
 ously to his three legs, and who was whining to accompany 
 his mistress. 
 
 Temple's lip quivered. 
 
 "You take care of him, Sally," she said. 
 
 It seemed to Mrs. Ammidown and to most of the guests 
 at Battery Park Hotel that it was still rather early in the 
 day when Miss Crawford's pony, with Miss Crawford on 
 his back, came galloping towards the side entrance. 
 
 The girl came towards the side because she saw her 
 friend strolling along a path with a book in her hand. Mrs. 
 Ammidown usually had a book in her hand. 
 
 " There's that Crawford girl," said a lady who was sitting 
 on a bench a few yards away. " I don't know what there 
 is that seems so interesting — " 
 
 " I know," said Mrs. Ammidown, calmly interrupting ; 
 " it's because she is so suggestive, and she makes your 
 blood go as it used to go when you were twenty years old. 
 And anybody who can do that for us — " 
 
 The speaker smiled instead of finishing her sentence. 
 She walked out quickly towards Temple, who was slowly 
 walking her horse. 
 
 This was the first time the girl had come to Asheville 
 without previously changing her shabby short dress and 
 
THE MOTHER S LETTER 
 
 191 
 
 old velvet coat for the one decent, ordinary suit that she 
 owned. 
 
 " It's Yucatan this time," said Temple, without any 
 preliminary salutation. " And Bart did it again. I want 
 you to come quick and fix his leg." 
 
 There were times when Mrs. Ammidown acted with the 
 leisurely appearing promptness of the physician. She did 
 so now. She ordered her horse saddled, and then she took 
 Temple to her own room while she made herself ready. 
 
 "I should advise you to send Bartholomew away," she 
 remarked, as she stood before the glass braiding her hair 
 tightly for the ride. 
 
 " I do ; I have. But he comes back," was the answer. 
 " He hasn't any place to stay. I'm sorry for him, and I 
 keep him." 
 
 The girl would not sit. She was standing with her back 
 against the wall. Her hat was on the floor beside her; her 
 hands were clasped tightly, and hanging in front of her. 
 
 " I think," said Temple, in a low voice that yet was in- 
 tensely piercing — •' I think that he will be the means of 
 my going to hell." 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown turned quickly. The braid slipped 
 from her fingers. 
 
 " Worse than that," went on Temple, in the same tone, 
 "he will stop me from being a good woman and serving 
 God." 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown went to the girl and lifted her clasped 
 hands in her own warm grasp. 
 
 " How can he do that .?" 
 
 She put the question tenderly. She hardly dared to 
 show how much she was moved. Always when she was 
 with Temple she was surprised at the girl's power to move 
 her. 
 
 " Because he makes me hate him ; he makes me want to 
 kill him. I struck him just now. And when I struck him 
 I should have been glad to see him fall down dead. Oh, 
 how wicked I am !" 
 
ig2 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 She did not raise her voice. She fixed her eyes on the 
 face before her, and Mrs. Ammidown felt her own face 
 yielding and trembling. 
 
 But she pulled herself quickly together and smiled. 
 
 " Oh yes ,• we're all wicked. But don't let us dwell on 
 the fact. And let us remember that God takes account of 
 our provocations ; and God knows just the kind of creature 
 Bartholomew is." 
 
 She went back to the mirror. 
 
 " You think He will forgive me .'"'with painful earnestness. 
 
 "I know He will." 
 
 Neither spoke for a few moments. At last Temple asked, 
 timidly, 
 
 " Do you think that Mr. Mercer would still consider that 
 he— that I—" 
 
 Here the speaker paused, and blushed deeply. 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown dropped the brush she held. She gazed 
 silently at her companion, and as she gazed she became 
 more and more convinced that Temple was not now refer- 
 ring to religion. 
 
 " That Mr. Mercer would consider ?" she repeated, inter- 
 rogatively, and with unconscious sternness. She was ask- 
 ing herself if her brother could possibly — 
 
 " I was wondering if he would think I was still worthy to 
 help him in his work," replied Temple now, with no 
 blush and no girlish consciousness. Indeed, she did not 
 understand why she had blushed. 
 
 " To help him .?" 
 
 "Yes ; be his wife, you know, and share his work." 
 
 " What did you say ?" 
 
 There came a gleam into the woman's eyes. 
 
 Temple was now becoming calmer. 
 
 "Yes," she said, "he asked me. I'm to give him my 
 answer in a day or two.'' 
 
 " He asked you ?" 
 
 "Yes. I know I'm inexperienced and — and — but I 
 hope I could learn — " 
 
THE MOTHER'S LETTER I93 
 
 " You are going to say yes, then ?" 
 
 The gleam was still in Mrs. Ammidown's eyes, and there 
 was now an incisiveness coming to her voice in place of the 
 mere surprise. 
 
 " Yes," answered Temple. 
 
 " Did he tell you he loved you .?" 
 
 " Oh no. It's not a question of love." 
 
 " Only of marriage, then ?" 
 
 "You know," said Temple, " that I should have to mar- 
 ry him so that I might go with him and work with him, 
 and—" 
 
 " Will you stop talking like that ?" sharply. 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Ammidown, don't you think I'm right ?" 
 
 " I know you are not right." 
 
 Temple gazed straight before her without speaking. 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown stooped and picked up the hair-brush 
 from the floor. She glanced at the girl, but did not break 
 the silence. She saw the peculiar expression of resolution 
 coming to Temple's mouth, and what seemed a certain 
 squaring of the chin. 
 
 " I am convinced that I'm right," said the girl, " and 
 when I'm convinced of a thing I have to do it. If I were 
 that kind of a girl who thinks of love — " She hesitated, 
 and the other finished the sentence for her. 
 
 " But since you have a cold temperament and cannot 
 love—" 
 
 " Yes, Mrs. Ammidown," advancing quickly towards that 
 lady, " that's just it. Have you read my mother's letter ?" 
 
 " I have read it twice — three times." 
 
 "Well, I'm going to do as my mother counsels." 
 
 That afternoon, when Mrs. Ammidown was back again 
 from her surgical work for Yucatan, she sat down with Mrs. 
 Crawford's letter in her hand for one more perusal before 
 she returned it to its owner. 
 
 This is the letter which this mother had left to influence 
 her daughter. The words were written in slender, unim- 
 pressive characters, strangely at variance with their meaning: 
 13 
 
194 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 " My precious little girl, as you are all I have that is 
 precious, it is for you that I have the strongest desire that 
 is left to me. And I have always had strong desires — 
 strong — deep — burning. That's why I have been so un- 
 happy. I ought only to have cared a little — loved a little, 
 or not any, hoped a little, then I could have been placid 
 and comfortable. Instead, I have been agitated and un- 
 comfortable. I have flung away the comfort of years for 
 the rapture of moments. And the moments have been 
 very few. 
 
 " It is love that brings rapture. It is love that brings 
 misery. Therefore, never love. Mind, I am not saying 
 never marry. If some good, upright man wants you for his 
 wife, I tell you to say yes to him — say yes. Then you will 
 never know happiness, but you will never know misery. 
 And love has days of wretchedness for every second of bliss. 
 And after a little while — oh, such a very little while — there 
 is no happiness at all. He — your possible lover and hus- 
 band — will get tired of you long before you have ceased to 
 think of him with pulses growing fast. You will not be- 
 lieve it now, but he'll make you believe it. Then you will 
 begin to eat your heart. It is not well for a woman to 
 spend her best years eating her heart. That's what I did. 
 And I am going to die of it sooner than you would. You 
 are a great deal stronger than I ever was. 
 
 " Your father was what they call in love with me. When 
 I see how cold his eyes are when they rest upon me now, 
 I think how much better it would have been if he had never 
 had more than a friendship for me, and I for him ; then I 
 should not have had this love to remember and to long for. 
 That is the way it is. The woman remembers and longs ; 
 the man grows tired and wants a new love. Anyway, he 
 doesn't want the old love. 
 
 " And there is that disgusting revulsion that is liable to 
 come when disillusion comes. When the glamour is gone 
 it is not that you see more correctly ; it is that the face you 
 did love is not half as attractive as it really is. At first it 
 
THE mother's letter 195 
 
 was more beautiful than reality, then it is more ugly than 
 reality. 
 
 " I do not suppose that your father is a bad man. All 
 men are like him in this particular. Once he could not 
 live unless I smiled upon him. Now he does not know 
 whether I smile or not. 
 
 " He knew how to make love. No human being ever 
 knew how better than he. 
 
 " I was seventeen when he came down to my father's 
 house. That was in Louisiana, you know. At seventeen 
 a Louisiana girl is as old as a Northern woman of half a 
 dozen more years. 
 
 " He wakened my heart. I hope and pray you will never 
 know what it means to have your heart awakened. Oh, I 
 could tell you in words of fire all he was to me then ! He 
 is sitting here in the room with me now as I write. Some- 
 times he glances at me, and it is as if he looked at a chair or 
 a log. The curse is that I remember what there can be in 
 his eyes. I am only able to write a few lines before I must 
 rest. I cough so, and then I am so tired. But I shall fin- 
 ish this before I die. And you, my little girl, will have my 
 dying words. You know the vision of the dying is very 
 clear. I see into the future, and I tell you to fly from love 
 as from death. You will not read this until you are old 
 enough to understand it. 
 
 " I am not beautiful any more, and if I were I should 
 not now be novel. After all, it is novelty more than beauty 
 or charm that attracts men. There isn't any such thing as 
 constancy, remember that, not in the male heart — 
 
 " It is three weeks since I wrote the last lines. I have 
 just been reading them over. They are not half strong 
 enough. And I thought I could write such words as would 
 be like a hot iron to burn into you that it is misery to love, 
 save coolly, reasonably, and love is never cool or reason- 
 able. But there are no such words, or if there are I am 
 too weak and sick to find them. 
 
196 • AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 " Sometimes when my cousin Rosalind comes up from 
 the other plantation, I see your father go out and take her 
 off her horse, and I catch in his eyes that look which used to 
 be there for me. Not that I care now. He has that way 
 with him, and women like it. I'm almost sure he left some 
 one up North who loved him and believed in him. And 
 then he fell in love with me. 
 
 " Never let a man look at you in that way — never. 
 
 " I wish I could find those words that would mean enough 
 and be strong enough. When I am coughing and lying awake 
 nights I am trying all the time to find those strong words. 
 There must be some such words that would make you re- 
 member. 
 
 " Bear in mind that I am speaking to you from my grave. 
 If you bear that thought with you, you may remember not 
 to love, not to go one step in the way with love. He is a 
 shining angel at first. But turn from him. Perhaps you 
 will have a cold temperament, one of those which know 
 nothing keenly and warmly. Constantly, before you were 
 born, I prayed that you might be cold. And God some- 
 times answers prayer, 
 
 " Now I am so tired that I will wait until to-morrow be- 
 fore I finish this — 
 
 " It is to-morrow, and I am sure it is the last. Dear lit- 
 tle daughter, your cool hands might have helped my hot 
 heart. But no ; the grave is cool. And, after all, I could 
 not find words strong enough to tell you not to love." 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown dropped the sheets in her lap. 
 
 " What a letter to leave !" she said to herself. " How 
 morbid !" 
 
 As she sat there thinking of it and what its effect must 
 be on a girl like Temple, she heard footsteps in the hall, 
 then a knock on her door. 
 
 " May I come in ?" asked her brother. 
 
XII 
 
 " MUTUAL REGARD " 
 
 When Mercer entered his sister's room he did not at 
 first speak. He glanced at the written sheets in Laura's 
 lap ; then he sat down opposite her, his head thrown back 
 against the chair. Though his features were as remotely 
 cold and calm as usual, there was yet on his face something 
 that made it different. There was some extraordinary force 
 working in him. 
 
 This Mrs. Ammidown felt rather than saw. But she was 
 still thinking of Mrs. Crawford's letter. 
 
 " I call it a crime for a dead woman to leave commands 
 on the living." 
 
 She spoke with a bitter emphasis. She folded the letter. 
 When she had spoken she looked again at her brother, and 
 perceived that he had not noticed in the least what she 
 had said. After a moment she asked, " Well, what is it now ?" 
 
 There was not very much sympathy in her voice. She 
 was thinking of what Temple had told her. 
 
 Mercer leaned forward towards his sister. She noticed 
 that his hands were not quite steady. She remembered 
 him from his boyhood, and she knew that his ordinary ap- 
 pearance was not indicative of his temperament; that it 
 was only a veneering he had built about himself — and an 
 excellent veneering it was. 
 
 "You heard that girl pray.?" he inquired. 
 
 This was so entirely unexpected that Mrs. Ammidown 
 could not at first reply. But she rallied and made the 
 satirical remark that she supposed that Temple was what 
 is called "gifted in prayer." 
 
igS AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 " Gifted ? Yes, God has given her this wonderful power 
 that she midit use it for Him. She would melt the hard- 
 est heart." 
 
 " Has she melted your heart ?" Mercer did not reply. 
 
 He left his seat suddenly. He walked the length of the 
 room, and when he came back he paused just behind his 
 sister so that she could not see him. 
 
 " Laura," he said, " don't jeer at me." 
 
 There was that in his voice that made the woman turn 
 quickly. She stretched out her hand and seized his ; his 
 cold fingers closed tightly over hers. She pulled him down 
 to the footstool close to her. She was five years older than 
 he, and was liable at any moment to return in her attitude of 
 mind to that time when, as an older sister, she had been 
 his tender friend and confidante. At thirty even an iron- 
 willed man has moments when he is not quite all iron, 
 particularly with a beloved sister. 
 
 " Is it possible ?" 
 
 This exclamation from Mrs. Ammidown could not have 
 reference to anything that had been put into words. 
 
 With a movement of abandon that was infinitely touch- 
 ing in such a man, Mercer put his head down in his sister's 
 lap. 
 
 " But you don't know her." She almost whispered this 
 remark. 
 
 She was stroking his hair. Her eyes had suddenly 
 filled. And there was a faint resentment against Temple 
 in her heart. 
 
 " You are not in the least what is called acquainted with 
 her," she went on. 
 
 " No matter. It is written that I must love her. God 
 has willed it. I'm convinced of that. I can't fight against 
 that. From the moment I saw her, met her glance, heard 
 her speak, felt that strange sweetness of her presence, I 
 knew I could make no fight against this. Everything else 
 I could fight, but not this — oh, not this !" 
 
 Mercer had suddenly gone back to himself as he had 
 
" MUTUAL REGARD " I99 
 
 been as a boy and youth. His nature, his temperament 
 arbitrarily asserted themselves in this great moment, in 
 spite of all the bonds of years. 
 
 He was now gazing into his sister's face. And she, with 
 a curious mingling of fear and admiration, was responding 
 to his gaze. And she was trying to banish that unreason- 
 able emotion of anger towards Temple. 
 
 " And she .?" 
 
 She did not just then dare to say any more, lest he 
 should suspect the existence of this anger. 
 
 " I don't know what she thinks or feels," was the answer. 
 " Only I'm quite sure she does not love me. Why should 
 she ? How could she, and in this little time, too ? There 
 is nothing about me to draw her to me as she draws me to 
 her ; nothing. And I'm afraid to hope — " 
 
 He paused, his words showing the humility of the true 
 lover. 
 
 His blazing eyes, his tremulous mouth, the strange, trans- 
 figuring effulgence on his face made his sister's heart ache 
 more and more. 
 
 Even she had been deceived by the armor he had worn, 
 the repression he had put upon himself in the last half- 
 dozen years. 
 
 The fiery enthusiasm of his nature had found expression 
 in his work, and this was one of the secrets of his mar- 
 vellous success in moving others. 
 
 " You afraid to hope !" 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown made this exclamation with pride. She 
 bent over and kissed her brother's forehead. It seemed to 
 her that she had gone back more than a dozen years — to 
 those days when Richard had let her see what he feared, 
 and longed for, and felt. 
 
 " She ought to be grateful for the love of such a man as 
 you are," she said. 
 
 Mercer smiled a little. 
 
 " I haven't looked at this as a matter for gtatitude on 
 her part," he responded. 
 
?? 
 
 200 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 " Did you tell her about this sudden love ?" 
 
 As Mrs. Ammidown put this question she was thinking 
 of Temple's manner when she had spoken of sharing Mer- 
 cer's work. 
 
 "No. She would have been shocked, repelled, I'm 
 afraid. I tried to be calm and cold, and I asked her to 
 marry me and share my labors. I think I told her how 
 wonderfully she was gifted. Anyway, I meant to tell her 
 that. Mostly my mind was occupied in the effort to seem 
 calm." 
 
 "You are just like a man !" exclaimed Mrs. Ammidown. 
 
 "And why shouldn't I be like a man? What do you 
 mean ?" 
 
 " I mean that you would have a woman marry you 
 whether she loves you or doesn't love you." 
 
 " Yes ; but I would prefer that she should love me.' 
 
 " She isn't likely to be the first to proclaim that love. 
 How utterly blind men are !" 
 
 Mercer looked intently at his sister. His face grew paler 
 as he looked. 
 
 " You think I ought to tell her ?" he asked. " Remem- 
 ber, Laura, I don't know women at all. They are strangers 
 to me ; they seem not to belong to the human race as men 
 do — only these rough mountain women, who are another 
 species. I have always thought I never should love, and 
 it seemed greatly best that I should not." 
 
 " If you know a person loves you, that fact inclines you 
 to love that person. There is nothing new in that asser- 
 tion, and, like other trite things, it is very true." 
 
 " But it is so very soon." 
 
 " Oh, I am not advising you." 
 
 The woman spoke more lightly than she felt. She added, 
 with serious emphasis, 
 
 " Temple Crawford is rather a mystery to me. She 
 actually thinks she has a cold temperament." 
 
 Here the speaker did not restrain a slight laugh. 
 
 " And what do you think ?" 
 
"mutual regard" 201 
 
 " I ? Oh, I know better ; it's not a matter of opinion with 
 me. She is as warm as the tropics, but she has a dasli of 
 something, I know not what, in her. Still, firmly to believe 
 yourself cold may be just as good, or bad, as to be so. 
 There's something in her m2i<e-up which enables her to 
 contemplate marrying a man whom she does not love if 
 her judgment seems to approve. And that makes a puzzle 
 of her, because she seems superlatively sensitive and in- 
 nately refined. Why not approve of the man you love, and 
 not marry the man of whom you simply approve, and whom 
 you don't love.'' She's got a lot of stuff in her head^ but 
 perhaps life will teach her better, only she'll have to suffer 
 first. She has an indefinable and powerful personal charm. 
 Perhaps it's magnetism. Don't think I don't feel it, simply 
 because I'm another woman. That would be too common 
 and too stupid. 
 
 " Her father was an attractive, selfish scamp. He could 
 hardly help making love if a woman were just passable. 
 She doesn't respect him, but perhaps it is natural for her 
 to judge men by him in some ways. And this letter — 
 Richard, I'm going to let you read this letter. You will see 
 what an influence it would have. Perhaps she thinks she 
 has a cold temperament because her mother prayed that 
 she should have it. And the child has come up in the odd- 
 est way — exactly as she pleased." 
 
 Mercer took the letter. He rose, and stood a moment 
 with it in his hand. 
 
 Finally he spoke, his .voice deepening with his resolu- 
 tion, 
 
 " I shall marry her if she'll consent, whether she loves 
 me or not." 
 
 "Oh, Richard, you are blind — blind !" 
 
 Laura gazed up at him as she spoke. She added, 
 
 " I think she will say yes. She wants to be an evan- 
 gelist." 
 
 A flash of light came over the man's face. 
 
 He left the room with Mrs. Crawford's letter in his hand. 
 
202 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown was telling herself that he ought to 
 read it. 
 
 The door opened again directly, and Mercer came back. 
 He laid the letter on a table, saying, 
 
 " I can't read it; she has^^ot asked me to read it." 
 
 " But I am sure she would be willing. And it would ex- 
 plain so much, perhaps. But, then," Mrs. Ammidown hes- 
 itated, " nothing can be explained." 
 
 She moved quickly towards her brother and put an arm 
 over his neck, as she had done when they were children. 
 
 " Dear little Dick," she exclaimed, " can't I make you 
 see what you are doing } I'm sure she doesn't love you. 
 Don't trust your life with her !" 
 
 But Mercer only smiled as he kissed his sister and left 
 the room. 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown sat down as one who gives up. Then 
 she rose and hurried into the corridor. She called her 
 brother back. 
 
 "I've told you, but I want to say it again : tell that girl 
 how 5^ou love her Do you think coldness will win her .? 
 Richard, be reasonable, be human. Let your heart speak. 
 Remember, I know what I am talking about." 
 
 She pushed him away from her and was left alone. 
 
 " Now, if I were like Temple I should pray," she said, 
 aloud. 
 
 But she did not pray. She presently went to the window 
 and threw up the sash. She leaned out, inhaling the fresh, 
 sweet air, and looking off towards the mountains. But just 
 now there were no mountains. As if in a freak, they had 
 veiled themselves in a thick mist. The great peaks were 
 obliterated. 
 
 But as she looked a portion of the cloud lifted, as if it were 
 upheld by some gigantic hand, and the woman saw the top 
 of Busbee and the sort of rift which from this distance hinted 
 at the lower elevations where were the farms among which 
 she had often ridden, and where the Crawford house was. 
 She knew just where the Swanannoa went on beneath its 
 
"mutual regard" 203 
 
 graceful trees and by its high-banked curves. Just for one 
 moment; then the mist was let down again, and there was 
 only a level of cloud to be seen. 
 
 Mercer rode out of Asheville an hour later. He took the 
 road to the junction, but he turned off and went up through 
 the woods to visit a man who had begged him to come and 
 see " his 'oman." She was tied down to her bed with rheu- 
 matism, but she longed to see " thur new preacher " and 
 have him pray with her. 
 
 And Mercer prayed with her, and sat by her bed an hour, 
 telling her of the Lord's love and of the promises of the 
 Gospel. 
 
 He sat there because he made himself do it, although it 
 seemed as if his will could hardly keep his body from fly- 
 ing off towards that log-house which he believed held his 
 destiny. 
 
 A man often has the belief, at one time or another in his 
 life, that some woman has in her hand the very threads of his 
 existence. And generally a man lives to smile at that 
 epoch in his journey through the world, and to be convinced 
 that if it had not been that woman it would have been an- 
 other ; that it was a phase of his life that was ruling him 
 more than that particular feminine individuality. 
 
 Mercer stayed in the mountain hut until the wretched 
 rheumatic seemed comforted. He promised to come again 
 the next day, and he went away, leaving a substantial as well 
 as a spiritual token of his presence. 
 
 The husband walked along by his horse, thanking him 
 fervently in the midst of his complaints about the hard luck 
 it was to have his 'oman sick and planting time going on ; 
 and he didn't know how he should make "er crap noways, 
 on'y young Dalvecker wor comin' over ter give him a lift." 
 
 " Link reckons as how he's gurt thur luck in his 'oman," 
 said the man, grinning and showing his yellow teeth. 
 
 "I thought Dalvecker wasn't married," remarked Mercer, 
 trying to be interested. 
 
 " Oh, he hain't yit ] but he an' Miss Temple's gwine to 
 
204 
 
 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 make er match. Miss Temple, she's as splendid er gal 's 
 ever I viewed anywhars, but I d' know how she'll be fur 
 craps, an' thur plough, an' sech. She's kind of er wild filly, 
 she is. But she's er picter on that thur pony ; jest to see 
 her er flyin' down by thur branch thur — " 
 
 The man paused as if contemplating the picture in his 
 mind. 
 
 Mercer turned a steady face towards him. 
 
 "That's the gossip, I suppose," he remarked, as if inci- 
 dentally. 
 
 " It's jest straight from Link's mar. I seen her on'y 
 day 'fore yisterdy. She said as 'twas fixed. I hope you'll 
 get hout hyar right soon ergin ter see my ole' oman, Mr. 
 Mercer." 
 
 The preacher promised, and the two separated. 
 
 Mercer's horse was damp from his gallop and he was 
 breathing heavily when he had brought his rider within 
 sight of the Crawford house — and this rider was usually 
 very careful of his horse. But Mercer himself was appar- 
 ently perfectly cool and composed. 
 
 It was Miss Drowdy who met him just in front of the 
 house. 
 
 " I came to see Miss Crawford," said the man, after the 
 greeting was over. 
 
 " She's in there," was the answer, as the speaker glanced 
 towards the open door. " She's takin' care of her dorg. 
 She seems to love dorgs more'n most folks." 
 
 There was an unmistakable air about Miss Drowdy that 
 showed that she would like a little conversation with some 
 one. But Mercer did not stop for conversation. He had 
 dismounted, and he \valked directly to the door and entered, 
 hat in hand. 
 
 There were only two in the room, the girl and the dog, and 
 they were both on the floor. 
 
 Yucatan's shaggy white head was lying on Temple's lap. 
 His leg, closely bandaged, stuck out straight ; he was rolling 
 his eyes up at his mistress and then at this intruder. He 
 
"mutual regard" 205 
 
 immediately began to tliump his tail on the floor, and he tried 
 to rise, but he was held down by the girl's arm. 
 
 Temple had a Testament and Psalms in her hand. 
 
 " I'm keeping Yucatan from hurting his leg," she said ; 
 " you know he's got to be kept from hurting his leg now 
 until it is well again." 
 
 Mercer said yes, he supposed so, and he stood looking 
 down at the girl. 
 
 " I've just been told that you are going to marry young 
 Dalvecker," he said, without any preliminary. " In that 
 case, of course, you cannot consider my proposition." 
 
 His voice was so very calm, as if he were speaking of the 
 sale of some land, that Temple did not blush or look con- 
 fused as she answered, concisely, 
 
 " No, I am not going to marry Link, and I have told him 
 so." 
 
 It was in this moment of relief that something peculiar 
 came into the preacher's eyes. He still fought, however, 
 for that self-control which he meant always to maintain. 
 The only outlet to the warmth and intensity of his nature 
 was the outlet he allowed it when he was conducting relig- 
 ious meetings. It was for the work of God that he must 
 use the strength and the vitality that God had given him. 
 
 " You did not break a promise to him V he asked, not 
 knowing how stern his voice sounded, anxious only that it 
 should not weaken in a tremor of gratitude and joy. It 
 was in vain that he tried to call that joy senseless. 
 
 Temple was looking up at him like a child who is being 
 catechised. 
 
 " Oh no," she answered ; " I would not promise. I said 
 I would think about it, and I have thought, and I've seen 
 him ; he knows how I've made up my mind." 
 
 Mercer walked forward and deposited his hat on the table 
 with great care. Then he put his hands behind him and 
 clasped them tightly as he gazed down at the girl. 
 
 Her face was still upturned towards him, and so it hap- 
 pened that he gazed directly into her eyes. 
 
206 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 The gaze lasted but an instant. The man's hands grew 
 cold and his eyes burned; his temples beat heavily. 
 
 He recalled his sister's counsel. Should he tell this girl 
 that he loved her } 
 
 He had a strong fear that to speak thus would shock and 
 repel her. If he did not know women, he thought that he 
 knew human nature. And he dared not — no, virtually, he 
 dared not mention his love. 
 
 It seemed to him that there was not a hint of any such 
 emotion in the girl's face. Certainly his sister must be 
 wrong j it would be better in this instance to wait. 
 
 He sat down and looked into the fire. As soon as he 
 could bring his voice into proper subjection, he asked, 
 
 " Have you sufficiently considered the proposition I made 
 to you ?" 
 
 Temple's eyes were fixed on her dog as she answered, 
 
 "I think I have." 
 
 "And will you be my wife and share in my work?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Mercer drew a long breath. He straightened himself in 
 his chair. He tried to speak, but his lips were dry. He 
 tried again, and said, 
 
 " It seems to me you are greatly, wonderfully gifted. I 
 believe our marriage will be blessed. I believe that together 
 we can do a great work." 
 
 " I hope so," responded Temple, in a low voice. Then 
 she said that she felt that a marriage where there was mutual 
 respect and regard — here she hesitated, and finally contin- 
 ued, " I suppose this respect is mutual — as I was saying, only 
 such a marriage seems fitting for reflecting human beings. 
 Feeling counts for nothing in the long-run. We have minds 
 and judgment to use." 
 
 She spoke with great deliberation, and paused often in the 
 selection of her words. She had not long ago begun to try 
 to discard the terms she had been in the habit of employing, 
 and if she took a great deal of time she was more likely to 
 succeed in this attempt. 
 
"mutual regard" 207 
 
 As Mercer heard her he inwardly thanked Heaven that 
 he had been wise, and had refrained from speaking of love. 
 And still there sounded in his ears his sister's exclamation, 
 
 "You are blind— blind !" 
 
 But his sister was emotional, and her judgment could not 
 be as good as his. Besides, she was prejudiced in his favor. 
 She could not judge. 
 
 " That being the case," he said, " it seems to me that it is 
 not necessary that we should delay. Do you agree with 
 me.?" 
 
 Temple smoothed Yucatan's head. She was gazing down 
 at the dog, and suddenly, and it seemed to her unaccount- 
 ably, tears filled her eyes and blinded her. 
 
 " I don't know as I have any sensible reason for delay," 
 she answered, in a moment. " Perhaps you'll think it's fool- 
 ish, Mr. Mercer" — here she lifted her eyelids for an instant, 
 and her companion saw the drops on the thick lashes. And 
 still he combated his inclination, and held himself quietly 
 in his chair, his pulses beating in his throat and in his eyes, 
 while some irresistible wave seemed rising, rising within 
 him. 
 
 But he held it a mark of superiority to be able to gov- 
 ern a natural impulse, even though the impulse were entirely 
 innocent. And had not Temple just talked of judgment 
 and reason ? She would shrink from anything else. 
 
 She had paused, but now she began again. She repeated 
 her last words. 
 
 " Perhaps you'll think it's foolish, Mr. Mercer, but I 
 couldn't think of — of leaving here until Yucatan's leg was 
 nearly well. And — and — oh, I don't see how I could ever 
 part from him, or from Thimble !" 
 
 She caught her breath sharply. 
 
 Mercer glanced at her, and then looked away immediately 
 as he answered, 
 
 "You need not part from them ; surely not." 
 
 " Oh, that is so good of you ! You see, I didn't know what 
 your plans might be, and I would not do anything to hinder 
 
2o8 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 your work. I would not put a straw in your way. I want 
 to help you all I can." 
 
 She was so guileless, so humble, so utterly sincere that it 
 grew harder and harder for her lover to keep up the proper 
 self-restraint. There was one thought, however, which helped 
 him greatly. That was the conviction that it was not to 
 himself that she deferred, but to his work. 
 
 As he sat there his attitude partook of his mental effort ; 
 it stiffened with more and more rigidity. 
 
 He did not know what else to say. He did not feel that 
 he could now ask Temple to set the time of their marriage. 
 
 As he looked at her it came to him forcibly how little he 
 knew her. Indeed, how could he know her at all ? But a 
 few days before he had not been aware of her existence. 
 Like all genuine lovers, however, he believed in that mys- 
 terious intuition in regard to the beloved. 
 
 But what if, in his real ignorance, he should wound her 
 in any way ? 
 
 He would study her ; he would watch her as love may 
 watch. And some day in the future there might come a 
 time when he would tell her something of what was in his 
 heart now. All of it could never be told. 
 
 Under the sweetness of this thought he found it impos- 
 sible to sit quietly. He rose and walked to the door. He 
 vaguely saw Sally coming up towards the house with a 
 large basket of something poised on her head. He watched 
 her as if she had been an inanimate object. 
 
 "Fo' Gawd's sake, what's happened to de preacher?" 
 Sally said to Almina, whom she met wandering rather aim- 
 lessly about, looking at the scenery. 
 
 She was constantly in an exalted state as to nerves and 
 spirit. " It was the air, she supposed. It really seemed as 
 if she could be taken up for intoxication just breathin' this 
 air ; but since she was here she guessed she'd got to 
 breathe this air or nothing." Therefore she continued to 
 breathe it. 
 
 " The preacher ?" she repeated, in an indefinite manner ; 
 
"mutual regard 209 
 
 "oh, I d' know. He seems to be made of cast-iron, except 
 when he's preachin', 'n' then he's fire 'n' flame 'n' — 'n' 
 blazes. I 'ain't no idea what to make of him. Is he here 
 still ?" 
 
 Almina had already fallen into the habit of talking in- 
 timately with the yellow woman. 
 
 Sally did not nod her head because she could not, but 
 she said yes with her eyelids. Then she remarked that 
 she "jes' seen de preacher standin' like er stone figger in 
 de do'way." 
 
 Having said this, Sally went into her own cabin. 
 
 Miss Drowdy continued to walk about and to talk to her- 
 self. She was remarking that she had never in her life 
 before been where there wasn't a thing for her to do. 
 There wasn't even a mantel-shelf to dust. Since the Lord 
 had let her come, she s'posed she must have come for 
 some good purpose. 
 
 Then she fell to thinking of the letter which had made 
 her leave her home. Roger ought to have known what 
 kind of a person his daughter was. She didn't need any 
 one. She — 
 
 Here her thoughts were interrupted by hearing Temple's 
 voice calling her name. 
 
 Almina hurried towards the house. She saw Mr. Mercer 
 riding away. 
 
 Temple was standing in the middle of the room. She 
 had her hands put together tightly, and her eyes were very 
 bright. When Almina entered she took a quick step for- 
 ward, and, to that woman's unspeakable surprise, she flung 
 an arm over her neck as she exclaimed, 
 
 " Oh, I'm so glad you're here ! I must speak to some- 
 body. And Sally isn't the one now." 
 
 Miss Drowdy felt as if this were a kind of answer from 
 Providence to her thoughts. 
 
 She put her arms tenderly about the girl as she asked, 
 
 " What is it ? I hope there ain't anything troublin' 
 you." 
 14 
 
2IO AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 But Temple did not reply. She sobbed a little with her 
 head on her companion's shoulder. Almina waited for her 
 to speak. She did not like to question her any more. 
 
 After what seemed a long time the girl spoke, without 
 lifting her head. 
 
 " I reckon I love the mountains too well. I reckon I've 
 got 'em in my heart." 
 
 Here a shuddering sigh, but no more sobs. 
 
 The woman patted the girl's shoulder gently. 
 
 " Keep 'em in your heart, then," she said, " and you 'ain't 
 got to part with um." 
 
 " Oh, you don't know ! But I sh'll take Thimble an' 
 Yucatan. I kin do that." 
 
 " Mercy sake ! Where you goin', anyway ?" 
 
 Temple raised her head. Her eyes were inflamed, but 
 they were dry ; her face was pale. 
 
 " Not anywhere at present," she answered. " Mr. Mer- 
 cer said his work would be among these mountains for 
 many months, and then among the States about here." 
 
 " Mr. Mercer ?" 
 
 " Yes , and it's among such people that I can work, you 
 see." The speaker's eyes began to flash. 
 
 " Are you going to marry him ?" 
 
 " Yes, in a few weeks. He thinks it will be losing time 
 to wait, and I think so, too." 
 
 " But you don't know each other," said Miss Drowdy. 
 
 " Our work is the same ; that's the main thing," was the 
 answer. " And, as Mr. Mercer says, we shall be united in 
 that. Sometimes I can't wait to begin. I shall do what I 
 can all the time now." 
 
 Miss Drowdy walked across the room and sat down. 
 She said afterwards that under the circumstances she 
 didn't think it was strange that she hadn't the strength 
 to stand up. 
 
 " So it's all settled?" she asked, after a moment. "And 
 you haven't any doubts ?" 
 
 "Why should I have?" in surprise. 
 
"mutual regard" 211 
 
 "Oh, I — I — oh, of course I don't know anything about 
 it. I think Mr. Mercer is a real good man." 
 
 Having said this, Almina gazed in uncontrollable interest 
 and wonder at the girl before her. 
 
 At last she remarked, 
 
 " I should like to ask you one question. Temple." 
 
 "Well, what is it?" 
 
 " I s'pose you 'ain't never thought you was in love with 
 any one, have you .'"' 
 
 "Oh no; no, indeed." 
 
 " I was sure you hadn't." 
 
 " Of course not. I'm not that kind of a girl." 
 
 " I declare there's one thing I must say," exclaimed Al- 
 mina, with a great deal of emphasis, " and that is that you 
 look exactly like that kind of a girl !" 
 
 Temple laughed slightly. The woman who heard this 
 laugh could not imagine why there seemed something pa- 
 thetic in it. But perhaps the pathos was in her own heart. 
 
 Mercer, riding down towards the State road, found it dif- 
 ficult to think coherently. And he was one of those who 
 wished always to be able to order his thoughts as a com- 
 mander orders his troops to defile before him. 
 
 The man was exultant ; and yet his judgment told him 
 that he had not sufficient cause for that exultation. He 
 was man-like enough to think that he would be able to win 
 Temple's love ; and, as his wife, all other men would be de- 
 barred from trying to win her. 
 
 Cantering around a curve, Mercer came suddenly upon 
 another horseman who was coming at much greater speed. 
 It was Link Dalvecker, and the two men pulled in their 
 horses suddenly and looked at each other. 
 
 It was strange to see a face so fair of skin and beard look 
 so black as did Dalvecker's face as he sat there on his horse 
 gazing at the man opposite him. 
 
 "I made shore I'd meet urp with yo' along hyar," he 
 said, presently. " I couldn't make urp my mind ter shoot 
 yo'. But you've gurt ter fight. So off with yo' !" 
 
212 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 He dismounted and seized Mercer's bridle. 
 
 Mercer was on his feet instantly. Dalvecker leaped at 
 him with that furious movement which makes a human 
 being so terribly like a wild beast. 
 
 This was one of the occasions when the preacher's self- 
 discipline served him well. He only defended himself. 
 Through the next ten minutes he did not make an aggres- 
 sive motion. 
 
 At the end of that time he had Dalvecker by the throat, 
 and was saying to him, 
 
 " Now I'm going to let you go. And you've got to clear 
 out of my sight. I won't fight you. Remember that I mean 
 I won't even defend myself again. If you've got any honor 
 you won't try to strike. You're a fool to fight. I know 
 why you've done it, and I tell you you're a fool. Every 
 woman does as she pleases. All the fighting in the world 
 can't change that. Now I'm going to let you go." 
 
 Dalvecker, released, staggered back. 
 
 He glared an instant ; then he mounted his horse and 
 rode away, Mercer standing and watching him. 
 
 The next week it was rumored on the mountain that Dal- 
 vecker had gone down into South Carolina. Nobody knew 
 exactly why he had gone nor how long he would stay. He 
 had left his mother to " make the craps " as she could. 
 
 Time seemed to gallop to Temple Crawford. 
 
 In the first month of the fall she and the preacher were 
 married. 
 
 They remained at the Crawford home, following their 
 joint labor, and Miss Drowdy did not go back to Hoyt un- 
 til the next spring. 
 
 One of the first things her sister said to Almina on her 
 return was that "it was just like Roger Crawford to have 
 got Alminy down there, and then have things turn out like 
 that." 
 
XIII 
 NOT BUDDHISM 
 
 " They say the dog always comes." 
 
 " Does it ?" 
 
 "Yes; and he sits beside her, and he and she make a 
 lovely group — so they say." 
 
 "Do they?" 
 
 "Yes; I couldn't help hoping that he was an animal of 
 a phlegmatic sort of temperament, you know, so that he 
 wouldn't get to barking and howling when the people begin 
 to shout and pray." 
 
 " I should hope so, too." 
 
 " Altogether, there's something quite different from the 
 common about these evangelists. I meant to hear them 
 the moment they came to Boston." 
 
 " Did you ? But they've had three meetings here before 
 this, I understand." 
 
 " I know it , but, then, I was waiting for you to come." 
 
 As she said this the girl glanced up at her friend, who 
 was a young man with a small, pointed beard, and a little 
 mustache curled up and out at the ends. He was dressed 
 with extreme care. He was standing at the end of a 
 crowded pew in a church in Boston, and when the girl 
 glanced up at him he glanced down at her impressively. 
 His name was Yale Boynton, and he had just come home 
 from a university abroad where he had been supposed to 
 be completing some kind of studies. It was not gener- 
 ally known exactly to what kind of studies Boynton had 
 been giving his attention, and he had not yet been able to 
 decide what profession he would enter. But there was 
 
214 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 always time enough, he thought, for a man under thirty. 
 He did not wish to make a mistake, and his inclinations 
 towards a calling were so different at different times that 
 he was waiting, as he said, for the needle to stop wavering 
 and settle in one direction. 
 
 Meantime, before he had gone to his university, where 
 he only remained a year, he had engaged himself to a 
 Boston young lady of good family. 
 
 He had come home the day before, and Miss Wallis had 
 asked him to take her to this meeting. 
 
 Amy Wallis was a girl with a thin, spiritual face and 
 ardent eyes. She considered Mr. Boynton to be in pos- 
 session of more talent than had ever before belonged to 
 any one man. There were times when Boynton felt that he 
 agreed with her in this estimate. Nevertheless, Boynton's 
 appreciation of himself was not in the least disagreeable, 
 and only tended to give him an ease which usually insured 
 to him the use of all his powers, for nothing was lost 
 through diffidence. 
 
 People continued to pour into the church. The seats 
 were now all taken, and the new-comers ranged themselves, 
 several deep, against the wall. Men began to bring in 
 camp - chairs from some adjoining room, and at last the 
 folding-doors of this room were thrown open and the crowd 
 gradually flowed in there, keeping itself well towards the 
 main auditorium. 
 
 Boynton maintained his place in the aisle next to the 
 wall, and close to Miss Wallis. They were not many yards 
 from the pulpit, where the leader^ were to place themselves. 
 There was a table and several chairs on this platform, 
 where the pulpit was, but no organ, as was usually the case 
 in meetings of this kind. 
 
 " I'm so glad you could come with me," now said Miss 
 Wallis, looking up at her escort, " because I want to know 
 what you think of this kind of thing. Several of my 
 friends have been, and they say it's really wonderful. But 
 I want to know what you think " — here their eyes met for an 
 
NOT BUDDHISM 215 
 
 instant, and the speaker blushed slightly. "There really 
 must be something in it, you know." She went on, " And 
 who knows but that it may be religion. Religion is so 
 mysterious." 
 
 " It may be great personal magnetism," remarked Boyn- 
 ton, and Miss Wallis had a feeling that her betrothed could 
 even explain magnetism if he cared to do so. 
 
 " That's what I told Lily Baintry," she answered, quick- 
 ly — "that it must be that. But to have such a power 
 over people, here in Boston, you know ! If it were some- 
 where in the South, or where the audience was more emo- 
 tional—" 
 
 " And Boston isn't emotional, then ?" interrupted Boyn- 
 ton, with another smile. 
 
 He was not much interested in these evangelists, but he 
 was greatly interested to be anywhere with Miss Wallis. 
 
 " Well, you know, Boston, I suppose, is just a trifle more 
 given to analysis and questioning than — than some other 
 places, don't you think ?" modestly 
 
 " Oh, I dare say it is. Anyway, it wishes the world to 
 think so, which amounts to much the same thing," was the 
 reply. 
 
 The young man looked at his watch. " How the crowd 
 comes in ! If these evangelists, if that's what they call 
 themselves, only charged an admission fee, they would be 
 in good paying business." 
 
 "But they say," responded Miss Wallis, eagerly, "that 
 they never take a penny more than just for bare expenses. 
 They have enough to live on, and they refuse to be paid. 
 That makes me respect them. The Gospel ought to be 
 free. I never believed in having to pay money for your 
 pew in church. It isn't right. Do you think it's right, 
 Yale ?" 
 
 It seemed quite necessary for Miss Wallis to know what 
 Mr. Boynton thought upon all subjects that came up. He 
 gave her his ideas upon this topic fervently and agreeably, 
 thinking all the time that the man must be an idiot who 
 
2i6 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 could not be in some degree eloquent with such eyes gaz- 
 ing up at him. 
 
 " There's another queer thing about these people," Miss 
 Wallis said, after a moment's watching of the men and 
 women who were coming in ; " they don't have an organ. 
 The woman plays a violin sometimes when she sings." 
 
 " Does she ?" 
 
 Some slight change came over Boynton's face, but Miss 
 Wallis was looking at the door and did not notice it. 
 
 "Just think!" she exclaimed, with a little laugh; "a 
 fiddle and a dog ! Isn't it odd ?" 
 
 "Very," said Boynton. "But you haven't told me their 
 name yet." 
 
 In truth he had not been sufficiently interested to think 
 whether they had a name or not. 
 
 The girl did not answer his remark. She exclaimed, 
 
 " There they are ! That must be they !" 
 
 Boynton, standing, could see the man and woman very 
 plainly as they entered. 
 
 "The name is Mercer," he said to himself. And he 
 tried not to let his face show the startled interest that was 
 in his heart. 
 
 He had been called away from Asheville on the very 
 day following that last visit of Temple's to his boat ; and 
 his life had been full of other thoughts and had been 
 passed a great way from that North Carolina city. And 
 nearly three years had passed since then. 
 
 Mercer came in first. Although Boynton had heard of 
 him and his work among the inhabitants of the mountains 
 near Asheville, he had never seen him before, and he was 
 surprised at the keenness with which he scanned the erect, 
 agile figure, the thin, pale, ascetic face, with its deep, power- 
 ful eyes. He was conscious of a slight shrinking, as if he 
 dreaded to look at the woman following Mercer. But he 
 did look, and he was surprised that he should still be 
 moved in any degree by the memory of that foolish time 
 when he had gone almost every day up the French Broad 
 
NOT BUDDHISM 217 
 
 in his boat, and when Temple Crawford had joined him. 
 It was true that during that time he had thought of nothing 
 else. But life had opened so since ! So many other things 
 had happened ! 
 
 There was Temple again. She did not look any older, 
 Boynton thought at first. She looked just the same, he fan- 
 cied, and that was, as it had always been, entirely different 
 from any one else. And her presence was never like the 
 presence of any one else. 
 
 Boynton made a slight movement of impatience with him- 
 self. He knew that Miss Wallace glanced at him, but he 
 continued to look at Temple. 
 
 She carried a green baize bag in her hand. Behind her 
 walked an immense white Newfoundland dog. This dog 
 had one black ear. He went up on the platform with Tem- 
 ple, and sat down so close to her that he leaned against 
 her. 
 
 His mistress put her hand on the dog's head, but she did 
 not appear to notice him as she did so. 
 
 Mercer came forward immediately to the pulpit. He 
 stood an instant glancing over the congregation. Then he 
 said, 
 
 " Let us all unite for a moment in silent prayer." 
 
 Nearly all the people bowed their heads, but Boynton did 
 not. He continued to look at the group on the platform. 
 He thought it was curious that the sight even of the dog 
 should affect him perceptibly. 
 
 While the people were apparently praying, and he was 
 gazing straight in front of him, for an instant he ceased to 
 see what was before him, but only saw a broad river, with 
 mountain peaks in every direction ; a boat, and in the boat 
 an eager youth, with expectant eyes fixed on the rhododen- 
 dron shrubs through which a girl was sure to come. There 
 even flashed through his mind the fact that on that last day 
 there had been pates and lager. 
 
 Yes, it was the same woman who was sitting there now, 
 with her head bent to her hand. But Temple's hair was no 
 
2i8 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 longer short, save about her face, where it was thick and 
 fluffy, as it had been ; but it was coiled up at the back, and 
 took from her head that particularly youthful and what 
 Boynton just now called "the North Carolina look." 
 
 Even this self-satisfied young man could not please him- 
 self by thinking that Temple had ever been in love with him ; 
 and he was obliged to own mentally that he had very much 
 wished that this had been the case. 
 
 He continued staring intently at the top of her head as it 
 rested on her hand. He remembered the prayer she had 
 made that day in the boat. He was quite sure he should 
 always remember that and its effect upon him. 
 
 She had been very much in earnest at the time. And she 
 had married the preacher ! 
 
 Here the preacher opened his eyes and raised his head. 
 There was a slight rustle of expectation, and people glanced 
 at each other. Mercer read in a very quiet way the whole 
 of the " Sermon on the Mount." But though he was quiet, 
 he was impressive, and he did not try to improve what he 
 was reading by any comments of his own. 
 
 Amy Wallis, listening, was saying to herself that, beauti- 
 ful as she had thought that chapter from the New Testament 
 to be, she had never before known how beautiful it was, nor 
 how strongly it bore upon daily life. 
 
 Boynton was thinking, " He's too clever to try the shout- 
 ing business here, I imagine. Boston is a different sort of a 
 place." 
 
 Meanwhile, behind the speaker's tall figure the woman 
 and the dog sat quietly, both of them looking calmly about 
 over the people. It seemed to Boynton now that Temple's 
 face appeared to be somewhat older, because it was so calm. 
 There was some change in it, he thought, as he contemplated 
 it uninterruptedly. But he could not find an adjective quite 
 suitable to apply to that change even in his own mind. 
 
 When Mercer had finished reading he asked if some 
 brother or sister would start a hymn. 
 
 In the slight pause that followed this request Miss Wal- 
 
NOT BUDDHISM 
 
 219 
 
 lis turned towards Boynton, and he bent down to hear 
 her say, 
 
 " You see they are different, don't you ?" 
 
 The young man nodded. It was true that, though the 
 meeting was opened precisely as others would have opened 
 it, yet these people " were different." 
 
 Boynton himself suddenly began to sing — 
 
 "Come, thou fount of every blessing," 
 
 and the crowd joined in lustily, the sound rolling out at the 
 open doors and seeming almost to shake the walls. 
 
 Mercer stood motionless behind the pulpit. He did not 
 sing, because he could not. And Temple was not yet sing- 
 ing either. There was something like an absent expression 
 on her face. 
 
 When the first verse was done there was an instant's hes- 
 itation. Boynton could not think of the lines immediately 
 following, so he began on the last verse — 
 
 "Oh, to grace how great a debtor." 
 
 Temple reached down and took her violin from its bag. 
 She laid it across her lap without trying its strings, and she 
 did not touch it when she began to sing at the line — 
 
 "Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it." 
 
 It was a curious thing that happened then. Almost every 
 one else stopped singing as the new voice commenced, and 
 its volume of melody filled the large room — 
 
 " Prone to leave the God I love ; 
 
 Here's my heart, oh, take and seal it ; 
 
 Seal it for thy courts above." 
 
 Temple had risen immediately, and had come forward to 
 her husband's side. She had clasped her hands lightly about 
 the instrument, and thus held it to her. Her voice, as has 
 
220 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 been said, was a contralto, and it had the sympathetic qual- 
 ity so largely developed that it was as if she sang out of her 
 very heart — as if, indeed, the rich blood of a rich nature 
 were flowing through her tones into the hearts of those who 
 heard her. Boynton told himself that it was a kind of trans- 
 fusion, not of blood, but of spirit. 
 
 Those hearts suddenly leaped with an emotion that took 
 on the guise of religious enthusiasm. 
 
 Some of the sensitive spirits present were fired with an 
 intense longing for a kind of self-abnegation, some giving up 
 that should make the world at once a better place. 
 
 Amy Wallis interlaced her fingers under her mantle and 
 pressed them tightly together. She shivered with what she 
 called a " justified delight." 
 
 She had heard a great many singers, famous singers, who 
 played with notes and tossed them about as a juggler tosses 
 balls — the old trite comparison coming directly to her mind. 
 She was amazed, and a trifle afraid of herself. She glanced 
 up at Boynton, but again he did not notice her, for he was 
 gazing at Temple, who had laid her violin on a chair and 
 who now said, 
 
 " I am going to pray." 
 
 And she began praying ; not kneeling, but standing there 
 with her head back, her magnetic personality already begin- 
 ning to have its effect upon those present. 
 
 It has often, and truly, been said that women are too per- 
 sonal ; that they are not likely to judge broadly or to work 
 broadly. 
 
 But sometimes, for that very reason, their power concen- 
 trates and moves almost miraculously. That arrow which is 
 shot only at the horizon often hits only the horizon, as it 
 goes over the heads of humanity. 
 
 As once before, Boynton had felt that Temple was praying 
 for him, for his individual soul, so now he felt it again ; and 
 he fought against the effect of her prayer. He did not believe 
 in the slightest in *' experiencing religion." 
 
 There was hardly a person present who did not feel in 
 
NOT BUDDHISM 221 
 
 varying degree that the woman standing there was praying 
 for him, for her. 
 
 She was singularly frank ; she alluded to weaknesses and 
 shortcomings, to hopes and fears, and to all with the confi- 
 dence of a child speaking to its father, who will presently 
 greatly comfort it. 
 
 Her fervent nature vitalized the old phrases which are 
 but husks on ordinary lips. 
 
 After the first few sentences Amy Wallis leaned her head 
 forward on the seat in front of her. Tears gathered in her 
 eyes and fell, but she hardly knew it. She was conscious of 
 a deep longing to be a better woman ; to live higher; to 
 help more ; to be far, far truer to her ideals. 
 
 And then there came to her a distinct and well-defined 
 wish to be nearer that woman who was praying, to touch her 
 hand, and partake of her strength and her exaltation. 
 
 Here and there among the people there was a groan, or a 
 sob, or a swiftly uttered ejaculation of entreaty or gratitude. 
 
 Even to Boynton, who, as travelled man of the world, 
 might be supposed to be a judge, even to him these excla- 
 mations did not seem like the usual exclamations in an or- 
 dinary revival meeting. He decided that the difference, the 
 vast difference, was caused by the fact that the two leaders 
 brought not only extraordinary power, but absolute sincerity, 
 to their work. This impress of sincerity made itself felt 
 from the first, and made any thought of charlatanry impos- 
 sible. 
 
 Temple did not pray lengthily. When she ceased, Boyn- 
 ton noted how pale she had grown during her pleading, how 
 spent she seemed. At least he thought he noticed this, but 
 to others she was only white, and perhaps a little fatigued. 
 
 When she sat down, a woman's voice immediately began 
 to sing "Jerusalem the Golden," and the great concourse 
 joined her. But Temple did not sing. She was leaning 
 back in her chair, and the white dog was couched at her 
 feet. 
 
 If any one had thought it an affectation, which might help 
 
222 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 to notoriety, that the dog was permitted to be present, there 
 was probably no one now who thought so. It was thor- 
 oughly evident that there was no affectation in this man and 
 woman. 
 
 Mercer presently began to speak. His sentences were 
 terse and forcible, sometimes cutting, but generally the en- 
 treating note prevailed. 
 
 He said that it was the fashion in these days to call relig- 
 ion a mere matter of emotion — something for the weak- 
 minded man and the hysterical woman. 
 
 Yes, it was for them; for the weak and the unfortunate of 
 every kind, and for the innocent and the guilty. And it 
 was a thing for the emotions and for the reason ; it was 
 something that fed and sustained the natural and innocent 
 in everybody ; but it did more : it opened to us a life for 
 which every one longed, to which every one looked forward. 
 It stimulated, it urged, it soothed, it satisfied. That man 
 was a fool who called religion mere emotion. Mere emotion ! 
 
 Mercer stood perfectly still, save that occasionally he lift- 
 ed his left hand and flung it out with a restrained, forcible 
 gesture. His face showed more and more, as he went on, 
 the fire and force of the spirit within him. 
 
 "And yet," he said, "it is emotion that rules the world. 
 It is love that is conqueror. Because I love you I seek to 
 do you a service, and my love makes that service a delight 
 to me ; and your love, if you have it, makes that same ren- 
 dered service a happiness to you too. Not that emotion 
 which spends itself in sighs and tears and longing, but that 
 which incites to good deeds — the fire which warms the world, 
 which starts the machinery of life and keeps it going. 
 
 " Do you scoff at emotion ? It is life, warmth — the lack 
 of it is death. Life should be feeling and reason — the flame 
 of being and the hand that guides the flame." 
 
 Mercer spoke a few moments in this strain ; then he asked 
 his hearers to see to it that they had the religion that should 
 shape their lives for them, the fire that should melt and 
 mould their hearts. 
 
NOT BUDDHISM 223 
 
 And here he became inexpressibly touching as he appealed 
 to the people before him. 
 
 But when Boynton tried to analyze afterwards, and to find 
 out why the man had such power, he could make no prog- 
 ress at all. He only knew that he did have it. He only 
 knew that he made him long for that new life — long for it, 
 and almost resolve to have it in some way. 
 
 Once the speaker stretched out his hands as he ex- 
 claimed, 
 
 "The new life ! The new life for us who believe in God 
 and Christ and in ourselves ! Will you not have it ? Will 
 you not ?" 
 
 He bent over the table and repeated the words, "Will you 
 not ?" in a cadence so beseeching that a thrill went through 
 the audience. 
 
 Instantly a man arose and began tremulously to tell how 
 he was trying to break away from the love of drink ; how it 
 seemed to him now that he should conquer ; he had never 
 felt this assurance so strongly before ; he asked his friends 
 to pray for him. 
 
 As he sat down some one began to pray. When that 
 prayer ceased the fine, long drawn notes of a violin sounded 
 in the stillness. 
 
 Boynton's pulses were hurrying with excited interest, even 
 though he was telling himself, with an attempt at scorn, 
 that these people were using the same old revival methods 
 really ; that the only difference was that they could manage 
 these methods more skilfully. Would they ask those who 
 wanted to be better, who wanted to love Christ, to come for- 
 ward or rise } He had not known he was so weak as to be 
 moved in this way. Was it merely because it was Temple 
 Crawford there behind the pulpit ? But others were moved 
 also ; were they all weak-minded — all mistaken ? 
 
 A jumble of questions was in Boynton's mind, and a rising 
 emotion was beginning to rule him. 
 
 The violin prelude was ended, and Temple began to sing 
 with her instrument — 
 
224 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 " We may not climb the heavenly steeps 
 To bring the Lord Christ down ; 
 In vain we search the lowest deeps, 
 For Him no depths can drown. 
 
 " But warm, sweet, tender, even yet 
 A present help is He : 
 And faith has yet its Olivet, 
 And love its Galilee." 
 
 The singer and the instrument paused an instant here. 
 Then Temple, who had been sitting, rose with her violin un- 
 der her chin, ^nd moved forward to the front of the platform. 
 She did not seem to see the eager faces turned towards her. 
 She drew her bow over the quivering strings and sang again 
 the words — 
 
 " And faith has yet its Olivet, 
 And love its Galilee." 
 
 And as she sang her voice laid hold on the hearts of her 
 hearers and wrung them with an ecstatic longing. 
 
 She went on, with head uplifted and impassioned eyes 
 that saw — ah, what did they see ? — 
 
 " The healing of the seamless dress 
 Is by our beds of pain ; 
 We touch Him in life's throng and press. 
 And we are whole aa:ain. 
 
 *t5^ 
 
 " Oh, Lord and Master of us all, 
 Whate'er our name or sign. 
 We own Thy sway, we hear Thy call. 
 We test our lives by Thine !" 
 
 The tones rose firm and strong, and it was as if there 
 were a palpitation in them, as of a heart beating through the 
 simplicity of the tune, beating in strenuous sympathy with 
 other hearts. 
 
 Amy Wallis hardly knew whether any one else spoke or 
 prayed after that. She was not even so vividly conscious 
 
NOT BUDDHISM 225 
 
 that Boynton was standing close by her. But she did hear 
 Mercer say after a little that he would like to have those 
 who were interested, and who would like to talk with him, 
 remain after the benediction. 
 
 Boynton stood back against the wall while the people 
 crowded by him. So many, apparently, were going to wait 
 that the audience seemed not to be dismissed. 
 
 At last the young man was able to reach Miss Wallis 
 again. She was standing with her hands resting on the 
 back of the seat in front of her. She was looking at the 
 platform to which men and women were pressing. 
 
 "I must see her," she whispered ; "I must speak to her. 
 I want to touch her hand." 
 
 Boynton's face showed a slight annoyance. He wished 
 now that he had mentioned, the moment the Mercers ar- 
 rived, that he had known Mrs. Mercer before she married. 
 But he had reasoned that Miss Wallis would never know her, 
 and there was no need to give the information. And he 
 himself shrank from meeting her ; he could hardly tell why 
 he felt so strongly that he would better not meet her. And 
 here was Amy taking this notion that she must speak to 
 Temple. 
 
 " You mean Mrs. Mercer ?" he asked, quite coolly. 
 
 "Of course ; there is no one else," was the answer. 
 
 " Very well. I'll sit here and wait. It may require time 
 to effect a meeting, as so many seem to be of your mind. 
 What are you going to say to her.?" 
 
 Boynton was not aware how sarcastic an intonation was 
 in his voice until Miss Wallis gave him an imploring look. 
 
 " I know you think I'm weak," she said, "but I can't help 
 it. And perhaps I'm not weak," courageously, " and the 
 Mercers may be right and we may be wrong. What then ?" 
 
 Boynton smiled indulgently and admiringly as he an- 
 swered, 
 
 "Oh, I'll risk your going far wrong. Amy. Go ahead and 
 shake hands with Mrs. Mercer." 
 
 At this point Boynton suddenly decided that it might pre- 
 
 15 
 
226 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 vent Still greater embarrassment in the future if he added, 
 " But this wonderful woman is not an entire stranger to me, 
 Amy." 
 
 The girl turned quickly towards him. 
 
 "What!" she exclaimed, "you know her.? It's odd you 
 didn't mention it directly." 
 
 Then she was sorry she had spoken the last sentence. 
 
 "We haven't had much opportunity for conversation this 
 evening," he answered, easily. " I used to meet her when I 
 was in Asheville, two or three years ago." 
 
 With a show of unbiassed judgment he continued : " She 
 struck me at the time as being in some way different from 
 the ordinary girl. I thought she might develop into some- 
 thing. But she seemed more like a child then. She rode 
 about in an old velvet coat of her father's, and she had this 
 same dog. She was excessively, unnaturally fond of her 
 dog and her pony. I wonder if she takes her pony about 
 with her as well as her dog." 
 
 The young man spoke with a great appearance of frank- 
 ness. His companion had withdrawn her eyes from him, 
 and she kept them withdrawn, as she said, 
 
 "Perhaps you will go up and renew your acquaintance?" 
 
 " Not now, at any rate. It would strike a wrong note ; 
 and she might not remember ; and I hate to explain in that 
 way." 
 
 " I think she would remember you," said Miss Wallis, 
 quietly. She was thinking that the wrong note had already 
 been struck. Then she quickly put away from her any un- 
 pleasant feeling. What if Yale had known that woman.? 
 He had not then known her. Amy Wallis ; and she was quite 
 ridiculous, anyway. 
 
 By the time she had taken her place in the press beside 
 the leaders, Miss Wallis had stopped thinking of what her 
 lover had just said. She was really a fair-minded girl, and 
 she knew when she was unjust. 
 
 She waited patiently, watching Mrs. Mercer when she 
 could see her, as that lady shook hands with the different 
 
NOT BUDDHISM 227 
 
 people and listened to what they said. It did not seem to 
 Miss Wallis that Mrs. Mercer said very much, but there was 
 so much feeling in her face, so much warmth in her smiles, 
 such a sincerity of well-wishing in her whole aspect, that no 
 one came near her without being comforted in some degree. 
 There were incalculable sweetness and strength in herself; 
 and she gave of herself, gave unstintedly. 
 
 At last Amy drew near. 
 
 " I wanted to shake hands with you," she said ; " I want- 
 ed — " Here the hands of the two women met, and Miss 
 Wallis held the hand closely, with that touch which partakes 
 of the nature of a caress. 
 
 Temple looked into the girl's eyes. What is that myste- 
 rious something which sometimes streams from one pair of 
 eyes to another, and which at once and authoritatively de- 
 clares kinship ? 
 
 A different and more personal smile came to Temple's 
 face. 
 
 "What is it you wanted .''" she asked. "Can I help you? 
 I have been helped so much, and that makes me wish to help 
 others. But you look happy." 
 
 "Yes, I am happy," was the reply. "Still I want to see 
 you to tell you everything, and to have you tell me about re- 
 ligion. Religion is a kind of rite, isn't it? Will you let me 
 see you ? Have you time ? May I come ?" 
 
 Miss Wallis had not known in the least that she was go- 
 ing to ask this, but, as she told Boynton later, the moment 
 she was near Mrs. Mercer she had to ask if she might visit 
 her. 
 
 "Yes, come," was the answer. "We are at No. — Ash- 
 burton Place. Come between two and six in the after- 
 
 noon." 
 
 People were waiting ; Miss Wallis could not linger. An- 
 other hand was extended, and Mrs. Mercer grasped it, nod- 
 ding and smiling good-bye to Amy, who turned away and 
 rejoined Boynton. 
 
 The two walked out into the street. The young man gave 
 
228 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 himself a slight shake, as if to dispel the influence of the 
 last hour. 
 
 " There's something theatrical about it all," he said. 
 
 " I don't think so," was the positive response. " This was 
 genuine !" 
 
 " Perhaps I ought to have said dramatic," he amended. 
 
 " Perhaps you ought," said Miss Wallis ; "but I shouldn't 
 choose that term, even. It was moving, stirring, awakening." 
 
 " But what does it all amount to? The age of revivals, so 
 called, is rather gone by. Reasoning beings don't look to 
 such means now. We are theosophists and Buddhists and 
 Pagans and scientists nowadays. We know what nerves in 
 the body are set vibrating by this influence and that influ- 
 ence, and we have ceased to ascribe anything to the spirit 
 of God working in our souls." 
 
 " Why not say that we don't even know if we have souls ?" 
 said Amy. 
 
 " Precisely. But we know we have nerves in our bodies 
 and gray matter in our skulls ; we know this because the 
 wise men have dissected a lot of us and proved thus much." 
 
 " How grateful we ought to be to the wise men !" ex- 
 claimed Amy. 
 
 She began to walk still faster. She would not own to 
 herself that her lover jarred upon her mood. It was her 
 theory that the man whom you love and whom you intend 
 to marry should never be capable of jarring upon your mood. 
 Not that she blamed him. Of course, it was her own fault 
 — she should not be in such a frame of mind. 
 
 Boynton glanced down at her. They had now turned into 
 one of the walks on the Common, and the young man wished 
 that they need not hurry so. 
 
 "You don't really wish to run, do you?" he asked; "be- 
 cause if you do, I'll try and keep along with you." 
 
 She laughed, and slackened her pace. 
 
 " I was thinking," she remarked. And after that she did 
 not speak for a long time, and apparently kept up her 
 thinkins:. 
 
NOT BUDDHISM 229 
 
 Suddenly she exclaimed, 
 
 " There must be something in it ! And why isn't it just 
 as likely as that all this kind of talk that does not comfort, 
 and that leads nowhere, should have something in it ? You 
 see, you can't prove anything." 
 
 "Exactly," responded Boynton, "so we. can take our 
 choice ; only we must take what seems most reasonable to 
 us." 
 
 " I find I care less and less about Buddha, and reincarna- 
 tion, and such things," said Miss Wallis, who was now walk- 
 ing slowly. " These people must be nearer right than any one 
 else. To love, to serve ; to serve, because one loves. That's 
 the whole, isn't it ? Oh," with a sudden access of fervor, 
 " I should think that man and woman might be the means 
 of converting people ! They made me feel about what we 
 call revivals as I never felt before." 
 
 " That's just it," said Boynton, with the comfortable supe- 
 riority of a young man who has passed a year in a German 
 university, and who is not yet old enough to know how much 
 he does not know, "that's just it: they make you feel. It 
 isn't feeling we want. We are emotional enough already. 
 It's science, logic, that we need." 
 
 The girl did not answer. Again she felt that Yale ought 
 to have been affected differently by that man and woman 
 whom they had just heard. He might differ from them, of 
 course, but there must be a lack in any one who did not per- 
 ceive that there was something true in what had just been 
 said of the grand secret of life and work. 
 
 " Are you really going to call on these Mercers?" 
 
 Boynton put this question after rather a prolonged silence. 
 
 " Certainly. Why, I just told you so," smiling at him. 
 
 " I know it ; but I didn't know but that it was only an im- 
 pulse that would pass off directly. I wonder if you'll take 
 them up." 
 
 " I don't imagine they would let themselves be taken up 
 by me ; and I shouldn't think of trying to do such a thing." 
 
 Miss Wallis spoke gravely. 
 
230 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 Boynton made an effort, and said that he had been an 
 exile for so long that he was afraid he was selfish, and he did 
 not like to think that Amy could be occupied with anything 
 but his own worthless self. Could she pardon him ? 
 
 Then their eyes met for an instant, and the shadow be- 
 tween them departed as suddenly as it had come. 
 
 Nevertheless, on his way to his hotel, a couple of hours 
 later, Boynton began again to think about the Mercers. But 
 he did not think so much of Amy's contemplated visit as of 
 the way Temple had looked and sung and prayed. 
 
 " I wonder if she has been at this kind of thing ever since 
 she married," he said, aloud, as he sat smoking in his room. 
 " And I wonder — " 
 
 Here he paused. Then he flicked the ashes from his 
 cigar and laughed. 
 
 He was thinking of that time when he had taught a girl 
 how to play " The Kerry Dance" on the violin. And some- 
 how the glamour of that time and that presence and the 
 mountains and the river — all was so sweet in his memory that 
 it seemed quite necessary, under the circumstances, to stop 
 remembering. 
 
XIV 
 
 BREAKING DOWN 
 
 Miss Wallis went the very next day to Ashburton Place. 
 She was shown into a room where were three or four women 
 besides their hostess. But as all these women save one 
 were standing, it seemed as if they were going. 
 
 Mrs. Mercer was not talking with them ; she was listen- 
 ing. She smiled at Amy as she entered. 
 
 Amy was telling herself that she ought to have thought 
 that it was likely there would be others here, but the truth 
 was she was unreasonably disappointed in not finding Mrs. 
 Mercer alone. 
 
 She wondered afterwards if she showed this disappoint- 
 ment very plainly, for the lady sitting in a lounging attitude 
 on a couch rose when the others had gone, and drew her 
 wrap about her. 
 
 "Are you going?" asked Temple. 
 
 " Yes, I am," was the answer. " I suppose you have 
 another meeting to-night. I hope you'll take your malt, and 
 not forget the extract of beef; and between whiles I wish 
 you'd drink a raw egg or two. If you won't rest, you must 
 crowd down the nourishment. The whole thing is outra- 
 geous, and I don't care who knows it." 
 
 Here the speaker laughed slightly and glanced at Miss 
 Wallis, who had taken the chair Temple had moved towards 
 her. 
 
 "Why, it's Miss Wallis!" exclaimed the woman. She 
 advanced and held out her hand. 
 
 " Don't you remember Mrs. Ammidown ?" 
 
 The two greeted each other cordially. 
 
232 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 " I thought there was something familiar about you," re- 
 sponded Amy, " but you were before the window and I 
 couldn't see." 
 
 " Since you know my caller, introduce us, Laura," said 
 Temple. 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown complied, and the three chatted a mo- 
 ment. Every time Temple spoke Miss Wallis was conscious 
 of a desire to turn and look at her, not with the superficial 
 attention one often gives, but with a feeling very different. 
 
 Temple's voice was of that kind which penetrates and 
 stirs, even when speaking commonplaces. But Miss Wal- 
 lis, though she tried to describe it afterwards, could find no 
 word for its peculiar timbre. She felt an excitement from 
 merely listening to it — an excitement and an attraction which 
 were made stronger by the fact that Temple's eyes had the 
 same power as her voice. 
 
 It was the indefinable something with which some people 
 are born, which cannot by any possibility be acquired. 
 Sometimes the term " magnetism of presence " is applied, 
 and then the user of that term may think he has defined the 
 thing. But the thing remains just as mysterious as ever. 
 
 Temple undoubtedly did possess personal magnetism, 
 but added to that was an inextinguishable good -will and 
 well-wishing and sympathy which it was impossible for the 
 most stupid not to feel, though they might not be able to 
 analyze it. 
 
 But she looked worn and thin, and older now in this 
 room than Miss Wallis had thought her to be the night be- 
 fore. 
 
 Under the beautiful golden-black eyes were purple marks, 
 but the eyes, as well as the lips, smiled cordially at Amy 
 when the two sat down by themselves after Mrs. Ammi- 
 down had gone. 
 
 " Now I have come I feel wicked," began Miss Wallis 
 directly. " You are tired ; you are seeing people all the 
 time. I ought to have spared you." 
 
 " Then I should have missed a pleasure," said Temple. 
 
BREAKING DOWN 
 
 233 
 
 It was what a conventional society woman might have 
 said, but the tone made it genuine. Miss Wallis could 
 not imagine the woman before her as saying anything she 
 did not mean. She said kind things j therefore, she must 
 feel kindly. 
 
 " I was so interested last night," began Amy. " I wanted 
 to ask you if your religion always satisfies, if it really fills 
 your heart, if — oh, Mrs. Mercer, don't you know that, even 
 in your very happiest moment, there is something? — I mean, 
 isn't there ?" 
 
 Mrs. jMercer did not reply immediately. She sat with her 
 hands loosely clasped in her lap, her eyes lowered. The 
 girl, looking at her, could not but notice what she mentally 
 called a " disciplined appearance " of the whole face. And 
 she noticed, too, how thick the light-hued eyelashes were, 
 how strongly marked and heavy the brows, of a color not 
 much darker than the abundant, pale hair. Miss Wallis 
 could not compare this woman with the mountain girl of 
 three years before ; if she could have done so she would 
 have been startled at the change. And yet the mountain 
 girl was there, and something more : a rich-natured woman, 
 holding in herself seemingly inexhaustible emotional powers. 
 But the girl had possessed all that. What was it, then, that 
 the years had brought ? 
 
 Miss Wallis leaned nearer. 
 
 "Dear Mrs. Mercer," she said, "you don't think me im- 
 pertinent, do you ?" 
 
 Temple raised her eyes. 
 
 "Impertinent?" she exclaimed. "Why should I think 
 so ? Are you not asking the same question that every heart 
 is continually asking of itself, of the world, and of God ?" 
 
 " Then you are like me, like the rest of us," returned 
 Miss Wallis. " You have not found that something which 
 satisfies longing?" 
 
 " No," said Temple, " I have not found it." 
 
 She spoke in a low tone, and she fixed her eyes on her 
 companion, who returned the intent glance. 
 
234 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 "We seem each to be made of two creatures," went on 
 Temple, as if she were talking to herself, " of something 
 finite and something infinite. There are moments when the 
 finite in us may be fed until it is satisfied, and no longer 
 cries out. But the infinite is always hungry — always asking 
 and yearning and longing." 
 
 Temple had put the palms of her hands together in her 
 old way as she bent forward. 
 
 Miss Wallis was thinking that had Mrs. Mercer not 
 been absolutely sincere, she would not, revivalist as she 
 was, have replied exactly in this way. 
 
 Amy hesitated a moment before she said, 
 
 "I thought that Mr. Mercer told us that the religion he 
 preached does satisfy i*" 
 
 " Yes, he believes that. He believes that it is possible 
 for one to be so filled with the very spirit of God that all 
 this undefinable yearning is satisfied — at least, it is no longer 
 a pain." 
 
 The two women sat near each other in silence for a few 
 moments. 
 
 Mrs. Mercer leaned back in her chair. Miss Wallis 
 noted how thin and veined the temples were, how far too 
 delicate the contour of the whole face. 
 
 " You are wearing yourself out," she suddenly said ; " it 
 isn't right. If I had any authority, I should forbid you to 
 work in this way." 
 
 Temple roused herself and smiled. 
 
 " Work is the best thing in the world," she said, with 
 marked emphasis. She went on quickly, " I don't want 
 you to think that I am not sincere in my belief in our relig- 
 ion. I am. I do not tell people it satisfies and always 
 makes happy. Do you think it is happiness that should be 
 our goal ? It is to do right, to be in the right path, that I 
 urge upon people when I do speak." 
 
 " I believe that we have a right to demand happiness, our 
 share of it, in this world," returned Miss Wallis, with con- 
 viction. "It is part of our heritage as human beings. We 
 
BREAKING DOWN 235 
 
 are capable of it, we long for it — yes, it is our heritage, and 
 we are defrauded when we do not get it." 
 
 The girl's face flushed as she spoke. 
 
 " And yet you acknowledge that there is always the some- 
 thing lacking ?" said Temple. 
 
 "Yes," trying to speak more lightly, "but I am heir to 
 happiness all the same ; still I may never come into my 
 inheritance." 
 
 Temple's eyes seemed to be fixed on something invisible. 
 
 " Sometimes," she said at last, " I used to think I was 
 perfectly happy, down there among the mountains, living 
 among them ; knowing when I went to bed at night that 
 they would be there when I waked — always there. But I 
 know, too, that there was always at the very bottom of my 
 heart a dull ache, because I could not really take in all that 
 beauty. I was suffering because of my limitations. I used 
 to long to be able, just for one moment, to absorb that 
 grand loveliness so that I should be saturated with it, and 
 not feel somewhere in me that something, after all, escaped 
 me. I desired that nothing beautiful should escape me. 
 I suppose that is the way with our human nature. And 
 as for happiness — I've thought and thought about it, until 
 at last I have almost decided that it is a mere matter of 
 temperament, of health. It may not be within our grasp. 
 But to be right on all important occasions — that comes with 
 being right each day, upon having the true attitude of mind, 
 upon not struggling. Don't you think we often help one 
 another when we confess our own aims and shortcomings ?" 
 
 Here Temple's eyes dwelt on the girl's face in interro- 
 gation. 
 
 Miss Wallis made a gesture of assent. For some reason 
 she found it impossible to speak at that moment. 
 
 " As for me," went on Temple, in the same quiet, thrilling 
 voice, " I find myself so often struggling not to struggle. 
 We don't give up enough. I want to yield — yield. Some 
 people think that the having religion means that you are 
 constantly resigned, even if you are not all the time happy. 
 
236 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 It doesn't seem so to me. But I have seasons when I do 
 stop trying to yield, and do really lean upon God." 
 
 Miss Wallis could not help thinking that it was Mrs. 
 Mercer, more than herself, who was in a manner making 
 confession. Perhaps the same idea came into Temple's 
 mind, for she ceased speaking, smiled, and put her head 
 back again upon her chair, showing, in spite of herself, un- 
 mistakable signs of great weariness. 
 
 Miss Wallis knew that she ought to go directly, but she 
 did not go. Instead, she exclaimed, 
 
 " You are too generous !" 
 
 Temple raised her eyebrows in surprise and incredulity. 
 
 "Yes," went on the girl, hurriedly; "don't you think I 
 can see how you give of yourself to all these people who 
 ask of you ? Oh, I know very well that I am one of them. 
 But I'm going in a moment. It seems to me that you are 
 an old friend. So let me tell you that you must stop giving 
 us sympathy. You ought to know that the wise and selfish 
 people have decided that we must no longer sympathize 
 wdth others. It's only ' going into the bog with them ;' it 
 hurts us, and does them no good. I'm sure I can't tell 
 what there is about you — you are one of those people who 
 have healing in their very presence. Something lovely and 
 strong emanates from you ; I feel it as I sit here. And I 
 can feel my conscience smiting me, too, for sitting here." 
 
 Miss Wallis rose, and her hostess rose also, making 
 some deprecatory explanation. 
 
 There was a scratching at the door, and, as Temple went 
 to open it, she said, 
 
 " Stay one moment, and let me present a friend of mine 
 to you." 
 
 She swung the door back, and Yucatan walked in and up 
 to Amy, snuffed at her skirts with great gravity, then sat 
 down by his mistress and gazed at the visitor. 
 
 " Here is some one who gives of himself, and who holds 
 nothing back," said Temple, with her hand on the dog's 
 head. 
 
BREAKING DOWN 237 
 
 Miss Wallis stood hesitating. It was as if she wished to 
 say something. But all she said was, 
 
 " Please let me come again. Please don't think of me as 
 a stranger." 
 
 "No, no, indeed," was the cordial reply; "I could not 
 think of you as of so many who come to me — I want them 
 to come, you know, if they fancy I can help them — but it is 
 different, the seeing you." 
 
 " I am so glad of that. And may I bring a friend with 
 me ?" 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " It's — it's the man I expect to marry — " Miss Wallis 
 could not make up her mind to go without saying this, and 
 she could not tell why she wanted to say it. " And he says 
 he used to know you." 
 
 " Yes," said Temple, calmly ; " I saw him in the audience 
 with you last night. Yale Boynton ?" 
 
 "Yes. I had no idea he knew you." 
 
 Temple laughed, and as she did so half a dozen years 
 seemed to be taken from her aspect. 
 
 " It was he who gave me my first violin lessons," she said. 
 " Does he play any of late .'*" 
 
 " I hardly know. He has been abroad for some time." 
 
 " How hungry we were in those days !" went on Temple, 
 " and what good lunches he used to bring from Asheville !" 
 
 She spoke as if her hearer must know these details. 
 
 " It all came back to me when I saw Mr. Boynton last 
 night." 
 
 " Anyway, she never cared for him," thought Amy. " But 
 he must have been blind if he did not care for her — blind !" 
 
 Then she said good-bye, and went her ways. 
 
 All that day and all the next she could not put the 
 thought of Mrs. Mercer from her mind. Even the pres- 
 ence of her lover could not quite banish this remembrance. 
 But she did not mention this subject of her thoughts until 
 Boynton made an apparently careless inquiry, 
 
 "Oh, did you call on Mrs. Mercer.?" 
 
238 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 The tone piqued the girl, and she only said, 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 The young man would not glance at her, and yet he was 
 longing to know what Amy knew, A stinging self-con- 
 sciousness, of which he could not rid himself, made it im- 
 possible for him to ask questions. 
 
 And yet it would be odd if he did not. 
 
 "Well," he said, "were you disillusioned ?" 
 
 " Not in the least." 
 
 " Charming, isn't she ?" he inquired. 
 
 " I shouldn't choose that word. She is more ; she has a 
 strong attraction. She draws and holds one's interest." 
 
 "Ah! It strikes me, Amy, that I don't seem to be able 
 to select terms to please you in these days," he said. 
 
 " It strikes me you wilfully put yourself out of accord 
 with me," she answered. 
 
 She was very cheerful. She could not imagine why there 
 should be a certain something in Boynton's manner. He 
 had no idea that she perceived this something. He could 
 not entirely banish the remembrance of the effect this sud- 
 den seeing of Temple Crawford had had upon him the oth- 
 er night. 
 
 He was quite astonished at himself. 
 
 In the silence which came the lovers were vaguely fol- 
 lowing out disagreeable trains of thought, and feeling quite 
 apart from each other. 
 
 " She remembers you," said Amy. " She noticed you 
 that evening." 
 
 " That was more than I expected," responded Boynton, 
 afraid that he did not sufficiently conceal his interest. 
 
 " She says you first taught her to play the violin," went 
 on Amy. 
 
 "Yes; so I did. The child took to playing wonder- 
 fully." 
 
 " She could hardly have been a child three years ago," 
 said Amy. 
 
 " That's true enough. But a girl in a velvet coat and a 
 
BREAKING DOWN 239 
 
 little faded short skirt and a big felt hat dashing over the 
 country on horseback doesn't have the effect of a grown 
 woman, somehow. She was, in fact, though, twenty three 
 or four, I suppose." 
 
 The girl did not speak directly. 
 
 "You don't seem to approve of me," remarked Boynton. 
 
 Amy looked at him. 
 
 " Your manner is a little peculiar," she said. " It need 
 not be," with a good deal of firmness. " Even if you were 
 in love with Mrs. Mercer before her marriage, I should 
 have nothing to say to that." 
 
 Boynton wished that he could explain that it was the way 
 he was thinking of Mrs. Mercer now that gave any peculi- 
 arity to his manner. But he could not explain that. And 
 he did not say that he had been to the meeting the evening 
 following the night when he had gone with Amy. He had 
 kept carefully behind backs in the crowd, and he was quite 
 sure that Temple had not noticed him. But he had gazed 
 at her and listened to her. The sound of her voice had 
 gone into his soul. 
 
 He could not tell all that to this girl who was now look- 
 ing at him with frank interrogation in her eyes. 
 
 Presently the two began talking upon another subject, 
 for Amy did not seem inclined to give any more particulars 
 about her call upon Mrs. Mercer. 
 
 When Boynton left her he went straight to Ashburton 
 Place. Having reached the house, he paused irresolutely, 
 went back to the corner, returned, rang the bell, and sent in 
 his card to Mrs. Mercer. 
 
 He was admitted instantly. The Newfoundland was the 
 only occupant of the room when he entered, and he rose 
 from before the grate and came solemnly forward, his tail 
 sweeping slowly from side to side. 
 
 " Don't you know me, old fellow ?" exclaimed Boynton, 
 unreasonably glad to meet the dog. " Give me a paw, Yu- 
 catan ?" 
 
 The rush of remembrance and emotion which the young 
 
240 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 man had been battling against for several days seemed for 
 an instant unendurable, when a voice at the door said, 
 
 "Yucatan hasn't forgotten the sandwiches in the boat on 
 the French Broad, Mr. Boynton." 
 
 Temple stood with the drapery of the doorway in her hand, 
 and smiled at her guest. He advanced hurriedly to her. 
 
 " It is delightful to see you again !" he exclaimed, quite 
 taken off his guard by this reference to the past. 
 
 " It is kind of you to think so," she answered. 
 
 "Kind!" he repeated. 
 
 He was still holding the hand she had given him in greet- 
 ing, holding it and looking at her, not at all aware of how 
 much he was revealing in his face. 
 
 He had never been one to think much of self-denial in 
 any way. He had a habit of considering himself as one 
 who was so refined and delicate in his habits and tastes as 
 to be in no special need of self-denial. 
 
 Of course there were gross natures whose impulses need- 
 ed restraint. But he was not one of that kind. He did 
 not go about to do evil, he would have said. 
 
 Temple withdrew her hand and sat down, as one sits 
 who is too weary to stand. 
 
 Boynton placed himself opposite her, his eyes still upon 
 her face. 
 
 " Really," he began, with a long breath, " I did not know 
 I had missed you so much ; but now I realize how thirsty I 
 have been for a sight of you." 
 
 He spoke in that tone of half-banter which is so difficult 
 to resent. 
 
 Temple was lying back in her chair. She could not con- 
 ceal the effort she had to make to speak at all. 
 
 "You haven't forgotten your old trick of exaggeration," 
 she said. 
 
 " Does it please you to call it exaggeration .?" he respond- 
 ed. " I'm not conscious of being guilty in that direction. 
 But I'm not so presuming as to think you remember that 
 time among the mountains as I do." 
 
BREAKING DOWN 241 
 
 " I remember the mountains," she answered, in a low 
 voice. 
 
 Boynton sat silent an instant. His gaze seemed to en- 
 velop the woman and the dog beside her. He had a curi- 
 ous, baffling perception that he had been a blind idiot to 
 fancy for a moment that he was in love with Amy Wallis. 
 He had also a conviction that he ought to make much of 
 the affection he did feel for Amy. Why, there was a de- 
 light in sitting here in the room with Temple that was a 
 different thing altogether from anything — 
 
 Here he tried to break away from a certain power that 
 was holding him. 
 
 " You are ill, Mrs. Mercer," he said, at last. 
 
 " I am very tired," was the answer. 
 
 " More than that," said Boynton, with some vehemence. 
 " These people will kill you ; all these souls clamoring for 
 help from you — " 
 
 " It's not that," interrupted Temple, starting up from her 
 recumbent attitude, her aspect changing ; " it is because I 
 can help so little that I am worn out. I long to give what 
 they want, but I cannot — I cannot." 
 
 There was something tense in her whole appearance, in 
 the very fingers that she tried to make lie quiescent in her 
 lap. Boynton pitied her. And he was genuinely alarmed, 
 too. What was Mercer thinking about to let her go on in 
 this way ? he asked himself, savagely. Were not her health 
 and life worth anything as weighed against the demands of 
 the rabble ? The young man fiercely called the people 
 rabble. 
 
 " Since you cannot," he said, sharply, " why not, at least, 
 give rest to yourself.? Do pardon me, but I don't think 
 you quite know how used up you look. When I see you at 
 the meetings you are different, somehow." 
 
 " I am then the horse that is spurred," she answered — 
 
 " spurred by my desire to be of some use. Why should I 
 
 live if I cannot be of use to other souls who are seeking as 
 
 I am seeking .'*" 
 16 
 
242 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 She paused, and made an effort to be calm. She did not 
 know why it was, but for a long time now it seemed to her 
 that she was all the time trying to be calm — trying and 
 failing. There was continually within her frame a tingling 
 riot of nerves. Often she succeeded in concealing all to- 
 kens of that riot, but it was only concealed, not appeased. 
 
 This was one of the days when her efforts met with little 
 success. She wished that her visitor would go. At the 
 first moment she had been glad to see him. Now the 
 memories the sight of him awakened were intolerable — 
 memories of the mountains, and of wild, free days. 
 
 And to remember all this seemed wicked. She could 
 not reason out why it was wicked. She could not reason 
 out anything any more. And she longed to be able to stop 
 making the attempt to do so. 
 
 Boynton, at the end of a quarter of an hour, rose to go. 
 He had been the principal talker, and she seemed to listen. 
 He begged to be allowed to come again. 
 
 When he had gone. Temple quickly summoned the girl 
 who attended the door, and instructed her that she was to 
 admit no one else during the day — not even in the usual 
 hours. 
 
 "You be lookin' sick, sure," said the girl, kindly. "And 
 I've seen it ever since you come." 
 
 Temple made no reply. She returned to the middle of 
 the room. She stood there with one hand pressed to the 
 back of her head. 
 
 " It's only because I'm so tired," she said, aloud, " and 
 I used to be so strong. How long ago is it since I used to 
 be strong? A hundred years? Seeing Mr. Boynton makes 
 me think of those days." 
 
 She looked at the dog, who was lying on the mat in front 
 of the fire. 
 
 Suddenly, with a movement of abandon, she laid herself 
 down beside Yucatan. She took his head in her arms, and 
 pressed it closely to her. 
 
 " Oh, my dog ! My own, own dog !" she cried, in a sharp 
 
BREAKING DOWN 243 
 
 whisper. " My true love, what should I do without you ? 
 Tell me, dear heart, tell me ! When I look in your eyes I 
 know you love me. How foolish you are to love me ! Oh, 
 how foolish to love — to love !" 
 
 The voice changed from a whisper to a cry. 
 
 Temple's head dropped on the dog's side, and she began 
 to sob in a fury of excitement and weakness. Her tears 
 came as rain comes in a tempest. The dog's hair became 
 wet with them. 
 
 The words in her mind were : " It's just because I'm tired 
 and nervous — tired and nervous." 
 
 As she lay there weeping the door opened, though she 
 did not hear it, and Mercer entered. 
 
 He stopped instantly, just within the room. His face 
 contracted. Then he made a quick step forward, as though 
 he would lift his wife in his arms. But he did not touch 
 her. 
 
 She heard the step, and sprang up. She put a hand each 
 side of her head as she looked at Mercer. Her effort to be- 
 come calm was so visibly painful that Mercer's face again 
 underwent that spasm. 
 
 " You must let me help you, if possible," he said, his 
 words not quite distinct. "You are worn out. I have seen 
 it for some time." 
 
 " Yes, yes," she said, eagerly, " that is it : I am worn out. 
 I was just hugging Yucatan and crying because I am tired. 
 You know women cry because of — of anything and every- 
 thing. You mustn't be troubled about me, Richard." 
 
 Mercer turned and went into the next room. He came 
 back almost immediately with a glass in his hand. 
 
 " It is wine and liquid food," he said. 
 
 She took the glass and swallowed its contents. 
 
 " Thank you," she responded, just glancing at him. " I 
 am really ashamed of myself. I'm afraid I have never had 
 enough sympathy for hysterical women." 
 
 "You are not an hysterical woman," was the reply. 
 
 Mercer arranged the pillows on the couch near. He 
 
244 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 took Temple's hand and led her to the couch, then cov- 
 ered her carefully after she was lying upon it. He stood 
 looking down at her. She was gazing into the fire. 
 
 " I hope you will give up going to the meeting to-night," 
 he said, at last. 
 
 His manner was full of gentleness and kindness. 
 
 " I must go," she answered. 
 
 He drew up a chair and sat down. He had never laid 
 any command upon her. He was tempted to do so now. 
 
 " It is not wise," he remarked. 
 
 He had himself well in hand by this time. His face 
 showed only sympathetic consideration. 
 
 "Perhaps it isn't wise in one sense," she responded; 
 " but there are a few who will expect me, and I might be 
 able to help them. Richard, I must go to-night." 
 
 And she did go. Her singing and her prayers were never 
 so full of their own peculiar appealing power. The people 
 thronged up to speak to her. 
 
 But when she went with Mercer to the carriage which 
 awaited them she suddenly clung closely to his arm, and 
 he heard her whisper, 
 
 "This time I am really too tired." 
 
 She sank back unconscious upon the seat. 
 
 He took her home. It seemed hours to him before he 
 had brought his sister to her bedside. The physician in 
 Mrs. Ammidown always came uppermost at call, and her 
 brother had in times past had many evidences of her skill 
 and judgment. 
 
 As she bent over the bed on which Temple had been 
 placed, Mercer stood beside her, his gaze fixed on his wife's 
 face, which was white and set, the eyes half closed. He 
 had asked if he should get another doctor, and Mrs. Am- 
 midown had answered that it was not necessary at present; 
 that Temple would revive directly. 
 
 And her prediction proved true a few moments later, for 
 Temple's breath came long and shudderingly ; then she 
 opened her eyes. 
 
BREAKING DOWN 245 
 
 " I'm sorry I've been so much trouble," she said, feebly, 
 " but you see I am so very weary. Richard was right ; I 
 ought not to have gone." 
 
 " Why do you try to talk ?" asked Mrs. Ammidown, with 
 asperity. " Of course Richard was right ; but he would 
 have been right still more if he had locked you up in your 
 room. I shall forbid you attempting to save souls for one 
 six months, I can tell you." 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown sometimes allowed herself considerable 
 latitude in speaking of saving souls. 
 
 "Am I so badly off as that?" questioned Temple. 
 
 "Just as bad as that," was the prompt response. " You 
 have lived on your nerves as long as they will permit the 
 imposition ; and now you may take your choice between a 
 long rest and becoming a wreck. I'd like to make you un- 
 derstand that you are to let other people's souls alone for 
 months, if not for all the rest of your life." 
 
 " Oh, Laura !" murmured Temple. 
 
 " I mean it all," continued Mrs. Ammidown, " and much 
 more that I don't say." 
 
 " You need not fear to frighten me," said Temple ; " I'm 
 not afraid of death — I don't dread it." 
 
 Here Mercer turned suddenly away. He walked into the 
 adjoining room. He leaned his back against the wall and 
 stared straight before him. His hands hung tightly shut 
 by his side. There was a strange, glassy look in his eyes. 
 
 By his wife's bed Mrs. Ammidown responded, 
 
 " No, you may not dread death, but Tm sure you dread 
 years of inefficiency, when you'll feel as if you were one tan- 
 gle of nerves untuned and clashing helplessly, and you a 
 plaything in the hands of these demons, anticipating every- 
 thing evil, dreading your own shadow." 
 
 "Laura!" 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown now smiled reassuringly. She sat down 
 by the bed and took her patient's hand in hers. 
 
 " Don't talk to Richard like that !" exclaimed Temple. 
 " He will be so worried. He is so kind, so considerate, 
 
246 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 and he has been begging me for a long time not to go to 
 the meetings." 
 
 As she spoke thus, Temple felt her companion's eyes 
 fixed upon her in such a penetrating way that, without 
 knowing why she did so, she blushed with the painful inten- 
 sity of weakness. 
 
 " I meant to frighten you," went on Mrs. Ammidown. 
 " Fright was a bitter dose I wanted you to take. Of course 
 you haven't been sleeping well ?" 
 
 " Oh no," wearily. 
 
 " And I know you don't care to eat." 
 
 " No." 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown sat holding the hot hand that, while 
 it seemed to be perfectly quiet, yet had a kind of flutter 
 within it. She was contemplating the face before her, 
 and thinking with keen pain of the difference between 
 it and the face of the healthy girl who had ridden among 
 the mountains — who had saved her life. On Temple's fin- 
 ger was still the diamond ring she had given her. 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown rose. 
 
 " I'm going to give you something soothing now, but 
 afterwards I shall not order medicine for you. Nobody 
 but a doctor knows in how many cases medicine is power- 
 less. I'm going home to think about you. Meantime, lie 
 here until to-morrow." 
 
 The speaker moved away from the bed, but Temple 
 called her back. 
 
 " I want to tell you something," she whispered. " I 
 think you're deceived about something." 
 
 " Well," with an incredulous smile, " you won't make me 
 believe that you are a very deceitful person." 
 
 "No; but — " here a pause. "It's about — well," an- 
 other pause ; then hurriedly, and with an access of color, 
 "saving souls, you know. I've been sincere — I long to help. 
 — yes, I long to help, but I confess that of late — for a time 
 — I've craved the excitement that came with the knowledge 
 of the power I seemed to have. I've lived on it, somehow. 
 
BREAKING DOWN 247 
 
 You see how wicked I am. I don't know what Richard 
 would do if he suspected such a thing. He is sincere. I 
 thought I was. Now I'm sure that I've loved the excite- 
 ment. What do you think of me? Oh, Laura, what do 
 you think of me .'"' 
 
 Temple caught at Mrs. Ammidown's skirt in a way that 
 was so unlike her old self that the woman hearing her could 
 have cried out in sorrow. 
 
 The man in the next room heard the words and the tone. 
 He started. Then he restrained himself, and put his hands 
 over his face, standing still. 
 
 " Think of you.?" returned Laura, cheerfully. " Why, that 
 your nerves are all worn to an edge, and that they give you 
 impressions that are not to be trusted ; therefore, you draw 
 wrong conclusions." 
 
 " Do you think it's that?" piteously. "Do you really 
 think it's that. And that I needn't worry for fear IVe been 
 deceitful ? And that Richard would not think I'd been in- 
 sincere ? I would not have him think that. Richard is 
 honor — truth itself." 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown was going to reply when her brother 
 suddenly entered the room, walking swiftly and softly up to 
 the bed. 
 
 He bent over Temple. He took her hand and held it 
 closely for an instant, his face melting into a look of inef- 
 fable tenderness and pride. 
 
 Then suddenly, as if remembering, he gently put down 
 the hand. 
 
XV 
 
 THE RELAXING WOMAN 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown turned to leave the room. She had 
 never been able to think quietly and resignedly of this mar- 
 riage, and just now she was more rebellious than ever con- 
 cerning it. She was saying to herself that it was really 
 astonishing what idiots sensible people would make of them- 
 selves. 
 
 Mercer continued to stand by his wife's bed. He was 
 paler than usual, and his mouth was less firm, try as hard as 
 he might to control its expression. 
 
 After one swift glance at him Temple turned her eyes 
 away. 
 
 " I'm afraid this will interrupt your work," she said, anx- 
 iously. 
 
 " I'm not thinking of my work," he answered. He found 
 that he was obliged to make an effort to speak with the 
 calmness of courtesy. And he was always very gentle and 
 courteous and considerate with Temple. " I am thinking 
 of you. I feel as if I had been a criminal because I did 
 not absolutely prevent your taking part lately in these meet- 
 ings. I shall never forgive myself. I cannot bear to have 
 you suffer in any way." 
 
 There was a vibration in his voice that made Temple 
 glance at him again with that look which dives, but does not 
 linger an instant. 
 
 " I shall be able to join you in a few days again," she 
 said, and her tone sounded cold in contrast with his. 
 *' Laura exaggerates. I'm a little worn just now, that is 
 all." 
 
THE RELAXING WOMAN 249 
 
 There was that in her manner which made Mercer draw 
 himself up with a visible effort. 
 
 He thrust his hand into the breast of his tightly buttoned 
 coat as he stood there erect. There was something antique, 
 something strangely heroic in the severe outline of face and 
 figure. 
 
 " I shall certainly see to it that you have every opportu- 
 nity to rest," he responded. 
 
 Then he left the room. He did not even glance at his 
 sister as he strode through the sitting-room where she sat. 
 He did not seem to be aware of her presence in any way. 
 When he had reached his own sleeping-room he shut the 
 door noiselessly behind him and drew the bolt. 
 
 He advanced to the middle of the floor. He stumbled 
 against a chair. He took close hold of the back and 
 straightened himself again. It was always his instinct to 
 throw back his head and meet a foe front to front. 
 
 "I can bear it," he said, in a just audible voice. "God 
 knows I can bear everything He sends." 
 
 He stood a moment thus before he knelt by the chair, 
 hiding his face in his hands on the cushion. He prayed, a 
 fire of longing, an ice of despair in his petition. 
 
 "Even though I can never make her love me, oh, God, 
 let her live in this same world with me !" 
 
 Over and over these words rushed through his brain. He 
 tried to form other words, but he could not. 
 
 At last he rose and sat down in a chair by the table which 
 held his Bible. Mechanically he took up the Bible. He 
 had intended to read something in reference to the meeting 
 for the evening, but he found that he could not take in the 
 meaning of a single sentence. But he held himself, as if 
 bound with cords, in this place until at last his thoughts 
 obeyed his will. 
 
 The next day Temple was languidly sitting up, and the 
 next she seemed so much better that she announced her 
 intention of seeing the people who called. 
 
 "No," said Mrs. Ammidown, who had just come in, "you 
 
250 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 will do no such thing. I have had your case on my mind, 
 and I've decided what you must do. First of all, I am going 
 to put you under the relaxing woman." 
 
 Temple looked up with a faint smile, but not much show 
 of interest. 
 
 " You are becoming a tyrant, Laura. Who is the relaxing 
 woman ?" 
 
 " Oh, she doesn't call herself that, but that's what she is. 
 She has a mission, and her mission is to teach people to 
 bear their whole weight." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 " Yes, when they sit down or lie down." 
 
 "Is that all?" 
 
 " All ? I assure you that is a great deal. You have no 
 idea how much it involves. The safety of the race depends 
 upon the power of each individual to bear his weight — then 
 he rests. I don't suppose you have really rested since you 
 took up this fad of saving souls." 
 
 " Laura !" 
 
 "It is a fad," was the calm response, "but I don't mean 
 that it shall kill you. And you sympathize, and give of 
 yourself to all these creatures." 
 
 " They are my brothers and sisters," was the reply. 
 
 Temple's face kindled as she went on. "Why shouldn't I 
 help them .? What is the use of living if it is not for service 
 to God and man — if it is not to help, to spend your very self.?'' 
 
 "You are going to stop spending yourself," said Mrs. 
 Ammidown, still calmly. " The relaxing woman will attend 
 to that. She doesn't allow her pupils to sympathize, or 
 emotionalize, or do any of those things. If there is any 
 power left in you it is to be conserved for your own use. 
 You are not to give any more of it out for any reason what- 
 ever. Store it up." 
 
 " As a miser stores his money," said Temple, scornfully. 
 
 " Exactly. Then you'll have it to draw upon. And you 
 are not going to feel anything more, only as you are per- 
 mitted." 
 
THE RELAXING WOMAN 25 1 
 
 "You are speaking of a great life, full of human possi- 
 bilities," remarked Temple, with still more scorn. 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown smiled indulgently. 
 
 " She does it for three dollars an hour," she said. " She 
 combines an eye to what is called the main chance with 
 great good to nervous women." 
 
 Temple clasped her hands suddenly and forcibly. 
 
 " But I'm not a nervous woman !" she cried. 
 
 " Aren't you ?" 
 
 " No, no ! Why, don't you remember, Laura, how strong 
 I always was down there in Carolina, and how I didn't even 
 know what nerves were — save that my happiness was too 
 great sometimes? Don't you remember?" 
 
 The speaker's eyes dilated painfully and then filled with, 
 tears. 
 
 " Yes," replied the other, " I know ; but you have changed 
 all that. You have made such calls on your strength ; 
 you seemed to think that it was limitless. And then, par- 
 don me. Temple " — here the woman bent forward and took 
 the clasped hands — "you have not been happy." 
 
 "Oh, don't! don't!" murmured Temple. 
 
 " No, no. But a little harshness is sometimes strength- 
 ening. I am not going to say anything more than this : 
 you acted upon a theory you had about marrying on a 
 basis of respect and regard merely. You thought you 
 could improve upon nature. You thought going against 
 the natural impulses of the human heart was a fine thing 
 to do. Well, you can't do that and come off victor. You're 
 vanquished. Your being gives up the unequal battle. 
 
 " When a sensitive and refined woman acts out the theo- 
 ry of a marriage for anything else than love she certainly 
 deserves to lose her self-respect, and generally does lose it. 
 
 " Do you remember that writer who says : ' No woman 
 marries a man without loving him but has her moral sense 
 obscured ?' " 
 
 Temple's eyes had been fixed upon the speaker. 
 
 " Laura, I wish I could tell you some things — I wish — " 
 
252 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 Having said so much, Temple withdrew her hands and 
 twisted them together. She smiled piteously. 
 
 " But no ; I really have nothing to say. It is weak to 
 talk about one's self and to pity one's self. And I wanted 
 to do good, and to help people. Now if I'm going to be a 
 nervous woman — " Here her lips quivered and the tears 
 dropped from her eyes. 
 
 " Oh," said Mrs. Ammidown, easily, " because you have 
 worn yourself down like this, it by no means follows that 
 you are going to keep on being a nervous woman." 
 
 " I suppose I shall be well again in a few weeks," said 
 Temple, pleadingly. 
 
 " No ; let us look the thing in the face. You must rest 
 for months, perhaps for a year. Here is the programme : 
 First, you go to Miss MacCallum for treatment. Her treat- 
 ment is good for people who live too fast, because she tries 
 to teach them not to live at all. And that is exactly what 
 you need now. You are to be taught simply to rest. If 
 you can rest long enough you will be well again, for there 
 is no organic trouble. Then I want you, as soon as it gets 
 mild, to go into the country ; stay all the summer with Yu- 
 catan ; have Thimble ; ride, stroll, vegetate. If you feel 
 as if you were going to sympathize with somebody, stop 
 where you are. You need not help a creature. Would you 
 like to be back in Limestone township when spring is really 
 here ?" 
 
 A shade came over Temple's expressive face. She hesi- 
 tated, but at last said, 
 
 " No ; let me go to some new place, and I will send for 
 Thimble. Oh," with a sudden brightening, " I will write to 
 Miss Drowdy. She lives here in Massachusetts. Perhaps 
 she will let me stay with her." 
 
 '' Miss Drowdy let it be, then," was the answer. " Only 
 to-morrow we will call on Miss MacCallum." 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown walked towards the door. She knew 
 that she had been a little harsh in her manner, but it had 
 been purposely. Now she paused and looked back. 
 
THE RELAXING WOMAN 253 
 
 "It seems to me," she said, "that your dear old moun- 
 tains ought to be able to heal and strengthen you. Are 
 you sure it is wise to go somewhere else ?" 
 
 There was something in the face of the younger woman 
 as she heard these words that made Mrs. Ammidown's 
 heart suddenly contract with the keenness of her sym- 
 pathy. Yielding to a strong impulse, she crossed the room 
 and knelt down by Temple's chair, putting her arms about 
 her and drawing the slight form to her. 
 
 Temple's head dropped upon her companion's shoulder, 
 but she did not sob nor weep ; she was very still. 
 
 "You are morbid and supersensitive," said Mrs. Ammi- 
 down, after a silence. Then, wdth a slight laugh, " You see, 
 it's hyperesthesia, and that kind of thing. Everything will 
 be different after you are rested and nourished. Flesh and 
 blood and nerves resent certain things, and then we think 
 it's our souls or our spirits which are diseased. But bless 
 me ! here I am sympathizing wdth you ! How ridiculous 
 of me !" 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown rose. She announced, in the most 
 practical manner, that she would call at three to take Tem- 
 ple to Miss MacCallum. 
 
 When she had reached the hall she hesitated a moment. 
 The seeming result of her hesitation was that she took a 
 card from her case, wrote a line upon it, rang the bell, and 
 asked the servant to take the card to Mr. Mercer immedi- 
 ately. 
 
 When Mercer read what his sister had written, " Call 
 upon me within the hour," he put his overcoat on his arm, 
 and with his hat in his hand he entered the sitting-room. 
 
 He had one glimpse of Temple's colorless face as it was 
 leaned upon her chair before she was aware of his en- 
 trance. That glance was like a knife-thrust in his heart. 
 Instantly she had assumed a look of some animation, and 
 her lips put on a smile. 
 
 " I only came to say that I was going out for a short 
 time," said Mercer, advancing into the room. " I wish I 
 
254 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 could get you something — to amuse you, to entertain you 
 in some way." 
 
 He took her hand and held it a moment, lightly, in a 
 sort of distant manner, then laid it gently down. 
 
 "Thank you, Richard, I can't think of anything," she be- 
 gan. And then, " If you'd bring some kind of fruit, I should 
 be glad. And if you would try to rest a little yourself — " 
 
 " Oh, I'm well — well and strong," he answered. " Don't 
 think otherwise." 
 
 He hurried away. He was quite conscious that he was 
 childishly grateful that she had mentioned something he 
 might get for her, even though he suspected that she had 
 spoken thus chiefly to gratify him. 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown was waiting for him at her rooms. He 
 walked straight up to her and took hold of her arm in a 
 way that made her wince. 
 
 " Now, tell me the exact truth," he said, harshly, " is she 
 going to live ?" 
 
 "Yes," was the instant reply. 
 
 Mercer released her arm. He suddenly began to trem- 
 ble. The tremor shook his whole frame. 
 
 His sister pushed a chair tow^ards him, and he sat dov/n 
 in it. He gazed at her vaguely. He vaguely felt her hand 
 on his forehead and heard her say, 
 
 " Poor fellow !" 
 
 He roused himself to murmur, apologetically, 
 
 " It's been a strain." 
 
 Laura was the only person in the world to whom he 
 could allow himself to show weakness. 
 
 She did not reply. She only continued to caress his fore- 
 head. 
 
 " She must go down to Carolina," he went on as soon as 
 he could. " She will get well among her own mountains. 
 And I will stay here. Laura, you arrange it ; you go with 
 her." 
 
 " It was the mountains that I thought of first," was the 
 reply. " But she doesn't want to go." 
 
THE RELAXING WOMAN 255 
 
 Mercer started forward in his chair. 
 
 " It is because she was happy there," he exclaimed, " and 
 she cannot bear to go back ! Yes, she was happy there. 
 Good God ! Laura, do you know what I've made her suf- 
 fer r 
 
 The woman did not reply. She could not. She stood 
 there with her eyes fixed on her brother. 
 
 At first there was a stirring of resentment against the 
 woman who was making him so unhappy. But he did not 
 mention his own unhappiness. He was thinking of his 
 wife. 
 
 She felt that what she had to say was becoming more 
 and more difficult. But she must say it. She began bravely. 
 
 " I asked you to come to me because I wanted to advise 
 the very thing you mention." Here she stopped abruptly. 
 He did not speak, only gazed at her. 
 
 " It's a hard thing to say," she went on ; " but when a per- 
 son is in a nervous state, on the verge of prostration, we 
 must make allowances — " 
 
 Again she paused. She moved quickly still closer to her 
 brother, leaning over him, as she went on, but not glancing 
 at his face. 
 
 " I wanted to tell you that I think it would be better if 
 you did not go into the country with Temple ; better if she 
 should come to me now while she is under this new treat- 
 ment which I advise for her. She needs a complete change, 
 and if she does not see you she will not be reminded of her 
 work — your work. Don't misunderstand me." 
 
 " No, I don't. I understand you thoroughly." 
 
 Mercer rose as he spoke. He girded himself up. " I 
 could not by any possibility fail to understand you. And it 
 is what I have been thinking. More than that, when once 
 Temple goes away from me I am convinced that it will not 
 be advisable for me to join her again. But let that come 
 about naturally. That is in the future. I may be obliged 
 to go abroad, or to the West — a hundred things may be ar- 
 ranged. I will not shadow her life any longer. My pres- 
 
256 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 ence represses her. I seem to stand between her and the 
 
 sun." 
 
 The man gazed about him in a bhnd way, as if there were 
 a veil before his eyes. 
 
 Suddenly he added, 
 
 "Did she love any one down there?" 
 
 " She did not believe in love," said Mrs. Ammidown, bit- 
 terly. " She called herself one of the cold-blooded women 
 who have affection, but no love. She had her mother's let- 
 ter and her own notions, and she built up a beautiful little 
 code. There is no mistake so fatal as the mistake which 
 makes a woman ignore the possibilities of her own nature." 
 
 "Are you sure?" asked Mercer again. 
 
 " Sure about what ?" 
 
 " That she did not love any one down there ?" 
 
 The man seemed so little like himself to his sister as he 
 repeated this question that she could not help wincing 
 visibly. 
 
 "One can never be positive on such a subject," was the 
 answer, "but I'm sure enough to satisfy my own mind." 
 
 "That young man — that Boynton," went on Mercer. He 
 checked himself. " I know that I am no longer clear, no 
 longer just, in my conclusions. .But to be so hopeless as I 
 am, to be so far from her while I seem to be so near her — 
 sometimes I am ready to believe that she has some memory 
 which stands between her and me. Be sure, Laura," with a 
 flash of the eyes, " that I am not reflecting upon her honor, 
 her entire high-mindedness." 
 
 "Oh, I know that. Do I not know her?" replied Mrs. 
 Ammidown. "You may be sure she never loved Boynton ; 
 she had no fancy even for him, or for any one." 
 
 The speaker refrained from saying, " I told you so," but 
 that phrase was in her mind. She was asking herself indig- 
 nantly what right any one had to suppose that such a mar- 
 riage would turn out happily. 
 
 There was but little more talk. Mercer agreed to every- 
 thing his sister could suggest in his wife's behalf. He was 
 
THE RELAXING WOMAN 257 
 
 like a man who stands by and sees himself shorn of this 
 hope and that expectation. It was, however, but the open 
 acknowledgment of the despair he had long felt. 
 
 When Mrs. Ammidown called that afternoon she found a 
 great bunch of hot-house roses on the table near Temple, and 
 a basket of the most extravagant, out-of-season fruit. 
 
 "You have an admirer who does not stint in his offer- 
 ings," remarked the lady, somewhat coldly. 
 
 Temple smiled. There was a slight flush on her face as 
 she took up a card and extended it towards her guest. 
 
 "Here is his name," she said; "this was among the 
 flowers." 
 
 The name was Richard Mercer. 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown looked narrowly at the woman in the 
 lounging-chair. But Temple did not seem conscious of this 
 inspection. She languidly selected a Marshal Niel and 
 put her face down to its petals ; then she held it off from 
 her and contemplated its beauty. 
 
 She did not seem much interested in going to Miss Mac- 
 Callum's rooms. 
 
 Miss MacCallum was established in a good street at the 
 south end. Everything betokened prosperity ; but Temple 
 took no notice of her surroundings as she sat down in an 
 easy-chair to wait. Miss MacCallum had not yet arrived. For 
 some reason she was late. An assistant had taken her place. 
 
 Three or four women were waiting. One was a young 
 girl who was fidgeting about the room, apparently unable to 
 keep still. She was thin and white, with large eyes, whose 
 pupils were continually contracting and expanding. 
 
 At last she came and sat down by Temple. 
 
 "Do pardon me," she said, in a fluttering manner, "but 
 I'm so glad to see you ; I've just longed to speak to you 
 since I heard you sing and pray at one of your meetings. 
 I should have gone up and spoken to you then, only mamma 
 wouldn't let me. She said 'twould make me nervous. She 
 always says everything '11 make me nervous. Are you com- 
 ing to Miss MacCalkim ?" 
 17 
 
258 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 Temple said she thought of coming. 
 
 " Then I s'pose you've got nervous exhaustion, or St. 
 Vitus, or something," was the girl's response. " Perhaps 
 you've been emotionalizing too much. Have you .''" 
 
 " I don't know," answered Temple. 
 
 " Oh, I've no doubt you have," went on the girl, " and you 
 haven't been normal ; you may think you have been, but you 
 haven't, and she'll find it out. She's after the abnormal like 
 a cat after a mouse. It pays, too. You see, she keeps a 
 Wnd of factory where she takes abnormal women and turns 
 them out normal." 
 
 Here the girl gave a slight laugh. Temple smiled, and 
 said' that of course, then. Miss MacCallum would naturally 
 prefer to have women abnormal at first. 
 
 Whereat the girl laughed again, and responded, 
 
 " Of course, then, there'd be all the more to turn into the 
 factory. She's just awfully clever, though. You wait, and 
 you'll see. It's the Delsarte system — at least, some of it is. 
 And she wants to do for the nerves what ordinary exercise 
 does for the muscles. She's got it all down horribly fine. 
 Mamma adores her. She says if Miss Mac — I call her Miss 
 Mac — doesn't take the kinks out of my nerves nobody can. 
 There's a lot of women whom the doctors don't know what 
 to do with ; medicine's no good. Then they make a great 
 parade of sending them to Miss Mac, as if it were their pre- 
 scription, you see ; and it's all good for the relaxing woman." 
 
 The girl fixed her eyes upon Temple in silence for an in- 
 stant. Then she said, 
 
 " You are not relaxed. You're not sitting so that you 
 rest. You're kind of tense, though you look so quiet. That 
 never '11 do. Miss Mac '11 fix all that. There, I think she's 
 coming now. I'm going to relax. Watch and see me do 
 it." 
 
 The girl flung herself in a chair with the utmost abandon 
 and half closed her eyes, rolling her head slightly. 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown, who had been reading a magazine at 
 the end of the room, looked up as some one entered; then 
 
THE RELAXING WOMAN 
 
 259 
 
 she rose, and the two greeted each other with a slight ap- 
 pearance of effusion on Miss MacCallum's part. The new- 
 comer was tall and well knit ; she had sleepy blue eyes 
 which yet probably perceived things. Perhaps they were 
 not really sleepy, but only had that appearance, because 
 their owner so deprecated alertness and vividness of life in 
 others. To be alert and vivid and intense is a drain on 
 the nerves ; and all drain should be avoided. 
 
 In a few moments Temple was sitting alone with Miss 
 MacCallum, and the latter was asking her some questions. 
 
 Her first remark had been to inform Temple that Dr. 
 Ammidown — the speaker was very particular in applying 
 titles — had given her no information other than to say that 
 Mrs. Mercer was in danger of a general break-down of the 
 nerves. 
 
 " And that is evident," said Miss MacCallum. 
 
 Temple made no reply to this. 
 . "You must pardon me," went on the other, "if I say that 
 you have the appearance of being much exhausted by sham 
 emotions. I shall have to beg you to avoid all such expe- 
 
 riences." 
 
 Temple was looking full at the speaker. 
 
 "I don't know what you mean," she answered. 
 
 "You know," was the response, "that there are real 
 things, and that the real things almost always have imitations. 
 It is the imitation which exhausts." 
 
 " Doesn't the real emotion exhaust ?" 
 
 " Only for the time ; there must be reaction, and then 
 comes invigoration, like that attendant upon healthy exer- 
 cise. Generally speaking, however, emotion should be 
 avoided." 
 
 Miss MacCallum went on with a skilful and extremely 
 well-put dissertation on the depleting power of the emotions 
 in general. Starting from the standpoint that the highest 
 state of the human being would be that of a sort of animal, 
 without any particular sensation or feeling, but with some 
 intellect, her argument was utterly convincing. 
 
26o AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 " I don't always talk as much as this," she said, in con- 
 clusion, " but I saw that you would wish to know the theory 
 as well as the practice." 
 
 Temple was silent. She had been conscious of a rising 
 indignation which she had tried to smother. 
 
 Finally she said, 
 
 "I can understand perfectly that many limitations might 
 be necessary for one out of health. One must do, or refrain 
 from doing, much which would be legitimate in health. But 
 this is, in a great measure, your theory of life ?" 
 
 "Yes. We are reasonable beings. We should live more 
 in the clear light of reason, and emotion is, after all, so large- 
 ly a matter of diseased nerves. We think we feel ; it is 
 nerves. We think we love ; it is nerves. In other words, 
 it is sham emotion. The American woman is getting to be 
 but a bundle of unstrung nerves ; but she thinks she is full 
 of feeling ; she prides herself on that belief. What we want 
 is to be practical." 
 
 "To think of facts?" said Temple, with a stiff kind of 
 smile. 
 
 "Yes; and to relax. To stop struggling; to give up." 
 
 "I should like to give up," said Temple. "I've tried a 
 great deal to give up." 
 
 " Let us stop trying. Something is making you unhappy, 
 Mrs. Mercer ; but perhaps, after all, it will be nothing when 
 you are well." 
 
 "You would call it a sham unhappiness, perhaps!*" 
 
 "Very likely." 
 
 Temple sat up suddenly. 
 
 " I don't believe one particle in your theory of life," she 
 said, warmly ; " and you have a cold nature or you would 
 never have embraced such a theory. To your temperament 
 such a life may be possible, admirable. Could you but 
 know the possibilities open to a different nature you would 
 never talk thus. You think you know, but you don't. Your 
 very attitude of mind proves your ignorance. To do as you 
 suggest would be like following out that old Eastern saying: 
 
THE RELAXING WOMAN 261 
 
 ' It is better to sit than to stand ; it is better to lie down 
 than to sit ; it is better to be dead than alive.' Miss Mac- 
 Calluni, we were given powders of exquisite and intense life 
 — some of us have been given such powers — are we to stifle 
 those powers and try to be as if we did not possess them ? 
 Are we to be simply reasonable beings? Why, then, are we 
 made so marvellously sentient? And may I ask if it be in 
 your power to decide what is sham and what is genuine ? I 
 may be so made that I feel an emotion which it would be 
 impossible for you to feel from a like cause — are you, then, 
 to set down my emotion as sham, as abnormal ? Oh, don't 
 interupt me, and don't think me rude. I used to believe 
 that I was of a cold temperament. That was a girlish no- 
 tion of mine, and I thought it would be a fine thing if it 
 were true. But it isn't true. No ; it isn't true." 
 
 As she finished speaking, Temple rose from her chair and 
 stood before her companion, who smiled and said, 
 
 "I needed no such assurance." 
 
 "I know that. I know," went on Temple, more and more 
 earnestly, "that I'm in a wretched condition now. I want 
 you to give me treatment. I long to be able to rest — in 
 fact, I must rest. Somehow, I must rest." 
 
 There was something extremely touching in the slight 
 figure, which seemed to palpitate with a too insistent life. 
 
 " I am sure I can help you, dear," said Miss MacCal- 
 lum. 
 
 Temple frowned. 
 
 "Don't call me dear," she said. "I hate those terms 
 when they mean nothing. Such use takes all significance 
 from words." 
 
 Miss MacCallum did not lose her temper. She smiled 
 as if she were used to any and every kind of remark, and 
 was saying to herself, " Oh, it is only a nervous woman." 
 
 Temple caught that smile, and was still more irritated, 
 but she compelled herself to apologize. She hardly knew 
 herself when she was irritable ; she had always believed 
 she possessed an amiable temper. 
 
262 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 After a few more sentences in regard to terms and hours, 
 Temple went back into the waiting-room. The same girl 
 came forward to meet her. 
 
 " What do you think now ?" she asked, in a half-whisper. 
 " Are you going to fall in love with her ?" 
 
 A negative shake of the head was the response. 
 
 " I shouldn't, either," went on the girl, rapidl}^ " but my 
 doctor said the girls were always falling in love with Miss 
 Mac, but that she just stopped it. You know it's awfully 
 abnormal to fall in love with a woman — for a woman, I 
 mean. It's just the abnormalest thing you can do. Miss 
 Mac is death on it. She thinks it is quite hellish. Don't be 
 shocked because I say hellish. I often can't find words 
 strong enough to express what I mean. I fancy that's why 
 men swear. And don't ever tell mamma I said that." 
 
 The girl was standing close beside Temple, looking at 
 her in a somewhat beseeching way. 
 
 "It would be just as easy as breathing to fall in love with 
 you," she said, " but I know better than to do it. Miss 
 Mac would be down on me like a stone house. She knows 
 a good many things, still there are a few things she doesn't 
 know. But the devilish part of it is that she thinks she 
 knows it all. Did she tell j^ou what to do when you are 
 wretched about anything?" 
 
 "No," answered Temple, who was waiting for Mrs. Am- 
 midown to return from a call she had started to make 
 during the interview with Miss MacCallum. 
 
 "When you are unhappy you must think how heavy your 
 legs are ; and presently you'll find you are happy again. 
 I've tried it." 
 
 " Well ?" questioned Temple, smiling. 
 
 " It didn't work in my case, because I couldn't seem to 
 make my legs seem heavy ; the more I tried to make them 
 heavy the lighter they grew. But, then, I'm hopelessly ab- 
 normal, anyway." 
 
 The girl stopped to laugh, and Temple was rather sur- 
 prised at herself to find that she joined heartily in with her. 
 
THE RELAXING WOMAN 263 
 
 There was something shrewd and penetrating in the girl's 
 face and in her words, in spite of her seeming frivolity. She 
 was dressed with a dainty and exquisite plainness, and there 
 was about her an air of refinement, notwithstanding her 
 use of some startling words. 
 
 " I suppose she called you ' Dear,' " she now remarked. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Of course. She's sweet as honey in the comb. May- 
 be that's why some of the girls fall in love with her. I'm 
 going to blow my trumpet for her because she certainly does 
 help a person to rest. You see, when you've sat on the 
 floor a few minutes and melted like an ice-cream in a warm 
 day, you do feel like sleep — you can't help sleeping. And 
 when she has you roll like an elephant — well, you'll see — 
 your nerves do have to give in and subside. But you've 
 got to be faithful and go through the movements at home, 
 and if you have movements and walking, and watching 
 yourself to see that you don't emotionalize, why, you don't 
 have any time left. I'm going to ask her to give me a list 
 of shams and genuines — emotions, you know — so that I 
 needn't make any mistake. I declare, what with bacteria 
 for your body and shams for your feelings, you do feel as if 
 life were hardly worth living. I'm going in now to melt. 
 If you come here I shall see you again. Won't you shake 
 hands with me .?'' 
 
 Temple gave her hand, and a warm pressure with it. 
 
XVI 
 
 OLD MAID DROWDY's 
 
 Almina Drowdy was standing in her door-yard. She 
 had put on her dish-brimmed shade hat for the first time 
 this spring. She knew that it was too early to wear that hat, 
 but she said that somehow it seemed to bring the warm days 
 nearer if she brought the old thing down from under the 
 eaves. It made her feel as if the violets were actually 
 coming. 
 
 In Hoyt, Mass., it often seemed to the impatient resident 
 that spring never would actually arrive. 
 
 Mr. Wilson had ploughed up a patch of land on a south 
 slope for early pease. That ploughing was an encourage- 
 ment to Almina. She decided that if Brother Wilson could 
 plough she could leave off her white cloud and resume her 
 hat. 
 
 She was expecting Mr. Wilson now. He was going to 
 bring Freddy to spend the day with his aunt. He would 
 necessarily bring him early, for he would be on his way to 
 the next town with eggs and milk. 
 
 Freddy had grown in the three years that had elapsed 
 since Almina had gone to North Carolina, She had left 
 him making perilous, tottering journeys across the kitchen 
 floor, and occasionally swallowing shoe-buttons. 
 
 Freddy had set up a dog — a young bull-dog that squinted 
 and that made charges at people's ankles in the most fero- 
 cious way, but who would not have bitten any one upon any 
 provocation. Only the people upon whom he charged did 
 not always know this ; and this ignorance caused a great 
 deal of unpleasantness in the hearts of some of Freddy's ac- 
 
OLD MAID DROWDY S 265 
 
 quaintance. Indeed, that acquaintance threatened to nar- 
 row down to those who would submit to having their ankles 
 mumbled by the puppy. Those who would not submit, Freddy 
 unhesitatingly called "darn fools." 
 
 Freddy's mother thought that a person must be extremely 
 mean who was irritated when a cunning little boy like Fred- 
 dy called him a " darn fool." And as for being afraid of a 
 bull-dog puppy — 
 
 Here Mrs. Wilson would toss her head and leave the sen- 
 tence unfinished. 
 
 Almina once told her sister that the world seemed to be 
 divided into two classes — those who were friends with Fred- 
 dy's puppy and those who were not ; and Olivia judged every- 
 body with reference to their standing with Jefferson, for the 
 dog's name was Jefferson, usually called "Jeff." 
 
 Almina, as she stood in the yard on this April morning, 
 was conscious of a decided wish that Jefferson would not 
 come — not that she was afraid of him, but that it was usually 
 impossible to watch him closely enough to prevent his chew- 
 ing some valuable article. 
 
 The last time Jefferson visited her, accompanied by his 
 young master, he had chewed and swallowed the whole 
 vamp of one of her best boots. 
 
 She had not expected the boy to be sorry, but she had 
 been tried when the boy's mother's only remark in the case 
 had been, 
 
 " I want to know ! Wall, Jeff is dretful fond of leather." 
 
 A pair of bluebirds circled down into the yard as Almina 
 stood there. They called to her — or was it to each other.'' 
 — and the woman's heart swelled joyfully. 
 
 The frogs were peeping in the meadows. 
 
 Almina turned her face upward. She spoke aloud. 
 
 "There certainly is a look in the sky — there certainly is 
 a look," she said. 
 
 She went into the house and brought out a shawl. This 
 she wrapped about her, and began walking briskly back and 
 forth in the yard, for it was chilly, in spite of the soft sky. 
 
266 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 Almina poked the toe of her "rubber" into the black 
 mould around the peony root. A red tip would soon show 
 itself. She had found saxifrage among the rocks at the 
 south of the house the day before. 
 
 When her eyes swept over the country, however, the hills 
 and valleys — they were hills and valleys in smallest minia- 
 ture — were still bare and brown and desolate. But she 
 knew a bit of swamp-land where skunk-cabbage was already 
 green and flourishing. 
 
 As her eyes, in their cursory glance, rested upon a cart- 
 path that wound over the pasture in front of the house, she 
 made a quick step forward, then paused, gazing with distrust- 
 ful air, as if she could not believe what her eyes told her. 
 
 " Merciful sakes !" she exclaimed, " I d' know but I'm git- 
 tin' so old I can't see straight." 
 
 There was a note of strong excitement in her voice. She 
 ran across the road and to the bars of the fence ; these she 
 let down with trembling hands j then she stood still in the 
 opening. 
 
 A white pony was coming at a leisurely amble along the 
 rough way. He did not seem to mind that it was rough, but 
 came as one used to uneven roads. 
 
 His intelligent face, with its ears at full cock, was towards 
 her. 
 
 On the animal's back was a tall, stalwart woman of a 
 dusky countenance. This -woman began to smile broadly, 
 her white teeth shining. She threw up her hand. 
 
 " I reckon it's you, miss !" she called out. " Howdy, Miss 
 Drowdy .?" 
 
 Instead of responding to this greeting Almina said, help- 
 lessly, 
 
 " Oh, good land ! I can't b'lieve my senses !" 
 
 By this time the pony had brought Sally nearly up to the 
 bars ; and now he stopped his amble and walked forward, 
 his slender legs looking just as much like " injy rubber " as 
 they had always looked to this Yankee woman. 
 
 Sally continued to grin. 
 
OLD MAID DROWDY S 267 
 
 "We've done brought roun' hyar," she remarked. 
 
 "What!" cried Almina, "you 'ain't come up from North 
 Carliny on that pony, have you ?" 
 
 Sally laughed. The rich, throaty sound seemed quite out 
 of place opposite that strictly New England house, and in 
 the hearing of that strictly New England woman. 
 
 " Bress yo' heart, honey," she answered, " of co'se I ain't. 
 I'se jest curm urp fum de deepo-house, AVe uns curm in de 
 kyars, we uns did. Thimble's awful scraped 'n' rubbed on 
 his laigs. But he kep' urp er good heart all de way, he did. 
 'Fore de Lawd, I reckon de pony knew he war comin' ter 
 Miss Temple. He knew all de same's I knew. Dem kyars 
 is jest a hell upon yarth ; but I'd come all trew hell ter git 
 ter Miss Temple. Reckon by your s'prise, Miss Drowdy, as 
 Miss Temple 'ain't got yere yet ?" 
 
 " No," said Almina. She still stood directly in the way, 
 and the pony's white face was within a yard of her own 
 face. 
 
 "Of co'se," said Sally, "dey must of wrote." 
 
 " I 'ain't got no letter," was the response. 
 
 Then Almina tried to rouse herself. 
 
 She stepped back, and the pony put himself over the 
 dropped bars with a little jump, plainly assuming that a 
 jump was the easiest way to get over, and showing in every 
 slightest movement that he was not in the least like any 
 Northern horse. 
 
 " Won't you walk in V said Almina. 
 
 She instantly corrected herself. 
 
 " I mean, come right over to the house. I'm real glad to 
 see ye, though I'm so 'stonished I can't collect my wits. 
 'N' we'll put the pony in the barn, 'n' fodder him. He looks 
 kinder used up, 'n' that's a fact." 
 
 As she talked, Almina was gathering her senses, which 
 seemed far afield. 
 
 She turned and retraced her steps across the road. 
 
 She was surprised that she should feel so decided a pleas- 
 ure at sight of this yellow woman. • 
 
268 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 To see Sally was like having back again a bit of that 
 strange life in the Carolina mountains. 
 
 Almina had been glad to get home, but a hundred times 
 since her return she had suddenly caught herself wishing for 
 one day among those mountains — one day of the strange, un- 
 conventional life. 
 
 And she had longed to see Temple. She could not tell 
 why she so desired to see that girl. Of course, a proper 
 amount of longing would be strictly the right thing, but 
 sometimes she had felt like crying out for a glimpse of that 
 young, strong face, with its signs of superabundant life and 
 emotion. 
 
 On one occasion, in an expansive mood, after a cup of tea 
 with Mrs. Wilson, she had confided to her sister this feeling 
 she had about that girl. 
 
 " I d' know how 'tis," said Almina, "but she ain't a grain 
 like common girls. I have spells of bein' actually hungry 
 and thirsty for a sight of her. She was like sunshine 'n' 
 fresh air ; 'n' then, again, she was like some nights when 
 there ain't no moon, 'n' the stars shine, 'n' the air is jest as 
 full of sw^eet smells—" 
 
 " Alminy," her sister had interrupted her, sharply, " I guess 
 you'd better stop talkin'. I'm glad there ain't no one but 
 me to hear such talk. 1 know what folks would say. Jest 
 to think of a human bein' that was like a night when there 
 ain't no moon, 'n' all that stuff! I declare you do put me 
 out of patience, Alminy ! But you always was odd. 'Mem- 
 ber that time when you wouldn't marry the doctor .? I wish 
 you'd pass me the sugar." 
 
 Almina passed the sugar and smiled to herself as she 
 did so. She was thinking that Freddy's mother, even though 
 she had Freddy, yet lacked some resources which she, the 
 old maid, possessed, and of which no one could deprive her. 
 
 "What made you come by that cart-path.?" 
 
 Almina put this trivial question as she stopped at the 
 barn door and took the padlock from the staple, preparatory 
 to rolling the door back. 
 
OLD MAID DROWDY S 269 
 
 Sally was pulling her foot from the stirrup. She replied 
 that she done couldn't tell why, " 'less 'twas 'cos a man told 
 her de path war er short curt to old maid Drowdy's." 
 
 Here she rolled her eyes towards Almina, who laughed 
 slightly. She had hardly heard the answer, for she was 
 wondering how it happened that she was so pleased to hear 
 that negro voice and that mixture of dialect which Sally 
 used. Almina could not remember that she had particularly 
 cared for it when she was in Carolina. 
 
 The two women went into the barn. Sally's fingers at- 
 tacked the buckles and straps of the saddle. 
 
 The pony reached his head up towards the hayloft, from 
 which dangled a few spears of hay. 
 
 " Mr. Wilson gits in my grass," remarked Almina. " Sence 
 I got home from Caroliny I 'ain't kep' a cow; but I've got 
 meal 'n' shorts I have for my hens 'n' pig." 
 
 " Where is Temple now ?" 
 
 " Laws ! how 'd I know } I done thought I'd find her 
 hyar. She ben preachin' 'n' prayin' trew de land fur de 
 Lawd. She ben up Norf hyar." 
 
 " Has she ?" 
 
 "Yas'm." 
 
 " Is her work blessed ?" 
 
 " Powerful," with unction, "so dey say. De Lawd sends 
 His Sperrit right down." 
 
 The yellow woman flung the saddle on the floor. She 
 pulled Thimble's bridle over his ears and dropped that on 
 the saddle. 
 
 Then she suddenly sat herself flat on the floor and began 
 to sob loudly, and rock herself to and fro. 
 
 Almina, inexpressively distressed, gazed blankly at her. 
 She was running over in her mind all the restoratives she 
 had in the house. 
 
 Naturally she thought of red lavender, but for some rea- 
 son this remedy did not seem appropriate for a tall yellow 
 woman who was swaying like that. 
 
 "Oh, Lawd Gawd Almighty!" cried Sally, "I jes' want 
 
270 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 Miss Temple ! I jes' want my Miss Temple ! She mus' 
 be daid ! She mus' shorely be daid !" 
 
 Almina took hold of Sally's arm and shook it. 
 
 " Stop !" she said, sharply. 
 
 But Sally did not stop. She went on worse and worse. 
 Her voice sounded out from the barn and along the road. 
 
 Sally was tired and hungry and bewildered. She was 
 also much disappointed to find that Temple was not there. 
 She had fully expected to find her. And she was deathly 
 homesick. The more homesick she felt the louder she 
 shouted her calls upon "Gawd Almighty." And she 
 slapped the palms of her hands together almost as if she 
 had " the power " upon her. 
 
 Almina was at her wit's end. She caught up a barrel 
 cover and tried to fan Sally. She dropped the cover and 
 began to pound her on the back as if she were choking. 
 
 Meantime, the pony was sauntering about as well as he 
 could in the small space, occasionally finding a grarin of corn 
 or oats among the chaff on the floor. 
 
 In the midst of this a sharp, high voice cried out, 
 
 " Par ! par ! Jes' come here 'n' see what auntie's got ! 
 Jes' come ! Par ! I say !" 
 
 A small figure in a gray suit, with a cap on the back of 
 its head, and with a good deal of red, knitted scarf about its 
 neck, was standing in the doorway. This boy held a chain 
 in one hand, and there was a bull-dog at the other end of 
 the chain. 
 
 The dog now lurched forward and tugged at his chain 
 towards Sally, who minded this arrival not a whit, and who 
 continued to call upon God, and to assert that her Miss 
 Temple " mus' be daid." 
 
 Little Freddy jumped up and down in his enjoyment of 
 this unexpected entertainment. 
 
 " St', boy !" he cried, and let go the chain. 
 
 Thus released, at the moment of his utmost strain, Jeffer- 
 son landed with some force in Sally's lap. 
 
 Sally stopped shouting instantly. She took Jefferson by 
 
\ OLD MAID DROWDY's 27 1 
 
 the loose skin on his neck and flung him back towards his 
 master, who was still jumping up and down and crying on 
 his "par" to "come 'n' see what auntie 'd got." 
 
 Almina advanced towards her nephew and boxed his ears 
 with great firmness. That was one thing she could do — she 
 could box Freddy's ears. 
 
 The action restored her somewhat to herself. She began 
 to have a glimmering perception that Sally had been going 
 on in that manner simply because it was her way to do so if 
 she happened to feel so inclined. 
 
 "I guess," she said, dryly, to Sally, "that if you jes' as 
 lieves stop hollering, we'll go into the house 'n' I'll git you 
 something to eat." 
 
 Sally rose and shook herself. She was in no way abashed, 
 as why should she be ? 
 
 Almina turned towards the house. She met her brother- 
 in-law driving into the yard. He had gone on a few rods, 
 but had then decided that the noise he heard was not all 
 made by his son, and that it would be a satisfaction to learn 
 what it was that did make it. 
 
 "Wall, Alminy," he said, " what kind of a circus have ye 
 got here ?" 
 
 He nodded towards Sally, who stood up, tall and straight, 
 not showing now the least symptoms of her late excitement. 
 
 " She come from Caroliny," was the answer. 
 
 " I thought she didn't look much like a Massachusetts 
 person," was the response, with some pride in the fact. 
 
 Mr. Wilson had grown rather stout within the last few 
 years. He did not like to climb in and out of his wagon 
 unless this act seemed strictly necessary. 
 
 But he carefully placed the lines about the dashboard, and 
 laboriously went through the process of leaving his wagon 
 and reaching the ground. 
 
 He came forward with his eyes fixed on Sally, who now 
 stood just behind Almina. 
 
 Sally had a red handkerchief twisted turbanwise about her 
 head, and an old straw hat on top of that. She wore a blue 
 
272 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 shawl, crossed in front of her broad chest, with the ends 
 tied behind. Her skirt was short, revealing her heavy 
 boots, which still retained upon them a goodly quantity of the 
 yellow mud from the " State road " of North Carolina. 
 
 As Mr. Wilson gazed at her a feeling of admiration for 
 this magnificent physique stirred and grew within him. 
 
 "By George!" he said to his wife later, "I ain't never 
 seen no such critter 's that before. Somehow she made me 
 think of something, I can't remember what, that I'd read 
 about some time or other." 
 
 " She's jest up from Caroliny," said Almina, not recalling 
 that she had already made that statement. 
 
 Here Sally went through a kind of motion which consisted 
 of bending of the knees and bobbing of the head. 
 
 " How de do .'"' said Mr. Wilson, favorably. 
 
 Here another individual joined the group. 
 
 It was Thimble, who, having exhausted the small area of 
 the barn, now came forward, followed with extreme close- 
 ness by Freddy, who in turn was followed by Jefferson. 
 
 Mr. Wilson eyed this procession intently. He was think- 
 ing that he did not w^onder that Freddy had called upon 
 him to come back and see what aunty 'd got. 
 
 Mr. Wilson thought he knew about horses, but he had 
 never seen one like this ; never one with a head and face 
 so intelligent, nor with a form so peculiar. 
 
 The pony paused and regarded this man, who was think- 
 ing, as Almina had thought, that the animal seemed made 
 of "injy rubber." His legs had to the last degree an ap- 
 pearance of suppleness. Now, as he stood, his front feet 
 were close together, and his hind-legs, from the hocks down, 
 slanted out somewhat, his whole appearance favoring the con- 
 clusion that he could double himself up, and could leap as 
 well as run. 
 
 Freddy ran up alongside and put his hand on the pony's 
 chest. 
 
 "Par," he cried out, "I want this little horse! You git 
 this little horse for me ! You swap your'n for him, par !" 
 
OLD MAID DROWDYS 273 
 
 "By George!" cried Mr. Wilson. 
 
 Then he turned to Sally. 
 
 " D' you come up from Caroliny on that critter, Miss — 
 Miss—" 
 
 "We call her jest Sally," interposed Almina, who did not 
 know why it seemed so entirely incongruous to apply such a 
 title to the yellow woman. She felt a sense of shame for her 
 brother-in-law's ignorance. 
 
 " I curm in de kyars,"' answered Sally, with a grave as- 
 pect of deep respect. 
 
 "Par," said Freddy, "you swap your'n for him! Swap 
 your'n, I tell ye !" 
 
 Mr. Wilson made no reply to this command of his son. 
 He walked up to Thimble and punched his ribs. In instant 
 response the pony drew up one hind-leg as if with ferocious 
 intent to kick; then he slowly lowered the leg, turned his 
 head, and nipped at the man's hand. 
 
 "Curious critter!" exclaimed Mr. Wilson. "What 3'ou 
 harness him into ?" 
 
 " Dere ain't no gears ever touched him," said Sally, 
 proudly. " He's jes' fur my Miss Temple ter ride." 
 
 Mr. Wilson had now opened the pony's mouth and was 
 gazing into it. 
 
 " 'Bout ten," he remarked. 
 
 Freddy jumped up and down. 
 
 " Swap your'n, par !" he cried. 
 
 "I guess, Sally," said Almina, "we'll go right in. The 
 teakittle's boilin'. 'Twon't take no time to git ye a lunch." 
 
 Sally followed her hostess into the house, leaving father 
 and son and pony and dog in the yard. 
 
 Sally sat down in the first chair, and leaned her elbows 
 on her knees. Almina, for the first time, noticed how hag- 
 gard she looked. 
 
 " I jes' carn't git over hit — 'bout Miss Temple not bein' 
 hyar," she said. " I done reckon she's sick. She's be'n 
 convertin' too powerful. She carn't stan' such powerful lot 
 er de Lawd's power." 
 
274 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 Almina, going hurriedly into the buttery, heard these 
 words. She wanted to ask after Mr. Mercer, but she would 
 not. 
 
 Mr. Mercer, being a minister, would naturally do what 
 was right. If Temple was overworked he would see that she 
 rested. 
 
 While Sally was eating, which she insisted upon doing in 
 the chair where she was, and not at the table, holding her 
 bread in one hand and her cold meat in the other, Mr. 
 Wilson came in. 
 
 There entered with him Freddy and Freddy's dog. But 
 the boy, unable to remain away from the pony, immediately 
 returned to him. 
 
 Mr. Wilson declined a chair offered him by his sister-in- 
 law. 
 
 " I guess I better not stop," he said. " I just found a letter 
 in this pocket, Alminy. It's for you. I rec'lect now I got 
 it last week, when I went to the village. I ain't had on this 
 coat sense." 
 
 He tossed the envelope on the table as if it were of no 
 consequence, but as if he had now unburdened himself of 
 that errand, 
 
 Almina took the letter eagerly, her face flushing. 
 
 " I done tole yo' so," said the yellow woman. 
 
 Mr. Wilson stood a few moments longer, his interest in 
 this new-comer evidently holding him as with cords. 
 
 When he had gone Almina opened the envelope. 
 
 She had heard twice from Temple since she had left Car- 
 olina, but not within a year, and she had not expected ever 
 to hear again. 
 
 All this phase of Almina's experience seemed entirely to 
 have dropped out of her life. And here it was suddenly 
 and vividly recalled, and she was asked to take up the 
 threads again. 
 
 This was not Temple's writing. Almina's hand trembled 
 a little as she turned the sheet. The name signed was 
 Laura Ammidown. 
 
OLD MAID DROWDY S 275 
 
 " My dear Miss Drowdy, — I know you will remember Temple 
 Crawford, and that she married my brother. The two went on a cru- 
 sade to save souls. Temple is now suffering from a break-down of 
 nerves in consequence of too much strain put upon them. 
 
 " She desires strongly to go to you, to stay for a while in your home 
 in quiet. She liked you. I have promised to ask if she may come. I 
 don't know how you are situated, but I cannot put it to you strongly 
 enough that you must take her if you can. She depends upon spending 
 this coming summer with you. She refuses to go back to the moun- 
 tains; she will not go abroad. I will send Sally to you; she will work, 
 and will take care of Temple. 
 
 "It is necessary that this arrangement be made almost immediately. 
 If I don't hear from you by the loth inst. I shall consider that you con- 
 sent. Temple will be glad to pay you well for the trouble she will 
 cause you. She insists, however, upon my saying to you that she knows 
 you would be willing to take her without pay, if you can take her at all, 
 
 " She has this wish to go to you so much at heart that I dare not 
 think of her disappointment if you find it impossible to have her with 
 you. Sincerely yours, 
 
 " Laura Ammidown." 
 
 Almina's glasses had fallen two or three times during the 
 reading of this note. She was becoming more and more 
 excited. She was aware that she had not before been ex- 
 cited since she had come home from Carolina. 
 
 She found it impossible to think of Temple as other- 
 wise than strong and active, full of a life that was life-giv- 
 ing to others. As she said to herself, she "couldn't sense 
 it." 
 
 She was well aware that her sister would oppose her ; but 
 then her sister Wilson usually acted upon the general grounds 
 that " Alminy hadn't got common-sense." 
 
 Almina leaned her shaking hand on the table. She did 
 not know that Sally was watching her over the top of the 
 teacup out of which she was drinking. 
 
 " I d' know nothin' 'bout how I shall git ready for her," said 
 Almina. " I sh'll give her the south front room — the sun 
 lays in there — ^'n' of course she c'n have the run of the house. 
 I always did take to Temple. I do wish I had something 
 cooked up." 
 
276 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 " Oh, laws ! Miss Drowdy, yo' jes' lemme put my hand to 
 thur plough." 
 
 Sally rose, set down her empty cup, and stretched out her 
 great hand. 
 
 " What 'm I hyar fur ?" she asked. 
 
 Just then a shrill shriek from the yard startled Almina. 
 She sprang to the window. 
 
 She beheld Freddy lying on his stomach upon the damp 
 ground. His arms were spread out, and his dear little feet 
 were kicking into the sod as fast as they could go, as scream 
 after scream broke from him. 
 
 Mr. Wilson had mounted into his wagon, and was gazing 
 with distressed face at his prostrate son. The man was 
 thinking of climbing out again, but it was easier to think of 
 doing this than it was for a person of his size to perform the 
 act. 
 
 Almina ran out-of-doors. The pony had found a tuft of 
 dried grass which seemed to his taste, and was nibbling upon 
 that. 
 
 " Is it a fit ?" she cried. 
 
 She bent and tried to lift her little nephew ; but her little 
 nephew stiffened himself and would not be lifted. 
 
 " Swap him, par !" he shouted. 
 
 " I guess 'tain't no fit," said Mr. Wilson. 
 
 Freddy's feet went faster. 
 
 " I want the pony ! Mar 'd git me the pony !" he now pro- 
 claimed. " Mar 'd git it !" 
 
 " He wants me to swap my hoss for that pony," explained 
 Mr. Wilson with some pride in his manner, as if not many 
 boys would have been bright enough to make this demand. 
 
 Freddy again ordered the swap to be made, but his voice 
 was now interrupted by a croupy cough, which stimulated 
 Almina to try once more to raise the child from his recum- 
 bent position. 
 
 "Yo'jes' step back, miss," said Sally, gently pushing Al- 
 mina one side. 
 
 The yellow woman stooped and took the boy in her arms. 
 
OLD MAID DROWDY S 277 
 
 She walked with him to his father's wagon, Freddy keeping 
 himself all the time quite rigid, his only movement being a 
 surreptitious attempt to pinch Sally's arm. 
 
 He was deposited on the floor of the vehicle. 
 
 The instant he touched that floor he became as limber as 
 a boy can be, which we all know is limber enough. He 
 scrambled over on to the seat by his father. 
 
 " Darned old fool !" he said, breathlessly, looking at Sally, 
 who laughed broadly at him. 
 
 This laugh but infuriated Freddy still more. He stood 
 up and violently kicked out his small foot incased in its small 
 rubber. 
 
 Then he began to cough more croupily than before. 
 
 At this point his father grappled with him. He flung the 
 horse -blanket about him, having a keen fear that Freddy 
 might be capable of developing an attack of the croup on 
 the spot. 
 
 With one hand holding his son pinioned in the blanket, 
 Mr. Wilson shook the reins in his other hand, and the horse 
 began to walk out of the yard. 
 
 Jefferson, accidentally shut in the house, now yapped per- 
 emptorily to be let loose. Being released, he flew furiously 
 after his master. 
 
 Almina said she felt "jest like cryin'. She knew her 
 sister 'd blame it all on her. 'N' if Freddy should have the 
 croup 'n' die, Freddy's mother 'd never forgive her." 
 
 "Laws, honey!" remarked Sally, "dat boy ain't de kind 
 as dies. He'll live, he will ; he'll grow up to be a man an' 
 he'll hab a wife, an' he'll torment her to def." 
 
 And the yellow woman laughed again. 
 
 Almina tried to be cheered. She promised herself that 
 she would go over to her sister's before she went to bed, and 
 see how Freddy had borne the storm and stress of that half- 
 hour after he had seen the pony. 
 
 The two women went back into the house. Almina 
 stopped at the door to advise Sally to put Thimble in the 
 barn, but Sally replied that the pony was used to being 
 
278 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 loose, and that he would " take care of his'ef." Neverthe- 
 less, she fed him. 
 
 Then Almina went into the " south room " and began to 
 take everything out of it, so that she might give the whole 
 apartment what she called a "good goin' over." 
 
 As she did not know when to expect Temple, she ran to 
 the window every time she heard the sound of wheels, and 
 she was soon, as she acknowledged, " as nervous as a witch." 
 
 Sally, cheered and invigorated by food and drink, now 
 thought that it was highly probable that " Miss Temple 
 wasn't daid at all." She helped Almina. She carried out 
 a roll of carpet on her head, a thing that was never before 
 done in Hoyt. 
 
 Unfortunately she was seen in the act by Mrs. Newton, 
 from the other neighborhood, who was at that moment driv- 
 ing by in the Goddard buggy which had belonged to the 
 Newtons for as long a time as Goddard buggies had been 
 made. 
 
 Mrs. Newton's horse was walking, because it always 
 walked when it was not standing still or trying to roll over 
 in the pasture. 
 
 Mrs. Newton was very thin and long-waisted, so that when 
 she tried to lean out of her buggy to see what was going on 
 she could lean out a great ways, and consequently could see 
 a great deal. 
 
 She now saw Sally appear with the carpet on her head, 
 and fling her burden on the ground in the front yard. 
 
 The sight was one as astounding as if " an earthquake 
 had swallowed her up," as Mrs. Newton said the next day in 
 every house within reach of a walking horse. 
 
 Almina, who was wiping off the south-room looking-glass, 
 heard a voice say, 
 
 "Whoa!" 
 
 As she knew the voice, her heart sank ; but she was aware 
 that it would in no wise serve her to delay. Therefore, she 
 appeared immediately at the open front door, with the look- 
 ing-glass in her hand. 
 
OLD MAID DROWDY's 27g 
 
 " How de do, Mis' Newton ? Do come in 'n' se' down a 
 spell," she said ; and felt like a false villain, because in her 
 secret soul she wished to tell that woman in the buggy to 
 go along and mind her own business. 
 
XVII 
 "a man may be a fool once in his life" 
 
 " No, I guess I can't git out," said Mrs. Newton, with her 
 eyes fixed on Sally, who was shaking the carpet in great 
 billows. " Was goin' by, 'n' I thought I'd jest haul up. 
 Ain't you begun to clean house ruther early ? The flies 
 ain't hardly come yet. I tell um if I git my house cleaned 
 fore fly-time it's early enough." 
 
 *'I thought I'd clean up the south room," remarked Al- 
 mina in a dignified wa}^ as if she reserved the right to clean 
 house when she pleased. 
 
 "It's jest 's anybody's a mind to, of course," was the tol- 
 erant reply. " But I tell um if I git it done 'fore fly-time it's 
 early enough." 
 
 Mrs. Newton was so occupied in gazing at Sally that she 
 was not aware that she had repeated her former remark. 
 
 Almina said nothing. She employed herself by carefully 
 rubbing the cloth in her hand back and forth over the 
 mirror. 
 
 She was glancing at Mrs. Newton, and she saw that lady's 
 eyes bulge still more. She immediately discovered that the 
 cause was the appearance of Thimble, who had strolled 
 round to the front of the house, and now stood with his ears 
 cocked towards the horse in the buggy-shafts. 
 
 "Be'n buyin' a boss, Alminy?" Mrs. Newton tried to put 
 this question in a casual manner, but her face could not have 
 looked much more startled if her interrogation had referred 
 to an ostrich. 
 
 "No," said Almina, "I ain't be'n buyin' no boss." 
 
 Mrs. Newton reached forth a long arm, which ended in a 
 
"a man may be a fool once in his life" 281 
 
 hand with a brown cotton glove on it. This hand was di- 
 rected towards Thimble. 
 
 "'Ain't that some kind of a boss?" she inquired. 
 
 Sally shook the carpet in greater billows than ever, and 
 clouds of dust flew up from it. 
 
 "That's a saddle pony," answered Almina. "Don't you 
 think you better come in 'n' se' down ?" 
 
 Mrs. Newton ignored this second invitation. 
 
 " Where'd it come from ?" she inquired. 
 
 She was so carried along by the intensity of her curiosity 
 that she was unable to try to arrive at these questions 
 gradually. 
 
 " North Caroliny," was the answer. 
 
 "Ohl" 
 
 Mrs. Newton's hand sank to her lap ; but her tall figure 
 still remained leaned out of the buggy, as if she had been a 
 marionette put in that position, 
 
 "Ain't you kinder old 'n' stiff to begin ridin' horseback, 
 Alminy Drowdy.-*" 
 
 "I ain't goin' to." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 A short silence. 
 
 "When d' you conclood to set up nigger help, Alminy.?" 
 
 " I ain't goin' to." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 The tension on the marionette relaxed sufficiently to en- 
 able the figure to sink back on its seat. 
 
 " Cluck ! G'long ! Huddup, I say !" 
 
 The Newton horse moved slowly away, dragging the New- 
 ton Goddard buggy behind him. 
 
 The occupant of the carriage turned and peered from the 
 narrow slit of a window at the back. 
 
 " I declare ! I do declare !" she exclaimed, aloud. " I'm 
 a good mineter call on the Selectmen ; I'm a good mineter, 
 's ever I had to eat. Somebody ought to do something. 
 'Tain't safe to let Alminy go to her own head." 
 
 But as Mrs. Newton drove on she gradually changed her 
 
282 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 mind about going to the Selectmen. She did not know pre- 
 cisely what to say to these guardians of the town, so she de- 
 cided definitely to let Almina go to her own head. 
 
 Miss Drowdy, when the Newton equipage was out of sight, 
 told Sally, rather sharply, to take the carpet around to the 
 back of the house and finish shaking it, and to tie up Thim- 
 ble in the barn. 
 
 The two women worked all the forenoon. By two o'clock 
 not only the south room, but all the lower rooms, had been 
 through a regular house-cleaning. 
 
 Almina was tremulous with fatigue and expectation. She 
 said half a dozen times that she did wish she knew when 
 Temple was coming, for if there was anything that wore on 
 her it was uncertainty. She made a pot of strong tea, and 
 she and Sally drank it. 
 
 As the hours of the afternoon crept on, Almina was con- 
 tinually going to the window to look down the road in the 
 direction of the station, some miles away. 
 
 She told Sally that she hadn't been so worked up since 
 that time she started to Carolina, three years before. 
 
 Sally herself partook of the excitement, but her expression 
 of the emotion was very different. She went about singing 
 hymns in a loud, deep voice ; sometimes she struck her 
 hands together and shouted, 
 
 " Come down, Lawd ! Come down dis yer minute !" 
 
 Her dark face shone ; there Avas a smouldering fire in her 
 eyes. 
 
 Almina was constantly fearing that, if she gave way, she 
 should herself begin to shout, and she had a New England 
 Congregationalist shrinking from loudly asking the Lord to 
 come down. 
 
 The faint, apple-green twilight sky was deepening in shade 
 after the long spring day when Almina, sitting at the kitchen 
 window, saw a large dog come loping along the road. He 
 was white, and, as he came nearer, she perceived that he 
 had one black ear. 
 
 All the light from the west seemed concentrated on the 
 
"a man may be a fool once in his life" 283 
 
 animal, who now stood still in the middle of the highway 
 and looked back, as if waiting. 
 
 Almina rose, pushing her chair violently from her. 
 
 " It's Yucatan !" she said, in a high voice. " She's com- 
 in' ! Sally, she's comin' !" 
 
 But Sally dashed out of the door first. She ran down to 
 the end of the yard, and just then a carry -all, drawn by 
 two horses, came rapidly along and turned up towards the 
 house. 
 
 Some one in the carry-all uttered an exclamation and 
 leaned forward. 
 
 The two women saw a pale face, brilliant with emotion. 
 
 Somehow Sally reached forward and took her young mis- 
 tress in her arms. The yellow woman turned away, still 
 holding the slight figure. She carried it towards the house. 
 She was saying, in a sobbing voice, 
 
 "Honey! Lamb! Bress her ! Bress her I" 
 
 The large dog walked close beside them, and sat down on 
 the floor near the lounge in the south room, where Sally put 
 her charge. 
 
 The yellow woman knelt down and began unfastening the 
 furs Temple wore. She was crying audibly. 
 
 Notwithstanding that she had been told that Temple was 
 ill, she had not expected this change. The thin, pale face 
 was transparent, and, though now held quiet, it had upon it 
 a suggestion of intense excitement. 
 
 But Temple usually carried herself so quietly as to deceive 
 some people into exclaiming, "You don't tell me that woman 
 is nervous !" 
 
 Sally threw back the fur cloak. Then Temple reached 
 forward and took the large, brawny, dark hand. She clasped 
 both her own about it. She smiled up into the dusky, tropi- 
 cal eyes gazing down at her. 
 
 " Don't yo' ! Don't yo' !" cried Sally. 
 
 "Don't what?" 
 
 " Smile at me ! I tell yo' I carn't abear it ! I carn't I" 
 
 " But I'm so glad to see you, Sally." 
 
284 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 Sally's face worked. She choked on the word she tried 
 to speak. Then she burst out in the beginning of a prayer. 
 
 " Stop !" said Temple. 
 
 " I war gwine ter pray fur yo','' answered the yellow 
 woman. 
 
 " I know it. I don't want you tp pray for me." 
 
 Sally gazed in surprise at the face before her. The face 
 had hardened a little. 
 
 Temple tried to speak in a different tone. 
 
 "I'm tired, you know, and — and — " She paused; she 
 knew that she must not say what was in her mind. 
 
 Then the two were silent. Temple continued to hold 
 Sally's hand in both her own. She closed her eyes, but she 
 could feel the lids quiver and burn over the eyeballs. Still 
 she kept them closed. 
 
 The dog thrust his nose into Sally's lap and whined. 
 
 Outside, Almina was standing by the carriage which had 
 driven up close to the door. 
 
 Mercer had occupied the seat with his wife. When Sally 
 had taken Temple away he had descended quickly. He 
 took Almina's hand, standing for a moment bareheaded be- 
 fore her. 
 
 He greeted her with a calm cordiality. It seemed that 
 he in no wise partook of excitement of any kind. 
 
 Miss Drowdy noted that he also was haggard and worn ; 
 but when she inquired concerning his health he answered 
 that he was perfectly well. 
 
 He turned and busied himself with the wraps and satchels 
 in the carriage. Every motion he made was controlled and 
 effective. 
 
 When the luggage was deposited just within the kitchen 
 door, Mercer turned to Almina, whom he had not allowed to 
 help him, and asked if he might see her for a moment. He 
 was going away that evening, and — 
 
 Here Almina could not help interrupting with the ex- 
 clamation, 
 
 " Going so soon ?" 
 
"a man may be a fool once in his life" 285 
 
 "My engagements are made," was the reply, "and I must 
 keep them, if possible. Tlie driver here will wait an hour, 
 when he will take me back to the station in time to catch the 
 return train to Boston. I shall get there before midnight." 
 
 Mercer drew out his watch and looked at it. His face 
 did not show that he could not tell the time, though his eyes 
 dwelt on the dial, 
 
 Almina led the way into the kitchen. She hurriedly 
 placed a chair for the minister, and then sat down and gazed 
 at him. 
 
 Mercer also sat down ; but he rose instantly. He thrust 
 one hand into the closely buttoned coat. The other hand 
 held tightly the rim of his hat. 
 
 The woman gazing at him thought she had never seen 
 any one look so calm and cool. She respected Mercer 
 greatly; but just now she thought she did not much like 
 him. 
 
 " After all," he began, in a clear voice, " I don't know that 
 I have much to say. I know you will do all you can for 
 Mrs. Mercer. She is wretched. It will require a long time 
 for her to recover. Don't spare money in the slightest de- 
 gree. I shall forward you a certain sum per month. Please 
 don't demur at that. I know you are hospitable, but you 
 haven't much monev." 
 
 Here the dry, even voice paused a moment. Almina won- 
 dered why she felt such a growing excitement. She had 
 never seen any one quite so calm as this man was. 
 
 " I shall be only too glad to do all I can for Temple," she 
 said. 
 
 "Yes, I know; I'm sure of that," with a slight movement 
 of the hand and hat. " I'm going to ask you to write to me 
 every Monday ; you will tell me how Mrs. Mercer is every 
 Monday ? You understand ?" 
 
 The tone rasped a little. 
 
 " I understand." 
 
 "And you promise.'*" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
286 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 " I thank you. I can rely upon you. I am necessarily 
 leaving her for an indefinite time." 
 
 Here Mercer drew his hand from the breast of his coat 
 and passed it slowly over his forehead. 
 
 "You will come to see her sometimes.''" 
 
 Almina pronounced this sentence in a positive manner. 
 
 It was a perceptible space of time before the man replied, 
 
 "Everything is extremely uncertain. Duty will keep me 
 much of the time at a distance." 
 
 " But she is your wife !" This exclamation broke from 
 the woman involuntarily. 
 
 Then she blushed at her temerity. 
 
 Her eyes were fixed on the severe, masculine face above 
 her. She saw it grow gray, like ashes. But Mercer's voice 
 was just the same as he said, 
 
 " I shall be anxious ; but this is one of the trials to which 
 I must submit. I have brought Mrs. Mercer here because 
 she and I believed that here she would be most likely to re- 
 cover rapidly. She has longed to come here to you. She 
 has often spoken of you." 
 
 It seemed, for some reason, necessary for Mercer to 
 pause frequently. And after each time he paused his voice 
 was more dry and cold. 
 
 " One thing more," he went on again ; " I shall keep you 
 informed of my whereabouts, so that you will know where to 
 send to me ; and if any change, no matter how slight, for the 
 worse takes place, you will telegraph to me instantly. And 
 you will not, I think, find it necessary to tell Mrs. Mercer of 
 this arrangement. She will write to me, and it might worry 
 her to know that I had thought it necessary to ask this favor 
 
 you. 
 
 By this time Mercer was talking as nearly like an automa- 
 ton as a human being may be able to do. And by this time 
 Almina was thinking with great surprise that she could very 
 soon hate a man like this, even though he w^ere a minister 
 of the Gospel. 
 
 "That is all, I believe," he now said. 
 
" A MAN MAY BE A FOOL ONCE IN HIS LIFE " 287 
 
 And again he took out his watch and studied the face of 
 it, not seeing the position of the hands. 
 
 " I will now see Mrs. Mercer for a few moments." 
 
 Almina rose. She felt as if her mind were gradually stif- 
 fening in some mysterious way, and that her body was in- 
 volved in the process. 
 
 She opened the door into the south room. 
 
 Mercer looked into the room. He thought his eyes were 
 balls of fire that were scorching his brain. As in a flame, 
 an instantaneous picture of the group came to his vision. 
 
 He saw his wife on the lounge with her face turned tow- 
 ards Sally. The yellow woman was kneeling over her. The 
 .great dog was sitting on his haunches, his heavy, plumy tail 
 spread out straight on the floor behind him, while his head 
 was resting on the lounge, thrust up close to his mistress's 
 neck. 
 
 Mercer cleared his throat as he advanced into the room. 
 
 Sally rose instantly. As she turned towards him he saw 
 how moved her face was, and that the cloudy eyes swam in 
 tears. 
 
 " Thank de Lawd fur a sight ob Miss Temple 1" she said, 
 fervently. She passed by the man, and joined Almina in the 
 kitchen. 
 
 Yucatan had risen also, and he came towards his master, 
 slowly swaying his tail. 
 
 Mercer stopped the dog. He put one hand under the 
 lower jaw and the other hand on top of Yucatan's head. 
 Thus he gazed down at him, seeing with an aching vividness 
 the magnificent lion face, the loyal eyes full of tenderness 
 and strength. 
 
 The words in the man's mind were : " Oh, my God ! My 
 God !" 
 
 In a moment he drew a chair to the couch. He spoke 
 pleasantl}', as if he were going away for a week or two. 
 
 "I'm glad you'll have Yucatan. When you get strong 
 enough to walk about the country here I shall know you'll 
 be well protected." 
 
288 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 " Oh yes," said Temple. She had glanced up as Mercer 
 sat down by her. Now her eyelids were lowered. Mercer 
 looked at the thick, light lashes. 
 
 He sat back firmly in his chair. By what might be called 
 " main force " he took his eyes from Temple's face. But 
 direct them where he would, they only saw that face, that 
 head, with its plentiful light hair, with its lovely contour. 
 
 " I'm sorry you did not arrange to stop longer here, Rich- 
 ard," said Temple. 
 
 " Are you ?" quickly. 
 
 " Certainly. And you are so tired." 
 
 " I shall take every opportunity to rest. Don't think of 
 me as being tired." 
 
 " Where shall you go now ?" 
 
 " To North Carolina, within the week." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 Temple raised herself on her elbow. A flash of interest 
 passed over her. 
 
 Within the last few weeks she had not cared to know any 
 plans for work; she could not think of meetings. And what 
 had terrified her much, what she had not confided to any 
 one, she found that she could not pray. Worse than that, 
 she had no wish to pray. 
 
 She used to spend hours thinking of that evening among 
 the Carolina mountains when she had " experienced relig- 
 ion." 
 
 A thousand times she asked herself if she had not, after 
 all, experienced. Was not that precious gift hers ? Had 
 she been deceived ? 
 
 " To North Carolina ?" she now said. 
 
 "Yes. Temple, do you want to go there ?" 
 
 The flush of interest on her face made Mercer suddenly 
 ask this. 
 
 " No, oh no ! No ! I could not possibly bear the moun- 
 tains now." 
 
 " But you love them ?" 
 
 " Yes. That is why I could not bear to see them. Still, 
 
"a man may be a fool once in his life" 289 
 
 I am so different now. I wonder why, now that I reaHy am 
 so different, I could not change about the mountains. I won- 
 der why, Richard ?" 
 
 Mercer tried to answer. But all he could say was, 
 
 "You are not well; your nerves are weak." 
 
 Temple smiled. 
 
 " Don't mention my nerves, please. I've heard enough 
 from Miss MacCallum about my nerves to last me a long 
 life." 
 
 The man was silent. Again, in spite of himself, his gaze 
 dwelt on Temple's eyelashes. 
 
 He was thinking that he had noticed these lashes on that 
 first time when he had seen her — noticed them with that curi- 
 ous thrill of tender admiration which he felt now. 
 
 He tried to get himself in hand. He had tried to do that 
 every day, it seemed to him every moment of his life, since 
 he had known this woman. And he had never succeeded. 
 
 It was true that he had succeeded in appearing to have 
 full control of himself. But he struck deeper than that. It 
 was the feeling that he wished to command. A man ought 
 to be king of everything within him, or how should he be a 
 man ? 
 
 Mercer tried to speak. He had thought that he had 
 something special to say to his wife, now that he was leaving 
 her. But he could not say anything. 
 
 He was leaving her. He leaned his head forward and 
 put his hand over his brow, looking down at her. 
 
 Could he ever stop looking at her ? The three years since 
 his marriage had been horrible years. 
 
 But there had been one thread of golden light running 
 through them — she had been near him. He knew that she 
 had not been happy, but she had been near him. It was 
 something to be able to turn and glance at her, though she 
 was never expecting his glance and never returned it. In- 
 deed, outwardly it was but a casual, friendly eyebeam. 
 
 She had been his comrade and his sympathetic fellow- 
 worker, never anything more. And he knew that now had 
 19 
 
290 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 come the end even of this comradeship. But she did not 
 know it. How much would she care if she did know it ? 
 She had always been so friendly and so kind, he was sure 
 she would care somewhat. And she had worked so hard. 
 She had thrown herself without reserve into their labor. She 
 had used without stint her magnificent strength. How she 
 had poured herself out ! 
 
 At last Mercer made a greater effort and said, " When 
 the weather grows warmer you must be out-of-doors all day 
 long. I shall think of you as on Thimble's back, almost 
 from sunup to sundown." 
 
 How dry as dust his voice sounded to the man ! And he 
 thought cloudily that the words were strange things; they 
 did not amount to anything ; they were dead. Could not 
 he find some simple, living word to use now that his heart 
 was breaking, his life going out of him ? 
 
 Then he bethought himself that even if there were such 
 words he must not employ them. He must go away from 
 Temple as calmly as he had lived with her. 
 
 She was so tender-hearted that she might grieve in a su- 
 perficial, brief way. 
 
 "It was so kind of you to send Thimble and Sally here, 
 said Temple. She raised her eyes towards him. " But, 
 then, when were you not kind ? I shall miss you so much." 
 
 Mercer wished that she would not talk in that way. And 
 he wished that she would not lift her eyes. 
 
 How long would it be before she ceased to miss him, even 
 in her way ? She could not help thinking of him for a while, 
 they had been so intimately associated. 
 
 " I find all my remarks narrowing down to these words," 
 he began : "you must take the best kind of care of yourself." 
 
 His voice sank to a husky whisper at the last word. 
 
 " Oh, there's no fear but that I shall take care of myself,'^ 
 Temple answered ; " and you'll write to me often, Richard .?" 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " You will be among the mountains when the rhododen- 
 drons come ?" 
 
 ?T 
 
"a man may be a fool once in his life" 291 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Temple drew a long breath. 
 
 " And you will see Busbee in April ?'* 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Another long breath. 
 
 Temple smiled wistfully. 
 
 " I know Busbee isn't much of a mountain among the 
 rest of them there, but it's my own." 
 
 " I shall think of that when I see it." 
 
 The man's tone was so very rasping that his wife wondered 
 at it. 
 
 " Do you suppose that old fallen tree still makes a kind 
 of landing on the Broad near my home ?" 
 
 " I will find out, and I'll write to you about it." 
 
 "Oh, thank you ! It was on the Broad, you know, that I 
 learned to play the fiddle. Richard, you do look so tired!" 
 
 Temple raised herself again on her elbow as she fixed 
 earnest eyes on her companion's face. 
 
 "I'm all right," more brusquely than he usually spoke. 
 
 He rose. 
 
 "I think I'll go now. I'm so glad I leave you in good 
 care. I have great faith in Miss Drowdy and Sally." 
 
 "And when shall you come to see how I am getting on.?" 
 
 " I can't tell now, really. But you must keep me advised 
 of your welfare. God bless you, Temple !" 
 
 He took both her hands. His own were steady and cold, 
 not at all like live human flesh. 
 
 "Good-bye." 
 
 He kissed her hands in the lightest manner. In the same 
 way his lips touched her forehead. 
 
 He left the room. In the kitchen he shook hands with 
 Miss Drowdy and Sally. 
 
 The next moment he was out in the yard. 
 
 Temple had risen from the couch and gone to the win- 
 dow. 
 
 But Mercer did not once glance towards the house. 
 
 He entered the carriage and was driven away. 
 
292 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 When Almina came into the room a few moments later 
 her guest was still standing at the window, leaning against 
 the casing, gazing out as if she saw something beside the 
 chill trees and fields. 
 
 " What is it ?" 
 
 Almina, alarmed, she knew not why, hurried to Temple's 
 side. But Temple turned immediately to her and said, 
 gently, 
 
 " It's nothing. I was wondering how soon the new oak 
 leaves would push off the old ones. The new always pushes 
 away the old, doesn't it.''" 
 
 Temple did not resume her place on the lounge. She 
 asked if she might go to her room. She said she did not 
 want Sally ; she only wanted Yucatan. 
 
 Being informed that she was then in her sitting-room, and 
 that the bed was in the little adjoining room, she asked if 
 she might be left alone with Yucatan. She tried to explain 
 that she could rest better so. 
 
 " Laws !" interrupted Sally, " don't yo' go an' try to s'plain 
 nothin'." 
 
 Being thus left alone. Temple sat down on the floor by 
 the chair in front of the couch, the chair Mercer had occu- 
 pied. She leaned an arm across it. She beckoned to the 
 dog, who came to her. But he went back to the window, 
 put his paws on the shelf, raised himself and looked out, 
 whining under his breath as he did so. 
 
 Temple gazed at him with widened eyes, not speaking. 
 
 In a moment he came to her side and stretched himself 
 out beside her. 
 
 The two remained quiet for a long time. The sunlight 
 grew warm in the low room. 
 
 The house was strangely still. Its other occupants were 
 hoping that Temple was asleep. 
 
 But she was not sleeping. Her eyes were open, but vague 
 and unseeing. She was listening to the sound of the wind 
 as it rushed round the corner of the house. She heard the 
 oaks thrash about. She remembered how a peach-tree used 
 
"a man may be a fool once in his life" 293 
 
 to rub its branches on the roof of the Carolina log-house. 
 That was when she was somebody else. 
 
 After a while the door of the kitchen opened, and Almina, 
 picking over beans, looked up to see Temple standing there 
 with the Newfoundland close behind her. 
 
 *' I wanted to speak to some one," she said. 
 
 " Bless me ! I thought you were asleep, 'n' I've been just 
 holdin' my breath for fear I should wake ye. Come right 
 in. I've got some milk-toast ready 'ginst you should want 
 something, and I'll make some tea or coffee." 
 
 "A woman with nerves doesn't drink tea or coffee," was 
 the response. "Give me a glass of milk. And don't 'make 
 company ' of me, please." 
 
 Temple sat down by the table in the kitchen. She tried 
 to seem hungry as she forced down the food. 
 
 Almina went on with her work. The beans dropped from 
 her hands into the tin pan in her lap. But she was not 
 thinking of what she was doing, and she knew very well that 
 these beans would have to be picked over again. 
 
 She explained that Sally had gone to the barn to feed the 
 pony ; that she had been gone more than an hour. 
 
 " She has dropped asleep," said Temple. " I know her 
 ways. When she is tired she will fall asleep anywhere." 
 
 As she spoke. Temple wondered at her success in control- 
 ling her wish to see her pony. And she hoped that she was 
 losing that power to feel intensely, since in this world that 
 power must inevitably bring more suffering than happi- 
 ness. 
 
 Then she thought of Miss MacCallum, and smiled deri- 
 sively. Miss MacCallum knew all about emotions; she had 
 them tabulated, she prescribed some and proscribed others. 
 Some were to be cherished as strengthening to the feminine 
 human being — such as love for a man, for a child, and so 
 on. Others, such as a too ardent love for a friend of the 
 same sex, too deep a feeling for beauty in nature or in hu- 
 manity, were to be nipped in the bud. You were not to 
 " emotionalize " — that was her word for all feeling which a 
 
294 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 lack in her own temperament made it impossible for her to 
 understand. 
 
 Almina could not help gazing somewhat markedly at her 
 guest. Temple, holding her glass of milk, and sipping it oc- 
 casionally, glanced up and caught this look. 
 
 " What are you thinking," she asked, with the quick sus- 
 picion of an invalid. 
 
 " Nothing to speak of" 
 
 " Tell me," with a touch of her old manner. 
 
 The elder woman colored and hesitated. Finally she 
 said, 
 
 " I was wonderin' if you had any of your old temper. You 
 seem so changed." 
 
 Temple pushed back from the table. 
 
 "Am I so changed.''" she exclaimed, a sharp note in her 
 voice. " God knows I have tried to change myself — I've 
 tried to make myself all over." 
 
 ** Were you dretful bad, then ?" 
 
 "I don't know — yes, of course, I was. Aren't we all 
 dreadful bad ? Our original, carnal natures, you know. Miss 
 Drowdy." 
 
 Almina lifted a handful of beans and let them fall con- 
 templatively. 
 
 " I d' know," she said, slowly; " I've been thinkin' a good 
 deal myself." 
 
 Here the speaker smiled and turned more fully towards 
 her companion. "Fact is," she continued, "I ain't never 
 seen nothin' very bad in you, 'cept your temper. I was 
 wonderin' if you'd get the better of that. 'N' what's be- 
 come of Bartholomew .''" 
 
 The quick-coming, quick-going flush came to Temple's 
 face. 
 
 " Bart's gone to the bad — I always think I might have 
 done more for him." - 
 
 " Mebby. But you had him when there wouldn't nobody 
 else have him 'round. Why don't you think of that, 's well's 
 of what you didn't do for him .?" 
 
"a man may be a fool once in his life" 295 
 
 Temple started up from her chair with another touch of 
 her old self. 
 
 " How comforting you are !" she cried. " But I haven't 
 been looking at things in that way. I've been thinking of 
 sins and shortcomings, and scourging myself on. And you 
 know — oh, I can't bear to think of it, but you know I struck 
 Bart. Perhaps if I hadn't struck him — " 
 
 "Oh, how foolish you be !" interrupted the other woman. 
 " You jest go out-doors 'n' git a breath of air. It '11 do you 
 more good than thinkin' such stuff." 
 
 Temple came close to Almina's chair. She paused there 
 for a moment. Then she said, 
 
 " I was sure I wanted to come to you, and I was right." 
 
 Having said this, she walked quickly from the room. 
 
 Almina held a handful of beans with unconscious close- 
 ness, gazing at them with dim eyes. She had a feeling as if 
 she had been caressed, though Temple had not touched her. 
 
 As for Temple herself, she felt a hint of coming rest as she 
 stepped off the old flat stone from the kitchen door into the 
 sunny coolness of the spring day. The simplicity of Almina's 
 goodness was a refreshment. There did not seem to Tem- 
 ple to be anything complex in Almina's nature. She lived 
 without that continual questioning and analysis. 
 
 Temple turned her face up towards the sky. 
 
 " Oh yes," she whispered, " I must have been right when 
 I longed to come here." 
 
 She hurried to the barn. A shrill neigh greeted her en- 
 trance. 
 
 She ran into the stall and clasped the pony's neck. She 
 kissed his soft nose ; she stroked the broad, intelligent fore- 
 head ; she held the sharp ears in her hands ; she laid her 
 face down on Thimble's shoulder ; and all the time the tears 
 were falling from her eyes. 
 
 " How could I let two hours go without coming here to 
 see you ?" she kept saying. " I did long to come, dear ; you 
 know I longed to come. But I wanted to try to wait. I 
 wanted to see if I could wait." 
 
296 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 Sally was not there. Temple looked about for the saddle 
 and bridle. She put them on, her hands trembling piteous- 
 ly, the perspiration starting from her face. 
 
 She threw open the barn door. Then she got into the 
 saddle. 
 
 The pony walked out into the yard ; the air blew over 
 Temple. She shook the lines. Thimble broke into his little 
 amble, tossing up his head, his ragged, neglected mane falling 
 in rough locks on both sides of his neck. 
 
 A window in the house was flung up sharply. 
 
 "Be you sure you're able.?" cried Almina. 
 
 For answer Temple waved her hand and smiled radiantly. 
 
 But Almina did not quite trust to that manner. 
 
 She went up -stairs and watched the horsewoman going 
 down the long road, the pony at his slow amble. 
 
 Temple suddenly knew that her strength was ebbing. A 
 tremor came to her hands ; a faintness took possession of 
 her. She turned the pony back. 
 
 Almina rushed down to the door. She put her arm about 
 Temple as she dropped from the saddle. 
 
 "You see," said Temple, just above a whisper, "I wasn't 
 able. Perhaps I never shall be." 
 
 "Land of love !" was the brisk response, "you'll be can- 
 tering all over the country 'fore you know it." 
 
 While Temple was thus returning, Mercer was riding tow- 
 ards Boston. 
 
 He was sitting by himself in the train, apparently watch- 
 ing every object to be seen from the window. 
 
 Ten, twenty miles from Hoyt. Twenty miles from Hoyt. 
 
 When the conductor came in after the last stopping-place, 
 Mercer touched his arm. 
 
 " How far to the next town ?" 
 
 " Six miles." 
 
 " Does this train stop there .?" The conductor nodded, 
 and hurried on. 
 
 Presently Mercer stood on the platform at the next 
 station. 
 
" A MAN MAY BE A FOOL ONCE IN HIS LIFE." 297 
 
 What he was saying to himself was what he had been say- 
 ing for the last hour: 
 
 "A man may be a fool once in his life. A man may be 
 a fool once in his life." 
 
 He went into the station and inquired for the nearest 
 livery-stable. It was rather a large town, and he had no 
 difficulty in getting a saddle-horse. He asked the way to 
 Hoyt, and then he galloped out over the road in that 
 direction. 
 
XVIII 
 RETURNING STRENGTH 
 
 The spring sunlight was warm. The robins were making 
 excursions here and there as if selecting building spots. 
 Among the trees there could be heard the resounding taps 
 of the woodpecker, and one might see the bird briskly run- 
 ning up a tree-trunk. 
 
 But Mercer did not hear nor see any of the country 
 sounds or sights. He was riding swiftly over roads mostly 
 solitary. He had more than twenty miles to go. It would 
 be evening long before he reached Hoyt. He had no defi- 
 nite plan as to what he should do when he should arrive. 
 All that he knew was that he must see his wife once more. 
 Just once more. 
 
 Sometimes, as he rode, he childishly repeated these last 
 words aloud. Then he would draw himself up as he would 
 have drawn up a fractious horse. 
 
 *' There's just about so much of the idiot in every human 
 being," he said, " and the time always comes when the idiot 
 acts. That time is come for me. I thought I 'had will, 
 reason, common-sense. Well, just now I haven't either." 
 
 He urged his horse to go yet faster through the now slant- 
 ing beams of the sun. The earthy, spring smells came out 
 more strongly as night approached. 
 
 "What shall I say to her when I see her?" 
 
 But he had no reply to that question. 
 
 'Perhaps it was the subtle influence of the spring; perhaps 
 the reaction from the strain of leaving Temple ; but true it 
 was that Mercer had never found it so difficult to combat 
 the natural impulses of his heart, never so hard to fight 
 against nature. 
 
RETURNING STRENGTH 299 
 
 As he rode on, thinking of Temple at the end of the jour- 
 ney, the thrill of love and longing for the beloved quite over- 
 mastered him. 
 
 But only for the moment, he told himself. His purpose 
 remained just the same. His purpose had been formed by 
 reason and long deliberation. Therefore it was right. The 
 thing that reason sanctioned must be right. 
 
 He had prayed much ; he had laid this matter many 
 times before God ; had passionately pleaded for light and 
 guidance. 
 
 But Mercer had never been absolutely sure as to the 
 answer. God, for some mysterious reason, did not vouch- 
 safe His aid. That meant, of course, that Mercer was to do 
 what he could with his own mind to direct him. 
 
 There had been times, often repeated, when, as Mercer 
 prayed in public at his special meetings, he found himself 
 pleading with an abandon of fervor that his wife might love 
 him. 
 
 Not that his words were to that effect ; not that the people 
 listening guessed what was in his heart. He did not know 
 how it was that he could pour out hot words of entreaty for 
 the men and women before him, when his soul was only cry- 
 ing out for the love of his wife. 
 
 Often he asked himself what she felt at such times. 
 
 There she was on the platform near him. 
 
 Week by week, day by day, Mercer had seen that Temple 
 had less strength, less vitality. 
 
 The robust mountain girl, whose physical power was great 
 enough to bear the thrill and vibration of a sensitive, aesthetic 
 nature, was changing all the time into the delicate woman 
 who quivered and shook with what people so curiously call 
 "nerves," and who was prostrate after any intense feeling. 
 
 Miss MacCallum said it was " emotion." Miss MacCal- 
 lum proposed to eliminate emotion from Temple's life, not 
 merely now that she was an invalid, but after lack of emotion 
 should have restored her to health. 
 
 All this went through Mercer's mind as he rode on, and 
 
300 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 the sun went down below the horizon. The man owned to 
 himself that he was groping blindly. 
 
 He did not know but that human nature principally needed 
 suppression in this world. He had believed that it did. 
 
 It required an effort on his part for him to make the nec- 
 essary inquiries as to the direction in which he should ride. 
 He could hardly detach his mind from the thoughts that 
 filled it, and he had w^hat he knew was an unnatural feeling 
 that he ought to be aware by intuition as to the way to go. 
 
 ■The clock at Hoyt Centre had struck eight when he came 
 within sight of Miss Drowdy's home. The little brown 
 house looked black in the moonlight. 
 
 Mercer had a fear that he should disturb some one. 
 
 It was as still as if a great peace had descended on the 
 world. 
 
 He dismounted, and led his horse slowly into the yard. 
 As he did so he heard Thimble's shrill whinny from the 
 barn. Then Yucatan's deep voice came from the house. 
 
 A light in the kitchen moved and came towards the outer 
 door, which opened softly. 
 
 Mercer saw Almina peer out. Then the woman went 
 back, set her lamp on the table, and again came to the door, 
 the moonlight covering her figure and glorifying it. 
 
 " It's just as pleasant as it can be," said Almina to her- 
 self. 
 
 Then she started, uttering a little cry. 
 
 Mercer advanced, still leading his horse. 
 
 He held up his hand. 
 
 "What's happened.''" she whispered. 
 
 "Nothing. Only I came back." 
 
 Almina looked narrowly at the man before her. 
 
 She thought that perhaps the moonlight gave him that 
 ghastly appearance. And she had never seen such eyes 
 "on any mortal being." 
 
 "You came back?" she repeated. "Then there ain't no 
 accident?" 
 
 " No." 
 
RETURNING STRENGTH 301 
 
 " Hadn't you better come in ?" 
 
 " Thank you. I'll hitch my horse to this tree." 
 
 "Ain't you goin' to stop?" 
 
 " Oh no. I shall go right away." 
 
 The woman stood in silence while Mercer fastened the 
 bridle about the limb of the oak. 
 
 "I thought I might see Mrs. Mercer for half an hour." 
 
 Mercer said this when the two stood in the kitchen. 
 
 Almina was thinking that this man looked even more 
 strange by the lamplight than he had looked by moonlight. 
 
 "Yes," said Almina, mechanically. 
 
 "Where is she?" 
 
 " She has gone to bed. I just peeped in at her, and she 
 was fast asleep — sleepin' like a baby." 
 
 "That is good. It has been so difficult for her to sleep." 
 
 Mercer stood in silence after having spoken thus. Then 
 he asked again, 
 
 "Where is she?" 
 
 " In there." 
 
 He opened the door indicated, and noiselessly closed it 
 after him. 
 
 The Newfoundland was lying by the bed in a broad bar 
 of moonlight, which also fell across the bed and on the face 
 of the woman lying there. 
 
 Yucatan came forward slowly. He thrust his cold nose 
 into Mercer's hand. Then, as Mercer remained standing 
 motionless, the dog went back and resumed his position. 
 
 Do men look at the face of their dead as Mercer now 
 looked at the face of his wife ? 
 
 Remote and white and still she was. 
 
 Fatigue from the journey, the sudden sense of peace, the 
 relaxation from an unguessed strain — all had made Temple 
 sleep, as she had not slept for months, profoundly. 
 
 She had longed to come out into the country to Miss 
 Drowdy, whose simple nature she remembered with a sense 
 of rest. She had come, and now she had fallen asleep and 
 was dreaming of riding her pony over the mountain to the 
 
302 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 Dalvecker farm. But that was before Chris had been "in 
 lurv " with her. 
 
 She moved, and said some indistinct word. 
 
 Mercer stood there. 
 
 " Since she is asleep, that is a sign that I must not speak; 
 that I may only look at her." 
 
 That was what he was thinking. 
 
 That precious, that inestimable sleep must not be dis- 
 turbed. 
 
 Now he knew what he must do. He must go away with- 
 out hearing her voice again. 
 
 He could fancy she spoke. He almost thought she said 
 " Richard." 
 
 But his mere presence might waken her. And if, indeed, 
 she spoke his name, it was only from habit, the iron habit 
 which fetters, whether it be with happiness or with misery. 
 
 As Mercer stood there he tried to put himself in the place 
 of some one else, and to ask if there were any other path 
 but the path which led away from Temple. Useless ques- 
 tioning! 
 
 She had married him in the midst of the religious exalta- 
 tion of an " experience." She had longed to be a mission- 
 ary. 
 
 He had offered her this work, and she had accepted it ; 
 the acceptance had entailed the necessity of becoming his 
 wife. 
 
 Now she was worn out with the work ; and in the bottom 
 of his heart Mercer was convinced that her present condition 
 was caused still more by the bondage in which he had placed 
 her. She had put on the harness bravely, and worn it hero- 
 ically. But it was a bondage ; it was a harness that galled 
 her whole nature. 
 
 Gradually, like some subtle poison diffusing itself in the 
 system, this conviction had fastened itself upon Mercer. 
 
 It was killing Temple to live in this way. Therefore, her 
 life must be ordered otherwise. 
 
 And he would see to it that it was otherwise ordered. He 
 
RETURNING STRENGTH 
 
 303 
 
 would see to it, without any regard to his own wishes or 
 hopes. 
 
 What was life in this world at the highest ? Merely a pro- 
 bation, a time of trial. He would get through it as best he 
 could. In the life to come it might be that God would bless 
 him in full measure. But in the life to come he could not 
 expect Temple's love. When he would reach this point 
 Mercer would fight against the wild rush of the conviction 
 that he would be willing to exchange all the blessing of the 
 future existence for the rapture of possessing his wife's love 
 here on earth. 
 
 He turned away dumbly from the bed where she lay. 
 Yes, doubtless God had ordered this also — that he was not 
 to have this one word with her. It was best. Oh yes, it 
 was best. There could not be the slightest question as to 
 that. If he could have spoken it was not in the least likely 
 that he would have said the right thing. 
 
 So the man left the room. In the kitchen Almina was 
 sitting by the lamp on the table. She had some knit- 
 ting in her hands. On the floor near the stove Sally was 
 lying fast asleep, her head resting on a folded shawl which 
 her hostess had insisted upon placing for her. 
 
 Almina wondered what the neighbors would think. She 
 laughed a little as she wondered. 
 
 But at this moment she was thinking of Mr. Mercer's 
 sudden appearance. She looked up anxiously as he now 
 entered. 
 
 " It seemed too bad to waken her," he said, in a low voice. 
 
 ** You c'n see her to-morrow," responded Almina. 
 
 "No." 
 
 Mercer said no more. He was standing in his usual 
 upright way, his tall figure looking very tall in the low 
 room. 
 
 He was trying to make up his mind to ask this woman 
 not to mention his sudden visit. But he could not quite 
 decide to do that. 
 
 After a moment he advanced and held out his hand. 
 
304 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 To himself he seemed like some foreign individuality, and 
 he could not adjust his mind. 
 
 But he said good-bye again in his ordinary tone, and he 
 left the room and mounted his horse. 
 
 Directly after he had gone Almina threw a shawl over her 
 head and hurried into the vard. She went to the road and 
 gazed at the horseman, who was riding fast. 
 
 When he was out of sight she returned to the house. 
 
 " It jest beats me," she remarked to herself. " He hadn't 
 no errand. Yes, it certainly beats me." 
 
 As she stood there with the shawl still on her head the 
 door of the bedroom opened softly, and Temple said, 
 
 "Miss Drowdy." 
 
 Almina hastened forward. 
 
 She put her arm about Temple, and hurried her to the bed 
 and covered her. Then she sat down by her. 
 
 Temple gazed at her companion intently. 
 
 " I've been dreaming," she said, at last. Then she sat up 
 quickly in bed. She caught hold of Almina's arm. 
 
 " The dream was so real that — that — but then it can't be 
 true. I thought Richard had come back for some reason — 
 that he was here in this room but a moment ago. And I 
 tried to speak to him. It seemed necessary — a question of 
 life or death — that I should speak." 
 
 Having said this, Temple tried to be more calm. She 
 still kept her eyes fixed upon Almina, who moved uneasily, 
 and who finally said, 
 
 " Dreams do sometimes seem jest as real." 
 
 She shrank from speaking of Mercer's visit, fearing that a 
 knowledge of it might prevent Temple from sleeping. 
 
 " I know they seem real," was the response. " In this one 
 I heard the sound of horse's feet. They were galloping, al- 
 ways galloping ; and Richard's back was towards me ; he 
 was riding away from me. Miss Drowdy — " 
 
 Temple sat up in bed. She looked so weary, and so full 
 of a quick, painful life, that the elder woman's heart ached. 
 *' He has been here !" cried Temple. 
 
RETURNING STRENGTH 305 
 
 *'Yes." 
 
 "Why did he come?" in a high voice. 
 
 " He said to see you again." 
 
 " But he rode away," still in that voice. 
 
 " I know it. He said your sleep must not be disturbed." 
 
 " Did he come in here.?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " It was real ! It was real, then !" Temple sank back 
 on the bed again. 
 
 Yucatan, who had come to the bedside when his mistress 
 had raised her voice, now nuzzled his nose against her hand. 
 She glanced down at him. 
 
 "You saw him, old dog; he spoke to you, I'm sure," she 
 said. 
 
 Yucatan wagged his tail for answer. 
 
 " He left no word ?" 
 
 " No. I guess he jest come back 'cause — well, 'cause he 
 thought he would," said Almina, rather ineffectively. " Now 
 you lay right down 'n' try to go to sleep again." 
 
 Temple drew the clothes up about her. She promised to 
 try to go to sleep. She said she was so thankful to be in 
 Hoyt with Miss Drowdy. She thought in a few days she 
 should be able to ride her pony. 
 
 Almina rose. She suggested that she should bring some 
 skull-cap tea for the purpose of soothing her guest. But her 
 guest answered that she would try to pass the night without 
 skull-cap. 
 
 When she was left alone Temple called Yucatan to her. 
 She leaned out and clasped the dog's head between her 
 thin, nervous-looking hands. 
 
 "What did he say to you, dear?" she asked. "Sweet- 
 heart, what did he say to you ? I know he noticed you. 
 He is kind to everything." 
 
 Again the dog gave his inarticulate response. Temple 
 
 bent farther forward and kissed Yucatan's face between his 
 
 eyes. 
 
 Sinking back on her pillow, once more she closed her 
 20 
 
306 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 eyes. She began to fancy she heard that horse galloping 
 again. It began to gallop to a strange rhythm that grew 
 more and more indefinite until she was asleep. 
 
 "I guess," said Freddy's mother the next morning to 
 Freddy's father, as all three sat at breakfast — "I guess you 
 better harness up, 'n' I'll go over to Alminy's 'n' spend the 
 day. I d' know what she will git up to next. What with a 
 nigger woman, 'n' that old pony, 'n' that gal of Roger 
 Crawford's that married the evangelist, I ain't no idea what 
 she'll come to." 
 
 " Whatever she comes to, you can't stop 'er," said Mr. 
 Wilson, in a momentary interval between one slapjack and 
 another. 
 
 " I c'n try, anyway," was the response ; " 'n' if 'tain't 
 Alminy's sister's duty to try, I'm sure I d' know whose duty 
 'tis." 
 
 Freddy began to kick his short legs violently back and 
 forth under the table. He shook his spoon at his mother. 
 
 " Mar," he announced, "you've got ter take me ! I wanter 
 see the pony! Make auntie lemme ride the pony! Make 
 auntie lemme ride it, I say !" 
 
 " But, Freddie, 'tain't auntie's pony," said his mother, 
 with ingratiating explanation and deprecation in her voice. 
 
 "Make auntie lemme!" was the peremptory response, 
 the legs going faster than before. 
 
 " Mummer '11 try," now said Mrs. Wilson ; and to her 
 husband, " I guess you better harness soon's you git through 
 
 eatin'." 
 
 Mr. Wilson nodded. He did not like to talk much while 
 laying in his stores of food. 
 
 His wife rose from the table, and left her husband still 
 breakfasting. She moved back Freddy's high-chair and led 
 that young man to the sink, took an end of a towel, dipped 
 it in water, then rubbed it on the cake of yellow soap, then 
 tipped back her son's head, and applied the towel to his face 
 with relentless thoroughness. 
 
 Freddy kicked the sink, which was already much battered 
 
RETURNING STRENGTH 307 
 
 from the same cause. He writhed, but he could not escape 
 from the maternal grasp. 
 
 In less than an hour mother and son were sitting in the 
 open wagon, and were driving towards Almina's. Freddy in- 
 sisted upon driving, thereby keeping his guardian in a 
 dreadful state of nervous tension and watchfulness, for she 
 was constantly obliged to snatch the reins, for the horse 
 stumbled and had a way of shying when there was nothing 
 whatever visible to the human eye that should make him 
 shy. 
 
 Therefore, by the time Mrs. Wilson came in sight of her 
 sister's home she was in an irritated frame of mind not cal- 
 culated to make her judgment lenient. 
 
 She would not let Freddy clamber from the wagon by 
 himself, but got out first, and then lifted him and set him 
 down emphatically. He instantly started to run towards the 
 barn. 
 
 His mother took the horse severely by the bridle and 
 walked in the direction taken by her son. But she went in 
 rather a zigzag fashion, for her eyes were fastened on the 
 house, as if she were a detective, and were determined to 
 discover in the very shingles some sign of her sister's strange 
 doings. 
 
 But she saw nothing unusual. 
 
 It was a clear, cool morning. The smoke, as it came 
 from the chimney, rose in a straight line up towards the blue 
 sky. 
 
 Some doves flew down on the roof, and strutted back and 
 forth. They were Almina's pigeons, and it was just like her 
 to keep them, her sister thought, and let them eat as much 
 corn as twice as many hens would have eaten. 
 
 The woman leading the horse pressed her lips yet more 
 closely together. 
 
 As a married woman, and the feminine head of a family, 
 she knew that she was in a position to rebuke Almina, who 
 was only an old maid. 
 
 At this stage in her reflections she rolled open the barn 
 
3o8 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 door, and at the same moment Almina appeared in the yard. 
 She had just seen her sister, and now came running out, 
 with her long apron flung over her head and held tightly 
 under her chin. 
 
 "I thought I heard wheels, 'n' then I thought I didn't," 
 she remarked. " Lemme help you take the horse right out. 
 I s'pose you've come to spend the day, 'ain't ye ?" 
 
 "Yes," was the reply; "I guess I sh'U stay till towards 
 night, anyway. You jest unhook that tug, your side, will 
 ye?" 
 
 One woman stood at one side of the horse and one at 
 the other, and he was soon led out of the shafts. 
 
 " I thought I seen Freddy," said Almina. 
 
 She knew that her manner was not quite as cordial as it 
 ought to be. The firm belief that her sister had come 
 from curiosity, and that she would reprove her, made gen- 
 uine hospitality for the moment impossible. 
 
 " Yes, Freddy come," was the answer. " I guess he's 
 gone right in to see that pony. He's crazy 'bout him. 'N' I 
 must say it does seem ruther strange 'bout that pony." 
 
 Almina restrained herself from making any reply to this 
 remark. In silence she pulled off the saddle and crupper 
 from the horse. 
 
 Mrs. Wilson was busy with the rope that took the place 
 of a buckle on the throatlash. 
 
 "I don't s'pose for one minute," she said, "that if you'd 
 married the doctor you'd be'n havin' a nigger woman, 'n' a 
 pony, 'n' a sick person comin' to live with you." 
 
 "No," said Almina, "I don't s'pose I should." 
 
 " No, I guess not," with emphasis. " 'N' there wa'n't 
 nothin' aginst the doctor. You can't say there was." 
 
 " No, I can't say there was, 'n' I never did say so." 
 
 " I don't wonder you're touchy." 
 I ain't touchy." 
 
 Oh, ain't you ? Where is that colored woman ? Why 
 ain't she out here helpin' us.-* My husband said he thought 
 she was taller'n he was. He was all struck up 'bout her." 
 
 
RETURNING STRENGTH 
 
 309 
 
 Almina waited a little before she replied. She had made 
 up her mind to keep her temper; also to do as she pleased. 
 It seemed to her that, though she was an old maid, possibly 
 even somewhat because of that fact, she had a right to her 
 own individuality, and her own way of living. 
 
 Before she was quite ready to reply there came a sound 
 from the other side of the partition that separated the front 
 part of the barn from the back where the horse and cattle 
 stalls were. 
 
 It was a sound like the sudden and violent hitting of 
 something hard against planks, and it was repeated with 
 great rapidity two or three times. 
 
 Almina ran to the scene, followed by her sister. She 
 was first to arrive, and she found Freddy with a long stick 
 in his hand, standing behind Thimble. 
 
 She caught the boy by the arm. 
 
 " I 'ain't whipped him !" he cried, " I was only just touch- 
 in' his hind-legs with the end of this to see what he'd do. I 
 'ain't whipped him a natom." 
 
 " You'd better not," said Almina, sharply. " He's as good- 
 natured 's he can be, but he won't stand no whip, now, I tell 
 ye." 
 
 Freddy began to pull and strain at his aunt's hand. 
 
 " Lemme git on him ! Lemme git on him !" he shouted. 
 
 "He ain't mine," replied his aunt. 
 
 " But you c'n lemme git on him ! You know you can !" 
 
 "I sha'n't," answered Almina. 
 
 "Here, Freddy, come to your mummer, now," interposed 
 Mrs. Wilson. " Auntie's got other things to think of now 
 besides little Freddy. If she don't want you to git on that 
 nasty pony, why, you can't git on him — that's all there is 
 about that." 
 
 Almina turned to her sister. She found it quite difficult 
 to hold to her resolve to keep her temper. 
 
 " Now, I do wish you'd be reasonable," she said; " 'Tain't 
 my pony, 'n' I 'ain't no right to let Freddy do anything with 
 him. You know jest 's well 's I do, that I'd give my eye-teeth 
 
3IO AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 to Freddy if he wanted 'em — if I'd still got 'em in my head," 
 she added, with a laugh. 
 
 The mother was mollified at this mention of sacrifice to 
 her boy. She knew very well that her boy was living in this 
 world that he might have sacrifices offered to him by his rel- 
 atives, particularly by his female relatives. She also laughed 
 and said she " guessed Freddy could git along without his 
 auntie's eye-teeth, even if she'd had any. 
 
 Then the two women put the horse in the stall next Thim- 
 ble, and Thimble kicked violently against the dividing planks, 
 and danced as much as he could, tied by the halter as he 
 was. 
 
 In the midst of this Sally appeared. 
 
 She had on a dark wool dress, with no wrap over her, and 
 a red cotton handkerchief tied, turban-wise, about her head. 
 
 " Laws, Miss Drowdy," she said, striding forward and laying 
 her arm over the neck of the Wilson horse, and pulling up 
 his halter, which was not yet in place, "dis yere kind of 
 work 's Sally's work. Yo' ain't gwine to do dis yere labor 
 while Sally's hyar. Yo' ladies go 'long to de house." 
 
 Almina and her sister left the barn together, but Freddy 
 refused to go with them. He had secret hopes that he 
 might induce this strange colored woman to put him on 
 Thimble. More than that, he wanted to be where he could 
 watch Sally. He had never seen anything in the least like 
 her before. She was as strange to him as if she had been a 
 striped zebra from one of his picture-books appearing to him 
 bodily in his father's dooryard. 
 
 Mrs. Wilson continued to be mollified as she walked be- 
 side her sister towards the house. 
 
 " So that's Sally, is it ?" she asked. " She ain't like no- 
 body that's ever be'n in Hoyt, is she .? She looks big 'n' 
 strong 'nough to do every bit of your work, Alminy. But 
 mebby she'll eat you out of house 'n' home, so 'twon't be no 
 savin' to ye. I d' know what you're goin' to do, for my part." 
 
 " Oh, I sh'U git 'long well enough," responded Almina, 
 delighted that her sister was becoming more amiable. 
 
RETURNING STRENGTH 311 
 
 " My husband said there was a dorg, too," said Mrs. Wil- 
 son ; "'n' so I wouldn't let Freddy bring his along for fear 
 there'd be a fight, or something, and Freddy was so took up 
 thinkin' of the pony that he give up real easy 'bout bringin' 
 of his dorg." 
 
 Evidently Mrs. Wilson could find something to ameliorate 
 the asperities of life with her son, since he had known that 
 there was a pony at his auntie's. 
 
 As Almina placed her hand on the latch of her back door 
 her sister inquired, 
 
 " Is she real feeble ?" 
 
 She put this question in a loud whisper, as if Temple 
 were within hearing, and would find a whisper more agree- 
 able to listen to than the ordinary voice. 
 
 " Is she up 'round ?" supplemented Mrs. Wilson, in the 
 same whisper. 
 
 " Oh yes," replied Almina, aloud. " I think she'll be bet- 
 ter as soon as she can git rested." 
 
 "But what's been tirin' of her?" 
 
 " She's been helpin' to hold meetin's, you know." 
 
 " So I've understood ; but I don't know 's I see what 
 there is 'bout holdin' meetin's that should tire anybody, 
 though 'tain't woman's place. If she'd been to work, now, 
 I could see why she should be tired. Likely's not 'tain't 
 nothin' but nerves, after all." 
 
 By this time the two were in the kitchen. 
 
 " I believe they do call it nervous prostration, or some- 
 thing like that," Almina answered, inwardly wishing, as she 
 had wished hundreds of times in her life, that her sister was 
 a little different in some ways. 
 
 "But folks were just as they were made." 
 
 That was Almina's charitable conclusion always. 
 
 "Does she look like her father any ?" 
 
 This was the next question, as Mrs. Wilson began to un- 
 pin her shawl and unroll her cloud. She had made this in- 
 quiry repeatedly after her sister had returned from Carolina, 
 and had invariably received the same reply, 
 
312 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 " I don't see 's she does, a grain." 
 
 "I always did think Roger Crawford was a real good- 
 lookin' man." 
 
 As Mrs. Wilson said this the door of the south room 
 opened, and Mrs. Wilson directly began to bring her face 
 into what she would have called her " company look" if she 
 had been called upon to describe it. 
 
 But though the door had opened, no one at first ap- 
 peared save a large white dog, who came gravely forward, 
 went to the outer door and put his paw on it, looking at 
 Almina as he did so. 
 
 Almina let him out-of-doors. 
 
 Yucatan had been drilled much in the attainment of cir- 
 cumspect manners since he had travelled in many places 
 with the Mercers, and he had responded intelligently to this 
 education. He had cheerfully given up his mountains, and 
 his free, out-of-door life, but he loved that life just as much 
 as ever. 
 
 Now Mrs. Wilson hurried to the window and looked out. 
 She felt an inextinguishable curiosity in regard to everything 
 concerning these new-comers. 
 
 She deprecated their coming to herself, and would take 
 that stand about them to every one ; but at the same time 
 she was conscious of a certain reflected importance, as being 
 the sister of the woman who had these unusual beings in her 
 house. 
 
 " That's the dorg, ain't it ?" she now inquired. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " He'll eat a lot. Not that I should begretch the victuals 
 of any live critter." 
 
 "You wouldn't have to begretch the victuals of a dead crit- 
 ter," responded Almina, with a rather sarcastic laugh. 
 
 " Ain't it funny that they not only brought a pony, but a 
 dorg, too?" now remarked Mrs. Wilson. 
 
 But before any reply could be made to this interrogation 
 there sounded in the yard a shrill cry that might be of terror 
 or of intense delight. 
 
RETURNING STRENGTH 313 
 
 Both women uttered an exclamation, and at the same time 
 the door of the south room opened again and Temple herself 
 appeared, coming quickly forward, startled by the cry. 
 
 Mrs. Wilson, fearing that every sound came from her son, 
 made a darting movement towards the door. She was used 
 to making these movements many times a day. Little 
 Freddy had grown beyond the stage of swallowing shoe-but- 
 tons, but his progress had brought no relief to his long-suffer- 
 ing parent. 
 
 Temple turned towards her and caught her hand. She 
 laughed as she said, 
 
 "You needn't be alarmed. That's your boy, isn't it? 
 Don't you think he is having a good time ?" 
 
 There now appeared in sight the head of the white pony, 
 followed by his whole body. On his bare back sat Frederick 
 Wilson, and by him walked Sally. The yellow woman was 
 holding Freddy firmly by one leg. 
 
 The boy saw the faces at the window. He grinned, and 
 screamed, and waved his hands, but he could not fall off be- 
 cause of that grasp on his leg. 
 
 When this exciting pageant had passed on to the other 
 side of the house, Mrs. Wilson, now in a very amiable frame 
 of mind, on account of Freddy's happiness, turned to exam- 
 ine her sister's guest. 
 
 "Why," she thought, in the extremest astonishment, " I do 
 believe I'm going to like her !" 
 
 Temple had sat down quietly. She was in the blue- 
 covered rocker, and the morning pallor of her face was em- 
 phasized by that color. The thin face, the darkness under 
 the eyes, the painfully sensitive lips, the still, firm-looking chin, 
 made a combination that Mrs. Wilson could not understand. 
 
 " You don't look a bit like your father !" she exclaimed. 
 
 " 1 forgot that you knew him," was the languid response. 
 
 Mrs. Wilson noted that she betrayed no interest in her 
 father, and drew her shrewd conclusions in consequence. 
 
 "You're goin' to pick right up here," she began, heartily. 
 "You can't help it. Hoyt's called one of the healthiest 
 
.314 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 towns in the State of Massachusetts. If you want to keep 
 sick 'tain't no kind of a place to be in. Alminy," turning to 
 her sister, " cream '11 be real good for Mis' Mercer. I c'n 
 send some over every other day jest 's well 's not." 
 
 Temple's gaze rested upon the woman. 
 
 " That's so good of you ; and I particularly like cream," 
 she said. 
 
 Mrs. Wilson's heart glowed. There was an unusual 
 throb to her commonplace pulses. She had a glimmering 
 perception that this was not the kind of woman she was 
 used to seeing. 
 
 It was curious to watch the people who came in during 
 the next few weeks ; and Miss Drowdy had not had so 
 many callers in all her life as in the month following Tem- 
 ple's arrival. 
 
 These people came as to a menagerie. They came, pity- 
 ing Almina Drowdy. 
 
 Temple said very little to them. They talked to her. 
 Almost immediately those who had special troubles — and 
 who has not ? — told Temple those troubles, and she lis- 
 tened, her eyes dwelling with soft pity and sympathy on 
 their faces. 
 
 It was an utterly genuine pity and sympathy, but it was 
 a trained pity and sympathy as well. The last three years 
 of Temple's life had done the training. 
 
 When these people left her they could not remember a 
 word she had said, and yet they had missed nothing in her 
 presence ; and missed nothing in remembering the inter- 
 view. 
 
 Meantime, as the April days grew balmier, Temple could 
 tell herself that she was better. Oh yes, thank God ! she 
 was better. 
 
 Who but one who has been an invalid can understand 
 the rapture of such a knowledge ? 
 
 Every morning Sally brought the pony, saddled, to the 
 back door, and Temple mounted him, Yucatan loping back 
 and forth in the yard in impatience to be gone. 
 
RETURNING STRENGTH 315 
 
 Temple scoured the country farther and farther afield, 
 choosing, when she could, the solitary cart-paths through 
 woods and pastures. 
 
 It seemed to her now that a weight was lifting from her 
 soul. She could see far into the spring blue of the sky. 
 
 She began to think she would unpack her violin. 
 
 It was on the day when she was thinking of her violin 
 that, turning her pony into a path that led through a chest- 
 nut wood, she saw a man coming along the path. 
 
 The man waved his stick and whistled cheerily to Yuca- 
 tan, calling the dog by name. 
 
 In a moment Temple recognized Yale Boynton. 
 
XIX 
 
 "a little pleasure" 
 
 BoYNTON hurried forward. The glow on his face made 
 Temple think of old days in her old home. 
 
 " This is almost as good as Carolina !" he exclaimed, with 
 some eagerness, as, hat in hand, he came to her side. 
 " Here is the pony, here is the dog, and here am I. Ah, 
 Mrs. Mercer, can't we fancy that Pisgah is holding up a 
 majestic head somewhere beyond those trees, and that the 
 French Broad is down there .'"' 
 
 Temple breathed a long breath. Her eyes sparkled. 
 
 " Oh, to think of it ! Oh, to dream of it !" she answered. 
 
 " Fills my heart — " went on Boynton with the quotation. 
 
 Then he stopped suddenly. It seemed as if, in spite of 
 himself, there had come too much feeling into his voice. 
 
 He put his hand on Thimble's neck and stroked the 
 sleek hair. He almost expected to see his hand tremble, 
 and he watched it intently lest it should do so. 
 
 He had come down from Boston that he might call on 
 Mrs. Mercer, and he had arranged in his mind his precise 
 manner during the interview. But just now, meeting her 
 thus, he feared lest this prearranged manner might slip 
 away from him. 
 
 He was thinking that he was senselessly glad, and he 
 was also cynically asking himself why it was that when a 
 man was senselessly glad there was a thrill in that joy that 
 a reasonable pleasure rarely brought. And he was also 
 thinking that this fact must be because of the devil in us all. 
 
 He wished that he might feel like this when he saw Amy 
 Wallis. 
 
"a little pleasure" 317 
 
 Amy Wallis was the nicest kind of a girl, but the sight of 
 this woman on the white pony had sent his blood along its 
 channels at a rate that Amy Wallis must never know about. 
 
 And what a delicious thing it is to feel the blood start in 
 that way ! 
 
 That writer spoke the truth who said that we are likely 
 to "choose in life that which brings us most thrill." 
 
 Certainly many of us weakly do that. 
 
 Boynton looked up at his companion w^hen he had made 
 sure that his hand was steady and that his voice would also 
 be firm. 
 
 " How grateful I am to see that you are better !" he said, 
 earnestly. 
 
 " Not half as grateful as I am to feel better," was the re- 
 ply. Then Temple added, in her old way, " If you had a 
 horse we could gallop down this wood road." 
 
 In his own mind Boynton immediately flung away all 
 other plans in the resolve to stay somewhere in the vi- 
 cinity and ride with Temple. 
 
 " You know there's nothing in the world I'd like better," 
 he answered, with that air of exaggeration which he used to 
 covef his meaning sometimes. " Perhaps you'll let me come 
 to-morrow on the best steed I can find ?" 
 
 " That '11 be so pleasant !" Temple smiled down at the 
 man beside her. Her spirits were rising as our spirits will 
 rise at anything which seems to take us back to a time 
 when life was light and careless. 
 
 " But where are you .''" she now asked, in sudden wonder 
 as to why he had appeared thus. " And is Miss Wallis 
 with you ?" 
 
 Boynton was gazing up at her. " I am here," he said, 
 " and it is Mrs. Mercer who is with me." 
 
 He was careful not to have too much feeling in his voice. 
 
 Perhaps no man knew better than Boynton how to ap- 
 proach near, but not too near, to a woman. 
 
 Temple felt that agreeable glow which comes to us when 
 we are made to feel that we are giving pleasure. 
 
4 
 
 3l8 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 " But where is Miss Wallis ?" 
 
 "In Boston." 
 
 " Is she coming into the country ?" 
 
 " Perhaps ; but not until later." 
 
 " I liked her," said Temple, with that frankness which 
 made her so unconventional at times. " I wanted to know 
 her. But I was so ill then !" 
 
 Here the speaker shuddered slightly but uncontrollably. 
 Her eyes clouded. She looked off down the path. 
 
 Boynton stood away a short distance. He tried not to 
 see his companion's face ; it moved him so in its pallor and 
 its unconscious appeal. 
 
 He swore inwardly at Mercer. He called him a damned 
 idiot to have brought this woman to this state. Letting 
 her pray and sing for the rabble ! 
 
 " Yes, damn him !" 
 
 Boynton set his teeth against his oaths that they might 
 not be heard. 
 
 " But you are getting well," he said, gently ; " anybody 
 can see that." 
 
 " Do you think so ? Do you really think so V turning 
 quickly and bending slightly towards him. "You can't 
 imagine how I like to have any one tell me that I seem to 
 be getting well. Of course I know I am gaining. But it's 
 so slow. And I have times of such depression, and I feel 
 as if I couldn't be of any use to — to Richard, you know; 
 and then I have seasons when I fear about my belief and 
 faith. But, of course, that is because of my ill-health. You 
 see, a persons state of health accounts for a great deal of 
 what is called mental trouble ; don't you think so, Mr. 
 Boynton ?" 
 
 " I know it does." 
 
 Temple began to say more. Then she hesitated. She 
 laughed slightly, but there was something wistful in her 
 voice as she spoke again, 
 
 " I'm going to be as well as ever in a few weeks, Mr. 
 Boynton. In the fall I can join Mr. Mercer in his work — 
 
"a little pleasure" 319; 
 
 that is, I can if I keep my faith. I want to keep my 
 faith." 
 
 Boynton did not find himself able to speak immediately. 
 
 He was feeling strongly that if this woman had tried to 
 find some means by which to make herself more attractive 
 to him she could not have chosen better than to have ap- 
 peared in the guise of an invalid. But Boynton knew very 
 well that Mrs. Mercer was not thinking of herself in relation 
 to him. 
 
 " We all want to keep our faith," the man said, at last. 
 
 " It's curious, but I'm tempted to ask these people whom 
 I meet here if they really have faith," went on Temple, still 
 with a far-away look. " Of course, it is one phase of my 
 illness — it must be. I suppose Miss MacCallum would 
 say that I didn't relax enough." Here Temple brought her 
 glance down to her companion, and smiled again. " Mr. 
 Boynton, did you ever lie on the floor and roll your head 
 around ?" 
 
 " No ; but I will if you think I ought. Does the process 
 make one have more faith T 
 
 " Indirectly, I suppose. And it tends to reduce abnor- 
 mality. I could tell you a few things that are almost spe- 
 cifics against anything abnormal. But perhaps your tenden- 
 cies are not in that direction, are they ? If you could find 
 it within the bounds of truth to answer * yes,' you've no 
 idea what a comfort that answer would be." 
 
 " Yes," was the prompt reply. 
 
 "Oh, thank you so much! You know we poor mortals 
 are made so that if we have small-pox it is a great comfort 
 to us to find that some one else has it also." 
 
 Temple's face was gradually clearing while she spoke, 
 until, as she finished, she broke into a laugh which sounded 
 out in the woods as Boynton remembered her laugh to have 
 sounded in the little boat on the Broad. 
 
 What infernal chance had made her think she had ex- 
 perienced religion, and then that she must marry the 
 preacher ? 
 
320 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 These questions flashed through Boynton's mind as he 
 joined in her laugh. 
 
 Then he seized the leading part in the talk, and kept it 
 persistently upon the old time when the two had known 
 each other. He called it the "old time" with a slight ten- 
 derness in his voice, although hardly four years had elapsed 
 since his first acquaintance with her. 
 
 He saw her grow brighter and brighter. He had never 
 exerted himself more to be entertaining, and never felt 
 more keenly the stimulating certainty of success in the 
 effort. 
 
 His spirits rose intoxicatingly as he walked through the 
 wood by the pony's side. 
 
 With every moment that passed Temple seemed more 
 and more like the girl whom he had taught to play the 
 violin. 
 
 When they emerged from the path into the public high- 
 way he said that he dared not keep Mrs. Mercer at a foot- 
 pace any longer. He begged that she would allow him to 
 ride over from the next town where he was stopping, and 
 join her. Would she let him come to-morrow ? 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Thanks — a thousand thanks." He lifted his hat. She 
 noted vaguely the happy gleam in his eyes. 
 
 She cantered on towards Miss Drowdy's. 
 
 Boynton walked down the road. A keen sense of life, 
 the inebriating fulness of life, made him step like a king. 
 
 As for Temple, she set her pony into a swift gallop \ she 
 whistled to Yucatan. The two animals seemed to be run- 
 ning away as they fled down the lonesome road. 
 
 No one saw them but the birds and the chipmunks. 
 
 A half-hour later, when Temple rode into Miss Drowdy's 
 yard, Sally ran out and lifted her off the saddle. 
 
 "Bress the Lawd 1" she cried, fervently, " Yo' done got 
 yer ole look on 1" 
 
 But Temple sank down on Sally's arm, her strength all 
 taken, apparently, by her ride. 
 
"a little pleasure" 321 
 
 A half-hour's rest and a cup of milk restored Temple so 
 that she rose from her bed and went to her trunk, which set 
 against the wall. She opened it and flung out the things 
 until she came to her violin case. 
 
 She set this on her lap and held it there for some mo- 
 ments, her eyes fixed on the window opposite her. 
 
 She was recalling the last time she had played it, and how 
 the people had been moved by the hymn she sung. 
 
 And she had prayed then. Well, she had not prayed 
 since. But she should do so some time. She must. Rich- 
 ard did not know that she did not pray any more. She had 
 finally told Mrs. Ammidown, told her painfully, as if making 
 a confession of great sin, and Mrs. Ammidown had laughed 
 gently, and replied that it was only a matter of healthy 
 nerves and body generally. 
 
 That was just like a physician. Physicians ascribed 
 everything to the body. 
 
 Temple took her fiddle from its place and tuned it. Pres- 
 ently she put it up to her shoulder and began walking about 
 the room, playing, singing with the music she made : 
 
 "A little bird in the air 
 Is singing of Thyri the Fair, 
 
 The sister of Svend the Dane ; 
 And the song of the garrulous bird 
 In the streets of the town is heard, 
 
 And repeated again and again." 
 
 Temple sang this twice over. Then she quickly laid 
 down the bow and violin. She walked to the window like 
 one who suddenly discovers that he is imprisoned, and who 
 is wild to escape. 
 
 She threw up the sash and put her head out. 
 
 A mild air blew upon her. In the distance a chickadee 
 sang cheerfully. 
 
 She let down the sash. She stood in the middle of the 
 room. Then she flung herself down on the bed and began 
 to weep as stormily as if she were only ten years old. 
 21 
 
322 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 Presently there was a whine and a scratch outside the 
 door, which was hesitatingly opened to let the Newfound- 
 land walk in. 
 
 Temple raised her head. She beckoned to Yucatan, who 
 trod solemnly up to her and put his big muzzle to her face, 
 solicitously licking it. She pressed the shaggy head to her 
 bosom, moaning as she did so. 
 
 Outside, Almina heard the sound of sobbing, and did not 
 know whether she ought to intrude or remain where she 
 was. 
 
 But Sally, coming in from the barn with the odor of hay 
 and out-of-doors strong upon her, did not hesitate. She 
 strode up to the closed door and flung it open, her feet 
 shaking the little house as she went across the floor. 
 
 Temple was lying face down upon the bed, with Yuca- 
 tan's nose pressed up to her neck. Her hands were flung 
 out and shut tightly. 
 
 The yellow woman bent over and lifted her mistress in 
 her arms. Temple was so pitiably thin that her weight was 
 not much, and Sally put Temple's head down on her shoul- 
 der after she had gathered her closely. She walked about 
 the room with her burden, saying, 
 
 " Sh ! Honey ! Sh ! Sh ! De Lawd's gwine fur to take 
 care of yo'. Fur shore, de Lawd's gwine to do it. Yo' 
 needn't worry more ; no, yo' needn't. ' N' hyar's ole Sally. 
 Hyar's ole Sally, who jes' pintedly gives her worthless life 
 up ter yo', honey. Sh ! Sh !" 
 
 The husky voice was sweet and tender with sympathy. 
 
 Temple began to listen to it. It was a voice she had heard 
 ever since she could remember. It began to comfort her, 
 but she was in a paroxysm of self-pity, and was feeling that 
 curious and unwholesome enjoyment that sometimes comes 
 from such a cause. 
 
 " My mother would be sorry for me," she whispered as 
 she lay on Sally's shoulder. " I don't believe my mother 
 ever suffered as I suffer." 
 
 " 'Tain't no matter whuther she did or not, Miss Tem- 
 
"a little pleasure" 323 
 
 pie," answered the yellow woman, with a gleam of common- 
 sense. " You's jes' sufferin' 'cause you's sick, honey. But 
 you's gittin' well jes' as farst — yo' be." 
 
 Temple was silent. She was beginning to be ashamed of 
 herself. 
 
 She lifted her head. 
 
 " Put me down, Sally," she said in a moment, somewhat 
 sharply, " I'm not going to be a baby any more." 
 
 Sally placed her burden in a chair, and stood gazing down 
 at her, her big, strong face working. 
 
 Temple pressed her hand to the back of her head. Her 
 features were settling into something of their natural appear- 
 ance. 
 
 She smiled whimsically. 
 
 " I reckon 'twas my violin," she remarked, as if making 
 an explanation to herself. " And you, Sally, you've done 
 very wrong to sympathize. Miss MacCallum doesn't ap- 
 prove of sympathy." 
 
 Sally grinned. She did not know precisely what her mis- 
 tress meant, but she knew enough to respond, 
 
 " Reckon, den, yo' done better shoot Yucatan hyar." 
 
 Temple sent Sally out of the room. She went to the glass 
 and brushed her hair, her movements revealing a resolution 
 and calmness which they had not shown of late. 
 
 There was a lustre in her eyes unlike the weak, feverish 
 gleam which had been there for months past. 
 
 As she stood before the mirror she thrust out her hand 
 and looked at it, then glanced at the reflection of her face. 
 
 " My soul shall be as steady as my hand," she was think- 
 ing. " I am not going to be hysterical any more." 
 
 But even as shte thought this a weakness came over her, 
 the bodily weakness of muscles and sinews long out of 
 training. 
 
 She sat down quickly. She leaned her forehead on the 
 table in front of her. She was trembling, but her face did 
 not relax into a tremor. 
 
 All at once she became aware that her forehead was not 
 
324 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 resting on the table itself, but on an envelope. It was the 
 envelope containing Mercer's last letter. 
 
 She raised herself and took the letter, opening the sheet 
 slowly. It had come nearly a week ago, on a Monday. She 
 had not failed to hear from him on each Monday since he 
 had brought her there. 
 
 She knew every word of this letter, but she read it again. 
 
 It was a very friendly epistle. All of Mercer's letters to 
 his wife were extremely friendly ; and they related every- 
 thing the writer thought she would like to know ; they told 
 of the minutest trifle that had reference to Temple's old 
 home among the mountains. 
 
 Perhaps she did not think that Mercer must have been at 
 great pains to find out everything about that mountain-side. 
 
 Now she read again a few lines that made her flush with 
 renewed interest. 
 
 " You remember you wondered if the old tree made a little 
 landing for boats on the Broad as it used to do when you 
 played the fiddle in young Boynton's boat. I was there the 
 other day. I went down from Asheville in a boat. The tree 
 trunk has rotted away and fallen into the river — only a bit of 
 it is left. I was sorry when I saw it. I knew how you loved 
 it. I pulled in my oars and looked up the slope. I saw the 
 smoke coming from the chimney of your log-house. 
 
 " I landed and gathered some arbutus. It is almost gone 
 now. The rhododendron thicket by the old tree trunk has 
 been cut away. Your tenant is putting in corn in that field. 
 
 " I stood and looked off at Pisgah and the Twin Broth- 
 ers. I wished you were with me. I was comforted by the 
 knowledge that you are getting well." 
 
 And so on. 
 
 Temple's eyes took in the whole ; then they went back to 
 the line, " I wished you were with me," and they rested there 
 until the words seemed to lose their meaning, as words will. 
 
 She suddenly lifted her hand and threw the paper from 
 her. 
 
 " I have read it enough," she said, aloud. 
 
"a little pleasure" 325 
 
 She sat back in her chair and tried to shut her eyes, but 
 the Hds burned so that she allowed them to spring open 
 again. 
 
 She reached forward to the table and pulled towards her 
 a book which had been in her trunk — a volume she had 
 once borrowed of Laura Ammidown and had not returned. 
 
 The book opened of itself at a page where Temple had 
 often read in the last few months. Now she pronounced 
 aloud the familiar words, 
 
 " That which is not allotted the hand cannot reach, and 
 what is allotted will find you wherever you may be." 
 
 " What I've got to do," said Temple, her will helping to 
 make the face firm, " is to accept my fate. I'm not going 
 to be happy. Happiness is not allotted to me. I'm not go- 
 ing to pray for it any more. Perhaps I never ought to have 
 been so selfish as to pray for my own happiness. What 
 does it matter — happiness or misery ?" 
 
 Some swift change came to the face of the woman. It 
 lost all its ascetic stoicism, and took on a look of soft brill- 
 iance, which made it like the face of that mountain girl who 
 had welcomed Almina Drowdy to her home, and who had 
 proclaimed that she was of a cold nature. 
 
 Temple rose and took her violin again. She laid it 
 across her knee. She half closed her eyes and began to 
 play " Dissembling Love," the strains seeming to melt into 
 the still air of the room. 
 
 In the kitchen Almina heard, and stopped picking over 
 the rice for her pudding. Her elderly heart gave a leap, 
 and then went on beating at an unusual rate. 
 
 There seemed to be, all at once, an air of romance about 
 everything. Before the eyes of the old maid there came a 
 picture of her youth, with all its intoxicating hopes and 
 thrilling joys. For an instant Roger Crawford and she 
 were young again, and he was true. 
 
 Almina put her hard-worked, faithful hands over her face. 
 She could actually fancy that the middle-aged, common- 
 place face was radiant and beautiful. 
 
326 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 And all because a young woman in the next room was 
 fiddling " Dissembling Love." Almina was glad that her 
 sister was not there. She had a feeling that " Sister Wil- 
 son " would have thought there was something immoral in 
 a woman playing the violin like that. 
 
 In a few moments the strains stopped. 
 
 Almina was trying to resume her work, mechanically 
 scanning a handful of rice, when Temple entered. 
 
 " Oh, how much better you do look !" cried the elder 
 woman. 
 
 " Thank you," said Temple. She advanced to Almina's 
 side. She was smiling in a confident sort of way. 
 
 " I wanted to ask you, Miss Drowdy," she said, " if a 
 person who isn't going to be happy has a right to taste a 
 little pleasure .''" 
 
 " What r 
 
 Almina looked up in a dazed way, and Temple carefully 
 repeated her question. 
 
 She sat down as she did so, and took up some grains of 
 rice, examining them with bright, undiscriminating eyes. 
 
 " I s'pose you call happiness and pleasure two different 
 kinds of things," remarked Almina, at last. 
 
 " Oh, of course." 
 
 " Then I tell you what 'tis," began the other, after a short 
 pause, " I'd jes' stick to happiness, even if I was miserable. 
 I'd let pleasure slide." 
 
 Here Almina took Temple's thin hand in her own. Then 
 she laughed nervously. 
 
 " But I guess I 'ain't much idea what you mearl. Temple. 
 But, somehow, you kinder scare me ! I d' know why, I'm 
 sure. You look jest 's you used to among the mountains — 
 only not jest so, either." 
 
 " So you'd let pleasure slide, would you ?" 
 
 Temple laughed as she sp'oke. She looked at her com- 
 panion, and then she leaned nearer and kissed her. 
 
 " You needn't be scared, dear friend," she said, in a low 
 voice. " If it's meant for me to be happy, I shall be. 
 
"a little pleasure" 327 
 
 Don't you know, ' that which is not allotted the hand can- 
 not reach ' ?" 
 
 Having said this, Temple walked away to the window 
 and gazed out of it. But she was not seeing the stretch of 
 rolling pasture, with its distant frame of pine-trees. She 
 did not even notice Thimble, who had been let out, now 
 caracoling up and down that pasture. 
 
 What the woman saw was a different landscape : peak 
 rising beyond peak in a vivid moonlight ; fringes of black 
 trees on some summits ; on the side of one of the moun- 
 tains a log-hut, used sometimes as a school-house; a crowd 
 of people in the hut ; a blazing fire of fatwood on the 
 hearth, and before the fire the commanding figure of Mercer. 
 
 Temple was seeing all this, and recalling the preacher's 
 voice and words, the power of his presence over the as- 
 sembly. 
 
 She had felt that power many times since, but this par- 
 ticular evening was the turning-point of her life. It was 
 then that she had believed that the spirit of the Lord had 
 come to her and sanctified her; had given her a new heart. 
 She had experienced religion. 
 
 And the months and days and hours of the three years 
 that had followed ! 
 
 Had she not worked faithfully — nay, ardently ? 
 
 And why, since her strength had failed, had this sacred 
 work assumed a different aspect ? 
 
 The sacredness and value of the work must be just the 
 same. 
 
 It was she, then, who had changed. But she could not 
 allow her convictions to be made different by a state of the 
 body. The body, even the mysterious nerves, could not 
 alter the relations between man and God. The soul must 
 be saved. A man's heart must be given to God. 
 
 Almina went on with her preparations for her pudding. 
 
 She took the rice to the sink and began to wash it. But 
 she was thinking of her companion, and asking herself 
 many questions which she could not answer. 
 
328 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 Suddenly Temple spoke, but she did not turn her face 
 from the window. 
 
 " I met an old friend to-day," she said. 
 
 ''That so?" responded the other woman, who would not 
 betray her curiosity. 
 
 Temple now turned, and came and stood by her friend's 
 side at the sink. 
 
 "You remember the French Broad, Miss Drowdy?" she 
 asked. 
 
 " Oh yes !" with animation. 
 
 " And how worried you were about my going out in a boat 
 with that young man from Asheville .'"' 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And how you waited for me so long on the bank among 
 the rhododendrons.''" 
 
 Here Temple laughed and Almina grew red. 
 
 "I guess I do remember," said the elder woman, "'n' 
 I guess you don't know how queer things all seemed to 
 me down there. But what made you think of that time 
 now ?" 
 
 " Because of the old friend I met this morning." 
 
 Almina gave a little start. She could not understand 
 why such a sense of fear came upon her. She glanced 
 quickly up at the face near her. 
 
 "You mean you've seen that young man?" she asked. 
 
 "Yes. I met him. He was coming over to see me." 
 
 "Yale Boynton in these parts?" 
 
 "He's living in Boston. I saw him this spring. I saw 
 the girl he is going to marry." 
 
 Temple did not know why she so particularly wished to 
 mention Miss Wallis. 
 
 " Oh, did you ?" 
 
 "Yes ; and I liked her so much." 
 
 Almina seemed to have no remark to make, though Tem- 
 ple waited for some response. 
 
 " Mr. Boynton is coming over to-morrow to ride with me," 
 she said. 
 
"a little pleasure" 329 
 
 She was conscious of a rising feeling of irritation, and was 
 surprised at the fact. 
 
 " I s'pose you've been lonesome," now remarked Almina. 
 
 "No, not in the least," Temple answered, quickly. " I'm 
 never lonesome with my horse and my dog." 
 
 No response whatever. But what response was Temple 
 looking for ? 
 
 She went and sat down by the cook-stove. She was silent, 
 trying to overcome her annoyance. 
 
 "I s'pose seein' Mr. Boynton made you think of your fid- 
 dle," at last remarked Almina. 
 
 " I suppose so. But I've been thinking of my fiddle ever 
 since I began to feel better." 
 
 At this point the conversation ceased entirely, and was 
 not resumed that day. 
 
 In the afternoon Temple rode out again. Indeed, she 
 now spent more than half of her waking hours in the sad- 
 dle. 
 
 The neighbors for a dozen miles in all directions were 
 becoming accustomed to the sight of the white pony going 
 by, sometimes as if he were running away, sometimes at a 
 gentle amble, with the woman on his back, the Newfound- 
 land loping somewhere near. 
 
 " Somehow, I can't make such a sight seem kinder Chris- 
 tian-like," said Aunt Hitty Blake, peering over her glasses as 
 the pony flew by her one morning while she was at the wood- 
 pile for chips. " I do feel as if we needed a missionary, or 
 something." 
 
 This last remark she made to her husband when she was 
 putting the chips into the stove a few moments later. 
 
 "I understand," replied Mr. Blake, in his slow, judicial 
 way, " that that there woman is a missionary herself. She's 
 an evangelist. But I ain't accustomed to evangelists with 
 ponies 'n' dorgs 'n' fiddles, 'n' them kind of eyes. I guess 
 I'll make an arrand over to old maid Drowdy's 'fore long." 
 
 And he made his "arrand," together with nearly every- 
 body in the neighborhood, as has been stated. 
 
330 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 The next morning by ten o'clock Boynton cantered into 
 the yard. 
 
 He dismounted, and came in to greet Miss Drowdy. He 
 was in high spirits. 
 
 Almina watched the two ride away. She knew very well 
 what Aunt Hitty Blake would say if she saw the riders — 
 what Mrs. Newton and all the neighbors would say. 
 
 But she made up her mind not to care for what they said. 
 What she really cared for was the look which had been on 
 Temple's face when she had come in the day before, after 
 she had met Boynton. 
 
 It was the day for Almina to write her weekly letter to 
 Mercer. She always wrote it between ten and eleven in the 
 forenoon. 
 
 Just before she signed her name she paused, trying to de- 
 cide whether she should mention Boynton. 
 
 For some reason she decided not to do so. 
 
 It was perhaps a week later that Sally was coming back 
 from an errand to the village. She was walking along that 
 path through the pasture that she and the pony had taken 
 on their first arrival. 
 
 Somebody called suddenly, 
 
 " Sally !" in a sharp, imperative tone. 
 
 The woman stopped short and looked about her. 
 
 A man advanced from among some pine-trees. 
 
 The yellow woman's face expressed overwhelming sur- 
 prise. 
 
 " Goramighty !" she cried, "it's Mister Dalvecker!" 
 
 And it was Link — Link, in an ill-fitting suit of ready-made 
 clothes that made him look like something quite different 
 from his old self. 
 
 He apparently had no intention of wasting any words on 
 Sally. 
 
 " Miss Temple !" he said, quickly, nodding his head in the 
 direction of the house. " Yo' ask her to come out hyar — 
 right now." 
 
 Sally turned to go. 
 
"a little pleasure" 331 
 
 Link began to walk back and forth. 
 
 " Tell her I 'ain't no time ter waste. Tell her I must see 
 her." 
 
 Sally went on. 
 
 The young man kept up his walk in the short space under 
 the birches. He was watching the path where Sally had 
 disappeared. As he watched his tanned face became as 
 pale as it was possible for it to be. His lips, under the yel- 
 low mustache, kept twitching nervously. 
 
 Suddenly a deep flush rose to his forehead. He started 
 forward, taking off his hat as he did so. 
 
 There was Temple coming along the path. She had not 
 lingered a moment. She came eagerly, with both hands out- 
 stretched. 
 
 Dalvecker, holding her hands and staring at her, ex- 
 claimed, 
 
 " Oh, Temple, how you've changed ! You ain't happy ! 
 I war powerful feared you wa'n't happy !" 
 
 " Link ! Don't ! I've been ill, you know." 
 
 " Temple, yo' carn't look me in the face, yo' carn't, an' say 
 yo're happy." 
 
 He did not wait for her to reply. He went on hurriedly, 
 still holding her hands, 
 
 "I took it into my head as I'd gurt to see yo'. I'd jest 
 gurt to see yo' 'fore I done one thing." 
 
 " What thing ?" asked Temple, who was more moved at 
 sisfht of her old friend than she wished to show. He was a 
 part of her young life — of that time when, as she phrased it, 
 she was somebody else. 
 
 This emotion was something very different from anything 
 evoked by a meeting with Boynton. 
 
 " Come to the house with me, Link," she said. 
 
 " No, no. I'm gwine to stay right hyar fur ten minutes. 
 I don't wanter see anybody else. I curm to see you. I'm 
 gwine to be married. Temple. Don't speak. I don't lurv 
 her. But mar, she's set her heart. An' it don't make no dif- 
 ference to me. I wanted to see yo' and tell yo' myself that 
 
332 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 I didn't lurv her. But I mean ter make a good man to 
 her." 
 
 Here Link paused. 
 
 He did not stop gazing at his companion, and Temple 
 found it difficult to think what to say to him. 
 
 Her confused thoughts would not clarify so that she could 
 speak. 
 
 " I hope you'll—" 
 
 "Now stop," he cried, "yo' needn't talk that-a-way. I do 
 wish. Temple, that you'd been happy ! God ! I d' know 
 who should be happy ef 'tain't you !" 
 
 The young man's voice vibrated strangely. He was 
 afraid to try to express the tumultuous sorrow that Temple's 
 appearance caused him. 
 
 He had been continually telling himself that, of course, 
 she would be changed. But to be like this — 
 
 " I'm getting well," said Temple, quietly. 
 
 He made no answer. He continued to look at her. 
 
 " I jest had to come an' tell yo'," he said, at last. " I 
 couldn't a-bear to have yo' think I'd be'n an' fell in lurv with 
 anybody. She's a good gal, though. But I don't lay out to 
 put no pump in. I wanted to tell yo', Temple." He looked 
 at her wistfully. She met his eyes with that warm kindness 
 that was part of her nature. 
 
 " It was good of you to tell me," she answered. " And 
 I'm sure you'll be happy, Link. Oh, I hope so !" 
 
 "Now I'll go." 
 
 He would not stay. He gripped her hands hard and said 
 good-bye. 
 
 She watched him go. She remained a long time among 
 the birches. And when she came back to the house Almina 
 was sure she had been crying. 
 
XX 
 
 " PROOF ARMOR " 
 
 " I SUPPOSE you don't read Cherbuliez, Mrs. Mercer ?" 
 
 Boynton made this remark one day in June. He had 
 been riding all of a long and delightful morning with Tem- 
 ple. They had been silent a great part of the time. He 
 had discovered that it was quite delicious to be silent with 
 Mrs. Mercer. He had not tried to find anything to say. 
 Occasionally he had glanced at his companion, but it had 
 not happened that she had glanced at him. When she did 
 look at him it was with a full, serious, sometimes a troubled 
 gaze. 
 
 Boynton had been with Temple a great deal in the last 
 two months. 
 
 He knew very well that he was what he called in love 
 with her. He thought of her almost every \vaking moment, 
 and he often dreamed of her. 
 
 There was a subtle and thrilling delight in the very knowl- 
 edge that he was in the same world with her. He did not 
 trouble himself much about the existence of Mercer. He 
 was, as he would have said, " realizing his present." 
 
 And it is a great gift to be able to do that. 
 
 Of course Temple had never loved Mercer, a cast-iron 
 fanatic who hadn't a thought above saving souls. 
 
 But sometimes Boynton had a strong desire to discover 
 what Temple thought of her husband. He used to discourse 
 occasionally on the subject of love and marriage, in an im- 
 personal way. 
 
 At such times Temple would listen, but she did not often 
 express any opinion. 
 
334 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 She was recalling her old conviction that it was a great 
 
 mistake to marry for love, because love did not always last. 
 
 Of late she had caught herself quoting those old lines from 
 
 somewhere : 
 
 ' ' Pray, how comes love ? 
 It comes unsought, unsent: 
 Pray, how goes love ? 
 It was not love that went." 
 
 Now she turned and looked at Boynton as he put his 
 question concerning the French author. 
 
 They had been talking of marriage in general ; or, rather, 
 he had been talking, as he often did. 
 
 The two riders sat on their horses at the end of a wood 
 road that opened suddenly into a high pasture. They were 
 alone together save for the presence of the dog, who was sit- 
 ting soberly on his haunches by the pony's side. 
 
 " No," said Temple, '' I don't read Cherbuliez. It doesn't 
 seem to me that I read anything. I think I never cared ex- 
 tremely for reading. Human beings, dogs, horses, life — all 
 seem more interesting to me than books." 
 
 "Life? Oh yes," exclaimed Boynton, meeting her eyes, 
 "life is enchanting! Until this summer I never knew how 
 enchanting." 
 
 He spoke hurriedly, and then he was afraid he had ex- 
 pressed too much. 
 
 He looked away, and spoke more calmly. 
 
 " I was going to remind you of a paragraph : ' That there 
 are two kinds of poetry, that which is born and that which 
 is made ; that the first is good, that the second is not worth 
 a rap ; and it is the same with marriages.' " 
 
 "I don't agree with your author," responded Temple, 
 coldly. 
 
 Then she said she thought it was time to go home. She 
 should be late to dinner now. 
 
 Boynton pressed his lips tightly together. A flush of irri- 
 tation rose to his face. He wanted to lash his whip out into 
 the air and hit something. 
 
"proof armor" 335 
 
 But he only silently acquiesced in her suggestion, and 
 turned his horse's head. 
 
 Their homeward route lay past the Wilson home. They 
 were going at a foot's pace as they came opposite the house. 
 The front door opened suddenly, and Mrs. Wilson appeared. 
 She beckoned. The two drew in their horses. 
 
 " I jest want er speak to you, Mis' Mercer, a minute," she 
 said. 
 
 There was such an air of resolution in manner and voice 
 that Temple involuntarily was conscious of a slight inward 
 opposition. 
 
 But she nodded assent, and Boynton, lifting his hat mark- 
 edly to Mrs. Wilson, rode away. 
 
 Thimble walked up the path to Mrs. Wilson's very door, 
 coming safely between flower-beds because he was a pony. 
 
 His rider slipped off on to the step. 
 
 " You seem to be 'bout well now, don't ye ?" asked the 
 woman, as she led the way into the parlor, and pulled up 
 one curtain a little way. 
 
 " I'm much better," answered Temple, feeling a sense of 
 battle in the air, and bracing herself. 
 
 When the two women sat down opposite each other Mrs. 
 Wilson's heart began to sink. 
 
 She had been saying to her husband that she would cer- 
 tainly speak to Temple, and her husband had invariably 
 responded by telling her she would be a fool if she did. 
 
 " It's gittin' to be real pleasant ou' doors, ain't it ?" she 
 now said, feebly. 
 
 Yes, Temple thought it was lovely. She no longer had 
 any inclination to say " lurvly." 
 
 " I s'pose your husband '11 be a-sendin' for you 'fore long, 
 won't he ?" 
 
 "I don't know. I came to stay all summer with Miss 
 D rowdy." 
 
 Having said this, Temple's face suddenly changed. She 
 smiled and asked, 
 
 "Are you thinking it is time for me to go? Is your sister 
 
336 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 tired of me? I thought Sally was doing very well in her 
 help with the work." 
 
 " 'Tain't that," burst out Mrs. Wilson, explosively. " Don't 
 ye know folks are talkin' dretfully .?" 
 
 Temple grew pale as she gazed at her companion. 
 
 " Talking T' she said, vaguely. She had never in all her 
 life thought whether people " talked " or not. 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Wilson, who was rolling up the hem of 
 her apron and unrolling it with great rapidity. " 'Bout you, 
 you know. I told Mr. Wilson I was bound to speak to you. 
 I knew you wa'n't thinkin' no evil." 
 
 "Thinking evil?" 
 
 Temple felt the pulses in her throat swelling. 
 
 " Yes, I knew it. I tried to make Alminy say something 
 to you, but she said there was one thing she wouldn't do, 
 and that was speak to you 'bout folks talkin'." 
 
 " What do they say ?" 
 
 Mrs. Wilson hesitated. Temple repeated her question. 
 
 "They say" — here the speaker summoned all her cour- 
 age — "they say that you 'n' that young man seem too inti- 
 mate. Why, old Mr. Blake told my husband only yisterdy 
 that if you'd got a husband anywhere he'd better be sent for. 
 'N' he said that if you had got one he guessed he didn't care 
 much what did happen to you. 'N' Mrs. Lemuel Lane said 
 day before yisterdy that Alminy ought to know what kind of 
 a woman she was a-harborin'." 
 
 Mrs. Wilson paused to take breath. 
 
 She had not intended to speak just like this, but after she 
 had begun she was conscious of a strong desire to justify 
 herself for mentioning the subject at all. Besides, as she 
 now remarked, she was only telling the simple truth, and not 
 half the truth, either. 
 
 "They say," she went on, recklessly, "that that young 
 man's got a girl down to Bawston somewhere. All I c'n 
 say, if he has, I'm mighty sorry for her. He round here a 
 takin' off his hat, 'n' a smilin', 'n' a scrapin', 's if we could be 
 swallered whole !" 
 
"proof armor" 337 
 
 Mrs. Wilson was quite carried away by the interest her 
 subject excited in her now she was fairly launched upon it. 
 
 Temple had risen. She now turned towards the door. 
 
 "Where you goin' ?" quickly asked Mrs. Wilson. 
 
 "I'm going back to Miss Drowdy's," was the answer. 
 
 Mrs. Wilson hurried round in front of her guest. 
 
 "You mad with me?" she asked. 
 
 Hardly knowing that she did so, she took Temple's hand, 
 which was cold through her glove. 
 
 Temple looked at her in silence. She exerted herself to 
 bring her mind to answer the question. 
 
 " Oh no," she said. " I am — I am greatly surprised. I 
 wonder if people are right when they talk like that about me ?" 
 
 " No ! no ! Of course they ain't right !" was the violent 
 reply. 
 
 " I'm going to ask Miss Drowdy," said Temple. * 
 
 Mrs. Wilson clutched at her companion again. 
 
 " No, no, don't ask her !" she exclaimed. " If you do she 
 never '11 git over my speakin' to you. She thinks such a lot 
 of you !" 
 
 "I shall have to ask her," repeated Temple. 
 
 Mrs. Wilson sat suddenly down in the nearest chair. 
 
 " You mustn't tell her I've said anything, then." 
 
 Temple paused an instant. 
 
 " No," she replied, "I won't tell her." 
 
 She opened the door and walked out of the room. But 
 she returned immediately, standing just within the door, and 
 looking at the woman sitting there. 
 
 " I want to say," began Temple, hesitatingly, "that I can't 
 believe you think I've been doing anything wrong — that is, 
 anything very wrong." The pronouncing these words was 
 a penance that Temple was resolved to perform. 
 
 " Course I don't," was the eager reply. " I tell um you're 
 jest kinder thoughtless, 'n' don't mean nothin'." 
 
 " No," said Temple, still intent upon the penance, " I'm 
 not thoughtless ; and I meant to have some kind of amuse- 
 ment or pleasure." 
 
 22 
 
338 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 Mrs. Wilson's jaw fell as she looked at Temple standing 
 there. 
 
 "You meant to?" she gasped, rather indefinitely. 
 
 " Yes. Now I'm going." 
 
 Temple hurried away. She scrambled up into the saddle, 
 and Mrs. Wilson saw her gallop down the road. 
 
 Mr. Wilson turned from a closet where he was trying to 
 find a paper of late beans for planting. He glanced at his 
 wife. 
 
 "What in thunder you be'n up to now?" he asked, " 'n* 
 where be them yeller-eyed beans, anyway ?" 
 
 Mrs. Wilson answered the last question first. 
 
 "They're on the top shelf to your left hand, marked 
 Y. E." 
 
 " The devil ! I've be'n to that paper bag half a dozen 
 times, 'n' I thought 'twas Young Eagle tomatuses. " 
 
 "You ain't very bright," was the response. "Beans don't 
 feel much like tomato seed. Wall, I've been and spoke to 
 her, jes' 's I said I would." 
 
 Mr. Wilson stepped down from the chair on which he had 
 been standing. 
 
 As he did so the paper bag he held in his hand burst open, 
 and the yellow eyes scattered on the floor. 
 
 " You was more of a darn fool than common, then," he 
 remarked, with husbandly frankness. 
 
 Then his curiosity got the better, and he asked, 
 
 "What d' she say?" 
 
 " She said she hadn't done it thoughtlessly, but on pur- 
 pose." 
 
 "Done what?" with masculine obtuseness. 
 
 " Do be as bright as you can, Mr. Wilson," returned his 
 wife. Then her temper triumphed, and she snapped, 
 
 " Done nothin', you great gump you !" 
 
 And she flounced out of the room. 
 
 Thereupon Mr. Wilson went clumsily down on his knees 
 to gather up the yellow-eyed beans. 
 
 Temple, riding swiftly along in the beautiful solitude of 
 
"proof armor" 339 
 
 the country road, seemed to herself not to be thinking of 
 anything definitely. 
 
 It appeared to her, not that Mrs. Wilson's words had ef- 
 fected anything, but that the time had come for a crisis. 
 
 As she turned into Almina's yard she heard, through an 
 open window, Almina's thin, piercing treble singing : 
 
 " So noble a Lord 
 
 None serves in vain ; 
 For the pay of my love 
 Is my love's sweet pain. 
 
 " In the place of caresses 
 Thou givest me woes ; 
 I kiss thy hands 
 
 When I feel their blows," 
 
 Temple stopped her pony and leaned forward to his neck, 
 listening for the rest of the words. She knew them well ; 
 it was she who had taught the old Sequidilla to Miss Drowdy, 
 whose imaginative, pious mind had absorbed the lines and 
 their meaning immediately. 
 
 The singer cleared her voice, and then went on, at a 
 higher pitch than before : 
 
 " I die with longing 
 Thy face to see ; 
 And sweet is the anguish 
 Of death to me. 
 
 ' ' For because Thou lovest me, 
 Lover of mine, 
 Death can but make me 
 Utterly Thine !" 
 
 The mingling of what seemed like human passion with 
 sacred longing gave a strange power to these old verses, a 
 power not dependent upon the skill with which they might 
 be sung. 
 
 As Almina ceased singing she came forward to the open 
 door. 
 
340 
 
 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 "That you?" she asked, blushing at having been heard. 
 *' I've been keepin' the lamb-stew hot for 3'ou." 
 
 Sally stepped out of the woodshed, walked up to her mis- 
 tress, and took her from the pony. 
 
 " He's been a-waitin' fur yo', honey," she said, in a 
 whisper. 
 
 Temple shrank as she asked, "Who is waiting?" 
 
 " ]\Ir. Boynton, ob co'se. He say I needn't tell Miss 
 Drowdy. He's under de pine." 
 
 Temple stood hesitating an instant. 
 
 The pine-tree was on a knoll at the back of the house. 
 She had sat there several times with Boynton. 
 
 After a moment she walked there now. 
 
 Boynton rose from the bench at the tree trunk. 
 
 " I forgot to ask you to set the hour for our ride to-mor- 
 row," he said, as she approached. " I — " Here he paused 
 suddenly, not finishing his sentence. 
 
 " What has happened?" he asked, quickly. 
 
 A color was rising to his face. He clasped his riding- 
 stick with both hands, fearing that his hands might tremble. 
 
 There was something in the aspect of the w^oman before 
 him which made her more intoxicatingly attractive than she 
 had ever been. And these weeks of companionship with 
 her had gradually undermined his resisting power. 
 
 Besides, he was not a man who intended to resist forever. 
 There is to many fastidious natures almost as much enjoy- 
 ment in a certain sort of combat as in the yielding. And 
 there is always before these natures the thought of the hour 
 of surrender. 
 
 Directly now as he looked at Temple, Boynton knew that 
 he could not help the coming of some words he had thus far 
 rigidly held back. 
 
 As Temple did not immediately reply, Boynton repeated 
 his inquiry ; but before she could speak he advanced a step 
 and said, almost in a whisper, 
 
 " Do sit down." 
 
 Temple obeyed. 
 
" PROOF ARMOR " 34I 
 
 Yucatan had come with her, and now placed himself be- 
 side her. 
 
 She glanced at him, and suddenly started to her feet. 
 
 " I don't want him to be here now !" she exclaimed. " I 
 cannot have my dog with me now !" Then, seeing her com- 
 panion's uncontrollable look of surprise, if not alarm, she 
 resumed her seat, smiled constrainedly, and said, 
 
 "You know one cannot account for the whims of a ner- 
 vous woman." 
 
 Boynton, who had also seated himself, now rose. 
 
 " You are tired, Mrs. Mercer. Perhaps I ought to go ? 
 Only," with a change of voice, " it is very hard to go." 
 
 She looked up at him as she responded, 
 
 "You may stay — a moment." 
 
 She turned to the dog again. 
 
 "Yucatan," she said, " go — go back to the house !" 
 
 As the dog slowly rose his mistress bent down to him 
 with a quick, ardent movement, and pressed his head between 
 her hands in a way she had when caressing him. 
 
 Yucatan gazed up wistfully at her. 
 
 Then he w^alked deliberately towards the house, and dis- 
 appeared through the open door. 
 
 Temple gazed after him with an intenseness for which 
 Boynton could not account. 
 
 Then she turned towards the man near her, and seemed 
 to be waiting for him to speak. 
 
 He did not at first find it possible to say a word. 
 
 For some indescribable reason to him their attitude tow- 
 ards each other seemed now full of a sweet significance. 
 And yet nothing had happened, apparently. 
 
 Was it merely that the hour had struck ? 
 
 This was what Boynton asked himself. And he longed 
 to know what, just now, this woman was asking herself. 
 
 And why had she sent away the dog.-* 
 
 The excitement upon him was growing so intensely pene- 
 trating that he felt that he could not much longer keep up 
 any semblance of calmness. 
 
342 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, his hands 
 still grasping his stick. 
 
 " Somehow I didn't feel as if I could speak to any one — 
 not even Miss Drowdy," he said, " so I rode up that cart- 
 path, and left my horse hitched down there while I waited. 
 Sally said she would tell you." 
 
 He was conscious of a feeling of triumph in the appear- 
 ance of intimacy at which these words hinted. And he 
 watched Temple to see if she resented this intimacy. But 
 her face told him nothing. It was downcast; the thick, 
 light lashes seemed to veil more than her eyes. 
 
 Still he allowed himself to fancy something to suit his 
 own wishes. 
 
 She had never snubbed him. She had had plenty of op- 
 portunity to do so. Therefore — here his vanity rose confi- 
 dent. 
 
 " I've made a mistake — a horrible mistake," he suddenly 
 exclaimed, with some violence, rushing pell-mell into a sub- 
 ject which he had been longing to mention to Temple. 
 
 She now turned slightly towards him, but she did not 
 raise her eyes as she said, 
 
 " We are always making mistakes, I think." 
 
 "Yes, I know. But this is a very bad one." 
 
 He put his hand into the inner pocket of his coat and 
 drew out a letter. He extended it towards her, saying, 
 
 " This note came to me two days ago. Mrs. Mercer, will 
 you read it ?" 
 
 Temple just glanced at the writing on the envelope. She 
 drew back a little, and made a sign of negation. 
 
 "Then I will tell you," hurriedly — " I must tell you, Mrs. 
 Mercer. Miss Wallis wrote this note. There are not many 
 words in it. She says she is convinced that it will be better 
 to discontinue our engagement." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 Temple's voice uttered the exclamation sharply. She 
 threw back her head, and her eyes flashed over her com- 
 panion. But they seemed to flash in dew. 
 
"proof armor" 343 
 
 " She loves you," she said. Her voice trembled. 
 
 Boynton's head drooped. He knew very well that Amy 
 Wallis loved him ; but how could that be helped ? Still, it 
 was unfortunate. But, however unfortunate, a man never 
 grieves too much because some woman loves him, even when 
 he cannot return that love. 
 
 "And I," began Boynton — "I thought I loved her. I 
 have a sincere affection for her. Mrs. Mercer — " Here a 
 pause that was full of meaning. He went on now quickly, 
 like a horse who breaks from a hesitating trot into a full 
 gallop : 
 
 " Mrs. Mercer, perhaps I'm going to offend you. I can't 
 help it. I can't see you another hour just as a mere friend. 
 I tell you " — in a more intense tone — " I tell you, it is be- 
 yond human endurance to go on in this way. I thought I 
 could bear it ; I thought I could not live without it — the 
 seeing you, you know. Only to have the right to meet you 
 just as all others meet you. I was sure I could endure that, 
 and be thankful for that. Well—" 
 
 Here Boynton arose and stood in front of Temple, gazing 
 down at her, his eyes emphasizing his words dangerously. 
 
 He was silent an instant, the silence enveloping the two 
 in that wonderful way which is so much more powerful and 
 insinuating than words can be. 
 
 Boynton looked at Temple's hands lying clasped in her 
 lap. He did not quite dare to take possession of them. He 
 had, possibly, already dared too much. 
 
 He had long prided himself upon not having Puritanic 
 ideas about anything. He did not have Puritanic ideas con- 
 cerning marriage. And, moreover, he was sure that there 
 was no love between Richard Mercer and his wife. He did 
 not think there ever had been. He understood their mar- 
 riage well enough. It must have turned out a horrible mis- 
 take for the wife. 
 
 This belief and these thoughts were confusedly in the 
 man's mind now as he stood there in front of Temple. 
 
 And he was growing more and more bewildered. 
 
344 
 
 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 He was not so unsophisticated as to think that a woman's 
 silence always means assent. He knew very well that it 
 may mean revulsion and repulsion. 
 
 " You know I loved you when we used to meet on the 
 French Broad," he said. " I've loved you ever since I knew 
 you. xA-nd I cannot help it. There are some things that 
 are stronger — that overcome us, Temple !" 
 
 He bent down towards her, and put out a hand to touch 
 her. 
 
 She did not shrink away, but she looked up at him, and 
 his hand dropped to his side. 
 
 " Oh, I love you !" he exclaimed. " You must have known 
 it all this time ! You must ! And you are not going to be 
 cruel to me now ?" 
 
 Again he came nearer to her. This time he put his hand 
 on her clasped fingers. 
 
 " Please don't touch me," she said. 
 
 He drew back. His face became almost purple as he 
 gazed down at her. He raised his head, that his breath 
 might come more easily. But he could not find the power 
 to withdraw his eyes from her face. 
 
 " It's all my fault," she said, at last. 
 
 " It's your fault that I love you," he said, eagerly, "because 
 you are what you are. But you can't help that." 
 
 "Yes, it is my fault," Temple repeated. 
 
 She unclasped her hands and put one of them to the back 
 of her head, pressing it there. 
 
 " I wanted to try to find something to amuse me," she said. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 The blood left the man's face. His nostrils dilated. 
 
 " What did you say ?" 
 
 " I wanted to be amused," she repeated, " and I thought 
 that was your wish also. Other women seem to find amuse- 
 ment this way." 
 
 " But you ?" harshly. 
 
 " Oh, don't make me say it 1" piteously, still with her hand 
 to her head. 
 
"proof armor" 345 
 
 She was now looking full into Boynton's eyes. 
 
 He could not for the life of him have found a word to de- 
 scribe what he saw in those eyes. 
 
 He was tingling with the raging of mortified vanity, and 
 with what he called a love repulsed. He was beside him- 
 self with the intensity of his anger and humiliation. And 
 in the midst of it all he still felt the same attraction to this 
 woman — the charm which one personality sometimes has for 
 another. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " say it. Don't mind my feelings." 
 
 He laughed. He wanted to laugh ferociously. " Did 
 you find it entertaining, Mrs. Mercer ?" 
 
 " No," she answered, still in the same piteous way. 
 
 " Dull, perhaps ?" with suppressed fury, and that self- 
 scorn which a vain man finds the very worst thing to endure. 
 
 "Yes," she replied, "very dull." 
 
 " And I wasn't even amusing ?" 
 
 Temple looked about her as if seeking something she did 
 not find. 
 
 " Other women, they say, like to have admirers," she went 
 on. "I hoped the seeing you would take up my mind — 
 turn it in another channel. They've told me I must turn 
 my mind in another channel. Miss MacCallum insisted 
 upon that. She thought I was morbid, abnormal. I was 
 so different from her, you see, that I must be abnormal." 
 
 " Your playing with me proves you to be strictly womanly 
 and normal." 
 
 Boynton spoke bitterly enough, but he was getting him- 
 self a little in hand. 
 
 " Playing with you ?" She looked at him beseechingly. 
 " Oh no, I didn't do that." 
 
 "Didn't you?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 Boynton turned away. He went a short distance down 
 the slope of the knoll. He had never been so bewildered 
 in his life. And he thought he had never suffered so much. 
 
 He came back again. 
 
346 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 (( 
 
 I seem to be a failure in every particular," he said. " I 
 didn't even furnish you with amusement." 
 
 Temple did not reply. 
 
 " Why did you send Yucatan away ?" 
 
 Boynton put this question suddenly. 
 
 " Because " — Temple blushed painfully — " because he is 
 so loyal and noble. I was ashamed before him." 
 
 " And you are not loyal ?" 
 
 " Oh no. I — I hardly know what I am. But in my heart 
 I am loyal." 
 
 "If you ever love," began Boynton, "you will then know " 
 what suffering is." 
 
 " Shall I ?" 
 
 " Yes — a thousand times, yes." 
 
 " Oh, that is what I always said," exclaimed Temple, dis- 
 tressfully. " My mother was wretched because she loved 
 my father. She told me true ! She told me true !" 
 
 " What did she tell you ?" 
 
 Boynton could not help asking this question. And he 
 waited for the answer with absorbing interest. 
 
 " That I must never marry for love." 
 
 " Ah !" 
 
 The man's eyes flashed. 
 
 "And you obeyed her?" 
 
 Temple tried to recover her self-control. 
 
 She glanced towards the house, hoping to see Sally or 
 Miss Drowdy approaching. 
 
 She asked herself in dismay where was her old spirit, her 
 old, fiery independence. Was that girl who rode among the 
 mountains gone forever? 
 
 " You haven't any right to ask me such a question," she 
 said, at last. 
 
 " No ; not the least right in the world," said Boynton^ 
 savagely, "but I ask it all the same." 
 
 Silence on Temple's part. She leaned heavily against 
 the tree trunk. 
 
 " What sort of a woman are you ?" he cried. 
 
 «' 
 
 Si 
 
"proof armor 347 
 
 " A cold-blooded being, who means to take life easily," 
 was the reply, in a mechanical voice. 
 
 " That is false. No one can believe that," Boynton broke 
 out. " You can love. Nature never gave those eyes to a 
 woman who could not love. And I have heard you sing, 
 I have heard you play the violin. Oh, Temple " — his 
 voice breaking with emotion — "do you remember those 
 days ?" 
 
 Temple's head was thrown back against the trunk of the 
 pine ; her lips were parted ; her eyes upon Boynton. 
 
 And yet, somehow, there was a remoteness in her aspect 
 that chilled the man. 
 
 He was not one who readily believed appearances that 
 were adverse to him. 
 
 " I remember them," she said. 
 
 " And can you be hard to me ? You have been playing 
 with me ? Oh, that is incredible!" 
 
 Temple said nothing. She was very pale. Her lips 
 seemed to be growing stiff. 
 
 " I love you so !" Boynton suddenly murmured, in a be- 
 seeching way. Then, with a bitter after-thought, " And I 
 have not even amused you !" 
 
 Temple put her hand on the arm of the bench and helped 
 herself to rise to her feet. 
 
 " I think I will go into the house," she said. 
 
 Boynton stepped forward coldly. " Let me help you," he 
 said. 
 
 But she shook her head. 
 
 She walked slowly forward. Boynton stood watching her. 
 When she had nearly reached the door she turned and 
 looked at him. Her lips moved. He thought she said, 
 " Forgive me." 
 
 He hurried down the slope, mounted his horse, and rode 
 away. 
 
 " What a blind fool I have been ! What a blind fool I 
 have been !" 
 
 He shouted these words aloud to the solitude. He had a 
 
348 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 wish to torture himself physically that he might forget his 
 wounded vanity. 
 
 She had tried to amuse herself, but she had not suc- 
 ceeded even in that attempt. 
 
 He had never for one instant suspected the truth. He 
 would have suspected any one in the wide world sooner than 
 this woman — even Amy. / 
 
 As the thought of Amy came to him, it was as if a cool 
 and comforting hand were laid on a burning wound. 
 
 Of course he did not deserve to be comforted, but he 
 longed for comfort as strongly as if he deserved it, for that 
 is the way of poor human beings. 
 
 Before nightfall Boynton was entering Boston. He had 
 taken the first train to that city. 
 
 In the first part of the journey he was thinking that he 
 would tell Amy everything; in the latter part he decided 
 that it was quite unnecessary. He would go back to his 
 betrothed with such eagerness that she would understand 
 that she was dearest of all the world to him. She would 
 certainly understand that after a while. 
 
 His self-love would soon be rehabilitated in the atmos- 
 phere of her loving admiration. And he was right in his 
 calculation. 
 
 Temple, when she reached the door of the kitchen, paused 
 and leaned against it. 
 
 Miss Drowdy was standing by the stove stirring something 
 in a kettle. 
 
 She glanced up and dropped the spoon. 
 
 " Why, Temple !" she exclaimed. 
 
 She ran forward and put her arm about her guest. She 
 led her to the bedroom and saw her lie down. 
 
 "You mustn't git so faint!" exclaimed Almina. "Here, 
 'tis two hours after your dinner-time. I'll bring you a beat- 
 up egg." 
 
 But Temple clung to her friend's hand. 
 
 " Wait," she said. 
 
 " No, I sha'n't wait." 
 
"proof armor" 349 
 
 " But I want to say something to you." 
 
 Almina was at the door. She paused to answer. 
 
 " You may say it when I come back." 
 
 A few minutes later, when Temple had drank a glass of 
 milk and egg, she sat up in bed and again seized her com- 
 panion's hand, "her pallid face and strained eyes hinting at 
 her emotion. 
 
 " I think something is going to happen to me," she said. 
 
 "You're just nervous," was the soothing reply. " You go 
 to sleep 'n' rest you." 
 
 " I should like to rest," was the answer. 
 
 A pause. But the hold on Almina's hand did not relax. 
 
 " I'm going to be ill," said Temple. " Never mind con- 
 tradicting me. I want to tell you something first. I want 
 to say it while I have my mind clear. 
 
 " Richard has been very busy — too busy to come here, of 
 course. And he knows I've been improving. I told him 
 that Mr. Boynton was here, and he wrote that he hoped my 
 old friend would make the time pass more pleasantly for me. 
 I hoped so, too. But I wasn't going to talk about that. It 
 was something else I wanted to say. And you must under- 
 stand. Will you understand? Surely? Surely?" 
 
 "To be sure I will ; yes, indeed," Almina hastened to say, 
 conscious of a growing anxiety, but trying to speak calmly. 
 
 " If I'm not ill, or if I get well, 5'ou are to keep what I 
 tell you a solemn secret as long as you live ?" 
 
 Temple's serious, intense eyes were fixed on Almina. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Is it a promise ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Temple withdrew her hand and pressed it upon her 
 bosom. 
 
 "If I don't get well, tell Richard I love him — not loved 
 him ; for I shall keep on loving him whether I'm living or 
 dead. I love him ! Oh, make him know it ! Not affection, 
 not liking ; but love — love ! I know why he married me — 
 to help him in his work. I know why he thinks I married 
 
350 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 him — and I remember all my mistaken thoughts at the time. 
 But no matter about all that. I must be quick. Are you 
 listening } I love him ! And it's killing me. I thought I 
 was really better. But I don't think I want to be better. 
 What is the use .? Dear Richard ! Dearest ! Dearest ! Oh, 
 I love you !" 
 
 Temple sank down on the bed. Her eyes closed. But 
 she seemed conscious, for she was smiling. 
 
 Suddenly she opened her eyes again. They did not look 
 quite the same. 
 
 "Laura, you know I have not the ' ecstatic temperament, 
 she said, in an unnatural voice. " That is why I cannot love, 
 perhaps. You need not laugh at me, Laura. It's like being 
 protected by proof armor — to have a cold temperament." 
 
 J » 
 
XXI 
 
 " EMOTIONALIZING " 
 
 " I SEEN the colored woman riding by on that pony, 'n* 
 the pony was goin' like possessed _; 'n' I thought something 
 was up; 'n' I told my husband to go right over to Alminy's 
 'n' borrer a nutmeg. 'N' he went ; 'n' he come back, 'n' he 
 said Mis' Mercer was took real sick, 'n' Sally'd gone for the 
 doctor ; 'n' that was when I seen her go by." 
 
 Mrs. Hitty Blake was relating this tale to three neighbors 
 who stood in her yard that afternoon towards sunset. One 
 had come to swap a dozen Plymouth Rock eggs for a dozen 
 of what she called " Braymy " eggs ; another to get a "re- 
 ceipt " for making gingerbread that should be soft, and yet 
 not too soft ; and the third to complain that the rose-bush 
 that Mrs. Blake had given her had refused to live, and was 
 now as " dead as a nit." 
 
 But all three of them forgot their errands in the interest 
 of the news. 
 
 " So she's really sick ?" asked the rose-bush woman. " She's 
 got something besides nerves now, 'ain't she ? I 'ain't no pa- 
 tience with nervous women, for my part. My husband says 
 if I ever show any signs of nerves he'll clear out for good 
 'n' all." 
 
 *' Where's that feller she's be'n ridin' round with con- 
 stant?" 
 
 "I guess Alminy '11 have her hands full," remarked the 
 seeker for a soft gingerbread recipe. " But you can't do 
 nothin' with Alminy. She kinder appears 's if she was goin' 
 to yield, but she ain't goin' to, all the same. I guess I'll 
 go over 'n' offer to watch." 
 
352 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 " I've be'n over myself," now said Mrs. Blake, " 'n' they 
 said they was goin' to try to git 'long 's long 's they could 
 themselves." 
 
 " Miss Mercer's really got something the matter of her 
 now, 'ain't she .''" was the renewed inquiry. 
 
 "Oh yes. There ain't no doubt of it. Some kind of a 
 fever, the doctor said ; he couldn't for certain tell what kind, 
 yet." 
 
 " I hope 'tain't ketchin'." 
 
 " I guess not. My husband said he heard down to the 
 village that that feller who's be'n ridin' with Mrs. Mercer 
 had gone off, bag 'n' baggage." 
 
 She who was in search of " Braymy" eggs now shook her 
 head and averred that she believed that folks didn't know 
 what 'd be'n goin' on, and she thought, for her part, that if 
 that young woman had really got a husband he'd better be 
 round himself. 
 
 Here Mrs. Blake took occasion to state that she had al- 
 ways kinder pitied Mrs. Mercer ; she couldn't help it. There 
 was something in Mrs. Mercer's face that, somehow or other — 
 
 At this point she was interrupted by the rose-bush woman, 
 who proclaimed that she had felt jest so, exactly. " She 
 s'posed Mrs. Mercer couldn't be expected to be jest like 
 Hoyt folks j but, then, everybody couldn't be Hoyt folks." 
 
 The neighbors were hardly done with talking of Temple's 
 seizure, when it became known that a woman doctor had 
 come all the way from Carolina to take care of that young 
 woman who was sick at old maid Drowdy's. 
 
 Some asserted that this new-comer could not be a real 
 doctor, being female ; that she was probably one of " them 
 new kind of nusses." 
 
 This latter doubt has never been absolutely laid at rest in 
 the town of Hoyt. 
 
 There are people there now who maintain that Mrs. Am- 
 midown was only a nuss ; others believe that she was just 
 as much a doctor as any man doctor that ever was in the 
 world. 
 
" EMOTIONALIZING " 353 
 
 Meantime Mrs. Ammidown took the responsibility of the 
 care of Temple. She skilfully guided the old-fashioned doc- 
 tor who had nominal charge of the case, so that while she 
 respectfully deferred to him, she really brought him round to 
 what she thought was the best method of treatment. 
 
 As she sat hour after hour by Temple's bedside, none 
 could know better than she that the treatment could not be 
 much more than judicious nursing. She was physician 
 enough to be aware that in most cases it was the nursing, 
 and not the medicine, that assisted nature. 
 
 She had not paused a moment after she had received Al- 
 mina's telegram. In an hour she was in the train speeding 
 northward. At the railroad station, before she started from 
 Asheville, she had telegraphed to her brother, who was in 
 California, called there by unexpected business. 
 
 Almina had also telegraphed to Mercer, who had never 
 failed to keep her informed of his address. 
 
 But California was a great distance away. It had never 
 seemed so far away to Mrs. Ammidown as it did now while 
 she watched by Temple. 
 
 But what was the good of Richard's coming ? If his wife 
 lived, it would be but the old life again. 
 
 And that old life, Mrs. Ammidown, with all her keen in- 
 sight, had never been able to understand. She thought 
 many things, but she was sure of none. 
 
 Temple talked a great deal in her delirium, but her words 
 were mostly of her work with her husband — of her longing 
 to help him. 
 
 Sometimes she sang hymns before the crowd of people. 
 Sometimes she was playing her violin. Then she was talk- 
 ing with those who came to her about their eternal salvation. 
 
 Painfully restless she was. Sally would lift her in her 
 arms and carry her about the house wrapped in a blanket. 
 
 The Newfoundland stalked after the yellow woman and 
 her burden, his head and tail drooping. 
 
 When at last Sally put her mistress down on the bed 
 again, Yucatan laid himself on the floor close to the bed. 
 23 
 
354 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 He would gaze mournfully and intently into Mrs. Ammi- 
 down's face until that woman would murmur, 
 
 " Oh, don't, Yucatan ! We'll do all— all that we can do." 
 
 Sometimes the dog would lift himself, place his front paws 
 on the bed, and reach forward to lick the face on the pillow. 
 
 This almost always made Temple put out her hands and 
 cry, 
 
 "Oh, why have you taken my own dog from me? My 
 true love ! My loyal one ! He loves me ! I tell you there 
 is one who loves me !" 
 
 Yucatan would whine a little. He kept very quiet in the 
 sick-room, and he would not be driven from it. 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown, sitting by the bed, thought at such mo- 
 ments that she noted a revealing emphasis in that phrase, 
 
 "There is one who loves me." 
 
 But she knew her thoughts might be baseless. She was 
 really sure of nothing but that Temple had been changed 
 by her marriage from a happy, natural, wild-spirited girl to — 
 alas ! what was she now ? 
 
 Even in this illness Temple's darkened and perturbed 
 mind held to its resolution to conceal her secret. 
 
 She had spoken once, just once, and she could trust Al- 
 mina. Oh yes, she could surely trust her. 
 
 In that strange, confused space of time after that last in- 
 terview with Boynton, Temple had thought hurriedly that it 
 could be but natural and reasonable that she should wish 
 Richard to know, after she was dead, that she had loved 
 him. 
 
 She had tried with all her strength to think clearly in that 
 half-hour. He must not know the truth while she lived. 
 The knowledge would but be a burden to him. How nobly 
 and strongly he would try to respond to that love ! And 
 how unhappy he would be because he could not ! 
 
 Such a knowledge would hinder him in his work ; and he 
 loved his work. 
 
 But to know the truth after she was gone. It was not 
 possible there could be any harm in that. 
 
" EMOTIONALIZING " 355 
 
 She was sentimental and morbid, very likely. 
 
 But, really, she could not help telling Almina. And she 
 could trust Almina. 
 
 It would be such a good thing for her to die now. 
 
 Then, perhaps, she could forget the evil impulse that 
 had made her renew her acquaintance in that way with 
 Boynton. 
 
 But the wish to take up her mind had been so strong, and 
 she was sometimes reckless. And Richard had not cared 
 to come back once to see how she was getting on. But 
 Richard was right. She had written him that she was gain- 
 ing every day. Of course, there was no need for him to 
 leave his work and come. 
 
 Certainly, Richard was right, as usual. 
 
 And the only way out of it all was to die. 
 
 She wondered how women could possibly be amused by 
 any kind of a flirtation. She had tried it faithfully, and 
 there was not the least bit of amusement in it. 
 
 Perhaps it would do her good to sing. Yes, she would 
 sing. There would be nothing in a hymn that would betray 
 her secret. 
 
 While she lived it must be a secret, for the knowledge 
 would trouble Richard. She didn't wish to trouble him. 
 
 It had been a strange happiness to tell of her love, to say 
 aloud to some one that she loved him. To call him "Dear- 
 est." That was what he was : Dearest — oh, thousands of 
 times dearest. 
 
 But even if she were crazed, in her illness, she should 
 not tell that. 
 
 And perhaps illness and death would wash out that foolish 
 sin of kindness to Boynton. 
 
 Yes, she would sing. 
 
 But instead of singing she began to recite, she knew not 
 why. She spoke in that hollow but piercing and insistent 
 voice which is so dreadful to hear from the sick. 
 
 She fixed her eyes immovably upon Mrs. Ammidown's 
 face. 
 
356 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 " ' He turned his charger as he spake, 
 Beside the river shore ; 
 He gave his bridle-rein a shake, 
 With adieu for evermore, 
 
 My dear ! 
 Adieu for evermore !' " 
 
 Without taking her gaze from her companion, Temple 
 laughed slightly as she remarked, 
 
 " Isn't it singular that people seem to regard those lines 
 as sad ? Why, there's nothing so cheerful in the world 1 
 If I die, Laura — and I shall die if it's a possible thing — I 
 want you to have a little slab, just a bit of a slab of marble, 
 at my feet — mind you put it at my feet, to keep them down so 
 that they need not follow Richard — and you may put on it, 
 
 ' ' * Adieu for evermore, 
 My dear ! 
 Adieu for evermore !' 
 
 "That will be such a good joke. Richard will laugh — if 
 he has time. And now, Laura Ammidown, you are the 
 woman who believes in love and who married for love. That's 
 a good joke too. That's the best joke of all — to marry 
 for love. But there are people who do it. My mother did 
 it. But I wasn't such a fool. Dear friends, I will pray. " 
 
 Then Temple prayed, passionately believing God was her 
 listener, and that He heard her beseech Him in public and 
 in private. 
 
 But after a little the voice wavered, then started on again 
 
 with: 
 
 '* ' He turned his charger as he spake 
 Beside the river shore — ' " 
 
 Here the voice ceased, and Temple was as silent for hours 
 following as if she could not speak. 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown nerved herself to hear and see Temple 
 thus. 
 
 She sat by the bedside, or she lay on a couch near, while 
 
" EMOTIONALIZING " 357 
 
 &j 
 
 Sally and Miss Drowdy waited upon her, bringing everything, 
 doing everything, she ordered. She and the Newfoundland 
 watched, hardly knowing day from night. 
 
 And nothing was heard from Mercer. 
 
 His sister telegraphed again, saying, as she had done in 
 the first message, "Reply." 
 
 This time an answer came from the town where she had 
 addressed him in California. It was from the office, and 
 said, 
 
 " Mercer gone to Red Canon. Expected back daily. 
 Left no address." 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown stood by the bedside holding the bit of 
 paper in her hand. 
 
 It had been Temple's worst day. 
 
 She lay now with her eyes shut. She bore very little re- 
 semblance to herself. She was not merely haggard ; the 
 hand of illness had moulded her face into something terribly 
 different — some horrible mask seemed to hide the real face. 
 
 She was no longer so restless. Her hands lay outspread 
 on the white bed-cover. 
 
 The form of the skull was plainly discernible on forehead 
 and temples. 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown thrust the paper into her pocket. 
 
 There was nothing more to be done — absolutely nothing. 
 
 She would wait. She did not yet despair, for she had 
 great faith in her patient's youth and strong constitution. 
 
 She wished her brother were not so far away. It seemed 
 as if Red Canon might as well be out of the world. And 
 if he knew — Mrs. Ammidown counted up the days that it 
 would take for him to come in the very fastest manner. 
 
 " By that time," she thought, " she will be recovering, 
 or—" 
 
 The woman compressed her lips. 
 
 She heard Temple say, in a half-whisper, 
 
 "They've hidden my violin." 
 
 It was three days later that the unwearied watcher knew 
 that her charge was going to live. 
 
358 AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 In the morning of the third day Temple's face, worn and 
 wasted as it was, had ceased to look like a mask. 
 
 Then she began to gain ; in two days more she began to 
 gain rapidly. 
 
 She wanted Yucatan to sit close to the bedside, and put 
 his head down on her extended hand. Thus the two would 
 look at each other. Sometimes she would kiss his head. 
 The tears would drop from her eyes. 
 
 " You needn't think I am crying," she said once, glancing 
 up and seeing Mrs. Ammidovvn looking at her. 
 
 " It is very evident that you are not crying," was the re- 
 sponse. 
 
 " They are tears that wash away evil," said Temple. " I 
 don't think my soul is so oppressed." 
 
 " Because your body is not so oppressed," explained the 
 other. 
 
 " Have it just as you please. I'm going to call it my 
 soul." 
 
 Temple's hollow face and great eyes showed the ecstasy 
 of returning life. She felt this ecstasy, notwithstanding that 
 she was telling herself that she did not understand it, and 
 she had no right to feel it. 
 
 "I'm going down to my mountains," she said, "though 
 the world is beautiful everywhere." 
 
 She was gazing out through the open window. It was 
 June. 
 
 " It is a curious thing," remarked Mrs. Ammidown that 
 afternoon, as she sat and contemplated Temple, who lay on 
 the bed propped high with pillows — " a curious thing that you 
 seem to be a frank sort of person ; you don't seem to be con- 
 cealing anything ; and of course I'm sure that I have pene- 
 tration ; and yet there is one thing about which I have never 
 been able to decide in my own mind." 
 
 " And what is that .?" 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown hesitated an instant, then she answered, 
 
 " It is whether you love Richard, or don't love him." 
 
 Temple's eyes had been full upon her sister's when these 
 
" EMOTIONALIZING " 359 
 
 unexpected words were spoken. The eyes did not lower 
 or blench, but an obscuring expression, almost like a shadow, 
 came over them. 
 
 She gave no answer whatever, and directly Mrs. Ammi- 
 down made some casual remark. 
 
 After a little time Temple said that she hoped that Rich- 
 ard had not been sent for on account of her illness. It 
 would be too bad to interrupt his work. 
 
 " Most certainly he has been sent for," was the prompt 
 reply. 
 
 Temple's eyelids suddenly fell as if they were too heavy. 
 She shut her mouth tightly. 
 
 " You were so ill that I did not dare not to send," re- 
 sponded the other woman. 
 
 " He has not been herei*" in a stiff voice. 
 
 Then Mrs. Ammidown explained. 
 
 A moment later the silence which had followed was broken 
 by Temple. She leaned forward and touched her compan- 
 ion with a cold hand. 
 
 "Do you think he can be ill?" she asked. 
 
 Mrs. Ammidown shook her head. 
 
 " If he were he would surely send to me," she answered. 
 
 " Not to me ?" said Temple. 
 
 In spite of herself a tremor went over the woman at hear- 
 ing Temple's voice saying " Not to me ?" 
 
 " He knows you are ill," she said, hurriedly — " at least, 
 he must know by this time." 
 
 Temple said nothing for a long while. Then she spoke 
 to ask if Laura would not telegraph immediately to Richard 
 — tell him there was no need for him to come. He might 
 get the message in time to prevent his starting. 
 
 "I insist," she said, harshly. 
 
 So the message was written, and Sally was sent on the 
 pony to the station, where it could be despatched. 
 
 Meantime, seeing her patient adverse to sleep, Mrs. Am- 
 midown began to try to amuse her by speaking of various 
 things. 
 
36o AGAINST HUMAN NATURE 
 
 " You remember Link Dalvecker ?" she asked, at last. 
 
 "Yes," was the answer, without much apparent interest. 
 
 " And you know there's a family of six girls up at the 
 head of Cain Creek — named Pace ?" 
 
 "I know them. Girls with bright eyes and red cheeks?" 
 
 " Who will soon be faded-eyed and flabby-cheeked," added 
 Mrs. Ammidown. " Well, Link is going to marry the oldest 
 one ; I heard this before I came North to take care of you ; 
 and Link's mother tells everybody that her son couldn't 
 really make urp his mind ter marry thur Crawford gal, 
 though thur Crawford gal use ter curm over to court him." 
 
 Temple smiled languidly. 
 
 " That's maternal devotion," she remarked. After a mo- 
 ment's silence, she added, " I hope Link will be happy. I 
 was always fond of Link." 
 
 She said no more. 
 
 The day was wearing on towards sunset, and Temple had 
 been helped to a chair by the window. She sat there with 
 many pillows behind her. 
 
 The red sunshine was on her figure and streaming across 
 the room. It fell also upon the dog, who was lying soundly 
 sleeping close beside her. 
 
 The dog had grown gaunt and thin in the past ten days. 
 
 Suddenly he sat upon his haunches, his head raised and 
 ears cocked. 
 
 There was so much of excitement in his whole appear- 
 ance that Temple became excited also. She tried to sit 
 upright, but she could not. She sank back again on her 
 pillows. 
 
 " What is it, old fellow ?" she asked. " Don't go on like 
 that. He isn't near." 
 
 As she spoke the last word she was aware that some one 
 was crossing the next room. 
 
 Yucatan leaped forward, barking sharply. 
 
 Mercer thrust aside the dog with a strong sweep of his 
 arm. 
 
 He knelt down by his wife's chair. 
 
" EMOTIONALIZING " 361 
 
 For the first time Temple could not keep from her face 
 the feeling in her heart. And Mercer saw that look. 
 
 He rose quickly. He gathered the slight form up in his 
 arms. He did not know what words burst from him. He 
 felt that he could never find phrases of love strong enough. 
 
 He sat down, holding Temple closely. His face was wet 
 with tears, and his tremulous lips but half obeyed him in his 
 attempts to speak. 
 
 "Oh, my love ! Oh, my love !" 
 
 This was the first that Temple could distinguish as she 
 lay with her face pressed against his breast. 
 
 She lifted her head. 
 
 " Why, you love me, Richard ?" She whispered this, with- 
 drawing herself a little that she might look at him. 
 
 It seemed to the two as if this were the first time their 
 eyes had ever met. 
 
 When he could speak, Mercer said, 
 
 " I have loved you ever since I saw you." 
 
 After a while Temple, still in her husband's arms, made 
 a movement yet nearer to him, 
 
 " I feel as if I should be able to pray again," she said. 
 " Oh, how much one ought to help others when one is happy." 
 
 Just before it was dark Mrs. Ammidown came to the 
 door. 
 
 " Really," she said, gayly, though her voice was not quite 
 steady, " I am afraid you two are emotionalizing." 
 
 THE END 
 
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