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ELSKET, AND OTHER STORIES 
 
BY THOMAS NELSON PAGE. 
 
 ELSKET AND OTHER STORIES. I2mo . . .$1-00 
 
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/1ND OTHER STORIES 
 
 BY 
 
 THOMAS NELSON PAGE 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER S SONS 
 1893 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1891, BY 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER S SONS. 
 
TO HER MEMORY 
 
 5065 n 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ELSKET 1 
 
 "GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL . 52 
 
 P LASKI S TUNAMENT , . . 118 
 
 "Kux TO SEED" 147 
 
 "A SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE" .... 180 
 
 vii 
 
ELSKET. 
 
 " The knife hangs loose in the sheath." 
 
 OLD NORSK PROVERB. 
 
 I SPENT a month of the summer of 188- 
 in Norway " Old Norway " and a friend 
 of mine, Dr. John Robson, who is as great a 
 fisherman as he is a physician, and knows 
 that I love a stream where the trout and I 
 can meet each other alone, and have it out 
 face to face, uninterrupted by any interlopers, 
 did me a favor to which I was indebted for 
 the experience related below. He had been 
 to Norway two years before, and he let me 
 into the secret of an unexplored region be 
 tween the Nord Fiord and the Romsdal. I 
 cannot give the name of the place, because 
 even now it has not been fully explored, and 
 he bound me by a solemn promise that I 
 would not divulge it to a single soul, actually 
 going to the length of insisting on my adding 
 a formal oath to my affirmation. This I con- 
 
 1 
 
2 ELS RET. 
 
 sented to because I knew that my friend was 
 a humorous man, and also because otherwise 
 he positively refused to inform me where 
 the streams were about which he had been 
 telling such fabulous fish stories. " No," he 
 
 said, "some of those cattle who think 
 
 they own the earth and have a right to fool 
 women at will and know how to fish, will be 
 poking in there, worrying Olaf and Elsket, 
 
 and ruining the fishing, and I ll be if I 
 
 tell you unless you make oath." My friend 
 is a swearing man, though he says he swears 
 for emphasis, not blasphemy, and on this 
 occasion he swore with extreme solemnity. 
 I saw that he was in earnest, so made affi 
 davit and was rewarded. 
 
 " Now," he said, after inquiring about my 
 climbing capacity in a way which piqued me, 
 and giving me the routes with a particularity 
 which somewhat mystified me, " Now I will 
 write a letter to Olaf of the Mountain and 
 to Elsket. I once was enabled to do them a 
 slight service, and they will receive you. It 
 will take him two or three weeks to get it, 
 so you may have to wait a little. You must 
 
 wait at L until Olaf comes down to take 
 
 you over the mountain. You may be there 
 
ELSKET. 3 
 
 when he gets the letter, or you may have to 
 wait for a couple of weeks, as he does not 
 come over the mountain often. However, 
 
 you can amuse yourself around L ; only 
 
 you must always be on hand every night in 
 case Olaf comes." 
 
 Although this appeared natural enough to 
 the doctor, it sounded rather curious to me, 
 and it seemed yet more so when he added, 
 44 By the way, one piece of advice : don t 
 talk about England to Elsket, and don t ask 
 any questions." 
 
 "Who is Elsket? "I asked. 
 
 44 A daughter of the Vikings, poor thing," 
 he said. 
 
 My curiosity was aroused, but I could get 
 nothing further out of him, and set it down to 
 his unreasonable dislike of travelling English 
 men, against whom, for some reason, he had a 
 violent antipathy, declaring that they did not 
 know how to treat women nor ho\v to fish. 
 My friend has a custom of speaking very 
 strongly, and I used to wonder at the vio 
 lence of his language, which contrasted 
 strangely with his character ; for he was the 
 kindest-hearted man I ever knew, being a 
 true follower of his patron saint, old Isaac 
 
4 ELSKET. 
 
 giving his sympathy to all the unfortunate, 
 and even handling his frogs as if he loved 
 them. 
 
 Thus it was that on the afternoon of the 
 seventh day of July, 188-, having, for pur 
 poses of identification, a letter in my pocket 
 to " Olaf of the Mountain from his friend Dr. 
 Robson," I stood, in the rain in the so-called 
 " street " of L , on the Fiord, look 
 ing over the bronzed faces of the stolid but 
 kindly peasants who lounged silently around, 
 trying to see if I could detect in one a resem 
 blance to the picture I had formed in my 
 mind of " Olaf of the Mountain," or could 
 discern in any eye a gleam of special interest 
 to show that its possessor was on the watch 
 for an expected guest. 
 
 There was none in whom I could discover 
 any indication that he was not a resident 
 of the straggling little settlement. They 
 all stood quietly about gazing at me and 
 talking in low tones among themselves, 
 chewing tobacco or smoking their pipes, as 
 naturally as if they were in Virginia or Ken 
 tucky, only, if possible, in a somewhat more 
 ruminant manner. It gave me the single 
 bit of home feeling I could muster, for it 
 
ELSKET. 5 
 
 was, I must confess, rather desolate stand 
 ing alone in a strange land, under those beet 
 ling crags, with the clouds almost resting on 
 our heads, and the rain coming down in a 
 steady, wet, monotonous fashion. The half- 
 dozen little dark log or frame-houses, with 
 their double windows and turf roofs, standing 
 about at all sorts of angles to the road, as if 
 they had rolled down the mountain like the 
 great bowlders beyond them, looked dark 
 and cheerless. I was weak enough to wish 
 for a second that I had waited a few days for 
 the rainy spell to be over, but two little bare 
 headed children, coming down the road 
 laughing and chattering, recalled me to my 
 self. They had no wrapping whatever, and 
 nothing on their heads but their soft flaxen 
 hair, yet they minded the rain no more than 
 if they had been ducklings. I saw that 
 these people were used to rain. It was the 
 inheritance of a thousand years. Something, 
 however, had to be done, and I recognized 
 the fact that I was out of the beaten track of 
 tourists, and that if I had to stay here a week, 
 on the prudence of my first step depended 
 the consideration I should receive. It would 
 not do to be hasty. I had a friend with me 
 
b ELSKET. 
 
 which had stood me in good stead before, 
 and I applied to it now. Walking slowly 
 up to the largest, and one of the oldest men 
 in the group, I drew out my pipe and a bag 
 of old Virginia tobacco, free from any flavor 
 than its own, and filling the pipe, I asked 
 him for a light in the best phrase-book Norsk 
 I could command. He gave it, and I placed 
 the bag in his hand and motioned him to 
 fill his pipe. When that was done I handed 
 the pouch to another, and motioned him to 
 fill and pass the tobacco around. One by one 
 they took it, and I saw that I had friends. 
 No man can fill his pipe from another s bag 
 and not wish him well. 
 
 " Does any of you know Olaf of the Moun 
 tain?" I asked. I saw at once that I had 
 made an impression. The mention of that 
 name was evidently a claim to consideration. 
 There was a general murmur of surprise, 
 and the group gathered around me. A half- 
 dozen spoke at once. 
 
 " He was at L last week," they said, as 
 
 if that fact was an item of extensive interest. 
 
 "I want to go there," I said, and then 
 was, somehow, immediately conscious that 
 I had made a mistake. Looks were ex- 
 
ELSKET. 7 
 
 Changed and some words were spoken among 
 my friends, as if they were oblivious of my 
 presence. 
 
 "You cannot go there. None goes there 
 but at night," said one, suggestively. 
 
 "Who goes over the mountain comes no 
 more," said another, as if he quoted a 
 proverb, at which there was a faint intima 
 tion of laughter on the part of several. 
 
 My first adviser undertook a long explana 
 tion, but though he labored faithfully I could 
 make out no more than that it was some 
 thing about "Elsket" and "the Devil s 
 Ledge," and men who had disappeared. This 
 was a new revelation. What object had my 
 friend? He had never said a word of this. 
 Indeed, he had, I now remembered, said very 
 little at all about the people. He had ex 
 hausted his eloquence on the fish. I recalled 
 his words when I asked him about Elsket: 
 "She is a daughter of the Vikings, poor 
 thing." That was all. Had he been up to 
 a practical joke ? If so, it seemed rather a 
 sorry one to me just then. But anyhow I 
 could not draw back now. I could never 
 face him again if I did not go on, and what 
 was more serious, I culd never face myself. 
 
8 ELSKET. 
 
 I was weak enough to have a thought that, 
 after all, the mysterious Olaf might not 
 come; but the recollection of the fish of 
 which my friend had spoken as if they had 
 been the golden fish of the " Arabian Nights," 
 banished that. I asked about the streams 
 around L . " Yes, there was good fish 
 ing." But they were all too anxious to tell 
 me about the danger of going over the moun 
 tain to give much thought to the fishing. 
 "No one without Olafs blood could cross 
 the Devil s Ledge." " Two men had disap 
 peared three years ago." " A man had 
 disappeared there last year. He had gone, 
 and had never been heard of afterward. The 
 Devil s Ledge was a bad pass." 
 
 44 Why don t they look into the matter?" 
 I asked. 
 
 The reply was as near a shrug of the 
 shoulders as a Norseman can accomplish. 
 
 " It was not easy to get the proof ; the 
 mountain was very dangerous, the glacier 
 very slippery ; there were no witnesses," etc. 
 " Olaf of the Mountain was not a man to 
 trouble." 
 
 " He hates Englishmen," said one, signifi 
 cantly. 
 
ELSKET. 9 
 
 "I am not an Englishman, I am an Ameri 
 can," I explained. 
 
 This had a sensible effect. Several began 
 to talk at once. One had a brother in Idaho, 
 another had cousins in Nebraska, and so on. 
 
 The group had by this time been aug 
 mented by the addition of almost the entire 
 population of the settlement ; one or two 
 rosy-cheeked women, having babies in their 
 arms, standing in the rain utterly regardless 
 of the steady downpour. 
 
 It was a propitious time. " Can I get a 
 place to stay here ? " I inquired of the group 
 generally. 
 
 "Yes, oh, yes." There was a consulta 
 tion in which the name of " Hendrik " was 
 heard frequently, and then a man stepped 
 forward and taking up my bag and rod-case, 
 walked off, I following, escorted by a number 
 of my new friends. 
 
 I had been installed in Hendrik s little 
 house about an hour, and we had just fin 
 ished supper, when there was a murmur 
 outside, and then the door opened, and a 
 young man stepping in, said something so 
 rapidly that I understood only that it con 
 cerned Olaf of the Mountain, and in some 
 way myself. 
 
10 ELSKET. 
 
 " Olaf of the Mountain is here and wants 
 to speak to you," said my host. " Will you 
 go?" 
 
 "Yes," I said. "Why does he not come 
 in?" 
 
 " He will not come in," said my host ; " he 
 never does come in." 
 
 " He is at the church-yard," said the mes 
 senger ; " he always stops there." They both 
 spoke broken English. 
 
 I arose and went out, taking the direction 
 indicated. A number of my friends stood in 
 the road or street as I passed along, and 
 touched their caps to me, looking very queer 
 in the dim twilight. They gazed at me curi 
 ously as I walked by. 
 
 I turned the corner of a house which stood 
 half in the road, and just in front of me, in its 
 little yard, was the little white church with its 
 square, heavy, short spire. At the gate stood 
 a tall figure, perfectly motionless, leaning on 
 a long staff. As I approached I saw that lie 
 was an elderly man. He wore a long beard, 
 once yellow but now gray, and he looked very 
 straight and large. There was something 
 grand about him as he stood there in the dusk. 
 
 I came quite up to him. He did not move. 
 
ELSKET. 11 
 
 " Good-evening," I said. 
 
 " Good-evening." 
 
 " Are you Mr. Hovedsen ? " I asked, draw 
 ing out my letter. 
 
 "I am Olaf of the Mountain," he said 
 slowly, as if his name embraced the whole 
 title. 
 
 I handed him the letter. 
 
 44 You are ?" 
 
 "I am " taking my cue from his own 
 
 manner. 
 
 "The friend of her friend?" 
 
 " His great friend." 
 
 " Can you climb ? " 
 
 "I can." 
 
 " Are you steady ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " It is well ; are you ready ? " 
 
 I had not counted on this, and involunta 
 rily I asked, in some surprise, " To-night ? " 
 
 " To-night. You cannot go in the day." 
 
 I thought of the speech I had heard : " No 
 one goes over the mountain except at night," 
 and the ominous conclusion, " Who goes over 
 the mountain comes no more." My strange 
 host, however, diverted my thoughts. 
 
 " A stranger cannot go except at night," 
 
12 ELSKET. 
 
 he said, gravely ; and then added, " I must 
 get back to watch over Elsket." 
 
 "I shall be ready in a minute," I said, 
 turning. 
 
 In ten minutes I had bade good-by to my 
 simple hosts, and leaving them with a suffi 
 cient evidence of my consideration to secure 
 their lasting good-will, I was on my way down 
 the street again with my light luggage on my 
 back. This time the entire population of the 
 little village was in the road, and as I passed 
 along I knew by their murmuring conversa 
 tion that they regarded my action with pro 
 found misgiving. I felt, as I returned their 
 touch of the cap and bade them good-by, a 
 little like the gladiators of old who, about to 
 die, saluted Caesar. 
 
 At the gate my strange guide, who had not 
 moved from the spot where I first found him, 
 insisted on taking my luggage, and buckling 
 his straps around it and flinging it over his 
 back, he handed me his stick, and without a 
 word strode off straight toward the black 
 mountain whose vast wall towered above us 
 to the clouds. 
 
 I shall never forget that climb. 
 
 We were hardly out of the road before we 
 
ELSKET. 13 
 
 began to ascend, and I had shortly to stop 
 for breath. My guide, however, if silent was 
 thoughtful, and he soon caught my gait and 
 knew when to pause. Up through the dusk we 
 went, he guiding me now by a word telling 
 me how to step, or now turning to give me his 
 hand to help me up a steep place, over a large 
 rock, or around a bad angle. For a time we 
 had heard the roar of the torrent as it boiled 
 below us, but as we ascended it had gradually 
 hushed, and we at length were in a region of 
 profound silence. The night was cloudy, and 
 as dark as it ever is in midsummer in that 
 far northern latitude; but I knew that we 
 were climbing along the edge of a precipice, 
 on a narrow ledge of rock along the face 
 of the cliff. The vast black wall above us 
 rose sheer up, and I could feel rather than 
 see that it went as sheer down, though my 
 sight could not penetrate the darkness which 
 filled the deep abyss below. We had been 
 climbing about three hours when suddenly 
 the ledge seemed to die out. My guide 
 stopped, and unwinding his rope from his 
 waist, held it out to me. I obeyed his silent 
 gesture, and binding it around my body gave 
 him the end. He wrapped it about him, 
 
14 ELSEET. 
 
 and then taking me by the arm, as if I had 
 been a child, he led me slowly along the 
 narrow ledge around the face of the wall, step 
 by step, telling me where to place my feet, 
 and waiting till they were firmly planted. I 
 began now to understand why no one ever 
 went "over the mountain" in the day. We 
 were on a ledge nearly three thousand feet 
 high. If it had not been for the strong, firm 
 hold on my arm, I could not have stood it. 
 As it was I dared not think. Suddenly we 
 turned a sharp angle and found ourselves 
 in a curious semicircular place, almost level 
 and fifty or sixty feet deep in the concave, as 
 if a great piece had been gouged out of the 
 mountain by the glacier which must once 
 have been there. 
 
 " This is a curious place," I ventured to 
 say. 
 
 " It is," said my guide. " It is the Devil s 
 Seat. Men have died here." 
 
 His tone was almost fierce. I accepted his 
 explanation silently. We passed the singu 
 lar spot and once more were on the ledge, but 
 except in one place it was not so narrow as it 
 had been the other side of the Devil s Seat, 
 and in fifteen minutes we had crossed the 
 
ELSKET. 15 
 
 summit and the path widened a little and 
 began to descend. 
 
 "You do well," said my guide, briefly, 
 " but not so well as Doctor John." I was 
 well content with being ranked a good second 
 to the doctor just then. 
 
 The rain had ceased, the sky had partly 
 cleared, and, as we began to descend, the 
 early twilight of the northern dawn began to 
 appear. First the sky became a clear steel- 
 gray and the tops of the mountains became 
 visible, the dark outlines beginning to be filled 
 in, and taking on a soft color. This light 
 ened rapidly, until on the side facing east 
 they were bathed in an atmosphere so clear 
 and transparent that they seemed almost 
 within a stone s throw of us, while the other 
 side was still left in a shadow which was 
 so deep as to be almost darkness. The gray 
 lightened and lightened into pearl until a 
 tinge of rose appeared, and then the sky 
 suddenly changed to the softest blue, and a 
 little later the snow-white mountain-tops 
 were bathed in pink, and it was day. 
 
 I could see in the light that we were de 
 scending into a sort of upland hollow between 
 the snow-patched mountain-tops ; below us 
 
ELSKET. 
 
 was a lovely little valley in which small pines 
 and birches grew, and patches of the green, 
 short grass which stands for hay shone among 
 the great bowlders. Several little streams 
 came jumping down as white as milk from 
 the glaciers stuck between the mountain-tops, 
 and after resting in two or three tiny hikes 
 which looked like hand-mirrors lying in the 
 grass below, went bubbling and foaming on 
 to the edge of the precipice, over which they 
 sprang, to be dashed into vapor and snow 
 hundreds of feet down. A half-dozen sheep 
 and as many goats were feeding about in the 
 little valley; but I could not see the least 
 sign of a house, except a queer, brown struct 
 ure, on a little knoll, with many gables and 
 peaks, ending in the curious dragon-pennants, 
 which I recognized as one of the old Norsk 
 wooden churches of a past age. 
 
 When, however, an hour later, we had got 
 down to the table-land, I found myself sud, 
 denly in front of a long, quaint, double log 
 cottage, set between two immense bowlders, 
 and roofed with layers of birch bark, covered 
 with turf, which was blue with wild pansies. 
 It was as if it were built under a bed of 
 heartVease. It was very old, and had evi- 
 
ELSKET. 
 
 17 
 
 dently been a house of some pretension, for 
 there was much curious carving about the 
 doors, and indeed about the whole front, 
 the dragon s head being distinctly visible in 
 the design. There were several lesser houses 
 which looked as if they had once been dwell 
 ings, but they seemed now to be only stables. 
 As we approached the principal door it was 
 opened, and there stepped forth one of the 
 most striking figures I ever saw a young 
 woman, rather tall, and as straight as an 
 arrow. My friend s words involuntarily re 
 curred to me, " A daughter of the Vikings," 
 and then, somehow, I too had the feeling he 
 had expressed, " Poor thing ! " Her figure 
 was one of the richest and most perfect I ever 
 beheld. Her face was singularly beautiful; 
 but it was less her beauty than her nobility 
 of look and mien combined with a certain 
 sadness which impressed me. The features 
 were clear and strong and perfectly carved. 
 There was a firm mouth, a good jaw, strong 
 chin, a broad brow, and deep blue eyes which 
 looked straight at you. Her expression was 
 so soft and tender as to have something pa 
 thetic in it. Her hair was flaxen, and as fine 
 as satin, and was brushed perfectly smooth 
 
18 ELSKET. 
 
 and coiled on the back of her shapely head, 
 which was placed admirably on her shoulders. 
 She was dressed in the coarse, black-blue 
 stuff of the country, and a kerchief, also dark 
 blue, was knotted under her chin, and fell 
 back behind her head, forming a dark back 
 ground for her silken hair. 
 
 Seeing us she stood perfectly still until we 
 drew near, when she made a quaint, low 
 courtesy and advanced to meet her father 
 with a look of eager expectancy in her large 
 eyes. 
 
 " Elsket," he said, with a tenderness which 
 conveyed the full meaning of the sweet pet 
 term, " darling." 
 
 There was something about these people, 
 peasants though they were, which gave me 
 a strange feeling of respect for them. 
 
 " This is Doctor John s friend," said the 
 old man, quietly. 
 
 She looked at her father in a puzzled way 
 for a moment, as if she had not heard him, 
 but as he repeated his introduction a light 
 came into her eyes, and coming up to me she 
 held out her hand, saying, " Welcome." 
 
 Then turning to her father "Have you 
 a letter for me, father ?" she asked. 
 
ELSKET. 19 
 
 " No, Elsket," lie said, gently ; " but I will 
 go again next month." 
 
 A cloud settled on her face and increased 
 its sadness, and she turned her head away. 
 After a moment she went into the house 
 and I saw that she was weeping. A look of 
 deep dejection came over the old man s face 
 also. 
 
 II. 
 
 I found that my friend, " Doctor John," 
 strange to relate of a fisherman, had not 
 exaggerated the merits of the fishing. How 
 they got there, two thousand feet above the 
 lower valley, I don t know ; but trout fairly 
 swarmed in the little streams, which boiled 
 among the rocks, and they were as greedy as 
 if they had never seen a fly in their lives. I 
 shortly became contemptuous toward any 
 thing under three pounds, and addressed 
 myself to the task of defending my flies 
 against the smaller ones, and keeping them 
 only for the big fellows, which ran over 
 three pounds the patriarchs of the streams. 
 With these I had capital sport, for they knew 
 every angle and hole, they sought every coign 
 
20 ELSKET. 
 
 of vantage, and the rocks were so thick and 
 so sharp that from the time one of these vet 
 erans took the fly, it was an equal contest 
 which of us should come off victorious. I 
 was often forced to rush splashing and floun 
 dering through the water to my waist to keep 
 my line from being sawed, and as the water 
 was not an hour from the green glaciers 
 above, it was not always entirely pleasant. 
 
 I soon made firm friends with my hosts, 
 and varied the monotony of catching three- 
 pounders by helping them get in their hay 
 for the winter. Elsket, poor thing, was, 
 notwithstanding her apparently splendid 
 physique, so delicate that she could no longer 
 stand the fatigue of manual labor, any extra 
 exertion being liable to bring on a recurrence 
 of the heart-failure, from which she had suf 
 fered. I learned that she had had a violent 
 hemorrhage two summers before, from which 
 she had come near dying, and that the skill 
 of my friend, the doctor, had doubtless saved 
 her life. This was the hold he had on Olaf 
 of the Mountain : this was the "small service " 
 he had rendered them. 
 
 By aiding them thus, I was enabled to be 
 of material assistance to Olaf, and I found in 
 
ELSEET. 21 
 
 helping these good people, that work took on 
 once more the delight which I remembered it 
 used to have under like circumstances when 
 I was a boy. I could cut or carry on my 
 back loads of hay all day, and feel at night 
 as if I had been playing. Such is the singu 
 lar effect of the spirit on labor. 
 
 To make up for this, Elsket would some 
 times, when I went fishing, take her knitting 
 and keep me company, sitting at a little 
 distance. With her pale, calm face and 
 shining hair outlined against the background 
 of her sad-colored kerchief, she looked like a 
 mourning angel. I never saw her smile 
 except when her father came into her pres 
 ence, and when she smiled it was as if the 
 sun had suddenly come out. I began to 
 understand the devotion of these two strange 
 people, so like and yet so different. 
 
 One rainy day she had a strange turn ; she 
 began to be restless. Her large, sad eyes, 
 usually so calm, became bright ; the two 
 spots in her cheeks burned yet deeper ; her 
 face grew anxious. Then she laid her knit 
 ting aside and took out of a great chest some 
 thing on which she began to sew busily. I 
 was looking at her, when she caught my eye 
 
22 ELSKET. 
 
 and smiled. It was the first time she ever 
 smiled for me. " Did you know I was going 
 to be married? " she asked, just as an Amer 
 ican girl might have done. And before I 
 could answer, she brought me the work. It 
 was her wedding dress. " I have nearly 
 finished it," she said. Then she brought me 
 a box of old silver ornaments, such as the 
 Norsk brides wear, and put them on. When 
 I had admired them she put them away. 
 After a little, she arose and began to wander 
 about the house and out into the rain. I 
 watched her with interest. Her father came 
 in, and I saw a distressed look come into his 
 eyes. He went up to her, and laying his 
 hand on her drew her toward a seat. Then 
 taking down an old Bible, he turned to a 
 certain place and began to read. He read 
 first the Psalm: "Lord, thou hast been our 
 refuge, from one generation to another. Be 
 fore the mountains were brought forth, or 
 ever the earth and the world were made, thou 
 art God from everlasting, and world without 
 end." Then he turned to the chapter of 
 Corinthians, " Now is Christ risen from the 
 dead, and become the first-fruits of them that 
 slept," etc. His voice was clear, rich, and 
 
ELSKET. 2o 
 
 devout, and he read it with singular earnest 
 ness and beauty. It gave me a strange feel 
 ing ; it is a part of our burial service. Then 
 he opened his hymn-book and began to sing a 
 low, dirge-like hymn. I sat silent, watching 
 the strange service and noting its effect on 
 Elsket. She sat at first like a person bound, 
 struggling to be free, then became quieter, 
 and at last, perfectly calm. Then Olaf knelt 
 down, and with his hand still on her prayed 
 one of the most touching prayers I ever 
 heard. It was for patience. 
 
 When he rose Elsket was weeping, a/id she 
 went and leant in his arms like a child, and 
 he kissed her as tenderly as if he had been 
 her mother. 
 
 Next day, however, the same excited state 
 recurred, and this time the reading appeared 
 to have less effect. She sewed busily, and 
 insisted that there must be a letter for her at 
 
 L . A violent fit of weeping was followed 
 
 by a paroxysm of coughing, and finally the 
 old man, who had sat quietly by her with his 
 hand stroking her head, arose and said, U I 
 will go." She threw herself into his arms, 
 rubbing her head against him in sign of dumb 
 affection, and in a little while grew calm. It 
 
24 ELSKET. 
 
 was still raining and quite late, only a little 
 before sunset; but the old man went out, 
 
 and taking the path toward L was soon 
 
 climbing the mountain toward the Devil s 
 Seat. Elsket sat up all night, but she was as 
 calm and as gentle as ever. 
 
 The next morning when Olaf returned she 
 went out to meet him. Her look was full of 
 eager expectancy. I did not go out, but 
 watched her from the door. I saw Olaf 
 shake his head, and heard her say bitterly, 
 " It is so hard to wait," and he said, gently, 
 " Yes, it is, Elsket, but I will go again," and 
 then she came in weeping quietly, the old 
 man following with a tender look on his 
 strong, weather-beaten face. 
 
 That day Elsket was taken ill. She had 
 been trying to do a little work in the field in 
 the afternoon, when a sinking spell had come 
 on. It looked for a time as if the poor over 
 driven heart had knocked off work for good 
 and all. Strong remedies, however, left by 
 Doctor John, set it going again, and we got 
 her to bed. She was still desperately feeble, 
 and Olaf sat up. I could not leave him, so we 
 were sitting watching, he one side the open 
 platform fireplace in one corner, and I tJie 
 
ELSKET. 25 
 
 other; he smoking, anxious, silent, grim; I 
 watching the expression on his gray face. 
 His eyes seemed set back deeper than ever 
 under the shaggy gray brows, and as the fire 
 light fell on him he had the fierce, hopeless 
 look of a caged eagle. It was late in the 
 night before he spoke, and then it was half to 
 himself and but half to me. 
 
 " I have fought it ten long years," he said, 
 slowly. 
 
 Not willing to break the thread of his 
 thought by speaking, I lit my pipe afresh and 
 just looked at him. He received it as an 
 answer. 
 
 " She is the last of them," he said, accept 
 ing me as an auditor rather than addressing 
 me. " We go back to Olaf Traetelje, the 
 blood of Harold Haarfager (the Fairhaired) 
 is in our veins, and here it ends. Dane and 
 Swede have known our power, Saxon and 
 Celt have bowed bare-headed to us, and with 
 her it ends. In this stronghold many times 
 her fathers have found refuge from their foes 
 arid gained breathing-time after battles by 
 sea and land. From this nest, like eagles, 
 they have swooped down, carrying all before 
 them, and here, at last, when betrayed and 
 
26 ELSKET. 
 
 hunted, they found refuge. Here no foreign 
 king could rule over them ; here they learnt 
 the lesson that Christ is the only king, and 
 that all men are his brothers. Here they 
 lived and worshipped him. If their domin 
 ions were stolen from them they found here a 
 truer wealth, content ; if they had not power, 
 they had what was better, independence. For 
 centuries they held this last remnant of the 
 dominion which Harold Haarfager had con 
 quered by land, and Eric of the Bloody Axe 
 had won by sea, sending out their sons and 
 daughters to people the lands ; but the race 
 dwindled as their lands had done before, and 
 now with her dies the last. How has it 
 come ? As ever, by betrayal ! " 
 
 The old man turned fiercely, his breast 
 heaving, his eyes burning. 
 
 "Was she who came of a race at whose 
 feet jarls have crawled and kings have knelt 
 not good enough?" I was hearing the story 
 and did not interrupt him "Not good 
 enough for him ! " he continued in his low, 
 fierce monotone. " I did not want him. What 
 if he was a Saxon? His fathers were our boat 
 men. Rather Cnut a thousand times. Then 
 the race would not have died. Then she 
 would not be not be so." 
 
ELSKET. 27 
 
 The reference to her recalled him to him 
 self, and he suddenly relapsed into silence. 
 
 " At least, Cnut paid the score," he began 
 once more, in a low intense undertone. " In 
 his arms he bore him down from the Devil s 
 Seat, a thousand feet sheer on the hard ice, 
 where his cursed body lies crushed forever, 
 a witness of his falsehood." 
 
 I did not interrupt, and he rewarded my 
 patience, giving a more connected account, 
 for the first time addressing me directly. 
 
 " Her mother died when she was a child," 
 he said, softly. His gentle voice contrasted 
 strangely with the fierce undertone in which 
 he had been speaking. " I was mother as well 
 as father to her. She was as good as she was 
 beautiful, and each day she grew more and 
 more so. She was a second Igenborg. Know 
 ing that she needed other companionship than 
 an old man, I sought and brought her Cnut 
 (he spoke of him as if I must know all about 
 him). Cnut was the son of my only kinsman, 
 the last of his line as well, and he was tall 
 and straight and strong. I loved him and he 
 was my son, and as he grew I saw that he 
 loved her, and I was not sorry, for he was 
 goodly to look on, straight and tall as one of 
 
28 ELSKET. 
 
 old, and he was good also. And she was satis 
 fied with him, and from a child ordered him 
 to do her girlish bidding, and he obeyed and 
 laughed, well content to have her smile. And 
 he would carry her on his shoulder, and take 
 her on the mountain to slide, and would gather 
 her flowers. And I thought it was well. And 
 I thought that in time they would marry and 
 have the farm, and that there would be 
 children about the house, and the valley 
 might be filled with their voices as in the 
 old time. And I was content. And one 
 day he came ! (the reference cost him an 
 effort). Ciiut found him fainting on the 
 mountain and brought him here in his arms. 
 He had come to the village alone, and the idle 
 fools there had told him of me, and he had 
 asked to meet me, and they told him of the 
 mountain, and that none could pass the Devil s 
 Ledge but those who had the old blood, and 
 that I loved not strangers ; and he said he 
 would pass it, and he had come and passed 
 safely the narrow ledge, and reached the 
 Devil s Seat, when a stone had fallen upon 
 him, and Cnut had found him there faint 
 ing, and had lifted him and brought him 
 here, risking his own life to save him on the 
 
ELSKET. 29 
 
 ledge. And he was near to death for days, 
 and she nursed him and brought him from 
 the grave. 
 
 "At first I was cold to him, but there was 
 something about him that drew me and held 
 me. It was not that he was young and taller 
 than Cnut, and fair. It was not that his eyes 
 were clear and full of light, and his figure 
 straight as a young pine. It \vas not that he 
 had climbed the mountain and passed the nar 
 row ledge and the Devil s Seat alone, though 
 I liked well his act ; for none but those who 
 have Harold Haarfager s blood have done it 
 alone in all the years, though many have tried 
 and failed. I asked him what men called him, 
 and he said, 4 Harold ; then laughing, said 
 some called him, Harold the Fair-haired, 
 The answer pleased me. There was some 
 thing in the name which drew me to him. 
 When I first saw him I had thought of Harald 
 Haarfager, and of Harald Haardraarder, arid 
 of that other Harold, who, though a Saxon, 
 died bravely for his kingdom when his brother 
 betrayed him, and I held out my hand and 
 gave him the clasp of friendship." 
 
 The old man paused, but after a brief re 
 flection proceeded : 
 
30 
 
 ELSKET. 
 
 " We made him welcome and we loved him. 
 He knew the world and could tell us many 
 things. He knew the story of Norway and 
 the Vikings, and the Sagas were on his tongue. 
 Cnut loved him and followed him, and she 
 (the pause which always indicated her who 
 filled his thoughts) she, then but a girl, 
 laughed and sang for him, and he sang for 
 her, and his voice was rich and sweet. And 
 she went with him to fish and to climb, and 
 often, when Cnut and I were in the field, we 
 would hear her laugh, clear and fresh from 
 the rocks beside the streams, as he told her 
 some fine story of his England. He stayed 
 here a month and a week, and then departed, 
 saying he would come again next year, and 
 the house was empty and silent after he left. 
 But after a time we grew used to it once more 
 and the winter came. 
 
 " When the spring returned we got a letter 
 -a letter to her saying he would come again, 
 and every two weeks another letter came, and 
 I went for it and brought it to to her, and 
 she read it to Cnut and me. And at last he 
 came and I went to meet him, and brought 
 him here, welcome as if he had been my eldest 
 born, and we were glad. Cnut smiled and 
 
ELSKET. 31 
 
 ran forward and gave him his hand, and 
 
 she she did not come at first, but when she 
 
 came she was clad in all that was her best, 
 and wore hsr silver the things her mother 
 and her grandmother had worn, and as she 
 stepped ont of the door and saluted him, I 
 saw for the first time that she was a woman 
 grown, and it was hard to tell which face was 
 brighter, hers or his, and Cnut smiled to see 
 her so glad." 
 
 The old man relapsed into reflection. 
 Presently, however, he resumed: 
 
 " This time he was gayer than before : the 
 summer seemed to come with him. He sang 
 to her and read to her from books that he 
 had brought, teaching her to speak English 
 like himself, and he would go and fish up the 
 streams while she sat near by and talked to 
 him. Cnut also learned his tongue well, and 
 I did also, but Cnut did not see so much of 
 him as before, for Cnut had to work, and in 
 the evening they were reading and she she 
 
 grew more and more beautiful, and laughed 
 
 and sang more. And so the summer passed. 
 The autumn came, but he did not go, and I 
 was well content, for she was happy, and, in 
 truth, the place was cheerier that he was here. 
 
32 ELSKET. 
 
 Cnut alone seemed downcast, but I knew not 
 why; and then the snow came. One morn 
 ing we awoke and the farm was as white as 
 the mountains. I said to him, 4 Now you are 
 here for the winter, and he laughed and said, 
 4 No, I will stay till the new-year. I have 
 business then in England, and I must go. 
 And I turned, and her face was like sun 
 shine, for she knew that none but Cnut and 
 I had ever passed the Devil s Ledge in the 
 snow, and the other way by which I took the 
 Doctor home was worse then, though easier in 
 the summer, only longer. But Cnut looked 
 gloomy, at which I chid him ; but he was 
 silent. And the autumn passed rapidly, so 
 cheerful was he, finding in the snow as much 
 pleasure as in the sunshine, and taking her 
 out to slide and race on shoes till she would 
 come in with her cheeks like roses in summer, 
 and her eyes like stars, and she made it warm 
 where she was. 
 
 " And one evening they came home. He 
 was gayer than ever, and she more beautiful, 
 but silenter than her wont. She looked like 
 her mother the evening I asked her to be my 
 wife. I could not take my eyes from her. 
 That night Cnut was a caged wolf. At last 
 
ELSKET. 33 
 
 he asked me to come out, and then he told 
 me that he had seen Harold kiss her and had 
 heard him tell her that he loved her, and she 
 had not driven him away. My heart was 
 wrung for Cnut, for I loved him, and he wept 
 like a child. I tried to comfort him, but it 
 was useless, and the next day he went away 
 for a time. I was glad to have him go, for 
 I grieved for him, and I thought she would 
 miss him and be glad when he came again, 
 and though the snow was bad on the moun 
 tain he was sure as a wolf. He bade us good- 
 by and left with his eyes looking like a hurt 
 dog s. I thought she would have wept to have 
 him go, but she did not. She gave him her 
 hand and turned back to Harold, and smiled 
 to him when he smiled. It was the first 
 time in all her life that I had not been glad 
 to have her smile, and I was sorry Harold 
 had stayed, and I watched Cnut climb the 
 mountain like a dark speck against the snow 
 till he disappeared. She was so happy and 
 beautiful that I could not long be out with 
 her, though I grieved for Cnut, and when 
 she came to me and told me one night of her 
 great love for Harold I forgot my own re 
 gret in her joy, and I said nothing to Harold, 
 
34 ELSKET. 
 
 because she told me he said that in his 
 country it was not usual for the father to 
 be told or to speak to a daughter s lover. 
 
 " They were much taken up together after 
 that, and I was alone, and I missed Cnut 
 sorely, and would have longed for him more 
 but for her happiness. But one day, when 
 he had been gone two months, I looked over 
 the mountain, and on the snow I saw a black 
 speck. It had not been there before, and I 
 watched it as it moved, and I knew it was 
 Cnut. 
 
 " I said nothing until he came, and then I 
 ran and met him. He was thin, and worn, and 
 older ; but his eyes had a look in them which 
 I thought was joy at getting home ; only they 
 were not soft, and he looked taller than when 
 he left, and he spoke little. His eyes softened 
 when she, hearing his voice, came out and 
 held out her hand to him, smiling to welcome 
 him ; but he did not kiss her as kinsfolk do 
 after long absence, and when Harold came 
 out the wolf-look came back into his eyes. 
 Harold looked not so pleased to see him, but 
 held out his hand to greet him. But Cnut 
 stepped back, and suddenly drawing from his 
 breast a letter placed it in his palm, saying 
 
ELSKET. 35 
 
 slowly, I have been to England, Lord Harold, 
 and have brought you this from your Lady 
 Ethelfrid Penrith they expect you to your 
 wedding at the New Year. Harold turned as 
 white as the snow under his feet, and she gave 
 a cry and fell full length on the ground. 
 
 " Cnut was the first to reach her, and lifting 
 her in his arms he bore her into the house. 
 Harold would have seized her, but Cnut 
 brushed him aside as if he had been a barley- 
 straAV, and carried her and laid her down. 
 When she came to herself she did not remem 
 ber clearly what had happened. She was 
 strange to me who was her father, but she 
 knew him. I could have slain him, but she 
 called him. He went to her, and she under 
 stood only that he was going away, and she 
 wept. He told her it was true that he had 
 loved another woman and had promised to 
 marry her, before he had met her, but now he 
 loved her better, and he would go home and 
 arrange everything and return; and she lis 
 tened and clung to him. I hated him and 
 wanted him to go, but he was my guest, and 
 I told him that he could not go through the 
 snow ; but he was determined. It seemed as 
 if he wanted now to get away, and I was glad 
 
36 ELSKET. 
 
 to have him go, for my child was strange to 
 me, and if he had deceived one woman I knew 
 he might another, and Cnut said that the let 
 ter he had sent by him before the snow came 
 was to say he would come in time to be mar 
 ried at the New Year ; and Cnut said he lived 
 in a great castle and owned broad lands, 
 more than one could see from the whole 
 mountain, and his people had brought him 
 in and asked him many questions of him, and 
 had offered him gold to bring the letter back, 
 and he had refused the gold, and brought it 
 without the gold; and some said he had 
 deceived more than one woman. And Lord 
 Harold went to get ready, and she wept, 
 and moaned, and was strange. And then 
 Cnut went to her and told her of his own 
 love for her, and that he was loyal to her, but 
 she waved him from her, and when he asked 
 her to marry him, for he loved her truly, she 
 said him nay with violence, so that he came 
 forth into the air looking white as a leper. 
 And he sat down, and when I came out he 
 was sitting on a stone, and had his knife in 
 his hand, looking at it with a dangerous 
 gleam in his eyes; and just then she arose 
 and came out, and, seeing him sitting so with 
 
ELSKET. 37 
 
 his knife, she gave a start, and her manner 
 changed, and going to him she spoke softly 
 to him for the first time, and made him yield 
 her up the knife ; for she knew that the knife 
 hung loose in the sheath. But then she 
 changed again and all her anger rose against 
 Cnut, that he had brought Harold the letter 
 which carried him away, and Cnut sat saying 
 nothing, and his face was like stone. Then 
 Lord Harold came and said he was ready, and 
 he asked Cnut would he carry his luggage. 
 And Cnut at first refused, and then suddenly 
 looked him full in his face, and said, c Yes. 
 And Harold entered the house to say good-by 
 to her, and I heard her weeping within, and 
 my heart grew hard against the Englishman, 
 and Cnut s face was black with anger, and 
 when Harold came forth I heard her cry out, 
 and he turned in the door and said he \vould 
 return, and would write her a letter to let her 
 know when he would return. But he said it 
 as one speaks to a child to quiet it, not mean 
 ing it. And Cnut went in to speak to her, 
 and I heard her drive him out as if he had 
 been a dog, and he came forth with his face 
 like a wolf s, and taking up Lord Harold s 
 luggage, he set out. And so they went over 
 the mountain. 
 
38 ELSKET. 
 
 " And all that night she lay awake, and I 
 heard her moaning, and all next day she sat 
 like stone, and I milked the goats, and her 
 thoughts were on the letters he would send. 
 
 " I spoke to her, but she spoke only of the 
 letters to come, and I kept silence, for I had 
 seen that Lord Harold would come no more ; 
 for I had seen him burn the little things she 
 had given him, and he had taken everything 
 away, but I could not tell her so. And the 
 days passed, and I hoped that Cnut would 
 come straight back ; but he did not. It grieved 
 me, for I loved him, and hoped that he would 
 return, and that in time she would forget 
 Lord Harold, and not be strange, but be as 
 she had been to Cnut before he came. Yet I 
 thought it not wholly wonderful that Cnut 
 did not return at once, nor unwise ; for she 
 was lonely, and would sit all day looking up 
 the mountain, and when he came she would, 
 I thought, be glad to have him back. 
 
 " At the end of a week she began to urge 
 me to go for a letter. But I told her it 
 could not come so soon ; but when another 
 week had passed she began to sew, and when 
 I asked her what she sewed, she said her 
 bridal dress, and she became so that I agreed 
 
ELSKET. 39 
 
 to go, for I knew no letter would come, and 
 it broke my heart to see her. And when I 
 was ready she kissed me, and wept in my 
 arms, and called me her good father ; and so 
 I started. 
 
 " She stood in the door and watched me 
 climb the mountain, and waved to me almost 
 
 " The snow was deep, but I followed the 
 track which Cnut and the Englishman had 
 made two weeks before, for no new snow had 
 fallen, and I saw that one track was ever 
 behind the other, and never beside it, as if 
 Cnut had fallen back and followed behind 
 him. 
 
 And so I came near to the Devil s Seat, 
 where it was difficult, and from where Cnut 
 had brought him in his arms that day, and 
 then, for the first time, I began to fear, for I 
 remembered Cnut s look as he came from 
 the house when she waved him off, and it had 
 been so easy for him with a swing of his strong 
 arm to have pushed the other over the cliff. 
 But when I saw that he had driven his stick 
 in deep to hold hard, and that the tracks went 
 on beyond, I breathed freely again, and so I 
 passed the narrow path, and the black wall, 
 
40 ELSKET. 
 
 and came to the Devil s Seat ; and as I turned 
 the rock my heart stopped beating, and I had 
 nearly fallen from the ledge. For there, scat 
 tered and half-buried in the snow, lay the pack 
 Cnut had carried on his back, and the snow 
 was all dug up and piled about as if stags had 
 been fighting there for their lives. From 
 the wall, across and back, were deep furrows, 
 as if they were ploughed by men s feet dug 
 fiercely in ; but they were ever deeper toward 
 the edge, and on one spot at the edge the 
 snow was all torn clear from the black rock, 
 and beyond the seat the narrow path lay 
 smooth, and bright, and level as it had fallen, 
 without a track. My knees shook under me, 
 and I clutched my stick for support, and 
 everything grew black before me : and pres 
 ently I fell on my knees and crawled and 
 peered over the edge. But there was noth 
 ing to be seen, only where the wall slants 
 sharp down for a little space in one spot the 
 snow was brushed away as if something had 
 struck there, and the black, smooth rock 
 showed clean, cutting off the sight from 
 the glacier a thousand feet down." 
 
 The old man s breast heaved. It was evi 
 dently a painful narrative, but he kept on. 
 
ELSKET. 41 
 
 "I sat down in the snow and thought; for I 
 could not think at once. Cnut had not wished 
 to murder, or else he had flung the English 
 man from the narrow ledge with one blow of 
 his strong arm. He had waited until they 
 had stood on the Devil s Seat, and then he had 
 thrown off his pack and faced him, man to 
 man. The Englishman was strong and active, 
 taller and heavier than Cnut. He had Har- 
 ald s name, but he had not Harald s heart nor 
 blood, and Cnut had carried him in his arms 
 over the cliff, with his false heart like water 
 in his body. 
 
 "I sat there all day and into the night; 
 for I knew that he would betray no one more. 
 I sorrowed for Cnut, for he was my very son. 
 And after a time I would have gone back to 
 her, but I thought of her at home waiting and 
 watching for me with a letter, and I could not ; 
 and then I wept, and I wished that I were 
 Cnut, for I knew that he had had one moment 
 of joy when he took the Englishman in his 
 arms. And then I took the scattered things 
 from the snow and threw them over the cliff; 
 for I would not let it be known that Cnut had 
 flung the Englishman over. It would be 
 talked about over the mountain, and Cnut 
 
42 ELSKET. 
 
 would be thought a murderer by those who 
 did not know, and some would say he had 
 done it foully; and so I went on over the 
 mountain, and told it there that Cnut and the 
 Englishman had gone over the cliff together 
 in the snow on their way, and it was thought 
 that a slip of snow had carried them. And I 
 came back and told her only that no letter 
 had come." 
 
 He was silent so long that I thought he 
 had ended ; but presently, in a voice so low 
 that it was just like a whisper, he added : " I 
 thought she would forget, but she has not, 
 and every fortnight she begins to sew her 
 dress and I go over the mountains to give 
 her peace ; for each time she draws nearer to 
 the end, and wears away more and more ; and 
 some day the thin blade will snap." 
 
 " The thin blade " was already snapping, 
 and even while he was speaking the last fibres 
 were giving way. 
 
 The silence which followed his words was 
 broken by Elsket; I heard a strange sound, 
 and Elsket called feebly, " Oh, father." 
 
 Olaf went quickly to her bedside. I heard 
 him say, " My God in Heaven ! " and I sprang 
 up and joined him. It was a hemorrhage. 
 
ELSKET. 43 
 
 Her life-blood was flowing from her lips. 
 She could not last like that ten minutes. 
 
 Providentially the remedies provided by 
 Doctor John were right at hand, and, thanks 
 to them, the crimson tide was stayed before 
 life went out; but it was soon apparent that 
 her strength was gone and her power ex 
 hausted. 
 
 We worked over her, but her pulse was 
 running down like a broken clock. There 
 was no time to have got a physician, even 
 had there been one to get. I mentioned it ; 
 Olaf shook his head. " She is in the hands 
 of God," he said. 
 
 Olaf never left the bedside except to heat 
 water or get some stimulant for her. 
 
 But, notwithstanding every effort, she 
 failed to rally. The overtaxed heart was 
 giving out, and all day she sank steadily. 
 I never saw such a desperate face as that old 
 man s. It haunts me now. He hung over 
 her. He held her hand, now growing cold, 
 against his cheek to keep it warm stroked 
 it and kissed it. As towards evening the 
 short, quick breaths came, which precede 
 dissolution, he sank on his knees. At first, 
 he buried his face in his hands; then in 
 
44: ELSKET. 
 
 the agony of his despair, he began to speak 
 aloud. I never heard a more moving appeal. 
 It was a man speaking face to face with God 
 for one about to enter his presence. His eyes 
 were wide open, as if he saw His face. He 
 did not ask that she should be spared to him ; 
 it was all for his " Elska," his " Darling," 
 that Jesus would be her " Herder," and lead 
 her beside the still waters; that she might 
 be spared all suffering and sorrow, and have 
 peace. 
 
 Presently he ended and buried his face in 
 his hands. The quick, faint breaths had died 
 away, and as I looked on the still white face 
 on the pillow I thought that she had gone. 
 But suddenly the large eyes slowly opened 
 wide. 
 
 " Father," she said, faintly. 
 
 " Elsket," the old man bent over her 
 eagerly. 
 
 " I am so tired." 
 
 " My Elsket." 
 
 " I love you." 
 
 " Yes, my Elsket." 
 
 " You will stay with me ? " 
 
 " Yes, always." 
 
 " If Cnut comes ? " 
 
ELSKET. 45 
 
 " Yes, my Elsket." 
 
 " If Cnut comes " very faintly. 
 
 Her true lover s name was the last on her 
 lips. 
 
 He bent his ear to her lips. " Yes ? " 
 
 But we never knew just what she wanted. 
 The dim, large eyes closed, and then the lids 
 lifted slowly a little ; there was a sigh, and 
 Elsket s watching was over ; the weary spirit 
 was at peace. 
 
 " She is with God," he said, calmly. 
 
 I closed the white lids gently, and moved 
 out. Later I offered to help him, hut he said 
 "No," and I remained out of doors till the 
 afternoon. 
 
 About sunset he appeared and went up 
 toward the old church, and I went into the 
 house. I found that he had laid her out in 
 the large room, and she lay with her face 
 slightly turned as if asleep. She was dressed 
 like a bride in the bridal dress she had sewn 
 so long ; her hair was unbound, and lay about 
 her, fine and silken, and she wore the old sil 
 ver ornaments she had showed me. No bride 
 had ever a more faithful attendant. He had 
 put them all upon her. 
 
 After a time, as he did not come back, I 
 
46 ELSKET. 
 
 went to look for him. As I approached 
 I heard a dull, thumping sound. When I 
 reached the cleared place I found him dig 
 ging. He had chosen a spot just in front of 
 the quaint old door, with the rude, runic let 
 ters, which the earliest sunbeams would touch. 
 As I came up I saw he was digging her grave. 
 I offered to help, but he said " No." So I car 
 ried him some food and placing it near him 
 left him. 
 
 Late that evening he came down and asked 
 me if I would sit up that night. I told him, 
 yes. He thanked me and went into the house. 
 In a little while he came out and silently went 
 up the path toward the mountain. 
 
 It was a strange night that I spent in that 
 silent valley in that still house, only I, and 
 the dead girl lying there so white and peace 
 ful. I had strange thoughts, and the earth 
 and things earthly disappeared for me that 
 night shut in by those mountain walls. I 
 was in a world alone. I was cut off from all 
 but God and the dead. I have dear ones in 
 heaven, and I was nearer to them that night, 
 amid the mountain-tops of Norway, than I 
 was to earthly friends. I think I was nearer 
 to heaven that night than I ever shall be 
 again till I get there. 
 
ELSKET. 47 
 
 Day broke like a great pearl, but I did not 
 heed it. It was all peace. 
 
 Suddenly there was a step outside, and 
 Olaf, with his face drawn and gray, and bow 
 ing under the weight of the burden upon his 
 shoulder, stepped wearily in at the door. 
 
 To do Elsket honor he had been over the 
 mountain to get it. I helped lift it down 
 and place it, and then he waited for me to go. 
 As I passed out of the door I saw him bend 
 over the quiet sleeper. I looked in later ; he 
 had placed her in the coffin, but the top was 
 not on and he was on his knees beside her. 
 
 He did not bury her that day; but he never 
 left her side ; he sat by her all day and all 
 night. Next day he came to the door and 
 looked at me. I went in and understood that 
 he wanted me to look for the last time on her 
 face. It was fairer than I ever saw it. He 
 had cut her flowers and placed them all about 
 her, and on her breast was a small packet of 
 letters. All care, all suffering, all that was 
 merely of the earth were cleansed away, and 
 she looked as she lay, like a dead angel. 
 After I came out I heard him fastening on 
 the top, and when he finished I went in again. 
 He would have attempted to carry it by him- 
 
48 ELSKET. 
 
 self, but I restrained him, and without a word 
 he took the head and I the foot, and so lift 
 ing her tenderly we went gently out and up 
 toward the church. We had to pause and 
 rest several times, for he was almost worn out. 
 After we had lowered her into the grave I 
 was in doubt what to do ; but Olaf drew from 
 his coat his two books, and standing close by 
 the side of the grave he opened first the little 
 Bible and began to read in a low but distinct 
 voice : " Lord, thou hast been our refuge, from 
 one generation to another. Before the moun 
 tains were brought forth, or ever the earth 
 and the world were made, thou art God from 
 everlasting, and world without end." 
 
 When he finished this he turned and read 
 again : " Now is Christ risen from the dead, and 
 become the first-fruits of them that slept," etc. 
 They were the Psalm and the chapter which 
 I had heard him read to Elsket that first day 
 when she became excited, and with which he 
 had so often charmed her restless spirit. 
 
 He closed, and I thought he was done, but 
 he opened his hymn-book and turning over a 
 few leaves sang the same hymn he had sung 
 to her that day. He sang it all through to 
 the end, the low, strange, dirge-like hymn, 
 
ELSKET. 49 
 
 and chanted as it was by that old man alone, 
 standing in the fading evening light beside 
 the grave which he had dug for his daughter, 
 the last of his race, I never heard anything 
 so moving. Then he knelt, and clasping his 
 hands offered a prayer. The words, from 
 habit, ran almost as they had done when he 
 had prayed for Elsket before, that God would 
 be her Shepherd, her " Herder," and lead her 
 beside the still waters, and give her peace. 
 
 When he was through I waited a little, and 
 then I took up a spade to help him ; but he 
 reached out and took it quietly, and seeing 
 that he wanted to be alone I left him. He 
 meant to do for Elsket all the last sacred 
 offices himself. 
 
 I was so fatigued that on reaching the 
 house I dropped off to sleep and slept till 
 morning, and I do not know when he came 
 into the house, if he came at all. When I 
 waked early next morning he was not there, 
 and I rose and went up to the church to hunt 
 for him. He was sitting quietly beside the 
 grave, and I saw that he had placed at her 
 head a little cross of birchwood, on which he 
 had burned one word, simply, 
 
 "ELSKET." 
 
50 ELSKET. 
 
 I spoke to him, asking him to come to the 
 house. 
 
 u I cannot leave her," he said ; but when I 
 urged him he rose silently and returned with 
 me. 
 
 I remained with him for a while after that, 
 and each day he went and sat by the grave. 
 At last I had to leave. I urged him to come 
 with me, but he replied always, " No, I must 
 watch over Elsket." 
 
 It was late in the evening when we set off 
 to cross the mountain. We came by the 
 same path by which I had gone, Olaf leading 
 me as carefully and holding me as steadily as 
 when I went over before. I stopped at the 
 church to lay a few wild flowers on the little 
 gray mound where Elsket slept so quietly. 
 Olaf said not a word ; he simply waited till I 
 was done and then followed me dumbly. I 
 was so filled with sorrow for him that I did 
 not, except in one place, think much of the 
 fearful cliffs along which we made our w^ay. 
 At the Devil s Seat, indeed, my nerves for a 
 moment seemed shaken and almost gave way 
 as I thought of the false young lord whose 
 faithlessness had caused all the misery to 
 these simple, kindly folk, and of the fierce 
 
ELSKET. 51 
 
 young Norseman who had there found so 
 sweet a revenge. But we came on and passed 
 the ledge, and descending struck the broader 
 path just after the day broke, where it was 
 no longer perilous but only painful. 
 
 There Olaf paused. " I will go back if you 
 don t want me," he said. I did not need his 
 services, but I urged him to come on with 
 me to pay a visit to his friends. " I have 
 none," he said, simply. Then to come home 
 with me and live with me in old Virginia. 
 He said, " No," he " must watch over Elsket." 
 So finally I had to give in, and with a clasp 
 of the hand and a message to " her friend " 
 Doctor John, to " remember Elsket," he went 
 back and was soon lost amid the rocks. 
 
 I was half-way down when I reached a 
 cleared place an hour or so later, and turned 
 to look back. The sharp angle of the Devil s 
 Lodge was the highest point visible, the very 
 pinnacle of the mountain, and there, clear 
 against the burnished steel of the morning 
 sky, on the very edge, clear in the rare at 
 mosphere was a small figure. It stood for a 
 second, a black point distinctly outlined, and 
 then disappeared. 
 
 It was Olaf of the Mountain, gone back to 
 keep watch over Elsket. 
 
GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST 
 DUEL. 
 
 OF all the places in the county " The 
 Towers " was the favorite with the young 
 people. There even before Margaret was 
 installed the Major kept open house with his 
 major domo and factotum " George Wash 
 ington " ; and when Margaret came from 
 school, of course it was popular. Only one 
 class of persons was excluded. 
 
 There were few people in the county who 
 did not know of the Major s antipathy to "old 
 women," as he called them. Years no more 
 entered into his definition of this class than 
 celibacy did into his idea of an "old bach 
 elor." The state of single blessedness con 
 tinued in the female sex beyond the bloom of 
 youth was in his eyes the sole basis of this 
 unpardonable condition. He made certain 
 concessions to the few individuals among his 
 neighbors who had remained in the state of 
 
 52 
 
"GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 53 
 
 spinsterhood, because, as he declared, neigh- 
 borliness was a greater virtue than consist 
 ency ; but he drew the line at these few, and 
 it was his boast that no old woman had ever 
 been able to get into his Eden. " One of 
 them," he used to say, " would close paradise 
 just as readily now as Eve did six thousand 
 years ago." Thus, although as Margaret 
 grew up she had any other friends she de 
 sired to visit her as often as she chose, her 
 wish being the supreme law at Rock Towers, 
 she had never even thought of inviting one 
 of the class against whom her uncle s ruddy 
 face was so steadfastly set. The first time 
 it ever occurred to her to invite any one 
 among the proscribed was when she asked 
 Rose Endicott to pay her a visit. Rose, she 
 knew, was living with her old aunt, Miss 
 Jemima Bridges, whom she had once met in 
 
 R , and she had some apprehension that 
 
 in Miss Jemima s opinion, the condition of 
 the South w r as so much like that of the 
 Sandwich Islands that the old lady would not 
 permit Rose to come without her personal 
 escort. Accordingly, one evening after tea, 
 when the Major was in a particularly gracious 
 humor, and had told her several of his oldest 
 
54 " GEOE GE WA SHIN G TON S " LAST D UEL. 
 
 and best stories, Margaret fell upon him un 
 awares, and before he had recovered from the 
 shock of the encounter, had captured his con 
 sent. Then, in order to secure the leverage 
 of a dispatched invitation, she had immedi 
 ately written Rose, asking her and her aunt to 
 come and spend a month or two with her, and 
 had without delay handed it to George Wash 
 ington to deliver to Lazarus to give Luke 
 to carry to the post-office. The next evening, 
 therefore, when the Major, after twenty-four 
 hours of serious apprehension, reopened the 
 matter with a fixed determination to coax or 
 buy her out of the notion, because, as he used 
 to say, "women can t be reasoned out of a 
 thing, sir, not having been reasoned in," Mar 
 garet was able to meet him with the announce* 
 ment that it was " too late," as the letter had 
 already been mailed. 
 
 Seated in one of the high-backed arm-chairs, 
 with one white hand shading her laughing 
 eyes from the light, and with her evening 
 dress daintily spread out about her, Margaret 
 was amused at the look of desperation on the 
 old gentleman s ruddy face. He squared his 
 round body before the fire, braced himself 
 with his plump legs well apart, as if he were 
 
" GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 55 
 
 preparing to sustain the shock of a blow, 
 and "taking a deep inspiration, gave a loud 
 and prolonged " Whew ! " 
 
 This was too much for her. 
 
 Margaret rose, and, going up to him, took 
 his arm and looked into his face cajolingly. 
 
 " Uncle, I was bound to have Rose, and 
 Miss Jemima would not have let her come 
 alone." 
 
 The tone was the low, almost plaintive key, 
 the effectiveness of which Margaret knew so 
 well. 
 
 " Not let her ! " The Major faced her 
 quickly. " Margaret, she is one of those 
 strong-minded women ! " 
 
 Margaret nodded brightly. 
 
 " I bet my horse she wears iron-gray curls, 
 caught on the side of her head with tucking 
 combs ! " 
 
 "She does," declared Margaret, her eyes 
 dancing. 
 
 "And has a long nose red at the end." 
 
 "Uncle, you have seen her. I know you 
 have seen her," asserted Margaret, laughing 
 up at him. " You have her very picture." 
 
 The Major groaned, and vowed that he 
 would never survive it, and that Margaret 
 
56 * * GEOR GE WA SHIN G TON S " LAST D UEL. 
 
 would go down to history as the slayer of 
 her uncle. 
 
 " I have selected my place in the grave 
 yard," he said, with a mournful shake of the 
 head. "Put me close to the fence behind 
 the raspberry thicket, where I shall be secure. 
 Tell her there are snakes there." 
 
 " But, uncle, she is as good as gold," de 
 clared Margaret ; " she is always doing good, 
 I believe she thinks it her mission to save 
 the world." 
 
 The Major burst out, " That s part of this 
 modern devilment of substituting humanita- 
 rianism for Christianity. Next thing they ll 
 be wanting to abolish hell ! " 
 
 The Major was so impressed with his peril 
 that when Jeff, who had galloped over " for a 
 little while," entered, announced with great 
 ceremony by George Washington, he poured 
 out all his apprehensions into his sympathetic 
 ear, and it was only when he began to rally 
 Jeff on the chance of his becoming a victim 
 to Miss Endicott s charms, that Margaret in 
 terfered so far as to say, that Rose had any 
 number of lovers, and one of them was " an 
 awfully nice fellow, handsome and rich and 
 all that." She wished " some one " would 
 
" GEORGE WASHING TON 8 " LAST D UEL. 57 
 
 invite him down to pay a visit in the neigh 
 borhood, for she was " afraid Rose would find 
 it dreadfully dull in the country." The 
 Major announced that he would himself make 
 love to her ; but both Margaret and Jeff de 
 clared that Providence manifestly intended 
 him for Miss Jemima. He then suggested 
 that Miss Endicott s friend be invited to come 
 with her, but Margaret "did not think that 
 would do. 
 
 " What is the name of this Paragon ? " in 
 quired Jeff. 
 
 Margaret gave his name. " Mr. Lawrence 
 Pickering Lawrence." 
 
 " Why, I know him, 4 Pick Lawrence. 
 We were college-mates, class-mates. He used 
 to be in love with somebody up at his home 
 then; but I never identified her with your 
 friend. We were great cronies at the Uni 
 versity. He was going to be a lawyer ; but 
 I believe somebody died and he came into a 
 fortune." This history did not appear to 
 surprise Margaret as much as might have 
 been expected, and she said nothing more 
 about him. 
 
 About a week later Jeff took occasion to 
 ride over to tea, and announced that his friend 
 
58 "GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 
 
 Mr. Lawrence had promised to run down and 
 spend a few weeks with him. Margaret looked 
 so pleased and dwelt so much on the alleged 
 charms of the expected guest that Jeff, with 
 a pang of jealousy, suddenly asserted that he 
 " didn t think so much of Lawrence," that he 
 was one of those fellows who always pretended 
 to be very much in love with somebody, and 
 was " always changing his clothes." 
 
 "That s what girls like," said Margaret, 
 decisively; and this was all the thanks Jen 1 
 received. 
 
 II. 
 
 THERE was immense excitement at the 
 Towers next day when the visitors were ex 
 pected. The Major took twice his usual period 
 to dress; George Washington with a view to 
 steadying his nerves braced them so tight 
 that he had great difficulty in maintaining his 
 equipoise, and even Margaret herself was in 
 a flutter quite unusual to one so self-possessed 
 as she generally was. When, however, the 
 carriage drove up to the door, the Major, 
 with Margaret a little in advance, met the 
 visitors at the steps in all the glory of new 
 
"GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 59 
 
 blue broadcloth and flowered velvet. Sir 
 Charles Grandison could not have been more 
 elegant, nor Sir Roger more gracious. Be 
 hind him yet grander stood George George 
 Washington his master s fac-simile in ebony 
 down to the bandanna handkerchief and the 
 trick of waving the right hand in a flowing 
 curve. It was perhaps this spectacle which 
 saved the Major, for Miss Jemima was so 
 overwhelmed by George Washington s por 
 tentous dignity that she exhibited sufficient 
 humility to place the Major immediately at 
 his ease, and from this time Miss Jemima was 
 at a disadvantage, and the Major felt that he 
 was master of the situation. 
 
 The old lady had never been in the South 
 before except for a few days on the occasion 
 when Margaret had met her and Rose Endi- 
 
 cott at the hotel in R , and she had then 
 
 seen just enough to excite her inquisitiveness. 
 Her natural curiosity was quite amazing. She 
 was desperately bent on acquiring informa 
 tion, and whatever she heard she set down in 
 a journal, so as soon as she became sufficiently 
 acquainted with the Major she began to ply 
 him with questions. Her seat at table was at 
 the Major s right, and the questions which 
 
60 " GEORGE WA SUING TON 5 LAST D UEL. 
 
 she put to him proved so embarrassing, that 
 the old gentleman declared to Margaret that 
 if that old woman knew as much as she 
 wanted to know she would with her wisdom 
 eclipse Solomon and destroy the value of the 
 Scriptures. He finally hit upon an expedient. 
 He either traversed every proposition she 
 suggested, or else answered every inquiry 
 with a statement which was simply astound 
 ing. She had therefore not been at the 
 Towers a week before she was in the posses 
 sion of facts furnished by the Major which 
 might have staggered credulity itself. 
 
 One of the many entries in her journal was 
 
 to the effect that, according to Major B , 
 
 it was the custom on many plantations to shoot 
 a slave every year, on the ground that such 
 a sacrifice was generally salutary ; that it was 
 an expiation of past derelictions and a deter 
 rent from repetition. And she added this 
 memorandum : 
 
 " The most extraordinary and revolting part 
 of it all is that this barbarous custom, which , 
 might well have been supposed confined to 
 Dahomey, is justified by such men as Major 
 
 B as a pious act." She inserted this query, 
 
 " Can it be true ? " 
 
"GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 61 
 
 If she did not wholly believe the Major, she 
 did not altogether disbelieve him. She at least 
 was firmly convinced that it was quite possible. 
 She determined to inquire privately of George 
 Washington. 
 
 She might have inquired of one of the nu 
 merous maids, whose useless presence em 
 barrassed her ; but the Major foreseeing that 
 she might pursue her investigation in other 
 directions, had informed her that the rite was 
 guarded with the greatest care, and that it 
 would be as much as any one s life were worth 
 to divulge it. Miss Jemima, therefore, was 
 too loyal to expose one of her own sex to 
 such danger ; so she was compelled to con 
 sult George Washington, whom she believed 
 clever enough to take care of himself. 
 
 She accordingly watched several days for 
 an opportunity to see him alone, but without 
 success. In fact, though she was unaware of 
 it, George Washington had conceived for her 
 a most violent dislike, and carefully avoided 
 her. He had observed with growing suspi 
 cion Miss Jemima s investigation of matters 
 relating to the estate, and her persistent pur 
 suit of knowledge at the table had confirmed 
 him in his idea that she contemplated the 
 capture of his master and himself. 
 
G2 "GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 
 
 Like his master, he had a natural antipathy 
 to " old women," and as the Major s threat for 
 years had varied between " setting him free 
 next morning " and giving him " a mistress 
 to make him walk straight," George Wash 
 ington felt that prudence demanded some 
 vigilance on his part. 
 
 One day, under cover of the hilarity inci 
 dent to the presence at dinner of Jeff and of 
 his guest, Mr. Lawrence, Miss Jemima had 
 pushed her inquisition even further than usual. 
 George Washington watched her with grow 
 ing suspicion, his head thrown back and his 
 eyes half closed, and so, when, just before 
 dinner was over, he went into the hall to see 
 about the fire, he, after his habit, took occasion 
 to express his opinion of affairs to the sundry 
 members of the family who looked down at 
 him from their dim gilt frames on the wall. 
 
 " I ain t pleased wid de way things is gwine 
 on heah at all," he declared, poking the fire 
 viciously and addressing his remark more par 
 ticularly to an old gentlemen who in ruffles 
 and red velvet sat with crossed legs in a high- 
 backed chair just over the piano. " Heah me 
 an Marse Nat an Miss Margaret been gittin 
 long all dese years easy an peaceable, an 
 
"GEOEGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 63 
 
 Marse Jeff been comin over sociable all de 
 time, an d ain been no trouble nor nuttin 
 till now dat ole ooman what ax mo questions 
 n a thousan folks kin answer got to come 
 heah and set up to Marse Nat, an talk to him 
 so he cyarn hardly eat." He rose from his 
 knees at the hearth, and looking the old gen 
 tleman over the piano squarely in the face, 
 asserted, " She got her mine sot on bein my 
 mistis, dat s what tis ! " This relieved him 
 so that he returned to his occupation of 
 " chunking " the fire, adding, " When women 
 sets de mines on a thing, you jes well gin up ! " 
 
 So intent was he on relieving himself of the 
 burden on his mind that he did not hear the 
 door softly open, and did not know any one had 
 entered until an enthusiastic voice behind him 
 exclaimed : 
 
 " Oh ! what a profound observation ! " George 
 Washington started in much confusion ; for it 
 was Miss Jemima, who had stolen away from 
 the table to intercept him at his task of " fix 
 ing the fires." She had, however, heard only 
 his concluding sentence, and she now ad 
 vanced with a beaming smile intended to con 
 ciliate the old butler. George- Washington 
 gave the hearth a final and hasty sweep, and 
 
64 "GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 
 
 was retiring in a long detour around Miss 
 Jemima when she accosted him. 
 
 " Uncle George." 
 
 " Marm." He stopped and half turned. 
 
 " What a charming old place you have here ! " 
 
 George Washington cast his eye up towards 
 the old gentleman in the high-backed chair, as 
 much as to say, " You see there ? What did 
 I tell you ? " Then he said briefly : 
 
 " Yes, m." 
 
 " What is its extent ? How many acres are 
 there in it?" 
 
 George Washington positively started. He 
 took in several of the family in his glance of 
 warning. 
 
 "Well, I declare, marm, I don t know," 
 he began ; then it occurring to him that the 
 honor of the family was somehow at stake and 
 must be upheld, he added, " A leetle mo n a 
 hundred thousan , marm." His exactness was 
 convincing. Miss Jemima threw up her hands : 
 
 " Prodigious ! How many nee how many 
 persons of the African blood are there on this 
 vast domain ? " she inquired, getting nearer 
 to her point. 
 
 George, observing how much she was im 
 pressed, eyed her with rising disdain : 
 
"GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 65 
 
 " Does you mean niggers, m m ? Bout 
 three thousan , mum." 
 
 Another exclamation of astonishment burst 
 from the old lady s lips. 
 
 " If you will permit me to inquire, Uncle 
 George, how old are you ? " 
 
 " She warn see if I kin wuck dat s what 
 she s after," said George to himself, with a 
 confidential look at a young gentleman in a 
 hunting dress on the wall between two win 
 dows. Then he said : 
 
 " Well, I declare, mum, you got me dyah. 
 I ixpec I is mos ninety years ole, I reckon I se 
 ol er n you is I reckon I is." 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed Miss Jemima with a little 
 start as if she had pricked her finger with a 
 needle. 
 
 "Marse Nat kin tell you," continued 
 George ; " if you don t know how ole you is, 
 all you got to do is to ax him, an he kin tell 
 you he got it all set down in a book he 
 kin tell how ole you is to a day." 
 
 " Dear, how frightful ! " exclaimed Miss 
 Jemima, just as the Major entered somewhat 
 hastily. 
 
 " He s a gone coon," said George Washing 
 ton through the crack of the door to the old 
 
66 "GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 
 
 gentleman in ruffles, as he pulled the door 
 slowly to from the outside. 
 
 The Major had left the young people in the 
 dining-room and had come to get a book to 
 settle a disputed quotation. He had found 
 the work and was trying to read it without 
 the ignominy of putting on his glasses, when 
 Miss Jemima accosted him. 
 
 " Major, your valet appears to be a very 
 intelligent person." 
 
 The Major turned upon her. 
 
 " My valet ! Madam ! I have no valet ! " 
 
 "I mean your body servant, your butler" 
 explained Miss Jemima. " I have been much 
 impressed by him." 
 
 " George ! George Washington ? - - you 
 mean George Washington ! No, madam, he 
 has not a particle of intelligence. He is 
 grossly and densely stupid. I have never in 
 fifty years been able to get an idea into his 
 head." 
 
 " Oh, dear ! and I thought him so clever ! 
 I was wondering how so intelligent a person, 
 so well informed, could be a slave." 
 
 The Major faced about. 
 
 " George ! George Washington a sla,ve ! 
 Madam, you misapprehend the situation. He 
 
"GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 67 
 
 is no slave. I am the slave, not only of him 
 but of three hundred more as arrogant and 
 exacting as the Czar, and as lazy as the devil ! " 
 Miss Jemima threw up her hands in aston 
 ishment, and the Major, who was on a favorite 
 theme, proceeded : 
 
 " Why, madam, the very coat on my back 
 belongs to that rascal George Washington, 
 and I do not know when he may take a fancy 
 to order me out of it. My soul is not my own. 
 He drinks my whiskey, steals my tobacco, and 
 takes my clothes before my face. As likely 
 as not he will have on this very waistcoat be 
 fore the week is out." 
 
 The Major stroked his well-filled velvet vest 
 caressingly, as if he already felt the pangs of 
 the approaching separation. 
 
 "Oh, dear! You amaze me," began Miss 
 Jemima. 
 
 " Yes, madam, I should be amazed myself, 
 except that I have stood it so long. Why, I 
 had once an affair with an intimate and val 
 ued friend, Judge Carrington. You may 
 have heard of him, a very distinguished man! 
 and I was indiscreet enough to carry that 
 rascal George Washington to the field, think 
 ing, of course, that I ought to go like a gen- 
 
68 " GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 
 
 tleman, and although the affair was arranged 
 after we had taken our positions, and I did 
 not have the pleasure of shooting at him, 
 
 " Good heavens ! " exclaimed Miss Jemima. 
 "The pleasure of shooting at your friend! 
 Monstrous ! " 
 
 " I say I did not have that pleasure," cor 
 rected the Major, blandly; "the affair was, as 
 I stated, arranged without a shot; yet do you 
 know? that rascal George Washington will 
 not allow that it was so, and I understand he 
 recounts with the most harrowing details the 
 manner in which he and I, as he terms it, 
 shot my friend murdered him." 
 
 Miss Jemima gave an " Ugh. Horrible ! 
 What depravity ! " she said, almost under her 
 breath. 
 
 The Major caught the words. 
 
 " Yes, madam, it is horrible to think of such 
 depravity. Unquestionably he deserves death ; 
 but what can one do ! The law, kept feeble 
 by politicians, does not permit one to kill 
 them, however worthless they are (he ob 
 served Miss Jemima s start,) except, of 
 course, by way of example, under certain 
 peculiar circumstances, as I have stated to 
 you." He bowed blandly. 
 
" GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 69 
 
 Miss Jemima was speechless, so he pur 
 sued. 
 
 " I have sometimes been tempted to make 
 a break for liberty, and have thought that if 
 I could once get the rascal on the field, with 
 my old pistols, I would settle with him 
 which of us is the master." 
 
 "Do you mean that you would would 
 shoot him ? " gasped Miss Jemima. 
 
 " Yes, madam, unless he should be too 
 quick for me," replied the Major, blandly, 
 " or should order me from the field, which he 
 probably would do." 
 
 The old lady turned and hastily left the 
 room. 
 
 III. 
 
 THOUGH Miss Jemima after this regarded 
 the Major with renewed suspicion, and con 
 fided to her niece that she did not feel at all 
 safe with him, the old gentleman was soon on 
 the same terms with Rose that he was on with 
 Margaret herself. He informed her that he 
 was just twenty-five his "last grass," and that 
 he never could, would, or should grow a year 
 older. He notified Jeff and his friend Mr. 
 
70 " GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 
 
 Lawrence at the table that he regarded him 
 self as a candidate for Miss Endicott s hand, 
 and had " staked " the ground, and he in 
 formed her that as soon as he could bring" liim- 
 
 o 
 
 self to break an oath which he had made 
 twenty years before, never to address another 
 woman, he intended to propose to her. Rose, 
 who had lingered at the table a moment be 
 hind the other ladies, assured the old fellow 
 that he need fear no rival, and that if he could 
 not muster courage to propose before she left, 
 as it was leap-year, she would exercise her 
 prerogative and propose herself. The Major, 
 with his hand on his heart as he held the door 
 open for her, vowed as Rose swept past him 
 her fine eyes dancing, and her face dimpling 
 with fun, that he was ready that moment to 
 throw himself at her feet if it were not for 
 the difficulty of getting up from his knees. 
 
 A little later in the afternoon Margaret was 
 down among the rose-bushes, where Lawrence 
 had joined her, after Rose had executed that 
 inexplicable feminine manoeuvre of denying 
 herself to oppose a lover s request. 
 
 Jeff was leaning against a pillar, pretending 
 to talk to Rose, but listening more to the 
 snatches of song in Margaret s rich voice, or 
 
"GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 71 
 
 to the laughter which floated up to them from 
 the garden below. 
 
 Suddenly he said abruptly, " I believe that 
 fellow Lawrence is in love with Margaret." 
 
 Rose insisted on knowing what ground he 
 had for so peculiar an opinion, on which he 
 incontinently charged his friend with being 
 one of " those fellows who falls in love with 
 every pretty girl on whom he lays his eyes," 
 and declared that he had done nothing but 
 hang around Margaret ever since he had 
 come to the county. 
 
 What Rose might have replied to this un 
 expected attack on one whom she reserved 
 for her own especial torture cannot be re 
 corded, for the Major suddenly appeared 
 around the verandah. Both the young people 
 instinctively straightened up. 
 
 " Ah ! you rascals ! I catch you ! " he 
 cried, his face glowing with jollity. "Jeff, 
 you d better look out, honey catches a heap 
 of flies, and sticks mighty hard. Rose, don t 
 show him any mercy, kick him, trample on 
 him." 
 
 " I am not honey," said Rose, with a capti 
 vating look out of her bright eyes. 
 
 " Yes, you are. If you are not you are the 
 very rose from which it is distilled." 
 
72 "GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 
 
 " Oh, how charming ! " cried the young lady. 
 " How I wish some woman could hear that 
 said to me ! " 
 
 " Don t give him credit before you hear all 
 his proverb," said Jeff. " Do you know what 
 he said in the dining-room ? " 
 
 " Don t credit him at all," replied the Major. 
 " Don t believe him don t listen to him. 
 He is green with envy at my success." And 
 the old fellow shook with amusement. 
 
 " What did he say ? Please tell me." She 
 appealed to Jeff, and then as he was about to 
 speak, seeing the Major preparing to run, she 
 caught him. " No, you have to listen. Now 
 tell me," to Jeff again. 
 
 " Well, he said honey caught lots of flies, 
 and women lots of fools." 
 
 Rose fell back, and pointing her tapering 
 finger at the Major, who, with mock humility, 
 was watching her closely, declared that she 
 would " never believe in him again." The 
 old fellow met her with an unblushing denial 
 of ever having made such a statement or held 
 such traitorous sentiments, as it was, he main 
 tained, a well established fact that flies never 
 eat honey at all. 
 
 From this moment the Major conceived the 
 
" GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 73 
 
 idea that Jeff had been caught by his fair vis 
 itor. It had never occurred to him that any 
 one could aspire to Margaret s hand. He had 
 thought at one time that Jeff was in danger 
 of falling a victim to the charms of the pretty 
 daughter of an old friend and neighbor of 
 his, and though it appeared rather a pity for 
 a young fellow to fall in love " out of the 
 State," yet the claims of hospitality, com 
 bined with the fact that rivalry with Mr. 
 Lawrence, against whom, on account of his 
 foppishness, he had conceived some prejudice, 
 promised a delightful excitement, more than 
 counterbalanced that objectionable feature. 
 He therefore immediately constituted him 
 self Jeff s ardent champion, and always spoke 
 of the hitter s guest as " that fellow Law 
 rence." 
 
 Accordingly, when, one afternoon, on his 
 return from his ride, he found Jeff, who had 
 ridden over to tea, lounging around alone, in 
 a state of mind as miserable as a man should 
 be who, having come with the expectation of 
 basking in the sunshine of Beauty s smile, 
 finds that Beauty is out horseback riding with 
 a rival, he was impelled to give him aid, 
 countenance, and advice. He immediately 
 
74 "GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 
 
 attacked him, therefore, on his forlorn and 
 woebegone expression, and declared that at 
 his age he would have long ago run the game 
 to earth, and have carried her home across his 
 saddle-bow. 
 
 " You are afraid, sir afraid," he asserted, 
 hotly. " I don t know what you fellows are 
 coming to." 
 
 Jeff admitted the accusation. "He feared," 
 he said, " that he could not get a girl to have 
 him." He was looking rather red when the 
 Major cut him short. 
 
 " Fear, sir ! Fear catches kicks, not kisses. 
 Not get a girl to have you ! Well, upon my 
 soul ! Why don t you run after her and 
 bawl like a baby for her to stop, whilst you 
 get down on your knees and get her to 
 have you ! " 
 
 Jeff was too dejected to be stung even by 
 this unexpected attack. He merely said, 
 dolorously : 
 
 " Well, how the deuce can it be done ? " 
 
 " Make her, sir make her," cried the Major. 
 Coerce her compel her." The old fellow 
 was in his element. He shook his grizzled 
 head, and brought his hollowed hands together 
 with sounding emphasis. 
 
"GEOEGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 75 
 
 Jeff suggested that perhaps she might be 
 impregnable, but the old fellow affirmed that 
 no woman was this ; that no fortress was too 
 strong to be carried ; that it all depended on 
 the assailant and the vehemence of the as 
 sault ; and if one did not succeed, another 
 would. The young man brightened. His men 
 tor, however, dashed his rising hopes by say 
 ing: "But mark this, sir, no coward can 
 succeed. Women are rank cowards them 
 selves, and they demand courage in their 
 conquerors. Do you think a woman will 
 marry a man who trembles before her ? By 
 Jove, sir ! He must make her tremble ! " 
 
 Jeff admitted dubiously that this sounded 
 like wisdom. The Major burst out, "Wis 
 dom, sir ! It is the Avisdom of Solomon, who 
 had a thousand wives ! " 
 
 From this time the Major constituted him 
 self Jeff s ally, and was ready to take the 
 field on his behalf against any and all comers. 
 Therefore, when he came into the hall one 
 day when Rose was at the piano, running 
 her fingers idly over the keys, whilst Law 
 rence was leaning over her talking, he ex 
 claimed : 
 
 " Hello ! what treason s this ? I ll tell 
 
76 "GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 
 
 Jeff. He was consulting me only yesterday 
 about" 
 
 Lawrence muttered an objurgation ; but 
 Rose wheeled around on the piano-stool and 
 faced him. 
 
 - " Only yesterday about the best mode 
 of winning " He stopped tantalizingly. 
 
 " Of winning what? I am so interested." 
 She rose and stood just before him with a 
 cajoling air. The Major shut his mouth 
 tight. 
 
 " I m as dumb as an oyster. Do you think 
 I would betray my friend s confidence for 
 nothing? I m as silent as the oracle of 
 Delphi." 
 
 Lawrence looked anxious, and Rose fol 
 lowed the old man closely. 
 
 " I ll pay you anything." 
 
 "I demand payment in coin that buys 
 youth from age." He touched his lips, and 
 catching Rose leaned slowly forward and 
 kissed her. 
 
 " Now, tell me what did he say ? A 
 bargain s a bargain," she laughed as Lawrence 
 almost ground his teeth. 
 
 " Well, he said, he said, let me see, what 
 did he say ? " paltered the Major. " He said 
 
l GEOltGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 77 
 
 ie could not get a girl he loved to have 
 him." 
 
 " Oh ! did he say that ? " She was so much 
 interested that she just knew that Lawrence 
 half stamped his foot. 
 
 " Yes, he said just that, and I told him " 
 
 Well, what did you say ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I did not bargain to tell what / told 
 him. I received payment only for betraying 
 his confidence. If you drive a bargain I will 
 drive one also." 
 
 Rose declared that he was the greatest old 
 screw she ever knew, but she paid the price, 
 and waited. 
 
 "Well? " 
 
 " 4 Well ? Of course, I told him well. I 
 gave him the best advice a man ever received. 
 A lawyer would have charged him five hun 
 dred dollars for it. I m an oracle on heart- 
 capture." 
 
 Rose laughingly declared she would have 
 to consult him herself, and when the Major 
 told her to consult only her mirror, gave him 
 a courtesy and wished he would teach some 
 young men of her acquaintance to make such 
 speeches. The old fellow vowed, however, 
 that they were unteachable ; that he would 
 as soon expect to teach young moles. 
 
78 "GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 
 
 IV. 
 
 IT was not more than a half hour after this 
 when George Washington came in and found 
 the Major standing before the long mirror, 
 turning around and holding his coat back 
 from his plump sides so as to obtain a fair 
 view of his ample dimensions. 
 
 " George Washington," said he. 
 
 " Suh." 
 
 " I m afraid I m growing a little too stout." 
 
 George Washington walked around and 
 looked at him with the critical gaze of a 
 butcher appraising a fat ox. 
 
 "Oh! nor, suh, you aint, not to say too 
 stout," he finally decided as the result of this 
 inspection, " you jis gittin sort o potely. Hit s 
 monsus becomin to you." 
 
 "Do you think so? " The Major was mani 
 festly flattered. " I was apprehensive that I 
 might be growing a trifle fat," he turned 
 carefully around before the mirror, "and 
 from a fat old man and a scrawny old 
 woman, Heaven deliver us, George Wash 
 ington ! " 
 
 " Nor, suh, you ain got a ounce too much 
 meat on you," said George, reassuringly; 
 
" GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 79 
 
 " how much you weigh, Marse Nat, last time 
 you was on de stilyards ? " he inquired with 
 wily interest. 
 
 The Major faced him. 
 
 " George Washington, the last time I 
 weighed I tipped the beam at one hundred 
 and forty-three pounds, and I had the waist 
 of a girl." 
 
 He laid his fat hands with the finger tips 
 touching on his round sides about where the 
 long since reversed curves of the lamented 
 waist once were, and gazed a George with 
 comical melancholy. 
 
 "Dat s so," assented the latter, with wonted 
 acquiescence. " I members hit well, suh, dat 
 wuz when me and you wuz down in Glouces 
 ter tryin to git up spunk to co te Miss Ailsy 
 Mann. Dat s mo n thirty years ago." 
 
 The Major reflected. " It cannot be thirty 
 years ! thir ty years," he mused. 
 
 "Yes, suh, an better, too. Twuz befo 
 we fit de duil wid Jedge Carrington. I 
 know dat, cause dat s what we shoot him 
 bout cause he co te Miss Ailsy an cut we 
 out." 
 
 " Damn your memory ! Thirty years ! I 
 could dance all night then every night in 
 
80 "GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 
 
 the week and now I can hardly mount my 
 horse without getting the thumps." 
 
 George Washington, affected by his remi 
 niscences, declared that he had heard one of 
 the ladies saying, " just the other day," what 
 " a fine portly gentleman " he was. 
 
 The Major brightened. 
 
 "Did you hear that? George Washington, 
 if you tell me a lie I ll set you free ! " It 
 was his most terrible threat, used only on 
 occasions of exceptional provocation. 
 
 George vowed that no reward could in 
 duce him to be guilty of such an enormity, 
 and followed it up by so skilful an allusion 
 to the progressing youth of his master that 
 the latter swore he was right, and that he 
 could dance better than he could at thirty, 
 and to prove it executed, with extraordinary 
 agility for a man who rode at twenty stone, 
 a pas seul which made the floor rock and set 
 the windows and ornaments to rattling as if 
 there had been an earthquake. Suddenly, 
 with a loud "Whew," he flung himself into 
 an arm-chair, panting and perspiring. " It s 
 you, sir," he gasped "you put me up to it." 
 
 " Nor, suh ; tain me, Marse Nat I s tellin 
 you de truf," asserted George, moved to de 
 fend himself. 
 
"GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 81 
 
 " You infernal old rascal, it is you," panted 
 the Major, still mopping his face "you 
 have been running riot so long you need 
 regulation I ll tell you what I ll do I ll 
 marry and give you a mistress to manage you 
 yes, sir, I ll get married right away. I 
 know the very woman for you she ll make 
 you walk chalk ! 
 
 For thirty years this had been his threat, so 
 George was no more alarmed than he was at 
 the promise of being sold, or turned loose 
 upon the world as a free man. He therefore 
 inquired solemnly, 
 
 " Marse Nat, le me ax you one thing you 
 ain thinkin bout givin me that ole one for 
 a mistis is you ? " 
 
 "What old one, fool?" The Major stopped 
 panting. George Washington denoted the 
 side of his head where Miss Jemima s thin 
 curls nestled. 
 
 "Get out of this room. Tell Dilsy to 
 pack your chest, I ll send you off to-morrow 
 morning." 
 
 George Washington blinked with the grav 
 ity of a terrapin. It might have been obtuse- 
 ness ; or it might have been silent but exquisite 
 enjoyment which lay beneath his black skin. 
 
82 " GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 
 
 "George Washington," said the Major al 
 most in a whisper, " what made you think that ? " 
 
 It was to George Washington s undying 
 credit that not a gleam flitted across his ebony 
 countenance as he said solemnly, 
 
 " Marse Nat, I ain say I think nuttin I 
 jis ax you, Is you? She been meckin mighty 
 partic lar quiration bout de plantation and 
 how many niggers we got an all an I jis 
 spicionate she got her eye sort o set on 
 you an me, dat s all." 
 
 The Major bounced to his feet, and seizing 
 his hat and gloves from the table, burst out 
 of the room. A minute later he was shout 
 ing for his horse in a voice which might have 
 been heard a mile. 
 
 V. 
 
 JEFF laid to heart the Major s wisdom ; but 
 when it came to acting upon it the difficulty 
 arose. He often wondered why his tongue 
 became tied and his throat grew dry when he 
 was in Margaret s presence these days and 
 even just thought of saying anything serious 
 to her. He had known Margaret ever since 
 
"GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 83 
 
 she was a wee bit of a baby, and had often 
 carried her in his arms when she was a little 
 girl and even after she grew up to be " right 
 big." He had thought frequently of late that 
 he would be willing to die if he might but 
 take her in his arms. It was, therefore, with 
 no little disquietude that he observed what he 
 considered his friend s growing fancy for her. 
 By the time Lawrence had taken a few strolls 
 in the garden and a horseback ride or two 
 with her Jeff was satisfied that he was in love 
 with her, and before a week was out he was 
 consumed with jealousy. Margaret was not 
 the girl to indulge in repining on account of 
 her lover s unhappiness. If Jeff had had a 
 finger-ache, or had a drop of sorrow but 
 fallen in his cup her eyes would have soft 
 ened and her face would have shown how 
 fully she felt with him ; but this this was 
 different. To wring his heart was a part of 
 the business of her young ladyhood ; it was 
 a healthy process from which would come 
 greater devotion and more loyal constancy. 
 Then, it was so delightful to make one whom 
 she liked as she did Jeff look so miserable. 
 Perhaps some time she would reward him 
 after a long while, though. Thus, poor Jeff 
 
84 "GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 
 
 spent many a wretched hour cursing his fate 
 and cursing Pick Lawrence. He thought he 
 would create a diversion by paying desperate 
 attention to Margaret s guest ; but it resolved 
 itself on the first opportunity into his opening 
 his heart and confiding all his woes to her. In 
 doing this he fell into the greatest contradic 
 tion, declaring one moment that no one sus 
 pected that he was in love with Margaret, 
 and the next vowing that she had every rea 
 son to know he adored her, as he had been in 
 love with her all her life. It was one after 
 noon in the drawing-room. Rose, with much 
 sapience, assured him that no woman could 
 have but one reason to know it. Jeff dole 
 fully inquired what it was. 
 
 Rising and walking up to him she said in 
 a mysterious whisper, 
 
 " Tell her." 
 
 Jeff, after insisting that he had been telling 
 her for years, lapsed into a declaration of 
 helpless perplexity. "How can I tell her 
 more than I have been telling her all along?" 
 he groaned. Rose said she would show him. 
 She seated herself on the sofa, spread out her 
 dress and placed him behind her. 
 
 " Now, do as I tell you no, not so, so; 
 
"GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 85 
 
 now lean over, put your arm no, it is not 
 necessary to touch me," as Jeff, with prompt 
 apprehension, fell into the scheme, and de 
 clared that he was all right in a rehearsal, 
 and that it was only in the real drama he 
 failed. " Now say c I love you. " Jeff said 
 it. They were in this attitude when the door 
 opened suddenly and Margaret stood facing 
 them, her large eyes opened wider than ever. 
 She backed out and shut the door. 
 Jeff sprang up, his face very red. 
 Lawyers know that the actions of a man on 
 being charged with a crime are by no means 
 infallible evidence of his guilt, but it is hard 
 to satisfy juries of this fact. If the juries 
 were composed of women perhaps it would be 
 impossible. 
 
 The ocular demonstration of a man s arm 
 around a girl s waist- is difficult to explain on 
 more than one hypothesis. 
 
 After this Margaret treated Jeff with a 
 rigor which came near destroying the friend 
 ship of a lifetime; and Jeff became so des 
 perate that inside of a week he had had his 
 first quarrel with Lawrence, who had begun 
 to pay very devoted attention to Margaret, 
 and as that young man was in no mood to 
 
86 " GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 
 
 lay balm on a bruised wound, mischief might 
 have been done had not the Major arrived 
 opportunely on the scene just as the quarrel 
 came to a white-heat. It was in the hall one 
 morning. There had been a quarrel. Jeff had 
 just demanded satisfaction ; Lawrence had just 
 promised to afford him this peculiar happiness, 
 and they were both glaring at each other, when 
 the Major sailed in at the door, ruddy and 
 smiling, and laying his hat on the table and 
 his riding-whip across it, declared that before 
 he would stand such a gloomy atmosphere as 
 that created by a man s glowering looks, 
 when there was so much sunshine just lying 
 around to be basked in, he would agree to be 
 " eternally fried in his own fat." 
 
 " Why, I had expected at least two affairs 
 before this," he said jovially, as he pulled off 
 his gloves, "and I ll be hanged if I shan t 
 have to court somebody myself to save the 
 honor of the family." 
 
 Jeff with dignity informed him that an 
 affair was then brewing, and Lawrence inti 
 mated that they were both interested, when 
 the Major declared that he would "advise 
 the young lady to discard both and accept a 
 soberer and a wiser man." They announced 
 
"GEOE GE WA SHIN G TON 8 " LAST D UEL. 8 7 
 
 that it was a more serious affair than he had 
 in mind, and let fall a hint of what had 
 occurred. The Major for a moment looked 
 gravely from one to the other, and suggested 
 mutual explanations and retractions ; but when 
 both young men insisted that they were quite 
 determined, and proposed to have a meeting 
 at once, he changed. He walked over to the 
 window and looked oiit for a moment. Then 
 turned and suddenly offered to represent both 
 parties. Jeff averred that such a proceeding 
 was outside of the Code ; this the Major 
 gravely admitted ; but declared that the affair 
 even to this point appeared not to have been 
 conducted in entire conformity with that in 
 comparable system of rules, and urged that as 
 Mr. Lawrence was a stranger and as it was 
 desirable to have the affair conducted with 
 as much secrecy and dispatch as possible, it 
 might be well for them to meet as soon as 
 convenient, and he would attend rather as a 
 witness than as a second. The young men as 
 sented to this, and the Major, now thoroughly 
 in earnest, with much solemnity, offered the 
 use of his pistols, which was accepted. 
 
 In the discussion which followed, the Major 
 took the lead, and suggested sunset that after- 
 
88 "GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 
 
 noon as a suitable time, and the grass-plat 
 between the garden and the graveyard as a 
 convenient and secluded spot. This also was 
 agreed to, though Lawrence s face wore a 
 soberer expression than had before appeared 
 upon it. 
 
 The Major s entire manner had changed ; 
 his levity had suddenly given place to a 
 gravity most unusual to him, and instead of 
 his wonted jollity his face wore an expression 
 of the greatest seriousness. He, after a casual 
 glance at Lawrence, suddenly insisted that it 
 was necessary to exchange a cartel, and open 
 ing his secretary, with much pomp proceeded 
 to write. "You see if things were not 
 regular it would be butchery," he explained, 
 considerately, to Lawrence, who winced 
 slightly at the word. " I don t want to see 
 you murder each other," he went on in a slow 
 comment as he wrote, " I wish you, since you 
 are determined to shoot each other to do 
 it like gentlemen." He took a new sheet. 
 Suddenly he began to shout, 
 
 " George George Washington." There 
 was no answer, so as he wrote on he contin 
 ued to shout at intervals, " George Wash 
 ington ! " 
 
" GEORGE WA SH1NGTON S " LAST .D UEL. 89 
 
 After a sufficient period had elapsed for 
 a servant crossing the yard to call to another, 
 who sent a third to summon George, and for 
 that functionary to take a hasty potation from 
 a decanter as he passed through the dining- 
 room at his usual stately pace, he appeared at 
 the door. 
 
 "Did you call, suh?" he inquired, with 
 that additional dignity which bespoke his re 
 course to the sideboard as intelligibly as if he 
 had brought the decanters in his hand. 
 
 " Did I call ! " cried the Major, without 
 looking up. " Why don t you come when 
 you hear me ? " 
 
 George Washington steadied himself on his 
 feet, and assumed an aggrieved expression. 
 
 " Do you suppose I can wait for you to 
 drink all the whiskey in my sideboard ? Are 
 you getting deaf-drunk as well as blind- 
 drunk?" he asked, still writing industriously. 
 
 George Washington gazed up at his old 
 master in the picture on the wall, and shook 
 his head sadly. 
 
 " Nor, suh, Marse Nat. You know I am 
 drink none to git drunk. I is a member o de 
 church. I is full of de sperit." 
 
 The Major, as he blotted his paper, assured 
 
90 " GEOE GE WA SHIN G TON S " LAST D UEL. 
 
 him that he knew he was much fuller of it 
 than were his decanters, and George Wash 
 ington was protesting further, when his mas 
 ter rose, and addressing Jeff as the challenger, 
 began to read. He had prepared a formal 
 cartel, and all the subsequent and consequen 
 tial documents which appear necessary to a 
 well-conducted and duly bloodthirsty meet 
 ing under the duello, and he read them with 
 an impressi veness which was only equalled by 
 the portentious dignity of George Washing 
 ton. As he stood balancing himself, and took 
 in the solemn significance of the matter, his 
 whole air changed ; he raised his head, struck 
 a new attitude, and immediately assumed the 
 position of one whose approval of the affair 
 was of the utmost moment. 
 
 The Major stated that he was glad that 
 they had decided to use the regular duelling 
 pistols, not only as they were more convenient 
 he having a very fine, accurate pair but 
 as they were smooth bore and carried a good, 
 large ball, which made a clean, pretty hole, 
 without tearing. " Now,", he explained kindly 
 to Lawrence, u the ball from one of these 
 infernal rifled concerns goes gyrating and 
 tearing its way through you, and makes an 
 
"GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 91 
 
 orifice like a posthole" He illustrated his 
 meaning with a sweeping spiral motion of his 
 clenched fist. 
 
 Lawrence grew a shade whiter, and won 
 dered how Jeff felt and looked, whilst Jeff 
 set his teeth more firmly as the Major added 
 blandly that " no gentleman wanted to blow 
 another to pieces like a Sepoy mutineer." 
 
 George Washington s bow of exaggerated 
 acquiescence drew the Major s attention to 
 him. 
 
 " George Washington, are my pistols 
 clean ? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes, suh, clean as yo shut-front," replied 
 George Washington, grandly. 
 
 " Well, clean them again." 
 
 " Yes, suh," and George was disappearing 
 with ponderous dignity, when the Major 
 called him, " George Washington." 
 
 " Yes, suh." 
 
 " Tell carpenter William to come to the 
 porch. His services may be needed," he ex 
 plained to Lawrence, " in case there should 
 be a casualty, you know." 
 
 "Yes, suh." George Washington disap 
 peared. A moment later he re-opened the 
 door. 
 
92 "GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 
 
 " Marse Nat." 
 
 " Sir." 
 
 "Shall I send de overseer to dig de graves, 
 suh ? " 
 
 Lawrence could not help exclaiming, 
 
 " Good ! " and then checked himself ; 
 
 and Jeff gave a perceptible start. 
 
 " I will attend to that," said the Major, 
 and George Washington went out with an 
 order from Jeff to take the box to the office. 
 
 The Major laid the notes on his desk and 
 devoted himself to a brief eulogy on the 
 beautiful symmetry of " the Code," illustrat 
 ing his views by apt references to a number 
 of instances in which its absolute impartiality 
 had been established by the instant death of 
 both parties. He had just suggested that 
 perhaps the two young men might desire to 
 make some final arrangements, when George 
 Washington reappeared, drunker and more 
 imposing than before. In place of his ordi 
 nary apparel he had substituted a yellowish 
 velvet waistcoat and a blue coat with brass 
 buttons, both of which were several sizes 
 too large for him, as they had for several 
 years been stretched over the Major s ample 
 person. He carried a well-worn beaver hat 
 
" GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 93 
 
 in his hand, which he never donned except 
 on extraordinary occasions. 
 
 " De pistils is ready, suh," he said, in a 
 fine voice, which he always employed when 
 he proposed to be peculiarly effective. His 
 self-satisfaction was monumental. 
 
 " Where did you get that coat and waist 
 coat from, sir?" thundered the Major. "Who 
 told you you might have them ? " 
 
 George Washington was quite taken aback 
 at the unexpectedness of the assault, and he 
 shuffled one foot uneasily. 
 
 " Well, you see, suh," he began, vaguely, 
 " I know you warn never gwine to wear em 
 no mo , and seeiii dat dis was a very serious 
 recasion, an I wuz rip-ripresentiri Marse Jeff 
 in a jewel, I thought I ought to repear like 
 a gent man on dis recasion." 
 
 " You infernal rascal, didn t I tell you that 
 the next time you took my clothes without ask 
 ing my permission, I was going to shoot you? " 
 
 The Major faced his chair around with a 
 jerk, but George Washington had in the in 
 terim recovered himself. 
 
 " Yes, suh, I remembers dat," he said, com 
 placently, " but dat didn t have no recose to 
 dese solemn recasions when I rip-ripresents a 
 gent man in de Code." 
 
94 "GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 
 
 " Yes, sir, it did, I had this especially in 
 mind," declared the Major, unblushingly 
 " I gave you fair notice, and damn me ! if I 
 don t do it too before I m done with you 
 I d sell you to-morrow morning if it would 
 not be a cheat on the man who was fool 
 enough to buy you. My best coat and waist 
 coat ! " he looked affectionately at the gar 
 ments. 
 
 George Washington evidently knew the 
 way to soothe him " Who ever heah de 
 beat of dat ! " he said in a tone of mild com 
 plaint, partly to the young men and partly to 
 his old master in the ruffles and velvet over 
 the piano, " Marse Nat, you reckon I am got 
 no better manners 11 to teck you ties coat 
 and weskit ! Dis heah coat and weskit nuver 
 did you no favor anyways I hear Miss 
 Marg ret talkin bout it de fust time you 
 ever put em on. Dat s de reason I tuck 
 em." Having found an excuse he was as 
 voluble as a river "I say to myself, I ain 
 gvvine let my young marster wyar dem things 
 no mo roun heah wid strange ladies an 
 gent man stayin in de house too, an I so 
 consarned about it, I say, c George Wash n n, 
 you got to git dem things and wyar em yo - 
 
"GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 95 
 
 self to keep him f om doin it, dat s what you 
 got to do, I say, and dat s de reason I tuk 
 em." He looked the picture of self-sacrifice. 
 
 But the Major burst forth on him: " Why, 
 you lying rascal, that s three different reasons 
 you have given in one breath for taking 
 them." At which George Washington shook 
 his woolly head with doleful self-abnegation. 
 
 "Just look at them!" cried the Major 
 "My favorite waistcoat! There is not a 
 crack or a brack in them They look as nice 
 as they did the day they were bought ! " 
 
 This was too much for George Washington. 
 " Dat s the favor, suh, of de pussen what has 
 em on," he said, bowing grandly ; at which 
 the Major, finding his ire giving way to 
 amusement, drove him from the room, swear 
 ing that if he did not shoot him that evening 
 he would set him free to-morrow morning. 
 
 VI. 
 
 As the afternoon had worn away, and 
 whilst the two principals in the affair were 
 arranging their matters, the Major had been 
 taking every precaution to carry out the plan 
 
96 "GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 
 
 for the meeting. The effect of the approach 
 ing duel upon the old gentleman was some 
 what remarkable. He was in unusually high 
 spirits ; his rosy countenance wore an expres 
 sion of humorous content ; and, from time to 
 time as he bustled about, a smile flitted across 
 his face, or a chuckle sounded from the depths 
 of his satin stock. He fell in with Miss Je 
 mima, and related to her a series of anecdotes 
 respecting duelling and homicide generally, 
 so lurid in their character that she groaned 
 over the depravity of a region where such 
 barbarity was practised ; but when he sol 
 emnly informed her that he felt satisfied from 
 the signs of the time that some one would be 
 shot in the neighborhood before twenty-four 
 hours were over, the old lady determined to 
 return home next day. 
 
 It was not difficult to secure secrecy, as the 
 Major had given directions that no one should 
 be admitted to the garden. 
 
 For at least an hour before sunset he had 
 been giving directions to George Washington 
 which that dignitary would have found some 
 difficulty in executing, even had he remained 
 sober; but which, in his existing condition, 
 was as impossible as for him to change \he 
 
"GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 97 
 
 kinks in his hair. The Major had solemnly 
 assured him that if he got drunk he would 
 shoot him on the spot, and George Washing 
 ton had as solemnly consented that he would 
 gladly die if he should be found in this 
 unprecedented condition. Immediately suc 
 ceeding which, however, under the weight of 
 the momentous matters submitted to him, he 
 had, after his habit, sought aid and comfort 
 of his old friends, the Major s decanters, and 
 he was shortly in that condition when he felt 
 that the entire universe depended upon him. 
 He blacked his shoes at least twenty times, 
 and marched back and forth in the yard with 
 such portentous importance that the servants 
 instinctively shrunk away from his august 
 presence. One of the children, in their frol 
 ics, ran against him; George Washington 
 simply said, " Git out iny way," and without 
 pausing in his gait or deigning to look at 
 him, slapped him completely over. 
 
 A maid ventured to accost him jocularly to 
 know why he was so finely dressed. George 
 Washington overwhelmed her with a look of 
 such infinite contempt and such withering 
 scorn that all the other servants forthwith 
 L-ll upon her for "interferin in Unc George 
 
93 " GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 
 
 Wash n ton s business." At last the Major 
 entered the garden and bade George Wash 
 ington follow him ; and George Washington 
 having paid his twentieth visit to the dining- 
 room, and had a final interview with the 
 liquor-case, and having polished up his old 
 beaver anew, left the office by the side door, 
 carrying under his arm a mahogany box about 
 two feet long and one foot wide, partially 
 covered with a large linen cloth. His beaver 
 hat was cocked on the side of his head, with 
 an air supposed to be impressive. He wore 
 the Major s coat and flowered velvet waist 
 coat respecting which he had won so signal 
 a victory in the morning, and he flaunted a 
 large bandanna handkerchief, the ownership of 
 which he had transferred still more recently. 
 The Major s orders to George Washington 
 were to convey the box to the garden in a 
 secret manner, but George Washington was 
 far too much impressed with the importance 
 of the part he bore in the affair to lose the 
 opportunity of impressing the other servants. 
 Instead, therefore, of taking a by-path, he 
 marched ostentatiously through the yard with 
 a manner which effected his object, if not his 
 master s, and which struck the entire circle 
 
"GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 99 
 
 of servants with inexpressible awe. How 
 ever, after he gained the garden and reached 
 a spot where he was no longer in danger of 
 being observed by any one, he adopted a man 
 ner of the greatest secrecy, and proceeded to 
 the place selected for the meeting with a de 
 gree of caution which could not have been 
 greater had he been covertly stealing his way 
 through a band of hostile Indians. The spot 
 chosen for the meeting was a grass plot 
 bounded on three sides by shrubbery and on 
 the fourth by the wall of the little square 
 within which had been laid to rest the mortal 
 remains of some half dozen generations of the 
 Burwells. Though the grass was green and 
 the sky above was of the deep steely hue 
 which the late afternoon brings ; yet the thick 
 shrubbery which secluded the place gave it 
 an air of wildness, and the tops of the tall 
 rrtonuments gleaming white over the old wall 
 against the dark cedars, added an impression 
 of ghostliness which had long caused the 
 locality to be generally avoided by the 
 negroes from the time that the afternoon 
 shadows began to lengthen. 
 
 George Washington, indeed, as he made his 
 way stealthily down towards the rendezvous 
 
100 "GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 
 
 glanced behind him once or twice as if he 
 were not at all certain that some impalpable 
 pursuer were not following him, and he 
 almost jumped out of his shoes when the 
 Major, who had for ten minutes been pacing 
 up and down the grass-plat in a fume of im 
 patience, caught sight of him and suddenly 
 shouted, " Why don t you come on, you 
 rascal?" 
 
 As soon as George Washington recognized 
 that the voice was not supernatural, he recov 
 ered his courage and at once disarmed the 
 Major, who, watch in hand, was demanding if 
 he supposed he had nothing else to do than 
 to wait for him all night, by falling into his 
 vein and acquiescing in all that he said in 
 abuse of the yet absent duellists, or at least 
 of one of them. 
 
 He spoke in terms of the severest reproba 
 tion of Mr. Lawrence, declaring that he had 
 never had a high opinion of his courage, or, 
 indeed, of any quality which he possessed. 
 He was, perhaps, not quite prepared to join 
 in an attack on Jeff, of whose frequent bene 
 factions he entertained a lively recollection 
 amounting to gratitude, at least in the ac 
 cepted French idea of that virtue, and as he 
 
" GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 101 
 
 had constituted himself Jeff s especial repre 
 sentative for this " solemn recasion," he felt 
 a personal interest in defending him to some 
 extent. 
 
 At last the Major ordered him to take out 
 the weapons and some little time was spent 
 in handling them, George Washington exam 
 ining them with the air of a connoisseur. 
 The Major asserted that he had never seen a 
 prettier spot, and George Washington, imme 
 diately striking an attitude, echoed the senti 
 ment. He was, indeed, so transported with 
 its beauty that he declared it reminded him of 
 the duel he and the Major fought with Judge 
 Carrington, which he positively declared, was 
 " a jewel like you been read about," and he 
 ended with the emphatic assertion, " Ef dese 
 gent mens jes plump each urr like we did de 
 
 Judge dat evelin ! " A wave of the hand 
 
 completed the period. 
 
 The Major turned on him with a positive 
 denial that he had ever even shot at the 
 Judge, but George Washington unblushingly 
 insisted that they had, and in fact had shot 
 him twice. "We hit him fyah an squar ." 
 He levelled a pistol at a tree a few yards dis 
 tant, and striking an attitude, squinted along 
 
102 "GEOKGE WASHINGTON S" LAST 
 
 the barrel with the air of an old hand at the 
 weapon. 
 
 The Major reiterated his statement and 
 recalled the fact that, as he had told him and 
 others a thousand times, they had shaken 
 hands on the spot, which George Washington 
 with easy adaptability admitted, but claimed 
 that " ef he hadn t Vshook hands we d Vshot 
 him, sho ! Dis here gen+ man am gwine git 
 off quite so easy," he declared, having already 
 decided that Lawrence was to experience the 
 deadly accuracy of his and Jeff s aim. He 
 ended with an unexpected " Hie ! " and gave a 
 littL lurch, .,hhh betraj^ed his condition, but 
 immediately gathered himself together again. 
 
 The M jor locked at him quizzically as he 
 stood pistols in hand in all the grandeur of 
 his assumed character. The shadow of disap 
 pointment at the non-appearance of the Juel- 
 lists which had rested on his round face, passed 
 away, and he suddenly asked him which way 
 he thought they had better stand. George 
 Washington twisted his head on one side and, 
 after striking a deliberative attitude and look 
 ing the plat well over, gave his judgment. 
 
 "Ah so," said the Major, and bade him 
 step off ten paces. 
 
" GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 103 
 
 George Washington cocked his hat consid- 
 
 o o 
 
 erably more to the side, and with a wave of 
 his hand, caught from the Major, took ten 
 little mincing steps ; and without turning, 
 glanced back over his shoulder and inquired, 
 " Am dat mighty fur apart ? " 
 
 The Major stated 4iat it was necessary to 
 give them some chance. And this appeared 
 to satisfy him, for he admitted, " Yas, suh, 
 dat s so, dee bleeged to have a chance," and 
 immediately marked a point a yard or more 
 short of that to which he had stepped. 
 
 The Major then announced that he would 
 load the pistols without waiting for the ad 
 vent of the other gentlemen, as he "repre 
 sented both of them." 
 
 This was too much for so accomplished an 
 adept at the Code as George Washington, 
 and he immediately asserted that such a 
 thing was preposterous, asking with some 
 scorn, as he strutted up and down, " Who 
 ever heah o one gent man ripresentin two 
 in a jewel, Marse Nat ? " 
 
 The Major bowed politely. " I was afraid 
 it was a little incompatible," he said. 
 
 " Of cose it s incomfatible," said George 
 Washington. " I ripresents one and you de 
 
104 "GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 
 
 t urr. Dat s de way ! I ripresents Marse Jeff. 
 I know he ain gwine fly de track. I done 
 know him from a little lad. Dat urr gent man 
 I ain know nuttin tall about. You ripresents 
 him." He waved his hand in scorn. 
 
 "Ah!" said the Major, as he set labori 
 ously about loading the pistols, handling the 
 balls somewhat ostentatiously. 
 
 George Washington asserted, " I b lieve I 
 know mo bout the Code n you does, Marse 
 Nat." 
 
 The Major looked at him quizzically as he 
 rammed the ball down hard. He was so skil 
 ful that George at length added condescend 
 ingly, " But I see you ain forgit how to handle 
 dese things." 
 
 The Major modestly admitted, as he put 
 on a cap, that he used to be a pretty fair shot, 
 and George Washington in an attitude as 
 declarative of his pride in the occasion as his 
 inebriated state admitted, was looking on 
 with an expression of supreme complacency, 
 when the Major levelled the weapon and 
 sighted along its barrel. George Washing 
 ton gave a jump which sent his cherished 
 beaver bouncing twenty feet. 
 
 u Look out, Marse Nat ! Don handle dat 
 thing so keeiiess, please, suh." 
 
GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 105 
 
 The Major explained that he was just try 
 ing its weight, and declared that it " came up 
 beautifully;" to which George Washington 
 after he had regained his damaged helmet 
 assented with a somewhat unsteady voice. 
 The Major looked at his watch and up at the 
 trees, the tops of which were still brightened 
 with the reflection from the sunset sky, and 
 muttered an objurgation at the failure of the 
 principals to appear, vowing that he never 
 before knew of a similar case, and that at 
 least he had not expected Jeff to fail to come 
 to time. George Washington again proudly 
 announced that he represented Jeff and that 
 it was " that urr gent man what had done fly 
 de track, that urr gent man what you ripre- 
 sents, Marse Nat." He spoke with unveiled 
 contempt. 
 
 The Major suddenly turned on him. 
 
 " George Washington ! " 
 
 "Suh!" He faced him. 
 
 "If my principal fails to appear, I must 
 take his place. The rule is, the second takes 
 the place of his non-appearing principal." 
 
 "In cose dat s de rule," declared George 
 Washington as if it were his own suggestion ; 
 " de secon tecks de place o de non-repearin 
 
106 "GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 
 
 sprinciple, and dat s what mecks me say what 
 I does, dat man is done run away, suh, dat s 
 what s de motter wid him. He s jes nat- 
 chelly skeered. He couldn face dem things, 
 suh." He nodded towards the pistols, his 
 thumbs stuck in the armholes of his flowered 
 velvet vest. As the Major bowed George 
 Washington continued with a hiccough, "He 
 ain like we gent mens whar s ust to em an 
 don mine em no mo n pop-crackers." 
 
 " George Washington," said the Major, sol 
 emnly, with his eyes set on George Washing 
 ton s velvet waistcoat, "take your choice of 
 these pistols." 
 
 The old duellist made his choice with due 
 deliberation. The Major indicated with a 
 wave of his hand one of the spots which 
 George had marked for the expected duel 
 lists. " Take your stand there, sir." George 
 Washington marched grandly up and planted 
 himself with overwhelming dignity, whilst 
 the Major, with the other pistol in his hand, 
 quietly took his stand at the other position, 
 facing him. 
 
 " George," he said, " George Washington." 
 
 " Suh." George Washington was never so 
 imposing. 
 
"GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 107 
 
 u My principal, Mr. Pickering Lawrence, 
 having failed to appear at the designated 
 time and place to meet his engagement with 
 Mr. Jefferson Lewis, I, as his second and rep 
 resentative, offer myself to take his place and 
 assume any and all of his obligations." 
 
 George Washington bowed grandly. 
 
 " Yes, suh, of cose, dat is accordin to de 
 Code," he said with solemnity befitting the 
 occasion. 
 
 The Major proceeded. 
 
 " And your principal, Mr. Jefferson Lewis, 
 having likewise failed to appear at the proper 
 time, you take his place." 
 
 " Suh," ejaculated George Washington, in 
 sudden astonishment, turning his head slightly 
 as if he were not certain he had heard correctly, 
 " Marse Nat, jis say dat agin, please, suh ? " 
 
 The Major elevated his voice and advanced 
 his pistol slightly. 
 
 " I say, your principal, Mr Jefferson Lewis, 
 having in like manner failed to put in his ap 
 pearance at the time and place agreed on for 
 the meeting, you as his representative take 
 his place and assume all his obligations." 
 
 " Oh ! nor, suh, I don t ! " exclaimed George 
 Washington, shaking his head so violent 1 
 
1Q8"GEOKGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 
 
 that the demoralized beaver fell off again and 
 rolled around unheeded. "I am bargain for 
 no sich thing as dat. Nor, suh ! " 
 
 But the Major was obdurate. 
 
 " Yes, sir, you do. When you accept the 
 position of second, you assume all the obliga 
 tions attaching to that position, and " the 
 
 Major advanced his pistol "I shall shoot at 
 you." 
 
 George Washington took a step towards 
 him. " Oh ! goodness ! Marse Nat, you ain 
 gwine do nuttin like dat, is you ! " His jaw 
 had fallen, and when the Major bowed with 
 deep solemnity and replied, "Yes, sir, and you 
 can shoot at me," he burst out. 
 
 " Marse Nat, I don warn shoot at you. 
 What I warn shoot at you for ? I ain got 
 nuttin ginst you on de fatal nth. You been 
 
 good master to me all my days an " The 
 
 Major cut short this sincere tribute to his vir 
 tues, by saying: " Very well, you can shoot 
 or not as you please. I shall aim at that 
 waistcoat." He raised his pistol and par 
 tially closed one eye. George Washington 
 dropped on his knees. 
 
 " Oh, Marse Nat, please, suh. What you 
 want to shoot me for? Po ole good-for- 
 
"GEOEGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL 109 
 
 nuttin George Washington, whar ain nuver 
 done you no harm " (the Major s eye glanced 
 over his blue coat and flowered vest ; George 
 saw it), " but jes steal you whiskey an you 
 clo es an Marse Nat, ef you le me off dis 
 time I oon nuver steal no mo o you clo es, 
 er you whiskey, er nuttin. Marse Nat, you 
 wouldn shoot po ole good-for-nuttin George 
 Washington, whar fotch up wid you ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir, I would," declared the Major, 
 sternly. " I am going to give the word, and 
 
 " he raised the pistol once more. 
 George Washington began to creep toward 
 
 him. " Oh, Lordy ! Marse Nat, please, suh, 
 don pint dat thing at me dat away hit s 
 loaded! Oh, Lordy!" he shouted. The 
 Major brandished his weapon fiercely. 
 
 "Stand up, sir, and stop that noise one 
 
 two three," he counted, but George 
 Washington was flat on the ground. 
 
 " Oh, Marse Nat, please, suh, don t. I se 
 feared o dem things." A sudden idea struck 
 him. "Marse Nat, you is about to loss a 
 mighty valuable nigger," he pleaded ; but the 
 Major simply shouted to him to stand up and 
 not disgrace the gentleman he represented. 
 George Washington seized on the word ; it 
 was his firfal hope. 
 
110 "GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 
 
 " Marse Nat, I don t ripresent nobody, suh, 
 nobody at all, suh. I ain iiuttin but a good- 
 for-nuttin, wuthless nigger, whar brung de 
 box down heah cuz you tole me to, suh, dat s 
 all. An I ll teck off you coat an weskit dis 
 minit ef you ll jis le me git up off de groun , 
 suh." Jeff suddenly appeared. George lay 
 spraddled out on the ground as flat as a field 
 lark, but at Jeff s appearance, he sprang be 
 hind him. Jeff, in amazement, was inquiring 
 the meaning of all the noise he had heard, 
 when Lawrence appeared on the scene. The 
 Major explained briefly. 
 
 " It was that redoubtable champion bellow 
 ing. As our principals failed to appear on 
 time, he being an upholder of the Code, sug 
 gested that we were bound to take the places 
 respectively of those we represented " 
 
 " Nor, suh, I don ripresent nobody," inter 
 rupted George Washington ; but at a look 
 from the Major he dodged again behind Jeff. 
 The Major, with his eye on Lawrence, said*: 
 
 " Well, gentlemen, let s to business. We 
 have but a few minutes of daylight left, I 
 presume you are ready ? " 
 
 Both gentlemen bowed, and the Major pro 
 ceeded to explain that he had loaded both 
 
"GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. Ill 
 
 pistols himself with precisely similar charges, 
 and that they were identical in trigger, sight, 
 drift, and weight, and had been tested on a 
 number of occasions, when they had proved 
 to be " excellent weapons and remarkably ac 
 curate in their fire." The young men bowed 
 silently ; but when he turned suddenly and 
 called " George Washington," that individual 
 nearly jumped out of his coat. The Major 
 ordered him to measure ten paces, which, 
 after first giving notice that he " didn t ripre- 
 sent nobody," he proceeded to do, taking a 
 dozen or more gigantic strides, and hastily 
 retired again behind the safe bulwark of Jeff s 
 back. As he stood there in his shrunken con 
 dition, he about as much resembled the pom 
 pous and arrogant duellist of a half-hour 
 previous as a wet and bedraggled turkey does 
 the strutting, gobbling cock of the flock. 
 The Major, with an objurgation at him for 
 stepping "as if he had on seven league boots," 
 stepped off the distance himself, explaining 
 to Lawrence that ten paces was about the 
 best distance, as it was sufficiently distant to 
 "avoid the unpleasantness of letting a gentle 
 man feel that he was within touching dis 
 tance," and yet " near enough to avoid 
 useless mutilation." 
 
112 "GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 
 
 Taking out a coin, lie announced that he 
 would toss up for the choice of position, or 
 rather would make a " disinterested person " 
 do so, and, holding out his hand, he called 
 George Washington to toss it up. There was 
 no response until the Major shouted, " George 
 Washington, where are you you rascal!" 
 
 " Heah me, suh," said George Washington, 
 in a quavering voice, rising from the ground, 
 where he had thrown himself to avoid any 
 stray bullets, and coming slowly forward, 
 with a pitiful, " Please, suh, don p int dat 
 thing dis away." 
 
 The Major gave him the coin, with an order 
 to toss it up, in a tone so sharp that it made 
 him jump ; and he began to turn it over ner 
 vously in his hand, which was raised a little 
 above his shoulder. In his manipulation it 
 slipped out of his hand and disappeared. 
 George Washington in a dazed way looked 
 in his hand, and then on the ground. " Hi ! 
 whar hit ? " he muttered, getting down on 
 his knees and searching in the grass. " Dis 
 heah place is evil-sperited." 
 
 The Major called to him to hurry up, but 
 lie was too intent on solving the problem of 
 the mysterious disappearance of the quarter. 
 
"GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 113 
 
 " I aiii nuver like dis graveyard bein right 
 heah," he murmured. " Marse Nat, don you 
 have no mo to do wid dis thing." 
 
 The Major s patience was giving out. 
 " George Washington, you rascal ! " he 
 shouted, " do you think I can wait all night 
 for you to pull up all the grass in the garden? 
 Take the quarter out of your pocket, sir ! 
 
 " Tain in my pocket, suh, quavered 
 George Washington, feeling there instinc 
 tively, however, when the coin slipped down 
 his sleeve into his hand again. This was too 
 much for him. " Hi ! befo de king," he ex 
 claimed, "how it git in my pocket? Oh, 
 Marster ! de devil is bout heah, sho ! Marse 
 Nat, you fling it up, suh. I ain nuttin but a 
 po sinful nigger. Oh, Lorcly ! " And hand 
 ing over the quarter tremulously, George 
 Washington flung himself flat on the ground 
 and, as a sort of religious incantation, began 
 to chant in a wild, quavering tone the fu 
 neral hymn : 
 
 " Hark 1 from the tombs a doleful sound." 
 
 The Major tossed up and posted the duel 
 lists, and with much solemnity handed them 
 the pistols, which both the two young men 
 
114 "GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 
 
 received quietly. They were pale, but per 
 fectly steady. The Major then asked them, 
 " Gentlemen, are you ready ? " whilst at the 
 omnious sound George Washington s voice in 
 tremulous falsetto, struck in, 
 
 " Ye-ee so-ons off meenn co-otne view-ew the-ee groan , 
 Wher-ere you-ou in uss shor-ort-ly lie." 
 
 They announced themselves ready just as 
 George Washington, looking up from the 
 ground, where he, like the " so-ons off meenn," 
 was lying, discovered that he was not more 
 than thirty yards out of the line of aim, and 
 with a muttered " Lordy ! " began to crawl 
 away. 
 
 There was a confused murmur from the 
 direction of the path which led to the house, 
 and the Major shouted, " Fire one two 
 three." 
 
 Both young men, facing each other and look 
 ing steadily in each other s eyes, with simul 
 taneous action fired their pistols into the air. 
 
 At the report a series of shrieks rang out 
 from the shrubbery towards the house, whilst 
 George Washington gave a wild yell and 
 began to kick like a wounded bull, bellowing 
 that he was " killed killed." 
 
"GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 115 
 
 The Major had just walked up to the duel 
 lists, and, relieving them of their weapons, 
 had with a comprehensive wave of the hand 
 congratulated them on their courage and 
 urged them to shake hands, which they were 
 in \he act of doing, when the shrubbery 
 parted and Margaret, followed closely by 
 Rose and by Miss Jemima panting behind, 
 rushed in upon them, crying at the tops of 
 their voices, " Stop ! Stop ! " 
 
 The two young ladies addressed themselves 
 respectively to Jeff and Lawrence, and both 
 were employing all their eloquence when Miss 
 Jemima appeared. Her eye caught the pros 
 trate form of George Washington, who lay 
 flat on his face kicking and groaning at inter 
 vals. She pounced upon the Major with so 
 much vehemence that he was almost carried 
 away by the sudden onset. 
 
 " Oh ! You wretch ! What have you 
 done ? " she panted, scarcely able to articu 
 late. 
 
 "Done, madam? " asked the Major, gravely. 
 
 " Yes ; what have you done to that poor 
 miserable creature there ! " She actually 
 seized the Major and whirled him around 
 with one hand, whilst with the other she 
 
116 "GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. 
 
 pointed at the prostrate and now motionless 
 George Washington. 
 
 " What have I been doing with him ? " 
 
 " Yes, with him. Have you been carrying 
 out your barbarous rite on his inoffensive 
 person ! " she gasped. 
 
 The Major s eye lit up. 
 
 " Yes, madam," he said, taking up one of 
 the pistols, " and I rejoice that you are here 
 to witness its successful termination. George 
 Washington has been selected as the victim 
 this year; his monstrous lies, his habitual 
 drunken worthlessness, his roguery, culminat 
 ing in the open theft to-day of my best coat 
 and waistcoat, marked him naturally as the 
 proper sacrifice. I had not the heart to cheat 
 any one by selling him to him. I was there 
 fore constrained to shoot him. He was, with 
 his usual triflingness, not killed at the first 
 fire, although he appears to be dead. I will 
 now finish him by putting a ball into his 
 back ; observe the shot." He advanced, and 
 cocking the pistol, " click click," stuck it 
 carefully in the middle of George Washing 
 ton s fat back. Miss Jemima gave a piercing 
 shriek and flung herself on the Major to seize 
 the pistol; but she might have spared herself; 
 
"GEORGE WASHINGTON S" LAST DUEL. Ill 
 
 for George Washington suddenly bounded 
 from the ground and, with one glance at the 
 levelled weapon, rushed crashing through 
 the shrubbery, followed by the laughter of 
 the young people, the shrieks of Miss Je 
 mima, and the shouts of the Major for him 
 to come back and let him kill him. 
 
 That evening, when Margaret, seated on 
 the Major s knee, was rummaging in his vest 
 pockets for any loose change which might be 
 there (which by immemorial custom belonged 
 to her), she suddenly pulled out two large, 
 round bullets. The Major seized them ; but 
 it was too late. When, however, he finally 
 obtained possession of them he presented 
 them to Miss Jemima, and solemnly requested 
 her to preserve them as mementoes of George 
 Washington s miraculous escape. 
 
P LASKI S TUNAMENT. 
 
 I HAD the good fortune to come from " the 
 old county of Hanover," as that particular 
 division of the State of Virginia is affection 
 ately called by nearly all who are so luck}^ as 
 to have first seen the light amid its broom- 
 straw fields and heavy forests; and to this 
 happy circumstance I owed the honor of a 
 special visit from one of its most loyal citi 
 zens. Indeed, the glories of his native county 
 were so embalmed in his memory and were 
 so generously and continuously imparted to 
 all his acquaintances, that he was in the 
 county of his adoption universally known 
 after an absence of forty years as " Old Han 
 over." I had not been long in F when 
 
 I was informed that I might, in right of 
 the good fortune respecting my birthplace, 
 to which I have referred, expect a visit from 
 my distinguished fellow-countyman, and thus 
 I was not surprised, when one afternoon a 
 message was brought in that " Ole Hanover 
 118 
 
P LASKVS TUNAMENT. 119 
 
 was in the yard, and had called to pay his 
 bes bespecks to de gent man what hed de 
 honor to come f om de ole county." 
 
 I immediately went out, followed by my 
 host, to find that the visit was attended with 
 a formality which raised it almost to the 
 dignity of a ceremonial. " Old Hanover " 
 was accompanied by his wife, and was at 
 tended by quite a number of other negroes, 
 who had followed him either out of curiosity 
 excited by the importance he had attached to 
 the visit, or else in the desire to shine in 
 reflected glory as his friends. " Old Han 
 over " himself stood well out in front of the 
 rest, like an old African chief in state with 
 his followers behind him about to receive an 
 embassy. He was arrayed with great care, 
 in a style which I thought at first glance was 
 indicative of the clerical calling, but which I 
 soon discovered was intended to be merely 
 symbolical of approximation to the dignity 
 which was supposed to pertain to that profes 
 sion. He wore a very long and baggy coat 
 which had once been black, but was now 
 tanned by exposure to a reddish brown, a 
 vest which looked as if it had been velvet 
 before the years had eaten the nap from it, 
 
120 P LASKl S TUNAMENT. 
 
 and changed it into a fabric not unlike 
 leather. His shirt was obviously newly 
 washed for the occasion, and his high clean 
 collar fell over an ample and somewhat bulg 
 ing white cloth, which partook of the quali 
 ties of both stock and necktie. His skin was 
 of that lustrous black which shines as if 
 freshly oiled, and his face was closely shaved 
 except for two tufts of short, white hair, one 
 on each side, which shone like snow against 
 his black cheeks. He wore an old and very 
 quaint beaver, and a pair of large, old-fash 
 ioned, silver-rimmed spectacles, which gave 
 him an air of portentous dignity. 
 
 When I first caught sight of him, he was 
 leaning on a long hickory stick, which might 
 have been his staff of state, and his face was 
 set in an expression of superlative importance. 
 As I appeared, however, he at once removed 
 his hat, and taking a long step forward, made 
 me a profound bow. I was so much im 
 pressed by him, that I failed to catch the 
 whole of the grandiloquent speech with 
 which he greeted me. I had evidently se 
 cured his approval; for he boldly declared 
 that he " would a recognizated me for one of 
 de rail quality ef he had foun me in a cup- 
 
P^LASKVS TUNAMENT. 121 
 
 pen." I was immediately conscious of the 
 effect which his endorsement produced on his 
 companions. They regarded me with new 
 interest, if any expression so bovine deserved 
 to be thus characterized. 
 
 " I tell dese folks up heah dee don t know 
 mi thin bout rail quality," he asserted with 
 a contemptuous wave of his arm, which was 
 manifestly intended to embrace the entire 
 section in its comprehensive sweep. "Dee 
 ain nuver had no quaintance wid it," he 
 explained, condescendingly. His friends ac 
 cepted this criticism with proper submissive- 
 ness. 
 
 " De Maconses, de Berkeleyses, de Carterses, 
 de Bassettses, de Wickhamses, de Nelsonses, 
 an dem ! " - (the final ending " es " was 
 plainly supposed to give additional dignity) 
 " now dee is sho nough quality. I know 
 all bout em." He paused long enough to 
 permit this to sink in. 
 
 "I b longst to Doc 1 Macon. You know 
 what he wuz ? " 
 
 His emphasis compelled me to acknowledge 
 his exalted position or abandon forever all 
 hope of retaining my own ; so I immediately as 
 sented, and inquired how long he had been in 
 
122 P LASKVS TUNAMENT. 
 
 " this country," as he designated his adopted 
 region. He turned with some severity to one 
 of his companions, a stout and slatternly 
 woman, very black, and many years his junior. 
 
 " How long is I been heah, Lucindy ? " 
 
 The woman addressed, by way of answer, 
 turned half away, and gave a little nervous 
 laugh. "I don t know how long you been 
 heah, you been heah so long; mos forty 
 years, I reckon." This sally called from her 
 companions a little ripple of amusement. 
 
 " Dat s my wife, suh," the old gentleman 
 explained, apologetically. " She s de one I 
 got now ; she come f om up heah in dis ken- 
 try." His voice expressed all that the words 
 were intended to convey. Lucindy, who 
 appeared accustomed to such contemptuous 
 reference, merely gave another little explo 
 sion which shook her fat shoulders. 
 
 As, however, I was expected to endorse all 
 his views, I changed the embarrassing subject 
 by inquiring how he had happened to leave 
 the old county. 
 
 " Ole marster gi me to Miss Fanny when 
 she ma yed Marse William Fitzhugh," he 
 explained. "I wuz ma yed den to Marth 
 Ann ; she wuz Miss Fanny s maid, an when 
 
P LASKPS TUNAMENT. 123 
 
 she come up heah wid Miss Fanny, I recom- 
 pany her." He would not admit that his 
 removal was a permanent one. " I al ays 
 layin out to go back home, but I aiii been 
 yit. Dee s mos all daid b fo dis, suh? " 
 
 He spoke as if this were a fact, but there 
 was a faint inquiry in his eyes if not in his 
 tone. I was sorry not to be able to inform 
 him differently, and, to change the subject, I 
 started to ask him a question. "Martha 
 Ann - " I began, and then paused irresolute. 
 
 " She s daid too," he said simply. 
 
 " How many children have you ? " I asked. 
 
 " I am got but beah one now, suh, ef I got 
 dat one," he replied ; " dat s P laski." 
 
 " How many have you had ? " 
 
 " Well, suh, dat s a partic lar thing to tell," 
 he said, with a whimsical look on his face. 
 " De Scripturs says you is to multiply an 
 replanish de uth ; but I s pecks I s had some 
 several mo n my relowance ; dar s Jeems, an 
 Peter, an Jeremiah, an Hezekiah, an Zekyel, 
 Ananias an Malachi, Matthew an Saint Luke, 
 besides de gals. Dee s all gone ; an now I 
 ain got but jes dat P laski. He s de wuth- 
 lisses one o de whole gang. He tecks after 
 his mammy." 
 
124 P LASKFS TUN AMEN T. 
 
 The reference to Pulaski appeared to occa 
 sion some amusement among his friends, and 
 I innocently inquired if he was Martha Ann s 
 son. 
 
 " Nor, suli, dat he warn ! " was the vehe 
 ment and indignant answer. " Ef he had a 
 been, he nuver would a got me into all dat 
 trouble. Dat wuz de mortification o my 
 life, suh. He got all dat meanness f om his 
 mammy. Dat ooman dyah is his mammy." 
 He indicated the plump Lucindy with his 
 long stick, which he poked at her contemptu 
 ously. " Dat s what I git for mar yin one o 
 dese heah up-kentry niggers ! " The " up- 
 kentry" spouse was apparently quite accus 
 tomed to this characterization, for she simply 
 looked away, rather in embarrassment at my 
 gaze being directed to her than under any 
 stronger emotion. Her liege continued: 
 " Lucindy warn quality like me an Marth 
 Ann, an her son tooken after her. What s 
 in de myah will come out in de colt ; an he 
 is de meanes chile I uver had. I name de 
 urrs f om de Scriptur , but he come o a diff - 
 ent stock, an I name him arter Mr. P laski 
 Greener, whar Lucindy use to b longst to, 
 .an I reckon maybe dat s de reason he so 
 
P LASKrS TUNAMENT. 125 
 
 natchally evil. I liad mo trouble by recount 
 o dat boy n I lied when I los Marth Ann." 
 
 The old fellow threw back his head and 
 gave a loud " Whew ! " actually removing his 
 large spectacles in his desperation at Pulaski s 
 wickedness. Again there was a suppressed 
 chuckle from his friends ; so, seeing that 
 some mystery attached to the matter, I put a 
 question which started him. 
 
 " Well, I ll tell you, sub," he began. " Hit 
 all growed out of a tunament, sub. You an 
 I knows all discerning tunaments, cuz we 
 come f om de ole county o Hanover, whar 
 de raise tunaments " (he referred to them 
 as if they had been a species of vegetables) 
 " but we ain nuver hearn de modification 
 of a niyger ridin in a tunament?" 
 
 I admitted this, and, after first laying his 
 hat carefully on the ground, he proceeded : 
 
 "Well, you know, sub, dat P laski got de 
 notionment in he haid dat he wuz to ride in 
 a tunament. He got dat f om dat ooman." 
 He turned and pointed a trembling finger at 
 his uncomplaining spouse ; and then slowly 
 declared, "Lord! I wuz outdone dat day." 
 
 I suggested that possibly he had not fol 
 lowed Solomon s injunction as rigidly as 
 
126 P LASKrS TUNAMENT. 
 
 Pulaski s peculiar traits of character had 
 demanded ; but he said promptly : 
 
 " Yes, suh, I did. I whupped him faith 
 ful; but he took whuppin like a ole steer. 
 Hickory didn pear to have no feck on him. 
 He didn had no memory; he like a ole steer: 
 got a thick skin an a short memory ; he wuz 
 what I call one o dese disorde ly boys." 
 
 He paused long enough to permit this 
 term, taken from the police court reports, to 
 make a lodgement, and then proceeded : 
 
 " He wuz so wuthless at home, I hired him 
 out to ole Mis Twine for fo dollars an a 
 half a mont an more n he wuth, too ! to 
 see ef po white ooman kin git any wuck out n 
 him. A po white ooman kin git wuck out a 
 nigger ef anybody kin, an twuz down dyah 
 that he got had foolishness lodgicated in he 
 haid. You see, ole Mis Twine warn so fur 
 f om Wash n n. Nigger think ef he kin git 
 to Wash n n, he done got in heaven. Well, 
 I hire him to ole Mis Twine, cuz I think 
 she ll keep P laski straight, an ef I don git 
 but one fo dollars an a half f om him, hit s 
 dat much; but pear like he got to runnin 
 an consortin wid some o dem urr free-issue 
 niggers roun dyah, an dee larne him mo 
 
KVa TUNAMENT. 127 
 
 foolishness n I think dee able; cuz a full 
 hawg cyarn drink no mo ." 
 
 The old fellow launched out into diatribes 
 against the " free issues," who, he declared, 
 expected to be " better than white folks, like 
 white folks ain been free sense de wull be 
 gin." He, however, shortly returned to his 
 theme. 
 
 " Well, fust thing I knowed, one Sunday I 
 wuz settin down in my house, an heah come 
 P laski all done fixed up wid a high collar 
 on, mos high as ole master s, an wid a bet 
 ter breeches on n I uver wear in my life, an 
 wid a creevat! an a cane! an wid a seegar! 
 He comes in de do an hoi he seegar in he 
 han , sort o so " (illustrating), "an he teck 
 off he hat kine o flourishy 4 whurr, an say, 
 4 Good mornin , pa an ma. He mammy 
 dat she monsus pleaged wid dem manners ; 
 she ain know no better; but I ain nuver 
 like nobody to gobble roun me, an I say, 
 4 Look heah, boy, don fool wid me ; I ain 
 feelin well to-day, an ef you fool wid me, 
 when I git done wid you, you oon feel well 
 you self. Den he kine o let he feathers 
 down ; an presney he- say he warn me to len 
 him three dollars an a half. I ax him what 
 
128 P LASKrS TUNAMENT. 
 
 he warn do wid it, cuz I know I ain gwine 
 len to him jes well len money to a mus - 
 rat hole; an he say he warn it for a tuna- 
 ment. 4 Hi! I say, P laski, what air a tuna- 
 ment? I mecked out, you see, like I ain 
 recognizated what he meek correspondence 
 to ; an he start to say, A tunament, pa 
 but I retch for a barrel hoop whar lay in by 
 kine o amiable like, an he stop, like young 
 mule whar see mud-puddle in de road, an 
 say, c A tunament a tunament is whar you 
 gits pon a hoss wid a pole, an rides hard as 
 you kin, an pokes de pole at a ring, an - 
 When he gets right dyah, I interrupt him, 
 an I say, ^P laski, says I, I s raised wid 
 de fust o folks, cuz I s raised wid de Ma- 
 conses at Doc Macon s in Hanover, an I s 
 spectated fish fries, an festibals, an bobby- 
 cues ; but I ain nuver witness nuttin like 
 dat a nigger ridin pon a hoss hard as he 
 kin stave, an nominatin of it a tunament, I 
 says. c You s talkin bout a hoss-race, I says, 
 4 cuz dat s de on yes thing, I says, ; a nigger 
 rides in. You know, sub," he broke in sud 
 denly, "you and I s seen many a hoss-race, 
 cuz we come f om hoss kentry, right down 
 dyah f om whar Marse Torm Doswell live, 
 
P LASKVS TUNAMENT. 129 
 
 an we done see hoss-races whar wuz boss- 
 races sho nough, at the ole FyarfieP race- 
 co se, whar bosses used to run could beat 
 buds flyin an so I tole him. I tole him I 
 nuver lieah nobody but a po white folks 
 nio-o-er call a boss-race a tunament; an I tole 
 
 t? t) 
 
 him I reckon de pole he talkin bout wuz de 
 hick ry dee used to tune de boys backs wid 
 recasionally Avhen dee didn ride right. Dat 
 cut him down might ly, cuz dat ermine him 
 o de hick ries I done wyah out pon him ; but 
 he say, Nor, tis a long pole whar you punch 
 th oo a ring, an de one whar punch de inoes, 
 he crown de queen. I tole him dat de on yes 
 queen I uver heah bout wuz a cow ole master 
 had, whar teck de fust prize at de State 
 fyah in Richmond one year; but he presist dat 
 this wuz a tunament queen, and he warn three 
 dollars an a half to get him a new shut an 
 to pay he part ov de supper. Den I tole him 
 ef he think I gwine give him three dollars an 
 a half for dat foolishness he mus think I big 
 a fool as he wuz. Wid dat he begin to act 
 kine o aggervated, which I teck for impi- 
 dence, cuz I nuver could abeah chillern ner 
 women to be sullen roun me ; an I gi him 
 de notification dat ef I cotch him foolin wid 
 
130 P LASKrs TUNAMENT. 
 
 any tunament T gwine ride him tell he oon 
 know wherr he ain t a mule hisself; an I 
 gwine have hick ry pole dyah too. Den I tolt 
 him he better go long back to ole Mis Twine, 
 whar I done hive him to; an when he see 
 me pick up de barrel hoop an start to roll up 
 my sleeve, he went ; an I heah he jine dat 
 Jim Sinkfiel , an dat s what git me into all 
 dat tribilation." 
 
 "What got 3-011 in?" I inquired, in some 
 doubt as to his meaning. 
 
 " Dat tunament, suli. Plaski rid it ! An 
 what s mo, suh, he won de queen, one o 
 ole man Bob Sibley s impident gals, an 
 when he come to crown her, he crown her 
 wid ole Mis Twine s weddin -ring ! " 
 
 There was a subdued murmur of amuse 
 ment in the group behind him, and I could 
 not but inquire how he came to perform so 
 extraordinary a ceremony. 
 
 "Dat I don know, suh; but so twair. 
 Fust information I had on it wuz when I went 
 down to ole Mis Twine s to get he mont s 
 weges. I received de ontelligence on de way 
 dat he had done lef dyah, an dat ole Mis 
 Twine gol ring had lef by de same road at 
 de same time. Dat correspondence mortify me 
 
P LASKI S TUNAMENT. 131 
 
 might ly cuz I hadn raised P laski no sich a 
 ways as dat. He was dat ooman s son to be 
 sho an I knowed he wuz wuthless, but still I 
 hadn respect him to steal ole Mis Twine wed- 
 din -ring, whar she wyah on her finger ev y 
 day, an whar wuz gol too. I want de infi- 
 mation bout de fo dollars an a half, so I 
 went long ; but soon as ole Mis Twine see 
 me she began to quoil. I tell her I just 
 come to git de reasonment o de matter, an I 
 ain got nuthin tall" to say bout P laski. 
 Dat jes like bresh on fire ; she wuss n befo . 
 She so savigrous I tolt her I ain nuver had 
 nobody to prevaricate nuttin bout me ; dat 
 I b longst to Doc Macon, o Hanover, an I 
 ax her ef she knowed de Maconses. She say, 
 nor, she ain know em, nor she ain nuver 
 hearn on em, an she wished she hadn nuver 
 hearn on me an my thievin boy dat s 
 P laski. Well, tell then, I mighty consarned 
 bout P laski; but when she said she ain 
 nuver hearn on the Maconses, I ain alto 
 gether b lieve P laski done teck her ring, 
 cause I ain know whether she got any ring ; 
 though I know sence the tunament he mean 
 enough for anything; an I tolt her so, an I 
 tolt her I wuz raised wid quality sence she 
 
132 P LASKrS TUNAMENT. 
 
 am know the Mac crises, I ain tole her no 
 mo bout dem, cuz de Bible say you is not to 
 cast pearls befo hawgs an tint I had tote 
 de corn-house keys many a time, an Marth 
 Ann used to go in ole Mistis trunks same as 
 ole Mistis herself. Right dyah she mought a 
 cotch me ef she had knowed that P laski 
 warn Marth Ann s son; but she ain know 
 de Maconses, an in cose she ain quainted 
 wid de servants, so she don know it. Well, 
 suh, she rar an she pitch. Yo nuver heah 
 a ooman talk so befo in yo life; an fust 
 thing I knew she gone in de house, she say 
 she gwine git a gun an run me off dat Ian . 
 But I ain wait for dat : don nobody have to 
 git gun to run me off dee Ian . I jes teck 
 my foot in my han an come long way by 
 myself, cuz I think maybe a ooman at could 
 cuss like a man mout shoot like a man too." 
 
 " Where did you go and what did you do 
 next?" I asked the old fellow as he paused 
 with a whimsical little nod of satisfaction at 
 his wisdom. 
 
 " I went home, suh," he said. " I heah on cle 
 way dat P laski had sho nough done crown t 
 Bob Sibly s gal, Lizzy Susan, wid de ring, an 
 dat he wuz gwine to Wash n n, but wuz done 
 
P LASKrS TUNAMENT. 133 
 
 come home to git some things b fo he went ; 
 so I come straight long behinst him jes swif 
 as my foot could teck me. I didn was e 
 much time," he said, with some pride, " cuz 
 lie had done mighty nigh come gittin me 
 shot. I jes stop long nough to cut me a 
 bunch o right keen hick ries, an I jes come 
 long shakin my foot. When I got to my 
 house I ain fine nobody dyah but Lucindy 
 dat ve y oo man dyah" pointing his long 
 stick at her " an I lay my hick ries on de 
 bed, an ax her is she see P laski. Fust she 
 meek out dat she ain heah me, she so indus- 
 chus ; I nuver see her so induschus ; but 
 when I meek quiration agin she bleeged 
 to answer me, an she spoil dat she ain 
 see him; cuz she see dat my blood wuz 
 up, an she know dee wuz trouble pen din for 
 P laski. Dat worry me might ly, an I say, 
 4 Lucindy, ef you is done meek dat boy resent 
 hisself f om heah, you is done act like a po 
 white folks nigger, I say, an you s got to 
 beah de depravity o his transgression. When 
 I tolt her dat she nuver got mad, cuz she 
 know she air riot quality like me an Marth 
 Ann; but she pear right smartly disturbed, 
 an she clar she ain lay her eyes on P laski. 
 
134 P LASKrs TUN AMEN T. 
 
 She done clar so partic lar I mos inclin to 
 b lieve her; but all on a suddent I heah some 
 n sneeze, 4 Quechew ! De soun come f om 
 onder de bed, an I jes retch over an gether 
 in my bunch o hick ries, an I say, ^Come 
 out ! Lucindy say, Dat s a cat ; an I say, 
 4 Yes, I say, hit s a cat I gwine skin, too. 
 
 "I jes stoop down, an peep onder de bed, 
 an , sho nough, dyah wuz P laski squinch up 
 onder dyah, cane an seegar an all, jes like a 
 ole hyah in a trap. I ketch him by de leg, an 
 juck him out, an don you know, suh, dat 
 ooman had done put my shut on dat boy, an 
 wuz gettin ready to precipitate him in flight! 
 I tolt her it wuz p intedly oudacious for her 
 an her son, after he had done stolt ole Mis 
 Taine weddin -ring, to come to my own 
 house an rob me jes like I wuz a hen-roos ! " 
 
 "What reply did she make to that?" I 
 asked, to facilitate his narrative. 
 
 " She ain possessed no reply to dat indict 
 ment," he said, pompously. "She glad by 
 dat time to remit me to terminate my ex 
 citement on P laski, an so I did. He hollered 
 tell dee say you could heah him two miles ; 
 he fyahly lumbered." The old fellow gave a 
 chuckle of satisfaction at the reminiscence* 
 
P LASKrS TUNAMENT. 135 
 
 and began to draw figures in the sand with his 
 long stick. Suddenly, however, he looked up. 
 " Ef I had a-intimated how much tribilation 
 dat lumberin wuz gwine to get me in, he 
 nuver would a hollered. Dat come o dat 
 chicken-stealin nigger Jem Sinkfiel ; he 
 cyahed him off." 
 
 He again became reflective, so I asked, 
 " Haven t you seen him since ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes, suh, I seen him since," he an 
 swered. "I seen him after I come out o 
 jail ; but twuz a right close thing. I thought 
 I wuz gone." 
 
 " Gone ! for whipping him ? " 
 
 " Nor, suh ; bout de murder." 
 
 Murder ? " 
 
 " Yes, suh ; murder o him o P laski." 
 
 " But you did not murder him ? " 
 
 "Nor, suh; an dat wuz whar de trouble 
 presisted. Ef I had a-murdered him I d a 
 knowed whar he wuz when dee wanted him ; 
 but, as twair, when de time arrove, I wair 
 unable to porduce him : and I come mighty 
 nigh forfeitin my life." 
 
 My exclamation of astonishment manifestly 
 pleased him, and he proceeded with increased 
 gravity and carefulness of dictation : 
 
136 P LASKrS TUNAMENT. 
 
 " You see, suh, twair dis way." He laid 
 his stick carefully down, and spreading open 
 the yellowish palm of one hand, laid the in 
 dex finger of the other on it, as if it had been 
 a map. " When I waked up nex mornin an 
 called P laski, he did not rappear. He had 
 departured ; an so had my shut ! Ef t hadn 
 been for de garment, I wouldn a keered so 
 much, for I knowed I d git my ban s on him 
 some time : hawgs mos ly comes up when de 
 acorns all gone ! an I know hick ries ain t 
 gwine stop growin : but I wuz cawnsiderably 
 tossified decernin my garment, an I gin 
 Lucindy a little direction bout dat. But I 
 jes went on gittin my sumac, an whenever 
 I come cross a right straight hick ry, I geth- 
 ered dat too, an laid it by, cus hick ries grow 
 mighty fine in ole ficl s whar growin up like. 
 An one day I wuz down in de bushes, an 
 Mr. Lias Lumpkins, de constable, come rid- 
 in down dyah whar I wuz, an ax me whar 
 P laski is. Hit come in my mind torectly 
 dat he warn P laski bout de ring, an I tell 
 him I air not aware whar P laski is : and den 
 he tell me he got warrant for me, and I mus 
 come on wid him. I still reposed, in co se, 
 twuz bout de ring, an I say I ain had nut- 
 
P LASKPS TUN AMEN T. 137 
 
 tin to do wid it. An he say, c Wid what? 
 An I say, 4 Wid de ring. Den. he say, 
 4 Oh! an he say, Tain nuttin bout de 
 ring ; tis for murder. Well, I know I ain 
 murder nobody, an I ax him who dee say 
 I done murder ; an he ax me agin, 4 Whar 
 air P laski ? I tell him I don know whar 
 P laski air : I know I ain murder him ! Well, 
 suh, hit subsequently repeared dat dis wuz 
 de wuss thing I could a said, cus when 
 de trial come on, Major Torm Woods made 
 mo o dat 11 anything else at all; an hit 
 pears like ef you s skused o murder er steal- 
 in , you mus n say you ain do it, cuz dat s 
 dangersomer n allowing you is do it. 
 
 " Well, I went long wid him. I ax him to 
 le me go by my house ; but he say, nor, he 
 ain got time, dat he done been dyah. An he 
 teck me long to de cote-house, an lock me up 
 in de jail ! an lef me dyah in de dark on 
 de rock flo ! An dyah I rejourned all night 
 long. An I might a been dyah now, ef t 
 hadn been dat de co te come on. Nex morn- 
 in Mr. Landy Wilde come in dyah an ax me 
 how I gettin on, an ef I warn anything. I 
 tell him I gettin on tolerable, an I ain warn 
 nuttin but a little tobacco. I warn git out, 
 
138 P LASEFS TUNAMENT. 
 
 but I knew I cyarn do dat, cuz twuz de am- 
 bitiouses smellin place I ever smelt in my 
 life. I tell you, suh, I is done smell all de 
 smells o mink an mus an puffume, but I 
 am nuver smell nuttin like dat jail. Mr. 
 Landy Wilde had to hole he nose while he 
 in dyah ; an he say he ll git de ole jedge to 
 come an ac as my council. I tell him, Nor; 
 Gord put me in dyah, an I reckon He ll git 
 me out when He ready. I tell you, suh, I 
 wair p intedly ashamed for de ole jedge, whar 
 wuz a gent man, to come in sich a scand lous 
 smellin place as dat. But de ole jedge come ; 
 an he say it wuz a shame to put a hu- 
 min in sich place, an he d git me bail ; which 
 I mus say even ef he is a church member 
 might be ixcused ef you jes consider dat 
 smell, But when de cote meet, dee wouldn 
 gi me no bail, cuz dee say I done commit 
 murder ; an I heah Jim Sinkfiel an Mr. 
 Lumpkins an ole Mis Twine went in an 
 tole de gran jury I sutney had murder P laski, 
 an bury him down in de sumac bushes ; an 
 dee had de gre t bundle o switches dee fine 
 in my house, an dee redite me, an say ef I 
 ain murder him, why n t I go long an pro 
 duce him. Dat s a curisome thing, suh ; dee 
 
P LASKl S TUNAMENT. 139 
 
 tell you to go long and fine anybody, an den 
 lock you up in jail a insec couldn get out." 
 
 I agreed with him as to the apparent in 
 consistency of this, and he proceeded: 
 
 " Well, suh, at las de trial come on ; twuz 
 April cote, an dee had me in the cote-house, 
 an set me down in de cheer, wid de jury right 
 in front o me, an de jedge settin up in he pul 
 pit, lookin mighty aggrevated. Dat wuz de 
 fus time I gin to feel maybe I wuz sort o 
 forgittin things, I had done been thinkin so 
 much lately in jail bout de ole doctor dat s 
 ole master an Marth Ann, an all de ole 
 times in Hanover, I wuz sort o misty as I 
 wuz settin dyah in de cheer, an I jes heah 
 sort o buzzin roun me, an I warn alto 
 gether certified dat I warn back in ole Han 
 over. Den I heah em say dat de ole jedge 
 wuz tooken down an wuz ixpected to die, an 
 dee ax me don I want a continuance. I don 
 know what dat mean, sep dee say I have to 
 go back to jail, an sense I smell de fresh air I 
 don warn do dat no mo ; so I tell em, Nor; 
 I ready to die. An den dee made me stan 
 up ; an dee read dat long paper to me bout 
 how I done murder P laski ; dee say I had 
 done wimp him to death, an had done shoot 
 
140 P LASKFS TUN AMEN T. 
 
 him, an knock him in de haid, an kill him 
 mo ways 11 twould a teck to kill him ef he 
 had been a cat. Lucindy wuz dyah. I had 
 done had her gwine bout right smart meckin 
 quiration for P laski. At least she say she 
 had," he said, with a sudden reservation, and 
 a glance of some suspicion toward his spouse. 
 " An dee wuz a whole parecel o niggers stan - 
 in roun dyah, black as buzzards roun a ole 
 hoss whar dyin . An don you know, dat 
 Jim Sinknel say he sutne}^ hope dee would 
 hang me, an all jes cuz he owe me two dol 
 lars an seventy-three cents, whar he ain 
 warn pay me ! " 
 
 " Did you not have counsel ? " I inquired. 
 
 "Council?" 
 
 " Yes a lawyer." 
 
 " Oh, nor, suh ; dat is, I had council, but 
 not a la yar, edzactly," he replied, with care 
 ful discrimination. " I had a some sort of a 
 la yer, but not much of a one. I had ixpected 
 ole Jedge Thomas to git me off; cuz he 
 knowed me ; he wuz a gent man, like we is ; 
 but when he wuz tooken sick so providential 
 I wouldn had no urrs ; I lef it to Gord. De 
 jedge ax me at de trial didn I had no la yar, 
 and I tell him nor, not dyah ; an he ax me 
 
P LASKrS TUNAMENT. 141 
 
 didn I had no money to get one ; an I er- 
 spon 4 Nor, I didn had none, although I had 
 at dat time forty-three dollars an sixty-eight 
 cents in a ole rag in my waistcoat linin , wlmr 
 I had wid me down in de sumac bushes, an 
 whar I thought I better hole on to, an ain 
 made no mention on. So den de jedge ax me 
 wouldn I had a young man dyah a right 
 tall young man ; an I enform him : 4 Yes, 
 suh. Tdidn reckon twould hu t none. So 
 den he come an set by me an say he wuz my 
 counsel." 
 
 There was such a suggestion of contempt 
 in his tone that I inquired if he had not done 
 very well. 
 
 " Oh, yes, suh," he drawled, slowly, " he 
 done toler ble well considering. He do de 
 bes he kin, I reckon. He holler an mix me 
 up some right smart ; but dee wuz too strong 
 for him ; he warn no mo to em n wurrm is 
 to woodpecker. Major Torm Woods de com- 
 monwealph s attorney, is a powerful la yer; 
 he holler so you kin heah him three mile. 
 An ole Mis Twine wuz dyah, whar tell all 
 bout de ring, an how impident I wuz to her 
 dat day, an skeer her to death. An dat Jim 
 Sinkfiel , he wnz dvah, an tolt bout how I 
 
142 LASKl S TUNAMENT. 
 
 beat P laski, an how he heah him way out in 
 main road, hollerin murder. An dee had 
 de gre t bundle o hick ries dyah, whar dee 
 done fine in iny house, an dee had so much 
 evidence dat presney I mos begin to think 
 maybe I had done kilt P laski sho nough, an 
 had disermembered it. An I thought bout 
 Marth Ann an all de urr chil ern, an I 
 wondered ef dee wuz to hang me ef I wouldn 
 fine her ; an I got so I mos hoped dee would 
 sen me. An den de jury went out, an stay 
 some time, an come back an say I wuz guilty, 
 an sen me to de Pen tentiy for six years." 
 
 I had followed him so closely, and been so 
 satisfied of his innocence, that I was surprised 
 into an exclamation of astonishment, at which 
 he was evidently much pleased. 
 
 " What did your counsel do ? " I asked. 
 
 He put his head on one side. " He ? He 
 jes lean over an ax did I warn to repeal. I 
 tell him I didn t know. Den he ax me is 
 I got any money at all. I tell him, nor ; ef I 
 had I would a got me a la yer." 
 
 " What happened then? " I inquired, laugh 
 ing at his discomfiting reply. 
 
 "Well, den de jedge tole me to stan up, 
 an ax me has I got anything to say. Well, 
 
P LASEFS TUXAMENT. 143 
 
 I know dat my las chance, an I tell him, 
 4 Yes, suh. An he inform me to precede wid 
 de relation, an so I did. I preceded, an I 
 tolt em dyah in de cote-house ev y wud jes 
 like I have explanified it heah. I tolt em 
 all bout Marth Ann an de chillern I hed had ; 
 I reformed em all decernin de Maconses ; an 
 I notified em how P laski wuz dat urr ooman s 
 son, not Marth Ann s, an bout de tunament 
 an how I had demonstrated wid him not to 
 ride dyah, an how he had repudiated my ad 
 monition, an had crown de queen wid ole Mis 
 Twine weddin -ring, whar he come nigh git- 
 tin me shot fur ; an how I had presented him 
 de hick ry, an bout how he had departed de 
 premises while I wuz sleep, an had purloined 
 my garment, an how I wuz waitin for him, 
 an getherin de hick ry crap an all. An dee 
 wuz all laughin , cuz dee know I wuz relatin 
 de gospel truth, an jes den I heah some o de 
 niggers back behine call out, 4 Hi ! heah he 
 now ! an I look roun , an , ef you b lieve 
 me, suh, dyah wuz P laski, jes repeared, all 
 fixed up, wid he cane an seegar an all, jes 
 like I had drawed he resemblance. He had 
 done been to Wash n n, an had done come 
 back to see de hangin ." 
 
144 P LASKrS TUNAMENT. 
 
 The old fellow broke into such a laugh at 
 the reminiscence that I asked him, " Well, 
 what was the result ? " 
 
 " De result, suh, wuz, de jury teck back all 
 dee had say, an ax me to go down to de tav 
 ern an have much whiskey as I could stan 
 up to, an dee d pay for it ; an de jedge dis 
 tracted em to tu n me loose. P laski, he wuz 
 sort o bothered; he ain know wherr to be 
 tlisapp inted bout de hangin or pleased wid 
 bein set up so as de centre of distraction, tell 
 ole Mis Twine begin to talk bout restin of 
 him. Dat set him back ; but I ax em, b fo 
 dee rest him, couldn I have jurisdictionment 
 on him for a leetle while. Dee grant my be- 
 ques , cuz dee know I gwine to erward him 
 accordin to his becessities, an I jes nod 
 my head to him an went out. When we got 
 roun hine de jail, I invite him to perfect his 
 coat. He nex garment wuz my own shut, 
 an I tolt him to remove dat too ; dat I had 
 to get nigh to he backbone, an I couldn t 
 ford to weah out dat shut no mor n he had 
 done already weah it. Somebody had done 
 fetch de bunch o hick ries whar dee had done 
 fine in my house, an hit jes like Providence. 
 I lay em by me while I put him on de altar. I 
 
P LASKFS TUNAMENT. 145 
 
 jes made him wrop he arms roun a little locus - 
 tree, an I fasten lie wris es wid he own gal 
 lowses, cuz I dicln warn was e dem hick ries; 
 an all de time I bindiii him I tellin him 
 bout he sins. Den, when I had him ready, I 
 begin, an I rehearse de motter wid him f om 
 de time he had ax me bout de tunament spang 
 tell he como to see me hang, an wid ev y wud 
 I gin him de admonishment, tell when I gotthoo 
 wid him he wouldn a tetch a ring ef he had 
 been in em up to he neck ; an as to shuts, he 
 would a gone naked in frost b fo he d a put 
 one on. He back gin out b fo my hick ries 
 did; but I didn wholly lors em. I receive 
 de valyationo dem too, cuz when I let up on 
 P laski, fust man I see wuz clat Jim Sinkfiel , 
 whar had warn me hanged cuz he didn t warn 
 pay me two dollars an seventy-three cents. 
 He wuz stan din dyah lookin on, joy in hiself. 
 I jes walk up to him an I tolt him dat he could 
 pay it right den, or recommodate me to teck 
 de res o de hick ries. He try to blunder out 
 o it, but all de folks know bout it an dee 
 wuz wid me, an b fo he knowed it some on 
 em had he coat off, an had stretch him 
 roun de tree, an tolt me to perceed. An 
 I perceeded. 
 
146 P LASKI S TUNAMENT. 
 
 " I hadn t quite wo out one hick ry when 
 he holler dat he d bony cle money an pay it ; 
 but I tolt him, nor ; hiek ries had riz ; dat I 
 had three mo , an I warn show him a man can 
 meek a boy holler 4 murder an yit not kill 
 him. An dat I did, too : b fo I wuz done he 
 hollered murder jes natchel as P laski." 
 
 The old fellow s countenance beamed with 
 satisfaction at the recollection of his revenge. 
 I rewarded his narrative with a donation 
 which he evidently considered liberal ; for he 
 not only was profuse in his thanks, but he as 
 sured me that the county of Hanover had pro 
 duced four people of whom he was duly proud 
 -Henry Clay, Doctor Macon, myself, and 
 himself. 
 
"RUN TO SEED; 
 
 JIM S father died at Gettysburg; up against 
 the Stone Fence ; went to heaven in a char 
 iot of fire on that fateful day when the issue 
 between the two parts of the country was 
 decided : when the slaughter on the Confed 
 erate side was such that after the battle a 
 lieutenant was in charge of a regiment, and 
 a major commanded a brigade. 
 
 This fact was much to Jim, though no one 
 knew it : it tempered his mind : ruled his 
 life. He never remembered the time when 
 he did not know the story his mother, in her 
 worn black dress and with her pale face, used 
 to tell him of the bullet-dented sword and 
 faded red sash which hung on the chamber wall. 
 
 They were the poorest people in the neigh 
 borhood. Everybody was poor ; for the county 
 lay in the track of the armies, and the war 
 had swept the country as clean as a floor. 
 But the Uptons were the poorest even in 
 that community. Others recuperated, pulled 
 
 147 
 
148 
 
 RUN TO SEED: 
 
 themselves together, and began after a time 
 to get up. The Uptons got flatter than they 
 were before. The fences (the few that were 
 left) rotted ; the fields grew up in sassafras 
 and pines ; the barns blew down ; the houses 
 decayed ; the ditches filled ; the chills came. 
 "They re the shiftlesses people in the 
 worl ," said Mrs. Wagoner with a shade of 
 asperity in her voice (or was it satisfaction?). 
 Mrs. Wagoner s husband had been in a bomb 
 proof during the war, when Jim Upton (Jim s 
 father) was with his company. He had man 
 aged to keep his teams from the quarter 
 masters, and had turned up after the war the 
 richest. man in the neighborhood. He lived 
 on old Colonel Duval s place, which he had 
 bought for Confederate money. 
 
 "They re the shiftlesses people in the 
 worl ," said Mrs. Wagoner. "Mrs. Upton 
 ain t got any spirit: she jus sets still and 
 cries her eyes out." 
 
 This was true, every word of it. And so 
 was something else that Mrs. Wagoner said 
 in a tone of reprobation, about "people who 
 made their beds having to lay on them " ; 
 this process of incubation being too well 
 known to require further discussion. 
 
"RUN TO SEED." 149 
 
 But what could Mrs. Upton do ? She could 
 not change the course of Destiny. One 
 especially if she is a widow with bad eyes, and 
 in feeble health, living on the poorest place 
 in the State cannot stop the stars in their 
 courses. She could not blot out the past, nor 
 undo what she had done. She would not if 
 she could. She could not undo what she had 
 done when she ran away with Jim and mar 
 ried him. She would not if she could. At 
 least, the memory of those three years was 
 hers, and nothing could take it from her 
 not debts, nor courts, nor anything. She 
 knew he was wild when she married him. 
 Certainly Mrs. Wagoner had been careful 
 enough to tell her so, and to tell every one 
 else so too. She would never forget the 
 things she had said. Mrs. Wagoner never 
 forgot the things the young girl said either 
 though it was more the way she had looked 
 than what she had said. And when Mrs. 
 Wagoner descanted on the poverty of the 
 Uptons she used to end with the declaration : 
 " Well, it ain t any fault of mine : she can t 
 blame me, for Heaven knows I warned her : 
 I did my duty ! " Which was true. Warn 
 ing others was a duty Mrs. Wagoner sel- 
 
150 "EUN TO SEED." 
 
 dom omitted. Mrs. Upton never thought of 
 blaming her, or any one else. Not all her 
 poverty ever drew one complaint from her sad 
 lips. She simply sat down under it, that was 
 all. She did not expect anything else. She 
 had given her Jim to the South as gladly as 
 any woman ever gave her heart to her love. 
 She would not undo it if she could not even 
 to have him back, and God knew how much 
 she wanted him. Was not his death glorious 
 his name a heritage for his son ? She could 
 not undo the debts which encumbered the 
 land ; nor the interest which swallowed it 
 up ; nor the suit which took it from her 
 that is, all but the old house and the two poor 
 worn old fields which were her dower. She 
 would have given up those too if it had not 
 been for her children, Jim and Kitty, and for 
 the little old enclosure on the hill under the 
 big thorn-trees where they had laid him when 
 they brought him back in the broken pine 
 box from Gettysburg. No, she could not 
 undo the past, nor alter the present, nor 
 change the future. So what could slu 
 do? 
 
 In her heart Mrs. Wagoner was glad of the 
 poverty of the Uptons ; not merely glad in 
 
"RUN TO SEED." 151 
 
 the general negative way which warms the 
 bosoms of most of us as we consider IIOAV 
 much better off we are than our neighbors 
 the " Lord-I-thank-thee-that-I-am-not-as-other- 
 men-are " way; but Mrs. Wagoner was glad 
 positively. She was glad that any of the 
 Uptons and the Duvals were poor. One of 
 her grandfathers had been what Mrs. Wagoner 
 (when she mentioned the matter at all) called 
 " Manager " for one of the Duvals. She was 
 aware that most people did not accept that 
 term. She remembered old Colonel Duval 
 the old Colonel tall, thin, white, grave. 
 She had been dreadfully afraid of him. She 
 had had a feeling of satisfaction at his funeral. 
 It was like the feeling she had when she 
 learned that Colonel Duval had not forgiven 
 Betty nor left her a cent. 
 
 Mrs. Wagoner used to go to see Mrs. Upton 
 she went frequently. It was " her duty " 
 she said. She carried her things especially 
 advice. There are people whose visits are 
 like spells of illness. It took Mrs. Upton 
 a fortnight to get over one of these visits 
 to convalesce. Mrs. Wagoner was " a mother 
 to her " : at least, Mrs. Wagoner herself said 
 so. In some respects it was rather akin to 
 
152 "RUN TO 
 
 the substance of that name which forms in 
 vinegar. It was hard to swallow : it galled. 
 Even Mrs. Upton s gentleness was overtaxed 
 - and rebelled. She had stood all the homi 
 liesall the advice. But when Mrs. Wag 
 oner, with her lips drawn in, after wringing 
 her heart, recalled to her the warning she 
 had given her before she married, she stopped 
 standing it. She did not say much ; but it 
 was enough to make Mrs. Wagoner s stiff 
 bonnet-bows tremble. Mrs. Wagoner walked 
 out feeling chills down her spine, as if 
 Colonel Duval were at her heels. She had 
 "meant to talk about sending Jim to school" : 
 at least she said so. She condoled with every 
 one in the neighborhood on the " wretched 
 ignorance " in which Jim was growing up, 
 " working like a common negro." She called 
 him " that ugly boy." 
 
 Jim was ugly Mrs. Wagoner said, very 
 ugly. He was slim, red-headed, freckle-faced, 
 weak-eyed; he stooped and he stammered. 
 Yet there was something about him, with his 
 thin features, which made one look twice. 
 Mrs. Wagoner used to say she did not know 
 where that boy got all his ugliness from, for 
 she must admit his father was rather good- 
 
" K UN TO SEED." 153 
 
 looking before he became so bloated, and 
 Betty Duval would have been " passable " if 
 she had had any "vivacity." There were 
 people who said Betty Duval had been a 
 beauty. She was careful in her limitations, 
 Mrs. Wagoner was. Some women will not 
 admit others are pretty, no matter what the 
 difference in their ages : they feel as if they 
 were making admissions against themselves. 
 
 Once when Jim was a boy Mrs. Wagoner 
 had the good taste to refer in his presence 
 to his "homeliness," a term with which she 
 sugar-coated her insult. Jim grinned and 
 shuffled his feet, and then said, u Kitty s 
 pretty." It was true : Kitty was pretty : she 
 had eyes and hair. You could not look at 
 her without seeing them big brown eyes, 
 and brown tumbled hair. Kitty was fifteen 
 two years younger than Jim in 187-. 
 
 Jim never went to school. They were too 
 poor. All he knew his mother taught him 
 and he got out of the few old books in the 
 book-case left by the war, odd volumes of 
 the Waverley novels, and the Spectator, " Don 
 Quixote," and a few others, stained and bat 
 tered. He could not have gone to school if 
 there had been a school to go to : he had to 
 
154 "RUN TO 
 
 work : work, as Mrs. Wagoner had truthfully 
 said, "like a common nigger." He did not 
 mind it; a bird born in a cage cannot mind it 
 much. The pitiful part is, it does not know 
 anything else. Jim did not know anything 
 else. He did not mind anything much ex 
 cept chills. He even got used to them ; would 
 just lie down and shake for an hour and 
 then go to ploughing again as soon as the 
 ague was over, with the fever on him. He 
 had to plough ; for corn was necessary. He 
 had this compensation: he was worshipped 
 by two people his mother and Kitty. If 
 other people thought him ugly, they thought 
 him beautiful. If others thought him dull, 
 they thought him wonderfully clever ; if 
 others thought him ignorant, they knew how 
 wise he was. 
 
 Mrs. Upton s eyes were bad ; but she saw 
 enough to see Jim : the light came into the 
 house with him; Kitty sat and gazed at him 
 with speechless admiration ; hung on his 
 words, which were few ; watched for his 
 smile, which was rare. He repaid it to her by 
 being Ji m . He slaved for her; waited for 
 her (when a boy waits for his little sister it 
 is something) ; played with her when he had 
 
"RUN TO SEED." 155 
 
 time (this also was something) ; made traps 
 for her ; caught her young squirrels, was at 
 once her slave and her idol. As he grew up 
 he did not have time to play. He had to 
 plough: "just like a common nigger," Mrs. 
 Wagoner said with an unclouded face. In 
 this she spoke the truth. 
 
 It is a curious thing that farming paid bet 
 ter shortly after the war than it did later. 
 Lands fell. Times grew harder. They were 
 always growing harder with Jim. The land 
 was worked out. Guano was necessary to 
 make anything grow. Guano was bought on 
 credit. The crops would not pay. Several 
 summers there was drouth ; crops failed. 
 One of the two old mules that he had died ; 
 Jim ploughed with one. Then he broke his 
 leg. When he got about again he was lame : 
 the leg had shortened. 
 
 " They re the shiftlesses folks in the worl ," 
 said Mrs. Wagoner; "they can t blame me. 
 
 Heaven knows I told " etc. Which was 
 
 true more than true. 
 
 Jim ploughed on, only slower than ever, 
 thinner than ever, sleepier than ever. 
 
 One day something happened which waked 
 him up. It was a Sunday. They went to 
 
156 "BUN TO SEED." 
 
 church; they always went to church old St. 
 Ann s whenever there was service. There 
 was service there since the war only every 
 first and third Sunday and every other fifth 
 Sunday. The Uptons and the Duvals had 
 been vestrymen from the time they had 
 brought the bricks over from England, gen 
 erations ago. They had sat, one family iri 
 one of the front semicircular pews on one 
 side the chancel, the other family in the 
 other. Mrs. Upton, after the war, had her 
 choice of the pews ; for all had gone but her 
 self, Jim, and Kitty. She had changed, the 
 Sunday after her marriage, to the Upton side, 
 and she clung loyally to it ever after. Mrs. 
 Wagoner had taken the other pew a cold, 
 she explained at first, had made her deaf. 
 She always spoke of it afterward as " our 
 pew." (The Billings, from which Mrs. 
 Wagoner came, had not been Episcopalians 
 until Mrs. Wagoner married.) Carry Wag 
 oner, who was a year older than Kitty, used 
 to sit by her mother, with her big hat and 
 brown hair. Jim, in right of his sex, sat 
 in the end of his pew. 
 
 On this Sunday in question Jim drove his 
 mother and Kitty to church in the horse cart. 
 
11 RUN TO SEED." 157 
 
 The old carriage was a wreck, slowly drop 
 ping to pieces. The chickens roosted in it. 
 The cart was the only vehicle remaining 
 which had two sound wheels, and even one 
 of these " wabbled " a good deal, and the 
 cart was " shackling." But straw placed 
 in the bottom made it fairly comfortable. 
 Jim always had clean straw in it for his 
 mother and sister. His mother and Kitty re 
 marked on it. Kitty looked so well. They 
 reached church. The day was warm, Mr. 
 Bickersteth was dry. Jim went to sleep dur 
 ing the sermon. He frequently did this. He 
 had been up since four. When service was 
 over he partially waked about half-waked. 
 He was standing in the aisle moving toward 
 the door with the rest of the congregation. A 
 voice behind him caught his ear : 
 
 " What a lovely girl Kitty Upton is." It 
 was Mrs. Harrison, who lived at the other end 
 of the parish. Jim knew the voice. Another 
 voice replied : 
 
 " If she only were not always so shabby ! " 
 Jim knew this voice also. It was Mrs. Wag 
 oner s. Jim waked. 
 
 " Yes, but even her old darned dress can 
 not hide her. She reminds me of " Jim 
 
158 "#ra TO 
 
 did not know what it was to which Mrs. Har 
 rison likened her. But he knew it was some 
 thing beautiful. 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Wagoner ; then added, 
 "Poor thing, she s got no education, and 
 never will have. To think that old Colonel 
 Duval s fam bly s come to this! Well, they 
 can t blame me. They re clean run to seed." 
 
 Jim got out into the air. He felt sick. 
 He had been hit vitally. This was what 
 people thought ! and it was true. They 
 were " clean run to seed." He went to 
 get his cart. (He did not speak to Kitty.) 
 His home came before his eyes like a photo 
 graph : fences down, gates gone, houses ruin 
 ous, fields barren. It came to him as if 
 stamped on the retina by a lightning-flash. 
 He had worked worked hard. But it was 
 no use. It was true : they were " clean run 
 to seed." He helped his mother and Kitty 
 into the cart silently doggedly. Kitty 
 smiled at him. It hurt him like a blow. He 
 saw every Avorn place, every darn in her old 
 dress, and little, faded jacket. Mrs. Wag 
 oner drove past them in her carriage, leaning 
 out of the window and calling that she took 
 the liberty of passing as she drove faster than 
 
TO SEED." 159 
 
 they. Jim gave his old mule a jerk which 
 made him throw up his head and wince with 
 pain. He was sorry for it. But he had been 
 jerked up short himself. He was quivering 
 too. 
 
 II. 
 
 ON the following Friday the President of 
 one of the great railway lines which cross 
 Virginia was in his office when the door 
 opened after a gentle knock and some one 
 entered. (The offices of presidents of rail 
 roads had not then become the secret and 
 mysterious sanctums which they have since 
 become.) The President was busily engaged 
 with two or three of the Directors, wealthy 
 capitalists from the North, who had come 
 down on important business. He was very 
 much engrossed ; and he did not look up im 
 mediately. When he did so he saw standing 
 inside the door a queer figure, long, slim, 
 angular, a man who looked like a boy, or 
 a boy who looked like a man red-headed, 
 freckled-faced, bashful, in a coat too tight 
 even for his thin figure, breeches too short for 
 his long legs ; his hat was old and brown ; his 
 shirt was clean. 
 
1GO "RUN TO SEED." 
 
 "Well, what do you want?" The Presi 
 dent was busy. 
 
 It was Jim. His face twitched several 
 times before any sound came : 
 
 " I- w- w- w want t- 1- t- to ge- get 
 a place." 
 
 " This is not the place to get it. I have 
 no place for you." 
 
 The President turned back to his friends. 
 At the end of ten minutes, seeing one of his 
 visitors look toward the door, he stopped in 
 the middle of a sentence and glanced around. 
 
 The figure was still there motionless. 
 The President thought he had been out and 
 come back. He had not. 
 
 " Well ? " His key was high. 
 
 " I- I- w- w- want to- to get a 
 
 place." 
 
 " I told you I had no place for you. Go 
 to the Superintendent." 
 
 " - - I- I ve b- b- b- been to him." 
 
 "Well, what did he say?" 
 
 " S- s- s- says he ain t got any place." 
 
 " Well, I haven t any. Go to Mr. Blake." 
 
 " Iv e b- been to him" 
 
 " Well, go to to The President was 
 looking for a paper. It occupied his mind. 
 
11 BUN TO SEED." 101 
 
 He did not think any further of Jim. But 
 Jim was there. 
 
 Go- go where ? " 
 
 "Oh, I don t know go anywhere go 
 out of here." 
 
 Jim s face worked. He turned and went 
 slowly out. As he reached the door he said : 
 
 u G O _ g _ good-evening g- gentlemen." 
 
 The President s heart relented : " Go to 
 the Superintendent," he called. 
 
 Next day he was engaged with his Direc 
 tors when the door opened and the same 
 apparition stepped within tall, slim, red- 
 haired, with his little tight coat, short trousers, 
 and clean shirt. 
 
 The President frowned. 
 
 "Well, what is it?" 
 
 I- I- I w- w- w- went to- to the 
 
 S- S- Superintendent." 
 
 "Well, what about it?" 
 " Y- y- you told me to- to go- go to him. 
 II - e- e ain t got any place." The Directors 
 smiled. One of them leaned back in his chair, 
 took out a cigar and prepared to cut the end. 
 " Well, I can t help it. I haven t anything 
 for you. I told you that yesterday. You 
 must not come here bothering me; get out." 
 
1 " RUX TO SEED." 
 
 Jim stood perfectly still perfectly mo 
 tionless. He looked as if he had been there 
 always would be there always. The Di 
 rector with the cigar, having cut it, took 
 out a gold match-box, and opened it slowly, 
 looking at Jim with an amused smile. The 
 President frowned and opened his mouth to 
 order him out. He changed his mind. 
 " What is your name ? " 
 " J- J- James Upton." 
 "Where from?" 
 Jim told him. 
 " Whose son are you ? " 
 " C- C- C- Captain J- J- James Upton s." 
 " What ! You don t look much like him ! " 
 Jim shuffled one foot. One corner of his 
 mouth twitched up curiously. It might have 
 been a smile. He looked straight at the blank 
 wall before him. 
 
 " You are not much like your mother either 
 I used to know her as a girl. How s 
 that?" 
 
 Jim shuffled the other foot a little. 
 " R- r- run to seed, I reckon." 
 The President was a farmer prided him 
 self on it. The reply pleased him. He 
 touched a bell. A clerk entered. 
 
"RUN TO SEED." 163 
 
 44 Ask Mr. Wake to come here." 
 " Can you cany a barrel of flour?" he 
 asked Jim. 
 
 " 1- I ll get it there," said Jim. He leaned 
 a little forward. His eyes opened. 
 
 " Or a sack of salt ? They are right heavy." 
 I- I- I ll get it there," said Jim. His 
 form straightened. 
 Mr. Wake appeared. 
 
 " Write Mr. Day to give this man a place 
 as brakeman." 
 
 " Yes, sir. Come this way." This to Jim. 
 Jim electrified them all by suddenly burst 
 ing out crying. 
 
 The tension had given way. He walked 
 up to the wall and leaned his head against 
 it with his face on his arm, shaking from head 
 to foot, sobbing aloud. 
 
 " Thank you, I I m ever so much obliged 
 to you," he sobbed. 
 
 The President rose and walked rapidly 
 about the room. 
 
 Suddenly Jim turned and, with his arm 
 over his eyes, held out his hand to the 
 President. 
 
 " Good-by." Then he went out. 
 There was a curious smile on the faces of 
 the Directors as the door closed. 
 
164 
 
 BUN TO SEED: 
 
 " Well, I never saw anything like that be 
 fore," said one of them. The President said 
 nothing. 
 
 "Run to seed," quoted the oldest of the 
 Directors, " rather good expression ! " 
 
 "Damned good seed, gentlemen," said the 
 President, a little shortly. " Duval and Upton. 
 - That fellow s father was in my command. 
 Died at Gettysburg. He d fight hell." 
 
 Jim got a place brakeman on a freight- 
 train. 
 
 That night Jim wrote a letter home. You d 
 have thought he had been elected President. 
 
 It was a hard life : harder than most. The 
 work was hard ; the fare was hard ; the life 
 was hard. Standing on top of rattling cars 
 as they rushed along in the night around 
 curves, over bridges, through tunnels, with 
 the rain and snow pelting in your face, and 
 the tops as slippery as ice. There was excite 
 ment about it, too : a sense of risk and dan 
 ger. Jim did not mind it much. He thought 
 of his mother and Kitty. 
 
 There was a freemasonry among the men. 
 All knew each other; hated or liked each 
 other ; nothing negative about it. 
 
 It was a bad road. Worse than the aver- 
 
"RUN TO SEED." 165 
 
 age. Twice the amount of traffic was done 
 on the single track that should have been 
 done. Result was men were ground up 
 more than on most roads. More men were 
 killed in proportion to the number employed 
 than were killed in service during the war. 
 The esprit de corps was strong. Men stood 
 by their trains and by each other. When a 
 man left his engine in sight of trouble, the 
 authorities might not know about it, but the 
 men did. Unless there was cause he had to 
 leave. Sam Wray left his engine in sight of 
 a broken bridge after he reversed. The en 
 gine stopped on the track. The officers never 
 knew of it ; but Wray and his fireman both 
 changed to another road. When a man even 
 got shaky and began to run easy, the super 
 intendent might not mind it ; but the men 
 did : he had to go. A man had to have not 
 only courage but nerve. 
 
 Jim was not especially popular among men. 
 He was reserved, slow, awkward. He was 
 "pious" (that is, did not swear). He 
 was "stuck up " (did not tell "funny things," 
 by which was meant vulgar stories ; nor laugh 
 at them either). And according to Dick Rail, 
 he was "stingy as h 1." 
 
166 " RUM TO SEED." 
 
 These things were not calculated to make 
 him popular, and he was not. He was a sort 
 of butt for the free and easy men who lived 
 in their cabs and cabooses, obeyed their " or 
 ders," and owned nothing but their overalls 
 and their shiny Sunday clothes. He was 
 good-tempered, though. Took all their gibes 
 and " dev ling " quietly, and for the most part 
 silently. So, few actually disliked him. Dick 
 Rail, the engineer of his crew, was one of 
 those few. Dick " dee-spised " him. Dick was 
 big, brawny, coarse : coarse in looks, coarse 
 in talk, coarse every way, and when he had 
 liquor in him he was mean. Jim " bothered " 
 him, he said. He made Jim s life a burden 
 to him. He laid himself out to do it. It 
 became his occupation. He thought about it 
 when Jim was not present ; laid plans for it. 
 There was something about Jim that was dif 
 ferent from most others. When Jim did not 
 laugh at a " hard story," but just sat still, 
 some men would stop ; Dick always told an 
 other harder yet, and called attention to Jim s 
 looks. His stock was inexhaustible. His 
 mind was like a spring which ran muddy 
 water; its flow was perpetual. The men 
 thought Jim did not mind. He lost three 
 
JV TO SEED." 167 
 
 pounds ; which for a man who was six feet 
 (and would have been six feet two if he had 
 been straight) and who weighed 122, was 
 considerable. 
 
 It is astonishing how one man can ere me 
 
 a public sentiment. One woman can ruin ^ 
 
 reputation as effectually as a churchf ul. One 
 
 bullet can kill a man as dead as a bushel, if 
 
 it hits him right. So Dick Rail injured Jim. 
 
 For Dick was an authority. He swore the 
 
 biggest oaths, wore the largest watch-chain, 
 
 knew his engine better and sat it steadier 
 
 than any man on the road. He had had a 
 
 passenger train again and again, but he was 
 
 too fond of whiskey. It was too risky. Dick 
 
 affected Jim s standing: told stories about 
 
 him : made his life a burden to him. " He 
 
 shan t stay on the road," he used to say. 
 
 "He s stingier n- -! Carries his victuals 
 
 about with him I b lieve he sleeps with one 
 
 o them I-talians in a goods box." This was 
 
 true at least, about carrying his food with 
 
 him. (The rest was Dick s humor.) Mess 
 
 ing cost too much. The first two months 
 
 pay went to settle an old guano-bill ; but the 
 
 third month s pay was Jim s. The day he 
 
 drew that he fattened a good deal. At least, 
 
168 "HUN TO SEED." 
 
 he looked so. It was eighty-two dollars (for 
 Jim ran extra runs ; made double time when 
 ever he could). Jim had never had so much 
 money in his life ; had hardly ever seen it. 
 He walked about the streets that night till 
 nearly midnight, feeling the wad of notes in 
 his breast-pocket. Next day a box went down 
 the country, and a letter with it, and that 
 night Jim could not have bought a chew of 
 tobacco. The next, letter he got from home 
 was heavy. Jim smiled over it a good deal, 
 and cried a little too. He wondered how 
 Kitty looked in her new dress, and if the 
 barrel of flour made good bread; and if his 
 mother s shaAvl was warm. 
 
 One day he was changed to the passenger 
 service, the express. It was a promotion, 
 paid more, and relieved him from Dick Rail. 
 
 He had some queer experiences being or 
 dered around, but he swallowed them all. 
 He had not been there three weeks when 
 Mrs. Wagoner was a passenger on the train. 
 Carry was with her. They had moved to 
 town. (Mr. Wagoner was interested in rail 
 road development.) Mrs. Wagoner called 
 him to her seat, and talked to him in a 
 loud voice. Mrs. Wagoner had a loud voice. 
 
" It UN TO SEED." 169 
 
 It had the " carrying " quality. She did not 
 shake hands ; Carry did and said she was so 
 glad to see him: she had been down home 
 the week before had seen his mother and 
 Kitty. Mrs. Wagoner said, "We still keep 
 our plantation as a country place." Carry 
 said Kitty looked so well; her new dress 
 was lovely. Mrs. Wagoner said his mother s 
 eyes were worse. She and Kitty had walked 
 over to see them, to show Kitty s new dress. 
 She had promised that Mr. Wagoner would 
 do what he could for him (Jim) on the road. 
 Next month Jim went back to the freight 
 service. He preferred Dick Rail to Mrs. 
 Wagoner. He got him. Dick was Avorse 
 than ever, his appetite was whetted by ab 
 stinence ; he returned to his attack with re 
 newed zest. He never tired never flagged. 
 He was perpetual : he was remorseless. He 
 made Jim s life a wilderness. Jim said noth 
 ing, just slouched along silenter than ever, 
 quieter than ever, closer than ever. He 
 took to going on Sunday to another church 
 than the one he had attended, a more fash 
 ionable one than that. The Wagoners went 
 there. Jim sat far back in the gallery, very 
 f.ir back, where he could just see the top of 
 
170 "RUN TO SEED." 
 
 Carry s head, her big hat and her face, and 
 could not see Mrs. Wagoner, who sat nearer 
 the gallery. It had a curious effect on him : 
 he never went to sleep there. He took to go 
 ing up-town walking by the stores looking 
 in at the windows of tailors and clothiers. 
 Once he actually went into a shop and asked 
 the price of a new suit of clothes. ( He 
 needed them badly.) The tailor unfolded 
 many rolls of cloth and talked volubly: 
 talked him dizzy. Jim looked wistfully at 
 them, rubbed his hand over them softly, felt 
 the money in his pocket ; and came out. He 
 said he thought he might come in again. 
 Next day he did not have the money. Kitty 
 wrote him she could not leave home to go to 
 school on their mother s account, but she 
 would buy books, and she was learning ; she 
 would learn fast, her mother was teaching 
 her ; and he was the best brother in the world, 
 the whole world ; and they had a secret, but 
 he must wait. 
 
 One day Jim got a big bundle from down 
 the country. It was a new suit of clothes. 
 On top was a letter from Kitty. This was 
 the secret. She and her mother had sent 
 for the cloth and had made them ; they 
 
TO SEED: 171 
 
 hoped they would fit. They had cried over 
 them. Jim cried a little too. He put them 
 on. They did not fit, were much too large. 
 Under Dick Rail s fire Jim had grown even 
 thinner than before. But he wore them 
 to church. He felt that it would have been 
 untrue to his mother and Kitty not to wear 
 them. He was sorry to meet Dick Rail on 
 the street. Dick had on a black broadcloth 
 coat, a velvet vest, and large-checked trou 
 sers. Dick looked Jim over. Jim winced, 
 flushed a little : he was not so sunburned now. 
 Dick saw it. Next week Dick caught Jim 
 in a crowd in the "yard" waiting for their 
 train. He told about the meeting. He made a 
 double shot. He said, " Boys, Jim s in love, 
 he s got new clothes ! you ought to see em ! " 
 Dick was graphic ; he wound up : " They 
 hung on him like breechin on his old mule. 
 By - ! I b lieve he was too - stingy 
 to buy em and made em himself." There 
 was a shout from the crowd. Jim s face 
 worked. He jumped for him. There was a 
 handspike lying near and he seized it. Some 
 one grabbed him, but he shook him off as if 
 he had been a child. Why he did not kill 
 Dick no one ever knew. He meant to do it. 
 
172 "RUN TO SEED." 
 
 For some time they thought he was dead. 
 He laid off for over a month. After that 
 Jim wore what clothes he chose : no one 
 ever troubled him. 
 
 So he went on in the same way : slow, sleepy, 
 stuttering, thin, stingy, ill-dressed, lame. 
 
 He was made a fireman ; preferred it to be 
 ing a conductor, it led to being an engineer, 
 which paid more. He ran extra trips when 
 ever he could, up and double straight back. 
 He could stand an immense amount of work. 
 If he got sleepy he put tobacco in his eyes to 
 keep them open. It was bad for the eyes, 
 but waked him up. Kitty was going to take 
 music next year, and that cost money. lie 
 had not been home for several months, but 
 was going at Christmas. 
 
 They did not have any sight tests then. 
 But the new Directory meant to be thorough. 
 Mr. Wagoner had become a Director, had his 
 eye on the presidency. Jim Avas one day sent 
 for, and was asked about his eyes. They were 
 bad. There was not a doubt about it. They 
 were inflamed; he could not see a hundred 
 yards. He did not tell them about the extra 
 trips and putting the tobacco in them. Dick 
 Rail must have told about him. They said lie 
 
" KUN TO SEED." 173 
 
 must go. Jim turned white. He went to his 
 little room, close up under the roof of a little 
 dingy house in a back street, and sat down in 
 the dark ; thought about his mother and 
 Kitty, and dimly about some one else ; wrote 
 his mother and Kitty a letter; said he was 
 coming home called it " a visit " ; cried 
 over the letter, but was careful not to cry on 
 it. He was a real cry-baby Jim was. 
 
 "Just run to seed," he said to himself, 
 bitterly, over and over; "just run to seed." 
 Then he went to sleep. 
 
 The following day he went down to the 
 railroad. That was the last day. Next day 
 he would be "off." The train-master saw 
 him and called him. A special was just go 
 ing out. The Directors were going over the 
 road in the officers car. Dick Rail was the 
 engineer, and his fireman had been taken 
 sick. Jim must take the place. Jim had a 
 mind not to do it. He hated Dick. He 
 thought of how he had pursued him. But 
 he heard a voice behind him and turned. 
 Carry was standing down the platform, talk 
 ing with some elderly gentlemen. She had 
 on a travelling cap and ulster. She saw him 
 and came forward a step : 
 
174 "RUN TO SEED." 
 
 " How do you do ? " she held out her little 
 gloved hand. She was going out over the 
 road with her father. Jim took off his hat 
 and shook hands with her. Dick Rail saw 
 him, walked round the other side of the en 
 gine, and tried to take off his hat like that. 
 It was not a success ; Dick knew it. 
 
 Jim went. 
 
 "Who was that?" one of the elderly gen 
 tlemen asked Carry. 
 
 " An old friend of mine a gentleman," 
 she said. 
 
 "Rather run to seed hey?" the old fel 
 low quoted, without knowing exactly why; 
 for he only half recognized Jim, if he recog 
 nized him at all. 
 
 They started. 
 
 It was a bad trip. The weather was bad, 
 the road was bad, the engine bad ; Dick bad ; 
 worse than all. Jim had a bad time : he 
 was to be off when he got home. What 
 would his mother and Kitty do? 
 
 Once Carry came (brought by the Presi 
 dent) and rode in the engine for a little 
 while. Jim helped her up and spread his 
 coat for her to sit on, put his overcoat under 
 her feet ; his heart was in it. Dick was sul- 
 
"HUN TO SEED." 175 
 
 len, and Jim had to show her about the en 
 gine. When she got down to go back to the 
 car she thanked him she "had enjoyed it 
 greatly" she "would like to try it again." 
 film smiled. He was almost good-looking 
 when he smiled. 
 
 Dick was meaner than ever after that, 
 sneered at Jim swore ; but Jim didn t mind 
 it. He was thinking of some one else, and of 
 the rain which would prevent her coming 
 again. 
 
 They were on the return trip, and were 
 half-way home when the accident happened. 
 It was just " good dusk," and it had been rain 
 ing all night and all day, and the road was as 
 rotten as mud. The special was behind and 
 was making up. She had the right of way, 
 and she was flying. She rounded a curve 
 just above a small " fill," under which was a 
 little stream, nothing but a mere "branch." 
 In good weather it would never be noticed. 
 The gay party behind were at dinner. The first 
 thing they knew was the sudden jerk which 
 came from reversing the engine at full speed, 
 and the grind as the wheels slid along under 
 the brakes. Then they stopped with a bump 
 which jerked them out of their seats, set the 
 
176 "UCTJV TO SEED." 
 
 lamps to swinging, and sent the things on the 
 table crashing on the floor. No one was hurt, 
 only shaken, and they crowded out of the car 
 to learn the cause. They found it. The en 
 gine was half buried in wet earth on the other 
 side of the little washout, with the tender 
 jammed up into the cab. The whole was 
 wrapped in a dense cloud of escaping steam. 
 The roar was terrific. The big engineer, 
 bare-headed and covered with mud, and with 
 his face deadly white, was trying to get 
 down to the engine. Some one was in 
 there. 
 
 They got him out after a while (but it took 
 some time), and laid him on the ground, while 
 a mattress was got. It was Jim. 
 
 Carry had been weeping and praying. She 
 sat down and took his head in her lap, and 
 with her lace handkerchief wiped his black 
 ened and bleeding face, and smoothed his 
 wet hair. 
 
 The newspaper accounts, which are always 
 reflections of what public sentiment is, or 
 should be, spoke of it some, as " a providen 
 tial " others, as " a miraculous " and yet 
 others as "a fortunate" escape on the part 
 
" E UN TO SEED." 177 
 
 of the President and the Direc f ors of the road, 
 according to the tendencies, religious or other 
 wise, of their paragraphists. 
 
 They mentioned casually that "only one 
 person was hurt an employee, name not as 
 certained." And one or two had some gush 
 about the devotion of the beautiful young 
 lady, the daughter of one of the directors of 
 the road, who happened to be on the train, 
 and who, " like a ministering angel, held the 
 head of the wounded man in her lap after he 
 was taken from the wreck." A good deal 
 was made of this picture, which was exten 
 sively copied. 
 
 Dick Rail s account, after he had come back 
 from carrying the broken body down to the 
 old Upton place in the country, and helping 
 to lay it away in the old enclosure under the 
 big trees on the hill, was this : 
 
 u By \ he said, when he stood in the 
 
 yard, with a solemn-faced group around him, 
 " we were late, and I was just shaking em 
 up. I had been meaner n hell to Jim all the 
 trip (I didn t know him, and you all didn t 
 neither), and I was work in him for all he was 
 worth: I didn t give him a minute. The 
 sweat was rolling off him, and I was damnin 
 
178 "HUN TO SEED." 
 
 him with every shovelful. We was runnin 
 under orders to make up, and we was just 
 rounding the curve this side of Ridge Hill, 
 when Jim hollered. He saw it as he raised 
 up with the shovel in his hand to wipe the 
 sweat off his face, and he hollered to me, My 
 God ! Look, Dick ! Jump ! 
 
 " I looked and Hell was right there. He 
 caught the lever and reversed, and put on 
 the air and sand before I saw it, and then 
 grabbed me, and flung me clean out of the 
 cab: Jump! he says, as he give me a swing. 
 I jumped, expectin of course he was comin 
 too ; and as I lit, I saw him turn and catch 
 the lever. The old engine was jumpin nigh 
 off the track. But she was too near. In she 
 went, and the tender right on her. You may 
 
 talk about his eyes bein bad; but by ! 
 
 when he gave me that swing, they looked to 
 me like coals of fire. When we got him out 
 twarn t Jim ! He warn t nothin but mud 
 and ashes. He warn t quite dead; opened 
 his eyes, and breathed onct or twict; but I 
 don t think he knew anything, he was so 
 mashed up. We laid him out on the grass, 
 and that young lady took his head in her lap 
 and cried over him (she had come and seed 
 
" 1WN TO SEED." 179 
 
 him in the engine), and said she knew his 
 mother and sister down in the country (she 
 used to live down there) ; they was gentle 
 folks ; that Jim was all they had. And when 
 one of them old director-fellows who had been 
 swilling himself behind there come aroun , 
 with his kid gloves on and his hands in his 
 great-coat pockets, lookin down, and say in 
 something about, Poor fellow, couldn t he 
 a jumped ? Why didn t he jump ? I let him 
 have it; I said, Yes, arid if it hadn t been for 
 him, you and I d both been frizzin in h 1 
 this minute. And the President standin 
 there said to some of them, That was the 
 same young fellow who came into my office 
 to get a place last year when you were down, 
 and said he had " run to seed." 4 But, he 
 
 says, 4 Gentlemen, it was d d good seed ! 
 
 How good it was no one knew but two 
 weeping women in a lonely house. 
 
A SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE." 
 
 IT was his greatest pride in life that he 
 had been a soldier a soldier of the empire. 
 He was known simply as " The Soldier," and 
 it is probable that there was not a man or 
 woman, and certain that there was not a child 
 in the Quarter who did not know him : the 
 tall, erect old Sergeant with his white, care 
 fully waxed moustache, and his face seamed 
 with two sabre cuts. One of these cuts, all 
 knew, had been received the summer day 
 when he had stood, a mere boy, in the hollow 
 square at Waterloo, striving to stay the fierce 
 flood of the "men on the white horses"; the 
 other, tradition said, was of even more ancient 
 date. 
 
 Yes, they all knew him, and knew how 
 when he was not over thirteen, just the age 
 of little Raoul the humpback, who was not 
 as tall as Pauline, he had received the cross 
 which he always wore over his heart sewed 
 in the breast of his coat, from the hand of 
 
 180 
 
"A SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE." 181 
 
 the emperor himself, for standing on the hill 
 at Wag-ram when his regiment broke, and 
 beating the long-roll, whilst he held the 
 tattered colors resting in his arm, until the 
 men rallied and swept back the left wing of 
 the enemy. This the children knew, as their 
 fathers and mothers and grandfathers and 
 grandmothers before them had known it, and 
 rarely an evening passed that some of the 
 gamins were not to be found in the old man s 
 kitchen, which was also his parlor, or else 
 on his little porch, listening with ever-new 
 delight to the story of his battles and of the 
 emperor. They all knew as well as he the 
 thrilling part where the emperor clashed by 
 (the old Sergeant always rose reverently at 
 the name, and the little audience also stood, 
 
 one or two nervous younger ones some 
 times bobbing up a little ahead of time, but 
 sitting down again in confusion under the 
 contemptuous scowls and pluckings of the 
 rest), where the emperor dashed by, and 
 reined up to ask an officer what regiment 
 that was that had broken, and w r ho was that 
 drummer that had been promoted to ensign ; 
 
 they all knew how, on the grand review 
 afterwards, the Sergeant, beating his drum 
 
182 "A SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE." 
 
 with one hand (while the other, which had 
 been broken by a bullet, was in a sling), had 
 marched with his company before the emperor, 
 and had been recognized by him. They knew 
 how he had been called up by a staff-officer 
 (whom the children imagined to be a fine 
 gentleman with a rich uniform, and a great 
 shako like Marie s uncle, the drum-major), 
 and how the emperor had taken from his own 
 breast and with his own hand had given him 
 the cross, which he had never from that day 
 removed from his heart, and had said, "I 
 would make you a colonel if I could spare 
 you." 
 
 This was the story they liked best, though 
 there were many others which they fre 
 quently begged to be told of march and 
 siege and battle, of victories over or escapes 
 from red-coated Britishers and fierce German 
 lancers, and of how the mere presence of the 
 emperor was worth fifty thousand men, and 
 how the soldiers knew that where he was no 
 eneni}^ could withstand them. It all seemed 
 to them very long ago, and the soldier of the 
 empire was the only man in the Quarter who 
 was felt to be greater than the rich nobles 
 and fine officers who flashed along the great 
 
"A SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE." 183 
 
 streets, or glittered through the boulevards 
 and parks outside. More than once when 
 Paris was stirred up, and the Quarter seemed 
 on the eve of an outbreak, a mounted or 
 derly had galloped up to his door with a 
 letter, requesting his presence somewhere (it 
 was whispered at the prefect s), and when 
 he returned, if he refused to speak of his 
 visit the Quarter was satisfied ; it trusted 
 him and knew that when he advised quiet it 
 was for its good. He loved France first, the 
 Quarter next. Had he not been offered ? 
 What had he not been offered ! The Quarter 
 knew, or fancied it knew, which did quite as 
 well. At least, it knew how he always took 
 sides with the Quarter against oppression. 
 It knew how he had gone up into the burning 
 tenement and brought the children down out 
 of the garret just before the roof fell. It 
 knew how he had jumped into the river that 
 winter when it was full of ice, to save Raoul s 
 little lame dog which had fallen into the 
 water ; it knew how he had reported the gen 
 darmes for arresting poor little Aime e just 
 for begging a man in the Place de L Opera 
 for a franc for her old grandmother, who was 
 blind, and how he had her released instead 
 
184 "A SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE. 1 
 
 of being sent to . But what was the 
 
 need of multiplying instances ! He was " the 
 Sergeant," a soldier of the empire, and there 
 was not a dog in the Quarter which did not 
 feel and look proud when it could trot on the 
 inside of the sidewalk by him. 
 
 Thus the old Sergeant came to be regarded 
 as the conservator of order in the Quarter, 
 and was worth more in the way of keeping it 
 quiet than all the gendarmes that ever came 
 inside its precincts. And thus the children 
 all knew him. 
 
 One story that the Sergeant sometimes 
 told, the girls liked to hear, though the boys 
 did not, because it had nothing about war in 
 it, and Minette and Clarisse used to cry so 
 when it was told, that the Sergeant would 
 stop and put his arms around them and pet 
 them until they only sobbed on his shoulder. 
 
 It was of how he had, when a lonely old 
 man, met down in Lorraine his little Camille, 
 whose eyes were as blue as the sky, and her 
 hand as white as the flower from which she 
 took her name, and her cheeks as pink as the 
 roses in the gardens of the Tuileries. He 
 had loved her, and she, though forty years 
 his junior, had married him and had come 
 
"A SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE." 185 
 
 here to live with him ; but the close walls of 
 the city had not suited her, and she had pined 
 and languished hefore his eyes like a plucked 
 lily, and, after she bore him Pierre, had died 
 in his arms, and left him lonelier than before. 
 And the old soldier always lowered his voice 
 and paused a moment (Raoul said he was 
 saying a mass), and then he would add con 
 solingly : " But she left a soldier, and when 
 I am gone, should France ever need one, 
 Pierre will be here." The boys did not 
 fancy this story for the reasons given, and be 
 sides, although they loved the Sergeant, they 
 did not like Pierre. Pierre was not popular 
 in the Quarter, except with the young girls 
 and a few special friends. The women said 
 he was idle and vain like his mother, who had 
 been, they said, a silly lazy thing with little 
 to boast of but blue eyes and a white skin, 
 of which she was too proud to endanger it 
 by work, and that she had married the Ser 
 geant for his pension, and would have ruined 
 him if she had lived, and that Pierre was just 
 like her. 
 
 The children knew nothing of the resem 
 blance. They disliked Pierre because he 
 was cross and disagreeable to them, and how- 
 
186 "A SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE." 
 
 ever their older sisters might admire his curl 
 ing brown hair, his dark eyes, and delicate fea 
 tures, which he had likewise inherited from 
 his mother, they did not like him ; for he al 
 ways scolded when he came home and found 
 them th,re ; and he had several times ordered 
 the whole lot out of the house ; and once 
 he had slapped little Raoul, for which Jean 
 Maison had beaten him. Of late, too, when 
 it drew near the hour for him to come home, 
 the old Sergeant had two or three times left 
 out a part of his story, and had told them to 
 run away and come back in the morning, as 
 Pierre liked to be quiet when he came from 
 his work which Raoul said was gambling. 
 
 Thus it was that Pierre was not popular in 
 the Quarter. 
 
 He was nineteen years old when war was 
 declared. 
 
 They said Prussia was trying to rob France, 
 to steal Alsace and Lorraine. All Paris 
 was in an uproar. The Quarter, always ripe 
 for any excitement, shared in and enjoyed 
 the general commotion. It struck off from 
 work. It was like the commune ; at least, so 
 people said. Pierre was the loudest declaimer 
 in the district. He got work in the armory. 
 
"A SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE." 187 
 
 Recruiting officers went in and out of the 
 saloons and cafds, drinking with the men, 
 talking to the women, and stirring up as 
 much fervor as possible. It needed little to 
 stir it. The Quarter was seething. Troops 
 were being mustered in, and the streets and 
 parks were filled with the tramp of regiments ; 
 and the roll of the drums, the call of the bugles, 
 and the cheers of the crowds as they marched 
 by floated into the Quarter. Brass bands 
 were so common that although in the winter 
 a couple of strolling musicians had been suffi 
 cient to lose temporarily every child in the 
 Quarter, it now required a full band and a 
 grenadier regiment, to boot, to draw a toler 
 able representation. 
 
 Of all the residents of the Quarter, none 
 took a deeper interest than the soldier of 
 the empire. He became at once an object 
 of more than usual attention. He had mar 
 ried in Lorraine, and could, of course, tell just 
 how long it would take to whip the Prussians. 
 He thought a single battle would decide it. 
 It would if the emperor were there. His 
 little court was always full of inquirers, and 
 the stories of the emperor were told to audi 
 ences now of grandfathers and grandmothers. 
 
188 "A SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE." 
 
 Once or twice the gendarmes had sauntered 
 down, thinking, from seeing the crowd, that 
 a fight was going on. They had stayed to 
 hear of the emperor. A hint was dropped by 
 the soldier of the empire that perhaps France 
 would conquer Prussia, and then go on across 
 to Moscow to settle an old score, and that 
 night it was circulated through the Quarter 
 that the invasion of Russia would follow the 
 capture of Berlin. The emperor became 
 more popular than he had been since the 
 coup d etat. Half the Quarter offered its 
 services. 
 
 The troops were being drilled night and 
 day, and morning after morning the soldier 
 of the empire locked his door, buttoned his 
 coat tightly around him, and with a stately 
 military air marched over to the park to 
 see the drill, where he remained until it was 
 time for Pierre to have his supper. 
 
 The old Sergeant s acquaintance extended 
 far beyond the Quarter. Indeed, his name had 
 been mentioned in the papers more than once, 
 and his presence was noted at the drill by 
 those high in authority ; so that he was often 
 to be seen surrounded by a group listening to 
 his accounts of the emperor, or showing what 
 
"A SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE." 189 
 
 the manuel had been in his time. His air, 
 always soldierly, was now imposing, and many 
 a visitor of distinction inquiring who he might 
 be, and learning that he was a soldier of the 
 empire, sought an introduction to him. Some 
 times they told him that they could hardly 
 believe him so old, could hardly believe him 
 much older than some of those in the ranks, 
 and although at first he used to declare he 
 was like a rusty flint-lock, too old and useless 
 for service, their flattery soothed his vanity, 
 and after a while, instead of shaking his head 
 and replying as he did at first that France had 
 no use for old men, he would smile doubt 
 fully and say that when they let Pierre go, 
 maybe he would go too, "just to show the 
 children how they fought then." 
 
 The summer came. The war began in 
 earnest. The troops were sent to the front, 
 the crowds shouting, " On to Berlin." Others 
 were mustered in and sent after them as fast 
 as they were equipped. News of battle after 
 battle came ; at first, of victory (so the papers 
 said), full and satisfying, then meagre and 
 uncertain, and at last so scanty that only 
 the wise ones knew there had been a defeat. 
 The Quarter was in a fever of patriotism. 
 
190 "A SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE." 
 
 Jean Maison and nearly all the young men 
 had enlisted and gone, leaving their sweet 
 hearts by turns waving their kerchiefs and 
 wiping their eyes with them. Pierre, how 
 ever, still remained behind. He said he was 
 working for the Government. Kaoul said 
 he was not working at all ; that he was 
 skulking. 
 
 Suddenly the levy came. Pierre was con 
 scripted. 
 
 That night the Sergeant enlisted in the same 
 company. Before the week was out, their reg 
 iment was equipped and dispatched to the 
 front, for the news came that the army was 
 making no advance, and it was said that 
 France needed more men. Some shook their 
 heads and said that was not what she needed, 
 that what she needed was better officers. A 
 suggestion of this by some of the recruits in 
 the old Sergeant s presence drew from him 
 the rebuke that in his day "such a speech 
 would have called out a corporal and a file of 
 grenadiers." 
 
 The day they were mustered in, the captain 
 of the company sent for him and bade him 
 have the first sergeant s chevrons sewed on his 
 sleeve. The order had come from the colonel, 
 
"A SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE." 191 
 
 some even said from the marshal. In the 
 Quarter it was said that it came from the 
 emperor. The Sergeant suggested that Pierre 
 was the man for the place ; but the captain 
 simply repeated the order. The Quarter 
 approved the selection, and several fights 
 occurred among the children who had gotten 
 up a company as to who should be the ser 
 geant. It was deemed more honorable than 
 to be the captain. 
 
 The day the regiment left Paris, the Ser 
 geant was ordered to report several reliable 
 men for special duty ; he detailed Pierre among 
 the number. Pierre was sick, so sick that 
 when the company started he would have been 
 left behind but for his father. The old soldier 
 was too proud of his son to allow him to miss 
 the opportunity of fighting for France. Pierre 
 was the handsomest man in the regiment. 
 
 The new levies on arrival in the field went 
 into camp, in and near some villages and 
 were drilled, quite needlessly, Pierre and 
 some of the others declared. They were 
 not accustomed to restraint, and they could 
 riot see why they should be worked to death 
 when they were lying in camp doing nothing. 
 But the soldier of the empire was a strict drill- 
 
192 "A SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE." 
 
 master, and the company was shortly the best- 
 drilled one in the regiment. 
 
 Yet the army lay still : they were not 
 marching on to Berlin. The sole principle 
 of the campaign seemed to be the massing 
 together of as many troops as possible. What 
 they were to do no one appeared very clearly 
 to know. What they were doing all knew : 
 they were doing nothing. The men, at first 
 burning for battle, became cold or lukewarm 
 with waiting; dissatisfaction crept in, and 
 then murmurs : " Why did they not fight ? " 
 The soldier of the empire himself was sorely 
 puzzled. The art of war had clearly changed 
 since his day. The emperor would have 
 picked the best third of these troops and have 
 been at the gates of the Prussian capital in 
 less time than they had spent camped with 
 the enemy right before them. Still, it was 
 not for a soldier to question, and he reported 
 for a week s extra guard duty a man who 
 ventured to complain in his presence that the 
 marshal knew as little as the men. Extra 
 guard duty did no good. The army was 
 losing heart. 
 
 Thus it was for several weeks. But at 
 last, one evening, it was apparent that some 
 
"A SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE." 193 
 
 change was at hand: the army stirred and 
 shook itself as a great animal moves and 
 stretches, not knowing if it will awake or 
 drop off to sleep again. 
 
 During the night it became wide awake. 
 It was high time. The Prussians were almost 
 on them. They had them in a trap. They 
 held the higher grounds and hemmed the 
 French in. All night long the tents were 
 being struck, and the army was in commo 
 tion. No one knew just why it was. Some 
 said they were about to be attacked ; some 
 said they were surrounded. Uncertainty gave 
 place to excitement. At length they marched. 
 
 When day began to break, the army had 
 been tumbled into line of battle, and the regi 
 ment in which the old Sergeant and Pierre 
 were was drawn up on the edge of a gen 
 tleman s park outside of the villages. The 
 line extended beyond them farther than they 
 could see, and large bodies of troops were 
 massed behind them, and were marching and 
 countermarching in clouds of dust. The rumor 
 went along the ranks that they were in the ad 
 vanced line, and that the Germans were just the 
 other side of the little plateau, which they could 
 dimly see in the gray light of the dawn. The 
 
194 "A SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE." 
 
 men, having been marching in the dark, were 
 tired, and most of them lay down, when they 
 were halted, to rest. Some went to sleep ; 
 others, like Pierre, set to work and with their 
 bayonets dug little trenches and threw up a 
 slight earthwork before them, behind which 
 they could lie ; for the skirmishers had been 
 thrown out, looking vague and ghostly as 
 they trotted forward in the dim twilight, 
 and they supposed that the battle would be 
 fought right there. By the time, however, 
 that the trenches were dug, the line was 
 advanced, and the regiment was moved for 
 ward some distance, and was halted just 
 under a knoll along which ran a road. The 
 Sergeant was the youngest man in the com 
 pany ; the sound of battle had brought back 
 all his fire. To him numbers were nothing. 
 He thought it now but a matter of a few 
 hours, and France would be at the gates of 
 Berlin. He saw once more the field of glory 
 and heard again the shout of victory ; Lorraine 
 would be saved ; he beheld the tricolor floating 
 over the capital of the enemies of France. Per 
 haps, it would be planted there by Pierre. And 
 he saw in his imagination Pierre climbing at a 
 stride from a private to a captain, a colonel, 
 
"J. SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE." 195 
 
 a ! who could tell ? had not the baton been 
 won in a campaign ? As to dreaming that a 
 battle could bring any other result than vic 
 tory ! It was impossible ! 
 
 "Where are you going?" shouted deri 
 sively the men of a regiment at rest, to the 
 Sergeant s command as they marched past. 
 
 " To Berlin," replied the Sergeant. 
 
 The reply evoked cheers, and that regi 
 ment that day stood its ground until a fourth 
 of its men fell. The old soldier s enthusiasm 
 infected the new recruits, who were pale and 
 nervous under the strain of waiting. His 
 eye rested on Pierre, who was standing down 
 near the other end of the company, and the 
 father s face beamed as he thought he saw 
 there resolution and impatience for the fight. 
 Ha ! France should ring with his name ; the 
 Quarter should go wild with delight. 
 
 Just then the skirmishers ahead began to 
 fire, and in a few moments it was answered 
 by a sullen note from the villages beyond the 
 plain, and the battle had begun. The drop 
 ping fire of the skirmish line increased and 
 merged into a rattle, and suddenly the thun 
 der broke from a hill to their right, and ran 
 along the crest until the earth trembled under 
 
196 "A SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE." 
 
 their feet. Bullets began to whistle over 
 their heads and clip the leaves of the trees 
 beyond them, and the long, pulsating scream 
 of shells flying over them and exploding in 
 the park behind them made the faces of the 
 men look gray in the morning twilight. 
 Waiting was worse than fighting. It told on 
 the young men. 
 
 In a little while a staff-officer galloped up 
 to the colonel, who was sitting on his horse 
 in the road, quietly smoking a cigar, and a 
 moment later the whole line was in motion. 
 They were wheeled to the right, and marched 
 under shelter of the knoll in the direction 
 of the firing. As they passed the turn of the 
 road, they caught a glimpse of the hill ahead 
 where the artillery, enveloped in smoke, was 
 thundering from an ever-thickening cloud. 
 A battery of eight guns galloped past them, 
 and turning the curve disappeared in a cloud 
 of dust. To the new recruits it seemed as 
 if the whole battle was being fought right 
 there. They could see nothing but their 
 own line, and only a part of that ; smoke and 
 dust hid everything else ; but the hill was 
 plainly an important point, for they were 
 being pushed forward, and the firing on the 
 
" A SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE." 197 
 
 rise ahead of them was terrific. They were 
 still partly protected by the ridge, but shells 
 were screaming over them, and the earth 
 was rocking under their feet. More batteries 
 came thundering by, the men clinging to 
 the pieces and the drivers lashing their horses 
 furiously, and disappearing into the smoke 
 on the hill, unlimbered and swelled the deaf 
 ening roar; they passed men lying on the 
 ground dead or wounded, or were passed by 
 others helping wounded comrades to the rear. 
 Several men in the company fell, some crying 
 out or groaning with pain, and two or three 
 killed outright. 
 
 The men were dodging and twisting, with 
 heads bent forward a little as if in a pelting 
 rain. Only the old Sergeant and some of- 
 the younger ones were perfectly erect. 
 
 " Why don t you dodge the balls ? " asked 
 a recruit of the Sergeant. 
 
 "A soldier of the empire never dodges," 
 was the proud reply. 
 
 Some change occurred on the hills; they 
 could not see what. Just then the order 
 came down the line to advance at a double- 
 quick and support the batteries. They moved 
 forward at a run and passed beyond the shel- 
 
198 "A SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE." 
 
 ter of the ridge. Instantly they were in 
 the line of fire from the Prussian batteries, 
 whose white puffs of smoke were visible 
 across the plain, and bullets and shell tore 
 wide spaces in their ranks. They could not 
 see the infantrymen, who were in pits, but the 
 bullets hissed and whistled by them. The 
 men on both sides of Pierre were killed and 
 fell forward on their faces with a thud, one 
 of them still clutching his musket. Pierre 
 would have stopped, but there was no time, 
 the men in the rear pressed him on. As they 
 appeared in the smoke of the nearest battery, 
 the artillerymen broke into cheers at the wel 
 come sight, and all down the line it was taken 
 up. All around were dead and dying men 
 increasing in numbers momentarily. No one 
 had time to notice them. Some of them had 
 blankets thrown over them. The infantry, 
 who were a little to the side of the batteries, 
 were ordered to lie down ; most of them had 
 already done so ; even then they were barely 
 protected ; shot and shell ploughed the ground 
 around them as if it had been a fallow field ; 
 men spoke to their comrades, and before re 
 ceiving a reply were shot dead at their sides. 
 The wounded were more ghastly than the 
 
"J. SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE." 199 
 
 dead; their faces growing suddenly deadly 
 white from the shock as they were struck. 
 
 The gunners lay in piles around their guns, 
 and still the survivors worked furiously in 
 the dense heat and smoke, the sweat pouring 
 down their blackened faces. The fire was 
 terrific. 
 
 Suddenly an officer galloped up, and spoke 
 to the lieutenant of the nearest battery. 
 
 " Where is the colonel ? " 
 
 " Killed." 
 
 " Where is your captain?" 
 
 " Dead, there under the gun." 
 
 "Are you in command? " 
 
 " I suppose so." 
 
 " Well, hold this hill." 
 
 " How long ? " 
 
 " Forever." And he galloped off. 
 
 His voice was heard clear and ringing in a 
 sudden lull, and the old Sergeant, clutching 
 his musket, shouted : 
 
 "We will, forever." 
 
 There was a momentary lull. 
 
 Suddenly the cry was : 
 
 " Here they are." 
 
 In an instant a dark line of men appeared 
 coming up the slope. The guns were trained 
 
200 "A SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE." 
 
 down on them, but shot over their heads; 
 they were double shotted and trained lower, 
 and belched forth canister. They fell in 
 swathes, yet still they came on at a run, 
 hurrahing, until they were almost up among 
 the guns, and the gunners were leaving their 
 pieces. The old Sergeant s voice speaking to 
 his men was as steady as if on parade, and 
 kept them down, and when the command was 
 given to fire kneeling, they rose as one man, 
 and poured a volley into the Germans faces 
 which sent them reeling back down the hill, 
 leaving a broken line of dead and struggling 
 men on the deadly crest. Just then a brigade 
 officer came along. They heard him say, 
 "That repulse may stop them." Then he 
 gave some order in an undertone to the 
 lieutenant in command of the batteries, and 
 passed on. A moment later the fire from the 
 Prussian batteries was heavier than before ; 
 the guns were being knocked to pieces. A 
 piece of shell struck the Sergeant on the 
 cheek, tearing away the flesh badly. He 
 tore the sleeve from his shirt and tied it 
 around his head with perfect unconcern. The 
 fire of the Germans was still growing heavier ; 
 the smoke was too dense to see a great deal, 
 
"A SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE." 201 
 
 but they were concentrating or were coming 
 closer. The lieutenant came back for a mo 
 ment and spoke to the captain of the com 
 pany, who, looking along the line, called the 
 Sergeant, and ordered him to go back down 
 the hill to where the road turned behind it, 
 
 and tell General to send them a support 
 
 instantly, as the batteries were knocked to 
 pieces, and they could not hold the hill much 
 longer. The announcement was astonishing 
 to the old soldier ; it had never occurred 
 to him that as long as a man remained they 
 could not hold the hill, and he was half-way 
 down the slope before he took it in. He had 
 brought his gun with him, and he clutched 
 it convulsively as if he could withstand alone 
 the whole Prussian army. " He might have 
 taken a younger man to do his trotting," he 
 muttered to himself as he stalked along, not 
 knowing that his wound had occasioned his 
 selection. " Pierre - " but, no, Pierre must 
 stay where he would have the opportunity to 
 distinguish himself. 
 
 It was no holiday promenade that the old 
 soldier was taking; for his path lay right 
 across the track swept by the German bat 
 teries, and the whole distance was strewn 
 
202 "A SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE." 
 
 with dead, killed as they had advanced in the 
 morning. But the old Sergeant got safely 
 across. He found the General with one or two 
 members of his staff sitting on horseback in 
 the road near the park gate, receiving and an 
 swering dispatches. He delivered his message. 
 
 " Go back and tell him he must hold it," 
 was the reply. " Upon it depends the fate 
 of the day; perhaps of France. Or wait, you 
 are wounded ; I will send some one else ; you 
 go to the rear." And he gave the order to 
 one of his staff, who saluted and dashed off 
 on his horse. " Hold it for France," he called 
 after him. 
 
 The words \vere heard perfectly clear even 
 above the din of battle which was steadily 
 increasing all along the line, and they stirred 
 the old soldier like a trumpet. No rear for 
 him ! He turned and pushed back up the 
 hill at a run. The road had somewhat 
 changed since he left, but he marked it not ; 
 shot and shell were ploughing across his path 
 more thickly, but he did not heed them; in his 
 ears rang the words " For France." They 
 came like an echo from the past ; it was the 
 same cry he had heard at Waterloo, when 
 the soldiers of France that summer day had 
 
"A SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE." 203 
 
 died for France and the emperor, with a 
 cheer on their lips. " For France " : the 
 words were consecrated; the emperor himself 
 had used them. He had heard him, and 
 would have died then ; should he not die 
 now for her! Was it not glorious to die for 
 France, and have men say that he had fought 
 for her when a babe, and had died for her 
 when an old man ! 
 
 With these thoughts was mingled the 
 thought of Pierre Pierre also would die 
 for France ! They would save her or die to 
 gether; and he pressed his hand with a proud 
 caress over the cross on his breast. It was 
 the emblem of glory. 
 
 He was almost back with his men now; 
 he knew it by the roar, but the smoke hid 
 everything. Just then it shifted a little. 
 As it did so, he saw a man steal out of the 
 dim line and start towards him at a run. 
 He had on the uniform of his regiment. 
 His cap was pulled over his eyes, and he saw 
 him deliberately fling away his gun. He 
 was skulking. All the blood boiled up in 
 the old soldier s veins. Desert! not fight 
 for France ! Why did not Pierre shoot him ! 
 Just then the coward passed close to him, and 
 
204 "A SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE." 
 
 the old man seized him with a grip of iron. 
 The deserter, surprised, turned his face ; it 
 was pallid with terror and shame ; but no 
 more so than his captor s. It was Pierre. 
 
 " Pierre ! " he gasped. " Good God ! where 
 are you going ? " 
 
 " I am sick," faltered the other. 
 
 " Come back," said the father sternly. 
 
 " I cannot," was the terrified answer. 
 
 " It is for France, Pierre," pleaded the old 
 soldier. 
 
 " Oh ! I cannot," moaned the young man, 
 pulling away. There was a pause the old 
 man still holding on hesitatingly, then, 
 " Dastard ! " he hissed, flinging his son from 
 him with indescribable scorn. 
 
 Pierre, free once more, was slinking off with 
 averted face, when a new idea seized his father, 
 and his face grew grim as stone. Cocking 
 his musket, he flung it up, took careful and 
 deliberate aim at his son s retreating figure, 
 and brought his finger slowly down upon the 
 trigger. But, before he could fire, a shell 
 exploded directly in the line of his aim, and 
 when the smoke blew off, Pierre had disap 
 peared. The Sergeant lowered his piece, 
 gazed curiously down the hill, and then hur- 
 
"A SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE." 205 
 
 ried to the spot where the shell had burst. 
 A mangled form marked the place. The 
 coward had in the very act of flight met the 
 death he dreaded. Pierre lay dead on his 
 face, shot in the back. The back of his 
 head was shattered by a fragment of shell. 
 The countenance of the living man was more 
 pallid than that of the dead. No word escaped 
 him, except that refrain, "For France, for 
 France," which he repeated mechanically. 
 
 Although this had occupied but a few min 
 utes, momentous changes had taken place on 
 the ridge above. The sound of the battle 
 had somewhat altered, and with the roar of 
 artillery were mingled now the continuous 
 rattle of the musketry and the shouts and 
 cheers of the contending troops. The fierce 
 onslaught of the Prussians had broken the 
 line somewhere beyond the batteries, and the 
 French were being borne back. Almost 
 immediately the slope was filled with retreat 
 ing men hurrying back in the demoralization 
 of panic. All order was lost. It was a rout. 
 The soldiers of his own regiment began to 
 rush by the spot where the old Sergeant 
 stood above his son s body. Recognizing 
 him, some of his comrades seized his arm and 
 
206 "A SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE." 
 
 attempted to hurry him along; but with a 
 fierce exclamation the old soldier shook them 
 off, and raising his voice so that he was 
 heard even above the tumult of the rout, he 
 shouted, " Are ye all cowards ? Rally for 
 
 France For France " 
 
 They tried to bear him along ; the officers, 
 they said, were dead ; the Prussians had cap 
 tured the guns, and had broken the whole 
 line. But it was no use ; still he shouted that 
 rallying cry, For France, for France, " Vive la 
 France ; Vive 1 Empereur " ; and steadied by 
 the war-cry, and accustomed to obey an officer, 
 the men around him fell instinctively into 
 something like order, and for an instant the 
 rout was arrested. The fight was renewed 
 over Pierre s dead body. As they had, how 
 ever, truly said, the Prussians were too 
 strong for them. They had carried the line 
 and were now pouring down the hill by 
 thousands in the ardor of hot pursuit, the 
 line on either side of the hill was swept away, 
 and whilst the gallant little band about the 
 old soldier still stood and fought desperately, 
 they were soon surrounded. There was no 
 thought of quarter; none was asked, none was 
 given. Cries, curses, cheers, shots, blows, 
 
"A SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE." 207 
 
 were mingled together, and clear above all 
 rang the old soldier s war-cry, For France, for 
 France, " Vive la France, Vive 1 Empereur." 
 It was the refrain from an older and bloodier 
 field. He thought he was at Waterloo. 
 
 Mad with excitement, the men took up the 
 cry, and fought like tigers ; but the issue 
 could not be doubtful. 
 
 Man after man fell, shot or clubbed down, 
 with the cry " For France " on his lips, and 
 his comrades, standing astride his body, 
 fought with bayonets and clubbed muskets 
 till they too fell in turn. Almost the last 
 one was the old Sergeant. Wounded to 
 death, and bleeding from numberless gashes, 
 he still fought, shouting his battle-cry, " For 
 France," till his musket was hurled spinning 
 from his shattered hand, and staggering sense 
 less back, a dozen bayonets were driven into 
 his breast, crushing out forever the brave spirit 
 of the soldier of the empire. 
 
 It was best, for France was lost. 
 
 A few hours later the Quarter was in 
 mourning over the terrible defeat. 
 
 ***** 
 
 That night a group of Prussian officers go 
 ing over the field with lanterns looking after 
 
208 "A SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE." 
 
 their wounded, stopped near a spot remark 
 able even on that bloody slope for the heaps 
 of dead of both armies literally piled upon 
 each other. 
 
 "It was just here," said one, "that they 
 got reinforcements and made that splendid 
 rally." 
 
 A second, looking at the body of an old 
 French sergeant lying amidst heaps of slain, 
 with his face to the sky, said simply as he saw 
 his scars : 
 
 " There died a brave soldier." 
 
 Another, older than the first, bending 
 closer to count the bayonet wounds, caught 
 the gleam of something in the light of the 
 lantern, and stooping to examine a broken 
 cross of the Legion on the dead man s breast, 
 said reverently : 
 
 " He was a soldier of the empire." 
 
 Typography by J. S. Gushing & Co., Boston. 
 Presswork by Berwick & Smith, Boston. 
 
B 
 
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 "mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.00. In the Distance. I2.no, 
 paper, 50 cts.; cloth, fl.oo. 
 
 " His novels have the refinement of motive which characterize the 
 analytical school, but his manner is for more 
 
 Brander Matthews. 
 
 The Secret of the Sea, and Other Stories. tamo paper, 50 cts.; 
 
 cloth $1.00. The Last Meeting. 121110, cloth, $i 
 Mr. Matthews is a man of wide observation and of much ^milianty 
 with the world. His literary style is bright and crisp, ^Hh a p^uliar 
 sparkle about it-wit and humor judiciously minglec -^ h rendtrs his 
 pages more than ordinarily interesting." 7^ Rochester Post- Express. 
 
 George Moore. 
 
 Vain Fortune, lamo, $1.00. 
 
 "How a woman s previous ideas and actions will completely change 
 when the medium of i wild, intense love is interposed, was never more 
 skilfully sketched." Boston Times. 
 
SCRIBNER S BRIEF LIST OF FICTION. 
 
 Fit^-James O Brien. 
 
 The Diamond Lens, with Other Stories. 12010, paper, 50 cts. 
 " t These stories are the only things in literature to be compared with 
 1 oe s work, and if they do not equal it in workmanship, they ce-tainlv do 
 not yield to it in originality." 7V^> Philadelphia Record. 
 
 Duffield Osborne. 
 
 The Spell of Ashtaroth. 121110, $1.00. 
 
 " It has a simple but picturesque plot, and the sloiy is told in a vividly 
 dramatic way." Chicago Times. y 
 
 Bliss Perry. 
 
 The Broughton House. 121110, $1.25. 
 
 "A wonderfully shrewd and vivid picture of life in cue of our hill 
 towns in summer." Hartford Post. 
 
 Thomas Nelson Page. 
 
 In Old Virginia. Marse Chan and Other Stories. i-mo $i -5 
 
 On Newfound River, 12.110, $i oo. Elsket, and Other Stories 
 
 I2mo,fi.oo. Marse Chan. Ills. bySmedley. Sq. 121110. $1.50. 
 
 "Mr. Page enjoys the distinction of having written the most exquisite 
 
 story of the war ( Marse Chan ), which has yet appeared. His stories 
 
 are beautiful and faithful pictures of a society now become a portion and 
 
 parcel cf the irrevocable past." Harp.rs Magazine. 
 
 George I. Putnam. 
 
 In Blue Uniform; 121110, $1.00. 
 
 The author of this love story, who is an ex-army officer, has given a 
 very natural picture of garrison life in the Far West, with strong character 
 studies, and a sufficient diversity of incident to give movement and cumu 
 lative interest to the tale. 
 
 Saxe Holm s Stories. 
 
 First Series. Second Series. Each, 121110, paper, 500; cloth, $1.00. 
 
 " Saxe Holm s characters are strongly drawn, and she goes right to the 
 heart of human experience, as one who knows the way. We heartily 
 commend them as vigorous, wholesome, and sufficiently exciting stories." 
 
 The Advance. 
 
SCRIBNER S BRIEF LIST OF FICTION. 
 
 Stories from Scribner. 
 
 Stories of New York. Illustrated. From Four to Six, by Annie 
 Eliot ; The Commonest Possible Story, by Bliss Perry; The End of 
 the Beginning, by George A. Hibbard ; A Puritan Ingenue, by 
 John S. Wood ; Mrs. Manstey s View, by Edith Wharton. 
 
 Stories of the Railway; Illustrated. As the Sparks Fly Upward, 
 by George A. Hibbard; How 1 Sent My Aunt to Baltimore, by 
 Charles S. Davison ; Run to Seed, by Thomas Nelson Page ; 
 Flandroe s Mogul, by A. C. Gordon. 
 In Press: Stories of the South. Stories of Italy. 
 
 Stories of the Sea* Stories of the Army. 
 
 Illustrated. Each, i6mo, paper, 50 cts. ; cloth, 75 cts. ; half calf, $1.50. 
 
 The stories in these attractive little volumes are among the most 
 
 popular of those that have been published in " Scribner s Magazine." They 
 
 are daintily bound, and fully and beautifully illustrated. 
 
 Robert Louis Stevenson. 
 
 Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. i2ino, paper, 
 
 25 cts.; cloth, $1.00. Kidnapped. i2mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, 
 
 ill., $1.25. The Merry Men, and Other Tales and Fables. 
 
 i2mo, paper, 35 cts.; cloth, $1.00. New Arabian Nights: 
 
 i2mo, paper, 30 cts.; cloth, $1.00. The Dynamiter. 121110, 
 
 paper, 30 cts.; cloth, $1.00. The Black Arrow. 111. 121110, 
 
 paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.00. The Wrong Box. i2mo, paper, 
 
 50 cts. ; cloth, $i .00. The Master of Ballantrae. i2mo, paper, 
 
 50 cts.; cloth, ill., $1.25. The Wrecker. 121110, ill., 1.25. 
 
 Island Nights Entertainments. 121110, ill , $1.25. 
 
 "Stevenson belongs to the romantic school of fiction writers. He is 
 
 original in style, charming, fascinating, and delicious, with a marvelous 
 
 command of words, and with a manner ever delightful and magnetic/ 
 
 Boston Transcript. 
 
 Charles barren Stoddard. 
 
 South Sea Idyls. i2mo, $1.50. 
 
 " Brimful of delicious descriptions of South Sea Island life. Neither 
 Loti nor Stevenson has expressed from tropical life the luscious, fruity 
 delicacy, or the rich wine-like bouquet of these sketches." Independent. 
 
 T. R. Sullivan. 
 
 Day and Night Stories. First and Second Series. Each, 121110, 
 
 cloth, $i .00; paper, 50 cts. Roses of Shadow, 121110, $1.00. 
 
 " Mr. Sullivan s style is at once easy and lefined, conveying most 
 
 happily that atmosphere of good breeding and polite society which is 
 
 indispensable to the novel of manners, but which so many of them 
 
 lamentably fail of." The Nation. 
 
SCRIBNER S BRIEF UST OF FICTION. 
 
 Frederick J. Stimson (]. S. of Dale). 
 
 Guerndale. 12010, paper, so cts. ; cloth, $1.25. The Crime of 
 Henry Vane. i2mo, paper, 50 cts. ; cloth, $1.00. The Senti 
 mental Calendar. 111. 121110, $1.00. First Harvest. i2mo, 
 $1.25. The Residuary Legatee. i2mo, paper, 35 cts.; cloth, 
 $1.00. In the Three Zones. 121110, $1.00. 
 
 " No young novelist in this country seems better equipped than Mr. 
 Stimson is." The Philadelphia Bulletin. 
 
 Frank R. Stockton. 
 
 Rudder Grange. i2mo, paper, 60 cts. ; cloth, $1.25; illustrated by 
 A. B. Frost, Sq. i2mo, $2.00. The Late Mrs; Null. 121110, 
 paper, 50 cts. ; cloth, $1.25. The Lady, or The Tiger? and 
 Other Stories. i2mo, p.iper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.25. The Christ 
 mas Wreck, and Other Stories. i2tno, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, 
 $1.25. The Bee-Man of Orn, and Other Fanciful Tales. 121110, 
 cloth, $1.25. Amos Kilbright, with Other Stories. 12010, 
 paper, 50 cts. ; cloth, $1.25. The Rudder Grangers Abroad, 
 and Other Stories. i2mo, paper, 50 cts ; cloth, $1.25. 
 "Of Mr. Stockton s stories what is there to say, but that they are an 
 unmixed blessing and delight? He is surely one of the most inventive of 
 talents, discovering not only a new kind in humor and fancy, but accumu 
 lating an inexhaustible wealth of details in each fresh achievement, the 
 least of which would be riches from another hand." W. D. HOWELLS. 
 
 Stories by American Authors. 
 
 Cloth, i6mo f jo cts. each; set, 10 vols., $5.00; cabinet edition t 
 
 in sets only, $7.^0. 
 
 " The public ought to appreciate the value of this series, which is pre 
 serving permanently in American literature short stones that have con 
 tributed to its advancement." The Boston Globe. 
 
 Octave Thanet. 
 
 Expiation. Illustrated by A. B. Frost. 121110, paper, 10 cts.; 
 cloth, $1.00. Stories of a Western Town. i2mo. Illustrated 
 by A. B. Frost. $1.25. 
 
 Octave Thanet has in this new book of Western stones n completely 
 fresh field, in which she has done her finest work. These stories portray 
 the types and conditions of life in the thriving, pushing towns of the great 
 Cential Western States with knowledge, sympathy and a fine literary art. 
 
 John T. Wheelwright. 
 
 A Child of the Century. I2mo, paper, 50 cts. ; cloth, $t.oo. 
 " A typical story of political and social life, free from cynicism of morbid 
 
 irk. 
 
THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE 
 STAMPED BELOW 
 
 AN INITIAL FINE OF 25 CENTS 
 
 WILL BE ASSESSED FOR FAILURE TO RETURN 
 THIS BOOK ON THE DATE DUE. THE PENALTY 
 WILL INCREASE TO SO CENTS ON THE FOURTH 
 DAY AND TO $1.OO ON THE SEVENTH DAY 
 OVERDUE. 
 
 APR 20 1942 E 
 
5065, . 
 
 "V. 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY