THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES

 
 Brifomari, the Socialist 
 
 BY 
 
 FLORENCE RONEY WEIR 
 
 CHICAGO. 
 
 SCROLL PUBLISHING COMPANY, 
 1901
 
 Copyrighted, 1900, 
 By FLORENCE RONEY WEIR.
 
 BRITOMfiRT, THE SOCIEIST. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A little brown house from whose chimney 
 no smoke had issued for three years, the door 
 standing part way open, disclosing a musty in 
 terior, and a big packing case in the middle of 
 the kitchen floor; a dusty lilac bush with a 
 robin's nest in its top, all about waving grain 
 just beginning to ripen to its harvest. A tall 
 girl in a brown, calico gown, with a man's hat 
 pinned picturesquely askew on her head, her 
 hands rolled in her apron to protect them from 
 the sun, standing peering in at the open door 
 of the house ; and all about the melting July heat, 
 the smell of cut hay, wild roses and strawber 
 ries. 
 
 The girl was Britomart Landor, and she had 
 no business whatever to be peering there, be 
 cause down in the meadow, whence came that 
 odor of hay, her father and brother, William 
 John, were longing with the hunger and thirst 
 born of habit, for the sandwiches and coffee 
 hidden in the pail which she carried on her arm. 
 She might have gone through the woods and 
 over the brook, and so reached the hay-field by 
 a shorter way, but instead she had come by the 
 
 154636O
 
 6 BRITOMART, 
 
 way of the road in order to stop at the old house 
 for a minute, where she had discovered the 
 open door and the packing box. 
 
 The house belonged to Mr. Leven, who lived 
 on the farm next to the Landors'; it had not 
 been open for a long time. Britomart often 
 pressed her face against the panes, and, gazing 
 into the two bare rooms, saw the sunlight lying 
 in squares on the floor, and imagined life and 
 laughter within. Many a time she wished she 
 might rent or buy the place of old Mr. Leven, 
 and furnish it just enough to be livable. 
 
 "I would paint the floors, and put big, braided 
 rugs in the centers of them. In the farther 
 room I would have a little white bed, a small 
 mirror like mine at home, and a big wooden 
 rocker; and right in the corner of the kitchen 
 the cunningest cupboard, with a pale yellow cur 
 tain in front. There should be deep blue dishes 
 and a brown earthen teapot. I should have 
 blinds and sash-curtains at the windows, and my 
 old piano should stand in the corner there. All 
 the forenoon I would sit by the window with 
 some lovely book and read a little, and dream a 
 little, and look into the wheat, and there would 
 not be a sound, except the creaking of the lilac 
 bush against the house, the sighing of the wind, 
 and, now and then, the robin. After tea I would 
 sit on the door step and dream in the summer 
 twilight; and if a storm came up, I would go 
 inside, draw down the blinds and play grand 
 music. My hands would fairly fly while the
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 7 
 
 tempest beat on my little house and the wind 
 tore at the lilac bush." 
 
 This was only one of the many fancies Brito- 
 mart wove about the little house, and when she 
 discovered that some one was to take posses 
 sion, she felt that the unknown was intruding 
 on her private domain. She stepped a little 
 nearer the door, her tin pail swinging securely 
 on her arm. She longed to go in and explore 
 a little. Years after, when the hurry and tumult 
 of a larger life wearied this woman, a vision of 
 this house, adrift in the wheat fields, would come 
 to her with a soothing sense of perfect stillness. 
 
 She made a pretty picture as she bent slightly 
 forward to look in at the open door. She was 
 taller tfian most women. The abundant hair, 
 coiled under the broken straw hat, was of coarse, 
 springy texture, and so dark as to pass for black 
 with strangers. Her eyes were strong, darlc 
 blue, under well arched brows ; her complexion 
 superb, although exposed to all kinds of weather. 
 Despite these good points, Britomart Landor 
 was considered a very plain girl in the neigh 
 borhood where she lived. She was "smart" 
 no one clenied that. She read a great deal, could 
 play the piano beautifully, and there was not a 
 beFter cook in the vicinity of Belleville ; but for 
 beauty, she was too large, her features were not 
 fine enough, she did not dance, and altogether, 
 was not admired by the Belleville beaux. Tilly 
 Leven, her neighbor, was a very pretty girl and 
 a great catch in the neighborhood.
 
 8 BRITOMART, 
 
 A step sounded behind Britomart, and she 
 started guiltily. 
 
 "Why, Britomart! Your poor father will 
 starve, and the coffee will be cold as a stone." 
 
 It was Mrs. Landor who administered the re 
 buke, with a loving smile in her eyes for this 
 daughter who was the delight of her life. She 
 was a large woman, and looked worried an3 
 heated with her walk. She wore a slat sun- 
 bonnet which shut out much of the summer. 
 
 Britomart's heart was filled with contrition as 
 she gazed at her mother's flushed face. 
 
 "I know it, mother. I am just going to run 
 down through the wheat. What made you fol 
 low me? Did you know I was coming up by 
 the old house and would be apt to loiter? Don't 
 you fret about father. I guess he would come 
 to the house before he'd starve." 
 
 They both laughed, and Mrs. Landor sat down 
 on the door-step with a tired ejaculation. She 
 hacl the usual over-worked appearance of a farm 
 er's wife, although her hands, with their labor 
 stains, were yet shapely, as she clasped them 
 about her knees. 
 
 "See, mother, the door is open, and there are 
 boxes in there. Some one is going to move in. 
 Isn't it funny 1" 
 
 "I declare that's so. Who in the world can 
 it be? But never mind that, Britomart. You 
 must hurry right down after pa. Mr. Spence 
 came to the house just as you went up the hill 
 I saw you going the long way round with the
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 9 
 
 lunch and he wants me to come just as soon 
 as I can. Mary is awful sick, and they think 
 her child will be born. I ran out and called to 
 you, but you didn't hear, so I followed you up. 
 I didn't want to have to go through the wheat. 
 It's hard enough for me to travel on packed 
 ground." 
 
 "It's terrible, isn't it!" 
 
 "Why, no, not if she comes through all right. 
 Poor Mary! Come, come, child, hurry! Tell 
 your father Fll be all ready when he gits to the 
 house with the team. Mr. Spence had his sulky 
 or I could have gone with him." 
 
 "Just like old Spence, to come with a sulky/' 
 said Britomart. 
 
 She started off swiftly through the wheat. 
 The prickly heads swished before and behind her 
 with an exhilarating sound. John Landor would 
 have resented any one else running through his 
 standing grain, but he looked up with a broad 
 smile as this tall daughter of his appeared sud 
 denly in the wheat like Venus in the sea. 
 
 Britomart delivered her message, and John 
 Landor, with a look of anxiety, called to Wil 
 liam John, who was driving the mower a short 
 distance off; then while Britomart explained 
 matters to William John, he hastily ate a sand 
 wich and was ready to take the team which Wil 
 liam John unhitched. 
 
 "I hope everything will turn out well for 
 Frank and Mary," he called back, as the team, 
 pulling strongly on the lines, towed him round
 
 10 BRITOMART, 
 
 the base of the wheat-covered knoll out of sight. 
 
 William John sat down on a stone and pro 
 ceeded to enjoy the contents of the pail at his 
 leisure. 
 
 "Father's doughnut is here yet, and lots of 
 coffee. Come on, sis, and eat with me." 
 
 He made room for his sister on the stone be 
 side him. Britomart sat down and took the 
 doughnut. She was not hungry, but she felt it 
 would be a comfort to sit and talk things over 
 with William Jofin. He was a sweet-faced boy, 
 with a long chin and a prominent nose. His 
 frame was large and bony, indicative of strength 
 and a coming day of fine physical proportions. 
 When Britomart found herself in one of her 
 restless, dissatisfied moods and this happened 
 often there was nothing so soothing as a quiet 
 talk with William John. These moods were the 
 stirrings of a great spirit within her, but this 
 she could not know, and her friends considered 
 them flaws in an otherwise lovely disposition. 
 
 "William John," began Britomart, "I don't see 
 why things are arranged as they are. When I 
 think of it, it makes me ugly as a fiend !" 
 
 The young man was not startled by this dec 
 laration. He had heard it many times before. 
 
 "What's wrong now?" he asked, calmly 
 munching his doughnut. 
 
 "Well, there's Mary,. She was such a nice, 
 companionable girl before she married Frank ; 
 so progressive and ambitious. She took music 
 lessons and sang a pretty alto, and painted some,
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 11 
 
 and oh, I don't know lived! And now see 
 where she is." 
 
 "Well, she lives yet, I hope," said William 
 John. 
 
 "Yes, but a baby ! And doing her own house 
 work in the back of a grocery store, poor as 
 poverty, and nothing to look forward to but 
 more poverty, and death at last, and buried in 
 poverty !" 
 
 "Oh, Britomart, not so bad. Business may 
 pick up and Frank's luck change. People have 
 done well before now in grocery stores ; why 
 shouldn't Frank?" 
 
 "People have done well on farms; but you 
 know, William John, that we are not doing well. 
 We work our fingers to the bone, all of us, and 
 make a bare living. Mother and father have 
 always done so; now Frank has started in, and 
 by and by you will marry that little fool excuse 
 me, William John Tilly Leven, and you will 
 begin the same old round." 
 
 "Yes, and you'll marry Henry Miller and be 
 an editor's wife and pretty well off, and we'll 
 all live near each other, and go visiting back 
 and forth, and it won't be so bad," said William 
 John, optimistically. 
 
 "I don't know whether I shall or not," said 
 Britomart. 
 
 "Why, sis, what makes you talk so? You 
 may thank your lucky stars to get a fellow like 
 Henry Miller. He's doing well, for a young 
 man. He is good-principled, and right here at
 
 12 BRITOMART, 
 
 home. I'd a good sight rather you'd marry him 
 and live right near us than to go off to Cranston 
 or some other place twenty or thirty miles away. 
 Won't you be glad to live right near the rest of 
 us, sis?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, I suppose so; but I don't want to 
 marry at all. I hate it ! When I think of living 
 as Mary has to live and always will have to 
 it makes me shudder ! Just think, William John, 
 of being shut up with Henry Miller in a ten by 
 twelve room, listening to his talk all the time. 
 Ugh !" 
 
 Britomart sprang up and threw the remainder 
 of her doughnut far out into the meadow. After 
 ward a blackbird, with a red cap perched on 
 the back of his head, found it there and made a 
 feast, inviting all his friends, putting on airs be 
 cause none of them had ever tasted such sweeties 
 before. 
 
 "And the poverty the hopelessness of the 
 lifelong poverty," continued Britomart, "and 
 there's no way out of it there is no way out of 
 it. Talk about America being the land of the 
 free ! None of us are free ! We are all slaves, 
 driven with a lash ! Look at poor mother and 
 father. Never a day to call their own; never a 
 little foolishness." The angry tears were in her 
 eyes, and she trod the short grass back and forth" 
 before the placid William John like a lithe young 
 tigress. 
 
 "I can't see how we're going to help it," said 
 William John. He could not deny the truth of
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 13 
 
 his sister's assertions, an<3 they troubled his calm 
 mind. 
 
 "One way we could help it would be not to 
 bring children into the world to follow in our 
 footsteps and tread the same weary round," de 
 clared Britomart. "Look at me. I came into 
 the world with a longing for music to know it, 
 to revel in it. My mother before me had this 
 longing, but what has been parceled out to her 
 in this life in place of music? Why, milking 
 cows, churning, nursing babies " 
 
 "But you, Britomart, you know a good deal 
 about music now." 
 
 "I know music!" cried Britomart, in fine 
 scorn. "Because I can play the 'Battle of Prague' 
 you think I know anything of music? Don't 
 ever make such an assertion before one who 
 knows, William John, because it would subject 
 us both to ridicule." 
 
 William John was completely crushed, and 
 brushed the crumbs off his lap in silence. He 
 was troubled by his sister's unrest. He wished 
 she did not take things so to heart. He hacT 
 been real happy, down in the meadow among 
 the blackbirds, and the world looked bright to 
 him. His fancy had been dwelling on a certain 
 face, a face which had occupied his thoughts a 
 good deal of late ; but Britomart's stormy mood 
 had clouded his own horizon. He had not felt 
 the world to be all wrong in the morning, but 
 since his sister came this feeling possessed him, 
 and it was not a pleasant feeling. He was in-
 
 14 BR1TOMART, 
 
 clined to be a little put out at Britomart. He 
 loved and admired her very much, but he wishecl 
 heartily that she did not get these bitter moods 
 upon her so often. To be sure, she loved^ music'; 
 so did he; so did Tilly Leven. Pretty little 
 Tilly! But Tilly did not let her love of music 
 make her unhappy. On the contrary, she playeH 
 the accordion very sweetly. One of the pictures 
 in his mind was of her as she sat at her bedroom 
 window, the apple blossoms thick in the orchard, 
 a cup of spring flowers on the sill, and Tilly, in 
 her dark calico gown and white apron, with 
 sleeves rolled above her dimpled elbows, her 
 light hair clinging in soft rings about her soft 
 Tittle face, gently pressing a spasmodic melody 
 out of her wheezy accordion. Britomart laughed 
 at Tilly's art and said she ought always to play 
 martial music, because the rattling of straps and 
 keys was so suggestive of men marching in 
 battle array, and cavalry going at full gallop. 
 But Britomart need not be funny at Tilly's ex 
 pense ; Tilly had some traits Britomart would do 
 well to imitate a sweet feminine content and 
 domestic simplicity, for instance. He felt he 
 would like to tell Britomart this, if he could only 
 word it in a way not to hurt her feelings. And 
 Britomart, never dreaming of the reproof so 
 near her brother's lips, went on with her confi 
 dences. 
 
 "I don't know, I am sure, what makes me feel 
 so bitter towards marriage. Every time I think 
 of being married to Henry Miller which I sup-
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 15 
 
 pose I'll have to be ; you all seem to think it's 
 the only thing for me to do it makes me ugly 
 and unhappy ; and do you know, William John, 
 I believe father and mother decided my disposi 
 tion when they named me Britomart. That 
 means 'Hater of Men.' I found it in the dic 
 tionary the other day. And I am a hater of 
 men !" 
 
 "I call that down right wicked, sis ! You 
 don't hate poor old father, do you, and me, and 
 Frank ?" 
 
 "Oh, I mean the Human race man, with a big 
 M, women and children included." 
 
 William John was too much shocked to reply. 
 Britomart saw his displeasure in his face. She 
 knew she was making her brother perfectly mis 
 erable, but she persisted. She was miserable 
 herself in thinking all these bitter thoughts, and 
 to whom should she go for. consolation if not to 
 William John ? She could not talk to her mother 
 this way, because it made her so very unhappy, 
 and she was always so tired that Britomart was 
 unwilling to add the slightest weight to her bur 
 dens ; but William John was young and too opti 
 mistic. He was too soddenly contented to go in 
 his father's footsteps and bend his back to the 
 same burdens of hard worlc, debt, large family, 
 poverty, premature old age*. 
 
 "Sometimes I think I shall go away and try 
 to get a musical education in the city. I believe 
 I could do it, in some way." 
 
 "Oh, pshaw! Britomart; put such discon-
 
 16 BR1TOMART, 
 
 tented notions out of your head. You know 
 enough about music. In a few years you will be 
 married, and then you won't have time for music. 
 Look at Mary Andrews and Sarah Corbin. 
 Nothing- would do but they must go to Cranston 
 to be taught music and painting, and then, after 
 their fathers had spent two or three hundred 
 apiece on them, they came home and got mar 
 ried, and Sarah told me at church last Sunday 
 that the only time she ever touched her organ 
 was when she wiped the dust off ; that she could 
 not even play church music any more, her hands 
 were so stiff." 
 
 "That's the way it goes !" declared Britomart, 
 bitterly. "Let any of us entertain an aspiration, 
 an ambition, and beat our heads against the bars 
 of circumstances the invincible keeper with an 
 iron goad prods us back to our lair to snarl out 
 our lives in vain. The same old round ! I tell 
 you, William John, I hate it ! It is so useless, so 
 hopeless. If it only meant anything, if I were 
 doing any one any good by submitting, if I were 
 making a martyr of myself for any one's sake 
 for poor old father's, or mother's, for you, or 
 Frank, or " 
 
 "Or Frank's child," joked William John. 
 
 "Well, I really don't love Frank's child to the 
 degree that I would suffer martyrdom for it I 
 resent the little nuisance, to tell the truth. As 
 I was saying, if there was any earthly use, I 
 could go on as you are all going on, but there 
 is not. What good will it do if I work and
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 17 
 
 marry, and work and bear children, and work 
 and grow old, and work and die, and be buried" 
 out of sight ? Of all my life there would be this 
 record left : 'She worked, but accomplished noth 
 ing, save to feed and clothe herself. She has left 
 more mouths and backs in the world to be fed 
 and covered.' That is all." 
 
 "But by doing patiently and uncomplainingly 
 that work which lies at your hand, you will have 
 made the people around you happy. Mother 
 and father and us boys first ; Henry Miller if 
 he is your husband and later afl those children 
 you propose having," and William John grinned 
 at his sister. He could not imagine brilliant, 
 high-strung Britomart patiently dandling Henry 
 Miller's children. 
 
 "If I married Henry Miller it would not be long 
 before he would wish me and my 'tantrums' in 
 the Red Sea, and the children I tell you, Wil 
 liam John Landor, I can't see how the children 
 of poor people can thank their parents for 
 thrusting existence upon them in this day and 
 age. I am sure I do not." 
 
 Britomart was going to say more, and Wil 
 liam John had opened his mouth to reply, when 
 a pink face surrounded by a sunbonnet of the 
 same hue, appeared floating on the waves of 
 ripening wheat, and Tilly Leven called out 
 sweetly that she had been up to the old house, 
 had seen Britomart's hat in the meadow, and so 
 came down. 
 
 Britomart sniffed disdainfully. "A great deal
 
 18 BRITOMART, 
 
 she cared for Britomart's hat!" she thought. 
 "It was the hat of William John which attracted 
 her." 
 
 That young man's countenance had been 
 knotted with scowls caused by the contemplation 
 of difficulties suggested by his sister's conversa 
 tion, but it cleared immediately at sight of the 
 pink sunbonnet. Tilly looked very pretty under 
 that bonnet. The color brought out not only 
 the pink of her cheeks, but the pearly shades of 
 neck and forehead. Try it once, ye doubters. 
 Don a pink sunbonnet and see what it will do for 
 your complexions, or hang a pink drapery over 
 your mirror and behold yourselves always young 
 and fresh. 
 
 William John gave his seat on the stone to 
 Tilly, and threw himself down on the grass, a 
 happy light in his eyes. The clouds had rolled 
 away. Once more the blackbirds piped, and life 
 seemed right to him. The gloom on his sis 
 ter's face was too deep for the shadow of a pink 
 sunbonaet to disperse. She did not feel its 
 presence such an honor as did William John. 
 Any young man around Belleville would feel 
 flattered to have Tilly Leven call upon him in 
 the meadow, and of late she had often shown a 
 preference for William John Landor. 
 
 "What were you talking about so fast when I 
 came through the wheat?" asked Tilly. 
 
 "I was trying to convince William John that 
 a man who has eaten two fat sandwiches and 
 four big doughnuts, and drunk two cups of cof-
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 19 
 
 fee, did not need any dinner, but I haven't suc 
 ceeded, so I must 'go quvigck in der house,' as 
 Martha Schlater would say, and make dinner." 
 
 "O, pshaw!" said William John. "It isn't so, 
 Tilly. Tell her what you were saying and see 
 what she thinks about it." 
 
 "Thinks about it !" said Britomart, coolly eye 
 ing the pink sunbonnet. "Tilly couldn't think 
 about it." 
 
 "What was it?" asked Tilly, a little nettled at 
 the implication in Britomart's remark. 
 
 "Politics," answered Britomart. 
 
 "No, indeed, then," said Tilly, demurely. 
 "Women, especially young girls, can find some 
 thing more appropriate to think about." 
 
 "It wasn't politics," said William John. 
 
 "Then what was it?" asked Britomart, and 
 William John could not name it, for neither of 
 the young people dreamed it was Sociology, not 
 knowing exactly what that word meant. 
 
 "By the way, what do you think of, Tilly?" 
 
 "What all young girls think of, I presume," 
 answered Tilly, wishing with all her heart that 
 Britomart was at the house getting dinner, and . 
 no one in the meadow but William John and 
 herself. 
 
 "But I am a young girl, and I am sure you 
 and I do not think of the same things." 
 
 Tilly's power of repartee was not her strong 
 point, by any means, but, like most dull people, 
 she sometimes stumbled on a cutting answer. 
 She did just then.
 
 20 BRITOMART, 
 
 "Oh, you- are not so young any more. You 
 are over twenty-two, and I think girls get wise 
 and prosy after they are twenty." 
 
 Britomart flushed now, and William John 
 laughed uneasily. He was afraid the girls were 
 going to quarrel ; but Britomart only said, "Not 
 you, Tilly, never fear," and Tilly took it as a 
 compliment, and smiled prettily, as Britomart 
 gathered up her dishes and pail and made ready 
 to start for home. 
 
 "Talking about politics, I heard something 
 awful about Paul," said Tilly. "When pa was 
 down town the other day, Dan Halbright told 
 him he saw Paul over at Cranston, where he 
 works, and Paul wasn't satisfied with his wages 
 nor nothing, and Dan said Ke talked just awful 
 about the republican party said it was just as 
 bad as the democrats. Dan said he was dumb 
 founded to hear one of John Lander's boys talk 
 that way. Pa says that if Paul was his boy he 
 would be afraid, going over to Cranston to \vork 
 with all them rough factory men, he would turn 
 democrat." 
 
 There was horror and then unbelief pictured 
 in William John's face. "Don't you ever believe 
 it, Tilly," he said. "My brother Paul will never 
 turn democrat. Dan Halbright is always nos 
 ing up something terrible. He likes to make 
 folks' eyes stick out." 
 
 "Well, I hope it isn't so," said Tilly, piously. 
 
 "I don't care if he is a democrat, if he is a 
 good man," declared Britomart, more to-be con-
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 21 
 
 trary than for any other reason, for she pos 
 sessed the family abhorrence for a democrat in 
 quite as great a degree as did William John. 
 
 "Why, Britomart Landor ! you know well 
 enough he couldn't be a democrat and still be a 
 good man !" cried Tilly. 
 
 "Why?" asked Britomart. 
 
 "Because !" said Tilly. 
 
 Britomart laughed. "The reason is sufficient. 
 I think it would convince any jury in the land. 
 I thought you never talked politics ?" 
 
 "I don't ; but anybody knows that you can't 
 be any lower down than to be a democrat." 
 
 Britomart turned to William John triumph 
 antly. "There you have it in a nutshell. You 
 see we women do think and talk politics all 
 of us. We believe a certain class of men are 
 fiends and we stick to it and would fight for it, 
 and yet if anybody asks us our reasons, we say, 
 'It is so because it is so, and so, now !' and go 
 off firmly convinced that no one can dispute our 
 reasons. The women are all that way, and most 
 of the men. It makes me sick !" 
 
 "May be she is going to be a democrat," 
 laughed Tilly. 
 
 "You needn't fret, but if Paul turns democrat, 
 I shall certainly listen to and try to understand 
 some of his reasons for turning, before I sen 
 tence him to slow starvation." 
 
 "Well, you may try to understand politics if 
 you have time; I haven't. I am crocheting me
 
 22 BRITOMART, 
 
 a whole waist, and it will take me all summer to 
 finish it." 
 
 William John thought, "What a deft-fingered 
 little body she is, making her own finery; so 
 economical too." Her next remark rather dis 
 couraged his admiration in this respect. 
 
 "It will take nearly a hundred spools of fine 
 thread." 
 
 "At four cents a spool," said Britomart. 
 "Four dollars worth of thread and about one 
 hundred dollars worth of time, and then it will 
 be a saggy, ungainly thing. I would rather get 
 thirty-five cents worth of white muslin and make 
 a really pretty waist. You could put in the rest 
 of the time in making soap-bubbles. No one 
 denies their beauty." 
 
 William John was uneasy again. "Don't mind 
 her. She likes to hear herself talk, Tilly. If 
 she meant everything she said, there would be 
 no living with her." ^ 
 
 Tilly's cheeks were very red and she was 
 nearly crying. Britomart saw the rebuke in her 
 brother's face and relented at once. 
 
 "Everybody to their taste, Tilly. It's all right, 
 and I was just teasing you. I don't know that 
 it will be' saggy. Come on; aren't you going 
 now? I've got to get dinner for this lazy fel 
 low, who hasn't done enough haying this fore 
 noon to pay for his lunch, say nothing of dinner. 
 Mother is away from home, and I am alone to 
 day. Come along, Tilly. Let's go back through 
 the wheat, by the little old house. Oh, by the
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 23 
 
 way, has your father rented it ? I saw the door 
 open and a big box inside as I came down." 
 
 "Yes, he has rented it," murmured Tilly, with 
 no great degree of enthusiasm. She was still 
 smarting from the insinuations that a democrat 
 might be a gentleman, and that her crocheted 
 waist would be saggy. 
 
 "Tell us about it," urged Britomart. "Is there 
 a large family ? Won't it be funny to have new 
 neighbors ? I don't like it very well. I like to 
 have the old house empty. I like to flatten my 
 nose against the pane and imagine whomsoever 
 I please living inside." 
 
 "I don't think it would pay pa to refuse to 
 rent the house in order that you might flatten 
 your nose against the windows," said Tilly, with 
 what she intended to be biting sarcasm. Wil 
 liam John and Britomart both laughed. 
 
 "Perhaps," suggested Britomart, "the tenants 
 won't object, in consideration of a small sum, to 
 still grant me the privilege. It might be quite 
 interesting to me." 
 
 "It's a man," said Tilly ; "just a man, all alone. 
 Pa says he don't see what he wants to rent an 
 old house out in a wheat-field for, but he did, 
 and that's all there is of it. Pa asked him if he 
 was looking for work, and he said the funniest 
 thing. He said no, he was looking for a place 
 to get away from work. I think he is crazy." 
 
 "Because he wants to get away from work? I 
 don't; I think he is wise. I'd get away from 
 every bit of it if I could," laughed Britomart.
 
 24 BRITOMART, 
 
 "I wouldn't," said Tilly, demurely; "I ain't 
 lazy, whatever else I may be." 
 
 Britomart caught a smile on the tips of her 
 ringers, and the girls plunged into the wheat 
 together, while William John went back to his 
 work. 
 
 "What kind of a looking man is it who has 
 rented the house?" asked Britomart, as they 
 approached the dwelling in question from the 
 rear. 
 
 "Oh, he is about as tall as William John. He 
 has a Roman nose, and a lazy way, and the pret 
 tiest hands you ever saw. Pa couldn't get any 
 thing out of him as to what he intended to do, 
 or why he was renting the house." 
 
 The old well-sweep stood outlined against the 
 sky, a gnarled plum tree grew close beside it, 
 the dark weather stains of the cottage served as 
 a background to the picture. It pleased the 
 artistic sense in Britomart. She experienced a 
 thrill of pleasure. She wished the new tenant 
 had not come to spoil her loafing place, for this 
 old well-curb, the plum tree, and a book, had 
 brought her happy hours. 
 
 The girls went down the road together until 
 they came to the corner where Tilly turned to go 
 to her own home. 
 
 "I think I'll come over a few minutes tonight, 
 after supper," she said. "Will you be at home ?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," answered Britomart, with a sigh, 
 and Tilly bade her good-bye, graciously ignor 
 ing the lack of invitation in Britomart's tone.
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 25 
 
 "Mighty little she cares whether I want her 
 or not, so long as she wants to come. She'll 
 come, in that persistent way of hers which passes 
 for sweetness, presumably to see me, in reality 
 to see William John, and I shall have to give 
 up my evening's practice and sit dumbly by, 
 while they look unutterable things at each other. 
 Dear me ! How I do hate anything that savors 
 of courting! Well, I'll hurry up, and after the 
 dinner dishes are out of the way, I will practice, 
 and I will patch this evening while listening to 
 the dear boy make a fool of himself over that 
 insignificant little thing. And now to make his 
 waffles for him, Bless his dear old heart ! I wish 
 he might have a little different life that I might 
 do something grand for him, and the rest." 
 
 After dinner, just as Britomart put the last 
 touch to her simple toilet, and opened the piano, 
 happy in the anticipation of a good two hours' 
 practice, the door swung open and old Mr. 
 Spence came in. Mr. Spence was Frank's 
 father-in-law, and considered to be a very dis 
 reputable old man, for he was a democrat of the 
 deepest dye.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Old Man Spence was not a handsome man. 
 His face was rugged, and seamed by sixty years 
 of varying weather on a farm, and his long, nar 
 row tuft of white beard was apt to be discolored 
 by tobacco juice. His slovenly habits and ob 
 jectionable politics did not tend to make him a 
 favorite with the Landor family. Even Frank 
 had harbored a secret dislike for him in the first 
 days of his marriage. It had worn away after 
 two years of intimate acquaintance, but Brito- 
 mart had not this advantage, so kept her poor 
 opinion intact. She considered the old man par 
 ticularly objectionable this afternoon, as he set 
 tled himself in her mother's chair, and after fir 
 ing an amber stream of tobacco juice as straight 
 as an arrow into the wood-box, announced with 
 great importance that he had "been sent up to 
 tell *em that Frank's folks had a boy." Brito- 
 mart admitted that she was not surprised, and 
 Mr. Spence was a little astonished at her calm 
 ness in hearing the news. She inquired solicit 
 ously after Mary, and Spence informed her in 
 an off-hand way that "Mary was doin' all right," 
 returning immediately to the more engrossing 
 subject of the boy. 
 
 "Darndest little critter ye ever see. Great big 
 feller; eyes jist as blue as a piece er glass." 
 
 "Mercy! I hope he hasn't glass eyes, Mr. 
 Spence."
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 27 
 
 "And jist as bright as a button," continued 
 the infatuated grandfather, ignoring Britomart's 
 flippant remark. "I'm glad the first one is a 
 boy." 
 
 "The first one and the last, I hope," said Brito- 
 mart. 
 
 "Pooh ! what do you old maids know about 
 children? They'll have a dozen hope they 
 will." 
 
 "At least when they do, I hope Frank will be 
 making more than he is nowadays, and be able 
 to lay up a bit. What right, I'd like to know, 
 has Frank, or any other man, to bring children 
 into the world without the least show of edu 
 cating them? What will become of this poor 
 little piece of humanity? Frank isn't making 
 his living, Mr. Spence ; you know that." 
 
 "Yes, I know that, just as well as you do. 
 Frank ain't making anything; neither are the 
 rest of 'em. Frank ain't the only one who is 
 running behind. But, Lord bless you ! it's hard 
 times now. Things'll take a turn by the time 
 this little duffer gits up in the world long be 
 fore, I hope. Yes, sir, times's got to pick up 
 pretty soon or Frank's a goner. Had to borry 
 the money o' me to meet his last two bills with. 
 'Course you needn't say anything about this. I 
 wouldn't mention it outside the fambly. Mary's 
 the only child I got left out o' ten, and what's 
 mine's hers; but it does seem darn queer 'at 
 Frank's so behindhand."
 
 28 BRITOMART, 
 
 "You say that all the other merchants in Belle 
 ville are the same ?" 
 
 "Yes, yes, I can't deny that. It's the damned 
 politics, that's what it is. You see, the repub 
 licans has had it all their own way for thirty 
 year, and " 
 
 "But we are under democratic administration 
 now, Mr. Spence." 
 
 "You can't undo thirty year legislation in one, 
 I can tell you ; and besides we ain't under it yet. 
 Cleveland can't do anything till he gits a con 
 gress that goes with him, and his party but 
 good land ! What's the use of talking politics 
 to a womarn? They don't know beans about 
 politics. Talk to the women about beaux and 
 babies, not politics." 
 
 "But I have neither that I am interested in, 
 and I am very much interested in the politics 
 of my own country, and anxious to understand 
 it a little better. You see, father and the boys 
 and Henry Miller, are all republicans, so I hear 
 only one. side of the question, and sometimes I 
 think they don't more than half know what they 
 are talking about." 
 
 "Well, my girl, you struck it there !" Mr. 
 Spence rose excitedly, assumed a more familiar 
 position, with his back to the stove and his hands 
 in his pockets, using the wood-box, meantime, 
 as a cuspidore in a way which alarmed the tidy 
 instincts of the girl, who would Be obliged soon 
 to build the fire for tea. "There you've struck 
 it ! I ain't got a word to say agin your father,
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 29 
 
 John Landor ; he's as nice a man as ever stepped 
 foot, but he's a fool when it comes to politics. 
 He's too easy. He's a republican because he's 
 allers been a republican. He uses reason in 
 other things, 'cept politics, but in politics he's 
 as blind as a bat. He don't stop to consider 
 that his party has changed since the war; that, 
 in fact, we democrats are upholding the very 
 principles which used to be the war-cry of the 
 republicans. And then there's the tariff. Now, 
 your father knows as well as I do that a high 
 tariff don't help him any. He knows well enough 
 that his wheat don't sell any higher on account 
 of the tariff, and that his coat costs him a good 
 deal more than it would if the tariff on manu 
 factured goods was taken off, that it makes no 
 difference with the price of wool, because we 
 only import a certain long-hair wool for the 
 making of fine goods, a kind of wool which can't 
 be raised in America." 
 
 "Isn't the democratic congress fixing the tariff 
 now, Mr. Spence? Why don't we have better 
 times?" 
 
 "We shall, we shall, after a little. You wait !" 
 
 "I hope you are rfght. You say I am already 
 an old maid, and all my life I have heard nothing 
 but hard times ; and the strangest part of it is, 
 they are just on the point of getting better when 
 along comes a presidential election year and 
 knocks everything in the head again. Every 
 time we have a relapse we get worse." 
 
 Mr. Spence stopped at the door to give Brito-
 
 80 BRITOMART, 
 
 mart another minute description of Frank's 
 baby. "There goes my practice hour for this 
 afternoon!" pouted Britomart. "I must get 
 supper now, and after supper it will be some one 
 else, I suppose." And it was. Mr. Landor 
 came home in the same state of grandfatherly 
 exultation which had characterized Old Man 
 Spence. 
 
 "Cunningest little thing, Britomart. You'd 
 die a laughing to see him double up his firsts and 
 strike out. Eyes as blue as the sky. I never 
 saw so young a child that was so smart." 
 
 "Oh, I've heard all this before," laughed 
 Britomart. 
 
 "Who's tellin' you?" 
 
 "Old Spence." ' 
 
 "Ha! ha! Well, you'd laugh to see that old 
 goose just hung right over that young one the 
 minute it was born. The women-folks and I 
 had to shove him out of the room." 
 
 "So you could hang over it, I presume, hey, 
 father? Poor child! It's in danger of being 
 smothered by grandparents ; mother and Mrs. 
 Spence all the time, and you and Old Spence 
 spasmodically." 
 
 Mr. Landor brought word that his wife would 
 stay in town a spell, until the baby was well 
 started on its earthly career, and Britomart pro 
 ceeded to do up the supper dishes with the lonely 
 feeling she always experienced when her mother 
 was gone. Before they were finished Tilly Leven 
 came do\vn to pay the promised visit, and after
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 31 
 
 listening with many expressions of astonishment 
 and delight to Mr. Landor's long account of the 
 wonder which had come to town, found her way 
 outf under the apple tree, where she and Wil 
 liam John exchanged confidences with a low 
 hum, "like a swarm of bees," as Britomart said. 
 Britomart sat down at the piano with a guilty 
 feeling of apprehension, for well she knew who 
 would come soon her lover and she would 
 much rather he would stay away. "What is the 
 reason," she asked herself fearfully, "that I al 
 ways dread to see him coming? I should not 
 feel that way towards the man I am thinking 
 of marrying. I am sure William John doesn't 
 feel so when Tilly Leven appears. His face 
 lights up like a lantern, and he seems never so 
 happy as when he can sit and talk to her the 
 entire evening. It must be because I do not 
 love him. But why in the world do I not love 
 him? Shall I never love anybody? Am I dif 
 ferent from the rest of my kind? He is good, 
 he is the only young man who has ever noticed 
 me in the least. I should feel grateful to him, 
 if nothing more. He is quite a catch, too a 
 young editor; and father and mother are de 
 lighted at the prospect of the match. Oh, well, 
 I presume all women feel as I do at times. 
 Mother told me once that, really, she cared very 
 little for father when she married Em, and was 
 more than half in love with a young man who 
 never amounted to anything; but that now she 
 worshiped every hair on dear old father's head.
 
 32 BRITOMART, 
 
 It is hard to understand yourself. It is hard to 
 take your soul in your hand and examine it, to 
 fathom the why and the wherefore. I wish I 
 could feel as sure of my love for Henry Miller 
 as I do of that for my father and mother and 
 the dear old boys, or my music how I do love 
 my music, and how far I am from the heart 
 of it." 
 
 She sat down to the piano in the stuffy little 
 front room. The door looking out on tBe front 
 walk stood open. The walk, bordered by stiff 
 poplars, ended at the garden gate. Britomart 
 played on, always with the consciousness of 
 listening fearfully for the click of the gate and 
 her lover's step on the walk. The barns were 
 across the road from 'the house, and back of 
 them the grove rose solemn and dark against 
 the blaze of the western sky. Mr. Landor, on 
 the small porch, read his weekly paper, and had 
 it not been for the unpleasant anticipation of 
 the gate-click, the homely peace, the beauty of 
 the night and her own music would have made 
 Britomart happy. 
 
 Suddenly the warning sounded, the gate 
 clicked sharply. He had come. Well, she 
 would keep on playing until he rapped or made 
 some other demonstration to make his presence 
 known. Perhaps he would go to the porch and 
 talk awhile with her father. She hoped he would 
 do so. She played on no sound. She repeated 
 the rondo which she had been playing, and, in 
 fluenced by her wish to remain alone, her dis-
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 33 
 
 content, her longing, she played with much feel 
 ing. There was something of her mood voiced 
 in her music. Then Her hands fell from the 
 keys with a sigh and she swung round on the 
 stool. 
 
 A man was sitting on the stone steps which 
 led up to the door. He wore a velveteen coat 
 over a negligee shirt, the collar of which fay 
 comfortably loose about his throat. His pro 
 file, which was the view Britomart first had of 
 him, was rendered remarkable by a prominent 
 Roman nose, a firm sweet mouth, and a strong 
 chin. He was sitting quite still, gazing at the 
 western sky, and clasping a crush hat about his 
 knees with hands which were long, white and 
 fine. Britomart recognized him from Tilly's de 
 scription as the tenant of the old house. But 
 little did she clream at that moment of the new 
 influence which had come into her life; that 
 when those slender hands, with their steely 
 strength, woulci b'eckon her to new and danger 
 ous ventures, she would follow ; that from those 
 keen eyes and gentle, smiling lips would ema 
 nate commands she would have no will nor wish 
 to disobey. 
 
 He arose when she stopped playing, and bow 
 ing with just the ghost of a smile, said: "You 
 are Miss Landor, I believe. I am Dennis Blair. 
 I have recently rented the cottage west of here, 
 in the wheat-field, and I was told I might pos 
 sibly find board at Mrs. Lander's. You were 
 playing when I came through the gate, and I
 
 84 BRITOMART, 
 
 took the liberty of enjoying your music unasked. 
 I love to play, or to listen to music on nights 
 like this, when the sun is setting." 
 
 "You play, then?" asked Britomart. 
 
 "Yes," he answered. "Will you permit me?" 
 and he seated himself at the piano. 
 
 Britomart sat down in the doorway, uncon 
 sciously assuming the attitude in which she had 
 first seen her visitor, her hands clasping her 
 knees, her eyes turned towards trie glowing west. 
 
 Never, in all her limited experience, had Brito 
 mart seen a man at the piano. It was not a 
 common sight in the vicinity of Belleville. She 
 knew, of course, that in the world men played 
 the piano, but she had never happened to see 
 one. At first the novelty of it absorbed her, but 
 presently the charm of the music began to weave 
 its spell about her. It was music she had never 
 heard before. At first it seemed weak and jum 
 bled too complicated to be understood or en 
 joyed but presently those soft, rapid notes pro 
 duced a sense of rest after great weariness, of 
 sleep, of utter forgetfulness. 
 
 Meanwhile the glow went out of the west en 
 tirely, and a cool night wind sprang up. The 
 parlor darkened, but the musician needed no 
 light. The music deepened, swayed and trem 
 bled, assuming a martial ring. Britomart was 
 conscious of a feeling of hope, of strength, a 
 knowledge that she might do great things, suffer 
 and be strong for the love she bore her kin or 
 country. Her love of music and her susceptf-
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 35 
 
 bility to its influences made her soul an instru 
 ment, the strings of which the steely, white 
 fingers were striking simultaneously with the 
 old piano keys. The piano was old, its best 
 days done, but the harp of the woman's soul 
 was new, and attune to the possibilities of great 
 endeavor. To Britomart, as she sat and gazed, 
 it seemed as though a panorama of her life, as 
 she wished it might be, opened in the western 
 sky. To be, to do, to suffer, for great ideals. 
 She would have liked to walk rapidly, or sway 
 back and forth in time to the music. There was 
 a look of inspiration on her face, of intent though 
 suppressed emotion in her attitude. 
 
 The man at the piano finished, and turning, 
 caught something of her mood. He regarded 
 her silently impersonally. There was none of 
 the admiration of a man for a pretty woman in 
 his gaze, but instead a speculation, a summing 
 up of the possible capabilities in the girl before 
 him. 
 
 Mr. Landor came around from the side porch 
 as the music stopped. 
 
 "I was just coming to hear you play, Brito 
 mart," he said, with his usual sunny smile. Brito 
 mart stood up. The man at the piano left the 
 stool and came out upon the stone platform.- 
 
 "My playing !" exclaimed Britomart. "Father, 
 did you really think it was I who was playing?" 
 
 "Of course I did." 
 
 "It was this gentleman. This is my father,
 
 36 BRITOMART, 
 
 Mr. Blair. Mr. Blair has called to see about 
 boarding with us." 
 
 Mr. Landor led the way into the house. 
 "Come in, come in. I don't know, I am sure. 
 My wife ain't to home, but Britomart here has 
 as much to say about it as her mother, I sup 
 pose. What do you think your mother would 
 say, Britomart?" 
 
 "Are you a teacher of music?" asked Brito 
 mart, eagerly. 
 
 For the space of a moment the man hesitated, 
 then answered in the affirmative. "Perhaps I 
 might hope to obtain you for my pupil, giving 
 lessons in part payment for my board. I do noT 
 require lodgings. I have rented the cottage 
 west of here." 
 
 "Oh, father, do you suppose mother would 
 care?" 
 
 William John and Tilly appeared at this mo 
 ment, Tilly having started for home, after her 
 most delightful evening visiting Britomart. 
 
 "William John, this gentleman, Mr. Blair, is 
 a music teacher, and wants to board with us. 
 He will give me lessons. Do you think mother 
 would care? Miss Leven, this is Mr. Blair. I 
 presume you have met before, as he rented trie 
 house from your father." 
 
 Yes, Miss Leven had met Mr. Blair earlier in 
 the day. 
 
 "Why, mother won't care if you say it's all 
 right. You have as much of the work to do as 
 mother," said William John, pleasantly.
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 37 
 
 The stranger smiled at William John, and the 
 boy returned the smile with a broad, honest, 
 farmer boy's grin. 
 
 "You didn't say anything about being a music 
 teacher, or perhaps we might have taken you 
 ourselves," said Tilly, in an aggrieved tone of 
 voice. She felt that in some way Britomart had 
 defrauded her of a chance to get music lessons 
 cheap. 
 
 "Do you give lessons on the accordion?" 
 
 William John felt himself blushing for Tilly. 
 He loved music, although knowing nothing of 
 the science. He liked to see Tilly with her 
 favorite instrument in her hands, but did not 
 altogether enjoy the music she extracted from it. 
 She possessed a cabinet organ, but preferred the 
 accordion, because she could arrive at an effect 
 without so much labor. It took time to learn 
 to play the organ, and she needed time for her 
 crocheting. William John, who knew nothing of 
 this pressure of fancy-work, and supposed the 
 reason the organ stood shut and voiceless was 
 for lack of instruction, determined that if this 
 man staid long and gave his sister lessons, Tilly 
 should take, also, at his expense. A few les 
 sons, he felt sure, would enable Tilly to rise 
 above Britomart's ridicule. 
 
 If Britomart expected to see an answering 
 ridicule in Mr. Blair's face she was disappointed. 
 He admitted to Miss Leven, gravely and politely, 
 that the only instruments with which he was" 
 familiar were the violin and piano, the latter but
 
 38 BRITOMART, 
 
 in a superficial degree. His manner conciliated 
 Miss Leven considerably. She did not wish to 
 take lessons on any instrument except the ac 
 cordion, so was willing that her father's tenant 
 should board with the Landors. However, she 
 wished the man had told her what his business 
 was. 
 
 Britomart decided she had better not give Mr. 
 Blair an answer until she had consulted her 
 mother on the subject. He was to come the 
 next evening to hear the decision. Meanwhile 
 William John would go to Belleville to lay the 
 case before Mrs. Landor. Mr. Blair was to 
 come to dinner just the same. 
 
 All the next forenoon Britomart went about 
 with a new light shining in her eyes. This 
 stranger's music had opened a door to her a 
 door of promise. Now and then she would 
 leave the kitchen and going to the piano play her 
 own familiar music, trying to catch the touch, 
 to infuse the passion into it which she had recog 
 nized in the man's playing. She hoped he would 
 play again when he came to dinner, but he did 
 not. He sat under the trees and talked politics 
 with her father and William John, or rather en 
 couraged them to talk without expressing many 
 opinions himself. Tilly Leven came after din 
 ner, and the two girls went down where the men 
 were resting and talking. It was very sweet 
 there in the shade of the Balm of Giliad tree, 
 with its varnished leaves. Tilly had been sent 
 by her mother to borrow some "emptins."
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 39 
 
 Britomart knew why Tilly had postponed wash 
 ing her dishes until after her errand was done, 
 so led the way at once down under the trees. 
 Blair relinquished the bench to them and 
 stretched himself on the grass, his head sup 
 ported on his hand. Britomart noticed how 
 graceful the lines of his long, lithe body were. 
 She had thought him very plain at first. Today 
 something in his gaunt cheeks, narrow, deep-set 
 eyes, hooked nose and hard, handsome mouth, 
 fascinated her as mere regularity of feature 
 could not have done. 
 
 There was much that was interesting in the 
 conversation also. Tilly considered it very stu 
 pid, and made several vain attempts to draw 
 William John away from the rest. She wanted 
 to tell him of a party which was in prospect, and 
 to which she wished him to be her escort, but 
 William John felt that this stranger was in an 
 overt manner attacking his father's good, stanch, 
 political convictions, and he wanted to hear his 
 father in whom he had the greatest confidence 
 convince this man of his mistakes. William 
 John, despite his awkward youth, had a keen, 
 thoughtful mind, and, although he would not 
 own it, much better powers of argument than his 
 father. Although he liked this man, he did not 
 relish hearing him make the assertion that the 
 republican party was not the same good, honest 
 old party it had ever been, fighting for liberty 
 and the good of all men. Hence the blandish 
 ments of Tilly were passed by unheeded.
 
 40 BRITOMART, 
 
 "I believe in high tariff," his father was say 
 ing. "I believe in protecting our own manufac 
 turing interests from them there fellows over in 
 Europe who can git men to work for next to 
 nothing, and then bring stuff over here to cut 
 down the prices of labor in this country." 
 
 "But some of the most highly protected in 
 dustries are the most wretchedly paid. How do 
 you explain that? The cotton manufactures, 
 for instance." 
 
 "Don't you believe in the tariff?" cried Wil 
 liam John, in much the same tone of voice in 
 which he would have asked, "Don't you believe 
 in God?" 
 
 "No, my boy, I do not," answered Blair. 
 
 "Why, you must be a democrat !" 
 
 A thrill of horror shot through Tilly Leven. 
 The accused smiled slowly, showing a set of fine 
 teeth. "No," he answered, "I am afraid I am 
 not conservative enough to be a good demo 
 crat?" 
 
 "What do you mean by that ?" demanded Wil 
 liam John, determined to ascertain just where 
 this poor wanderer did stand, if it took all the 
 afternoon. 
 
 "Why, I mean that a good democrat will swal 
 low almost anything that is given to him in a 
 spoon marked Democracy. So long as it bears 
 the old name, whether it be good or ill, he takes 
 it willingly, gladly." 
 
 Mr. Landor laughed.
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 41 
 
 "And you, too, are a republican, I under 
 stand," said Blair, addressing William John. 
 
 "You bet I am!" answered William John, 
 loudly, the proud young blood mounting into his 
 cheeks. He felt strong to defend the right 
 against this ignorant teacher of music, a pleasant 
 enough fellow, to be sure, but ignorant, woefully 
 ignorant of politics. 
 
 "Why are you a republican ?" asked Blair. 
 
 It was hardly fair to tackle a boy this way. 
 "I am a republican," blustered William John, 
 "because it's the best party because father is, 
 for one reason." 
 
 Mr. Landor laughed again. "You must give 
 a better reason than that, William John, a better 
 reason than- that." 
 
 Blair said gravely: "That is a very common 
 reason, and, for a boy with an honest father, 
 whom he loves and respects, it is a very natural 
 reason. I had a good republican father, one 
 who vote'd the straight ticket year after year. 
 He was a hard-working, honest man, a machinist 
 by trade. He fought three years in the war and 
 came home in the belief that there were long 
 years of happiness in store for him. He had 
 been ready to lay down his life in the service of 
 the country that he loved, and confidently ex 
 pected to receive in return the privilege of earn 
 ing an honest living for himself and family by 
 the sweat of his brow. He voted for the pro 
 tective tariff because he was led to believe that 
 in building up the industries of the country the
 
 43 BRITOMART, 
 
 manufacturers would be enabled to give better 
 wages. 
 
 "The facts were these: My father's wages 
 decreased instead of increasing. The tariff 
 principles of his party made clothing and house 
 hold necessities higher, but there was no corre 
 sponding rise in his wages. The tariff did not 
 shut out foreign emigration, and competition be 
 came so strong that he found himself begging 
 humbly for a chance to work at all a thing he 
 would 1'ave scorned to do in earlier days, for he 
 was a good workman. The city grew up about 
 him, rent became so high it was impossible for 
 him to provide other than a wretched home for 
 his wife and children. He was told continually 
 by his fellow-workmen that he was in hard luck, 
 having a family to support. He had thought it 
 the best of luck to possess a sweet wife and three 
 little children. His best impulses were born 
 through his life with and love for them. He 
 came to realize that over half the men with 
 whom he worked had no families because it was 
 becoming impossible for a working man to sup 
 port one decently on the small and uncertain 
 wages of their class. They herded together in 
 dirty boarding houses, and in place of having a 
 home to go to at night, they went to saloons 
 and brothels. They were never sure of a job for 
 more than three months in a place; then they 
 made ready to tramp, and tramp it was literally, 
 because of the life they led they had no money 
 as a usual thing.
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 43 
 
 "One year, owing to strikes and an over 
 crowded condition of the labor market, he had 
 only three months' work during the entire year. 
 I was getting to 6e a strapping fellow then. We 
 were on the verge of starvation. He said to me 
 one day : 'Dennis, I can't understand it. Amer 
 ica is a great and glorious country, but there is 
 something wrong, not because we are poor and" 
 starving, but we are not alone. All labor 
 ing men are in the same boat. The men 
 we work for are getting too rich, while we are 
 getting too poor. Some say it is the machinery, 
 some say over-production. I don't know, Den 
 nis, my boy, I don't know. I only know I wish 
 you had never been born to struggle and be 
 beaten as I have been.' 
 
 "The next day he died, and I swore by the 
 God that reigns above us that I would know, 
 that I would find out 'the something' that was 
 wrong. Other minds which were greater and 
 better than mine were studying it out also, and 
 with their help, and my own observation and 
 experience, I have reached conclusions which I 
 find justified every day." 
 
 Dennis Blair had risen, and with his thumbs 
 lightly caught in his trousers pockets, his hat 
 on the back of his head, his face pale and his 
 thin lips compressed tightly he seemed to per 
 sonify to Britomart the oppressed labor class, 
 rising in its manly intelligence and newly ac 
 quired knowledge against the oppressors. 
 
 "But," said John Landor, "you don't tell me
 
 44 BRITOMART, 
 
 that the republican party was the cause of this 
 ruin?" 
 
 "It certainly did not prevent it," answered 
 Blair. "For all my father's faith, it did not pre 
 vent it. It allowed the abuses which have made 
 it possible for the few to grasp what belongs 
 to the many. My father was but one of mil 
 lions. You do not feel the pressure here as yet, 
 in any great measure ; and still you are wronged. 
 You have spent a life of honest toil upon this 
 farm, you have had glorious harvests, the sun, 
 wind and rain have been good to you. That 
 which you produce with so much labor and 
 weariness, the world reaches out eager hands to 
 receive. There are hungry mouths, never half 
 filled, longing for that produce ; there are toil- 
 grimmed thousands ready to pay for it fairly 
 with labor not a whit less arduous than your 
 own. But what is the result ? A transportation 
 king takes the first half of your profits, and a 
 millionaire, with an option on pork and grain, 
 the speculator, the man on exchange, take the 
 lion's share of the remainder. You work blindly 
 on, hoping for better times, misled by lying^ 
 demagogues and a press belonging body and 
 soul to your enemies. But, pshaw ! I am taking 
 your time. Your team should be in the field." 
 
 "I don't believe a word of it !" began William 
 John, but his father turned upon him sharply, 
 and William John, not being used to a rebuke 
 from his gentle, laughing old father, was startled 
 by his vehemence.
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 45 
 
 "I should, some day, like to talk with you 
 again on this subject, Mr. Blair. I believe, as 
 you say, there is something wrong, but just 
 what, I have never been able to put my finger 
 on." 
 
 "Haven't I always told you so?" cried Brito- 
 mart. "Haven't I always said you didn't get 
 your just dues? And mother nothing better 
 than a slave all her life. Mrs. Leven is just as 
 bad, and most of the farmers' wives ; but they 
 do not feel it as my mother has. What is life, 
 I want to ask you, when it is work, work, and 
 never a glimpse of the things you yearn for? 
 You want an hour at the piano, you get eight 
 hours at the wash-tub. Now, I wouldn't mind 
 four at the piano and four at the tub, but with 
 my poor mother it has-been all tub and no piano. 
 So it would be with me if I should marry a 
 farmer." 
 
 "Or a mechanic, or a factory hand, Miss Lan- 
 dor, or any man who earns his living by manual 
 labor. It was, once upon a time, a free and 
 independent way of living; it has come to be the 
 life of a slave." 
 
 Britomart had started from her seat. She 
 flung out her hands with 'a gesture uncon 
 sciously dramatic. 
 
 "You tell us of the symptoms of the disease, 
 but you speak of no remedy."" 
 
 Dennis Blair shook his head. "Ah, the rem 
 edy, I fear, will be long in being recognized. 
 What would you think of a sick man who held
 
 46 BRITOMART, 
 
 a phial in his hand containing a sure cure for 
 his disease, yet slowly died because he believed 
 it wicked to interfere with the will of Divine 
 Providence, which had sent the affliction upon 
 him? You would say that the man's fanatical 
 faith was large enough to accept the disease, but 
 not large enough to understand that a good God 
 had also sent a remedy. A little research, a little 
 thought, would have helped the man to under 
 stand." 
 
 "I wish there was something in the world a 
 woman could do for the sake of her race. I 
 would devote my life to it 1" 
 
 Blair regarded her with that look of specula 
 tion in his eyes which had appeared there on 
 their first meeting. 
 
 "Don't make any rash promises, Miss Lan- 
 dor," he said, laughing. "The first thing for 
 either man or woman to do nowadays is to read 
 and think. With your father's permission I will 
 loan you this little book. If you have time I 
 should like you to read it also," he said, turning 
 to William John. 
 
 "It won't hurt William John to read it, but 
 it would take but mighty little to make a rebel 
 of Britomart. She's like one of these here little 
 bantams, with big spurs, not very well fitted for 
 it, but always ready for a fight," laughed Mr. 
 Landor, following William John to the barn for 
 the team. 
 
 Tilly, a bit piqued at her defeat all along the
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 47 
 
 line, sat poutingly pulling and braiding the long 
 grasses. 
 
 Britomart took the book, and with a hectoring 
 smile said, "Thank you, I will read it aloud to 
 Tilly this afternoon." 
 
 "No," said Tilly hastily, "my folks would not 
 approve of my listening to sermons on politics. 
 They don't think that's a woman's business ; 
 neither do I. And we are not slaves, either, I'd 
 have you know, Miss Britomart Landor." 
 
 "Oh, you have a great advantage over some 
 people; you are like the Irishman's snake you 
 are dead, but you are not sensible of it. It's 
 much easier to get along that way." 
 
 "Oh, very well ! Of course you don't care to 
 associate with slaves, so I will bid you and Mr. 
 Blair a good afternoon." 
 
 Blair went with her to the gate, which he held 
 open, while the offended young lady swept 
 through, a good deal mollified by this unusual 
 act of politeness. She saw no other reason for 
 it but that, absolutely infatuated with her beauty, 
 the fellow did it as a rebuff to saucy Britomart. 
 
 "And the greatest of these is charity !" quoted 
 Blair, coming back to the bench under the tree. 
 "If you are to devote your life to the people, the 
 ignorant people, Miss Landor, the first requisite 
 is infinite pity and charity." 
 
 "But she's such a fool," sighed Britomart. 
 
 "Yes, but it is the fools in place of the knaves 
 who keep the world where it is. We have to 
 deal principally with fools, and must learn to
 
 48 BRITOMART, 
 
 do so gently. You lose forever your influence 
 over a person as soon as that person becomes 
 angry with you. You cannot convince them 
 then." 
 
 "She'll come back tonight," said Britomart, 
 laughing, "as soon as William John drives the 
 team into the barn." 
 
 "The old, old story," said Blair, smiling, and 
 bidding Britomart good afternoon, started up 
 the sandy hill toward his cottage, leaving her 
 fumbling curiously the first leaves of the book 
 he had loaned her. 
 
 Tilly Leven, looking back, saw Blair leave 
 Britomart, apparently disconsolate, under the 
 tree almost immediately after her own depar 
 ture, and tossed her head disdainfully. 
 
 "Big homely thing!" she muttered, "I guess 
 she's made up her mind that she ain't as much 
 consequence as she thinks she is. She sits down 
 there feeling pretty cheap at this minute !" 
 
 But she was mistaken. Britomart had already 
 forgotten both of her visitors in the perusal of 
 the book, which was the new gospel founded on 
 the old, and whose sum and substance was 
 "Peace on earth, good will to men."
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Farmer Leven called to Farmer Landor 
 across the line fence next day, as they were 
 working in their respective fields. Mr. Leven re 
 sponded to the neighborly demand by coming 
 to the fence and resting one foot on the bottom 
 board, his elbows on the top. 
 
 Leven was a dull man, with heavy lips and a 
 long nose. He was round shouldered from un 
 remitting toil, and his face bore a look of chronic 
 melancholy. He came slowly through the wheat, 
 "taking his time," as Landor thought. He 
 wished the old fellow would hurry up. He had 
 just started William John around to cut the first 
 swath in the south field. Harvest was regu 
 larly begun, and he felt the farmer's well known 
 pride in his first round. 
 
 "Ain't you cuttin' pretty earily?" asked Leven, 
 in a voice which was always a surprise to 
 strangers, it was so high and squeaky, to come 
 from such a heavy, mournful face. Mrs. Leven's 
 face partook of this same mournfulness. 
 
 "Oh, no," answered Landor; "it has been 
 ready three days, but William John and I being 
 alone, we wanted to finish up the hay, and I knew 
 this wasn't goin' to hurt." 
 
 "What's that stuff my girl was tellin' me about 
 that fellow that's livin' in my house up there, 
 talkin' to your folks? By her tell I shouldn't 
 think he was safe to have round."
 
 50 BRITOMART, 
 
 "Oh, I guess he's all right. Don't believe just 
 as you and I do about politics, but you know 
 there's many a good man don't do that." 
 
 "Hey?" asked Old Leven, in a dazed sort of 
 way. He was a bit slow, and, as Britomart said 
 of him, he always wanted to be sure he was right 
 before he went ahead. 
 
 "Why, I say there are lots of good men who 
 ain't republicans." 
 
 "I don't know who they air; I don't know 
 who they air ; I never seen any of 'em." 
 
 "Oh, pshaw ! There's old Mr. Spence, he isn't 
 a bad old man." 
 
 "I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw 
 a pig by the tail !" squealed Mr. Leven. "I know 
 he's kinder in your family, but I do say it, I 
 wouldn't trust him, an' I never seen a democrat 
 'at I would! If I'd a known this feller was a 
 democrat I wouldn't a let him onto no property 
 o' mine !" 
 
 "Oh, he ain't a democrat." 
 
 "Hey?" 
 
 "He's no democrat?" 
 
 "What is he, then?" 
 
 "I don't know, I'm sure." 
 
 "Hey,?" 
 
 "I say I don't know." 
 
 "My girl said he give your girl a book to 
 read." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "He needn't give my girl no book to read. 
 My girl's got suthin' better to do than to set
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 51 
 
 an' read books. I don't think it does girls any 
 good to read. We've allers had too much to do 
 to our house to be readin' books an' papers. He 
 needn't give none o' my womarn folks books. 
 That's the way lots of mischief is done in the 
 world lots of mischief is brought about just by 
 this readin'." 
 
 John Landor laughed. "Well, Leven, I think 
 I've got an extra bright girl and I love to see 
 her with a book. Let him lend her all the books 
 he wants. He asked us all to read it." 
 
 "Hey?" asked old Leven, weakly, but on a 
 long sentence like this, Landor usually failed to 
 repeat, and given time, Leven soaked it in and 
 came to understand it without. 
 
 "Lots of mischief comes of this readin'. Fust 
 thing you know, William John'll git to turnin' 
 democrat. I tell you, John Landor, if he should, 
 he couldn't have my girl. No girl o' mine shall 
 ever marry a democrat!" 
 
 "We'll have to let the young folks settle that 
 among themselves," said John Landor, with his 
 usual broad grin, as he left the fence. 
 
 "Hey?" 
 
 "We'll have to let the boys and girls fix that 
 up to suit themselves." 
 
 "No, we won't, I jucks ! No girl of mine fixes 
 up anything with a democrat!" Old Leven 
 went back to his work muttering curses on all 
 democrats. 
 
 "Britomart would 'a said awful cute things 
 to him if she'd a heard him," chuckled John
 
 62 BRITOMART, 
 
 Landor, as he went back to the field, and the 
 wicked old father laughed aloud in thinking of 
 the sarcastic things Britomart would have said 
 if old Leven had made his complaint in her 
 hearing ; but John Landor would not needlessly 
 hurt a fly, much less the feelings of a neighbor. 
 
 After tea Britomart knew her lover would 
 come, and she went upstairs in a listless manner 
 to put a few touches to her toilet. William John 
 was already half way to Belleville on an embassy 
 to the powers that governed, on behalf of Blair 
 as a boarder. Blair had been to tea and gone 
 back to his cottage on the hill. He was to come 
 back about nine to learn the verdict. John Lan 
 dor told him, laughing, that this was mere form, 
 that Britomart had declared for him and his 
 case was virtually won. 
 
 Miller arrived in due time. Britomart 
 watched him coming up the walk. He was a 
 stocky, prosperous-looking man, with a stubby 
 moustache and thick neck, and wore glasses of 
 the pince-nez style. He swaggered proudly up 
 the walk, fully aware that he was conferring a 
 favor upon any woman by honoring her with his 
 addresses, especially a country girl, who had 
 not the advantages of Belleville society. She re 
 pressed an inclination to shudder. Her mother 
 had been very much pleased when this man be 
 gan to show her attentions. She knew her 
 brother Frank felt it an honor that the editor of 
 the Belleville "Weekly" should favor his sister. 
 William John and her father attended to the
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 53 
 
 horse always, on his arrival, with almost servile 
 alacrity. What was she to do? She knew what 
 the trouble was now-; since reading that little 
 book she did not want to marry anyone. She 
 wanted to live for humanity, to live and work 
 for whom, for the people ? She had no in 
 centive to work for the people. She hated them. 
 Such cattle, to be driven, coaxed and deceived. 
 Perhaps for revenge for the wrongs she had 
 suffered. Whatever she wanted, it was not mar 
 riage. The idea was more than ever abhorrent 
 to her just at present. 
 
 All unconscious of the difficult mood influ 
 encing his lady-love, Mr. Miller stepped airily 
 into the parlor, of course, Britomart received 
 "her fellow" in the parlor, in orthodox country 
 fashion, blinds down, lamp lighted, photograph 
 album at hand. 
 
 "Well, I didn't expect to find you home for 
 the next two weeks. Expected you couldn't 
 keep away from Frank's. Nice baby up there, I 
 hear?" 
 
 "So they tell me." 
 
 "Don't mean to say you haven't seen it yet? 
 Pshaw ! I don't believe you. Women always go 
 crazy over them." 
 
 Britomart stated that she was an exception 
 and that she didn't care for children. 
 
 "You'll get over that when you come to see 
 the young man. Saw him myself this morning, 
 fine boy, I tell you. Frank is as tickled as a 
 dog with two tails."
 
 54 BRITOMART, 
 
 Britomart registered a vow then and there, 
 that she would guard against loving that child, if 
 only to be contrary. It would not be very hard, 
 she felt. 
 
 "I tell Frank we will be having him running 
 for assemblyman on the republican ticket, one 
 of these days." 
 
 "I hope not," sighed Britomart. 
 
 "What's that?" asked Miller. Then Britomart 
 remembered a political discussion she had once 
 listened to between old Mr. Spence and Miller, 
 and she wisely avoided getting him started on 
 his favorite theme. She declared she had said 
 nothing. Then Miller inquired after the har 
 vest. How was William John and Tilly Leven 
 coming on? He detailed a very witty thing he 
 had perpetrated on William John down in 
 Frank's store the other night, about keeping 
 such late hours ; some one asked how late, and 
 Miller answered 'till eleven.' By George ! The 
 whole store just roared. William John got as 
 red as fire, but he had to laugh." 
 
 Just then.it dawned upon Miller that Brito 
 mart was quieter than usual. He chucked her 
 under the chin and asked her if she was mad or 
 jealous. He was accustomed at about this 
 period in his visits to become a little ardent. 
 
 Was she dull? She did not wish to appear 
 dull. She brightened up and related a funny 
 incident connected with a little farm boy, who 
 was their neighbor on the east. This set Miller 
 into a perfect avalanche of dialect stories. He
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 55 
 
 prided himself on the rendition of them, espe 
 cially the Dutch, which Britomart did not con 
 sider him good at. She laughed heroically, 
 however, although she recognized many of 
 them as clippings from Miller's exchanges. Oh, 
 the dreariness of it! Would the evening never 
 end? 
 
 William John returned and said Britomart 
 was to do as she pleased about taking the 
 boarder, and he was going to bed to rest up for 
 a hard day's work tomorrow. Miller warmed 
 over his old joke about Tilly Leven, and Wil 
 liam John grinned obediently. 
 
 "Who is this fellow William John was speak 
 ing of?" asked Miller. 
 
 Britomart explained. 
 
 "Rented old Leven's house? Got a family? 
 No? Then what in creation did he want of a 
 house? What sort of a looking tramp was he? 
 Oh, a music teacher, eh?" Well, that settled it 
 for Miller. "Why in creation didn't he come 
 down into Belleville, where there was something 
 to do in that line? Funny place for a music 
 teacher to locate, out in a wheat field." Miller 
 must find out how long he had been in the state. 
 Perhaps he would be qualified to vote at the 
 fall election. He must do a little missionary 
 work. "Expecting him tonight?" All the bet 
 ter, he would pump him a bit. 
 
 "Please do not talk politics," pleaded Brito 
 mart. She felt, in some way, that she was re 
 sponsible for Henry Miller, his political beliefs,
 
 56 BRITOMART, 
 
 and intellectual limitations. She knew what a 
 blusterer he was, and how this keen Dennis 
 Blair, with his all-covering charity for fools, 
 would, nevertheless, classify her lover. She 
 dreaded the meeting on Blair's account also. 
 She could not endure the thought of the blun 
 dering abuse Miller would undoubtedly subject 
 him to as soon as he discovered the stranger's 
 politics, or lack of politics. Politics was Miller's 
 stronghold. /Three-fourths ,of his dingy flititle 
 paper was filled with his protestanons of regard 
 for the men of his own party, and what was sup 
 posed to be telling sarcasms against their oppo 
 nents. Those who were on his side said, "Mil 
 ler's pretty cute. He gives it to 'em." Those of 
 the opposite persuasion declared him "a flannel- 
 mouth" of the worst type. 
 
 "Well, I know, as a usual thing, ladies aren't 
 interested in politics ; but, you see, I am always 
 wide awake to win a vote on the right side. So 
 you don't like politics?" 
 
 "Not as you talk it," answered Britomart. 
 
 "Not as I talk it? Why?" 
 
 "Because you get abusive." 
 
 Miller laughed uproarously. "Why, my dear, 
 that's the way every one talks politics." 
 
 Britomart did not answer, for at that moment 
 there was a light tap at the door, and the next 
 instant she was introducing the two men, and 
 waiting for the war to begin. But it would be a 
 relief, even a wordy war would be a relief, to the 
 deadly monotony of the evening-. In her mind
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 57 
 
 she looked down a long perspective of such 
 evenings, which led to the grave, all spent in 
 this man's company. 
 
 "I can't do it!" She started. She feared she 
 had spoken the words aloud, they were so 
 strongly in her mind. She decided to keep Blair 
 the rest of the evening, until Miller went away, 
 if possible. He would probably begin making 
 love to her after Blair's departure, and she had 
 no wish to hear it not tonight, at least. 
 
 Miller was persistently pumping the stranger 
 in regard to his previous abode and present busi 
 ness. No one can do this in so great perfection 
 as a country editor or an inquisitive old farmer. 
 
 "Intend living here right along?" 
 
 ''No, not right along." 
 
 "Come from Milwaukee?" 
 
 "Not lately." 
 
 "Live in the state?" 
 
 "Not in this state." 
 
 "Acquainted in Chicago?" 
 
 "To some extent?" 
 
 How could he expect to get a class of music 
 out in a wheat field? He already had as many 
 pupils as he could accommodate. Miller rather 
 opened his eyes at this, and then explained it by 
 simply regarding the man as a liar. 
 
 "I guess you could take a couple more if you 
 were hard pushed, couldn't you ?" he insinuated, 
 with a very obvious wink at Britomart. He 
 knew of a couple who were quite anxious to take 
 lessons. Blair patiently reiterated his avowal
 
 58 BRITOMART, 
 
 that he wished no more pupils. Miller presumed 
 his^ choosing an intensely republican section of 
 country as an abiding place meant that he was 
 sound on the all-important question of tariff. 
 Blair asserted that to the best of his knowledge 
 and belief he was sound on the tariff question. 
 Miller was going on with the inquisition, but 
 Blair turned to Britomart. 
 
 "Will you favor us with a little music, Miss 
 Landor?" 
 
 Britomart, much to Miller's surprise, arose at 
 once and went to the piano. She was apt to be 
 stubborn in the matter of playing for company, 
 although he was not in the habit of troubling her 
 by fervid petitions for music. Britomart at the 
 piano might as well be Britomart asleep, bet 
 ter, in fact, for that would only be the isolation 
 of Britomart, minus what to Miller was a dis 
 agreeable and unnecessary noise. Music was, to 
 him, an unknown quantity. He often told his 
 friends the only music he could see any beauty 
 in was Old Man Rafter's fife and Jack Peter's 
 drum. He liked to hear them at the head of a 
 torch-light procession at election. They stirred 
 a fellow up. 
 
 Britomart played only such simple pieces as 
 she was entirely sure of. Blair listened, well 
 pleased with the girl's modesty in choosing such 
 music in the presence of one whom she knew 
 to be so much her superior in the art. When 
 she was through, without a moment's intermis 
 sion, she invited Blair to take her place, and he,
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 59 
 
 whether in answer to an appealing look in her 
 eyes, or because he felt it would be a pleasure 
 to annoy Miller, sat down and played, wonder 
 fully played to Britomart alone, forgetting, af 
 ter a time, the very presence of a third person, 
 and Britomart felt again the same charm, the up 
 lifting ambition, which had come to her before 
 while she'listened to his music. 
 
 Poor Miller yawned openly, fidgeted in his 
 chair, gazed up with a vacant air at the picture 
 of the Sistine Madonna and the cherubs who 
 loaf in the foreground, and wished he had a 
 support for his own chin. At last he grew sul 
 len. What did Britomart mean by sitting with 
 that rapt look on her face, while that "fellow" 
 pounded away? She was putting it on, trying to 
 impress him with her knowledge of something 
 which to him was nothing. He would punish 
 her; he would show her that she must make 
 more of an effort to please him, and him alone, 
 if she expected to retain his valuable attentions ; 
 so he interrupted the music rather rudely by 
 saying that he guessed he must be going. Per 
 haps he did not recognize the look of relief on 
 Britomart's face as such, but Blair did, and was 
 satisfied. Miller bade them a very stiff good 
 evening, and took himself off, followed soon 
 after by Blair. Britomart blew out the lamp at 
 once for fear Miller, coming from the barn with 
 his horse, and seeing Blair's departure, would 
 return for an after interview. She heard voices, 
 and she knew William John, in place of going
 
 60 BRITOMART, 
 
 to bed, had probably gone up to Leven's, and 
 returning, been in time to assist Miller with the 
 horse. She heard the wheels rattle across the lit 
 tle bridge, and soon after William John came 
 up the walk from the gate. Britomart was sit 
 ting in the door of the dark parlor. 
 
 "You went to bed a heap," she said, with 
 mock sarcasm. William John laughed and sat 
 down for a minute's chat. 
 
 "Father to bed?" 
 
 "I suppose so." 
 
 "Miller went away early tonight, for him." 
 
 "Yes," said Britomart, "and I'm glad of it ! 
 \Villiam John, I hate him." 
 
 "Oh, pshaw, Britomart, don't talk so silly. 
 He's a good fellow and will make a kind, sub 
 stantial husband. Why, half the girls in Belle 
 ville would jump at him for a man." 
 
 "Well, let them jump, then. I don't believe 
 I want him. I don't want anybody, William 
 John." 
 
 "That's silly. You've got to marry somebody, 
 and I don't know of anybody around here I 
 would rather see you have than Miller, for my 
 part. He's a good fellow and quite well-to-do, 
 considering. Mother and father like him, you 
 know that. I asked Frank what he thought of 
 Miller and you one day, and he said " Here 
 William John paused. 
 
 "Well, what did he say?" 
 
 "Why, you know how funny Frank is. He 
 said but what he really meant was that he
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 61 
 
 would be well pleased with Miller as a brother- 
 in-law." 
 
 "But what did he say?" persisted Britomart. 
 
 "He said," laughed William John, "that he 
 suposed he would have to do." 
 
 "That's it," said Britomart, springing up and 
 spreading out her hands, "there's the whole' 
 thing in a nutshell. 'He'll have to do !' I've 
 got to marry somebody or go to the poorhouse, 
 and this pestilential Miller bids for me as he 
 would for a good buggy horse healthy, young, 
 and reasonably kind in harness. What differ 
 ence does it make to him if the horse doesn't 
 want him for a master, so long as he is satis 
 fied? I tell you, William John Landor, I hate 
 him, and I'm not going to stand it. I have tried 
 and tried to adjust myself and feel what the 
 girls call love for this man. I have imagined it 
 would come to me after a little. For months I 
 have endured him because mother and father 
 seemed so pleased, but tonight it came to me 
 all at once that I just couldn't, and that's all. I 
 shall never marry !" 
 
 "But what will become of you?" asked Wil 
 liam John, gloomily. 
 
 "I'll just come and live with you and Tilly. 
 What's a brother for, I'd like to know if not to 
 look out for one." There was a mischievous 
 light in her eyes, but William John had can 
 vassed this dilemma already and now said, sober 
 ly, "If you and Tilly would only be friends, I 
 should be only too glad to take care of you, but
 
 62 BR1TOMART, 
 
 she is always saying that you dislike her. She 
 thinks you are jealous of her good looks." 
 
 Britomart laughed bitterly. "Perhaps I am, 
 I don't know." 
 
 "She says you abused her yesterday when she 
 came to see you." 
 
 "I did," confessed Britomart. 
 
 "Well, what makes you do it?" pleaded Wil 
 liam John, taking Britomart's hand with a broth 
 erly squeeze. 
 
 "Because she is such a fool," said Britomart. 
 
 "She is no more of a fool than you are, Brito 
 mart. Because she doesn't like just what you 
 do, you call her a fool. I think if you are fond 
 of me you ought to make a sister of the girl I 
 hope to marry." 
 
 "But, William John, why do you hope to 
 marry that girl? She is not as smart nor as 
 good as you. What is there about her which 
 attracts you ?" 
 
 "Britomart, a man cannot explain what at 
 tracts or repels him in a girl, so you ought just 
 to let him have his own way in the marrying 
 business, and if his choice doesn't suit, make the 
 best of it." 
 
 "What's the matter with that rule in the case 
 of a girl, I'd like to know?" asked Britomart. 
 
 "Oh, with a girl it's different, you see. She 
 has to take whoever comes for her, so the rule 
 doesn't apply." 
 
 "There's one girl who means to make it apply, 
 and if she perishes, why then she perishes,"
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 63 
 
 laughed Britomart. "Now, go to bed, and I 
 wouldn't fret about my wife and sister quarrel 
 ing, if I were you, not yet awhile. Good-night." 
 
 Britomart would have gone in, but William 
 John laid a restraining hand on her arm. 
 
 "There is one thing more I want to say," he 
 began, hesitatingly. "It's about this Dennis 
 Blair. Don't let him get a hold on you, Brito 
 mart. He is a taking fellow, I know that, be 
 cause I can't help but like him myself ; and with 
 his music, which you love, and all, he might 
 have more influence over you than you would 
 imagine, and he is a stranger, you know. We 
 don't know a thing about him. He may be a 
 burglar, or a man running away from the sher 
 iff." 
 
 "Are you afraid I might be led to break into 
 Spence's house some night and steal that s,oup- 
 ladle Mrs. Spence brought from the old coun 
 try?" 
 
 "Don't joke always, Britomart. I can see 
 that it is partly on account of him that you have 
 taken such a sudden dislike to Henry Miller. 
 You see, such things affect you without your 
 knowing it. You heard him at the piano play 
 ing lovely music ; he has nice, polite ways even 
 Tilly noticed that; and, somehow, I don't like 
 the way he looks at you. He doesn't look at 
 Tilly that way, and Tilly is a well, Britomart 
 you know, usually, the young men admire Tilly 
 more than they do you. Of course, when they 
 come to know vou "
 
 64 BR1TOMART, 
 
 "Never mind," laughed Britomart, "never 
 mind, William John; you've made it about as 
 bad as you can. I believe you are right about 
 it's being the contrast between the two men 
 which has bred a stronger dislike in me for 
 Henry Miller ; but you may rest assured of one 
 thing, old William John I had a good lively 
 antipathy for Henry Miller before I ever set 
 eyes on Dennis Blair." 
 
 "I don't know about that, but I do know that 
 I wish ma was home, and that you were down 
 to Frank's, while this fellow is boarding here." 
 
 For ten days regularly Dennis Blair came for 
 dinner, talked for a half hour with the farmer 
 and his children under the Balm of Giliad tree, 
 and went his way in the afternoon when the 
 men went to the field, sometimes walking with 
 them if their w T ay led toward the cottage in the 
 wheat. After awhile the wheat was cut and 
 stood in fragrant stooks about the house. Old 
 Mr. Leven kept a curious eye on his tenant 
 while his work kept him near the house, but all 
 he succeeded in finding out was that sometimes, 
 though not often, he lay in the hammock, strung 
 between the dwarf plum trees, and read. Almost 
 always Spence saw him sitting at a table with 
 many books and pamphlets about him, and he 
 concluded that Blair was a very lazy, "no ac 
 count" man. The idea of a man lying in the 
 hammock, or sitting in the house good harvest 
 weather. Britomart, on the other hand, saw
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 65 
 
 traces of weariness in her boarder's face, and 
 knew that he was working hard. 
 
 There was always a cosy hour after supper 
 when she and her father would sit on the side 
 porch and talk to Dennis Blair. Britomart 
 always counted those moments as among the 
 happiest of her life. The talk was always earn 
 est, and several times lasted far into the night, 
 while the crickets, gay ne'er-do-weels, chir 
 ruped, reckless of coming winter, and across the 
 road in the woods, a whip-poor-will complained 
 to the stars. These two men and this woman 
 talked of the great social problems which are 
 pressing themselves upon us for solution 
 which must be solved, and solved soon if the 
 Republic stands ; which will be solved by the 
 intelligence of the people of America, to the 
 astonishment of older countries. It has solved 
 other and apparently harder problems before. 
 The farmer and his daughter listened to this 
 man who had given his life to the study of tfie 
 problem, the girl ardently, the old man acknowl 
 edging his ignorance; and the student, feeling 
 that here was intelligence worthy his best en 
 deavors, talked as few men are given the power 
 to talk, even though, like him, they have the 
 convincing element of truth on their side. To 
 these two he gave a foretaste of the eloquence, 
 the cutting sarcasm, the brilliant wit and quick 
 powers of repartee, of which, at the time, the 
 world knew little, but which it felt in after years, 
 and by which it was swayed as genius always
 
 66 BRITOMART, 
 
 sways the world. At times Britomart would 
 feel the blood tingle to her fingers' ends, as the 
 ring of his sharp, incisive arguments struck an 
 answering chord of conviction in her own soul, 
 and she would cry: "It is true, father, every 
 word is true !" and the old man would respond, 
 "You are right, Britomart, it is true, and I have 
 been too busy, too hard driven, to take the time 
 to study it out." 
 
 "This is as the demagogues would have it," 
 responded Blair. "Every laboring man who 
 comes to understand this question is a discord 
 in their music, because their motto is the one 
 Jay Gould made famous, 'Damn the people!' 
 There is but one hope for us in the voter. 
 There is but one hope for the voter, and that 
 hope is knowledge. To spread the gospel of 
 Socialism is every man's first duty, for the sake 
 of unborn generations. In order to understand 
 it aright one must think and one must read. 
 But the laboring man of today has no time no 
 inclination to do this. He will not read books, 
 but he will read papers, light, catchy articles, 
 which do not absorb too much of his time or 
 thought. Unfortunately the great power of the 
 press is arrayed on the other side. A man must 
 be well up in the million mark before he can 
 become a power in the newspaper world, and 
 what cares a millionaire for the groans of the 
 victims being slowly crushed between the upper 
 and the nether millstone of monopoly and com 
 petition? He is safe, his bones do not crackle.
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 67 
 
 The working man will listen to that target of 
 many curses, the agitator, as he harangues his 
 audience on the street corner. He is apt to get 
 a shower of stones or gutter slime of any sort' 
 for his pains, but if his heart is in the cause, he 
 remembers that Christ, the Socialist without 
 peer, the first, the best, the laborer who spoke 
 for laborers, suffered the same indignities at the 
 hands of stolidity and ignorance, yet with divine 
 patience turned the other cheek, enduring even 
 to death for the people whom he loved. 
 
 n But the labor-world will learn has already 
 learned much. You farmers, who feel the press 
 ure in a less degree than the laborers inthe city, 
 because your children do not die before your 
 eyes for want of food and God's sunlight, and 
 because the echoes you get of the struggle are 
 through the medium of a servile press the 
 vaunted free press of America you are less 
 teachable than they who suffer more. Injustice 
 has come to you so gradually, so coyly, that you 
 do not call it by its right name. You designate 
 it as over-production in the west, or election 
 year, or some other cause which gives you poor 
 pay for your hard labor. Vou know times are 
 hard and you are seeking a remedy. When the 
 fall election comes men will mount the stump 
 and promise remedies if you will only vote their 
 way. This fall it will be the tariff. When the 
 tariff is adjusted good times will come again. 
 You say these men are great statesmen, that 
 they have made a study of this matter they
 
 68 BRITOMART, 
 
 know. It must be the tariff, and so they deceive 
 you and put you off for another term of years, 
 and you fail to note that good times never come 
 back in all their golden glory; a little brighten 
 ing here and there, to be sure, a slight lifting 
 of the cloud, only to settle deeper and blacker 
 than before. You work, you sweat, you pro 
 duce. One-half of your profit goes to the trans 
 portation company, the greater share of the rest 
 to the gambler in wheat, and you you are 
 granted your sustenance ; you are kindly allowed 
 as are their horses, enough to keep you alive 
 and strong to labor for them another year. 
 Your last really good times, when you felt you 
 had an adequate return for the labor you accom 
 plished, have come and gone, until a change in 
 the system is brought about, until the popular 
 vote is educated above wasting its power in 
 opposing parties divided on issues long dead, of 
 no real account save as a war cry for the parties. 
 For instance, your tariff issue this fall, a cloud 
 in the sky upon which you are invited to fix? 
 your eyes while the vampire monopoly sucks 
 your blood unheeded. Unless there are chosen 
 ones to carry this message to the people most 
 interested, unless there are brave men and wo 
 men ready to sacrifice their lives in directing the 
 labor forces aright, in securing harmony among 
 those who already realize the urgency of the 
 labor problem, in arousing the intelligent class, 
 who do not as yet feel the hardest pressure, in 
 changing public opinion and bringing it to bear
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 69 
 
 upon the evils of capitalism, unless there are 
 those who are willing to do this, taking as their 
 pay abuse, and realizing that they will not live 
 to see the full fruitage of their life work, then 
 must liberty become an empty word, and the 
 sun of American greatness set in darkness as 
 did -those of Rome, Greece, and every country 
 that has made Mammon god and sacrificed the 
 masses to its idol." 
 
 William John was not usually present during 
 the talks on the side steps. He was in the habit 
 of spending his evenings with Tilly. Once Tilly 
 had come to the Landers' to see Britomart, and 
 although Britomart was kinder to her than 
 usual, she found her listening to what she con 
 sidered a foolish argument about nothing, very 
 dry indeed, and did not come any more, prefer 
 ring to have William John come to her home. 
 
 One evening Blair brought a violin with him, 
 and instead of talking politics, they spent the 
 evening listening to its music, Britomart accom 
 panying on the piano. William John and his 
 father sat on the stone platform in front of the 
 parlor door. William John was charmed. He 
 loved music, and his ear was fine enough to 
 assure him that such music as this was not an 
 every-day occurrence about Belleville. He did 
 not, however, approve of the influence the 
 stranger was obtaining over his sister, and it 
 was by his advice that Mrs. Landor came home, 
 detailing Britomart as supply in her place at 
 Frank's.
 
 70 BRITOMART, 
 
 Britomart was sullen when she learned of the 
 arrangement. It would take her away from her 
 beloved music. Her lessons had begun in good 
 earnest. She would have no time for the books 
 Blair gave her. Miller would begin haunting 
 her again he had been giving her a terrible 
 lesson by totally ignoring her, and she had 
 almost forgotten him ; and, more than that, she 
 was afraid of growing to love Frank's baby, 
 and that she was bound not to do. And after 
 all she was defeated in the very first encounter, 
 for when Mary laid the little bundle in her arms, 
 with an anxious though covert look of inquiry 
 in regard to how Britomart would receive the 
 baby, her mother-heart was not disappointed. 
 
 "You little rascal !" said Britomart, hugging 
 him close, and kissing his funny, wrinkled 
 little mouth, "you have no business here in this 
 hard world, and I was mad enough when I knew 
 you were coming, but now that you are here, 
 we'll all turn in and make things as easy for you 
 as possible, I suppose." 
 
 "Until you forget all about him in caring for 
 your own," laughed Mary. 
 
 Then, standing there, tall and beautiful, with 
 the child in her arms, its long white dress shin 
 ing against her black one, Madonna-like in her 
 seriousness, Britomart uttered a prophecy and 
 a promise. "Mary, I shall never have a child of 
 my own ; but, please God, my arms shall reach 
 wide enough to embrace, and my heart shall be 
 large enough to love as many disinherited little
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 71 
 
 ones as one poor woman may reach, who, lilce 
 Mr. Bumpy here, have been dispoiled of their 
 rights before their birth." 
 
 "I don't know what you are talking about, 
 Britomart, but I'm sure you will marry and have 
 children of your own little Millers." 
 
 There was an expression of disgust on Brito- 
 mart's face. 
 
 "Well, then, some other name. I don't blame 
 you for not liking that man. I can't bear him. 
 I get so sick of his political clack in the store, 
 but I can say if you never know how nice it 
 is to have a home, even a poor little cramped 
 one like this, behind a village store, and a hus 
 band and children, you have missed the sweetest 
 thing in life." 
 
 "I don't doubt that, my dear," assented Brito 
 mart, still playing with Sir Bumpy's little hand 
 and cuddling the downy cheek on her neck. 
 
 Frank came in and sat down to tea with a sigh. 
 
 "And I don't understand you when you say 
 that Bumpy was disinherited before he was born. 
 Poor child didn't have much of an inheritance, 
 I'm sure just the chance to earn his living by 
 hard work, as his father and mother has." 
 
 "That is all he demands. He certainly has the 
 right, being in the world through no fault of 
 his own, to gain some of the good things of 
 which this world is full, if he is willing to work 
 for them, but in place of this he will, in all proba 
 bility, be obliged to cringe and beg for the privi 
 lege of earning a bare subsistence."
 
 7J BRITOMART, 
 
 "Oh, Britomart, don't talk that way; you 
 frighten me," said Mary. 
 
 "How is it, Frank, are you earning more than 
 enough to feed your flock comfortably ?" 
 
 Frank's careworn face took on the look of 
 despair his wife knew only too well of late. 
 
 "I have been looking over my books this 
 afternoon, and I find I have made, as wages, out 
 side of expenses and wholesale bills, just forty 
 eight cents per day during the last year." 
 
 "Ah, then, you have been lazy and have not 
 worked." 
 
 "Worked !" said Frank, and his voice trem 
 bled; "I have worked hard enough to have 
 earned eighteen dollars per day; but as a man 
 said in my store last night, the day of making 
 a living at small store-keeping in country towns 
 is over forever."
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Mrs. Spence, who was staying with Mary for 
 a couple of days, took the baby away from Brito- 
 mart. 
 
 "Aunt Britomart shan't talk so about the little 
 man. He's got as good a right to live as any 
 body, and he shan't be called Bumpy, for he has 
 a pretty name. He is named Robert John, after 
 his dear grandpa." 
 
 "Bumpy," laughed Frank; "it just suits him!" 
 
 "You've done it, Britomart Landor !" cried 
 Mary. "I'll warrant that child will be Bumpy 
 all his life !" 
 
 And he was. Even his grandma Spence, after 
 a heroic struggle, adopted the nick name. As 
 the child grew older the name proved appro 
 priate. Many times a day Frank and Mary 
 were called upon to examine the tow head, to 
 see if the damage was beyond repair, and the 
 saying, "Bumpy Landor is down again," came 
 to be a familiar expression in the neighborhood. 
 
 Mrs. Spence was a sweet woman with snow 
 white hair, and a worn, melancholy face a face 
 which must have had a dignified beauty in youth. 
 It bore the print of disappointment and blighted 
 hopes, and it was no wonder, for the woman 
 had married a man far inferior in every respect, 
 and though no one in the world knew it save 
 herself, her life had been one long tragedy of 
 crushed ideals and hard, uncongenial toil. Her
 
 74 BRITOMART, 
 
 daughter Mary was the one bright spot in it, 
 and she pitied a childless woman above any one 
 else in the world. She could not understand 
 that a woman's husband might be more to her 
 than children, that a realized dream of ambition 
 might fill a great heart quite as effectually as a 
 family. 
 
 "There is another thing I am going to scold 
 you about, Britomart," she said, with an affec 
 tionate smile at the girl. 
 
 "Go ahead, Mrs. Spence," answered Brito 
 mart; "your scoldings are like mother's. One 
 can shed them as a duck sheds water." 
 
 "It is this : You must not talk to Frank as 
 though he would never get along any better in 
 his business. You must remember small begin 
 nings make great endings. Other people have 
 made comfortable little fortunes by keeping 
 store in a country town, and what has been done 
 in the past may be done again." 
 
 "But it can't," said Britomart. "It ought to 
 be possible, but it is not, nor will it ever be." 
 
 "She is right, I believe," sighed Frank. "Those 
 fortunes were made before such firms as Mont 
 gomery Ward and Co. of Chicago, and hun 
 dreds of others like them, came into existence. 
 That was a good example this afternoon, when 
 you were in the store. I tried to sell that Distan 
 saw to a man and was about to close the bar 
 gain, when a neighbor of his came in and told 
 him he could get it a quarter cheaper by sending 
 to Montgomery Ward for it. I tried to wriggle
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 75 
 
 out of it, but there was no heart in my argument, 
 because I knew the man told the truth. Mont 
 gomery Ward and Co. can sell that saw cheaper 
 than I, the best I can do." 
 
 "You must be content with smaller profits, 
 then," said Mrs. Spence. 
 
 "My dear woman, I have actually to pay the 
 same price to the jobbers for that saw which 
 Montgomery Ward charges the farmer for it." 
 
 "Then how is it?" 
 
 "Well, in the first place their trade is all cash 
 no bad debts to subtract from the profits ; 
 then they buy the Distan saw by the thousands ; 
 the manufacturers know on which side their 
 bread is buttered and look out that they are not 
 troubled by competition in prices among the 
 smaller jobbers. It is not hardware alone; it 
 is groceries, dry goods, everything. Mr. Smith 
 told me yesterday he had put the last line of 
 dress goods on his shelves that he will ever pur 
 chase, because there is positively no use. They 
 He there and go out of date, and have to be sold 
 far below cost at last, while his customers go 
 about with purses full of samples from Marshall 
 Field, or big New York firms, from which they 
 make their selections. The grocery men thought 
 they were safe, because groceries ' were com 
 modities which, when wanted, were wanted' im 
 mediately and in small quantities, but they find 
 they are not exempt. People buy sugar, tea, 
 coffee, flour, and so forth, in bulk, getting a 
 splendid reduction by so doing, while the cus-
 
 76 BRITOMART, 
 
 tomers who are forced to our doors either buy 
 on credit or call for some unusual article which 
 might not be demanded of a village storekeeper 
 once in ten years, and which, of course, we do 
 not have in stock. Then the customer goes 
 away grumbling that you can never get anything 
 you want in a small town, while my staple goods 
 grow. musty in the barrels." 
 
 "Oh, Frank," cried Britomart, "my heart 
 aches for you, not only as a brother but as a 
 dealer, because I realize that you, and all of your 
 class, will be crowded out of existence, and there 
 is no help for you. It is best it is the inevitable 
 march of progress ; but, oh ! the process, the 
 crowding, the crushing, the dying out of hope, 
 the grasping at straws by the drowning! But 
 it must come before we learn to turn our backs 
 on the old system and preach the doctrine of 
 Socialism." 
 
 "Britomart !" The exclamation came from 
 Mrs. Spence. She had risen with the baby in 
 her arms. Her wrinkled face, lovely yet beneath 
 her white hair, was pale with emotion. "How 
 dare you talk like that to your brother, a law- 
 abiding, God-fearing citizen ! If he has trials 
 and business disappointments, it is no more than 
 every young man has, and it is wicked to talk 
 like that. God knows what is best for him, and 
 if he remains an honest man will take care of 
 him and his family. What did Brother Granby 
 say in his sermon last Sunday morning? Obey 
 God, and ask no questions."
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 77 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Spence, if Brother Granby preached 
 such a sermon I don't believe he found his text 
 in the Bible. Ask no questions? We have 
 been following that rule too long. We suffer 
 but sigh piously and say it is God's will, when 
 it is not God's will. It is the will of the gods 
 of Ignorance and Cupidity. If it were God's 
 will for us to ask no questions, why did He give 
 us reasoning powers? Why did He plant an 
 everlasting interrogation point in the heart of 
 an ignorant country girl like myself, making me 
 ask, ask, ask, although until of late I received 
 no answer. I asked why my father toiled ever 
 and always, only to near the end of life poorer 
 than he began, on a glorious farm, raising good 
 crops every year, yet burdened with a mortgage 
 which covers it from line to line; why Mr. 
 Spence was in the same predicament; why my 
 brother Frank, industrious, honest, intelligent, 
 cannot make both ends meet in a country store ; 
 why my brother Paul, who has spent his time 
 learning a trade, is half the time out of work, 
 until he is becoming a misanthrope, and in dan 
 ger of going to the bad? I have asked these 
 questions over and over with hate and rancor 
 in my heart, and until within the last few days 
 no one has answered. When I thought of our 
 wrongs here, and read of those of the laborers 
 in the great cities, beside which our own as yet 
 are trivial, in my ignorance I was coming to 
 believe with my brother Paul, that the human 
 race was a mistake, and that God, like Nero,
 
 78 BRITOMART, 
 
 was fond of seeing his people suffer. Why, Mrs. 
 Spence, although I sat every Sunday under 
 Brother Granby's teaching, I was getting to be 
 the worst heathen in Green county. I could 
 not assimilate his theories of God's eternal love, 
 and the love of one Christian for another, be 
 cause of that burning interrogation mark in my 
 heart. Why, if God so loved the world, had He 
 not given the poor a way out of their dilemma ? 
 Why were not all professed followers of the 
 gentle Man of Sorrows eager to settle the great 
 question, the awful question, of the rights of 
 man to the means of existence ? Why, and why, 
 and why! always the question, but never an 
 answer, until Ihe last few days ; and then it was 
 not Brother Granby who answered." 
 
 "Who was it, Britomart," asked Frank, "who 
 answered your question so lately?" 
 
 "Dennis Blair, the Socialist." 
 
 "If you were my daughter, Britomart, I should 
 see that Dennis Blair, the Socialist, or any other 
 lawless tramp, should never again have a chance 
 to addle your head with such wickedness ! What 
 has your father been about, I want to know, to 
 let you fall into the company of such a person ?" 
 
 Britomart came across the room and throwing 
 herself upon the stool at Mrs. Spence's side, 
 drew her unincumbered arm about her neck, 
 saying with a laugh : "Play I am your daughter, 
 Mrs. Spence. Say it is Mary who has uttered 
 such awful words. If it were Mary you might 
 disapprove, you might deplore the fact of her
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 79 
 
 turning Socialist ; but you wouldn't stop loving 
 her. That is all I ask." 
 
 Mrs. Spence did not remove her arm. "Well, 
 if you were Mary, I should say you were out of 
 your place in setting yourself up to know more 
 than your parents. I should say you could ex 
 pect nothing better than to be led astray and 
 made a fool of if you would persist in meddling 
 with things which are none of your business. 
 Leave such matters to your father and brothers, 
 child. A woman a girl, has no business trying 
 to understand them." 
 
 "And if I were Mary I should say: 'Mother, 
 dear, every woman in the world, did she but un 
 derstand the question, would be a Socialist. I 
 would say men have suffered under the existing 
 sysjtem, but their sufferings are not to be com 
 pared with those of women from the same cause. 
 I should answer, under the reign of Socialism 
 no woman would need sell her virtue for bread 
 not one!' How much prostitution would be 
 done away with !" 
 
 "If you were Mary I should say, I do not like 
 to hear such words on the lips of my daughter." 
 
 "And I would answer, 'Rather on the pure 
 lips of your daughter, where they can harm no 
 one, than in the hearts of thousands of poor 
 girls on the streets of the cities, to whom there 
 is no other answer to the riddle of life.' We 
 have been fine too long; we have avoided the 
 word, yet tolerated the deed, too ignorant and' 
 indolent to study out the remedy. We have
 
 80 BRITOMART, 
 
 gone about sleepily instituting homes for the 
 fallen, and letting the other sex deprive us of 
 the power rightfully belonging to us at the ballot 
 to exterminate sin." 
 
 "She is right, mother," broke in Frank. 
 You say she might better have left it to her 
 father and brothers to study out the question. 
 I have been thinking on this subject a good deal 
 of late, since this Dennis Blair has been in my 
 store, but I acknowledge I have a thicker skull 
 and a tougher heart than Britomart, here. Like 
 a man, I must needs reason it out slowly, while 
 Britomart, womanlike, reaches her conclusions 
 by instinct and fits the reasons in afterwards. 
 As for Blair, he seems a gentleman through and 
 through. I don't think he is a man who would 
 attempt to inculcate his ideas into the brains of 
 young people surreptitiously or against their 
 parents' consent." 
 
 "Parents' consent!" laughed Britomart. "Why, 
 father is a stronger convert even than I. Ask 
 him. I never talked a moment on the subject 
 with Dennis Blair alone. Ask father, Frank. 
 But what if I had? I am no fool, neither am I 
 a child, that I cannot look the stern facts of the 
 world in the face and judge for myself. I am 
 twenty-three years old, and Tilly Leven consid 
 ers me far gone in old-maidism ; and I resent 
 the insinuation that because I am a woman and 
 unmarried, my judgment is inferior." 
 . "I have seen this man Blair; he has been in 
 my store a number of times. He has spoken of
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 81 
 
 the decay of the small industries, but never a 
 word to lead me to think him a Socialist." 
 
 "I remember you told me about him," said 
 Mary. 
 
 Later in the day, when the two young women 
 were alone, or with no one in the room with 
 them but Sir Bumpy, grunting and gurgling 
 over a little red fist, which he seemed deter 
 mined to devour, Mary confessed to Britomart 
 that she believed she herself was more than half 
 Socialist, but did not want her mother and father 
 to know it, at least not until she could explain 
 the meaning of the word, and the girls laughed 
 together at the idea of being converted to some 
 thing before you could give the definition of it. 
 
 ''I don't know what Socialism is, Britomart, 
 but I do know what poverty is, and I am afraid 
 if this goes on much longer my acquaintance will 
 be even closer. Frank is losing money every 
 day, and, poor fellow, is so blue I am sorry for 
 him. Now that mother is here, I want you to 
 go into the store and help him if you will, and 
 for goodness sake stay as long as you can ; that's 
 a good girl. It seems somehow as though you 
 were going to help us out of the muddle we 
 are in." 
 
 Accordingly Britomart went into the store, 
 and patiently put up paper parcels containing 
 sugar, calico, nails or honey. Every night a 
 dozen men, more or less, gathered in the center 
 of the store to discuss the coming election. Sat 
 urday night was always a noisy night. The fall
 
 82 BRITOMART, 
 
 campaign was already casting its ominous 
 shadow athwart the political horizon, albeit so 
 early, and Henry Miller, backed by three or four 
 strong republicans, upheld by the proprietor, his 
 father and brother, made a stern fight against 
 Old Man Spence, aided and abetted by Jake 
 Flatterbush. 
 
 The Saturday on which Britomart assisted as 
 clerk, this last named gentleman arrived first 
 on the field of battle. He was a rough-looking 
 individual of about forty, a bachelor, and a hard 
 and bitter democrat. He had never acquired the 
 accomplishment of writing, but he could spell 
 out the local news in the Belleville "Weekly" 
 with more or less proficiency. Old Man Spence 
 was his oracle on all occasions, and the source 
 of his political statistics. There were very few 
 democrats in Belleville, it being a strong repub 
 lican community. 
 
 Britomart was sorry to see Flatterbush com 
 ing in, because she knew Henry Miller would 
 arrive soon, and she hated to witness the ordeal 
 of bear-baiting which Miller loved to impose upon 
 Jake. He took great delight in nagging Jake, 
 and unless Old Man Spence was at hand Jake 
 had no convincing arguments with which to do 
 battle, save a ferocious glare, muttered oaths 
 and personal abuse, that went far above Miller's 
 head, and only served to enhance his glorious 
 victory. 
 
 "Evening, Britomart. Who's buying salt ? Is 
 it you, Jake ? What are you going to do with it ;
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 83 
 
 make a brine to keep the democratic party from 
 spoiling?" 
 
 Just then Old Man Spence came in from the 
 living room behind, where he had been worship 
 ing at the shrine of his grandson. He was Mil 
 ler's sworn antagonist. 
 
 "What's the matter, Jake?" he asked, taking 
 a fresh cheekful of plug tobacco, loading his 
 heavy guns, so to speak, for the active engage 
 ment he saw just ahead. 
 
 "Oh, nothin' much, only our editor's got on 
 one of his funny fits." 
 
 "Well, you mustn't say anything," responded 
 Old Man Spence, with a wink and a backward 
 movement of his thumb ; "his girl's here." 
 
 "Yes, sir," continued Miller, feeling that he 
 had said a good thing, "Jake's buying salt to pre 
 serve his party. He's afraid old Grover is going 
 to spoil. I heard a fellow say yesterday that 
 there wasn't but one thing in the world he 
 wouldn't rather be than a democrat, and that 
 was a dead man." 
 
 "Yes ? Well, I don't think the democrats are 
 all going to set down and cry on account of the 
 loss of that kind of a man," responded Old 
 Spence, firing a shot at the spittoon that hit the 
 bull's eye at a distance of six feet, announcing 
 with certainty that the battle was on. 
 
 "I told him he wouldn't find many of 'em in 
 this town only about ten of 'em, now that Bid 
 Leeklaw has turned populist. Here's Bid now. 
 Hello, Bid, just talking about you, Bid ; just say-
 
 84 BRITOMART, 
 
 in' you was the only populist in town, I guessed. 
 Say, have to let your whiskers grow, won't you ?" 
 Bid Leeklaw found a spare place against which 
 to rest his shoulders, and responded that he 
 didn't know it was necessary to let his whiskers 
 grow to become a populist, but he was obliged 
 to let his brains grow before he knew enough 
 to be one. 
 
 "Yes, I'm the only populist in town," he fin 
 ished; "but there's coming a day when there'll 
 be more, there'll be more." 
 
 "I hope not, I hope not, Bid," said Miller, 
 looking around for the laugh which he knew this 
 sally would bring. There was quite an audience 
 by this time. "I think one of your kind is a 
 plenty for a small town like Belleville." 
 
 Miller was rewarded by the applause he had 
 expected. 
 
 "That's right," responded Leeklaw; "I ain't 
 much of a feller, I'll admit, "and he glanced down 
 at a coat both ragged and dirty, and a pair of 
 boots which were red and wrinkled by contact 
 with the soil. "No, I'm a bad lot, me and my 
 kind. What we need in town is a few more 
 smart editors to show the folks which way to 
 vote." 
 
 Nobody laughed at this except Jake Flatter- 
 bush, who had a tender feeling for his old col 
 league at times, although he considered that he 
 had fallen from grace by going back on his party 
 and turning populist.
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 85 
 
 "More smart editors, to tell us how to ward 
 off hard times." 
 
 Old Mr. and Mrs. Leven came in, and Mrs. 
 Leven proceeded to the back of the store to pur 
 chase groceries, while her husband joined the 
 group about the spittoon in time to hear Miller's 
 answer to Leeklaw's sarcasm. 
 
 "Hard times, hard times!" said Miller. "All 
 you folks seem to know enough to do is to 
 sound the calamity trumpet. What do you 
 know about hard times, only so far as you are 
 fated to be a living example of the warning that 
 they that work not neither shall they eat ?" 
 
 Leeklaw brought his hulking body to an up 
 right position, and there was an ugly glitter in 
 his eye. 
 
 "Don't you dare say I don't work, Henry 
 Miller, whatever you say agin me; don't you 
 dare say I don't work ! I've always worked, 
 and there was a time when I tried to save, but 
 that's long ago. What's the use? You might 
 as well get what there is out of it. A man who 
 gits his livin' by days work now, might as well 
 try to build a sand house in the river and expect 
 it to last, as to accumulate enough to pay his 
 funeral expenses. Now, I ain't got much pride 
 myself, so I've come to the conclusion to git 
 what I can out of life and not try for the funeral 
 expenses, but let the town bury me." 
 
 "Which it would gladly do tomorrow," said 
 Miller, and the store rang with protracted ap 
 plause.
 
 86 BRITOMART, 
 
 Mary came to the door at the back of the 
 shop with the baby in her arms. "Do come 
 inside awhile. Aren't you tired of the hubbub ?" 
 
 Britomart had just finished with old Mrs. 
 Leven, whose long, melancholy face, framed in 
 a funereal bonnet, showed signs of patient 
 fatigue, as she sat in the backless chair Brito 
 mart had placed for her, which she knew from 
 experience she would be obliged to occupy until 
 such time as the political storm subsided, and 
 her husband felt that his voice could be spared. 
 
 "No," answered BritomartT* "I'm not tired." 
 
 "Your looks belie you, then," said Mary, 
 scanning with a loving eye her sister-in-law's 
 flushed face and trembling hands. 
 
 "I'm not tired, Mary; but I'm excited and 
 disgusted. Just look at them, all talking poli 
 tics, each pulling on a separate string, which 
 some different party has put in his hands, all 
 pulling against each other, while their common 
 enemy, private capital, sits high and invisible 
 and preys upon them at its will ; they, poor fools, 
 never knowing what is pinching them. Here 
 comes another with his own separate string, just 
 as blind as the rest, and much more conceited." 
 
 "Why, Britomart Landor! How can you 
 talk so about the minister!" and Mary disap 
 peared laughing, leaving Britomart to wait upon 
 Brother Granby, who advanced with a self-con 
 scious swing born of absolute knowledge of his 
 own worth in the world, and the unimpeachable 
 correctness of his convictions.
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 87 
 
 "Good evening, Sister Landor. Are you well ? 
 Ah, I did not see you out last Sunday, and I 
 supposed you were ill. Quite a political discus 
 sion they are having. All Greek to a lady, I 
 presume, and quite right, quite right that it 
 should be. Politics is a miry, murky cesspool, 
 happily out of woman's jurisdiction." 
 
 Britomart's cheeks were burning and her 
 eyes were flashing. Her voice, clear and ring 
 ing, possessed the quality of penetration, a qual 
 ity Britomart would have been willing to dis 
 pense with in those days. Afterward however, 
 that doesn't enter the story here. 
 
 The storm about the stove had reached its 
 climax. Old Man Spence, between spurts of 
 tobacco juice and profanity, had declared that 
 unless the tariff was reduced to allow the labor 
 ing man to live without paying the indirect tax, 
 the country was ruined. Miller said the country 
 was being ruined by a lot of hair-brained people' 
 who didn't and wouldn't vote the good old re 
 publican ticket, who were fighting the party 
 which had saved them in the late rebellion, and 
 for thirty years had brought good times and 
 prosperity. 
 
 "And they ought to be prohibited by law!" 
 shrieked old Leven, his long fiddle face pale with 
 excitement. "They ought to be imprisoned for 
 doin' of it, ruinin' of us all !" 
 
 "Ruin?" asked Bid Leeklaw; "you ain't 
 ruined, are you? Thought you and Miller said
 
 88 BRITOMART, 
 
 times wasn't hard, that everybody had a plenty 
 'cept them as was too lazy to work." 
 
 "Times is hard, and we ain't got a plenty, and 
 it's all along a you miserable democrats and 
 populists, and up here by our house there's an 
 arnichist come to live right up by our house ! 
 Is it any wonder times is hard when such folks 
 is allowed outside o' state's prison?" 
 
 "So you think everybody but republicans 
 ought to be jailed, do you, and then times would 
 be easy?" 
 
 "Yes, I do ; ther a ruinin' of the country." 
 
 "Leven, you are too big a fool for me, even 
 me, Bid Leeklaw, to talk to." 
 
 "By George ! He's about right about the 
 cranks heeling around through the country. I 
 believe, myself, there should be a stop put to it," 
 said Miller. And then the discussion got into 
 the form it inevitably assumes at such meetings, 
 of, "See here, my friend, let me ask you" ; "Wait 
 a minute, wait a minute" ; "What about seventy- 
 three !" "It's a lie, I say"; "What did Grover 
 Cleveland do?" "Any one who makes such an 
 assertion is a darn fool !" when Britomart's 
 clear, cutting tones came sifting through, a~s she 
 talked politics to the minister, and gradually, 
 without the knowledge or consent of the com 
 pany, dominated the controversy. 
 
 "I suppose you give me credit for possessing 
 common sense, Mr. Granby. I need not be 
 blind nor deaf to my surroundings because I 
 am a woman. I am interested in politics, as I
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 89 
 
 believe it my duty to be, and I am trying to 
 understand its complexities, the whys and 
 wherefores of today. I do not think that poli 
 tics must always be discussed with profanity 
 and personal abuse. Contrary to your supposi 
 tion, I do know what the tariff is, and have a 
 very decided opinion in regard to it. I should 
 insist upon knowing what authorities they had 
 been studying before I should be willing to admit 
 the superior knowledge on the subject of any of 
 these men who are talking so loudly and know 
 ingly about it here. At the same time, I feel 
 myself too ignorant as yet to be convinced that 
 I am absolutely right and everybody who differs 
 with me entirely wrong. However, as you 
 broached the subject, I wanted to own that I 
 had opinions, am trying to understand for my 
 self, and am not ashamed of it." 
 
 Britomart suddenly discovered that she was 
 the only person in the room who was talking. 
 For a moment she was abashed, but her blood 
 was fired by her evening of repression, and the 
 conversation with Brother Granby had opened 
 the floodgates of her eloquence, and she stepped 
 from behind her brother's counter to deliver a 
 lecture so sharp, so vivid, with such quick turns 
 of sarcasm, that her hearers of all parties were 
 bewildered and astonished a lecture that not 
 one of the men present would have dared deliver 
 before the others for fear of being pitched head 
 long into the street. 
 
 "The republican party," she said, addressing
 
 90 BRITOMART, 
 
 Miller as its most able representative; "what is 
 it ? A corpse, dead twenty years, yet you carry 
 it about on your shoulders to impose its old 
 shape, its old name, on confiding farmers and 
 laborers, who blindly follow the pale deception 
 as a dog follows its dead master; and under its 
 familiar habiliments, where the sound life, the 
 honest life of a party fighting against a wrong 
 once pulsated, hides the false life of the snake, 
 private interest monopoly money, money ! 
 How long will intelligent men like my father 
 and my brothers here worship this slimy mon 
 ster, who hides beneath the cloak of their old 
 party, before they realize their mistake? Are 
 we not the people, and are we not poor? Are 
 we not our own masters, having the ballot, yet 
 are we not tasting the very dregs of slavery? 
 Who in this room dares to say we are not poor ; 
 Bid Leeklaw was right when he said it was com 
 ing it has come, to a time when the most a 
 laboring man can hope for in this world is to 
 squeeze through with the meager necessities of 
 life, and perhaps enough to bury them in the 
 end perhaps not enough for this. Bid Leek- 
 law has given up that hope ; so have many, and 
 with the hope all care whether they are buried 
 respectably or not, and back of that 
 all care as to whether there is any 
 thing about them respectable; and this 
 is a land of plenty, of multimillionaires ! 
 Who dares to say millionaires are blessings?" 
 (Henry Miller had made the assertion a few
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 01 
 
 minutes before, had argued their existence was 
 a sign of prosperity in the land.) "If every mil 
 lionaire had his desserts, his ground would be 
 fenced about with the skulls of the starved 
 whose portions he has usurped; not but that 
 you or I, or Jake Flatterbush, would do the same 
 thing if we had the power that doesn't make it 
 any better. You say, beware of meddling with 
 the Constitution. Are we living up to the Con 
 stitution? Is this a government of the people, 
 for the people? Isn't it rather a government 
 of your millionaires, by monopolists for private 
 gain ? And you are too blind to see it ! You 
 democrats, republicans, populists, prohibitionists 
 pulling each your own string, set on by the 
 demagogues who head your several parties, and 
 who are either blind themselves or do not wish 
 you to see what it is which is pressing the life 
 out of you ; and ignorance cries out against re 
 formers, against men who have studied an3 
 weighed and faced the difficulties, who have the 
 temerity to stand up, announce their discoveries, 
 demand the remedies, and take the conse 
 quences. Shall we Americans establish the fact 
 of our incompetency, our inherent serfdom, by 
 toiling on for generations under the heel of the 
 oppressor, cringing and suffering until the state 
 of desperation is reached, until the process of 
 subjection has reached its climax, as in the older 
 countries, before we begin to think for our 
 selves to act for ourselves? Before many 
 years it may be too late. Already it is whis-
 
 92 BRITOMART, 
 
 pered that only property-holders have any right 
 to vote. Then, Bid Leeklaw, where is your 
 chance ? Jake Flatterbush, where is your chance ? 
 Frank Landor, where is yours, or your son's? 
 In the face of such facts the birth of a child in 
 a poor man's family, instead of being an occasion 
 for rejoicing, should be one of sorrow and la 
 mentation, that another toiler is added to the 
 mass in this land of slaves." 
 
 The force of the girl's passionate words, the 
 unexpectedness of the harangue, had held the 
 listeners as more logical or connected arguments 
 could not have done. The lights burned dimly 
 through the haze of tobacco smoke, which hung 
 about the ceiling. Henry Miller and Old Spence, 
 republican and democrat alike, stood aghast at 
 this avalanche of heterodoxy and its source. 
 Brother Granby, with his odorous pound of cof 
 fee poised on his arm, stood like a statue of 
 Justice, stern and forbidding. Bid Leeklaw and 
 Jake Flatterbush had forgotten even to smoke 
 in their interest and astonishment. Old Leven's 
 jaw refused to do its office, and hung flaccidly 
 ajar on his grizzled whiskers, lengthening his 
 dull, fiddle-shaped face absurdly, while his wife 
 had risen in horror. Among a group of new 
 comers Britomart saw the faces of her father 
 and William John, and behind them she suddenly 
 became aware of a pair of narrow eyes fixed on 
 her intently, while a smile of satisfaction played 
 over the thin lips of Dennis Blair, as he took in 
 the scene before him.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 As Britomart paused Bid Leeklaw removed 
 his hat with a politeness which no one had ever 
 known him to be guilty of before. 
 
 "You've told us just exactly the fix we're in, 
 Miss Britomart ; now tell us how to get out of 
 it." 
 
 Britomart sighed. "I am but an ignorant 
 country girl, who has only of late tried to inform 
 herself. I am not competent as yet to tell you 
 that, but ask this gentleman to tell you," and 
 she indicated Blair, whom, until then, none of 
 the group had noticed, as he stood quietly near 
 the door. "He knows by bitter experience the 
 working of the system in a great city, where the 
 grind comes harder than upon us here. Ask 
 him; he can tell you better than I can." 
 
 "Excuse me, Miss Landor," said Leeklaw, 
 "but I want to say right here, that little speech 
 of yours has warmed my heart, nevertheless," 
 and he bowed gallantly, his hat still in his hand. 
 
 Before Blair could reply or advance, Henry 
 Miller stepped in front of him and shook his fist 
 in his face, his own face white with anger. 
 
 "This is your doings, damn you !" he ejacu 
 lated. "You come into the country, you free- 
 luncher, to lead women astray !" 
 
 The smile never left Blair's lips, nor did he 
 flinch in the slightest degree. On the other
 
 94 BR1TOMART, 
 
 hand, he made no aggressive movement. Had 
 he attempted to chastise every man whose fists 
 were thrust into his face, and who called him a 
 liar, hypocrite and- thief, his life might as well 
 have been spent in the prize ring. But Miller's 
 arm was hit by a blow from a sturdy hand which 
 nearly dislocated his elbow, and John Landor's 
 voice advised him to keep his fists out of the 
 faces of gentlemen. 
 
 "John Mr. Landor," stammered Miller, 
 abashed by this attack from Britomart's father; 
 "do you mean to uphold this this " 
 
 "What's the man done, I want to know, that 
 he shouldn't speak? What's he done, I want 
 to enquire? Come, out with it." 
 
 "Come outside and I'll talk to you. I can't 
 in here." 
 
 "Yes, you can. There's nothin' you can't say 
 right here right here before everybody; in 
 fact, you've said enough to make it pretty nearly 
 necessary for the matter to be finished up right 
 here and now!" 
 
 Miller began to feel that he had put his foot 
 in it, but his anger was still high. All at once 
 he felt he no longer had any backing. A few 
 minutes ago, when he began his attack on Jake 
 Flatterbush, he had the support of the Landors, 
 Old Leven, and the other republicans who were 
 in the store. Now that the war was against 
 Britomart, he realized that his constituents had 
 deserted him. 
 
 "Do you like to see a woman make a fool of
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 95 
 
 herself talking politics? That's what Brito- 
 mart's been doing here tonight talking of 
 something she knows nothing about and has 
 no business to know anything about, and he" 
 indicating Blair "he has put her up to it, and I 
 know it !" 
 
 "It's a lie!" shouted Bid Leeklaw. "She 
 shows by what she has just said she knows more 
 about it, a darn sight, than you do, you little 
 sniveling one-horse-paper man!" 
 
 "Gentlemen, gentlemen! Brother Landor, 
 this is terrible ; this is terrible !" It was the 
 statue of Justice come to life, with the pound 
 of coffee still balancing on its arm. "In the 
 first place, I suggest that it would be more 
 seemly if Sister Landor would retire, as these 
 men seem to be more or less heated with polit 
 ical argument, and " 
 
 "I don't know why Britomart isn't perfectly 
 safe in her brother's store, with her whole family 
 to back her, say nothing of her friends," and 
 Frank Landor gave Miller a glance which sent 
 a chill down that young man's back. Miller did 
 not wish to get on bad terms with the Landors, 
 because he had firmly decided to make Brito 
 mart Landor his wife; but when people med 
 dled with his politics it touched him nearest his 
 heart. 
 
 Old Mrs. Leven sat grasping her packages, 
 winking her watery blue eyes, and sincerely hop 
 ing no one was going to fight. 
 
 "I guess Britomart's all right," said William
 
 96 BR1TOMART, 
 
 John, and his sister shot him a grateful glance, 
 and a lump rose in her throat at the thought 
 of the loyalty of dear old William John to a sis 
 ter of whose course, she knew well enough, he 
 did not approve. 
 
 "No, you needn't worry yourself about Miss 
 Landor, parson," said Jake Flatterbush. "If 
 anybody says even a cuss-word, I'll fire him my 
 self. This ain't no barroom. I want to hear 
 what the arnichist has to say. You can lay that 
 coffee down a spell ; ain't anybody goin' to 
 steal it." 
 
 "I don't think you need call on Jake Flatter- 
 bush to protect you while I am here," blustered 
 Miller, "but " 
 
 "That's all right, gentlemen ; give the lady and 
 the clergyman chairs, and let's talk this matter 
 over calmly a minute, will you?" asked Dennis 
 Blair, advancing to the center of the group. 
 "Let us reason together. There is nothing to 
 be won by heated argument, but there may be 
 by a quiet, friendly talk." 
 
 Leeklaw immediately set out one chair, and 
 Frank provided another. Britomart sat down 
 by Brother Granby, who either doubted the sin 
 cerity of Flatterbush's assurance in regard to 
 the coffee, or in fear of a lapse of memory, held 
 it tightly in his arms, together with the latest 
 issue of the Belleville "Weekly," which he had 
 received at the postoffice. 
 
 "Now, if anybody has anything to ask," sug 
 gested Blair.
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 97 
 
 "In the first place, then," said Old Spence, 
 in a tone of great irritation, "what business you 
 got stuffing this girl's head with such nonsense, 
 as she's just been talkin'?" He was very much 
 put out. On his entrance from the back of the 
 store that evening he had been full of pleasant 
 sensations. He had just been admiring his very 
 admirable young grandson, and when His eye 
 lit on Jake Flatterbush, Bid Leeklaw and Henry 
 Miller, he anticipated a long evening of the usual 
 flow of argument, which never got anywhere, 
 didn't mean anything, and hurt no one ; but this 
 girl had broken up the meeting and knocked 
 all the comfort out of it, by actually introducing 
 new ideas. There was no use of new ideas. He 
 didn't approve of them. The old ones were just 
 as good as they had been for years. 
 
 "I want to tell you, Mr. Spence, that Mr. 
 Blair did not put this nonsense, as you call it, 
 into my head. I have eyes to see, haven't I? 
 And I know that I and my people have worked 
 hard all our lives, yet grown poorer all the time. 
 It doesn't take a very brilliant intellect to figure 
 out that fact. Mr. Leven has acknowledged the 
 same fact two or three times this evening, as 
 well as Jake Flatterbush and Bid Leeklaw. My 
 brother Frank made the same assertion before 
 supper good republican as he is ; he said it was 
 hard times. Now, I have asked a dozen differ 
 ent men who should know what makes it hard 
 times with us, when there has been no drouth, 
 no storms to spoil crops, and when we are all
 
 98 BRITOMART, 
 
 able to work. One man told me it was because 
 tariff was too high, and the people paid too 
 heavily for the necessities of life; another said 
 it was too low and everybody was competing 
 with the pauper labor of Europe that Europe 
 was importing both wool and wheat into this 
 country. I found out this was an untruth, or a 
 mistake, and lost confidence in this man's story. 
 Another teacher explained to me that there \vas 
 an over-production more than the people could 
 use ; the very next one informed me it was over 
 population. You can readily see that by putting 
 these two bits of information together, I arrive 
 at just nothing at all. Brother Granby, here, 
 declares it is intemperance and prodigality a 
 general lack of religion throughout the country. 
 Mind you, all this was buzzing in my head be 
 fore I ever saw Mr. Blair, and the reason was 
 that my father's farm was mortgaged heavily, 
 and I saw my mother and brothers bowing un 
 der a burden of work which seemed pressing 
 harder on them every year, and my woman's 
 heart cried out for the reason the reason for 
 this injustice ! Right here comes Dennis Blair 
 (to my father, not to me) with the first truly 
 sensible reason for it all, a reason which is the 
 first given me able to bear its own weight, a 
 comprehensive reason, embracing and giving a 4 
 reason for all these other reasons, which have 
 been so palpably inadequate. It seems to me as 
 though any one with the power to think for 
 themselves must believe as he does as I do
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 99 
 
 now, that a socialistic form of government, and 
 that in the near future, is the only hope of our 
 democratic country; that the power of money 
 must be abolished, that our Constitution, which 
 has become a dead letter as it reads today, must 
 be changed, modified to meet the new 'demands 
 of new conditions; that in order to be in the 
 spirit as well as the letter a government of the 
 people, this social change must be made." 
 
 "Britomart Landor, do you know you are 
 talking anarchy?" cried Miller. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," said Blair, "anarchy 
 means the doing away with government. Mr. 
 Miller, the gospel Miss Landor is preaching 
 does not advocate such a measure. It leans in 
 the opposite direction. In place of doing away 
 with government, it enhances the powers of gov 
 ernment a hundredfold." 
 
 "Why," said Brother Granby, shifting his cof 
 fee, the more readily to use his right arm for 
 gesticulating, "our government is dangerously 
 corrupt now. What would it be if it had all 
 this added power ; the rairoads, for instance, the 
 jurisdiction over the land, the mines " 
 
 "Would you not rather be answerable to a 
 democratic government of which you, as a voter, 
 were a part, than a serf on the estate of a Rus 
 sian gentleman? You certainly would. Who 
 owns us now ? According to Poor's Manual of 
 Railroads for 1885, the share capital of the rail 
 road companies amounts to $3,762,616,686, and 
 the funded debt to $3,669,115,772, making a total
 
 100 BRITOMART, 
 
 of $7,431,732,458. According to the census of 
 1880 the estimated valuation of the farms in the 
 United States is $10,197,000,000. And this rail 
 road wealth is practically in the hands of less 
 than a dozen men. Whither are we drifting? 
 who owns us?" 
 
 Old Man Spence, Leven, and Miller, all began 
 talking at once. 
 
 "One at a time, gentlemen, one at a time," 
 cried Leeklaw. "We've got all night now. 
 Frank won't have any more custom." 
 
 "I think it is high time we was goin' home," 
 said Old Mrs. Leven, weakly, rising to her feet. 
 
 "Set down !" commanded her husband, and 
 the poor tired old woman subsided, sighing 
 heavily. Mary stepped around the corner of the 
 counter and drew her into the sitting-room, 
 where she reclined in a rocking-chair and asked 
 stereotyped questions about the baby, which 
 Mary patiently answered, although her ears were 
 strained to catch the arguments which floated 
 in through the open door. She heard her father 
 declaring that there always had been labor 
 cranks, and Freelove cranks, and temperance 
 cranks, and always would be, interlarding his 
 declarations with expectorative pauses, and 
 strengthening them with his favorite oaths. 
 They'd been at it in the old countries for five 
 hundred years, and what had come of it? 
 
 "Yes, indeed; yes, indeed," assented Brother 
 Granby. "Think of the terrible French Revo 
 lution !" He shifted his package with a deep
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 101 
 
 sigh, and the aroma of coffee floated out with 
 a soothing effect. 
 
 ''That's what always discourages me," ven 
 tured William John; "it's all been talked of so 
 long and nothing come of it." 
 
 "We cannot 'unlock the future's portal with 
 the past's blood-rusted key,' " answered Blair. 
 "Remember the condition of the French peas 
 ant; remember his ignorance, his helplessness. 
 For him there was no other way; for us, with 
 our universal education, the power which we 
 wield through the medium of the ballot, there 
 is but one thing we lack unanimity. There 
 are so many agents to lead us astray. We are 
 incited to petty political strifes. When King 
 Capital sees the people growing uneasy he man 
 ages to draw their attention to a presidential 
 campaign, and sets you republicans off in one 
 direction, following a flag bearing the legend, 
 'Down with free trade; let the poor man live,' 
 while the democrats are following a similar ban 
 ner on which is written, 'Down with the thief 
 High Tariff ; let the poor man live !' Meanwhile 
 King Capital, with his tenacious fingers about 
 your throats, strangles you gently, each partisan 
 laying his conscious shortness of breath at the 
 door of the opposite party." 
 
 "Oh, see here, now," broke in Miller, "I can't 
 stand this ! I " 
 
 "Shut up!" cried Leeklaw. Not a word out 
 o' you, Miller. You can spout it next week in
 
 102 BRITOMART, 
 
 the Belleville 'Weekly,' but you ain't got the 
 floor tonight; we've heard you before." 
 
 Flatterbush felt it was as good a chance as 
 might ever come to him to get even with Miller. 
 
 "You might as well call his mother a mouse 
 as to say anything to Miller against the repub 
 lican party. It's the only thing he knows any 
 thing about, and he don't know but darned little 
 about that." 
 
 Everybody laughed, and Miller said some 
 thing Mary could not hear, because old Mrs. 
 Leven was droning along about "when Tilly was 
 teething." Everything which could happen to 
 a child had happened to Tilly while teething. 
 Mary's mother came into the room and Mary 
 escaped into the store, bearing with her a chair, 
 which she planted beside Britomart, and took 
 possession of Britomart's hand, which instinct 
 ively sought her sister-in-law's, and the two 
 women smiled into each other's faces. It seemed 
 to Mary that somehow Britomart was carrying 
 on an unequal warfare, and needed the help of 
 another woman; and although until the last 
 week she had never heard the word Socialism, 
 her soul was afire with this new wine of logic, 
 which this cool, unimpassioned man this Blair, 
 was poruing into the ears of his hearers, willing 
 and unwilling. She looked about upon the faces, 
 all turned towards him who was speaking; her 
 father's, quivering with indignation at innova 
 tions he was too obstinate to admit were right ; 
 old Leven's stolid, blank, uncomprehending;
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 103 
 
 Flatterbush's and Leeklaw's, marked by dissi 
 pation ; Henry Miller's, puffing with suppressed 
 anger and disturbed egotism ; and she gasped, 
 "O God ! must the future of my boy and his 
 children depend upon the action of such as 
 these !" But, back in the shadow, were the 
 weather-beaten, intelligent faces of Farmer Lan- 
 dor and William John; and near her own was 
 Britomart's, with the red flush of courage and 
 high resolve mantling the cheek and flashing in 
 the eyes, while there, in the center of the group, 
 passionless, persistent, patient, was Dennis Blair, 
 calmly battering at the thick wall of prejudice 
 and bigotry, with truths, truths, truths. When 
 one failed of its purpose and fell, he caught it, 
 turned it about, insisted on its consideration, 
 reiterated its importance, until at last he felt it 
 had entered one or another of the minds about 
 him. And this had been the life of Dennis Blair 
 for years ; and this, he firmly believed, should 
 always be his life, preaching the gospel of So 
 cialism without hope of seeing any of the fruits 
 of his work, but knowing there would be fruits 
 just the same ; talking, writing, reviled, mocked, 
 jeered at but, after all, was he not following 
 in the footsteps of a Master? Christ walked the 
 earth preaching "Peace on earth, good will to 
 men," and Dennis Blair the Socialist was his 
 true disciple ; not the Catholic zealot, bearing 
 aloft the cross and pursuing the Protestants with 
 undying hate ; not the Protestants, burning and 
 murdering the Catholics in the name of the
 
 104 BRITOMART, 
 
 gentle Christ; not the women, bowing above 
 their prayer books, with their hearts full of pride 
 and frivolity; not the fat pastors, preaching 
 hollow-sounding words from marble hearts to 
 deaf, self-satisfied ears; but Dennis Blair the 
 Socialist, gladly giving life and strength to bring 
 about Christ's purpose literally, "Peace on earth, 
 good will to men." Mary felt a great tide of 
 love rise up in her heart for this man, and an 
 impulse to bring Bumpy and lay him in Blair's 
 arms and say, "Fight for his future, save him. 
 In you and your fellow-workers lies this baby's 
 hope, and the hope of coming generations." 
 
 "It's time we was a-goin' home." The per 
 sistent voice of Mrs. Leven, and the appearance 
 of her hatchet face at the back door, broke the 
 spell, and old Leven, who had been nodding for 
 the last ten minutes, acquiesced and led the way 
 to the door. 
 
 "And you say the land should belong to the 
 government, and the railroads, and the factories, 
 and the mines?" questioned Bid Leeklaw. 
 
 "I do," answered Blair. 
 
 "Do you believe this, John Landor?" 
 
 "I do," answered the farmer. 
 
 "And you, Britomart?" 
 
 "Most assuredly." 
 
 "And you, William John, and Frank ?" 
 
 Frank hesitated a moment, and then said 
 slowly: "At the supper table tonight I should 
 not have answered that question in the affirma-
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 105 
 
 tive. But I know something is wrong, and this 
 new system promises a way out." 
 
 "William John?" persisted the questioner. 
 
 Old Leven, arrested by the question, turned 
 at the door, and held a wavering forefinger 
 towards the youth. 
 
 "William John Landor, if you dare say you 
 believe what that arnichist says, you need never 
 darken my doors again. I ruther my daughter 
 was dead and buried and the green grass growin* 
 over her than that she should marry an arnichist 
 or a democrat. Do you believe it?" 
 
 William John's face was fiery red. 
 
 "Auh, shet up, and go along home ; your 
 woman's a yellin' at ye," exclaimed Jake Flat- 
 terbush, pushing old Leven out of the door, an3 
 thus saving poor William John from deciding 
 between his sweetheart and the right to think 
 for himself. 
 
 The Sunday morning following the discussion 
 in the store Brother Granby felt it his duty to 
 preach a sermon on the subject of patience and 
 meekness, each bearing his burden in this world 
 uncomplainingly, and especially not to meddle 
 with that which was none of his business. He 
 felt his eloquence expand as he looked down into 
 the clear, defiant eyes of Britomart Landor, 
 seated with her brothers and parents in the 
 family pew. He asserted, solemnly, that the 
 trouble of the times came largely from discon 
 tent among laboring people ; that discontent was 
 sin. He spoke very plainly on the subject of
 
 106 BRITOMART, 
 
 women being contented in their sphere, letting 
 the strifes and arguments of the world go by 
 unheeded, while they occupied themselves with 
 the calm and rational pursuits for which the 
 Lord had evidently intended them. He even 
 ventured to assume a little of the Lord's author 
 ity, and declared that those who refused to fill 
 this especial walk in life would be more or less 
 damned. When he settled back on the haircloth 
 chair, and wiped his perspiring face, after the 
 sermon, he devoutly hoped it had reached the 
 heart of that obstinate Landor girl, and might 
 do her good. 
 
 It did not make much of an impression on 
 her, however; but old Mrs. Leven, her shawl 
 drawn tightly across her bent shoulders, her 
 watery eyes blinking weakly in the strong Au 
 gust sunshine, felt a wave of thankfulness that 
 she had lived a life acceptable alike to God and 
 man, that she had perverted neither her own nor 
 her child's life by undue knowledge on any sub 
 ject, and that she and Tilly were especially igno 
 rant and innocent in regard to politics. She 
 shuddered despite the warmth of the day, when 
 she thought of the awful depths of sin into which 
 her neighbor Landor had allowed his daughter 
 to fall. She hoped Tilly would obey her father's 
 commands and give up William John Landor ; 
 but Tilly, like most pillowy young women of her 
 caliber, possessed a stubbornness in certain mat 
 ters which was almost masculine in its intensity. 
 
 After service was over, Britomart stood talk-
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 107 
 
 ing with her mother in the long grass, while 
 William John and her father went to untie the 
 team. It was very warm. The ragged plum 
 trees which grew between the church and the 
 cemetery threw sharp black shadows on the 
 grass. A hot harvest smell came up from the 
 adjacent fields. The people thronged out of the 
 little shabby church and went their several ways ; 
 numerous old and middle-aged women, looking 
 warm and tired, and dreading the getting of din 
 ner, which was the next number on their pro 
 gramme ; many young girls tricked out in pink, 
 white and green, wearing tawdry hats loaded 
 with cheap artificial flowers ; a few old men and 
 very young boys ; and three young men, the 
 target for many inviting pairs of eyes. 
 
 Britomart held her white skirts from contact 
 with the grass as she talked with her mother. 
 To Mrs. Lander's eyes Britomart looked fit to 
 be a queen, so tall, so graceful, with her round 
 waist and dark crown of hair. And Mrs. Lan- 
 dor was right in regard to her daughter's beauty, 
 despite the opinions of Belleville. 
 
 "Pa says you had quite a brush with a whole 
 store-full of folks last night," Mrs. Landor said, 
 smiling up into Britomart's face. 
 
 "Yes," answered Britomart, absently. She 
 saw Henry Miller loitering by the steps, and 
 she knew he meant to walk home with her. She 
 felt very much averse to his society. 
 
 "Come home as soon as Frank's folks can 
 spare you," called her mother, as they drove out
 
 108 BRITOMART, 
 
 of the yard, leaving Britomart looking wistfully 
 after them. She longed to be in the wagon 
 going home. She wanted to tell her mother her 
 troubles. She hated the town of Belleville, 
 Frank's store, everybody in general, and in par 
 ticular the man who stood switching at the may 
 weeds with his umbrella, and waiting, very im 
 patiently, by the steps for her. 
 
 She said good morning in a somewhat distant 
 manner, to which he responded with a grunt. 
 They walked on in silence a few minutes. Miller 
 was very angry with this headstrong young 
 woman; and never dreaming but that he pos 
 sessed the winning card, he determined to dis 
 cipline her a bit. They had reached Main street 
 before he spoke again. He had expected some 
 sort of an apology from Britomart, and in 
 tended to make her pay dearly for her temerity 
 on Saturday night. Main street was no place 
 for a lover's quarrel to be successfully carried on. 
 Britomart might was very likely to show a 
 good deal of emotion at what he had determined 
 to say to her. He didn't care to have her cry 
 ing along the street, and the fellows all guying 
 him next day. 
 
 "Let's walk down by the river a few minutes," 
 he suggested. 
 
 "I can't ; I must help Mary get dinner." 
 
 "But I have something of importance to say 
 to you." 
 
 "Can't you say it here?" 
 
 Miller flung his head angrily. "Yes, I suppose
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 109 
 
 I can. I ain't much of a hand to have spats in 
 public places, though." 
 
 "I'm not much of a hand to have 'spats' any 
 where," retorted Britomart, coolly. 
 
 "I think you are," blustered Miller; "at least, 
 you seem to take delight in making me mad !" 
 
 "I never thought of such a thing," declared 
 Britomart. "If you mean what I said and did 
 Saturday night, I can tell you it was not on your 
 account. I only spoke my convictions." 
 
 "Your convictions !" sneered Miller. "You 
 will learn some day, Miss Landor, that a woman 
 hasn't much use for convictions. The fewer she 
 has, the better care she takes of a man's home 
 and babies ; and that's what he marries her for." 
 
 "Really, Mr. Miller? This is news to me. 
 Have you anything further to say to me? If 
 not, you will excuse me; I have work to do." 
 
 "Oh, come, Britomart, don't get on your high 
 horse. You made me mad,' and I've made you 
 mad, so now we're quits. I'm willing to take 
 everything back till the next time ; but I'm in 
 dead earnest when I say I won't stand this sort 
 of thing from any girl. I don't believe in girls 
 making strong-minded shows of themselves, and 
 any girl I go with must cut that ; that's all there 
 is about it; and you had no business to come 
 out and talk politics as you did Saturday night. 
 But let's-jiot spoil the whole Sunday scrapping. 
 Tell you what I'll do : After dinner I'll come 
 round with one of Bagly's teams and we'll take 
 a ride."
 
 110 BRITOMART, 
 
 "I don't care to go," said Britomart. They 
 were on the stoop at the little side entrance 
 which led into Frank Lander's living-rooms at 
 the rear of the store. Miller seized her hand and 
 pulled her down beside him on the steps, retain 
 ing the hand, although in plain sight of the 
 street. 
 
 "Come," he said, "you and I can't afford to 
 fight so much. One or the other of us has got 
 to give up our opinion if we are going through 
 life together." 
 
 It was the declaration which Britomart had 
 been dreading. She had intended when he 
 asked her to marry him to say yes. Everybody 
 decided it would be for the best, and she knew 
 no especial reason why it would not. Girls had 
 to marry. 
 
 "Aren't we going through life together?" he 
 persisted, still holding her hand. 
 
 "I think not, now," she answered. He was 
 astonished into silence. Old Farmer Lander's 
 daughter was refusing him ; or, hold ! impossi 
 ble ! She was angry wich him and was dissem 
 bling to make him uneasy. He would show her 
 that there was too much disparity in their posi 
 tions to allow of this by-play. 
 
 "Oh," he said, releasing her hand, "then I un 
 derstand that you don't care for my company 
 any more?" 
 
 "I do not." 
 
 "Very well, Miss Landor, I bid you good af 
 ternoon."
 
 THE SOCIALIST. Ill 
 
 She stood still in the sun, watching him go 
 down the street, with a great feeling of relief in 
 her heart. She did not until that moment realize 
 how she had come to hate him. 
 
 "And had things happened a little differently, I 
 should have married him," she said, with a shud 
 der; "and then I should have come, some day, 
 to feel like this towards him, and yet have been 
 tied to him for life." He, swinging airily down 
 the street, saw from the corner of his eye her 
 white drapery, and knew she stood on the steps 
 watching him; longing, propably, to call him 
 back, yet not daring to do so, ready to go and 
 cry her eyes out all the afternoon. Well, he 
 would give her something substantial to cry for. 
 He could bring the thumb-screw of jealousy to 
 bear upon the young lady in a way not open to 
 girls on the spur of the moment. 
 
 An hour later he drove slowly by the Landor 
 store in company with a very pink-and-white 
 young lady, her childish face upturned to his, 
 full of bubbling laughter incited by his wit ; her 
 white-gloved hands crossed in her lap, and the 
 dry August wind tossing a couple of heavy, 
 creamy plumes about her head. Britomart saw 
 them from the window and bowed smilingly, 
 then fell into deep thought for a while. 
 
 "What's the matter, Britomart?" asked Frank, 
 fearfully. "You don't care, do you, because that 
 puppy 
 
 "No," answered Britomart, "because I do not 
 love him ; but suppose I did ?"
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Britomart stayed a week after this, dealing 
 out brown paper parcels to country folks, giving 
 samples to Belleville ladies, tending Sir Bumpy, 
 who was beginning to realize that he was a hu 
 man being and to assume airs in consequence, 
 washing dishes for Mary, and talking politics 
 with Frank, Mrs. Spence, and Bid Leeklaw at 
 odd times. 
 
 To Leeklaw this girl was a revelation. He 
 took to haunting the store at all hours, and the 
 moment Britomart was at leisure, sidling up to 
 her and opening a conversation on social topics. 
 The man was like a schoolboy who is being 
 pinched and hectored by some one who sits be 
 hind, or in front, or at his side, but he cannot lo 
 cate the mischief-maker. He bubbles with 
 vengeance, but every face looks so innocent he 
 knows not where to lay the blame, and the teach 
 er assures him that he is mistaken. He is not 
 being pinched, or if he is, it is a visitation of God, 
 sent for his good, and as a discipline. 
 
 Now this friendly girl leans forward and kind 
 ly tells him who the culprit is. She says, and in 
 a way which brings absolute conviction, "It is 
 not Johnnie Hightariff, at your right, though he 
 is not altogether a virtuous boy; it is not Mike 
 Overproduction, nor James Overpopulation; it 
 is that fiend incarnate, Judas Private-Capital, 
 whose middle name is Monopoly ! He is the
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 113 
 
 boy who is causing your suffering. Do not 
 strike out blindly, hitting innocent ones, and 
 spoiling your chance for revenge. Be sure you 
 are right, then, as far as lies in your power, 
 punish. . You can do much by warning other 
 scholars. When they all come to know this boy 
 in his true character, he will be thrown out of 
 school, but he is a fawning sneak, who pinches, 
 and lays it at other people's doors." 
 
 Britomart lent her admirer books, reading 
 certain passages aloud to him, that he might un 
 derstand them better, and she smiled when she 
 received them back to notice the visible signs of 
 the struggle to master their contents, in the 
 greasy thumb-marks. At certain places the let 
 ters were hardly discernible, owing to some 
 especially knotty page, which had required many 
 perusals. The books belonged to Dennis Blair, 
 but he was only too glad to see the marks of a 
 laborer's hands upon them. Not once during 
 the week did Henry Miller visit the Landor 
 store, but Britomart saw him on two occasions 
 riding by with the girl of the creamy plumes. 
 He meant to give Britomart a terrible lesson. 
 
 Friday night William John came for her with 
 the team and she went home. She was very 
 glad to be at home again. It was so sweet and 
 cozy. The fire shone bright in the kitchen stove 
 and looked comfortable, despite the fact that it 
 was August. Her mother bustled about getting 
 supper, while her father and William John did 
 the milking.
 
 114 BRITOMART, 
 
 Britomart sat down on the front porch after 
 tea was ready and watched the sun go down over 
 the western grove. She saw Blair coming down 
 the hill, his hands in his pockets. He seemed to 
 be absorbed in thought. Suddenly he stopped 
 to observe something by the roadside, then Brit 
 omart saw him beating the ground with a stick, 
 and, stooping, pick up an object which he car 
 ried on the palm of his hand. Britomart's 
 mother came to the doorstep and sat down be 
 side her. 
 
 "Do you like him as a boarder, mother?" 
 
 "Yes, he never has a word to say; eats any 
 thing you put before him. He and your father 
 have great times, talking this new doctrine, you 
 know this Socialism." 
 
 "And what do you think of it?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know if what he says is 
 true " 
 
 "We don't have to believe what he says, 
 mother ; we can see for ourselves." 
 
 "I don't mind you and your father falling in 
 love with Socialism ; but, Britomart, I don't want 
 you to fall in love with the Socialist, because I 
 want you to marry Henry Miller, and live right 
 here in Belleville." 
 
 Britomart laughed. 
 
 "What put such a foolish idea into your head, 
 mother?" 
 
 "It's what folks are saying," answered Mrs. 
 Landor, solemnly. "Tilly Leven heard it and 
 told me the other day. They say that you are
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 115 
 
 infatuated with this stranger, that you have been 
 preaching his doctrines in Frank's store, and 
 that you have used Henry Miller shamefully." 
 
 "Henry Miller and I have broken off for 
 good," said Britomart. 
 
 Mrs. Landor made a despairing little ejacula 
 tion. 
 
 "Then it is true,!" she cried, and grasped 
 Britomart's hand with her own, which trem 
 bled. 
 
 Britomart was silent for a moment. She was 
 trying to analyze her own feelings. She knew 
 that her ideas in regard to marriage with Henry 
 Miller had undergone a change since her ac 
 quaintance with this man Blair, and she meant 
 to know positively if the reasons which the 
 neighbors assigned for this change were the 
 right ones. Was it a love for Blair which had 
 wrought this change? If so, she should not 
 hesitate to tell her mother. She always made a 
 confidant of her mother, because she knew her 
 faith was not misplaced; that no matter how 
 much of a temptation it might be to tell a daugh 
 ter's hopes and triumphs to a group of quilters, 
 or afternoon visitors, boasting of their own 
 daughters, her mother never succumbed to it. 
 
 "Why don't you answer me?" her mother 
 asked, nervously. "You would be a good sight 
 better off to marry a Belleville business man, 
 who is settled in one place, and that place near 
 home, than to go traipsing around the country
 
 116 BRITOMART, 
 
 with this stranger. Britomart, who knows what 
 his father is, or was or his mother!" 
 
 Blair came up the walk before Britomart could 
 answer her mother. He held out a slender 
 white hand, in the palm of which crouched a 
 wounded toad. 
 
 There was something peculiar about Blair's 
 hands ; they were so shapely, so slender, yet 
 possessed of such steely strength of wrist and 
 fingers, acquired, perhaps, in playing the violin, 
 of which he was a master. Britomart loved 
 to watch the ease and strength with which those 
 white fingers found their places on the strings 
 of the violin or upon the piano keys. 
 
 "I found him in the teeth of his enemy," he 
 said, smiling at the two women in the door ; "and 
 if you do not object, Mrs. Landor, I will put 
 him in the garden to recover his wounds. Poor 
 little fellow ! There is something awful to me in 
 the slow destruction of a snake's victim ; it is so 
 much worse than the quick spring of the animal 
 which kills and devours afterwards. It reminds 
 me of I will not preach, however. Miss Brito 
 mart, you know of what it reminds me," and he 
 went round the house in the direction of the gar 
 den, laughing. 
 
 The elder woman had not returned his pleas 
 ant greeting with much warmth. She felt a sud 
 den dislike for her boarder, with his beautiful 
 hands and strong, compelling face. 
 
 "He is a man who can make people think as he
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 117 
 
 does whether they want to or not," she said 
 aloud. 
 
 "Yes," Britomart answered, thoughtfully, "I 
 believe he is, and I am very glad of it, because 
 the world needs to think as he does. I believe 
 in the doctrine he preaches. I long to read the 
 book he is writing. I believe it will be a book of 
 fate for a generation yet unborn. But, mother, 
 don't worry about my being in love with the 
 man. There isn't the slightest danger. I am 
 in love with his ideals, with his work, but not 
 with Dennis Blair." 
 
 A look of relief came over Mrs. Lander's face. 
 She did not for a moment doubt Britomart. 
 She knew if her fears had grounds Britomart 
 would not hesitate to tell her. 
 
 "Then your quarrel with Henry Miller is noth 
 ing but a lovers' tiff?" she ventured. 
 
 "More than that, mother ; I have come to ut 
 terly despise that man !" 
 
 "Oh, Britomart !" 
 
 "It is so ; I could never marry a man for whom 
 I had no respect. You saw Dennis Blair rescue 
 the toad and bring it to a place of safety, where 
 it could resume its innocent little life. Henry 
 Miller would have scorned to touch the repulsive 
 little victim. He might have stopped out of idle 
 curiosity to watch the struggle." 
 
 "There are many tender-hearted men who 
 would have done the same, Britomart, yet who 
 wouldn't make their fellow-beings suffer." 
 
 "Henry Miller is not one of them ; he loves to
 
 118 BRITOMART, 
 
 make his fellow-beings suffer. He loves to be 
 pitted against Bid Leeklaw, or poor, ignorant 
 Jake Flatterbush, and torture them with his 
 ready tongue and cheap wit; but, like the bully 
 that he is, let a man who can talk, and who has 
 the knowledge to down him in his hackneyed 
 arguments, get hold of him, and he is angry at 
 once, and begins to strut and bluster like a dis 
 turbed turkey." 
 
 Mrs. Landor sighed heavily. "It seemed such 
 an easy way out," she said. 
 
 Britomart's foot tapped the step nervously. 
 "Out of what?" she asked. 
 
 "Out of the difficulties of life, for you," an 
 swered Mrs. Landor. "A girl must marry ; there 
 isn't any other comfortable way for her in this 
 ivorld ; and if she runs across a man who is able 
 to support her decently, and whom she can, by 
 hook or crook, endure, she had better take him." 
 
 Britomart flung out her hand with a gesture 
 of anger. 
 
 "I shall never marry for such a reason; I'll 
 starve first ! Is it right that a woman should be 
 forced to such a crime for a living?" She had 
 risen and was pacing back and forth on the plat 
 form, her eyes full of angry tears. 
 
 "It ain't right, Britomart, and it ain't just; 
 but it is a fact, all the same, and you can't get 
 round it. Your father is getting poorer every 
 day. We're bound to lose this farm before a 
 great many years, and then what will become 
 of us? I'm sure I don't know! If vou were
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 119 
 
 married and provided for it would take a great 
 load off my mind." 
 
 Blair, having disposed of his protege and 
 washed his hands with Mr. Landor and William 
 John at the back of the house, came round to the 
 front again. An impulse seized Britomart to 
 tell this man her troubles and hear his solu 
 tion of them in her mother's presence. 
 
 "Mr. Blair, my mother thinks I ought to 
 marry Miller, the Belleville editor, even though 
 I hate him, because he can support me, and my 
 father cannot much longer. What shall I 
 do ! What shall I do !" and, in a storm of sobs 
 she buried her head in her mother's lap. 
 
 Both Blair and Mrs. Landor were startled at 
 the girl's demonstration. Their eyes met for an 
 instant in helpless pity. Mrs. Landor caressed 
 the dark head in her lap in miserable silence. 
 Blair sat down on the outer edge of the platform 
 and, clasping a knee with his hands, gazed away 
 over the grove. 
 
 "Poor little toad," he murmured. "Poor little 
 toad !" 
 
 Suddenly Mrs. Landor's dislike for Blair 
 died, and a premonition came to her that through 
 him "a way out" would be found for Britomart. 
 There was silence for a few minutes, broken 
 only by Britomart's sobs. At last these ceased 
 and she raised her head, her face showing the 
 effect of the storm which had passed over her. 
 It had been an exhibition unpn 'edented in Mrs. 
 Landor's experience. She ha not seen Brito-
 
 120 BRITOMART, 
 
 mart weep since the days of her childhood ; and, 
 had her mother but known it, it was not so 
 much her own dilemma as that of the entire 
 race of womankind which called forth that de 
 spairing storm of tears. The fate which threat 
 ened her was the fate of the feminine \vorld, and 
 the horror of it overcame her, hence her in 
 stinctive turning for sympathy to the Socialist. 
 
 Mr. Landor and William John came round the 
 house all washed and ready for tea. 
 
 "What's the matter with Britomart?" inquired 
 William John. 
 
 Mrs. Landor made a sign that he should be 
 silent, then Blair turned and addressed Brito 
 mart exactly as though they were alone. 
 
 "When, in my wanderings and I am a wan 
 derer, Miss Landor. I come across personal 
 ities like yours, strong to influence their fellow- 
 men, active, progressive, I long to set them 
 thinking learning doing ! I crave your youth, 
 strength and beauty for our cause for the cause 
 of right and humanity. Leave the marrying 
 and giving in marriage, the rearing of children, 
 and the keeping of houses, to such women as 
 well, our pretty little neighbor on the hill over 
 there ; but for yourself, I believe yours might be 
 a broader mission." 
 
 There was silence again for a minute. Wil 
 liam John kicked abstractedly at a pebble in the 
 path. There was a stern look on John Lander's 
 face, and the corners of his mouth drooped with 
 the seriousness of his thoughts. In the heart of
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 121 
 
 the mother a new fear was rising, a fear for the 
 future of this handsome daughter, from whom 
 safety and humble domesticity, such as she had 
 always foreseen for her, seemed to be slipping 
 away. If she only could have loved Henry Mil 
 ler ! But in Britomart's heart hope was coming 
 like the rising of the dawn. Why was it that 
 this man, Dennis Blair, could always dispel the 
 shadows of her life. 
 
 She went to his side. "If you think there is 
 anything in me worthy of this work, if nature has 
 endowed me with capabilities which study might 
 perfect, if I might prove of benefit to the cause 
 we have at heart, I hereby dedicate myself to it, 
 body and soul!" 
 
 She held out her hand to him, and his white, 
 supple one closed over it tightly, locking it for 
 a moment from sight. To the mother, sitting in 
 the doorway, it was like an espousal, not to the 
 man who held her daughter's hand, but to a 
 cause, an idea, shadowy, uncertain and danger 
 ous. 
 
 "In the meantime, you must live," continued 
 Blair ; "and so must we. Mrs. Landor is pa 
 tience itself to wait so long. Let us go in to 
 tea." 
 
 At the supper table the subject was discussed 
 exhaustively by the family, and Blair unfolded 
 his plan. Britomart must perfect herself at 
 something with which to make a living. He 
 suggested it should be her music N He believed 
 in it and in her exceptional willingness and abil-
 
 122 BRITOMART, 
 
 ity to work. "One who proposes to be success 
 ful in music," he said, "must not have a lazy hair 
 in his head." 
 
 Britomart laughed. "I wonder what old Mr. 
 and Mrs. Leven would say to that doctrine. 
 They believe music should only be indulged in 
 during moments of rare idleness." 
 
 William John moved uneasily in his chair. "I 
 don't think any of you do Leven's folks justice." 
 he said. "Of course, they are just plain, old- 
 fashioned farmer people, but not to be laughed at 
 for that." 
 
 "You are a good boy, William John, to stick 
 up for people who abuse you old Leven does, 
 and Tilly too, for that matter." 
 
 "No such thing !" declared William John, and 
 Britomart said no more, but joined in the con 
 versation, which drifted back to her own future. 
 
 Blair advised that she go to the city in the 
 fall to study music. He promised to aid her in 
 meeting expenses by obtaining a few scholars 
 for her, and perhaps some work in a humble 
 capacity in a publishing house with which he was 
 connected in an indirect way. This would give 
 her an opportunity to study the social question, 
 not only in books but also in the streets of a 
 great city. 
 
 "I want your heart to be in it so seriously 
 that, like great reformers, you will be willing 
 to lay aside all questions of personal interest, to 
 devote strength, happiness, and if need be, life, 
 to the cause you espouse. It is such people we
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 123 
 
 want both men and women. If, after awhile, 
 you find you are not equal to this, that your 
 zeal is not great enough for such sacrifices, there 
 will have been no great harm done, at least." 
 
 "You need not fear that !" exclaimed Brito- 
 mart. "Ignorant as I still am of the breadth 
 of the question, I could die, like Joan of Arc, for 
 my country !" 
 
 "Ah, my dear young lady, you will not be called 
 upon to face literal death, but instead the flames 
 of disdain, the sharp sword of sarcasm. The 
 bitter hurt of being misunderstood is worse than 
 physical torture. It is to work with no hope 
 of immediate reward : or reward at any time 
 this is the hard task I set you." 
 
 There was a quick step on the porch, and the 
 next instant the door flew open and a young 
 man entered with a small satchel in his hand. 
 
 "Paul!" cried Britomart, and John Landor 
 said, "Well, well !" while William John stumbled 
 over his chair in his eagerness to greet his 
 brother. 
 
 "What brings you home?" asked his mother, 
 while hurriedly making preparations to warm 
 over the remnants of the supper for Paul. 
 
 "Got nothing to do," announced the new 
 comer, sullenly. 
 
 "Dear me!" lamented Mrs. Landor; "Too 
 bad !" 
 
 "I don't know as it is so bad." Paul flung 
 out the words angrily. "It was no job at best. 
 Look at the way I've been working for the last
 
 124 BRITOMART, 
 
 two years ! Put in my time learning my trade, 
 and since that have worked one month and laid 
 off three, eating up, meanwhile, everything I 
 earned. I tell you, I am sick of it ! The other 
 fellows tramp. When the shops shut down in 
 one town they go on a roaring drunk, have one 
 good time with whatever they have left, and then 
 go box-earring to some other place to find a 
 job." 
 
 "Dear me!" reiterated good Mrs. Landor, 
 "Are they all like that, Paul? I am glad you 
 are not going to stay among them if that is the 
 case." 
 
 "Humph ! What difference does it make ? 
 I've got to work somewhere, and in Chicago, 
 where I think of going, it may be worse yet, and 
 Lord knows whether I can get a job at all when 
 I get there." 
 
 "Don't go," trembled his mother. "Stay here 
 at home with us on the farm." 
 
 Paul laughed recklessly. 
 
 "That was the reason I pulled out of here in 
 the first place, because there was danger of us all 
 getting run out on the mortgage. I thought I 
 was going to do great things by hard work and 
 being steady, but there is no premium on being 
 steady, I can tell you. Men give you no credit 
 for that. A drunken tramp is most always a 
 good all-round man, so long as he is sober ; and 
 for obvious reasons, he is sober until he gets his 
 first wages, and when he drinks so hard he can't 
 attend to his work there will be no loss in dis-
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 125 
 
 charging him, for there are from six to a dozen 
 of his like, just as good, sitting in a row, waiting 
 and longing to take his place. They will work 
 cheap, too, in spite of the unions, to get enough 
 to satisfy their cravings for food and drink." 
 
 "The same old story \" cried Britomart, pas 
 sionately ; "the same old tragedy ! Mother, how 
 dared you and father bring children into the 
 world to face such awful problems !" 
 
 Her father answered the question: "God 
 knows, my girl, I should have trembled at the 
 responsibility if I had known, but until I read 
 Blair's books here, and talked with him, I didn't 
 realize where we American farmers had got our 
 selves." 
 
 Paul Landor had taken but small notice of 
 the stranger in his home until his father's words 
 aroused his interest, and he turned with a look 
 of curiosity at the man he had ignored before. 
 
 "What books ?" he asked sullenly. 
 
 Blair had risen. "I must go," he said ; "I 
 have work to do. Whatever books they are? 
 they are at your service. I may be able to help 
 you to a job in Chicago ; and if I can, be sure I 
 will. Good-night." 
 
 "He is a striking-looking fellow. Where did 
 he come from?" asked Paul. And straightway 
 Paul was taken into the family confidence, and 
 the clock struck twelve and still the Laridors 
 father, sons and daughter sat about the clean 
 dining room, which was lighted by one small 
 lamp, and discussed the social problems of the
 
 126 BR1TOMART, 
 
 day, their own financial difficulties, Britomart's 
 plans, and most earnestly of all, Dennis Blair, 
 his work and words. 
 
 "I'm going to see this fellow tomorrow !" cried 
 Paul. "By George ! I've got a big respect for 
 a fellow, I don't care who he is an ex-con' 
 even who looks at these things as he does. 
 There is something mighty unjust somewhere, I 
 can tell you, and the more you get out into the 
 world and knock up against it, the more you 
 find it out." 
 
 True to his word, the next morning, bright 
 and early, found Paul Landor at Dennis Blair's 
 door, and never a day passed after that in which 
 Blair did not find a few minutes to talk with 
 the headstrong, impulsive boy, who was, he dis 
 covered, well on the road to ruin, owing to the 
 influences of bad companions and hopeless labor. 
 
 "They are all bad, and why shouldn't they be?" 
 demanded Paul. "Mechanics can't hold a job 
 and support a family and enjoy a home any 
 more. Their work only lasts at best a few 
 months at a time in a place; then they must 
 tramp or starve. What effect does this way of 
 living have on men ?" 
 
 "Makes a nation of tramps," Blair assented, 
 sadly. "But you, Paul Landor, the world has 
 work for such as you, though you starve in the 
 doing of it. In the first place, I want you to 
 take care of your sister during her study-time in 
 Chicago. I consider her a wonderful woman. 
 I have long known that there was work in the
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 127 
 
 socialistic field for a few women with good phy 
 siques, ready wit, and strong white hands, ca 
 pable of beckoning rough men to something 
 better than they have known, a more concerted 
 action. Such women have, at certain times and 
 places, more influence than the most brilliant 
 men. Aside from this work, however, she must 
 have an honest way to earn her bread. You 
 must help her prepare for this." 
 
 "You bet I'll help her !" said Paul. "Mother 
 was telling me they were trying to marry her 
 to that damned Belleville 'Weekly' man, Miller. 
 Instead of giving him Britomart I'll give him 
 a thrashing for an editorial which came out in 
 his sniveling little one-horse sheet awhile ago, 
 against workingmen's unions. I tell you if it 
 weren't for the unions I don't know how labor 
 ing men would ever get their rights." 
 
 "The first thing we laboring men have to learn 
 is to keep our tempers," answered Blair. "We 
 'thrash' too much, my boy. Less talking more 
 working in harmony. Nothing is gained by 
 wrangling, and it wears it wears. Work, use 
 your influence, but keep your temper." 
 
 "Mr. Blair, that is almost impossible. Some- 
 time's I feel like turning anarchist and blowing 
 up everything in sight with dynamite !" 
 
 "And it is men of this stamp thoughtless, 
 ignorant blunderers who handicap the cause of 
 Socialism !" Blair said, sternly. 
 
 Paul reddened and for a "moment was inclined 
 to resent the man's impudence.
 
 128 BR1TOMART, 
 
 Blair continued : "There's nothing our ene 
 mies love to say of us so much as that we are 
 anarchists at heart ; that, if we had our way, we 
 would bring about another French Revolution. 
 It is not by such methods we would work. It 
 must be by the better, surer way of education." 
 
 "And meantime die of want ! A starving man 
 can't stop to argue with a thief who has stolen 
 his crust." 
 
 Blair shrugged his shoulders. "If the thief is 
 the stronger of the two, little he will care for 
 the puny kicking of a dwarf about his shins."" 
 
 "The American laborer is no dwarf, Mr. 
 Blair." 
 
 "In his present unorganized state he is a 
 dwarf, writhing in the clutches of the giant Cap 
 ital. When .he conies to know how to use his 
 strength to the best advantage he will surely con 
 quer ; but that day is not yet. In the meantime 
 it is the duty of the more intelligent among us 
 to study make ourselves masters of facts in 
 order to enlighten our less fortunate brothers. 
 We must also learn to use tact in doing this, for 
 men do not like to be convicted o'f ignorance." 
 
 "Your brother's resolve to seek work in Chi 
 cago simplifies our plans a good deal," Blair 
 said to Britomart one evening. ""You need his 
 help and he certainly needs yours. He is hot 
 headed and obstinate to a degree, and has mucfl 
 to learn. I should hesitate about advising him 
 to seek work in Chicago if it were not for the
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 129 
 
 restraining influence you may have upon him 
 there. He looks at life through revengeful eyes." 
 
 "Paul is not easy to manage," Britomart 
 owned, "and my influence, I am afraid, will count 
 very little with him; but yours, Mr. Blair, will 
 be everything." 
 
 "It will take us both," Blair said, reflectively; 
 "and you have more influence over him than 
 you know." 
 
 "I don't know that I have any, but I do know 
 that if any other man had said the things which 
 you have said to Paul there would have been a 
 good deal of unpleasantness." 
 
 Blair smiled but made no answer, and they 
 went in to begin the lesson which must be neg 
 lected for nothing. Britomart was working 
 hard to acquire all the knowledge and practice 
 possible before her advent into the city and the 
 assumption of more serious study.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 "It's like a funeral, isn't it?" 
 
 Britomart was standing with William John in 
 the door of the little brown house amid the 
 wheatfields. It was late September, and Blair 
 had finished the book he had come into the 
 country to write, bidden them all good-bye that 
 morning, and gone to Chicago, accompanied by 
 Paul. The door of the house stood open, and 
 there was a mark on the sod where the boxes 
 had been dragged to the express wagon which 
 had come from Belleville to take them away. 
 
 "When he went to pay his rent old Leven read 
 him a lecture on the evils of his ways." 
 
 "Humph!" grunted William John. "What 
 did Blair say to him ?" 
 
 "Not a word. He meekly took it all, because 
 Leven is an old man and has had but little 
 chance to remedy his ignorance. Blair says he 
 feels a pity for such a man which is a pain." 
 
 William John grunted again. "That old man 
 gives me a pain continually." Old Leven had 
 not been very polite to William John of late on 
 account of their differences of opinion, although 
 William John had harbored no very rabid So 
 cialistic views and had taken particular pains not 
 to air those he had in the old man's presence. 
 
 "He knows as much as Tilly, and more, too," 1 
 said Britomart. "William John, I can't bear the
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 131 
 
 thought of your marrying Tilly Leven ! What is 
 there about the girl which attracts you? You 
 are such a sensible boy, and Tilly talks non 
 sense ; you like to think of great things, and 
 Tilly cares for nothing but to fix herself up and 
 crochet edges for her skirts." 
 
 "She's only a domestic little body, to be sure, 
 Bee ; but I like such women." 
 
 "Oh, then, I've nothing more to say !" snapped 
 Britomart. "If your taste runs to imbeciles, of 
 course you have the best right in the world to 
 indulge it!" 
 
 "You are awful hard on her, Britomart. You 
 are very bright away above the average ancf 
 of course you look down on a simple little thing 
 like Tilly." 
 
 "Oh, William John, you've been kissing the 
 Blarney stone. Don't try to flatter me." 
 
 But she could not help being a little pleased 
 that William John had such a high opinion of 
 her powers. 
 
 "I don't know, Bee ; but ever since I've grown 
 a man I've had a picture in my mind of Tilly sit 
 ting by an open window with a Bible in her lap, 
 a bunch of posies in a glass can on the window 
 sill, her light hair all in cunning little ringlets 
 around her forehead, and something white about 
 her throat ; and there she sits, waiting for me 
 10 come home to supper. I saw her sitting like 
 that once long ago, and I always dream of that 
 picture when I think of our married life." 
 
 "Oh, William John, you are chasing a Will-o-
 
 132 BRITOMART, 
 
 the wisp. The girl you love is not Tilly Leven 
 at all, but one manufactured out of your own 
 brain, and who never had an existence anywhere 
 else; but I shan't bother you any more about 
 the matter, and if you marry Tilly, I'll do my 
 best to be a sister to her. It's going to be awful 
 hard work." She gave him a loving little push 
 as he went round the house on his way to their 
 meadow. 
 
 She watched him go out of sight, then sat 
 down on the steps to think awhile. Since she 
 knew she was to leave it, this quiet country life 
 had an added charm for her. It was so still in 
 the old deserted garden. The sun shone hot on 
 the lilac bushes, and Britomart drowsily watched 
 the cobwebs which stretched from bough to 
 bough. She was thinking how restful it was 
 and that she hated to move, to break the silence, 
 when a sudden whir of buggy wheels broke it 
 for her, and a dripping horse was reined to the 
 gate. 
 
 Henry Miller descended from the carriage and 
 came up the walk toward her. She had not seen 
 him since the Sunday she declined to go driving 
 with him, and she was vexed that he should find 
 her here, mooning about Blair's deserted cot 
 tage. It would lend color to the tales which 
 were in circulation about the neighborhood in 
 regard to her infatuation for Blair. She was not 
 glad to see Miller, but she forced herself to be 
 cordial. Her connection with him had been 
 fraught with so much unhappiness that his pres-
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 133 
 
 ence could never be other than distasteful to her. 
 
 "Grieving over the departed?" he asked, 
 coolly taking a seat beside her. "Paul's gone 
 with him, hey?" 
 
 "Yes," Britomart responded, "and I'm going 
 in a couple of months." 
 
 Miller grew red and little beads of sweat began 
 to form around his mustache. 
 
 "Do you mean that, Britomart?" he asked, 
 and his voice trembled. He never meant any 
 of the time to give up this magnificent girl. He 
 only meant to make her realize the chances she 
 was taking in not bending to his will; but he 
 feared, at this moment, he had carried his pun 
 ishment too far. 
 
 "To be sure I mean it," Britomart said. 
 
 "You are going to marry that anarchist?" 
 
 "What anarchist? Mr. Miller, you frighten 
 me !" She rose and pulled her skirts together 
 in her hand as though she would run away. 
 
 Miller ignored her jest. 
 
 "Are you going to marry Dennis Blair?" 
 
 "Not that I know of. At least he has never 
 hinted such a thing." 
 
 "Perhaps he disbelieves in marriage, along 
 with all other law." 
 
 "He is a great believer in law, Mr. Miller, a 
 great admirer of law and justice, and he has 
 taught me much concerning it." 
 
 "Well, let's not talk of him any more, Bee ; 
 he's gone and we've done with him. I have 
 come for a serious talk with you, and I am glad
 
 134 BRITOMART, 
 
 I have found you up here alone. I haven't been 
 doing right for the last few weeks, I acknowl 
 edge, and I don't blame you for being put out 
 with me. I am sorry for the way I have acted, 
 and have come out here to ask your forgive 
 ness." 
 
 He reached for her hand, and, a little to his 
 surprise, she gave it to him at once and hastened 
 to say : "I think you wrong yourself, Mr. Mil 
 ler." 
 
 "Don't 'Mr. Miller' me, Britomart." 
 
 "You haven't done wrong by me, I am sure, 
 and I have no hard feeling in my heart for you. 
 Let that suffice. I'm sure we shall always be the 
 best of friends." Then she tried to withdraw 
 her hand, but he held it fast. 
 
 "No, Britomart, we must be more or less than 
 friends. I want you for my wife, and you are 
 the only girl in the country I do want; and 
 what's more, I'm bound to have you. You were 
 all right before that well, that Blair fellow, 
 came sneaking around ; you know you were." 
 
 "That 'Blair fellow,' as you call him, had noth 
 ing to do with the change in my mind that is, 
 nothing directly." 
 
 "Well, it's all over now, as I said before, Brito 
 mart, and I'm willing to forgive you for it. As 
 I said just now, I haven't done right myself. 
 I've been flirting outrageously with that little 
 niece of Dr. McDougal's, Miss St. Clare; and 
 she, poor little thing, is quite infatuated with 
 me runs after me all the time."
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 135 
 
 Britomart again attempted, unsuccessfully, to 
 withdraw her hand from his clasp. 
 
 "Then why don't you make her happy by 
 marrying her ? Please let go my hand, Mr. Mil 
 ler; you hurt me." 
 
 "Now, Britomart, don't keep up your jealousy 
 any longer. It's all over between me and Mattie 
 St. Clare. I don't want her ; I want you, and I'm 
 sure if I am willing to forgive you for your 
 flirtation with the anarchist, you ought to be 
 willing to overlook mine with Mattie. But that's 
 the way with women ; it's all right when they are 
 flirting, but the devil is to pay when the man 
 begins the same thing." 
 
 Britomart rose hurriedly and stood in the 
 path. 
 
 "You must be very dull indeed if you can't 
 understand that I am not jealous of Mattie St. 
 Clare. I am willing you should wait upon her 
 and marry her to your heart's content, Mr. Mil 
 ler. I do not wish to marry you. I do want 
 to be friends with you, but to marry you, I never 
 shall. Let us drop the subject. It is not that 
 I am jealous or angry or not sure of my own* 
 feelings. I never loved you, and I had no busi 
 ness to encourage you." 
 
 "But you did encourage me. For over a year 
 I came to your house, and you intended to marry 
 me; now, didn't you?" 
 
 Britomart was obliged to admit that she did. 
 
 "Then what made you change your mind so 
 suddenly? Don't tell me, Britomart Landor,
 
 136 BRITOMART, 
 
 that it was not Blair who did it. You are in 
 love with him and you intend to tag him to the 
 city, whether he wants you or not, and I don't 
 much believe he does. Mark my words, it will" 
 be a sorry day for you when you go to Chicago." 
 
 Britomart's face was aflame. She felt as 
 though she must step to Miller's side and strike 
 him. 
 
 "I have offered to be your friend; I withdraw 
 that offer," she said. "I hope never to see your 
 face again," and she swept down the path and 
 out at the gate, walking swiftly down the hill. 
 
 Miller stood glaring after her through his 
 spectacles, his puffy face red with emotion. The 
 farther the possibility of his getting this girl re 
 ceded from him, the more ardent 1iis desire for 
 her became. It was not altogether his admira 
 tion for her which actuated him. It was more a 
 feeling of revenge toward Dennis Blair, and spite 
 and hatred for Britomart herself. He ground 
 an oath between his teeth and hurried to untie 
 his horse. A buggy came over the hill, and 
 Brother Granby's fat, self-satisfied face came 
 into view like a rising moon. 
 
 "Good-afternoon, good-afternoon, Brother 
 Miller. How are you today?" 
 
 An inspiration seized Henry Miller. If he 
 could not hold Britomart to her allegiance by 
 his own will, he would enlist the powers sur 
 rounding her her pastor, her mother, father, 
 brothers anybody and everybody. He felt he 
 could almost sacrifice his political convictions,
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 137 
 
 for a time at least, to accomplish his purpose of 
 making her his wife. 
 
 "I am very well in health in health, Mr. 
 Granby; but " with a sheepish smile "I am 
 not very happy just at present. You know I 
 have been paying my addresses to Miss Landor 
 for over a year now." 
 
 "Yes, yes ; Lord bless you," interpolated 
 Brother Granby. 
 
 "And everything was very pleasant; her 
 mother was willing and all her people were well 
 pleased. She herself was very grateful for my 
 attentions, as well she might be, if I do say it." 
 
 "Certainly, certainly." 
 
 "She is not considered a pretty girl, and her 
 people are in rather straitened circumstances. 
 She has never moved in any society to speak of, 
 and I, being a business man and fairly well-to- 
 do well, Mr. Granby, you understand it would 
 have been rather a pleasant arrangement for the 
 Landors, especially Frank, whose business de 
 pends on my paper for advertising ' 
 
 "Just so, just so," assented the minister, 
 reaching a big flabby hand for the whip with 
 which to flick off a fly. 
 
 "Then this man this Blair comes along and 
 puts the d all sorts of notions into her head, 
 makes love to her on the sly, and the fat is all in 
 the fire. She actually contemplates following 
 the fellow to the city to the city, mind you 
 she, an unprotected girl ! A country girl, with
 
 138 BRITOMART, 
 
 no more knowledge of the world than a baby. 
 What will become of her ?" 
 
 "It is terrible!" cried Brother Granbyl "it is 
 terrible ! What can Brother Landor be thinking 
 of ! What can Sister Landor be thinking of !" 
 
 "I wish I wish" faltered Miller, with be 
 coming modesty; "I wish you would speak to 
 her parents or her brothers. Of course, I don't 
 know as there could ever be anything between 
 us after this, but for the girl's sake, whom I pity 
 from the bottom of my heart, I wish you would 
 speak to her parents." 
 
 "Tut, tut, Brother Miller ; don't say that. You 
 must be willing to forgive. Of course you must. 
 You must take her back to your heart again. 
 I shall certainly speak to her people; and never 
 fear, I can open their eyes a bit, I assure you. 
 Brother Landor is a conscientious man and a 
 consistent member of the church, and when he 
 is aroused aroused, enlightened, mind you, as 
 to the facts in the case, you need have no fear 
 in regard to this misguided girl. It is terrible, 
 terrible, that such people are abroad in the land 
 to lead unsuspecting youth astray ! I will drive 
 right down to Brother Lander's." 
 
 And so it was that Britomart, flushed and 
 panting, had not yet removed her hat when the 
 messenger of peace arrived and proceeded to tie 
 his horse. John Landor, coming up from the 
 barns, which were across the road from the 
 house, encountered him at the gate, and the 
 labor of rescue began.
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 139 
 
 The Landor men had left the field early in 
 order that William John might take the team 
 and go after Mary and Sir Bumpy, who was 
 coming to make his first visit at his paternal 
 grandfather's. Mrs. Landor was bustling about 
 making preparations for an extra tea in Mary's 
 honor. 
 
 "There, isn't it lucky," she said to Britomart, 
 as she entered, "that we've got blackberries 
 enough for supper. Here's the minister, and it 
 looks as though he was going to stay to tea." 
 
 "Goodness !" snapped Britomart, "I wisTi he 
 were a thousand miles away. He is always just 
 where you don't want him !" 
 
 "Britomart," remonstrated Mrs. Landor, "is 
 that the way to speak of your pastor ?" 
 
 "But I've something to tell you, mother " 
 
 Any further explanation was cut short by the 
 entrance of Mr. Landor with Brother Granby, 
 who bore a grieved look on his face, evidently 
 believing he had been treated disrespectfully. 
 
 "Now, here she is, Brother Granby, and if you 
 have anything to say on the subject, you must 
 say it to her. My daughter is old enough, and 
 I believe smart enough, to look out for herself. 
 Britomart, Brother Granby thinks you have 
 made a great mistake in throwing over your 
 chance to marry Henry Miller and going to the 
 city instead. He doesn't think you will be safe 
 in the city; he doesn't think the ones who ad 
 vised you to make the move are reliable folks." 
 
 Britomart bowed coolly, and placed a chair for
 
 140 BRITOMART, 
 
 the minister and sat down herself, determined 
 to keep her temper no matter at what cost. 
 Was ever a girl so beset ? 
 
 Brother Granby opened his case with his 
 usual lack of tact, plunging in and wallowing 
 like a porpoise in seas of supposition, sentiment 
 and black forebodings. 
 
 In the midst of his labors a welcome interrup 
 tion occurred in the arrival of Sir Bumpy, at 
 tended by his suite of mother and Uncle William 
 John. Britomart snatched the baby from Mary's 
 arms and nearly smothered him with kisses. 
 
 "Ah," groaned Brother Granby, "and I had 
 hoped to see you, my dear, misguided young 
 friend, with children of your own in your arms, 
 to rise up and call you blessed." 
 
 "What in the world's up?" whispered Mary, 
 as she passed Britomart to lay her things on the 
 bed. 
 
 Britomart made a grimace and a backward 
 motion of the head toward the sighing Brother 
 Granby, and Mrs. Landor announced that tea 
 was ready. 
 
 After tea Brother Granby resumed ,his labors. 
 
 "Your religion, my dear Sister Landor, is not 
 your religion strong enough to cause you to 
 wish to do the will of the Lord ?" 
 
 "Yes, Brother Granby, it is. I sincerely wish 
 to do the will of the Lord." 
 
 "Then why not give up the foolish project of 
 studying music in Chicago, and stay here where 
 dutv calls ?"
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 141 
 
 "Because I am not certain that it is the will 
 of the Lord that I should do so. I think it is 
 Henry Miller's will, and yours." 
 
 Bumpy's mother buried her face in the baby's 
 neck to suppress a giggle, and Bumpy laughed 
 outright, as though he understood the matter. 
 
 "And, oh," continued Brother Granby, "my 
 heart is saddened to know that you have adopted 
 these lawless principles of Socialism!" 
 
 Britomart took the baby in her arms, that 
 the contact of his soft little body might restrain 
 her if she grew too harsh. She meant, despite 
 the warning looks of her mother, to fire some 
 hard truths at the blundering old man, but she 
 did not wish to be rude. She would not for the 
 world have been guilty of the coarseness in deal 
 ing with personalities in which he had indulged 
 since his entrance into her home ; but she in 
 tended, as kindly as possible, to enlighten his 
 ignorance, although in so doing she should be 
 obliged to wound his gigantic egotism. 
 
 "You speak of my religion, Brother Granby. 
 I never had any until I became a Socialist. My 
 heart was full of unspoken anger against my 
 fellow-men. I felt that I and my people were 
 being hardly dealt with; that we were called to 
 labor hopelessly all our lives, and hopeless labor, 
 you will admit, Brother Granby, will harden the 
 human heart. You adjured us to be content 
 because it was the will of the Lord, and my 
 heart was hard and bitter against God. I re 
 fused to pray to a God who claimed to be just,
 
 142 BRITOMART, 
 
 yet ground nine-tenths of his subjects into the 
 earth in poverty and gave the remaining tenth 
 more than was good for them. I hated my fel 
 low-men because I was jealous and envious of 
 the more fortunate. What kind of a religion 
 was that which you were helping to establish in 
 my heart? You see, I was young and groping 
 for truths. I went every Sabbath day with my 
 people to hear you preach, and ever and always 
 I hungered to hear some word of comfort of 
 explanation from your mouth ; but forgive me, 
 Brother Granby, this I know is a hard thing to 
 say I never heard one. You never dropped a 
 sentence tending to make me a better woman. 
 You talked continually of a Heaven far away and 
 shadowy; but I am young, with a strong body 
 and mind, to be satisfied somehow in this world. 
 I want a salvation for my body as well as my 
 soul. I am willing yes, anxious to work and 
 work hard ; but I have an American spirit in me, 
 which forbids that \vork to be done for a master. 
 We young Americans have none of the old 
 world serf-spirit born in us. Y,ou see how it 
 was, Brother Granby I hated God and I hated 
 man, ignorant thing that I was. I w r as contem 
 plating marrying a man whom I knew I did not 
 love because I believed it was the fate of women 
 to submit to these hard conditions of God's law. 
 I had no way of supporting myself, and no 
 money to keep me while I educated myself in 
 some branch with which I might earn that sup 
 port. Is it any wonder that I hated everything,
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 143 
 
 and a God who permitted such injustice most 
 of all? 
 
 "Then came Dennis Blair, the Socialist, and 
 uttered simple truths to me which comforted me 
 and changed my whole point of vision; truths 
 which, it seems to me now, a wayfaring per 
 son, though a fool, might have found out for 
 himself. He told me simply that it was not 
 God's plan that there should always be grinding 
 poverty for the masses and debasing opulence 
 for the few. He laid the wrong where it be 
 longed, at the door of human misrule and ig 
 norance. He pointed out to me that Christ was 
 a Socialist; that when he preached the sermon 
 on the mount his words were not mere vapor- 
 ings, which sounded well but meant nothing, as 
 too many of our preachers' words do today, but 
 were real, were actually to be the inspiration 
 which was to bring about a condition of hap 
 piness and goodness for all men. He even inti 
 mated that I, in my womanish weakness, might 
 give a little impetus to the great ball of progress, 
 and, by setting my feeble shoulder to the work, 
 could send it a bit further on its way. He 
 thinks there will be more Christianity in this 
 than in binding myself to a man whom I dislike, 
 merely to get food and clothes. 
 
 "You just now intimated some fearful dangers 
 which awaited me in the city. Why do you warn 
 me so earnestly of these sins against my woman 
 hood which I might be beguiled into committing 
 there, yet advise me to commit the same sin here
 
 144 BRITOMART, 
 
 with the sanction of the church and society. I 
 tell you if I had not become a Socialist, I should 
 have become an atheist, because I felt I could 
 not worship a God so cruel as to condemn the 
 majority of his creatures to poverty, crime and 
 prostitution. 
 
 "There is another thing I wish to say to you, 
 Brother Granby, in all kindness, before I finish, 
 and that is, study this question of Socialism a 
 little. Find out what it really is, and then you 
 will never again couple the words Socialism and 
 anarchy as you did in your sermon two weeks 
 ago. It is your duty to study it; indeed, the 
 clergy must study and embrace it if they would 
 keep their hold upon the masses. Many of the 
 younger ones are doing so. The people want to 
 be told how to be good ; they need instruction 
 and, naturally, they look to the pulpit for it. 
 Their preacher, to fulfill his mission, must be in 
 reality, as well as in name, their teacher. In or 
 der to do this he must keep abreast of the times, 
 touch the questions of the day, even if by so 
 doing he is obliged to neglect some of the 'isms 
 and 'ologies. 
 
 "Forgive me, Brother Granby, for presuming 
 to teach a clergyman old enough to be my father. 
 I should not have done it except to vindicate 
 myself. You see, you made the sweeping ac 
 cusation that I was headstrong, would not accept 
 the teachings I was privileged to hear that I 
 was carried away by a foolish idea and a villain-
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 145 
 
 ous teacher. I had to vindicate my friend as 
 well as myself. 
 
 "As for my sojourn in the city, I shall be as 
 safe as the average young woman. I am to keep 
 house for my brother, Paul, and only await the 
 word that he has found work to go to him and 
 make him as comfortable a little home as possi 
 ble on the small allowance we shall possess." 
 
 Brother Granby had not heard this little 
 speech in perfect silence. There had been horri 
 fied ejaculations of "Ah, my dear young friend !" 
 "Hold a bit, hold a bit; you are mistaken," but 
 in the main, Britomart held the floor. 
 
 In his top buggy, an hour later, jogging to 
 wards home through the dusk, he thought of 
 many good things he might have said if they had 
 occurred to him at the right time. He also 
 thought over the young woman's astonishing 
 words with much seriousness, and determined 
 to secretly study up the question which seemed 
 to have captured the hearts of the entire Landor 
 family. He tried to feel that he had been unnec 
 essarily brow-beaten ; but upon recalling Brito- 
 mart's even, quiet manner, her evident freedom 
 from anger, being a just man, he was obliged to 
 admit that, although sharp and, coming from so 
 young a person, rather presuming, it in no way 
 overstepped the bounds of politeness. 
 
 Brother Granby was a good man, but naturally 
 obtuse and not quick to grasp new ideas. He 
 was kept so busy with pastoral duties, that is, 
 running about making foolish and meaningless
 
 146 BRITOMART, 
 
 calls, attending dime suppers and missionary 
 teas, that he had not much time for study, and 
 consequently stood up to teach the lesson of 
 how to live rightly in this day and age without 
 any better material than a bundle of old, worn- 
 out phrases which had grown absolutely mean 
 ingless through much use. 
 
 Mrs. Landor rocked his royal highness, Sir 
 Bumpy, while the two young women went for a 
 walk after Brother Granby had gone. 
 
 "It was dreadful, I think, Britomart, for you 
 to talk so to a minister of the gospel." 
 
 "I know it," owned Britomart; "but, Mary, I 
 just could not help it! Think of the insulting 
 things he said to me positively insulting, and 
 all in that self-satisfied manner, as though he had 
 a perfect right to because he was a minister. 
 The idea of his coming to me from Henry Mil 
 ler to plead his cause without knowing any of 
 my reasons. He didn't care for them, you see. 
 Henry Miller had reasons and he considered 
 those enough." 
 
 The girls walked on up the western hill in 
 silence until they arrived at the little house on 
 the crest ; here they paused and leaned upon the 
 gate, listening to the peeping and twittering of 
 a bird in the woods across the road and the 
 boom of the frogs in the meadow to the north. 
 
 Mary broke the silence. "Britomart, are you 
 sure you are not in love with the Socialist in 
 stead of Socialism?" 
 
 Britomart laughed. "Do you know, Mary,
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 147 
 
 that has troubled me a good deal. I know the 
 attacks which unoccupied maiden hearts, the age 
 of mine, are subject to, and I questioned myself 
 narrowly to find out if, after all, incipient per 
 sonal love for this man, instead of a firm and 
 true conversion to his doctrines, was the senti 
 ment which actuated me. I remember when 
 young Morris, the evangelist, was here, how 
 Tilly Leven got religion, and wouldn't dance nor 
 go to the circus, and how quickly she recov 
 ered from it when he went away; and, really, I 
 believe if I could ever fall in love with anybody, 
 it would be with Dennis Blair. He is so good, 
 so wise, so unassuming. I consider the man a 
 martyr to his principles. He is working night 
 and day for a cause he believes to be the only 
 hope for suffering humanity. I admire him, but 
 I do not love him in the way you mean, and in 
 the way I was afraid of, and" with a little shrug 
 "it wouldn't do me a bit of good if I did. Love 
 and marriage are as far from the mind of Dennis 
 Blair as is murder."
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 The summer Britomart's last at home be 
 gan to wane. The grain had long been stacked 
 and much already thrashed, and farmers were 
 drawing great loads to town, returning with sour 
 faces and lank purses. As usual when they were 
 ready with their hard-earned produce, prices 
 dropped to the lowest figure. The stubble 
 fields stretched in unbroken regularity, save here 
 and there a rich ribbon of black, to show where 
 some enterprising toiler had begun his fall plow 
 ing. Such a ribbon encircled one of the faded 
 yellow fields of the Landor farm, and every day 
 William John trudged after the span of bays with 
 the music of the softly ripping earth in his ears 
 and the wholesome smell of it in his nostrils, al 
 ways patient, taking toil and disappointment 
 with the same philosophical sweetness. He was 
 one of the uncomplaining ones of earth, totally 
 unlike his brother, Paul, who, if one smote him 
 on the cheek, was apt, in return, to place a ring 
 ing slap where it would do the most good, before 
 he obeyed the Bible injunction and turned the 
 other cheek. 
 
 William John was far from happy. His love 
 was his life, and whatever occurred to disturb 
 its course affected his peace. 
 
 Old Leven had taken an unreasoning dislike 
 to the entire Landor family since their espousal 
 of Dennis Blair's doctrines. He never saw the
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 149 
 
 stooping shoulders and drooping straw hat of 
 John Landor near his own line but he began a 
 droning conversation, the burden of which was 
 misguided people who were trying to ruin tna 
 country by harboring new ideas. 
 
 At this time bimetalism was beginning to agi 
 tate the country, and the papers were full of it. 
 Leven did not understand the term very clearly. 
 He only knew from his abusive party paper, the 
 only sheet he ever saw, that it was not in favor 
 with the republican party ; hence his hatred of it. 
 
 At first John Landor tried to reason calmly 
 with his neighbor ; to give his views and, on the 
 other hand, listen to Leven's, comparing the ar 
 guments for and against. He soon learned that 
 this was perfectly useless. His neighbor had no 
 reasons. He voted the republican ticket be 
 cause he voted the republican ticket, and he did 
 not hesitate to declare that any man who voted 
 any other ticket, no matter which, was a thief 
 and a liar. His fiddle-shaped face would grow 
 pale with passion, and his knotty old hands saw 
 the air in such a frenzy that John Landor feared 
 he might fall down in a fit some day among his 
 stocks of grain. 
 
 There had never been any great degree of in 
 timacy between the families, until Tilly set her 
 cap at William John. 
 
 Poor William John ! Those Sunday evenings 
 before the political cloud arose were among the 
 happiest recollections of his life. Happy is too
 
 150 BRITOMART, 
 
 feeble a word to describe them. Dazzling, be 
 wildering, would be more appropriate. 
 
 To think that he, big, awkward William John 
 Landor, should be tolerated in aye, even invited 
 into that sacred room, the parlor, with its 
 store carpet, its darkly varnished table in the 
 middle, with the best lamp set squarely in the 
 center on a fringed paper mat, flanked on one 
 side by the photograph album, on the other by 
 the family Bible, each with a crocheted cover, the 
 work of Tilly's fair hands. 
 
 A carpet lounge, hard as Pharaoh's heart, with 
 an uncomfortable rotundity which, had William 
 John been older and not in love, would have 
 been a torture to him, graced one side of the 
 room. On one wall hung a framed Odd Fel 
 low's Emblem, with a great eye in the center that 
 was very awesome to William John, as repre 
 senting God's eye ; on the opposite wall a silver 
 plate reserved from the coffin-lid of some de 
 parted friend, shone from a mahogany frame 
 with as cheerful a luster as circumstances would 
 permit. At times, when the light struck it just 
 right, the young man could discern the inscrip 
 tion thereon, "Sarah H., aged 21 Yrs." A hair 
 wreath and a swaying air-castle made of worn- 
 out sheets, completed the decorations of the 
 room. The arrangement of hair, the all-seeing 
 eye, and even the coffin-plate, were cheerful com 
 pared to that ghostly, swaying air-castle, espe 
 cially in the dusk of evening before Tilly came 
 in with the lamp. William John could not ig-
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 151 
 
 nore the fact of its resemblance to the pale 
 wraith in hoop-skirts of Sarah, aged 21. 
 
 But when Tilly came in with the lamp, and, 
 placing it on the table, sank upon the bloated 
 sofa at his side, what rapture what ecstasy! 
 How soft and pink-and-white and beautiful she 
 was ! How could such a beautiful creature care 
 for such a great clodhopper as himself ! In the 
 winter time she wore a snuff-colored henrietta 
 cloth, of which she made every stitch herself, she 
 told William John, and it was a source of never- 
 ending wonder to him that a young girl, unas 
 sisted, could accomplish such results. 
 
 Britomart laughed at the dress and scouted 
 the idea that it was a work of art. She had even 
 intimated to her brother that if Tilly were not 
 the most self-satisfied young woman on earth, 
 she would know that the darts were crooked and 
 twisted to one side, that it was too short-waisted 
 and that the skirt hitched up in the back. 
 
 "If I were in Tilly's place I never would brag 
 about having made that dress myself," she told 
 William John. "Of course, it's all right to be 
 economical, and if you really had to wear such a 
 garment, wear it, and say nothing; but to brag 
 about it is very silly." 
 
 But William John considered this jealousy on 
 the part of Britomart for a prettier girl, as very 
 natural, and his sister's one fault. About her 
 throat Tilly wore cotton lace supported by a red 
 ribbon tie ; a row of pretty, crimpy frizzes across 
 her forehead ; and when William John grew bold
 
 158 BRITOMART, 
 
 enough to touch her hand it sent a thrill to the 
 very toes of his best Sunday shoes. Never, if 
 he lives a hundred years, will he forget those first 
 nights of courting in that fear-inspiring parlor. 
 To think that Britomart considered him too 
 good for such a girl ! 
 
 All this happiness was before John Landor and 
 his sons experienced a change of heart in pol 
 itics ; for, despite himself, William John was 
 obliged to admit the truth in what Dennis Blair, 
 and later his father, declared, and when Old 
 Leven pinned him with a knotty forefinger and 
 thumb, and asked him, point-blank, if he in 
 tended to vote the republican ticket at the fall 
 election, he stammered, and at last admitted that 
 he did not think he should. There was no other 
 way, for William John would not have sacrificed 
 his convictions even for his love, and to have 
 lied to Tilly's father was beyond the bounds of 
 possibility. 
 
 But what a change was there ! William John 
 saw the anger leap into the stupid old face and 
 trembled, but held firm. After this the parlor 
 was closed to him. Never again did he gaze on 
 the swaying ghost of Sarah, aged 21, nor read 
 the inscription sacred to the memory of the 
 same, done in silver. 
 
 Tilly remained true, at least for awhile, and 
 used to glorify the line fence by leaning her red 
 dened elbows on it, and talking across it to Wil 
 liam John surreptitiously ; but a young man from 
 "the other side of the lake" began courting her
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 153 
 
 occasionally, and William John saw with despair 
 that his place in Tilly's heart was likely to be 
 filled by another, with a top buggy and a double 
 team. 
 
 So William John plowed and suffered, and 
 Britomart's heart bled for him. There was so 
 little brightness in the dear boy's life, and now 
 this little gleam was to be snuffed out. And 
 through it all he was so patient, so uncomplain 
 ing. Sometimes the girl clenched her hands and 
 the angry tears sprang to her eyes. She felt as 
 though she would like to stand in some high 
 place and hurl invectives at Heaven and earth 
 alike for placing such limitations of poverty and 
 labor about her brother. As for herself and 
 Paul, they were born fighters ; they would pull 
 through somehow or take it out of society in 
 some way ; but father, mother and William John 
 meekly fitted the burdens to their shoulders 
 and trudged their weary round. 
 
 "William John should have gone to col 
 lege," railed Britomart, "and had a chance to 
 be somebody, and he would have been some 
 body, too. Then he would have seen a dif 
 ferent kind of a girl from Tilly Leven, the in 
 significant little baggage ! But you take a good, 
 green boy like William John, let an idiot like 
 Tilly Leven begin making eyes at him, and no 
 other girl within ten miles, and what is the con 
 sequence ? And now that she has him right un 
 der her thumb, she is torturing him to her heart's 
 content. Do you know, mother, I actually be-
 
 154 BRITOMART, 
 
 lieve she intends throwing him over for Grady's 
 hired man; and William John is breaking his 
 heart over it and never saying a word. It will 
 be a good thing for him in the long run. I hav,e 
 told him that a thousand times, but it makes me 
 mad to see him plowing along with that pathetic 
 droop to his mouth, and his shoulders getting 
 stoopier every day. If Tilly Leven does this 
 that I expect her to, and then ever tries to hang 
 around me, I will give her a few uncomfortable 
 minutes to avenge William John, I promise 
 you !" 
 
 "Is that a right spirit, Britomart?" 
 
 "Perhaps not ; but it is justice." 
 
 Britomart had a chance to put her threat into 
 execution, for the late November snows were 
 flying before Paul found work in Chicago steady 
 enough to warrant him in sending for Britomart^ 
 and long before that time the hired man with 
 a double team was making wheel tracks in an op 
 posite direction from Leven's. Tilly, perfectly 
 amiable, and willing to forgive William John, 
 came down to call at Landor's about dinner time. 
 
 William John had gone to town with a grist. 
 Of course, Tilly could not know this, and un 
 wittingly exposed herself to the bottled-up wrath 
 of his revengeful sister. 
 
 Gentle Mrs. Landor feared the worst when 
 she saw Tilly coming unsuspectingly up the path, 
 decked out for conquest in a brand-new gown, 
 whose darts and skirt were more fearfully awry 
 than usual. She had barely time to shoot an ad-
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 155 
 
 monitory glance at Britomart, which that war 
 like young person pretended not to see, before 
 the victim was within doors and seated in the 
 company chair, her hat lying on the bed, and 
 an expectant eye bent on the back door, where, 
 according to her calculations, the men would 
 shortly appear for dinner. After the usual pre 
 liminaries about the weather, Tilly casually men 
 tioned that she should have been down before, 
 but had been very busy sewing, finishing the 
 dress she wore. 
 
 "Too bad," said Britomart, "that you were 
 obliged to make it yourself. One never gets a 
 dress to fit on one's self. See how the darts pull 
 to one side, and how crooked it fastens. Quite 
 pretty material, too. For my part, I would 
 rather economize in quality of cloth and have 
 my dress fitted and well made by some one who 
 understands such things. Nowadays the fash 
 ions change so rapidly no one can keep up with 
 them except professional dressmakers. For in 
 stance, Miss Gridly, from Orion, was in town 
 yesterday, and she tells me all shoulders are 
 made very short and the sleeves high. You see, 
 you are away behind the times. Have you ever 
 seen Miss Gridly ? She is such a pretty girl, and 
 so stylish. William John is quite smitten with 
 her. He says she is the first really pretty girl he 
 has ever seen. Such dark eyes and hair! I 
 shouldn't wonder much to see sleigh tracks start 
 ing from our house in the direction of Orion 
 this winter."
 
 156 BRITOMART, 
 
 Mrs. Landor announced that dinner was ready 
 and invited Tilly to "sit by," that there was 
 plenty of room, seeing that the men folks would 
 not be home till late ; but Tilly declined and, bid 
 ding them good day, hastened home to twitch 
 her darts straight and look over the cloth which 
 was left of her dress, to see if there was not at 
 least enough to make new fronts with different 
 shaped arm-holes. 
 
 "Britomart, how can you be so mean!" ad 
 monished Mrs. Landor. 
 
 Britomart laughed. "I am savage, mother, 
 when I think of this fall and William John." 
 
 "But such falsehoods, Britomart ! Who is 
 Miss Gridly?" 
 
 Britomart ran and brought a big hardware 
 catalogue, which she had utilized as a scrap- 
 book, and, flapping the pages over, displayed a 
 newspaper cut of a Southern beauty, with a 
 round face and jet-black eyes and hair. 
 
 "It was no lie, mammy, not a bit of it. See? 
 Miss Hattie Gridly, of Orion, Alabama; and 
 when I was pasting her in, William John looked 
 over my shoulder and made the remark that she 
 was the prettiest girl he ever saw. Of course, 
 Miss Mushey did not stop to consider that there 
 is more than one Orion in the United States. 
 Let her fret awhile." 
 
 "But William John will tell her the first time 
 she questions him, and then she will know you 
 were spiteful." 
 
 "I'll warn him not to."
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 157 
 
 And she did; William John, much to her as 
 tonishment and satisfaction, adopting the Miss 
 Gridly fable as an excuse for not resuming the 
 former pleasant relations with Tilly Leven. Slow 
 as he was, and hard as the struggle had been to 
 give up his first love, her easy acceptance of the 
 attentions of a hired man with a double team, 
 after all the sweet things she had said to him, 
 was a revelation to William John. Besides, now 
 that he had more time to devote to it, he was 
 reading many of his sister's books, borrowed of 
 Dennis Blair, and as he read his opinions became 
 so pronounced he felt that he could never again 
 have the patience with Old Man Leven's sense 
 less vaporings which he once had. His heart 
 beat with brotherly indignation when he read 
 Paul's letters, which told of his struggle to ob 
 tain work; and he frequently gave vent to his 
 strongest expletive of "Darn 'em !" as he read of 
 arrogance of the millionaire employers and the 
 savage domination of the foreign slave-drivers 
 whom they find it to their advantage to make 
 foremen in their shops. 
 
 "I tell you," wrote Paul, "I should have 
 turned anarchist long ago if it were not for Blair. 
 He is like a flax-seed poultice, soothing, at the 
 same time, healing. He is a grand fellow, and if 
 any one should say a word against him to me 
 I would flatten him out if I went to jail for it 
 old Leven not excepted." 
 
 "If you are a Socialist up there in the country, 
 I wonder what you will be in Chicago,-' he wrote
 
 158 BRITOMART, 
 
 to Britomart. "The abject misery, the horror 
 and helplessness of it makes one want to curse 
 God and die. One day I had been tramping 
 looking for honest work until I was ready to 
 drop. Blair was with me. We started to cross 
 the street when my foot slipped and I fell. A 
 carriage at that moment came round the corner, 
 and, although driver and occupant saw my 
 plight, there was not a movement or a tightening 
 of the reins. I should have been under the 
 horses' feet if Blair's hand (which is strong 
 enough to have broken the horse's neck, I be 
 lieve) had not grasped the bridle and swung the 
 beasts to one side with a jolt that nearly threw 
 the driver from his high seat. The driver raised 
 his whip as though to strike at Blair. I made a 
 dive, not for the driver, poor lackey ! but for the 
 man in the carriage, who was coolly surveying 
 the proceedings through an eye-glass, and, so 
 help me God ! I should have beaten his brains 
 out against his own carriage doors if the same 
 steel-like grip which turned the horses' heads 
 had not fastened itself on my coat-collar, and I 
 was for a moment as helpless as a dog in his 
 hands. 
 
 "There he stood, grim, dabbled with mud, be 
 tween the aristocrat and the down-trodden la 
 boring-man, cool as ice, yet as invincible as that 
 grip on my collar. The world has need of such 
 as he men who know enough to hold their tem 
 pers to stand between the men in the carriages 
 and the men in the mud. The man in the car-
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 159 
 
 riage rode on, thankless and ignorant that he 
 owed his life to that slim, white hand of Dennis 
 Blair's. That's the way with them. They feel 
 so secure. 
 
 But, after all, I should have gotten the worst 
 of it. It would have felt good, I can tell you, in 
 the first hot moment, to see his camplacent mug 
 covered with his own blood. I feel the desire 
 for it stir in me yet, while I write. But after 
 wards Dennis Blair is right. It would not only 
 have been I who would have suffered the punish 
 ment, but you, and father, and mother, and dear 
 old William John. Personal violence is not the 
 way out, so Blair says, and so I know, when I 
 stop to think. The trouble is a hot-headed fool 
 like me never stops to think until it is too late." 
 
 Once Blair wrote in one of Paul's letters : "I 
 shall be glad when you come. We need you for 
 anchorage." 
 
 After awhile Britomart received the letter tell 
 ing her to come. "I have a job at beggarly 
 wages, but it will do. My employer (you will 
 think this is poetical justice) is the man with the 
 eye-glass who nearly ran me down last month 
 Jeffries, by name. I can never see his face but 
 that old feeling of blood-thirstiness crops up in 
 me. He does not come often, thank fortune! 
 He has no need to do even the arduous work of 
 thinking for the concern himself. His part con 
 sists in gathering in the sheckels. I presume 
 the man never did a day's work in his life, and 
 never will. And yet, to see the airs he gives
 
 160 BRITOMART, 
 
 himself, you would know in a minute he thinks 
 he is made of finer metal than the most of the 
 people he meets. Long ago his old grandfather 
 bought a tract of land where the heart of Chi 
 cago now beats so fiercely, and his father estab 
 lished the manufacturing plant where I have 
 the happiness to be a humble employe. 
 
 "It was not his grandfather's brains, nor his 
 father's brains, nor his own, nor any especial 
 amount of industry on the part of any one of 
 them which has placed him where he is. It is 
 pure, unadulterated luck, bred of our present 
 economic system. That is why his airs of supe 
 riority gall me and make me long to cut his 
 throat. Blair laughs at me, and says I would 
 put on even more airs in his place. (I know 
 better than that.) He says : 'Don't waste your 
 breath railing at the individual plutocrat ; strike 
 at the system.' But that's too slow for me. I 
 want some little individual revenge. I can't 
 content myself with thinking that my grand 
 children may have the chance of shaking hands 
 in equality with his." 
 
 On the twentieth of November Britomart's 
 trunk was packed and stood on the little porch. 
 The family were going with her to Belleville, 
 take dinner at Frank's, and see her off on the six 
 o'clock train. It was rather a solemn ride to 
 Belleville. It was a cold, biting day. There 
 had been but little snow, but the hard frosts had 
 blackened everything, and the landscape seemed 
 without hope.
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 161 
 
 Farmer Landor and William John sat on the 
 front seat, their hearts tqo sore for conversa 
 tion. This was a sorry day for the family, say 
 what hopeful things they might, such as, Chi 
 cago was not so far away from Belleville, after 
 all, that Britomart would often be at home, that 
 it was best, and all that ; the bitter fact remained, 
 nevertheless, that the morning's would come 
 without the. cheerful sound of her voice, that 
 the noon meals would lack their wonted bright 
 ness, and the night home-coming from the fields 
 could not be so full of happy anticipation with 
 Britomart away. 
 
 Mrs. Landor exercised her feminine preroga 
 tive of crying openly and above-board, because 
 she felt like it, and William John envied her. 
 He felt that a good, blubbering cry of four or 
 five minutes' duration, perhaps even less, would 
 ease that aching lump in his throat. 
 
 Britomart sat rigid and silent. She could not 
 have expressed her feelings. One moment a 
 great wave of homesickness would sweep over 
 her, and the next she had the sensation of being 
 a soldier going into battle, and going to win. 
 She had a foolish, pleasant fancy of likening her 
 self to Napoleon, although she lacked the qual 
 ities which brought him success namely, utter 
 heartlessness and supreme selfishness ; but his 
 fine health, his powers of endurance she had. His 
 tireless, watchful energy, his genius for hard 
 work, she determined to acquire if she had them
 
 162 BRITOMART, 
 
 not. When homesickness or laziness attacked 
 her she should think of the Little Corporal. 
 
 It took all the bolsterings the recollections of 
 that redoubtable warrior could supply to keep 
 the tears back, however, as the train began to 
 move. There they all were, those whose loving 
 faces had been her joy every day of her life, and 
 which she must learn to do without, for many 
 days at least, and in all probability the greater 
 part of the remainder of her life. The last face 
 her eyes rested upon was that of Bumpy, red and 
 wrinkled by an expression of supreme surprise 
 and dismay at the daring of the November wind, 
 which tried, at one fell swoop, to take away his 
 breath as his mother uncovered his face to the 
 farewell gaze of his aunt. 
 
 When the last house of Belleville slid out of 
 sight, Britomart settled back and sobbed aloud, 
 despite the fact that Mrs. Lawyer Hamleton oc 
 cupied the third seat back, and was in the habit 
 of slipping down to Chicago and returning in 
 a day or two without a thought of farewell tears. 
 Presumably, she considered Britomart's distress 
 very childish, especially as she was a tall girl. 
 If she had been small and blonde, those tears 
 might have been excused. 
 
 "A pretty Napoleon I am," muttered Brito 
 mart. "I wonder what the army of Italy would 
 have thought to have seen the great conqueror 
 starting out for conquest with a red nose and 
 eyes swelled half shut from crying?" 
 
 Then she sat up very straight, and tried to
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 183 
 
 forget how lonely poor William John would be 
 after tea, during the time he usually spent telling 
 her his innocent plans, or reading history aloud 
 while she did the mending, and their father and 
 mother dozed off, too tired to assimilate what 
 was being read ; for, much to Britomart's aston 
 ishment and delight, William John had fallen in 
 with her conceit of Miss Gridly of Orion, and 
 strictly maintained his allegiance to that mythical 
 person, giving Tilly to understand that, on Miss 
 Gridly's account, her blandishments must be for 
 ever in vain; and Tilly,in despair, turned to an 
 other hired man, this time minus the double 
 team. Britomart had a sodden fear that in her 
 absence Tilly might renew her attentions with 
 better success ; but, however much that troubled 
 her, the hand of Destiny pointed her in another 
 direction. 
 
 And in this manner Britomart left the first 
 epoch of her life -behind her and went down co 
 Chicago to begin the second, there to meet her 
 share of trials, rebuffs and disillusions. 
 
 Paul rented rooms in the rear of a drayman's 
 house on Wells Street. A large, dark room 
 which served for kitchen and dining room, a 
 smaller room, scarcely less dark, serving as the 
 living room, and containing Britomart's rented 
 piano ; two bedrooms and a tiny pantry com 
 pleted the suite. Here Britomart worked and 
 studied for two years, during which time she 
 never once saw the kindly light in her mother's 
 eyes, nor heard the music of her father's laugh.
 
 164 BRITOMART, 
 
 Sometimes her anxieties nearly overwhelmed 
 her would have done so quite, had it not been 
 for Dennis Blair ; and she always insisted that 
 during that dark time it was Blair's hand, not 
 hers, which held Paul back from despair and 
 ruin. For, oh, the injustice of it all ! the hope 
 lessness which there is no use to describe in de 
 tail. We working people know it from bitter 
 experience, and the more favored classes have 
 heard it told so many times that they have be 
 come hardened to its repetition. They bow and 
 smile, throw a dime or a dollar to charity now 
 and then ,and say, "We know, poor people, you 
 suffer; but be patient. God's will be done !" and 
 pass on to their fetes, their junketings, their pol 
 itics and their society.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Meanwhile Britomart was becoming an artist 
 in her profession. She was self-supporting, hav 
 ing secured a few scholars. She even owned a 
 neat black silk dress, which was a necessity, as 
 Professor Seebright was in the habit of making 
 her a conspicuous figure at his recitals, and black 
 silk is more enduring and unnoticeable as a reg 
 ular costume than the lighter fabrics. It needed 
 few adornments to make Britomart Landor no 
 ticeable in any assembly. Her fine height, su 
 perb health and unconscious manner marked her 
 as a beauty on the streets of Chicago, Belleville's 
 decision to the contrary notwithstanding. 
 
 One night she came swinging home in a quick, 
 easy walk which was one of her charms, carrying 
 music roll and book, an excited flush on her face, 
 aided and abetted by a sharp wind which buf- 
 eted her at every corner. She had news for Paul 
 which would astonish him. She hurried through 
 the long, dark alley between two towering brick 
 walls, which led to the door of her home. 
 
 It was unusually late half-past six, and Paul 
 was home, as she discovered on coming abreast 
 the alley window and seeing a light. He had 
 lit the fire and the kettle was singing merrily on 
 the stove. 
 
 "Well," cried Britomart, putting her music 
 roll, coat and hat all on the piano stool. "What
 
 166 BRITOMART, 
 
 do you think, Paul ? I'm to beard the lion in his 
 den. I'm to have a pupil among the grandees, 
 and whom do you think ! The young cousin of 
 your arch temper-destroyer, Theodore Jeffries !" 
 
 Paul was in bad humor. Things had gone 
 wrong and a cut in wages had been declared. 
 
 "Don't you take a bit of abuse in that house, 
 Britomart. It's bad enough for me to have to 
 stand their trampling." 
 
 Britomart laughed. "I suspect that's how I 
 came to be invited to undertake the task. She 
 is one of Seebright's pupils and, he says, alto 
 gether impossible." 
 
 "One of the silver-spoon kind who wants to 
 be educated without studying. Don't you ac 
 cept, Britomart." 
 
 "Oh, but I shall. Seebright says it will be a 
 good thing for me pecuniarily if I can endure 
 it. He says he could not. It appears that Mrs. 
 Jeffries, your Mrs. Jeffries' mother, has great 
 musical ambitions as a vocalist in fact, is con 
 sidered a very beautiful singer, and she is ex 
 tremely anxious that this niece should accom 
 pany her with taste upon the piano. But the 
 niece is not fond of music and has become such 
 a trial to Seebright that he has determined, in 
 sheer desperation, to turn her over to me. She 
 is to marry Mr. Theodore Jeffries, so Mr. See- 
 bright tells me." 
 
 "You are a fool, Britomart, to undertake any 
 of Seebright's dirty jobs. You have trouble
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 167 
 
 enough without tackling the Jeffries or their 
 kind." 
 
 "Oh, but you know, Paul, it is the Jeffries and 
 their kind who need instruction for their chil 
 dren, and who can afford to pay for it. Now 
 that I am making a success of myself musically, 
 I want a chance to show off." 
 
 When Britomart had finished getting supper 
 and had taken her place behind the little tin tea 
 pot, Paul produced a letter from home. 
 
 "It was sticking in the door," he said, and, in 
 his discouraged tone, Britomart had the key to 
 his depression of spirits. 
 
 "No bad news, Paul?" 
 
 "Oh, nothing new. Father has been obliged 
 to take up more money to pay for the west fence 
 and the thrashing, and Frank is getting in debt 
 deeper and deeper all the time. What is going 
 to become of us is more than I know." 
 
 It was rather a gloomy tea, and Britomart was 
 relieved when a familiar step sounded outside 
 the door and Blair came in. .Being a busy man, 
 he was not a frequent visitor, but he brought 
 sunshine when he came, and Britomart felt that 
 they were in need of sunshine. 
 
 "Doing!" answered Paul to Blair's question, 
 "about as bad as we can. Letter from home. 
 Everybody a few months nearer the poor house. 
 Father fretting himself to death, and, to cap the 
 climax, our wages were cut in the shops again 
 today. Blair, I don't care what you say, I'm 
 going to quit pretty soon."
 
 168 BRITOMART, 
 
 "Oh, it isn't so bad," Britomart interposed, a 
 little ashamed of this bag of calamities which 
 Paul was emptying on Blair's devoted head ttit 
 moment it showed itself in their door. "No, it 
 isn't all bad. I have a new music scholar Miss 
 Barlow, Mr. Jeffries' cousin and fiancee." 
 
 "That's the worst of it all !" growled Paul. "I 
 tell her it is bad enough that that damned brute 
 should lord it over me. without her coming un 
 der their thumbs. Britomart, if you dare take 
 any abuse from them, I'll turn you out of doors !" 
 
 He was walking the floor excitedly. Brito 
 mart laughed good-naturedly. 
 
 "You'll be cutting your nose off, young man. 
 If this strike comes on, which you say is un 
 avoidable, you'll have to let me support you 
 until you find work." 
 
 "Why, yes, Paul, this may be the means of 
 introducing Miss Landor into the very atmos 
 phere which she needs where money is so 
 plenty it is in the air, you know ; she may absorb 
 it in breathing," joked Blair. 
 
 Between them they talked and laughed Paul 
 out of his savage mood. 
 
 Nevertheless, when Britomart presented her 
 self before the elegant residence of the Jeffries 
 to make her first struggle with the impossible 
 scholar, she was not in a particularly patient 
 frame of mind. She had been alone in her dingy 
 rooms all the forenoon, doing the drudgery nec 
 essary to keep her little home tidy, and her 
 fingers felt stiff and unfitted for their task. The
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 169 
 
 melancholy home letter and Paul's pending trou 
 bles weighed upon her. 
 
 So this was the home of the millionaire who 
 had cut the wages in Paul's sEop yesterday ? A 
 man-servant opened the door and ushered her 
 into a hall which was a revelation to Britomart, 
 so rich, so wide, so warm. Its very luxurious- 
 ness angered her. Why not a little less grandeur 
 and poor Paul allowed wages enough for his 
 support ! 
 
 The servant came back soon and showed her 
 into the library. Miss Barlow was not at lib 
 erty just at present to receive her. Britomart 
 settled herself to wait and examine with a jealous 
 eye this further accumulation of riches and lux 
 ury. She refused the billowy comfort a great 
 armchair offered, and sat rigidly awaiting her 
 pupil in one of the less comfortable ones by the 
 window. There was no sound save the crack 
 ling of the fire in the grate. 
 
 This keeping her waiting was an insolence in 
 itself, the insolence of power against her weak 
 ness of wealth agains-t poverty. In effect these 
 plutocrats said to her, "Lie down, you dog, and 
 await our call !" The thought of Paul's impo 
 tent anger came to Britomart with added mean 
 ing, and a picture of the ones at homefather, 
 mother and the boys, slaving, straining, but un- 
 successfuly dropping gradually behind in the 
 race, while this man 
 
 Suddenly the great, thick curtain lifted and the 
 man himself was before her. Britomart knew
 
 170 BRITOMART, 
 
 him immediately from Paul's description. He 
 was a handsome man in face and figure. Yet 
 his good looks were marred, entirely effaced, 
 in the eyes of some, by his manner, which was 
 one of superciliousness and conscious superior 
 ity. Through his gold-rimmed glasses his half- 
 closed eyes viewed a world forever at his feet 
 because of his wealth. There was great excuse 
 for him. Even those whose faces were ground 
 by the system which made this man their mas 
 ter, looked upon him with admiration. 
 
 Britomart rose as he entered, and the blue 
 eyes met the narrow gray ones in natural antag 
 onism. 
 
 "I beg your pardon. Are you waiting for 
 some one?" 
 
 "Yes, I have been waiting nearly an hour for 
 Miss Barlow. I am to give her a lesson on the 
 piano." 
 
 "Oh, certainly." 
 
 He was going. 
 
 "Will you be kind enough to tell the young 
 lady that I shall wait no longer?" 
 
 Theodore Jeffries turned and eyed the girl 
 coolly. 
 
 "It may be worth your while to wait," he said. 
 
 The 'tone was perfectly respectful, but the 
 words so plainly indicated her servitude of pov 
 erty and his mastership of money, that, despite 
 Blair's long teaching against hatred for the in 
 dividual, Britomart, like Paul, felt that this man's 
 debasement and humiliation was all that could
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 171 
 
 satisfy her. He was plutocracy personified. It 
 was as though the Roman emperor's wish had 
 come true in her case, that the necks of all his 
 kind had become as one, and she longed for the 
 power to smite it. It was not a Christian idea, 
 it was far from a Socialistic idea, but, such as if 
 was, it was Britomart's at that moment. 
 
 "No," she answered, with a curl of the lip, "I 
 shall wait no longer. I have business of more 
 importance" ; and then, quick as thought, she 
 added, "I am due to read a- paper on the subject 
 of strikes before a meeting of Socialists this af 
 ternoon." 
 
 It was a fabrication from the ground up, but 
 she had been hurt and blindly retaliated with the 
 first poor weapon at her hand, and if she had had 
 the choice of the armory of the world she could 
 not have pierced this millionaire manufacturer 
 more effectually. His face flashed red. Anger 
 fairly scintillated from his narrow eyes. 
 
 "Indeed ! I might give you a little sound ad 
 vice if it were worth the trouble, but I do not 
 think I shall. However, we will not detain you 
 from your mission of peace. I beg to assure 
 you that Miss Barlow will not need your serv 
 ices." 
 
 But he was reckoning without his host. Miss 
 Barlow had arrived some two minutes before, 
 pushing the great curtain aside noiselessly, and 
 chancing upon what she considered a rich scene ; 
 this haughty, handsome young woman facing 
 Cousin Theodore and talking of strikes work-
 
 172 BRITOMART, 
 
 ingmen's strikes ; the one theme in all the world 
 capable of rousing his fury, as well it might, they 
 being the only stones in his smooth road of 
 power. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Cousin Theodore, but I 
 believe this young lady's business is with me, is 
 it not? Or were you contemplating brushing 
 up a bit in your music?" 
 
 The sentence was spoken in a slow, smooth 
 voice, with a peculiar drawl, and ended with a 
 laugh, musical but tantalizing. 
 
 Britomart turned, and beheld in Miss Barlow 
 a young lady of, perhaps, twenty, but looking 
 very childish in a white wrapper, with a torrent 
 of black curls tumbling about her head, as 
 though she had but just risen from a nap. Her 
 face was too narrow by far for beauty, and it 
 was dominated by a sleepy pair of black eyes, 
 which she never took the trouble to open to their 
 fullest extent, except upon unusual occasions. 
 Her lips were red very red, and too full to be 
 in keeping with the rest of her face, had it not 
 been for a strong, firmly shaped and prominent 
 nose, which reconciled one to the voluptuous 
 mouth. 
 
 "This young woman has pressing duties, and 
 I have excused her, Clarissa. She says she has 
 been waiting an hour." 
 
 "I am so sorry, Miss " 
 
 Britomart had sent her card, but evidently 
 Miss Barlow had not troubled to remember the
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 173 
 
 name upon it, and Britomart ignored the intima 
 tion that she was to introduce herself again. 
 
 "I am so sorry, but I was taking a little rest, 
 and I have told Justine that upon no account is 
 she to waken me when I am sleeping. I had 
 entirely forgotten the lesson. You will pardon 
 me ? Good-bye, Cousin Theodore. We will go 
 to the music room, and if a lesson cannot be 
 arranged today, we will make an appointment 
 for it at some future time this week. I am very 
 anxious to begin," and with a touch which was 
 velvet-like, yet compelling, Miss Barlow led 
 Britomart to the music room. 
 
 As Britomart's eyes glanced quickly about 
 this apartment she felt her presumption in com 
 ing into such a home as instructor. Surely the 
 women of this household were past-mistresses of 
 the art of music. There was a grand piano and 
 a pipe organ. There were guitars in dark, old 
 Spanish wood, with intricate inlaid work on 
 necks and about rosettes. There were mando 
 lins strung picturesquely on the walls ; and at 
 the first glimpse, Britomart counted four vio 
 lins. The room was dark and lofty, the only 
 light coming from a high stained glass window. 
 The floor was bare and polished, and excepting 
 one wide divan against the wall, piled with many 
 cushions, there was no furniture to deaden the 
 sound of instruments. 
 
 It seemed as though something of her visitor's 
 thought was apparent to Miss Barlow. 
 
 "Sit down a minute. I won't detain you very
 
 174 BR1TOMART, 
 
 long, but I wanted to talk with you alone. 
 This," and she waved her hand to indicate the 
 room, "is all affectation. We are none of us 
 musicians. Aunt Inez sings well, and plays in 
 differently on the piano and guitar. She wishes 
 me to be able to accompany her upon the piano 
 when she sings ; but I tell you frankly, I despise 
 it!" 
 
 "Then I advise you to abandon the idea of 
 studying. One must put more or less heart into 
 music if one wishes to master any part of it." 
 
 "Oh, but I have decided to try very hard ; 
 and before we leave the subject, let us arrange 
 for our first lesson. When can you come 
 again ?" 
 
 "I can give you a lesson this afternoon. I 
 came for that purpose." 
 
 "But your engagement at the Socialist club? 
 Don't tell me that was a fib to aggravate Cousin 
 Theodore !" 
 
 Britomart's lip curled in a smile. 
 
 "Because," continued Miss Barlow, "it was 
 that which made me wish to know you." 
 
 Britomart was very much ashamed of herself 
 and arose to go. Miss Barlow pulled her down 
 upon the divan again. 
 
 "Don't go yet. Just a few minutes, please. 
 Then you are not a Socialist?" 
 
 "What I told your cousin was not true that 
 I was to read a paper at a meeting of Socialists." 
 
 "And you never attended such a meeting?"
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 175 
 
 "Many of them, and I am a Socialist. Why 
 should I not be?" 
 
 Miss Barlow sat regarding her with those vel 
 vety black eyes of hers. "I shall take lessons of 
 you," she said at last; "and I shall make such 
 progress that Aunt Inez will be astonished. Can 
 you come tomorrow to make a beginning ?" 
 
 "We can make a beginning today, if you are 
 determined to do so with me for a teacher. I 
 advise you to begin now. I may not be admitted 
 to the house tomorrow," and Britomart smiled. 
 
 "Cousin Theodore would hardly go that far," 
 said Clarissa; "but he hates you I could see 
 that." 
 
 Miss Barlow's full, red lips were widened in a 
 smile. Her hands lay .idly in her lap, palms up 
 ward, and Britomart noted how round and firm 
 the little white wrists were, and how rosy the 
 palms and finger tips. She wondered why the 
 fact of the gentleman's hatred for herself should 
 be a matter of gratification to his cousin. If 
 she had been the least bit conceited she might 
 have credited it to jealousy on the part of Miss 
 Barlow, as she remembered that Professor See- 
 bright had told her this young woman was to 
 marry her cousin. Before Britomart left she had 
 promised to come the following day at two 
 o'clock. 
 
 In answer to Paul's jealous inquiries in regard 
 to her treatment at the millionaire's house 
 Britomart was very noncommittal. She said she 
 met with very much the reception she had ex 
 pected, and Paul advised her not to go near
 
 176 BR1TOMART, 
 
 the place again ; but the following day found 
 her on the Jeffries' steps, wondering how she 
 would be received this time, and trembling a 
 little in spite of herself. She hoped to be shown 
 at once to the music room, there to await Miss 
 Barlow. She determined to wait in patience if 
 it obliged her to take the last car home at 
 night. To her discomfort she was again shown 
 into the library, which seemed to be quite full 
 of people. 
 
 Mr. Jeffries and Clarissa were standing \vith 
 a young lady, who, to Britomart's bewildered 
 eyes, seemed a most beautiful creature.; she was 
 so fragile, so pink-and-white, with a profusion 
 of golden hair and great, pansy-colored eyes. 
 She turned an unsmiling face of curiosity upon 
 Britomart as she entered. She was a charming- 
 contrast to Clarissa Barlow, with her unruly 
 braids of black hair and languorous, velvety 
 eyes. Britomart wondered that in the confusion 
 consequent upon her introduction into a room 
 ful of strangers, she should note that this con 
 trast was to the blonde's disadvantage. It 
 seemed to fade her delicate tints. 
 
 Clarissa came forward at once and greeted 
 Britomart with a profusion which astonished 
 that young woman. 
 
 "Miss French, let me present Miss Landor. 
 Miss Landor has kindly consented to initiate me 
 into the mysteries of piano music. Can't you 
 find it in your heart to pity her? You remem 
 ber that duet, one part of which you undertook
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 177 
 
 to teach me. But, I assure you, Cousin Theo 
 dore, I mean to make a great effort. You and 
 Aunt Inez shall be astonished. Aunt Inez, this 
 is Miss Landor, who knows more about music 
 than all of us put together." 
 
 A lady rose from beside a little table where 
 she had been serving tea, and coldly gave her 
 hand to Miss Landor. Her eyes, black as Clar 
 issa's own, were of an entirely different expres 
 sion. They might have been described in the old- 
 fashioned way as "snapping." Her complexion 
 was still good, although again entirely different 
 from her niece's, in that it was highly colored. 
 Her mouth was wide, thin, and, Britomart de 
 cided, cruel. She was dressed like a girl of six 
 teen, and a discerning person could read at a 
 glance that, in her, youth would die hard. 
 
 There were two gentlemen near her drinking 
 tea, and Clarissa introduced them as Lord Kil- 
 dare and Mr. Hawkins. Britomart could not 
 have guessed their ages within twenty years. 
 Both seemed to belong to the class of old-young 
 men to be met with so often in society, a class 
 of which Britomart, with her limited exper/ence, 
 was entirely ignorant; men to whom existing 
 conditions, like a too indulgent mother, had 
 given such a large piece of the pie of the world 
 that it had nauseated them and destroyed an ap 
 petite which should still have been keen. Brito- 
 mart's glance rested but an instant on the scion 
 of English nobility, but in that instant her coun 
 trified, American mind experienced the wonder
 
 178 BRITOMART, 
 
 invariably present in all American minds under 
 similar circumstances, that a long descent of blue 
 blood should culminate in anything so ugly. 
 The bony, cadaverous face, neither young nor 
 old, the broom-like moustache and prominent 
 ears might well have been the heritage of fif 
 teen generations of hod-carriers. In comparison 
 with the wellrbuilt, supercilious Theodore Jef 
 fries, my lord was but an indifferent figure of 
 a man. Britomart resented the hawk-like glance 
 of his eyes, which seemed to consider her from 
 a purely physical standpoint. The glances of 
 the old Chicago roue, Chauncey Hawkins, were 
 no cleaner, perhaps, but at least he had the 
 grace to veil them with a show of respect in the 
 presence of American womanhood, which, even 
 in poverty, in this country, commands it. 
 
 A woman with white hair, a rich gown and a 
 disagreeable face, came in, and Clarissa presented 
 Britomart to her Grandmamma Enderby. Then 
 they drank a cup of tea, and, Clarissa excusing 
 herself to her aunt's guests, the two young 
 women repaired to the music room, where the 
 first lesson was soon in progress. 
 
 Britomart found her pupil fully up to Pro 
 fessor Seebright's description impossible. 
 
 "You see, it is quite as bad as you have been 
 told, Miss Landor," Clarissa said, with a smile 
 of satisfaction, when they were through. 
 
 Britomart made no reply. 
 
 "But," continued Clarissa, "I can learn if I
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 179 
 
 try ; and to prove it to you, I'll have this lesson 
 when you come Saturday." 
 
 "That is too much to ask. It is too hard a 
 lesson to get in so short a time. It would re 
 quire constant practice." 
 
 "Very well, I will give it all my time. I have 
 nothing else to do, and there is need of great 
 haste in this matter." 
 
 The sleepy, velvety eyes were fastened on 
 Britomart with a whimsical expression. "I am 
 well along in years and there is need that my 
 accomplishments be perfected soon." 
 
 Britomart hardly knew whether to hate or like 
 this girl. She felt like hating her when she re 
 membered how she had forced her music teacher 
 down the throats of her aunt's guests, and liking 
 her when she remembered that, through her tact, 
 the music teacher had not suffered from the per 
 formance. She turned all these things over in 
 her mind during her walk home. She had had a 
 glimpse of fine society and meant to recount it 
 to Paul for his amusement during supper. She 
 had seen a live English lord, and her belief that 
 the nobility was a poor lot was not modified by 
 the encounter. 
 
 She met Dennis Blair on her way home. He 
 had been to see Paul, he told her. The strike 
 in the shops was on, and for a time Paul would 
 be idle. "But don't worry," he added ; "I have 
 managed to get him a little work in the office, 
 so you will be provided for."
 
 180 BRITOMART, 
 
 "And I am keeping my pupils," Britomart said 
 with a brave heart. 
 
 "Would God I might ease things up a bit for 
 some of the other poor fellows and their fam 
 ilies." 
 
 Britomart bade him good-night, and hastened 
 home to find Paul in a better humor than she 
 had expected. 
 
 "It would have done you good to see them 
 pour out, Bee. Jeffries knew nothing of it when 
 I came away. His old wheels will stand idle for 
 one while, I'm thinking." 
 
 He gave an account of the going out, 
 dwelling with especial pleasure on an incident 
 which happened soon after dinner. There had 
 been an objectionable foreman placed over 
 their shop during the last week. He was a 
 Swede who could hardly speak English, and suc 
 ceeded a man, capable, honest and just alike to 
 employer and laborer. The men were working 
 on piece work, however, and the American had 
 not the slave-driving qualities requisite to 
 squeeze all the company believed might be 
 squeezed out of that particular room for a given 
 amount of wages ; consequently, the Swede was 
 put in his place. Before going out, the boys had 
 tied a rope around the Swede's neck and dragged 
 him back and forth until the life was nearly 
 beaten out of him. 
 
 "And did you have hold of the rope, Paul ?" 
 
 Paul hesitated a minute and then frankly ad 
 mitted that he did. "I tell you, Britomart, my
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 181 
 
 fingers fairly itched to give the dirty sneak a 
 twist, but I beg of you don't tell Blair ; he would 
 disapprove and, Britomart, he is mighty good 
 to us. I should not like to seem ungrateful. 
 And now where have you been and what have 
 you seen today?" 
 
 "I have seen," said Britomart, "three great 
 men; one is great because he is titled, one is 
 great because he is rich, and one is great because 
 he cares for others before himself can feel for 
 others' woes. In short, he is great because he 
 is great."
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Britomart was shown into the music room 
 at once on Saturday and found Clarissa curled 
 up among the cushions on the luxurious divan, 
 looking like the favorite of some Eastern prince 
 with her clinging, inky locks and her long, vel 
 vety eyes. Her dress was calculated to add to 
 this illusion, being a neglige affair, dropping 
 from her rounded shoulders and disclosing her 
 arms in astonishing glimpses the whole of their 
 graceful length. The material of which the dress 
 was made had a greenish gold background, upon 
 which innumerable brilliant dragon-flies glit 
 tered, enmeshed in a silver warp. 
 
 Britomart began by hating Miss Barlow be 
 cause she had evidently donned this gown to 
 bewilder an unsophisticated country girl, not 
 used to such extravagant fashions, but was ob 
 liged to like her for the alacrity with which she 
 took her place at the piano and executed the 
 rather difficult first lesson without a break. 
 
 After the new lesson had been given Clarissa 
 reeled off from the music stool with a sigh of 
 relief. 
 
 "Thank Heaven, that's over !" she said. "And 
 I am an exemplary pupil, am I not, Miss Lan- 
 dor?" 
 
 Britomart was obliged to admit that she was 
 delighted. 
 
 "And a little bit astonished, isn't it so?"
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 183 
 
 Britomart laughed good-naturedly. "Oh," 
 she answered, "I knew it was rather from lazi 
 ness than lack of ability that you failed." 
 
 "I beg your pardon, but it wasn't. If I had 
 ability there would be, as Mark Tapley has it, 
 no credit in the affair. It is the fact that I 
 totally lack musical ability, coupled with that of 
 my mastering the lesson, which should bring me 
 credit. I hate it and always shall !" 
 
 "You incur the labor then for the sake of 
 pleasing some one else?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "That, after all, is a worthy motive." 
 
 "You think so?" 
 
 "I know so." 
 
 "But you never would guess the name of the 
 person whom I study to please." 
 
 "Your aunt?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Your cousin, Mr. Jeffries?" 
 
 "No ! May heaven strike me dead if ever I 
 do anything to please that man !" 
 
 Britomart was shocked and showed it in her 
 face. 
 
 "Come, sit down and talk to me a bit. I long 
 for a confidant. I never had but one in the 
 world, and that one, old Betty Barlow by name, 
 is not always reliable. The moment I saw your 
 face I thought, 'I wish that girl were my sister, 
 or some one under obligations to listen to me. 
 You are so big, you know, and pardon me so 
 beautiful !"
 
 184 BRITOMART, 
 
 Britomart made a scornful gesture of dissent. 
 
 "When you know me better, you will appreci 
 ate that compliment, because you will know that 
 I never flatter. I am" and she shrugged her 
 shoulders slightly "too much given to the other 
 thing. Yes, when I first saw you I liked you, and 
 when I discovered you standing up to Cousin 
 Theodore with your gloves on, so to speak, and 
 realized that you had just 'placed one in the neck' 
 that is a quotation from Chauncy Hawkins, 
 who is very well informed in matters of the ring 
 I say, when I saw that, I loved you !" 
 
 "Why are you so bitter against your cousin?" 
 
 "I am not bitter against him. On the con 
 trary, I believe there are some good traits in 
 him which have never been allowed to show 
 themselves. But I oppose him on principle, be 
 cause everybody else humors him; Aunt Inez 
 and Grandma Enderby because he is a man ; so 
 ciety and the world because he is a rich man. 
 No one in all his life has dared to do anything 
 that is contrary to his will, except your hurnble 
 servant, and I have had my hands full with my 
 contract. I am having a little respite this week 
 for the first time in my life, on account of the 
 strike. Cousin Theodore's men are out on a 
 strike, and he is raging like a hungry lion in con 
 sequence. Of course, they will have to succumb, 
 sooner or later there is no doubt of it and it 
 will not damage Theodore's bank account to any 
 great extent, but he is so angry to think the 
 men dare do such a thing. No, I had no inten-
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 185 
 
 tion of again beginning the study of music when 
 I came down to the library that day, but I am 
 studying it to please you and no one else !" 
 
 She put her two little hands over Britomart's, 
 sitting very close to her on the divan. "And now 
 I want you to do something for me to requite 
 me for this labor of love; will you?" 
 
 "I can't tell until I know what it is that you 
 want. I do have a feeling of gratitude towards 
 you, Miss Barlow, for hating your domineering 
 cousin so heartily. Poor Paul ! He is one of 
 the sufferers who comes under your cousin's 
 curse." 
 
 "And who is Paul? Your sweetheart?" 
 
 "He is my brother, and he works for the Jef 
 fries firm." 
 
 "Good ! Then you will be all the more willing 
 to do what I wish. I want you should, instead of 
 teaching me music, teach me Socialism. Take 
 me with you to your clubs, tell me what books 
 to read." 
 
 Britomart laughed derisively. "Your cousin 
 would accuse me of obtaining money under false 
 pretenses. The idea of my taking his money 
 and putting in my time teaching you socialism 
 it is quite ridiculous." 
 
 "Listen to me," commanded Miss Barlow. 
 "You do not understand our domestic arrange- 1 
 ments or you would not say you were taking 
 Cousin Theodore's money for my lessons. I will 
 explain, but first I think I will confer a great 
 favor upon you one I have never granted to
 
 186 BRITOMART, 
 
 any of my acquaintances before ; I will intro 
 duce you to Betty Barlow. Would you like-that 
 I should?" 
 
 Britomart could not very well refuse, and 
 Clarissa immediately led the way into the mag 
 nificent hall, up the great stairs, where an. army 
 might have ascended without inconvenience, 
 through upper halls, then up another broad flight 
 of stairs, and threw open a door, bidding Brito 
 mart enter. 
 
 The room was bare save for a long pine table 
 and three chairs. One of them was occupied By 
 an old woman, so shriveled, so bony, so little and 
 bent, that Britomart stopped to consider a mo 
 ment whether this was a human being or a cun 
 ningly contrived automaton made of leather. A 
 pot of paste stood in front of her, and at her 
 right hand a hundred little bottles. She wore a 
 large cap of sheer muslin on her head and a plaid 
 shawl about her shoulders. She glanced up with 
 one eye, like a bird, when her visitors came in, 
 but aside from this slight acknowledgment of 
 their presence she never paused in her monoto 
 nous labor. Her bird-like claws grasped and 
 patted and smoothed the labels into place with 
 a dexterity which surprised Britomart. 
 
 "Busy as ever, I see, grandma," began Clar 
 issa. 
 
 The beady black eyes shot an upward glance 
 at the two and then the flying paste-brush 
 wavered and stopped. 
 
 "Who's that, Clary?" demanded the old wo-
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 187 
 
 man, fixing Britomart with her glance in quite 
 an alarming manner. "Who's that you've got 
 with ye, I say ! I thought it was that Satan's cub 
 of an Inez. But she's been here, about three 
 times today already. Hand me them labels, and 
 step off lively, you limb ! I ain't got time for 
 visitin' ; I've got to work to work, I can tell ye. 
 Them as belongs to me is mighty fine folks, but 
 where'd they be with their jim-cracks and their 
 fol-de-rols if it wa'n't for old Betty Barlow's 
 work ? Where'd they be ? Their old grandad 
 Barlow never worked a minute in his life never 
 a minute, the old limb ! Drunk all the time, and 
 screechin' like all the devils in the bad place, and 
 dilirium tremens at last, and that's what took 
 'im." 
 
 "That, you see, was the manner of my great 
 grandfather's taking off," Clarissa said, her 
 whole face lit up with elfish satisfaction in her 
 great-grandmother's reminiscences. 
 
 "Lord !" mumbled that lady, pasting for dear 
 life, and speaking more to herself than for Brito- 
 mart's benefit. "Many's the time I've gone hun 
 gry to bed, and many's the time I've lived on 
 potatoes grown right down there where the fac 
 tory stands. Now the folks is so fine ! So 
 fine !" 
 
 "Talk about descent," murmured Clarissa, 
 smiling, "I wonder what Lord Kildare would say 
 to mine? And yet, Miss Landor, he, the scion 
 of a noble house, contemplates marriage witH 
 me that is, would, if he only knew which of my
 
 188 BRITOMART, 
 
 grandmothers would die first. He has never, 
 by the way, met Airs. Barlow. I wish he might ! 
 I wish he might !'" 
 
 "What ?" demanded the old woman, who. with 
 an upward tilt of an eye had seen the words she 
 could not hear. 
 
 "I did not say anything, grannie;" and, then, 
 to Britomart, "There's more, oh, so much more 
 family history. She'll get to it, give her time. 
 Poor old Betty. Her predilections for reminis 
 cences is the real reason she's not tolerated be 
 low stairs. A stroke of paralysis which deprived 
 her of the use of her lower limbs years ago is the 
 reason given to the public." 
 
 "Tom Enderby, that married Hetty, was lazy 
 enough, but he managed my money, though. He 
 built the factory. But his girls was limbs. Dang 
 'em! I hate 'em. One of 'em married Jack 
 Barlow, her own cousin, and the other one, Ben 
 Jeffries. She was the worst of the lot that 
 Inez !" The old woman fairly trembled with 
 rage and the paste-brush zigzaged through the 
 air. "She's the worst of 'em all, the worst, of 
 'em all ; with her fol-de-rols and her gewgaws. 
 She's a limb of old Satan ; I hate her. If I had 
 my legs I'd go down an' screech at her in the 
 front yard. I'd go in the streets an' tell every 
 body who come along all about 'er !" 
 
 Clarissa laughed in glee. "What about the 
 other girl, Clarissa my mother ?" she asked the 
 old woman, but that personage insisted on keep 
 ing to her text.
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 189 
 
 "Inez was the worst o' the lot. I hate 'er !" 
 "I know, I know, grannie, she's bad enough; 
 but so am I." 
 
 "You are like Clarissa, your mother. She was 
 bad enough, but not so bad as Inez. Dang 'er, 
 I hate 'er! She can spend the money and Het 
 lets her; she and her boy, with their fol-de-rols 
 and their gewgaws. Her boy'll find out who the 
 factory belongs to, and who the city lots belongs 
 to ! They're all Betty Barlow's. They was old 
 drunken Barlow's, and now they're his widow's, 
 and I'm his widow. Hand me some more labels 
 and tell the boy to come and take the bottles 
 away. Step lively!" 
 
 "But, grannie, what of Clarissa Enderby, my 
 mother?" 
 
 "She married Jack Barlow, her cousin. His 
 hair was as red as a fox's tail, and he got mighty 
 proud on account of his money mighty proud." 
 "And after she married her cousin?" 
 "Eh?" asked the old woman, with a cunninig 
 leer. 
 
 "Afterwards, afterwards, grannie." 
 "Oh, she ran away with one of the factory 
 hands, a gipsy named Melton, with hair black 
 as night. She staid away three years and came 
 back with a baby with black hair like his like 
 Melton's. She came back a'most starved, and 
 they hushed it up, and folks thought she had 
 been across the water for her health." Here the 
 old woman lost the thread of her story and 'broke 
 into a senile cackle.
 
 190 BRITOMART, 
 
 "Go on, grannie. What happened then?" 
 "Oh, I don't know. They all died that is, 
 Jack Barlow and Clarissa all but that little 
 black young one. That lived and Jack Barlow 
 had said 'twas his it wasn't, it was Melton's 
 and Het Enderby took care of it, but she hated 
 it, and that limb of an Inez hates it, and her boy 
 hates it; but it's here and alive, and why, it's 
 you !" added the old woman, gleaming across at 
 Clarissa, who in turn contemplated her great- 
 grandmother with a soft smile of satisfaction 
 parting her full lips. 
 
 "You see how it is, Miss Landor that Clar 
 issa Melton is nearer the people the toilers 
 than even Clarissa Barlow would have been. 
 Jack Barlow was one generation removed from? 
 hard necessity, but Melton (first name unknown) 
 was a factory hand." Clarissa beat a rapid tat 
 too with her rosy finger-tips on her grand 
 mother's table. "You see, the start of this for 
 tune came from buying swamp land, from which 
 to gather simples which Grandma Barlow made 
 into medicines and bottled for market. She still 
 imagines she makes her living by the old indus 
 try. These bottles are taken to the kitchen, the 
 labels washed off and then returned to be re- 
 labled by these tireless old talons. It -keeps 
 Betty Barlow quiet, and that is the end and aim 
 of this household to keep Betty Barlow quiet, 
 with her reminiscences, her jim-cracks and fol- 
 de-rols. It's a pity isn't it, civilization will not 
 allow us to dispose of the aged and useless mem-
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 191 
 
 bers of society in a reasonable manner, as the 
 Esquimaux do. But it doesn't countenance such 
 proceedings, and here is old Betty Barlow hang 
 ing on far beyond the allotted time of mankind 
 to the disarrangement of the plans of the entire 
 family. By all good rights she should have laid 
 aside her paste-brush fifteen years ago and died, 
 leaving her property in its entirety to her only 
 daughter, Henrietta Enderby, and her heirs for 
 ever. Then Henrietta Enderby, my dear grand 
 mother, could have made a will giving the money 
 where she considers it belongs, into the hands 
 of Aunt Inez, who would, eventually, hand it 
 over to Cousin Theodore, with perhaps a small 
 allowance for Clarissa Melton Barlow, the gipsy, 
 who crept into the family in a manner which to 
 declare to the world would bring disgrace on all 
 the clan, yet who, as Jack Barlow's legitimate 
 daughter and Clarissa Enderby's heir, will come 
 in for Clarissa Enderby's half of old Betty Bar 
 low's money, which is all the money in the family. 
 You see the complications growing out of the 
 circumstances. Grandma Enderby's health is 
 delicate. If she should die before old Betty Bar 
 low, I would come in for half the fortune in spite 
 of everything. This would never do. The for 
 tune must remain intact. In order to insure this 
 Cousin Theodore stands ready to marry me in 
 the face of the fact that he is desperately in love 
 with Hilda French, the blonde girl to whom I 
 introduced you the other day. He isn't just sure 
 of my consent, but believes that in such an im-
 
 192 BRITOMART, 
 
 portant matter I will listen to reason. Mean 
 while Shelly Kildare, that scion of English aris 
 tocracy, getting an inkling at the club of my 
 American million or so in his depleted old 
 pockets, hovers about us like a bird of prey. He 
 knows the components in the affair are a girl, 
 a few millions, and two grandmothers, but he is 
 uncertain just how they are combined. Of 
 course, he doesn't wish to make a mistake and 
 carry home a penniless American as his wife; 
 that is never done ; so he flutters now near, now 
 far away. If Betty Barlow dies Cousin Theodore 
 would be only too glad to have the lord take me 
 off his hands ; he would even be willing to throw 
 in a handsome dowry. But if Betty Barlow out 
 lives his grandmother he does not propose to 
 throw in the half of the money. You ,see how 
 embarrassing it is." 
 
 "Eh ?" ejaculated the old woman, so suddenly 
 that it startled Britomart. ''They died, both on 
 'em. Maybe it was poison, and maybe 'twas sui 
 cide, I don't know. But Jack Barlow had red 
 hair, I know that, and got mighty high afore he 
 died, with his jim-cracks and his fol-de-rols." 
 
 Clarissa rose to go. "Good-bye, grannie," she 
 said, and kissed her on her leathery old forehead. 
 
 "Go 'long with ye," snapped the old woman. 
 "Don't come a-nigh me !" 
 
 "Now, that's something new that murder 
 and suicide idea. I must question Betty about 
 that. There is always something new. She is 
 a most versatile entertainer, but, like a parrot,
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 193 
 
 she shuts up now and then and no amount of 
 force or persuasion can make her talk. Sur 
 rounded as I am with such relatives and friends, 
 you can understand my want of diversion that I 
 should wish to become a Socialist to do some 
 thing red-handed." 
 
 "But socialism is not in that line," smiled 
 Britomart. "Socialism is an adjustment of un 
 even conditions. For instance, here is your 
 superabundance of money making you all mis 
 erable, just as my family's lack of it is making 
 them all miserable, yet we are helpless to mend 
 matters in the present state of society. Money 
 has certainly been the root of all evil in your 
 family." 
 
 "I cheerfully admit it," said Clarissa. 
 
 "What we Socialists are striving for is an ar 
 rangement which would make it impossible for 
 such men as your cousin, Mr. Jeffries, to accu 
 mulate such a burden of filthy lucre that it would 
 crush him and his friends into the mire of infamy 
 to make it necessary for them to spend their 
 splendid energies in some work which would 
 benefit the race, instead of scheming and plan 
 ning to no better end than to keep their crushing 
 load intact; on the other hand, to give such 
 men as my father and brothers, and Melton 
 ("First name unknown," muttered Clarissa) a 
 just compensation for their labor." 
 
 "I know now the meaning of that strange thrill 
 that shot through my being when I first heard 
 the word 'Socialism.' It was mv father's blood
 
 194 BRITOMART, 
 
 stirring in me, the blood of that factory hand. I 
 see by your face, Miss Landor, that you wonder 
 at my pride in my father, or that I am willing to 
 mention him at all under the circumstances ; but 
 do you know, ever since Betty Barlow disclosed 
 to me the family skeleton in the shape of this 
 scandal about my father and mother, I've had a 
 tender feeling for him ; in fact, he is the only one 
 among my relatives about whom there is a- 
 doubt, and I am willing and anxious to give him 
 the benefit of the doubt. You have heard, your 
 self, from old Betty Barlow, that my great 
 grandfather was a reprobate; Betty you can 
 readily see that Betty was no saint; my grand 
 mother Enderby I detest, because she is one of 
 these crawling, quiet, persistent women, with no 
 idea whatever of principle ; Aunt Inez is just 
 what my mother must have been, a bundle of 
 shallow selfishness. Poor Theodore ! What 
 can the world demand of a man with such fore 
 bears? The only thing I have to thank my 
 mother for is that, instead of strengthening the 
 strain of Barlow blood in me, she gave me for a 
 father the proletary, the factory hand, Melton, 
 whose first name is a blank in Betty Barlow's old 
 brain. Don't try to argue me out of my re 
 spectful love for my father, Miss Landor. I re 
 peat, he is the only one regarding whom there is 
 a doubt of his utter worthlessness. 
 
 "I like to think of Melton in this way: He 
 was poor. He worked hard for the pittance 
 doled out to him by his paymaster, overbearing,
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 195 
 
 red-headed, purse-proud Jack Barlow. He saw 
 Barlow's wife ; she was like Aunt Inez, I assume, 
 handsome, in a certain way, but thoroughly 
 selfish to be touched by nothing save flattery. 
 He knew her to be the source of Jack Barlow's 
 wealth and pride, and, hating the whole Barlow 
 tribe, longing for revenge, he became conscious 
 of his power over the woman. (He was a fine 
 figure of a man, this nameless father of mine; 
 of that I am certain.) He exercised that power 
 to the uttermost and carried her away, together 
 with enough Barlow dollars to make them com 
 fortable. She was a vixen, of course Aunt Inez 
 is she drove him to drink and at last deserted 
 him, taking with her the little being he loved bet 
 ter than life itself. She came back to the fiery 
 Jack Barlow, and from what I gathered from 
 Betty's nonsense this morning there was a trag 
 edy of some sort, a further blemish on the family 
 history which must be kept hidden at all hazards. 
 "I never had an inkling of this before. This is 
 one of the peculiarities which makes Betty so 
 interesting to me. Her memory is like a haunted 
 castle, where rats run through many apartments 
 and the wind howls about the turrets. Every 
 day some new room, containing old relics, is dis 
 covered by the investigator, more grotesque, 
 more shuddery, than the rest. Aunt Inez says 
 the tales are the vagaries of an unhinged mind, 
 but I know better ; I know they are all as true as 
 gospel. When one of those long-closed com 
 partments are opened the contents become com-
 
 186 BRITOMART, 
 
 mon property, and she repeats them over and 
 over again without a change in a single detail. 
 But there are still undiscovered compartments, 
 filled with mysterious reminiscences, which I 
 must possess myself of before Betty pays the 
 debt of nature. Perhaps I may even recover, 
 stowed away in a bale or barrel, that mislaid 
 first name of Melton's." 
 
 Clarissa took Britomart to her room and made 
 tea there, brewing and pouring with those ex 
 quisite hands, while the low, deliberate voice 
 recounted the dark chapters of the family his 
 tory. Britomart found her charming. When 
 Clarissa set about it she could win one com 
 pletely. She seldom cared to do so, and usually 
 preferred people to hate and fear, rather than 
 love her ; but this stately music teacher, country 
 girl, Socialist, pleased her from the first, and 
 she strove for her friendship with all the arts 
 of which she was the mistress. Britomart never 
 fawned upon her, never seemed to be currying 
 favor for her own ends, and this pleased Clarissa. 
 She had no wish to act the patroness to the music 
 teacher; she was hungry for a friend a confi 
 dant, something she had never possessed in all 
 her luxurious life. 
 
 "Take pity on me, dear Britomart," she said 
 to her one day; "think how little affection is 
 mine in this dreary world. My grandmother and 
 aunt hate me for an upstart ; Theodore is worse 
 than all because, hating me, he still intends to 
 marry me merely on account of the money.
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 197 
 
 Betty Barlow is really the kindest I have, and 
 Betty, you understand, is erratic in her affec 
 tions." 
 
 Britomart resisted the girl's pleadings to be 
 allowed to accompany her to the meetings of the 
 Socialists. She told Blair of Clarissa's desire to 
 see and know more of the workings of the clubs. 
 
 "Bring her," said Blair. "Educate her. Who 
 knows? She may prove worth it." 
 
 "Yes," sneered Paul, "do it, Britomart. It 
 would be gratifying to think of his high-mighti 
 ness, Jeffries, being obliged to acknowledge his 
 wife a Socialist." 
 
 Paul was very bitter against Jeffries. When 
 the shops resumed work he was discharged un 
 conditionally, because his hand had been on the 
 rope in the foreman affair. He was living on 
 his sister's earnings, and the fact galled him. 
 Every day he walked the streets looking for 
 work, at first patiently, then bitterly, then re 
 vengefully. His was not a nature to gain knowl 
 edge in adversity. He possessed a bad instinct 
 that of the anarchist, to be revenged, to blow 
 up, to annihilate. It took the combined efforts 
 of Blair and Britomart to keep Paul within 
 bounds those days. Blair considered it provi 
 dential that Britomart was in the city. " 'Brito 
 mart' is the charm-word that keeps him from 
 ruin," Blair said, smiling at her, "but think of 
 the poor lads, ignorant and vicious, who have no 
 word, no inspiration; feeling the heavy heel of 
 the oppressor, turning like a writhing worm, but
 
 198 BRITOMART, 
 
 knowing not where to strike, with the power in 
 their own hands to change it all if only they can 
 be brought to understand. Missionaries ! I tell 
 you, Miss Britomart, God calls aloud for mis 
 sionaries to enlighten the people!"
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 Very much to Mrs. Jeffries' surprise and 
 gratification, her niece requested to be allowed to 
 entertain their friends with a musicale, the en 
 tertainment to consist principally of solos by 
 Mrs. Jeffries, with Miss Landor as accompanist. 
 Clarissa proposed to take the responsibility of 
 the affair entirely upon herself and no one knew 
 better than Inez Jeffries how well her prospective 
 daughter-in-law could do such things when she 
 chose. They made out the list of names to 
 gether and Mrs. Jeffries graciously proposed to 
 leave out that of Hilda French. She knew of 
 Theodore's preference for the prettv blonde and 
 believed there must, of course, be a rankling 
 jealousy in Clarissa's heart on that account. It 
 was almost a certainty now that Theodore would 
 marry his cousin. Mrs. Enderby's health was 
 growing extremely delicate, and the animated 
 little parcel of bones upstairs, busily labeling bot 
 tles, seemed to have a new lease of life. Like 
 Riley's Grandfather Squeers, she had "rounded 
 her three score and ten, had the hang of it now, 
 and could go it again." 
 
 Inez disliked her niece on her own and again 
 on Theodore's account. Poor boy ! Obliged to 
 marry the little imp ! If Grannie Barlow would 
 only die it could all be arranged so nicely. Lord 
 Kildare was anxious to take Clarissa off their 
 hands, thereby adding by his title a new luster
 
 200 BRITOMART, 
 
 to the family name. Theodore could then be 
 sure of all the Barlow fortune, and Hilda French 
 would make him a charming wife. Mrs. Inez 
 had plans of her own in the matrimonial line. 
 Mr. Chauncey Hawkins was a frequent and wel 
 come visitor at the Jeffries mansion, and al 
 though Mrs. Jeffries was quite certain Theodore 
 never mistrusted such a state of affairs, and 
 would have disapproved emphatically if he had, 
 Mr. Hawkins' attentions to the black-eyed 
 widow were at times quite lover-like. Mrs. Jeff 
 ries was flattered by these attentions. Chauncey 
 Hawkins, although prematurely aged by a dis 
 solute life, was a man of fashion, a bachelor, ever 
 welcome in the most exclusive drawing rooms in 
 the city. He had no money that is, none to 
 speak of but he could dance divinely, and al 
 ways dressed correctly, and never, on any oc 
 casion, appeared, or acted, in a manner which 
 his worst enemy could construe as bad form. 
 That is, in society. Mrs. Jeffries had heard whis 
 pers of some of his doings which possessed no 
 form whatever, other than that of him of the 
 horns and hoofs, but Mrs. Jeffries was fashion 
 ably lenient in such matters. "Men would be 
 men," she soliloquized, by which she meant that 
 men would be beasts. As for money, if Grand 
 ma Barlow would only die, and then well, 
 should the money come to her before it went to 
 Theodore, she would have her day, at least, be 
 fore she passed it on; and there was plenty for 
 all.
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 201 
 
 Britomart donned her black silk in a good deal 
 of a .tremor on the eventful night. When she 
 was ready Paul and Blair both declared she was 
 a picture. She tried to smile, but there was a 
 lump in her threat as she thought of poor Paul 
 struggling with the demon of the unemployed. 
 She would not let him accompany her, but 
 begged Blair to spend the evening with him. 
 
 "You may come for me at twelve, Paul," she 
 said, "but I will take a car now and be there in 
 no time. I am not afraid so early in the even 
 ing." 
 
 tThe fact was that in her brother's present 
 frame of mind she felt that he was safer at home 
 with Blair than wandering about until such time 
 as she should be at liberty to go home. She 
 never left him alone evenings if it were possible 
 to avoid it. It would have been a necessity to 
 night had Blair not happened in, for Clarissa 
 had intimated that this night's work might be 
 the means of introducing her into a new and 
 lucrative field of employment ; in short, that she, 
 Clarissa, had undertaken to make her the fash 
 ion. 
 
 "It may not last," she warned, "but there is 
 money in it while it does. You will be asked to 
 assist at other musicals ; and when you are, don't 
 be afraid to ask a price for your services. They 
 will think all the more of you. In our set things 
 are not judged by their actual worth, but by what 
 they represent in money values. I shall slyly cir 
 culate the report that your services come high
 
 202 BRITOMART, 
 
 that not every one could afford to avail them 
 selves of such talent, and, believe me, you will 
 have business. But don't lay me in the lie by 
 being modest. Mind, this pinnacle cannot be 
 reached by hard work, nor by ability ; it can only 
 be reached by becoming the fashion, and I mean, 
 for awhile at least, to make you the fashion." 
 
 Britomart was painfully early. She had not 
 realized how early until the servant conducted 
 her from the dressing room into the brilliantly 
 lighted parlors where, as yet, no guests had as 
 sembled. The music room was now one witfi 
 the library, and the piano, banked with flowers 
 whose heavy perfume hung in the warm air, was 
 pulled into a conspicuous place ready for the 
 evening's entertainment. Clarissa was nowhere 
 to be seen, and Britomart shrank from becoming 
 the target for the eyes of each succeeding bevy 
 of guests as they arrived. She approached the 
 piano and ran her fingers softly over the keys, 
 "just to get the feel of them," as, she expressed 
 it. She felt wretched and out of place, and for 
 the life of her she couldn't keep the picture^ oi 
 poor, dejected Paul out of her mind. Wfien she 
 thought of him the pitying tears sprang to her 
 eyes and the lump in her throat became pain 
 ful. But that would never do. Tears at this 
 critical moment might ruin everything. Clarissa 
 had said her queenly carriage and fresh com 
 plexion would do much for her, and instead of 
 weeping for Paul she must work for Paul. She 
 must help amuse these blase people, who pos-
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 203 
 
 sessed so much of this world's good things that 
 they were dying of the fatigue of enjoyment, and 
 spent their lives hunting for something to give 
 them new sensations ; no matter whether a 
 French dancer or a religious enthusiast, a painter 
 or a massagist, a saint or a mountebank. Brito- 
 mart, still touching the keys, looked over Her 
 shoulder at the beautiful rooms full of soft light 
 and the perfume of flowers, and into the recep 
 tion hall, out of which rose the great polished 
 staircase, where presently appeared the two 
 cousins, side by side ; Jeffries so stately, so hand 
 some, and Clarissa, so bewitching that Britomart 
 caught her breath. Ah ! why was it not true that 
 beauty and goodness were closely allied? Why 
 was there not room in that big, handsome body 
 of his for a great heart ; one to feel the needs of 
 the world, an unselfish heart? "There is, tfiere 
 is !" Blair would have assured her. "It is the 
 cursed system of private capitalism which has 
 ruined the man's soul. Do not condemn him. 
 He, even more than Paul, is a victim. Manli 
 ness, philanthropy, are dead within him, and 
 their places are filled by baseless pride and lust 
 of gain. What greater calamity can a man suf 
 fer!" Jeffries, looking down upon the girl at 
 the piano, thought, "A fine-looking girl, but a 
 fool. Pity she can't rid herself of that Socialistic 
 bee she has in her bonnet and go about her busi 
 ness as a woman should, asking no questions. " 
 Clarissa advanced with effusion and kissed Brito 
 mart on the lips. It was not like her. She was
 
 204 BRITOMART, 
 
 never demonstrative, and Britomart knew the 
 kiss was given to annoy Mr. Jeffries. 
 
 "Come upstairs, dear, I want to loan you a dia 
 mond for your hair and a bit of real lace for the 
 front of your gown." Britomart protested. "But 
 you must," persisted Clarissa. "Surely you do 
 not want to be accused of parsimony, and a 
 young woman who receives such magnificent re 
 muneration for her services can afford a little 
 quiet elegance." 
 
 "The jewel of contentment which Miss Landor 
 undoubtedly possesses is, after all, the more be 
 coming," said Mr. Jeffries, in a manner which 
 Britomart might have construed as compliment- 
 "ary. 
 
 "But I do not possess it," answered Britomart, 
 and then was angry at herself because she had 
 again taken up the foils against this man. Her 
 forte was not argument, she lacked the coolness 
 necessary for success. She determined not to 
 open her lips again, no matter what he said. 
 Clarissa leaned against the piano, her red lips 
 widened in an expectant smile. She hoped for 
 a battle. There was time before the guests 
 would arrive. The dark wood of the instrument 
 and the white of her gown together brought out 
 all the rich tints of her face, the dusky splendor 
 of her hair and eyes. 
 
 "You are not contented?" questioned Theo 
 dore. "You should be ; you have youth, health 
 and pardon me beauty." 
 
 "You flatter me."
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 205 
 
 "I do not, I assure you." 
 
 "Then let me return the compliment in kind. 
 You yourself possess the attributes you so kindly 
 acknowledge are mine namely, youth, health 
 and good looks ; but you have something more." 
 
 "You refer to " 
 
 "Your wealth, certainly. You did not mince 
 matters in your summing up of my advantages, 
 why -should I in speaking of yours ? You have 
 the power to dictate to a number of your fellow- 
 men whether they shall live or not. You have 
 the opportunity, by reason of wealth accumu 
 lated through the toil of others before you were 
 born, to say to men : 'You must not think your 
 own thoughts, but mine ; you must not vote, for 
 your candidate, but mine ; you must not dare 
 even to resent an insult received in my employ/ 
 You have the power to do and say all this, by 
 reason of your wealth. In short, you are a god, 
 who controls not only men's bodies, but their 
 souls." 
 
 Jeffries made a gesture of impatience. He 
 had not meant to argue with this pretty woman ; 
 it was beneath his dignity. He had intended 
 only to browbeat her a little, but she had suc 
 ceeded in angering him. She had said as she 
 always managed to say the thing which mad 
 dened him. This ceaseless whining for rights, 
 rights, rights, from workmen and from women, 
 was sickening. 
 
 Clarissa, leaning in silence against the piano, 
 showing only by her smile how much she en-
 
 206 BR1TOMART, 
 
 joyed the encounter, should have been clothed 
 in a red domino, sported a single red feather in 
 her cap and disclosed a cloven hoof, so Mephis- 
 tophelan was her expression and attitude. 
 
 A red flush shot across Jeffries' cheeks and 
 nose, showing his anger. 
 
 "These are, of course, the sophistries of So 
 cialism. I have heard all this before, and it is 
 to be deplored that intelligent people give it 
 room in their thoughts for a moment. It is on 
 a par with spiritual manifestations. Every gen 
 eration a new set of zealots search for signs from 
 the spirit world, while their counterparts dream 
 of Utopia; both fruitless unavailing. My dear 
 Miss Landor, this went on generations before 
 you and I were born, it will go on when our 
 bones are dust and our names forgotten. No 
 nearer accomplishment than a thousand years 
 ago. It reminds me of the ceaseless beat of the 
 waves on a rock-bound shore. They advance 
 savagely, resistlessly, to tear away the eternal 
 rocks, only to fall back in defeat, to growl and 
 gather for another despairing attack. This 
 drama was enacted when the world was young ; it 
 will be repeated when she shrinks to nothingness 
 with age." 
 
 "If this be true, God help the race he has cre 
 ated !" murmured Britomart, solemnly. At that 
 moment her faith was weak. She felt that Jef 
 fries was right, and Dennis Blair, with his op 
 timistic reading of the signs of the times, was
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 207 
 
 being led astray by the ardent longings of a gen 
 erous heart. 
 
 Clarissa, uncoiling herself and drawing Brito- 
 mart away, fixed her black eyes on her cousin 
 and softly said: "The waves beating on the 
 rocks may not visibly affect them, but at times 
 they engulf individuals ; isn't it so, Cousin Theo 
 dore?" 
 
 "I don't know what you mean," snapped Theo 
 dore, still warm from his own eloquence. 
 
 "Oh, I was thinking of that funny fellow whom 
 we saw washed from the rocks at Old Point 
 Comfort last summer. I can't understand your 
 social questions, your jim-cracks and fol-de-rols, 
 as our relative would say." 
 
 "See that you do not try, little girl," Theodore 
 answered. "It would be better for civilization if 
 people worked more and dreamed less." 
 
 "Yes, yes ; he is right," assented Clarissa ; 
 "more good, hard work and less jim-cracks and 
 fol-de-rols, is what the people need," and she 
 smothered an impudent little laugh in a pink 
 palm. 
 
 Theodore could neither understand nor for 
 give her in these moods. He felt that nothing 
 would do him so much good as to resort to the 
 old-fashioned manner of disciplining wives and 
 sweethearts and give her a whipping. A mo 
 ment ago he had thought her charming, now she 
 was mocking him for the benefit of this auda 
 cious young music teacher. 
 
 "It is not always the working people," he re-
 
 208 BRITOMART, 
 
 torted, angrily ; ''this is the strange part of it. 
 Look at Barring, a millionaire in his own right, 
 and mad as a March hare on the subject of equal- 
 ity." 
 
 "You will see him tonight," Clarissa mur 
 mured in Britomart's ear. 
 
 "Of whom are you talking?" asked Britomart. 
 
 "This mad March hare, worth a million, yet 
 yearning for equality among men James Bar- 
 ring." 
 
 They were mounting the stairs, and Britomart 
 imagined Clarissa's tongue lingered lovingly on 
 the name. She jumped at the conclusion that 
 she had solved the mystery of Clarissa's wish to 
 know more about Socialism. It was partly to 
 spite her cousin, but more especially to please 
 this rich young Socialist with whom she was in 
 love. 
 
 "James Barring, you say? There must be 
 good in him oh, much good in him, if, blinded 
 by millions, he can yet see truth and justice, Miss 
 Barlow. I know I shall admire this man." 
 
 "You shall see him tonight," reiterated Clar 
 issa, still in that preoccupied, dreamy fashion 
 which a girl falls into when speaking of the man 
 she loves. 
 
 "She loves, but is not sure of his love for her," 
 decided Britomart, and a thrill of affection for 
 this erratic young woman stirred in her. "If she 
 has sense and heart enough to care for a man 
 who has sense and heart enough to care for his 
 fellowmen, there is something lovable about her
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 209 
 
 after all." Impulsively she stooped and placed 
 a kiss as light as air on the creamy shoulder ris 
 ing from Clarissa's white gown. A flash of red 
 shot into the girl's face. Britomart might have 
 believed it a flush of pleasure had it not been 
 for the analytical stare with which Clarissa was 
 regarding her. 
 
 "Why did you do that, Britomart?" she asked 
 in a tone of curiosity. 
 
 "It was for the Socialist," - said Britomart, 
 laughing. 
 
 When they went down again the rooms were 
 already filling with a glittering, chattering com 
 pany. Clarissa's eyes scanned the crowd rap 
 idly. She must perform her part of hostess, and 
 she was not willing to leave Britomart stranded 
 on the tender mercies of the soft-voiced women 
 around her. She knew what their attitude 
 would be toward an unknown young woman in 
 a black silk, despite the diamond and bit of real 
 lace. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Barring !" she said, discovering the 
 one for whom she had been looking, "I want to 
 introduce you to another mad March hare. 
 Britomart, this is Mr. Barring, whose political 
 shortcomings Cousin Theodore described to you 
 a few moments ago. Miss Landor, Mr. Barring. 
 His ideas about 'classes and masses,' equal dis 
 tribution, and so on, are wild enough to suit even 
 you, I think. By the way, Mr. Barring, I have 
 something which belongs to you was left in my 
 keeping for you. Some day it shall be yours."
 
 210 BRITOMART, 
 
 She slyly touched the shoulder Britomart had 
 kissed with the tip of her fan, and Britomart, un 
 derstanding, laughed and blushed ; and, laughing 
 and blushing, looked up into the calm grey eyes 
 of the millionaire, who was a Socialist, finding 
 herself on easy terms of friendship at once. He 
 found a retired seat for her, and they talked until 
 Clarissa came to tell Britomart she was wanted 
 at the piano. 
 
 Miss Barlow had done her work well. Admir 
 ing eyes followed Miss Landor as her queenly 
 head bent above the white keys which her supple 
 fingers manipulated so skillfully. Mrs. Jeffries 
 sang, and feminine heads leaned toward each 
 other and \vhispers, like soft breezes, floated 
 about the room. Inez believed the whisperings 
 were of her, but they were not. They were of 
 the beautiful young pianist, who already com 
 manded fabulous prices for her services, who was 
 a phenomenon it would be well to cultivate. She 
 harbored queer beliefs, it was whispered. She 
 was of Russian descent and at heart a nihilist, a 
 reformer, an anarchist, and above all, she did not 
 believe in God. Poor Britomart would have 
 been horrified had she ever known what a career 
 Clarissa had attributed to her, plain, Methodis- 
 tical little country girl that she was ; but she 
 would have been delighted to the point of grate 
 ful tears could she have read the resolutions in 
 a score of fashionable breasts to secure her serv 
 ices in their own homes at no matter what price. 
 There was a flattering hush when she played
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 211 
 
 alone. Without her knowledge her star of for 
 tune had arisen within the hour; even while in 
 her heart she was saying, "Oh, how unhappy I 
 am! How wretched! It is no use my trying, 
 nor Paul's trying, nor any one's trying. Success 
 does not come through hard work nor honesty. 
 It comes through wealth alone. And Theodore 
 Jeffries was right. Our strivings are like the 
 waves of the sea, ever beating, beating, yet being 
 in the end beaten. How wretched it all is, and 
 how I hate these ogling women, the impudent 
 young ones the most. And that blonde one, 
 Hilda French with her aristocratic china-blue 
 eyes, I hate more than all the rest. I cannot be 
 a Christian and hate people so. I have my own 
 vagaries ; I, too, would like to be 'freaky' and 
 inconsistent, but in me it would not be tolerated ; 
 but Clarissa Barlow what may she not do and 
 be forgiven, even though it is but the shadow 
 of a fortune which hovers above her. She may 
 tantalize as she will, may sulk, or sneer, she will 
 be loved is loved I know it by James Bar 
 ring, a millionaire, and, I believe, a gentleman in 
 every sense of the word. What kind eyes, and 
 his wide, handsome mouth ! It will never speak 
 an angry word to the women who loves him. I 
 wonder how it would seem to be kissed by such 
 a mouth. Oh, shame! What am I thinking? 
 God help me to put such silly thoughts out of 
 my head and keep them out. I am John Lan- 
 dor's daughter, trying to make a decent living in 
 this hard city. My brother is a mechanic out of
 
 212 BRITOMART, 
 
 employment and depending upon my fitful earn 
 ings to tide him over. This is the only respecta 
 ble dress I have, and it is breaking under the 
 arms a little. The rent is due God help me to 
 play well !" God help me to play well!" 
 
 One woman was whispering to her neighbor 
 that she could see very well why the girl was a 
 success. It was because she threw her whole 
 soul into the interpretation of the composer's 
 thought, that she was absorbed by his conception 
 of the theme one could read it in her face. An 
 other murmured that she was very interesting 
 despite her disbelief in a Divine Providence. 
 When Britomart's fingers fell from the keys and 
 she rose she was startled by a wave of genuine 
 applause. 
 
 "Fine-looking girl," meekly suggested Mr. 
 Hawkins, as he stood beside Mrs. Jeffries in a 
 far corner. 
 
 "Do you think so, really?" asked the lady, with 
 a jerky motion of the shoulders which corre 
 sponded with her "snapping" eyes. "Too large 
 and ungainly." 
 
 "She is large," qualified Mr. Hawkins ; "but, 
 dear Mrs. Jeffries, you know my penchant for 
 dark-haired women. I can forgive a dork- 
 haired woman any shortcoming." And Mrs. Jef 
 fries simpered and declared him incorrigible. 
 
 "If any ask you for your services," whispered 
 Clarissa, "send them to me. You must not let 
 them come to your home and discover that you 
 do your own work ; that would ruin everything.
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 213 
 
 Mystery, mystery that will fetch them. Your 
 fortune is assured, my dear. You'll get their 
 shekels, and you really did play well too well, 
 for dear Aunt Inez' song."
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Although the musicale could not be voted 
 other than a success from every point of view, 
 there was a feeling of storm present at the Jef 
 fries' breakfast table next morning. In the first 
 place Clarissa was late, and this always angered 
 Grandma Enderby. Mrs. Jeffries was in ill-tem 
 per because she felt that Mrs. Jeffries, the solo 
 ist, had been overshadowed by Miss Landor, the 
 accompanist. 
 
 "Hasn't Clarissa come down yet?" she asked 
 of Theodore, who stood in the window looking 
 over the morning paper for allusions to the late 
 strike. "She takes her time, surely. I pity you, 
 Theodore, when that girl is your wife." 
 
 Theodore was not in a mood to accept pity 
 with any degree of composure. He was out of 
 patience with Clarissa for being in his way, with 
 Hilda French for flirting with Lord ICildare 
 with the world in general. 
 
 "Please reserve your pity. At least I am not 
 in need of it at present. How is Grandma Bar 
 low this morning? Have you been up?" 
 
 "Oh, no ; but I sent Justine. She is well, very 
 well, indeed." 
 
 Grandma Enderby sighed. "I wish I were as 
 strong," she said ; "I spent a wretched night no 
 sleep whatever." 
 
 Mrs. Enderby was a pale old woman, with 
 snow-white hair and a weak face. The strong
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 215 
 
 character which was a family trait, showing itself 
 in differing and not always pleasing individuali 
 ties, seemed to have skipped her entirely, leaving 
 a blank. She had been as wax in the hands of 
 her impish mother, her black-eyed, energetic 
 daughter and her handsome grandson. 
 
 The family gathered at the table and the serv 
 ant brought the coffee as Clarissa entered. She 
 wore the Japanese lounging dress with the 
 dragon-flies darting through its silver meshes. 
 This gown was a favorite of hers. She was the 
 onlj member of the family who showed no signs 
 that the preceding evening had been a fatiguing 
 one. Mrs. Enderby had collapsed into a sickly, 
 wilted heap in her chair, but at Clarissa's en 
 trance she revived in order to give her grand 
 daughter a rating for being late to breakfast." 
 
 "So sorry, grandma." 
 
 Her words belied her. She was the personi 
 fication of smiling indifference. 
 
 "Good morning, Cousin Theodore. I have 
 just been up to see dear old Betty Barlow, and 
 do you know, she has been telling me the fun 
 niest things." 
 
 "While we sat here waiting breakfast!" 
 snapped Mrs. Jeffries. 
 
 "Hasn't ours been a queer family history, 
 Theodore?" 
 
 "If one cares to listen to the ravings of an 
 old woman who has been bereft of her senses 
 for years," snapped Mrs. Jeffries. 
 
 "O, I do not consider that Betty Barlow is
 
 216 BRITOMART, 
 
 bereft of her senses by any means. She is very 
 bright for one of her years, very bright indeed. 
 I wish it were possible for her to get down stairs 
 and see more visitors. I think it would be bene 
 ficial. One is apt to become gloomy, shut up 
 always in two rooms. Don't you think it could 
 be managed, grandma?" 
 
 "You are talking nonsense, and you know it," 
 said Mrs. Jeffries. 
 
 "Of course she is," assented Mrs. Enderby. 
 
 "I am not talking nonsense. I enjoy my 
 grandmother's society very much, and I take it 
 for granted others would ; I know they would." 
 
 Theodore maintained a sulky silence. He 
 feared it would be his turn soon. 
 
 "And how is business, Cousin Theodore?" 
 
 It had come. 
 
 "Good, thank you." 
 
 "And the strike is over." 
 
 "Entirely." 
 
 "And all the men back to work ?" 
 
 "All who deserve to be back." 
 
 "Then there were some who did not deserve 
 to be taken back?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "How many?" 
 
 "Oh, about four hundred." 
 
 "Which means you did not take back many of 
 your old men." 
 
 "I said those who deserved it." 
 
 "I wish I owned a big factory; I do so like 
 the feel of power. It must be splendid to know
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 217 
 
 that by a wave of your hand men must lie idle 
 and women starve." 
 
 "'My dear little cousin, you are talking about 
 something you know nothing of. I fear you are 
 associating too much with the discontents of the 
 working classes for your own good. It is well 
 enough to be charitable, but do not take your 
 proteges to your arms with quite so much fer 
 vor?" 
 
 "Of whom do you speak Betty Barlow? She 
 is the only discontented working individual with 
 whom I am in the habit of associating, and she, 
 although hard working, is not so discontented 
 either, unless she is made to wait for paste ; then 
 she gets impatient. 'With their jim-cracks and 
 their fol-de-rols,' " she added in a reminiscent 
 chuckle. "Yes, I do wish I owned a factory." 
 
 "Very well; let me present you with mine." 
 
 "Thanks. You mean with Betty Barlow's. 
 But that is only a question of time, I presume. 
 Then you really give it to me? But do you 
 think that I, being a woman, can oversee the 
 business as I ought?" 
 
 "Undoubtedly." 
 
 "Very well, then, the first move I shall make 
 will be to reinstall Paul Landor. I will give 
 him a foreman's place, if you please." 
 
 Theodore rose with a jerk. 
 
 "That's the most pestilential fellow a man was 
 ever cursed by employing. Damn him ! I could* 
 see him burned at the stake ! He has stirred up
 
 218 BRITOMART, 
 
 more trouble through the means of a friend and 
 abettor of his with a few more brains !" 
 
 "Calm yourself, Cousin Theodore., Of course 
 you will be relieved of all responsibility in re 
 gard to him, as it will be I who hire him as fore 
 man in my factory." 
 
 "I should be willing to humor you, Clarissa, 
 to almost any extent; but " 
 
 "Not to anything I really desire. Yes, that 
 is the way I have always been humored. I am 
 a spoiled child. I've been humored that way, to 
 everything other people want, until I am really 
 spoiled. Oh, well, no matter. Then you abso 
 lutely refuse to take the young man on as a fore 
 man?" 
 
 Theodore answered that he most certainly did. 
 
 "I am very much interested in him," mur 
 mured Clarissa, as though to herself. "He is 
 very handsome." 
 
 A look of apprehension sprang to Mrs. Jef 
 fries' eyes. She remembered Melton. 
 
 "Don't talk silly, Clarissa," she said. 
 
 "I am not talking silly, auntie; it is true, he 
 is very handsome, with his manly figure and 
 finely chiseled face. His sister is a great friend 
 of mine. If you will excuse me, I think I will 
 run upstairs and get ready. Hilda French is 
 to call for me and we are going for an early- 
 shopping tour this morning. This afternoon I 
 am to drive with Lord Kildare." 
 
 When the girl had gone Theodore said to his 
 mother: "Why do you allow her to go driving
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 219 
 
 with Lord Kildare alone? He would not pro 
 pose such a thing to a respectable young girl in 
 his own country." 
 
 Mrs. Jeffries threw out her hands, palms up 
 wards. "Let her! Let her!" she exclaimed, 
 angrily. "I should like to see you prevent her 
 if she takes a notion." 
 
 "She will probably live to see the day she will 
 be prevented from doing the things she has no 
 business to do." 
 
 "You mustn't blame your mother, Theodore. 
 Clarissa has bad blood in her." 
 
 "She reminds me every day of that perverse 
 old ancester of hers upstairs." 
 
 "Yes," sighed Mrs. Enderby, "she's like 
 mother in a good many ways." 
 
 "I wish to goodness, Theodore, if you intend 
 marrying the girl, you would do so soon, and 
 take her off my hands." 
 
 Theodore paced gloomily up and down the 
 floor. "She may not be willing to marry me. 
 Who can say? She certainly bears me no par 
 ticular love, or she would not embrace every 
 opportunity to exasperate me." 
 
 "She is not in the dark with regard to your 
 intentions," said Mrs. Jeffries." 
 
 "She isn't? By Jove! she's more enlightened 
 than I am, then, for I'm sure I'm frightfully in 
 the dark regarding them," and Theodore laughed 
 at his joke. "And that's the solemn truth," he 
 said to himself, as he went down the steps a few 
 moments later. "I don't know what I want;
 
 220 BRITOMART, 
 
 whether Clarissa and all my grandmother's 
 money, or Hilda dear little Hilda and half the 
 fortune." 
 
 When he returned to lunch, however, his 
 mother met him with a grave face. Mrs. En- 
 derby had suffered one of her attacks during the 
 forenoon, and was even then gasping for breath 
 on her bed in her own room. 
 
 "I tell you, Theodore, mother is not long for" 
 this world, and Grandma Barlow bids fair to 
 outlive us all. The sooner things are settled 
 between you and Clarissa the better. It!s going 
 to be a necessity, I can see, poor fellow." 
 
 It was hard. That very morning he had met 
 Hilda on the street, and looking down into her 
 blue eyes had almost decided to be content with 
 a million and marry the woman he loved. 
 But two hours in the office at the works, and 
 this announcement of his grandmother's illness 
 had their effect, and he promised his mother that 
 he would formally ask his cousin's hand in mar 
 riage before the day ended. A fortune cut in 
 two was almost worse than no fortune in the 
 present crisis. To divide the fortune meant to 
 weaken its power. 
 
 His mother left the room to send Clarissa to 
 him. He dreaded this interview. He was al 
 most certain Clarissa would be contumacious, 
 that she would have to be coaxed or dragged 
 into the engagement. They were always wran 
 gling. He started when she entered, then came 
 forward in a trepidation which was quite lover-
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 221 
 
 like. He stated his case with as much grace as 
 possible under the circumstances. 
 
 ''So you really wish to marry me?" she asked, 
 while her hand lay listlessly in his, and her eyes 
 searched his face curiously. She had often won 
 dered how Theodore would act if it ever became 
 a necessity for him to propose marriage to her. 
 He could not tell her he adored her and could 
 not live without her. He could not repeat any 
 of the beautiful, thrilling untruths with which 
 men woo their sweethearts. That would be too 
 ridiculous, considering that they had always lived 
 under the same roof and been thoroughly an 
 tagonistic since their childhood. "And you are 
 marrying me because you love me, and cannot 
 bear to live without me, are you not, Theodore?" 
 
 "Of course, dear." 
 
 "And you would sacrifice your life or fortune 
 rather than lose me? Come, say it, Cousin 
 Theodore !" 
 
 He had thought it would be like this. Any 
 man who expected to marry or bury Clarissa 
 with any degree of comfort would be disap 
 pointed. 
 
 "Why do you not answer me ?" 
 
 "A man doesn't ask a woman to marry him 
 without reasons for doing so," he answered 
 sulkily. He wished to have the scene over. He 
 had meant to be decent and conventional about 
 it ; that is, as much so as one could be with 
 Clarissa. 
 
 "Yes, indeed," murmured Clarissa; "and this
 
 222 BRITOMART, 
 
 love which makes the world go round Is such a 
 mystery. Of course, among the lower classes 
 love is not the sentiment which leads people to 
 marry. It is a less holy passion; and many 
 times worldly matters influence them. Many a 
 poor girl marries for the sake of a home and to 
 be supported. But among the wealthy such 
 restrictions need not be, and heart calls to heart 
 across a world. There is no excuse for uncon 
 genial marriages among the rich." 
 
 He was becoming impatient. "What is the 
 use of this foolishness? I have asked you to 
 marry me, and I want a straightforward answer, 
 yes or no!" 
 
 "Oh, my dear cousin, then it is a business 
 transaction, pure and simple, is it ? Why didn't 
 you say so at once, and not lead me into a maze 
 of maidenly conjectures by taking my hand as 
 you did a few moments ago and saying, Clarissa, 
 I love you ; will you be my wife ? Approach me 
 honestly, cousin, and you can do anything with 
 me. Don't let us try to reason from false prem 
 ises. Let us look matters squarely in the face. 
 There is no love in the case. There is no ques 
 tion of future happiness. Our marriage is a 
 necessity in order to keep the Barlow fortune 
 intact." ' 
 
 He was angrily silent. 
 
 "On account of this money two p'eople who 
 dislike each other, must live together, perhaps 
 become the parents of children."
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 223 
 
 He attempted to speak, but she would not let 
 him. 
 
 "I don't say this isn't right, mind you ; it must 
 be, so many of our best people do it ; but don't 
 you think there are other ways, no less criminal, 
 to compass the desired end, if society could only 
 be brought to consider them with the same de 
 gree of leniency? For instance, if Betty Barlow 
 should die now, the money would come naturally 
 into Grandma Enderby's hands; then to Aunt 
 Inez, and then to you, thereby relieving you of 
 the fearful necessity of marrying me. Now, 
 why not kill Grandma Barlow? How it would 
 simplify matters ! and the crime would, in reality, 
 be very much less; that is, provided it were as 
 heartily sanctioned by society just the destruc 
 tion of a poor old leathery body, allowing the 
 youth-renewed soul to go free." 
 
 Theodore's patience, never at its best with 
 Clarissa, had reached the limit. 
 
 "I could wish, Clarissa, that you were a more 
 natural girl, that you loved feminine pursuits and 
 suitable occupations rather than indulging in 
 speculations with which young women have no 
 right to addle their brains." 
 
 "I know it, Theodore. I often feel these rea 
 soning powers of mine a great hindrance to hap 
 piness in the sphere in which Providence has 
 been pleased to place me." 
 
 "You are in one of your disagreeable moods 
 at present, and I shall not discuss the matter 
 any longer today; but I advise you, Clarissa, to
 
 2J4 BRITOMART, 
 
 think it over and decide to give a sensible an 
 swer. The arrangement I propose will be as 
 advantageous for you as for me. You must 
 surely see that." 
 
 "O, I do, certainly, Theodore, and I accept 
 your proposal with one condition." 
 
 Theodore showed his astonishment. "You 
 accept, Clarissa, and will be my wife ?" 
 
 "Yes, on condition that our engagement is 
 kept secret for six months." 
 
 Theodore was only too happy. He made a 
 movement to take her hand. 
 
 "A betrothal kiss ?" asked Clarissa. "Not at 
 present. Wait until our engagement is an^ 
 nounced." 
 
 In the afternoon Clarissa went to drive with 
 Lord Kildare. This drive was very interesting 
 because both the gentleman and lady had gone 
 with a purpose. Kildare was in America to 
 capture an American fortune with, of course, an 
 American wife as an unavoidable adjunct. He 
 had been hovering about the Jeffries' for some 
 time. He knew there was a tangle of grand 
 mothers between the girl and the fortune, but 
 just how much of a tangle he had as yet been 
 unable to discover. In case of the wrong com 
 bination of circumstances he had not, until very 
 lately, been able to find out where the girl would 
 stand in relation to the fortune. During his 
 investigations he had beco~me enamored of the 
 girl, and craved not only her money but herself. 
 The same day he took her to drive he had sue-
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 225 
 
 ceeded in possessing himself of the facts about 
 the grandmothers ; that in case the great-grand 
 mother outlived the grandmother the girl came 
 in for one-half the fortune ; that the grandmother 
 was in extremely poor health; that on account 
 of this fact Theodore was anxious to keep the 
 money together by marrying his cousin. This 
 decided him to put his fate to the test at once 
 in a good American way by taking the girl out 
 and proposing to her before indulging in the 
 polite preliminaries of asking her grandmothers' 
 and aunt's consent to address her. His lordship 
 was going to ask Clarissa Barlow to marry him, 
 and that was his purpose in taking her to drive, 
 and Clarissa Barlow (ambitious American to the 
 backbone) was going to accept him, and that was 
 her reason for going to drive with him ; and she 
 did so, receiving his protestations of fervent love 
 with great complacency. 
 
 "By George ! one would have thought her a 
 duchess in her own right, and I her serving- 
 man !" murmured his lordship, as he drove away 
 after setting the young woman down at her own 
 door. 
 
 "I have always wanted to be engaged to one 
 of the English aristocracy, and now that desire 
 is realized," said Clarissa to herself, as she en 
 tered the drawingroom, still in her wraps. "Of 
 course I have sworn him to secrecy for a few- 
 weeks, during which I mean to bring him to a 
 realizing sense of the responsibilities involved in 
 being engaged to an American heiress. I long
 
 226 BRITOMART, 
 
 to get a better insight into this international 
 question of wealthy feminine America throwing 
 itself into the arms of profligate, impecunious 
 Europe. My wish has been granted. It will be 
 a fine study. Ugh ! What an odious mustache 
 like a shoe-brush ; and what a neck ! So skinny 
 and old ! Why, the man must be fifty if a day. 
 
 "Dear me, how you startled me ! You, Mr. 
 Hawkins ? To see Aunt Inez, I presume ; and 
 she, I know, is out. This is her lesson day, 
 you should remember. However, don't go. I 
 will run and put my wraps away and make you 
 some tea." 
 
 She was gone like a flash, leaving Hawkins 
 in a pleasurable maze. He was not used to such 
 cordiality from this young person ; in fact, there 1 
 had been times when her indifference approached 
 rudeness, and her drawling, silky sarcasm down 
 right insult. But here she was, bright, luscious, 
 youthful, making eyes at him and tea for him. 
 And the young lady, utterly soulless and con 
 scienceless, busying herself with -the tea-caddy 
 and cups, was saying to herself, "I wonder if I 
 can? It would be something to brag of to my 
 grandchildren. Now that I have my hand in it 
 might not be difficult." She meant to incite 
 Aunt Inez's lover to propose marriage to her. 
 She wanted to make a triple triumph of her day. 
 Hawkins, man of the world though he was, was 
 not proof against the blandishments of this dark 
 little girl. His common-sense should have 
 warned him, but it slept while his cupidity and
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 227 
 
 sensualism exposed him ,an easy victim to Miss 
 Barlow's experiments. When, an hour later, he 
 wavered out into the sunshine, dazzled, upset, 
 infatuated, he was engaged to be married to the 
 niece instead of the aunt. 
 
 "It is time for me to settle down," he reflected. 
 "I have seen all there is to see in this world, and 
 although a wife is a nuisance, still Clarissa is a 
 tidy bit of furniture, with the very dot, for which 
 I have been courting the old woman. By Jove, 
 Chauncey Hawkins, you are a lucky dog !" 
 
 Britomart arrived at the Jeffries' mansion at 
 the appointed time, and found Clarissa seated 
 on a low stool in the drawing room, her hands 
 clasped about her knees, gazing at an uncleared 
 tea-table whereon the dishes spoke of the recent 
 refreshment of two people. 
 
 "Excuse the untidiness, Britomart, but I 
 wanted to sit and think unmolested by servants 
 for awhile. When a girl has just become en 
 gaged she must have at least a few moments in 
 which to dream, utterly alone. Oh, no, I want 
 you. I've finished my reflections now, and the 
 next requisite is a girl friend to act as confidant 
 and hear your happiness. Yes, I should rush 
 into your arms, cry a little, and confide the 
 delicious secret to your keeping. I can't cry, 
 but I could indulge in a good hearty laugh. 
 Who is the man? Chauncey Hawkins. You re 
 member that dear old fellow of sixty, who 
 dresses like a student of twenty. He is a man 
 of fashion who has led a vile life. Of late years
 
 228 BRITOMART, 
 
 his business ventures have not been prosperous, 
 yet he sees nothing incongruous in marrying a 
 young girl who has been respectable, with some 
 claim to good looks, and the prospects of a for 
 tune in her own right. Neither would my peo 
 ple see any reason against my marrying him if 
 he were worth a million or so. Even without 
 that, the fact that he is admitted into good so 
 ciety and knows the ways of the world makes 
 him desirable. Aunt Inez wants him herself." 
 
 "Clarissa!" gasped Britomart, who seldom 
 called her pupil by her first name, "you have not 
 engaged yourself to such a man?" 
 
 "Oh, but I have, and worse still, to two others 
 all today. I never do things by the halves. 
 Yes, my cousin Theodore and dear Lord Kil- 
 dare. Ugh! How I dislike that man's mus 
 tache !" 
 
 Britomart was not going to humor the young 
 lady by scolding her or appearing astonished. 
 She had an idea that was what Clarissa was play 
 ing for. 
 
 "What are you going to do?" she asked, sit 
 ting down and removing her hat, but still holding 
 it in her lap. 
 
 "Goodness knows," smiled Clarissa, "unless 
 some clause can be inserted in Chicago marriage 
 laws allowing me to keep my promise to them 
 all. Was ever a girl so honored? They all 
 want me on account of the money." 
 
 Britomart made no reply, and Clarissa fell into 
 smiling silence. The little clock on the mantel
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 229 
 
 ticked audibly and the fire snapped in the grate. 
 Clarissa's gurgling laugh broke the silence. 
 
 "I've just thought how it can be arranged. 
 Lord Kildare marry Betty Barlow (there 
 wouldn't be much disparity in their ages), 
 Chauncey Hawkins marry Aunt Inez, and I'll 
 marry Cousin Theodore. This would divide the 
 spoils we would all get a slice of the fortune 
 and everybody would be happy, except, of 
 course, Theodore."
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Britomart's duties were manifold during this 
 period of her career. For instance, one morn 
 ing she awoke to the consciousness that she 
 must prepare three meals, give four music les 
 sons, and, under Blair's direction, address a 
 labor meeting in the evening. It was not her 
 first appearance in this role by any means. Blair 
 had been quick to see the possibilities of success 
 in this splendid young woman. He noted the 
 respectful admiration which was accorded the 
 girl by the laboring men to whom she spoke. 
 Dissolute as some of them were, unused to con 
 tact with any save the lowest of womankind, they 
 still recognized and applauded the spirit of earn 
 est womanliness in which she addressed them. 
 They came to the meetings first because a 
 woman, who was young and pretty, was going 
 to do something unusual. They came afterward 
 to listen to the gospel of Socialism. It was the 
 sober, conservative class of men who suffered, 
 yet refused to listen to disrespectful allusions 
 to the wage system because that inferred disre 
 spect to their employers; who dumbly followed 
 where they were led and believed a vote honestly 
 cast with their own party, irrespective of princi 
 ples, would help right their wrongs ; who 
 believed this stress was but temporary and would 
 pass again as days of stress had passed in years
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 231 
 
 gone by; men who were too much exhausted at 
 night to read more than a meager page of 
 abusive editorials in their party paper, full of 
 satisfying epithets against the opposing polit 
 ical faction, and who consequently missed 
 the new ideas which were filling the world. It 
 was to this class in the cities Blair intended 
 Britomart to appeal ; and in the country to staid 
 old farmers, who were only just beginning to 
 ask indignant questions of society. To these 
 men especially, Britomart, herself a farmer's 
 daughter, and as surely a victim as any toiler 
 in a sweat-shop, stood before them in her youth 
 and beauty and said : "We, the working people 
 of America, have reached the limit of endurance. 
 We, in our intelligence, in our independence, 
 refuse-to suffer in ignorance of the cause of our 
 suffering as the peoples of the old world have 
 done before. We declare w r ar against our ty 
 rants. We already know the reason for our 
 poverty. We know that this beautiful land of 
 forests, wheatfields, and mines of precious met 
 als, which should be ours the nation's is 
 owned by less than a score of men. We no 
 longer deny this as we did twenty years ago, 
 because it has become so plain that he who runs 
 may read. We have not that spirit of resigna 
 tion bred and nurtured in the old countries and 
 voiced in the Episcopal catechism; namely, 'To 
 be content in that station of life to which God 
 has pleased to call us.' God did not arrange this 
 system. In the old days we fled from too much
 
 232 BRITOMART, 
 
 government, and for a time our religion of the 
 less government the better, was sufficient; but, 
 alas ! we have outgrown it. Do not accuse me 
 of lack of patriotism when I say our republic 
 is becoming a failure. I say it in sorrow and 
 shame, yet I say it. And you, if you will, can 
 prove it for yourselves. We are no longer a 
 republic, but an oligarchy. We are not alone in 
 our misery. Every government in the old world 
 is as wax in the hands of its bondholders. 
 But we, young, proud, holding the remedy in 
 our own hands shall we prove our servility by 
 enduring it ? Never think it ! Never believe it ! 
 America is today in the rear in this matter, but 
 the giant is awakening, and before another dec 
 ade has passed will stride to the front with the 
 feet of light, the first to break the golden chains 
 and enfranchise the peoples of the world, for 
 where we lead the world shall follow. But first 
 we must know! We must know! This is why 
 I stand before you. This I implore you to do. 
 Study the problem. Do not thrust it from you 
 and say, 'Let reformers rant; they have always 
 agitated, and it has come to nothing,' It is your 
 problem; which way do you intend to solve it? 
 By your intelligent ballots, gaining a bloodless 
 victory, not suddenly but surely ; or will you let 
 the sore fester until it bursts in blood and flame 
 as did that plague-spot of France a hundred 
 years ago ! 
 
 "I need not stand here to tell you that you 
 suffer injustice; you know that, but you differ
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 233 
 
 as to the remedy. We, I and my fellow-workers, 
 believe there is but one remedy Socialism. The 
 word startles you, and you feebly cling to the 
 more familiar 'Democracy,' which has become 
 unreal and false. You stretch out your hand 
 to grasp that of Democracy, but the fiend Plu 
 tocracy interposes its own and, as yet, you have 
 not discovered the substitution. When you do, 
 how quick and complete will be the revolution. 
 Do you not realize that this idea is the para 
 mount one of the day ? Already we have Social 
 ism in our public schools, postal service, state 
 hospitals, asylums, colleges, labor bureaus, fire 
 departments, water supplies, electric plants, and 
 hundreds of other institutions ; and wherever 
 Socialism lays its healing hand there you find 
 justice and order. Whenever a monopoly be 
 comes a natural monopoly, let the nation grasp 
 it for the nation's good. Let the mines, rail 
 roads, telegraphs, and later, land the earth 
 belong to the people. 
 
 "The fortune of a Jay Gould or a Rockefeller 
 is like a tumor on the body of a state. Men 
 say, 'How great it is ! How we are developing !' 
 But they forget the emaciation of other parts, 
 the deadly illness, the strength of the body social 
 being sapped to maintain the unnatural excres 
 cence. To this disease the glittering knife of 
 Socialism will be applied and the tonic of justice 
 so tone up the body politic that it will be im 
 possible for other such strength-sapping mon 
 strosities to form. But there is danger, there is
 
 234 BRITOMART, 
 
 danger, that this disease may be allowed to run 
 too long. One of our statesmen said in a letter 
 to a western newspaper, 'In a joint stock asso 
 ciation all stockholders and all classes of stock 
 holders should have their full rights ; but when 
 ever those who have the bulk put the power into 
 the hands of those who own but little, there is 
 much unwisdom in it.' This means that a man 
 without property should not be allowed to vote 
 at all. Dangerously un-American, but were you 
 or I a multi-millionaire, I doubt if our innate 
 Americanism would be strong enough to over 
 come the selfish wish to control absolutely what 
 we deemed our own, despite a few million pau 
 pers who believed they had a right to live, just 
 because they had been born, and to live in a 
 land which belonged to us. We do not hate 
 Rockefeller, but we do hate the pernicious sys 
 tem which makes his far-reaching though nat 
 ural selfishness possible. The sooner we divest 
 ourselves of the silly idea that multi-millionaires 
 are a benefit to a country, the better it will be 
 for us." 
 
 Clarissa Barlow had hit upon this very after 
 noon to pay Britomart a long-threatened visit. 
 Upon learning that James Barring would ad 
 dress an audience on the labor question that 
 evening, and that Britomart and Paul were 
 going to hear him, she insisted on being one of 
 the party. She did not know that Britomart 
 was to speak also, and when she listened to those 
 ringing words on the lips of her friend, she
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 235 
 
 caught her breath in an ecstasy of admiration. 
 She felt the stir and rustle of appreciation all 
 about her, the increasing murmurs of whispers 
 and smothered ejaculations. The many eyes 
 always bent on the speaker served to show with 
 what power she held her audience. 
 
 James Barring followed her, and although 
 more logical, more concise in statement, being of 
 more importance as a man and a millionaire, his 
 words did not burn into the hearts of the people 
 as did those of the woman. It was Clarissa's 
 first experience at a mass meeting, and although 
 she saw before her the familiar faces of Brito- 
 mart and Barring, it seemed as though she had 
 been transported into another world, peopled, 
 with beings as different from those in her world 
 as must be the inhabitants of Mars from ours; 
 yet she, the heiress of a million or more, felt 
 a. fierce desire to declare her kinship to these, 
 her brothers. She, by virtue of the blood of 
 Melton, the factory hand, was nearer by a gen 
 eration to these proletariats than was Cousin 
 Theodore. 
 
 After the meeting Britomart and Paul walked 
 home with her. At the door they left her to face 
 alone the storm which awaited her in the draw 
 ing-room. Theodore was there, white to the lips 
 with anger; Mrs. Jeffries, and even Grandma 
 Enderby. Clarissa bade her friends good-night 
 and walked smilingly into the presence, her 
 heavy fur-bordered cloak trailing from her grasp 
 and sweeping the floor like a royal mantle. She
 
 236 BRITOMART, 
 
 never ceased to smile when Theodore opened 
 upon her with all the scathing invectives his 
 tongue could master. That she, a Barlow, should 
 hobnob with beggars and mountebanks ! She 
 reminded him that she was a Melton. He took 
 no heed of the interruption. He wished her to' 
 understand that this intimacy must cease at once. 
 He, as her natural guardian, commanded her 
 to drop all intercouse with the pernicious inciter 
 of riots who had crept into their home under 
 the guise of instructor to work her own evil 
 ends. 
 
 "Our erstwhile happy home," murmured Cla 
 rissa. 
 
 Theodore's rage was allowed free swing, in 
 terrupted only now and then by a word from one 
 or the other of the three women who formed his 
 audience. In the course of his accusation he 
 acknowledged that he had followed Clarissa first 
 to the "den" of the Landors, and from there to 
 the ill-smelling hall where he managed to endure 
 to the end of the most sickening performance 
 for the sake of watching over the woman who 
 had demeaned herself by attending, but who, 
 nevertheless, was destined to be his, Theodore 
 Jeffries', wife ! 
 
 "Terrible !" sighed Mrs. Jeffries. She was 
 sleepy and tired and longed for the scene to end. 
 
 "You were there ? And you heard it all ? Oh, 
 Cousin Theodore, I am so glad!" and Clar 
 issa clasped her hands in delight; the^n sub 
 siding into a chair, she leaned her arms upon
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 237 
 
 its back, the rich cloak trailing on the floor 
 beside her. "But I am never to be your wife, 
 Theodore never. I have this day," she con 
 tinued, dreamily, "seen the man I shall marry, if 
 Fate so wills that he may be mine ; if not, I will 
 remain a maid, to tantalize you and Aunt Inez 
 forever." 
 
 Aunt Inez smothered an exclamation of dis 
 may. Grandma Enderby groaned. 
 
 "Am I to understand that this is your ultimate 
 decision?" asked Theodore, his lips compressed 
 in anger, yet with a feeling of relief in his heart. 
 
 "It is." 
 
 "Then the gossip about Kildare is true?" 
 
 "Kildare?" asked Clarissa, absently. 
 
 "I was told that he boasted of his engagement 
 to you." 
 
 Clarissa made a ticking sound with her lips 
 indicative of disapproval. 
 
 "Foolish man! I swore him to. secrecy. But 
 it doesn't matter. Ask me no more questions ; 
 at present I can only repeat, I have, this day, 
 looked into the eyes of the man who shall be 
 my husband, else no man ever shall be. Let that 
 suffice. And now I want to see Betty Barlow 
 and then go to bed." 
 
 Clarissa left the room, and Theodore contin 
 ued to pace up and down in stormy silence. His 
 mother yawned behind her hand, and gently sug 
 gested the desirability, now that the interview 
 was at an end, of retiring. 
 
 "This is the work of Barring and his kind!"
 
 238 BR1TOMART, 
 
 said Theodore. "I can conceive a reason for 
 those poverty-ridden louts spouting their un- 
 rightable wrongs, but when such men as Bar 
 ring stoop to proclaim their insanity in such 
 places, I can but wonder what the world is com 
 ing to." 
 
 '''Barring knows what he is about," sneered 
 Mrs. Jeffries. "He is likely to get to Congress 
 through his efforts to succor the laboring man, 
 and that is all he cares for." 
 
 "But why need he make himself so conspicu 
 ous? There he was tonight, spouting of syn 
 dicates and trusts, and wrongs which would soon 
 be righted, and a universal brotherhood of man. 
 Bosh! It was sickening!" 
 
 "Did James Barring speak tonight ? That is 
 a key to the mystery, then. James Barring, 
 mark my words, Theodore, is the man Clarissa 
 is in love with and means to catch if she can." 
 
 Theodore stopped short. "Do you believe 
 that?" 
 
 "I do. She certainly meant what she said 
 tonight, that she had looked into the eyes of 
 the man whom she would marry if she could. 
 She has not to my knowledge seen Kildare today 
 and she has dismissed you. Whom else could it 
 be?" 
 
 Theodore laughed. "If this should happen, 
 Barring the Socialist would be closely concerned 
 with the great Barlow manufacturing plant. I 
 wonder what he would say then to his agitators 
 and laborers? It would not be a bad arrange-
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 239 
 
 ment. He has a splendid fortune of his own, 
 and Heaven knows, we would all be glad to get 
 rid of Clarissa in any respectable manner. My 
 marriage with her, it seems, is out of the ques 
 tion." 
 
 Britomart, woman-like, went home with her 
 heart full, not, as might be supposed, with fervor 
 for the cause for which she had spoken, bat of 
 the image of one face, one smooth, manly face, 
 lit by narrow gleaming eyes. Was this friend 
 ship? He was Clarissa's lover. Was this pa 
 triotism? She was letting admiration for the 
 man overshadow her feeling for the reformer. 
 Ah, the dreariness of everything, the bitterness 
 of this grinding poverty; the constant fear for 
 Paul ; the vagueness of the cause for which she 
 was pledged to spend her life. It seemed very 
 hopeless that night. 
 
 The following day she received a letter from 
 her mother full of longing to see her girl. She 
 was not well, and the sight of Britomart's face 
 would be like medicine to her. Britomart de 
 cided at once that she could not go. Her lesson 
 engagements, her Socialistic work, and more 
 than all her constant, watchful care over Paul, 
 forbade her absence from the city. Then she 
 met Blair, and, as was her habit, laid the trouble 
 before him. 
 
 "Go," he said. "You owe a duty to others 
 beside your brother. I will take care of him. 
 I think I shall have a chance to set him at work 
 soon, and when Paul is at work no one is 'better
 
 240 BR1TOMART, 
 
 able to take care of himself; but Paul idle is a 
 dangerous fellow growing more so every day. 
 And ah ! Miss Landor, the poor boys who crowd 
 this city who are counterparts of Paul, with no 
 friend nor sister able to help them, and the num 
 ber is increasing every day." Then he pro 
 ceeded to tell her news good news. The So 
 cialists were to have an organ of their own there 
 in Chicago. James Barring was to be its finan 
 cial sponsor, and he, Blair, its editor-in-chief. 
 It would rest on the basis of James Barring's 
 millions, and would carry the political news, un 
 biased by party politics, into the homes of thou 
 sands of laboring men. Blair believed every 
 thing for its future. He believed he could, in 
 time, make it self-supporting, but whether that 
 ever came to pass or not, it was to be tried at 
 Barring's expense. 
 
 "And as I deal with the minds of the people 
 through that sheet, may God so deal with me," 
 added Blair, solemnly. "Barring is a grand 
 man. He is going to Congress next spring just 
 as sure as the world stands, and that means a 
 strong voice in a high place for our cause." 
 
 Britomart made the preparations for her jour 
 ney in a happier mood in consequence of her 
 conversation with Blair. In some way the prox 
 imity of the man put hope in one, and a desire 
 to work. She did not know of the decree of 
 banishment against her which the master of the 
 Jeffries mansion had issued, but she wrote a little 
 note tb Clarissa asking to be excused from her
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 241 
 
 lessons for a month, and announcing that she 
 must cancel her musicale dates, as she was going 
 to visit her sick mother the next day. 
 
 That night Blair came to tea with the Lan- 
 dors, and just as they were about to take their 
 places at the table, Clarissa arrived, escorted by 
 James Barring. Britomart was embarrassed 
 and showed it, but forgot it presently in laughing 
 at Clarissa, who declared that although she had 
 been to tea, she was simply starving for those 
 cunning little biscuits, and couldn't Britomart 
 lay a couple more plates and make room for Mr. 
 Barring and herself? 
 
 Britomart long remembered that evening. 
 The men talked earnestly and without reserve of 
 the coming newspaper, which was to be a first- 
 class daily, devoted to the betterment of existing 
 conditions. 
 
 "The success of the cause for which you and 
 I pray is assured, Miss Landor," said Barring. 
 '"On the shoulders of existing political parties 
 we shall ride to victory. First one side makes 
 us a concession, then the other, not to be out 
 done in currying favor with the labor vote, bet 
 ters it, and thus right shall win even as it is 
 winning in England." 
 
 Clarissa whispered an account of the family's 
 rage on her return from the people's meeting, 
 and told Britomart, without reserve, of Theo 
 dore's denouncement. 
 
 "That ends my giving you lessons, then." said 
 Britomart with a sigh, "for I certainly shall enter
 
 242 BRITOMART, 
 
 the doors of no man who has requested me to 
 keep without." 
 
 "They are no more his doors than mine, for 
 that matter," said Clarissa. "I shall continue my 
 lessons with you, but I promise to come here; 
 I also promise that before six months are gone 
 you shall receive an invitation from Theodore 
 himself to darken our doors once more." 
 
 It was a jolly evening. The arch plotters 
 passed the close of it in light talk and laughter, 
 making merry, as a company of young optimists 
 necessarily would. After the "little biscuits" 
 were disposed of the men smoked around the 
 cook stove, "just like a lot of peasants," Clarissa 
 said, while she helped Britomart wash the sup 
 per dishes. So it happened that, owing to this 
 evening visit, Britomart started for home in a 
 buoyant mood the next morning, but it faded 
 away before she reached her destination. 
 
 Frank met her at the station and she was 
 struck by his look of age and hopelessness. 
 
 "How thin you are!" she said, pinching his 
 cheek. "Aren't you well ? And how is Bumpy 
 and Bumpy 's ma; and how is business tell me 
 everything." 
 
 "There is not much to tell, Britomart. The 
 outlook is very discouraging. We are an un 
 lucky family at best. Did you know father had 
 put another mortgage on the place?" 
 
 "Yes, and that more than anything else is 
 undermining mother's health. To think that the
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 243 
 
 home she loves and for which she has worked 
 so hard is likely to be lost to themj" 
 
 "And what will they do, Britomart, when it 
 is lost? They haven't a chick nor a child who 
 could give them a shelter in their old age. I, 
 at least, could not, but perhaps you could, or 
 Paul there in the city " 
 
 Britomart's eyes blazed. "Paul, poor boy, 
 has had no work at his trade for months. The 
 day has gone by when the average mecfianic can 
 hope for any surety of a living. The manufac 
 turer is not in the habit of giving men steady 
 employment. He hires them until his immediate 
 orders are filled, then discharges an army of 
 them, knowing well enough that another army, 
 fully as competent, will be waiting longingly to 
 fill their places whenever he needs them. In 
 this way, of course, the curse of dull times falls 
 on the laborer instead of the manufacturer." 
 
 Frank sighed, and in that sigh Britomart read 
 all the tragedy of broken hopes. They walked 
 on in silence for awhile, then he slackened his 
 pace and said, "Wait a minute, Britomart, I want 
 to consult you on business matters before we 
 reach home. I don't like to speak of it before 
 
 poor Mary she is so brave " His voice 
 
 trembled. "Next week I shall make an assign 
 ment. There is no use of prolonging this misery 
 further. God knows I have tried hard for Mary 
 and the boy's sake, but it is no go. It will not 
 be ten years before small shopkeepers will be 
 a thing of the past. They suck the blood out
 
 244 BRITOMART, 
 
 of us those big department vampires of the city 
 they and bad debts together. The farmers 
 have all they can do to keep up the interest on 
 their mortgages without paying their grocery 
 bills." 
 
 "What shall you do?" 
 
 "That is what I would ask you. There isn't 
 room for us back on the farm. Father and Wil 
 liam John are steadily falling behind. I thought 
 I might go west and start in the grocery business 
 there ; but, Britomart, as far as I can hear, it is 
 just the same in the west." 
 
 Britomart assented gloomily. "Mammon is 
 king of the West and the East, of the North 
 and the South, of the sea and the plains. Verily 
 these are the days when to him who hath shall 
 be given, and from him who hath not shall be 
 taken away even that which he hath."
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Mary greeted Britomart enthusiastically and 
 presented Bumpy, now a serious young man of 
 two, with ideas of his own, and a quantity of 
 tow-colored hair so fine it was in the habit of 
 knotting up in hard little balls at the back, owing 
 to the friction of the uneasy little head with the 
 pillow. At first he was awed by his handsome 
 auntie, but before long was asking her more 
 questions in a minute than she could answer in 
 a month, even if she had understood them. 
 
 "Frank, this child speaks like a Turk whom I 
 saw in Chicago this spring." 
 
 "But he thinks like an American," laughed 
 Frank. "He has very decided political views. 
 He says his Grandpa Spence is a 'democrack,' 
 but he wants Santa Claus for president." 
 
 Britomart noticed how thin and a-nxibus Mary 
 looked. That happy spontaneity, her chief 
 charm, was held in check or dying out, and if 
 she smiled, she sighed afterwards. In talking 
 with Britomart, she said, "I would not care to 
 be rich. I only ask that by hard work and pinch 
 ing economy we might see that we were accu 
 mulating something for Bumpy's education and 
 our own old age ; but in place of that, after two 
 years' work, we are worse off than when you 
 went away; and, Britomart, there is nothing 
 else. Farming no longer pays. Land is so high* 
 no poor man can purchase and hope to pay for
 
 246 BRITOMART, 
 
 his farm by his own labor, and one cannot make 
 a living on a rented farm. Father's mortgage 
 has grown steadily and he must, in time, lose 
 his place. Oh ! Britomart, this is a wretched 
 world, and you were right when you said Bumpy 
 had no business in it !" 
 
 "And yet," declared Britomart, "this country 
 is a land of milk and honey. There would be 
 enough for us all if a small number were not 
 knaves and the rest all fools. But the good 
 time is coming coming, Mary, when a man who 
 labors will not be obliged to reproach himself 
 for bringing a child into the world, when his 
 child, defrauded from his birth by the short 
 sightedness of bygone law-makers and the greed 
 of present usurpers, shall come to his own. We 
 shall, at least, see the dawning, Mary, but 
 Bumpy's generation shall see the glorious day." 
 
 A feeling of responsibility in the future of this 
 child swept over Britomart, and she caught him 
 up and hugged him impulsively. 
 
 "Ouch !" cried Bumpy, "my b'ak-an'-boo 
 'pot!" and Mary explained that he was never 
 without them his black and blue spots and 
 must always be handled with care on account of 
 them. 
 
 After tea William John came to take Brito 
 mart home, and his dear face was so full of 
 brotherly welcome that Britomart came very 
 near crying on his shoulder. 
 
 "How is Paul?" he asked apprehensively, and
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 247 
 
 Britomart answered, "Oh, Paul is all right, 
 thanks to Dennis Blair." 
 
 "And Britomart, I bet," added William John. 
 
 "I have done what I could," assented the girl. 
 "But, William John, Chicago is full of Pauls ; 
 good fellows naturally, but moneyless, discour 
 aged, reckless desperate. Oh, my heart yearns 
 over them. May God in his goodness hasten 
 the triumph of Socialism, and the day when no 
 man tramps the streets of a pitiless city looking 
 in vain for work." 
 
 She dashed the tears of unavailing pity from 
 her eyes. "Don't think I am always like this; 
 I seldom weep, but work. There are other 
 women who must weep who cannot work; but 
 I have any amount of strength, a voice, a will, 
 a temper fully aroused, and thoughts, thoughts 
 ever and always of the people's wrongs. I no 
 longer hesitate for the best words in which to 
 express myself. I no longer tremble when the 
 chairman of the meeting rises and clears his 
 throat preparatory to introducing me. I can 
 hardly wait until he has finished, for there before 
 me, row behind row, crowded to the doors, I see 
 the faces of men, some anxious to hear the 
 gospel of Socialism and better times ; others un 
 concerned, dull, stolid and indifferent; men 
 whom I must cheer, convince or awaken. They 
 will listen to me because I am a woman, and 
 they, the workers, are chivalrous. It is the 
 American laboring man who has been the first 
 to acknowledge that woman has rights beyond
 
 248 BRITOMART, 
 
 those of a slave; he not only admires but re 
 spects her. Then I begin, and the truth pours 
 out of my mouth like a torrent. What need to 
 choose my words ? It is the truth, the truth ! 
 And here I see a ripple of assent and there I 
 hear a rumble of disapproval; then a wave of 
 applause breaks at my feet not for me, but for 
 that which I am saying; by this time they have 
 forgotten me ; then a ripple of laughter ; and that 
 is good, for when men laugh they are in good" 
 trim to catch the infection of new ideas, and 
 presently it is over, and I stagger back out of 
 sight, exhausted, worn, but happy on account of 
 the roar in front, and the look of satisfied pleas 
 ure on Blair's face as he comes and wraps me 
 up and hands me over to Paul." 
 
 "This is not all new to us," Frank said. "Bid 
 Leeklaw brings papers now and then with your 
 name in, and he is as proud of you as though 
 you were his daughter. We have the same vis 
 itors of a Saturday night that we used to have 
 when you were at home, only many more ; as 
 the customers decrease the loafers increase. 
 You knew, of course, that your old sweetheart, 
 Henry Miller, is married. Yes, and as great a 
 republican as ever. I think, by the tone of his 
 paper that he has entirely lost sight of the 
 issues of his party and knows of nothing 
 but the name republicanism. He deals out epi 
 thets promiscuously, and has arrived at that 
 point where the slightest allusion to politics will 
 cause him to puff up and swear and sweat with
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 249 
 
 wrath. Bid Leeklaw knows this, and, backed by 
 Jake Flatterbush and a dozen or so more demo- 
 populo-Socialists, makes life a burden to him. 
 He is not so prosperous as of yore. The hard 
 times are having the same effect on the news 
 paper business that they are on the rest of us 4 , 
 and Henry's 'coat the winter wind will find quite 
 thin'." 
 
 "There are Socialists in Belleville now?" asked 
 Britomart. 
 
 Frank grinned. "My dear, the woods are full 
 of 'em, and augmenting every day ; even Mary's 
 father is a convert, and although a 'democrack,' 
 as Bumpy has it, still, if -you were to deliver a 
 Socialistic harangue in the hall, Mr. Spence, on 
 the front seat, would clap his hands to a blister." 
 
 "And old Leven?" asked Britomart. 
 
 William John laughed, and Frank declared 
 that such men as old Leven must be left to the 
 gentle hand of Time to remove in order that 
 their places in the world might be filled by rea 
 soning human beings. 
 
 "And Tilly?" 
 
 "Oh, married, and of late a happy mother." 
 
 Britomart glanced sidewise at William John, 
 imagining she discerned a twitch of pain about 
 his patient mouth. 
 
 "And the magazine girl?" she inquired, laugh 
 ing. 
 
 "I've married her," answered William John, 
 "and although she isn't much at housework, she 
 is a great adviser."
 
 250 BRITOMART, 
 
 "Good!" cried Britomart. "You will find 
 some one to take her place, old fellow, who'll be 
 worth eight or ten Tilly Levens. And Brother 
 Granby, I presume " 
 
 There was a confusion caused by everybody 
 talking at once. "Brother Granby took your 
 words to heart deeply. He is no fool," said 
 Frank. 
 
 "Yes," interrupted Mary, "and he is a Social 
 ist." 
 
 William John was roaring with laughter. 
 "That's straight, Britomart ; he preaches it in 
 the pulpit. It's like this. He says he had never 
 thought much on the subject until he came in 
 contact with Dennis Blair and discussed the 
 questions of strikes, unequal division of wealth, 
 and so on. Your saying that Christ preached 
 Socialism shocked then fascinated him. He 
 began studying Socialistic books. He came to 
 a realizing sense that he had been talking in the 
 pulpit about a subject of which he knew not the 
 first principles. He had even many times con 
 nected the two words Socialism and anarchy. 
 In fact, the sensitive old man became convinced 
 that through his ignorance he had committed sin 
 and he has gone zealously to work to atone 
 for it." 
 
 Britomart was shocked at the change in her 
 mother. She was so worn and thin, and her 
 hair, which had been brown and smooth when 
 Britomart went away, was now strongly tinged 
 with gray. Britomart went about the old home
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 251 
 
 setting things to rights in that strong, efficient 
 way of hers, which is such a comfort to one who, 
 like Mrs. Landor, loves order but feels too lan 
 guid to spend the effort to bring it about. 
 
 The spring crept on apace. The oaks turned 
 brown, then green. The turbid yellow stream, 
 which had worn deep ravines at the roadsides, 
 shriveled away in the sunshine, and still Brito- 
 niart lingered. She received scant word from 
 the city. Paul was not a generous correspond 
 ent. One day she visited the little cottage on 
 the hill which had been the home of Dennis Blair 
 the summer he wrote his book. It was again 
 empty and forlorn. She pressed her face against 
 the western pane in the old way and tried to 
 recall with enthusiasm that dream of furnishing 
 in which she used to indulge, but so much in 
 truded between that she gave it up. She walked 
 over the ploughed land to the marsh, thinking 
 of Paul, of dear old William John and her father, 
 and scheming how she might bring a little more 
 of the sunshine of life into their existence. 
 
 When she was returning she met Henry Mil 
 ler. She gave him a bow and a smile, but he 
 drove on furiously, with only a curt nod in re 
 turn, and Britomart never knew that he had 
 been to the expense of hiring a livery horse and 
 taking this trip in the hopes of meeting her and 
 being enabled to show her how very little he 
 regretted their separation. 
 
 One day in early June she left the street car 
 in Chicago with her modest little traveling bag in
 
 252 BRITOMART, 
 
 hand and hurried through the narrow alley to her 
 own door. Upon unlocking the door and en 
 tering, a feeling of apprehension stole over her. 
 The place smelt close, as though it had not been 
 opened for a long time. Where was Paul? As' 
 she stepped over the threshold something on the 
 floor attracted her attention. She stooped and 
 picked up her own letter, written over a week 
 ago, which the postman had slid under the door. 
 It was the letter announcing her intention to 
 return home on that day. This, then, accounted 
 for Paul's absence. She had been wondering 
 all the way in the car if she should pick up her 
 city life again just where she had left it, or if, 
 as is so often the case during an absence, some 
 unforseen circumstance would give it an alto 
 gether different trend. She had hoped to see 
 Paul at the station, and again imagined him at 
 home building a fire in the little stove and put 
 ting on the kettle for tea ; but here was the home 
 evidently deserted for days no welcome, no 
 warmth, save that left by the sun which had 
 already set. 
 
 She moved restlessly about the inhospitable 
 rooms, noting the cooking utensils, unwashed 
 and unused for weeks. She opened all the win 
 dows to let in such air as straggled through 
 the alley ; then, moved by an overmastering anx 
 iety for her brother, put on her hat and gloves, 
 closed and locked the place, and started for 
 Blair's rooms to inquire for Paul. The nearer 
 she came to her destination the deeper grew her
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 253 
 
 feeling of apprehension. It was getting dark 
 and Britomart was in haste. She turned a cor 
 ner sharply and came in contact with a little 
 body going hastily in the opposite direction. 
 The next instant her hands were fast in those of 
 Clarissa Barlow's, and that young lady was very 
 seriously admonishing her to the effect that a 
 tall, solidly built young woman like herself was 
 in danger of causing the death of fragile little 
 things by hurling themselves around corners in 
 that reckless manner. 
 
 Britomart was not really glad to see Clarissa. 
 She was too anxious and too impatient to reach 
 Blair's rooms before he should be going out for 
 the evening. When Clarissa learned her desti 
 nation she insisted upon accompanying her. "It 
 isn't proper for a pretty woman like you to be 
 seen climbing to Mr. Blair's rookery alone at 
 this time in the evening." 
 
 "Oh !" snapped Britomart, "we Socialistic 
 agitators and breeders of sedition are not obliged 
 to preserve any decorum in our comings and 
 goings. The world doesn't expect it; but you, 
 Clarissa I wish you would go about your affairs 
 and leave me alone tonight ; I am not good com 
 pany. I am too anxious about my brother. 
 They won't mind me up there, but if you come 
 it will frighten them to death." 
 
 Clarissa, for answer, laughed in her soft, little 
 aggravating way, linked her arm in Britomart's 
 and proceeded, as usual, to follow her own in 
 clinations.
 
 254 BRITOMART, 
 
 It was a long climb to Blair's attic but the girls 
 were assured of the gentlemen's being at home 
 by a roar of manly laughter proceeding from the 
 room. 
 
 "Goodness !" said Qarissa, "they are having a 
 mass-meeting in there evidently. Shall we ven 
 ture?" 
 
 "I certainly shall," said Britomart. "I didn't 
 come up here to make a fashionable call, and I 
 warned you to stay away." 
 
 The door flew open in response to Britomart's 
 determined rap, emitting a strong odor of coffee. 
 In the center of the supper table, which was ar 
 ranged for three, stood a spirit lamp over which 
 bubbled the odorous coffee-pot. 
 
 Clarissa uttered a delighted exclamation. 
 "Bohemia!" she cried, "and I am in it, at last! 
 How wicked never to have asked me here be 
 fore, and " 
 
 "Britomart!" exclaimed Paul Landor, drag 
 ging his sister into the light with a look of wel 
 come in his face. Britomart knew very well he 
 would not have been there had he been doing 
 anything of which she would not approve. Blair 
 and James Barring, the third member of the 
 bachelor party, came forward to greet the ladies. 
 
 "Have you more plates?" asked Clarissa. 
 "Poor Britomart has had no supper, and I am 
 as hungry as I can be. Is this the dish cup 
 board? No, Paul, let me get them, please. I 
 know a good housekeeper has been spoiled in 
 me through lack of opportunity to practice."
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 255 
 
 "Paul, just throw in another spoonful or two 
 of coif ee, will you ?" said Blair ; "and I will trou 
 ble you, Barring, to put the chairs around the 
 table." 
 
 The sudden revulsion of feeling, from anxiety 
 and suspense to pleasure and happiness, in rind 
 ing Paul so innocently engaged, made Britomart 
 almost hysterical. She talked and laughed reck 
 lessly, and Clarissa thought, "How beautiful she 
 is, with her rose-leaf complection, her dark hair 
 and flashing eyes. Such wit, such laughter !" 
 Paul and Clarissa were unusually bright. Some 
 times they fell to talking of the "Chicago Bulle 
 tin," the paper, which was already a thing of 
 fact, edited by Blair and sustained by Barring. 
 In the midst of their serious talk Blair took 
 up his violin and silence fell on the company. 
 The high window stood open to admit the 
 night air, and a full June moon came peering 
 over the housetops into that attic room. It 
 seemed to Britomart as though her soul were 
 drifting out to it on a flood of Blair's weird 
 music. New speculations crept in and out of her 
 brain, always in time to the air the violin was 
 playing, and always pleasantly, because Paul was 
 there, safe and happy, and Blair, and James 
 Barring. She wondered how Clarissa came to 
 be so well acquainted with them all ; she had 
 called Paul by his first name; she wondered if 
 James Barring's face, stern almost to sadness 
 under the influence of the music, was a happiness 
 and a pain to Clarissa as it was t'o her. Little
 
 256 BRITOMART, 
 
 by little in the pauses of the music and conversa 
 tion they explained much to her which she had 
 not understood. Paul was employed in the office 
 of "their" paper. Clarissa had been attending 
 the meetings of the club regularly ever since 
 Britomart's departure, and declared herself an 
 out-and-out Socialist. At parting Clarissa said, 
 "I am coming to see you tomorrow, Britomart, 
 because I have so much to tell you." 
 
 There was not so much in her budget of news, 
 but told in her way it was entertaining in the 
 extreme. Lord Kildare, although his confidence 
 in her interest ebbed and flowed, still considered 
 her his affianced wife. Since her Grandmother 
 Enderby's death, which occurred in the late 
 spring, Cousin Theodore had been fully con 
 vinced that they must marry, although she had 
 broken their engagement, telling him she knew 
 their lives would be miserable spent in each oth 
 er's society. Cousin Theodore was very angry at 
 James Barring on account of his connection with 
 the "Chicago Bulletin," and sincerely hoped he 
 would not get the nomination for congressman 
 in his own state, of which there was a rumor. 
 Such men, he said, were dangerous members of 
 the community, especially when they were the 
 possessors of millions. Thank heaven, million 
 aire reformers were not plenty ! It was fun, she 
 said, to see Theodore's beetling brows when my 
 Lord Kildare hove in sight. He had told her 
 many shocking things about my lord, which, had 
 it been advisable to palm her off upon his lord-
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 257 
 
 ship, she might have learned through wifely in 
 tuition for all of her fond cousin's information. 
 
 "And as for poor old Chauncey Hawkins, 
 Theodore does not dream of that old beau's 
 aspirations; but Aunt Inez does, and suffers 
 pangs of jealousy in consequence. She is really 
 in love with the old sinner, and he flirts with 
 her when he thinks I am not looking. He 
 knows a bird in the hand is worth two in the 
 bush, and he isn't sure how far in the bush this 
 blackbird is." 
 
 Clarissa spoke of many musical engagements 
 waiting for Britomart, and declared herself en 
 vious of a girl with two careers looming before 
 her. 
 
 Britomart began her life again, playing, teach 
 ing, studying and speaking for the cause of So 
 cialism. At last the latter duty slowly but surely 
 crowded out the others, and she gave up her 
 pupils. In the fall the Landors moved to more 
 comfortable quarters in a modest little flat, and 
 Britomart hired a young girl to do the kitchen 
 work, thus giving all of her time to the real 
 business of her life. During this time Clarissa 
 flitted in and out of her days like a dark velvet 
 moth, coming and going unbidden in her quiet, 
 impudent way. When Britomart spoke of her 
 marriage she answered only with a smile and an 
 enigmatical gleam from her narrow dark eyes. 
 Once she said that a girl who was the affianced 
 of three very determined men must be careful
 
 258 BRITOMART, 
 
 about marriage for fear of hurting some one's 
 feelings. 
 
 When in the city James Barring always came 
 to see the Landers. He knew this woman with 
 the queenly head was a power in the growing 
 world of Socialists. As soon as possible after 
 his successful campaign he came to Chicago, and 
 to Britomart, to receive her congratulations. 
 He found the home closed and learned that 
 Britomart was again with her people in Wis 
 consin. There was no lack of enthusiasm in 
 the reception accorded him by Chicago Social 
 ists, but he was not satisfied. 
 
 Britomart, standing among the dead sunflower 
 stalks which whispered of winter about the de 
 serted Leven cottage, dreaming of many things, 
 suddenly found herself face to face with one of 
 the materialized shadows of her dreams, James 
 Barring. Her heart stood still. What could he, 
 the man of riches and newly acquired political 
 honors, want here at her humble old home ? He 
 held her hands long in greeting and smiled anx 
 iously into her eyes upturned to his. This man 
 of the world, this mine-owner, millionaire, and 
 successful politician was pale with apprehension 
 lest Britomart Landor, the country girl, should 
 not see fit to grant what he was about to ask; 
 then, with a straightforwardness characteristic of 
 him, he plunged into the matter at hand. 
 
 "And Clarissa?" asked Britomart, with dry 
 lips. 
 
 "Clarissa?" he repeated, bewildered.
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 259 
 
 "She loves you, she- 
 
 "I think you are mistaken, Britomart. There 
 has never been a word of love between Clarissa 
 and myself. I do not want Clarissa ; I want you." 
 His arms were about her and his lips were 
 pressed to hers in a solemn kiss of betrothal. 
 The winds might whisper of the night to the 
 dead sunflowers, and the chill of autumn wither 
 the brown fields, but here was the eternal spring 
 time of honest love. "We cannot count the 
 money ours, Britomart. It belongs to the peo 
 ple the cause. Nor can ours be a life of leis 
 ure." 
 
 "No, no," assented Britomart, "I can work in 
 a certain way, and work I must you in your 
 way, I in mine, but together." 
 
 "It is growing dark," he said; "come, dear." 
 He drew her towards the cottage gate, and as 
 they reached it an open carriage went by, the 
 driver of which Britomart recognized as Henry 
 Miller. He glanced at them and passed on, his 
 seedy equipage soon going out of sight below the 
 hill. 
 
 Britomart shuddered. 
 
 "Are you cold ?" asked Barring. 
 
 "No," she said; "that man who just passed 
 was the editor to whom I was engaged once 
 upon a time. You see I have a penchant for 
 newspaper men. His paper differs from yours 
 in its politics, I believe." 
 
 "Thank Heaven! you saw fit to change your 
 mind in that newspaperman's case; and, pray
 
 260 BRITOMART, 
 
 Heaven, you may not in the case of this one !" 
 "But I didn't," laughed Britomart. "He 
 changed his mind jilted me." And Britomart 
 told her lover the story of her unhappy farm life 
 as they went down the hill together.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Britomart saw but little of her lover during 
 the winter, but she was not lonely. Happiness 
 and hard work banish loneliness. Prosperity 
 had surely come to her and hers, although not 
 produced by the political plasters applied by the 
 demagogues who had howled themselves hoarse 
 at the fall elections, and who promised that, 
 should their party be successful, the land would 
 bask under the smiling sun of plenty once more, 
 and all economic evils be done away with. She 
 was supporting herself handsomely now, thanks 
 to the fad-chasers of Chicago society, who, 
 merely for the reason that they could not always 
 get her, always yearned for her services. She 
 found herself in the Jeffries parlors one even 
 ing, to play Mrs. Jeffries' accompaniments and 
 incidentally a solo in the course of the entertain 
 ment. Mrs. Jeffries had sent an urgent request, 
 so urgent as to be almost a prayer, together 
 with a check of goodly size. Britomart ac 
 cepted, made use of the check where it would 
 do the most good, and presented herself in good 
 time, tastefully arrayed in pale blue silk, cut low 
 in front to show her round, white throat. On 
 her bosom she wore a bunch of white camelias 
 she loved white blossoms pinned with the iden 
 tical diamond which Clarissa had insisted upon 
 her wearing on the occasion of her first appear-
 
 262 BRITOMART, 
 
 ance. It was her own now, a gift from Clarissa, 
 who would not take a refusal when she pressed 
 the gift upon her friend. Mrs. Jeffries was in 
 white, with a great sheaf of red poppies falling 
 over her shoulder. She was nervous and ill at 
 ease, her eyes wandering occasionally to the cor 
 ner where Chauncey Hawkins answered Lord 
 Kildare's questions in an absent-minded man 
 ner. Both these gentlemen had come early in 
 hopes of catching a word alone with Clarissa, the 
 heiress, and both had been disappointed, for 
 Clarissa had not as yet appeared. 
 
 Between a restless, domineering son, a vas- 
 cillating lover, and a wayward niece, Mrs. Inez' 
 lot was not a happy one. Her eyes snapped quite 
 as brilliantly, but the lines across the brow be 
 neath the pompadour of black hair were grow 
 ing very prominent. 
 
 Hilda French arrived presently, floating into 
 the room, a veritable vision of light, in a fluffy, 
 white dress and brilliants. 
 
 Suddenly a servant twitched the portieres 
 across the great doors, shutting off the hall. 
 Mrs. Jeffries did not understand this action, but, 
 as it was apparently for some very good pur 
 pose, concluded not to investigate. 
 
 Britomart finished arranging her music, then 
 turned vaguely to the small company, wondering 
 what kept Clarissa. 
 
 "Where is everybody?" muttered Theodore, 
 snapping his watch. "It is late." 
 
 Just then the curtain was held back by a fine, 
 white hand which Britomart recognized with
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 263 
 
 alarm, admitting Clarissa, closely followed by 
 two men. If Britomart had been startled by the 
 apparition of Blair's well known hand on the cur 
 tain, she was much more so to see her brother 
 Paul and the owner of the hand following Cla 
 rissa into that house. 
 
 Clarissa advanced to the center of the room, 
 her black hair coiling itself low on her neck 
 and close to her creamy cheeks. She wore a 
 great black hat, tilted very much to one side, 
 and a dress of white satin, the waist heavy with 
 rich lace and costly pearls. Her opera cloak 
 dragged far upon the floor like the ermine- 
 trimmed train of a queen. This cloak-dragging 
 was a trick of Clarissa's which the family had 
 learned to dread, knowing it meant trouble. 
 Blair, quiet, imperturbable, his Indian-like pro 
 file showing no sign of uneasiness, followed close 
 behind, bowing over a hat which one slender 
 hand held crushed against his breast. Paul, 
 handsome, and triumphant, smiled grimly at his 
 old employer from the vantage ground of good 
 clothes and independence. 
 
 "Good evening, Hilda and Britomart. Come 
 here and stand beside me," commanded Clarissa. 
 "This is the last act of the play. Clear the stage 
 and get the actors ready for a quick drop. And 
 you, Mademoiselle Britomart, are not the central 
 figure, let me remind you of that. It is your 
 humble servant, who loves to be theatrical as she 
 loves to live. Aunt Inez, there can be no musi- 
 cale here tonight, as there is death in the house. 
 I ordered John to close the portiere and quietly
 
 264 BR1TOMART, 
 
 send the guests away; but I wished to notify 
 you in here myself. Betty Barlow has finished 
 her long career tonight, and lies upstairs now, 
 straight and still, her crooked old hands resting 
 at last from their useless activity. Cousin Theo 
 dore, this is my husband, Dennis Blair, to whom 
 I was married one hour ago, with our mutual 
 friend, Mr. Paul Landor, as one of the witnesses. 
 You remember, cousin, of likening the Social 
 istic movement to the eternal advance of waves 
 upon an unyielding shore only to meet an easy 
 defeat and fall back in helplesness, and, you re 
 member, I suggested that although the waves 
 might not create any perceptible change in the 
 shore line, that every wave did, after all, leave 
 its mark on the adamantine barriers, and that, 
 however that might be, the waves in their mad 
 struggle now and then submerged individuals. 
 Cousin Theodore, your head is under the waves. 
 You must learn to look to Socialists for future 
 business successes, for the money, the mills, the 
 bonds, the houses, are not half yours and half 
 mine, but by the will of Betty Barlow, all mine to 
 belong to me and my heirs forever !" 
 
 Theodore uttered a cry and sprang forward 
 as though he would strike the girl, but Blair in 
 terposed his person between them, and the eyes 
 of the two men met on a level and at close range, 
 Blair's cool, merciless, Jeffries' dispairing, hating 
 and seething for revenge. Kildare came forward 
 bridling, and was confronted by six feet of manly 
 contempt in the person of Paul Landor, who was 
 perfectly willing there should be a scene.
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 265 
 
 "You damned mountebank, how dare you in 
 veigle that foolish girl into a marriage with 
 you !" 
 
 "Indeed, Theodore, it was I who did the in 
 veigling, and hard work I had of it," gurgled 
 Clarissa, with her provoking laugh, "Perhaps 
 my perseverance even, would not have prevailed 
 had it not been for " she was about to say, 
 "my fortune which is to be devoted to the 
 Cause," when a glance from her husband's eyes 
 startled her, and she did not finish the sentence. 
 
 This did not escape Theodore, whose rage 
 could not exceed his wonder. Clarissa, whose 
 willfulness was proverbial, whose insubordina 
 tion under authority was known to every one, to 
 quail beneath a glance from that man's eyes ! 
 
 "I hope he will beat you !" he muttered. 
 
 "And I," said Clarissa, "shall love him even 
 though he beat me." She dropped her head 
 upon her husband's shoulder and for a moment 
 her face was transfigured into absolute loveliness. 
 
 He kissed her, then pushed her a little away 
 from him, saying, "Go on, Clarissa, I wish to 
 finish here and be gone." 
 
 "Very well ; I wish to say," continued Clarissa, 
 "but some one had better assist Aunt Inez; 
 she has fainted." 
 
 Theodore carried his mother out of the room) 
 returning almost immediately. 
 
 "I wish to say," proceeded Clarissa, "that I 
 am very much obliged to Mr. Hawkins for being 
 willing to hamper his youth with such a foolish 
 wife as I should have been, and to Lord Kil-
 
 266 BRITOMART, 
 
 dare that I wished for a gentleman for my hus 
 band and long ago decided that he must be an 
 American gentleman, and that I was more par 
 ticular about the man being really a gentleman, 
 really all that the name implies, you know, than 
 I was about who his father and grandfather were. 
 You, Theodore, I want to promise that we will 
 look after you and Aunt Inez wait, wait re 
 member I speak from the advantageous stand 
 point now. You shall be assisted to a legitimate 
 business; but the bulk of the Barlow fortune 
 goes back where it belongs, to the people. That 
 is, it is going to further the cause of Socialism. 
 This is the real reason Dennis consented " 
 
 Again that quiet look, and again silence and 
 a change of subject. Evidently Mrs. Clarissa 
 had her own lessons to learn, one of which was 
 that the methods she had employed to tyrannize 
 over her aunt and cousin were not likely to be 
 a success with her husband. 
 
 "We shall only stay to see poor Betty Bar 
 low laid to rest, then across seas on our wed 
 ding trip. Do you wish me to remain here until 
 after the funeral, Theodore, or shall I go away 
 with my husband?" 
 
 She was in hopes that he would turn her 
 away, that she might be free to go with Dennis 
 to the dear little attic and get supper over the 
 spirit lamp; but Theodore said huskily, "Re 
 main here," and again she acquiesced, in obedi 
 ence to the quiet glance from Blair's eyes, which 
 had the power, then, and ever afterwards, to sub 
 due her wayward spirit.
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 267 
 
 "He doesn't beat me, as Cousin Theodore 
 hoped he would," she told Britomart later, "but 
 he dominates me, masters me, through the power 
 of my love and admiration for him. I dare not 
 say cutting things to him as I have always been 
 in the habit of saying had to, in fact, in self 
 defense to Aunt Inez and Theodore. I would 
 not forfeit my husband's admiration for all the 
 world holds beside, and you know, he does not 
 admire my vindictiveness. He says that inter 
 view with Theodore, on the night of our mar 
 riage, was unnecessarily cruel, and if he had 
 known \vhat a proceeding it was to have been, 
 he should never have consented to my going 
 there. I took good care he should not know 
 there were guests in the house. I wanted them 
 the very ones who were there. I think it no 
 more than fair, Britomart, that the last grand 
 flourish should have been theatrical, and I the 
 central figure I, who love it so. I wanted you 
 to be present on that account, to let you know 
 that you were not the only girl to make a ro 
 mantic marriage, although Ah ! woe is me ! 
 if it were not for your marriage mine could 
 never have been, because Dennis Blair wanted 
 you instead of me." 
 
 "Clarissa !" cried Britomart, "how foolish, how 
 wicked, to talk like that. If your husband were 
 here you would not dare say such a thing!" 
 
 "I know that well enough," answered Clarissa, 
 "I dare not nag at him, but it is the truth for 
 Dennis Blair told me so himself when I asked 
 him to marry me."
 
 268 BRITOMART, 
 
 "Clarissa, you " 
 
 "Of course I did. Do you think the struggling 
 editor of a labor paper who lived in an attic and 
 made his own tea over a spirit lamp was going 
 to ask the heiress of the Barlow millions to 
 marry him ? No, indeed, not Dennis Blair, espe 
 cially when he was in love with another woman. 
 Isn't it queer," she laughed, "I, who have always 
 feared being married for my money above every 
 thing else, to marry at last, a man who tells me 
 plainly that he is marrying me for my money. 
 Don't look so horrified, Britomart, he told me 
 that. It was my million he married for the sake 
 of Socialism. It is to go just as fast as we can 
 spend it, for that great cause, and Theodore's 
 million on top of that. Dennis says it was accu 
 mulated through the murder of innocents and 
 in order to wash the blood-stains from it, it must 
 be cleansed by the grateful tears of the people. 
 But don't flatter yourself, my lady. He shall 
 love me if it is within the power of woman to 
 bring it about. He shall ! He shall ! I will cling 
 to him and coil myself about his heart until you 
 are crowded out. I am doing It now even this 
 early." 
 
 She came to Britomart and leaned, panting, 
 against her shoulder. Her black crown of hair 
 scarcely came to Britomart's ear. Britomart was 
 again reminded of a smooth, beautiful, but dan 
 gerous panther, tamed now by the hand of a 
 master, yet quivering with the old lithe ferocity, 
 loving her conqueror with the same wild uncon- 
 trol with which she hated her natural enemies.
 
 THE SOCIALIST. 269 
 
 Britomart put herarms around her and smoothed 
 her much as she might have smoothed her feline 
 counterpart from the vantage ground of safety 
 which her own assured happiness made for her. 
 Blair's confession of love for herself, made to 
 Clarissa Barlow, was a revelation to her, fop. 
 never, in word or action and they had been 
 much together had the man revealed!; such an.' 
 emotion, and never in the years to come, when 
 they shall be associated with more or less fami 
 liarity in their chosen work, will Clarissa have 
 cause for jealousy, because she is winning, as she 
 boasted she should do, every corner of her hus 
 band's great heart to herself. 
 
 THE END.
 
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