THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 In the First Degree 
 
 BY 
 
 MARGARET HOLMES BATES 
 
 Author of 
 
 "The Chamber Over the Gate," "Jasper Fairfax? 
 
 "The Price of the Ring? "Shy lock's Daughter," 
 
 "Manitou," Short Stories, Six School 
 
 Speakers, Poems, etc. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 ROBERT GRIER COOKE, INC. 
 
 1907
 
 Copyright, 1907, by 
 ROBERT GRIER COOKE, INC.
 
 PS 
 
 lorn 
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 "ARE you really determined on this political 
 move?" 
 
 "I rather think I am. It seems to me it's 
 the very best thing I can do, under the circum 
 stances." 
 
 "You refer to the circumstances of the office 
 being easily within your reach?" 
 
 "Partly, yes." And the speaker, a man of per 
 haps twenty-six years, shifted his position, and 
 feigned an ingenious look at his questioner as he 
 continued: "Added to that is the fact that, as a 
 married man, I must increase my income." 
 
 The older man met his eyes still interrogatively. 
 It was very easy to discover the relationship of the 
 two. Aside from a marked resemblance, there was 
 the manner of father and son in the best phase of 
 the relationship. The two were sauntering about 
 the lawns that surrounded a large, comfortable- 
 looking residence in the outskirts of a young city 
 
 1523714
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 in the Middle West. The place was not unique, 
 not very different from many other homes in the 
 town of Stillwater. The house was square, and 
 strongly built, the trees and shrubbery showed care 
 ful pruning, ornamental vines were trained over 
 trellises and about the pillars of the wide verandas. 
 It looked a home. It stood on a slight rise, a 
 "knoll," as they called it in this level country, and 
 the small cupola on the higher part of the house 
 overlooked the town of Stillwater and the little 
 lake from which it took its name when it consisted 
 of a few frontiersmen's cabins, built on land pre 
 empted under government regulations. 
 
 These two men had no vestige of the frontiers 
 men about them. The elder was tall and sparely 
 built; his hands, crossed behind him, showed no 
 trace of manual labor. After his son's last remark 
 he sighed and walked in silence for a moment. 
 Then: 
 
 "Of course you must make provision for your 
 wife, and, most probably, children; but I supposed 
 you felt confident of being able to do this, or. you 
 wouldn't have married. Your practice is good, and 
 growing. I see no special reason why you should 
 covet this office." 
 
 "Why, father, it seems to me it's very plain to be 
 seen why it would be a most desirable office. First 
 of all, there's the salary regularly besides oth 
 er things. The work won't require all my time. 
 
 [2]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 Through a partner on the quiet, you know 1 
 could keep all the practice I've already secured. 
 Then there's the advertisement it will be for me. 
 One term as prosecuting attorney will make me 
 known further and better than a dozen years of 
 ordinary practice. It seems to me there's a multi 
 tude of reasons for accepting the nomination, if 
 it's offered, or work to get it, if it isn't. I fail to 
 see any reason against it." 
 
 The father looked straight at the young man, 
 his face falling into stern lines, his eyes darkening. 
 He stopped abruptly. "What sort of talk is this? 
 Have you forgotten your mother's horror of capital 
 punishment? I don't believe she'd live through it 
 if, through your work, a man, or a woman, should 
 suffer this penalty. Better do as she has often 
 urged : go to the legislature, instead, and work for 
 the repeal of this law." 
 
 "I know, of course, that mother has a prejudice 
 against the death penalty." 
 
 "Prejudice! Your mother is as free from preju 
 dice against anything as any human being can pos 
 sibly be. For a lawyer, you are notably careless 
 in your selection of words, or you have no concep 
 tion of your mother's character." 
 
 "Perhaps it is not prejudice. I'll say she's too 
 sympathetic too tenacious of early impressions 
 too " 
 
 "There's no need of amplifying. Yonder comes 
 
 [3]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 the effect of her too ready sympathy of one of 
 her early impressions. Can you look at your broth 
 er and then put yourself in position to enforce a 
 law that may be instrumental in producing like con 
 sequences for other mothers?" 
 
 The young man's face flushed and paled, and 
 he made no answer. Two other young men came 
 from the house, across the lawn, and joined them. 
 Of these two, the older one was much more like 
 his father than either of the others. He was a 
 trifle taller than the ambitious lawyer, he had the 
 same steadfast eyes as his father, the same gentle, 
 full voice, the same protecting, considerate air, as 
 he regarded the frail, slender, inferior brother who 
 walked with him. The youngest of the three, but 
 for a certain family likeness, would never have been 
 suspected of near relationship to his stalwart father 
 and brothers. In comparison he was like a slim, 
 quivering, pale green aspen growing beside strong 
 cedars. His movements were uncertain, and every 
 tiniest blue vein was outlined in his face, neck, and 
 hands. And, most pitiful of all, there was a con 
 tinually recurring spasm in his throat, as when the 
 process of swallowing is interrupted by a violent 
 hiccough. Strangely enough, this spasm did not 
 interfere with speaking, except to cause a slight 
 hesitation. One not looking at him would not know 
 it was happening. Many persons are equally slow 
 of utterance. He was talking and laughing as they 
 
 [4]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 came, and when they reached the others the older 
 brother said, jovially: 
 
 "Listen to this, father, Dan ! Paul says Frances 
 and Lois will have to be separated with a barbed- 
 wire fence if we can't manage some compromise 
 about their clubs. There's a sparring match when 
 ever they meet, concerning the merits of 'The La 
 dies' Own' and 'The Daughters of Endeavor.' ' 
 
 "Ah! these clubs!" Dan exclaimed. "I wish 
 Frances would drop it all. But how about the other 
 little maid from school ? Doesn't Mrs. Basil Dray- 
 ton go to clubs nowadays?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," Basil answered indifferently, "but you 
 see Laura has baby to tend, and she tries to help 
 mother in the matter of arbitration. We left them 
 at their wits' end as to how to keep the peace be 
 tween Frances and Lois." And again he laughed. 
 
 "What's the trouble?" Dan asked, with a frown. 
 
 "You see," said Paul, in his hesitating way, the 
 spasms catching in his throat at regular intervals, 
 "it's about the close of the club year, and each one 
 has been telling what superior subjects they have 
 selected for next year, and what superior women 
 they have to handle them. Each one insists that 
 the membership of her own club is the cream of the 
 town." 
 
 "So silly !" Dan said. "Seems to me, Lois ought 
 to consider " 
 
 "What, Dan?" Basil asked, looking his brother 
 
 [5]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 squarely in the face. "Come! Say why Lois should 
 consider anything more than Frances!" 
 
 "Lois is in her father's house " 
 
 "And Frances is in her father-in-law's house. 
 Come, be reasonable ! My wife is there, too. She 
 doesn't expect any more consideration than she 
 gives." 
 
 "Laura's older." 
 
 "She is a trifle older than Frances now, but when 
 she first made the acquaintance of her saucy sister- 
 in-law she was a year or two younger than Frances 
 is now. The two have always been the best of 
 friends. Laura says that Lois takes the place of 
 her own young sister, and so she would with Fran 
 ces, if allowed." 
 
 "That's all well enough for talk, but you know, 
 as well as all the rest of us, that Lois is a pert, 
 
 spoiled girl, and " 
 
 "Ah 1 stop it ! Stop it at once !" the older broth 
 er exclaimed, and the youngest of the three opened 
 his eyes very wide, while his color came and went 
 in swift waves, and the spasms in his throat grew 
 quicker and more violent. 
 
 The father looked at Dan searchingly for a mo 
 ment. "You may be right, Dan. Lois may be 
 what is usually understood to be a spoiled child, but 
 I'm sure you'll never find a more loving and gen 
 erous girl than she is. Her sense of right, too, is 
 
 developed to a high degree " 
 
 [6]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 Dan laughed as he interrupted : "Yes. her sense 
 of her own rights. I'll admit she stands up for her 
 own most valiantly." 
 
 "The rights of others, too. Lois is never unjust. 
 I can fully understand how you feel towards your 
 wife, but even in her favor you should not always 
 condemn your sister." 
 
 "Oh, I don't condemn Lois, but it seems to me 
 she ought to remember that Frances came here a 
 
 stranger, and There, Basil, Laura's calling 
 
 you ! Let's all go in !" 
 
 So they all went, in answer to a slim, girlish fig 
 ure on the side veranda, and a white-clad, two- 
 year-old baby, who came stumbling across the lawn 
 to meet them. 
 
 Basil Drayton caught up the child and tossed him 
 in his arms. He was "Papa's baby," and "Papa's 
 little man," and the clear, soft eyes of the child, 
 dewy with recent sleep, were an exact copy of the 
 young father's own. 
 
 Laura waited at the steps till the party came up. 
 "How full of odor the air is," she said. "I think 
 there's no place as lovely as this in the spring." 
 
 "Yes, it's a nice old home," her father-in-law 
 answered. "Mother must come out before dark, 
 and see how beautifully the borders of tulips are 
 coming on." 
 
 The mother was sadly out of tone with her sur 
 roundings. The first impression she gave to observ-
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 ing strangers was what might be experienced on 
 seeing some beautiful plant, or tree, blighted; some 
 fine mansion in ruins ; anything lovely that had met 
 disaster. Her hair, that lay in wavy abundance 
 about her head, was snow white. Her eyes, of so 
 dark a blue as to pass, in anything but a strong 
 light, for black, wore the expression of the Mater 
 Dolorosa. Her complexion was white and lifeless, 
 more the color of a dead than a living woman. 
 Instead of the plump matron that the mother of 
 three grown sons should have been, she was fragile 
 and thin, and her hands were mere skeletons. As 
 her husband and sons entered, with a glance and a 
 motion of her hand she brought Paul to a chair 
 by her side. 
 
 The room was large and lofty. There were 
 slowly-burning logs in the wide fireplace. Low 
 couches and window-seats, and many easy-chairs, 
 were scattered about. The place was the large per 
 fection of home and coziness. 
 
 "Leave the door open, Dan!" Mrs. Draytori 
 said. "Let us seem like summer." 
 
 "Are you cold, Frances?" Dan asked, for as he 
 set the door ajar Frances, who had occupied a 
 window-seat, shrugged her shoulders, and, with a 
 shiver, went and sat by the fire. 
 
 "N-n-o," she drawled. "I'll be warm here," 
 and she looked into the fire with an expression of 
 great self-sacrifice. 
 
 [8]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "I'll bring a shawl for you ! Shall I?" And 
 without waiting for an answer, Dan disappeared 
 for an instant, coming in with a zephyr shawl, 
 which he laid across the shrugged shoulders. 
 
 "Oh! are you cold, Frances?" Mrs. Drayton 
 asked. "Close the door, Dan! Perhaps it is 
 chilly." 
 
 "No! no!" And Baby Fred pushed a hassock 
 against the open door and sat upon it. "Have do' 
 open. Baby see out." 
 
 "That settles the matter," Mr. Drayton said. 
 "The tyrant from No-man's-land will have his 
 way;" and mentally he added: "It's just as well. 
 Frances systematically opposes whatever seems 
 pleasant to any other member of the family." 
 
 It was Sunday afternoon, and, as was the habit 
 of the two married sons, they had accompanied the 
 family home from church for dinner and the after 
 noon. There was no formality about these Sun 
 day reunions, no pretense of entertaining. It was 
 the one day of the week when all were free from 
 care. Each felt him or herself at home, and at lib 
 erty to read, or rest, or talk, or to go anywhere 
 about the house. 
 
 These Sundays had always been looked forward 
 to with pleasant anticipations after Basil's marriage. 
 His wife, native of another town in the State, had 
 proved a most lovable addition to the family cir 
 cle. She was so truly in love with her husband 
 
 [9]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 there was none of the petty jealousy that so often 
 embitters the intercourse of young wives with their 
 relations-in-law. 
 
 There had been no expectations of anything dif 
 ferent when Dan brought his wife home, but Mrs. 
 Drayton, so finely sensitive, felt, upon first meeting 
 her second son's wife, that here was an alien, a 
 personality entirely foreign to the life of the family. 
 As often as there were disagreements between Fran 
 ces and Lois, as there had been this day, she re 
 minded herself of these first impressions, and she 
 knew that assimilation with Frances was well nigh 
 hopeless. 
 
 She had not seen Dan married. Basil and Laura 
 and Lois went to the wedding, and all came home 
 together next day. The father and mother and 
 baby Fred stood at the door to receive them. As 
 the party came up the walk, Mrs. Drayton ex 
 claimed to her husband: "Oh, Frederic! What 
 has our boy done? What sort of a common, infe 
 rior girl has he married?" 
 
 There was no time for answer, save by a sympa 
 thetic glance. The party was on the steps. The 
 bride was welcomed to her new home with kindly 
 words and caresses, but Mrs. Drayton turned away 
 with an uncontrollable grimace on her delicate face, 
 which Lois caught, and answered by a kiss, a pat on 
 the shoulder, and a soft whisper: "Poor mamma !" 
 
 The perfume of the clothing of the bride was 
 [10]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 overpowering. She answered the kindly words of 
 welcome with an indifferent "Thank you very 
 much," and in the same breath added: "Can I 
 go to my room at once ? I'm such a wreck ! Trav 
 eling is simply ruinous!" 
 
 "Certainly," the mother-in-law responded. "Lois 
 will show you." And as the two disappeared she 
 turned to Laura, on the hearth-rug, caressing her 
 baby. "You seem to have borne the trip very 
 well." 
 
 "This little ride?" Laura answered brightly. "It 
 was a pleasure. If I had been quite sure that Little 
 Boy was not fretting you, I'd have been perfectly 
 happy. Just the little change, you know. But 
 mamma's glad to be home again!" And she fell 
 to caressing her baby again. 
 
 Two hours later, when the family assembled at 
 the dinner table, the bride, refreshed by rest and 
 wedding finery, was vivacious, and, in a way, rather 
 pretty. Mrs. Drayton had said no word of dis 
 approval to any one after her first exclamation, but 
 the impression had been made, and the great im 
 provement in the appearance of the bride strength 
 ened, rather than diminished, the idea of artificial 
 ity. Next day, when the house was quiet no one 
 at home but herself and the servants she unwit 
 tingly overheard a conversation in the kitchen that 
 proved how others, albeit they were humble folk, 
 thought of her son's wife. Mrs. Drayton's servants
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 consisted of a family of three husband, wife, and 
 daughter. They were refugees from a border South 
 ern State, where they were born slaves. They had 
 drifted into Stillwater at the close of the Civil War, 
 at about the time that the Drayton family chose 
 this place for their home. Ezekiel and Cleopatra 
 were anxious to find a place of service where they 
 could remain together and keep their little Bett with 
 them. Such a position was not readily found in a 
 small town, but after repeated failures, and grievous 
 separations, the whole family became domiciled 
 with the Draytons, where, very shortly, it was 
 Uncle Zeke and Auntie Cleo. Bett was companion, 
 playfellow, counsellor, and friend of the children, 
 while Cleo was a most excellent cook and general 
 servant. Uncle Zeke proved a black genius about 
 the new home that was building, and to these home 
 less ones it seemed like the old days in the South, 
 before discontent merged into war, freedom, hun 
 ger, and wandering. To Mrs. Drayton, the finding 
 of this family of vagabonds was an emancipation 
 from all the drudgery incident to the continual chan 
 ging of servants, and much of the every-day care 
 of domestic life. 
 
 On this day she lay on a couch in the family 
 room. Bett had come in softly and put a slumber- 
 robe over her with gentle touch, and drawing the 
 portieres, went back to the kitchen. As Mrs. Dray 
 ton closed her eyes she heard Cleo say : "Bett, dis 
 
 [12]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 new Missus Dan ain't to be talked 'bout in dessame 
 way es Miss Laura ner any o' de Drayton folks. 
 She's cheap truck won't wash, now you all min' 
 dat." 
 
 Then came the sound of Uncle Zeke lumbering 
 over the kitchen*floor. His mistress laughed, though 
 tears welled over her cheeks, as there came to her 
 in his high-pitched voice: "Wat's dat yo' say, 
 Cleopatry ? Yas, you all's right. Sakes alive ! but 
 it's a pity. Yo', Bett, w'at's dat yo' sayin' 'bout 
 some stockin's?" 
 
 "W'y, right away this morning the new missus 
 gave me a passel of stockin's. Here dey are. Did 
 you all ever see sich trash in this house?" There 
 was a pause, and from the half words and ex 
 clamations Mrs. Drayton guessed that they were 
 examining Bett's acquisition. 
 
 "An' w'at was dat she said?" Cleo asked. 
 
 "That now she was married, all her stockin's 
 must be of silk, an' dat de laundry at de school had 
 not been fit to trus' with silks. Laws ! to wear sech 
 common trash es this, an' ter jump into silk. I 
 don't want 'er old stuff. I'll done give it to dem 
 niggers over by the railroad. Dere ain't no call fer 
 me to wear sech stockin's. Dey're just real pore 
 white trash stuff." 
 
 [13]
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 "FATHER and I will not go to church this even 
 ing. I feel unusually weary. You and Paul go." 
 
 "I'm sorry, mamma," Lois answered. It was a 
 peculiarity of Lois that in many ways she was quite 
 childish, while the boys of the family, especially 
 Basil and Dan, were sturdy, manly, and self-reliant 
 had been so from childhood. Even Paul imi 
 tated his brothers to the extent of his strength. 
 The boys had laid aside with knickerbockers the 
 names "papa" and "mamma" for the more dignified 
 "father" and "mother," but they could not persuade 
 Lois to follow their example. 
 
 As she and Paul left the house together Mrs. 
 Drayton said: "Lois and Paul are quite as much 
 alike in appearance as are the other two. I'm so 
 glad!" 
 
 "Yes," was the answer, with a sigh. "In a way, 
 it's quite fortunate. The relationship, or lack of 
 it, has never been questioned, never will be, for lack 
 of resemblance. I only wish Paul might have been 
 as bright and capable as Lois." 
 
 "Since he is not, we must do all that we can 
 to make up his deficiencies. I feel my responsibility
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 for them constantly. Sometimes I think I was too 
 intensely proud of my first two boys. I had to have 
 something to bear to teach me to sympathize with 
 weaker women." 
 
 "My dear, if you had not been so intensely sym 
 pathetic, Paul would not be what he is, nor would 
 we have had Lois as she is, quite our own." 
 
 "You don't regret Lois?" 
 
 "No! oh, no! not as far as our own relation 
 with her is the question. I don't see now have 
 not been able to see for many years how an own 
 daughter could have been more to us. But we 
 would not have the same fear, the same responsi 
 bility, nor the same task, some time in the future, 
 for our own that we have for Lois. I confess I 
 shrink from the enlightening, some day, of the man 
 who comes to marry her." 
 
 "Enlightening the man who comes to marry 
 her?" Mrs. Drayton repeated questioningly. "I 
 never dreamed of anything of the kind. That might 
 be the means of undoing all we have done for her. 
 She is ours. She is more than the equal of any 
 man you or I have ever known, in all the qualities 
 that go to make an admirable character. Whenever 
 Lois goes out of this house as any man's wife she 
 goes as my daughter. The good God knows, if He 
 knows anything, that the travail and sorrow I en 
 dured in coming into possession of her, was more 
 than I suffered in giving birth to our three boys." 
 
 [15]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "Well, dear, I guess you are right, and I leave 
 it with you to decide. I'll stand by whatever you 
 say or do in the matter, and I'll stand by Lois." 
 
 There was silence for a few moments. The fire 
 glowed cheerily, the shaded lamp in the farthest cor 
 ner only served to warm and soften the atmosphere 
 of the wide room. 
 
 The husband and wife sat on either side of 
 a table drawn near the hearth, and the door stood 
 open. 
 
 Suddenly Mrs. Drayton said : 
 
 "Oh, did you say anything to Dan to-day about 
 running for the office of prosecutor?" 
 
 "Yes," was the drawling reply; "I tried to talk 
 to him." 
 
 "Ah! you tried? What is happening to Dan? 
 He isn't himself. I was always so proud of his 
 ambition. I was glad when he decided to read law 
 instead of going into business with you and Basil. 
 I felt that my name for him would be justified, that 
 he would really be Judge Dan some day. His mind 
 was always so clear, he had such a quick perception 
 of motive, and with it all he showed always such 
 exceptional ideas of justice. I felt that in his hands 
 the law would be fairly administered. But for 
 some little time, now, I cannot clearly see the trend 
 of his behavior." 
 
 "If he had not married just now." 
 
 "Say if he had married differently. Dan is so 
 [16]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 constituted that he is easily influenced by women. 
 See how docile he used to be with Lois, and how 
 fond he was of Laura ! Now, though Frances is 
 not nearly so attractive personally as either one of 
 our other girls, not as bright nor generally intelli 
 gent, yet he is quite under her control, and is ready 
 for a spat at the least discontented look of hers. 
 I am sure he is being harried and worried on the 
 matter of money." 
 
 "Do you really think so?" 
 
 "I am sure of it. Frances has no idea of any 
 success in life save that gained by the show that 
 money can make." 
 
 "Money is the great necessity; but Dan's doing 
 well; and Frances was a poor girl, working in this 
 girls' school, for not much of a salary, and I've 
 never heard that her people have helped her in any 
 way, not even to a housekeeping outfit." 
 
 "No; she didn't come to us in the fashion that 
 Laura did; but that's a small matter, something 
 that can easily be pardoned, if she were not so domi 
 neering in so many ways ; and she is determined to 
 keep her own people in the background. What her 
 reasons are I cannot guess." 
 
 "Perhaps it is best for all concerned if we make 
 no further acquaintance with the Caylor family. 
 There may be nothing really objectionable about 
 them, and yet there are very few families that 
 haven't something in their history they would most
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 willingly conceal even ourselves." And Mr. Dray- 
 ton glanced smilingly at his wife. 
 
 "Yes, and we'll conceal it, too," Mrs. Draytcn 
 answered quietly. Then continuing, she said: "By 
 the way, dear, this young Mr. Hale, who has been 
 quite attentive to Lois lately do you know any 
 thing about him? Where is he from?" 
 
 "I know next to nothing about him. I think 
 he's been here about a year. He seemed to be popu 
 lar amongst the young folks, and, I believe, he has 
 approached Dan with overtures for a partnership." 
 
 "Oh! has he? Perhaps that explains his atten 
 tion to Lois." 
 
 Mr. Drayton laughed. "My dear, you are ex 
 ceedingly worldly. I see no difficulty in understand 
 ing why any young man with eyes in his head should 
 try to make himself agreeable to Lois. I don't 
 believe you know how pretty she is." 
 
 "Yes, I'm well aware of her beauty; but this 
 man Hale the name, you know, associated as it 
 is with the time of trouble. I must ask Dan to find 
 out something about him." 
 
 "As to that, Hale is a common name, and it's 
 not likely that this young fellow is anything to 
 Governor Hale. That's what you refer to ?" 
 
 "Yes, and the fact that he is a lawyer, as Gov 
 ernor Hale was." 
 
 "But Governor Hale was quite wealthy, twenty 
 years ago. It's hardly likely that a son of his would 
 [18]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 be so far from home, with no appearance of wealth, 
 and looking up a partner as if he meant to locate 
 here." 
 
 "I'm sure the young man is well born and well 
 bred, and he may have very good reasons for liv 
 ing here. You see, there are some thousands of 
 more or less reputable folks living. here in Still- 
 water," and Mrs. Drayton laughed. "Do you think 
 Dan will form a partnership with Mr. Hale ?" 
 
 "I've no idea. It may be that his election to 
 the office of prosecutor will have something to do 
 with it. He will want to make some provision to 
 hold the practice he has secured, and this could be 
 done within the law with an honorable man." 
 
 "I feel that it would be a dreadful thing to have 
 Dan in the position of prosecutor as long as the 
 laws relating to the death penalty are as they are. 
 I must talk to him." 
 
 "Better talk to Frances. You'll find she's the 
 great majority in that house." 
 
 "I'll talk to both at the same time." 
 
 The gate was heard to open and close, quick 
 steps came up the walk, voices in conversation were 
 heard, and a rippling laugh floated on the still air; 
 and then, bringing with them a breath of freshness, 
 an odor of spring, Lois and Paul came in. 
 
 As they stood in the softened light they were 
 much alike. The slender figures, the delicate com 
 plexions, the blue eyes, though those of the girl 
 
 [19]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 were several shades lighter than Paul's, which were 
 a reproduction of his mother's all these traits 
 made them the typical brother and sister. 
 
 "Ah, you should have heard Dr. Milford's talk 
 this evening," Lois said, as she seated herself on 
 the arm of Mr. Drayton's chair. "I was so glad 
 Dan was there. He wants to be district attorney, 
 you know. Whether he ever is, or not, he'll know 
 what one man thinks of some of the laws." 
 
 "But, Lois," Paul faltered, "Dan may be prose 
 cutor and never have to deal with a murder case. 
 You know, murders are not common in this county." 
 
 "Of course it may happen that way; but I'm sure 
 if he goes into the office with such motives as I've 
 heard Frances express, he'll have a bad time of it. 
 None of the rest of the family approve of it. Dan's 
 doing well now, and if he doesn't let well enough 
 alone he'll be sure to turn out like the villain in 
 the play and in the old-fashioned romances; now 
 you'll see." 
 
 "What was Dr. Milford's subject?" Mrs. Dray- 
 ton asked. 
 
 "His text was from the parable of the wheat and 
 the tares. He read the whole story, and talked 
 from it. Dan listened very intently ; but Frances 
 oh, dear ! I wish I could see anything honest or sin 
 cere about her!" and Lois left her place on the 
 chair arm and impatiently threw her hat and jacket 
 on the couch. 
 
 [20]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "My dear, take care !" Mr. Drayton said ten 
 derly, as the girl moved a low chair close beside 
 him. "Don't be unjust to this that seems like a 
 'tare' amongst us. We must try to understand her 
 better." 
 
 "I think," said Mrs. Drayton, "if we could know 
 something of her own people, preferably her moth 
 er, we would understand Frances. We would know 
 in what degree these airs of superiority are justi 
 fiable." 
 
 "I cannot imagine any justification in any de 
 gree. They are simply insolent. A superior per 
 son has no need of assuming so much," Lois said 
 emphatically. 
 
 "My dear girl," said Mr. Drayton, with seri 
 ous deliberation, "perhaps Frances belongs to some 
 very fine people. Perhaps her parents and brothers 
 and sisters live in much better fashion than we do. 
 That, with her, would mean very much. There's 
 a great deal of wealth and culture in Montpelier. 
 It's a fine old French town from which she hails. 
 Who knows? It may be that her people are the 
 best of all." 
 
 "Papa, you're joking ! You know very well that 
 If her people were not something to be ashamed 
 of, they'd have been at her wedding; or, better still, 
 she'd have been married at her father's house in 
 stead of in a boarding-house parlor. Of course, 
 the boarding-house belongs to her aunt, and it's 
 
 [21]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 common. Still, it must be better than her own 
 home, only twenty miles away. I would like, just 
 for my own satisfaction, to have a peep at her own 
 home, and her father and mother." 
 
 "It isn't so far away. Why don't you go and 
 see them?" Paul asked. "Go incog. Take some 
 other name. Play you're a girl who went to school 
 with or to Frances." 
 
 "Oh! I will! I'll be Miss Jones, Brown, or 
 Robinson! I'll be a book agent. Perhaps Mrs. 
 Caylor will patronize me. Frances has several sub 
 scription books in her collection." 
 
 "How jolly that would be !" and Paul laughed, 
 while the spasms in his throat seemed to be quelled 
 by his merriment. 
 
 "But what would Dan say, if he knew it?" Lois 
 said. 
 
 "He ought to say 'thank you' to anybody who 
 would look up matters that he should have inquired 
 into before he married the girl," said Mr. Drayton. 
 "It was my understanding, until just before the 
 marriage, that Frances was an orphan, and had 
 been provided for by this aunt." 
 
 "It was the understanding we all had," said Mrs. 
 Drayton. "Really, I don't know how much or how 
 little Dan knew of the family, but he had always 
 been so capable of taking care of his own affairs, I 
 never thought of inquiring closely. I never dreamed 
 of him going into marriage in such blindfolded fash- 
 
 [22]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 ion. Long before there was an engagement be 
 tween them he showed me a picture of Frances, 
 grouped with some of the members of this school. 
 He was acquainted slightly with all." 
 
 "By the way, mother," Paul asked, "how did 
 Dan come to have so much time in Salem?" 
 
 "You remember he assisted a law firm in a case 
 there. After that was over, of course Frances was 
 the attraction." 
 
 "Oh, yes, I remember." 
 
 "Dan used to be amused by my reading of the 
 photographs of his acquaintances whom I never 
 saw. He showed me this group, of which Frances 
 was one, and asked me, in a boyish way, 'What 
 about them ? Which one is my girl ?' I read their 
 faces, without knowing their names till later. I 
 said of Frances : 'This girl is secretive.' Dan said: 
 'Yes, I think probably Miss Caylor is inclined to 
 be reticent.' I told him that was not the word. 
 She was secretive in the strongest sense of the 
 term." 
 
 "Yes; and mamma, the real reason why she's so 
 pugnacious is that she's determined to make a show 
 of superiority. See the way she's treated our old 
 est and best friends ! Oh, I'm going to find out 
 her origin, now you see if I don't! I'll play no 
 tricks, mamma you needn't shake your head. I'll 
 go sketching in the neighborhood of Montpelier. 
 That's what Paul and I'll do next summer." 
 
 03]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "Now that won't be bad at all," said Mr. Dray- 
 ton. "There's beautiful scenery, two or three small 
 lakes where there's fine fishing, and many other at 
 tractions in the county. We'll make up a party. 
 There are club houses and hotels near the lakes, 
 and we'll ask Frances to join us. I'm quite with 
 you, girlie. I think we can make this still hunt 
 for Dan's relations-in-law quite interesting and 
 plausible." 
 
 [24]
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 LAURA and Lois Drayton were walking leisurely 
 along one of the most beautiful streets of the town. 
 Maple trees of a quarter century's growth lined the 
 street, shading the walks and a wide border of the 
 driveway. The girlish mother and her girl sister- 
 in-law trundled the cab of baby Fred ahead of 
 them, picking dandelion blossoms from the grassy 
 borders to keep his restless fingers busy. The two 
 were deeply engrossed with their subject, but they 
 were very congenial, and conversation never 
 dragged between them. 
 
 "Has mamma said anything to Dan about this 
 political effort?" 
 
 "No, I guess not, but she's going to. It'll be of 
 no use Dan'll do as Frances says." 
 
 "Yes, I suppose so. Such a shame, knowing, as 
 she dees, why mamma feels so strongly in the mat 
 ter Look! Who's that coming out of Mrs. 
 
 Dever's door? It's the first time I've seen a sign 
 of life at that house! What a graceful figure!" 
 
 They were passing a house that was surrounded 
 by wide lawns, old trees, and much ragged shrub-
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 bery. About the borders of the ground there were 
 the remains of what had been beds of flowers. The 
 lawns were neglected, and strewn with the with 
 ered grass of many seasons. The walks were un- 
 swept, and overgrown with lichen, and about the 
 whole place there was an air of neglect and decay. 
 The house itself, with closed window-blinds, might 
 have been unoccupied, but there was that certain 
 air about it that told, in spite of forbidding appear 
 ances, that human creatures were within. 
 
 In the back part, on the second story, two or three 
 of the faded green blinds were bowed, and a tiny 
 plume of blue smoke from an unobtrusive chimney 
 told of a slow wood fire. 
 
 As Laura spoke, Lois half stopped, and looked 
 toward the house. Her fair, sensitive face flushed 
 and faded by turns as she said: 
 
 "Surely, that's Nan ! Poor, dear Nan ! I won 
 der what has happened to bring her home?" 
 
 So intent was Lois that she stopped and stared 
 at the figure coming down the steps of the veranda. 
 
 By her action the veiled woman seemed to un 
 derstand that she was observed. She turned ab 
 ruptly into a narrow walk that led to a side gate, 
 and passed from view amongst the shrubbery. 
 
 "What does it mean?" Laura asked as they re 
 sumed their walk. 
 
 "You've heard us speak of Anna Dever?" 
 
 "Yes; the daughter of the queer recluse who 
 [26]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 lives here. Let me see, what was it Mrs. Ames 
 told me? The girl ran away, or married against 
 her mother's wishes. Was that it?" 
 
 "Yes. At least she ran away. Nan was so beau 
 tiful! Do you know, we thought Dan liked her 
 pretty well ; but you know Dan. He's good-looking 
 and entirely up-to-date. He was always popular 
 with all the girls, and he and Nan had known each 
 other ever since we were all children. Let's see, 
 it's about four years since she disappeared, in the 
 usual romantic way, leaving a note to say that she 
 and Jack Hammel loved each other, and would be 
 married by the time they were missed. Letters 
 have come, so the boys at the post office told Dan, 
 for Mrs. Dever, but it is not known certainly that 
 they were from Nan. It is known, however, that 
 no mail has gone from here to her. Everybody 
 knows that Jack Hammel was not allowed to enter 
 Mrs. Dever's house, nor Nan to go out with him, 
 but in spite of that they met sometimes, and man 
 aged to plan an elopement." 
 
 u Did Dan mind it?" 
 
 "In a way, yes; but I think he was piqued at 
 the way Nan had treated him making him a decoy 
 duck, you see. He and Nan had for some time 
 been members of the Stillwater Dancing Club, and 
 for several terms he had been in the habit of tak 
 ing her to dances and seeing her home. Mrs. 
 Dever was always very kind to him. She's a proud, 
 [27]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 exclusive woman, and had never permitted Nan to 
 go out with any of the boys, as most of the girls did, 
 even while they were still in short dresses. She 
 always went with Nan herself. At first, and for 
 quite a long time, Dan walked home with both. 
 Then he'd call for them to go. It happened, one 
 evening, Mrs. Dever had to go somewhere to meet 
 a church committee, or something, and Dan was 
 left to take Nan home alone. So, gradually, the 
 two were allowed to go and come as they pleased. 
 They had been to a club dance on that particular 
 last evening, and on their return Mrs. Dever re 
 ceived them, as usual. Everything was as usual. 
 Next morning, while we were at breakfast, Mrs. 
 Dever's Polly, who has been with her so many years 
 that she has no other name that I ever heard, came 
 to ask if Dan was at home, and if he was, to come 
 and see Mrs. Dever at once. So in the course of 
 the day we learned that Miss Nan had disap 
 peared." 
 
 "Had no one suspected that she and Hammel 
 were lovers?" 
 
 "Oh, yes; but they were never known to meet, 
 excepting at parties, and places where there was 
 no privacy, and occasionally they were seen on the 
 street together. There isn't now, and I guess there 
 never was, a girl in Stillwater who could create a 
 greater sensation by running away with a lover than 
 did Anna Dever ; and people who know her mother 
 [28]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 best have not been in the least surprised that she 
 has made a hermit of herself." 
 
 "She's been a widow a long time, hasn't she?" 
 
 "Yes ; that is, she's supposed to be a widow. Mr. 
 Dever went away on a business trip oh, long ago, 
 and never came back. It is supposed that he was 
 murdered. Mrs. Dever has never lost faith in 
 him. She always said that if he was alive he would 
 surely come home." 
 
 "Was this man Hammel nice?" 
 
 "N-o, not nice. Jack was handsome, in a sort 
 of brigandish way, tall, with dark hair, big brown 
 eyes, and heavy dark mustache. I never fancied 
 him especially. He always gave me the impression 
 that he had but one suit of underwear." 
 
 Laura laughed. "Why? Wasn't he of cleanly 
 appearance?" 
 
 "Y-e-s, but I had the impression, a sort of 
 squeamish feeling, that the appearance was all. I 
 never liked to dance with him. In some ways he 
 was too familiar. Dan said I was cranky, and like 
 an old maid, and lots of things like that; but one 
 day Jack happened to join me on the street, and 
 walk to the gate with me, and Boss Dan was quite 
 sour about it asked me if Hammel had got a new 
 suit of underwear, etc. You see, nobody really 
 knew anything about him. He said, in a large, re 
 served sort of way, that his people lived in Chicago. 
 For all that he told, he might as well have located 
 [29]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 them in Jerusalem. Sometimes he drank too much. 
 Still, in many ways he was agreeable, and most of 
 the young folks liked him. He was a salesman in 
 Purdy's store, and was quite satisfactory, so they 
 told papa." 
 
 They stopped at Laura's gate. "Good-bye, sweet 
 heart! Kiss auntie," said Lois, as she stooped over 
 the child. 
 
 "You won't come in?" 
 
 "No, dear; I must go home. Mamma hasn't 
 been quite well lately. Come to the club meeting 
 
 to-morrow Oh! how do?" and there was a 
 
 quick rise of color in the dainty face as Lois raised 
 her head from over Fred to greet a young man who 
 was not handsome in the brigandish fashion she 
 had described. 
 
 "How do you do, Mrs. Drayton?" the young 
 man said; "and how is the small captain?" stooping 
 to pet the child. "You happy fellow," he contin 
 ued, "to have two such attendants, while I walk 
 alone! May I go your way, Miss Drayton?" 
 
 "Certainly; I'll be glad of your company." And 
 the two walked away together. 
 
 Laura looked after them, a smile breaking on 
 her lips and a twinkle in her eyes. She leaned over 
 the cab. 
 
 "What oo fink, Mistah Fred? Little oo's going 
 to have very nice uncle one of these fine days." 
 [30]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "Unca Dan nice, Unca Paul nice," lisped the 
 baby. 
 
 "Yes, and Unca Phil Hale's nice, too, isn't he?" 
 
 "Nes, Unca P'il Hale nice, too. Baby dot many 
 uncas four, five, sic uncas." 
 
 That evening the topic of conversation in many 
 of the homes in Stillwater was the return of Anna 
 Dever; or was she Anna Hammel? Who could 
 tell? It had been a nine-days' wonder when she 
 went away four years ago, and now that she had 
 returned to her old home it would be wondered 
 about until the reason of her coming was known. 
 Had she been invited home? If not, would her 
 mother receive her? 
 
 Next day, at the meeting of "The Daughters of 
 Endeavor," it was whispered about to the exclusion 
 of all other news. Many times during the adjust 
 ment of business the gavel of the president came 
 down sharply to still the confusion. When the 
 paper of the day was in course of reading, the whis 
 pering grew so loud as at times to seriously annoy 
 the reader. 
 
 All this talking was to some purpose. The mys 
 tery was solved. When the affairs of the Dever 
 family were talked over in Stillwater that evening 
 it was known beyond a doubt that the returned 
 wanderer was staying at the Ross House. She had 
 registered as Anna Dever Hammel. So she had 
 not been sent for. Moreover, a certain reliable
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 person had seen her enter her mother's grounds, 
 stand at the door for some time, and then go away. 
 Her mother had not received her. When she re 
 turned to the hotel she was perfectly calm, had 
 eaten her dinner with apparent relish, and expressed 
 satisfaction with her room. Much of this was given 
 out by Mrs. Marks and her daughter, who also 
 boarded at the Ross House. 
 
 Next day the "Ladies' Own" held its regular 
 session in the parlors of Mrs. Dan Drayton. Here 
 again there was a confusion of tongues, and ex 
 changing of news and notes and views gathered 
 about the home-coming of Anna Dever. It was 
 declared by numbers of her old friends that she 
 should be called upon and taken into their midst 
 again. 
 
 "But how will that suit the mother?" Frances 
 Drayton asked. 
 
 "Why should anyone care whether it suits her 
 or not? She has closed her doors in the faces of 
 all her old friends and neighbors," said Mrs. 
 Marks, president of the club. 
 
 "Of course," Frances assented; "but then one 
 always likes to keep on the side of the respectable 
 portion of the family." 
 
 "I see no reason why Nan is not as respectable 
 as her mother," said Lois. 
 
 "Oh, my! After a clandestine marriage?" and 
 Frances looked shocked. 
 
 [32]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "Dear me !" said Mrs. Marks. "The manner of 
 the marriage was not to be condemned. It was 
 the man that made it disreputable. Many roman 
 tic young people run away to be married, and some 
 families are glad of it. It saves the expense of 
 a trousseau and a wedding. I hope my girls will 
 take it into their heads to elope and be married." 
 And then Mrs. Marks took the streamered gavel, 
 rapped for order, and the business of the day went 
 on. 
 
 [33]
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE Draytons, as a family, were very sociable. 
 Their family dinners and teas were of weekly oc 
 currence, and Frances, the newest member, had 
 taken her share of the functions, though it must 
 be confessed that if she had plainly said she would 
 rather not, it might have been more comfortable 
 sometimes. The difficulty was, not one of her hus 
 band's family could ever reckon with exactness on 
 the way they would be received. The hostess might 
 be all smiles and suavity, the perfect housewife wel 
 coming her husband's relations. Again, she might 
 be sour and formal, yet scarcely formal enough to 
 Be polite. 
 
 On these occasions she was invariably in a quar 
 relsome mood with Dan. 
 
 If he resented her innuendoes, it was not in the 
 presence of the family, save by frowns. 
 
 No one resented openly anything that Frances 
 might say or do, but Lois. When Frances and 
 Laura exchanged opinions on household matters, 
 social usage, or fashions of dress, Frances always 
 strove to belittle anything that Laura might say. 
 [34]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 She talked down to her as is the manner of city 
 people, sometimes, to country cousins. In this, too, 
 Frances was needlessly brusque, and many times 
 a harsh laugh or a disparaging remark, roughly 
 spoken, brought the color to Laura's face and the 
 tears to her eyes. 
 
 But Lois! One of Basil's familiar names for 
 her was "The Masked Battery." Usually, she was 
 all sweetness and sisterly gentleness with Frances, 
 and she insisted that there was not the least affec 
 tation in it; it was right and proper, and quite in 
 line with her inclinations, to be upon the very best 
 terms with her brother's wife. But if Frances tres 
 passed on all the laws of relationship, to say noth 
 ing of ordinary politeness, must all the family sit 
 silent as so many clams whose shell had been closed 
 by the weight of the dignity of this new relation ? 
 
 "Frances," Lois said on one occasion, "poses as 
 an educator; but one of the faults of the average 
 educator is that he or she seems always of the nature 
 of a crawfish. In their anxiety to get other people 
 forward they invariably go backward themselves. 
 They associate so continually with their juniors and 
 those who have not worn out quite so many text 
 books as they have, they fall into the habit of think 
 ing there are no other grown folks about. They 
 try to treat the whole world as a kindergarten or 
 a ragged school. Frances squanders too much time 
 in trying to impress us ordinary Draytons with her 
 
 [35]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 superiority of finish, as if we wouldn't have sense 
 enough to find it out if 'twas really there." 
 
 After this meeting of the club in her parlors, at 
 which her mother-in-law, Laura, and Lois had been 
 present by invitation, there was a family dinner. 
 Frances was not in one of her rare amiable moods. 
 No one could give any guess as to the cause of her 
 ruffled temper. She had been in fine spirits all the 
 afternoon, but as soon as she was alone with the 
 family she showed unmistakably that she was in 
 a surly humor. 
 
 She was barely, and icily civil to Mrs. Drayton ; 
 only loftily conscious of Laura's presence; down 
 right snappish to Lois, and little Fred was snubbed 
 until his mother felt if it were not for making a 
 scene outright she would take her baby and leave 
 the house. Frances had not sufficient acumen to see 
 that she should not thus have trampled on the feel 
 ings of people who had been bred above such 
 behavior. 
 
 Through it all, while Mrs. Drayton sat, hurt and 
 indignant, and Laura ready to cry, Lois remained 
 serene. She inveigled Fred outdoors and walked 
 all about the enclosure, from the door to the gate 
 and back again, talking, laughing, and running 
 races with him, till her father and brothers ap 
 peared; then went into the house with them. 
 
 She could not refrain from whispering to Basil : 
 "The madam's got her war-paint on. Nobody 
 [36]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 knows why. But wait ! I won't say anything ex 
 cepting in Dan's presence." 
 
 Basil laughed, drew Lois within one arm, while 
 he carried Fred on the other, and so entered the 
 parlor. He felt the chill of the atmosphere at 
 once, and he saw that Dan felt it, too. Still, he 
 greeted Frances affectionately, even stooping to kiss 
 her, and remarking on the becomingness of her 
 dress, and adding: "I'm the fellow who kisses all 
 the girls," and followed with a caress for his mother 
 and a tweak of Laura's nose. 
 
 The dinner was good, well cooked, and well 
 served ; but the manner of the hostess could not have 
 been more forbidding. All through the dinner she 
 never spoke one pleasant or cordial word. Apropos 
 of nothing, she mentioned one of the members of 
 the club who had reproved her daughter openly that 
 afternoon. The girl, who was recording secretary, 
 and sat by a small table, had absently tapped a 
 drinking-glass with the metal of her pencil, where 
 upon the mother had said, "Mary, stop that!" And 
 Frances added: "I never witnessed anything so 
 ill-bred. A girl of her age and position to do a 
 thing like that in a parlor!" 
 
 "But," Lois said, "she was absent-minded, and 
 there was nothing being said. Everybody was wait 
 ing for everybody else to say something about 'the 
 paper, and no one seemed to notice the tapping 
 until the mother's reproof drew the attention of all 
 [37]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 in the room to the offence, and the poor girl was 
 50 embarrassed." 
 
 "So she ought to be, the ill-bred creature !" 
 
 "It seemed to me that the mother made the great 
 er breach of the two," said Mrs. Drayton. 
 
 "What was she to do?" Frances snapped. "What 
 was anyone to do? Someone must teach ill-man 
 nered people, or endure their blunders." 
 
 There was a pause, and Lois shrugged her shoul 
 ders and drew her straight brows to a meeting as 
 she glanced at Basil. "I suppose so," she said in 
 differently, "but how have the trainers been trained ? 
 Mary's action was not unpleasantly noticeable, 
 while well, it doesn't matter!" And turning to 
 Dan: "How is the log-rolling coming on?" 
 
 "All right, I guess," he answered drily. 
 
 "What new slang is that?" Frances asked. 
 
 "That's not really slang," Dan answered, and 
 smiled at his wife. "Surely you are deep enough 
 in the clubs to understand political terms. Lois 
 meant to ask concerning my prospects for a nomina 
 tion next week." 
 
 "Indeed! If you fail to get this nomination 
 through any lack of work, I feel as though I never 
 could forgive you," Frances said severely. 
 
 "Oh, my dear," Mrs. Drayton said, "how can 
 you wish him to have that office? Of course, a 
 nomination, considering the strength of the party, 
 means election. There's nothing else in the whole 
 
 [38]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 list of offices to which Dan might aspire that would 
 not be preferable." 
 
 "I do not see it so," Frances answered icily. 
 "That is in Dan's line. He has some reputation, 
 and the office of county prosecutor will surely add 
 to it. Then the income will be certain." 
 
 "But Dan has plenty of business now, and there's 
 no schedule of prices to control a lawyer's fees. Of 
 course, these are governed by a man's experience 
 and reputation. He can put his own price on his 
 time and his services. Did I hear you say," turning 
 to Dan, "that in case of accepting the nomination 
 you would turn your business over to Mr. Hale?" 
 
 "I'll be obliged to let someone have it, and I 
 like Hale. I think he'd be altogether honorable." 
 
 Frances shot a sharp glance at Dan. 
 
 "Probably you would better arrange for some 
 leisure, that you may enjoy the growing attractions 
 of Stillwater, and also have time for the renewal 
 of old friendships." 
 
 "I don't know what you have in mind, I'm sure," 
 Dan said, with a heavy frown. 
 
 The family had grown to feel no surprise at these 
 covert hints and thrusts from Frances. They were 
 likely to come into any conversation. Sometimes 
 they were understood, oftener not, and Basil had 
 discovered that usually Dan knew ; but now he was 
 sure that his brother was mystified with the rest. 
 [39]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 There was a moment's pause, then Lois, with the 
 most ingenuous air in the world, said : 
 
 "Frances* remark about the attractions of Still- 
 water sets me thinking. Seems to me, we Draytons 
 are not very public-spirited. We haven't added 
 anything that I can name to the attractions of the 
 town for some time 'cepting," and she turned 
 to playfully caress Fred, "'cepting this wee boy of 
 ours. He's an attraction." 
 
 Basil fidgeted in his chair, said "Ahem !" and no 
 one but himself and Lois knew that her skirts had 
 been lightly kicked across the space under the table ; 
 but Frances understood the remark, and her face 
 was red as flame. 
 
 "Then, Dan," said Mr. Drayton, "if you are 
 quite determined on this political move, I think we 
 must each and all put up special petitions that there 
 may be no murderers to prosecute during your term 
 of office." 
 
 "I hope he'll do thoroughly whatever comes for 
 him to do," Frances said severely. "I despise 
 namby-pamby men." 
 
 "I, too, approve of thoroughness," Mrs. Dray- 
 ton said quietly, "and I've never suspected Dan of 
 the least negligence in his work; but, if he's elected 
 to the office of prosecutor, and in the case of the 
 worst happening, I do not see how he can consci 
 entiously live up to the requirements of the laws." 
 
 "You see, mother," Dan said deliberately, "when 
 
 [40]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 I'm prosecutor I shall not be working for con 
 science's sake, but to do the will of my constitu 
 ents." 
 
 u Oh, Dan !" from Mrs. Drayton, and the father 
 laid his salad fork softly on the plate and stared 
 at his son with narrowing eyes, as if seeing him 
 in a strong, blinding light. 
 
 Laura spoke: "That's a good joke, Dan; quite 
 a take-off, really, but I believe I don't want Basil 
 to go into politics. I'd rather he'd keep to his scis 
 sors and tape-measure." 
 
 "Of course," Frances rejoined loftily, "people 
 who are not ambitious had better keep to trade. 
 One can't possibly have any enthusiasm for mercan 
 tile work. There may be some money in it, and if 
 there's a great deal, it's all very well; but I want 
 Dan to make a position for himself and me, and 
 plenty of money besides. This office will be a long 
 step in the right direction." 
 
 "I'm not so sure of that, Frances," said Mr. 
 Drayton. "There are many things to be consid 
 ered when a man goes into politics. Dan knows 
 how we feel in this matter. He knows, too, that 
 we would so much rather have had him in the leg 
 islature, working for the repeal of certain laws, 
 than to put himself in position to carry them out. 
 I think that would have advertised him quite as 
 much as the other, and in a much loftier, more hu 
 mane way. It would have given him much experi-
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 ence that can be attained in no other position, as 
 well as a wide acquaintance through the State." 
 
 "All this," Frances said, in the manner she might 
 have used in speaking to a class of half-grown girls, 
 "granting that he should be elected to the legisla 
 ture." 
 
 "That's superfluous, and proves how little you 
 understand the' matter!" and Mr. Drayton's voice 
 was sharp, telling plainly that his patience was sore 
 ly tried. "The one office is as accessible as the 
 other, as Dan is well aware. He knows, too, the 
 different feelings we have in regard to the two posi 
 tions, and he knows why we feel as we do." 
 
 "Yes, I suppose so," Frances replied flippantly; 
 "but I think it's all wrong for a man to allow fam 
 ily prejudice to hamper him in his way of life, so 
 long as he means to be honest in the discharge of 
 his duty." 
 
 "Well, my dear girl, if you only see it as family 
 prejudice, it is useless to say anything more. Dan, 
 that is the word you used the other day." 
 
 "Yes, I did. It seems Frances and I agree on 
 some things But, I say, Fan," he added, jocu 
 larly, "I'm afraid I'm going to lose a vote or two 
 right at home." 
 
 The party arose from the table as Frances said 
 breezily: "Perhaps, but that will not materially 
 affect your party majority." 
 
 [42]
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 MRS. DRAYTON said they would go home at 
 once. The weather looked threatening, and Paul 
 had been complaining. She did not know that Paul 
 was something of a diplomat. Within a very short 
 time after he became brother-in-law to Frances Cay- 
 lor he was convinced that she disliked him. He 
 would not grieve his mother by saying anything 
 about it, but Aunty Cleo understood it. So did 
 Lois. 
 
 Paul, after one dinner and one tea at the new 
 home of his brother Dan, found on future like oc 
 casions that he was not quite well, or something very 
 pressing would keep him at home, even if the urgent 
 matter was nothing more than some favorite dish 
 that Cleo had arranged, at his request, to prepare 
 for him that day. On this evening his father, moth 
 er, and sister came home early, to find the com 
 plaining one in a corner of the kitchen, at a little 
 table, daintily set, Bett waiting upon him, and Zeke 
 and Cleo entertaining him with stories of the old 
 days in the South. In answer to his mother's anx 
 ious inquiries, Paul assured her that he was per- 
 
 [43]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 fectly well now, excepting he had eaten too many 
 apple fritters. 
 
 Basil and Laura lingered, fearing to seem to feel 
 the chill of Frances' behavior by going away sooner 
 than usual. The brothers, with Fred, walked about 
 the small lawn as they smoked. The two young 
 wives were alone together in the parlor that looked 
 over the lawn to the street. 
 
 "Mother Drayton makes me tired," Frances said 
 scornfully. "This sentimentalizing about the pros 
 ecutor's work is all bosh!" 
 
 "I don't see it in that light," Laura answered 
 gently. "It seems to me that if ever a woman had 
 reason to object to the laws relating to the death 
 penalty, Ma Drayton has." 
 
 "Why, did some of her people suffer it?" 
 
 Laura shivered. "Frances! You know! 
 haven't I told you ?" 
 
 "You've never told me anything that would war 
 rant this silly opposition to Dan's prospects." 
 
 "But you surely know I'm very sure I told you 
 why Paul is so unlike his brothers." 
 
 "Somebody maybe 'twas you 'twas you or 
 Dan told me something about some unpleasant 
 pre-natal impression. I don't remember just what 
 it was ; but really, that continual gasping and chok 
 ing of his makes me sick. I'm glad he doesn't come 
 here with the rest of the family." 
 
 "It is most unfortunate; but Paul has been so 
 [44]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 kind and brotherly to me he's so gentle, and af 
 fectionate, and the family hold to each other so 
 devotedly, I would not hurt any one of them for 
 any price; and I've grown not to mind this pe 
 culiarity. I feel so much sympathy for Ma Dray- 
 ton, too, that no matter if I found Paul objection 
 able, I'd conceal it." 
 
 "I don't believe in so much self-sacrifice; and I 
 think his mother must have been very weak and 
 foolish to allow anything to affect her in such a de 
 gree as to ruin her child." 
 
 "On the contrary, Ma Drayton must have been 
 very strong in her feelings and sympathies, or the 
 child would not have been affected. You know, 
 she's anything in the world than a weak woman. 
 Her judgment is so clear, her mind so active, her 
 experience so broad. Really, I find her the most 
 liberally educated woman I ever knew." 
 
 "What college graduated her?" 
 
 "Now, truly," Laura answered, laughing, "I've 
 never heard. I think most probably she never went 
 to college at all." 
 
 There was silence for a moment. Then Frances 
 asked : 
 
 "What had she to do with the execution that so 
 affected her?" 
 
 "Nothing. That was the grief of it that she 
 could do nothing for the woman." 
 [45]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "Oh, it was a woman ! I've never known of a 
 woman being hanged in this State." 
 
 "No, it was not here; it was East, or not far 
 from the old home, and, of course, over twenty 
 years ago. Paul's past twenty-one." 
 
 "What had she done the woman?" 
 
 "She had killed her young stepdaughter." 
 
 "Such a fool as a woman is to marry a widower, 
 especially one with children ! Had she been mar 
 ried long?" 
 
 "Two or three years, I think." 
 
 "Had she children of her own?" 
 
 "Yes, one a mere baby." 
 
 "What becomes of children orphaned in that 
 way, I wonder?" 
 
 "In most cases, I suppose, they have relations 
 who care for them, or they are wards of the State." 
 
 "This one, of course, had its father." 
 
 "Yes, and he gave the baby to its aunt, the moth 
 er's sister; and she, with her husband, and several 
 children of their own, and this little unfortunate, 
 went away into the Northwest, or Southwest, I 
 don't remember which. Of course, one can easily 
 understand she would not want to stay where she 
 was known, after a tragedy like that in the fam 
 ily." 
 
 "Was there any doubt of the woman's guilt?" 
 
 "None whatever; but there were many memo 
 rials and petitions, signed mostly by women, sent to 
 [46]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 the governor of the State, asking for a commuta 
 tion to life imprisonment. But after sending a com 
 mittee of medical men to pronounce upon her as 
 to sanity, he declined to interfere with the ver 
 dict." 
 
 "I don't see why women should expect to be 
 shown more clemency than men. They know what 
 the laws are, and they know the penalties." 
 
 "Yes; but human creatures can be very provok 
 ing, sometimes, and very weak, too. I believe as 
 Ma Drayton does : if the proper provocation is of 
 fered, any one of us is capable of doing, in some 
 form, anything that has ever been done." 
 
 "Well, since women are clamoring for all the 
 rights under the laws, that men have, I don't see 
 why they should ask for special immunities." 
 
 "Perhaps, after women have all the rights that 
 men have they'll not ask for immunities, they'll 
 simply vote for them, and have them for men as 
 well as themselves." 
 
 "I suppose so; but I, for one, would not care to 
 vote. I think it's only mannish women who do." 
 
 Laura smiled, though her eyes flashed. "That 
 depends on what makes a woman mannish. To me, 
 it looks more or less mannish, or at least unwom 
 anly, for a woman to fail to be a mother. She proves 
 her incompleteness." 
 
 "Of course; and these are the women who want 
 the ballot." 
 
 [47]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "Not in my circle of acquaintances. I know 
 women, very good sort, too, in a general way, but 
 narrow and selfish, who say publicly that they would 
 not care to vote on any subject. Two of this type 
 live here in Stillwater. They've never made a 
 home for their husbands. Neither one has ever 
 borne a child. One married a widower with three 
 or four boys and girls, for whom she has never 
 lifted a finger. They've been brought up in schools 
 and in the homes of relations. As openly as she de 
 clares her prejudice against the ballot for women, 
 she says that she married her husband, but not his 
 incumbrances." 
 
 Frances laughed. "That's a fair statement, at 
 least. I guess I know her, and she's simply elegant 
 the swellest woman I've met in Stillwater." 
 
 "Quite elegant, I'll admit. No doubt you've met 
 the other one, too, also childless; and she thinks 
 it perfectly shocking that women should want to 
 run the country through the ballot-box. She and 
 her husband live in some rooms, somewhere down 
 town, and go out, here, there, and everywhere for 
 meals. She tells, as if it was something to boast 
 of, that when they have anything to eat in their 
 rooms it is the husband who prepares it. This is 
 usually in the morning, and she only gets out of 
 bed at his repeated solicitations to go and eat the 
 breakfast that he has cooked. To me, these are 
 samples of mannish women, while real women, the 
 [48]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 mothers of sons and daughters, realize their limi 
 tations under the laws, particularly where the own 
 ership of property, and even of their children, are 
 concerned." 
 
 "I never thought of the matter in that way, nor 
 much in any way. If only the better class of women 
 were allowed to vote but I shouldn't care to go 
 to the polls alongside my kitchen girl, for in 
 stance." 
 
 "You might stand it, as long as Dan has the 
 chance of casting his ballot in company with the 
 colored janitor of the building where his offices are; 
 and I'll wager a doughnut against a big pickled cu 
 cumber that your maid is more intelligent than any 
 man of her social grade in Stillwater." 
 
 "Yes, I've no doubt of that; and generally, wom 
 en's morals are better than men's. Oh, by the way, 
 did you ever know Miss Dever?" 
 
 "Miss Dever? No; I know of her. She went 
 away just a week or so before I came here to live. 
 She's here now, for the first time, it's said, since 
 she was married. Lois and I saw her the other 
 day, leaving her mother's door. At least, Lois said 
 it must be she." 
 
 Frances was about to speak, when, on looking 
 out of the window, she saw Basil and Dan at the 
 gate, and a woman, slender, and young, about to 
 pass, when both men stepped out upon the walk and 
 
 [49]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 greeted her with every appearance of meeting an 
 old friend. 
 
 "I wonder who she is ?" Frances said. 
 
 "Surely that is Miss Dever, or, properly, Mrs. 
 Hammel ! I didn't see her face the other day." 
 
 "She's handsome, isn't she?" 
 
 "Strikingly so. Basil must bring Fred in as soon 
 as she goes on. The air is getting too cool for 
 him." 
 
 Frances watched the beautiful woman at the 
 gate, and her eyes narrowed; her lips were pressed 
 into a straight line of dull red, and her whole body 
 trembled. 
 
 [50]
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 "So YOU met your old sweetheart quite informal 
 ly, did you?" 
 
 "Old sweetheart?" and Dan opened his eyes very 
 wide. "What do you mean ?" 
 
 "Oh, pshaw! How long has she been in town, 
 and what's she here for? Of course you know all 
 about her." 
 
 "You mean Anna Dever Mrs. Hammel? She 
 told me she had been in town a week, and expects to 
 stay for some time longer. She's here to see her 
 mother, I suppose." 
 
 "You suppose ! Why should you suppose to me, 
 when I know you were lovers before she ran away 
 with Hammel?" 
 
 "If you know that Anna and I were lovers, you 
 know a deal more than I do. What put that into 
 your head? I know of Anna's visit here just what 
 she told me at the gate. I knew she was in town; 
 Lois told me she had seen her, and wondered if she 
 had better call upon her. As for any love affair 
 there was between Anna and myself, that's all rot. 
 However did you get that crazy idea ?" 
 
 [51]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "I overheard it talked of this afternoon." 
 
 "Not by any of my folks I" 
 
 Frances elevated her chin, and her voice was 
 sharp. 
 
 "No. 'My folks are very prudent." 
 
 "Frances, a little of such talk will go a long way 
 with me. You've been acting like Old Nick all 
 evening, and I couldn't guess why. Now, out with 
 the whole story ! What was said, and who said it?" 
 
 "So you're bound to force a quarrel, are you ?" 
 
 "Good Lord!" 
 
 Dan walked across the room, into the hall, and 
 back again. He stopped a few feet from his wife. 
 
 "Will you tell me what you've been in a temper 
 about all evening, or will you drop the whole busi 
 ness, and behave as a sane woman should?" 
 
 "There's no use of you denying that you and that 
 woman were lovers !" 
 
 "I see there's no use of it. Have it your own 
 way if you know more about it than I do." 
 
 "Mrs. Harris said to Mrs. Milford it would 
 have been so much better for she called her Nan, 
 if she had married you instead of Hammel." 
 
 Dan merely grunted. "Anybody who ever knew 
 Jack and me would say that. I believe it myself." 
 
 "Oh, you do?" 
 
 "Yes; and I'm not at all conceited. Jack Ham 
 mel was a stick, and I've never had reason to be 
 lieve that he has improved. Four years ago, when 
 
 [52]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 Nan ran away with him, I was scarcely of mar 
 riageable age. Of course, boys of twenty-two do 
 marry, but I had no idea of it, and neither had Nan, 
 that I was aware. There never was the least hint 
 of love between us. We had known each other 
 since childhood. She was only one of the girls 
 in the same school where I was one of the hand 
 somest, as anyone could see. That's all there was 
 of it. We went to the same church, the same dan 
 cing school, and later we were members of the dan 
 cing club. I used to walk home with Nan and her 
 mother. Sometimes Nan and I were left to come 
 and go alone. Mrs. Dever was one of the most 
 careful mothers I ever knew." 
 
 The quarrel subsided as usual. Dan shrank from 
 the acknowledgment that quarrels were growing to 
 be usual, particularly after Frances had met any of 
 his own family. In the first weeks of his married 
 life he thought perhaps Lois and Laura were suffi* 
 ciently childish to purposely vex Frances, but now, 
 after nearly half a year, he knew that this was not 
 the case. He did not like to confess even to him 
 self that it was because of a carking jealousy on 
 the part of Frances. He had married her, well 
 aware, as he had said to Basil and Laura, that she 
 was "not a prize beauty as to face, but her figure 
 was faultless, and her manner simply superb." 
 
 Now, though her face was not homely when at 
 its best, and her figure was round and trim, Dan 
 
 [53]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 was beginning to discover that her superb manner 
 was manner, and nothing more. 
 
 Her behavior was governed by no principle, no 
 law of right, no kindness of heart, no loftiness of 
 soul. 
 
 As time went on, Dan found himself wondering 
 even to find her when not in her good behavior, 
 in a mood to be even ordinarily polite. 
 
 For a month or two, while their own house was 
 being furnished, they had lived at home. Friends 
 of the family, old and young, had called, but not 
 one ever received the slightest acknowledgment of 
 the civility. In vain did Mrs. Drayton and Lois 
 urge, in a kindly way, that Frances go with one or 
 the other, or both, to return these calls. At last, 
 when Dan, in the presence of the family, remon 
 strated, Frances said: "If you must know, then, 
 I'll tell you that I'm not interested in these folks. 
 I'm going to make acquaintances by and by, when 
 I know more of the town, and decide who are worth 
 knowing. I expect you to work with me in this. I 
 want a circle of the very best." 
 
 Nothing was said for a moment. Mrs. Dray- 
 ton, hurt and indignant, left the room. Lois, after 
 waiting for Dan to reply, said indifferently: "Prob 
 ably that will be the better way for you. Now 
 there's Mrs. Keyes, on Minor Street, she runs a 
 boarding-house something like your aunt's at Salem. 
 No doubt you'd find her congenial. Of course, we 
 [54]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 don't know anything about your own home. Prob 
 ably if we did we'd not have made the mistake we 
 have in importuning you to be civil to our friends. 
 Dan, you can leave cards for Mrs. Keyes. You 
 know her in a business way." 
 
 "Now, Lois, where's the use?" Dan said impa 
 tiently. "If Frances doesn't care to meet your 
 friends, or return their calls, why should she?" 
 
 "No reason for it in the world. I was recom 
 mending a person who is not my friend, but who 
 is in the same line of work as your aunt-in-law, and 
 so likely to please Frances." 
 
 "I mean to know people of the very best grade," 
 Frances snapped. 
 
 "Well, those things are largely matters of opin 
 ion. No doubt your aunt and Mrs. Keyes consider 
 themselves second to nobody." 
 
 "My aunt is not obliged to take boarders. She 
 never boards any but teachers and students. That 
 is for the advantage of her children. They get 
 many lessons privately that otherwise they would 
 not have." 
 
 "Of course," Lois answered seriously, but Dan 
 was ready to laugh, angry as he was, at the wicked 
 ness of her eyes. "The analogy grows. I over 
 heard Mrs. Keyes telling in Mrs. Harp's millinery 
 store that she only kept boarders for company. Oh, 
 if ever I find it necessary to work for money, I'll 
 
 [55]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 do it and be honest about it. Why should women 
 be such silly pates?" 
 
 Dan recalled this conversation many times when 
 he found cards of callers of whom he knew noth 
 ing. But Frances must choose her own friends. 
 The difficulty was, it was necessary, in a measure, 
 for her friends to be his, and for this he was scarcely 
 prepared. He found it a little embarrassing, too, 
 sometimes, when he was compelled to close the door 
 in the faces of those he had known and esteemed 
 during all the years of his residence in Stillwatcr. 
 
 Before his marriage, Dan had never given a 
 thought to the social status of his father's family. 
 There had never been any question about it. While 
 not immensely wealthy, the Draytons were amongst 
 the "solid" people of the county. They were un 
 pretentious. The home place, while not so showy 
 as many other houses in the town, looked what it 
 was a home. It was a home that had grown with 
 the years. The furniture, the carpets, the pictures 
 on the walls all were in harmony. 
 
 The library showed itself unmistakably the 
 steady growth of years, the valued treasures of 
 book-loving and home-loving people. 
 
 It was after his marriage that Dan learned to un 
 derstand the word "swell." If a person, an equi 
 page, a house, or a function, met the approval of 
 Frances it was because it was "swell." 
 
 At first the word amused Mrs. Drayton. By and 
 
 [56]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 by it annoyed her. She began to discover that most 
 usually, when Frances used the term, it was to ex 
 press comparison and disapproval of the Drayton 
 family or some of their belongings. 
 
 She saw more plainly, day by day, how different 
 the girl was from anything she could have desired 
 in a wife for her son. She could not understand 
 how it happened that he had been attracted by her. 
 She could see but little that was in the least wom 
 anly or lovable about her; but, as time went on, 
 and she saw that Dan seemed to be the one of the 
 pair most in love, she concluded that possibly it 
 was this very crudeness, this challenging brusque- 
 ness, this patch and veneer of manner, that, by its 
 foreignness to anything he had ever been accus 
 tomed to, had attracted him. 
 
 [57]
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 "THINGS seem to be coming Dan's way, don't 
 they?" 
 
 This was Paul Drayton's remark to his father 
 at the dinner-table one summery day in the first 
 week in June. 
 
 "Yes. Dan has ability, and folks seem to be find 
 ing it out," was the reply. 
 
 "What is it?" Mrs. Drayton asked. 
 
 "The new road has engaged Dan as attorney, at 
 a very liberal salary. There won't be much work, 
 either. The road is short, there's been no trouble, 
 no misunderstanding, that I've ever heard of. It 
 looks like the merest matter of form for the com 
 pany to have a regularly employed attorney." 
 
 "Still, there's always work of a formal kind to 
 be done." 
 
 "Yes, but scarcely enough to warrant this; but 
 it's their own affair, and Dan's. Complications may 
 arise." 
 
 "I so wish that Dan would give up the idea of 
 this office he has in mind," and Mrs. Drayton 
 sighed. 
 
 "No use of hoping for that. He's committed to 
 
 [58]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 the party, and the convention meets on the tenth, 
 Don't worry about it. We've said all that we can. 
 Dan has the wrong influence at home. No doubt 
 Frances thinks it'll be quite 'swell' for Dan to 
 hold office." 
 
 "Father," said Paul, "I don't believe I can vote 
 for Dan; will you?" 
 
 Mr. Drayton laughed. "No, Paul, I'll not vote 
 for Dan, and I'll be glad if you don't. I'm sure 
 Basil will scratch, too. It will make no difference 
 in the outcome he'll be elected without us." 
 
 "Papa, about this road," Lois asked. "It goes 
 through Montpelier, doesn't it?" 
 
 "Yes; it gives Stillwater direct connection with 
 several towns that we've heretofore had to make 
 roundabout trips to reach. Are you going to Mont 
 pelier?" 
 
 "Now hear that ! Who was it, only a few days 
 ago, helping me in plans for a summer outing in 
 and about Montpelier?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, I remember!" Mr. Drayton said, 
 laughing. "Yes, it'll be quite convenient. Now let 
 us understand the matter; are we going for the 
 pleasure of the scenery, for sketching, for rest and 
 recreation primarily, or is our first object to discover 
 Dan's relations-in-law ?" 
 
 "Let me see," Lois said thoughtfully. "The 
 first idea was to find out what Frances had up her 
 sleeve." 
 
 [59]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "Halt there!" Paul interrupted. "No slang; 
 Frances doesn't understand it. Go on now, in plain 
 English." 
 
 "No, I won't amend it. We understand, if Fran 
 ces doesn't. I think we'll keep our first idea in 
 sight. I think I'm a reincarnation of Columbus 
 same ilk. I do so enjoy tours of discovery 
 of strange people. If we rest ourselves, get fash 
 ionably sun-burned and mosquito-bitten, or make 
 sketches, we'll put these into the lists of by-prod 
 ucts of the trip." 
 
 "Lois is using a voluminous vocabulary for just 
 a girl. Is it the clubs, mother?" Paul asked. 
 
 "Why not?" Lois answered for herself. "Within 
 the last club year we've explained, by the aid of 
 several standard encyclopedias, all the mines in 
 the world, in two thirty-minute papers. In two 
 other papers we disposed of the religions of the 
 Orientals and the modern interpretation of them. 
 Shakespeare we squandered a half hour with, and 
 Goethe and Schiller we parcelled together." 
 
 "Such a system of cramming!" said Mrs. 
 Drayton. 
 
 "Oh, mamma, we don't hurt ourselves cram 
 ming! We touch our subjects lightly." 
 
 "Yes, and Lois fires out her surplus ideas at us," 
 from Paul. 
 
 "You don't think we're showing any symptoms
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 of paresis, or other brain trouble, from absorp 
 tion?" Mr. Drayton asked. 
 
 "You must do as I do, papa give your extra 
 ideas to somebody else. Auntie Cleo said the other 
 day: 'Girls des learn new t'ings every day, an' done 
 fo'git de old ones, an' leave 'em layin' roun' fo' 
 workin' folks. I'se done got my ole haid stuffed 
 full o' what Missy Lois done fo'got.' ' 
 
 "That's not the case with you, is it, Bett?" Mr. 
 Drayton asked, as in answer to the faintest tap of 
 the bell the girl came from her corner to clear the 
 table. 
 
 "No, sir; I hope not. I try to keep up with the 
 times. What good would all my schoolin' do if I 
 didn't?" 
 
 "That's true, too; and you go to clubs some 
 times?" 
 
 "Yes, sir; our club's fine. Next year it'll be 
 better'n ever." 
 
 "What's the name of your club, Bett?" Paul 
 asked. 
 
 "It's name's 'Onward and Upward.' ' 
 
 "Hi ! That's appropriate, I'll believe." 
 
 "But, dear, about this road," Mrs. Drayton 
 said. "Dan cannot engage in other business, nor 
 even hold the business of the road while he's prose 
 cutor, can he?" 
 
 "He's about to conclude arrangements with 
 Hale, I think. That will make plain sailing for 
 [61]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 him. The partnership will be in due form, then 
 in due form dissolved, with an understanding. Men 
 do these things, and, where both are honorable, 
 there's no trouble. Hale will simply take posses 
 sion of Dan's interests, his clients, present and to 
 come, and no doubt he and Dan will occasionally 
 hold consultations." 
 
 It was a few days later that, one morning, Lois, 
 starting out on an errand, remembered some maga 
 zines she had promised to Frances. 
 
 "I'll take these with me, and get all the dis 
 agreeable work over in one trip." 
 
 "Lois !" Mrs. Drayton said reprovingly. 
 
 "Never mind, mamma, dear," Lois laughed. 
 "One must be free to speak the truth sometimes." 
 
 "Don't you speak the truth with Frances?" 
 
 "In a way, yes; but you see it's a sort of fib we're 
 all living with her. If she was not one of the fam 
 ily I'm sure we'd never speak to her nor even 
 know her." 
 
 "Perhaps if she was not one of the family she'd 
 be more agreeable." 
 
 "Perhaps. She'll not have the chance to be dis 
 agreeable to me for very long this morning, I'm 
 happy to say," and she went briskly down the walk, 
 amongst the flitting lights and shadows of the over 
 arching trees. 
 
 [62]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 Mrs. Drayton watched her until she passed out 
 of the gate. 
 
 "Seems lak no gal 'at evah comes hyah's half nice 
 lak Missy Lois." 
 
 Mrs. Drayton turned to meet the admiring eyes 
 of Cleo. 
 
 "Don't you think we spoil Lois, Auntie? You 
 see, the one girl in a family of boys is likely to 
 seem much nicer and prettier than she really is." 
 
 "No, ma'am! We don't spile 111 miss. Nobody 
 couldn't spile huh. Des w'at worries me is 'at dey 
 ain't no man in all dis bressed world's good 'nough 
 t' marry Missy Lois." 
 
 "We won't think of that for a long time,, yet." 
 
 "Laws! Now heah dat! an' ev'y man in dis 
 town 'at ha'nt done got hisse'f married be'n t'inkin' 
 'bout dat same t'ing." 
 
 Lois hurried to her brother Dan's pretty cottage. 
 As she passed from the gate to the door she came 
 near saying aloud: 
 
 "How is it that everything about Frances has 
 a trashy look? In a way she's artistic, and yet, 
 whatever she touches takes on a slip-shod appear 
 ance. Auntie Cleo's right; she's all lopsided." 
 
 Within the next few moments Lois was to learn 
 more of the history of her sister-in-law than she 
 had discovered in six months of family life with 
 her. She found the inside door standing open and 
 
 [63]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 the screen door fastened. She touched the bell, 
 and stood looking at a window-box while she wait 
 ed. Presently she heard a strange voice in the hall, 
 and a strange, heavy step. Her thought was : Fran 
 ces has a new girl. She turned as she heard the 
 latch of the door drawn, and met face to face a 
 large, florid, frowzy, middle-aged woman. 
 
 "I guess that hired girl didn't hear you," she 
 said, and laughed, showing big, uneven teeth. 
 
 "Perhaps not," Lois answered, as she felt a chilly 
 tremor creeping from her fingers to her shoulders. 
 
 "Is is Mrs. Drayton at home?" and then, at 
 the expression that passed over the woman's face, 
 Lois wondered in a confused jumble of thought if 
 she had gone into the wrong house. But no, surely. 
 All about was familiar, but this woman ; and, in a 
 way, she, too, was not strange. There was an un 
 mistakable resemblance. And Lois had a laughable 
 idea of having one impression in Italic letters 
 across her brain : This must be Dan's mother-in-law!" 
 
 Just as she reached this point the woman, smi 
 ling broader than ever, and putting up a big red 
 hand to her hair, said : "No ; Mrs. Drayton's gone 
 out to see to her marketin'. Seems odd to hear 
 Frank called Mrs. Drayton, don't it, Liz?" and 
 she turned to a tall, awkward girl, who stood half 
 way down the hall. 
 
 "Won't you step in an* set down till she comes? 
 Come right in the parlor. Frank says she uses it
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 every day, just like the biggest 'swells' " ; and she 
 held aside the portiere. 
 
 "So you are Frances' mother?" Lois said in 
 quiringly. 
 
 Afterwards she told Laura that she felt she must 
 have the confirmation of words to be sure she was 
 not dreaming. 
 
 "Yes, I'm Frank's ma, an' proper glad I am to 
 see my girl so well settled in life. I've jest be'n 
 tellin' Liz it seems like a dream. I s'pose you're 
 one of Frank's new friends?" 
 
 "I'm Lois Drayton Dan's sister." 
 
 "You don't tell me ! Well, now, you do favor 
 him, don't she, Liz? I haven't seen much of Dan, 
 as you call 'im. We on'y came las' night, 'bout 
 eight o'clock." 
 
 "Oh, indeed! Was Frances expecting you?" 
 Lois asked this because she had seen Frances in the 
 afternoon and she had not mentioned her mother. 
 
 "No, indeedy, she wasn't expectin' us ! There's 
 the fun of it. Ye see, she wrote to us that Dan'd 
 be'n app'inted attorney for the new road, and pa, 
 he up an' tole Jap Sloper Sloper, he's got some- 
 thin', I don't rightly know what, to do with it 
 'at this Mr. Drayton, attorney, was our son-in-law. 
 Then what does Sloper do but say 'at when we want 
 passes to come and visit Frank we sh'd jes' let 'im 
 know. I tole pa I'd let him know right away, fer 
 I hadn't seen Frank fer nigh on to two year." 
 
 [65]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "You hadn't? How far is Montpelier from 
 Salem?" 
 
 "It's on'y twenty miles ; but Frank always had so 
 many places to go, an', of course, we don't put on 
 no style at our house, an' Frank's nothin' if she 
 ain't swell. Her and her Aunt Lucindy she's my 
 own sister jest suited to a T. An' pa and Sloper's 
 always be'n great cronies in politics, an' so there's 
 no kind o' trouble gettin' the passes. I told the 
 conductor he might see me on the trains pretty 
 reg'lar since my son-in-law was the lawyer 'at had 
 all the road's business in 'is vest pocket. He seemed 
 real tickled 'bout it, an' said of course he'd try to 
 make me comfortable. I tole Liz, of course he 
 would. There's nothin' like havin' a pull. Frank's 
 always so set up, it didn't surprise anybody 'at she'd 
 married a swell sort of man ; but I don't count on 
 my other three doin' 's well." 
 
 "Frances must have been delighted to see you. 
 I don't see how I could do without my mother for 
 two years." 
 
 "Well, you see Frank's mighty independent. 
 Laws! I think sometimes she c'u'd do without all 
 her relations. She was glad enough to see us, but, 
 ye see, she's so swell, she said we'd 'a' better waited 
 till she came home an' helped us to rig up a little. 
 But, laws ! What do I care for fixin' up ? A per 
 son's jest the same, anyway; an' if I ain't good 
 enough to see 'er swell friends in my gingham wrap- 
 [66]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 per" and she smoothed the gingham over her 
 knees "I ain't good enough to see 'em when I go 
 sweepin' roun' in the silk teagown 'at Frank says 
 I ought to have." 
 
 "I'm sure you're right, Mrs. Caylor, and I'm 
 glad I met you this morning in a dress of your own 
 selection. I know you must feel more comfortable 
 than if dressed according to some other person's 
 taste. I must go now. I brought these books for 
 Frances. I hope to see you again, and if you are 
 going to be here for a day or two, and Frances 
 can spare you, you must visit with mamma for a 
 day." 
 
 "Oh, Frank'll spare me, all right, on'y she says 
 I haven't a decent dud to put on." 
 
 Lois laughed. "Never mind that, Mrs. Caylor. 
 I agree with you in your ideas of dress. I'll see 
 you again, and then we'll arrange a day with Fran 
 ces and mamma. Of course your young daughter 
 Elizabeth, is that her name will come, too?" 
 
 "Yes, that's her name, but she hates it, an' so 
 we call her Liz." 
 
 "That's a shame! Elizabeth is a beautiful 
 name!" And shaking hands most cordially with 
 the two, she took her departure, wondering what 
 Frances would say when she heard of the inter 
 view, and wondering still more how Frances would 
 feel to introduce her mother to her new friends in 
 Stillwater.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 To SAY that the advent of Mrs. Caylor in Still- 
 water created a sensation amongst the friends of 
 the Draytons is stating a large fact in a very mild 
 manner. More than one person outside the family 
 had suspected the new Mrs. Drayton of veneering, 
 but not quite so much. It had been readily guessed 
 that her people were poor, else she had not occu 
 pied a small-salaried position in the girls' school in 
 Salem. 
 
 Her own version of her history was that for 
 seven years she had been a pupil in this very select 
 academy. After her graduation, at the urgent so 
 licitation of the principal, she had accepted a posi 
 tion in the school. This she had done the more 
 readily because, in the good home to which she 
 might have gone there was a delicate father, with 
 but small means, and three young sisters to educate. 
 
 The ailing father and the sisters were easily sub 
 stantiated, but Mrs. Caylor made some unlocked 
 for revelations. She seemed to be proud of the 
 "grit Frank showed" in working in Aunt Lucindy's 
 boarding-house to pay for her board and tuition, 
 [68]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 but she was quite as proud of her other girls, who 
 refused to become "Aunt Lucindy's nigger for a lit 
 tle book learnin'." And Mrs. Caylor would add, 
 in a most self-satisfied manner, "My folks always 
 was independent. Ef they tuk it into their heads 
 to do a thing, they done it; an' if they set up not 
 to do it, they was no use o' talkin'. I never quar'l 
 with my girls 'bout goin' to school. Frank went, 
 an' she's made a good thing out of it. Ef the oth 
 ers don't choose to take their Aunt Lucindy's offer, 
 w'y jest as they make their bed so they must lay 
 in it. Frank was allus up for bein' tony and swell, 
 an' she's met up with 'er calkilations, an' pa an' I 
 are mighty proud of 'er. You'd never ketch Frank 
 roun' home ef she c'u'd be any place else earnin' 
 a livin' an' puttin' on style." 
 
 While Stillwater society smiled behind its fan, it 
 accorded more respect to the honest, illiterate moth 
 er than it had to the pretentious daughter. Too 
 many times had Frances inadvertently shown her 
 true colors. Too often had she given, apropos of 
 nothing, her little lectures on correct usage. By her 
 zeal she had made herself suspected as a late dis 
 ciple of the cult of good breeding. 
 
 It happened one afternoon, when the club paper 
 of "The Ladies' Own" had treated of the life and 
 character of Dorothy Payne Madison, that the dis 
 cussion following had turned upon the strength of 
 mind, the ideal diplomacy, the womanly refinement, 
 [69]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 that was expressed in the behavior of Mrs. Madi 
 son, both in her public and private life. Mrs. Mil- 
 ford was a guest of the club that day, and the mee1> 
 ing was at the home of Mrs. Marks, the president. 
 When Frances arose to speak, she said: 
 
 "Madam President, is it not to be supposed that 
 this refining of character may be achieved by the 
 training we receive in our excellent schools? If 
 not, I would like Mrs. Milford, our guest, to give 
 us her opinion. Is there any better method to adopt 
 to the end of producing character excelling in the 
 attributes for which Mrs. Madison was famed?" 
 Mrs. Milford, thus appealed to, said: 
 "It cannot be denied that our schools, semina 
 ries, academies, and colleges, exert a great influ 
 ence in the formation and development of the char 
 acter of our women. Development is surely the 
 better word, because the fiber of the character, the 
 germ of possibility, is there at birth. All circum 
 stances but serve for the growth, and different ma 
 terial will develop in different ways under the same 
 circumstances. So I would suggest that the most 
 expeditious way to reach a high state of refinement 
 is to inherit a character capable of taking on a high 
 polish. I would have a character like our best 
 household furniture of solid material. If one is 
 veneered by the mechanic, and the other by the 
 schools, both will be found out, sooner or later. 
 Neither one is genuine ; both are cheap. Still, they 
 
 [70]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 have their uses. Disaster comes when either ve 
 neered furniture or veneered folks are expected to 
 fill the office of the solid article." 
 
 This little speech was recalled to the memory 
 of every woman who heard it when she met Mrs. 
 Caylor, or heard of her visit to her daughter. There 
 were no formal nor informal invitations from Fran 
 ces to her friends to meet her mother, and it would 
 have been more diplomatic if there had been. Those 
 who met Mrs. Caylor had a much better opinion 
 of her than those who only heard of her. She 
 could not be described so as to give a correct im 
 pression of her personality. Her new acquaintances, 
 while astonished at her utter illiteracy, yet could 
 perceive that her temper was kindly, that she was 
 devoid of affectation, and was really an affectionate 
 and lovable woman. 
 
 She knew so little of the world she could have 
 no conception of any difference there must neces 
 sarily be between her own and her daughter's social 
 position. All she understood was, "Frank's swell, 
 and I ain't." 
 
 She was the sort of woman who is known 
 amongst her neighbors as "motherly"; "good in 
 sickness," and "fond of Sunday visiting." 
 
 Mrs. Drayton called upon her without invitation, 
 since she knew she would not receive that civility 
 from Frances. She also made a family dinner party, 
 with Mrs. Caylor as the guest of honor.
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 This, which delighted the visitor, put her daugh 
 ter in the worst mood possible. But, though the 
 hostess and her immediate family were sorely tried 
 by the temper Frances displayed, Mrs. Caylor was 
 perfectly serene, even remarking at the table: 
 "Well, Frank, if I wasn't used to your high-flyin' 
 tantrums, you'd reg'larly make me sick. But I 
 don't mind 'em, an' Mrs. Drayton'll hev to jest 
 look over 'em, too. As to how Dan's goin' to stand 
 it, you'll hev to figger out for yerself. Yer pa'd 'a' 
 raised Cain, sure 'nough, ef ever I'd 'a' acted like 
 you. He's allus the one that hed to be humored, 
 an' you're like 'im to a T." 
 
 Mrs. Caylor, glancing at the face of her son-in- 
 law, had some doubts about the quality of "humor 
 ing" Frances was likely to receive at his hands, but 
 Mrs. Drayton seemed to be inclined to follow the 
 suggestion, and "look over" the vagaries of the 
 temper of her son's wife. Her kindly, watchful 
 family saw not the least sign of its usual effect upon 
 her. 
 
 At the dinner-table Mrs. Caylor saw Paul for the 
 first time, and after the meal was over she and Mrs. 
 Drayton walked all about the lawns and gardens. 
 This was ostensibly to show the visitor Uncle Zeke's 
 methods, and many seeds and slips were promised, 
 but really Mrs. Drayton made an opportunity to 
 explain to her guest the tragedy that had made Paul 
 the slim weakling he was, with the constantly recur-
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 ring symptoms of being strangled. He was in every 
 particular such a striking contrast to his strong, 
 complete brothers. 
 
 Mrs. Caylor proved a most sympathetic listener. 
 A mother cannot be so ignorant as to know nothing 
 of the perils of the period of mystery, the time when 
 she nourishes two lives, the days when she walks 
 with the creative gods. 
 
 "So, dear, our summer trip is quite unnecessary," 
 Mr. Drayton said to Lois in the evening, when they 
 were alone. 
 
 "Yes, papa, and, as Mrs. Caylor would say, I'm 
 'proper glad' that we are in no way responsible for 
 bringing about a meeting. How mortified Frances 
 is continually, and how inconsiderate she is of her 
 mother ! I really cannot understand it how these 
 great differences come. How can Frances seem 
 such a contrast to her mother? and how can she be 
 so merciless to her sister?" 
 
 "Don't you remember what Mrs. Minor said 
 some time ago at the club ?" Mrs. Drayton asked. 
 
 Lois looked mystified and forgetful, and her 
 mother continued : 
 
 "It was the day when Catharine Ray read her 
 paper on the modern interpretation of reincarna 
 tion. If you remember, the discussion was quite 
 lively, and Mrs. Minor said that only by believing 
 in the reincarnation of souls could she understand 
 [73]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 this particular thing the vast differences there are 
 in the mentality and character of members of the 
 same family." 
 
 "Oh, yes, I remember! So Mrs. Minor would 
 believe that the soul of Frances is no relation to that 
 of her mother?" 
 
 "And I should think if Mrs. Caylor should ever 
 find out that that's a fact, she'd be 'proper glad' of 
 it," said Paul very decidedly. "I'm very glad to 
 know that I'm only her brother-in-law, and rather 
 than be a born relation of hers, some time when 
 I'm in the bargain department of the gods for a 
 selection of another life, I'll take the lot of Cleo's 
 son, instead, with all that it implies." 
 
 [74]
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 "WELL, now 'at the convention's over an' done, 
 an' Dan's as good as elected, me an' Liz'll go 
 home; an' I jes' want to say to you, Frank, you'd 
 better not be quite so upsettin' with Dan's folks. 
 Course, Mrs. Drayton'll never say one word back. 
 She'll jes' take it out in thinkin' how disapp'inted 
 she is, an' what a nice little boy Dan was, an' how 
 gittin' married sp'iled his temper an' kind o' turned 
 'im ag'in all 'is own folks. Then she'll take some 
 comfort in thinkin' lots more o' Basil's wife than 
 she'd ever 'a' thought o' doin'. But you jes' better 
 watch out fer Miss Lady Lois. She can be awful 
 sweet an' nice, an' look 't the way she's be'n with 
 Liz. W'y, Liz's changed more with Lois Dray- 
 ton's soft, purrin', pattin', encouragin' ways, jes in 
 a week, than you'd change 'er in a ye'r, with all 
 your snappin' bout doin' this or that, jes' to be 
 swell. But for all Lois's nice, easy ways, I've heerd 
 'er give you some purty sharp digs, an' don't you 
 fergit it! An' she allus does it right afore folks. 
 I'll warrant you've never one word to tell Dan 
 o' what 'is sister said when he wasn't by." 
 
 "Now, ma, there's no use of you preaching to 
 [75]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 me. Lois is like any girl in a family of boys, and 
 Dan can see it now. He didn't at first. Lois leads 
 the whole family by the nose, from the old man 
 down ; but she can't pull the wool over my eyes as 
 she does with Basil's wife, and she may as well 
 know it. Of course Mrs. Drayton'll think less of 
 me than ever now," and Frances paused as her face 
 grew scarlet. 
 
 "Less'n ever now ?" her mother repeated. "What 
 for? 'Cause of Dan's nomination? You're 
 crazy " 
 
 "No, ma, Frank don't mean that," and Liz 
 glanced frowningly from her mother to her sister. 
 
 "Well, what does she mean? That's what I 
 want to know." 
 
 "She means 'cause you an' me ain't swell." 
 
 "Well!" Mrs. Caylor said emphatically. "I'll 
 bet all I'm worth 'at Mrs. Drayton's never give it 
 a thought. W'y, look at the way she's treated us I 
 An own sister couldn't 'a' done more! An' that's 
 how I know she's a lady, an' ef ever I've a chanst, 
 I'll well, I'll jes' turn my house, such as it is, up 
 side down, an' inside out, fer her or any o' hern!" 
 
 "So'll I !" said Liz, and she studied her finger 
 nails intently while she thought of the dainty toilet 
 articles Lois had given her one day when she had 
 admired the appointments on her dressing-table and 
 had mentioned the fact that she had nothing of the 
 kind, though Sister Frank had. 
 [76]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 The half-grown, not-trained-at-all girl had read 
 ily fallen into many of Lois's gentle ways, and she 
 seemed to read the difference there was between 
 her habits of a young lifetime and her sister's coarse 
 ambition. 
 
 After this visit of her mother and sister, Frances 
 held herself more than ever in an attitude of defi 
 ance toward her husband's relations. If any one, 
 or all of them, had made covert or open disparag 
 ing remarks about Mrs. Caylor she would not have 
 been surprised. Her expectations were in line with 
 her own character, and she could not understand 
 the mistake she was making. She was uneasy. She 
 felt she must have in words some opinion of her 
 mother. 
 
 One day when she and Mrs. Drayton were alone 
 together she adroitly led the conversation to her 
 mother's lack of culture and social ambition, saying 
 in conclusion : 
 
 "I think a woman needs to be ambitious. If she 
 isn't, if she's easily satisfied, her husband follows 
 her example. Ma never cared at all to be of ac 
 count, and so, of course, pa had nothing to live up 
 to. He just plodded along and made a living." 
 
 Mrs. Drayton answered gently, thoughtfully : 
 
 "I think, Frances, that your mother was not lack 
 ing in what you call ambition when she was young ; 
 but you'll excuse me for saying it, the wife of a 
 mechanic who never rises to be a master of his trade 
 
 [77]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 has little chance of gratifying ambitious ideas, par 
 ticularly when there are several children. Your 
 mother told me she had borne ten. I respect her 
 as much as any woman I ever met. I think when 
 she was your age she had cravings for social posi 
 tion, too. Your mother, Frances, is a disappointed 
 woman, and one who has known much sorrow. 
 That she has kept a sweet and kindly temper, in 
 spite of the life she has lived, proves her strength 
 of character. She's had more to bear than I have. 
 My child lives. She has borne her losses better 
 than I could have done." 
 
 [78]
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 "LET'S go into the hotel parlor until the proces 
 sion and the crowd passes," and Lois helped Laura 
 lift the baby cab from the sidewalk to the long 
 veranda of the Ross House. The hall door stood 
 open, and the two placed themselves just within. 
 Mrs. Ross came from the parlor. 
 
 "Come in, Mrs. Drayton Miss Lois! Come 
 in ! We'll make room for you at one of the win 
 dows." 
 
 "No, thank you. Please don't disturb anyone," 
 Laura answered. 
 
 "We came in to avoid the crowd, because of the 
 cab. We cannot allow you to incommode your 
 guests," added Lois. 
 
 But as Mrs. Ross insisted, they entered the par 
 lor, and sat in a corner of the room until the street 
 grew quiet. It was one of the demonstrations of 
 the campaign. Dan Drayton and other "eminent 
 speakers," according to the handbills, were to ad 
 dress the people in the afternoon at Lakeview Park, 
 a pretty bit of woodland within the town, on the 
 bank of the little lake. 
 
 [79]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 As the noise died away, Laura and Lois, thank 
 ing Mrs. Ross for her hospitality, started out. They 
 were crossing the hall, when down the stairs came 
 a tall, handsome, girlish figure. Her lace veil was 
 heavily dotted, but Lois, glancing upward, ex 
 claimed: "Oh, Nan Dever!" and clasped her in 
 her arms as she reached the floor. "What's hap 
 pened to your manners, you bad girl?" giving a 
 shake to the black-robed figure she held in her arms. 
 
 "My dear Lois, you know I discarded my man 
 ners four years ago. I went away without the for 
 mality of a good-bye, so why should I expect old 
 friends to say 'how d'ye do' when I come back?" 
 Turning to Laura, she continued : "Is this someone 
 I used to know?" 
 
 "Basil's wife and baby Fred." 
 
 "Oh, I beg your pardon !" 
 
 "Pardon me I thought of nothing but you. I 
 guess Laura came about the time you went away." 
 
 "Yes," shaking hands with Laura and baby; "the 
 cards were out for the reception at your father's 
 a day or two before my own departure. It was 
 an oversight of mine not to send regrets, but I was 
 very busy." 
 
 "Of course," Laura said, falling into the spirit 
 of her new acquaintance, "if ever a girl is busy, it's 
 about the time of her wedding." 
 
 "Are you going out, Nan ?" Lois asked. "Come 
 with us, and tell me something about yourself." 
 [80]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "I was only going for a walk past the old 
 place," and the dark eyes filled with tears. "It's 
 on your way home, if you're going home." 
 
 "Yes, I'm going home. You'll go, too, Laura? 
 and we'll send for Basil." 
 
 "No, dear, thank you. I'm having one of his 
 special dishes to-day for luncheon." And with a 
 kindly leave-taking, she turned the cab in an oppo 
 site direction, leaving Lois and her old-time friend 
 together. 
 
 "You and Mrs. Basil seem to be on very sisterly 
 terms." 
 
 "It's more than seeming; it's real. Laura's one 
 of the most congenial friends I ever had. But tell 
 me about yourself and Jack. Is he here?" 
 
 "No, he's not here. Poor Jack!" and Mrs. 
 Hammel sighed. "His health is not what it might 
 be, and he's grown quite discouraged." 
 
 "Indeed? I always thought he looked very 
 strong." 
 
 "Yes, he looked strong; but we've been living in 
 Chicago. I think the climate is bad for him real 
 ly, it's bad for anybody; it's vile. Jack's lungs 
 never were strong, his mother says, though I 
 wouldn't have suspected anything of the kind. I 
 wanted him to go South, or as far west as Denver, 
 at least. The doctors we've employed have usually 
 advised California, but," she paused, turned her 
 head half round, but still Lois saw the peculiar ex- 
 [81]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 pression that she remembered was her friend's way 
 of recognizing a prevarication "he says he doesn't 
 like to take me so far from my mother as if the 
 number of miles could make any difference !" And 
 she laughed, but it was not the laugh that Lois 
 remembered. 
 
 At the moment Lois could think of nothing to 
 say, and Mrs. Hammel continued : "I've been here 
 four weeks, and mother refuses to see me. We 
 might as well go to Jericho!" 
 
 "Nan, I'm so sorry !" and Lois slipped her hand 
 into the arm of her companion. "But you see, 
 your mother has been quite broken-hearted. She 
 goes nowhere. I haven't seen her since you went 
 away. You can see for yourself how neglected her 
 place is. The market people use the gate into the 
 alley at the back. Polly meets them at the door, 
 and they never even step inside the kitchen, ex 
 cepting when it is too stormy or too cold for her 
 to keep the door open while giving an order or 
 receiving supplies." 
 
 "Does no one see mother not even Dr. Mil- 
 ford?" 
 
 "Not even Dr. Milford. I remember hearing 
 him say, oh fully two years ago yes, of course 
 it was at Fred's christening, that he had called 
 repeatedly, when your mother ceased going to 
 church; and she's never gone since you went away; 
 but he was always told by Polly that Mrs. Dever 
 [82]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 was engaged, and could not see him. Then he 
 wrote to her, and she replied that she knew his 
 intentions were kindly, but she could not meet her 
 friends and ignore what had happened, and it would 
 be extremely disagreeable to talk it over; so she 
 had decided to see no one. Women friends have 
 called repeatedly. Mamma and I called, with no 
 better success. So we can do no more. But what 
 has Polly told you ?" 
 
 "Polly ? Oh, poor old girl !" and Mrs. Hammel 
 laughed, but dabbed her handkerchief under 
 her veil "she cried like a baby, and allowed me 
 to stand in the vestibule. She said she dared to do 
 no more, while she went and spoke to mother. But, 
 though she cried harder than ever when she came 
 back, she opened the door with the chain on I 
 heard it rattle and she shook her head, then closed 
 the door in my face. I'm sure I saw you that day, 
 you and this new sister, and the baby." 
 
 "Yes, I remember; I was sure it was you." 
 "Jack's health is worse than ever this spring, and 
 he insisted that if I made the effort I could make 
 it up with mother; then we could come home, and 
 he could be properly cared for." 
 
 "I fancy it was not an easy thing for you to do." 
 
 "No, it has not been easy; and I'll be honest with 
 
 you if it had been all for Jack's sake I wouldn't 
 
 have thought of it for a minute, but, you see, at the 
 
 other end of the story is mother. I'd like to be 
 
 [8 3 ]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 forgiven for my own sake, and hers. I can work, 
 and I can do work enough to keep Jack and my 
 self out of the poorhouse. I've had no intention 
 of asking mother for help. But, even if she knows 
 this and if she's read my letters, she must know 
 it still, she's quite relentless." 
 
 "Anna, you don't mind I'm sure you know I 
 love you. Tell me what work you do." 
 
 "Surely; I do newspaper work. I'm the regular 
 correspondent for one daily in Chicago and one 
 in New York. I also write fashion articles, with 
 my own illustrations, for a syndicate." 
 
 "And you do very well, do you?" 
 
 "Very well. If Jack could work, we'd get rich," 
 and she laughed, and patted Lois's hand as it lay 
 on her arm, "but it takes a good sum of money to 
 take care of a sick man." 
 
 "Do you like the work?" 
 
 "Yes, I like it very much. It's quite easy for 
 me. Do you remember Polly used to say 'Ef Miss 
 Nan had everythin' in ekal quantities with 'er gift 
 o' gab, what a smart girl she'd be?' I never had 
 a chance to say one-half of the smart things I 
 thought of until I begun this work. What a pity 
 I didn't marry an editor, or a publisher of a paper !" 
 and again she laughed. 
 
 "Yes, Nan, that would have been nice. Do you 
 sign your articles and letters ?" 
 
 "Yes, but I have a pen-name, or two, for that
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 matter. When I write for some fine, high-toned 
 ladies' journal, giving advice to girls, young wives, 
 and mothers, et cetera, I am 'Alice Howe.' For 
 those letters in the city papers I am 'Joan Stone.' ' 
 
 "You are 'Joan Stone!' Well, wonders will 
 never done ceasing ! Here we are at the gate. Come 
 in, dear! The folks are all at home for lunch 
 papa and Paul. Come in and see mamma. Let 
 her coddle you. How Paul has laughed over the 
 letters of 'Joan Stone.' Come come! There he 
 comes!" And Mrs. Hammel was drawn through 
 the gate and up the walk. Half way to the house, 
 Paul met the two. His face was glowing, his eyes 
 dancing. 
 
 "Oh, Nan!" he exclaimed. "Pardon Mrs. 
 Hammel." 
 
 "No, no, Paul! The old name, please. You 
 don't know how good it is to hear it. Kiss me, 
 Paul! Just like old times! You and I've been 
 sweethearts ever since you wore kilts and I was a 
 long-legged hoyden, with my hair in a pigtail." 
 
 "That's true, Nan; and I always loved you more 
 than any of the rest of the boys did." 
 
 "I believe that " 
 
 "And, oh, Paul!" Lois interrupted. "It's Nan 
 who writes the 'Joan Stone' letters that you like 
 so much!" 
 
 "Yours, Nan? Why, Nan! They ought to 
 pay you a thousand dollars for every letter !" 
 [85]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "But they don't, Paul; nobody ever did appre 
 ciate me but you." 
 
 The welcome within the house was none the less 
 warm. Uncle Zeke and Aunt Cleo, hearing un 
 usual sounds of hilarity in the family room, came 
 edging in, in spite of Bett's remonstrance. Then 
 Bett followed, and all exchanged greetings with 
 Mrs. Hammel. So they called her, with broad 
 smiles, and shiny eyes, but the visitor checked them : 
 
 "Say Nan, just as you used to, Auntie, Uncle. 
 This is the first time, since I came to Stillwater, 
 four weeks ago, that I've felt that I was really in 
 the old place. I'm so glad to hear the old name 
 again !" 
 
 "Wai, Miss Nan," said Zeke. "I allus did. say 
 dat nobody was zackly like you all, an' I'm mighty 
 glad to call you des Miss Nan till de las' horn 
 blows." 
 
 "That's right, Uncle! You and I were always 
 fast friends." 
 
 "Yes, dat so. Laws ! now I look at yo', you's des 
 de same lil black-eyed gal 'at usen to play wid lil 
 Paul w'en all de res done run off an' leab 'Im." 
 
 "Oh, Paul and I ? Of course. There never were 
 two other such chums !" 
 
 "An 5 I reckon yo' done recomembeh w'en you-all 
 went scootin' down de hill dar by de lake in Paul's 
 lil 'spress wagon ? or has yo' done f o'got all 'bout 
 it?" 
 
 [86]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "Oh, Uncle!" And Mrs. Hammel and Paul 
 shouted with laughter. 
 
 "Wasn't that a lark?" she said. "Both of us 
 would have been drowned if you had not been 
 there." 
 
 "Co'se you-all would; but yo' see ef I hadn't 
 be'n gwine dah dat day you-all wouldn't gone, too." 
 
 "What was it?" Mrs. Drayton asked. "Did I 
 know of it at the time?" 
 
 "Laws! yes. It was one day I was gwine fo' 
 to get a hick'ry stick fo' an ax handle, an' hyah 
 was Miss Nan jes' gwine home, an' Mista Paul 
 'lowed he's done gwine to de woods wid me fo' 
 suah. Co'se yo' let 'im go wid me, an' den Miss 
 Nan reckoned she'd go, too, an' she run in an' ast 
 'er ma, an' suah nuf, dey all went. Lil Paul was 
 in de 'spress business dem days, an' dat HI red 
 wagon went ev'ywha he did, 'ceptin' to bed. Dat 
 day some time he'd ride, den Miss Nan she'd ride. 
 Wai, we got to de lil woods by de lake, sho', an' 
 Miss Nan she done ast me ef I recomembeh w'at 
 fun dey all had in de winteh coastin' down dat same 
 lil hill w'en dc lake was froze. Co'se I done recom- 
 membeh. Den I's huntin' fo' dat saplin', an' fust 
 t'ing I knowed, I hyah a lil squeal, an' dere was 
 Miss Nan an' lil Paul flouncin' roun' in de watah, 
 an' dat 'spress wagon upside fo'most, an' floppin' 's 
 if it gwine to cross de 'Lantic Ocean. I tell you-all 
 de grass didn't git much higher'n it was w'ile dis 
 [8 7 ]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 ole niggah done some sma't fishin' widout no hook 
 an' line. Den, jes' 's soon's dey was out, w'at Miss 
 Nan do, but des laff , an' roll an' tumble on de grass, 
 till I thought she'd done bust herse'f. An' she des 
 tuk off some o' her clo's, an' some o' lil Paul's, an' 
 den, ba'footed, she run an' race, an' keep goin' til 
 we all was dry an' all raidy to go home. An' she 
 say, 'Now, Unk Zeke, ef Paul git sick, I'll come 
 an' take ca' o' him night an' day, an' I'll take all 
 de money outen my bank to pay de doctah.' I tell 
 you-all, Miss Nan allus stood by her own se'f, an' 
 done zactly w'at she promise." 
 
 "Seems to me I remember it," said Mrs. Dray- 
 ton, "but Paul was not ill, I'm sure. A bath like 
 that, on a warm day, shouldn't make anyone ill." 
 
 "No, co'se not," said Cleo. "An' Miss Nan, 
 she nebber got sick. She's allus des lak a rubbah 
 ball. She nebber got hu't. Seemed lak des de 
 ha'deh she fell down de higheh she'd bounce." 
 
 There was great merriment over Zeke's and 
 Cleo's recollections and opinions, and Mrs. Drayton 
 said: 
 
 "It's something that way still, isn't it, Nan?" 
 
 Mrs. Hammel laughed, saying: "I don't be 
 lieve I've bounced very high lately, but I've kept 
 up a series of bumpings. I've never rolled entirely 
 off the field." 
 
 "Perhaps the batting hasn't been sufficient to 
 make you bounce." 
 
 [88]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "Perhaps; but I've felt sometimes as if I was 
 getting some pretty hard knocks," and a mist 
 dimmed the laughing eyes. 
 
 "Never mind, Nan; you're young, and you're 
 hungry," said Mr. Drayton. "If ever I find my 
 self in a particularly pessimistic state of mind I con 
 sult the nearest time-piece, to see if I'm not hun 
 gry Yes, Bett, we're glad to get your call!" 
 
 And in a minute they were seated at the table in 
 the cool, old-fashioned dining-room. 
 
 "I'm glad we have a plentiful lunch to-day," Mr. 
 Drayton said, as he glanced over the table. "When 
 we have these political demonstrations there's al 
 ways a busy day at the store, and we keep long 
 hours. My dear," turning to Mrs. Drayton, "you 
 seem to fully understand the situation." 
 
 "Why shouldn't I ? Long ago, when we were 
 young, one day when I knew you'd be especially 
 busy, and scarcely have time for lunch, I prepared 
 very scantily, and I was quite astonished at your sor 
 rowful look when you saw the table. Then you 
 told me, as folks say, gently but firmly, that if ever 
 you were tempted to suicide it would be some day 
 when you were hungry and tired, and found little 
 to eat, and no time to eat it." 
 
 "Yes, I remember it. So now, Anna, apply the 
 moral to yourself. Treat your stomach well if you 
 want to keep yourself in good spirits and at peace 
 with the world." 
 
 [89]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "Dear me! I'm afraid my stomach will rebel 
 at the Ross House after this luncheon ! Isn't Auntie 
 Cleo the very best cook in the world!" 
 
 "We think so," Mrs. Drayton said, "but we're 
 so used to her. That makes some difference." 
 
 "It would make a difference that you would 
 appreciate if you had to live in boarding-houses 
 a while. So Dan's housekeeping, too? Is his wife 
 as pretty as Basil's?" 
 
 "No, she is not. She's not to be mentioned in 
 the same week with Laura for looks, nor for any 
 thing else," Paul answered. 
 
 There was a more or less indefinite protest, or 
 consent, but what was not said meant more than 
 what was said. Then Mrs. Hammel asked : 
 
 "Are you all going to hear Dan speak this after 
 noon?" 
 
 "Basil and I shall not have time," Mr. Drayton 
 said. "Paul can go." 
 
 "Thank you, Daddy. I have some extra work 
 on the books. Mother and Lois can go. I'll be 
 generous, too." 
 
 "Yes, I think we'd better go," Mrs. Drayton 
 said. "Won't you go with us, Anna?" 
 
 "Thank you, yes; I'll be delighted to go." 
 
 "Oh, I'm so glad!" Lois said. "And, Nan! Do 
 you remember how you us^d to make Dan laugh in 
 school, when he'd be showing off, reading an essay 
 or something?" 
 
 [90]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "Yes; but it was usually by in some way draw 
 ing his attention to something, or making him think 
 of something that had happened, or been talked of, 
 before." 
 
 "I do wish you could catch his eye to-day, and 
 make him grin in the wrong place." 
 
 "Oh, my! That would never do to spoil his 
 dignity when his election may depend upon the im 
 pression he makes in the opening of the campaign." 
 
 Mrs. Drayton sighed and shook her head. 
 
 [91]
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THAT afternoon, going to the grove where the 
 speeches were made, turned over a new leaf for 
 Mrs. Hammel, or rather turned back to an old one 
 that held very pleasant reading. She met old 
 friends of her own and her mother's, who remem 
 bered when she was born. Girls and young matrons 
 with whom she had gone to school greeted her 
 warmly, but scolded her affectionately because of 
 her behavior since returning to the town. 
 
 To all she had but one explanation. She re 
 membered every one of her friends with too much 
 love to risk a rebuff. She had heard indirectly of 
 the attitude of her mother after her departure, but 
 she could not have believed the actual state of the 
 case without seeing for herself. 
 
 She told how she happened to be with Mrs. 
 Drayton and Lois. She had been kidnapped on her 
 own premises. True, there had been the most per 
 suasive gentleness, and it had to be confessed that 
 the kidnappers might need some assistance in rid 
 ding themselves of her, since she was one person 
 in the world who recognized excellence wherever 
 she found it, and hung on. 
 
 [9*]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 All was so like the old-time Nan Dever. She 
 was assured countless times that she was the same 
 bright, jolly, fun-loving and fun-making girl she 
 used to be, and she would be allowed to make a 
 recluse of herself no longer. 
 
 The original party of three had grown to a score 
 or more, and had secured seats in a good position, 
 where they were joined by Laura. 
 
 "I called for Frances," she said, "but the maid 
 told me she had already gone, so she must be here 
 somewhere." 
 
 They looked around, but did not discover the 
 missing member of the family. Presently Mrs. 
 Hammel heard a loud whisper in front of her: 
 
 "Yonder comes Mrs. Dan Drayton an' Mrs. 
 Lew Kimball! My! what style these candidates' 
 wives put on !" 
 
 From many things Mrs. Hammel had heard 
 about the new Mrs. Drayton she wondered how 
 much hard cash that lady would have been willing 
 to pay to have heard this remark. 
 
 The two women thus commented upon made a 
 pretty picture in the freshness of the June sunlight, 
 in their new summer dresses, with hats and gloves 
 to match. Lois and Laura, in their plain, tailored 
 suits, exchanged significant glances. Another loud 
 whisper was wafted to Mrs. Hammel's ears: 
 
 "I didn't know this was to be a full-dress af 
 fair." 
 
 [93]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 The answer was from a plain, middle-aged wom 
 an whom Mrs. Hammel knew by sight: 
 
 "Only for county officers' wives. You've heard 
 Mrs. Kimball talk of what's expected of them." 
 
 "Yes; who hasn't heard her? I'm enough of a 
 partisan to wish the whole ticket well, but I 
 wouldn't grieve if Sheriff Kimball should fail to 
 be re-elected." 
 
 Then Dan Drayton appeared on the platform ar 
 ranged for the speakers. He was greeted by con 
 tinued applause, and he turned from shaking hands 
 with his colleagues to bow acknowledgments. In 
 casting his eyes over the assembly he caught sight 
 of his mother and her party, and bowed his family 
 bow ; then his face lighted up with pleased surprise, 
 and holding his clasped hands at arms' length, he 
 gave them a shake. This was understood and an 
 swered by Mrs. Hammel, with a laugh and a wave 
 of color in her face. 
 
 "Dan's long-distance handshake," she said to 
 Laura. "How well he looks, and how proud his 
 wife ought to be !" 
 
 "I think she is proud," Laura answered, delib 
 erately, but she did not say of what. 
 
 During the afternoon this remark was repeated 
 many times, and by many different persons. It was 
 plainly evident that of all the candidates on the 
 platform, not one was as popular as Dan Drayton. 
 For this there were many reasons. His father was 
 
 [94]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 known in Stillwater, through twenty years of busi 
 ness life, as a man not only honest, but honorable. 
 No other merchant held the confidence of the coun 
 ty as did Frederic Drayton. He had always been 
 a staunch supporter of whatever would build up 
 the town, and whatever was in line with the best 
 thoughts and wishes of the best people. 
 
 His sons had walked in his ways, and while as 
 boys they had never been known as goody-goodys ; 
 had not, as a rule, carried off the school and col 
 lege prizes ; had not become members of the church ; 
 still, as young men are judged, they were above 
 reproach. 
 
 Dan would not give much time to electioneering. 
 It was not necessary. Even if he and his family 
 had been less popular, the strength and loyalty of 
 the party would have carried him through safely. 
 He would speak at some few places, easily accessible 
 by rail from Stillwater; that was all. 
 
 Frances did not like this. She had not grown 
 past a love of the pomp and circumstance of having 
 a candidate hurry from place to place, to be met 
 by processions with banners and bands of wind in 
 struments, which escorted him to his hotel, or the 
 place in which he was to speak. There at the right 
 moment, it was her cue to pass into some prominent 
 reserved seat while she heard herself called Mrs. 
 Dan Drayton by women and girls, who marvelled 
 at the elegance of her dress. 
 
 [95]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 These were the things that had impressed her 
 as a child, and through her girlhood, and her life 
 had possessed nothing to dim the glory of such 
 an anticipation. 
 
 This day she had her first experience of stand 
 ing in the limelight of her husband's popularity. 
 She and Mrs. Kimball had timed their coming, and 
 instructed Kimball to secure good seats for them, 
 well in front, and close to an aisle. "We want to 
 see as well as to be seen," said the sheriff's wife. 
 "You'll find that the crowds always have a great 
 interest in the wives of the candidates." 
 
 Sure enough, Frances heard herself spoken of 
 in such terms as made the waving plumes on her 
 handsome hat take an extra exultant quiver, and 
 her languidly swaying fan wafted its perfume into 
 the faces of those about her most generously. 
 
 But the brightest day that ever dawned has al 
 ways some little cloud ; some little breeze arises that 
 is too hot or too cold for perfection. So Frances 
 and her friend had but comfortably settled their 
 richly rustling silken skirts, to the evident wonder 
 and admiration of some of their immediate neigh 
 bors, when there came the unpleasant feature into 
 the dream of reflected glory. Dan had accompa 
 nied the two women to the grove, and as they were 
 seating themselves he was answering the greetings 
 of the people. Then Frances saw him making his 
 long-distance handshake. Wondering what it could 
 [96]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 possibly mean, she followed the direction of his 
 eyes. There, in "the whole nest of Draytons," she 
 said mentally, and spitefully, "sat that Mrs. Ham- 
 mel, or Nan Dever, or whatever her name is!" 
 
 Was ever anything more pointed? Why was 
 this woman in her rightful place ? True, Lois had 
 spoken to her about coming to hear Dan's speech, 
 and Frances, having in mind the program which 
 she had carried out with Mrs. Kimball, had not 
 seconded the bid of her sister-in-law for her society 
 on that afternoon. Her first idea was, that com 
 ing into the grove with Lois and the rest would 
 likely confuse matters. She might be mistaken for 
 some other member of the family. 
 
 Now, ten chances to one, many of the country 
 people would select that plainly dressed Mrs. Ham- 
 mel for the wife of the popular candidate, Dan 
 Dray ton. 
 
 Plainly dressed Mrs. Hammel was, but her bit 
 terest enemy never could deny her that peculiar 
 air that is named style, tone, good form; it was na 
 tive to her. Frances, watching her this afternoon, 
 could not deny it. Mrs. Hammel was "swell." 
 Her plain serge dress, her plain black hat, were 
 imbued with the personality of the wearer. They 
 put on her own interpretation of propriety, of ele 
 gance. So, after so many ages, again Mordecai 
 sat in the King's gate, and again Haman found all 
 his honors but emptiness and vanity. 
 
 [97]
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE warm, still, odorous September days were 
 on. There had been but the smallest hint of frost. 
 The maples were slowly changing their hue of rest 
 ful green to yellow, russet, and crimson ; but it was 
 merely the ripening of the full-grown leaves. 
 
 They were rivaling the colors of the fruits of 
 the orchards and vineyards on the low hills and 
 long levels of the farms all about Stillwater. 
 
 This slow departing of summer, and the slower 
 coming of the cold, is nowhere so beautiful as in 
 the Middle West and along the line of the State 
 capitals of Ohio, Indiana and Illinois. This is 
 the mid-region between the mountains of the East 
 and the West. It is far enough south of the great 
 lakes to escape the biting winds that sweep over 
 them, and yet near enough for all the benefits ac 
 cruing from the great bodies of fresh water. 
 
 The wide lawns of Stillwater, that in the early 
 spring put on their verdure so rapidly as to have a 
 seeming of undignified haste, and gave the thrifty 
 householder an idea of aggressiveness, now lay in 
 the autumn sunshine like beautiful carpets soft, 
 
 [98]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 silken prayer-rugs, worn to smoothness by the pres 
 sure of the feet of summer days. 
 
 "The days are too lovely for this never-ending 
 grind of human life," Mrs. Hammel said to Lois as 
 they walked in the shade of the maples. "I'd like 
 to go to the woods and stay till the storms come." 
 
 "My dear, you're not practical. The season of 
 camping out and of picnics is over. Look down 
 past the most of these pretty houses. Where there 
 are no high lattice-fences to hide the rear of the 
 lots, you see carpets and rugs on the lines, refresh 
 ing themselves for the winter campaign. Where 
 we don't see, we hear the swish of the brooms, and 
 the steady strokes of the beaters. This speaks of 
 cleanliness and thrift." 
 
 "Yes, it does; and it's enough to turn an earth 
 quake loose amongst one's poetic sentiments to think 
 of one-half the disagreeable work that is required 
 to produce that ideal spot home." 
 
 "But there are people who do this work, and 
 are glad to get it, so as to live even outside of 
 the places they help to make habitable for people 
 of finer tastes and smaller muscles." 
 
 "Yes, of course; but the people with the taste 
 must boss the job, muscle or no muscle; there's the 
 grief of it." 
 
 "But, I wonder if the people who clean the car 
 pets and scrub the floors don't regret that ever 
 they were born to such a life?" 
 
 [99]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "My dear Miss Sentiment, no; they don't!" 
 
 "But, Nan such a woman as we met just now ! 
 Did you ever notice faces like hers? So seamed 
 and reddened and hardened; her hands rough and 
 knotted, her very gait the motion of the toiler, 
 slow or fast, still heavy; and that constant frown?" 
 
 "Yes, I've noticed thousands of them. Most 
 of this class in cities are foreign born. Here, most 
 of them are natives, if not of the town, of the 
 county or the State, or some neighboring State. 
 They've had all that you and I have had: homes 
 to shelter, care through infancy and childhood, the 
 public schools, and the teachings of the churches. 
 They've used all these, just as you and I have, ac 
 cording to their natural abilities, or rather limi 
 tations." 
 
 "But, Nan, how is it? Now in our clubs you 
 know clubwomen are nothing if not reformers 
 we've had so much talk about our responsibilities 
 in regard to this one class, the hard-working 
 women." 
 
 "Yes, I know; and that's the feature in women's 
 clubs that makes me weary. They seem to think 
 they've formed a close corporation to rectify the 
 mistakes of Omnipotence." 
 
 "No, not quite that. We try, that is, our club 
 tries, to find out its own responsibility in the mat 
 ter of the poor, and particularly poor women who 
 work outside their homes."
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "It never took me very long to discover my in 
 dividual responsibility in the matter." 
 
 "And that?" 
 
 "To pay them their own prices when they work 
 for me. If the price is higher than I can afford 
 to continue, I say I'll not require their services 
 again. If price and work suits me, I continue both ; 
 and when I have a cast-off garment that is usually 
 much better than I ever see the worker wear, I 
 give it to her. Ten to one, she pops it on the very 
 next time she comes to wash or scrub, and it seems 
 she believes she shows her appreciation of my gen 
 erosity by getting the garment ragged and draggled 
 as soon as possible." 
 
 "How is a woman to wash or scrub and not get 
 draggled?" 
 
 "I don't know; I never tried. But did you ever 
 see Auntie Cleo or Bett anything else than neat?" 
 
 "No, I never did. I never thought of it. Of 
 course they're neat." 
 
 "It's the same way with women in other posi 
 tions in life. A born slouch will be a slouch till 
 the end of the chapter. It's in the blood, the bones, 
 and the general make-up. I'm sure I'd know one, 
 even after she's dead, and everything done to make 
 her sufficiently respectable to tempt the worms. I've 
 heard a woman who dabbles in literature say that 
 she couldn't work make stories, you know ex 
 cepting she wears an old wrapper, old shoes, and 
 [101]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 lets her hair loose down her back. Judging by some 
 work I've tried to revise for her, I think she must 
 be in full dress all the time." 
 
 "You see, Nan, there's a great deal said about 
 people who do the hard work not having time to 
 cultivate their minds; and, it seems to me, if I had 
 to wash and scrub and cook I wouldn't care much 
 for anything else. I would not have time and 
 strength to care." 
 
 "My dear, we always have time for what we 
 care to do. These working people only labor a 
 certain number of hours; or, if they do extra work, 
 they get extra pay. Did it never strike you that 
 if any of these folks could do anything else tha.n 
 the work they frequently do very badly, they'd be at 
 it, and we might whistle for a washlady or a scrub- 
 lady, and at last try our own talents in those lines? 
 Then, too, if these people are not at work at the 
 only work they can do, you'll see them idling away 
 their time, women as well as men, and, likely as not, 
 making trouble for themselves and the courts. Did 
 you never notice how many Sunday fights there 
 are?" 
 
 "Yes, I have; but, Nan, that's what puzzles me ! 
 These people ought to be better educated, more re 
 fined, than they are. Where does the responsibility 
 rest?" 
 
 "With God, I guess; not with me, I'm sure." 
 [ 102]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "Oh, Nan! The old story, am I my brother's 
 keeper?" 
 
 "No; the cases are not analogous not quite. 
 Cain was hedging. He was not going to answer 
 questions that would incriminate himself or tend 
 to degrade him. My case is entirely different." 
 
 "Nan, dear," and Lois laughed, "how you would 
 shock some of the Daughters of Endeavor!" 
 
 "I wouldn't wish to shock them, if I met them; 
 but, Lois, I cannot be a reformer, or play at the 
 impossible. I'll take people as I find them, try to 
 find out the trend of their character, study out the 
 puzzle their Creator has made, if I can but I am 
 not good at puzzles then do anything I can in 
 the way of letting them study the puzzle of them 
 selves for themselves. One thing the reformers 
 do oftener than anything else is to put up their 
 advice, or their restrictions, like a triple line of 
 barbed-wire fence all about the persons who are 
 so unfortunate as to fall into their hands for re 
 pairs. Advice should never be given excepting when 
 applied for, and then only in homeopathic doses. I 
 never take it even that way." 
 
 "But, Nan, when I see people, such as we've 
 been talking about, doing things in a wrong way, 
 I want to tell them how much better and more 
 prosperous they'd be if they'd do as you or I 
 would do the same thing," and Lois laughed as she 
 squeezed Nan's arm. 
 
 [ 103]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "Yes, of course ; but you forget that along with 
 these slipshod ways there is usually a headstrong 
 temper, a will that, if it cannot move mountains, 
 can prevent you moving even a molehill. Amongst 
 all the beautiful things and wise things that have 
 been said by our greatest American poet, this one 
 is the most comprehensive: 'All great achieve 
 ments are the natural fruits of a great character.' 
 I think perhaps the reformers had been after Long 
 fellow for a contribution. Inversely, we know that 
 if one achieves nothing that is great or good it 
 is because there is no machinery for the work. If 
 the woman we met can only work with a broom, 
 a brush, a washtub and wringer, it is because the 
 gray matter under her frowzy hair can conceive 
 of nothing else. Her head is only a back kitchen, 
 filled with things of that kind." 
 
 Lois laughed: "I begin to get some idea of 
 'Joan Stone's' inspirational moods. I wonder what 
 my brain's filled with?" 
 
 "There's no necessity for it to be filled with 
 anything but pretty accomplishments, and endeav 
 ors for the happiness of the home folks, and one 
 more a passably good-looking chap, who, like my 
 self, is willing to 'take the goods the gods provide'; 
 and, going one point ahead of me, he'll take Lois 
 Drayton for better or for worse at the earliest pos 
 sible date. If there ever comes the necessity for 
 [ 104]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 you to work, you'll find out your capabilities, just 
 as I have." 
 
 "But, Nan, you're a genius!" 
 
 "No, I'm not a genius. I have, perhaps, a cer 
 tain faculty for stringing words together, of saying 
 things that editors think will please their readers. 
 If I couldn't do this, I'd be at something else 
 maybe washing and scrubbing, and on off days run 
 ning the gauntlet of reformers. But what's hap 
 pened to the world ? The sunshine's all gone, and 
 sure's I live, it's raining!" 
 
 "So it is ! But we're nearly home. Put up your 
 sunshade, and let's run."
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 IT was a slow, steady rain, beginning in an un 
 pretentious way, and continued without cessation 
 for twenty-four hours. The ripened leaves were 
 weighted with dampness, and very soon the walks 
 were carpeted with them. Toward evening of the 
 second day the wind rose, and something like a 
 hurricane swept over the country. It seemed like 
 a belated summer tempest, with thunder, lightning, 
 and torrents of rain. All night the storm raged, 
 and the wind was still blowing in fitful gusts when 
 the light came on the third day. Towards noon 
 the rain had nearly ceased, the wind dried the 
 leaves, and then swept them from the trees and 
 vines in clouds. 
 
 "Do you think the storm's nearly over, Uncle?" 
 Lois asked of Zeke, as she leaned from the kitchen 
 door into the shed where he was filling the bins 
 with kindlings. 
 
 "Don't know, Missy. Yo' see hit's 'bout time 
 fo' de fus' sto'm, an' wasn't it drefful? You-all'll 
 see, w'en de clouds blow 'way, de house'll be lighteh 
 ' n it's be'n since airly in de spring, kase de leaves 
 all done blowed off." 
 
 [106]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "We'll be glad to have it lighter than it's been 
 for the last two days." 
 
 "I reckon it'll done clah off bime by. Dis wind's 
 a clahin' off wind. It's des spyin' roun' to see ef 
 de sto'm las' night done missed anything dat hit can 
 ca'y off." 
 
 "Oh, is that it? I must go to the Ross House 
 this afternoon, and if it keeps on raining you'll 
 have to drive me over." 
 
 "Oh, dat's all right. You an' Miss Nan git 
 mighty lonesome, seems lak, w'en you-all's pa'ted 
 fo' a day or two." 
 
 Lois learned later that Miss Nan had not been 
 lonesome, though she guessed from her manner that 
 she would have dispensed most willingly with her 
 company. 
 
 When Lois reached the hotel Mrs. Ross met 
 her at the door, and, with an air of mystery, drew 
 her into the parlor. 
 
 "Mrs. Hammel asked me to see you, and tell 
 you that, most unexpectedly, her husband is here, 
 and he's not well, an' she'll be down in a minute 
 and see you here, instead of in her own rooms." 
 And Mrs. Ross bustled about, fidgeting the window- 
 shades, examining the newly lighted fire, and dust 
 ing the center-table with her handkerchief. 
 
 "When did Mr. Hammel come?" Lois asked. 
 
 "Night before last; and however it happened, 
 can only be guessed, but he missed the omnibus, and 
 [ 107]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 walked from the station here. Came in dripping 
 and wheezing and swearing, and he hasn't been out 
 of bed since." 
 
 "It's simply dreadful, isn't it? And he's really 
 ill?" 
 
 "Really ill," and Mrs. Ross nodded her head 
 and folded her arms. "Threatened with pneumo 
 nia, so Dr. Mason says. You probably know he 
 hasn't been well for some time lung trouble." 
 
 "Poor Nan ! But what possessed him to come ?" 
 
 "Ross says the devil," and Mrs. Ross laughed, 
 and pulled her brows into a frown. "You know 
 Ross always speaks his mind." 
 
 "Yes," Lois knew it; and then there were quick 
 steps on the stairs, a soft rustle of skirts, and in 
 came Mrs. Hammel, with great cheerfulness of 
 manner. But the purple crescents below her eyes 
 told a story that contradicted this exuberance. Mrs. 
 Ross arose to leave the room, saying: 
 
 "Now I guess you won't be disturbed. I'll 
 go up to your rooms and leave the door open 
 between. If Mr. Hammel wants anything I'll see 
 to him." 
 
 "Thank you, Mrs. Ross, but he's just had his 
 rest powder, and will probably sleep. I was so sur 
 prised!" she continued, as Mrs. Ross disappeared, 
 "but I might have known what would happen. 
 Whenever Jack's not quite well, no one can man 
 age him but me. His mother might as well talk 
 [108]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 to a jumping-jack; and lately he's had a very bad 
 spell." 
 
 "Did you tell me you were living with Jack's 
 mother?" 
 
 "Not that I remember. We've had other and 
 more interesting things to talk about than my do 
 mestic affairs. But that's what we've been doing. 
 After Jack was ill, three years ago, until I got to 
 work, we could have lived in no other way, ex 
 cepting in the county poorhouse. All his folks have 
 been very good to us. His mother is one of the 
 kindliest women I ever knew." 
 
 "She ought to be kind to her own." 
 
 "Yes, of course; but her own had no sort of 
 business to marry when he knew he could scarcely 
 make a living for himself." 
 
 Lois looked out of the window, for once ill at 
 ease with her friend. She felt that Mrs. Hammel 
 was not herself. She had probably been shamed 
 and embarrassed by the coming of her husband. 
 No doubt she was hindered in her work by his 
 presence, to say nothing of his illness. 
 
 Lois said: "Hasn't it been a tedious storm? 
 Doubly so after the weeks of lovely weather." 
 
 "Yes, I suppose so. I've scarcely known any 
 thing about the weather since Uncle Zeke brought 
 me home on the first rainy evening. I felt like 
 work. Our talk had crystallized a lot of floating, 
 nebulous ideas, some of which had been left over 
 
 [ 109 ]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 from cutting and making a lot of articles and sto 
 ries. I worked quite late that night, and was just 
 putting things to rights when Jack came. It's a 
 good thing I was up and wide awake. He was 
 soaked through from the outside with rain, and 
 from the inside with bad whiskey." 
 
 Lois started and looked shocked. Mrs. Hammel 
 laughed. 
 
 "See what a woman of experience I am. I don't 
 even bother to hold my tongue and let someone else 
 tell you that I'm too green or too blind to know 
 a tipsy man when I see one. If there's any one 
 thing in the world I despise more than another, 
 it's a woman who lies to cover a man's sins. It's 
 more than I can do for my own." 
 
 "Oh, Nan!" And Lois leaned forward and 
 clasped the pale, slim hands. "So you've had that 
 vice to bear with, too?" 
 
 "Yes, along with my other blessings that insist 
 on turning seam side out." She stopped to laugh 
 as she patted Lois's hands. 
 
 "Several things that have happened to me within 
 the last few years have reminded me most forcibly 
 of a very pretty little umbrella I had when I was 
 about fifteen. It was so delicate and genteel. I 
 felt as your sister Frances says, 'too swell for any 
 thing,' with my umbrella neatly wrapped and 
 strapped, on days when there were only symptoms 
 of rain. But when the winds rose and the floods 
 [no]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 fell, then did that deceiving beauty either turn itself 
 wrong side out, or let the rain through on my most 
 cherished millinery. One day, when I was leaving 
 your house, I met Uncle Zeke at the gate. It was 
 beginning to rain a little and to blow a little. 
 Uncle very gallantly opened my umbrella for me. 
 When he felt the small weight of it, and saw how 
 neat and pretty it was, he said, 'Tell you w'at, Miss 
 Nan, yo' done got a daisy umbrella !' In the next 
 minute the breeze turned it up like a cup made 
 it a daisy, sure enough. I laughed until, by the 
 time I reached home, I was quite hysterical. I think 
 of that falsifying umbrella a great many times, and 
 moralize over it." 
 
 "But, dear, not all your blessings show the seamy 
 side; some of your friends, for instance, stand by 
 you in the storms." 
 
 "Oh, yes, indeed! But, really, I've never had 
 anything to call a storm. My troubles have been 
 more like the first evening of this 'spell of weather' 
 just drizzly and disagreeable enough to beat out 
 my bright prospects, as the rain stripped the beau 
 tiful trees of their garments." 
 
 "I'm glad your mother-in-law has not been a 
 weak umbrella." 
 
 "No, she's no relation to that umbrella ; neither 
 are any of the rest of the Hammels, save one who 
 shall be nameless. They are all much more re 
 spectable than Jack and I. Pa Hammel is a master 
 [in]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 mechanic, and is very highly respected. One son 
 is a doctor of medicine, and another has a large 
 notion store. Two sisters are married, and in very 
 comfortable circumstances. The youngest of the 
 family, Beatrice, was graduated from a high school 
 two years ago, and she's teaching in the public 
 schools. Jack's mother is very philosophic and 
 cheerful, and frequently makes funny speeches 
 about him when some women would be crying their 
 eyes out. One night, when she and I were watching 
 with him in an illness brought on by dissipation, she 
 said she supposed she oughtn't to grumble, though 
 it was pretty hard to have a respectable family 
 stained, but she had noticed that 'there is no flock, 
 however well descended, but one black sheep is 
 there.' I told her it was a shame to travesty that 
 beautiful poem. She said Longfellow spoke from 
 his point of view, she from her own."
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 IT was the last Thursday of September, the open 
 ing of the club year of "The Daughters of En 
 deavor." Lois called for Mrs. Hammel to go with 
 her. The society was to consider the conditions 
 of laboring people, and try to formulate some meth 
 ods of bettering them. There were to be some 
 special efforts in behalf of the class that find it 
 necessary to put their children to work as soon as 
 they are of lawful age, in spite of the fact that 
 the education of the children is not at all what it 
 should be. 
 
 Even in so small a town as Stillwater there were 
 people so poor as to be more than willing to send 
 their children to the paper mill, the starch factory, 
 the woolen mills, and the retail stores, to work for 
 eight, or ten, or twelve hours out of the twenty- 
 four for the sake of the few dollars paid them. 
 It was this class, and a few families that always 
 had to depend upon charity, that "The Daughters 
 of Endeavor" wished to assist to better their con 
 dition. 
 
 Mrs. Hammel said her husband was quite com-
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 fortable, and she would go to the meeting. She 
 was interested to know what the women would say, 
 and she had been asked to give her ideas concerning 
 women's clubs in a syndicate article. It was all 
 in the line of business. 
 
 The first hour of the meeting was occupied by 
 picking up the business stitches of the club and re 
 ceiving the congratulations of the president and 
 each other, that they came together in good health, 
 and not one member had passed irretrievably from 
 their midst since the last meeting in May. 
 
 Next in order was the paper of the day. The 
 reader advocated the establishment of industrial 
 schools for girls of from eight to sixteen years, or 
 older, and outlined a stupendous plan for disposing 
 of the surplus time of children, especially girls. 
 When the paper was finished it was discussed under 
 strict parliamentary rules. 
 
 The member to open the discussion was Mrs. 
 Mason Mrs. Dr. Mason her cards were en 
 graved, because she was the wife of Dr. John Ma 
 son. She was fair, florid, and showily dressed. She 
 was noted for her style, her elegant poses, and her 
 piety. She thought eight years was too young to 
 put a child to learning to sew or do any kind of 
 work. The schools might be held to account by 
 the laws regulating child labor. 
 
 "But," a slim, trim, dark woman, Mrs. Simcoe, 
 hastened to explain, "this is not labor. It is simply 
 
 [114]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 training for future usefulness. Now when I was 
 ten years old I could make my own dresses, and 
 I could also cook a good plain dinner, thanks to a 
 New England mother." 
 
 "Madam President!" came a girlish voice from 
 the far end of the room, "I would like to ask the 
 member if she makes her own dresses now." 
 
 "No, Madam President, I do not. Dresses are 
 much more difficult now than when I was a child." 
 
 "Madam President!" and a gray-haired, dark- 
 eyed woman arose. "Are the children in these 
 schools to be taught all branches of domestic work? 
 Will they be expected to learn cooking, whether 
 they wish to or not? and sewing, even though 
 they'd rather shoe horses?" 
 
 The president arose, asked the first officer on 
 her right to occupy the chair, and replied : 
 
 "I think the object of the industrial schools is 
 to teach little girls, or big girls, as the case may 
 be, to be well-trained, all-round useful women. Since 
 women must do so many things that are distasteful, 
 in many instances, it seemed well to teach them how 
 to do all things pertaining to the ordinary woman's 
 life in the most approved way." 
 
 "Seems to me, Madam President, and ladies, 
 that this will cause a great waste of time." This 
 speaker, Mrs. Moss, had a strong voice, strong, 
 clear-cut features, and a tall, symmetrical body. 
 "This is an age of specialties. I wish I had all the
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 time I wasted in learning to sew seams and knit 
 stockings. I was compelled to learn them, by an 
 other New England mother, and I did, with many 
 tears. I had to fill certain spaces of time in sewing 
 long seams. Oh ! I could have curtained the heav 
 ens with the cotton cloth I sewed, sometimes with 
 a running stitch and a back stitch, sometimes with 
 overcasting, sometimes with hems and fells. See 
 how I remember my tortures! The knitting was 
 as bad. I'd fill the allotted time, then, wrapping 
 my smarting fingers in my little soiled handkerchief 
 that I had hemstitched, I'd take Fox's 'Martyrs' 
 from the bookcase and read some of the worst ones. 
 One day my father looked over my shoulder, and I 
 paused and raised my tear-stained eyes. 'Daugh 
 ter,' he said, 'did any of them have as bad a time 
 as you're having?' I sighed, and spoke my little 
 thought: 'I don't know they died in a few 
 days.' He laughed, and shot a peculiar glance at 
 my mother. It was a long time before I understood 
 why he was merry while I was so miserable. I 
 think, and I speak as a woman, as a mother, as a 
 physician, that if we are going to try and help 
 people who seem to be unable to help themselves, 
 we would better study their capabilities try to 
 discover the trend of their powers, and then teach 
 them to, in a measure, understand themselves, and 
 let them work out the problem of their own lives 
 on their own plans." 
 
 [116]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "Madame President!" said a pale, sentimental- 
 looking woman. "I do not agree with the last 
 speaker. Many of these people are too weak men 
 tally to think for themselves. We must think for 
 them, and act for them. Sometimes I wonder what 
 our Heavenly Father thinks of us, who are strong 
 and sound, that we neglect to help those who are 
 weak and inferior. I feel that in these schools that 
 we are trying to establish the work cannot be too 
 comprehensive. We must teach these poor children 
 how to be self-supporting in many ways, so that if 
 one way fails they can do something else equally 
 well." 
 
 The next speaker, Mrs. Macy, was a woman 
 who, as her neighbors said, "has good sense, and 
 knows the world and the folks in it." She said 
 that she was not sure that she could consistently ad 
 vocate this all-round education, instead of special 
 izing. How could these weaklings be made over 
 into universal geniuses ? "Not long ago," she said, 
 "I was East to visit an aunt who lives in the old 
 home of my grandparents. In the basement, or, 
 more properly, the cellar, I saw the kettles for boil 
 ing soap, and the candle-moulds that my grand 
 mother used when she made up the means of puri 
 fying and lighting her house from year's end to 
 year's end. My aunt said that when she was a 
 little girl she had to learn to do these things, and 
 sometimes she grew so rebellious she felt like up- 
 
 t7]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 setting the big kettles, either of tallow or soap. By 
 the time she was grown, the work had been taken 
 up by men. They had studied out more rapid 
 methods." 
 
 "Yes, and made money by them," said Mrs. 
 Moss. "Women, nowadays, would better be utiliz 
 ing their wits on some sort of invention than toiling 
 over the hard work that their foremothers died of/' 
 
 "Madame President!" It was Mrs. Milford 
 who spoke. "Speaking of making candles in the 
 old-fashioned moulds that used to be found in every 
 house, reminds me of 'dips,' and also of the first 
 and last of the abominations I ever saw. It was 
 when I was a little girl. My sister Rachel had 
 married into a New England family, and lived 
 about twenty miles from home. She had been away 
 a few months when our mother was taken ill, and 
 Rachel came home for a few days. She made an 
 inspection of the house, and found that the stock 
 of candles was nearly exhausted. We were living 
 on a farm, four or five miles from the village, and 
 it was a very busy time. Of course, there were 
 all the inconveniences in the house for moulding 
 candles, but Rachel said she'd make some 'dips.' 
 Presently she had a kettle of tallow melting on the 
 kitchen range. While waiting for it she looped 
 some lengths of wicking on a smooth stick. Then 
 the kettle was carried out and placed in the shade 
 of a cherry tree, and Rachel sat by it and dipped 
 [118]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 those wicks into the hot tallow, then held them 
 out until it should cool and form a crust; then 
 dipped them in again. It was in the early days of 
 September, and you may guess the cooling process 
 was not rapid. I sat watching her, and taking care 
 of my little brother. Father came by, and he 
 stopped to look at the manufacture of candles by 
 dipping. I saw a smile in his eyes, and by and 
 by he said : 'Rachel, is this one of the smart Yankee 
 tricks you've learned of your mother-in-law?' and 
 Rachel answered meekly, 'Yes, father.' 'Well, my 
 girl,' he said, 'I think if they had tried Job with 
 this work, results with him would have been dif 
 ferent.' I did not then understand the joke, but 
 Rachel looked shocked as she laughed. Later in 
 the day I called my brother to see the forlorn lit 
 tle 'dips' hanging in the tree. I told him about 
 the process of making, and also that father said 
 Job would surely have sworn if he had to make 
 candles. Since then I've thought much of the use 
 less work that women have been compelled to learn, 
 as if it was a part of the scheme of salvation. Some 
 of this work is as tedious as dipping candles, and 
 not of as much use when done. I agree with the 
 member who advocates the study of the capacities 
 of our pupils. Let us first educate ourselves in 
 this particular, so that we may not set tasks that 
 are useless and institute tortures for our fellow- 
 men."
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "Madam President!" It was Lois who spoke. 
 "This question is much too large for me. I had 
 no idea how many views might be taken of so small 
 a matter as to teach or not to teach a little girl to 
 sew or cook, or dust a room, or wash dishes. In 
 the face of all the wit and wisdom brought to bear 
 on the subject I am silenced. But we have an old 
 friend amongst us to-day, one who is interested in 
 these matters, one who is known to the newspaper 
 world as 'Joan Stone' and 'Alice Howe,' but whom 
 we know and love as Anna Dever Hammel. I 
 am sure, if she is permitted, she will say something 
 that we'll be glad to hear." 
 
 Over Mrs. Hammel's pantomime protests the 
 motion was made, the vote taken, and the president 
 invited Mrs. Hammel to come to that end of the 
 parlor and face the audience, so that all might see 
 her. She looked very bright and girlish, with the 
 pink tinge in her cheeks, scarlet on her lips, and 
 her dark eyes flashing with no one could tell 
 whether it was enthusiasm or ridicule. 
 
 "Madam President, and ladies," came in a low, 
 musical, and penetrating voice. "This is most kind 
 to you. The kindness will be evident to yourselves 
 when I tell you that I am not a reformer. All 
 along the lines of reform, as I hear of it, I'm a 
 veritable heretic. Of all the tedious, worthless work 
 that women have set for their hands to do, reform 
 ing is the most barren of results. True, you may 
 [ 120]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 say that I cannot possibly have had experience. Not 
 much, I grant, but experience is the severe dame 
 who keeps an expensive school, and measures out 
 long terms. It is in this school that women have 
 toiled for so long at making candles, and soap, and 
 patchwork quilts, and rag carpets, and all those 
 crochetted monstrosities, instead of using their 
 brains, which would surely have grown by the ex 
 ercise, and not grown ugly and disfigured, as were 
 their toil-hardened hands. I have been thinking, 
 instead of experimenting. I have solved the prob 
 lem to my own satisfaction. The member who 
 wonders what our Heavenly Father thinks of us 
 has the wrong handle of the matter. 'Shall not 
 the Judge of all the earth do right?' If we admit, 
 for the sake of consistency, that there is an intelli 
 gence taking note of these affairs of ours, it seems 
 to me that this intelligence we may call it Heav 
 enly Father; it's only a name, anyway might very 
 reasonably wonder what we think of His handi 
 work, and the inexorable laws that govern the 
 whole outfit. Long ago Omar, the tentmaker, was 
 of this mind when he said : 
 
 " 'O Thou who man of baser earth didst make, 
 
 And even with Paradise devise the snake, 
 For all the sin wherewith the face of man 
 Is blackened, God's forgiveness give, and 
 take.' 
 
 [121]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "Madam President, and ladies, I thank you for 
 your kindly attention." 
 
 The speaker went back to her chair, while the 
 applause was tempered with whisperings, and 
 frowns of disapproval. 
 
 When the meeting was adjourned, Mrs. Milford 
 was one of the heartiest of the handshakers who 
 surrounded Mrs. Hammel, and she managed to 
 whisper: 
 
 "Oh, you happy thing! You dare to speak your 
 honest thought ! You couldn't do it if you had mar 
 ried a preacher." 
 
 Mrs. Dr. Mason, the exponent of style andrelig- 
 ious propriety, stood aloof. She, as a representa 
 tive of the church, and the "best society, felt that 
 something sacrilegious had been said. Who was 
 Omar, anyway? Not a professional man, surely, 
 if he was a tentmaker! 
 
 Mrs. Mason was at her best when posing before 
 an audience and advising women to always see that 
 their homes were in order before trying to stand 
 shoulder to shoulder with their husbands, "the ap 
 plause of listening senates to command." 
 
 This quotation was one of her stock expressions, 
 and one day Mrs. Macy assured her that there were 
 no listening senates nowadays. Senators never made 
 any pretence of listening to each other; that they 
 might have listened in Gray's time, but not in our 
 own. 
 
 [ 122]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 In spite of that, Mrs. Mason claimed the privi 
 lege of being shocked by Mrs. Hammel. Later, 
 Mrs. Hammel said she was not shocked in the least 
 when Mrs. Ross told her that her chambermaid, 
 who had formerly worked for Mrs. Mason, said 
 that this graceful embodiment of style, religion, and 
 general propriety, had boxed the ears of her grown 
 daughter for neglecting her prayers, and had locked 
 her grown son in his room for two days for daring 
 to practice "Blue Bells of Scotland" on his mando 
 lin on Sunday. 
 
 Mrs. Hammel said that was just like her. She 
 had no doubt she would do worse things.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 IT was a bright October day, the day before the 
 election. 
 
 The Ross House omnibus was at the door, and 
 the driver called: "All aboard for Chicago ex 
 press ! Time's up !" 
 
 Then out of the door came a tall, slouching fig 
 ure, enveloped in a long gray ulster, and with a 
 silk muffler about his neck. The man seemed to 
 be in a bad temper. He was muttering and pro 
 testing, but Mrs. Hammel, who supported him by 
 one arm, and held fast to him even while Mr. Ross 
 assisted him into the vehicle, answered cheerily: 
 "Oh, yes; you'll go through all right only a few 
 hours' ride. I've already spoken to Conductor 
 Simms, and I'll wire your father to meet you. Your 
 mother wants you, and she can care for you better 
 than I can. You need Will's advice, too." 
 
 When Mrs. Hammel returned, Mrs. Ross said : 
 
 "Well, of course, it's your own business, but 
 seems to me, if it'd been my husband, I'd 'a' kept 
 'im with me till he was a little stronger. I wouldn't 
 'a' sent 'im to Chicago, of all places."
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "I've done what I think best, Mrs. Ross," Mrs. 
 Hammel answered wearily. "He's much less ex 
 pensive there than here. He can live at home, and 
 his brother, Dr. Will Hammel, can supply his medi 
 cines. The climate of Chicago will not hurt Jack 
 as much as he'd hurt himself, and me, as soon as 
 he's able to be out. He's able now, but Dr. Mason 
 has purposely refused to allow him; and he and I 
 together could not have kept him in longer than 
 to-day. Most particularly I didn't want him here 
 to-morrow, as he was determined to go out." 
 
 "Oh, I see," Mrs. Ross said. "Well, each one 
 of us knows our own troubles best." 
 
 If Mrs. Ross had kept strictly to facts, she might 
 have confessed that it was a trifle doubtful if Mrs. 
 Hammel had known her troubles for the last few 
 weeks any better than her hostess. The Ross House 
 was an old wooden building, with thin partitions 
 and badly fitting doors. Mrs. Ross heard some of 
 the conversations of her guests, unavoidably. Other 
 conversations she would not have avoided hearing 
 if she could. Sometimes she was not above listening 
 to the reports of her chambermaid. 
 
 More than once, within the time that Jack Ham 
 mel had been a guest in her house, had Mrs. Ross 
 heard him berating his wife for her lack of success 
 in gaining admittance to her mother, and "making 
 it up with her." 
 
 To these reproaches sometimes Mrs. Hammel re- 
 
 [125]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 plied patiently, persuasively, sometimes perempto 
 rily commanding silence on the subject, and some 
 times not at all. 
 
 One day Mrs. Ross heard, and later she had rea 
 son to remember it, that Hammel, more than usu 
 ally irritable, had said savagely: "I do wish the 
 old heathen would die ! She must leave her be 
 longings to you, and there she sits, not enjoying 
 anything, and I suffering for lack of what is right 
 fully mine I" 
 
 To this Mrs. Hammel had answered in her usual 
 voice : 
 
 "You have no claims upon my mother's belong 
 ings. Of course, if she sees fit, she can leave her 
 real estate, and anything else she possesses, to me. 
 If she chooses, she can leave it to someone else. It 
 is her own, absolutely." 
 
 Then there was a volley of oaths, and the sick 
 man seemed to be walking about the room. 
 
 Mrs. Ross was a kindly woman, and sympathetic, 
 and she was really glad to have Hammel out of the 
 house. Mrs. Hammel was much more cheerful af 
 ter he was gone. 
 
 In the afternoon of this day she went out to mail 
 her literary work. The day was fine, and on her 
 way back from the post office she walked up and 
 down in front of her mother's house several times. 
 She could see no one, and she entered the grounds 
 and gathered a handful of asters that grew in 
 [126]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 amongst the weeds of a border she used to culti 
 vate. 
 
 As she was going away, much to her surprise, 
 Polly came from the house, down across the ragged 
 lawn. 
 
 "Oh, Miss Nan!" she said, "I'm so glad to see 
 ye!" 
 
 "Good old Polly!" and Mrs. Hammel kissed her 
 brown cheek. "Let me look at you. You see my 
 mother every day, and talk to her, and touch her 
 oh, Polly!" 
 
 "Yes, Miss Nan. Nobody sees 'er but jes' me." 
 
 "How is she, Polly well?" 
 
 "Yes, she's well, I guess. She never complains, 
 an' has a good appetite, an' sleeps all right. She's 
 takin' her nap now." 
 
 Then the two stood there together, talking and 
 crying. They were not far from the gate, and 
 only half hidden by the shrubbery. As they stood 
 there Dan and Frances Drayton passed, and they 
 bowed to Mrs. Hammel. Then Polly, turning to 
 see them, broke out crying harder than ever as she 
 said: 
 
 "Oh, Miss Nan ! Ef you'd on'y 'a' married him 
 how happy we'd 'a' be'n !" 
 
 "There, Polly! Don't cry, please! And why 
 should you say that? Mr. Drayton never thought 
 of me in that way. We were good friends, because 
 Lois and I liked each other, and Paul, too. Poor 
 
 [ 127]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 little Paul! He and I were the best friends of 
 all!" 
 
 "Course, I know 'at mebbe you an' him wasn't 
 jes' promised, but I know jes' as well you would 'a' 
 be'n ef you'd 'a' waited." 
 
 "But, Polly, I loved Jack all the time. I never 
 thought of anyone else as I did of him. Don't 
 grieve about it. Mr. Drayton has a nice wife, and 
 if my husband is something of a disappointment it 
 can't be helped. Many women and men are disap 
 pointed in marriage. Jack and I started out with 
 the best intentions in the world. Now he's ill, 
 and I'm afraid he'll never get better," and she 
 sighed. 
 
 "Mebbe ef he'd die your mother'd take you 
 home ag'in." 
 
 "Did she ever say anything of the kind?" 
 
 "Not ezackly. She says very little about any 
 thing; but, course she'd never let him come into 
 the house." 
 
 "How does she pass her time?" 
 
 "She reads an' writes an' sews. She doesn't use 
 a sewin'-machine now any more. She sews every 
 thing by hand, so's to fill up more time." 
 
 "And does she never go outdoors?" 
 
 "Never, as I see; an' she never sees anyone to 
 speak to but me." 
 
 "Poor mother! Her mind is surely unbalanced. 
 [128]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 She's kind to you? She doesn't get angry and 
 scold?" 
 
 "Never! Ef I makes any mistakes, which I 
 don't once in six months, bein' so used to the house 
 an' her ways, an' ef I break anythin', she jes' says, 
 'Never mind, Polly; it don't matter. Nothin' 
 matters any more,' an' I guess that's right. She 
 won't have your room touched to be aired, or swept, 
 or dusted, an' for more'n a year the door's been 
 locked. I've looked through the keyhole, an' it's 
 dark 's shades an' blinds can make it." 
 
 Tears were slowly rolling over Mrs. Hammel's 
 cheeks, and she stood staring at the faithful wom 
 an, the only person who had spoken to her mother 
 within the last four years. 
 
 "Is that you, Nan?" came pleasantly from the 
 street, and Mrs. Hammel hastily brushed away her 
 tears and turned to see Lois Drayton peering 
 through the shrubbery. 
 
 "Yes, dear ! Good-bye, Polly," and she pressed 
 the hard hand that tried to detain her. 
 
 "Come again, please, Miss Nan. Come every 
 day please do!" 
 
 "I will, Polly, if it doesn't make trouble for 
 you. I'll be glad to come. At what time?" 
 
 "Jes' 'bout this time. Your mother most allus 
 rests nearly all the afternoon, an' then I lock the 
 doors an' walk about in the fresh air. Come to 
 
 morrow."
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "I will, then. Good-bye!" and Mrs. Hammel 
 kissed her cheek. 
 
 "Poor Nan !" and Lois caressed her as she might 
 baby Fred. "So Jack's gone home? I've been to 
 the hotel to see you, and came this way slowly, hop- 
 wig to meet you. Come home with me, dear, 
 mamma expects you. They're all at home this even 
 ing, and I want you to meet Dan's partner, Mr. 
 Hale. Dan says he's a sort of a member-in-law 
 of the family now." 
 
 Mrs. Hammel, still dabbing her eyes, looked 
 sidewise at Lois. "I wonder if he won't be another 
 sort of a member of the family by and by." 
 
 "Oh, my, no! I don't want to marry, nor does 
 Mr. Hale, as far as I've been able to observe." 
 
 "No, girls and men don't usually want to marry; 
 at least, they carry no placards announcing that to 
 be the case. I've met Mr. Hale. He's very nice. 
 He has a good, strong face, and sometimes hand 
 some men have brains." 
 
 Lois laughed. "I hope Mr. Hale is one of the 
 favored ones ; at least, I hope he has sufficient brains 
 to take care of Dan's interests after to-morrow." 
 
 [ 130]
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 "WHAT is it, Nan ? Have you lost something?" 
 
 "I thought I had an extra handkerchief, but I 
 guess not." 
 
 "Let me supply you." 
 
 The two were together in Lois's room, freshen 
 ing their toilets before going down to dinner. Mrs. 
 Hammel's pilfered nosegay was put into a vase un 
 til she should go home. 
 
 "I'll get more to-morrow. Poor little dwarfs ! 
 This is the first time I've gone into the grounds for 
 two months. Then I tried to induce Polly to let 
 me into the house. I fancy, if I could get in and 
 take mother by surprise, I could force a reconcilia 
 tion; but Polly, though seemingly heart-broken, 
 could not be persuaded. But if mother never goes 
 out, I hope I'll not disturb her by loafing about 
 the grounds. Seeing me there, even from the win 
 dows, she may relent. Anyway, I'll see good old 
 Polly, and we can cry our eyes out together." 
 
 Those who knew Frances Drayton best, and had 
 grown to dread her capricious temper, saw that
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 there was a storm of some magnitude in the air 
 as soon as Lois and Mrs. Hammel entered the room 
 where the family were gathered, awaiting dinner. 
 
 Dan at once acknowledged the change in the 
 temper of his wife by an exceeding iciness of man 
 ner towards Mrs. Hammel, but no one else gave the 
 least sign, save Paul. He caught Laura's eye, pre 
 tended to shiver, drew his coat together one more 
 button, and remarked on the likelihood of a frost 
 very soon. 
 
 "It's the frost that's going to catch our friends, 
 the enemy, to-morrow at the polls," said Philip 
 Hale; and, turning to Mrs. Hammel, he continued: 
 "Are you a political writer in any sense?" 
 
 "Only in the way of touching results very light 
 ly moralizing a little, by way of comforting the 
 defeated." 
 
 "Nan sings the song of failure," said Basil, and 
 turning to her he said, "You know most of the can 
 didates; you can go serenading to-morrow night." 
 
 "Better go to-night, wouldn't I? Play Cassan 
 dra, or the prophetic banshee." 
 
 "They need no prophet," said Mr. Drayton. 
 "It's a foolish thing to have two parties where one 
 is so much in the majority." 
 
 "Perhaps the minor party stands by its princi 
 ples," Frances said. 
 
 "Now we never supposed they had any," Paul 
 said drily. "Likely as not, they do think they're 
 
 [ 132]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 right. It's a lack of education makes them think 
 so, I guess." 
 
 Frances shot a glance at Paul that was full of dis 
 like, if not downright hatred. 
 
 Lois, seeing the mood of her sister-in-law, and 
 guessing the reason for it, spoke to Philip Hale 
 very quietly, asking him to be especially attentive 
 to Mrs. Hammel. 
 
 "Certainly, if you wish it," was his ready answer, 
 while his eyes questioned her. 
 
 "I do wish it most earnestly. Some time I may 
 explain, if you have not already guessed my rea 
 son." 
 
 "Perhaps I have guessed," and his glance wan 
 dered indifferently toward Frances. 
 
 They were interrupted by little Fred, who was 
 making a tour of the room, touching each one of 
 the company, and pronouncing the name and rela 
 tionship to himself, sometimes with the addition 
 of an endearing or complimentary epithet. Mr. 
 Drayton had been patted as "nice, dood g'anpa." 
 Laura was "my own s'eet mamma." Basil was al 
 ways "Pitty papa." When the little fellow came 
 to Lois, she received a rapturous hug on her skirts, 
 and was told that she was "Baby's doodest Auntie 
 Lois." No one had paid any attention to Fred, so 
 that his next move was unnoticed save by the two 
 most concerned. He turned to Hale, looked at him 
 inquiringly for an instant, then placing his hands 
 [ 133]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 on the young man's knees, said distinctly, "Baby's 
 nice Unca Pil Hale." 
 
 "Hello! hello! Is that so, little captain?" and 
 he leaned over the baby while he gazed steadily at 
 Lois. "Am I your uncle?" and he lifted the child 
 to his knee. "Did auntie say so?" 
 
 "For shame!" Lois said, just above a whisper. 
 "Baby's Uncle Zeke's out in the garden taking care 
 of the chrysanthemums." 
 
 "But Unca Pil Hale not in ga'den." 
 
 "No, Uncle Phil's right here, little boss. Ask 
 auntie if I'm not your uncle, sure enough." 
 
 The obedient baby, turning to Lois, lisped : "Su' 
 'nough, auntie?" 
 
 "Tell him no. You want an uncle who can speak 
 for himself." 
 
 "I'll speak for myself, now remember, and this 
 youngster may have my purse for helping me." 
 
 All the evening Hale was in a most exultant 
 mood, and he entertained Mrs. Hammel most loy 
 ally, even walking with her to the Ross House, 
 though Basil and Laura offered their services. He 
 might have walked all night for all the need he 
 felt of sleep. 
 
 In the midst of the "good-nights" he found op 
 portunity to say to Lois : "I'll speak to your moth 
 er and father at their earliest convenience." 
 
 No answer in words, but there was a flash like 
 blue lightning from a rose-colored cloud, and he 
 
 [134]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 was satisfied. The question that had been racking 
 the young lawyer's brain for months was asked, and 
 answered by the chance intervention of a little child. 
 
 [135]
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 "WHAT was that?" 
 
 "What was what ? I heard nothing but the noise 
 of the cheering over the returns." 
 
 "No, it was something moving, in there amongst 
 the shrubbery, and I'm almost sure I heard a half- 
 suppressed cough." 
 
 "You're nervous, Nan. It isn't to be wondered 
 at in this neighborhood. I heard nothing; did you 
 notice anything, Paul?" 
 
 "I thought the cough was back of us," Paul an 
 swered, undecidedly, "but just as we passed the cor 
 ner, where we got a good view of Mrs. Devers 
 lawn, I'm sure I saw a shadow something, a man 
 or a woman, seemed to be walking near the house, 
 and the head reached out into the moonlight, past 
 the shadows cast by the house." 
 
 "Oh, Paul! are you sure?" and Mrs. Hammel 
 clasped his arm tightly. 
 
 "It must have been a cat, Paul," Lois said hur 
 riedly, "and the cough was by the four-footed ma 
 rauder, too. Don't you remember, Nan, there was 
 [136]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 a sprig of catnip amongst the asters you gathered 
 yesterday? Some poor Tom or Maria has a cold 
 and is out for medicine before going to bed." 
 
 "I remember the catnip, and I remember, too, 
 that it always grew here abundantly, if left undis 
 turbed; but that was not a cat's sneeze that I heard. 
 I've thought a great many times of the danger that 
 mother and Polly are in, living here all alone. It is 
 a common story gossip that a certain class in 
 dulges in that mother is hoarding her income in 
 the house. Mrs. Ross has spoken of it several 
 times. Of course, I do not feel like going to the 
 bank to inquire, but I'll ask Polly to-morrow." 
 
 "They ought to have a special watchman. Here 
 comes the patrol I'll speak to him." 
 
 Mrs. Hammel, Lois and Paul had been passing 
 the evening with Laura while Basil waited for the 
 incoming election returns. They were on their way 
 to the Ross House, when, on passing the home of 
 Mrs. Dever, Mrs. Hammel was startled by the 
 sound of what seemed to her a smothered cough. 
 
 Lois walked nearest the curb, and was speaking 
 at the time, so she had not noticed the sound that 
 was quite distinct to the other two. 
 
 Paul spoke to the policeman they met, and at 
 their request the officer went all about the grounds 
 and reported everything quiet. He said further that 
 he frequently did this, feeling, as did Mrs. Ham 
 mel, that the two solitary women were a temptation 
 
 [ 137]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 to those who were on the watch for houses easily 
 looted, and well worth the work. 
 
 There was nothing more said about it, but when 
 they came to the street leading to the Ross House, 
 Lois insisted on Mrs. Hammel going home with 
 them for the night. 
 
 "You're nervous, Nan. I'm not sure that it's 
 a good thing for you to see Polly every day. It 
 keeps your grief continually fresh." 
 
 "I'm going to see her every day, just the same, 
 for a while, at least; then I may as well go away. 
 I think, too, that what God hath joined is a hum 
 bug. I've an idea that probably I'll go East instead 
 of West. No, thank you, dear, I'll not go home 
 with you. No need of taxing you out of your wits 
 because you're generous. I guess I've had too much 
 dissipation for the last two days. The reaction is 
 on, and I feel as if the world was coming to an 
 end." 
 
 "Now, my dear old sweetheart," Paul said, as 
 he pressed her arm and patted her hand, "don't 
 you know that the world is round, and has no end, 
 as is my love for you, my friend?" 
 
 "Yes, Paul, I know," and Mrs. Hammel 
 laughed. "I'm sure I'm not hungry you know 
 that's your father's way of accounting for low spir 
 its. 1 think if I take my dumps home and let the 
 disease run its course just be as wretched as I pos- 
 
 [138]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 sibly can be to-night I'll be able to get myself 
 well in hand to-morrow and go on in the old way." 
 
 After leaving her at the hotel, Paul and Lois 
 went briskly homeward. At the first street they 
 had to cross they barely missed a party of men, 
 perhaps a half dozen, who were talking, laughing, 
 and singing snatches of campaign songs. As they 
 passed, one said: 
 
 "Oh, I tell you, Mr. Prosecutor, this is a soft 
 snap you've got!" 
 
 "Think I've really got it?" Dan Drayton asked. 
 
 "Oh, Lord, yes! You had it in June!" and the 
 company passed on, escorting the successful candi 
 date to his own door. 
 
 There, Frances met them most cordially, and in 
 sisted that they should all come in. She had pre 
 pared a little supper, and she was sure there would 
 be enough for all. 
 
 For more than an hour the party sat in the din 
 ing-room, then, with hearty congratulations, they 
 took their leave. 
 
 One of the most hilarious of the party, a young 
 lawyer, who had been graduated in the class with 
 Dan, said at the gate : 
 
 "Now, Dan, just for the sake of the practice 
 it'll give you, and to rouse this old burg out of 
 its coma, I hope some worthless lout will slaughter 
 some other lout. You'll defend the commonwealth, 
 
 [ 139]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 and I'll put my mettle against yours, and ladle out 
 legal flap-doodle for the murderer." 
 
 In the midst of the laugh that followed this wish, 
 "good-nights" were said, and the party went away. 
 
 As the door closed on the husband and wife, 
 Frances said: 
 
 "Dear me ! I s'pose if Marshall's wish should 
 come to pass, your mother'd have a fit." 
 
 Dan frowned, but said nothing. He had not 
 the least premonition that the joke of his friend, 
 much modified, would be the news to greet him 
 next morning over the breakfast-table. 
 
 Mrs. Hammel met Mrs. Ross in the hall of the 
 second floor, where she was entering her own sleep 
 ing-room. 
 
 "It's been a noisy night, hasn't it?" said the hos 
 tess, "and you look tired to death." 
 
 "I guess I am tired, though I haven't been in 
 the noise. It was very quiet at Basil Drayton's ; no 
 visitors there but Paul, Lois, and I." 
 
 "I hope you'll sleep, and feel all right in the 
 morning." 
 
 "I hope so." And going one flight higher, Mrs. 
 Hammel entered her own rooms. 
 
 One window was open, and the moonlight lay 
 
 in a square on the floor. She sat by the window, 
 
 without lighting the gas, and, drawing off her 
 
 gloves, dropped them on the floor. Hat and jacket 
 
 [
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 followed them, and there in the moonlight she sat, 
 unconscious of the air that was growing chill, of 
 the hurrahing that came across the quiet streets, of 
 the light that arose from the bonfire, lit by the 
 enthusiastic victors of the day. She realized only 
 that she was Anna Dever Hammel, the most abject 
 ly miserable woman in the world. 
 
 The depression that had wrapped her for the 
 last few hours like a cloud of mist seemed now to 
 press upon her like a tangible garment. 
 
 Perhaps Lois was right. Perhaps she would bet 
 ter not go to meet Polly every day, there, so near 
 that her mother might, if she cared, hear the sound 
 of their voices ; but she did not care. 
 
 She leaned her folded arms on the window-sill 
 and looked toward her mother's house as she so 
 liloquized: 
 
 "I wouldn't have believed any woman, any moth 
 er, could be so unforgiving. Since my mother is, 
 and I am her flesh and blood, perhaps it's a good 
 thing that my baby died. When Mother Ham 
 mel told me that I might see the day when I'd be 
 thankful for the loss, I couldn't believe her; but 
 she was right. I've seen a lot of such days, but, 
 oh, me! I hope I won't see many more of any 
 kind !" And dropping her head on her arms, a few 
 big, slow tears forced themselves from her eyes. 
 These were tears that come with a burning and 
 aching through the eyeballs, and the ache has strong
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 roots in the breast that rend and tear as if being 
 drawn out. 
 
 Such tears come when one suffers what cannot 
 be resented; when the one from whom we expect 
 only cherishing kindness is cruel as death; when 
 one's own blood is unkind and unjust. 
 
 Not long did Mrs. Hammel sit thus. Presently 
 she arose, picked up her outdoor garments, and put 
 them in their proper place. As she turned from the 
 press there was a tap on the door. 
 
 "What is it?" she asked, with her face close to 
 the loosely-fitted panel. 
 
 "Only I, Mrs. Hammel. I heard you moving 
 about. Are you sick? Can I do anything for 
 you?" 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Ross ! ' No, thank you. I'm sorry I 
 disturbed you." She opened the door. "Will you 
 come in? I've been sitting in the moonlight." 
 
 "No; I'll go back to bed. No, you didn't dis 
 turb me. I ain't easily disturbed; but I thought 
 maybe you'd been so worried out with Mr. Ham- 
 
 mel's sickness, and all But, good-night. Go 
 
 to bed, and you'll feel all right in the morning." 
 
 "It's very kind of you. Good-night!" And she 
 closed the door, and really hurried in her prepara 
 tions for the night.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 SLEEP was not long in coming to Mrs. Hammel 
 when she signified her readiness for it. She con 
 fessed, as she laid her head on her pillow, that it 
 was good that she could pay for a comfortable bed, 
 and pass her leisure with such pleasant friends as 
 she found here in the town where her mother chose 
 to live as one dead. 
 
 She was conscious of a soothing drowsiness, of 
 a calmness and content stealing over her, and then 
 she felt sure she had but just gone to bed, and 
 yet she was wide awake. She felt rested and re 
 freshed, and the room was light. 
 
 "I ought to have closed the blinds and shut out 
 the moonlight. I'll do it now." She turned in 
 bed, set her foot on the floor, and then: "How 
 silly! It's the sun!" 
 
 It was morning, and the little clock on the shelf 
 said nine. 
 
 Then, still sitting on the side of the bed, she 
 became conscious of movements in the hall, of whis 
 pers that came hissing through the thin partitions 
 
 [143]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 much more distinctly than would words spoken in 
 an undertone. 
 
 Someone was saying: "Does she always sleep 
 so late? What time did she get in last night? I 
 saw 'er in the early part of the evening going to 
 Basil Drayton's." 
 
 Someone answered : "She came home some time 
 after eleven, but she wasn't feeling quite well, an' 
 I won't let you disturb 'er. She'll hear all about 
 it soon enough. Wait till she's had 'er breakfast." 
 
 The person outside the door might wait, but 
 Mrs. Hammel would not. She caught up a long 
 flannel wrapper, threw it on over her nightgown, 
 and hurried to the door. Two women were walk 
 ing down the hall. 
 
 "What is it, Mrs. Ross? What's happened? Is 
 Mr. Hammel here?" 
 
 "Laws, no, Mrs. Hammel ! And Mrs. Ross hur 
 ried to her, waving away the other woman, whom 
 Mrs. Hammel recognized as a neighbor of her 
 mother's. 
 
 "Now come right inside an' put on your clothes." 
 And Mrs. Ross pushed her into the room and closed 
 the door. 
 
 Mrs. Hammel saw there were tears in her eyes, 
 and her hands trembled, though they clung to her 
 with a touch like a caress. 
 
 "Just wait a minute," she said. "I'll call Phoebe 
 through the tube to bring your breakfast. Keep
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 your door closed." And she disappeared down the 
 hall. 
 
 Mrs. Hammel felt inclined to laugh, though she 
 was touched by the manner of her hostess. 
 
 "I wonder if she thinks I'm ill, or has she had 
 some news from Jack? Well," and she compressed 
 her lips, "maybe I did an imprudent thing to pack 
 him off so soon, but I thought it best, and so did 
 his mother and brother. And to think of Mrs. 
 Ross telling me to keep my door closed while I'm 
 dressing ! Queer people, are some that the Good 
 Man made! He must be something of a joker 
 on the quiet." 
 
 She dressed herself, not very leisurely, but she 
 had a deft, finished way of settling into her clothes 
 that scouted the least suspicion of treacherous 
 seams, truant hooks or buttons, or doubtful strings. 
 
 She was about to go down and protest against 
 having her breakfast sent up when she met a lit 
 tle procession bearing trays. 
 
 "Mrs. Ross, this is too much for the money," 
 she said gaily. "I'm not ill." 
 
 "That's all right, Mrs. Hammel. You just set 
 down now an' be comfortable. Jenny, lay the books 
 on the bed don't spill that ink! set it on the 
 shelf by the clock. Phoebe, put down your tray, 
 an' both of you go along to your work. I'll wait 
 on Mrs. Hammel." And she bustled the two gap 
 ing girls out of the room. 
 
 [145]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "Now, Mrs. Ross," Mrs. Hammel was begin 
 ning, as she seated herself by the table. Then seeing 
 the suppressed excitement of her hostess, she 
 stopped, and grasped her hand, saying: 
 
 "What is it? What has happened? Tell me 
 at once!" 
 
 "Now, dearie, drink your coffee. See, it's get- 
 tin' cold. There isn't much to tell, an' it'll keep 
 till you're fit to hear it. Eat your breakfast, or 
 I'll go an' leave you." And with a sorry feint of 
 playfulness she rose from her chair. 
 
 "Please stay! I'll be good." And the worst 
 thought that came to her was that Jack had fooled 
 her about going to Chicago, and had got into some 
 sort of mischief. 
 
 This thought brought in its train the remem 
 brance of other times when the whole Hammel fam 
 ily had been at their wits' end in trying to find 
 means for the control of their one black sheep. 
 
 These thoughts brought a frown to her brows 
 and sharpened her appetite. Mrs. Ross tried to 
 talk of the election, of the weather, of all the com 
 monplace affairs of her world, and her guest was 
 too much irritated by her own thoughts to see what 
 an effort was being made for her entertainment; to 
 see that there was a great weight on the mind of 
 her hostess that in due time would be transferred 
 to her own. 
 
 The really nice breakfast was disappearing when 
 [146]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 the thoughts of both were scattered by a voice in 
 the street : 
 
 "Extra! extra!" was called in a loud, boyish 
 voice. "Here's your extra ! All about the Dever 
 murder ! All about Mrs. Dever !" 
 
 "Oh, good heavens !" And Mrs. Hammel sprang 
 from her chair and was leaning half way out of the 
 window. 
 
 "Come away, dearie! Come along away! I'll 
 tell you all about it. I was just going to." And 
 Mrs. Ross, now quite hysterical, pulled at Mrs. 
 Hammel, who called frantically to the boy with 
 the papers ; and to the sobbing woman who clung to 
 her she seemed on the point of leaping totheground. 
 
 There was a knocking at the door, and both, 
 thinking that the boy, who had disappeared, was 
 there, ran to open it. 
 
 But instead of meeting a newsboy, Mrs. Ham 
 mel was folded in the arms of Mrs. Drayton, while 
 Lois clung to her, sobbing, and Mr. Drayton, look 
 ing stern and troubled, followed them into the room 
 and closed the door. 
 
 By scraps and patches the story was told of Pol 
 ly's ghastly discovery that morning. She and her 
 mistress were early risers. They were the first cus 
 tomers for the butcher and grocer, the baker, the 
 milk and iceman. This morning Polly was up, as 
 usual, attending to her work, but her mistress did 
 not appear, as usual, in the breakfast-room after 
 
 [147]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 one tap of the bell. Polly waited a minute, she 
 waited "five minutes by the clock," then tapped the 
 bell again, very lightly. Mrs. Dever had trained 
 her to ways of patience. Another five minutes' wait, 
 and then Polly went upstairs. 
 
 Mrs. Dever's room was still darkened, but she 
 never had it light excepting on sweeping days, and 
 the door was open. Polly rapped on the panels, 
 but there was no answer. It was very strange. 
 Polly could see her mistress was still in bed. 
 
 She entered the room, saying softly: "Mrs. De 
 ver, didn't you hear the bell ? Are you sick?" She 
 went close to the bed. 
 
 She noticed the clothing was much disturbed, 
 a part of it hanging over the side on the floor. Mrs. 
 Dever's head was so sunken amongst the pillows 
 that Polly leaned over them before she saw the 
 face. Then, oh, horrors ! There were the staring 
 eyes, the protruding tongue, the clenched hands of 
 a dead woman a murdered woman ! 
 
 Polly screamed and shrieked until her voice lost 
 all semblance to that of a human. The neighbors 
 for several blocks around rushed into the streets, 
 and followed the sound of the horrible cries. In 
 this quiet little city of homes such a sound on the 
 still morning air was carried far. 
 
 The neglected place was soon overrun by all sorts 
 of people. The house was thrown open, and the 
 horror was borne out into the newly-awakened 
 world by the clamor of a thousand tongues. 
 [148]
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 "Is OUR civilization a failure?" Is it anything 
 more than an open confession that the savagery of 
 the human has been reduced to system ? That we 
 know that the brutal instincts are only dormant? 
 That, having gorged themselves through countless 
 ages, simply through weariness or caprice they hide 
 themselves under silks and broadcloths and all the 
 curious weaves produced by the toilers of the loom ? 
 
 The laws answer, "Yea, verily!" There stand 
 the strong houses, there are the countless volumes 
 that govern the opening and closing of the iron 
 doors. Everything is in readiness to spring the trap. 
 Men stand on every street corner, in waiting for 
 the man or the woman who can no longer control 
 the heritage of savagery. Hosts of men live in 
 their own interpretation of what civilization has 
 grown to be, live on the fruits of these outbreaks. 
 They live by the misfortunes of those who, because 
 of the workings of unknown forces, forces of which 
 the average mind has no conception, fall victims 
 to ah ! there are names in abundance. 
 
 The doctors of the church call it original sin,
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 the influence of the spirit of evil, the lack of that 
 grace which redeems the world. 
 
 The doctors of medicine talk of heredity, ata 
 vism, pre-natal influence. 
 
 The doctors of the laws produce direct and cir 
 cumstantial evidence, and with a multiplicity of 
 words entrap for death the human who has used a 
 more direct method to murder his victim. 
 
 Such a wonderful inventive faculty these clothed 
 savages possess, as proven by their language. So 
 many words of differing sound, yet all meaning 
 shameful death. 
 
 All the machinery of the laws of civilization was 
 in waiting on the morning that the murder of Mrs. 
 Dever was discovered. How provident ! and what 
 a confession ! 
 
 The makers of the laws, by their workmanship, 
 admit the instability of their own position. They 
 openly declare: "I have thought of these things; 
 other men will do them ; weaker men will make ac 
 tion of my thought." 
 
 The forms were all ready; they had been re 
 hearsed thousands of times. It was but a few hours 
 after the discovery of the murder until the place 
 was cleared of all save those permitted by the law 
 to remain. The grounds were guarded by officers, 
 while every nook and corner of the premises was 
 searched for evidence of the victim of atavism. 
 
 There was, necessarily, much coming and going, 
 
 [150]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 until all the forms prescribed for this and like trag 
 edies should be rehearsed; till all formalities laid 
 down in anticipation of this event should be com 
 plied with. 
 
 Mrs. Hammel was at last in the home of her 
 mother. Her friends speculated as to her sensa 
 tions, but to all outward appearances she had none. 
 
 After the first hour or two of unbelieving grief, 
 of stormy wailing that it was all over, that the gate 
 was forever closed between herself and her mother, 
 she had been calm and self-contained. She knew 
 afterward that it was because she felt that she had 
 sounded the depths of wretchedness. There were 
 no words to express her feelings. Tears and cries 
 were only for babies when they were hungry. This 
 horrible thing that had come into her life was no 
 least kin to tears. So her emotions were a sealed 
 volume. 
 
 But there were other sensations for her. She 
 was to find herself, in the near future, capable of 
 an entirely new assortment of emotions. 
 
 She had answered questions put to her by men 
 who she was told was a coroner's jury. Some of 
 these questions she had been inclined to resent, as 
 much too personal, and, under the stress of the time, 
 exceedingly heartless. 
 
 But Mrs. Drayton was with her continually. 
 Philip Hale came to advise her. He was most kind
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 and solicitous. Lois clung to her and wept over 
 her. 
 
 In the course of these formalities Mrs. Hammel 
 had been shown a soiled handkerchief and asked if 
 she knew it. Her answer was : "Yes, I know it, 
 as who would not? There is my name along the 
 hem." 
 
 "Where did you see it last?" was the next ques 
 tion. 
 
 "I am sure I don't know," and she was inclined 
 to smile. "From its appearance, I must have seen 
 it last in my laundry-bag." 
 
 Then, very curiously, she thought, she was not 
 allowed to take possession of the dingy scrap of 
 linen. A bunch of keys was dangled before her 
 eyes, and she was allowed to take them in her hands. 
 She was asked if she knew anything about them. 
 She caught her breath, and she felt a sudden chill, 
 but answered calmly: 
 
 "Yes; they are mine. There is my maiden name 
 engraved on the ring and on each separate key. 
 Mr. Fair, here, present as a juror, knows them. 
 He made the whole outfit for me years ago." 
 
 "What use have you had of these keys within 
 the last four years since your marriage?" 
 
 "None whatever." 
 
 "Why did you carry them with you?" 
 
 "I did not carry them with me. I left them in 
 Chicago."
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "How is it that you were in possession of the 
 keys, since you had no use for them?" 
 
 "When I went away, over four years ago, I car 
 ried the keys with me, in my purse, because that 
 was the way I usually carried them." 
 
 "And no doubt you supposed at that time you 
 might again have use for them in entering your 
 mother's house?" 
 
 "Very naturally, if I thought of them at all." 
 
 "You say you left them in Chicago. How long 
 since?" 
 
 "I've been here all summer. I left Chicago on 
 the twentieth of May." 
 
 "You say you left these keys in Chicago. You 
 have not been there since the twentieth of May. 
 Did you send for the keys?" 
 
 "I did not." 
 
 "Can you explain in any way how they came here 
 to be found, where they had fallen, or been 
 thrown, or dropped, on the floor of the hall near 
 the street door of this, your mother's house?" 
 
 Mrs. Hammel's face grew white as the band of 
 linen that encircled her neck. In an instant came 
 a revelation too horrible to be given credence. Her 
 hesitation, her pallor, were noted. When she an 
 swered, in a lower tone than she had before spoken 
 in, "No, I cannot," there was a sigh, a movement 
 amongst the jurors that might have meant compas 
 sion, disbelief, wonder, horror. 
 
 [153]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 What followed, Mrs. Hammel never quite clear 
 ly understood or remembered. If it was two hours, 
 two days, or two weeks, she could not have said 
 positively, from the time she was questioned about 
 the keys until she was told that she was under in 
 dictment for the murder of her mother. 
 
 "But," she remonstrated, "how can anyone be 
 lieve that I did it? Why, it is simply monstrous 
 that anyone could have killed her, but that I did 
 it is too horrible to think of!" 
 
 In these first moments she felt like a wild wom 
 an. She was possessed of an impulse to tear and 
 rend everything she touched; but, counselled by 
 those who had stood by her through all the dread 
 ful days, when she realized the awful shadow that 
 was falling over her while she suspected nothing, 
 she controlled herself. When she was led away 
 to the county jail, there to await her trial, she went 
 calmly. 
 
 When Mr. Drayton and Lois came to her cell 
 to tell her that all efforts to have her released on 
 bail were fruitless, though a million dollars would 
 have been pledged, if required, she answered : 
 
 "Never mind ; don't worry about it. I believe 1 
 would rather be here than to be out and be a show 
 for the curious. Don't grieve, dear," as Lois threw 
 herself, weeping, on the bosom of her friend. "It's 
 all a horrible mistake. I'll be free as soon as I go 
 [154]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 through the formality of a trial I'm sure I will, 
 though I don't see exactly how." 
 
 Mr. Drayton took her in his arms and kissed 
 her. 
 
 "Keep up your courage, Nan, dear. You have 
 strong friends, who will stand by you. I think, too 
 think! I know it's all a horrible mistake!" 
 But as he and Lois went sadly homeward, he said, 
 more to himself than to her: 
 
 "If there is a God above us, what can He be 
 about, to permit such blundering, such injustice? 
 I don't see how ever mother will bear it!" 
 
 "And only to think of Dan, papa ! He must do 
 all he can against Nan ! Oh, it is heart-breaking ! 
 And Frances is so openly, so absurdly jealous and 
 unreasonable! Poor Dan!" 
 
 [155]
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 POOR Dan, indeed! If his crudest enemy had 
 sought to devise a torture for him, he never could 
 have invented this situation. His visits to his fath 
 er's house during the weeks that intervened between 
 the death of Mrs. Dever and the trial of Mrs. 
 Hammel were probably amongst the hardest things 
 he had to bear. Not that there were words of re 
 proach the matter was studiously avoided. But 
 he could see the sadness in his mother's eyes, the 
 growing thinness of her cheek, and he felt the 
 tremor of her hands when she touched him. 
 
 His father showed his disapproval in a different 
 way. Dan felt that his eyes were continually cen 
 suring him, continually following him, pitilessly ac 
 cusing him of grieving them all wilfully, of sin 
 ning knowingly. His manner never relaxed. He 
 never greeted Dan or his wife with a smile. Dan 
 felt that if he was only given opportunity to talk 
 he might, in a measure, justify his position; but 
 the time for talk had gone by the day he accepted 
 the nomination for the office which he now held. 
 
 Paul, as often as he could, avoided Dan and 
 Frances entirely. He managed to be late for Sun-
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 day dinner, then sat alone and long, waited upon 
 by Cleo and Zeke, while Bett was away, in her 
 finery, for her Sunday outing. Lois, too, avoided 
 Dan and Frances whenever it was possible. She 
 and Dan never exchanged a word in regard to 
 the murder or the unfortunate prisoner, but sev 
 eral times Frances forced the matter upon her sis 
 ter-in-law, until the small stock of patience pos 
 sessed by Lois was exhausted, and she said sharply 
 that the subject must be dropped, or mentioned in 
 a different spirit. 
 
 "Dear me!" Frances retorted. "I suppose one 
 mustn't express an opinion of a criminal if that 
 low person happens to be your friend. I see now 
 how wise I was to refuse to accept the Drayton 
 associates for my own." 
 
 Then Lois, nagged beyond peaceable endurance, 
 flashed out: "I only regret that you ever came 
 into contact with either the Draytons or their asso 
 ciates. It's your influence that has placed Dan in 
 this intolerable situation, and furnished a subject 
 of gossip for everybody in the county!" 
 
 After this, the intercourse between the two young 
 women was of the most formal character. The gos 
 sip that Lois had hinted of was more than she could 
 have guessed, and Frances had heard enough of it 
 to keep her continually on the alert to hear more, 
 or to know the truth or falsity of it, though it mad 
 dened her. She had the faculty of overhearing 
 
 [157]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 what women and men in her own circle said, and 
 she had itching ears to hear what other servant girls 
 said to her own. 
 
 For every scrap she heard, for every comparison 
 drawn between herself and Mrs. Hammel, who, 
 people would insist, had been Dan Drayton's first 
 love, Frances, in some way of her own, held her 
 husband responsible. The trend of all the gossip 
 was to establish Dan as a disappointed, sometimes 
 a really jilted lover, and the husband of a jealous 
 wife immeasurably the inferior of the old love. 
 
 If there were any doubts expressed as to the out 
 come of the trial because of a lingering fondness of 
 the prosecutor for the accused, these doubts were 
 laughed at. 
 
 One evening Frances overheard two women, sep 
 arated from herself by a portiere, going over the 
 history of the affair. 
 
 These women were well acquainted with all the 
 persons of whom they talked so glibly. 
 
 One said she was quite sure that Dan would al 
 low the case of the State to fail. He would never 
 permit Nan Dever to be convicted. 
 
 The other answered: "Don't you believe that 
 for a minute! Dan Drayton's between the devil 
 and the deep sea. He'll find it's much easier to 
 convict Nan, even if he die of grief, than to live 
 with that jealous fury of his after a failure." 
 "Do you really think so?"
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "Yes, I do think so. There's nothing in the world 
 as mean as a jealous person nothing so unbear 
 ably persistent and suspicious. Nothing but jeal 
 ousy so completely brings to the surface all the bru 
 tality of an inferior nature. In fact, no one but 
 an inferior person ever feels this passion that goes 
 by the name of jealousy, and Frances Drayton is 
 a very inferior woman. She's entirely out of her 
 element amongst her husband's people. She's con 
 tinually watching them, to see that they take no 
 advantage of her. Of course, her husband is first 
 on the list of such suspects. Such a pity that so 
 good a man as Dan is should have made such a 
 marriage!" 
 
 There was silence, and the two moved away, 
 while Frances, alone on her side of the curtain, 
 writhed under the sting of their words. She had 
 been most unfortunate in hearing herself talked 
 about since she came to Stillwater, and she often 
 wondered if other women had this experience after 
 making what was understood as a good marriage. 
 She had, within the last few months, as Paul ex 
 pressed it, "applauded herself, and thrown bouquets 
 to herself," as the power behind the throne of Dan's 
 ambition. She even acknowledged to herself that 
 she would have influenced him to try for the State 
 Legislature, instead of the office of prosecutor, had 
 it not been for a desire to oppose his family. She 
 [159]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 wanted to feel beyond a doubt that she could con 
 trol him against "all the Draytons." 
 
 Of this she was now assured, and after the shock 
 ing death of Mrs. Dever, and what followed, Fran 
 ces felt that fate had given more into her hands 
 than she would have dared to ask. And yet, it was 
 not she, but her rival, who had tempted fate. 
 
 Why should Mrs. Hammel have come to Still- 
 water after a four years' absence, and so soon after 
 she herself had come, if not to spy upon the wife 
 of her old lover? 
 
 After seeing Mrs. Hammel, unwilling though 
 she was, yet she did confess to herself that if Dan, 
 or any other man, had loved her, it was not in the 
 least surprising. It is only the natural trend of 
 men to love beauty, grace, and vivacity in women ; 
 and here was one of the most attractive women that 
 Stillwater, or the world, had ever produced. 
 
 Truly, Frances wished for something to happen 
 that would take Mrs. Hammel out of her imme 
 diate neighborhood. As she was told numbers of 
 times that Mrs. Dever would not allow her daugh 
 ter to enter her house, she felt sure that if this was 
 her errand to Stillwater she would presently go 
 away. That she did not go, had been the cause of 
 many quarrels between Dan and Frances ; and now, 
 if he showed the least thoughtfulness, if he sat si 
 lent, and could be seen to be neither reading nor 
 [160]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 asleep, there was' sure to be some rasping reminder 
 of the work he had to do in the near future. 
 
 One evening, after an attack of this kind, Dan 
 left the house. He said he had a trifle of work to 
 do at his office, and would perhaps meet Hale. 
 
 It was not wholly a lie. There was work at the 
 office. If he had gone there, or to his old office, he 
 would have met Hale. Like many unmarried men 
 in country towns, Hale used his office as a club 
 a place for meeting other men situated as he was. 
 
 But Dan had no intention of going to anyone's 
 office. He sauntered along the streets, thinking, 
 only thinking, his head bent forward, his hat over 
 his eyes, his collar turned up over his ears. Per 
 sons he met who recognized him called out a cheery 
 "Hello, Dan!" stopping for nothing more. He 
 felt in the very air that no man in Stillwater envied 
 him, nor coveted the task he had before him as dis 
 trict attorney. As often as he recognized this fact 
 he set his teeth and muttered, with an oath: "And 
 they don't know the half of it." 
 
 This evening, through force of habit, through 
 loneliness, and craving for sympathetic companion 
 ship, he wandered slowly to his brother's gate. He 
 passed by a walk to a side door. He tried the latch, 
 and the door opened directly into the pretty, cozy, 
 family room. Laura was at the piano, drumming 
 out a little plaintive Spanish song without words, 
 [161]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 while Basil, by the shaded lamp, -cut the leaves of 
 a new magazine. 
 
 The fresh breeze let into the room startled both, 
 and both came to welcome the caller. 
 
 "This is nice of you, Dan, to give us a little sur 
 prise," Laura said, pulling at his sleeve. "But why 
 didn't you bring Frances?" 
 
 "I've left Frances with her own sweet thoughts. 
 I begin to see why Lucifer was thrown out of 
 heaven. It was a case of jealousy; and I'll be ever 
 lastingly damned excuse me, Laura if I can see 
 why the feeling, the passion, the 'what is iff was 
 not stamped out then and there. It looks to me 
 like a confession of weakness on the part of the 
 Administration." 
 
 "Now, Dan, hold on a minute!" Basil said 
 laughingly. "What's all this about? What cause 
 has Frances for jealousy?" 
 
 "About the same, I think, that Laura has. I 
 guess you used to know Anna Dever, and lots of 
 other girls, long ago." 
 
 "Yes, I did, and Nan was very deservedly popu 
 lar ; but I never knew that there was the least hint 
 of a love affair between her and any of the boys 
 but just Hammel." 
 
 "Neither did I, and it's precious little anybody 
 
 knew of that till they were married. But Frances 
 
 has the idea that I was jilted, and now she seems 
 
 to think that I ought to be throwing up my hat and 
 
 [162]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 jumping Jim Crow, and rejoicing, because of the 
 position I occupy in relation to Nan. I tell you, if 
 I become a mysterious disappearance between two 
 days, some time before the date of Nan's trial, I 
 want somebody to know the true inwardness of it." 
 
 Basil laughed silently. "You talk as if you meant 
 to take the situation seriously." 
 
 "I was never more serious in my life. I'm sure 
 that mother and the folks would rather know that 
 I'd run away, deserted everything, than to have me 
 put this case through ; because there's but one' pos 
 sible end for it." 
 
 "Why, Dan!" Laura said. "Is the evidence so 
 strong against Anna?" 
 
 "Very strong; and the motive is there, as every 
 body knows." 
 
 "Can't you turn over nearly the whole matter to 
 an assistant?" 
 
 "No, I can't not at this stage of my incum 
 bency. I've got to be there and boss the job." 
 
 "Yes, of course. Will Hale help you?" 
 
 "No. He declines absolutely, sticking to the 
 spirit of our partnership and to the letter of the 
 dissolution. I thought all the formalities were but 
 small preliminaries to our work straight through in 
 double harness, and he would almost become my 
 deputy, especially in a case like this. But he de 
 clines the offer with thanks." 
 
 "That's rather remarkable behavior for a fellow
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 beginning life in the law. Does he give his rea 
 sons?" 
 
 Dan laughed, then frowned, and kicked a has 
 sock across the room. 
 
 "Oh, yes. His reasons are wrapped around Lois's 
 little finger. It's another example of petticoat gov 
 ernment." 
 
 Basil laughed, and glanced at Laura. 
 
 "We've all been there," he said. "Let Lois have 
 her day." 
 
 "It's a trifle more than that. It's this way, so 
 Hale told me: When he was having his little talk 
 with the folks, of course he gave a sketch of him 
 self and his forbears. It turns out that he's the 
 youngest son of ex-Governor Hale, the man whose 
 decision in the case of the woman, whatever her 
 name was, so affected mother and Paul." 
 
 "/5 that so?" and Basil leaned forward in his 
 chair. "Now it's a wonder to me that that discov 
 ery hadn't nipped the whole business." 
 
 "No, it hasn't; but Hale says that this has given 
 him a new view of the idea of legal murder, and 
 he'll take no hand in it. In fact, he told me that 
 he had been approached in regard to assisting in 
 the defence." 
 
 "That would be a fine card to play for the favor 
 of the family." 
 
 "Yes; and that's another of the trifling matters 
 that are driving me crazy. If ever any living man 
 [164]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 found himself in half as big a combination of things 
 that are most damned disagreeable, I'd like to in 
 terview him, and find out how he ever got through 
 alive." 
 
 [165]
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 IF the words of "Joan Stone," newspaper cor 
 respondent, were true, then being imprisoned, arid 
 under indictment for murder, was not a really de 
 plorable situation. 
 
 In the beginning of her trouble, Mrs. Hammel 
 had at once notified her employers and resigned 
 her position on the several papers. These resigna 
 tions were, as promptly as might be, thrown into the 
 waste, and instead of polite notes of acceptance be 
 ing sent in answer, there were urgent appeals to 
 go on with the work, and write of the world as she 
 found it from this new point of view. 
 
 This, at first glance, struck the prisoner as in 
 considerate, but she thought it over, talked it over 
 with Hale, and Dawson & Fiske, the firm which 
 was to take charge of her case, and she wrote 
 "From my cell" the sensations of an innocent wom 
 an caught in the net of circumstances and the law. 
 These letters passed through the hands of her coun 
 sel before being mailed. 
 
 She had many solicitations from other publishers. 
 These would be glad of anything she would favor 
 [166]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 them with. Many of these offers came from flashy, 
 sensational periodicals, and received no answers; 
 but to others were sent essays, stories, book reviews 
 anything, everything that entered the prisoner's 
 mind. It seemed that every thought that came to 
 her was utilized in some form for publication. 
 There was no privacy for the mentality of the 
 woman locked up in the Stillwater jail for the mur 
 der of her mother. 
 
 "Now, really," she said to Hale one day, as she 
 handed him a parcel of checks, "this begins to look 
 like prosperity in adversity. Did you ever see a 
 more emphatic case of the meetings of extremes? 
 I'll make my expenses, even if the county brings 
 in a bill for my board." 
 
 The lawyer laughed; and as he deposited the 
 checks to the credit of Anna Dever Hammel he 
 wondered if her worthless husband was sole heir, 
 and if he would come into possession of this money, 
 and the Dever estate as well, since there had been 
 no will found. 
 
 Hale knew, and he wondered if Mrs. Hammel 
 had any idea of the weight of the evidence that 
 was accumulating against her. If she guessed she 
 gave no sign. She sat, day after day, working, cov 
 ering page after page of copy paper, then, for re 
 laxation, reading the new books and magazines and 
 newspapers that came to her by every mail. 
 
 As time went on, and the preparations for the 
 [167]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 trial were completed, Dan Drayton grew calmer, 
 cooler ; and though at times the horror of the situa 
 tion overwhelmed him, yet he said to himself, and 
 even to Basil, that the evidence was of such a char 
 acter there need be but little said by the prosecutor. 
 The defence must do the work. This work would 
 necessarily be to prove an alibi, or the production 
 of some other person to take the place of the pris 
 oner. Any jury of sane men would convict on the 
 evidence of the State unless the rebuttal was ex 
 ceedingly, conclusively strong. 
 
 That there was any real truth against Mrs. 
 Hammel in the evidence Dan did not for one mo 
 ment believe. This was the enigma. In spite of the 
 evidence and the motive he could not make himself 
 see Nan Dever breaking into her mother's house 
 and then strangling her with one of her own silk 
 shawls. "But," he said to Basil, "what's a man 
 to do? Everything looks as if she did do it, and 
 there's no telling. Women are great riddles. I 
 confess I don't understand any of them." 
 
 Basil, watching his brother, also made a confes 
 sion, mentally, to the effect that Dan was something 
 of a riddle, too. 
 
 But the answer was that he had slipped from 
 his own proper orbit, and was likely to prove, ac 
 cording to his strength of character, 
 
 [168]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "A wandering mass of shapeless flame, 
 A pathless comet, and a curse," 
 
 not only to himself, but to all who knew him best 
 and loved him most unselfishly; or he would come 
 through the ordeal purified, and a stronger, better 
 man. 
 
 The trial was set for the second week in Decem 
 ber. It would not require many days. It had been 
 wondered if the prisoner would report her trial for 
 her publishers. A morning or two after the jury 
 had been secured answered the query. 
 
 "Joan Stone's" two-column letter looked out 
 cheerily from the first page of the city paper that 
 came on an early train from Chicago, and a daily 
 that arrived from the East in the evening had an 
 other. 
 
 People stared and wondered, and none wondered 
 quite so much as some of the members of the "La 
 dies' Own" and the "Daughters of Endeavor." 
 This writing columns and columns without the aid 
 of an encyclopedia was hard to understand. 
 
 "But," said the elegant Mrs. Mason, "anyone 
 who can do murder ought to be able to do some 
 thing else." 
 
 To her mind, anyone who could set aside the 
 thirty-nine articles, and refuse to accept tradition 
 for religion, was capable of all degrees of deprav 
 ity. 
 
 [169]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 The case of the State against Anna Dever Ham- 
 mel was supported by the fact of the prisoner hav 
 ing been seen in the grounds surrounding the house 
 of the murdered woman on several successive days 
 preceding the murder. This, in view of the other 
 fact that was well known in the town, that Mrs. 
 Dever would not permit her daughter to enter the 
 house, took on the semblance of prowling, of lying 
 in wait. Even if the prisoner denied being in the 
 grounds, which she did not, there was the hand 
 kerchief, marked with her own name, which she 
 had unhesitatingly identified as her own, and which 
 had been picked up from amongst a tangled mass 
 of shrubbery. 
 
 Polly Warner was placed in the witness-chair 
 weeping, heart-broken, homeless Polly. She told 
 the story of the years she had lived with Mrs. 
 Dever, of her many kindnesses, of her eccentrici 
 ties, her headstrong temper. She told, too, of her 
 meetings with Miss Nan, of their talks there in 
 the grounds, of their tears; but as she most solemnly 
 testified, "not one single cross word about her moth 
 er, not one!" 
 
 Mrs. Ross was asked to tell all she knew of the 
 whereabouts of Mrs. Hammel on the night of the 
 murder. She could only say that she saw her on 
 her way to her room before twelve o'clock, that 
 she heard the door open and close, and then all was 
 quiet; at least she heard no movement; and she had
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 been in bed an hour or more, when, hearing Mrs. 
 Hammel going about the room, she went upstairs. 
 There was no light but that of the moon shining 
 in through the window, but she could see that Mrs. 
 Hammel was fully dressed. 
 
 The night clerk of the house, whose business it 
 was to see that the omnibus went to meet the three 
 o'clock train, said that sometime about two o'clock 
 someone in a long gray coat had passed through 
 the hall and upstairs. The light was dim in the 
 hall, and he was half asleep in his chair at the 
 further side of the office, fully fifteen feet from the 
 door into the hall. 
 
 He wouldn't say whether 'twas a man or a wom 
 an. At the time he just supposed it was someone 
 belonging in the house who had been out waiting 
 for the returns of the election. 
 
 No, he didn't see anyone come down the stairs. 
 Within a few minutes after seeing the person go 
 up he went out to see if the omnibus was ready, 
 and the boys were up to meet the train. 
 
 There was not much question about the gray coat 
 or cloak. 
 
 Mrs. Hammel had a well-known mackintosh that 
 answered the description. When this was shown in 
 court, even when she was asked to put it on, and, 
 with the collar turned up, and a woman's derby hat 
 pulled down over her hair, she went through the 
 ordeal without a change of color. Thus equipped,
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 her tall, slender figure, seen in a dim light, might 
 very easily be mistaken for a man or a tall boy. 
 
 It was when the keys were shown the door- 
 keys that had been picked up in the hall, and that 
 were undeniably her own that a blue pallor over 
 spread her face, and this was noted by the jury. 
 The prisoner, visibly unnerved, glanced toward the 
 twelve men, and met the eyes of all fixed upon her 
 face. 
 
 Her counsel saw it, and had a sickening realiza 
 tion that this was evidence only to be weakened by 
 establishing the fact of the possession of these keys 
 by some other person. 
 
 The work of the prosecution was easy. The evi 
 dence was ready-made. But not one in that crowd 
 ed court-room who knew Dan Drayton but felt com 
 passion for him. He was white to his lips, and a 
 constant frown rested over his eyes. It was when 
 the witnesses for the defence were called that he 
 might have prayed for the walls of the court-room 
 to fall upon and hide him. These witnesses to 
 prove how Mrs. Hammel had spent the first part 
 of the night, and to tell of the fright in front of 
 Mrs. Dever's house, were Dan's brothers, his sis 
 ter, and his brother's wife. And while these were 
 testifying, trying to shield their friend from the 
 working of the law in his hands, there in the bal 
 cony sat Frances, stony-eyed, pitiless, sneering. 
 
 Lastly, the prisoner was placed on the witness- 
 [ 172]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 stand. A murmur of admiration swept over the 
 room like a breeze through a forest of cedar. She 
 told her story in answer to the questions of her coun 
 sel, and then came the cross-examination by the 
 prosecutor. This, Dan would most gladly have del 
 egated to his young, unfledged assistant, but the 
 eyes of his wife were upon him. 
 
 A worse man than Dan Drayton, one who had 
 had a less honest home training, or one with a strain 
 of what Cleo called "po' white trash" in his make 
 up, would have hoodwinked Frances ; but Dan had 
 never learned the use of subterfuge in home life. 
 If he had a thing to do, he did it "on the square." 
 
 A man no better, but stronger to resist women, 
 would at once have given Madam Frances a lesson 
 or two which would have left him free to follow 
 the course marked out for him, by right of his crea 
 tion, and by the trend of all the years of his life 
 before he had met her. 
 
 But if many people in the world had happened 
 to be other than what they are many a tragedy 
 would have been averted, many a story untold. 
 
 The prosecutor faced the prisoner, and above 
 them waved the plumes and fluttered the fan of the 
 prosecutor's wife. At home, Frances had talked 
 about the keys. The keys were the strong evidence. 
 Even though it had been demonstrated by the ex 
 amination of a mechanic that the chain that guarded 
 Mrs. Dever's front door had been removed by a 
 
 [ 173]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 wrench that surely required more strength than the 
 average woman possessed, still the keys were insist 
 ed upon by the lawyers and audience, friend and 
 enemy. If the keys had not first been used, the 
 door could not have been forced against the chain 
 so as to pull out the staple. 
 
 The history of the keys was given by the pris 
 oner as she had given it to the coroner's jury. That, 
 and no more. She did not know how the keys came 
 to be in Stillwater, and much less could she say 
 as to how they came to be in her mother's house. 
 She was positive that she had last seen them in a 
 box of her own in the store-room of her mother- 
 in-law in Chicago. Then the prosecutor asked: 
 
 "Did any other person than yourself have access 
 to this box?" 
 
 "Any person about the house might have had 
 access to it. The box was never locked, neither 
 was the door of the room." 
 
 "Do you know that any person had access to this 
 box?" 
 
 "Yes," came the answer, clear and firm. 
 
 "Who was this person?" 
 
 "My husband's sister, Beatrice Hammel." 
 
 "Why was this young woman permitted to 
 open this box, where it appears you stored some 
 things that were valuable ?" 
 
 "I sent her, once, to find a parcel of scraps of 
 neckties, to add to her crazy patchwork. These 
 
 [174]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 were not so very valuable, and," with the least per 
 ceptible twinkle in her eyes, "I had collected them 
 in Stillwater." 
 
 A wave of color swept over the attorney's face, 
 and a titter ran around the room. 
 
 "Did Miss Hammel know of these keys?" 
 
 "I've no reason to believe that she did." 
 
 "Did anyone your husband, for instance 
 know of these keys ?" 
 
 The color faded from the face of the prisoner, 
 and the prosecutor knew that the playful thrust of 
 a moment before was paid off. There was hesita 
 tion while one might have counted five, slowly, 
 then: 
 
 "Yes; my husband knew of the keys. He saw 
 them several times soon after we were married." 
 
 "That's all, Mrs. Hammel." And she left the 
 chair, feeling that in some way the net of circum 
 stances was closing fast about her. 
 
 Her next letter for the press told how an inno 
 cent woman feels when the evidence is all in and 
 she goes back to her cell, with the prospect of listen 
 ing to the pleas of the lawyers of both sides next 
 day-
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 "On, mother! mother! They're going to kill 
 Nan !" And Paul Drayton threw himself into his 
 mother's arms when she opened the door for him 
 that dark, rainy December afternoon. He clung 
 to her, shivering and moaning. Mrs. Drayton al 
 ready knew the verdict. She had sat with Mrs. 
 Hammel some part of each day of the trial. She 
 sat by her during the prosecutor's summing up of 
 the case, and held her hand. She had pitted the 
 influence of her presence against the eloquence of 
 her son. This summing up was a surprise to every 
 body, and to no one more than to the prosecutor 
 himself. He had meant it to be the merest for 
 mality, an almost neutral, colorless statement. But 
 all eyes were upon him; one pair were scornful, 
 searching, sneering. His party enemies were there 
 to see him swayed by his mother's friendship, and 
 perhaps old memories. The desire to be just was 
 warped. The instinct of the hunter awakened. The 
 thirst for triumph was aroused. The desire to 
 startle, to dazzle, to confound, took possession of 
 him. The plain facts of the case the motive, the 
 [176]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 evidence were set in array, with all the rhetoric, 
 all the logic of which he was capable. He spoke 
 for less than an hour, but the fate of the prisoner 
 was sealed. 
 
 The efforts of her counsel were eloquent, were 
 reasonable, but well nigh useless. The pleas were 
 listened to, that was all. It could not be said that 
 the prisoner had been denied any legal right. 
 
 The charge of the judge, a white-haired man, 
 who had known the Dever family during all the 
 years of their residence in Stillwater, was fair to 
 the prisoner, honest in face of the evidence, tem 
 perate, considering the speech of the prosecutor. 
 
 The jury, after an absence of a short half hour, 
 brought in their verdict of condemnation. The 
 trial was ended, ended by the clear, high voice of 
 the prisoner, declaring: 
 
 "But it's all wrong! How dare these men say 
 I am guilty when I never did it?" 
 
 That was her protest. Only these simple words. 
 A little child would say the same if wrongfully 
 accused by a playmate. There was no breaking 
 down, no show of weakness. The accused shov/ed 
 only astonishment, so wrote the reporter; and this, 
 "Joan Stone" averred, was the dominant feeling 
 that possessed her when she wrote her letter giv 
 ing the sensations of a woman when convicted of 
 murder. 
 
 She did not tax the sympathies of her friends 
 
 J
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 who took leave of her at the door of her cell. She 
 said she was sorry they were disappointed; sorry 
 they must still come, if come they would, to such 
 an uninviting place to see her; that was all. 
 
 Her counsel at once set to work to obtain a new 
 trial. 
 
 She said if that was the proper thing to do, she 
 was more than willing to have it done. Surely, 
 there must be some way out of this terrible strait I 
 Surely, surely, the law, and the people, would not 
 allow an innocent woman to die shamefully ! 
 
 It was a grievous time in the house of Frederic 
 Drayton that day. 
 
 All the remainder of the afternoon and evening 
 Paul lay on the couch in the family room, moan 
 ing, grasping at his throat, from which he had torn 
 cravat and collar. 
 
 Lois came home some time later, and, finding 
 Paul in this state of incipient delirium, she lost all 
 control of herself, and wept unceasingly. 
 
 The dinner was a sorry make-believe. It was 
 in vain that Mr. Drayton essayed to comfort his 
 wife and children. Mrs. Drayton was dry-eyed, 
 and silent, save when she sighed: 
 
 "Poor Nan! Poor little Paul ! Oh, me!" 
 
 Years ago she had suffered so deeply that her 
 life had well nigh been sapped away. Since then 
 her body had been so frail the merest shell to hold
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 the faithful heart, the patient soul that could not 
 desert husband and children. 
 
 Later Philip Hale came in; but Lois's swollen 
 eyes reproached him for looking cheerful in face 
 of such a grievous wrong. 
 
 "Why, do you suppose we're going to let this 
 verdict stand? Not by any means. I've just left 
 Mrs. Hammel. She's as chipper as a blackbird in 
 a June cherry tree. I've had a long talk with her, 
 and with Dawson & Fiske. I'll not appear in the 
 case, but have written my father the full history 
 of it. He's seventy years old, and he's had over 
 forty years' experience in law. He knows all phases 
 of it. He'll advise with Dawson & Fiske in the 
 new trial, for, of course, there'll be a new one." 
 
 "But if there shouldn't be?" asked Lois. 
 
 "I'm afraid there's a small chance of it," Mr. 
 Drayton said. "As far as I can learn, there are 
 no reasons for a new trial. Everything has been 
 quite regular, and there was not the least hint of 
 a disagreement amongst the jurors. It has been 
 told that they were unanimous upon the first bal 
 lot, but merely waited a little because the prisoner 
 
 was a woman." 
 
 "Good t'ing dey had dat much 'spectableness !" 
 and there in the corner, close by Paul's head, sat 
 Auntie Cleo. "Wondeh dey hadn't jes' tuk po' 
 Miss Nan out 'n done strung huh right up, kase 
 she's nuffin but a slip of a gal, an' can't help huh- 
 
 [ 179]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 sef. Dat's de way wid dese pesky men crittahsl" 
 "Now, Auntie," Hale said, "don't be too hard 
 on the men. We're not going to let anybody hurt 
 Miss Nan." And turning to Mr. Drayton: "I 
 don't know on what grounds Dawson & Fiske will 
 demand a new trial, but they know. There's a 
 growing feeling that Mrs. Hammel has been made 
 a scapegoat, and that none of her husband's people 
 have been to see her is very queer. That they are 
 busy, hard-working people, as Mrs. Hammel says, 
 is no reason. Those keys supply a clew that should 
 have been followed, and it was a great oversight 
 of her counsel that it was not ; but Dawson & Fiske 
 seemed to lose their heads in view of the evidence, 
 and this evidence was certainly manufactured by 
 the guilty person, and the State knows it." 
 
 "Oh, Philip!" Mrs. Drayton sighed. "Don't 
 say that. Our burden is almost more than we can 
 bear already." 
 
 "I beg your pardon ! I know, of course I know, 
 too, that Dan suffered keenly all through the trial. 
 What possessed him at the last is the riddle of all 
 to me. But, in spite of the evidence, with nothing 
 to break its force, the outcome is only what was 
 to be expected. I think Mrs. Hammel's counsel 
 relied too much on the high character and the per 
 sonal appearance of their client. They expected to 
 work on the sympathies of the jury, but Dan had 
 turned their sluggish perceptions the other way." 
 [180]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "Of course, the keys I know nothing about," 
 Lois said, "but I'm sure I know when Nan lost 
 her handkerchief. If you remember, the evening 
 before election, you and she were to dinner?" 
 
 "Yes, I remember perfectly," Hale answered. 
 "Little Fred was here." This with an expressive 
 glance, brought the faintest hint of a smile to Lois's 
 tear-washed eyes. 
 
 "That afternoon I saw her in her mother's 
 grounds with Polly. Both were crying, and Nan 
 had picked a bunch of asters. She came home with 
 me from there, and it was in my room that she 
 said she had had an extra handkerchief, and had 
 lost it." 
 
 "Doubtless she forgot all about it, and on such 
 a trifle " 
 
 "Oh, what does it matter?" Paul cried, lifting 
 himself on his elbow. "What does it matter, even 
 if Nan had been seen entering her mother's house 
 by the help of those keys? She never did the 
 murder ! But the law will murder her ! Oh, damn 
 the law !" And the boy, the weakling, the living 
 personification of the law's cruelty, uttered in this 
 malediction the protests of thousands of dwarfed 
 human creatures, dwarfed because of the fulfillment 
 of the law the law of men. 
 
 And who shall say what untoward influences 
 worked this desire for a blood price into the brains 
 of the makers of the law? 
 
 [181]
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 "YES, I'll go to the office, mother. Where's the 
 use of staying at home ? Oh, why can't I do some 
 thing to help Nan?" 
 
 "Never mind, dear. You and I, and many of 
 Nan's friends, can only hope and be patient. Some 
 body else will help her actively. You may be sure 
 there will be diligence. I don't know what good 
 Philip expects his father to do, but he's an old man, 
 he knows, perhaps, some of the consequences that 
 have followed his own practice of the law. I'm 
 sure Nan hasn't an enemy in Stillwater, and surely 
 so many friends must save her. We will not cease 
 to hope." 
 
 "Mother, what do you think will be the effect of 
 this whole business on Dan?" 
 
 "I can give no guess. Dan is not the boy he 
 used to be, and with his headstrong temper and 
 his brilliant intellect, I shrink from anticipating 
 what his future may be, if he keeps on the way he's 
 been going for the last few months." 
 
 Paul left the house and went to his father's place 
 of business. There, in the office of the bookkeeper, 
 he had made himself useful for the last two or three 
 
 [182]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 years. Anything like that he could do. He was 
 accurate and neat in his work, but it must be some 
 thing that was governed by rule. Basil was con 
 sidered one of the rising young business men of the 
 county. He had been, for the last six or eight years, 
 his father's trusted adviser and general manager. 
 Dan was a brilliant orator, a faultless logician, a 
 sharp debater. Paul only, of the three sons, showed 
 deficiency. He was weak in body, and, in a meas 
 ure, childish in his intellect. He had always been 
 most sensitive in regard to inflicting pain. He was 
 intensely sympathetic. As a child, he had been 
 known to rush into the street screaming at sight of 
 a teamster striking a horse. In his training of his 
 household pets they never knew the touch of the 
 most harmless of switches. 
 
 As he grew older, and read the newspaper re 
 ports of executions of criminals, he showed symp 
 toms of convulsions. The family strove to keep 
 everything of this sort out of his sight. 
 
 Now the most cruel of all things in civilization, 
 the official murder of a woman, was to take place, 
 almost before his eyes; and this woman one who 
 had been like an affectionate older sister to him 
 when both were children. The thought of it caused 
 the keenest torture. 
 
 He tried with all his strength to go through the 
 routine of his work correctly, but at the noon hour 
 he went home, leaning heavily on his father. 
 [183]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "Mother, you must keep this fellow at home. 
 He has a nervous headache!" And as tenderly as 
 he would have assisted a baby, the father removed 
 Paul's coats, arranged the cushions for him, and 
 tucked a slumber-robe over him, on the couch. 
 
 His mother watched Paul as he submitted to be 
 ing cared for. He was blue-white about his mouth, 
 his eyes were sunken, he was so fragile, so almost 
 lifeless. She felt that the end of his record was 
 very near. He had come into existence blighted by 
 the shadow of the law. He would surely go out 
 of life enveloped, smothered, annihilated by a repe 
 tition of the horror. 
 
 "Have you seen Nan to-day, Lois?" he asked. 
 
 "No, dear. I'm going after lunch. Papa's go 
 ing with me, and we'll probably meet Laura there." 
 
 "Frances, too?" he said, without a change of 
 tone. "What a shame it is that she's one of us !" 
 
 "Yes; but don't worry, dear, and make your poor 
 head worse. It'll all come right by and by." 
 
 They found Mrs. Hammel cheerful, though a 
 trifle paler than she had been. 
 
 "So inhospitable," she said. "They won't let 
 anyone inside the door at all ; and this wicket is so 
 high ! I spoke to the sheriff this morning, and he 
 said he'd see about taking down this solid door and 
 having one with open bars from top to bottom, in 
 stead. Dear me! I never would have supposed 
 [184]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 a lot of men would take such care of me!" And 
 she laughed in the faces of her friends. 
 
 What could they say, in view of such buoyancy? 
 Merely make responses. The prisoner did the most 
 of the talking. Presently she said : "This is club 
 day, isn't it? Of course you're going?" 
 
 "No, I think not," Lois answered. 
 
 "Why? Is your mother ill? Nothing serious, 
 I hope!" 
 
 "Oh, no. Mamma's as well as usual." She pur 
 posely avoided mentioning Paul. "But I'm not in 
 trim for the club." 
 
 "Now don't lose courage; I'm not going to. Go 
 to the club, if you've nothing better to do, and come 
 and tell me what they say about my prospects." 
 And again her laugh rippled along the corridors, 
 and other prisoners smiled at the unusual sound. 
 
 As Mr. Drayton and Lois were about to go, 
 Laura came in, and shook hands with Mrs. Ham- 
 mel through the wicket. 
 
 "How glad I am to see you looking so well," was 
 her greeting. 
 
 "There's no reason why I should look other 
 wise, excepting the monotony of the whole busi 
 ness, and having my correspondence meddled with." 
 And this time her visitors laughed with her. 
 
 What the club said and did about Mrs. Ham- 
 mel's prospects proved to be well worth hearing, 
 
 [185]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 and the report of the proceedings formed the basis 
 of one of "Joan Stone's" wittiest letters. 
 
 In the course of the meeting, when new business 
 was called for, Laura Drayton arose, and, as di 
 rectly as possible, proposed that, as a club, they 
 ought to do something in the case of Mrs. Ham- 
 mel. Her own idea was that a petition be sent to 
 the Governor of the State, asking for a commuta 
 tion of sentence. 
 
 "It is not the time now," she said, "to ask for 
 a pardon, but I, as a firm believer in the innocence 
 of Mrs. Hammel, feel that we ought to exert our 
 selves and have this petition, or memorial, ready 
 to send to the Governor at once, in case Mrs. 
 Hammel is denied a new trial. So I move that a 
 committee be appointed to draft a petition, or me 
 morial." 
 
 There was a chorus of seconds, and then the 
 matter was discussed. Laura was astonished and 
 shocked that there should be any faintest dissent 
 to call for discussion. 
 
 In the course of the argument she said she could 
 not understand how anyone, and especially a wom 
 an, could favor the death penalty, even when the 
 accused was guilty past all doubt, which Mrs. Ham 
 mel surely was not. 
 
 Some of the objectors were afraid of being sus 
 pected of sympathy because the prisoner was a 
 woman. "Now if it was a man," said Mrs. Mason, 
 [186]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "in all probability we should take no notice of the 
 matter. That is the reason why I do not favor the 
 petition, and for that reason I shall not sign it." 
 
 "Because the prisoner is a woman," said Mrs. 
 Macy, "I am in favor of the movement for the 
 memorial. I think I understand women. Men I 
 do not understand. I never can see how they can 
 blunder along and make such barbarous laws as 
 they do. Since they do, I want to do all I can 
 against them." 
 
 Another member said she who had been able 
 at the age of ten to make dresses and cook dinners 
 that "since women covet all privileges of the laws 
 on an equal footing with men, they should be ready 
 to take the penalties of the laws ; and crime obliter 
 ates sex." 
 
 "Women will not object to the penalties of the 
 laws," said Mrs. Milford, "when they have a hand 
 in determining those penalties. But as long as they 
 have not, I protest against the infliction of many 
 of the penalties, and most especially that of taking 
 life, even when guilt is proven beyond a doubt. In 
 the case under consideration all the evidence is cir 
 cumstantial, therefore not to be trusted. I protest 
 against it, and my voice is for the petition." 
 
 "But," persisted Mrs. Mason, "neither do mi 
 nors have a voice in the making of the laws, yet 
 they are punished." 
 
 "That is no argument," said Dr. Moss, "if 
 [187]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 men make laws that may result in the murder of 
 their sons while they still wear kilts, shall the moth 
 ers consent? Say it is right because it is the law, 
 and allow themselves, too, to die shamefully? In 
 this case, a few scraps and patches of circumstances 
 are set up as reasons for taking the life of a woman, 
 a mere girl, whom many of us have known from 
 her infancy. That her conduct under this ordeal is 
 unique, cannot be denied. Still, it is not inconsist 
 ent. Anna Dever Hammel comes of a family of 
 strong, strange, eccentric characters. But this, 
 Madam President, though interesting to the stu 
 dent of human nature, and the physician, is not 
 the point under discussion. I call for the ques 
 tion." 
 
 The motion for the memorial was carried not 
 unanimously, but with a large majority. The com 
 mittee was appointed, a committee of two Mrs. 
 Milford and Dr. Moss. 
 
 [188]
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 THIS committee had not been appointed too soon. 
 Before the next meeting of the club, Judge Ainslee 
 had denied a second trial for Anna Dever Hammel, 
 and had also passed sentence upon her. His action 
 throughout, he declared, was in accord with the con 
 scientious performance of his duty under the law. 
 There was no technical reason for a new trial. 
 
 The prisoner had had a fair hearing, an oppor 
 tunity to break down the evidence of the State. 
 This had not been done. She had been tried by a 
 jury of twelve unbiassed men. Her counsel had 
 worked for her, her friends had stood by her. The 
 verdict had been arrived at, even before the jury 
 left the court-room. "In view of all this," he 
 concluded, "have you, Mrs. Hammel, anything to 
 say any reason to give why sentence should not 
 be pronounced upon you ?" 
 
 "Only this, Judge Ainslee," came in a clear, firm 
 voice, "that I am innocent, and you know it, in 
 spite of the evidence. The prosecutor knows it. 
 Perhaps the jury does not know it. These men 
 look as if they knew very little of anything. I have 
 [189]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 not been tried by a jury of my peers. But you know, 
 and Mr. Dray ton knows, that you are condemning 
 to death an innocent woman!" 
 
 As she ceased speaking, Judge Ainslee, with 
 tremulous hands, put on his official black cap, a 
 fitting ceremonial, to cover the seat of intellect with 
 blackness when consigning a fellow mortal to the 
 darkness of the unknown. 
 
 "Anna Dever Hammel, the law declares that 
 you be taken from this place to the county jail, to be 
 there confined until the week beginning with the 
 twentieth of January, and that then you be taken, 
 upon a day appointed, and be hanged by the neck 
 till you are dead; and may the Lord have mercy 
 upon your soul !" 
 
 The words cut through an awful stillness. The 
 breathing of those present was plainly heard. Mrs. 
 Hammel stood motionless as a statue, her dark eyes 
 riveted on the face of the judge. 
 
 Her counsel stood near her, the sheriff was al 
 most touching her. Several reporters were watch 
 ing every movement, catching every word, noting 
 every light and shadow of the scene. 
 
 Prosecutor Drayton, not less pallid than the pris 
 oner, stood in the background with downcast eyes. 
 Suddenly a slight sound in the gallery caused him 
 to look up. There sat Frances, staring alternately 
 at him and the prisoner. He turned abruptly and 
 left the room.
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 The voice of the judge had but died away, and 
 Sheriff Kimball merely touched Mrs. Hammel's 
 sleeve, to signify that she must go to her cell, when 
 she sunk to the floor and lay there, a huddled heap, 
 her forehead striking the tiling. 
 
 Instantly all was confusion. Judge Ainslee sprang 
 from his place and lifted her, waving his arms to 
 those who had come out of curiosity, and who now 
 crowded about her. 
 
 "Stand back!" he commanded, and he wheeled 
 the chair in which he had placed her near a win 
 dow, which he threw open. A reporter brought 
 a glass of water, and a morbidly curious woman 
 opened a fan. A dozen or more women were pres 
 ent, and just before the dark-veined lids lifted an 
 other one hurried in, and the face of Mrs. Dray ton 
 was bending over the condemned as she regained 
 consciousness. 
 
 "Stand back, Judge Ainslee !" Mrs. Drayton said 
 in a fierce whisper, as he offered his hand. "Do 
 not dare to offer me the hand that is stained with 
 murder!" 
 
 "Pardon me, Mrs. Drayton, it is the law, not I." 
 
 "An honest man, a man who is not a wild beast 
 in human form, will not represent the law that 
 kills." 
 
 "Your son, madam, has done this. Visit your 
 wrath upon him." 
 
 "I know, and I do. He has thrown aside my
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 counsels. He has succumbed to the influence of a 
 she-wolf. Even my love cannot forgive him 
 without full repentance and the giving back of this 
 life." 
 
 Then tenderly she took the prisoner in her arms 
 and held her in silence. It was but for a moment. 
 Then Mrs. Hammel, lifting her head, gazed stead 
 ily into the eyes of her friend. 
 
 "Too bad," she said, "that you should grieve 
 for me. I've been so sure of acquittal; but, at the 
 same time, I've felt that it didn't matter so much 
 what happened to me. I've no relations to be 
 grieved and disgraced, but " and her eyes wan 
 dered to the window, and she gazed out over the 
 snow-covered lawn that surrounded the Court 
 House, where she had played amongst the old oak 
 trees as a child. It was a clear, frosty day, ideal 
 weather for the coming Christmas. Mrs. Hammel 
 paused, and her eyes grew misty. 
 
 "It's so beautiful to be alive I thought I'd be 
 free before the holidays, but I'll not, and the Ham 
 mel family won't mind it so much not as if it 
 had been Jack." 
 
 Her bravery had returned, and she was led back 
 to her cell, the sheriff, her counsel, Mrs. Drayton, 
 and several other friends accompanying her. 
 
 It was the greatest sensation the town, the county, 
 or the State had ever experienced. There was noth 
 ing talked of in Stillwater but the murder, the trial, 
 
 C 192]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 the conviction. Those who had believed in the in 
 nocence of the accused still believed. Those who 
 professed to have reasons for believing the verdict 
 just had little to say. The horror of the matter 
 was too great. If Mrs. Hammel had been sen 
 tenced to a long term of imprisonment, even for 
 life, those who believed her guilty would have held 
 up their hands, and exclaimed, "O wise judge!" 
 But, to sentence her to be hanged that was giving 
 more justice than was really desired. It was a sur 
 feit, and in the recoil there was no dissent on the 
 corner of the street. One evening, when a party of 
 workingmen met by chance, the Dever tragedy 
 came under discussion, and a stalwart young me 
 chanic yelled: "Let's test the rope first with old 
 Judge Ainslee or Dan Dray ton 1" So far from 
 being dissent, the remark met approval, and there 
 was shouting through the streets, and cries of 
 "Hang the judge!" "Hang the prosecutor!" 
 "Don't hang the woman!" 
 
 Mr. Drayton, passing homeward from a meet 
 ing of the Town Council, heard these shouts, and 
 he set his teeth hard. It would be a terrible thing, 
 and yet he felt a gladness that this sentiment was 
 abroad. Other deaths by violence the town would 
 not see, but this one, ordered by the law, would 
 not take place. The people would surely prevent 
 it, in spite of the law. He went on to his own home, 
 and his account of the small demonstration slightly 
 
 [ 193]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 lightened the gloom that was more than the bit 
 terness of death. 
 
 In the home of Dan Drayton there was quarrel 
 ing such as had never been before. Frances had 
 heard the words of her mother-in-law to Judge 
 Ainslee. It had been sufficiently galling for her to 
 see her husband's evident suffering on that day, and 
 then, added to this, was Mrs. Drayton's harsh ex 
 pression, in public. She had sought most earnestly 
 to influence Dan against the wishes of his own fam 
 ily. She had had an intense craving for their ac 
 knowledgment of her influence. She fancied her 
 triumph when she should see them standing aloof, 
 confessing her sway above their own. The acknowl 
 edgment had come. She had received all she had 
 desired. She could say most honestly: 
 
 "I have longed, and I have had my will ; 
 ***** 
 
 And I have nothing left to long for now." 
 
 Mrs. Drayton had acknowledged the sway of her 
 son's wife. 
 
 The wife had heard it. The words could not 
 have been plainer; but, like the answers to many 
 prayers, the fulfillment of many desires, there was 
 no satisfaction in it. For a few days the bickering 
 went on between the husband and wife; but the 
 growing public sentiment, Dan's knowledge of the 
 illness of Paul, and his mother's overpowering 
 [ 194]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 grief, to say nothing of his self-condemnation, so 
 wrought upon him, that he sat one evening in si 
 lence. He was too broken-spirited to give back 
 taunt for taunt, snarl for snarl. Then Frances 
 stormed : 
 
 "Sit there like a dolt ! I'd rather be a wolf than 
 a fool, or give birth to one !" 
 
 Dan lifted his heavy eyes and answered: 
 
 "This has gone far enough. I am the fool, born 
 of the best woman the good God ever made. I'll 
 be your fool no longer ! I see now the beginning 
 of this day. Oh, if I had been in position to defend 
 Nan, to take the matter up at the start, she'd never 
 even have been indicted. I say it now because I'm 
 going away, out of this house. Procure any coun 
 sel you choose, at my expense. You and I are two." 
 
 He went into the hall and put on his overcoat, 
 and came back with his hat in his hand. 
 
 "If you have anything to say to me that cannot 
 be said through a third person, you'll find me at the 
 Stillwater Hotel." 
 
 He opened the door, glanced back to say "good 
 night," and was gone. 
 
 Frances was too much astonished to realize at 
 once what had happened. For some minutes she 
 sat in silence. She was sure that Dan would re 
 turn almost at once. Every instant she expected to 
 hear the key in the latch ; but there was a light tin 
 kle of the bell, and she went to the dining-room. 
 
 [195]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 The girl waited; and Frances, seeing that she 
 looked expectantly toward the parlor door, said : 
 
 "Mr. Drayton had to go to his office on an 
 errand. I'll not wait." And the dinner was served. 
 
 Frances could not believe but that Dan, after 
 cooling his anger by a walk around a block or two, 
 would come in and find her, not in the least dis 
 turbed by his threat. She was prepared to receive 
 him with her loftiest manner. She even decided on 
 the exact words she would say. For one thing, she 
 would call him Mr. Prosecutor, and ask him if he 
 had been to call upon his mother. She would say, 
 too, "Is the old lady pining to see me ?" 
 
 That much was certain whenever he came; but 
 she ate her dinner very leisurely, much to her Abi 
 gail's disgust, who was fuming to get her work 
 done so that she might go to the kitchen next door 
 and compare notes about everything that had 
 happened in the two families for the last twenty- 
 four hours. But, dawdle as the lady would, she 
 had to finish her dinner at last, alone. Alone she 
 sat all the evening. 
 
 At eleven o'clock she said to herself that Dan 
 must have been in earnest. She went, as usual, to 
 the back part of the house to see that the maid was 
 in and the doors secure. This evening the girl eyed 
 her sharply. She had had her regular gossip with 
 her "lady friend" next door, and her friend's friend 
 had called. This caller was a waiter from the Still- 
 [196]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 water Hotel. He reported that he had been "reg'- 
 larly kerflumoxed by Mr. Dan Drayton comin' to 
 the hotel an' takin' a room, an' then marchin' into 
 the dinin'-room an' orderin' dinner. I waited on 
 'im myself. He didn't eat so very much, but 'e 
 made Up a respectable average with drinks just 
 plain brandy an' vichy, an' 'e took 'em all through 
 'is dinner. I left 'im talkin' in the office to an old 
 feller, Lawyer Hale's father, who'd come on the 
 six o'clock Eastern express. An' I'll tell you, la 
 dies," he said confidentially, "Papa Hale's a reg'lar 
 swell. He has a man with 'im to wait on 'im, his 
 valley he calls 'im, an' that's right; where there's 
 two hills there's commonly a valley, an' ef Phil 
 Hale an' 'is pa ain't two high-headed swells, then 
 my name ain't Clarence Marks." 
 
 In view of this information the servant regarded 
 her mistress narrowly. She felt sure she could see 
 confirmation of Mr. Marks's story in Mrs. Dray- 
 ton's manner. She even cast a prophetic glance to 
 ward the end of the long story of which the key 
 holes of the house, and many unavoidable positions 
 she had occupied as maid-of-all-work, had supplied 
 many chapters. 
 
 Frances said: "Be sure the doors and windows 
 are secure. Since that dreadful Hammel woman is 
 in the town one cannot be too careful." 
 
 Kitty responded respectfully : 
 
 "Yes, ma'am, an' I guess some folks '11 be awful 
 
 [ 197]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 glad when she's swung off. I know some 'at will, 
 any way." 
 
 Kitty told her friend next day that she believed 
 that was as good a joke as any Mrs. Hammel put 
 into her letters, but "Mrs. Drayton never tumbled 
 to it at all. She's awful stupid." 
 
 [198]
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 IT was a few days after Mrs. Hammel had re 
 ceived her sentence, when Philip Hale called on 
 Mrs. Drayton, in the afternoon, to ask permission 
 to bring his father to meet the family in the even 
 ing. 
 
 They came, and Mrs. Drayton met face to face 
 the man whose decision in a murder case had made 
 the tragedy of her own life. As he clasped her hand 
 and spoke a few formal words in answer to her own, 
 his eyes wandered from her face to Paul, and an 
 expression of sympathy drew heavy lines about his 
 mouth. He stood by the invalid's chair and touched 
 his hands, murmuring words of kindliness and 
 hope. 
 
 Paul had not been out of the house for several 
 days. His strength was barely sufficient to enable 
 him to walk about the lower rooms. 
 
 "My son has told me all about it, Mrs. Dray 
 ton. Ah ! it is hard to pray 'Father, forgive them, 
 they know not what they do!' If we could but 
 know, or, even knowing when it is done, if we 
 could in any degree make repaiation but the con 
 sequences of what we do are eternal." 
 [ 199]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 He stood by Paul, who seemed only half con 
 scious much of the time of what was passing about 
 him. Then Philip said: 
 
 "Father, here is Lois." 
 
 "Ah, yes Lois. With Phil's permission." And 
 he kissed her forehead. 
 
 By and by the one absorbing topic was brought 
 up by Judge Hale. He said softly to Mrs. Dray- 
 ton: 
 
 "Will it disturb your son? Would we better 
 wait until some other time?" 
 
 Low as it was spoken, Paul heard, and under 
 stood. 
 
 "No! no!" he said eagerly. "That's what I 
 want to hear. If you can only help Nan, it will 
 be the best work you ever did in your life. Please 
 go on." 
 
 With the exertion of speaking his head sank for 
 ward on his breast. His mother placed it on the 
 cushions, and his father tilted the chair to hold him 
 so. The spasms in his throat were growing more 
 violent as his strength waned, and they seemed at 
 times to stop his breath. 
 
 All the phases of the tragedy were talked over. 
 Judge Hale had the story from his son, and he had 
 the purely legal side of it from Dawson & Fiske ; 
 but the most valuable notes of all he had received 
 from Prosecutor Drayton. 
 
 One view of the case he said nothing about. This 
 [ 200 ]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 was the view his man Peters had supplied him. Pe 
 ters was voted by "the help" to be by far the jolliest 
 guest the Stillwater Hotel had entertained for a 
 long time. He had been in the house but a few 
 hours when he had struck up a friendship with the 
 head waiter, and he proposed to that dignitary that 
 they go to the next best hotel in the town and see 
 the girls. The invitation was accepted, and togeth 
 er they went to the Ross House. 
 
 There Peters ingratiated himself with the special 
 friend of the waiter. She also was at the top of 
 the ladder, being first chambermaid. Peters called 
 her "First lady of the bed chamber." Another 
 one of the maids, happening to come upon the three 
 in the pantry, where they were making themselves 
 hilarious over ginger pop, Peters insisted that she 
 join them. He adroitly led the conversation to the 
 Hammel case; said he had heard the condemned 
 woman used to live at the house. This was at once 
 confirmed by the trio. Next he asked if the rooms 
 formerly occupied by Mrs. Hammel might be 
 shown him. There was ready assent, as the rooms 
 were vacant. 
 
 The four proceeded upstairs, and Peters was full 
 of interest at once. 
 
 "Now," he said, as he peered about, "hif I c'u'd 
 
 unly find some trifle 'at b'longed to Mistress 'Am- 
 
 mel, Hi r d put hit into the Museum in Boston. Hev- 
 
 er been to Boston?" he asked, turning to the three. 
 
 [ 201 ]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 Not one of them had ever been there. 
 
 "Well, ye see, in this museum they 'ave hall sorts 
 o' curiosities; with the names of the people who 
 put 'em there. Ef I c'u'd unly find something of 
 Mistress 'Ammel's, all our names'd be there along 
 with the rest o' the swells." 
 
 This was a glimpse of possible fame, and the 
 rooms were thoroughly searched. But, after all 
 these weeks, after they had been renovated in the 
 fall house cleaning, and since then occupied by oth 
 er guests, the search, very reasonably, proved fruit 
 less. 
 
 Still, Peters was much interested, and when told 
 that Mrs. Hammel had a husband, who had been 
 there for some time, he said: "Oh, yes; so she 
 had a 'usband. Poor fellow, 'ow dreadful he must 
 befeelin'I" 
 
 He asked all sorts of questions about Hammel, 
 and his new friends gave him many chapters of do 
 mestic history, as they saw it in the behavior of 
 their guests. The two girls agreed that Mr. Ham 
 mel was a handsome man, but no good. Still, they 
 said he was sick, and it had seemed to them a heart 
 less thing for Mrs. Hammel "to pack 'im off to 
 Chicago when he was hardly fit to be out of bed." 
 
 "Well, now, let me tell you," Peters said, and 
 he glanced expressively at Jenny, the "second lady 
 of the bed chamber," "hif Hi'd a pretty wife, an' 
 [ 202 ]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 she sent me hoff like that, Hi'd come back on the 
 next train." 
 
 "That's jest what everybody thought he'd done," 
 Jenny declared. "Sam Good said he seen somebody 
 in a long ulster go up the stairs the night of the 
 murder; but it turned out to be Mrs. Hammel in 
 a mackintosh." 
 
 Though there were no mementoes discovered for 
 the Boston Museum, Peters expressed himself de 
 lighted with his visit, and said he would be glad 
 to come again, if he had permission from a certain 
 person, and he winked at Jenny, and nudged her 
 elbow with his own. 
 
 With a toss of her head, Jenny guessed he 
 "needn't stand on so much ceremony, but come 
 when he pleased, and her night out was Thursday, 
 and " 
 
 He finished for her: "All right. A wink's as 
 good as a nod to an auctioneer, and my father was 
 one." 
 
 Jenny confided to her "superior" that though she 
 "nat'rally despised Englishmen, still Peters ain't so 
 bad, an' sometimes he talks without a bit of 
 brogue." 
 
 An evening or two later, when the new friends 
 of Peters were thinking it took him a "long time 
 to put his old man to bed," said old man, his son, 
 and Peters were sitting together, with closed doors. 
 Peters was doing most of the talking, and though 
 [ 203 ]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 he still bore some resemblance to the Americanized 
 Cockney servant, his general appearance, his speech, 
 and the expression of his face were those of a man 
 of affairs, a citizen of the world. 
 
 "No," he said, "there's nothing to be done here. 
 Chicago's the place, and those Hammels are the 
 people. Not one of them put in an appearance 
 at the trial. Mrs. Hammel's had no letters from 
 Chicago excepting from her publishers. A fellow's 
 got to be pretty low down not to come forward with 
 some little show of human feeling when his wife's 
 tried for murder, especially when the victim is his 
 mother-in-law. These alleged lawyers, Dawson & 
 Fiske, are blacksmiths, farmers, dealers in junk 
 anything but lawyers I" 
 
 "Whatever is done must be done as soon as pos 
 sible," said the elder Hale. "Judge Ainslee has but 
 scantily kept within the limits of the law in the time 
 he gives the prisoner." 
 
 "It's a nasty business," Philip said, "and I sup 
 pose he thinks the sooner it's over the sooner the 
 community will get over the shock of it. How soon 
 will you go to Chicago?" turning to Peters. 
 
 "What do you think, Judge? I'd like to get the 
 girl out by Christmas." 
 
 "You speak confidently." 
 
 "I speak as I feel as I know. If I once get 
 
 my fingers on that man Hammel, and The 
 
 [204]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 whole family can't go into hiding. It's the general 
 story that he's quite an invalid." 
 
 "Yes; when he left here I wouldn't have given 
 him six months." 
 
 "So much the better if he's the principal in this 
 business ; but I hope he's still on deck, with breath 
 enough to last till I run him to cover and make him 
 give an account of himself." 
 
 "Will you go to Chicago, too, father?" 
 
 "Yes. I may be useful in the way of hurried 
 depositions and such matters. I haven't been in 
 Chicago for ten years, and I feel that I must keep 
 moving. This family of Draytons they haunt me. 
 Such blunders as we make sometimes in our zeal 
 for our own advancement." 
 
 "It was not wholly that in your case, was it?" 
 
 Judge Hale hesitated. 
 
 "It looks to me now as if it had been. Of course, 
 at the time, I felt that I was only doing my plain, 
 disagreeable duty. It was in my day's work, right 
 enough. I was just home from the Civil War, 
 when I was elected to the office of Governor. I 
 sailed through the campaign with a halo of military 
 glory. Of course, I was, at that time, a lawyer of 
 fifteen years' experience. I knew the law, and 
 in the case of Mrs. Parks it was plain. According 
 to the law there was no reason why she should not 
 suffer the extreme penalty. I could have saved her 
 life, and I did not. I think my four years in 
 [205]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 the army had blunted my sensibilities. The sight 
 of death in horrible forms was common to me, and 
 if I had not been enlightened in many ways, I'd 
 have forgotten, in a measure, the episode of Mrs. 
 Parks. But this enlightening has come to me in 
 so many ways, and the light keeps on coming. It's 
 a long lesson. It crops out in so many unexpected 
 places. The worst of it is, every time the case 
 comes up, my lack of mercy, of common human 
 feeling, is shown in a clearer, stronger light, and 
 the fact that I can make no reparation grows hard 
 er to bear. I think, Peters, I must get you to look 
 up that sister of Mrs. Parks, but I don't even know 
 her name. She adopted the child Mrs. Parks's 
 baby a girl, if I remember rightly and I'll see 
 what can be done for her." 
 
 "All right, Judge; but let's first get this other 
 woman out of the noose. When this is well done 
 I'm your man." 
 
 "I think, father, if you succeed in saving Mrs. 
 Hammel, you will reach a long way toward being 
 forgiven by Mrs. Drayton." 
 
 "Ah! but that boy! How can she forgive me? 
 How, even, can an infinite God forgive me? I 
 never saw such a distressing spectacle as that ill- 
 made, gasping boy. I sincerely hope we'll have this 
 friend of his released while he can know it." 
 
 [206]
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 IT was only in accord with established usage that 
 Philip Hale made a daily call upon his fiancee; but 
 these calls were looked forward to, and longed for, 
 by Paul, much more impatiently than any girl ever 
 watched for her lover. 
 
 Philip responded in most brotherly fashion to 
 the demands of the invalid. After the going away 
 of Judge Hale and Peters, Paul grew quieter, but 
 sometimes his silence seemed to the anxious watch 
 ers the effects of weakness and hopelessness. 
 
 He lay upon his couch the greater part of the 
 day, and it was in vain that the family and friends 
 endeavored to interest him in ordinary things, or 
 draw his mind from brooding on the situation of 
 Mrs. Hammel. 
 
 When Philip came, Paul's agitation was most 
 painful until he had been told all that had been 
 heard from Judge Hale. This news was neces 
 sarily most meager. The detective had learned that 
 Jack Hammel had reached Chicago in due time 
 after Mrs. Hammel's telegram to his father, but 
 within a few hours he had a message, signed Anna 
 [207 ]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 Dever Hammel, recalling him to Stillwater. That 
 was all that the family knew. Of course, they had 
 heard of the murder, and the trial, and all that, but 
 where Jack was they could not, or at least would 
 not, say. They professed entire ignorance of him, 
 and Peters said he believed they spoke the truth. 
 Not only this, he felt sure that each and every one 
 of the family hoped they never would know any 
 thing more of the scamp of their circle. 
 
 Still, they were watched closely, shadowed in 
 their goings and comings, but without results. 
 
 These days with no encouraging news, no pros 
 pects for the release of the prisoner, were most tor 
 turing to Paul. 
 
 There were no preparations for Christmas 
 amongst the Draytons, and, in fact, all the town 
 seemed only to half realize that the holidays were 
 near. When it became known that Judge Hale 
 was in Stillwater, in the interests of Mrs. Ham 
 mel, the feeling against Judge Ainslee and Dan 
 Drayton was increased. 
 
 The judge never appeared on the street without 
 hearing words that threatened, and Dan Drayton 
 received many wrathful letters, both through the 
 mails and left in his letter-box at the door by per 
 sons unknown. Sheriff Kimball was warned that 
 a second rope was in waiting for him if he dared 
 to execute the sentence of the law upon Mrs. Ham 
 mel. 
 
 [ 208 ]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 It was said openly by the most respectable and 
 law-abiding portion of the townspeople that if the 
 execution took place at all it must be in secret. This 
 could not be. The law provided for and required 
 a certain degree of publicity, and if once it became 
 known that the necessary preparations were going 
 forward it was feared there might be a riot. 
 
 When it became known that Dan Drayton had 
 quarreled with his wife on account of Mrs. Ham- 
 mel the feeling toward him was slightly modified, 
 but he still received scant courtesy, here where he 
 had always called every man, woman, and child 
 his friend. 
 
 It was the Sunday after the final quarrel between 
 Dan and Frances that Paul insisted that his mother 
 should go to church. 
 
 She had been with him constantly, and she, too, 
 was growing weak and shadowy. 
 
 "Please go," Paul coaxed. "I'll be glad to think 
 of you being there. Uncle Zeke can stay with me, 
 and we'll talk over all the time when Nan was such 
 a pretty little girl. And please, mother, bring Phil 
 home with you. I do hope Dan and Frances won't 
 come!" 
 
 This last hope was realized. Neither of the two 
 was at church; and when Basil, drawing his moth 
 er's hand within his arm, started home with her, she 
 said: 
 
 "Do you know anything about Dan?" 
 [209]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 He answered with an account of the quarrel as 
 he had received it from his brother, adding : 
 
 "I saw Dan this morning at the hotel. I told 
 him of Paul's illness, and he thought he would bet 
 ter stay away to-day, and I think so, too." 
 
 "Such a shame that our family should be so di 
 vided! What ever will become of Dan?" 
 
 "Oh, he's all right; that is, in health; and I think 
 it's an encouraging sign that he has rebuked Frances 
 by leaving the house. They'll make up by and by, 
 and the whole occurrence may prove a lesson for 
 both. She oughtn't to expect to cut out his work 
 for him, irrespective of all the years of his life be 
 fore he met her; and he should have been man 
 enough to teach her her place, since she didn't know 
 it. He is really the one to blame. He had had 
 the home training, the drill in correct living. She 
 knows nothing of this doesn't understand her own 
 position at all." 
 
 "Such a pity!" sighed Mrs. Drayton. 
 
 "Don't worry," Basil said cheerfully, giving his 
 mother's hand a warm clasp as it lay on his arm. 
 "If Daddy Hale and his man get Anna out of her 
 trouble, things in that direction will be smooth, and 
 Dan may give thanks that his ambitious blunder is 
 rectified and then start newly. Phil's a fine fellow, 
 isn't he?" 
 
 "Yes. He's been our rock of strength lately," 
 [210]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 and Mrs. Drayton really laughed. "Paul watches 
 for him much more impatiently than Lois does." 
 
 "Oh, Lois ! She's like all the rest of the girls 
 good at playing indifference. If Phil should fail 
 to show up some day, our royal lady would fly her 
 true colors." 
 
 "I hope he'll not fail on Paul's account. Lois 
 is strong, and able to bear all that may or may not 
 come to her; but poor little Paul " 
 
 They had reached the home gate, when the street 
 door opened, and the young man in question came 
 down the walk and met them. 
 
 "So you've been with our poor boy?" Mrs. Dray- 
 ton said, clasping his hand. 
 
 "Yes. I had some news that I thought would 
 brace him up, and I came to him for an hour instead 
 of going to church." 
 
 "But don't go away now ! Come in with us for 
 dinner. I'm afraid Auntie has been an indifferent 
 hostess, to allow you to go." 
 
 "No, indeed. Auntie was most pressing in her 
 invitation, and so was Uncle Zeke. I came away 
 by force; and with thanks, I'll not go back now, but 
 come again later. I expect more news from Peters 
 any hour, and Paul must have it as soon as possi 
 ble." 
 
 While they talked, the rest of the family arrived, 
 and to them, all together, Philip gave in a few 
 words the news from Chicago that he said Paul had 
 
 [211]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 had in detail. It was only that Peters had learned 
 enough of Jack Hammel to warrant him in the 
 belief that he was in that city. 
 
 "He's a most reliable man, this Peters, so my 
 father says, and within the last few years he has 
 assisted in some of the most notable cases in the 
 cities of New York, Philadelphia, and Boston. 
 He'll do the work, I'm sure." 
 
 [212]
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 AT the next meeting of the "Daughters of En 
 deavor" there was a stormy session. After the 
 usual formalities were disposed of in the regular 
 line of business, the reports of committees were 
 called for. There had been but one committee ap 
 pointed at the last meeting, and that one, for the 
 drawing up of the Anna Dever Hammel memorial, 
 was invited to report. 
 
 In answer, Mrs. Milford arose and read a few 
 plainly expressed but comprehensive reasons for 
 setting aside the death penalty for crime. More 
 especially in- the case of women was this law unjust. 
 Women, being the mothers of the race, and being 
 debarred from any share in making the laws, they 
 were certainly entitled to some clemency on the part 
 of those who made and administered these laws. 
 Mention was also made of the fallibility of cir 
 cumstantial evidence, and the well-known irre 
 proachable character of the condemned woman. 
 The petition asked that the extreme sentence be 
 changed to life imprisonment, so that if the pris 
 oner should, in the near or remote future, be proven
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 guiltless, she could be released; and, though suf 
 fering this injustice, still the law would not bear the 
 stigma of murdering the innocent. 
 
 As soon as the reading was finished the storm 
 broke. The president was at her wit's end. Parlia 
 mentary law was broken to bits and cast to the 
 winds. Mrs. Mason was most severe in her de 
 nunciation of the matter contained in the memo 
 rial. 
 
 "No mention should have been made of sex," she 
 declared. "We don't want to save Mrs. Hammel 
 because she's a woman, but because she's a sinful 
 creature, and unfit to die. Her crime obliterates 
 her sex " 
 
 "But," Mrs. Milford interrupted, "we have said 
 distinctly that we do not believe her guilty, as 
 charged." 
 
 "I do believe her guilty. She has expressed her 
 self here in the presence of these ladies as no Chris 
 tian woman would, and a woman who is not a 
 Christian has no scruples to prevent her commit 
 ting any and all crimes." 
 
 "Madam President !" said Dr. Moss. "I, as one 
 of the committee appointed by you, and others of 
 the society, to draft this memorial, protest against 
 the expression of such sentiments. They are both 
 unchristian and unwomanly. No one here will be 
 compelled, nor need feel under the least obligation, 
 to sign this petition. My understanding was, and 
 [214]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 still is, that the committee appointed should speak 
 for those who believe, as we do, that the death pen 
 alty is barbarous, and most especially cruel where 
 there is the least possibility of innocence. Still, 
 more abhorrent and unjust is the death penalty 
 when a woman suffers it." 
 
 "That is the point to which I most object," Mrs. 
 Mason retorted. "The Governor '11 say we're a lot 
 of strong-minded women clamoring for suffrage, 
 and doing many other unladylike things. I cannot 
 consent to put my name to the instrument as it 
 stands, nor do I approve of sending out such senti 
 ments as the expression of the 'Daughters of En 
 deavor.' I, as a charter member of the club, have 
 a right to be heard." 
 
 As she sat down the president said : "The claim 
 of being a charter member is something to be proud 
 of in an organization that has held together for 
 the mutual improvement of its members for ten 
 years, but our constitution makes no provision for 
 special privileges for charter members. They have 
 a voice and vote in all proceedings, but no more 
 than that. The member who paid her initiation fee 
 last week has the same rights and privileges." 
 
 Next Lois arose, and in her masked-battery fash 
 ion very quietly said: 
 
 "Madam President! In reference to what the 
 last speaker before yourself said in regard to the 
 Governor's possible opinion of us, though it is only 
 [215]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 a guess, I am sure we'll all be gratified if the guess 
 proves correct. Personally, I shall be very glad 
 if I know to a certainty that the Governor thinks 
 we are in our right senses, and have sound, strong 
 minds. Of course, he knows, and we know, that 
 there's a hospital in the State for feeble-minded 
 folk, and we know it's very much crowded. I should 
 be deeply mortified if he should suppose that the 
 overflow was to be found here in Stillwater, under 
 the name of 'The Daughters of Endeavor.' As 
 to being suspected of wanting the ballot, I see no 
 reason why a woman should be censured for want 
 ing it, nor derided for achieving it, if she can. It 
 was not a woman who wrote 'Man wants but little 
 here below,' and the man who wrote it made a great 
 mistake, or a deliberate misstatement. I most hear 
 tily approve of the memorial as it stands. No one 
 here knows the subject of it better than I do. I 
 wish to sign it, and in case all other means fail, I 
 am ready to go to the Governor and beg of him the 
 life of Anna Dever Hammel." 
 
 "Madam President!" said Mrs. Simcoe. "I 
 think it a great mistake that we ever touched this 
 subject. I fully agree with Mrs. Mason. Crime 
 obliterates sex. Mrs. Hammel has had a fair trial. 
 She had the services of two good lawyers, before 
 an unprejudiced judge, and the jury was most care 
 fully selected. I'll not sign the memorial." 
 
 "Madam President!" came the clear, strong 
 [216]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 voice of Dr. Moss. "The one great reason why 
 the recent trial of Mrs. Hammel has looked to me 
 like the veriest burlesque, the broadest farce, is 
 that the law expressly provides that the person ac 
 cused shall be tried by a jury of his peers. As long 
 as the pronoun is masculine, it's all fair; but I deny 
 that any woman in the United States was ever tried 
 by a jury of her peers. Most especially was not 
 Mrs. Hammel. We all know her. We know what 
 her abilities are, both natural and acquired. We 
 know of her brilliant intellect, her wit, her sound 
 good sense, her cultivated judgment. Add to this 
 her beauty, and she has but few peers among wom 
 en, while she shines as far above the average man 
 as a star is beyond the power of the frail tallow 
 dips that some of our members told us about last 
 spring. I only hope that the Governor will have 
 the sense to see how strong-minded and how level 
 headed are the women who sign this memorial. He 
 would have no trouble in seeing us clothed in all 
 manner of womanly excellences if we were voters." 
 
 The debate went on for an hour, and many bitter 
 things were said with but the thinnest pretence of 
 not meaning to be personal. Anxious as she was, 
 Lois wished many times that Mrs. Hammel could 
 have been there to hear the discussion. Such a let 
 ter as she could have made of it. 
 
 As the meeting adjourned, and the members took 
 their several ways, Lois and Laura met Philip Hale 
 [217]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 a few steps from the door. He seemed to be wait 
 ing for them. 
 
 "Come with me to see Mrs. Hammel," he said. 
 "Will you go, too, Mrs. Drayton?" 
 
 Laura declined. She was to join Dr. Moss and 
 go home with her for tea. 
 
 "How much I wish poor dear Nan could have 
 heard the discussion to-day," Lois said, as she and 
 Hale walked away together. "Much of it would 
 have hurt her, but she'd have dished it all up to 
 gether so beautifully." 
 
 "How do you think this will answer the purpose, 
 when translated?" And Hale took a note-book 
 from his coat pocket and flipped over the leaves, 
 that were covered with shorthand hieroglyphics. 
 
 "Oh, Phil! how did you get it?" And Lois 
 took the book from his hands and turned the leaves. 
 "I know but little of shorthand, but enough to see 
 that this is a full report of the debate. How did 
 you get it?" 
 
 "Mrs. Milford was kind. She let me the room 
 above the parlor, for this day only. There's a 
 register there that gave me the discussion as dis 
 tinctly, almost, as if I had been with you. Oh, that 
 Mrs. Mason, and Mrs. Simcoe ! What half-made, 
 heartless things they are ! It's laughable, and yet, 
 to hear them makes me wonder what civilization 
 has been doing all these ages." 
 
 "How did you ever come to think of doing this?" 
 [218]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "Yesterday I was talking with Mrs. Hammel, 
 and she said she'd like so much to have the min 
 utes of to-day's meeting for a letter. I told her of 
 my expertness in shorthand, and as I felt sure I 
 could not get into the meeting, or if I did get in, I'd 
 be an extinguisher, I consulted Mrs. Milford. She 
 said first it looked a trifle traitorous, but she con 
 sidered it was not for myself, and there was no 
 great amount of rhetoric necessary. She came to 
 think it a great lark. So did the parson. He was 
 with me." 
 
 "Mrs. Mason won't like to be reported so fully, 
 I know. She said some very foolish and some very 
 merciless and unwomanly things." 
 
 "She shouldn't say what she doesn't want report 
 ed. I felt as if I ought to call down the register, 
 'A chiel's amang ye, takin' notes, an' faith he'll 
 prent it.' " 
 
 [219]
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 THE bright winter days swept on too- swiftly for 
 the anxious ones who were working and hoping 
 for the release of Mrs. Hammel. The prisoner 
 herself, to those who saw her constantly, bore her 
 situation much better than did some of her friends. 
 She was constantly occupied. Her guards said she 
 was always busy: reading, writing, drawing illus 
 trations for her work. She was not allowed sewing 
 conveniences, and for these she said she cared but 
 little, excepting as a change. 
 
 Sheriff Kimball had removed the solid door of 
 her cell, and replaced it with one made of bars. 
 While this was slightly irregular, he said it would 
 give the watchman a better view of the prisoner; 
 and she was in all ways so entirely reasonable there 
 was no fear of trouble. 
 
 It was only in the letters of "Joan Stone" that 
 the condemned one showed what was in her mind 
 as touching her situation. In these letters she poured 
 out every logical reason why a suspected person 
 should not suffer the extreme penalty of the law on 
 circumstantial evidence. She told of all the limita- 
 [ 220 ]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 tions and the disabilities that meet a woman who 
 is so bitterly unfortunate as to fall under suspicion. 
 She gave vent to her sensations, her dreams, her 
 thoughts and fancies in times of depression. 
 
 In these letters she laid bare her very soul. The 
 world should have what it had never had before 
 the thoughts and feelings of a cultured, gently-bred 
 woman, in prison awaiting a horrible death. Cir 
 cumstances had entrapped her. Some other woman 
 might be entrapped in the same way. To this other 
 woman, or to a hundred women, she told what they 
 would suffer. 
 
 It was a few days before the beginning of that 
 last week that in one letter was said : 
 
 "Does this look like weakness ? Will it be taken 
 as an evidence of guilt to say that sometimes this 
 horror that is coming to me is likely to drive me 
 mad? Death in itself is terrible. Let anyone, in 
 the full enjoyment of health, with a reasonable 
 prospect of living for many years, suddenly face 
 death only in thought. You who are young, or only 
 middle-aged, sometime, when you lie down at night, 
 fancy how it would be if you should never rise 
 again. Think of lying straight and immovable, 
 hands folded, light and air shut out by the earth 
 piled above. Think you are dead, or will be before 
 morning. It is horrible ! But the relieving thought 
 forces itself upon you : I shall be ill, and cared for 
 by my friends. I shall lose consciousness gradu- 
 [221 ]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 ally. Faces of loved ones will grow dim, dimmer, 
 and at last darkness. Sounds will grow faint, faint 
 er, then silence, rest, peace. But, when at night I 
 lie on my cot, there is ever present the thought that, 
 on some day, very soon now, men will come into 
 my cell to take me out and kill me. I can fancy 
 it all. They will look at me as a woman who has 
 done such a monstrous thing as to be unfit to live. 
 They will stand and wait, not patiently, but stol 
 idly, for me to rise, perhaps from this table whereon 
 I write, and go with them, out through the door 
 somewhere, I do not know where; but I hope it 
 may not be into the blessed light of day. An act 
 like this should be done in the dark, as was the 
 other murder. 
 
 "If I should be told that some night, when I am 
 asleep, the guard is to come in and shoot me to 
 death, my horror would be less, the ignominy would 
 seem diminished. As it is, I cannot bear that any 
 thing shall touch my neck, especially at night. It 
 may be because then I cannot work, or read, and 
 keep my mind occupied, that impressions are more 
 vivid. Even when I sleep, if the bed coverings, or 
 the collar of my nightgown, drags loosely against 
 my throat, I waken, trembling with horror. 
 
 "It is only human nature, I am sure. Human 
 nature, outraged, is capable of more suffering than 
 can ever be put into words. Language is inade 
 quate; it is heavy, unwieldy, and it is no wonder 
 [ 222 ]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 that so often the human, in the extreme of suffering, 
 breaks into senseless ravings. But how one can 
 suffer and still be calm ! Old Lear understood it 
 when he curbed his thoughts and groaned: 'That 
 way madness lies !' The real murderer of my moth 
 er does not deserve to suffer so. A man who could 
 commit such a deed would have the hardihood, the 
 general make-up to bear the consequences. The 
 punishment would be a part of the crime. I say a 
 man, because I know it was a man who murdered 
 my mother. If asked for my reason, if told to say 
 how I know, I answer : It is only a woman's reason. 
 I know because I know." 
 
 This letter was published in two city dailies, one 
 in the East, the other in the West. They were cop 
 ied far and near, sometimes entirely, sometimes in 
 scraps and pickings. 
 
 Public sentiment was setting so strongly in favor 
 of the prisoner, Sheriff Kimball feared there might 
 be a rescue from the scaffold, if not sooner. His 
 constant hope was that Judge Hale and his detec 
 tive would discover something anything to relieve 
 him of his responsibility. 
 
 His mail was burdensome with letters of warn 
 ing, and the most significant fact was, these letters 
 now were, in but few instances, anonymous. To 
 these he paid sufficient attention to card each and 
 every one of the Stillwater newspapers, as well 
 as those of the towns and cities where letters were 
 [ 223 ]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 mailed, to the effect that he was but the last actor 
 in carrying out the demands of the law. He had 
 not set the great, cruel machine in motion. It was 
 true, as some of his correspondents averred, "he 
 did the dirty work," but it was the prosecuting at 
 torney, the grand jury, the judge on the bench, the 
 Governor of the State, who cut out this work for 
 him. 
 
 The people who were threatening the sheriff were 
 advised to use their ammunition for bigger game. 
 Evidently the bigger game had its own share of ob 
 loquy. Judge Ainslee and Dan Drayton felt more 
 keenly the disapproval of the general public. The 
 jury had been made up from outside towns, and 
 if one of the twelve men was seen on the streets of 
 Stillwater he was made to feel that he had not only 
 done a stupid thing, but a wilfully wicked thing as 
 well. 
 
 It was the middle of the week preceding the be 
 ginning of the last one for Mrs. Hammel. Basil 
 Drayton was just entering his own gate when Fran 
 ces, closely veiled, spoke to him : 
 
 "Will you let me go into the house with you?" 
 
 "Surely!" And he held the gate open for her 
 to pass. They entered the house together. Laura 
 met them, and greeting Frances most cordially, put 
 her into a chair before the fire and removed her hat. 
 She was startled by the change in the face of her 
 guest. Frances had avoided meeting any of her 
 [224]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 husband's family since Dan had left the house. The 
 servant had strict orders to admit none of the Dray- 
 tons. Now, of her own accord, she had come to 
 Laura and Basil, and at an hour when she knew 
 they would both be at home. 
 
 "You are ill," Laura said tenderly. "What a 
 shame that you've kept it all to yourself !" 
 
 "No! no! I'm not ill! But oh, Laura! oh, 
 Basil ! I'm so miserable ! I'm so frightened ! Look 
 at these every day they come! I send them to 
 Dan, and, after reading, he sends them back to me. 
 What can I do?" 
 
 She took a parcel of letters from her handbag 
 and let them fall loosely on her lap. 
 
 Basil picked up one and glanced over it. 
 
 "Yes, I see. Dan has shown me several, and 
 they are all about the same as Kimball and Ainslee 
 get. You've seen Kimball's cards in the papers?" 
 
 "Oh, yes and poor Mrs. Kimball is nearly out 
 of her senses. Oh, that miserable woman ! I wish 
 she had stayed away! Of course, any fool would 
 know she never killed her mother, but there was 
 nothing else to do but convict her!" 
 
 "Frances," Basil said, "there's no special need 
 of your worrying about this. It's going to work 
 out all right. Probably you know that Judge Hale 
 and Detective Peters have been working independ 
 ently on the case for some time?" 
 [225]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 away." 
 
 "Yes, but Phil hears from his father every day. 
 The last news was, they're sure they're on the track 
 of the murderer, and if they don't run him to cover 
 now very soon, there'll be a stay of proceedings. 
 Really, the people will never allow this execution 
 to take place. I'm sure of it. So is Kimball." 
 
 "But, you see, the attitude of the people is the 
 worst of all. Everybody is sure she's innocent; and 
 here's Dan, and Judge Ainslee, and Sheriff Kimball 
 being accused of murdering an innocent woman. 
 You see how these letters threaten to burn the house 
 and hang Dan by the light of it, and oh, I must 
 go away ! If they do these things, I don't want to 
 be hereto see!" 
 
 "But, dear," Laura said, "this will surely all be 
 settled now very soon. Mrs. Hammel will be re 
 leased, and then, of course, everything will be right, 
 and pleasant again." 
 
 "Oh, but don't you see? There's no place for 
 us in Stillwater, even if Dan should ever forgive 
 me!" And she covered her face with her hands, 
 and sobbed. 
 
 "There, dear! there, dear!" And Laura knelt 
 
 beside her chair, and, clasping her in her arms, 
 
 patted her shoulder as she patted and soothed Fred. 
 
 "I'm sure Dan will forgive anything you've said 
 
 [226]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 or done, as soon as he knows you care to be for 
 given." 
 
 "Of course he will, and be mighty glad to," Basil 
 said stoutly. "But, come cheer up, Frank, and 
 have some dinner. You're worn out with your wor 
 ries, and probably haven't eaten anything for a 
 week." 
 
 Frances wiped her eyes. 
 
 "It sounds so friendly of you to say 'Frank.' ' 
 and she looked at Basil with a sickly smile. 
 
 "Does it? Now, do you know, I like it immense 
 ly. Last summer, when your mother was here, I 
 meant to call you Frank, but no one else did, and I 
 thought maybe you didn't like it." 
 
 Under the stimulus of the kindly words of Basil 
 and Laura, Frances felt much of her burden of 
 apprehension dropping away. When dinner was 
 over, Basil said: 
 
 "Now, Frank, I'm going to see how Paul is. 
 I'll go by your place, and I'll tell your handmaiden 
 to close up and go to bed, or go and visit some 
 friend, if she doesn't like to remain in the house 
 alone. You'll stay here to-night." 
 
 It was but a faint protest that Frances made to 
 this proposal. Of a truth, she was a very lonely, 
 repentant woman. 
 
 [227]
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 AT the door of his father's house Basil met Dr. 
 Mason. 
 
 "How's Paul?" was the question, without an 
 other greeting. 
 
 "Failing failing. I never in my life saw any 
 thing so tragic, so sad, so horrible. Of a 'truth, we 
 are fearfully and wonderfully made. The boy is 
 dying through his sympathy. But go in. Your 
 mother needs all the comforting that you and all 
 of us can give her." 
 
 It was a sad household that Basil met on his 
 daily visits. Paul lay on a couch in the family 
 room, so that he need never be alone. He was al 
 lowed as little time as possible with his own 
 thoughts. Some one of the family, or some friend, 
 was with him through all his waking hours, and 
 these were many. He slept but little, excepting by 
 the aid of quieting potions. His mind dwelt con 
 stantly on the one thing Nan, poor Nan ! 
 
 It was useless to try to divert him by reading 
 or conversation. He would interrupt to ask if it 
 was not time for Phil to come; and when he came 
 [228]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 without encouraging news the despair of the in 
 valid was heart-breaking. 
 
 It was but this day that Mrs. Drayton had de 
 tained Phil in the hall and talked over the feasi 
 bility of making good news when he had none, add 
 ing: 
 
 "Paul will not be with us many days. Let him 
 be as comfortable as possible." 
 
 As this was about agreed upon Dr. Mason came 
 in. When the question was put to him he shook 
 his head. 
 
 "It won't do to deceive him. He might rally. 
 I don't say that he would, but he might, and only 
 grow strong enough to realize the worst, if the 
 worst must come, and then he would perish most 
 miserably." 
 
 So, then, the idea had been given up, and the 
 mother, with a sigh, resigned herself anew to watch 
 ing the fading away of this blighted life. 
 
 She told this to Basil before he saw Paul. When 
 his brother entered the room Paul said: 
 
 "Now I know all the others are tired. I wish 
 they'd go out and leave us alone for a while. I 
 want to say something to you." 
 
 "Very well, dear," his mother said. "Phil and 
 Lois, run away to the parlor father's smoking in 
 the dining-room. I'll go and talk to him." 
 
 When they were alone, Paul said, and his voice 
 was low and eager, while the spasms in the slim 
 [229 ]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 white throat came with cruel strength and fre 
 quency : 
 
 "You know, Basil, I'm afraid Phil's foolihg me. 
 I don't believe his father's doing anything for Nan. 
 I believe he's gone East instead of West." 
 
 "No, Paul, you're mistaken. I know hasn't 
 Phil shown you his father's letters, and those of 
 Peter, too?" 
 
 "Oh, yes; I forgot." 
 
 "Telegrams, too, he's had, and I've been with 
 him when he got them. Yes, they're at work, and 
 have fair prospects of catching the man. Of course 
 they think it's Jack, but we hope not. There must 
 have been someone to help him, they think, because 
 their theory is that Jack probably planned it all, 
 but was too ill and weak to open the door, or even 
 to strangle Mrs. Dever. She was a very strong 
 woman." 
 
 Paul lay silent a minute, with closed eyes. Then : 
 
 "But if they don't catch the man if it's Jack, 
 or whoever it is then, of course, there's no help 
 for Nan, and that's what I wanted to get at. You 
 know we've heard of people who died simply by 
 setting a time, and willing to do it." 
 
 "Yes, I know." 
 
 "Don't you believe Nan could do that if she'd 
 think of it?" 
 
 "I don't know, I'm sure. Perhaps she can if 
 
 [230]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 she gives up all hope, which I don't believe she 
 will." 
 
 "But she must give up hope at the very last, 
 when they tell her on what day and about what 
 hour ! Oh, Basil ! I've tried so many times to get 
 up and go to her, to tell her to do this, and I've 
 tried to write it, but I'm so useless ! Why couldn't 
 I have been strong, like you and Dan?" 
 
 Basil caught his breath at this question. Why, 
 indeed? 
 
 "I want you, Basil, to go to Nan and remind her 
 
 that she can prevent Kimball Oh !" And the 
 
 boy clenched his bloodless fingers till each joint, 
 each single bone, stood out, and showed what a 
 mere skeleton he was. "How will he dare to touch 
 her?" 
 
 "There, Paul ! Don't think of it." 
 
 "Don't think of it! Why, Basil, what are you 
 made of? Don't you think of it?" 
 
 "Yes, Paul, yes! I think of it; but what was it 
 you wanted me to do?" 
 
 "Go to Nan and tell her, or give her something 
 of the kind to read; there's plenty of that kind of 
 literature, and they let her read anything. I know 
 she could do it. Don't you believe it? I've tried 
 to talk to Phil and Lois and mother. They insist 
 that Nan will be released. Oh, if I could believe 
 it!" 
 
 "Why not believe it, Paul, when the rest of us 
 [231 ]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 do? Now, if you were up, and well, and going 
 about, you'd feel different, and see this, as well as 
 everything else, in a different light. You know," 
 and Basil made believe to laugh, "you know a sick 
 man's opinion isn't usually worth much. He can't 
 see things just as they are. His own distemper up 
 sets everything. Remember a couple of years ago, 
 when the bookkeeper had jaundice? Yes? He 
 told me after he was cured that he thought when 
 he was ailing that we were putting on heaps of style, 
 using cream-tinted stationery; but he found it was 
 all in his eyes. The paper and the books bleached 
 out when his liver got down to honest work again. 
 Now, if you'll brace up, think of business, and try 
 to get strong, we'll see you and Nan on the streets 
 one of these days, and up to all sorts of larks." 
 
 "Oh, Basil! Do you believe it?" And Paul 
 half raised himself on his elbow. 
 
 "I know it. Why, Nan's as cheerful as the day 
 is long. Nobody catches her whimpering, simply 
 because she knows there's nothing, really, to whim 
 per about. I went with Laura yesterday to see her." 
 
 "Oh ! and isn't it shameful of Governor Long to 
 decline to interfere? Isn't that a good way to put 
 it? as if he was not in the least responsible." 
 
 "That's all right; he needn't interfere. We'll 
 manage the matter without him; and if ever he 
 wants another office, even so small as that of road 
 [232]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 supervisor, we voters won't interfere with the other 
 candidate." 
 
 Paul laughed, and Basil continued : "When Nan 
 was told his decision, she said: 'Now, mind you, 
 I'll never vote for him as long as I live!' * 
 
 "Did she? Dear little Nan I How I'd like to 
 see her!" 
 
 "Yes, and she'd like to see you. Why, Paul, 
 there are so many reasons why you should brace 
 up and get well. You were talking about people 
 dying at their own convenience. Doesn't it strike 
 you that people can live, too, if they see fit to try? 
 There's nothing the matter with you but dumps, 
 so Dr. Mason says. You give way too much to 
 your sympathy for Nan. Why, boy, if every man 
 and woman in Stillwater should allow their emo 
 tion in this affair to control them, there'd be a howl 
 ing mob rushing through every street, and possibly 
 that old jail would be torn down." 
 
 Paul listened to his brother and a calm smile of 
 confidence beamed on his thin face. 
 
 "I wish they'd do it!" 
 
 "Perhaps they would if they were hopeless; but 
 it's best to stick to law and order best for every 
 body." 
 
 "But, Basil ! You'll see Nan, and tell her what 
 I've said?" 
 
 "Oh, yes; I'll talk to her about it; but I'm sure 
 
 [ 233 ]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 she'll make fun of it perhaps put it into her next 
 Tribune letter." 
 
 "Poor girl ! I'm afraid she won't write many 
 more letters." And again Paul was despondent, 
 and sank into his pillows. 
 
 "Yes, she will write many more letters." But 
 Basil saw that Paul was too weak to show more 
 than the merest flashes of courage and hopefulness. 
 Still he sat by him, and presently he held the thin 
 hands in his own, and continued to talk, first about 
 Mrs. Hammel, then gradually branching out upon 
 other subjects. By and by he was quoting market 
 reports, railroad, steamship, and telegraph news,' 
 and the doings of Congress. He kept his eyes fixed 
 steadily on those of his brother, and held his hands 
 in a close clasp. The soft monotony of his voice 
 had a soothing effect, and within a half hour the 
 veined eyelids closed, and the regular breathing told 
 that he had charmed the invalid into a natural, rest 
 ful sleep. 
 
 [234]
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 NEXT day, Laura prevailed upon Frances to go 
 with her to the home of their mother-in-law. Fran 
 ces was frightened at the tone of the letters sent 
 to Dan, and, after her weeks of loneliness, she 
 found kindliness, sympathy, shelter, where there 
 was assured safety, too good and pleasant to relin 
 quish. 
 
 Lois met the two at the door, and took them 
 into the parlor, saying that Paul was asleep. Real 
 ly, she did not mean to disturb him by the sight of 
 Frances, and she feared the sound of an unaccus 
 tomed voice would waken him. 
 
 Presently, Mrs. Drayton came in, and greeted 
 her daughters-in-law with friendly warmth. Fran 
 ces was startled to see how thin and worn she had 
 grown. Laura and Lois left the room to sit near 
 Paul, and Frances and Mrs. Drayton were left 
 together before the fire, and they talked over the 
 sad state of affairs, Frances laying great stress upon 
 her fear of what was going to happen to Dan and 
 their home. 
 
 "I stayed at Laura's last night, but I can't stay 
 there all the time, and I don't know what to do." 
 
 [235]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "My dear girl, you are welcome to come here 
 and stay but why not go to the hotel and ask Dan 
 to go home?" 
 
 "I'll never do that!" Frances flashed in answer. 
 "He left the house not without some provocation, 
 I'll admit but I was provoked first. You folks 
 have not treated me right never since I came 
 here!" 
 
 "You surely have misunderstood us, Frances. 
 We meant to receive and treat you as a daughter, 
 and a sister. If we have failed, I am deeply sorry." 
 
 "You won't deny that you blame me for the part 
 Dan has taken in this trial?" 
 
 "No, I'll not deny that. You know it was your 
 influence that put him in the office of prosecutor; 
 and you used your influence against the known 
 wishes of the whole family. You know all this is 
 true?" 
 
 "Why shouldn't a woman wish to stand first in 
 influence with her husband?" 
 
 "No reason in the world why a woman should 
 not wish to be first with her husband always, and 
 in everything. But if a woman makes a mistake, 
 if she insists on being first, to the detriment of her 
 husband, then she should, if possible, undo her 
 work. A year ago I could not have imagined such 
 a division in my family as there is now. You need 
 not be told who is responsible for it." 
 [236]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "If that Mrs. Hammel had stayed away, there'd 
 'a' been no trouble 1" And Frances cried weakly. 
 
 "That's childish! Mrs. Hammel was likely to 
 come home at any time, as was most natural. If 
 you had used your persuasion with the rest of the 
 family, or even stood neutral, not opposing us, Dan 
 would have been in the State Legislature for the 
 term about to open; and if this same trouble had 
 come, as it surely would, he would not be in his 
 present position his home deserted, his business 
 ruined, and even his life threatened. You can see 
 for yourself that what I say is true. You have 
 been on the defensive ever since you came to us, 
 the next day after your wedding. That you've had 
 any good reason for your behavior, I've never been 
 able to discover. You cannot have supposed that 
 any of Dan's family wished him and you anything 
 but prosperity and happiness?" 
 
 "No, I didn't suppose that." 
 
 "You might have been sure that we, who had 
 cared for him all his life, certainly knew something 
 of his capabilities, and might be trusted to still 
 advise him a little." 
 
 "Of course, if I had thought of it in that way; 
 but I was jealous of your relationship to him, and 
 
 you ought to know why You've seen my 
 
 mother she's not like you and I feared that Dan 
 
 might grow to despise me if I didn't lead him away 
 
 [237]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 from his own people in a measure. And you said 
 a very severe thing of me to Judge Ainslee." 
 
 "Yes, I did; but see what you have done ! And 
 now I know that your mischief is greater, more far- 
 reaching, than I dreamed it at that time. I admit 
 that I spoke hastily to Judge Ainslee, but if it had 
 not been for your continual presence in the court 
 room, and your unceasing nagging at home, that 
 trial would have taken a different turn. You've 
 been a cruel, relentless woman. I fear you've 
 brought ruin of one sort to Mrs. Hammel, of an 
 other sort to yourself, and great sorrow to me." 
 
 "How do you know what I said at home? Has 
 Dan told you?" 
 
 "No, Dan has not told me, but he has talked 
 to Basil, and you've been imprudent before your 
 servant. Your quarrels with Dan, and your insinu 
 ations about Mrs. Hammel, are common gossip in 
 the town. You lay great stress upon some things 
 for which I and my family care but little. You 
 sum up your ideas of success in life in the one word 
 'swell.' This, as I understand you, is to make a 
 fine appearance to dazzle your acquaintances by 
 a show of your possessions. I cannot imagine my 
 self caring to create a sensation of this kind; and 
 there is one thing you must learn, if you wish for 
 the respect of those who serve you, and those who 
 associate with your servants, and that is to pre 
 vent quarreling with your husband, and refrain 
 [2 3 8]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 from criticising your husband's relations in their 
 presence." 
 
 Frances made no answer. She was completely 
 broken down. All her little, mean, spiteful sins 
 had found her out. She who had come to Still- 
 water only a year ago, so full of ambition, so re 
 solved to make the most of her good fortune in 
 marrying above her station, so sure that her experi 
 ence amongst a few educated people would aid her 
 in setting the pace for Stillwater's best society, could 
 not but feel deeply humiliated at her utter fail 
 ure. 
 
 As she reviewed the past year she could see that, 
 with the exception of Lois, not one of the family 
 had ever resented one sharp or slighting word of 
 her own; and now, as never before, she could see 
 why. It had not been worth while. The father 
 and mother, Basil and Laura, even sickly Paul, had 
 set it all down to her lack of culture, her want of 
 home training, her ignorance of the common civili 
 ties of family life. She was brusque and quarrel 
 some because she was common. She had passed 
 her youth in private schools, where the hand of 
 every girl is against every other, and where there 
 is constant watchfulness that no undue advantages 
 be taken. She began to see the truth, as in a glass 
 darkly. 
 
 But, she debated with herself, what else could 
 she have done? She could not have remained at 
 [239]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 home, where there was little to do, and many to 
 keep ? If she had, what outlook would there have 
 been for her? None at all. But as she sat alone 
 while Mrs. Drayton received Dr. Mason, she ac 
 knowledged that she might have passed her vaca 
 tions at home instead of visiting amongst people 
 who were in better circumstances than were her 
 own. She might have used the money that went 
 for dress during these visits in brightening the shab 
 by little house where her parents and sisters lived. 
 She might have taught her sisters some of the things 
 she read in books, and some of the ways of 
 the world in which she lived. She might have awak 
 ened in the three girls some ideas of bettering them 
 selves by education, mentally, morally, physically, 
 instead of leaving them in their ignorance, to stare 
 at her and say, "Frank's so swell!" 
 
 She knew girl teachers who had done all these 
 things for homes as poor as her own ; and now she 
 could see how the really high-grade people regarded 
 such things. She had thought only of herself, of 
 her own advancement and comfort in life. She 
 had never dreamed of her illiterate mother, her un 
 trained sisters venturing upon the scene of her good 
 fortune, for it was good fortune. Had not her 
 ambition been gratified ? Had she not married into 
 a good family? Had she not a pretty, tasteful 
 home ? Much better, her mother declared over and 
 over, than she ever had any right to expect. 
 [240]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 Why should she not be happy and satisfied ? Why 
 was she sitting here at the parlor window of her 
 husband's home, something like an outlaw? She 
 looked out over the snowy lawn through blinding 
 tears. She wondered if Mrs. Hammel was more 
 miserable than she. True, Mrs. Hammel was un 
 der sentence to die, but see with what composure, 
 what spirit, she carried her great calamity! No 
 body now believed in her guilt; she was respected, 
 commiserated, pitied, loved, by all who knew her, 
 and by thousands of people who were strangers to 
 her save through the press. Her position was dig 
 nified, while Frances owned, with burning cheeks, 
 her own was one of contempt. She was stared at 
 curiously when she went on the street. People 
 nudged each other and whispered: "There's Dan 
 Drayton's wife ! He's left her. He's living at 
 the Stillwater Hotel." 
 
 More than once she had heard these words, and 
 others of like meaning. Scores of times she had 
 seen in the faces of people she knew but slightly 
 more than any words could express. 
 
 When Mrs. Drayton returned to the parlor she 
 came directly to Frances, and, laying her arms 
 about her shoulders, said: 
 
 "Dear, believe me, I'm sorry for you. I wish 
 
 I could clear away all your troubles; and, more 
 
 than all, I wish I could reconcile you and Dan to 
 
 each other. No misfortune can come to us equal 
 
 [241]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 to a quarrel, or a misunderstanding, with those we 
 love. Can't I prevail upon you to go and see Dan, 
 or write and ask him to come home?" 
 
 "When he went away he told me to select coun 
 sel to speak to him, and he's sent word to me sev 
 eral times by Philip." 
 
 "Oh, my dear, you see Phil's one of the family. 
 Now do you follow suit. Let me carry a message 
 for you. Let me be your counsellor and I'll tell 
 Dan so. Within a week or so will be your wedding 
 anniversary. Phil's here now with his latest news 
 from his father. I'll tell him to stay for dinner. 
 I've been in the house too closely lately. Let us go 
 together and find Dan, or, if you'd rather, I'll go 
 as your counsel, since he so desired." And Mrs. 
 Drayton's wan face looked smilingly into that of 
 Frances, so tear-stained and troubled. 
 
 She could not at once consent, but the loving 
 counsel of Mrs. Drayton prevailed, and Frances 
 went to her room, bathed and powdered her face, 
 and they left the house together. 
 
 By and by, at the crossing of two streets, they 
 separated, after a most earnest conversation, and 
 Frances called after Mrs. Drayton: "If you fail, 
 please come and tell me." 
 
 To which Mrs. Drayton answered : "Yes ; but I 
 won't fail." 
 
 In the early winter twilight Dan Drayton's 
 C 242]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 neighbors saw him and his mother coming up the 
 street, talking busily. They entered the gate, went 
 up the walk, and then, Dan let himself into the 
 house with his latch-key, as usual. These same 
 neighbors averred that there must have been some 
 arrangements made beforehand, as, a little later, 
 Mr. Drayton, Senior, came, and, after a few min 
 utes in the house, he and his wife went away to 
 gether. 
 
 More than this, Dan was seen leaving the house 
 next morning at about the usual time of his going 
 to business. 
 
 So this family quarrel was patched over, and the 
 eager, insatiable public was at liberty to turn from 
 the comedy to the tragedy that would be finished 
 now very soon. 
 
 [ 243 ]
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 THE watchers who saw Dan Drayton leave his 
 own house on that morning could not fail to see the 
 change that had grown upon him within the last 
 few weeks. He was not the blithe bridegroom who 
 had set up his home amongst them less than a year 
 before. He did not carry his head now, as then, as 
 if he challenged the whole world to produce a more 
 fortunate and a better satisfied man than himself. 
 
 He walked slowly, his eyes cast down, and an 
 swered shortly any greetings that were offered. It 
 was not supposed for one moment by Dan's neigh 
 bors that he was grieving now, or had ever grieved, 
 over the temporary estrangement between himself 
 and his wife. Those who knew him best, knew best 
 how great a mistake he had made in the selection 
 of an office in the political field, and of all these, 
 Uncle Zeke summed up the matter about as cor 
 rectly as anyone. 
 
 He said to Cleopatry: "Now, min' what I tell 
 
 yo' ! Mistah Dan's boun' t' come out all right 
 
 bime by. Lots times yo' see w'ite co'n dat's be'n 
 
 planted clos' by some o' dat speckled popco'n, or de 
 
 [ 244 ]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 r'al ol'-fashioned yaller co'n, an' hit turns out pa't 
 w'ite, pa't yaller, an' pa't speckled. 'Tain't no 
 'count, 'ceptin' to feed de hogs. But nex' yeah, 
 yo' take de bes' o' hit an' plant hit all to itse'f, an' 
 yo'-all see hit grows mo' and mo' w'at de good 
 Laud made hit to be." 
 
 "Ya'as," Cleopatra answered, "but yo' seeMistah 
 Dan he done planted hisse'f by de speckled co'n his 
 own se'f, an' dey ain't no chanct fo' him to done git 
 planted ag'in; an' de Laud made de speckled co'n 
 all same lak de w'ite an' de yaller, an' He neber 
 'lowed dem to mix deyse'fs." . 
 
 "Now, Cleopatry, listen t' me ! Don' yo' know 
 dat if yo' plant de speckled co'n des yeah in an' yeah 
 out wid de w'ite co'n, it'll done git w'ite, too? Now 
 yo' min' w'at I say." 
 
 Cleopatra sniffed and said nothing; but, remem 
 bering all the kindness that she and her family had 
 received from the Drayton family, her thought 
 was: "P'raps dat low-down Frances git growed 
 out o' huh speckles bime by." 
 
 When this lowly family knelt for prayers in their 
 own pleasant sitting-room, that opened from the 
 kitchen, Zeke never failed to offer a special peti 
 tion for "Po' Miss Nan." It was on the last Sat 
 urday night that she would live, if Judge Ainslee's 
 sentence was carried out, that Mrs. Drayton, on 
 an errand to the kitchen, heard him beseeching the 
 "Good Laud to sen' down de biggest sto'm he had 
 
 [245]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 in de shop. Make hit snow an' rain an' hail an' 
 freeze all togeddah, so dat man Kimball kain't set 
 up no saplin's no place. Des let de sto'm howl an' 
 kiveh up dis town so's nobody kain't git out, no' 
 in, an' keep Miss Nan safe till dat 'tection man 
 done fin' out who's de right pusson to swing." 
 
 As if in answer to the old servant's petition, Sun 
 day came in a raging storm. In the beginning it 
 was difficult to say if it was snow or rain ; but the 
 air grew colder, the wind rose, and something like 
 a blizzard swept over the country. Through the 
 storm the church bells sounded muffled, and the 
 high, swift winds carried the sounds hither and 
 thither. Very few people in Stillwater answered 
 the summons to attend service. Most of those who 
 were in the habit of going felt glad of a good rea 
 son for staying indoors. Hearts were sick and faint 
 because of the nearness of the horror set for the 
 coming week. They hoped, and yet feared, a res 
 cue by the people. But it was still somewhere in 
 the next week. Something might happen. At all 
 events, it was a relief that for one day they might 
 stay within closed doors. There was a respite from 
 the empty repetition of, "Well, the time is nearly 
 over. Wonder how she will bear it at the last;" 
 or "Have you heard from Paul Drayton to-day? 
 It'll be a blessing if he dies first." 
 
 Still there were those who felt a great curiosity 
 as to what the several preachers in the town would 
 [246]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 say on this last Sunday before the execution, and 
 how they would pray for the condemned. 
 
 It was known that Dr. Milford had frequently 
 visited Mrs. Hammel, and it was also known that 
 there were none of the usual accompaniments in 
 these visits. There were no readings of the Scrip 
 tures, no prayers nothing but such talk as any 
 man and woman, meeting under the most ordinary 
 circumstances, might indulge in. This was not won 
 dered at by those who knew the prisoner's mental 
 attitude. With her very best friends those who 
 visited her most frequently she permitted no con 
 versation about her position and her prospects. This 
 she said was a subject she reserved for her lawyers. 
 She said, too, that when she was unavoidably alone, 
 she must, perforce, think of herself; then she put 
 all she had to say into her newspaper letters. When 
 friends came to see her, she wished to talk of some 
 thing pleasant; to forget, or to play she forgot, her 
 surroundings. 
 
 On this stormy Sunday Mrs. Kimball came and 
 sat with her for an hour. The two were wholly 
 different, excepting in the mere essentials of human 
 ity. They had known each other slightly as girls, 
 but had never been friends; and Mrs. Hammel was 
 sufficiently daring to put into a letter the guess that 
 the sheriff's wife kept constantly in mind the differ 
 ence there used to be in their positions, and, com 
 paring this with the difference existing at the time 
 [247]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 of her visit, the writer guessed further, that by the 
 expression of the woman's face she was puzzled by 
 this dispensation of Providence. 
 
 The letter written that Sunday night, while the 
 storm howled and raged around her prison, was 
 one that was wondered at more than all that had 
 gone ^before. At its close it seemed to the reader 
 that it could not be possible that a woman under 
 sentence of death could have written it. She said at 
 the last of the two columns : 
 
 "This is like the note that runaway girls leave 
 on the pincushion : when you read it I shall be far 
 away. I'll write again, if I have time; but I think 
 Mr. Kimball will call to-morrow and tell me all 
 about it. Judge Hale has returned, without his de 
 tective, and without a substitute for me." 
 
 Thoughtful people who read this letter shud 
 dered, knowing that the writer was on the verge 
 of hysteria, if not insanity. Because of the storm 
 she had but few callers, and these reported, "It is 
 simply wonderful, the way she keeps up." 
 
 Once she said, and it was to Basil Drayton she 
 said it: "I hope it will keep on storming till it's 
 all over. It's only fit that if there's a blundering 
 intelligence running this world, there should be 
 some attempt at congruity in the winding up of the 
 mistakes. There ought to be at least a proper stage 
 setting." 
 
 In mentioning this to Laura, Basil said he 
 [248]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 laughed; if he had not done that he would have 
 raved like a maniac. 
 
 He said to Mrs. Hammel : 
 
 "If it storms until you are through with this 
 world, we'll have a long spell of bad weather. As 
 Uncle Zeke would say, 'Now, min' w'at I tell you- 
 all!'" 
 
 From the prison, Basil went to see Paul. He 
 was very low, scarcely speaking above his breath. 
 When he tried to rally the feeble boy, the mother 
 shook her head, and slow tears welled from her 
 eyes. Later she said: "Please let him go. Let 
 him drift out of life before Nan goes." 
 
 It was in the middle of the afternoon when, like 
 a part of the storm, Philip Hale and his father 
 came up the walk. Lois threw open the door and 
 let them into the hall. 
 
 "Oh, you've come back!" she cried, as she 
 grasped the old lawyer's arm. "You've come, and 
 there's no hope for Nan!" 
 
 He stooped and brushed her cheek with his damp 
 gray moustache, then whispered : 
 
 "Yes, there's hope for poor Nan. If that vaga 
 bond, Hammel, doesn't perish in the storm, Peters 
 will have him. Ah ! such a dance as he's led us !" 
 
 Then, in the room with the family, Judge Hale 
 recounted what they did not already know of the 
 man-hunt he had been engaged in. In finishing his 
 story he said: 
 
 [ 249 ]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "Of course, we've had no glimpse of the man, 
 but the very fact that he's been in hiding, and that 
 his own people, as far as we can discover, have 
 known that he was in hiding, is about as much evi 
 dence as we need. Of course, a confession, or at 
 least a surrender, with the chance to prove inno 
 cence, would be better. But the fellow's on his 
 last legs, and I fully believe that his own people 
 have been hoping he would die, and so pass beyond 
 the law, even if this poor girl be left to swing in 
 his place." 
 
 "I wonder, now, if Anna has ever thought of 
 making a will," Basil said. "If she has not, and 
 if the worst should possibly come, there'd be some 
 grabbing for her estate. You see, she's quite weal 
 thy since her mother's death, and she has no rela 
 tions that she knows of, excepting the Hammels. 
 Of course Jack could claim everything." 
 
 "Yes; but I sincerely hope Peters will trap the 
 scamp and get him here alive. How he has see 
 sawed, and doubled upon us, time after time. Only 
 yesterday, when we thought we had our fingers 
 upon him, he gave us the slip. This storm was on 
 its way from the Northwest, and I didn't like the 
 prospect of being snowed in in a little country town ; 
 so I left Peters, and came here, arriving at one 
 o'clock this morning, just in the van of the storm." 
 
 "Do you think Hammel was the principal in the 
 murder?" Mr. Drayton asked. 
 [ 250]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "Yes ; at least he did the planning. Whether he 
 really did the final act, I've not decided. The leav 
 ing of the keys may have been an accident, as it 
 may have been done to mislead, and place the blame 
 where it now rests." 
 
 "It doesn't seem possible," Basil said, "that Jack 
 could be such a double villain." 
 
 "One never knows," Judge Hale answered, 
 "what a fellow will do to save his own neck from 
 the noose. Ah ! I long to hear from Peters. I was 
 completely fagged out; and now that I have seen 
 you, I'll go to the hotel and rest." 
 
 Paul had roused himself to listen, and for a while 
 he was brighter than he had been for a day or two; 
 but his spirits sank again after the two visitors had 
 gone away. His feeble system had received such a 
 shock that it was fairly paralyzed. There was noth 
 ing to build upon; no leaven of strength to quicken 
 the faint spark of life in the frail body. 
 
 Those who watched with him through that night 
 of storm feared that he would pass away before 
 morning. He slept but little, and that only by the 
 merest snatches. His talk was all of the coming 
 execution, and the hope that Mrs. Hammel would 
 die of her own will before the law could desecrate 
 her person. He seemed to forget Judge Hale's visit 
 and his hopes, his assurances of, if not an immediate 
 release, at least a stay, a delay of the carrying out 
 of the sentence. Sometimes his mind wandered, 
 [251]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 and he forgot the present. He was again a little 
 child playing with other children, and always with 
 "Pretty Nan." 
 
 [252]
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 WHEN morning came the storm was, if possible, 
 more furious than it had been the night before. 
 Streets were impassable; schools were closed, at 
 least neither teachers nor pupils reached the build 
 ings, and the janitors held holiday. Business, save 
 for the meager distribution of food stuffs, was at 
 a standstill. Many of the dry goods, music, pic 
 ture, and fancy stores, remained closed simply be 
 cause it was considered foolhardy to face the bliz 
 zard. 
 
 It was known on Sunday that Judge Hale had 
 arrived at the Stillwater House in the middle of 
 the night before, and that he had come without 
 Peters. It was known, too, that Philip had been 
 to the prison to see Mrs. Hammel, and had been 
 fairly exuberant in his interview, and that she, while 
 agitated visibly, had exhibited no gladness, had fre 
 quently shaken her head, while her eyes were full of 
 tears. 
 
 The guard reported to the sheriff and his wife 
 that the prisoner had not slept at all ; had not even 
 undressed all night, but that she had walked the 
 floor, or sat in her chair, all night long. 
 
 [253]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "Perhaps," the man said, "she's a mind to wear 
 herself out so the last won't be so much, after all." 
 
 Kimball said nothing. He was haggard, and 
 looked as if he, too, had passed a bad night. 
 
 The guard who came on duty in the morning told 
 Mrs. Kimball that Mrs. Hammel ate her breakfast 
 slowly, and read a two-days-old city paper as she 
 ate. There had been no trains into or out of Still- 
 water since Sunday morning at three o'clock. When 
 this news of the storm and other of like nature fil 
 tered from the outside world into the family rooms 
 of Uncle Zeke, that faithful one exclaimed : "T'ank 
 de good Laud ! He done hyar me dis time, an' ef 
 on'y He keep on, an' des stan' dese folks dat want 
 fo' t' hu't Miss Nan on dey haids, Fse willin' t' 
 nevah ask any mo' favo's ob Him. I'se done sat 
 isfied." And Cleo looked at her "ole man" with 
 tears in her admiring eyes. 
 
 Sheriff Kimball sat in his office alone. It was the 
 middle of the forenoon, and the storm still raged. 
 He, like Zeke, felt something of satisfaction in the 
 blizzard. Surely, it was no time for action ; no time 
 to arrange any of the preliminaries for this bar 
 barous work. He told himself that even if it was 
 a man, and there was no doubt of his guilt, there 
 was no reason for hurry. He had all the week, 
 or at least five and a half days, in which to fulfil 
 the law. 
 
 [254]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 He sat facing the window, that showed only 
 swirling clouds of snow. His back was to the door 
 that opened on the street. He heard a fumbling 
 of the latch, then felt a blast of icy air, and the 
 papers on the desk near him were lifted in disorder. 
 His first thought was to curse the intruder. He 
 wanted to see nobody; but, before he could utter 
 a word, before he turned to greet, in some fashion, 
 his visitor, there was the sound of a heavy body 
 falling to the floor, and the wind swept all about 
 the room. Then the sheriff sprang from his chair, 
 to see the body of a man lying just within the door, 
 while his feet hung over the threshold. 
 
 "What damned fool's trick," he muttered, "to 
 venture out on a day like this, just to come here and 
 gossip!" 
 
 Seizing the man by the ice-covered shoulders, he 
 hauled him roughly away from the door and closed 
 it. He touched a bell, and in answer came the jani 
 tor. 
 
 "Here, Simpson," he said, "help me turn this 
 thing over and see who it is hasn't sense enough to 
 stay in out of the wet." 
 
 The man's long coat was sheeted with ice; his 
 boots and trousers, to the knees, were fully an inch 
 thick with frozen snow; his face was bleared, what 
 little of it was shown below the rim of his slouch 
 hat. His arms lay helpless, and Kimball wondered 
 how he had strength enough to open the door. 
 
 [255]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 As the two rolled him over on his back they saw 
 a thin stream of blood oozing from his mouth. 
 
 "Bad case," Kimball said. "Step to Doc. Leigh's 
 door and call him." 
 
 It was but two doors away, and the doctor, al 
 ready prepared to brave the storm in behalf of his 
 patients, was there within a few minutes. The 
 outer clothes were stripped from the unconscious 
 man, blankets were brought, a long settee was 
 dragged into the room, and he was placed upon It. 
 
 Dr. Leigh wiped away the blood that dribbled 
 from his mouth, and the water that trickled from 
 his hair. The thin, dark face was covered with a 
 beard of perhaps a month's growth, but the mous 
 tache was long and ragged. 
 
 Suddenly the doctor's hand stopped, and he start 
 ed up. 
 
 "By God, it's Jack Hammel !" 
 
 "No!" said Kimball, staring blankly. "No, it 
 can't be " 
 
 "I tell you it is! I attended him in the fall. I 
 know him, in spite of his beard, and the waste that 
 the disease has made in him." 
 
 "Is he dead?" Simpson asked. 
 
 "Not by a jugful !" was Dr. Leigh's positive an 
 swer. And he took a flask of brandy from his med 
 icine case, pried open the clenched teeth, and poured 
 a spoonful of the liquor down the helpless man's 
 throat. 
 
 [256]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 There was a convulsive heaving of the chest, a 
 drawing up of the legs and arms, and the brandy 
 was swallowed. Dr. Leigh sponged away the blood 
 that still flowed from his mouth, and presently the 
 heavy eyelids lifted, there was a moan, a deep 
 breath, and the blood came like a fountain. 
 
 "There, Jack carefully easy now I" And the 
 doctor raised the head of the patient slightly by 
 slipping a ledger under the cushion. 
 
 "Where am I?" Hammel whispered hoarsely. 
 "Am I in time? Have the damned fools hung 
 Nan?" 
 
 "You're my guest, Mr. Hammel," Kimball said, 
 leaning closer. "You meant to come here, to my 
 office, didn't you?" 
 
 "Yes, I meant to; but it's only Monday 
 
 how about Nan ?" 
 
 "Mrs. Hammel is well, here in my care. I'm 
 sorry to see you in such bad shape." 
 
 "Oh, hell ! Have they got Bromley?" 
 
 "I guess not. Who is Bromley?" Kimball asked. 
 
 "Bromley's the damned skunk who set the trap 
 for Nan. I've chased 'im high and low, and Peters 
 chased me. If Bromley can't be found, you can 
 take me out and hang me, and be damned to you ; 
 but let Nan go. She knew nothing about it. I stole 
 her keys two years ago, and planned the whole busi 
 ness. Seems to me, any fool might have known 
 that." 
 
 [257]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 While he was speaking in gasps, Dr. Leigh con 
 tinued to sop away the blood that rose to his lips, 
 sometimes in a steady stream, then in great clots. 
 The dying man glanced toward the sheriff. "Get a 
 notary from somewhere, and get 'im quick. My 
 checks are due " 
 
 He was interrupted by the opening of the street 
 door, and with the icy cloud also came Philip Hale 
 and Detective Peters. 
 
 "Hello! What have we here?" Hale asked 
 briskly, as he shook the snow from his coat and 
 hat. 
 
 "Our friend, Mr. Hammel," said Dr. Leigh, 
 standing aside. "You're a notary, aren't you?" 
 And to Hale's prompt "Yes, sir," he added : "Take 
 this man's statement. He's past my help, but he 
 can help his wife. Be as rapid as possible. Mr. 
 Sheriff, perhaps you'd better acquaint Mrs. Ham 
 mel, and bring her here, and hurry!" 
 
 Kimball hastened to Mrs. Hammel's cell, half 
 dazed by being so suddenly lifted out of the semi- 
 stupor of the last few weeks. He motioned the 
 guard to one side, and opened the door. Mrs. 
 Hammel arose from the table, where she sat writ 
 ing, and, as she faced him, Kimball could see the 
 pallor of her face taking on a blue, corpse-like tinge. 
 He felt that she expected to be told that her last 
 hour had come, and, for a moment, he was pos 
 sessed by the devil of dumbness. He opened his 
 
 [258]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 lips, but no words came, until Mrs. Hammel, stand 
 ing like a statue, said, and broke the awful silence : 
 
 "Is it to-day? now?" 
 
 Then, like a sleeping man, he said: 
 
 "There's a visitor in my office who wishes to see 
 you. He's not able to come here. Will you go 
 with me?" 
 
 To this she answered slowly, icily: "You are 
 very diplomatic, Mr. Kimball," and followed him 
 out. She walked beside him, keeping step with 
 him along the long corridor, and no other word 
 was spoken. They came to a turn in the hall, and 
 were only a few feet from the office, when Kimball, 
 knowing, as we know things in dreams, that Mrs. 
 Hammel supposed she was walking to her death, 
 felt that he must try to prepare her for what really 
 awaited her. He said: 
 
 "Mrs. Hammel, try to prepare yourself for a 
 shocking sight." 
 
 She turned upon him scornfully. 
 
 "Why don't you put on the black cap now, so I 
 can't see?" 
 
 He stopped short and faced her. 
 
 "Mrs. Hammel, you're going to my office to see 
 your husband; and he's dying. He's making a 
 confession that sets you free." 
 
 She gasped, threw up her hands, and clasped her 
 throat, reeled, and would have fallen had not the 
 sheriff supported her. 
 
 [259]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "Ah ! that's the way with you women," he said 
 gruffly, "stand up and take the hardest kind of pun 
 ishment without a whimper; grit to the last min 
 ute; but when everything's settled comfortably, 
 then comes the collapse." 
 
 She did not faint nor cry out, but she looked like 
 a dead woman walking when she entered the sher 
 iff's office. 
 
 As they passed in there was no sound save the 
 voice of the dying man as he gave in outline the 
 history of the great crime, planned by himself, and 
 carried out by his confederate, Nicholas Bromley. 
 Following this was the soft rat-tat of Hale's pencil. 
 He was half-kneeling by the settee and leaning close 
 to Hammel so as to catch every word. He asked 
 a question now and then, as a stimulant to the fad 
 ing senses, but very gently; and, looking up, to meet 
 the frightened, grieving eyes of Mrs. Hammel, he 
 said: 
 
 "That is all!" 
 
 Dr. Leigh had his finger on Hammel's wrist, and 
 rising from his chair, he motioned Mrs. Hammel 
 to take it. She seemed to wilt into it, and leaning 
 over the dying man, she sighed : "Oh, Jack ! How 
 could you?" But she did not touch him, not even 
 his long, skeleton hands. 
 
 Dr. Leigh stood at the back of the settee and 
 used his sponge on the crimson stream that welled 
 [260]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 from Hammel's mouth. Hammel gasped in a 
 whisper : 
 
 "I didn't do it, Nan; Bromley did it. He dropped 
 the keys, too; but I never meant to let them hang 
 you for it. I thought they'd have more sense. Good 
 Lord! I was in the Ross House that night, and 
 the fools said 'twas you. I can't ask you to forgive 
 me, Nan for anything I've done. Even my 
 mother can't forgive me, and I never wronged her 
 as I have you. I'm glad it's all over hope they'll 
 catch Bromley Chicago police know him. Try to 
 forget all about me Nan and have a good 
 time. I never was fit to even touch your 
 feet." 
 
 A long sigh, a shiver, a. torrent of blood from 
 the blue-white mouth, and then the pale woman, 
 the doctor, the sheriff, the notary, and the detective, 
 gazed silently on the face of the dead. 
 
 [261]
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 IT was in the middle of the afternoon of that 
 dark Monday, and still the storm showed no sign 
 of abatement. Mr. Drayton had not attempted 
 to leave the house. The storm was his ostensible 
 reason for remaining at home, but he was inexpres 
 sibly sad. The state of his youngest son was suffi 
 cient cause both- for his sadness and for absenting 
 himself from business, but though there was noth 
 ing said, all the household knew that he was too 
 utterly despondent to care to face even the small 
 amount of business that would be done on this day. 
 He could not find courage enough to meet even the 
 smallest formalities of the outside world. 
 
 In spite of Judge Hale's assurances, in spite of 
 Philip's high spirits, still there was no victim forth 
 coming to take the place of the innocent sacrifice. 
 
 Abraham may have felt many a throe of sorrow 
 that the world has never heard of. He may have 
 groaned and beat his breast; there was no one there 
 to see and hear and tell. 
 
 These faithful friends of 'Mrs. Hammel felt, on 
 this dark day that, in all probability, was the be- 
 [262]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 ginning of her last week o/ life a most intolerable 
 gloom and depression. 
 
 Paul, through his steadily encroaching weakness, 
 still kept an account of the flight of time. He knew 
 the day of the month, and the hour of the day or 
 night. He calculated mentally, and by counting on 
 his fingers the number of days and hours possibly 
 left for his friend. To-day, but for his weakness, 
 he would have fretted himself into convulsions. 
 His mother and father did little but sit by him and 
 try to soothe him, as they would have done an ail 
 ing child. 
 
 Lois, with tear-swollen eyes, gazed out on the 
 snow, sweeping in clouds and drifts until the street 
 was hidden. If she left the window and came into 
 Paul's presence, he at once essayed to rise, his eyes 
 brightened, and always came the eager question : 
 "Is Phil coming?" And as Lois slowly shook her 
 head he fretted: "Oh, why doesn't he come? 
 Why doesn't he? Poor Nan! Poor Nan!" And 
 then wilted down upon his pillows again. 
 
 Bett was going about her dusting, and "putting 
 to rights" very softly, casting sympathetic glances 
 first at one, then another, of this family that had 
 been a kindly providence to her. 
 
 Auntie Cleo came and went aimlessly, and Uncle 
 
 Zeke came into the room, looked at Paul, then, 
 
 shaking his head sorrowfully, retired to his own 
 
 part of the house, and after reading a few passages 
 
 [263]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 of the Scriptures, knelt and prayed most fervently. 
 He felt somehow that if the storm would last long 
 enough it might serve as did the flood con 
 found the wicked and redeem the righteous. He 
 gave hearty thanks for the snow and the wind and 
 the cold, and assured the "good Laud" that these 
 things were all right as far as they went, but he 
 added: "Don' yo' let up, good Laud, till yo'-all's 
 done froze out all de wicked an' made em git off 
 de yeth." 
 
 By and by Cleopatra called: "Hyah, now, yo 
 Zeke ! Git some wood fo' dis kitchen. Dey ain't 
 no sense in yo' pesterin' de Laud all de time. Yo' 
 got dis sto'm sta'ted, an' I reckon de Laud kin run 
 it hisse'f, an' quit w'en his bucket's done emptied." 
 
 Most meekly Zeke mended the fires, and asked 
 Cleopatra if he could be of any "mo' 'sistance to 
 yo' ?" She said no, and she would let him know 
 when he could "ef he would on'y let de Laud hev 
 a little rest." 
 
 Mrs. Drayton sat holding Paul's hand, and he 
 slept fitfully. Lois leaned against the window that 
 looked on the street from the family room. Pres 
 ently she heard a faint jangle of bells, and as the 
 sound came nearer she wondered who was brave 
 enough, or had spirit enough, to care for a sleigh- 
 ride on this day. Suddenly there was a muffled 
 clash of the bells, and through the blinding clouds 
 of snow she saw a large double sleigh at the side 
 [264]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 gate. There were voices, too, men's and women's, 
 and a peal of laughter rang out above the soughing 
 of the wind amongst the bare boughs of the trees. 
 
 "Surely that's Basil!" Lois said, as she turned 
 from the window. "How can he?" And she cov 
 ered her face with her hands and sobbed. 
 
 Mr. Drayton sighed heavily, and arose from his 
 chair by the fire, where he sat pretending to read. 
 
 "Never mind, dear," he said soothingly. "Basil 
 is full of life. Perhaps he wants to see me." 
 
 He opened the door in time to meet the party 
 of four that waded the drifts from the gate to the 
 house, and, with much slipping, stumbling, and 
 scrambling over the snow-hidden steps, reached the 
 veranda. 
 
 Four; and Mr. Drayton readily recognized 
 Basil, Laura, and Philip Hale. But this muffled, 
 veiled woman surely, the voice, as she clung to 
 Hale, was familiar; and as she put out her hand, 
 though blinded by the swirling snow, he recognized 
 Mrs. Hammel. 
 
 "Oh, we're a crazy set!" Basil said. "Anna, 
 just play you're Frances for a few minutes that'll 
 do, won't it, father, till we can tell Paul?" 
 
 "Yes, oh, yes ! that's right ! Hurry get your 
 selves inside!" And he passed in first, saying: 
 "Mother Lois! Here's Laura, and our other 
 girl, come to help us pass this bad day; and here's 
 Phil, to see Paul, at last ; and Paul must hold him- 
 
 [265]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 self well in hand now. He's going to hear good 
 news!" 
 
 The two veiled and cloaked women passed 
 through the room, and into Mrs. Drayton's sleep 
 ing apartment, and Lois did not guess but that 
 Laura's companion was Frances, until the veils were 
 removed. 
 
 Then, to her hysterical laughter and sobbing, 
 Mrs. Drayton answered, and, half dead with joy, 
 she clasped the redeemed prisoner in her arms. 
 
 Gently, carefully, Philip told the story to Paul, 
 while Mr. Drayton stood by with a cordial, which 
 he administered at intervals. When the story was 
 all told, Paul lay upon his pillows with beaming 
 eyes and flushed cheeks. He held fast to Philip's 
 hands. 
 
 "Oh, I'm not dreaming you're all here! Basil, 
 
 is it snowing? There's Auntie Cleo, and Zeke 
 
 I'm awake ! Oh, Nan ! Nan !" he whispered. "Let 
 me see her! I can't believe till I see her!" 
 
 She came and knelt beside his couch. Not until 
 she had been released had Basil and Laura told 
 her of the real state of Paul's health. She had 
 known that "Paul was ailing," or that "Paul was 
 not quite well this winter." She had been pre 
 pared to see him ill, but she could not have been 
 told the change she found in the always delicate 
 face. 
 
 She took his wasted hands in her own and kissed 
 [266]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 his sunken cheeks, his eyes, and his silky, light 
 hair. 
 
 "Poor little Paul !" she cooed. "Dear little play 
 mate ! You must get well, so we can have good 
 times again." 
 
 "Yes, Nan ; but you must stay here with me 
 all the time. I'll not believe the good story if I 
 lose sight of you. When I sleep it'll all be gone. 
 You must be where I can see you as soon as I open 
 my eyes." 
 
 "Yes, dear, I'll stay, till you're 'all better.' " And 
 Mrs. Hammel laughed. "Do you remember you 
 used to say that when you were a little fellow?" 
 
 "Yes, I remember; and you must stay till I'm 
 'all better.' " 
 
 Mrs. Drayton, leaning over her guest, pressed 
 the dusky head to her bosom. 
 
 "Yes, dear, this is your place, your home as 
 long as we can keep you with us." 
 
 Such a lifting of the clouds as there was, though 
 outside there was no hint of a cessation of the storm. 
 Lois laughed and wept, and Cleopatra declared she 
 was "all outside herse'f." Dr. Mason, making 
 his visit to Paul, threatened her with a strait-jacket. 
 
 When the sleigh returned with Basil and Laura, 
 Philip persuaded Lois to go out with them, get a 
 breath of the storm to clear away the lingering 
 remnants of the horror that had wrapped her spirits 
 for these several dreary weeks. 
 [267]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 She went, and all up and down the drift-filled 
 streets her shouts of laughter were heard, and were 
 carried by the winds, till they died away. The few 
 persons who were out, and who had not heard the 
 great news, wondered who in Stillwater could be so 
 heartless as to laugh and go out with bells on this 
 day. 
 
 Before dark it was known why Lois Drayton was 
 like an irresponsible child in her joy. The news 
 was told over the counters of grocery stores, and 
 bakeries, and meat shops. It was whispered on 
 the streets, that Jack Hammel lay dead in the par 
 lor of Swift, the undertaker, or funeral director, as 
 he preferred to be called, and his long-suffering 
 widow was free. 
 
 By five o'clock the Stillwater Times had fifty 
 young men and boys scuffling through the drifts, 
 selling extras, that gave the whole story. 
 
 Basil and Philip, on the second sleigh-ride, called 
 on Dan. He saw them at the gate, and he waded 
 the drifts, and stood bareheaded in the storm. 
 
 "It's the best day I ever saw in my life, and I 
 thank God for it!" he said earnestly. 
 
 Frances called very gently from the door to the 
 party in the sleigh: "Oh, I'm so glad, so glad!" 
 And they believed her. 
 
 When she and Dan talked the story all over, she 
 said : 
 
 "No doubt she'll stay at your father's." 
 [268]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "Perhaps for a while; till Paul is better, any 
 way." 
 
 That was the safe harbor in which the sorely- 
 tried woman was housed; and it was well for her 
 that there was some care for her to take upon her 
 self, some demand upon her time. 
 
 Dr. Mason watched her narrowly. He fully 
 expected to see her "break and go all to pieces," he 
 said to Mrs. Drayton. He predicted nervous pros 
 tration ; but, later, after he had watched vainly till 
 the danger-line was passed, and when he told Mrs. 
 Hammel of his professional expectations in her be 
 half, she said: 
 
 "Did you really think me to be a woman to be 
 trifled with by a set of nerves ? I keep my faculties 
 as servants; and through all that time when 
 well, I might have done something different, I never 
 had so much as a nervous headache." 
 
 Dr. Mason said she was simply wonderful; and 
 he knew why she was wonderful. He had known 
 her father, Eugene Dever, intimately. He recalled 
 one day when this most respectable and compara 
 tively wealthy man said to him : "Mason, I'm go 
 ing away. I'm so weary of all this civilization and 
 domesticity. I can bear it no longer. There's 
 a strain of the untamed in me. I'm going on a 
 business trip, and I'm not coming back. Now, 
 please keep your mouth shut." 
 
 So he had gone, and nobody ever suspected Dr. 
 [269]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 Mason of knowing any more than anybody else; 
 and he justified his silence to himself by saying: 
 "Dever may come back at any time. It's not in my 
 place to blab." 
 
 But the man's wife had been foully murdered, 
 and his daughter came near to perishing for the 
 crime, and yet he had not come back, and Dr. Ma 
 son concluded, as had others, long ago, that Eugene 
 Dever was dead. 
 
 Then such a character as Mrs. Dever had pos 
 sessed; what strength of will and power of endur 
 ance had been hers, to close her house and her heart 
 against friends and neighbors as she had done be 
 cause her daughter had grieved and disappointed 
 her! 
 
 Dr. Mason said he could prescribe more intelli 
 gently for a sick man if he had known his family 
 for two or three generations. He had not known 
 Mrs. Hammel's grandfather, but knowing her fath 
 er and mother gave him an understanding of her 
 own wonderful control over her physical and mental 
 powers. 
 
 She sent for Swift, and gave full directions for 
 the care of her late husband's remains, and for their 
 shipment to his father, in Chicago, by the first train 
 out of Stillwater. Then, with tablet on her knee, 
 she sat by Paul and wrote out for her publishers 
 the story of her deliverance "Out of the jaws of 
 [270]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 death, out of the gates of hell," where degraded 
 men and the blundering law had placed her. 
 
 Bett said to her mother, after they had talked 
 the whole story over and over: "I tell you, Mrs. 
 Hammel's not in no hurry getting her mourning 
 outfit. I shu'd think she would. She'll look mighty 
 fine all in black, a big crape veil, and her widow's 
 cap." 
 
 Cleopatra glared at her daughter. 
 
 "Wha' fo' she want to put on mou'nin' fo' dat 
 low down scamp?" 
 
 "He was her husband " 
 
 "Mo's de shame t' 'im ! Reckon Miss Nan 
 wants to put on a cap an' des say, hyah I is; I'se in 
 de ma'ket ag'in. One scamp wasn't 'nuff fo' me !" 
 
 "Well, you know, ma, what society expects." 
 
 "S'ciety bettah ten' it's own business, den." 
 
 Zeke, who had sat by the stove, smcking, silently 
 shook his head and laughed. His wife turned to 
 him. 
 
 "Wha' yo' laughin' at, now, yo' Zeke?" 
 
 "I jes' t'inkin' I'd lak t' see Miss Nan wah de 
 longest red feddah an' de reddest red dress 'at she 
 c'u'd buy. Dat's de so't o' mou'nin' I'd lak t' see 
 Miss Nan wah!" 
 
 [271 ]
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 FOR a day or two Paul rallied, and seemed to 
 grow stronger; but it was only the flashing up into 
 a clear flame of the burned-out faggots. His lease 
 of life was spent, and by the middle of the week 
 he was past all hope. 
 
 Dr. Mason told Mrs. Hammel one night, when 
 he stole softly in and found her alone with Paul, 
 and he asleep, that her vigil would soon be over. 
 
 "Such a pity!" she sighed. "I had hoped to see 
 him growing stronger, and, as the spring came, 
 quite himself again." 
 
 The doctor shook his head. "No more getting 
 up for the poor boy; but I'm glad you can be with 
 him. His affection for you is the most beautiful 
 thing I ever saw. He was always very fond of you, 
 wasn't he?" 
 
 "Yes, very. As a little child he depended upon 
 me, as I'm four, nearly five, years older than he. 
 He was always so sweet and gentle." 
 
 "Yes. Poor boy! Good-night!" And he went 
 away. 
 
 Mrs. Hammel knew the story of the blighting of 
 [272]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 this youngest of the Drayton boys, and she sat 
 watching him as he slept, and thinking how inex 
 pressibly sad it was that the tragedy of that other 
 woman had caused him to come into the world only 
 half equipped for life; and her own misfortune of 
 the same character was, in a measure, the cause of 
 his death. 
 
 She was sitting by him, next day, when Judge 
 Hale came in. He spoke to Paul, but, seeing how 
 feeble he was, he joined Mrs. Drayton in the par 
 lor. 
 
 They spoke but little, and in low tones. As he 
 rose to go he said, holding the hand of his hostess : 
 
 "Mrs. Drayton, I wonder that you are not filled 
 with bitterness and reviling. I feel blackened with 
 nameless sins in your presence, knowing it was my 
 lack of mercy that so reacted upon you that your 
 son has but lived half a life, and now he lies yon 
 der, dying." 
 
 She answered quietly: 
 
 u No, I am not full of bitterness. I have grieved, 
 truly, for what befell me and mine; but there is 
 so much to undo. There is such a world full so 
 many ages of wrong conclusions. You see, we can 
 give no guess as to the amount of sorrow there is 
 in the world, caused by mistakes. I never see 
 an inferior, or a deficient person, but I wonder who 
 was to blame. I am sure that women who refuse, 
 for any reason whatever, to bear children, do not 
 [273]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 know how wise they are. They cannot guess the 
 heartaches, the disappointment, they spare them 
 selves." 
 
 "True; but where will you find more complete 
 men than are your two older sons, or a more per 
 fect woman than is Lois?" 
 
 "Nowhere ; and that only emphasizes the tragedy 
 of Paul. I had proven my capacity as a mother. 
 I was like the women Mrs. Browning speaks of, 
 who 'Bear children in strength, and crush back the 
 cry of their pain in self-scorn.' I accepted the mis 
 sion for which I was created. I rejoiced continually 
 in myself and in my children, so strong, so per 
 fect, we all were. But little Paul how I have 
 tried to shield him, but it was not always possible." 
 
 "Of course you had medical advice long ago?" 
 
 "Oh, yes; immediately after his birth, and many 
 times while he was a child. Nothing could be done. 
 My agony of sympathy for Mrs. Parks sapped his 
 strength, and gave him the legacy of weakness, and 
 the painful appearance of continually strangling. 
 While Mrs. Hammel lay in prison, under sentence, 
 my sufferings of that time before Paul was born 
 were reproduced in him. If it had not been for this 
 he might have lived not to be old, but many phy 
 sicians have thought that if he lived to pass the age 
 of twenty-five he might grow stronger." 
 
 And so it came to pass that within less than a 
 week afterthe release of Mrs. Hammel from prison 
 [274]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 she sat by Paul's side and held his hands while he 
 gently passed into the great unknown. His mother 
 knelt by his couch, and his last words to her were : 
 
 "Never mind, darling mother, you'll have Nan." 
 
 He realized that he was dying. His eyes wan 
 dered about the group, and seeing Dan, he whis 
 pered : 
 
 "Try to make over that law, won't you?" 
 
 And the promise came: "Yes, Paul, with all 
 my soul, yes." 
 
 Then smiling at Mrs. Hammel, the faintest whis 
 per came : 
 
 "Dear Nan pretty Nan!" And the eyelids 
 drooped, as if in utter weariness, and he seemed to 
 sleep. 
 
 Mrs. Hammel felt the hands she clasped grow 
 cold and colder, and, leaning over him, she touched 
 his cheek with her own. Glancing at Mrs. Dray- 
 ton, who leaned against her, the story was told. 
 
 I 275 1
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 THE snow still lay in hilly drifts in the streets, 
 and in huge, dirty heaps, where the snow-ploughs 
 and the shovels had thrown it, but the sun was shin 
 ing brightly as preparations were made for the 
 funeral of Paul Drayton, on the Monday following 
 the release of Mrs. Hammel and the death of Jack 
 in the sheriff's office. No one seemed to care much 
 whether or not the man accused by Jack was found. 
 Detective Peters said openly that he had lost inter 
 est in the case after Mrs. Hammel was out of it, 
 and as Chicago had a prior claim against Bromley, 
 he would leave it to that city. An officer from 
 there was in Stillwater, awaiting developments, and 
 ready to press his claims if, by chance, Bromley 
 should be drawn to the place by the death of his 
 pal. 
 
 It was on Saturday afternoon that two farmers 
 from a half dozen miles away drove into Still- 
 water and reported the discovery of the corpse of a 
 man in their neighborhood. They had been out 
 after rabbits and other game, when one of them 
 stumbled over the body, where it lay against the 
 [276]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 sunny side of a pile of logs. The snow had melted 
 away, and they supposed the man had perished in 
 the first of the storm. 
 
 It was a case for the coroner. The body was 
 frozen, but no one knew the face until the secret 
 service man from Chicago came. He at once 
 proved, by certain marks, that this was Nicholas 
 Bromley, forger, card sharp, burglar, murderer. 
 
 When Auntie Cleo heard the news, she found 
 reason to reprimand her "ole man." 
 
 "Now see w'at yo' done! Yo' c'u'dn't be sat's- 
 fied wid a 'spectable sto'm. Yo' des hed to pestah 
 de Laud till He clean killed dem two low down 
 scamps, w'en dis town was done gone crazy fo' a 
 hangin'. Nex' time yo' set yo'se'f to tell de Laud 
 'bout runnin' His business, try an' hev sense t' know 
 w'en yo' said 'nuff." 
 
 Zeke took his reprimand meekly, and was espe 
 cially careful about tending the fires for a week 
 afterward; and his prayers were very mild and 
 short. 
 
 So Mrs. Hammel found the dark chapter of her 
 life closed irrevocably. She sighed for the past 
 that held her mother, but she resolutely set her face 
 toward the future. 
 
 In the home of the Draytons she found, at this 
 
 time, much to do. She seemed to belong to them 
 
 through Paul's love for her. She felt glad, without 
 
 knowing it, that she could be of service. She took 
 
 [277]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 charge of the house, was the go-between for busi 
 ness people, and met all visitors. 
 
 She received Dan and Frances when they came, 
 and in the new light in which Frances saw her hus 
 band's relations and friends, she acknowledged to 
 herself that no woman could carry the situation 
 more gracefully than did Mrs. Hammel. She met 
 Dan, not as the prosecutor who had so nearly been 
 her murderer, but as her old-time friend, and as 
 one of the family that had stood staunchly by her 
 through her dark days. 
 
 At first Frances found it hard to accept the sit 
 uation; to meet this woman whom she persisted in 
 thinking her rival, though she refrained from 
 speaking it. 
 
 Mrs. Caylor secured another "pass," and, as she 
 told her neighbors, she must "keep up appearances, 
 and go to the funeral of Frank's brother-in-law." 
 
 She had heard, in her own home, of the tempo 
 rary separation of Dan and Frances, and she was 
 unsparing in blame of her daughter. 
 
 "You needn't tell me one word," she said se 
 verely. "I know your temper, an' I c'u'd see las' 
 summer jes' what it'd lead to. The idee of you 
 settin' yerself up to boss a man like Dan Drayton ! 
 W'y, even Liz c'u'd see that you meant to henpeck 
 'im ! Liz ain't so very smart, an' she ain't got no 
 schoolin', but she's mighty right w'en she said, 
 'Miss Frank'll find Dan won't henpeck worth a 
 [278]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 cent.' An' he didn't. An' you settin' yerself ag'in 
 all 'is folks, too. W'y, what d'ye s'pose'd become 
 of you ef 'is mother hadn't 'a' persuaded 'im to 
 go back to ye? Now, Miss Lady, you jes' better 
 sing kinder small, an' let Dan manage 'is business 
 in 'is own way, an' do what he's be'n raised fer. 
 W'y, by the talk ther' was up our way, he'd 'a' be'n 
 strung up to a lamp-post ef that girl'd 'a' be'n 
 hung. An' look what a sight of trouble they've had 
 all these ye'rs because of one hangin' ! W'y, I 
 wonder 'at one las' one o' the Draytons speaks to 
 yer at all; an' I wonder a good deal more 'at sech 
 a man es Dan ought ter be, considerin' 'is father 
 an' mother, an' 'is raisin', that yer c'u'd lead 'im 
 by the nose fer a single minnit. I hope this'll be a 
 lesson t' yer. I don't say 'at Dan's got any notion 
 o' Miss Hammel, nor ever had, but she's mighty 
 good-lookin', an' anybody c'n see, even ef they was 
 blind, what'd be likely t' happen ef you cut up any 
 more sech capers. Besides bein' good-lookin', she's 
 Dan's old chum, an' a burnt stick's easy kindled. 
 She's there in his father's house, an' ef Dan finds 
 he can't live in peace with you, he c'n easy get a 
 divorce fer 'imself, an' then ther's that rich, good- 
 lookin' widdo' right to 'is hand. Ef you bring 
 trouble on yerself you'll jes' hev to bear it." 
 
 While Frances listened to her mother, and 
 writhed at her crudity of language, she flushed to 
 her temples because of the truth so plainly spoken. 
 
 [279]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 For all the veneer of her years in school, in spite of 
 her efforts to obliterate her inheritance of poverty 
 and ignorance, she could not blind her honest, un 
 cultured mother. She could not for a moment de 
 ceive her into the belief that she was anything more 
 than simply a lucky woman to be married into a 
 fine, substantial family, that could introduce her 
 into a better way of life than she had ever dreamed 
 of. 
 
 This was a great annoyance to Frances. Her 
 mother refused to see her as coming into her own. 
 She had anchored herself securely for life by dint 
 of selfish managing, just as she had always striven 
 to better her own condition and ignore her origin, 
 instead of lending a helping hand to her own, and 
 drawing them upward with her to something a lit 
 tle better than they knew in their poor, plain home, 
 devoid of beauty, and with but few of the comforts 
 of life. 
 
 And now the mother's advice, her crude state 
 ment of the truth, was like a bitter medicine to 
 Frances; bitter because of the absolute truth of 
 every word. 
 
 [280]
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 MRS. DRAYTON stood by the casket that held her 
 youngest born. There was a look of peace upon 
 her face, and she touched the soft hair of her son 
 gently as she murmured : 
 
 "My poor baby ! my blighted boy !" 
 
 The door opened softly, and Judge Hale stood 
 beside her. 
 
 He clasped her hand and looked down on the 
 face of the dead. The house was very still. It 
 was Sunday morning. The sun was shining bright 
 ly. The snow was melting, and the streets had 
 many flowing streams. 
 
 "I came this morning," said the old lawyer, "to 
 see you for perhaps the last time, until whenever 
 it is that you can give your little girl into the care 
 of my son." 
 
 "You go home? East?" 
 
 "No, not at once. Where I go will depend upon 
 the information you give me about a certain fam 
 ily. If I remember correctly, you told me, some 
 short time ago, that you kept trace of the sister of 
 the unfortunate Mrs. Parks." 
 [281]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "Yes; I've known of her since a short time after 
 the tragedy." 
 
 "I do not pretend to say that I can make any 
 reparation I know that I cannot but I'll do what 
 I can. If this Mrs. " 
 
 "Rayburn," Mrs. Drayton supplied. 
 
 "Yes, Mrs. Rayburn ; if she needs anything that 
 a moderate amount of money can supply, she shall 
 have it. If the daughter of Mrs. Parks can in 
 'any way be benefited by aught that I can do, all 
 that is possible shall be done. Can you tell me of 
 their circumstances?" 
 
 "I only know what Mrs. Rayburn writes me. 
 They have prospered in the West. I hear from 
 them every week." 
 
 "Indeed? How did you come to feel so much 
 interest in her? I had not understood that you 
 ever met her." 
 
 "Yes, I've met Mrs. Rayburn not for many 
 years, though, and our meeting at the time, soon 
 after the great trouble, was by the merest chance. 
 Before the birth of Paul I was in such a precarious 
 state of health that my children were taken in 
 charge by my mother, who lived in a neighboring 
 town. After Paul's birth I was still feeble, and 
 my puny, inferior baby did not tend to encourage 
 me in gaining strength. My physician advised an 
 entire change of scene for a season. I was too 
 [282]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 spiritless to do anything but consent to whatever 
 was arranged for me. 
 
 "My husband had some business interests in the 
 West, and with a reliable nurse we started on our 
 long journey, leaving Basil and Dan with their 
 grandmother. We were but one day on our way 
 when I noticed a family group that interested me, 
 and I watched them, drawn to them uncontrollably. 
 The family consisted of the young husband and 
 wife and four children : two boys, a little girl less 
 than two years of age, and a baby girl in arms. 
 
 "It is needless to say how the acquaintance be 
 gan. Before the end of the second day, through 
 sympathy for me and the baby, I knew that this 
 young mother was the sister of Mrs. Parks, who 
 had interested me so to my own hurt. I knew, too, 
 that the pretty little Carrie was the daughter of 
 that most unfortunate woman. So our friendship 
 grew. We were together for the week or more 
 that it required to make the journey. The Ray- 
 burns were going to live on a ranch somewhere in 
 the Far West, to hide themselves, if possible, from 
 everyone who had ever known them and the trag 
 edy connected with them. 
 
 "Particularly, Mrs. Rayburn wished her little 
 niece to be known as her own child, and never, by 
 any chance, to hear of her mother. If you remem 
 ber, Parks was killed in an elevator accident a short 
 time before the death of his wife." 
 [283]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "Yes, I believe I do remember it." 
 
 "We journeyed together, and our friendship 
 grew through our sympathy with each other; and 
 when we separated there, amongst the strangers, 
 no one but ourselves could have said to a certainty 
 to which parents the several children belonged, ex 
 cepting the babies in arms." 
 
 Judge Hale was leaning forward in his chair, his 
 bushy eyebrows drawn down so as to almost hide 
 his severe dark eyes. Mrs. Drayton paused; her 
 hand rested on the edge of the casket. 
 
 "I've said nothing, as yet, Judge Hale, that you, 
 lawyer as you are, can use to trace the daughter of 
 Mrs. Parks." 
 
 "Mrs. Drayton," he said, scarcely above a whis 
 per, "what's this that you tell me?" 
 
 "I'll tell you in a minute where you may find 
 the daughter of the woman whose life you might 
 have saved, and did not." 
 
 "There was no least doubt of her guilt." 
 
 "There was no least doubt of her provocation. 
 She was a woman whose sense of right had been 
 outraged beyond endurance." 
 
 "But, Mrs. Drayton, while the law stood as it 
 did, what was I to do?" 
 
 "Just what you did. Anyone may become a mur 
 derer if the sufficient provocation comes. It came 
 to Mrs. Parks, and it came to you." 
 
 "Ah!" And his breath came between his com- 
 [284]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 pressed lips in a hiss. "Is that the summing up 
 of the case against me? What would become of 
 the laws if your reasoning grew to be general?" 
 
 "The laws would be repealed, as laws are every 
 year in every State in the Union. Which laws are 
 older those made by men, or those of human na 
 ture ? Those based upon innate knowledge of right 
 and wrong? those that rise in rebellion when the 
 soul of the human is tyrannized over?" 
 
 "Still, Mrs. Drayton, while it is pitiably true 
 that homicide is justifiable in many instances be 
 cause of provocation, yet we must have laws that 
 will deal with an even hand." 
 
 "But the law discriminates; it is allowed to dis 
 criminate. It grows to one interpretation in the 
 hands of one lawyer, to another when translated by 
 another. A man may be an avenging autocrat in 
 dealing out the letter of the law, or he may be the 
 personification of mercy by recognizing the spirit. 
 In face of the awful tragedy but barely averted here 
 amongst us, I cannot see how anyone can uphold 
 a law that sanctions nay, demands, the taking of 
 human life. That there must be laws, I agree; but 
 a life should not be taken, even a most depraved 
 life, by a vote of aye or nay. Here," and she laid 
 her hand on the forehead of the dead, "is my argu 
 ment. As I suffered, so have other women suf 
 fered." 
 
 "In the presence of this potent argument I stand
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 convinced. I feel that, all unknowing, I wronged 
 you, perhaps others. I dealt out justice as I found 
 it made for my hand. I have sinned grievously, 
 and I believe I am truly repentant. I am ready 
 to humble myself before the family of Mrs. 
 Parks. Kindly finish your story. You left those 
 people somewhere near the Pacific coast? The baby 
 of that sad time is now a woman." 
 
 "Yes, we left the Rayburns on a ranch in South 
 ern California. I have never seen them since. The 
 Parks child is now a woman, but in all our corre 
 spondence she is never mentioned save by the name 
 she received when adopted. She might read every 
 letter that passes between Mrs. Rayburn and my 
 self, and never suspect the truth. She supposes her 
 self the real daughter of her foster parents, and the 
 other children of the family suppose so, too. You 
 remember, Judge Hale, that I believe if the su 
 preme provocation arises, any man any woman 
 may take life?" 
 
 "Yes, Mrs. Drayton, I remember; and I, too, be 
 lieve that any human creature may do anything that 
 any other has done." 
 
 "Listen, then. If I give you the clew if I tell 
 you where you may find this girl, and you in the 
 least item forfeit your voluntary, unsolicited prom 
 ise to be kind and helpful to her if you breathe 
 it to anyone but myself or my husband that you even 
 know her to be other than what you see, thus undo- 
 [286]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 ing the work of years of those who have cherished 
 
 her " Mrs. Drayton paused, leaned forward, 
 
 and her eyes burned black in her pallid face. "Lis 
 ten ! Here, in the sacred presence of my dead son, 
 I tell you that my own provocation will be at 
 hand!" 
 
 Her voice ended in a whisper. 
 
 Judge Hale spoke slowly, deliberately: 
 
 "I hear you. I understand. I accept the condi 
 tions. Go on." 
 
 "While in California, the nurse I had sickened 
 and died. We sent her remains to her friends, and 
 with Mrs. Rayburn's assistance I managed until we 
 separated, I to come East, she to go to their ranch. 
 Then I engaged another nurse in the town where 
 we were, for my two children, and " 
 
 "Mrs. Drayton!" And Judge Hale sprang to 
 his feet. She, too, arose, and met his fierce eyes 
 steadily. 
 
 As a blind man might, he put out his hands as 
 if to seize her. She took a step backward, but never 
 once shifted her gaze from his. 
 
 "Lois?" he said, hoarsely. 
 
 "Lois!" she repeated, in a low, even tone. He 
 sank into his chair, and Mrs. Drayton resumed her 
 place beside the casket. 
 
 "This daughter of a murderess the child of a 
 woman executed by the law is to be my son's 
 wife!" 
 
 [287]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "This daughter of a woman foully wronged, tor 
 tured beyond endurance, and then pitilessly slain, 
 is to be the wife of the son of the man who caused 
 her mother's death." 
 
 "Mrs. Drayton, the crime was there; it must 
 have been punished ! If Mrs. Parks had been im 
 prisoned for life, her daughter must have known 
 of it; at least, it's most probable that she'd have 
 known. Seems to me, that, for all concerned, death 
 was more merciful." 
 
 "It was a shorter, swifter way out of it for all 
 excepting myself and my child. In the case of life 
 imprisonment I should not have been drawn into 
 the matter at all, excepting to grieve that a woman 
 had been driven to madness in her own home. You 
 saw Paul while agonizing over the law's decree 
 in the case of Mrs. Hammel. He rehearsed all my 
 suffering of so many years ago. This torture of 
 sympathy I would not have felt for a woman in 
 prison. But to know that she must die by the hands 
 of men that she must know of it for days before 
 hand, was the cruelty of it. 
 
 "That was why I suffered, why my son was 
 dwarfed and incomplete, why his life was a torture, 
 and why we cannot grieve for his early death. That 
 was why I took to my heart the little orphan, seek 
 ing in a small way to atone for the sins of the law 
 against her mother. 
 
 "When I came to Stillwater, twenty years ago, 
 [288]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 without going to my old home, and sent for Basil 
 and Dan, they received the little sister and the lit 
 tle brother without question. They believe that 
 Lois is their sister. My family in the East was 
 small, and people did not travel as much as they 
 do now. I've never once been embarrassed by ques 
 tions as to the age of Lois, or anything pertaining 
 to her." 
 
 "I never would have believed," Judge Hale said, 
 reflectively. "I've always said that blood would 
 tell ; that birth is more than training." 
 
 "And you are right. Mrs. Parks was naturally 
 a gentle, self-sacrificing woman. She was a well- 
 educated woman. I know this from many sources. 
 The daughter has one of the tenderest, most sym 
 pathetic natures I ever met. But her sense of right 
 and wrong is most acute ; sharpened, I've no doubt, 
 by what her mother endured before she was born. 
 Her father was brutal in his nature, and all the 
 culture he possessed but served to hide his bestiality 
 from the persons he met casually." 
 
 Judge Hale was silent. His face was troubled. 
 It reflected the hurt that was inflicted on his pride 
 by the eternal law that metes out justice even- 
 handed. 
 
 Mrs. Dray ton was about to speak, when the por 
 tiere was swept aside. 
 
 "Mamma !" And Lois, pale, sad, lovely in her 
 ptain black dress, came in. 
 
 [289]
 
 IN THE FIRST DEGREE 
 
 "What is it, dear?" 
 
 "I only wanted to find you," and she stood, unde 
 cided whether to go or stay. 
 
 Judge Hale arose, and, advancing to where she 
 stood, he took her in his arms. 
 
 "My little girl!" And he pressed his cheek 
 against her crown of brown hair. "My dear daugh 
 ter, no evil shall ever touch her that a sad and sinful 
 old man can prevent." 
 
 THE END
 
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