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 140 '/^/i
 
 TKRorfta of S5. JX IRoe 
 
 rOLVME EIGHTEEN 
 
 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 E. P. ROE 
 REMINISCENCES OF HIS LIFE 
 
 BY HIS SISTER, MARY A. ROE 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 NEW YORK 
 . F. COLLIER & SON 
 M c M i i 
 
 18
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1886, 
 BY DODD, MEAD, & COMPANY.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. LEFT ALONE 9 
 
 II. A VERY INTERESTED FRIEND 18 
 
 III. MRS. MUMPSON NEGOTIATES AND YIELDS. . 28 
 
 IV. DOMESTIC BLISS . 38 
 
 V. MRS. MUMPSON TAKES UP HER BURDENS . 46 
 
 VI. A MARRIAGE? 54 
 
 VII. FROM HOME TO THE STREET 62 
 
 VIII. HOLCROFT'S VIEW OF MATRIMONY .... 67 
 IX. MRS. MUMPSON ACCEPTS HER MISSION . . 75 
 
 X. A NIGHT OF TERROR 85 
 
 XI. BAFFLED 92 
 
 XII. JANE . . . . . . . . ... . . .103 
 
 XIII. NOT WIFE, BUT WAIF 113 
 
 XIV. A PITCHED BATTLE 120 
 
 XV. "WHAT is TO BECOME OF ME?" 127 
 
 XVI. MRS. MUMPSON'S VICISSITUDES ..... 135 
 XVII. A MOMENTOUS DECISION 147 
 
 XVIII. HOLCROFT GIVES HIS HAND . . . .... 156 
 
 XIX. A BUSINESS MARRIAGE 166 
 
 XX. UNCLE JONATHAN'S IMPRESSION OF THE 
 
 BRIDE 175 
 
 XXI. AT HOME 182 
 
 XXII. GETTING ACQUAINTED 190 
 
 (3) 
 
 2061SSO
 
 4 CONTENTS 
 
 XXIII. BETWEEN THE PAST AND FUTURE . . . 200 
 
 XXIV. GIVEN HER OWN WAY '. . 212 
 
 XXV. A CHARIVARI 223 
 
 XXVI. "You DON'T KNOW" 235 
 
 XXVIL FARM AND FARMER BEWITCHED .... 246 
 
 XXVIII. ANOTHER WAIF 257 
 
 XXIX. HUSBAND AND WIFE IN TROUBLE . . . 269 
 
 XXX. HOLCROFT'S BEST HOPE 280 
 
 XXXI. "NEVER!" 291 
 
 XXXII. JANE PLAYS MOUSE TO THE LION . . . 301 
 
 XXXIII. "SHRINK FROM YOU ?" . 310
 
 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE
 
 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 LEFT ALONE 
 
 THE dreary March evening is rapidly passing from 
 murky gloom to obscurity. Gusts of icy rain and 
 sleet are sweeping full against a man who, though 
 driving, bows his head so low that he cannot see his horses. 
 The patient beasts, however, plod along the miry road, unerr- 
 ingly taking their course to the distant stable door. The 
 highway sometimes passes through a grove on the edge of 
 a forest, and the trees creak and groan as they writhe in the 
 heavy blasts. In occasional groups of pines there is sighing 
 and moaning almost human in suggestiveness of trouble. 
 Never had Nature been in a more dismal mood, never had 
 she been more prodigal of every element of discomfort, and 
 never had the hero of my story been more cast down in heart 
 and hope than on this chaotic day which, even to his dull 
 fancy, appeared closing in harmony with his feelings and for- 
 tune. He is going home, yet the thought brings no assurance 
 of welcome and comfort. As he cowers upon the seat of his 
 market wagon, he is to the reader what he is in the fading 
 light a mere dim outline of a man. His progress is so slow 
 that there will be plenty of time to relate some facts about 
 him which will make the scenes and events to follow more 
 intelligible. 
 
 James Holcroft is a middle-aged man and the owner 
 of a small, hilly farm. He had inherited his rugged acres 
 from his father, had always lived upon them, and the feeling 
 
 (9)
 
 10 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 had grown strong with the lapse of time that he could live 
 nowhere else. Yet he knew that he was, in the vernacular 
 of the region, "going down hill." The small savings of years 
 were slowing melting away, and the depressing feature of 
 this truth was that he did not see how he could help himself. 
 He was not a sanguine man, but rather one endowed with 
 a hard, practical sense which made it clear that the down-hill 
 process had only to continue sufficiently long to leave him 
 landless and penniless. It was all so distinct on this dismal 
 evening that he groaned aloud. 
 
 "If it comes to that, I don't know what I'll do crawl 
 away on a night like this and give up, like enough." 
 
 Perhaps he was right. When a man with a nature like 
 his "gives up," the end has come. The low, sturdy oaks that 
 grew so abundantly along the road were types of his char- 
 acter they could break, but not bend. He had little sup- 
 pleness, little power to adapt himself to varied conditions 
 of life. An event had occurred a year since, which, for 
 months, he could only contemplate with dull wonder and 
 dismay. In his youth he had married the daughter of a 
 small farmer. Like himself, she had always been accus- 
 tomed to toil and frugal living. From childhood she had 
 been impressed with the thought that parting with a dollar 
 was a serious matter, and to save a dollar one of the good 
 deeds rewarded in this life and the life to come. She and 
 her husband were in complete harmony on this vital point. 
 Yet not a miserly trait entered into their humble thrift. It 
 was a necessity entailed by their meagre resources; it was 
 inspired by the wish for an honest independence in their 
 old age. 
 
 There was to be no old age for her. She took a heavy 
 cold, and almost before her husband was aware of her dan- 
 ger, she had left his side. He was more than grief -stricken, 
 he was appalled. No children had blessed their union, and 
 they had become more and more to each other in their 
 simple home life. To many it would have seemed a narrow 
 and even a sordid life. It could not have been the latter,
 
 LEFT ALONE 11 
 
 for all their hard work, their petty economies and plans to 
 increase the hoard in the savings bank were robbed of sor- 
 didness by an honest, quiet affection for each other, by 
 mutual sympathy and a common purpose. It undoubtedly 
 was a meagre life which grew narrower with time and habit. 
 There had never been much romance to begin with, but 
 something that often wears better mutual respect and affec- 
 tion. From the first, James Holcroft had entertained the 
 sensible hope that she was just the girl to help him make 
 a living from his hillside farm, and he had not hoped for or 
 even thought of very much else except the harmony and 
 good comradeship which bless people who are suited to each 
 other. He had been disappointed in no respect; they had 
 toiled and gathered like ants ; they were confidential partners 
 in the homely business and details of the farm ; nothing was 
 wasted, not even time. The little farmhouse abounded in 
 comfort, and was a model of neatness and order. If it and 
 its surroundings were devoid of grace and ornament, they 
 were not missed, for neither of its occupants had ever been 
 accustomed to such things. The years which passed so un- 
 eventfully only cemented the union and increased the sense 
 of mutual dependence. They would have been regarded as 
 exceedingly matter-of-fact and undemonstrative, but they 
 were kind to each other and understood each other. Feel- 
 ing that they were slowly yet surely getting ahead, they 
 looked forward to an old age of rest, and a sufficiency for 
 their simple needs. Then, before he could realize the truth, 
 he was left alone at her wintry grave; neighbors dispersed 
 after the brief service, and he plodded back to his desolate 
 home. There was no relative to step in and partially make 
 good his loss. Some of the nearest residents sent a few 
 cooked provisions until he could get help, but these attentions 
 soon ceased. It was believed that he was abundantly able to 
 take care of himself, and he was left to do so. He was not 
 exactly unpopular, but had been much too reticent and had 
 lived too secluded a life to find, uninvited, sympathy now. 
 He was the last man, however, to ask for sympathy or help;
 
 12 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 and this was not due to misanthropy, but simply to tempera- 
 ment and habits of life. He and his wife had been sufficient 
 for each other, and the outside world was excluded chiefly 
 because they had no time or taste for social interchanges. 
 As a result, he suffered serious disadvantages; he was mis- 
 understood and virtually left to meet his calamity alone. 
 
 But, indeed, he could scarcely have met it in any other 
 way. Even to his wife, he had never formed the habit of 
 speaking freely of his thoughts and feelings. There had 
 been no need, so complete was the understanding between 
 them. A hint, a sentence, revealed to each other their sim- 
 ple and unlimited processes of thought. To talk about her 
 now to strangers was impossible. He had no language by 
 which to express the heavy, paralyzing pain in his heart. 
 
 For a time he performed necessary duties in a dazed, 
 mechanical way. The horses and live stock were fed regu- 
 larly, the cows milked ; but the milk stood in the dairy room 
 until it spoiled. Then he would sit down at his desolate 
 hearth and gaze for hours into the fire, until it sunk down 
 and died out. Perhaps no class in the world suffer from 
 such a terrible sense of loneliness as simple-natured, country 
 people, to whom a very few have been all the company they 
 required. 
 
 At last Holcroft partially shook off his stupor, and began 
 the experiment of keeping house and maintaining his dairy 
 with hired help. For a long year he had struggled on 
 through all kinds of domestic vicissitude, conscious all the 
 time that things were going from bad to worse. His house 
 was isolated, the region sparsely settled, and good help dif- 
 ficult to be obtained under favoring auspices. The few re- 
 spectable women in the neighborhood who occasionally "lent 
 a hand " in other homes than their own would not com- 
 promise themselves, as they expressed it, by " keepin' house 
 for a widower." Servants obtained from the neighboring 
 town either could not endure the loneliness, or else were so 
 wasteful and ignorant, that the farmer, in sheer desperation, 
 discharged them. The silent, grief-stricken, rugged-featured
 
 LEFT ALONE 13 
 
 man was no company for any one. The year was but a rec- 
 ord of changes, waste* and small pilf erings. Although he 
 knew he could not afford it, he tried the device of obtaining 
 two women instead of one, so that they might have society 
 in each other; but either they would not stay or else he 
 found that he had two thieves to deal with instead of one 
 brazen, incompetent creatures who knew more about whiskey 
 than milk, and who made his home a terror to him. 
 
 Some asked, good-naturedly, " Why don't you marry 
 again ? " Not only was the very thought repugnant, but he 
 knew well that he was not the man to thrive on any such 
 errand to the neighboring farmhouses. Though apparently 
 he had little sentiment in his nature, yet the memory of his 
 wife was like his religion. JEe felt that he could not put an 
 ordinary woman into his wife's place, and say to her the 
 words he had spoken before. Such a marriage would be to 
 him a grotesque farce, at which his soul revolted. 
 
 At last he was driven to the necessity of applying for help 
 to an Irish family that had recently moved into the neigh- 
 borhood. The promise was forbidding, indeed, as he entered 
 the squalid abode in which were huddled men, women and 
 children. A sister o? the mistress of the shanty was voluble 
 in her assurances of unlimited capability. 
 
 " Faix I kin do all the wourk, in doors and out, so I takes 
 the notion," she had asserted. 
 
 There certainly was no lack of bone and muscle in the 
 big, red-faced, middle-aged woman who was so ready to 
 preside at his hearth and glean from his diminished dairy a 
 modicum of profit ; but as he trudged home along the wintry 
 road, he experienced strong feelings of disgust at the thought 
 of such a creature sitting by the kitchen fire in the place once 
 occupied by his wife. 
 
 During all these domestic vicissitudes he had occupied 
 the parlor, a stiff, formal, frigid apartment, which had been 
 rarely used in his married life. He had no inclination for 
 the society of his help; in fact, there had been none with 
 whom he could associate. The better class of those who went
 
 14 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 out to service could find places much more to their taste than 
 the lonely farmhouse. The kitchen had been the one cosey, 
 cheerful room of the house, and, driven from it, the farmer 
 was an exile in his own home. In the parlor, he could at 
 least brood over the happy past, and that was about all the 
 solace he had left. 
 
 Bridget came and took possession of her domain with a 
 sang froid which appalled Holcroft from the first. To his 
 directions and suggestions, she curtly informed him that she 
 knew her business and " didn't want no mon around, order- 
 in' and interferm'." 
 
 In fact, she did appear, as she had said, capable of any 
 amount of work, and usually was in a mood to perform it; 
 but soon her male relatives began to drop in to smoke a 
 pipe with her in the evening. A little later on, the supper- 
 table was left standing for those who were always ready to 
 " take a bite." The farmer had never heard of the camel 
 who first got his head into the tent, but it gradually dawned 
 upon him that he was half supporting the whole Irish tribe 
 down at the shanty. Every evening, while he shivered in 
 his best room, he was compelled to hear the coarse jests and 
 laughter in the adjacent apartment. One night his bitter 
 thoughts found expression : " I might as well open a free 
 house for the keeping of man and beast." 
 
 He had endured this state of affairs for some time simply 
 because the woman did the essential work in her off-hand, 
 slap-dash style, and left him unmolested to his brooding as 
 long as he did not interfere with her ideas of domestic 
 economy. But his impatience and the sense of being 
 wronged were producing a feeling akin to desperation. 
 Every week there was less and less to sell from the dairy; 
 chickens and eggs disappeared, and the appetites of those 
 who dropped in to " kape Bridgy from bein' a bit lonely " 
 grew more voracious. 
 
 Thus matters had drifted on until this March day when 
 he had taken two calves to market. He had said to the 
 kitchen potentate that he would take supper with a friend in
 
 LEFT ALONE 15 
 
 town and therefore would not be back before nine in the 
 evening. This friend was the official keeper of the poor- 
 house and had been a crony of Holcroft's in early life. He 
 had taken to politics instead of farming, and now had at- 
 tained to what he and his acquaintances spoke of as a " snug 
 berth." Holcroft had maintained with this man a friend- 
 ship based partly on business relations, and the well-to-do 
 purveyor for paupers always gave his old playmate an hon- 
 est, welcome to his private supper table, which differed 
 somewhat from that spread for the town's pensioners. 
 
 On this occasion the gathering storm had decided Hol- 
 croft to return without availing himself of his friend's hos- 
 pitality, and he is at last entering the lane leading from the 
 highway to his dooryard. Even as he approaches his dwell- 
 ing he hears the sound of revelry and readily guesses what 
 is taking place. 
 
 Quiet, patient men, when goaded beyond a certain point, 
 are capable of terrible ebullitions of anger, and Holcroft 
 was no exception. It seemed to him that night that the 
 God he had worshipped all his life was in league with man 
 against him. The blood rushed to his face, his chilled form 
 became rigid with a sudden, passionate protest against his 
 misfortunes and wrongs. Springing from the wagon, he 
 left his team standing at the barn door and rushed to the 
 kitchen window. There before him sat the whole tribe from 
 the shanty, feasting at his expense. The table was loaded 
 with coarse profusion. Roast fowls alternated with fried 
 ham and eggs, a great pitcher of milk was flanked by one 
 of foaming cider, while the post of honor was occupied by 
 the one contribution of his self-invited guests a villanous 
 looking jug. 
 
 They had just sat down to the repast when the weazen- 
 faced patriarch of the tribe remarked, by way of grace, it 
 may be supposed, " Be jabers, but isn't ould Holcroft givin' 
 us a f oine spread the noight ! Here's bad luck to the glow- 
 erin' ould skin-flint," and he poured out a bumper from the 
 jug.
 
 16 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 The farmer waited to see and hear no more. Hastening 
 to a parlor window, he raised it quietly and clambered in: 
 then taking his rusty shot gun, which he kept loaded for the 
 benefit of the vermin that prowled about his hen-roost, he 
 burst in upon the startled group. 
 
 " Be off !" he shouted. " If you value your lives, get out 
 of that door, and never show your faces on my place again. 
 I'll not be eaten out of house and home by a lot of jackals." 
 
 His weapon, his dark, gleaming eyes and desperate as- 
 pect, taught the men that he was not to be trifled with a 
 moment, and they slunk away. 
 
 Bridget began to whine. " Yez wouldn't turn a woman 
 out in the noight and storm " 
 
 " You are not a woman !" thundered Holcroft, " you are 
 a jackal too! Get your traps and begone! I warn the 
 whole lot of you to beware ! I give you this chance to get 
 off the premises, and then I shall watch for you all, old and 
 young !" 
 
 There was something terrible and flame-like in his anger, 
 dismaying the cormorants, and they hastened away with such 
 alacrity that Bridget went down the lane screaming, " Sthop, 
 I tell yees, and be afther waitin' for me." 
 
 Holcroft hurled the jug after them with words that 
 sounded like an imprecation. He next turned to the viands 
 on the table with an expression of loathing, gathered them 
 up and carried them to the hog-pen. He seemed possessed 
 by a feverish impatience to banish every vestige of those 
 whom he had driven forth, and to restore the apartment 
 as nearly as possible to the aspect it had worn in former 
 happy years. At last, he sat down where his wife had been 
 accustomed to sit, unbuttoned his waist-coat and flannel shirt 
 and from against his naked breast took an old, worn da- 
 guerreotype. He looked a moment at the plain, good face 
 reflected there, then, bowing his head upon it, strong, con- 
 vulsive sobs shook his frame, though not a tear moistened 
 his eyes. 
 
 How long the paroxysm would have lasted it were hard
 
 LEFT ALONE 17 
 
 to say, had not the impatient whinnying of his horses, still 
 exposed to the storm, caught his attention. The life-long 
 habit of caring for the dumb animals in his charge asserted 
 itself. He went out mechanically, unharnessed and stabled 
 them as carefully as ever before in his life, then returned 
 and wearily prepared himself a pot of coffee, which, with a 
 crust of bread, was all the supper he appeared to crave.
 
 18 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 CHAPTER H 
 
 A VERY INTERESTED FRIEND 
 
 FOR the next few days, Holcroft lived alone. The 
 weather remained inclement and there was no occa- 
 sion for him to go farther away than the barn and 
 out-buildings. He felt that a crisis in his life was approach- 
 ing, that he would probably be compelled to sell his property 
 for what it would bring, and begin life again under different 
 auspices. 
 
 " I must either sell or marry," he groaned, " and one's 
 about as hard and bad as the other. Who'll buy the place 
 and stock at half what they're worth, and where could I 
 find a woman that would look at an old fellow like me, even 
 if I could bring myself to look at her?" 
 
 The poor man did indeed feel that he was shut up to 
 dreadful alternatives. With his ignorance of the world, and 
 dislike for contact with strangers, selling out and going away 
 was virtually starting out on an unknown sea without rudder 
 or compass. It was worse than that it was the tearing 
 up of a life that had rooted itself in the soil whereon he 
 had been content from childhood to middle age. He would 
 suffer more in going, and in the memory of what he had 
 parted with, than in any of the vicissitudes which might 
 overtake him. He had not much range of imagination or 
 feeling, but within his limitations his emotions were strong 
 and his convictions unwavering. Still, he thought it might 
 be possible to live in some vague, unknown place, doing 
 some kind of work for people with whom he need not have 
 very much to do. " I've always been my own master, and 
 done things in my own way," he muttered, " but I suppose
 
 A VERY INTERESTED FRIEND 19 
 
 I could farm it to suit some old, quiet people, if I could 
 only find 'em. One thing is certain, anyhow I couldn't 
 stay here in Oakville, and see another man living in these 
 rooms, and plowing my fields, and driving his cows to my 
 old pasture lots. That would finish me like a galloping 
 consumption." 
 
 Every day he shrunk with a strange dread from the 
 wrench of parting with the familiar place and with all that 
 he associated with his wife. This was really the ordeal which 
 shook his soul, and not the fear that he would be unable to 
 earn his bread elsewhere. The unstable multitude who are 
 forever fancying that they would be better off somewhere 
 else or at something else can have no comprehension of 
 this deep-rooted love of locality and the binding power 
 of long association. They regard such men as Holcroft as 
 little better than plodding oxen. The highest tribute which 
 some people can pay to a man, however, is to show that 
 they do not and can not understand him. But the farmer 
 was quite indifferent whether he was understood or not. 
 He gave no thought to what people said or might say. 
 What were people to him ? He only had a hunted, pathetic 
 sense of being hedged in and driven to bay. Even to his 
 neighbors, there was more of the humorous than the tragic 
 in his plight. It was supposed that he had a goodly sum 
 in the bank, and gossips said that he and his wife thought 
 more of increasing this hoard than of each other, and that 
 old Holcroft's mourning was chiefly for a business partner. 
 His domestic tribulations evoked mirth rather than sym- 
 pathy; and as the news spread from farmhouse to cottage, 
 of his summary bundling of Bridget and her satellites out 
 of doors, there were both hilarity and satisfaction. 
 
 While there was little commiseration for the farmer, 
 there was decided disapprobation of the dishonest Irish tribe, 
 and all were glad that the gang had received a lesson which 
 might restrain them from preying upon others. 
 
 Holcroft was partly to blame for his present isolation. 
 Eemote rural populations are given to strong prejudices,
 
 20 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 especially against those who are thought to be well-off from 
 an over-saving spirit, and who, worse still, are unsocial Al- 
 most any thing will be forgiven sooner than " thinking one's 
 self better than other folks ;" and that is the usual interpre- 
 tation of shy, reticent people. But there had been a decided 
 tinge of selfishness in the Holcrofts' habit of seclusion; for 
 it became a habit rather than a principle. While they cher- 
 ished no active dislike to their neighbors, or sense of supe- 
 riority, these were not wholly astray in believing that they 
 had little place in the thoughts or interests of the occupants 
 of the hill farm. Indifference begat indifference, and now 
 the lonely, helpless man had neither the power nor the dis- 
 position to bridge the chasm which separated him from those 
 who might have given him kindly and intelligent aid. He 
 was making a pathetic effort to keep his home and to prevent 
 his heart from being torn bleeding away from all it loved. 
 His neighbors thought that he was merely exerting himself 
 to keep the dollars which it had been the supreme motive 
 of his life to accumulate. 
 
 Giving no thought to the opinions of others, Holcroft 
 only knew that he was in sore straits that all which made 
 his existence a blessing was at stake. 
 
 At times, during these lonely and stormy March days, 
 he would dismiss his anxious speculations in regard to his 
 future course. He was so morbid, especially at night, that 
 he felt that his wife could revisit the quiet house. He cher- 
 ished the hope that she could see him and hear what he said, 
 and he spoke in her viewless presence with a freedom and 
 fulness that was unlike his old reticence and habit of repres- 
 sion. He wondered that he had not said more endearing 
 words and given her stronger assurance of how much she 
 was to him. Late at night, he would start out of a long 
 revery, take a candle, and, going through the house, would 
 touch what she had touched, and look long and fixedly at 
 things associated with her. Her gowns still hung in the 
 closet, just as she had left them; he would take them out 
 and recall the well-remembered scenes and occasions when
 
 A VERY INTERESTED FRIEND 21 
 
 they were worn. At such times, she almost seemed beside 
 him, and he had a consciousness of companionship which 
 soothed his perturbed spirit. He felt that she appreciated 
 such loving remembrance although unable to express her 
 approval. He did not know it, but his nature was being 
 softened, deepened and enriched by these deep and un- 
 wonted experiences ; the hard materiality of his life was 
 passing away, rendering him capable of something better 
 than he had ever known. 
 
 In the morning, all the old prosaic problems of his life 
 would return, with their hard, practical insistence, and he 
 knew that he must decide upon something very soon. His 
 lonely vigils and days of quiet had brought him to the con- 
 clusion that he could not hunt up a wife as a matter of 
 business. He would rather face the " ever angry bears " 
 than breathe the subject of matrimony to any woman that 
 he could ever imagine himself marrying. He was therefore 
 steadily drifting toward the necessity of selling everything 
 and going away. This event, however, was like a coral-reef 
 to a sailor, with no land in view beyond it. The only thing 
 which seemed certain was the general breaking up of all 
 that had hitherto made his life. 
 
 The offer of help came from an unexpected source. One 
 morning, Holcroft received a call from a neighbor who had 
 never before shown any interest in his affairs. On this occa- 
 sion, however, Mr. Weeks began to display so much solici- 
 tude that the farmer was not only surprised, but also a little 
 distrustful. Nothing in his previous knowledge of the man 
 had prepared the way for such very kindly intervention. 
 
 After some general references to the past, Mr. Weeks 
 continued, " I've been saying to our folks that it was too bad 
 to let you worry on alone without more neighborly help. 
 You ought either to get married or have some thoroughly 
 respectable and well-known middle-aged woman keep house 
 for you. That would stop all talk, and there's been a heap 
 of it, I can tell you. Of course, I and my folks don't believe 
 anything's been wrong."
 
 22 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 " Believing that something was wrong, is about all the 
 attention my neighbors have given me, as far as I can see," 
 Holcroft remarked, bitterly. 
 
 " "Well, you see, Holcroft, you've kept yourself so inside 
 your shell that people don't know what to believe. Now, 
 the thing to do is to change all that. I know how hard it is 
 for a man, placed as you be, to get decent help. My wife 
 was a wondering about it the other day, and I shut her up 
 mighty sudden by saying, ' You're a good manager, and know 
 all the country side, yet how often you're a complaining that 
 you can't get a girl that's worth her salt to help in haying 
 and other busy times when we have to board a lot of men.' 
 Well, I won't beat around the bush any more. I've come 
 to act the part of a good neighbor. There's no use of you're 
 trying to get along with such hap-hazard help as you can 
 pick up here and in town. You want a respectable woman 
 for housekeeper, and then have a cheap, common sort of 
 girl to work under her. Now, I know of just such a woman, 
 and it's not unlikely she'd be persuaded to take entire charge 
 of your house and dairy. My wife's cousin, Mrs Mumpson " 
 at the mention of this name, Holcroft gave a slight start, 
 feeling something like a cold chill run down his back. 
 
 Mr. Weeks was a little disconcerted, but resumed, " I 
 believe she called on your wife once?" 
 
 " Yes," the farmer replied, laconically. " I was away and 
 did not see her." 
 
 " Well, now," pursued Mr. Weeks, " she's a good soul. 
 She has her little peculiarities; so have you and me, a lot 
 of 'em; but she's thoroughly respectable, and there isn't a 
 man or woman in the town that would think of saying a word 
 against her. She has only one child, a nice, quiet little girl 
 who'd be company for her mother and make everything look 
 right, you know." 
 
 " I don't see what there's been to look wrong," growled 
 the farmer. 
 
 " Nothing to me and my folks, of course, or I wouldn't 
 suggest the idea of a relation of my wife coming to live with
 
 A VERY INTERESTED FRIEND 23 
 
 you. But you see people will talk unless you stop their 
 mouths so they'll feel like fools in doing it. I know yours 
 has been a mighty awkward case, and here's a plain way out 
 of it. You can set yourself right and have everything looked 
 after as it ought to be, in twenty-four hours. We've talked 
 to Cynthy that's Mrs. Mumpson and she takes a sight 
 of interest. She'd do well by you and straighten things out, 
 and you might do a plaguy sight worse than give her the 
 right to take care of your indoor affairs for life." 
 
 " I don't expect to marry again," said Holcroft, curtly. 
 
 " Oh, well, many a man and woman has said that and 
 believed it, too, at the time. I'm not saying that my wife's 
 cousin is inclined that way herself. Like enough, she isn't 
 at all, but then, the right kind of persuading does change 
 women's minds sometimes, eh? Mrs. Mumpson is kinder 
 alone in the world, like yourself, and if she was sure of a 
 good home and a kind husband there's no telling what good 
 luck might happen to you. But there'll be plenty of time 
 for considering all that on both sides. You can't live like a 
 hermit " 
 
 " I was thinking of selling out and leaving these parts," 
 Holcroft interrupted. 
 
 " Now look here, neighbor, you know as well as I do that 
 in these times you couldn't give away the place. What's 
 the use of such foolishness ? The thing to do is to keep the 
 farm and get a good living out of it. You've got down in 
 the dumps and can't see what's sensible and to your own 
 advantage." 
 
 Holcroft was thinking deeply, and he turned his eyes 
 wistfully to the upland slopes of his farm. Mr. Weeks had 
 talked plausibly, and if all had been as he represented, the 
 plan would not have been a bad one. But the widower did 
 not yearn for the widow. He did not know much about her, 
 but had very unfavorable impressions. Mrs. Holcroft had 
 not been given to speaking ill of any one, but she had al- 
 ways shaken her head with a peculiar significance when Mrs. 
 Mumpson's name was mentioned. The widow had felt it
 
 24 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 her duty to call and counsel against the sin of seclusion and 
 being too much absorbed in the affairs of this world. 
 
 " You should take an interest in every one," this self- 
 appointed evangelist had declared, and in one sense she lived 
 up to her creed. She permitted no scrap of information 
 about people to escape her, and was not only versed in all 
 the gossip of Oakville, but also of several other localities in 
 which she visited. 
 
 But Holcroft had little else to deter him from employing 
 her services beyond an unfavorable impression. She could 
 not be so bad as Bridget Malony, and he was almost willing 
 to employ her again for the privilege of remaining on his 
 paternal acres. As to marrying the widow a slight shud- 
 der passed through his frame at the thought. 
 
 Slowly he began, as if almost thinking aloud, " I suppose 
 you are right, Lemuel Weeks, in what you say about selling 
 the place. The Lord knows I don't want to leave it. I was 
 born and brought up here, and that counts with some people,. 
 If your wife's cousin is willing to come and help me make a 
 living, for such wages as I can pay, the arrangement might be 
 made. But I want to look on it as a business arrangement. 
 I have quiet ways of my own, and things belonging to the 
 past to think about, and I've got a right to think about 'em. 
 I ain't one of the marrying kind, and I don't want people to 
 be a-considering such notions when I don't. I'd be kind 
 and all that to her and her little girl, but I should want to 
 be left to myself as far as I could be." 
 
 " Oh, certainly," said Mr. Weeks, mentally chuckling 
 over the slight prospect of such immunity, " but you must 
 remember that Mrs. Mumpson isn't like common help " 
 
 " That's where the trouble will come in," ejaculated the 
 perplexed farmer, " but there's been trouble enough with 
 the other sort." 
 
 " I should say so," Mr. Weeks remarked, emphatically. 
 " It would be a pity if you couldn't get along with such a 
 respectable, conscientious woman as Mrs. Mumpson, who 
 comes from one of the best families in the country."
 
 A VERY INTERESTED FRIEND 25 
 
 Holcroft removed his hat and passed his hand over his 
 brow wearily as he said, " Oh, I could get along with any- 
 one who would do the work in a way that would give me a 
 chance to make a little, and then leave me to myself." 
 
 " Well, well," said Mr. Weeks, laughing, " you needn't 
 think that because I've hinted at a good match for you I'm 
 making one for my wife's cousin. You may see the day 
 when you'll be more hot for it than she is. All I'm trying 
 to do is to help you keep your place, and live like a man 
 ought and stop people's mouths." 4 
 
 " If I could only fill my own and live in peace, it's all I 
 ask. When I get to plowing and planting again I'll begin 
 to take some comfort." 
 
 These words were quoted against Holcroft far and near. 
 " Filling his own mouth and making a little money are all 
 he cares for," was the general verdict. And thus people are 
 misunderstood. The farmer had never turned any one hun- 
 gry from his door, and he would have gone to the poorhouse 
 rather than have acted the part of the man who misrepre- 
 sented him. He had only meant to express the hope that 
 he might be able to fill his mouth earn his bread, and get 
 it from his native soil. " Plowing and planting " work- 
 ing where he had toiled since a child, would be a solace in 
 itself, and not a grudged means to a sordid end. 
 
 Mr. Weeks was a thrifty man also, and in nothing was he 
 more economical than in charitable views of his neighbors' 
 motives and conduct. He drove homeward with the com- 
 placent feeling that he had done a shrewd, good thing for 
 himself and " his folks " at least. His wife's cousin was not 
 exactly embraced in the latter category, although he had been 
 so active in her behalf. The fact was, he would be at much 
 greater pains could he attach her to Holcroft or any one else 
 and so prevent further periodical visits. He regarded her 
 and her child as barnacles with such appalling adhesive pow- 
 ers that even his ingenuity at " crowding out " had been 
 baffled. In justice to him, it must be admitted that Mrs. 
 Mumpson was a type of the poor relation that would tax the 
 
 R_B xvin
 
 26 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 long-suffering of charity itself. Her husband had left her 
 scarcely his blessing, and if he had fled to ills he knew not of, 
 he believed that he was escaping from some of which he had 
 a painfully distinct consciousness. His widow was one of 
 the people who regard the " world as their oyster," and her 
 scheme of life was to get as much as possible for nothing. 
 Arrayed in mourning weeds, she had begun a system of 
 periodical descents upon his relatives and her own. She 
 might have made such visitations endurable and even wel- 
 come, but she was not shrewd enough to be sensible. She 
 appeared to have developed only the capacity to talk, to 
 pry and to worry people. She was unable to rest or to 
 permit others to rest, yet her aversion to any useful form of 
 activity was her chief characteristic. Wherever she went, 
 she took the ground that she was " company," and, with a 
 shawl hanging over her sharp, angular shoulders, she would 
 seize upon the most comfortable rocking-chair in the house, 
 and mouse for bits of news about every one of whom she 
 had ever heard. She was quite as ready to tell all she knew 
 also, and for the sake of her budget of gossip and small scan- 
 dal, her female relatives tolerated her after a fashion for a 
 time; but she had been around so often, and her scheme 
 of obtaining subsistence for herself and child had become 
 so offensively apparent, that she had about exhausted the 
 patience of all the kith and kin on whom she had the remot- 
 est claim. Her presence was all the more unwelcome by 
 reason of the faculty for irritating the men of the various 
 households which she invaded. Even the most phlegmatic 
 or the best-natured lost their self-control, and, as their wives 
 declared, " felt like flying all to pieces " at her incessant 
 rocking, gossiping, questioning, and, what was worse still, 
 lecturing. Not the least endurable thing about Mrs. Mump- 
 son was her peculiar phase of piety. IShe saw the delinquen- 
 cies and duties of others with such painful distinctness that 
 she felt compelled to speak of them; and her zeal was sure 
 to be instant out of season. 
 
 "When Mr. Weeks had started on his ominous mission to
 
 A VERY INTERESTED FRIEND 27 
 
 Holcroft his wife remarked to her daughter, confidentially, 
 " I declare, sis, if we don't get rid of Cynthy soon, I believe 
 Lemuel will fly off the handle." 
 
 To avoid any such dire catastrophe, it was hoped and 
 almost prayed in the Weeks household that the lonely occu- 
 pant of the hill farm would take the widow for good and all.
 
 28 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 M' 
 
 CHAPTER in 
 
 MRS. MUMPSON NEGOTIATES AND YIELDS 
 
 R. WEEKS, on his return home, dropped all diplom- 
 acy in dealing with the question at issue. "Cynthy," 
 he said in his own vernacular, "the end has come so 
 far as me and my folks are concerned I never expect to visit 
 you, and while I'm master of the house, no more visits will 
 be received. But I hain't taken any such stand onconsider- 
 ately," he concluded. "I've given up the whole forenoon to 
 secure you a better chance of living than visiting around. 
 If you go to Holcroft's, you'll have to do some work, and so 
 will your girl. But he'll hire some one to help you, and so 
 you won't have to hurt yourself. Your trump card will be 
 to hook him and marry him before he finds you out. To 
 do this, you'll have to see to the house and dairy, and bestir 
 yourself for a time at least. He's pretty desperate off for 
 lack of woman-folks to look after indoor^ matters, but he'll 
 sell out and clear out before he'll keep a woman, much less 
 marry her, if she does nothing but talk. Now remember, 
 you've got a chance which you won't get again, for Holcroft 
 not only owns his farm, but has a snug sum in the bank. So 
 you had better get your things together, and go right over 
 while he's in the mood." 
 
 When Mrs. Mump^on reached the blank wall of the inevi- 
 table, she yielded, and not before. She saw that the Weeks 
 mine was worked out completely, and she knew that this 
 exhaustion was about equally true of all similar mines which 
 had been bored until they would yield no further returns. 
 
 But Mr. Weeks soon found that he could not carry out 
 his summary measures. The widow was bent on negotia-
 
 MRS. MUMPSON NEGOTIATES AND YIELDS 29 
 
 tions and binding agreements. In a stiff, cramped hand, she 
 wrote to Holcroft in regard to the amount of " salary " he 
 would be willing to pay, intimating that one burdened with 
 such responsibilities as she was expected to assume " ort to 
 be compansiated proposhundly." 
 
 Weeks groaned as he despatched his son on horseback 
 with this first epistle, and Holcroft groaned as he read it, 
 not on account of its marvellous spelling and construction, 
 but by reason of the vista of perplexities and trouble it- 
 opened to his boding mind. But he named on half a sheet 
 of paper as large a sum as he felt it possible to pay and 
 leave any chance for himself, then affixed his signature and 
 sent it back by the messenger. 
 
 The widow Mumpson wished to talk over this first point 
 between the high contracting powers indefinitely, but Mr. 
 Weeks remarked, cynically, " It's double what I thought he'd 
 offer, and you're lucky to have it in black and white. Now 
 that everything's settled, Timothy will hitch up and take 
 you and Jane up there at once." 
 
 But Mrs. Mumpson now began to insist upon writing 
 another letter in regard to her domestic status and that of 
 her child. They could not think of being looked upon as 
 servants. She also wished to be assured that a girl would 
 be hired to help her, that she should have all the church 
 privileges to which she had been accustomed and the right 
 to visit and entertain her friends, which meant every farmer's 
 wife and all the maiden sisters in Oakville. " And then," 
 she continued, " there are always little perquisites which 
 a housekeeper has a right to look for " Mr. Weeks irri- 
 tably put a period to this phase of diplomacy by saying, 
 " Well, well, Cynthy, the stage will be along in a couple of 
 hours. We'll put you and your things aboard and you can 
 go on with what you call your negotiations at cousin Abi- 
 ram's. I can tell you one thing, though if you write any 
 such letter to Holcroft, you'll never hear from him again." 
 
 Compelled to give up all these preliminaries, but inwardly 
 resolving to gain each point by a nagging persistence of
 
 80 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 which she was a mistress, she finally declared that she " must 
 have writings about one thing which couldn't be left to any 
 man's changeful mind. He must agree to give me the 
 monthly salary he names for at least a year." 
 
 Weeks thought a moment, and then, with a shrewd twin- 
 kle in his eyes, admitted, " It would be a good thing to have 
 Holcroft's name to such an agreement. Yes, you might try 
 that on, but you're taking a risk. If you were not so penny 
 wise and pound foolish you'd go at once and manage to get 
 him to take you for ' better or worse.' ' 
 
 " You misjudge me, cousin Lemuel," replied the widow, 
 bridling and rocking violently. " If there's any such taking 
 to be done, he must get me to take him." 
 
 " Well, well, write your letter about a year's engagement. 
 That'll settle you for a twelvemonth, at least." 
 
 Mrs. Mumpson again began the slow, laborious construc- 
 tion of a letter in which she dwelt upon the uncertainties 
 of life, her " duty to her offspring," and the evils of " vicis- 
 situde." " A stable home is woman's chief desire," she con- 
 cluded, " and you will surely agree to pay me the salary you 
 have said for a year." 
 
 When Holcroft read this second epistle he so far yielded 
 to his first impulse that he half tore the sheet, then paused 
 irresolutely. After a few moments he went to the door and 
 looked out upon his acres. " It'll soon be plowing and plant- 
 ing time," he thought. " I guess I can stand her at least I 
 can try it for three months. I'd like to turn a few more 
 furrows on the old place," and his face softened and grew 
 wistful as he looked at the bare, frost-bound fields. Sud- 
 denly it darkened and grew stern as he muttered, " But I'll 
 put my hand to no more paper with that Weeks tribe." 
 
 He strode to the stable, saying to Timothy Weeks, as he 
 passed, " I'll answer this letter in person." 
 
 Away cantered Timothy, and soon caused a flutter of ex- 
 pectancy in the Weeks household, by announcing that " old 
 Holcroft looked back as a thunder cloud and was comin' 
 himself."
 
 MRS. MUMPSON NEGOTIATES AND YIELDS 31 
 
 "I tell you what 'tis, Cynthy, it's the turn of a hair with 
 you now," growled Weeks. "Unless you agree to whatever 
 Holcroft says, you haven't a ghost of a chance." 
 
 The widow felt that a crisis had indeed come. Cousin 
 Abiram's was the next place in the order of visitation, but 
 her last experience there left her in painful doubt as to a 
 future reception. Therefore she tied on a new cap, smoothed 
 her apron, and rocked with unwonted rapidity. "It'll be 
 according to the ordering of Providence " 
 
 " Oh, pshaw !" interrupted cousin Lemuel, "it'll be ac- 
 cording to whether you've got any sense or not." 
 
 Mrs. Weeks had just been in a pitiable state of mind all 
 day. She saw that her husband had reached the limit of his 
 endurance that he had virtually already "flown off the han- 
 dle." But to have her own kin actually bundled out of the 
 house what would people say? Acceptance of Holcroft's 
 terms, whatever they might be, was the only way out of the 
 awkward predicament, and so she began in a wheedling 
 tone, "Now, cousin Cynthy, as Lemuel says, you've got a 
 first-rate chance. Holcroft's had an awful time with women, 
 and he'll be glad enough to do well by any one who does 
 fairly well by him. Everybody says he's well off, and once 
 you're fairly there and get things in your own hands, there's 
 no telling what may happen. He'll get a girl to help you, 
 and Jane's big enough now to do a good deal. Why, you'll 
 be the same as keeping house like the rest of us." 
 
 Further discussion was cut short by the arrival of the vic- 
 tim. He stood awkwardly in the door of the Weeks sitting- 
 room for a moment, seemingly at a loss how to state his case. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Weeks now resolved to appear neutral and 
 allow the farmer to make his terms. Then, like other supe- 
 rior powers in the background, they proposed to exert a 
 pressure on their relative and do a little coercing. But the 
 widow's course promised at first to relieve them of all further 
 effort. She suddenly seemed to become aware of Holcroft's 
 presence, sprang up and gave him her hand very cordially. 
 
 " I'm glad to see you, sir," she began. " It's very con-
 
 32 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 siderate of you to come for me. I can get ready in short 
 order, and as for Jane, she's never a bit of trouble. Sit 
 down, sir, and make yourself to home while I get our things 
 together and put on my bonnet;" and she was about to hasten 
 from the room. 
 
 She, too, had been compelled to see that Holcroft's farm- 
 house was the only certain refuge left, and while she had 
 rocked and waited the thought had come into her scheming 
 mind, " I've stipulated to stay a year, and if he says nothing 
 against it, it's a bargain which I can manage to keep him to 
 in spite of himself, even if I don't marry him." 
 
 But the straightforward farmer was not to be caught in 
 such a trap. He had come himself to say certain words and 
 he would say them. He quietly, therefore, stood in the door 
 and said, " Wait a moment, Mrs. Mumpson. It's best to 
 have a plain understanding in all matters of business. 
 When I've done, you may conclude not to go with me, for 
 I want to say to you what I said this morning to your 
 cousin, Lemuel Weeks. I'm glad he and his wife are now 
 present, as witnesses. I'm a plain man, and all I want is to 
 make a livin' off the farm I've been brought up on. I'll 
 get a girl to help you with the work. Between you, I'll ex- 
 pect it to be done in a way that the dairy will yield a fair 
 profit. We'll try and see how we get on for three months 
 and not a year. I'll not bind myself longer than three 
 months. Of course, if you manage well, I'll be glad to 
 have this plain business arrangement go on as long as possi- 
 ble, but it's all a matter of business. If I can't make my 
 farm pay, I'm going to sell or rent and leave these parts." 
 
 " Oh, certainly, certainly, Mr. Holcroft. You take a 
 very senserble view of affairs. I hope you will find that I 
 will do all that I agree to and a great deal more. I'm a little 
 afraid of the night air and the inclement season, and so will 
 hasten to get myself and my child ready," and she passed 
 quickly out. 
 
 Weeks put his hand to his mouth to conceal .. grin as he 
 thought, "She hasn't agreed to do anything that I know on.
 
 MRS. MUMPSON NEGOTIATES AND YIELDS 33 
 
 Still, she's right ; she'll do a sight more than he expects, but 
 it won't be just what he expects." 
 
 Mrs. Weeks followed her relative to expedite matters, and 
 it must be confessed that the gathering of Mrs. Mumpson's 
 belongings was no heavy task. A small hair trunk that had 
 come down from the remote past held her own and her 
 child's wardrobe and represented all their worldly posses- 
 sions. 
 
 Mr. "Weeks, much pleased at the turn of affairs, became 
 very affable, but confined his remarks chiefly to the weather, 
 while Holcroft, who had an uneasy sense of being over- 
 reached in some undetected way, was abstracted and laconic. 
 He was soon on the road home, however, with Mrs. Mump- 
 son and Jane. Cousin Lemuel's last whispered charge was, 
 "Now, for mercy's sake, do keep your tongue still and your 
 hands busy." 
 
 Whatever possibilities there may be for the Ethiopian or 
 the leopard, there was no hope that Mrs. Mumpson would 
 materially change any of her characteristics. The chief 
 reason was that she had no desire to change. A more self- 
 complacent person did not exist in Oakville. Good traits in 
 other people did not interest her. They were insipid, they 
 lacked a certain pungency which a dash of evil imparts; 
 and in the course of her minute investigations she had dis- 
 cerned or surmised so much that was reprehensible that she 
 had come to regard herself as singularly free from sins of 
 omission and commission. "What have I ever done ?" she 
 would ask in her self-communings. The question implied 
 so much truth of a certain kind that all her relatives were in 
 gall and bitterness as they remembered the weary months 
 during which she had rocked idly at their firesides. With 
 her, talking was as much of a necessity as breathing, but 
 during the ride to the hillside farm she, in a sense, held her 
 breath, for a keen March wind was blowing. 
 
 She was so quiet that Holcroft grew hopeful, not realizing 
 that the checked flow of words must have freer course later 
 on. A cloudy twilight was deepening fast when they
 
 84 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 reached the dwelling. Holcroft's market-wagon served for 
 the general purposes of conveyance, and he drove as near 
 as possible to the kitchen door. Descending from the 
 front seat, which he had occupied alone, he turned and of- 
 fered his hand to assist the widow to alight, but she ner- 
 vously poised herself on the edge of the vehicle and seemed 
 to be afraid to venture. The wind fluttered her scanty 
 draperies, causing her to appear like a bird of prey about to 
 swoop down upon the unprotected man. "I'm afraid to 
 jump so far," she began. 
 
 "There's the step, Mrs. Mumpson." 
 
 "But I can't see it. Would you mind lifting me down ?" 
 
 He impatiently took her by the arms, which seemed in 
 his grasp like the rounds of a chair, and put her on the 
 ground. 
 
 " Oh !" she exclaimed, in gushing tones, " there's noth- 
 ing to equal the strong arms of a man." 
 
 He hastily lifted out her daughter, and said, "You had 
 better hurry in to the fire. I'll be back in a few minutes," 
 and he led his horses down to the barn, blanketed and tied 
 them. When he returned, he saw two dusky figures stand- 
 ing by the front door which led to the little hall separating 
 the kitchen from the parlor. 
 
 " Bless me !" he exclaimed. " You haven't been stand- 
 ing here all this time?" 
 
 " It's merely due to a little oversight. The door is 
 locked, you see, and " 
 
 " But the kitchen door is not locked." 
 
 " Well, it didn't seem quite natural for us to enter the 
 dwelling on the occasion of our first arrival by the kitchen 
 entrance, and " 
 
 Holcroft, with a grim look, strode through the kitchen 
 and unlocked the door. 
 
 " Ah !" exclaimed the widow. " I feel as if I was coming 
 home. Enter, Jane, my dear. I'm sure the place will soon 
 cease to be strange to you, for the home feeling is rapidly 
 acquired when "
 
 MRS. MUMPSON NEGOTIATES AND YIELDS 35 
 
 " Just wait a minute, please," said Holcroft, " and I'll 
 light the lamp and a candle." This he did with the deftness 
 of a man accustomed to help himself, then led the way to 
 the upper room which was to be her sleeping apartment. 
 Placing the candle on the bureau, he forestalled Mrs. Mump- 
 son by saying, " I'll freshen up the fire in the kitchen and 
 lay out the ham, eggs, coffee and other materials for supper. 
 Then I must go out and unharness and do my night work. 
 Make yourselves to home. You'll soon be able to find every- 
 thing," and he hastened away. 
 
 It would not be their fault if hey were not soon able to 
 find everything. Mrs. Mumpson's first act was to take the 
 candle and survey the room in every nook and corner. She 
 sighed when she found the closet and bureau drawers empty. 
 Then she examined the quantity and texture of the bed- 
 ding of the " couch on which she was to repose " as she would 
 express herself. Jane followed her around on tiptoe, doing 
 just what her mother did, but was silent. At last they shiv- 
 ered in the fireless apartment, threw off their scanty wraps 
 and went down to the kitchen. Mrs. Mumpson instinctively 
 looked around for a rocking-chair, and as none was visible 
 she hastened to the parlor, and, holding the candle aloft, sur- 
 veyed this apartment. Jane followed in her wake as be- 
 fore, but at last ventured to suggest, " Mother, Mr. Hol- 
 croft'll be in soon and want his supper." 
 
 " I suppose he'll want a great many things," replied 
 Mrs. Mumpson, with dignity, " but he can't expect a lady of 
 my connections to fly around like a common servant. It is 
 but natural, in coming to a new abode, that I should wish to 
 know something of that abode. There should have been a 
 hired girl here ready to receive and get supper for us. Since 
 there is not one to receive us, bring that rocking-chair, my 
 dear, and I will direct you how to proceed." 
 
 The child did as she was told, and her mother was soon 
 rocking on the snuggest side of the kitchen stove, interspers- 
 ing her rather bewildering orders with various reflections 
 and surmises.
 
 36 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 Sketching the child Jane is a sad task, and pity would 
 lead us to soften every touch if this could be done in truth- 
 fulness. She was but twelve years of age, yet there was 
 scarcely a trace of childhood left in her colorless face. 
 Stealthy and cat-like in all her movements, she gave the 
 impression that she could not do the commonest thing ex- 
 cept in a sly, cowering manner. Her small greenish-gray 
 eyes appeared to be growing nearer together with the lapse 
 of time, and their indirect, furtive glances suggested that 
 they had hardly, if ever, seen looks of frank affection bent 
 upon her. She had early learned, on the round of visits 
 with her mother, that so far from being welcome she was 
 scarcely tolerated, and she reminded one of a stray cat that 
 comes to a dwelling and seeks to maintain existence there 
 in a lurking, deprecatory manner. Her kindred recognized 
 this feline trait, for they were accustomed to remark, "She's 
 always snoopin' around." 
 
 She could scarcely do otherwise, poor child! there had 
 seemed no place for her at any of the firesides. She 
 haunted halls and passage-ways, sat in dusky corners, and 
 kept her meagre little form out of sight as much as possi- 
 ble. She was the last one helped at table when she was 
 permitted to come at all, and so had early learned to watch, 
 like a cat, and when people's backs were turned, to snatch 
 something, carry it off, and devour it in secret. Detected 
 in these little pilferings, to which she was almost driven, she 
 was regarded as even a greater nuisance than her mother. 
 
 The latter was much too pre-occupied to give her child 
 attention. Ensconced in a rocking-chair in the best room, 
 and always in full tide of talk if there was any one pres- 
 ent, she rarely seemed to think where Jane was or what she 
 was doing. The rounds of visitation gave the child no chance 
 to go to school, so her developing mind had little other 
 pabulum than what her mother supplied so freely. She 
 was acquiring the same consuming curiosity, with the re- 
 deeming feature that she did not talk. Listening in un- 
 suspected places, she heard much that was said about her
 
 MRS. MUMPSON NEGOTIATES AND YIELDS 37 
 
 mother and herself, and the pathetic part of this experience 
 was that she had never known enough of kindness to be 
 wounded. She was only made to feel more fully how pre- 
 carious was her foothold in her transient abiding place, and 
 therefore was rendered more furtive, sly and distant in order 
 to secure toleration by keeping out of every one's way. In 
 her prowlings, however, she managed to learn and under- 
 stand all that was going on even better than her mother, 
 who, becoming aware of this fact, was acquiring the habit 
 of putting her through a whispered cross-questioning when 
 they retired for the night. 
 
 It would be hard to imagine a child beginning life under 
 more unfavorable auspices and still harder to predict the 
 outcome. 
 
 In the course of her close watchfulness she had observed 
 how many of the domestic labors had been performed, and 
 she would have helped more in the various households if she 
 had been given a chance; but the housewives had not re- 
 garded her as sufficiently honest to be trusted in the pan- 
 tries, and also found that if there was a semblance of return 
 for such hospitality as they extended, Mrs. Mumpson would 
 remain indefinitely. Moreover, the homely, silent child 
 made the women nervous, just as her mother irritated the 
 men, and they did not want her around. Thus she had 
 come to be but the spectre of a child, knowing little of the 
 good in the world and as much of the evil as she could 
 understand. 
 
 She now displayed, however, more sense than her mother. 
 The habit of close scrutiny had made it clear that Holcroft 
 would not long endure genteel airs and inefficiency, and that 
 something must be done to keep this shelter. She did her 
 best to get supper, with the aid given from the rocking-chair, 
 and at last broke out sharply, "You must get up and help 
 me. He'll turn us out of doors if we don't have supper 
 ready when he comes in." 
 
 Spurred by fear of such a dire possibility, Mrs. Mumpson 
 was bustling around when Holcroft entered. " We'll soon
 
 38 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 be ready," she gushed, " we'll soon place our evening repast 
 upon the table." 
 
 " Very well," was the brief reply, as he passed up 
 the stairs with the small hair trunk on his shoulder. 
 
 CHAPTEK IV 
 
 DOMESTIC BLISS 
 
 HOLCROFT had been given a foretaste of the phase 
 of torment which he was destined to endure in his 
 domestic relations, and was planning to secure a 
 refuge into which he could not be pursued. He had made 
 himself a little more presentable for supper, instinctively 
 aware that nothing would escape the lynx-eyed widow, and 
 was taking some measurements from the floor to a stove-pipe 
 hole leading into the chimney flue, when he became aware 
 that some one was in the doorway. Turning, he saw Jane 
 with her small, cat-like eyes fixed intently upon him. In- 
 stantly he had the feeling that he was being watched and 
 would be watched. 
 
 " Supper's ready," said the girl, disappearing. 
 
 Mrs. Mumpson smiled upon him if certain contortions 
 of her thin, sharp face could be termed a smile from that 
 side of the table at which his wife had sat so many years, 
 and he saw that the low rocking-chair which he had pre- 
 served jealously from his former " help " had been brought 
 from the parlor and established in the old familiar place. 
 Mrs. Mumpson folded her hands and assumed a look of 
 deep solemnity; Jane, as instructed, also lowered her head, 
 and they waited for him to say " grace." He was in far too 
 bitter a mood for any such pious farce, and stolidly began 
 to help them to the ham and eggs, which viands had been 
 as nearly spoiled as was possible in their preparation. The 
 widow raised her head with a profound sigh whicb set
 
 DOMESTIC BLISS 39 
 
 Holcroft's teeth on edge, but he proceeded silently with his 
 supper. The biscuits were heavy enough to burden the 
 lightest conscience; and the coffee, simply grounds swim- 
 ming around in lukewarm water. He took a sip, then put 
 down his cup and said, quietly, " Guess I'll take a glass of 
 milk to-night. Mrs. Mumpson, if you don't know how to 
 make coffee, I can soon show you." 
 
 " Why ! isn't it right ? How strange ! Perhaps it would 
 be well for you to show me just exactly how you like it, for it 
 will afford me much pleasure to make it to your taste. Men's 
 tastes differ so ! I've heard that no two men's tastes were 
 alike; and, after all, everything is a matter of taste. Now 
 cousin Abiram doesn't believe in coffee- at all. He thinks it 
 is unwholesome. Have you ever thought that it might 
 be unwholesome?" 
 
 " I'm used to it, and would like it good when I have it at 
 all." 
 
 " Why, of course, of course, you must have it exactly to 
 your taste. Jane, my dear, we must put our minds on cof- 
 fee and learn precisely how Mr. Holcroft likes it, and 
 when the hired girl comes we must carefully superintend 
 her when she makes it. By the way, I suppose you will 
 employ my assistant to-morrow, Mr. Holcroft?" 
 
 " I can't get a girl short of town," was the reply, " and 
 there is so much cream in the dairy that ought to be churned 
 at once that I'll wait till next Monday and take down the 
 butter." 
 
 Mrs. Mumpson put on a grave, injured air, and said, 
 "Well," so disapprovingly that it was virtually saying that 
 it was not well at all. Then, suddenly remembering that 
 this was not good policy, she was soon all smiles and chatter 
 again. "How cosey this is!" she cried, "and how soon 
 one acquires the home feeling! Why, any one looking in 
 at the window would think that we were an old-established 
 family, and yet this is but our first meal together. But it 
 won't be the last, Mr. Holcroft. I cannot make it known to 
 you how your loneliness, which cousin Lemuel has so feel-
 
 40 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 ingly described to me, has effected my feelings. Cousin 
 Nancy said but this very day that you have had desperate 
 times with all kinds of dreadful creatures. But all that's 
 past. Jane and me will give a look of stability and re- 
 spectability to every comer." 
 
 " Well, really, Mrs. Mumpson, I don't know who's to 
 come." 
 
 " Oh, you'll see," she replied, wrinkling her thin, blue 
 lips into what was meant for a smile, and nodding her 
 head at him encouragingly. " You won't be so isolated no 
 more. Now that I'm here, with my offspring, your neigh- 
 bors will feel that they can show you their sympathy. The 
 most respecterble people in town will call, and your life will 
 grow brighter and brighter; clouds will roll away, and " 
 
 " I hope the neighbors will not be so ill-mannered as 
 to come without being invited," remarked Mr. Holcroft, 
 very grimly. " It's too late in the day for them to begin 
 now." 
 
 " My being here with Jane will make all the difference in 
 the world," resumed Mrs. Mumpson, with as saccharine an 
 expression as she could assume. " They will come out 
 of pure kindness and friendly interest with the wish to 
 encourage " 
 
 " Mrs. Mumpson," said Holcroft, half desperately, " if 
 any one comes it'll be out of pure curiosity, and I don't want 
 such company. Selling enough butter, eggs and produce to 
 pay expenses will encourage me more than all the people 
 of Oakville if they should come in a body. What's the use 
 of talking in this way? I've done without the neighbors 
 so far, and I'm sure they've been very careful to do without 
 me. I shall have nothing to do with them except in the 
 way of business, and as I said to you down at Lemuel 
 Weeks's, business must be the first consideration with us 
 all," and he rose from the table. 
 
 " Oh, certainly, certainly," the widow hastened to say, 
 " but then business is like a cloud, and the meetings and 
 greetings of friends is a sort of silver lining, you know.
 
 DOMESTIC BLISS 41 
 
 What would the world be without friends the society of 
 those who take an abiding interest? Believe me, Mr. Hoi- 
 croft," she continued, bringing her long, skinny finger 
 impressively down on the table, " you have lived alone so 
 long that you are unable to see the crying needs of your 
 own constitution. As a Christian man, you require human 
 sympathy and " 
 
 Poor Holcroft knew little of centrifugal force; but at 
 that moment he was a living embodiment of it, feeling that if 
 he did not escape he would fly into a thousand atoms. Say- 
 ing nervously, " I've a few chores to do," he seized his 
 hat, and hastening out, wandered disconsolately around the 
 barn. " I'm never going to be able to stand her," he 
 groaned. " I know now why my poor wife shook her head 
 whenever this woman was mentioned. The clack of her 
 tongue would drive any man living crazy, and the gimlet 
 eyes of -that girl Jane would bore holes through a saint's 
 patience. Well, well, I'll put a stove up in my room, then 
 plowing and planting time will soon be here, and I guess I 
 can stand it at meal times for three months, for unless she 
 stops her foolishness she shan't stay any longer." 
 
 Jane had not spoken during the meal, but kept her eyes 
 on Holcroft, except when he looked toward her, and then 
 she instantly averted her gaze. When she was alone with 
 her mother, she said abruptly, " We ain't agoin' to stay here 
 long, nuther." 
 
 " Why not ?" was the sharp, responsive query. 
 
 " 'Cause the same look's comin' into his face that was in 
 cousin Lemuel's and cousin Abiram's and all the rest of 'em. 
 'Fi's you I'd keep still now. 'Pears to me they all want 
 you to keep still and you won't." 
 
 " Jane," said Mrs. Mumpson, in severe tones, " you're an 
 ignorant child. Don't presume to instruct mel Besides, 
 this case is entirely different. Mr. Holcroft must be made 
 to understand from the start that I'm not a common woman 
 that I'm his equal, and in most respects his superior. If 
 he ain't made to feel this, it'll never enter his head but
 
 42 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 law! there's things which you can't and oughtn't to under- 
 stand." 
 
 " But I do," said the girl, shortly, " and he won't marry 
 you, nor keep you if you talk him to death." 
 
 " Jane !" gasped Mrs. Mumpson, as she sank into the 
 chair and rocked violently. 
 
 The night air was keen and soon drove Holcroft into the 
 house. As he passed the kitchen window, he saw that Mrs. 
 Mumpson was in his wife's rocking-chair and that Jane 
 was clearing up the table. He kindled a fire on the parlor 
 hearth, hoping, but scarcely expecting, that he would be left 
 alone. 
 
 Nor was he very long, for the widow soon opened the 
 door and entered, carrying the chair. " Oh, you are here," 
 she said, sweetly. " I heard the fire crackling, and I do so 
 love open, wood fires. They're company in themselves, and 
 they make those who bask in the flickering blaze inclined 
 to be sociable. To think of how many long lonely even- 
 ings you have sat here when you had persons in your employ 
 with whom you could have no affinity whatever! I don't 
 see how you stood it. Under such circumstances life must 
 cloud up into a dreary burden." It never occurred to Mrs. 
 Mumpson that her figures of speech were often mixed. She 
 merely felt that the sentimental phase of conversation must 
 be very flowery. But during the first evening she had re- 
 solved on prudence. " Mr. Holcroft shall have time," she 
 thought, " for the hope to steal into his heart that his house- 
 keeper may become something more to him than house- 
 keeper that there is a nearer and loftier relation." 
 
 Meanwhile she was consumed with curiosity to know 
 something about the " persons " previously employed and 
 his experiences with them. With a momentary, and, as she 
 felt, a proper pause before descending to ordinary topics, 
 she resumed, "My dear Mr. Holcroft, no doubt it will be a 
 relief to your overfraught mind to pour into a symperthetic 
 ear the story of your troubles with those er those pecul- 
 iar females that er that "
 
 DOMESTIC BLISS 43 
 
 " Mrs. Mumpson, it would be a much greater relief to my 
 mind to forget all about 'em," he replied, briefly. 
 
 " Indeed !" exclaimed the widow. " Was they as bad as 
 that? Who'd a thought it! Well, well, well, what people 
 there is in the world ! And you couldn't abide 'em then ?" 
 
 " No, I couldn't." 
 
 " Well now, what hussies they must have been ! And to 
 think you were here all alone with no better company ! It 
 makes my heart bleed. They do say that Bridget Malony 
 is equal to anything, and I've no doubt but that she took 
 things and did things." 
 
 " Well, she's taken herself off, and that's enough." Then 
 he groaned inwardly, "Good Lord! I could stand her and 
 all her tribe better'n this one." 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Holcroft," pursued Mrs. Mumpson, sinking 
 her voice to a loud, confidential whisper, " and I don't be- 
 lieve you've any idea how much she took with her. I fear 
 you've been robbed in all these vicissitudes. Men never 
 know what's in a house. They need caretakers, respecterble 
 women, that would sooner cut out their tongues than pur- 
 loin. How happy is the change which has been affected! 
 How could you abide in the house with such a person as 
 that Bridget Malony ?" 
 
 " Well, well, Mrs. Mumpson, she abode with herself. I 
 at least had this room in peace and quietness." 
 
 " Of course, of course. A person so utterly unrespecter- 
 ble would not think of entering this apartment; but then 
 you had to meet her, you know. You could not act as if 
 she was not, when she was, and there being so much of her, 
 too. She was a monstrous looking person. It's dreadful to 
 think that such persons belong to our sex. I don't wonder 
 you feel as you do about it all. I can understand you per- 
 fectly. All your senserbleness was offended. You felt that 
 your very home had become sacrilegious. Well, now, I sup- 
 pose she said awful things to you ?" 
 
 Holcroft could not endure this style of inquisition and 
 comment another second longer. He rose and said, "Mrs.
 
 44 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 Mumpson, if you want to know just what she said and did 
 you must go and ask her. I'm very tired. I'll go out and 
 see that the stock's all right, and then go to bed." 
 
 " Oh, certainly, certainly," ejaculated the widow. " Re- 
 pose is nature's sweet rester, says the poet. I can see how 
 recalling those dreadful scenes with those peculiar females " 
 but he was gone. 
 
 In passing out, he caught sight of Jane whisking back 
 into the kitchen. " She's been listening," he thought. 
 "Well, I'll go to town to-morrow afternoon, get a stove for 
 my room up stairs and stuff the key-hole." 
 
 He went to the barn and looked with envy at the placid 
 cows and quiet horses. At last, having lingered as long as 
 he could, he returned to the kitchen. Jane had washed and 
 put away the supper dishes after a fashion, and was now 
 sitting on the edge of a chair in the furthest corner of the 
 room. 
 
 " Take this candle and go to your mother," he said curtly. 
 Then he fastened the doors and put out the lamp. Stand- 
 ing for an instant at the parlor entrance, he added, "Please 
 rake up the fire and put out the light before you come up. 
 Good-night." 
 
 " Oh, certainly, certainly, we'll look after everything 
 just as if it was our own. The sense of strangeness will soon 
 pass " but his steps were half-way up the stairs. 
 
 Mother and daughter listened until they heard him over- 
 head, then taking the candle, they began a most minute 
 examination of everything in the room. 
 
 Poor Holcroft listened also, too worried, anxious and 
 nervous to sleep until they came up and all sounds ceased 
 in the adjoining apartment.
 
 MRS. MUMPSON TAKES UP HER BURDENS 45 
 
 CHAPTEE V 
 
 MRS. MUMPSON TAKES UP HER BURDENS 
 
 THE next morning, Holcroft awoke early. The rising 
 sun flooded his plain little room with mellow light. 
 It was impossible to give way to dejection in that 
 radiance, and hope, he scarcely knew why, sprung up in his 
 heart. He was soon dressed, and having kindled the kitchen 
 fire, went out on the porch. There had been a change in 
 the wind during the night, and now it blew softly from the 
 south. The air was sweet with the indefinable fragrance of 
 spring. The ethereal notes of bluebirds were heard on 
 every side. Migratory robins were feeding in the orchard, 
 whistling and calling their noisy congratulations on arriving 
 at old haunts. The frost was already oozing from the 
 ground, but the farmer welcomed the mud, knowing that it 
 indicated a long advance toward plowing and planting time, 
 time. 
 
 He bared his head to the sweet, warm air and took long, 
 deep breaths. " If this weather holds," he muttered, "I 
 can soon put in some early potatoes on that warm hillside 
 yonder. Yes, I can stand even her for the sake of being on 
 the old place in mornings like this. The weather'll be get- 
 ting better every day and I can be out of doors more. I'll 
 have a stove in my room to-night; I would last night if the 
 old air-tight hadn't given out completely. I'll take it to town 
 this afternoon and sell it for old iron. Then I'll get a bran' 
 new one and put it up in my room. They can't follow me 
 there and they can't follow me out-doors, and so perhaps I 
 can live in peace and work most of the time."
 
 46 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 Thus he was murmuring to himself, as lonely people so 
 often do, when he felt that some one was near. Turning sud- 
 denly, he saw Jane half -hidden by the kitchen door. Finding 
 herself observed, the girl came forward and said in her 
 brief, monotonous way 
 
 "Mother'll be down soon. If you'll show me how you 
 want the coffee and things, I guess I can learn." 
 
 " I guess you'll have to, Jane. There'll be more chance 
 of your teaching your mother than of her teaching you, I 
 fear. But we'll see, we'll see! it's strange people can't see 
 what's sensible and best for 'em when they see so much." 
 
 The child made no reply, but watched him intently as he 
 measured out and then ground half a cup of coffee. 
 
 " The first thing to do," he began, kindly, " is to fill the 
 kettle with water fresh drawn from the well. Never make 
 coffee or tea with water that's been boiled two or three 
 times. Now, I'll give the kettle a good rinsing, so as to 
 make sure you start with it clean." 
 
 Having accomplished this, he filled the vessel at the well 
 and placed it on the fire, remarking as he did so, " Your 
 mother can cook a little, can't she ?" 
 
 " I s'pose so," Jane replied. " When father was livin' 
 mother said she kept a girl. Since then, we've visited 
 round. But she'll learn, and if she can't, I can." 
 
 " What on earth but there's no use of talking. When 
 the water boils, bubbles up and down, you know, call me. 
 I suppose you and your mother can get the rest of the break- 
 fast ? Oh, good morning, Mrs. Mumpson. I was just show- 
 ing Jane about the coffee. You two can go on and do all 
 the rest, but don't touch the coffee till the kettle boils and 
 then I'll come in and show you my way, and, if you please, 
 I don't wish it any other way." 
 
 " Oh, certainly, certainly," began Mrs. Mumpson, but 
 Holcroft waited to hear no more. 
 
 " She's a woman," he muttered, " and I'll say nothing 
 rude or ugly to her, but I sha'n't listen to her talk half a 
 minute when I can help myself; and if she won't do any
 
 MBS. MUMPSON TAKES UP HER BURDENS 47 
 
 thing but talk well, we'll see, we'll see. A few hours in 
 the dairy will show whether she can use anything besides 
 her tongue." 
 
 As soon as they were alone Jane turned sharply on her 
 mother and said, " Now you've got to do something to help. 
 At cousin Lemuel's and other places they wouldn't let us 
 help. Anyhow, they wouldn't let me. He spects us both 
 to work, and pays you for it. I tell you agin, he won't let 
 us stay here unless we do. I won't go visitin' round any 
 more, feelin' like a stray cat in every house I go to. You've 
 got to work, and talk less." 
 
 " Why Jane ! how you talk !" 
 
 " I talk sense. Come, help me get breakfast." 
 
 " Do you think that's a proper way for a child to address 
 a parent?" 
 
 " No matter what I think. Come and help. You'll soon 
 know what he thinks if we keep breakfast waitin'." 
 
 " Well, I'll do such menial work until he gets a girl, and 
 then he shall learn that he can't expect one with such re- 
 specterble connections " 
 
 "Hope I may never see any of 'em agin," interrupted 
 Jane, shortly, and then she relapsed into silence while her 
 mother rambled on in her characteristic way, making singu- 
 larly inapt efforts to assist in the task before them. 
 
 As Holcroft rose from milking a cow he found Jane be- 
 side him. (A ghost could not have come more silently, and 
 again her stealthy ways gave him an unpleasant sensation. 
 " Kettle is boilin'," she said, and was gone. 
 
 He shook his head and muttered, " Queer tribe, these 
 Mumpsons. I've only to get an odd fish of a girl to help 
 and I'll have something like a menagerie in the house." He 
 carried his pails of foaming milk to the dairy, and then 
 entered the kitchen. 
 
 " I've only a minute," he began, hastily, seeking to fore- 
 stall the widow. "Yes, the kettle's boiling all right. First 
 scald out the coffee-pot put three-quarters of a cup of 
 ground coffee into the pot, break an egg into it, so; pour
 
 48 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 on the egg and coffee half a cup of cold water and stir it all 
 up well, this way. Next pour in about a pint of boiling 
 water from the kettle, set the pot on the stove and let it 
 the coffee, I mean cook twenty minutes, remember, not 
 less than twenty minutes. I'll be back to breakfast by that 
 time. Now you know just how I want my coffee, don't 
 you ?" looking at Jane. 
 
 Jane nodded, but Mrs. Mumpson began, " Oh, certainly, 
 certainly. Boil an egg twenty minutes, add half a cup of 
 cold water, and " 
 
 " I know," interrupted Jane, " I can always do as you 
 did." 
 
 Holcroft again escaped to the barn, and eventually re- 
 turned with a deep sigh. " I'll have to face a good deal of 
 her music this morning," he thought, " but I shall have at 
 least a good cup of coffee to brace me." 
 
 Mrs. Mumpson did not abandon the suggestion that grace 
 should be said she never abandoned anything but the 
 farmer, in accordance with his purpose to be civil, yet pay 
 no attention to her obtrusive ways, gave no heed to her hint. 
 He thought Jane looked apprehensive, and soon learned the 
 reason. His coffee was at least hot, but seemed exceedingly 
 weak. 
 
 " I hope now that it's just right," said Mrs. Mumpson 
 complacently, " and feeling sure that it was made just to 
 suit you, I filled the coffee-pot full from the kettle. We can 
 drink what we desire for breakfast and then the rest can 
 be set aside until dinner time and warmed over. Then 
 you'll have it just to suit you for the next meal, and we, 
 at the same time, will be practicing econermy. It shall now 
 be my great aim to help you econermize. Any coarse, 
 menial hands can work, but the great thing to be consid- 
 ered is a caretaker, one who, by thoughtfulness and the em- 
 ployment of her mind, will make the labor of others 
 affective." 
 
 During this speech, Holcroft could only stare at the 
 woman. The rapid motion of her thin jaw seemed to fasci-
 
 MBS. MUMPSON TAKES UP HER BURDENS 49 
 
 nate him, and he was in perplexity over not merely her rapid 
 utterance, but also the queries. Had she maliciously spoiled 
 the coffee ? or didn't she know any better ? "I can't make 
 her out," he thought, " but she shall learn that I have a will 
 of my own," and he quietly rose, took the coffee-pot and 
 poured its contents out of doors ; then went through the whole 
 process of making his favorite beverage again, saying coldly, 
 " Jane, you had better watch close this time. I don't wish 
 any one to touch the coffee-pot but you." 
 
 Even Mrs. Mumpson was a little abashed by his manner, 
 but when he resumed his breakfast she speedily recovered 
 her complacency and volubility. " I've always heard," she 
 said, with her little cackling laugh, " that men would be 
 extra vergant, especially in some things. There are some 
 things they're fidgety about and will have just so. Well, 
 well, who has a better right than a well-to-do, fore-handed 
 manj Woman is to complement the man, and it should^, 
 be her aim to study the great- the great shall we say rea- 
 son, for her being ? which is adaptation," and she uttered the 
 word with feeling, assured that Holcroft could not fail of 
 being impressed by it. The poor man was bolting such food 
 as had been prepared in his haste to get away. 
 
 " Yes," continued the widow, " adaptation is woman's 
 mission and " 
 
 " Really, Mrs. Mumpson, your and Jane's mission this 
 morning will be to get as much butter as possible out of the 
 cream and milk on hand. I'll set the old dog on the wheel, 
 and start the churn within half an hour," and he rose with 
 the thought, " I'd rather finish my breakfast on milk and 
 coffee by and by than stand this." And he said, "Please 
 let the coffee be until I come in to show you about taking 
 out and working the butter." 
 
 The scenes in the dairy need not be dwelt upon. He 
 saw that Jane might be taught, and that she would probably 
 try to do all that her strength permitted. It was perfectly 
 clear that Mrs. Mumpson was not only ignorant of the duties 
 which he had employed her to perform, but that she was 
 R_C XVIII
 
 50 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 also too preoccupied with her talk and notions of gentility 
 ever to learn. He was already satisfied that in inducing him 
 to engage her, Lemuel Weeks had played him a trick, but 
 there seemed no other resource than to fulfil his agreement. 
 With Mrs. Mumpson in the house, there might be less diffi- 
 culty in securing and keeping a hired girl who, with Jane, 
 might do the essential work. But the future looked so 
 unpromising that even the strong coffee could not sustain 
 his spirits. The hopefulness of the early morning departed, 
 leaving nothing but dreary uncertainty. 
 
 Mrs. Mumpson was bent upon accompanying him to town 
 and engaging the girl herself. " There would be great pro- 
 priety in my doing so," she argued at dinner, " and propri- 
 ety is something that adorns all the human race. There 
 would be no danger of my getting any of the peculiar females 
 such as you have been afflicted with. As I am to superin- 
 tend her labors, she will look up to me with respect and 
 humility if she learns from the first to recognize in me a 
 superior on whom she will be dependent for her daily bread. 
 No shiftless hussy would impose upon me. I would bring 
 home how sweet the word sounds! a model of industry 
 and patient endurance. She would be deferential, she would 
 know her place, too. Everything would go like clockwork 
 in our home. I'll put on my things at once and 
 
 " Excuse me, Mrs. Mumpson. It would not be right to 
 leave Jane here alone. Moreover, I'd rather engage my own 
 help." 
 
 " But, my dear Mr. Holcrof t, you don't realize men 
 never do realize that you will have a long, lonely ride 
 with a female of unknown unknown antercedents. It will 
 be scarcely respecterble, and respecterbility should be man 
 and woman's chief aim. Jane is not a timid child, and in an 
 emergency like this, even if she was, she would gladly sacri- 
 fice herself to sustain the proprieties of life. Now that 
 your life has begun under new and better auspices, I feel 
 that I ought to plead with you not to cloud your brightening 
 prospects by a thoughtless unregard of what society looks
 
 MRS. MUMPSON TAKES UP HER BURDENS 51 
 
 upon as proper. The eyes of the community will now be 
 upon us " 
 
 " You must excuse me, Mrs. Mumpson. All I ask of the 
 community is to keep their eyes on their own business, while 
 I attend to mine in my own way. The probabilities are that 
 the girl will come out on the stage Monday," and he rose 
 from the dinner-table and hastily made his preparations for 
 departure. He was soon driving rapidly away, having a sort 
 of nervous apprehension lest Jane, or the widow, should 
 suddenly appear on the seat beside him. A basket of eggs 
 and some inferior butter, with the burned-out stove, were in 
 his wagon and his bank-book was in his pocket. It was 
 with sinking heart that he thought of making further inroads 
 on his small accumulations. 
 
 Before he was out of sight, Mrs. Mumpson betook herself 
 to the rocking-chair and began to expatiate on the blindness 
 and obduracy of men in general and of Mr. Holcroft in par- 
 ticular. " They are all much alike," she complained, " and 
 are strangely neglectful of the proprieties of life. My dear, 
 deceased husband, your father, was becoming gradually sen- 
 serble of my value in guiding him in this respect, and in- 
 deed, I may add in all respects, when in the very prime of his 
 expanding manhood he was laid low. Of course, my happi- 
 ness was buried then and my heart can never throb again, but 
 I have a mission in the world I feel it and here is a 
 desolate home bereft of female influence and consolation and 
 hitherto painfully devoid of respecterbility. I once called 
 on the late Mrs. Holcroft, and I must say it I went 
 away depressed by a sense of her lack of ability to de- 
 velop in her husband those qualities which would make 
 him an ornerment to society. She was a silent woman, she 
 lacked mind and ideas. She had seen little of the world and 
 knew not what was swaying people. Therefore, her hus- 
 band, having nothing else to think of, became absorbed in 
 the accumulation of dollars. Xot that I object to dollars 
 they have their proper place but minds should be fixed 
 on all things. "We should take a deep personal interest in
 
 52 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 our fellow beings, and thus we grow broad. As I was say- 
 ing, Mr. Holcroft was not developed by his late spouse. He 
 needs awakening, arousing, stimulating, drawing out, and 
 such I feel to be my mission. I must be patient; I cannot 
 expect the habits of years to pass away under a different kind 
 of female influence, at once." 
 
 Jane had been stolidly washing and putting away dishes 
 during this partial address to herself and partial soliloquy, 
 but now remarked, "You and me will pass away in a week 
 if you go on as you've begun. I can see it comin'. Then 
 where'll we go to ?" 
 
 " Your words, Jane, only show that you are an ignorant, 
 shortsighted child. Do you suppose that a woman of my 
 years and experience would make no better provision for the 
 future than a man's changeful mind a warped and unde- 
 veloped mind at that? No; I have an agreement with Mr. 
 Holcroft. I shall be a member of his household for three 
 months at least, and long before that he will begin to see 
 everything in a new light. It will gradually dawn upon him 
 that he has been defrauded of proper female influence and 
 society. Now, he is crude, he thinks only of work and 
 accumulating, but when the work is done by a menial fe- 
 male's hands and his mind is more at rest, there will begin 
 to steal in upon him the cravings of his mind. He will see 
 that material things are not all in all." 
 
 " P'raps he will. I don't half know what you're talkin* 
 about. 'Fi's you I'd learn to work and do things as he 
 wants 'em. That's what I'm goin' to do. Shall I go now 
 and make up his bed and tidy his room ?" 
 
 " I think I will accompany you, Jane, and see that your 
 task is properly performed." 
 
 " Of course you want to see everythin' in the room, just 
 as I do." 
 
 " As housekeeper, I should see everything that is under 
 my care. That is the right way to look at the matter." 
 
 " Well, come and look then." 
 
 "You are becoming strangely disrerspectful, Jane."
 
 MRS. MUMPSON TAKES UP HER BURDENS 53 
 
 " Can't help it," replied the girl, "I'm gettin' mad. 
 We've been elbowed around long's I can remember, at least 
 I've been, and now we're in a place where we've a right to be, 
 and you do nothin' but talk, talk, talk, when he hates talk. 
 oSTow you'll go up in his room and you'll see everythin' In 
 it, so you could tell it all off to-morrow. Why, can't you 
 see he hates talk and wants somethin' done ?" 
 
 " Jane," said Mrs. Mumpson, in her most severe and dig- 
 nified manner, "you are not only disrerspectful to your 
 parent, but you're a time-server. What Mr. Holcroft wants 
 is a very secondary matter; what is best for him is the chief 
 consideration. But I have touched on things far above your 
 comprehension. Come, you can make up the bed, and I 
 shall inspect as becomes my station."
 
 54: HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 A MARRIAQE? 
 
 IN a quiet side street of the market town in which Mr. 
 Holcroft was accustomed to dispose of his farm produce, 
 was a three-story tenement house. A family occupied 
 each floor, those dwelling in the first two stories being plain, 
 respectable people of the mechanic class. The rooms in 
 the third story were, of course, the cheapest, but even from 
 he street might be seen evidences that more money had 
 been spent upon them than could have been saved in rent. 
 Lace curtains were looped aside from the windows, through 
 which were caught glimpses of flowers that must have come 
 from a greenhouse. We have only to enter these apart- 
 ments to find that the suggestion of refined taste is amply ful- 
 filled. While nothing is costly, there is a touch of grace, a 
 hint of beauty in everything permitting simple adornment. 
 The mistress of these rooms is not satisfied with neatness and 
 order merely! it is her instinct to add something to please 
 the eye, a need essential to her, yet too often conspicuously 
 absent in rented quarters of a similar character. 
 
 It is remarkable to what a degree people's abodes are a 
 reflex of themselves. Mrs. Alida Ostrom had been brought 
 to these rooms a happy bride but a few months since. They 
 were then bare and not very clean. Her husband had seemed 
 bent on indulging her so far as his limited means permitted. 
 He had declared that his income was so modest that he could 
 afford nothing better than these cheap rooms in an ob- 
 scure street, but she had been abundantly content, for she 
 had known even the extremity of poverty. 
 
 Alida Ostrom had passed beyond the period of girlhood,
 
 A MARRIAGE f 55 
 
 with its superficial desires and ambitions. When her hus- 
 band first met her, she was a woman of thirty and had been 
 chastened by deep sorrows and some bitter experiences. 
 Years before, she and her mother had come to this town 
 from a New England city in the hope of bettering their cir- 
 cumstances. They had no weapons other than their needles 
 with which to fight life's battle, but they were industrious 
 and frugal characteristic traits which won the confidence 
 of the shopkeepers for whom they worked. All went as 
 well, perhaps, as they could expect, for two or three years, 
 their secluded lives passing uneventfully and, to a certain 
 extent, happily. They had time to read some good books ob- 
 tained at a public library; they enjoyed an occasional holi- 
 day in the country; and they went to church twice every 
 Sunday when it was not stormy. The mother usually dozed 
 in the obscure seat near the door, which they occupied, for 
 she was getting old, and the toil of the long week wearied 
 her. Alida, on the contrary, was closely attentive. Her mind 
 seemed to crave all the sustenance it could get from every 
 source, and her reverential manner indicated that the hopes 
 inspired by her faith were dear and cherished. Although 
 they lived such quiet lives and kept themselves apart from 
 their neighbors, there was no mystery about them which 
 awakened surmises. "They've seen better days," was the 
 common remark when they were spoken of; and this was 
 true. While they had no desire to be social with the people 
 among whom they lived, they did not awaken prejudices by 
 the assertion of superiority. Indeed, it was seen that the 
 two women had all they could do to earn their livelihood, 
 and they were left to do this in peace. 
 
 When Alida Armstrong for that was her maiden name 
 carried her own and her mother's work to and from the 
 shops, she often encountered admiring glances. She was 
 not exactly pretty, but she had the good, refined face which 
 is often more attractive than the merely pretty one, and she 
 possessed a trim, rounded figure which she knew how to 
 clothe with taste from the simplest and most inexpensive
 
 56 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 materials. ISTor did she seek to dress above her station. 
 When passing along the street, any discerning person would 
 recognize that she was a working girl; only the superficial 
 would look upon her as a common-place girl. There was 
 something in her modest air and graceful, elastic carriage 
 which suggested the thought to many observers, "She has 
 seen better days." 
 
 The memory of these days which had promised immunity 
 from wearing toil, anxiety and poverty, was a barrier be- 
 tween the two women and their present world. Death had 
 bereft them of husband and father, and such property as he 
 had left had been lost in a bad investment. Learning that 
 they were almost penniless, they had patiently set about 
 earning honest bread. This they had succeeded in doing 
 as long as the mother kept her usual health. But the in- 
 firmities of age were creeping upon her. One winter, she 
 took a heavy cold and was very ill. She rallied only tem- 
 porarily in the milder days of spring. In the summer's 
 heat, her strength failed and she died. 
 
 During her mother's long illness, Alida was devotion it- 
 self. The strain upon her was severe indeed, for she not 
 only had to earn food for both, but there were also doctor's 
 bills, medicines and delicacies to pay for. The poor girl 
 grew thin from work by day, watching by night and from 
 fear and anxiety at all times. Their scanty savings were 
 exhausted; articles were sold from their rooms; the few 
 precious heirlooms of silver and china were disposed of; 
 Alida even denied herself the food she needed rather than 
 ask for help or permit her mother to want for anything 
 which ministered to their vain -hopes of renewed health. 
 
 What she should have done she scarcely knew had not an 
 unexpected friend interested himself in her behalf. In one 
 of the men's clothing stores was a cutter from whom she 
 obtained work. Soon after he appeared in this shop he 
 began to manifest signs of interest in her. He was about 
 her own age, he had a good trade, and she often wondered 
 why he appeared so reticent and moody, as compared with
 
 A MAURI AGE t 57 
 
 others in similar positions. But he always spoke kindly to 
 her, and when her mother's illness first developed, he showed 
 all the leniency permitted to him in regard to her work. 
 His apparent sympathy, and the need of explaining why 
 she was not able to finish her tasks as promptly as usual, 
 led her gradually to reveal to him the sad struggle in which 
 she was engaged. He promised to intercede in her behalf 
 with their mutual employers, and asked if he might come 
 to see her mother. 
 
 Recognizing how dependent she was upon this man's 
 goodwill, and seeing nothing in his conduct but kindness 
 and sympathy, she consented. His course and his words 
 confirmed all her good impressions and awakened on her 
 side corresponding sympathy united with a lively gratitude. 
 He told her that he also was a stranger in the town, that he 
 had but few acquaintances and no friends, that he had lost 
 relatives and was in no mood to go about like other young 
 men. His manner was marked apparently by nothing more 
 than interest and a wish to help her, and was untinged by 
 gallantry; so they gradually became good friends. When 
 he called Sunday afternoons, the mother looked at him wist- 
 fully, in the hope that her daughter would not be left with- 
 out a protector. At last, the poor woman died, and Alida 
 was in sore distress, for she had no means with which to 
 bury her. Ostrom came and said in the kindest tones 
 " You must let me lend you what you need and you can pay 
 me back with interest, if you wish. You won't be under 
 any obligation, for I have money lying idle in the bank. 
 When you have only yourself to support it will not take you 
 long to earn the sum." 
 
 There seemed nothing else for her to do and so it was 
 arranged. With tear-blinded eyes, she made her simple 
 mourning, and within a week after her mother's death was 
 at work again, eager to repay her debt. He urged her not 
 to hasten to take all the rest she could while the hot 
 weather lasted, and few evenings passed that he did not 
 come to take her out for a walk through the quieter streets.
 
 58 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 By this time he had won her confidence completely, and 
 her heart overflowed with gratitude. Of course she was not 
 so unsophisticated as not to know whither all this attention 
 was tending, but it was a great relief to her mind that his 
 courtship was so quiet and undemonstrative. Her heart 
 was sore and grief-stricken and she was not conscious of 
 any other feeling toward him than the deepest gratitude 
 and wish to make such return as was within her power. He 
 was apparently very frank in regard to his past life, and 
 nothing was said which excited her suspicions. Indeed, she 
 felt that it would be disloyalty to think of questioning or sur- 
 mising evil of one who had proved himself so true a friend 
 in her sore need. She was therefore somewhat prepared for 
 the words he spoke one warm September day, as they sat 
 together in a little shaded park. 
 
 " Alida," he said, a little nervously, " we are both strang- 
 ers and alone in this world, but surely we are no longer 
 strangers to each other. Let us go quietly to some minister 
 and be married. That is the best way for you to pay your 
 debt and keep me always in debt to you." 
 
 She was silent a moment, then faltered, " I'd rather pay 
 all my debt first." 
 
 "What debts can there be between husband and wife? 
 Come now, let us look at the matter sensibly. I don't want 
 to frighten you. Things will go on much the same. We 
 can take quiet rooms, I will bring work to you instead of 
 your having to go after it. It's nobody's business but our 
 own. We've not a circle of relations to consult or invite. 
 We can go to some parsonage, the minister's family will be 
 the witnesses ; then I'll leave you at your room as usual, and 
 no one will be any the wiser till I've found a place where we 
 can go to housekeeping. That won't be long, I can tell you." 
 
 He placed the matter in such a simple, natural light that 
 she did not know how to refuse. 
 
 " Perhaps I do not love you as much as you ought to be 
 loved, and deserve to be in view of all your kindness," she 
 tried to explain. " I feel I ought to be very truthful and
 
 A MARRIAGE f 59 
 
 not deceive you in the least, as I know you would not de- 
 ceive me." So strong a shiver passed through his frame 
 that she exclaimed, "You are taking cold or you don't feel 
 well." 
 
 " Oh, it's nothing," he said, hastily, "only the night air ; 
 and then a fellow always feels a little nervous, I suppose, 
 when he's asking for something on which his happiness de- 
 pends. I'm satisfied with such feeling and goodwill as you 
 have for me and will be only too glad to get you just as you 
 are. Come, before it is too late in the evening." 
 
 " Is your heart bent on this, after what I have said, 
 Wilson?" 
 
 " Yes, yes indeed," clasping her hand and drawing her to 
 her feet. 
 
 " It would seem very ungrateful in me to refuse, after all 
 you have done for me and mother, if you think it's right 
 and best. Will you go to the minister whose church I 
 attended, and who came to see mother?" 
 
 " Certainly, any one you like," and he put her hand on 
 his arm and led her away. 
 
 The clergyman listened sympathetically to her brief his- 
 tory of Ostrom's kindness, then performed a simple cere- 
 mony which his wife and daughters witnessed. As they 
 were about to depart he said, " I will send you a certificate." 
 
 " Don't trouble yourself to do that," said the groom. 
 " I'll call for it some evening soon." 
 
 Never had she seen Ostrom in such gay spirits as on their 
 return; and, womanlike, she was happy chiefly because she 
 had made him happy. She also felt a glad sense of security. 
 Her mother's dying wish had been fulfilled; she had now 
 a protector, and would soon have a home instead of a board- 
 ing-place among strangers. 
 
 Her husband speedily found the rooms to which the 
 reader has been introduced. The street on which they were 
 located was no thoroughfare. Its further end was closed 
 by a fence and beyond were fields. With the exception of 
 those who dwelt upon it or had business with the residents,
 
 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 few people came thither. To this locality, Ostrom brought 
 his bride, and selected rooms whose windows were above 
 those of the surrounding houses. So far from regretting 
 this isolation and remoteness from the central life of the 
 town. Alida's feelings sanctioned his choice. The sense of 
 possessing security and a refuge was increased, and it was as 
 natural for her to set about making the rooms homelike as it 
 was to breathe. Her husband appeared to have exhausted 
 his tendencies toward close economy in the choice of apart- 
 ments, and she was given more money than she desired with 
 which to furnish and decorate. He said, " Fix everything 
 up to suit your mind and I'll be satisfied." 
 
 This she did with such skill, taste and good management 
 that she returned a large portion of the sum he had given 
 her, whereupon he laughingly remarked that she had al- 
 ready saved more than she owed him. He seemed disinclined 
 to accompany her in the selection of their simple outfit, but 
 professed himself so pleased with her choice of everything 
 that she was gratified and happy in the thought of relieving 
 him from trouble. 
 
 Thus their married life began under what appeared to 
 her the most promising and congenial circumstances. She 
 soon insisted on having work again, and her busy fingers did 
 much to increase his income. 
 
 Alida was not an exacting woman and recognized from 
 the beginning that her husband would naturally have peculiar 
 ways of his own. Unlike Mrs. Mumpson, she never expa- 
 tiated on " adaptation," but Ostrom soon learned, with much 
 inward relief, that his wife would accept unquestioningly 
 what appeared to be his habits and preferences. He went 
 early to his place of work, taking the nice little lunch which 
 she prepared, and returned in the dusk of the evening when 
 he always found a warm dinner in readiness. After this, he 
 was ready enough to walk with her, but, as before, chose the 
 least-frequented streets. Places of amusement and resort 
 seemed distasteful. On Sundays, he enjoyed a ramble in 
 the country as long as the season permitted, and then showed
 
 A MARRIAGE f 61 
 
 a great disinclination to leave the fireside. For a time, he 
 went with her in the evening to church, but gradually per- 
 suaded her to remain at home and read or talk to him. 
 
 His wife felt that she had little cause to complain of his 
 quiet ways and methodical habits. He had exhibited them 
 before marriage and they were conducive to her absolute 
 sense of proprietorship in him an assurance so dear to a 
 woman's heart. The pleasures of his home and her society 
 appeared to be all that he craved. At times, she had won- 
 dered a little at a certain air of apprehensiveness in his 
 manner when steps were heard upon the stairs, but as the 
 quiet days and weeks passed, such manifestations of ner- 
 vousness ceased. Occasionally, he would start violently and 
 mutter strange words in his sleep, but nothing disturbed the 
 growing sense of security and satisfaction in Alida's heart. 
 The charm of a regular, quiet life grows upon one who has 
 a nature fitted for it, and this was true to an unusual degree 
 of Alida Ostrom. Her content was also increased by the 
 fact that her husband was able each month to deposit a 
 goodly portion of their united earnings in a savings bank. 
 
 Every day, every week, was so like the . preceding ones 
 that it seemed as if their happy life might go on forever. 
 She was gladly conscious that there was more than gratitude 
 and good-will in her heart. She now cherished a deep 
 affection for her husband and felt that he had become essen- 
 tial to her life. 
 
 " Oh, how happy mother would be if she knew how safe 
 and protected I am," she murmured one March evening, as 
 she was preparing her husband's dinner. " Leaving me 
 alone in the world was far worse to her than dying." 
 
 At that very moment a gaunt-looking woman, with a child 
 in her arms, stood in the twilight on the opposite side of the 
 street, looking up at the windows.
 
 62 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 CHAPTER VH 
 
 FROM HOME TO THE STREET 
 
 AS the shadows of the gloomy March evening deepened, 
 Alida lighted the lamp and was then a little surprised 
 to hear a knock at the door. No presentiment of 
 trouble crossed her mind; she merely thought that one of 
 her neighbors on the lower floors had stepped up to borrow 
 something. 
 
 " Come in," she cried, as she adjusted the shade of the 
 lamp. 
 
 A tall, thin, pale woman entered, carrying a child that 
 was partly hidden by a thin shawl, their only outer protec- 
 tion against the chill winds which had been blustering all 
 day. Alida looked at the stranger inquiringly and kindly, 
 expecting an appeal for charity. The woman sank into a 
 chair as if exhausted, and fixed her dark, hollow eyes on Mrs. 
 Ostrom. She appeared consumed by a terrible curiosity. 
 
 Alida wondered at the strange chill of apprehension with 
 which she encountered this gaze. It was so intent, so search- 
 ing, yet so utterly devoid of a trace of goodwill. She 
 began gently, "Can I do anything for you ?" 
 
 For a moment or two longer there was no response other 
 than the same cold, questioning scrutiny, as if, instead of a 
 sweet-faced woman, something monstrously unnatural were 
 present. At last, in slow, icy utterance, came the words, 
 " So you are her." 
 
 " Is the woman insane ?" thought Alida. " Why else 
 does she look at me so ? Oh, that Wilson would come ! I'm
 
 FROM HOME TO THE STREET 63 
 
 sorry for you, my good woman," she began kindly. " You 
 are laboring under some mistake. My husband " 
 
 " Your husband !" exclaimed the stranger, with an inde- 
 scribable accent of scorn and reproach. 
 
 " Yes," replied Alida with quiet dignity. " My hus- 
 band will be home soon and he will protect me. You have 
 no right to enter my rooms and act as you do. If you are 
 sick and in trouble, I and my husband " 
 
 " Please tell me miss, how he became your husband ?" 
 
 " By lawful marriage, by my pastor." 
 
 " We'll soon see how lawful it was," replied the woman, 
 with a bitter laugh. " I'd like you to tell me how often a 
 man .can be married lawfully." 
 
 ''What do you mean?" cried Alida, with a sudden flash 
 in her blue eyes. Then, as if reproaching herself, she added 
 kindly, " Pardon me. I see you are not well. You do not 
 realize what you are saying or where you are. Take a seat 
 nearer the fire, and when Mr. Ostrom comes from his work 
 he'll take you to your friends." 
 
 All the while she was speaking the woman regarded her 
 with a hard, stony gaze; then replied, coldly and decisively, 
 " You are wrong, miss" how that title grated on Alida'a 
 ears! "I am neither insane nor drunk. I do know what 
 I am saying and where I am. You are playing a bold game 
 or else you have been deceived, and very easily deceived 
 too. They say some women are so eager to be married that 
 they ask no questions, but jump at the first chance. 
 Whether deceived or deceiving, it doesn't matter now. But 
 you and he shall learn that there is a law in the land which 
 will protect an honest woman in her sacred rights. You 
 needn't look so shocked and bewildered. You are not a 
 young, giddy girl if I may judge from your face. What 
 else could you expect when you took up with a stranger you 
 knew nothing about ? Do you know that likeness ?" and she 
 drew from her bosom a daguerreotype. 
 
 Alida waved it away as she said indignantly, "I won't 
 believe ill of my husband. I "
 
 64 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 " No, miss," interrupted the woman, sternly, "you are 
 right for once. You won't indeed believe ill of your hus- 
 band, but you'll have to believe ill of mine. There's no use 
 of your putting on such airs any longer. No matter how rash 
 and silly you may have been, if you have a spark of hon- 
 esty you'll be open to proof. If you and he try to brazen 
 it out the law will open both your eyes. Look at that like- 
 ness, look at these letters; and I have other proof and wit- 
 nesses which can't be disputed. The name of the man you 
 are living with is not Wilson Ostrom. His name is Henry 
 Ferguson. I am Mrs. Ferguson, and I have my marriage 
 certificate, and what! are you going to faint? Well, I 
 can wait till you recover and till he comes," and she coolly 
 sat down again. 
 
 Alida had glanced at the proofs which the woman had 
 thrust into her hands, then staggered back to a lounge that 
 stood near. She might have fainted, but at that awful 
 moment she heard a familiar step on the stairs. She was 
 facing the door; the terrible stranger sat at one side, with 
 her back toward it. 
 
 When Ostrom entered he first saw Alida looking pale and 
 ill. He hastened toward her exclaiming, "Why, Lida, dear, 
 what is the matter ? You are sick !" 
 
 Instinctively she sprang to his arms, crying, "Oh, thank 
 God ! you've come. Take away this awful woman." 
 
 " Yes, Henry Ferguson, it's very proper you should take 
 me away from a place like this." 
 
 As the man who had called himself Wilson Ostrom heard 
 that voice he trembled like an aspen; his clasp of Alida 
 relaxed, his arms dropped to his side and, as he sank into a 
 chair and covered his face with his hands, he groaned, 
 " Lost." 
 
 " Found out, you mean," was the woman's reply. 
 
 Step by step, with horror-stricken eyes, Alida retreated 
 from the man to whose protection and embrace she had 
 flown. "Then it's true ?" she said in a hoarse whisper. 
 
 He was speechless.
 
 FROM HOME TO THE STREET 65 
 
 " You are wilfully blind now, miss, if you don't see it's 
 true," was the stranger's biting comment. 
 
 Paying no heed to her, Alida's eyes rested on the man 
 whom she had believed to be her husband. She took an 
 irresolute step toward him. "Speak, Wilson," she cried. 
 " I gave you my whole faith and no one shall destroy it but 
 yourself. Speak, explain, show me that there's some hor- 
 rible mistake." 
 
 " Lida," said the man, lifting his bloodless face, " if you 
 knew all the circumstances " 
 
 " She shall know them !" half shrieked the woman, as if 
 at last stung to fury. " I see that you both hope to get 
 through this affair with a little high tragedy, then escape and 
 come together again in some other hiding place. As for 
 this creature, she can go where she pleases, after hearing the 
 truth ; but you, Henry Ferguson, have got to do your duty 
 by me and your child or go to prison. Let me tell you, 
 miss, that this man was also married to me by a minister. 
 I have my certificate and can produce witnesses. There's 
 one little point you'll do well to consider/' she continued, 
 in bitter sarcasm, " he married me first. I suppose you are 
 not so young and innocent as not to know where this fact 
 places you. He courted and won me as other girls are 
 courted and married. He promised me all that he ever 
 promised you. Then, when I lost my rosy cheeks when 
 I became sick and feeble from child-bearing, he deserted 
 and left me almost penniless. You needn't think you will 
 have to take my word for this. I have proof enough. And 
 now, Henry Ferguson, I've a few words for you and then 
 you must take your choice. You can't escape. I and my 
 brother have tracked you here. You can't leave these rooms 
 without going to prison. You'd be taken at the very door. 
 But I give you one more chance. If you will promise be- 
 fore God to do your duty by me and your child, I'll forgive 
 as far as a wronged woman can forgive. Neither I nor my 
 brother will take proceedings against you. What this woman 
 will do I don't know. If she prosecutes you, and you are
 
 66 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 true to me, I'll stand by you, but I won't stand another false 
 step or a false word from you." 
 
 Ferguson had again sunk into his chair, buried his face in 
 his hands and sat trembling and speechless. Never for an 
 instant had Alida taken her eyes from him; and now with 
 a long wailing cry, she exclaimed, "Thank God, thank God! 
 mother's dead." 
 
 This was now her best consolation. She rushed into her 
 bedchamber, and a moment later came out, wearing her hat 
 and cloak. Ferguson started up and was about to speak, 
 but she silence4 him by a gesture, and her tones were sad 
 and stern as she said, " Mr. Ferguson, from your own man- 
 ner more truly than from this woman, I learn the truth. 
 You took advantage of my misfortunes, my sorrow and 
 f riendlessness to deceive me. You know how false are your 
 wife's words about my eagerness to be deceived and married. 
 But you have nothing to fear from me. I shall not prose- 
 cute you, as she suggests, and I charge you before God to do 
 your duty by your wife and child and never to speak to me 
 again." Turning, she hastened toward the door. 
 
 " Where are you going ?" Ferguson exclaimed, seeking to 
 intercept her. 
 
 She waived him off. " I don't know," she replied, 
 "I've no right to be here," and she fled down the stairway 
 and out into the darkness. 
 
 The child had not wakened. It was well that it had not 
 looked upon such a scene even in utter ignorance of its 
 meaning.
 
 HOLCROFTS VIEW OF MATRIMONY 67 
 
 CHAPTEK VIII 
 
 HOLCEOFT'S VIEW OF MATEIMONY 
 
 HOLCROFT was indeed very lonely as he drove 
 through the bare March fields and leafless woods on 
 his way to town. The sky had clouded again, like 
 his prospects, and he had the dreary sense of desolation which 
 overwhelms a quiet, domestic man who feels that his home 
 and all to which he clings is slipping from him. His lot was 
 hard enough at best, and he had a bitter sense of being im- 
 posed upon and wronged by Lemuel Weeks. It was now 
 evident enough that the widow and her daughter had been an 
 intolerable burden to his neighbor who had taken advantage 
 of his need and induced him to assume the burden through 
 false representations. To a man of Holcroft's simple, 
 straightforward nature, any phase of trickery was intensely 
 repugnant, and the fact that he had been overreached in a 
 matter relating to his dearest hopes galled him to the quick. 
 He possessed the strong, common sense of his classs ; his wife 
 had been like him in this respect and her influence had in- 
 tensified the trait. Queer people with abnormal manners ex- 
 cited his intense aversion. The most charitable view that he 
 could take of Mrs. Mumpson was that her mind such as she 
 had was unbalanced, that it was an impossibility for her to 
 see any subject or duty in a sensible light or its right pro- 
 portions. Her course, so prejudicial to her own interests, 
 and her incessant and stilted talk, were proof to his mind 
 of a certain degree of insanity, and he had heard that peo- 
 ple in this condition often united to their unnatural ways a 
 wonderful degree of cunning. Her child was almost as un-
 
 68 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 canny as herself and gave him a shivering sense of discom- 
 fort whenever he caught her small, greenish eyes fixed upon 
 him. 
 
 " Yet she'll be the only one who'll earn her salt. I don't 
 see how I'm going to stand 'em I don't, injdeed, but sup- 
 pose I'll have to for three months, or else sell out and clear 
 out." 
 
 By the time he reached town, a cold rain had set in. He 
 went at once to the intelligence office, but could obtain no 
 girl for Mrs. Mumpson to " superintend," nor any certain 
 promise of one. He did not much care, for he felt that 
 the new plan was not going to work. Having bartered all 
 his eggs for groceries, he sold the old stove and bought a 
 new one, then drew from the bank a little ready money. 
 Since his butter was so inferior, he took it to his friend Tom 
 Watterly, the keeper of the poorhouse. 
 
 Prosperous Tom slapped his old friend on the back and 
 said, "You look awfully glum and chop-fallen, Jim. Come 
 now, don't look at the world as if it was made of tar, pitch, 
 and turpentine. I know your luck's been hard, but you 
 make it a sight harder by being so set in all your ways. 
 You think there's no place to live on God's earth but that 
 old up-and-down-hill farm of yours that I wouldn't take as a 
 gift. Why man alive, there's a dozen things you can turn 
 your hand to; but if you will stay there, do as other men 
 do. Pick out a smart, handy woman that can make butter 
 yaller as gold that'll bring gold, and not such limpsey- 
 slimpsy, ghostly looking stuff as you've brought me. Bern' 
 it's you, I'll take it and give as much for it as I'd pay for 
 better, but you can't run your old ranch in this fashion." 
 
 " I know it, Tom," replied Holcrof t, ruefully. " I'm all 
 at sea; but, as you say, I'm set in my ways, and I'd rather 
 live on bread and milk and keep my farm than make money 
 anywhere else. I guess I'll have to give it all up, though, and 
 pull out, but it's like rooting up one of the old oaks in the 
 meadow lot. The fact is, Tom, I've been fooled into one of 
 the worst scrapes I've got into yet."
 
 HOLCROFTS VIEW OF MATRIMONY 69 
 
 " I see how it is," said Tom, heartily and complacently, 
 " you want a practical, f oresighted man to talk straight at 
 you for an hour or two and clear up the fog you're in. You 
 study and brood over little things out there alone until they 
 seem mountains which you can't get over nohow, when, if 
 you'd take one good jump out, they'd be behind you. Now, 
 you've got to stay and take a bite with me, and then we'll 
 light our pipes and untangle this snarl. No backing out. 
 I can do you more good than all the preachin' you ever 
 heard. Hey, there, Bill," shouting to one of the paupers 
 who was detailed for such work, " take this team to the 
 barn and feed 'em. Come in, come in, old feller. You'll 
 find that Tom Watterly allus has a snack and a good word 
 for an old crony." 
 
 Holcroft was easily persuaded, for he felt the need of 
 cheer, and he looked up to Tom as a very sagacious, practi- 
 cal man. So he said, " Perhaps you can see further into a 
 millstone than I can, and if you can show me a way out of 
 my difficulties you'll be a friend sure enough." 
 
 " Why of course I can. Your difficulties are all here and 
 here," touching his bullet head and the region of his heart. 
 " There ain't no great difficulties in fact, but, after you've 
 brooded out there a week or two alone, you think you're 
 caught as fast as if you were in a bear-trap. Here, Angy," 
 addressing his wife, " I've coaxed Holcroft to take supper 
 with us. You can hurry it up a little, can't you ?" 
 
 Mrs. Watterly gave their guest a cold, limp hand and a 
 rather frigid welcome. But this did not disconcert him. 
 " It's only her way," he had always thought. " She looks 
 after her husband's interests as mine did for me, and she 
 don't talk him to death." 
 
 This thought, in the main, summed up Mrs. Watterly's 
 best traits. She was a commonplace, narrow, selfish woman, 
 whose character is not worth sketching. Tom stood a little 
 in fear of her, and was usually careful not to impose extra 
 tasks, but since she helped him to save and get ahead, he 
 regarded her as a model wife.
 
 70 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 Holcroft shared in his opinion and sighed deeply as he 
 sat down to supper. " Ah, Tom," he said, " you're a lucky 
 man. You've got a wife that keeps everything indoors up 
 to the mark, and gives you a chance to attend to your own 
 proper business. That's the way it was with mine. I never 
 knew what a lop-sided, helpless creature a man was until I 
 was left alone. You and I were lucky in getting the women 
 we did, but when my partner left me, she took all the luck 
 with her. That ain't the worst. She took what's more than 
 luck and money and everything. I seemed to lose with her 
 my grit and interest in most things. It'll seem foolishness 
 to you, but I can't take comfort in anything much except 
 working that old farm that I've worked and played on ever 
 since I can remember anything. You're not one of those 
 fools, Tom, that have to learn from their own experience. 
 Take a bit from mine, and be good to your wife while you 
 can. I'd give all I'm worth I know that ain't much if 
 I could say some things to my wife and do some things for 
 her that I didn't do." 
 
 Holcroft spoke in the simplicity of a full and remorseful 
 heart, but he unconsciously propitiated Mrs. Watterly in no 
 small degree. Indeed, she felt that he had quite repaid 
 her for his entertainment, and the usually taciturn woman 
 seconded his remarks with much emphasis. 
 
 " Well now, Angy," said Tom, " if you averaged up hus- 
 bands in these parts I guess you'd find you were faring 
 rather better than most women-folks. I let you take the bit 
 in your teeth and go your own jog mostly. Now, own up, 
 don't I?" 
 
 " That wasn't my meaning exactly, Tom," resumed Hol- 
 croft. "You and I could well afford to let our wives take 
 their own jog, for they always jogged steady and faithful and 
 didn't need any urging and guiding. But even a dumb 
 critter likes a good word now and then and a little patting 
 on the back. It doesn't cost us anything and does them a 
 sight of good. But we kind of let the chances slip by and 
 forget about it until like enough it's too late."
 
 HOLCROFT S VIEW OF MATRIMONY 71 
 
 " Well," replied Tom, with a deprecatory look at his wife, 
 " Angy don't take to pettin' very much. She thinks it's a 
 kind of foolishness for such middle-aged people as we're 
 getting to be." 
 
 " A husband can show his consideration without blarney- 
 ing," remarked Mrs. Watterly, coldly. " When a man takes 
 on in that way, you may be sure he wants something extra 
 to pay for it." 
 
 After a little thought, Holcroft said, " I guess it's a good 
 way to pay for it between husband and wife." 
 
 " Look here, Jim, since you're so well up on the matrimo- 
 nial question, why in thunder don't you marry again ? That 
 would settle all your difficulties," and Tom looked at his 
 friend with a sort of wonder that he should hesitate to take 
 this practical, sensible course. 
 
 " It's very easy for you to say, ' Why don't you marry 
 again?' If you were in my place you'd see that there are 
 things in the way of marrying for the sake of having a good 
 buttermaker and all that kind of thing." 
 
 " Mr. Watterly wouldn't be long in comforting himself," 
 remarked his wife. " His advice to you mates the course 
 he'd take mighty clear." 
 
 "Now, Angy," said Tom, reproachfully. " Well," he 
 added, with a grin, "you're forewarned. So you've only to 
 take care of yourself and not give me a chance." 
 
 " The trouble is," Holcroft resumed, " I don't see how an 
 honest man is going to comfort himself unless it all comes 
 about in some natural sort of way. I suppose there are 
 people who can marry over and over again, just as easy as 
 they'd roll off a log. It ain't for me to judge 'em, and I 
 don't understand how they do it. You are a very practical 
 man, Tom, but just you put yourself in my shoes and see 
 what you'd do. In the first place, I don't know of a woman 
 in the world that I'd think of marrying. That's saying 
 nothing against the women there's lots too good for me 
 but I don't know 'em and I can't go around and hunt 'em up. 
 Even if I could, with my shy, awkward ways, I wouldn't
 
 72 HE FELL IN LOVB WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 feel half so nervous starting out on a bear hunt. Here's 
 difficulty right at the beginning. Supposing I found a nice, 
 sensible woman, such as I'd be willing to marry, there isn't 
 one chance in a hundred she'd look at an old fellow like me. 
 Another difficulty : Supposing she would, suppose she looked 
 me square in the eyes and said, ' So you truly want a wife ?' 
 what in thunder would I say then ? I don't want a wife, I 
 want a housekeeper, a butter-maker, one that would look 
 after my interests as if they were her own; and if I could 
 hire a woman, that would do what I wish, I'd never think of 
 marrying. I can't tell a woman that I love her when I 
 don't. If I went to a minister with a woman I'd be deceiv- 
 ing him, and deceiving her and perjuring myself promiscu- 
 ously. I married once according to law and gospel, and I 
 was married through and through, and I can'i do the thing 
 over again in any way that would seem to me like marrying 
 at all. The idea of me sitting by the fire and wishing that 
 the woman who sat on the t'other side of the stove was my 
 first wife ! Yet I couldn't help doing this any more than 
 breathing. Even if there was any chance of my succeed- 
 ing I can't see anything square or honest in my going out 
 and hunting up a wife as a mere matter of business. I 
 know other people do it and I've thought a good deal about 
 it myself, but when it comes to the point of acting I find I 
 can't do it." 
 
 The two men now withdrew from the table to the fireside 
 and lighted their pipes. Mrs. Watterly stepped out for a 
 moment and Tom, looking over his shoulder to make sure 
 she was out of ear-shot, said under his breath, " But suppose 
 you found a woman that you could love and obey, and all 
 that?" 
 
 " Oh, of course, that would make everything different. 
 I wouldn't begin with a lie then, and I know enough of my 
 wife to feel sure that she wouldn't be a sort of dog in the 
 manger after she was dead. She was one of those good 
 souls that if she could speak her mind this minute she would 
 say, l James, what's best and right for you is best and right.'
 
 HOLCROFT'S VIEW OF MATRIMONY 73 
 
 But it's just because she was such a good wife that I know 
 there's no use of trying to put any one in her place. Where 
 on earth could I find anybody, and how could we get ac- 
 quainted so that we'd know anything about each other ? No, 
 I must just scratch along for a short time as things are and 
 be on the lookout to sell or rent." 
 
 Tom smoked meditatively for a few moments, and then 
 remarked, " I guess that's your best way out." 
 
 " It ain't an easy way, either," said Holcroft. " Finding 
 a purchaser or tenant for a farm like mine is almost as hard 
 as finding a wife. Then, as I feel, leaving my place is next 
 to leaving the world." 
 
 Tom shook his head ruefully and admitted, " I declare, 
 Jim, when a feller comes to think it all over, you are in a 
 bad fix, especially as you feel. I thought I could talk you 
 over into practical, common-sense in no time. It's easy 
 enough, when one don't know all the bearin's of a case, to 
 think carelessly, 'Oh, he ain't as bad off as he thinks he is. 
 He can do this and that and the t'other thing.' But when 
 you come to look it all over, you find he can't, except at a 
 big loss. Of course, you can give away your farm on which 
 you were doing well and getting ahead, though how you did 
 it, I don't see. You'd have to about give it away if you 
 forced a sale, and where on earth you'll find a tenant who'll 
 pay anything worth considering but there's no use of croak- 
 ing. I wish I could help you, old feller. By jocks! I 
 believe I can. There's an old woman here who's right smart 
 and handy when she can't get her bottle filled. I believe 
 she'd be glad to go with you, for she don't like our board 
 and lodging over much." 
 
 " Do you think she'd go to-night ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, guess so. A little cold water'll be a good 
 change for her." 
 
 Mrs. Wiggins was seen, and, feeling that any change 
 would be for the better, readily agreed to go for very mod- 
 erate wages. Holcroft looked dubiously at the woman's 
 heavy form and heavier face, but felt that it was the best 
 _ XVIII
 
 74 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 he could do. Squeezing Mrs. Watterly's cold, limp hand 
 in a way that would have thawed a lump of ice, he said 
 " good-by" ; and then declaring that he would rather do his 
 own harnessing for a night ride, he went out into the storm. 
 Tom put on his rubber coat and went to the barn with his 
 friend, toward whom he cherished honest good-will. 
 
 " By jocks !" he ejaculated, sympathetically, " but you 
 have hard lines, Jim. What in thunder would I do with two 
 such widdy women to look after my house !"
 
 MRS. MUMPSON ACCEPTS HER MISSION 75 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 MES. MUMPSON ACCEPTS HEB MISSION 
 
 AS Holcroft drove through the town, Mrs. Wiggins, who, 
 as matters were explained to her, had expressed her 
 views chiefly by affirmative nods, now began to use 
 her tongue with much fluency. 
 
 " Hi 'ave a friend 'ereabouts," she said, " an' she's been 
 a keepin' some of my things. Hi'll be be'olden to ye, mas- 
 ter, hif ye'll jes stop a bit hat the door whiles hi gets 'em. 
 Hif ye'll hadvance me a dollar or so on me wages hit'll be 
 a long time hafore I trouble ye hagain." 
 
 The farmer had received too broad a hint not to know 
 that Mrs. Wiggins was intent on renewing her acquaintance 
 with her worst enemy. He briefly replied, therefore, " It's 
 too late to stop now. I'll be coming down soon again and 
 will get your things." 
 
 In vain Mrs. Wiggins expostulated, for he drove steadily 
 on. With a sort of grim humor, he thought of the meeting 
 of the two " widdy women," as Tom had characterized them, 
 and of Mrs. Mumpson's dismay at finding in the " cheap 
 girl " a dame of sixty, weighing not far from two hundred. 
 " If it wasn't such awfully serious business for me," he 
 thought, " it would be better'n going to a theatre to see the 
 two go on. If I haven't got three ' peculiar females ' on 
 my hands now, I'd like to hear of the man that has." 
 
 When Mrs. Wiggins found she could not gain her point, 
 she subsided into utter silence. It soon became evident in 
 the cloudy light of the moon that she was going to sleep, for
 
 76 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 she so nodded and swayed about that the farmer feared she 
 would tumble out of the wagon. She occupied a seat just 
 back of his and filled it, too. The idea of stepping over, 
 sitting beside her and holding her in, was inexpressibly re- 
 pugnant to him. So he began talking to her, and finally 
 shouting at her, to keep her awake. 
 
 His efforts were useless. He glanced with rueful dismay 
 over his shoulder as he thought, " If she falls out, I don't 
 see how on earth I'll ever get her back again." 
 
 Fortunately, the seat slipped back a little and she soon 
 slid down into a sort of mountainous heap on the bottom of 
 the wagon, as unmindful of the rain as if it were a lullaby. 
 Now that his mind was at rest about her falling out, and 
 knowing that he had a heavy load, Holcroft let the horses 
 take their own time along the miry highway. 
 
 Left to her own devices by Holcroft's absence, Mrs. 
 Mumpson had passed what she regarded as a very eventful 
 afternoon and evening. Not that anything unusual had 
 happened, unless everything she said and did may be looked 
 upon as unusual; but Mrs. Mumpson justly felt_that the 
 critical periods of life are those upon which definite courses 
 of action are decided upon. In the secret recesses of her 
 heart supposing her to possess such an organ she had 
 partially admitted to herself, even before she had entered 
 Holcroft's door, that she might be persuaded into marrying 
 him; but the inspection of his room, much deliberate 
 thought, and prolonged soliloquy, had convinced her that 
 she ought to " enter into nuptial relations " as her thought 
 formulated itself. It was a trait of Mrs. Mumpson's active 
 mind that when it once entered upon a line of thought it 
 was hurried along from conclusion to conclusion with won- 
 derful rapidity. 
 
 While Jane made up Mr. Holcroft's bed, her mother be- 
 gan to inspect, and soon suffered keenly from a very painful 
 discovery. The farmer's meagre wardrobe and other be- 
 longings were soon rummaged over, but one large closet and 
 several bureau drawers were locked. " These are the recep-
 
 MRS. MUMPSON ACCEPTS HER MISSION 77 
 
 tercles of the deceased Mrs. Holcroft's affects," she said with 
 compressed lips. " They are mouldering useless away. Moth 
 and rust will enter, while I, the caretaker, am debarred. I 
 should not be debarred. All the things in that closet should 
 be shaken out, aired, and carefully put back. Who knows 
 how useful they may be in the future! Waste is wicked. 
 Indeed, there are few things more wicked than waste. Now 
 I think of it, I have some keys in my trunk." 
 
 " He won't like it," interposed Jane. 
 
 " In the responserble persition I have assumed," replied 
 Mrs. Mumpson, with dignity, " I must consider, not what he 
 wants, but what is best for him and what may be best for 
 others." 
 
 Jane had too- much curiosity herself to make further ob- 
 jection and the keys were brought. . It was astonishing what 
 a number of keys Mrs. Mumpson possessed, and she was 
 not long in finding those which would open the ordinary 
 locks thought by Holcroft to be ample protection. 
 
 " I was right," said Mrs. Mumpson, complacently. " A 
 musty odor exudes from these closed receptercles. Men 
 have no comprehension of the need of such caretakers as 
 I am." 
 
 Everything that had ever belonged to poor Mrs. Hol- 
 croft was pulled out, taken to the window and examined, Jane 
 following, as usual, in the wake of her mother and putting 
 everything to the same tests which her parent applied. 
 Mrs. Holcroft had been a careful woman, and the extent and 
 substantial character of her wardrobe proved that her hu3- 
 band had not been close in his allowances to her. Mrs. 
 Mumpson's watery-blue eyes grew positively animated as 
 she felt of and held up to the light one thing after another. 
 " Mrs. Holcroft was evidently unnaturally large," she re- 
 flected aloud, " but then these things could be made over, 
 and much material be left to repair them, from time to time. 
 The dresses are of sombre colors, becoming to a lady some- 
 what advanced in years, and of subdued taste." 
 
 By the time that the bed and all the chairs in the room
 
 78 
 
 were littered with wearing apparel, Mrs. Mumpson said, 
 " Jane, I desire you to bring the rocking-chair. So many 
 thoughts are crowding upon me that I must sit down and 
 think." 
 
 Jane did as requested, but remarked, " The sun is gettin* 
 low, and all these things'll have to be put back just as they 
 was or he'll be awful mad." 
 
 " Yes, Jane," replied Mrs. Mumpson abstractedly and 
 rocking gently, " you can put them back. Your mind is not 
 burdened like mine, and you haven't offspring and the future 
 to provide for," and for a wonder, she relapsed into silence. 
 Possibly she possessed barely enough of womanhood to feel 
 that her present train of thought had better be kept to her- 
 self. She gradually rocked faster and faster, thus indicating 
 that she was rapidly approaching a conclusion. 
 
 Meanwhile, Jane was endeavoring to put things back as 
 they were before and found it no easy task. As the light de- 
 clined, she was overcome by a sort of panic, and, huddling 
 the things into the drawers as fast as possible, she locked 
 them up. Then, seizing her mother's hand and pulling the 
 abstracted woman to her feet, she cried, " If he comes and 
 finds us here and no supper ready he'll turn us right out 
 into the rain." 
 
 Even Mrs. Mumpson felt that she was perhaps reaching 
 conclusions too fast and that some diplomacy might be nec- 
 essary to consummate her plans. Her views, however, ap- 
 peared to her so reasonable that she scarcely thought of 
 failure, having the happy faculty of realizing everything 
 in advance whether it ever took place or not. 
 
 As she slowly descended the stairs with the rocking-chair, 
 she thought, " Nothing could be more suiterble. We are 
 both about the same age; I am most respecterbly connected 
 in fact, I regard myself as somewhat his superior in this 
 respect he is painfully undeveloped and irreligious and 
 thus is in sore need of female influence ; he is lonely and 
 down-hearted, and in woman's voice there is a spell to banish 
 care; worst of all, things are going to waste. I must de-
 
 MRS. MUMPSON ACCEPTS HER MISSION 79 
 
 lib'rately face the great duty with which Providence has 
 brought me face to face. At first, he may be a little blind 
 to this great oppertunity of his life that I must expect, 
 remembering the influence he was under so many years 
 but I will be patient, and by the proper use of language, place 
 everything eventually before him in a way that will cause 
 him to yield in glad submission to my views of the duties, 
 the priviliges and the responserbilities of life." 
 
 So active was Mrs. Mumpson's mind that this train of 
 thought was complete by the time she had ensconced her- 
 self in the rocking-chair by the fireless kitchen stove. Once 
 more Jane seized her hand and dragged her up. " You 
 must help," said the child. " I spect him every minnit 
 and I'm scart half to death to think what he'll do, 'specially 
 if he finds out we've been rummagin'." 
 
 " Jane," said Mrs. Mumpson, severely, " that is not a 
 proper way of expressing yourself. I am. housekeeper here, 
 and I've been inspecting." 
 
 " Shall I tell him you've been inspectin' ?" asked the 
 girl, keenly. 
 
 " Children of your age should speak when they are 
 spoken to," replied her mother, still more severely. " You 
 cannot comprehend my motives and duties, and I should 
 have to punish you if you passed any remarks upon my 
 actions." 
 
 " Well," said Jane, apprehensively, " I only hope we'll 
 soon have a chance to fix up them drawers, for if he should 
 open 'em we'd have to tramp again, and we will anyway if 
 you don't help me get supper." 
 
 "You are mistaken, Jane," responded Mrs. Mumpson, 
 with dignity. " We shall not leave this roof for three 
 months and that will give me ample time to open his eyes 
 to his true interests. I will condescend to these menial tasks 
 until he brings a girl who will yield the deference due to my 
 years and station in life." 
 
 Between them, after filling the room with smoke, they 
 kindled the kitchen fire. Jane insisted on making the cof-
 
 80 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 fee and then helped her mother to prepare the rest of 
 the supper, doing, in fact, the greater part of the work. 
 Then they sat down to wait, and they waited so long that Mrs. 
 Mumpson began to express her disapproval by rocking vio- 
 lently. At last, she said severely, "Jane, we will partake 
 of supper alone." 
 
 " I'd ruther wait till he comes." 
 
 " It's not proper that we should wait. He is not showing 
 me due respect. Come, do as I command." 
 
 Mrs. Mumpson indulged in lofty and aggrieved remarks 
 throughout the meal and then returned to her rocker. At 
 last, her indignant sense of wrong reached such a point 
 that she commanded Jane to clear the table and put away 
 the things. 
 
 " I won't," said the child. 
 
 " What ! will you compel me to chastise you ?" 
 
 " Well, then, J'll tell him it was all your doin's." 
 
 " I shall tell him so myself. I shall remonstrate with 
 him. The idea of his coming home alone at this time of 
 night, with an unknown female !" 
 
 " One would think you was his aunt, to hear you talk," 
 remarked the girl, sullenly. 
 
 " I am a respecterble woman and most respecterbly con- 
 nected. My character and antercedents render me irre- 
 proachful. This could not be said of a hussy, and a hussy 
 he'll probably bring some flighty, immerture female that 
 will tax even my patience to train." 
 
 Another hour passed and the frown on Mrs. Mumpson's 
 brow grew positively awful. "To think," she muttered, 
 " that a man whom I have deemed it my duty to marry 
 should stay out so and under such peculiar circumstances. 
 He must have a lesson which he can never forget." Then 
 aloud, to Jane, "Kindle a fire on the parlor hearth and let 
 this fire go out. He must find us in the most respecterble 
 room in the house a room befitting my station." 
 
 " I declare, mother, you ain't got no sense at all," ex- 
 claimed the child, exasperated beyond measure.
 
 MBS. MUMPSON ACCEPTS HER MISSION 81 
 
 "I'll teach you to use such unrerspectful language," 
 cried Mrs. Mumpson, darting from her chair like a hawk 
 and pouncing upon the unhappy child. 
 
 With ears tingling from a cuffing she could not soon for- 
 get, Jane lighted the parlor fire and sat down sniffling in 
 the furthest corner. 
 
 " There shall be only one mistress in this house," said 
 Mrs. Mumpson, who had now reached the loftiest plane of 
 virtuous indignation, " and its master shall learn that his 
 practices reflect upon even me as well as himself." 
 
 At last the sound of horses' feet was heard on the wet, 
 oozy ground without. The irate widow did not rise, but 
 merely indicated her knowledge of Holcroft's arrival by 
 rocking more rapidly. 
 
 " Hello there, Jane," he shouted, "bring a light to the 
 kitchen." 
 
 " Jane, remain," said Mrs. Mumpson, with an awful 
 look. 
 
 Holcroft stumbled through the dark kitchen to the parlor 
 door and looked with surprise at the group before him 
 Mrs. Mumpson apparently oblivious and rocking as if the 
 chair was possessed, and the child crying in a corner. 
 
 " Jane, didn't you hear me call for a light ?" he asked a 
 little sharply. 
 
 Mrs. Mumpson rose with great dignity and began, "Mr. 
 Holcroft, I wish to remonstrate " 
 
 " Oh, bother, I've brought a woman to help you, and 
 we're both wet through from this driving rain." 
 
 " You've brought a strange female at this time of " 
 
 Holcroft's patience gave way, but he only said, quietly, 
 " You had better have a light in the kitchen within two min- 
 utes. I warn you both. I also wish some hot coffee." 
 
 Mrs. Mumpson had no comprehension of a man who 
 could be so quiet when he was angry, and she believed that 
 she might impress him with a due sense of the enormity of 
 his offence. " Mr. Holcroft, I scarcely feel that I can meet 
 a girl who has no more sense of decorum than to" but
 
 82 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 Jane, striking a match, revealed the fact that she was speak- 
 ing to empty air. 
 
 Mrs. Wiggins was at last so far aroused that she was 
 helped from the wagon and came shivering and dripping 
 toward the kitchen. She stood a moment in the doorway 
 and filled it, blinking confusedly at the light. There was an 
 absence of celerity in all Mrs. Wiggins's movements, and she 
 was therefore slow in the matter of waking up. Her aspect 
 and proportions almost took away Mrs. Mumpson's breath. 
 Here certainly was much to superintend, much more than 
 had been anticipated. Mrs. Wiggins was undoubtedly a 
 " peculiar female," as had been expected, but she was so 
 elderly and monstrous that Mrs. Mumpson felt some em- 
 barrassment in her purpose to overwhelm Holcroft with a 
 sense of the impropriety of his conduct. 
 
 Mrs. Wiggins took uncertain steps toward the rocking- 
 chair, and almost crushed it as she sat down. " Ye gives a 
 body a cold velcome," she remarked, rubbing her eyes. 
 
 Mrs. Mumpson had got out of her way as a minnow 
 would shun a leviathan. "May I ask your name?" she 
 gasped. 
 
 " Viggins, Mrs. Viggins." 
 
 " Oh, indeed 1 You are a married woman ?" 
 
 " No, hi'm a vidder. What's more, hi'm cold, an' drip- 
 pin', an* 'ungry. Hi might 'a' better staid at the poor-us 
 than come to a place like this." 
 
 " What !" almost screamed Mrs. Mumpson, " are you a 
 pauper ?" 
 
 " Hi tell ye hi'm a vidder, an' good as you be, for hall he 
 said," was the sullen reply. 
 
 " To think that a respecterbly connected woman like me " 
 but for once Mrs. Mumpson found language inadequate. 
 Since Mrs. Wiggins occupied the rocking-chair, she hardly 
 knew what to do and plaintively declared, " I feel as if my 
 whole nervous system was giving way." 
 
 " No 'arm '11 be done hif hit does," remarked Mrs. Wig- 
 gins, who was not in an amiable mood.
 
 MRS. MUMPSON ACCEPTS HER MISSION 83 
 
 " This from the female I'm to superintend !" gasped the 
 bewildered woman. 
 
 Her equanimity was still further disturbed by the en- 
 trance of the farmer, who looked at the stove with a heavy 
 frown. 
 
 " Why in the name of common-sense isn't there a fire ?" 
 he asked, " and supper on the table ? Couldn't you hear 
 that it was raining and know we'd want some supper after a 
 long, cold ride ?" 
 
 " Mr. Holcroft," began the widow, in some trepidation, 
 " I don't approve such irregular habits " 
 
 " Madam," interrupted Holcroft, sternly, " did I agree to 
 do what you approved of? Your course is so peculiar that 
 I scarcely believe you are in your right mind. You had 
 better go to your room and try to recover your senses. If 
 I can't have things in this house to suit me I'll have no one 
 in it. Here, Jane, you can help." 
 
 Mrs. Mumpson put her handkerchief to her eyes and de- 
 parted. She felt that this display of emotion would touch 
 Holcroft's feelings when he came to think the scene all 
 over. 
 
 Having kindled the fire, he said to Jane, " You and Mrs. 
 Wiggins get some coffee and supper in short order and have 
 it ready when I come in," and he hastened out to care for 
 his horses. If the old woman was slow, she knew just how 
 to make every motion effective, and a good supper was soon 
 ready. 
 
 " Why didn't you keep up a fire, Jane ?" Holcroft asked. 
 
 " She wouldn't let me. She said how you must be taught 
 a lesson," replied the girl, feeling that she must choose be- 
 tween two potentates, and deciding quickly in favor of the 
 farmer. She had been losing faith in her mother's wisdom 
 a long time, and this night's experience had banished the last 
 shred of it. 
 
 Some rather bitter words rose to Holcroft's lips, but he 
 restrained them. He felt that he ought not to disparage 
 the mother to the child. As Mrs. Wiggins grew warm, and
 
 84 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 imbibed the generous coffee, her demeanor thawed percepti- 
 bly and she graciously vouchsafed the remark, " Ven ye're 
 hout late hag'in hi'll look hafter ye." 
 
 Mrs. Mumpson had not been so far off as not to hear 
 Jane's explanation, as the poor child found to her cost when 
 she went up to bed.
 
 A NIGHT OF TERROR 85 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 A NIGHT OF TEEKOE 
 
 AS poor, dazed, homeless Alida passed out into the 
 street, after the revelation that she was not a wife 
 and never had been, she heard a voice say, " Well, 
 Hanner wasn't long in bouncing the woman. I guess we'd 
 better go up now. Ferguson will need a lesson that he won't 
 soon forget." 
 
 The speaker of these words was Mrs. Ferguson's brother, 
 William Hackman, and his companion was a detective. The 
 wife had laid her still sleeping child down on the lounge 
 and was coolly completing Alida's preparations for dinner. 
 Her husband had sunk back into a chair and again buried 
 his face in his hands. He looked up with startled, blood- 
 shot eyes as his brother-in-law and the stranger entered, and 
 then resumed his former attitude. 
 
 Mrs. Ferguson briefly related what had happened and 
 then said, " Take chairs and draw up." 
 
 "I don't want any dinner," muttered the husband. 
 
 Mr. William Hackman now gave way to his irritation. 
 Turning to his brother he relieved his mind as follows, " See 
 here, Hank Ferguson, if you hadn't the best wife in the land, 
 this gentleman would now be giving you a promenade to 
 jail. I've left my work for weeks, and spent a sight of 
 money to see that my sister got her rights, and by thunder, 
 she's going to have 'em. We've agreed to give you a chance 
 to brace up and be a man. If we find out there isn't any 
 man in you, then you go to prison and hard labor to the
 
 86 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 hull extent of the law. We've fixed things so you can't 
 play any more tricks. This man is a private detective. As 
 long as you do the square thing by your wife and child, 
 you'll be let alone. If you try to sneak off, you'll be nabbed. 
 Now if you ain't a scamp down to your heel-taps, get up 
 out of that chair like a man, treat your wife as she deserves 
 for letting you off so easy, and don't make her change her 
 mind by acting as if you, and not her, was the wronged 
 person." 
 
 At heart, Ferguson was a weak, cowardly, selfish creat- 
 ure, whose chief aim in life was to have things to suit him- 
 self. When they ceased to be agreeable, he was ready for a 
 change, without much regard for the means to his ends. 
 He had always foreseen the possibility of the event which 
 had now taken place, but, like all self-indulgent natures, had 
 hoped that he might escape detection. Alida, moreover, 
 had won a far stronger hold upon him than he had once 
 imagined possible. He was terribly mortified and cast down 
 by the result of his experiment, as he regarded it. But the 
 thought of a prison and hard labor speedily drew his mind 
 away from this aspect of the affair. He had been fairly 
 caught, his lark was over, and he soon resolved that the 
 easiest and safest way out of the scrape was the best way. 
 He therefore raised his head and came forward with a peni- 
 tent air, as he said, "It's natural I should be overwhelmed 
 with shame at the position in which I find myself. But I 
 see the truth of your words and I'll try to make it all right, 
 as far as I can. I'll go back with you and Hannah to my 
 old home. I've got money in the bank, I'll sell out every 
 thing here, and I'll pay you, William, as far as I can, what 
 you've spent. Hannah is mighty good to let me off so easy 
 and she won't be sorry. This man is witness to what I say," 
 and the detective nodded. 
 
 " Why, Ferguson," said Mr. Hackman, effusively, " now 
 you're talking like a man. Come and kiss him, Hanner, 
 and make it all up." 
 
 " That's the way with you men," said the woman, bit-
 
 A NIGHT OF TERROR 87 
 
 terly. " These things count for little. Henry Ferguson 
 must prove he's honest in what he says, by deeds, not words. 
 I'll do as I've said if he acts square, and that's enough to 
 start with." 
 
 " All right," said Ferguson, glad enough to escape the 
 caress. "I'll do as I say." 
 
 He did do all he promised, and very promptly, too. He 
 was not capable of believing that a woman, wronged as Alida 
 had been, would not prosecute him, and he was eager to 
 escape to another State, and, in a certain measure, again 
 to hide his identity under his own actual name. 
 
 Meanwhile, how fared the poor creature who had fled, 
 driven forth by her first wild impulse to escape from a false 
 and terrible position? With every step she took down the 
 dimly-lighted street, the abyss into which she had fallen 
 seemed to grow deeper and darker. She. was overwhelmed 
 with the magnitude of her misfortune. She shunned the 
 illumined thoroughfare with a half-crazed sense that every 
 finger would be pointed at her. Her final words, spoken to 
 Ferguson, were the last clear promptings of her womanly 
 nature. After that, everything grew confused, except the 
 impression of remediless disaster and shame. She was in- 
 capable of forming any correct judgment concerning her 
 position. The thought of her pastor filled her with horror. 
 He, she thought, would take the same view which the 
 woman had so brutally expressed that in her eagerness to 
 be married she had brought to the parsonage an unknown 
 man and had involved a clergyman in her own scandalous 
 record. It would all be in the papers, and her pastor's name 
 mixed up in the affair. She would rather die than subject 
 him to such an ordeal. Long after, when he learned the 
 facts in the case, he looked at her very sadly, as he asked, 
 " Didn't you know me better than that ? Had I so failed 
 in my preaching that you couldn't come straight to me 2" 
 
 She wondered afterward that she had not done this, but 
 she was too morbid, too close upon absolute insanity, to do 
 what was wise and safe. She simply yielded to the wild
 
 88 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 impulse to escape, to cower, to hide from every human eye, 
 hastening through the darkest, obscurest streets, not caring 
 where. In the confusion of her mind she would retrace 
 her steps, and soon was utterly lost, wandering she knew not 
 whither. As it grew late, casual passers-by looked after her 
 curiously, rough men spoke to her and others jeered. She 
 only hastened on, driven by her desperate trouble like the 
 wild, ragged clouds that were flying across the stormy March 
 sky. 
 
 At last, a policeman said gruffly, " You've passed me 
 twice. You can't be roaming the streets at this time of 
 night. Why don't you go home ?" 
 
 Standing before him and wringing her hands, she 
 moaned, " I have no home !" 
 
 " Where did you come from ?" 
 
 " Oh ! I can't tell you. Take me to any place where a 
 woman will be safe." 
 
 " I can't take you to any place now but the station- 
 house." 
 
 " But can I be alone there ? I won't be put with any- 
 body?" 
 
 " No, no, of course not. You'll be better off there. 
 Come along. 'Tain't far." 
 
 She walked beside him without a word. 
 
 " You'd better tell me something of your story. Per- 
 haps I can do more for you in the morning." 
 
 " I can't. I'm a stranger. I haven't any friends in 
 town." 
 
 " Well, well, the sergeant will see what can be done in 
 the morning. You've been up to some foolishness I sup- 
 pose, and you'd better tell the whole story to the sergeant." 
 
 She soon entered the station-house and was locked up in 
 a narrow cell. She heard the grating of the key in the lock 
 with a sense of relief, feeling that she had at least found a 
 place of temporary refuge and security. A hard board was 
 the only couch it possessed, but the thought of sleep did not 
 enter her mind. Sitting down, she buried her face in her
 
 A NIGHT OF TERROR 
 
 hands and rocked back and forth in agony and distraction 
 until day dawned. At last, some one she felt she could 
 not raise her eyes to his face brought her some break- 
 fast and coffee. She drank the latter, but left the food un- 
 tasted. Finally, she was led to the sergeant's private room 
 and told that she must give an account of herself. "If you 
 can't or won't tell a clear story," the officer threatened, 
 "you'll have to go before the justice in open cor-t, and he 
 may commit you to prison. If you'll tell the truth now, it 
 may be that I can discharge you. You had no business to 
 be wandering about the streets like a vagrant or worse; 
 but it you were a stranger or lost and hadn't sense enough to 
 go where you'd be cared for, I can let you go." 
 
 " Oh !" said Alida, again wringing her hands and looking 
 at the officer with eyes so full of misery and fear that he 
 began to soften, " I don't know where to go." 
 
 "Haven't you a friend or acquaintance in town ?" 
 
 " Not one that I can go to !" 
 
 " Why don't you tell me your story ? Then I'll know 
 what to do, and perhaps can help you. You don't look like 
 a depraved woman." 
 
 " I'm not. God knows I'm not." 
 
 " Well, my poor woman, I've got to act in view of what 
 I know, not what God knows." 
 
 " If I tell my story, will I have to give names ?" 
 
 " No, not necessarily. It would be best though." 
 
 " I can't do that, but I'll tell you the truth. I will swear 
 it on the Bible. I married some one. A good minister mar- 
 ried us. The man deceived me. He was already married, 
 and last night his wife came to my happy home and proved 
 before the man whom I thought my husband that I was no 
 wife at all. He couldn't, didn't deny it. Oh ! oh ! oh !" and 
 she again rocked back and forth in uncontrollable anguish. 
 "That's all," she added brokenly. "I had no right to be 
 near him or her any longer and I rushed out. I don't re- 
 member much more. My brain seemed on fire. I just 
 walked and walked till I was brought here."
 
 90 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 " Well, well," said the sergeant, sympathetically, " you 
 have been treated badly, outrageously, but you are not to 
 blame unless you married the man hastily and foolishly." 
 
 "That's what every one will think, but it don't seem to 
 me that I did. It's a long story, and I can't tell it." 
 
 " But you ought to tell it, my poor woman. You ought 
 to sue the man for damages and send him to State prison." 
 
 "No, no," cried Alida, passionately. "I don't want to 
 see him again and I won't go to a court before people unless 
 I am dragged there." 
 
 The sergeant looked up at the policeman who had ar- 
 rested her and said, "This story is not contrary to anything 
 you saw?" 
 
 "No, sir, she was wandering about and seemed half out 
 of her mind." 
 
 "Well, then, I can let you go." 
 
 "But I don't know where to go," she replied, looking at 
 him with hunted, hollow eyes. "I feel as if I were going to 
 be sick. Please don't turn me into the streets. I'd rather 
 go back to the cell." 
 
 "That won't answer. There's no place that I can send 
 you to except the poorhouse. Haven't you any money ?" 
 
 "No, sir. I just rushed away and left everything when 
 I learned the truth." 
 
 "Tom Watterly's hotel is the only place for her," said 
 the policeman, with a nod. 
 
 "Oh, I can't go to a hotel." 
 
 "He means the almshouse," explained the sergeant. 
 "What is your name?" 
 
 "Alida that's all now. Yes, I'm a pauper and I can't 
 work just yet. I'll be safe there, won't I ?" 
 
 "Certainly, safe as if in your mother's house." 
 
 "Oh, mother, mother; thank God, you are dead." 
 
 "Well, I am sorry for you," said the sergeant, kindly. 
 
 'Taint often we have so sad a case as yours. If you say 
 
 so, I'll send for Tom Watterly, and he and his wife will take 
 
 charge of you. After a few days, your mind will get quieter
 
 A NIGHT OF TERROR 91 
 
 and clearer, and then you'll prosecute the man who wronged 
 
 you." 
 
 "I'll go to the poorhouse until I can do better," she replied 
 wearily. "Now, if you please, I'll return to my cell, where 
 I can be alone." 
 
 "Oh, we can give you a better room than that," said the 
 sergeant. "Show her into the waiting-room, Tim. If you 
 prosecute, we can help you with our testimony. Good-by, 
 and may you have better days !" 
 
 Watterly was telegraphed to come down with a convey- 
 ance, for the almshouse was in a suburb. In due time he 
 appeared, and was briefly told Alida's story. He swore a 
 little at the "mean cuss," the author of all the trouble, and 
 then took the stricken woman to what all his acquaintances 
 facetiously termed his "hotel."
 
 92 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 CHAPTEE XI 
 
 BAFFLED 
 
 IN the general consciousness, Nature is regarded as femi- 
 nine, and even those who love her most will have to 
 adopt Mrs. Mumpson's oft-expressed opinion of the sex, 
 and admit that she is sometimes a "peculiar female." Dur- 
 ing the month of March, in which our story opens, there was 
 scarcely any limit to her varying moods. It would almost 
 appear that she was taking a mysterious interest in Holcroft's 
 affairs ; but whether it was a kindly interest or not, one 
 might be at a loss to decide. When she caught him away 
 from house, she pelted him with the coldest of rain and 
 made his house, with even Mrs. Mumpson and Jane abiding 
 there, seem a refuge. In the morning after the day on 
 which he had brought, or in a sense had carted Mrs. Wig- 
 gins to his domicile, Nature was evidently bent on instituting 
 contrasts between herself and the rival phases of femininity 
 with which the farmer was compelled to associate. It may 
 have been that she had another motive and was determined 
 to keep her humble worshipper at her feet, and to render it 
 impossible for him to make the changes toward which he 
 had felt himself driven. 
 
 Being an early riser, he was up with the sun, and the sun 
 rose so serenely and smiled so benignly that Holcroft's 
 clouded brow cleared in spite of all that had happened or 
 xjould take place. The rain which had brought such dis- 
 comfort the night before had settled the ground and made 
 it comparatively firm to his tread. The southern breeze 
 which fanned his cheek was as soft as the air of May. He
 
 BAFFLED 93 
 
 remembered that it was Sunday and that beyond feeding 
 his stock and milking he would have nothing to do. He 
 exulted in the unusual mildness and thought, with an im- 
 mense sense of relief, "I can stay out doors nearly all 
 day." He resolved to let his help kindle the fire and get 
 breakfast as they could, and to keep out of their way. 
 Whatever changes the future might bring, he would have 
 one more long day in rambling about his fields and in 
 thinking over the past. Feeling that there need be no haste 
 about anything, he leisurely inhaled the air, fragrant from 
 springing grass, and listened with a vague, undefined pleas- 
 ure to the ecstatic music of the bluebirds, song-sparrows and 
 robins. If any one had asked him why he liked to hear 
 them he would have replied, "I'm used to 'em. When they 
 come I know that plowing and planting time is near." 
 
 It must be admitted that Holcroft's enjoyment of spring 
 was not very far removed from that of the stock in his barn- 
 yard. All the animal creation rejoices in the returning sun 
 and warmth. A subtle, powerful influence sets the blood 
 in more rapid motion, kindles new desires and awakens a 
 glad expectancy. All that is alive becomes more thoroughly 
 alive and existence in itself is a pleasure. Spring had always 
 brought to the farmer quickened pulses, renewed activity 
 and hopefulness, and he was pleased to find that he was not 
 so old and cast down that its former influence had spent 
 itself. Indeed, it seemed that never before had his fields, 
 his stock and outdoor work and these comprised Nature 
 to him been so attractive. They remained unchanged, 
 amid the sad changes which had clouded his life, and his 
 heart clung more tenaciously than ever to old scenes and 
 occupations. They might not bring him happiness again, 
 but he instinctively felt that they might insure a comfort 
 and peace with which he could be content. 
 
 At last, he went to the barn and began his work, doing 
 everything slowly, and getting all the solace he could from 
 the tasks. The horses whinnied their welcome and he rubbed 
 their noses caressingly as he fed them. The cows came
 
 94 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 briskly to the rack in which he foddered them in pleasant 
 weather, and when he scratched them between the horns 
 they turned their mild, Juno-like eyes upon him with un- 
 disguised affection. The chickens, clamoring for their break- 
 fast, followed so closely that he had to be careful where he 
 stepped. Although he knew that all this goodwill was based 
 chiefly on the hope of food and the remembrance of it in 
 the past, nevertheless it soothed and pleased him. He was 
 in sympathy with this homely life; it belonged to him and 
 was dependent on him; it made him honest returns for his 
 care. Moreover, it was agreeably linked with the past. 
 There were quiet cows which his wife had milked, clucking 
 biddies which she had lifted from nests with their downy 
 broods. He looked at them wistfully, and was wondering 
 if they ever missed the presence that he regretted so deeply, 
 when he became conscious that Jane's eyes were upon him. 
 How long she had been watching him, he did not know, but 
 she merely said, "Breakfast's ready," and disappeared. 
 
 With a sigh he went to his room to perform his ablutions, 
 remembering with a slight pang how his wife always had a 
 basin and towel ready for him in the kitchen. In the break- 
 ing up of just such homely customs, he was continually 
 reminded of his loss. 
 
 On awakening to the light of this Sabbath morning, Mrs. 
 Mumpson had thought deeply and reasoned everything out 
 again. She felt that it must be an eventful day and that 
 there was much to be accomplished. In the first place, 
 there was Mrs. Wiggins. She disapproved of her decidedly. 
 "She isn't the sort of person that I would prefer to superin- 
 tend," she remarked to Jane while making a toilet which she 
 deemed befitting the day, "and the hour will assurdly come 
 when Mr. Holcroft will look upon her in the light that I do. 
 He will eventually realize that I cannot be brought in such 
 close relationship with a pauper. Not that the relationship 
 is exactly close, but then I shall have to speak to her in 
 brief, to superintend her. My eyes will be offended by her 
 vast proportions and uncouth appearance. The floor creaks
 
 BAFFLED 95 
 
 beneath her tread and affects my nerves seriously. Of course, 
 while she is here, I shall zealously, as befits one in my re- 
 sponserble position, try to render useful such service as she 
 can perform. But then, the fact that I disapprove of her 
 must soon become evident. When it is discovered that I 
 only tolerate her, there will be a change. I cannot show my 
 disapproval very strongly to-day, for this is a day set apart 
 for sacred things, and Mrs. Viggins, as she called herself I 
 cannot imagine a Mr. Viggins, for no man in his senses 
 could have married such a creature as I was saying, Mrs. 
 Viggins is not at all sacred and I must endeavor to abstract 
 my mind from her till to-morrow, as far as posserble. My 
 first duty to-day is to induce Mr. Holcroft to take us to 
 church. It will give the people of Oakville such a pleasing 
 impression to see us driving to church. Of course, I may 
 fail. Mr. Holcroft is evidently a hardened man. All the 
 influences of his life have been adverse to spiritual develop- 
 ment, and it may require some weeks of my influence to 
 soften him and awaken yearnings for what he has not yet 
 known." 
 
 "He may be yearnin' for breakfast," Jane remarked, 
 completing her toilet by tying her little pigtail .braid with 
 something that had once been a bit of black ribbon, but was 
 now a string. "You'd better come down soon and help." 
 
 "If Mrs. Viggins cannot get breakfast, I would like to 
 know what she is here for," continued Mrs. Mumpson, 
 loftily and regardless of Jane's departure. "I shall decline 
 to do menial work any longer, especially on this sacred day, 
 and after I have made my toilet for church. Mr. Holcroft 
 has had time to think. My disapproval was manifest last 
 night and it has undoubtedly occurred to him that he has 
 not conformed to the proprieties of life. Indeed, I almost 
 fear I shall have to teach him what the proprieties of life 
 are. He witnessed my emotion when he spoke as he should 
 not have spoken to me. But I must make allowances for his 
 unregenerate state. He was cold, and wet, and hungry last 
 night, and men are unreasonerble at such times. I shall now
 
 96 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 heap coals of fire upon his head. I shall show that I am a 
 meek, forgiving Christian woman, and he will relent, soften, 
 and become penitent. Then will be my opportunity," and she 
 descended to the arena which should witness her efforts. 
 
 During the period in which Mrs. Mumpson had indulged 
 in these lofty reflections and self-communings, Mrs. Wiggins 
 had also arisen. I am not sure whether she had thought of 
 anything in particular or not She may have had some 
 spiritual longings which were not becoming to any day of 
 the week. Being a woman of deeds, rather than of thought, 
 probably not much else occurred to her beyond the duty 
 of kindling the fire and getting breakfast. Jane came down, 
 and offered to assist, but was cleared out with no more 
 scruple than if Mrs. Wiggins had been one of the much- 
 visited relatives. 
 
 "The hidee," she grumbled, "of 'avin' sich a little trollop 
 round hunder my feet!" 
 
 Jane therefore solaced herself by watching the "cheap 
 girl" till her mother appeared. 
 
 Mrs. Mumpson sailed majestically in and took the rock- 
 ing-chair, mentally thankful that it had survived the crushing 
 weight imposed upon it the evening before. Mrs. Wiggins 
 did not drop a courtesy. Indeed, not a sign of recognition 
 passed over her vast, immobile face. Mrs. Mumpson was a 
 little embarrassed. "I hardly know how to comport myself 
 toward that female," she thought. "She is utterly uncouth. 
 Her manners are unmistakerbly those of a pauper. I think 
 I will ignore her to-day. I do not wish my feelings ruffled 
 or put out of harmony with the sacred duties and motives 
 which actuate me." 
 
 Mrs. Mumpson therefore rocked gently, solemnly, and 
 strange to say, silently, and Mrs. Wiggins also proceeded 
 with her duties, but not in silence, for everything in the room 
 trembled and clattered at her tread. Suddenly, she turned 
 on Jane and said, " 'Ere, you little baggage, go and tell the 
 master breakfast's ready." 
 
 Mrs. Mumpson sprang from her chair, and with a voice
 
 BAFFLED 97 
 
 choked with indignation, gasped, "Do you dare address my 
 offspring thus ?" 
 
 "Ye're vat?" 
 
 "My child, my daughter, who is not a pauper, but the 
 offspring of a most respecterble woman and respecterbly 
 connected. I'm amazed, I'm dumbfoundered, I'm " 
 
 "Ye're a bit daft, hi'm a thinkin'." Then to Jane, "Vy 
 don't ye go an' hearn ye're salt ?" 
 
 "Jane, I forbid " but it had not taken Jane half a min- 
 ute to decide between the now jarring domestic powers, and 
 henceforth she would be at Mrs. Wiggins's beck and call. 
 "She can do somethin'," the child muttered, as she stole upon 
 Holcroft. 
 
 Mrs. Mumpson sank back in her chair, but her mode of 
 rocking betokened a perturbed spirit. "I will -estrain my- 
 self till to-morrow and then " She shook her head por- 
 tentously and waited till the farmer appeared, feeling assured 
 that Mrs. Wiggins would soon be taught to recognize her 
 station. When breakfast was on the table she darted to her 
 place behind the coffee-pot, for she felt that there was no 
 telling what this awful Mrs. Wiggins might not assume dur- 
 ing this day of sacred restraint. But the ex-pauper had no 
 thought of presumption in her master's presence, and the 
 rocking-chair again distracted Mrs. Mumpson's nerves as it 
 creaked under an unwonted weight. 
 
 Holcroft took his seat in silence. The widow again bowed 
 her head devoutly, and sighed deeply when observing that 
 the farmer ignored her suggestion. 
 
 "I trust that you feel refreshed after your repose," she 
 said benignly. 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "It is a lovely morning a morning, I may add, befitting 
 the sacred day. Nature is at peace, and suggests that we 
 and all should be at peace." 
 
 "There's nothing I like more, Mrs. Mumpson, unless it is 
 quiet." 
 
 "I feel that way, myself. You don't know what restraint 
 RE XVIII
 
 98 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 I have put upon myself that the sacred quiet of this day 
 might not be disturbed. I have had strong provercation since 
 I entered this apartment. I will forbear to speak of it till 
 to-morrow, in order that there may be quietness and that our 
 minds may be prepared for worship. I feel that it would be 
 unseemly for us to enter a house of worship with thoughts 
 of strife in our souls. At precisely what moment do you 
 wish me to be ready for church?" 
 
 "I am not going to church, Mrs. Mumpson." 
 
 "'Not going to church! I I scarcely understand, 
 Worship is such a sacred duty " 
 
 "You and Jane certainly have a right to go to church, and 
 since it is your wish, I'll take you down to Lemuel Weeks's 
 and you can go with them." 
 
 "I. don't want to go to 'cousin Lemuel's, nor to church, 
 nuther," Jane protested. 
 
 "Why, Mr. Holcroft," began the widow, sweetly, "after 
 you've once harnessed up it will take but a little longer to 
 keep on to the meeting-house. It would appear so seemly 
 for us to drive thither, as a matter of course. It would be 
 what the communerty expects of us. This is not our day, 
 that we should spend it carnally. We should be spiritually 
 minded. We should put away things of earth. Thoughts 
 of business and any unnecessary toil should be abhorrent. I 
 have often thought that there was too much milking done on 
 Sunday among farmers. I know they say it is essential, but 
 they all seem so prone to forget that but one thing is need- 
 ful. I feel it borne in upon my mind, Mr, Holcroft, that I 
 should plead with you to attend divine worship and seek au 
 uplifting of your thoughts. You have no idea how differ- 
 ently the day may end, or what emotions may be aroused if 
 you place yourself under the droppings of the sanctuary." 
 
 "I'm like Jane, I don't wish to go," said Mr. Holcroft, 
 nervously. 
 
 "But, my dear Mr. Holcroft" the farmer fidgeted under 
 this address "the very essence of true religion is to do what 
 we don't wish to do. We are to mortify the flesh and thwart
 
 BAFFLED 99 
 
 the carnal mind. The more thorny the path of self-denial is, 
 the more certain it's the right path. I've already entered 
 upon it," she continued, turning a momentary glare upon 
 Mrs. Wiggins. "Never before was a respecterble woman 
 so harrowed and outraged; but I am calm; I am endeav- 
 oring to maintain a frame of mind suiterble to worship, and 
 I feel it my bounden duty to impress upon you that worship 
 is a necessity to every human being. My conscience would 
 not acquit me if I did not use all my influence " 
 
 "Very well, Mrs. Mumpson, you and your conscience are 
 quits. You have used all your influence. I will do as I 
 said take you to Lemuel Weeks's and you can go to church 
 with his family," and he rose from the table. 
 
 "But cousin Lemuel is also painfully blind to his spiritual 
 interests " 
 
 Holcroft did not stay to listen and was soon engaged in 
 the morning milking. Jane flatly declared that she would 
 not go to cousin Lemuel's or to church. "It don't do me 
 no good, nor you, nuther," she sullenly declared to her 
 mother. 
 
 Mrs. Mumpson now resolved upon a different line of tac- 
 tics. Assuming a lofty, spiritual air, she commanded Jane 
 to light a fire in the parlor and retire thither with the rock- 
 ing-chair. The elder widow looked after her and ejaculated, 
 "Veil, hif she hain't the craziest loon hi hever 'eard talk. 
 Hif she vas blind she might 'a' seen that the master didn't 
 vant hany sich lecturin' clack." 
 
 Having kindled the fire, the child was about to leave the 
 room when her mother interposed and said, solemnly, "Jane, 
 sit down and keep Sunday." 
 
 "I'm goin' to help Mrs. Wiggins, if she'll let me." 
 
 "You will not so demean yourself. I wish you to have 
 no relations whatever with that female in the kitchen. If 
 you had proper self-respect you would never speak to her 
 again." 
 
 "We ain't visitin* here. If I can't work indoors I'll tell 
 him I'll work outdoors."
 
 100 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 "It's not proper for you to work to-day. I want you to 
 sit there in the corner and learn the Fifth Commandment." 
 
 "Ain't you goin' to cousin Lemuel's?" 
 
 "On mature reflection, I have decided to remain at 
 home." 
 
 "I thought you would if you had any sense left. You 
 know well enough we ain't wanted down there. I'll go tell 
 him not to hitch up." 
 
 "Well, I will permit you to do so. Then return to your 
 Sunday task." 
 
 "I'm goin' to mind him," responded the child. She 
 passed rapidly and apprehensively through the kitchen, but 
 paused on the doorstep to make some overtures to Mrs. 
 Wiggins. If that austere dame was not to be propitiated, a 
 line of retreat was open to the barn. "Say," she began, to 
 attract attention. 
 
 "Veil, young-un," replied Mrs. Wiggins, rendered more 
 pacific by her breakfast. 
 
 "Don't you want me to wash up the dishes and put 'em 
 away ? I know how." 
 
 "Hi'll try ye. Hif ye breaks hanythink" and the old 
 woman nodded volumes at the child. 
 
 "I'll be back in a minute," said Jane. A moment later 
 she met Holcroft carrying two pails of milk from the barn- 
 yard. He was about to pass without noticing her, but she 
 again secured attention by her usual preface, "say," when 
 she had a somewhat extended communication to make. 
 
 "Come to the dairy-room, Jane, and say your say there," 
 said Holcroft, not unkindly. 
 
 "She ain't goin' to cousin Lemuel's," said the girl, from 
 the door. 
 
 "What is she going to do." 
 
 "Rock in the parlor. Say, can't I help Mrs. Wiggle 
 wash up the dishes and do the work ?" 
 
 "Certainly; why not?" 
 
 "Mother says I must sit in the parlor V learn Command- 
 ments V keep Sunday."
 
 BAFFLED 101 
 
 "Well, Jane, which do you think you ought to do?" 
 
 "I think, I oughter work, and if you and Mrs. Wiggins 
 will let me, I will work in spite of mother." 
 
 "I think that you and your mother both should help do 
 the necessary work to-day. There won't be much." 
 
 "If I try and help Mrs. Wiggins mother'll bounce out at 
 me. She shook me last night after I went upstairs, and she 
 boxed my ears 'cause I wanted to keep the kitchen fire up 
 last night." 
 
 "I'll go with you to the kitchen and tell Mrs. Wiggins to 
 let you help, and I won't let your mother punish you again 
 unless you do wrong." 
 
 Mrs. Wiggins, relying on Jane's promise of help, had 
 sat down to the solace of her pipe for a few minutes, but was 
 about to thrust it hastily away on seeing Holcroft. He re- 
 assured her by saying, good-naturedly, "No need of that, 
 my good woman. Sit still and enjoy your pipe. I like to 
 smoke myself. Jane will help clear away things and I wish 
 her to. You'll find she's quite handy. By the way, have 
 you all the tobacco you want ?" 
 
 "Veil, now, master, p'raps ye know the 'lowance down hat 
 the poor-us vasn't sich as ud keep a body in vat ye'd call 
 satisfyin' smokin'. Hi never 'ad henough ter keep down 
 the 'ankerin'." 
 
 "I suppose that's so. You shall have half of my stock, 
 and when I go to town again, I'll get you a good supply. I 
 guess I'll light my pipe, too, before starting for a walk." 
 
 "Bless yer 'art, master, ye makes a body comf'terble. 
 Ven hi smokes hi feels more hat 'ome and kind o' contented 
 like. And hold 'ooman like me haint got much left to com- 
 fort 'er but 'er pipe." 
 
 "Jane," called Mrs. Mumpson sharply from the parlor. 
 As there was no answer, the widow soon appeared in the 
 kitchen door. Smoking was one of the unpardonable sins 
 in Mrs. Mumpson's eyes; and when she saw Mrs. Wiggins 
 puffing comfortably away and Holcroft lighting his pipe, 
 while Jane cleared the table, language almost failed her.
 
 102 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 She managed to articulate, "Jane, this atmosphere is not fit 
 for you to breathe, on this sacred day. I wish you to share 
 my seclusion." 
 
 "Mrs. Mumpson, I have told her to help Mrs. Wiggins 
 in the necessary work," Holcroft interposed. 
 
 "Mr. Holcroft, you don't realize men never do Jane 
 is my offspring, and 
 
 "Oh, if you put it that way, I shan't interfere between 
 mother and child. But I suppose you and Jane came here 
 to work." 
 
 "If you will enter the parlor. I will explain to you fully 
 my views, and " 
 
 "Oh, please excuse me," said Holcroft, hastily passing 
 out, "I was just starting for a walk. I'm bound to have one 
 more day to myself on the old place," he muttered, as he 
 bent his steps toward an upland pasture. 
 
 Jane, seeing that her mother was about to pounce upon 
 her, ran behind Mrs. Wiggins, who slowly rose and began a 
 progress toward the irate widow, remarking as she did so, 
 "Hi'll just shut the door 'twixt ye and ye're hoffspring, and 
 then ye kin say ye're prayers hon the tother side." 
 
 Mrs. Mumpson was so overcome at the turn affairs had 
 taken on this day which was to witness such progress in her 
 plans and hopes, as to feel the absolute necessity of a pro- 
 longed season of thought and soliloquy, and she relapsed 
 without protest into the rocking-chair.
 
 JANE 103 
 
 CHAPTER XH 
 
 JANE 
 
 HOLCROFT was not long in climbing to a sunny nook 
 whence he could see not only his farm and dwelling, 
 but also the Oakville valley, and the little white 
 spire of the distant meeting-house. He looked at this last- 
 named object wistfully and very sadly. Mrs. Mumpson's 
 tirade about worship had been without effect, but the memo- 
 ries suggested by the church were bitter-sweet indeed. It 
 belonged to the Methodist denomination, and Holcroft had 
 been taken, or had gone thither, from the time of his earliest 
 recollection. He saw himself sitting between his father and 
 mother, a round-faced urchin to whom the sermon was unin- 
 telligible, but to whom little Bessie Jones in the next pew 
 was a fact, not only intelligible, but very interesting. She 
 would turn around and stare at him until he smiled, then she 
 would giggle until her mother brought her right-about-face 
 with considerable emphasis. After this, he saw the little 
 boy could it have been himself? nodding, swaying, and 
 finally slumbering peacefully, with his head on his mother's 
 lap, until shaken into sufficient consciousness to be half 
 dragged, half led, to the door. Once in the big, springless 
 farm wagon he was himself again, looking eagerly around to 
 catch another glimpse of Bessie Jones. Then, he was a big, 
 irreverent boy, shyly and awkwardly bent on mischief in the 
 same old meeting-house. Bessie Jones no longer turned and 
 stared at him, but he exultingly discovered that he could 
 still make her giggle on the sly. Years passed, and Bessie
 
 104 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 was his occasional choice for a sleigh-ride when the long 
 body of some farm wagon was placed on runners, and boys 
 and girls young men and women, they almost thought 
 themselves were packed in like sardines. Something like 
 self-reproach smote Holcroft even now, remembering how 
 he had allowed his fancy much latitude at this period, paying 
 attention to more than one girl besides Bessie, and painfully 
 undecided which he liked best. 
 
 Then had come the memorable year which had opened 
 with a protracted meeting. He and Bessie Jones had passed 
 under conviction at the same time, and on the same evening 
 had gone forward to the anxious seat. From the way in 
 which she sobbed, one might have supposed that the good, 
 simple-hearted girl had terrible burdens on her conscience; 
 but she soon found hope, and her tears gave place to smiles. 
 Holcroft, on the contrary, was terribly cast down and unable 
 to find relief. He felt that he had much more to answer 
 for than Bessie; he accused himself of having been a rather 
 coarse, vulgar boy; he had made fun of sacred things in that 
 meeting-house more times than he liked to think of, and now 
 for some reason could think of nothing else. He could not 
 shed tears, or get up much emotion ; neither could he rid him- 
 self of the dull weight at heart. The minister, the brethren 
 and sisters, prayed for him and over him, but nothing re- 
 moved his terrible inertia. He became a familiar form on 
 the anxious seat, for there was a dogged persistence in his 
 nature which prevented him from giving up; but at the close 
 of each meeting he went home in a state of deeper dejection. 
 Sometimes, in returning, he was Bessie Jones's escort, and 
 her happiness added to his gall and bitterness. One moonlight 
 night, they stopped under the shadow of a pine near her 
 father's door, and talked over the matter a few moments be- 
 fore parting. Bessie was full of sympathy which she hardly 
 knew how to express. Unconsciously, in her earnestness 
 how well he remembered the act ! she laid her hand on his 
 arm as she said, "James, I guess I know what's the trouble 
 with you. In all your seeking, you are thinking only of
 
 JANE 105 
 
 yourself how bad you've been, and all that. I wouldn't 
 think of myself and what I was any more, if I was you. You 
 ain't so awful bad, James, that I'd turn a cold shoulder to 
 you ; but you might think I was doing just that if you staid 
 away from me and kept saying to yourself, 'I ain't fit to speak 
 to Bessie Jones'." 
 
 Her face had looked sweet and compassionate, and her 
 touch upon his arm had conveyed the subtile magic of sym- 
 pathy. Under her homely logic, the truth had burst upon 
 him like sunshine. In brief, he had turned from his own 
 shadow and was in the light. He remembered how in his 
 deep feeling he had bowed his head on her shoulder and 
 murmured, "O Bessie, Heaven bless you! I see it all." 
 
 He no longer went to the anxious seat. With this young 
 girl, and many others, he was taken into the church on pro- 
 bation. Thereafter, his fancy never wandered again, and 
 there was no other girl in Oakville for him but Bessie. In 
 due time, he had gone with her to yonder meeting-house to 
 be married. It had all seemed to come about as a matter 
 of course. He scarcely knew when he became formally en- 
 gaged. They "kept company" together steadfastly for a 
 suitable period, and that seemed to settle it in their own and 
 everybody else's mind. 
 
 There had been no change in Bessie's quiet, constant soul. 
 After her words under the shadow of the pine tree she 
 seemed to find it difficult to speak of religious subjects, even 
 to her husband; but her simple faith had been unwavering, 
 and she had entered into rest without fear or misgiving. 
 
 ISTot so her husband. He had his spiritual ups and downs, 
 but, like herself, was reticent. While she lived, only a heavy 
 storm kept them from "going to meeting," but with Hoi- 
 croft, worship was often little more than a form, his mind 
 being on the farm and its interests. Parents and relatives 
 had died, and the habit of seclusion from neighborhood and 
 church life had grown upon them gradually and almost un- 
 consciously. 
 
 For a long time after his wife's death, Holcroft had felt
 
 106 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 that he did not wish to see any one who would make refer- 
 ences to his loss. He shrunk from formal condolences as he 
 would from the touch of a diseased nerve. When the 
 minister called, he listened politely but silently to a general 
 exhortation; then muttered, when left alone, "It's all as he 
 says, I suppose; but somehow his words are like the medi- 
 cines Bessie took they don't do any good." 
 
 He kept up the form of his faith and a certain vague hope 
 until the night on which he drove forth the Irish revellers 
 from his home. In remembrance of his rage and profanity 
 on that occasion, he silently and in dreary misgiving con- 
 cluded that he should not, even to himself, keep up the pre- 
 tence of religion any longer. "I've fallen from grace that 
 is, if I ever had any" was a thought which did much to 
 rob him of courage to meet his other trials. Whenever he 
 dwelt on these subjects, doubts, perplexities and resentment 
 at his misfortunes so thronged his mind that he was appalled ; 
 so he strove to occupy himself with the immediate present. 
 
 To-day, however, in recalling the past, his thoughts would 
 question the future and the outcome of his experiences. In 
 accordance with his simple, downright nature, he muttered, 
 "I might as well face the truth and have done with it. I 
 don't know whether I'll ever see my wife again or not; I 
 don't know whether God is for me or against me. Some- 
 times, I half think there isn't any God. I don't know what 
 will become of me when I die. I'm sure of only one thing 
 while I do live I could take comfort in working the old 
 place." 
 
 In brief, without ever having heard of the term, he was 
 an agnostic, but not one of the self-complacent, superior type 
 who fancy that they have developed themselves beyond the 
 trammels of faith and are ever ready to make the world 
 aware of their progress. 
 
 At last, he recognized that his long revery was leading to 
 despondency and. weakness; he rose, shook himself half 
 angrily, and strode toward the house. "I'm here, and here 
 I'm going to stay," he growled. "As long as I'm on my
 
 JANE 107 
 
 own land, it's nobody's business what I am or how I feel. If 
 I can't get decent, sensible women help, I'll close up my 
 dairy and live here alone. I certainly can make enough 
 to support myself." 
 
 Jane met him with a summons to dinner, looking appre- 
 hensively at his stern, gloomy face. Mrs. Mumpson did not 
 appear. "Call her," he said curtly. 
 
 The literal Jane returned from the parlor and said, un- 
 sympathetically, "She's got a hank'chif to her eyes and says 
 she don't want no dinner." 
 
 "Very well," he replied, much relieved. 
 
 Apparently he did not want much dinner, either, for he 
 soon started out again. Mrs. "Wiggins was not utterly want- 
 ing in the intuitions of her sex, and said nothing to break in 
 upon her master's abstraction. 
 
 In the afternoon, Holcroft visited every nook and corner 
 of his farm, laying out, he hoped, so much occupation for 
 both hands and thoughts as to render him proof against 
 domestic tribulations. 
 
 He had not been gone long before Mrs. Mumpson called 
 in a plaintive voice, "Jane." 
 
 The child entered the parlor warily, keeping open a line 
 of retreat to the door. "You need not fear me," said her 
 mother, rocking pathetically. "My feelings are so hurt and 
 crushed that I can only bemoan the wrongs from which I 
 suffer. You little know, Jane, you little know a mother's 
 heart." 
 
 "!No," assented Jane, "I dunno nothin' about it." 
 
 "What wonder, then, that I weep, when my child is so 
 unnatural !" 
 
 "I dunno how to be anything else but what I be," replied 
 the girl in self-defence. 
 
 "If you would only yield more to my guidance and influ- 
 ence, Jane, the future might be brighter for us both. If you 
 had but stored up the Fifth Commandment in memory 
 but I forbear. You cannot so far forget your duty as not 
 to tell me how he behaved at dinner."
 
 108 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 "He looked awful glum, and hardly said a word." 
 "Ah-h !" exclaimed the widow, "the spell is working." 
 "If you ain't a workin' to-morrow, there'll be a worse 
 spell," the girl remarked. 
 
 "That will do, Jane, that will do. You little understand 
 how should you ? Please keep an eye on him and let me 
 know how he looks and what he is doing and whether his 
 face still wears a gloomy or a penitent aspect. Do as I bid 
 you, Jane, and you may unconsciously secure your own 
 well-being by obedience." 
 
 Watching any one was a far more congenial task to the 
 child than learning the Commandments, and she hastened 
 to comply. Moreover, she had the strongest curiosity in 
 regard to Holcroft herself. She felt that he was the arbiter 
 of her fate. So untaught was she, that delicacy and tact 
 were unknown qualities. Her one hope of pleasing was in 
 work. She had no power of guessing that sly espionage 
 would counterbalance such service. Another round of visit- 
 ing was dreaded above all things; she was therefore exceed- 
 ingly anxious about the future. "Mother may be right/' she 
 thought. "P'raps she can make him marry her, so we 
 needn't go away any more. P'raps she's taken the right 
 way to bring a man around and get him hooked, as cousin 
 Lemuel said. If I was goin' to hook a man though, I'd try 
 another plan than mother's. I'd keep my mouth shut and 
 my eyes open. I'd see what he wanted and do it, even 'fore 
 he spoke. 'Fi's big annuf I bet I could hook a man quicker'n 
 she can by usin her tongue 'stead of her hands." 
 
 Jane's scheme was not so bad a one but that it might be 
 tried to advantage by those so disposed. Her matrimonial 
 prospects, 'however, being still far in the future, it behooved 
 her to make her present existence as tolerable as possible. 
 She knew how much depended on Holcroft and was unaware 
 of any other method of learning his purposes except that of 
 watching him. Both fearing and fascinated, she dogged his 
 steps most of the afternoon, but saw nothing to confirm her 
 mother's view that any spell was working. She scarcely un-
 
 JANE 109 
 
 derstood why he looked so long at field, thicket, and woods, as 
 if he saw something invisible to her. 
 
 In planning future work and improvements, the farmer 
 had attained a quieter and more genial frame of mind. 
 When, therefore, he sat down and in glancing about saw 
 Jane crouching behind a low hemlock, he was more amused 
 than irritated. He had dwelt on his own interests so long 
 that he was ready to consider even Jane's for a while. "Poor 
 child !" he thought, "she doesn't know any better and perhaps 
 has even been taught to do such things. I think I'll sur- 
 prise her and draw her out a little. 
 
 "Jane, come here," he called. 
 
 The girl sprang to her feet, and hesitated whether to fly 
 or obey. "Don't be afraid," added Holcroft. "I won't 
 scold you. Come." 
 
 She stole toward him like some small, wild, fearful 
 animal in doubt of its reception. "Sit down there on that 
 rock," he said. 
 
 She obeyed with a sly, sidelong look, and he saw that she 
 kept her feet gathered under her so as to spring away if he 
 made the slightest hostile movement. 
 
 "Jane, do you think it's right to watch people so?" he 
 asked gravely. 
 
 "She told me to." 
 
 "Your mother?" 
 
 The girl nodded. 
 
 "But do you think it's right yourself ?" 
 
 "Dunno. 'Taint best if you get caught." 
 
 "Well, Jane," said Holcroft, with something like a smile 
 lurking in his deepset eyes, "I don't think it's right at all. 
 I don't want you to watch me any more, no matter who tells 
 you to. Will you promise not to ?" 
 
 The child nodded. She seemed averse to speaking when 
 a sign would answer. 
 
 "Can I go now ?" she asked after a moment. 
 
 "Not yet. I want to ask you some questions. Was any 
 one ever kind to you ?"
 
 110 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 "I dunno. I suppose so." 
 
 "What would you call being kind to you ?" 
 
 "Not scoldin' or cufiin' me." 
 
 "If I didn't scold or strike you, would you think I was 
 kind, then?" 
 
 She nodded; but after a moment's thought, said, "And 
 if you didn't look as if you hated to see me round." 
 
 "Do you think I've been kind to you ?" 
 
 "Kinder'n anybody else. You sorter look at me some- 
 times as if I was a rat. I don't s'pose you can help it and 
 I don't mind. I'd ruther stay here and work than go a visit- 
 in' again. Why can't I work outdoors when there's nothin' 
 for me to do in the house ?" 
 
 "Are you willing to work to do anything you can ?" 
 
 Jane was not sufficiently politic to enlarge on her desire 
 for honest toil and honest bread; she merely nodded. Hoi- 
 croft smiled as he asked, "Why are you so anxious to work ?" 
 
 " 'Cause I won't feel like a stray cat in the house then. 
 I want to be some'ers where I've a right to be." 
 
 "Wouldn't they let you work down at Lemuel Weeks's ?" 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "Why not ?" he asked. 
 
 "They said I wasn't honest ; they said they couldn't trust 
 me with things, 'cause when I was hungry I took things 
 to eat." 
 
 "Was that the way you were treated at other places ?" 
 
 "Mostly." 
 
 "Jane," asked Holcroft, very kindly, "did any one ever 
 kiss you ?" 
 
 "Mother used to 'fore people. It allus made me kinder 
 sick." 
 
 Holcroft shook his head, as if this child was a problem 
 beyond him, and for a time they sat together in silence. At 
 last, he rose and said, "It's time to go home. Now, Jane, 
 don't follow me; walk openly at my side, and when you 
 come to call me at any time, come openly, make a noise, 
 whistle or sing as a child ought. As long as you are with
 
 JANE HI 
 
 me, never do anything on the sly and we'll get along well 
 enough." 
 
 She nodded and walked beside him. At last, as if em- 
 boldened by his words, she broke out, "Say, if mother mar- 
 ried you, you couldn't send us away, could you ?" 
 
 "Why do you ask such a question?" said Holcroft, 
 frowning. 
 
 "I was thinkin' " 
 
 "Well," he interrupted, sternly, "never think or speak of 
 such things again." 
 
 The child had a miserable sense that she had angered 
 him ; she was also satisfied that her mother's schemes would 
 be futile, and she scarcely spoke again that day. 
 
 Holcroft was more than angry ; he was disgusted. That 
 Mrs. Mumpson's design upon him was so offensively open 
 that even this ignorant child understood it and was expected 
 to further it, caused such a strong revulsion in his mind that 
 he half resolved to put them both in his market wagon on 
 the morrow and take them back to their relatives. His 
 newly awakened sympathy for Jane quickly vanished. If 
 the girl and her mother had been repulsive from the first, 
 they were now hideous, in view of their efforts to fasten 
 themselves upon him permanently. Fancy, then, the climax 
 in his feelings when, as they passed the house, the front door 
 suddenly opened and Mrs. Mumpson emerged with clasped 
 hands and the exclamation, "Oh, how touching! just like 
 father and child!" 
 
 Without noticing the remark, he said coldly, as he passed, 
 "Jane, go help Mrs. Wiggins get supper." 
 
 His anger and disgust grew so strong as he hastily did his 
 evening work that he resolved not to endanger his self-con- 
 trol by sitting down within earshot of Mrs. Mumpson. As 
 soon as possible, therefore v he carried the new stove to his 
 room and put it up. The widow tried to address him as he 
 passed in and out, but he paid no heed to her. At last, he 
 only paused long enough at the kitchen door to say, "Jane,
 
 112 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 bring me some supper to my room. Remember, you only 
 are to bring it." 
 
 Bewildered and abashed, Mrs. Mumpson rocked ner- 
 vously. "I had looked for relentings this evening, a gen- 
 eral softening," she murmured, "and I don't understand 
 his bearing toward me." Then a happy thought struck 
 her. "I see, I see," she cried softly and ecstatically: "he 
 is struggling with himself; he finds that he must either 
 deny himself my society or yield at once. The end is 
 near." 
 
 A little later she, too, appeared at the kitchen door and 
 said, with serious sweetness, "Jane, you can also bring me 
 my supper to the parlor." 
 
 Mrs. Wiggins shook with mirth in all her vast proportions 
 as she remarked, "Jane, ye can bring me my supper from the 
 the stove to the table 'ere, and then vait hon yeself."
 
 NOT WIFE, BUT WAIF 113 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 NOT WIFE, BUT WAIF 
 
 TOM Watterly's horse was the pride of his heart. It was 
 a bob-tailed, raw-boned animal, but, as Tom compla- 
 cently remarked to Alida, "He can pass about any- 
 thing on the road" a boast that he let no chance escape of 
 verifying. It was a terrible ordeal to the poor woman to go 
 dashing through the streets in an open wagon, feeling that 
 every eye was upon her. With head bowed down, she em- 
 ployed her failing strength in holding herself from falling 
 out," yet almost wishing that she might be dashed against some 
 object that would end her wretched life. It finally occurred 
 to Tom that the woman at his side might not, after her recent 
 experience, share in his enthusiasm, and he pulled up, re- 
 marking, with a rough effort at sympathy, "It's a cussed 
 shame you've been treated so, and as soon as you're ready, I'll 
 help you get even with the scamp." 
 
 "I'm not well, sir," said Alida, humbly. "I only ask for 
 a quiet place where I can rest till strong enough to do some 
 kind of work." 
 
 "Well, well," said Tom, kindly, "don't lose heart. We'll 
 do the best by you we can. That ain't saying very much, 
 though, for we're full and running over." 
 
 He soon drew rein at the poorhouse door and sprang out. 
 "I I feel strange," Alida gasped. 
 
 Tom caught the fainting woman in his arms and shouted, 
 ''Here, Bill, Joe, you lazy loons, where are you ?" 
 
 Three or four half wrecks of men shuffled to his assis- 
 tance, and together they bore the unconscious woman to the 
 room which was used as a sort of hospital. Some old crones
 
 114 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 gathered around with such restoratives as they had at com- 
 mand. Gradually the stricken woman revived, but as the 
 whole miserable truth came back, she turned her face to the 
 wall with a sinking of heart akin to despair. At last, from 
 sheer exhaustion, feverish sleep ensued, from which she often 
 started with moans and low cries. One impression haunted 
 her she was falling, ever falling into a dark, bottomless 
 abyss. 
 
 Hours passed in the same partial stupor, filled with phan- 
 toms and horrible dreams. Toward evening, she aroused 
 herself mechanically to take the broth Mrs. Watterly ordered 
 her to swallow, then relapsed into the same lethargy. Late 
 in the night, she became conscious that some one was kneel- 
 ing at her bedside and fondling her. She started up with a 
 slight cry. 
 
 "Don't be afraid; it's only me, dear," said a quavering 
 voice. 
 
 In the dim rays of a night lamp, Alida saw an old woman 
 with gray hair falling about her face and on her night-robe. 
 At first, in her confused, feverish impressions, the poor waif 
 was dumb with superstitious awe, and trembled between joy 
 and fear. Could her mother have come to comfort her in 
 her sore extremity ? 
 
 "Put yer head on me ould withered breast," said the 
 apparition, "an' ye'll know a mither's heart niver changes. 
 I've been alookin' for ye and expectin' ye these long, weary 
 years. They said ye wouldn't come back that I'd niver 
 find ye ag'in; but I knowed I wud, and here ye are in me 
 arms, me darlint. Don't draw away from yer ould mither. 
 Don't ye be afeard or 'shamed loike. No matter what ye've 
 done or where ye've been or who ye've been with, a mither's 
 heart welcomes ye back jist the same as when yes were a 
 babby an' slept on me breast. A mither's heart ud quench 
 the fires o' hell. I'd go inter the burnin' flames o' the pit 
 an' bear ye out in me arms. So niver fear. Now that I've 
 found ye, ye're safe. Ye'll not rin away from me ag'in. I'll 
 hould ye I'll hould ye back," and the poor creature clasped
 
 NOT WIFE, BUT WAIF 115 
 
 Alida with such conclusive energy that she screamed from 
 pain and terror. 
 
 "Ye shall not get away from me, ye shall not go back to 
 evil ways. Whist, whist, be aisy and let me plead wid ye. 
 Think how many long, weary years I've looked for ye and 
 waited for ye. Niver have I slept noight or day in me watch- 
 in'. Ye may be so stained an' lost an' ruined that the whole 
 wourld will scorn ye, yet not yer mither, not yer ould 
 mither. O Nora, Nora, why did ye rin away from me? 
 Wasn't I koind ? No, no, ye cannot lave me ag'in," and she 
 threw herself on Alida, whose disordered mind was tortured 
 by what she heard. Whether or not it was a more terrible 
 dream than had yet oppressed her, she scarcely knew, but in 
 the excess of her nervous horror she sent out a cry that 
 echoed in every part of the large building. Two old women, 
 rushed in and dragged Alida's persecutor screaming away. 
 
 "That's allus the way o' it," she shrieked. "As soon as 
 I find me Nora they snatches me and carries me off, and I 
 have to begin me watchin' and waitin' and lookin' ag'in." 
 
 Alida continued sobbing and trembling violently. One 
 of the awakened patients sought to assure her by saying, 
 "Don't mind it so, miss. It's only old crazy Kate. Her 
 daughter ran away from her years and years ago how many 
 no one knows and when a young woman's brought here she 
 thinks it's her lost Nora. They oughtn't a let her get out, 
 knowin' you was here." 
 
 For several days Alida's reason wavered. The nervous 
 shock of her sad experiences had been so great that it did 
 not seem at all improbable that she, like the insane mother, 
 might be haunted for the rest of her life by an overwhelming 
 impression of something lost. In her morbid, shaken mind 
 she confounded the wrong she had received with guilt on 
 her own part. Eventually, she grew calmer and more sen- 
 sible. Although her conscience acquitted her of intentional 
 evil, nothing could remove the deep-rooted conviction that 
 she was shamed beyond hope of remedy. For a time she 
 was unable to rally from nervous prostration; meanwhile,
 
 116 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 her mind was preternaturally active, presenting every detail 
 of the past until she was often ready to cry aloud in her 
 despair. 
 
 Tom Watterly took an unusual interest in her case and 
 exhorted the visiting physician to do his best for her. She 
 finally began to improve, and with the first return of strength 
 sought to do something with her feeble hands. The bread 
 of charity was not sweet 
 
 Although the place in which she lodged was clean, and 
 the coarse, unvarying fare abundant, she shrank shuddering, 
 with each day's clearer consciousness, from the majority of 
 those about her. Phases of life of which she had scarcely 
 dreamed were the common topics of conversation. In her 
 mother, she had learned to venerate gray hairs, and it was 
 an awful shock to learn that so many of the feeble creatures 
 about her were coarse, wicked, and evil-disposed. How could 
 their withered lips frame the words they spoke ? How could 
 they dwell on subjects that were profanation, even to such 
 wrecks of womanhood as themselves ? 
 
 Moreover, they persecuted her by their curiosity. The 
 good material in her apparel had been examined and com- 
 mented on ; her wedding ring had been seen and its absence 
 soon noted, for Alida, after gaining the power to recall the 
 past fully, had thrown away the metal lie, feeling that it 
 was the last link in a chain binding her to a loathed and 
 hated relationship. Learning from their questions that the 
 inmates of the almshouse did not know her history, she 
 refused to reveal it, thus awakening endless surmises. Many 
 histories were made for her, the beldams vying with each 
 other in constructing the worst one. Poor Alida soon learned 
 that there was public opinion even in an almshouse, and that 
 she was under its ban. In dreary despondency she thought, 
 "They've found out about me. If such creatures as these 
 think I'm hardly fit to speak to, how can I ever find work 
 among good, respectable people ?" 
 
 Her extreme depression, the coarse, vulgar, and unchari- 
 table natures by which she was surrounded, retarded her
 
 NOT WIFE, BUT WAIF 117 
 
 recovery. By her efforts to do anything in her power for 
 others she disarmed the hostility of some of the women, and 
 those that were more or less demented became fond of her; 
 but the majority probed her wound by every look and word, 
 she was a saint compared with any of these, yet they made 
 her envy their respectability. She often thought, "Would 
 to God that I was as old and ready to die as the feeblest 
 woman here if I could only hold up my head like her." 
 
 One day a woman who had a child left it sleeping in 
 its rude wooden cradle and went downstairs. The babe 
 wakened and began to cry. Alida took it up and found a 
 strange solace in rocking it to sleep again upon her breast. 
 At last the mother returned, glared a moment into Alida's 
 appealing eyes, then snatched the child away with the cruel 
 words "Don't ye touch my baby ag'in. To think it ud been 
 in the arms o' the loikes o' ye !" 
 
 Alida went away and sobbed until her strength was gone. 
 She found that there were some others ostracized like her- 
 self, but they accepted their positions as a matter of course 
 as if it belonged to them and was least of their troubles. 
 
 Her strength was returning, yet she was still feeble when 
 she sent for Mrs. Watterly and asked, "Do you think I'm 
 strong enough to take a place somewhere?" 
 
 "You ought to know that better than me," was the chilly 
 reply. 
 
 "Do you do you think I could get a place? I would 
 be willing to do any kind of honest work not beyond my 
 strength." 
 
 "You hardly look able to sit up straight. Better wait 
 till you're stronger. I'll tell my husband. If applications 
 come, he'll see about it," and she turned coldly away. 
 
 A day or two later Tom came and said brusquely, but not 
 unkindly, "Don't like my hotel, hey? What can you do?" 
 
 "I'm used to sewing, but I'd try to do almost anything by 
 which I could earn my living." 
 
 "Best thing to do is to prosecute that scamp and make 
 him pay you a good round sum."
 
 118 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 She shook her head decidedly. "I don't wish to see 
 him again. I don't wish to go before people and have the 
 the past talked about. I'd like a place with some kind, 
 quiet people who keep no other help. Perhaps they wouldn't 
 take me if they knew; but I would be so faithful to them, 
 and try so hard to learn what they wanted " 
 
 "That's all nonsense, their not taking you. I'll find you 
 a place some day, but you're not strong enough yet. You'd 
 be brought right back here. You're as pale as a ghost 
 almost look like one. So don't be impatient, but give me a 
 chance to find you a good place. I feel sorry for you, and 
 don't want you to get among folks that have no feelings. 
 Don't you worry now; chirk up, and you'll come out all 
 right." 
 
 "I I think that if if I'm employed, the people who 
 take me ought to know," said Alida, with bowed head. 
 
 "They'll be blamed fools if they don't think more of you 
 when they do know," was his response. "Still, that shall be 
 as you please. I've told only my wife, and they've kept 
 mum at the police station, so the thing hasn't got into the 
 papers." 
 
 Alida's head bowed lower still as she replied, "I thank 
 you. My only wish now is to find some quiet place in which 
 I can work and be left to myself." 
 
 "Very well," said Tom, good-naturedly. "Cheer up, I'll 
 be on the lookout for you." 
 
 She turned to the window, near which she was sitting, to 
 hide the tears which his rough kindness evoked. "He don't 
 seem to shrink from me as if I wasn't fit to be spoken to," 
 she thought; "but his wife did. I'm afraid people won't 
 take me when they know." 
 
 The April sunshine poured in at the window; the grass 
 was becoming green ; a robin alighted on a tree near by and 
 poured out a jubilant song. For a few moments hope, that 
 had been almost dead in her heart, revived. As she looked 
 gratefully at the bird, thanking it in her heart for the song, 
 it darted upon a string hanging on an adjacent spray and
 
 NOT WIFE, BUT WAIF 119 
 
 bore it to a crotch between two boughs. Then Alicia saw 
 it was building a nest. Her woman's heart gave way. "Oh," 
 she moaned, "I shall never have a home again! no place 
 shared by one who cares for me. To work, and to be tolerated 
 for the sake of my work, is all that's left."
 
 120 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 A PITCHED BATTLE 
 
 IT was an odd household under Holcroft's roof on the 
 evening of the Sunday we have described. The farmer, 
 in a sense, had "taken sanctuary" in his own room, that 
 he might escape the mano3uvring wiles of his tormenting 
 housekeeper. If she would content herself with general 
 topics he would try to endure her foolish, high-flown talk 
 until the three months expired ; but that she should speedily 
 and openly take the initiative in matrimonial designs was 
 proof of such an unbalanced mind that he was filled with 
 nervous dread. "Hanged if one can tell what such a silly, 
 hair-brained woman will do next," he thought, as he brooded 
 by the fire. "Sunday or no Sunday, I feel as if I'd like to 
 take my horsewhip and give Lemuel Weeks a piece of my 
 mind." 
 
 Such musings did not promise well for Mrs. Mumpson, 
 scheming in the parlor below; but, as we have seen, she 
 had the faculty of arranging all future events to her mind. 
 That matters had not turned out in the past as she had ex- 
 pected, counted for nothing. She was one who could not 
 be taught, even by experience. The most insignificant thing 
 in Holcroft's dwelling had not escaped her scrutiny and 
 pretty accurate guess as to value, yet she could not see or 
 understand the intolerable disgust and irritation which her 
 ridiculous conduct excited. In a weak mind, egotism and 
 selfishness, beyond a certain point, pass into practical insan- 
 ity. All sense of delicacy, of the fitness of things, is lost; 
 even the power to consider the rights and feelings of others
 
 A PITCHED BATTLE 121 
 
 is wanting. Unlike poor Holcroft, Mrs. Mumpson had few 
 misgivings in regard to coming years. As she rocked un- 
 ceasingly before the parlor fire, she arranged everything in 
 regard to his future as well as her own. 
 
 Jane, quite forgotten, was oppressed with a miserable pre- 
 sentiment of evil. Her pinched but intense little mind was 
 concentrated on two facts Holcroft's anger and her mother's 
 lack of sense. From such premises it did not take her long 
 to reason out but one conclusion "visitin' again;" and this 
 was the summing up of all evils. Now and then a tear would 
 force its way out of one of her little eyes, but otherwise she 
 kept her troubles to herself. 
 
 Mrs. Wiggins was the only complacent personage in the 
 house, and she unbent with a garrulous affability to Jane, 
 which could be accounted for in but one way Holcroft had 
 forgotten about his cider barrel, thereby unconsciously giving 
 her the chance to sample its contents freely. She was now 
 smoking her pipe with much content, and indulging in pleas- 
 ing reminiscences which the facts of her life scarcely 
 warranted. 
 
 "Ven hi vas as leetle a gall as ye are," she began, and 
 then she related experiences quite devoid of the simplicity 
 and innocence of childhood. The girl soon forgot her fears 
 and listened with avidity until the old dame's face grew 
 heavier, if possible, with sleep, and she stumbled off to bed. 
 
 Having no wish to see or speak to her mother again, the 
 child blew out the candle and stole silently up the stairway. 
 At last Mrs. Mumpson took her light and went noisily around, 
 seeing to the fastenings of doors and windows. "I know he 
 is listening to every sound from me, and he shall learn what 
 a caretaker I am,"- she murmured softly. 
 
 Once out-of-doors in the morning, with his foot on the 
 native heath of his farm, Holcroft's hopefulness and courage 
 always returned. He was half angry with himself at his 
 nervous irritation of the evening before. "If she becomes 
 so cranky that I can't stand her, I'll pay the three months' 
 wages and clear her out," he had concluded, and he went 
 RF XVIII
 
 122 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 about his morning work with a grim purpose to submit to 
 very little nonsense. 
 
 Cider is akin to vinegar, and Mrs. Wiggins's liberal pota- 
 tions of the evening before had evidently imparted a marked 
 acidity to her temper. She laid hold of the kitchen utensils 
 as if she had a spite against them, and when Jane, confid- 
 ing in the friendliness shown so recently, came down to 
 assist, she was chased out of doors with language we forbear 
 to repeat. Mrs. Mumpson, therefore, had no intimation of 
 the low state of the barometer in the region of the kitchen. 
 "I have taken time to think deeply and calmly," she mur- 
 mured. "The proper course has been made clear to me. He 
 is somewhat uncouth ; he is silent and unable to express 
 his thoughts and emotions in brief, undeveloped; he is 
 awfully irreligious. Moth and rust are busy in this house; 
 much that would be so useful is going to waste. He must 
 learn to look upon me as the developer, the caretaker, a 
 patient and helpful embodiment of female influence. I will 
 now begin actively my mission of making him an ornerment 
 to society. That mountainous Mrs. Viggins must be re- 
 placed by a deferential girl who will naturally look up to 
 me. How can I be a true caretaker how can I bring repose 
 and refinement to this dwelling with two hundred pounds 
 of female impudence always in my way ? Mr. Holcrof t shall 
 see that Mrs. Viggins is an unseemly and jarring discord in 
 our home," and she brought the rocking-chair from the parlor 
 to the kitchen, with a serene and lofty air. Jane hovered 
 near the window, watching. 
 
 At first, there was an ominous silence in respect to words. 
 Portentous sounds increased, however, for Mrs. Wiggins 
 strode about with martial tread, making the boards creak 
 and the dishes clatter, while her red eyes shot lurid and 
 sanguinary gleams. She would seize a dipper as if it were 
 a foe, slamming it upon the table again as if striking an 
 enemy. Under her vigorous manipulation, kettles and pans 
 resounded with reports like firearms. 
 
 Mrs. Mumpson was evidently perturbed ; her calm supe-
 
 A PITCHED BATTLE 123 
 
 riority was forsaking her; every moment she rocked faster, 
 a sure indication that she was not at peace. At last she 
 said, with great dignity, "Mrs. Viggins, I must request you 
 to perform your tasks with less clamor. My nerves are not 
 equal to this peculiar way of taking up and laying down 
 things." 
 
 "Veil, jes' ye vait a minute, han hi'll show ye 'ow hi kin 
 take hup things han put 'em down hag'in hout 'o my vay," 
 and before Mrs. Mumpson could interfere, she found herself 
 lifted, chair and all bodily, and carried to the parlor. Be- 
 tween trepidation and anger, she could only gasp during the 
 transit, and when left in the middle of the parlor floor she 
 looked around in utter bewilderment. 
 
 It so happened that Holcroft, on his way from the barn, 
 had seen Jane looking in at the window, and, suspecting 
 something amiss, had arrived just in time for the spectacle. 
 Convulsed with laughter, he returned hastily to the barn; 
 while Jane expressed her feelings, whatever they were, by 
 executing something like a hornpipe before the window. 
 
 Mrs. Mumpson, however, was not vanquished. She had 
 only made a compulsory retreat from the scene of hostilities, 
 and after rallying her shattered faculties, advanced again 
 with the chair. "How dared you, you disreputerble female," 
 she began. 
 
 Mrs. Wiggins turned slowly and ominously upon her. 
 "Ye call me a disrupterbul female hag'in, han ye vont find 
 hit 'ealthy." 
 
 Mrs. Mumpson prudently backed toward the door before 
 delivering her return fire. 
 
 "Woman !" she cried, "are you out of your mind ? Don't 
 you know I'm housekeeper here and that it's my duty to 
 superintend you and your work ?" 
 
 "Veil, then hi'll double ye hup hand put ye hon the shelf 
 hof the dresser han' lock the glass door hon ye. From hup 
 there ye kin see all that's goin' hon and sup' intend to yer 
 'eart's content," and she started for her superior officer. 
 
 Mrs. Mumpson backed so precipitately with her chair that
 
 124 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 it struck against the door-case and she sat down hard. See- 
 ing that Mrs. Wiggins was almost upon her, she darted back 
 into the parlor, leaving the chair as a trophy in the hands 
 of her enemy. Mrs. Wiggins was somewhat appeased by 
 this second triumph, and with the hope of adding gall and 
 bitterness to Mrs. Mumpson's defeat, she took the chair to 
 her rival's favorite rocking-place, lighted her pipe and sat 
 down in grim complacency. Mrs. Mumpson warily ap- 
 proached to recover a support which, from long habit, had 
 become moral as well as physical, and her indignation knew 
 no bounds when she saw it creaking under the weight of 
 her foe. It must be admitted, however, that her ire was 
 not so great that she did not retain the "better part of valor," 
 for she stepped back, unlocked the front door and set it ajar. 
 Returning, she opened with a volubility that awed even 
 Mrs. Wiggins for a moment. "You miserable, mountain- 
 ous pauper, you interloper, you unrefined, irresponserble, 
 unregenerate female, do you know what you have done in 
 thus outraging me ? I'm a respecterble woman, respecterbly 
 connected. I'm here in a responserble station. When Mr. 
 Holcroft appears he'll drive you from the dwelling which you 
 vulgarize. Your presence makes this apartment a den. You 
 are a wild beast " 
 
 "Hi'm a vile beastes, ham hi ?" cried Mrs. Wiggins, at 
 last stung into action, and she threw her lighted pipe at the 
 open mouth that was discharging high-sounding epithets by 
 the score. 
 
 It struck the lintel over the widow's head, was shattered 
 and sent down upon her a shower of villanously smelling 
 sparks. Mrs. Mumpson shrieked and sought frantically to 
 keep her calico wrapper from taking fire. Meanwhile, Mrs. 
 Wiggins rose and took a step or two that she might assist 
 should there be any positive danger, for she had not yet 
 reached a point of malignity which would lead her to witness 
 calmly an auto-da-fe. This was Jane's opportunity. Mrs. 
 Wiggins had alienated this small and hitherto friendly power, 
 and now, with a returning impulse of loyalty, it took sides
 
 A PITCHED BATTLE 125 
 
 with the weaker party. The kitchen door was on a crack; 
 the child pushed it noiselessly open, darted around behind 
 the stove and withdrew the rocking-chair. 
 
 Mrs. Wiggins's brief anxiety and pre-occupation passed 
 and she stepped backward again to sit down. She did sit 
 down, but with such terrible force that the stove and nearly 
 everything else in the room threatened to fall with her. She 
 sat helplessly for a bewildered moment, while Jane, with the 
 chair, danced before her, exclaiming, tauntingly, "That's for 
 chasing me out as if I was a cat." 
 
 "Noo hi'll chase ye both hout," cried the ireful Wiggins, 
 scrambling to her feet. She made good her threat, for Hoi- 
 croft, a moment later, saw mother and daughter, the latter 
 carrying the chair, rushing from the front door, and Mrs. 
 Wiggins, armed with a great wooden spoon, waddling after 
 them, her objurgations mingling with Mrs. Mumpson's 
 shrieks and Jane's shrill laughter. The widow caught a 
 glimpse of him standing in the barn-door, and, as if borne 
 by the wind, she new toward him, crying, "He shall be my 
 protector." 
 
 He barely had time to whisk through a side door and 
 close it after him. The widow's impetuous desire to pant 
 out the story of her wrongs carried her into the midst of 
 the barnyard, where she was speedily confronted by an un- 
 ruly young heifer that could scarcely be blamed for hostility 
 to such a wild looking object. -j . .'. 
 
 The animal shook its head threateningly as it advanced. 
 Again the widow's shrieks resounded. This time Holcroft was 
 about to come to the rescue, when the beleaguered woman 
 made a dash for the top of the nearest fence, reminding her 
 amused looker-on of the night of her arrival when she had 
 perched like some strange sort of bird on the wagon wheeL 
 
 Seeing that she was abundantly able to escape alone, the 
 farmer remained in concealment. Although disgusted and 
 angry at the scenes taking place he was scarcely able to re- 
 strain roars of laughter. Perched upon the fence, the 
 widow called piteously for him to lift her down, but he was
 
 126 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 not to be caught by any such device. "At last, giving up 
 hope and still threatened by the heifer, she went over on 
 the other side. Knowing that she must make a detour 
 before reaching the dwelling, Holcroft went thither rapidly 
 with the purpose of restoring order at once. "Jane," he 
 said sternly, "take that chair to the parlor and leave it 
 there. Let there be no more such nonsense." 
 
 At his approach, Mrs. Wiggins had retreated sullenly to 
 the kitchen. "Come," he ordered, good-naturedly, "hasten 
 breakfast and let there be no more quarrelling." 
 
 "Hif hi vas left to do me work hin peace " she began. 
 
 "Well, you shall do it in peace." 
 
 At this moment, Mrs. Mumpson came tearing in, quite 
 oblivious of the fact that she had left a goodly part of her 
 calico skirt on a nail of the fence. She was rushing toward 
 Holcroft, when he said, sternly and with a repellent gesture, 
 "Stop and listen to me. If there's any more of this quar- 
 relling like cats and dogs in my house, I'll send for the con- 
 stable and have you all arrested. If you are not all utterly 
 demented and hopeless fools you will know that you came 
 here to do my work, and nothing else." Then catching a 
 glimpse of Mrs. Mumpson's dress, and fearing he should 
 laugh outright, he turned abruptly on his heel and went to 
 his room, where he was in a divided state between irrepres- 
 sible mirth and vexation. 
 
 Mrs. Mumpson also fled to her room. She felt that the 
 proper course for her at this juncture was a fit of violent 
 hysterics; but a prompt douche from the water pitcher, 
 administered by the unsympathetic Jane, effectually checked 
 the first symptoms. "Was ever a respecterble woman 
 
 "You aint respectable," interrupted the girl, as she de- 
 parted, "you look like a scarecrow. Ti's you I'd begin to 
 show some sense now."
 
 'WHAT IS TO BECOME OF ME?" 127 
 
 CHAPTEK XV 
 
 WHAT is TO BECOME or 
 
 HOLCROFT'S reference to a constable and arrest, 
 though scarcely intended to be more than a vague 
 threat, had the effect of clearing the air like a clap 
 of thunder. Jane had never lost her senses, such as she 
 possessed,' and Mrs. Wiggins recovered hers sufficiently to 
 apologize to the farmer when he came down to breakfast. 
 "But that Mumpson's hawfully haggravatin', master, as ye 
 know yeself, hi'm a-thinkin'. Vud ye jis tell a body vat she 
 is 'ere han 'ow hi'm to get hon vith 7 er. Hif hi'm to take nje 
 horders from 'er hi'd rather go back to the poor-'us." 
 
 "You are to take your orders from me and no one else. 
 All I ask is that you go on quietly with your work and pay 
 no attention to her. You know well enough that I can't 
 have such goings on. I want you to let Jane help you and 
 learn how to do everything as far as she can. Mrs. Mump- 
 son can do the mending and ironing, I suppose. At any rate, 
 I won't have any more quarrelling and uproar. I'm a quiet 
 man and intend to have a quiet house. You and Jane can 
 get along very well in the kitchen; and you say you under- 
 stand the dairy work." 
 
 "Veil, hi does, han noo hi've got me horders hi'll go 
 right along." 
 
 Mrs. Mumpson was like one who had been rudely shaken 
 out of a dream, and she appeared to have sense enough to 
 realize that she couldn't assume so much at first as she 
 anticipated. She received from Jane a cup of coffee, and 
 said, feebly, "I can partake of no more after the recent 
 trying events."
 
 128 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 For some hours she was a little dazed, but her mind was 
 of too light weight to be long cast down. Jane rehearsed 
 Holcroft's words, described his manner, and sought with 
 much insistence to show her mother that she must drop her 
 nonsense at once. "I can see it in his eye," said the girl, 
 "that he won't stand much more. If yer don't come down 
 and keep yer hands busy and yer tongue still we'll tramp. 
 As to his marrying you, bah! he'd jes' as soon marry Mrs. 
 Wiggins." 
 
 This was awful prose, but Mrs. Mumpson was too bewil- 
 dered and discouraged for a time to dispute it, and the 
 household fell into a somewhat regular routine. The widow 
 appeared at her meals with the air of a meek and suffering 
 martyr; Holcroft was exceedingly brief in his replies to her 
 questions and paid no heed to her remarks. After supper 
 and his evening work, he went directly to his room. Every 
 day, however, he secretly chafed, with ever-increasing dis- 
 content, over this tormenting presence in his house. The 
 mending and such work as she attempted was so wretchedly 
 performed that it would better have been left undone. She 
 was also recovering her garrulousness, and mistook his tolera- 
 tion and her immunity in the parlor for proof of a growing 
 consideration. "He knows that my hands were never made 
 for such coarse, menial tasks as that Viggins does," she 
 thought, as she darned one of his stockings in a way that 
 would render it almost impossible for him to put his foot 
 into it again. "The events of last Monday morning were 
 unfortunate, unforeseen, unprecedented. I was unprepared 
 for such vulgar, barbarous, unheard of proceedings taken 
 off my feet, as it were ; but now that he's had time to think 
 it all over he sees that I am not a common woman like Vig- 
 gins" Mrs. Mumpson would have suffered much rather 
 than have accorded her enemy the prefix of Mrs. "who 
 is only fit to be among pots and kettles. He leaves me 
 in the parlor as if a refined apartment became me and I 
 became it. Time and my influence will mellow, soften, ele- 
 vate, develop, and at last awaken a desire for my society,
 
 "WHAT IS TO BECOME OF ME?" 129 
 
 then yearnings. My first error was in not giving myself 
 time to make a proper impression. He will soon begin to 
 yield like the earth without. First it is hard and frosty, 
 then it is cold and muddy, if I may permit myself so dis- 
 agreeable an illustration. Now he is becoming mellow, and 
 soon every word I utter will be like good seed in good 
 ground. How aptly it all fits. I have only to be patient." 
 
 She was finally left almost to utter idleness, for Jane and 
 Mrs. Wiggins gradually took from the incompetent hands 
 even the light tasks which she had attempted. She made 
 no protest, regarding all as another proof that Holcroft was 
 beginning to recognize her superiority and unfitness for 
 menial tasks. She would maintain, however, her character 
 as the caretaker and ostentatiously inspected everything; 
 she also tried to make as much noise in fastening up the 
 dwelling at night as if she were barricading a castle. Hol- 
 croft would listen grimly, well aware that no house had been 
 entered in Oakville during his memory. He had taken an 
 early occasion to say at the table that he wished no one to 
 enter his room except Jane, and that he would not permit 
 any infringement of this rule. Mrs. Mumpson's feelings 
 had been hurt at first by this order, but she soon satisfied 
 herself that it had been meant for Mrs. Wiggins's benefit and 
 not her own. She found, however, that Jane interpreted it 
 literally. "If either of you set foot in that room I'll tell 
 him," she said, flatly. "I've had my orders and I'm a-goin' 
 to obey. There's to be no more rummagin'. If you'll give 
 me the keys I'll put things back in order ag'in." 
 
 "Well, I won't give you the keys. I'm the proper per- 
 son to put things in order if you did no replace them prop- 
 erly. You are just-making an excuse to rummage yourself. 
 My motive for inspecting is very different from yours." 
 
 "Shouldn't wonder if you was sorry some day," the girl 
 had remarked, and so the matter had dropped and been for- 
 gotten. 
 
 Holcroft solaced himself with the fact that Jane and 
 Mrs. Wiggins served his meals regularly and looked after the
 
 130 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 dairy with better care than it had received since his wife 
 died. "If I had only those two in the house I could get 
 along first-rate," he thought. "After the three months are 
 up I'll try to make such an arrangement. I'd pay the 
 mother and send her off now, but if I did, Lemuel Weeks 
 would put her up to a lawsuit." 
 
 April days brought the longed-for plowing and planting, 
 and the farmer was so busy and absorbed in his work that 
 Mrs. Mumpson had less and less place in his thoughts, even 
 as a thorn in the flesh. One bright afternoon, however, 
 chaos came again unexpectedly. Mrs. Wiggins did not 
 suggest a volatile creature, yet such, alas! she was. She 
 apparently exhaled and was lost, leaving no trace. The cir- 
 cumstances of her disappearance permit of a very matter-of- 
 fact and not very creditable explanation. On the day in 
 question she prepared an unusually good dinner, and the 
 farmer had enjoyed it in spite of Mrs. Mumpson's presence 
 and desultory remarks. The morning had been fine and 
 he had made progress in his early spring work. Mrs. Wig- 
 gins felt that her hour and opportunity had come. Follow- 
 ing him to the door, she said in a low tone and yet with a 
 decisive accent, as if she was claiming a right, "Master, hi'd 
 thank ye for me two weeks' wages." 
 
 He unsuspectingly and unhesitatingly gave it to her, 
 thinking, "That's the way with such people. They want to 
 be paid often and be sure of their money. She'll work all 
 the better for having it." 
 
 Mrs. Wiggins knew the hour when the stage passed the 
 house; she had made up a bundle without a very close 
 regard to meum or tuum, and was ready to flit. The chance 
 speedily came. 
 
 The "caretaker" was rocking in the parlor and would dis- 
 dain to look, while Jane had gone out to help plant some 
 early potatoes on a warm hillside. The coast was clear. 
 Seeing the stage coming, the old woman waddled down the 
 lane at a remarkable pace, paid her fare to town, and the 
 Holcroft kitchen knew her no more. That she found the
 
 "WHAT IS TO BECOME OF MEf" 131 
 
 "friend" she had wished to see on her way out to the farm, 
 and that this friend brought her quickly under Tom Wat- 
 terly's care again, goes without saying. 
 
 As the shadows lengthened and the robins became tune- 
 ful, Holcroft said, "You've done well, Jane. Thank you. 
 Now you can go back to the house." 
 
 The child soon returned in breathless haste to the field 
 where the farmer was covering the potato pieces she had 
 dropped, and cried, ''Mrs. Wiggins's gone." 
 
 Like a flash, the woman's motive in asking for her wages 
 occurred to him, but he started for the house to assure 
 himself of the truth. "Perhaps she's in the cellar," he said, 
 remembering the cider barrel, "or she's out for a walk." 
 
 "No, she ain't," persisted Jane. "I've looked every- 
 where and all over the barn, and she ain't nowhere. Mother 
 hain't seen her, nuther." 
 
 With dreary misgivings, Holcroft remembered that he 
 no longer had a practical ally in the old Englishwoman, and 
 he felt that a new breaking up was coming. He looked wist- 
 fully at Jane, and thought, "I could get along with that child 
 if the mother was away. But that can't be ; she'd visit here 
 indefinitely if Jane stayed." 
 
 When Mrs. Mumpson learned from Jane of Mrs. Wig- 
 gins's disappearance, she was thrown into a state of strong 
 excitement. She felt that her hour and opportunity might 
 be near also, and she began to rock very fast. "What else 
 could he expect of such a female?" she soliloquized. "I've 
 no doubt but she's taken things, too. He'll now learn my 
 value and what it is to have a caretaker who will never 
 desert him." 
 
 Spirits and courage rose with the emergency; her 
 thoughts hurried her along like a dry leaf caught in a March 
 gale. "Yes," she murmured, "the time has come for me to 
 act, to dare, to show him. in his desperate need and hour of 
 desertion what might be, may be, must be. He will now 
 see clearly the difference between these peculiar females 
 who come and go, and a respecterble woman and a mother
 
 132 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 who can be depended upon one who will never steal away 
 like a thief in the night." 
 
 She saw Holcroft approaching the house with Jane; she 
 heard him ascend to Mrs. Wiggins's room, then return to the 
 kitchen and ejaculate, "Yes, she's gone, sure enough." 
 
 "Now, act," murmured the widow, and she rushed to- 
 ward the farmer with clasped hands, and cried with emotion, 
 "Yes, she's gone ; but I'm not gone. You are not deserted. 
 Jane will minister to you; I will be the caretaker, and our 
 home will be all the happier because that monstrous creature 
 is absent. Dear Mr. Holcroft, don't be so blind to your own 
 interests and happiness, don't remain undeveloped. Every- 
 thing is wrong here if you would but see it. You are lonely 
 and desolate. Moth and rust have entered, things in un- 
 opened drawers and closets are moulding and going to waste. 
 Yield to true female influence and " 
 
 Holcroft had been rendered speechless at first by this 
 onslaught, but the reference to unopened drawers and clos- 
 ets awakened a sudden suspicion. Had she dared to touch 
 what had belonged to his wife? "What!" he exclaimed 
 sharply, interrupting her ; then with an expression of disgust 
 and anger, he passed her swiftly and went to his room. A 
 moment later came the stern summons, "Jane, come here." 
 
 "Now you'll see what'll come of that rummagin'," whim- 
 pered Jane. "You ain't got no sense at all to go at him 
 so. He's jus' goin' to put us right out," and she went up- 
 stairs as if to execution. 
 
 "Have I failed?" gasped Mrs. Mumpson, and retreating 
 to the chair, she rocked nervously. 
 
 "Jane," said Holcroft, in hot anger, "my wife's things 
 have been pulled out of her bureau and stuffed back again 
 as if they were no better than dishcloths. Who did it?" 
 
 The child now began to cry aloud. "There, there," he 
 said, with intense irritation, "I can't trust you either." 
 
 "I hain't touched 'em since you told me told me 
 not to do things on the sly," the girl sobbed, brokenly; 
 but he had closed the door upon her, and did not hear.
 
 "WHAT IS TO BECOME OF ME?" 133 
 
 He could have forgiven her almost anything but this. 
 Since she only had been permitted to take care of his room, 
 he naturally thought that she committeed the sacrilege, and 
 her manner had confirmed this impression. Of course the 
 mother had been present and probably had assisted; but 
 he had expected nothing better of her. 
 
 He took the things out, folded and smoothed them as 
 carefully as he could with his heavy hands and clumsy 
 fingers. His gentle, almost reverent touch was in strange 
 contrast with his flushed, angry face and gleaming eyes. 
 "This is the worst that's happened yet," he muttered. "Oh, 
 Lemuel Weeks, it's well you are not here now, or we might 
 both have cause to be sorry. It was you who put these pry- 
 ing, and for all I know, thieving creatures into my house, 
 and it was as mean a trick as ever one man played another. 
 You and this precious cousin of yours thought you could 
 bring about a marriage; you put her up to her ridiculous 
 antics. Faugh ! the very thought of it all makes me sick." 
 
 "Oh, mother, what shall I do?" Jane cried, rushing into 
 the parlor and throwing herself on the floor, "he's goin' to 
 put us right out." 
 
 "He can't put me out before the three months are up," 
 quavered the widow. 
 
 "Yes he can. We've been a-rummagin' where we'd no 
 biznisa to be. He's mad enough to do anything; he jes' 
 looks awful; I'm afraid of him." 
 
 "Jane," said her mother, plaintively, "I feel indisposed. 
 I think I'll retire." 
 
 "Yes, that's the way with you" sobbed the child. "You 
 got me into the scrape and now you retire." 
 
 Mrs. Mumpson's confidence in herself and her schemes 
 was terribly shaken. "I must act very discreetly. I must 
 be alone that I may think over these untoward events. Mr. 
 Holcroft has been so warped by the past female influences 
 of his life that there's no counting on his action. He taxes 
 me sorely," she explained, and then ascended the stairs. 
 
 "Oh ! oh !" moaned the child, as she writhed on the floor,
 
 134 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 "Mother ain't got no sense at all. What is goin' to become 
 of me? I'd ruther hang about his barn than go back to 
 cousin Lemuel's or any other cousin's." 
 
 Spurned by one hope, she at last sprang up and went to 
 the kitchen. It was already growing dark, and she lighted 
 the lamp, kindled the fire, and began getting supper with 
 breathless energy. 
 
 As far as he could discover, Holcroft was satisfied that 
 nothing had been taken. In this respect he was right. Mrs. 
 Mumpson's curiosity and covetousness were boundless, but 
 she would not steal. There are few who do not draw the 
 line somewhere. 
 
 Having tried to put the articles back as they were before, 
 he locked them up, and went hastily down and out, feeling 
 that he must regain his self-control and decide upon his 
 future action at once. "I will then carry out my purposes 
 in a way that will give the Weeks tribe no chance to make 
 trouble." 
 
 As he passed the kitchen windows he saw Jane rushing 
 about as if possessed, and he stopped to watch her. It soon 
 became evident that she was trying to get his supper. His 
 heart relented at once in spite of himself. "The poor, 
 wronged child!" he muttered. "Why should I be so hard 
 on her for doing what she's been brought up to do ? Well, 
 well, it's too bad to send her away, but I can't help it. I'd 
 lose my own reason if the mother was here much longer, 
 and if I kept Jane, her idiotic mother would stay in spite of 
 me. If she didn't there'd be endless talk and lawsuits, too, 
 like enough, about separating parent and child. Jane's too 
 young and little, anyway, to be here alone and do the work. 
 But I'm sorry for her, I declare I am, and I wish I could do 
 something to give her a chance in the world. If my wife 
 was only living we'd take and bring her up, disagreeable 
 and homely as she is; but there's no use of my trying to do 
 anything alone. I fear, after all, that I shall have to give 
 up the old place and go I don't know where. What is 
 to become of her?"
 
 MRS. MUMPSON'S VICISSITUDES 135 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 MRS. MUMPSON'S VICISSITUDES 
 
 HAVING completed her preparations for supper, Jane 
 stole timidly up to Holcroft's room to summon him. 
 Her first rap on his door was scarcely audible, then 
 she ventured to knock louder and finally to call him, but 
 there was no response. Full of vague dread she went to her 
 mother's room and said, "He won't answer me ; he's so awful 
 mad that I don't know what he'll do." 
 
 "I think he has left his apartment," her mother moaned 
 from the bed. 
 
 "Why couldn't yer tell me so before?" cried Jane. 
 "What yer gone to bed for? If you'd only show some 
 sense and try to do what he brought you here for, like 
 enough he'd keep us yet." 
 
 "My heart's too crushed, Jane " 
 
 "Oh, bother, bother!" and the child rushed away. She 
 looked into the dark parlor and called, "Mr. Holcroft!" 
 Then she appeared in the kitchen again, the picture of un- 
 couth distress and perplexity. A moment later she opened 
 the door and darted toward the barn. 
 
 "What do you wish, Jane?" said Holcroft, emerging 
 from a shadowy corner and recalling her. 
 
 "Sup supper's ready," sobbed the child. 
 
 He came in and sat down at the table, considerably ap- 
 pearing not to notice her until she had a chance to recover 
 composure. She vigorously used the sleeves of both arms 
 in drying her eyes, then stole in and found a seat in a dusky 
 corner.
 
 136 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 "Why don't you come to supper?" he asked quietly. 
 
 "Don't want any." 
 
 "You had better take some up to your mother." 
 
 "She oughtn't to have any." 
 
 "That doesn't make any difference. I want you to take 
 up something to her, and then come down and eat your sup- 
 per like a sensible girl." 
 
 "I ain't been sensible, nor mother nuther." 
 
 "Do as I say, Jane." The child obeyed, but she 
 couldn't swallow anything but a little coffee. 
 
 Holcroft was in a quandary. He had not the gift of 
 speaking soothing yet meaningless words, and was too hon- 
 est to raise false hopes. He was therefore almost as silent 
 and embarrassed as Jane herself. To the girl's furtive 
 scrutiny, he did not seem hardened against her, and she at 
 last ventured, "Say, I didn't touch them drawers after you 
 told me not to do anything on the sly." 
 
 "When were they opened? Now tell me the truth, 
 Jane." 
 
 "Mother opened them the first day you left us alone. I 
 told her you wouldn't like it, but she said she was house- 
 keeper; she said how it was her duty to inspect everything. 
 I wanted to inspect too. We was jest rummagin' that's 
 what it was. After the things were all pulled out, mother 
 got the rocker and wouldn't do anything. It was gettin' 
 late, and I was frightened and poked 'em back in a hurry. 
 Mother wanted to rummage ag'in the other day and I 
 wouldn't let her; then she wouldn't let me have the keys, 
 so I could fix 'em up." 
 
 "But the keys were in my pocket, Jane." 
 
 "Mother has a lot of keys. I've told you jes' how it all 
 was." 
 
 "Nothing was taken away?" 
 
 "No. Mother ain't got sense, but she never takes things. 
 I nuther 'cept when I'm hungry. Never took anything 
 here. Say, are you goin' to send us away?" 
 
 "I fear I shall have to, Jane. I'm sorry for you, for I
 
 MRS. MUMPSON'S VICISSITUDES 137 
 
 believe you would try to do the best you could if given a 
 chance, and I can. see you never had a chance." 
 
 "No," said the child, blinking hard to keep the tears out 
 of her eyes. "I ain't had no teachin'. I've jes' kinder 
 growed along with the farm hands and rough boys. Them 
 that didn't hate me teased me. Say, couldn't I stay in your 
 barn and sleep in the hay?" 
 
 Holcroft was sorely perplexed and pushed away his half- 
 eaten supper. He knew himself what it was to be friendless 
 and lonely, and his heart softened toward this worse than 
 motherless child. 
 
 "Jane," he said, kindly, "I'm just as sorry for you as I 
 can be, but you don't know the difficulties in the way of 
 what you wish and I fear I can't make you understand them. 
 Indeed, it would not be best to tell you all of them. If I 
 could keep you at all, you should stay in the house, and I'd 
 be kind to you, but it can't be. I may not stay here myself. 
 My future course is very uncertain. There's no use of my 
 trying to go on as I have. Perhaps some day I can do 
 something for you, and if I can, I will. I will pay your 
 mother her three months' wages in full in the morning, and 
 then I want you both to get your things into your trunk, 
 and I'll take you to your cousin Lemuel's." 
 
 Driven almost to desperation, Jane suggested the only 
 scheme she could think of. "If you stayed here and I run 
 away and came back, wouldn't you keep me? I'd work all 
 day and all night jes' for the sake of stayin'." 
 
 "No, Jane," said Holcroft, firmly, "you'd make me no 
 end of trouble if you did that. If you'll be a good girl and 
 learn how to do things, I'll try to find you a place among 
 kind people some day when you're older and can act for 
 yourself." 
 
 "You're afraid 'fi's here mother'd come a-visitin'," said 
 the girl, keenly. 
 
 "You're too young to -understand half the trouble that 
 might follow. My plans are too uncertain for me to tangle 
 myself up. You and your mother must go away at once, so
 
 138 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 I can do what I must do before it's too late in the season. 
 Here's a couple of dollars which you can keep for yourself," 
 and he went up to his room, feeling that he could not witness 
 the child's distress any longer. 
 
 He fought hard against despondency and tried to face the 
 actual condition of his affairs. "I might have known," he 
 thought, "that things would have turned out somewhat as 
 they have, with such women in the house, and I don't see 
 much chance of getting better ones. I've been so bent on 
 staying and going on as I used to that I've just shut my eyes 
 to the facts." He got out an old account book and pored 
 over it a long time. The entries therein were blind enough, 
 but at last he concluded, "It's plain that I've lost money on 
 the dairy ever since my wife died, and the prospects now are 
 worse than ever. That Weeks tribe will set the whole town 
 talking against me and it will be just about impossible to get 
 a decent woman to come here. I might as well have an auc- 
 tion and sell all the cows but one, at once. After that, if 
 I find I can't make out living alone, I'll put the place in 
 better order and sell or rent. I can get my own meals after 
 a fashion, and old Jonathan Johnson's wife will do my wash- 
 ing and mending. It's time it was done better than it has 
 been, for some of my clothes make me look like a scarecrow. 
 I believe Jonathan will come with his cross dog and stay 
 here too, when I must be away. Well, well, it's a hard lot 
 for a man ; but I'd be about as bad off, and a hundred fold 
 more lonely, if I went anywhere else. I can only feel my 
 way along and live a day at a time. I'll learn what can be 
 done and what can't be. One thing is clear; I can't go on 
 with this Mrs. Mumpson in the house a day longer. She 
 makes me creep and crawl, all over, and the first thing I 
 know I shall be swearing like a bloody pirate unless I get 
 rid of her. If she wasn't such a hopeless idiot I'd let her 
 stay for the sake of Jane, but I won't pay her good wages 
 to make my life a burden a day longer," and with like self- 
 communings he spent the evening until the habit of early 
 drowsiness overcame him.
 
 MBS. MUMPSON'S VICISSITUDES 139 
 
 The morning found Jane dispirited and a little sullen, as 
 older and wiser people are apt to be when disappointed. 
 She employed herself in getting breakfast carelessly and 
 languidly, and the result was not satisfactory. 
 
 "Where's your mother ?" Holcroft asked when he came in. 
 
 "She told me to tell you she was indisposed." 
 
 "Indisposed to go to Lemuel Weeks's ?" 
 
 "I 'spect she means she's sick." 
 
 He frowned and looked suspiciously at the girl. Here 
 was a new complication, and very possibly a trick. 
 
 "What's the matter with her ?" 
 
 "Dunno." 
 
 "Well, she had better get well enough to go by this after- 
 noon," he remarked, controlling his irritation with difficulty, 
 and nothing more was said. 
 
 Full of his new plans, he spent a busy forenoon and then 
 came to dinner. It was the same old story. He went up 
 and knocked at Mrs. Mumpson's door, saying that he wished 
 to speak to her. 
 
 "I'm too indisposed to transact business," she replied 
 feebly. 
 
 "You must be ready to-morrow morning," he called. "I 
 have business plans which can't be delayed," and he turned 
 away muttering rather sulphurous words. 
 
 "He will relent; his hard heart will soften at last " 
 But we shall not weary the reader with the long soliloquies 
 with which she beguiled her politic seclusion, as she regarded 
 it. Poor, unsophisticated Jane made matters worse. The 
 condition of life among her much-visited relatives now ex- 
 isted again. She was not wanted, and her old sly, sullen, and 
 furtive manner reasserted itself. Much of Holcroft's sym- 
 pathy was thus alienated, yet he partially understood and 
 pitied her. It became, however, all the more clear that he 
 must get rid of both mother and child, and that further rela- 
 tions with either of them could only lead to trouble. 
 
 The following morning only Jane appeared. "Is your 
 mother really sick?" he asked.
 
 140 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 "S'pose so," was the laconic reply. 
 
 "You haven't taken much pains with the breakfast, 
 Jane." 
 
 " 'Taint no use." 
 
 With knitted brows he thought deeply, and silently ate the 
 wretched meal which had been prepared. Then, remark- 
 ing that he might do some writing, he went up to a small 
 attic room which had been used occasionally by a hired man. 
 It contained a covered pipe-hole leading into the chimney- 
 flue. Removing the cover, he stopped up the flue with an old 
 woollen coat. "I suppose I'll have to meet tricks with 
 tricks," he muttered. 
 
 Returning to his own apartment, he lighted a fire in the 
 stove and laid upon the kindling blaze some dampened wood, 
 then went out and quietly hitched his horses to the wagon. 
 
 The pungent odor of smoke soon filled the house. The 
 cover over the pipehole in Mrs. Mumpson's room was not 
 very secure, and thick volumes began to pour in upon the 
 startled widow. "Jane !" she shrieked. 
 
 If Jane was sullen toward Holcrof t, she was furious at her 
 mother, and paid no heed at first to her cry. 
 
 "Jane, Jane, the house is on fire !" 
 
 Then the child did fly up the stairway. The smoke 
 seemed to confirm the words of her mother, who was dressing 
 in hot haste. "Run and tell Mr. Holcroft," she cried. 
 
 "I won't," said the girL "If he won't keep us in the 
 house I don't care if he don't have any house." 
 
 "No, no, tell him," screamed Mrs. Mumpson. "If we 
 save his house he will relent Gratitude will overwhelm 
 him. So far from turning us away, he will sue, he will plead 
 for forgiveness for his former harshness ; his home saved will 
 be our home won. Just put our things in the trunk first. 
 Perhaps the house can't be saved, and you know we must 
 save our things. Help me, quick. There, there now, now " 
 both were sneezing and choking in a half-strangled manner. 
 "Now let me lock it; my hand trembles so; take hold and
 
 MRS. MUMPSON' S VICISSITUDES 141 
 
 drag it out; drag it downstairs; no matter how it scratches 
 things !" 
 
 Having reached the hall below, she opened the door and 
 shrieked for Holcroft; Jane also began running toward the 
 barn. The farmer came hastily out, and shouted, "What's 
 the matter ?" 
 
 "The house is on fire !" they screamed in chorus. 
 
 To carry out his ruse, he ran swiftly to the house. Mrs. 
 Mumpson stood before him wringing her hands and crying, 
 "O dear Mr. Holcroft, can't I do anything to help you? I 
 would so like to help you and " 
 
 "Yes, my good woman, let me get in the door and see 
 what's the matter. Oh, here's your trunk. That's sensible. 
 Better get it outside," and he went up the stairs two steps 
 at a time and rushed into his room. 
 
 "Jane, Jane," ejaculated Mrs. Mumpson, sinking on a 
 seat in the porch, "he called me his good woman !" But Jane 
 was busy dragging the trunk out of doors. Having secured 
 her own and her mother's worldly possessions, she called, 
 "Shall I bring water and carry things out ?" 
 
 "N"o," he replied, "not yet. There's something the mat- 
 ter with the chimney," and he hastened up to the attic room, 
 removed the clog from the flue, put on the cover again, and 
 threw open the window. Returning, he locked the door of 
 the room which Mrs. Mumpson had occupied and came down- 
 stairs. "I must get a ladder and examine the chimney," he 
 said as he passed. 
 
 "Oh, my dear Mr. Holcroft," the widow began. 
 
 "Can't talk with you yet," and he hastened on. 
 
 "As soon as he's sure the house is safe, Jane, all will be 
 well." But the girl had grown hopeless and cynical. She 
 had not penetrated his scheme to restore her mother to health, 
 but understood the man well enough to be sure that her 
 mother's hopes would end as they had in the past. She sat 
 down apathetically on the trunk to see what would happen 
 next. 
 
 After a brief inspection Holcroft came down from the
 
 142 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 roof and said, "The chimney will have to be repaired," which 
 was true enough and equally so of other parts of the dwelling. 
 The fortunes of the owner were reflected in the appearance 
 of the building. 
 
 If it were a possible thing Holcroft wished to carry out 
 his ruse undetected, and he hastened upstairs again, ostensi- 
 bly to see that all danger had passed, but in reality to prepare 
 his mind for an intensely disagreeable interview. "I'd 
 rather face a mob of men than that one idiotic woman," he 
 muttered. "I could calculate the actions of a setting hen 
 with her head cut off better than I can this widow's. But 
 there's no help for it," and he came down looking very reso- 
 lute. "I've let the fire in my stove go out, and there's no 
 more danger," he said, quietly, as he sat down on the porch 
 opposite Mrs. Mumpson. 
 
 "Oh-h," she exclaimed, with a long breath of relief, 
 "we've saved the dwelling. What would we have done if 
 it had burned down ! We would have been homeless." 
 
 "That may be my condition soon", as it is," he said, 
 coldly. "I am very glad, Mrs. Mumpson, that you are so 
 much better. As Jane told you, I suppose, I will pay you the 
 sum I agreed to give you for three months' service " 
 
 "My dear Mr. Holcroft, my nerves have been too shaken 
 to talk business this morning," and the widow leaned back 
 and looked as if she were going to faint. "I'm only a poor 
 lone woman," she added feebly, "and you cannot be so lacking 
 in the milk of human kindness as to take advantage of me." 
 
 "No, madam, nor shall I allow you and Lemuel Weeks to 
 take advantage of me. This is my house and I have a right 
 to make my own arrangements." 
 
 "It might all be arranged so easily in another way," 
 sighed the widow. 
 
 "It cannot be arranged in any other way " he began. 
 
 "Mr. Holcroft," she cried, leaning suddenly forward with 
 clasped hands and speaking effusively, "you but now called 
 me your good woman. Think how much those words mean.
 
 MRS. MUHPSON'S VICISSITUDES 143 
 
 Make them true, now that you've spoken them. Then you 
 won't be homeless and will never need a caretaker." 
 
 "Are you making me an offer of marriage?" he asked 
 with a lowering brow. 
 
 "Oh, no, indeed!" she simpered. "That wouldn't be 
 becoming in me. I'm only responding to your own words." 
 
 Rising, he said sternly, "No power on earth could induce 
 me to marry you, and that would be plain enough if you 
 were in your right mind. I shall not stand this foolishness 
 another moment. You must go with me at once to Lemuel 
 Weeks's. If you will not I'll have you taken to an insane 
 asylum." 
 
 "To an insane asylum! What for?" she half -shrieked, 
 springing to her feet. 
 
 "You'll see," he replied, going down the steps. "Jump 
 up, Jane. I shall now take the trunk to your cousin's. If 
 you are so crazy as to stay in a man's house when he don't 
 want you and won't have you, you are fit only for an asylum." 
 
 Mrs. Mumpson was sane enough to perceive that she was 
 at the end of her adhesive resources. In his possession of 
 her trunk, the farmer also had a strategic advantage which 
 made it necessary for her to yield. She did so, however, 
 with very bad grace. When he drove up, she bounced into 
 the wagon as if made of india-rubber, while Jane followed 
 slowly, with a look of sullen apathy. He touched his horses 
 with the whip into a smart trot, scarcely daring to believe in 
 his good fortune. The lane was rather steep and rough, and 
 he soon had to pull up lest the object of his unhappy solici- 
 tude should be jolted out of the vehicle. This gave the 
 widow her chance to open fire. "The end has not come 
 yet, Mr. Holcroft," she said, vindictively. "You may think 
 you are going to have an easy triumph over a poor, friend- 
 less, unfortunate, sensitive, afflicted woman and a fatherless 
 child, but you shall soon learn that there's a law in the land. 
 You have addressed improper words to me, you have threat- 
 ened me, you have broken your agreement. I have writ- 
 ings, I have a memory, I have language to plead the cause
 
 144 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 of the widow and the fatherless. I have been wronged, out- 
 raged, trampled upon, and then turned out of doors. The 
 indignant world shall hear my story, the finger of scorn will 
 be pointed at you. Your name will become a by-word and 
 a hissing. Respecterble women, respecterbly connected, will 
 stand aloof and shudder." 
 
 The torrent of words was unchecked except when the 
 wheels struck a stone, jolting her so severely that her jaws 
 came together with a click as if she were snapping at him. 
 
 He made no reply whatever, but longed to get his hands 
 upon Lemuel Weeks. Pushing his horses to a high rate of 
 speed, he soon reached that interested neighbor's door, in- 
 tercepting him just as he was starting to town. 
 
 He looked very sour as he saw his wife's relatives, and 
 demanded harshly, "What does this mean ?" 
 
 "It means," cried Mrs. Mumpson, in her high, cackling 
 tones, "that he's said things and done things too awful to 
 speak of, that he's broken his agreement and turned us out 
 of doors." 
 
 "Jim Holcroft," said Mr. Weeks, blustering up to the 
 wagon, "you can't carry on with this high hand. Take these 
 people back to your house where they belong or you'll be 
 sorry." 
 
 Holcroft sprang out, whirled Mr. Weeks out of his way, 
 took out the trunk, then with equal expedition and no more 
 ceremony lifted down Mrs. Mumpson and Jane. 
 
 "Do you know what you're about?" shouted Mr. Weeks 
 in a rage. "I'll have the law on you this very day." 
 
 Holcroft maintained his ominous silence as he hitched 
 his horses securely. Then he strode toward Weeks, who 
 backed away from him. "Oh, don't be afraid, you sneaking, 
 cowardly fox," said the farmer, bitterly. "If I gave you 
 your deserts, I'd take my horsewhip to you. You're going 
 to law me, are you ? Well, begin to-day, and I'll be ready 
 for you. I won't demean myself by answering that woman, 
 but I'm ready for you in any way you've a mind to come. 
 I'll put you and your wife on the witness-stand. I'll sum-
 
 MRS. MUMPSOWS VICISSITUDES 145 
 
 inon cousin Abiram, as you call him, and his wife, and 
 compel you all under oath to give Mrs. Mumpson a few 
 testimonials. I'll prove the trick you played on me and the 
 lies you told. I'll prove that this woman, in my absence, 
 invaded my room, and with keys of her own opened my 
 dead wife's bureau and pulled out her things. I'll prove 
 that she hasn't earned her salt, and can't, and may prove 
 something more. Now, if you want to go to law, begin. 
 Nothing would please me better than to show up you and 
 your tribe. I've offered to pay this woman her three months' 
 wages in full and so have kept my agreement. She has not 
 kept hers, for she's only sat in a rocking-chair and made 
 trouble. Now, do as you please. I'll give you all the law 
 you want. I'd like to add a horse-whipping, but that would 
 give you a case and now you haven't any." 
 
 As Holcroft uttered these words sternly and slowly, like 
 a man angry indeed but under perfect self-control, the per- 
 spiration broke out on Weeks's face. He was aware that 
 Mrs. Mumpson was too well known to play the role of a 
 wronged woman, and remembered what his testimony and 
 that of many others would be under oath. Therefore, he 
 began, "Oh, well, Mr. Holcroft, there's no need of your 
 getting in such a rage and threatening so. I'm willing to 
 talk the matter over and only want to do the square thing." 
 
 The farmer made a gesture of disgust as he said, "I un- 
 derstand you, Lemuel Weeks. There's no talking needed 
 and I'm in no mood for it. Here's the money I agreed to 
 pay. I'll give it to Mrs. Mumpson when she has signed this 
 paper, and you've signed as witness of her signature. Other- 
 wise, it's law. Now decide quick. I'm in a hurry." 
 
 Objections were interposed, and Holcroft, returning the 
 money to his pocket, started for his team without a word. 
 "Oh, well," said Weeks, in strong irritation, "I haven't time 
 for a lawsuit at this season of the year. You are both cranks, 
 and I suppose it would be best for me and my folks to be rid 
 of you both. It's a pity, though, you couldn't be married 
 and left to fight it out." 
 R_O XVHI
 
 146 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 Holcroft took the whip from his wagon and said quietly, 
 "If you speak another insulting word I'll horsewhip you and 
 take my chances." 
 
 Something in the man's look prevented Weeks from utter- 
 ing another unnecessary remark. The business was soon 
 transacted, accompanied with Mrs. Mumpson's venomous 
 words, for she had discovered that she could stigmatize 
 Holcroft with impunity. He went to Jane and shook her 
 hand as he said good-by. "I am sorry for you and I won't 
 forget my promise ;" then drove rapidly away. 
 
 "Cousin Lemuel," said Mrs. Mumpson, plaintively, 
 "won't you have Timothy take my trunk to our room ?" 
 
 "No, I won't," he snapped. "You've had your chance 
 and have fooled it away. I was just going to town and you 
 and Jane will go along with me," and he put the widow's 
 trunk into his wagon. 
 
 Mrs. Weeks came out and wiped her eyes ostentatiously 
 with her apron as she whispered, "I can't help it, Cynthy. 
 When Lemuel goes off the handle in this way, it's no use 
 for me to say anything." 
 
 Mrs. Mumpson wept hysterically as she was driven away. 
 Jane's sullen and apathetic aspect had passed away in part, 
 for Holcroft's words had kindled something like hope.
 
 A MOMENTOUS DECISION 147 
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 A MOMENTOUS DECISION 
 
 IT must be admitted that Holcroft enjoyed his triumph 
 over Lemuel Weeks very much after the fashion of the 
 aboriginal man. Indeed, he was almost sorry he had not 
 been given a little more provocation, knowing well that had 
 this been true his neighbor would have received a fuller 
 return for his interested efforts. As he saw his farmhouse 
 in the shimmering April sunlight, as the old churning dog 
 came forward, wagging his tail, the farmer said, "This ia 
 the only place which can ever be home to me. Well, well, 
 it's queer about people. Some, when they go, leave you 
 desolate ; others make you happy by their absence. I never 
 dreamed that silly Mumpson could make me happy, but she 
 has. Blessed if I don't feel happy ! The first time in a year 
 or more!" and he began to whistle old "Coronation" in the 
 most lively fashion as he unharnessed his horses. 
 
 A little later, he prepared Limself a good dinner and ate 
 it in leisurely enjoyment, sharing a morsel now and then with 
 the old dog. "You're a plaguy sight better company than 
 she was," he mused. "That poor little stray cat of a Jane! 
 What will become of her? Well, well, soon as she's old 
 enough to cut loose from her mother I'll try to give her a 
 chance, if it's a possible thing." 
 
 After dinner, he made a rough draught of an auction bill, 
 offering his cows for sale, muttering as he did so, "Tom 
 Watterly'll help me put it in better shape." Then he drove 
 a mile away to see old Mr. and Mrs. Johnson. The former 
 agreed for a small sum to mount guard with his dog during
 
 158 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 "Alida Armstrong is your name, Mr. Watterly tells me ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Well, Alida, I want to have a plain business talk with 
 you. That's nothing to be nervous and worried about, you 
 know. As I told you, I've heard your story. It has made 
 me sorry for you instead of setting me against you. It has 
 made me respect you as a right-minded woman, and I shall 
 give you good proof that my words are true. At the same 
 time, I shan't make any false pretences to what isn't true 
 and couldn't be true. Since I've heard your story, it's only 
 fair you should hear mine, and I ought to tell it first." 
 
 He went over the past very briefly until he came to the 
 death of his wife. There was simple and homely pathos in 
 the few sentences with which he referred to this event. 
 Then more fully he enlarged upon his efforts and failure to 
 keep house with hired help. Unconsciously, he had taken 
 the best method to enlist her sympathy. The secluded cot- 
 tage and hillside farm became realities to her fancy. She 
 saw how the man's heart clung to his home, and his effort to 
 keep it touched her deeply. 
 
 "Oh," she thought, "I do wish there was some way for 
 me to go there. The loneliness of the place which drove 
 others away is the chief attraction for me. Then it would be 
 pleasant to work for such a man and make his home com- 
 fortable for him. It's plain from his words and looks that 
 he's as honest and straightforward as the day is long. He 
 only wants to keep his home and make his living in peace." 
 
 As he had talked, her nervous embarrassment passed 
 away, and the deep sense of her own need was pressing upon 
 her again. She saw that he also was in great need. His 
 business talk was revealing deep trouble and perplexity. 
 With the quick intuitions of a woman, her mind went far 
 beyond his brief sentences, and saw all the difficulties of his 
 lot. His feeling reference to the loss of his wife proved that 
 he was not a coarse-natured man. As he spoke so plainly of 
 his life during the past year, her mind was insensibly ab- 
 stracted from everything but his want and hers, and she
 
 HOLCROFT GIVES HIS HAND 159 
 
 thought his farmhouse afforded just the secluded refuge she 
 craved. As he drew near the end of his story, and hesitated 
 in visible embarrassment, she mustered courage to say, tim- 
 idly, "Would you permit a suggestion from me ?" 
 
 "Why certainly." 
 
 "You have said, sir, that your business and means would 
 not allow you to keep two in help, and as you have been 
 speaking I have tried to think of some way. The fact that 
 your house is so lonely is just the reason why I should like 
 to work in it. As you can understand, I have no wish to 
 meet strangers. Now, sir, I am willing to work for very lit- 
 tle ; I should be glad to find such a quiet refuge for simply my 
 board and clothes, and I would do my very best and try to 
 learn what I did not know. It seems to me that if I worked 
 for so little you might think you could afford to hire some 
 elderly woman also?" and she looked at him in the eager 
 hope that he would accept her proposition. 
 
 He shook his head as he replied, "I don't know of any 
 such person. I took the best one in this house, and you 
 know how she turned out." 
 
 "Perhaps Mr. Watterly may know of some one else," she 
 faltered. She was now deeply troubled and perplexed again, 
 supposing that he was about to renew his first proposition 
 that she should be his only help. 
 
 "If Mr. Watterly did know of any one I would make the 
 trial, but he does not. Your offer is very considerate and 
 reasonable, but " and he hesitated again, scarcely knowing 
 how to go on. 
 
 "I am sorry, sir," she said, rising, as if to end the inter- 
 view. 
 
 "Stay," he said, "you do not understand me yet. Of 
 course I should not make you the same offer that I did at 
 first, after seeing your feeling about it, and I respect you all 
 the more because you so respect yourself. What I had in 
 mind was to give you my name, and it's an honest name. If 
 v were married, it would be perfectly proper for you to go 
 with me, and no one could say a word against either of us."
 
 150 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS \V1FE 
 
 thing you know you'll clap a mortgage on it. Then you'll 
 soon be done for. What's more, you'll break down if you 
 try to do both outdoor and indoor work. Busy times will 
 soon come, and you won't get your meals regularly: you'll 
 be living on coffee and anything that comes handiest; your 
 house will grow untidy and not fit to live in. If you should 
 be taken sick, there'd be no one to do for you. Lumber- 
 men, hunters, and such fellows can rough it alone awhile, 
 but I never heard of a farm being run by man-power alone. 
 Now as to selling out your stock, look at it. Grazing is what 
 your farm's good for mostly. It's a pity you're so -bent on 
 staying there. Even if you didn't get very much for the 
 place, from sale or rent, you'd have something that was sure. 
 A strong, capable man like you could find something to turn 
 your hand to. Then you could board in some respectable 
 family, and not have to live like Robinson Crusoe. I've 
 thought it over since we talked last, and if I was you I'd 
 sell or rent." 
 
 "It's too late in the season to do either," said Holcroft, 
 dejectedly. "What's more, I don't want to, at least not this 
 year. I've settled that, Tom. I'm going to have one more 
 summer on the old place, anyway, if I have to live on bread 
 and milk." 
 
 "You can't make bread." 
 
 "I'll have it brought from town on the stage." 
 
 "Well, it's a pity some good, decent woman there! 
 how should I come to forget all about her till this minute ? 
 I don't know whether it would work. Perhaps it would. 
 There's a woman here out of the common run. She has 
 quite a story which I'll tell you in confidence. Then you 
 can say whether you'd like to employ her or not. If you 
 will stay on the farm, my advice is that you have a woman 
 to do the housework, and me and Angy must try to find you 
 one, if the one I have in mind won't answer. The trouble 
 is, Holcroft, to get the right kind of a woman to live there 
 alone with you, unless you married her. Nice women don't 
 like to be talked about, and I don't blame 'em. The one
 
 A MOMENTOUS DECISION 151 
 
 that's here, though, is so friendless and alone in the world 
 that she might be glad enough to get a home almost any- 
 wheres." 
 
 "Well, well, tell me about her," said Holcroft, gloomily. 
 "But I'm about discouraged in the line of women help." 
 
 Watterly told Alida's story with a certain rude pathos 
 which touched the farmer's naturally kind heart, and he quite 
 forgot his own need in indignation at the poor woman's 
 
 wrongs. "It's a shame!" he said, excitedly, pacing 
 
 the room. "I say, Tom, all the law in the land wouldn't 
 keep me from giving that fellow a whipping or worse." 
 
 "Well, she won't prosecute; she won't face the public; 
 she just wants to go to some quiet place and work for her 
 bread. She don't seem to have any friends, or else she's too 
 ashamed to let them know." 
 
 "Why, of course, I'd give such a woman a refuge till she 
 could do better. What man wouldn't ?" 
 
 "A good many wouldn't. What's more, if she went with 
 you her story might get out, and you'd both be talked about." 
 
 "I don't care that for gossip," with a snap of his fingers. 
 "You know I'd treat her with respect." 
 
 "What I know, and what other people would say, are two 
 very different things. Neither you nor any one else can go 
 too strongly against public opinion. Still, it's anybody's busi- 
 ness," added Tom, thoughtfully. "Perhaps it's worth the 
 trial. If she went I think she'd stay and do the best by you 
 she could. Would you like to see her ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Alida was summoned and stood with downcast eyes in the 
 door. "Come in and take a chair," said Tom, kindly. "You 
 know I promised to be on the lookout for a good place for 
 you. Well, my friend here, Mr. Holcroft, whom I've known 
 ever since I was a boy, wants a woman to do general house- 
 work and take care of the dairy." 
 
 She gave the farmer one of those swift, comprehensive 
 glances by which women take in a personality, and said in a 
 tone of regret, "But I don't understand dairy work."
 
 152 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 "Oh, you'd soon learn. It's just the kind of a place you 
 said you wanted, a lonely, out-of-the-way farm and no other 
 help kept. What's more, my friend Holcroft is a kind, hon- 
 est man. He'd treat you right. He knows all about your 
 trouble and is sorry for you." 
 
 If Holcroft had been an ogre in appearance, he would 
 have received the grateful glance which she now gave him as 
 she said, "I'd be only too glad to work for you, sir, if you 
 think I can do, or learn to do, what is required." 
 
 Holcroft, while his friend was speaking, had studied 
 closely Alida's thin, pale face, and he saw nothing in it not 
 in harmony with the story he had heard. "I am sorry for 
 you," he said, kindly. "I believe you never meant to do 
 wrong and have tried to do right. I will be perfectly hon- 
 est with you. My wife is dead, the help I had has left me, 
 and I live alone in the house. The truth is, too, that I 
 could not afford to keep two in help and there would not be 
 work for them both." 
 
 Alida had learned much in her terrible adversity, and 
 had, moreover, the instincts of a class superior to the position 
 she was asked to take. She bowed low to hide the burning 
 flush that crimsoned her pale cheeks as she faltered, "It may 
 seem strange to you, sirs, that one situated as I am should 
 hesitate, but I have never knowingly done anything which 
 gave people the right to speak against me. I do not fear 
 work, I would humbly try to do my best, but " she hesi- 
 tated and rose as if to retire. 
 
 "I understand you," said Holcroft, kindly, "and I don't 
 blame you for doing what you think is right." 
 
 "I'm very sorry, sir," she replied, tears coming into her 
 eyes as she went out of the room. 
 
 "There it is, Holcroft," said Tom. "I believe she's just 
 the one for you, but you can see she isn't of the common 
 kind. She knows as well as you and me how people would 
 talk, especially if her story came out, as like enough it will." 
 
 "Hang people !" snarled the farmer. 
 
 "Yes, a good lot of 'em deserve hanging, but it wouldn't
 
 A MOMENTOUS DECISION 153 
 
 help you any just now. Perhaps she'd go with you if you 
 got another girl or took an old woman from the house here 
 to keep her company." 
 
 "I'm sick to death of such hags," said the farmer, with 
 an impatient gesture. Then he sat down and looked at his 
 friend as if a plan was forming in his mind of which he 
 scarcely dared speak. 
 
 "Well, out with it," said Tom. 
 
 "Have you ever seen a marriage ceremony performed by 
 a justice of the peace ?" Holcroft asked, slowly. 
 
 "No, but they do it often enough. What ! are you going 
 to offer her marriage ?" 
 
 "You say she is homeless and friendless ?" 
 
 "Yes." " 
 
 "And you believe she is just what she seems just what 
 her story shows her to be ?" 
 
 "Yes. I've seen too many frauds to be taken in. She 
 isn't a fraud. Neither does she belong to that miserable, 
 wishy-washy, downhill class that sooner or later fetches up 
 in a poorhouse. They say we're all made of dust, but some 
 seem made of mud. You could see she was out of the 
 common; and she's here on account of the wrong she re- 
 ceived and not the wrong she did. I say all this in fairness 
 to her; but when it comes to marrying her, that's another 
 question." 
 
 "Tom, as I've told you, I don't want to marry. In fact, 
 I couldn't go before a minister and promise what I'd have 
 to. But I could do something like this. I could give this 
 woman an honest name and a home. It would be marriage 
 before the law. No one could ever say a word against either 
 of us. I would be true and kind to her and she should share 
 in my fortunes. That's all. You have often advised me to 
 marry, and you know if I did it couldn't be anything else 
 but a business affair. Then it ought to be done in a busi- 
 ness-like way. You say I can't get along alone, and like 
 enough you're right. I've learned more from this woman's 
 manner than. I have in a year, why I can't get and keep the
 
 154 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 right kind of help, and I now feel if I could find a good, 
 honest woman who would make my interests hers, and help 
 me make a living in my own home, I'd give her my name 
 and all the security which an honest name conveys. Now, 
 this poor woman is in sore need and she might he grateful 
 for what I can do, while any other woman would naturally 
 expect me to promise more than I honestly can. Anyhow, 
 I'd have to go through the form, and I can't and won't go 
 and say sacred words just about what I said when I mar- 
 ried my wife and know all the time I was lying." 
 
 "Well, Holcroft, you're a queer dick and this is a queer 
 plan of yours. You're beyond my depth now and I can't 
 advise." 
 
 "Why is it a queer plan ? Things only seem odd because 
 they are not common. As a matter of fact, you advise a 
 business marriage. When I try to follow your advice hon- 
 estly and not dishonestly you say I'm queer." 
 
 "I suppose if everybody became honest, it would be the 
 queerest world ever known," said Tom, laughing. "Well, 
 you might do worse than marry this woman. I can tell you 
 that marrying is risky business at best. You know a justice 
 will tie you just as tight as a minister, and while I've given 
 you my impressions about this woman, I know little about 
 her and you know next to nothing." 
 
 "I guess that would be the case, anyhow. If you set out 
 to find a wife for me, where is there a woman that you 
 actually do know more about? As for my going here and 
 there, to get acquainted, it's out of the question. All my 
 feelings rise up against such a course. Now, I feel sorry 
 for this woman. She has at least my sympathy. If she is 
 as friendless, poor and unhappy as she seems, I mjght do 
 her as great a kindness as she would do for me if she could 
 take care of my home. I wouldn't expect very much. It 
 would be a comfort just to have some one in the house that 
 wouldn't rob or waste, and who, knowing what her station 
 was, would be content. Of course I'd have to talk it over 
 with her and make my purpose clear. She might agree with
 
 A MOMENTOUS DECISION 155 
 
 you that it's too queer to be thought of. If so, that would 
 be the end of it." 
 
 "Well, Jim, you always finish by half talking me over to 
 your side of a question. Now, if my wife was home, I don't 
 believe she'd listen to any such plan." 
 
 "No, I suppose she wouldn't. She'd believe in people 
 marrying and doing everything in the ordinary way. But 
 neither I nor this woman is in ordinary circumstances. Do 
 you know of a justice ?" 
 
 "Yes, and you know him, too; Justice Harkins." 
 
 "Why certainly. He came from our town and I knew 
 him when he was a boy, although I haven't seen much of 
 him of late years." 
 
 "Well, shall I go and say to this woman Alida Arm- 
 strong is her name now, I suppose that you wish to see 
 her again?" 
 
 "Yes, I shall tell her the truth. Then she can decide."
 
 156 HE FELL IX LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 HOLCROFT GIVES HIS HAND 
 
 ALIDA was seated by a window with some of the mend- 
 ing in which she assisted, and, as usual, was apart by 
 herself. Watterly entered the large apartment 
 quietly, and at first she did not observe him. He had time 
 to note that she was greatly dejected, and when she saw him 
 she hastily wiped tears from her eyes. 
 
 "You are a good deal cast down, Alida," he said, watch- 
 ing her closely. 
 
 "I've reason to be. I don't see any light ahead at all." 
 
 "Well, you know the old saying, 'It's darkest before day/ 
 I want you to come with me again. I think I've found a 
 chance for you." 
 
 She arose with alacrity and followed. As soon as they 
 were alone, he turned and looked her squarely in the face 
 as he said, gravely, "You have good commonsense, haven't 
 you?" 
 
 "I don't know, sir," she faltered, perplexed and troubled 
 by the question. 
 
 "Well, you can understand this much, I suppose. As 
 superintendent of this house I have a responsible position 
 which I could easily lose if I allowed myself to be mixed up 
 with anything wrong or improper. To come right to the 
 point, you don't know much about me and next to nothing 
 of my friend Holcroft, but can't you see that even if I 
 was a heartless, good-for-nothing fellow, it wouldn't be wise 
 or safe for me to permit anything that wouldn't bear the 
 light?" 
 
 "I think you are an honest man, sir. It would be strange
 
 HOLCROFT GIVES HIS HAND 157 
 
 if I did not have confidence when you have judged me and 
 treated me so kindly. But, Mr. Watterly, although helpless 
 and friendless, I must try to do what I think is best. If I 
 accepted Mr. Holcroft's position it might do him harm. 
 You know how quick the world is to misjudge. It would 
 seem to confirm everything that has been said against me," 
 and the same painful flush again overspread her features. 
 
 "Well, Alida, all that you have to do is to listen patiently 
 to my friend. Whether you agree with his views or not, you 
 will see that he is a good-hearted, honest man. I want to 
 prepare you for this talk by assuring you that I've known 
 him since he was a boy, that he has lived all his life in this 
 region and is known by many others, and that I wouldn't 
 dare let him ask you to do anything wrong, even if I was 
 bad enough." 
 
 "I'm sure, sir, you don't wish me any harm," she again 
 faltered in deep perplexity. 
 
 "Indeed I don't. I don't advise my friend's course; 
 neither do I oppose it. He's certainly old enough to act 
 for himself. I suppose I'm a rough counsellor for a young 
 woman, but since you appear to have so few friends I'm 
 inclined to act as one. Just you stand on the question of 
 right and wrong, and dismiss from your mind all foolish no- 
 tions of what people will say. As a rule, all the people in 
 the world can't do as much for us as somebody in particular. 
 Now you go in the parlor and listen like a sensible woman. 
 I'll be reading the paper, and the girl will be clearing off the 
 table in the next room here." 
 
 Puzzled and tembling, Alida entered the apartment 
 where Holcroft was seated. She was so embarrassed that 
 she could not lift her eyes to him. 
 
 "Please sit down," he said, gravely, "and don't be 
 troubled, much less frightened. You are just as free to act 
 as ever you were in your life." 
 
 She sat down near the door, and compelled herself to 
 look at him, for she felt instinctively that she might gather 
 more from the expression of his face than from his words.
 
 158 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 "Alida x\rmstrong is your name, Mr. Watterly tells me ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Well, Alida, I want to have a plain business talk with 
 you. That's nothing to be nervous and worried about, you 
 know. As I told you, I've heard your story. It has made 
 me sorry for you instead of setting me against you. It has 
 made me respect you as a right-minded woman, and I shall 
 give you good proof that my words are true. At the same 
 time, I shan't make any false pretences to what isn't true 
 and couldn't be true. Since I've heard your story, it's only 
 fair you should hear mine, and I ought to tell it first." 
 
 He went over the past very briefly until he came to the 
 death of his wife. There was simple and homely pathos in 
 the few sentences with which he referred to this event. 
 Then more fully he enlarged upon his efforts and failure to 
 keep house with hired help. Unconsciously, he had taken 
 the best method to enlist her sympathy. The secluded cot- 
 tage and hillside farm became realities to her fancy. She 
 saw how the man's heart clung to his home, and his effort to 
 keep it touched her deeply. 
 
 "Oh," she thought, "I do wish there was some way for 
 me to go there. The loneliness of the place which drove 
 others away is the chief attraction for me. Then it would be 
 pleasant to work for such a man and make his home com- 
 fortable for him. It's plain from his words and looks that 
 he's as honest and straightforward as the day is long. He 
 only wants to keep his home and make his living in peace." 
 
 As he had talked, her nervous embarrassment passed 
 away, and the deep sense of her own need was pressing upon 
 her again. She saw that he also was in great need. His 
 business talk was revealing deep trouble and perplexity. 
 With the quick intuitions of a woman, her mind went far 
 beyond his brief sentences, and saw all the difficulties of his 
 lot. His feeling reference to the loss of his wife proved that 
 he was not a coarse-natured man. As he spoke so plainly of 
 his life during the past year, her mind was insensibly ab- 
 stracted from everything but his want and hers, and she
 
 HOLCROFT GIVES HIS HAND 159 
 
 thought his farmhouse afforded just the secluded refuge she 
 craved. As he drew near the end of his story, and hesitated 
 in visible embarrassment, she mustered courage to say, tim- 
 idly, "Would you permit a suggestion from me ?" 
 
 "Why certainly." 
 
 "You have said, sir, that your business and means would 
 not allow you to keep two in help, and as you have been 
 speaking I have tried to think of some way. The fact that 
 your house is so lonely is just the reason why I should like 
 to work in it. As you can understand, I have no wish to 
 meet strangers. Now, sir, I am willing to work for very lit- 
 tle ; I should be glad to find such a quiet refuge for simply my 
 board and clothes, and I would do my very best and try to 
 learn what I did not know. It seems to me that if I worked 
 for so little you might think you could afford to hire some 
 elderly woman also?" and she looked at him in the eager 
 hope that he would accept her proposition. 
 
 He shook his head as he replied, "I don't know of any 
 such person. I took the best one in this house, and you 
 know how she turned out." 
 
 "Perhaps Mr. Watterly may know of some one else," she 
 faltered. She was now deeply troubled and perplexed again, 
 supposing that he was about to renew his first proposition 
 that she should be his only help. 
 
 "If Mr. Watterly did know of any one I would make the 
 trial, but he does not. Your offer is very considerate and 
 reasonable, but " and he hesitated again, scarcely knowing 
 how to go on. 
 
 "I am sorry, sir," she said, rising, as if to end the inter- 
 view. 
 
 "Stay," he said, "you do not understand me yet. Of 
 course I should not make you the same offer that I did at 
 first, after seeing your feeling about it, and I respect you all 
 the more because you so respect yourself. What I had in 
 mind was to give you my name, and it's an honest name. If 
 v were married, it would be perfectly proper for you to go 
 with me, and no one could say a word against either of us."
 
 160 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 "Oh!" she gasped, in strong agitation and surprise. 
 
 "Now don't be so taken aback. It's just as easy for you 
 to refuse as it is to speak, but listen first. What seems 
 strange and unexpected may be the most sensible thing for 
 us both. You have your side of the case to think of just as 
 truly as I have mine; and I'm not forgetting, and I don't 
 ask you to forget, that I'm still talking business. You and I 
 have both been through too much trouble and loss to say any 
 silly nonsense to each other. You've heard my story, yet 
 I'm almost a stranger to you as you are to me. We'd both 
 have to take considerable on trust. Yet I know I'm honest 
 and well-meaning, and I believe you are. Now look at it. 
 Here we are, both much alone in the world both wishing 
 to live a retired, quiet life. I don't care a rap for what peo- 
 ple say as long as I'm doing right, and in this case they'd 
 have nothing to say. It's our own business. I don't see as 
 people will ever do much for you, and a good many would 
 impose on you and expect you to work beyond your strength. 
 They might not be very kind or considerate, either. I sup- 
 pose you've thought of this?" 
 
 "Yes," she replied with bowed head. "I should meet 
 coldness, probably harshness and scorn." 
 
 "Well, you'd never meet anything of the kind in my 
 house. I would treat you with respect and kindness. At 
 the same time, I'm not going to mislead you by a word. 
 You shall have a chance to decide in view of the whole truth. 
 My friend, Mr. Watterly, has asked me more'n once, 'Why 
 don't you marry again?' I told him I had been married 
 once, and that I couldn't go before a minister and promise 
 the same things over again when they wasn't true. I can't 
 make to you any promises or say any words that are not 
 true, and I don't ask or expect you to do what I can't do. But 
 it has seemed to me that our condition was out of the com- 
 mon lot that we could take each other for just what we 
 might be to each other and no more. You would be my 
 wife in name, and I do not ask you to be my wife in more 
 than name. You would thus secure a good home and the
 
 HOLCROFT GIVES HIS HAND 161 
 
 care and protection of one who would be kind to you, and 
 I would secure a housekeeper one that would stay with 
 me and make my interests hers. It would be a fair, square 
 arrangement between ourselves and nobody else's busi- 
 ness. By taking this course, we don't do any wrong to our 
 feelings or have to say or promise anything that isn't true." 
 
 "Yet I can't help saying, sir," she replied, in strong, yet 
 repressed agitation, "that your words sound very strange; 
 and it seems stranger still that you can offer marriage of any 
 kind to a woman situated as I am. You know my story, 
 sir," she added, crimsoning, "and all may soon know it. 
 You would suffer wrong and injury." 
 
 "I offer you open and honorable marriage before the 
 world, and no other kind. Mr. Watterly and others as 
 many as you pleased would witness it, and I'd have you 
 given a certificate at once. As for your story, it has only 
 awakened my sympathy. You have not meant to do any 
 wrong. Your troubles are only another reason in my mind 
 for not taking any advantage of you or deceiving you in the 
 least. Look the truth squarely in the face. I'm bent on 
 keeping my house and getting my living as I have done, and 
 I need a housekeeper that will be true to all my interests. 
 Think how I've been robbed and wronged, and what a dog's 
 life I've lived in my own home. You need a home, a sup- 
 port and a protector. I couldn't come to you or go to any 
 other woman and say honestly more than this. Isn't it 
 better for people to be united on the ground of truth than to 
 begin by telling a pack of lies ?" 
 
 "But but can people be married with such an under- 
 standing by a minister ? Wouldn't it be deceiving him ?" 
 
 "I shall not ask you to deceive any one. Any marriage 
 that either you or I could now make would be practically a 
 business marriage. I should therefore take you, if you were 
 willing, to a justice and have a legal or civil marriage per- 
 formed, and this would be just as binding as any other in 
 the eye of the law. It is often done. This would be much
 
 162 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 better to my mind, than if people, situated as we are, went 
 to a church or a minister." 
 
 "Yes, yes, I couldn't do that." 
 
 "Well, now, Alida," he said, with a smile that wonder- 
 fully softened his rugged features, "you are free to decide.. 
 It may seem to you a strange sort of courtship, but we are 
 both too old for much foolishness. I never was sentimental, 
 and it would be ridiculous to begin now. I'm full of trouble 
 and perplexity, and so are you. Are you willing to be my 
 wife so far as an honest name goes, and help me make a 
 living for us both ? That's all I ask. I, in my turn, would 
 promise to treat you with kindness and respect, and give 
 you a home as long as I lived and to leave you all I have in 
 the world if I died. That's all I could promise. I'm a 
 lonely, quiet man, and like to be by myself. I wouldn't be 
 much society for you. I've said more to-day than I might 
 in a month, for I felt that it was due to you to know just 
 what you were doing." 
 
 "Oh, sir," said Alida, trembling, and with tears in her 
 eyes, "you do not ask much and you offer a great deal. If 
 you, a strong man, dread to leave your home and go out 
 into the world you know not where, think how terrible it is 
 for a weak, friendless woman to be worse than homeless. I 
 have lost everything, even my good name." 
 
 "No, no, not in my eyes." 
 
 "Oh, I know, I know," she cried, wringing her hands. 
 "Even these miserable paupers like myself have made me 
 feel it. They have burned the truth into my brain and 
 heart. Indeed, sir, you do not realize what you are doing 
 or asking. It is not fit or meet that I should bear your 
 name. You might be sorry, indeed." 
 
 "Alida," said Holcroft, gravely, "I've not forgotten your 
 story, and you shouldn't forget mine. Be sensible now. 
 Don't I look old enough to know what I'm about ?" 
 
 "Oh, oh, oh," she cried, impetuously, "if I were only 
 sure it was right! It may be business to you, but it seems 
 like life or death to me. It's more than death I don't
 
 HOLCROFT GIVES HIS HAND 163 
 
 fear that but I do fear life, I do fear the desperate struggle 
 just to maintain a bare, dreary existence. I do dread going 
 out among strangers and seeing their cold curiosity and their 
 scorn. You can't understand a woman's heart. It isn't 
 right for me to die till God takes me, but life has seemed so 
 horrible, meeting suspicion on one side and cruel significant' 
 looks of knowledge on the other. I've been tortured even 
 here by these wretched hags, and I've envied even them, so 
 near to death, yet not shamed like me. I know, and you 
 should know, that my heart is broken, crushed, trampled into 
 the mire. I had felt that for me even the thought of mar- 
 riage again would be a mockery, a wicked thing, which I 
 would never have a right to entertain. I never dreamed that 
 any one would think of such a thing, knowing what you 
 know. Oh, oh, why have you tempted me so if it is not 
 right? I must do right. The feeling that I've not meant 
 to do wrong is all that has kept me from despair. But can 
 it be right to let you take me from the street, the poor- 
 house, with nothing to give but a blighted name, a broken 
 heart and feeble hands ! See, I am but the shadow of what 
 I was and a dark shadow at that. I could be only a dismal 
 shadow at any man's hearth. Oh, oh, I've thought and 
 suffered until my reason seemed going. You don't realize, 
 you don't know the depths into which I've fallen. It can't 
 be right." 
 
 Holcroft was almost appalled at this passionate outburst 
 in one who thus far had been sad, indeed, yet self-controlled. 
 He looked at her in mingled pity and consternation. His 
 own troubles had seemed heavy enough, but he now caught 
 glimpses of something far beyond trouble, of agony, of mor- 
 tal dread that bordered on despair. He could scarcely com- 
 prehend how terrible to a woman like Alida were the recent 
 events of her life, and how circumstances, with illness, had 
 all tended to create a morbid horror of her situation. Like 
 himself, she was naturally reticent in regard to her deeper 
 feelings, patient and undemonstrative. Had not his words 
 evoked this outburst she might have suffered and died in
 
 164 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 silence, but in this final conflict between conscience and 
 hope, the hot lava of her heart had broken forth. So little 
 was he then able to understand her, that suspicions crossed 
 his mind. Perhaps his friend Watterly had not heard the 
 true story or else not the whole story. But his straightfor- 
 ward simplicity stood him in good stead, and he said, gently, 
 "Alida, you say I don't know, I don't realize. I believe 
 you will tell me the truth. You went to a minister and was 
 married to a man that you thought you had a right to 
 marry " 
 
 "You shall know it all from my own lips," she said, in- 
 terrupting him; "you have a right to know; and then you 
 will see that it cannot be," and with bowed head, and low, 
 rapid, passionate utterance, she poured out her story. "That 
 woman, his wife," she concluded, "made me feel that I was 
 of the scum and offscouring of the earth, and they've made 
 me feel so here, too even these wretched paupers. So the 
 world will look on me till God takes me to my mother. 
 Oh, thank God ! she don't know. Don't you see, now ?" 
 she asked, raising her despairing eyes, from which agony 
 had dried all tears. "Yes, I see you do," she added, des- 
 perately, "for even you have turned from me." 
 
 "Confound it!" cried Holcroft, standing up and search- 
 ing his pockets for a handkerchief, "I I I'd like like to 
 choke that fellow. If I could get my hands on him, there'd 
 be trouble. Turn away from you, you poor wronged crea- 
 ture! Don't you see I'm so sorry for you that I'm making 
 a fool of myself ? I, who couldn't shed a tear over my own 
 troubles there, there come now, let us be sensible. Let's 
 get back to business, for I can't stand this kind of thing at 
 all. I'm so confused betwixt rage at him and pity for you 
 Let me see ; this is where we were ; I want some one to take 
 care of my home, and you want a home. That's all there 
 is about it now. If you say so, I'll make you Mrs. Holcroft 
 in an hour." 
 
 "I did not mean to work upon your sympathies, only to 
 tell you the truth. God bless you, that the impulses of your
 
 HOLCROFT GIVES HIS HAND 165 
 
 heart are so kind and merciful. But let me be true to you 
 as well as to myself. Go away and think it all over calmly 
 and quietly. Even for the sake of being rescued from a life 
 that I dread far more than death, I cannot let you do that 
 which you may regret unspeakably. Do not think I misun- 
 derstand your offer. It's the only one I could think of, and 
 I would not have thought of it if you had not spoken. I 
 have no heart to give. I could be a wife only in name, but 
 I could work like a slave for protection from a cruel, jeering 
 world; I could hope for something like peace and respite 
 from suffering if I only had a safe refuge. But I must not 
 have these if it is not right and best. Good to me must 
 not come through wrong to you." 
 
 "Tush ! tush ! you mustn't talk so. I can't stand it at all. 
 I've heard your story. It's just as I supposed at first, only 
 a great deal more so. Why, of course it's all right. It 
 makes me believe in Providence, it all turns out so entirely 
 for our mutual good. I can do as much to help you as you 
 to help me. Now let's get back on the sensible, solid ground 
 from which we started. The idea of my wanting you to 
 work like a slave! Like enough, some people would, and 
 then you'd soon break down and be brought back here again. 
 No, no, I've explained just what I wish and just what I 
 mean. You must get over the notion that I'm a sentimental 
 fool, carried away by my feelings. How Tom Watterly 
 would laugh at the idea ! My mind is made up now just as 
 much as it would be a week hence. This is no place for you, 
 and I don't like to think of your being here. My spring 
 work is pressing, too. Don't you see that by doing what I 
 ask you can set me right on my feet and start me uphill again 
 after a year of miserable downhill work? You have only 
 to agree to what I've said, and you will be at home to-night 
 and I'll be quietly at my work to-morrow. Mr. Watterly 
 will go with us to the justice who has known me all my life. 
 Then, if any one ever says a word against you he'll have me 
 to settle with. Come, Alida, here's a strong hand that's able 
 to take care of you."
 
 166 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 She hesitated a moment, then clasped it like one who is 
 sinking, and before he divined her purpose, she kissed and 
 bedewed it with tears. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 A BUSINESS MAEEIAGE 
 
 WHILE Holcroft's sympathies had been deeply 
 touched by the intense emotion of gratitude 
 which had overpowered Alida, he had also been 
 disturbed and rendered somewhat anxious. He was act- 
 ually troubled lest the woman he was about to marry should 
 speedily begin to love him, and develop a tendency to mani- 
 fest her affection in a manner that would seem to him ex- 
 travagant and certainly disagreeable. Accustomed all his 
 life to repress his feelings, he wondered at himself and could 
 not understand how he had given way so unexpectedly. 
 He was not sufficiently versed in human nature to know that 
 the depth of Alida's distress was the adequate cause. If 
 there had been a false or an affected word, he would have 
 remained cool enough. In his inability to gauge his own 
 nature as well as hers, he feared lest this business-like mar- 
 riage was verging toward sentiment on her part. He did 
 not like her kissing his hand. He was profoundly sorry for 
 her, but so he would have been for any other woman suffer- 
 ing under the burden of a great wrong. He felt that it 
 would be embarrassing if she entertained sentiments toward 
 him which he could not reciprocate, and open manifestations 
 of regard would remind him of that horror of his life, Mrs. 
 Mumpson. He was not incapable of quick, strong sympathy 
 in any instance of genuine trouble, but he was one of those 
 men who would shrink in natural recoil from any marked 
 evidence of a woman's preference unless the counterpart 
 of her regard existed in his own breast. 
 
 To a woman of Alida's intuition the way in which he
 
 A BUSINESS MARRIAGE 167 
 
 withdrew his hand and the expression of his face had a world 
 of meaning. She would not need a second hint. Yet she 
 did not misjudge him ; she knew that he meant what he had 
 said and had said all that he meant. She was also aware 
 that he had not and never could understand the depths of 
 fear and suffering from which his hand was lifting her. Her 
 gratitude was akin to that of a lost soul saved, and that was 
 all she had involuntarily expressed. She sat down again and 
 quietly dried her eyes, while in her heart she purposed to 
 show her gratitude by patient assiduity in learning to do 
 what he required. 
 
 Holcroft was now bent upon carrying out his plan as 
 quickly as possible and returning home. He therefore asked, 
 "Can you go with me at once, Alida ?" 
 
 She simply bowed her acquiescence. 
 
 "That's sensible. Perhaps you had better get your things 
 ready while I and Mr. Watterly go and arrange with Justice 
 Harkins." 
 
 Alida averted her face with a sort of shame which a 
 woman feels who admits such a truth. "I haven't anything, 
 sir, but a hat and cloak to put on. I came away and left 
 everything." 
 
 "And I'm glad of it," said Holcroft, heartily. "I 
 wouldn't want you to bring anything which that scoundrel 
 gave you." He paced the room thoughtfully a moment or 
 two and then called Watterly in. "It's settled, Tom. Alida 
 will be Mrs. Holcroft as soon as we can see the justice. Do 
 you think we could persuade him to come here ?" 
 
 "One thing at a time. Mrs. Holcroft I may as well 
 call you so, for when my friend says he'll do a thing he does 
 it I congratulate you. I think you are well out of your 
 troubles. Since you are to marry my old friend, we must 
 be friends, too," and he shook her heartily by the hand. 
 
 His words and manner were another ray of light a wel- 
 come rift in the black pall that had gathered round her. 
 
 "You were the first friend I found, sir, after after 
 what happened," she said, gratefully.
 
 168 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 "Well, you've found another and a better one; and he'll 
 always be just the same. Any woman might be glad 
 
 "Come, Tom, no more of that. I'm a plain old farmer 
 that does what he agrees, and that's all there is about it. I've 
 told Alida just what I wished and could do " 
 
 "I should hope so," interrupted Watterly, laughing. 
 "You've taken time enough, certainly, and I guess you've 
 talked more than you have before in a year." 
 
 "Yes, I know I'm almost as bad as an oyster about talk- 
 ing except when I'm with you. Somehow, we've always had 
 a good deal to say to each other. In this case, I felt that 
 it was due to Alida that she should know all about me and 
 understand fully just how I felt concerning this marriage. 
 The very fact that she hasn't friends to advise her made it 
 all the more needful that I should be plain and not mislead 
 her in any respect. She has just as good a right to judge 
 and act for herself as any woman in the land, and she takes 
 me and I take her with no sentimental lies to start with. 
 Now let's get back to business. I rather think, since Har- 
 king was an old acquaintance of mine, he'll come up here 
 and marry us, don't you? Alida, wouldn't you rather be 
 married here quietly than face a lot of strangers ? You can 
 have your own way. I don't care now if half the town was 
 present." 
 
 "Oh, yes, indeed, sir. I don't want to meet strangers 
 and and I'm not very strong yet. I thank you for con- 
 sidering my feelings so kindly." 
 
 "Why, that's my duty," replied the farmer. "Come, 
 Watterly, the sun is getting low, and we've considerable to 
 do yet before we start home." 
 
 "I'm with you. Now, Alida, you go back quietly and 
 act as if nothing had happened till I send for you. Of course 
 this impatient young groom will hurry back with the justice 
 as fast as possible. Still, we may not find him, or he may 
 be so busy that we shall have to come back for you and take 
 you to his office." 
 
 As she turned to leave the room, Holcroft gave her his
 
 A BUSINESS MARRIAGE 169 
 
 hand and said, kindly, "Now don't you be nervous or wor- 
 ried. I see you are not strong, and you shall not be taxed 
 any more than I can help. Good-by for a little while." 
 
 Meantime, Watterly stepped out a moment and gave his 
 domestic a few orders; then he accompanied Holcroft to 
 the barn and the horses were soon attached to the market- 
 wagon. "You're in for it now, Jim, sure enough," he said, 
 laughing. "What will Angy say to it all ?" 
 
 "Tell her that I say you've been a mighty good friend to 
 me, yet I hope I may never return any favors of the same 
 kind." 
 
 "By jocks ! I hope not. I guess it's just as well she was 
 away. She'll think we've acted just like two harum-scarum 
 men, and will be awfully scandalized over your marrying 
 this woman. Don't you feel a little nervous about it?" 
 
 "No ! when my mind's made up, I don't worry. Nobody 
 else need lie awake, for it's my affair." 
 
 "Well, Jim, you know how I feel about it, but I've got to 
 say something and I might as well say it plain." 
 
 "That's the only way you ought to say it." 
 
 "Well, you talked long enough to give me plenty of time 
 to think. One thing is clear, Angy won't take to this mar- 
 riage. You know I'd like to have you both come in and 
 take a meal as you always have done, but then a man must 
 keep peace with his wife, and " 
 
 "I understand, Tom. We won't come till Mrs. Watterly 
 asks us." 
 
 "But you won't have hard feelings ?" 
 
 "No, indeed. Ain't you doing your level best as a 
 friend ?" 
 
 "Well, you know women are so set about these things, 
 and Angy is rather hard on people who don't come up to 
 her mark of respectability. What's more, I suppose you'll 
 find that others will think and act as she does. If you cared 
 about people's opinions I should have been dead against 
 it, but as you feel and are situated, I'm hanged if I don't 
 think she's just the one." 
 XVIII
 
 170 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 "If it hadn't been this one, I don't believe it would have 
 been any one. Here we are," and he tied his horse before 
 the office of the justice. 
 
 Mr. Harkins greeted Holcroft with a sort of patronizing 
 cordiality and was good enough to remember that they had 
 been at the little country schoolhouse together. In Watterly 
 he heartily recognized a brother politician who controlled a 
 goodly number of votes. 
 
 When Holcroft briefly made known his errand, the jus- 
 tice gave a great guffaw of laughter and said, "Oh, bring her 
 here, and I'll invite in some of the boys as witnesses." 
 
 "I'm not afraid of all the witnesses that you could crowd 
 into a ten-acre lot," said Holcroft, somewhat sternly, "but 
 tkere is no occasion to invite the boys, whoever they are, or 
 any one else. She doesn't want to be stared at. I was in 
 hopes, Mr. Harkins, that you'd ride up to the almshouse 
 with us and quietly marry us there." 
 
 "Well, I guess you'd better bring her here. I'm pretty 
 busy this afternoon, and " 
 
 "See here, Ben," said Watterly, taking the justice aside, 
 "Holcroft is my friend, and you know I'm mighty thick 
 with my friends. They count more with me than my wife's 
 relations. Now I want you to do what Holcroft wishes, as 
 a personal favor to me, and the time will come when I can 
 make it up to you." , 
 
 "Oh, certainly, Watterly. I didn't understand," replied 
 Harkins, who looked upon Holcroft as a close, and as he 
 would phrase it, no-account farmer, from whom he could 
 never expect even a vote. "I'll go with you at once. It's 
 but a short job." 
 
 "Well," said Holcroft, "how short can you make it?" 
 
 "Let me get my book," and he took from a shelf the 
 "Justice's Assistant." "You can't want anything shorter 
 than this?" and he read, 'By this act of joining hands you 
 do take each other as husband and wife and solemnly engage 
 in the presence of these witnesses to love and honor and 
 comfort and cherish each other as such so long as you both
 
 A BUSINESS MARRIAGE 171 
 
 shall live. Therefore, in accordance with the law of the 
 State of New York I do hereby pronounce you husband and 
 wife.' A sailor couldn't tie a knot quicker than that." 
 
 "I guess you can, justice," said Holcroft, taking the 
 book. "Suppose you only read this much. 'By this act 
 of joining hands you do take each other as husband and wife. 
 Therefore, in acordance with the law, etc.' Would that be 
 a legal marriage?" 
 
 "Certainly. You'd have to go to a divorce court to get 
 out of that." 
 
 It's my purpose to keep out of courts of all kinds. I'll 
 thank you to read just that much and no more. I don't 
 want to say anything that isn't exactly true." 
 
 "You see how it is, Ben. Holcroft hasn't known the 
 woman long, and she's a nice woman, too, if she is boarding 
 at my hotel. Holcroft needs a wife must have one, in 
 fact, to help run his house and dairy. It wasn't exactly a 
 love match, you know, and he's that kind of a man that 
 a yoke of oxen couldn't draw a word out of him that he 
 didn't mean." 
 
 "Yes, yes, I see now," said Harkins. "I'll read just 
 what you say and no more." 
 
 "And I'll have a little spread that we can be longer at 
 than the ceremony," added Watterly, who was inclined to 
 be a little hilarious over the affair. 
 
 Holcroft, however, maintained his grave manner, and 
 when they reached the almshouse he took Watterly aside 
 and said, "See here, Tom, you've been a good friend to-day 
 and seconded me in everything. Now let the affair pass 
 off just as quietly and seriously as possible. She's too cast 
 down for a gay wedding. Suppose we had a daughter who'd 
 been through such an experience a nice, good, modest girl. 
 Her heart's too sore for fun and jokes. My marrying her is 
 much the same as pulling her out of deep water in which 
 she was sinking." 
 
 "You're right, Jim. I don't think, and one doesn't have 
 much cause to be so sparing of the feelings of such creatures
 
 172 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 as come here. But she's out of the common run, and I 
 ought to have remembered it. By jocks! You're mighty 
 careful about promising to love, cherish and obey, and all 
 that, but I guess you'll do a sight more than many who do 
 promise." 
 
 "Of course I'm going to be kind. That's my duty. 
 Give Harkins a hint. Tell him that she's lost her mother. 
 He needn't know when the old lady died, but it will kind 
 of solemnize him." 
 
 Watterly did as requested, and Harkins, now convinced 
 that his political interest could be furthered by careful com- 
 pliance with all requirements, put on a grave, official air and 
 was ready for business. 
 
 'Alida was sent for. She was too agitated to say farewell 
 to any of the poor creatures with whom she had been com- 
 pelled to associate even to the few who, though scarcely 
 sane, had manifested tenderness and affection.. She had 
 felt that she must reserve all her strength for the coming 
 ordeal, which she both welcomed and feared inexpressibly. 
 She knew how critical was the step she was taking and how 
 much depended on it, yet the more she thought, the more 
 it seemed to her as if Providence had, as by a miracle, given 
 her a refuge. Holcroft's businesslike view of the marriage 
 comforted her greatly, and she asked God to give her health 
 and strength to work faithfully for him many years. 
 
 But she had sad misgivings as she followed the mes- 
 senger, for she felt so weak that she could scarcely walk. It 
 was indeed a pallid, sorrowful, trembling bride that entered 
 Mr. Watterly's parlor. Holcroft met her and taking her 
 hand, said, kindly, "Courage. It will be over in a minute." 
 
 She was so pale and agitated that the justice asked, "Do 
 you enter into this marriage freely and without compulsion 
 of any kind?" 
 
 "Please let me sit down a moment," she faltered, and 
 Watterly hastened to give her a chair. She fixed her eyes 
 on Holcroft and said, anxiously, "You see, sir, how weak I 
 am. I have been sick and and I fear I am far from being
 
 A BUSINESS MARRIAGE 173 
 
 well now. I fear you will be disappointed that it is not 
 right to you, and that I may not be able " 
 
 "Alida," interrupted Holcroft, gravely, "I'm not one to 
 break my word. Home and quiet will soon restore you. 
 Answer the justice and tell him the exact truth." 
 
 No elixir could have brought hope and courage like that 
 word "home." She rose at once and said to Harkins, "I 
 have consented to Mr. Holcroft's wishes with feelings of the 
 deepest gratitude." 
 
 "Very well. Join hands." 
 
 She hesitated and looked for a moment at Holcroft with 
 strange intensity. 
 
 "It's all right, Alida," he said with a smile. "Come." 
 
 His perfect honesty and steadfastness of purpose stood 
 him in good stead then, for she came at once to his side and 
 took his hand. 
 
 Justice Harkins solemnly opened his big book and read, 
 " 'By this act of joining hands you do take each other as 
 husband and wife. Therefore, in accordance with the law 
 of the State of New York, I do hereby pronounce you hus- 
 band and wife.' That's all." 
 
 "I don't think you'll ever be sorry, Alida," said Holcroft, 
 pressing her hand as he led her to a chair. Watterly again 
 bustled up with congratulations, and then said, "You must 
 all come out now to a little supper, and also remember that 
 it was gotten up in a hurry." 
 
 The domestic stared at Alida and Holcroft, and then, sur- 
 mising what had taken place, was so excited that she could 
 scarcely wait on the guests. 
 
 Holcroft, with the simple tact which genuine kindness 
 usually suggests, was attentive to his bride, but managed, by 
 no slight effort for him, to engage the two men in general 
 conversation, so that Alida might have time to recover her 
 composure. His quiet, matter-of-fact bearing was re-assur- 
 ing in itself. A cup of strong tea and a little old currant 
 wine, which Watterly insisted on her taking, brightened her 
 up not a little. Indeed, her weakness was now largely duo
 
 174 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 to the want of nourishment suited to her feeble condition. 
 Moreover, both nerves and mind found relief and rest in the 
 consciousness that the decisive step had been taken. She 
 was no longer shuddering and recoiling from a past in which 
 each day had revealed more disheartening elements. 'Her 
 face was now toward a future that promised a refuge, 
 security, and even hope. 
 
 The quiet meal was soon over. Holcrof t put a five dollar 
 bill in the hands of the justice, who filled in a certificate 
 and departed, feeling that the afternoon had not been spent 
 
 in vain. 
 
 a. 
 
 Jim," said Watterly, drawing his friend aside, "you'll 
 want to make some purchases. You know she's only what 
 she wears. How are you off for money ?" 
 
 "Well, Tom, you know I didn't expect anything of this 
 kind when " 
 
 "Of course I know it. Will fifty answer?" 
 
 "Yes. You're a good friend. I'll return it in a day or 
 two." 
 
 "Return it when you're a mind to. I say, Alida, I want 
 you to take this. Jim Holcroft can't get married and his 
 bride not receive a present from me," and he put ten dollars 
 in her hand. 
 
 Tears rushed to her eyes as she turned them inquiringly 
 to Holcroft to know what she should do. 
 
 "Now see here, Tom, you've done too much for us 
 already." 
 
 "Shut up, Jim Holcroft. Don't you end the day by 
 hurting my feelings. It's perfectly right and proper for me 
 to do this. Good-by, Alida. I don't believe you'll ever be 
 sorry you found your way to my hotel." 
 
 Alida took his proffered hand, but could only falter, "I 
 I can never forget."
 
 JONATHAN'S IMPRESSION OF THE BRIDE 175 
 
 CHAPTEK XX 
 
 UNCLE JONATHAN'S IMPRESSION OF THE BEIDE 
 
 " IV I OW, Alida," said Holcroft, as they drove away, "re- 
 
 \] member that we are two middle-aged, sensible 
 * ^ people. At least I'm middle-aged and fairly sen- 
 sible, too, I hope. You'll need to buy some things and 
 I want you to get all you need. Don't stint yourself, and 
 you needn't hurry so as to get tired, for we shall have moon- 
 light and there's no use trying to get home before dark. Is 
 there any particular store which you'd like to go to?" 
 
 "No, sir, only I'd rather go over on the east side of town 
 where I'm not known." 
 
 "That suits me, for it's the side nearest home and I am 
 known there." 
 
 "Perhaps perhaps you also would rather go this even- 
 ing where you are not known," she said, hesitatingly. 
 
 "It makes no difference to me. In fact, I know of a 
 place where you'll have a good choice at reasonable rates." 
 
 "I'll go where you wish," she said, quietly. 
 
 They soon entered a large shop together, and the pro- 
 prietor said, pleasantly, "Good evening, Mr. Holcroft." 
 
 "Good evening, Mr. Jasper. My wife wants to get 
 some things. If you'll be good enough to wait on her I'll 
 step out to do two or three errands." 
 
 The merchant looked curiously at Alida, but was too 
 polite to ask questions or make comments on her very 
 simple purchases. Her old skill and training were of ser- 
 vice now. She knew just what she absolutely needed and 
 bought no more.
 
 176 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 Holcroft laid in a good stock of groceries and some juicy 
 beef and then returned. When Mr. Jasper gave him his 
 bill, he went to Alida, who was resting, and said in a low 
 voice, "This won't do at all. You can't have bought half 
 enough." 
 
 For the first time, something like a smile flitted across 
 her face, as she replied, "It's enough to begin with. I 
 know." 
 
 "Really, Mr. Holcroft, I didn't know you were mar- 
 ried," said the merchant. "I must congratulate you." 
 
 "Well, I am. Thank you. Good-night" 
 
 A few moments later, he and his wife were bowling out 
 of town toward the hills. Reaching one of these, the horses 
 came down to a walk and Holcroft turned and said, "Are 
 you very tired, Alida? I'm troubled about you taking this 
 long ride. You have been so sick." 
 
 "I'm sorry I'm not stronger, sir, but the fresh air seems 
 to do me good and I think I can stand it." 
 
 "You didn't promise to obey me, did you ?" with a rather 
 nervous little laugh. 
 
 "No, sir, but I will." 
 
 "That's a good beginning. ISTow see what an old tyrant 
 I am. In the first place, I don't want you to say "sir" to 
 me any more. My name is James. In the second place, 
 you must work only as I let you. Your first business is to 
 get strong and well, and you know we agreed to marry on 
 strictly business grounds." 
 
 "I understand it well, but I think you are very kind for a 
 business man." 
 
 "Oh, as to that, if I do say it of myself, I don't think it's 
 my nature to be hard on those who treat me square. I think 
 we shall be very good friends in our quiet way, and that's 
 more than can be said of a good many who promise more 
 than they seem to remember afterward." 
 
 "I will try to do all you wish, for I am very grateful." 
 
 "If you do, you may find I'm as grateful as you are." 
 
 "That can never be. Your need and mine were very
 
 JONATHAN'S IMPRESSION OF THE BRIDE 177 
 
 different. But I shall try to show my gratitude by learning 
 your ways and wishes and not by many words of thanks." 
 
 "Thank the Lord!" mentally ejaculated the farmer, 
 "there's no Mrs. Mumpson in this case;" but he only said, 
 kindly, "I think we understand each other now, Alida. I'm 
 not a man of words either, and I had better show by actions 
 also what I am. The fact is, although we are married, we 
 are scarcely acquainted, and people can't get acquainted in 
 a day." 
 
 The first long hill was surmounted and away they bowled 
 again, past cottage and farmhouse, through strips of wood- 
 land and between dusky fields from which came the fra- 
 grance of the springing grass and the peepings of the hylas. 
 The moon soon rose, full-orbed, above the higher eastern 
 hills, and the mild April evening became luminous and full 
 of beauty. 
 
 A healing sense of quiet and security already began to 
 steal into Alida's bruised heart. In turning her back upon 
 the town in which she had suffered so greatly, she felt like 
 one escaping from prison and torture. An increasing assur- 
 ance of safety came with every mile; the cool, still radiance 
 of the night appeared typical of her new and most unex- 
 pected experience. Light had risen on her shadowed path, 
 but it was not warm, vivifying sunlight which stimulates and 
 develops. A few hours before, she was in darkness which 
 might be felt yet it was a gloom shot through and through 
 with lurid, threatening gleams. It had seemed to her that 
 she had fallen from home, happiness and honor to unfath- 
 omed depths, and yet there had appeared to be deeper and 
 darker abysses on every side. She had shuddered at the 
 thought of going out into the world, feeling that her misfor- 
 tune would awaken suspicion rather than sympathy, scorn 
 instead of kindness; that she must toil on until death, to 
 sustain a life to which death would come as God's welcome 
 messenger. Then had come this man at her side, with his 
 comparatively trivial troubles and perplexities, and he had 
 asked her help she who was so helpless. He had banished
 
 178 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 despair from her earthly future, he had lifted her up and was 
 bearing her away from all which she had so dreaded; noth- 
 ing had been asked which her crushed spirit was unable to 
 bestow; she was simply expected to aid him in his natural 
 wish to keep his home and to live where he had always dwelt. 
 His very inability to understand her, to see her broken, 
 trampled life and immeasurable need as she saw it, brought 
 quietness of mind. The concentration of his thoughts on a 
 few homely and simple hopes gave her immunity. With 
 quick intuition, she divined that she had not a whimsical, 
 jealous, exacting nature to deal with. He was the plain, 
 matter-of-fact man he seemed, so literal and absolutely 
 truthful that he would appear odd to most people. To her 
 mind, his were the traits which she could now most wel- 
 come and value. He knew all about her, she had merely 
 to be herself, to do what she had promised, in order to rest 
 securely on his rock-like truth. He had again touched a 
 deep, grateful chord in speaking of her to the shopkeeper as 
 his wife ; he showed no disposition whatever to shrink from 
 the relation before the world; it was evident that he meant 
 to treat her with respect and kindness, and to exact respect 
 from others. For all this, while sitting quietly and silently 
 at his side, she thanked him almost passionately in her heart ; 
 but far more than for all this she was glad and grateful that 
 he would not expect what she now felt it would be impossi- 
 ble for her to give the love and personal devotion which 
 had been inseparable from marriage in her girlhood thoughts. 
 He would make good his words she would be his wife 
 in name and be respected as such. He was too simple and 
 true to himself and his buried love, too considerate of her, to 
 expect more. She might hope, therefore, as he had said, 
 that they might be helpful, loyal friends, and he would have 
 been surprised indeed had he known how the pale, silent 
 woman beside him was longing and hoping to fill his home 
 with comfort. 
 
 Thoughts like these had inspired and sustained her while 
 at the same time administering the balm of hope. The quiet
 
 JONATHAN'S IMPRESSION OF THE BRIDE 179 
 
 face of nature, lovely in the moonlight, seemed to welcome 
 and reassure her. Happy are those who, when sorely 
 wounded in life, can turn to the natural world and find in 
 every tree, shrub and flower a comforting friend that will 
 not turn from them. Such are not far from God and peace. 
 
 The range of Holcroft's thoughts was far simpler and 
 narrower than Alida's. He turned rather deliberately from 
 the past, preferring to dwell on the probable consummation 
 of his hope. His home, his farm, were far more to him than 
 the woman he had married. He had wedded her for their 
 sake, and his thoughts followed his heart, which was in his 
 hillside acres. It is said that women often marry for a 
 home; he truly had done so to keep his home. The ques- 
 tion which now most occupied him was the prospect of doing 
 this through quiet, prosperous years. He dwelt minutely 
 on Alida's manner, as well as her words, and found noth- 
 ing to shake his belief that she had been as truthful as him- 
 self. Nevertheless, he queried in regard to the future 
 with not a little anxiety. In her present distress and poverty 
 she might naturally be glad of the refuge he had offered ; but 
 as time passed, and the poignancy of bitter memories was 
 allayed, might not her life on the farm seem monotonous 
 and dull, might not weariness and discontent come into her 
 eyes in place of gratitude? "Well, well," he concluded, 
 "this marrying is a risky experiment at best, but Tom "Wat- 
 terly's talk and her manner seemed to shut me up to it. I 
 was made to feel that I couldn't go on in any other way; 
 and I haven't done anything underhanded or wrong, as I 
 see, for the chance of going on. If I hadn't become such a 
 heathen, I should say there was a Providence in it, but I 
 don't know what to think about such things any more. 
 Time'll show, and the prospect is better than it has been yet. 
 She'll never be sorry if she carries out the agreement made 
 to-day, if kindness and good-will can repay her." 
 
 Thus it may be seen that although two life currents had 
 become parallel, they were still very distinct. 
 
 By the time Holcroft approached the lane leading to his
 
 180 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 dwelling Alida was growing very weary, and felt that her 
 endurance had almost reached its limit. Her face was so 
 white in the moonlight that he asked, solicitously, "You can 
 stand it a little longer, can't you ?" 
 
 " I'll try. I'm very sorry I'm not stronger." 
 
 "Don't you worry about that. You won't know yourself 
 in a week. Here we are at the lane and there's the house 
 yonder. A moment or two more and you'll be by the fire." 
 
 A loud barking startled old Jonathan Johnson out of his 
 doze, and he hastened to replenish the fire and to call off 
 his rather savage dog. He was a little surprised to see Hoi- 
 croft driving toward the kitchen door with a woman by his 
 side. "He's tried his luck with anuther of them town gals," 
 he muttered, "but, Jerusalem! she won't stay a week, an' 
 my old woman'll have the washin' an mendin' all the same." 
 
 He could scarcely believe his ears and eyes when he heard 
 the farmer say, "Alida, you must let me lift you out," and 
 then saw the "town gal" set gently on the ground, her hand 
 placed on Holcroft's arm as she was supported slowly and 
 carefully to the rocking-chair beside the fire. 
 
 "Jonathan," was the quiet announcement, "this is Mrs. 
 Holcroft, my wife." 
 
 "Jeru beg a pardon. Wasn't spectin' jis' sich a turn 
 o' things. Respects, missus. Sorry to see ye're enj'yin' poor 
 health." 
 
 "Yes, Jonathan, Mrs. Holcroft has been sick, but she's 
 much better and will soon be well. She's very tired now 
 from the long drive, but quiet life and country air will soon 
 make her strong. I'll just step out and care for the horses, 
 Alida, and soon be back again. You come and help nio, 
 Jonathan, and keep your dog off, too." 
 
 The old man complied with rather poor grace, for he 
 would have much preferred to interview the bride at whom 
 he was staring with all his weak, watery eyes. Holcroft 
 understood his neighbor's peculiarities too well to subject his 
 wife to this ordeal, and was bent on despatching Jonathan 
 homeward as soon as possible.
 
 JONATHAN'S IMPRESSION OF THE BRIDE 181 
 
 "I say, Jim," said the old guardsman, who felt that he 
 was speaking to the boy he had known for thirty odd years, 
 "where on airth did you pick up sich a sickly lookin' critter ?" 
 
 "I didn't pick her up," replied the farmer, laughingly, 
 "I married her fair and square just as you did your wife a 
 hundred years ago, more or less. Haven't I as good a right 
 to get married as you had ?" 
 
 "Oh, I ain't a-disputin' yer right, but it seems so kind o' 
 suddint that it's taken what little breath I've left." 
 
 "How do you know it's sudden? Did you go around 
 telling every one how you were getting on when you were 
 a-courting ?" 
 
 "Well, I swan ! yer got me. 'Tain't so long ago that I 
 disremember we did it on the sly." 
 
 "Well now, Uncle Jonathan, you've got nothing to say 
 against me, for I didn't marry on the sly, although I've gone 
 on the principle that my business wasn't everybody's busi- 
 ness. When I saw your wife about my washing and mend- 
 ing I didn't know I was going to be lucky so soon. You 
 know you can't marry a woman in this country till she's 
 willing. But tell your wife she shan't lose anything, and 
 the next time I go to town I'll leave that settin' of eggs she 
 wanted. Now, Jonathan, honor bright, do you feel able to 
 walk home if I give you fifty cents extra?" 
 
 "Why sartinly ! s'pose I'd take yer away on sich a 'casion ? 
 My wife wouldn't let me in if she knowed it." 
 
 "Well, you and your wife are good neighbors, and that's 
 more'n I can say for most people in these parts. Here's 
 the money. Mrs. Holcroft isn't strong or well enough to 
 talk any to-night. You got yourself a good supper, didn't 
 you ?" 
 
 "Yes, yes; helped myself bount'fully. Good-night, and 
 good luck ter yer. I can't help thinkin' it was kind o' sud- 
 dint though, and then she's sich a sickly lookin' critter. 
 Hope yer haven't been taken in r but then, as you say, the 
 marryin' business, like other kinds o' business, is a man's 
 wn business."
 
 182 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 "I hope every one will take your sensible view, Uncle 
 Jonathan. Good-night." 
 
 CHAPTEK XXI 
 
 AT HOME 
 
 A LTD A was not so cold, weary and almost faint but that 
 she looked around the old kitchen with the strongest 
 interest. This interest was as unlike Mrs. Mump- 
 son's curiosity as she was unlike the widow. It is true the 
 thought of self was prominent, yet hers were not selfish 
 thoughts. There are some blessed natures in the world that 
 in doing the best for themselves do the best that is possible 
 for others. 
 
 The genial warmth of the fire was grateful to her chilled 
 and enfeebled frame; the homely kitchen, with its dresser 
 of chinaware, its tin-closet and pantry, the doors of which 
 old Jonathan had left open, man-like, after helping himself 
 "bountifully," all suggested more comfort to this pallid 
 bride, sitting there alone, than wealth of ornament in elegant 
 apartments have brought to many others. She saw her chief 
 domain, not in its coarse and common aspect, but as her 
 vantage ground, from which she could minister to the com- 
 forts of the one who had rescued her. Few brides would 
 care to enter the kitchen first, but she was pleased ; she who 
 had scarcely hoped to smile again looked smilingly around 
 on the quaint, homelike room. 
 
 "And this is to be my home," she murmured. "How 
 strange, unexpected, yet natural it all is! just what he led 
 me to expect. The little lonely farmhouse, where I can be 
 safe from staring eyes and unwounded by cruel questionings. 
 Yet that old man had a dozen questions on his tongue. I 
 believe he took him away to save my feelings. It's strange 
 that so plain and simple a man in most respects can be so
 
 AT HOME 183 
 
 considerate. Oh, pray God that all goes on as it promises! 
 I couldn't have dreamt it this morning, but I have an odd, 
 homelike feeling already. Well, since I am at home I may; 
 as well take off my hat and cloak." 
 
 As she did so, Holcroft entered and said, heartily, 
 "That's right, Alida. You are here to stay, you know. You 
 mustn't think it amiss that I left you a few moments alone, 
 for I had to get that talkative old man off home. He's get- 
 ting a little childish and would fire questions at you point 
 blank." 
 
 "But shouldn't you have taken him home in the wagon? 
 I don't mind being alone." 
 
 "Oh, no, he's spry enough to walk twice the distance and 
 often does. It's light as day outside and I made it right 
 with him. You can leave your things up stairs in your 
 room, and I'll carry up your bundles also, if you are rested 
 enough for the journey." 
 
 "Oh, yes," she replied, "I'm feeling better already." 
 
 He led the way to the apartment that Mrs. Mumpson had 
 occupied and said, regretfully, "I'm sorry the room looks so 
 bare and comfortless, but that will all be mended in time. 
 When you come down, we'll have some coffee and supper." 
 
 She soon re-appeared in the kitchen, and he continued, 
 "Now I'll show you that I'm not such a very helpless sort 
 of man, after all, so if you're sick you needn't worry. I'm 
 going to get you a good cup of coffee and broil you a piece 
 of steak." 
 
 "Oh, please let me" she began. 
 
 "No; can't allow you to do anything to-night but sit 
 in that chair. You promised to mind, you know," and he 
 smiled so genially that she smiled back at him, although 
 tears came into her eyes. 
 
 "I can't realize it all," she said in a low voice. "To 
 think how this day began and how it is ending?" 
 
 "It's ending in a poor man's kitchen, Alida. It was 
 rather rough to bring you in here first, but the parlor is cold 
 and comfortless."
 
 184 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 "I would rather be brought here. It seems to me that 
 it must be a light and cheerful room." 
 
 "Yes, the sun shines in these east windows, and there's 
 another window facing the south, so it's light all day long." 
 
 She watched him curiously, and with not a little self- 
 reproach, as he deftly prepared supper. "It's too bad for 
 me to sit idle while you do such things, yet you do every- 
 thing so well that I fear I shall seem awkward. Still, I. 
 think I do at least know how to cook a little." 
 
 "If you knew what I've had to put up with for a year 
 or more, you wouldn't worry about satisfying me in this 
 respect. Except when old Mrs. Wiggins was here, I had 
 few decent meals that I didn't get myself," and then, to 
 cheer her up, he laughingly told her of Mrs. Mumpson's 
 essay at making coffee. He had a certain dry humor, and 
 his unwonted effort at mimicry was so droll in itself that 
 Alida was startled to hear her own voice in laughter, and 
 she looked almost frightened, so deeply had she been im- 
 pressed that it would never be possible or even right for her 
 to laugh again. 
 
 The farmer was secretly much pleased at his success. If 
 she would laugh, be cheerful and not brood, he felt sure 
 she would get well and be more contented. The desperate 
 view she had taken of her misfortunes troubled him, and he 
 had thought it possible that she might sink into despondency 
 and something like invalidism; but that involuntary bubble 
 of laughter re-assured him. "Quiet, wholesome, cheerful 
 life will restore her to health," he thought, as he put his 
 favorite beverage and the sputtering steak on the table. 
 "Now," he said, placing a chair at the table, "you can pour 
 me a cup of coffee." 
 
 "I'm glad I can do something," she answered, "for I 
 can't get over the strangeness of being so waited on. In- 
 deed, everything that was unexpected or undreamed of has 
 happened," and there was just the faintest bit of color on 
 her cheeks as she sat down opposite him. 
 
 Few men are insensible to simple, natural, womanly
 
 AT HOME 185 
 
 grace, and poor Holcroft, who so long had been compelled to 
 see at his table "perfect terrors," as he called them, was 
 agreeably impressed by the contrast she made with the 
 Mumpson and Malony species. Alida unconsciously had a 
 subtile charm of carriage and action, learned in her long 
 past and happy girlhood, when all her associations were good 
 and refined. Still, in its truest explanation, this grace is 
 native and not acquired; it is a personal trait. Incapable 
 of nice analysis or fine definitions, he only thought, "How 
 much pleasanter it is to see at the table a quiet, sensible 
 woman instead of a 'peculiar female' !" and it was not long 
 before he supplemented her remark by saying, "Perhaps 
 things are turning out for both of us better than we expected. 
 I had made up my mind this morning to live here like a her- 
 mit, get my own meals, and all that. I actually had the 
 rough draught of an auction-bill in my pocket yes, here it 
 is now and was going to sell my cows, give up my dairy 
 and try to make my living in a way that wouldn't require 
 any woman help. That's what took me up to Tom Wat- 
 terly's ; I wanted him to help me put the bill in shape. He 
 wouldn't look at it, and talked me right out of trying to live 
 like Robinson Crusoe, as he expressed it. I had been quite 
 cheerful over my prospects; indeed, I was almost happy in 
 being alone again after having such terrors in the house. 
 But, as I said, Watterly talked all the courage and hope right 
 out of me, and made it clear that I couldn't go it alone. You 
 see, Tom and I have been friends since we were boys to- 
 gether, and that's the reason he talks so plain to me." 
 
 "He has a good, kind heart," said Alida. "I don't think 
 I could have kept up at all had it not been for his kindness." 
 
 "Yes, Tom's a rough diamond. He don't make any pre- 
 tences, and looks upon himself as a rather hard case, but I 
 fancy he's doing kind things in his rough way half the time. 
 Well, as we were talking, he remembered you, and he spoke 
 of you so feelingly and told your story with so much honest 
 sympathy that he awoke my sympathy. Now you know how 
 it has all come about. You see it's all natural enough and
 
 i86 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 simple enough, and probably it's the best thing that could 
 have happened for us both. All you have to do is to get 
 strong and well, and then it won't be any one-sided affair, as 
 you've been too much inclined to think. I can go on and 
 keep my farm and home just as my heart is bent on doing. 
 I want you to understand everything, for then your mind 
 will be more satisfied and at rest, and that's half the battle 
 in getting over sickness and trouble like yours." 
 
 "I can only thank God and you for the great change in 
 my prospects. This quiet and escape from strangers are 
 just what I most craved, and I am already beginning to hope 
 that if I can learn to do all you wish, I shall find a content 
 that I never hoped for," and the tears that stood in her eyes 
 were witnesses of her sincerity. 
 
 "Well, don't expect to learn everything at once. Let 
 me have my way for awhile, and then you'll find, as you get 
 strong, and the busy season comes on, that I'll be so taken 
 up with the farm that you'll have your own way. Won't you 
 have some more steak? No? Well, you've enjoyed your 
 supper a little, haven't you?" 
 
 "Yes," she replied, smiling, "I actually felt hungry when 
 I sat down, and the coffee has taken away the tired, faint 
 feeling." 
 
 "I hope you'll soon be good and hungry three times a 
 day," he said, laughing pleasantly. 
 
 "You'll at least let me clear the table?" she asked. "I 
 feel so much better." 
 
 "Yes, if you are sure you're strong enough. It may make 
 you feel more at home. But drop everything till to-morrow, 
 when tired. I must go out and do my night work, and it's 
 night work now, sure enough." 
 
 "It's too bad !" she said, sympathetically. 
 
 "What! to go out and feed my stock this clear, bright 
 night? and after a hearty supper, too? Such farming is 
 fun. I feel, too, as if I wanted to go and pat the cows all 
 around in my gladness that I'm not going to sell them. Now
 
 AT HOME 187 
 
 remember, let everything go till morning as soon as you feel 
 tired." 
 
 She nodded smilingly and set to work. Standing in the 
 shadow of a hemlock, he watched her for a few moments. 
 Her movements were slow, as would be natural to one who 
 had been so reduced by illness, but this very evidence of 
 feebleness touched his feelings. "She is eager to begin 
 too eager. No nonsense there about 'menial tasks.' Well, 
 it does give one hope to see such a woman as that in the 
 old kitchen," and then the hungry cattle welcomed him. 
 
 The traveller feels safe after the fierce Arab of the desert 
 has broken bread with him. It would seem that a deep 
 principle of human nature is involved in this act. More 
 than the restoring power of the nourishment itself was the 
 moral effect for Alida of that first meal in her husband's 
 home. It was another step in what he had said was essen- 
 tial the forming of his acquaintance. She had seen from 
 the first that he was plain and unpolished that he had 
 not the veneer of gentility of the man she had so mistakenly 
 married, yet in his simple truth he was inspiring a respect 
 which she had never felt for any man before. "What ele- 
 ment of real courtesy has been wanting ?" she asked herself. 
 "If this is an earnest of the future, thank God for the real. 
 I've found to my cost what a clever imitation of a man 
 means." 
 
 It was as sweet as it was strange to think that she, who 
 had trembled at the necessity of becoming almost a slave to 
 unfeeling strangers, had been compelled to rest while a hus- 
 band performed tasks naturally hers. It was all very home- 
 ly, yet the significance of the act was chivalrous considera- 
 tion for her weakness ; the place, the nature of the ministry 
 could not degrade the meaning of his action. Then, too, 
 during the meal he had spoken natural, kindly words which 
 gave to their breaking of bread together the true interpreta- 
 tion. Although so feeble and weary, she found a deep satis- 
 faction in beginning her household work. "It does make me
 
 188 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 feel more at home," she said. "Strange that he should have 
 thought of it." 
 
 She had finished her task and sat down again when he 
 entered with a pail of milk. Taking a dipper with a strainer 
 on one side of it, he poured out a tumblerful. "Now take 
 this/' he said. "I've always heard that milk fresh from the 
 cow was very strengthening. Then go and sleep till you are 
 thoroughly rested, and don't think of coming down in the 
 morning till you feel like it. I'll make the fire and get 
 breakfast. You have seen how easily I can do it. I have 
 several more cows to milk and so will say 'good-night' ' 
 
 "Good-night, and may God always bless you for your 
 kindness to me to-day." 
 
 For the first time since chaos had come into her life, 
 Alida slept soundly and refreshingly, unpursued by the fears 
 which had haunted even her dreams. When she awoke, she 
 expected to see the gray locks and repulsive features of the 
 woman who had occupied the apartment with her at the 
 almshouse, but she was alone in a small, strange room. 
 Then memory gathered up the threads of the past; but so 
 strange, so blessed did the truth seem that she hastened to 
 dress and go down to the old kitchen and assure herself that 
 her mind had not become shattered by her troubles and was 
 mocking her with unreal fancies. The scene she looked 
 upon would have soothed and reassured her even had her 
 mind been as disordered as she, for the moment, had been 
 tempted to believe. There was the same homely room which 
 had pictured itself so deeply on her memory the evening be- 
 fore. Now it was more attractive, for the morning sun was 
 shining into it, lighting up its homely details with a whole- 
 some, cheerful reality which made it difficult to believe that 
 there were tragic experiences in the world. The wood-fire 
 in the stove crackled merrily, and the lid of the kettle was 
 already bobbing up and down from internal commotion. 
 
 As she opened the door, a burst of song entered, securing 
 her attention. She had heard the birds before without rec- 
 ognizing consciousness, as is so often true of our own con-
 
 AT HOME 189 
 
 dition in regard to the familiar sounds of nature. It was 
 now almost as if she had received another sense, so strong, 
 sweet and cheering was the symphony. Robins, song-spar- 
 rows, blackbirds, seemed to have gathered in the trees near 
 by, to give her a jubilant welcome ; but she soon found that 
 the music shaded off to distant, dream-like notes, and remem- 
 bered that it was a morning chorus of a hemisphere. This 
 universality did not render the melody less personally grate- 
 ful. We can appropriate all that is lovely in Nature, yet 
 leave all for others. As she stood listening, and inhaling 
 the soft air, full of the delicious perfume of the grass and 
 expanding buds, and looking through the misty sunshine on 
 the half-veiled landscape, she heard Holcroft's voice, chiding 
 some unruly animal in the barnyard. 
 
 This recalled her, and with the elasticity of returning 
 health and hope, she set about getting breakfast. 
 
 "It seems to me that I never heard birds sing before," 
 she thought, "and their songs this morning are almost like 
 the music of heaven. They seem as happy and unconscious 
 of fear and trouble as if they were angels. Mother and I 
 used to talk about the Garden of Eden, but could the air 
 have been sweeter, or the sunshine more tempered to just 
 the right degree of warmth and brightness than here about 
 my home? Oh, thank God again, again and forever, for a 
 home like this," and for a few moments something of the 
 ecstasy of one delivered from the black thraldom of evil 
 filled her soul. She paused now and then to listen to the 
 birds, for only their songs seemed capable of expressing her 
 emotion. It was but another proof that heavenly thoughts 
 and homely work may go on together.
 
 190 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 GETTING ACQUAINTED 
 
 IT was still early, and Holcroft was under the impression 
 that Alida would sleep late after the severe fatigues of 
 the preceding day. He therefore continued his work 
 at the barn sufficiently long to give his wife time for her 
 little surprise. She was not long in finding and laying her 
 hands on the simple materials for breakfast. A ham hung 
 in the pantry, and beneath it was a great basket of eggs, 
 while the flour barrel stood in the corner. Biscuits were 
 soon in the oven, eggs conjured into an omelet, and the ham 
 cut into delicate slices, instead of great coarse steaks. Re- 
 membering Mrs. Mumpson's failure with the coffee, she 
 made it a trifle strong and boiled the milk that should temper 
 without cooling it. The biscuits rose like her own spirits, 
 the omelet speedily began to take on color like her own 
 flushed face as she busied herself about the stove. 
 
 Everything was nearly ready when she saw Holcroft 
 coming toward the house with two pails of milk. He took 
 them to the large dairy room under the parlor and then came 
 briskly to the kitchen. She stood, screened by the door as 
 he entered, then stopped and stared at the table all set, and 
 at the inviting breakfast on the stove. 
 
 Seeing Alida's half-smiling, half-questioning face, seek- 
 ing his approval, he exclaimed, "Well, you have stolen a 
 march on me. I supposed you were asleep yet." 
 
 "I felt so much stronger and better when I awoke that I 
 thought you wouldn't mind if I came down and made a 
 beginning."
 
 GETTING ACQUAINTED 191 
 
 "You call this a beginning, do you ? such a breakfast as 
 this before seven in the morning ? I hope you haven't over- 
 taxed yourself." 
 
 "No, only a little of just the right kind of tired feeling." 
 
 "Haven't you left anything for me to do ?" 
 
 "Perhaps. You will know when I've put all on the 
 table. What I've prepared is ready." 
 
 "Well, this is famous. I'll go and wash and fix up a 
 little and be right down." 
 
 When Holcroft returned, he looked at her curiously, for 
 he felt that he, too, was getting acquainted. Her thin face 
 was made more youthful by color; a pleased look was in 
 her blue eyes and a certain neatness and trimness about her 
 dress, to which he had not been accustomed. He scanned 
 the table wonderingly, for things were not put upon it at 
 haphazard; the light biscuits turned their brown cheeks in- 
 vitingly toward him she had arranged that they should do 
 that the ham was crisp, not sodden, and the omelet as russet 
 as a November leaf. "This is a new dish," he said, looking 
 at it closely. "What do you call it ?" 
 
 "Omelet. Perhaps you won't like it, but mother used to 
 be very fond of it." 
 
 "No matter. We'll have it if you like it and it brings 
 you pleasant thoughts of your mother." Then he took a 
 good sip of his coffee and set the cup down again as he had 
 before under the Mumpson regime, but with a very different 
 expression. She looked anxiously at him, but was quickly 
 reassured. "I thought I knew how to make coffee, but I 
 find I don'ti I never tasted anything so good as that. How 
 do you make it ?" 
 
 "Just as mother taught me." 
 
 "Well, well, and you call this making a beginning? I 
 just wish I could give Tom Watterly a cup of this coffee. 
 It would set his mind at rest. 'By jocks!' he would say, 
 'isn't that better than going it alone ?' ' 
 
 She looked positively happy under this sweet incense to 
 a housewifely heart. She was being paid in the coin that
 
 192 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 women love best, and it was all the more precious to her 
 because she had never expected to receive it again. 
 
 He did like the omelet; he liked everything, and, after 
 helping her liberally, cleared the table, then said he felt 
 equal to doing two men's work. Before going out to his 
 work, he lighted a fire on the parlor hearth and left a good' 
 supply of fuel beside it. "JSTow, Alida," he remarked, 
 humorously, "I've already found out that you have one fault 
 that you and I will have to watch against. You are too 
 willing. I fear you've gone beyond your strength this morn- 
 ing. I don't want you to do a thing to-day except to get the 
 meals, and remember, I can help in this if you don't feel 
 well. There is a fire in the parlor, and I've wheeled the 
 lounge up by it. Take it quietly to-day, and perhaps to- 
 morrow I can begin to show you about butter-making." 
 
 "I will do as you wish," she replied, "but please show 
 me a little more where things are before you go out." 
 
 This he did and added, "You'll find the beef and some 
 other things on a swing-shelf in the cellar. The potato bins 
 are down there, too. But don't try to get up much dinner. 
 What come quickest and easiest will suit me. I'm a little 
 backward with my work and must plow all day for oats. 
 It's time they were in. After such a breakfast, I feel as if 
 I had eaten a bushel myself." 
 
 A few moments later, she saw him going up the lane, 
 that continued on past the house, with his stout team and the 
 plow, and she smiled as she heard him whistling "Coro- 
 nation" with levity, as some good people would have 
 thought. 
 
 Plowing and planting time had come and under happier 
 auspices, apparently, than he had ever imagined possible 
 again. With the lines about his neck, he began with a side- 
 hill plow at the bottom of a large, sloping field which had 
 been in corn the previous year, and the long, straight furrows 
 increased from a narrow strip to a wide, oblong area. "Ah," 
 said he, in tones of strong satisfaction, "the ground crumbles 
 freely; it's just in the right condition. I'll quit plowing
 
 GETTING ACQUAINTED 193 
 
 this afternoon in time to harrow and sow all the ground 
 that's ready. Then, so much'll be all done and well done. 
 It's curious how seed, if it goes into the ground at the right 
 time and in the right way, comes right along and never gets 
 discouraged. I ain't much on scientific farming, but I've 
 always observed that when I sow or plant as soon as the 
 ground is ready, I have better luck." 
 
 The horses seemed infected by his own brisk spirit, step- 
 ping along without urging, and the farmer was swept speed- 
 ily into the full, strong current of his habitual interests. 
 
 One might have supposed the recent events would have 
 the uppermost place in his thoughts, but this was not true. 
 He rather dwelt upon them as the unexpectedly fortunate 
 means to the end now attained. This was his life, and he 
 was happy in the thought that his marriage promised to 
 make this life not merely possible, but prosperous and full 
 of quiet content. 
 
 The calling of the born agriculturist, like that of the fish- 
 erman, has in it the element of chance and is therefore full 
 of moderate yet lasting excitement. Holcroft knew that, 
 although he did his best, much would depend on the weather 
 and other causes. He had met with disappointments in his 
 crops, and had also achieved what he regarded as fine suc- 
 cesses, although they would have seemed meagre on a West- 
 ern prairie. Every spring kindled anew his hopefulness 
 and anticipation. He watched the weather with the inter- 
 ested and careful scrutiny of a sailor, and it must be ad- 
 mitted that his labor and its results depended more on natu- 
 ral causes than upon his skill and the careful use of 
 fertilizers. He was a farmer of the old school, the tradi- 
 tions received from his father controlled him in the main. 
 Still, his good common sense and long experience stood him 
 fairly well in the place of science and knowledge of improved 
 methods, and he was better equipped than the man who has 
 in his brain all that the books can teach, yet is without ex- 
 perience. Best of all, he had inherited and acquired an 
 abiding love of the soil; he never could have been content 
 R I XVIII
 
 194 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 except in its cultivation ; he was therefore in the right condi- 
 tion to assimilate fuller knowledge and make the most of it. 
 
 He knew well enough when it was about noon. From 
 long habit, he would have known had the sky been overcast, 
 but now his glance at the sun was like looking at a watch. 
 Dusty and begrimed, he followed his team to the barn, 
 slipped from them their headstalls and left them to amuse 
 themselves with a little hay while they cooled sufficiently for 
 heartier food. "Well now," he mused, "I wonder what that 
 little woman has for dinner ? another new dish, like enough. 
 Hanged if I'm fit to go in the house, and she looking so trim 
 and neat. I think I'll first take a souse in the brook," and 
 he went up behind the house where an unfailing stream gur- 
 gled swiftly down from the hills. At the nearest point, a 
 small basin had been hollowed out, and as he approached he 
 saw two or three speckled trout darting away through the 
 limpid water. 
 
 "Aha !" he muttered, "glad you reminded me. When 
 she's stronger, she may enjoy catching our supper some after- 
 noon. I must think of all the little things I can to liven 
 her up, so she won't get dull. It's curious how interested 
 I am to know how she's got along and what she has for din- 
 ner. And to think that less than a week ago I used to hate 
 to go near the house !" 
 
 As he entered the hall on his way to his room, that he 
 might make himself more presentable, an appetizing odor 
 greeted him, and Alida smiled from the kitchen door as she 
 said, "Dinner's ready." 
 
 Apparently she had taken him at his word, as she had 
 prepared little else than an Irish stew ; yet when he had par- 
 taken of it, he thought he would prefer Irish stews from that 
 time onward indefinitely. "Where did you learn to cook, 
 Alida ?" he asked. 
 
 "Mother wasn't very strong and her appetite often failed 
 her. Then, too, we hadn't much to spend on our table, so 
 we tried to make simple things taste nice. Do you like my 
 way of preparing that old-fashioned dish ?"
 
 GETTING ACQUAINTED 195 
 
 "I'm going to show you how I like it," he replied, nod- 
 ding approvingly. "Well, what have you been doing besides 
 tempting me to eat too much ?" 
 
 "What you said, resting. You told me not to get up 
 much of a dinner, so I very lazily prepared what you see. 
 I've been lying on the lounge most of the morning.' 
 
 "Famous ; and you feel better ?" 
 
 "Yes, I think I shall soon get well and strong," she 
 replied, looking at him gratefully. 
 
 "Well, well, my luck's turned at last. I once thought it 
 never would, but if this goes on well,. you can't know what 
 a change it is for the better. I can now put my mind on 
 my work." 
 
 "You've been plowing all the morning, haven't you?" 
 she ventured, and there was the pleased look in her eyes that 
 he already liked to see. 
 
 "Yes," he replied, "and I must keep at it several days to 
 get in all the oats I mean to sow. If this weather holds I 
 shall be through next week." 
 
 "I looked in the milk-room a while ago. Isn't there any- 
 thing I could do there this afternoon ?" 
 
 "No. I'll attend to everything there. It's too damp for 
 you yet. Keep on resting. Why, bless me! I didn't think 
 you'd be well enough to do anything for a week." 
 
 "Indeed," she admitted, "I'm surprised at myself. It 
 seems as if a crushing weight had been lifted off my mind 
 and that I was coming right up. I'm so glad, for I feared 
 I might be feeble and useless a long time." 
 
 "Well, Alida, if you had been, or if you ever are, don't 
 think I'll be impatient. The people I can't stand are those 
 who try to take advantage of me, and I tell you I've had to 
 contend with that disposition so long that I feel as if I could 
 do almost anything for one who is simply honest and tries 
 to keep her part of an agreement. But this won't do. I've 
 enjoyed my own dinner so much that I've half forgotten that 
 the horses haven't had theirs yet. Now will you scold if I 
 light my pipe before I go out ?"
 
 196 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 "Oh, no, I don't mind that." 
 
 "IsTo good-natured fibs. Isn't smoke disagreeable?" 
 
 She shook her head. "I don't mind it at all," she said, 
 but her sudden paleness puzzled him. He could not know 
 that he had involuntarily recalled the many times that she 
 had filled the evening pipe for a man who now haunted her 
 memory like a spectre. 
 
 "I guess you don't like it very much," he said, as he 
 passed out. "Well, no matter. It's getting so mild that I 
 can smoke out-of-doors." 
 
 With the exception of the episode of dinner, the day was 
 chiefly passed by Alida in a health-restoring languor, the 
 natural reaction from the distress and strong excitements of 
 the past. The rest that had been enjoined upon her was a 
 blessed privilege, and still more happy was the truth that she 
 could rest. Reclining on the lounge in the parlor, with a 
 wood fire on one side and the April sun on the other, both 
 creating warmth and good cheer, she felt like those who 
 have just escaped from a wreck and ingulfing waves. Her 
 mind was too weary to question either the past or the future, 
 and sometimes a consciousness of safety is happiness in it- 
 self. In the afternoon, the crackling of the fire and the 
 calling and singing of the birds without formed a soothing 
 lullaby and she fell asleep. 
 
 At last, in a dream, she heard exquisite music which ap- 
 peared to grow so loud, strong and triumphant that she 
 started up and looked around bewildered. A moment later, 
 she saw that a robin was singing in a lilac bush by the win- 
 dow and that near the bird was a nest partially constructed. 
 She recalled her hopeless grief when she had last seen the 
 building of one of their little homes; and she fell upon her 
 knees with a gratitude too deep for words, and far more 
 grateful to Heaven than words. 
 
 Stepping out on the porch, she saw by the shadows that 
 the sun was low in the west and that Holcroft was coming 
 down the lane with his horses. He nodded pleasantly as he 
 passed on to the barn. Her eyes followed him lingeringly
 
 GETTING ACQUAINTED 197 
 
 till he disappeared, and then they ranged over the wide val- 
 ley and the wooded hills in the distance. Not a breath of 
 air was stirring ; the lowing of cattle and other rural sounds, 
 softened by distance, came from other farmhouses ; the birds 
 were at vespers, and their songs, to her fancy, were imbued 
 with a softer, sweeter melody than in the morning. From 
 the adjacent fields came clear, mellow notes that made her 
 nerves tingle, so ethereal yet penetrating were they. She 
 was sure she had never heard such bird music before. When 
 Holcroft came in to supper she asked, "What birds are those 
 that sing in the field ?" 
 
 "Meadow larks. Do you like them?" 
 '"I never heard a hymn sung that did me more good." 
 
 "Well, I own up, I'd rather hear 'em than much of the 
 singing we used to have down at the meeting-house." 
 
 "It seems to me," she remarked, as she sat down at the 
 table, "that I've never heard birds sing as they have to- 
 day." 
 
 "Now I think of it, they have been tuning up wonder- 
 fully. Perhaps they've an idea of my good luck," he added, 
 smilingly. 
 
 "I had thought of that about myself," she ventured. "I 
 took a nap this afternoon, and a robin sang so near the win- 
 dow that he woke me up. It was a pleasant way to be 
 waked." 
 
 "Took a nap, did you ? That's famous. Well, well, this 
 day's gone just to suit me, and I haven't had many such in 
 a good while, I can tell you. I've got in a big strip of oats, 
 and now, when I come in tired, here's a good supper. I 
 certainly shall have to be on the watch to do Tom Watterly 
 good turns for talking me into this business. That taking 
 a nap was a first-rate idea. You ought to keep it up for a 
 month." 
 
 "No, indeed. There's no reason why you should work 
 hard and I be idle. I've rested to-day, as you wished, and 
 I feel better than I ever expected to again; but to-morrow 
 I must begin in earnest. What use is there of your keeping
 
 198 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 your cows, if good butter is not made ? Then I must be 
 busy with my needle." 
 
 "Yes, that's true enough. See how thoughtless I am. I 
 forgot you hadn't any clothes to speak of. I ought to take 
 you to town to a dressmaker." 
 
 "I think you had better get your oats in," she replied, 
 smiling shyly. "Besides, I have a dressmaker that just suits 
 me one that's made my dresses a good many years." 
 
 "If she don't suit you, you're hard to be suited," said he, 
 laughing. "Well, some day, after you are fixed up, I shall 
 have to let you know how dilapidated I am." 
 
 "Won't you do me a little favor ?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, a dozen of 'em, big or little." 
 
 "Please bring down this evening something that needs 
 mending. I am so much better " 
 
 "No, no, I wasn't hinting for you to do anything to- 
 night." 
 
 "But you've promised me," she urged. "Remember, 
 I've been resting nearly all day. I'm used to sewing, and 
 earned my living at it. Somehow, it don't seem natural for 
 me to sit with idle hands." 
 
 "If I hadn't promised" 
 
 "But you have." 
 
 "I suppose I'm fairly caught," and he brought down a 
 little of the most pressing of the mending. 
 
 "Now I'll reward you," she said, handing him his pipe, 
 well filled. "You go in the parlor and have a quiet smoke. 
 I won't be long in clearing up the kitchen." 
 
 "What ! smoke in the parlor ?" 
 
 "Yes, why not ? I assure I don't mind it." 
 
 "Ha! ha! Why didn't I think of it before? I might 
 have kept the parlor and smoked Mrs. Mumpson out." 
 
 "It won't be smoke that will keep me out." 
 
 " I should hope not, or anything else. I must tell you how 
 I did have to smoke Mrs. Mumpson out at last," and he did 
 so with so much drollery that she again yielded to irrepressi- 
 ble laughter.
 
 GETTING ACQUAINTED 199 
 
 "Poor thing ! I'm sorry for her," she said. 
 
 "I'm sorry for Jane poor little stray cat of a child ! I 
 hope we can do something for her some day," and having 
 lighted his pipe, he took up the county paper, left weekly in 
 a hollow tree by the stage-driver, and went into the parlor. 
 
 After refreshing up the fire, he sat down to read, but by 
 the time she joined him, the tired man was nodding. He 
 tried to brighten up, but his eyes were heavy. 
 
 "You've worked hard to-day," she said, sympathetically. 
 
 "Well, I have," he answered, "I've not done such a good 
 day's work in a year." 
 
 "Then why don't you go to sleep at once ?" 
 
 "It don't seem polite " 
 
 "Please don't talk that way," she interrupted. "I don't 
 mind being alone at all. I shall feel a great deal more at 
 home if you forget all about ceremony." 
 
 "Well, Alida, I guess we had both better begin on that 
 basis. If I give up when I'm tired, you must. You mustn't 
 think I'm always such a sleepyhead. The fact is I've been 
 more tired out with worry of late than with work I can 
 laugh about it now, but I've been so desperate over it that 
 I've felt more like swearing. You'll find out I've become 
 a good deal of a heathen." 
 
 "Very well, I'll wait till I find out." 
 
 "I think we are getting acquainted famously, don't you ?" 
 
 "Yes," she nodded, with a smile that meant more than a 
 long speech. "Good-night."
 
 200 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 BETWEEN THE PAST AND FUTURE 
 
 HITMAN nature, in common with Mother Nature, has 
 its immutable laws. The people who existed before 
 the flood were, in their primal motives, like those 
 of to-day. The conventionality of highly civilized society 
 does not change the heart, but it puts so much restraint upon 
 it that not a few appear heartless. They march through life 
 and fight its battles like uniformed men, trained in a certain 
 school of tactics. This monotony of character and action is 
 superficial in most cases, rather than real, and he who 
 fathoms the eyes of others, who catches the subtile quality 
 of tones and interprets the flexible mouth that utters them, 
 will discover that the whole gamut of human nature exists 
 in those that appear only like certain musical instruments, 
 made by machinery to play a few well-known tunes. Con- 
 ventional restraint often, no doubt, produces dwarfed and 
 defective human nature. I suppose that if souls could be 
 put under a microscope, the undeveloped rudiments of al- 
 most everything would be discovered. It is more satisfac- 
 tory to study things themselves than their suggestions; 
 this we are usually better able to do among people of simple 
 and untrammelled modes of life, who are not practiced in 
 disguises. Their peculiar traits and their general and domi- 
 nant laws and impulses are exhibited with less reserve than 
 by those who have learned to be always on their guard. Of 
 course there are common-place yeomen as truly as common- 
 place aristocrats, and simple life abounds in simpletons. 
 
 When a man in Holcroft's position has decided traits,
 
 BETWEEN THE PAST AND FUTURE 201 
 
 they are apt to have a somewhat full expression; his rugged 
 nature beside a tamer one outlines itself more vividly, just 
 as a mountain-peak is silhouetted against the horizon better 
 than a rounded hill. It probably has been observed that 
 his character possessed much simplicity and directness. He 
 had neither the force nor the ambition to raise him above 
 his circumstances ; he was merely decided within the lines of 
 his environment. Perhaps the current of his life was all 
 the stronger for being narrow. His motives were neither 
 complex nor vacillating. He had married to keep his home 
 and to continue in the conditions of life dear from associa- 
 tion and the strongest preference, and his heart overflowed 
 with good will and kindness toward Alida because she prom- 
 ised to solve the hard problem of the future satisfactorily. 
 Apart from the sympathy which her misfortune had evoked, 
 he probably could have felt much the same toward any other 
 good, sensible woman, had she rendered him a similar service. 
 It is true, now that Alida was in his home, that she was mani- 
 festing agreeable traits which gave him pleasant little sur- 
 prises. He had not expected that he would have had half so 
 much to say to her, yet felt it his duty to be sociable in order 
 to cheer her up and mark the line between even a business 
 marriage and the employment of a domestic. Both his inter- 
 est and his duty required that he should establish the bonds 
 of strong friendly regard on the basis of perfect equality, and 
 he would have made efforts similar to those he put forth in 
 behalf of any woman, if she had consented to marry him with 
 Alida's understanding. Now, however, that his suddenly 
 adopted project of securing a housekeeper and helper had 
 been consummated, he would find that he was not dealing 
 with a business partner in the abstract, but a definite woman, 
 who had already begun to exert over him her natural influ- 
 ence. He had expected more or less constraint, and that 
 some time must elapse before his wife would cease to be in 
 a sense company whom he, with conscious and deliberate 
 effort, must entertain. On the contrary, she entertained and 
 interested him, although she said so little, and by some sub-
 
 202 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 tile power she unloosed his tongue and made it easy for him 
 to talk to her. In the most quiet and unobtrusive way, she 
 was not only making herself at home, but him also ; she was 
 very subservient to his wishes, but not servilely so; she did 
 not assert, but only revealed her superiority, and after even 
 so brief an acquaintance he was ready to indorse Tom Wat- 
 terly's view, "She's out of the common run." 
 
 While all this was true, the farmer's heart was as un- 
 touched as that of a child who simply and instinctively likes 
 a person. He was still quietly and unhesitatingly loyal to 
 his former wife. Apart from his involuntary favor, his 
 shrewd, practical reason was definite enough in its grounds of 
 approval. Reason assured him that she promised to do and 
 to be just what he had married her for, but this might have 
 been true of a capable yet disagreeable woman whom he 
 could not like to save himself. 
 
 Both in regard to himself and Alida, Holcroft accepted 
 the actual facts with the gladness and much of the unques- 
 tioning simplicity of a child. This rather risky experiment 
 was turning out well, and for a time he daily became more 
 and more absorbed in his farm and its interests. Alida 
 quietly performed her household tasks and proved that she 
 would not need very much instruction to become a good 
 butter-maker. The short spring of the North required that 
 he should be busy early and late to keep pace with the 
 quickly passing seed-time. His hopefulness, his freedom 
 from household worries, prompted him to sow and plant in- 
 creased areas of land. In brief, he entered on just the busi- 
 ness-like honeymoon he had hoped for. 
 
 Alida was more than content with the conditions of her 
 life. She saw that Holcroft was not only satisfied, but also 
 pleased with her, and that was all she had expected, and in- 
 deed all that thus far she had wished or hoped. She had 
 many sad hours; wounds like hers cannot heal readily in 
 a true, sensitive woman's heart. While she gained in cheer- 
 fulness and confidence, the terrible and unexpected disaster 
 which had overtaken her rendered impossible the serenity
 
 BETWEEN THE PAST AND FUTURE 203 
 
 of those with whom all has gone well. Dread of something, 
 she knew not what, haunted her painfully, and memory at 
 times seemed malignantly perverse in recalling one whom 
 she prayed to forget. 
 
 Next to her faith and Holcroft's kindness, her work was 
 her best solace, and she thanked God for the strength to 
 keep busy. 
 
 On the first Sunday morning after their marriage the 
 farmer overslept and breakfast had been ready some time 
 when he came down. He looked with a little dismay at the 
 clock over the kitchen mantel and asked, "Aren't you going 
 to scold a little ?" 
 
 She shook her head, nor did she look the chiding which 
 often might as well be spoken. 
 
 "How long have I kept breakfast waiting, or you rather ?" 
 
 "What difference does it make ? You needed the rest. 
 The breakfast may not be so nice," was her smiling answer. 
 
 "No matter. You are nice to let a man off in that way." 
 Observing the book in her lap he continued, "So you were 
 reading the old family Bible to learn lessons of patience and 
 forbearance ?" 
 
 Again she shook her head. She often oddly reminded 
 him of Jane in her employment of signs instead of speech, 
 but in her case there was a grace, a suggestiveness and even 
 a piquancy about them which made them like a new language. 
 He understood and interpreted her frankly. "I know, Alida," 
 he said, kindly, "you are a good woman. You believe in 
 the Bible and love to read it." 
 
 "I was taught to read and love it," she replied, simply. 
 Then her eyes dropped and she faltered, "I've reproached 
 myself bitterly that I rushed away so hastily that I forgot 
 the Bible my mother gave me." 
 
 "No, no," he said, heartily, "don't reproach yourself for 
 that. It was the Bible in your heart that made you act as 
 you did." 
 
 She shot him a swift, grateful glance through her tears, 
 but made no other response.
 
 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 Having returned the Bible to the parlor, she put the 
 breakfast on the table and said, quietly, "It looks as if we 
 would have a rainy day." 
 
 "Well," said he, laughing, "I'm as bad as the old woman 
 it seems that women can run farms alone if men can't. 
 Well, this old dame had a big farm and employed several 
 men, and she was always wishing it would rain nights and 
 Sundays. I'm inclined to chuckle over the good this rain 
 will do my oats, instead of being sorry to think how many 
 sinners it'll keep from church. Except in protracted-meet- 
 ing times, most people of this town would a great deal rather 
 risk their souls than be caught in the rain on Sunday. We 
 don't mind it much week-days, but Sunday rain is very 
 dangerous to health." 
 
 "I'm afraid I'm as bad as the rest," she said, smiling. 
 Mother and I usually stayed home when it rained hard." 
 
 "Oh, we don't need a hard storm in the country. People 
 say, 'It looks threatening,' and that settles it; but we often 
 drive to town rainy days to save time." 
 
 "Do you usually go to church at the meeting-house I see 
 off in the valley ?" she asked. 
 
 "I don't go anywhere," and he watched keenly to see 
 how she would take this blunt statement of his practical 
 heathenism. 
 
 She only looked at him kindly and accepted the fact. 
 
 "Why don't you pitch into me ?" he asked. 
 
 "That wouldn't do any good." 
 
 "You'd like to go, I suppose ?" 
 
 "No, not under the circumstances, unless you wished to. 
 I'm cowardly enough to dread being stared at." 
 
 He gave a deep sigh of relief. "This thing has been 
 troubling me," he said. "I feared you would want to go, 
 and if you did, I should feel that you ought to go." 
 
 "I fear I'm very weak about it, but I shrink so from 
 meeting strangers. I do thank God for his goodness many 
 times a day and ask for help. I'm not brave enough to do 
 any more, yet."
 
 BETWEER THE PAST AND FUTURE 205 
 
 His rugged features became very sombre as he said, "I 
 wish I had as much courage as you have." 
 
 "You don't understand me," she began, gently. 
 
 "No, I suppose not. It's all become a muddle to me. I 
 mean this church and religious business." 
 
 She looked at him wistfully, as if she wished to say some- 
 thing, but did not venture to do so. He promptly gave a 
 different turn to the conversation by quoting Mrs. Mump- 
 son's tirade on churchgoing the first Sunday after her ar- 
 rival. Alida laughed, but not in a wholly mirthful and sat- 
 isfied way. "There," he concluded, "I'm touching on things 
 a little too sacred for you. I respect your feelings and be- 
 liefs, for they are honest and I wish I shared in 'em." Then 
 he suddenly laughed again as he added, "Mrs. Mumpson said 
 there was too much milking done on Sunday, and it's time 
 I was breaking the Fourth Commandment, after her notion." 
 
 Alida now laughed outright, without reservation. 
 
 " 'By jocks !' as Watterly says, wha.t a difference there is 
 in women !" he soliloquized on his way to the barn. "Well, 
 the church question is settled for the present, but if Alida 
 should ask me to go, after her manner this morning, I'd face 
 the whole creation with her." 
 
 When at last he came in and threw off his water-proof 
 coat, the kitchen was in order, and his wife was sitting by 
 the parlor fire with Thomson's "Land and the Book" in her 
 hand. 
 
 "Are you fond of reading ?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes, very." 
 
 "Well, I am, too, sort of; but I've let the years slip by 
 without doing half as much as I ought." 
 
 "Light your pipe and I'll read to you if you wish me to." 
 
 "Oh, come, now. I at least believe in Sunday as a day 
 of rest and you need it. Reading aloud is about as hard 
 work as I can do." 
 
 "But I'm used to it. I read aloud to mother a great 
 deal," and then there passed over her face an expression of 
 deep pain.
 
 206 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 "What is it, Alida ? Don't you feel well ?" 
 
 "Yes, oh, yes," she replied, hastily, and her pale face 
 became crimson. 
 
 It was another stab of memory recalling the many Sun- 
 days she had read to the man who had deceived her. "Shall 
 I read ?" she asked. 
 
 "Alida," he said, very kindly, "it wasn't the thought of 
 your mother that brought that look of pain into your face." 
 
 She shook her head sadly, with downcast eyes. After a 
 moment or two, she raised them appealingly to him as she 
 said simply, "There is so much that I wish I could forget." 
 
 "Poor child! Yes, I think I know. Be patient with 
 yourself, and remember that you were never to blame." 
 
 Again came that quick, grateful glance by which some 
 women express more than others can ever put in words. Her 
 thought was, "I didn't think that even he was capable of 
 that. What a way of assuring me that he'll be patient with 
 me !" Then she quietjy read for an hour descriptions of the 
 Holy Land that were not too religious for Holcroft's mind 
 and which satisfied her conscience better than much she had 
 read in former days to satisfy a taste more alien to hers than 
 that of her husband. 
 
 Holcroft listened to her correct pronunciation and sweet, 
 natural tones with a sort of pleased wonder. At last he said, 
 "You must stop now." 
 
 "Are you tired ?" she asked. 
 
 "JSTo, but you are, or ought to be. Why, Alida, I didn't 
 know you were so well educated. I'm quite a barbarous old 
 fellow compared with you." 
 
 "I hadn't thought of that before," she said, with a laugh. 
 
 "What a fool I was, then, to put it into your head !" 
 
 "You must be more careful. I'd never have such 
 thoughts if you didn't suggest them." 
 
 "How did you come to get such a good education ?" 
 
 "I wish I had a better one. Well, I did have good ad- 
 vantages up to the time I was seventeen. After I was old 
 enough I went to school quite steadily, but it seems to me
 
 BETWEEN THE PAST AND FUTURE 207 
 
 that I learned a little of everything and not much of any- 
 thing. When father died and we lost our property, we had 
 to take to our needles. I suppose I might have obtained work 
 in a store, or some such place, but I couldn't bear to leave 
 mother alone and I disliked being in public. I certainly 
 didn't know enough to teach, and besides, I was afraid 
 to try." 
 
 "Well, well, you've stumbled into a quiet enough place at 
 last." 
 
 "That's what I like most about it, but I don't think I 
 stumbled into it. I think I've been led and helped. That's 
 what I meant when I said you didn't understand me," she 
 added, hesitatingly. "It don't take courage for me to go 
 to God. I get courage by believing that He cares for me like 
 a father, as the Bible says. How could I ever have found, 
 so kind a friend and good a home myself?" 
 
 "I've been half inclined to believe there's a Providence 
 in it myself more and more so as I get acquainted with 
 you. Your troubles have made you better, Alida ; mine made 
 me worse. I used to be a Christian ; I ain't any more." 
 
 She looked at him smilingly as she asked, "How do you 
 know?" 
 
 "Oh, I know well enough," he replied, gloomily. "Don't 
 let's talk about it any more," and then he led her on to speak 
 simply and naturally about her childhood home and her 
 father and mother. 
 
 "Well," he said, heartily, "I wish your mother was living, 
 for nothing would please me better than to have such a good 
 old lady in the house." 
 
 She averted her face as she said, huskily, "I think it 
 was better she died before " but she did not finish the 
 sentence. 
 
 By the time dinner was over, the sun was shining bright- 
 ly, and he asked her if she would not like to go up the lane to 
 his woodland to see the view. Her pleased look was sufficient 
 answer. "But are you sure you are strong enough?" he 
 persisted.
 
 208 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 "Yes, it will do me good to go out, and I may find some 
 wild flowers." 
 
 "I guess you can, a million or two." 
 
 By the time he was through at the barn she was ready and 
 they started up the lane, now green with late April grass and 
 enlivened with dandelions in which bumble-bees were wallow- 
 ing. The sun had dried the moisture sufficiently for them 
 to pass on dry-shod, but everything had the fresh, vernal as- 
 pect that follows a warm rain. Spring had advanced with 
 a great bound since the day before. The glazed and gluti- 
 nous cherry buds had expanded with aromatic odors and the 
 white of the blossoms was beginning to show. 
 
 "By to-morrow," said Holcroft, "the trees will look as 
 if covered with snow. Let me help you," and he put his hand 
 under her arm, supporting and aiding her steps up the steep 
 places. 
 
 Her lips were parted, the pleased look was in her eyes as 
 they rested on trees and shrubs which lined the half ruinous 
 stone walls on either side. "Everything seems so alive and 
 glad this afternoon," she remarked. 
 
 "Yes," replied the matter-of-fact farmer. "A rain such 
 as we had this morning is like turning the water on a big 
 mill-wheel. It starts all the machinery right up. Now the 
 sun's out, and that's the greatest motor power of all. Sun 
 and moisture make the farm go." 
 
 "Mustn't the ground be enriched, too ?" 
 
 "Yes, yes indeed; I suppose that's where we all fail. 
 But it's no easy matter to keep a farm in good heart. That's 
 another reason why I'm so glad I won't have to sell my stock. 
 A farm run without stock is sure to grow poor; and if the 
 farm grows poor, the owner does as a matter of course. But 
 what put enriching the ground into your head? Do you 
 know anything about farming ?" 
 
 "No, but I want to learn. When I was a girl, father had 
 a garden. He used to take papers about it, and I often read 
 them aloud to him evenings. Now I remember there used
 
 BETWEEN THE PAST AND FUTURE 209 
 
 to be much in them about enriching the ground. Do you take 
 any such paper ?" 
 
 "]STo. I haven't much faith in book-farming." 
 
 "I don't know," she ventured. "Seems to me you might 
 get some good ideas out of papers, and your experience 
 would teach you whether they were useful ideas or not. If 
 you'll take one, I'll read it to you." 
 
 "I will, then, for the pleasure of hearing you read, if 
 nothing else. That's something I hadn't bargained for," he 
 added, laughing. 
 
 She answered in the same spirit by saying, "I'll throw 
 that in and not call it square yet." 
 
 "I think I've got the best of you," he chuckled; "and 
 you know nothing makes a Yankee farmer happier than to 
 get the best of a bargain." 
 
 "I hope you'll continue to think so. Can I sit down a 
 few moments ?" 
 
 "Why, certainly. How forgetful I am ! Your talk is too 
 interesting for me to think of anything else," and he placed 
 her on a flat rock by the side of the lane, while he leaned 
 against the wall. 
 
 Bees and other insects were humming around them; a 
 butterfly fluttered over the fence and alighted on a dandelion 
 almost at her feet ; meadow larks were whistling their limpid 
 notes in the adjoining fields, while from the trees about the 
 house beneath them came the songs of many birds, blending 
 with the babble of the brook which ran not far away. 
 
 "Oh, how beautiful, how strangely beautiful it all is !" 
 
 "Yes, when you come to think of it, it is real pretty," he 
 replied. "It's a pity we get so used to such things that we 
 don't notice 'em much. I should feel miserable enough, 
 though, if I couldn't live in just such a place. I shouldn't 
 wonder if I was a good deal like that robin yonder. I like 
 to be free and enjoy the spring weather, but I suppose neither 
 he nor I think or know how fine it all is." 
 
 "Well, both you and the robin seem a part of it," she said, 
 laughing.
 
 210 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 "Oh, no, no," he replied with a guffaw which sent the 
 robin off in alarm, "I ain't beautiful and never was." 
 
 She joined his laugh, but said with a positive little nod, 
 "I'm right, though. The robin isn't a pretty bird, yet every- 
 body likes him." 
 
 "Except in cherry time. Then he has an appetite equal 
 to mine. But everybody don't like me. In fact, I think I'm 
 generally disliked in this town." 
 
 "If you went among them more they wouldn't dislike 
 you." 
 
 "I don't want to go among them." 
 
 "They know it, and that's the reason they dislike you." 
 
 "Would you like to go out to tea-drinkings, and all that ?" 
 
 "No indeed; and I don't suppose I'd be received," she 
 added, sadly. 
 
 "So much the worse for them, then, blast 'em," said Hoi- 
 croft, wrathfully. 
 
 "Oh no, I don't feel that way and you shouldn't. When 
 they can people ought to be sociable and kind." 
 
 "Of course I'd do any of my neighbors, except Lemuel 
 Weeks, a good turn if it came in my way, but the less I have 
 to do with them the better I'm satisfied." 
 
 "I'm rested enough to go on now," said Alida, quietly. 
 
 They were not long in reaching the edge of the woodland, 
 from which there was an extended prospect. For some little 
 time they looked at the wide landscape in silence. Alida 
 gave to it only partial attention, for her mind was very busy 
 with thoughts suggested by her husband's alienation from his 
 neighbors. It would make it easier for her, but the troubled 
 query would arise, "Is it right or best for him ? His marry- 
 ing me will separate him still more." 
 
 Holcroft's face grew sad rather than troubled as he looked 
 at the old meeting-house and not at the landscape. He was 
 sitting near the spot where he spent that long forenoon a few 
 Sundays before, and the train of thought came back again. 
 In his deep abstraction, he almost forgot the woman near him
 
 BETWEEN THE PAST AND FUTURE 211 
 
 in memories of the past. His old love and lost faith were 
 inseparable from that little white spire in the distance. 
 
 Alida stole a glance at him and thought, "He's thinking 
 }f her," and she quietly strolled away to look for wild flowers. 
 
 "Yes," muttered Holcroft, at last, "I hope Bessie knows. 
 She'd be the first one to say it was right and best for me, 
 md she'd be glad to know that in securing my own home 
 ind comfort I had given a home to the homeless and sorrow- 
 ful a quiet, good woman, who worships God as she did." 
 
 He rose and joined his wife, who held toward him a 
 landful of trailing arbutus, rue, anemones, bloodroot and 
 licentras. "I didn't know they were so pretty before," he 
 laid with a smile. 
 
 His smile reassured her, for it seemed kinder than any she 
 lad yet received, and his tone was very gentle. "His dead 
 vife will never be my enemy," she murmured. "He ha 
 nade it right with her in his own thoughts."
 
 212 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 GIVEN HEE OWN WAT 
 
 ON" Monday the absorbing work of the farm was re- 
 newed, and every day brought to Holcroft long and 
 exhausting hours of labor. While he was often 
 taciturn, he evidently progressed in cheerfulness and hope. 
 Alida confirmed his good impressions. His meals were 
 prompt and inviting; the house was taking on an aspect of 
 neatness and order long absent, and his wardrobe was put 
 in as good condition as its rather meagre character permitted. 
 He had positively refused to permit his wife to do any wash- 
 ing and ironing. "We will see about it next fall," he said. 
 "If then you are perfectly well and strong, perhaps, but not 
 in the warm weather now coming on." Then he added, with 
 a little nod, "I'm finding out how valuable you are, and I'd 
 rather save you than the small sum I have to pay old Mrs. 
 Johnson." 
 
 In this and in other ways he showed kindly consideration, 
 but his mind continually reverted to his work and outdoor 
 plans with the preoccupation of one who finds that he can 
 again give his thoughts to something from which they had 
 been most reluctantly withdrawn. Thus Alida was left alone 
 most of the time. When the dusk of evening came, he was 
 too tired to say much and he retired early that he might be 
 fresh for work again when the sun appeared. She had no 
 regrets, for although she kept busy, she was resting and her 
 wounds were healing through the long, quiet days. It was 
 the essential calm after the storm. Caring for the dairy and 
 working the butter into firm, sweet, tempting yellow rolls
 
 GIVEN HER OWN WAY 213 
 
 were the only tasks that troubled her a little, but Holcroft 
 assured her that she was learning these important duties 
 faster than he had expected her to. She had several hours 
 a day in which to ply her needle and thus was soon enabled 
 to replenish her scanty wardrobe. 
 
 One morning at breakfast, she appeared in another gown, 
 and although its material was calico, she had the appearance 
 to Holcroft of being unusually well dressed. He looked 
 pleased, but made no comment. When the cherry blossoms 
 were fully out, an old cracked flower vase the only one in 
 the house was filled with them, and they were placed in the 
 centre of the dinner table. He looked at them and her, 
 then smilingly remarked, "I shouldn't wonder if you enjoyed 
 those cherry blows more than anything else we have for 
 dinner." 
 
 "I want something else, though. My appetite almost 
 frightens me." 
 
 "That's famous. I needn't be ashamed of mine, then." 
 
 One evening, before the week was over, he saw Her busy 
 with a rake about the door. Last year's leaves were still 
 scattered about, with twigs and even small boughs wrested 
 by the winds from the trees. He was provoked with him- 
 self that he had neglected the usual spring clearing away of 
 litter and a little irritated that she should have tried to do 
 the work herself. He left the horses at the barn and came 
 forward directly. "Alida," he said, gravely, "there's no 
 need of your doing such work; I don't like to see you do it." 
 
 "Why," she replied, "I've heard that women in the coun- 
 try ofter milk and take care of the chickens." 
 
 "Yes, but that's very different from this work. I wouldn't 
 like people to think I expected such things of you." 
 
 "It's very easy work," she said, smilingly, "easier than 
 sweeping a room, though something like it. I used to do it 
 at home when I was a girl. I think it does me good to do 
 something in the open air." 
 
 She was persisting, but not in a way that chafed him. 
 Indeed, as he looked into her appealing eyes and face flushed
 
 214 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 with exercise, he felt that it would be churlish to say another 
 word. 
 
 "Well," he said, laughing, "it makes you look so young 
 and rosy I guess it does do you good. I suppose you'll have 
 to have your own way." 
 
 "You know I wouldn't do this or anything else if you 
 really didn't want me to." 
 
 "You are keen," he replied, with his good-nature en- 
 tirely restored. "You can see that you get me right under 
 your thumb when you talk that way. But we must both be 
 on our guard against your fault, you know, or pretty soon 
 you'll be taking the whole work of the farm off my hands." 
 
 "To be serious," she resumed, accompanying him to the 
 barn for the first time, "I think you are working too hard. 
 I'm not. Our meals are so simple that it doesn't take me 
 long to get them. I'm through with the hurry in my sewing, 
 the old dog does the churning and you give me so much help 
 in the dairy that I shall soon have time on my hands. Now, 
 it seems to me that I might soon learn to take entire care of 
 the chickens, big and little, and that would be so much less 
 for you to look after. I'm sure I would enjoy it very much, 
 especially the looking after the little chickens." 
 
 "Do you really think you'd like to do that?" he asked, 
 as he turned to her from unharnessing the horses. 
 
 "Yes, indeed, if you think I'm competent." 
 
 "You are more so than I am. Somehow, little chickens 
 don't thrive under a busy man's care. The mother hens 
 mean well, but they are so confoundedly silly. I declare to 
 you that last year I lost half the little chicks that were 
 hatched out." 
 
 "Well, then," she replied, laughing, "I won't be afraid to 
 try, for I think I can beat you in raising chickens. Now, 
 show me how much you feed them at night and how much I'm 
 to give them in the morning, and let me take the whole care 
 of them for a month, get the eggs, and all. If they don't 
 do so well, then I'll resign. I can't break you in a month." 
 
 "It looks more as if you'd make me. You have a good
 
 GIVEN HER OWN WAY 215 
 
 big bump of order, and I haven't any at all in little things. 
 Tom Watterly was right. If I had tried to live here alone, 
 things would have got into an awful mess. I feel ashamed 
 of myself that I didn't clear up the yard before, but my whole 
 mind's been on the main crops." 
 
 "As it should be. Don't you worry about the little 
 things. They belong to me. Now show me about the chick- 
 ens, or they'll go to roost while we're talking." 
 
 "But I, as well as the chickens, shall want some supper." 
 
 "I won't let either of you starve. You'll see." 
 
 "Well, you see this little measure ? You fill it from this 
 bin with this mixture of corn and wheat screenings. That's 
 the allowance, morning and evening. Then you go out to 
 the barnyard there and call 'kip, kip, kip.' That's the way 
 my wife used " He stopped in a little embarrassment. 
 
 "I'd be glad if I could do everything as she did," said 
 Alida, gently. "It has grown clearer every day how hard her 
 loss was to you. If you'll tell me what she did and how 
 she did things " and she hesitated. 
 
 "That's good of you, Alida," he replied, gratefully. 
 Then with his directness of speech he added, "I believe some 
 women are inclined to be jealous even of the dead." 
 
 "You need never fear to speak of your wife to me. I 
 respect and honor your feelings the way you remember 
 her. There's no reason why it should be otherwise. I did 
 not agree to one thing and expect another," and she looked 
 him straight in the eyes. 
 
 He dropped them, as he stood leaning against the bin in 
 the shadowy old barn, and said, "I didn't think you or any 
 one would be so sensible. Of course one can't forget 
 quickly " 
 
 "You oughtn't to forget," was the firm reply. "Why 
 should you? I should be sorry to think you could forget." 
 
 "I fear I'm not like to make you sorry," he replied, sigh- 
 ing. "To tell you the truth," he added, looking at her almost 
 commiseratingly, and then he hesitated. 
 
 "Well, the truth is usually best," she said, quietly.
 
 216 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 "Well, I'll tell you my thought. We married in haste, 
 we were almost strangers, and your mind was so distracted 
 at the time that I couldn't blame you if you forgot what 
 what I said. I feared well, you are carrying out our agree- 
 ment so sensibly that I want to thank you. It's a relief to. 
 find that you're not opposed, even in your heart, that I should 
 remember one that I knew as a little child and married when 
 I was young." 
 
 "I remember all you said and what I said," she replied, 
 with the same direct, honest gaze. "Don't let such thoughts 
 trouble you any more. You've been kinder and more con- 
 siderate than I ever expected. You have only to tell me how 
 she did" 
 
 "]STo, Alida," he said, quietly, obeying a subtle impulse. 
 "I'd rather you would do everything your own way as it's 
 natural for you. There, we've talked so long that it's too 
 late to feed the chickens to-night. You can begin in the 
 morning." 
 
 "Oh!" she cried, "and you have all your other work to 
 do. I've hindered rather than helped you by coming out." 
 
 "No," he replied, decidedly, "you've helped me. I'll be 
 in before very long." 
 
 She returned to the house and busied herself in prepara- 
 tions for supper. She was very thoughtful, and at last con- 
 cluded, "Yes, he is right. I understand. Although I may 
 do what his wife did, he don't wish me to do it as she did. 
 There could only be a partial and painful resemblance to 
 his eyes. Both he and I would suffer in comparisons and 
 he be continually reminded of his loss. She was his wife in 
 reality, and all relating to her is something sacred and past 
 to him. The less I am like her, the better. He married 
 me for the sake of his farm, and I can best satisfy him by 
 carrying out his purpose in my own way. He's through 
 with sentiment and has taken the kindest way he could to 
 tell me that I've nothing to do with his past. He feared, 
 yes, he feared I should forget our businesslike agreement! 
 I didn't know I had given him cause to fear, I certainly
 
 won't hereafter!" and the wife felt, with a trace of bitter- 
 ness and shame, that she had been put on her guard, that 
 her husband had wished to remind her that she must not 
 forget his motive in marrying her or expect anything not in 
 consonance with that motive. Perhaps she had been too 
 wifelike in her manner and therefore he had feared. She 
 was as sensitive to such a reproach as she would have been in 
 her girlhood. 
 
 For once, her intuition was at fault and she misjudged 
 Holcroft in some respects. He did think he was through 
 with sentiment ; he could not have talked deliberately to 
 Alida or to any other about his old life and love, and he 
 truly felt that she had no part in that life. It had become 
 a sad and sacred memory, yet he wished to feel that he had 
 the right to dwell upon it as he chose. In his downright 
 sincerity, he wished her to know that he could not help 
 dwelling on it; that for him some things were over and that 
 he was not to blame. He was profoundly grateful to her that 
 she had so clearly accepted the facts of his past, and 
 of their own present relations. He had feared, it is true, 
 but she had not realized his fears, and he felt that it was 
 her due that he should acknowledge her straightforward 
 carrying out of the compact made under circumstances which 
 might well excuse her from realizing everything fully. 
 
 Moreover, direct and matter-of-fact as he was, he had felt 
 vaguely the inevitable difficulties of their relationship. The 
 very word "wife" might suggest to her mind an affection 
 which he believed it was not in his power to bestow. They 
 had agreed to give an arbitrary and unusual meaning to their 
 marriage, and, while thinking it could have no other meaning 
 for him, his mind was haunted, and he feared that hers might 
 be, by the natural significance of the rite. So far from 
 meaning to hint that she had been too wifelike, he had meant 
 to acknowledge her simple and natural fulfilment of his 
 wishes in a position far more difficult to fill than even he im- 
 agined. That she succeeded so well was due to the fact that 
 she entertained for him all the kind feelings possible ex- 
 it J XVIII
 
 218 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 cept the one supreme regard which under ordinary circum- 
 stances would have accounted for the marriage. The reason 
 that all promised to go so well in their relationship of mere 
 mutual help was the truth that this basis of union had satis- 
 fied their mutual need. 'As the farmer had hoped, they had 
 became excellent friends, supplementing each other's work 
 in a way that promised prosperity. 
 
 Without the least intention on the part of either, chance 
 words had been spoken which would not be without effect. 
 He had told her to do everything in her own way, because 
 the moment he thought of it he knew he liked her ways. 
 They possessed a novelty and natural grace which interested 
 him. There is both a natural and a conventional grace, and 
 the true lady learns to blend the one with the other so as to 
 make a charming manner essentially her own a manner 
 which makes a woman a lady the world over. Alida had 
 little more than natural grace and refinement unmodified by 
 society. This the plain farmer could understand and he 
 was already awakening to an appreciation of it. It impressed 
 him agreeably that Alida should be trim and neat while about 
 her work, and all her actions were entirelly free from the 
 coarse, slovenly manner, the limp carriage and slatternly as- 
 ject of the whole tribe which had come and gone during 
 the past year. They had all been so much alike in possess- 
 ing disagreeable traits that he felt that Alida was the only 
 peculiar one among them. He never thought of instituting 
 comparisons between her and his former wife, yet he did 
 so unconsciously. Mrs. Holcroft had been too much like 
 himself, matter-of-fact, materialistic, kind and good. Devoid 
 of imagination, uneducated in mind, her thoughts had not 
 ranged far from what she touched and saw. She touched 
 them with something of their own heaviness, she saw them 
 as objects just what they were and was incapable of ob- 
 taining from them much suggestion or enjoyment. She 
 knew when the cherry and plum trees were in blossom just 
 as she knew it was April. The beautiful sounds and changes 
 in nature reminded her that it was time to do certain kinds
 
 GIVEN HER OWN WAY 219 
 
 of work, and with her, work was alpha and omega. As her 
 mother had before her, she was inclined to be a house-drudge 
 rather than a housewife. Thrift, neatness, order, marked 
 the limits of her endeavor, and she accomplished her tasks 
 with the awkward, brisk directness learned in her mother's 
 kitchen. Only mind, imagination and refinement can em- 
 broider the homely details of life. Alida would learn to do 
 all that she had done, but the woman with the finer nature 
 would do it in a different way. Holcroft already knew he 
 liked this way, although he could not define it to himself. 
 Tired as he was when he came home in the evening, his eyes 
 would often kindle with pleasure at some action or remark 
 that interested him from its novelty. In spite of his weari- 
 ness and pre-occupation, in spite of a still greater obstacle 
 the inertia of a mind dulled by material life he had begun 
 to consider Alida's personality for its own sake. He liked to 
 watch her, not to see what she did to his advantage, but how 
 she did it. She was awakening an agreeable expectancy, and 
 he sometimes smilingly said to himself, "What next?" 
 
 "Oh, no," he thought, as he was milking the last cow, 
 "I'd much rather she'd take her own natural way in doing 
 things. It would be easier for her and it's her right and 
 and somehow I like her way just as I used to like Bessie's 
 ways. She isn't Bessie and never can be, and for some rea- 
 son I'd like her to be as different as possible." 
 
 Unconsciously and unintentionally, however, he had 
 given Alida's sensitive nature a slight wound. She felt that 
 she had been told in effect, "You can help me all you please, 
 and I would rather you would do this in a way that will not 
 awaken associations, but you must not think of me or expect 
 me to think of you in any light that was not agreed upon." 
 That he had feared the possibility of this, that he might 
 have fancied he saw indications of this, hurt her pride 
 that pride and delicacy of feeling which most women shield 
 so instinctively. She was now consciously on her guard, 
 and so was not so secure against the thoughts she depre- 
 cated as before. In spite of herself a restraint would tinge
 
 220. HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 her manner which he would eventually feel in a vague, un- 
 comfortable way. 
 
 But he came in at last, very tired and thoroughly good- 
 natured. "I'm going to town to-morrow/' he said, "and I 
 thought of taking a very early start so as to save time. 
 Would you like to go ?" 
 
 "There's no need of my going." 
 
 "I thought perhaps you'd enjoy the drive." 
 
 "I would have to meet strangers and I'm so entirely 
 content in being alone I won't go this time unless you wish 
 it." 
 
 "Well, if you don't care about it I'll carry out my first 
 plan and take a very early start. I want to sell the butter 
 and eggs on hand, repay Tom Watterly and get some seeds. 
 We need some things from the store, too, I suppose?" 
 
 "Yes, you are such a coffee drinker" she began, smiling. 
 
 "Oh, I know," he interrupted. "Make out your list. 
 You shall say what we want. Isn't there something you 
 want for yourself ?" 
 
 "No, not for myself, but I do want something that per- 
 haps you would enjoy, too. You may think it a waste of 
 money, though." 
 
 "Well, you've a right to waste some in your way as well 
 as I have over my pipe." 
 
 "That's good. I hadn't thought of that. You are the 
 one that puts notions into my head. I would like three or 
 four geraniums and a few flower seeds." 
 
 He looked as if he was thinking deeply and she felt a 
 little hurt that he should not comply at once with her re- 
 quest, knowing that the outlay suggested was very slight. 
 
 At last, he looked up, smiling as he said, "So I put notions 
 into your head, do I?" 
 
 "Oh, well," she replied, flushing in the consciousness of 
 her thoughts, "if you think it's foolish to spend money for 
 such things " 
 
 "Tush ! tush ! Alida. Of course I'll get what you wish. 
 But I really am going to put a notion into your head, and
 
 GIVEN HER OWN WAY 221 
 
 it's stupid and scarcely fair in me that I hadn't thought of 
 some such plan before. You want to take care of the chick- 
 ens. Well, I put them wholly in your care and you shall 
 have all you can make off them eggs, young chickens and 
 everything." 
 
 "That is a new notion," she replied, laughing. "I hadn't 
 thought of such a thing and it's more than fair. What 
 would I do with so much money?" 
 
 "What you please. Buy yourself silk dresses if you want 
 to." 
 
 "But I couldn't use a quarter of the money." 
 
 "No matter, use what you like and I'll put the rest in the 
 bank for you and in your name. I was a nice kind of a 
 business partner, wasn't I ? expecting you to do nearly half 
 the work and then have you say, 'Will you please get me 
 a few plants and seeds?' and then, 'Oh, if you think it's 
 foolish to spend money for such things.' Why, you have as 
 good a right to spend some of the money you help earn 
 as I have. You've shown you'll be sensible in spending it. 
 I don't believe you'll use enough of it. Anyway, it will be 
 yours, as it ought to be." 
 
 "Very well," she replied, nodding at him with piquant 
 significance, "I'll always have some to lend you." 
 
 "Yes, shouldn't wonder if you were the richest some day. 
 Everything you touch seems to turn out well. I shall be 
 wholly dependent on you hereafter for eggs and an occa- 
 sional fricassee." 
 
 "You shall have your share. Yes, I like this notion. It 
 grows on me. I'd like to earn some money to do what I 
 please with. You'll be surprised to see what strange and 
 extravagant tastes I'll develop!" 
 
 "I expect to be perfectly dumfoundered, as Mrs. Mump- 
 son used to say. Since you are so willing to lend, I'll lend 
 you enough to get all you want to-morrow. Make out your 
 list. You can get a good start to-morrow, for I was too tired 
 and -it was too late for me to gather the eggs to-night. I 
 know, too, that a good many of the hens have stolen their
 
 222 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 nests of late, and I've been too busy to look for 'em. You 
 may find perfect mines of eggs, but, for mercy's sake ! don't 
 climb around in dangerous places. I had such bad luck 
 with chicks last year that I've only set a few hens. You 
 can set few or many now, just as you please." 
 
 Even as he talked and leisurely finished his supper, his 
 eyes grew heavy with sleep. "What time will you start 
 to-morrow?" she asked. 
 
 "Oh, no matter; long before you are up or ought to be. 
 I'll get myself a cup of coffee. I expect to do my morning 
 work and be back by nine or ten o'clock, for I wish to get 
 in some potatoes and other vegetables before Sunday." 
 
 "Very well, I'll make out my list and lay it on the table 
 here. Now, why don't you go and sleep at once? You 
 ought, with such an early start in prospect." 
 
 "Ought I? Well, I never felt more inclined to do my 
 duty. You must own up I have put one good notion into 
 your head?" 
 
 "I have said nothing against any of them. Come, you 
 ought to go at once." 
 
 "Can't I smoke my pipe first, please ?" 
 
 "You'll find it quieter in the parlor." 
 
 "But it's pleasanter here where I can watch you." 
 
 "Do you think I need watching ?" 
 
 "Yes, a little, since you don't look after your own inter- 
 ests very sharply." 
 
 "It isn't my way to look after anything very sharply." 
 
 "No, Alida, thank the Lord! There's nothing sharp 
 about you, not even your tongue. You won't mind being 
 left alone a few hours to-morrow ?" 
 
 "No, indeed, I like to be alone." 
 
 "I thought I did. Most every one has seemed a crowd 
 to me. I'm glad you've never given me that feeling. Well, 
 good-by till you see me driving up with the geraniums."
 
 CHARIVARI 228 
 
 CHAPTEK XXV 
 
 A CHAKIVABI 
 
 THE eastern horizon was aglow with rosy tints the fol- 
 lowing morning when Holcroft awoke; the stars 
 were but just fading from the sky and the birds were 
 still silent. He knew by these signs that it was very early 
 and that he could carry out his plan of a timely start to town. 
 Dressing very quietly, he stole downstairs, shoes in hand, 
 lest his tread should awaken Alida. The kitchen door lead- 
 ing into the hall was closed. Lifting the latch carefully, he 
 found the lamp burning, the breakfast table set and the ket- 
 tle humming over a good fire. "This is her work, but where 
 is she ?" he queried in much surprise. 
 
 The outer door was ajar; he noiselessly crossed the room, 
 and looikng out, he saw her. She had been to the well for 
 a pail of water, but had set it down and was watching the 
 swiftly brightening east. She was so still and her face so 
 white in the faint radiance that he had an odd, uncanny im- 
 pression. No woman that he had ever known would stop 
 that way to look at the dawn. He could see nothing so pe- 
 culiar in it as to attract such fixed attention. "Alida," he 
 asked, "what do you see?" 
 
 She started slightly and turned to take up the pail; but 
 he had already sprung down the steps and relieved her of 
 the burden. 
 
 "Could anything be more lovely than those changing 
 tints? It seems to me I could have stood there an hour," 
 she said, quietly. 
 
 "You are not walking or doing all this in your sleep, are
 
 224 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 you ?" he asked, laughing, yet regarding her curiously. "You 
 looked as you stood there like what people call a what's 
 that big word?" 
 
 "I'm not a somnambulist and never was, to my knowl- 
 edge. You'll find I'm wide enough awake to have a good 
 breakfast soon." 
 
 "But I didn't expect you to get up so early. I didn't 
 wish it." 
 
 "It's too late now," she said, pleasantly, "so I hope you 
 won't find fault with me for doing what I wanted to do." 
 
 "Did you mean to be up and have breakfast when I told 
 you last night?" 
 
 "Yes. Of course I didn't let you know, for you would 
 have said I mustn't, and then I couldn't. It isn't good for 
 people to get up so early and do as much as you had on your 
 mind without eating. Now you won't be any the worse for 
 it." 
 
 "I certainly ought to be the better for so much kindly 
 consideration; but it will cure me of such unearthly hours 
 if you feel that you must conform to them. You look pale 
 this morning, Alida; you're not strong enough to do such 
 things, and there's no need of it when I'm so used to wait- 
 ing on myself." 
 
 "I shall have to remind you," she replied, with a bright 
 look at him over her shoulder, "that you said I could do 
 things my own way." 
 
 "Well, it seems odd after a year when every one who 
 came here appeared to grudge doing a thing for a man's 
 comfort." 
 
 "I should hope I was different from them." 
 
 "Well, you are. I thought you were different from any 
 one I ever knew as I saw you there looking at the east. You 
 seem wonderfully fond of pretty things." 
 
 "I'll own to that. But if yon don't hurry you won't do 
 as much as you hoped by getting up early." 
 
 The morning was very mild and she left the outer door 
 open as she went quickly to and fro with elasticity of spirit
 
 A CHARIVARI 225 
 
 as well as step. It was pleasant to have her efforts appre- 
 ciated and almost as grateful to hear the swelling harmony 
 of song from the awakening birds. The slight cloud that 
 had fallen on her thoughts the evening before had lifted. 
 She felt that she understood Holcroft better, and saw that 
 his feeling was only that of honest friendliness and satisfac- 
 tion. She had merely to recognize and respond to so much 
 only and all would be well. Meantime, she desired nothing 
 more, and he should be thoroughly convinced of this fact. 
 She grew positively light-hearted over the fuller assurance 
 of the truth that although a wife, she was not expected to 
 love only to be faithful to all his interests. This, and this 
 only, she believed to be within her power. 
 
 Holcroft departed in the serenity characteristic of one's 
 mood when the present is so agreeable that neither memo- 
 ries of the past nor misgivings as to the future are obtrusive. 
 He met Watterly in town, and remarked, "This is another 
 piece of good luck. I hadn't time to go out to your place, 
 although I meant to take time." 
 
 "A piece of good luck indeed!" Tom mentally echoed, 
 for he would have been greatly embarrassed if Holcroft had 
 called. Mrs. Watterly felt that she had been scandalized by 
 the marriage which had taken place in her absence, and was 
 all the more resentful for the reason that she had spoken to 
 a cousin of uncertain age and still more uncertain temper in 
 behalf of the farmer. In Mrs. Watterly's estimate of action, 
 it was either right, that is, in accordance with her views, or 
 else it was intolerably wrong and without excuse. Poor 
 Tom had been made to feel that he had not only committed 
 an almost unpardonable sin against his wife and her cousin, 
 but also against all the proprieties of life. "The idea of 
 such a wedding taking place in my rooms and with my hus- 
 band's sanction !" she had said with concentrated bitterness. 
 Then had followed what he was accustomed to characterize 
 as a spell of "zero weather." He discreetly said nothing. 
 "It didn't seem such a bad idea to me," he thought, "but 
 then I suppose women folks know best about such things."
 
 226 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 He was too frank in his nature to conceal from Holcroft 
 his misgivings or his wife's scornful and indignant disap- 
 proval. "Sorry Angj feels so bad about it, Jim," he said, 
 ruefully, "but she says I mustn't buy anything more of you." 
 
 "Or have anything more to do with me, I suppose ?" 
 
 "Oh, come now. You know a man's got to let his 
 women folks have their say about household matters, but 
 that don't make any difference in my feelings toward you." 
 
 "Well, well, Tom, if it did, I should be slow to quarrel 
 with a man who had done me as good a turn as you have. 
 Thank the Lord ; I've got a wife that'll let me have some 
 say about household and all other matters. You, too, are 
 inclined to think that I'm in an awful scrape. I feel less 
 like getting out of it every day. My wife is as respectable 
 as I am and a good sight better than I am. If I'm no 
 longer respectable for having married her, I certainly am 
 better contented than I ever expected to be again. I want 
 it understood, though, that the man who says anything against 
 my wife may have to get me arrested for assault and bat- 
 tery." 
 
 "When it comes to that, Jim," replied Watterly, who was 
 meek only in the presence of his wife, "I'd just as lief speak 
 against her as wink if there was anything to say. But I say 
 now, as I said to you at first, she ain't one of the common 
 sort. I thought well of her at first and I think better of 
 her now since she's doing so well by you. But I suppose 
 marrying a woman situated as she was isn't according to 
 regulation. We men are apt to act like the boys we used to 
 be and go for what we want without thinking of the conse- 
 quences." 
 
 "It's the consequences that please me most. If you had 
 been dependent on Mumpsons, Malonys and Wigginses for 
 your home comfort you wouldn't worry about the talk of 
 people who'd never raise a finger for you. Well, good-by, 
 I'm in a hurry. Your heart's in the right place, Tom, and 
 some day you'll come out and take dinner with me. One 
 dinner, such as she'll give you, will bring you round. One
 
 A CHARIVARI 227 
 
 of our steady dishes is a bunch of flowers and I enjoy 'em, 
 too. What do you think of that for a hard-headed old fel- 
 low like me?" 
 
 Some men are chilled by public disapproval and waver 
 under it, but Holcroft was thereby only the more strongly 
 confirmed in his course. Alida had won his esteem as well 
 as his goodwill, and it was the instinct of his manhood to 
 protect and champion her. He bought twice as many 
 flowers and seeds as she had asked for, and also selected two 
 simple flower vases, then started on his return with the feel- 
 ing that he had a home. 
 
 Alida entered upon her duties to the poultry with almost 
 the pleasure of a child. She first fed them, then explored 
 every accessible nook and hiding place in the barn and out- 
 buildings. It was evident that many of the biddies had 
 stolen their nests and some were brooding upon them with 
 no disposition to be disturbed. Out of the hundred or more 
 fowls on the place, a good many were clucking their maternal 
 instincts, and their new keeper resolved to put eggs under 
 all except the flighty ones that left their nests within two or 
 three days' trial. As the result of her search, the empty 
 egg-basket was in a fair way to be full again very soon. She 
 gloated over her spoils as she smilingly assured herself, "I. 
 shall take him at his word. I shall spend nearly all I make 
 this year in fixing up the old house within and without, so 
 he'll scarcely know it." 
 
 It was eleven o'clock before Holcroft drove to the door 
 with the flowers, and he was amply repaid by her pleasure 
 in receiving them. "Why, I only expected geraniums," she 
 said, "and you've bought half a dozen other kinds." 
 
 "And I expected to get my own coffee this morning and 
 a good breakfast was given me instead, so we are quits." 
 
 "You're probably ready for your dinner now, if it is an 
 hour earlier than usual. It will be ready in ten minutes." 
 
 "Famous ! That will give me a good long afternoon. I 
 say, Alida, when do you want the flower-beds made ?" 
 
 "No hurry about them. I shall keep the plants in the
 
 228 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 window for a week or two. It isn't safe to put them out- 
 doors before the last of May. I'll have some slips ready by 
 that time." 
 
 "Yes, I know. You'll soon have enough to set out an 
 acre." 
 
 The days of another week passed quietly and rapidly 
 away, Alida becoming almost as much absorbed in her inter- 
 ests as he in his. Every hour added to the beauty of the 
 season without. The unplowed fields were taking on a vivid 
 green and Holcroft said that on the following Monday the 
 cows should go out to pasture. Wholesome, agreeable oc- 
 cupation enabled Alida to put away sad thoughts and memo- 
 ries. Nature and pleasant work are two potent healers, and 
 she was rallying fast under their ministry. Holcroft would 
 have been blind indeed had he not observed changes for the 
 better. Her thin cheeks were becoming fuller, and her ex- 
 ertions, with the increasing warmth of the season, often 
 flushed her face with a charming color. The old sad and 
 troubled expression was passing away from her blue eyes. 
 Every day it seemed easier for her to laugh, and her step 
 grew more elastic. It was all so gradual that he never ques- 
 tioned it, but his eyes followed her with increasing pleas- 
 ure and he listened when she spoke, with deepening inter- 
 est. Sundays had been long and father dreary days, but 
 now he positively welcomed their coming and looked forward 
 to the hours when, instead of brooding over the past, he 
 should listen to her pleasant voice reading his few and neg- 
 lected books. There was a new atmosphere in his home a 
 new influence, under which his mind was awakening in spite 
 of his weariness and absorption in the interests of the farm. 
 Alida was always ready to talk about these, and her questions 
 would soon enable her to talk understandingly. She dis- 
 played ignorance enough, and this amused him, but her 
 queries evinced no stupidity. In reading to her father and 
 in the cultivation of flowers, she had obtained hints of vital 
 horticultural principles, and Holcroft said to her laughingly
 
 A CHARIVARI 229 
 
 one evening at supper, "You'll soon learn all I know and 
 begin to teach me." 
 
 Her manner of deprecating such remarks was to exagger- 
 ate them and she replied, "Yes, next week you will sell my 
 eggs and I shall subscribe for the agricultural paper my 
 father used to take. Then will begin all the improvements 
 of book-farming. I shall advise you to sow oats in June, 
 plant corn in March and show you generally that all your 
 experience counts for nothing." 
 
 This kind of badinage was new to the farmer and it 
 amused him immensely. He did not grow sleepy so early 
 in the evening, and as he was driving his work prosperously 
 he shortened his hours of labor slightly. She also found 
 time to read the county paper and gossip a little about the 
 news, thus making a beginning in putting him and herself 
 en rapport with other interests than those which centred in 
 the farm. In brief, she had an active, intelligent mind and 
 a companionable nature. Her boundless gratitude for her 
 home, which daily grew more homelike, led her to employ 
 all her tact in adding to his enjoyment. Yet so fine was her 
 tact that her manner was a simple embodiment of goodwill, 
 and he was made to feel that it was nothing more. 
 
 While all was passing so genially and satisfactorily to 
 Holcroft, it may well be supposed that his conduct was not 
 at all to the mind of his neighbors. News, especially during 
 the busy spring season, permeates a country neighborhood 
 slowly. The fact of his marriage had soon become known, 
 and eventually, through Justice Harkins, the circumstances 
 relating to it and something of Alida's previous history, in a 
 garbled form, came to be discussed at rural firesides. The 
 majority of the men laughed and shrugged their shoulders, 
 implying it was none of their business, but not a few, among 
 whom was Lemuel Weeks, held up their hands and spoke of 
 the event in terms of the severest reprehension. Many of 
 the farmers' wives and their maiden sisters were quite as 
 much scandalized as Mrs. Watterly had been, that an un- 
 known woman, of whom strange stories were told, should
 
 230 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 have been brought into the community from the poorhouse, 
 "and after such a heathenish marriage, too," they said. It 
 was irregular, unprecedented and therefore utterly wrong 
 and subversive of the morals of the town. They longed to 
 ostracise poor Alida, yet saw no chance of doing so. They 
 could only talk, and talk they did, in a way that would have 
 made her ears tingle had she heard. 
 
 The young men and older boys, however, believed that 
 they could do more than talk. Timothy Weeks had said to 
 a group of his familiars, "Let's give old Holcroft and his 
 poorhouse bride a skinielton that will let 'em know what 
 folks think of 'em." 
 
 The scheme found favor at once, and Tim Weeks was 
 soon recognized as organizer and leader of the peculiar style 
 of serenade contemplated. After his day's work was over, he 
 rode here and there summoning congenial spirits. The 
 project soon became pretty well known in several families, 
 but the elder members remained discreetly blind and deaf, 
 proposing to wink at what was going on, yet take no com- 
 promising part themselves. Lemuel Weeks winked very 
 knowingly and suggestively. He kept within such bounds, 
 however, as would enable him to swear that he knew nothing 
 and had said nothing, but his son had never felt more assured 
 of his father's sympathy. When at last the motley gather- 
 ing rendezvoused at Tim's house, Weeks senior was conveni- 
 ently making a call on a near neighbor. 
 
 It was Saturday evening and the young May moon would 
 furnish sufficient light without revealing identity too clearly. 
 About a score of young fellows and hired farm hands of the 
 ruder sort came riding and trudging to Weeks's barn where 
 there was a barrel of cider on tap. Here they blackened 
 their faces with charcoal and stimulated their courage, for 
 it was well known that Holcroft was anything but lamb-like 
 when angered. 
 
 "He'll be like a bull in a china shop," remarked Tim, 
 "but then there's enough of us to handle him if he gets too 
 obstrep'rous."
 
 A CHARIVARI 231 
 
 Armed with tin pans and horns which were to furnish the 
 accompaniment to their discordant voices, they started about 
 eight in the evening. As they moved up the road, there 
 was a good deal of coarse jesting and bravado, but when 
 they approached the farmhouse silence was enjoined. After 
 passing up the lane they looked rather nervously at the quiet 
 dwelling softly outlined in the moonlight. A lamp illumined 
 the kitchen window, and Tim Weeks whispered excitedly, 
 "He's there. Let's first peek in the window and then give 
 'em a scorcher." 
 
 Knowing that they should have the coming day in which 
 to rest, Holcroft and Alida had busied themselves with out- 
 door matters until late. She had been planning her flower- 
 beds, cutting out the dead wood from some neglected rose 
 bushes and shrubbery, and had also helped her husband by 
 sowing seed in the kitchen garden back of the house. Then, 
 weary, yet pleased with the labor accomplished, they made a 
 very leisurely supper, talking over garden matters and farm 
 prospects in general. Alida had all her flower seeds on the 
 table beside her and she gloated over them and expatiated on 
 the kind of blossoms they would produce with so much zest 
 that Holcroft laughingly remarked, "I never thought that 
 flowers would be one of the most important crops on the 
 place." 
 
 "You will think so some day. I can see from the expres- 
 sion "of your eyes that the cherry blossoms and now the apple 
 blows which I put on the table please you almost as much as 
 the fruit would." 
 
 "Well, it's because I notice 'em. I never seemed to 
 notice 'em much before." 
 
 "Oh, no, it's more than that," she replied, shaking her 
 head. "Some people would notice them, yet never see how- 
 pretty they were." 
 
 "Then they'd be blind as moles." 
 
 "The worst kind of blindness is that of the mind." 
 
 "Well, I think many country people are as stupid and 
 blind as oxen, and I was one of 'em. I've seen more cherry
 
 232 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 and apple blossoms this year than in all my life before, and 
 I haven't thought only of cherries and apples either." 
 
 "The habit of seeing what is pretty grows on one," she 
 resumed. "It seems to me that flowers and such things 
 feed mind and heart. So if one has mind and heart, flowers 
 become one of the most useful crops. Isn't that practical 
 common sense ?" 
 
 "Not very common in Oakville. I'm glad you think I'm 
 in a hopeful frame of mind, as they used to say down at the 
 rneeting-house. Anyhow, since you wish it, we will have 
 a flower crop as well as a potato crop." 
 
 Thus they continued chatting while Alida cleared up the 
 table, and Holcroft, having lighted his pipe, busied himself 
 with peeling a long, slim hickory sapling intended for a whip- 
 stock. 
 
 Having finished her tasks, Alida was finally drying her 
 hands on a towel that hung near a window. Suddenly she 
 caught sight of a dark face peering in. Her startled cry 
 brought Holcroft hastily to his feet. "What's the matter ?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "I saw " Then she hesitated from a fear that he would 
 rush into some unknown danger. 
 
 The rough crew without perceived that their presence 
 was known, and Tim Weeks cried, "!N\>w, all together." 
 
 A frightful overture began at once, the hooting and yell- 
 ing almost drowning the instrumental part and sending to 
 Alida's heart that awful chill of fear produced by human 
 voices in any mob-like assemblage. Holcroft understood the 
 affair at once, for he was familiar with the custom, but she 
 did not. He threw open the door with the purpose of 
 sternly expostulating with the disturbers of the peace and 
 of threatening them with the law unless they retired. With 
 an instinct to share his danger she stepped to his side, and 
 this brought a yell of derision. Lurid thoughts swept 
 through her mind. She had brought this danger. Her story 
 had become known. What might they do to Holcroft? 
 Under the impulse of vague terror and complete self-sacri-
 
 A CHARIVARI 233 
 
 fice, she stepped forward and cried, "I oniy am to blame. I 
 will go away forever if you will spare But again the 
 scornful clamor rose and drowned her voice. 
 
 Her action and words had been so swift that Holcroft 
 could not interfere, but in an instant he was at her side, his 
 arm around her, his square jaw set, and his eyes blazing with 
 his kindling anger. He was not one of those men who fume 
 early under provocation and in words chiefly. His manner 
 and gesture were so impressive that his tormentors paused to 
 listen. 
 
 "I know," he said, quietly, "all about this old, rude cus- 
 tom that it's often little more than a rough lark. Well, 
 now that you've had it, leave at once. I'm in no mood 
 for such attention from my neighbors. This is my wife, and 
 I'll break any man's head who says a word to hurt her feel- 
 ings 
 
 "Oh, yes, take care of her feelings, now it's your turn. 
 They must 'o been hurt before," piped up Tim Weeks. 
 
 "Good for you, old man, for showin' us your poorhouse 
 bride," said another. 
 
 "We don't fancy such grass widders, and much married, 
 half-married women in Oakville," yelled a third. 
 
 "Why didn't yer jump over a broomstick for a weddin' 
 ceremony ?" some one else bawled. 
 
 These insults were fired almost in a volley. Alida felt 
 Holcroft's arm grow rigid for a second. "Go in' quick," 
 he said. Then she saw him seize the hickory sapling he had 
 leaned against the house, and burst upon the group like a 
 thunderbolt. Cries of pain, yells and oaths of rage rose 
 above the rain of blows. The older members of the crew 
 sought to close upon him, but he sprang back, and the tough 
 sapling swept about him like a circle of light. It was a ter- 
 rific weapon in the hands of a strong man, now possessed 
 of almost giant strength in his rage. More than one fellow 
 went down under its stinging cut, and heads and faces were 
 bleeding. The younger portion of the crowd speedily took 
 to their heels, and soon even the most stubborn fled, the
 
 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 farmer vigorously assisting their ignominious retreat with 
 tremendous downward blows on any within reach. Tim 
 "Weeks had managed to keep out of the way till they entered 
 the lane ; then, taking a small stone from the fence, he hurled 
 it at their pursuer and attempted to jump over the wall. 
 This was old, and gave way under him in such a way that he 
 fell on the other side. Holcroft leaped the fence with a 
 bound, but Tim, lying on his back, shrieked and held up his 
 hands. "You won't hit a feller when he's down." 
 
 "No," said Holcroft, arresting his hickory. "I'll send 
 you to jail, Tim Weeks. That stone you fired cut my head. 
 Was your father in that crowd ?" 
 
 "N-o-o," blubbered Tim. 
 
 "If he was, I'd follow him home, and whip him in his own 
 house. Now, clear out, and tell the rest of your rowdy crew 
 that I'll shoot the first one of you that disturbs me again. 
 I'll send the constable for you, and maybe for some of the 
 others." 
 
 Dire was the dismay, and dreadful the groaning in Oak- 
 ville that night. Never before had salves and poultices been 
 in such demand. Not a few would be disfigured for weeks, 
 and wherever Holcroft's blows had fallen welts rose like 
 whipcords. In Lemuel Weeks's dwelling the consternation 
 reached its climax. Tim, bruised from his fall, limped in 
 and told his portentous story. In his spite, he added, "I 
 don't care, I hit him hard. His face was all bloody." 
 
 "All bloody!" groaned his father. "Lord a' mercy! 
 He can send you to jail, sure enough !" 
 
 Then Mrs. Weeks sat down and wailed aloud.
 
 'YOU DON'T KNOW" 235 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 "YOU DON'T KNOW" 
 
 AS Timothy Weeks limped hastily away, Holcroft, with 
 a strong revulsion of feeling, thought of Alida. He 
 had been able to answer insults in a way eminently 
 satisfactory to himself, and every blow had relieved his elec- 
 trical condition. But how about the poor woman who had 
 received worse blows than he had inflicted ? As he hastened 
 toward the house he recalled a dim impression of seeing her 
 sink down on the doorstep. Then he remembered her effort 
 to face the marauders alone. "She said she was to blame, 
 poor child ! as if there were any blame at all ! She said, 
 'spare him/ as if I was facing a band of murderers instead 
 of a lot of neighborhood scamps, and that she'd go away. 
 I'd fight all Oakville, men, women and children, before I'd 
 permit that," and he started on a run. 
 
 He found Alida on the step where she had sunk as if 
 struck down by the rough epithets hurled at her. She was 
 sobbing violently, almost hysterically, and at first could not 
 reply to his soothing words. He lifted her up, and half car- 
 ried her within to a chair. "Oh, oh," she cried, "why did 
 I not realize it more fully before ? Selfish woman that I was, 
 to marry you and bring on you all this shame and danger. 
 I should have thought of it all, I ought to have died rather 
 than do you such a wrong." 
 
 "Alida, Alida," protested Holcroft, "if it were all to do 
 over again, I'd be a thousand times more " 
 
 "Oh, I know, I know. You are brave and generous and 
 honest. I saw that much when you first spoke to me. I 
 yielded to the temptation to secure such a friend ; I was too
 
 236 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 cowardly to face the world alone. And now see what's hap- 
 pened ! You're in danger and disgrace on my account. I 
 must go away I must do what I should have done at first," 
 and with her face buried in her hands she rocked back and 
 forth overwhelmed by the bitterness and reproach of her 
 thoughts. 
 
 "Alida," he urged, "please be calm and sensible. Let me 
 reason with you and tell you the truth. All that's happened 
 is that the Oakville cubs have received a well-deserved whip- 
 ping. When you get calm, I can explain everything so it 
 won't seem half so bad. Neither you nor I are in any 
 danger, and as for your going away, look me in the eyes and 
 listen." 
 
 His words were almost stern in their earnestness. She 
 raised her streaming eyes to his face, then sprang up, ex- 
 claiming, "Oh ! you're wounded !" 
 
 "What's that compared with your talk of going away?" 
 
 All explanations and reassurances would have been trivial 
 in effect compared with the truth that he had been hurt in 
 her defence. She dashed her tears right and left, ran for a 
 basin of water, and making him take her chair, began wash- 
 ing away the blood stains. 
 
 "Thunder!" he said, laughing, "how quickly we've 
 changed places !" 
 
 "Oh, oh," she moaned, "it's a terrible wound; it might 
 have killed you, and they will kill you yet." 
 
 He took her hands and held them firmly. "Alida," he 
 said, gravely yet kindly, "be still and listen to me." 
 
 For a moment or two longer, her bosom heaved with con- 
 vulsive sobs and then she grew quiet. "Don't you know you 
 can't go away ?" he asked, still retaining her hands and look- 
 ing in her face. 
 
 "I could for your sake," she began. 
 
 "No, it wouldn't be for my sake. I don't wish you to 
 go, and wouldn't let you. If you should let the Oakville 
 rabble drive you away I would be in danger, and so would 
 others, for I'd be worse on 'em than an earthquake. After
 
 "FOC7 DON'T KNOW' 1 237 
 
 the lesson they've had to-night, they'll let us alone, and I'll 
 let them alone. You know I've tried to be honest with you 
 from the first. Believe me, then, the trouble's over, unless 
 we make more for ourselves. Now, promise you'll do as I 
 say and let me manage." 
 
 "I'll try," she breathed softly. 
 
 "No, no, that won't do. I'm beginning to find you out. 
 You may get some foolish, self-sacrificing notion in your head 
 that it would be best for me, when it would be my ruination. 
 Will you promise ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Famous ! Now you can bathe my head all you please, 
 for it feels a little queer." 
 
 "It's an awful wound," she said in tones of the deepest 
 sympathy. "Oh! I'm so sorry." 
 
 "Pshaw! my head is too hard for that little scamp of a 
 Weeks to break. His turn'll come next." 
 
 She cut away the blood-clotted hair and bound up the 
 rather severe scalp wound with, a tenderness and sympathy 
 that expressed itself even in her touch. She was too con- 
 fused and excited to be conscious of herself, but she had 
 received some tremendously strong impressions. Chief 
 among them was the truth that nothing which had happened 
 made any difference in him that he was still the same loyal 
 friend, standing between her and the world she dreaded 
 yes, between her and her own impulses toward self-sacrifice. 
 Sweetest of all was the assurance that he did this for his 
 own sake as well as hers. These facts seemed like a foothold 
 in the mad torrent of feeling and shame which had been 
 sweeping her away. She could think of little more than that 
 she was safe safe because he was brave and loyal, and yes, 
 safe because he wanted her and would not give her up. The 
 heart of a woman must be callous indeed, and her nature not 
 only trivial, but stony, if she is not deeply touched under 
 circumstances like these. 
 
 In spite of his laughing contempt of danger, she trembled 
 as she saw him ready to go out again; she wished to accom-
 
 238 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 pany him on his round of observation, but he scouted the 
 idea, although it pleased him. Standing in the door, she 
 strained her eyes and listened breathlessly. He soon re- 
 turned and said, "They've all had enough. We won't be 
 disturbed again." 
 
 He saw that her nerves needed quieting, and he set about 
 the task with such simple tact as he possessed. His first 
 step was to light his pipe in the most nonchalant manner, 
 and then he burst out laughing. "I'll hang that hickory up. 
 It has done too good service to be put to common use again. 
 Probably you never heard of a skimelton, Alida. Well, they 
 are not so uncommon in this region. I suppose I'll have to 
 own up to taking part in one myself when I was a young 
 chap. They usually are only rough larks and are taken 
 good-naturedly. I'm not on jesting terms with my neigh- 
 bors and they had no business to come here, but I wouldn't 
 have made any row if they hadn't insulted you." 
 
 Her head bowed very low as she faltered, "They've heard 
 everything." 
 
 He came right to her and took her hand. "Didn't I hear 
 everything before they did ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, Alida, I'm not only satisfied with you, but I'm 
 very grateful to you. Why shouldn't I be, when you are a 
 good, Christian woman? I guess I'm the one to be suited, 
 not Oakville. I should be as reckless as the devil if you 
 should go away from me. Don't I act like a man who's ready 
 to stand up for and protect you ?" 
 
 "Yes, too ready. It would kill me if anything happened 
 to you on my account." 
 
 "Well, the worst would happen," he said, firmly, "if we 
 don't go right on as we've begun. If we go quietly on about 
 our own affairs, we'll soon be let alone and that's all we ask." 
 
 "Yes, yes indeed. Don't worry, James. I'll do as you 
 wish." 
 
 "Famous ! You never said 'James' to me before. Why 
 haven't you ?"
 
 "YOU DON'T KNOW" 239 
 
 "I don't know," she faltered, with a sudden rush of color 
 to her pale face. 
 
 "Well, that's my name," he resumed, laughing. "I guess 
 it's because we are getting better acquainted." 
 
 She looked up and said, impetuously, "You don't know 
 how a woman feels when a man stands up for her as you did 
 to-night." 
 
 "Well, I know how a man feels when there is a woman 
 so well worth standing up for. It was a lucky thing that I 
 had nothing heavier in my hand than that hickory." All 
 the while he was looking at her curiously ; then he spoke his 
 thought, "You're a quiet little woman, Alida, most times, 
 but you're capable of a thunder-gust now and then." 
 
 "I'll try to be quiet at all times," she replied, with droop- 
 ing eyes. 
 
 Oh, I'm not complaining," he said, laughing; "I like 
 the trait." 
 
 He took a small pitcher and went to the dairy. Return- 
 ing, he poured out two glasses of milk and said, "Here's to 
 your health and happiness, Alida; and when I don't stand 
 up for the woman who started out to save me from a mob 
 of murderers, may the next thing I eat or drink choke me. 
 You didn't know they were merely a lot of Oakville boys, 
 did you ?" 
 
 "You can't make so light of it," said she. "They tried 
 to close on you, and if that stone had struck you on the tem- 
 ple, it might have killed you. They swore like pirates, and 
 looked like ruffians with their blackened faces. They 
 certainly were not boys in appearance." 
 
 "I'm afraid I swore too," he said, sadly. 
 
 "You had some excuse, but I'm sorry. They would have 
 hurt you if you hadn't kept them off." 
 
 "Yes, they'd probably given me a beating. People do 
 things in hot blood they wish they hadn't afterwards. I 
 know this Oakville rough-scuff. Since we've had it out, and 
 they know what to expect, they'll give me a wide berth. Now 
 go and sleep. You were never safer in your life."
 
 240 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 She did not trust herself to reply, but the glance she gave 
 him from her tearful eyes was so eloquent with grateful feel- 
 ing that he was suddenly conscious of some unwonted sensa- 
 tions. He again patrolled the place and tied the dog near 
 the barn. 
 
 "It's barely possible that some of these mean cusses might 
 venture to kindle a fire, but a bark from Towser will warn 
 'em off. She is a spirited little woman," he added, with 
 a sharp change in soliloquy. "There's nothing milk and 
 water about her. Thunder ! I felt like kissing her when she 
 looked at me so. I guess that crack on my skull has made 
 me a little light-headed." 
 
 He lay down in his clothes so that he might rush out in 
 case of alarm, and he intended to keep awake. Then, the 
 first thing he knew, the sun was shining in the windows. 
 
 It was long before Alida slept, and the burden of her 
 thoughts confirmed the words that she had spoken so in- 
 voluntarily. "You don't know how a woman feels when a 
 man stands up for her as you did." It is the nature of her 
 sex to adore hardy, courageous manhood. Beyond all power 
 of expression, Alida felt her need of a champion and pro- 
 tector. She was capable of going away for his sake, but she 
 would go in terror and despair. The words that had smitten 
 her confirmed all her old fears of facing the world alone. 
 Then came the overpowering thought of his loyalty and 
 kindness, of his utter and almost fierce repugnance to the 
 idea of her leaving him. In contrast with the man who had 
 deceived and wronged her, Holcroft's course overwhelmed 
 her very soul with a passion of grateful affection. A new 
 emotion, unlike anything she had ever known, thrilled her 
 heart and covered her face with blushes. "I could die for 
 him," she murmured. 
 
 She awoke late in the morning. When at last she entered 
 the kitchen she stopped in deep chagrin, for Holcroft had 
 almost completed preparations for breakfast. "Ha, ha!" he 
 laughed, "turn about is fair play."
 
 " YOU DON'T KNOW" 241 
 
 "Well," she sighed, "there's no use of making excuses 
 now." 
 
 "There's no occasion for any. Did you ever see such a 
 looking case as I am with this bandage around my head ?" 
 
 "Does it pain you ?" she asked, sympathetically. 
 
 "Well, it does. It pains like thunder." 
 
 "The wound needs dressing again. Let me cleanse and 
 bind it up." 
 
 "Yes, after breakfast." 
 
 "No, indeed, now. I couldn't eat my breakfast while you 
 were suffering so." 
 
 "I'm more unfeeling then than you are, for I could." 
 
 She insisted on having her way, and then tore up her 
 handkerchief to supply a soft linen bandage. 
 
 "You're extravagant, Alida," but she only shook her 
 head. 
 
 "Famous! That feels better. What a touch you have! 
 Now if you had a broken head my fingers would be like a 
 pair of tongs." 
 
 She only shook her head and smiled. 
 
 "You're as bad as Jane used to be. She never said a 
 word when she could shake or nod her meaning." 
 
 "I should think you would be glad, after having been half 
 talked to death by her mother." 
 
 "As I said before, take your own way of doing things. It 
 seems the right way after it is done." 
 
 A faint color came into her face and she looked positively 
 happy as she sat down to breakfast. "Are you sure your 
 head feels better ?" she asked. 
 
 "Yes, and you look a hundred per cent better. Well, I 
 am glad you had such a good sleep after all the hubbub." 
 
 "I didn't sleep till toward morning," she said, with down- 
 cast eyes. 
 
 "Pshaw! that's too bad. Well, no matter, you look like 
 a different person from what you did when I first saw you. 
 You've been growing younger every day." 
 
 Her face flushed like a girl's under his direct, admiring 
 R K. XVin
 
 242 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 gaze, making her all the more pretty. She hastened to divert 
 direct attention from herself by asking, "You haven't heard 
 from any one this morning ?" 
 
 "No, but I guess the doctor has. Some of those fellows 
 will have to keep shady for a while." 
 
 As they were finishing breakfast, Holcroft looked out of 
 the open kitchen door and exclaimed, "By thunder! we're 
 going to hear from some of them now. Here comes Mrs. 
 Weeks, the mother of the fellow who hit me." 
 
 "Won't you please receive her in the parlor ?" 
 
 "Yes, she won't stay long, you may be sure. I'm going 
 to give that Weeks tribe one lesson and pay off the whole 
 score." 
 
 He merely bowed coldly to Mrs. Weeks's salutation and 
 offered her a chair. The poor woman took eut her handker- 
 chief and began to mop her eyes, but Holcroft was steeled 
 against her, not so much on account of the wound inflicted 
 by her son as for the reason that he saw in her an accomplice 
 with her husband in the fraud of Mrs. Mumpson. 
 
 "I hope you're not badly hurt," she began. 
 
 "It might be worse." 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Holcroft," she broke out sobbingly, "spare my 
 son. It would kill me if you sent him to prison." 
 
 "He took the chance of killing me last night," was the 
 cold reply. "What's far worse, he insulted my wife." 
 
 Oh, Mr. Holcroft, he was young and foolish, he didn't 
 realize " 
 
 "Were you and your husband young and foolish," he 
 interrupted bitterly, "when you gulled me into employing 
 that crazy cousin of yours ?" 
 
 This retort was so overwhelming that Mrs. Weeks sobbed 
 speechlessly. 
 
 Alida could not help overhearing the conversation, and she 
 now glided into the room, and stood by her husband's side. 
 
 "James," she said, "won't you do me a favor, a great 
 kindness ?" 
 
 Mrs. Weeks raised her eyes and looked wonderingly
 
 "YOU DON'T KNOW" 243 
 
 at this dreadful woman, against whom all Oakville was 
 talking. 
 
 "I know what you wish, Alida," he replied, sternly, "but 
 I can't do it. This is a case for justice. This woman's son 
 was the leader of that vile crowd that insulted you last night. 
 I can forgive his injuring me, but not the words he used 
 about you. Moreover, when I was alone and struggling to 
 keep my home, Mrs. Weeks took part with her husband in 
 imposing on me their fraud of a cousin and in tricking me 
 out of honest money. Any woman with a heart in her breast 
 would have tried to help a man situated as I was. No, it's 
 a clear case of justice, and her son shall go to jail." 
 
 Mrs. Weeks wailed afresh at this final sentence. Holcroft 
 was amazed to see his wife drop on her knees beside his chair. 
 He raised her instantly. "Don't do such a thing as that," 
 he said, huskily. 
 
 Without removing her pleading eyes from his face she 
 asked, gently, "Who told us to forgive as we would be for- 
 given ? James, I shall be very unhappy if you don't grant 
 this mother's prayer." 
 
 He tried to turn away, but she caught his hand and held 
 his eyes with hers. "Alida," he said, in strong agitation, 
 "you heard the vile, false words that Timothy Weeks said 
 last night. They struck you down like a blow. Can you 
 forgive him ?" 
 
 "Yes, and I plead with you to forgive him. Grant me 
 my wish, James; I shall be so much, happier and so will 
 
 you." 
 
 Well, Mrs. Weeks, now you know what kind of a 
 woman your son came to insult. You may tell your neigh- 
 bors that there's one Christian in Oakville. I yield to Mrs. 
 Holcroft and will take no further action in the affair if we 
 are let alone." 
 
 Mrs. Weeks was not a bad woman at heart, and she had 
 received a wholesome lesson. She came and took Alida's 
 hand as she said, "Yes, you are a Christian a better woman 
 than I've been, but I ain't so mean and bad but what, when
 
 244 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 I see my fault, I am sorry and can ask forgiveness. I do 
 ask your forgiveness, Mr. Holcroft. I've been ashamed of 
 myself ever since you brought my cousin back. I thought 
 she would try, when she had the chance you gave her, but she 
 seems to have no sense." 
 
 "There, there, let bygones be bygones," said the farmer 
 in embarrassment. "I've surrendered. Please don't say 
 anything more." 
 
 "You've got a kind heart in spite " 
 
 "Oh, come now, please quit, or I'll begin to swear a little 
 to keep up the reputation my neighbors have given me. Go 
 home and tell Tim to brace up and try to be a man. When 
 I say I'm done with a grudge, I am done. You and Mrs. 
 Holcroft can talk all you like, but please excuse me," and 
 with more than most men's horror of a scene, he escaped 
 precipitately. 
 
 "Sit down, Mrs. Weeks," said Alida, kindly. 
 
 "Well, I will. I can't say much to excuse myself or my 
 folks" 
 
 "You've already said everything, Mrs. Weeks," inter- 
 rupted Alida, gently, "you've said you are sorry." 
 
 Mrs. Weeks stared a moment, and then resumed, senten- 
 tiously, "Well, I've heard more gospel in that remark than 
 if I'd gone to church. And I couldn't go to church, I could 
 never have gone there again or held my head up anywhere 
 if if " 
 
 "That's all past and gone," said Alida, smiling. "When 
 Mr. Holcroft says anything, you may depend on it." 
 
 "Well, God bless you for intercedin' you had so much 
 to forgive. Nobody shall ever speak a word against you 
 again while I've got breath to answer. I wish you'd let me 
 come and see you sometimes." 
 
 "Whenever you wish, if you care to visit one who has had 
 so much so much trouble." 
 
 "I see now that's all the more reason I should come, for 
 if it hadn't been for you, I'd have been in bitter trouble 
 myself. We've been worse than heathen, standin' off and
 
 "YOU DON'T KNOW" 245 
 
 talking against you. Oh, I've had a lesson I won't forget. 
 Well, I must hurry home, for I left Timothy and Lemuel in 
 a dreadful state." 
 
 Seeing the farmer in the barn as she was passing, she 
 rushed to him. "You've got to shake hands with me, Mr. 
 Holcroft. Your wife is a good woman, and she's a lady, 
 too. Any one with half an eye can see she's not one of the 
 common sort." 
 
 The farmer shook the poor woman's hand good-naturedly 
 and said heartily, "That's so. All right. Meeting's over. 
 Good-by." Then he turned to his work and chuckled, "That's 
 what Tom Watterly said. Thank the Lord ! she isn't of the 
 common sort. I've got to brace up and be more of a man as 
 well as Tim Weeks." 
 
 In spite of the pain in his head, Alida's words proved 
 true. He was happier than he had been in many a long day. 
 He had the glow which follows a generous act, and the 
 thought that he had pleased a sweet little woman who some- 
 how seemed very attractive to him that May morning ; at the 
 same time the old Adam in his nature led to a sneaking satis- 
 faction that he had laid on the hickory so unsparingly the 
 evening before. 
 
 Alida uttered a low, happy laugh as she heard him whis- 
 tling "Coronation" in jig time, and she hustled away the 
 breakfast things with the eagerness of a girl, that she might 
 be ready to read to him when he came in.
 
 246 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 FARM AND FARMER BEWITCHED 
 
 THE day grew warm, and having finished her tasks in- 
 doors and cared for the poultry, Alida brought a 
 chair out in the porch. Her eyes were dreamy with 
 a vague, undefined happiness. The landscape in itself was 
 cause for exquisite pleasure, for it was an ideal day of the 
 apple-blossoming period. The old orchard back of the barn 
 looked as if pink and white clouds had settled upon it, and 
 scattered trees near and far were exhaling their fragrance. 
 The light breeze which fanned her cheek and bent the grow- 
 ing rye in an adjacent field was perfumed beyond the skill 
 of art. !Not only were her favorite meadow-larks calling to 
 each other, but the thrushes had come and she felt that she 
 had never heard such hymn a as they were singing. A burst 
 of song from the lilac bush under the parlor window drew her 
 eyes thither, and there was the paternal redbreast pouring 
 out the very soul of ecstasy. From the nest beneath him rose 
 the black head and yellow beak of his brooding mate. "How 
 contented and happy she looks!" Alida murmured, "how 
 happy they both are ! and the secret of it is, home. And to 
 think that I, who was a friendless waif, am at home, also! 
 At home with Eden-like beauty and peace before my eyes. 
 But if it hadn't been for him, and if he were not brave, kind 
 and true to all he says " and she shuddered at a contrast 
 that rose before her fancy. 
 
 She could now scarcely satisfy herself that it was only 
 gratitude which filled her heart with a strange, happy tumult. 
 She had never been conscious of such exaltation before. It
 
 FARM AND FARMER BEWITCHED 247 
 
 is true, she had learned to cherish a strong affection for the 
 man whom she had believed to be her husband, but chiefly 
 because he had seemed kind and she had an affectionate dis- 
 position. Until within the last few hours, her nature had 
 never been touched and awakened in its profoundest depths. 
 She had never known before nor had she idealized the man- 
 hood capable of evoking the feelings which now lightened her 
 eyes and gave to her face the supreme charm and beauty of 
 womanhood. In truth, it was a fitting day and time for the 
 birth of a love like hers, simple, all-absorbing and grateful. 
 It contained no element not in harmony with that May 
 Sunday morning. 
 
 Holcroft came and sat on the steps below her. She kept 
 her eyes on the landscape, for she was consciously enough on 
 her guard now. "I rather guess you think, Alida, that you 
 are looking at a better picture than any artist fellow could 
 paint?" he remarked. 
 
 "Yes," she replied, hesitatingly, "and the picture seems 
 all the more lovely and full of light because the background 
 is so very dark. I've been thinking of what happened here 
 last night and what might have happened, and how I felt 
 then." 
 
 "You feel better different now, don't you? You cer- 
 tainly look so." 
 
 "Yes, you made me very happy by yielding to Mrs. 
 Weeks." 
 
 "Oh, I didn't yield to her at all" 
 
 "Very well, have it your own way then." 
 
 "I think you had it your way." 
 
 "Are you sorry ?" 
 
 "Do I look so ? How did you know I'd be happier if I 
 gave in ?" 
 
 "Because, as you say, I'm getting better acquainted with 
 you. You couldn't help being happier for a generous act." 
 
 "I wouldn't have done it, though, if it hadn't been for 
 
 you." 
 
 "I'm not so sure about that"
 
 24:8 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 "I am. You're coming to make me feel confoundedly 
 uncomfortable in my heathenish life." 
 
 "I wish I could." 
 
 "I never had such a sermon in my Hfe as you gave me 
 this morning. A Christian act like yours is worth a year 
 of religious talk." 
 
 She looked at him wistfully for a moment and then asked, 
 a little abruptly, "Mr. Holcroft, have you truly forgiven that 
 Weeks family ?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, I suppose so. I've forgiven the old lady, any- 
 how. I've shaken hands with her." 
 
 "If her husband and son should come and apologize and 
 say they were sorry, would you truly and honestly forgive 
 them ?" 
 
 "Certainly. I couldn't hold a grudge after that. What 
 are you aiming at?" and he turned and looked inquiringly 
 into her face. 
 
 It was flushed and tearful in its eager, earnest interest. 
 "Don't you see ?" she faltered. 
 
 He shook his head, but was suddenly and strangely moved 
 by her expression. 
 
 "Why, Mr. Holcroft, if you can honestly forgive those 
 who have wronged you, you ought to see how ready God is 
 to forgive." 
 
 He fairly started to his feet, so vividly the truth came 
 home to him, illumined, as it was, by a recent and personal 
 experience. After a moment, he slowly sat down again and 
 said, with a long breath, "That was a close shot, Alida." 
 
 "I only wish you to have the trust and comfort which this 
 truth should bring you," she said. "It seems a pity you 
 should do yourself needless injustice when you are willing 
 to do what is right and kind by others." 
 
 "It's all a terrible muddle, Alida. If God is so ready to 
 forgive, how do you account for all the evil and suffering 
 in the world F 
 
 "I don't account for it and can't. I'm only one of his 
 little children, often an erring one, too. You've been able to
 
 FARM AND FARMER BEWITCHED 249 
 
 forgive grown people, your equals, and strangers in a sense. 
 Suppose you had a little boy that had done wrong, but said 
 he was sorry, would you hold a grudge against him ?" 
 
 "The idea! I'd be a brute." 
 
 She laughed softly as she asked again, "Don't you see?" 
 
 He sat looking thoughtfully away across the fields for a 
 long time, and finally asked, "Is your idea of becoming a 
 Christian just being forgiven like a child and then trying to 
 do right ?" 
 
 "Yes. Why not?" 
 
 "Well," he remarked, with a grim laugh, "I didn't expect 
 to be cornered in this way." 
 
 "You who are truthful should face the truth. It would 
 make you happier. A good deal that was unexpected has 
 happened. When I look out on a scene like this and think 
 that I am safe and at home, I feel that God has been very 
 good to me and that you have, too. I can't bear to think 
 that you have that old trouble on. your mind the feeling 
 that you had been a Christian once, but was not one now. 
 Being sure that there is no need of your continuing to feel so, 
 what sort of return would I be making for all your kindness 
 if I did not try to show you what is as clear to me as this 
 sunshine ?" 
 
 "You are a good woman, Alida. Believing as you do, 
 you have done right to speak to me, and I never believed mor- 
 tal lips could speak so to the purpose. I shall think of what 
 you have said, for you have put things in a new light. But 
 say, Alida, what on earth possesses you to call me 'Mr.' ? 
 You said James easy enough after the skimelton was over 
 and when old lady Weeks was begging Tim off. You don't 
 need to be scared half to death every time to call me by my 
 first name, do you ?" 
 
 "Scared ? Oh, no." She was a trifle confused, he thought, 
 but then her tone was completely reassuring. 
 
 The day was one long remembered by both. As in nature 
 about them, the conditions of development and rapid change 
 now existed. She did not read aloud very much, and long
 
 250 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 silences fell between them. They were reaching a higher 
 plane of companionship, in which words are not always essen- 
 tial. Both had much to think about, and their thoughts were 
 like roots which prepare for blossom and fruit. 
 
 With Monday, busy life was resumed. The farmer began 
 planting his corn and Alida her flower seeds. Almost every 
 day now added to the brood of little chicks under her care. 
 The cows went out to pasture, Holcroft brought in an in- 
 creasing number of overflowing pails of milk, and if the 
 labors of the dairy grew more exacting, they also grew more 
 profitable. The tide had turned; income was larger than 
 outgo, and it truly seemed to the long-harassed man that an 
 era of peace and prosperity had set in. 
 
 To a superficial observer things might have appeared to 
 be going on much as before, but there were influences at 
 work which Holcroft did not clearly comprehend. 
 
 As Alida had promised herself, she spent all the money 
 which the eggs brought in, but Holcroft found pretty mus- 
 lin curtains at the parlor windows, and shades which ex- 
 cluded the glare from the kitchen. Better china took the 
 place of that which was cracked and unsightly. In brief, a 
 subtile and refining touch was apparent all over the house. 
 
 "How fine we are getting !" he remarked one evening at 
 supper. 
 
 "I've only made a beginning," she replied, nodding de- 
 fiantly at him. "The chickens will paint the house before 
 the year is over." 
 
 "Phew! when do the silk dresses come in?" 
 
 "When your broadcloth does." 
 
 "Well, if this goes on, I shall certainly have to wear pur- 
 ple and fine linen to keep pace." 
 
 "Fine linen certainly. When you take the next lot of 
 eggs to town I shall tell you just the number of yards I need 
 to make half a dozen extra fine shirts. Those you have are 
 getting past mending." 
 
 "Do you think I'll let you spend your money in that 
 way ?"
 
 FARM AND FARMER BEWITCHED 251 
 
 "You'll let me spend my money just as I please in the 
 way that will do me the most good !" 
 
 "What a saucy little woman you are becoming !" he said, 
 looking at her so fondly that she quickly averted her eyes. 
 
 "It's a way people fall into when humored," she an- 
 swered. 
 
 "See here, Alida, you're up to some magic. It seems 
 but the other day I brought you here, a pale ghost of a 
 woman. As old Jonathan Johnson said, you were 'en'j'yin' 
 poor health.' Do you know what he said when I took him 
 off so he wouldn't put you through the catechism?" 
 
 "No," she replied, with a deprecating smile and rising 
 color. 
 
 "He said he was 'afeared I'd been taken in, you were 
 such a sickly lookin' critter.' Ha ! ha ! Wish he might see 
 you now, with that flushed face of yours. I never believed 
 in magic, but I'll have to come to it. You are bewitched, 
 and are being transformed into a pretty young girl right 
 under my eyes; the house is bewitched, and is growing 
 pretty, too, and pleasanter all the time. The cherry and 
 apple trees are bewitched, for they never blossomed so be- 
 fore ; the hens are bewitched, they lay as if possessed ; the " 
 
 "Oh, stop, or I shall think that you're bewitched your- 
 self." 
 
 (C I truly begin to think I am." 
 
 "Oh, well, since we all and everything are affected in the 
 same way, it don't matter." 
 
 "But it does. It's unaccountable. I'm beginning to rub 
 my eyes and pinch myself to wake up." 
 
 "If you like it, I wouldn't wake up." 
 
 "Suppose I did, and saw Mrs. Mumpson sitting where 
 you do, Jane here, and Mrs. Wiggins smoking her pipe in 
 the corner. The very thought makes me shiver. My fir3t 
 words would be, 'Please pass the cold p'ison.' ' 
 
 "What nonsense you are talking to-night!" she tried to 
 say severely, but the pleased, happy look in her eyes be- 
 trayed her. He regarded her with the open admiration of a
 
 252 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 boy, and she sought to divert his attention by asking, "What 
 do you think has become of Jane ?" 
 
 "I don't know stealing around like a strange cat in 
 some relation's house, I suppose." 
 
 "You once said you would like to do something for her." 
 
 "Well, I would. If I could afford it I'd like to send her 
 to school." 
 
 "Would you like her to come here and study lessons part 
 of the time ?" 
 
 He shivered visibly. "No, Alida, and you wouldn't 
 either. She'd make you more nervous than she would me, 
 and that's saying a good deal. I do feel very sorry for her, 
 and if Mrs. Weeks comes to see you, we'll find out if some- 
 thing can't be done, but her presence would spoil all our 
 co^y comfort. The fact is, I wouldn't enjoy having any 
 one here. You and I are just about company enough. Still, 
 if you feel that you'd like to have some help " 
 
 "Oh, no, I haven't enough to do." 
 
 "But you're always a-doing. Well, if you're content, I 
 haven't Christian fortitude enough to make any changes." 
 
 She smiled and thought that she was more than content. 
 She had begun to detect symptoms in her husband which her 
 own heart enabled her to interpret. In brief, it looked as 
 if he were drifting on a smooth, swift tide to the same haven 
 in which she was anchored. 
 
 One unusually warm morning for the season, rain set in 
 after breakfast. Holcroft did not fret in the least that he 
 could not go to the fields, nor did he, as had been his cus- 
 tom at first, find rainy-day work at the barn. The cows, in 
 cropping the lush grass, had so increased their yield of milk 
 that it was necessary to churn every other day, and Alida was 
 busy in the dairy. This place had become inviting by rea- 
 son of its coolness, and she had rendered it more so by mak- 
 ing it perfectly clean and sweet. Strange to say, it con- 
 tained another chair besides the one she usually occupied. 
 The apartment was large and stone-flagged. Along one side 
 were shelves filled with rows of shining milk pans. In one
 
 FARM AND FARMER BEWITCHED 253 
 
 corner stood the simple machinery which the old dog put in 
 motion when tied upon his movable walk, and the churn was 
 near. An iron pipe, buried deep in the ground, brought 
 cool spring water from the brook above. This pipe emptied 
 its contents with a low gurgle into a shallow, oblong recepta- 
 cle sunk in the floor, and was wide and deep enough for two 
 stone crocks of ample size to stand abreast up to their rims 
 in the water. The cream was skimmed into these stone jars 
 until they were full, then Holcroft emptied them into the 
 churn. He had charged Alida never to attempt this part of 
 the work, and indeed it was beyond her strength. After 
 breakfast on churning days, he prepared everything and set 
 the dog at work. Then he emptied the churn of the butter- 
 milk when he came in to dinner. 
 
 All the associations of the place were pleasant to Alida. 
 It was here that her husband had shown patience as well as 
 kindness in teaching her how to supplement his work until 
 her own experience and judgment gave her a better skill 
 than he possessed. Many pleasant, laughing words had 
 passed between them in this cool, shadowy place, and on a 
 former rainy morning he had brought a chair down that he 
 might keep her company. She had not carried it back, nor 
 was she very greatly surprised to see him saunter in and oc- 
 cupy it on the present occasion. She stood by the churn, her 
 figure outlined clearly in the light from the open door, as 
 she poured in cold water from time to time to hasten and 
 harden the gathering butter. Her right sleeve was rolled 
 well back, revealing a white arm that was becoming beauti- 
 fully plump and round. An artist would have said that her 
 attitude and action were unconsciously natural and graceful. 
 Holcroft had scarcely the remotest idea of artistic effect, but 
 he had a sensible man's perception of a charming woman 
 when she is charming. 
 
 "Mr. Holcroft," she asked very gravely, "will you do 
 something for me?" 
 
 "Yes, half a dozen things." 
 
 "You promise ?"
 
 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 t 
 
 'Certainly. What's the trouble?" 
 
 "I don't mean there shall be any if I can help it," she 
 answered with a light ripple of laughter. "Please go and 
 put on your coat." 
 
 "How you humbugged me ! It's too hot." 
 
 "Oh, you've got to do it; you promised. You can't stay 
 here unless you do." 
 
 "So you are going to take care of me as if I were a small 
 boy?" 
 
 "You need care sometimes." 
 
 He soon came back and asked, "Now may I stay ?" 
 
 "Yes. Please untie the dog. Butter's come." 
 
 "I should think it would, or anything else at your coax- 
 ing." 
 
 "Oh-h, what a speech! Hasn't that a pretty golden 
 hue ?" she asked, holding up a mass of the butter she was 
 ladling from the churn into a wooden tray. 
 
 "Yes, you are making the gilt-edge article now. I don't 
 have to sell it to Tom Watterly any more." 
 
 "I'd like to give him some, though." 
 
 He was silent, and something like sudden rage burned in 
 his heart that Mrs. Watterly would not permit the gift. 
 That any one should frown on his having such a helper as 
 Alida was proving herself to be, made him vindictive. For- 
 tunately her face was turned away and she did not see his 
 heavy frown. Then, to shield her from a disagreeable fact, 
 he said quickly, "Do you know that for over a year I stead- 
 ily went behind my expenses, and that your butter-making 
 has turned the tide already? I'm beginning to get ahead 
 again." 
 
 'Tm so glad," and her face was radiant. 
 
 "Yes, I should know that from your looks. It's clearer 
 every day that I got the best of our bargain. I never 
 dreamed, though, that I should enjoy your society as I do 
 that we should become such very good friends. That wasn't 
 in the bargain, was it?" 
 
 "Bargain!" The spirited way with which she echoed
 
 FARM AND FARMER BEWITCHED 255 
 
 the word, as if thereby repudiating anything like a sordid 
 side to their mutual relations, was not lost on her wonder- 
 ing and admiring partner. She checked herself suddenly. 
 "Now let me teach you how to make butter," and with the 
 tray in her lap, she began washing the golden product and 
 pressing out the milk. 
 
 He laughed in a confused, delighted way at her piquant, 
 half saucy manner as he watched her deft round arm and 
 shapely hand. 
 
 "The farmers' wives in Oakville would say your hands 
 were too little to do much." 
 
 "They would ?" and she raised her blue eyes indignantly 
 to his. "No matter, you are the one to say about that." 
 
 "I say they do too much. I shall have to get Jane to 
 help you." 
 
 "By all means. Then you'll have more society." 
 
 "That was a home shot. You know how I dote on every- 
 body's absence, even Jane's." 
 
 "You dote on butter. See how firm and yellow it's get- 
 ting. You wouldn't think it was milk-white cream a little 
 while ago, would you? Now I'll put in the salt and you 
 must taste it, for you're a connoisseur." 
 
 "A what!" 
 
 "Judge, then." 
 
 "You know a sight more than I do, Alida." 
 
 "I'm learning all the time." 
 
 "So am I to appreciate you." 
 
 "Listen to the sound of the rain and the water as it runs 
 into the milk-cooler. It's like low music, isn't it ?" 
 
 Poor Holcroft could make no better answer than a 
 sneeze. 
 
 "Oh-h," she exclaimed, "you're catching cold! Come, 
 you must go right upstairs. You can't stay here another 
 minute. I'm nearly through. 
 
 "I was never more contented in my life." 
 
 "You've no right to worry me. What would I do if you 
 got sick ? Come, I'll stop work till you go."
 
 256 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 "Well then, little boss, good-by." 
 
 With a half suppressed smile at his obedience Alida 
 watched his reluctant departure. She kept on diligently at 
 work, but one might have fancied that her thoughts rather 
 than her exertions were flushing her cheeks. 
 
 It seemed to her that but a few moments elapsed before 
 she followed him, but he had gone. Then she saw that the 
 rain had ceased and that the clouds were breaking. His 
 cheerful whistle sounded reassuringly from the barn, and a 
 little later he drove up the lane with a cart. 
 
 She sat down in the kitchen and began sewing on the fine 
 linen they had jested about. Before long she heard a light 
 step. Glancing up, she saw the most peculiar and uncanny 
 looking child that had ever crossed her vision and with dis- 
 mal presentiment knew it was Jane.
 
 ANOTHER WAIF 257 
 
 OEAPTEK 
 
 ANOTHEB WAIF 
 
 IT was indeed poor, forlorn little Jane that had appeared 
 like a spectre in the kitchen door. She was as wet and 
 bedraggled as a chicken caught in a shower. A little 
 felt hat hung limp over her ears; her pigtail braid had lost its 
 string and was unraveling at the end, and her torn, sodden 
 shoes were ready to drop from her feet. She looked both 
 curiously and apprehensively at Alida with her little blink- 
 ing eyes, and then asked in a sort of breathless voice, 
 "Where's him?" 
 
 "Mr. Holcroft?" 
 
 Jane nodded. 
 
 "He's gone out to the fields. You are Jane, aren't you ?" 
 
 'Another nod. 
 
 "Oh, dear!" groaned Alida mentally; "I wish she hadn't 
 come." Then with a flush of shame the thought crossed her 
 mind, "She perhaps is as friendless and homeless as I was, 
 and 'him' is also her only hope. Come in, Jane," she said 
 kindly, "and tell me everything." 
 
 "Be you his new girl?" 
 
 "I'm his wife," said Alida, smiling. 
 
 Jane stopped; her mouth opened and her eyes twinkled 
 with dismay. "Then he is married after all?" she gasped. 
 
 "Yes, why not ?" 
 
 "Mother said he'd never get any one to. take him." 
 
 "Well, you see she was mistaken." 
 
 "She's wrong about everything. Well, it's no use then," 
 and the child turned and sat down on the doorstep. 
 
 Alida was perplexed. From the way Jane wiped her
 
 258 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 eyes with her wet sleeve, she was evidently crying. Coming 
 to her, Alida said, "What is no use, Jane? Why are you 
 crying ?" 
 
 "I thought he might p'raps let me stay and work 
 for him." 
 
 Alida was still more perplexed. What could be said by 
 way of comfort, feeling sure as she did that Holcroft would 
 be bitterly hostile to the idea of keeping the child? The 
 best she could do was to draw the little waif out and obtain 
 some explanation of her unexpected appearance. But first 
 she asked, "Have you had any breakfast ?" 
 
 Jane shook her head. 
 
 "Oh, then you must have some right away." 
 
 "Don't want any. I want to die. I oughtn'ter been 
 born." 
 
 "Tell me your troubles, Jane. Perhaps I can help you." 
 
 "No, you'd be like the rest. They all hate me and make 
 me feel I'm in the way. He's the only one that didn't make 
 me feel like a stray cat, and now he's gone and got married," 
 and the child sobbed aloud. 
 
 Her grief was pitiful to see, for it was overwhelming. 
 Alida stooped down, and gently lifting the child up, brought 
 her in. Then she took off the wet hat and wiped the tear- 
 stained face with her handkerchief. "Wait a minute, Jane, 
 till I bring you something," and she ran to the dairy for a 
 glass of milk. "You must drink it," she said, kindly, but 
 firmly. 
 
 The child gulped it down, and with it much of her grief, 
 for this was unprecedented treatment and was winning her 
 attention. 
 
 "Say," she faltered, "will you ask him to let me stay?" 
 
 "Yes, I'll ask him, but I can't promise that he will." 
 
 "You won't ask him 'fore my face and then tell him not 
 to behind my back?" and there was a sly, keen look in her 
 eyes which tears could not conceal. 
 
 "No," said Alida, gravely, "that's not my way. How 
 did you get here, Jane ?"
 
 ANOTHER WAIF 259 
 
 "Run away." 
 
 "From where ?" 
 
 "Poorhouse." 
 
 Alida drew a quick breath and was silent a few moments. 
 "Is is your mother there ?" she asked at length. 
 
 "Yes. They wouldn't let us visit round any longer." 
 
 "Didn't your mother or any one know you were coming ?" 
 
 Jane shook her head. 
 
 Alida felt that it would be useless to burden the unhappy 
 child with misgivings as to the result, and her heart softened 
 toward her as one who in her limited way had known the 
 bitterness and dread which in that same almshouse had over- 
 whelmed her own spirit. She could only say gently, "Well, 
 wait till Mr. Holcroft comes, and then we'll see what he 
 says." She herself was both curious and anxious as to his 
 course. "It will be a heavy cross," she thought, "but I 
 should little deserve God's goodness to me if I did not be- 
 friend this child." 
 
 Every moment added weight to this unexpected burden 
 of duty. Apart from all consideration of Jane's peculiari- 
 ties, the isolation with Holcroft had been a delight in itself. 
 Their mutual enjoyment of each other's society had been 
 growing from day to day, and she, more truly than he, had 
 shrunk from the presence of another as an unwelcome in- 
 trusion. Conscious of her secret, Jane's prying eyes were 
 already beginning to irritate her nerves. Never had she 
 seen a human face that so completely embodied her idea of 
 inquisitiveness as the uncanny visage of this child. She saw 
 that she would be watched with a tireless vigilance. Her 
 recoil, however, was not so much a matter of conscious rea- 
 soning and perception as it was an instinctive feeling of re- 
 pulsion caused by the unfortunate child. It was the same 
 old story. Jane always put the women of the household on 
 pins and needles just as her mother exasperated the men. 
 Alida had to struggle hard during a comparatively silent 
 hour to fight down the hope that Holcroft would not listen 
 to Jane's and her own request.
 
 260 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 As she stepped quickly and lightly about in her prepara- 
 tions for dinner, the girl watched her intently. At last she 
 gave voice to her thoughts and said, "If mother'd only 
 worked round smart as you, p'raps she'd hooked him 'stid er 
 you." 
 
 Alida's only reply was a slight frown, for the remark sug- 
 gested disagreeable images and fancies. "Oh, how can I 
 endure it 2" she, sighed. She determined to let Jane plead 
 her own cause at first, thinking that perhaps this would be 
 the safest way. If necessary, she would use her influence 
 against a hostile decision, let it cost in discomfort what it 
 might. 
 
 At a few moments before twelve the farmer came briskly 
 toward the house, and wa& evidently in the best of spirits. 
 When he entered and saw Jane, his countenance indicated so 
 much dismay that Alida could scarcely repress a smile. The 
 child rose and stood before him like a culprit awaiting sen- 
 tence. She winked hard to keep the tears back, for there 
 was no welcome in his manner. She could not know how 
 intensely distasteful was her presence at this time, nor had 
 Holcroft himself imagined how unwelcome a third person in 
 his house could be until he saw the intruder before him. 
 He had only felt that he was wonderfully contented and 
 happy in his home and that Jane would be a constant source 
 of annoyance and restraint. Moreover, it might lead to visi- 
 tation from Mrs. Mumpson, and that was the summing up of 
 earthly ills. But the child's appearance and manner were 
 so forlorn and deprecating that words of irritation died upon 
 his lips. He gravely shook hands with her and then drew 
 out the story which Alida had learned. 
 
 "Why, Jane," he exclaimed, frowning, "Mr. Watterly 
 will be scouring the country for you. I shall have to take 
 you back right after dinner." 
 
 "I kinder hoped," she sobbed, "that you'd let me stay. 
 I'd stay in the barn if I couldn't be in the house. I'd just 
 as soon work outdoors, too." 
 
 "I don't think you'd be allowed to stay," said the fanner,
 
 ANOTHER WAIF 261 
 
 with a sinking heart ; "and then perhaps your mother would 
 be coming here." 
 
 "I can't stand mother no more'n you can," said the girl, 
 through her set teeth. "I oughtn'ter been born, for there's 
 no place for me in the world." 
 
 Holcroft looked at his wife, his face expressive of the 
 utmost annoyance, worry and irresolution. Her glance was 
 sympathetic, but she said nothing, feeling that if he could 
 make the sacrifice from his own will he should have the 
 chance. "You can't begin to know how much trouble this 
 may lead to, Jane," he resumed. "You remember how 
 your mother threatened to take the law upon me, and it 
 wouldn't be possible for you to stay here without her con- 
 sent." 
 
 "She oughter consent; I'll make her consent," cried the 
 child, speaking as if driven to desperation. "What's she 
 ever done for me but teach me mean ways? Keep me or 
 kill me, for I must be in some place where I've a right to 
 be away from mother. I've found that there's no sense in 
 her talk and it drives me crazy." 
 
 Although Jane's words and utterance were strangely un- 
 couth, they contained a despairing echo which the farmer 
 could not resist. Turning his troubled face to his wife, he 
 began, "If this is possible, Alida, it will be a great deal 
 harder on you than it will on me. I don't feel that I would 
 be doing right by you unless you gave your consent with 
 full knowledge of " 
 
 "Then please let her stay, if it is possible. She seems to 
 need a friend and home as much as another that you heard 
 about." 
 
 "There's no chance of such a blessed reward in this case," 
 he replied, with a grim laugh. Then, perplexed indeed, 
 he continued to Jane, "I'm just as sorry for you as I can be, 
 but there's no use of getting my wife and self in trouble 
 which in the end will do you no good. You are too young 
 to understand all that your staying may lead to." 
 
 "It won't lead to mother's comin' here, and that's the
 
 262 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 worst that could happen. Since she can't do anything for 
 me she's got to let me do for myself." 
 
 "Alida, please come with me in the parlor a moment. 
 You stay here, Jane." When they were alone, he resumed, 
 "Somehow, I feel strangely unwilling to have that child live 
 with us. We were enjoying our quiet life so much. Then 
 you don't realize how uncomfortable she will make you, 
 Alida." 
 
 "Yes, I do." 
 
 "I don't think you can yet. Your sympathies are 
 touched now, but she'll watch you and irritate you in a hun- 
 dred ways. Don't her very presence make you uncom- 
 fortable?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, then, she can't stay," he began, decidedly. "This 
 is your home and no one shall make you uncomfortable " 
 
 "But I should be a great deal more uncomfortable if she 
 didn't stay," Alida interrupted. "I should feel that I did 
 not deserve my home. Not long ago, my heart was break- 
 ing because I was friendless and in trouble. What could I 
 think of myself if I did not entreat you in behalf of this 
 poor child ?" 
 
 "Thunder !" ejaculated Holcroft. "I guess I was rather 
 friendless and troubled myself and I didn't know the world 
 had in it such a good friend as you've become, Alida. Well, 
 well, you've put it in such a light that I'd be almost tempted 
 to take the mother, also." 
 
 "No," she replied, laughing, "we'll draw the line at the 
 mother." 
 
 "Well, I'll take Jane to town this afternoon, and if her 
 mother will sign an agreement to leave us all in peace, we'll 
 give up our old cosey comfort of being alone. I suppose 
 it must be a good deed, since it's so mighty hard to do it," 
 he concluded with a wry face, leading the way to the kitchen 
 again. She smiled as if his words were already rewarding 
 her self-denial. 
 
 "Well, Jane," he resumed, "Mrs. Holcroft has spoken in
 
 ANOTHER WAIF 263 
 
 your behalf, and if we can arrange matters so that you can 
 stay you will have her to thank chiefly. I'll take you back 
 to the poorhouse after dinner, so it may be known what's 
 become of you. Then if your mother'll sign an agreement 
 to make no trouble and not come here, we'll give you a home 
 until we can find a better place for you." 
 
 There was no outburst of gratitude. The repressed, 
 dwarfed nature of the child was incapable of this, yet there 
 was an unwonted little thrill of hope in her heart. Possibly 
 it was like the beginning of life in a seed under the first 
 spring rays of the sun. She merely nodded to Holcroft as 
 if the matter had been settled as far as it could be and 
 ignored Alida. 
 
 "Why don't you thank Mrs. Holcroft?" he asked. 
 
 Then Jane turned and nodded at Alida. Her vocabulary 
 of thanks was undeveloped. 
 
 "She's glad," said Alida. "You'll see. Now that it's 
 settled, we hope you're hungry, Jane, aren't you?" 
 
 "Yes, I be. Can't I help you put things on the table ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Holcroft looked at the two for a moment and then shook 
 his head as he went up to his room. "I thought my wife 
 was nice and pleasant-looking before," he thought, "but she's 
 like a picture beside that child. Well, she has behaved 
 handsomely. Tom Watterly didn't tell half the truth when 
 he said she was not of the common run. She's a Christian 
 in deeds, not talk. What's that in Scripture about 'I was 
 hungry' ? Well, well, she makes religion kind of natural 
 and plain like, whether it's easy or not. Thunder! what 
 a joke it is to see her so grateful because I've given her a 
 chance to help me out of the worst scrape a man could be 
 in! As if she hadn't changed everything for the better! 
 Here I am sure of my home and getting ahead in the world 
 again, and it's all her doing." 
 
 In admiration of his wife, Holcroft quite forgot that 
 there had been any self-sacrifice on his part, and he con- 
 cluded that he could endure Jane and almost anything else as
 
 264 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 long as Alida continued to look after his comfort and in- 
 terests. 
 
 Now that the worst stress of Jane's anxiety was over, she 
 proved that she was half starved. Indeed, she had few mis- 
 givings now, for her confidence that Holcroft would accom- 
 plish what he attempted was almost unbounded. It was a 
 rather silent meal at first, for the farmer and his wife had 
 much to think about and Jane much to do in making up for 
 many limited meals. At last Holcroft smiled so broadly 
 that Alida said, "Something seems to please you." 
 
 "Yes, more than one thing. It might be a great deal 
 worse, and was, not long ago. I was thinking of old times." 
 
 "How pleasant they must have been, to make you look so 
 happy !" 
 
 "They had their uses, and make me think of a picture I 
 saw in a store window in town. It was a picture of a wo- 
 man, and she took my fancy amazingly. But the point up- 
 permost in my mind was a trick of the fellow who painted 
 her. He had made the background as dark as night and so 
 she stood out as if alive; and she looked so sweet and good 
 that I felt like shaking hands with her. I now see why the 
 painter made the background so dark." 
 
 Alida smiled mischievously as she replied, "That was 
 his art. He knew that almost any one would appear well 
 against such a background." 
 
 But Holcroft was much too direct to be diverted from his 
 thought or its expression. "The man knew the mighty nice- 
 looking woman he had painted would look well," he said, 
 "and I know of another woman who appears better against 
 a darker background. That's enough to make a man smile 
 who has been through what I have." 
 
 She could not help a flush of pleasure or disguise the 
 happy light in her eyes, but she looked significantly at Jane, 
 who, mystified and curious, was glancing from one to the 
 other. 
 
 "Confound it !" thought the farmer. "That'll be the way
 
 ANOTHER WAIF 265 
 
 of it now. Here's a little pitcher that is nearly all ears. 
 Well, we're in for it and must do our duty." 
 
 Going to town that day involved no slight inconvenience, 
 but Holcroft dropped everything and rapidly made his prep- 
 arations. 
 
 When Alida was left alone with Jane, the latter began 
 clearing the table with alacrity, and, after a few furtive 
 glances at Mrs. Holcroft, yielded to the feeling that she 
 should make some acknowledgment of the intercession in 
 her behalf. "Say," she began, "I thought you wasn't goin' 
 to stand up for me after all. Woman folks are liars, 
 mostly." 
 
 "You are mistaken, Jane. If you wish to stay with us, 
 you must tell the truth and drop all sly ways." 
 
 "That's what he said when I first come." 
 
 "I say it too. You see a good deal, Jane. Try to see 
 what will please people instead of what you can find out 
 about them. It's a much better plan. Now, as a friend, I 
 tell you of one thing you had better not do. You shouldn't 
 watch and listen to Mr. Holcroft unless he speaks to you. 
 He doesn't like to be watched no one does. It isn't nice; 
 and if you come to us, I think you will try to do what is nice. 
 Am I not right?" 
 
 "I dunno how," said Jane. 
 
 "It will be part of my business to teach you. You ought 
 to understand all about your coming. Mr. Holcroft doesn't 
 take you because he needs your work, but because he's sorry 
 for you, and wishes to give you a chance to do better and 
 learn something. You must make up your mind to lessons, 
 and learning to talk and act nicely, as well as to do such work 
 as is given you. Are you willing to do what I say and mind 
 me pleasantly and promptly?" 
 
 Jane looked askance at the speaker and was vaguely sus- 
 picious of some trick. In her previous sojourn at the farm- 
 house she had concluded that it was her best policy to keep 
 in Holcroft's good graces, even though she had to defy her 
 
 mother and Mrs. Wiggins, and she was now by no means 
 R-LXVIII
 
 266 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 ready to commit herself to this new domestic power. She 
 had received the impression that the authority and continued 
 residence of females in this household was involved in much 
 uncertainty, and although Alida was in favor now and the 
 farmer's wife, she didn't know what "vicissitudes" (as her 
 mother would indicate them) might occur. Holcroft was 
 the only fixed and certain quantity in her troubled thoughts, 
 and after a little hesitation she replied, "I'll do what he 
 says ; I'm goin' to mind him." 
 
 "Suppose he tells you to mind me ?" 
 
 "Then I will. That 'ud be mindin' him. I'm goin' to 
 stick to him, for I made out by it better before than by 
 mindin' mother and Mrs. Wiggins." 
 
 Alida now understood the child and laughed aloud. 
 "You are right," she said. "I won't ask you to do any- 
 thing contrary to his wishes. Now tell me, Jane, what other 
 clothes have you besides those you are wearing ?" 
 
 It did not take the girl long to inventory her scanty ward- 
 robe, and then Alida rapidly made out a list of what was 
 needed immediately. "Wait here," she said, and putting 
 on a pretty ^straw hat, one of her recent purchases, she started 
 for the barn. 
 
 Holcroft had his wagon and team almost ready when 
 Alida joined him, and led the way to the floor between the 
 sweet-smelling hay-mows. 
 
 "One thing leads to another," she began, looking at him 
 a little deprecatingly. "You must have noticed the condi- 
 tion of Jane's clothes." 
 
 "She does look like a little scarecrow, now I come to 
 think of it," he admitted. 
 
 "Yes, she's not much better off than I was," Alida re- 
 turned, with downcast eyes and rising color. 
 
 Her flushing face was so pretty under the straw hat, and 
 the dark mow as a background brought out her figure so 
 finely, that he thought of the picture again and laughed aloud 
 for pleasure. She looked up in questioning surprise, thus 
 adding a new grace.
 
 ANOTHER WAIF 267 
 
 "I wish that artist fellow was here now," he exclaimed. 
 "Tie could make another picture that would suit me better 
 than the one I saw in town." 
 
 "What nonsense !" she cried, quickly averting her face 
 from his admiring scrutiny. "Come, I'm here to talk busi- 
 ness and you've no time to waste. I've made out a list of 
 what the child actually must have to be respectable." 
 
 "You're right, Alida," said the farmer, becoming grave 
 at once over a question of dollars and cents. "As you say, 
 one thing leads to another, and if we take the girl we must 
 clothe her decently. But then, I guess she'll earn enough to 
 pay her way. It isn't that I worry about so much," he broke 
 out, discontentedly, "but the interference with our quiet, 
 cosey life. Things are going so smoothly and pleasantly that 
 I hate a change of any kind." 
 
 "We mustn't be selfish, you know," she replied. "You 
 are doing a kind, generous act, and I respect you all the 
 more for it." 
 
 "That settles everything. You'll like me a little bettSr 
 for it, too, won't you ?" he asked, hesitatingly. 
 
 She laughed outright at this question and answered, "It 
 won't do to take too much self-sacrifice out of your act. 
 That's something which does us all good. She ought to have 
 a spelling and a writing book also." 
 
 Holcrof t was assuredly falling under the sway of the little 
 blind god, for he began at once to misunderstand Alida. 
 '"You are very fond of self-sacrifice," he said, rather stiffly. 
 "Yes, I'll get everything on your list," and he took it from 
 her hand. "Now I must be off," he added, "for I wish to 
 get back before night, and it's so warm I can't drive fast. 
 Sorry I have to go, for I can't say I dote on self-sacrifice." 
 
 Alida but partially understood his sudden change, of 
 mood, nor was the farmer much better enlightened himself 
 in regard to his irritation. He had received an unexpected 
 impression and it seemed to fit in with other things and ex- 
 plain them. She returned slowly and dejectedly to the 
 house, leaving unsaid the words she meant to speak about
 
 268 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 Jane's relations to her. Now she wished that she had imi- 
 tated Jane, and merely nodded to the farmer's question. "If 
 he knew how far I am beyond the point of liking, I don't 
 know what he'd do or say," she thought, "and I suppose 
 that's the reason I couldn't answer him frankly, in a way 
 that would have satisfied him. It's a pity I couldn't begin 
 to just like a little at first, as he does, and have everything 
 grow as gradually and quietly as one of his cornstalks. That's 
 the way I meant it should be; but when he stood up for me 
 and defended me from those men, my heart just melted, and 
 in spite of myself, I felt I could die for him. It can't be 
 such an awful thing for a woman to fall in love with her hus- 
 band, and yet yet I'd rather put my hand in the fire than 
 let him know how I feel. Oh, dear! I wish Jane hadn't 
 been born, as she says. Trouble is beginning already, and it 
 was all so nice before she came." 
 
 In a few moments Holcrof t drove up. Alida stood in the 
 door and looked timidly at him. He thought she appeared 
 a*little pale and troubled, but his bad mood prevailed and he 
 only asked briefly, "Can't I get something for you ?" 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "Well, good-by, then," and he drove away with Jane, 
 who was confirmed in her line of policy. "She's afraid of 
 'im too," thought the child. "Mind her ! guess not, unless he 
 says so." She watched the farmer furtively and concluded 
 that she had never known him to look more grim or be more 
 silent even under her mother's blandishments. "He's mar- 
 ried this one, I s'pose, to keep house for 'im, but he don't 
 like her follerin' 'im up or bein' for'ard any more'n he did 
 mother. Shouldn't wonder if he didn't keep her, either, if 
 she don't suit better. She needn't 'a' put on such airs with 
 me, for I'm goin' to stick to him."
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE IN TROUBLE 269 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIX 
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE IN TROUBLE 
 
 LIKE many others with simple, strong natures, Holcroft 
 could not be wrong-headed moderately, and his 
 thoughts, once started in a direction, were apt to carry 
 him much further than the cause warranted. Engrossed in 
 painful and rather bitter musings, he paid no heed to Jane, 
 and almost forgot his errand to town. "I was a fool to ask 
 that question," he thought. "I was getting silly and senti- 
 mental with my talk about the picture and all that. She 
 laughed at me and reminded me I was wasting time. Of 
 course she can't like an old, hard-featured man like me. 
 I'm beginning to understand her now. She made a business 
 marriage with me and means to live up to her agreement. 
 She's honest; she feels I've done her a great kindness in 
 giving her a home, and she's willing to be as self-sacrificing 
 as the day is long to make it up to me. I wish she wasn't 
 so grateful; there's no occasion for it. I don't want her to 
 feel that every pleasant word and every nice act is so much 
 toward paying a debt. If there was any balance in my 
 favor, it was squared up long ago, and I was willing to call 
 it even from the start. She's made me like her for her own 
 sake and not on account of what she does for me, and that's 
 what I had in mind. But she's my superior in every way; 
 she's growing to be as pretty as a picture and I suppose I 
 appear like a rather rough customer. Well, I can't help it, 
 but it rather goes against me to have her think, 'I've married 
 him and I'm going to do my duty by him just as I agreed.' 
 She'll do her duty by this Jane in the same self-sacrificing 
 spirit, and will try to make it pleasant for the child just be-
 
 270 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 cause it's right and because she herself was taken out of 
 trouble. That's the shape her religion takes. 'Tisn't a com- 
 mon form, I know this returning good for good with com- 
 pound interest. But her conscience won't let her rest unless 
 she does everything she can for me, and now she'll begin to 
 do everything for Jane because she feels that self-sacrifice is 
 a duty. Anybody can be self -sacrificing. If I made up my 
 mind, I could ask Mrs. Mumpson to visit us all summer, but 
 I couldn't like her to save my life, and I don't suppose Alida 
 can like me, beyond a certain point, to save her life. But 
 she'll do her duty. She'll be pleasant and self-sacrificing 
 and do all the work she can lay her hands on for my sake; 
 but when it comes to feeling toward me as I can't help feel- 
 ing toward her that wasn't in the bargain," and he startled 
 Jane with a sudden bitter laugh. 
 
 "Say," said the child, as if bent on adding another poign- 
 ant reflection, "if you hadn't married her I could V come 
 and cooked for you." 
 
 "You think I'd been better off if I'd waited for you, eh ?" 
 
 "You kinder looked as if yer thought so." 
 
 He now made the hills echo with a laugh, excited both 
 by his bitter fancies and the preposterous idea. She looked 
 at him inquiringly and was much perplexed by his unwonted 
 behavior. Indeed, he was slightly astonished at his own 
 strange mood, but he yielded to it almost recklessly. "I 
 say, Jane," he began, "I'm not a very good-looking man, 
 am I?" 
 
 She shook her head in emphatic agreement. 
 
 "I'm old and rough and hard-featured ?" 
 
 Again she nodded approvingly. 
 
 "Children and some others speak the truth," he growled. 
 
 "I never had no teachin', but I'm not a fool," remarked 
 Jane, keenly. 
 
 "I guess I'm the fool in this case," he added. 
 
 "It don't make no difference to me," she said, sympa- 
 thetically. "I'm goin' to mind you and not her. If you 
 ever send her away I'll cook for you."
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE IN TROUBLE 271 
 
 "Send her away!" exclaimed the farmer, with a shiver. 
 "God forbid. There, don't talk any more." 
 
 For the next half mile he drove in silence, with a heavy 
 frown on his face ; then he broke out sternly, "If you don't 
 promise to mind Mrs. Holcroft and please her in everything, 
 I'll leave you at the poorhouse door and drive home again." 
 
 "Course I will, if you tells me to," said the child in 
 trepidation. 
 
 "Well, I do. People will find that making her trouble is 
 the surest way of making themselves trouble." 
 
 "She's got some hold on 'im," concluded Jane, who, in 
 listening to much gossip, had often heard this expression, 
 and now made a practical application of the idea. 
 
 Watterly was greatly relieved when he saw Holcroft 
 drive up with the fugitive. "I was just going out to your 
 place," he said, "for the girl's mother insisted that you had 
 enticed the child away," and the man laughed, as if the idea 
 tickled him immensely. 
 
 Holcroft frowned, for he was in no mood for his friend's 
 rough jests. "Go to your mother till I send for you," he 
 said to Jane. 
 
 "The fact that you had taken two other females from the 
 house gave some color to Mrs. Mumpson's view," pursued. 
 Watterly, who could take only the broadest hint as to his 
 social conduct. 
 
 He .received one now. "Tom Watterly/' said the 
 farmer, sternly, "did I ever insult your wife ?" 
 
 "By jocks ! no, you nor no other man. I should say not." 
 
 "Well, then, don't you insult mine. Before I'd seen 
 Mrs. Holcroft, you told me she was out of the common run 
 how much out, you little know and I don't want her mixed 
 up with the common run, even in your thoughts." 
 
 "Well, now, I like that," said Watterly, giving Holcroft 
 his hand. "You know I didn't mean any offence, Jim. It 
 was only one of my foolish jokes. You were mighty slow 
 to promise to love, honor and obey, but hanged if you ain't
 
 272 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 more on that line than any man in town. I can see she's 
 turning out well and keeping her agreement." 
 
 "Yes, that's just what she's doing," said the farmer, 
 gloomily. "She's a good, capable woman that'll sacrifice her- 
 self to her duty any day. But it wasn't to talk about her 
 that I came. She's a sight better than I am, but she's prob- 
 ably not good enough for anybody in this town to speak to." 
 
 "Oh, pshaw, now, Jim!" 
 
 "Well, I've come on disagreeable business. I didn't 
 know that Mrs. Mumpson and her child were here, and I 
 wish to the Lord they could both stay here! You've found 
 out what the mother is, I suppose ?" 
 
 "I should say so," replied Tom, laughing. "She's talked 
 several of the old women to death already. The first day 
 she was here she called on my wife and claimed social re- 
 lations, because she's so 'respecterbly connected,' as she says. 
 I thought Angy'd have a fit. Her respectable connections 
 have got to take her off my hands." 
 
 "I'm not one of 'em, thank goodness," resumed Hoi- 
 croft. "But I'm willing to take the girl and give her a 
 chance at least I'll do it," he corrected himself in his strict 
 observance of truth. "You can see she's not a child to dote 
 on, but I was sorry for her when I sent her mother away 
 and said I'd try and do something for her. The first thing 
 I knew she was at the house, begging me to either take her in 
 or kill her. I couldn't say no, though I wanted to. Now 
 you see what kind of a good Samaritan I am." 
 
 "Oh, I know you. You'd hit a man between the eyes if 
 he charged you with doing a good deed. But what does your 
 wife say to adopting such a cherub ?" 
 
 "We're not going to adopt her or bind ourselves. My 
 wife took the child's part and plead with me in her behalf, 
 though I could see the young one almost made her sick. 
 She thinks it's her duty, you know, and that's enough for 
 her." 
 
 "By jocks ! Holcrof t, she don't feel that way about you, 
 does she ?"
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE IN TROUBLE 273 
 
 "Why shouldn't she ?" 
 
 "Why should she? I can take about anything from 
 Angy, but it wouldn't do for her to let me see that she dis- 
 liked me so that I kinder made her sick." 
 
 "Oh, thunder, Tom! you're getting a wrong impression. 
 I was never treated better by anybody in my life than by 
 Mrs. Holcrof t. She's a lady, every inch of her. But there's 
 no reason why she should dote on an old fellow like me." 
 
 "Yes, there is. I have my opinion of a woman who 
 wouldn't dote on a man that's been such a friend as you 
 have." 
 
 "Oh, hang it all, Tom! let's talk about business. She's 
 too grateful that's what worries me. By the way she took 
 hold and filled the house with comfort, she made everything 
 even from the start. She's been as good a friend to me as 
 I to her. She's done all she agreed and more, and I'll never 
 hear a word against her. The point I've been trying to get 
 at is this. If Mrs. Mumpson will agree never to come near 
 us or make trouble in any way, we'll take the child. If 
 she won't so agree, I'll have nothing to do with the girl. I 
 don't want to see her mother, and you'd do me one of the 
 kindest turns you ever did a man by stating the case to her." 
 
 "If I do," said Watterly, laughing, "you'll have to for- 
 give me everything in the past and the future." 
 
 "I will, Tom, for I'd rather have an eye tooth pulled than 
 face that woman. We're all right just as we used to be at 
 school, always half quarrelling, yet ready to stand up for 
 each other to the last drop. But I must have her promise in 
 black and white." 
 
 "Well, come to my office and we'll try to arrange it. The 
 law is on your side, for the county won't support people 
 that any one will take off its hands. Besides, I'm going to 
 shame the woman's relations into taking her away, and they'll 
 be glad there's one less to support." 
 
 They drew up a brief, strong agreement, and Watterly 
 took it to the widow to sign. He found her in great excite- 
 ment and Jane looking at her defiantly. "I told you he
 
 274 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 was the one who enticed away my offspring," she began, al- 
 most hysterically. "He's a cold-blooded villain. If there's 
 law in the land I'll" 
 
 "Stop," thundered Watterly. His voice was so high and 
 authoritative that she did stop, and with open mouth stared 
 at the superintendent. "Now, be quiet and listen to me," 
 he continued. "Either you are a sane woman and can stop 
 this foolishness, or else you are insane and must be treated 
 as such. You have your choice. You can't tell me anything 
 about Holcroft ; I've known him since he was a boy. He 
 doesn't want your girl. She ran away to him, didn't you?" 
 to Jane, who nodded. "But he's willing to take her, to teach 
 her something and give her a chance. His motive is pure 
 kindness and he has a good wife who'll " 
 
 "I see it all," cried the widow, tragically clasping her 
 hands. "It's his wife's doings. She wishes to triumph over 
 me, and even to usurp my place in ministering to my child. 
 Was there ever such an outrage? Such a bold, vindictive 
 female " 
 
 Here Jane, in a paroxysm of indignant protest, seized her 
 mother and began to shake her so violently that she could 
 not speak. 
 
 "Stop that," said Watterly, repressing laughter with diffi- 
 culty. "I see you are insane and the law will have to step 
 in and take care of you both." 
 
 "What will it do with us?" gasped the widow. 
 
 "Well, it ought to put you in strait-jackets, to begin 
 with" 
 
 "I've got sense if mother ain't," cried Jane, commencing 
 to sob. 
 
 "It's plain the law'll decide your mother's not fit to take 
 care of you. Any one who can even imagine such silly, 
 ridiculous things as she's just said must be looked after. 
 You may take a notion, Mrs. Mumpson, that I'm a murderer 
 or a giraffe. It would be just as sensible as your other talk." 
 
 "What does Mr. Holcroft offer ?" said the widow, cooling 
 off rapidly. If there was an atom of common sense left in
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE Iff TROUBLE 275 
 
 any of his pauper charges, Watterly soon brought it into 
 play, and his vague threatenings of law were always awe- 
 inspiring. 
 
 "He makes a very kind offer, that you would jump at if 
 you had sense a good home for your child. You ought to 
 know she can't stay here and live on charity if any one is 
 willing to take her." 
 
 "Of course I would be permitted to visit my child from 
 time to time? He couldn't be so monstrously hard-hearted 
 as" 
 
 "Oh, nonsense !" cried Watterly, impatiently. "The 
 idea of his letting you come to his house after what you've 
 said about him! I've no time to waste in foolishness, or he 
 either. He will let Jane visit you, but you are to sign this 
 paper and keep the agreement not to go near him or make 
 any trouble whatever." 
 
 "It's an abominable " 
 
 "Tut! tut! that kind of talk isn't allowed here. If you 
 can't decide like a sane woman the law'll soon decide for 
 you." 
 
 As was always the case when Mrs. Mumpson reached the 
 inevitable, she yielded ; the paper was signed, and Jane, who 
 had already made up her small bundle, nodded triumphantly 
 to her mother and followed Watterly. Mrs. Mumpson, on 
 tiptoe, followed also, bent on either propitiating Holcroft 
 and so preparing the way for a visit, or else on giving him 
 once more a "piece of her mind." 
 
 "All right, Holcroft," said Watterly, as he entered the 
 office, "here's the paper signed. Was there ever such an 
 id" 
 
 "Oh, how do you do, Mr. Holcroft," cried the widow, 
 bursting in and rushing forward with extended hand. 
 
 The farmer turned away and looked as if made of stone. 
 
 Changing her tactics instantly, she put her handkerchief 
 to her eyes and moaned, "You never can have the heart to 
 say I can't come and see my child. I've signed writings, 'tis
 
 276 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 true, under threats and compulsions; but I trust there will be 
 relentings " 
 
 "There won't be one relent," cried Jane. "I never want 
 to see you again, and a blind post could see that he doesn't." 
 
 "Jane," said Holcroft, sternly, "don't speak so again. If 
 strangers can be kind and patient with you, you can be so 
 with your mother. She has no claims on me and has said 
 things which make it impossible for me to speak to her 
 again, but I shall insist on your visiting and treating her 
 kindly. Good-by, Watterly. You've proved yourself a 
 friend again," and he went rapidly away, followed by Jane. 
 
 Mrs. Mumpson was so taken back by Holcroft's final 
 words and Watterly's stern manner as he said, "This is my 
 office," that for once in her life she disappeared silently. 
 
 Holcroft soon purchased the articles on his list, mean- 
 while racking his brains to think of something that he 
 could buy for Alida, but the fear of being thought senti- 
 mental and of appearing to seek a personal regard for him- 
 self, not "nominated in the bond," restrained him. 
 
 On his way home, he was again sunk in deep abstraction, 
 but the bitterness of his feeling had passed away. Although 
 as mistaken as before in his apprehension of Alida, his 
 thoughts were kinder and juster. "I've no right to find fault 
 or complain," he said to himself. "She's done all I asked 
 and better than she agreed, and there's no one to blame 
 if she can't do more. It must have been plain enough to her 
 at first that I didn't want anything but a housekeeper a 
 quiet, friendly body that would look after the house and 
 dairy, and she's done better than I even hoped. That's just 
 the trouble; she's turned out so different from what I ex- 
 pected and looks so different from what she did, that I'm just 
 sort of carried away. I'd give half the farm if she was sit- 
 ting by my side this June evening and I could tell her all I 
 feel and know she was glad. I must be just and fair to her. 
 I asked her to agree to one thing and now I'm beginning to 
 want a tremendous sight more I want her to like not only 
 her home and work and the quiet life she so longed for, but
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE IN TROUBLE 277 
 
 I want her to like me, to enjoy my society, not only in a 
 friendly, business-like way, but in another way yes, con- 
 found my slow wits ! somewhat as if she was my wife in 
 reality and not merely in name, as I insisted. It's mighty 
 mean business in me, who have been so proud of standing up 
 to my agreements and so exacting of others to do the same. I 
 went away cold and stiff this afternoon because she wasn't 
 silly and sentimental when I was. I'm to her an unpolished, 
 homely, middle-aged man, and yet I sort of scoffed at the 
 self-sacrifice which has led her to be pleasant and compan- 
 ionable in every way that her feelings allowed. I wish I 
 were younger and better looking, so it wouldn't all be a sense 
 of duty and gratitude. Gratitude be hanged! I don't want 
 any more of it. Well, now, James Holcroft, if you're the 
 square man you supposed yourself to be, you'll be just as kind 
 and considerate as you know how, and then you'll leave Alida 
 to the quiet, peaceful life to which she looked forward when 
 she married you. The thing for you to do is to go back to 
 your first ways after you were married and attend to the 
 farm. She doesn't want you hanging around and looking at 
 her as if she was one of her own posies. That's something 
 she wasn't led to expect and it would be mean enough to 
 force it upon her before she shows that she wishes it, and I 
 couldn't complain if she never wished it." . 
 
 During the first hour after Holcroft's departure, Alida 
 had been perplexed and worried, but her intuitions soon led 
 to hopefulness, and the beauty and peace of nature without 
 aided in restoring her serenity. The more minutely she 
 dwelt on Holcroft's words and manner, the more true it 
 seemed that he was learning to take an interest in her that 
 was personal and apart from every other consideration. "If 
 I am gentle, patient and faithful," she thought, "all will 
 come out right. He is so true and straightforward that I 
 need have no fears." 
 
 When he returned and greeted her with what seemed his 
 old, friendly, natural manner, and, during a temporary ab- 
 sence of Jane, told her laughingly of the Mumpson episode,
 
 278 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 she was almost completely reassured. "Suppose the widow 
 breaks through all restraint and appears as did Jane, what 
 would you do ?" he asked. 
 
 "Whatever you wished," she replied, smiling. 
 
 "In other words, what you thought your duty ?" 
 
 "I suppose that is what one should try to do." 
 
 "I guess you are the one that would succeed in doing it, 
 even to Mrs. Mumpson," he said, turning hastily away and 
 going to his room. 
 
 She was puzzled again. "I'm sure I don't dote on self- 
 sacrifice and hard duty any more than he does, but I can't 
 tell him that duty is not hard when it's to him." 
 
 Jane was given the room over the kitchen which Mrs. 
 Wiggins had occupied, and the farmhouse soon adopted her 
 into its quiet routine. Holcroft's course continued to cause 
 Alida a dissatisfaction which she could scarcely define. He 
 was as kind as ever he had been and even more considerate ; 
 he not only gratified her wishes, but tried to anticipate them, 
 while Jane's complete subserviency proved that she had been 
 spoken to very plainly. 
 
 One day she missed her spelling lesson for the third time, 
 and Alida told her that she must learn it thoroughly before 
 going out. The child took the book reluctantly, yet without 
 a word. "That's a good girl," said Alida, wishing to en- 
 courage her. "I was afraid at first you wouldn't mind me 
 so readily." 
 
 "He told me to ; he'd fire me out the window if I didn't 
 mind you." 
 
 "Oh, no, I think he's very kind to you." 
 
 "Well, he's kind to you, too." 
 
 "Yes, he has always been kind to me," said Alida, gently, 
 lingeringly, as if the thought were pleasant to dwell upon. 
 
 "Say," said Jane, yielding to her curiosity, "how did you 
 make him so afraid of you when he don't like you? He 
 didn't like mother, but he wasn't afraid of her." 
 
 "Why do you think he doesn't like me ?" Alida faltered, 
 turning very pale.
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE IN TROUBLE 279 
 
 "Oh, 'cause he looked once just as he did after mother'd 
 been goin' for " 
 
 "There, be still. You mustn't speak of such things or 
 talk to me about Mr. Holcroft in such a way," and she 
 hastily left the kitchen. When in the solitude of her own 
 room, she gave way to bitter tears. " Is it so plain," she 
 thought, "that even this ignorant child sees it? And the 
 unhappy change began the day she came, too. I can't un- 
 derstand it. We were so happy before; and he seemed to 
 enjoy being near me and talking to me when his work per- 
 mitted. He used to look into my eyes in a way that made 
 me hope and, indeed, feel almost sure. I receive no more 
 such looks ; he seems only trying to do his duty by me as he 
 promised at first, and acts as if it were all duty, a mere mat- 
 ter of conscience. Could he have discovered how I felt, and 
 so is taking this way to remind me that nothing of the kind 
 was in our agreement? Well, I've no reason to complain; 
 I accepted the relation of my own free will, but it's hard, 
 hard indeed for a woman who loves a man with her whole 
 heart and soul and he her husband to go on meeting him 
 day after day, yet act as if she were his mere business part- 
 ner. But I can't help myself, my very nature as well as a 
 sense of his rights prevents me from asking more or even 
 showing that I wish for more. That would be asking for it. 
 But can it be true that he is positively learning to dislike me ? 
 to shrink from me with that strong repulsion which women 
 feel toward some men ? Oh, if that is true, the case is hope- 
 less; it would kill me. Every effort to win him, even the 
 most delicate and unobtrusive, would only drive him further 
 away ; the deepest instincts of his soul would lead him to 
 withdraw to shun me. If this is true, the time may come 
 when, so far from my filling his home with comfort, I shall 
 make him dread to enter it. Oh, oh ; my only course is to 
 remember just what I promised and he expected when he 
 married me, and live up to that." 
 
 Thus husband and wife reached the same conclusion and 
 were rendered equally unhappy.
 
 280 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 CHAPTEK XXX 
 
 HOLCKOFT/S BEST HOPE 
 
 WHEN Holcroft came in to dinner that day the view 
 he had adopted was confirmed, yet Alida's man- 
 ner and appearance began to trouble him. Even 
 to his rather slow perception, she did not seem so happy as 
 she had been. She did not meet his eye with her old frank, 
 friendly, and, as he had almost hoped, affectionate, expres- 
 sion; she seemed merely feverishly anxious to do everything 
 and have all as he wished. Instead of acting with natural 
 ease and saying what was in her mind without premedita- 
 tion, a conscious effort was visible and an apparent solicitude 
 that he should be satisfied. The inevitable result was that he 
 was more dissatisfied. "She's doing her best for me," he 
 growled, as he went back to his work, "and it begins to look 
 as if it might wear her out in time. Confound it! having 
 everything just so isn't of much account when a man's heart- 
 hungry. I'd rather have had one of her old smiles and 
 gone without my dinner. Well, well, how little a man un- 
 derstands himself or knows the future ! The day I married 
 her I was in mortal dread lest she should care for me too 
 much and want to be affectionate and all that; and here I 
 am, discontented and moping because everything has turned 
 out as I then wished. Don't see as I'm to blame, either. 
 She had no business to grow so pretty. Then she looked like 
 a ghost, but now when the color comes into her cheeks, and 
 her blue eyes sparkle, a man would be a stupid clod if he 
 didn't look with all his eyes and feel his heart a-thumping. 
 That she should change so wasn't in the bargain ; neither was
 
 HOLCROFTS BEST HOPE 281 
 
 it that she should read aloud in such sweet tones that a fel- 
 low'd like to listen to the dictionary; nor that she should 
 make the house and yard look as they never did before, and, 
 strangest of all, open my eyes to the fact that apple-trees bear 
 flowers as well as pippins. I can't even go by a wild posy 
 in the lane without thinking she'd like it and see in it a sight 
 more than I once could. I've been taken in, as old Jonathan 
 feared," he muttered, following out his fancy with a sort of 
 grim humor. "She isn't the woman I thought I was marry- 
 ing, at all, and I ain't bound by my agreement not in my 
 thoughts, anyhow. I'd have been in a nice scrape if I'd taken 
 my little affidavit not to think of her or look upon her in any 
 other light than that of housekeeper and butter-maker. It's 
 a scary thing, this getting married with a single eye to busi- 
 ness. See where I am now. Hanged if I don't believe I'm 
 in love with my wife, and, like a thundering fool, I had to 
 warn her against falling in love with me! Little need of 
 that, though. She hasn't been taken in, for I'm the same old 
 chap she married, and I'd be a mighty mean cuss if I went to 
 her and said, 'Here, I want you to do twice as much, a hun- 
 dred fold as much as you agreed to.' I'd be a fool, too, for 
 she couldn't do it unless something drew her toward me just 
 as I'm drawn toward her." 
 
 Late in the afternoon, he leaned on the handle of his 
 corn-plow, and in the consciousness of solitude said aloud, 
 "Things grow clear if you think of them enough, and the 
 Lord knows I don't think of much else any more. It isn't 
 her good qualities which I say over to myself a hundred 
 times a day, or her education, or anything of the kind that 
 draws me; it's she herself. I like her. Why don't I say 
 love her, and be honest? Well, it's a fact, and I've got to 
 face it. Here I am, plowing out my corn, and it looks splen- 
 did for its age. I thought if I could stay on the old place, 
 and plant and cultivate and reap, I'd be more than content, 
 and now I don't seem to care a rap for the corn or the farm 
 either, compared with Alida ; and I care for her just be- 
 cause she is Alida and no one else. But the other side of
 
 282 
 
 this fact has an ugly look. Suppose I'm disagreeable to her. 
 When she married me she felt like a woman drowning; she 
 was ready to take hold of the first hand reached to her, with- 
 out knowing much about whose hand it was. Well, she's had 
 time to find out. She isn't drawn. Perhaps she feels toward 
 me somewhat as I did toward Mrs. Mumpson, and she can't 
 help herself either. Well, well, the bare thought of it makes 
 my heart lead. What's a man to do? What can I do but 
 live up to my agreement and not torment her any more than 
 I can help with my company ? That's the only honest course. 
 Perhaps she'll get more used to me in time. She might get 
 sick, and then I'd be so kind and watchful that she'd think 
 the old fellow wasn't so bad after all. But I shan't give her 
 the comfort of no end of self-sacrifice in trying to be pleasant 
 and sociable. If she's foolish enough to think she's in my 
 debt, she can't pay it in that way. ISTo, sir! I've got to 
 make the best of it now I'm bound to but this business 
 marriage will never suit me until that white arm I saw in 
 the dairy room is around my neck, and she looks in my eyes 
 and says, 'James, I guess I'm ready for a longer marriage 
 ceremony.' ' 
 
 It was a pity that Alida could not have been among the 
 hazel-nut bushes near and heard him. 
 
 He resumed his toil, working late and doggedly. At 
 supper he was very attentive to Alida, but taciturn and pre- 
 occupied; and when the meal was over he lighted his pipe 
 and strolled out into the moonlight. She longed to follow 
 him, yet felt it to be more impossible than if she were chained 
 to the floor. 
 
 And so the days passed, Holcroft striving with the whole 
 force of his will to appear absorbed in the farm, and she 
 with equal effort to seem occupied and contented with her 
 household and dairy duties. They did everything for each 
 other that they could, and yet each thought that the other 
 was acting from a sense of obligation, and so all the more 
 sedulously veiled their actual thoughts and feelings from each
 
 HOLCROFTS BEST HOPE 283 
 
 other. Of course, such mistaken effort only led to a more 
 complete misunderstanding. 
 
 With people of their simplicity and habit of reticence, 
 little of what was in their hearts appeared on the surface. 
 Neither had time to mope, and their mutual duties were in 
 a large measure a support and refuge. Of these they could 
 still speak freely, for they pertained to business. Alida's de- 
 votion to her work was unfeigned, for it seemed now her only 
 avenue of approach to her husband. She watched over the 
 many broods of little chickens with tireless vigilance. If it 
 were yellow gold, she could not have gathered the butter from 
 the churn with greater greed. She kept the house immacu- 
 late and sought to develop her cooking into a fine art. She 
 was scrupulous in giving Jane her lessons and in trying to 
 correct her vernacular and manners, but the presence of the 
 child grew to be a heavier cross every day. She could not 
 blame the girl whose misfortune it was to lead incidentally 
 to the change in Holcroft's manner, yet it was impossible not 
 to associate her with the beginning of that change. Jane was 
 making decided improvement, and had Alida been happy and 
 at rest this fact would have given much satisfaction in spite 
 of the instinctive repugnance which the girl seemed to in- 
 spire universally. Holcroft recognized this repugnance and 
 the patient effort to disguise it and be kind. 
 
 "Like enough she feels in the same way toward me," he 
 thought, "and is trying a sight harder not to show it. But 
 she seems willing enough to talk business and to keep up her 
 interest in the partnership. Well, blamed if I wouldn't 
 rather talk business to her than love to any other woman!" 
 
 So it gradually came about that they had more and more 
 to say to each other on matters relating to the farm. Hol- 
 croft showed her the receipts from the dairy, and her eyes 
 sparkled as if he had brought jewels home to her. Then she 
 in her turn would expatiate on the poultry interests and 
 assure him that there were already nearly two hundred little 
 chicks on the place. One afternoon, during a shower, she 
 ventured to beguile him into listening to the greater part of
 
 284 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 one of the agricultural journals, and with much deference 
 made two or three suggestions about the farm which he saw 
 were excellent. She little dreamed that if she were willing 
 to talk of turning the farm upside down and inside out, he 
 would have listened with pleasure. 
 
 They both began to acquire more serenity and hopeful- 
 ness, for even this sordid business partnership was growing 
 strangely interesting. The meals grew less and less silent, 
 and the farmer would smoke his pipe invitingly near in the 
 evening, so that she could resume their talk on bucolic sub- 
 jects without much conscious effort, while at the same time 
 if she did not wish his society she could shun it without dis- 
 courtesy. He soon perceived that she needed some encour- 
 agement to talk even of farm matters, but having received 
 it that she showed no further reluctance. He naturally be- 
 gan to console himself with business as unstintedly as he 
 dared. "As long as I keep on this tack all seems well," he 
 muttered. "She don't act as if I was disagreeable to her, 
 but then, how can a man tell? If she thinks it her duty, 
 she'll talk and smile, yet shiver at the very thought of my 
 touching her. Well, well, time will show. We seem to be 
 getting more sociable, anyhow." 
 
 They both recognized this fact and tried to disguise it and 
 to relieve themselves from the appearance of making any un- 
 due advances by greater formality of address. In Jane's 
 presence, he had formed the habit of speaking to his wife as 
 Mrs. Holcroft, and now he was invariably "Mr." 
 
 One evening, in the latter part of June, he remarked at 
 supper, "I must give half a day to hoeing the garden to- 
 morrow. I've been so busy working out the corn and potatoes 
 that it seems an age since I've been in the garden." 
 
 "She and me," began Jane, "I mean Mrs. Holcroft and I, 
 have been in the garden." 
 
 "That's right, Jane, you're coming on. I think your im- 
 proved talk and manners do Mrs. Holcroft much credit. I'd 
 like to take some lessons myself." Then, as if a little
 
 HOLCROFTS BEST HOPE 285 
 
 alarmed at his words, he hastened to ask, "What have you 
 been doing in the garden ?" 
 
 "You'll see when you go there," replied Jane, her small 
 eyes twinkling with the rudiments of fun. 
 
 Holcroft looked at the child as if he had not seen her for 
 some time either. Her hair was neatly combed, braided and 
 tied with a blue ribbon instead of a string, her gown was as 
 becoming as any dress could be to her, her little brown hands 
 were clean, and they no longer managed the knife and fork 
 in an ill-bred manner. The very expression of the child's 
 face was changing, and now that it was lighted up with mirth 
 at the little surprise awaiting him, it had at least attained 
 the negative grace of being no longer repulsive. He sighed 
 involuntarily as he turned away. "Just see what she's doing 
 for that child that I once thought hideous ! How much she 
 might do for me if she cared as I do !" 
 
 He rose from the table, lighted his pipe and went out to 
 the doorstep. Alida looked at him wistfully. "He stood 
 there with me once and faced a mob of men," she thought. 
 "Then he put his arm around me. I would face almost any 
 danger for even such a caress again." The memory of that 
 hour lent her unwonted courage, and she approached him 
 timidly and said, "Perhaps you would like to go and look at 
 the garden ? Jane and I may not have done everything 
 right." 
 
 "Why, certainly. I forgot about the garden; but then 
 you'll have to go with me if I'm to tell you." 
 
 "I don't mind," she said, leading the way. 
 
 The June sun was low in the west, and the air had become 
 deliciously cool and fragrant. The old rose bushes were in 
 bloom, and as she passed she picked a bud and fastened it on 
 her bosom. Woodthrushes, orioles, and the whole chorus of 
 birds were in full song; limpid rills of melody from the 
 meadow larks flowed from the fields, and the whistling of 
 the quails added to the harmony. 
 
 Holcroft was in a mood of which he had never been con- 
 scious before. These familiar sounds, which had been un-
 
 286 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 heeded so much of his life, now affected him strangely, creat- 
 ing an immeasurable sadness and longing. It seemed as if 
 perceptions which were like new senses were awakening in 
 his mind. The world was full of wonderful beauty before 
 unrecognized, and the woman who walked lightly and grace- 
 fully at his side was the crown of it all. He himself was so 
 old, plain and unworthy in contrast. His heart ached with 
 a positive, definite pain that he was not younger, handsomer 
 and better equipped to win the love of his wife. As she 
 stood in the garden, wearing the rose, her neat dress outlining 
 her graceful form, the level rays of the sun lighting up her 
 face and turning her hair to gold, he felt that he had never 
 seen or imagined such a woman before. She was in har- 
 mony with the June evening and a part of it, while he, in his 
 working clothes, his rugged, sun-browned features and hair 
 tinged with gray, was a blot upon the scene. She, who was 
 so lovely, must be conscious of his rude, clownish appear- 
 ance. He would have faced any man living and held his 
 own on the simple basis of his manhood. Anything like 
 scorn, although veiled, on Alida's part, would have touched 
 his pride and steeled his will, but the words and manner of 
 this gentle woman who tried to act as if blind to all that he 
 was in contrast with herself, to show him deference, kindness 
 and goodwill when perhaps she felt toward him somewhat 
 as she did toward Jane, overwhelmed him with humility and 
 grief. It is the essence of deep, unselfish love to depreciate 
 itself and exalt its object. There was a superiority in Alida 
 which Holcroft was learning to recognize more clearly every 
 day, and he had not a trace of vanity to sustain him. Now 
 he was in a mood to wrong and undervalue himself without 
 limit. 
 
 She showed him how much she and Jane had accom- 
 plished, how neat and clean they had kept the rows of grow- 
 ing vegetables and how good the promise was for an indefi- 
 nite number of dinners, but she only added to the farmer's 
 depression. He was in no mood for onions, parsnips and 
 their vegetable kin, yet thought, "She thinks I'm only capa-
 
 HOLCROFTS BEST HOPE 287 
 
 ble of being interested in such things and I've been at much 
 pains to give that impression. She picked that rose for 
 herself and now she's showing me how soon we may hope to 
 have summer cabbage and squash. She thus shows that she 
 knows the difference between us, and that always must be 
 between us, I fear. She is so near in our daily life, yet how 
 can I ever get any nearer? As I feel now, it seems im- 
 possible." 
 
 She had quickly observed his depressed, abstracted man- 
 ner, but misinterpreted the causes. Her own face clouded 
 and grew troubled. Perhaps she was revealing too much of 
 her heart, although seeking to disguise it so sedulously, and 
 he was penetrating her motives for doing so much in the 
 garden and in luring him thither now. He was not showing 
 much practical interest in beans and beets, and was evidently 
 oppressed and ill at ease. 
 
 "I hope we have done things right ?" she ventured, turn- 
 ing away to hide tears of disappointment. 
 
 "Her self-sacrifice is giving out," he thought, bitterly. 
 "She finds she can scarcely look at me as I now appear in 
 contrast with this June evening. Well, I don't blame her. 
 It makes me almost sick when I think of myself, and I won't 
 be brute enough to say a harsh word to her. You have done 
 it all far better than I could," he said, emphatically. "I 
 would not have believed it if you hadn't shown me. The 
 trouble is, you are trying to do too much. I I think I'll 
 take a walk." 
 
 In fact, he had reached the limit of endurance ; he could 
 not look upon her another moment as she appeared that even- 
 ing and feel that she associated him chiefly with crops and 
 business, and that all her grateful goodwill could not prevent 
 his personality from being disagreeable. He must carry his 
 bitterness whither no eye could see him, and as he turned, his 
 self-disgust led him to whirl away his pipe. It struck a tree 
 and fell shattered at its foot. Alida had never seen him do 
 anything of the kind before, and it indicated that he was 
 passing beyond the limits of patience. "Oh, oh," she sobbed,
 
 288 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 "I fear we are going to drift apart ! If he can't endure to 
 talk with me about such things, what chance have I at all? 
 I hoped that the hour, the beauty of the evening and the evi- 
 dence that I had been trying so hard to please him would 
 make him more like what he used to be before he seemed to 
 take a dislike. There's only one way to account for it all 
 he sees how I feel and he don't like it. My very love sets 
 him against me. My heart was overflowing to-night. How 
 could I help it, as I remembered how he stood up for me? 
 He was brave and kind ; he meant well by me, he means well 
 now ; but he can't help his feelings. He has gone away now 
 to think of the woman that he did love and loves still, and it 
 angers him that I should think of taking her place. He loved 
 her as a child and girl and woman he told me s* ; he warned 
 me and said he could not help thinking of her. If I had not 
 learned to love him so deeply and passionately, and show it 
 in spite of myself, time would gradually have softened the 
 past and all might have gone well. Yet how could I help it 
 when he saved me from so much? I feel to-night, though, 
 that I only escaped one kind of trouble to meet another al- 
 most as bad and which may become worse." 
 
 She strolled to the further end of the garden that she 
 might become calm before meeting Jane's scrutiny. Useless 
 precaution, for the girl had been watching them both. Her 
 motive had not been unmixed curiosity, since having taken 
 some part in the garden work, she had wished to witness 
 Holcroft's pleasure and hear his praises. Since the actors in 
 the scene so misunderstood each other, she certainly would 
 not rightly interpret them. "She's losin' her hold on 'im," 
 she thought. "He acted just as if she was mother." 
 
 When Jane saw Alida coming toward the house she 
 whisked from the concealing shrubbery to the kitchen again, 
 and was stolidly washing the dishes when her mistress en- 
 tered. "You are slow to-night," said Alida, looking at the 
 child keenly, but the impassive face revealed nothing. She 
 set about helping the girl, feeling it would be a relief to keep 
 her hands busy.
 
 HOLCROFTS BEST HOPE 289 
 
 Jane's efforts to comfort were always maladroit, yet the 
 apparent situation so interested her that she yielded to her 
 inclination to talk. "Say," she began and Alida was too 
 dejected and weary to correct the child's vernacular "Mr. 
 Holcroft's got somethin' on his mind." 
 
 "Well, that's not strange." 
 
 "No, s'pose not. Hate to see 'im look so, though. He 
 always used to look so when mother went for 'im and hung 
 around 'im. At last he cleared mother out, and just before 
 he looked as black as he did when he passed the house while 
 ago. You're good to me an' I'd like you to stay. Ti's you 
 I'd leave 'im alone." 
 
 "Jane," said Alida, coldly, "I don't wish you ever to 
 speak to me of such things again," and she hastily left the 
 room. 
 
 "Oh, well," muttered Jane, "I've got eyes in my head. 
 If you're goin' to be foolish, like mother, and keep a-goin' for 
 'im, it's your lookout. I kin get along with him and he with 
 me, and I'm goin' to stay." 
 
 Holcroft strode rapidly up the lane to the deep solitude 
 at the edge of his woodland. Beneath him lay the farm and 
 the home that he had married to keep, yet now, without a sec- 
 ond's hesitation, he would part with all to call his wife wife. 
 How little the name now satisfied him, without the sweet 
 realities of which the word is significant! The term and 
 relation had become a mocking mirage. He almost cursed 
 himself that he had exulted over his increasing bank account 
 and general prosperity, and had complacently assured him- 
 self that she was doing just what he had asked, without any 
 sentimental nonsense. "How could I expect it to turn out 
 otherwise?" he thought. "From the first I made her think 
 I hadn't a soul for anything but crops and money. Now 
 that she's getting over her trouble and away from it, she's 
 more able to see just what I am, or at least what she natu- 
 rally thinks I am. But she doesn't understand me^ I 
 scarcely understand myself. I long to be a different man 
 in every way, and not to work and live like an ox. Here are 
 R M XVIII
 
 290 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 some of my crops almost ready to gather and they never were 
 better, yet I've no heart for the work. Seems to me it'll 
 wear me out if I have to carry this load of trouble all the 
 time. I thought my old burdens hard to bear; I thought I 
 was lonely before, but it was nothing compared with living 
 near one you love, but from whom you are cut off by some- 
 thing you can't see, yet must feel to the bottom of your 
 heart." 
 
 His distraught eyes rested on the church spire, fading in 
 the twilight, and the little adjoining graveyard. "Oh, Bessie," 
 he groaned, "why did you die ? I was good enough for you. 
 Oh, that all had gone on as it was and I had never known " 
 
 He stopped, shook his head and was silent. At last he 
 sighed, "I did love Bessie, I love and respect her memory as 
 much as ever. But somehow I never felt as I do now. All 
 was quiet and matter-of-fact in those days, yet it was real and 
 satisfying. I was content to live on, one day like another, 
 to the end of my days. If I hadn't been so content it would 
 be better for me now. I'd have a better chance if I had read 
 more, thought more and fitted myself to be more of a com- 
 panion for a woman like Alida. If I knew a great deal and 
 could talk well she might forget I'm old and homely. Bessie 
 was so true a friend that she would wish, if she knows, what 
 I wish. I thought I needed a housekeeper; I find I need 
 more than all else such a wife as Alida could be one that 
 could help me to be a man instead of a drudge, a Christian 
 instead of a discontented and uneasy unbeliever. At one 
 time, it seemed that she was leading me along so naturally 
 and pleasantly that I never was so happy, then all at once it 
 came to me that she was doing it from gratitude and a sense 
 of duty, and the duty grows harder for her every day. Well, 
 there seems nothing for it now but to go on as we began, and 
 hope that the future will bring us more in sympathy."
 
 "NEVER!" 291 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXI 
 
 FOR the next two or three days Jane had no occasion to 
 observe that Alida was in the least degree obtrusive in 
 her attention to the farmer. She was assiduous in 
 her work and more diligent than ever in her conscious efforts 
 to do what she thought he wished ; but she was growing pale, 
 constrained and silent. She struggled heroically to appear 
 as at first, but without much success, for she could not rally 
 from the wound he had given her so unintentionally and 
 which Jane's words had deepened. She almost loathed her- 
 self under her association with Mrs. Mumpson, and her mor- 
 bid thoughts had hit upon a worse reason for Holcroft's ap- 
 parent repulsion. As she questioned everything in the sleep- 
 less hours that followed the interview in the garden, she 
 came to the miserable conclusion that he had discovered her 
 love, and that by suggestion, natural to his mind, it reminded 
 him of her pitiful story. He could be sorry for her and be 
 kind; he could even be her honest friend and protector as a 
 wronged and unhappy woman, but he could not love one with 
 a history like hers and did not wish her to love him. This 
 seemed an adequate explanation of the change in their rela- 
 tions, but she felt that it was one under which her life would 
 wither and her heart break. This promised to be worse than 
 what she had dreaded at the almshouse the facing the world 
 alone and working till she died among strangers. The fact 
 that they were strangers would enable her to see their averted 
 faces with comparative indifference, but that the man to 
 whom she had yielded her whole heart should turn away was
 
 292 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 intolerable. She felt that he could not do this willingly, but 
 only under the imperious instincts of his nature that he was 
 virtually helpless in the matter. There was an element in 
 these thoughts which stung her woman's soul, and, as we 
 have said, she could not rally. 
 
 Holcroft never suspected her morbid thoughts, and his 
 loyal, loving heart was incapable of dreaming of them. He 
 only grew more unhappy as he saw the changes in her, for 
 he regarded himself as the cause. Yet he was perplexed 
 and unable to account for her rapidly increasing pallor while 
 he continued so kind, considerate and especially so unob- 
 trusive. He assuredly thought he was showing a disposition 
 to give her all the time she wished to become reconciled to 
 her lot. "Thunder !" he said to himself, "we can't grow old 
 together without getting used to each other." 
 
 On Saturday noon, at dinner, he remarked, "I shall have 
 to begin haying on Monday and so I'll take everything to 
 town this afternoon, for I won't be able to go again for some 
 days. Is there anything you'd like me to get, Mrs. Hol- 
 croft ?" 
 
 She shook her head. "I don't need anything," she re- 
 plied. He looked at her downcast face with troubled eyes 
 and shivered. "She looks as if she were going to be sick," 
 he thought. "Good Lord ! I feel as if there was nothing but 
 trouble ahead. Every mouthful I take seems to choke me." 
 
 A little later he pushed away almost untasted a piece of 
 delicious cherry pie, the first of the season. Alida could 
 scarcely keep the tears back as she thought, "There was a 
 time when he would have praised it without stint. I took 
 so much pains with it in the hope he'd notice, for he once 
 said he was very fond of it." Such were the straws that 
 were indicating the deep, dark currents. 
 
 As he rose, she said almost apathetically in her dejection, 
 "Mr. Holcroft, Jane and I picked a basket of the early cher- 
 ries. You may as well sell them, for there are plenty left 
 on the tree for use." 
 
 "That was too much for you to do in the hot sun. Well,
 
 "NEVER!" 293 
 
 I'll sell 'em and add what they bring to your egg money in 
 the bank. You'll get rich," he continued, trying to smile, "if 
 you don't spend more." 
 
 "I don't wish to spend anything," she said, turning away 
 with the thought, "How can he think I want finery when my 
 heart is breaking?" 
 
 Holcroft drove away looking and feeling as if he were 
 going to a funeral. At last he broke out, "I can't stand 
 this another day. To-morrow's Sunday, and I'll manage to 
 send Jane somewhere or take Alida out to walk and tell her 
 the whole truth. She shall be made to see that I can't help 
 myself and that I'm willing to do anything she wishes. 
 She's married to me and has got to make the best of it, and 
 I'm sure I'm willing to make it as easy as I can." 
 
 Jane was a little perplexed at the condition of affairs. 
 Mrs. Holcroft had left her husband alone as far as possible, 
 as she had advised, but apparently it had not helped mat- 
 ters much. But she believed that the trouble she had wit- 
 nessed boded her no ill and so was inclined to regard it philo- 
 sophically. "He looks almost as glum when he's goin' round 
 alone, as if he'd married mother. She talked too much and 
 that didn't please him ; this one talks less and less, and he 
 don't seem pleased, nuther, but it seems to me he's very fool- 
 ish to be so fault-findin' when she does everything for him top 
 notch. I never lived so well in my life, nor he, nuther, I 
 believe. He must be in a bad way when he couldn't eat that 
 cherry pie." 
 
 Alida was so weary and felt so ill that she went to the 
 parlor and lay down upon the lounge. "My heart feels as 
 if it were bleeding slowly away," she murmured. "If I'm 
 going to be sick the best thing I can do is to die and end it 
 all," and she gave way to that deep dejection in which there 
 seems no remedy for trouble. 
 
 The hours dragged slowly by; Jane finished her house- 
 hold tasks very leisurely, then, taking a basket, went out to 
 the garden to pick some early peas. While thus engaged, 
 she saw a man coming up the lane. His manner instantly
 
 294 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 riveted her attention and awakened her curiosity, and she 
 crouched lower behind the pea-vines for concealment. All 
 her furtive, watchful instincts were awake, and her conscience 
 was clear, too, for certainly she had a right to spy upon a 
 stranger. 
 
 The man seemed almost as furtive as herself; his eyes 
 were everywhere and his step slow and hesitating. Instead 
 of going directly to the house, he cautiously entered the barn 
 and she heard him a little later call Mr. Holcroft. Of course, 
 there was no answer, and, as if assured, he approached the 
 house, looking here and there on every side, seemingly to 
 see if any one was about. Jane had associated with men and 
 boys too long to have any childlike timidity, and she also 
 had just confidence in her skulking and running powers. 
 "After all, he don't want nothin' of me and won't hurt me," 
 she reasoned. "He acts mighty queer though, and I'm goin' 
 to hear what he says." 
 
 The moment he passed the angle of the house she dodged 
 around to its rear and stole into the dairy room, being well 
 aware that from this position she could overhear words 
 spoken in ordinary conversational tones in the apartment 
 above. She had barely gained her ambush when she heard 
 Alida half shriek, "Henry Ferguson !" 
 
 It was indeed the man who had deceived her that had 
 stolen upon her solitude. His somewhat stealthy approach 
 had been due to the wish and expectation of finding her 
 alone, and he had about convinced himself that she was so 
 by exploring the barn and observing the absence of the horses 
 and wagon. Cunning and unscrupulous, it was his plan to 
 appear before the woman who had thought herself his wife, 
 without any warning whatever, believing that in the tumult 
 of her surprise and shock she would be off her guard and that 
 her old affection would reassert itself. He passed through 
 the kitchen to the parlor door. Alida, in her deep, painful 
 abstraction, did not hear him until he stood in the doorway, 
 and, with outstretched arms, breathed her name. Then, as 
 if struck a blow, she had sprung to her feet, half shrieked his
 
 "NEVER!" 295 
 
 name and stood panting, regarding him as if he were a 
 spectre. 
 
 "Your surprise is natural, Alida dear," he said gently, 
 "but I've a right to come to you, for my wife is dead," and 
 he advanced toward her. 
 
 "Stand back!" she cried sternly; "you've no right and 
 never can have." 
 
 "Oh, yes, I have," he replied in a wheedling tone. 
 "Come, come, your nerves are shaken. Sit down, for I've 
 much to tell you." 
 
 "No, I won't sit down, and I tell you to leave me in- 
 stantly. You've no right here and I no right to listen to 
 
 you." 
 
 "I can soon prove that you have a better right to listen 
 to me than to any one else. Were we not married by a min- 
 ister ?" 
 
 "Yes, but that made no difference. You deceived both 
 him and me." 
 
 "It made no difference, perhaps, in the eye of the law, 
 while that woman you saw was living, but she's dead, as I can 
 easily prove. How were you married to this man Holcroft ?" 
 
 Alida grew dizzy; everything whirled and grew black 
 before her eyes as she sank into a chair. He came to her 
 and took her hand, but his touch was a most effectual restora- 
 tive. She threw his hand away and said hoarsely, "Do you 
 do you mean that you have any claim on me ?" 
 
 "Who has a better claim ?" he asked cunningly. "I loved 
 you when I married you and I love you now. Do you think 
 I rested a moment after I was free from the woman I de- 
 tested ? No, indeed ; nor did I rest till I found out who took 
 you from the almshouse to be his household drudge, not wife. 
 I've seen the justice who aided in the wedding farce and 
 learned how this man Holcroft made him cut down even the 
 ceremony of a civil marriage to one sentence. It was posi- 
 tively heathenish, and he only took you because he couldn't 
 get a decent servant to live with him."
 
 296 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HJS WIFE 
 
 "Oh, God !" murmured the stricken woman. "Can such 
 a horrible thing be 2" 
 
 "So it seems," he resumed, misinterpreting her. "Come 
 now," he said confidently, and sitting down, "don't look so 
 broken up about it. Even while that woman was living I 
 felt that I was married to you and you only; now that I'm 
 free- 
 
 "But I'm not free and don't wish to be." 
 
 "Don't be foolish, Alida. You know this farmer don't 
 care a rap for you. Own up now, does he ?" 
 
 The answer was a low, half-despairing cry. 
 
 "There, I knew it was so. What else could you expect I 
 Don't you see I'm your true refuge and not this hard-hearted, 
 money-grasping farmer?" 
 
 "Stop speaking against him," she cried. "Oh, God," she 
 wailed, "can the law give this man any claim on me, now that 
 his wife is dead ?" 
 
 "Yes, and one I mean to enforce," he replied, doggedly. 
 
 "I don't believe she's dead, I don't believe anything you 
 say. You deceived me once." 
 
 "I'm not deceiving you now, Alida," he said with much 
 solemnity. "She is dead. If you were calmer, I have proofs 
 to convince you in these papers. Here's the newspaper, too, 
 containing the notice of her death," and he handed it to her. 
 
 She read it with her frightened eyes and then the paper 
 dropped from her half paralyzed hands to the floor. She was 
 so unsophisticated and her brain was in such a whirl of con- 
 fusion and terror that she was led to believe at the moment 
 that he had a legal claim upon her which he could enforce. 
 
 "Oh that Mr. Holcroft were here!" she cried desper- 
 ately. "He wouldn't deceive me ; he never deceived me." 
 
 "It is well for him that he isn't here," said Ferguson, 
 assuming a dark look. 
 
 "What do you mean ?" she gasped. 
 
 "Come, come, Alida," he said, smiling reassuringly. 
 "You are frightened and nervous and I don't wish to make 
 you any more so. You know how I would naturally regard
 
 "NEVER!" 297 
 
 the man who I feel has my wife ; but let us forget about him. 
 Listen to my plan. All I ask of you is to go with me to some 
 distant place where neither of us are known, and " 
 
 "Never," she interrupted. 
 
 "Don't say that," he replied, coolly. "Do you think I'm 
 a man to be trifled with after what I've been through ?" 
 
 "You can't compel me to go against my will," and there 
 was an accent of terror in her words which made them a 
 question. 
 
 He saw his vantage more clearly and said quietly, "I don't 
 want to compel you if it can be helped. You know how true 
 I was to you " 
 
 "No, no, you deceived me. I won't believe you now." 
 
 "You may have to. At any rate, you know how fond I 
 was of you, and I tell you plainly, I won't give you up now. 
 This man doesn't love you, nor do you love him " 
 
 "I do love him, I'd die for him. There now, you know 
 the truth. You wouldn't compel a woman to follow you who 
 shrinks from you in horror, even if you had the right. Al- 
 though the ceremony was brief it was a ceremony, and he 
 was not married then as you were when you deceived me. 
 He has ever been truth itself, and I won't believe you have 
 any rights till he tells me so himself." 
 
 "So you shrink from me with horror, do you?" asked 
 Ferguson, rising, his face growing black with -passion. 
 
 "Yes, I do. Now leave me and let me never see you 
 again." 
 
 "And you are going to ask this stupid old farmer about 
 my rights ?" 
 
 "Yes, I'll take proof of them from no other, and even if 
 he confirmed your words I'd never live with you again. I 
 would live alone till I died." 
 
 "That's all very foolish high tragedy, but if you're not 
 careful there may be some real tragedy. If you care for 
 this Holcroft, as you say, you had better go quietly away 
 with me." 
 
 "What do you mean ?" she faltered, tremblingly.
 
 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 "I mean I'm a desperate man whom the world has 
 wronged too much already. You know the old saying, 'Be- 
 ware of the quiet man.' You know how quiet, contented and 
 happy I was with you, and so I would be again to the end of 
 my days. You are the only one who can save me from be- 
 coming a criminal, a vagabond, for with you only have I 
 known happiness. Why should I live or care to live? If 
 this farmer-clod keeps you from me, woe betide him! My 
 one object in living will be his destruction. I shall hate 
 him only as a man robbed as I am can hate." 
 
 "What would you do ?" she could only ask in a horrified 
 whisper. 
 
 "I can only tell you that he'd never be safe a moment. 
 I'm not afraid of him. You see I'm armed," and he showed 
 her a revolver. "He can't quietly keep from me what I feel 
 is my own." 
 
 "Merciful Heaven ! this is terrible," she gasped. 
 
 "Of course it's terrible. I mean it to be so. You can't 
 order me off as if I were a tramp. Your best course for his 
 safety is to go quietly with me at once. I have a carriage 
 waiting near at hand." 
 
 "No, no, I'd rather die than do that, and though he 
 cannot feel as I do, I believe he'd rather die than have me 
 do it." 
 
 "Oh, well, -if you think he's so ready to die " 
 
 "No, I don't mean that. Kill me. I want to die." 
 
 "Why should I kill you ?" he asked, with a contemptuous 
 laugh. "That wouldn't do me a particle of good. It will 
 be your own fault if any one is hurt." 
 
 "Was ever a woman put in such a cruel position !" 
 
 "Oh, yes, many and many a time. As a rule, though, 
 they are too sensible and kind-hearted to make so much 
 trouble." 
 
 "If you have legal rights, why don't you quietly enforce 
 them instead of threatening ?" 
 
 For a moment he was confused and then said, recklessly,
 
 "NEVER!" 299 
 
 "It would come to the same thing in the end. Holcroft 
 would never give you up." 
 
 "He'd have to. I wouldn't stay here a moment if I had 
 no right." 
 
 "But you said you would not live with me again ?" 
 
 "Nor would I. I'd go back to the poorhouse and die 
 there, for do you think I could live after another such expe- 
 rience ? But my mind has grown clearer. You are deceiv- 
 ing me again, and Mr. Holcroft is incapable of deceiving me. 
 He would never have called me his wife unless I was his wife, 
 before God and man." 
 
 "I'm not deceiving you in regard to one thing," he said, 
 tragically. 
 
 "Oh, God, what shall I do?" 
 
 "If you won't go with me you must leave him," he re- 
 plied, believing that if this step were taken others would 
 follow. 
 
 "If I leave him if I go away and live alone, will you 
 promise to do him no harm ?" 
 
 "I'd have no motive to harm him then, which will be 
 better security than a promise. At the same time I do 
 promise." 
 
 "And you will also promise to leave me utterly alone?" 
 
 "If I can." 
 
 "You must promise never even to tempt me to think of 
 going away. I'd rather you^d shoot me than ask it.* I'm 
 not a weak, timid girl. I'm a broken-hearted woman who 
 fears some things far more than death." 
 
 "If you have any fears for Holcroft they are very 
 rational ones." 
 
 "It is for his sake that I would act. I would rather suf- 
 fer anything and lose everything than have harm come to 
 him." 
 
 "All I can say is that if you will leave him completely 
 and finally I will let him alone. But you must do it 
 promptly. Everything depends upon this. I'm in too reck- 
 less and bitter a mood to be trifled with. Besides, I've plenty
 
 300 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 of money and could escape from the country in twenty-four 
 hours. You needn't think you can tell this story to Holcroft 
 and that he can protect you and himself. I'm here under 
 an assumed name and have seen no one who knows me. I 
 may have to disappear for a time and be disguised when I 
 come again, but I pledge you my word he'll never be safe as 
 long as you are under his roof." 
 
 "Then I will sacrifice myself for him," she said, pallid 
 even to her lips. "I will go away. But never dream that 
 you can come near me again you who deceived and wronged 
 me, and now, far worse, threaten the man I love." 
 
 "We'll see about that," he replied, cynically. "At any 
 rate, you will have left him." 
 
 "Go," she said, imperiously. 
 
 "I'll take a kiss first, sweetheart," he said, advancing with 
 a sardonic smile. 
 
 "Jane !" she shrieked. He paused, and she saw evidences 
 of alarm. 
 
 The girl ran lightly out of the dairy room where she had 
 been a greedy listener to all that had been said, and a mo- 
 ment later appeared in the yard before the house. "Yes'm," 
 she answered. 
 
 "Be careful now, sir," said Alida, sternly. "There's a 
 witness." 
 
 "Only a little idiotic-looking girl." 
 
 "She's not idiotic, and if you touch me the compact's 
 broken." 
 
 "Very well, my time will come. Remember, you've been 
 warned," and he pulled his hat over his eyes and strode away. 
 
 "Bah !" said Jane, with a snicker, "as if I hadn't seen his 
 ugly mug so I'd know it 'mong a thousand." 
 
 With a face full of loathing and dread Alida watched her 
 enemy disappear down the lane, and then, half fainting, sank 
 on the lounge. 
 
 "Jane," she called feebly, but there was no answer.
 
 JANE PLAYS MOUSE TO THE LION 301 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 JANE PLAYS MOUSE TO THE LIOIT 
 
 IT can be well understood that Jane had no disposition to 
 return to Mrs. Holcroft and the humdrum duties of the 
 house. There opened before her an exciting line of 
 action which fully accorded with her nature, and she en- 
 tered upon it at once. Her first impulse was to follow the 
 man of whom she had learned so much. Not only was she 
 spurred to this course by her curiosity, but also by her in- 
 stinctive loyalty to Holcroft, and, it must be admitted, by her 
 own interests. Poor little Jane had been nurtured in a hard 
 school and had by this time learned the necessity of looking 
 out for herself. This truth, united with her shrewd, matter- 
 of-fact mind, led her to do the most sensible thing under the 
 circumstances. "I know a lot now that he'll be glad to know, 
 and if I tell him everything he'll keep me always. The first 
 thing he'll want to know is what's become of that threatenin' 
 scamp," and she followed Ferguson with the stealth of an 
 Indian. 
 
 Ferguson was not only a scamp, but, like most of his 
 class, a coward. He had been bitterly disappointed in his 
 interview with Alida. As far as his selfish nature per- 
 mitted, he had a genuine affection for her, and he had 
 thought of little else besides her evident fondness for him. 
 He was so devoid of moral principle that he could not com- 
 prehend a nature like hers, and had scarcely believed it pos- 
 sible that she would repulse him so inflexibly. She had al- 
 ways been so gentle, yielding and subservient to his wishes 
 that he had thought that, having been assured of his wife's 
 death, a little persuasion and perhaps a few threats would
 
 302 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH BIS WIFE 
 
 induce her to follow him, for he could not imagine her be- 
 coming attached to such a man as Holcroft had been described 
 to be. He'r uncompromising principle had entered but 
 slightly into his calculations, and so under the spur of anger 
 and selfishness he had easily entered upon a game of bluff. 
 He knew well enough that he had no claim upon Alida, yet' 
 it was in harmony with his false heart to try to make her 
 think so. He had no serious intention of harming Holcroft 
 he would be afraid to attempt this but if he could so work 
 on Alida's fears as to induce her to leave her husband he be- 
 lieved that the future would be full of possibilities. At any 
 rate, he would find his revenge in making Alida and Holcroft 
 all the trouble possible. Even in the excitement - of the inter- 
 view, however, he realized that he was playing a dangerous 
 game, and when Jane answered so readily to Alida's call he 
 was not a little disturbed. Satisfied that he had accom- 
 plished all that he could hope for at present, his purpose now 
 was to get back to town unobserved and await developments. 
 He therefore walked rapidly down the lane and pursued the 
 road for a short distance until he came to an old, disused lane 
 leading up the hillside into a grove where he had concealed a 
 horse and buggy. Unless there should be necessity, it was his 
 intention to remain in his hiding-place until after nightfall. 
 Jane had merely to skirt the bushy hillside higher up, in 
 order to keep Ferguson in view and discover the spot in which 
 he was lurking. Instead of returning to the house, she kept 
 right on, maintaining a sharp eye on the road beneath 
 to make sure that Holcroft did not pass unobserved. By 
 an extended detour, she reached the highway and con- 
 tinued toward town in the hope of meeting the farmer. At 
 last she saw him driving rapidly homeward. He was con- 
 sumed with anxiety to be at least near to Alida, even if, as 
 he believed, he was no longer welcome in her presence. 
 When Jane stepped out into the road he pulled up his 
 horses and stared at her. She, almost bursting with her 
 great secrets, put her finger on her lips and nodded por- 
 tentously.
 
 JANE PLAYS MOUSE TO THE LION 303 
 
 "Well, what is it 2" he asked, his heart beating quickly. 
 
 "I've got a lot to tell yer, but don't want no one to see 
 us." 
 
 "About my wife 2" 
 
 The girl nodded. 
 
 "Good God! speak then. Is she sick?" and he sprung 
 out and caught her arm with a grip that hurt her. 
 
 "Please, sir, I'm doin' all I kin for yer and and you 
 hurt me." 
 
 Holcroft saw the tears coming to her eyes and he released 
 his hold as he said, "Forgive me, Jane, I didn't mean to; 
 but for mercy's sake, tell me your story." 
 
 "It's a long 'un." 
 
 "Well, well, give me the gist of it in a word." 
 
 "I guess she's goin' to run away." 
 
 Holcroft groaned and almost staggered to his horses' 
 heads, then led them to the roadside and tied them to a tree. 
 Sitting down, as if too weak to stand, he buried his face in his 
 hands. He could not bear to have Jane see his distress. 
 "Tell your story," he said hoarsely, "quick, for I may have 
 to act quickly." 
 
 "Guess yer will. Did yer know she was married 2" 
 
 "Certainly to me." 
 
 "]No, to another man married by a minister. He's 
 been there with her." She little foresaw the effect of her 
 words, for the farmer bounded to his feet with an oath and . 
 sprang to his horses. 
 
 "Stop," cried Jane, tugging at his arm. "If you go 
 rushin' home now, you'll show you've got no more sense 
 than mother. You'll spoil everything. She ain't goin' to 
 run away with him she said she wouldn't, though he coaxed 
 and threatened to kill yer if she didn't. 'Fi's a man I 
 wouldn't act like a mad bull. I'd find out how to get ahead 
 of t'other man." 
 
 "Well," said Holcroft, in a voice that frightened the 
 child, "she said she wouldn't run away with this scoundrel 
 of course not but you say she's going to leave. She'll
 
 304 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 meet him somewhere good God ! but how should you un- 
 derstand ? Come, let me get home." 
 
 "I understand a sight more'n you do and you go on so 
 that I can't tell you anything. If you showed sense you'd 
 be glad I was lookin' out for you so I could tell you every- 
 thing. What's the good of goin' rampagin' home when, if 
 you'd only listen, you could get even with that scoundrel, as 
 yer call 'im, and make all right," and Jane began to cry. 
 
 "Oh, thunder!" exclaimed the chafing man, "tell me 
 your story at once or you'll drive me mad. You don't half 
 know what you're talking about or how much your words 
 mean how should you? The thing to do is to get home 
 as soon as possible." 
 
 "You ain't no reason to be so mad and glum all the 
 while," cried Jane, smarting under a sense of injustice. 
 "Here I'm a-tryin' to do for you, and you'll be sorry ernuff 
 if you don't stop and listen. And she's been a-tryin' to do 
 for you all along and she's been standin' up for you this 
 afternoon and is goin' to run away to save your life." 
 
 "Run away to save my life ? Are you crazy ?" 
 
 "No, but you be," cried the girl, excited and exasperated 
 beyond restraint. "If she is your wife I'd stand up for her 
 and take care of her since she stands up for you so. 'Stead 
 of that, you go round as glum as a thundercloud, and now 
 want to go ragin' home to her. Dunno whether she's your 
 wife or not, but I do know she said she loved you and 'ud 
 die for you, and she wouldn't do a thing that man asked but 
 go away to save your life." 
 
 Holcroft looked at the girl as if dazed. "Said she loved 
 me ?" he repeated slowly. 
 
 "Of course. You knowed that all 'long anybody could 
 see it an' you don't treat her much better'n you did 
 mother." Then, with an impatient gesture, she asked, "Will 
 you sit down and listen ?" 
 
 "No, I won't," he cried, springing toward his horses, "I'll 
 find out if your words are true." 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Jane, contemptuously, "run right to her
 
 JANE PLAYS MOUSE TO THE LION 305 
 
 to find out somethin' as plain as the nose on her face, and 
 run right by the man that was threatenin' her and you too." 
 
 Wheeling round, he asked, "Where is he?" 
 
 "I know, but I won't say 'nuther word till you stop goin' 
 on. 'Fi's a man I'd find out what to do 'fore I did anythinV 
 
 Jane had little comprehension of the tempest she had 
 raised in Holcroft's soul or its causes, and so was in no mood 
 to make allowances for him. By this time, the first gust 
 of his passion was passing and reason resuming its sway. 
 He paced up and down in the road a moment or two, and 
 then sat down as he said, "I don't half understand what 
 you've been talking about and I fear you don't. You've 
 evidently been listening and watching and have got hold of 
 something. Now, I'll be as patient as I can if you'll tell me 
 the whole story quickly," and he turned his flushed, quiver- 
 ing face toward her. 
 
 "Then I s'pose you'll .scold me for listenin' and watchin' 
 that scamp," said the girl, sullenly. 
 
 "No, Jane, not in this case. Unless your impressions are 
 all mistaken I may have to thank you all my life. I'm not 
 one to forget those who are true to me. Now, begin at the 
 beginning and go right through to the end; then I may 
 understand better than you can." 
 
 Jane did as she was told, and many "says he's" and "says 
 she's" followed in her literal narrative. Holcroft again 
 dropped his face into his hands and before she was through 
 tears of joy trickled through his fingers. When she finished 
 he rose, turned away, and hastily wiped his eyes, then gave 
 the girl his hand as he said, "Thank you, Jane. You've 
 tried to be a true friend to me to-day. I'll show you that I 
 don't forget. I was a fool to get in such a rage, but you 
 can't understand and must forgive me. Come, you see I'm 
 quiet now," and he untied the horses and lifted her into his 
 wagon. 
 
 "What yer goin' to do ?" she asked, as they drove away. 
 
 "I'm going to reward you for watching and listening to 
 that scoundrel, but you must not watch me or Mrs. Hoi-
 
 306 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 croft, or listen to what we say unless we speak before you. 
 If you do I shall be very angry. Now, you've only one 
 thing more to do and that is, show me where this man is 
 hiding." 
 
 "But you won't go near him alone?" inquired Jane in 
 much alarm. 
 
 "You must do as I bid you," he replied, sternly. "Show 
 me where he's hiding, then stay by the wagon and horses." 
 
 "But he same as said he'd kill you." 
 
 "You have your orders," was his quiet reply. 
 
 She looked scared enough, but remained silent until they 
 reached a shaded spot on the road, then said, "If you don't 
 want him to see you too soon, better tie here. He's around 
 yonder in a grove up on the hill." 
 
 Holcroft drove to a tree by the side of the highway and 
 again tied his horses, then took the whip from the wagon. 
 "Are you afraid to go with me a little way and show me 
 just where he is ?" he asked. 
 
 "No, but you oughtn'ter go." 
 
 "Come on, then. You must mind me if you wish to keep 
 my goodwill. I know what I'm about." As in his former 
 encounter, his weapon was again a long, tough whipstock 
 with a leather thong attached. This he cut off and put in 
 his pocket, then followed Jane's rapid lead up the hill. Very 
 soon she said, "There's the place I saw 'im in. If you will 
 go, I'd steal up on him." 
 
 "Yes. You stay here." She made no reply, but the 
 moment he disappeared she was upon his trail. Her curi- 
 osity was much greater than her timidity, and she justly 
 reasoned that she had little to fear. 
 
 Holcroft approached from a point whence Ferguson was 
 expecting no danger. The latter was lying on the ground, 
 gnawing his nails in vexation, when he first heard- the 
 farmer's step. Then he saw a dark-visaged man rushing upon 
 him. In the impulse of his terror, he drew his revolver and 
 fired. The ball hissed near, but did no harm, and before 
 Ferguson could use his weapon again, a blow from the whip-
 
 JANE PLAYS MOUSE TO THE LION 307 
 
 stock paralyzed his arm and the pistol dropped to the ground, 
 So also did its owner a moment later, under a vindictive rain 
 of blows, until he shrieked for mercy. 
 
 "Don't move," said Holcroft, sternly, and he picked up 
 the revolver. "So you meant to kill me, eh ?" 
 
 "No, no, I didn't. I wouldn't have fired if it hadn't been 
 in self-defence and because I hadn't time to think." He 
 spoke with difficulty, for his mouth was bleeding and he was 
 terribly bruised. 
 
 "A liar, too," said the farmer, glowering down upon him. 
 "But I knew that before. What did you mean by your 
 threats to my wife ?" 
 
 "See here, Mr. Holcroft, I'm down and at your mercy. 
 If you'll let me off I'll go away and never trouble you or 
 your wife again." 
 
 "Oh, no," said Holcroft, with a bitter laugh. "You'll 
 never, never trouble us again." 
 
 "What! do you mean to murder me?" Ferguson half 
 shrieked. 
 
 "Would killing such a thing as you be murder? Any 
 jury in the land would acquit me. You ought to be roasted 
 over a slow fire." 
 
 The fellow tried to scramble on his knees, but Holcroft 
 hit him another savage blow, and said, "Lie still." 
 
 Ferguson began to wring his hands and beg for mercy. 
 His captor stood over him a moment of two irresolutely in 
 his white-heated anger, then thoughts of his wife began to 
 soften him. He could not go to her with blood on his 
 hands she who had taught him such lessons of forbearance 
 and forgiveness. He put the pistol in his pocket and giving 
 his enemy a kick, said, "Get up." 
 
 The man rose with difficulty. 
 
 "I won't waste time in asking any promises from you, 
 but if you ever trouble my wife or me again, I'll break every 
 bone in your body. Go, quick, before my mood changes, 
 and don't say a Word."
 
 308 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 As the man tremblingly untied his horse, Jane stepped 
 out before him and said, "I'm a little idiotic girl, am I ?" 
 
 He was too thoroughly cowed to make any reply and 
 drove as rapidly away as the ground permitted, guiding his 
 horse with difficulty in his maimed condition. 
 
 Jane, in the exuberance of her pleasure, began some- 
 thing like a jig on the scene of conflict, and her antics were 
 so ridiculous that Holcroft had to turn away to repress a 
 smile. "You didn't mind me, Jane," he said gravely. 
 
 "Well, sir," she replied, "after showin' you the way to 
 'im, you oughter not grudge me seein' the fun." 
 
 "But it isn't nice for little girls to see such things." 
 
 "Never saw anything nicer in my life. You're the kind 
 of man I believe in, you are. Golly! only wished she'd 
 seen you. I've seen many a rough and tumble 'mong farm 
 hands, but never anything like this. It was only his pistol 
 I was 'fraid of." 
 
 "Will you do exactly what I say now?" She nodded. 
 
 "Well, go home across the fields and don't, by word or 
 manner, let Mrs. Holcroft know what you've seen or heard 
 and say nothing about meeting me. Just make her think 
 you know nothing at all and that you only watched the man 
 out of sight. Do this and I'll give you a new dress." 
 
 "I'd like somethin' else 'sides that." 
 
 "Well, what?" 
 
 "I'd like to be sure I could stay right on with you." 
 
 "Yes, Jane, after to-day, as long as you're a good girl. 
 Now go, for I must get back to my team before this scamp 
 goes by." 
 
 She darted homeward as the farmer returned to his 
 wagon. Ferguson soon appeared and seemed much startled 
 as he saw his nemesis again. "I'll keep my word," he said, 
 as he drove by. 
 
 "You'd better," called the farmer. "You know what to 
 expect now." 
 
 Alida was so prostrated by the shock of the interview that 
 she rallied slowly. At last she saw that it was getting late
 
 JANE PLAYS MOUSE TO THE LION 309 
 
 and that she soon might expect the return of her husband. 
 She dragged herself to the door and again called Jane, but 
 the place was evidently deserted. Evening was coming on 
 tranquilly, with all its sweet June sounds, but now every bird 
 song was like a knell. She sunk on the porch seat and 
 looked at the landscape, already so dear and familiar, as if 
 she were taking final farewell of a friend. Then she turned 
 to the homely kitchen to which she had first been brought. 
 "I can do a little more for him," she thought, "before I 
 make the last sacrifice which will soon bring the end. I 
 think I could have lived lived, perhaps, till I was old, if 
 I had gone among strangers from the almshouse, but I can't 
 now. My heart is broken. Now that I've seen that man 
 again I understand why my husband cannot love me. Even 
 the thought of touching me must make him shudder. But 
 I can't bear up under such a load much longer and that's 
 my comfort. It's best I should go away now; I couldn't 
 do otherwise," and the tragedy went on in her soul as she 
 feebly prepared her husband's meal. 
 
 At last Jane came in with her basket of peas. Her face 
 was so impassive as to suggest that she had no knowledge 
 of anything except that there had been a visitor, and Alida 
 had sunk into such depths of despairing sorrow that she 
 scarcely noticed the child.
 
 310 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 FEOM YOU?" 
 
 HOLCROFT soon came driving slowly up the lane as if 
 nothing unusual was on his mind. Having tied his 
 horses, he brought in an armful of bundles and said, 
 kindly, "Well, Alida, here I am again, and I guess I've 
 brought enough to last well through haying time." 
 
 "Yes," she replied, with averted face. This did not 
 trouble him any now, but her extreme pallor did and he 
 added, "You don't look well. I wouldn't mind getting much 
 supper to-night. Let Jane do the work." 
 
 "I'd rather do it," she replied. 
 
 "Oh, well" laughing pleasantly "you shall have your 
 own way. Who has a better right than you, I'd like to 
 know?" 
 
 "Don't speak that way," she said almost harshly, under 
 the tension of her feelings. "I I can't stand it. Speak 
 and look as you did before you went away." 
 
 "Jane," said the farmer, "go and gather the eggs." 
 
 As soon as they were alone, he began gently, "Alida" 
 
 "Please don't speak so to me to-day. I've endured all I 
 can. I can't keep up another minute unless you let things 
 go on as they were. To-morrow I'll try to tell you all. It's 
 your right." 
 
 "I didn't mean to say anything myself till after supper 
 and perhaps not till to-morrow, but I think" I'd better. It 
 will be better for us both and our minds will be more at 
 rest. Come with me into the parlor, Alida."
 
 "SHRINK FROM YOU?" 311 
 
 "Well, perhaps the sooner it's over the better," she said, 
 faintly and huskily. 
 
 She sunk on the lounge and looked at him with such 
 despairing eyes that tears came into his own. 
 
 "Alida," he began hesitatingly, "after I left you this 
 noon I felt I must speak with and be frank with you." 
 
 "Xo, no," she cried, with an imploring gesture, "if it 
 must be said, let me say it. I couldn't endure to hear it 
 from you. Before you went away I understood it all, and 
 this afternoon the truth has been burned into my soul. That 
 horrible man has been here the man I thought my hus- 
 band and he has made it clearer, if possible. I don't 
 blame you that you shrink from me as if I were a leper. I 
 feel as if I were one." 
 
 "7 shrink from you!" he exclaimed. 
 
 "Yes. Can you think I haven't seen the repugnance 
 'growing in spite of yourself 2 When I thought of that man 
 especially when he came to-day I understood why too 
 well. I cannot stay here any longer. You'd try to be kind 
 and considerate, but I'd know how you felt all the time. It 
 would not be safe for you and it would not be right for me 
 to stay, either, and that settles it. Be be as kind to me 
 as you can a few a few hours longer and then let me go 
 quietly." Her self-control gave way, and burying her face 
 in her hands, she sobbed convulsively. 
 
 In a moment he was on his knees beside her, with his arm 
 about her waist. "Alida, dear Alida," he cried, "we've 
 both been in the dark about each other. What I resolved 
 to do when I started for town was to tell you that I had 
 learned to love you and to throw myself on your mercy. I 
 thought you saw that I was loving you and that you couldn't 
 bear to think of such a thing in an old, homely fellow like 
 me. That was all that was in my mind, so help me God!" 
 
 "But but he's been here," she faltered, "you don't 
 realize " 
 
 "I don't believe I do or can, yet, Alida dear, but that 
 blessed Jane's spying trait has served me the best turn in
 
 312 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 the world. She heard every brave word you said and I shed 
 tears of joy when she told me ; and tears are slow coming to 
 my eyes. You think I shrink from you, do you?" and he 
 kissed her hands passionately. "See," he cried, "I kneel to 
 you in gratitude for all you've been to me and are to me." 
 
 "Oh, James, please rise. It's too much." 
 
 "Xo, not till you promise to go with me to a minister and 
 hear me promise to love, cherish yes, in your case I'll prom- 
 ise to obey." 
 
 She bowed her head upon his shoulder in answer. Spring- 
 ing up, he clasped her close and kissed away her tears as he 
 exclaimed, "j$To more business marriage for me, if you please. 
 There never was a man so in love with his wife." 
 
 Suddenly she looked up and said, fearfully, "James, he 
 threatened you. He said you'd never be safe a moment as 
 long as I stayed here." 
 
 His answer was a peal of laughter. "I've done more than 
 threaten him. I've whipped him within an inch of his 
 life, and it was the thought of you that led me, in my rage, to 
 spare his life. I'll tell you all I'm going to tell you every- 
 thing now. How much trouble I might have saved if I had 
 told you my thoughts. What was there, Alida, in an old fel- 
 low like me that led you to care so ?" 
 
 Looking up shyly, she replied, "I think it was the man 
 in you and then you stood up for me so." 
 
 "Well, love is blind, I suppose, but it don't seem to me 
 that mine is. There never was a man so taken in at his mar- 
 riage. You were so different from what I expected that I 
 began loving you before I knew it, but I thought you were 
 good to me just as you were to Jane from a sense of duty 
 and that you couldn't abide me personally. So I tried 
 to keep out of your way. And, Alida dear, I thought at first 
 that I was taken by your good traits and your education and 
 all that, but I found out at last that I had fallen in love with 
 you. Now you know all. You feel better now, don't you 2" 
 
 "Yes," she breathed softly. 
 
 "You've had enough to wear a saint out," he continued,
 
 "SHRINK FROM YOU f 313 
 
 kindly. "Lie down on the lounge and I'll bring your sup- 
 per to you." 
 
 "No, please. It will do me more good to go on and act as 
 if nothing had happened." 
 
 "Well, have your own way, little wife. You're boss now, 
 sure enough." 
 
 She drew him to the porch and together they looked 
 upon the June landscape which she had regarded with such 
 despairing eyes an hour before. 
 
 "Happiness never kills, after all," she said. 
 
 "Shouldn't be alive if it did," he replied. "The birds 
 seem to sing as if they knew." 
 
 Jane emerged from the barn door with a basket of eggs 
 and Alida sped away to meet her. The first thing the child 
 knew the arms of her mistress were about her neck and she 
 was kissed again and again. 
 
 "What did you do that for ?" she asked. 
 
 "You'll understand some day." 
 
 "Say," said Jane, in an impulse of good-will, "if you're 
 only half married to Mr. Holcroft, I'd go the whole figure, 
 'fi's you. If you'd a-seen him a-thrashin' that scamp you'd 
 know he's the man to take care of you." 
 
 "Yes, Jane, I know. He'll take care of me always." 
 
 The next morning Holcroft and Alida drove to town and 
 went to the church which she and her mother used to attend. 
 After the service, they followed the clergyman home, where 
 Alida again told him her story, though not without much 
 help from the farmer. After some kindly reproach that she 
 had not brought her troubles to him at first, the minister 
 performed a ceremony which found deep echoes in both 
 their hearts. 
 
 Time and right, sensible living soon remove prejudice 
 from the hearts of the good and stop the mouths of the cyni- 
 cal and scandal-loving. Alida's influence, and the farmer's 
 broadening and more unselfish views, gradually brought him 
 into a better understanding of his faith, and into a kinder 
 sympathy and charity for his neighbors than he had ever
 
 814 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE 
 
 known. His relations to the society of which he was a part 
 became natural and friendly, and his house a pretty and a 
 hospitable home. Even Mrs. Watterly eventually entered 
 its portals. She and others were compelled to agree with 
 Watterly, that Alida was not of the "common sort," and that 
 the happiest good fortune which could befall any man had 
 come to Holcroft when he fell in love with his wife. 
 
 THE END
 
 E. P. ROE 
 
 REMINISCENCES OF HIS LIFE
 
 COPYRIGHT, i899 
 BY DODD, MEAD, & COMPANY.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 BOYHOOD AND COLLEGE DAYS ......... 321 
 
 CHAPTEK II 
 LIFE AS CHAPLAIN ............ 329 
 
 CHAPTEK in 
 A WINTER CAMP ............. 347 
 
 CHAPTEK IV 
 MARRIAGE THE KAID TOWARD KICHMOND .... 358 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 HAMPTON HOSPITAL ............ 366 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 THE HOSPITAL FARM AND CHAPEL ....... 376 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 PASTORATE AT HIGHLAND FALLS ....... 382 
 
 CHAPTER 
 RESIGNATION FROM THE MINISTRY ....... 397 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 FRUIT CULTURE AND LITERARY WORK ..... 401 
 
 (317)
 
 318 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 HOME LIFE 410 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 SANTA BARBARA 421 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 RETURN TO CORNWALL LETTERS 438 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 LAST BOOK DEATH 446 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 AN ACCOUNT OF E. P. ROE'S BOOKS 461 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE TABLET AND MEMORIAL ADDRESS . 469
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTE 
 
 SINCE the death of Edward Payson Roe, in 1888, there 
 have been inquiries from time to time for some record of his 
 life and work, and it is in response to these repeated requests 
 that this volume is issued. While necessarily omitting much 
 that is of too personal a nature for publication, the editor has 
 allowed the subject of these Reminiscences to speak for him- 
 self as far as possible, although it has been thought advisable 
 to introduce here and there various papers from outside 
 sources that seem to throw additional light upon his char- 
 acter. It is believed that in this way a clearer picture may 
 be given than would otherwise be obtained of the life of one 
 who was, perhaps, the most popular American author of his 
 generation. The editor's own part of the work has been con- 
 fined to a simple statement of facts and to supplying connect- 
 ing links, when such seemed needed, between the various 
 letters and papers. 
 
 Thanks are due, and are hereby offered, to all wLo have 
 kindly contributed material or in other ways assisted in the 
 preparation of this volume.
 
 IW 
 
 E. P. ROE 
 
 REMINISCENCES OF HIS LIFE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 BOYHOOD AND COLLEGE DAYS 
 
 Y brother Edward and I were the youngest of six chil- 
 dren, and as he was my senior by but a few years 
 we were playmates and almost inseparable compan- 
 ions in our childhood. 
 
 We were born in a roomy old-fashioned house, built by 
 my mother's father for his oldest son, but purchased by my 
 father when he retired from business in New York. A more 
 ideal home for a happy childhood could not easily be found. 
 It stood near the entrance of a beautiful valley through which 
 flowed a clear stream, and was wind-sheltered by high bluffs, 
 yet commanded fine views of the mountains with glimpses of 
 the Hudson showing like lakes between them. 
 
 What we called the "side-hill," back of the house, was our 
 chief playground. My brother delighted in climbing the 
 hickory and chestnut trees that grew upon it, and it was here 
 in spring that we searched for wild flowers, from the little 
 hepaticas just peeping above the snow, to the laurel in its 
 full glory. In after years Edward never visited the old 
 home without a tramp to the top of that side-hill or along 
 the wood-road at its base. 
 
 Our mother was always an invalid, and the housekeeper, 
 Betsey Williams, who was a member of our family for many 
 years, became like a second mother to us in her care and de- 
 votion. But she was no disciplinarian, and I have heard 
 
 (321)
 
 322 BOYHOOD AMD COLLEGE DAYS 
 
 that when Edward was in a childish passion and she felt 
 unable to cope with the situation she would pick him up 
 bodily and carry him to my mother's couch. There he would 
 sit beside her, not daring to move until he could promise 
 obedience, held spellbound by the authority in her keen black 
 eyes, though she was too weak to raise her hand to her head. 
 
 Edward's love of nature was inherited from both father 
 and mother. Often, on lovely June days, he would draw 
 mother's wheeled chair through the broad walks of our large 
 square garden, where the borders on either side were gorgeous 
 with flowers, while I gathered and piled the fragrant blos- 
 soms on her lap until she was fairly embowered. Yet one 
 scarcely missed those that were plucked. 
 
 Back of the garden ran a clear brook, the overflow from 
 a spring of soft, cool water at the base of the side-hill, and in 
 it we often played and tumbled, soaking and soiling many a 
 fresh clean suit. 
 
 As is usually the case with younger sisters, I always fol- 
 lowed my brother's lead, and one summer day's adventure in 
 particular stands clearly in my memory. We little children 
 had started off with the avowed intention of looking for wild 
 strawberries. We had secretly planned to visit the old house 
 where my mother was born, which was some distance further 
 up the valley and at that time was unoccupied, but we 
 thought it best not to make any announcement of this project 
 in advance. 
 
 Edward had heard that in the cellar there was a stone 
 vault in which our Grandfather Williams kept the money 
 that General Washington had intrusted to his care until it 
 was required to pay off the soldiers of the Revolution while 
 they were encamped near Newburgh. Edward was eager 
 to visit the cellar, thinking that possibly there might still be 
 a few coins left. We entered the empty house by a back 
 door and wandered through the rooms, he entertaining me 
 the while with stories mother had told him of her childhood 
 there. 
 
 Then we timidly groped our way down into the large eel-
 
 BOYHOOD AND COLLEGE DAYS 323 
 
 lar and found the stone vault but it was filled only with 
 cobwebs and dust ! 
 
 When we came out and stood in the great kitchen Edward 
 told me another Revolutionary story connected with the spot 
 in our great-grandmother's day. 
 
 A company of British soldiers had been quartered upon 
 the family, and the old kitchen swarmed with redcoats and 
 negro servants, for those were still days of slavery in the 
 North. Grandmother Brewster, who was a notable cook, had 
 just placed in the heated brick oven a large baking of bread, 
 pies, and cake. One of the soldiers asked her if they could 
 have these good things provided they could take them away 
 without her knowledge, but while she was in the kitchen. 
 She, believing this impossible, said yes. He waited until 
 everything was removed from the oven and placed upon a 
 large table to cool. Suddenly a quarrel arose between several 
 of the soldiers and one of her favorite colored boys. Fearing 
 the lad would be killed, she rushed into the midst of the crowd 
 and at length succeeded in stopping the fight. When at last 
 peace and quiet were restored, she turned round to find her 
 morning's baking gone and in a moment she understood 
 the ruse they had practiced upon her. 
 
 As Edward talked the whole story seemed very real to us, 
 but when he had finished we walked up to the old oven, and 
 looking into its cavernous depths he said: "That's here and 
 the stone vault down cellar, but all those people are dead and 
 gone. How strange and lonely it seems! Let's go." 
 
 Then we hurried off to a field near by which we called 
 "the rose-patch." Not far from this. spot stood formerly an 
 old mill where snuff was manufactured, and the rose-bushes 
 that in bygone days had yielded their blossoms to scent the 
 snuff were still living and flowering. But among the roses 
 was an abundance of wild strawberries, and the two children 
 soon lost all thoughts of the past in their enjoyment of the 
 luscious fruit. But the old deserted house with its Revolu- 
 tionary associations never ceased to have great attractions 
 for us. Across the road from it, and nearer the creek, was
 
 324 BOYHOOD AND COLLEGE DAYS 
 
 a mound of cinders marking the spot where once stood the 
 forge upon which our grandfather wrought the great iron 
 chain which was stretched across the Hudson for the purpose 
 of keeping British ships from sailing beyond it. Some links 
 of this chain are now kept as relics in the Washington 
 "Headquarters" at JSTewburgh. 
 
 In later years, Edward planned to write a story entitled 
 "The Fair Captives of Brooklyn Heights/' embodying some 
 incidents in the lives of our Grandfather Williams' sisters, 
 who lived there with their widowed mother. During the 
 Revolution a number of British officers installed themselves 
 at her house, and the old lady promptly locked up her daugh- 
 ters in order to prevent any possible love-making. One of 
 the girls eluded her vigilance, however, married an officer, 
 and fled with him to Canada. She returned after the war 
 was over, but her mother, who had never forgiven the de- 
 ception, refused to receive her, and she and her husband went 
 to England to live. 
 
 In our home at Moodna was always to be found a gen- 
 erous hospitality. Among our most loved and honored 
 guests was Dr. Samuel Cox, who was for many years a 
 prominent clergyman in New York and Brooklyn. My 
 father had been a member of his church and they were life- 
 long friends. Often, in summer, he and his family spent 
 weeks at a time with us, and we children, as well as our 
 elders, were always charmed listeners to his conversation. 
 He had a fine memory, and it was remarkably well stored 
 with classic poetry. Sometimes he would entertain us with 
 selections from the "Iliad," but more often, when other 
 guests were present and Edward and I were seated on the 
 piazza steps, on warm moonlight evenings, he would repeat 
 whole cantos from "Marmion" or "Lady of the Lake," or per- 
 haps some fine passages from "Paradise Lost." 
 
 At times the conversation would turn upon ancient his- 
 tory, and I remember on one occasion he asked Edward and 
 me if we could give him the names of the first Roman trium- 
 virate. At this period of our existence the name "Caesar"
 
 BOYHOOD AND COLLEGE DAYS 325 
 
 was associated exclusively with an old colored man whom we 
 often visited and who lived upon a lonely road which is still 
 called "Caesar's Lane." We were vastly astonished, there- 
 fore, to learn that the name had ever been borne by any more 
 illustrious personage than our dusky friend. But we lis- 
 tened, entranced, while the doctor told of the rivalries and 
 conflicts of those two great generals, Csesar and Pompey, for 
 the empire of the world. He could not remember the name of 
 the third triumvir, and it troubled him greatly. That night, 
 about two o'clock, I was startled by a loud knock at my bed- 
 room door, and Dr. Cox called out, "Mary, are you awake ?" 
 I replied that I was as, indeed, was every one else in the 
 house by that time. "It's Crassus," he said, then returned 
 to his room greatly relieved that he had finally recalled the 
 name. Edward and I never forgot our first lessson in Ro- 
 man History. 
 
 This learned clergyman was often very absent-minded. 
 During one of his visits to us he had been for a drive with 
 his wife and our mother. On their return he stopped at the 
 horse-block, near where Edward and I were playing, threw 
 down the reins, and, engrossed in some train of thought, 
 walked into the house, utterly forgetful of the ladies on the 
 back seat. They, very much amused, continued their con- 
 versation and waited to see if he would remember them. 
 Finally, however, as he did not reappear, Edward was called 
 to assist them from the carriage and unharness the horse. 
 Some time afterward the doctor rushed out of the front door 
 and around the house, having just remembered where he left 
 the companions of his drive. 
 
 The first school Edward and I attended was a private one 
 for boys and girls kept by our eldest brother, Alfred, in the 
 village of Canterbury, two miles distant from our home. We 
 trudged over the hills together on pleasant days and drove 
 over when the weather was stormy. I well remember the ab- 
 normal interest we felt in the health of an aunt of ours who 
 lived near the school and who had some fine fruit trees on her 
 place. After our inquiries in regard to her welfare had
 
 326 BOYHOOD AND COLLEGE DAYS 
 
 been answered she was sure to invite us to examine the 
 ground beneath those trees, while the merry twinkle in her 
 eyes showed appreciation of the fact that our devotion to her 
 was not altogether disinterested. 
 
 Of my brother's later school and college days, the Rev. 
 A. Moss Merwin, now of Pasadena, California, writes : 
 
 "It was at Cornwall-on-the-Hudson I first met Edward, 
 a fellow student in his brother Alfred's classical school. His 
 face and manners were attractive, and intellectually he 
 ranked high among his companions. Well informed as to 
 current events, with a wider knowledge of books than is usual 
 with young men of his years, and with great facility in ex- 
 pressing his thoughts orally and in writing, he commanded 
 our respect from the first. And when we saw from time to 
 time articles from his pen in the New York Evangelist de- 
 scriptive of stirring events, our respect grew into admiration 
 for him who was facile princeps in our small literary world. 
 Then as we came to know something of his kindness of heart 
 and enthusiasm for the good and true we loved him. 
 
 "His particular friends among the boarding pupils en- 
 joyed the privilege of being invited occasionally to the hos- 
 pitable home of his parents. What a home it was ! Abun- 
 dant comfort without ostentation or luxury. The father a 
 retired business man, kindly, philanthropic, and an ardent 
 lover of plants and flowers. The mother an invalid in her 
 wheeled chair, a woman with sunshine in eye and voice, of 
 unusual intelligence, highly cultivated, with charming con- 
 versational powers. 
 
 "In the little Presbyterian church near the school, planted 
 mainly through the exertions of his father and elder brothers, 
 there came a time of special religious interest when Edward 
 was deeply impressed. With loving purpose he sought out 
 two of his most intimate companions, and through his instru- 
 mentality they then began the Christian life. One became a 
 successful business man in Chicago, and to the day of his 
 death remembered with gratitude the helping hand and ear- 
 nest words of E. P. Roe. The other friend remembers that
 
 BOYHOOD AND COLLEGE DAYS . 327 
 
 soon after that decision, when he and Edward were walking 
 through the grounds of the Friends' meeting-house, they 
 covenanted together to study for the ministry. 
 
 "We were together again preparing for college at Burr 
 and Burton Seminary, Manchester, Vermont. How enthu- 
 siastic he was over the beautiful scenery of that now far- 
 famed summer resort in the Green Mountains ! How de- 
 lighted to send his father a present through his own earnings 
 by sawing several cords of wood !" 
 
 About this time our father's property in New York City 
 was destroyed by fire, and owing to the expense of rebuild- 
 ing he was obliged for a time to practice close economy. But 
 fortunately it was not found necessary to take any of his 
 children from school or college. To quote Mr. Merwin 
 further : 
 
 "At Williams College we saw much of each other. 
 Roe was a fair scholar, more intent at getting at the mean- 
 ing of the text, and its mythological and historical rela- 
 tions, than in making what is called a fair recitation. His 
 ability as a writer and speaker was recognized early in his 
 college course when elected speaker of his class at a Wash- 
 ington's Birthday banquet. Friends he easily made, and 
 with many remained in pleasant relations to the close of his 
 life. Trouble with his eyes caused him to shorten his course 
 at college, but the authorities, in view of his subsequent suc- 
 cess as a writer, gave him his diploma." 
 
 My brother excelled in athletic sports in his youth, par- 
 ticularly in swimming and skating. On one occasion when 
 he was home on vacation, he and a young companion were 
 skating on the river. His friend, who was skimming along 
 in advance of him, suddenly fell into an air-hole and sank 
 out of sight. Edward instantly realized that if he went to 
 the spot to rescue him, he also would break through. With 
 quick presence of mind, therefore, he unwound a long wor- 
 sted muffler from his neck and threw one end of it into the 
 opening. As soon as the struggling boy rose to the surface, 
 'Edward shouted, "Take hold of that tippet and I'll pull you
 
 328 BOYHOOD AND COLLEGE DAYS 
 
 out!" His friend did as he was directed and Edward, by 
 exerting all his strength, succeeded in drawing him out of the 
 water and upon the solid ice, fortunately not much the worse 
 for his immersion. 
 
 Adjoining our father's property was that of Mr. Nathan- 
 iel Sands, a "Friend" and a gentleman in all that the words 
 imply, who was loved and respected by the whole community. 
 His residence commanded an extended view of the river and 
 mountains and especially of the narrow Gap of the High- 
 lands. At his death the old homestead became the summer 
 residence of his eldest son, Dr. David Sands, the head of a 
 well-known firm of druggists in New York. 
 
 While my brother was at the theological seminary, and 
 just about the beginning of the Civil War, he became en- 
 gaged to Dr. Sands' second daughter, Anna. The young 
 people had known each other from childhood, and this happy 
 culmination of their long friendship was not unexpected by 
 either family.
 
 LIFE AS CHAPLAIN 329 
 
 CHAPTER n 
 
 LIFE AS CHAPLAIN 
 
 ONE of Edward's schoolmates at Cornwall, writing of 
 him, said: "We met again on a most memorable 
 evening in the early days of the war, when with two 
 young ladies, one of whom became his wife, we rowed out on 
 the Hudson River, under the shadow of Storm King, while 
 the whole sky from west to east flamed with crimson-tinted 
 clouds, that seemed a portent of the scenes to follow. When 
 we reached the dock on our return the evening papers 
 brought the details of the battle of Bull Run, fought on the 
 previous day." 
 
 I remember Edward's intense excitement on his return 
 home that night, and his remark that if he were only 
 through his seminary course he would join the army as chap- 
 lain. From that time I believe the purpose was constantly 
 in his mind; and the next year, 1862, although his studies 
 were not then completed, he became chaplain of the famous 
 Harris Light Cavalry, under the command of the gallant 
 Kilpatrick, later Brigadier and Major-General, who was al- 
 ways my brother's firm friend. 
 
 The following testimony to Edward's work among the 
 soldiers was written upon the field by a correspondent of the 
 New York "Tribune." 
 
 "Chaplain Roe, of the Second New York (Harris Light) 
 Cavalry, is a man whose praises are in the mouth of every 
 one for timely and efficient services. He is always with the 
 regiment, and his whole time is devoted to the temporal and 
 spiritual welfare of the men. He is their friend, adviser,
 
 330 LIFE AS CHAPLAIN 
 
 and counsellor, and commands the respect of all who know 
 him something that cannot be said of every chaplain in the 
 army." 
 
 The "Observer" of that year also published a letter 
 written by a private in the Harris Light Cavalry to his par- 
 ents. In it is found this reference to their chaplain. 
 
 "To-day is Sunday, and, as a great exception, it has ap- 
 peared like Sunday. This morning we had service at 
 headquarters, the chaplain of our regiment officiating, 
 and I think I can safely call him a pious army chaplain, 
 which I cannot say of any others that 7 ever knew; and 
 notwithstanding the little respect most chaplains have shown 
 to them, and still less encouragement, this one, by his mild, 
 gentle, manly, humble, and Christian-like demeanor, has won 
 the respect of all with whom he has had intercourse, from 
 the most profane and vulgar to the most gentlemanly, which 
 few chaplains have been able to do. In a fight he is- seen en- 
 couraging the men; in the hospital administering to the sol- 
 dier's wants, both spiritually and bodily. Last winter, dur- 
 ing the worst days of a Virginia winter, I have seen him 
 going from camp to camp, distributing his books and papers; 
 and with his own earnings he would buy delicacies that a 
 poor sick soldier would otherwise in vain long for. These 
 and other innumerable like acts have gradually caused every 
 one to at least respect him, and some to love him. His name 
 is Kev. E. P. Koe, Chaplain Harris Light Cavalry. I have 
 been informed that he had just graduated when he came into 
 
 the army. I think Dr. P may know him. I believe he 
 
 is a Presbyterian. If you had any idea what a chaplain had 
 to contend with, in order to lead a consistent life, you might 
 then understand why I speak so of him. S." 
 
 While with this regiment Edward acted as weekly corre- 
 spondent for the New York "Evangelist." A few of his let- 
 ters to that paper are here reprinted, in the hope that they 
 may still be found of interest. They are characteristic of the 
 writer and give a clearer idea of his life at this time than can 
 be obtained in any other way.
 
 LIFE AS CHAPLAIN 331 
 
 "CAMP HALL'S HILL, OCT. 15, 1862 
 
 "MESSES. EDITORS : Till within a few days past we 
 have been enjoying splendid weather, days as warm and 
 sunny as those of June, and moonlight nights so clear and 
 beautiful that one could sit at his tent door and read ordinary 
 type with perfect ease and pleasure. Of course we improved 
 such favorable weather and held our prayer-meetings nearly 
 every night. I shall never forget one religious service that 
 we had last week. 
 
 "As usual, a large fire was kindled in front of the chap- 
 lain's tent, and the men, having disposed of their suppers, 
 were beginning to assemble. Soon the musical 'church-call' 
 sounded to hasten the lagging ones, and by the time our exer- 
 cises commenced about two hundred were present. Our 
 meetings are of a free and general character, open to all who 
 are willing to take part in them. We commence by singing 
 two or three hymns or patriotic songs in succession, the sound 
 of music calling the men together. A prayer is then offered, 
 after which I endeavor by some anecdote or illustration to 
 force home the truth and necessity of a Saviour upon the 
 minds of those present. The Christian members of the regi- 
 ment then follow in prayer, singing, and exhortation, till we 
 are dispersed by the roll-call. We have interruptions in this, 
 our usual programme, of such a nature, and with such fre- 
 quency, that we have great reason to be thankful and encour- 
 aged. They are occasioned by the stepping forth of soldiers 
 in front of the fire who have hitherto been silent in our meet- 
 ings, and who either ask the prayers of Christians that they 
 may be led to the Saviour, or calmly and firmly state their 
 intention to enlist under the banner of the Cross, and urge 
 their comrades to do likewise. 
 
 "Toward the close of the service I have mentioned, three 
 young men rose up together, and calmly and firmly one after 
 another stated their resolution, with God's help, to live a 
 Christian life. Oh that some of our cold, half-hearted pro- 
 fessors could have been here then. Would to God that the 
 voices of those young soldiers, as they urged with simple and 
 earnest eloquence their comrades to come to the Saviour like-
 
 332 
 
 wise, might be heard throughout all the churches of the 
 North, and sound in every prayer-meeting, in our land. 
 Such earnest tones and words would soon disperse the moral 
 and religious apathy that seems to reign undisturbed in many 
 localities, for they would prove that the Spirit of God was 
 present. It was a scene that would have moved the coldest 
 heart, and stirred the most sluggish nature. The starry sky, 
 the full moon overhead flooding all the landscape with the 
 softest and most beautiful radiance, the white tents covering 
 the hillsides, the large fire blazing fitfully up, surrounded by 
 two hundred or more men who might readily be taken at first 
 glance to be a band of Spanish brigands, all conspired to make 
 a picture that any artist would wish to copy. But as you 
 listened to the words of those young men, and the earnest 
 prayer and songs of praise that followed, all such fanciful 
 thoughts of banditti and romance would melt away, and the 
 strange, peculiar costume of those present would become 
 simply the ordinary dress that the rude taste or necessity 
 of the men during their campaign had led them to assume, 
 and the dark-bearded faces, made still more sombre and sinis- 
 ter by the partial light, would resolve themselves into the 
 bronzed, honest features of our American soldiers, now ex- 
 pressive of solemn thought and feeling. Never was a sound 
 more unwelcome and discordant than the roll-call which broke 
 up that assembly. 
 
 "After the roll-call a group generally lingers around the 
 fire, and I often find in it those who wish to be spoken with 
 on the subject of religion. So it happened this night. A 
 soldier chanced to be passing by our encampment, and, at- 
 tracted by the sound of music, stopped at our meeting. A 
 few days before he had received a letter from home stating 
 that his mother was very ill and not expected to live many 
 days. He knew he should never see her again, and his heart 
 was tender and sad. Thus prepared for the truth by the 
 Providence of God, his steps were directed to us, and as he 
 eat there and listened to those three young men as they stated 
 their resolution from thenceforth to serve God, he too re-
 
 LIFE AS CHAPLAIN 333 
 
 solved to be a Christian, and has since found peace in believ- 
 ing. I told him how our prayer-meeting had been started 
 by two or three Christian soldiers meeting openly for prayer, 
 and that the same happy state of things might be brought 
 about in his regiment in a similar manner. He promised that 
 the prayer-meeting should be commenced. 
 
 "The 18th of this month (October) was as beautiful and 
 bright a Sabbath morning as ever dawned on Virginia. 
 Though the day and all nature spoke of peace, yet men 
 would not hearken, for it was soon evident that our brief re- 
 pose was again to be broken. The Third Division of cavalry 
 was encamped on the northwestern edge of the old Bull Run 
 battlefield. The day before we occupied the battlefield it- 
 self. The earlier part of the day was spent by the different 
 regiments in preparing to march, and by noon the concentra- 
 tion of the entire command began. Distant outposts, regi- 
 ments on picket, and scouting parties were drawn in, and soon 
 after the battle-flags of General Kilpatrick, General Davies, 
 and General Custer were seen fluttering through forests or 
 over hills in the direction of the Warrenton and Alexandria 
 pike. Following them were long lines of cavalry and artil- 
 lery, and above all, a bright October sun that gave to the 
 scene anything but the grimness of war. As evening ap- 
 proached we came out on Warrenton pike. General Davies' 
 brigade had the advance, and part of the Harris Light Cav- 
 alry was thrown out as skirmishers. It soon struck the 
 enemy's pickets, and then a running fight was kept up un- 
 til within a short distance of Gainesville. Our flying artil- 
 lery took advantage of every high position to send a shell 
 shrieking after the enemy. It was now dark night. The 
 head of our column had advanced up within a short distance 
 of the point where the railroad crossed the pike before enter- 
 ing the village. For a short time there had been an ominous 
 silence on the part of the rebels, and it became necessary to 
 send forward part of the Harris Light Cavalry to find what 
 had become of them. The detachment moved on to cross the 
 railroad embankment, when suddenly, from over its top, at
 
 334 LIFE AS CHAPLAIN 
 
 a given signal, a line of fire at least three hundred yards long 
 flashed out into the night, and a perfect storm of bullets 
 rained over their heads. Fortunately the enemy fired too 
 high to do much execution, and only a few were wounded. 
 Our boys returned the volley, and then retired to a small 
 piece of woods, and for a time a hot skirmish was maintained. 
 Having no knowledge of the force that might be concealed 
 in the place, and the position being too strong to be carried 
 by a night assault, further operations were deferred till 
 morning. The 1st Virginia were left on picket close to the 
 enemy and the rest of the command fell somewhat back and 
 went into camp. 
 
 "To one not familiar with army life in the field, our 
 mode of encamping that night would have been extremely 
 interesting and suggestive. We were in the face of the 
 enemy, which is no place for careless security. Each bri- 
 gade was placed by itself, supporting the batteries which were 
 put in position ready to be used at a moment's notice. The 
 horses of each regiment were drawn up in ranks and tied to 
 stakes driven into the ground for the purpose. Each man 
 slept at the head of his horse, which he kept saddled, and 
 part of the time bridled. Within three minutes the entire 
 division could have been out in line of battle. I have known 
 our regiment to saddle their horses, lead out from the woods, 
 form ranks, count four and stand ready to charge into any- 
 thing that might oppose, within just three minutes by the 
 watch. In the rear of this warlike array the ammunition 
 wagons and ambulances were parked in regular order, the 
 team horses standing ready harnessed. Thus Kilpatrick's 
 little fighting division lay there that night like a panther 
 crouched ready to spring. During the night wagons came 
 up with rations, which were soon distributed. The group- 
 ings around the fires, after this, were picturesque in the ex- 
 treme. Some of the men, shrouded in their great military 
 overcoats, stood quietly warming themselves, throwing out 
 immense shadows that stretched away till lost in the sur- 
 rounding darkness. The dusky forms of others might be
 
 LIFE AS CHAPLAIN 335 
 
 seen passing to and fro in the preparation of their rude meal 
 of fried pork and hardtack, while the flickering blaze re- 
 vealed the burly forms of a still greater number reposing 
 upon the ground in all varieties of attitude. At last the en- 
 tire division, except the vigilant pickets and sentinels, was 
 wrapped in slumber. At four o'clock the bugle sounded re- 
 veille, and the camp was soon all astir. Soon after we saw a 
 flash in the direction of the enemy, and listened breathlessly 
 a moment for the report of rebel cannon, but the long inter- 
 val and distant heavy rumble that followed satisfied us that 
 a storm other than that of war was about to break over us; 
 and soon it came, with high cold winds and drenching rain. 
 As we cowered around our smoking, dying fires in the dim 
 twilight of that wild October morning ah ! then we thought 
 of being tucked away in snug feather-beds under the old roof- 
 tree at home ; but there was no repining, though we all knew 
 that on the coming night many would sleep colder than ever 
 before so cold that nothing but the breath of God could 
 give warmth again. 
 
 "But we were not long left to reflection of any kind, 
 for regiment after regiment now began to take position upon 
 the line of march. General Ouster's brigade had the ad- 
 vance. Soon scattering shots and an occasional boom of a 
 cannon told us that we had again found the enemy. But no 
 stand was made until we reached Broad Run, and there the 
 firing became rapid and sharp. Our brigade now came up 
 and was placed in position, and the battle became general. 
 Every now and then a shell would whiz over our heads and 
 explode, inspiring anything but agreeable emotions. Sev- 
 eral charges were made on both sides. I wonder if it is pos- 
 sible to give any idea of a rebel charge. Their cries and 
 yells are so peculiar, so wild, shrill, feverish, so ghastly (I 
 had almost said ghostly), for the sounds seem so unreal, more 
 like horrid shrieks heard in a dream than the utterances of 
 living men. The shouting of our men is deeper and hoarser, 
 and partakes more of the chest tone in its character, but the 
 rebels charge with a yeC that is something between the
 
 336 LIRE AS CHAPLAIN 
 
 shriek of a woman and the scream of a panther. At times 
 you can close your eyes and imagine that some fierce conflict 
 of another age is passing before you in a dream, so strange 
 and unnatural does it seem to see men engaged in mortal 
 combat. We finally dislodged the enemy from their very 
 strong position and advanced across Broad Run. General 
 Ouster took a strong position on a hill above the stream, 
 while General Davies was ordered with his brigade to ad- 
 vance as far as possible toward Warrenton, for General Kil- 
 patrick had received written orders to move out as far as 
 he could upon this road in order to discover the force and 
 intentions of the enemy. The surgeons and ambulances 
 halted in a field between the two brigades. I stayed with 
 them, and was trying to get a feed for my horse, which was 
 evidently beginning to feel the effects of long marches and 
 short rations, when suddenly I heard firing nearly opposite 
 us, on our left flank. At first I thought it was a mere skir- 
 mish with some rebels left in the woods and discovered by our 
 men; but the firing became more rapid every moment, and 
 soon General Ouster's battery began to shell the woods most 
 vigorously. I saw that the woods were full of men, but 
 could not distinguish 'ours from the rebels. Two or three 
 aids galloped by in the direction General Davies had taken. 
 "One remarked in passing, with an ominous look and 
 shake of his head, 'You had better be getting out of here,' 
 which was not a very comforting suggestion to those who had 
 no orders to 'get out of here' or where to get to. It was very 
 evident that something was wrong, and that matters were 
 getting serious. Wagon and ambulance drivers, surgeons 
 and their attendants, contrabands with their led horses in 
 short, all of us were like a covey of startled quails, their 
 heads' up, aware of danger, but not knowing which way to 
 fly. We could not very well show fight, for a charge by a 
 wagon train would be almost as great a novelty as General 
 Kilpatrick's attacking gunboats with cavalry, which he ac- 
 tually did last summer on the Rappahannock, and destroyed 
 them, too. But we, not at all envious, were glad to receive
 
 LIFE AS CHAPLAIN 337 
 
 orders to retrace our steps; for nothing is so uncomfortable 
 for a soldier as to hear firing in his rear. We were proceed- 
 ing leisurely and in good order, when an orderly rode rapidly 
 up to our front and turned us off on a by-road through the 
 woods, with an injunction to move rapidly and come out on 
 the main pike near Gainesville. Away we went in the di- 
 rection of Thoroughfare Gap, the wagons banging and 
 bouncing over stones and stumps, through streams and mud- 
 holes, as we followed the sinuosities of a narrow wood-road 
 which finally led into the open field. Here I felt like cry- 
 ing and laughing both crying with rage at what I then con- 
 sidered our disgraceful retreat; but when I afterward 
 learned what odds we were contending against, I was satis- 
 fied that the best generalship was displayed in rapid retreat. 
 And gravity itself would have laughed at the figure we cut. 
 Contrabands and camp followers were careering by in all 
 states of panic. Many had lost their hats in coming through 
 the woods, and it seemed in some cases now that their wool 
 fairly stood upon end, while they, rolling their eyes over 
 their shoulders in the direction of the enemy, exhibited only 
 their whites to the observer in front. Here might be seen 
 an unfortunate darkie hauling on a stubborn mule that with 
 its wonted perversity wanted to turn around and run the 
 other way ; there a man trying to raise a horse that had fall- 
 en with him; while 'Git up, dar; git up, I tell yer,' re-, 
 sounded from every side. Some poor mules and some led 
 horses fairly got frantic, for what with the beating they re- 
 ceived, and with tin kettles rattling and captured chickens 
 cackling between their legs, it was enough to distract any 
 brute; so they kicked and floundered till they burst their 
 girths, and galloped away rejoicing in their freedom. But 
 the comic was soon lost in the tragic. The pursuing enemy 
 was now closing upon us from all sides. The rear guard, 
 which was the Harris Light Cavalry, made many a gallant 
 stand, but what could a few men do against twenty times 
 their number ? With many it became a sad race for life and 
 liberty. But before dusk we had the satisfaction of effect- 
 R O XV 111
 
 338 LIFE AS CHAPLAIN 
 
 ually checking the enemy. For the first time in my life I 
 found myself rallying a body of men in a fight. Officers and 
 men coming in rapidly, we soon had a respectable line formed 
 and the enemy's advance was now decidedly checked. Cap- 
 tain Elder, who had brought off all his guns in safety, planted 
 them on an eminence, and soon they were thundering de- 
 fiance to the baffled enemy. Shell after shell screamed over 
 our heads and exploded. Soon after a part of the First 
 Corps came up, formed a line of battle, and relieved our 
 thinned and wearied ranks. We retired to the friendly 
 shelter of a neighboring forest, and that deep sleep which 
 follows great excitement and exertion quietly stretched us 
 out as motionless and unconscious seemingly as the lifeless 
 forms of our brave comrades that lay cold and stark along 
 the line of our bloody retreat." 
 
 "Many changes and much marching and counter-march- 
 ing have taken place since the soldiers of the Harris Light 
 Cavalry gathered nightly under the old apple tree, or in 
 front of the chaplain's tent, during the warm moonlight 
 evenings of September and October. The rich autumn fo- 
 liage that then made even poor old desolated Virginia look 
 beautiful has dropped away, and stern winter, rendered all 
 the more grim and forbidding by the ravages of war, now 
 reigns supreme. Many of our number, also, like the leaves, 
 have dropped away. Some, having obtained and squandered 
 their bounty, have treacherously deserted and sneaked away 
 like thievish hounds. The bullet, accident, and sickness have 
 each conspired to lessen our number, and many a noble- 
 hearted fellow who was always first and foremost in all a 
 soldier's duty is now languishing in some hospital, or sleeping 
 beneath the sod that last sleep from which no bugle call shall 
 waken him. 
 
 "It seems as if God was teaching us to look to himself, 
 and not to men, for among those that sickness has for the 
 present removed from our number were three who were the 
 very stay and central pillars of our regimental church. Espe-
 
 LIFE AS CHAPLAIN 339 
 
 cially do I feel the loss of Brother Farber, who was as noble 
 a specimen of a Christian soldier as it has ever been my for- 
 tune to meet. Uniting culture of heart and inind with a 
 happy disposition, a shrewd and quick perception of char- 
 acter, and a manner that made him popular with all, he 
 was just such an ally as the chaplain needed in the ranks. 
 Though he made his religion respected by all, he also made 
 it attractive, and his society was not shunned, even by the 
 wildest spirits of the regiment. His cheerful smile and 
 words were better than medicine in the hospital, and I al- 
 most always found him there when off duty. Nearly two 
 months ago he left us for a hospital in Washington, sick with 
 the typhoid fever, contracted doubtless by over-fatigue in his 
 care of the sick and bodies of the deceased, and by breathing 
 air tainted with disease. I have since received a letter from 
 him stating that he was very sick, and that the surgeon said 
 it would be months before he could join the regiment again, 
 if ever. For aught I know his warfare may now be over 
 and he at rest, for I have received no answer to my reply 
 to his letter. Brothers Vernon and Stillwell are also away 
 sick. Only pastors, and they not fully, can realize the loss 
 that such men are to a chaplain. He has so few capable, 
 warm-hearted coadjutors in a regiment as a general thing. 
 There is such a torrent of evil influences rushing in on every 
 side, that he sorely feels the need of men possessing firm and 
 established Christian characters, who would quietly and con- 
 sistently stand up for, and live religion on all occasions. 
 Here he has none of the conventionalities and restraints of 
 society to aid him, and even the heavenly influence of Chris- 
 tian parents, of pure sisters, and loving wives is weakened by 
 distance, absence, and sin. But in grappling with the many 
 and powerful demoralizing influences and vices of camp life, 
 one soon learns that but little can be accomplished except by 
 the direct aid and interposition of the Holy Spirit, for noth- 
 ing short of the grace of God can enable the soldier to resist 
 the evil that assails him on every side. 
 
 "While I was on a brief business visit to the North, the
 
 340 LIFE AS CHAPLAIN 
 
 regiment had joined the advance, and on my return I found 
 it out in the neighborhood of Warrenton. After waiting a 
 few days in what remained of our old camp, I found an op- 
 portunity of going out to the front with Captain Cook, of our 
 regiment, and a small squad of men. The ride out to Rap- 
 pahannock Station, where our regiment was last heard from, 
 was full of novelty and interest to one who had never been 
 on a long march before. Captain Cook is a gentleman as 
 well as a good soldier, and his familiarity with the historic 
 region through which we passed made him an exceedingly 
 agreeable companion. The evening of the second day of 
 our journey, which was Sunday, found us considerably be- 
 yond Manassas. A dismantled house stood on the brow of a 
 hill in a grove some distance from the road. We rode up to 
 it and concluded to spend the night there. Though it was 
 half ruinous, without windows and doors, and the floor cov- 
 ered with rubbish of every description, but a few moments 
 sufficed to make it sufficiently comfortable for a soldier's pur- 
 pose. A fire blazing on the hearth, the rubbish cleared 
 away, a blanket hung over the windows and doors, made our 
 night quarters complete. Then gathering around the fire, 
 each broiled his slip of bacon on the end of a stick, and en- 
 joyed this rude repast far better than many a well-appointed 
 banquet in the North, for 'hunger was our sauce.' After 
 supper we had, as it were, family prayers. The old dilapi- 
 dated mansion, the costume, arms, and varied expressions of 
 the soldiers as they lounged around listening to the Word of 
 God, all brought into view by the flickering blaze that roared 
 within the chimney, made a scene that any artist might wish 
 to copy. 
 
 "After marching all the next day we joined our wagon 
 train at dusk, near Rappahannock Station, and found that 
 we were just in time, for the whole army was on the move 
 to Fredericksburg. Joining the train, I marched half the 
 night with them in the darkness and rain. As there was no 
 shelter near, the next day was spent in the rain under a tree ; 
 and an attack on the wagon train being expected on the fol-
 
 LIFE AS CHAPLAIN 341 
 
 lowing night, my slumbers were neither very sound nor long 
 continued. But such is the wonderful vitality that life in 
 the open air gives, that one soon recovers from loss of sleep 
 and fatigue. Our regiment moved down to Brook's Station, 
 where it remained doing picket duty till it joined the advance 
 on Fredericksburg. 
 
 "Our brigade, with our beloved and lamented General 
 Bayard in command, was drawn up on a hillside preparatory 
 to marching, and I assure you that the long lines and dense 
 masses of cavalry made a splendid and imposing appearance. 
 It was nearly night before we filed off toward Falmouth. The 
 night was dark and misty and the roads broken and wild. 
 Sometimes we would plunge down into a deep gully, at others 
 scramble up the slippery and frozen sides of a steep hill. 
 Every now and then horse and rider would be down, to the 
 great merriment of all witnesses. But the joke became too 
 serious when a horse fell and broke one poor fellow's leg. 
 
 "Seen through the mist and darkness, the long extended 
 column, winding among the broken hills, now coming out in 
 bold relief on the brow of one of them, and then descending 
 again into the valley or the gloom of some forest, had a. 
 shadowy and phantom-like appearance, and seemed more like 
 a procession in a dream than a goodly number of well-armed 
 troopers on a march. Especially was this spectral effect 
 heightened when a distant part of the column would pass 
 within the lurid glare of some brilliant camp-fire. After 
 floundering through streams and quagmires, and filing 
 through gorges that reminded one of the old Indian ambus- 
 cades, we turned off into a forest to encamp for the night. 
 Selecting a tree from under which the snow had partially 
 melted away, a few of us built a fire, then spread our blankets 
 and slept on the ground in the clear, frosty starlight as well 
 as on the softest couch our limbs had ever pressed. Long 
 before daylight, the bugle sounded 'boots and saddles,' and 
 the woods soon resounded with the customary martial clamor 
 of an encampment. 
 
 "Suddenly every sound was hushed, for the distant boom
 
 342 LIFE AS CHAPLAIN 
 
 of the two guns that opened the battle of Fredericksburg 
 broke upon our ears. The silence was succeeded by wild 
 shouts of enthusiasm, and soon we were on our way to the 
 scene of action. The sharp rattle of musketry now began to 
 mingle with the report of cannon. As we approached the 
 river the roar of the artillery was truly grand and awful. I 
 can only compare it to a very violent thunder-storm, wherein 
 you hear, at one and the same time, the rumble and mutter of 
 some peal dying away in the distance, the heavy, jarring roll 
 more near, and the loud stunning explosion from the flash 
 overhead. Our cavalry was crowded on a plain in the rear of 
 our batteries. We did not know that the rebels were not re- 
 plying to our guns, and expected every minute they would 
 get our range. As we remained undisturbed, I concluded 
 that our distance from the river was much greater than I had 
 first supposed; but when the order came to march, and we 
 filed off, by twos, down toward the river, past our batteries, 
 I expected every moment to see the head of our column 
 broken and shattered by shot and shell. I have heard much 
 about 'lazy soldiers and large pay/ but I thought at that 
 time that the soldier who marches steadily and determinedly 
 forward on such occasions earns in five minutes all the pay 
 he ever gets. But the heavy cannonading was only from our 
 own guns, for the rebels were reserving their fire. We soon 
 found that our orders were not to cross, but to go down the 
 river and do picket duty on the extreme left flank. As we 
 marched along, a shell from one of our batteries on a hill 
 above me passed directly over my head. As it hissed by, it 
 gave me an idea of the infinitely short space of time in which 
 many of our poor boys are dashed into eternity. 
 
 "The early dawn of Saturday morning saw us returning 
 to the battlefield. About nine o'clock we mounted the hill, 
 and formed upon the plain on the opposite side of the river. 
 As we were taking our position, I heard a whizzing sound, 
 and saw the earth torn up by a solid shot quite near me. They 
 soon screamed over our heads and fell all around us ; but, as 
 a general thing, the enemy fired too high. A few hundred
 
 LIFE AS CHAPLAIN 343 
 
 yards to our front, the shells were bursting constantly. We 
 remained on the plain all that day and night, the fire in front 
 of us sometimes slackening, and sometimes ceasing alto- 
 gether. We often cast anxious glances at some rebel bat- 
 teries quite near us on the right, and often wondered why 
 they did not open upon us, for if they did, they could have 
 swept us from the plain in a few moments. Either our bat- 
 teries occupied them, or they reserved their fire for some 
 purpose. A little after noon, we heard that General Bayard, 
 our division commander, was mortally wounded. Soon after 
 word came that cavalry was needed. Two regiments of the 
 enemy were running, it was said, and the Harris Light Cav- 
 alry was wanted to follow them up. Off dashed our men in 
 close column, at full gallop, to the place designated, the sur- 
 geon and myself going to the hospital to prepare for our 
 wounded. As we started, the road over which the regiment 
 had just passed, and directly in front of us, was torn up by a 
 solid shot. Whose earnest prayers were heard that day, 
 and the Harris Light Cavalry saved from almost a massacre ? 
 The order for cavalry had to pass through three different 
 hands before it reached us, and by the time our men arrived 
 at the spot it was discovered that the enemy's retreat was only 
 a feint, and that batteries were so arranged as to place the 
 party who should follow them between two fires. Our regi- 
 ment approached near enough to the trap, and were exposed 
 to a sufficiently hot fire, for a few minutes, to be satisfied that 
 if they had charged, as was intended, but few would have re- 
 turned. 
 
 "At the hospital we found poor Bayard. Of all the ghastly 
 wounds I saw that day his was the most awful. It needed 
 but a glance to see, as he calmly stated to those who visited 
 him, 'that his days on earth were numbered/ If his wound 
 had been a mere scratch, he could not have been more cool, 
 quiet, and collected. He talked calmly of his death as of a 
 settled thing, and only inquired particularly how much time 
 he had left on earth. He was told, 'perhaps forty-eight 
 hours.' He did not live twenty-four. My heart sank within
 
 844 LIFE AS CHAPLAIN 
 
 me as he gave me his hand in farewell, and I almost mur- 
 mured, 'Why are the best taken ?' The large house to which 
 the wounded were brought was now filled with mutilated and 
 dying men. Cries and groans resounded from every apart- 
 ment. Ghastly and bloody wounds met the eye in every di- 
 rection. Some had their eyes shot out ; the tongues of some 
 were swollen out of their mouths; some had their bodies shot 
 through; others were torn and mangled by shell and solid 
 shot, and all were crowded wherever there was any space. 
 The surgeons were hacking off limbs and arms by the dozen. 
 The odor of blood was oppressive. One man called me to 
 him, thinking I was a surgeon, and said that one of his 
 wounds had been dressed, but he found that he had another, 
 which was bleeding rapidly. Another poor fellow held up 
 his arm to me, with a great bulging hole in it, and asked with 
 an expression of pain and anxiety that I could scarcely en- 
 dure, whether I thought he would have to lose it ? Such is 
 the horrid reality of war behind the painted scenes of honor, 
 glory, and romance. However cold an ear the poor fellows 
 may have turned to the story of the Cross when in health, as 
 a general thing they were ready enough now to listen to the 
 offers of mercy. One wounded boy had his leg taken off 
 just as he was entering the hospital, which building was un- 
 der fire all day, and was repeatedly struck. The scene from 
 the windows of the hospital was truly splendid as night came 
 on. Innumerable camp-fires gleamed from the hillsides, and 
 occasionally the darkness was lighted up by the flash of can- 
 non. But weariness, and the knowledge that our own regi- 
 ment might be engaged the next day, caused me to seek a 
 place of rest. The medical department of our brigade had 
 been rendered small by the absence of some of its members, 
 and it might be that our duties on the morrow would be very 
 arduous. The ground outside the hospital was so tramped 
 up, muddy, and filled with horses, that it was impossible to 
 sleep there. But there was a stone alley-way under the hos- 
 pital, filled with tobacco in the leaf, part of it lying on the 
 ground, and part drying overhead. One end of this place
 
 LIFE AS CHAPLAIN 345 
 
 was already filled with wounded men, but the surgeon in 
 charge said that the other would not be occupied before 
 morning, and that I had better stay there. As a light came 
 I saw something white lying near the wall. I first thought 
 it was a dog, and going up, I stirred the object with my foot. 
 On looking closer, I found that it was a ghastly pile of arms 
 and legs from the amputating-room. But I had seen so 
 much of blood and horror during the day that I had grown 
 callous. I quietly spread my blanket within ten feet of the 
 bloody heap, and listened sadly to the shrieks and groans 
 from the hospital above till I fell asleep. The reopening of 
 the battle on Sunday morning awoke me, and as I was rolling 
 up my blankets, a shell bursting near warned me to hasten. 
 I joined the regiment, and with it recrossed the river. We 
 have since been doing picket duty on the Rappahannock. 
 
 "Many a careless, light-hearted soldier wore an anxious, 
 troubled look that day, as we stood facing the rebel batteries, 
 and many a loud-mouthed, coarse, swearing fellow was quiet 
 and pale. But I saw no flinching or skulking. You at the 
 I^orth, who cosily read about battles in an arm-chair, know 
 little of a man's sensations who stands in front of the enemy's 
 guns. He hears shot and shell scream and explode over and 
 around him. Before him arises the sulphurous smoke of the 
 conflict. From out of that obscurity he knows that at any 
 moment some swift messenger of death may be speeding on 
 its way to his heart. He thinks of unfinished plans, of bright 
 prospects and hopes for the future. His home, its beloved 
 inmates, and the forms and features of those friends that hold 
 the chief places within his soul rise up before him, and he 
 knows that at any moment he may be snatched from all these, 
 and lie a mangled, bleeding corpse upon the ground. And 
 then come graver and still more solemn thoughts of the shad- 
 owy world beyond, and 'conscience, which makes cowards of 
 us all,' awakes. In the mad excitement and tumult of a 
 charge, everything is forgotten. When patiently standing 
 under fire, everything is remembered, and this, of all that
 
 846 LIFE AS CHAPLAIN 
 
 the soldier has to do and endure, is the most difficult and 
 dreaded." 
 
 An occasional amusing incident would occur, however, to 
 relieve the gloom of these tragic times. I remember hearing 
 my brother tell of one that took place while crossing a narrow 
 pontoon bridge. A mule, riden by a contraband, and having 
 a number of kettles strung on one side of the saddle and on 
 the other some chickens that had been captured from hen- 
 roosts along the march, suddenly became stubborn when about 
 halfway across the bridge, and resisted all efforts on the part 
 of his rider to make him move on. He was blocking the way 
 for the whole troop. An officer, seeing the situation, shouted 
 the order: "Charge mule!" Instantly half a dozen men 
 rode up and with the points of their sabres convinced the 
 animal of the necessity for a speedy advance. He started 
 off at a dead run, scattering the rattling kettles and squawk- 
 ing hens by the wayside, the poor contraband holding on with 
 arms clasped around the mule's neck, while the troopers fol- 
 lowed in wild pursuit, amid shouts and laughter.
 
 A WINTER CAMP 347 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 A WINTER CAMP 
 
 THE following letters were written from the winter 
 quarters of the regiment on the Rappahannock, and 
 explain themselves. 
 
 "In this letter I merely propose to give some glimpses of 
 camp life. When the army lay quiet for two or three weeks 
 after the battle of Fredericksburg, we began to think of win- 
 ter quarters ; so one fine morning our whole division started 
 out in search of a desirable locality. In some respects it was 
 a rather novel expedition. We were seeking a place that 
 would probably be our home for months; and I assure you, 
 as we marched along, that unknown spot of ground became to 
 us an object of no small anxiety and interest. Those officers 
 who had designs on Washington, rather than Richmond, 
 hoped it would be near the steamboat landing on the Poto- 
 mac. Many wishes were expressed that wood would be plenty 
 and convenient ; for winter quarters without wood is an im- 
 possibility. Speculations were indulged in regard to the 
 locality and soil, whether it would be a dry, sheltered little 
 valley, or a bleak cornfield capable of all degrees of mud. 
 The place of encampment selected for our regiment was ap- 
 parently the latter. I must say that many of us were not 
 very enthusiastic about the position, and we could not feel 
 indifferent, for our comfort and perhaps health depended on 
 the suitableness of the place. 
 
 "Imagine yourself, my reader, riding into a large, bleak, 
 hilly cornfield, the stalks still standing, with your whole per- 
 sonal property in this region of the world strapped behind
 
 348 A WINTER CAMP 
 
 you on the saddle, your horse sinking at every step fetlock- 
 deep in the soft, spongy soil, and being coolly told to make 
 yourself comfortable here for the winter. Probably you 
 would feel as we suppose the Israelites did when required 
 to make bricks without straw. But necessity and experience 
 have taught the soldier many lessons, and he knows well how 
 to make the best of everything. In a few minutes the long 
 picket lines are uncoiled and stretched from post to post in- 
 serted for the purpose. To these the horses are tied and then 
 unsaddled. The little shelter tents range themselves, as if 
 by magic, in long rows between them, and within a half-hour 
 or so the place begins to assume the appearance of a well-laid- 
 out encampment. 
 
 "But this is merely temporary, and the building of regu- 
 lar winter quarters is next in order. The size and character 
 of the huts being left to the fancy and ingenuity of each in- 
 dividual, there is, with much apparent sameness, a great deal 
 of diversity and originality to be observed. The most sim- 
 ple is merely a 'dug-out/ as it is termed. A hole is dug six 
 or seven feet square, and from two to four feet deep, and over 
 this is placed the tent. The floor and sides are lined with 
 boards if they are to be had, otherwise round poles and rails 
 answer the purpose. Opening into the 'dug-out* is a small 
 trench two or three feet long, wide at its mouth, and narrow- 
 ing toward the end furthest from the tent. Across this 
 trench are laid any old pieces of iron that can be found, and 
 upon them is placed earth so as to exclude the air entirely 
 except at a small aperture at the further end, around which 
 is built a sod chimney; and your winter quarters are com- 
 plete. Thus you may have in your tent all the warmth and 
 cheerfulness of an open fire. 
 
 "Myself and servant alone built one of these in an after- 
 noon, and I spent in it some of the coldest weather we have 
 had this winter very comfortably. The 'dug-out' principle 
 enters into the construction of nearly all our little cabins; 
 and, like the foxes, we have holes, and literally live in the 
 'caves and dens of the earth.' The officers generally build
 
 A WINTER CAMP 349 
 
 their quarters in the side of a bank, and have them logged 
 up nicely, and they are very comfortable except in a long 
 storm. Sometimes our frail canvas covering sways terribly 
 in the wintry blasts, and I have often lain down to sleep 
 more than half expecting to find my house gone when I 
 awoke. Still, our little holes in the ground are a hundred- 
 fold better than no shelter at all, and far preferable to those 
 in which the soldier 'sleeps the sleep that knows no waking.' 
 Some of the men who have the faculty of making anything 
 and everything with an axe put up quite large substantial 
 log shanties, with two or three tiers of berths, as in a steam- 
 boat. Some have quite a neat, homelike appearance, and are 
 furnished with fanciful little tables and shelves according 
 to the tastes and wants of the occupants. Others are dismal 
 and dirty in the extreme, and are mere dens. Nothing shows 
 the character of the men more thoroughly than the little huts 
 they inhabit. A few are too indolent to build themselves 
 anything, and are still living in their shelter tents. But over 
 the heads of us all is merely a canvas roof, which will often 
 leak, and it is a very common thing to see puddles of water, 
 or a muddy floor, in our winter quarters. 
 
 "Still, those who are well live in the main a very com- 
 fortable life. The abundance of pure air and exercise makes 
 us strong and vigorous. It does not always storm. We have 
 many days that are warm and sunny, and then give me camp 
 life in preference to any other. The soldiers sit and lounge 
 around their cabin doors in motley groups, reading (if they 
 have anything to read), smoking, and gossiping, for a camp 
 is a little miniature city, with its daily budget of news and 
 sensations, its streets, squares, and centres, and also many 
 of its nuisances. For the roar of New York we have a 
 drowsy, diminutive hum, frequently broken rudely by a loud 
 laugh or command, the clangor of weapons, and sometimes, 
 I am sorry to say, by loud oaths. Instead of musical chimes 
 from Trinity and her sister steeples, the silvery notes of the 
 bugles proclaim the hours and duties of the day. Our lights 
 glimmer and flicker out upon the night like long rows of
 
 350 A WINTER CAMP 
 
 glowworms rather than Broadway lamps; and instead of the 
 heavy tramp of police armed with star and club, the night- 
 long rattle of sabres shows that the guards and sentinels 
 are on their posts of duty. Sometimes there will be a heavy 
 fall of snow during the night, and then the tents and cabins 
 look like huge snow-banks, and the poor horses si Iver all the 
 more under the cold white blankets so summarily furnished ; 
 the only ones they ever get. These suffer more than the men, 
 for in the main they can have no shelter, and often have to do 
 hard work on short rations. Their gaunt appearance and 
 the number of their dead tells its own story. Our colonel 
 remarked one day that he hoped the mud would get so soft 
 and deep that the horses would sink in sufficiently to enable 
 them to stand upright. 
 
 "The greatest hardship of a soldier's life in winter is 
 picket duty. For instance, our whole brigade, recently as- 
 signed to Colonel Kilpatrick, left their comfortable quarters 
 a few mornings ago, and went out on picket duty for ten 
 days. A cold, wet snow filled the air and clung to and damp- 
 ened everything. It settled on one's hair and neck, melted, 
 and ran down his back, producing a general feeling of dis- 
 comfort. As the men formed preparatory to marching, their 
 uniforms of blue rapidly changed to white, and as they filed 
 off in the dim morning light they presented a shadowy, ghost- 
 like appearance. When you realize what it is to march eigh- 
 teen or twenty miles in such a storm over horrible roads, and 
 then form a cordon of pickets twenty miles long in a wild, 
 desolate country, you have some idea of the not unusual 
 experience of a soldier. 
 
 "When he reaches his destination, it is not a disagreeable 
 journey over, and comfortable quarters in which to dry and 
 refresh himself. All his conditions of comfort are carried 
 on his person, or strapped to his saddle, and he is thankful 
 even for the shelter of a pine wood. Immediately on arrival, 
 without time for rest, a large detachment must form the 
 picket line, and stand ever on the alert from two to four 
 hours at a time, be it day or night. It should not be for-
 
 A WINTER CAMP 351 
 
 gotten, during these long winter evenings when the stormy 
 wind sweeps and howls around your comfortable dwellings, 
 that among the wild woods and hills of Virginia, or on the 
 plains of the far West, the patient sentinel walks his deso- 
 late beat, or sits like an equestrian statue on his horse, thus 
 forming with his own chilled and weary frame a living 
 breastwork and defence for your homes. Pray for him, that 
 during these long, lonely hours of hardship and danger our 
 merciful God may excite within his mind thoughts of that 
 better life and happier world where the weary are at rest 
 where even the names of enemy and war are forgotten." 
 
 "The regiment referred to is the Ninth New York Cav- 
 alry. Their chaplain is not with them at present. My offer 
 to preach for them on the Sabbath was readily accepted, and 
 though at the time of service it was cold and even raining 
 slightly, a large congregation turned out and remained pa- 
 tiently throughout the service. One of their officers re- 
 marked afterward that he had not had the pleasure of attend- 
 ing anything of the kind before for five months. 
 
 "If Christians North, who have piles of reading matter 
 lying idly about their houses, could see how eagerly those men 
 pressed forward to get the few tracts I offered, they would 
 suffer it to remain thus useless no longer. Our soldiers seem 
 to be hungry and almost starving for the want of mental and 
 moral nourishment. 
 
 "I often feel it my duty to be somewhat officious, and to 
 offer my service outside of my regiment sometimes, for even 
 such as I can give is better than nothing, which would be their 
 lot if some did not go forward. I think Christians should be 
 aggressive in their character, and seek opportunities to ex- 
 tend the dominion of their King. There are too many pro- 
 fessors who are like a certain chaplain, concerning whom I 
 heard an officer remark, 'that he was a good, inoffensive 
 man, and never disturbed the devil nor any one else in the 
 camp.' A prayer-meeting was appointed on Monday even-
 
 352 A WINTER CAMP 
 
 ing, but on the morning of that day the regiment received 
 marching orders and departed for parts unknown. 
 
 "One of the most remarkable conversions in our regiment 
 is that of a quartermaster's sergeant. The man, although 
 around the camp attending to his duties, is in a critical state 
 of health, bleeding almost daily at the lungs. When but a 
 mere boy he ran away from home because punished severely 
 by his father for some fault, and was not heard from for over 
 two years, during which time he suffered many hardships 
 in the West. Not long after his discovery his father died 
 and left a mother and a sister dependent upon him for sup- 
 port. This responsibility he nobly undertook, and worked 
 hard, early and late, and denied himself everything to give 
 them the comforts of life. Still, he was noted for his fiery 
 and ungovernable spirit, which often got him into trouble. 
 At an early age he went to sea and visited nearly all parts 
 of the world. He engaged extensively in smuggling, which 
 occupation he followed both in English and Spanish waters. 
 He returned home from this roving, reckless life but a short 
 time before the war broke out, and was among the first to 
 enlist. During the past summer he has often been in cir- 
 cumstances of the greatest peril, but escaped unharmed. 
 Once, in the confusion of battle, he found himself directly 
 in front of a battery loaded with grape and canister. For 
 some reason or other his horse would not move, but stood 
 stock still, and thus he had to wait for the terrible discharge 
 which soon came. He said it seemed as if a perfect torrent 
 of iron hail rushed by and all around him, and that his only 
 thought was that his time had come now, and that the devil 
 had got him then surely. By a miracle, as it seemed to him, 
 he escaped unharmed, and was enabled to get out of range. 
 Many and many a time he had heard the bullets hiss by his 
 ears, and the shrill screams of shell overhead, but they raised 
 in his mind no thoughts of God or repentance. 
 
 "As I described in a former letter, a prayer-meeting was 
 started in the camp, and held in the quarters of the new re- 
 cruits. He heard .the singing, and passing by the next day
 
 A WINTER CAMP 353 
 
 remarked to a new recruit that 'they seemed happy down 
 there last night guessed they must have had some whiskey.' 
 The person addressed happened to be one of the three Chris- 
 tian men who first started the prayer-meeting, and he ex- 
 plained to the 'sergeant the somewhat different source and 
 occasion of their happiness. The sergeant promised to at- 
 tend that evening, which he did, and the 'still small voice' of 
 the Spirit spoke to him louder than the thunders of the 
 battlefield. 
 
 "An evening or two after that I noticed him among those 
 who had come to the chaplain's tent to be conversed with on 
 the subject of religion. I was struck by the contented, happy 
 expression of his face. He told me that he had gone from 
 that prayer-meeting to his tent, and commenced reading a 
 Testament. His tent-mate came along, and he immediately 
 put out his light and hid his book. When he was alone 
 again he knelt and prayed for the first time in his life, and 
 afterward, he said, 'he felt so happy he could not sleep.' 
 
 "The next day, while about his work, something vexed 
 him, and he swore, before he thought, as usual. He said 
 'it grieved him so that he sat down and cried.' Though, as 
 it were, alone in the world and bereft by death of almost 
 every friend he loved, and now seemingly suffering from an 
 incurable disease, he is a happy Christian man. 
 
 "In our meetings he has to be constantly on his guard 
 against over-excitement, since it would cause him to bleed 
 at his lungs, but the expression of his face, as he sits quietly 
 in one corner or beside the fire, shows how intense and keen 
 is his enjoyment of that which he is forbidden to take part 
 in actively. At first his change of life caused a good deal of 
 remark and some merriment in his company. He would be 
 asked 'when he was going up to heaven,' When he com- 
 menced his evening devotions there was at first a good deal 
 of jesting. 'The quartermaster is going to pray' would be 
 called out, and remarks of a similar nature. They soon saw 
 that he was sincere and respected him, and 'now,' he says, 
 *he can hear a pin drop while he is At prayer.'
 
 354 A WINTER CAMP 
 
 "This is one of many of the interesting cases of conver- 
 sion in our regiment. The chief feature of this work, how- 
 ever, seems to be the renewal of backsliders in their allegi- 
 ance to God. But time will not permit me to write more at 
 present." 
 
 "How often when a boy I have shuddered at Indian 
 atrocities. With what morbid pleasure I have searched 
 through the early records of colonial history for details of 
 horror, fatal surprise, and midnight massacre. How I have 
 watched in imagination, with suspended breath, the wary, 
 noiseless approach of the painted savages, till with one wide- 
 ringing war-whoop they rushed upon their unconscious vic- 
 tims, destined now to either death or captivity. The dangers 
 and terrors of open battle seemed nothing to this constant 
 dread of an unseen treacherous foe. I little thought that 
 it would one day be my fortune to live under very similar 
 circumstances, for life in Virginia now is not so very differ- 
 ent from that of our forefathers a century or more ago. Pio- 
 neers in this wilderness of despotism and treason, we are 
 exposed to dangers and hardships not much inferior to theirs. 
 Ever near us we know there is a great army watching with 
 sleepless vigilance, and, like a wild beast crouching for its 
 leap, it is ready to take advantage of the slightest mistake or 
 show of weakness on our part. It is very strange, truly, 
 when one comes to realize it, this living for years within a 
 few miles of thousands who would take your life in a mo- 
 ment if they got a chance. 
 
 "The forests and country around us swarm with guerillas. 
 In place of some savage Indian chief, the terror of the whole 
 border, the frontiers of our army are infested by the ubiq- 
 uitous Mosby. The capture of a sutler's train near Fairfax 
 and a raid upon an outpost on the Rappahannock occurring 
 at the same time are both ascribed to Mosby in person by the 
 soldiers. If a picket hears a distant gallop in the night upon 
 one flank of the army, and a sudden shot startles the air upon 
 the other flank, Mosby is invariably the author of both
 
 A WINTER CAMP 355 
 
 alarms. No wonder the poor contrabands say 'Mosby mus' 
 be like de debbel and go all ober to oncst.' He was once cap- 
 tured by our regiment while bearing despatches and after- 
 ward exchanged. After he was taken he tried to escape by 
 running his horse, but one of our men sent a bullet whistling 
 so near his head that it produced a sober second thought, 
 and he, from that time, followed quietly. But he was not 
 so famous then, and had not so many trained associates like- 
 minded with himself. Now they follow a marching column 
 like hungry sharks about a ship, and woe be to the man that 
 lags behind or strays from the main body. 
 
 "This evil has one great advantage, however, and that 
 is the almost entire suppression of straggling. Mosby and 
 his companions have done more to abolish this disgraceful 
 custom in our army than all the orders and edicts from the 
 War Department and Major Generals down. A year or 
 more ago, I saw bodies of men marching in a way that 
 reminded one of a comet, the head of the regiment being 
 the nucleus, the density decreasing rapidly as you went to- 
 ward the rear, and finally a straggling raft of men scattered 
 over two or three miles of territory constituting the tail. 
 Now you will find a column moving trimly and compactly, 
 and the rear files often looking suspiciously over their shoul- 
 ders among the dark pines through which they are passing, 
 for sometimes, especially at nights, shots are fired into the 
 rear. 
 
 "There are very few in the cavalry that have not had nar- 
 row escapes, for our position on the front and flanks of the 
 army always brings us next to Mosby. Just before we 
 crossed the Rappahannock the last time, our division com- 
 missary, Lieutenant Hedges, was returning to his quarters 
 from a short ride to another part of the army, when he was 
 hailed and ordered to surrender. 'Never,' he replied, at the 
 same time striking spurs to his horse and leaning down upon 
 him. He succeeded in escaping, but not before the guerilla, 
 or as it is affirmed, Mosby in person, put a ball through his 
 body. For some days he was not expected to live, but is now
 
 356 A WINTER CAMP 
 
 recovering slowly. I have had two or three narrow escapes 
 myself where it almost seemed that Providence interfered to 
 save my life. Once, when our regiment was doing picket 
 duty at a distant outpost, I rode down to General Kilpatrick's 
 headquarters on some business. As I was starting to return 
 in the dusk of the evening, the general came out and asked 
 me to stay with him that night. I replied that with his per- 
 mission I would come again in the morning, and that I would 
 rather be with my regiment at night ; but as he insisted upon 
 it, I stayed. The next morning, a little after daylight, one 
 of our men .was shot dead and robbed upon the road that I 
 would have taken. A woman living near said that two 
 bushwhackers had spent the night upon the road with the 
 avowed intention of murdering and robbing the first man that 
 went by. As no one passed that way during the early part 
 of the night, they went into a house and slept till morning, 
 and again were on the road in time to meet poor ITrancher of 
 Company B, who had been after his pay. They took this, 
 for his pocket was found turned inside out It was my sad 
 duty to bury him the next day, and as we lowered him into 
 his lonely grave, I could not help asking myself, Why am I 
 not in his place ? 
 
 "Once again, last ]STovember, while on the march, Lieu- 
 tenant Whitaker and myself were about to pass over a road 
 between our wagon train and General Kilpatrick's headquar- 
 ters, when a little incident detained us about fifteen minutes. 
 As we were going by the house of quite a noted secessionist, 
 some of our boys began to make free in his cabbage garden 
 and poultry yard, and a scuffle ensued between the old citizen, 
 his wife and daughter, and the soldiers. An infantry colonel 
 who was at the house came violently out, and instead of 
 quietly showing his rank and firmly ordering the men away, 
 commenced cutting them with his sword, and made some 
 quite serious wounds. It was with great difficulty that we 
 prevented our men from killing him on the spot. But as 
 the colonel outranked us, we could do nothing with him, and 
 BO passed on, but before we got fairly started upon the road
 
 A WINTER CAMP 357 
 
 again we met a man running, breathless, with his hat off, 
 who said that he had just escaped from the guerillas. Lieu- 
 tenant Newton of the First Vermont Cavalry was passing 
 over the road with several men, when fifteen rebels sprang 
 out upon him, killed one, took two prisoners, and the rest 
 saved themselves only by rapid flight. If we had not been 
 detained, we would have arrived at the same spot a few 
 minutes earlier and received their concentrated fire. 
 
 "At times they have captured our mail, and afterward 
 they have taunted us by shouting out the contents of our let- 
 ters to our pickets across the Rappahannock. One very dark 
 night they slipped into the quarters of one of our officers 
 while he was on picket, shot his colored servant, and carried 
 him off to Richmond. Thus vigilance is a cardinal virtue 
 in this, as well as in the Christian warfare. But we never 
 suffered as much on the south as on the north side of the 
 Rappahannock. The country between the two rivers is now 
 thoroughly occupied by our troops, and our picket lines so 
 close and well posted as to render it almost impossible for 
 the rebels to indulge themselves this winter in many mur- 
 dering and horse-stealing expeditions."
 
 358 MARRIAGE THE RAID TOWARD RICHMOND 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 MARRIAGE THE RAID TOWARD RICHMOND 
 
 IN November, 1863, Edward received a month's leave of 
 absence from his regiment, and during this time was 
 married to Miss Anna Sands. The ceremony was per- 
 formed by the venerable Dr. Adams in Madison Square 
 Church, and was followed by a large reception at the bride's 
 home in Seventeenth Street, New York. Leaving his bride 
 there when the furlough was over, my brother returned to 
 his regiment. 
 
 In this letter, written just after reaching camp, he dwells 
 upon some of the contrasts of army life. 
 
 "After a long absence I experienced a decided thrill of 
 pleasure on finding myself once more among the white tents 
 and familiar scenes of the camp, for there is something very 
 fascinating about army life, notwithstanding its hardship 
 and exposure. Very pleasant, too, was the hearty welcome 
 I received, and numberless great brown hands, reeking with 
 moisture and pork grease from the meal they were superin- 
 tending, gave me a grip that made my joints snap again. 
 Still, I much preferred it to your fashionable Northern two- 
 fingered touch. It had a language whose meaning I liked. 
 It showed I had the first requisite for doing good among 
 them their confidence and affection. I found only a part, 
 though a large part, of my regiment at this place, which is a 
 dismounted cavalry camp, containing the fragments of twenty 
 or thirty regiments. Men whose horses have given out or 
 been killed at the front come here and remain till they are 
 again mounted and equipped, when they rejoin their com-
 
 MARRIAGETHE RAID TOWARD RICHMOND 359 
 
 mands. Our stay here will probably be brief, for we are 
 ordered to the front as soon as possible. 
 
 "One Saturday morning the monotony of camp life was 
 decidedly broken. The day had been warm, and for a time 
 the hum of camp activity had subsided almost into silence. 
 The orderlies went to and fro as usual, but their horses had 
 a listless, indolent canter, characteristic of all exertion at 
 such a time. But as the day declined there were marks of 
 unusual bustle at headquarters. A ball was to be given that 
 evening by the commanding officer. All officers present of 
 our regiment were invited. As far as I could learn, music, 
 dancing, and drinking were to be the staple amusements of 
 the evening. I^ot caring to participate in the two latter, and 
 as I could enjoy the first in my tent, I expected to remain 
 very quietly at my quarters. At dusk the revelry com- 
 menced. At nine o'clock a carriage drove up to our quar- 
 ters. It contained Captain Downing of our regiment, who 
 had just come in from the front, bringing with him the dead 
 body of one of our officers who had been drowned while bath- 
 ing. This was sad news indeed, for Lieutenant Stewart 
 was a good soldier and very popular. The captain wished 
 to see the officer in command of our detachment. I went up 
 to the headquarters to assist in finding him. All was gayety 
 and frolic there. It was truly a beautiful scene. The trees 
 were hung with Chinese lanterns of many colors. The guards 
 paced backward and forward on the spacious lawn, their arms 
 glittering in the moonlight, which glimmered through the 
 grand old trees. In the distance the Potomac lay like a sil- 
 ver lake, with here and there a white sail upon its bosom. 
 Over the green turf gayly dressed ladies and officers in rich 
 uniform were tripping some light measure, while the Blinking 
 of glasses showed that the wine was passing freely. No one 
 could help enjoying the music from the full military band. 
 
 "Having noted the picturesque beauty of the scene, and 
 moralized to myself awhile unnoticed among the throng, I 
 thought I would step over to the hospital and see how the 
 sick boys were enjoying the revel. It was not over fifty yards
 
 360 MARRIAGE THE RAID TOWARD RICHMOND 
 
 from the music-stand. Though it might be pleasure to oth- 
 ers, it was death to them. One poor fellow, far gone with the 
 typhoid fever, and excited by the music and noise, was talk- 
 ing to himself in wild delirium. He has since died. All were 
 restless and sleepless. I said a few quieting words, and was 
 about leaving when a man asked me if I would not offer a 
 prayer. 'I am not a Christian man,' he remarked, 'but 
 I would like to hear a prayer to-night.' Of course I com- 
 plied, and soon the words of supplication were mingling 
 with the gay notes of the quickstep. I have seen the man 
 since several times, and have good reason to believe that he 
 has become a sincere, earnest Christian. The contrast in his 
 two modes of life will be most marked. He told me that 
 when at home he would often take his wife to church, and 
 then ride on further and trade horses during the service, and 
 call for his wife on his return. As may be imagined, army 
 life had not improved his morals. Still, the influence of his 
 Christian wife followed him, and during his days of sickness 
 came back in tenfold power, and the kindly Spirit of our 
 merciful Father, ever-striving, led him to the Saviour. 
 
 "After leaving the hospital I met the sergeant of the 
 guard, and found him arming a body of men. 'We are go- 
 ing to have trouble to-night/ he said to me. The camp be- 
 low was in a ferment. There were many there who loved 
 whiskey as well as the more privileged at headquarters. At 
 first the rioters (who were mainly from a regiment of regu- 
 lars) threatened to appropriate the officers' stores and break 
 up the ball. But hardly daring to do that, they turned 
 their attention to a sutler's tent and eating-house. They 
 soon demolished his establishment and set fire to his prem- 
 ises, liiey here obtained the much desired whiskey, and ex- 
 cited by liquor, they boldly began preparations to attack 
 another sutler who was unpopular. The riot was now get- 
 ting formidable. From my tent I could overlook the whole 
 camp and scenes at headquarters. Meantime our regiment 
 was arming and procuring ammunition. Fifty of our men 
 were already acting as guards. They formed and received
 
 MARRIAGE THE RAID TOWARD RICHMOND 361 
 
 their cartridges in front of our tents, thus drawing attention 
 to the headquarters of our detachment, which I thought at 
 one time would provoke an attack upon us. I dreaded this, 
 for one of our officers had left his wife in my charge at the 
 commencement of the disturbance. Our men then marched 
 to headquarters, fearing the first attack would be there. For 
 a few moments all was still throughout the camp. Then 
 there were signals in all directions. In a few moments more 
 the mules were stampeded from the corral. They then pro- 
 ceeded to attack the sutler's tent just below us. Here the 
 guards fired upon them, which caused them to retreat to 
 the burning sutler's tent in the middle of the camp. Then I 
 could see our men coming down from the headquarters on a 
 full run. Wheeling at a certain point, they charged with- 
 out a moment's hesitation. For a short time shots were 
 fired in rapid succession, when the rioters broke and ran. 
 The ball was arrested. The order was given, 'Every officer 
 to his post.' The ladies, pale and frightened, were huddled 
 together, asking anxious questions. Many of the officers 
 might be seen in their ball-dress walking and riding through 
 the camp with sword and pistol driving the men into their 
 tents. Such volleys of horrible oaths as were heard in 
 every direction I hope may never shock my ears again. 
 Officers cursed the men, and the men cursed the officers. 
 For a time things looked rather serious. Meanwhile our 
 boys stood grim and expectant, ready to quell any show of 
 resistance. In a few minutes the whole camp was under 
 arms, but the ringleaders having been caught, quiet was 
 eventually restored. My heart ached for the young wife 
 who saw the exposure of her husband and felt her own dan- 
 ger, and who was compelled to listen to the awful profan- 
 ity of the hour. I will say, for the benefit of all con- 
 cerned, that there was nothing of a political nature in the 
 outbreak. Whatever may be the soldiers' vices, they have 
 not yet sunk so far as to sympathize with Northern 'copper- 
 heads.' The cause, as far as I could learn, was the unpopu- 
 larity of the sutlers, jealousy of our regiment because the 
 RP XVIII
 
 362 MARRIAGE THE RAID TOWARD RICHMOND 
 
 guard of honor for the evening was chosen from it, and a 
 desire for whiskey, for which a certain class will do and dare 
 anything. After quiet was restored the dancing, music, and 
 drinking were resumed as though nothing had happened. 
 Meanwhile, on one side the poor fellows in the hospital tossed 
 and moaned and raved in their restlessness and delirium, 
 and on the other lay the two rioters stiff and stark upon the 
 ground, their souls rudely thrust out into the unknown amid 
 riot and intoxication, soon to be sobered but too well by their 
 abrupt plunge into the dusk waters of death. Life presents 
 to the close observer peculiar phases and contrasts at all 
 times, but it seems that in the events of this evening there 
 was a strange mingling of life and death, pleasure and pain. 
 Yet in the sick and repentant soldier God was at least fash- 
 ioning one soul from out this moral and social chaos for the 
 perfect symmetry of heaven. I had hoped that after the 
 night's uproar we should have a quiet Sabbath, but was dis- 
 appointed in this, for orders came in the morning to arm, 
 mount, and equip every available man and send them all to 
 the front. And so throughout the day the clangor of arms, 
 the trampling of men and horses, and the words of command, 
 made the quiet peacefulness of a IsTorthern Sabbath a thing 
 scarcely to be imagined." 
 
 Late in February, 1864, Edward joined General Kil- 
 patrick in his famous raid toward Richmond. He wrote a 
 brief account of this, which was published in "Lippincott's 
 Magazine." 
 
 "In the dusk of Sunday evening four thousand men were 
 masked in the woods on the banks of the Rapidan. Our 
 scouts opened the way by wading the stream and pouncing 
 upon the unsuspecting picket of twenty Confederates oppo- 
 site. Then away we went across a cold, rapid river, march- 
 ing all that night through the dim woods and openings in a 
 country that was emphatically the enemy's. Lee's entire 
 army was on our right, the main Confederate cavalry force 
 on our left. The strength of our column and its objective 
 point could not remain long unknown.
 
 MARRIAGE THE RAID TOWARD RICHMOND 363 
 
 "In some unimportant ways I acted as aid for Kilpatrick. 
 A few hundred yards in advance of the main body rode a 
 vanguard of two hundred men thrown forward to warn us 
 should we strike any considerable number of the enemy's 
 cavalry. As is ever the case, the horses of a small force will 
 walk away from a much larger body, and it was necessary 
 form time to time to send word to the vanguard, ordering 
 it to 'slow up.' This order was occasionally intrusted to me. 
 I was to gallop over the interval between the two columns, 
 then draw up by the roadside and sit motionless on my 
 horse till the general with his staff came up. The slightest 
 irregularity of action would bring a shot from our own men, 
 while the prospect of an interview with the Johnnies while 
 thus isolated was always good. I saw one of our officers shot 
 that night. He had ridden carelessly into the woods, and rode 
 out again just before the head of the column, without in- 
 stantly accounting for himself. As it was of vital impor- 
 tance to keep the movement secret as long as possible, the 
 poor fellow was silenced in sad error as to his identity. 
 
 "On we rode, night and day, with the briefest possible 
 halts. At one point we nearly captured a railroad train, and 
 might easily have succeeded had not the station and ware- 
 houses been in flames. As it was, the train approached us 
 closely, then backed, the shrieking engine giving the impres- 
 sion of being startled to the last degree. 
 
 "On a dreary, drizzling, foggy day we passed a mile- 
 stone on which was lettered, Tour miles to Richmond.' It 
 was still 'on to Richmond' with us for what seemed a long 
 way further, and then came a considerable period of hesi- 
 tancy, in which the command was drawn up for the final 
 dash. The enemy shelled a field near us vigorously, but for- 
 tunately, or unfortunately, the fog was so dense that neither 
 party could make accurate observations or do much exe- 
 cution. 
 
 "For reasons that have passed into history, the attack 
 was not made. We withdrew six miles from the city and 
 went into camp.
 
 364 MARRIAGE THE RAID TOWARD RICHMOND 
 
 "I had scarcely begun to enjoy much-needed rest before 
 the Confederates came up in the darkness and shelled us out 
 of such quarters as we had found. We had to leave our 
 boiling coffee behind us one of the greatest hardships I 
 have ever known. Then followed a long night ride down the 
 Peninsula, in driving sleet and rain. 
 
 "The next morning the sun broke out gloriously, warm- 
 ing and drying our chilled, wet forms. Nearly all that day 
 we maintained a line of battle confronting the pursuing 
 enemy. One brigade would take a defensive position, while 
 the other would march about five miles to a commanding 
 point, where it in turn would form a line. The first brigade 
 would then give way, pass through the second, and take posi- 
 tion well to the rear. Thus, although retreating, we were 
 always ready to fight. At one point the enemy pressed us 
 closely, and I saw a magnificent cavalry charge down a gen- 
 tle descent in the road. Every sabre seemed tipped with fire 
 in the brilliant sunshine. 
 
 "In the afternoon it became evident that there was a 
 body of troops before us. Who or what they were was at 
 first unknown, and for a time the impression prevailed that 
 we would have to cut our way through by a headlong charge. 
 We soon learned, however, that the force was a brigade of 
 colored infantry, sent up to cover our retreat. It was the 
 first time we had seen negro troops, but as the long line of 
 glistening bayonets and light-blue uniforms came into view, 
 prejudices, if any there were, vanished at once, and a cheer 
 from the begrimed troopers rang down our line, waking the 
 echoes. It was a pleasant thing to march past that array of 
 faces, friendly though black, and know we were safe. They 
 represented the F.F.V.'s of Old Virginia we then wished to 
 see. On the last day of the march my horse gave out, com- 
 pelling me to walk and lead him. 
 
 "On the day after our arrival at Yorktown Kilpatrick 
 gave me despatches for the authorities at Washington. 
 President Lincoln, learning that I had just returned from 
 the raid, sent for me, and I had a memorable interview with
 
 MARRIAGE THE RAID TOWARD RICHMOND 365 
 
 him alone in his private room. He expressed profound solic- 
 itude for Colonel Dahlgren and his party. They had been 
 detached from the main force, and I could give no informa- 
 tion concerning them. We eventually learned of the death 
 of that heroic young officer, Colonel Dahlgren."
 
 366 HAMPTON HOSPITAL 
 
 CHAPTEK V 
 
 HAMPTON HOSPITAL, 
 
 IN March, 1864, Edward began his duties as chaplain of 
 Hampton Hospital, having been appointed to this posi- 
 tion before the raid described in the preceding chapter 
 was undertaken. Mrs. Roe joined him at Washington and 
 they went to Hampton together. A tribute is here due the 
 brave young wife, who, leaving a home of luxury, accepted 
 without a word of regret the privations of hospital life and 
 was untiring in her devotion to the sick and wounded. The 
 letters which follow show what that life was during the last 
 two years of the war. v The first is an appeal for books for 
 the sick soldiers made through "The Evangelist," and is pre- 
 ceded by a note of explanation from the editors of that paper. 
 "We have received the following letter from the es- 
 teemed and efficient chaplain of the Hampton Hospital, Vir- 
 ginia, Rev. Mr. Roe, who, as it will be seen, is desirous of 
 securing a well-selected soldiers' library for the use of the 
 hospital. Many of our readers formed an agreeable ac- 
 quaintance with Mr. Roe, through his correspondence with 
 "The Evangelist" while chaplain of the Harris Light Cavalry; 
 and we would refer all others for an estimate of the man, as 
 also of the nature and extent of his duties in his new posi- 
 tion, to an interesting paper in the August number of "Har- 
 per's Magazine," on the Chesapeake and Hampton hospitals. 
 We shall take pleasure in aiding this praiseworthy object in 
 every way in our power, and we trust that the money re- 
 quired for the purchase of these books will be speedily con- 
 tributed.
 
 HAMPTON HOSPITAL 367 
 
 "U. S. GENERAL HOSPITAL, FORTRESS MONROE, VA. 
 
 July 27, 1864 
 
 " 'READEES OF THE EVANGELIST : Pardon me if I say 
 a few plain words in preface to a request. I wish to appeal 
 to a quality that I hope is universal gratitude. That the 
 North is grateful for the self-sacrifice of its soldiers is well 
 proved by its noble charities in their behalf. But, my 
 Northern friends, you who dwell securely in beautiful and 
 healthful homes, can you not give a little more for those who 
 are giving all for you ? 
 
 " 'The U. S. General Hospital at Hampton, Va., is very 
 large this summer. The average is two thousand five hun- 
 dred patients, and we often have three thousand. Accom- 
 modations are in process of construction for still larger num- 
 bers. This is now the nearest permanent hospital to General 
 Grant's army. Almost daily transports from the front leave 
 at our wharf sick and mutilated men by hundreds, and we in 
 turn send those North who are able to bear further transpor- 
 tation. Thus our wards become mainly filled with what are 
 termed the "worst cases" men with whom the struggle for 
 life will be long and doubtful. I could take you through 
 our wards, and show you long rows of men with thigh am- 
 putations, fractured thighs; men who have lost arms, hands, 
 and both their feet; and in short, men with great gaping, 
 ghastly wounds in every part of the body. With such in- 
 juries nothing will sustain but cheerful courage; despon- 
 dency is almost always fatal. The only true basis of such 
 courage is God's religion, but to this all-important condition 
 much can be added that is most excellent. But could you 
 ask for more than these men have done and suffered? I 
 think they have done their part. Yours is not so hard, but 
 it is important. In your abundant provisions for their suf- 
 fering bodies, do not forget rations for their minds. There 
 are hundreds in this hospital who must lie upon their beds, 
 weeks, and even months, before they can even hope to hobble 
 out into the world again with crutch and cane. How shall 
 they spend these long, hot, weary days? Give them cheer-
 
 368 HAMPTON HOSPITAL 
 
 ful, entertaining, instructive books, and the question is 
 about solved. Who can calculate the value of a brave, 
 cheerful book? It stimulates and strengthens the mind, 
 which reacts upon the weakened body, and the man is at 
 once made stronger, wiser, and better. I felt that first of 
 all I ought to have a religious library, and through some ef- 
 fort, and the kindness of friends, have obtained a very fair 
 collection. But cheerful, light, entertaining books are few 
 and far between, while there is almost an entire dearth of 
 histories, travels, etc. I find that sick soldiers, even the best 
 of them, are like good people North, they do not like re- 
 ligious reading all the time. The works of Irving, John 
 S. C. Abbott, Dickens, Cooper, Scott, and T. S. Arthur, 
 would be invaluable from both a sanitary and a moral point 
 of view, for they would remove the parent of all evils idle- 
 ness. Poetry also is very much asked for. My simple re- 
 quest, therefore, is that out of gratitude to the brave suffer- 
 ing men who throng the wards of Hampton Hospital, you 
 would send them good cheerful books. I have an excel- 
 lent librarian, and I promise that they shall be carefully 
 looked after and preserved. Among the thousands who have 
 been here and gone away, I have scarcely lost a book. 
 
 " 'Messrs. Harpers, and Appletons, and other prominent 
 city publishers, have generously offered me their books at 
 half price for hospital purposes. All contributions in 
 money sent to me, or to the offices of the New York "Evan- 
 gelist," the "Observer," and the Brooklyn "Daily Union" 
 will be promptly and judiciously laid out for such books as 
 are needed. All contributions in books sent to the above- 
 named places will be forwarded to the hospital in my care.' ' 
 
 Some years after the war was over, my brother took a 
 trip to Fortress Monroe and visited the scenes of his former 
 labors. I quote from a letter telling of the result of his ap- 
 peal for a soldiers' library and of the subsequent use that was 
 made of the books. 
 
 "We entered the fort, presented our letter to General 
 Barry, in command, who received us with the utmost cour-
 
 HAMPTON HOSPITAL 369 
 
 tesy. The band discoursed delightful music. We examined 
 the mitrailleuse, of which the world has heard so much of 
 late. One of the most interesting points to me was the Post 
 Library. Here among many others I found all the books 
 that once formed our hospital library. Loyal Northern 
 friends, who were ever caring for the soldier's well-being, 
 enabled me to gather and purchase about three thousand vol- 
 umes. I know that it will be gratifying to them to learn 
 that their gifts, so far from being lost or destroyed, are all 
 here in excellent order, and still doing the work for which 
 they were designed. When a book becomes badly worn it 
 is sent away and rebound. The private soldiers, of which 
 there are several hundred, as well as the officers, have free 
 access to them. I was told by the soldier in charge that be- 
 tween two and three hundred of these books were taken out 
 and read monthly. Under General Barry's careful super- 
 vision they will be in use for years to come. He evidently 
 regards his men as something more than machines." 
 
 It was inevitable that my brother should witness many 
 sad partings during those long years of conflict, and the 
 strain upon his sympathies was very great, as may be seen 
 from the letters that follow. 
 
 "Among the painful and tragic events that occurred in 
 our hospital at Fortress Monroe, there was one wherein 
 heaven and earth were strangely mingled. The arm of a 
 strong, powerful man had been amputated at the shoulder 
 joint. He was full of vitality and made a long but vain 
 struggle for life. Day after day, and week after week, he 
 lay, scarcely daring to move, lest the artery should break 
 and his life blood ebb away. But ever at his side (it seemed 
 to me that she almost never left him) sat his true, patient 
 wife. Strange and incongruous did her slight and graceful 
 form, her pale, beautiful face appear in that place of wounds 
 and death. The rough soldiers were never rough or profane 
 in her presence, and their kindly sympathy often touched me. 
 For long weeks the scale turned for neither life nor death, 
 but at last the sharp agony of hope and fear ended in the dull
 
 370 HAMPTON HOSPITAL 
 
 pain of despair. He must die. The artery broke and bled 
 again and again, and skill would soon be of no avail. Some 
 time previous to this, a message had come to the poor wife 
 that her mother was dying, and she was requested to return 
 home immediately. 
 
 " 'No,' she said, 'my mother is among friends; my hus- 
 band is alone; I must stay with him.' 
 
 "Late one night, when the certainty of death was appar- 
 ent, they sent for me, and we three had a long, calm talk in 
 the dim, crowded ward. The brave, true soldier did not re- 
 gret that he had entered his country's service, though it cost 
 him so dearly, but he spoke a few words in regard to those 
 who caused the war that must ever hang upon them like mill- 
 stones. Turning to his young wife with an affection beauti- 
 ful to look upon, he said : 
 
 " 'Mary, you have prepared me to die, now you must go 
 home and do the same for your poor mother.' 
 
 "These brief words revealed a world of meaning. She 
 had not been sitting at his side in helpless pain, looking with 
 fearful eyes into the dreary future when she should be alone 
 and dependent with her child in a cold, selfish world. For- 
 getting her own heart-break, she had been untiring in her 
 efforts to brighten his pathway down into the dark valley 
 with the hope of heaven. God had blessed her angel work, 
 for he seemed a Christian. I went away from that bedside 
 more awed than if I had come from the presence of a king. 
 
 "Early one morning I was hastily summoned to the ward. 
 It was crowded and confused. The last hours had now come. 
 The artery had broken away beyond remedy, and from the 
 ghastly wound the poor man's life-blood poured away in tor- 
 rents, crimsoning the floor far and near. His face was pale 
 and wild, for death had come at last in an awful form. In 
 mistaken kindness they had kept his wife from him, fearing 
 the effect of the scene upon her. Drawn by her frantic cries 
 to the ward-master's room, I went and said to her 'My poor 
 friend, you can go to your husband, but for his sake you must 
 be perfectly calm. "We can do nothing for him if he is ex-
 
 HAMPTON HOSPITAL 371 
 
 cited.' For his sake, ah ! yes, for his sake she could do any- 
 thing, even master the whirlwind of sorrow at her heart. In 
 a moment she became as quiet and gentle as a lamb, and 
 crept noiselessly to his side. The man rallied and lived a 
 short time, and husband and wife were left alone. We may 
 well draw the veil over that last solemn farewell. 
 
 "For a brief space the pair sat on the shores of time, the 
 extreme cape and promontory of life. All around rolled the 
 ocean of eternity. Then one went forward into the un- 
 known, and the curtain between the two worlds fell. In wild 
 agony she clasped his lifeless form. The ward-master sought 
 tenderly to lift her and lead her away. For a moment the 
 tempest in her soul found expression and she sprang upon 
 him like a tigress. Then came again the strange, unnatural 
 calm like that when the Master said, 'Peace, be still!' 
 Quietly, thoughtfully she made all her arrangements and 
 soon went northward to her dying mother, taking the precious 
 dust of him she had loved with her, and we saw her no more. 
 But her sad, pale, patient face will haunt me through life. 
 
 "If all the bits of romance in these hospitals were gath- 
 ered up they would make volumes. I will instance only two 
 cases. 
 
 "It is somewhat common to get shot now, and yet for all 
 that it is none the less rather a painful and tragical experi- 
 ence. Well, two of our soldiers were shot; one had hia arm 
 taken off, and the other lost an arm and a leg also. They 
 both wrote to their respective fair ones, expressing the fear 
 that they would no longer wish to unite themselves with such 
 mutilated specimens of humanity, and if such were their feel- 
 ings they were free. The female engaged to the man who had 
 lost an arm availed herself of his release. She could not 
 think of marrying him under such circumstances. The blow 
 was fatal to the poor fellow. He became hopelessly de- 
 ranged, and is now in the asylum in this city. Still, con- 
 sidering her character, perhaps he escaped a worse fate. 
 
 "The lady engaged to the soldier who had lost both his 
 arm and leg replied that she honored him for his wounds;
 
 372 HAMPTON HOSPITAL 
 
 that she loved him all the more for his patriotism and the 
 heroism which led him to incur them ; and that if he would 
 permit her she would come on, and take care of him. She 
 did so, and married him." 
 
 One turns with a feeling of relief, after the harrowing 
 details in the letters already given, to this account of the 
 Christmas festivities at Hampton Hospital. 
 
 "We are told that 'the desert shall blossom as the rose/ 
 We believe it, for even the hospital the house of disease 
 and wounds, the spot ever shadowed by the wings of the dark 
 angel even this place of sombre associations can wreathe it- 
 self in festive garlands and resound with songs. Doctor 
 McClellan, surgeon in charge, has the enlightened opinion 
 that pills and physics are not the only health-restoring influ- 
 ences that can be brought to bear upon his patients. All ef- 
 forts to celebrate the holidays with spirit have received his 
 hearty sympathy and cooperation. The joyous season, so full 
 of happy memories, has not passed in dull monotony. 
 Though winds blew high and cold, still, throughout Thurs- 
 day, Friday, and Saturday, the axes rang merrily in the 
 woods. Huge masses of holly, cedar, and pine might be 
 seen moving toward the different wards, and approaching 
 near you would find a nurse or convalescent staggering along 
 beneath the green and fragrant burden. Under the magic 
 of many skilful hands the pliant boughts are soon tied and 
 twisted into a thousand devices. Men with only one hand 
 worked with the rest. Men possessing but a single leg were 
 busy as the others. Thump, thump, over the floor go the 
 crutches, as old battered veterans hobbled about in all direc- 
 tions, to view in different lights the artistic and fantastic re- 
 sults of their labors. Even the dull face of chronic pain 
 lights up and wanly smiles, while dim eyes, fast closing on 
 earthly scenes, gaze wistfully on the fragrant evergreens and 
 query to themselves if they are to be the symbols of their 
 memories at distant homes. 
 
 "But though many wards blossomed out into holiday gar- 
 lands, the crowning glories of the kind were to be found in
 
 HAMPTON HOSPITAL 373 
 
 Ward C. Quaint devices, hanging festoons, wreaths and 
 shields and graceful arches, draped the place in varied beau- 
 ties like the tapestry of old. which turned rough and gloomy 
 apartments into warm and silken bowers. The feathery 
 cedar, tasselled pine, and far-famed laurel formed the rich 
 background for the bright berries of the Christmas holly 
 which glistened like rubies set in emerald folds. Flags were 
 looped across the stage, and the curtains in the rear also 
 showed the stars and stripes. The hospital choir and glee- 
 club had here prepared an entertainment most agreeable to 
 the tastes of all. Their motto, a beautiful transparency, ex- 
 plains its character, 'We come with songs to greet you.' As 
 darkness fell a throng surrounded every door. Up the high 
 steps to the main entrance, an hour before the doors were 
 opened, crowding, jostling hundreds gathered, seeming like 
 a human wave lifted by some powerful impulse from the sea 
 of heads below. Around the building in circling eddies, 
 knots of men sauntered talking, wondering, and anticipating 
 concerning the pleasures of the evening. Above the sway- 
 ing masses numerous crutches might be seen. Thus raised 
 aloft they seemed like standards, showing well the spirit of 
 our soldiers. It is not in wounds to keep them at home. If 
 they have the sad misfortune not to have two legs beneath 
 them, they are sure to go on one if anything unusual calls 
 them out. Within, now, the lamps are lighted, down the 
 long and echoing ward, and through the festoons and glisten- 
 ing arches, they wink and twinkle like fireflies in a cedar for- 
 est. The doors are opened and, under Doctor McClellan's 
 wise and careful supervision, at least a thousand persons are 
 soon admitted and seated. Those not so fortunate as to get 
 seats fill every space of standing room. The hall is full, and 
 those who cannot gain admittance crowd around outside the 
 windows, where faces gleam in the fitful light, like framed 
 and grotesque pictures. 
 
 "At a given signal the orchestra commenced, and the hum 
 and buzz of many voices died away like a breeze in the forest. 
 But it is useless to attempt to describe music songs and an-
 
 374 HAMPTON HOSPITAL 
 
 thems that seem like living spirits which by powerful spells 
 may be called up to float and pass before you, and stir the soul 
 with magic influences. It was no rude affair. Ears that 
 have been educated at the Academy of Music would have 
 tingled with novel and delightful sensations, could they have 
 heard those deep, rich soldiers' voices accompanied by our 
 lady nurses, and the lady teachers of the Tyler House, chant- 
 ing our national anthems, or exciting irresistible mirth by 
 their comic songs. Mr. Tilden's ripe, powerful, mellow voice 
 moved every heart, and more than satisfied the nicest and 
 most critical ear. Mr. George Terry, changeful as an April 
 day, now convulsed the audience with laughter, and again, 
 a moment afterward, caused all eyes to overflow. Mrs. 
 Meachann, Miss Eastman, Mr. Sears, and Mr. Allen sustained 
 their parts with marked ability, and little Miss Mary White 
 brought down the house by singing a ballad whose simple 
 beauty was universally appreciated. But where all perfectly 
 performed the parts assigned to them, it is almost invidious 
 to make distinctions. Mr. Metcalf, the leader of the choir, 
 must have been satisfied with the performances, as certainly 
 all others were. 'Home, Sweet Home,' closed the entertain- 
 ment, and carried us all back to that dear and never-to-be- 
 forgotten place. Again in fancy we gathered around the 
 familiar hearthstone, made warm and bright by blazing fire 
 and sweet memories of other days. God grant that another 
 Christmas day may find us all there. 
 
 "But in the hospital there were hundreds confined by 
 sickness, wounds, and weakness to their beds. However 
 good their will may have been they were physically unable to 
 join with their more fortunate companions in outside enjoy- 
 ments. They were not forgotten or neglected. On Sabbath 
 afternoon the choir again assembled, and commencing with 
 Ward One, we passed through fourteen wards, making the 
 old walls ring again with Christmas anthems. This, with 
 wishing the patients a merry Christmas, and that another re- 
 turn of the happy day might find them all safe at home, and 
 the reading, in Luke ii., of the angelic announcement to the
 
 HAMPTON HOSPITAL 375 
 
 shepherds of the 'unspeakable gift' to us all, constituted the 
 simple service. On Monday there was much high feeding. 
 Sleek cattle and corpulent pigs were roasted whole, and there 
 was a powerful mortality in the hospital poultry-yard. Men 
 who could never carve their fortunes showed wonderful abil- 
 ity in carving turkey. These substantial luxuries, seasoned 
 by the recent victories, made for us a royal feast, to which 
 the sovereigns in blue sat down with unmingled satisfaction."
 
 376 THE HOSPITAL FARM AND CHAPEL 
 
 CHAPTEE VI 
 
 THE HOSPITAL FABM AND CHAPEL 
 
 IN a letter to the Hon. William Cullen Bryant, then editor 
 of the "Evening Post," Edward gives an 'account of the 
 establishment of his hospital farm, and tells of its benefit 
 to the men under his care. 
 
 "HoN. WILLIAM C. BRYANT DEAR SIR: The meeting 
 in behalf of 'New York's disabled soldiers' has deeply inter- 
 ested me and awakened many war memories. During the 
 last two years of the Rebellion I had some experience, in a 
 small way, which may suggest useful features in a Soldiers' 
 Home. At that time I was one of the chaplains of the Eort- 
 ress Monroe hospitals, and the campaigns in the vicinity of 
 Petersburg and Richmond often filled our long barrack? to 
 repletion and also covered the adjacent acres with temporary 
 tent wards. Lying around the hospital there was an abun- 
 dance of idle and unf enced land. With the sanction of Doc- 
 tor McClellan, the surgeon in charge, I had this enclosed 
 and planted with such vegetables as were most useful and 
 conducive to health, the odorous onion taking the lead. The 
 tulip mania had its day, but the weakness of average human- 
 ity for this bulb is as old as history see Numbers xi., 5 
 and apparently it is only growing more prevalent with the 
 ages. If this is evolution in the wrong direction Mr. Huxley 
 should look after it. 
 
 "The labor of the hospital farm was performed by the 
 patients themselves, and very many soon became deeply in- 
 terested in their tasks. When a man became so far conva- 
 lescent from illness or wounds as to be able to do a little work,
 
 THE HOSPITAL FARM AND CHAPEL 377 
 
 he was detailed for the garden and employed in its lighter 
 labors. As he grew stronger he was put at heavier work. 
 Heroes who had lost arms and legs supplemented each other's 
 deficiencies, the two maimed men contriving to do between 
 them far more than many a stout fellow who now demands 
 $1.50 a day. A man with one hand could sow seed and weed 
 the growing vegetables, while his comrade hitched along on 
 his crutch and vigorously hoed the ground between the rows. 
 I sometimes had as many as a hundred men at work, and I 
 ever found that such tasks benefited body and soul. It did 
 one's heart good to see pallid faces grow brown and ruddy, 
 and flabby muscles round and hard. It did one more good 
 thus easily to banish homesickness and the miserable incubus 
 of ennui from which the sufferer is prone to seek relief in 
 some form of vicious excitement. For the satisfaction of 
 those who ask for more practical results I can state that we 
 were able to send green vegetables to the hospital kitchens 
 by the wagonload. As the record of the second year at the 
 farm, made at the time, I find among other items the follow- 
 ing : 700 bushels of snap beans in the pod, 120 do. lima beans, 
 130 do. carrots, 125 do. peas, 470 do. potatoes, 250 do. to- 
 matoes, 1,500 bunches of green onions, 30,000 heads of cab- 
 bage, 26,900 ears of sweet corn, 2,5000 muskmelons, etc. A 
 large poultry yard, enclosing four acres, was also built, and 
 many other improvements made, all being accomplished by 
 the willing labor of the convalescents themselves, who more 
 rapidly regained their strength while thus furnishing the 
 means of health to those still confined within the walls. 
 
 "Recalling these facts I am greatly pleased to learn that 
 the 'New York Home' is to be located on a farm, for thus it 
 may be made a home in reality. Providence put the first 
 man into a garden, and few men have lived since who have 
 not felt more at home when a garden lay about the door." 
 
 During the years that Edward was at Hampton Hospital, 
 his friend Mr. Merwin was doing a noble work among the 
 soldiers in the hospitals at the front, under the direction of 
 the Christian Commission. My brother at one time wished
 
 378 THE HOSPITAL FARM AND CHAPEL 
 
 to be relieved of his duties as chaplain for several weeks, and 
 Mr. Merwin kindly consented to take his place. He after- 
 wards wrote of this time : 
 
 "I found that Edward's presence among the sick and 
 wounded was sadly missed, and that he had labored in many 
 ways to contribute to their comfort and happiness. He 
 brought from the Xorth an experienced farmer and supplied 
 the hospital with an abundance of excellent vegetables. Sub- 
 sequently a church was erected by his efforts for the growing 
 needs of that post." 
 
 While absent at the Xorth my brother raised most of the 
 funds necessary to build this chapel at Hampton. When he 
 revisited the place years afterward, he found the chapel still 
 in use. He was gratified also to learn that the hospital li- 
 brary continued to be of service. He says: 
 
 "Some of us rode out to the former site of the hospital. 
 Many pleasant changes have occurred. The acres of ground 
 occupied by sick and wounded men are now covered with 
 orchards and the homes of peaceful industry. The hospital 
 garden has in part become the grounds of a college for f reed- 
 men, and is in a high state of cultivation. The college itself 
 is a fine building, and under the able, energetic administra- 
 tion of General Armstrong, is full of promise for the race 
 that we have so long kept in ignorance. He is teaching them 
 many things of vital use, and among these one of the most 
 important is a wise, economical culture of the ground. The 
 chapel to which we have referred is inclosed within the ceme- 
 tery grounds, and only needs a few repairs now and then, to 
 preserve it a substantial church for many years to come. I 
 was told that there had been religious services in it nearly 
 every Sabbath since the war. 
 
 "The soldiers' monument, now seen for the first time, im- 
 pressed me most favorably. In its severe simplicity it truth- 
 fully commemorates the lives and characters of those who 
 sleep beneath. Over three hundred dollars was given to me 
 by the soldiers in twenty-five and fifty cent stamps and one- 
 dollar bills, and with some these gifts were almost like the
 
 THE HOSPITAL FARM AND CHAPEL 379 
 
 widow's mite all they had. It was most gratifying to see 
 how nobly their wish and purpose had been carried out. 
 That it has been so is due to that friend of the soldier and 
 of all humanity, Miss D. L. Dix, who to the mites of the hos- 
 pital patients added thousands of dollars collected elsewhere." 
 
 From another letter I take Edward's description of the 
 chapel. 
 
 "The building is cruciform in its shape, and at the foot 
 rises a light and graceful tower and spire, sixty feet high, 
 surmounted by a cross showing each way. The style of archi- 
 tecture is Gothic. The chapel-room is thirty feet by sixty, 
 with a high, arched ceiling. It is beautifully and smoothly 
 plastered, and whitened with a hard finish. Two aisles run 
 down the room, thus making three tiers of seats. These are 
 somewhat Gothic in their form, and are stained black-walnut, 
 surmounted by a white round moulding, which makes a 
 pleasing contrast. In the place where the head of the cross 
 should have been, there is merely a small projection from the 
 main building, forming in the large chapel-room an alcove or 
 recess. A beautiful Gothic frame containing two medium- 
 sized and one large window of stained glass forms the rear of 
 this projection, and aids in lighting the room. All the win- 
 dows in the chapel part are of stained glass, and they render 
 the light very soft and pleasant. I found them about as cheap 
 as curtains, and much more pretty and durable. The space in 
 the alcove is occupied by a slightly raised platform and a 
 plain, simple pulpit still lacking a cushion. It is a very easy 
 room to speak in, and in it music sounds remarkably well. 
 The left arm of the cross, towards the hospital, constitutes 
 the library, and is a large, airy room, thirty feet by twenty- 
 four, furnished with tables, book-shelves, and reading-desks. 
 Our collection of books is said to be one of the finest in the 
 hospital service. Here also will be found the magazines, 
 dailies, and weeklies, and prominent among our files will be 
 'The Evangelist.' The right arm of the cross consists of 
 four small but pleasant rooms, and will now be used as the 
 chaplain's quarters, and at some future time as a parsonage.
 
 380 THE HOSPITAL FARM AND CHAPEL 
 
 "The building is of a dark color, with white doors and 
 window-frames. Around the entire structure has been built 
 a rustic Gothic fence, constructed of smooth pine poles, and 
 forming a heart-shaped enclosure. Therefore we have the 
 following device : the church in the centre of the heart." 
 
 Soon after Edward's return from the North to his work 
 at the hospital there was a marked revival of religion among 
 the sick and wounded men. He says : 
 
 "I think the most marked feature of the revival is the 
 reclamation of those who have gone astray who have 
 found the temptations of camp life too powerful to be re- 
 sisted. Since I have been in the service I have met hun- 
 dreds of soldiers who acknowledged that they had been pro- 
 fessors of religion at home. They had entered the army 
 with the best of intentions, but the lack of Sabbath privi- 
 leges, of the sacred influences of the hearth, and all the num- 
 berless aids which bolster up a church member at the North, 
 together with the strong and positive allurements to sin in 
 the field, had discovered to them their weakness and they had 
 fallen. But in most cases it would seem that the old vital 
 spark still smouldered at the bottom of their hearts. Ac- 
 cording to their own confessions, they are restless and dis- 
 satisfied, and unable to attain to the stolid or reckless apathy 
 of those who have never tasted of the heavenly manna. Put 
 them under the influence of an earnest prayer-meeting or 
 faithful sermon, and they are like old rheumatic flies in an 
 April sun, or the apparently dead and leafless trees in the 
 warm breath of spring, or the veteran soldier who hears the 
 familiar call to arms after years of ignoble peace. It is very 
 interesting to watch them in our meetings. The first even- 
 ing they take seats far back, and look around with an uneasy 
 air, as if almost ashamed to be seen. The next evening they 
 sit near the leader. They soon venture to respond faintly to 
 some of the more earnest prayers. At last, unable to re- 
 strain the rising tide of feeling, they rise up, and often with 
 tears and penitence confess their backslidings, resolve to be 
 faithful hereafter, and ask the prayers of all present that
 
 THE HOSPITAL FARM AND CHAPEL 381 
 
 they may never be so weak as to wander again. They then 
 take their places among those whom I call the fighting part 
 of the congregation those whose active aid I can rely upon. 
 
 "In one of the wards, where 'the straightforward Chris- 
 tian' (as I call him) is on duty, they are having a little revival 
 by themselves. He gives its inmates no peace till they be- 
 come Christians in self-defence. During the beautiful 
 moonlight nights of last month, he organized a little prayer- 
 meeting, which met on the banks of an arm of the bay that 
 runs up into the mainland near the ward, and there claimed 
 and verified the promise of 'Where two or three are gathered 
 together in My name, there am I in the midst of them.' 
 
 "God does seem near the soldiers, and the soldiers as a 
 general thing are ready to respond to His gracious invita- 
 tions, not only here but elsewhere, and in fact in every place 
 where Christians are willing to come down, or rather up to 
 their level, and work among them with a genuine, heartfelt 
 sympathy. 
 
 "In a recent letter from the front, my brother, Rev. Al- 
 fred C. Roe, Chaplain 104th K Y. V., writes: 'We have 
 weekly and almost daily conversions. Our prayer-meetings, 
 though held in the trenches, and often in close proximity to 
 the enemy, are largely attended, and unless prevented by im- 
 portant business the colonel is always present. The staff at 
 headquarters is like a Christian family.' 
 
 "I have found by experience that the formal presenta- 
 tion of Gospel truth once a week by an officer in chaplain's 
 uniform, or in any other, does not amount to much, unless 
 faithfully followed up by personal effort and the social 
 prayer-meeting. The religion of our Saviour, presented in 
 the spirit of our Saviour, rarely fails to move even the rough 
 soldier. I have found a most efficient colaborer in Chaplain 
 Billingsly, also in Chaplain Raymond."
 
 382 PASTORATE AT HIGHLAND FALLS 
 
 CHAPTEK VII 
 
 PASTORATE AT HIGHLAND FALLS 
 
 SOON after the close of the war Edward accepted a call 
 to the little church at Highland Falls, about a mile 
 below West Point. This was his only charge, and 
 here he spent nine happy, useful years. His first impres- 
 sions of the church and congregation may be gathered from 
 the following letter. 
 
 " I found myself in a true orthodox Presbyterian church, 
 for although the thermometer stood far below zero and the 
 roads were snowy and unbroken, still the number of ladies 
 present far exceeded that of the gentlemen. I regarded this 
 fact as a good omen, for if a pastor can depend upon a few 
 strong-hearted women (not strong-minded in the cant sense 
 of the phrase), he has only to go forward prudently to certain 
 success. Summing up the entire congregation, small and 
 great, it nearly made that number so well known, alas, in 
 country churches, which is appropriately termed 'a. handful.' 
 
 "These good people were thinly scattered over a plain 
 little audience room that would seat comfortably one hundred 
 and twenty. The church was bitter cold, and the situation 
 of the pulpit, between the two doors, seemed designed to chill 
 anything like enthusiasm on the part of the speaker. The 
 construction of the building bore evidence that some architect 
 of the olden time determined to achieve celebrity, in that he 
 placed its back toward the street and faced it toward noth- 
 ing in particular. This, with minor eccentricities, really en- 
 titled the edifice to the antiquarian's attention. But I in- 
 tend not a disrespectful word against the little church, for
 
 PASTORATE AT HIGHLAND FALLS 383 
 
 precious souls have been gathered there and trained for 
 heaven." 
 
 It was in February that Edward received a unanimous 
 call to this church, and from that time he gave himself up 
 to the work of collecting funds for the erection of a new 
 building. The majority of the people were not wealthy and 
 many of them were very poor, but they did all they possibly 
 could, many giving at the cost of great personal sacrifice. 
 The brunt of the enterprise, however, necessarily fell upon 
 my brother. About this time he began giving lectures on 
 his experiences in the Civil War, often travelling many miles 
 to deliver them, going wherever there was a chance to make 
 money and so help forward his cherished object. He also 
 obtained large sums from wealthy city churches and from 
 friends, through personal solicitation. 
 
 At the end of two years Edward and his co-workers felt 
 justified in laying the corner-stone of the new church. Here 
 is his description of the ceremony. 
 
 "Patient effort seldom fails of its reward, and the day 
 we had long toiled and prayed for, when we could lay the 
 corner-stone of our new church, at length arrived. The 16th 
 of September dawned, cloudy and dubious, like the com- 
 mencement of the enterprise. The morning hours brought 
 disappointment and heavy rain, as the two long years of 
 work and waiting had brought many discouragements. Rev. 
 Dr. William Adams of New York, who was to have made the 
 address, was unavoidably detained; and the skies frowned so 
 darkly it was thought best to defer the ceremony. But be- 
 fore the hour appointed there was a general brightening up. 
 The clouds broke away and vanished over Crow Nest and the 
 adjoining mountains. The sun smiled out in irresistible in- 
 vitation and the people gathered in such numbers that it was 
 thought best to go forward with the ceremony. This we were 
 most anxious to do, as the North River Presbytery had hon- 
 ored our church as the place of its Fall meeting, and most 
 of its members could upon this day be present with us. 
 
 "As the shadows were lengthening eastward, we gathered
 
 384 PASTORATE AT HIGHLAND FALLS 
 
 among the evergreens that surround the solid foundation of 
 the new edifice. It was just such a gathering as we love to 
 see at a church representatives from every age and class 
 in the community. Little barefooted urchins climbed up 
 into the cedars and looked on with wondering eyes. All 
 right! the church is as truly for them as for the President,, 
 should he honor us with a visit. In a huge block of granite 
 at the northeast corner of the building a receptacle had been 
 cut. .Around this we gathered. The Hon. John Bigelow, 
 our former Minister to France, commenced the simple cere- 
 mony with a very happy address. In simple periods of 
 classic beauty he spoke of church edifices as the highest 
 and most disinterested expressions of the benevolence and cul- 
 ture of a community ; and in words that were good omens of 
 the future he dwelt upon the beneficent influences flowing 
 therefrom. The Pastor next came forward, and stated that 
 a copy of the Scriptures only, as published by the American 
 Bible Society, would be deposited in the stone. In this sol- 
 emn and emblematic act we wished to leave out everything 
 that would take from the simplicity and force of the figure. 
 God's Word alone in its purity should underlie the material 
 structure, and so we hoped TTia Word alone, unmixed and 
 undistorted by human opinions, would be the foundation of 
 the spiritual church that should be built there in coming 
 years. Therefore no papers, coins, or records of any kind, 
 were placed in the sealed box with the Bible. If after the 
 lapse of centuries this solid wall were taken down, this soli- 
 tary Bible, unmarred by pen or pencil, will be a clearer rec- 
 ord than long and formal documents, of a church that sought 
 to honor God, and not man, and to keep His name before the 
 people, and not that of some human instrument. With the 
 usual words the massy block of granite was lowered to its 
 place, and, humanly speaking, generations will pass away 
 before these leaves again are turned. 
 
 "The Rev. Dr. Wheeler of Poughkeepsie, who kindly 
 offered to act in Dr. Adams's place, spoke in a vein of strong 
 original eloquence which chained the attention of all for a
 
 PASTORATE AT HIGHLAND FALLS 385 
 
 brief time. As an impromptu effort it was singularly appro- 
 priate and hope-inspiring. He closed with a prayer, in the 
 fervor of which a lady said that she could almost see the 
 walls and spire rising to beautiful and entire completion. 
 Rev. Mr. Teal of Cornwall pronounced the benediction, and 
 thus closed the ceremony. 
 
 "We are building of the blue granite found in abundance 
 upon the ground. The walls rise from the rocky foundation 
 in massive thickness of plain, hammer-dressed stone, and thus 
 are in keeping with the rugged mountain scenery. Time 
 will rather strengthen the work than weaken it. We build 
 from the rock with the rock, and trust that the great Spirit- 
 ual Rock will underlie it all. 
 
 "It will cost us twenty thousand dollars to complete the 
 church, and of this sum we have on hand, or promised, 
 nearly half. The building is under contract to be finished 
 the first of June next, and whatever indebtedness there ex- 
 ists will be provided for by a mortgage. The ladies of the 
 church and the Sabbath-school children have pledged them- 
 selves by fairs and concerts to provide for the interest of the 
 debt until the principal : paid. The people are proving that 
 they are in earnest o their deeds. By their hearty sym- 
 pathy and co-operation, Mr. Cozzens, the proprietor of the 
 hotel, and his lady have greatly contributed to our success. 
 
 "The guests of the house have been very liberal and at- 
 tentive, and show an increasing interest in the enterprise. 
 At a time of hesitancy and doubt a generous gift of five hun- 
 dred dollars, from C. K. Garrison, Esq., of New York, soon 
 after followed by five hundred dollars more from Richard 
 Schell, Esq., enabled us to go forward with hope and confi- 
 dence. Mr. Garrison is a native of our region, and happy 
 would it be for the country if, following his example, those 
 who have won wealth and distinction abroad would return 
 and enrich their birthplace by such noble proofs of their 
 benevolence. Monuments of this kind perpetuate one's name 
 better than tombstones. Among the summer worshippers at 
 our little church under the trees, we have been glad to rec- 
 
 R ^
 
 386 PASTORATE AT HIGHLAND FALLS 
 
 ognize so long the kindly face of Rev. J. Q. Craighead of 
 the 'Evangelist/ and long and gratefully will our people 
 remember his words from the pulpit and in the social meet- 
 ing. Rev. Dr. Robinson of Harrisburgh, Pa., has also been 
 one of our summer residents, and one that we shall soon sadly 
 miss." 
 
 Four years longer minister and people worked unceas- 
 ingly in the interests of their new church, my brother con- 
 tinuing to give his lectures wherever opportunity offered. 
 One delivered at Providence, Rhode Island, was quoted at 
 some length in a daily paper of that city, and is here 
 reprinted. 
 
 "The Rev. E. P. Roe, of West Point, lectured last night 
 before a fair audience, at Harrington's Opera House, under 
 the auspices of Prescott Post ISTo 1, G. A. R., on 'Secret Ser- 
 vice at the Front; or Scouting and Guerillas.' During the 
 war, said the speaker, the northern people regarded guer- 
 illas as irresponsible bands of outlaws, living by violence and 
 plunder, and while leaning to and assisting the rebels, ready 
 to murder and rob without much regard for either side. The 
 majority of the guerillas were, no doubt, as bad as gen- 
 erally supposed, but there were among them trusty and intel- 
 ligent scouts, whose employment was to trace out the position 
 and movements of the Union army, and who, no matter how 
 much robbing and murdering they might do on their own 
 account, never lost sight of the main object of their service. 
 The acuteness of these scouts and the various disguises which 
 they assumed were more than surprising. As a division of 
 the Union army passed along, an old citizen might have been 
 seen building a rail fence. Surely that ancient-looking 
 farmer knows nothing, the passing troops would readily 
 think. But under that old felt hat gleamed a watchful eye 
 and listened attentive ears, observing and hearing everything 
 worthy of remark. As soon as the army passed, he throws 
 down his rails and slips off to the swamp, mounts a fleet 
 horse, and soon the numbers, destination and condition of the 
 Union division are reported at the nearest rebel headquar-
 
 PASTORATE AT HIGHLAND FALLS 387 
 
 ters. Sometimes the woods on both sides of the marching 
 column swarmed with prowling guerillas; sometimes an 
 affable stranger in Union colors would approach, enter into 
 conversation with the weary straggler, gain all the informa- 
 tion he could, and then shoot down his informant. They 
 were very bold in their operations. One day an orderly was 
 riding with important despatches far within the Union lines, 
 when he was startled by a mounted rebel, who made his ap- 
 pearance from the woodside, and who, presenting a pistol at 
 his breast, demanded his arms and despatches. After, as 
 he imagined, cleaning out the orderly, the rebel invited him 
 to come along and accept a little Southern hospitality. The 
 scout rode a little forward, and as he did so, a quiet grin 
 played stealthfully over his furious countenance ; a little pis- 
 tol was withdrawn from a side pocket, the cold muzzle applied 
 to the rebel's ear, and in a few moments the rebel was dis- 
 armed and on his way to a Northern prison. But the bold 
 deeds of the rebels in scouting through the Union lines paled 
 before the achievements of General Sharpe and his bureau of 
 military information. The promotion of this bureau was 
 recommended by General Butterfield to General Hooper, in 
 1863, for the purpose of ascertaining the numbers, positions, 
 and intentions of the enemy. To this bureau was gathered 
 all the information of the signal corps and of the hundreds 
 of scouts and spies who traversed the rebel army and coun- 
 try. Trusty and intelligent men were picked from the rank 
 and file of the army and placed under command of General 
 Sharpe. The first piece of work undertaken by the general 
 was to obtain a full roster of Lee's army as it lay on the 
 Rappahannock, the numbers and titles of regiments and the 
 names of the corps, division, brigade, regimental and com- 
 pany commanders. He picked out General Heath's brigade 
 of A. P. Hill's corps as the first one to operate on, and by 
 daringly scouting in person through the lines of that brigade, 
 conversing with its pickets, and mingling with its men, he 
 succeeded in obtaining not only a full list of its officers, and 
 an accurate detail of its strength, but a correct description
 
 388 PASTORATE AT HIGHLAND FALLS 
 
 of the personal appearance and habits of these officers. After 
 mastering Heath's division he picked out an intelligent sol- 
 dier whom he crammed with all he knew himself about the 
 division, dressed him up in a rebel uniform, and sent him 
 into another division of Hill's corps. Of course the man 
 was at once apprehended and taken before a provost marshal, 
 but made such a plain statement, giving the names of the 
 officers of the regiments in Heath's division, to which he 
 claimed to belong, and describing their personal appearance 
 and habits with more accuracy than reverence, that he was 
 dismissed, with a reprimand for his want of respect for his 
 superior officers, and ordered to report back at once to his 
 regiment. After looking around him and ascertaining every- 
 thing worth noting with regard to the command, he returned 
 to General Sharpe; and thus the particulars, as ascertained 
 by every new scout, facilitated the means of getting more. 
 At length Sharpe had a roster of the whole of Lee's army, 
 and could tell its strength at any time within a thousand or 
 so, that thousand being the changing mass of stragglers, 
 furloughed, and sick, to whom no special location could 
 be assigned. He could also tell the name of every 
 officer in that army, and rebel generals of divisions might 
 have gone to him for information concerning their own sub- 
 ordinates. The great usefulness of thus possessing the pre- 
 cise knowledge of the strength and formation of the enemy's 
 forces was particularly illustrated at Gettysburg, where the 
 anxious spirits of the Union commanders were relieved by 
 ascertaining from General Sharpe that every brigade but one 
 of Lee's army had been engaged in the fight, and that that 
 general had no reserve with which to follow success or break 
 defeat. Not least among the resources from which valuable 
 information was obtained were the contrabands, whose fidel- 
 ity and truthfulness were remarkable, considering their want 
 of education, and consequent lack of intelligence. 
 
 "Amusing and interesting instances were given by the 
 speaker of the hairbreadth escapes and reckless daring of 
 General Sharpe's scouts, and he concluded an entertaining
 
 PASTORATE AT HIGHLAND FALLS 389 
 
 discourse by paying a hearty and well-deserved tribute to 
 their patriotic and fearless devotion, to which was greatly 
 owing, in his opinion, the winning of some of our greatest 
 victories, and the fortunate issue of the war itself." 
 
 In 1868 the church was completed, a building "whose 
 granite walls are so thick, and hard-wood finish so substan- 
 tial, that passing centuries should add only the mellowness 
 of age." Edward would not allow his name deposited in 
 the corner-stone, as many wished, but since his death a 
 bronze tablet, with the following inscription, has been placed 
 in the vestibule. 
 
 In Memoriam, 
 REV. EDWARD PAYSON ROE, 
 
 Minister of the 
 First Presbyterian Ch. of the Highlands. 
 
 1866-1875. 
 
 Author, Pastor, Friend, 
 
 This Building Stands the Monument of 
 
 His Earnest Labors. 
 
 Erected: 
 
 1868. 
 
 After the completion of the church the old parsonage was en- 
 larged and remodelled, and so during his pastorate thirty 
 thousand dollars were raised and expended in permanent 
 improvements. 
 
 While living at Highland Falls Edward continually met 
 the officers and soldiers of West Point. A soldier at one time 
 was the leader of his choir, in which was also a quartet from 
 the military band. He writes as follows of a mountain camp 
 at West Point which recalled some of his own army life : 
 
 "About the middle of August the Cadet Corps left their 
 airy tent villas on the plain at West Point, and took up their 
 line of march for the mountains. The pioneers had pre- 
 ceded, and the road was practicable not only for infantry, 
 but for carriages and stages laden with fair ladies from the 
 hotels. The selected camping ground, though rough indeed 
 compared with the velvet lawns of West Point, was admirably
 
 390 PASTORATE AT HIGHLAND FALLS 
 
 adapted for the purpose. It was a broken, uneven field, 
 on the property of T. Cozzens, Esq. Here in the midst of 
 the wildest mountain scenery the young soldiers experienced, 
 to quite an extent, the realities of life at the front, minus the 
 element of danger. But the mimicry was almost perfect, 
 and so suggestive of bygone days to an old campaigner, that 
 I cannot refrain from indulging in a brief description. 
 
 "A wild, romantic drive of three or four miles through 
 winding valleys, jagged boulders and ledges, and overshadow- 
 ing trees, brought us to the edge of the camp-ground. Along 
 the road ran the familiar military telegraph, the wire now 
 looped up to a convenient tree, now sustained by the slender 
 portable pole that bends but never breaks beneath the seem- 
 ingly gossamer strand. Just before reaching the place we 
 struck off upon one of those temporary roads that we were 
 ever extemporizing in Virginia. First we saw the white 
 tents through the foliage, then the gleaming of a sentry's 
 musket, the cover of an ambulance, and in a moment more 
 we were in the midst of the encampment, and the spell was 
 complete. Through the strong laws of association the old 
 life rushed back again, and what often seems a far-away 
 dream was as present and real as six years ago. But apart 
 from all its suggestiveness to those who dwelt in canvas cities 
 and engaged in war's realities, the scene was novel, beauti- 
 ful, and deeply interesting. Here in the midst of the wooded 
 highlands was a fac-simile, reproduced in miniature, of thou- 
 sands of encampments, created by the Rebellion, in the 
 equally wild regions of the Southern States. Here were our 
 future generals learning to apply practically to the rough- 
 ness of nature the principles and tactics that might seem 
 comparatively easy on paper or grassy plain. Sloping down 
 to the right, the encampment bordered on Round Pond, a 
 beautiful, transparent little lake, fringed with water-lilies, 
 and mirroring back the rocks and foliage of its rugged banks. 
 Through the courtesy of Mr. Cozzens, we and others were 
 soon skimming its surface in an airy little pleasure boat. A 
 quarter of a mile to the left, in full view, with a descent of
 
 PASTORATE AT HIGHLAND FALLkf 
 
 a hundred feet, Long Pond glistened in the bright August 
 sun. All around rose the green billowy hills as far as the 
 eye could reach. We had hardly noted this beautiful com- 
 mingling of wood and water before the stirring notes of the 
 drum announced skirmish drill. On each side of the camp 
 a squad marched briskly out, and was soon lost in the forest. 
 Soon from its unseen depths there came a shot, then another, 
 then several, ending in a rapid, scattering fire, and I was 
 back again on the skirmish line in Virginia. By this time 
 the other detachment had reached position, and were 'pop- 
 ping' away in the old familiar style. The hills caught 
 up the reports and echoed them down again multiplied a 
 hundredfold. 
 
 '* 'Rock, glen, and cavern paid them back; 
 To many mingled sounds at once, 
 The awakened mountain gave response; ' 
 
 and these regions of silvan peace and solitude were dis- 
 turbed as they never had been since the days when Wash- 
 ington made West Point his military base, and Fort Putnam 
 was the chief Highland stronghold. 
 
 "On a high eminence to the right fluttered a signal flag. 
 I shall never forget the last time that my special attention 
 was called to that very significant object. It was on a bold 
 ledge of the Blue Ridge west of Culpeper, Va. We were 
 out on picket, lounging away a long bright October after- 
 noon, when in the far distance a white flutter like that of a 
 lady's handkerchief caught the wary eye of the colonel. 
 Listlessness vanished. All glasses were out, but practiced 
 eyes discovered, not a token of ladies' favor, but a signal of 
 stern war. Lee was turning our right flank, and then fol- 
 lowed the famous race for Centreville heights. 
 
 "But the sun had sunk behind a blue Highland, and the 
 tap of the drum announcing parade recalled from reminis- 
 cences of the past. Creaking, groaning, crunching up the 
 rough road came stages, carriages, and wagons of all descrip- 
 tions laden with fair ladies, who in bright summer costumes
 
 892 PASTORATE AT HIGHLAND FALLS 
 
 seemed airy indeed, but from the looks of the jaded horses, 
 were anything but thistle-downs. The wild mountain camp 
 was soon brilliant with Fifth Avenue toilets. There was a 
 general 'presenting of arms/ though not with belligerent as- 
 pect, and it required no astrologer to predict a conjunction 
 of Mars and Venus. Old fogy that I was, recalling the days 
 of our humdrum soldiering long and well gone by, here I 
 was in the midst of a brilliant active campaign, where wounds 
 were given and received, human hearts pierced to the very 
 circumference perhaps deeper sometimes. Yon tall, sol- 
 dierly figure of the commandant is a secondary one here. 
 Cupid is the field marshal of the day. With the near ap- 
 proach of night there was a suspension of hostilities. The 
 fair invaders gradually drew off their attacking forces, and 
 soon were lost in the deeper shadows that lay at the moun- 
 tain base. The next morning at 8 A.M., the Cadet Corps re- 
 turned to their encampment on the plain at West Point." 
 
 My brother's attitude toward West Point is clearly shown 
 in the following vigorous defence of the National Academy 
 which was published in the "Evangelist." 
 
 "The Military Academy here has lately had an unenvi- 
 able degree of notoriety and of severe criticism. Some go so 
 far as to advise the breaking up of the entire institution. 
 No one so thought when the gallant Reynolds at the cost of 
 his life made such vigorous battle at Gettysburg as to check 
 Lee, and secure to us a favorable position for fighting out the 
 decisive conflict of the war. No one so advised when a 
 graduate of West Point announced the surrender of Vicks- 
 burg; when another marched from Atlanta to the sea; and 
 another swept down the Shenandoah Valley like a whirl- 
 wind. During our national struggle for life, trained soldiers 
 did for us what educated lawyers, physicians, clergymen, and 
 statesmen do for a community at all times. Next to the 
 courage and patriotism of the people, we have to thank the 
 skill of West Point, that we are One Nation to-day. 
 
 "There are those who advocate State military schools, in 
 other words that we have an army officered by men of local
 
 PASTORATE AT HIGHLAND FALLS 393 
 
 interests and feelings. We shall then have generals to 
 whom a single State is more than the whole Union. "We 
 shall have patriots educated by the New York ring, and 
 the champions of Tammany Hall. No, the soldiers and sail- 
 ors of the United States as they are in the service of the 
 whole country should be educated by the whole country, 
 and upon their maps State boundaries should be blotted out. 
 
 "Others advise, instead of this National Academy, that a 
 course of military instruction be added to our colleges. But 
 in this way students would only pick up a smattering of mili- 
 tary science, in connection with a dozen other sciences, that 
 would be quite useless in time of war. If we are to be fully 
 armed against attack, we need men thoroughly educated in 
 military science by the Nation, and therefore bound by every 
 instinct of honor, gratitude, and association to defend her in 
 her hour of peril. 
 
 "Does West Point now furnish such an education and 
 such men ? Yes, as truly as it ever has done ; and I think it 
 could be shown that it was never in better condition than it is 
 this day. But what does the recent 'outrage' indicate, and 
 what the 'persecution of Cadet Smith ?' Living near the in- 
 stitution, and yet having no connection with it nothing to 
 gain or lose I can form as correct and unprejudiced an opin- 
 ion as those who base theirs upon partial, imperfect reports 
 of isolated incidents. One needs but to visit the Point daily, 
 or nightly, in order to see that perfect discipline is main- 
 tained. The 'outrage' referred to was the expelling of three 
 students by the first class. This action no one defends. 
 From no source have I heard it so severely condemned as by 
 the officers themselves. If it could have been foreseen it 
 would have been prevented. In the most quiet communi- 
 ties there are sudden outbreaks of passion and violence. Is 
 the community where such an event occurs, and which goes 
 on its orderly way the remaining three hundred and sixty- 
 four days of the year, to be called lawless?' Is the hasty, 
 passionate act of a few, wrong as it may be, to give character 
 to all ? Moreover, in judging acts we should consider the mo-
 
 394 PASTORATE AT HIGHLAND FALLS 
 
 tives. In this case they throw much light on the action. 
 The sentiment of the corps is one of intense disgust at the 
 vice of lying. A cadet cannot commit a more serious offence 
 against the received code of honor. The parties expelled 
 were believed to have been guilty of this offence, and their 
 dismissal was a sudden and lawless expression of the general 
 anger and disgust. The action was contrary to the character 
 of a soldier the man of discipline and iron rules. But was 
 it contrary to the character of frank, impulsive youth ? Are 
 those who have scarcely reached their majority to be judged 
 in the same light as cool, gray-bearded veterans? I do not 
 see how the officers are to blame because they could not 
 foresee the trouble. Is a careful housekeeper 'reckless' be- 
 cause a kerosene lamp explodes ? Do you say she ought to use 
 non-explosive material? Then you must send sexagenarians 
 to West Point instead of boys. 
 
 "The same principle applies to the 'persecution.' Criti- 
 cal editors, and advanced politicians like Ben. Butler, require 
 of a class of young men gathered from every part of the land 
 what they could scarcely obtain from the reformers of New 
 England as a body. There is no use in ignoring the general 
 and widespread prejudice of race. Many who grieve most at 
 the wrongs of the colored people still feel that instinctive 
 drawing back from social contact. Do those that condemn 
 the young men most severely introduce the colored element 
 largely into their own social circles? If not, then they 
 should not be so ready to throw stones. Colored cadets sent 
 to West Point must be treated in precisely the same way as 
 the others. The law forms them all into a social community 
 with equal rights. Is it to be expected that the utmost cor- 
 diality should be shown by hot-blooded, unformed, and often 
 unwise youth, having in somewhat intenser form the same 
 prejudices with those who condemn them ? They have prob- 
 ably acted in the matter very much as the sons of the editors 
 and ministers and reformers, who have been so severe upon 
 them, would have acted in like circumstances. That happy 
 day when the brotherhood of the race shall be honestly and
 
 PASTORATE AT HIGHLAND FALLS 395 
 
 lovingly acknowledged I fear is yet far distant, nor is it to be 
 hastened by attempting to force a social intercourse against 
 which there may be a natural aversion. As far as the offi- 
 cers are concerned, I believe that they have tried to treat 
 young Smith with strict impartiality, and to give him every 
 opportunity. The affairs of the Academy seem to go for- 
 ward like clock-work. Considering the sore and excited state 
 of mind among the cadets, their order and subordination have 
 been remarkable. Of course two hundred and fifty young 
 men of the widest difference of character, brought together 
 from every diversity of life, could not be expected to act like 
 nicely adjusted machines; but with the exception of those 
 two affairs, what has there been to justify the charges of 
 'lawlessness' or 'looseness of discipline?' 
 
 "In view of its services, it is strange that anyone should 
 speak seriously of breaking up West Point. It has paid 
 back to the nation all that has been spent upon it a hundred- 
 fold. 
 
 "P. S. May I add a word in regard to the commandant 
 of this post, who is the officer who has special care of the stu- 
 tlents in the Academy. Political attacks do not spare any- 
 body, and during the recent troubles slurs have been thrown 
 out even against General Upton. It has been intimated that 
 fear of the authorities at Washington has made him over- 
 lenient and slack in his discipline toward the first class, as 
 President Grant and others high in power have sons in this 
 class. 
 
 "These disparaging remarks are made either by those who 
 know nothing of General Upton's character and antecedents, 
 or else they are the grossest slanders. Search the army 
 through and it would be impossible to find a man more utterly 
 devoid of the spirit that truckles to power. Nature never 
 put into his composition the least spice of obsequiousness, and 
 one has only to look into the man's face and hear him speak 
 five words in order to know it. He belongs to that class of 
 men who pay more attention to the poor and humble than 
 to the high and haughty.
 
 396 PASTORATE AT HIGHLAND FALLS 
 
 "I think my testimony in this matter is worth something. 
 During nearly four years of life in the army, and five years' 
 residence within one mile of the West Point Academy, I 
 have met with a great many officers of the volunteer and 
 regular service, and never has a man more thoroughly im- 
 pressed me with the fact that he was a gentleman, and con- 
 scientious in duty even to the slightest particular, than Gen- 
 eral Upton. Moreover, he is an enthusiast in his profession, 
 and therefore successful. He is the author of the Infantry 
 Tactics now in use in our army, and said to be the finest in 
 the world. From frequent intercourse with the Point, I 
 know that he maintains a daily discipline among the cadets 
 as nearly perfect as anything of the kind can be. It is my 
 belief that investigation of the recent troubles will show that 
 the institution was never better officered than at present. 
 
 "Moreover, General Upton is a sincere Christian one 
 that lives up to his profession. His influence in this re- 
 spect is most marked and happy upon the corps. We can- 
 not overestimate the importance of the fact that the officer 
 directly in charge of the young men at the Point is guided 
 in all respects, not only by strict military honor and duty, 
 but by the highest Christian principle."
 
 RESIGNATION FROM THE MINISTRY 397 
 
 CHAPTEK VIII 
 
 KESIGNATION FROM THE MINISTRY 
 
 WHILE at Highland Falls Edward wrote his first 
 novel, "Barriers Burned Away." He had told 
 of his plan for a story to be based upon the 
 scenes he had witnessed among the ruins of the great Chicago 
 fire, and when I received a letter from him the following 
 winter asking me to make him a visit as soon as possible, I 
 suspected that he wanted my opinion of what he had written. 
 And I was not disappointed, for on the evening after my 
 arrival he read to me a number of chapters, and we talked 
 over his plan for the story until after midnight, he going over 
 the outlines that he then had in mind, though he afterward 
 made some changes. The next day he called upon Dr. 
 Field, editor of the "Evangelist," and owing to his kind 
 encouragement the visit was repeated, the result being that 
 the story was finally accepted for serial publication in that 
 paper. 
 
 From that time on, my brother read to me every one of 
 his stories in manuscript, and I enjoyed them the more from 
 the fact that in every case I recognized the originals from 
 which he had drawn his scenes and characters, idealized as 
 they were. 
 
 In 1874 his health had become so much impaired by 
 overwork that his physician strongly urged him to give up 
 either writing or preaching. After giving the matter seri- 
 ous consideration and consulting with friends whose advice 
 he valued, my brother reluctantly decided to retire from the 
 ministry. How his people parted with him is told in a let-
 
 398 RESIGNATION FROM THE MINISTRY 
 
 ter to the "Evangelist," whose readers had followed with 
 so much interest and substantial aid my brother's efforts to 
 build a new church. 
 
 "I have been very much surprised. Last Sabbath, the 
 7th of March, was my birthday. On the 6th I sat quietly 
 in my study until the sun was behind the mountains, and then 
 was sent out of the house on false pretences. The young 
 people of the church were getting up an entertainment, and 
 suddenly took it into their heads that they needed my assis- 
 tance. There seemed many delays, but we at last got 
 through. Then I received a startling message that a neigh- 
 bor wished to see me immediately. Surmising sudden ill- 
 ness or trouble, I did not go home, but started off in great 
 haste. I found not sickness, but mystery, at this neigh- 
 bor's, which I could not fathom. My friend and his wife 
 were unusually entertaining and I could not get away, 
 though I knew I was keeping tea waiting at home. Finally 
 there came another mysterious message 'Two gentlemen 
 and two ladies wished to see me at the parsonage.' 'Oh, I 
 understand now,' I thought. 'It is a wedding; but they are 
 managing it rather oddly.' 
 
 "But imagine my surprise when I opened the door and 
 found about one hundred and fifty people present. Well, 
 to be brief, they just overwhelmed us with kindness. They 
 gave us fine music, and provided a supper for five hundred 
 instead of one hundred and fifty. 
 
 "Mrs. Koe thought that she was in the secret; but they 
 surprised her also by presenting, with cordial words, a hand- 
 some sum of money at the close of the evening. 
 
 "My resignation has not yet been accepted, but we ex- 
 pect that the pastoral relation will be dissolved at the next 
 meeting of Presbytery. As soon as spring comes in reality, 
 and the embargo of ice and snow is over, W6 must be upon 
 the wing; and this spontaneous and hearty proof of the 
 friendliness of my people was very grateful to me. During 
 the nine years of my pastorate they have been called to pass 
 through many trying and difficult times. They have often
 
 RESIGNATION FROM THE MINISTRY 399 
 
 been asked to give beyond their, means, and have often done 
 so. With the very limited amount of wealth in the congre- 
 gation, even the generous aid received from abroad and from 
 visitors could not prevent the effort to erect a new church 
 and parsonage from being an exceedingly heavy burden, in- 
 volving perplexing and vexatious questions. When I re- 
 member how patiently they have borne these burdens, how 
 hard many have worked, and how many instances of genuine 
 self-denial there have been, I feel that too much cannot be 
 said in their praise. It is my hope and my belief that they 
 will deal as kindly with my successor as they have with me." 
 
 Dr. Edgar A. Mearns of the United States army was one 
 of my brother's devoted friends .who knew him intimately 
 during the years of his ministry. In 1888, from Fort Snell- 
 ing, Minn., he writes as follows : 
 
 "The sad news of the death of Rev. E. P. Roe, at Corn- 
 wall-on-Hudson, reached me to-day, and filled my heart with 
 sadness. During the long years of my sojourn upon the 
 western frontier, I have looked forward with unspeakable 
 pleasure to the time when I could grasp the hand of this 
 true friend, and walk and talk with him, and enjoy once more 
 the society of his dear family. I had planned a leave of ab- 
 sence from my station in the desert-wilderness of Arizona for 
 last spring, in response to his urgent invitations; but other 
 duties awaited me, and I was not permitted to realize the 
 fulfilment of this ardent desire. We were to walk through 
 the woodlands, drive over the mountains, and sail on our 
 native Hudson. I saw in mental vision the very rock under 
 which we used to poke at the woodchucks with a stick, and 
 on which we gathered the walking fern, and seemed once 
 more to hear him discoursing of small fruits in his delightful 
 garden, or reading to the family circle from his latest manu- 
 scripts. In the West many hearts have been pierced by this 
 sorrow, for he made friends wherever he went. 
 
 "To write a word of the lost friend, who has been a very 
 pillar of support in times of struggle or affliction, will per-, 
 haps relieve a pain at the heart which is hard to bear. It
 
 400 RESIGNATION FROM THE MINISTRY 
 
 is not as an author, justly celebrated, that I must speak of 
 him, but of the private life of one who combined every at- 
 tribute of mind and heart to endear him to his friends. I 
 have known him as a pastor, laboring assiduously among the 
 members of his flock, dispensing liberal charity among the 
 poor, and lightening everybody's burden. He was a rock 
 to lay hold of when other friendships were borne away by 
 the cruel winds of adversity. Then it was that the genial 
 warmth of his smile, the kindly hand-pressure, and the cheer- 
 ful encouragement of his voice fettered sore hearts to his. 
 
 "I have seen him as a hero, struggling in the water and 
 broken ice, bearing in his arms the bodies of children for 
 whom he risked his life. He had heard a cry for help, and 
 that alone was enough to enlist the sympathy and secure the 
 highest sacrifice of which our nature is capable. Then, pay- 
 ing no heed to personal sickness and injury, he strove to 
 comfort the bereaved hearts of mothers, whose boys were 
 drowned, perhaps by exposure laying the seeds of the disease 
 which recently caused his death. 
 
 "His zealous devotion to his calling, together with ex- 
 posure to various hardships encountered on frequent lectur- 
 ing tours made for the purpose of obtaining funds for the 
 erection of a suitable church for his congregation, made such 
 inroads into his naturally vigorous constitution that, having 
 accomplished his task, he was compelled to resign his charge 
 as pastor, after about nine years of faithful service. The 
 beautiful stone Presbyterian church at Highland Falls is a 
 monument to his untiring efforts."
 
 FRUIT CULTURE AND LITERARY WORK 401 
 
 CHAPTEK IX 
 
 FRUIT CULTURE AND LITERARY WORK 
 
 AFTER my brother's resignation from the ministry, he 
 bought a plain, old-fashioned house with considerable 
 ground about it, at Cornwall-on-the-Hudson, two 
 miles distant from his childhood home, and went there to live. 
 
 It soon became evident, however, that Edward could not 
 depend upon his literary work alone for the support of his 
 growing family. He had for some years taken much inter- 
 est in the cultivation of small fruits, and after the removal 
 to Cornwall he carried on this work upon a larger scale, find- 
 ing it profitable as well as interesting. 
 
 I remember the piles of letters that came to him each 
 day for several years containing orders for plants. Al- 
 though in general not a methodical man, yet the pains- 
 taking care which he was known to exercise in keeping the 
 many varieties distinct enabled his customers to rely im- 
 plicitly upon his statements as to the kind and value of the 
 plants ordered. He often employed many men and boys on 
 his place, but always engaged them with the understanding 
 that if through carelessness the varieties of plants became 
 mixed the offender was to be dismissed at once, and a few 
 examples soon taught his assistants that he meant what he 
 said. But when they were faithful to their duty, they in- 
 variably found him considerate and kind. 
 
 The strawberry was Edward's favorite among the small 
 fruits, and he made many experiments with new varieties. 
 When the vines were bearing, sometimes as many as forty 
 bushels of berries were picked in a single day. Some of
 
 402 FRUIT CULTURE AND LITERARY WORK 
 
 them were of mammoth size. I remember, on one occasion, 
 we took from a basket four berries which filled to the brim a 
 large coffee-cup, and notwithstanding their enormous size they 
 were solid and sweet. During this period he wrote the ar- 
 ticles on "Success with Small Fruits," published in "Scrib- 
 ner's Magazine." 
 
 Currants came next in his favor. Writing of them he 
 says: "Let me recommend the currant cure. If any one is 
 languid, depressed in spirits, inclined to headaches, and gen- 
 erally 'out of sorts,' let him finish his breakfast daily for a 
 month with a dish of freshly picked currants. He will soon 
 doubt his own identity, and may even think that he is becom- 
 ing a good man. In brief, the truth of the ancient pun will 
 be verified, 'That the power to live a good life depends 
 largely upon the liver.' Let it be taught at the theological 
 seminaries that the currant is a means of grace. It is a 
 corrective, and that is what average humanity most needs." 
 
 Mr. Charles Downing of Newburgh, a noted horticultur- 
 ist, was Edward's valued friend. He was especially success- 
 ful in fruit culture, and it was his custom to forward to my 
 brother for trial novelties sent to him from every part of the 
 country. Then on pleasant summer afternoons the old gen- 
 tleman would visit my brother, and, side by side, they would 
 compare the much-heralded strangers with the standard varie- 
 ties. Often forty or fifty kinds were bearing under precisely 
 the same conditions. The two lovers of Nature thus gained 
 knowledge of many of her secrets. 
 
 Edward's coming to live in Cornwall was a source of great 
 pleasure to our father, who, although then past eighty years 
 of age, was still vigorous, and as full of enthusiasm for his 
 garden as when he first moved to the country. Often on 
 summer mornings, before the sun was fairly above the east- 
 ern mountains, father would drive over to my brother's, tak- 
 ing in his phaeton a basket of fruit or vegetables that he be- 
 lieved were earlier than any in my brother's garden. These 
 he would leave at the front door for Edward to discover when 
 he came downstairs, and return in time for our breakfast.
 
 FRUIT CULTURE AND LITERARY WORK 403 
 
 He would laugh with the keenest enjoyment if he found that 
 his beans or sweet corn had ripened first. Frequently he 
 would remain at his son's house for breakfast, and afterward 
 the two would wander together over the grounds while the 
 dew was still fresh upon the fruit and flowers. Many of the 
 rosebushes and shrubs had been transplanted from the old 
 garden, and it delighted my father and brother to see that 
 they were flourishing and blooming in their new environment. 
 
 When Edward first moved to Cornwall several newspapers 
 severely criticised him for giving up the ministry to write 
 novels. I was sitting with him alone in his library one day 
 when such a criticism came to him through the mail. After 
 reading it he handed it quietly to me, went to his desk and 
 took down a bundle of letters, saying : "These are mostly from 
 young men, not one of whom I know, who have written to 
 me of the benefit received from my books." He then read 
 to me some of those touching letters of confession and thanks 
 for his inspiring help to a better life. 
 
 When he finished reading the letters he said: "I know 
 my books are read by thousands; my voice reached at most 
 but a few hundred. I believe many who would never think 
 of writing to me such letters as these are also helped. Do 
 you think I have made a mistake ? My object in writing, as 
 in preaching, is to do good, and the question is, Which can I 
 do best ? I think with the pen, and I shall go on writing, no 
 matter what the critics say." 
 
 Still his name was retained on the rolls of the North 
 River Presbytery, and he was always ready to preach when 
 needed, especially in neglected districts. For a long time 
 after father's death he kept up the little Sunday-school that 
 had been father's special care. 
 
 His home commanded a fine view of the river and moun- 
 tains, and he would watch with great delight the grand thun- 
 derstorms that so often sweep over the Highlands. I take 
 this description of a storm from one of his letters : 
 
 "This moist summer has given a rich, dark luxuriance 
 to the foliage, that contrasts favorably to the parched, with-
 
 404 FRUIT CULTURE AND LITERARY WORK 
 
 ered aspect of everything last year. The oldest inhabitants 
 (that class so sorely perplexed in this age of innovations) 
 were astonished to learn that a sharp frost occurred in the 
 mountains back of us, just before the Fourth. Even the sea- 
 sons have caught the infection of the times, and no longer 
 continue their usual jog-trot through the year, but indulge 
 in the strangest extremes and freaks. 
 
 "A person living in the city can have little idea of thun- 
 derstorms as they occur in this mountain region. The hills 
 about us, while they attract the electrified clouds, are also our 
 protection, for, abounding in iron ore, they become huge 
 lightning-rods above the houses and hamlets at their bases. 
 But little recks old Bear Mountain, or Cro' Nest, Jove's most 
 fiery bolts. The rocky splinters fly for a moment ; some oak 
 or chestnut comes quivering down; but soon the mosses, like 
 kindly charity, have covered up the wounded rock, and three 
 or four saplings have grown from the roots of the blighted 
 tree. 
 
 "But the storm we witness from our safe and sheltered 
 homes is often grand beyond description. At first, in the 
 distant west, a cloud rises so dark that you can scarcely dis- 
 tinguish it from a blue highland. But a low muttering of 
 thunder vibrates through the sultry air, and we know what 
 is coming. Soon the afternoon sun is shaded, and a deep, 
 unnatural twilight settles upon the landscape like the shadow 
 of a great sorrow on a face that was smiling a moment be- 
 fore. The thunder grows heavier, like the rumble and roar 
 of an approaching battle. The western arch of the sky is 
 black as night. The eastern arch is bright and sunny, and 
 as you glance from side to side, you cannot but think of those 
 who, comparatively innocent and happy at first, cloud their 
 lives in maturer years with evil and crime, and darken the 
 future with the wrath of heaven. At last the vanguard of 
 black flying clouds, disjointed, jagged, the rough skirmish 
 line of the advancing storm, is over our heads. Back of 
 these, in one dark, solid mass, comes the tempest. For a 
 moment there is a sort of hush of expectation, like the lull
 
 FRUIT CULTURE AND LITERARY WORK 405 
 
 before a battle. The trees on the distant brow of a moun- 
 tain are seen to toss and writhe, but as yet no sound is heard. 
 Soon there is a faint, far-away rushing noise, the low, deep 
 prelude of nature's grand musical discord that is to follow. 
 There is a vivid flash, and a startling peal of thunder breaks 
 forth overhead, and rolls away with countless reverberations 
 among the hills. In the meantime the distant rushing sound 
 has developed into an increasing roar. Half-way down the 
 mountain-side the trees are swaying wildly. At the base 
 stands a grove, motionless, expectant, like a square of infan- 
 try awaiting an impetuous cavalry charge. In a moment it 
 comes. At first the shock seems terrible. Every branch 
 bends low. Dead limbs rattle down like hail. Leaves, torn 
 away, fly wildly through the air. But the sturdy trunks 
 stand their ground, and the baffled tempest passes on. Min- 
 gling with the rush of the wind and reverberations of thun- 
 der, a new sound, a new part now enters into the grand har- 
 mony. At first it is a low, continuous roar, caused by the 
 falling rain upon the leaves. It grows louder fast, like the 
 pattering feet of a coming multitude. Then the great drops 
 fall around, yards apart, like scattering shots. They grow 
 closer, and soon a streaming torrent drives you to shelter. 
 The next heavy peal is to the eastward, showing that the bulk 
 of the shower is past. The roar of the thunder just dies away 
 down the river. The thickly falling rain contracts your vis- 
 ion to a narrow circle, out of which Cozzens's great hotel and 
 Bear Mountain loom vaguely. The flowers and shrubbery 
 bend to the moisture with the air of one who stands and 
 takes it. The steady, continuous plash upon the roof slack- 
 ens into a quiet pattering of raindrops. The west is light- 
 ening up; by and by a long line of blue is seen above Cro* 
 Nest. The setting sun shines out upon a purified and more 
 beautiful landscape. Every leaf, every spear of grass is 
 brilliant with gems of moisture. The cloud scenery has all 
 changed. The sun is setting in unclouded splendor. Not 
 the west but the east is now black with storm ; but the rain- 
 bow, emblem of hope and God's mercy, spans its blackness.
 
 406 FRUIT CULTURE AND LITERARY WORK 
 
 and in the skies we again have suggested to us a life, once 
 clouded and darkly threatened by evil, but now, through 
 penitence and reform, ending in peace and beauty, God span- 
 ning the wrong of the past with His rich and varied promises 
 of forgiveness. At last the skies are clear again. Along 
 the eastern horizon the retreating storm sends up occasional 
 flashes, that seem like regretful thoughts of the past. Then 
 night comes on, cool, moonlit, breathless. Not a leaf stirs 
 where an hour before the sturdiest limbs bent to the earth. 
 This must be nature's commentary on the 'peace that passeth 
 all understanding.' " 
 
 At this period Dr. Lyman Abbott made his permanent 
 home in Cornwall, going almost daily to the city to attend 
 to his duties as editor of the "Christian Union." 
 
 In a short article written for that paper my brother de- 
 scribes a drive taken over the mountains when Dr. Abbott 
 was entertaining the Brooklyn Association of Congregational 
 Ministers. 
 
 "Pleasures long planned and anticipated often prove 'flat, 
 stale, and unprofitable' when at last they disappoint us in 
 their sorry contrast with our hopes, while on the other hand 
 good times that come unexpectedly are enjoyed all the more 
 keenly because such agreeable surprises. The other morn- 
 ing the editor of the 'Christian Union,' Dr. Lyman Abbott, 
 who is a near neighbor and a nearer friend, appeared at my 
 door with the announcement that he was to meet on the 
 morrow at the West Point landing the New York and Brook- 
 lyn Association of Congregational Ministers, at the same time 
 giving me an invitation to accompany him, which I accepted 
 on the spot. The morning of the 27th found us leading an 
 array of carriages up the Cornwall slope of the mountain, 
 for it had been arranged that the gentlemen whom Mr. and 
 Mrs. Abbott were to entertain for the day should land at 
 West Point and enjoy one of the finest drives in America 
 across the Highlands, instead of a prosaic ride down from 
 Newburgh through the brickyards. The Albany day boat 
 was on time, and so were we, and there stepped on shore a
 
 FRUIT CULTURE AND LITERARY WORK 407 
 
 venerable body of divinity, or rather several bodies, led by 
 Rev. Henry Ward Beecher and his brother, Dr. Edward 
 Beecher. A shower the previous evening had left less dust 
 than could be found in the immaculate parlor of a spinster, 
 and the heated air had been cooled to such a nicety of ad- 
 justment that we grew warm in the praise of its balminess. 
 With much good-natured badinage and repartee we climbed 
 the West Point hill and took the outer avenue that skirts 
 the river edge of the plain and campus. 'The brethren' gazed 
 with mild curiosity at 'Flirtation Walk' where it led demurely 
 and openly from the main road, but soon lost itself in wind- 
 ing intricacies, mysterious copsewood, and the still deeper 
 mysteries suggested by the imagination. Let no grave reader 
 lift a disdainful nose. Perhaps this same secluded path of 
 frivolous name has had a greater influence on human destiny 
 than himself. 
 
 "The trim, plain and trimmer cadets were soon left far 
 behind, and nature began to wear the aspect it had shown 
 to our great-grandfathers when children. Through the skil- 
 ful engineering of Mr. Charles Caldwell, a most excellent 
 road of easy grades winds across Cro' Nest and Butter Hill 
 (the latter was rechristened 'Storm King 5 some years since 
 by the poet, N. P. Willis). As our path zigzagged up the 
 shaggy sides of Cro' Nest, wider and superber views opened 
 out before us, until at last West Point with its gleaming 
 tents, the winding river with its silver sheen, and the village 
 of Cold Spring lay at our feet, while to the southwest a mul- 
 titude of green highlands lifted their crests like a confusion 
 of emerald waves. A few moments more brought us to the 
 summit, and although we were but a thousand feet nearer 
 ( heaven than when we started, the air was so pure and sweet 
 and the sky so blue that it might well seem to those who had 
 so recently left the stifling city that they had climbed half- 
 way thither. A half an hour's ride brought us to the north- 
 ern slope of the mountains. Here we made a halt at Mr. 
 Cobb's 'School on the Heights,' and were entertained with 
 unlimited cherries, which, by some strange providence, had
 
 408 FRUIT CULTURE AND LITERARY WORK 
 
 escaped the boys, and also by some exceedingly interesting 
 gymnastic exercises that were performed to the rhythm of 
 gay music. There are probably few finer views on the river 
 than that from Mr. Cobb's piazza and grounds, and thus his 
 pupils are under the best of influences out of doors as well as 
 within. As Mr. Abbott's guests looked down upon the broad 
 expanse of Newburgh Bay, the city itself, the picturesque 
 village of Cornwall, and the great swale of rich diversified 
 country that lay between our lofty eyrie and the dim and 
 distant Shawangunk Mountains that blended with the clouds, 
 they must have felt indebted to their host for one of the 
 richest pleasures of their lives. 
 
 "At last Mr. Beecher said that he carried an internal 
 clock which plainly intimated that it was time for dinner. 
 The descensus was easy, but Mrs. Abbott's warm welcome 
 and hot dinner suggested an avernus only by blissful con- 
 trast. The fun, wit and jollity of the remainder of the 
 evening can no more be reproduced than the sparkle of yes- 
 terday's dew or the ripple of yesterday's waves. It was a 
 pleasant thing to see those gray-haired men, many of whom 
 had been burdened with care more than half a century, be- 
 coming boy-like again in feeling and mirthfulness." 
 
 During Edward's residence in Cornwall, each year about 
 the middle of June, when the roses and strawberries were in 
 their prime, it was his custom to send an annual invitation to 
 the Philolethean Club of clergymen in New York City to 
 visit him for a day at his home. Dr. Howard Crosby, Dr. 
 Lyman Abbott, Dr. Schaeffer, and many other well-known 
 clergymen were members of this club. At these meetings 
 the learned and dignified clergymen threw aside all formal- 
 ity and were like a company of college boys off for a frolic. 
 Their keen wit, quick repartee, and droll stories at these 
 times will never be forgotten by those privileged to listen. 
 
 In 1882 heavy financial loss came upon us as a family 
 owing to the failure of an elder brother. Edward, in his ef- 
 forts to help him, became deeply involved, and to satisfy 
 his creditors was obliged to sell the copyrights of several of
 
 FRUIT CULTURE AND LITERARY WORK 409 
 
 his earlier books. These were bought by a friend without 
 his knowledge at the time. After several years of incessant 
 labor he worked his way out of these difficulties, and, owing 
 to the immense sale of his books, was able to redeem his copy- 
 rights. He then felt free to take rest and change of scene in 
 a trip to Southern California, 
 
 RR XVIII
 
 410 HOME LIFE 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 HOME LIFE 
 
 AS a matter of course, my brotlier had frequent calls 
 interested in, and curious about, the private life of a 
 from newspaper correspondents and others who were 
 successful author. The first of the articles here quoted was 
 entitled "A Talk with E. P. Roe," and was printed in a 
 Brooklyn newspaper in 1886; the second appeared in a De- 
 troit journal. 
 
 "The works of few novelists of the present day have had 
 such remarkable sales as those of Mr. E. P. Roe, and this 
 will be the more readily granted when it is known that one 
 million copies of his novels have been sold in America alone, 
 to which nearly one-half of that number may be added as 
 representing their sale in England, Canada, Australia, and 
 the different languages into which they have been translated. 
 
 "In appearance the novelist is a man of a trifle over the 
 medium size, with a pleasant, intellectual face, which is al- 
 most covered with a rich and handsome coal-black beard and 
 mustache. Mr. Roe is in the prime of manhood, being about 
 forty-five years of age, and his manners and conversation are 
 the most kindly and engaging. He is of a generous dispo- 
 sition, hospitable, a kind friend, and never happier than when 
 in the bosom of his family, to which he is devotedly attached. 
 
 "It was the pleasure of the writer a few evenings ago to 
 meet the novelist and engage him in conversation regarding 
 himself and his works. 
 
 1 'I have just returned from an afternoon stroll/ re- 
 marked the novelist. 'This is my invariable custom after
 
 HOME LIFE 411 
 
 my day's work. When do I work? "Well, I generally sit 
 down immediately after breakfast, which I have about eight 
 o'clock, and with the exception of an hour for lunch, I write 
 continuously from that time until three or four in the after- 
 noon. Then I go out for my walk.' 
 
 " *You never work at night, then ?' was asked. 
 
 " 'No; it is a bad practice, and one that I rarely indulge 
 in. There was a time when I did so, but my work always 
 showed it. A writer's work at night is almost always morbid. 
 There is no better time to work than during the morning.' 
 
 " 'How much work constitutes a day's labor with you ?' 
 
 " 'That varies a great deal. Sometimes I write four or 
 five pages of foolscap, and other days I will write as much as 
 fifteen. I have no average, but do as much as I feel like 
 doing, or have time to do, and then I stop.' 
 
 " 'Do you derive genuine pleasure from your work ?' 
 
 " 'Always, for I am absorbed in whatever I am writing. 
 I presume I derived the most pleasure from my "Nature's 
 Serial Story," for it was an out-of-door study, and anything 
 about nature always finds a responsive chord in me. Then, 
 two of the characters of that work portray my father and my 
 mother, and their memory is blessed and sacred to me. All 
 the other characters are imaginary.' 
 
 " 'Are your stories and novels based on facts and real 
 happenings, as a rule ?' 
 
 " In every case,' replied Mr. Roe. 'I never manufac- 
 ture a story; I couldn't do it. Of course, I elaborate and 
 idealize, but the actual facts are always drawn from real life. 
 I am always on the alert for these incidents, and when I see 
 what I think is adapted for a story I make a note of it.' 
 
 " 'Speaking of your correspondence, like that of most 
 authors, I presume it is of a various nature ?' 
 
 " 'Yes, indeed/ laughingly replied the novelist. 'It is 
 surprising what letters I sometimes receive, and how diffi- 
 cult it is for some persons to realize that an author's time is 
 valuable. Of course, I am not a stranger to the autograph 
 craze, and of these requests I receive, I think, more than my
 
 412 HOME LIFE 
 
 share. But what is most surprising is the number of manu- 
 scripts I receive from young, aspiring authors. I am often 
 asked "to read them, revise them carefully, and express an 
 opinion as to the merit of the contribution." Why, I have 
 frequently been requested to do a whole month's work on a 
 single manuscript. What do I do with these? Well, the 
 best I can. If I have a spare moment, I look over the story 
 or article, and encourage the writer, if possible. But at 
 times the supply is too great for physical endurance/ 
 
 " 'What exercise do you most indulge in, and what par- 
 ticular one do you recommend?' 
 
 " 'So far as I am concerned, I like a good, long walk, and 
 this is what I would recommend to all who work with the 
 brain and are confined. Exercise should never, in my opin- 
 ion, be taken before sitting down to work, always after the 
 task of the day has been completed. Then one receives far 
 more benefit from it than if taken before work. I also like 
 to wt>rk in my garden, and there is hardly a better means of 
 exercise. Hunting and fishing are also favorite sports with 
 me, and I keep a good gun and a fishing-rod close at hand.' 
 
 " 'Have you entirely given up gardening for literature ?' 
 
 " 'Yes, almost entirely, even in an amateur way. Of 
 course I still retain an active interest in everything that is 
 interesting or new about a garden or a farm. But as to any 
 active participation, as formerly, I have been obliged to de- 
 sist.' 
 
 "It may be interesting here to mention that the grounds 
 surrounding Mr. Roe's rural retreat at Cornwall-on-the-Hud- 
 son show no lack of proper care and attention. The property 
 consists of twenty-three acres and is all cultivated for floral 
 and farming purposes. The novelist has on these grounds 
 alone over one hundred and twelve different varieties of 
 grapes, and has had in his strawberry beds seventy different 
 varieties of that luscious berry in bearing at one time. One 
 year Mr. Roe's orchards yielded him, among other products, 
 one hundred and fifty barrels of apples, and this year abou* 
 forty bushels of pears will be taken from his trees-
 
 HOME LIFE 413 
 
 " 'What are your immediate plans ?' was asked the novel- 
 ist, as he courteously showed the writer into the dining-room 
 in response to the merry jingle of the dinner-bell. 
 
 " 'I am now taking a brief holiday, resting from overwork. 
 In about two months I leave the North for Santa Barbara, 
 California, where I may remain for a year, or may return 
 next spring. All depends upon how my family and myself 
 like the country there. I go there partly for pleasure and 
 partly for work. I shall doubtless gather considerable new 
 material, and this I shall incorporate in future works. I 
 shall study the life of the people of that region, and intend 
 more especially to devote myself to studying nature in the di- 
 rection of trees, plants, as well as the animals, birds, etc., of 
 that charming country. My return North is uncertain, as I 
 have said, and should everything prove agreeable, I may ex- 
 tend my residence there indefinitely.' 
 
 "And here ended the writer's chat with perhaps the most 
 popular author of the day. Mr. Roe is extremely retiring in 
 disposition; he never courts notoriety, but always strictly 
 avoids it whenever possible. And with his large black 
 slouched hat set carelessly on his head a stranger would more 
 readily mistake him for a Cuban planter, with his dark com- 
 plexion, than the author of the novels which have entered 
 into thousands of American homes." 
 
 "Cornwall is situated on the western bank of the Hud- 
 son, just north of the Highlands. If you arrive by steamer 
 you find an energetic crowd of 'bus men, who are eager to 
 be of service to you. Most of the vehicles have four horses 
 attached, which seem to tell of a hill in the neighborhood. 
 We passed Cornwall several times by boat, and saw enough 
 of the energy of the hackmen to make us resolve to reach the 
 place some time when they were absent. Consequently we 
 sailed down on Cornwall as General Wolfe sailed down on 
 Quebec in a small boat, and captured the place easily. 
 
 "As we walked up the rickety steps that lead from the 
 water to the wharf, there was no deputation there to meet us.
 
 414 HOME LIFE 
 
 the first thing/ said my companion, 'is to find out 
 where Mr. Roe lives.' 
 
 " 'No, that's the second thing,' I replied. 'The first 
 thing is to find out where we are to get supper.' 
 
 "The reasonableness of this proposal was so apparent that 
 further remark was not so necessary as finding a hotel well 
 stocked with provisions. 
 
 "We found it in the shape of an unpretentious brick 
 structure at the foot of the hill. By the way, everything is 
 at the foot of the hill at Cornwall Landing. The landlady, 
 who was the pink of neatness, promised us all we could eat on 
 our return, although if she had known my talents in that line 
 she would have hesitated. I noticed that she referred to 
 'Mr. Roe, the author,' while our fellow voyager in the small 
 boat spoke of him as 'the strawberry man/ Probably the boor 
 who relished the production of Mr. Roe's garden would have 
 been surprised to know that the productions of his pen were 
 even more sought after than that delicious fruit. 
 
 "But evening is coming on and we have a long hill be- 
 fore us, so we must proceed. A Cornwall road is always 
 either going up or down, and a person gets great opportuni- 
 ties for rising in the world as he turns his back on the Hud- 
 son and climbs to Cornwall. The road winds up the hill, 
 often shaded by trees and always accompanied by a moun- 
 tain torrent whose rocky bed lies deep beside the pathway. 
 This stream lacks only one thing to make it a success and 
 that is water. No doubt after a heavy rain it would show 
 commendable enterprise, but now the rocks were dry. A 
 thin thread of clear spring water trickled along the bottom of 
 the ravine, now forming a silvery-toned waterfall, then los- 
 ing itself among the loose rocks, next finding itself again, and 
 sometimes making the mistake which humanity often makes, 
 of spreading itself too much and trying to put on the airs of 
 larger streams. 
 
 "Half-way up is a spring, surrounded by benches, wel- 
 come to the pedestrian who finds tramping uphill business. 
 The clear, cold water pours out, and an iron dipper, like
 
 HOME LIFE 415 
 
 Prometheus 'chained to a pillar,' invites the thirsty to have 
 a drink. The benches form a semicircle around this foun- 
 tain, and on the backs thereof some one has painted in large 
 letters the legend 'Please don't cut an old friend.' But 'ex- 
 celsior' is our motto, and we climb. When we reach the top 
 of the mountain we part company with the rivulet, thinking, 
 with perhaps a sigh, what a vast advantage water has over 
 people it always goes down hill. Cornwall now begins to 
 show its beauties. It seems to be a big village composed of 
 splendid residences and elegant family hotels or rather huge 
 summer boarding-houses. Excellent roads run in all direc- 
 tions, up and down, turning now to the right and now to the 
 left, until a stranger loses all idea of the points of the com- 
 pass. 
 
 "About a mile from the landing, if you are in a carriage, 
 or about five miles if you are on foot, you come to an open 
 gateway, through which a road turns that might be mistaken 
 for one of the many offshoots of the public street, were it not 
 that a notice conspicuously posted up informs the traveller 
 that the way is private property. A cottage, probably a gar- 
 dener's residence, stands beside the gate. The land slopes 
 gently downward from the road and then rises beyond, leav- 
 ing a wide valley between the street and a large two-story 
 frame building that stands on the rising ground. This is the 
 home of E. P. Roe, author of 'Barriers Burned Away,' 
 'Opening a Chestnut Burr,' 'From Jest to Earnest,' and 
 other well-known works, read and enjoyed by thousands in 
 America and in England. Between the house and the road 
 are long rows of strawberry plants that looked tempting even 
 in September. The house stands in about the centre of a 
 plot of twenty-three acres. The side is toward the road, and 
 a broad piazza runs along the length of it, from which 
 glimpses of the distant Hudson can be had through the 
 framework of trees and hills. The piazza is reached by 
 broad steps, and is high enough from the ground to make a 
 grand tumbling-off place for the numerous jovial and robust 
 youngsters that romp around there and call Mr. Roe 'papa'.
 
 416 HOME LIFE 
 
 A wide hall runs through the centre of the house, and the 
 whole dwelling has a roomy air that reminds one of the gen- 
 erous and hospitable mansions for which the South is famous. 
 Mr. Roe's house is without any attempt at architectural orna- 
 mentation, unless the roof window in the centre can be called 
 an ornament; but there is something very homelike about 
 the place, something that is far beyond the powers of archi- 
 tecture to supply. 
 
 "My fellow-traveller sat down in one of the rural chairs 
 that stood invitingly on the piazza, and I manipulated the 
 door-bell. 
 
 "While the servant is coming to open the door I may as 
 well confess that I have undertaken to write the play of 
 Hamlet with Hamlet left out. 
 
 "Mr. Roe was not at home. 
 
 "I tell this now so that the reader will not be disappointed 
 when the girl opens the door. 
 
 "The door opens. 
 
 "Could we see Mr. Roe? 
 
 "Mr. Roe had left that very morning for New York. 
 
 " 'He evidently heard in some way we were coming/ 
 said my companion, sotto voce. 
 
 "When would he return? 
 
 "Perhaps not this week. Would we walk in and see 
 Mrs. Roe? 
 
 "The next thing to seeing an author is to see the author's 
 wife, so we accepted the invitation and walked into the par- 
 lor. Before we walked out we came to the conclusion that 
 the next thing to seeing the author's wife is to see the author. 
 
 "Now, of course, I might have taken an inventory of the 
 articles in the parlor, just as if I were a deputy sheriff, or a 
 tax collector, or something of that sort, but I didn't. I might 
 tell of the piano that stood in one corner and the pile of 
 music that reached from the floor to the top of it, and of the 
 little table covered with stereoscopic views, and the photo- 
 graph of Mr. Roe framed above it, and of the two low front 
 windows with their river view and their lace curtains, and
 
 SOME LIFE 417 
 
 the large folding-doors opening into the library, the work- 
 shop of Mr. Roe, and of the quiet, neutral tints of the carpet, 
 or the many contents of the whatnot in the corner, and the 
 paintings and engravings on the walls, and the comfortable 
 easy-chairs, and the books scattered here and there, and of 
 dozens of other things that made up an author's parlor, but I 
 will not mention one of them. 
 
 "I had the idea that E. P. Roe was a kindly old gentle- 
 man with gray hair. Kindly he undoubtedly is, but old he 
 is not. His portrait shows him to have a frank, manly 
 countenance, with an earnest and somewhat sad expression. 
 He has dark hair and a full beard, long and black. Mr. Roe 
 is at present writing a series of articles on small fruits for 
 'Scribner's Magazine.' The publishers of that periodical 
 intend to give a portrait of Mr. Roe, which will be the first 
 ever published. It may appear in the December number, 
 and if it does the readers of this paper are respectfully re- 
 ferred to the pages of that magazine. It seems to be the 
 general idea that Mr. Roe is an old man. For instance, a 
 lady writing from Wheeling, W. Va., to the 'Household,' a 
 few weeks since, says : 
 
 " 'Some one asked if Rev. E. P. Roe had taken his char- 
 acters from life or not. Several years ago we had amongst 
 us a certain Professor Roe (vocal teacher, possessing a beauti- 
 ful tenor voice), said to be a son of the novelist. If he was 
 a son, the character of Walter Gregory in "Opening a 
 Chestnut Burr" was certainly drawn from him, and it always 
 seemed to me that Dennis Elect's wonderful voice in "Bar- 
 riers Burned Away" was likened to his voice.' 
 
 "If this writer could have seen the youthful appearance 
 of Mrs. Roe, she would have no hesitation in denying the 
 professor's alleged relationship to the novelist. Her hus- 
 band is not yet forty. 
 
 "I wish 'Scribner's' would publish a portrait of Mrs. Roe. 
 It would certainly add to the popularity of the magazine. 
 Such a lady must be a wonderful help to her husband. I
 
 418 HOME LIFE 
 
 think, as a general thing, the world gives too little credit to 
 the power behind the throne. 
 
 "Mrs. Hoe deserves at least half the credit of 'Barriers 
 Burned Away,' which is certainly E. P. Roe's most dramatic 
 work, and had, no doubt, a great deal to do with many of his 
 other volumes. This particular work describes the thrilling 
 scenes of the Chicago fire with a vividness and power that is 
 rarely surpassed. When the whole world was thrilled by 
 the dreadful tidings of a city's destruction, Mr. Roe said to 
 his wife that if he could collect some of the actual occurrences 
 that must be transpiring there he thought he could write a 
 book about it. Mrs. Roe at once decided for him. Her 
 advice was that so tersely put by Mr. Greeley. Although 
 nearly a thousand miles intervened, Mr. Roe was in Chicago 
 before the fire had ceased, and the incidents so graphically 
 depicted in 'Barriers Burned Away' were the result of actual 
 observation. 
 
 "Most of Mr. Roe's characters are taken from real life, 
 and all of his works are written for a purpose, as can readily 
 be seen in 'What Can She Do?' for example. His next 
 book, which will be published in a few days, will furnish 
 another instance of writing for a purpose. Its title is, 'With- 
 out a Home ;' the subject it treats is the tenement-house prob- 
 lem, which is at present agitating New York and all large 
 cities. In this work the scenes and personages will be nearly 
 all from real life. If the book were not in press the tene- 
 ment-house fires in New York on Friday, causing the death 
 of seven persons, would furnish a tragic climax to his story. 
 What could be more terribly pathetic than the frantic mother 
 penned in by the smoke and flame, dragging herself to the 
 bedside of her children to die with them? In choosing the 
 evils of the tenement-house system as a subject, Mr. Roe 
 strikes at one of the worst features of city life. 
 
 "It was to finish the last pages of this book that Mr. Roe 
 was now 'Without a Home' himself, and as the printers were 
 clamoring for copy, he had betaken himself to a room in a 
 New York hotel to write without interruption. Mr. Roe is
 
 HOME LIFE 419 
 
 too good-natured to deny himself to visitors, and they make 
 great inroads on his time. 
 
 " 'If he hears the voice of a friend,' said Mrs. Roe, Tie 
 cannot remain at his desk.' 
 
 "So when there is work that must be done, Mr. Roe ban- 
 ishes himself from home and friends and flies to that loneli- 
 ness which only a great and crowded city can supply. 
 
 "Mrs. Roe's favorite book is 'The Opening of a Chestnut 
 Burr,' and this must be a favorite work with many, for it 
 has reached its thirtieth thousand, not to mention the numer- 
 ous reprints in England and Canada. The realistic incident 
 in this work, which supplies the place the Chicago fire does in 
 the other, is the sinking in mid-ocean of the French steamer 
 Ville d'Havre. 
 
 "I think, although it is only mere conjecture on my part, 
 that Mrs. Roe herself is the heroine of this book. For that 
 reason I shall not attempt to say anything of the lady, as the 
 reader can turn to the book and satisfy all curiosity there. 
 But if I should find, at some future time, that I am mistaken 
 in my surmise, I shall make that my excuse for the pleasant 
 task of writing again of Mrs. Roe. The old homestead is de- 
 scribed in the 'Opening a Chestnut Burr,' and naturally 
 this would endear the book to those who lived there. 
 
 "The library in which Mr. Roe does his writing, when at 
 home, is a sunny room filled from floor to ceiling with books. 
 A large flat desk, covered with papers, stands in the centre of 
 the room, and this is the novelist's work-bench. I shall con- 
 clude with a few words regarding Mr. Roe's method of work- 
 ing. Mr. Roe himself has supplied this in a letter written 
 nearly a year ago, to an admirer, and part of which I am al- 
 lowed to copy. This extract forms a portion of Mr. Roe's 
 work never before published, and the writer himself had no 
 idea it would ever appear in print. The letter bears date 
 November 25, 1878. He says: 
 
 " 'My aim is to spend the earlier part of the day in my 
 study, but I cannot always control my time, much of which is 
 lost in interruptions. I sometimes have to go away and shut
 
 420 HOME LIFE 
 
 myself up for a time. I am not as systematic as I ought to 
 be. I like to write the latter part of my books at white heat, 
 first getting full of my story and then writing with a zest. I 
 call from five to eight pages a good day's work, although in 
 some moods I write many more. Again, I will work hard 
 over three or four. I am opposed to night work. 
 
 " 'I hope to average five hours a day hereafter in my 
 study, and three or four in my garden. I employ from ten 
 to fifteen men and from ten to thirty boys in picking the 
 berries. A large part of my labor is employed in taking up 
 and packing plants. The department of fruit culture to 
 which I give my chief attention, is the keeping of each variety 
 separate and pure. This I trust to no one, and it requires 
 constant vigilance.' 
 
 "After leaving the residence of Mr. Roe, we went half a 
 mile or so further on to Idlewild, once the home of N. P. 
 Willis. Darkness came on before we reached there and we 
 had our labor for our pains. 
 
 "Mrs. Roe said that Idlewild is little changed since the 
 poet left it. A recent freshet swept away the bridges he 
 built in the Glen, but otherwise it is the same as it was before. 
 Thus ended our visit to Cornwall-on-the-Hudson."
 
 SANTA BARBARA 421 
 
 M 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 SANTA BARBARA 
 
 Y brother's boyhood friend, Mr. Merwin, speaking of 
 his visits at Cornwall later, says: "When honors 
 came in troops, I found Edward was the same kindly 
 unostentatious man, the truly loyal friend. Later, after 
 some correspondence with me, he came to Southern Cali- 
 fornia, where under those sunny skies and semi-tropical 
 scenes his love of Nature found great delight. 
 
 "While visiting at Pasadena, as we drove about that 
 beautiful city, he emphasized what he had often told me, that 
 one of the great joys of his life was that which came to him 
 from the hundreds of letters from all parts of the country, 
 and many written by people in humble circumstances, thank- 
 ing him most heartily for the cheer and encouragement he 
 had given them through his books." 
 
 After a short stay with his friend in Pasadena Edward 
 went with his wife and children to Santa Barbara. There 
 they occupied a pleasantly situated cottage, owned by a New 
 England lady and her daughter, under whose excellent care 
 they enjoyed the rest and freedom from restraint that cannot 
 be found in crowded hotels. 
 
 In a letter written to the Detroit "Tribune" my brother 
 gives his experience of a California winter. 
 
 "My impression is that January first was the warmest 
 day of the month. Certainly on no other days was I so 
 conscious of the sun's heat, yet the air was so deliciously cool 
 and fresh in the early morning. There had been a heavy
 
 422 SANTA BARBARA 
 
 dew, and grass, weed, hedge, and flower were gemmed in the 
 brilliant sunshine. 
 
 "Walking uptown with my mail at about ten in the 
 morning, I found myself perspiring as upon a hot day in 
 August, but there was no sense of oppression. One was ex- 
 hilarated rather than wilted. After reaching our cottage 
 piazza and the shelter of the climbing roses and honeysuckle, 
 the change was decidedly marked. This is said to be the 
 peculiarity the year round, even in midsummer. One has 
 only to step out of the sun's rays in order to be cool, and the 
 dead, sultry heat which sometimes induces one to yearn for 
 the depths of a cave is unknown. 
 
 "As I sat there in the shade, letting the paper fall from 
 my hand in the deeper interest excited by my immediate 
 surroundings, I could scarcely realize that we were in the 
 depths of winter. 
 
 "The air was fragrant from blooming flowers ; finches and 
 Audubon's warblers were full of song in the pepper trees, 
 while humming-birds were almost as plentiful as bumble- 
 bees in June. 
 
 "It was evident that the day was being celebrated in the 
 manner characteristic of the place. One might fancy that 
 half the population were on horseback. In twos and fours 
 they clattered along the adjacent streets, while from more 
 distant thoroughfares, until the sounds were like faint echoes, 
 came also the sounds of horses' feet rapidly striking the hard 
 adobe of the roadways. In addition to those who gave the 
 impression of life and movement in the suburbs of the town, 
 large equestrian parties had started for mountain passes and 
 distant canyons, taking with them hearty lunches in which the 
 strawberries were a leading feature. As long as the sun was 
 well above the horizon delicate girls, almost in summer cos- 
 tume, could sit in the shade of the live-oaks in safety, but 
 when the sun declines to a certain point, between four and 
 five in winter, there is a sudden chill in the air, and those who 
 do not protect themselves by wraps or overcoats are likely to
 
 SANTA BARBARA 423 
 
 be punished with as severe colds as they would take in a Bos- 
 ton east wind. 
 
 "It has often seemed to me warmer at eight o'clock in the 
 evening than at four in the afternoon. 
 
 "We resolved to have our holiday outing as well as the 
 others, and after dinner were bowling out on the road to 
 Montecito, the favorite suburb of Santa Barbara. The fields 
 by the roadside were as bare and brown as ours in winter 
 when not covered with snow, but drought, not frost, was the 
 cause. The 'rainy season' was well advanced, but there had 
 been no rain in quantity sufficient to awaken nature from her 
 sleep. In this climate vegetation is always a question of 
 moisture. 
 
 "When reaching the villa region of Montecito, blossoming 
 jgardens and green lawns illustrated this truth. After a visit 
 to the beautiful grounds and fine residence of Mr. A. L. 
 Anderson, so well remembered by thousands as the captain 
 of the favorite Hudson River steamboat the 'Mary Powell,' 
 we drove on to one of the largest orange groves on this part 
 of the coast. Mr. Johnson, one of the proprietors, received 
 us most hospitably, and led the way into a grove that sloped 
 toward the mountains. The ground was scrupulously free 
 from weeds, mellow as an ash heap, and had evidently been 
 made very fertile. Mr. Johnson told me that he fed the trees 
 constantly and liberally, and this course is in accordance with 
 nature and with reason, for the orange tree never rests. 
 While the fruit is ripening the tree is blossoming for a new 
 crop. Always growing and producing, it requires a constant 
 supply of plant food, and one of the causes of the deep green 
 and vigorous aspect of the grove and its fruitfulness consisted 
 undoubtedly in the richness at the roots. 
 
 "Another and leading cause was in abundant supply of 
 water. 
 
 "From a canyon near by a mountain stream flowed down 
 skirting the grove. This stream was tapped by an iron pipe 
 at a point sufficiently high to furnish by gravity all the water
 
 424 SANTA BARBARA 
 
 required, and it was distributed by a simple yet ingenious 
 contrivance. 
 
 "The utmost vigilance is exercised against insect pests 
 and the mutilation of the roots by gophers. The results of 
 all this intelligent care and cultivation were seen in the . 
 surprising beauty and fruitfulness of the trees, which were 
 laden with from one to two thousand golden-hued oranges, in 
 addition to the green ones not to be distinguished from the 
 leaves at a distance. Even so early in the season there were 
 a sufficient number of blossoms to fill the air with fragrance. 
 
 "The brook babbled with a summer-like sound, and the 
 illusion of summer was increased by the song of birds, the 
 flutter of butterflies, and the warm sunshine, rendering vivid 
 the gold and glossy green of the groves. Rising near and re- 
 flecting down the needed heat were the rocky and precipitous 
 slopes of the Santa Ynez Mountains. Turning on one's heel, 
 the silver sheen of the Pacific Ocean, gemmed with islands, 
 stretched away as far as the eye could reach. Could this be 
 January ? On our way home I felt that it might be, for as 
 the sun sunk low wraps and overcoats, which could not have 
 been endured an hour before, seemed scarcely adequate pro- 
 tection against the sudden chill. 
 
 "Throughout the month there were many days like the 
 first, summer-like sunshine followed by chilly evenings and 
 cool nights. No rain fell and clouds were rarely seen. The 
 temperature gradually became lower even at midday, and 
 occasionally in the early morning there was a white frost on 
 the boards and sidewalks. The roses grew more scattering 
 in the bushes. Nature did not absolutely stop and rest, but 
 she went slow over the cold divide of the year. I know not 
 how it was with the old residents, but a sense of winter 
 haunted me, especially on the quiet, star-lit nights. I some- 
 times questioned whether this sense resulted from the im- 
 pressions of a lifetime, made at this season, or was due to 
 climatic influences. To both, I fancy. When a baker's 
 horse and wagon, furnished with bells, jingled by, it was a 
 sleigh until memory asserted itself.
 
 SANTA BARBARA 425 
 
 "When abroad, even in the bright, warm sunshine, some- 
 thing in the appearance of the sky, the feel of the atmosphere, 
 and the aspect of the bare, brown fields suggested winter and 
 created a momentary astonishment at the flowers which con- 
 tinued to bloom in the watered gardens. 
 
 "I was continually aware of a conscious effort to account 
 for what I saw and to readjust my ideas to a new order of 
 things. 
 
 "The season seemed an anomaly, for it was neither sum- 
 mer nor winter, fall nor spring, in accordance with one's pre- 
 vious impressions. The visage of nature had an odd and 
 peculiar aspect. It was as if the face of an old friend had 
 assumed an expression never seen before. There was no 
 ambiguity or uncertainty upon one point, however, and that 
 was the need of winter clothing by day and of blankets at 
 night, roses and sunshine notwithstanding, and those propos- 
 ing to come here should always remember the chill of shade 
 and apartments without fires. 
 
 "Although the mercury never marks extreme cold, the 
 sense of cold is often felt keenly unless adequate provision 
 is made against it. All that is needed, however, is a little 
 prudence, for one never has to guard against sudden and vio- 
 lent changes. 
 
 "As in the East, so here, winter is especially dedicated 
 to social pleasures. Much of the gayety centres at the two 
 fine hotels, the Arlington and the San Marcos, both under 
 the efficient management of one proprietor, Mr. Cowles. The 
 townspeople are much indebted to his genial courtesy, and 
 the spacious parlors are often lined with the parents and 
 chaperons of young ladies from the city of Santa Barbara 
 as well as with his guests, while the entertainments have the 
 best characteristics of a dancing party at a private dwelling. 
 It is very fortunate for the young people that there are such 
 unexceptional places in which to meet, for this town is pe- 
 culiarly a city of cottages, few being large enough for assem- 
 blies of any considerable numbers.
 
 426 SANTA BARBARA 
 
 "There is consequently much social life in a quiet, in- 
 formal way. 
 
 "One of the remarkable characteristics of the town is the 
 large percentage of what is justly termed good society a 
 society not resting its claims on wealth or an ancestry long, 
 known and recognized in the vicinity, but on the much better 
 qualities of refinement, intelligence, and cultivation. Search 
 for health and a genial climate have brought people here 
 from all parts of the Union, and not a few, after long resi- 
 dence abroad, prefer this Pacific slope to any of the world- 
 renowned regions on the Mediterranean. One therefore soon 
 discovers a marked absence of provincialism and is led to 
 expect that the quiet lady or gentleman to whom he is intro- 
 duced has seen far more of the world than himself. The 
 small, unpretentious cottage facing the grassy sidewalk may 
 be inhabited by a mechanic, or it may be the dwelling-place 
 of people cosmopolitan in their culture and experience. 
 Strangers are not wholly dependent on each other for society, 
 as is so often true of health resorts, but find a resident popula- 
 tion both hospitable and acquainted with life in its most 
 varied aspects. Much of the abundant leisure possessed by 
 many is spent in reading, and to this pleasure a large, well- 
 selected free library contributes greatly." 
 
 Edward had the good fortune to arrive at Santa Barbara 
 in time to witness its unique centennial celebration, of which 
 he gives a detailed description. 
 
 "SAXTA BARBARA, Cal., January 7, 1887. 
 
 "Few more interesting events ever took place in the 
 quaint and quiet town of Santa Barbara than its centennial, 
 and nothing resembling it in any true sense can ever occur 
 again. The Indian element of this region receded and dis- 
 appeared before the Spanish, and the latter population is fast 
 becoming a minority among the still paler faces arriving from 
 the East. The time perhaps is not distant when Santa Bar- 
 bara may be known as a New England city. Even in its 
 centennial the great effort made to recall the past and the
 
 SANTA BARBARA 427 
 
 old resulted in a large degree from the interest taken by new 
 comers in vanishing phases of life. The success of the enter- 
 prise was due largely to the organization, young in age and 
 composed chiefly of youthful members, entitled the 'Go Ahead 
 Club.' The name itself suggests the East, and the opposite 
 of the Spanish disposition to permit each day to be a repeti- 
 tion of a former day, yet the club had the tact and friendly 
 feeling to co-operate with the best Spanish element, and to 
 bring about a festival week which interested all classes of 
 people. 
 
 "For days even a stranger was impressed by a slight 
 bustle of preparation. When riding up from the steamer we 
 saw, in the dim starlight, that a great arch spanned Main 
 Street. Observation in the bright sunshine of the morrow 
 proved this arch to be a wooden structure and a fine imitation 
 of the front of the old Mission with its quaint towers. Busy 
 workmen were draping the edifice with some variety of aro- 
 matic evergreen and with palm leaves, and it still remains 
 as a suggestion to new comers of what they missed in not 
 arriving earlier. 
 
 "The opening ceremonies of the week naturally centred 
 at the Mission Church, and on Sunday the religious phase of 
 the festival culminated. Even before we were through break- 
 fast groups were seen pressing from town. Later there were 
 the sounds of rapid wheels and the echoing tramp of horses. 
 We soon joined the increasing throng wending its way up the 
 slopes which lift the Mission above the town and place it 
 against the grand mountain background. Spanish colors, 
 red and yellow, hung from tower to tower, while American 
 flags floated from the belfry arches. Within the long, narrow 
 interior of the church the sunshine contended with innumer- 
 able candles flickering on the altar, at the shrines, and from 
 the chandeliers. The softly blended light revealed the beau- 
 tiful decorations drawn from the abundant flora and plant 
 life of the region. 
 
 "The elaborate service began, the fragrance of roses was 
 lost in that of the incense, the rustle of dresses and tread of
 
 428 SANTA BARBARA 
 
 incoming feet in the mellow tones of the chanting priest and 
 the responses of the choir. Every seat and all standing 
 room was occupied, rich and poor sharing alike according to 
 the earliness of their arrival. Next to a dark-visaged Span- 
 ish laborer might be seen the delicate bloom of a New Eng- 
 land girl's features. Beautiful lace mantillas were worn in 
 several instances. In looking at them one sighed as he 
 thought of the various monstrosities termed bonnets which 
 disfigure modern women. The clergy were in their most 
 gorgeous robes, strong contrasts in tone and color on every 
 side, but above all was a sense of the past touching the pres- 
 ent in many and unexpected ways; and this effect was en- 
 hanced by a sermon in English, giving an account of the 
 founding of the Mission. Late one afternoon, on a subse- 
 quent day, I found the door of the church open and, ventur- 
 ing in, saw the western sun shining through the high, narrow 
 windows, lighting up shrines and images with the mellowest 
 light and throwing others into the deepest shadow. 
 
 "No one was visible, yet in the silence and desertion of 
 the place one felt more like worship than when, a part of the 
 throng, he witnessed the ceremonials of the preceding 
 Sunday. 
 
 "Later still, returning from a ramble in Mission Canyon, 
 I peeped into the old church once more. Twilight had deep- 
 ened into dusk all was dark within, except the faintest 
 glimmer of a taper at the altar, where it was evident that 
 some of the Franciscans were engaged in their devotions. As 
 I crept noiselessly away the bells chimed out from the belfry. 
 In the upper gallery of the long corridor stretching from the 
 right of the chapel there was an immediate opening of doors 
 and a shuffling of feet. 
 
 "Evidently the bells had summoned to some new duty 
 attendance in the refectory at that hour, I trust and I could 
 have cordially joined the venerable fathers then, however 
 simple their diet. 
 
 "On Monday the festival passed into its secular aspect. 
 The morning was deemed most unfavorable in this climate, 
 
 '*
 
 SANTA BARBARA 429 
 
 where a cloud, even in winter, is far more rare than roses. 
 The sky was overcast with what Spaniards call a 'high fog.' 
 But the sun soon proved to be the victor, for early in the day 
 the leaden pall was shot through and through with light. 
 Not only from the most distant and well-to-do ranches, but 
 from all the small adobe houses and huts that skirt the moun- 
 tains, the people were on the way to town in the early hours. 
 They appeared on the streets in almost every description of 
 vehicle imaginable, and not a fewlookedas if they had trudged 
 from a long distance. The majority, both of men and 
 women, had apparently ridden in on their broncho horses, 
 the hardy and often vicious native breed of the region. The 
 townspeople had prepared a brilliant welcome, for the whole 
 length of State Street was decorated with flags and streamers 
 of many and varied devices, the Spanish and American colors 
 blending most amicably. There was bustle and movement, 
 life and color, with an increasing concourse throughout the 
 whole length of the thoroughfare. To a stranger's eye, men 
 in various costumes were riding aimlessly and often furiously 
 to and fro, but as noon approached affairs began to culminate 
 in the blocks above the Arlington Hotel. Here the proces- 
 sion was forming, and it proved to be the chief event of the 
 week. Nature was now assisting to make the occasion all 
 that could be desired. The clouds that had threatened now 
 merely saved the day from an unredeemed glare. After the 
 usual delay in processions, it began to pass the balcony of 
 the Arlington Hotel, where scores of guests were assembled 
 to witness the pageant. First came the grand marshal in a 
 genuine Mexican suit and mantle. Following him were his 
 aides, dressed in rich, various, and characteristic Spanish cos- 
 tumes, some of which were remarkable for their beauty and 
 others were picturesque in the extreme. One young gentle- 
 man was habited in blue, lavishly laced with silver. It was 
 the cadet uniform of the Spanish army, and had belonged to 
 his grandfather. Another, clad in cream-white satin and 
 gold lace, with crimson sash and other accessories, made a 
 striking figure.
 
 430 SANTA BARBARA 
 
 "Indeed, each of the aides graced the occasion in hand- 
 some costumes which were, as I was told, no capricious and 
 fancy affairs, but a reproduction of the gala habiliments of 
 the past. They sat their fine horses in Mexican saddles which 
 were in themselves marvels of old and curious workmanship. 
 A like cavalcade in Broadway would draw out the town. 
 
 "Next in order came the Spanish division, men and 
 women on horseback, and nearly fifty strong. It was evi- 
 dent that all heirlooms in dress had been rummaged from 
 their receptacles and made to fit the descendants of remote 
 ancestors. It would be hard to say how many different ages 
 and how many provinces in Spain and Mexico were repre- 
 sented. 
 
 "To modern eyes the picturesque had the ascendency over 
 other qualities, but all welcomed the man carrying a guitar. 
 At any rate, this division passed all too quickly, singing an 
 ancient Spanish song. Close upon them were a band of sol- 
 diers clad in suits of antiquated buff jerkins, armed in old 
 Mexican style with long pikes and muskets that may have 
 been formidable once. It is doubtful whether a band so rep- 
 resentative of the old Spanish element will ever appear on the 
 streets of an American town again. Years hence such an at- 
 tempt will be more of a masquerade than a reproduction. In 
 this instance the genuine Spaniards were too numerous and 
 their traditions too recent and real to permit impositions. 
 
 "Many Spaniards and native Californians not in costume 
 now followed, and then came an old-fashioned ox-cart, dating 
 back a century and drawn by oxen yoked by the horns. With- 
 in the cart was a wooden plow that had turned some of the 
 earliest furrows in this region, and would have been equally 
 satisfactory at the time of Abraham. In this age of inven- 
 tion one wonders that people remained satisfied so long with 
 such primitive methods and implements. Appropriately fol- 
 lowing the cart, the like of which had been used by their 
 ancestors, came the shrunken band of Mission Indians, the 
 two foremost of them carrying a portrait, draped in Spanish 
 colors, of Padre Junupero Serra.
 
 SANTA BARBARA 431 
 
 "The good father passed away centuries ago, and the In- 
 dians he sought to civilize are also nearly extinct, but the 
 principles which actuated him have redeemed his name from 
 forgetfulness and will crown it with increasing honor. 
 
 "The half-dozen Indians were chanting some wild song 
 of their own when the fine band from San Luis Obispo struck 
 up and the wail-like echo of the past was lost. Then came 
 another significant and diminishing company, the Grand 
 Army of the Republic. On every public occasion the ranks 
 are thinner and the hair of the veterans grayer. They, too, 
 will soon leave but a name, but it will not be forgotten. 
 
 "Driving away sad, if not gloomy thoughts, comes now a 
 vision of beauty and youth; the joy of to-day and the rich 
 promise of the future an indefinite number of young girls 
 who, in their two-wheeled village carts, or 'tubs,' as the Eng- 
 lish term them, drew forth rapturous applause. Well they 
 might, for they were in harmony with the loveliness of the 
 June-like day. Their little carts had been transformed into 
 floral bowers. The flowers and greenery so festooned the 
 horses that they were half-hidden, while wheels within wheels 
 of smilax, roses, geraniums, daisies, and other blossoms re- 
 volved in unison with the outer circumferences. Each little 
 cart had its own distinctive character, and some had been 
 decorated with rare taste and originality. Not a few of 
 the girls carried parasols constructed entirely of roses, or of 
 geraniums, passion flowers, orange blossoms, etc. Green- 
 houses had not been stripped for them, nor, indeed, the open 
 gardens from which they had been taken. Truly, no such 
 visible and delightful proof could have been given to our 
 Northern eyes that we had come to the land of flowers. Gar- 
 dens, orange trees golden with fruit, formed the background 
 for this charming part of the procession, while beyond and 
 above all rose the grand Santa Ynez Mountains, softening 
 their rugged outlines with half-veiling mists. 
 
 "Burlesque followed close upon beauty in the form of an 
 old farm-cart laden with the coarser vegetables and driven by 
 two young men in the garb of ancient females. The trades'
 
 432 SANTA BARBARA 
 
 procession came next, and spoke well for the business of the 
 city, but our eyes soon dwelt lovingly on over a hundred 
 school children, who made, by their unrestrained laughter, 
 the sweetest music of the day, while two little girls riding on 
 one much-bedecked donkey caused ripples of merriment as 
 they passed. 
 
 "A cavalcade of carriages and of ladies and gentlemen 
 on horseback seemed about to close the procession, when there 
 appeared one of the most interesting features yet seen a 
 train of pack mules, not merely illustrating the former 
 method of transportation, but that employed to-day by the 
 owner of the train. I hastened to the director, whose dress 
 indicated a rude mountaineer, and expected a half intelligi- 
 ble reply from a Spaniard. The accent of his first word led 
 me to scan his delicate Anglo-Saxon features. I eventually 
 learned that he was a New Yorker, a member of one of its 
 best-known families, and not a native of a little-known wil- 
 derness. 
 
 "Nevertheless he is a mountaineer. Dressed for a Fifth 
 Avenue company one would not suspect it, his form is so 
 slight and complexion so fair. Dudes would not be abashed 
 at his presence, yet they would expire under one day of his 
 experiences. 
 
 "Only by a mule train, led over a scarcely practicable 
 trail, can he reach his distant ranch, that is forty-five miles 
 back in the heart of the mountains. Here, with another 
 young man, a kindred spirit, he cares for an increasing herd 
 of cattle, and if necessary is ready to protect it from wild 
 animals. The grazing grounds are far within a region about 
 as wild as it ever has been. How about the young men who 
 whine when they can find nothing to do ? 
 
 "The interest of the two closing days of the festival cen- 
 tred at the racecourse and at the pavilion. The chief attrac- 
 tions at the former place were to be seen on Tuesday, and they 
 were of a mixed character. We were treated to what would 
 seem to be a rather rare phenomenon in Santa Barbara a 
 genuine Indian summer day of the warmest type, as we
 
 SANTA BARBARA 433 
 
 know it at the East. A haze partly obscured the Santa Ynez 
 Mountains, softened the outlines of the foothills and blended 
 the ocean with the sky. The air was soft and balmy in the 
 extreme, but one soon detected a slight chill in the shade. 
 All sorts of vehicles, from stages of unwieldy height, open 
 barouches, farmers' wagons of all descriptions, top buggies, 
 down to the numerous little two-wheeled carts, rapidly con- 
 verged toward the judges' stand. As on all gala occasions 
 here, however, the number on horseback was very large, the 
 ladies sitting their horses with perfect ease and grace. Not 
 a few, like myself, were content to trudge to the rendezvous 
 on foot. The grand stand was soon crowded, and the vast, 
 restless concourse stretched far to the right and left on either 
 side of the racetrack. The horsemanship of the Spaniards 
 could only be surpassed by the fine action of their steeds, and 
 all lovers of this noblest of animals must have been delighted. 
 In the effort to show how wild cattle were lassoed, thrown, 
 and branded there appeared to be too much needless cruelty, 
 and when a miserable little bull was tormented into savage- 
 ness, and the semblance of a bull-fight took place, scores of 
 people turned away in disgust. 
 
 "The finest equestrianism could not redeem the scene from 
 brutality. The victims were the wretched bull, a fine inno- 
 cent horse badly gored, and the people who could not endure 
 to see animals suffer needlessly. So also in the afternoon 
 great skill was undoubtedly manifested in lassoing the feet 
 of the wild broncho horses, and in the process of subduing 
 them, yet one pitied the poor creatures too greatly for enjoy- 
 ment and soon turned away. The helpless beasts were checked 
 in full career, often thrown upon their heads, turning a com- 
 plete somersault. One animal, I was told, broke its neck in 
 the operation, and so escaped further suffering. Such scenes, 
 no doubt, illustrated much that was common in the life of the 
 early settlers, but happily it is a past phase, and will scarcely 
 be reproduced again in this region. 
 
 "It was interesting to observe the many types of people 
 in festival costume, the Indian in his blanket, the Spaniard 
 B S XVIII
 
 434 SANTA BARBARA 
 
 wearing the broad sombrero, and the belle from New York 
 reflecting the latest mode. There was movement, light, color, 
 vivacity, and excitement. 
 
 "Every moment or two the eye caught glimpses of swift, 
 spirited horses and their graceful riders, and yet one's glance 
 was often lured from it all to the grand, mist-veiled moun- 
 tains beyond. Many of the scenes and objects at the pavil- 
 ion were very interesting to our foreign eyes and ears. Here 
 Spanish and American life met and mingled in a far more 
 agreeable way. Several ladies had taken charge of the large 
 building, erected for horticultural purposes, and by the aid 
 of greenery, flowers, flags, and a blending of Spanish and 
 American colors, had transformed the spacious interior into 
 a decorated hall well fitted for a festival. In the centre of 
 the hall rose a flower stand suggesting Moorish architecture, 
 its arches making fitting frames for the young girls within. 
 One might buy flowers, but his eye lingered rather on the fair 
 flower-girls in their charming costumes. Among the booths 
 was one in which some Spanish ladies had kindly permitted 
 to be exhibited some of their ancient treasures velvet man- 
 tles, embroidered shawls, etc. Even to masculine eyes they 
 were marvellously beautiful, rich, and intricate in their de- 
 signs. The ladies stood before them with clasped hands and 
 expressed themselves in exclamation points. The chief at- 
 traction, however, was the stage, on which were tableaux and, 
 above all, the genuine Spanish fandango. One of the dances 
 was a waltz, with an intricate figure which you felt might go 
 on forever, and that you could look on a good part of the time. 
 At first it struck one as merely simple, graceful, and very 
 slow, and guided by monotonous music ; but while you looked 
 and listened a fascination grew upon you hard to account for. 
 The oft-repeated strain began to repeat itself in your mind; 
 you felt rather than saw how it controlled the leisurely glid- 
 ing figures for there is no hopping in the Spanish dances 
 until at last, in fancy, you were moving with them in perfect 
 time and step. In brief, the dance had the effect of a strain 
 of music which, when first heard, is not at all striking, yet is
 
 SANTA BARBARA 435 
 
 soon running in your head as if it had a spell not easily 
 broken. On the programme the dance was entitled 'Contra 
 Danza.' Later a Spaniard who has a wide local reputation, 
 I believe, appeared in what was termed 'Son-jarabe.' He 
 certainly left nothing to be desired in his performance after 
 his fashion, but the grace of the lady who accompanied was 
 inimitable. From my somewhat distant point of view she 
 appeared to be dressed in a simple black gown and wore no 
 ornaments. She needed none. No bespangled dancer I ever 
 saw so enchained my eyes. One would almost think that an 
 orange, placed upon her head, would not fall off, and yet a 
 more utter absence of stiffness in movement was never wit- 
 nessed. She seemed ever approaching, yet ever receding 
 from, her companion ; a moment near, then far away, gliding 
 to one side or the other, as if impossible to be reached in her 
 coquetry of elusive grace. Each separate movement was 
 called out in Spanish, and in a varied, half-musical accent 
 not easily described. 
 
 "At the closing centennial ball like dances were repeated, 
 the participants wearing Spanish costumes. Here we had 
 a nearer and more distinct view of the fandango. We again 
 saw the 'Contra Danza,' and another, even more intricate, 
 that was as odd as it was full of grace and unexpected action. 
 If 'La Jota' is an old dance, it should certainly take the place 
 of many that have little to redeem them from commonplace, 
 if not worse. 
 
 "Son-jarabe was again repeated to the pleasure of all, and 
 especially of the Spaniards, who, in conformance with an old 
 custom, expressed their satisfaction by raining silver down 
 upon the floor from the gallery. There was the same weird 
 intoning by the master of ceremonies, calling off the different 
 measures ; the same constantly recurring strains of music that 
 haunted one long afterward, and the same slow yet singularly 
 graceful movement of the dancers. All were in Spanish cos- 
 tume, although many American young men and maidens were 
 also participants, yet had been taught so well by their Span- 
 ish friends that they were scarcely to be distinguished from
 
 436 SANTA BARBARA 
 
 them. The Spanish dances that I saw did not strike me as 
 at all voluptuous, and no one appeared who was not dressed 
 in accordance with the strictest ideas of decorum. The whole 
 pageant passed away with the ball, and nothing remains to re- 
 mind us of the centennial but the green arch spanning State 
 Street. The old Mission stands out gray and silent, except 
 that its bells occasionally chime out for reasons unknown 
 to me." 
 
 Writing again, in April, my brother describes the change 
 wrought by the first heavy rainfall of the season. 
 
 "One of the drawbacks to Santa Barbara is the dust, and 
 it is a disagreeable accompaniment of a dry climate which 
 must be accepted. Toward the end of January there were 
 occasionally high, gusty winds which reminded one of March 
 experiences at home. At times the dust rose in clouds and 
 obscured the city, and to my taste the wildest snowstorm 
 would be preferable to these chilling, stifling tempests. They 
 were not frequent or long continued, however, and the old in- 
 habitants said they presaged rain, the great bounty for which 
 the whole State was longing. 
 
 "A rainless winter is a terrible misfortune, and when 
 February finds the ground hard and dry there is deep and 
 natural anxiety. 
 
 "In one dry season, years ago, forty thousand head of 
 cattle perished. With present means of communication this 
 probably would not happen again, but a check would be given 
 to budding prosperity which would take several fruitful years 
 to overcome. There were scores of people hesitating whether 
 to buy or build who would decide favorably if the usual rain- 
 fall occurred. When, therefore, on the 5th the first storm 
 of the season set in, rejoicing and congratulations were gen- 
 eral. Seldom before have I so realized what a heavenly 
 bounty rain is. The whole population were hoping, wait- 
 ing, longing, and one would be callous indeed not to sym- 
 pathize. For that matter, the interests of temporary visitors 
 were also deeply involved, as may be illustrated by the pleas-
 
 SANTA BARBARA 437 
 
 Tire I had in watching from my study window the bare, brown 
 foothills become greener daily. With intervals, designed, it 
 would seem, to give the parched earth time to take in the 
 precious moisture, the rains continued for about ten days. 
 At last there was a steady downpour for nearly twenty-four 
 hours, and then dawned a morning that for brightness, clear- 
 ness, and beauty left nothing to be imagined. The birds were 
 fairly ecstatic in their rejoicings and nature seemed to be 
 tripping forth like a young girl to her work. It may be that 
 she will have to perfect most of the products of the earth 
 without another drop of rain, and she will prove equal to the 
 task. 
 
 "A fruitful year in this section does not depend on sea- 
 sonable storms and showers, as with us, but upon the number 
 of inches of the winter rainfall, the soil retaining sufficient 
 moisture to carry the crops through in safety. Many tour- 
 ists came in the height of the storm, and some had a hard 
 time of it. The hotels were crowded, and not a few, mis- 
 erably seasick, were driven from house to house in pouring 
 rain searching for rooms. Except on State Street the high- 
 ways of the city are little more than country roads, the bot- 
 tom of which, as in Virginia, seems to have fallen out One 
 stage-load was spilled into the mud and no doubt carried away 
 sinister memories of 'sunny Santa Barbara.' The weather, 
 which was the salvation of the country, was well anathema- 
 tized by transient visitors, and one lady was overheard to re- 
 mark that she had seen the first of the place and hoped that 
 she had seen the last. Thus judgments and opinions are 
 formed. Those who remained and saw the exquisite phases 
 of spring rapidly developing under the vivid sunshine would 
 be in no hurry to see the last of Santa Barbara, and a more 
 perfect summer morning has rarely been seen than dawned 
 on the last day of the month."
 
 438 RETURN TO CORNWALL-LETTERS 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 BETIJBN TO COENWALL LETTEES 
 
 I SPENT the summer of 1887 with Edward and his family 
 at Santa Barbara; and he left me there in September 
 on his return to his home at Cornwall. He expected to 
 come back during the winter of 1889 ; and just a week be- 
 fore his sudden death, while I was at the Western Chautau- 
 qua, near Monterey, I had my last letter from him, telling of 
 his plans for a California story which he hoped to write when 
 once more at Santa Barbara. 
 
 That evening, Major-General O. O. Howard gave a lec- 
 ture upon the Battle of Gettysburg, and at its close I had 
 some conversation with him, in the course of which I spoke 
 of the letter just received. He had been well acquainted 
 with my brother at West Point. I remember his saying at 
 this time: "I gave a copy of 'A Knight of the Nineteenth 
 Century' to a young man about whose course of life I felt 
 great anxiety, and that book, he wrote me, was the means of 
 his entire reformation." 
 
 This is but one of many similar instances that came be- 
 fore me personally during my sojourn in the West. 
 
 At the time of Edward's departure from Santa Barbara 
 he had engaged to write a story for "Harper's Magazine" 
 which should be a sequel to "Nature's Serial," and which was 
 to be fully illustrated by Mr. William Hamilton Gibson. It 
 was therefore necessary for him to be near the scenes of his 
 proposed story and in easy communication with Mr. Gibson. 
 
 It may not be out of place to print here the following 
 letters. Many of them are separated by long intervals of 
 time and have no direct connection with each other, but they
 
 RETURN TO CORNWALI^-LETTERS 489 
 
 are expressive of the warm friendship that existed between 
 my brother and the talented artist. 
 
 "SANTA BARBARA, July 17, 1887. 
 
 "My DEAB ME. GIBSON : The longer I remain here 
 and the more I see of this region the of tener I think of you : 
 and the more earnestly I am bent on your coming here with 
 your sketch-book. 
 
 "The scenery is just in your line, yet different from any- 
 thing you have yet done. Phew ! what a book we could make 
 together out here. During the past week Mrs. Roe and I went 
 over the Santa Ynez Mountains, and I wished for you at 
 every turn of the San Marcus Pass. Then there are scores of 
 these, with beautiful canyons. But I will tell you about them 
 in September, when I hope to see you. 
 
 "I expect to give much of September and all of October 
 to the study of the Highlands, and only wish you can so ar- 
 range as to be with me as much as possible. 
 
 "I've been toiling over the Earthquake story, and while 
 you and the critics will say it is no great 'shakes/ I shall have 
 to remember how the mountain labored. I have at least a 
 month's more work upon it, and am giving up the whole of 
 my time to it, now that I am in the mood for writing. 
 
 "How are you enjoying the summer, and are you very 
 busy? 
 
 "Lucky you did not get into that fight with the Park 
 Commissioners during your July heats. If you had there 
 would have been some 'ha'r lifted,' as they say out on the 
 plains. You would make a better subject for a scalping-knif e 
 than I. Have you seen much of Mr. Alden? He sent me 
 two fine photographs of himself recently. 
 
 "I trust that Mrs. Gibson and the boy are keeping well 
 through the intense heat of which we read in the papers. 
 This climate surpasses anything I ever imagined. We have 
 had but one hot day thus far. July has been delightfully 
 cool, about the same as last December, with the exception 
 that the evenings and nights are a little warmer. The sea-
 
 440 RETURN TO CORNWALL LETTERS 
 
 bathing is superb. Mrs. Koe and all five children are enjoy- 
 ing it this afternoon. "Yours sincerely, 
 
 "E. P. ROE." 
 
 "WASHINGTON, CONN., September, 1887. 
 
 "Hurrah ! Hurrah ! Welcome home, one and all ! Such 
 is the burden of my emotions as I read in to-day's paper that 
 Mr. Roe, the Roemanser, has returned to civilization from 
 the Santa Barbarans, and is once more at 'Shanty Clear.' 
 
 "Seriously, I am immensely delighted that you are once 
 more with us, and shall look forward to an early meeting. 
 And now apropos we, my wife and I, have enjoyed many a 
 memorable season of pleasure at your country home. Can 
 we not persuade you and Mrs. Roe to give us a visit at ours \ 
 for here is my favorite camping ground and my home acre. 
 As soon as you feel sufficiently rested from your trip, and 
 providing you are so disposed, will you make us happy by 
 spending a few days with us ? that is if you still remember 
 your neglectful correspondent and care to hobnob with him 
 as of yore. 
 
 "That proposed Highland trip is immensely tempting, and 
 I shall hope to arrange to take a few days outing with you, 
 but alas ! it cannot be until early November or the very last 
 of October. I am so full of obligations until then. 
 
 "Don't call this a letter. It is written in the face of a 
 yawning mail-bag and must be judged accordingly. 
 
 "Your sincere friend, 
 
 "GIBSON." 
 
 Mr. Gibson's own work was so pressing that autumn that 
 he was unable to spare the time for the Highland trip men- 
 tioned in his letter, when many of the sketches were to be 
 made for the projected story. The remaining letters are 
 from my brother to Mr. Gibson. 
 
 "December 15, 1880. 
 
 "Some one rang at my door to-day he must be nigh of 
 kin to Santa Glaus and left your superb volume. It almost 
 took away my breath.
 
 RETURN TO CORNWALL LETTERS 441 
 
 "I gave you 'Small Fruits' only. But the fruits of your 
 pencil and pen are the reverse of small. 
 
 "Do you realize what a benefactor you are in sending me, 
 on this dull cloudy day, exquisites of the finest seasons of the 
 year? Spring is months away, but I have had the sweetest 
 glimpse of spring beside my winter fire. The blazing wood 
 supplied the warmth and your fancy did the rest in repro- 
 ducing June. 
 
 "I am deeply in your debt. Draw on me for unlimited 
 quantities of strawberries." 
 
 "April 16, 1882. 
 
 "I was determined to find you a four-leaf clover, and yes- 
 terday I succeeded. 
 
 "It will bring you no end of good luck." 
 
 "January 31, 1884. 
 
 "Don't worry when you are not in writing condition. If 
 needful you can drop a postal now and then. The best way 
 is to come up Saturday night and have a talk. You need a 
 little change and mountain air. 
 
 "I am writing by this mail for Mr. and Mrs. Dielman to 
 come at the same time. Why would it not be a good plan to 
 get together and talk over the completion of the story and 
 take a sleigh ride ? 
 
 "You have no idea how a little change freshens one up, 
 and if you can spend Sunday and Monday we will all have 
 a country frolic. I need one myself. I have been over- 
 working and was very ill from nervous trouble for a few 
 days. I went right to Nature, tramped and rode in the open 
 air. So come Saturday by all means, for we all want to see 
 you. 
 
 "Beautiful red-pine grosbeaks are feeding about the 
 piazza like chickens. With your powers you could go and 
 pick them up." 
 
 "December 13, 1884. 
 
 "I should have written to you or seen you before, but I 
 have been working hard to get the ( St. Nicholas' serial well 
 advanced.
 
 i-12 RETURN TO CORNWALL LETTERS 
 
 "My heart is in the continuation of 'Nature's Serial.' 
 Take the press generally, that book is being received remark- 
 ably well. I tell you frankly my aim now is to prepare one 
 of the most beautiful books that has ever been published in 
 this country. From what Dielman has said I have no doubt 
 but that he'll go in with me. I also mentioned Mr. Frost to 
 Alden and I shall also go see Mrs. Foote. It is possible sh0 
 may be willing to take a part of the illustrations. 
 
 "But I shall be heartbroken if you cannot take the part 
 of Hamlet in the performance. If you will, you can make 
 old Cro'nest and Storm King your monuments, and few will 
 pass up or down the river without mentioning your name. 
 
 "I shall begin to make my studies in January. In the 
 meantime it will be a summer story, although I expect to 
 close it at Christmas, and it will be full of just such material 
 as suits your pencil. 
 
 "I would like at least four illustrations for each number, 
 as many full-paged as possible. 
 
 "Mrs. Roe joins me in regards to Mrs. Gibson." 
 
 "December 29, 18P4. 
 
 "What can I say to you ? How make you appreciate how 
 greatly we appreciate and value your beautiful remembrance ? 
 We all went into ecstasies over the picture, which arrived in 
 perfect safety. It should have gone into the book if I had 
 seen it before, and had had any influence. As it is, it rounds 
 out 'Nature's Serial' to my mind, and leaves it a past experi- 
 ence without alloy, except as I remember the imperfection of 
 my own work. Can you wonder at my desire to be at work 
 with you again some day? 
 
 "But we will leave that for the present, as you say, I 
 living in hopes that the way will open for you to explore the 
 Highlands with me, and to reveal their beauties to the public 
 far better than I can. You see Nature as I do, only you in- 
 terpret it to me, and make it more beautiful than the reality 
 appears. 
 
 "I will have the picture framed as you suggest, and when
 
 RETURN TO CORNWALL LETTERS 443 
 
 you soon come to Cornwall again it will greet you from an 
 honored place in our parlor. 
 
 "Mrs. Roe and the girls, with our guests, were as greatly 
 pleased as myself. 
 
 "Mr. and Mrs. Drake also sent us a beautiful bit of art. 
 I am just delighted with the way Mr. Drake is taking hold of 
 my 'St. Nicholas' serial. I send the magazine for the year 
 to W. H. Gibson, Jr. 
 
 "You did indeed win a victory over the 'incrementitious' 
 critic. I should think he would wish to crawl into a small hole, 
 and 'pull the hole in after him.' Indeed you are triumphing 
 over all your critics, and winning your rightful place. I 
 knew this would be true years ago, because of your own truth 
 to Nature. 
 
 "Such an experience may never come to me, probably 
 because I do not deserve it, but I am content to make some 
 warm friends, like the writer of the enclosed letter. If what 
 some of my critics say is true, a good many people who write 
 and speak to me are awful and unnecessary liars. 
 
 "I enjoyed your triumph as greatly as if it were my own. 
 It was the neatest thrust under the fifth rib I ever saw, and I 
 fear I shall never have enough Christian meekness not to en- 
 joy seeing a fellow receive his conge when so well deserved. 
 Dr. Abbott and I took part in the 'wake' up here. 
 
 "That the coming year may be the most prosperous and 
 happy that you and yours have ever known is the wish of 
 your sincere friend." 
 
 "February 17, 1885. 
 
 "I have made arrangements with the best guide of the 
 Highlands, one who knows every lake, pond, road, peak, man, 
 woman, child and dog in the mountains. 
 
 "We start out on our first explorations the latter part of 
 May, when Nature is in her loveliest mood. Say you'll go. 
 I think the whole serial can be finished by October. You 
 and Mrs. Gibson can get excellent board at Cornwall. Thus 
 you will identify yourself with the Hudson as you have with 
 New England. I expect by then to have finished my 'St.
 
 444 RETURN TO CORNWALL LETTERS 
 
 Nicholas' story and then will have the decks cleared for 
 action. Our regards to Mrs. Gibson and the baby." 
 
 ''March 18, 1885. 
 
 "I went down to attend Mr. Cyrus Field's reception. The 
 trains were so delayed that I was nearly all day getting to the 
 city. 
 
 "Well, I met Mr. Stoddard, and spent a pleasant hour 
 with him at the Century Club on the evening of March 7th. 
 He asked to be introduced to me, and I remarked 'that I was 
 surprised that he would take such a literary sinner by the 
 hand.' He replied, 'We are a pair of them.' We chatted 
 pleasantly a few moments in the supper-room, and then he 
 concluded, 'Well, you are a good fellow to forgive me.' 
 
 "Some time after he asked me to go upstairs with him, 
 and we had a smoke together. I introduced him to Colonel 
 Michee of West Point, who is about to publish a book. 
 
 "Stoddard gave me his autograph unsolicited, written 
 with his left hand and then backwards. I told him that I 
 was glad he appreciated you. We had a long, merry talk, 
 and in his conversation he said he would be very glad to have 
 a copy of 'Nature's Serial' with your, Dielman's, and my 
 autographs. This request was wholly unsuggested, and he 
 truly appeared to wish the book. Therefore, when you are 
 at Harper's will you write your name on the fly-leaf, and 
 then ask them to express the book to me? I will get Diel- 
 man's autograph. Altogether it was a spicy interview. I 
 received that eulogy of your work in the Boston paper, and 
 had said the same in substance to two or three of Harper's 
 firm before." 
 
 "September 16, 1887. 
 
 "Your hat in the air was almost as inspiring as the sight 
 of old Storm King. 
 
 "It was very pleasant to be welcomed, and the day after 
 my arrival I had to shake hands with nearly every man, 
 woman and child, white and black, that I met. 
 
 "Mrs. Roe took cold before we started on the long trip,
 
 RETURN TO CORNWALL LETTERS 445 
 
 and has been very ill; is so yet, though she is gaining now 
 steadily. I do not know when I can see you. 
 
 "I long for the quiet of home life. It will require a 
 sheriff and his posse to get me out of the house again. Put 
 down your promise to visit me and tramp the Highlands in 
 big capitals. If you should be in town and have a spare 
 night come up here for a smoke and talk." 
 
 "January 1, 1888. 
 
 "Thanks for your letter. It was almost as long as mine. 
 
 "I spent most of 'watch-night' on old Storm King with 
 my children and Mr. Denton. We expected some other 
 friends, who were detained by the storm. Coasting in a snow- 
 storm proved very agreeable after all, especially as the road 
 was lined with torches. The sleighs went like express trains, 
 and I was glad to get all safe home to the oyster supper which 
 Mrs. Roe had ready for us as the old year took its departure. 
 
 "I have amused myself in watching old Storm King, that 
 in the wild rain has been taking on many aspects. We have 
 had a sort of family holiday with the few friends coming and 
 going, and I have enjoyed all, seeing the children have a good 
 time. 
 
 "I have had so much work on hand that I had to keep 
 busy the greater part of each day. 
 
 "I suppose your little boy has enjoyed the season im- 
 mensely. Does he still believe in Santa Claus, or have you 
 and Mrs. Gibson, in the interest of truth (see discussion in 
 papers), felt bound to explain that you filled his stocking with 
 articles bought at a certain store ? My little girl is still con- 
 sidering how in the mischief the old fellow got down the 
 chimney. 
 
 "The sleighing is all gone. When it comes again we want 
 you and Mrs. Gibson to take some mountain rides with us. 
 
 "Happy New Year to you all." 
 
 But other literary friends besides Mr. Hamilton Gibson 
 were welcome guests at Edward's Cornwall home; among
 
 446 LAST BOOK DEATH 
 
 them were Mr. and Mrs. E. H. Stoddard, Mr. John Bur- 
 roughs, Mr. Stedman, Mr. Alden, of "Harper's Magazine," 
 and Mr. Julian Hawthorne. 
 
 CHAPTER XIH 
 
 LAST BOOK DEATH 
 
 DURING the winter of 1887-88 Edward wrote his last 
 book, "Miss Lou," a tale of Southern life during 
 the Civil War. In the spring he went down to 
 Virginia to visit some scenes he wished to describe, and while 
 there had a slight attack of neuralgia of the heart. The 
 physician he called in ordered him to return home at once, 
 and rest for a time. 
 
 In June he seemed to have completely recovered his 
 health, and sent his usual invitation to the Philolethean Club 
 of New York clergymen, who then made their eighteenth 
 and last visit. 
 
 On the 19th of July, however, my brother complained 
 during the day of not feeling very well, although he walked 
 about the grounds inspecting his plants as was his custom. 
 After dinner, in the evening, he sat in his library reading 
 aloud from one of Nathaniel Hawthorne's works to his 
 daughter and one of her young friends. Suddenly he 
 paused, placed his hand over his heart, and said, "There 
 comes that sharp pain again. I shall have to go upstairs to 
 my wife for some remedy." But he left the room with a 
 smile. After he had taken the remedy, which did not give 
 relief, his wife sent in haste for a physician, who as soon as 
 he arrived saw there was no hope of my brother's recovery. 
 After about forty minutes of extreme agony, Edward seemed 
 to feel relieved, rose to his feet, and attempted to cross the 
 room, but turned quickly toward his wife with a look of sur-
 
 LAST BOOK DEATH 447 
 
 prise and joy, exclaiming, "Oh, my God !" then fell lifeless 
 to the floor. 
 
 At the age of fifty, in the full vigor of manhood, his 
 earthly career came to an end. His funeral was held in the 
 little church at Cornwall, where he had first consecrated his 
 life to the service of Christ, and where he and his family had 
 worshipped for so many years. 
 
 Then he was laid to rest in the quiet graveyard on a 
 beautiful knoll overlooking the Hudson, beside his parents 
 and his own baby boy. 
 
 Only a little earlier in that month, and just three weeks 
 before his death, Edward invited the Authors' Club, of which 
 he was a member, to spend a day at his Highland home. 
 
 These lines were written in acceptance by Mr. E. C. Sted- 
 man: 
 
 "Know'st thou the bank where 'Triumph de Gauds' are red 
 (My books might be were I on berries fed) ; 
 Where Cro'nest lowers and Hudson laughs below it, 
 And welcome waits each editor or poet? 
 Know'st thou in fact the realm of E. P. Roe? 
 Hither, hither, will I go." 
 
 I insert here several accounts of this last meeting, written 
 after my brother's death by members of the Club who were 
 present. 
 
 "I had the pleasure of meeting E. P. Roe twice. The 
 first time was in May, 1888, at the Authors' Club in New 
 York. It was a balmy spring evening. I had strolled into 
 the club-rooms feeling rather lonesome among so many 
 strangers, for I was then a new member of the Club, and, 
 stopping at the table to admire a great basketful of apple- 
 blossoms, I fell into conversation with a tall, fine-looking, 
 genial-faced gentleman, who told me that he had just brought 
 the flowers down from his farm on the Hudson for 'the boys/ 
 I was mentally guessing who this gentleman with the noble 
 brow and the black flowing beard could be, when some one
 
 448 LAST BOOK DEATH 
 
 approached and called him 'Roe.' We were soon left alone 
 again, and I hastened to say : 'Have I the honor of speaking 
 to E. P. Roe ?' Placing a hand on my shoulder, and bending 
 near me with a kindly smile, he answered: 'I am E. P. Roe; 
 and may I ask your name?' Finding that I was from the 
 South, he seemed to be especially glad of my acquaintance, 
 and we were soon off in a corner, seated face to face, he ask- 
 ing questions fast, and with the greatest interest, and I an- 
 swering to the best of my ability, concerning the war history 
 and the mountain scenery of my native State. He was par- 
 ticularly anxious to get at the exact social relation between 
 the whites and blacks at the close of the war especially the 
 feeling of the blacks toward the whites with a view of mak- 
 ing correct statements in a novel that he thought of writing. 
 Each member of the Club soon wore an apple-blossom 
 boutonniere, and the rooms were full of the delicate perfume 
 of these delicious flowers. That night, on leaving the Club, 
 I took home with me a spray of the blossoms, and put it in 
 water, and on the following day it shed its fragrance for the 
 pleasure of one who was then an invalid. In her name I 
 wrote Mr. Roe a note of thanks for the flowers, and I re- 
 ceived from him a characteristic reply. He wrote : 
 
 " '. . . I was delighted that my hastily gathered apple- 
 blossoms gave such pleasure to your wife. How little it costs 
 to bestow a bit of brightness here and there, if we only think 
 about doing it I' 
 
 "The Authors' Club was invited by Mr. and Mrs. Roe to 
 spend Saturday, the 16th of June, at their home near Corn- 
 wall-on-Hudson, where we were cordially promised a feast 
 of strawberries and pleasant outdoor pastimes. The day was 
 a perfect, a happy, and a memorable one to all who accepted 
 the hospitality of the novelist. He met us at the river land- 
 ing with a hearty hand-shake and a word of welcome for each 
 guest, and personally conducted us to carriages which had 
 been provided to convey us to his farmhouse, which we soon 
 found to be an ideal home of unpretentious elegance. At 
 luncheon our host addressed us, begging us to lay aside all
 
 LAST BOOK DEATH 449 
 
 formality, and get all the pleasure possible from his fruits 
 and flowers, green grass and cooling shade. The strawber- 
 ries in his patch were enormous, and each visitor to the vines 
 in turn found Roe at his side, parting the leaves for him, and 
 showing him where to pick the finest specimens. He was 
 ubiquitous that day. If one strolled off among the myriad 
 roses, and stopped to pluck a bud, he found the shapely hand 
 of the farmer-author pulling for him a more beautiful one. 
 If you flung yourself on the grass to dream awhile, Roe was 
 lying down by you, telling you how happy this union of 
 friends made him feel. 
 
 "The day wore on to sunset, when a dance, to the music 
 of banjos, was improvised on the lawn, the banjos being 
 played by some handsome youths in lawn-tennis attire, who, 
 with their gayly beribboned instruments, made a pretty 
 scene. Roe clapped his hands with delight as he moved from 
 group to group. I heard him say, 'How often will I recall 
 this scene! I can bring you all back here just as you are 
 now, whenever I want to.' His wife and daughters were 
 unceasing in gracious attentions to their guesta 
 
 "When the time for parting arrived, and the carriages 
 were drawn up, Mr. Roe hurried from one to another of us, 
 begging each and all not to go, assuring us of ample accom- 
 modation if we would stay over night. A few remained, and 
 those who left did so reluctantly, some of them, I am sure, 
 quite sorrowfully. I remember wondering at myself for 
 being overcome by such a feeling of sadness as I waved the 
 family a last farewell from the departing carriage. I had said 
 good-by to the famous writer as we came down the broad steps 
 of his vine-covered veranda, he with his arm about my waist. 
 
 "Never lived a more lovable and kindlier man than E. P. 
 Roe ; and when, soon after that golden day, I read one morn- 
 ing of his sudden death, my heart welled up with tears over 
 the bereavement of that stricken household in the shadow of 
 old Storm King ; yet I felt that their grief must be illumined 
 by the pure light that hallowed the name 'of him who uttered 
 nothing base.' ELKOD BUKKE."
 
 450 LAST BOOK DEATH 
 
 "I fancy there are few of those active, tireless Ameri- 
 cans, who, nevertheless, steal time from their business to 
 read many newspapers and many books, who have heard of 
 an association of men in New York called the Authors' Club. 
 Authors, in their eyes, are apt to seem like inhabitants of a 
 world apart, a world separated by a broad boundary from the 
 sphere of average commercial labor. Authors are, as it 
 were, abstractions; they are heard and not seen. They are 
 heard through their books, which are the concrete essence of 
 themselves ; yet the author is, after all, an extremely concrete 
 personage, who strives as hard as anyone for his living, and 
 whose reward is seldom commensurate with his efforts. It 
 is the exceptional great man of literature the great author 
 being a better illustration than the small one who is lucky 
 enough to enjoy felicity during his lifetime. 
 
 "But I did not start out here to make the old argument 
 which has been so often a fanciful and sentimental argu- 
 ment against literature as a remunerative profession. My 
 idea was a simple one : To assume that authors are more gen- 
 erally hidden from public view than almost any other class 
 of men, and that, for this reason especially, the least import- 
 ant bit of gossip touching the private doings, goings and say- 
 ings of authors interests, without question, a very large num- 
 ber of people. The writer of a famous novel or poem may 
 walk the length of Broadway, yet remain absolutely a 
 stranger to the crowd among whom he walks. A nobody of 
 a politician passing over the same space would, I am sure, be 
 liberally recognized as a somebody, and not the least sort of 
 a somebody by any means. The stranger to the crowd, how- 
 ever, the author, derives practical benefit from the 'charm of 
 mystery.' To be at once celebrated and unknown is for him 
 a desirable condition. His books are read. He piques curi- 
 osity. What more could he ask for ? 
 
 "The Authors' Club, being merely an association of au- 
 thors, is therefore somewhat outside of public view. Its pecul- 
 iar distinction is that it brings together various men whom 
 the world honors, and a few more whom the world may or
 
 LAST BOOK DEATH 451 
 
 may not learn to honor. It is a very modest little Club, pos- 
 sibly with a very large future before it. If I should praise 
 it for one thing heartily, that would be the good fellowship 
 which animates it and which has permitted it to thrive. 
 Among the older members of the club the members who 
 actually possess reputation are Stoddard, Stedman, Curtis, 
 Edward Eggleston, John Hay, M. D. Conway, Mark Twain, 
 George H. Boker, Henry Drisler, E. P. Roe, Andrew Car- 
 negie, Henry James, E. L. Godkin, Parke Godwin, S. Weir 
 Mitchell, Noah Brooks, and (in an honorary sense) J. R. 
 Lowell, Holmes, Whittier, R. L. Stevenson and Harriet 
 Beecher Stowe. The younger members count such names 
 as Gilder, Lathrop, Bunner, Boyesen, Bishop, Luska, Will 
 Carleton, Rutton, Matthews, McMaster, Miller, Bronson 
 Howard, Mabie, DeKay, Boyle O'Reilly, Thorndike Rice, 
 and others hardly less well known. Of all the men whom I 
 just mentioned none has a wider reading public than Edward 
 P. Roe, some of whose books have passed through twenty or 
 more editions. 
 
 "Mr. Roe is one of those authors 'who make money,' 
 whose writing is not thrown on the barren soil of neglect. 
 His income from books is much ampler, I believe, than the 
 income of any other man of letters, obtained from the same 
 source, in America. Because he is so popular he does not 
 necessarily possess the elements of greatness. True great- 
 ness seldom 'makes money.' Even brilliant originality in 
 literature has a comparatively small audience. This is the 
 line of logic, since the finest writing appeals only to the finest 
 minds, and the latter are stray blossomings in an oasis of re- 
 spectability. It is not, in the circumstances, difficult to ex- 
 plain Mr. Roe's popularity. He tells a pleasant story with 
 unaffected simplicity; he is always on the side of conserva- 
 tive feeling; he is eager to help men and women, as well as 
 to amuse them ; he is, in short, the most earnest and effective 
 representative of a numerous 'home gathering' that is now 
 writing in this country. Why, then, should he not be popu- 
 lar ? The bold or merely erratic genius of distinctly literary
 
 452 LAST BOOK-DEATH 
 
 writers might not be appreciated or comprehended by Mr. 
 Roe's public. Even so aggressive a person as that turbulent 
 and pyrotechnic Frenchman, Guy de Maupassant, attacks crit- 
 icism in a way which should be a lesson to Mr. Roe's least 
 generous critics. Without any kind of preconception or 
 theory M. Maupassant says : 'A critic should understand, dis- 
 tinguish, and explain the most opposite tendencies, the most 
 contrary temperaments, and admit the most adverse re- 
 searches of art.' On such a broad basis of criticism every 
 admissible popularity may be fairly accounted for. 
 
 "Mr. Roe, the man, is an exact counterpart, one may say, 
 of Mr. Roe, the author. As an author, in the first place, he 
 is remarkably candid. He has been so candid, indeed, that 
 the tendency of certain critics to treat him disingenuously is 
 rather absurd. These critics want him to write books, appar- 
 ently, which he does not propose to write ; they overlook the 
 fact that Mr. Roe has stated very clearly just what he desires 
 to write. In a preface to one of his novels he says, in effect, 
 that if his books are not beautiful works of art they are at 
 least books which tender peace and resignation to many lives. 
 (I am not quoting, by the way, but am presenting the idea 
 which must have been in Mr. Roe's mind when he wrote that 
 preface.) There are so many clever books published nowa- 
 days which pervert the young and sensitive conscience a 
 word not included in the vocabulary of our 'disagreeably 3 ar- 
 tistic novelists that it may be wise to accept Mr. Roe's nov- 
 els as good morality, if not as the best literature. 
 
 "It is not every author who puts himself into his books. 
 Drunkards have written temperance tracts. Blackguards 
 have written treatises on ideal existence. Posing fops have 
 railed against the hardships which beset noble ambition. 
 Mr. Roe has written the best that is in him for the best that 
 is in thousands of men and women. I have tried to indicate 
 briefly what he is as an author. As a man, he is not less 
 genial, sincere, and agreeable than his books. The cleverest 
 authors are, as a rule, far more entertaining and astonishing 
 in their books than in themselves. In themselves, to speak
 
 LAST BOOK DEATH 453 
 
 the truth, they are not likely to be either entertaining or 
 astonishing. I should look to few of them as acceptable 
 hosts. Mr. Roe proved himself, and proved how good a host 
 he was, on a recent Saturday afternoon, when some thirty or 
 forty members of the Authors' Club accepted his invitation 
 to spend a day at his house and grounds on the historic heights 
 of Cornwall. 
 
 "Nearly all those who accepted Mr. Roe's invitation trav- 
 elled to Cornwall by water. And they were not a bad lot, 
 taking them together. There was E. C. Stedman, for ex- 
 ample, the most popular writer among writers, the youngest 
 man, by all odds, for his age fuller of the exhilaration of 
 youth than most of his juniors by twenty years; C. C. Buel, 
 associate editor of the 'Century/ who will soon marry Miss 
 Snow, an adopted daughter (if I am not mistaken) of 'John 
 Paul,' otherwise known as Mr. Webb; Mr. Webb himself, 
 wearing that contentedly placid air which he never seems to 
 shake off, and always on time with a good story or joke; A. J. 
 Conant, whose yarns are famous, and whose tall form swayed 
 benignly under a huge slouch hat; Hamilton W. Mabie, the 
 youthful and smiling editor of the 'Christian Union' ; W. L. 
 Keese, one of the few men who can speak with authority on 
 the acting of Burton; Theodore L. De Vinne, recently re- 
 turned from Europe, where he had vast trouble in keeping 
 warm; W. H. Bishop, who has got beyond the 'promising' 
 stage in novel writing and who will spend his summer in 
 France ; Henry Harland ('Sidney Luska'), as cheerful as his 
 stories are sombre just the sort of personality that does not 
 repeat itself in literature; Raymond S. Perrin, who is kind 
 enough to save some of his friends from disaster by present- 
 ing his first published book price $5 to them; W. S. 
 Walsh, close shaven as a priest, and editor of 'Lippincott's' ; 
 Noah Brooks, once upon a time presiding genius of the Lotus 
 Club, and the author of several charming books for boys; 
 Edward Carey, associate editor of the New York 'Times'; 
 Leonard Kip, Albert Matthews, John H. Boner, R. R. Bow- 
 ker, and several representatives of the 'Century's' staff.
 
 454 LAST BOOK DEATH 
 
 "When this crowd of writers numbering about thirty 
 in all reached Mr. Roe's home, they found Richard Henry 
 Stoddard and Julian Hawthorne installed there. Mr. Stod- 
 dard may now be classed properly among our Venerable' 
 poets, although he enjoys excellent health and gets through 
 an immense amount of work. Hawthorne, in a flannel shirt, 
 with a soft red tennis cap on his handsome head, was by far 
 the most picturesque figure of the group. As to the host, 
 Mr. Roe, he is a man of somewhat striking presence. He is 
 of medium height, strongly built, with a gravely pleasant and 
 intelligent face; his dark hair is brushed off a high forehead, 
 his beard and mustache are long and black; he has kindly 
 gray eyes, and his manner is that of a man who has spent the 
 greater part of his life in the atmosphere of home. To do 
 good, to help others that appears to be his earnest ambition. 
 The notes of religion and morality dominate the note of liter- 
 ature in him. In fact, he is much less an author than a 
 teacher. Once he preached from the church pulpit, now he 
 preaches through his books, and he finds the latter method 
 far more profitable, at least, than the former. 
 
 "Mr. Roe does not confine himself, however, to the mak- 
 ing of such books as please the great Philistine class. He is 
 an authority on the cultivation of small fruits and flowers. 
 What he has written upon this interesting subject possesses 
 scientific value. Upon his grounds at Cornwall he raises 
 some beautiful specimens of the rose, and strawberries as 
 large and luscious as any found in New Jersey soil during 
 June. The day selected for the authors' visit to Cornwall 
 happened to be at the height of the strawberry season, and 
 the manner in which these usually sedate persons made their 
 way to Mr. Roe's strawberry bushes immediately after greet- 
 ing their host reminded one of the skirmishing of boys in a 
 melon patch. The berries, many of them with the circum- 
 ference of a young tomato, were dug remorselessly from 
 their cool shadows, while a particularly hot sun poured down 
 upon the backs of thirty perspiring authors. But the fruit 
 was worthy of the effort used in plucking it, for Mr. Roe has
 
 LAST BOOK DEATH 455 
 
 brought strawberry culture to a rare state of perfection. 
 His berries, whether large or small, have a singularly sweet 
 and delicate flavor ; they are richly colored, and their meat is 
 as firm as that of a ripe peach. 
 
 "Mr. Roe's grounds are quite spacious, and lie directly 
 under the shade of Storm King. They are included in the 
 plateau of a hill, and the scenery round about especially in 
 the direction of the Hudson is wonderfully varied and pic- 
 turesque. Mr. Roe's father and grandfather resided at 
 Cornwall, and now a fourth generation of the family is iden- 
 tified with this lovely bit of country. The house occupied by 
 the novelist is not the one built by his ancestors. It is a 
 plain, old-fashioned structure, built as every similar structure 
 should be with a broad, breezy hall running from end to 
 end, thus dividing the lower part of the house into two com- 
 fortable compartments. The various rooms and there are 
 plenty of them are neatly but not pretentiously furnished, 
 books and pictures being their chief ornaments. On the top 
 floor Mr. Roe has his workshop & long, narrow, uncarpeted 
 room, under a slanting roof, well ventilated, and filled with 
 lazy lounges and chairs, common book-shelves, a large writ- 
 ing-desk, and a cabinet containing specimens of Hudson 
 River birds. Mr. Roe's latest hobby is to collect birds and 
 to study their songs. He stuffs the birds and jots down in a 
 note-book brief comments upon their songs. He is endeav- 
 oring, especially, to make an exact list of the time to the 
 fraction of a second at which each bird begins to sing in the 
 early dawn. 'I like to get my facts from nature/ he said to 
 me, 'not from other men's books.' 
 
 "Mr. Roe is one of the most hospitable of men, a fact 
 which his thirty author-friends would have discovered if they 
 had not known that it was a fact. A day seldom goes by that 
 does not bring him a visitor who receives a royal welcome ; a 
 night seldom passes that does not find occupants for his spare 
 rooms. Whoever takes the trouble to call upon him he is 
 glad enough to see. If his half-million readers could call 
 upon him simultaneously they would be led cheerfully to the
 
 456 LAST BOOK DEATH 
 
 strawberry patch. Authors may thrive on the stones of a 
 city because they must; but the ideal home for an author is 
 that of E. P. Koe at Cornwall. 
 
 "GEORGE EDAR MONTGOMERY." 
 
 "It was on one of the most delightful days of last month 
 that Mr. Roe received in an informal way at his hillside 
 home his fellow-craftsmen of the Authors' Club of New 
 York. 
 
 "A rambling old house placed back from the road and 
 perched upon one of the many hilltops that rise from the 
 river in that most picturesque section known as the High- 
 lands of the Hudson, Mr. Roe's home had about it that air of 
 comfort and serenity that one would naturally imagine as the 
 most appropriate surroundings for the author of 'Nature's 
 Serial Story.' 
 
 "Mr. Roe was so peculiarly a companionable man that his 
 friends were legion, and among the busy workers who consti- 
 tute the Authors' Club none were more popular than he the 
 busiest worker of them all. 
 
 "He met us at the landing, his genial face speaking a 
 welcome even before his voice was heard, and 'Roe! Roe! 
 Roe !' came the greeting from his expectant guests ere they 
 filed off the boat. He saw that we were all comfortably be- 
 stowed in the numerous carriages that he had in waiting, led 
 the procession up the steep road that climbed the Cornwall 
 hills, and standing at the foot of his veranda steps, welcomed 
 each visitor who 'lighted down' with his cheery smile and his 
 cordial hand-clasp. He turned us loose in his strawberry 
 bed that pet domain of one who had so practically shown 
 how it was possible to achieve 'Success with Small Fruits ;' he 
 loaded us with roses dear also to one who lived as he did 
 'Near to Nature's Heart ;' and then with brief words of hos- 
 pitality that were alive, hearty and inspiring, he bade us make 
 free with his house and home for the day. That we enjoyed 
 it, every action testified. Released from care and labor for 
 a day, surrounded by all the attractions that make a June dajr
 
 LAST BOOK DEATH 457 
 
 among the Highlands doubly delightful, and made so cor- 
 dially to feel ourselves at home, enjoyment was easy, and the 
 day was one to be marked with a red letter by all whose good 
 fortune it was to have been one of that merry party. 
 
 "Mr. Roe's Cornwall home showed the lover of Nature 
 and of his chosen profession. 'This has been your inspira- 
 tion here, has it not?' I asked. 'Yes,' he replied, with a 
 loving glance at the quiet country landscape that we over- 
 looked from the broad veranda; 'here and hereabout I have 
 got very much of my material. I love it all.' 
 
 "The comfortable rooms of that quaint, old-fashioned 
 house had many a touch that showed the affection for his sur- 
 roundings. 
 
 " 'Well, Roe/ said Stedman, ever ready with his apt quo- 
 tations, 'this castle hath a pleasant seat,' and he said truly. 
 The homelike house, the thrifty farm-lands, the verdant 
 patches filled with fruits and flowers, and the green growths 
 of the kitchen garden bespoke the man who added to the gen- 
 tleman-farmer the practical student of the helpful products 
 of the earth. 
 
 " 'Down there,' he said, indicating one portion of his 
 land, 'I have planted twenty-five varieties of peas. I wish 
 to test them, to study their quality and discover which are 
 the best for the producer to raise and which have the best 
 flavor. I like to make these experiments.' 
 
 "A bountiful spread for the sharpened appetites of those 
 who found in that flower-laden air an increase of desire 
 awaited us in the cool dining and reception rooms thrown 
 into one to comfortably seat so large a company and it was 
 a question who enjoyed it most, guests or host, for his kindly 
 attentions and his invitation to eat and spare not gave an extra 
 sauce to the good things offered us. An after-dinner ride 
 through the charming country thereabout, so many sections 
 of which had been written into his characteristic stories; a 
 siesta-like reunion beneath the shade of the trees that dotted 
 his ample lawn and almost embowered his home; an oft-re- 
 peated desire that we should not go city-ward until 'the last 
 R T XV ill
 
 458 LAST BOOK DEATH 
 
 train;' a quiet chat as this most delightful of hosts passed 
 from group to group ; the zest with which the pleasant-faced 
 wife and the son and daughter of our host seemed to enter 
 into his and our enjoyment of the day these, and the many 
 minor details of a June day's outing among the historic High- 
 lands that may not find expression here, gave to us all an ex- 
 perience that no one among us would have missed, and which 
 each one of us will recall with peculiar and tender memories 
 now that the good man who made them possible to us has 
 dropped his unfinished work and left us so suddenly and so 
 unexpectedly. ELBRIDGE S. BROOKS." 
 
 Of the many tributes to my brother's memory I shall 
 here quote but two. The first is from Julian Hawthorne and 
 is addressed to the Editors of the "Critic;" the second is the 
 resolution of sympathy sent to Mrs. Roe by the members of 
 the Authors' Club. 
 
 "You will probably be asked to find room in your columns 
 for many letters from the friends of E. P. Roe. I apply for 
 admission with the others, on the ground that none of them 
 could have loved him more than I did. The telegram which 
 to-day told me of his death has made my own life less inter- 
 esting to me. He was so good a man that no one can take his 
 place with those who knew him. It is the simple truth that 
 he cared for his friends more than for himself ; that his great- 
 est happiness was to see others happy; that he would have 
 more rejoiced in the literary fame of one of his friends than 
 in any such fame of his own winning. All his leisure was 
 spent in making plans for the pleasure and profit of other 
 people. I have seen him laugh with delight at the success of 
 these plans. As I write, so many generous, sweet, noble 
 deeds of his throng in my memory deeds done so unobtru- 
 sively, delicately and heartily that I feel the uselessness of 
 trying to express his value and our loss. He was at once 
 manly and childlike : manly in honor, truth and tenderness ; 
 childlike in the simplicity that suspects no guile and prac- 
 tices none. He had in him that rare quality of loving sympa-
 
 LAST BOOK DEATH 459 
 
 thy that prompted sinners to bring their confessions to him, 
 and ask help and counsel of him which he gave, and human 
 love into the bargain. Among his million readers, thou- 
 sands wrote to thank him for good that his books had awak- 
 ened in their souls and stimulated in their lives. He knew 
 the human heart, his own was so human and so great ; and the 
 vast success of his stories, however technical critics may have 
 questioned it, was within his deserts, because it was based on 
 this fact. No one could have had a humbler opinion of 
 Roe's 'art' than he had: but an author who believes that 
 good is stronger than evil, and that a sinner may turn from 
 his wickedness and live, and who embodies these convictions 
 in his stories, without a trace of cant or taint of insincerity 
 such an author and man deserves a success infinitely wider 
 and more permanent than that of the skilfulest literary me- 
 chanic : and it is to the credit of our nation that he has it." 
 
 Authors' Club, 19 West 24th Street, New York. 
 January 19, 1889. 
 
 MRS. E. P. ROE. 
 
 DEAR MADAM I am instructed by the General Meet- 
 ing of the Authors' Club to communicate to you the follow- 
 ing minute of a resolution that was then adopted. It runs 
 as follows: 
 
 "On motion of Mr. E. C. Stedman it is unanimously re- 
 solved that by the death of Mr. E. P. Roe this club has lost 
 a member who was endeared to his fellow-members by more 
 than ordinary ties. His kindly disposition and charm of con- 
 versation and manner, his wide charity, made him an always 
 welcome companion, and though circumstances did not admit 
 of his frequent attendance at its meetings, his constant inter- 
 est in the club was evinced by numerous attentions which 
 showed that he was present in spirit if not in person. 
 
 "This club recalls with a sense of sorrowful satisfaction 
 that the last act of the late Mr. Roe in connection with the 
 club was the generous entertainment of its members by him- 
 self and his wife, a few weeks before his death, at his home
 
 460 LAST BOOK DEATH 
 
 at Cornwall-on-the-Hudson, an event which will ever dwell 
 in the grateful remembrance of those who were present on 
 the occasion, and in scarcely a less degree of those members 
 who were unable to avail themselves of the privilege. 
 
 "At its Annual Meeting this club desires to assure Mrs. 
 Roe and the members of her family of its sincere sympathy 
 with her in the bereavement which she has sustained, to con- 
 vey to her its grateful acknowledgment of the abundant hos- 
 pitality she exercised toward the club on the occasion of its 
 visit to her home last June, and to thank her for her generous 
 gift of an admirable portrait of her late husband." 
 
 I have the honor to be, Madam, with great respect, 
 Your faithful servant, 
 
 A. B. STABET, 
 Secretary Authors' Club.
 
 AN ACCOUNT OF E. P. ROE'S BOOKS 461 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 AN ACCOUNT OF E. P. ROE^S BOOKS 
 
 A FEW more pages will be given to an account of the 
 circumstances under which my brother's books were 
 written, including mention of some incidents which 
 suggested the stories. 
 
 His first novel was "Barriers Burned Away." Speaking 
 of this venture he said at one time : "I did not take up the 
 writing of fiction as a means of livelihood, nor to gratify am- 
 bition. When I heard the news of the great fire in Chicago 
 I had a passionate desire to see its houseless, homeless con- 
 dition, and spent several days among the ruins and people, 
 who found refuge wherever they could. I wandered around 
 night and day, taking notes of all I saw, and there the plot of 
 my story was vaguely formed." 
 
 When Edward had written about eight chapters of this 
 book, as has been said, he read them to Dr. Field and his as- 
 sociate editor, Mr. J. H. Dey. He would not have been 
 greatly surprised had they advised his throwing the manu- 
 script into the burning grate before them, but, instead, they 
 requested him to leave it with them for serial publication in 
 the "Evangelist." 
 
 In the intervals of his busy life at Highland Falls the 
 story grew into fifty-two chapters. He wrote when and 
 where he could on steamboats and trains as well as in his 
 study the manuscript often being only a few pages ahead 
 of its publication. His characters took full possession of his 
 imagination and were very real to him. 
 
 The serial continued for a year. The next thing was to 
 secure a publisher for the book. Mr. Dodd, senior member
 
 462 AN ACCOUNT OF E. P. ROE'S BOOKS 
 
 of the firm of Dodd, Mead, and Company, said once when 
 questioned in reference to this subject: "Mr. Roe brought 
 his manuscript to us one day. We read it and made him an 
 offer. At that time we looked upon the venture as purely 
 experimental. Mr. Roe accepted our offer, and we announced 
 the book. In a short time letters began to pour in upon us 
 from people who had seen our announcement, and had also 
 read as much of the story as had appeared in the 'Evange- 
 list,' asking when the book would be published. These let- 
 ters were the first indication we had of the story's popularity, 
 but they were very good evidence of it. An edition was is- 
 sued ; the book sold rapidly, and the sale since has been large 
 and continuous." 
 
 "How about your original contract with Mr. Roe ?" 
 
 "Well, as a matter of fact," said Mr. Dodd, "the original 
 contract was destroyed and another made on a different basis 
 by which Mr. Roe is largely the gainer. From that time we 
 have published everything that he has written, and our rela- 
 tions have always been very pleasant and close." 
 
 "What is his most popular work ?" 
 
 " 'Barriers Burned Away 3 has had the largest sale. 'With- 
 out a Home' stands second on the list, and, considering the 
 fact that it was published ten years later, is most popular. 
 'Opening a Chestnut Burr* comes next; 'Near to Nature's 
 Heart' has had a very large sale, and the others follow closely. 
 There is not one of his novels that has not had a wide cir- 
 culation." 
 
 "Have you any idea of the extent to which his books have 
 been sold abroad?" 
 
 "All have been published in England and the colonies. 
 Mr. Roe has in almost every instance arranged with English 
 publishers for an authorized edition from advance sheets, and 
 received compensation. His stories are also translated into 
 German and French." 
 
 "Barriers" was first published in 1872. It is reverently 
 dedicated to the memory of the author's mother, and his own
 
 AN ACCOUNT OF E. P. ROE'S BOOKS 463 
 
 words as to how it came to be written have already been 
 quoted. Many letters were received from young men ac- 
 knowledging the helpfulness of this book. 
 
 "Play and Profit in My Garden" was Edward's first book 
 on horticulture. It was written in 1873 at Highland Falls, 
 and was published serially in the "Christian Union," then 
 edited by Dr. Lyman Abbott. Reviewing the book just two 
 years before his death, he claimed that he put into it more of 
 his personality than into any of his other works. 
 
 It is a garden story of his own experience. The sandy 
 knoll around the little country parsonage, upon which grew 
 only a vine or two, a few cherry trees and some common cur- 
 rant bushes, served as a beginning in this gardening venture. 
 To that was added a small tract of adjoining land which was 
 rented from a neighbor, making but two acres in all, yet the 
 profits from this ground for one season alone amounted to 
 two thousand dollars. 
 
 In this book he tells how his garden was stocked at first 
 with plants from the old home place, and how they brought 
 back the sweet associations of his childhood. He speaks, too, 
 of his pleasure in selecting new varieties for trial from the 
 gorgeously illustrated catalogues that he received. 
 
 "What Can She Do ?" was written the same year. Sfnce 
 that time numberless women have learned through the for- 
 tunes or misfortunes of life to solve this problem for them- 
 selves, but this book has found a place in many homes and by 
 its influence has led young girls to be more helpful in the 
 family circle as well as in the wider social spheres in which 
 they move. 
 
 "Opening a Chestnut Burr" (1874) suggested itself 
 to Edward's mind while taking a walk one autumn along a 
 wood-road on the grounds of the old homestead. Several of 
 the characters are drawn from life, representing some eccen- 
 tric people who lived near us in our childhood. In a 
 "well-meanin' " man, "Daddy Inggar," we have a perfect 
 picture of an old neighbor whom we children called "Daddy 
 Liscomb." He lived in a little house opposite one of our
 
 464 AN ACCOUNT OF E. P. ROE'S BOOKS 
 
 father's apple orchards, and no watch-dog could have been 
 more faithful than was this old man in guarding our fruit 
 from the depredations of factory boys. He was very pro- 
 fane, more in his last years from habit, however, than from 
 intentional irreverence, and sometimes when the Methodist 
 clergyman was offering prayer in his home a sudden twinge 
 of rheumatism would call forth a perfect volley of oaths, for 
 which he would immediately afterward make most humble 
 apologies. This book Edward dedicated to his wife. 
 
 "From Jest to Earnest" (1875) is dedicated to Edward's 
 schoolmate and college friend, Rev. A. Moss Merwin. The 
 story is nearly altogether imaginary, but was suggested by 
 an actual house-party and the position of a clever hostess who 
 was embarrassed by the necessity for making the best of an 
 unwelcome guest. 
 
 "Near to Nature's Heart" was written at Cornwall and 
 published in 1876 the Centennial year. It is a Revolu- 
 tionary story, and the scene is laid near West Point. "Cap- 
 tain Molly" is of course historical, as is also the Robin Hood 
 of the Highlands, "Claudius Smith." But most of the inci- 
 dents of the story, as well as the leading characters, are 
 imaginary. 
 
 A few years ago I met at a seashore resort in Massachu- 
 setts a cultured gentleman who held a high position in an 
 educational institution in that State. He told me that his 
 only child, Vera, was named from the heroine of "Near to 
 Nature's Heart." He had read all of my brother's books, 
 but particularly enjoyed this one. And while in California 
 making a trip to some of the high mountain passes of the 
 State I met a young couple living in a lonely canyon, miles 
 from any town, whose year-old baby was called Amy, in 
 honor, they said, of the heroine of "Nature's Serial Story." 
 They had no knowledge of my relationship to the author of 
 the book. 
 
 "A Knight of the Nineteenth Century" (1877) was rever- 
 ently dedicated to the memory of the writer's father. These 
 lines form the preface :
 
 AN ACCOUNT OF E. P. ROE'S BOOKS 4G5 
 
 "He best deserves a knightly crest 
 Who slays the evils that infest 
 His soul within. If victor here, 
 He soon will find a wider sphere. 
 The world is cold to him who pleads; 
 The world bows low to knightly deeds." 
 
 Soon after this book was offered for sale upon the railroad 
 trains, a young man, who had tired of the humdrum, duties 
 of his home, started West to seek adventure in the excite- 
 ments of mining life. He bought a copy, read it, and was 
 so impressed by the writer's picture of true knightly deeds 
 that he abandoned his purpose and returned to take up the 
 obligations he had cast aside. 
 
 "A Face Illumined" (1878). A beautiful, but discor- 
 dant, face once seen at a concert-garden suggested the title 
 and plot of this book. It interested Edward to imagine what 
 such a countenance could express under the ennobling influ- 
 ence of a pure Christian life. He says in his preface : "The 
 old garden and the aged man who grew young in it are not 
 creations, but sacred memories." It was our father who was 
 constantly in the writer's mind as he rehearsed the conversa- 
 tions with Mr. Eltinge, and the enormous silver poplar that 
 shaded the old man's front gate, the tool-house and pear tree, 
 and the brook in which "Ida Mayhew" bathed her tear- 
 stained face, were all drawn from originals. 
 
 "Without a Home" (1881). This book was announced 
 two years before it was completed, for my brother studied 
 with great care and patience the problems upon which it 
 touches. He visited scores of tenements and station-houses, 
 and sat day after day upon the bench with police judges. He 
 also talked with many of the proprietors of city stores and 
 with their employees, and his indignation was aroused when 
 he found that in most of these establishments saleswomen 
 were compelled to stand throughout the hot summer days, no 
 provision being made for even an occasional rest. In regard 
 to the victim of the opium habit in this story, he said once, 
 "I felt from the first that Mr. Joselyn was going to ruin and
 
 466 AN ACCOUNT OF E. P. ROE'S BOOKS 
 
 I could not stop him, and suffered much with him. 1 also 
 felt the death of his daughter almost as much as if she had 
 been a member of my own family." 
 
 "Success with Small Fruits" (1881). "Dedicated to 
 Mr. Charles Downing, a neighbor, friend, and horticulturist 
 from whom I shall esteem it a privilege to learn in coming 
 years, as I have in the past." Chapters from this book, ap- 
 propriately illustrated, first appeared serially in "Scribner's 
 Magazine." But the larger scope which the book afforded 
 gave Edward opportunity to treat the various topics more in 
 detail. He gives many practical suggestions for the benefit 
 of those who are interested in this subject. Nevertheless, 
 the book is not a mere manual upon the culture of small 
 fruits. It is happily written, and much quiet humor is to be 
 found in its pages. To quote a brief example: "In April 
 the bees will prove to you that honey may be gathered even 
 from a gooseberry bush. Indeed, gooseberries are like some 
 ladies that we all know. In their young and blossoming days 
 they are sweet and pink-hued, and then they grow acid, pale, 
 and hard; but in the ripening experience of later life they 
 become sweet again. Before they drop from their places the 
 bees come back for honey, and find it." 
 
 Whatever may be the opinion of critics in regard to my 
 brother's fiction, his works on horticulture are of unques- 
 tioned authority ; they embody the results of carefully tested 
 personal experiments, and for this reason have their value. 
 In this book are given practical directions and advice that 
 gardeners have told me were of immense service to them. 
 
 "A Day of Fate" (1880). This is a quiet love-story of a 
 summer sojourn in the Highlands. 
 
 "His Sombre Rivals: A Story of the Civil War" (1883). 
 In the preface he says: "The stern and prolonged conflict 
 taught mutual respect. The men of the North were con- 
 vinced that they fought Americans, and that the people on 
 both sides were sincere and honest." 
 
 The Battle of Bull Run is simply a suggested picture, 
 and the other war scenes are colored by the writer's own
 
 AN ACCOUNT OF E. P, ROE'S BOOKS 467 
 
 reminiscences; but concerning all technical details he con- 
 sulted military men. 
 
 "A Young Girl's Wooing" (1884). Another short love- 
 story, with the scene laid in the Catskills, where it was 
 written. 
 
 "Nature's Serial Story" was also published in 1884, but 
 Edward had been for several years making studies for it, at 
 each season carefully noting his observations. He was a 
 great lover of birds and knew exactly when each species ar- 
 rived North in the spring and just when the fall migrations 
 took place. "Song," he says elsewhere, "is the first crop I 
 obtain, and one of the best. The robins know I am a friend 
 of theirs, in spite of their taste for early strawberries and 
 cherries, and when I am at work they are very sociable and 
 familiar. One or two will light on raspberry stakes and sing 
 and twitter almost as incessantly and intelligently as the chil- 
 dren in their playhouse under the great oak tree. Yet the 
 robin's first mellow whistle in spring is a clarion call to duty, 
 the opening note of the campaign." 
 
 He drew directly from Nature for facts, and the compo- 
 sition of this book gave him genuine pleasure. He says : "My 
 characters may seem shadows to others, but they were real 
 to me. I meet them still in my walks or drives, where in 
 fancy I placed them." 
 
 "An Original Belle" (1885). The most dramatic scenes 
 in this book are those connected with the New York Draft 
 Riots. Edward was in the city one day when the riot had 
 reached its height, and personally witnessed many of the in- 
 cidents described. Portions of the book relating to this time 
 were submitted to the Superintendent of the Metropolitan 
 police force for possible corrections in the statements made. 
 
 "Driven Back to Eden." This story for children was 
 published serially in "St. Nicholas," in 1885. It was lov- 
 ingly dedicated to "Johnnie," his pet name for his youngest 
 daughter. In it my brother takes a family from a narrow 
 city flat in a neighborhood that was respectable, but densely 
 populated, and where the children were forced to spend much
 
 468 AN ACCOUNT OF E. P. ROE'S BOOKS 
 
 time upon the streets with very undesirable companions, to 
 a simple country home, surrounded by garden, fields, and 
 woods. Here they enjoy the ideal outdoor life perhaps as 
 near that of the original "Eden" as can be imagined. Ed- 
 ward places these children among the scenes of his own boy- 
 hood and writes of experiences that are fictitious only in 
 detail and characters. 
 
 "He Fell in Love with His Wife" (1886). A chance 
 item in a newspaper relative to a man who had married in 
 order to secure a competent housekeeper suggested this story, 
 in which the hero tries a similar experiment. 
 
 "The Home Acre" (1887) first appeared serially in 
 "Harper's Magazine." It dwells upon the advantages and 
 pleasures of country life, which is particularly recommended 
 for business men as affording rest and diversion of thought 
 after continuous mental strain. Practical hints are given 
 as to the kind of trees to plant and how to plant them, also 
 as to the proper cultivation of vineyards, orchards and the 
 small fruits. He urges the advisability of teaching every 
 boy and girl in the public schools to recognize and protect 
 certain insects, toads, and harmless snakes that are of incal- 
 culable value in the culture of plants and fruits because of 
 the warfare they wage against the enemies of vegetable life. 
 
 "The Earth Trembled" (1887) was written while at 
 Santa Barbara ; but, as in the case of the Chicago fire, Edward 
 went to Charleston before the effects of the earthquake had 
 been removed, and saw the state of the city and its inhab- 
 itants for himself. I have been told by people who lived 
 there at the time that my brother's descriptions of the dread- 
 ful calamity are very accurate. 
 
 "Miss Lou" (1888) was my brother's last book, and was 
 left unfinished by his sudden death. The inscription reads : 
 -"In loving dedication to 'little Miss Lou,' my youngest 
 daughter."
 
 THE TABLET AND MEMORIAL ADDRESS 469 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE TABLET AND MEMORIAL ADDEESS 
 
 ON May 30th, Decoration Day of 1894, Edward's fam- 
 ily and many of his friends were invited by the 
 citizens of Cornwall-on-the-Hudson to be present at 
 the dedication of a Memorial Park to be known as Roe Park, 
 a wild spot in the rear of his home where he had been accus- 
 tomed to go for recreation when his day's task was done. 
 
 Here a bronze tablet was placed upon one of the huge 
 bowlders upon which he and his friends had often sat and 
 rested after their long rambles. 
 
 Two of his friends, who then came from a distance to 
 honor his memory, have since joined him in the higher man- 
 sions Rev. Dr. Teal, of Elizabeth, New Jersey, who began 
 his ministry at Cornwall, and was for twenty years my 
 brother's intimate friend; and Mr. Hamilton Gibson. Both 
 of these men were stricken down suddenly, as was my 
 brother. 
 
 I cannot close these reminiscences better than by quoting 
 from Dr. Lyman Abbott's eloquent Memorial Address, given 
 that day upon my brother's work as a writer. 
 
 "It is of the latter aspect of his life I wish to speak for a 
 few moments only, in an endeavor to interpret his service to 
 the great American people by his pen through literature. 
 The chief function of the imagination is to enable us to real- 
 ize actual scenes with which we are not familiar. This is an
 
 470 
 
 important service. It is well that you who live in these quiet 
 and peaceful scenes should know what is the wretchedness of 
 some of your fellow-beings in the slums of New York. It is 
 well that your sympathies should be broadened and deepened, 
 and that you should know the sorrow, the struggle that goes 
 on in those less favored homes. But this is not the only 
 function of the imagination, nor its highest nor most impor- 
 tant function. It gives us enjoyment by taking us on its 
 wings and flying with us away from lives which otherwise 
 would be prosaic, dull, commonplace, lives of dull routine 
 and drudgery. But this also is not the only nor the highest 
 use; God has given us imagination in order that we may 
 have noble ideals set before us, and yet ideals so linked to 
 actual life that they shall become inseparable. He has given 
 us imagination that we may see what we may hope for, what 
 we may endeavor to achieve that we may be imbued with a 
 nobler inspiration, a higher hope, and a more loving, endur- 
 ing patience and perseverance. Realism, which uses imagi- 
 nation only to depict the actual, is not the highest form of 
 fiction. Romanticism, which uses the imagination only to de- 
 pict what is for us the unreal and impossible, is not the 
 highest form of fiction. That fiction is the highest which by 
 the imagination makes real to our thought the common affairs 
 of life, and yet so blends them with noble ideals that we are 
 able to go back into life with a larger, a nobler, and a more 
 perfect faith. 
 
 "Now, Mr. Roe's fiction has been very severely criticised, 
 but it has been universally read. For myself I would rather 
 minister to the higher life of ten thousand people than win 
 the plaudits of one self-appointed critic. And his novels 
 have been universally read because they have uniformly min- 
 istered to the higher life of the readers. He has ministered 
 to the life not of ten thousand, or of one hundred thousand, 
 but of thousands of thousands, for his readers in this coun- 
 try alone are numbered by the millions. And I venture to 
 say that no man, woman, or child ever read through one of 
 Mr. Roe's books and arose without being bettered by the read-
 
 THE TABLET AND MEMORIAL ADDRESS 471 
 
 ing, without having a clearer faith, a brighter hope, and a 
 deeper and richer love for his fellow-man. In one sense he 
 was a realist. He made careful and painstaking study of all 
 the events which he attempted to describe. . . . He was not 
 a mere photographer. He saw the grandeur that there is 
 in life. He felt the heart that beats in a woman's bosom and 
 the heart that beats in a soldier's breast. He felt it because 
 his own heart had known the purity of womanhood and the 
 courage of manhood. He portrayed something of that purity, 
 something of that courage, something of that divine man- 
 hood, because he possessed the qualities that made him a hero 
 on the battlefield, and so made him a preacher of heroism in 
 human life. This is the man we have come here to honor 
 to-day; the man who by his imagination linked the real and 
 the ideal together; the man who has enabled thousands of 
 men and women of more prosaic nature than himself to see 
 the beauty and the truth in one word, the divinity that 
 there is in human life. 
 
 "It is fitting that you should have chosen a rural scene 
 like this as a monument to his name ; for he may be described 
 by the title of one of his books, as the one who lived near to 
 nature's heart. He loved these rocks, these hills. It is 
 fitting that you should have left these woods as nature made 
 them. He cared more for the wild bird of the grove than 
 for the caged bird of the parlor, more for the wild flowers than 
 for those of the greenhouse, more for nature wild and rugged 
 than for nature clean and shaven and dressed in the latest 
 fashion of the landscape gardener. 
 
 "It is gratifying to see so many of all ages, of all sects, 
 of all classes in this community gather to do honor to the 
 memory of Mr. Roe. But we, many as we are, are not all 
 who are truly here. We stand as the representatives of the 
 many thousands in this country whose hours he has beguiled, 
 whose labors he has lightened, whose lives he has inspired, and 
 in his name and in theirs we dedicate to the memory of Mr. 
 Roe these rocks and trees and this rugged park and this me- It 
 morial tablet now unveiled. Time with its busy hand will
 
 472 THE TABLET AND MEMORIAL ADDRESS 
 
 by and by obscure the writing ; time will by and by fell these 
 trees and gnaw away these rocks. Time may even obliterate 
 the name of E. P. Roe from the memory of men; but not 
 eternity itself shall obliterate from the kingdom of God the 
 inspiration to the higher, nobler and diviner life which he 
 preacher, writer, soldier, pastor and citizen has left in hu- 
 man life." 
 
 THE END
 
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