Opening a chestnut burr
page: 0 (TitlePage) [View Page 0 (TitlePage) ]OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. By REV. E. P.. ROE, Author of "Barriers Burned Away," "What Can She Dot" "Pla) and Profit in my Garden." As woman from the Garden of the Lord Led fallen man in sorrow, fear and shame, To where, unblest, he saw the burning sword Between lost Eden and the desert flame; So still she leads, and though at times from good; She now supremely holds the sacred power, To win from deserts where the exiles brood, And lead them back within their ancient dower. NEW YORK: DODD, MEAD & COMPANY, 751 BROADWAY. page: 0[View Page 0] TO MY WIFE. page: 0[View Page 0] PREFACE. IN sending this, my fourth venture, out upon the uncertain waters of public opinion, I shall say but few words of preface. In the past I have re- ceived considerable well-deserved criticism from the gentlemen of the caustic pen, but so ,far from hav- ing any hard feeling towards them, I have rather wondered that they found so much to, say that was favorable. How they will judge this simple Oc- tober story (if they think it worth while to judge it at alD I leave to the future, and turn to those for whom the book- was really written. In fancy, I see them around: the glowing hearth of quiet homes, such as I have tried' to describe in the following pages, and hope that this new comer will be welcomed for the sake of those -,that preceded it. Possibly it may make friends of its own, From widely separated parts of the country, and from almost every class, I have- received many and cordial assurances that my former books were not only sources of pleasure, but also of help and bene- fit, and I am deeply grateful for the privilege of unobtrusively entering so many households, and saying words on that subject which is inseparable from happiness in both worlds. page: 8-9 (Table of Contents) [View Page 8-9 (Table of Contents) ] 8 PREFACE. I think the purpose of the book will become apparent to the reader. The incidents and charac- ters are mainly imaginary. Observation has shown me that there are many in the world, like my hero, whose condition can be illustrated by the following lines: Were some great ship all out of stores, When half way o'er the sea, Fit emblem of too many lives, Such-vessel doomed would be. Must there not be something fatally wrong in that scheme of life which finds an heir of eternity weary, listless, discouraged, while yet in the dawn- ing of existence? It is not in perishing things, merely, to give back the lost zest. But a glad zest and hopefulness might be inspired even in the most jaded and ennui-cursed, were there in our homes such simple, truthful natures, as that of my heroine; and in the sphere of quiet homes-not elsewhere-- I, believe that woman can best rule and save the world. WEST POINT, September, 1874 CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. AH&RO BUT NOT HERC IC........ PAli * *eeee ee eeeee. ee e, e e 13 CHAPTER IL ,OPNING A CHESTNUT BURR ...... CHAPTER III. MORBID BROODING o.... 4 CHAPTER IV. HOW MSS WALTON MANAGED PEOPLB .. ***". .'. ....... 54 CHAPTER V. WAS IT AN ACCIDENT? .... CHAPTER VI. UNSXP'rCTED CHESTNUT BURRS. CHAPTER VII. A CONSPRACY. page: 10 (Table of Contents) -11 (Table of Contents) [View Page 10 (Table of Contents) -11 (Table of Contents) ] 10 ' CONTENTS. CHAPTER VIII. -' , - :* PA 38 WITCHCRAFT ............................... 94] CHAPTER IX. I i MSS WALTON ADvISsES A HOBBY........... - * a.. .. a..... 105 CHAPTER. X. A PLOT AGAINST MSS WALTON; ..... ... .............. Ill CHAPTER .XL A DRINKNG SONG AT A PRAYER-MEETING.... .............. 119 CHAPTER XII. FOILED IN ONE DIRECTION: ........................ 128 s CHAPTER XIII. INTERPRETING CHESTNUT BURRS.......................... 141 CHAPTER XIV. A WzLLMEzANIN MAN............- . N................... IS8 CHAPTER XV. MSS W ALTONS DREAM........... ....... ........ X170 CHAPTER XVI., AN ACCDENT INQ TCHE MOUNTAINS ............ ........ 91I4 CHAPTER Xvll.1 - CH APT ER XV1. OMxsF O0R Dl l. ,.............................., ,0 4 o CONTEVNTS. II CHAPTrER XVUII. Is Tax DanMiTHS... PAO] "To hrrES...Re..*** .*...................... P CHAPTER XIX. MSS WALTON MADE OF DIFFERENT CLAY FRY OTUsB,.,. 36 CHAPTER XX. MSS WALTON MADE O ORDINARY CLAY... 5 CHAPTER XXI. PASSION AND PENITENCE .... .......... ,. .. ...a. 78 CHAPTER XXII. VOT A HEROINE BUT A WOMAN.... -*"**** * . .... ...... 4 CHAPTER XXIII. rREGORY'S FINAL CONCLUSION, ' *******....8. . \t CHAPTER XXIV. HE WORM-INFESTED CHESTNUT--GREGORY TEAS THE WORST. 3aa CHAPTER XXV. , - E O LD HOME IN DANGER-GREGORY RTmREVES HzMs L. 348 - - CHAPTER XXVI. ANGES IN GREGORY ..... .. ......... 3 37z CHAPTER XXVII. - ADING FOR LIFE AND LOVE ........... "" -' ' . . ' ; '^ ...1 page: 12 (Table of Contents) -13[View Page 12 (Table of Contents) -13] 12 CONTENTS. CHAPTER XXV111. PAeS WHAT A. LOVER COULD no .... ..................... .. 399 CHAPTER XXTXj, DEFYNDING SHADOWS ................................... 418 CHAPTER X XX. KEPT FROM THE EVIL .... * ................ . .. .....* 440 CHAPTER XXXT. L[! LIVE! ANNIE'S APPEAL .......................... .. 454 CHAPTER XXXII. AT SEA;--A MYSTERIOUS PASSENGER...................... 488 CHAPTER XXII . A COLLISION AT SEA-WHAT A CHRISTIAN COULD DO ..... 504 CHAPTER XXXIV. UHMASED. .'.; . ... . e..* * * * * * * * * * * * * 525 CHAPTER XXXV. A CMrWsNUT BURR AND A HOME ..................... 548 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. CHAPTER I. A HERO, BUT NOT HEROIC. "SHALL I ever be strong in mind or body again?" said- Walter Gregory with irritation as he left the sidewalk and crowded into a Broadway om- nibus. The person thus querying so despairingly with himself was a man not far from thirty years with a but the lines of care were furrowed so deeply on his handsome face that dismal, lowering morning, the first of October, that he seemed much older. Hav- ing wedged himself in between two burly forms that suggested thrift down town and good cheer on the Avenue, he appears meagre and shrunken in con- trast. Though tall, he is thin. His face iswhite and drawn instead of being ruddy with health's rich warm blood. There is scarcely anything remaining reminding one of the period of youth, so recently van . ished; neither is there the dignity and conscious. ness of strength that should come with m aturer years . His heavy light-colored moustache and pal- page: 14-15[View Page 14-15] " OPENrNG A CHESTNfUT BURR. lid face gave him the aspect of the blasd man of the world who had exhausted himself and life at an age when wisely directed manhood should be just entering on its richest pleasures. And such an opinion of him would be correct with some hopeful exceptions and indications. The expression of irritation and self-disgust still remain. ing on his face as the stage rumbles down town is a hopeful sign. His soul at least is not surrounded by a Chinese wall of conceit. However perverted his nature may be it is not a shallow- one, and he evidently has a painful sense of the wrongs commit- ted against it. Though his square jaw and the curve of his lip indicate firmness, one could not look upon his contracted brow and half-despairing ex- pression, as he sits oblivious of all surroundings, without thinking of a ship drifting helplessly and in distress. There are encouraging possibilities in the fact that from those windows of the soul, his eyes, a troubled rather than an evil spirit looks out. A close observer would see at a glance that he was not a good man, but he might also note that he was not content with being a bad one. There was. little of the rigid. pride and sinister hardness or the conceit often seen on the faces of men of the world who have spent years in spoiling their manhood; and the sensual phase of coarse dissipation was quite wanting. You will and in artificial metropolitan society many men so emasculated that they are quite vain / that they are blas6, and who, with conscious super. A ,ASRO, BUT NOT HEROIC. iority, smile disdainfully at those still possessing sims ple, wholesome tastes for things which they in their indescribable accent characterize as a c" bore." -" But Walter Gregory looked as one who early found the dregs of evil life very bitter, and his face was like that of nature when smitten with untimely frosts. ,He reached his office at last and wearily sat down to the routine work at his desk. Instead of the intent and interested look with which a young and healthful man would naturally enter on his bus- iness, his manner was rather that of dogged resolu- tion to work whether he felt like it or not, and with harsh disregard of his physical weakness. The world will never cease witnessing the wrongs that men commit against each other; but perhaps if the wrongs and cruelties that people inflict on themselves could be summed up the painful aggre- gate would be much larger. As Gregory sat bending over his writing, more from weakness than from a stooping habit, his senior partner came in, and seemingly was struck by the appearance of illness and feebleness on the part of the young man. The unpleasant impression haun- ted him, for having looked over his letters he came out of his private office and again glanced uneasily at the colorless face, which gave evidence that only sheer force of will was spurring a failing hand and brain to their tasks. At last Mr. Burnett came and laid his hand oa on his junior partner's shoulder, saying kindly:- page: 16-17[View Page 16-17] 16 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. "Come, Gregory, drop your work. You are ill The strain upon you has been too long and severe. The worst is over now, and we are going to pull through better than I expected. Don't take the matter so bitterly to heart. I admit myself that the operation promised well at first. You were misled, and so were we all, by downright deception. That the swindle was imposed on us through you was more your misfortune than fault, and it will make you a keener business man in the future. You have worked like a galley-slave all summer to retrieve matters, and have tak-en no vacation at all. You must take one how immediately, or you will break down altogether. Go off to the woods-fish, hunt, follow your fancies: and the bracing October air will make a new man of you." "I thank you very much," Gregory began. "I suppose I do need rest. In a few days I can better leave " "No," interrupted Mr. Burnett, with hearty em- phasis; " drop everything. You know I like things done right away. As soon as you finish that letter be off. Don't show your face here again till Nov- ember.", "I thank you for your interest in me," said Gregory, rising. "Indeed, I believe it would be good economy, for if I don't feel better soon I shall be of no-use here or anywhere else." "That's it," said old Mr. Burnett kindly; "sick and blue, they go together. Now be off to the woods, and send me some game. I won't inquire A HERO, BUT NOT HEROIC; 17 too sharply whether you brought it down with lead or silver." Walter soon left the office, and made his arrange. ments to start on his trip early the next morning. His purpose was to make a brief visit to the home of his boyhood and then to go wherever a vagrant fancy might lead. The ancestral place was no longer in his family, though he was spared the pain of seeing it pass into the hands of strangers. It had been purchased a few years since by an old and very dear friend of his deceased father-a gentleman by the name of Wal- ton. It had so happened that Walter had rarely met his father's friend, who had been engaged in business' at the West, and of his family he knew little more than that there were two daughters- one that had married a Southern gentleman, and one, much younger, residing with her father. Wal- ter had been much abroad as the European agent of his house, and it was during this absence that Mr. Walton had retired from business and purchased the old Gregory homestead. Walter felt sure, however, that though a comparative stranger himself he would, for his father's sake, be a welcome visitor at the home of his childhood. At any rate he determined to test the matter, for the moment he found himself at liberty he felt a strange and eager longing to re- visit the scenes of the happiest portion of his life. He had meant to pay such a visit -in the previous spring, soon after his arrival from Europe, when his elation at being made partner in the house which he page: 18-19[View Page 18-19] 18 OPENING, A CHESTNUT BURR. so long had served as clerk reached almost the point of happiness. Among those who had welcomed him back, was a man little older than himself, who, in his ab- sence, had become known as a successful operator in Wall Street. They had been quite intimate before Walter went abroad, and -tHe friendship was renewed at once. Gregory quite prided himself on his knowledge of the world, and was not one by nature inclined to make hasty trust; and yet he ,did' place implicit confidence in Mr. Hunting, and regarded him as a much better man than himself, Jfor he was quite an active member of a church, and his name figured on several charities, while Walter had almost ceased attending any place of worship, and spent his money selfishy upon himself, or fool- ishy upon others, giving only as prompted by some passing impulse. Indeed, Mr. Hunting had occasion- ally ventured to remonstrate with him against his tendencies to dissipation, saying that a young man of his prospects should not damage them -for the sake of passing gratification. Now, Gregory was exceedingly ambitious and bent upon accumulating wealth, and making a brilliant figure in business circles. In addition to the ordinary motives which would naturally lead him to desire such success he was in, cited by a secret one more powerful than the others combined. Before going abroad, when but a clerk, he had been the'favored Suitor of a beautiful and accom. A iZERO, BUT NOT HEROIC. 19 plished girl. Indeed, the understanding between them ,almost amounted to an engagement, and he revelled in a passionate, romantic attachment at an age when the blood is hot, the heart enthusiastic, and not a particle of worldly cynicism and adverse experience had taught him to moderate his rose- hued anticipations. She seemed the embodiment of goodness, as well as- beauty and grace, for did she not repress his tendencies to be a little fast? Did she not with more than sisterly solicitude, counsel- him to shun certain florid youth whose premature blossoming indicated that they might early run to seed? and did he not, in consequence, cut Guy Bummer, the jolliest fellow he ever knew? Indeed, more than all, had she not ventured to talk religion to him, so that for a time, he regarded himself in a very " hopeful frame of mind " and waS quite inclin- ed to take a mission class in the same school with herself? How lovely and angelic she once appeared stooping in elegant costume from her social height to the little ragamuffins of the streets that sat gap- ing around her? As he gazed adoringly, while wait- ing to be her escort home, his young heart swelled with the impulse to be good and noble also. But one day she caused him to drop out of his roseate clouds with a terrible fall. With much sweetness and resignation, and with appropriate sighs, she said that " it was her painful duty to tell him that their intimacy must cease-that she had received an offer from Mr. Grobb, and that her par- ents, and, indeed, all of her friends, had urged her page: 20-21[View Page 20-21] '20 O OPENIJNG A CIIEST -NUT B URR. to accept him. She had been-led to feel that they, with their riper experience and knowledge of life, knew what was best for her, and therefore she had yielded to their wishes and accepted te offer"She was commencing to add, in a sentimental tone, that had " she only followed the leadings of her heart when Walter, at first too stunned and bewildered to speak, recovered his senses and interrupted with: "Please don't speak of your heart, Miss Bently. Why mention so small a matter? Go on with your sale by all means. I am a business man myself, and do not feel called upon to interfere with any mans bargain, even though he is getting cheated." And he turned on his heel and strode from the room, leaving Miss Bently quite ill at ease. The young man's first expression of having received, as it were, a stagger- ing blow and then his bitter satire made quite an im- pression on her cotton and wool nature, and for a time her transaction with Mr. Grobb did not wear the aspect in which it had been presented by her friends. But her little world so confidently and continually reiterated the statement that she had made a " splen- did match" that her qualms vanished, and she felt that what all asserted must be true, and so entered on the gorgeous preparations as if the weddingwere all and the man nothing. It is the custom to satirize or bitterly denounce such girls, but perhaps they are more to be pitied. shey are the natural products of artificial society, in which wealth, show, and the social eminence which A HERO, BUT NOT TIEROIC,. 21 is based on dress and establishment are held out as the prizes of a woman's existence. The only won- der is that so much heart and truth assert themselves among those who all their life have seen wealth practically worshipped, and worth, ungilded, pract- ically snubbed. From ultra fashionable circles a girl is often seen developing into the noblest woman- hood, while narrow, mercenary natures} are found where far better things might have been expected. If such girls as Miss Bently could only be kept quietly one side, like a bale of merchandise, till wanted, it would not be so bad; but some of them are such brilliant belles and incorrigible coquettes that they are like certain Wall Street speculators- who threaten to "break the street " in making their own fortunes. Some natures can pocket a fair lady's refusal with a good-natured shrug as merely a bad venture and hope for better luck next time, but more can- not, especially if they are played with and deceived. Walter Gregory pre-eminently belonged to the latter class. In early life, he had breathed the very atmos- phere of truth, and his tendency to sincerity ever remained the best element of his character. His was one of those fine-fibred natures, most susceptible to serious wounding and injury. Up to this time his indiscretions had only been those of foolish, thoughtless youth, while aiming at the standard of manliness and style in vogue among his city com- panions. High-spirited young fellows, not early braced by principle, must pass through this phase as. page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] 2 2 OPENING A CHES TN UT BURR. in babyhood they cut their teeth. If there is true metal in them and they are not perverted by excep- tionally bad influences they outgrow the idea that to be fast and foolish is to be men as naturally as they do their roundabouts. It is often not so much what a man does as the state of the heart that prompts the act. In common parlance,'Walter was as good-hearted a fellow as ever breathed. Indeed he was quite inclined to noble enthusiasms. If Miss Bently had been what he imagined her, she might have led him swiftly and surely into true manhood; but she was only an adept at pretty seeming with him-, and when Mr. Grobb offered her his vast wealth, with himself as the only incum- brance, she was at once herself, and closed the bar- gain promptly. But perhaps it can be safely said, that in no den of iniquity in the city could Walter Gregory have received such moral injury as poisoned his very soul when, in Mr. Bently's elegant and respectable par- lor the "angel" he worshipped "explained how she was situated," and from a "sense of duty" stated her purpose to yield to the wishes of her friends. Walter had seen Mr. Grobb quite often, but had given him no thought, supposing him some elderly relative of the family. That he was the accepted suitor of the- girl who had sung for him sentimental ballads with tender, meaning glances, who had sweetly talked to him of religion and mis. sion work. seemed a monstrous perversion. Call it A. HERO, BUT NO7T HEROIC. 23 unjust, unreasonable, if you will, and yet it-was the most natural thing in the world for one possessing his sensitive, intense nature to pass into harsh,.bitter cynicism and to regard Miss. Bently as a type of the girl of the period. A young man is far on the road to evil when he loses faith in woman. During the formative period of character, of earthly influences, she is the most potent in making or marring him.' A kind refusal, where no false encouragement has been given, often does a man good, and leaves his faith intact, but such an experience as that of young Gregory was like -put- ting that in a fountain which would stain and embitter the waters of the stream in all its length. At the early age of twenty-two he became what is usually understood by the phrase, "A man of the world. Still his moral nature could not sink into the depths without many a bitter outcry against its wrongs. It was with no slight effort that he drowned the memory of his early home and its good influences. During- the first two or three years he occasionally had periods of passionate remorse, and made spasmodic efforts toward better things. But they were -made in human strength, and in view of the penalties of evil, rather than, because enamored of the right. Some special temp- tation would soon sweep him away into the old life and thus because of his broken'promises and hi repeated failures, he at last lost faith in himself also and lacked that self-respect without which no man * , page: 24-25[View Page 24-25] 24 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. can cope successfully with his evil nature, and an evil world. . Living in a boarding-house with none of the restraints and purifying influences of a good home, , he formed intimacies with brilliant but unscrupulous young men. The theatre became his church, and at last the code of his fast, fashionable set was that which governed his life. He avoided gross, vulgar dissipation, both because, his nature revolted at it, and also on account of his purpose to permit nothing to interfere with his prospects of advancement in business. He meant to show Miss Bently that she made a bad business speculation after all. Thus ambition became the controlling element in his char- acter; and he might have had a worse one. More- over, in all his moral debasement he never lost a decided tendency towards truthfulness and honesty. He would have starved rather than touch anything that did not belong to him, nor. would. he allow himself to deceive in matters of business, and it was upon these points that he specially prided him- self. Before going abroad he made the acquaintance of young Hunting, who morally seemed superior to his other associates, and quite an intimacy sprung up between them. Gregory's unusual business ability, coupled with his knowledge of French and German, led to his being sent abroad as agent of his firm. Five years of life in the materialistic and skeptical atmosphere of Continental cities confirmed the evil tendencies A HERO, BUT NOT HEROIC. 25 which were only too well developed before he left his own land. He became what so many appear to be in ours day, a practical materialist and atheist. Present life and surroundings, present profit and pleasure, were all in all. He in no sense recognized the exis- tence of a soul within himself having distinct needs and interests. His thoughts centred wholly on the comfort and pleasures of the day and that which would advance his earthly ambition. His skept- icism was not intellectual and in reference to the Bible and its teachings, but practical and in refer- ence-to humanity itself. He believed that with few exceptions men and women lived for their own profit and pleasure, and that religion and creeds were mat- ters of custom and fashion or the accident of birth. Only the reverence in which religion had been held, in his early home kept him from sharing fully in the contempt which the gentlemen he met abroad seemed to have for it. He could not altogether despise his mother's faith, but regarded her as a gentle enthusiast in what she did not fully under- stand. From the class of companionships which he had formed, and at the standpoint from which he viewed society, it seemed to him that unless influ- enced by some interested motive a liberal-minded man of the world must of necessity outgrow these things. With the self-deception of his kind he thought he was broad and liberal in his views, when in reality he had lost all distinction between truth and error, and was narrowing his mind down to 2 page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] 26 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. things only. Jew or Gentile, Christian or Pagan, it was becoming all one to him. Men changed their creeds and religions with other fashions, but all looked after what they believed to be the main chance, and he purposed to do the same. As time passed on, though he began to admit to himself that it was strange that one who made all things bend to 'his pleasure did not secure more. He wearied of certain things. Stronger excitements were needed to spur his jaded senses. His bets, his stakes at cards grew heavier, his pleas- ures more gross, till a delicate organization so re- volted at its wrongs and chastised him for excess that he was deterred from self-gratification in that direction. Some men's bodies are a " means of grace to them." Coarse dissipation is a physical impossibil- ity, or swift suicide in a very painful form. Young Gregory found that only in the excitements of the mind could he hope to find continued enjoyment. His ambition to accumulate large wealth and be- come a brilliant business man most accorded with his tastes and training, and on these objects he gradually concentrated all his energies, seeking in club-rooms and places of fashionable resort, recrea- tion only from the strain of business. I He recognized that the best way to advance his own interests was to serve his employers well; and this he did so effectually that at last he was made a partner in the business, and, with a sense of some- thing more like pleasure than he had known for a O , A HERO, BUT NOT HEROIC 27 long time, returned to New York and entered upon his new duties. As we have said, among those who' warmly greeted and congratulated him, was Mr. Hunting, and they gradually came to spend considerable time together, and business and money-getting were their favorite themes. Walter saw -that his friend was as keen on the track of fortune as himself, and appar- ently had been much more successful. Mr. Hunting intimated that after one reached the charmed inner circle, Wall Street was perfect Eldorado, and seemed to take pains to drop suggestions occasion- ally of how an investment shrewdly made by one with his' favored point of observation often secured' almost in a day greater return than a year of plod- ding business. - These remarks were not lost on Gregory, and the f wish became very strong that he might share in some of the splendid " hits" by which his friend was accumulating so rapidly. Usually Mr. Hunting was very quiet and self-pos- sessed, but one evening in May he came into Wal- ter's rooms in a manner indicating considerable ex- citement and elation. "Gregory!" he exclaimed, "I am going to make my fortune." "Make your fortune! You are as rich as Crce. sus now." ' "The past will be as nothing. I've struck a mine r ther than a vein." page: 28-29[View Page 28-29] 28 OPENING A -CHESTN{T BURR. "It's a pity some of your friends could not share in your luck." "Well, a few can. This is so large, and such a good thing, that I have concluded to let a few inti- mates go in with me. Only all must keep very quiet about it;" and he proposed an operation that seemed certain of success as he explained it. Gregory concluded to put into it about all-he had independent of his investment in the firm, and also obtained permission to interest his partners, and to procure an interview between them and Mr. Hunt- ing. The scheme looked so very plausible that they were drawn into it also; but Mr. Burnett drew Wal- ter aside and said: "After all, we'must place a great deal of confi- dence in Mr. Hunting's word in this matter. Are you satisfied that we can safely do so?" "I would stake my life on his word in this case," said Walter, eagerly, "and I pledge all I have put in the firm on his truth." This was the last flicker of Walter's old enthus- iasm and trust in anybody or anything, including himself. With the skill of almost genius Mr. Hunting adroitly, within the limits of the law, swindled them all and made a vast profit out of their losses. The transaction was not generally known, but even some of the hardened gamblers of the street said "it was too bad." But- the bank-officers with which Burnett & Co. did business knew about it, and if it had not been, R E B 'RO, BUT NOT HEROIC. 29. thr their leniency and aid the firm would have failed. As it was it was an all-summer struggle to regain the solid ground of safety. At first the firm was suspicious of Gregory and disposed to blame him very much. But when he federate of th e swindler, but had suffered more than He had, indeed. He had lost his ambition. The large sum ofmoney that was to be the basis of the immense fortune he had hoped to amass was gone. He had greatly prided himself on his bus- illess ability, bu t had signalized his entrance on his new and responsible position by being over-reached andswindled in a manner that had impoverished himself and almost ruined his partners. He grew very misanthropic, and was quite as bitter against himself as oth'ers. In his estimation people were eittheheir evil or had not been tempted, and he felt that after Hunting dropped the mask he go ne. He had greatly prided himself on his bus- would never trust any one again. It may be said, all this i s very un reasonable. Yes, it is; but then people will judge the world by their own experience of it, and some natures are more easily warped by evil and wrong than otherswa No logic can cope with feeling and prejudice. Because of his own misguided life and the wrong he had received hfrom others, Walter Gregory 'eas no would never trust any one again.. page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] 30 BOPENoi G A C$ESPIOTUT: BPURR. more able to form a correct estimate of society than one partially blind to judge of colors. And yet he belonged to that class who claim to pre-eminently know th'e world. Because he thought he knew it so- well -he hated and despised it, and himself as part of it. The months that followed his great and sudden downfall dragged their slow length along. He worked: early and late, without. thought of sparing himself. If he could-only see what the firm had lost through him made up, he did not care what became of himself. Why should he? There was little in the present to interest him, and the future looked, in his depressed, morbid state, as monotonous and bar- ren as the sands of a desert. - Seemingly, he, had exhauisted life, and it had lost all zest for him., But while his' power to enjoy had gone, not so his power to suffer. His conscience was uneasy, and told him in a vague way that something was wrong. Reason, or, more correctly speaking, instinict, con- demned- his life as a wretched blunder. 'He had liyved for his own enjoyment, and now, when but half through life, what was there for him to enjoy? He was like a ship on a voyage, out of provisions in mid-ocean. As in increasing weakness he dragged himself to the office during a sultry September day, the thought occured to him that the end was nearer than he ex- pected. "Let it come," he said bitterly. ' Why should I live." 4 HERO, BUT NOT HEROIC. 3; The thought of his early home recurred to him with increasing frequency, and he had a growing desire to visit it before his strength failed utterly.- Therefore, it was with a certain melancholy plea. sure that he found himself at liberty,? through the kindness of his partner, to make this visit, and at the season, too, when his boyish memories of the place, like the foliage, would be most varied and vivid. . . page: 32-33[View Page 32-33] CHAPTER II. OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. T F the reader can imagine a man visiting his own grave, he might obtain some idea of the feelings with which Walter Gregory took the boat which would land him not far from his early home. And yet so different was he from the boy who left that home fifteen years before, that it might be the same as if he were visiting the grave of a brother who had died in youth. Though the day was mild, a fresh, bracing wind blew from the west. Shielding himself from this on the after-deck, he half reclined, on account of his weakness, in a position from which he could see the shores and passing vessels upon the river. The swift gliding motion, the beautiful and familiar scenery, the sense of freedom from routine work, and the crisp, pure air, that seemed like a delicate wine all combined to form a mystic lever that began to lift his heart out of the depths of despondency. A storm had passed away, leaving not a trace. The October sun shone in undimmed splendor, and all nature appeared to rejoice in its light. The waves with their silver crests seemed chasing each other in mad glee. The sailing vessels, as they OPENING A CHESSTNUT BURR. 33 tacked to and fro across the river under the stiff, western breeze, made the water foam about their blunt prows, and the white-winged gulls wheeled in graceful circles overhead. There was :a sense of movement and life that was contagious, and Walter's dull eyes kindled with something like interest, and then he thought: "The storm lowered over these sunny shores yesterday. The gloom of night rested upon these waters but a few hours since. Why is it that nature can smile and be glad the moment the shadow pas- ses, and I cannot? Is there no sunlight for the soul? I seem as if entering a cave, that grows colder and darker at every step, and no light shines at the farther end, indicating that I may pass through it and out into the light again." Thus letting his fancy wander at will, at times half dreaming and half waking, he passed the hours that elapsed before the boat touched at a point in the highlands of the Hudson, his destination. Mak- ing a better dinner than he had enjoyed for a long time, and feeling stronger than for weeks before, he started for the place that now, of all the world, had for him the greatest attractions. There was no marked change in the foliage as yet, but only a deepening of color, like a faint flush- on the cheek of beauty. As he was driving along the familiar road, farm-house and grove, and even tree, 'ock, and thicket, began to greet him as the faces of old friends. At last, nestling in a wild picturesque valley, he saw the quaint outline of his former home 2* page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] 34 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. His heart yearned toward it, and he felt that next to his mothers face no other object could be so welt come. -, "Slower, please," he said to the driver. Though his eyes were moist, and. at times dim with tears, not a feature in the scene escaped him. When near the gateway he sprang out with a lights ness that he would not have believed possible the day before, and said: ( Come for me at five." For a little time he stood leaning on the gate. Two children were playing in the lawn, and it almost seemed to him that the elder, a boy of about ten years, might be himself, and he a passing stranger, who had merely stopped to look at the pretty scene. "Oh! that I were a boy like that one there. Oh! that .I were here again as of old," he sighed. "How unchanged it all is, and I, so changed! It seems as if the past were mocking me. That must be me there playing with my little sister. Mother must be sewing in her cheery south room, and father surely is taking his after-dinner nap in the library. Can it be that they are all dead save me? and this is but a beautiful and mocking mirage?" He felt that he could riot meet any one until be. coming more composed, and so passed on up the val. ley. Before tuirning away he noticed that a lady, dressed in Scotch plaid, came out of the front door. The children joined her and they seemingly started for a walk. Looking wistfully on either side, Walter soon OPENING A CEBESTNUT BURR. came to a point where the orchard extended to the road. A well-remembered fall pippin tree hung its laden boughs over the fence, and the fruift looked so ripe and golden in the slanting rays of October sun- light that he determined to try one of the apples and see if it tasted as of old. As he climbed upon the wall a loose stone fell clattering down and rolled into the road. He did not notice this, but an old man dozing on the porch of a little house qpposite did. As Walter reached up his cane to detach from its spray a great, yellow-cheeked fellow his hand was arrested and he was almost startled off his perch by such a volley of oaths as even shocked his hardened ears. Turning gingerly around so as not to loose his footing, he faced this masked battery that had opened so unexpectedly upon him, and saw a white- haired old man balanctng himself on one crutch and brandishing the other at him. "Stop knockin' down that wall and fillin' the road with stuns, you- " shouted the venerable man, in tones that indicated anything but the calm- ness of age. "Let John Walton's apples alone, you -thief. What do you mean by robbin' in broad daylight, right under a man's nose?" Walter saw that he had a character to deal with, ind, to divert his mind from thoughts that were ,rowing too painful, determined to draw the old nan out; so said : "Is nottaking things so'openly a rather honest ray of robbing?" "Git down, I tell yer," cried the guardian of the page: 36-37[View Page 36-37] 36 OPEN-ING A CHESTNUT BURR. orchard. "Suppose 'tis, it's robbin' arter all. So now move on, and none of yer cussed impudence. ' "But you call them John Walton's apples," said Walter eating one with provoking coolness. What have you got to do with them? and why should you care?" "Now look here, stranger, you're an infernal mean cuss to ask such questions. Ain't John Wal- ton my neighbor? and a good neighbor, too? D'ye suppose a well-meanin' man like myself would stand by and see a neighbor robbed? and of all others, John Walton? Don't you know that robbin' a good man brings bad luck, you thunderin' fool?" "But I've always had bad luck, so I needn't stop on that account," retorted Walter from the fence. "I believe it, and you allers will," vociferated the old man, " and I'll tell yer why. I know from the cut of yer jib that yer've allers been eatin' for- bidden fruit. If yer lived now a good, square life like 'Squire Walton and me, you'd have no reason 'to complain of yer luck. If I could get a clip at yer with this crutch I'd give yer suthin' else to com- plain of. If yer had any decency yer wouldn t stand t Je a jibin' at an old, lame man." Walter took off his hat with a polite bow and said, "I beg your pardon, I was under the impres- sion that you doing the.'cussing.' I shall come and see you soon, for somehow it does me good to have you swear at me. I only wish I had as good a friend in the world as Mr. Walton has in you." With these words he sprang from the fence on the orchard side, OPENING A CHESTATUT BURR \ . and made his way to the hill back of the Walton residence, leaving the old man mumbling and mut- tering in a very profane manner that- "Like enough it was somebody visitin' at the Waltons, and he had made a-'fool of himself after all. What's worse, that poor, little, sick Miss Eulie will hear I've been swearin' agin, and there'll be another awful prayin' time. What a cussed old fool I am to promise to quit swearin' I know I can't. What is the good o' stoppin'. It's inside, and might as well come out. The Lord knows I don't mean no disrespect to Him. It's only one of my ways. He knows well enough that I'm a good neighbor, and what's the harm in a little cussin'?" And so the strange, old man talked on to himself in the inter- vals between long pulls at his pipe. By the time Walter reached the top of the hill his strength was quite exhausted, and, panting, he sat down on the sunny side of a thicket of cedars, for the late afternoon was growing chilly. Beneath him lay the one oasis in a desert world. With an indescribable blending of pleasure-and pain, he found himself tracing with his eye every well-remembered path, and marking every familiar object. Not a breath of air was stirring, and it would seem that nature was seeking to impart to his per- turbed spirit, full of the restless movement of city life, and the inevitable disquiet of sin, something of her own calmness and peace. -The only sounds he heard seemed a part of nature's silence ;-the tinkle page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] 38 OPcENrNG A CbESTNUT BURR.. t of cow-bells, the slumbrous monitone of water as it fell over the dam, the grating notes of a katydid, rendered hoarse by recent cool nights, in a shady ravine near by, and a black cricket chirping at the edge of the rock on which he sat--these were all. And yet the sounds, though not heard for years, seemed as familiar as the mother's lullaby that puts a child to sleep, and a delicious sense of quiet and restfulness stole into his heart. The world in which he had so greatly sinned and suffered might be ano- ther planet, it seemed so far away. Could it be that in a few, short hours he had escaped out of the hurry and grind of New York into this sheltered nook? Why had he not come before? Here was the remedy for soul and body, if there were any. Not a person was visible on the premises, and it seemed that it might thus have been awaiting him in all his absence and that now he had only to go and take possession. "So our sweet and beautiful home in heaven awaits us, mother used to say," he thought, "' while we are such willing exiles from it, I would give all the world to believe what mother did." Re found that the place so inseparably associ. ated with his mother brought back her teachings, which he had so often tried to forget. 'I wish I might bury myself here, away from the world," he muttered, "for it has only cheated and lied to me from first to last. Every- thing deceived me, and turned out differently from what I expected. These loved old scenes OPENING A CHESTNUT"BURR. 39 are true and unchanged, and: smile upon me now as when I was here a happy boy. Would to heaven I might never leave them again." Hie was startled out of his revery by the sharp bark of a squirrel that ran chattering and whisking its tail in great excitement from limb to limb in- a clump of chestnuts near. The crackling of a twig betrayed to Walter the cause of its alarm, for through an opening in the thicket he saw the lady who had started out for a walk with the children while he was leaning on the front gate. Shrinking farther behind the cedars he purposed to reconnoitre a little before making himself known. He noticed that she was dressed in Scotch plaid, that seemed to have a pretty fitness for rambling among the hills. At first he thought she was pretty, and then that she was not. His quick, critical eye de tected that her features were not regular, that a classic profile was wanting. It was only the rich glow of exercise and jaunty gypsy hat that had given the first impression of something like beauty. In her right hand which was ungloved, she daintily held; by its short stem, a chestnut burr, which the squirrel, in its alarm, had dropped, and now, in Its own, shrill vernacular, was scolding so vociferously about. She was glancing around for some means to break it open, and Walter had scarcely time to notice her fine, dark eyes, when, as if remembering the rock on which he had been sitting, she advanced toward him with a step so quick and elastic that he envied her vigor. r '* "I-f page: 40-41[View Page 40-41] OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. Further concealment was now impossible. Therefore, with easy politeness, he stepped forward and said: "Let me open the burr for you, Miss Walton." She started violently at the sound of his voice, and, for a moment, reminded him of a frightened bird on the eve of taking flight. "Pardon me for so alarming you," Walter has- tened to say, "and also pardon a seeming stranger for addressing you informally. My name may not be unknown to you, though I am in person. It is Walter Gregory." She had been so startled that she could not im- mediately recover herself, and still stood regarding him doubtfully, though with manner more assured. "Come," said he, smiling and advancing toward her, with the quiet assurance of a society man. "Let me open the burr for you, and you shall take its contents in confirmation of what I say. If I find sound chesnuts in it, let them be a token that I am what I represent myself. If not, then you may justly ask better credentials." Half smiling, and quite' satisfied from his words and appearance in advance, she extended the burr toward him. But as she did so it parted from the stem, and would have fallen to the ground had he not, with his ungloved hand, caught the prick- ly thing. His hand was as white and soft as hers, and though the sharp spines stung him sorely he permitted no sign of pain to come out upon his face. OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. 41 "Ah!" exclaimed Miss Walton, "I fear it hurt you. Hle looked up humorously and said, "An augury is a solemn affair, and no disrespect must be allowed to nature's oracles, which in this case is a chestnut -burr, and he speedily opened it. "There!" he said, triumphantly, "what more could you ask? Here are two solid, plump chest- nuts, with only a false, empty form of shell between them. And here, like the solid nuts, are two peo- ple entitled to each other's acquaintance, with only the false formality of an introduction, like the' empty shell, keeping them apart. Since no mutual friend is present to introduce us, has not nature taken upon herself the office through this chestnut burr? But perhaps I should further nature's efforts by giving you my card." As Miss Walton regained composure, she soon proved to Gregory that she was not merely a shy, country girl. At the close of his rather long and fanciful speech she said, genially, extending her hand: "My love for nature is unbounded, Mr. Gregory, and the introduction you have so happily obtained from her weighs more with me than any other that you could have had. Let me welcome you to your own home, as it were. But see, your hand is bleed- ing, where the burr pricked you. Is this an omen, also? If our first meeting brings bloody wounds, I fear you will shun further acquaintance, lest I cause your death." page: 42-43[View Page 42-43] 42 OPENINVG A CHESTNUT BURR. There was a spice of bitterness in Gregory's laugh, as he said: People don't often" die of-such wounds. But it is a little odd that the first time I took your hand I should stain it with my blood. I am inclined to drop the burr after all, and base all my claims on my practical visiting card. You may come to look upon the burr as a warning, rather than an introduction, i and order me off the premises." "It was an omen of your choice," replied Miss Walton laughing. "You have more to fear from it than I. If you will venture to stay you will be most welcome. Indeed, it almost seems that you 'have a better right here than we, and your name has been' so often heard that you are no stranger, I know father will be very glad to see you, for he often speaks of you, and wonders if you are like his old friend, the dearest one, I think, he ever had. How long have you been here : " "Well, I have been wandering about the place much of the afternoon." "I need not ask you why you did not come in at once," she said gently. '"Seeing your old home after so long an absence, is like meeting some dear friend. One naturally wishes to be alone for a time. But now I hope you will go home with me."' He was surprised at her delicate appreciation of his feelings, and gave her a quick pleased look, saying: "Nature has taught you to be a good interpre. tess, Miss Walton. You are right. The memories OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. 43 of the old place were a little too much for me at first, and I did not know that those whom I met would appreciate my feelings so delicately." The two children now appeared, running around the brow of the hill, the boy calling in great excite- ment: "Aunt Annie, oh! Aunt Annie, we've- found a squirrel-hole. We chased him into it. Can't Susie sit by the hole and keep him in, while I go for a spade to dig him out.?" Then they saw the unlooked-for stranger, who at once rivalled the squirrel-hole in interest, and with slower steps,. and shy, curious glances, approached. "These are my sister's children," said Miss Wal- ton, simply. Walter kindly took the boy by the hand, anG kissed the little girl, who looked half-frightened and half-pleased, as a very little maiden should, while she rubbed her cheek that his moustache had tick- led. "Do you think we can get the squirrel, Aunt. Annie?" again asked the boy. "Do, you think it would be right, Johnnie, if you could?" she asked. "Suppose you were the squirrel in the hole, and one big monster like Susie, here, should sit by the door, and you heard another big monster say, Wait till I get something to tear open his house with. How would you feel?" "I won't keep the poor little squirrel in his hole," said sympathetic Susie. But the boy's brow contracted and he said, I page: 44-45[View Page 44-45] sternly "Squirrels are nothing but robbers, and their holes are robbers' dens. They take half our Miss Walton looked significantly at Gregory,and laughed, saying: "There it is, you see, man and woman." A momentary shadow crossed his face andhe said abruptly: "I hope Susie will be as kindly in coming years." Miss. Walton looked at him curiously as they began to descend the hill to the house. She evi- dently did not understand his remark, coupled with his manner. As they approached the barn there was great excitement among the poultry. Passing round its - angle, Walter saw coming toward them a quaint- looking old woman, in what looked very much like a white scalloped night-cap. She had a pan of corn in her hand, and was attended by a retinue that would have rejoiced an epicure's heart. Chickens, ducks, geese, turkeys, and Guinea fowls thronged around and after her with an intentness on the grain and a disregard of each other's rights and feelings that reminded one unpleasantly of political aspir- ants just after a Presidential election. Johnnie made a dive for an old gobbler, and the huge bird dropped its wings and seemed inclined to show fight, but a reluctant armistice was brought about between them by the old woman screaming: ;' Maister Johnnie, an ye let pot the fowls alone ye'll ha na apples toast the night." OPENING A CESTNUT BURR. 45 Susie clung timidly to her auntie's side as they passed through these clamorous candidates for holi- day honors, and the young lady sfid kindly: "You have a large family to look after, Zibbie,- but I'm afraid we'll lessen it every day now." "Indeed an ye will, and it goes agin the grain to wring the necks of them that I've nursed, as it were, from babies," said the old woman, rather sharply. "It must be a great trial to your feelings," said Miss Walton, laughing. "But what tWould you have us do with them, Zibbie? You don't need them all for pets." Before Zibbie could answer, an old gentleman in a low buggy drove into the large door-yard, and the children bounded towards him screaming, "Gralnd- pa." A colored man appeared from the barn-yard and took the horse, and Mr. Walton, with a briskness that; one would not suspect at his advanced age, came toward them. He was a noble-looking old man, with hair and beard as white as snow and the stately manners of the old school. When he learned who Walter was he greeted him with a cordiality that was so genuine and hearty that the cynical man of the world was compelled to feel its truth. Mr. Walton's eyes were turned so often and wist- fully on his face that Walter was really ermbar. rassed. "I was looking for my friend," said the old gen. page: 46-47[View Page 46-47] " OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. tleman, in a husky voice, turning hastily away to hide his feeling. "You strongly remind me of him, and yet- "But he never finished the sentence. Gregory well understood the " and yet," and in bitterness of soul remembered that his father had been a good man, but that the impress of goodness could not rest on his face. He had now grown very weary, and gave evi- dence of it. "Really, Mr. Gregory, you look ill," said Miss Walton, hastily. "I am not well," he said, " and have not been for a long time. Perhaps I am going beyond my strength to-day." In a moment they were all solicitude. The driver, who then appeared according to his instruc- tions, was posted back to the hotel for Mr. Greg- ory's luggage, Mr. Walton saying, with hearty em- phasis that removed every scruple: "' This must be your home, sir, as long as you can stay with us, as truly as ever it was." A little later he found himself in the spare room whose state he had rarely intruded on when a boy. Jeff, the colored man, had kindled a cheery wood fire on the ample hearth, and, too exhausted even to think, he -sank back in a great easy chair with the blessed sense of the storm-tossed on reaching a quiet haven. CHAPTER III. MORBID BROODING. TO the millions who are suffering in mind or body there certainly comes in this world moments of repose, when pain ceases; and the respite seems so delicious in contrast that it may well'suggest the "rest that remaineth." Thinking of neither the past nor the'future, Walter for a little time gave himself up to the sense of present and luxurious comfort. With closed eyes and mind almost as quiet as his motionless body he let the moments pass, feeling dimly that he would ask no better heaven than the eternal continuance of this painless half-dreaming lethargy. He was soon aroused, however, by a knocking at the door, and a decent middle-aged serving-woman placed before him a tempting plate of Albert biscuit and a glass of home-made currant wine of indefinite age. The quaint and dainty little lunch caught his appetite as exactly as if manna had fallen from' heaven adapted to his need: but it soon stimulated him out of his condition. of partial non-existence. With returning consciousness of the necessity of living and acting came the strong desire to spend as much of his vacation as possible in his old home, and he page: 48-49[View Page 48-49] 48 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. determined to avail himself of Mr. Walton's invita, tion to the utmost limit that decency would permit. His awakened mind gave but little thought to his entertainers, and he did not anticipate much pleas. ure from their society. He was satisfied that they were refined, cultured people, with whom he could be as much at ease as would be possible in any com- panionship, but he hoped and purposed to spend the -most of his time alone in wandering amid old scenes and brooding over the past. The morbid mind is ever full of unnatural contradictions, and he found a melancholy pleasure in turning his back on the future and recalling the time when he was happy and hopeful. In his egotism, he found more in his past and vanished self to interest than anything in the world around. Evil and ill health had so enfeebled his body, narrowed his mind, and blurred the future that his best solace seemed avain and sentimental recalling of the crude yet comparatively happy period of childhood. This is sorry progress. A man must indeed have lived radifally wrong when he looks backward for the best of his life. Gray-haired Mr. Walton was looking forward. Walter's habit of self-pleasing-- of acting according to his mood--was too deeply seated to permit even the thought of returning the hospitality he hoped to enjoy by a cordial effort on his part to prove himself an agreeable guest. Polite he ever would be, for he had the instincts and train- ing of a gentleman in society's interpretation of the word, but he had lost the power to feel a generous MORBID BROODING. 49 solicitude for the feelings and happiness of others. Indeed, he rather took a cynical pleasure in discov- ering defects in the character of those around him, and in learning that their seeming enjoyment of life was but hollow and partial. Conscious of being evil himself, he liked to think others were not much better, or would not be if tempted. Therefore, with a gloomy skepticism, he questioned all the seeming happiness ard goodness he saw. "It is either unreal or untried,"'he was wont to say bitterly. About seven o'clock Hannah, the waitress, again appeared saying: "Supper is ready, but-the ladies beg you will not come down unless you feel able. I can bring your tea up on a tray if you wish." Thinking first and only of self, he at once decided not to go down. He felt sufficiently rested and revived, but was in no mood to talk common- place to comparative strangers. His cosey chair, glowing fire, and listless ease were so much better than noisy children, inquisitive ladies, and the un- conscious reproach of Mr. Walton's face, as he would look in vain for the lineaments of his lost friend. Therefore he said suavely: "Please say to the ladies that I am so wearied that I would make but a dull companion; and so for their sakes as well as my own had better not leave my room again this evening." Coarse grasping and snatching for self in swinish 3 page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] 50 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. style is very revolting, but the same spirit can be prettily disguised. It is the perfection of art in sel- fishness to make-it appear as if you were thinking only of others. This was the design of Walter's polite message. Soon a bit of tender steak, a roast potatoe, tea and toast were smoking appetizingly beside him, and he congratulated himself that he had escaped the bore of company for one evening. Notwithstanding his misanthropy and cherished desolation the supper was so inviting that he was tempted to partake of it heartily. Then encasing himself in his ample dressing-gown he placed his slippered feet on the fender before a cheery fire, lighted a choice Havana, and proceeded to be mis- erable after the fashion that indulged misery often affects. Hannah quietly removed the tea-tray, and Mr. Walton came up and courteously inquired if there was anything that would add to his guest's com- fort. "After a few hours of rest and quiet I hope I shall be able to make better return for your hospi- tality," Walter rejoined with equal politeness. "Oh, do not feel under any obligation to exert yourself," said kind Mr. Walton. "In order to de- rive full benefit from your vacation you must simply rest and follow your moods." This. view of the case suited Walter exactly, and the prospect of a visit at, his old home grew still more inviting. After being left alone he gave Slim. elf up wholly to thte memories of the past MORBID BROODING. 51 At first it was with a pleasurable pain that he recalled his former life. With an imagination naturally strong he lived it all over again, com- mencing with the date of his first recollections. In the curling flames and glowing coals on the hearth a panorama passed before him. He saw a joyous child, a light-hearted boy, and sanguine youth with the shifting'and familiar scenery of well-remembered experience. Time softened the pictures, and the harsh, rough outlines which exist in every truthful portraiture of life were lost in the haze of distance. The gentle but steady light of mother love, and through her a pale, half-recognized reflection of the love of God, illumined all these years; and his father's strong, quiet affection made a background anything but dark. He had been naturally what is termed a very good-boy, full of generous impulses. There had been no lack of ordinary waywardness or faults of youth, but they showed a tendency to yield readily to the correcting influence of love. Good impulses, however, are not principles, and may give way to stronger impulses of evil. If only the influences of his early home had followed him he would not now be moodily recalling the past as the exiled convict might watch the shores of his native land recede. And yet as in his prolonged reverie- the fire burned low and the ruddy coals turned to ashes-the past faded into distance, and his present life, dull and leaden, rose up before him, and from regretful memories that were not wholly painful he passed -to page: 52-53[View Page 52-53] 2 OPENIN$ A CHESTNUT BURR. that bitterness of feeling which ever comes when hope is giving place to despair. The fire flickered out and died, his head drooped lower and lower, while the brooding frown upon his brow darkened almost into a scowl. Outwardly he made a sad picture for a young man in the prime of life, but to Him who looks at the attitude of the soul, what but unutterable love kept him from appearing absolutely revolting? Suddenly, like light breaking into a vault, a few notes of prelude were struck upon the piano in the parlor below, and a sweet Voice, softened by distance, sang- "Rock of ages, cleft for me, Let me hide myself in thee." How often he had heard the familiar words and music in that same home. They seemed to crowr and complete all the memories of the place, but they reminded him more clearly than ever before that its most inseparable associations were holy hopeful, and suggestive of a faith that seemingly he had lost as hopelessly as if it had been a gem droppe into the ocean. He had lived in foreign lands far from his birth i place, but the power and purpose to return wer {i - thoughts that ever dwelt pleasurably in his mind 'e / But how could he cross the gulf that yawned be " tween him and the faith of his childhood? Wa 'i11 there really anythi .lg beyond that gulf save what th I credulous imagination had created? Instinctivel Dri71 - i he felt that there was, for be was honest enoug M1IORBID BROODING. 53 with himself to remember that his skepticism was the result of an evil life and the influence of an unbelieving world rather than of patient investiga- tion. The wish was father of the thought. Yet sweet, unfaltering, and clear as the voice of faith ever should be, the hymn went forward in the room below, his memory supplying the well-known words that were lost because of distance.. "When mine eyelids close in death, When I soar to world's unknown." "Oh, when!" he exclaimed bitterly. "What shall be my, experience then? If I continue to fail in health as I have of late I shall know cursedly soon. That must be Miss Walton singing. Though she does not realize it, to me this is almost as cruel mockery as if an angel sang at the gates of hell." The music ceased and the monitone of one read- ing followed. "Family-prayers as of old," he muttered. "How everything conspires to-day to bring my home-life back again, and yet there is a fatal lack of something that is harder to endure than the absence of my own kindred and vanished youth. I doubt whether I can stay here long after all. - Will not the mocking fable of Tantalus be repeated constantly, and I see others drinking daily at a fountain Which though seemingly so near is ever beyond my reach?" Shivering with the chill of the night and the deeper chill at heart, he retired to troubled sleep. -% page: 54-55[View Page 54-55] CHAPTER IV. HOW MfSS WALTON MANAGED PEOPLE. EST, the sunny light and bracing air of the fol- lowing morning banished much of Walter's moodiness, and he descended the stairs.purposing to dismiss painful thoughts and get what comfort and semblance of enjoyment he could out of the passing hour. Mr. Walton met him cordially--indeed with almost fatherly solicitude--and led him at once to the dining-room, where an inviting breakfast awaited. Miss Walton also was genial, and introduced Miss Eulalia Morton, a maiden sister of her mother. Miss Eulie, as she was familiarly called, was a pale, delicate little lady, with a face sweetened rather than harden- ed and embittered by time. If, as some believe, the. flesh and the spirit, the soul and the body, are ever at variance, she gave the impression at first glance that the body was getting the worst of the conflict. But in truth the faintest thoughts of strife seemed to have no association with her whatever. She ap. peared so light and erial that one could imagine her flying over the rough places of life, and vanish- ing when any one opposed her. Miss Walton reversed all this, for she was decide edly substantial. A fine figure made her appear HtOW MSS WXALTON MANAGED PEOPLE. 55 taller than she really was, for she was only of medium height. She immediately gave the impression of power and reserve force. You felt it ill her quick elastic step. ' You saw it in her decided though not abrupt movements, and heard it in her tone. Even the nonchalant Mr. Gregory could not ignore her in his customary polite manner, though a quiet refine- ment and peculiar unobtrusiveness seemed her char- acteristics. She won attention, not because she sought it, nor on the ground of eccentricities, but because of her own intense vitality. From her dark eyes a close observer might catch glimpses of a quick, active mind, an eager spirit, and, well--per- haps a passionate temper. Though chastened and subdued, she ever gave the impression of power to those who came to know her well. In certain ways as they interpreted her people did acknowledge this force of her character. Some spoke of her as very lively others as exceedingly energetic and willing to enter on any good work. Some thought her ambi- tiousj else why was she so prominent in church mat- ters, and so ready to visit the sick and poor. They could explain this in but one way. And some looked knowingly at each other and said: "I wonder if she is always as smiling and sweet as when in society? ' and then followed shak- ing of heads which intimated, " look out for sudden gusts., Again, as in simple morning wrapper, she turned to greet Walter, she gave him the impression of- something like beauty. But his taste, rendered nice page: 56-57[View Page 56-57] 56 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. and critical by much observation both at home and abroad, at once told him that he was mis. taken. "The expression is well enough," he thought, I' but she has not a single perfect feature--not one that an artist would copy, except perhaps the eyes, and even they are not soft and Madonna-like." Walter had a sybarite's eye for beauty, and in- tense admiration for it. At the same time he was too intellectual to be, satisfied with the mere sen- suous type. And yet when he decided that a woman was not pretty, she ceased to interest him. His exacting taste required no small degree of outward perfection crowned by ready wit and society polish. With such he had frequently amused himself in New York and Paris by a passing flirtation since the poli- tic Miss Bently had made him a skeptic in regard to Women. All his intercourse with society had con- firmed his cynicism. The most beautiful and bril- liant in the drawing-rooms were seldom the best present. He flattered them to their faces and sneered at them in his heart. His attentions were merely of a nature to 'excite their vanity, fed by much incense from other sources. He saw this plainly manifested vanity which he contributed to develop and despised it. He saw them as eager for a good match as ever the adored-Miss Bently had been, and that, though they liked his compliments, they cared nothing for him. Why should they? In- sincere and selfish himself, why should he expect to awaken better feelings on the part of those who were HOW AMSS WAL TON 4ANX GED PEOPLE. 57 anything but unsophisticated, and from knowledge of the world could gauge him at his true worth. Not even a silly sentimental girl would show her heart to such a man. And yet with the blind ego- tism of selfishness he smiled grimly at their heart- lessness and said, "Such is woman." At the same time in justice it must be said that he despised men in general quite as sincerely. (, Human nature is wretched stuff," had come to be the first article in his creed. lk He concluded in regard to Miss Walton: "She is a goodish girl, more of a lady than the average, pious and orthodox, excellent housekeeper, and a great comfort to her father, no doubt. She is safe, from her very plainness, though confident, of course, that she could resist temptation and be a saint under all circumstances; " and he dismissed her from his mind with a sort of inward groan and protest against the necessity of making himself agreeable to her during his visit. He did not think it worth while to specially dis- guise his face, as he-made these brief critical observa- tions, and quick-witted Anne gathered something of the drift of his thoughts, as she stole a few glances at him from behind the coffee-urn. It piqued her a pride a little, and she was disappointed in him, for she had hoped for an agreeable addition to their society for a time. But she was so supremely indif- ferent to him, and had so much to pleasurably fill her thoughts and days, that his slight promise to prove an agreeable visitor caused but momentary 3 page: 58-59[View Page 58-59] 558 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. annoyance. But a glimmer of a smile flitted across her face as she thought: "He may find himself slightly mistaken in regard to me after all. His face seemed to say, "No doubt she is a good young woman, and well enough for this slow country place, but she has no beauty, no style." "I think I can manage to disturb the even cur. rent of his vanity," she thought, "if he will stay long enough, and he shall learn at least that I wil not gape admiringly at his artificial metropolitar airg." Her manner toward Gregory remained full -of kindness and grace, but she made no effort to secure his attention and conversation, as he feared. She acted as if she were accustomed to see such persons as himself at her father's breakfast-table every morn. ing; and, though habitually wrapped up in himself, Gregory soon became dimly conscious that her course toward him was different from what he ex- pected. Miss Euhe was all solicitude in view of his char- acter of invalid, and the children looked at him with curious eyes and growing disapprobation. There was nothing in him to secure their instinctive friend- ship, and he made no effort to win their sympathies. The morning meal commenced with a reverent looking to heaven for God's blessing on the gifts which were acknowledged as coming from Him; and even Gregory was compelled to admit that the -brief rite did not appear like a careless signing of tile HOW MSS WALTON MANAGED PEOPLE. 59 cross, nor a shrivelled form from which spirit and meaning had departed, but a sincere expression of loving trust and gratitude. Mr. Walton dwelt on the circumstances that led to his friendship with Walter's father during the greater part of the meal, but at last the conversation flagged a little as the young man made so little effort to maintain it. Suddenly Mr. Walton turned to his daughter and said: "By the way, Annie, you have not told me where you found Mr. Gregory, for my impression is that you brought him down from the hills." "I was about to say that I found him in a chest- nut burr," replied Annie, with a twinkle in her eye. "At least I found a stranger by the cedar thicket, and he proved out of a chestnut burr who he was, and his right to acquaintance with a better logic than I supposed him capable of." "Indeed," asked Walter quickly, feeling the prick of her last words; s" on what ground were you led to estimate my logic so slightingly?" "On merely general grounds; but you see I am open to all evidence in your favor. City life has no doubt great advantages, but it also has greater draw- backs." "What are they?" "I cannot think of them all now. Suffice it to say that if you had always lived in the city you could not have interpreted a chestnut burr so gracefully Many there seem to forget nature's lore." An, - s page: 60-61[View Page 60-61] 60 OPENING A CHESTN U T BURR. "But may they not learn other things more val- uable?" Miss Walton shook her head, and said with a laugh, "An ignorant exhorter once stated to his little schoolhouse audience that Paul was brought up at the foot of the hill Gamaliel. I almost wish he were right, for I should have had more confidence in the teachings of the hill than of the narrow-minded Jewish Rabbi." "And yet you regard Paul as the very chief of tlhe. apostles." "He became such after he was taught of Him who teaches through the hills and nature generally." "My daughter is an enthusiast for nature," re- marked Mr. Walton. "If the people are the same as when I was here a 13oy, the hills have not taught the majority very much," said Walter with a French shrug. "Many of them have a better wisdom than you think," answered Annie quietly. "In what does it consist?" "Well, for one thing they know how to enjoy life, and add to the enjoyment of others." Walter looked at her keenly for a moment, but saw nothing that would lead him to think that she was speaking on other than general principles; but t a. he said, a little moodily, as they rose from the table, "that certainly is a better wisdom than is usually attained -in either city or country." "It is not our custom to make company of our friends," said Mr. Walton cordially. "We hope '4,? , ,/ OOW' MSSE WALTON MANAGED PEOPLE. 61 you will feel completely at home, and come and go and do just what you find agreeable. We dine at two, and have an early supper on account of the children. There are one or two fair saddle horses on the place, but if you do not feel strong enough for that Annie can drive you out, and I assure you she is at home in the management of a horse." "Yes, indeed," echoed the little boy. Aunt An- nie can manage anything or anybody." "That is a remarkable power," said Walter with an amused look and side glance at the young lady. "How does she do it?" "Oh, I dont know," replied the boy; " she sorter makes them love her -and then they want to do as she says." A momentary wrathful gleam shot from Annie's eyes at her indiscreet little champion, but with heightened color she joined in the laugh that fol- lowed. Gregory had the ill grace to say with a sort of nocking gallantry as he bowed himself out.,- "It must be delightful to be managed on such terms. page: 62-63[View Page 62-63] CHAPTER V. WAS IT AN ACCIDENT? PUTTING on a light overcoat for the morning air was sharp and bracing, Walter soon found him- self in the old square garden. Though. its glory was decidedly on the wane, it was as yet unnipped by the frost. It had a neatness and order of its own that were quite unlike those where nature is in en- tire subserviency to art. Indeed, it looked very much as he remembered it in the past, and he wel- comed its unchanged aspect. He strolled to many other remembered boyish haunts, and it seemed as if the very lichens and mosses grew in the same places and nature had stood still and awaited his return. And yet every familiar object chided him for being so changed, and he began to find more of pain than pleasure as this contrast between himself and what he had been, and might have been, was constantly forced upon him. "Oh! that I had never left this place," he ex- claimed bitterly. "It would have been better to have stayed here and drudged as a day laborer. What has that career out in the world to which I looked forward so ardently amounted to? The WAS IT AN ACCIDENT? 63 present is disappointment and- self-disgust, the fu. ture an indefinite region of fears and forebodings, and even the happy past is becoming a bitter riock- cry by reminding me of what can never be again." Wearied and despondent, he moodily returned to the house and threw himself on a lounge in the parlor where a smouldering wood fire upon the hearths softened the air to summer temperature. The heat was grateful to his chilled, bloodless body and gave him a luxurious sense of physical comfort, and he muttered: "I had about purposed to leave this place with its memories that are growing into torment, but I suppose it would be the s/me anywhere else. I am too weak and ill to face new scenes and discomfort. A little animal enjoyment and bodily respite from pain seemn about all that is left to me of existence, and I think I can find these here better than elsewhere. If I am expected however, to fall under the manage- ment of the daughter of the house on the terms blur- ted out by that fidgety nephew of hers, I will fly for my life. A plague on him! His restlessness makes me nervous. If I could endure a child: at all, the blue-eyed little girl would make a pretty toy." Sounds from the sitting-room back of the parlor now caught his attention, and listening he soon became aware that Miss Walton was teaching the children. - "She has just the voice for a 'schoolmarmf^ he thought--" quick, clear cut, and decided." If he had not given way, to unreasonable preju. page: 64-65[View Page 64-65] " OPENrING A CHESTNUT BURR. dice he might also have noted that there was noth. ing harsh or querulous. "She doubtless thinks herself the personification of goodness with her managment and love of nature. I suppose I shall be well lectured before I get away. I had a foretaste of it this morning. 'Drawhacks of city life,' forsooth! She no doubt regards me as a result of these disadvantages. But if she should come to deem it her mission to convert or reform me, then will be lost my small remnant of peace and comfort." But weakness and weariness soon inclined him to sleep. Miss Walton's voice sounded far away. Then it passed into his dream as Miss Bently's chid- ing him affectedly for his wayward tendencies; again it was explaining that conscientious young lady's "sense of duty" in view of Mr. Grobb's offer, and even in his sleep his face darkened with pain and wrath. Just then, school hours being over, Miss Walton came into the parlor. For a moment, as she stood by the fire, she did not notice its unconscious occu- pant. Then seeing him, she was about to noiselessly leave the room, when the expression of his face arrested her steps. If Annie Walton's eyes suggested the probability of" sudden gusts," they also at times announced a warm, kind heart, for as she looked at him now her face instantly softened to pity. "Good he is not," she thought, "but he evidently suffers in his evil. Something is blighting his life, WAS IT AN ACCIDENAT! 65 and what can blight a life save evil? Perhaps I had better change my purposed crusade against his van- ity -and cynicism to a kind, sisterly effort toward making him a better and therefore a happier man. It will soon come out in conversation that I have long been the same as engaged to another, and this will relieve me of absurd suspicions of designs upon him. If I could win a' friendly confidence on his part, I'm sure I could tell him some wholesome truths, for even an enemy could scarcely look on that face without relenting.' There was nothing slow or cumbrous about An- nie. These thoughts had flashed through her mind during the brief moment that her eyes softened from surprise into sympathy as they caught the express- ion of Gregory's face. Then fearing to disturb him, she passed out to her wonted morning duties with silent tread. How seemingly accidental was that visit to the parlor! Its motive indefinite and forgotten. Ap- parently it was but a trivial episode of an unevent- ful day, involving no greater catastrophe than the momentary rousing of a sleeper who would doze again. But what day can we with certainty call uneventful, and what episode trivial? Those half- aimless, purposeless steps of Annie Walton into the quiet parlor might lead to results that would radically change the endless future to several lives. In her womanly, pitying nature, had not God sent his angel? If a viewless " ministering spirit," page: 66-67[View Page 66-67] " OPENING A CHESNUT BURR. as the sinful man's appointed guardian, was present, as many believe is true of every, one, how truly he must have welcomed this unselfish human compan ionship in his loving labor to save life; for only they who rescue from sin truly save life. And yet the sleeper, even in his dreams, evi- dently was at war with himself, the world, and God. He was an example of the' truth that good comes from without and not within us. It is heaven stoop- ing to men; heaven's messengers sent to us; truth quickened in our minds by heavenly influence even as sunlight and rain awaken into beautiful life the seeds hidden in the soil; and above all, impulses di- rectsfrom God,that steal into our hearts as the south wind penetrates ice-bound gardens in spring. But, alas! multitudes like Walter Gregory blind their eyes and steel their hearts against such influ- ences. God and those allied to Him longed to bring the healing of faith and love to his wounded spirit. He scowled back his answer, and, as he then felt, would shrink with morbid sensitiveness and dis- like from the kindest and most d'elicate presentation of the transforming truth. But the Divine love is ever seeking to win our attention by messengers in- numerable: now by the appalling storm, again by a summer sunset; now by an awful-providence, again by a great joy; at times by Istern prophets and teachers, but more often by the gentle human agen- cies of which Annie was the type, as with pitying face she bent over the worn and jaded man of the world and hoped and prayed that she might be able WAS IT AN ACCIDENT? 67 to act the part cf a true sister toward him. Thorny and guarded was every avenue to his heart; and yet her feminine tact, combined with the softening and purifying influence of his old home, might gain her words acceptance where the wisest and most elo- quent would plead in vain. After dinner he again hastened forth for a walk, his purpose being to avoid company, for he was so moody and morbid, so weak, nervous, and irritable, that the thought of meeting and decorously con- versing with those whose lives and character were a continued reproach was intolerable. Then he had the impression that the "keen-eyed, plain-featured Miss Walton," as he caricatured her in his mind, would surely commence discoursing on moral and religious subjects if he gave her a chance-; and he feared that if she did he would say or do something very rude and confirm the bad impression that he was sure of having already made. If he could have strolled into his club, into an atmosphere laden with the fumes of wine and tobacco, and among, groups engaged with cards, papers, and -city gossip, he would have felt quite at home. Ties formed at such a place are not very strong or tender as a usual thing, and the manner of the world can isolate the mem- bers and their real life completely, even when the i rooms are thronged. As Walter grew worn and, thin and his pallor increased, aso he smoked and brooded more and more apart with his hat drawn down over his eyes, his companions would shrug theit shoulders significantly and whisper: 1 page: 68-69[View Page 68-69] 68 OPENING A CHES'TNUT BURR, "It looks as if Gregory would go under soon, Something's the matter with him." At first good natured men would say, "Come Gregory, take a hand with us," but when he com- plied it was with such a kill-joy, listless manner that they were sorry they had asked him. At last, be- yond mere, passing courtesies, they had come to leave him very much alone; and in his unnatural and perverted state this was just what he most desired. His whole being had become a diseased, sensitive nerve, shrinking most from any effort toward his improvement even as a finger pointed at a festering sore causes anticipating agonies. At the club he would be let alone, but these good- people would " take an interest in him," and might even "talk religion," and probe with ques- tions and surmises. If they did, he knew, from what he had already seen of them, that they would try to do it delicately and kindly, but he felt that the most considerate efforts would be like the surgical instru- ments of the dark ages. He needed good decisive, heroic treatment. But who would have the courage and skill to give it? Who cared enough for him to take the trouble? The -Divine Physician is only equal to such cases. But Christ still comes to earth in every one of his true followers-"I in you." Not merely- with eyes of human pity had Annie Walton looked upon his, sin;marred visage that morning. The Divine per- sonality, enthroned in the depths of her soul and permeating her life, looked commiserately forth f\ WAS IT AN ACCIDENT? 69 also. Could demons glare from human eyes and God not smile from them? As Annie thought much of him after her stolen glance in the morning, she longed to do that which he dreaded she would try to do-attempt his con- version. Not that she cared for him personally, nor had grown sentimental or interested in his Byronic style of wretchedness. So far from it, her happy and healthful nature was repelled by his diseased and morbid one. She found him what girls call a "disa- greeable man." But God dwelt in her to that degree that she yearned toward a sinning, suffering soul, found in any guise. It was not in her woman's heart, filled with heaven's spirit, to pass by on the other side and leave sin-robbed-and-wounded crea- tures to their fate. , page: 70-71[View Page 70-71] CHAPTER VI, UNEXPECTED CHESTNUT BURRS, WALTER'S afternoon walk was not very pro- longed, for a shivering sense of discomfort soon drove him back to the house. Though the morning had been cool the sun shone brightly and warmly, but now the foreshadowing of a storm was evident. A haze had spread over the sky, increas- ing in leaden hue and density toward the west. The chilly wid moaned fitfully through the trees, and the landscape, darkened as a face might with the sha-dow of coming trouble. Walter dreaded a storm, fearing it would shut him up with the family without escape; but at last the sun so enshrouded itself iri gloom that he was compelled to return. Fie went up to his room to get a book that he had brought, hoping that when they saw himengaged in that he might escape con- versation somewhat. But to his agreeable surprise he found a cheerful fire blazing on the hearth, and an ample supply of wood in a box near. The easy- chair was wheeled forward, and'a plate of grapes and the latest magazine were placed invitingly on the table by its side. Even his cynicism was not UNEXPECTED CHESTNUT BURRS. 7i proof against this delicate thoughtfulness of his com- fott, and he exclaimed: "Ah, this is better than I expected, and a hun, dred-fold better than I deserve. I make but poor return for their kindness. This cosey room seems to say, ' We won't force ourselves on you. You can be alone as much as you like,' for I suppose they must have noticed my disinclination for society and talk. But they are wise after all, for I am cursed poor company for myself and worse than none at all for others." Eating from time to time a ripe Concord grape, that type of juicy steak among fruits, he so lost him- self in the fresh thoughts of the magazine *that the tea-bell rang ere he was aware. "In the name of decency I must try to make myself agreeable for a little while this evening," he muttered, as he descended to the cheerful dining- room. Again simple grace was said; and he found that at every meal there was the same grateful rec- ognition of God as the giver of all good to which he had been accustomed when a boy. The thought flashed across him, "If they really believe as they profess, how natural and right is this acknowledge- ment." There is nothing like religion lived out to open a heart closed against it. To their solicitude for his health and riegret that the approaching storm had driven him so early -to the house, he replied: , "I found in my room a better substitute for the page: 72-73[View Page 72-73] 72 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR.' sunlight I had lost; though as a votress of nature, Miss. Walton, I suppose you will regard this asser- tion as. rank heresy." "Not at all, for your firelight is the result of sun- light," answered Annie, smiling. "How is that?" "It required many sutnmmrs of sunshine to ripen the wood that blazed on your hearth, Indeed, good dry wood is but concentrated sunshine put by for use on cold, gloomy days and chilly nights." TThat is an odd fancy. I wish there were other ways for storing up sunshine for future use." "There are," said Miss Walton, cheerily; and she loofed up as if she would like to say more, but Walter instantly changed the subject in his instinct- ive wish to avoid the faintest approach to moraliz- ing. Still, conversation continued quite brisk till Mr. Walton asked suddenly: ) R "By the way, Mr. Gregory, have yotu ever met Mr. Hunting of Wall Street?" There was no immediate answer, and they all looked inquiringly at him. To their surprise his face was darkened by the heaviest frown. After a moment he said, with peculiar emphasis: "Yes; I know him well." A chill seemed to fall on them after that; and Walter glancing up saw that Annie looked flushed and indignant, Miss Eulie pained, and Mr. Walton was very grave. Even the little boy shot vindictive glances at him. He at once surmised that Hunting was related to the family, and was oppressed with 9 UtNEXP ECTED CHESTNUT BTRRS. 73 the thought that he was fast losing the welcome given him on his father's account. But in a few moments Annie rallied and made unwonted efforts to banish the embarassment they all seemed under, and with partial success, for Gregory had tact and good conversational powers if he chose to exert them. When, soon after, they adjourned to the par- lor, outward serenity reigned. On either side of the ample hearth, on which blazed a hickory fire, two tables were drawn up. An easy-chair stood invitingly by each, with a little carpet bench on which to rest the feet. "Take one of these," said Mr. Walton cordially. *' and join me with a cigar. The ladies of myhouse- hold are indulgent to my small vices.'" '( And I will send for your magazine," said Annie, "and then you can read and chat according to your moods. You see that we do not intend to make company of you." "For which I am very glad. You treat me far better than I deserve." Instead of some deprecatory remark, or a state- ment of the sound but rather trite doctrine that so all are treated, Annie gave him a quick, half-comical look which he did not fully understand. "There is more of her than I thought," he said to himself. Seated with the magazine, Gregory found him- self in the enjoyment of every element of comfort. That he might be under no constraint to talk, Annie commenced' speaking to her father and Miss Eulie 4 page: 74-75[View Page 74-75] 74 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. f of some "neighborhood affairs, of which he knew nothing. The children and a large greyhound were dividing the rug between them. The former were chatting in low tones and roasting the first gleaning of chestnuts on a broad shovel that was placed on the glowing coals. The dog was sleepily watching them lest in their quick movements his tail should come to grief. Walter had something of an artist's eye, and he could not help glancing up from his reading occa. sionally, and thinking what a pretty picture the roomy parlor made. "Annie," said Mr. Walton after a little while," I can't get through this article -with my old eyes. Won't you finish it for me?" And -then Walter forgot to read himself in listen- ing to her. Not that he heard the subject matter with any interest, for it was merely an account of some movement on foot in the West. But the sweet, natural tone and simplicity with which she read arrested and retained his attention. Even the statistics and statements of political economy seemed to fall- from her lips in 'musical cadence, and yet there was no apparent effort and not a thought of effect. Walter mused as he listened. "I would like to hear some quiet, genial book read in that style, though it is evident that Miss Walton is no tragedy queen. Having finished the reading, Annie started briskly up and said: "Come little kids, your chestnuts are roasted and UNEXPECTED CHESTNUT BURRS. 7 eaten. It's bedtime. The turkeys and squirrels will be at the nut trees long before you to-morrow unless you scamper off at once." "Oh, Aunt Annie," chimed their voices, " you must sing us the chestnut song first; you prom- ised to. "Well, if we won't disturb Mr. Gregory, I sup- pose I must make my promise good," said Annie. "Not at all; I join the children in asking for the song," said Walter, glad to get them out of the way on such easy conditions, though he expected a nur- sery ditty or a juvenile hymn from some Sabbath- school collection, where healthy, growing boys are made to sing, "I want to be an angel." "l More- over, I have read that one must always keep one's word to a child." "Which is a very important truth, do you not think so? '; "Since you are using the word ' truth ' so promi- nently, Miss Walton, I must say that I have not thought much about it. But I certainly would have you keep your word on this occasion." "Aunt Annie always keeps her word," said JoLn- nie rather bluntly. By some childish instinct he divined that Gregory did not appreciate Aunt Annie sufficiently, and this added to his prejudice already formed. "You have a stout little champion there," said Walter. "I cannot complain of his zeal," she answered significantly, at the same time giving the boy a page: 76-77[View Page 76-77] j6 OPE NING AV CHESTANrUT BURR. caress. "i Mr. Gregory, this is a rude country ballads and we are going to sing it in our accustomed way, even though it shocks your city ears. Johnnie and Susie, yoll can join in the chorus," and she sang the following simple October glee: n Katydid your throat is sore, You can chirp this fall no more; Robin red-breast, summer's past, l Did you think 'twould always last? Fly away to sunny south, Oranges will fill your mouth; With the squirrels we'll gladly stay And put our store of nuts away.. Oh, the spiny chestnut burrs 1 Oh, the prickly chestnut bufm Harsh without, lined with down. With jolly chestnuts, plump and brown. Sorry are we for the tluwers, Miss we shall our summer bowers; Still we welcome frosty Jack, Stealing now from Greenland back. And the burrs will welcome him ; When he knocks, they'll let him in. They don't know what Jack's about; Soon he'll turn the chestnuts out. Oh, the spiny, etc.-- Turkey gobbler with your train, You shall scratch the leaves in vain; Barking squirrel with whisking tail, Your sharp eyes shall not avail; In the. crisp and early dawn, Scampering across the lawn, We will beat you to the trees; Come you then whene'er you please Oh, the spiny, etc.- IN:EAPECTE'D CHt-S7 NUT BURRS. " Gregory's expression as she played a simple pre- lude was simply that of endurance, but when she commenced singing the changes of his face were rapid. First he turned toward her with a look of interest, then of surprise. Miss Eulie could not help watching him, for, though well on in life, just such a character had never risen above her horizon. Too gentle to censure, she felt that she had much cause to grieve over him. At first she was pleased to see that he found the ditty far different and more to his tasfe than he ex- pected. But the rapid alteration from pleased sur- prise and enjoyment to something like a scowl of despair and almost hate she could not understand. Following his eyes she saw them resting on the boy who was now, with Susie's childish voice, lustily joining in the chorus of the last verse. She was not sufficiently skilled to know that to Gregory's diseased moral nature things most simple and wholesome in themselves were most repugnant. She could not understand that the tripRing little song, with its wild-wood life and movement-that the boy singing with the delight of a pure, fresh heart-told him, as no labored language could, how hackneyed and blazd he was-how far and hopielessly he had drifted from the same true childhood. And Miss Walton, turning suddenly toward him, saw the same dark expression; full of suffering and impotent revolt at his destiny, as he regarded it, and she too was puzzled. ' You do not like ovr foolish little song," she said. page: 78-79[View Page 78-79] 78 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. "I envy that boy, Miss Walton," was his reply. Then she began to understand him, and said gently, 1' You have no occasion to." "I wish you, or any one, could find the logic to prove that." "The proof is not in logic but nature, that -is ever young. They who draw their life from nature do not fall into the only age we need dread." "Do you not expect to grow old?" She shook her head half humorously and said, "But these children will before I get them to bed.' Walter again ostensibly resumed his magazine, but did not turn any leaves. His first mental query was, "Have I rightly guaged Miss Walton? I half believe she under- stands me better than I do her. I estimated her as a goodish, fairly educated country girl, of the church- going sort, one that would be dreadfully shocked at finding me out, and deem it at once her mission to pluck me as a brand from the burning. I know all about the goodness of such girls. They don't know the world ; they have never-been tempted, and they have a brood of little feminine weaknesses that of course are not paraded in public. "And no doubt all this is true of Miss Walton when I come to finfd her out, and yet for some rea- son she interests me a little this evening. Of course she is refined and ladylike, but nowhere in the world will you find dreariel monotony and barrenness than among refined people. Having no real originality, their little oddities are polished away. In Mias UNEXPECTED CHESTNUT BURRS. 79 Walton I'm beginning to catch glimpses of vistas unexplored, though perhaps I am a fool for thinking so. "What a- peculiar voice she has. She would make a poor figure, though, in the- best operas, yet she might render a simple aria very well. But for songs of nature and ballads I have -never heard so sympathetic a voice. It suggests a power of making music a sweet, home language instead of a difficult; high art, attainable by few. - Really, Mijs Walton is worth investigation for-no one with such a voice can be entirely common-place. What is strange, also, I cannot ignore her. Though she makes no effort to attract my attention, I am ever conscious of her presence." page: 80-81[View Page 80-81] CHAPTER VII. A CONSPIRACY. XX7HEN Miss Walton returned to the paxlor her fathir said: "Annie, I am going to trespass on your patience again." "Beware," she answered, with a. little piquant gesture, and was soon reading in natural, easy tones, without much stumbling, what must have been Greek to her. Gregory watched her with increasing interest, and another question than the one of finance involved in the article was rising in his mind. "Is this real? Is this seeming goodness a fact?" It was the very essence of his perverted nature to doubt it. Now that his eyes were opened, and he closely observed Miss Walton, he saw that his preju dices against her were groundless. Though not a stylish, pretty woman, she was anything but a good- ish, commonplace character that he would regard as part of the furniture of the house, useful in its place, but of no more interest than a needful piece of cab- inet work. Ntr did she assert herself as one of those aggressive, lecturing females whose mission it is to set everybody right within their sphere. And yet she did assert herself; but he was comrn- I A CONSPIRA CY. 8 I pelled to admit that it was as a summer breeze might, or the perfume of a rose. He had resolved that very day to shun, avoid, and ignore her as far as possible, and yet, before the first evening in her presence was half over, he had left a magazine story unfinished-he was watching her, thinking and sur- mising about her, and listening, as she read, to what he did not care a straw about. Though she had not made the slightest effort, some influence from her had stolen upon him like a cool breeze on a sultry day, and wooed him as gently as the perfume of a flower that is sweet to all. He sneeringly said to himnself, "She is not pretty," and yet found pleasure in watching her red lips drop figures and financial terms as musically as a little rill might murmui over a mossy rock. From behind his magazine he studied the group at the opposite table, but it was with the pain that a despairing swimmer, swept seaward by a resist- less current, might see the safe and happy on the shore. Gray Mr. Walton leaned back in his chair, the embodiment of peace and placid content. The subject to which he was listening and kindred topics had so far receded that his interest was that of a calm, philosophic observer, and Walter thought, with a glimmer of a smile: "He is not -dabbling in stocks or he -could not maintain that quiet mien." His habits of thought as a business man merely made it a pleasure to keep up with the times. In , . page: 82-83[View Page 82-83] 82 - OPENING A C'ESTN U T B U RR. fact he was in that serene border-land between the two worlds where the questions of earth are grow- ing vague and distant and those of the " better country" more real and engrossing, for Walter observed, later in the evening, that he -took the family Bible with more zest than he had bestowed on the motive power of the world. It was evident where his most valued treasures were stored. With a bitter sigh, Walter thought: "I would take his gray hairs if I could have his peace and faith." Miss' Eulie to whom he gave a passing glance, seemed even less of earth, or earthly, in her nature. Indeed, it appeared as if she might never have more than half belonged to the material creation. Slight, ethereal, with untroubled blue eyes, and little puff curls too light to show their change to gray, she struck Gregory unpleasantly, as if she were a con- necting link between gross humanity and spiritual existence, and his eyes reverted to and dwelt with increasing interest on Miss Walton. There at least was youth, health, and something else--what was it in the girl that had so strongly and suddenly gained his attention? At any rate there was nothing about her uncanny and spirit-like-nothing that made a bad man think of dying. And yet he could not understand her, Could it be possible that a. young girl, not much beyond twenty, could be happy in the care of orphan chil- dren, in the quiet humdrum duties of housekeeping, and in reading stupid articles through the long, A CONSPIRA C Y. 83 quiet evenings, her excitements being church-going, rural tea-drinkings, and country walks and rides? With a grim smile he thought how soon the belles he had admired would expire under such a regimen. Could this be good acting because a guest was pres- ent? If so it was perfect, for it seemed part of every day life. "I will watch her," he thought. "I will solve this little feminine enigma. It will divert my mind, and I've nothing else to do." "My daughter spoils me, you see, Mr. Gregory," said Mr. Walton starting up as Annie finished the theory that would make everybody rich by the /"printing-press process. "Don't plume yourself, papa," replied Annie, archly, "I will make you do something for me to pay for all this." With a humorous look he replied: "No matter, I have the best of the bargain, for I would have to do the 'something' any way. But what do you think of this theory, sir?"And he explained, not knowing that Walter had been listening. The gentleman were soon deep in the mysteries of currency and finance, topics on which both could talk well. Annie listened with polite attention for a short time-indeed Gregory was exerting himself more for her sake than Mr. Walton's-and she was satisfied from her -father's face that his guest was in- teresting him, but as the subject was mainly unin- telligible to her she soon turned with real zest to Miss Eulie's fancy-work, and there was an earnest page: 84-85[View Page 84-85] :84 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. whispered discussion in regard to the right number 'of stitches. Walter noted this and sneeringly thought to himself, with a masculine phase of jus- -tice often seen: That's like a woman. She drops one of the deepest and most important subjects of the day- (and he might have added as explained by me)- and gives her whole soul to a bit of thread lace; " and he soon let Mr. Walton have the discussion all !his own way. - In :furtherance of his:purpose to draw Annie out he said, rather banteringly: i Miss Walton, I am astonished that so good a man as your father should have as an ardent friend the profane and disreputable character that I found living in the cottage opposite, on the day of my arrival." "Profane, I admit he is," she replied, " but not disreputable. Indeed, as the world goes, I think old Daddy Tuggar, as he is called in this vicinity, is a good man." "Oh, Annie?" said Miss Eulie. ";tlow can you think so! You have broader charity than I. He is breaking his poor wife's heart." 'Indeed," said Annie dryly, "I was not aware of it." "I too am astonished," said Walter, in mock solemnity, "How is it that a refined and orthodox young lady, a pillar of the church, too, I gather, can regard with other than unmixed disapprobation a A CONSPRA CY. 85 man who breaks the third commandment and every rule of Lindley Murray at every breath?" "I imagine the latter offence is the more-heinous in your eyes, Mr. Gregory," she said, scanning his face with a quick look. ( Oh, you become aggressive. I was under the impression that I was making the attack and you on the defensive. But I can readily explain the opinion which you, perhaps not unjustly, impute to me. You and I judge this venerable sinner from different standpoints." "You explain your judgment but do not justify it," replied Annie quietly. "Annie I don't see on what grounds you call Daddy Tugger a good man," said Miss Eulie em- x phatically. ' Please understand me Aunty," said Anniie earnestly. "I did not say he was a Christian man, but merely a good man as the world goes; and I know I shall shock you when I say that I have more faith in him than in his praying and Scripture-quot- ing wife. There, I knew I would," she added as she saw Miss Eulie's look of pained surprise, Mr. Walton was listening with an amused smile. He evidently understood his quaint old friend and shared Annie's opinion of him. Gregory was growing decidedly interested, and said: "Really Miss Walton, I must side with your aunt in this matter. I shall overwhelm you with an awful word.' I think you are latitudinarian in your tendencies." page: 86-87[View Page 86-87] 86 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. "Which Daddy Tugger would call a new-fangled way of swearing at me," retorted Annie, with her frank laugh that was so genuinely mirthful and con- tagious that even Aunt Eulie joined in it. "I half think," continued Annie, "that the churchmen in the ages of controversy did a good deal of worse swearing than our old neighbor is guilty of when they hurled at each other with such bitter zest the epithets Antinomian, Socinian, Pela- gian, Calvanistic.' etc. "Those terms have an awful sound. They smite my ear with all the power that vagueness imparts, and surely must have caused stout hearts to tremble in their day," said Walter. "I have got you off the ground of currency and finance now," said Annie, archly, " and I shall leave you to imagine that I know all about the ideas represented by the polysyllabic terms of churchmen's warfare." He looked at her a moment in comic dismay Really this country girl was growing too much for him in his game of banter. "Miss Walton I shall not dispute or question your knowledge of the Socin-cin-(you know the rest) heresy." "Alas!" put in Annie quietly, "I do know-all about the sin heresy. I can say that honestly.'" "I am somewhat inclined to doubt that," he said quickly; then added in sudden and mock severity, "Miss Walton, if I were a judge upon the bench I should charge that you were evading the question CONSPIRA CY. \ 87 and befogging the case. The point at issue is, How can you regard Daddy Tugger as a goodiman? As evidence against him I can state that I -do not remember tohave had,such a good, square cursing in my life, and I have received several." This last expression caused Miss Eulie to open her eyes at him. "Not for your sake, sir," said Annie with a keen yet humorous glance at him, "who as judge on the bench have your verdict written out in your pocket, I fear, but for Aunt Eulie's I will give the reasons for my estimate. I regard her in the light of an honest jury. In the first place the term you used, 'square,' applies to him. I do not think he could be tempted to -do a dishonest thing; and that as the world goes, is certainly a good point." "And as the church goes, too," put in Walter, cynically. "He is a good neighbor, and considerate of the rights of others. He can feel, and is not afraid to show a sincere indignation when seeing a wrong done to another." "I can vouch for that," said Walter. "I shall steal no more of your apples, Mr. Walton." "There is not a particle of hypocrisy about him. I wish I could think the same- of his wife. For some reason she always gives me the impression of insin. cerity. If I were as good as you are, Aunty, per. haps I would not be so suspicious. One thing more, and my eulogy of Daddy-the only one he will ever page: 88-89[View Page 88-89] 88 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. receive, I fear-is over. He is capable of sincere friendship, and that is more than you can say of a good many." "It is indeed," said Walter with bitter emphasis. "I should be willing to take my chances with Daddy Tuggar.'. "You had better not," said Annie, now thor. oughly in earnest. "Why so?" tl I should think memories of this place would make my meaning clear," she replied gently. "Gregory's face darkened and he admitted to himself that most unexpectedly she had sent an ar- row home, and yet he could take no exception. His indifference toward her had vanished now. So far from regarding her as a dull, good; country girl with a narrow horizon of little feminine and common place interests, he began to doubt whether he should be able to cope with her in the tilt of thought. He saw that she was quick, original, and did her own thinking--that in repartee she hit back unexpectedly-in flashes like, as the lightning leaps out of the clouds. He could not keep pace with her quick intuition. A Moreover, in her delicate reference to his parent's faith she had suggested an argument for Christian. ity that he had never been able to answer. For a little time she had caused him to forget his wretched self, but her last remark had thrown him back on his old doubts, fears, and memories that were fast be" coming, in the main, painful. Aswe have said, his -AX CONSPIRA CY, 89 cynical, despondent expression returned and he si- lently loweried at the fire, Annie had too much tact to add a word. He must be hurt-well probed indeed-before he can be well," she thought. Country bed-time had now come, and Mr. Wal- ton said, "Mr. Gregory, I trust you will not find our custom of family prayers distasteful." "The absence, of such a custom would seem strange to me in this place," replied Walter, but he did not say whether it would be agreeable -or dis- tasteful. Annie went to the piano as if it were habit, and after a moment selected the tender hymn- "Come ye disconsolate." At first, Walter, in his morbid sensitiveness, was inclined to resent this selection as aimed at him, but soon he was under . the spell of the music andhe sentiment, which he thought were never before so exquisitely blended together.- Miss Walton was not very finished or artistic in anything. She would not be regarded asa scholar even among girls of her own age and station, and her knowledge of classical music was quite limited. But she was gifted in a peculiar degree with tact, -a quick perception and power of interpreting the lan- guage of nature and the heart. She read and es- timated character rapidly. Almost intuitively she saw people's needs and weaknesses, but so far from making them the ground of satire and contempt page: 90-91[View Page 90-91] fro OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. they awakened her pity and desire to help. In other words she was one of those Christians who in some degree catch the very essence of Christ's character, who lived and died to save. She did not think of condemning the guilty and disconsolate -man that brooded at her fire-side, but she did long to help him. "I may never be able to say such words to him direct," she thought, "but I can sing them, and if he leaves our home to-morrow he shall hear the blessed truth once more." And she did sing with a tenderness and feeling that Walter had never known before. In rendering something that' required simplicity, nature, and pathos no prima donna could surpass her, for though her voice was not powerful and had no unusual com- pass, it was as sweet as that of a thrush in May. Only deaf ears and a stony heart could have remained insensible, and Gregory was touched. A reviving breath from Paradise seemed to blow upon him and *gently urge, "Arise, struggle, make one more effort and you may yet cross the burning sands of the desert. It is not a mirage that is mocking now."? As the last words trembled from the singer's lips he shaded his eyes with his hand as he leaned his, head upon it, but Miss Eulie saw a tear drop with momentary-glitter into his lap, and she exulted over him as his good angel might. If penitentstears could be crystallized they would be the only gems of earth that angels would covet. * 5 A CONSPIRACY. 91 and perhaps God's co-workers here will find those that they caused to flow on earth set as gems in their "crown of glory that fadeth not away." Mr. Walton, in reverential tones, read the fifty- third chapter of Isaiah, which, with greater beauty and tenderness, carried forward the thought of the hymn; and then he knelt and offered a prayer so simple and childlike, so free from form and cant, that seemed to come so direct from the heart, that Wal- ter was deeply moved. The associations of his early home Were now most vividly revived and crowned by the sacred hour of family worship, the memory of which, like a reproachful face, had followed him in all his evil life. When he arose from his knees he again shaded his face with his hand to hide his wet eyes and twitching muscles. After a few moments he bade them an abrupt " good-night," and retired to his room. At first they merely exchanged significant glances. Then Miss Eulie told of the tear as if it were a bit of dust from a mine that might enrich them all. For a while Annie sat thoughtfully gaz. ing into the fire, but at last she said: "It must be plain to us that Mr. Gregory is not a good man--that he has wandered farther from his old home in spirit than he has been absent in bodyl but it seems equally evident that he is not happy and content with being a bad man. He seems suf- fering and out of health in soul and body. Perhaps God has sent him to us and his childhood's home page: 92-93[View Page 92-93] 92 OPENING A CH TN U T B URR. for healing. Let us, therefore, be very careful, very tender and. considerate. He is naturally proud and sensitive, and is morbidly so now." "I think he is, near the Kingdom," said Miss Eulie with a little sigh of satisfaction. "Perhaps all are nearer than we- think," said Annie in a musing tone. ' God is not far from any one of us.' But it. is the curse of sin to blind. He has, no. doubt, been long in reaching his present unhappy condition, and he may be long in getting out of it." "Well, the Lord reigns," said Mr. Walton sen- tentiously, as if that settled the question. "Dear old father," said Annie, smiling fondly at him, ' that's your favorite saying. You have a com- fortable habit of putting all perplexing questions into the Lord's hand and borrowing no further trouble. Perhaps that is the wisest way after all, only one is a long time learning it." "I've been a long time learning it, my child," said her father. "Let us agree to often carry his case to the throne of mercy, and in His good time and way our prayers will be answered." If Mr. Walton could have seen the future, might not even his faith have shrank back appalled? But thus in quaint, old, scriptural style they con- spired for the life of their unconscious guest. This was in truth a " holy alliance." How many dark conspiracies there have been, resulting in blood, wrong, and outrage, that some unworthy brow might A CONSPIRACY. 93 wear for a little time ,a petty perishing crownl of earth! Oh, that there were more conspiracies like that in Mr. Walton's parlor for the purpose of rendering the unworthy fit to wear the crown immortal: A - page: 94-95[View Page 94-95] CHAPTER- VII. WITCHCRAFT. - MSS Euhe was doomed to disappointment for Walter came down late to breakfast the fol- lowing morning with not a trace of his softened feel- ings. Indeed, because of pride, or for some reason, he chose to seem the very reverse of all she had hoped. The winter of his unbelief could not pass away so easily. Even in January there are days of sudden relent- ing, when the frost's icy grasp upon nature seems to relax. Days that rightfully belong to spring drop- down upon us with birds that have come before their time. But such days may end in a northeast snow- storm and the birds perish. The simile appeared true of Gregory. As far as he took part in the table talk he was a cold, finished man of the world, and the gloom of the early morn- ing seemed resting on his face. But Annie noticed that he made an indifferent breakfast and did not appear well. After he had retired to his room to write some letters, as he said, she remarked to her father when alone with him: "I suppose 'you remember Mr. Gregory's manner WITCHCRAFT. 9 - WSCOC^RASS. 95' when you spoke of Mr. Hunting. They evidently are acquainted and not on good terms. What could have occurred between them?" "Some quarrel resulting from business perhaps," said Mr. Walton musingly. 4 I believe Charles has been trying to restrain Mr: Gregory in some of his fast ways,'" said Annie em phatically, "and they have had hot words. Men have so little discretion in their zeal." "Business men are not apt to interfere with each other's foibles unless they threaten their pockets," said Mr. Walton. t It is more probable that Greg- ory has borrowed money of Hunting, and been com- pelled to pay it against his will-and yet I have no right to surmise anything of the kind." "But Mr. Hunting is not- a mere business man, father. He is bent on doing good wherever he can find opportunity. I incline to my solution. But it is clear that we must be silent in regard to him while Mr. Gregory is with us, for I never saw such bitter enmity expressed in any face. It is well Charles is to be absent for some time, and we in no prospect of a visit from him while our guest is here. I feel sure that we should have an awkward time if he came. -Oh dear! I wish Charles would come and make such a visit instead of this moody, wayward stranger." ' I can echo that wish heartly, Annie, for in the son I find little of my old friend, his father. But remember what you said last night. It may be that page: 96-97[View Page 96-97] 96, OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. he was sent to us in order that we should help him become what his father was." "I will do my best, father; but I do not look forward to his society with much pleasure. Still if there should be any such result as we hope for, I would feel repaid a thousand-fold." Walter finished his letters and. then paced rest-. lessly up and down his room. "That this country girl should have so moved and shaken me!" he muttered. "What does it mean? What is there about her that takes hold of my attention, and awakens my interest? I wish to go down stairs now, and talk to her, and have her read to me, and am provoked with myself that I do. Yesterday at this time I wished to avoid her." Tramp, tramp, back and forth. "Why should I wish to avoid her? If she amuses me, diverts my mind, beguiles my pain, or more dreary apathy, why not let her exert her power to the utmost and make herself useful? Yes, but she will try to do more than amuse. Well, suppose she does; a man like yourself can coolly foil such ef- forts. Not so sure of that. If I were dealing with a man of the world I could, but one must be worse than a clod to hear her sing and not feel. I suppose I made a weak fool of myself before them all last night, and they thought I was on the eve of con- version. I half wish I were, or on the eve of any thing else, Any change from my present state would seem a relief. , But a man cannot go into these things like an impulsive girl, even if he -believes in WIZTCCRAFT. 9C them, which is more than I do. I seem to have fallen into a state of moral and physical imbecility, in which IE can only doubt, suffer, and chafe." , Tramp, tramp, back and forth. "I won't avoid her. I will study and analyze her character. I doubt whether she is as good, fresh, and original as she seems. Such girls exist only in moral stories, and I've met but few even there. I will solve her mystery. Probably it is not a very deep one, and after a day or two she will become an old story and life resume its normal monotony." And he at once descended the stairs to carry out his purpose. The children were just coming from the sitting- room where they had their school, exclaiming: "Oh, Auntie, what shall we do this awful rainy day?" ' Wait till I have given some directions to Zibbie, and I will read you a fairy story, and then you can go up into the wide old garret until dinner time." "May I listen to the fairy story also?" asked Walter. Miss Walton looked up with a smile and said, it You must be half dead from your imprisonment to take up with such solace. But if you can wait till I have kept my word to the children I will read something more to your taste." "I think I would like to hear how a fairy story sounds once again after all these years." "As Shakespeare may sound to us some time in the future," she replied, smiling 5 page: 98-99[View Page 98-99] 98 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR "I can't believe we shall ever outgrow Shake. speare," he said. "I can believe it, but cannot understand how it is possible. As yet I .am only growing up into Shakespeare." "You seem very ready to believe what you can- not understand." "And that is woman's way, I suppose you would like to add," she answered, smiling over her shoul- der, as she turned to the kitchen department. "' You men have a general faith that there will be din- ner at two o'clock, though you understand very little how it comes to pass, and if you are disappointed, the best of your sex have not fortitude enough to wait patiently, so I must delay no longer in propit- iating the kitchen divinity." "There!" he said, "I have but crossed her steps in the hall, and she has stirred me and set my nerves 'tingling like an October breeze. She is a witch." After a few minutes Miss Walton entered. Each of the children called for a story, and each clamored for their favorite. "Johnnie," said Miss Walton, " it is manly to yield to the least and weakest, especiallyrif she be at little lady." A, The boy thought a moment, and then with an amusing assumption of dignity said: "You may read Susie's story first, Auntie." "Susie, promise Johnnie that his- story shall be read first next time;" which Susie promptly did with a touch of the womanly -grace with which WITCHCRAFT. ' favors are bestowed after the feminine will has tri- umphed. "Now, little miniature man and woman, listen!" and their round eyes were ready for the world of wonders. And this sweet, pure child of nature was at the- same time showing Gregory a world as new and strange-a world that as a boy he had caught glimpses of, but since had lost hopelessly. She carried the children away into fairyland. She sug- gested to him a life in which simplicity, truth, and genuine goodness might bring peace and hope to the heart. "Well, what do you think of the fairy story?" she asked after she had finished and the children had drawn sighs of intense relief at the happy denoue- ment in which the ugly ogre was slain and the prince and princess married. "I did not hear it," he said. d That's complimentary. But you appeared lis- tening very closely." "You have heard of people reading a different meaning between the lines, and I suppose one can listen to a different meaning." "And what could you find between the lines of this fairy tale?" she asked with interest. "I would find it difficult to explain--something too vague and indefinite for words, I fear. But if you will read me something else I shall listen to the text itself." "Come, children, scamper off to the garret," said page: 100-101[View Page 100-101] 100 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR Annie, " and remember you are nearer heaven up there, and so must be very kind and gentle to each other.- ' "You fill those youngsters' heads with beautiful superstitions," "Superstition and faith are not so very far apart, though so unlike." "Yes, it is hard to tell where one'leaves off and the other begins." "Is it?" "Isn't it?" "I don't like to contradict you, sir." "You have contradicted me, and I suppose 'it is manly to yield to a lady.' " "Not in manners of principle and honest convic. tion." "Alas! if one has not very much of either." "It is a very great misfortune, and, I suppose 1 ought to add, fault." "I have no doubt it is a misfortune, Miss Walton; but you are not reading." "Well, make your choice." "I leave it entirely to you." "You don't look very well to-day. ' I will select something light and cheerful from Dickens." "Excuse me please. I am in no mood for his deliberate purpose to make one laugh. "Then here is Irving. His style flows like a meadow brook." "No, he is too'sentimental." "Walter Scott, then, will form a happy medium.' WITCHCRAFT. I01 "No, he wearies one with explanations and his. tory.' "Some of Tennyson's dainty idyls will suit your fastidious taste." "I couldn't abide to-day his affected, stilted language." "Shakespeare, then; you regard him as, per. fect." ," No, he makes me think, and I do not wish to.' "Well, here are newspapers, the latest magazine, and some new novels." "Modern rubbish--a mushroom growth. They will soon kindle kitchen fires instead .of thought." " Then I must make an expedition to the library. What shall I bring? There is Mosheim's ' Eccles- iastical Ancient History;' that has a solid, vener- able sound. Or, if you prefer poetry, I will get Grey's ' Elegy.' That cannot be a literary mush- room, for he was twenty years writing it. But per, haps it is Tupper you would like-that would suit your mood exactly. Tupper's ' Proverbial Phil- osophy.'" "' You are growing satirical, Miss Walton. Why don't you assert plainly that I am as full of whims as a "Woman, would you like to say?" "Present company excepted. The fact is, I am' two-thirds ill to-day, and the most faultless style and theme in our language would weary me. I am pos- sessed by the evil spirits of ennui, unrest, and disgust at myself and all the world, present company always page: 102-103[View Page 102-103] 102 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. excepted. Do you know of any spells that can ex- orcise these demons? '" "Yes, a very simple one. Will you put your self absolutely in my power and obey?" "I am your slave." Miss Walton left the room and soon returned with a large Afghan. "You must take a horizontal position in order that my spell may work." "Pshaw! you are prescribing an ordinary nab." "I am glad to say the best things in this world are ordinary and common. But permit me to sug- gest that in view of your pledged word you have nothing to do in this matter but to obey." "Very well;" and he threw himself on the sofa. "The day is chilly, sir, and I must throw this Afghan over you ;" and she did so with a little touch of delicacy which is so grateful when one is indis- posed. Her manner both soothed and pleased, and he noticed as she bent over him that her eyes were honestly kind. He was more lonely than he rea- lized, for it had been years since -he had experi- enced woman's gentle care and ministry; and An- nie Walton had a power possessed by few to put jangling nerves at rest. Suddenly he said; "I wish I had a sister like you." "My creed, you know," she replied, "makes all mankind kindred." "Nonsense!" said Walter, irritably; " deliver tme from your church sisters." "Take care!" she answered with a warning nod WITCHCRAFT. I03 ' Im a church sister; so don't drive me away, for I am going to sing you to sleep." I'm half inclined to join your church that I may call you sister." "You would be disciplined and excommunicated within a month. But hush; you must not talk." "How would you treat me after I had been an- athematized? '" "If you were as ill as you are to day I would make you sleep.' Hush; not another word. I am going to sing." A luxurious sense of comfort stole over him, and he composed himself to listen and criticise, little im- agining, though, that he would fall asleep. He saw through the window a lowering sky with leaden clouds driven wildly across it. The wind moaned and soughed around the angles of the house, and the rain beat against the glass. All without seemed emblematic of himself. But now he had a brief but blessed sense of shelter both from the storm and himself. The fire blazed cheerily on the hearth. The Afghan seemed to envelop him like a genial at- mosphere. Had Miss Walton bewitched it by her touch? And now she has found something to suit her, or rather him, and is singing. "What an unusual voice she has," he thought. "Truly the spirit" of David's. harp, that could' banish the demon from Saul, dwells in it. I wonder if she is as good and real as she seems, or whether, under the stress of temptation or the poison of flattery, she would not show herself a true daughter of Eve? page: 104-105[View Page 104-105] o104 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. I must find out, for it is about the only remaining question that interests me. If she is like the rest of us-if she is a female Hunting-then good-by to all hope. I shall not live to find anybody or anything to trust. If she is what she seems it's barely possi- ble that she might help me out of this horrible 'slough of despond,' if she would take the trouble. I wish that she were my sister, or that my sister had lived and been just like her." CHAPTER IX. MSS WALTON ADVISES A HOBBY. TO Walter's surprise he woke up and then admit- ted to himself that, contrary to his expectation and purpose, he had been asleep. His last remem- bered consciousness was that of sweet,- low music, and how long ago was that? He looked at his watch; it was nearly two, and he must have slept two hours. He glanced around and saw that he was alone, but the fire still blazed on the hearth, and the Afghan enfolded him with its genial warmth as be- fore, and it seemed that though by himself he was still cared for. "She is a witch," he muttered. "Her spells are no jokes. But I will investigate her case like an old-time Salem inquisitor. With more than Yankee curiosity, which was at the bottom of their super- stitious questionings, I will pry into her power. But she will find that she has a wary skeptic to convince. I have seen too many saints and sinners to be again deceived by fair seeming." A broad ray of sunlight shot across the room, "By my soul! it's clearing off. Is this her work also? Has she swept away the clouds with her broomstick? And there goes the dinner-bell, too ;" 5* page: 106-107[View Page 106-107] 106 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. and he went to his room two steps at a time, as he did when a boy. Annie coming out of the sitting-room at that moment, smiled and said: "He must be better." At the table she asked: "How do you find yourself now?" "Much given to appetite." Then turning to Mr. Walton, he said, abruptly: "Do you believe in witchcraft?" s "Well, no, sir," said good Mr. Walton, a little taken aback. "I do!" continued he, emphatically. "When and where have you had experience in -the black art?" "This morning, and in your house, sir." "You seem none the worse for it," said his host, smiling. "Indeed, I have not felt so well in months. Your larder will suffer if I am practised upon any more." "Well, of all modern and prosaic results of witchery this exceeds," said Annie, laughing, " since only a good appetite results." "It yet remains to be seen whether this is the only result," replied Walter. "What possessed the old Puritans to persecute the Salem witches is a mystery to me, if their experience was any thing like mine." "You must remember that the question of what was agreeable or otherwise scarcely entered into a / Puritan's motives." MSS WALTON ADVISES A HOBBY. 107 ' I am not so sure of that," answered Walter quick- ly. "It has ever seemed to me that the good people of other days went into persecution with a zeal that abstract right can hardly account for. People will have their excitements, and a good rousing persecu- X tion used to stir things like the burning of Chicago or a Presidential election in our day." ' Granting," said Annie, " the bigotry and cruelty of the persecutor-and these must be mainly charged to the age-still you must admit that among them were earnest men who did what appears very wrong to us from good motives. What seemed to them evil and destructive principles were embodied in men and women, and they meant to destroy the evil through the suffering and death of these poor crea- tures." "And then consider the simplicity and ease of the persecutor's method," continued Walter, mock- ingly. "' A man's head has become full of supposed doctrinal errors. To refute and banish -these would require much study and argument on the -part of the opponent. It was so much easier to take an obstin- ate heretic's head off than to argue with him. I think it was the simplicity of the persecutor's method that kept it in favor so long."' "But it never convinced any one," said Annie, "and the man killed merely goes into another world of the same opinion still.' "And there probably learns,- poor fellow, that both were wrong, and that he had better have been page: 108-109[View Page 108-109] 108 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR content with good dinners and a quiet life, and let theology alone." "The world would move but slowly, if all men were content with ' good dinners and a quiet life,'" said Annie, satirically. "But you have not answer- ed my question. Could not good, earnest men have been very cruel, believing that everything de- pended on their uprooting some evil of their day?" "To tell the truth, Miss Walton," said Walter. a little nettled, "I have no sympathy with that style of men. To me they are very repulsive and ridiculous. They remind me of the breathless, per- spiring politicians of our time, who button-hole you and assert that the world will chme to an end unless John Smith is elected. To me, the desperate earnestness of people who imagine it their mission to set the world right is excessively tiresome. For one man or a thousand to proclaim that they spealk for God and embody truth, and that the race should listen and obey, is the absurdity of arrogance." "If we were to agree with you, would we not have to say that the prophets should have kept their visions to themselves, and that Luther should have remained in his cell, and Columbus have coasted along shore and not have insisted on what was to all the world an absurdity?" "Come, Miss Walton,"' said Walter, with a vexed laugh as they rose from the table, " you are a witch, I am willing to argue with flesh and blood, but I would rather hear you sing. Still, since you have swept away these clouds so I can have my ram- MSS WALTON ADVISES A HOBBY. log ble, I will forgive you for unhorsing me in our recent tilt." "If you would mount some good honest hobby and ride it hard, I doubt whether any one could unhorse you," she replied in a low tone, as she ac- companied him to the parlor." "Men with hobbies are my detestation, Miss Walton." "Nevertheless, they are the true knights errant of our age. 'Of course it depends upon what kind of hobbies they ride, or whether they can manage their steeds." "Miss Walton, your figure suggests a half idiot, with narrow -forehead and one idea, banging back and forth on a wooden horse, but making no pro- gress-in other words, a fussy, bustling man who can do and talk but one thing." "Your understanding of the popular phrase is narrow and literal, and while it-may have such a meaning, can also have a very different one. Sup- pose, instead of looking with languid eyes alike upon all things, a man finds some question of vital import or pursuit that promises good to himself and many others and that enlists his- interest. He comes at last to give it his best energies and thought. The whole current of his life is setting in that direction. -Of course he must ever be under the restraints of good sense and refinement. A man's life without a hobby is a weak and wavering line of battle indefin- itely long. One's life with a hobby is a concentra. ted charge." page: 110-111[View Page 110-111] "O OPENING A CHESTNUT' BURR. There was in Miss Walton's face and manner, as she uttered these words, that which caused Walter to regard her with involuntary admiration. Sudden- ly he asked: "Have you a hobby?" Her manner changed instantly, and with an arch look said: "If you detest a man with a hobby, what a monster a woman would be in your eyes." "I have admitted that you are a witch." "Oh, I am a monster already, and- so have no character to lose. But where is your penetration? If a man with a hobby is idiotic, narrow browed, fussy and bustling, excessively obtrusive with his one idea, a woman must be like him with all these things exaggerated. Has it not occurred to you that I have a hobby of the most wooden and clumsy order?" "But that was my idea of a hobby. You have spiritualized my wooden block into a Pegasus-the symbol of inspiration. Have you such a hobby?" "I have." "What is -it?" "She went out of the room saying smilingly over her shoulder: "You must find that out for yourself." . * t . \ CHAPTER X. A PLOT AGAINST MSS WALTON. WALTER was soon off for his ramble. The storm had cleared away so warmly and genially as to suggest spring rather than fall; but he was quite oblivious of the outer world, and familiar scenes had not the power to awaken either pleasant or painful .associations. He was trying to account for the influence that Annie Walton had suddenly gained over him, but it was beyond his philosophy. This provoked him. His cool, worldly nature ques- tioned everything and especially everybody. He believed in the inherent weakness of humanity, and that if people were exceptionally good it was because they had been exceptionally fortunate in escaping temptation. He also had a cynical pleasure in see- ing such people tripping and stumbling, so that he might say in self-excusing: "We are all alike." And yet he was compiled to admit that if Annie's goodness was seeming it was more perfect art than he had known before. There was also an uncon- scious assertion of superiority in her manner that he did not like. True, things had turned out far better than he had expected. There was no cant about page: 112-113[View Page 112-113] I I 2 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. her. She did not lecture him or (" talk religion " in - what he regarded as the stereotyped way, and he was sure she would not, even if they became better acquainted. But there is that in genuine goodness and nobility of character that always humiliates the bad and makes them feel their degradation, A real pity and sympathy for him tinged her manner, but these qualities are not agreeable to pride. And it must be admitted that she had a little self-righteous satisfaction that' she was so much better than this sadly robbed and wounded man suddenly appearing at the wayside of her life. In human strength there is generally a trace of arrogance. Only Divine strength and purity can say with perfect love and full allowance for all weakness and adverse influ- ences- "'Neither do I condemn thee. Go, and sin no more." Walter had now reached a rustic bridge across a little stream that, swollen from the recent rain, came gurgling and clamoring down from the hills. Lean- ing upon the rail he seemed to watch the foaming water glide under his feet. But the outward vision made no impression on his mind. At last in the consciousness of solitude he said: ! 'She told me I must find her out. I will. I will i know whether she is as free from human frailty as she seems. I have little doubt that before many days I can cause her to show all the inherent weak- nesses of her sex; and I should think New York and Paris had taught me what they are. She has never . , 41 A PLOT AGAINST MSS WALTON. 1I1 been tempted. She has never been subjected to the delicate flattery of an accomplished man of the world. I am no gross libertine. I could-not be in this place. I could not so wrong hospitality and the household of my father's friend. But I would like to prove to that girl her delusion, and show her that she is a weak woman like the rest;' that she is a pretty painted ship that has never been in a storm, and therefore need not sail so confidently.- We all start on the voyage of life as little skiffs and pleasure- boats might cross the ocean. If any get safely over, it is because they were lucky enough not to meet dangerous currents or rough weather. I would like her better with her piquant ways if she were more like myself. Saints and Madonnas are well enough in pictures, but such -as I would find them very uncomfortable society" With sudden power the thought flashed upon him. "Why not let her make you as she is?"Where did the thought come from? Tell me not that the Divine Father forgets his children. He is speaking to them continually, only they will not hear. There was a brief passionate wish on the part of this bad man that she might be what she seemed and that he could become like her. As the turbulent, muddy Jordan divided that God's people might pass through, so this thought from Heaven found passage through his heart and then the current of sinful impulse and habit flowed on as before. With the stupidity of evil he was breaking the clue that God had dropped in his hand even when desperately weary of his lost page: 114-115[View Page 114-115] "4 OPENrNG A C YESTNUT BURR. state., He is wrecked and helpless on the wide ocean. A ship is coming to his rescue, and his first effort is that this vessel may be also wrecked or greatly injured in the attempt. There is no insanity like that of a perverted heart. The adversary of souls has so many human Victims doing his work that he can fold his hands in idleness. And yet according to the world's prac- I tice, and we might almost say its code, Gregory X purposed nothing that would be severely condemned ! -nothing more than an ordinary flirtation, such as i are as common in society as idleness, love of excite- 1 ment, and that power over others which ministers to } vanity. He had no wish to be able to say anything worse of her than that under temptation she would be as vain and heartless a coquette as many others that he knew in what is regarded as-good society. He would have cut off his right hand, as he then felt, rather than have sought to lead her into gross sin. And yet what did Gregory purpose in regard to Annie but to take, the heavenly bloom and beauty from her character? As if a person can be lovely to either God or man of whom it can be said only They commit no overt crime. What is the form of a rose without its beauty and fragrance? They who tempt to evil are the real iconoclasts. They destroy God's image. - But the supreme question of the selfish heart is, 'What do I want now f " Walter wished to satisfy himself and Miss Wal. A PLOT A GAINST MSS WAL TON. 15 ton that she had no grounds for claiming any special superiority over him, and he turned on his heel and went back home to carry out his purpose. Nature, purified and beautiful by reason of its recent bap- tism from heaven, had no attractions. Gems of moisture sparkled unseen. He was planning and scheming how he might " turn her head with vanity, make her quiet life of ministry to others odious, and draw her into a fashionable flirtation." Annie did not appear until the supper-bell sum- moned her, and then said: "Mr. Gregory, I hope you will not think. it rude if father and I leave you to your books and Aunt Eulie's care this evening. It is, our church prayer- meeting night, and father never likes to be absent." "I shall miss you beyond measure. The eve- ning will seem an age." Something in his tone caused her to give him a quick glance, but she only said, with a smile: "You are very polite to say so, but I imagine the last magazine will be a good substitute." "I doubt whether there is a substitute for you, Miss Walton. I am coming to believe that your absence would make that vacuum which nature so dreads. You shall see how good I will be this eve- ning, and you shall read me everything you please, even to that 'Ancient Ecclesiastical History.' If you will only stay I will be your slave; and you shall rule me with a rod of iron or draw me with the silken cords- of kindness, according to your moods." page: 116-117[View Page 116-117] ti6 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. "It is not well to have too many moods, Mr, Gregory," said Annie quietly. "In reply to all your alluring reasons for staying home I have only to say that 1 have promised father to go with him; besides, I think it is my duty to go." "'Duty' is a harsh, troublesome word to be always quoting. It is a kind of strait-jacket which we poor moral lunatics are compelled to wear," 'D' Duty' seems to me a good solid road on which one may travel safely. One never knows where the side paths lead: into the brambles or a morass like enough." "Indeed, Miss Walton, such austerity is not be- coming to your youth and beauty." "What am I to think of your sincerity when you speak of my beauty, Mr. Gregory?" "Beauty is a question of taste," answered Walter gallantly. "It is settled by no rigid rules or princi- ple, but by the eyes of the observer." "Oh! I understand now; My beauty this even- ing is the result of your bad taste." "Calling it ' bad' does not make it so. Well, since you will not stay home with me will you - not let me go with you to the prayer-meeting? If I'm ever to join your church, it is time I entered on the initiating mysteries." "I think a book will do you more good in your present mood." "What a low estimate you make of the ' means of grace.' Why, ' certain of your own poets have said--' ' And fools who came to scoff remained to pray.' A PLO T A GAINST MSS WAL TON. 117 *'The quotation does not apply to you, Mr. Gregory. For-even if you can doubt the power and truth of Christianity your childhood will prevent you from scoffing at it," A sudden shadow came across his face, but after a moment he said in his old tones: "Will you not let me go to the prayer-meeting?' "Father will be glad to have you go with us, if - you think it prudent to venture out in the night air." "Prudence to the dogs! What is the use of liv- ing if we cannot do as we please. But will you be glad to have me go?" "That depends upon your motives and the uses you make of the sacred hour." "If I should confess you wouldn't let me go," he replied with a bow. "But I will try to be as good as possible, just to reward your kindness." The rest o'f the family now joined them in the supper-room, and during the meal Walter exerted himself to show how entertaining he could be if he chose. Anecdotes, incidents of travel, graphic sketches of society, and sallies of wit, mnide an hour pass before any one was aware. Even the children listened with wondering eyes, and Mr. Walton and Miss Eulie were delighted with the vivacity of their-guest. Annie seemingly had no reason to complain of him, for his whole man- ner toward her during the hour was that of delicately sustained compliment. When she spoke he listened with deference, and her words usually had point and meaning. He also gave to her remarks the best and page: 118-119[View Page 118-119] "8 OPErVING A CHESTN UT BURR. most brilliant meanings of which they were capable, and by skilfully drawing her out made her surpass even herself, so that Miss Euhe said: "Why, Annie, there surely is some witchcraft about. You and Mr. Gregory are as brilliant as fire- works." "'It is all Miss Walton's work, I assure you,' said Walter. "As Pat declared,' I'm not meself. any more,' and shall surprise you, sir, by asking if I may go to the prayer-meeting? MissWalton says I can if I will behave myself. The last time I went to the old place I made faces at the girls. I suppose that would be wrong." "That is the sin of our age-making faces," said Annie. "Many have two,'and some can make for themselves even more." "Now that was a barbed arrow," said Walter, looking at her keenly. "Did you let it fly at a ven- ture?" . "Bless me!" said Mr t Walton rising hastily, "We should have been on the road a quarter of an hour ago. 'You mustn't be so entertaining another prayer-meeting night, Mr. Gregory. Of course we shall be glad to have you accompany us if you feel well enough. I give you both but five minutes before joining me at the wagon." Walter again mounted the stairs with something of his old boyish bouyancy, and Annie followed. looking curiously after him, It was not in human nature to be indifferent to that most skilful flattery which can be addressed to A PLOT AGAINST MSS WALTON. 119 woman-the recognition of her cleverness, and the enhancing of it by adroit and suggestive questions- - and yet all his manner was tinged by a certain insin. cere gallantry rather than a manly, honest respect. She vaguely felt this, though she could not dis- tinctly point it out. He puzzled her. What did he. mean, and what was he aiming at ! page: 120-121[View Page 120-121] CHAPTER XI. A DRINKING SONG AT A PRAYER'-ME1ETiNG. HAVING failed in inducing Annie to stay at home, Walter purposed that the prayer-meet- ing should not be one of quiet devotion. 'Mr. Wal- ton made him, as an invalid, take the back seat with Annie while he sat with the driver, and Walter, after faint show of resistance, gladly complied. "It's chilly. Won't you give me half of your shawl?" he said to her. "You may have it all," said Annie, about to take it off. "No, I'll freeze first.' Do the brethren and sis- ters sit together?" No," she replied, laughing, "we have got in the queer way of dividing the room between us, and the few men who attend sit on one side and we on the other." "Oh, it's almost a female prayer-meeting then. Do the sisters pray?" "Mr. Gregory, you are not a stranger here that you need pretend to such ignorance. I think the meeting is conducted very much as when you were a boy." "With this most interesting difference, that you *\ A .DRINKIN G SONG .T PRA yER.-MEBTING. 12t willbe there and will sing, I hope. Miss Walton where did you learn to sing? , Mainly at home, sir." "I should think so. Your voice isas u nlike that unlike the singer her of a public singer as you are unlike the singer her self' ." ' It must seem very tame to you." "It seems very different. We have an artificial flower department in our store. There is no lack of color and form there I assure you, but after all I would prefer your rose garden in J une." "But you would probably prefer your artificial flower department the rest of the year, said Annie, laughing. Our roses are annuals and are only prosaic briars after their bloom " Imagine them hybrid perpetuas and monthes and you have my meaning. But your resemblance to a rose extends even to its thorns. Your words are a little sharp sometimes. "In the thorns the resemblance begins and ends, Mr. Gregory. I assure you I am a veritableScotch Briar. But here we are at our destination. I won- der if you will see many old, remembered faces? "I shall be content in seeing yours," he replied in a low tone, pressing her hand as he assisted her to alight. If he could have seen the expression of her face in the darkness it would have satisfied him that she did not receive that style of compliment like many 6 page: 122-123[View Page 122-123] 122 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. of the belles of his acquaintance who will take the, small change of flattery with the smiling complacency of a public door-keeper. They were late. The good old pastor was absent, and one of the brethren was reading a chapter in the Bible. Walter took a seat where he could see Annie plainly, and she sat with her side face toward him. He watched her-keenly, in order to see if she showed any consciousness of his presence. The only evidence in his favor was a slight flush and a firmness about the lips, as if her will was asserting I itself. But soon her face had the peaceful and serious expression becoming the place and hour, and he saw that she had no thoughts for him whatever. He was determined to distract her attention, and by restlessness, by looking fixedly at her, sought her eye, but only secured the notice of some young girls who thought him '" badly smitten with Miss Walton." The long chapter having been read a hymn was given out. The gentleman who usually led the music was also absent, and there was an ominous pause; in which the good brother's eye wandered appealingly around the room and at last rested hopefully on Annie. She did not fail him, but, with heightened color and voice that trembled slightly at first, " started the tune." It was a sweet, familiar air, and she soon had the support of other voices. One after another they joined her in- widely varying degrees of melody, even as the example of a noble life will gradually secure a number of more or less perfect imitators. , A DRINKING SONG A T PRd YER-MEE TING. 123 Walter had seen the appeal to her with an amused, half-comical look, but her sincere and ready performance of the duty that had unexpectedly re- vealed itself rapidly changed the expression of his face to one of respect and admiration. Distinct, and yet blending with the others, her voice seemed both to key up and hide the little roughnesses and dis- cords of some who perhaps had more melody in their hearts than tones. Again a divine impulse, like a flower-laden breeze sweeping into a dark and grated vault at Greenwood, stirred Gregory's evil nature. Let her teach you the harmony of noble; unself- ish living. Follow her in thought, feeling, and ac- tion, as those.stammering, untuned tongues do in melody, and the blight of evil will pass from your life. Seek not to muddy and poison this clear little rill that is watering a bit of God's world. Grant that her goodness is not real, established, and thor- oughly tested--that it is only a pretty surface pic- ture. Seek not to blur that picture. But the evil heart is like Sodom. Good angel- thoughts may come to it, but they are treated with violence and driven out. His habit of cynical doubt soon returned, and his purpose to show Miss Walton that she was a weak, vain woman after all became stronger than ever. It had seemingly come to this, that his salvation depended on, not what Miss Walton could say or do directly in his behalf, but upon her maintenance of a character that compels even a sceptical world to page: 124-125[View Page 124-125] 1 124 OPENING A CHESTNUT' BURR. acknowledge as inspired by Heaven, and this, too, against a tempter of unusual skill and tact. She might sing with resistless pathos, and argue and plead with Paul's logic and eloquence. His nature might be stirred' for a moment as a stagnant pool is agitated by the winds of heaven, and like the pool, he would soon settle back into his old apathy. But if she could be made to show weakness, to stumble and fall, it would confirm him in his belief that good- ness, if it really existed, was accidental: that those who lived lives -apparently free from stain deserved no credit, because untempted; and that those who fell should be pitied rather than blamed, since they were unfortunate rather than guilty. Anything that would quiet and satisfy his conscience in its stern arraignment of his evil life would be welcome. The more he saw of Miss Walton the more he felt that she would be a fair subject upon whom to test his favorite theory. Therefore, by the time that one of the brethern present had finished his homely exhor- tation- he was wholly bent upon carrying out his plan. But Miss Walton sat near as innocently oblivious of this plot against her as Eve of the serpent's guile before the tempter and temptation came into fatal conjunction. What thoughts for and against each other may ' vell utterly hidden and unknown in the hearts of those so near that their hands may touch! ^ Conspir- acies to compass- the death that is remediless may lurk just back of eyes that smile upon us. Of course A DRINKING SONG A T PRA YER-MEE TING. 125 Walter desired no such fatal result to follow his little experiment. Few who for their own pleasure, profit or caprice tempt others wish the evil to work on to the bitter end. They merely want a sufficient let- ting down of principle and virtue for the accomplish- ment of their purpose, and then would prefer that the downward tendency should cease or be reversed. The merchant who requires dishonorable practices of his clerk wishes him to stop at a point which, -in the world's estimation, is safe. And those who, like Gregory, would take the bloom from woman's purity and holiness in thought and action, that they may enjoy a questionable flirtation, would be horrified to see that woman drop into the foul gulf of vice. With the blind egotism of selfishness, they merely wish to gratify their present inclinations, ignoring the consequences. They are like children who think it would be sport to-see a little cataract falling over a Holland dike. Therefore when the tide is in they open a small channel, but are soon aghast to find that the deep sea is overwhelming the land. Gregory, as with his kind, thought only of his own desires. When he had accomplished these Miss Walton must take care of herself. When from seeming a sweet, pure woman he had, by a little temptation, found her capable of becoming a vain flirt, he would go back to business and dismiss herz from his thoughts with the grim chuckle, 4, She is like the rest of us." And thus Annie was destined to meet her-Mother Eve's experience; and with the energy and prompt. page: 126-127[View Page 126-127] 126 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. ness of evil Walter was keenly on the alert for any. thing to further his purpose. It would seem that the Satanic ally in such schemes does not permit opportunity to be wanting long. The leader of the meeting again selected a hymn, but of a peculiar metre. He only read two lines, and then looked expectantly toward Annie. For the life of her she could not at the moment think of a tune that would answer; and while with knit brows she was bending over her book, to her unbounded surprise she heard the hymn started by a clear, mellow tenor voice, and looking up saw Gregory singing as gravely as a deacon. She was sufficiently a musician to know that the air did not belong to sacred music, though she had never heard it before. In his watchfulness he had noted her hesitation, and glancing at the metre saw instantly that the measure of a drinking song he knew well would fit the words. This fell out better than he had hoped. and with the thought, "I will jostle her out of hel dignity now," commenced singing without, any em- barrassment, though every eye was upon him. He had been out in the world too long for that. As Annie turned with a shocked and half-fright- ened expression toward him his eyes met hers with a sudden gleam of drollery which was irresistible, and he had the satisfaction of seeing her drop her head to conceal a smile. But he noticed, a moment later, that her face became grave with disapprobation. Having sung a stanza he looked around with an A DRINKIhNG SONG A T PRA YER MEE TING. 12 injured air, as if reproaching the others for not join. ing in with him. "The tune is not exactly familiar to us," said the good man leading the meeting, "but if the brother will continue singing we will soon catch the air; or perhaps the brother or some one else (with a glance at Annie) will start one better known," Walter deliberately turned over the leaves, and , to the tune of Old Hundred started a hymn com- mencing, "Unveil thy bosom, faithful tomb, Take this new treasure to thy trust, And give these sacred relics room To slumber in the silent dust." Annie had a keen sense of the ludicrous, and the transition from what he had been singing to the funereal and most inappropriate words was almost too much for her. To her impotent anger and self- disgust -she felt a hysterical desire to laugh, and only controlled herself'by keeping her head down and lips firmly pressed together during the remain- der of the brief service. Even others who did not know Walter could not prevent a broad smile at the incongruous hymn he 'had chosen, but they unitedly wailed it through, for he persisted in singing it all in the most dirge-like manner.' They gave him credit for dbing the best he could, and supposed his unhappy choice .resulted from haste and confusion. In the spontaneity of social meetings people become accustomed to much that is not harmonious. page: 128-129[View Page 128-129] 128 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. Mr. Walton was puzzled. His guest was cer. tainly appearing in an unexpected role and he sus- pected that all was not right. After the meeting the brethren gathered round and thanked him for his assistance, and he shook hands with them and the elderly ladies present with the manner of one who might have been a "pillar in the temple." Many of them remembered his father and mother and supposed their mantle had fallen on him. An ancient " mother in Israel " thanked him that he had "started a tune that they all could sing instead of the new-fangled ones the young people are always getting up nowadays. But," said she, "I wish you could larn us that pretty one you first sang, for it took my fancy amazingly. I think I must have heard it before somewhere." Walter gave Annie another of his peculiar looks, that sent her out hastily into the darkness, and a moment later joined her at the carriage steps. CHAPTER XII. FOILED IN ONE DIRECTION. ^REGORY lifted Miss Walton into the carriage very tenderly, and took his place by her side, while her father was detained by some little matter of business. "I am not an invalid," said Annie, rather curtly. "Indeed you are not, Miss Walton; from your super-abundance you are even giving life to me." ( I thought from your manner you feared I was about to faint," she answered dryly. Mr. Walton joined them and they started home- ward. -'Come, Miss Annie," said Walter (addressing her thus for the first time). "Why so distant? Was I not called a brother in the meeting?' If I am a brother you are a sister. I told you I would secure this relationship." She did not answer him. ' I think it was too bad," he continued, "that you did not second my efforts better. You would not help me sing either of the tunes I started." "Mr. Gregory," said Annie emphatically, "I will never go to a prayer-meeting with you again." 6* page: 130-131[View Page 130-131] 30 OPENIVr'G A CHESTNUT BURR. "What a rash resolve! But I confess that I pre ferred to have you stay at home with me." "You have spoiled the whole evening for me.' "And you spoiled mine. So we-are just even, he replied laughingly. "No we are not. How can you turn sacred things into a jest?" "I was possessed to see a smile light up the awful gravity of your face, and feel amply repaid in that I succeeded. It was a delicious bit of sunshine -on a cloudy day." "And I am provoked with myself beyond meas- ure, that I could have laughed like a silly child." "But did you not like the first tune I sang? 'Old Hundred' was selected in deference to the wishes of the meeting." "No, I did not like it. It was not suitable to the place and words. Though I never heard it before, its somewhat slow movement did not prevent it from smacking of something very foreign from a prayer-meeting." "A most happy. and inspired expression! Many a time I have smacked my lips when it was being sung over the best of wine." "Was it a drinking song, then?" she asked quickly. "What will youl do with me if I say it was?" "Mr. Gregory, I would not have thought this even of you." "Even of me! Come, that is complimentary. I now learn what a low estimate you have of me. l. FOILED IN ONE DIRECTION. ' 131 But see how unjust you are. The musical commis- saries of the church militant are ever saying, 4 It's a pity the devil should have all the good music,' and so half the Sunday-school tunes, and- many sung in churches have had a lower origin than my drinking song. I assure you the words are as fine as the air Why have I not as good a right to hook a tune from the devil as the rest of them?" "It's the motive that makes all the difference," said Annie. "But I fear that in this case the devil suffered no loss." "I'm sure my motive was not bad. I only wished to see a bonny smile light up your face." Before she could reply the carriage stopped at Mr. Walton's door, and with Mr. Gregory she passed into the cosey parlor. Her father did not imme- diately join them. As Walter looked at her while she took -off her wraps, he thought: "By Jove! she's handsome if she is not pretty." In fact Annie's face at that time would have attracted attention anywhere. The crisp air had given her a fine color. Her eyes glowed with a suppressed excitement and anger, while the firm lines about the mouth indicated that when she spoke it would be decidedly. In spite of herself the audac- ity cleverness, and wickedness of this stranger had affected her strangely. As he threw off his mood- iness, as he revealed himself by word and action, she saw that he was no ordinary character, but a thor- ough maji of the world and with some strange page: 132-133[View Page 132-133] 132 - OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. caprices. The suspicion crossed her mind that he might be as dangerous as he was in danger himself. But she had determined during the ride home that even though he meant no slur upon them he should carry his mocking spirit no more into sacred things. Therefore, after a moment's thought, she turned to- ward him with a manner of mingled frankness and dignity, and said: "Mr. Gregory, I regret what has occurred this evening. I have a painful sense of the ludicrous, and you have taken unfair advantage of it. I am usually better and happier for going to our simple Little meeting, but now I can only think of the whole 'hour with pain. I think I am as-mirth-loving as the majority of my age, and perhaps more so. I say truly that my heart is very light and happy. But Mr. Gregory,-we look at certain things very differ- ently from you. While I would not for a moment have you think that religion brings into my life gloom and restraint--quite the reverse-still it gives me great pain when anything connected with my faith is made a matter of jest. These things are sacred to us, and I know my father would feel deeply grieved if he understood you this evening. Do you not see? It appears to us differently from what it does to you and perhaps to the world at large. These things are to us-'what your mother's memory is to you. I would sooner cut off my right hand than trifle with that." Gregory had been able- to maintain his quizzical look of mischief till she named his mother * then his FOILED IN ONE DIRECTION. I 33 face changed instantly. A flush of shame crossed it, and after a moment, with an expression some- thing like true manhood, he stepped forward and took Annie's hand, saying: "Miss Walton, I sincerely ask your pardon. I did not know-I could not believe that you felt as you do. I will give you no further reason to com- plain of me on this ground. I hope you will forgive me." She at once relented, and said: "' Who by repentance is not satisfied Is not of heaven nor earth.' Come, there is an apt quotation from your favorite Shakespeare."' "You seem a delightful mixture of both, Miss Walton." "If you were abetter judge, sir, you would know that the earthly ingredient is too great. But that is in your favor, for I am sufficiently human to make allowance for human folly." "I shall tax your charity to the utmost." As Walter sat down in his arm-chair to recall the events of the day before retiring, he thought: "Well, my attempt has failed signally. While by her involuntary smile she showed that she was human, she has also managed this evening to prove that she is perfectly sincere in her religion, and to- render it impossible for me to assail her in that di- rection again. As the old hymn goes, I must ' let her religious hours alone.' But how far her religion or superstition will control her action is another ques- tion. I have learned both at' home and abroad that page: 134-135[View Page 134-135] 134 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. people can be very religious and very sincere in matters of faith and ceremony, and jealous of any hand stretched out to touch their sacred-ark, but when through with the' holy business they can live the life of very ordinary mortals. This may be true of Miss Walton. At any rate I have made a mistake in showing my hand somewhat at a prayer-meeting, for women are so tenacious on religious matters. Defer- ence, personal attention, and compliments-these are the irresistible weapons. These inflate pride and vanity to such a degree that a miserable collapse is necessary. And yet I must- be careful, for she is not like some belles I know, who have the swallow of a whale for flattery. She is too intelligent, too re- fined to take compliments as"large and glaring as a sunflower. Something in -the way of a moss-rose bud will acomplish more. I will appear as if falling under her power; as if bewitched -by her charms. Nothing pleases'your plain girls mote than to be thought beautiful; I will have her head turned in a week. I am more bent than ever on teaching this little Puritan that she and I live upon the same level." Saturday morning dawned clear and bracing, and the grass was white with hoar frost. The children came in to breakfast with glowing cheeks and hair awry, crying excitedly in the same breath that" they "had been to the chestnut trees and that Jack had opened the burrs all night." In answer to their clamorous petitions a one o'clock dinner was promised, and Aunt Annie was to FOILED IN ONE DIRECTION. 135 accompany them on a nutting expedition with Jeff as pioneer to thrashand club the trees. , "Can I go too?" asked Walter of the children. - "I suppose so," said Johnnie, rather coldly,' If Aunt Annie is willing." "You can go with me," said kind-hearted little Susie. "Now I can go whether Aunt Annie is willing or not," said Walter with mock defiance at the boy. He glanced at his aunt's face to gather how he should take this, but she settled the matter satisfact- orily to him by saying: "You shall be my beau, and Mr. Gregory will be Susie's." "Good, good!" exclaimed Susie. "I've got a beau already;" and she beamed upon Walter in a way that made them all laugh. "'Coming events cast their shadows before,' you perceive, Miss Walton," said Walter meaningly. "Sometimes the events themselves are but shad. ows," she replied, drily. "Now that is severe upon the beaux. How about the belles?" he asked quickly. "I have nothing to say against my own sex, sir." "That is not fair. Of course I can say nothing adverse." "If you would say what you think I fear we would be little inclined to cry with Shylock, ' A Daniel come to judgment'!" "You have a dreadful opinion of'me Miss page: 136-137[View Page 136-137] 136 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. Walton. I wish you would teach me how I can ' change it.', "You found so much in a chestnut burr the day you came I should not be surprised if you found everything else there that you wish to know." ' I shall not look in burrs for chestnuts this after- noon, but something else far more important." Walter spent the forenoon quietly in his own room reading, in order that he might have all the strength. and vigor possible for the ramble. And to' Annie, as housekeeper, Saturday nrorning brought many duties. By two o'clock the nutting expedition was organ- ized, and with Jeff in advance with a short ladder on his left shoulder and a long, limber pole in his right hand, the party started for the hills. At first John- nie oppressed with his dignity as Aunt Annie's "beau," stalked soberly at her side, and Susie also claimed Walter according to agreement, and insisted on keeping hold of his hand. Walter submitted with such grace as he could muster, for children were tiresome to him, and he wanted to talk to Miss Walton, without "little pitchers with large ears" around. Annie smiled to herself at his half-concealed annoyance and wooden gallantry to Susie, but she understood childish life wh enough to know that the present] arrangement would not' last very long And she was right. They had hardly entered the shady lane leading to the trees before a chipmonk, with its shrill note of exclamation at IFOILED IN ONE DIRECTION. 137 unexpected company, started out of some leaves "near and ran for-its hole. Away went Aunt Annie's beau after it, and Susie also, quite oblivious of her first possession in that line, joined in the pursuit. There was an excited consultation above the squirrel's retreat, and then Johnnie out with his knife and cut a flexible rod with which to investigate the " robber's den." Gregory at once joined Annie, saying, "Since the beau of your choice has deserted you, will you except of another?" "Yes, till he proves alike inconstant." "I will see to that. A burr shall be my em- blem." "Or I do," she added, laughing. ' Now the future is beyond my power." 'Perhaps it is anyway. Johnnie was bent upon being a true knight. You may see something that will be to you what'the chipmonk was to him," "And such is your opinion of men's constancy? Miss Walton, you are more of a cynic than I am." ".Indeed! Do women dwell in your fancy as fixed stars?" "Fixed stars are all suns, are they not? I know of one with wonderful powers of attraction," said Walter with a significant glance. "Does she live in New York?" quietly asked Annie. "You know well she does not. She is a votress of nature, and, as I said, I shall search in every burr for the hidden clue to her favor." page: 138-139[View Page 138-139] 138 OPENIZNG A CHESTNUT BURR. "You had better look for chestnuts, sir." "Chestnuts! Fit food f6r children and chip-. monks. I am in quest of the only manna that ever fell from Heaven. Have you read Longfellow's Golden Legend, Miss Walton-?" "Yes," she replied with a slight contraction of the brow as if the suggestion were not pleasing. The children now came bounding towards, them and each wanted to resume their old places. "No, sir," said Walter decisively. "You de- serted your fair lady's side and your place is filled; and Susie "' Thou fair, false one,' -you renounced me for a chipmonk. My wounded heart has found solace in another." Johnnie received this charge against his gallantry with a red face and eyes that began to dilate with anger, while Susie looked at Walter poutingly and said- "I don't like big beaux. I think chipmonks are ever so much nicer." d The laugh that followed broke the force of the storm that was brewing; and Annie, by saying, "See, children, Jeff is climbing the tree on top of the hill, I wonder who will get the first nuts," caused the wind to veer round from the threatening quarter, and away they scampered with grievances all for. gotten. "-If grown-up children could only forget their troubles as easily!" sighed Walter. "Miss Walton, FOILED IN ONE DIRECTION. 139 you are gifted with admirable tact. Your witchery has cleared up another storm." "They have not forgotten," said Annie, ignoring the compliment--" they have only been diverted from their trouble. Children can do by nature what we should from intelligent choice--turn away the mind from painful subjects 'to those that are pleasing. You don't catch me brooding over trotub ble when there are a thousand pleasant things to think of." "That is easier said than done, Miss Walton. I read on your smooth brow that you have had few serious troubles, and, as you say, 'you have a thou- sand pleasant things to think of.' But with others it may be very different. Some troubles have a ter- rible magnetism that draws the mind back to them as if by a malign spell, and there are no 'pleasant things to think of.'" "No ' pleasant things'? Why, Mr. Gregory! The universe is very wide." "Present company excepted," replied he gal- lantly. "But what do I care for the universe? As you say, it is 'very wide,'-a big, uncomfortable place, that one is afraid of getting lost in." "I am not," said Annie, gently. "How so?" "It's all my Father's house. I am never for a moment lost sight of. Wherever I am, I am like a little child playing outside the door while its mother, unseen, is watching it from the window." He looked at her keenly to see if she were per page: 140-141[View Page 140-141] '!40 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. fectly sincere. Her face had the expression of a little child, and the thought flashed across him: "If she is so watched and guarded, how vain are my attempts!" But he only said with a shrug: "It would be a pity to dissipate your happy su- perstition, Miss Walton, but after what I have seen and experienced in the world, it would seem more generally true that the mother forgot her charge, left the window, and the child was run over by the butcher's cart." "Do not think it vain confidence," said Annie, earnestly, " when I say that you could not dissipate what you term my 'superstition,' any more than you could argue me out of my belief in my good old father's love." CHAPTER XIIl. INTE;KPRETING CHESTNUT BURRS. THE conversation had taken a turn that Gregory wished to avoid, so he said: "Miss Waiton, you regard me as wretched auth- ority on theology, and therefore my opinions will go for nothing. I move we join the children on the hill, for I am most anxious to commence the search for the clue to your favor. Give me your hand, that as your attendant I may at least appear to assist you in climbing, though I suppose you justly think you could help me more than I can you." "And if I can, why should I not?" asked Annie kindly." "Indeed, Miss Walton, I would crawl up first. But thanks to your reviving influences, I am not so far gone as that." "Then you would not permit a woman to reach out a helping hand to you? Talk not against Turks and Arabs. How do Christian men regard us?" "But you look upon me as a ' heathen. " "Beg your pardon, I do not." "Miss Walton, give your honest opinion of me-- just what you think." "Will you do the same of me?" page: 142-143[View Page 142-143] "2 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR "Oh, certainly!" "No, do not answer in that tone. On your honor as a gentleman." Walter was now caught. If he agreed he must state the doubts of her real goodness; his low esti. mate of women in general which led to his purpose to tempt her. This would not only arm her against his efforts but place him in a very unpleasant light, So he said hastily: "I beat a retreat, Miss Walton. I am satisfied that your opinion would discourage me utterly." "You need have no fears of that kind," she said; " though my opinion would' not be flattering, it would be most encouraging." ' No, Miss Walton, I am not to be caught. My every glance and word reveal my opinion of you, while yours of me amounts to what I usd. to hear years ago: "You are a bad boy now, but may become a good one.' Come, give me your hand, and let me seem something like a man as long as I can." As she complied she gave him a quick, keen look. Her intuition told her of something hidden, and yet he puzzled her. - Her hand was ungloved, and he thought, "When have I clasped such a hand before? - It could help a Hercules. At any rate he would like to hold it, for it is alive." There is as much diversity in the character, of hands as in faces. Some are very white and shapely and a diamond flashes prettily upon them, but having INTERPRETING CHESTNUT BURRS. I43 sai-4 this :you have said all. Others suggest honest work and plenty of it, and for such the sensible will ever have real respect. There are some hands that make you think, of creatures whose blood is cold. A lady's hand in society often suggests feebleness, lack of vitality. It is a thing to touch decorously, and if feeling betray you into giving a hearty grasp and pressure, you find that you are only causing pain and reducing the member to a confused jumble of bones and sinews. .These are-hands that suggest , fancy work, light crochet needles, and neuralgia. Annie's hand was not one that a sculptor would care to copy, though he would find no great fault with it; but a sculptor would certainly find it a pleasure to shake hands with her-'the pleasure that is the contrast with our shrinking from taking -the hand of the dead. It was soft and delicate to the pressure and yet firm. It reminded one of silk drawn over steel, and all electric and throbbing with life. You felt that it could give you the true grasp of friendship-that it had power to do more than barely cling to something, but could both help and sustain, and yet its touch would begentleness itself around the couch of suffering. Walter believed in magnetism, and determined to test her power the first opportunity that occurred. Indeed, he scarcely dreaded one of his nervous head- aches in his wish to try her healing touch. When they had reached the brow of the hill he was much more exhausted than she, and sat down panting. page: 144-145[View Page 144-145] "4 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. "Miss Walton," he asked, " do you not despise a feeble man?" "What kind of feebleness do you mean?" -- The weakness that makes me sit pale and pant- ing here, while you stand there glowing with life and vigor, a veritable Hebe." "Now, sir, all your compliments cannot bal- ance that imputation against me. Such weakness awakens my pity, sympathy, and wish to help." "Ah! the emotions you would bestow on a beg- gar. Very agreeable to a man. Well, what kind of feebleness do you despise-?," "I think I should despise a feeble, vacillating Hercules most of all--a burly, assuming sort of per- son, who could be made a tool of, and led to do$ what he knew to be mean and wrong." "You must despise a great many people then." "No, I do not. Honestly, Mr. Gregory, I have no right to despise anyone. I was only giving the reverse of my ideal man. But I assure you I share too deeply in humanity's faults to be very critical. The best man that ever lived came not to condemn but to help." "I am delighted to hear, Miss Walton, that you share in our fallen humanity, for I was beginning to doubt it, and you can well understand that I would be dreadfully uncomfortable in the presence of per- fection." "If you could escape all other sources of discom- fort as surely as this one, you would be a happy man," replied Annie with heightened color. "J INTERPRETING CHESTNUT BURRS. 145 shall ever think you are satirical when you speak in that style." "A truce, Miss Walton; only, in mercy to my poor mortality, be as human as you can. Though you seem to suspect me of a low estimate of your sex, I much prefer women to saints- and Madonnas. I am going to look for the burr." This was adroitness itself on the part of Gregory, for of all-things,sensible Annie, conscious of faults and many struggles, did not wish to give the impres- sion that she thought herself approaching perfection. And yet he had managed to make her sensitive on that point, and given her a strong motive to relax strict rules of duty, and act " like other people," as he would say. Jeff's limber-pole was now doing effective service. With a soft thud upon the sward and leaves the burrs rained around, while the detached chestnuts rattled down like hail. The children were careering about this little tempest of Jeff's manufacture in a state of wild glee, dodging the random burrs and snatching what nuts they could in safety on the out- skirts of -the prickly shower. At last the tree was well thrashed, and had the appearance of a school- boy bully who, after bristling with threats and boasts for a long time, suddenly meets his- master and is left in a very meek and plucked condition. But the moment Jeff's pole ceased its sturdy strokes there was a rush for the spoils, the children awakening the echoes with their exclamationfs of delight as they found the ground covered with what 7 page: 146-147[View Page 146-147] i46 OPENING A C6HESTNUT BURR. was more precious to them than gold dust. Even Gregory's sluggish pulses tingled and quickened at the well remembered scene, and felt the contagion of their excitement. For the moment he determined to be a boy again, and running into the charmed circle, picked away as fast as any of them till his physical weakness painfully reminded him- that his old tireless activity had passed away, perhaps for- ever. He leaned against the trunk of the tree and commenced noting, with something of an artist's eye, the pretty picture. The valley beneath was beginning to glow with the richest October tints, in 'the midst of which was his old home, that to his affection seemed like a gem set in gold, ruby, and emerald. The-stream appeared white and silvery as seen through openings of the bordering-trees, and in the distance, the purple haze and mountains blended together, leaving it in uncertainty where the granite began, even as in Gregory's mind fact and fancy were 'confusedly mingling in regard to --Miss Walton. And he soon turned even from that loved and beautiful landscape to her as an object of piquant interest, and the pleasure of analyzing and testing her character and--well, some hidden fascination of ner own--caused a faint stir of excitement at his heart, even as the October air and exercise had just tinged his pale cheeks into slight resemblance to the Autumn foliage. But Miss Walton reminded him of a young INTERPRETING CHESTNUT BURRS. I47 sugar maple that he had noticed, all aflame, from his window that morning, so rich and high was her color, as, still intent upon the thickly scattered nuts, she followed the old unspent childish impulse to gather now as she had when like Susie at her side.- With a half wondering smile Walter watched her intent childlike expression, so like that of the other children, and thought: "Well, she is the freshest and most unhackneyed young lady I have ever met for one who knows so much. It seems true, as she said, that she draws, her life from nature and will never grow old. Now she is a child with those children, looking and acting like them. A moment later she will be a self-pos- sessed young lady, with a quick, trained intellect that I can scarcely cope with. And yet in each and every character she seems so real and vital that even I, in spite of myself, feel compelled to admit her truth. Her life is like a glad, musical mountain stream, while I am a stagnant pool that she passes and leaves behind. I wonder if it is possible for one life to be awakened and quickened by another? I wonder if her vital force would be strong enough to drag another on who had almost lost the power to follow? It is said that young fresh blood can be infused directly into the veins of the old and feeble. Can the same be true of moral forces, and a glad, zest and interest in life be breathed into the jaded, cloyed, ennui-cursed spirit of one who regards exis- tence with dull eye, a sluggish pulse, and heart of lead? It seems to me that if any one could have page: 148-149[View Page 148-149] "8 OPENING A CHtESTNUT BURR. such power it- would be that girl there with her intense vitality and subtle connection with nature, which as she says, is ever young and vigorous. And yet I propose to reveal her to herself as a weak, vain creature, and that her fair seeming is like a pasteboard castle that the breath of flattery, can destroy. By Jove, I half hope I won't succeed, and yet to satisfy myself I shall carry the-test to the ,utmost limit." In her absorbed search for nuts, Annie had approached the trunk of the tree, and was stooping almost at Gregory's feet without noticing him. Sud- denly she turned up a burr whose appearan'ce so interested her that she stood up to examine it, and then became conscious of his intent gaze. "There you stand," she said, " cool and superior, criticising and laughing at me as a great overgrown child." ' "If you had looked more closely you would have seen anything rather than cool criticism in my face. I wish you could tell me your secret, Miss Walton. What is your hidden connection with nature that her strong, beautiful life flows so freely into yours?" "If I told you you would not believe me." "Indeed, Miss Walton, I should be inclined to believe anything you told me, you seem so real. But pardon me, you have in your hand the very burr I have been looking vainly for. Perhaps in it I may find the coveted clue te your favor. It may win- ningly suggest to you my meaning, while plain, bald words would only repel. If I. could only interpret INTERPRETING CHES TAUT BURRS. i49 nature as you breathe her spirit I might find the leaves of the forest like those of a superbly bound copy of Shakespeare, and every object-even such an insignificant one as this burr-an inspired illustra- tion. When men come to read nature's open book, publishers may despair. If I wished to tell you how I would dwell in your thoughts; what poet has writ- ten. anything equal to this half-open burr? It por- trays our past, it gives our present relations, and suggests the future; only, like all parables, it must not be pressed too far or too much prominence given to some mere detail. These prickly outward point- ing spines represent the reserve and formality which keeps comparative strangers apart. But now the burr is half open, revealing its heart of silk and down. So if one could get past the barriers which you, alike with all, turn toward an indifferent or un- friendly world, a kindliness would be found that would surround a cherished friend as these silken sides envelop this sole and favored chestnut. Again, note that the burr is half open now, indicating, I hope, the progress we have made toward such friend. ship. I have no true friend in the wide world that I can trust, and I would like to believe that, your re- gard, like this burr, is opening toward me. The final suggestion that I would draw may seem selfish, and yet is it not natural? This chestnut dwells alone in the very centre of the burr. We do not like to share a supreme friendship. There are some in whose esteem we would be first." When Walter finished he was half frightened at page: 150-151[View Page 150-151] !50 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. his words, for in the carrying out of his fanciful figure and in the bold style of coquetry he had learned to employ toward the belles of the ball-room, and from a certain unaccountable fascination that Annie herself had for him, he had said more than he meant. "Good heavens!" he thought, "if she should take this for a declaration and accept me on the spot, I should then be in the worst scrape of my sorry life." A man may be very much interested in a lady before reaching the point of wishing to marry her, and vice versa, of course. Miss Walton's manner rather puzzled him. Her heightened color and quickened breathing- alarmed him, while the contraction of her brow and firmness of her lips, together with an intent look on the chest- nut in the centre of the burr rather'than a languish. ing look at him or at nothing, were more assuring. She puzzled him still more when, as her only re- sponse-to all this sentiment, she asked: "Mr. Gregory, will you lend me your penknife?" Without a word he handed it to her, and she at the same time took the burr from his hand, and dain- tily plucking out the chestnut tossed the burr rather contemptuously away. - "Mr. Gregory, if I understand your rather far- fetched and forced interpretation of this little paradox of nature, you chose to represent yourself by this great lonely chestnut occupying the space where three might have grown. On observing this emble. IN ERPRETING CHESTNUT BURRS. I51 matic nut closely I detect something that may also have a place in your ' parable;'" and she pushed aside the little quirl at the small end of the nut, which partially concealed a worm-hole, and cutting through the shell showed the destroyer in the very heart of the kernel. There was nothing far-fetched in this suggestion of nature, and he saw--and he understood that Miss Walton saw--evil enthroned in the very depths of his soul. The revelation of the hateful truth was so sudden and sharp that his face darkened with invol- untary pain and anger. It seemed to him that by the simple act of showing him the- worm-infested chestnut, she had rejected anything approaching even friendship, and had also given him a good but humiliating reason why. He lost his self-possession and forgot that he deserved a stinging rebuke for his insincerity. He would have turned away in coldness and resentment. His visit to the Waltons might have come to an abrupt termination had not Annie, with that delicate, womanly tact which was one of her most marked characteristics, interrupted him as he was about to say something to, the effect: "Miss Walton, since you are so much holier than I, it were better that I should contaminate the air you breathe no longer." She looked into his clouded face with an open smile, and said: "Mr. Gregory, you have been unfortunate in the choice of a -burr. Now let me choose for your' And page: 152-153[View Page 152-153] 2152 OPENING A Cr ESTNUT BURR. she commenced looking around for one to her taste and purpose. This gave him time to recover himself and to realize the folly of quarrelling or showing any special feeling in regard to the matter. After a moment he was only desirous of some pretext for laughing the whole matter off, but how to manage it he did not know, and was inwardly cursing himself as a blun- dering fool and no match for this child of nature. Annie soon came toward him, saying, "Perhaps this burr will suggest better meanings. You see it is wide open. That means perfect frankness. There are three chestnuts here instead of one. We must be willing to share the regard of others. One of these nuts has the central place. As we come to know people well, we usually find some one occupy- ing the supreme place in their esteem, and though we may approach closely we should not wish to usurp what belongs to another. UnderJeff's vigor- ous blows the burr and its contents have had a tre- mendous downfall, but they have not parted com- pany. True friends should stick together in adver- sity. What do you think of my interpretation? ' "I think you are a witch, beyond doubt, and if ya. u had lived a few centuries- ago, you would have b -en sent to heaven in a chariot of fire." "Really, Mr. Gregory, you give me a hot answer, but it is with such a smiling face that I will take no exception, but rather take your arm and follow Jeff a id the children along the brow of the hill to the next tree. The fact is I am a little tired." INTERPRETING CHESTNUT BURRS. 153 What controversy could a man have with a pretty and wearied girl who leaned confidingly on his arm? Gregory felt like a boy who had received a deserved whipping and yet was compelled and somewhat inclined to act very amiably toward the donor. But he was fast coming to the conclusion that this unas- suming country girl was a difficult subject on which to perform his experiment. He was learning to have a wholesome respect for her that was slightly tinged with fear, and doubts of success in his plot against her grew stronger every moment. And yet the ele- ment of persistency was large in his character, and he could not give over his purpose readily, though his cynical confidence had vanished. He now de- termined to observe her closely and discover if pos- sible her weakc points. He still held to the theory that flattery was the most available weapon, though he saw he could employ it no longer in the form of fulsome and outspoken compliment. The innate refinement and truthfulness of Annie's nature revolted at broad gallantry and adulation. He be- lieved that he must reverse the tactics he usually employed in society but not the principles. There- fore he resolved that his flattery should be delicate, subtle-manifested in manner rather than in words. He would seem submissive; he would humbly wear the air of a conquered one. He would delicately maintain the "Ham-at-your-mercy," attitude. These thoughts flashed through his mind as they passed along the -brow of the hill, which at every turn gave them a new and beautiful landscape. But 7 page: 154-155[View Page 154-155] 154 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. vales in Eden would not have secured his attention then. To his perplexity this new acquaintance had secured his undivided interest. He felt that he ought to be angry at her, and yet was not. He felt that a man who had seen as much of the world as he, should be able to play with this little country girl as with a child ; but he was becoming convinced that, with allhis art, he was no match for hler art- lessness. In the interpretation of the burr of her own choice, Annie had suggested that the central and supreme place in her heart was already occupied, and his thoughts recurred frequently to that fact with uneasiness. The slightest trace of jealousy, even as the merest twinge of pain is often precursor of serious disease, indicated the power Miss Walton might gain over one who thought himself proof against all such influence. But he tried to satisfy himself in thinking, "It is her father who occupies the. first place in her affections." Then a moment later with a mental protest at his folly, "What do I care who has the first place? Well, I may not, -for she will not permit such a reprobate as I, with evil in my heart like that cursed worm in the chestnut, to have any place worth nam- ing-unless I can introduce a little canker of evil in her heart also.- I wish I could. That would bring us nearer together and upon the same level." Annie saw the landscapes. She looked away from the man upon whose arm she leaned and for a few moments forgot him. The scenes upon which - INTERPRETING CHESTNUT sURRS. 155 she was gazing were associated with another, and she ardently wished that other and more favored one could exchange' places with Gregory. Her eyes grew dreamy and tender as she recalled words spo- ken in days gone by when, with her heart thrilling with a -young girl's first dream of love, she leaned upon Charles Hunting's arm, and listened to that sweetest music of earth, all the more perfect when most broken and incoherent; and Hunting, with all his coolness and precision in Wall Street, was excess- ively nervous and unhappy in his phraseology upon one occasion, and tremblingly glad to get any terms from the girl who seemed a ihild beside'him. Annie would not permit an engagement to take place. Hunting was a distant relative. She had always liked him very much, but was not sure she loved lhim. She was extremely reluctant to leave her father and not ready for a speedy marriage; so she frankly told him that he had no rival, nor was there a prospect of any, but she would not bind him, nor permit herself to be bound at that time. If they were fated for each other the way would eventually be made perfectly clear. He was quite content, especially as Mr. Walton gave his hearty approval to the match, and he re, garded the understanding as a virtual engagement. He wanted Annie to wear the significant ring, saying that he would not look upon it as binding, but she would not. Nearly two years had passed, and while she put him off, she had satisfied- him that he was steadily page: 156-157[View Page 156-157] 156 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. gaining the place that he wished to possess in her af, fections. He was gifted with much tact and did not press his suit, but quietly acted -as if the matter were really settled, and it were only a question of time. Annie had also come to feel in the same way, She did not see such a very great deal of him, though he wrote regularly and his letters were admirable. He became her ideal man and dwelt in her imagina- tion as a demi-god. To the practical mind of this American girl his successes in the vast and compli- cated transactions of business were as grand as the achievements of any hero. Her father had been a merchant and she inherited a respect for the calling. Her father also often assured her that her lover bade fair to lead in commercial circles. "Hunting had both nerve and prudence," he was wont to say; and to impetuous Annie these qualities, combined with Christian principles, formed her very ideal man. Hunting took great pains not to undeceive her as to his character, and indeed, with the infatuation of his class, hoped that when he had amassed the fortune that glittered ever just before him, he could assume in some princely mansion, the princely, knightly soul with which she had endowed him. So he did not press matters. Indeed in his rapid accumulation of money he scarcely wished any inter- ruption, and Annie thought all the more of him that he was not dawdling around making love half the time. Also, there was less danger of disenchanting her by his presence, for woman's perception is quick. / INTERPRETING CHESTNUT BURRS. 157 But now she inwardly contrasted her strong, mas- terful knight, " sans peur et reproach" as she be- lieved, with the enfeebled, shrunken man at her side. Gregory suffered dreadfully by the compar- ison. The worm-eaten chestnut seemed truly em- blematic, and in spite of herself her face lighted up with exultation and joy that the man of her choice was a man and not the sin-marred creature upon whom she could not lean even for physical support. a Gregory caught her expression and said quickly: "Your face is full of sudden gleams. Tell me what you are thinking about." She blushed deeply in the consciousness of her thoughts, but after a moment said: "I do not believe in the confessional." He looked at her keenly, saying, "I wish you did and I were your father confessor." "She replied laughing, "' You are neither old nor good enough. If I were of that faith I would require one a great deal older and better than myself. But. here we are at our second tree which Jeff has just finished. I am going to be a child again and gather nuts as before. I hope you will follow suit, and not stand leaning against the tree laughing at me." page: 158-159[View Page 158-159] CHAPTER, XIV. "A WELL-MEANIN' MAN." THE western horizon vied with the autumn folio age as at last they turned their steps home- ward. Their path led out upon the main road some distance above the house, and, laden with the spoils that would greatly diminish the squirrels' hoard for the coming winter, they sauntered along slowly, both from a sense of weariness and leisure. They soon reached the cottage of the old lame man who had fired such a broadside of hard words at Walter as he stood on the fence opposite. With a crutch under one arm and leaning on his gate, Daddy Tuggar seemed awaiting them, and secured their attention by the laconic salutation : "Evenin'!" "Why, Daddy," exclaimed Annie, coming quickly toward him. "I am real glad to see you so spry. and well. It seems to me that you are getting young again i" and she shook the old man's hand heartily. ' Now don't praise my old grave-yard of a body, Miss Annie. My speret is pert enough, but it's al. buried up in this old clumsy, half-dead carcass. The worms will close their mortgage on it pretty soon." "A WELL-MEANIN' MAN." 159 But they haven't a mortgage on your soul," said Annie in a low tone. "Give that to your Saviour every day, as I told you." "Now bless you, Miss Annie, but it takes you to put in a ' word in season.' The Lord knows I'm a well-meanin' man, but I can't seem to get much furder. I've had an awful ' fall from grace,' my wife says. I' did try to stop swearin', but that chap there-" "Oh, excuse me," interrupted Annie. "Mr. Gregory, this is our friend and neighbor Mr. Tug- gar. I was under the impression that you were acquainted," she added, with a mischievous look at Walter. ' We are. I have heard this gentleman before," he replied with a wry face. "Pardon the interrup- tion, Mr. Tuggar, and please go on with your ex- planation." "Mr. Gregory, I owe you a 'pology. I'm a well- meanin' man, and if I do any one a wrong I'm- willin' to own it up and do the square thing. But I meant right by you and I meant right by John Walton when I thought you was stealin' his apples. I couldn't hit yer with a stun and knock yer off the fence, as I might a dozen years ago, so I took the next hardest thing I could lay hands on. If I'd known that you was kinder one of the familj my words would have been rolls of butter." "Well, Mr. Tuggar, it has turned out very' well, for I would rather you had fired what you die thax either stones or butter." page: 160-161[View Page 160-161] i6o OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. "Now my wife would say that that speech showed you was ' totally depraved.' And this brings me back to my 'fall from grace.' Now, yer see, to please my wife some and Miss Eulie more, I was tryin' cussed hard to stop swearin'- -" "Didn't you try a little for my sake, too?" inter- rupted Annie. "Lord bless you, child. I don't have to try when you're around, for I don't think swearin'. Most folks rile me and I get a thinkin' swearin', and then 'fore I know it busts right out. You could take the wickedest cuss livin' to heaven in spite of himself if you would stay right by him all the time." "I would ' rile ' you, too, if I were with you long, Cor I get ' riled ' myself sometimes." "Do you, now?" asked Mr. Tuggar, looking at -her admiringly. "Well, now, I'm mighty glad to hear it." "Oh, Daddy! glad to hear that I do wrong?" "Can't help it, Miss Annie. I kinder like to know you're a little bit of a sinner. 'Tain't often I meet with a sinner, and I kind o' like 'em. My wife says she's a 'great sinner,' but she means she's a great saint. 'Twouldn't do for me to tell her she's a ' sinner.' , Then Miss Eulie says she's a ' great sin- ner,' and between you and me that's the only fib I ever caught Miss Eulie in. Law sakes! there's no more sin in Miss Eulie's heart than there is specks of dirt on that little white ruff she wears about her neck that looks like the snow we had last April around the white hyacinths. She's kind cf q half- "A WELL-MEAMN' MA N." 161 speret anyhow. She makes me think of the white pot sies that come up out of the dirt, and yet one would think they had nothin' to do with the black stuff. "Now your goodness, Miss Annie, is another kind. Your cheeks are so red, and eyes so black, and arms so round and fat-I've seen 'em when you was over here a-beatin' up good things for the old man- that you make me think of the red and pink ' posies. I kinder think you might be a little bit of a sinner-just enough, you know, to make you under- stand how I and him there can be mighty big ones, and not be too hard on us for it." "Mr. Tuggar, you are the man of all others to plead my cause." "Now look here, young gentleman, you must do yer own pleadin'. It would be a 'sinful waste of time' though, as my wife would say, eh, Miss Annie? I never had no luck at pleadin' but once, and that was the worst luck of all." Annie's face might well suggest " red posies " during the last remarks, and its expression was di- vided between a frown and a laugh. "But I want you to understand," continued Daddy Tuggar, straightening himself up with dig- nity, and addressing Walter, " that I'm not a mean cuss. All who know me know I'm a well-meanin man. I try to do as I'd be done by. If I'm going through a man's field and find his bars down, so the cattle would get in the corn, I'd put e'm up--" "Yes, Daddy, that is what you always say," in page: 162-163[View Page 162-163] I62 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. terrupted Annie, "but you can't go through the fields any more and put up bars. The Lord wants you to try and do the duties that belong to your present state." "But I've got the speret to put up a man's bars, and it's all the same as if I did put 'em up," answered the old man with some irritation. "Miss Eulie and the rest of yer is allers sayin' we must have the speret of willingness to give up the hull world and suf- fer martyrdom on what looks in the picture like a big gridiron. She says we must have the speret of them who was cold and hungry and the lions eat up and was sawn in two pieces and had an awful time gen- erally for the sake of the Lord, and that's the way the Christians manage it now-a-days. My wife gets all the money she can and keeps it, but she says she has the speret to give up the hull world. I wish she'd give up enough of it to keep me in good ter- backer. Mighty few nice bits would the old man git wasn't it for you and Miss Eulie. Then I watch the good people goin' to church. 'Mazin' few out wet Sundays. But no doubt they've all got the ' speret' to go. They would jist as lief be sawn in two pieces ' in speret' as not, if they can only sleep late in the mornin' and have a good dinner and save their Sun- day-go-to-meetin' clothes from gettin' wet. It must be so, or the Lord gets mighty little worship out of the church on rainy Sundays. If it wasn't for you and Miss Eulie I don't know what would become of the old man and all the rest of the sick and feeble folks around here. I ask my wife why she doesn't "A WELL-MEANIN' MAN.' 63 go to see 'em sometimes. She says she has the 'speret to go,' but she hasn't the time and strength. So I have the ' speret' to put up a man's bars while I sit here and smoke, and what's more, Miss Annie, I did it as long as I was able." "You did indeed, Daddy, and, though uninten- tionally, you have given me a good lesson. We lit- tle deserve to be mentioned with those Christians who in olden times suffered the loss of all things, and life itself." "Lord bless you, child, I didn't mean you. Whether you've got the speret to do a thing or not yer allers do it, and in a sweet, natteral way, as if you couldn't help it. When my wife enters on a good work it makes me think of a funeral. I'm 'mazin' glad you didn't live in old times, 'cause the. lions would have got you sure 'nuff. Though, if it had to be, I would kinder liked to have been the lion "--and the old man's eyes twinkled humorously, while Gregory laughed heartily. "Oh, Daddy Tuggar," exclaimed Annie, " that is the most awful compliment I ever received. If you, with your spirit, were the only lion I had to deal with, I would never become a martyr. You shall have some jelly instead, and now I must go home in order to have it made before Sunday." "Wait a moment," said Gregory. "You were about to tell us how I caused you to ' fall from grace.'" "So I was, so I was, and I've been goin' round Robin Hood's barn ever since. Well, I'd been page: 164-165[View Page 164-165] 164 OPERVING A CHESTN UT BURR. holdin' in on my swearin' along time, 'cause I prom. ised Miss Eulie I'd stop if Hcould. -My wife said I was in quite a 'hopeful state,' while I felt all the time as it I was sort of bottled up and the cork might fly out any minute. Miss Eulie, she came and rejoiced over me that mornin', and my wife she looked so solemn (she allers does when she says she feels glad) that somehow I got nervous, and then my wife went to the store and didn't get the kind of terbacker I sent for, and I knew the cork was going to fly out. I was smokin' and in a sort of a doze, when the first thing I knowed a big stun rolled into the road, and there I saw a strange chap, as I thought, a-stealin' John Walton's apples and knockin' down the. fence. If they'd a been my apples I might have held in a little longer, but John Walton's-it was like a dam givin' way." "It was, indeed," said Walter significantly. "It was like several." "I knowed my wife heard me, and if she'd come right out and said, ' You've made a cussed old fool of yourself,' I think I would -have felt better. I knowed she was goin' to speak about it and lament over it, and I wanted her to do it right away; but she put it off and put it off, and kept me on pins and needles for ever so long. At last she, said with solemn joy, ' Thomas Tuggar, I told Miss Eulie I feared you was still in a state of natur--and, alas! I am right-- but how she'll mourn, how great will be her disap- pointment, when she hears '-and then I fell into a 'state of natur' agin. Now, Miss Annie, if the "A WEiLL--MEANIN' MAN." 6 l ord, Miss Eulie, and you all could only see I'm a well-meanin' man, and that I don't mean no disre. spect to anybody; that it's only one of my old, rough ways that I learned from my father--and mother too, for that matter, I'm sorry to say-and have followed so long that it's bred in the bone, it would save a heap of worry. One must have some way of lettin' off steam. Now my wife she purses up her mouth so tight you couldn't stick a pin in it when she's riled. I often say to her, ' Do explode Open your mouth and let it all out at once.' But she says it is not becoming for such as her ter ' ex- plode.' But it will come out all the same, only it's like one of yer cold northeast, drizzlin', fizzlin' rain- storms. And now I've made a clean breast of it, I hope you'll kinder smooth matters- over with Miss Eulie; and I hope you, sir, will just think of what I said as spoken to a stranger and not a friend of the family." "Give me your hand, Mr. Tuggar. I hope we shall be the best of friends. I am coming over to have a smoke with you and see if I can't fill your pipe with some tobacco that is like us both,' in a state of natur.' A white-faced woman appeared -at the door; and, courtesying low to Miss Walton, called: "Husband, it's too late for you to be out; I fear your health will suffer." "She's bound up in me, you see," said the old man, with a curious grimace. "Nothing but the page: 166-167[View Page 166-167] i66 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. reading of my will will ever comfort her when I die." "Daddy, Daddy," said Annie, reproachfully,. "have charity. Good night; I will send you some- thing nice for to-morrow." An amused smile lingered on Gregory's face as they pursued -their way homeward, now in the early twilight; but Annie's aspect was almost one of sad- ness. After a little he said: ' Well, he is one of the oddest specimens of hu- manity I ever met." She did not immediately reply, and he, looking at her, caught her expression. "Why is your face so clouded, Miss Annie?" he asked. "You are not given to Mrs. Tuggar's style of' solemn joy '?" "What a perplexing mystery life is after all! ' she replied, absently. "I really think poor old Daddy Tuggar speaks truly. He is- a ' well-mean- ing' man, but he and many others remind me of one not having the slightest ear for music trying to catch a difficult harmony." ' "Why is the harmony so difficult?" asked Wal- ter, bitterly. "Perhaps it were better to ask, Why has human- ity so disabled itself?" "I do not think it matters much how you put the case. It amounts to the same thing. Something is required of us beyond our strength. The idea of punishing that old man for being what he is, when in the first place he inherited evil from his parents A BELz EANWZ 1A07 167 and then was taught it by precept and example. I think he deserves more credit than blame." "The trouble is, Mr. Gregory, evil carries its own punishment along with it every day. But I admit that we are surrounded with mystery on every Side. Humanity, left to itself, is a hopeless problem. But one thing is certain: we are not responsible for ques. tions beyond our ken. Moreover, many things that we're complete mysteries to me as a child are now plain, and I ever hope to be one of God's little chil- dren, taught of him something new every day. You and I at -least have much to be gratefulfor in the fact that we neither inherited evil nor were taught it in any such degree as our poor neighbor." "And you quietly prove, Miss Walton, by-your last remark, that I am much more worthy of blame than your' poor old neighbor.'" "Then I said more than I meant," she answered, eagerly. "It is not for me to judge or condemn any one. The thought in my mind was how favored we had been in our parentage-our start in existence, as it were." ' But suppose one loses that vantage ground?" "I do not wish to suppose anything of the kind."' "But one can lose it utterly." "I fear some can and do. Butwhydwellona subject so unutterably sad and painful? You have not lost it, and, as I said before to-day, I will - not dwell upon the disagreeable any m ore than I can help." - can page: 168-169[View Page 168-169] 168 OPENING, A CHESTNUT BURR "-Your opinion of me is poor enough already, Miss Walton, so I, too, will drop the subject." They had now reached the house and did ample justice to the supper awaiting. Between meals people can be very sentimental, morbid, and tragical. They can stare at God's deep mysteries and shudder or scoff, 'sigh or rejoice, ac- cording to their moral conditions. They can even grow cold with dread, as did Gregory, realizing that he had " lost his vantage ground," his good start in the endless career. "She is steering across unknown seas to a peaceful, happy shore. I am drifting on those same mysterious waters I know not whither," -he thought. But a few moments after entering the cheerfully lighted dining-room he was giving his whole soul to muffins. These homely and ever-recurring duties and pleasures of life have no doubt saved multitudes from madness. It would almost seerh that they have also been the innocent causes of the destruction ot many. There are times when the mind is al- most evenly balanced between good and evil. Some powerful appeal or startling providence has aroused the sleeping spirit, or some vivifying truth has pierced the armor of indifference or prejudice, and quivered like an arrow in the soul, and the man remembers that he is a man and not a brute that perishes. But just then the dinner-bell sounded. After the several courses, any physician can predict how the powers of that human organization must of "*A WELL4-MEANIN ' MAN." necessity be employed the next few hours, and the partially awakened soul is like one who starts up out of a doze and sleeps again. If the spiritual nature had only become sufficiently aroused to realize the situation, life might have been secured. Thought and feeling in some emergencies will do more than the grandest pulpit eloquence quenched by a Sun. day dinner. page: 170-171[View Page 170-171] CHAPTER XV. MSS WALTON'S DREAM. THE hickory fire blazed cheerily in the parlor after- tea, and all drew gladly around its wel- come blaze. But even the delights of roasting chest- nuts from the abundant spoils of the afternoon, could not keep the little heads of the children from drooping early. Walter was greatly fatigued, and soon went to his room- also. Sabbath morning dawned dimly and uncertainly, but by the time they had gathered at the breakfast- table, a northeast rain-storm had set in with a driv- ing gale. "I suppose you will go to church ' in speret this morning, as Mr. Tuggar would say," said Walter addressing Annie. "If I were on the sick list I should, but I have no such excuse." ", You seriously do not mean to ride two miles in such a storm as this?" "No, not seriously, but very cheerfully and gladly do not think it is required of you Miss "I do not think it is required of you,'Miss Wal MSS WALTON'S DREAM. 171 ton. Even your Bible states, 'I will have mercy and not sacrifice.' " "The ' sacrifice' in my case would be in staying home. I like to be out in a storm, and have plenty of warm blood to resist its chilling effects. But even were it otherwise, what hardship is there in my wrapping myself up in a waterproof, and riding a few miles to a comfortable church? I shall come back with a grand appetite, and a double zest for the wood fire." "But it is not fair on the poor horses. They have no waterproofs or wood fires." "I think I am not indifferent to the comfort of dumb animals, and though I drive a good deal, father can tell you I am not a * whip.' But of all shams to me the most transparent is this tenderness for one's self and the horses on Sunday. I am often out in stormy weather during the week, and meet plenty of people on the road. The farmers drive to the village on rainy days because they can neither plough, sow, nor reap. But on even a cloudy Sab- bath, with the faintest prospect of rain, there is but one text in the Bible for them: ' A righteous man regardeth the life of his beast.' People attend par- ties, the opera, and places of amusement no matter llow bad the night. It is a miserable pretence to say that the weather keeps the majority home from church. It is only an excuse for staying away. I would have a great deal more respect for them if they would say frankly, ' We would rather sleep, read a novel, dawdle around en deshabille, and gossip.' page: 172-173[View Page 172-173] 172 OPENING A CHESTN UT BURR. Half the time when they say it's too stormy to ven. ture out (oh! the heroism of our Christian age!) they should go and thank God for the rain that is providing food for them and theirs. "And granting' that our Christian duties do in- volve some risk and hardship, does not the Bible ever speak of life as a warfare, a struggle, an agoniz- ing for success? Do not armies often fight and march in the rain and dumb beasts share their ex- posure? There is more at stake in this battle. In ancient times God commanded the bloody sacrifice of innumerable animals for the sake of moral and religious effect. Moral and religious effect are worth just as much now. Nothing can excuse wanton cruelty. But the soldier who spurs his horse against the enemy, and the sentinel who keeps his out in a winter storm, are not cruel. But many farmers about here will over-work and under-feed all the week, and on Sunday talk about being ' merciful to their beasts.'"There won't be over twenty-five at church to-day, and the'Christian heroes, the sturdy yeo- manry of the church, will- be dozing and grumbling in chimney corners. The languid half-heartedness of the church discourages me more than all the evil in the world. Miss Walton stated her views in a quiet under- tone of indignation and not so much in answer to Gregory, as a protest against a style of action utterly repugnant to her earnest, whole-souled nature. As Walter saw the young girl's face light up with the will and purpose to be loyal to a noble cause, his \ tISS WAL4TON'S DREAM. . own aimless, self-pleasing life seemed petty and con. temptible indeed, and again he 'had that painful sense of humiliation which Miss Walton unwittingly caused him; but as was often his way, he laughed the matter off by saying : "There is no need of my going to church to-day, for I have had my sermon, and a better one -than you will hear. Still, such is the effect of your hom- ily that I am inclined to ask you to take me with you." Annie's manner changed instantly, and she smil- ingly answered : "You will find an arm-chair before a blazing fire in your room up stairs, and an arm-chair before a blazing fire in the parlor, and you can vacillate between them at your pleasure." "As a vacillating man should, perhaps you might add." ' I add nothing of the kind." "Will you never let me go to church with you again?" "Certainly, after what you said, any pleasant day." "Why can't I have the privilege of being a mar- tyr as well as yourself?" "I'm not a martyr. I would far rather go out to-day than stay at home." "It will be very lonely without you." "Oh, ydu are the -martyr then, after all. I hope you will have sufhficferiteforfitude to entdure, and-doze comfortablydy during the two hours of my absence.' page: 174-175[View Page 174-175] 174 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. "Now you are satirical on Sunday, Miss Walton. Let that burden your conscience. I'm going to ask your father if I may go." "Of course you will act your pleasure," said Mr. Walton, " but I think, in your present state of i health, Annie has suggested the wiser and safer thing to do." "' I should probably be ill on your hands if I went, so I submit; but I wish you to take note, Miss Walton, that I have the ' speret to go.'" The arm-chairs were cosey and comfortable, and the hickory wood turned, as is its wont, into glowing and fragrant coals, but the house grew chill and empty the moment Annie left. Though Mr. Walton and Miss Eulie accompanied her, their absence was rather welcome, but he felt sure that Annie could have beguiled the heavy-footed hours. "She has some unexplained power of making me forget my miserable self," he muttered. And yet, left to himself, he had now nothing to do but think, and a fearful time he had of it, lower- ing at the fire, in the arm-chair, from which he scarcely stirred. "I have lost my vantage ground," he groaned-- "Iost it utterly. I am not even a 'well-meaning man.' I purpose evil against this freshest, purest spirit I have ever known since in this house I looked into my mother's eyes. I am worse than the wild Arab of the desert. I have eaten salt with them; I hlave partaken of their generous hospitality, given so cordially for the sake of one tltat is dead, and in MSS WALTON'S DREAM. - 17$ return have wounded their most sacred feelings, and now propose to prove the daughter a creature that I can go away and despise. Instead of being glad I that there is one in the world noble and good-even though by accident; instead of noting with pleasure that every sweet, flower has not become a weed, I wish to drag-her down to my own wretched level, or else I would have her exhibit sufficient weakness to show that she would go as far as she was tempted to go. A decent devil could hardly wish her worse. I would like to see her show the same spirit that animates Miss Belle St. Clair of New York, or Mrs. Grobb, my former adored Miss Bently--creatures that I despise as I do myself, and what more could I say? If I could only cause her to show some of their characteristics the reproach of her life would' pass away, and I should be confirmed in my belief that humanity's unutterable degradation is its mis- fortune, and the blame should rest elsewhere than on us. How absurd to blame water for running down hill. Give man or woman half a chance, that is, before habits are fixed, and they follow faster down the inclined moral plane. And yet the plague of it is, this seeming axiom does not seem to satisfy me. What business has my conscience, with a lash of scorpion stings, to punish me this and every day that I permit myself to think? Did I not try for years to be better? Did I not resist the infernal gravitation, and yet I am falling still? I never did anything so mean and low before as I am doing now If it is my nature to do evil, why should 'I not do it page: 176-177[View Page 176-177] 176 OPENING A CHESTArUT BURR. without' compunction? And as I look downward-- there: is ing looking forward for me-there seems no evtil tiihing that I could not do if tempted and so inclined. Here in this home of my childhood, this sacred atmosphere that my mother breathed, I would besmirch the character of an as yet pure, good girl, with a nature like a white hyacinth in spring. I see the vileness of the act, I loathe it, and yet it fasci- nates me, and I have no power to resist. Why should a stern, condemning voice declare in the re- cesses of my soul, you could and should resist? For years I have been daily yielding to temptation, and conscience as often pronounces sentence against me. When will the hateful farce cease? Multitudes ap- pear to sin without thought or remorse. Why can- not I? It's my mother's doings I suppose. A plague upon the early memories of this place. Will they keep me upon the rack forever?" He rose, strode up and down the-parlor and clenched his hands in passionate protest against him- self, his destiny, and the God who made him. A chillness, resulting partly from dread and partly from the wild storm raging without, caused him to heap up the hearth with wood. It speedily leaped into flame, and, covering his face with his hands, he sat cowering before it. A vain but fre- -quent thought recurred to him with double power. "Oh that I could cease to exist, and lose this miserable consciousness! Oh that, like this wopd, I could be aflame with intense passionate life, and then lose identity, -memory, and everything that MSS WAL -TOlS DREAM. i7? makes me, and pass into other forms. Nay, more, if I had any wish, I would become nothing here and now." The crackling of flames and rush of wind and lain against the windows had caused the sound of wheels, and a light step in the room to be unheard. He was aroused by hearing Miss Walton ask: "Mr. Gregory, are you ill?" He raised his woe-begone face to hers, and said, almost irritably: "Yes-no--or at least I am as well as I ever expect to be, and perhaps better." Then with a sudden impulse he asked, "Does annihilation seem such a dreadful thing to you?" "What! the losing of an eternity of keen en- joyment. What could be more dreadful! Really, Mr. Gregory, brooding here alone has not been good for you. Why do you not think of pleasant things?" "For the same reason that a man with a raging toothache does not have pleasant' sensations," he answered, with a grim smile. "I admit the force of your reply though I do not think the case exactly parallel. The mind is not as helpless as the body. Still, I believe it is true that when the body is suffering the mind is apt to become the prey of all sorts of morbid fancies, and you do look really ill. I Wvish I could give you some of my rampant health and spirits to-day. Facing the Octo. ber storm has done me good every way, and I am ravenous for dinner." He looked enviously at her as she stood before 8* page: 178-179[View Page 178-179] iX78 OPENING A CHESTNT UT B URR. him, witlt her waterproof, still covered with raim drops, partially thrown back and revealing the. out. line of a form which, though not stout, was sugges- tive of health and strength. She seemed, with her warm high color, like a hardy flower covered with spray. Instead of shrinking feebly and delicately from the harsher moods of nature, and coming in pinched and shivering, the gale, seemingly, had only quickened the blood in her veins and all the -wheels of life. "Miss Walton," he said, with a glimmer of a smile, "do you know that you are very different from most young ladies? You and nature evidently have some deep secrets between you. I half believe you never will grow old, but are one of the peren- nials. I am real glad you have come home, for you seem to bring a little of yesterday's sunshine into the dreary house." As they returned to the parlor after dinner, Wal- ter said: "Miss Walton, what can you do to interest me this afternoon, for I am devoured with ennui?" She turned upon him rather sharply and said: "A young man like you has no business to be 'devoured with ennui.' Why not engage in some pursuit, or take up some subject that will interest you and stir your sluggish pulse?" With a touch of his old mock gallantry he bowed and said: "In you I see just the subject, and am delighted to think I'm going to have you all to myself this rainy afternoon ' MSS WALTON' S DREAM. 79 With a half-vexed laugh and somewhat height. eried color she answered: "I imagine you won't have me all to yourself long." She had hardly spoken the words before the children bounded in, exclaiming: "Now, Aunt Annie, for our stories." "You see, Mr. Gregory, here are previous and counter claims already." "I wish I knew of some way of successfully dis- puting them." "It would be difficult to find. Well, come little kids, we will go into the sitting-room and not dis. turb Mr. Gregory." "Now, I protest against that," he said. "You might at least let me be one of the children." "But the trouble is you won't be one, but will sit by criticising and laughing at our infantile talk." "Now you do me wrong. I will be as good as I know how, and if you knew how long and dreary the day is you would not refuse." She looked at him keenly for a moment and then said a little doubtfully, "Well, I will try for once. Run and get your, favorite Sunday books, children.' When they were alone he asked: "How can you permit these youngsters to be such a burden on you?" "They are not a burden," she answered quietly. "But a nurse could take care of them and keep them quiet. "If their father and mother were living they page: 180-181[View Page 180-181] o80 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. would not think' keeping them quiet' all their duty toward them, nor do I, to whom they were left as a sacred trust." "That awful word 'Duty' rules you, Miss Wal- ton, with a rod of iron." "Do I seem like a harshy driven slave?" she asked smilingly. "No, and I cannot understand you." "That is because your philosophy of life is wrong. You still belong to that old school who would have it that sun, moon, and stars revolve around the earth. But here are the books, and if you are to be one of the children you must do as I bid you-be still and listen." It was strange to Walter how content he was to obey. He was surprised in his-interest in the old Bible stories told in childish language, and as Annie stopped to explain a point or answer a question, he found himself listening as the eager little boy sitting on the floor at her feet. The hackneyed man of the world could not understand how the true, simple language of nature, like the little brown blossoms of lichens, has a beauty and power of its own. At the. same time he had a growing consciousness that there was something in the reader also which perhaps mainly held his interest. It was pleasant to listen to the low, musical voice. It was pleasant to see the red lips drop the words so easily yet- so dis- tinctly, and chief of all was a consciousness of a vital. ized presence that made the room seem full when ! tI MSS WAL TOTrS DREAM. A I1 she was in it, and empty when she left, though all others remained. He really shared the children's regret when at last she said: "Now I am tired, and must go up stairs and rest awhile before supper, after which we will have some music. You can go in the sitting-room and look at the pictures till the tea-bell rings. Mr. Gregory, will my excuse to the children answer for you also?" "I suppose it must, though I have no pictures to look at." She suddenly appeared to change her mind, and said briskly: "Come sir, what you need is work for others. I have read to you and you ought to be willing to read to me. If you please I will rest in the arm chair here instead of my room." "I will take your medicine," he said eagerly, "without a wry face, though an indifferent reader, while I think you are a remarkably good one; and let me tell you it is one of the rarest accomplish- ments we' find. *You shall also choose the book." "What unaccountable amiableness!" she replied, laughing. "I fear I shall reward you by going to sleep." "Very well, anything so I am not left alone again. I am wretched company for myself." "Oh, it is not for my sake you are so good, after all." "You think me a selfish wretch, Miss Walton. ' page: 182-183[View Page 182-183] I82 - OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. "I think you are like myself, capable of much improvement. But I wish to rest, and you must not talk, but read. There is the Schonberg Cotta Family. I have been over it two or three times, so if I lose the thread of the story it does not matter." He-wheeled the arm-chair up to the fire for her, and for a while she listened with interest; but at last her lids drooped and soon closed; and her regu- lar breathing showed that she was sleeping. He read in lower and lower monitone lest his sudden stopping should awaken her, then laid down his book and read a different story in the pure young face turned to- ward him. "It -is not beautiful," he thought, ' but it is a real good face. I would not be attracted toward it in a thronged and brilliant drawing-room. I might not notice it on Fifth Avenue, but if I were ill and in deep trouble, it is just such a face as I would like to see bending over me. Am I not ill and in deep trouble? I have lost my health and have lost my manhood. What worse disasters this side death can I experience. Be careful, Walter Gregory, you may be breaking the one clue that can 4ead you out of the labyrinth. You may be seeking to palsy the one hand that can help you. Mother believed in a special Providence. Is it her suggestion that now flashes in my mind that God in mercy has brought me to this place of sacred memories, and given me the companionship of this good woman, that the bitter waters of my life may be sweetened? I do not know from whom else it can come. MSS WALTON'S DREAM. 183 "' And yet the infernal fascination of evil? I can. not-I will not give up my purpose toward her. Vain dreams! Miss Walton nor an angel of light could not reclaim me. My impetus downward is too great. I am like Lucifer after he had been long fall- ing from heaven. i"Oh, the rest and peace of that face! Physical rest and. a quiet, happy spirit dwells in every line. She sleeps there like a child, little dreaming that a demon is watching her. But she says that she is guarded. Perhaps she is. A strong viewless one with a flaming sword may stand between her and me. "Weak fool! Enough of this. I shall carry out my experiment fully, and when I have succeeded or failed, I can come to some conclusion on matters now in doubt. "I would like to kiss those red parted lips. I wonder what she- would do if I did?" Annie's brow darkened into a frown. Suddenly she started up and looked at him, but seemed satis-- fied from his distance and motionless aspect. "What is the matter?" he asked. "Oh, nothing. I had a dream," she said with a slight flush. "Please tell it," he said, though he feared her answer. "You will not like it. Besides, it's too absurd." "You pique my curiosity. Tell'it by all means.' "Well, then, you mustn't be angry; and remem- ber, I have no faith in sleeping vagaries. I dreamed page: 184-185[View Page 184-185] A84 - OPENING A CHESTNUT' BURR that you were transformed into a large tiger-cat, and came stealthily to bite me." He was startled as he recalled his thought at the moment of her awaking, but had the presence of mind to say: "Let me interpret the dream." "Well." "' You know, I suppose, that dreams go by con- traries. Suppose a true friend wished to steal a kiss in your unconsciousness.' "True friends do-not steal from us," she replied, laughing. '"I don't knrow whether it was safe to let you read me to sleep." "It's not wrong to be tempted, is it? One can't help- that. As-Mr.- Tuggar says, I might have the ( speret to do it,f and yet remain quietly in my chair, as I have." You make an admission in your explanation. Well, it was queer,; she added absently. Gregory thought so too, and was annoyed at her unexpected clairvoyant powers. But he said, as if a little piqued: "If you think me a tiger-cat you had better not sleep within my reach, or you may find your face sadly mutilated on awaking." "Nonsense," she said' "Mr. Gregory, you are a gentleman. We are talking like foolish children." The tea-bell now rang, and Gregory obeyed its summons; in a very perplexed state. His manner was-;ather- absent during the meal- but:'Annie s-seei:d to take-'pains to be kind and reassuring; MSS WZALTO rS DREAM. I85 The day, so far from being a restraint, appeared one of habitual cheerfulness, which even the dreary storm without could not dampen. "We shall have a grand sing to-night with the assistance of your voice, I hope, Mr. Gregory," said Mr. Walton as they all adjourned to the parlor. "I do not sing by note," he replied. "When I can I will join you, though I much prefer listening to Miss Walton." "Miss Walton prefers nothing of the kind, and we shall sing only what you know," she said with a smiling glance at him over her shoulder as she was making selections from the music-stand. Soon they were all standing round the piano, save Mr. Walton, who sat near in his arm-chair, his face the picture of placid enjoyment as he looked on the little group so dear to him. They began with the children's favorites from the Sabbath-school books, the little boy dutjifully finding the place for his grandfather. Many of them were the same as Gregory had sung long years before, standing in the same place, a child like Johnny, and the vivid mem- ories thus recalled made his voice a little husky occasionally. Annie once gave him a quick look of sympathy, not curious but- appreciative. "She seems to know what is passing in my soul," he thought; "I never knew a woman with such in- tuitions." The combined result of their voices was true home music, in which were blended the-tones of childhood and age. Annie, with' her sweet soprano page: 186-187[View Page 186-187] I86 OPENING A CHESTNUT BUrRR. led, and gave time and key to them all,yery much as by the force and loveliness of her character she influenced the daily harmony of their lives. The children, with their imitative faculty, seemed to gather from her lips how to follow with-fair correct- ness, and they -chirped through the tunes as two intelligent robins might. Miss Eulie sang a sweet though rather faint alto that was like a low minor key in a happy life. Mr. Walton's melody was rather that of the heart, for his voice was returning to the weakness' of childhood again, and his ear scarcely quick enough for the rapid changes of the air, and yet, unless ("Grandpa " joined with them, all felt that the circle was incomplete. Gregory was a foreign element in the little group, almost a stranger to its personnel, and more estranged from the sacred meanings and feeling of the hour; yet such was the contagion of the example, so strong were the sweet home-spells of this Christian family, that to his surprise he found himself entering with zest into a scene that on the Sabbath before he would have regarded as an unmitigated bore. The thought flashed across him: "How some of my club acquaintances would laugh to see me standing between two children sing- ing Sabbath-school hymns." It was also a sad fact that he could go awa) from all present influences to spend the next Sab- bath at his club in the ordinary style. The " flesh- pots of Egypt," the "leeks and onions," are not readily exchanged for manna, the " light-food " from MSS WAL TO NS DREAM. 187 heaven which gross natures are prone to "loathe " after the sensations of novelty have passed away. When. the children's hour had passed and they had been tucked away to peaceful spring-time, dreams, though a storm, the precursor of winter, raged without, Annie returned to the parlor and- j said: "Now, Mr. Gregory, we will have -some singing more to your taste." "I have been one of the children to-day," he replied, " so you must let me off with them from any further singing myself." "If you insist on playing the children's rdle you must go to bed. I have some grand old hymns that I've been wishing to try with you." "Indeed, Miss Walton, I am but half a man. At the risk of your contempt I must say in frankness that my whole physical nature yearns for my arm- chair. But please do not call my weakness laziness. If you will sing to me just what you please, accord- ing to your mood, Hfor one will be grateful." "Even. a dragon could not resist such an appeal," said Annie, laughing, and she sat down to her piano and soon partially forgot her audience, in an old Sabbath evening habit, well known to natural musi- cians, of expressing her deeper and more sacred feel- ings in words and notes that harmonized with them. Gregory sat and listened as the young girl unwit- ting revealed a new element in her nature. In her every-day life she appeared to him full of force and power, practical and resolute. With his page: 188-189[View Page 188-189] 188 OPENING A CHESTSiVUT rBUR. sporting tastes she reminded him of a mettled steed whose high spirit was kept in check by thorough training. Her conversation was piquant, at times a little brusque, and utterly devoid of sentimentality. But now her choice of poetic thought and her tones revealed a wealth of womanly tenderness, and he was compelled to feel that her religion was not legal and cold, a system of duties, beliefs, and restraints, but something that seemed to stir the depths of her soul with mystic longings and overflow her heart with love. She] was not adoring the Creator, nor paying homage to a king; but, as the perfume rises from a flower, so her voice and manner seemed the natural expression of a true,' strong affection for God Himself, not afar off, but known as a near and dear friend. In her sweet tones there was not the faintest suggestion of the effect or style that a pro- fessional singer would aim at. She thought no more of these than would a brown thrush swaying on its spray in the twilight of a June evening. As unaffectedly as the bird she sang according to the inward promptings of a nature purified .and made lovely by the grace of God. No one not utterly given over to evil could have listened unmoved, still less Walter, with his sensitive, beauty-loving, though perverted nature. The spirit of David's harp again breathed its divine peace on his sin-disquieted soul. The music stole into his heart as the angel entered the "lions' den," and every evil passion, like the savage beasts, was undet the restraint of a gentle but irresistible power. The MSS WAL TON'S DREAM. I89 words of old Daddy Tuggar flashed across him, and he muttered: "Yes, she could take even me to heaven, ' if she stayed right by me.' " When finally, with heart-felt sincerity, she sang the following simple words to an air that seemed a part of them, he envied her from the depths of his soul, and felt that he would readily barter away any earthly possession and life itself for a like faith: Nearer, nearer, ever'nearer, Come I gladly unto thee; And the days are growing brighter With thy presence nearer me. Though a pilgrim, not a stranger; This thy land, and I thine own; At thy side, thus free from danger, Find I paths with flowers strown. Voices varied, nature speaking, Call to me on every side; Friends and kindred give their greeting; In thy sunshine I abide. Though my way were flinty, thorny, Were I sure it led to thee, Could I pass one day forlo'rnly, Home and rest so soon to see? Then she brought the old family Bible, indicat- ing after that hour she was in no mood for common- place conversation. In the hush that followed, the good old man reverently read a favorite passage, which did not seem to consist of cold, printed words, page: 190-191[View Page 190-191] I90 OPExING A CHESTNUT BURR. but wag a part of a loving letter sent by the Divine. Father to his absent children. As such it was received by all save Gregory. He sat among them as a stranger and an alien, cut off by his own acts from those ties which make one household of earth and heaven. But such was the influence of the evening upon hm that he realized as never before his loss and loneliness. He longed intensely to share in their feelings, and for the right to appropriate the words of love and promise that Mr. Walton read. The prayer that followed was so tender, so full of heartfelt interest in his guest, that Gregory's feel- ings were deeply touched. He arose from his knees, and again shaded his face to hide the traces of his emotion. When at last he looked up, Mr. Walton was quietly reading, and the ladies had retired. He rose and bade Mr. Walton good night with a strong but silent grasp of the hand. The thought flashed across him as he went to his room, that after this evening and the grasp as of friendship he had just given the father, he could not in the faintest degree meditate evil against the daughter. But so conscious was he of moral weak- ness, so self-distrustful in view of many brokedfreso- lutions, he dared resolve on nothing. He at last fell into a troubled- sleep with the vain, regretful thought, "Oh that I had not lost my:vantage ground! Oh that I could live my life over again 1" -i CHAPTER XVI. AN ACCIDENT IN THE MOUNTAINS. IN view of her recent stormy mood, nature seemed full of regretful relentings on Monday, and, as if to make amends for her harshness, assumed some- thing of a summer softness. The sun had not the glaring brightness that dazzles, and the atmosphere, purified by the recent rain, revealed through its crystal depths objects with unusual distinctness. ';It is a splendid day for a mountain ramble, said Annie, with vivacity, at the breakfast table. "Why don't you take old Dolly and the moun- tain wagon, and show Mr. Gregory some of our fine views, this afternoon?" asked Mr. Walton. "Nothing would please me more," said his daughter cordially; "that is if Mr. Gregory feels equal to the fatigue." " I'd be at my last gasp if I refused such an offer," said Walter eagerly; " it would do me good, for I feel much stronger than when I first came, and Miss Walton's society is the best tonic I know of." "Very well," said she, laughing. "You shall take me this afternoon as a continuation of the tonic treatment under which you say you are improve ing." page: 192-193[View Page 192-193] I92 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. "To carry on the medical figure," he replied, "I tear that I am to you the embodiment of the deple- tive system." 'I From my feelings this bright morning you have very little effect. I prescribe for you a quiet fore- noon, as our mountain roads will give you an awful jolting. You, if not your medicine, will be well shaken to-day." "You are my medicine, as I understand it, so I shall take it according to the old orthodox coup- let." T "No, the mountain is your medicine, and I antici- pate no earthquakes." "It is settled then," said Mr. Walton, smiling, "that you adopt Mahomet's compromise and go to the mountain. I will tell Jeff to fit you out in suitable style." ; Walter retired to his room for a quiet morn- ing in excellent spirits. The prospect for the after- noon pleased him greatly, and a long tete-&-tete with Annie among the grand and beautiful solitudes of nature had for him an attraction that he could scarcely understand. "She is just the one for a companion on such an expedition," he said to himself. "She seems a part of the scenes we shall look upon. The free, strong mountain spirit breathes in her every word and act. Old Greek mythology would certainly make her a nymph of the hills." After dinner they started, Walter's interest cen- tring mainly in his companion, but Annie regard- AN ACCIDENT IN THE MOUNTAINS. 193 ing him as a mere accessory to a sort of half holiday in her busy life, and expecting more enjoy- ment from the scenery and exhilarating air than from his best efforts to entertain her. And yet in this respect she was agreeably disappointed. Gregory was in a mood that he scarcely understood himself. If Annie had been somewhat vain and shallow, though possessing many other good traits, with the practised skill of a society man he would have availed himself of these weaknesses, amused himself with a piquant flirtation, and soon have been ready for his departure to New York with a contemptuous French shrug at the whole affair. But Annie's weaknesses did not lie in that direction. Her naturally truthful and earnest nature. deepened and strengthened by Christian principle, from the first had foiled his un- worthy purposes, and disturbed his contemptuous cynicism. Then as he was compelled to believe in her reality, her truth and nobleness, all that was in his own nature responsive to these traits began to assert itself. Even while he clung to it and felt that he had no power to escape it, the evil of his life: grew more hateful to him, and he condemned him self with increasing bitterness. When good influ ences are felt in a man's soul, evil seems to become specially active. The kingdom of darkness disputes every inch of its ill-gotten power. Winter passes away in March storms. It is the still cold of indif. ference that is nearest akin to death. The visit to his old home and the influence of Annie Walton were creating March weather in Wal. 9 page: 194-195[View Page 194-195] 104y OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. ter Gregory's soul. There were a few genial moods like gleams of early spring sunshine. There were sudden relentings and passionate longings for better life, as at times gentle, frost-relaxing showers soften the flinty ground. There were fierce spiritual con- flicts, wild questionings, doubts, fears, and forebod- ings, and sometimes despair, even as, in this gusty month, nature often seems resolving itself back to primeval chaos. But too often his mood was that of cold hard skepticism, the frost of mid-winter. The impetus of his evil life would seemingly be long in spending itself. And yet the influence of the previous quiet hal- lowed Sabbath evening, and Annie Walton's hymns of faith and love, could not readily be lost. The father's prayer still echoed in his soul, and even to him it seemed the heavens could not be deaf to such an appeal. They affected him as no direct appeals possibly could. They were like the gentle but irresistible south wind. He was now simply drifting. He had not defi- nitely abandoned his purpose of tempting Annie, ne did he consciously thrust it from 'him. Quite con vinced that she was what she seemed, and doubting greatly whether during his brief visit there would be time to affect her mind seriously by any evil influ- ence he could bring to bear, and won unwittingly by her pure spirit to better things himself, he let the new and unexpected influences have full play. He was like a man who finds himself in the cur- rent above Niagara, and gives up in despair, allowing AN ACCIDENT IN .THE MOUNTAINS.. I95 his boat to glide onward to the fatal plunge. A breeze springs up and blows against the current. He spreads a sail and finds his progress downward checked. If the wind increases and blows steadily, he may stem the rushing tide and reach smooth still waters. A faint glimmering of hope began to dawn in Gregory's heart. An unexpected gale from heaven blowing against the current of evil, made it seem possible that he too might gain the still waters of a peaceful faith. Still the hope dwelt in his mind more as a passing thought, a possibility, than an expectation. In his wavering state how the scales would turn depended mainly upon the mood of his companion. If she had been flighty and inclined to flirt, full of frivolous nonsense, bent upon having a good time in the frequent acceptance of the phrase, little recking the consequences of words or acts, as is often the case with many girls in the main good-hearted and well meaning, Walter would have fallen in with such a mood and pushed it to the extreme. , But Annie was simply herself, bright and exhil- arating as the October sunshine, but as pure and strong. She was ready for jest and repartee. She showed almost a childish ddelight for every odd arind pretty thing that met her eye, but never for a moment permitted her companion to lose respect for her. Her cheeks were like the crimson maple-leaves under which they rode. Her eyes were like the dark page: 196-197[View Page 196-197] 196 OPENrING A CHFSTNUT BURR. sparkle of the little brook as it emerged from the causeway over which they drove. Her brown hair, tossed by the wind, escaped somewhat from its neat bands, and enhanced the snowy whiteness of her neck, and the thought occurred to Gregory more than once "If she is not pretty, H never saw a face more pleasant' to look at." The wish to gain her esteem and friendship grew stronger every moment, and he exerted himself to the utmost to please her. Abandoning utterly his French gallantry, his morbid cynicism, he came out into the honest sunlight of truth, where Annie's mind dwelt, and directed the conversation to sub. jects concerning which, as an educated and trav- elled man, he could speak frankly and intelligently. Annie had strong social tastes and the fondness for companionship natural to the young, and she was surprised to find how he stimulated and inter- ested her mind, and how much they had in com- mon. He appeared to understand her immediately, and to lead her thoughts to- new and exciting flights. It was their purpose to direct their course so as to cross a spur of the main mountain-range. After a long and toilsome climb, stopping to give Dolly many a breathing spell, they at last reached the brow of the wooded height, and turned to look at the autumn landscape glimmering in the bright October sunshine. It is impossible either by pen or brush'to give a true picture of wide leaches of broken and beautiful country, as seen from some of the AN ACCIDEIVT .IN THE JIO UN TAINS. 197 more flavored points of outlook among the Highlands on the Hudson. The loveliness of a pretty bitof scenery or of a landscape may be enhanced by art, but the impressive grandeur of nature, when the feature of vast and varied- expanse predominates cannot adequately be expressed. The mind-itself is oppressed by the extensiveness of the scehe, an; tends to select some definite object, as a village, ham let, or tree-embowered farm-house, on which to dwell These accord more with the- finite nature of the beholder, and spires and curling wreaths of smoke suggested to Annie and Gregory many a simple altar and quiet hearth around which gathered the homely, contented life, spiritual and domestic, of those who occupied- their own little niche in the great world, and were all unburdened with thought or care for the indefinite regions that stretched away beyond their narrow circle of daily acquaintance. Only God can give the all-seeing gaze to the whole of his creation that we bestow upon some familiar scene, His glance around the globe is that of a mother around her nursery, with her little children grouped at her feet. The laden orchards, with men climbing long lad- ders, and boys in the topmost branches looking like huge squirrels in the distance, were pleasant objects to the mountain rambles. Huskers could be dis- cerned in the nearer corn-fields and the great yel low ears glistened momentarily in the light, as they were tossed into golden heaps. There was no hum of industry as from a manufacturing village, nor roar page: 198-199[View Page 198-199] 198 OPE-ING A CHESTNUT BURR;. of turbulent life as from a city, but only the quiet evidence to the eye of a life kindred to that which nature so silently and beautifully elaborates. , How insignificant we are!" said Waiter gloom- ily; "how the great world goes right on without us. It is the same when one dies and leaves it, as we left it by climbing this mountain. In the main we are unknown and uncared for, and even to those who knew us, it is soon the same as if we had never been" "But the world cannot go on without God Though forgotten, he never forgets! His friends need never have the sense of being lost or lonely- no more than achild travelling in a-foreign land with his father among indifferent strangers. God does not look at us, his creatures, as we do at the foliage of these forests, seeing only the general effect; He sees each one as directly as I now look at you. I wish I could believe He looked as kindly." "I wish. you could, Mr. Gregory. It is sad to me that people can't believe what is so true. The fondest look your mother ever gave you was cold, compared with the yearning, loving face God turns toward every one of us, even as we go away from Him." He looked at her earnestly for a moment and saw that sincerity was written on her face. He shook his head sadly, and then said rather abruptly: "Those lengthening shadows remind us that we must be on our way;" and their thoughts dwelt on lighter subjects as they ascended another lofty AN A CCIDENT IN THE MO UNTAINS. I1 mountain terrace, and paused again to scan the wider prospect that made the sense of daily life in the valleys below as remote as the world to the hermit in his devotional seclusion. Then they com- menced descending the sloping plateau which in- clined toward the brow of the hill overlooking the region wherein was located the Walton residence, After one or two hours of broken but very agree- able conversation Annie suddenly sighed deeply. "Now, Miss Walton," said Gregory, " that sigh came from the depths. What hidden sorrow could have caused it?" With a slight flush and laugh, she said: "It was caused by a mere passing 'thought, like that cloud there sailing over the mountain slope." "Your simile is so pretty that I would- likei to know the thought." "I hardly know whether to tell it to you. It might have the same effect as if that cloud should expand and cover the sky." "Might not the telling also have the effect as if the cloud were dissipated altogether?" She looked at him quickly and said: "How apt your answer is! Yes, it might if you would be sensi ble. I do not know you so very well yet. Are you not a little ready to take offence?" "You do not look as if about to say anything I should resent very deeply. But I promise that the cloud shall vanish." "I am not so sure about that. The cloud repre- sents my thought; and yet I hope it may even. page: 200-201[View Page 200-201] -200 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. tually vanish utterly. The thought occurred to me after the pleasant hours of this afternoon what con- genial friends we might be." "Anrd that caused you to sigh so deeply?", "I laid emphasis on the word might." "And why should you, Miss Annie? Why need you?" he asked eagerly. "You have shown a great deal of tact and con- sideration this afternoon, Mr. Gregory, in choosing topics on which we could agree, or about which it is as nice to differ a little. I wish it were the same in regard to those things that make up one's life as it were," and she looked at him closely to see how he would take this. After a moment, he said, a little bitterly' "In order to be your friend, must one look at everything through the same colored glass as yourself?" "Oh no," she replied earnestly, '" it is not fair to say that. But you seem almost hostile to all that I love best and think most of, and my sigh was rather an earnest and oft-recurring wish that it were other- wise." Again he was silent for a short time, then said with sudden vehemence: "And I also wish it were otherwise;" adding more quietly," but it is not, Miss Walton. You know me too well, even if I wished to deceive you. And yet I would give a great deal for such a friend- ship as you could bestow. Why can you not give it as it is? The founder of your faith was a friend of publicans and sinners." JRN .CCI DENT IN THE MO UNTAiV S. 20I "He was indeed their friend, and has been ever since," she answered; " but was it not natural that he found more that was attractive and congenial in that little group of disciples who were learning to know and believe in him?" "I understand you, Miss Walton. I was unfor- tunate in my illustration, and you have turned it against me. You can be my friend, as the mission- ary is the friend of the heathen." "You go to extremes, Mr. Gregory, and are hardly fair. I am not a missionary nor you a hea- then. I make my meaning clear when I echo your thought of a moment ago, and wish that just such a friendship might exist between us as that between your father and mine." ness"I am what I am," he said, with genuine sad- ness. "I wish you had my faith in the possibilities of the future," she replied, turning brightly toward him. But he shook his head, saying, ," I have about lost all faith in everything as far as I am concerned. Still I feel that if any one could do me any good, you might, but I fear it is a hopeless task." Then he changed the subject in such a way as to show that it was painful, and that he preferred it should drop. After all, the cloud had overcast the sky. The in. evitable separation between those guided by Divine and earthly principles began to dawn upon him. He caught a glimpse of the "great gulf," that is ever page: 202-203[View Page 202-203] 202 ' OPENING A CHESTNUT BURA "fixed between " the good and evil in their deepest consciousness. The ' loneliness of guilt " chilled and oppressed him even with the cheery sympathetic companion at his side. But he hid his feelings under a forced gayety, in which Annie joined some- what, though it gave her a vague shiver of pain. She felt they had been en rapport for a little while, but now a change had come, even as the damp and chill of approaching night was taking the place of the genial sunshine. Suddenly she said, as they were riding along on the comparatively level plateau among thick copse. wood and overshadowing trees that already created a premature twilight: "It is strange we do not come out on the brow of the mountain overlooking our home. This wood does not seem familiar either, though it is two or three years since I have been over it, and then Jeff drove. I thought I knew the way well. Can it be possible we have taken the wrong turning?;' "I ought to be familiar with these roads, Miss Walton, but I am sorry to say I too am confused. I hunted over these hills when a boy, to some extent, but did not pay much heed to the roads, as I took my own courses through the woods." "I think I must be right," said Annie, after a little time; " the brow of the hill must be near;" and they hastened the old horse along as fast as pos- sible under the circumstances. But the road con- tinually grew rougher and gave evidence of very little travel, and the evening deepenedrapidly. At AN ACCIDENT IN TE- MOUNTAINS. 203 last they resolved to turn round at the first place that would permit of it, but this was not readily found, there being only a single wheel-track, which now stretched away before them like a narrow cut between banks of foilage, that looked solid in the increasing darkness; the road also was full of rocks, loose stones, deep ruts, over which the wagon jolted pain- fully. With a less sure-footed horse than Dolly they would have soon come to grief. Gregory was becoming greatly fatigued, though he strove to hide it, and both were filled with genuine uneasiness at the prospect before them. To make matters seem- ingly desperate, as they were descending a little hill a fore-wheel caught between two stones and was wrenched sharply off. Quick, agile Annie sprang as she felt the wagon giving, but Walter was thrown out among the brushwood by the roadside. Though scratched and bruised, he was not seriously hurt, and as quickly as possible came to the assistance of his companion. He found her standing by Dolly's head, holding and soothing the startled beast. Ap- parently she was unhurt. They looked searchingly at the dusky forest, their broken vehicle, and then at each other. Words were unnecessaryto expla: the awkwardness of their situation. I'. * page: 204-205[View Page 204-205] CHAPTER XVII. "PROMSE OR DIE." WHILE they were thus standing irresolutely after the accident, at a loss what to do, sud- denly a light glimmered upon them. It appeared to come from a house standing a little off from the road. "Shall I leave you here and go for assistance?" asied Walter. "I think I would rather go with you. Dolly will stand, and I do not wish to be left alone." They soon found a grassy path leading to a small house, from which the light shone but faintly through closely curtained windows. They met no one, nor were their footsteps heard till they knocked at the door. A gruff voice said: "Come in." They entered. A middle-aged man with his coat off sat at work with his back toward them. A huge bull-dog started up from near the fire with a savage growl. The man rose hastily and stared at them with a strangely blended look of consternation and anger. "Call off your dog," said Walter, sharply. "Down, Bull," said the man harshy, and the dog / "PROMSE OR DIE." 205 slunk growling into a corner, but with a watchful ugly gleam in his eyes. The man's expression was quite as sinister and threatening. "Who are you, -and what do you want?" he asked sternly. "We want help," said' Gregory, with a quick and apprehensive glance around, which at once revealed to him why their visit was so unwelcome. The man had been at work counterfeiting money, -and the evidences of his guilt were only too apparent. "We have lost our way our wagon broke. I hope you have sufficient humanity to act the part of a neigh- bor." "Humanity to the devil!" said the man brutally. "I am neighbor to no one. You have come here to pry into what is none of your business.", "We have not," said Walter eagerly. "You will find our broken wagon in the road but a little way from here." The man's eye was cold, hard, and now had a snake-like glitter as he looked at them askance with a gloomy scowl. He seemed thinking over the situ- ation in which he found himself. Gregory, in his sweak, exhausted state, and shaken- somewhat by his fall, was nervous and apprehensive. Annie, though pale, stood firmly and quietly by. Slowly and hesitatingly, as if deliberating as to the best course, the man reached up to a shelf and took down a revolver, saying with an evil-boding look at them: page: 206-207[View Page 206-207] 2o6 OPENING A CHESTNUT. BURR. - "If I thought you had come as detectives, you would have no chance to use your knowledge. You, sir, I do not know, but I think this lady is Squire Walton's daughter. As it is, you must both sol. emnly promise me before God that you will never reveal what you have seen here. Otherwise I have but one method of self-protection," and he cocked his pistol. "Let rne tell you,' he added in a blood- curdling tone, "you are not the first ones I have silenced. And mark this-if you go away and break this promise, I have confederates who will take ven- geance on you and yours." "' No need of any further threats," said Gregory with a shrug. "I promise. As you say, it is none of my business how much of the ' queer' you make." Though naturally not a coward, Gregory, in his habit of self-pleasing and instinctively shunning all sources of annoyance, would not have gone out of his way under any circumstances to bring a- criminal to justice, and the thought of risking anything in this case did not occur to him. Why should they peril their lives for the good of the commonwealth. If he had been alone and escaped without further trouble, he would have thought of the matter after- ward as of a crime recorded in the morning paper, and with which he had no concern, except perhaps to scrutinize more sharply the currency he received. But with conscientious Annie it was very differ. ent. Her father was a magistrate of the right kindi who sincerely sought to do justice and protect the people in their rights. From almost daily conversa 'PROMSE OR DIE." 207 tion her mind had been impressed with the sacred- ness of the law. When she was inclined to induce her father to give a lighter sentence than he believed right he had explained how the well-being and in- deed the very existence of society depended upon the righteous enforcement of the law,- and that true mercy lay in such enforcement. She had been made to feel that the responsibility for good order and morals rested on every one, and that to conceal a known crime was to share deeply in the guilt. She also was not skilled in that casuistry which would enable her to promise anything-with mental reservations. The shock of their savage and threat- ening reception had been severe, but she was not at all inclined to be hysterical; and though her heart seemed to stand still with a chill of dread which deepened every moment as she realized what would be exacted of her, she seemed more self-possessed than Gregory. Indeed, in the sudden and awful emergencies of life, worman's fortitude is often sape- rior to man's, and Annie's faith was no decoious and conventional profession f6r Sabbath uses, but a constant and living reality. She was like the maidens of martyr days, who tremblingly but un- hesitatingly died for conscience' sake. While there was no wavering of purpose, there was an agony of fear and sorrow, as, after the momentary confusion of mind caused by the suddenness of the thing; the terrible nature of the ordeal before her became evident. Through her father she had- heard a vague page: 208-209[View Page 208-209] 208 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. rumor of this man before. Though he lived so se- cluded and was so reticent, his somewhat mysterious movements had awakened suspicion. But his fierce dog and his own manner had kept all obtrusive curi- osity at a distance. Now she saw her father's worst fears and surmises realized. But the counterfeiter at first gave all his attention to her companion, thinking that he would have but little trouble with a timid girl; and after Qregory's ready promise, looked searchingly at him for a mo- ment, and then said, with a coarse, scornful laugh: "No fear of you. You will keep your skin whole. You are a city chap, and know enough of me and my tribe to be sure I can strike you there as well as here. I can trust to your fears, and don't wish to shed blood when it is unnecessary. And now this girl must make the same promise. Her father is a magistrate, and I intend to have no posse of men up here after me to-morrow." "I can make no such promise," said Annie in a low tone. "What!" exclaimed the man harshy, and a sav- age growl from the dog made a kindred echo to his tone. Deathly pale, but with firm bearing, Annie said: 'I cannot promise to shield crime by silence. I Should be a partaker in your guilty secrets." "Oh, for God's sake promise!" cried Walter in an agony of fear, but in justice it must be said that -it was more for her than himself. "For God's sake I cannot promise." "PROMSE OR DIE." 209 The man stepped menacingly toward her, and the great dog also advanced unchecked out of his corner. "Young woman," he hissed in her ear, " you must promise or die. I have sworn never to go to prison again if I wade knee-deep in blood." There came a rush of tears to Annie's eyes. Her bosom heaved convulsively a moment, and then she said in a tone of agony: "It is dreadful to die in such a way, but I can- not make the promise you ask. It would burden my conscience and blight my life. I will trust to God's mercy and do right. But think twice before you shed my innocent blood." Walter covered his face with his hands and groaned aloud. The man hesitated. He had evidently hoped by his threats to frighten her into compliance, and her unexpected refusal, while it half frenzied him with fear and anger, made his course difficult to deter- mine upon. He was not quite hardened enough to slay the defenceless girl as she stood so bravely before him, and the killing of her would also involve the putting of Gregory out of the way, making a double murder that would be hard to conceal. He looked at the dog, and the thought occurred that by turning them out of doors and leaving them to the ' brute's tender mercies their silence might be effec- tually secured. It is hard to say what he would have done, left to his own fears and evil passions; but a moment page: 210-211[View Page 210-211] 210 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. ^ after Annie had spoken, the door opened and a woman entered with a pail of water, which she had just brought from a spring some little distance from the house. "What does this mean?" she asked, with a quick, startled glance around. "It means mischief to all concerned," said the man sullenly. "This is Miss Walton," said the woman, stepping -forward. 'Yes," exclaimed Annie, and she rushed forward and sobbed out: "Save me from your husband--he threatened to take my life." "Your husband!" said the woman with intense bitterness, turning toward the man; "do you hear thaty Vight? Quiet your fears, young lady. Do you remember the sick, weary woman that you found one hot day last summer by the roadside? I was faint, and it seemed to me that I was dying. I often wish to, but when it comes to the point and I look over into the black gulf, I'm afraid--" "But, woman- " interrupted the man harshy. "Be still," she said, imperiously waving her hand. "Don't rouse a devil you can't control." Then turn ing to Annie, she continued: "I was afraid then-I was in an agony of terror. -I was so weak that I could scarcely do more than look appealingly to you and stretch out my hands. Most ladies would have said, 'She's drunk,' and passed contemptuously, on. But you got out of "PROMSE OR DIE." 2" your wagon and took my cold hand. I whispered, ' I'm sick; for God's sake help me, and you believed me and said, 'I will help you, for God's sake 'and your own.' Then you went to the carriage, and got some cordial which you said was for some other sick person, and gave me some; and when I revived, you half carried me and lifted me into your nice covered little wagon, that kept the burning sun off my head, and you took me miles out of your way to a little house which I falsely told you was my home. I heard that you afterward came to see me. You spoke kindly. When I could speak I said that ' I was not fit for -you to touch,' and you answered, ' Jesus Christ was glad to help and touch any human creature, and that you were not better than He!' Then you told me a little about Him, but I was too sick to listen much. God knows I've got down about as low as any woman can. I dare not pray for my- self, but since that day I've prayed for you; and mark what I say, Vight," she added, her sad, -weird manner chancing to sudden fierceness, "not a hair of this lady's head shall be-hurt." "But these two will go and blab on us," said the man angrily. "At least the girl will. She won't promise to keep our secret. I have no fears for the man; I can keep him quiet." "Why won't you promise?" asked the woman gently, but with surprise. "Because I cannot," said Annie earnestly, though her voice was still broken by sobs. "When we hide crime, we take part in it." page: 212-213[View Page 212-213] 212 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. "4 And would you -rather die than do what you thought wrong?" "It were better," said Annie. "Oh that I had had such a spirit in the fatal past!" groaned the woman. "But won't you protect me still?" exclaimed Annie, seizing her hand. "It would kill my poor oldlfather too, if I should die. I cannot burden my soul with your secrets, but save me-oh, save me, from so dreadful a death." "I have said it, Miss Walton. Not a hair of your head shall be hurt.". "What do you advise then, madam?" asked the man satirically. "Shall we invite Mr. Walton and the sheriff up to-morrow to take a look at the room as- it now stands?" "I advise nothing,' said the woman harshy. "I only say in a way you understand, not a hair of this girl's head shall be hurt." "Thank God, oh, thank God," murmured Annie, with a feeling of confidence and inexpressible relief, for there was that in the woman's bearing and tone which gave evidence of unusual power over her asso- ciate in crime. Then Annie added, still clinging to a hand un- sanctified by the significant plain ring, "I hope you will keep my companion safe from harm also." During the scene between Annie and her strange protectress, who was evidently a sad wreck of a beau- tiful and gifted woman, Gregory had sunk into a chair through weakness and shame, and covered his face with his hands. "PROMSE OR DIE." 2I3 The woman turned toward him with instinctive antipathy, and asked, "How is it, sir, you have left this young girl to meet this danger alone!" Gregory's white, drawn face turned scarlet as -he answered: "Because I am like you and this mian here, and not like Miss Walton, who is an angel of truth and goodness." "'Like us' indeed," said she disdainfully. "I don't know that you have proved us cowards yet. And could you be bad and mean enough to see this brave maiden slain before your eyes, and go away in silence to save your own miserable self?" "For aught I know I could," answered he sav-w agely. "I would like to see what mean, horrible, loathsome thing, this hateful, hated thing I call my- self could not do." Gregory showed in a way fearful to witness what intense hostility and loathing a spirit naturally noble can feel toward itself when action and conscience are at war. "Ah," said the woman bitterly, "Now you speak a language I know well. Why should I fear the judgment-day?" she added, with a gloomy light in her eyes, as if communing with herself. "Nothing worse can be said of me then, than I will say now. But," she sneered, turning sharply to Gregory, "I do not think I have fallen so low as you." "Probably not," he replied, with a grim laugh, and his significant shrug which he had learned abroad. "I will not dispute my bad preeminence. page: 214-215[View Page 214-215] 214 OPENING A CHESTVUT BURR. Come, Vight, or whatever your name is," he con- tinued, rising, " make up your mind quickly what you are going to do. I am a weak man, morally and physically. If you intend to shoot me, or let your dog make a meal of me, let us have it over as soon as possible. Since Miss Walton is safe, I am as well prepared now as I ever shall be." "I intreat you," pleaded Annie, still clinging to the woman, " don't let any harm come to him." "What is the use of touching him?" said- the man gruffly. Then turning to Gregory he asked, "Do you still promise not to use your knowledge against me? You might do me more harm in New 'York than here." "I have promised once, and that is enough," said Gregory irritably. "I keep my word for good or evil, though you can't know that, and are fools for trusting me." \ "I'll trust neither of you," said the man with an oath. "Here, Dencie, I must talk with you alone. I'm willing to do anything that's reasonable, but I'm not going to prison again alive, mark that" (with a dreadful oath). "Don't leave this room or I won't answer for the consequences," he said sternly to Gregory and Annie, at the same time looking sig- nificantly at the dog. Then he and the woman went into the rear apartment, and there was an earnest and somewhat angry consultation. Gregory sat down and leaned his .head on, the table in a manner that showed he had passed beyond PROMSE OR DIE." 2I5 despondency and fear into despairing indifference as to what became of him. He felt that henceforth he musjt be simply odious to Miss Walton-that she would only tolerate his presence long as it was necessary, veiling her contempt by mere politeness. In his shame and weaknessAhe would almost rather die than meet her true, honest eyes again. Annie had the courage of principle and firm resolve, rather than that which is natural and phy- sical. The thought of sudden and violent death appalled her. If her impulsive nature were excited, like that of a soldier in battle, she could forget dan- ger. If in her bed at home she were wasting with disease, she would soon have submitted to the Di- vine will with child-like trust. But her whole be- ing shrank inexpressibly from violent and unnatural death. Never before did life seem so sweet. Never before was there so much to live for. She could have been a martyr in any age and in any horrible form for conscience' sake, but she would have met her fate tremblingly, shrinkingly, and with intense longings for lifer And yet with all this instinctive dread, her faith in God and his word of promise would not fail. But instead of standing calmly erect on her- faith, and Confronting destiny, it was her nature in such terrible emergencies, to cling in lov. ing and utter dependence, and obey. She therefore in no respect shared Gregory's indifference, but was keenly alive to the situation. At first, with her hand upon her heart to still its wild throbbings, she listened intently, and tried to page: 216-217[View Page 216-217] 216 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. catch the drift of the fateful conference within. This being vain, her eyes wandered hurriedly around the room. Standing thus, she unconsciously chmoi pleted a strange picture in that incongruous place, with her dejected companion on one side, and the great dog, eying her savagely, on the other. Gregory's despairing attitude impressed her deeply. In a sudden rush of pity she felt that he was not as cowardly as he had seemed. A woman with diffi- culty forgives this sin. His harsh condemnation and evident detestation of himself impelled her generous nature instinctively to take the part of his weak and wronged self. She had early been taught to pity those whom evil is destroying, rather than con- demn. In all his depravity he did not repel her, for though proud, he had no petty, shallow vanity; and the evident fact that he suffered-so deeply because of his sin, disarmed her. Moreover, companionship in trouble which she felt was partly her fault, drew her toward him, and stepping to his side, she laid her hand on his shoul der and said gently: * "Cheer up, my friend ; I understand you better than you do yourself. God will bring us safely through." He shrank even from her touch, and said drear- ily: "With better reason than yonder woman I can say, ' I am not fit for you to touch; ' as for God, he has nothing to do with me." Without removing her hand, she answered kindly "I do not think either of those things is true. But, PROMSE OR DIE." 21, Mr. Gregory, what will they do with us? They will not dare " She was interrupted by the entrance of the strangely assorted couple into whose crime-stained hands they had so unexpectedly fallen. Both felt but little trust could be placed in such perverted and passion-swept natures-that they would be guided by their fears, impulses, and interests. .Annie's main hope was in the hold she had on the woman's sym- pathies; but the latter, as she entered, wore a some- what sullen and disappointed look, as if she had not been given her own way. Annie at once stepped to her side and again took her hand, as if she were her best hope of safety. It was evident that her confi- dence and unshrinking touch affected the poor crea- ture deeply, and her hand closed over-Annie's in a way that was reassuring. "I suppose you would scarcely like to trust yourselves to me or my dog," said the man with a grim laugh. "What's more, I've no time to bother with you. Since my companion here feels she owes you something, Miss, she can now pay you a hun- -dred-fold. But follow her directions closely as you value your lives," and he left the house with the dog. Soon after, they heard in the forest what seemed the notes of the whippowill repeated three times, but it was so near and importunate that Annie was startled, and the woman's manner indicated that she was not listening to a bird. After a few mo. ments she said gloomily: "Miss Walton, I promised you should receive no TO page: 218-219[View Page 218-219] 218 OPENING A CHES TVUT BURR. harm, and I will keep my word.- I hoped I could send you directly homne to-night, but that's impossi. ble. I can do much with Vight, but not everything, -Ie has sworn never to go to prison again alive, and none of our lives would be worth much if he had to take them in order to escape. - We meant to leave this region before many months, for troublesome stories are getting around, and now we must go at once. I will take you to a place of safety, fron which you can return to-morrow. Come." "But father will go wild with anxiety," criec Annie wringing her hands. "It is the best I can do," said the woman sadly. ' Come, we have no time to lose." She put- on a woollen hood, and taking a long, slender staff, led the way out into the darkness. They felt that there was nothing to do but fol- low, which they did in silence. They did not go back toward their broken wagon, but continued on down the wheel-track where their accident occurred. Suddenly the -woman left, taking a path through the woods, and after proceeding with difficulty some dis- tance, stopped, and lighted a small lantern she had carried- under her shawl. Even with the aid of this their progress was painful and precarious in the steeply descending rocky path, which had so many intricate windings that both Annie and Gregory felt th!at they were indeed being led into a terra incog- altaI Annie -was consumed with anxiety as to the issue of their strange adventure, but believed confidence in her guide to be the wisest course. PROMZSE OR DIE." I9 Gregory was too weary and ifndifferent to care for himself, and stumbled on mechanically. At last he said sullenly, "Madam, I can go no farther. I may as well die here as anywhere." "You must go," she said sharply; "for my sake and Miss Walton's, if not for your own. Besides, it's not much farther. What I do to-night must be done rightly." "Well then, while there is breath left, Miss Wal- ton shall have the benefit of it." "May we not rest a few minutes?" asked Annie. "I too am very tired." "Yes, before long at the place where you must pass the night." The path soon came out into another wheel-track which seemingly led down a deep ravine. Descend- ing this a little way, they reached an opening in which was the dusky outline of a small house. "Here we part," said their guide, taking Annie's hand, while Gregory sank exhausted on a rock near. "The old woman and her son who live in that house will give you shelter, and to-morrow you must find your best way home. This seems poor return for your kindness, but it's in keeping with my miserable life, which is as dark and wild- as the unknown flinty path we came." "Then lead this life no longer. Stay with us, and I will help you to better things," said Annie earnestly. The look of intense longing on the woman's face as the light of the flickering lantern fell on it would haunt Annie to her dying day. page: 220-221[View Page 220-221] 220 OPA:NING A CHESTNUT BURR "Oh that I might!" she groaned. "Oh that 1 might! A more fearful bondage never cursed a human soul!" "And why can you not?"pleaded Annie, put. ting her hand on the trembling woman's shoulder. "You have seen better days. You were meant for -good and noble life. You can't sin unfeelingly. Then why sin at all? Break these chains, and by- and-by peace in this life and heaven in the life to to come will reward you." The woman sat down by the roadside, and for a moment her whole frame seemed convulsed with sobs. At last she said brokenly: "You plead as my good angel did before it left me--but it's no use--it's -too late. I have indeed seen better days, pure, happy days; and so has he. We once stood high in the respect of all. But he fell, and I fell in ways I can't explain. You cannot un- derstand that as love binds with silken cords, so crime may bind with iron chains. No more-say no more. You only torment me," she broke in harshy, as Annie was about to speak again. "You cannot understand. How could you? We love, hate, and fear each other at the same time, and death only can part us. But that may soon-that may soon," and she clenched her hands with a dark look. ".But enough of this. I have too much to do tco tire myself this way. You must go to that house- I 'cannot. Old Mrs. Tompkins and her son will give you shelter. I don't wish to get them into trouble., "PROMSE OR. DIE." 221 There will be a close investigation into all this. I know what your father's disposition is. And now farewell. The only good thing about me is, I shall still pray for you, the only one who has ever treated ime like a woman since-since-since I fell into hell," she said in a low, hoarse tone, and printing a passion- ate kiss on Annie's hand, she blew out her lantern, and vanished in the darkness. It seemed to swallow her up and become a type of the mystery and fate that enshrouded the forlorn creature. Beyond the bare factothat she took the train the following morning with the man she called Vight,' Annie never heard of her again. Still there was hope for the wretched wanderer. However dark and hidden" her paths, the eyes of a merciful God ever followed her, and to that God Annie prayed unceasingly in her behalf. NOTE.--This chapter has some historic basis. The man called "Vight" is not altogether an imagfnary character, for a desperate and successful counterfeiter dwelt for a time among the mountains on the fHudson, plying his nefarious trade. It is said that he took life more than once to escape de;ectionQ page: 222-223[View Page 222-223] CHAPTER XVIII. IN THE DEPITHS. AFTER the departure of their strange guide, who had befriended them the best she could, Gregory at once-went to the house and knocked. There was a movement within, and a quavering voice asked: "Who is there?" "Friends who have lost their way, and need shelter." "I don't know about lettin' strangers in this time o' night," answered the voice. "There are only two of us," said Annie. ( Per- haps you know who Miss'Walton is. I entreat you to let us in." "Miss Walton, Miss Walton, sartin, I know who she is. But I can't believe she's here." "Our wagon broke down this afternoon, and we have lost our way," explained Gregory. Again there was a stir inside, and soon a glimmer of light After a few moments the door was opened slightly, and a woman's voice asked apprehensively: "Be you sure it's Miss Walton?" '"Yes," said -Annie, "you need have no fears. Hold the light, and see for yourself." IN THE DEP THS. 2 223 This the woman did, and, apparently satisfied, gave them admittance at once. She seemed quite aged, and a Yfew gray locks straggled out from, under her dingy cap, which sug- gested anything but a halo around her wrinkled, withered face. A ragged calico wrapper encased her tall gaunt form, and altogether she did not make a very promising hostess. Before she could ask her unexpected guests any further questions, the cry of a whippowill was again heard three times. She listened with a started, frightened manner. The sounds were repeated, and she- seemed satisfied. * "Isn't it rather late in the season for whippo. wills?" asked Annie uneasily, for this bird's note, now heard again, seemed like a signal. "I dunno nothin' about whippowills," said the woman stolidly. "The pesky bird kind o' started me at first. Don't like to hear 'em round. They bring bad luck. I can't do much for you, Miss Wal- ton, in this poor place. But such as 'tis you're wel- come to stay. My son has been off haulin' wood- guess he won't be back now afore to-morrow." "When do you think he will come?" asked Annie anxiously. "Well, not much afore night, I guess." "What will my poor father do?" moaned An'nie, "He will be out all night looking for us." "Sure now, will he though?" said the woman, showing some traces. of anxiety herself. "Well, Miss, you'll have to stay till my son gits back, for page: 224-225[View Page 224-225] 224 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. it's a long way round through the valley to your house." There was nothing to do but wait patiently till morning. The woman showed Gregory up into a loft over the one room of the house, saying: "Here's where my son sleeps. It's the best I can do, though I s'pose you ain't used to such -beds." He threw his exhausted form on the wretched couch, and soon found respite in troubled sleep. Annie dozed away the night in a creaky old rocking-chair, the nearest approach to a thing of comfort that the hovel contained. The old woman seemingly had been so "started" that she needed the sedative' of a short clay pipe, highly colored indeed, still a connoisseur in meerschaums would scarcely covet it. This she would remove from her mouth from time -to time, as she crouched on a low stool in the chimney corner, to shake her head ominously. Perhaps she knew more about whip- powills than she admitted. At last it seemed that the fumes, that half strangled Annie, had their wont- ed effect, and she hobbled to her bed and was soon giving discordant evidence of her peace. Annie then noiselessly opened a window, that she too might breathe. When Gregory woke the next morning, it was broad day. He felt-so stiff and ill he could scarcely move, and with difficulty made his way to the room below. The old. woman was at the stove, frying some sputtering pork, and its rank odor was most IN THE DEPTHS. 225 repulsive to the fastidious habitue of metropolitan clubs. '; Where is Miss Walton?" he asked in quick alarm. "Only gone to the spring after water," replied the woman shortly. "Why didn't you git up and' git it for her?" "I would if I had known," he muttered, and he escaped from the intolerable air of the room to the door, where he met Annie, fresh and rosy from her morning walk and toilet at the brook that brawled down the ravine. "Mr. Gregory, you look quite ill," she exclaimed. "I am so sorry it has all happened." He looked at her wonderingly, and then said: "I see you look as if nothing had happened. I am ill, Miss Walton, and I wish I were dead. You cannot feel toward me half the contempt I have for my- self." "Now, honestly, Mr. Gregory, I have no con- tempt for you at all." He turned away and shook his head dejectedly. "But I mean what I say," she continued earn- estly. "Then it is your goodness, and not my desert." "As I told you last night, so again I sincerely ! say, I think I understand you better than you do yourself." "You are mistaken," he answered with gloomy emphasis. "Your intuitions are quick, I admit. I IO* page: 226-227[View Page 226-227] 226 OPENIN[G A CHESTNUT BURR. have never known your equal in that respect. But there are some things I am glad to think- that you never can understand. You can never know what a proud man suffers when he has utterly lost hope and self-respect. Though I acted so mean a part myself, I can still appreciate your nobleness, courage, and fidelity to conscience. I thought such- heroism be- longed only to the past." / u Mr. Gregory, I wish I could make you under- stand me," said Annie with real distress in her tone. "I am not brave, I was more afraid than you. Indeed, I was in an agony of fear. I refused that man's demand because I was compelled to. If you looked at things as I do, you Would have done the same." "Please say no more, Miss Walton," said he, his face distorted by an expression of intense self-loath- ing. "Do not try to palliate my course. I would much rather you would call my cowardly selfishness and lack of principle by their right names. The best thing I can do for the world is to get out of it, and from present feelings, this 'good-riddance' will soon occur. Will you excuse me if I sit down?" And he sank upon the door-step in utter weakness. Annie had placed her pail of water on the step adfd forgotten it in her wish to cheer and help this bitterly wounded spirit. "Mr. Gregory," she said earnestly, "you are 'indeed ill in body and mind, and you take a wrong and morbid vies of everything. My heart aches to show you how complete and perfect a remedy there IN THE DEPTHS. 227 is for all this. It almost seems as if you were dying with thirst with that brook yonder running--"' "There is no remedy for me," interrupted he altnost harshy. Then he added in a weary tone, pressing his hand on his throbbing brow: "Forgive me, Miss Walton, you see what I am. Please waste no more thought on me." "If yer want any breakfast to-day, yer better bring that water," called the old woman from within. Annie gave him a troubled, anxious look, and then silently carried in the pail. "Have you any tea?" she asked, not liking the odor of the coffee. "Mighty little," was the short answer. "Please let me have some, and I will send you a pound of our best in its place," said Annie. "I hain't such a fool as to lose that bargain," and the old woman hobbled with alacrity to a cupboard; but to Annie's dismay the hidden treasure had been hoarded too near the even more prized tobacco, and seemed redolent with the rank odor'of some unsavory preparation of, that remarkable weed which is con- jured into so many and diverse forms. But she brewed a little as best she could before eating any breakfast herself, and brought it to Gregory as he still sat on the step leaning against the door-post. "Please swallow this as medicine," she said. "Indeed, Miss Walton, I cannot," he replied. "Please do," she urged, "as a favor to me. I made it myself; and I can't eat any breakfast till I have seen you take this." page: 228-229[View Page 228-229] 2 228 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. He at once complied, though with a wry face. "There," said she with a touch of playfulness, "I have seldom received a stronger compliment. After this compliance I think I could venture to ask anything of you." "The tea is like myself," he answered. "You brought to it skilled hands and pure spring water, and yet from the nature of the thing itself, it was a villanous compound. Please don't ask me to take any more. Perhaps you have heard an old saying: ' Like dislikes like.' " She determined that he should not yield to his morbid despondency, but had too much tact to argue with him-; therefore she said kindly: "We never did agree very well, Mr. Gregory, and don't now. But before many hours I hope I can give you a cup of tea and something with it more to your taste. I must admit that I am ready even for this dreadful breakfast, that threatens to destroy my powers of digestion in one fatal hour. -You see what a poor subject I am for romance," and she smilingly turned away to a meal that gave her a glimpse of how the "other half of the world lives." Before she had finished, the sound of wheels and horses' hoofs coming rapidly up the glen brought her to the door, and with joy she recognized a near neighbor of her father's, a sturdy, kind-hearted far- mler, who had joined in the search for the missing bnes the moment he learned, in the dawn of that tnorning, that they had not returned. He gave a glad shout as he saw Annie's form in IN THE DEPTHS. 2 the doorway, and to her, his broad, honest face wa: like that of an angel. All are beautiful to those they help, "Your father is in a dreadful state, Miss Annie,' said Farmer Jones; " but I told him if he would onD stay home and wait, I, and a few other neighbors: would soon find you. He was up at the foot of the mountain ever since twelve o'clock last night. Then he came home to see if you hadn't returned some %other way. I'm usually out as as soon as it's light: so I hailed him as he passed and asked what on earth he was up for at that time of day. He told me his trouble, so I hitched up my light wagon and got to your house as soon as he did. When he found you hadn't come yet, he was for starting right for the mountains, but I saw he wasn't fit, so I says, ' Mr. Walton, you'll just miss 'em. They've taken a wrong road, or the wagon has broken down, but they'll be home before ten o'clock. Now send Jeff up the road you expected them on. I'll send Mr. Ha'rris, who lives just beyond me, out on the road they took first. My horse is fast, and I'll go round up this valley, and in this way we'll soon scour every road ;' and so with much coaxing I got him to prom- ise to stay till I returned. So jump in quick, and I'll have you home in little over an hour." "But we can't leave Mr. Gregory here. Let him go first. He is ill, and needs attention at once." "Miss Walton, please return at once to your father," said Walter quickly. "It is your duty. J can wait." page: 230-231[View Page 230-231] 23o OPENING 4A CHESTNUT BURR. -; No, Mr. Gregory, it would not be right to leave you here, feeling as you do. As soon as father knows I am safe his mind will be at rest. I am per- fectly well, and you have no idea how ill you look." "Miss Walton," said Gregory, in a tone that was almost harsh in its decisiveness, I' I will not return now." "I am real sorry," said Mr. Jones, "that my wagon is not larger, but I took the best thing that I had forfast driving over rough roads. Come, Miss Walton, your friend has settled it, and if he is sick he had better come more slowly in an easier carriage." After cordially thanking th6 -old woman for such rude hospitality as she had bestowed, and renewing her promise to send ample recompense, she turned with gentle courtesy to Gregory and assured him that he would not -have to wait long. He gave her a quick, searching look, and said: 'Miss Walton, I do not understand how you can speak to me in this way. But go at once. Do not keep your father in suspense any longer." "I hope we will find you better when we come for you," she said kindly, "It were better-you found me dead," he said in sudden harshness, but which was toward himself, not her. So, she understood it, and, waving her hand en- couragingly, was driven rapidly away. As they rode along she related to Mr. Jones the events already known to the reader,' but carefully shielding Gregory from blame. She also satisfied IN THE DEPTHS. 231 her companion's evident curiosity about the young man by stating so frankly all it was proper for him - to know that he had no suspicion of anything ccn- cealed. She explained his last and unusual expres- sion by dwelling with truth on the fact that Gregory appeared seriously ill and was deeply depressed in spirits. Mr. Walton received his daughter with a joy beyond wcrds. She was the idol of his heart--the one object on earth that almost rivalled his " treasure in heaven." His mind had dwelt in agonized sus- pense on a thousand possibilities of evil during the prolonged hours of her absence, and now that he clasped her. again, and was -assured of her-safety, he lifted his eyes heavenward with heart overflowing with gratitude. But Annie's success in keeping up before him was brief. The strain had been a little too severe. She soon gave way to nervous prostration and head- ache, and was compelled to retire to her room instead of returning for Gregory as she had in.. tended. But he was promptly sent for, Miss Eulie going in her place, and taking every appliance possible for his comfort. She found him in Mrs. Tompkins's hovel, sitting in the creaky arm-chair that Annie had occupied the night before, and enduring with a white grim face the increasing suffering of his illness. He seemed to have reached the depths of despair, and, believing */ ' page: 232-233[View Page 232-233] 232 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. the end near, determined to meet it with more than Indian stoicism. Many, in their suicidal blindness and remorse, pass sentence upon themselves, and weakly deliver their souls into the keeping of that inexorable jailer, Despair, forgetting the possibilities--nay, certainties of good that ever dwell in God. If man had no better friend than himself, his prospects would be sombre indeed. Many a one has condemned himself and sunk into the apathy of death, but He who came to seek and save the lost has lifted him with the arms of forgiving love, and helped him back to the safety and happiness of the fold. Satan only, never the Saviour, bids the sinner despair. But poor Gregory was taking advice from his enemy, and not his Friend. During the long hours of pain and almost mortal weakness of that dreary morning, he acknowledged himself vanquished--ut- terly defeated in the battle of life. As old monkish legends teach, the devil might have carried him off bodily and he would not have resisted. In his pros- trated nature, but one element of strength was ap- parent, a perverted pride that rose like a shattered, blackened shaft, the remaining prominent relic of seemingly utter ruin. At first he coldly declined the cordial and nour- ishment Miss Elllie brought, and said, with a quiet- ness that did not comport with the meaning of his words, that she had better leave him to himself, and that Mrs. Tompkins's son could have a grave ready \ / IN THE DEPTHS. 233 tor him somewhere in the woods by the time it was required. Miss Euhe was shocked, finding in these words and his general appearance proof that he was more seriously ill than anticipated. He was indeed; but his malady was rather that af a morbid mind depressing an enfeebled body, than actual disease. But mental distress could speedily kill a man like Gregory. Miss Eulie soon brought him to terms by saying "Mr. Gregory, you see I am alone. Mr. Walton was too exhausted to accompany me, and Annie did not send any of the neighbors, as she thought the presence of strangers would be irksome to you." "She said she would come herself, but she has had time to 'think and judge me rightly," muttered he, interrupting her. "No, Mr. Gregory," Miss Eulie hastened to say; "you do her wrong. She was too ill to come, as she intended and wished, and so with many anxious charges sent me in her place. I am but a woman and dependent on your courtesy. I cannot compel you 'to go with me. But I am sure you will not wrong my brother's hospitality, and make Miss Wal- ton's passing indisposition serious, by refusing to come with me. If you did, she would rise from her sick-bed, and come herself." Gregory at once rose and said, "I can make no excuse for myself. I seem fated to do and say the worst things possible under the circum, stances," page: 234-235[View Page 234-235] 234 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. "You are ill," said Miss Eulie kindly, as if that explained everything. Declining aid, he tottered to the carriage, into which Jeff, with some curious surmises, speedily helped him. Miss Eulie made good Annie's promises to Mrs. Tom-pkins fourfold, and left the shrivelled dame with a large supply of one of the elements of her heaven-tea, and with the means of purchasing the other-tobacco, -besides other and more substantial additions to the old woman's meagre larder. Gregory was averse to conversation during the long, slow ride. The jolting; even of the easy cush- ioned carriage, was exceedingly painful, and by the time they reached home he was quite exhausted. Leaning on Mr. Walton's arm he at once went -to his room, and at their urgent entreaties forced him- self to take a little of the dainty supper that was forthcoming. But their kindly solicitude was cour- teously but coldly repelled. Acting reluctantly upon his plainly manifested wish, they soon left him to himself, as after his first eager inquiry after Miss Walton it seemed a source of pain to see or speak to any one. At first his arm-chair and cheery wood fire formed a pale reflection of something like comfort, but every bone in his body ached from the recent cold he had taken. He had just fever enough to increase the distortion of the images of his morbid and excited mind. Hour after hour he sat, with grim white face and fixed stare, scourging himself IN THE DEPTHS. 235 with the triple scorpion-whip of remorse, vain regret, and self-disgust. But an old and terrible emeny was stealing on him to change the nature of his torment --neuralgic headache ; and before morning he was walking the floor in agony, a sad type, while the world slept and nature rested, of that large class, all whose relations, physical and moral, are a jangling discord. * page: 236-237[View Page 236-237] C HAPfER XIX. Ml. WALTON MADE OF DIFMi2RENT CLAY FROM O'rKTlHS SIMPLE remedies and prolonged rest were suffi- cient to quite restore Annie after the serious shock and strain she had sustained. She rose even earlier than usual, and hastily dressed that she might resume her wonted place as mistress of her father's household. In view of her recent peril and the remediless loss he might have suffered, she was doubly grateful for the privilege of ministering to his wants and filling his declining years with cheer and comfort. She had not been awake long before' Gregory's irregular steps in the adjoining room secured her attention and caused anxious surmises. But she was inclined to think that his restlessness resulted from mental distress rather than physical. Still she did not pity him less, but rather more. Though so young, she knew that the "wounded spirit" often inflicts the keener agony. Her strong womanly nature was deeply moved in his behalf. As we have seen, it was her disposition rather to help and sus- tain, than cling and look up. She had a heart " at leisure from itself to soothe and sympathize." The spirit of Christian love intensified this natural tend- OF DIFFERENT rCLA Y. 237 ency, and from the depths of her soul she pitied Gregory and wished to help him out of a state which the Psalmist with quaint force -describes as a " horri. ble pit and miry clay." Annie was a very practical reformer, and deter- tnined that a dainty breakfast should minister to the outer man, before she sought to apply a subtler balm to the inner. Trusting not even to Zibbie's established skill, she prepared with her own hands some inviting delicacies. and soon that which might have tempted the most exacting of epicures was ready. Old Mr. Walton shared and almost showed all the delight of the children at seeing Annie bustling round again as the good genius b)f their home, and Miss Eulie's little sighs of content were as frequent as ripples on the shore. Miss Eulie could sigh and wipe a tear from the corner of her eye in the most cheerful and hope-inspiring way, for somehow her face shone with an inward light, and, even in the midst of sorrow and wet with tears, reminded one of a lantern on a stormy night, which, covered with rain-drops, still gives light and comfort. Breakfast was ready, but Gregory did not appear. Hannah the waitress was sent to his room, and in response to her quiet knock he said sharply: "'Well?" "Breakfast is waiting." 'I do not wish any," was the answer, in a tone that seemed resentful, but was only an expression of- the intolerable pain he was suffering. Hannah page: 238-239[View Page 238-239] 238 OPENING A CHESTNUT' BURR. came down with a scared look and said she "guessed something was amiss with Mr. Gregory." Annie looked significantly at her father, who im- mediately ascended to his guest's door. "Mr. Gregory, may I come in?" he asked. "Do not trouble yourself. I shall be better soon,' was the response. The door was unlocked, and Mr. Walton entered, and saw at once that a gentle but strong will must control the sufferer for his own good. Mental and nervous excitement had d-riven him close to the line where reason and his own wili wavered in their deci- sions, and his irregular, tottering steps became the type of the whole man. His eyes were wild and bloodshot. A ghastly pallor gave his haggard face the look of death. A damp chillness pervaded the heavy air of the room, which in his unrest he had greatly disordered. The fire had died out and he had not even tried to kindle it again. Hisbrood- ings had been so deep and painful the earlier half of the night that he had been oblivious of outward sur- roundings, and then physical anguish became so sharp that all small elements of discomfort were unnoted. With fatherly solicitude Mr. Walton stepped up to his guest, who stood staring at him as if he were an intruder, and taking his cold hand, said: "Mr. Gregory, you must come with me." "Where?" "T0 the sitting-room, where we can take care of OF DVFFEREXT CLA Y. 239 you and relieve you. Come, I'm your physician for the time being, and doctors must be obeyed." Gregory had not undressed the night before, and, encased- in his rich dressing-gown and with di- shevelled hair, mechanically followed his host to the room below and was placed on the lounge. "Annie has prepared you a nice little breakfast. Won't you let me bring it to you?" said Mr. Walton cheerily. "No," said Gregory abruptly and pressing his hands upon his throbbing temples, "the very thought of eating is horrible. Please leave me. In- deed I cannot endure even your kindly presence. Mr. Walton looked perplexed and scarcely knew what to do, but after a moment said: "Really, Mr. Gregory, you are very ill. I think I had better send for our physician at once. "I insist that you do not," said his guest start- ing up. "What could a stupid country doctor do for me, with his owl-like examination of my tongue and clammy fingering of my pulse, but drive me mad? Will a nauseous dose help mental pain? I must be alone." "Father," said Annie, in a firm and quiet voice, "I will be both nurse and physician to Mr. Gregory this morning. If I fail, you may send for a doctor.' Unperceived she had entered,"and from Gregory's manner and words understood his condition. "Miss Walton," said Gregory hastily, "I give you warning. I am not even the poor. weak self you have known before, and I beg you leave me till this page: 240-241[View Page 240-241] :240 OPENING A CHESTNUT BUP. . nervous headache passes off, if it ever d6es. I can't control myself at such times, and this is the worst attack I ever had. I am low enough in your esteem. Do iot add to my pain by being present now at the tim-e of my greatest weakness." "Mr. Gregory," she replied, "you may speak and act your worst, but you shall not escape me this morning. It's woman's place to remove pain, not fly from it. So you must just submit with the best grace you can. If after I have done all in my power you prefer the doctor and another nurse, I will give way, but now you have no choice." Gregory fell back on the sofa with a groan and muttered oath. At a sign from his daughter, Mr. Walton reluctantly and doubtfully left the room. Annie quietly stepped to the hearth and stirred the fire to a cheerful blaze. She then went to the parlor and brought the afghan, and without so much as saying " by your leave," spread it over his chilled form. Gregory felt himself helpless, but there was some. thing soothing in this assertion of her strong will, and like a sick child he was better the moment he ceased to chafe and struggle. Ste left the room a few moments, and even be- tween the surges of pain he was curious as to what she would do next. He soon learned with a thrill of hope that he was to experience the magnetism of her touch, and to know the power of the hand that seemed alive in his grasp the day of their chestnut- ing expedition. Annie returned with a quaint little OF DIFFERENT CLA Y. 24T bottle of German cologne, and taking a seat quietly by his side, commenced bathing his aching tem- ples. "You treat me like a child," he said petulantly. "I hope for a while you will be content to act like one," she replied. "I may, like a very bad one." "No matter," she said, with a laugh that was the very antidote of morbidness; "I am accustomed to manage children." But in very brief time he had no disposition to shrink from her touch or presence. Her hand upon his brow seemed to communicate her own strong, restful life, his temples throbbed less and less vio- lently. Silent and wondering he lay very still, con- scious that by some subtle power she was exorcising the demons of pain. His hurried breathing became regular, his hands unclenched; his form, that had been tense and rigid, relaxed into a position of com- fort. He felt he was under some beneficent spell, and for an hour scarcely moved lest he should break it and his torment return. Annie was equally silent, but with a smile saw the effects of her ministry. At last she leaned over, and looking into his face, said with an arch smile: "Shall I send for Doctor Bludgeon and Sai;ry Gamp to take my place?" He was very weak and unstrung, and while a tremulous smile hovered about his mouth, his eyes so moistened that he turned toward the wall. After a moment he said: it page: 242-243[View Page 242-243] 242 OPENING A CHESTNUT BUARR. "Miss Walton, I am not worthy of your kind. ness." "Nor are you unworthy. But kindness is not a matter of business. So much for so much." "Why do you waste your time on me?" "Come, that is a childish question. What a monster I should be if I heedlessly left you to suffer. The farmers' wives around would mob me."' "I am very grateful for the relief you are giving me, even though mere humanity is the motive." "Mere humanity is not my motive. You are our guest, the son of my father's dearest friend, and for your own sake I am deeply interested in you." " Miss Walton, I know in the depths of your soul you are disgusted with me. You seek to apply those words to my spirit, as you do cologne to my head." "I beg your pardon. It is not the cologne only that relieves your headache." "I know that well. It is your touch which seems magical." "Well then, you should know from my touch that I am not sitting here telling fibs. If I should bathe your head with a wooden hand, wouldn't you know it?" "What an odd simile! I cannot understand you." "It is not necessary that you should, but do not wrong me by doubting me again." ' I have done nothing but wrong you, Miss Walton." OF DIPEi'RENT CIA Y. 243 I'm not conscious of it, so you needn't worry, and I assure you, I find it a pleasure to do you good." J "Miss Walton, you are the essence of goodness." "Oh no; no; why say of a creature, what is only true of God. Mr. Gregory, you are very extravagant in your language." A scowl darkened his face, and he said moodily: "God seems to me the essence of-cruelty." "' Seems, seems!' An hour since I seemed a torment, and you were driving me away." "Yes, but you soon proved yourself a kind, hcqp- ful, pitiful friend. I once thought my cheek would flame with anger even if I were dying, should I be regarded as an object of pity. But you, better than any one, know that I am one." "I, better than any one, know that you are not, in the sense you imean." "Come, Miss Walton, you cannot be sincere now. Do you think I can ever forget the miserable scene of Monday evening, when you placed yourself beside the martyrs, and I sank down among the cowards of any age. I have reached the bottom of the only perdition I believe in. I have lost my self-respect." - Which I trust God will help you regain by showing you the only sure and-safe ground on which self-respect can be maintained. Much that is called self-respect is nothing but pride. But, Mr. Gregory, injustice to one's self is as wrong as injustice to ano- ther. Answer me honestly this question. Did you act that evening only from fear-because you have page: 244-245[View Page 244-245] 244 OPENING A CHESTAt rT BURR. it not in you to face danger; or did you promise secrecy because you felt the man's crime was none of your business, and supposed I would take the same view?" Gregory started up and looked at her with a face all aglow with honest, grateful feeling, and said : "God knows the latter is the truth." "And I know it too, I knew it then." "But the world could never be made to see it in that light." "Now pride speals. Self-respect does not de- pend upon the opinion of the world, The world has nothing to do with the matter. You certainly do, not expect I am going to misrepresent you be- fore it." Walter bent a look upon her, such as she had never- sustained before. It was the look of a man who had discovered something divine and precious beyond words. It was a feeling such as might thrill one who was struggling in darkness, and as he sup- posed, sinking in the deep sea, but whose feet touched something which, seemed to sustain. The thought "I can trust her-she is true," came to him at that time with such a blessed power to inspire hope an-d give relief, that for a moment he could not speak.. Then he began: "Miss Walton, I cannot find words---" "Do not find them," she interrupted laugh- ingly. "'See, your temples are beginning to throb again, and I am a sorry nurse, a true disciple of Mrs. Gamp, to let you excite yourself. Lie down, sir, at OF DIFFERENT CLA Y. 245 once, and let your thoughts dwell the next--alf-hour on your breakfast. You have much reason for regret that the dainty little tidbits that I first prepared are spoiled by this time. I doubt whether I can do as well again." "I do not wish any breakfast. Please do -not leave me yet." "It makes no difference what you wish. The idea of an orthodox physician consulting the wishes of hispat';ent! My practical skill sees you need breakfast." "Have you had any yourself? he asked, again starting up, and looking searchingly at her. "Well, I have had a cup of coffee," she replied coloring a little. ' What a brute I am!" he groaned. "In that charge upon yourself you strongly assert the possession of an animal nature, and therefore of course need breakfast." "May. I be choked by the first mouthful if I touch anything before I know you have had your own." "What an awful adjuration! How can you swear so before a lady, Mr. Gregory?" "No, it is a solemn vow." "Then I must take my breakfast with you, for with your 'disposition to doubt I don't see how you can ' know' anything about it otherwise." 'That is better than I hoped. I will eat any- thing you bring on those conditions, if it does choke me-and I know it will-." page: 246-247[View Page 246-247] 246 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. "A fine compliment to my cooking," she retorted, and laughingly left the room. Walter could not believe himself the haggard wretch that Mr. Walton had found two hours since. Then he was ready to welcome death as a deliverer. Insane man! Asif, death ever delivered any but the good from evil! But so potent had been the sweet wine of Annie's ministry that his chilled and benumbed heart was beginning to glow with a faint warmth of hope and comfort. Morbidness could no more exist in her presence than shadows on the sunny side of trees. - With her full knowledge of the immediate cause of his suffering, and with her unu- sual tact, she had applied balm to body and spirit at the same time. The sharp, cutting agony in his head had been charmed away. The paroxysm had passed, and the dull ache that remained seemed no- thing in comparison-merely the heavy swell of the departed storm, . He forgot himself, the source of all his trouble, in thinking about Miss Walton. The plain girl, as he had at first regarded her, with a weak, untried char- acter that he had expected to topple over by the breath of a little flattery, now seemed divinely beau- tiful and strong. She reminded him of the graceful, symmetrical elm, which, though bending to the tem- pest, is rarely broken or uprooted. He hardly hoped that she would give him credit for the real state of his mind which had led to his ready promise of secrecy. To the counterfeiter's wretched companion he had seemed the weakest and OF DIFFERENT CLA Y. 247 meanest of cowards, and if the story were generally known he would appear in the same light to the world. To his intensely proud nature this would be intolerable. And why should it not be known? If Miss Walton chose to regard his choice as one of cowardice, how could he prove, even to her, that it was not? Moreover, his estimate of human nature was much too low not to believe that even Annie would use him as a dark background for her heroism, and he well knew that when such a story was once started, society's strongest tendency is to exaggerate man's pusillanimity and woman's courage, He shuddered as he saw himself growing blacker and meaner in every fire-side and street-corner narration of the strange tale, till at last his infamy passed into one of the traditions of the place. A man like Gregory could not long endure such a prospect. He would die, either by every physical power speedily giving out under mental anguish, or by his own hand; or if he had lived, reason would have dropped its sceptre and become the sport of wild thoughts and- fancies. Little wonder then that Annie appeared an angel of light whe he stood between him and such a fu- ture. The uliest hag would have been glorified and loved in the same position. But when she did this with her own peculiar grace-and tact, as a matter of justice, his gratitude and admiration knew no bounds. He was in a fair way to become an idolater and worship the country girl he had once sneered at, as no sculptured 1Madonna was ever revered even in page: 248-249[View Page 248-249] 248 OPEXIVNG A CHESTNUT BURR superstitious Italy. In addition to his personal oblie gation, by tests certain and terrible she had proved herself true, and strong in a world that he believed in the main utterly false at heart. It is one of our most natural instincts to trust and lean upon some- thing, and Annie Walton seemed one whose friend- ship he could value above life. He did not even then realize, in his glad sense of relief, that in escaping the dilemma of cowardice, he fell upon the other, namely, lack of principle--that the best explanation of his conduct admitted that he was indifferent to right and wrong, and even to the most serious crime against society, so long as he was not personally and .immediately injured. He had acted on the selfish creed that a man is a fool who puts himself to serious trouble to serve the public. The fact that he did not even dream that Annie would make the noble stand she did, proves how far selfishness can take a man out of his true course when he throws overboard compass and chart and lets himself drift. But in the world's code (which was his) cowardice was the one deadly sin. His lack of anything like Christian principle -was a familiar fact i! him, and did not hurt him among those with whoml, associated. Even Annie, woman-like, could forgive all his faults quicker than a display of that weakness which is most despised in a man. But she too was suffi- ciently familiar with the world not to be repelled or shocked by a life which, compared with all true, noble standards, was sadly lacking. And yet she was the i ' - OF DIFFERENT CLA Y. 249 very last one to be dazzled by a fast, brilliant man of the world. She had been too well educated for that, and early had been taught to distinguish be- tween solid worth and mere tinsel. Her native powers of observation were strong, and her father, and mother also before she died, had given her opportunities for exercising them. Instead of mere assertions as to what was right and wrong and gen- eral lecturing on the subject, they had aimed to show her right and wrong embodied in human lives. They made her feel that God wanted her to do right for the same reason that they did, because he loved her. First in Bible narrative told in bed-time stories, then in history and biography, and finally in the experience of those around them, she had been shown the happy contrast of good, God-pleasing life, with that which is selfish and wicked. So thorough and practical had been the teaching in this respect, and so impressed was she with the lesson, that she would as soon haye planted in her flower-bed the seeds of tender annuals on the eve of autumn frosts and expected bloom in chill December as to enter upon a course that God frowns upon, and look Ior Lfappiness. Her father often said: "Opposing God's will is like a ship beating against wind and tide to certain wreck,"' An evil life appeared therefore to her a moral madness, under the malign influence of which people were like the mentally deranged who with strange perversity hate their best friends and cunningly watch for chances of self-destruction. While on one hand Ii* page: 250-251[View Page 250-251] 250 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. she shrank from them with something of the repul. sion which many feel toward those who are unsound in mind, on the other she cherished the deepest pity for them. Knowing how full and complete a remedy. ever exists in Him whose word and touch removed humanity s most desperate ills, it was her constant wish and effort to lead as many as possible to this Divine Friend. If she had been like many sincere but selfish religionists, she would have said of Grego- ry, "He is not congenial. We have nothing in com- mon," and; wrapped in her own spiritual pleasures and pursuits, would have shunned, ignored, and for- gotten hirr. But she chiefly saw his pressing need of help, and said to herself: "If I would be like my Master, I must help him." Gregory at first had looked upon himself as im- measurably superior to the plain, country Miss Wal- ton. He little imagined that she at the same time had a profound pity for him, and that this fact would become his best chance for life. She had not forgotten the merciful conspiracy entered into the second evening after his arrival, but was earnestly seeking to carry it out. In order to do this, she was anxious to gain his good-will and confidence, and now saw with gratitude that their adventure on the mountain, that had threatened to end in death, might be the beginning of a new and happy life. She exulted over the hold she gained upon him, not as the selfish gloat over one within their power, and whom they can use for personal ends-not as the OF DIFFERENT CLA Y. 251 coquette smiles as she sees another human victim upon the altar of her vanity, but as the angels of heaven rejoice when there is even a chance of one sinner's repentance. And yet Annie had no intention of "talking religion" to him in any formal way, save as the subject came up naturally; but hoped to live it, and suggest it to him in such an attractive form that -he would desire it for his own sake. But her chief hope was in the fact that she prayed for him, and she no more expected to be unheard and unanswered than that her kind old father would listen to some earnest request with a stony face. But Annie was not one to go solemnly to work to compass an event that would cause joy in heaven. She would ask one to be a Christian as she - would invite a captive to leave his dungeon, or tell the sick how to be well. She saw that morbid gloom had become almost a disease with Gregory, and purposed to cure him with sunshine. And sunshine embodied she seemed to him as she appeared, her face glowing with exercise and close acquaintance with the kitchen-range. In each hand she carried a dish, while Hannah followed with a tray on which smoked the most appetizing of break- fasts. "4 Your rash vow," she said, "has caused you long waiting. I'm none of your ethereal heroines, but have a craving for solids served in quantity:and variety. And while I could have soon got your breakfast it was no bagatelle to get mine." page: 252-253[View Page 252-253] 252 OPENING A CHESTNUt BURR. How fresh and bright she looked saying all'this; and he ejaculated: "Deliver me from the ghastly creatures you- call 'ethereal heroines.'" "Indeed, sir," she retorted, ' if you can't deliver yourself from them you shall have no help from me. But let us at once enter upon the solemnities, and as you' have a spark of gallantry, see to it that you pay my cookery proper compliment." Your ' cookery,' forsooth," said he, with some- thing of her own light tone. "That I should find Miss Walton stealing Zibbie's laurels!" "Chuckle when you find her doing it. Hannah, who prepared this breakfast?" "Yourself, Miss," answered the woman with an admiring grin. "That will do, Hannah; we will wait upon our. selves. Shame on you, sir. You are no connoisseur, since you cannot tell a lady's delicate work from a kitchen-maid's. Moreover, you have shown that wretched doubting disposition again." Now that they were alone, Gregory said earn- estly, "I shall never doubt you again." "I hope you never will doubt that I wish to do you good, Mr. Gregory," she replied, passing him a cup of tea. "You have done me more good in a few brief hours than I -ever hoped to receive. Miss Walton, how can I repay you?" "By being a better friend to yourself. Com- mence by eating this." OF DIFFERENT CLA . 253 He did not find it very difficult to comply. After a little time he said: "But my conscience condemns me for caring too much for myself." "And no doubt your conscience is right. The idea of being a friend to yourself and going against your conscience!" "Then I have ever been my own worst enemy.' "I can believe that, and so you'll continue if you don't take another piece of toast." "And yet there has always seemed a fatal neces- sity for me to do wrong and go wrong. Miss Wal- ton, you are made of different clay from me and most people that I know. It is your nature to be good and noble." "Nonsense!" said Annie with a positive frown. "Different clay indeed! I imagine you do wrong for the same reason that I do, because you wish ; and you fail in doing right because you have nothing but your weak human will to keep you up." "And what keeps you up, pray?" "Can you even suppose that I or any one can be a Christian without Christ?" He gave one of his incredulous shrugs. "Now what may that mean?" she asked. "Pardon me if I say that I think yours is a pretty and harmless superstition. This world is one of inexorable law and necessity down to the mi- nutest thing. A weed is always a weed. The same is true of a rose. It's my misfortune to be a weed, It's your good fortune to be a rose." page: 254-255[View Page 254-255] A254 OPENT I A CHESTNUT BURR. Annie looked as if she might become a briery one at that moment, for this direct style of ccmpli. ment, though honest, was not agreeable. Conscious of many struggles with evil, it was even painful, for it did her,-injustice in two aspects -of the case. So she said dryly: "What an automaton you make me out to be.' "How so? '" "If I merely do right as the rose grows, I de- serve no credit. I'm but little better than a machine." "Not at all. I compared you to something that has a beautiful life of its own. But I would will. ingly be a machine, and a very angular, uncouth one too, if some outside power would only work me right and to some purpose." "Such talk seems to me idle, Mr. Gregory. I know that I have to try very hard to do right, and often fail. I do not believe that our very existence commences in a lie, as it were, for from earliest years conscience tells us that we needn't do wrong and ought not to. Honestly now, isn't this true of your conscience?" "But my reason concludes otherwise, and reason is above conscience-above everything, and one must abide by its decisions." For a moment Annie did not know how to an- swer. She was not versed in theology and meta. physics, but she knew he was wrong. Therefore she covered her confusion by quietly pouring him out another cup of tea, and then said: OF DIFFERENT CLAY. 255 "Even my slight knowledge of the past has taught me how many absurd and monstrous things can be done and said in the name of reason. Reli- gion is a matter of revelation and experience. But it is not contrary to reason, certainly not to mine. If your reason should conclude that this tea is not hot, what difference would that make to me? My religion is a matter of fact-of vivid consciousness." "Of course it is. It's your life-your nature, just as in my nature there is nothing akin to it. That is why I say you are made of different clay from myself; and I am very glad of it," he added, with an air of pleasantry which she saw veiled gen- uine earnestness, " for I wish you the best of every- thing for ever and ever." Annie felt that she could not argue him out of his folly; and while she was annoyed, she could not be angry with him for expressions that were not meant as flattery, but were rather the strong lan- guage of his gratitude. "Time will cure him of his delusions," she thought, and said lightly: "Mr. Gregory, from certain knowledge of myself which you cannot have, I disclaim all your absurd ideas in regard to the newfangled clay of my com- position. I know very well that I am ordinary flesh and blood a fact that you will soon find out for yourself. As your physician, I pronounce that such wild fancies and extravagant language prove that you are out of your head, and that you need quieting sleep. I am going to read you the dullest book in tile library as a sedative." o page: 256-257[View Page 256-257] 2?5C6 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. "No, please, sing rather." "What! after such a breakfast! Do you sup. pose that I would ruin the reputation of my voice in one fell moment? Now what kind of clay led to this remark? Do as your doctor says.' Recline on the lounge. Close your eyes. Here is a treatise on the Nebular Hypothesis that looks unintelligible enough for our purpose." "Nebular Hypothesis! Another heavenly ex- perience such as you are ever giving me." "Come, Mr. Gregory, punning is a very bad symptom. You must go to sleep at once." And soon her mellow voice was finding its way into a labyrinth of hard scientific terms, as a mountain brook might murmur among the stones. After a little time she asked of Gregory, whose eyes remained wide open: "How does it sound?" i' Like the multiplication table set to music." "Why don't you go to sleep?" "I'm trying to solve a little nebular hypothesis of my own. I was computing how many million belles such as I know, and how many ages, would be required to condense them into a woman like your- self" Annie shut the book with a slam, and with an abrupt, half-vexed :' good-by," left the room. For a brief time Gregory lay repenting of his disastrous levity,- and then slept. CHAPTER' XX. MiSS WALTON MADE OF ORDINARY CLAY. 5,7WHEN Gregory awoke, the sun had sunk be- behind the mountains that he could not even look toward now without a shudder, and the land- scape, as seen from the window, was growing obscure in the early dusk of an autumn evening. But had the window opened on a vista in paradise he would not have looked without, for the one object of all the world most attractive to him was present. An- nie sat near the hearth with some light crochet- work in her hands. She had evidently been out for a walk, for she was drying her feet on the fender. How trim and cunning they looked, peeping from under the white edge of her skirt, and -what a pretty picture she made sitting there in the fire-light. The outline of her figure surely did not suggest the "ethereal heroine," but rather the presiding genius in a happy home, in which the element of comfort abounded. She looked as if she would be a sweet- tempered, helpful companion, in the every-day cares and duties of a busy life: A creature not too bright or good For hutman nature's daily food. WORDSWORTH. page: 258-259[View Page 258-259] 2 5 8 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. "How dark and lustrous her eyes are in the fire. light," Gregory thought. "It seems as if another and more genial fire were burning in them. What can she be thinking of, that such happy, dreamy smiles are flitting across her face? If I had such a hearth as- that, and such a good angel beside it to receive me after the day's work was over, I believe I could become at least a man, if not a Christian," and he sighed so deeply that Annie looked hastily up, and encountered his wistful gaze. "What a profound remark you just made," she said. "What could have led to it?" You." "I do not think that I am an object to sigh over. I'm perfectly well, I thank you, and have had my. dinner." "You have no idea what a pretty picture you made." "Yes, in this poor light, and your disordered imagination. But did you sigh on that account?" "No, bit because to me it is only a picture-one that shall have the chief place in the gallery of my memory. In a few days I shall be in my cheerless bachelor apartments, with nothing but a dusty regis- ter in the place of this home-like hearth." "Come, Mr. Gregory, you are growing senti- mental. I will go and see if supper is ready." "Please stay, and I will talk of the multiplication table." "No, that led to the ' Nebular Hypothesis.' You had better prepare for supper; " and she vanished. ,OF ORDINARY CLA Y. 259 'It's my fate," he said rising, 'to drive away every good and pleasant thing." He went to the fire and stood where she had sat, and again thought was busy. s"She seems so real and substantial, and yet so intangible. Her defensive armor is perfect, and I cannot get near or touch her unless she permits it.. The sincerest compliment glances off. Out of her kindness she helps me and does me good! She bewitches and sways me by her spells, but I might as well seek to imprison a spirit of the air as to gain any hold upon her. I wonder who or what she was thinking of, that such dreamy, tender smiles should flit across her face?" How his face would have darkened with wrath and hate, if he had known that his detestation, Hunting, had inspired them. The tea-bell reminded him how time was passing, and he went to his room with an elastic step that one would suppose impossible after seeing him in the morning. But, as is usual with nervous organi- zations, he sank or rallied rapidly in accordance with circumstances. When he appeared at the table, Mr. Walton could hardly believe his eyes. "It is again the result of Miss Walton's witch- craft," explained Gregory. "The moment I felt her hand upon my brow, there came a sense of relief. In Italy, they would make a saint of her, and bring out the sick for her to touch." "And so soon lose their saint by some contagious disease," said Annie laughing. page: 260-261[View Page 260-261] 260 OPENING A CBESTNUT BUI'R. "' I fear, sir, I was very rude to you this morning, but in truth I was beside myself with pain." "Annie has a wonderful power of magnetism--I don't know what else to call it," said Miss Eulie. "She can drive away one of my headaches quicker than all other remedies combined." "You are making out," said Annie, "that my proper calling is that of a nurse. If you don't change the subject, I'll leave you all to take care of yourselves, and go down to Bellevue." "If you do," laughed Gregory, "I'll break every bone in my body, and be carried into your ward as a homeless stranger." The supper hour passed away in light and cheer- ful conversation. As if by common consent, no allusion was made to the scenes on the mountain, in the presence of the children, and they evidently had had their curiosity satisfied on the subject. Annie seemed tired and languid after supper, and Miss Eulie volunteered to see the children safely to their rest. . Her father insisted on her taking his easy-chair, and Walter placed a footstool at her feet, and together they " made a baby of her" she said. The old gentleman then took his seat, and seemed to find unbounded content in gazing on his beloved daughter. Their guest appeared restless and com- menced pacing the room. Suddenly he asked Mr. Walton: "Have you heard anything of the fugitives-? "Not a word beyond the fact that they bought tickets for New York and took the train. I have OF ORDINARY CLAY. 261 telegraphed to the City Police Department, and for- warded the description of their persons which Annie gave me. Their dwelling has BIeen examined by a competent person, but evidently he is an old and experienced criminal and knows how to cover up his tracks. I think it extremely providential that they did nothing worse than send you over on the other side of the mountain in order to clear a way for escape. Such desperate people often believe only in the silence of death. They might have caused that dog to have torn you to pieces and they have ap- peared blameless. If caught, only your testimony could convict them, though I suspect Mrs. Tomip- kins and her son. Young Tompkins brought them with their luggage to the depot. He says the man called ' Vight' met him returning from the delivery of a load of wood, and engaged his services. As he often does teaming for people in those back districts, his story is plausible; and he swears he knew no- thing against the man. But he is a bad, drinking fel- low, and just the one to become an accomplice in any rascality. I fear they will all escape us, and yet I am profoundly grateful that matters are no worse." While Mr. Walton was talking, Gregory was looking intently at Annie. She was conscious of his scrutiny and her color rose under it, but she con- tinued to gaze steadily at the fire. "And I am going to increase that gratitude a hundred-fold, sir," he said earnestly. Annie looked up at him with a startled, depreca. tory air. "No, Miss Walton," he said, answering her At page: 262-263[View Page 262-263] 262 OPENING A CrESTNUT BURR. look, "I will not be silent. While it is due to your generosity that the world does not hear of your heroism as'the story would naturally be told, it is your father's right that he should hear it, and know the priceless jewel that he has in his daughter. I know that appearances will be against me. If you can take her view of the matter, sir, I shall be glad, otherwise I cannot help it;" and he related the events as they actually occurred, softening and pal- liating his course in not the slightest degree. Mr. Walton turned ashen pale as he thus for the first time learned the desperate nature of his daughter's peril. Then rising with a sudden 'im- pulse of pride and affection he clasped her in his arms. Gregory was about to leave the room, when Mr. Walton's voice detained him. "Do not go, sir. You will pardon a father's weakness." Gregory felt that he would like the privilege of showing his weakness in the same way. "Father, I give you my word and honor," cried Annie eagerly, "that Mr. Gregory did not act the part of a coward. He scarcely does himself justice in his story. He did not realize the principle in- volved, and saw in the promise he gave the readiest way out of an awkward and dangerous predicament. He did not think the man's crime was any of our business- " "There is no- need of pleading Mr. Gregory's cause so earnestly, my dear," interrupted her father. OF ORDINAR Y CLA Y. 263 "I think I understand his course fully, and share your view of it. I am too well accustomed to the taking of evidence not to detect the ring of truth." "I cannot tell you, sir, what a relief it is to me that you and Miss Walton can judge thus correctly of my action. This morning and yesterday I be- lieved that you and all the world would regard me as the meanest of cowards, and the bitterness of death was in the thought." "No, sir," said Mr. Walton, kindly but gravely "your course did not result from cowardice; but per- mit an old man and your father's friend to say that it did result from the lack of high moral principle. Its want in this case might have been fatal, for the world would scarcely do you justice, as you feared. Let it be a lesson to you, my dear young friend, that only the course which is strictly right is safe, even as far as this world is concerned." Gregory's face flushed deeply, but he bowed his head in his humility to the rebuke. "At the same time," continued Mr. Walton, " it was manly in you to frankly'state the case to me as you have, for you knew that you might shield your. self behind Annie's silence." "It was simply your right to know it," said Wal. ter in a low tone. After a few moments of musing silence, Annie said earnestly "I do so pity that, poor woman." "I imagine she is little better than her come panion," said Mr. Walton. "Indeed she is, father," said Annie eagerly. "I page: 264-265[View Page 264-265] 264 OPEN ING A CHESTN U T BURR. cannot tell you how I feel for her, and I know from her manner and words that her guilty life is a crush- ing burden. It must be a terrible thing to a woman capable of good (as she is), and wishing to live a true life, to be irrevocably bound to a man utterly bad." ' She is not so bound to him," said her father; "can she not leave him?' ' Ah, there comes in a mystery," she replied, and the subject dropped. Soon after, they separated for the night. But Gregory had much food, for painful thought. After the experience of that day his chief desire was to stand well in Miss Walton's esteem. And yet how did he stand--how could he stand, being what he was? He was not conscious of love for her as yet. He would have been satisfied if she had said, I will be your friend in the truest sense of the term. He lad no small vanity, and understood her kindness. She was trying to do him good as she would any one else. She was sorry for him as for the wretched woman who also found an evil life bitter, but she could never think of him as-.a dear, congenial, trusted friend. Evenr her father, before her, had rebuked his lack of principle. He had asserted that his nature was like the vile weed, and he had proved the same every day of his visit. If she should come to know of his purpose and effort to tempt her into the display of petty weakness and lack of principle her. self, would she not regard him as " utterly bad,' and shrink with loathing even from the bonds of friend-ship? OF ORD!4AR Y CLA Y. 265 He was learning the lesson that wrong sooner or later will bring its own punishment, and that the little experiment that he entered upon as a relief from ennui; might become the impassable gulf be- tween him and happiness; for he knew that if their relations ever verged toward mutual confidence, she would ask questions that would render lies his only escape. He could not sink to that resort. It was late before he found refuge in sleep from painful thoughts. The next day he was much alone. The news of their adventure having got abroad, many because of their sincere regard for Annie; and not a few out of curiosity, called to talk the matter over, After meeting one or two of these parties, and witnessing the modesty and grace with which Annie satisfied and foiled their curiosity at the same time, he was glad to escape further company in a long and soli- tary ramble. The day was mild, so that he could take rests in sunny nooks, and,thus he spent most of the day by himself. His conscience was awaken- ing, and the more pure and beautiful Annie's char- acter grew in his estimation, the rimore dastardly his attempt upon it seemed. Never before had his evil life appeared so hideous and hateful. And yet his remorse had nothing in it of true penitence. It was rather a bitter, impotent revolt at what he regarded as cruel necessity. Now'that he had been forced to abandon his theory that peo. pie are good as they are untempted, he adopted another which, if it left him in a miserable predica. I2 page: 266-267[View Page 266-267] 266 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. ment, exonerated him from blame. He- had stated it to Annie when he said, "You are made of differ- ent clay from other people. He tried hard to believe this, and partially succeeded. '"It is her nature to be good, and mine to be evil," he often said to himself that long and lonely day. "I have had a fatal gravitation toward evil ever since I can remember." But this was not true. Indeed, it could be proved out of his own memory, that he had had as many good and noble impulses as the majority, and that circumstances had not been more adverse to him than to numerous others. He was dimly conscious of these facts, though he tried to shut his eyes to them. A man finally gets justice at the bar of his own conscience, but it is extorted gradually, reluctantly, with much befogging of the case. Still this theory would not help him much with Annie Walton, for he knew that she would never entertain it a moment. Thus he wandered for hours amid old scenes and boyish haunts, utterly .oblivious of them, brooding more and more darkly and despondintly over his miserable lot. He tried to throw off fhe burden of depressing thought by asking in sudden fierceness: "Well, what is Annie Walton to me? I have only known her a few days, and having lived thus long, can live the' rest of my days-probably few- without her." But it was of no use. His heart would not echo . I . OF ORD INAR Y CLA . 67 the words, but in its very depths a voice clear and distinct seemed to say: "I want to be with her-to be near her. 'With her, the hours are winged; away, they are leaden- footed. She awakens hope; she makes it appear possible to be a man." He remembered her hand upon his aching brow, and groaned aloud in view of the gulf that his own life had placed between them. "Neither can they pass to us," he said, uncon- sciously repeating the words of Scripture. "With her nature what I know it to be, she cannot in any way ally it to mine?" As the shadows of evening deepened he saun- tered wearily and despondingly to the house. There were still guests in the parlor, and he passed up to his room. For the first time he found it chilly and fireless. It had evidently been forgotten, and he felt himself forgotten and neglected; and it seemed that he could drop out of existence unnoted and un- cared for. In what had been his own home, the place where for so many years he had experienced the most thoughtful tenderness, there came over him a sense of loneliness ,and desolation such as he had never before known or believed possible. He felt himself orphaned of heaven and earth, of God and man. A But a process had commenced in Annie's- mind that would have surprised him much. Unconsciously as yet, even to herself, she was disproving his supe- rior "clay" theory. Though carefully trained, and page: 268-269[View Page 268-269] 268 OPENING A CHE9STNUT BURR. though for years she had prayerfully sought to do right, still she was a true daughter of Eve, and Wvas often betrayed by human weakness. She had not the small, habitual vanity of some pretty women, who take admiration and flattery as their due, and miss it as they do their meals; still there was pride and vanity in her composition, and the causes that would naturally develop them were now actively at work. She considered herself plain and unattractive personally, and so she was to the careless glance of a stranger, but she speedily became beautiful, or what was better, fascinating, to those who learned to know her well. All are apt to know their strong points better than their weak ones, and Annie had no little confidence in her power to win the atten- tion and then the respect and regard of those whose eyes turned away indifferently after the first percep- tion of her lack of beauty. She did-not use this power as the coquette, but still she exulted in it, and liked-to employ it where she could innocently. She was amused with Gregory's sublime indifference at first, and thought she could soon change that condi- tion of his mind. She did not know that she was successful beyond her expectation or wishes. But while she rejected and was not affected by the fulsome flattery with which he at first plied her, de- tecting in it the ring ofinsincerity, she had noted, with not a little self-gratulation, how speedily she had made him conscious of her existence and developed , a growing interest. She knew nothing of his delibe- rate plot against her, nor its motive. Therefore his OF ORDINARY CLA Y.. 2 manner had often puzzled her, but she explained everything by saying: "He has lived too long in Paris." Still it is justice to her to say that, while from the natural love of power existing in every breast, she had her own little complacencies, and often times of positive pride and self-glorification, yet she strug- gled and prayed against such tendencies, and in the main she earnestly sought to use the influence she gained over others, for their own good. But of late there had been enough to turn a stronger head than hers. Gregory's homage and admiration was now sincere, and she knew it, and it was no. trifling thing to win such unbounded esteem from a man who. had seen so much of the world and was so critical. "He may be bad himself, but he well knows what is good and noble," was a thought that often recurred to her. Then, in a moment of sudden and terrible peril she had been able to mas- ter her strong natural timidity, and be true to con- science, and while she thanked God sincerely, she also was more and more inclined to take a great deal of credit to herself. Gregory's words kept repeating themselves: "You are made of different clay from others." While she knew that this was not true as he meant it, still the tempter whispered, You are naturally, and you have trained yourself into a real and great superiority over many others. Her father's intense look of pride and pleasure when he first learned of her fortitude, and his strong words -of thankfulness, she took as incense to herself, rather page: 270-271[View Page 270-271] 270 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. than as praise to God. Then came a flock of eager, curious, sympathizing people, who continued to feed her aroused pride by making her out a sort of hero- ine. Chief of all she was complacent in the con- sciousness of so generously shielding Gregory when, if she told the whole story, she, in contrast with him, would appear to far greater advantage. Altogether, her opinion of Annie Walton was rising with dangerous rapidity; and the feeling grew strong within her that, having coped successfully with such temptations, she had little to fear from the future. And this feeling of overweening self-confi- dence' and self-satisfaction was beginning to tinge her manner. Not that she would ever show it offen- sively. Annie was too much of a lady for that. But at the supper table that evening she gave evident signs of elation and excitement. . She talked more than usual, and was often very positive in matters where Gregory knew her to be wrong; and she was also a little dictatorial. ,At the same time the excite- ment made her conversation more brilliant and pointed, and as Gregory skilfully drew her out, he was suprised at the force and freshness of her mind. And yet there was something that jarred unpleas- antly--a lack of the sincere simplicity and self-for getfulness which were her usual characteristics. He had never known her to use the pronoun "I " with such distinctness and emphasis before. Still all this would not have seemed strange to him in another, but it did in contrast with herself. She did not notice the cloud upon his brow, or fOF ORDINARY CLAY. st that he only spoke in order to lead her to talk. She was too much preoccuxpied with herself for her cus- tomary quick sympathy for the moods of others. She made no inquiries as to how he had spent the day, and seemingly had forgotten him as completely as he had been absorbed in her. He saw with a deeper regret than he could understand that, except when he awakened her pity by suffering or enter- tained her by his conversation as any stranger might, he apparently had no hold upon her thoughts. :After supper, in answer to the children's de- mand for stories, she said almost petulantly that she was "too tired," and permitted Aunt Eulie to take them with sorrowful faces away to bed earlier than usual. "I need a little rest and quiet," she said. Gregory was eager for further conversation, and was willing even that it should turn upon religious topics, in order that he might obtain some idea how mercy would tinge her judgment of him if she should ever come to know the worst, but she suddenly seemed disinclined to talk, or give him any attention at all. Taking the arm-chair he usually occupied, and leaving the other for her father, she leaned back lux- uriously and gazed dreamily into the fire. Mr. Wal- ton politely offered Gregory his. Then Annie, sud- denly, as if awakening, rose and said : "Excuse me," and was about to vacate. But Gregory insisted upon her keeping it, saying, "You need it more-than I, after the unusual fatigues page: 272-273[View Page 272-273] 272 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. of the day. I am no longer an invalid. Even the aache in my :bones from my cold has quite-dis- appeared." -She readily yielded to his wish, and again ap- peared to see something in the fire that quite absorbed her. After receiving a few courteous monosyllables he seemingly busied himself with a magazine. Suddenly she said to her father: "Are you sure the steamer is due to-day?" He replied with a nod and a smile that Gregory did not understand, and he imagined that she also gave him a quick look of vexed perplexity. She did, for she expected her lover, Mr. Hunting, who had been: abroad on a brief business visit, by that steamer, and hoped that in a day or two he would make his appearance. Conscious of the bit- ter enmity that Gregory for some unknown reason cherished toward him, she dreaded their meet- ing. As Gregory watched her furtively, her brow contracted into a positive frown. The following thoughts were the cause: "It will be exceedingly stiff and awkward to have two guests in the house who are scarcely on speaking terms, and unless I can make something like peace, it will be unendurable. Moreover, I don't want any strangers around, much less this one, while Hunting is here." Thus in the secret of her soul, Annie's hospitality gave out utterly, and in spirit she had incontinently turned an unwelcome guest out of doors. Now OF ORDINARY CLA Y. 273 that she had really won a vantage ground that could be used effectively, all her Christian and kindly pur- poses were forgotten in the self-absorption that had suddenly mastered her. The evening was a painful one to Gregory. His sense of loneliness was deepened, and nowhere is such a feeling stronger than at a fireside where one feels that hehas no right or par t Mr. Walton was occupied that evening with some business papers. He had not a thought of discourtesy toward his guest. Indeed, in the perfection of hospitality, he had adopted Gregory so completely into his house- hold that he felt that he could treat him as one of the family. And yet Mr. Walton was also se- cretly uneasy at the prospect of entertaining hostile guests, and, with his better knowledge of the world, was not so sure that peace between them could be made in an hour. The disposition of those around us often creates an atmosphere, nothing tangible but something felt, and the impression on Gregory's mind, that he be- longed not to this household, but to the outside world --that the circle of their lives did not embrace him, and that his visit might soon come to an end without much regret on their part-was not without cause. And yet consciously they would have failed in no duty of hospitality had he staid for weeks. But never before had Gregory so felt his isola. tion. He had but few relatives, and they were not congenial. His life abroad, and neglect, had made them comparative strangers. But here, in the home I2* page: 274-275[View Page 274-275] of his childhood, the dearest spot of earth, were those who might become equally loved with it. In a dim, obscure way the impression was growing upon him that his best chance for life and happiness still centred in the place where he had once known true life and happiness. Annie Walton seemed to him the embodiment of life. She was governed and sustained by a prin- ciple that he could not understand, and which from his soul he was beginning to covet. -His good father and mother were like old Mr. Walton. Their voyage of life was nearly over as he remembered them, and they were entering the quiet, placid waters of the harbor. Whether they had reached their haven of rest through storm and temptation, he did not now know, but felt that they never could have had the unfortunate experience of himself, who was now threatened with utter wreck. They belonged to his happier, yet vanished past; which could never return. But Annie unexpectedly awakened hope for the present and future. This eager-eyed, joyous girl looking forward to the life he dreaded with almost a child's delight, this patient woman already taking up the cares and burdens of her lot with cheer- ful acceptance-this strong, high-principled maidenll, facing and mastering temptation in the spirit of olden time---this daughter of nature was full of inspiration. Never had he found her society a weariness. On the contrary she had stirred his slow, feeble pulse, and revived his jaded mind, from the first. Her * OF ORDINARY CLA Y. - 275 pure fresh thought and feeling, had been like a breath from an oasis to one perishing in the desert. But chiefly had her kindness, delicacy, and generosity when in his moral and physical weakness he had been completely at her mercy, won his deepest gratitude. Also he felt that in all his after life he could never even think of her touch upon his aching temples without an answering thrill of his whole nature that appeared to have an innate sympathy with hers. And yet the exasperating mystery of it all!. While she was becoming the one source of life and hope for him-while his very soul cried out for her friendship and sisterly regard (as he would then have said), she seemed, in her preoccupation, unconscious of his existence, and he instinctively felt that she would bid him " good-by " on the following day, perhaps, with a sense of relief, and the current of her life flow on as smoothly and brightly as if he had never caused a passing agitation. With gnawing remorse he inwardly cursed his evil life and unworthy character, for these he believed formed the hopeless gulf that separated them., "It is the same," he said, in his exaggerated way, "as if a puddle should mirror the star just above it, and becoming enamored, should wish it to fall and be quenched in its foul depths." But he did himself great wrong; for in the fact that Annie so attracted him, he proved himself pos. sessing large capabilities of good. page: 276-277[View Page 276-277] 376 OPENWI G A tCHESTNUT BUz'R. But he could not bear to see her sitting there so quietly forgetful of him, -and so made several vain attempts during the evening to draw her into con- a - versation. Finding her disinclined to talk, he at last ventured to ask her to sing. With something like coldness she replied: "Really, Mr. Gregory, I am not in the mood for it this evening; besides, I am greatly fatigued." What a careless, indifferent shrug he usually gave when fair ladies denied his requests! Now, for some unaccountable reason he flushed deeply and a sharp pain carme into his heart. But he only said: " f' Pardon me, Miss Walton, for not seeing this myself. But you know that I am selfishness em- bodied, and your former good nature leads me to presume." Annie gave him a hurried smile, as she answered, "Another time I will try to keep up my character better; " and then she was absorbed again in a pic- ture among the hickory coals. Like many who live in the country and are much alone, she was given to fits of abstraction and long reveries. She had no idea how the time was pass- ing, and meant to exert herself before the evening was over for the benefit of her father and guest. But her lively imagination could not endure interruption till it had iompleted some scenes connected with him she hoped so soon to see. Moreover, as we have seen, the tendency to self-absorption had been developing rapidly. After the last rebuff, Gregory was very quiet, and OF OR XINA YY CL4 Y. 2" soon rose and excused himself, saying that he had taken longer walks than usual and; needed rest. Annie awakened, as if out of a dream, with a pang of self-reproach, and said: "I have been a wretched hostess this evening. Phope you will forgive me. The fact is, I've been talked out to-day." "And I had not the wit to entertain and interest you, so I need forgiveness more. Good night." Mr. Walton looked up from his business xpapers and smiled genially over his spectacles, and then was as absorbed as before. Annie sat down- again with a vague sense of dis- content. With their guest, her dreams also had gone, and she became conscious that she had treated him with a neglect that even seemed rude, and he had borne it in a spirit different from that which he usually showed. But she petulantly said to herself, "I can't always be exerting myself for him as if he were a sick child." But conscience replied, "You have so much to make you happy, and he so little. You are on the eve of a great joy, and you might have given him one more pleasant evening." But she met these accusations with a harshness all unlike herself. "It's his own fault that he is not happy. He had no business to spoil his life." "Yes," retorted conscience," but you have pro- mised and purposed to help him find the true life, and now you wish him out of the way, and have lost one of your best and perhaps your last opportunity, for page: 278-279[View Page 278-279] 278 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. he will not stay after Hunting comes." And self- condemned, she felt that she had spent -a very selfish and profitless evening. For some reason she did not feel like staying to prayers with her father and Miss Eulie, who now came in, but, printing a hasty kiss on Mr. Waltons cheek, said: "Good night. I'm tired, and going to bed." Even in her own room there was a malign influ- ence at work that made her devotion formal and brief. and she went to sleep, " out of sorts.' .- CHAPTER XXI. PASSION AND PENITENCE. THE cloud on her brow had not disappeared on the ensuing morning when she came down to breakfast. Unless the causes are removed, the bad moods of one day are apt to follow us into the next. Annie was now entering upon one of those peri- ods when, in accordance with a common expression, "everything goes wrong," and the world develops a sudden perverseness that distracts and irritates even the patient. The butcher had neglected to fill the order for breakfast, and Jeff, also under the baleful spell, had killed an ancient hen instead of a spring chicken, to supply the sudden need. "Couldn't cotch nothin else," he answered sto- lidly to Annie's sharp reprimand, so sharp that Greg- ory, who was walking toward the barn, was surprised. Zibbie was fuming in the broadest Scotch, and had spoiled her coffee, and altogether it was a sorry breakfast to which they sat down that morning; and Annie's worried, vexed looks did not make it more inviting. Gregory tried to appear unconscious, ar,: directed his conversation chiefly to Mr. Walton ai d Miss Eulie. 4( page: 280-281[View Page 280-281] 280 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. "Annie," said her father humorously, " it seems to me that this fowl must have had reminiscences of the :ark." But she could not take a jest then, and pettishy answered that "if he kept such stupid men as Jeff, he could not expect anything else." Annie was Jeffs best friend, and had interceded for him in some of his serious scrapes, but her mood now was like a gusty day that gives discomfort to all. After a few moments she said suddenly: "Oh, father, I forgot to tell you. I invited the Camdens here to dinner to-day." His face clouded instantly, and he looked exceed- ingly annoyed. "I am very sorry to hear it," he said. "Why so?" asked Annie, with an accent that Gregory never heard her use toward her father. "Because I will have to be absent, for one reason. I meant to tell you about it last evening, but you seemed so occupied with your own thoughts, and dis- appeared at last so suddenly, that I did not get a chance. But there is no help for it. I have very important business that will take me out to Wood- ville, and you know it requires a good long day to go and come." "It will never do in the world for you to be away," cried Annie. "Can't help it, my dear; it's business that must be attended to." "But, father," she urged, "the Camdens are new PASSION AND PENITENCE. 281 people, and said to be very wealthy. We ought to show them some attention. They were so cordial yesterday, and spoke so handsomely of you, and said how they wished to meet you and be very social, that I felt that I could not do otherwise than invite them. For reasons you understand it may not be conve- nient to see them very soon after to-day." The old gentleman seemed to share his daughter's vexation, but for a different cause, and after a mo- ment said: "You are right, they are 'new people' in more senses than one, and appear to me to be assuming a great deal more than good taste dictates in view of the past. As mistress of my home I wish you to feel that you- have the right to invite any one you please, within certain limits. The Camdens are peo- ple that I would do any kindness to and readily help - if they were in trouble, but I do not wish to meet them socially." Tears of shame and anger glistened in Annie's eyes as she said: "I'm sure you know very well that I wish to entertain no vulgar, pushing people. I knew nothing of their ' past.' They seemed pleasant when they called. They were said to have the means to be liberal if they wished, and I thought they would be an acquisition to our neighborhood, and that we might interest them in our church and other things." "In my view," replied Mr. Walton a little hotly, "the church and every goorl cause would be better page: 282-283[View Page 282-283] 282 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. off without their money, for in plain English, it was acquired in a way that you and I regard dishonora- ble. I'm very sorry they've come to spend it in our neighborhood. The fact may not be generally known here, but it soon will be. I consider such people thegreatest demoralizers of the age, flaunting their ill-gotten wealth in the faces of the honest, and causing the young to think-that if they only get money, no matter how, society will receive them all the same. I am annoyed beyond measure that we should seem to give them any countenance whatever. Moreover, it is necessary that I go to Woodville." "Oh dear," exclaimed Annie, in a tone of real distress, " what shall I do? If I had only known all this before." Then, turning with sudden irritation to her father, she asked: "Why did you not tell fme about them?" "Because you never-asked, and I saw no occasion to. I do .not like to speak evil of my neighbors, even if it be true. I did not know of your call upon them till after-it occurred, and then remarked, if you will remember, that they were people that I did not admire." * "Yes," she exclaimed in a tone of strong self- disgust, "I do remember your saying so, though I had no idea you meant anything like what- you Inow state. The wretched mystery of it all is, why could I not have remembered it yesterday?" "Well, my dear," replied the father, with the glimmer of a smile, "you were a bit preoccupied yesterday; though I don't wonder at that." *8 FPASSION AND PENITENCE. 283 {'I see it all now,' cried Annie impetuously. "But it was with myself I was preoccupied, and therefore I made a fool of myself. I was rude to you last night also, Mr. Gregory, so taken up was I with my own wonderful being." "Indeed, Miss. Walton, I thought you were think- ing of another," said he with a keen glance, and she blushed so deeply that he feared she was; but he added quickly, "You once told me that it was as wrong to judge one's self harshy as another. I assure you that I've no complaints to make, but rather gratitude for all your kindness. As to this other matter, it seems to me that in your ignorance of these people, you have acted very naturally." "I'm sorry I did not tell you more- about them," said her father.. "I did intend to, but somehow it escaped me." "Well," said Annie with a long breath, "I am fairly in the scrape. I've invited them, and the ques- tion now is what shall we do?" The old merchant, with his intense repugnance to anything like commercial dishonesty, was deeply perturbed. The idea of entertaining at his board as guest a man with whom he would not have a busi- ness transaction was exceedingly disagreeable. Leav- ing the unsatisfactory breakfast half-finished, he rose and paced the room in his perplexity. At last he spoke, as much to himself as to his daughter: "It shall never be said that John Walton was deficient in hospitality. They have been invited by one who had the right, so let them come, and be page: 284-285[View Page 284-285] 284 UOPEN!NG A CMtES!SNVT BPURR. treated as guests ever are at our house. This much is due to ourselves. But after to-day let our rela- tions be as slight as possible. Mr. Gregory, you are under no obligation to -meet such people, and need not appear unless you wish." "With your permission I will be present, sir, and help Miss Walton entertain them. Indeed, I can claim such slight superiority to these Camdens or any one else that I have no scruples." "How is that?" asked Mr. Walton, with a grave, questioning look. "I trust you do not uphold the theory that seems to prevail in some commercial circles, that any mode by which a man can get money and escape State prison is right?" "I imagine I am the last one in the world to uphold such a ' theory,'" replied Gregory quickly, with one of his expressive shrugs, " inasmuch as I am a poor man to-day because this theory has been put in practice against me. No, Mr. Walton," he continued,- with the dignity of truth", it is but jus- tice to myself to say that my mercantile life has been as pure as your own, and that-is the highest encomium that I could pass upon it. At the same time it has been evident to you from the first day I came under your roof that I am not the good man that you loved in my father." The old gentleman sighed deeply. He was too straightforward to utter some trite, smooth remark, such as a man of- the world might make. Regard. ing Gregory kindly, he said, almost as if it were a prayer: PAISSION AN D PNITENCE. i85 "May his mantle fall on you. You have many traits and ways that remind me strongly of him, and you have it in you to become like him." Gregory shook his head in deep dejection, and said in a low tone: "No, never." "You know not the power of God," said Mr. Walton gravely. ( At any rate, thank Him that he has kept you from the riches of those: who I am sorry to find must be our guests to-day." The children now came in from their early visit to the chestnut-trees, and the subject was dropped. Mr. Walton left the room, and Gregory also excused himself. Miss Euhe had taken no part in the dis- cussion. It was not her nature to do so. She sat beaming with sympathy on both Annie and her brother-in-law, and purposing to do all she could to help both out of the dilemma. She felt sorry for them, and sorry for the Camdens and Gregory, and indeed everybody in this troubled world; but such were her pure thoughts and spiritual life that she was generally on the wing, so far above earthly things that they had little power to depress her. The burden of the day fell upon Annie, and a heavy one she found it. Her lack of peace within was reflected upon her face, and in her satellites that she usually managed with such quiet grace. Zibbie was in one of her very worst tantrums, and when she heard that there was to be company to dinner, seemed in danger of flying into tragments. The thistle, the emblem of her land, was a meek and . page: 286-287[View Page 286-287] 286 OPAIG A CBErSTlfr BURR. downy flower compared with this ancient dame. When she took up or laid down any utensil, it was in a way that bid fair to reduce the kitchen to chaos before night. Jeff had " got his back up " also about the hen, and was as stupid and sullen as only Jeff knew how to be; and even quiet Hannah was almost driven to frenzy by Zibbie reproaching her for being everything under heaven that she knew she was not. In her usual state of mind Annie could have partly allayed the storm, and poured oil on the troubled waters, but now disquietude sat on her own brow, .and she gave her orders in the sharp, deci- sive tone that compels reluctant obedience. The day was raw and uncomfortable, and Greg. oty resolved to make his easy-chair by the parlor fire the point from which he would watch the devel. opment of this domestic drama., He had no vulgar, prying curiosity, but an absorbing interest in the chief actor; and was compelled to admit that the being that he had come to regard as faultless, was growing human faster than he liked. This impression was confirmed when the children came tearing through the main hall past the parlor to the dining-room opposite, which they entered, leaving the door open. Annie was there preparing the dessert. Country housekeepers can rarely leave these matters to rural cooks, and Zibbie could be trusted to sweeten nothing that day. With exclamations of delight the children clam. ored to help, or " muss" a little in their own way, a privilege often given them at such times. But PA SSION AND PENITENCE. 287 Annie sent them out of doors again with a tone and manner that caused them to tip-toe back past the parlor with a scared look on their little faces, and the dining-room door was shut with a bang. Gregory was puzzled. Here was one who had foiled his most adroit temptations, and resisted wrong in a way that was simply heroic, first showing something very like vanity and selfishness, and then temper and passion on what seemed but slight pro- vocation. He did not realize, as so many do not, that the petty vexations of life will often sting one who has the courage and strength to be .a martyr, into the most humiliating displays of weakness. Generals who were as calm and grand in battle as Mont Blanc in a storm, have been known to fume like small beer, in camp, at very slight annoyances. Annie's spirit was naturally quick and imperious, brooking opposition from no one. She was -also fond of approbation. She rated Gregory's hollow French gallantry at its true worth, but his subse- quent sincere respect and admiration, after their mountain adventure, had unconsciously elated her, especially as she felt that she had earned it well. Thus, when he had not intended it, and had given over his purpose to tempt her as hopeless, and dropped it in self-loathing that he should ever have entertained it, he had by his honest gratitude and esteem awakened the dormant vanity, which was more sensitive to tributes to her character than mere compliments to her person. The attention she had received the day before had developed this self-cornm page: 288-289[View Page 288-289] 288 OPENING A CIEKSTMTUT BURR. placency still more, and the nice balance of her moral, life had been disturbed. * It would seem that the tempter watches for every vantage. At any rate, as she expressed it, "everything went wrong" to-day. One weakness, one wrong prepares the way for another as surely as when one soldier of Diabolus gets within the city he wtill open the gates to others; and Annie's temper, that she had so long and prayerfully schooled, was the weak point inevitably assailed. She was found with her armor oR. She had closed the preceding and entered on the present day with the form and not the reality of prayer. Therefore it was Annie Walton alone who was coping'with temptation. She felt that all was wrong without and within. She felt that she ought to go to God at once in acknow- ledgment and penitence, and regain her peace; but pride and passion were aroused. She was hurried and worried, full of impotent revolt at herself and everything. She was in no mood for the sacred quiet of her closet, and dreaded the self-examina. tion that she knew must come. She was like a little wayward child, that, while it loves its parents, yet grieves and wrongs them by lack of obedience and simple trust; and having wronged them, partly from pride and partly from fear, does not humbly seek reconciliation. The obnoxious guests came, and the dinner fol- lowed. Mr. Walton was the embodiment of stately courtesy, but it was a courtesy due to John Walton rather than to them, and it somewhat awed and PASSIO END PENrIENCE. 289 depressed the Camdens. Zibbie had done her best to spoil the dinner, and, in spite of Annie, had suc- ceeded tolerably well. Only the dessert, which Annie had made, did credit, to her housekeeping. Hannah waited on them as she might if she were assisting at their obsequies. Altogether it was a rather heavy affair, though Gregory honestly did his best to en- tertain, and talked on generalities and life abroad, which the Camdens were glad to hear about, so in- cessantly that he scarcely had time to eat. But he was abundantly rewarded by a grateful look from Annie. As for herself, she could not converse connectedly or well. She was trammelled by her feeling toward the guests; she was so vexed with herself, mortified with the dinner, and angry with Zibbie, whom she mentally vowed to discharge at once, that she felt more like crying than talking graceful nonsense; for the Camdens soon proved themselves equal only to chit-chat. She sat at her end of the table, red, flur. ried, and nervous, as different from the refined, ele- gant hostess that she could be, as she herself differed from the Annie of other days. Gregory was also much interested in observing how one so truthful would act under the -circum- stances, and he saw that she was sorely puzzled con- tinually between her'effort to be polite and honest. The Camdens were puzzled also, and severely criticised their entertainers, mentally concluding and afterward asserting with countless variations, that "Miss Walton was wonderfully overrated-that she I3 page: 290-291[View Page 290-291] 290 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. was a poor housekeeper, and, they should judge, but little accustomed to good society." "I never saw a girl so flustered," Mrs. Camden would remark complacently. "Perhaps our city style rather oppressed her; and as for Mr. Walton, he put on so much dignity that he leaned over backward. They evidently don't belong to our set." That was just the trouble, and Mrs. Camden was right and wrong at the same time. Their early departure was a relief to both parties. Mr. Walton drew a long breath of immeasurable relief, and then called briskly to Jeff, who was coming up from the garden: "Harness Dolly to my buggy." "Why, father, where are you going?" exclaimed Annie. "To Woodville'." "Now father-" began Annie, laying hold of his arm. "Not a word, my dear; I must go." "But it will be late in the night before you can get back. The day is cold and raw, and it looks as if it would rain." "I can't help it. It's something I can't put off. Hurry Jeff, and get ready to go with me." "Oh dear!" cried Annie; " this is the worst ot all. Let me go for you-please do." c' I'm not a child," said the old gentleman irrita- bly. ' Since I could not go this morning, I must go now Please don't worry me. It's public business PASSION AND PENITENCE. 29I that I have no right to delay, and I promised that it should be attended to to-day;" and with a hasty "good-by " he took his overcoat and started. Annie was almost beside herself with vexation and self-reproach, and her feelings must find vent somewhere. Gregory prudently retired to his room. "There's Zibbie," she thought; "I'll teach her one lesson." And she went to the kitchen and dis- charged the old servant on the spot. Zibbie was in such a reckless state of passion that she didn't care if the world came to an end. The only comfort Annie got in this direction was a vol- ley of impudence. "I hod discharged mesel afore ye spoke," said the irate dame. "An' ye think I'm'gang to broil an ould hen for a spring chicken in peace and quietness ye're a' wrong. An' then to send that dour nagur a speerin roun among my fowl that I've raised from babies--I'll na ston it. I'll go, I'll go, but ye'll greet after the ould 'ooman for a' o' that." Annie then retreated to the sitting-room, where Miss Euhe was placidly mending Susie's torn apron, and poured into her ears the story of her troubles. "To be sure--to be sure," Aunt Eulie would answer soothingly; "but then, Annie dear, it all won't make any difference a hundred years from noW." This only irritated Annie more, and at the same time impressed her with her own folly in being so disturbed by comparative trifles. Gregory found his room chill and comfortless; page: 292-293[View Page 292-293] 292 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. therefore he put on his overcoat, and started for a walk, full of surprised and painful musings. As he was descending the stairs, Johnnie came running in, crying in a tone of real distress: Oh, Aunt Annie, Aunt Annie, I'm so sorry, so very sorry- " Annie came running out of the sitting-room door, exclaiming sharply: "What on earth is the matter now! Hasn't there been trouble enough for one day?" "I'm so sorry," sobbed the little boy, "but I got a letter at the post-office, and H-Host it com" ing across the lots, and H-I--can't find it." This was too much. This was the ardently looked-for letter that had glimmered like a star of hope and promise of better things throughout this miserable day, and Annie lost all control of herself. Rushing upon the child, she cried: "You naughty, careless, boy! I'll give. you-one lesson," and she shook him violently, when Greg- ory's indignation so got the better of him that-he said, in a low, deep tone : "Miss Walton, the child says he is 'very, very sorry.' He has not meant to do wrong, and he is an orphan." Annie started back as if she were committing sacrilege, and covered her face with her hands. Her back was toward Gregory, but he could see the hot blood mantling her very neck. She stood there for a moment, trembling like a leaf, and he, repenting of his hasty words, was about to apologize, when she PASSION AND PENITENCE. 293 suddenly caught the boy in her arms, and sped past him, up the stairs to her own room. To his dying day he would never forget the expression of her face. It cannot be described. It was the look of a noble spirit, deeply wounded, profoundly penitent. Her intense feeling was contagious, and the rough October winds brushed a tear from his own eyes more than once before he returned. page: 294-295[View Page 294-295] CHAPTER XXII. NOT A HEROINE, BUT A WOMAN. THE cold, cynical man of the world was in a maze. He was deeply and painfully surprised at Miss Walton, and scarcely less so at himself. How could he account for the tumult at his heart! When he first saw that outhurst of passion against a trembling, pleading child, he felt that he wished to leave the house then and forever. The next moment, when he saw Annie's face as she convulsively clasped the boy to her breast, and with supernatural strength fled to the refuge of her room, he was not only instantly disarmed of anger, but touched and melted as he had never been before. Feeling is sometimes so intense that it is like the lightning, and burns its way instantly to the con- sciousness of others. Words of condemnation would have died on the lips of the sternest judge had he seen Annie's face. It would have shown, him that the harshest things that he could utter were already anticipated in unmeasured self-upbraidings. From anger and disgust Gregory passed to the profoundest pity. The children's unbounded affec- tion for Annie proved that she was usually kind and patient toward them. A little thought convinced NOT 4 HEROINE, BUT A WOMAN. 255 him that the act he saw was a sudden outburst -of passion which the exasperating events of the day had prepared for. Her face showed as no language could how sincere and deep would be her repent- ance. He had not gone very far into the early twilight of a grove before he was conscious of a strong and secret exultation. " She is not made of different clay from others," he said. " She cannot condemn me so utterly now; and in view of what I have seen, she cannot loftily deny the kinship of human weakness. " What a nature she has, with its subterranean fires ! She is none of your cool, calculating creatures, who cipher out from day to day what is policy to do. She will act rightly till there is an irrepressible irruption, and then, beware. And yet these ebulli- tions enrich her life as the lava flow does the sides of Vesuvius. I shall be greatly disappointed if she, is not ten times more kind, sympathetic, and self-for- getful than she was before; and as for that boy, she will keep him in the tallest clover for weeks to come, to make up for this. "How piquant she is! I do not fear her quick, flame-like spirit when it is combined with so much conscience and principle. Indeed, I like her passion. It warms my cold, heavy heart. I wish she had shaken me, who deserved it, instead of the child, and if any makings up like that in yonder room could follow, I would like to be shaken every day in the week. It would make a new man of me." page: 296-297[View Page 296-297] 296 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. In the excitement of his feelings, he had gone farther than he realized, and the dusk was deepening fast when he reached the house on his return. He felt not a little uneasy as to his reception after the severe rebuke he had - given, but counted much on Annie's just and generous disposition. He entered quietly at a side door and passed through the dining- room into the hall. The lamp in the parlor was un- lighted, but the bright wood fire shed a soft, uncer- tain radiance throughout the room. A few notes of prelude were struck on the piano, and he knew that Miss Walton was there. Stepping silently forward opposite the open door, he stood in the dark hall watching her as she sang the following words: My Father, once again thy wayward child In sorrow, shame, and weakness comes to thee. Confessing all my sin, my passion wild, My selfishness and petty vanity. O Jesus, gentle Saviour, at thy feet I fall, where often I have knelt before; Thou wilt not spurn, nor charge me with deceit, Because old faults have mastered me once more. Thou knowest that I would be kind and true, And that I hate the sins that pierced thy side-- Thou seest that I often sadly view The wrong that in my heart will still abide. But thou didst come such erring ones to save, And weakness wins thy strong and tender love; So not in vain I now forgiveness crave, And cling to hopes long stored with thee above. NOT A HEROINE, BUT A WOMAN 29; And yet I plead that thou would'st surely keep My weak and human heart in coming days: Though now in penitence I justly weep, Oh, fill my future life with grateful praise. As in tremulous, melting tones she sang this sim pie prayer with tears glistening in her eyes, Gregory was again conscious of the strong answering emotior which the presence of deep feeling in those bound to us by some close tie of sympathy often excites. But far more than mere feeling moved him now. Her words and manner vivified an old truth familial from infancy, but which he had never realized not intelligently believed-the power of prayer to secure practical help from God. How often men have lived and died poor just above mines of untold 'wealth. Gaunt famine has been the inmate of households, while there were buried treasures under the hearth-stone. So multitudes in their spiritual life are weak, despairing, perishing, when by the, simple divinely appointed means of prayer they might fill their lives with strength and fulness. How long men suffered and died with diseases that seemed incurable before they discovered in some common object a potent remedy that relieved pain and restored health. As is the case with many brought up in Chris. tian homes, with no one thing was Gregory more familiar than prayer. For many years he had said prayers daily, and yet he had seldom in all his life prayed, and of late years had come to be a practical I3 page: 298-299[View Page 298-299] tJo 298 OPNIxNG A CHESTNUT BURR. infidel in regard to the whole matter. People who only say prayers, and expect slight, or no results '; from them, or are content year after year to see no results--who lack simple, honest, practical faith in God's word, such as they have in that of their physi- cian or banker--who only feel that they ought to pray, and that in some vague, mystical manner it may do them good, are very apt to end as skeptics as to its efficacy and value. Or they may become superstitious, and continue to say prayers as the poor Indian mutters his " hocus pocus " to keep off the witches. God hears prayer when his children cry to him-when his faithful friends speak to him straight and true from their hearts; and such know well that they are answered. As Gregory looked at *and listened to. Annie Walton, he could no more believe that she was ex- pressing a little aimless religious emotion just as she would sing a sentimental ballad, than he could think that she was only showing purposeless filial affection if she were hanging on her father's arm and pleading for something vital to her happiness. The thought flashed across him: "Here may be the secret of her power to do right-the help she gets from a source above and beyond herself. Here'may be the key both to her strength and weakness. Here glimmers light even for me." Annie was about to sing again, but the interest which she had awakened was so strong that he could not endure delay. Anxiety as to his personal recep. I ' AOT A HEROINE, BUT A WO'MA. ^ tion was forgotten, and he stepped forward and int rupted her with a question. "Miss Walton, do you honestly believe that? "Believe what?" said she hastily, quite startle "What I gathered from the hymn you sang that your prayer is really heard and answered?" ' Why, certainly I believe it," said Annie ir shocked and pained tone. "Do you think me ca] ble of mockery in such things? And yet," she add sadly, " perhaps after to-day you think me capable anything." "Now you do both yourself and me wronA Gregory eagerly replied. "I do believe you are s cerely trying to obey your conscience. Did I r see your look of sorrow as you passed me on t stairs?--when will I forget it! Remember woi that must have been inspired, which you once quot to me? 'Who by repentance is not satisfied Is not of heaven nor earth.' And pardon me when I tell you that I have be listening the last few moments, out in the hi Your tones and manner would melt the heart of infidel, and they have made me wish that I were 1 so unbelieving. Forgive me for even putting su thoughts- in your mind-I feel it is wicked and so ish in me to do it--but how do you know that y( prayer, though so direct and sincere, was not sou lost in space?" "Because it has been answered," she repli eagerly. "Peace came even as I spoke the wory page: 300-301[View Page 300-301] 300 OPENIArNG A CESTNEUT BURR. Because whenever I really pray to God he answers me." They now stood on opposite sides of the hearth, with the glowing fire between them. In its light Annie's wet eyes glistened, but she had forgotten herself in her sincere and newly awakened interest in him whom she had secretly hoped and purposed before to lead to better things. It had formed no small part of her keen self-reproach that she had forgotten that purpose, and wished him out of the way, just as she was beginning to gain a decided influence over him for good. After what he had witnessed that afternoon she felt that he would never listen to her again. - He would not had he detected the slightest tinge of acting or insincerity on her part, -but her penitence had been as real as her passion. She was glad and grateful indeed when he ap- proached her again in the spirit he now manifested, and hoped she saw the leadings of a kind Providence bringing " good out of evil." As she stood there in the firelight, self-forgetful, conscious only of her wish to say some words that would be like light to him, her large humid eyes turned up to his face, she made a picture that his mother would like to see. Perhaps she did, bending from heaven with the angels who watch for one sinner's repentance, He leaned against the mantle and looked deject. edly into the fire. After a moment he said sadly "I envy you, Miss Walton. I wish I could NOT A IEROINE, BUT A WOMAN. 30 believe in a personal God who thought about us an cared for us-that is, each one of us. Of course- believe in a Supreme Being-a great First Cause ; bu he hides himself behind the stars--he is lost to m in his vast universe. I think my prayers once had a effect on my own mind, and so did me some goo( But that's past, and now I might as well pray t gravitation as to anything else." Then turning to her, he caught her wistful, inter ested look-an expression which said plainly, " want to help you," and it touched him. He cor tinued feelingly: "Perhaps you are not conscious of it, but yo now look as if you cared whether I was good or bac was sad or unhappy, lived or died. If I could onl see that God cared in something the same way! H no doubt intends to do what is best for the race i the long run, but that may involve my destrufctior I dread his terrible, inexorable laws." "Alas," said Annie, tears welling up into he eyes, "I am not wise enough to argue outt thes matters and demonstrate the truth. I suppose i can be done by those who know how." "I doubt it," said he, shaking his head deci sively. "Well, I can only tell you what I feel an, know." "That is better than argument-that is what would like. You are not a weak, sentimental womar full of mysticism and fancies, and I would have mucl confidence in what you know and feel." page: 302-303[View Page 302-303] 302 OPENING A CHESrTNU T BURR. "Do not say that I am not a weak woman. I have shown you better. -Be sincere with me, for 1 am with you. Well, it seems to me that this ques- tion of prayer is simply one of fact. We know that God answers prayer, not only because he said he would, but because he does. From my own expe- rience I, am as 'certain of it as of my existence. , I think that many who sneer or doubt in regard to prayer are very unfair. I ask you, is it scienti- fic for men to say, Nothing is true save what we have seen and known ourselves? How that would limit one's knowledge! If some facts are discovered in Europe and established by a few proper witnesses, we believe them here. Now in every age multitudes have said that it was a fact that God heard and answered their prayers. What right has any one to ignore these truths any more than any other truths of human experience ' I ask my earthly father for something. The next day I find it on my dress- ing-table.- Is it a delusion to believe that he heard and granted mylrequest? W hen I ask my Heavenly Father for outward things, he sometimes gives them, and sometimes he does not, as he sees is best for me, just as my parents did when I was a little child. And I have already seen that he has often been kinder in refusing. TBut when I ask for that which will meet my deeper and spiritual needs I seldom ask in vain. If you should ask me how do I know it, I in return ask how do you know that you are ill, or well, that you are glad or sad, or tired, or anything about yourself that depends on your own inner con. NOT A HEROINE, BUT A WOMAN. 30 sciousness. If I should say unjust, insulting thing to you now, how would you know you were angry If I should say, Mr. Gregory, you are mocking me what I am now saying has no interest for yod You don't hear me, you don't understand me, ye are thinking of something else. Suppose that should say I want mathematical proof that you c feel an interest--or physical proof, something that can measure, weigh, or see, would, I be reasonable Do I make it clear to you why I say I know this? ( Clearer than it was ever made to me before. cannot help seeing that you are sincere and su about it. But pardon me-I've got in such ; inveterate habit of doubting-are not good Catholi just as sure about the Virgin and the saints hearil and answering them, and do not pagans feel t: same way about their deities?" "Now, Mr. Gregory," said Annie with a-lit indignant reproach in her tone, " do you think just and reasonable to compare my faith, or that any intelligent Christian, with the gross superstiti you name? Christianity is not embraced only the ignorant and weak-minded: multitudes of t best and ripest scholars in the world are hon believers." "Indeed, Miss Walton, I did not mean you draw any such inference as that," replied he hasl and in some confusion. "I do not see how any other can be drawn," i continued; " and I know from what I Have read a heard that unbelievers usually seek to give that page: 304-305[View Page 304-305] 304 OPENING A CEESTNU T BURJR. presslon. But it's notafairone. Theabsurdities of paganism, monlkish legends, and even the plausible errIoh of the Romish Church, will not endure the light of intelligent education; but the more I know the more I see the beauty and perfection of the Christian religion and the reasonableness of prayer, and so it is with far stronger and wiser heads than mine. Your father and mine were never men to be imposed upon, nor to believe anything just because they were told to do so when children." "Really, Miss Walton, you said you couldn't argue about this matter. I think you can, like a lawyer." "If you mean that I am using a lawyer's prover- bial slight of hand, I'm sorry." "Idon't mean that at all, but that you put your facts in such a way that it's hard to meet them." "I only try to use common sense. It's about the only sense I have. But I was in hopes you did not want to meet what I say adversely, but would like to believe." "I would, Miss Walton, honestly I would; but wishes go little way against stubborn doubt. This one now rises: Ho w-is it that scientific men are so apt to become infidel in regard to the Bible and its teachings, and specially prayer?" "I'm sure I hardly know," she answered with a sigh; " but I will tell you what I think. I don't be- lieve the majority of them know much about either the Bible or prayer. With my little smattering of geology I would think it very presuming to give an NOT A BEROINE, BUT A WOMA4N - 305 opinion contrary to that held by the best authorities in that science; and I think it very presuming in those who rarely look into a Bible, and never pray, to tell those who read and pray daily, that they don't know- what they do know. Then again, scien- tific people often apply gross material tests to mat- ters of faith and religious experience. The thing is absurd. Suppose a man should seek to investigate light with a pair of scales that could not weigh any- thing less than a pound. There is a spiritual and moral world as truly as a physical, and spiritual facts are just as good to build on as any other; and I should think they ought to be better, because the spirit is the noblest part of us. A man who sees only one side of a mountain has no right to declare that the other is just like it. Then again your sci- entific oracles are always contradicting each other, and upsetting one another's theories. Science to- day laughs at the absurdities believed by the learned a hundred years ago; and so will much that is now called science, and because of which men doubt the Bible, be laughed, at in the future., But my belief is the same substantially as that of Paul, Augustine, Luther, and the best people of my own age; and Luther, who did more for the world than any mere man, said that to ' pray well was to work well.' " When Annie was under mental excitement, she was a rapid, fluent talker, and this was specially her condition this evening. As she looked earnestly at Gregory as she spoke, her dark eyes glowing with feeling and intelligence and lighting her whole face, page: 306-307[View Page 306-307] 306 OPENING A CHESTNiUT BURR. he was impressed more than he could have been by the labored arguments of a cool, logical scholar. Hetr intense earnestness put a soul into the body of her words. He was affected more than he wished her to know, more than was agreeable to his pride. What she had said seemed so perfectly true and real to her, that for the time she made it true to him ; and yet to admit that his long-standing doubts could not endure so slight an assault as this, was to show that they had a very flimsy basis. Moreover, he knew that awhen, left to himself, he thought it all over, new ques- tions would rise that could not be answered, and new doubts return. Therefore he could not receive now what he might be disposed to doubt to-morrow. He was a trifle bewildered, and wanted time to think. He was as much interested in Miss Walton as in what she was saying, and when her words proved that she was a thoughtful woman, and could be the intelligent companion of any man, the dis, tracting fear grew stronger that when she came to know him well, she would coldly stand aloof. The very thought was-unendurable. In all the world, only in the direction of Annie Walton seemed there any light for him. So to gain time he instinctively sought to give a less serious turn to the conversa- tion, by saying: "Come, Miss Walton, this is the best preaching I've ever heard. It seems to me-quite unusual to find a young lady so interested and well versed in these matters. You must have given a good deal of thought and reading to the subject." NOT A HEROINE, BUT A WOMAN. 307 Annie looked disappointed. .She had hoped for a better result from her earnest- words than a com. pliment and a little curiosity as to herself. But she met him in his own apparent mood, and said: ("Now see how easily imposed upon your skepti- cal people are. I could palm myself off, like Portia, as a Daniel come to judgment, and by a little dis- creet silence gain a blue halo as a woman of deep research and profound reading. Just the contrary is true. I am not a very great reader on any sub- ject, and certainly not on theology and kindred topics. The fact is I am largely indebted to my father. He is interested in these subjects and takes pains to explain much to me that would require study; and since mother died he has come to talk to me very much as he did to her. But it seems to me all that I have said is very simple and plain, and you surely know that my motive was not to air the little instruction I have received." Gregory's policy forsook him as he saw her dis- appointed look; and as he looked at her flushed and now lovely face to him, acting upon a sudden impulse he asked: "Won't you please tell me your motive?" His manner and tone convinced her in a moment that he was more moved and interested than she thought, and answering with a like impulse on her part, she said frankly: "Mr. Gregory, pardon me for saying it, but from the first day of your visit it seemed clear to me that you were not living and feeling as those who once page: 308-309[View Page 308-309] So8 OPEBING A CHESTNUT BURR. made this your home could wish, and the thought was impressed upon me, impressed strongly, that perhaps God had sent you in-your feeble health and sadness (for you evidently were depressed in mind also), to this place of old and holy memories, that you might learn something better than this world's phi- losophy. I have hoped and prayed that I might be able to help you. But when to-day," she continued turning away her head to hide the rising tears, " ] showed such miserable weakness, I felt that you would never listen to. me again on such subjects, and doubt more than ever their reality, and it made me very unhappy. I feel very grateful that you have listened to me so patiently. I hope you won't let my weakness hurt my cause. Now you see what a frank, guileless conspirator I am," she added, try- ing to smile at him through her tears. While she spoke Gregory bent upon her a look that tried to search her soul. But the suspicious man of the world could not doubt her perfect sincerity. Her looks and words revealed her thought as a crystal stream a white pebble over whichi it flows He stepped forward and took her hand with a pres- sure that caused it to pain for hours after, but he only trusted himself to say: . "You are my good angel, Miss Walthn. Now I understand your influence over me," nd then abruptly left the room. But he did not understand her influence. A man seldom does when he first meets the woman whose words, glances, and presence have the subtle - NOT HEROINE,-BUT A WOMA N. 309 power to fill his thoughts, quicken his pulse, stir his soul, and awaken his whole nature into new life. He usually passes through a luminous haze of con- geniality, friendship, Platonic affinity, or even bro- therly regard, till something suddenly clears up the mist and he finds, like the first man, lonely in Eden, that there is but one woman for him in all the world. Gregory was in the midst of the cloud, but it seemed very bright around him as he paced his room excitedly. ! page: 310-311[View Page 310-311] CHAPTER XXIII. GREGORY'S FINAL CONCLUSION IN REGARD TO MSS WALTON. ANNIE WALTON was now no longeran enigma to Gregory. He had changed his views several times in regard to her. First, she was a common, place, useful member of the community, in asmall way, and part of the furniture of a well-ordered country house-lain furniture too, he had said to himself. But one evening in her company had con- vinced him that such a Miss Walton was a fiction of his own mind, and he who had come to regard soci- ety girls as they average, as a weariness beyond endurance, was interested in her immediately. Then her truth and unselfishness, and the strong religious element in her character, had been a con- stant rebuke, but he had soothed himself with the theory that she differed only in being untempted. He then had resolved to amuse himself, ease his coil- science, and feed his old grudge against her sex, by teaching the little saint that she was only a weak, vain creature. But she had not only sustained his temptations, but another ordeal so searching and ter. rible that it transformed her into a heroine, a being of different and superior clay from ordinary mortals. s GREGORY'S FINAL CONCLUSION. 3" "It's her nature to be good, mine to be bad,"' hle had said; "I'm a weed, she a flower." But Annie herself had rudely dispelled this illu. sion. Now he saw her to be a woman who might, did she yield to the evil within her and without, show all the vanity, weakness, and folly generally, of which he had at first believed her capable, but who, by prayer and effort, daily achieved victories over herself. In addition, she had manifested the most beautiful and God-like trait that can ennoble human character-the desire to save and sweeten other lives. To have been lectured and talked to on the subject of religion irn any conventional way by, one outside of his sympathies would have been as repul- sive as useless, but Annie had the tact to make her effort appear like angelic ministry. But there is that about every truly refined woman with a large loving heart which is irresistible. The two things combined give a winning grace that is an ' open sesame' everywhere. The trouble is that culture and polish are too often the sheen of an icicle. He believed he saw just her attitude toward him. It reminded him of Miss Bently's efforts in his be- half; but with the contrast that existed between Miss Bently and Annie. He now, wondered that he could have been interested in such a vain, shallow* creature as Mrs. Grobb had proved herself, and excused himself on the ground that he idealized her into something that she was not. All that Annie page: 312-313[View Page 312-313] 31z Vf;NINvG A CBESTTUT BURR. said and did had the solidity of truth, and not the hollowness of affectation. And yet there was one thing that troubled him. While her effort to help him out of his morbid, unhappy state was so sincere, she showed no special personal interest in himself, such as he had in her. If he should now go away, she would place him merely in the outer circle of her friends or acquaintance, and make good the old saying, " out of sight out of mind." But already the conviction was growing strong that it would be long before she would be out of his mind. Though he had plenty of pride, as we have seen, he was not conceited, and from long familiarity with society, could readily detect the difference between the regard such as she would feel for a man personally attractive, and the interest of aroused sympathies which she might have in any one, and such as her faith and nature led her to have in every one. Of course he was not satisfied with the latter, and it was becoming one of his dearest hopes to awaken a personal feeling, though just what kind he had not yet even defined himself. When the tea-bell rang, much later than usual on account of the chaos of the day, he was glad to go down. Her societywas far pleasantet than his own and future events might make everything clearer. His supposition in regard to Johnnie was correct. As he descended the stairs, the boy came out of the sitting-room,.holding Annie tightly by the hand aid, beaming upon her like the sun after a shower, and when he found by his plate a huge apple that ,ad GREGO RY'S FINAL CONCL USION. 31.3 been roasted specially for him, his cup of happiness was full as the great pippin would make him, and he was ready for another shaking. If the apple once caused discord it here confirmed peace. The supper was as inviting as the dinner had been forbidding, indicating a change of policy in the kitchen cabinet. In fact, after, Zibbie cooled off, she found that she was not ready for " the world to come to an end " (or its equivalent, her leaving the WVal- tons -after so many years of service and kindness). She had not yet reached the point of abject apology though she knew she would go down on her old rheumatic knees, rather than leave her ark of refuge and go out into the turbulent waters of the world; still she made propitiating overtures in the brownest of buttered toast, and a chicken salad that might- have been served as ambrosia on Mount Olympus. Zibbie 'was a guileless strategist, for in the success of the supper she proved how great had been her malign ingenuity and deliberation in spoiling the dinner. She could never claim that it was acci- dental. Hannah no longer waited as if it were a funeral occasion, and the domestic skies were fast brightening up, with one exception. Mr. Walton's chair was vacant, and Gregory noticed that Annie often looked wistfully and sadly toward it. With the sensitiveness of one who habitually hid his deeper feeling from the world, Gregory tried to act as if his last conversation with Annie had been upon the weather; and as might be expected of refined people, no allusion was made to the unpleas page: 314-315[View Page 314-315] 314 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. ant features of the day. Neither then nor after. vard was a word adverse to the Camdens spoken. They had been guests, and that was enough for the Waltons' nice sense of courtesy. Only Susie, with a, little sigh of relief, gave expression to the general feeling by saying: "Somehow I feel kind of light to-night. I felt dreadfully heavy this morning." Annie, with a smile on her lips and something like a tear in her eye, noticed the child's remark by adding: "I think we would all feel light if Grandpa were only here." After supper she sang to the children and told them a bed-time story, and then sent them off to their dream-wanderings with a kiss of peace. During Annie's absence from the parlor, Gregory returned to his robm. He was in no mood to talk with any one else. Even Miss Eulie's gentle patter of words would fall with a sting of pain. ? p When Annie came down to the parlor she said: "Now, Mr. Gregory, I will sing as much as you wish, to make up for last evening. Indeed, I must do something to get through the hours till father's return, for I feel so anxious and self-reproachful about him." ' "And so make happiness for others out of your pain," said he; " why don't you complain and fret all the evening and make it uncomfortable generally?" I -have done enough of that for one day. What will you have?" GREGORY'S FINAL CONCLUSION. $3 An impulse prompted him to say " You," but he only said, '" Your own choice," and walked softly up alnd down the room while she sang, now a ballad, now a hymn, and again a simple air from an opera, but nothing light or gay. He was taking a dangerous course for his own peace. As we have seen, Annie's voice was not one to win special admiration. It was not brilliant and highly cultured, and had no very great compass. She could not produce any of the remarkable effects of the trained vocalist. But it was exceedingly sweet in the low, minor notes. It was sympathetic, and so colored by the sentiment of the words, that she made a beautiful language of song. It was e. voice that stole into the heart and kept vibrating there long hours after, like an aeolian harp just breathed upon by a dying zephyr. As was often the case, she forgot her auditor, and began to reveal herself in this mode of expression so natural to her, and to sing as she did long evenings when alone. At times her tones would be tremu- lous with pathos and feeling, and again strong and hopeful. Then, as if remembering the great joy that soon would be hers in welcoming back her absent lover, it grew as tender and alluring as a thrush's call to its mate. O'er the land and o'er the sea Swiftly fly my thoughts to thee; Haste thee and come back to me: I'm waiting. page: 316-317[View Page 316-317] 316 OPENINAG A CfESTANUT BURR. Thou away, how sad my song! When alone, the days are long; Soon thou'lt know how glad and strong My welcome. Haste thee, then, o'er sea and land; Quickly join our loving band, Waiting here to clasp thy hand In greeting. "Indeed, Miss Walton," said Gregory, leaning upon the piano, "that would bring me from the antipodes." She did not like his tone and manner' and also became conscious that in her choice of a ballad she was expressing thoughts that were not for him; so she -tried to turn the matter lightly off by saying: "Where you probably were in your thoughts. What have tyou been thinking about all this long time while I have fallen into the Pld habit of talk- ing to myself over the piano?" "You, I might say; but I should add in truth what you have said to me this evening." "I hope only the latter." "Chiefly I've been enjoying your singing. You have a very peculiar voice. You don't ' execute' o 'render' anything, any more than a bird does. I believe they have been your music teachers." "Crows abound in our woods," she answered laughing. "So do robbins and thrushes." Her face suddenly had an absent look as if she did not hear him. It was turned from the light, or GREGORY'S FINAL CONCLUSION. 3I7 the rich color that was mantling it would have puz- zled him, and might have inspired hope. With some abruptness and yet hesitation, such as is often noted when a delicate subject is broached, she said: "Mr. Gregory, I wish I could make peace -be- tween you and Mr. Huntingo I think you are not friendly." The light shone on his face as she looked to see the effect of her remark, and she was again deeply pained to -see how instantly it darkened. For a moment he did not reply; then in a cold, con- strained voice said: "He is a friend of the family I suppose." "Yes," she replied eagerly. "I too would like to be regarded as a friend, and especially by you; so I ask it as a great personal favor that you will not mention that gentleman's name again during the brief remnant of my visit." "'Do you mean any imputation against him?' she asked hotly. Policy whispered;"Don't offend her. Hunting may be a near relation," so he said quietly: "Gentlemen may have difficulties concerning which they do not like to speak. I have made no imputation against him whatever, but I entreat you to grant my request." Annie was not satisfied, but sat still with knit brows. At that moment she heard her father's step and ran joyfully to meet him. He had come home chilled from a long ride in the raw wind, and she spent the rest of the evening in remorseful minis- * . page: 318-319[View Page 318-319] 318 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. trations to his comfort. As she flitted around him served his tea and toast, and petted him generally Gregory felt that he would ride for a night after the ' Wild Huntsman " to be so treated. He also rightly felt that Annie's manner was a little cool toward him. It was not in her frank, pas- sionate nature to feel and act the same toward one who had just expressed such bitter hostility toward her lover. But the more he thought of it the more determined he was that there should be no aliena- tion between them on account of Hunting. "Curse him!" he muttered, " he has cost me too much already." He had the impression that Hunting was a rela- tive of the family. That he was the accepted lover of the pure and true girl that he himself was un- consciously learning to love, was too monstrous a thought to be entertained; Still Annie's words and manner caused him some sharp pangs of jealousy, till he-cast the very idea away in scorn as unworthy of both himself and h-er. "Evil as my life has been, it is white compared with his," he said to himself. In accordance with his purpose to keep the van- tage ground already gained with Annie, he was geniality itself, and so entertained Miss Eulie and her father that she soon relented and smiled upon him as kindly as ever. She was in too humble and softened a mood that evening to be resentful ex. cept under great provocation, and she was really very grateful to Gregory for his readiness to over- GREGORY'S FINAL CONCLUSION. 3g9 look her weakness and give her credit for trying to do right. Indeed, his sincere admiration and out- spoken desire for her esteem inclined her toward him, for was she not a woman ? "After all," she thought, "he has said nothing against Hunting. They have had a quarrel, and he no doubt is the one to blame. He is naturally very proud and resentful, and would be all the more so in that degree that he was wrong himself. If I can help him become a good Christian, making peace will be an easy affair; so I will not lose the hold that I have gained upon him. When Charles comes he will tell me all about it, and I will make him treat Gregory in such a way that enmity cannot last." How omnipotent girls imagine themselves to be with those who swear they will do anything under heaven to please them, but usually go on in the old ways. It was late before the family separated for the night, but later far before Gregory retired. The conclusion of his long revery was that in Annie Wal- ton existed his only chance of life and happiness. She seemed to possess the power to wake up all the man left in him, and if there were any -help in God, she only could show him how to find it. Thus his worldly wisdom taught him, as many others, to lean on a human arm for his main sup- port and chief hope, while possibly in the uncertain future some help from Heaven might be obtained. He was like a sickly plant in the shade saying to it. self, "Yonder ray of sunlight would give me new page: 320-321[View Page 320-321] 320 OPENING6 A CHESTNUT BURR. life," but it had no thought of the sun from whence the ray came. He truly wished to become a good man for his own" sake as well as Annie's, for he had sufficient experience in the ills of evil; but he did not know that a loving God does not make our only chance dependent on the uncertain action and im- perfect wisdom of even the best of earthly friends. The One who began His effort of saving man by dy- ing for him will not afterward neglect the work, nor commit it wholly to weak human hands. The next morning, being that of Saturday, brought Annie many duties, and these, with callers, so occupied her time that Gregory saw but little of her. The shadow between them seemed to have passed away, and she treated him with the utmost kindness. But there was a new shadow on her face that he could not understand, and after breakfast he said to her as they were passing to the parlor: "Miss Walton, you seem out of spirits. I hope nothing painful has happened." "Jeff found my lost letter this morning," she said, " and I have- been deservedly punished anew, for it brought me unpleasant tidings," and she hastily left the room, as if not wishing to speak further on the matter. It had indeed inflicted a heavy disappointment, for it was from Hunting, stating that business would detain him some days longer in Europe. But she had accepted it in meekness, and felt that it was but a light penalty for all her folly of the preceding two days. GREGORY'S FIINAL CONCLUSION. 321 Gregory was not a little curious about it, for he was interested now in' everything connected with her; but as she did not speak of it again, good taste required that he should not. An uncomfortable thought of Hunting being the possible writer crossed his mind, but he drove it from him with something like rage. As Gregory sat brooding by his fire, waiting till the sun grew higher before starting for a walk, Jeff came up with an armful of wood, and seemed bub- bling over with something. He, too, had suffered sorely in the storm he had helped to raise the pre- ceding day, and had tremblingly eaten such dinner as the irate Zibbie had tossed on the table for him, as a man might lunch under the concentrated fire of a fort. He seemed to relieve himself by saying, with his characteristic grin, as he replenished the fire: "It was drefful 'pestuous yesterday, but de winds is gone down. I'se glad dat ole hen is done for, but she hatch a heap ob trouble on her las' day." Jeff belonged to that large school of modern philosophers who explain the evils of the day on very superficial grounds. The human heart is all right. It's only "dat ole hen," or unfavorable cir- cumstances of some kind, that do the mischief. i4* page: 322-323[View Page 322-323] CHAPTER XXIV. "THE WORM-INFESTED CHESTNUT."--GREGORY TELLS THE WORST. IN his solitary ramble, Gregory again thought long and deeply over the situation. The impression was growing strong that the supreme hour of his life, which would decide his destiny for good or evil, was fast approaching. For years previously he had given up the struggle against the latter, and had sunk deep in moral apathy, making greater effort to doubt everything concerning God than to believe. Then he had even lost his earthly ambition, and became mere driftwood on the tide of time. But a sweet, true maiden, all vital with life- and faith, was do- ing a work for him like Elsie for Prince Henry in the Golden Legend. A consciousness of power to again take up his burdens and be a man among men was coming back, and old Daddy Tuggar's words were growing into a hope-inspiring prophecy: "' She could take the wickedest man livin' to heaven, if she'd stay right by him." And yet his self-distrust was painfully and dan- gerously great, and the fear that when Annie came to know the worst about him, and how he had. plotted against her, she would shrink from him, and by man- ner if not words tell him that he had "sinned away GREGORY TELLS THE WORST. 323 his day of grace." He was certain that he could not win even an intimate congenial acquaintance, much less a more tender regard, unless he became a true, good man, worthy of her confidence. He could not become such by commencing in decep- tion --y hiding the past, and trying to appear what he was not. For in the first place she would cer- tainly find him out and despise him, and in the second his own nature now revolted at anything false in his relations with her. After long,manxious thought, he concluded that the only safe, as well as the only honorable course, was perfect frank- ness. If he began wrong, the end would be disas- trous. He was no longer subject to school-boy im- pulses, but was a mature. and thoughtful- man, and had trained himself in business to look far and keenly into the consequences of present action. He saw in this Walton blood an intense antipathy to deceit. His own nature was averse to it also. His experi- ence with Hunting had made it doubly hateful. His pride revolted at it, for his lack of hypocrisy had been the one ground of self-respect that remained in him. If in his folly and wickedness he had blotted out the possibility of a happy future, he must endure the terrible truth as he could. To try to steal into heaven, earthly or celestial, by the back door of spe- cious seeming, only to be discovered in his true char- acter and cast out with greater ignominy, was a course as revolting as foolish. Annie knew him to be a man of the world with skeptical tendencies, but to her guileless nature and inexperience of the world page: 324-325[View Page 324-325] 324 OPENZNG A CHESTNUT BURR. this might not mean anything very bad. But in the secret of his own soul he had to meet these terrible questions: "Can God receive and pardon a willing unbe- liever, a man who has sinned against the clearest light, a gambler, a libertine, an embodiment of self- ishness? Can it be that Annie Walton will ever receive even friendship from one so stained, knowing the additional fact that I plotted against her and sought for my own senseless gratification to prove that she was a weak, vain woman, who would be no better than myself if tempted in like manner? It is true that I never betrayed innocence or wronged a man out of a dollar. It's true that in the code of the world I have done nothing to lose my character as a gentleman, and even my design upon Miss Walton would pass as a harmless flirtation in society; but the code of the world has no force in her pure mind, and the license it permits is an -insult to the law of God. And now it is not with the world, but with her and heaven that I am to deal. Things at which society shrugs its shoulder indifferently are to them crimes, and black ones too. I might as well seek her love with a felon's indictment hanging over me as to seek it hiding my past life. When she came to find me out she would feel that I had wronged her unuttera- bly, and confidence, the only basis of lasting esteem, would be gone. "Deep in my heart I have never doubted my mother's faith. When I imagined I did I was self- deceived. Everything here confirms it, and Annie GREGORY TELLS THE WORST. 325 more than all. I will consult the divine oracle. She shall be the fair vestal, the gentle priestess. She lives near to heaven, and knows its mind. If her kind and womanly nature shrinks from me, if she coldly draws her skirts aside that I pollute them not even with touch--if she by word or even man- ner proves that she sees an impassable gulf between us, then she need waste no breath in homilies over repentance and that God can receive those whom man cannot. I'll not even listen, but go back to the city and meet my fate. If imperfect human creatures cannot forgive each other-if I have gone so far be- yond the mercy of a tender-hearted woman, then I need look for nothing from a just and holy God. It's mockery for good people, with horror and disgust slightlywailed upon their faces, to tell poor wretches that God. will receive them and love them, while they would no more take thtem into their confidence and esteem than they would a pestilence. It's like people saying to one in the last stage of consump- tion,' I hope you will be better soon.' They don't hope nor expect any such thing. The Bible, I be- lieve, teaches that a man can sin away his day of grace. I had about believed that I had sinned away mine. This genuine, honest Christian girl has made me think differently. She has inspired the strong hope that she could lead me to become a good man -even a Christian. She shall either fulfil that hope or show it to be false." Such was the outline of his thoughts that long day, during which hope and fear balanced an even page: 326-327[View Page 326-327] 326. OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. scale. But the evening shadows found fear predomil nating. His awakened conscience and his recent contact with true moral standards revealed him to himself in darker and still darker shadow. At times he was almost ready to despair, and on Monday bid his entertainers a courteous farewell, and go back to the city as he came, with the additional wretched- ness of having seen the heaven he could not enter. But when he- came down to supper, Annie smiled so sweetly and looked so gentle and kind, that he thought: "She does not seem one to push a wretch over the brink of a precipice. That warm little hand that charmed away my headache so gently, cannot write Dante's inscription over my 'Inferno,' bid me enter it as ' my own place;' and yet I dread herSense of justice." In his anxiety and perturbation of mind he a'as unusually grave and silent during the meal and even- ing. Annie exulted secretly over him. "He is thinking in earnest now. His old apathy and trifling manner are gone." He was indeed thinking in terrible earnest. Her effort had awakened no school-girl interest and peni- tence that she could soothe and reward by quoting a few sweet promises, but had aroused a spirit like that which came down from the hills of Gadara, whom no man could bind. A strong but evil-mastered man was coming to her as that poor wretch came to Jesus, terrible, revolting, helpless, yet in such pitiable need of Ht-im. GREGORY TELLS THlE WORST 327 Men and women in good society may be very polished and refined, and yet their souls in God's sight and their own be shameful, " naked," wearing no robe of righteousness, bound by no laws of purity and right, and "always, night and day, crying and cutting" themselves in the unrest of remorse. Sad and yet true it was that the demon-possessed man, the terror of Gadarenes, was but too true a type of the gentlemanly and elegant Walter Gregory, as he sat that night in a torment of dread and hope at the peaceful fireside of a Christian family. If his fears were realized-if Annie turned from him when he revealed his true self to her, there- seemed to him every probability that evil evermore would be his master. While she was innocently hoping and pray- ing that her words and influence might lead him to read his Bible, go to church, and eventually find his way into the " green pastures beside the still waters," it would seem that within a few hours she would either avert or complete that most awful of trage- dies-the loss of a soul. He accompanied them to church the following morning, and his manner was grave even to solem- nity. Little wonder. In a certain sense, in view of his resolution, the Judgment Day had come to him. With heavy, contracted brows he listened to a sermon anything but reassuring. The good old min- ister inclined to a legal and doctrinal gospel, and to-day his subject was the perfection and searching character of the Divine law. He showed how God page: 328-329[View Page 328-329] 328 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. could make no terms with sin-that he hated it with terrible and vindictive hatred, because in all respects it was opposite adid antagonistic to his nature-be. cause it defiled, degraded, and destroyed. He traced all human wretchedness to this poisonous root, and Gregory trembled and his face grew dark with de- spair as he realized how it was inwoven with every fibre of his heart. Then in simple but strong lan- guage the silver-haired old man, who seemed a type of the ancient prophets, portrayed the great white throne of God's justice, snowy, too dazzling for human eyes, and the conscience-stricken man shrank and cowered with the instinctive wish to hide which the guilty millions of the world will feel on the final day of history.. He turned to Annie to see how this train of thought,-so terrific to him, affected her. Not a trace of fear was upon her face, but only serene, reverent awe. He glanced at Mr. Walton, but the old magis- trate sat in his place, calm and dignified, evidently ap-, proving the action of the greater Judge. Miss Eulie's face, as seen between himself and the light of the win- dow, appeared so spirit-like and rapt, that for a mo- ment it seemed as if she might take wings and join the angelic throng around the throne. "Thus they will look on the Judgment Day," thought Gregory, " while I tremble even at its pic- ture. Oh, the vital difference between guilt and innocence, between faith and unbelief!" If the venerable clergyman -had been talking per. sonally to Gregory or any sinful creature, he would GREGORY TELLS THE WORST. 39 39, not have concluded his subject. where he did. He would have shown how between the throne of justice and the sinner there stood an Advocate, an Inter. cessor, a Saviour. But having logically developed his text, he finished his discourse. Perhaps on the following Sabbath he might present the mercy of God with equal clearness. But the sermon of the day, standing alone and confirming the threatenings of an accusing conscience, depressed Gregory greatly. It did not anger him, as such truth usually did. He- was too weak and despairing. He how felt the hope- lessness and folly of opposition.. The idea of getting into a passion with fate! Only weak natures fume at the inevitable. There is a certain dignity in silent, passive despair. The impression grew almost to certainty in his mind that sin and the sinner-were one, and that he would dwell forevermore under the blighting frown of God. : Annie's voice' singing the closing hymn beside him sounded like an angel's voice across the " great gulf." Almost mechanically he walked down the aisle out into the sunny noon of a warm October day. Birds were twittering around the porch. Fall insects filled the air with their cheery chirpings. The bay of a dog, the shrill crowing of a cock, came softened across the fields from a neighboring farm. Cow-bells tinkled faintly in the distance, and two children were seen romping on a hillside, flitting here and there like butterflies. The trees were in gala dress of crimson and gold, and even the mountains page: 330-331[View Page 330-331] 330 - OPENING A CHESTNU T BURR. vailed their stern grandeur in a purple haze, through which the sun's rays shimmered with genial but not oppressive warmth. The people lingered around the door, shaking hands and greeting each other with the plain but cordial courtesy of the country. Gregory heard one russet-apple-faced man say that "Betsy was better," and an old colored woman, with a visage like that apple in black and mottled decay, said in cheerful tones that " little Sampson was gittin-right peart." A great raw-boned farmer asked a half-grown boy, "How's yer mare?" (he did not mean his ma) ; and the boy replied that the sick animal was better also. All seemed better that bright day, and from a group near came the expression, "Crops were good this year." While the wealthier and more cultured members of the congregation had kindly nods and smiles for all, they naturally drew together, and there seemed a little flutter of excitement over the re- newal of the sewing society that had been discon- tinued during the summer. Gregory stood apart from all this, with the heavy contraction still upon his brow, and asked himself: "What have these simple, cheery, commonplace people, with their petty earth-born cares and in. terests, to do with that ' great white throne' of which we have just heard;'and where, in this soft, dreamy landscape, so suggestive of peace, rest, and every-day life, lurks any hint of the ' wrath of a just and holy God'?" And then the old Pastor, who a little before had GREGOR Y TELLS TEi WORST. 331 seemed an antitype of John, the stern reformer from the wilderness, came out smiling .and benignant, greeting his flock as a father might his children. The very hand that was raised in denunciation and in threatening a doom that would appal the heart of courage itself, was given to Gregory in warm and cordial grasp. The man he had trembled before, now seemed the embodiment of sweet-tempered human kindness. The contrast was so sharp that it seemed to Gregory that either what he saw or what he heard must be an utter illusion. As they were driving home, he suddenly broke his moody silence by asking Miss Walton: "How do you reconcile the scene at the church door, so matter-of-fact, cheery, and earthly, with the terrible pictures suggested by the sermon? If such things are before us, it seems to me that bright sunny days like these are mockery." Annie looked. at him wistfully. The sermon had not been what she would have wished, but she hoped it would do him good by cutting away every hope based on anything in himself or in vague general ideas of God's indiscriminate mercy. She answered gently: "The contrast was indeed great, now I think of it, and yet each scene was ' matter-of-fact' to me in the sense of being real. Besides, that one which our Pastor described was a court of justice. I will have an Advocate there who will clear me. As for ' bright days,' I believe they are just what God means his people to have always." page: 332-333[View Page 332-333] 332 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. "Yes," said he gloomily, "that is your side of the question." "It may be yours also," she replied in a low tone. He shook his head, and looked away to hide his pain. After a short time he again said, , Do you not think that the view of God which your minister gave is very depressing to the average man. Is not his law too perfect for imperfect humanity?" v "Not at all," she answered eagerly; but before she could say more, Mr. Walton, unaware of the sub- ject occupying them, turned from the front seat and introduced another topic. After dinner, Gregory went to his room, which he restlessly paced. "Even her creed-her faith, as well as her purity and truth, raises a wall high as heaven between us," he exclaimed bitterly. "How can such 'as I ap- proach her just and holy God? Even Christ said to some men, Woe unto you,' and spoke of their ' greater damnation.' She has only to see me as God sees to shrink away appalled, disgusted. Well, she shall," he muttered, grinding his teeth; "I shall not add the worst torment of all to my perdition by deceiving her." As he came down stairs, Annie had just finished reading to the thildren, and he said: "Miss Walton, will your ideas of Sabbath-keeping prevent you from taking a stroll in the garden with me?" , GREGORY TELLS TzE -WORST. 333 "Not at all," she replied smiling. "A garden is a good place to keep Sunday in." He walked silently at her side across the lawn down a shady walk. Annie hoped much from this irnterview, and sent a swift'earnest prayer to heaven that she might speak wisely. She saw that he was much depressed, and judged correctly that it was because he had only seen one side of a great truth. She hoped to cheer and inspire him with the other side. Moreover, her religion was very simple. It was only becoming God's friend, instead of remain- ing indifferent or hostile. She feared that his dejec- tion might pass into discouragement and despair. She did not hold, as many seem to, with the old col- ored exhorter, that the right method was to "fust make 'em feel drefful bad, and next make 'em feel drefful good, and you've got 'ert." To her, no matter what the burden, it was simply leading the heavy laden to the strong Divine Friend as people were brought to him of old, and establishing the personal relations of love, faith, and following. But she did not realize the desperate nature nor complication; of Gregory's moral infirmity. Still she was a safe adviser, for she did not purpose -to cure him herself, nor recommend any human nos- trums. But she wished to rally and cheer him, to inspire hope, and turn his (yes from sin to the Sam viour, so she said: "Mr. Gregory, why do you look as if marchinfg to execution?" "Perhaps because I feel as if I were," he said. page: 334-335[View Page 334-335] 334 OPENINNG A CHESTNUT BURR. Just then a variegated leaf parted from a spray overhanging the path somewhat in advance of them, and fluttered to their feet. "Poor little leaf," said Gregory, picking it up. "your bright colors will soon be lost. Death has come to you too. Why must this wretched thought of death be thrust on one at every turn. Nature is full of it. Things only live, seemingly, for the sake of dying. Just as this leaf becomes most beautiful it drops. What a miserable world this is, with death making havoc everywhere. Then your theology exaggerates the evil a thousand-fold. If a man must die, let him die and cease to be. But your minister spoke to-day of a living death, in which one only exists to suffer. What a misfortune to have existed!" As Gregory gloomily uttered these bitter words, they stood looking at the leaf that had suggested them. Annie's face brightened with a sudden thought. She' turned, and after a few rapid steps, sprang lightly up and caught the twig from which the leaf had fallen. Then, turning to her companion, who regarded with surprise and admiration the agile grace of the act, she said: "Mr. Gregory, you need lessons in preaching. If the leaf you hold is your text, as you gave me reason to believe, you don't stick to it, and you draw from it conclusions that don't follow the pre. mise, Another thing, it is not right to develop a text without regard to its connection. Now from just this place," she continued, pointing with hef GREGOR Y TELLS THE WORST. 335 finger, "the leaf dropped. What do you see? What was its connection?" "4 Why, a little branch full of other leaves. These would soon have dropped off and died also, if you had not hastened their fate." "That's a superficial view, like the one you just took of this 'miserable world' as you call it. I think it's a very good world-a much better one than we deserve. And now look closely and justly at your leaf-text's connection, as every sermonizer should, and tell me what you see. Look just here," and her finger rested on the little, green spot where the stem of the leaf had joined the spray. "I see a very small bud," he said, intelligence of her meaning dawning in his face. "Which will develop next spring into other leaves, and perhaps into a new branch. All summer long your leaf has rustled and fluttered joyously over the certainty that a richer and fuller life would come after it, a life that it was providing for all through the sunny days and dewy nights. There is no death here, only change for the better. And so with every- thing that has bloomed and flourished in this gar- den during the past season, provision has been made for new and more abundant life. When a king exchanges old and worn apparel, even though regal, for new and more royal robes, would we sigh over the old cast-offs, as if the king were dead, when in a few hours he will be upon his throne grander than ever. All these bright but falling leaves and fading /flowers are but Queen Nature's cast-offs, her mere page: 336-337[View Page 336-337] 336 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. ornaments that she is throwing carelessly aside as she withdraws for a little time from her regal state. Wait till she appears again next spring, as young, fresh, and beautiful as when, like Eve, she saw her first bright morning. Come and see her upon her throne next June. Nature full of death! Why, Mr. Gregory, she speaks of nothing but life to those who understand her language." "Oh, that you would teach it to me!" he said, with a deeper meaning than she detected. "Again," she continued, "our theology does not represent death as making havoc anywhere. It is sin that makes the havoc, and death is only one of its consequences. And even this enemy God com- pels to work for the good of his friends. Do not think," she continued, coming a step nearer and laying her hand upon his arm- in: her earnestness, "that I make such allusions to pain you, and to work merely on your feelings, but only in my sincere wish to help you, and illustrate my meaning by something you know so well. Did death make havoc in your mother's case? Was it not rather a sombre, liveried janitor that opened for her the gates of heaven?" He was deeply touched, and turned away his face. After a moment he continued his walk, that they might get farther away from the house and the danger of interruption. He suddenly startled Annie by saying, in a tone of harsh- and intense bitterness: "Her death made havoc' for rce. If she had GREGORY TELL S THE WORST. 337 lived I might have been a good man instead of the wretch I am. If death as janitor opens the gates of heaven, your religion teaches that it also opens the gates of hell. How can I love a God who shuts up the sinful in an inferno-in dungeons of many and varied tortures, and racks them forever? Can I, just to escape all this, pretend that I love Him, when in truth I fear and dread Him unspeakably? No, I'll never be a hypocrite." Tears glistened in Annie's eyes as he turned to look at her. "You pity me," he said more gently. "Your God does not. If he wanted to be loved he should never have revealed a hell." "Should he not in mercy, if it really existed? And does it not exist? Will merely a beautiful place make heaven for anybody? Mr. Gregory, look around this lovely autumn evening. See the crimson glory of those clouds yonder in the west. See that brightness shading off into paler and more exquisite tints. Look, how those many-hued leaves reflect the glowing sky. The air is as sweet and balmy as that of Eden could have been. The land- scape is beautiful in itself, and specially attractive to you. To our human eyes it hardly seems as if hea- ven could be more perfect than this. And yet, stand- ing in the one spot of all the earth most beautiful to you, Mr. Gregory, pardon me for saying it, your face expresses nothing but pain. There is not even a trace of happiness in it. You were not happy when you came here. I saw that the first day. All IS page: 338-339[View Page 338-339] 338 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. the pleasant surroundings of your own home have not made you happy. Hlave they given you even peace and quiet? Place does not make heaven nor does place make hell, though both are distinct and separate places, but something we carry in our own bosoms." His face was white with fear, and there was terror in his tone as he turned and said to her in a low voice,-"Miss Walton, that is what I have been coming to see and dread, of late, and as you put the thought into words I see that it is true. I carry hell in my own heart. When I am alone my imaginings frighten me; and when with others, impulses arise to do the devil's own work." "But it is the nature of God to save from all this. Christ, who is God, came to earth for that very pur- pose. I am so sorry that you do not understand Him better." "He saves some," said Gregory gloomily. "But many will not let Him save them," urged Annie. "I would be only too glad to have Him save me, but whether He will or no is the point at issue, and my hope is very faint. Everything to-day, but you, seems to confirm my fate. Miss Walton, won't you take that little rustic seat there by the brook? I wish to tell you something that will probably settle this question." Annie wonderingly complied. This was an ex- perience she never had before. She was rapidly real" izing the difference between being the spiritual guide of the girls in her Bible class, and the adviser of this GREGORY TELLS THE WORST. 33 339 strong-minded but greatly perverted man. But she turned to him a face full of'sympathy and encouragement. For a moment it seemed he did not know how to commence, and he paced restlessly up and down before her. Then he said: "Miss Walton, you remember that worm-infested chestnut through which you gave me such a just lesson?" "Please do not speak of my foolish words at that time," she replied eagerly. "Pardon me, they were not foolish. They, with the illustration of my own choice, revealed me to myself as never before. Had it not been for your graceful tact, I should have made a fool of myself by being angry. If you knew what I deserved then you would not have let me off so easily. But it's true. That lonely, selfish chestnut, with a worm in its kernel, was a good emblem of myself. Evil is throned in my heart supreme and malignant. I suppose it's through my own fault, but be that as it may, it's there, my master. I groan over and curse the fact as perhaps the demon-possessed did, but I do evil and think evil continually, and I fear I always will. "No, listen to me to the end," he continued, as Annie was about to speak. - "When on that strange mountain expedition, you made the remark, 'What congenial friends we might be?' Those words have echoed in my heart ever since, like the refrain of a home-song to a captive, * page: 340-341[View Page 340-341] 340 OPENING A CHESTNUT 3SAU RR. I would give more than I can express for your friendship--for the privilege of seeing you and speak. ing to you frankly on these subjects occasionally, for' you and you only have inspired a faint -hope that I might become a better man. You are making Chris- tianity seem a reality and, not a fashion. Though possessing human weakness you triumph over it, and you say it is through prayer to God. I find it im. possible not to believe everything you say, for what- ever are your faults you are truth itself. Through your influence the thought has come that God might also hear and help' me, but I have the fear and almost the belief that I have placed myself beyond the pale of His mercy. At any rate I have almost lost hope in anything I can do by myself. I was in moral despair when I came here, and might as well have been dead, but you have led me to a willing- ness to make one more struggle, and a great one, if I can see in it any chance of success. I fear I am deceiving myself, but when with you, though so immeasurably better than I, hope steals into my heart, that before was paralyzed by despair. When you come to know me as I know myself, I fear that you will shrink in just horror away, and that I shall see reflected in your face the verdict of Heaven, You have sinned away your day of grace.' But you shall t know the worst-the very worst. I can never use deceit with you. If afterward you ever take my stained hand again-- " He did not finish the sentence, but heaved a GREGORY YTELLS TSE WORST 34 great sigh, as if of longing and hope that words could not utter. It was the old truth illustrated, that God must become human to gain humanity. Abstract truth could not save this lost and guilty man, but the wanderer hoped that in this sweet human life he had found the clue back to the Divine life. Is it strange that God saves men through other men, and that he carries on his work through our weak' hands? Even He himself best served man in human guise. It is because Christians pass by on the other side that many perish by the way. Annie trembled at the responsibility that now suddenly burdened her as she saw this trembling spirit clinging to her as the one frail support from the gulf of utter despair. She nerved herself by prayer and the exertion of all her will, to be equal to the emergency. And yet it was a fearful ordeal that she was called to go through as the remorseful and deeply agitated man, his face flushed with shame, now with impassioned, more often with despairing gesture and accent, poured out the story of his past life, and laid bare his evil heart, as he paced up and down the little walk before her. The transaction with Hunting he purposely passed over, speaking of it merely as a business misfortune that had robbed him even of earthly am- bition. She saw a few sin-stained pages of that dreadful book of human guilt which God must look at every day. page: 342-343[View Page 342-343] 342 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. Gregory did not spare himself, and palliated nothing, softening and brightening no harsh and dark lines. On the contrary, he was stern and blunt, and it was strange indeed to hear him charging him. self before a pure, innocent young girl, whose good opinion was life to him, with what she regarded as crimes. When he at last came to speak of his designs against herself, of how he had purposed to take the bloom and beauty from her character that he might laugh at goodness as a dream and pretence, and despise her as he did himself, his eye flashed angrily, and he appeared to grow vindictive against himself. He could not even look at her during the last of his confession, but turned away his face, fear- ing to see Annie's expression of aversion and disgust. It was with a paling cheek and growing dread that she looked into that dark and fearful place, a demon-haunted heart, and her every breath was a prayer that God would enable her to see and act as Christ would were some poor creature revealing to Him his desperate need. Gregory suddenly paused in his low but passion. ate flow of words, and put his hand to his head as if the pain were insupportable. In fact, his anguish and the intense feeling of the day had again brought on one of his old nervous headaches. Thus far he had scarcely noticed it, but now the sharp, quivering pangs proved how a wronged physical nature could retaliate; how much more the higher and more delicate moral nature! After the paroxysm had passed, he continued, in GREGORY TELLS THE WORST. the hard, weary tone of utter dejection (for he had dreaded even to look at Annie, and her silence con- firmed his worst fears), "Well, Miss Walton, you now know the worst. On this peaceful Sabbath even- ing you have seen more of perdition than you ever will again. You cannot even speak to me, and I dare not look at your face. The expression of hor- ror and disgust which I know must be there, would blast me and haunt me forever. It would be worse than death, for I did have a faint hope-" He was interrupted by an audible sob, and turn- ing, saw Annie with her face buried in. her hands, weeping as if her heart would break. He was puzzled for a moment, and then, in the despairing condition of his mind, intrepreted her wrongly. Standing above her with clenched hands, he said, in the same hard tones which seemed to have passed beyond the expression of feeling: "I'm a brute and worse-I'm not even a decent devil.' I have been wounding you as with blows by ny- vile story. I 'have been dragging your pure thoughts through the mire of my wretched life." Annie tried to speak, but seemingly could not for excess of emotion. "Why ould I not have gone away and died by myself, like some unclean beast," he muttered. Then, in a tone which she never forgot, and with the manner of one who was indeed leaving hope and life behind him, he said: "Farewell, Miss Walton, you will be better afte I am gone." page: 344-345[View Page 344-345] ,44 QOPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. She sprang up, and laying restraining hands upon his arm, sobbed: "No-no. Why don't-you-understand me? My heart's--breaking for you-wait till I can speak." He placed her gently on the seat again. A great light was coming into his eyes, and he stood bend- ing toward her as if existence depended on her next words. Could it be that her swelling throat and heaving bosom meant sympathy for him? She soon con-trolled herself, and looking up at him through her tears, but with a light in her eyes that shone through them as sun-rays through the rain, said: "Forgive me. I never realized before that so much sin and suffering-could exist in one unhappy life. I do pity you, as God does far more. I will help you as He will." Gregory knelt at her feet, and kissed her hand as a captive might who had just received life and liberty. ( See, I do not shrink from you," she continued, placing her hand with a light caress upon his bowed head. "My Master would not. Why should I? He came to save just such, and just such we all would be but for his grace and shielding. I'm so-sorry for you." He turned hastily away for a moment to hide his feelings, and said slowly: "I cannot trust myself-I cannot trust God yet; but I trust you, and I believe you have saved a soul from death." GREGORY TELLS THE WORST. 345 lie stood looking toward the glowing west, and, for the first time for years, hoped that his life might close in brightness. "Mr. Gregory," said Annie, in a voice so changed that he' started and turned toward her hardly know- ing what to expect. She stood beside him, no longer a tender, compassionate woman grieving for him as if his sin were only misfortune, but her face was almost stern in its purity and earnestness. "Mr. Gregory, the mercy which God shows, and which I faintly reflect, is for you in sharp distinction from your sin. Do not for a moment think that I can look with any-leniency or indulgence on all the horrible evil you laid before me. Do not think'I can excuse or pass lightly over it as something of little consequence. I hate your sin as I hate my own. I can honestly feel, and frankly show the sympathy I have manifested only in view of your penitence, and your sincere purpose, with God's help, to root out the evil of your life. This I am daily trying to do, and this you must do in the one and only way in which there is any use of trying. It is only with this clear understanding that I can give you my hand in the friendship of mutual helpfulness, and in the confidence of respect." He reverently took her hand and said: "Your conditions are just, Miss Walton, and I accept your friendship as offered with a gratitude be. yond words. I can never use deceit where you are concerned, even in thought. But please do not ex- pect too much of me. I have formed the habit of 5* / page: 346-347[View Page 346-347] 346 OPENI:NG A CHESTNYU BURR. doubting. It may be very long before I have yout simple, beautiful faith. I will do just the best I can! I will use what little faith I have, and pray God for more. It seems that if you will trust me, help me, pray for me, I can succeed. If I am mistaken, I will carry my wretchedness where the sight of it will not pain you. If I ever do reach your Christian life, I will'lavish a wealth of gratitude upon you that cans not be expressed. Indeed, I will anyway, for you have done all and more than I could hope." "I will do all you ask," she said heartily, giving at the same time his hand a strong pressure with her warm, throbbing palm, that sent a subtle current of hope and strength into his heart. Her face soft. \ ened into an expression of almost sisterly affection, and with a gleam of her old mirthfulness she con- tinued: "Take counsel of practical common sense, Mr. Gregory. Why talk so doubtfully of success, seek- ing it as you purpose to? What right have you to even-imagine that God will bestow upon you the great distinction of making you the first. one of the race He refused to hear and answer? Be hun- ble, and believe that He will treat you like other people." He stopped -in their slow walk toward the house and said with glad animation: "Miss Walton, do you know you have done more to strengthen me in that little speech than by a long and labored argument?" GREGORY TELLS THE WORS. 47 "There is nothing like common sense,' she replied, " in religion as in everything else." And so they passed in out of the purple twilight, Annie's heart thrilling with something of the joy of heaven over the repentant sinner, and Gregory feeling as if the dawn were coming after Egyptian night. As they left the garden a dusky face peered out of some thick shrubbery and looked cautiously around. Then Jeff appeared and scratched his head perplexedly as he soliloquized: "Mister Hunting, he guv me ten dollars to watch and see. I'se seed too much for his good dis yer day." Jeff gave the scene just described a very different meaning from its real character. \. page: 348-349[View Page 348-349] CHAPTER XXV. THE OLD HOME IN DANGER.--GREGORY RETRIEVES HMSELF. GREGORY made desperate efforts to keep rup at the supper table, but could not prevent slight evidences of physical pain, which Annie silently no- ticed. After tea he hoped to escape to his room, for he could not endure to show even his physical weakness so soon again. On the contrary, he was longing intensely for an opportunity to manifest a little strength of some kind. After his recent inter- view he felt that he could even bear one of his ner- vous headaches alone. But as he was about to excuse himself, Annie interrupted, saying: "Now, Mr. Gregory, that is not according ta agreement. Do you suppose I cannot see that you are half beside yourself with one of your old head- aches? Was I such a poor physician the last time, that you seek to escape me now? Come back to the parlor I will not go out to church this evening, but devote myself to you." "Miss Walton," he replied in a low tone, " when can I make any return for all your kindness? I must seem weakness itself in every respect, and I dread to appear to you always in that light." GREGORY RETRIEVES HMSELF. 349 ' Your pride needs bringing down, sir; see how towering it is. Here you would go off by yourself, and endure a useless martyrdom all night perhaps, when, by bathing your head and a few simple reme- dies, I can relieve you, or at least help you forget the pain. I have not the slightest objection to your being a martyr, but I want some good to come out of it." "But I will spoil your evening." "Certainly you will, if- I think of you groaning up there by yourself, while I am singing, perhaps, ' I love to steal awhile away From every cumbering care!' " "Then I'm a cumbering care!" "Whether you are or not, I'm not going to steal away from you to-night. Good people treat theit duties too often in that style. Come, do as I bid yOU. He was only too glad to submit to her delicious tyranny. She wheeled the lounge up to the fire and placed her chair beside it, while the rest of the fam- ily, seeing that he had his old malady, went to the sitting-room. I have great pride in my nursing powers," she continued in her cheery way. "Now, if I were a man, I'd certainly be a doctor." "Thank heaven you are not," he said, with a devout earnestness that quite startled her. "What? A doctor?" she asked quickly. '^ Yes, no; I mean -a man, and doctor too." page: 350-351[View Page 350-351] 350 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. "I see no reason why you should show- such bitter opposition to my being a man or doctor either. Why should you?" "Oh-well-I think you are just right as a woman. You make me believe in the doctrine of election, for it seems to me that you were destined from all eternity to be just what you are." "What a strange, unfathomable doctrine that is!" said Annie softly and musingly. "It's nothing but mystery all around us," he replied wearily and dejectedly. "No, not ' all around us,' " she answered quickly. "It's clear when we look up. Faith builds a safe bridge to God, and he sees no mysteries." Then sweetly and naturally she let her playful talk glide upon sacred themes, and while by her gentle touch she charmed away pain, she also applied the healing balm of truth to his now receptive mind. If she did not teach him to love God that ever.- ing, she certainly, though in complete unconscious- ness, did confirm his love for her. With intense gratitude, as for one who had rescued him from a fate infinitely worse than death, he felt that he could kiss the very hem of her garment. Her touch thrilled him, and her presence was both exhilarating and restful. At last she said, "I am sorry you have thcee dreadful headaches so often." "I will never be again." "Why so?" GREGORY RETRIEVES HMSELF. 35 "Because they have led to this evening. It has Lbeen iso many long, miserable years since 1 expe- rienced anything like this." "Ah, I see, you have been very lonely. You have had no one to care for you, and that I believe has been the cause of half your trouble-evil, I mean. Indeed, they are about the same thing. Don't you see? The world is too large a place for a home. You need a nook in it, with some one there to look after you, and for you to think about." He looked at her searchingly, and then turned away his face in pain. She could not utter such words in that placid style, were she not utterly devoid of the feeling that was filling his soul with an ecstasy of hope and fear. "Do not think that even many of our sex are like Miss Bently. You will see and choose more wisely hereafter, and find that, in exchanging that wretched club-life for a cosey home of your own, you take a good step in all respects." "Would to heaven that I had met such a girl as you at first," he ventured to say. "How different then all might have been!" "There is no use of dwelling on the past," she replied innocently. "You are now pledged to make the future right." "God helping me, I will. I will use every means in my power," he said in a tone of deep earnestness and as principal part of the means, determined to take her advice, but with reference to herself. After a few m)ments he said: page: 352-353[View Page 352-353] 352 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. "Miss Walton, as I promised to be perfectly frank with you, I want to ask an explanation of some. thing that I do not understand, and which has been almost a heavenly surprise to me. I was almost certain before this afternoon that when you came to know what a stained, evil man I am-" "Were," interrupted Annie. "No, what a wicked man I am. Character. is not made in a moment. As yet, I only hope and purpose to do better. I can hardly understand why you do not shrink from me in disgust. It seemed that both your faith and your nature would lead you to do this. I thought it possible that out of your kindness you might try to stand at a safe distance and give me some good advice across the gulf. But that which I feared would drive you from me forever, has only brought you nearer. Again I say, it has been a heavenly surprise." "You use the word ' heavenly' with more appro- priateness than you think,' she replied gravely. "All such surprises are heavenly in their origin, and my course is but a faint reflection of Heaven's dispo- sition toward you, and was prompted by the duty I owe to God as well as to you. Human or self-fight- eousness would have led me in Pharisaic pride to say, ' Stand aside, I am holier than thou.' But you have only to read the life of the perfect One, Christ Jesus, to know that in so doing I would not have been like him. He laid his rescuing hands on both the physical and moral leper- " "As you have upon me," said Gregory, with a GREGORY, RETRIEVES HMSELF. look of such intense gratitude that she was embar. rassed. "I deserve no great credit, for it was only right that I should do the utmost ill my power to help you. How else could I be a Christian-a Christ- like person-in any real sense? To save was the mission and passion. of his life. But there's no- thing strange about it. Christianity is not like false religions, that require unnatural and useless sacrifices. If I were a true physician, and found you suffering from a terrible and contagious disease, while I feared and loathed the disease, I might have the deepest sympathy for you and do my best to cure you. I do loathe the sin you confessed, inex- pressibly. See how near it came to destroying you. While God hates the sin, he ever loves the sinner." "'I hope you will always be divine in that re- spect," he could not forbear saying with rising color. But Annie's thoughts were so intent on what was uppermost in her heart that she did not notice his covert meaning, and said innocently: "I will give you honest friendship as long as you honestly try to redeem the pledges of to-day." "Then I have your friendship for life, be it long or short," said he decisively. With more lightness in her tone she said, "And I too will ask a question that has a bearing on a little theory of my own. Supposing I had shrunk from you, and tried to give some good religious advice from a safe distance, what would you have done?" page: 354-355[View Page 354-355] 354 3OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR, "Left for New York to-morrow, and gone as straight to the devil as one of his own imps,' he replied without a moment's hesitation. She sighed deeply, and said, "I fear you would- that is, left yourself. And the worst of it is, it seems to me that this is the way the church is trying to save the world. Suppose a doctor should address his patients through a speaking-trumpet and hand them his remedies on the end of a very long rod. Death would laugh at his efforts. People can be saved only as Christ saved them. We must go where they are, lay our hands upon them, and look sympathy and hope right into their eyes. If Christ's followers would only do this, how many more might be rescued who now seem hopelessly given over to evil." "Those who won't do it," said Gregory bitterly, "are in no sense his true followers, but are merely the ' hangers on' of his army, seeking to get out of it all they can for self. Every general knows that the 'camp-followers' are the bane of an army." "Come, Mr. Gregory," said she gently, " we are not the general, and therefore not the judge. After this I shall expect to see you in the regular ranks, ready to give and take blows." Mr. Walton and Miss Eulie now returned from church, and Gregory professed to feel, and indeed was, much better, and after a little music they sepa- rated for the night. Though still suffering, Gregory sat by his fire a long time, forgetful of pain. In his experience he GREGORY RETRIEVES HMSE $LF. 355 illustrated how Paul could sing at midnight in the inner prison, -though scourged and bleeding. High, blustering winds prevailed all the following day, but they only made the quiet and cosiness of Mr. Walton's fireside more delightful. Gregory did not care to go out if he went alone. He wished to be where he could see Annie as often as possible, for every word and smile from her in the intervals of her duties was precious. As his mind had been awakened to better things, Annie and religion were inseparable. He did honestly mean to become a good man if it were possible, but he saw in her the only hopeful means. He did not pretend to either faith or love to God as yet, but only felt a glow of gratitude, a warming of his heart toward Him in view of His great mercy in sending to his aid such a -gentle ministering spirit as Annie had proved. He took it as an omen that God meant kindly by him, and through this human hand might save at last. And he clung to this hand as the drowning do to anything that keeps them from sinking into dark and unknown depths. He saw in Annie Walton earthly happiness certainly, and his best prospect of heaven. What wonder then that his heart lay at her feet in entire consecration. Apart from the peculiar fascination that Annie herself had for him, he had motives for loving 'her that actuate but few. If she had saved him from physical death it would have been a little thing in comparison, but he shud. dered to think of the precipice from which she had drawn him back. Through her he might escape page: 356-357[View Page 356-357] 356 OPENIYG A- CHEESTNUT BURR. eternal degradation, and he already lavished upon her a love akin to that which the redeemed will- at /last lay at the, feet of Him who for their sakes became a "Man of sorrows." Gregory did not know Him yet. But he was cautious in revealing himself to Annie. The presence of others was a restraint, and he plainly saw that she had no such regard for him as he felt for her. But he hoped with intense fervor. -yes, he even prayed to that God whom he had so long slighted--that in time she might return his love. But to-day he would close his eyes on the past and future. She, -the sunshine of his soul, was near, and he was content to bask in her smiles. Annie had given her father and aunt to under- stand that their conspiracy promised to result in success, and they treated him with marked but deli- cate kindness. The day passed in music, reading, and cheerful conversation, and to Gregory it was the happiest he ever remembered-one of those sweet May days that, by some happy blunder of nature seemingly, occasionally blesses us in March-- and he made the very most of it. Its close found Annie Walton enthroned in his -heart. He worship- ped at a human shrine, and forgot the solemn words, "Thou shalt have no other gods before me." As for Annie, he perplexed her a little, but she explained everything peculiar in his words and man. ner on the ground of his gratitude only, and the glow of his newly-awakened moral nature. If she had GRE GORY REnTRIzVEES HMS8.rF. 357 been an experienced belle, with the vanity usually possessed by those pretty pain-givers, she might have understood his symptoms better, but she was one of the last in the world to imagine people falling in love with her. Never having received much admi- ration from strangers, with no long list of victims, and believing from her own experience that love was a gradual growth resulting from long knowledge and intimacy with its object, she could not dream that this critical man of the world, who had se en the beauties of two continents, would in a few days be carried away with her plain face. Nor was he by her face, but by herself. Men of mind rarely are captivated by a face merely, however beautiful, but what it represents, or what they imagine it does. Woe be to the beauty who has no better capital than her face. With it she can allure some one into marrying her; but if he married for an intelligent companion, he is like to prove the most disappointed and indifferent of husbands on discovering the fraud. The world will never get over its old belief that the fair face is the index of graces slightly vailed, and ready to be revealed when the right to know is gained. In nursery rhymes, in fairy tales, and the average novel, the-beautiful heroine is also lovely, and so in spite of adverse experience the world will ever expect wis- dom and truth from red lips, till they say too much -till the red lips themselves prove the contrary. Then come the anger and disgust which men ever visit upon those who deceive and disappoint them,. 6 . page: 358-359[View Page 358-359] 358 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. Beauty- is a dainty and exquisite vestibule to a temple; but when a worshipper is beguiled into entering only to find a stony, misshapen idol and a dingy shrine, this does not conduce to future devo- tion. Annie's face would not arrest passers-by, and so she had not been spoiled by too much homage, which is not good for man or woman. But after passing the plain, simple portico of externals into the inner temple of her sweet and truthful life, the heart once hers would worship with undying faith and love. Gregory had come to interest her deeply, not only on the ground of his need, but because she saw in him great capabilities for good! In all his evil, his downright honesty and lack of conceit in- spired a kind of respect. She also saw that this excessively fastidious man had learned to admire and esteem her greatly. It was not in her-woman's nature to be indifferent to this fact. She felt that if he could be redeemed from his evil he might become a congenial and valuable friend indeed, and if she could be the means of rescuing the son of her fa- ther's friend, it would ever be one of her happiest memories. But with her heart already occupied with a noble ideal of Hunting, the possibility of anything more than friendship never entered -her mind. The very fact that her affections were so en- gaged made her blind to manifestations on thb part of Gregory, which might otherwise have awakened suspicion. Still the confidential relations graving up between them made her wish that she t,4iAght GREGORY RETRIEVYES- RZSM RT.. 359 reveal to him her engagement to Hunting; and she would have done, so, did he not resent the slightest allusion in that direction. It now seemed proba. ble that Hunting would return before Gregory took his departure, and if so, she felt that she could im- mediately reconcile them. She came to the con- clusion that her best course was to wait till she could bring them together, and so make the thing certain by her own presence and influence; for now, in her increasing regard for Gregory, she was deter- imined that they all should be on good terms, so that in the city home to which she looked forward. the man she was trying to lead to true life might be a frequent and welcome visitor. But it is a difficult thing to keep such friend- ships Platonic in their nature under any circum- stances, and in view of Gregory's feelings, Annie's pretty dreams of the future would be but baseless dreams. i Monday evening was one of those genial domestic experiences that make home more satisfying in its pleasures than all the excitements of the world. Mr. Walton had a slight cold, and Annie was nursing: and petting him, while contributing to the general enjoyment, by reading the daily paper, and singing some new ballads which she had just obtained from New York. Her father's indisposition was so slight that it merely occasioned those little attentions which are pleasant for affection to bestow and receive. The wind howled dismally without, only to en- hance the sense of peace and comfort within, and at page: 360-361[View Page 360-361] 360 OPENxI G A CESTNVUT BURR. the usual hour all retired to the deeper peace and rest of sleep, without even the passing thought -that anything might disturb them before they met again at the cheerful breakfast-table. In a world like ours there is but one place where continued peace and the absolute assurance of safety can be maintained-the depths of a soul stayed on Christ. Some time during the night Gregory seemed to hear three distinct peals of thunder, wrathful and threatening, and then a voice like that of Annie Walton calling him to escape a great danger. But it seemed that he was paralyzed, and 'strove in vain to move hand or foot. Again and louder pealed the thunder, and more urgent came the call of the warning voice. By a desperate effort he sprang with a bound upon the floor, and then real- ized that- what seemed thunder in the exaggeration of his dream was loud knocking at his door. Annie's voice again called: - "Mr. Gregory, awake, dress-there is a fire. There may be danger." He assured her that he would be out in a few moments, and had only to open a shutter to obtain plenty of light, though he could not see from whence it came. In five minutes he hastened down stairs and found Mr. Walton just issuing from his room; and all went out on the front piazza. Gregory then saw that a large factory some distance up the stream was burning, and that the fire was under such head, wray that nothing could save the building. The GREGOORY RETRIESVES HMSELF. 361 wind had increased during the night and fanned the flames into terrific fury. The building was old and dry, inviting destruction in every part. For a while they gazed with that fearful awe which this terrible element, no longer servant, but master, always inspires. Susie had not been well during the night, and in waiting on her, Annie had discovered the disaster. A warning coigh from Mr. Walton revealed to Annie the danger of staying out in the raw winds; but from the hall windows everything was apparent, and silently they watched the rapid progress of the flames. The fire had caught in the lower part of the 'building, and was advancing up from floor to floor with its horrid illumination at the windows. "Do you think I can do any good by going there?" asked Gregory. "Not at all," said Mr. Walton. "The whole of the New-York Fire Department could not save it now; and from the sounds I hear, there will soon be throngs of people there. Indeed, I am anxious about my own place. When that shingle roof commences to burn there ig-no telling how far the wind will carry the cinders." Annie looked at her father in quick alarm, then drew Miss Eulie aside, and they immediately went up stairs. With a more painful interest, Gregory now watched the scene. The tall ladders which had first been raised against the building were withdrawn. They were useless, for the whole interior seemed I6 page: 362-363[View Page 362-363] 362 OPENIrNG A CHESTNUT BURR. ablaze. Great tongues of fire began leaping from the windows, mocking every effort. The rapid steps of those hastening to the scene resounded along the road, and the startling cry of "Fire! Fire!" was heard up and down the valley till they all merged in the shouts and cries around the burning building. Mingling with the deeper, hoarser tones of men were the shrill voices of women, showing that they too had been drawn to witness a destruction that meant to them loss of bread. The foliage near was bloody red in the dreadful glare, and the neighboring pines tossed their tasselled boughs like dark plumes at a torchght funeral. With a sudden roar a pyramid of flame shot up through the roof, and was echoed by a despairing cry from those whose vocation now indeed was gone. A moment later a fiery storm of flakes and burning shingles filled the sky. To their great joy the wind was from such a quarter as to carry this destructive tempest past them into the woodland back of the house, which happily had been rendered damp by recent rains. But a cinder frequently sailed by unpleasantly near, reminding one of scattering shots in a battle. XP A slight change of wind would be their destruction, and a single stray firebrand would endanger them. Just as they began to breathe somewhat freely hoping that danger was about past, a sudden side- eddy of the gale scattered a shower of sparks and burning shingles over the house and out-buildings. Mr Walton immediately rushed forth, and, with a little whistle he usually carried, gave a shrill sum- GREGORY RETRIEEVS HMSEL. 363 mons for Jeff, who lived in a cottage near. But Jeff was off to the fire, and so did not appear. - Walter and Annie also hastened out, and all ran to the barn and out-buildings first, as from their nature they were most inflammable. To their joy, no traces of fire were seen. One or two smoking brands lay in the door-yard, where they could cause no injury. But a cry of alarm from Annie, who had stayed nearer the house, brought Mr. Walton and Gregor5 to her side instantly. Pointing to the roof of their house, she said, in tones of strong excitement: "See there-oh, see there!" A burning piece of wood had caught on the highest part near the ridge, and was smoking and smouldering in a way that, with the strong wind fanninc it, would surely cause destruction if not dis- lodged. "Oh, hat shall we do?" she cried, wringing her hands. "Can a ladder reach it?" "The roof is too steep, even if it did," said Mr. Walton. "Where is the ladder?" cried Gregory. "By the carriage-house. But I fear it is useless." "Will you help me bring it, sir?" They instantly brought the longest ladder on the place, but saw that though it might touch the eaves, it would not reach the ridge. The roof was so steep that one could not keep footing on it; and when they took time to look and consider, both gentlemen admitted that the effort in that direction would fail, and probably at the cost of life. page: 364-365[View Page 364-365] 364 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. "Is there no scuttle by which to get out on the roof?" asked Gregory. "No. Quick, Annie, get out what you can, for we shall soon be homeless." "Wait," said Gregory. "Is there no way to reach the roof?" "None that we can use. A light and daring climber might possibly reach the ridge by the light- ning-rod, after leaving the laddaer." "Where is it?" cried Gregory, eager to do some- thing to make impossible even the thought that he was cowardly; for the memory of his course in the counterfeiter's den rankled deeply. "No," cried both Mr. Walton and Annie, laying their hands- on him. "Your life is worth more than the house." "My life is my own," he answered. "I will make an effort to save the dear old place. Quick, help me. Here, girls (to Zibbie and Hannah, who now stood beside them in dismay), take hold of that end of the ladder, and carry it out there. Now push it up while I hold its foot. There, that's it-I will do it. You cannot hinder, but only help. Miss Walton, get me a rope. Haste, while I prepare to climb." With the help of the stout women, whose strength was doubled by their fears and excitement, he placed the ladder against the lightning-rod and siding of the house just under the ridge. His tones were determined and authoritative. He was now acting as Annic would if she were a GREGOR Y RE TRIE VES HMSEF-P. 365. -man, and she admired and respected him as never before. In two or three moments she and her father returned with a line, but again expostulated. "Mr. Gregory, the risk is too great." "You can't prevent it," said he firmly. ' I ab- solve you from all responsibility. I take the risk in spite of you. Haste--see how it's burning. There, that will do. Stand back." Even as he spoke he-was climbing. "Now that's generous," said Annie; "but if you -are injured, I will never forgive myself." He turned, and for a second smiled down upon her. The,-strength of his new-born love made him glad to endanger even life in her service, and the thought "I can at last win a little respect, as well as sympathy" nerved him to double his ordinary powers. Like most country boys he had been a bold, active climber, and his knowledge and former skill made his present attempt possible. The main question was whether in his feeble state his strength would hold out. But the strong excitement for the moment would serve him in place of muscle. He had thrown off his coat and boots, and, with a small- rope fastened about his waist, he swiftly ascended to the top of the ladder. But there were three or four feet that he/must overhand up the lightning- rod in order to reach the ridge. It was a large, twisted affair, and gave him a good hold, but he had to take the risk of its being strong enough in its fastening to sustain his weight. Fortunately it was, page: 366-367[View Page 366-367] 366 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. and he unhesitatingly commenced the perilous effort. He made good progress till he was within a foot of the ridge. Then his strength began to fail, and plainly to those below he wavered. With white face, clasped hands, and lips moving in prayer, Annie watched him; Her heart almost stood still with dread; and when toward the last he slowly and still more slowly overhanded upward, plainly indicating that his strength was ebbing, she cried, in an agony of fear: "Come back, oh, come back. What is all here to your life?" A second before it seemed to him that he must fail, that he might suddenly fall at her feet a crushed and lifeless mass, but her voice revived him, and the passionate thought came with inspiring power, "I can do more to win her love now than by years of effort;" and he made a desperate struggle, gained the ridge, and crawled out upon it, panting for a moment, and powerless to do more than cling for support. The burning cinder was now but little in advance of him, and he saw that there was not a second to lose. It had charred and blackened the roof where it caught, and fanned by the wind, was a live, glow- fng coal. The shingles under it were smoking- yes, smouldering. Were it not for their dampness and mossy age, they would have been blazing. In a few moments nothing could save the house. As soon as he got his breath, he crept along the ridge within reach of the fiery flake. There seemed GREGORY RETRIE VES HMSELF. 367 no place where he could lay hold of it without bunm- ing himself. It would not do to simply detach it, as it might catch farther down the steep roof where it could not be reached. Chief of all, there was not a moment to spare. He did not hesitate, but with sufficient presence of mind to use his left instead of his right hand, he. seized the fatal brand and hurled it, a fiery meteor, clear of the house. It hurt him cruelly, and for a moment he felt sick and faint; but a round of applause from those below (for now Miss Eulie, the children also, were out, looking tremblingly on), and Annie's cry of joy and encouragement, again gave him strength. But as he looked closely at the spot where the cinder lay, his fears were realized. It had ignited the roof. A little water would extinguish it now, but in a few moments, under the wild wind that was blowing, all would be ablaze. He crawled to the end of the ridge and shouted: "Tie a light pail of water to the cord--not much at a time, or I can't draw it up." Annie darted to the house for a lighter pail than Hannah had brought, and to Gregory's joy he found that he had strength to lift it, though with his burned hand it was agony to do so. But with the now good prospect of finishing his work successfully, his spirits rose. He grew more familiar and confident in his dangerous position. He di L not look down from his giddy height, and permitted himself to think of nothing but Annie. Indeed, in his strong excitement, he felt that it would not be a bitter page: 368-369[View Page 368-369] 368 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. thing to die thus serving her; and, in his false phi. losophy, hoped this brave act might atone for the wrong of the past. It is the nature of noble, generous deeds to exalt a man's soul so that he can fearlessly face death; when in calm moments, or timesof sinful weakness, he would shrink back appalled. In the excitement of the hour, and under the inspiration of his strong human love, Gregory was not afraid to die, though life seemed, with its new possibilities, sweeter than even before. He knew that his strength was failing fast --that reaction would soon set in, and that he would be helpless, and his great hope .was that he could save the house first. He determined therefore not to waste a drop of water, and make this one pail answer if possible. He therefore poured it slowly out, and let it run over the burning part. The continued hissing and smoke proved that the fire had penetrated deeper than he thought. The last drop was gone, and still the place smoked. A little more was absolutely necessary. "Will my strength hold out?" he asked himself in almost an agony of doubt." Crawling back to the end of the ridge, he again lowered the pail. "Fill it again," he cried. "Can you stand it?" cried Mr. Walton ' I must, or all is useless," was his answer. Again, but more slowly and painfully, he pulled the water up. Annie wrung her har s in anguish as she saw in GREGORY RE TrIEVES HMSELF. 69 the red glare of the still burning factory how pale and exhausted he was. But he once more managed totreach the point above the still smouldering spot, and caused the water to trickle down upon it. By the time he had half emptied the pail the smoke ceased. After a moment it again faintly exuded, but another little stream of water quenched the fire utterly. But for five minutes he watched the place to make sure that there was not a lingering spark, and then let the rest of the water flow over the place to saturate it completely. He was now certain that the house was saved. But he was satisfied from his sensations that he had but brief time in which to save himself. Reaction was fast setting in. He untied the rope from his waist, and let pail and all roll clattering down the roof. This noise was echoed by a cry of alarm from those below, who feared for a moment that he was falling. They all had the sickening dread which is felt when we look at one in great peril, and yet can do nothing to help. At first Gregory thought that he would lay down upon and cling to the ridge, thus gaining strength by a little rest. But- he soon found this would not answer. His overtaxed frame was becoming nerve- less, and his only hope was to escape at once, if he ever did. In trembling weakness he crawled back to the edge, and looked over. Annie stepped for. I6* page: 370-371[View Page 370-371] 370 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. ward to the foot of the ladder and extended her 'hands as if to catch him. "Stand bace," he cried; "if I fall, I will kill you." "I will not stand back," she answered. "You shall not take all the risk." But her father, who- still kept his presence of mind in the terrible excitement of the moment, forced her away, and saved her from the danger of this useless sacrifice. As soon as she could do no- thing, her fortitude vanished, and she covered her face with her hands and wept bitterly. The chief point of difficulty in Gregory's weak state was to get off the ridge upon the lightning- rod without losing his hold and falling at once. If he could turn the edge and commenlce descending in safety, his strength might hold out till he reached the ladder and so the ground. But he realized the moment of supreme peril, and hesitated. Then, with something like a prayer to God and a wistful look at Annie, he resolutely swung himself over. His hands held the weight of his body, and he commenced the descent. Annie's glad cry once more encouraged him. He gained the ladder and descended till not far from the ground. Suddenly everything turned black before his eyes, and he fell. CHAPTER XXVI. CHANGES IS GREGORY. 1WHEN Gregory became conscious, he was lying on the ground with his head in Miss Eulie's lap, and Annie was bending over him with a small flask. She again gave him a teaspoonful of brandy, and after a moment he lifted himself up, and passing his hand across his brow, looked around. "You are not hurt. Oh, please say you are not hurt," she exclaimed, taking his hand. He looked at her a moment, and then it all came back to him, and he smiled and said: ' Not much, I think; and if I am, it does not sig- nify. You've helped me on my feet once or twice before. Now see if you can't again;" and he at- tempted to rise. As Daddy Tuggar had intimated, there was plenty of muscle in Annie's round arms, and she almost lifted him up, but he stood unsteadily. Mr. Walton gave him his arm on one side and Annie on the other, and in a-few moments he was on the sofa in the sitting-room, where soon a fire was kindled. Zibbie was told to make coffee, and provide some- thing more substantial. They were all profuse in expressions of gratitude, page: 372-373[View Page 372-373] 372 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. in praises of his heroism, but he waved the whole matter off by saying: "Think of me as well as you can, for heaven knows I have need to retrieve my character. But please do not speak as ifoI had done more than I ought. For a young man to stand idly by, and see the home of his childhood, the place where he had received the perfection of hospitality, destroyed, would be simply base. If I had not been reduced by months of ill-health, the thing would not have been difficult at all. But you, Miss Walton, dis- played the real heroism in the case, when you stood beneath with your arms out to catch me. I took a risk, but you took the certainty of destruction if I had fallen. Still," he added, with a humorous look as if in jest, though he was only too sincere, " the pros- pect was so inviting that I would have liked to have fallen a little way." "' And so you did," cried innocent Johnnie eager- ly. "You fell ever so far, and Aunt Annie caught' you." What!" exclaimed Gregory, rising. "Is this true? And are you not hurt?" "That's the way with children," said Annie, with heightened color and a reproachful look at the boy, who in the excitement of the time was, permitted to stay up for an hour or more; " they let everything all out. No, I'm not hurt a bit. You didn't fall very far. I'm so thankful that your strength did not give out till you almost reached the ground. Oh dear! I shudder to think of what might have CHANGOES IN GRE ORY. 373 happened. Do you know that I thought, with u thrill of superstitious dread, of your chestnut-burr omen, when you stained my hand with your blood. If you had fallen-if- " and-she put her hand over her eyes to hide the dreadful vision her imagination presented. "If anything had happened," she con- tinued, " my hands would have been stained, in that they had not held you back." "What a tender, innocent conscience you have!" he replied, looking fondly at her. "I confess I'd rather be here listening to you than somewhere else." She gave him a troubled, startled look. To her, that " somewhere else " had a sad and terrible mean- ing. She sat near him, and could not help saying in a low, earnest tone: 4 Mr. Gregory, you can't tell how I wish you were a Christian." "I, too, wish I were," he answered sadly; " but I am not, as you know well. Thanks-to your influence, I hope to be one, I shall try to -be one. But I will deceive neither myself nor you. As yet the way of life is utterly dark. You have done much for me though, for you have convinced me of the reality and value of your faith." i' How could you, how could you take such a risk without- "She did not finish the sentence, which was plain enough in its meaning, however. On the impulse of the moment, Gregory was about to reply indiscreetly-in ,a way that would have revealed more of his feelings toward her than he page: 374-375[View Page 374-375] 374 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. knew would be wise at the time. But just then Hannah came in with the lunch, and the attention of the others, who had been talking eagerly on the other side of the room, was directed toward them. He checked some rash words as they rose to his lips, and Annie, suspecting nothing of the wealth of love that he already was lavishing upon her, rose with alacrity, glad to serve one who had just served her so well. The generous coffee and the dainty lunch, combined with feelings to which he had long been a stranger, revived Gregory greatly, and he sprang up and walked the room, declaring that with the excep- tion of his burned hand, which had been carefully dressed, he felt better than he had for a long time. "I'm so thankful," said Annie, with glistening eyes. "We all have cause for thankfulness," said Mr. Walton with fervor. "Our kind Father in heaven has dealt with us all in tender mercy. Home, and more precious life, have been spared. Before we again seek a little rest, let us remember all his good- ness ; " and he led them in such simple, fervent prayer, that Gregory's reviving spiritual nature was still more powerfully quickened. It seemed to him then the Divine Father did care for his earthly children, and that more than human strength had carried him through his perilous ordeal. The effect of the prayer was heightened by Mr. Walton saying, after he rose from his knees: "Annie, we must'see that none of our poor neigh. CHANGES IN GREGORY. 375 bors lack for anything, now that their employment has so suddenly been taken away." That is acceptable devotion to God which leads to practical, active charity toward men, and the most unbelieving are won by such a religion. Annie noticed with some anxiety that her father's voice was very hoarse, and that he put his hand upon his chest several times, and she expressed the fear that the exposure would greatly add to his cold. He treated the matter lightly, and would do nothing more that evening than take some simple remedies. When Gregory bade them good-night, Annie fol- lowed him to the foot of the stairs, and giving his hand one of her warm grasps, said: "Mr. Gregory, I can't help feeling that your mother knows what you have done to-night, and that you have added to her happiness even in heaven." Tears started to his eyes. He did not trust himself to answer, but, with a strong answering pres- sure, hastened to his room happier than he had been in all his past. It was late the next morning when they assem- bled at the breakfast table, and they noted with pain that Mr. Walton did not appear at all well, though he made great effort to keep up. He was very hoarse, and complained of a tightness in his chest. "Now, father," said Annie, "you rr ust stay in the house, and let me nurse you." i"I'm very willing to submit," he replied, " and hope I will need no other physician." But he was page: 376-377[View Page 376-377] 376 OPEATZG A CHESTNUT BURR. feverish all day. His indisposition did not yield to ordinary remedies. Still, more than a little natural solicitude, no anxiety was felt. Gregory was a different man. Even his sincere human love for so worthy an object had lifted him out of the miserable depths into which he had been sinking. It had filled his heart with pure longings, and made him capable of noble deeds. As a general thing a woman inspires a love in accordance with her own character. Of course we recognize the fact that there are men with natures so coarse that they are little better than animals. These men may have a passing passion for any pretty woman, but the holy word love should not be used in such connection. But of men-of those possess- ing true manhood, even in humblest station--the above assertion I think will be found true. The woman who gains the boundless power which the undivided homage of an honest heart confers, will develop in his breast, and quicken into life, traits and feelings corresponding to her own. If the great men of the world have generally had good mothers, so as a parallel fact will it be found that the strong, useful, successful men-men who sustain themselves, and more than fulfil the promise of their youth- have been supplemented and continually inspired to better things by the ennobling companionship of a true woman. Good-breeding, the ordinary restraints of self. respect, and fear of the world's adverse opinion, greatly reduce the outward diversities of society. CHANGESN IN GREGORY. 3" Well-bred men and women act and appear very much alike in the public eye. But there is an inner life, a real character, upon which happiness ,here and heaven hereafter depend, which results largely from that tie and intimacy that is closest of all. A woman of the world tends to make even her Chris- tian husband worldly, and of course the reverse is true. A shallow, frivolous girl, having faith in little else save her pretty face and dress-makers' art, may unfortunately inspire a good', talented man, who imagines her to possess all that the poets have por- trayed in woman, with a true and strong affection, but she will disappoint and dwarf him, and be a mill- stone around his neck. She will cease to be his com- panion. She may be thankful if, in his heart, he does not learn to despise her, though a man can scarcely do this and be guiltness toward the mother of his children. What must be the daily influence on a man who sees in his closest friend, to whom he is joined for life, a passion for the public gaze, a boundless faith in externals, a complete devotion to artificial en- hancing of ordinary and passJ charms, combined with contemptuous neglect of graces of mind and heart which alone can keep the love which outward appear- ance may at first have won in part. Mere dress and beauty are very well to skirmish with during first approaches;- but if a woman wishes to hold the con- quered province of a man's heart, and receive from it rich revenues of love and honor, she must possess some queenly traits akin to Divine royalty, other. page: 378-379[View Page 378-379] 378 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. wise she only overruns the heart she might have ruled, and leaves' it a blighted waste. As we have seen, Annie's actual character re- buked and humiliated the evil-minded Gregory from the first. He could not rest in her presence. To relieve himself from self-rcndemnation, he must prove her goodness a sham or an accident-mere chance exemption from temptation. Her safety and happy influence did not depend upon good resolutions, wise policy, and careful instruction, but upon her real possession of a character that had been formed long before, and which met and foiled him at every point. Lacking this, though a well-meaning, good girl in the main, she would have been a plaything in the hands of such a man. Her absolute truth and crystal purity of principle encased her in heaven's armor, and neither he nor any evil-disposed person could harm her. She would not listen to the first insidious sug- gestion of the tempter. Thus, the man who expect- ed to go away despising, now honored, reverenced, loved her, and through her strong but gentle minis- try had turned his back on evil, and was struggling to escape its degrading bondage. It will ever be true that we are strong ourselves and useful to others only in proportion to what God -not the world-sees we really are. Specious pre- tence will fail-the mask will drop, and those bad at heart will one day undo all their seeming good. But Gregory was making a grave mistake. In the absorption of his human love, he forgot the Divine love. He was practically looking to Annie / f CHANGES IN GREGORY. 379 for his salvation, instead of Him who was using her as an instrument. In the co-working of God and man for the rescue of the lost, that Christian best succeeds who best obeys orders. But there comes a time when his delegated part ceases, and for pardon; absolution, and the power to remain loyal, he must point di- rectly to the Throne and stand reverently aside. That time had come in Annie's effort. She felt it, but Gregory did not. She knew that she could not make him a Christian, though she might, through God's blessing upon her influence, awaken and inspire the honest effort to be one. As at first with phys- ical, so now only God could give the breath of spir- itual life. Therefore on Tuesday and Wednesday following the fire, Annie did not seek theological or religious conversation with him, but only aimed by sympathy and kindness to confirm impressions already made. In the mean time she prayed with all her heart that the Divine spirit would apply the truth and do the work which He alone could accomplish. God ever hears such prayers, but answers them in a way and time that he knows to be best. Gregory was right in thinking that such a woman as Annie could help him to an extent hard to esti- mate, but fatally wrong in looking to her alone. The kind Father, who regards the well-being of his children for eternity rather than the moments of time, must effectually cure him of this error. But those two days were memorable ones to him, page: 380-381[View Page 380-381] 380 OPENING A CHESTNVUT BU'ISR He was in Beulah, the border-land of Paradise r the cold and stormy weather shut them all in the house, and that meant to him Annie's society. He was seldom alone with her. He noted with pain that her manner was too frank and kindly, too free from all consciousness, to indicate anything more than the friendship she had promised; but not know- ing how her heart was preoccupied, he hoped that the awakening of deeper feelings was only a question of time. His present peace and rest were so blessed, her presence so satisfying, and his progress in her favor so apparent as he revealed his better nature, that he was content to call his love friendship until he saw her friendship turning into love. Had not Annie expected Hunting every day she would have told Gregory all about her relation with him, but now she determined that she would bring them together under the same roof, and not let them separate till she had banished every trace of their difficulty. A partial reconciliation might result in future coolness and estrangement. This she would regard as a misfortune, even did it have no unfa- vorable influence on Gregory, for he now proved himself the best of company. Indeed, they both seemed to have a remarkable gift for entertaining each other. While Wednesday did not find Mr.- Walton seriously ill apparently, he was still far from being well. He employed himself with his papers, read. ing, and seemed to enjoy Gregory's- conversation very much. CHANGES ZN GREGORY. 381 : He now grows very like his father, and reminds me constantly of him," he said more than once to Annie. Mr. Walton's indisposition was evidently not trivial. There was a soreness about the lungs that made it painful for him to talk much,-and he had a severe, racking cough. They were all solicitude in his behalf. The family physician had been called, and it was hoped that a few days of care would iemove his cold. As he sat in his comfortable arm-chair by the fire le would smilingly say he " was having such a good time and so much petting that he did not intend to get well very soon." Though the burn on Gregory's hand was 'quite painful, and both were bruised and cut from climb- ing, he did not regret the suffering, since it also secured from Annie some of the attention she gave her father. Wednesday afternoon was quite pleasant, and Gregory went out for a walk. He did not return till quite late, and, coming down to supper, found a letter by his plate, which clouded his -face in- stantly. Annie was radiant, for the same mail brought her one from Hunting, stating that he might be expected any day now. As she saw Gregory's face darken, she said: "I fear your letter has brought you- unpleasant news' It has," he replied. "Mr. Burnett, the senior page: 382-383[View Page 382-383] 382 OPENING A CgESTNUT BURR. partner, is quite ill, and At is necessary that I return immediately." "I'm so sorry," she said, with such hearty emr phasis that he looked at her earnestly and said: 4' Are you really?" "You shouldn't ask such a question," she an- swered reproachfully. "Why, Miss Walton, I've made a very long' visit." "So much has happened that it does seem a long time since you came. But I wish it were to be longer before you left us. We shall miss you exceedingly. Besides," ,he added, with rising color, "I have a special reason for wishing you to stay a little longer." His color rose instantly also; and she puzzled him, while he perplexed her. "I hope Mr. Gregory's visit has taugnt him," said Mr. Walton kindly, " that he has not lost his former home through our occupation, and, that he can run up to the old place whenever he finds opportunity." "I can say sincerely," he- responded, "that I have enjoyed the perfection of hospitality; " adding, in a low tone and with a quick remorseful look at Annie,." though little deserving it." "You have richly repaid us," said Mr. Walton heartily. "It would be very hard for me at my years to have had to seek a new home. I have become wedded to this old place with my feelings and fancies, and the old, you know, dislike change. CHANGES IN GREGORY. , 383 I only wish to make one more, then rest will be com- plete." "Now, father," said Annie with glistening eyes, "you must not talk that way. You know well that we cannot spare you even to go to heaven." "Well, my child," answered he fondly. "I am content to leave that in our best Friend's hands. But I cannot say," he added with a touch of humor, "that it's a heavy cross to stay here with you." "Would that such a cioss were imposed upon me," echoed Gregory with sudden devoutness. "Miss Walton, did not my business imperatively demand my presence, I would break anything save my neck, in order to be an invalid on your hands.' If one could only find a decent excuse to stay in this beau ideal of a home a little longer-- "Come," cried Annie, half vexed. "A truce to this style of remark. I think it's verging toward the sentimental, and I'm painfully matter-of-fact. Fa- ther, you must not think of going to heaven yet, and I don't like to hear you talk about it. Mr. Gregory can break his little finger, if he likes, so we may keep him longer. But do let us all be sensible, and not think of anything sad till it comes. Why should we? Mr. Gregory surely can find time to run up and see us, if he wishes, and I think he will." Before he could reply, an anxious remark from little Susie enabled them to leave the table in midst of one of those laughs that banish all embarrassment. "But we'll be burned up if Mr. Gregory goes away." page: 384-385[View Page 384-385] CHAPTER XXVIL. I .RADING FOR LIFE AND LOVE. KNOWING that it was to be Gregory's last even. ing with them, Annie determined it should be full of pleasant memories. She sang with him, and did anything he asked. Her heart overflowed toward him in a genial and almost sisterly regard, but his 'most careful analysis could find no trace even of the inception of warmer feelings. She evidently had a strong and growing liking for him, but nothing more, and she clearly felt the greatest interest in his effort to become a man of Christian principles. This fact became his main hope. Her passion to save seemed so strong that he trusted she. might be approached even thus early upon that side. He felt that he must, speak-must get some definite hope for the future before he went away. It seemed to him that he could fairly bring his great need as a motive to bear upon her. Her whole course encouraged him to do this, for she had responded to every such appeal. Still with fear and trembling he admitted that he was about to ask for more now than ever before. But he felt that he must speak. He had no hope that he could ever be more than his wretched self PLEADING FOR LIFE AND LOVE. 385 without her. He would ask nothing definite-only encouragement that if he could make himself worthy of her, she would give him a chance to win her love. In her almost sisterly frankness it seemed that the idea of loving him had never occurred to her, and would not after he had gone. The thought of leaving her heart all disengaged, for some other to come and make a stronger impression, was torture. He never could be satisfied with the closest friend- ship, therefore he must plainly seek a dearer tie, even though for a time their frank, pleasant relations were disturbed. He resolved to take no denial,-but give fair warning, before it was too late, that he was laying siege to her heart. He dreaded that attitude of mind upon her part which enables a woman to say to some men: "I could be your sister, but never your wife." So he said, before they separated for the night: "Miss Walton, I'm going to snatch a few more hours from the hurry and grind of business, and will nbt return to town till to-morrow afternoon. Won't you take one more ramble with me in the morn- ing?" "With pleasure," she replied promptly. "I will devote myself to you to-morrow, and make you without excuse for not coming again." He flushed with pleasure at her reply, but said quickly: "By the way, that reminds me. Won't you tell me what your ' special reason' was for wishing me to stay a little longer?" 17 page: 386-387[View Page 386-387] 386 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. It was her turn to blush now, which she did in a way that puzzled him. She answered hesitatingly: "Well, I think I'll tell you to-morrow." "Good night," said Mr. Walton, feelingly retain- ing Gregory's hand when he came to his chair ' We are coming to treat you almost as one of the family. Indeed, it seems hard to treat you in any other way now, especially in this your old home, now doubly yours since you saved it from destruc- tion. Every day you remind me more of my dear old friend. For some reason he has seemed very near me of late. If it should be my lot to see your sainted parents before you do, as it probably will, I believe it will be in my power to add even to their heavenly joys by telling them of your present pros- pects. Good night, and may the blessing of your father's and mother's God rest upon you." Tears sprang into the young man's eyes, and with a strong responsive pressure of Mr. Walton's hand, he hastened to his room, to hide what was not weakness. That was the last time he saw his father's friend. Annie's eyes glistened as she looked after him, and throwing her arms around her father's neck, whispered "God did send him here I now truly believe. We have not conspired and prayed in vain." Mr. WaIton fondly stroked his daughter's brown hair, and said, "You are right, Annie; but he will be a gem in your crown of rejoicing. I praise God for you, mny child. You have acted very wisely, very PLB . DING FOR IFRE A'ND LOYE. 387 womanly, as your mother would, in this matter. He was a bad man when he first came here, and if I did not know you so well, I would not have trusted you with him as I have. I believe God has begun a good work in his soul, which he will surely finish. Be as faithful through life, and you may lead many more out of darkness." "Dear father," said Annie tenderly, "this whole day, with Charles's good letter, and crowned with these precious words from you, seems like a benedic- tion. May we have many more such." "May God's will be done," said the riper saint, with eyes turned homeward. Thus in hope, peace, and gladness the day ended for all. "Ye know not what shall be on the morrow." To Gregory's unfeigned sorrow Mr. Walton was not well enough to appear at the breakfast table the following morning. Annie was flitting in and out with a grave and troubled face. But by ten o'clock 1 he seemed better and fell asleep. Leaving Miss Eulie watching beside him, she came and said: "Now, Mr. Gregory, I can keep my promise in part, and take a short walk with you. You can well understand why I cannot be away long." "Please do not feel that you must go," he said. "However great the disappointment, I could not ask you to leave your father if he needs you." "You may rest assured that nothing would tempt me from father if he needed me. But I think the worst is over now. He is sleeping quietly. I carn page: 388-389[View Page 388-389] 388 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. trust Auntie even better than myself. Besides, 1 want to go. I need the fresh air, and I wish to see more of you before you leave us." "Your kindness, Miss Walton, comes to me like spring after winter. I shall wait for you on the piazza." They went down across the lawn through the garden. The sun was shining brightly, though occa- sionally obscured with clouds. "How beautiful everything is," said Annie, " even now, when the leaves are half off the trees and fall- ing fast. At any season the moment I get out of doors I feel new life and hope." "What nature does for you, Miss Annie, you seem to do for others. I feel' new life and hope' the moment I am with you." She looked at him quickly, for she did not quite like his tone and manner. But she only said: "I You must believe, as I do, in a power behind nature. What- little I have done for you I have been enabled to do by One who alone can complete the work." "But even you believe he works through human agencies." i, Yes, up to a certain point." "But who can say where that point is in any experience? Miss Walton," he continued in grave earnestness, stopping and pointing to the rustic seat where, on the previous Sabbath, he had revealed to her his evil life, " that place is sacred to me.-- No hallowed spot of earth to which pilgrimages are PLE5ADINGFR LFeP A ND LOVE. 389 made can compare with it. You know that in some places in Europe they raise a rude cross by the road. side where a man has been murdered. Should there not be a monument where one was given life? If I owned this place I would put one there, if I could think of something appropriate. "I'll put one there, that I'm sure you'll like," said she with animation. "I will plant an evergreen tree with my own hands, and it shall be a pledge between us that I will pray faithfully, and that you will pray and strive to make the hope that came to you there, like the tree, unfading. Moreover, next spring I will sow the seeds of my immortelle flowers around it, and so the place will be beautifully em- blematic." His face lighted up with pleasure, for he knew she would do as she said, and thus he would be kept before her mind. "You would make the best of missionaries," he said, " for you would make religion attractive to the most besotted of heathen." As they resumed their walk, he said in a low, meaning tone: , . "Do you remember old Daddy Tuggar's words? 'You could take the wickedest man living straight to heaven if you'd stay right by him."' ".But he was wrong," she replied. "Pardon me if I differ from you, and agree with him. Miss Walton, I've been in your society scarcely three weeks. You know what I was when I came. I make no great claims now, but surely if tendencies, page: 390-391[View Page 390-391] 390 OPENIhG A CHESTNUT BURR. wishes, purposes count for anything, I am very dif. ferent. 'How can you argue me out of the conscious. ness that I owe it all to you?" "You will one day understand," she answered earnestly, "that God has helped us both, and how futile my efforts would have been without such help. -ut, Mr. Gregory," she continued, looking frankly into his flushed face (for she was beginning to sus- pect now something of his drift, and instinctively sought to ward off words which might disturb their pleasant relations), "I do not intend to give you up from this day forth. As our quaint old friend sug- gests, I do mean to stand right by you as far as cir- tumstances will allow nie. I recognize how isolated and lonely you are, and I feel almost a sister's interest in you". "You emphasize the word ' sister.' I suppose I ought to be more than satisfied. Believe me I am very grateful that you can so speak. But suppose the frankness I promised compels me to say that it does not, and never can satisfy?" "Then I will think you very unreasonable. You have no right to ask more than one has the power to give," she answered, with -a look and manner that were full of pain. "But surely, Mr. Gregory, we do not understand each other." "But I want you to understand me," he ex- claimed earnestly. ' "If you had the vanity and worldly experience of most women, you would have known before this that I love you." Tears sprang into Annie's eyes, and for a few PLEPADIAG PCP LIFE Ad-XD LOVE. 391 moments she walked on in utter silence. This was so different an -ending from what she- expected. She felt that she must be very careful or she would undo all she had attempted. She now dreaded utter fail ure, utter estrangement, and how to avoid these was her chief thought. They had reached-the cedar thicket where they had first met, and she sat down upon the rock where she had found Gregory. Her whole aim was to end this unfortunate matter so they might still continue friends. And yet the task seemed well-nigh impos- sible, for if he felt as he said, how could she tell him about Hutting without increasing their alienation. But her impression was strong that he was -acting under an exaggerated sense of her services and be- lief in the error that she was essential to the suc- cess of his efforts to be a good man. Therefore she tried to'turn the matter off lightly at first :by saying: "Mr. Gregory, you- are the most grateful man I ever heard of. You need not think you must reward my slight services by marrying me." "Now you greatly wrong me," he answered. "Did I not say I loved you? How deeply and truly you can never know. I cannot reward you. I did not dream of such a thing. My best hope was that some time in the future, when by long and patient effort I had become truly a man, you might learn to think of me in the way I wish." l"Mr. Gregory," said she, in a voice full of trouble, "has my manner or words led you to hope this-? If so, I can never forgive myself." page: 392-393[View Page 392-393] 392 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR "You have no cause for self-reproaches," he said earnestly. "Though my suit should ever prove hopeless, in the depths of my heart I will acquit you of all blame. You have been what you promised- a true sisterly friend, nothing more. But please un- derstand me. I ask nothing now, I am not worthy. Perhaps I shall never be. If so, I will not bind you to me with even a gossamer thread. I have too deep a respect for you. But I am so self-distrustful. I know my weakness better than you can. Still I am confident that if you could ' reward' me, and give the hope that you would crown the victory with yourself, I could do anything. In loving me, you would save me.": "Pardon me, but you are all wrong. I'm only an oar, but you look upon me as the life-boat itself. In that you persist in looking to me, a weak, sinful creature, instead of Him who alone ' taketh away the sin of the world,' you discourage me utterly." "I will look to Him, but I want you to lead me to him, and keep me at his side. "I can do that just as well as your friend." "I can never think so., I shall go away from this place utterly disheartened, unless you give me some hope, no matter how faint, that I shall not have to struggle alone." She sprang up quickly, for he incensed her, while at the same time she pitied him. She could not un- derstand how he had so soon learned to love her "deeply and truly." It rather appeared true that he had formed the mistaken opinion that she was PLEADING FOR LIFE AND LOVE. 391 essential to his success, and that he was bent upon bolstering himself up in his weakness, and sought to place her as a barrier between him and his old evil life; and she felt that he might need some whole- some truth rather than tender sympathy. At any rate her womanly nature took offence at his appa- rent motive, as she understood it-a motive that appeared more selfish and unworthy every moment. He was asking what he had no- right to expect of any one. But she would not misunderstand him, and therefore said with a grave, searching look- " Only.then as I give you the hope you ask for, will you make the- effort you have promised to make?" " Only then can I make it," he replied in some confusion. " Can effort of any kind be asked of one utterly disabled ? " Sudden fire leaped into her dark eyes, but she said with dignity: "Mr. Gregory, you disappoint me greatly. You assume a weakness-a disability-which does not and cannot exist under the circumstances. You made me promise, but now impose a new- condition-which I did not dream of at the time, and which now I can' not accept. You are asking more than you have a right to ask. However imperfect my efforts have been in your behalf, they were at least sincere and unselfish, and I was beginning to have a warm regard for you as a friend. -I tell you frankly that I am most anxious that we should remain friends as be- fore. If so, this kind of folly must cease now and 17* page: 394-395[View Page 394-395] 394 O)PENEaNG A CHESTNUT BUR-R. forever. I have no right to listen to such words at all, and would not but for your sake, and in the hope of removing from your mind a very mistaken and unworthy idea. You are entirely-wrong in thinking that your salvation depends solely upon me. It cannot-it ought not. It rests between you and God, and you cannot shift the responsibility. I am willing to do all you can ask of a sister, but no more. Do you think I have no needs, no weakness, myself? In a husband I want a man I can lean upon as well as help. I wish tdo marry one with higher moral character than I, to whom I can look up. There is the widest difference in the world between giving help, and even sincere affection to those who win it, and giving one's self away. Simple justice requires that my happiness and feelings be considered also. It is selfish in you to ask of me this useless sacrifice of myself." Annie's quick, passionate nature was getting the better of her. It seemed in a certain sense dis- loyalty to Hunting to have listened thus long to Gregory. Moreover, not believing in,- nor under. standing the latter's love for her, she- was indignant that he should seek to employ her as a sort of step- ping stone into heaven. She would despise the man who sought her merely to advance his earthly in- terests, and she was growing honestly angry at Greg- ory, who, it seemed, wanted her only as a guide and staff in his pilgrimage-justly angry, too, if she were right. Gregory became very pale as her words quivered PLEADING AOR LIFE AND LOVE. 39 in his heart like arrows, but in the consciousness of a true and unselfish love, he looked at her unfalter- ingly to the last, and said: " In justice to myself I might again urge that you misunderstand me. I asked for nothing now, only a hope for the future based on what I possibly might become. But'as you say, I now know I asked too much--more than I had a right to. You can never look up to me, and with a sadness you will never understand, I admit myself answered finally. But there is one imputation in your words that I cannot rest under. I solemnly assert before God and in the name of my mother, that my love for you is, as strong, pure, and unselfish as can exist in my half-wrecked nature." i" Oh dear," exclaimed Annie, in a tone of min- gled vexation and distress, "why has it all turned out so miserably! I'm so sorry, so very sorry; but in kindness, I must show you how hopeless it all is. I am the same as engaged to another." Gregory started violently. His despairing words were not quite despairing. But now a chill, like death, settled about his heart. He was well satis.. fied that she was one who would be true as steel to all such ties, and that no man who had learned to know her would ever prove inconstant. But, with a white face and firmly compressed lips, he still listened quietly. " I came out this morning hoping to tell you a little secret as I might confide in a brother, and I trusted that your friendship for me would prove page: 396-397[View Page 396-397] 396 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. strong enough to enable me to make you his friend also. I wanted you to stay a little longer, that you might meet him-and that I might reconcile you, and prepare the way for pleasant companionship in the future. I am expecting Charles Hunting now every-- "What is the matter? What do you mean by that look of horror? What have you against him, that you should show 'such deep hostility before, and now stare at me in almost terror?" But he only staggered against a tree for support. "Speak," cried she, passionately seizing his arm. "I will not endure the innuendo of your look and manner." "I will speak," he answered in sudden vehe- mence. "I've lost too much by him. Charles Hunt- ing is- But he stopped, clenched his hands, and seemed to make a desperate effort at self-control. She' heard him mutter as he turned away a few steps: "Stop! stop! All that is left you now is a little self-respect. Keep that-keep that." Annie misunderstood him, and thought he re- ferred to some slander that he had hesitated to utter against his enemy even in his anger and jealousy. With blazing eyes she said: "Let me complete the sentence for you. Charles Hunting is a Christian gentleman. You may well think twice before you speak one word against him in my presence." "Did I say one word against him?" he asked eagerly. PIEADING FOR LIFE AND LOVE. 397 "No, but you looked more than words can ex- press." {"I could not help that. Your revelation was sud. den, Miss Walton." "How could it be otherwise?" she asked indig. nantly. "The first evening of your arrival, when his name was mentioned your face grew as black as night, When I again sought to speak to you of him, you adjured me never to mention his name. You taxed my forbearance severely at that time. But I was in hopes you would become one that would render such enmity impossible." "I see it all now," he groaned, " the miserable fatality of it all. I must shut off the one way of escape, and then go forward By my own act, I must destroy my one chance. If I had only known this in time-and yet it's through my own act that I did not know. Your God is certainly one of justice. I'm punished now for all the past. But it seems a trifle cruel to show one heaven and then shut the -door in one's face. If I had only known!" "There," exclaimed Annie in the deepest dis- tress, " because of this little thing you fall back into your -old skepticism." "This ' little thing' is death to me," he said in a hard, bitter tone. "Oh no, I'm not at all skeptical. The 'argument from design,' the nature of the re- sult, are both too clear. I'm simply being dealt with according to law. Though perfectly sincere, you were entirely too lenient that Sunday evening when I told you what I was. My conscience was page: 398-399[View Page 398-399] C 398 OPENING A C1ZESTNUT BURR. right after all. I only wish that I had fallen from yonder roof the other night. I might then have made my exit decently.'" "( Mr. Gregory, you shock me," she said almost sternly. "You have no right to insult my faith in a merciful God by such words, and your believing him cruel and vindictive on this one bit pf your experi- ence is the sheerest egotism. It is the essence of selfishness to think everything wrong when one does not have one's own way." He only bowed his answer, then took a few steps out to the point of the hill and took a long, lingering look at the valley and his old home, sighed deeply, turned and said to her quietly: "Pethaps it is time for you to return to your father.' CHAPTER XXVIII; WHAT A LOVER COULD DO. WITHOUT a word they descended the hill. Gregory was very pale, and this, with a certain firmness about his mouth, were the only indications of feeling on his part. Otherwise, he was the same finished man of the world that he appeared when he came. Annie's face grew more and more troubled with every glance at him. " He is hardening into stone," she thought; and she was already reproaching herself for speaking so harshly. " I might have known," she thought, " that his rash, bitter words were only incoherent cries of pain and disappointment. " He perplexed her still more by saying at the foot of the hill in his old light tone: " See, Miss Walton, our' well meaning friend' has not been here to put up the bars, and we can take the shorter way through the orchard. I would- like to see them picking apples once more. By the way, you must say good-by for me to your old neighbor,- and tell him that out of respect for his first honest greeting, I'm going to fill his. pipe for the winter." But Annie's heart was too full to answer. 4" How familiar these mossy-trunked trees are! page: 400-401[View Page 400-401] O0 OPENIN G A CHESTNUT BURR. he continued, determined that there should be no awkward pauses, no traces to the eyes of others of what had occurred. "How often I've picked apples -from this one and that one-indeed from all. Good- by, old friends." "Do you never expect to come back to these old -friends,' and others that would be friends again?" she asked in low, trembling tones. "Mr. Gregory, you are cruel. You are saying-good-by as if it were a very ordinary matter." He did not trust himself to look at her, but he said firmly: "Miss Walton, in a few moments we shall be under the eyes of others, and perhaps I shall never have another chance to speak to you alone. Let me say a few plain, honest words before I go. I am not ashamed of my love for you, nor to -have it- known. I am glad there was man enough in me to love such a woman as you are. You are not one of those belles whowish to boast of their conquests. I merely wish to leave in a manner that will save you all embarrassing questions and surmises, and enable you to go back to your father as if nothing hnad happened. The best I can do is to maintain the outward semblance of a' gentleman with which I came. In regard to Charles Hunting-please listen patiently-I know that you will not believe any statements of mine. It is your nature to trust implicitly those you love. But since I have had time to think, even the little conscience I possess will not permit me to go away in silence in regard WHAT A LOYVER COULD DO, 401 tp him. 'Do not think my words inspired by jealousy. I have given you up. You are as unattainable by me as heaven. But that man is not worthy of you. Think well before you- - You are right," she interrupted hotly. "I will not believe anything against him whom I have known and loved for years. If sincere, you are mis- taken. But I entreat you, for my own sake as well as yours, never speak a word against him again. Because if you do, it will be hard for me to for- give you. If you place the slightest value on my good opinion and continued regard, you will not throw them away so uselessly. I do feel-I ever wish to feel, a deep and friendly interest in you, therefore speak for yourself, and I will listen with hon- est sympathy. Give me hope, if possible, that you will think better of all this folly--that you will Visit your old home and those who wish to be true friends -that you will give me a chance to make you better acquainted with one whom you now greatly wrong. Please give me something better than this parting promises to end in." He merely bowed and said: "I supposed it would be so. It is like you. As for myself-I do not know what my future will be, save that it will be full of pain. Rest assured of one thing, however. I can never be a common, vulgar sinner again, after having loved you. That would be sacrilege. Your memory will blend with that of my mother, and shine like a distant startin my long night. But you have no right to ask me to come here page: 402-403[View Page 402-403] 402 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. any more. Though you do not believe in'my love, it's a reality nevertheless, and I cannot inflict upon myself the unbearable pain of seeing you, yet hedged about with that which must ever keep me at a dis. tance. With- my.feelings, even my poor sense of honor forbids my seeking your presence. Can I visit you feigning friendship, while my heart is con- suming with love? Come, Miss Walton, we shall have our real leave-taking here, and our formal one at the house.. I 'don't think gratitude will ever fade out of my heart for all you have tried to do for me, wherever I am.- Even the 'selfish' Walter Gregory can honestly wish you happiness unalloyed. And you will have it, too, in spite of--well, in spite of everything, for your happiness is from within, not without. Give me your hand, and say good-by under the old mossy trees." Annie burst into tears and said: " I can't say good-by and have you leave us so, unhappy-so unbelieving. Mr. Gregory, will you never trust in God ? " " I fear not-not after what I know to-day. tie seems wronging you who are so true to Him, as well as me. You see I am honest with you, as I said I would be. Can you take the hand of such as I ? " She did take it in both of hers, and said with passionate earnestness: " Oh that I could save you from yourself by main force !i He was deeply moved but after a moment said gently, "That is like your warm heart. But you WHAT A LO2ER COULD DO. 4o03 cannot. Good-by, Annie Walton. Go on in yout brave, noble life to the end, and then heaven will be the better for your coming." "Will you forgive my harsh words?" "They were more true than harsh. They were forgiven when spoken." "Mr, Gregory," she cried, "I will not say fare- well as you say it. I have prayed for you, and so has your mother. I will still pray for you unceasingly. You cannot prevent it, and I will not doubt God's promise to hear." i I cannot share your faith. I am saying good- by in the saddest sense." He stooped and kissed her hand, and then said, firmly: "The end has come. We really part here. I leave you as I came." "Alas," she said, " the omen of the chestnut burr seems almost true. Your blood is upon my hand. I thought of it when you were on the roof, and it comes to me now again." "You are wrong," he replied decidedly. "The snow just fallen is not so white. Come." With eyes downcast and blinded with tears she accompanied him out of the deep shade to the far- ther side of the orchard nearest the house. Jeff was on a tall ladder that leaned against a heavily laden tree, and was just about to descend. "That's right," cried Gregory;" come down with your basket and give me a taste of those apples page: 404-405[View Page 404-405] by 404 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. They look the same as when I used to pick them sixteen years ago." Jeff obeyed with alacrity. Walter accompanied him a few steps away, and dropped a bank-note into the basket, saying: 'That's for the jolly wood-fires you made for me," and then turned quickly toward Annie to escape the profuse thanks impending. He had turned none too soon.. The boughs of the tree, relieved from the weight of the fruit, and Jeff's solid person, threw out the heavy ladder that had been placed too near a perpendicular position at first. It had trembled and wavered a moment, but was even now inclining over the very spot where Annie was standing. ' Miss Walton! " he cried with a look of horror; rushed toward her, and stood with head bent down between her and the falling ladder. She heard a rushing sound, and then with a heavy thud it struck him, glanced to one side, graz- ing her shoulder, and fell to the ground. He lay motionless beneath it. For a moment she gazed vacantly at him, too stunned to think or speak. But Jeff ran and lifted the ladder off Gregory, exclaiming: "Lor' bless him, Miss Annie, he jus' done save your life." She knelt at his side and took his- hand, but it seemed that of the dead. She moaned: "The omen's true. His blood is on me now--his WhAr XA LOVER COULD DO. 405 blood is on me now. He died for my sake, and I called him selfish." She took his head into her lap, and put her hand over his heart. She thought she felt a faint pulsation. In a moment'all trace of weakness vanished, and. her face became resolute and strong. "Jeff," she said, in clear-cut, decided tones, "go to the house, tell Hannah and Zibbie to come here; tell Hannah to bring brandy and a strong double blan- ket. Not a word of this to my father. Go, quick." Jeff ran, as he did once before when the blood- hounds were after him, saying under his breath all the way: "Lor' bless him. He save Miss Annie's life; he orter have her sure 'nuff." Annie was left alone with the unconscious man. She pushed his hair from his damp brow, and bend- ing down, impressed a tender, remorseful kiss upon it. "God forgive me that I called you selfish," she murmured. "Where is your spirit wandering that I cannot call it back? Oh, live, live; I can never be happy if you die. Can this be the end? God keep my faith from failing." Again she put her hand over his heart, whose love she could doubt no more. Did it beat, or was it only the excited throbbing of her own hand?" She tried to breathe her own breath into his parted lips. She chafed his hands with an energy that would have imparted warmth to marble; but he lay still and breathless page: 406-407[View Page 406-407] -- 406 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. Jeff now returned, and, with white, scared faces, the women soon followed. Annie tried- to give Gregory brandy, but he did not seem to swallow it. They then lifted him on the blanket and carried him to the house, and up the back stairway to his Xoom, so that Mr. Walton might not know. "Now, Jeff," whispered Annie, " harness the fast- est horse to the buggy, and bring the doctor-mind, bring him. Don't tell him to come. Hannah, tell Miss Eulie to come here-quietly now. Zibbie, bring hot water." Again she poured a teaspoonful of brandy into his mouth, and this time he seemed to swallow it. She bathed his face and hands with spirits, while her every breath was a prayer. Miss Eulie did not want a long explanation. Annie's hurried words, "A ladder fell on him," sat- isfied her, and she set to work, and more effectively with her riper experience. She took off his collar and opened his shirt at the throat, and soon, with a look of joy to Annie, said: "His heart beats distinctly." Again they gave him brandy, and this time he made a conscious effort to swallow it. With eyes aglow with excitement and hope they redoubled their exertions, Hannah and Zibbie help- ing, and at last they were rewarded by seeing their patient make a faint movement. Now w'th every, breath Annie silently sent the words heavenward," O God, I thank thee." She bent over him, and said in a low, thrilling WHAIT A LOVSR COU sD DO. -j tone, "Mr. Gregory." A happy smile came out upon his face, but this was the only response. "Do you think he is conscious?" she whispered to her aunt. "I hardly know. Let me give a little more stim- ulant." After receiving it he suddenly opened his eyes and looked fearfully around. Then he tried to rise, but fell back, and asked faintly: "Where is Miss Walton? Is she safe? I heard her voice." "You did. I'm here. Don't you know me? ' "Are you really here unhurt?" "Yes; yes," she answered eagerly; "thanks to you." Again he closed his eyes with a strange and quiet smile. "Can't you see me?" she asked. "There seems a blur before my eyes. It does not signify. I know your voice, so true and kind." "Why can't he see?" she asked, drawing her aunt aside. "I don't know. What I fear most are internal injuries. Did the ladder strike his head?." '0 merciful Heaven," said Annie, again in an agony of fear. "I don't know. Oh, if he should die- if he should die--" and she wrung her hands with terror at the thought. The doctor now stepped lightly in. Jeff had told him enough to excite the gravest apprehensions. He made a few inquliries and felt Gregory's pulse. page: 408-409[View Page 408-409] 408 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. "It's very feeble," he said. "More brandy." Then he said, "I must make such examination as I can now without disturbing him much. Miss Morton, you and Jeff stay and help me." Annie went down to her father with a greater anxiety as to the result of the examination than if the danger were her own. She found her father awake, and wondering at the sounds in the room above. "Annie," he said feebly, " what is going on in Mr. Gregory's room?" As she looked at him, she saw that he was not better, as she hoped, but that his face had a shrunken look, betokening the rapid failing of the vital forces. The poor girl felt that trouble was coming -like an avalanche, and in spite of herself she sat down, and burying her face in her father's bosom, sobbed aloud. But she soon realized the injury she might do him in thus giving way, and by a -great effort con- trolled herself so as to tell him in softened outlines of the accident. But the ashen hue deeped on the old man's face, as he said fervently: "God bless him, God bless him. He has saved my darling's life. What should I have done in these last days without you?" "But, father, don't you think he will get well?" she asked eagerly. "I hope so. I pray so, my child. But I know the ladder, and it is a heavy one. This is tine for faith ih God. We cannot see a hand's-breadth in the darkness before us, He has been very merciful to us WHAT A LOVER COULD DO. 409 thus far, very merciful, and no doubt has some -wise, good purpose in these trials and dangers. Just cling to Him, my child, and all will be well." "Oh, father, how you comfort me. We must just leave everything in His hands. But, father, you feel better, do you not?" "Yes, much better; not much pain now; and yet for some reason I feel that I shall soon be where pain never comes. How otherwise can I explain my almost mortal weakness?" Annie again hid her tearful eyes on the bedside. Her father placed his hand upon her bowed head and said: "It won't break your heart, my little girl, will it, to have your father go to heaven?" But she could not answer him. At last the doctor came down, and said: "His injuries are certainly serious, and may be more so than I can yet discover. The ladder grazed his head, inflicting some injury, and struck him on the shoulder, which is much bruised, and the collar-bone is badly broken. The whole system has received a tremendous shock, but I hope -that with good care he will pull through. But he must be kept very quiet in mind and body. And so must you, sir Now you know all, and have nothing to suspect. It's often injurious kindness to half hide something from the sick." "Well, doctor, do your very best by him, as if he were my own son. You know what a debt of grati- tude we owe him, Spare no expense. If he needs 18 page: 410-411[View Page 410-411] "O OPEArIArG A CHESTNUT BURR. anything, let it be sent for. If I were only up and around; but the Lord wills it otherwise." Annie followed the physician out and said: "You have told us the very worst then?" "Yes, Miss Walton, the very worst. Unless there are injuries that I cannot now detect I think he will get better. I will send a young man whom I can trust to take care of him. Rest assured I will do all that is possible, for I feel very grateful to this stranger for saving my much-esteemed little friend. I suppose you know we all think a great deal of you in our -neighborhood, and I shudder to think how near we came to a general mourning. You see he was nearer the base of the ladder than you, Jeff says. The ladder therefore would have struck you with greater force, and you would not have had a ghost of a chance. You ought to be very grateful, eh, Miss Annie?" he added, with a little sly fun in his face. But she shook her head sadly, and only said with deep- feeling: "I am very; very grateful." Then she added quickly, "What about father? ' The doctor's face changed instantly and became grave. "I don't quite .understand his case. He was threatened with pneumonia; but there seems no acute disease now, and yet he appears failing. The excitement and exposure of the other night was too much for him. You must make him take all the nourishment possible. Medicine is of no use." WA T ,4 LOVER COUOLD DO. 4I1 Agitated by conflicting fears and hopes Annie went to the kitchen to make something that might tempt her father's appetite. Blessed are the petty and distracting cares of the household, the homely duties of the sick-room. They divert the mind and break the force of the impending blow. If, when illness and death invade a house, the fearing and sorrowing ones had nought to do but sit down and watch the remorseless ap- proach of the destroyer, they might go mad. When Annie stole noiselessly back to Gregory's room he was sleeping, though his breathing seemed difficult. What a poor mockery the dinner-hour was! Even the children were oppressed by the general gloom and talked in whispers. But before it was over there came a bright ray of light to Annie in the form of a telegram from Hunting, saying that he had arrived in New York safely, and would be at the vil- lage on the 5 P M. train. "Oh, I am so glad," cried Annie; " never was he so needed before." And yet there was a remorseful twinge at her heart as she thought of Gregory. But she felt sure of reconciliation now, for would not Hunting ov, whelm her preserver with gratitude, and forgivr: everything in the past? She said to Jeff: "Have Dolly and the low buggy ready for me at half-past four." Her father seemed peculiarly glad when he heard page: 412-413[View Page 412-413] "2 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. that his relative and the man he hoped would soon be his son, was coming. "It's all turning out for the best," he said softly. The hour soon came, for it was already late, and Annie slipped away, leaving both her father and Gregory sleeping. To her great joy Hunting step- ped down from the train and was quickly seated by her side. As they drove away in the dusk he could not forbear a rapturous kiss and embrace, which she did not resist. "Oh, Charles, I'm so glad you've come-so very glad," she exclaimed almost breathlessly; "and I've so much to tell you that I hardly know where to commence. How good God is to send you to me now, just when I need you most." "So you find that you can't do without me alto- gether. That's grand news. How I've longed for this hour. If I'd had my own way I would have exploded the boilers in my haste to reach port to see you again. It was real good of you to come, and not send for me. Come, Annie, celebrate my return by the promise that you will soon make a home for me. I am happy to say that I can now give you the means of making it a princely one." "I haven't the time nor the heart to think about that now, Charles. Father is very ill. I'm exceed- in gly anxious about him." "Indeed," said Hunting, "that is bad news;" and yet his grief was not very deep, for he thought, "If she is left alone she will come to me at once." "What is more," cried Annie, a little hurt at the WHAT A -LO0VER- COULD DO. 413 quiet way in which he received her tidings, "sup. pose, instead of meeting me strong and well, you had found me a crushed and lifeless corpse to-night?" "Annie," he said, " what do you mean?" "I mean that this would have been true but for one with whom I am sorry you are on bad terms. Waltel Gregory is at our house." He gave a great start at the mention of this name, and even in the deep twilight his face seemed very white. "I don't understand," he almost gasped. "I knew you would be deeply affected," said the unsuspicious Annie. '"He stood between me and death to-day, and it may cost him his own life. He was severely injured-how badly, we can hardly tell yet;" and she rapidly told him all that had occurred. "And now Charles," she concluded, "no matter what he may have done, or how deeply he mai have wronged you, I'm sure you'll do every- thing in your power to effect a complete reconcilia- tion, and cement a lasting friendship. If possible, you must become his untiring nurse. How much you owe him!" She noticed that he was trembling. After a moment he asked, hesitatingly: "Has he-how long has he been here did you say?" "About three weeks. You know our place was his old home, and his father was a very dear friend of my father." "If I knew it I had forgotten it," he answered, page: 414-415[View Page 414-415] 414 OPEoItNG A CESTNUT BURXR. with a chill of fear growing deeper every moment, "Did he---has he said anything about our difficult ties?" "Nothing definite," said she, a little wonderingly -at Hunting's manner. "Father happened to men- tion your--name the first evening of his arrival, and the bitter enmity that came out upon his face quite startled me. You know well that I wouldn't hear a word against you. He once commenced saying something to your prejudice, but I stopped him and said I would neither listen to nor believe him-that he did not know you, and was entirely mistaken in his judgment. It was evident to us that Mr. Greg- ory Evas not a good man. Indeed, he made no pre- tence to beingsone; but "he has changed since, as you can well understand, or he could'nt have done what he did to-day. I told father that I thought the cause of your trouble arose from your trying to re- -strain him in some of his fast ways, but he thought it resulted from business relations." " You were both right," said Hunting slowly, as if he were feeling his way along. "He was inclined to be very dissipated, and I used to remonstrate with him; but the immediate cause was a business difficulty. He would have kept me out of a great deal of money if he could." His words were literally true, but they gave an utterly false impression. Annie was satisfied, how- ever. -It seemed a natural explanation, and she trusted Hunting implicitly. Indeed, with her nature love :corid scarcely exist without trust. WHMT A LO-VER COULD DO. 415 'That's all' past now," said Annie eagerly. , You surely will not let it weigh with you a moment. Indeed, Charles,'I shall expect you to do everything in youmrpower to make that man your friend." "Oh, certainly, I could not act otherwise," he said rather absently. He was scheming with desperate earnestness how to meet and avert the impend- ing dangers. Annie's frank and cordial reception showed him that he was safe as yet as far as she was concerned. But he knew her well enough'to feel sure that if she detected falsehood in him, his case would be nearly hopeless. He recognized -that he was walking on a mine that at any moment might be sprung. With his whole soul he loved Annie Walton, and it would be worse than death to lose her. The thought of her had made every gross temptation fall harmless at his feet, and even his insatiate love of wealth had been mingled with the dearer hope that it would eventually minister to her happiness. But he had lived so long in the atmo- sphere of Wall Street that his ideas of commercial integrity had become exceedingly blurred. When a questionable course opened by which he could make money, he could not resist the temptation. Hetried to satisfy himself that business required such action, and called his sharp practice by the fine names of skill, sagacity. But when on his visits to Annie, which of late, during the worst of his transactions, had been frequent rather than prolonged, he had a grow- ing sense of humiliation and fear. He saw that she could never be made to look upon his affair with Bur- page: 416-417[View Page 416-417] 4l6 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. nett & Co. as he regarded it, and that her father was the soul of commercial honor. Though Mr. Walton's fortune was not large, not a penny had come to him stained. He would go back to the city, resolved to quit everything illegitimate and become in his busi. ness and other relations just what he seemed to them. But Rome glittering temptation would assail him. He would make one more adroit shuffle of the cards, and then from being hollow, would become morally and religiously sound at once. Thus the devil dupes his victims. During his voyage home, there was time for thought. A severe gale, while lashing the sea into threatening waves, had also disturbed his guilty con- science. He had amassed sufficient to satisfy even his greed of gold for the present, and his calculating soul hinted that it was time he began to put away a little stock in heaven as well as earth. He resolved that he would withdraw from the whirlpool of Wall Street speculation and engage in only legitimate op- erations. Moreover, he began to long for the refuge and more quiet joys of home, and he felt, as did poor Gregory, that Annie of all others could do most to make him happy here and fit him for the future life. Therefore he had returned with the purpose of press- ing his suit for a speedy marriage as strongly as safe policy would permit. The bright October day of his arrival in New York seemed emblematic of his hopes and prospects, and now again the deepening night, the rising wind and wildly hurrying clouds but mirrored back himself WHAT A LOVER COULD DO 417 His safest and wisest course would have been to have made an honest confession to Annie of the wrong he had done Gregory. As his mind recov- ered from its first confusion this thought occurred to him. But he had already given her the impression ' that he had received, or rather that the wrong had been attempted against him. Moreover, by any truthful confession he would stand convicted of deceiving and swindling Burnett & Co. He justly feared that Annie would break with him the moment she learned this. So, as with all schemers, he tem- porized, and left his course open to be decided by circumstances rather than principle. His first course was to learn of Annie all that he could concerning Gregory and his visit, so that he might act in view of the fullest knowledge possible. She told him frankly what had occurred, as far as time permitted during their ride home. But of Gregory's love she did not speak, and was perplexed what to do. Loyalty to her lover seemed to require that he should know all, and yet she felt sure that Gregory would not wish her to speak of it, and she owed so much to him that she felt she could not do what 'was contrary to his wishes. But Hunt- ing well surmised that whether Annie knew it or not, Gregory could not have been in her society three weeks and go away an indifferent stranger. "Jeff can give me more light," he thought. Conscious of deceit himself, he distrusted every one, even crystal-souled Annie. IxS* page: 418-419[View Page 418-419] CHAPTER XXIX. DEEPENING SHADOWS. MR. WALTON- received Hunting as he might a son. Indeed, as such he looked upon the young man, and the thought of leaving Annie to his protection was an unspeakable comfort. Altogether his reception reassured Hunting, and proved that his relations were as yet undisturbed. But in the depths of his soul he trembled at the presence of Gregory in the house, and when Miss Eulie came down and said, after an affectionate greet- ing, that Gregory was in something like a stupor, he was even base enough to wish he might never come out of it. But at the word," stupor," Annie's face grew pale. She had a growing dissatisfaction with Hunting's manner in regard to Gregory, and felt that he did not feel or show the interest or gratitude he ought. But there was nothing tangible that-she could tax him with. But the doctor, who came early in the evening, reassured her, and said that the state of partial con- sciousness was not necessarily a dangerous symptom, as it might be merely the result of the severe shock. The young man he brought was installed as nurse DEEPENING SHADOWS. 4 g under Miss Eulie's charge, and Annie said that Mr, Hunting would also take his turn as watcher. Then she,- Mr. Hunting, and her father, had a long talk over what had happened in his absence. Mr. Walton dwelling most feelingly on what he regarded the providential character of the visit from the son of his old friend. "If he never leaves our house alive, I have a strong assurance that he will join his father in the better home. Indeed, I may soon be there with them." "Please don't talk so, father," pleaded Annie. "Well, my child, perhaps it's best I should, and prepare your minds for what may be near. It's a great consolation to see Hunting again, and he will help you bear whatever is God's will." "You can trust her to me," said Hunting fer- vently. "I have ample means to gratify her most extravagant wish, and my love will shelter her and think for her even as yours would. But I trust you will soon share our home with us." "I expect to, my children, but it will be our eternal home." Annie strove bravely to keep her tears back, for her father's sake, but they would come. "Annie," said Hunting, " won't you please let your father put this ring on your engagement fin. ger?" and he gave Mr. Walton a magnificent soli. taire diamond. Mr. Walton took his daughter's hand, and looked earnestly into her tearful, blushing face. page: 420-421[View Page 420-421] 420 Ot ENING A CHESTNUT BURR. "Annie," he said, in a grave, sweet tone, "I hope for your sake that I may be wrong, but I have a presentiment that my pilgrimage is nearly ended. You have made its last stage very happy. A good daughter makes a good wife, Mr. Hunting; and An- nie dear, I shall tell your mother that you supplied her place, as far as a daughter could. It will add greatly to my peace if I can leave you and my sister, and the dear little ones, under the care of one so competent to protect and provide for you all. Mr. Hunting, do you feel that you can take them to your home and heart, with my daughter?" "Certainly," said Hunting. "I had no other thought; and Annie's will shall be supreme in her future home." "But after all, the chief question is, does this ring join your hearts. I'm sure I'm right in thinking so, Annie?" "Yes," she said in a low tone. Slowly with his feeble, trembling hands he put the flashing gem on Annie's finger, and then placed her hand in Hunting's, and looking solemnly to heaven, said: "May God bless this betrothal as your father blesses it." Hunting stooped down and kissed her hand and then her lips. With mingled truth and policy, he said: ^ "This ceremony i more solemn and. binding to me than the one yet to conme at the altar." Annie was happy in her engagement. It was DEEPErNING SHAD OWa. 4 what she expected, and had been consummated in a way that seemed peculiarly sweet and sacred; and yet her thoughts, with a remorseful tinge, would keep recurring to the man who even then might be dying for her sake. After they had sat a little while in silence, which is often the best expression of deep feeling, she sud- denly said, with an involuntary sigh: "Poor -Mr. Gregory, I'm so sorry for him.'" Thus Hunting knew where her thoughts were, and instantly the purpose formed itself in his mind to induce her through her father to consent to an immediate marriage. He saw more plainly than Annie the great change in her father, and based his hope on the fact that the parent might naturally wish to give his child a legal protector before he passed away. Mr. Walton now showed such signs of weariness that they left him in Miss Eulie's care, who seemed to flit like a ministering spirit between the two patients. After the great excitement of the day, Annie, too, was very weary, and soon the household sought such rest as was possible with two of its inmates seemingly very near the boundaries that separate the known world from the unknown. Glimmering all night long, like signals of distress at sea, the faint lights of the watchers reminded late passers-by of the perilous nature of earthly voyaging. Annie had gone with Miss Eulie to take a part- ing look at Gregory. She bent over him and said, /40 page: 422-423[View Page 422-423] 422 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. "Mr. Gregory," but his spirit seemed to have sunk into such far depths that even her voice could not summon him. "Oh, if he should die now!" she moaned shud- deringly, and on the night of her engagement sobbed herself to sleep. The next morning saw little change in the pa- tients, save that Mr. Walton was evidently weaker. Miss Euhe said that Gregory had roused up dur. ing the night and seemed perfectly conscious. He had inquired after Mr. Walton and Annie, but to- ward morning had fallen into his old lethargy. After breakfast Annie took Hunting up to see him, but was pained to see her lover's face darken as he looked at the prostrate and unconscious man. She could not understand it. He seemed to have no wish to remain. She felt almost indignant, and yet what could she say more than she had? Greg- ory's condition, and the cause, should naturally plead for him beyond all words. Annie spent most of the day with her father, and purposed watching him that night. The doctor came and reported more favorably of Gregory, but said that everything depended upon his being quiet. Annie purposed that Hunting should commence the duties of watcher as soon as possible. Therefore she told her aunt to tell Gregory that Hunting had arrived, as soon as she thought it would answer. In the afternoon, Gregory seemed to come out of his lethargy more decidedly than he had before, and DEEPEN NG SHADOWS 4 423 took some nourishment with decided relish. Then he lay quietly looking at the fire. "Do you feel better now?"Miss Eulie asked gently. "I'm sure I don't know," he answered wearily. "I have a numb, strange feeling." "Would you like to see Miss Walton?" "Nlo, not now; I am satisfied to know she is well." ' "She wished me to tell you that Mr. Hunting had arrived." He turned away his face with a deep scowl, but said nothing. After some time she came to his side and said: s' Is there anything you would like?" "Nothing," he replied gently. "I appreciate your great kindness." Miss Eulie sighed and left the room, feeling dimly that there were internal injuries after all, but such as were beyond the doctor's skill. Annie echoed her sigh when she heard how he received Miss Eulie's information. She determined to prepare and take him his supper. When she noiselessly entered, he was again look- ing fixedly at the fire. But she had not advanced far into the room before he recognized her step and looked up quickly. "See," she said cheerily, coming to his side, "I've prepared and brought you this supper with my own hands, and shall expect in return that you comrn. pliment it highly.. Now, isn't it a good supper? she asked, holding it before him. page: 424-425[View Page 424-425] 424 OPENaNG A CHESTNUT BURR. But his eyes fastened on theglitteringand signify cant ring, whose meaning he too well understood. With an expression of intense pain he turned his face to the wall without a word. "Mr. Gregory," pleaded Annie," I never thought you would turn away from me." ' Not from you, not from you," he said-in a low tone; " but I'm very weak, and the light of that dia- mond is too strong for me yet." "Forgive me,"' she said, in a tone of deep reproach; "I did not think." "No, forgive me. Please leave me now, and remember in charity how weak I am." She put the tray down and hastened from the room. He ate no supper thatnight, neither did she. Hunting watched her gloomily, with both fear and jealousy at heart. But the latter was groundless, for Annie's feeling was only that of profound sorrow for something she could not help. But lack of strongly manifested interest and sympathy for Gregory injured him in her estimation; for woman-like she, uncon- sciously took the side of the one he wronged. She could understand Gregory's enmity, but it seemed to her that Hunting should be full of generous en- thusiasm for one who was suffering so much in her behalf. "Men are so strange," she said, half vexedly "they fall in love withiut the slightest provocation, and hate each other forever, when a woman would have sharp words and be over with it. They never do what you would naturally expect." DEEPEArING SHA DOWS. 4 During the day Hunting had found time to see fJ r alone, but found him inclined to be sullen and uncommunicative. Jeff had changed sides, and was now an ardent adherent of Gregory's, who- had given him five dollars without imposing any conditions; and then, what was of far greater itnport, had saved the house and Annie's life, and according to Jeffs simple views of equity, he ought to have both. And yet a certain rude element of honesty made him feel that he had made a bargain with Hunting, and that he must fulfill his part and then would. be quits. But he was not disposed to do it with very good grace. So when Hunting said : "Well, Jeff, I suppose you've seen a good deal since I was last here." "Yes, I'se seen a mighty lot," said Jeff, senten- tiously. "Well, Jeff, you remember our agreement. What did you see? -Only the truth now." "Sartin, sah, only de truf. I'se belong to de Wal- ton family, and youse doesn't get nothin' but de truf from dem." "All right, Jeff; I'm glad your employers have so good an influence on you. Well?" "I'se seen Misser Gregory on de roof," said Jeff' drawing on his imagination, as he only heard about that event through Zibbie's highly colored story, where some other folks wouldn't dar go, and now I'se see dat house dar, which I wouldn't see dar, wasn't it for Misser Gregory," , -i page: 426-427[View Page 426-427] 426 O'ENING A CHESTNUT BURR. "Well, well," said Hunting impatiently, "I've heard all about that. What else?" I'se seen Miss Annie roun' all day bloomin' and sweet as a rose, and I'se seen- how she might have been a crushed White lily," Jeff continued solemnly, with a rhetqrical wave of the hand. There existed in Jeff the raw material of a col- ored preacher, only it was very crude and undevel- oped. But upon any important occasion he always grew rhetorical and figurative in his language. "Come, come, Jeff, tell me something new." "Well," said Jeff, " since I'se promised to tell you, and since I'se spent de ten dollars, and hasn't got it to give you back again, I'se seen Misser Gregory las'Sunday evenin', a kneelin' afore Miss Annie as if he was a sayin' his prayers to her, and I shouldn't wonder if she heard 'em (with a chuckle); any how she wasn't lofty and scornful, and Misser Gregory he's looked kinder glorified ever since; afore that he looked glum, and Miss -Annie, she's been kinder bendin' toward iim since dat evenin', like a rose-bud wid de dew on it." Hunting's face darkened with suppressed anger and jealousy. After a moment he said: "Is that all?" "Dat's all." "Well, Jeff, here's ten dollars more, and look sharper than ever now." . ' " 'Scuse me, Misser Hunting. We'se squart now. I'se done what I agreed, and now I'se goin' out ob de business." DEEPENING SHADOWS. 42 427 "Has Gregory engaged your services?" asked Hunting quickly. " No, sah, he hab not. I reckon Misser Gregory tink he doesn't need any help." "Why won't you do as I wish then? " " Well, Mr. Hunting, it kinder makes me feel bad here," said Jeff, rubbing his hand indefinitely over several physical organs. "I don't jes' believe Miss Annie would like it, and after seein' Mr. Gregory under dat pesky ladder, I couldn't do nothin' dat he wouldn't like. If it hadn't been for him I'd sorter felt as if I'd killed Miss Annie by leavin' dat doggoned ladder so straight up, and I nebber could hab gone out in de dark agin all my life." "-Why, you old black fool," said Hunting irritably, don't you know I'm going to marry Miss Annie?- You'd better keep on the right side of me." "Which is de right side?" Jeff could not for- bear saying, with a suppressed chuckle. 't Come sir, no impudence. You won't serve me- any more then. ? " " Oh yes, Misser Hunting. I'se black yer boots, make de fire, harness de hoss, do any thing dat won't hult in here," with a gesture that seemed to indi- ,ate the pit of his stomach. " Anything more, please 'scuse me." " You will not speak of what has passed between us?" " I'se given my word," said Jeff, drawing himself- up, " de word, ob one dat belongs to de Waltons."' Hunting turned on his heel and strode away. page: 428-429[View Page 428-429] 428 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. Annie had given one version to the scene on that Sabbath evening, and Jeff had innocently given another. Hunting was not loyal enough even to such a woman as Annie to believe her implicity. But it is the curse of conscious- deceit to breed sus- picion. Only the true can have absolute faith in the truth of others. Moreover, Hunting, in his hidden selfishness and worldiness, could not understand Annie's ardent and Christ-like effort to save a fellow- creature froIn sin. Skilled in the subtle impulses of the heart, he believed that Annie, unconsciously even to herself, was drifting toward the man he-hated all the more because he had wronged him, and be- cause he now was under such great obligations to him, while the danger of his presence made him almost vindictive. Yet he realized the necessity of disguising his feelings, for if Annie discovered them he might well dread the consequences. But the idea of watching alone with Gregory was revolting. It suggested dark thoughts which he tried to put from him in horror, for he was far from being a hardened villain. He was only a man who had gradually formed the habit of acting from expe- diency and self-interest, instead of principle. But such a rule of life oft en places us where expediency and self-interest require deeds that are black with sin. But he was saved from the ordeal of spending hours alone with a man who- even in his helplessness might injure him beyond remedy, for on the follow- ing morning Annie again sought Gregory's room DNEEPENNG SHADOWS. 429 bent on securing reconciliation at once. She felt that she could endure this estrangement no longer. The young man employed as watcher was out at the time. Gregory was gazing at the fire with the same look of listless apathy. A deep flush overspread his deathly pale face as(e came and sat down be- -side hitn, but he did not turn from her. "Mr. Gregory," she said very gently, " it seems that I can do nothing but receive favors from you, and I've come now to ask a great one." He suspected something concerning Hunting, and his face darkened forbiddingly. Though Annie noted this, she would not be denied. "Do you think," she said earnestly, that after your sacrifice for me, I can ever cease to be your friend in the truest and strongest sense?" "Miss Walton," he said calmly, "I've made no sacrifice for you. The thought of that episode in the orchard is my one comfort while lying here, and -will be through what is left of life. But please do not speak of it, for it will become a pain to me if I see the obligation is a burden to you." "It is not," she said eagerly. "I'm glad to -owe my life to you. But do you think I can go on my way and forget you?" "It's the very best you can do, Miss Walton." "But I tell you it's impossible. Thank God, it s not my nature to do it." He turned toward her with a wistful, searching look. page: 430-431[View Page 430-431] 430 OPENINVG A CHESTNUT BURR. "We must carry out our- old agreement," con. tinued Annie. "We must- be close and lasting friends. You should not blame me for an attachment formed years ago." "I do not blame you." "Then you should not punish me so severely. You first make your friendship needful to me, and then deny it." "I am your friend, and more." "How can we enjoy a frank and happy friend- ship through coming years, after-after-7you feel differently from what you do now, when you will not even hear the name of him who will one day be my second self?" Again his face darkened; but she continued rapidly, "Mr. Hunting is deeply grateful to you, and would like to express his feelings in person. He wishes to bury the past- " "He will, with me, soon," interrupted Gregory gloomily. "No; please do not speak that way," she pleaded. "He wishes to make what little return he can, and offers to watch with you night and day." He turned upon her almost fiercely, and said: ' Are you too in league with my evil destiny, in that you continually persecute me with that man? Miss Walton, I half doubt whether you know what love means, or you would not make such a proposi- tion. Let me at least die quietly. With the mem- ory of the past and the knowledge of the present, his presence in my room would be death by torture. DEEPENING SHADO WS. 43 Pardon me, but let us end this matter once for all. We have both been unfortunate. You, in inspiring a love that you cannot return-I, in permitting my heart to go from me beyond recall, before learning that. my passion -would be hopeless. I do not see that either of us has been to blame--you certainly not in the slightest degree. "But, however vain, my love is an actual fact, and I cannot act as if it were not. As well might a man with a mortal wound smile and say it's but a scratch. I cannot merely change my mind in view of expedi- ency and invest- such feelings in another way. The fact of my love is now a past disaster, and I must bear the consequences with such fortitude as I can. But what you ask would drive me mad. If I should live, possibly in the future I might meet you often without the torturing regret I now feel. But to make a smiling member of Charles Hunting's friendly circle would require on my part the baldest hy. pocrisy; and I can't do it, and won't try. If, that man comes into my room, I will crawl out if I can." He was trembling with excitement, his face flushed and feverish, and his eyes unnaturally bright. "And you banish me, too," said Annie, hurt and alarmed at the same time. "Yes, yes, forgive me for saying so. Yes; till I'm stronger. See how I've spoken to you. I've no self-control." She was most reluctant to go, and stood a mo. page: 432-433[View Page 432-433] 432 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR.' ment, hesitatingly. Timidly she ventured to-quote the line: "Earth has no sorrows that Heaven cannot cure." "That's a comforting fact for those who are going there," he said coldly. With a sudden burst of passionate grief she stooped down and kissed his hand, then fled to her own room, and cried as if her heart would break. It seemed as if he were lost to her and heaven, and yet he was capable of being so noble and good. Miss Eulie entered Gregory's room soon after, and was alarmed at his feverish and excited appear- ance, and decided that Annie's visits must cease for the present. But she took no apparent notice of his disturbed condition, but immediately gave a remedy to ward off fever, and a strong opiate, which, with the reaction and his weakness, caused him to sink back into something like his old lethargy. Hunting had spent the morning with Mr. Walton, preparing his mind for the plan of -immediate mar- riage. He found the failing man not averse to the project, as his love sought to secure to Annie every help and solace possible. After Annie had removed from her face every trace of her emotion possible, she came down and took her place at her father's side, intending to leave it only when compelled. Hunting knew of her mis- sion to Gregory, and -looked at her inquiringly, but she sadly shook her head. He tried to look hurt, but succeeded in looking angry. He soon controlled DEEPENING SHADOWS. 433 himself, however, though he noted with deep uneasi. ness Annie's sad face and red eyes. Mr. Walton fortunately was dozing and needed no explanations. But that night he was much worse, and had some very serious symptoms. Annie never left his side. But toward morning he rallied and fell into a quiet sleep. Then Annie took a little rest. The next day7 she was told that there was a gen- tleman in -the parlor who wished to see her. The stranger proved to be one of Gregory's partners, Mr. Seymour, who courteously said: "I should have been here before, but the senior partner, Mr. Burnett, is unable to attend to business at present, and I came away the first moment I could leave. I felt sure also that everything would be done that could be. I hope the injury is not so serious as first supposed." "You may rest assured that we have tried to do everything," said Annie, gravely, "but Mr. Gregory is in a very precarious condition. You would like to see him, I suppose." , "If I can with safety to him." "I think a brief interview may do him good. He needs rallying." At that moment, Hunting, not knowing who was was present, entered. Both gentlemen started, but Mr. Seymour gave no other sign of recognition, nor did Hunting, though he could not at first hide a cer- tain degree of nervous agitation. Annie presented him. Mr. Seymour bowed stifly, and said rather curtly: page: 434-435[View Page 434-435] 434 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. "We have met before," and then gave him no further attention, but, continuing to address Annie, said: "I well understand that Mr. Gregory needs rallying. That has been just his need for the last few months, during which time his health has been steadily failing. I was in hopes he would come back--" and then he stopped, quite puzzled for a moment by the sudden change in Annie's manner, which had become freezingly cold toward him, while there was a look of honest indignation upon her face. "Excuse me, sir," she said briefly. "I will send you my aunt, who will attend upon your wishes," and she left Mr.- Seymour standing in the middle of the floor both confused and annoyed; but he at once sur- mised that it was on account of his manner toward Hunting, who sat down with a paper on the farther side of the room, as if he were alone. But when, a moment later, Miss Eulie entered with her placid, unruffled face, Mr. Seymour could not be otherwise than perfectly polite, and after a few words followed her to Gregory's room. Annie at once came to Hunting and asked: "Why did that man act so?" "Why, don't you see?" answered he hastily. "Mr. Seymour is Gregory's partner. They all have the same reason for feeling hostile toward me, though perhaps Gregory has special reasons," he added with a meanintg look. Annie blushed deeply at this allusion, but said X DE:EPENING SHADO WS. 435 with emphasis, "No man shall treat you that way in my presence and still receive courtesy from me." But his jealous spirit had noticed her quick blush more than her generous resentment of the insult she supposed offered him. Therefore he said: "Mr. Gregory would treat me worse if he got a chance." "But his case is different from any one's else," she said, with another quick flush. "Evidently so in your estimation." Then for the first time she noted his jealousy, and it hurt her sorely. She took a step nearer and looked very gravely into his face for a moment with- out speaking, and then said, with that calmness which is more effective than passion: "Charles, take care. I'm one that will be-trusted. Though it seems a light matter to you that he has saved my life, at perhaps the cost of his own, it does not to me." The cool and usually cautious man had for once lost his poise, and he said with sudden irritation: "I hear that and nothing else. What else could he have done? If you had staid at your father's side you would have been safe. He took you out to walk, and any man would have risked his life to have brought you back safely." Then for the first time he saw in Annie a spirit he could never control as he managed people in Wall Street, for, with a sudden blaze in her eyes, she said hotly; * page: 436-437[View Page 436-437] 436 OPrENING A CHESTNU' B URR. "I do not reason thus coldly about those to whom I owe so much," and abruptly left him. In bitterness of fear and self-reproach he at once realized his blunder. He followed her, but she was with her father, and he could not speak there. He looked imploringly at her, but could not catch her eye, for she was deeply incensed. Had she not heard him she would not have believed that he could be so ungenerous. He wrote on a scrap of paper: "Annie, forgive me. I humbly ask your pardon. I'm not myself to-day, and that man's conduct, which you so nobly resented in my behalf, vexed me to that degree that I acted like a fool. I am not, worthy of you, but you will perceive that my folly arises from my excess of love for you. I'm going for a walk. Please greet me with pardon inwyour face on my return." Impulsive, loving, warm-hearted Annie could not resist such an appeal. She at once relented, and commenced making a thousand better excuses for her lover than he could for himself. But she had taught him a lesson, and proved that she was not a weak, willowy creature that would cling to him no matter what he was or did. He saw that he must seem to be worthy of her. Gregory greeted his partner with a momentary glow of gratitude that:he had come so far to see him, and commenced talking about his business. "Not a word of that, old fellow," said Mr. Sey- mour. "Your business is to get well. It seems to DEEPENING SHADO WS. 4 me that you have everything here for comfort--good medical attendance, eh?" "Yes; if anything, too much is done for me." "I don't understand just how it happened." Gregory told him briefly. "By Jove, this Miss Walton ought to be very grateful to you." ( She is too grateful." "I don't know about that. I met that infernal Hunting down stairs. Of course I couldn't treat him with politeness, and do you know the little lady spunked up about it to that degree that she almost- turned her back upon'me and left the room." "Of course," said Gregory coolly, shielding his secret by a desperate effort; " they are engaged." "Oh, I understand now. Well, I rather like her spirit. Does she know how accomplished her lover is in Wall Street?" "No. Hunting is a distant relative of the family. They believe him to be a Christian gentleman, and would not listen to a word against him." "But they ought to know. He lied like a scoundrel to us, and in your trying to make up the losses all summer, he has nearly been- the death of you. Iowouldn'tJet my daughter marry him though he had enough money to break the Street and it seems a pity that a fine girl, as this Miss Walton seems, should throw herself away on him." "Well, Seymour, that's not our affair," said Gregory, pale and faint from his effort at self-con, trol. "They would listen to npthing." page: 438-439[View Page 438-439] 438 * OPENrNG A CHES TNUT BURR. "Well, good-by, old fellow. I see it won't do to talk with you any more. Get well as soon as you can, for we want you wofully in town. Get well, and carry off this Miss Walton yourself., It woulfd be a neat way of turning the tables on Hunting." "Don't slet your heart on seeing me at the office again," said Gregory, feelingly. "I have a presenti- ment that I won't pull through this, and I don't much care. Give my kindest regards to Mr. Bur- nett, and tell him I shall think of him to the last as among my best friends." Seymour made a few hearty remonstrances against such a state of mind, and took his departure with many misgivings. Gregory relapsed into his old dreary apathy. Life had so many certain ills that upon the whole he felt he would rather die. But he was too stu nned and weak to think much at all, save when Annie came to him. ' Her presence was always life, but now it was a sharp revival of the conscious- ness of his loss. Left to himself, his mind sank down into a sort of painless lethargy, from which he did not wish to be aroused. Mr. Walton passed a quieter night, but was clearly failing fast. He sent frequent messages of love and sympathy to Gregory, but seemed to have an abiding faith that all would be well with him in the next life, if not in this. Annie had not the heart to undeceive him-. When he thought it a little strange that Hunting was not with him, Annie ex, plained by saying that the doctor insisted on perfect quiet of mind, and the presence of Hunting might DEEPENING SHADOWS. 439 unpleasantly revive old memories, and- so unduly excite him. After the physician saw his patients the follow- ing morning, he looked grave and dissatisfied. An- nie followed him to the door, and said: a Doctor, I don't like the expression of your face." "Well, Miss Annie," said the doctor discontent- edly, "I've a difficult task on my hands, in trying to cure two patients that make no effort to live. Your father seems homesick for heaven, and mere drugs can't rouse Mr. Gregory out of his morbid, gloomy apathy. I could get him ashore if he would strike out'for himself, but he just floats down stream like driftwood. But really, I'm doing all that can be done, I think." "I believe you are," she said sadly. "Good by." "Oh, merciful God," she exclaimed when alone. "What shall I do---what shall I do to save him? Father's going to heaven and mother. Where is ke going?" page: 440-441[View Page 440-441] CHAPTER XXX. KEPT FROM THE EVIL. W^'ITH the light of the following day Annie gave up all hope of her father's recovery. He was sinking fast, and conscious himself that death was near. But his end was like a stately ship coming into harbor after a long, successful voyage. He looked death in the face with that calmness and dignity, that serene certainty that it was a change for the better, which Christian faith alone can inspire. His only solicitude was for those he was leaving, and yet he had no deep anxiety, for his strong faith com- mitted them trustingly to God. Annie tried to feel resigned, since it was God's will. But the tie that bound her to him was so ten- der, so interwoven with every fibre of her heart, that she shrank with inexpressible pain from its sunder- ing. She knew that she was not losing her father, that the worst,before them was but a brief separa- tion, but how could she, who had lived so many happy years at his side, endure even this? It seemed as if she could not let him go, and in the strong, passionate yearning of her heart, she was almost ready to leave youth, friends, lover and all, to go with him. KEPT FROM THE E VIL. 441 She was one who lived in her affections rather than surroundings. The latter would matter little to her could she keep her heart-treasures. It would have touched the coldest to see how she clung to him toward the last. All else was forgotten, even Gregory, who might be dying also. The instinct of nature was strong, and her father was first. Moreover, the relation between this parent and child was peculiarly close, for they were not only in perfect sympathy in views, character, and faith, but Annie had stepped to the side of the widowed man years before and sought successfully to fill the place of one who had reached home before him. Though so young she had been his companion and daily friend, interesting herself in that which interested him, and thus he was saved from that terrible loneli- ness which often breaks the heart even in the midst of a household. It was therefore with a love beyond words that his eyes rested most of the time on her and followed her every movement. She also had a vague and peculiar dread in looking forward to her bereavement. An anticipating sense of isolation and loneliness chilled her heart. Though she would not openly admit it to herself, Hunting had disappointed her since his return. She did not get from him the support and Christian sym- pathy she expected. She tried to excuse him, and charged herself with being too exacting, and yet the sense of something wanting pained her. She had hoped that in these dark days he would be serene and strong, and yet abounding in the terderest sym- IQ* page: 442-443[View Page 442-443] "2 OPENIZrG A CHESTNUT BURR. pathy. She had expected words of faith and conso. lation that would have sustained her spirit, fainting under a double and peculiar sorrow. She had felt sure that before this his just gratitude, like a torrent, would have overwhelmed and destroyed Gregory's enmity. But all had turned out so differently. In- stead of being a help, he had almost added to her burden by his hostile feeling toward her preserver, which he had not been wholly able to disguise. Such a feeling on his part seemed as unnatural as wrong. He professed himself ready to do anything she wished for Gregory, but it was in a half-hearted way, to oblige her, and not for the sake of the injured man. When she went to him for Christian consola- tion, his words, though well-chosen, lacked heartiness and the satisfying power of truth. Why this was so can be well understood. Hun't- ing could not give what he did not possess. Of necessity there would be a hollow -ring when he spoke of that he did not understand or feel. Dur- ing his brief visits, and in his carefully written letters, he could appear all she wished. He could honestly sh'ow his sincere love for her, and there was no special opportunity to show anything else. In her vivid, loving imagination she supplied all else, and she believed that when more together, or in affliction, he would reveal more distinctly his deeper and reli. gious nature, for such a nature he professed to have; and his letters, which could be written deliberately, abounded in Christian sentiment. Self-deceived, he KEPT FROM THE EVIL. 443 meant to be honestly religious, as soon as he could afford to give up his questionable speculations. But when a man least expects it the test and strain will come, that will clearly manifest the char- acter of his moral stamina. It had now come to Hunting, and though he strove with all the force and adroitness of a resolute will and a practised dissem- bler, he was not equal to the searching demands of those trying days, and steadily lost ground. The only thing that kept him up was his sincere love for An- nie. That was so apparent and honest that, loving him herself, she was able to forgive the rest. But it formed no small part of her sorrow at that dark time, that she must lower her lofty ideal of her lover. Hunting and Gregory seemed nearer together morally than she could have believed possible. Thus she already had the dread that she would not be able to "look up " to Hunting as she expected, and that it would be her mission to deepen and develop his reli- gious life instead of " leaning " upon it. It seemed strange to her as she thought of it during her long hours of watching, that after all she would have to do for Hunting something like-what poor Gregory had asked her to do for him. She prayerfully purposed to do it, for the idea of be- ing disloyal to her engagement never entered her mind. "Unless men have a Christian home, in which their religious life can be daily strengthened and fos- tered, they cannot be what they ought," she said to herself. "( In continued contact with the evil page: 444-445[View Page 444-445] "4 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. world, with nothing to counteract, it's not strange that they act and feel as they do.'" Thus she was more disposed to feel sorry for both Hunting and Gregory than to blame. And yet she looked upon the former very differently from the latter. She regarded Hunting as a true Chris- tian who simply needed warming and quickening into positive life, while she thought of Gregory only with fear and trembling.. Her hope for the latter were the prayers stored up in his behalf. But now upon this day that would ever be so painfully memorable she had, thoughts only for her father, and nothing could tempt her from his side. Hunting also saw that the crisis was approach- ing, and made but a formal semblance of a breakfast. He then entered the sick-room, and was thinking how best to broach the subject of immediate mar- riage, when a thumping of crutches was heard in the hall. Miss Eulie entered and said that Daddy Tuggar had managed to hobble over, and had set his heart upon seeing his old friend. "Certainly," said Mr. Walton; "he shall come illn at once." "Caution him to stay but a few minutes," warned Annie. Miss Eulie helped the old man in, and he sat down by Mr. Walton's side, with a world of trouble on his quaint, wrinkled face. But he said abruptly, as if he expected an KEPT FROM THE EVIL. 445 affirmative answer, "Yer gettin' better this mornin' -yer on the mend?". "Yes, my kind old neighbor," said Mr. Walton feebly. "I shall soon be well. It was kind of you, in your crippled state, to come over to see me." "Well, now," said Mr. Tuggar, greatly relieved, "there is use of prayin'. I ain't much of a hand at it; and didn't know how the Lord would take it from me; but when I heard you was sick, I began to feel like prayin', and when I heard you was gettin' wuss, I couldn't help prayin'. When I heard how that city chap as saved the house-(what an old fool I was to cuss him when he first came! The Lord knew what He was doin' when He brought him here)- when I heard how he kept the ladder from falling on Miss Annie, I prayed right out loud. My wife, she thought I was gettin' crazy. But I didn't care 'what anybody thought. I've been prayin' all night, and it seemed as if the Lord must hear me, and I kinder felt it in my bones that he had. So I expected to hear you say you was goin' to get well; and Mr. Gregory, he's better too. Ain't he?" There was no immediate answer. Neither Miss Eulie nor Annie seemed to know how to answer the old man at first. But Mr. Walton reached slowly out and took his neighbor's hand; saying: "Your prayers will be answered, my friend. :Honest prayer to God always- is. I shall be well soon, never to be old, feeble, and sick any more. I'm going where there's 'no more pain.' Perhaps I've seen my last night, for there is ' no night there."' page: 446-447[View Page 446-447] "6 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURRR. "But the Lord knows I didn't mean nothin' of that kind. We need you here, and He orter know it. What's the use of prayin' if you get just the opposite of what you pray for?" "Suppose the opposite is best. I'm an old man- a shock of corn fully- ripe. I'm ready to be gathered." "Are yer goin' to die?" asked thie old man in an awed whisper. "No, Mr. Tuggar; I've been growing old and fee. ble, I've been dying for a long time. Now I'm going to live-to be strong and well, forever and ever. So don't grieve, but rather rejoice with me." The old man sat musingly' a moment, and then said softly to himself,. "This is what the Scripter means when it tells about the ' death of the right- eous.' " "Yes," continued Mr. Walton, though more feebly, "and the Scripture is true. The dear Lord doesn't desert his people. He who has been my friend and helper so many years, now tells me that my sins, which are many, are all forgiven. It seems that I have also heard Him say, 'To-day thou shalt be with me in Paradise.'" Tears gathered in Daddy Tuggar's eyes, and he said brokenly, "The Lord knows-I've alers been a sort-of well-meanin'- man-but I couldn't talk that way--if I was where you be." "Mr. Tuggar," said Mr. Walton, "I'm too weak to say much more, but I want to ask you one ques. tion. You have read the Bible. Whom did the Lord Jesus come to save?" KEPT PROM THE EVIL Z47 "Sinners," was the prompt response. "Are you one?" "What else be I?" "Then, old neighbor, you are safe, if you will just receive him as your Saviour. If you were sure you were good enough and didn't need any Saviour, I should despair of you. But according to the Bible, you are just such as he came after. If you feel that you are a sinner, all you have to do is trust Him and do the best you can." "Is that all you did?" "All. I couldn't do anything more. And now, good-by, remember my last words-Whom did Jesus come to save " "Why He comne to save me," burst out the old- man, rising' up. "What a cussed old fool I was, not to see it afore? I was alers thinkin' he came after the good folks, and I felt that no matter how I tried I could not be good enough. Good-by, John Walton. If they are goin' to let sinners into heaven who are willin' to come any way the Lord will let 'em come, I'll be yer neighbor again 'fore long," and with his withered, bronzed visage working with an emotion that he did not seek to control, he wrung the dying man's hand, and hobbled out. But he pleaded with Miss Eulie to let him stay. "I want to see it out," he said, " for if grim death ain't goin' to get one square knock-down now, then he never had it. I want to see the victory. 'Pears to me that when the gates open the glory will shine out upon us all." page: 448-449[View Page 448-449] ".8 ".8 OPENING A CHESTNUT7 BURR. So she installed him in Mr. Walton's arnm-chair by the parlor fire, and made him thoroughly at home. "I'm a-waitin' by the side of the river," he said. "I wish I could go. over with him. 'Pears I'd feel sure they wouldn't turn me back then." "The Lord Jesus will go over the river with you,"-she said gently," and then they can't turn you back." "I hope so, I hope so,"' said this old child-like man, " for I'm a dreadful sinner." After this interview, which greatly fatigued him, Mr. Walton dozed for an hour, and then. brightened up so decidedly that Annie had faint'hopes that he was better. The children were brought to him, and he kissed and fondled them very tenderly. Then, in a way that would make a deep impression on their childish natures, he told them how-he was goin to see their father and mother, and would tell what good chil- dren they had been, and how they 'always meant to be good, and how all would be waiting for them in heaven. Thus the little ones received no grim and terri- ble impressions at that .death-bed, but rather mem- ories and hopes that in all their future would hold them back, like angel hands, from evil. Hunting now believed that the time for him to act had come. He-had told Jeff to have the horse and buggy ready so that he might 'send for the old pastor at once. He came to Annie's side, and taking her hand KEPT FR OlM THE E VIL 449 and her father's, thus seeming a link between them, said very gently, very tenderly: "Annie, your father has told me that it would be a great consolation to him to leave me in charge of you all-as his son, legally, and in the eyes of the world, as I feel I am in reality. I could then do everything for you, relieve you of every care, and protect with unquestioned right all the interests of the household. Again, the marriage tie, like that of our betrothal, consummated here at his side, would ever seem to us peculiarly tender and sacred. It will almost literally be a marriage made in heaven. I hope you will feel that you can grant this, your father's last wish." Annie felt a sudden and strong repugnance to the plan. In that hour of agonized parting she did not wish to think of marriage, even to one she loved. Her thoughts irrmediately recurred to Gregory, and she felt that such an act in his weak state might cause disastrous results. And yet if it were her father's wish-his last wish, how could she refuse him -how could she refuse him anything? The mar- riage day would eventually come. If by making this the day she could once more show her filial love and add to his dying peace, did she not owe him her first duty? The dying are omnipotent with us. Who can refuse their last requests? She looked inquiringly, but with tear-blinded eyes, at her father. "Yes, Annie," he said, answering her look, "it would be a great consolation to me, because I can page: 450-451[View Page 450-451] 4o0 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. see how it will be of much -advantage to you-more than you can now understand. It will enable Charles to step in at once as head of the household, and so you will be saved from many perplexities and details of business which would be very trying to you as you will feel. I want to save you and sister from all this, and you have no idea how much it will save your feelings, and add to your comfort, to -have one like Charles act for you, with such power as he would have as your husband. After seeing you all thus provided for, it seems to me that I could depart in perfect peace." "Dear father," said Annie tenderly, " how can I deny you anything! This seems to me no time for marriage, but since you wish it, your will shall be mine. It must be right or you would not ask it; and yet- " she did not finish the sentence but buried her face in her hands, weeping. "That's my noble Annie," Hunting exclaimed, with a glad exultation in his voice that he could not disguise; and hastening out, he told Jeff to bring the minister as speedily as possible. Miss Euhe was called, and acquiesced in her brother's opinion; and hovered around Annie in a tender flutter of maternal love. Hunting now felt that he was master of destiny, and in his heart bade defiance to, Gregory and all his fears. His elation and self-applause were great, for had he not snatched his prize out of the hand of death itself, and made events that would have awed and disheartened other men combine for his KEPT FROM THE EVIL. 451X good? He had schemed, planned, and overreached them all, though, in this case, for their interests as well as his own, he believed. While he would natu- rally wish the marriage to take place as soon as possible, his chief reason was to forestall any revela- tions which might come through Gregory, and this motive made his whole course, though seemingly dictated by the purest of feeling, a crafty trick. And yet, such was the complex nature of the man, that he honestly meant to fulfil all Mr. Walton's ex- pectations, and become Annie's loving shield from every care and trial, and a faithful guardian of the household. Nay, more, as soon as he was securely intrenched, with all his coveted possessions, he pur- posed that Annie should help him to be a true, good man-a Christian in reality. Well may the purest and strongest pray to be "kept from the evil of the world." It lurks where least suspected, and can plot its wrongs in the chamber of death, and on the threshold of heaven. Annie and her father might at least suppose them- selves safe now. Were they, with God's minister on his way to join truth with untruth-a pure-hearted maiden to a man from whom she would shrink the moment she came to know him? Not on the human side. They were safe only as God kept them. If Annie Walton had found herself married to a swin dler, hers would have been a life-long martyrdom. But unconsciously she drew momentarily nearer the edge of the precipice. Time was passing, and their venerable pastor would soon be present. Annie had page: 452-453[View Page 452-453] 452 OPENING A CHSrESTNUT BURR. welcomed hiln every day previously, as he came to take sweet counsel with her father rather than pre. pare him for death, but now she had a strange, secret dread of his coming. Her-father suddenly put his hand to his heart. "Have you pain there?" asked Annie. "It's gone," he replied after a moment. "They will soon be all past, Annie dear. How does Mr. Gregory seem now?" he asked of Miss Eulie. "Greatly depressed, I'm sorry to say," she an- swered. "He knows that you are no better, and it seems to distress him very much." "God bless him for saving my darling's life," he said fervently, " and He will bless him. I have a feeling that he will see brighter and better days. I can send him almost a father's love and blessing, for he now seems like a son to me. Say to him that H shall tell his father of his noble deeds. Be a sister to him, Annie. Carry on the good work you have so wisely commenced. May the friendship of the parents descend to the children. . And you, Charles, my son, will surely feel toward him as a brother, what- ever may have been the differences of the past." Innocent but deeply embarrassing words to both Hunting and Annie. Again Mr. Walton put his hand to his heart. Hunting left the room, for it was surely time for Jeff to return. With a gleam of exultant joy he' saw him driving toward the house with the white- haired minister at his side. He returned softly to the sick-room. Ka?T FOM THE YEIL. 45v Mr. Walton had just taken Annie's hands, and after a look of unutterable fondness, said: "Before I give you to another-while you are still my own little girl, let me thank you for having been to me all and more than a father could ask. How good God was to give me such a comfort in your mother's place!" "Dear father," was all that Annie could say. Even then the minister was entering the house. "I bless thee, my child," the father continued; then turning his eyes heavenward he reverently closed them in prayer, saying, "And God bless thee also, and keep thee from every evil." God answered hIm. His grasp on Annie's hand relaxed; without even a sigh he passed away. He was dead. Annie started up with a look of alarm, and saw the same expression on the faces of her aunt and, Hunting. They spoke to him--he did not answer. Hunting felt his pulse. Its throb had ceased forever. The chill of a great dread turned his own face like that of the dead. Miss Eulie put her hand on her brother's heart. It was at rest. Annie stood motionless with dilat- ing eyes watching them. But when her aunt canime toward her with streaming eyes she realized the truth and fell fainting to the floor. Just then the old minister crossed the threshold, but Hunting said to him almost savagely: "You are too late." page: 454-455[View Page 454-455] CHAPTER XXXI. "LiE, LIVE "--ANNIE'S APPEAL. ANNIE'S swoon was so prolonged that both her Aunt and Hunting were quite alarmed. It was the reaction from the deep and peculiar excite- ments of the last few days. Every power of mind and body had been under the severest strain, and nature now gave way. The doctor, when he came to make his morning call, was most welcome. He said there was nothing alarming about Miss Walton's symptoms, but added very decisively that she would need rest and quiet of mind for a long time in order to regain her for- mer tone and health. When Annie revived he gave something that would tend to quiet her nervous system and produce sleep., "I now understand Mr. Walton's case," he said' to Miss Eulie. "I could not see why his severe cold, which we had apparently cured, should result as it did; but now it's plain that it was complicated with heart difficulties." His visit to Gregory was not at all satisfactory, for his patient's depression was so great that he was sinking under it. Mr. Walton's death, leaving Annie defenceless, as it were, in the hands of a man "IVE:, LZkE'"-ANNIX'S APPEAL. 455 like Hunting, seemed another of the dark and cruel mysteries which to him made up human life. The death that had given Daddy Tuggar such an impulse toward faith and hope, only led him to say with intense bitterness: ' God has forgotten his world, and the devil rules it." "Mr. Gregory," said the physician gravely, "do you know that you are about the same as taking your own life? All the doctors in the world cannot help you unless you try to live. Drugs cannot remove your apathy and morbid depression." "Very well, doctor," he replied coldly; " do not trouble yourself to come any more. I absolve you of all blame." "But I cannot absolve myself. Besides, it's not manly to give up in this style." . "I make no pretence to being manly or anything else. I am just what you see. Can a broken reed stand up like a sturdy oak? Can such a thing as I reverse fate? Thank you, doctor, for all you have done, but waste no more time upon me. I knew, weeks ago, that the end was near, and would like to die in the old place." The doctor looked at him a moment in deep per- plexity, and then silently left the room. "Internal injuries that I can't get at," he mut- tered as he drove away. Miss Eulie came to Gregory's side, and laying her hand gently on his brow said, "You are mistaken, my young friend. You are going to live." page: 456-457[View Page 456-457] 455 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. Whly do you thinik so?" he asked. "The dying often have almost prophetic vision," and she told him all that Mr. Walton had said though nothing of the contemplated marriage. She dwelt with special emphasis on the facts that he had told Annie to be a sister to Gregory and had gone to heaven with the assurance to his old friend that his son would join him there. Gregory was strongly moved, and turning his face upon the pillow, gave way to a passion of tears; but they were despairing, bitter, regretful tears. He soon seemed ashamed of them, and when he again turned his face toward Miss Eulie, it had a hard, stony look. With almost sternness he said, "If the dying have supernatural insight, why could not Mr. Walton see what kind of a man Hunting is? Please leave me now. I know how kind and well-meant your words are, but they are mockery to me," and he turned his face to the wall. Miss Eulie sighed very deeply, but felt that his case was beyond her skill. Daddy Tuggar was at first grievously disap- pointed. He had wrought himself up into the hope of a celestial scene, and the abrupt and quiet termina- tion of Mr. Walton's life seemed inadequate to the occasion. But Miss Eulie comfo/rted him by saying that "the Christian walked by faith, and not by sight-that God knew what was best, better than we his little children." "Death had not even the power to cause him a "VE, LIVE"-ANNIE'S APPEAL, 457 moment's pain," sahe said. "God gave him a sweet surprise, by letting him in the gates before he was aware." X Thus she led the strange old man to think it was for the best after all. The Rev. Mr. Ames, who had come otl such a different mission, also tried to make clearer what Mr. Walton had said to him. But Daddy Tuggar would not permit his mind to wander a moment from the simple truth, which he kept say- ing over and over to himself: "I'm a dreadful sinner, and the good Lord come after just such." Another thing that greatly perplexed the old man was that Mr. Walton had not been permitted to live long- enough to see his daughter married. As an old neighbor, and because of his strong attach- ment to Annie, he had been invited with the rest of the family to be present. "'Pears to me that the Lord might have spared him a few minutes longer," he said. . "It appears to you so," replied Mr. Ames, " but the Lord knows why he did not." "Well, parson," said Daddy Tuggar, "I thank you very kindly for what you have said, but John Walton has done the business for me. I'm just goin' to trust-I'm just goin' to let myself go limber and fall- right down on the Lord Jesus' word. I don't believe it will break with me. Anyhow, it's all I can do, and John Walton told me to do it, and I alers found he was about right." And thus late in 20 y-" page: 458-459[View Page 458-459] 458 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. the twilight of life the old man took his pilgrim's staff and started homeward. As soon as Hunting recovered from his bitter disappointment and almost superstitious alarm at the sudden thwarting of his purpose, his wily and scheming mind fell to work on a new combination. If he still could induce Annie to-be married almost immediately, as he greatly hoped, all would be well. If not, then he would assume that they were the same as married, and at once take his place as far as possible at the head of the household, as Mr. Walton had designed. 'On one hand, by tender care and thoughtfulness for them all, he would place Annie under the deepest obligation; on the other, he would gain, to the extent he could, control of her affairs and property. In the latter purpose Mr. Walton had greatly aided by naming him one of the executors of his will, and Miss Eulie, his sister-in-law, only was united with him as executrix. Thus he would substantially have his own way. Indeed, Mr. Walton, in his perfect trust, meant that he should. Having seen Annie quietly sleeping, he started for New York to make'arrangements for the funeral, and look after some personal matters that had already been neglected too long. His feelings on the journey were not enviable. He had enough faith to fear God, but not to trust and obey. The thought recurred with disheartening frequency, "If God is against this, He will thwart me every time." The day had closed in thick darkness and a "VE, LIVE"-ANNIE'S APPEAL. /459 storm before Annie awoke from the deep sleep which the sedative had prolonged. Though weak and lan- guid, she insisted on getting up. Her aunt almost forced her. to take a little supper, and then she went instinctively and naturally to that room that had always been a place of refuge, but which now was the chamber of death. She turned up the light that she might look at the dear, dear face. How calm and noble it was in its deep repose. It did not suggest death--only peaceful sleep. With a passionate burst of sorrow she moaned, "Oh, father, let me sleep beside you, and be at rest." Then she took his cold hand, and sat down me- chanically to watch, as in the day and nights- just passed. But as she became composed and thought grew busy, the deep peace of the sleeper seemed im- parted to her. In vivid imagination she followed him to the home and greetings that he had so joy- ously anticipated. She saw him meet her mother and sister, and other loved ones who had gone before. She saw him at his Saviour's feet, blessed and crowned. She heard the wild storm raging without in the darkness, and then thought-of his words, "There is no night there." "Dear father," she murmured, "I would not call you back if I could. God give me patience to come to you in His own appointed way." Then she dwelt upon the strange events of the day. -Iow near she had come to being a wife. Why had she not? Some curious thoughts flitted through page: 460-461[View Page 460-461] "o OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. her mind that the marriage should have been so suddenly' and unexpectedly prevented on the very eve of consummation. "It is enough to know that it was God's will,"' she said, " and my future is still in His hands. Poor Charles, it will be a disappointment to him; and yet what difference will a few weeks or months make?" Then her father's words, "Be a sister to Greg- ory," recurred to her, and she reproached herself that she had so long forgotten him. "'Father is safe home," she said, "and I am leaving him to wander farther and farther away. Fa- ther told me to Se a sister to him, and I will t When he gets well and strong, if he ever does, he will feel very differently; and if he is to die (which God for- bid), what more sacred duty can I have than to plead with him and for him to the last?" Pressing a kiss on her father's silent lips, she went to fulfil one of their last requests. She first asked her aunt if it would be prudent to visit Gregory. "I hardly know, Annie, what to say," said Miss Eulie in deep perplexity; and she told her of what had occurred between Gregory, the doctor, and her- self, omitting his words in regard to Hunting. "If he is not roused out of his gloom and apathy, I fear he will die," concluded her aunt; ' and-if you can't rouse him, I don't know who caB." Annie gave her a quick, questioning glance. SYes, Annie, I understand," she said quietly, 'He received his worst injury before the ladder fell." "Oh, auntie, what shall I do?" * t "VE, LIVE "-ANNIE'S APPEAL. 461 "Indeed, my dear child, I can hardly tell you, You are placed in a difficult and delicate position. Perhaps your father's words were wisest, ' Be a sis- ter to him.' At any rate, you have more power with him than any one else, and you owe it to him to do all you can to save him." "I am ready to do anything, auntie, for it seems I could never be happy if he should die an unbe- liever." Annie stole noiselessly to Gregory's side, and motioned to the young man who was in charge to withdraw to the next room. . Gregory was still aslee)p. She sat down by his side. She was greatly shocked/ to see how emaciated and pale he- was. It would seem that he had suffered from an illness of weeks rather than days. "He will die," she murmured, with all her old terror at the thought returning. "He will die, and ,for me. Though innocent, I will always feel that his blood is upon me." And she buried her face in her hands, and her whole frame shook with a passion of grief, Her emotion awoke him, and he recognized with something like awe the bowed head at his side. Her grief for her father, as he supposed, seemed such a sacred thing. And yet he could not bear to see her intense sorrow. His heart ached to comfort her, but what words of consolation could such as he offer? Still had she not come to him as if for comfort? This thought touched him deeply, and he almost cursed his unbelieving soul that made him dumb at page: 462-463[View Page 462-463] "2 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. such a time. What could he say but miserable commonplaces in regard to a bereavement like hers? He did not say anything, but merely reached out his hand and gently stroked her bowed head. Then she knew he was awake, and she took his hand and bowed her head upon it. "Miss Walton," he said, in a husky 'voice, "it cuts me to the heart to see you grieve so. But alas, I do not know how to comfort, you, and I can't say trite words which mean nothing. After losing s'ach a father as yours, what can any one say?" She raised her head and said impetuously, "It's not for father I am grieving. He is in heaven-he is not lost to me. It's for you--you. You are break. ing my heart." "Miss Walton," he began, in much surprise, "I don't understand-" "Why don't you understand?" she interrupted. "What do you think I am made of? Do you think that you can lie here and die for me and I go serenely on? Do you not see that you would blight the life you have saved?" His apathy was gone now. But he was bewil- dered, so sudden and overpowering was her emotion. He only found words to say: "Miss Walton, God knows I am yours, body and soul. What can I do?" '"Live-live," she continued, with the same pas" sionate earnestness. "I impose no conditions, I ask nothing else. Only get well and strong again. If you will do this, I have such confidence in your bete "VE, LazE '-ANNIJ S APPEAL. 463 ter nature, and the many prayers laid up for you, to feel sure that all will come out right. But if you will just lie here and die, you will imbitter my life. What did the doctor tell you this morning? And yet I will feel that I am partly the cause. Oh, Mr. Gregory, you may think me foolish, but that strange little omen of the chestnut burr is in my mind so often. I never was superstitious before, but it haunts me. Don't you remember how you stained my hand with your blood? I can't get it out of my mind, and it has for me now a strange significance. If I had to remember through coming years that you died for me all hopeless and unbelieving, do you think so. poorly of me as to imagine I could be happy? Why can't you be generous enough tc -brighten the life you have saved? Among my fa. ther's last words he said I must be a sister to you How can I if you die? You would make this deas old place, that we both love, full of terrible mem- ories." He was deeply moved, and after a moment said ( I did not know that you felt in this way. I thought the best thing that I could do was to get out of the world and out of the way. I thought I knew you, but I do not half understand your large, generous heart. For your sake I will try to get well, nor will I impose any conditions whatever. But pardon me: I am going to ask one thing, which you can grant or not as you choose. Please do not wrong me by thinking that I have any personal end in view. I have given all that up as truly as if I were dead. I page: 464-465[View Page 464-465] "4 OPENINGA CHESTNUT BURR. ask that you do not speedily marry Charles Hunting --not till you are sure you know him." "Oh dear," exclaimed Annie in real distress, 'this dreadfui quarrel! What trouble it makes all around!" "If your father," continued Gregory with grave earnestness, " told you to be a sister to me, then I have some right to act as a brother toward you. But as an honest man, with all my faults, and with your interests nearest my heart, I entreat you to heed my request. Nay, more: I am going to seem ungenerous, and refer for the first and last time to the obligation you are under to me. By all the influence I gained by that act, I beg of you to hesi- tate before you marry Charles Hunting. Believe me, I would not lay a- straw in the way of your marry- ing a good man." "Your words pain me more than I can. tell you," said Annie sadly. "I do not understand them. Once they would have angered me. But, however mistaken you are, I cannot do injustice to your motive. "I -do not see how your request can injure Charles," she continued musingly. "I have no wish to marry now for a long time--not till these sad scenes have faded somewhat from memory. If-you will only promise to live, I will not marry him till you get strong and well--till you can look upon this matter as a man---as a brother ought. But your hostility mlust not be unreasonable or implaca4 ble. I know you do Mr. Hunting great injustice I LIVE, LIVE "- ANNIE'S APPEAL. 465 And yet such is my solicitude for you that I will do what almost seems to me disloyal. But I know, that I owe a great deal to you as well as Charles." "What I ask is for your sake, not mine. I only used the obligation as a motive." "Well," said Annie, "I yield; and surely a sis. ter could not do more than I have to-night." "And I have simply done my duty," he answered quietly. "And yet I thank you truly You also may see the time when you will thank me more than when I interposed my worthless person between you and danger." "Please never call yourself ' worthless' to me again. We never did agree, and I fear we will be gray before we do. But mark this: I am never going to give you up, whatever happens. I shall obey dear father's last words both from duty and inclination. But let us end this painful conversation. What have you eaten to-day?" - "I'm sure I don't know," he said. "Will you eat something'if I bring it?" "I will do anything you ask." "Now you give me hope," and she vanished, sending the regular watcher back to his post. Gregory found it no difficult task to eat the dainty little supper she brought. She had broken the malign spell he was under. As we have seen, his was a physical nature peculiarly subject to men, tal conditions. Soon after she said, in a low tone meant only for his ear, ( Good night, my poor suffering brother. o20 page: 466-467[View Page 466-467] "6 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. We all three will understand each other better in God's good- time." "I hope so," he said, with a different meaning. "You have made me feel that I am not alone and uncared for in the world, though I cannot call you sister yet. Good night." Annie went back to her father's side, and remained till her aunt almost forced her away. -It is not necessary to dwell on the events of the next few days. Such is our earthly lot, nearly all can foresee them by recalling their own sad experience: the hushed and solemn household, even the chil- dren speaking low and treading softly, as if they might awake one- whom only " the last trump " could arouse. John Walton's funeral was no formal pageant, but an occasion of sincere and general mourning. Even those whose lives and character were the opposite of : his, had the profoundest respect for him, and the en- tire community united in honoring his memory, Perhaps the most painful time of all to the strick- en family was the evening after their slow, dreary, ride to the village cemetery. Then, as not before, they realized their loss. Annie felt that her best solace would be in trying to cheer others. She had seen Gregory but seldom and briefly since her last interview, but had been greatly comforted by his decided change -for the better. He had kept his word. Indeed, it was only the leaden hand of despondency that kept him down, and he rallied from the moment it was lifted. "VE, LIVE "-ANNIE'S APPEAL, 467 This evening he was dressed and sitting by the fire. As she entered, in her deep mourning, his look was so wistful and kind, so eloquent with sympathy, that instead of cheering him, as she intended, she sat down on a -low ottoman, and burying her face in her hands, cried as if her heart would break. "Oh that I knew how to comfort you!" said Gregory in the deepest distress. "I cannot bear to. see you suffer." He rose with difficulty and came to her side, saying, "What can I do, Miss Walton? Would that I could prevent you from ever shedding another tear at any cost to myself!" His sympathy was so true and strong, that it was a luxury for her to receive it ; and she had kept up so long, that tears were nature's own relief. At last he said timidly, hesitatingly, as if ventur- ing on forbidden ground, "I think the Bible says that in heaven all tears will be wiped away. Your father is surely there." "Would that I were there with him," she sobbed. "Not yet, Annie, not yet,"' he said gently. "Think how dark this world would be to more than one if you were not in it." "But will you never seek this dear home of rest?" she asked. "The way of life is closed to me," le said sadly: "Oh, Mr. Gregory! Who is it that says,' I amn the way'?" "But he says to me, ' Depart.'" "And yet I, knowing all--I, a weak, sinful creature page: 468-469[View Page 468-469] "8 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. like yourself, say, Come, to Him. I am better and kinder than He who died for us all! What strange, sad logic. Good night, Walter. You will not always so wrong your best Friend." Gregory's despairing conviction that his day of mercy was past was hardly proof against her words and manner, but he was in thick darkness and saw no way out. Annie went down to her aunt and Hunting in the parlor. - "Why will Mr. Gregory be so hard and unbelieving?" she said tearfully. "If you knew him as well as I do you would un- derstand," said Hunting politicly, and then changed the conversation. He was consumed by a jealousy which he dared not show. Annie's manner toward him was all he could ask, and he felt sure of her now. But it was the future he dreaded. He felt sure that Gregory had formed an attachment for Annie, whether she knew it or not; and unless he could secure her by marriage, his enemy might find means of tearing off his mask. With desperate earnestness he resolved to press his suit. His course since Mr. Walton's death had been such as to win Annie's sincerest gratitude. When action rather than moral support was required, he was strong, and no one could be more delicately thoughtful of her feelings and kind to'all than he had been. "Dear Charles," said Annie' when they were alone. "What would I have done without you in "LIVE, LIVE '-ANNIE'S APPEAL. 469 all these dreary days! How you have saved me from all painful contact with the world!" ' And so I ever wish to shield you," said Hunt. ing. "Will you not, as your father purposed, give me the right at once?" "4 You have the right, Charles. I ask no more than you have done and are doing. But do not urge marriage now. I yielded then for father's sake, not my own. My heart is too sore and crushed to think of it now. After all, what difference can a few months make to you? Be generous. Give me a respite, and I will make you a better wife and a happier home." "But it looks, Annie, as if you could not trust me," he said gloomily. "No, Charles," she said gravely, " it looks rather as if you distrusted me; and you must learn to trust me implicitly. Both out of love for you as well as justice to myself I exercise my woman's right of naming the day. In the mean time I give you my perfect confidence. No words of others-nothing but your -own acts, can disturb it, and of this I have no fear." He did not seek to disguise his deep disappoint- ment. While she felt sorry for him, she remained firm, and he felt that it would not be wise to urge her. Annie was not one to carelessly give pain to any, much less to those she loved. And yet her mind was strong and well-balanced. She knew it was no great misfortune to Hunting to wait a few fionths page: 470-471[View Page 470-471] 470 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. when her own feelings and the duty she owed another required it. "When Gregory gets strong and well and back to business," she thought, " he will wonder at himself. I have no right to almost destroy himn now in his weakness by doing that which can be done better at another time and indeed, for my own sake, I should have required delay." The next day Hunting was reluctantly compelled to go to the city. Somewhat to Annie's surprise, Gregory made no effort to secure her society. In her frank, sisterly regard she was slow in understand- ing that her presence caused regretful pain to him. But he seemed resolutely bent upon getting well, and was gaining rapidly. He walked out a little while during the middle of the day, and her eyes fol- lowed him wistfully as he moved slowly and feebly along the garden walk. She saw, with quickly start- ing tears, that he went to the rustic seat by the brook where they had spent that memorable Sun. day afternoon, and that he stood in long, deep thought. When he came back she offered to read for him. "Not now-not yet," he said sadly. "I know my weakness, and would be true to my word." "Why do you shun me so?" she asked. "May you never understand from experience," he said, with a smile that was sadder than tears, and passed on up to his room. And yet, though he did not know it, his course was the best policy, for it awakened stronger respect and sympathy on her part. WLIVE, LzVE "--ANN4IE'S APPEAL. 471 The next- morning ushered in the first of the dreamy Indian-summer days, when nature, as if grieved over the havoc of the frost, would hide the dismantled trees and dead flowers by a purple haze, and seek, as do fading beauties, to disguise the ravages of time by drawing over her withered face a deceptive vail. Gregory felt so much better that he thought he could venture to make a parting call on Daddy Tug- gar. He found the old man smoking on his porch, and his reception was as warm and demonstrative as his first had been, a month ago, though of a different nature. Gregory lighted a cigar and sat down beside him. "I'm wonderful glad to see you," said Mr. Tug- gar. "To think that I should have cussed you, when it was the good Lord that brought you here?" "Do you think so?" asked Gregory. "Certain I do. Would that house be there? Wouldn't all our hearts be broke for Miss Annie if it wasn't for you?" Gregory felt that his heart was " broke " for her as it was, but he said: "It was my taking her out to walk that caused her danger. So you wouldn't have lost- her if I had not come." "' You didn't knowinly git her in danger, and you did knowinly git her out, and that's enough for me,' said the old man. "Well, well, Mr. Tuggar, if I had broken my page: 472-473[View Page 472-473] 472 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. neck it would have -been a little thing compared with saving the life of such a woman as Miss Wal. ton. Still, I fear the Lord has not much to do with me." "And have you been all this time with John Walton and Miss Annie and still feel that way?" "It's not their fault." "I believe that. Are you willing to say you are a great sinner?" "Of course. What else am I?" ' "That's it-that's it," cried the old man delight- edly. "Now you're all right. That's just where I was. When John Walton bid me good-by, he asked one question that let more light into my thick head than all the readin' and preachin' and prayin' I ever heard. He asked, ' Whom did Jesus Christ come to save? ' Answer that." ' The Bible says he came to save sinners," re- plied Gregory, now deeply interested. "Well, I should think that meant you and me," said Mr. Tuggar emphatically. "Anyhow, I know it means me. John Walton told me that all I had-to do was to just trust the Saviour-not of good peo- ple-but of sinners, and do the best I could; and I've just done it, and I'm all right Mr. Gregory, I'm all right. I don't know whether I can stop swearin', but I'm a-tryin'. I don't know whether I can ever get under my old ugly temper, but I'm a-tryin' and a-prayin'. But whether I can or not, I'm all right, for the good Lord came to save sinners; and if that -don't mean me, what's the use of words?" "V, LIV VE "--ANNIE' S APPEL. 473 "But can you trust Him?" asked Gregory. "Certain I can. Wasn't John Walton an honest man? Wasn't Jesus Christ honest? Didn't he know what He come for?" ,' Admitting that He came to save sinners, how can you be sure He will save all? He might save you, and not me." "Well," said Mr. Tuggar, "I hadn't been home long afore that question come up to me, and I thought on it a long time. I smoked well-nigh a hundred pipes on it afore I got it settled, but 'tis settled, and when I settle a thing I don't go both- erin' back about it. But like enough 't won't satisfy you. "At any rate, I would like to hear your conclu- sion." "Well, I argued it out to myself. I says, sup- pose there's some sinners too bad, or too some- thin' or other, for the Lord to save, and suppose you are one of them, ain't 'lected, as my wife says. If I could be an unbelievin' sinner for eighty years, it seemed to me that if any body wasn't 'lected I wasn't. I was dreadfully down, I tell yer, for I'd set my heart on bein' John Walton's neighbor again. After I'd smoked a good many pipes, I cussed my- self for an old fool. There, you've brought your case into court, I says, and you're goin' to give it up afore it's argued. Then I argued it. I was honest, you may be sure. It wouldn't do me any good to pettifog in this matter. First I says, if there was any doubt about the Lord savin' all sinners who wanted him page: 474-475[View Page 474-475] AA474 OPEN-ING A CHESTNCrT BURR. to, John Walton orter have, spoken of it, and from what I know of the man he would. Then I says, arter all it's the Lord I've got to deal with. Now what kind of a Lord is he? Then I commenced rememberin' all that Miss Eulie and Miss Annie had read to me about Him, and all I'd heard, and I got my wife to read some, and my hopes grew every minute. I tell you what, Mr. Gregory, it was a queer crowd He often had around him. I'd kinder felt at home among 'em, specially with that swearin' fisherman, Peter. Well, the upshot of it was, I couldn't find that he ever turned one sinner away. Then why should he me? Then my wife, as she was readin', come across the words, ' Him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out.' I'd heard them words afore often, but it seemed now as the first time, and I just shouted, 'I've got his word for it,' and my wife thought I was crazy sure 'nuff, for she didn't know what I was drivin' at. And now, Mr. Gregory, you're just shut up to two things, just' two things. Either the Lord Jesus will save every sinner that comes to Him, or He ain't honest, and don't mean what he says, and won't do as he used to. I tell yer I'm settled, better settled than yonder mountain. I just let myself go limber right down upon the promise, and it's all right. I'm going to be John Walton's neighbor again." Gregory was more affected by the old man's quaint talk than he would have believed possible. It seemed true that he was " shut up " to one or the other of:the alternatives presented. He commenced 7* *t "LIVE, LVE "--ANNIE'S APPEAL. 475 pacing up and down the little porch in deep thought. Mr. Tuggar puffed away at his pipe with such vigor that he was exceedingly beclouded, however clear his mind. At last Gregory said: "I shall think over what you have said, very care. fully, for I admit it has a great deal of force to my mind." "That's right," said Mr. Tuggar, " argue it out, just as I did. Show yourself no favors, and be fair to yourself, and you can't get away from my conclu- sion. You've got to come to it." "I should be very glad to come to it," said Greg- ory gravely. "I should think you would. There'll be some good neighbors up there, Mr. Gregory; these Wal- tons are all bound to be there. Miss Annie would be kinder good company, eh, Mr. Gregory?" In spite of himself he flushed deeply under the old man's keen scrutiny. "There's one thing that's mighty 'plexing to me," said Mr. Tuggar, led to the subject by its subtle con- nection with Gregory's blush, " and that's why the Lord didn't keep John Walton alive a few minutes longer, so that the marriage could take place." Gregory gave a great start. "What marriage?" he asked. "Why, don't you know about it?" said Mr Tuggar in much surprise. "No, nothing at all." "Then perhaps I orter not speak of it." "Certainly not, if you don't think it right." page: 476-477[View Page 476-477] 476 OPENIING A CHESTNUT BURR "Well, I've said so much I might as well say it all," said the old man musingly. "It's no secret, as I know of," and he told Gregory how nearly Annie became being a wife. Gregory drew a long breath and looked deathly pale and faint. "Well, now, I'd no idea that you'd be so struck of a heap," said the old man, in still deeper sur- prise. "God's hand was in that," murmured Gregory, "God's hand was in that." "Do you think so, now? Well, it does seem kinder cur'us, and per'aps it was, for somehow I never took to that Hunting, though he seems all right." "Good-by, Mr. Tuggar," said Gregory rising; "you have given me a good deal to think about, and I'm going to think, and act, too, if I can. I am going to New York to-morrow, and one of the first things I do will be to fill your pipe for a long time," and he pressed the old man's hand most cordially. "Let yourself go limber when you come to trust, and it will be all right," were Daddy Tuggar's last words as he balanced himself on his crutches in parting. Gregory found Annie in the parlor, and he said, "I have gooc news for you, Daddy Tuggar is a Christian." Annie sprang joyfully up and said, "I'm going 3ver to see him at once." When she returned, Gregory was quietly reading "VE, LIVE"--AANNIE'S APPE AL. 4" in the parlor, showing thus that he had no wish to avoid her. She came directly to him and said, "Daddy Tugs gar says that you propose going home to-morrow." "Well, really, Miss Walton, I have no home to go to but I expect to return to the city." "Now I protest against it." - "I'm glad you do." "Then you won't go." "Yes, I must; but I'm glad you don't wish me to go." "Why need you go yet? You ought not. You should wait till you are strong." "That is just why I go-to get strong. I never could here, with you looking so kindly at me as you do now. You see I am as frank as I promised to be. So please say no more, for you cannot and you ought not to' change my purpose." "Oh dear," cried Annie, "how one's faith is tried. Why need this be so?" "On the contrary," he said, " what little faith I ever had has been quite revived this afternoon. Daddy Tuggar has been ' talking religion' to me, and pardon me for saying it, I found his words more convincing than even yours." "I am not jealous of him," said Annie gladly, "I can't help thinking that God does see and care, in that he prevented your marriage." Annie blushed deeply, and said coldlyr, "I am sorry you touched upon that subject," and she left the room. I page: 478-479[View Page 478-479] 478 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR Gregory went quietly on with his reading, or seemed to. Indeed, he made a strong effort, and succeeded, for he was determined to master himself outwardly. She soon relented and came back. When she saw him apparently so undisturbed, the thought came to her, "He has given me up truly. There is nothing of the lover in that calmness, and he makes no effort to win my favor." But she said, "Mr. Gregory, I fear I hurt your feelings. You certainly did mine. I cannot endure the injustice you persist in doing Mr. Hunting." "I only repeat your own words, ' We all three will understand each other in God's good time;' and after what I heard to-day I have the feeling that He is watching over you." "Won't you promise not to speak any more on this subject?" "Yes, for I have done my duty." She took up his book and read to him, thus giv- ing one more hour of mingled pain and pleasure; though when he thought how long it would be before he heard that sweet voice again, if ever, his pain almost reached the point of anguish. As she turned toward him and saw his look of suffering, she realized somewhat the effort he made to keep up before her. She came to himn and said, "I was about to ask a favor, but perhaps it's hardly right." "Ask it, any way," he said with a smile. "I don't urge it, but I expect Mr. Hunting this "I VE, LIVE "- -ANiVIES APPEAL. 479 evening. Won't you come down to supper and meet him?" "For your sake I will, now that I have gained some self-control. I am not one to quarrel in a lady's parlor under any provocation. For your sake I will treat Mr. Hunting like a gentleman, and make my last evening with you as little of a restraint as possible." "Thank you-thank you. You, now promise to make it one of peculiar happiness." Annie drove to the depot for Hunting, and told of Gregory's consent to meet him. She said, "No, is your opportunity, Charles. Meet him in such a way as to make enmity impossible." His manner was not very reassuring, but, in his pleasure at hearing that Gregory was soon to leave, and that in his absence he had not been able to dis- turb Annie's confidence in him, promised to do the best he could. Annie was nervously excited as the moment of meeting approached, and, somewhat to her surprise, Hunting seemed to share her uneasiness. Gregory did not come down till the family were all in the supper-room. Annie was struck with his appearance as he entered. Though his left arm was in a sling, there was a graceful and almost courtly dignity in his bearing, a brilliancy in his eyes and firmness about his mouth which proved that he had nerved himself for the ordeal and would maintain him- self. Instantly she thought of the time when he first appeared in that room, a half-wrecked, blastman /* page: 480-481[View Page 480-481] 480 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. of the world. Now he looked and acted like a noble man. Hunting, on the contrary, had a shuffling and embarrassed manner; but he approached Gregory and held out his hand, saying: "Come, Mr. Gregory, let by-gones be by-gones." But-Gregory only bowed with the perfection of distant courtesy, and said: "Good evening, Mr. Hunting," and took his. seat. Both Hunting and Annie blushed deeply and resentfully. After they were seated, Annie looked toward Hunting to say " grace " as usual, but he could not before the man who knew him so well, and there was another moment of deep embarrass- ment, while a sudden satirical light gleamed from Gregory's eyes. Annie saw it, and it angered her. Then Gregory broke the ice with quiet, well-bred' ease. In natural tones he commenced conversation, addressing now one, now another, in such a way that they could not but answer him in like manner. He asked Hunting after the news and gossip of the city as naturally as if they had met that evening for the first time. He even had pleasant repartee with John- nie and Susie, who had now come to like him very much; and his manner toward Miss Euhe was peculiarly gentle and respectful, for he was deeply grateful to her. Indeed, that good lady could scarcely believe her eyes and ears; but Gregory had always been an enigma to her. At first he spoke to Annie less frequently than to any one, for he dreaded the Z LIVE., LI VE"-ANNIE'S APPEAL. 481 cloud upon her brow and her outspoken truthfulness and he was determined the evening should pass off as he had planned. Though so crippled that his food had to be prepared for him, he only made it a matter of graceful jest, and gave ample proof that a highly bred and cultured man can be elegant in manners under circumstances the most adverse. Even Annie thawed and relented under his graceful tact, and felt that perhaps he was doing all she could expect in view of his simple promise to "treat Hunting like a gentleman, for her sake." But it had pained her deeply that he had not met Hunting's advances; and she saw that though per- fectly courteous, he was not committing himself in the slightest degree toward reconciliation. Moreover, she was excessively annoyed that Hunting acted so poor a part. It is as natural for a woman to take pride in her lover as to breathe, but she could have no pride in Hunting that evening. He seemed annoyed both with himself and-Gregory beyond endurance, -though he strove to disguise it. He knew that he was appearing to disadvantage, and this increased his embarrassment, and he was most unhappy in his words and manner. Yet he could take exception at nothing, for Gregory's pol- ished armor was perfect, and he grew more brilliant and entertaining as he saw his adversary losing ground. But all were glad when the supper-hour was over and they could adjourn to the parlor. Here Gregory changed his tactics, and drawing the children 21 page: 482-483[View Page 482-483] 482 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. aside, told them a marvellous tale as a good-by souvenir, thus causing deep regret on their part for his departure. He next drew Miss Eulie into an animated discussion upon a subject he knew her to be interested in. From this he made the conver- sation-general, and continued to speak to Hunting as naturally as if there were no differences between them. But all saw that he was growing very weary, and early in the evening he quietly rose and excused himself, saying that he needed rest for his journey on the morrow. There was the same polite, distant bow to Hunting as at first, and in deep disappoint- ment Annie admitted that nothing had been gained by the interview from which she hoped so much. They were no nearer reconciliation. Even while Gregory's manner had compelled respect and even admiration, it had annoyed her excessively, for he had made her lover appear to disadvantage, and she was almost vexed with Hunting that he, had not been equal to the occasion. She was sorry that she had asked Gregory to come down while Hunting was present, and yet courtesy seemed to require that he should be present, since he was now sufficiently well. Altogether it was a silent little group that Gregory left in the parlor, as all were busy with their own thoughts. Hunting determined to remain the following day and see Gregory off and out of the way forever, he hoped. Tht next morning Gregory did not come down to breakfast. But at about ten o'clock he started "E, LnE o"ANNIES APPEAL ,LAzEv, ZrVY" '-.,4XEX'X APPEAL. 483 out for a short farewell stroll about the old place. Ar nie joined him in the garden. "I do not think you were generous last evening," she said. "Mr. Hunting met you halfway." "Did I not do just what I promised?" "But I was in hopes you would do more, espe- cially when the way was opened." "Do you think, Miss Walton, that Mr. Hunting's manner and feelings toward me were sincerely cor- dial and friendly? Was it the promptings of his heart, or your influence, that led him to put out his hand?" Annie blushed in conscious confusion. "I fear I will never reconcile you," she said sadly. "I fear not," he replied. 'There must be a great change in us both before you can. Though the reason I give was a sufficient one for not taking his hand in friendly feeling, it was not the one that influenced me. I would not have taken it under any circumstances." "Mr. Gregory, you grieve me most deeply," she said in a tone of real distress. "Won't you, when you come to part, take his hand for my sake, and let a little of the ice thaw?" "No," he said almost sternly; " not even for your sake, for whom I would die, will I be dishonest with myself or him, and you are not one to ask me to act a lie." "You wound me deeply, sir," she said coldly. "Faithful are the wounds of a friend," he replied. She did not answer. x7* page: 484-485[View Page 484-485] 484 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. "We shall not part in this way, Annie," he said in a low, troubled voice. "The best I can do is to give you credit for very mistaken sincerity," she answered sadly. "That is all now, I fear," replied he gently. "Good-by, Annie Walton. We are really parting now. My mission to you is past, and we go our dif- ferent ways. You will never believe anything I can say on this painful subject, and I would not have spoken of it again of my own accord. Keep your promise to me, and all yet will be well, I believe. As that-poor woman who saved us in the mountains said, ' There will at least be one good thing about me. Whether I can pray for myself or not, I shall daily pray for you ;' and I feel that God, who shielded you so strangely once, will still guard you. Do not grieve because I go away with pain in my heart. It's a better kind of suffering than that with which I came, and lasting good may come out of it, for my old reckless despair is gone. If I ever do become a good man-a Christian-I shall have you to thank; and even heaven would be happier if you were the means of bringing me there." "When you speak that way, Walter," she said, tears starting to her eyes, "I must forgive every, thing; and when you become a real Christian you will love even your enremy. Please take this little package from me,but do not open it till you reach the quiet and seclusion of your own rooms. Good-by, my brother, for as such my father told me to act and feel toward you, and from my heart I obey." "IVE, LIVE "--ANNIE'S APPEAL. 485 He looked at her with moistened eyes, but did not trust himself to answer, and without another word they returned to the house. Gregory's leave-taking from the rest of the house. hold was no mere form. Especially was this true of Miss Eulie, to whom he said most feelingly: "Miss Morton, my mother could not have been kinder or more patient with me." When he pressed Zibbie's hand and left a bank- note in it, she broke out in the broadest Scotch: "Maister Gregory, an' when I think me ould gray head would ha' been oot in the stourm wi' na home to cover it, I pray the gude God to shelter: yours fra a' the cold blasts o' the wourld.' Silent Hannah, alike favored, seemed "afflicted with a sudden attack of St. Vitus' dance, so indefi- nite was the number of her courtesies.; while Jeff, on the driver's seat, looked as solemn as if he were to drive Gregory to the cemetery instead of the depot. At the moment of final parting, Gregory merely took Annie's hand and looked into her eyes with an expression that caused them speedily to droop, tear- blinded. To Hunting he had bowed his farewell in the parlor. When the last object connected with his old home was hidden from his wistful, lingering gaze, he said, with the sorrow of one who watches the sod placed above the grave of his dearest: "So it all ends." page: 486-487[View Page 486-487] 486 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. But when in his city apartments, which never before seemed such-a cheerless mockery of the idea of home, he opened the package Annie had given him-when he found a small, worn Bible, inscribed with the words, "To my dear little daughter Annie from mother," and written beneath, in a child's hand, "I thank you, dear mother. I will read it every day," he sprang up, and exclaimed in strongest feeling, "t No, all has not ended yet." When he became sufficiently calm he again took up the Bible, and found the leaves turned down at the 14th chapter of St. John, with the words: "Commence here." He read, "Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me." "In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you." "How sweetly-with what exquisite delicacy she points me beyond the shadows of time," he said mus- ingly. "I believe in God. I ever have. Then why nottrust the ' Man of Sorrows,' who also must be God? Both Annie and her quaint old friend are right. He never turned one away who came sin- cerely. In Him who forgave the outcast and thief there glimmers hope for me. How thick the dark- ness as I look elsewhere. Lord Jesus," he cried, with a rush of tears, "I am palsied through sin: lift a me up, that I may come to Thee." "IzE, zLIzVE-AN-NIES APPEAL. 487 Better for him that night than a glowing hearth with genial friends around it, was Annie's Bible. Looking at it fondly, he said, "It links me to her happy childhood before that false man- came, and it may join me to her in the 'place' which God is pre- paring, when he who now deceives her ia as far re- moved as sin." page: 488-489[View Page 488-489] CHAPTER XXXII. AT SEA-A MYSTERIOUS PASSENGER. IMMEDIATELY after Mr. Walton's funeral Miss Eulie had written full particulars of all that had occurred, to. a brother by marriage, then in Europe. This gentleman's name was Kemp, and he had originally married a sister of Miss Eulie and Mrs. Walton. But this lady had died some years since, and he married as his second wife, one who was an entire stranger to the Walton family, and with whom there could be but little sympathy. For this reason, though no unfriendliness existed, there had been a natural falling-off of the old cordial intimacy. But Miss Eulie and Annie (and so had Mr. Walton) respected Mr. Kemp as a man of sterling worth and unimpeachable integrity, while he secretly cherished a tender and regretful memory of his earlier marriage connection. When he heard that his niece, Annie, was orphaned, his heart yearned toward her, for he had always been fond of her as a child. But when he came to read of her relations with Hunting, and that this man was in charge of her property, he was in deep distress. He would have returned home immediately, but his wife's health would hot permit his leaving her. But lle sat down and wrote to Miss Eulie a long letter of 4 AT SEA--A MYSTERIOUS PASSENGER. 489 honest sympathy, urging her and Annie to come to him at Paris, saying that the change would be of great benefit to both. This letter was expressed in such a way that she could show it to Annie. But he inclosed another under seal to herself, marked private, in which by strong and guarded language he warned her against Hunting. He did not dare commit definite charges to writing, not knowing how much influence Hunting had over his sister-in-law. He felt sure that Annie would not listen to anything against her lover, and justly feared that she would inform him of what she heard, thus putting him on his guard, and increasing his power for mischief. His hope was to act through Miss Eulie, and get both her and Annie under his protection as soon as possible. He knew that as soon as face to face with Annie he could prove to her the character of her lover, and through her compel him to resign his executorship. Therefore he solemnly charged Miss Eulie, as she loved Annie, not to permit her marriage with Hunting, and, as executrix, to watch his financial management closely. Miss Euhe was greatly distressed by the contents of this letter. Mr. Kemp's words, combined with Gregory's manner, destroyed her confidence in Hunting, and made her feel that he might cause them irretrievable disaster. She knew her brother to be a man of honor, and when he wrote such words as these, "If Mr. Walton knew Hunting as I do, he would rather have buried his daughter than page: 490-491[View Page 490-491] "O OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. permit her to marry him," she was sure that he did not speak unadvisedly. "Moreover," Mr. Kemp wrote-"I am not giving, my mere opinion of Hunting. I have absolute proof of what he is and has done." But it was his advice that it would not be safe to reveal to Annie the contents of this letter, as Hunting, in the desperation of his fears, might find means to compass a hasty marriage, or disastrously use his power over her property. As we have seen, in quiet home-ministerings, Miss Euhe had no superior, but she felt peculiarly timid and self-distrustful in dealing with matters like these. Her first impulse and growing desire was, that she and Annie might reach the shelter and protection of her brother. She did not understand business, and felt powerless to thwart Hunting. Annie's spirits greatly flagged after her father's death. Hunting did not seem to have the power to comfort and help her that she expected. She could not definitely find fault with a single act, save his treatment of Gregory; he was devotion itself to her, but it was to her alone. He proved no link between her and God. Even when in careful phra- ses he sought to use the 1" language of Canaan," he did not speak it as a native, and ever left a vague, unsatisfied pain in her heart. He was true and strong when he spoke of his own love. He was eloquent and glowing when his fancy painted their future home, but cold and formal in comparison, when he dwelt on that which her Christian nature AT SEA-A -M YSTERIO US PASSENGER. 491 most needed in her deep affliction. Too often he seemed to avoid religious conversation, and when, in her loving purpose to quicken and develop his spiritual life, she spoke of sacred themes, he showed a lack of sympathy and appreciation of her thought and feeling which caused a growing depression. When Annie found that she could leave the children in charge of a careful, trustworthy relative she was readily persuaded into the plan of going abroad; she felt the need of change, for her health had begun to fail, and she was sinking into one of t se morbid states which are partly physical and Curtly mental. 1 . Anting, also, strongly approved of the project. Business would require him to visit Europe during the winter, and in having Annie as a companion he thought himself fortunate indeed. He felt sure that as soon as she regained her health and spirits she would consent to their marriage; moreover, it would place the sea between her and Gregory and all dangers of disclosure. A trip abroad promised to further his interests in all respects. He knew nothing of Mr. Kemp save as a New York business man, and supposed that Mr. Kemp had only a gene- ral and favorable knowledge of himself. For Annie's sake and her own Miss Eulie tried to prevent any marked change in her manner to- ward Hunting, and though she was not a very good actress, he did not care enough about her to no- tice her occasional restraints and formality of man- ner. But Annie did, and it was another source of page: 492-493[View Page 492-493] "2 OPEN'IIG A CHESTVNUT BURR vague uneasiness and pain, though the causes were too intangible to speak of. She thought it possi. ble that Gregory might have prejudiced her aunt slightly. But it was her nature to prove all the more loyal to Hunting, especially when he was so devoted to her. Before they could complete arrangements for de- parture, Annie was taken seriously ill, and January of the ensuing year had nearly passed before she was strong enough for the journey. ' During her ill- ness no one could have been more kind and atten- tive than Hunting, and Annie felt exceedingly grateful. But in their prolonged and close inti- macy since her father's death, something in the man himself had caused her love for him to wanie. She had a growing consciousness that he was not what she supposed. She reproached herself bitterly for this, and under the sense of the wrong she felt herself doing him, was disposed to show more def- erence to his wishes, and in justice to him to try to make amends. When, therefore, he again urged that the marriage take place before they sailed, giv- ing as his reason, that he could take better care of her and that henceforth she could be with him, and that he would not be compelled to leave her so often on account of his business, she was half in- clined to yield. She felt that the marriage-tie would confirm her true feelings as a wife, and that it was hardly fair to ask him to be away from his large and exacting business so much, especially when. he had seemingly been so generous in- the AT SEA-A M YSTERIOUS PASSENGR. 493 time he had given her, when it must have involved to him serious loss and inconvenience. She said to herself; . "I shall be better and happier, and so will Charles, when I cease secretly finding fault with him, and devote myself unselfishy to making a good wife and a good home." Hunting exultantly thought that he would carry his point, but Miss Eulie proved she was not that nonentity which, in his polite and attentive indiffer- ence, he had secretly regarded her. With quiet firmness she said that, as Annie's natural guardian, she would not give her consent to the marriage. As a reason she gave-- "I think it would show a great lack of respect and courtesy to your uncle and my brother, who is so fond of you, and has been so kind. I see no press- ing need for the marriage now, for I am going with Annie and can take care of her, as I have. If it seems best, you can be married over there, and I know that Mr. Kemp would feel greatly hurt if we acted as if we were indifferent to his presence at the ceremnony." The moment her aunt expressed this view Annie agreed with her, and Hunting felt that he could not greatly complain, as the marriage would be delayed but a few weeks. Annie felt absolved from her promise to Greg- ory, by an event that occurred not very long after his departure. Gregory had sent a box directed to Miss Eulie's care, containing some toys and books page: 494-495[View Page 494-495] "4 OPENING A CHESN UT BURR. for the children, and the promised tobacco for Daddy Tuggar, also a note inclosed in one to Miss Eulie for Annie, in which were these words only: "If you had searched the world you could not have given me anything that I would value more." In his self-distrust, and in his purpose not to give the slightest ground for the imputation that he had sought her promise of delay to obtain time to gain a hearing himself, he had said no more. But Annie thought that he might have said more. The note seemed cold and brief in view of all that had passed between them. Still, she hoped much from the influence of her Bible. But one evening Hunting came up from the city evidently much disturbed. To her natural solici- tude he said: "I don't like to speak of it, for you seem to think that I ought to stand everything from Mr. Gregory. And so I suppose I ought, and indeed I was grateful, but one can't help having the natural feelings of a man. I was with some friends and met him face to face in an omnibus. Knowing how great was youi wish that we should be friendly, I spoke courteously to him, but he looked at me as if I were a dog. He might as well have struck me. I saw that my friends were greatly surprised, but of course I could not explain there, and yet it's not pleasant to be treated like a pickpocket, with no redress. I defy him," continued Hunting, assuming the tone and manner of one greatly wronged, " to prove anything worse against me than that I compelled him and his AT SEA-A MYSTBERIOUS PASSENGER., 49j partners to pay money to which I had a legal right, and which I could have collected in a court of law." The politic Hunting said nothing of moral right, and innocent Annie was not on the look-out for such quibbles. Her quick feelings were strongly stirred, and on the impulse of the moment she sat down and wrote: "i MR. GREGORY :-I think your course toward Mr. Hunting to-day, was not only unjust, but even ungentlemanly. You cannot hurt his feelings with- out wounding mine. I cannot help feeling that yout hostility is both,' unreasonable and implacable. In sadness and disappointment, "ANNIE WALTON." "There," she said, "read that, and please mail it for me." "That's my noble Annie," he said gratefully, "now you prove your love anew, and show you will not stand quietly by and see me insulted."' "You may rest assured I will not," she said promptly; adding very sadly after a moment, "I cannot understand how Mr. Gregory, with all his good qualities, can act so." "You do not know him as well as I do,"' said Hunting, "and yet even'I feel grateful to him for his services to you, and would show it if he would treat me decently." "He shall treat you decently and politely too, if he wishes to keep my favor," said she hotly. page: 496-497[View Page 496-497] "6. OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. But the next day, when she thought it all over quietly, she regretted that she had written so harshy. " My words will not help my Bible's influence," she thought in self-reproach, "and only when he becomes a Christian will he show a different disposition." Her regret would have been still deeper, if she had known that Hunting had sent her note with one from himself to this effect: "You perceive from the inclosed that you cannot insult me as you did yesterday, and still retain the favor of one whose esteem you value too Jighly per- haps. My only regret is that you were not a wit- r ness to the words and manner which accompanied the act of writing." Still stronger would have been her indigna- tion had she known that Hunting had greatly ex- aggerated his insult. Gregory had merely acted as if unconscious of his presence, and there had been no look of scorn. When Gregory received the missives he toss- ed Hunting's contemptuously into the fire, but read Annie's more than once, sighed deeply and said: "He keeps his ascendancy over her. O God, quench not my spark of faith by permitting this great wrong to be consummated." Then he en dorsed on her note, "Forgiven, my dear, deceived sister. You will understand in God's good time." But he felt that God must unravel the problem, for Annie would listen to nothing against her lover. A T SEA-A M YSTERIO US PASSENGER. 497 Annie hoped that Gregory would write an ex. planation, or at least some words in self-defence, and then she meant to soften her hasty note, but no answer came. This increased her depression, for she was surprised at her strong and abiding interest in him. She could not understand how their event- ful acquaintance should end as it promised to. Then came her illness, and, through many long, . sleepless hours, she thought of the painful mys- tery. But as she recovered strength of body and mind she felt that it was one of those things that she must trustingly put in God's hands and leave there. This she did, and resolutely and patiently address- ed herself to the duties and obligations of her lot. As for Gregory, from the first evening of his return to the city, he adopted the resolution in regard to Annie's Bible, which she, as a little child, had written in it so many years ago: "I will read it every day." It became his shrine and constant solace. In- stead of going to his club, as was his former cus- tom, he spent the long, quiet evenings in its study. The more he read the more fascinated he became with its rich and varied truths. Sometimes, as he was tracing up a line of thought through its pages, so luminously and beautifully would it develop that it seemed to him that Annie and his mother, with unseen hands, were pointing the way. Though almost alone in the great city, he grew less and less lonely, and welcomed the shades of evening, that he, page: 498-499[View Page 498-499] "8 OPENIG A CHESTNUT BURR. might return to a place now sacred to him, where the gift-Bible, like a living presence, awaited him. His doubts and fears vanished slowly. His faith kindled even more slowly; but the teachings of that inspired Book gave him principle, true man- hood, and strength to do right, no matter how he felt. He had honestly and sturdily resolved to be guided by it, and it did guide him. He was a Christian, though he did not know it, and would not presume to call himself such even to him- self. In view of his evil past he was exceedingly humble and self-distrustful. As Mr. Walton had told poor old Daddy Tuggar, he was simply trying to "'trust Jesus Christ and do the best he could." But those associated with him in business, and many others, wondered at his change. Old Mr. Burnett, his senior partner, was specially delighted, and would often say to him: "I thank God, Mr. Gregory, that you nearly had your neck broke last October; " for the -good old man associated this accident with the change. Gregory also commenced attending church-not a gorgeous temple on Fifth avenue, where he was not needed, but he hunted up an obscure and struggling mission, and said to the minister: "I am little better than a heathen, but if you will trust me I will do the best I can to help you." Within a month, through his liberal gifts and energetic labors the usefulness of the mission was almost doubled. It was touching to see him hum- bly and patiently doing the Lord's lowliest work, A T SEA-A M YSTERIO US PASSENGER. 499 as if he were not worthy. He hoped that in time he might receive the glad assurance that he was ac. cepted; but whether it came or not, purposed to do the best he could and leave his fate in God's hands. At any rate God seemed not against him, for both his business and Christian work prospered. One bright morning the last of January, Annie, Miss Eulie, and Hunting were driven down to the steamer, and having gone to their state-rooms and seen that their luggage was properly stowed away, they came up on deck to watch the scenes attending the departure of the great ship, and observe the views as they sailed down the bay. Hunting had told them to make the most of this part of the voyage, for in a winter passage it might be long before they could enjoy another promenade. Annie was intensely interested, for all was new and strange. She had a keen, quick eye for char- acter, and a human interest in humanity, even though those around her did not belong to her "set." Therefore, it was with appreciative eyes she watched the motley groups of her fellow-pas- sengers waving handkerchiefs and exchanging fare- wells with equally diversified groups on the wharf. "It seems," she said to her aunt, " as if all the world had sent their representatives here. It makes me almost sad that there is no one to see us off.: Then her eye rested upon a gentleman who evi- dently had no one to see him off. He was leaning on the railing upon the opposite side of the ship, page: 500-501[View Page 500-501] 500 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURMR. smoking a cigar. His back was toward all this bustle and confusion, and he seemed to have an air of isolation and indifference to what was going on about him. His tall person was encased in a heavy dark-blue overcoat, with a deep cape, which seemed to combine comfort with elegance, and gave to him, even in his leaning posture, a distingue air. But that which drew Annie's attention was a manner so different from all others, who were either interested or excited by surroundings, or were turn- ing wistfully and eagerly toward friends, whom it might be long before they saw again. The motion- less, apathetic figure, smoking quietly, with his felt hat drawn down over his eyes, and looking away from everything and everybody, came to have a fas- cination for her. The steamer slowly and majestically moved out into the stream. Shouts, cries, final words, hoarse orders from the officers-a perfect babel of sounds, filled the air, but the silently-curling slmoke- wreaths were the only suggestion of life from that strangely indifferent form. He seemed like one so deeply absorbed in his own thoughts that he would have to be awakened as from sleep. But suddenly he turned and came toward them with the air of one who feels himself alone, though jostled in a crowd, and instantly, with a strange thrill at heart, Annie recognized Walter Gregory. Hunting saw him also, and Annie noted that while the blackest frown gathered on his brow, he grew very pale. AT SEA--A MYSTERIOUS PASSENGER, 5 0 In his absorption he would have passed by them, bu; Annie said: "Mr. Gregory, are you not going to speakto us?" He started violently, and every visible part of his face and neck mantled with hot blood, and Annie also felt that she was blushing unaccount- ably. But he recovered instantly, and came and shook her hand most cordially, saying: "This is a strangely unexpected pleasure. And Miss Morton, also! When was I ever so fortunate before?" Then he saw Hunting, to whom he bowed with his old, distant manner, and Hunting returned the acknowledgment in the most stiff and formal man- ner. "Do you know," said Annie, " i have been watching you with curiosity for some time past, though I did not know who you were till you turned. I could not account for your apathy and indifference to this scene, which, to me, is so novel and exciting, and which seems to find everyone in- terested save yourself. I should hardly have thought you alive if you had not been smoking." "Well," he said, I have been abroad so often that it has become like crossing the ferry, and I was expecting no one down to see me off. But you do not look well; "'and both she and Miss Eulie no- ticed that he glanced uneasily from her to. Hunting, and did not seem sure how he should address her. 4 Miss Walton has just recovered from a long ill, ness," said Miss, Eulie, quietly. page: 502-503[View Page 502-503] 502 OPENING A CHESTNUT B RR. His face instantly brightened, and as quickly changed to an expression of sincerest sympathy. "Not seriously ill, I hope," he said, earnestly. "6 I'm afraid I was," replied Annie, adding, cheer. fully, "I am quite well now, though." His face became as pale as it was flushed a mo- ment before, and he said, in a low tone: "I did not know it." His manner touched her, and proved that there was no apathy and indifference on his part toward her, though there might be to the bustling world around him. Then he inquired particularly after each member of the household, especially old Daddy Tuggar. Annie told him how delighted the children had been with the toys and books, " and as for Daddy Tuggar," she said, smiling, "he has been in the clouds, literally and metaphorically, ever since you sent him the tobacco. Whenever I go to see him he says, most cheerily, ' It's all settled, Miss Annie. It grows clearer with every pipe' (while I can scarcely see him), I'm all right, 'cause I'm a dreadful sinner.' " She was rather surprised at the look of glad sym- pathy-which he gave her, but he only said, "He is to be envied." Then at her request he commenced pointing out the objects of interest they were passing, and with quiet courtesy drew Hunting into the conversation, who rather ungraciously permitted it because he could -not help himself. , , A T SEA--A MYSTERIO US PA SSENGER. 5o3 Annie again, with pain, saw the unfavorable con: trast of her lover with this man, who certainly proved himself the most finished of gentlemen, if nothing else. But with almost a child's delight she said, "You have no idea how novel and interesting all this is to me, though so old and matter of fact to you. -I have always wanted to cross the ocean, and look forward to this voyage with unmingled pleasure." "I'm sincerely sorry such a disastrous change is so soon to take place in your sensations, for it will be rough outside to-day, and I fear you and Miss Morton will soon be suffering from the most forlorn and prosaic of maladies." "I won't give up to it," said Annie resolutely. "I have no doubt," he replied humorously, " as our quaint old friend used to say, that you are ' well- meanin',' but we must all submit to fate. I fear you will soon be confined to the dismal lower regions." "Are you sick?" "I was at first." His prediction was soon verified. From almost a feeling of rapture and a sense of the sublime as they looked out upon the broad Atlantic with its tumultuous waves, the ladies suddenly became si- leht, and glanced nervously toward the stairway that led to the cabin. Gregory promptly gave his arm to Miss Eulie while Hunting followed with Annie, and that was the last appearance of the ladies for the three fol- lowing days. page: 504-505[View Page 504-505] CHAPTER XXXIII. COLLISION AT-SEA-WHAT A CHRISTIAN COULD DO. O N the morning of the fourth day, as the sea had become more calm, the ladies ventured upon deck for a short time. Gregory immediately joined them and complimented their courage in coming out during a winter voyage. "Nature and I are friends all the year 'round," said Annie, with a faint attempt at a smile, for she was still sick and faint. "I rather like her wild, rough moods. It has been a great trial to my pa- tience to lie in my berth, helpless, and miserable from what you well term a 'prosaic malady,' when I was longing to see' the ocean. Now that we have, made a desperate attempt to reach deck, there is nothing to see. Do you think this dense fog, will last long?" "I hope not, especially for your sake. But do not regret coming out, for you will soon feel better for it." "I do already; I believe I could live out 6f doors. Have you been sick?" "Oh no; I should have been a-sailor." "Mr. Hunting has fared almost as badly as we," said Annie, determined that they should make one group, . - o # WHAT- A CHRISTIAN COULD DO. 505 "Indeed ! I'm sorry," said Gregory, quietly. " I hate the ocean," snarled Hunting, with a grim, white face, " I'm always sick."' "And I'm afraid of it," said Miss Eulie. " How can they find their way through such a mist ? Then, we might run into something." " In any case you are safe, Miss Morton,' said Gregory, with a smile. She gave him a bright look and replied, " I trust we all are. But the sea is rough, boisterous, treacherous, and mysterious-just the qualities I don't like. What a perfect emblem of mystery this fog is through which we are going so rapidly ! " 4' Well," said Gregory, with one of his expressive shrugs, " I find all these experiences equally-on the land, especially the latter." Annie gave him a quick, inquiring look, while color came into even Hunting's pale face. Annie felt no little curiosity as to Gregory's state of mind, for though he had said nothing de. finite, there was a softened manner and quiet dig. nity which made him seem very unlike his old self.- " How do you pass your time? " she asked. "Well, I read a great deal, and I take consider- able exercise, for I wish to fully regain my health." She gave him a quick, grateful look. He was keeping his promise. She said, "You look very much better than I expected to see you, and I'm very glad, for you were almost ghostly when you left us. What do you find 'co read so interesting ?" page: 506-507[View Page 506-507] 506 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. His color rase instantly, but he said with a smile, ' A good old book that I brought with me." The expression of his face answered her swift, questioning-look. It was her Bible. Neither Miss Eulie nor Hunting understood why she became so quiet; but the latter, who was watching them closely, thought he detected some secret understanding. In his jealous egotism it could only mea+ what was adverse to himself, and he had an attack of some., thing worse than sea-sickness. Gregory quietly turned the conversation upon ocean travel, and for a half hour entertained the ladies without any effort on their part, and then they went back to their state-rooms. By evening the ship was running so steadily that they all came out to supper. Gregory, who was a personal friend of the Captain's, had secured them a place near the head of the table where they received the best of attention. Annie, evidently, was recover- ing-rapidly, and took a genuine interest in the novel life and scenes around her. She found herself vis-a- vis and side by side with great diversities of char- acter, and listened with an amused, intelligent face, to the brisk conversation. She noted with surprise that Gregory seemed quite a favorite, but soon saw the reason in his effort to make the hour pass pleas- antly to his fellow-passengers. The Captain had given him a seat at his right hand, and appealed to him on every disputed point that was outside-of his special province. She was also pleased to see how Gregory toned WHA T A CHRISTIA N COULD DO. 507 up the table-talk and skillfully led it away from dis- agreeable topics. But he had a rather difficult task, for, sitting quite near to her, was a man whose loud and ostentatious dress reflected his character and words. Some one was relating an anecdote of narrow escape, and another remarked, "That's what I should call a special Providence." "Special Providence'!" said Annie's loud neigh- bor, contemptuously. "A grown man is very weak- minded to believe in any Providence whatever." There was a shocked, pained expression, on many faces, and Annie's eyes blazed with indignation. She turned to Hunting, expecting him to, resent such an insult to their faith, but saw only a cold sneer on his face. Hunting was decidedly English in his style, and would travel around the world and never speak to a stranger, or make an acquaintance, if'he could help it. Then, instinctively, she turned to Gregory. He was looking fixedly at the man, and his manner had attracted general attention. But he only said, quietly, l "Then I am very weak-minded." There was a general expression of pleased sur- prise and sympathy on the faces of those who un- derstood his reply, while the Captain stared at him, in some astonishment. "I beg your pardon, sir," said the man, :'I meant nothing personal. It was only a rather blunt way of saying that I didn't believe in any such things myself." page: 508-509[View Page 508-509] So8 OPPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. "I give you credit for your honesty, but some of us do." ' Then you pretend to be a Christian?" "I should not pretend to be one under any cir. cumstances," said Gregory, with the perfection of quiet dignity, " and I am very sorry to say that I am not so favored. But I have full belief in both a special and general Providence." "I like your honesty, too," said the man, seem- ingly anxious for an argument. "By the word 'pretend' I only meant claim, or assert. But it seems to me that the facts in the case are all against your belief. I find nothing but law in the universe. You might as well say that this ship is run by special Providence, when, in fact, it is run by accurately gauged machinery, system and rules." "Now, your argument is lame," said the Cap- tain, laughing. "We have plenty of good ma- chinery, system and rules aboard, but if I wasn't around, looking after everything all the time, as a special providence, I'm afraid you'd find salt water before Liverpool." A general laugh followed this sally, and Gregory said, "And so I believe that the Divine Providence superintends his own laws and system. I think my friend, the Captain, has given a most- happy 2lus- tration of the truth, and I had no idea he was so good a theologian." "That's not an argument," said the man, con, siderably crest-fallen. "That's only a joke." WHAT A CHRIS TIAN COULD DO. .59 " By the way, Mr. Gregory, it seems to me that your views have changed since you crossed with me last," remarked the Captain. "I frankly admit they have," was the prompt reply. " Perhaps I can explain myself by the fol- lowing question: If you find, by a careful observa- tion, that you are heading your ship the wrong way, what would you do ? " " Put her about on the right course." "That is just what I have tried to do, sir. I think my meaning is plain ? " " Nothing could be clearer, and I'd rather be aboard now than when you were on the old tack." Annie gave Gregory a glance of glad, grateful approval that warmed his heart like sunshine. Hunting said, enviously, sotto voce, " I think such conversation at a public table wretched taste." " I cannot agree with you," said Annie, decided; ,ly, :' but granting it, Mr. Gregory did not introduce the subject, and I wish you had spoken as he did when every Christian at the table was insulted." He colored deeply, but, judiciously, said nothing. But with increasing pain she thought, " He who says he is not a Christian, acts more like one than he who claims the character." But she now had the strongest hopes for Gregory, and longed for a private talk with him. The next day it blew quite a gale, and Hunting and Miss Eulie were helplessly confined to their state-rooms. But Annie had become a sailor, and having done all she could for her aunt, came upon page: 510-511[View Page 510-511] 510 OPENING A CHESTNUT B URR. deck, where- she saw Gregory walking back and forth with almost the steadiness of one of the ship's officers. She tried to go to him, but would have fallen had he not seen her and reached her side almost at a bound. With a gentleness and tenderness that was as real as delicate, he placed her in a sheltered nook where she could see the waves in their mad sport, and said, "Now you can see old ocean in one of his best moods. The wind, though strong, is right abaft, filling all the sails they dare carry, and we are mak- ing grand progress." "How wonderful it is!" cri'd Annie, looking with a child's interest upon the scene. "Just see those briny mountains, with foam and spray for foliage. If our home Highlands with their mingled evergreens and snow were changed from granite to water, and set in this wild motion, it could- hardly seem more strange and sublime. Look at that great monster coming so threateningly toward us. It seems as if we would be ingulfed beyond a chance." "Now, see how gracefully the ship will surmount it," said Gregory, smiling. "Oh, dear," said she, sighing, "'if we could only rise above our troubles in the same way!"- Then, feeling that she had -touched on delicate ground, she hastened to add, "This boundless waste increases my old childish wonder, how people ever find their way across the ocean." WHA T A CHRISTIAN COULD DO. 511 'i The captain is even now illustrating your own teaching and practice in regard to 'the longer and more difficult voyage of life," said Gregory, mean" ingly. "He is ' looking up,'-taking an observation of the heavens, and will soon know just where we are and how to steer." Annie looked at him wistfully, and said in a low tone, "I was so glad to learn, last evening, that you had taken an observation also, and I was so very grateful, too, that you had the courage to defend our faith." "I have to thank you that I could do either. It was really you who spoke." "No, Mr. Gregory," she said gently, "my work for you reached its limit. God is leading you now.' "I try to hope so," he said; ' but it was your hand that placed in mine that by which He is leads ing me. He surely must have put it into your heart to give me that Bible. When I reached my cheerless rooms in New York I felt so lonely and low-spirited that I had not the courage to go a single step further. But your Bible becamfe a living, comforting presence from that night. What exquisite tact you showed in giving me that little worn companion of your childhood, instead of a new gilt-leaved one, with no associations. I first hoped that you might with, it give me also some- thing of your childhood's faith. But that does not come yet. That does not come." "It will," said she, earnestly, and with moistened eyes. page: 512-513[View Page 512-513] 512 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. "That, Ow, is one of my dearest, hopeS. But after lwhat I have been, I am not worthy that it should come soon. But if I perish myself I want to try to help others." Then he asked, in honest distrustfulness; "Do you think it right for one who is not a Christian to try to teach others?" "Before I answer that question I wish to ask a little more about your life and feelings;" and she skillfully drew him out, he speaking more openly in view of the question to be decided, than he would otherwise have done. He told of the long even- ings spent over her Bible, instead of at the club ; of his mission work, and of his honest effort to deal justly with all; at the same time dwelling strongly on his doubts and spiritual darkness, and the un- spent influences of his old evil life. The answer was different from what he ex- pected; for she said: "Mr. Gregory, why do you say that you are not a Christian?" "Because I feel that I am not." "Does feeling merely make a Christian?" she asked. "Is not action more than feeling? Does not trusting, following, serving, and seeking to obey, make a Christian? But suppose that even with your present feeling you were living at the time of Christ's visible presence on earth, would you belhos- tile or indifferent, or would you join his band even though small and despised?" "I think I would do the latter, if permitted." "I know you would, from your course last night, , A: WHA T A CHRISTIAN COULZ. DO.- 5 3 And do you think Jesus would say, '-Because you are not an emotional man -like Peter, you are no friend of mine? ' Why, Mr. Gregory, He let even Judas Iscariot, though with unworthy motive, fold low Him -as long as he would, giving him a chance to become true." "Miss Walton, do not mislead me in this matter. You know how implicitly I trust you." "And I would rather- cast myself over into thosi, waves than deceive you," she said ; " and if I saw A} them swallowing you up I should as confidently ex- f pect to meet you again, as my father. How strange it is you can believe that Jesus died for you and yet will not receive you when you are doing just that which He died to accomplish!" " He took a few rapid turns' up and down the deck and then leaned over the railing. She saw that he brushed more than one tear info the waves. At last he turned and gave his hand in warm press- ure, saying, "I cannot doubt you, and H will doubts Him no o longer. I see that I have wronged Him, and the thought causes me sorrow even in my joy." "Now you are my brother in very truth," she said, gently, with glad tears in her own eyes. "A ll that we have passed through has not been in vain. How wonderfully God has led us." It was a long time before either spoke again. At last he said, with a strange wondering. smile, "To think that such as I should ever reach 22* page: 514-515[View Page 514-515] 514 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. Heaven! As Daddy Tuggar says, 'there will be good neighbors there.'" She answered him by a happy smile, and then both were busy with their own, thoughts again. Annie was thinking how best to introduce the sub- ject so near her heart, his reconciliation with Hun- ting. But that gentleman had become so tortured with jealousy and alarmed at the thought of any prolonged conference between Annie and Gregory, that he dragged himself on deck. But as he watched them a moment before they saw him, he was quite reassured, Gregory was merely standing near Annie, and both were looking away to sea, as if they had nothing special to say to each other. Annie was pained to see that Gregory's manner did not change toward Hunting. He was perfectly po- lite, but nothing more; soon he excused himself, thinking they would like to be alone. In the afternoon she found a moment to say, "Mr. Gregory, will you never become reconciled to Mr. Hunting? You surely cannot hate him now?" He replied gravely, "I do not hate him any longer. I would do him any kindness in my power, anid that is a great deal for me to say. But Mr. Hunting has no real wish for reconciliation." In bitter sorrow she was compelled to admit to herself the truth of his words. After a moment he added, "If he does, he knows the exact terms on which it canr be effected." WHA T A CHRISTIAN CO ULD DO. 5 She could not understand it, and reproached herself bitterly that so many doubts in regard to her affianced would come unbidden, and force, them- selves on her mind. The feeling grew stronger that there was wrong on both sides, and perhaps the most on Hunting's." But that was a memorable day to Gregory. It seemed to him that Annie's hand" had drawn aside the sombre curtain of his unbelief, and shown the path of life shining more- and more unto the perfect day. Though comparatively lonely, he felt that his pilgrimage could not now be unhappy, and that every earthly sorrow would at last find its cure in Heaven. In regard to her earthly future he could only hope and trust. It would be a terrible trial to his faith, if she were permitted to marry Hunting, and yet he was sure it would all be well at last; for was it not said, that God's people would come to their rest out of "great tribulation?"She had given him the impression that, under any circumstances, her love for him could only be sisterly in its charac- ter. -But he was too happy in his new-born hope to think of much else that day; and, finding a secluded nook, he searched Annie's Bible for truths con-: firmatory of her words. On every side they glowed as in letters of light. Then late that night he went on deck, and in his strong excite- ment felt as if walking on air in his long glad vigil. At last, growing wearied; he leaned upon the ,- page: 516-517[View Page 516-517] i66 OPENING A CHEST t? BURR. railing and looked out upon the dark waves,--not dark to him, for the wanderer at last had seen the light of his heavenly home-and felt that it would cheer his way till the portals opened and received him into rest. Suddenly, upon the top of a-distant wave, some- thing large and white appeared, and then it sank into an ocean valley. Again it rose-a sail, then the dark hull of a ship. , In dreamy musing he began wondering how, in mid-ocean, with so many leagues of space, two vessels should cross each other's tracks so near. is It's just the same with human lives," he thought. "A few months or years ago, people that I never knew, and might have passed on the wider ocean of life, unknowing and uncaring, have now come so near. Why is it? Why does that ship, with the whole Atlantic before it, come so steadily towards UIt did come so steadily and so near that a feel ing of uneasiness troubled him, but he thought that those in charge knew their business better than he. A moment later he started forward. The ship that had come so silently and phantom-like across the waves seemed right in the path of the steamer. Was it not a phantom? ' No; there's a white face at the wheel-the man is making a sudden, desperate effdrt-it's too late. With a crash like thunder the seeming phantoma ship ploughs' into the steamer's side. For a moment Gregory wasapalled; stunned, WHA T A CHRIS TIAN COULD DO. 7 and stared at the fatal intruder that --fell back in strong rebound, and dropped astern. Then he became conscious of the confusion and awakening uproar on both vessels. Cries of agony, shouts of alarm, and hoarse orders pierced the mid- night air. He ran forward and saw the yawning cavern which the blow had made in the ship's side, and heard the rush of water into the hold. Across the chasm he saw the Captain's pale face looking down with a dismay like his own. "The ship will sink and soon," he shouted. There was no denial. Down to the startled passengers he rushed, crying, "A:Wake! Escape for your lives!" His words were taken up and echoed in every part of the ship. He struck a heavy blow upon the door of An- nie's state-room-"Miss Walton!" "Oh, what has happened?" she asked. "You and Miss Morton come on deck, instantly; don't stop to dress; snatch a shawl--anything. Lose not;a moment. What is Hunting's number?" "Forty, on the opposite side." "I will be back in a moment; be- ready." Hunting's state-room was so near where the steamer had been struck, that its door was jammed and could not be opened. "Help! help! I can't get out," shrieked the terrified man. Gregory wrenched a leaf from a dining-room table and pried the door open. page: 518-519[View Page 518-519] - -I8g OPENING A CHESTNUT B6tRR t "-Come," he said, ,c you've no tilme to dress." Hunting encased his trembling form in a blanket and gasped, as he followed, I'll pay you back every cent of that money with interest." "Make your peace with God. We may soon be before Him," was the awful response. Miss Eulie- and Annie stood waiting, draped in heavy shawls. "I'm sorry for delay; Hunting's -door was jam- med and had to be broken open. Come," and put- ting his arm around Miss Eulie and taking Annie's hand, he forced them rapidly through the increas- ing throng of terror-stricken passenger's that were rushing in all directions. Evgen then, with a strange thrill at heart, Annie thought, ' He has saved his enemy's life." He took them well -aft, and said: "Don't move, stand just here till I return," and then! pushed his way to 'where a frantic crowd were snathing for the life-preservers which were being given out. The officer, knowing him, tossed him four as requested. Coming back, he -said to Hunting, "Fasten that one on Miss Morton, and keep-the other." Throw- ing down his own for a moment, he proceeded to -fasten Annie's. He would not trust the demoralized Hunting to do anything for her, and he was right, for Hunting's hands so trembled that he was help- less. Having seen that Annie's was secured beyond a doubt, Gregory also tied on Miss Eulie's. In-the meantime, a passenger snatched :his own , , r x s ) WiAT A C"RiSTIAVA COULD DOX preservng- belt, which he had been trying to keep by placing his foot upon it. "Stop!"Annie cried. ,O! :Mr. Gregory, he has taken it and you have oe. O shlave mine," and she was about to unfasten it. He laid an iron grasp uponherhands, "Stop suc folly," he said, sternly. "Come to where they are launching that boat. You have no choice,", Annie clung to hime as her only hope of "Wil you the sameas die for me again?" "YEfes, God bless you, a thousand' times if there dwere need," he said in tones as gentle ashis fornmer She looked at him wonderingly. There was no fear upon his fac e, only unspeakble love for her "Are you not afraid?" she asgked. "You said I wa's a Christian to-day, and your Bible and God's voicein my heart have confirmed saove anxiety fno , am at peace in all this uproar, She buried her face upon his shouldler. "My darling sister," he murmured in her ear, Then he started started suddenly, and tearing of the page: 520-521[View Page 520-521] 2o0 OPENING A CHESTNUT B URR. cape of his coat, said to Hunting, "Fasten that around Miss Morton," and before Annie scarcely knew what he was doing, he had taken off the body part and encased her in it. "Here Hunting, your belt is not secure, and he tightened the straps. ," Pass the ladies forward," shouted the Captain. Of course those nearest were embarked first. They had to take their turn, and the boat was about full when Miss Euhe was lowered over the side. At that moment the increasing'throng, with a deeper realization of danger, as the truth of their situation grew plainer, felt the first mad impulse of panic, and there was a rush toward the boat. Hunting felt the awful contagion. His face had the look of a hunted wild beast, as Annie gazed wonder- ingly at him, but as he half-started with' the others for the boat she understood him. Laying a restrain- ing hand upon his arm, she said in a low tone, "If you leave my side now, you leave it forever." He cowered back in shame. The officer in charge of the boat had shouted: "This boat is for women and children; as you are men and not brutes, stand back." This checked the desperate mob for a moment, and Gregory was about to pass Annie down when there was another mad rush led by the blatant in- dividual who had scouted the idea of Providence. "Cut away all," shouted the captain from the bridge, and the boat dropped astern. ;It-was only by fierce effort that Gregory kept 8 . t x,$ WA T A CHRISTIAN COULD DO. 521 himself and Annie from being carried over the side by the surging mass, many of whom leaped blindly over, supposing the boat still there. Pressing their way out they went where another boat was being launched. Hunting followed them as a child might, and was as helpless. He now commenced moaning- O0 God, what shall I do, what shall I do?" "Trust Him, and be a man. What else should you do?" said Gregory sternly, for he was deeply disgusted at his behavior. Around this boat the officer in charge had placed a cordon of men to keep the crowd away, and stood j pistol in' hand to enforce his orders. But the boat was scarcely lowered before there was the same i wild rush, mostly on the part of the crew and steer- age passengers. The officer fired and brought down the foremost, but the phrensied wretches- trampled him down with those helping, together with women' and children, as a herd of buffaloes might. They poured over into the boat, swamped it, and as the steamer moved slowly ahead, were left struggling and perishing in the waves. Gregory had put his arm around Annie and drawn her out of the crush. Fortunately they had been at one-side, so that this-was possible.; "The boats are useless," he said sadly. "There- -! will be the same suicidal folly at every one, even if they have time to lower any more. Come - aft. That part will sink last, -and there will be less suction there, when the ship goes down. page: 522-523[View Page 522-523] -522 OPENING A CESTN UT BURR. We may find something that will help keep us afloat." Annie clung to his arm and said,- quietly, "I will do just as you say," while Hunting followed in the same maze of terror. They had hardly got well away, before a mast, with its rigging, fell where they had stood, crushing many and maiming others, rendering them- helpless. "Awful! awful!" shuddered Hunting, and An- nie put her hand before her eyes, An: officer, with some men, now came toward them with axes, and commenced breaking up the after wheel-house. ' Here is our best chance," said Gregory. "Let us calmly await the final moment and then do the best we can. All this broken timber will float, and we can cling to it." The ship was settling fast, and had become like Oa log upon the water, responding slowly and heavi- ly to the action of the waves. But under the cold, pitiless starlight of that winter night, what heart- rending scenes were witnessed upon her sinking deck. Death had already laid its icy finger on many, and many more were grouped near in its de- spairing expectation. While many, like Hunting, were almost paralyzed with fear, and others shrieked and cried aloud in agony " -,-while some prayed incoherently and others rushed back and forth as if demented, there were not want- ing numerous noble instances of faith and courage. Fortunately, there were. not many ladies aboard, 'is' WHA T A CHRISTIAN COULD DO. and most of these proved that woman's fortitude was not a poetic fiction. One or two family groups stood near in close embrace, and some men calmly folded their arms upon their breasts, and met their fate as God would have them. Annie was conscious of a strange peace and hopefulness. She thrilled with the thought which she expressed to Gregory: "How soon I may see father and mother." She stood now with one hand on Hunting's trembling arm, for-at that supreme moment her heart was very tender, and she pitied while she wondered at him. But Gregory was a tower of strength. He took her hand in both his own, and said, "I can say the. same, and more. Both father and mother are awaiting me-and, Annie, darling," he whispered tenderly, "you, too, will be there. So, courage! (Good neighbors,' soon." Why did Annie's heart beat so strangely at his words? "O, God, have mercy on me!" groaned the man who had seemed, but was not. "Amen!" breathed both Annie and Gregory, fervently. - v Suddenly they felt themselves lifted in the air, and,/looking toward the bow, saw it going under, while what seemed a great wave came rolling toward them, bearing upon its dark crest white, agonized faces and struggling forms. 'Annie gave a swift, inquiring look to Gregory. ' '**' . page: 524-525[View Page 524-525] S24 OPENING A CHESTNZUT BURR. S 24 His face was turned heavenward, in calm and noble trust. Hunting's wild cry mingled with the despairing shriek of many others, but ended in a gurgling groan as he and all sank beneath the waters. ' " * " ' , ' ^, , CHAPTER XXXIV. UNMASKED. TT seemed that they passed through miles of water that roared around them like a cataract. But Annie and Gregory held to each other in their strong, convulsive grasp, and her cork belt caused him to rise- with her to the surface again. A piece of the wheel-house floated near; Gregory swam for it, and pushing it to Annie helped her upon it. Hunting also grasped it. But it would not sustain the weight of all three, especially as Gregory had no preserver on. One must leave it that the other two might es- cape. "Good-bye, Annie darling," said Gregory. "We will meet again in Heaven if not on earth. Cling to your plank as long as you can, and a boat may pick you up. Good-bye, poor Hunting, I'm sorry for you." "What are you going to do?" gasped Annie. "Don't you see that this won't float all three? I will try to find something else." "No, no," cried Annie, "don't leave me: you have no belt on. If you go I will too." I once lived for your sake; now you must page: 526-527[View Page 526-527] 526 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. for mine. I may save myself, but if you leave we will both-drown. Good-bye, dearest. If I reach home first, I'll watch and wait till you come." She felt him kiss her hand where she clung to her. frail support, and then he disappeared in the darkness. "Why did you let him go?" she said to Hunt- ing--"you who have a preserver on?" "O God have mercy on me!" groaned the wretched man. , Annie now gave up. all hope of escape, and in- deed wished to die. She was almost sure' that Gregory had perished, and felt that her best loved ones were in Heaven. She would have permitted herself to be washed away had not a sense of duty to live until God took her life, kept her-firm. But every moment it seemed that her failing strength would give way, and. her benumbed hands loosen their hold. "But," she murmured, in the noblest triumph of faith, "Iwill sink not into these -cold depths, but in my Saviour's arms." Toward the last, when: alone- and in the very presence of death, He seemed nearest and dearest. She could not bear to look at the dark, angry, waters strewn with- floating corpses. She had a sickening dread that Gregory's white face might float by,- So she closed her eyes, and only thought of Heaven, that was- so- near that its music seemed to, mingle with the surging of the waves. She tried to say a comforting word, to Hunting, i \ , UNMA SKED. 7 but the terror-stricken man could only groan me- chanically, ' God, have mercy on me." Soon she began to grow numb all over. A dreamy peace pervaded her mind, and she was but partially conscious. She was aroused by hearing her name called. Did the voice come from that shore beyond all dark waves of earthly trouble? At first she was- not sure. Again and louder came the cry,- but too full of human agony to be a heavenly voice, ' Annie! Annie!" "Here," she cried, faintly, while Hunting, help- ful for once, shrieked aloud above the roar of the waves. Then she heard the sound of oars, and a mo- ment later strong hands lifted her into a boat, and she found herself in Gregory's arms, her head pillowed on his breast. Thenall grew dark. When she again became conscious she found: herself in a small cabin, with many others in like pitiable plight. Her aunt was bending over her on one side and Gregory on the other, chafing her hands. At first she could not remember or, under- stand, and stared vacantly at them. "Annie, darling," said Miss Eulie, "don't you know me?" Then glad intelligence dawned in her-face,and she reached out, her arms, and each clasped the other as one might receive the- dead back to life*- page: 528-529[View Page 528-529] 528 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. But quickly she turned and asked, "Where is Mr. Gregory?"; "Here, safe and sound," he said, joyously, "and Hunting, too. I shall bless him all the days of my life, for his cries drowned old ocean's hoarse voice and brought us right to you." Hunting looked as if he did nt exactly relish the tribute, but he stooped down and kissed Annie, who permitted rather than received the caress. "How did you escape?" she asked Gregory, eagerly. "Well, I swam toward the ship that struck us, whose Jights I saw twinkling in the distance, till almost exhausted. I was on the point of giving up, when a small piece of the wreck floated near. By a great effort I succeeded in reaching it. Then a little later a boat from this ship picked me up and we started after you and any others that could be found. I am glad to say that quite a number that went down with the ship were saved." She looked at him in a way to bring the warm blood into his face, and said in a low tone: "How can I ever repay you?" "By doing as you once said to me, ' Live! get strong and well.' Good-bye now, Miss Morton will take care of you." Her eyes followed him till he disappeared, then she turned and hid her face on Miss Eulie's shoul- der. The good old lady was a little puzzled, and so was Hunting, though he had dismal forebodings. UNMASKED. -529 But he was so glad to have escaped that he could not indulge in very bitter regrets just then. As his mind recovered its poise, however, and he had,time to think it all over, there came a sickening sense of humiliation. In a few minutes Gregory returned and said to Annie, "See how honored you are. I've been so lucky as to get the Captain's best coat for you, and those wet things that would chill you to death can be taken off.' You can give my coat to Hunting. You see I was up at the time of the accident, and so am dressed." "If I am to wear the Captain's coat," said An- nie, "then, with some of his authority; I order you to go and take care of yourself. You have done enough for others for a little while." "Ay, ay, Captain," said Gregory, smiling, as he again vanished. It would only be painful to dwell on the dreary days and nights during which the comparatively small sailing vessel was beating back against a stormy wind to the port from which she had sailed. She had been much injired by the collision, and many were doubtful whether, after all, they would ever see land. Thus, to the manifold miseries of the rescued passengers, was added continued anxi- ety as to their fate. It was, indeed, a sad company that was crowded in that small cabin. Half-clothed, bruised, sick, and fearful, what seemed an endless experience was but a long night-mare of trouble, while some, who had lost their best and dearest, re. 23 page: 530-531[View Page 530-531] 530 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. fused to be comforted and almost wished that they had perishedalsob Annie's gratitude that their little party had all been spared grew stronger every hour, and the one through whose efforts, under God, they had been saved grew daily dearer. At first she let her strong affection go out to him unchecked, not realizing whither she was drift- ing. But a little characteristic event occurred which revealed her to herself. Her exposure had again caused quite a serious illness, and she saw little of Gregory for a few days. Hunting claimed his right to be with her as far as it was possible. Though she would not admit it to herself, she almost shrank from him. Of course the sailing ship had been provisioned for only a com- paratively small crew, and the sudden and large ac- cession to the number threatened to add the terrors of famine to their other misfortunes. Annie had given almost all of her allowance away. Indeed she had no appetite, and revolted at the coarse food served. But she noticed that Hunt- ing ate all of his, or else put some quietly away, in view of future need. She said to him, upon this occasion, "Can't you spare a little of your portion for those poor people over there? They look half-famished." "I will do so if you wish," he replied, " but it would hardly be wise. Think what tremendous business interests I represent, and it is of 'the first importance that I keep up." , UNXASKXD. 531 "Mr. Gregory id almost starving himself," said Miss Eulie, quietly. "I feel very anxious about him." "I represent a business of thousands where Mr. Gregory does hundreds," said Hunting, compla.* cently. "I wish you represented something else," said Annie, bitterly, turning away. Her words and manner jostled him out of him- self. A principle that seemed to him so sound and generally accepted, appeared sordid and selfish cal- culation to Annie, and she felt that Gregory repre- sented infinitely greater riches in his self-denial for others. Hunting saw his blunder and instantly carried all his portion to those whom Annie had pointed out. But it was too late. He had shown his inner nature again in a way that repelled Annie's very soul. She turned sick at the thought of being bound to such a man! *At first she had tried to excuse his helpless terror on the ship by thinking it a physical trait. But this was a moral trait. It was a sudden insight into the cold dark depths of his nature. Immediately after the disaster she had been too sick and bewildered to realize her situation. Her engagement was such an old and accepted fact, that at first no thought of any other consummation than marriage entered her mind. But she already looked forward to it only as a duty, and felt that her love for Hunting would be that of pity rather than trust page: 532-533[View Page 532-533] 532 OPAENrIrG A CHESTNUT B URR. and honor. But she. was so truthful-sochainpd by her promises, that her engagement rested upon er like -a solemn obligation. Again, it had been ntered into under circumstances so tenderly sacred, that even the wish to escape from it seemed like sacrilege. But she said in intense bitterness: "Dear father was -deceived also. We did not know him as we should." And yet she had nothing against Hunting, save a growing lack of congeniality and his cowardice at a time when few men could be heroic. In her strong sense of justice she felt that she could not condemn a man for an infirmity. And yet her cheeks tingled with shame, as she remembered his weakness, and she felt that a professing Christian ought to have done a little better under any cir- cumstances. But when, by the little event above described, she saw his hard; calculating spirit, her whole nature revolted from him in almost loathing. After a little time she told him that she wanted to be alone, and he went away cursing his own folly. Miss Eulie, thinking she wished to sleep, also left her. "How can I marry him?" she groaned, "and yet, how can I escape such an engagement.?u When her aunt returned she found her sobbing as if her heart would break. "Why, Annie dear, what is the matter?" she asked. "Don't ask me," she moaned, and buried hex iace in her pillow. . UNMASKED. . 533 Then that judicious lady looked very intelligent, but said nothing more. She sat down- and com- menced stroking Annie's brown, disheveled hair. But instead of showing very great sympathy for her niece, she had an unusually complacent expres- sion. Gregory had a strong but discreet friend -in the camp. When Annie became calmer, she said hesitating- ly, "Do you think--is Mr. Gregory-doesn't he eat scarcely anything?" "No, he is really wronging himself. I heard it said that the Captain had threatened, jokingly, to put him in irons if he did not obey orders and eat his allowance." \ "Do you think I could make--Do you think he would do better if I should ask him?" again asked Annie, with her face buried in the pillow. ' Well," said Miss Eulie, very gravely, though with a smile upon her face, "Mr. Gregory is very self-willed, especially about some things, but, H do think that you have more power over him than -any one else."' "Won't you tell him that I want to see him?" He was very glad to come. Annie tried hard to be very firm and composed, but, with her red eyes and full heart, did not succeed very well. At first he was a little embarrassed by her close scrutiny, for she had wrought herself up into the expectation of seeing a gaunt, famine-sttcken man. But his cheeks, though somewhat hollow, were rud- dy and his faced bronzed by exposure. Instead of *f page: 534-535[View Page 534-535] 534G OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. being pained by his cadaverous aspect, she was impressed by his manly beauty; but she said, ",I have sent for you that I might give you a scolding." 4 I'm all meekness," he said a little wonderingly. , Auntie tells me that you don't eat anything." "That is just what she says of you." "But I'm ill and can't eat." I "Neither can I." '"Why not?" " "How can a man eat when there are hungry women aboard? It would choke me." Instead of scolding him, she again buried her face in her pillow, and burst into tears. He was a little perplexed, but said gently, "Come, my dear little sister, I hope you are not worrying about me. I assure you there is no cause. I never felt better, and the worst that can happen is a famine in England when I reach there. It grieves me to the heart to see you so pale and weak. The Captain says ILhave a bad conscience, but it's only-anxiety for you that makes me so rest- less." '"Do you stay upon deck all night this bitter weather?" "Well, I want to be ready if anything should happen." O O Walter, Walter, how I have wronged you?" -' No, beg your pardon, you have righted me. What was I when I first knew you, Annie Walton?: There is some chance of my being a man now. But B i 'i UNWMASKED. come, let me cheer you up. I have good news for you. If I had lost every dollar on that ship I would still be rich, for your little Bible (I shall always call it yours) remained safely in my over-coat pocket, and you brought it aboard. Now, let me read you something that will comfort you. I find a place where it is written, '-Commence here.' Can you account for that?" And he read that chapter, so old but inexhausti- ble, beginning "Let not your heart be troubled." Having finished it, he said, "I will leave my treasure with you, as you may wish to read some yourself. In regard to the sub- ject of the ' scolding,' which, by the way, I have not yet received, if Miss Morton here can tell me that you are eating more, I will. Good-bye." Annie's appetite improved from that hour.. She seized upon the old Bible and turned its stained leaves with the tenderest interest. As she did- so, her harsh note to Gregory, written when Hunting complained that he had been insulted, dropped. How, doubly harsh and unjust her words seemed now! Then she read his words, "Forgiven, my dear, deceived sister." She kissed them passion- ately, then tore the note to fragments. Miss Eulie watched her curiously, then stole away with another smile. She liked the spell that was acting now, .but- knew Annie too well to say much. Miss Euhe was one of those rare women who could let a go6d work. of this kind go on without meddling. Annie did not read the Bible, but only laid it. * , ' -A page: 536-537[View Page 536-537] 536 OPENINZG A CHESTNUT BURR. against her cheek. Then Hunting came back look. ing very discontented, for he had managed to catch glimpses of her interview with Gregory. "Shall I read to you from that book?" he said. She shook her head. ("You seemed to enjoy having Mr. Gregory read it to you," he said, meaningly. Color came into her pale fac but she only said, "He did not stay long. I'm ill and tired." "It's rather hard, Annie," he continued, with a deeply injured air, (' to see another more welcome at your side than I am." "What do you mean.?" she asked, in a sudden passion. "How much time has Mr. Gregory been with me since he saved both our lives? You heard my father say that I should be a sister to him; and yet I believe that you would like me to become a stranger. Have you forgotten that but for him you would have been at the bottom of the Atlantic? There, there, leave me now, I'm weak and ill-leave me till we can both get in better moods." Pale with suppressed shame and anger, he went away, wishing in the depths of his soul, that Gregory was at the bottom of the Atlantic. Again she buried her face in her pillow and sobbed and moaned: "How can I marry that man! He makes my very flesh creep." Then for the first time came the swift thought, "I could marry Gregory, I'm happy the moment I'm near him," and her face burned as did the thought in her heart. - f ' 2 UNMASKED. 537 Then she turned pale with fear at herself. A badden sense of guilt alarmed her, for she had the feeling that she belonged to I lunting. So solemn had been her engagement that the thought of lov- ing another seemed almost like disloyalty to the marriage-tie. With a despairing sigh, she mur- mured, "Chained, chained." Then strongly arose the womanly instinct of self-shielding and the purpose to hide her secret. An hour before, Gregory could not come too often. He might have stooped down and as a brother kissed her lips, and she would not have thought it strange or unnatural. Now, she dreaded to see him. And yet when would he be out of her thoughts? She -hoped and half-believed that he was beginning to regard her as a sister, and still, deep in her soul this thought had an increasing sting of pain. Ah! Annie, you thought you loved before, but a master-spirit has now come who will stir depths in your nature of which neither you nor Hunting dreamed. Hunting, seemingly, had no further cause to be jealous of Gregory during the rest of the voyage. With the whole strength of her proud, resolute na- ture, Annie guarded her secret. She sent kind mes- sages to Gregory, and returned ,the Bible, but did not. ask him to visit her again. Neither did she come on deck herself till they were entering the harbor of an English port. When Gregory came eagerly toward her, though ? ,- page: 538-539[View Page 538-539] 538 e OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. her face flushed deeply, she greeted him with a kind and gentle dignity, which, nevertheless, threw a chill upon his heart. All the earnest words he meant to say died upon his lips, and gave way to mere common-places. Drawing her heavy shawl about her, she sat down and looked back toward the sea as if regretting leaving it with all its horrors. He thought: "When have I seen such a look of patient sorrow on any human face? She saw the love I could not hide at our last interview. I did not deceive her by calling her 'sister.' Her great generous heart is grieving because of my hopeless love, while in the most delicate manner, she reminds me how vain it is. Now I know why she did not send for me again." He walked away from the little group pale and faint, and she could not keep back the hot tears as she watched him. Miss Euhe was also observant, and saw how they misunderstood each other. But she acted as if blind, feeling that quickly coming events would right everything better than any words of hers. Gregory went to another part of the vessel, and leaned over the railing. Annie noticed with an absorbing interest that he seemed as indifferent to -the delight of the passengers at the prospect of soon being on land, and the bustle on the wharf, as he had appeared at the commencement of the voy- age. But she rightly guessed that there was tumult at his-heart. There certainly was at, hers. When / s* * UNMASKED. 539 the vessel dropped anchor and they would soon go ashore, he turned with the resolve, "I will show her that I can bear my hard lot like a man," and again came toward -them, a proud and courteous gentleman. Annie saw and understood the change, and a sense of loneliness anft isolation chilled her heart greater than if the stormy Atlantic rolled between thenr. And yet his manner toward her was very gentle, very considerate. He took charge of Miss Eulie, and soon they were at the best hotel in the places. The advent of the survivors caused great 'excitement in the city, and they were all overwhelmed with kindness and sympathy. After a few hours Gregory returned to the hotel, dressed in quiet elegance, and he seemed to Annie the very ideal of manhood; while she, in her mourning robes, seemed to him the perfection of woman kind. But their manner toward each other was very quiet, and only Miss Eulie guessed the subterranean fires, that were burning in each heart. "Are you sure that you will be perfectly com- fortable here?" he asked. "Entirely so,;' Annie replied, "Mr. Hunting has telegraphed to my uncle and we will await him here I do not feel quite strong enough to travel yet." "Then I can leave you for a day or two with a quiet mind, I must go to Liverpool." She turned a shade paler, but only said, I am very sorry you must leave us so soon." page: 540-541[View Page 540-541] 540 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. "I missed a note from your Bible," he said, in a low tone. "Forgive me! I destroyed it," and she turned and walked to the window to hide her burning face. Just then Hunting entered, and a few moments later Gregory bade them a qliet farewell. "How wonderful is her constancy!" he sighed as he went away. "How can she love and cling to that man after what he has shown himself! Well, this is one of those times when a man must just shut his eyes and trust God." He had utterly misunderstood her and believed that she had destroyed the note, not because of her own harsh words, but of his reflecting on Hunting. Annie thought she knew what sorrow. was, but confessed to herself in bitterness, after he had gone, that she had not before. If Hunting secretly exulted that Gregory was out of the way, and had been taught by Annie that he must keep his distance, as he would express it, he was secretly uneasy at her manner toward him. She merely patiently endured his lavish attentions, and seemed relieved when he was compelled to leave her for a time. "She will feel and act differ- ently," he thought, " when she gets well and strong, and will be the same as before," and the harrassing fears and jealousy that tortured him at sea gave way to complacent confidence. But he was greatly provoked that he could scarcely ever see Annie without the embarrassing presence of Miss Eulie. UNMASKED. 5 He had a growing antipathy for that lady, while he felt sure that she did not like him. -But Annie was very grateful to her aunt for quietly shielding her from caresses that every hour grew more unendur- able. Gregory was detained somewhat in Liverpool, and on his return to the city where he had left An- nie and Miss Eulie, he met, Mr.' Kemp, whom he had known well in New York, also seeking them. This gentleman greeted him most warmly, for he had read good accounts of Gregory's behavior in the papers. In a few moments they entered the hotel together. Fortunately, as Gregory thought, but most unfortunately, as he learned afterward, Hunting was out at the time. The warm color came into Annie's face as he greeted her, and she seemed so honestly and eagerly glad to see him that his sore heart was comforted. Mr.' Kemp's manner toward his niece and sister was affectionate in the extreme. Indeed, the good old man seemed quite overcome by his feelings, and Gregory was about to retire, but he said: - "No, please stay, sir. Forgive my weakness, if it is such. You don't know how dear these people are to me, and when I think of all they have passed through, I can hardly control myself." "We would not be here, Uncle," said Annie, in a low, thrilling voice, "had it not been forI Mr. Gregory." Then the old gentleman came and gave Grego. ry's hand such a grasp that it ached for hours after. - y page: 542-543[View Page 542-543] '542 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. ' I have been reading," he said, " warm tributes to his conduct in the papers, but I did not know that we were all under such deep personal obli. gations. Come, Annie, you m ust tell me all about it." "Not now, please," said Gregory, "I start in a, few moments for Paris; and must even now say good-bye, for a little time. I warn you, Mr, Kemp, that Miss Walton will exaggerate my services. She -has a way of over-valuing- what is done for her, and under-valuing what ;she does for;others." "' Well," said Mr. Kemp, with a significant nod, "' that's a trait .that runs in the Walton blood." "I long ago came to regard their blood as of the truest blue," said Gregory, laughing. ' Must you leave us again, so soon?" said An- nie, with a slight tremble in her voice. "Yes, Miss Walton, even now I should be on the -way to the train. But you are surrounded by those who can best take care of you. Still I earnestly hope that, before many days, I shall see you in Paris, and in greatly improved health. So I won't say good-bye, but only good-morning." Ah, he did not know, or he would have said "farewell" with a heavy heart. - His parting from her was most friendly, and the pressure of his hand warm and strong, but Annie felt, with a deep, unsatisfied pain at heart, that it was all too formal. Mr. Kemp was exceedingly demon strative, and said: "Wait till I :see you in Paris, and I will over UUNMASKED. .5 whelm you with questions, especially about your partner, my dear old friend, Mr. Burnett." But staid, quiet Miss Eulie surprised them all. She just put her arms about his neck, and gave him a hearty kiss, saying, "Take that, Mr. Gregory, from one who loves you like a mother." He returned the caress most tenderly;, and hastened away to hide his moistened eyes. Then envious Annie bitterly reproached herself that she had been so cold, and to make amends, commenced giving a glowing account of .all that Gregory had done for them. The old gentleman listened with an amused twinkle in his eyes, secretly exulting over the thought, "It is not going to break her heart to part with Hunting." In the midst of her graphic story that unfortu- nate man entered, and her words died upon her lips. She rose quietly, and -said, "Charles, this is my uncle, Mr. Kemp." But she was amazed to see Mr. Kemp, who thus far had seemed geniality itself, acknowledge her affianced with freezing -coldness, and Hunting turned deathly pale with a presentiment of disaster. "Be seated, sir" ,said Mr. Kemp, stiffly, "I wish to make a brief explanation, and after that will relieve you of the care of these ladies," Hunting sank in a chair, and Annie saw some- thing of the samhe terror on his face which had sick- ened her on-the sinking ship. page: 544-545[View Page 544-545] 544 OPELNNG A CHESTNUT BURR. :"Annie,' said her uncle very gravely, "have you entire confidence in me? Your father had." "Certainly," said Annie, wondering beyond measure at this most unaccountable scene. "Will you take my wo:d for it, that this man, who seems most conscious of his guilt, deceived- yes, lied to Burnett & Co., and swindled them out of so large a sum of money that the firm would have failed but for me? Because, if you cannot take my word, I can give you absolute proof.' Annie buried her face in her hands and said: "Now I understand all this wretched mystery. How I have wronged Mr. Gregory! "You could not do other than wrong him while Mr. Hunting had any influence over you. I know Mr. Gregory well. He is an honorable business man, and always was, with all his faults. And now, sir, for your satisfaction, let me inform you that Mr. Burnett is one of my most intimate friends. He told me all about it, and gave ample proof of the nature of the entire transaction. I am connected with the bank with which the firm deposited, and through my influence I secured them such accom- modation as tided them over the critical time in their affairs which your villainy had occasioned." Hunting now recovered himself sufficiently to say, "I did nothing different from what often oc- curs in business. I had a legal right to every cent that I collected from Burnett & Co." "But how about moral right? Do we not all know that often the most barefaced robberies take .0 UNHMA SKED. place within the limits of the law? And such was your act. Even the hardened gamblers of the street were disgusted." "You have no right to speak to me in this way, sir," said Hunting, trying to work up a little indig- nation. "Mr. Walton trusted me, and I became engaged to Miss Walton under circumstances the most solemn and sacred; we are the same as mar- ried." "Come, sir," interrupted Mr. Kemp, hotly, "don't make me lose my temper. John Walton was the soul of Christian honor. He would have buried his daughter rather than have her marry you, if he had known you as I do. I now insist that you resign your executorship and relieve us of your presence." "Annie," cried Hunting, in a voice of anguish, "can you sit quietly by and hear me so insulted?" She sat with her face, burning with shame, buried in her hands. With her intense Walton ha- tred of deceit, the thought that she had come so near marrying a swindler and liar, scorched her very soul. He came to her side and tried to take her hand, but she shrank from him in loathing, and, springing up, said passionately, "When I think, sir, that with this guilty secret you would have tricked,me into marriage at my father's death-bed, I am perfectly appalled at your wickedness. God in mercy then snatched me from a fate worse than death. Were i it not for the restraint of Christian principle I would feel that I could annihilate you." page: 546-547[View Page 546-547] 54;6 - OPENING A CHESNUT BURR. She turned away for a moment and pressed her hands upon her throbbing heart. Then turning her dark and flashing eyes to where he stood, pale, speechless, and trembling, she said more calmly, "May God forgive you; I will when I can, and will pray that in mercy He will keep you from sinking into a deeper and darker gulf than yawned beneath you on the sinking ship. Go." She proved what is often true, that the gentle, when desperately wronged, are the most terrible. He slunk cowering away without a word, and to avoid exposure, Mr. Kemp at - once compelled him to sign papers that took from him all further power of mischief. Mr. Kemp eventually became executor in his stead. As soon as Annie grew calmer she had a glad sense of escape greater than that which followed 'her rescue from the wrecked ship. Before, her heart had been crying out with the Apostle, "Who shall deliver me from this body of death?" Now it sprang up within her bosom and sang for joy. Then again she would shudder deeply at what she had so narrowly avoided. Stronger than her grati- tude for life twice saved, was her feeling of obliga- tion to Gregory for his persistent effort to shield her from this marriage. She was eager to start for Pas at once .that she might ask forgiveness for all Per injustice toward him. But in the excess of her feelings she was far more unjust toward herself, as he would have told her. Still, had not Hunting's dishonesty been re. UNMASKED. 547 vealed to her, Annie would have broken with him. As soon as she would gain her mental strength and poise- as soon as she realized that her-love was hopelessly gone from him, her true, strong nature would revolt from the marriage as from a crime, and she would have told him, in deepest pity, but with rock-like firmness, that it could not be. 'The next day she greatly relented toward him and, in her deep pity, sent a kind farewell message which it would be well for him to heed. page: 548-549[View Page 548-549] CHAPTER XXXV. A CHESTNUT BURR AND A HOME. WHEN Gregory reached Paris, to his grief and consternation, he found a dispatch informing him of the sudden death of old Mr. Bur- nett, and the illness of Mr. Seymour, the other partner. "Return instantly," it read, "the senior clerk is coming out to take your place." At first it appeared a double grief that he could scarcely endure, for it seemed that if he went back now, Annie would be lost to him beyond hope. But after thinking it all over he became calmer. "It may be best after all, for as my wife she is lost to me beyond hope, and God sees that I am not strong enoulh to meet her often yet and sustain myself, and so snatches me from the temptation." Thus little children guess at the meaning of an earthly father, but Gregory did what a child should -trusted. He, wrote a warm but- hasty note to Annie which through some carelessness was never deliv- ered, attended to some necessary matters, and was just in time to catch the- French steamer outward bound. When Annie reached Paris, she learned in dis- may that he had sailed for New York. Seemingly, THEr CHESTNUT B URR AGAN. 549 he had left no message, no explanation; all they could learn at his hotel was that he had received a dispatch summoning him instantly home. Annie was deeply wounded, though she tried to believe that he had written and that the letter had been mis- sent or lost. A thousand conjectures of evil arose in her mind, and the thought of his being again on the ocean, which she now so dreaded, at the storm- iest season of the year, was a constant source of anxiety. In her morbid fears she even thought that the scheming Hunting might have something to do with it. She gave way to the deepest despondency. Then her Aunt tried to comfort her by saying: "Annie, I'm sure I understand you both better than you do each other, and think I canwrite Mr. Gregory a line that will clear up everything." But the quiet little lady was quite frightened by the way Annie turned upon her. "As you love me, Auntie," she said, "never write a line on this subject. I am not one to seek, but must be sought, even by Gregory. Not one line, I charge you, containing a hint of my feelings." "Well, Annie darling," she said, gently, i"it's all going to come out right.'" But Annie, in her weak, depressed state, saw only the dark side. As with Gregory, there was nothing for her but patient trust." But when, in due time, there came a despatch from him announcing his safe arrival, she was greatly reassured. The light came back into her eyes and the color in her cheeks.- page: 550-551[View Page 550-551] 550 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. "Wtat kind of medicine have you been taking, to-day?" asked her uncle, ,slyly. "-She has been treated with electricity," Miss Eulie remarked, quietly. " ", Auntie!" said Annie, with a deep blush, "when did I ever hear you indulge in such a witti. cism before?"? And when, some days later, she received a cor- dial, brotherly letter from Gregory, relating all that had occurred, a deep content stole into her heart, and she felt, with Miss Eulie, that all would everit- ually be well. She replied scrupulously, in like vein. with himself, and thus commenced a correspondence that to each became the source of the truest happi- ness. Their letters were intensely brotherly and sisterly in their character, but Annie felt almost sure that, under his fraternal disguise, she detected the warmth and glow of a far stronger affection; and, before many months had passed, he hoped the same of her dainty letters, though he could not lay his finger on a single word and say, "This proves it." But Annie's warm heart unconsciously colored the pages, nevertheless. Of Hunting he briefly wrote: "God pity him, and God be praised. I love Him more than ever for shielding you." In May, Gregory was glad to find that he would have to go to Europe again, and purposed to give Annie a surprise. But he only received a very sad one himself, for, on arriving at Paris, he learned, to his intense disappointment, that Mr. Kemp and his THE CHESTNUT BURR AGATi. 51 party had suddenly decided to return home. He was eventually comforted by receiving a letter from Annie, showing clearly that she had been as greatly disappointed as himself; but, woman-like, most of the letter was an effort to cheer him. Still he was almost growing superstitious at the manner in which she seemed to elude his loving grasp and sighed: "I fear she will always prove to me a spirit of the air." One bright morning, the ensuing October, Greg- ory again greeted, like the face of a friend, the shores of his native land, and the thought that Annie was beyond that blue line of land, thrilled his- heart with impatient expectation. As they -approached, Sandy Hook, the pilot: brought -aboard a New York paper, and as he was: carelessly glancing it over, his eyes were caught by an advertisement of the sale by auction of the Wal- ton Estate, and his old home. He saw by, the date that the sale would not- take place till the following day, and he now felt sure that he could give Annie a double surprise, for he had not written of his return. He had learned from Annie that- her father must have intrusted large sums to Hunting which could not be accounted for, and that beyond the country-place not much had been left. He right. ly guessed that this place was about to be sold toi' 'provide means for the 'support of the family. H-e: was surprised that Annie had not written to him about the sale, and indeed she had wished to, think- page: 552-553[View Page 552-553] - T BU RR 5 2 OOPENINVG A CHESTNUT BURR. ing that he might wish to buy it. But Mr. Kemp had dissuaded her, saying that it was not at all prob- able that Gregory had the means to buy so large a property, and, judging Gregory by himself, said: "A business man does not want a country place anyway. Besides, Annie, if you should suggest it, it might be a source of much pain to him to feel that he could not." But as soon as Gregory was ashore he hunted up one of his senior clerks, and instructed him to go up the following morning and buy the place at any cost, but not to let any one know it was for him. He also told him to assure the family that they need not vacate in any haste. It soon became evident at the sale that the stranger from the city was determined to have the place, and the other bidders gave way. When the clerk returned that evening, Gregory plied him with questions, and learned that Miss Walton seemed to have great regret at leaving, and was very grateful when told that she could take her own time for departure. In fact, Annie begrudged every October day at the old place, that brought back the past so vividly. Gregory could not forbear asking with a slight flush, "How did Miss Walton look?" "Like her surroundings," said the clerk, politely blind, ' and not like a city belle. Mr. Gregory, I congratulate you on possessing the most home-like place on the river." Gregory took the earliest train the following THE CHE S TN U T BURR A GAIN. 553 morning, and by noon found himself by the cedar thicket again, with a strange thrill, as he recalled all that had occurred there, and since. He sat down to rest for a moment on the rock where Annie had first found him more than a year before. Beneath him lay his home-his now in truth--embowered in crimson and golden foliage, that seemed doubly bright in the genial October sunlight, while at his very feet were the laden boughs of the orchard where he had proved to Annie the reality and depth of his love; and there beyond was the cottage of Daddy Tuggar, with that old man smoking upon the porch. But chief of all, he could mark the very spot by the brook in the garden where Annie's hand, like an angel's, had plucked him from the brink of despair, and given the first faint hope of immortal life. Tears blinded his eyes, but the bow of promise shone in them as he looked heavenward, and said, "Merciful Father! how kind of Thee, inview ot my past, to give me this dear earnest of my heaven- ly home." The sound of approaching steps aroused him, and springing up he saw through the thicket, with an emotion so-deep that it made him tremble, the one woman of the world to him. With an expression of deep sadness, and the manner of one taking a lingering leave of a very dear friend, Annie came slowly toward him along the brow of the hill. He tried to still even the beating of his heart, for he would riot lose even one 24 - page: 554-555[View Page 554-555] 15 54 - OPENING A CHESTNT BURR. moment of exquisite anticipation. And yet he was deeply agitated, for he knew that he could not maintain the brotherly disguise an hour longer. Suddenly she looked toward the cedar thicket, and, as if recalling what had occurred there, covered her face ith her hands, as if to hide the painful scene. Then he saw that she would not even come to the place, but was turning to go to the house by another way. He darted out from his concealment and rushed toward her. At first, in wild alarm, she put her hand to her side, and leaned against a chestnut tree for support. Then recognizing him, with a glad cry, she permitted him to take her in his arms, while ' she hid her face on his shoulder. A moment later they recoiled from each other in blushing confusion. "Well," said Gregory, stupidly. She was the first to recover herself, and said: "' Oh, Walter, my .long-lost brother! I'm so--so glad you have come at last!" "Do I -look sorry, little sister?" he asked, tik- ing her hand. - "Oh!" she exclaimed; "this is too good to be true!" "That's what I think. I feared you would take flight the moment I appeared." ' When did you arrive? Come, tell me every- thing." "Not all at once, dear--Annie. -But let me give you a seat on the rock by the thicket and then I will say the catechism." THE CHESTNUT B URR A GAN. 5 5 5 "Please,- no Walter, not there," she said draw. ing-back. "Yes, there, we will give that place a new assot ciation." But she was glad to reach the seat, for she trembled so she could hardly stand. Then he told her how he purposed to surprise her, and answered every eager question. "O Annie!" he concluded, " how I have longed for this hour, never did that dreadful ocean seem so wide before." She looked at him more fondly than she. knew and said: "Ah Walter! your blood is not on my hands after all." "et me see," he said. "I know it is not," she replied, putting them behind her back, " don't I see you there well andi happy?" ' I don't know but it will be on your hands yet, X he said half tragically, springing up. She gave him a swift look of inquiry, but her eyes dropped as quick'y beneath his eager gaze, while her deep blush caused her to vie with the sugar-maple on the lawn in very truth. But he-said after a moment, "Annie, dear, wont you let me interpret another chestnut burr for you?" "Certainly, Walter," she tried to say innocent- ly " all that are on the tree," "' Now don't make fun of me because I'm dews. page: 556-557[View Page 556-557] 5 56 OPENING A CHESTNUT B URR. , parately in earnest. I don't want one like that 1 chose with a great lonely worm-infested chestnut in it. What a good, wholesome lesson you gave me then! Thank you, Annie, darling." "Brothers don't use such strong language toward X their sisters," said Annie, looking on the ground. "I can't help it. To tell the honest truth I'm not much of a brother. Neither do I want one iike that which you chose with three chestnuts in it. Three, faugh! I've had enough of that. I want to find one like that- which you brought me the first day I met you here." ,You will n ever find it if you stand talking for- ever." "You won't go away?" ' Perhaps not." He looked at her doubtfully, but she would not meet his eye. Then he started on his search, but kept looking back so often that she laughed, and said: "I'm not a chestnut burr." "I'm afraid of you." ' Then you had better run away. "Sisters should'nt teaze their brothers." "Well, forgive me this time." He caught a branch full of half-open burrs, and peered eagerly in them till he found one to his mind, and pulled it off regardless of the pricking spines, then came and knelt at her side, and said: "Now Annie, dear, look into it carefully. This is nature's oracle. You see two solid, plump, chest- nuts." THE CHESTWUT BURR A AGAIN. 557 "Well?" she said, faintly. "And you see this false, empty form of shell, between them?" "Yes; " with a touch of sadness. "That's Hunting, poor wretch! How unspeak- able was his loss!" and he tossed the worthless emblem away. "And now, Annie, loved beyond all words I can ever find to tell you, see how near these two chest- nuts are. together--as near as you- and I are in heart, I trust. Surely my poor pretense of brotherly character has not deceived you for a moment. Won't you please put your dainty littlefingersdown in the burr and join the two together?" She lifted her drooping eyes a moment -to the more eloquent pleading of his face, but they fell as speedily. In a low, thrilling tone, she said: "' No, Walter, but -you may." He dropped the burr and sealed the unspoken covenant upon her lips. * After a few moments he said, very gently, and gravely, "Annie, do you remember whenr my arm last encircled you?" The crimson face turned pale, as she recalled that awful midnight when he rescued her from death. Both breathed fervently, 'How good God has been to us!" In their joy, as in fear and sorrow, they remem- bered him. * - page: 558-559[View Page 558-559] 5'58 OPXNING A CHESTNUT BURR. "01h, see!" cried Annie, "'your hands are bleed. ing where the burr pricked them, and you have stained my hands again. Your blood is- on them,' she added almost in fear. "Yes, and the best of my heart ever will be. Is not the 'blood upon us' the deepest and most sacred hope of our hearts? Is it not the proof of the strongest love the world has known? Let mine d there be the pledge that my life is as nothing when it can shield and shelter you." And so he changed the meaning of the omen. The hours passed ere they were aware; at last they went across the orchard as before, and stopped and looked at the place where the ladder fell, and then at each other. ".Walter," said Annie shyly, "I gave you my first kiss here." "I am repaid then." Before going to the house, they called on Daddy Tuggar. He was so amazed that he could only ejaculate, "Evenin." "Mr. Tuggar, I have acted on your suggestion," said Gregory. "I thought Miss Walton would be good company forever and ever, and I have the promise of it.' "To think that I should have cussed, you!" 1 satid the old man, in an awed tone. "But you will give us your blessing, now?" said Annie, smiling. i My blessin' aint worth nothin'; but I know TE S-TN2vrT BURR B GA -., t/ie good Lord will bless you both, even if Miss An nie never was a dreadful sinner." "Mr. Tuggar," said Gregory, "I own that place over there. Will you takeme for a neigt bor till you are ready to be Mr. Walton's?"neigh- "O,. Walter!" said Annie, with a glad is that really true?" "Yres, it became mine yesterday; or, rather, it remained yours." "Mr. Gregory," said Daddy Tugger, his quaint appce twitching strange if anybody steals your apples I'm afraid itiI swear at 'era, even yet." No you won't, Daddy," said he, "you will tell them that they are dreadful sinners. But I'm going to bring you over to spend an evening with us, soon. Good-by" They found Miss Eulie in the parlor, pensively packing up some dear little relics of a home she supposed lost. Gregory took her in his arms and "Auntie, I'm going to claim relationship right away, to se thing back where you found them , and sit down here in the oshet corner of the hearth, your place from this time forth." "How is this?" she exclaimed, in breathless as. plae. ll, Annie owns me, and therefore, this Johnnie came bounding in, and G regory caught 'Here is the prophet of my fate. How d id page: 560-561[View Page 560-561] 560 560 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. you tell me your Aunt Annie managed the people, the morning after my first arrival here?d "I said she kinder made people. love her, and then they wanted to do as she said, replied the boy e tell you a secret," and he drew the boy ItLet me tell you a secre, and whispered in his ear: "She is going to manage me on just thoster came sidling in, and Gregory , Then little Susie came sidlin ran and caught her arms, saying, "So dimpled, yet so false, you reno unced t for a chipmonk; and now I am going to be Aunt Annie's beau till I'm gray. a ood Then' Jeff came in with a basket of wood Gregory gave his black hand an honest shake, and saidWhy, Je, old fellow, what is the matter with you to-night? . The last time I saw you you looked s if you wer driving me to the cemetery. "Well,isser Gregory," said Jeff, ducking and shuffling, "Ise did come I thot t you looked turnin' to the cem'try dat day. I tho't ou looked as if you wanted to go dar." As they sat down to tea, Zibbie put her head the door, and said , for ye ha kept the old "The gude God bless ye, for ye ha k 'ooman fra the cold wourld yet biuitwith- Delighted Hannah could notpass a outhatevening the hickory fire glowed and turned to bright and fragrant coals as in the days past, but THE CHESTTVUT BURR A GAIN. 56 Annie looked wistfully toward her father's vacant chair, and sighed, "If father were only here!" "' Don't grieve, darling," said Gregory, tenderly He is at home, as we are." A few evenings later Gregory brought up fromn the city a large square bundle. '" What have you there?" said Annie, greeting him as the reader can imagine. ' Your epitaph." "O Walter, so soon?" His answer was a smile, and quickly opening it, showed a rich quaint frame containing some lines in illuminated text. Placing it where the light fell clearly, he drew her to him and said, "Read that." "God sent his messenger of faith, } And whispered in the maiden's heart, 'Rise up and look from where thout art, And scatter with unselfish hands, Thy freshness on the barren sands. And solitudes of death.'" "O beauty of holiness, Of self-forgetfulness!" With a caress of unspeakable tenderness he said ' You are the maiden and God sent you to me." is
