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A TALE of the NORTH COUNTRY in the TIME of SILAS WRIGHT
By IRVING BACHELLER
Author of EBEN HOLDEN. D'RI AND I. DARREL OP THE BLESSED
ISLES. KEEPING UP WITH LIZZIE Etc Etc
Copyright by Irrlng Bacheller
CHAPTER XVI Continued.
: , 16
'One day the ol squire got me to dig
this grave an put up the headstone an'
then he tol me the story. He turned
the poor gal out o' doors. God o'
Israel ! It was in the night yis. sir
It was In the night that he sent her
away. Goldarn him! He didn't have
no more heart than a grasshopper no,
sir not a bit I could 'a brained him
with my shoveUbut I didn't.
"I found out where the gal had gone :
an I f ollered her yls I did found
ber in the poorhouse way over on
Pussley Hill uh huh! She Jes' put
her arms 'round my neck an cried an
cried. I guess 'twas 'cause I looked
trlnd o friendly uh huh! I tol her
she should come right over to our
house an stay jest as long as she
wanted to as soon as she got well
yis, sir, I did. - !
She was sick ' all summer long
kind o out o her head, ye know, an I
used to go over hossback an' take
things fer her to eat An one day
when I w.as over there they was won
derln what they was goln to do with
her little baby. I took It in my arms
an Til be gol dummed if It didn't grab
hold o my nose an hang on like a
puppy to a root When they tried to
take it away it grabbed Its fingers Into
my whiskers an1 hollered like a pan
ther yls, sir. . Wal, ye know I Jes
fetched that little baby boy home In
my arms, ay uh! My wife scolded me
like Sam Hill yls, sir she had five
of her own. I tol' her I was goln to
take It back In a day er two but after
It had been In the house three days ye !
-couldn't a pulled It, away from her
with a windlass.,
"We brought hi m up an he was al
wuss a good boy. We called him
Enoch Enoch Ro ie did ye ever hear
"No. ' .
"I didn't think 'twas likely but Im
"Early that fall Kate got better an
left the poorhouse afoot Went away
somewheres nobody knew where.
Some said she'd crossed the lake an'
gone away over Into York state, some
Bald she'd drowned herself. By'm by
we heard that she'd gone way over
Into St Lawreace county where Silas
Wright lives an' where young Grim
shaw had settled down-after he got
'Wal, bout five year ago the squire
in there back o' Kate's with the little
speckled angel on It Nobody had seen
the squire outside o' his house for
Tears until the funeral he was crip
pled so with rheumatiz. After that he
lived all 'lone in the big house with ol
Tom LInney an his wife, who've
worked there for 'bout forty year,
"Wal, sir. fust we, knew Kate was
there in the house iivin with her fa
ther. We wouldn't 'a' knowed it then,
if it hadn't been that Tom LInnev
come over one day an said he guessed
the ol squire wanted to see mo no,
ir, we wouldn't-rfer the squire ain't
sociable an' the neighbors never dark
en his, door. She must 'aL come in the
night, Jest as she went nobody see
her go an' nobody see her come, an'
that's a fact Wal, one day las' fall
after the leaves' was off an' they could
see a corner o my house through the
bushes, Tom was walkin' the ol' man
'round the room. All to once he
stopped an p'Inted at my house
through the winder ah' kep' p'intin.
Tom come over an' said he ca'llated '
the squire , wanted to see me. So I
-went there. Kate met me at the door, j
Gosh! How old an kind o' broke down !
she looked ! But I knew her the min- j
lite I set my eyes on her uh huh an' j
,he knew me yis, slr--she smiled an'
tears come to her eyes an she patted
my hand like she wanted to tell me
that she hadn't forgot, but she never
said a word not a ' word. The ol'
squire had the palsy, so t he couldn't
use his hands an his throat was para
lyzed couldnt speak nor nothin.
Where do ye suppose he was when I
. ' "In bed?" I asked.
. "No, sir no, sireel He was In hell
that's where he was f eg'lar ol' fash
ioned, down:east hell, burnin with fire
an' brimstun, that he'd had the agency
for an had. recommended to every sin
ner in the neighborhood. He was set
tin' -'lis. his room. God o' Isr'el! You
orto 'a seen, the motions he made with
his hands an' the Vay he tried to
speak when I went In there, but all I
could hear, was Jest a long yell an' a
kind of a rattle in his throat Heavens
an alrth! how desperit he tried to
spit out the thing that was gnawln
his vitals. Asia an' ag'in he'd try to
tell me. Lord God ! how he did work !"
; "AH to once It come acrost me what
he wanted quick as ye could say scat
He wanted to have Kate's headstun
took down an' put away that's what
he wanted. The stun was kind o lay
In on his stummick an' painin' of him
day an night He couldn't stan It
He knew that he was eoin' to die Durtv
eoon an thai Kate would come here
.an see It - an that everybody would
see her standin here by her own grave,
.an It worried him. It was kind o' like
a fire In his belly.
, l"! guess, too, he couldn't bear the
idee of lay mV down fer his las' sleep
beside that hell hole he'd dug fer Kate
"Wal, ye know, mister, I jes' shook
my head an never let on that I knew
what he meant an' let him wiggle an'
twist like a worm on a hot griddle, an
beller like a cut bull 'til he fell back In
"Damn him! It don't give him no
rest. He tries to tell everybody ne
sees that's what they say.. He Del-
lers day an night an If you go down
there he'll beller to you an you'll know
what it's about, but the others don't
"You an me are the only ones that
knows the secret, I guess. Some day,
fore he dies, I'm goln to take up that
headstun an hide It, but he'll never
know it's done no. sir not 'til he
gits to the Judgment seat, anyway."
The old man rose and straightened
himself and blew out his breath and
Crushed, his hands upon his trousers
by way of stepping down Into this
world again out of the close and dusty
loft of his memory. But I called him
"What has become of Enoch? I
"Wal, sir, Enoch started off .West
'bout three year ago an we ain't heard
a word from him since that day -nary
a word, mister. I suppose we will some
t'me.' He grew Into a good man, but
there was a kind of a queer streak in
the blood, as ye might say, on both
sides kind o'. We've wrote letters out
to Wisconsin, where he was p'lntln'
'for, an' to places on the way, but we
can't git no news 'bout him. Mebbe
he was killed by the Injuns.'
We walked out of the graveyard to
gether In silence.
I could see a glimmer of a light In
the thicket of 'pines down the valley. I
unhitched and mounted my horse.
Take the first turn to the right
said the old man us he picked up his
"I'm very, much obliged to you, I
"No ye ain't nuther, he answered.
"Leastways there ain't no reason why
ye should be.
My horse. Impatient as ever to find
the end of the road, hurried me along
and in a moment or two we were down
under the pine grove that surrounded
the house of 'old Squire Fullerton a
big, stone house with a graveled road
around It A great black dog came
barking and growling at me from the
nuu ue j.uiiuweu. xeyunu me windows
I could see the gleam of candlelight
and moving figures. A, man came out
of the back door as I neared it
"Who's there ?" he demanded. '
"My , name Is Barton Baynes from
St Lawrence county. Kate Fullerton
Is my friend and I wish to see her.'
"Come up to the steps, sor. Dont
git off yer horse 'til I've chained the
dog. Kate'U be out In a minute.
He chained the dog to the hitching
v ... "w tta "c mu BU a louu' l0US
tso An1 Vtfjl . a 1 a
waning cry broke the silence of the
house. It put me in mind of the com-
plaint of the damned which I remem
bered hearing the minister describe
years before at the little schoolhouse
in Lickltyspllt How It harrowed me !
The man went Into the house. Soon
he came out of the door with a lighted
candle In his hand, a woman following.
How vividly I remember the little mur
mur of delight that came from her Hps
when he held the candle so that Its
light fell upon my face ! I Jumped off
my horse and gave the reins to the
man and put my arms around the poor
woman, whom I loved for her sorrows
and for my debt to her, and rained
kisses upon her withered cheek. Oh
God! what a moment It was for both
The way she held me to her breast
and patted my shoulder and said "my
boy! In a low, faint treble voice so
like that of a child it Is one of the
best memories that I take with me Into
the new life now so near, from which
there Is no returning.
She led me Into the house. She
looked very neat now In a black
gown over which was a spotless white
apron and collar of lace and much
more slender than when I had seen
her last She took me into a large
room In the front of the house with a
carpet and furniture, handsome once
but now worn and decrepit. Old. time-
stained engravings of scenes from the
Bible framed in wood, hung on the
I told all that I had heard from
home And of my life in Cobleskill but
observed, presently, a faraway look m
her eyes and Judged that she was not
hearing me. She whispered:
"She has been at school in Albany
for a year, I said. "She is at home
now and I am going to see her.
"You love Sally?" she whispered.
"Better than I love my life.'
Again she whispered: "Get mar
ried!". "We hope to ln1844. I have agreed
to meet her by the big pine tree on the
river bank at eleven o'clock the third
of June, 1844. We are looking for
ward to that day.' , , ;'
. A tall, slim woman entered the room
then and said that supper was ready,
Kate rose with a smile and I followed
her into the dining room where two
tables were spread. One had certain
dishes on it and a white cover, frayed
and worn. She led me to the other
table which was neatly covered with
snowy linen. The tall woman served
a supper on deep blue china, cooked
as only they could cook in old New
England. Meanwhile I could hear the
voice of the aged squlre-a weird,
empty, inhuman voice It was, utterly
cut off from his intelligence. It came
out of the troubled depths of bis
"So that house the scene of his
great sin which wou'd presently lie
down with him In the fnst was flood
ed, a hundred times a day, by the un
happy spirit of its master. In the
dead of the night I heard Its despair
echoing through the silent chambers.
Kate said little as we ate, or as we
sat together In the shabby, great room
after supper, but she seemed to enjoy
my talk and I went into the details of
my personal history.
'The look on "her face, even while I
was speaking, Indicated that her
thoughts wandered, restlessly. In the
gloomy desert of her past I thought
of that gay, birdlike youth of hers of
which the old man with the scythe
had told me, and wondered. As I was
thinking of this there came a cry from
the aged squire so loud and doleful
that it startled me and I turned and
looked toward the open door.-
Kate rose and came to my side and
leaned toward my ear whispering:
"It Is my father. He Is always think
ing of when I was a girl. He wants
She bade me good night and left
the room. Doubtless It was the out
raged, departed spirit of that golden
time which was haunting the old
squire. A Bible lay on the table near
me and I sat reading It for an hour or
sc. A tall clock In a corner solemnly
tolled the hour of nine. In came fbe
tall woman and asked me In the
brogue of the Irish : ,
"Would you like to go to bed?
"Yes, I am tired.'
She took a candle and led me up a
broad oaken stairway and Into a room
of the most generous proportions. A
tig four-post bedstead, draped In
white, stood against a wall. The bed,
Eheeted In old linen, had quilted cov
ers. The room was noticeably clean ;
Its furniture of old mahogany and its
carpet comparatively unworn.
When I undressed I dreaded to put
cut the candle. For the first time In
years I had a kind of child-fear of the
night But I went to bed at last and
Flept rather fitfully, waking often when
the cries of the old squire came flood
ing through the walls. How I longed
for the light of the morning! It came
at last and I rose and dressed and
went out of doors.
Kate met me at the door when I
went back Into the house and kissed
my cheek and again I heard those
Lalf-spokeri words: "My boy." I ate
my breakfast with her and when I was
about to get into my saddle at the
door I gave her a hug and, as she
tenderly patted ray cheek, a smile
lighted her countenance so that It
seemed to shine upon me. I have
never forgotten Its serenity and sweet
ness. CHAPTER XVII.
I Start in a Long Way.
We readied Canton at six o'clock In
the eyefting - of a beautiful summer
day.- I went at once to call upon the
Dunkelbergs and learned from a man
at work in the dooryard that they had
gone .away for the summer. How
keen was my disappointment ! I weni
to the tavern and got my supper and
then over to Ashery lane to see Mi
chael Hacket and his family. I found
the schoolmaster playing his violin.
"Now God be praised here is
Bart!" he exclaimed as he put down
his instrument and took my hands
In his.- "I've heard, my boy, how
bravely ye've weathered the capes an
I'm proud o' ye that I am!'
I wondered what he meant for a
second and then asked ;
"How go these days with you?'
"Swift as the weaver's shuttle, he
answered. "Sit you down, while I call
the family. They're out in the kitchen
putting the dishes away. Many hands
make light Jabor."
They came quickly and crathered
about me a noisy, happy group. The
younger children kissed me -and sat on
my knees and gave me the small news
of the neighborhood.
How good were the look of those
friendly faces and the full-hearted
pleasure of the whole family at my
"What a Joy for the, spare room !"
exclaimed the schoolmaster. "Sure I
wouldn't wonder If the . old bed was
dancin' on its four legs this very min
ute.. "I intend to walk up to the hills to
night,' I said. ,
"Up to the hills!" he exclaimed mer
rily. "An' the Hackets lyln' awake
thlnkln o ye on the .dark road! Try
It boy, an ye'll get "a, crack with the.
ruler and an hour after school. Yer
aunt and uncle will be stronger to
stand yer comin with the night's rest
upon them. Ye wouldn't be routln
them out o' bed an they after a hard
day with the hayin ! Then, my kind
hearted lad, ye must give a thought to
Michael Henry. He's still alive an
stronger than ever thank God !"
So, although I longed for those most
dear to me up In the hills, I spent the
night with the Hackets and the, school-
master and I sat an hour together af- j
ter the family had gone to bed.
"How are the Dunkelberg's?" I
asked. . ' ,.. . . : " .,
"Sunk In the soft embrace o lux-!
ury," he answered. "Grlmshaw aiade
him ; Grimshaw liked him. He waff
always ready to lick the boots o Grim-,
shaw. It turned out that Grlmshaw
left him an annuity of three thousand
dollars, which he can enjoy as long
as he observes one condition. .
"What, is that?"
"He must not let his daughter mar
ry one Barton Baynes, late o' the town
o Ballybeen. How Is that for spite,
my boy? They, say it's written down
in the will."
I think that he must have seen the
flame of color playing on my face, for
he quickly added :
"Don't worry, lad. The will o God
Is greater than the will o Grlmshaw.
He made you two for each other and
she will be true to ye, as true as the
needle to the north star."
"Do you think, ar
"Sure I do. Didn't she as much as
tell me that here In this iMom not a
week ago Y She loves ye, boy, as true
at God loves ye, an' she's a girl of a
"Why did they go away? Was It
because I was coming?"
"I think It llkel, my fine lad. The
man heard o It tome way perhaps
through yer uncle. He's crazy for the
money, but he'll f et over that. Leave
him to me. I've a fine course o In
struction ready for my lord o' Dunkel
berg." "I think I shall go and try to find
her, I said. .
"I am to counsel ye about tatH
said the schoolmaster. "She's as keen
as a 'brier the fox! She says, Keep
away. .Don't alarm him, or heTi
bundle us off to Europe for two or
So there's the trail ye travel, m
boy. It's the one that keeps away.
Don't let him think ye've anything up
the sleeve o' yer mind. Ah, my lad,
I know the heart o youth ! .Ye'd like
to be puttln yer arms around her
wouldn't ye, now? Sure, there's time
enough! Ye're In the old treadmill o
God the both o' ye! Ye're beln
weighed an tried for the great prize.
It's not pleasant, but It's better so.
Go on, now, an' do yer best an' what
ever comes take it like a man.
A "little silence followed. He broku
It with these words : , ,
"Ye're done with that business In
Cobleskill, an I'm glad. Ye didn't
know ye were beln tried there did
ye? Ye've stood It like a man. What
will ye be doln' now?"
"I'd like to go to Washington with
He laughed heartily.
"I was hopln ye'd say that he
went on. "Well, boy, I think it can be
arranged. IH see the senator as soon
as ever he comes an I believe hell
be glad to know o yer wishes. . I
think he's been hopln, like, that ye
would propose it Go up to the farm
and spend a happy month or two
with yer aunt an uncle. It'll do ye
good. Ye've been growln' plump down
there. Go an' melt It off in the field.V
A little more talk and we were off to
bed with our candles.
Next morning I went down into the
main street of the village before leav
ing for home. I wanted to see how it
looked and, to be quite frank, I wanted
some of the people of Canton to see
how I looked, for my clothes were of
the bestcloth and cut In the latest
fashion. Many stopped me and shook
my hand men and women who had
never noticed me before, but there was
a quality In theli smiles that I didn't
quite enjoy. I I now now that they
thought me a little too grand on the
outside. What a stern-souled lot those
Yankees were 1 "All ain't gold that
glitters." H6w often I had heard that
version of the old motto I
"Why, you loi: like the senator
when he is Just glttin home from the
capital," said Mr Jenison.
They were not yet willing to take
me at the par of my appearance.
I met Betsy Price one of my school
mates on the street She was very
cordial and told me that the Dunkel
bergs had gone to Saratoga.
"I got a letter from Sally this morn
ing," Betsy went on. "She said that
young Mr. Latour was at the same ho
tel and that he txkd her father were
I wonder if she really enjoyed stick
ing this thorn Into my flesh a thorn
which-made It difficult for me to fol
low the advice of the schoolmaster and
robbed me of the little peace I might
have enjoyed. My faith In Sally wav
ered up and down until it settled at
Its wonted level and reassured me.
It was a perfect sunnier morning
and I enjoyed my walk tiver the famil
iar road and up kto the hill country.
The birds seemed to slug. a welcome
to me. Men and boys I had known
waved their hats In the hayfields and
looked at me. There aie few pleas
ures In this world like that, of a boy
getting home after, a long absence.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Wrist Blotter. . .
In these day's of wrist watches there
seems to be a call l r the simple wrist
blotter recently invented by Harland
W. Cardwell of IV enrkana, Tex. This
device consists ... m erely it a curved
blotter back, blottir and a wrist strap,
so that the blotter nay be worn on the
right hand of the ,i ner. TI ius the blot
ter is instantly av Ulabie W use, and
the pen does not h.ive to U lal2 down.
If illness has its trials it also has its
To Utilize Embroidered Monograms.
Take the embroidered Initial or
monogram from old bolster and pillow
cases and use them on new slips. Cut
letter from old slip, leaving a three
Inch square around it (letters for bed
linen are usually two inches), then cut
the material to form an oval leaving a
small margin to turn under. Sew to
the new slip, then outline with em
broidery cotton to conceal stitches.
Outline another row one-fourth of an
Inch from the first and work eyelets
at intervals between the rows to form
a medallion. -The result Is even pret
tier than when first embroidered.
Turning a Dress Skirt
If u skirt has become faded or soiled,
it can often be turned to good advan
tage. ' First; dean It as thoroughly as
possible. Rip one seam, turn and
baste carefully before ripping another.
If there j are plaits refold, following,
the old creases, making what was for
merly the! wrong side the right If the
skirt is a good hanging one, any home
dressmaker can dp the work satisfac
torily, for it. Is not nearly so difficult
a task as to make a new one. One
seam at a time is a much better way
than tp rip all the seams apart before
beginning to baste.
When Sewing Taffeta.
Use a thin, fine needle for sewing
taffeta. The blunt end of a needle long
used Is liable to pucker the goods, and
tne stitches will not be even. A heav
ier needle may be used in sewing
To Sharpen Scissors.
Cut them rapidly on the neck of a I
small glass bottle, or better still, on a
ground glass stopper. It trues the
edges and makes them cut like new.
Take a fine file and sharpen each
blade, being careful to keep the same
Neatness in Frocks for Children
Pfi irv i ill
The dresses brought out by manu
facturers of children's clothes this sea
son ought to be a great help to moth
ers. Neatness Is characteristic of the
new designs and neatness is the first
thing that mothers must teach their
little ones. Little girls acquire good
taste in dress unconsciously and the
responsibility of cultivating it rests on
the mother. She will be safe in se
lecting the clothes turned out by spe
cialists In children's wear for her little
ones If she doubts her own gifts and
Intuitions In the selection of frocks.
A frock for the times when our little
miss must "dress up" Is shown at the
left of the picture above. It is made
of swlss organdfe, as crisp and fresh
as snow. A wide hem arid eight pin
tucks above It speak for the attention
given the skirt, while the bodice re
Joices In bretelles of narrow swlss em
broidery at each side and a "V" at the
front filled In with plain organdie with
tiny pearl buttons at each side. The
embroidery outlines the neck, and a
little, prim bow of ribbon calls atten
tion to it. This same ribbon makes a
pretty sash that will complete the hap
piness of the very young lady who Is
to wear It and help teach her to be
careful of her finery.
At the right of the picture a new
roodol. for a very little girl shows a
quaint frock with batiste body and
' gingham skirt. .There is not much to
say of It, except that It Is pretty, and
cool looking, for the plcUre tells all
its simple story.. The square pockets
are cut on the bias of the goods and
have a border of batiste at the top.
Often plain chsmbray la used instead
angle as they had at first- tu
rough places are all taken out p f1
little oil on the edges of the bin 1
and snap together. Then wipe off
the oil. tt 1111
When Stitching Seama.
, When stitching heavy white cotton
or linen, rub the seam to be stitched
with hard white soap, and the needu
will not cut the material.
To Prevent Pricking the Finger.
One accustomed to doing needlework
of any kind is aware of the diSC0m.
fort caused by the needle pricking the
finger which holds the underside of
the cloth. This can be prevented if the
worker, will moisten a small strip 0f
court plaster and stick it on the end
of the finger.
To Freshen Oriental Rugs.
A mixture of borax, ammonia and
water Is excellent and will not injure
the rugs. To one pint of water add
two tablespoonfuls of powdered borax
and one . tablespoonful of ammonia
stirring well. Apply while the water
Is warm with a small brush, rubbing
against the nap. When the entire rug
has Teen gone over wipe in the same
direction i with the nap with a soft
cloth which will not lint. Then brush
with the nap, using a dry brush. After
this treatment the rugs will be silky,
clear and with a better sheen. This
was told by a native rug dealer.
Demand for Waistcoats.
The demand for waistcoats has al
most completely submerged the sep
arate collar vogue that has been such
a feature of the coat suit.
Belgian Blue Is Popular.
The brilliant, sea-fresh Belgian blue
is as popular as It ever was. It Is a
favorite facing for big, black hats.
of batiste, with plaid ginghams ano
with striped cotton materials. Onfl
new touch In this little frock appears
In the pointed front that laps over
from left to right and is fastened un
der a small bit of needle-work by way
of ornament The sleeves are elbow
length, with turned-back cuffs, and
there Is a small turnover collar,
Feather stitching is more liked for fin
ishing these little frocks than hem
stitching. Bead Work.
All kinds of bead work is so mud)
in vogue that amateurs will hail with
delight any suggestions. To havt
good results proper tools must be on
hand. .Procure fine straw or long-eye
crewel' needles. : Use fine linen thread
and wax it Baste the canvas to thin
goods, such as lawn, on the wrong
side of the design if It be a bag of
solid work, so It will not pucker.
Spread beads out on a soft whit
cloth for dark beads, and the l;?llt
ones on a dark surface, then work
only in a good light not facing It
Do not work until tired and restless
It will not pay.
V.-?,i Always the Sash.
The summer dress, whether of silk
or cotton, has a sash, which may be ot
wide or .narrow ribbon, or of soft
crushed satin. It may assume the form
of chiffon streamers, or may be a bo
made of the dress material.