 CHAPTER XXI. It was curious to see the change which came over Dan after that talk. A weight seemed off his mind, and though the old, impetuous spirit flashed out at times, he seemed intent on trying to show his gratitude and love and honour to these true friends by a new humility and confidence very sweet to them, very helpful to him. After hearing the story from Mrs. Joe, the Professor and Mr. Lorry made no allusion to it beyond the hearty hand-grasp, and look of compassion, the brief word of good cheer in which men convey sympathy, and a redoubled kindness which left no doubt of pardon. Mr. Lorry began at once to interest influential persons in Dan's mission, and set in motion the machinery which needs so much oiling before anything can be done where government is concerned. Mr. Bale, with the skill of a true teacher, gave Dan's hungry mind something to do, and helped him understand himself by carrying on the good chaplain's task so paternally that the poor fellow often said he felt as if he had found a father. The boys took him to drive and amused him with their pranks and plans, while the women, old and young, nursed and petted him till he felt like a sultan with a crowd of devoted slaves obedient to his lightest wish. A very little of this was enough for Dan, who had a masculine horror of molly-colliddling, and so brief an acquaintance with illness that he rebelled against the Doctor's orders to keep quiet, and it took all Mrs. Joe's authority and the girl's ingenuity to keep him from leaving his sofa long before strained back and wounded head were well. As he cooked for him, Nan attended to his medicines, Josie read aloud to Wile away the long hours of inaction that hung so heavily on his hands, while Bess brought all her pictures and casts to amuse him, and at his special desire set up a modelling stand in his parlor, and began to mould the buffalo head he gave her. Those afternoons seemed the pleasantest part of his day, and Mrs. Joe, busy in her study close by, could see the friendly trio and enjoy the pretty pictures they made. The girls were much flattered by the success of their efforts and exerted themselves to be very entertaining, consulting Dan's moods with the feminine tact most women creatures learn before they are out of pinafores. When he was gay the room rang with laughter, when gloomy they read or worked in respectful silence till their sweet patience cheered him up again, and when in pain they hovered over him like a couple of angels, as he said. He often called Josie little mother, but Bess was always princess, and his manner to the two cousins was quite different. Josie sometimes fretted him with her fussy ways, the long plays she liked to read, and the maternal scolding she administered when he broke through the rules. For having a lord of creation in her power was so delightful to her that she would have ruled him with a rod of iron if he had submitted. To Bess, in her gentle administrations, he never showed either impatience or weariness, but obeyed her least word exerted himself to sing well in her presence, and took such interest in her work that he lay looking at her with unwearyed eyes while Josie read to him in her best style unheeded. Mrs. Joe observed this, and called them Una and the Lion, which suited them very well, though the Lion's mane was shorn and Una never tried to bridle him. The elder ladies did their part in providing delicacies and supplying all his wants, but Mrs. Meg was busy at home, Mrs. Amy preparing for the trip to Europe in the spring, and Mrs. Joe hovering on the brink of a vortex, for the forthcoming book had been sadly delayed by the late domestic events. As she sat at her desk, settling papers or meditatively nibbling her pen while waiting for the divine aphelitist to descend upon her. She often forgot her fictitious heroes and heroines in studying the live models before her, and thus by chance looks, words and gestures discovered a little romance unsuspected by anyone else. The portier between the rooms was usually drawn aside, giving a view of the group in the large bay window, best at one side in her grey blouse busy with her tools, Josie at the other side with her book, and between, on the long couch propped with many cushions lay Dan in a many-hued eastern dressing gown presented by Mr. Laurie and worn to please the girls, though the invalid much preferred an old jacket with no confounded tail to bother over. He faced Mrs. Joe's room, but never seemed to see her, for his eyes were on the slender figure before him, with the pale winter sunshine touching her golden head, and the delicate hands that shaped the clay so deftly. Josie was just visible, rocking violently in a little chair at the head of the couch, and the steady murmur of her girlish voice was usually the only sound that broke the quiet of the room, unless a sudden discussion arose about the book or the buffalo. Something in the big eyes, bigger and blacker than ever in the thin white face, fixed so steadily on one object, had a sort of fascination for Mrs. Joe after a time, and she watched the changes in them curiously, but Dan's mind was evidently not on the story, and he often forgot to laugh or exclaim at the comic or exciting crisis. Sometimes they were soft and wistful, and the watcher was very glad that neither Dan so caught that dangerous look, for when they spoke it vanished. Sometimes it was full of eager fire, and the colour came and went rebelliously, in spite of his attempt to hide it with an impatient gesture of hand or head. But oftenest it was dark and sad and stern, as if those gloomy eyes looked out of captivity at some forbidden light or joy. This expression came so often that it worried Mrs. Joe, and she longed to go and ask him what bitter memory overshadowed those quiet hours. She knew that his crime and its punishment must lie heavy on his mind, but youth and time and new hopes would bring comfort and help to wear away the first sharpness of the prison band. It lifted at other times, and seemed almost forgotten when he joked with the boys, talked with old friends, or enjoyed the first snows as he drove out every fair day. Why should the shadows always fall so darkly on him in the society of these innocent and friendly girls? They never seemed to see it, and if either looked or spoke, a quick smile came like a sunburst through the clouds to answer them. So Mrs. Joe went on watching, wondering, and discovering, till the accident confirmed her fears. Josie was called away one day, and Beth's tired of working, offered to take her place if he cared for more reading. I do, your reading suits me better than Joe's. She goes so fast my stupid head gets in a muddle, and soon begins to ache. Don't tell her. She's a dear little soul, and so good to sit here with a bear like me. The smile was ready as Beth went to the table for a new book, the last story being finished. You are not a bear, but very good and patient, we think. It is always hard for a man to be shut up, Mama says, and must be terrible for you, who have always been so free. If Beth had not been reading titles, she would have seen Dan shrink, as if her last words hurt him. He made no answer, but other eyes saw and understood why he looked at her as if he would have liked to spring up and rush away for one of his long races up the hill, as he used to do when the longing for liberty grew uncontrollable. Moved by a sudden impulse, Mrs. Joe caught up her work basket and went to join her neighbours, feeling that a non-conductor might be needed. For Dan looked like a thunder-cloud full of electricity. Watch how we read, Aunty. Dan doesn't seem to care. You know his taste. Tell me something quiet and pleasant and short. Suppose he will be back soon," said Beth, still turning over the books piled on the centre-table. Before Mrs. Joe could answer, Dan pulled a shabby little volume from under his pillow, and handing it to her said, "'Please read the third one. It's short and pretty. I'm fond of it.'" The book opened at the right place, as if the third story had been often read, and Beth smiled as she saw the name. Why, Dan, I shouldn't think you'd care for this romantic German tale. There is fighting in it, but it is very sentimental if I remember rightly. I know it, but I've read so few stories. I like the simple one's best, had nothing else to read sometimes. I guess I know it all by heart, and never seem to be tired of these fighting fellows and the fiends and angels and lovely ladies, as you read as Lager's Knight, and see if you don't like it. God was rather too soft for my fancy, but Freud it was first right, and the spirit with the golden hair always reminded me of you. As Dan spoke, Mrs. Joe settled herself where she could watch him in the glass, and Beth took a large chair facing him, saying as she put up her hands to retire the ribbon that had held the cluster of thick, soft curls at the back of her head. I hope as Lager's hair wasn't as troublesome as mine, for it's always tumbling down. I'll be ready in a minute. Don't tie it up. Please let it hang. I love to see it shine that way. It will rest your head. And be just right for the story, Goldilocks, pleaded Dan, using the childish name and looking more like his boyish self than he had done for many a day. Beth laughed, shook down her pretty head, and began to read, glad to hide her face a little, for compliments made her shy, no matter who paid them. Dan listened intently on, and Mrs. Joe, with eyes that went often from her needle to the glass, could see without turning how he enjoyed every word as if it had more meaning for him than for other listeners. His face brightened wonderfully, and soon wore the look that came when anything brave or beautiful inspired and touched his better self. It was Rogue's charming story of the night froder, and the fair daughter of Sigurd, who was a sort of spirit, appearing to her lover in hours of danger and trial, as well as triumph and joy, till she became his guide and guard, inspiring him with courage, nobleness and truth, leading him to great deeds in the field, sacrifices for those he loved, and victories over himself by the gleaming of her golden hair, which shone on him in battle, dreams and perils by day and night till after death he finds the lovely spirit waiting to receive and to reward him. Of all the stories in the book, this was the last one would have supposed Dan would like best, and even Mrs. Joe was surprised at his perceiving the moral of the tale through the delicate imagery and romantic language by which it was illustrated. But as she looked and listened, she remembered the streak of sentiment and refinement which lay concealed in Dan like the gold vein in a rock, making him quick to feel and to enjoy fine colour in a flower, grace in an animal, sweetness in women, heroism in men, and all the tender ties that bind heart to heart. Though he was slow to show it, having no words to express the taste and instincts which he inherited from his mother, suffering of soul and body had tamed his stronger passions, and the atmosphere of love and pity now surrounding him purified and warmed his heart till it began to hunger for the food neglected or denied so long. This was plainly written, in his too expressive face, as fancy yet unseen, he let it tell the longing after beauty, peace and happiness embodied for him in the innocent fair girl before him. The conviction of this sad yet natural fact came to Mrs. Joe with a pang, for she felt how utterly hopeless such a longing was, since light and darkness were not farther apart than snow-white baths and sin-stained dain. No dream of such a thing disturbed the young girl, as her entire unconsciousness plainly showed. But how long would it be before the eloquent eyes betrayed the truth? And then what disappointment for dain? What dismay for baths? Who was as cool and high and pure as her own marbles, and shunned all thought of love with maidenly reserve? How hard everything is made for my poor boy! How can I spoil his little dream and take away the spirit of good he is beginning to love and long for? When my own dear lads are safely settled, I'll never try another. For these things are heart-breaking, and I can't manage any more, thought Mrs. Joe, as she put the lining into Teddy's coat-sleeve ups her down, so perplexed and grieved was she at this new catastrophe. The story was soon done, and as best shook back her hair, dain asked, as eagerly as a boy, Don't you like it? Yes, it's very pretty, and I see the meaning of it, but Undean was always my favourite. Of course, that's like you lilies and pearls and souls and pure water. Sincham used to be mine, but I took a fancy to this when I was—and rather down on my luck on time—and it did me good. It was so cheerful and sort of spiritual in its meaning, you know. Best opened her blue eyes in wonder at this fancy of dance for anything spiritual. But she only nodded, saying, Some of the little songs are sweet, and might be set to music. Dan laughed. I used to sing the last one to a tune of my own sometimes, at sunset. Listening to celestial rays bending thy unclouded gaze, On the pure and living light Thou art blessed, a slugger's night. And I was, he added, under his breath, as he glanced towards the sunshine dancing on the wall. This one suits you better now, and glad to please him by her interest, best read in her soft voice. Heal fast, heal fast, ye hero wounds. O night, be quickly strong, beloved strife for fame and life, O tarry not too long. I am no hero. Never can be. And fame and life can't do much for me. Never mind. Read me that paper, please. This knock on the head has made a regular fool of me. Dan's voice was gentle, but the light was gone out of his face now, and he moved restlessly as if the silken pillars were full of thorns. Seeing that his mood had changed, best quietly put down the book, took up the paper, and glanced along the columns for something to suit him. You don't care for the money market, I know, nor musical news. Here's a murder you used to like, though. Shall I read it? One man kills another. No! Only a word, but it gave Mrs. Joe a thrill, and for a moment she dared not glance at the tell-tale mirror. When she did, Dan lay motionless with one hand over his eyes, and best was happily reading the art news to ears that never heard a word. Feeling like a thief, who has stolen something very precious, Mrs. Joe slipped away to her study, and for long best followed to report that Dan was fast asleep. Sending her home, with the firm resolve to keep her there as much as possible, Mrs. Bear had an hour of serious thought all alone in the red sunset, and when a sound in the next room led her there, she found that the faint sleep had become real repose. For Dan lay breathing heavily, with a scarlet spot on either cheek, the one hand clenched on his broad breast, yearning over him with a deeper pity than before, she sat in a little chair beside him, trying to see her way out of this tangle. Till his hand slipped down, and in doing so snapped a cord he wore about his neck, and let a small case drop to the floor. Mrs. Joe picked it up, and as he did not wake, sat looking at it, widely wondering what charm it held, for the case was of Indian workmanship, and the broken cord of closely woven grass, sweet-centred, and pale yellow. I won't pry into any more of the poor fellow's secrets, I'll mend and put it back, and never let him know I've seen this talisman. As she spoke, she turned the little wallet to examine the fracture, and a card fell into her lap. It was a photograph, cut to fit its covering, and two words were written underneath the face, Maya Slauga. For an instant Mrs. Joe fancied that it might be one of herself, for all the boys had them. But as the thin paper fell away, she saw the picture Demi took of Bess that happy summer day. There was no doubt now, and with the sigh she put it back, and was about to slip it into Dan's bosom so that not even a stitch should betray her knowledge. When as she leaned towards him she saw that he was looking straight at her with an expression that surprised her more than any of the strange ones she had ever seen in that changeful face before. Your hand slipped down, it fell, I was putting it back. Explained Mrs. Joe, feeling like a naughty child caught in mischief. You saw the picture? Yes. And know what a fool I am? Yes, Dan, and I'm so grieved. Don't worry about me, I'm all right. Glad you know, though, I never meant to tell you. Of course, it is only a crazy fancy of mine, and nothing can ever come of it. Never thought there would, good Lord. What could the little angel ever be to me but what she is? A sort of dream of all that's sweet and good. More afflicted by the quiet resignation of his look and tone than by the most passionate ardour, Mrs. Joe could only say with a face full of sympathy. It is very hard, dear, but there is no other way to look at it. You are wise and brave enough to see that, and to let the secret be ours alone. I swear I will, not a word nor a look if I can help it. No one guesses, and if it troubles no one, is there any harm in my keeping this, and taking comfort in the pretty fancy that kept me sane in that cursed place? Dan's face was eager now, and he hid away the little worn case as if defying any hand to take it from him. Thanks just to know everything before giving counsel or comfort, Mrs. Joe said quietly, Keep it, and tell me all about this fancy. Since I have stumbled on your secret, let me know how it came, and how I can help make it lighter to bear. You'll laugh, but I don't mind. You always did find out our secrets and give us a lift. Well, I never cared much for books, you know, but down yonder when the devil tormented me, I had to do something or go stark mad, so I read both the books he gave me. One was beyond me till that good old man showed me how to read it, but the other, this one, was a comfort, I tell you. It amused me, and was as pretty as poetry. I liked them all, and most wore out syndrome. See how used up he is? Then I came to this, and it sort of fitted that other happy part of my life, last summer, here. Dan stopped a moment as the words lingered on his lips. Then, with a long breath, went on, as if it was hard to lay bare the foolish little romance he had woven about a girl, a picture, and a child's story there in the darkness of the place which was as terrible to him as Dante's Inferno, till he found his Beatrice. I couldn't sleep, and had to think about something. So I used the fancy I was falco, and seeing the shining of as long as hair in the sunset on the wall, the gum of the watchman's lamp, and the light that came in at dawn. My cell was high, I could see a bit of sky sometimes, there was a star in it. And that was most as good as a face. I set great store by that patch of blue, and when a white cloud went by I thought it was the prettiest thing in all this world. I guess I was pretty nearer full, but those thoughts and things helped me through, so that they all saw them true to me, and I can't let them go. The dear shiny head, the white gown, the eyes like stars, and sweet calm ways that set her high above me as the moon in heaven. Don't take it away. It's only a fancy, but a man must love something. And I'd better love a spirit like her than any of the poor common girls who would care for me. The quiet despair in Dan's voice pierced Mrs. Joe to the heart, but there was no hope and she gave none. Yet she felt that he was right, and that his hapless affection might do more to uplift and purify him than any other he might know. Few women would care to marry Dan now, except such as would hinder, not help, him in the struggle which life would always be to him, and it was better to go solitary to his grave than become what she suspected his father had been, a handsome, unprincipled and dangerous man with more than one broken heart to answer for. Yes, Dan, it is wise to keep this innocent fancy if it helps and comforts you till something more real and possible comes to make you happier. I wish I could give you any hope, but we both know that the dear child is the apple of her father's eye, the pride of her mother's heart, and that the most perfect lover they can find will hardly seem to them worthy of their precious daughter. Let her remain for you the high bright star that leads you up, and makes you believe in heaven. Mrs. Joe broke down there. It seemed so cruel to destroy the faint hope Dan's eyes betrayed, that she could not moralize when she thought of his hard life and lonely future. Perhaps it was the wisest thing she could have done. For in her hearty sympathy he found comfort for his own loss, and very soon was able to speak again in the manly tone of resignation to the ineditable that showed how honest was his effort to give up everything but the pale shadow of what, for another, might have been a happy possibility. They talked long and earnestly in the twilight, and this second secret bound them closer than the first. For in it there was neither sin nor shame, only the tender pain and patience which has made saints and heroes of far worse men than our poor Dan. When at length they rose at the summons of a bell, all the sunset glory had departed, and in the wintery sky there hung one star, large, soft, and clear, above a snowy world. Pausing at the window before she dropped the curtains, Mrs. Joe said cheerfully, come and see how beautiful the evening star is, since she loved it so. And as he stood behind her, tall and pale, like the ghost of his former self, she added softly, and remembered dear, if the sweet girl has denied you, the old friend is always here to love and trust and pray for you. This time she was not disappointed, and had she asked for any reward for many anxieties and cares. She received it when Dan's strong arm came round her, as he said in a voice which showed her that she had not laboured in vain to pluck her firebrand from the burning. I can never forget that, for she's helped to save my soul, and make me dare to look up there and say, God bless her. CHAPTER 22 Positively Last Appearance On my word, I feel as if I lived in a powder magazine, and don't know which barrel will explode next and send me flying," said Mrs. Joe to herself next day, as she trudged up to Parnas's to suggest to her sister that perhaps the most charming of the young nurses had better return to her marble gods before she unconsciously added another wound to those already won by the human hero. She told no secrets, but a hint was sufficient, for Mrs. Amy guided her daughter as a pearl of great price, and at once devised a very simple means of escape from danger. Mr. Lorry was going to Washington, on Dan's behalf, and was delighted to take his family with him when the idea was carelessly suggested. So the conspiracy succeeded finally, and Mrs. Joe went home, feeling more like a traitor than ever. She expected an explosion, but Dan took the news so quietly, it was plain that he cherished no hope, and Mrs. Amy was sure her romantic sister had been mistaken. If she had seen Dan's face, when Bess went to say goodbye, her maternal eye would have discovered far more than the unconscious girl did. Mrs. Joe trembled lest he should betray himself, but he had learned self-control in a stern school, and would have got through the hard moment bravely, only when he took both hands saying heartily, Good-bye, Princess, if we don't meet again, remember your old friend Dan sometimes. She, touched by his late danger and the wistful, looky war, answered with unusual warmth, How can I help it, when you make us all so proud of you? God bless your mission, and bring you home safely to us again. As she looked up at him with a face full of frank affection and sweet regret, all that he was losing rose so vividly before him that Dan could not resist the impulse to take the dear goldy head between his hands and kiss it, with a broken, Good-bye, then hurried back to his room, feeling as if it were the prison cell again with no glimpse of heaven's blue to comfort him. This abrupt caress and departure rather startled Bess, for she felled with a girl's quick instinct that there was something in that kiss unknown before, and looked after him with sudden colour in her cheeks and new trouble in her eyes. As Joe saw it, and fearing a very natural question, answered it before it was put. Forgive him, Bess. He has had a great trouble, and it makes him tender at parting with old friends, for you know he may never come back from the wild world he is going to. You mean the fall and danger of death? Ask Bess innocently. No, dear, I greater trouble than that, but I cannot tell you any more, except that he has come through it bravely, so you may trust and respect him, as I do. He has lost someone he loved, poor Dan, we must be very kind to him. Bess did not ask the question, but seemed content with her solution of the mystery, which was so true that Mrs. Joe confirmed it by a nod, and let her go away believing that some tender loss in sorrow wrought the great change all saw in Dan, and made him so slow to speak concerning the past year. But Ted was less easily satisfied, and this unusual reticence goaded him to desperation. His mother had warned him not to trouble Dan with questions till he was quite well, but this prospect of approaching departure made him resolve to have a full, clear, and satisfactory account of the adventures which he felt sure must have been thrilling, from stray words to stand-lad fall in his fever, so one day, when the coast was clear, Master Ted volunteered to amuse the invalid, and did so in the following manner. Look here, old boy, if you don't want me to read, you've got to talk and tell me all about Kansas and the farms and that part. The Montana business I know, but you seem to forget what went before. Brace up and let's have it, he began, with an abruptness which roused Dan from a brown study most effectively. No, I don't forget. It isn't interesting to any one but myself. I didn't see any farms. Gave it up, he said slowly. Why? Other things to do. What? Well, brush-making for one thing. Don't chafe a fellow. Tell true. I truly did. What for? To keep out of mischief as much as anything. Well, of all the queer things, and you've done a lot. That's the queerest, cried Ted. Taken aback at this disappointing discovery, but he didn't mean to give up yet and began again. What mischief, Dan? Never you mind, boys shouldn't bother. But I do want to know, awfully, because I'm your pal, and careful you no end. Always did. Come, now tell me a good yarn. I love scrapes. I'll be mum as an oyster if you don't want it known. Will you? I then looked at him, wondering how the boyish face would change if the truth was suddenly told him. I'll swear it on locked fists if you like. I know it was jolly, and I'm aching to hear. You are as curious as a girl. More than some. Josie and Bess never ask a question. They don't care about rows and things. They like the mind-business heroes, and that sort. So do I, and I'm as proud as punch over it. But I see by your eyes that there was something else before that, and I'm bound to find out who Blair and Mason are, and who was hidden, who ran away, and all the rest of it. What! cried Dan, in a tone that made Ted jump. Well, you used to mutter about him in your sleep, and Uncle Laurie wondered, so did I. But don't mind if you can't remember, or would rather not. What else did I say? Queer, what stuff a man would talk when his wits are gone. That's all I heard, but it seemed interesting, and I just mentioned it thinking it might refresh a memory a bit, said Teddy, very politely, for Dan's frown was heavy at that moment. It cleared off at this reply, and after a look at the boy squirming with suppressed impatience in his chair, Dan made up his mind to amuse him with a game of cross-purposes and half-truths, hoping to quench his curiosity, and so get peace. Let me see, Blair was a lad I met in the cars, and Mason, a poor fellow, who was in a, well, a sort of hospital where I happened to be. Blair ran off to his brothers, and I suppose I might say Mason was hit because he died there. Does that suit you? No, it doesn't. Why did Blair run, and who hit the other fellow? I'm sure there was a fight somewhere there, wasn't there? Yes. I guess I know what it was about. Let's have all you do, let's hear you guess. Must be amusing, said Dan, affecting at ease he did not feel. Charmed to be allowed to free his mind, Ted at once unfolded the boyish solution of the mystery which he had been cherishing, for he felt that there was one somewhere. You didn't say yes if I guess right, and you were under oath to keep silent. I shall know by your face and never tell. Now see if I'm not right. Out there they have wild doings, and it's my belief you were in some of them. I don't mean robbing males and clue-cluxing and that sort of thing, but defending the settlers or hanging some scamp, or even shooting a few as a fellow must sometimes in self-defense. Aha! I've hit it. I see. Ninspeak. I know the flash of your old eye and the clench of your big fist, and Ted pranced with satisfaction. Drive on, smart boy, and don't lose the trail, said Dan, finding a curious sense of comfort in some of these random words and longing, but not daring, to confirm the true ones. He might have confessed the crime, but not the punishment that followed. The sense of its disgrace was still so strong upon him. I knew I should get it, can't deceive me long, began Ted with such an air of pride Dan could not help a short laugh. It's a relief, isn't it, to have it off your mind. Now just confide in me, and it's all safe, unless you've sworn not to tell. I have. Oh, well, then don't, and Ted's face fell, but he was himself again in a moment and said, with the air of a man of the world, It's all right. I understand, on a bind, silence to death, et cetera, glad you stood by your mate in the hospital. How many did you kill? Only one. Bad lot, of course. A damned rascal. Well, don't look so fierce, I've no objection, wouldn't mind popping at some of those bloodthirsty black-guards myself. Had to dodge and keep quiet after it, I suppose. Pretty quiet for a long spell. Got off all right in the end, and headed for your minds, and did that jolly brave thing. Now I call that decidedly interesting and capital. I'm glad to know it, but I won't blab. Mind you don't. Look here, Ted. If you'd killed a man, would it trouble you? A bad one, I mean. The lad opened his mouth to say not a bit, but checked that answer, as if something in Ted's face made him change his mind. Well, if it was my duty in war or self-defence, I suppose I shouldn't. If I'd pitched into him in a rage, I guess I should be very sorry. Shouldn't wonder if he sort of haunted me, and remorse gnawed at me, as it did Aram and those fellows. You don't mind, do you? It was a fair fight, wasn't it? Yes, I was in the riot, but I wish I'd been out of it. Women don't see it that way, and look horrified at such things. Makes it hard, but it don't matter. Don't tell them, then they can't worry, said Ted, with the nod of one versed in the management of the sex. Don't intend to. Mind you keep your notions to yourself, for some of them are wide of the mark. Now you may read if you like. And there the talk ended. But Ted took great comfort in it, and looked as wise as an hour afterwards. A few quiet weeks followed, during which Dan chafed at the delay, and when at length word came that his credentials were ready, he was eager to be off, to forget a vain love and hard work, and live for others, since he might not for himself. So one wild march morning, our centrum rode away, with horse and hound, to face again the enemies who would have conquered him, but for heaven's help and human pity. Ah, me! It does seem as if life was made of partings, and they get harder as we go on. sighed Mrs. Joe a week later, as she sat in the long parlour at Parnassus one evening, whither the family had gone to welcome the travellers back. And meetings too, dear! For here we are, and Nat is on his way at last. Look for the silver lining, as Mammy used to say, and be confident. And said Mrs. Amy, glad to be at home, and find no wolves prowling near her sheepfold. I have been so worried lately, I can't help croaking. I wonder what Dan thought at not seeing you again. It was wise, but he would have enjoyed another look at home faces before he went into the wilderness, said Mrs. Joe, regretfully. Much better so. We left notes in all we could think of that he might need, and slipped away before he came. This really seemed relieved. I'm sure I was, and Mrs. Amy smoothed an anxious line out of her white forehead, and she smiled at her daughter laughing happily among her cousins. Mrs. Joe shook her head, as if the silver lining of that cloud was hard to find, but she had no time to croak again, for just then Mr. Laurie came in, looking well pleased at something. A new picture has arrived, faced towards the music room, good people, and tell me how you like it. I call it only a fiddler, after Anderson's story. What name will you give it? As he spoke he threw open the wide doors, and just beyond they saw a young man standing, with a beaming face and a violin in his hand. There was no doubt about the name to this picture, and with the cry, nat, nat, there was a general uprising, but Daisy reached him first, and seemed to have lost her usual composure somewhere on the way, for she clung to him, sobbing with the shock of a surprise and joy too great for her to bear quietly. Everything was settled by that tearful and tender embrace. For though Mrs. Meg speedily detached her daughter, it was only to take her place. While Demi shook Nat's hand with brotherly warmth, and Josie danced round them like Macbeth's three witches in one, chanting in her most tragic tones, Chur for thou waltz, second violin thou art, first thou shalt be hail, all hail! This caused a laugh, and made things gay and comfortable at once. Then the usual fire of questions and answers began. To be kept up briskly while the boys admired Nat's blonde beard and foreign clothes, the girls his improved appearance. For he was ready with good English beef and beer, and fresh with the sea breezes which had blown him swiftly home, and the older folk rejoiced over his prospects. Of course all wanted to hear him play, and when tongues tired he gladly did his best for them, surprising the most critical by his progress in music even more than by the energy and self-possession which made a new man of bashful Nat. By and by when the violin, that most human of all instruments, had sung to them the loveliest songs without words, he said, looking about him at these old friends with what Mr. Bear called a feeling full expression of happiness and content. Now let me play something that you will all remember though you won't love it as I do. And standing in the attitude which old ball has immortalised, he played the street melody he gave them the first night he came to Plumfield. They remembered it and joined in the plaintiff chorus which fitly expressed his own emotions. O, my heart is sad and weary everywhere I roam, longing for the old plantation and for the old folks at home. Now I feel better, said Mrs. Joe, as they all troop down the hill soon after. Some of our boys are failures, but I think this one is going to be a success, and patient Daisy a happy girl at last. Nat is your work fritz, and I congratulate you heartily. Ah, we can all but sow the seed, and trust that it falls on good ground. I planted, perhaps, but you watched that the fowls of the air did not devour it, and brother Laurie watered generously, so we will share the harvest among. Ask and be glad, even for a small one, heart's dearest. I thought the seed had fallen on very stony ground with my poor Dan, but I shall not be surprised if he surprises all the rest in the real success of life, since there is more rejoicing over one repentant sinner than many saints, answered Mrs. Joe, still clinging fast to her black sheep, although a whole flock of white ones trotted happily before her. It is a strong temptation to the weary historian to close the present tale with an earthquake which should engulf Plumfield and its environs so deeply in the bowels of the earth that no youthful shilliman could ever find a vestige of it. But as that somewhat melodramatic conclusion might shock my gentle readers, I will refrain and forestall the usual question, how did they end, by briefly stating that all the marriages turned out well? The boys prospered in their various callings, so did the girls, for Bess and Josie won honours in their artistic careers, and in the course of time found worthy mates. Nan remained a busy, cheerful, independent spinster, and dedicated her life to her suffering sisters and their children, in which true woman's work she found abiding happiness. Dan never married, but lived, bravely and usefully among his chosen people, till he was shot defending them, and at last lay quietly asleep in the green wilderness he loved so well, with a lock of golden hair upon his breast, and a smile on his face which seemed to say that a slog as night had fought his last fight and was at peace. Stuffy became an old man, and died suddenly of aproposixy, after a public dinner. Dolly was a society man of mark till he lost his money, then he found congenial employment in a fashionable tailoring establishment. Tommy became a partner and lived to see his name above the door, and Robb was a professor at Lawrence College, but Teddy eclipsed them all by becoming an eloquent and famous clergyman to the great delight of his astonished mother, and now having endeavoured to suit everyone by many weddings, few deaths, and as much prosperity as the eternal fitness of things will permit, let the music stop, the lights die out, and the curtain fall forever on the March family. End of Chapter 22 and End of Joe's Boys by Louisa May Alcott. Read by Martina Sydney, Australia.