 Book 1 Chapter 8 of A Day of Fate, by Edward P. Rowe. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by like many waters. Book 1 Chapter 8. The Mystery of Mysteries. Is it a task, then, to show me the right paths and proper ways? I asked as we strolled away, leaving Ada, looking as if in her curiosity to know more of the new species a night editor, she wished Silas Jones in the depths of the Dead Sea. That may depend on how apt and interesting a scholar you prove, I'm a teacher, you know, and teaching some of my scholars' drudgery, and others, a pleasure. So I'm put on my good behavior at once. You ought to be on your good behavior anyway, this is Sunday. Yes, and June, if a man is not good now he'll never be, and yet such people as Mrs. Yocome, nor will I accept present company, make me aware that I am not good, far from it. I am glad Mrs. Yocome made just that impression on you. Why? Because it proves you are a better man than your words suggest, and what is of more consequence a receptive man. I should have little hope for anyone who came from a quiet talk with Mrs. Yocome in a complacent mood, or merely disposed to indulge in a few platitudes on the sweetness and quaintness of her character, and some sentimentalities in regard to friends. If the depths of one's nature were not stirred, then I would believe that there were no depths. She is doing me much good, and giving me just the help I needed. I can honestly say that she did utter one sentence that did find soundings in such shallow depths as exist in my nature, and I ought to be a better man for it hereafter. She may have found you dreadfully bad, Mr. Morton, but I saw from her face that she did not find you shallow. If she had you would not have touched her so deeply. I touched her? Yes, women understand each other, something you said, but do not think I'm seeking to learn what it was, moved her sympathies. Oh, she's kind and sympathetic toward every poor mortal. Very true, but she's intensely womanly, and a woman is incapable of a benevolence and sympathy that are measured out by the yard, so much to each one, according to the dictates of judgment. You were so fortunate as to move Mrs. Yocom, somewhat as she touched your feelings, and you have cause to be glad, for she can be a friend that will make life richer. I think I can now recall what excited her sympathies, and may tell you some time, that is, if you do not send me away. I send you away? Yes, I told you that you were the one obstacle to my remaining. She looked at me as if perplexed and a little hurt. I did not reply at once, for her countenance was so mobile, so obedient to her thought and feeling, that I watched its varied expressions with an interest that constantly deepened. In contrast to Adio Combs her face was unusually pale, and yet it had not the sickly pallor of ill health, but the clear transparent complexion that is between the brunette and the blonde. Her eyes were full, and the impression of largeness when she looked directly at you was increased by a peculiar outward curve of their long lashes. Whether her eyes could be called blue I could not yet decide, and they seemed to darken and grow a little cold as she now looked at me, but she merely said quietly, I do not understand you. This was your chosen resting place for the summer, was it not, Miss Warren? Yes. Well then, what right have I, an entire stranger, to come blundering along like a June beetle and disturb your rest? You did not look forward to associations with night editors and like disreputable people when you chose this sheltered nook of the world and nestled under Mrs. Yocombs' wing. You have the prior right here. As I spoke her face so changed that it reminded me of the morning of this eventful day when I first looked out upon its brightness, and as I ceased her laugh rang out heartily. So after all, your fate is in my hands. It is, you have preempted this claim. Suppose I am a little noncommittal and should say, you may spend the evening, you may stay till tomorrow, would you be content? No, indeed, but I would have to submit. Well, this is rich, whoever heard of an editor and the shrewd alert night editor at that, in such a dilemma. Do you realize what an unwise step you have taken? Mr. Yocombs justly complimented your shrewdness in getting Mrs. Yocombs on your side and having won her over you were safe and might have remained in this Eden as long as you chose. Now you place it within the power, the caprice even, of an utter stranger to send you out into the wilderness again. I said, with a smile, I am satisfied that you differ from your mother Eve in one respect. In what respect? You are not the kind of woman that causes banishment from Eden. You know very little about me, Mr. Morton. I know that. She smiled and looked pleased in spite of herself. I think I'll let you stay till, till tomorrow, she said, with an arch-side glance, then added with a laugh. What nonsense we are talking, as if you had not as good a right to be here as I have. I beg your pardon, I spoke in downright sincerity. You found this quiet place first. In a large hotel all kinds of people can meet almost as they do on Broadway, but here we must dwell together as one family, and I feel that I have no right to force on you any association without your leave, especially as you are here alone. In a certain sense I introduce myself and compel you to meet me socially without your permission. You may have formed a very different plan for your summer's rest. It is rather rare for a music teacher to receive so much consideration. It bewilders me a little. Pardon me, I soon discovered that you possessed woman's highest rank. Indeed, am I a princess in disguise? You are more than many princesses have been, a lady, and as I said before you are here alone. She turned and looked at me intently, and I felt that if I had not been sincere she would have known it. It was a peculiar and I eventually learned a characteristic act. I am now inclined to think that she saw the precise attitude of my mind and feeling toward her. But my awakening interest was as far removed from curiosity as is our natural desire to have a melody completed, the opening strains of which are captivating. Her face quickly lost its aspect of grave scrutiny, and she looked away with a slight accession of color. Do you want to stay very much? she asked. Miss Warren, I exclaimed and my expression must have been eager and glad. You looked at me then as you would at a doubtful stranger and your glance was searching. You looked as only a woman can, as one who would see her way rather than reason it out. Now tell me in sincerity what you saw. You know from my manner what I saw, she said, smiling and blushing slightly. No, I only hoped I have not a woman's eyesight. She bit her lip, contracted her wide low brow for a moment, then turned and said frankly, I did not mean to be rude in my rather direct glance, even though a music teacher I have had compliments before, and I have usually found them as empty and insincere as the people who employed them. I am somewhat alone in the world, Mr. Morton, and I belong to that class of timid and rather helpless creatures whose safety lies in their readiness to run to cover. I have found truth the best cover for me, situated as I am. I aim to be just what I seem, neither more nor less, and I am very much afraid of people who did not speak the truth, especially when they are disposed to say nice things. And you saw. I saw that as bad as you are. I could trust you, she said laughing, a fact that I was glad to learn since you are so bent on forcing your society upon us all for a time. Thank heaven, I exclaimed. I thought yesterday that I was bankrupt, but I must have a little of the man left in me to have passed this ordeal. Had I seen distrust in your eyes and consequent reserve in your manner I should have been sorely wounded. No, she replied shaking her head. When a man's character is such as to excite distrust he could not be so sorely wounded as you suggest. I'm not sure of that, I said. I think a man may know himself to be weak and wicked and yet suffer greatly from such consciousness. Why should he weakly suffer? Why not simply do right? I can endure a certain amount of honest wickedness, but there is a phase of moral weakness that I detest. And for a moment her face wore an aspect that would have made anyone wronging her tremble, for it was pure, strong and almost severe. I do believe, I said, that men are more merciful to the foibles of humanity than women. You are more tolerant perhaps, ah, there's dapple, and she ran to meet the spirited horse that was coming from the farmyard. Rubin, driving, sat confidently in his light open wagon, and his face indicated that he and the beautiful animal he could scarcely restrain shared equally in their enjoyment of young, healthful life. I was alarmed to see Miss Warren run forward, since at the moment dapple was pawing the air, a second later she was patting his arched neck and rubbing her cheek against his nose. He looked as if he liked it. Well, he might. Oh, Rubin, she cried, I envy you, I haven't seen a horse in town that could compare with dapple. The young fellow was fairly radiant as he drove away. She looked after him wistfully and drew a long sigh. Ah, she said, they do me good after my city life, there's life for you, Mr. Morton. Full, overflowing, innocent life in the boy and in the horse. Existence, motion, is to them happiness. It seems a pity that both must grow old and weary. My hand fairly tingles yet from my touch of dapple's neck. He was so alive with spirit. What is it that animates that great mass of flesh and blood, bone and sinew, making him so strong, yet so gentle? At a blow he would have dashed everything to pieces, but he is as sensitive to kindness as I am. I sometimes have think that dapple has as good a right to a soul as I have. Perhaps you are inclined toward Turkish philosophy and think so too. I should be well content to go to the same heaven that receives you and dapple. You are very fearless, Miss Warren, thus to approach a rearing horse. Her answer was a slight scream, and she caught my arm as if for protection. At the moment I spoke, a sudden turning in the lane, brought us face to face with a large matronly cow that was quietly ruminating and switching away the flies. She turned upon us her large, mild, Juno-like eyes, in which one might imagine a faint expression of surprise, but nothing more. My companion was trembling, and she said hurriedly, Please, let us turn back or go some other way. Why, Miss Warren, I exclaimed, what is the matter? That dreadful cow, cows are my terror. I laughed outright as I said. Now is the time for me to display courage and prove that an editor can be the night errant of the age. Upon my soul, Miss Warren, I shall protect you whatever horn of this dilemma I may be impaled upon. Then advancing resolutely toward the cow I added, Madam, by your leave we must pass this way. At my approach the dreadful cow turned and ran down the lane to the pasture field, in a gate peculiarly feminine. Now you know what it is to have a protector, I said returning. I'm glad you're not afraid of cows, she replied complacently. I shall never get over it, they are my terror. There is one other beast I said that I am sure would inspire you with equal dread. I know you are going to say a mouse, well, it may seem very silly to you, but I can't help it. I'm glad I wasn't afraid of dapple, for now you can think me a coward only in streaks. It does appear to me irresistibly funny that you, who alone and single-handed, have mastered this great world so that it is under your foot, should have quailed before that inoffensive cow, which is harmless as the milk she gives. A woman, Mr. Morton, is the mystery of mysteries, the one problem of the world that will never be solved. We even do not understand ourselves. For which truth I am devoutly thankful, I imagine that instead of a week, as Mr. Yocom said, it would require a lifetime to get acquainted with some women. I wish my mother had lived, I'm sure that she would have been a continuous revelation to me. I know that she had a great deal of sorrow, and yet my most distinct recollection of her is her laugh. No earthly sound ever had for me so much meaning as her laugh. I think she laughed when other people would have cried. There's a tone in your laugh that has recalled to me my mother again and again this afternoon. I hope it is not a source of pain, she said gently. Far from it, I replied, memories of my mother give me pleasure, but I rarely meet with one to whom I would even think of mentioning her name. I do not remember my mother, she said sadly. Come, I resume tasteily, you admit that you have been dull and lonely today. Look at that magnificent glow in the West, so assuredly ended in brightness the lives of those we loved, however clouded their day may have been at times. This June evening, so full of glad sounds, is not the time for sad thoughts. Listen to the robins, to that saucy Oriole yonder on the swaying Elm branch. Beyond all, hear that thrush. Can you imagine a more delicious refinement of sound? Let us give way to sadness when we must, and escape from it when we can. I would prefer to continue up this shady lane, but it may prove too shadowy and so color our thoughts. Suppose we return to the farm yard where Mr. Yocom is feeding the chickens, and then look through the old garden together. You are a country woman, for you have been here a week, and so I shall expect you to name and explain everything. At any rate, you shall not be blue any more today if I can prevent it. You see, I am trying to reward your self- sacrifice in letting me stay till tomorrow. You are so considerate that I may let you remain a little longer. What is that fable about the camel, if once he gets his head in? He next puts his foot in it is the sequel perhaps, she replied, with the laugh that was becoming to me like a refrain of music that I could not hear too often. Suspending for a moment the sweep of his hand that was scattering the grain. You are mistaken, sir, I said. I brought Ms. Warren back. I thought she would enjoy seeing you feed the poultry, the horses, and especially the cows. These more self-denying than I'd have been, he resumed with his humorous twinkle. Don't tell mother, but I wouldn't mind taking a walk with Emily Warren myself on a June evening like this. I will take a walk with you whenever you wish, laughed Ms. Warren, but I'll surely tell Mrs. Yocom. Oh, I know I'd get found out, said the old man, shaking his head ruefully. I always do. I'm sure you would if Ms. Warren were here, I added. I'm at a loss to know how early in the day she found me out. Well, I guess these are pretty square sort of a man. If they'd been stealing sheep, Emily Warren wouldn't laugh at these so approvingly. I'm finding out that she rather likes the people she laughs at. At least I take that view, for she laughs at me a great deal. I knew from Emily Warren's laugh that they hadn't anything very bad to tell mother. I admit that, at the time I enjoyed being laughed at, a rather rare experience. You needn't either of you plume yourself that you are irresistibly funny. I laugh easily. Mr. Yocom, why do you feed the chickens so slowly? I have noticed it before. Now ruben and here I'm the man. Throw the corn all down at once. They are in more of a hurry than I am. I don't like to do anything in a hurry, least of all to eat my dinner. Now why should these chickens, turkeys, and ducks gobble everything right down? The corn seems to taste good to them. So after a handful, I wait till they have had a chance to think how good the last kernel was before they get another. You see, I greatly prolong their pleasure. And in these intervals you meditate on Thanksgiving Day I suppose, she said. Emily Warren, these are good Yankee. I admit that that young gobbler there did suggest a day on which I'm always very thankful, and with good reason, I had about concluded before they came that if we were both spared, i.e. that gobbler and I, till next November, I would probably survive him. How can you have the heart to plan against that poor creature's life so coolly? See how he turns his round innocent eyes toward you as if in gratitude, if he could know that the hand that feeds him would chop off his head, what a moral shock he would sustain. That upturned beak should be to you like a reproachful face. Emily Warren, we expect thee to eat thy Thanksgiving dinner with us, and that young gobbler will probably be on the table. Now what part of him will thee take on that occasion? A piece of the breast, if you please. Richard Morton is not Emily Warren as false and cruel as I am? Just about. Is thee not afraid of her? I would be if she were unfriendly. Oh, thee thinks everybody in this house is friendly. Emily Warren, thee must keep up our good name, he added with a mischievous nod toward her. Mr. Yocom, you are forgetting the chickens all together. There are some stade and elderly hens that are going to bed in disgust. You have kept them waiting so long. See how quick they'll change their minds, he said, as he threw down a handful of corn. Now isn't that just like a hen, he added, and then hastened back. And just like a woman also, I'm sure you want to suggest, said Miss Warren. I suppose thee never changes thy mind. I'm going to change the subject. Poultry with their feathers on don't interest me very much. The male birds remind me of a detestable class of conceited men that one must see daily in the city whose gallantry is all affectation and who never for a moment lose sight of themselves or their own importance. That strutting gobbler there, Mr. Morton, reminds me of certain imminent statesmen whom your paper delights to honor, and I imagine that that ridiculous creature embodies their idea of the American eagle. Then the hens have such a simple unthinking aspect, they act as if they expect to be crowed over as a matter of course, and thus typify the followers of these statesmen, who are so preeminent in their own estimation, their exalted perches seem to be awarded unquestioningly. So you think, Miss Warren, that I have the simple unthinking aspect typified by the physiognomy of these hens? Mr. Morton, I was generalizing, we always accept present company. Remember, I disagree with your paper, not you, but why you look up to these human species of the gobbler is something I can't understand, and being only a woman that need not seem strange to you. Since I must tell you the truth on all occasions, Nolans, Volans, you have hit on a subject wherein I differ from my paper. Human phases of the gobbler are not pleasant, but the turkey phases vary, said Mr. Yocom, throwing a handful of corn down before his favorite, which, like certain imminent statesmen, immediately looked after his own interests. Mr. Yocom, please let me help you feed the horses, said Miss Warren, leading the way into the barn, where on one side were moes for hay and grain, and on the other stalls for several horses. The sleek and comfortable animals seem to know the young girl, for they thrust out their black and brown noses toward her and projected their ears instead of laying them back viciously as when I approached, and one old plow horse who had been much neglected until Miss Warren began to pet him gave a loud ecstatic whinny. Oh, you big honest old fellows, she exclaimed caressing one and another. I'd rather teach you than half my pupils. In which half do you place me, I asked. You, oh, I forgot, I was to teach you topography. I will assign you by and by after you have had a few lessons. A man ought to do as well as a horse, so I hope to win your favor. I wish all men did as well as Mr. Yocom's horses. They evidently feel they have the family name and respectability to keep up. Mr. Yocom, what is it that smells so sweetly? That is the red top clover we cut last week. Oh, isn't it good? I wouldn't mind having some myself, and she snatched down a fragrant handful from the mow. Here, old plod, she said turning to the plow horse. The world has rather snubbed you, as it has honest worth before. Mr. Yocom, you and Ruben are much too fond of gay horses. Shall I tell Ruben that they'd rather ride after old plod, as he calls him? No, I thank you, I'll go on as I've begun. I'm not changeable. Now, friend Morton, is not Emily Warren as bad as I am about gay horses? I'm inclined to think she is about as bad as you are in all respects. Emily Warren, thee needed put on any more heirs, Richard Morton thinks thee isn't any better than I am, and there's nothing under the sun an editor doesn't know. I wish he were right this time, she said, with a laugh and a sigh curiously blended. It seems to me, Mr. Yocom, that you have grown here in the country like your clover hay and are as good and wholesome. In New York it is so different, especially if one has no home life. You breathe a different atmosphere from us in more respects than one. This fragrant old barn appears to me more of a sanctuary than some churches in which I have tried to worship, and its dim evening light more religious. According to your faith, I said, no shrine has ever contained so precious a gift as a manger. According to our faith, if you please, Mr. Morton, by an instinct that ignored a custom of the friends, but exemplified their spirit, the old man took off his hat as he said. Yes, friend Morton, according to our faith, the child that was cradled in a manger tends to make the world innocent. The old barn had indeed become a sanctuary, I thought in the brief silence that followed. Ms. Warren stepped to the door, and I saw a quick gesture of her hands to her eyes, then she turned and said in her pecan't way. Mr. Yocome, our talk reminds me of the long grace in Latin which the priests said before meals, and which the hungry people couldn't understand. The horses are hinting broadly that oats would be more edifying. If it were Monday I'd wager you a plum that they would all leave your oats to eat clover hay out of my hand. We'll arrange about the bet tomorrow, and now try the experiment, said Mr. Yocome, relapsing into his genial humor at once. I was learning, however, that a deep earnest nature was hidden by this outward sheen and sparkle. Filling his forecourt measure from the cobwebbed bin, he soon gave each horse his allowance. Now, Richard Morton, thee watch her and see that she doesn't coax too much, or commit over them with any unlawful witchery. Take the hay thyself, Emily, and we'll stand back. I went to the further end of the barn near old plod, and stood where I could see the maiden's profile against the light that streamed through the open door. Never shall I forget the picture I then saw. The tall ample figure of the old Quaker stood in the background, and his smile was broad and genial enough to have lighted up a dungeon. Above him rose the odorous clover, a handful of which Miss Warren held out to the horse in the first stall. Her lips were parted, her eyes shining, and her face had the intent eager interest of a child, while her attitudes and motions were full of unsteadied and unconscious grace. The first horse munched stolidly away at his oats. She put the tempting wisp against his nose, at which he laid back his ears and looked vicious. She turned to Mr. Yocombe, and the old barn echoed to a laugh that was music itself, and she said, You have won your plume if it is Sunday. I shall try all the other horses, however, and thus learn to value correctly the expressions of affection I have received from these long-nosed gentlemen. One after another they munched on regardless of the clover. Step by step she came nearer to me, smiling and frowning at her want of success. My heart thrilled at a beauty that was so unconventional and so utterly self-forgetful. The blooming clover, before it fell at the sweep of the scythe, was the fit emblem of her then. She looked so young, so fair and sweet. They are as bad as men, she exclaimed, who will forgive any wrong rather than an interruption at dinner. She now stood at my side before old Plod, that thus far in his single-minded attention to his oats had seemingly forgotten her presence. But as he lifted his head from the manger and saw her, he took a step forward and reached his great brown nose toward her, rather than for the clover. In brief he said in his poor dumb way, I like you better than hay or oats. The horse's simple undisguised affection for some reason touched the girl deeply, for she dropped the hay and threw her arm around the horse's head, leaning her face against his. I saw a tear in her eye as she murmured, You have more heart than all the rest put together. I don't believe anyone was ever kind to you before, and you've been a bit lonely like myself. Then she led the way hastily out of the barn, saying, Old Plod and I are sworn friends from this time forth, and I shall take your advice, old Plod. I was soon at her side and asked, What advice did old Plod give you? For some inexplicable reason she coloured deeply, then laughed as she said. It's rarely wise to think aloud, but impulsive people will do it sometimes. I suppose we all occasionally have questions to decide that to us are perplexing and important, though of little consequence to the world. Come, if we are to see the old garden, we must make the most of the fading light. After my interview with old Plod, I can't descend to cows and pigs, so goodbye, Mr. Yocum. End of Book First Chapter 9 Book First Chapter 10 of A Day of Fate by Edward P. Rowe. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Like Many Waters Book First Chapter 10 A Bit of Eden This is my first entrance into Eden, I said, as we passed through the rustic gate made of cedar branches and between posts green with American ivy. Like another man you won't stay here long. Like Adam I shall certainly go out when you do. That will be before very long since I have promised Mr. Yocum some music. Even though a Bohemian editor, as you may think, I am conscious of a profound gratitude to some beneficent power, for I never could have chosen so wisely myself. I might have been in Sodom and Gomorrah. For New York in contrast seems a union of both. Receiving reports of crimes and casualties of the day. But I am here with this garden in the foreground and music in the background. You don't know anything about the music, and you may yet wish it so far in the background as to be inaudible. I admit that I will be in a dilemma when we reach the music, for no matter how much I protest, you will know just what I think. Yes, you had better be honest. Come, open for me the treasuries of your ripe experience. You have been a week in the country. I know you will give me a rosebud, a rare old-fashioned one if you please, with a quaint sweet meaning. For I see that's such a bound in this garden, and I am wholly out of humor with the latest mode in everything. Recalling your taste for homely, honest worth, as shown by your passion for old blood, I shall seek a blossom among the vegetables for you. Ah, here is one that is sweet, white, and pretty, and I plucked a cluster of flowers from a potato hill. By the way, what flower is this, I asked demirly. She looked at it blankly for a moment, then remarked with a smile. You have said that it was sweet, white, and pretty, why inquire further? Ms. Warren, you have been a week in the country and don't know a potato blossom. Our relations may be changed, she said, and you become the teacher. Oh, here comes Zilla, we will settle the question according to scripture. Does it not say a little child shall lead them? Who are you so glad to see little one, Ms. Warren or me? I don't know thee very well yet, she said shyly. Do you know Ms. Warren very well? Oh, yes indeed. How soon did you come to know her well? The first day when she kissed me. I think that's a very nice way of getting acquainted. Won't you let me kiss you good night when you get sleepy? She looked at me with a doubtful smile and said, I'm very afraid thy mustache will tickle me. The birds were singing in the orchard near, but there was not a note that to my ear was more musical than Ms. Warren's laugh. I stooped down before the little girl as I said. Suppose we see if a kiss tickles you now, and if it don't now you won't mind it then you know. She came hesitatingly to me and gave the coveted salute with a delicious mingling of maidenly shyness and childish innocence and frankness. Ah, I exclaimed. Eden itself contained nothing better than that, to think that I should have been so honored. I, who have written the records of enough crimes to sink a world. Perhaps if you had committed some of them she wouldn't have kissed you. If I had to live in a 99-story tenement house, as so many do, I think I would have committed them all. Well, I may come to it. Life is a risky battle to such as I, but I'm in heaven now. You do seem very happy, she said, looking at me wistfully. I am very happy. I have given myself up holy to the influences of this day, letting them sway me. Lead me wither so ever they will. If this is a day of destiny, no stupid mulishness of mine shall thwart the happy combination of the stars. That the fates are propitious I have singular reason to hope. Yesterday I was a broken and dispirited man. This evening I feel the influence of all this glad June life. Good Mrs. Yocome has taken me in hand. I'm to study topography with a teacher who has several other bumps besides that of locality, and Zilla is going to show us the Garden of Eden. Is this like the Garden of Eden? The little girl asked, looking up at me in surprise. Well, I'm not sure that it's just like it, but I'm more than content with this garden. In one respect I think it's better. There are no snakes here. Now Zilla, lead where you please. I'm in the following mood. Do you know where any of these birds live? Do you think any of them are at home on their nests? If so, we'll call and pay our respects. When I was a horrid boy, I robbed a bird's nest, and I often have a twinge of remorse for it. Do you want to see a robin's nest? asked Zilla excitedly. Yes, indeed. Then come and walk softly when I do. There's one in that lilac bush there. If we don't make a noise, perhaps we can see Mother Robin on the nest. Very softly. Now lift me up as Father did. There, don't you see her? I did for a moment, and then the bird flew away on a swift silent wing. But from a neighboring tree the paternal robin clamored loudly against our intrusion. Nevertheless, Zilla and I peeped in. Oh, the queer little things, she said. They seem all mouth and swallow. Mrs. Robin undoubtedly thinks them lovely. Miss Warren, you are not quite tall enough, and since I can't hold you up like Zilla, I'll get a box from the tool-house. Isn't this the jolliest housekeeping you ever saw, a father, mother, and six children, with a house six inches across and open to the sky? Compare that with a Fifth Avenue mansion. I think it compares very favourably with many mansions on the avenue, she said, after I returned with a box and she had peered for a moment into the roofless home. I thought you always spoke the truth, I remarked to assuming a look of blank amazement. Well, prove that I don't. Do you mean to say that you think that a simple house of which this nest is the type compares favourably with a Fifth Avenue mansion? I do. What do you know about such mansions? I have pupils in some of the best of them. I hear the voices of many birds, but you are the rarer avice of them all, I said, looking very incredulous. Not at all, I am simply matter of fact, which is worth the more, a furnished house or the growing children in it. The children ought to be. Well, many a woman has so much house and furniture to look after that she has no time for her children. The little brown mother we have frightened away can give nearly all her time to her children. And by the way, they may take cold unless we depart and let her shelter them again with her warm feathers. Besides, the protesting pater familias on the pear tree there is not aware of our goodwill toward him and his and is naturally very anxious as to what we human monsters intend. The mother bird keeps quiet, but she is watching us from some leafy cover with tenfold his anxiety. You will admit, however, that the man bird is doing the best he can. Oh, yes, I have a broad charity for all of his kind. Well, I am one of his kind and so shall take heart and bask in your general goodwill. Stop your noise, old fellow, and go and tell your wife that she may come home to the children. I differ from you, Ms. Warren, as I foresee I often shall. You are not matter of fact at all. You are unconventional, unique. Why not say queer and give your meaning in good plain English? Because that is not my meaning. I fear you are worse, that you are romantic. Moreover, I am told that girls who dot on love in a cottage all marry rich men if the chance comes. She bit her lip, colored and seemed annoyed, but said after a moment's hesitation. Well, why shouldn't they, if the rich men are the right men? Oh, I think such a course eminently proper and thrifty. I'm not finding fault with it in the least. They who do this are a little inconsistent, however, in shunning so carefully that ideal cottage, over which, as young ladies, they had mild and poetic raptures. Now, I can't associate this kind of thing with you. If you had drawings or leadings as Mrs. Yocom would say, toward a Fifth Avenue mansion, you would say so in effect. I fear you are romantic and are under the delusion that love in a cottage means happiness. You have a very honest face, and you looked into that nest as if you liked it. Mr. Morton, she said frowning and laughing at the same time. I'm not going to be argued out of self-consciousness. If we don't know what we know, we don't know anything. I insist upon it that I am utterly matter-of-fact in my opinions on this question. State the subject briefly in prose. Does a family exist for the sake of a home, or a home for the sake of a family? I know of many instances in which the former of these suppositions is true. The father toils and wears himself out, often gambles, speculating some call it, and not unfrequently cheats and steals outright in order to keep up his establishment. The mother works and worries, smooths her wrinkled brow to curious visitors, burdens her soul with innumerable deceits, and enslaves herself that her house and its belongings may be as good or a little better than her neighbors. The children soon catch the same spirit and their soul becomes absorbed in wearing apparel. They are complacently ignorant concerning topics of general interest and essential culture, but would be mortified to death if suspected of being a little off on good form and society's latest whims in mode. It is a dreary thralldom to mirror things in which the soul becomes as material, narrow, and hard as the objects which absorb it. There is no time for that which gives ideality and breadth. Do you realize that your philosophy would stop half the industries of the world? Do you not believe in large and sumptuously furnished houses? Yes, for those who have large incomes, one may live in a palace and yet not be a slave to the palace. Our home should be as beautiful as our taste and means can make it, but, like the nest yonder, it should simply serve its purpose, leaving us the time and means to get all the good out of the world at large that we can. A sudden cloud of sadness overcast her face as she continued, after a moment, half in soliloquy. The robins will soon take wing and leave the nest, so must we. How many have gone already? But the robins follow the sun in their flight, I said gently, and thus they find skies more genial than those they left. She gave me a quick appreciative smile as she said. That's a pleasant thought. Your home must be an ideal one, I remarked unthinkingly. She colored slightly and laughed as she answered. I'm something like a snail. I carry my home, if not my house, around with me. A music teacher can afford neither a palace nor a cottage. I looked at her with eager eyes as I said. Pardon me if I am unduly frank, but on this day I'm inclined to follow every impulse and say just what I think, regardless of the consequences. You make upon me a decided impression of what we men call comradeship. I feel as if I had known you weeks and months instead of hours. Could we not have been robins ourselves in some previous state of existence, and have flown on a journey together? I feel as if I had known you weeks and months instead of hours. Mrs. Yocom had better take you in hand and teach you sobriety. Yes, this junior laden with the odors of these sweet old style roses and grape blossoms intoxicates me. These mountains lift me up. These birds set my nerves tingling, like one of Beethoven's symphonies, played by Thomas's orchestra. In neither case do I know what the music means, but I recognize the divine harmony. Never before have I been conscious of such a rare and fine exhilaration. My mood is the product of an exceptional combination of causes, and they have culminated in this old garden. You know too that I am a creature of the night, and my faculties are always at their best as darkness comes on. I may seem to you obtuseness itself, but I feel as if I had been endowed with a spiritual and almost unerring discernment in my sensitive and highly wrought condition. I know that the least incongruity or discord in sight or sound would jar painfully. Yes, laugh at me if you will, but nevertheless I'm going to speak my thoughts, with no more restraint than these birds are under. I'm going back for a moment to the primitive condition of society, where there were no disguises. You are the mystery of this garden. You who come from New York, where you seem to have lived without the shelter of home life, to have obtained your livelihood among conventional and artificial people, and to whom the faults complicated world must be well known, and yet you make no more discord in this garden than the first woman would have made. You are in harmony with every leap, with every flower and every sound, with that child playing here and there, with the daisies in the orchard, with the little brown mother, whose children you feared might take cold. Hush, I said, with a deprecatory gesture. I will speak my mind, never before in my life have I enjoyed the utter absence of concealment. In the city one must use words to hide thoughts more often than to express them. But here, in this old garden, I intend to reproduce for a brief moment one of the conditions of Eden, and to speak frankly as the first man could have spoken. I am not jesting either, nor am I a reverent. I say in all sincerity, you are the mystery of this garden. You who come from New York, and from a life in which your own true womanhood has been your protection, and yet if, as of old, God should walk in this garden in the cool of the day, it seems to me you would not be afraid, such as the impression, given without reserve, that you make on me, you whom I have just seen as it were. As she realized my sincerity, she looked at me with an expression of strong perplexity and surprise. Truly, Mr. Morton, she said slowly, you are in a strange unnatural mood this evening. I seem so, I replied, because absolutely true to nature, see how far astray from Eden we all are. I have merely for a moment spoken my thoughts without disguise, and you look as if you doubted my sanity. I must doubt your judgment, she said, turning away. Then why should such a clearly defined impression be made on me? For every effect there must be a cause. She turned upon me suddenly, and her look was eager, searching, and almost imperious in its demand to know the truth. Are you as sincere as you are unconventional? she asked. I took off my hat as I replied with a smile. A garden, Ms. Warren, was the first sacred place of the world, and never were sincere words spoken in that primal garden. She looked at me a moment wistfully and even tearfully. I wish you were right, she said, slowly shaking her head. Your strange mood has infected me, I think, and I will admit that to be true is the struggle of my life, but the effort to be true is often hard, bitterly hard in New York. I admit that for years truthfulness has been the goal of my ambition. Most young girls have a father and mother and brothers to protect them. I have only the truth, and I cling to it with the instinct of self-preservation. You cling to it because you love it. Pardon me, you do not cling to it at all. Truth has become the warp and woof of your nature. Ah, here is your emblem, not growing in the garden, but leaning over the fence as if it would like to come in, and yet, among all the roses here, where is there one that excels this flower? And I gathered for her two or three sprays of sweetbriar. I won't mar your bit of Eden by a trace of affectation, she said, looking directly into my eyes in a frank and friendly manner. I'd rather be thought true than thought a genius, and I will make allowance for your extravagant language and estimate on the ground of your intoxication. You surely see double, and yet I am pleased that in your transcendental mood I do not seem to make discord in this old garden. This will seem to you a silly admission after you leave this place and recover your everyday senses. I'm sorry already I made it, but it was such an odd conceit of yours, and her heightened color and glowing face proved how she relished it. It was an exquisite moment to me. The woman showed her pleasure as frankly as a happy child. I had touched the keynote of her character, as I had that of Ada Yocom's a few hours before. And in her supreme individuality, Emily Warren stood revealed before me in the garden. She probably saw more admiration in my face than she liked, for her manner changed suddenly. Being honest doesn't mean being made of glass, she said brusquely. You don't know anything about me, Mr. Morton. You have simply discovered that I have not a leaning toward prevarication. That's all your fine words amount to, since I must keep up a reputation for telling the truth. I'm obliged to say that you don't remind me of Adam very much. No, I probably remind you of a night editor, ambitious to be smart and print. She bit her lip, colored a little. I wasn't thinking of you in that light just then, she said. And, and Adam is not my ideal man. In what light did you see me? It is growing dusky, and I won't be able to see you at all soon. That's evasion. Come, Mr. Morton, I hope you do not propose to keep up Eden customs indefinitely. It's time we returned to the world to which we belong. Silla, called Mrs. Yocome, and we saw her coming down the garden walk. Bless me, where is the child? I exclaimed. When you began to soar into the realms of melodrama and forget the garden you had asked her to show you, she sensibly tried to amuse herself. She is in the strawberry bed, Mrs. Yocome. Yes, I said. I admit that I forgot the garden. I had good reason to do so. I think it is time we left the garden. You must remember that Mrs. Yocome and I are not night editors and cannot see in the dark. Mother, cried Silla coming forward. See what I have found, and her little hands were full of ripe strawberries. If it wasn't getting so dark I could have found more, I'm sure, she added. What, giving them all to me, Ms. Warren exclaimed as Silla held out her hands to her favorite. Would it be nicer if we all had some? Who held you up to look into the robin's nest? I asked reproachfully. Thee may give Richard Morton my share, said the little girl, trying to make amends. I held out my hand and Ms. Warren gave me half of them. Now these are mine, I said to Silla. Yes. Then I'll do what I please with them. I picked out the largest and stooping down beside her continued. You must eat these, or I won't eat any. These very like Emily Warren, the little girl laughed. Thee gets around me before I know it. I'll give you all the strawberries for that compliment. No, Thee must take half. Mrs. Yocome, you and I will divide too, could there possibly be a more delicious combination? And Ms. Warren smacked her lips appreciatively. The strawberry was evolved by a chance combination of forces, I remarked. Undoubtedly, added Ms. Warren, so was my Geneva watch. I like to think of the strawberry in this way, said Mrs. Yocome. There are many things in the scriptures hard to understand, so there are in nature, but we all love the short text, God is love. The strawberry is that text repeated in nature. Mrs. Yocome, you could convert infidels and pagans with a gospel of strawberries, I cried. There are many Christians who prefer tobacco, said Mrs. Yocome laughing. That reminds me, I exclaimed, that I have not smoked today, I fear I shall fall from grace tomorrow however. Yes, I imagine you will drop from the clouds by tomorrow, Ms. Warren remarked. By the way, what a magnificent cloud that is, rising above the horizon in the southwest, it appears like a solitary headland in an Asher sea. Ah, she said in satirical accent, Mrs. Yocome, Ms. Warren has been laughing at me ever since I came, I may have to claim your protection. No, the and father are big enough to take care of yourselves. Emily Warren, is the and Richard Morton both lost, called Mr. Yocome from the Piazza. I can't find mother either, if somebody don't come soon I'll blow the fish horn. We're all coming, answered Mrs. Yocome, and she led the way toward the house. You have not given me a rose yet, I said to Ms. Warren. Must you have one? A man never uses the word must in seeking favors from a lady. A joint policy, well what kind of a one do you want? I told you long ago. Oh, I remember an old-fashioned one with a pronounced meaning, here is a York and Lancaster bud that has a decided old style meaning. It means war, does it not? Yes. I won't take it. Yes I will too, I said a second later, and I took the bud from her hand. You know the law of war, I added. To the victor belong the spoils. She gave me a quick glance, and after a moment said a trifle coldly. That remark seems bright, but it does not mean anything. It often means a great deal. There, I'm out of the garden and in the ordinary world again. I wonder if I shall ever have another bit of Eden in my life. Oh indeed you shall, I will ask Mr. Yocum to give you a day's weeding and towing there. What will you do in the meantime? Sit under the arbor and laugh at you. Agreed, but suppose it was hot and I grew very tired, what would you do? I fear I would have to invite you under the arbor. You fear? Well, I would invite you if you had been of real service in the garden. That would be Eden unalloyed. Since I am not intoxicated, I cannot agree with you. End of Book First Chapter 10 Book First Chapter 11 of A Day of Fate by Edward P. Rowe This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by like many waters. Book First Chapter 11 Moved Mr. Yocum, I said as we mounted the Piazza. What is the cause of the smoke rising above Yonder Mountain to the east of us? I have noticed it several times this afternoon and it seems increasing. That mountain was on fire on Saturday. I hoped the rain of last night would put it out, but it was a light shower and the fire is under headway again. It now seems creeping up near the top of the mountain, for I think I see a faint light. I do distinctly. The mountain begins to remind me of a volcano. The moon will rise before very long and you may be treated to a grand sight if the fire burns, as I fear it will. This is a day of fate, I said, laughing, and almost any event that could possibly happen would not surprise me. It has seemed a very quiet day to me, said the old gentleman. Neither mother nor anyone on the high seat had a message for us this morning and this afternoon I took a very long nap, if thee had not come and stirred us up a little. And Emily Warren had not left at us both. I would call it almost a dull day, as far as any peaceful day can be dull. Such days, however, are quite to my mind and they'll like them better when thee sees my age. I'm inclined to think, I replied, that the great events of life would rarely make even an item in a newspaper. Mrs. Yocome looked as if she understood me, but Miss Warren remarked with a mischievous glance. Personals are generally red. Editors gossip about others, not themselves. You admit that they gossip. That one did little else seems to be your impression. News and gossip are different things, but I'm glad your conscience so troubles you that you exaggerate my words. Emily Warren, thee can squabble with Richard Morton all day tomorrow after thy amiable fashion, but I'm hankering after some of thy music. I will keep you waiting no longer, sir, and would have come before, but I did not wish you to see Mr. Morton while he was in a very lamentable condition. Why, what was the matter with him? Asked Ada, who had just joined us in the lighted hall. He seems to have very queer complaints. He admits that he was intoxicated, and he certainly talked very strangely. Miss Ada, did I talk strangely or wildly this afternoon? No indeed, I think you talked very nicely, and I told Silas Jones that I never met a gentleman before who looked at things so exactly as I did. This was dreadful. I saw that Miss Warren was full of suppressed merriment and was glad that Mrs. Yochome was in the parlor lighting the lamps. I suppose Mr. Jones was glad to hear what you said. I remarked, feeling that I must say something. He may have been, but he did not look so. Mr. Yochome, you have your daughter's testimony that I was sober this afternoon, and since that time I have enjoyed nothing stronger than milk and the odor of your old-fashioned roses. If I was in a lamentable condition in the garden, Miss Warren was the cause, and so is wholly to blame. Emily Warren, does thee know that thy mother Eve made trouble in a garden? I have not the least intention of taking Mr. Morton out of the garden. He may go back at once, and I have already suggested that you would give him plenty of hoeing and weeding there. I'm not so sure about that. I fear he'd make the same havoc in my garden that I'd make in his newspaper. Then you think an editor has no chance for Eden. Thee had better talk to mother about that, if there's any chance for thee at all. She'll give thee hope. Now, Emily Warren, we are all ready. Sing some hymns that will give us all hope. No, sing hymns of faith. Ada took a seat on the sofa, and glanced encouragingly at me, but I found a solitary chair by an open window where I could look out across the valley to the burning mountain and watch the stars come out in the darkening sky. Within I faced Ms. Warren's profile and the family group. I had not exaggerated when I told Ms. Warren that I was conscious of a fine exhilaration. Sleep and rest had banished all dragged and jaded feelings. For hours my mind had been free from a sense of hurry and responsibility, which made it little better than a driving machine. In the mental leisure and quiet which I now enjoyed I had grown receptive, highly sensitive indeed, to the culminating scenes of this memorable day. Even little things and common words had a significance that I would not have noted ordinarily, and the group before me was not ordinary. Each character took form with an individuality as sharply defined as their figures in the somewhat dimly-lighted room. And when I looked without into the deepening June night it seemed an obscure and noble background making the human life within more real and attractive. Ms. Warren sat before her piano quietly for a moment and her face grew thoughtful and earnest. It was evident that she was not about to perform some music but that she would unite with her sincere and simple friends Mr. and Mrs. Yocom in giving expression to feelings and truths that were as real to her as to them. How perfectly true she is, I thought, as I noted the sweet child-like gravity of her face. Then in a voice that proved to be a sympathetic pure soprano, well-trained, but not at all great, she sang, My faith looks up to thee. Their faith seemed very real and definite and I could not help feeling that it would be a cruel and terrible thing if that pronoun thee embodied no living and loving personality. The light in their faces, like that of a planet beaming on me through the open window, appeared but the inevitable reflection of a fuller, richer spiritual light that now shone full upon them. One him followed another and Ruben, who soon came in, seemed to have several favorites. Little Zilla had early asked for those she liked best and then her head had dropped down into her mother's lap and Ms. Warren's sweet tones became her lullaby. Her innocent sleeping face, making another element in a picture that was outlining itself deeply in my memory. Ada, having found that she could not secure my attention, had fallen into something like a reverie. Very possibly she was planning out the dress that she meant to cut to suit herself, but in their repose her features became very beautiful again. Her face to me however was now no more than a picture on the wall, but the face of the childlike woman that was so wise and gifted and yet so simple and true had for me a fascination that excited my wonder. I had seen scores of beautiful women, I lived in a city where they abounded, but I had never seen this type of face before. The truth that I had not was so vivid that it led to the thought that, like the first man, I had seen in the garden the one woman of the world, the mistress of my fate. A second later I was conscious of a sickening fear, to love such a woman and yet not be able to win her. How could one thereafter go on with life? Beware, Richard Morton, on this quiet June evening in this home of peace and the peaceful, and with hymns of love and faith breathed sweetly into your ears, you may be in the direst peril of your life. From this quiet hour may come the unrest of a lifetime. Then hope whispered of better things. I said to myself, I did not come to this place, I wandered hither, or was led hither, and to every influence of this day I shall yield myself. If some kindly power has led me to this woman of crystal truth, I shall be the most egregious fool in the universe if I do not watch and wait for further possibilities of good. How sweet and luminous her face seemed in contrast with the vague darkness without. More sweet and luminous would her faith be in the midst of the contradictions, obscurities, and evils of the world. The home that enshrined such a woman would be a refuge for a man's tempted soul, as well as a resting place for his tired body. Sing, tell me the old, old story, said Mr. Yocom in his warm, hearty way. Was I a profane wretch because the thought would come that if I could draw in shy, hesitating admission another story as old as the world, it would be heavenly music? Could it have been that it was my intent gaze and concentrated thought that made her turn suddenly to me after complying with Mr. Yocom's request? She colored slightly as she met my eyes, but said quietly, Mr. Morton, you have expressed no preference yet. I have enjoyed everything you have sung, I replied, and I quietly sustained her momentary and direct gaze. She seemed satisfied and smiled as she said. Thank you, but you shall have your preference also. Miss Warren, you have sung some little time and perhaps your voice is tired. Do you play Chopin's 12th Nocturne? That seems to me like a prayer. I'm glad you like that, she said with a pleased quick glance. I play it every Sunday night when I am alone. A few moments later and we were all under the spell of that exquisite melody which can fitly give expression to the deepest and tenderest feelings and most sacred aspirations of the heart. Did I say all, I was mistaken? Ada's long lashes were drooping and her face was heavy with sleep and it suggested flesh and blood and flesh and blood only. Miss Warren's eyes in contrast were moist, her mouth tremulous with feeling and her face was a beautiful transparency through which shown those traits which already made her to me preeminent among women. I saw Mrs. Yochome glance from one girl to the other, then close her eyes while a strong expression of pain passed over her face. Her lips moved and she was undoubtedly speaking to one near to her, though so far seemingly from most of us. A little later there occurred one or two exquisite movements in the prayer harmony and I turned to note their effect on Mrs. Yochome and was greatly struck by her appearance. She was looking fixedly into space and her face had assumed a rapt, earnest seeking aspect as if she were trying to see something half hidden in the far distance. With a few rich chords the melody ceased. Mr. Yochome glanced at his wife, then instantly folded his hands and assumed an attitude of reverent expectancy. Ruben did likewise. At the cessation of the music Ada opened her eyes and by an instinct or habit seemed to know what to expect, for her face regained the quiet repose it had worn at the meeting-house in the morning. Miss Warren turned toward Mrs. Yochome and sat with bowed head. For a few moments we remained in perfect silence. Then there was a faint flash of light followed after by an interval of a low deep reverberation. The voices in nature seemed heavy and threatening. The sweet gentle monotone of the woman's voice as she began to speak was divine in contrast. Slowly she annunciated the sentences. What I do thou knowest not now but thou shalt know hereafter. After a pause she continued. As the dear young friend was playing, these words were born in upon my mind. They teach the necessity of faith. Thanks be to the God of heaven and earth that he who spake these words is so worthy of the faith he requires. The disciple of old could not always understand his Lord. No more can we. We often shrink from that which is given in love and grasp at that which would destroy. Though but little, weak, airing children we would impose on the all wise God our way instead of meekly accepting his way. Surely the one who speaks has a right to do what pleases his divine will. He is the sovereign one, the Lord of lords, and though he slay me, yet will I trust in him. But though it is a king that speaks, he does not speak as a king. He is talking to his friends. He is serving them with a humility and meekness that no sinful mortal has surpassed. He is proving by the plain simple teaching of actions that we are not merely his subjects, but his brethren, his sisters, and that with him we shall form one household of faith, one family in God. He is teaching the sin of arrogance and the folly of pride. He is proving for all time that serving not being served is God's patent of nobility. We should not despise the lowliest, for none can stoop so far as he stooped. Every few moments her low sweet voice had, as an accompaniment, distant peals of thunder, that after every interval rolled nearer and jarred heavier among the mountains. More than once I saw Miss Warren start nervously and glance apprehensively at the open window where I sat, and through which the lightning gleamed with increasing vividness. Ada maintained the same utterly quiet impassive face, and it seemed to me that she heard nothing and thought nothing. Her eyes were open, her mind was asleep. She appeared an exquisite breathing combination of flesh and blood and nothing more. Reuben looked at his mother with an expression of simple affection, but one felt that he did not realize very deeply what she was saying. But Mr. Yocom's face glowed with an honest faith and strong approval. The master said, continued Mrs. Yocom after one of the little pauses that intervened between her trains of thought, What I do thou knowest not now. There he might have stopped, presuming is the subject that asks his king for the why and wherefore of all that he does. The king is the highest of all, and if he be a king in truth, he sees the furthest of all. It is folly for those beneath the throne to expect to see so far, or to understand why the king, in his far-reaching providence, acts in a way mysterious to them. Our king is kingly, and he sees the end from the beginning. His plans reach through eternities. Why should he ever be asked to explain to such as we? Nevertheless to the fishermen of Galilee, and to us, he does say, Thou shalt know hereafter. The world is full of evil. We meet its sad mysteries on every side, in every form. It often touches us very closely. For a moment some deep emotion choked her utterance, and voluntarily I glanced at Ada. Her eyes were drooping a little heavily again, and her bosom rose and fell in the long quiet breath of complete repose. Miss Warren was regarding the suffering mother with the face of a pitying angel. And its evils are evil, resumed the sad-hearted woman, in a tone that was full of suppressed anguish. At least they seem so, and I don't understand them. I can't understand them, nor why they are permitted. But he has promised that good shall come out of the evil, and has said, Thou shalt know hereafter. O blessed hereafter, when all clouds shall have rolled away, and in the brightness of my Lord's presence, every mystery that now troubles me shall be made clear. Dear Lord, I await thine own time. Do what seemeth good in thine own eyes. And she meekly folded her hands and bowed her head. For a moment or two there was the same impressive silence that fell upon us before she spoke. Then a louder and nearer peel of thunder awakened Zilla, who raised her head from her mother's lap, and looked wonderingly around, as if someone had called her. Never had I witnessed such a scene before, and I turned toward the darkness that I might hide the evidence of feelings that I could not control. A second later I sprang to my feet, exclaiming, Wonderful! Ms. Warren came toward me with apprehension in her face, but I saw that she noted my moist eyes. I hastened from the room, saying, Come out on the lawn, all of you, for we may now witness a scene that is grand indeed. End of Book First, Chapter 11 Book First, Chapter 12 of A Day of Fate by Edward P. Rowe This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Lyke Mini Waters Book First, Chapter 12 One of Nature's Tragedies I had been so interested in Mrs. Yokom's words, their effect on the little group around her, and the whole sacred mystery of the scene, that I had ceased to watch the smoking mountain with its increasingly lurid apex. In the meantime the fire had fully reached the summit, on which stood a large dry tree, and it had become a skeleton of flame. Through this lurid fire and smoke the full moon was rising, its silver disc discolored and partially obscured. This scene alone, as we gathered on the Piazza and lawn below it, might well have filled us with awe and wonder, but a more impressive combination was forming. Advancing from the southwest, up the starlit sky, which the moon was brightening momentarily, was a cloud whose blackness and heaviness, the vivid lightning made only more apparent. I am an old man, said Mr. Yokom, but I never saw anything so grand as this before. Mother, mother, said little Zilla, I'm afraid, please take me upstairs and put me to bed. And the mother, to whom the scene in the heavens was a glorious manifestation of the God she loved rather than feared, denied herself of what was almost like a vision for the sake of the child. It's awful, said Ada, I won't look at it any longer, I don't see why we can't have nice quiet showers that one can go to sleep in, and she disappeared within the house. Ruben sat down on the Piazza in his quiet undemonstrative way. Miss Warren came down and stood close to Mr. Yokom's side, as if she half unconsciously sought the good man's protection. Incessant lightnings played from some portion of the cloud, zigzagging in fiery links and forkings, while at brief intervals there would be an exceptionally vivid flash, followed more and more closely by heavier and still heavier explosions. But not a leaf stirred around us, the chirp of a cricket was sharply distinct in the stillness. The stars shone serenely over our heads, and the moon rising to the left out of the line of the smoke and fire was assuming her silvery brightness, and at the same time rendering the burning mountain more lurid from contrast. Herbert, Herbert, now I know how brave you were, I heard Miss Warren exclaim in a low odd tone. I saw by the frequent flashes that she was very pale, and that she was trembling. You mean your brother, I said gently. With her eyes fixed on the threatening and advancing cloud as if fascinated by it, she continued in the same tone that was full of indescribable dread. Yes, yes, I never realized it so fully before, and yet I have lain away whole nights, going by awful necessity over every scene of that terrible day. He stood in his place in the line of battle on an open plain, and he watched battery after battery come down from the heights above and open fire. He stood there till he was slain looking steadily at death. This cloud that is coming makes me understand the more awful storm of war that he faced. Oh, I wish this hadn't happened, and there was almost agony in her tone. I'm not as brave as he was, and every nearer peel of thunder shakes my very soul. Mr. Yocom put his hand tenderly on her shoulder as he said, my dear foolish little child, as if thy father in heaven would hurt thee. Ms. Warren, I said earnestly, I have too little of Mr. and Mrs. Yocom's faith, but it seems impossible that anything coming from heaven could harm you. She drew closer to Mr. Yocom's side, but still looked at the cloud with the same wide-eyed dread as of spellbound by it. To me, she resumed in her former tone that only became more hurried and full of fear as the tempest approached. These awful storms are no part of heaven. They are holy of earth, and seem the counterparts of those wild outbreaks of human passion, from which I and so many poor women in the past have suffered. And a low sob shook her frame. I wish I had more of good Mr. Yocom's spirit, for this appalling cloud seems to me the very incarnation of evil. Why does God permit such things? With a front as calm and serene as that of any ancient prophet could have been, Mr. Yocom began repeating the sublime words. The voice of thy thunder was in the heavens, the lightnings lightened the world. Oh no, no! cried the trembling girl. The God I worship is not in the storm or in the fire, but in the still small voice of love. You may think me very weak to be so moved, but truly I cannot help it. My whole nature shrinks from this. I took her hand as I warmly said, I do understand you, Ms. Warren. Unconsciously, you have fully explained your mood and feeling. It's in truth your nature, your sensitive, delicate organism that shrinks from this wild tumult that is coming. In the higher moral tests of courage, when the strongest man might falter and fail, you would be quietly steadfast. She gave my hand a quick strong pressure, and then withdrew it as she said. I hope you are right, you interpret me so generously that I hope I may someday prove you right. I need no proof, I saw your very self in the garden. How strange, how strange it all is, she resumed with a manner that betokened a strong nervous excitability. Can this be the same world, these the same scenes that were so full of peace and beauty an hour ago? How tremendous is the contrast between the serene lovely June day and evening just past, and this coming tempest, whose sullen roar I already hear with increasing dread. Mr. Morton, you said in jest that this was a day of fate. Why did you use the expression? It haunts me, oppresses me. Possibly it is. I rarely give way to presentiments, but I dread the coming of this storm inexpressibly. Oh, and she trembled violently as a heavier peel than we had yet heard, filled the wide valley with awful echoes. Not even a sparrow shall fall to the ground without your father. We are safe, my child. God will shield thee more lovingly than I, and he drew her closer to him. I know what you say is true, and yet I cannot control this mortal fear and weakness. No, Miss Warren, you cannot, I said. Therefore do not blame yourself, you tremble as these trees and shrubs will be agitated in a few moments, because you cannot help it. You are not so moved. No, nor will that post be moved, I replied with a reckless laugh. I must admit that I am very much excited, however, for the air is full of electricity. I can't help thinking of the little robins in a home open to the sky. Her only answer was a low sob, but not for a moment did she take her wide terror-stricken gaze from the cloud whose slow deliberate advance was more terrible than gusty violence would have been. The phenomena had now become so awful that we did not speak again for some moments. The great inky mass was extending toward the eastward and approaching the fire burning on the mountaintop, and the moon rising above and to the left of it, and from beneath its black shadow came a heavy muffled sound that every moment deepened and intensified. Suddenly, as if shaken by a giant's hand, the treetops above us swayed to and fro, then the shrubbery along the paths seemed full of wild terror and writhed in every direction. Hitherto the moon had shown on the cloud with as serena face as that with which Mr. Yocome had watched its approach. But now a scut of vapor swept like a sudden pallor across her disc, giving one the odd impression that she had just realized her peril and then an abyss of darkness swallowed her up. For a few moments longer the fire burned on, and then the cloud with its torrents settled down upon it, and the luridly luminous point became opaque. The night now alternated between utter darkness and a glare in which every leaf and even the color of the tossing roses were distinct. After the first swirl of wind passed, there fell upon nature round us a silence that was like breathless expectation or the cowering from a blow that cannot be averted, and through the stillness the sound of the advancing tempest came with awful distinctness. While far back among the mountains, the deep reverberations scarcely ceased a moment. Broken masses of vapor, the wild skirmish line of the storm passed over our heads, blotting out the stars. The trees and shrubbery were bending helplessly to the gust, and Ms. Warren could scarcely stand before its violence. The great Elm swayed its drooping branches over the house as if to protect it. The war and whirl of the tempest was all about us. The coming rain reminded one of the resounding footsteps of an innumerable host, and great drops fell here and there like scattering shots. Come in, my child, said Mr. Yocom. The storm will soon be passed, and the end the robins shall yet have quiet sleep tonight. I've seen many such wild times among the mountains, and nothing worse than clearer skies and better grain followed. You will hear the robins singing. A blinding flash of lightning followed by such a crash as I hope I may never hear again, prevented further reassuring words, and he had to have support her into the house. I had never been in a battle, but I know that the excitement which mastered me must have been akin to the grand exaltation of conflict wherein a man thinks and acts by moments as if they were hours and years. Well, he may when any moment may end his life, but the thought of death scarcely entered my mind. I had no presentiment of harm to myself, but feared that the dwelling or outbuildings might be struck. Almost with the swiftness of lightning came the calculation. Estimating distance and time, the next discharge of electricity will be directly over the house. If there's cause, which God forbid, may I have the nerve and power to serve those who have been so kind. As I thought I ran to an open space which commanded a view of the farmhouse. Scarcely had I reached it before my eyes were blinded for a second by what seemed a ball of intense burning light shot vertically into the devoted home. Oh God, I gasped. It is the day of fate. For a moment I seemed paralyzed, but the igniting roof beside the chimney roused me at once. Ruben, I shouted. A flash of lightning revealed him still seated quietly on the piazza, as if he had heard nothing. I rushed forward and shook him by the shoulder. Come, be a man. Help me. Quick! And I half-dragged him to a neighboring cherry-tree, against which I had noticed that a ladder rested. By this time he seemed to recover his senses, and in less than a moment we had the ladder against the house. Within another moment he had brought me a pail of water from the kitchen. Have two more pails ready, I cried, mounting the low sloping roof. The water I carried and the rain, which now began to fall in torrents, extinguished the external fire, but I justly feared that the woodwork had been ignited within, hastening back at perilous speed I said to Ruben who stood ready, take one of the pails and lead the way to the attic and the rooms upstairs. The house was strangely and awfully quiet as we rushed in. I paused a second at the parlor door, Ms. Warren lay motionless upon the floor, and Mr. Yocom sat quietly in his great armchair. A sickening fear almost overwhelmed me, but I exclaimed loudly, Mr. Yocom, browse yourself, I smell fire, the house is burning. He did not move nor answer, and I followed Ruben who was halfway up the stairs. It took but a few seconds to reach the large old-fashioned garret, which already was filling with smoke. Lead the way to the chimney, I shouted to Ruben in my terrible excitement. Do not waste a drop of water, let me put it on when I find just where the fire is. Through the smoke I now saw a lurid point. A stride brought me thither, and I threw part of the water in my pail up against it. The hissing and sputtering proved that we had hit on the right spot, while the torrents falling on the roof so dampened the shingles, that further ignition from without was impossible. We must go down a moment to breathe, I gasped, for the smoke was choking us. As we reached the story in which were the sleeping apartments I cried, great God, why don't some of the family move or speak? Hitherto Ruben had realized only the peril of his home, but now he rushed into his mother's room, calling her in a tone that I shall never forget. A second later he uttered my name in a strange odd tone, as I entered hesitatingly. Little Zilla apparently lay asleep in her crib, and Mrs. Yocom was kneeling by her bedside. Mother, said Ruben, and a loud whisper. She did not answer. He knelt beside her, put his arm around her, and said, close to her ear, Mother, why don't you speak to me? She made no response, and I saw that she leaned so heavily forward on the bed as to indicate utter unconsciousness. The boy sprang up and gazed at me with wild questioning in his eyes. Ruben, I said quickly. She's only stunned by the lightning. Will you prove yourself a man and let me help in what must be done? Life may depend upon it. Yes, eagerly. Then help me lift your mother on the bed, strong and gentle now, that's it. I put my hand over her heart. She is not dead, I exclaimed joyously, only stunned. Let us go to the attic again, for we must keep shelter this wild night. We found that the smoke had perceptibly lessened. I dashed the other pail of water on the spot that had been burning, then found that I could place my hand on it. We had been just in time, for there was light woodwork near that communicated with the floor, and the attic was full of dry lumber, and herbs hanging here and there would have burned like tinder. Had these been burning we could not have entered the garret, and as it was we breathed with great difficulty. The roof still resounded to the fall of such torrents, that I felt that the dwelling was safe, unless it had become ignited in the lower stories, and it was obviously our next duty to see whether this was the case. Ruben, I said. Fill the pails once more, while I look through the house and see if there's fire anywhere else. It's clear that all who were in the house were stunned, even you slightly on the Piazza, so don't give way to fright on their account. If you do as I bid, you may do much to save their lives, but we must first make sure the house is safe. If it isn't, we must carry them all out at once. He comprehended me and went for the water instantly. I again looked into Mrs. Yocome's room. It was impregnated with a strong sulfurous odor, and I now saw that there was a discolored line down the wall adjoining the chimney, and that little zillus crib stood nearer the scorching line of fire than Mrs. Yocome had been. But the child looked quiet and peaceful, and I hastened away. My own room was dark and safe. I opened the door of Miss Warren's room and a flash of lightning, followed by complete darkness, showed that nothing was amiss. I then opened another door and first thought the apartment was on fire it was so bright, but instantly saw that two lamps were burning, and that Ada lay dressed upon the bed with her face turned toward them. By this common device she had sought to deaden the vivid lightning. Her face was white as the pillow on which it rested, her eyes were closed, and from her appearance she might have been sleeping or dead. Even though almost overwhelmed with dread, I could not help noting her wonderful beauty. In my abnormal and excited condition of mind, however, it seemed a natural and essential part of the strange unexpected experiences of the day. I was now convinced that there was no fire in the second story, and the thought of Miss Warren drew me instantly away. I already had a strange sense of self-reproach, that I had not gone to her at once, feeling as if I had discarded the first and most sacred claim. I met Ruben on the stairway and told him that the second story was safe, and asked him to look through the first story and seller, and then to go for a physician as fast as the fleet's horse could carry him. Book 1. Chapter 13 of A Day of Fate by Edward P. Rowe. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by like many waters. Book 1. Chapter 13. The Lightning and a Subtler Flame On entering the parlor, I found Mr. Yocome standing up and looking around in a dazed manner. He did not seem to know me, and in my deep anxiety I did not heed him. Kneeling beside Miss Warren I found that her pulse was very feeble. I lifted her gently upon the sofa, and threw open a window, so that the damp gusty wind, full of spray from the rain, might blow in upon her. Mr. Yocome laid his hand heavily on my shoulder and asked in a thick voice, What does it all mean? I saw that he was deathly pale and that he tottered. Taking his arm I supported him to a lounge in the hall and said, Mr. Yocome, you were taken ill, you must lie down quietly till the physician comes. He seemed so confused and unable to think that he accepted my explanation, indeed he soon became so ill from the effect of the shock that he could not rise. Again I knelt at Miss Warren's side and began shaving her hands, but the cool wind and spray did the most to revive her. She opened her eyes, looked at me fixedly for a few moments and then tried to rise. Please keep quiet, I said, till I bring you some brandy, and I hastened to my room, tore open my valise and was soon moistening her lips from a small flask. After swallowing a little she regained self-possession rapidly. What happened, she asked. I fear you swooned. She passed her hand over her brow and looked around as if in search of someone, then said, Where is Mrs. Yocome? She is in her room with Zilla. Please let me go to her, and she again essayed to rise. Miss Warren, I said gently, I have no right to ask a favour of you, but I will thank you very much if you will just remain quietly on this sofa till you are better. You remember we had a frightful storm. I never knew such heavy thunder. Ah, there it is again, she said, shuttering, as a heavy peel rolled away to the north. Miss Warren, you said once today that you could trust me. You can. I assure you the storm is past. There is no more danger from it, but there is danger unless you do as I bid you. Remain quietly here till you have recovered from, from your nervous prostration. I happen to have some knowledge in a case of this kind, and I know that much depends on your being quiet for an hour or more. You need not be alarmed if you do as I bid you. I will see to it that someone is within call all the time, and I tried to speak cheerfully and decisively. She smiled as she said, Since you have assumed the role of Doctor, I'll obey, for I know how arbitrary the profession is. Then she again reclined wearily on the sofa, and I went out, closing the door. I found Rubin beside his father, who certainly needed care, for the terrible nausea which attends recovery from a severe shock from electricity had set in. Rubin, I urged, Do go for the Doctor, I'll do everything for your father that I can, but we must have a good physician at once. Go in your buggy as fast as you can drive in the dark, can't you take a lantern, and bring the Doctor with you. First tell him what has happened so he can bring the proper remedies, be a man Rubin, much depends on you tonight. Within five minutes I heard the swift feet of dapple splash out upon the road. The night was growing still and close, and the gusts occurred at longer intervals. The murky cloud had covered the sky, utterly obscuring the moonlight, and there was a steady and heavy fall of rain. After Rubin had gone a terrible sense of isolation and helplessness oppressed me, I remembered strange tales of lightning and its effects that I had heard. Would the mother and her two daughters survive, was Mr. Yocom seriously ill, but I found that the anxiety which tortured me most was in behalf of the one who gave the best promise of speedy recovery, and it was my chief hope that she would remain quietly where I had left her till the physician arrived. I had pretended to a far greater knowledge than I possessed, since in truth I had very little experience in illness. If Miss Warren should leave the parlor, and thus learn that the farmhouse might become the scene of an awful tragedy, the effect upon her would probably be disastrous in the extreme. These and like thoughts were coursing swiftly through my mind as I waited upon Mr. Yocom and sought to give him relief. Ice, he gasped, it's in the cellar. I snatched up the candle that Rubin had left burning on the hall table and went for it. The place was strange, and I was not as quick and deft as many others would have been, and so was absence some moments. Great was my surprise and consternation when I returned, for Miss Warren stood beside Mr. Yocom holding his head. Why are you here? I asked, and my tone and manner betokened deep trouble. I'm better, she said quietly and firmly. Miss Warren, I remonstrated. I won't answer for the consequences if you don't go back to the parlor and remain there till the doctor comes, I know what I'm about. You don't look as if master of the situation. You are haggard, you seem half desperate. I'm anxious about you and if, Mr. Morton, you are far more anxious about others, I've had time to think, as swoon is not such a desperate affair, you guessed rightly, a thunderstorm prostrates me, but as it passes I am myself again. After aiding Mr. Yocom to recline feebly on the lounge, she came to the table where I was breaking the ice and said in a low tone. Something very serious has happened. I could not look at her, I dared not to even speak, for I was oppressed with the dread of a worse tragedy. With her morbid fear of lightning she might lose all her reason if now in her weak unnerved condition she saw its effect on Mrs. Yocom and Ada. Mother, moaned Mr. Yocom, why don't mother come? She's with Zilla upstairs, I faltered. Zilla, Zill. Then why does not Ada come to her father, Ms. Warren questioned, looking at me keenly. I felt that disguise was useless. Mr. Morton, your hand so trembles that you can scarcely break the ice, something dreadful has happened. There's the smell of smoke and fire in the house. Tell me, tell me, and she laid her hand appealingly on my arm. Oh, Ms. Warren, I groaned. Let me shield you, if further harm should come to you tonight. Further harm will come unless you treat me as a woman, not as a child, she said firmly. I know you mean it kindly, and no doubt I have seemed weak enough to warrant any amount of shielding. At this moment there came a peel of thunder from the passing storm, and she sank shudderingly into a chair. As it passed she sprang up and said, I can't help that, but I can and will help you, I understand it all. The house has been struck, and Zilla, Ada, and Mr. Yocum have been hurt. Let me feed Mr. Yocum with the ice. Are you sure he should have ice? I would give him brandy first if I had my way, but you said you knew. Ms. Warren, I don't know, I'm in mortal terror in behalf of the family, but my cheap dread has been that you would come to know the truth, and now I can't keep it from you. If you can be brave and strong enough to help me in this emergency, I will honor you and thank you every day of my life. Mother, mother, why doesn't mother come, Mr. Yocum called. Ms. Warren gave me a swift glance that was as reassuring as sunlight, and then went quietly into the parlor. A moment later she was giving Mr. Yocum brandy and water and quieting him with low gentle words. You remember Mr. Yocum, she said, that Zilla was greatly frightened by the storm. You would not have the mother leave the child just yet. Mr. Morton, will you go upstairs and see if I can be of any assistance? I will join you there as soon as I have made Mr. Yocum a little more comfortable, and she went to the parlor and brought out another pillow, and then threw open the hall door in order that her patient might have more air, for he respired slowly and laboriously. Her words seemed to quiet him, and he gave himself into her hands. I looked at her wonderingly for a moment, then said in a low tone, You are indeed a woman and a brave one. I recognize my superior officer, and resign command at once. She shook her head as she gave me a glimmer of a smile, but urged in a whisper, hasten, we must not lose a moment. I swiftly mounted the stairs, relieved of my chief anxiety. Through the open door I saw Ada's fair white face, she had not stirred. I now ventured in and spoke to her, but she was utterly unconscious. Taking her hand I was overjoyed to find a feeble pulse. It may all yet be well, God granted, I muttered. He will, said Miss Warren, who had joined me almost immediately. This is not a day of fate, I trust, and she began moistening Ada's lips with Brandy, and trying to cause her to swallow a little, while I chafed her pretty hands and rubbed Brandy on her wrists. It seems to me as if an age crowded with events had elapsed since I started on my aimless walk this morning, I said half in soliloquy. That you were directed hither will be cause for lasting gratitude, was not the house on fire? Yes, but Reuben was invaluable, he was out on the Piazza and so was not hurt. Was Mrs. Yocome hurt? She asked, looking at me in wild alarm. Please do not fail me, I entreated, you have been so brave thus far, Mrs. Yocome will soon revive I think, you were unconscious at first. She now realized the truth that Mrs. Yocome was not caring for Zilla and hastened to their room, impelled by an over-mastering affection for the woman who had treated her with motherly kindness. I followed her and assured her that her friend was living. It needed but a moment to see that this was true, but little Zilla scarcely gave any sign of life, both were unconscious. The young girl now looked at me as if almost overwhelmed, and said in a low stuttering tone, This is awful, far worse than I feared, I do wish the doctor was here. He must be here soon, I know you won't give way, in great emergencies a true woman is great, you may say. A thunder-peel from the retreating storm drowned my words. She grew white and would have fallen had I not caught her and supported her to a chair. Give me a few moments, she gasped, and I'll be, myself again, this shock is awful, why, we would have all burned up, had you not put the fire out. And her eyes dilated with horror. We have no time for words, I said brusquely. Here, take this brandy and let us do everything in our power to save life, I scarcely know what to do, but something must be done, if we can only do the right thing, all may yet be well. In a moment the weakness passed and she was her brave quiet self once more. I won't fail you again, she said resolutely, as she tried to force a little brandy between Mrs. Yocom's pallid lips. You are a genuine woman, I replied heartily, as I chafed Mrs. Yocom's wrists with the spirits. I know how terrible the ordeal has been for you, and most young ladies would have contributed to the occasion nothing but hysterics. And you feared I would. I feared worse, you are morbidly timid in a thunderstorm, and I dreaded your learning what you now know beyond measure. You were indeed burdened, she said, looking at me with strong sympathy. No matter, if you can keep up and suffer no ill consequences from this affair, I believe that the rest will come through all right. After all, they are affected only physically, but you. I have been a little weak-minded, I know it, but if it doesn't thunder any more I'll keep up. Ever since I was a child the sound of thunder paralyzed me. Thank God, Mrs. Yocom is beginning to revive. I will leave her in your care and see if I can do anything for Mr. Yocom. I thus show that I trust you fully. As I passed out I heard a faint voice call, Mother. Going to the door of Ada's room I saw that she was conscious and feebly trying to rise, as I entered she looked at me in utter bewilderment, then shrank with instinctive fear from the presence of a seeming intruder. I saw the impulse of her half-conscious mind and called Miss Warren, who came at once, and her presence seemed reassuring. What is the matter, she asked, with the same thick utterance I had noted in Mr. Yocom's voice. It seemed as if the organs of speech were partially paralyzed. You have been ill, my dear, but now you are much better. The doctor will be here soon, Miss Warren said soothingly. She seemed to comprehend the words imperfectly, and turned her wondering eyes toward me. Oh, that the doctor would come, I groaned. Here you have two on your hands and Mr. Yocom is calling. Who's that? asked Ada, feebly pointing to me. You remember, Mr. Morton, Miss Warren said quietly, bathing the girl's face with cologne. You brought him home from meeting this morning. The girl's gaze was so fixed and peculiar that it held me a moment, and gave the odd impression of the strong curiosity of one waking up in a new world. Suddenly she closed her eyes and fell back faint and sick. At that moment, above the sound of the rain, I heard the quick splash of a horse's feet and hastened down to greet the doctor. In a few hasty words I added such explanation of the catastrophe, as Ruben's partial account rendered necessary, and by the time I had finished we were at Mrs. Yocom's door. Mr. Yocom seemed sufficiently at rest to be left for a while. This is Miss Warren, I said. She will be your invaluable assistant, but you must be careful of her, since she too has suffered very severely, and I fear is keeping up on the strength of her brave will mainly. The physician, fortunately, was a good one, and his manner gave us confidence from the start. I think I understand the affair sufficiently, he said, and the best thing you can do for my patients, and for Miss Warren also, Mr. Morton, is to have some strong black coffee made as soon as possible. That will now prove an invaluable remedy, I think. I'll show you where the coffee is, Miss Warren added promptly. Unfortunately, perhaps fortunately, Mrs. Yocom let the woman who assisted her go away for the night. Had she been here she might have been another burden. Even though I had but a moment or two in the room, I saw that the doctor was anxious about little Zilla. As Miss Warren waited on me I said earnestly, what a godsend you are. No, she replied with a tone and glance that to me were sweeter and more welcome than all the June sunshine of that day. I was here, and you were sent. Then her eyes grew full of dread, reminding me of the gaze she had bent on the storm before which she had cowered. The house was on fire, she said. We were all helpless, unconscious, you saved us, I begin to realize it all. Come, Miss Warren, you are now seeing double. Here, Ruben, I said to the young fellow who came dripping in from the barn, I want to introduce you in a new light, Miss Warren doesn't have know you yet, and I wish her to realize that you are no longer a boy, but a brave level-headed man, that even when stunned by lightning could do as much as I did. Now Richard Morton, I didn't do half as much as thee did, house mother, and he spoke with a boy's ingenuousness. Doing well under the care of the doctor you brought, I said, and if you will now help me make this dying fire burn up quickly, she will have you to thank more than anyone else when well again. I'm going to thank you now, Miss Warren exclaimed, seizing both of his hands. God bless you, Ruben, you don't realize what you have done for us all. The young fellow looked surprised. I only did what Richard Morton told me, he protested, and that wasn't much. Well, there's a pair of you, she laughed. The fire put itself out, and Dappel went after the doctor. Then as if overwhelmed with gratitude, she clasped her hands and looked upward, as she said in low thrilling tones. Thank God, oh thank God, what a tragedy we have escaped. Yes, I said, it might have been a day of fate indeed, life would have been an unendurable burden if what you feared had happened. What's more, I would have lost my faith in God, had a home and such its inmates been destroyed, the thought of it makes me sick, and I sank into a chair. We must not think of it, she cried earnestly, for there's much to be done still, there I've helped you all I can hear. When the coffee's ready call me and I'll come for it, get on dry clothes as soon as you can Ruben, for you can be of great service to us upstairs. I'm astonished at you Mr. Morton, you haven't any nerve at all. You who have dealt in conflagrations, murders, wars, pestilence, earthquakes, writing them up in the most harrowing blood curdling style, you have absolutely turned white and faint because the inmates of a farmhouse were shocked. I won't believe you are an editor at all unless you call me within five minutes. Whether because her pecan words formed just the spur I needed, or because she had a mysterious power over me which made her will mine, I threw off the depression into which I had reacted from my overwhelming excitement and anxiety, and soon had my slow kindling fire burning furiously, dimly conscious in the meantime that deep in my heart another and subtler flame was kindling also. End of book first chapter 13