 CHAPTER X The afternoon was one of unalloyed bliss to Phoebe. She laid aside her troubles with her bonnet and mantilla, and basked in the sunlight of Marcia's smile. Here was something she had never known, the friendship of another girl not much older than herself. For Marcia, though she had grown in heart and intellect during her five years of beautiful companionship with David Spafford, had not lost the years she had skipped by her early marriage, but kept their memory fresh in her heart. Perhaps it was the girl in her that had attracted her to Phoebe Dean. They fell into happy converse at once, Phoebe begging for a seam to sew on the frock of pale blue marino that Marcia was making for Rose, all exquisitely braided with white silk braid in a rosebud pattern. They talked about their mothers, these two who had known so little of real mothering, and Marcia, because she had felted herself, understood the wistfulness in Phoebe's tone when she spoke of her loneliness and her longing for her mother. Then Phoebe, with a half-apologetic flush, told of her mother's birthday letter and the buff marino, and Marcia smoothed down the soft folds of the skirt reverently, half-wistfully, and told Phoebe it was beautiful, just like a present and a letter from heaven. Then she kissed her gently and made her come out where little Rose was playing. There they frolicked until the child was Phoebe's devoted slave, and then they all went back to the big stately parlor, where Miranda had a great fire of logs blazing, and there in a deep easy chair Phoebe was ensconced, with Rose cuddled in her lap playing with her locket, and having it tied at will about her own dimpled neck. While this was going on, Marcia played exquisite music on her piano forte, which to the ear of the girl, who had seldom heard any music in her life save the singing in church or singing school, seemed entrancing. She almost forgot the charming child in her lap, forgot to look about on the beautiful room so full of interesting things, forgot even to think as she listened, and her very soul responded to the music, which seemed to be calling a great comfort across the immense distances that separated her from things she loved. Then suddenly the music ceased, and Marcia sprang up, saying in a glad voice, Oh, there is David, and went to the door to let him in. Phoebe exclaimed in dismay that it was so late, and the beautiful afternoon was at an end, but she forgot her disappointment in wonder over Marcia's joy at her husband's coming. It brought back to her the subject that had been uppermost in her thoughts ever since the night when Hyrum Green had dared to follow her to the orchard. Somehow she had grown up with very little halo about the institution of marriage. It had seemed to her a kind of necessary arrangement, but never anything that gave great joy. The married people whom she knew did not seem greatly to rejoice in one another's presence. Indeed, they often seemed to be a hindrance each to the other. She had never cherished many bright dreams of any such state for herself as most girls do. Life had been too dullly tinted since her little girlhood for her to indulge fancies. Therefore it was a revelation to her to see how much these two rare souls cared for one another. It was not that they displayed their affection by any act of endearment, but she saw it in the glance of each, in a sudden lighting of the eye, the involuntary cadence of the voice, the evident pleasure of yielding each to the other, eye rather preferring one another, the constant presence of joy as a guest in that house because of the presence of the other. One could never feel that way about Hyrum Green. No one could. It would be impossible. Wait! Had not that been the very thing possessed by his poor crushed little wife? But how could she feel it when it was not returned? She began to think over the married household she knew, but then she knew so few of them intimately. There was Granny McVane. Did the old squire feel so about her? And did she spring to meet him at the door after all these years of life with its hardness? There was something about that sweet, meek face in its ruffled cap that made Phoebe think it possible. And there was Albert. Of course, Emmeline did not feel so, for Emmeline was not that kind of a woman. But might not a different woman have felt that for Albert? He was kind and gentle to women. Too slow and easy to gain real respect. Yet, yes, she felt that it might be possible for some woman to feel real joy in his presence. There lurked a possibility that he felt so toward Emmeline in some degree. But Hyrum Green, with his chair tilted back against the wall and his hat drawn over his narrow eyes above his cruel mouth. Never! He was utterly incapable of so beautiful a thing. If he only might in some way pass out of her horizon forever, it would be a great relief. Albert Spafford, when he entered the parlor, not only filled it with pleasure for his wife and little girl, but he brought an added cheer for the guest as well, and Phoebe found herself talking with this man of literature and politics and science as easily as if she had known him well all her life. Afterward, she wondered at herself for it. Somehow he took it for granted that she knew as much as he did, and made her feel at her ease at once. He had ready a bright story from the newspaper office that exactly fitted someone's remark and a joke for his little one. He asked after Albert Dean as though he were an old friend, and seemed to know more about him than Phoebe dreamed. He has a good head. He added in response to Phoebe's timid answer about the farm and some improvements that Albert had introduced. I had a long talk with him the other day and enjoyed it. Somehow that little remark made Phoebe more at home. She knew Albert's shortcomings keenly herself, and she was not deeply attached to him. Yet he was all she had, and he had been kind to her. He stood for relatives to her before the world, and it was nice to not have him at a discount even though there were some men brighter, and Phoebe knew it. Miranda had just called to supper, and they had reached the table and the little preliminary flutter of getting settled in the right places, when the knocker sounded through the hall. Phoebe looked up, startled. Living as she did in the country, a guest who was not intimate enough to walk in without knocking was rare, and an occasion for the knocker to sound was won't to bring forth startled exclamations in the dean family. But Marcia gave the sign to be seated, and Miranda hastened to the door. It's just one of the boys from the office, I think, Marcia, said David Spafford. I told him to bring up the mail if anything important came. The coach wasn't in when I left. But a man's voice was heard conversing with Miranda. I won't keep him but a minute. I'm sorry to disturb him. A moment more, and Miranda appeared with a guileless face. Amanda, see you, Mr. Spafford. I think it's that nephew of Judge Bristol's. Shall I tell him you're eaten supper? What, Nathaniel Graham? No indeed, Miranda. Just put on another plate and bring him right in. Come in, Nathaniel, and take tea with us while you tell your errand. You're just the one we need to complete our company. Miranda, innocent and cheerful, hurried away to obey orders, while David helped the willing guest off with his overcoat and brought him out to the table. She felt there was no need to say anything of a little conversation she had held with Judge Bristol's nephew about half past four that afternoon. It was while Marcia was playing at the Piano Forte in the parlor. Miranda had gone into the garden to pick a bunch of parsley for her chicken gravy, and as was her wound, to keep a good watch upon all outlying territory. She had sauntered up to the fence for a glance about to see if there was anything of interest happening, and Nathaniel Graham had happened. She had watched him coming, wistfully. Yet she dared not add another guest to her tea-party, though the very one she would have chosen had wandered her way. She had tipped his hat to her and smiled. Miranda liked to have hats tipped to her even though she was freckled and red-haired. This young man had been in the highest grade of village school when she entered the lowest class, yet he remembered her enough to bow, freckled though she was, and working for her living. Her heart had swelled with pride in him, and she decided he would do for the part she wished him to play in life. Ah, Miss Miranda! He had paused when almost passed, and stepped back a pace. Do you happen to know if Mr. Spafford will be at home this evening? I want to see him very much for a few minutes. Now though Miranda had dared not invite another guest, she saw no reason why she should not put him in the way of an invitation, so inclining her head thoughtfully on one side and squinting her eyes introspectively, as if she were the keeper of David Spafford's engagements. She had said thoughtfully, Let me see. Yes, I think he's at home tonight. There is one night this week I heard him say he was going out, but I'm pretty sure it ain't this night. But I'll tell you what you better do if you're real anxious to see him. You better just stop long about six o'clock. He's always home then, without fail, and he'll tell you if he ain't going to be in. The young man's face had lighted gratefully. Thank you!" he had said, quite as if he were speaking to a lady, Miranda thought. That will suit me very well. I need not keep him long, and he can tell me if he will be in later in the evening. I shall be passing here about that time. Then Miranda had hustled in with satisfaction to see if her biscuits were beginning to brown. If this plan worked well, there was nothing further to be desired. She had spent the remainder of the afternoon in stealthily vibrating between the kitchen and the parlor door, where, unseen, she could inspect the conversation from time to time and keep advised as to any possible developments. She had set out to see if Phoebe Dean needed any help, and she meant to leave no stone unturned to get at the facts. So it all happened just as Miranda would have planned. Things were happening her way these days, mostly, she told herself with a chuckle and a triumphant glance over at the lights in her grandmother's kitchen, as she went to get another sprigged plate for Nathaniel Graham. And when Marsha was not looking, she slid another plate of quivering jelly, Amber tinted to match Phoebe's frock, in between Phoebe's and Nathaniel's plates. Meantime Phoebe's heart was in a great flutter over the introduction to her night of the forest. The pretty color came into her cheeks, and her eyes shone like stars in the candlelight, as David said, Nathaniel, let me make you acquainted with our friend, Miss Phoebe Dean. I think she is a newcomer since you left us. Miss Dean, this is our friend, Mr. Graham. And then she found herself murmuring in acknowledgment, as the young man took her hand and bowed low over it, saying, Thank you, David, but I am not so far behind the times as you think. I have met Miss Dean before. That frightened her quite, so that she hardly could manage to seat herself with her chair properly drawn up to the table, and she fell to wondering if they had noticed how her cheeks burned. Ah, if they had, they were keeping it to themselves, especially Miranda, who was dishing up the chicken. Wily Miranda! She had called them to supper without dishing it up, making due allowance for the digression of another guest which she had planned. The meal moved along quite smoothly, the conversation flowing easily around until Phoebe had regained her balance and could take her small shy part in it. She found pleasure in listening to the talk of David and Nathaniel, so different from that of Albert and Hyrum. It was all about the great outside world, politics and the possibilities of war, money and banks and failures, and the probabilities of the future, the coming election and the part it would have in the finance of the world, the trouble with the Indians, the rumblings of trouble about slavery, the annexation of Texas, the extension of the steam railway and its hindrances by the present state of finance. It was all new and interesting to Phoebe, to whom had come but a stray word now and again of all these wonderful happenings. Who, for instance, was this Santa Anna whose name was spoken of so familiarly? Neither a saint nor a woman, apparently. And what had he or she to do with affairs so grave? And who was this brave Indian chief, Asiola, languishing in prison because he and his people could not bear to give up the home of their fathers? Why had she never heard of it all before? Oh, life was very hard for everybody. She had never thought of the Indians before as anything but terrible, bloodthirsty savages. And lo, they had feelings and loves and homes like others. Her cheeks glowed and her eyes were light with feeling. And when young Nathaniel turned to her now and again, he thought how wonderfully beautiful she was, and marveled that he had not heard her praises rung from every mouth so soon as he had reached the town. He had been very little at home during his college life and years of law study. Then the conversation came nearer home, and David and Nathaniel talked of their college days. Nathaniel spoke a great deal of Ellafellet Nott, the honored president of his college, and told many a little anecdote of his wisdom and wit. This chicken reminds me, he began laughingly as he held up a delicate wishbone toward Phoebe, of a story that is told of Dr. Nott. It seems a number of students had planned a raid upon his chicken house. Dr. Nott's family consists of himself and wife and his daughter, Miss Sally. Well, the rumor of this plot against his chickens reached the good president's ears and he prepared to circumvent it. The students had planned to go to a tree where it was known that several favorite fowls roosted, and one was to climb up while the others stood below and took the booty. They waited until it was late and the lights in the doctor's study went out, and then they stole silently into the yard and made for the hen roost. The man who was to catch the chickens climbed carefully, silently into the tree, so as not to disturb the sleeping birds, and the others waited in the dark below. The first hen made a good deal of cackling and fuss as she was caught, and while this was going on, the students below the tree saw someone approaching them from the house. Very silently they scattered into the dark and fled, leaving the poor man in the tree alone. Dr. Nott, well muffled about his face, came quietly up and took his stand below the tree, and in a moment the man in the tree handed down a big white rooster. This is Daddy Nott, he said in a whisper, and the man below received the bird without a word. In a moment more a second fowl was handed down. This is Mammy Nott, whispered the irreverent student. Again the bird was received without comment. Then a third hen was handed down with the comment, this is Sally Nott. The doctor received the third bird and disappeared into the darkness, and the student in the tree came down to find his partner's fled, with no knowledge of who had taken the fowls. They were much troubled about the circumstance, but hoped it was only a joke some fellow student had played upon them. They were, however, extremely anxious the next day, when each one concerned in the affair, received an invitation to dine with Dr. Nott that evening. Not daring to refuse, nor being able to find any suitable excuse, they presented themselves dubiously at Dr. Nott's house at the appointed hour, and were received courteously as usual. They were beginning to breathe more freely when they were ushered out to dinner, and there, before the doctor's place, lay three large platters, each containing a fine fowl, cooked to a turn. They dared not look at one another, but their embarrassment came to a climax when Dr. Nott looked up pleasantly at the student on his right, who had been the man to climb the tree, and asked, Hastings, will you have a piece of Daddy Nott or Mammy Nott or Sally Nott? Pointing in order to each platter. I think if it hadn't been for the twinkle in the doctor's eye, those boys would have taken their hats and left without making any adieu's, for they say Hastings looked as if you could knock him over with a feather. But that twinkle broke the horror of it, and they all broke down and laughed until they were most heartily ashamed of themselves, and every man there was cured forever of robbing chicken roosts. But do you know the doctor never said another word to those fellows about that, and they were his most loyal students from that time on? Amid the laughter over this story they rose from the table. Little Rose, who had fallen asleep at the table, was whisked off to bed by the faithful Miranda, and the others went into the parlour where Marcia played exquisite melodies as David and Nathaniel called for them, and Phoebe, entranced, listened, and did not know how her charmed day was spending itself, until suddenly she realized it was half past eight o'clock, and she was some distance from home. Now for a maiden to be abroad after nine o'clock in those days was little short of a crime. It would be deemed most highly improper and disreputable by every good person. Therefore, as Phoebe noted the time by the great o'clock, she started to her feet in a panic and made her adduce with haste. Marcia went after her bonnet and tied it lovingly beneath her chin, kissing her and saying she hoped to have her come soon again. David made as if he would take her home, but Nathaniel waved him back and begged for that privilege himself, and so with happy good-nights the young man and the maiden went out into the quiet village street together and hastened along the way, where already many of the lights were out in the houses and the inhabitants gone to sleep. CHAPTER 11 Phoebe's heart as she stepped out into the moonlight with the young man fluttered so she scarcely could speak without letting her voice shake. It seemed so wonderful that she, of all the girls in the village, should be going home with this bright, handsome, noble man. There was nothing foolish or vain in her thought about it. He was not to be anything more to her for this walk, for his life was set other-where and he belonged to others, notably in all likelihood to his cousin Janet. Nevertheless she felt highly honored that he should take the trouble to see her home, and she knew in her heart that the memory of this walk, her first alone with a young man who was not her brother, would remain long a pleasant spot in her life. He seemed to enjoy her company as much as he had done David's, for he talked on about the things that had interested them in the evening. He told more college stories and even spoke of his literary society, so that Phoebe, remembering Albert's words, asked if it was true that he had once been president of the Philomathians, and he modestly acknowledged it as though the office gave him honor, not he the office. She asked him shyly of the meetings and what they did, and he gave her reminiscences of his college days. Their voices rang out now and then in a merry laugh, where at all the little corn-shock ladies huddled in the moonlight, seemed to wave sinister arms and shake their heads mournfully to hear mirth at so unseemly an hour. Out in the quiet country road, the young man suddenly asked her, Tell me, Miss Dean, suppose I knew of some people who were oppressed, suffering, and wanted their freedom. Suppose they needed help to set them free. What do you think I ought to do? Think of myself and my career, or go and help set them free. Phoebe raised her sweet eyes to his earnest face in the moonlight and tried to understand. I am not wise, she said, and perhaps I would not know what you ought to do, but I think I can tell you what you would do. I think you would forget all about yourself and go to set those people free. He looked down into her face and thought what it meant to a man to have a girl like this one believe in him. Thank you, he said gravely. I am honoured by your opinion of me. You have told me where duty lies. I will remember your words when the time comes. In the quiet of her chamber a few minutes later, Phoebe remembered the words of the young people that day upon the hillside and wondered if it were the people of Texas whom he meant needed to be set free. He had bade her good night with a pleasant ring in his voice, saying he was glad to know her and hoped to see her again before he left for New York, which would be in a few days. Then the door closed behind her and he walked briskly down the frosty way. The night was cold even for October, and each startled blade of grass was furred with a tiny frost spike. Suddenly out from behind a cluster of tall elder bushes that bordered the roadside stepped a man, and without warning dealt him a blow between his eyes that made him stagger and almost fall. That'll teach you to let my girl alone, snarled high room green like an angry dog, and the moonlight made his face look fairly livid with unholy wrath. Have you learned your lesson or do you need another, because there's plenty more where that came from? Nathaniel's senses had almost deserted him for an instant, but he was master of the art of self-defense, and before the bully had finished his threat with a curse he found himself lying in the ditch with Nathaniel towering over him in righteous wrath. —Coward! he said, looking down on him contemptuously. You have made a mistake, of course, and struck the wrong man, but that makes no difference. A brave man does not strike in the dark. —No, I haven't made no mistake, either, snarled high room, as he got up angrily from the ground. I seen you myself with my own eyes, Nate Graham. I seen you trail down the hill out of the woods after her, and I seen you try to get a kiss from her and she run away. I was an eye witness. I seen ya. Then you tried to get alongside her after meeting was out Sunday, tipping your hat so polite as if that was everything a girl wanted. And I seen ya taking her home to-night after decent folks was a bed. Walkin' along a country road talkin' so sweet and low, butter wouldn't melt in your mouth. No, sir, I ain't made no mistake, and I just want you to understand after this you're not to meddle with Phoebe Dean, for she belongs to me. By this time Nathaniel had recognized High Room Green, and his astonishment and dismay knew no bounds. Could it be possible that a girl like that had ought to do in any way with this coarse, ignorant man? Indignation filled him. He longed to pound the insolent wretch before him and make him take back all he had said, but he realized that this might be a serious matter for the young girl, and it was necessary to proceed cautiously. Therefore he drew himself up haughtily and replied. There has never been anything between myself and Miss Dean to which any one, no matter how close their relationship to her might be, could object. I met her in the woods while nutting with a party of friends, and had the good fortune to help her out of a tangle of laurel that had caught in her hair, and to show her the shortcut to the road. I merely spoke to her on Sunday as I spoke to my other acquaintances, and this evening I have been escorting her home from the house of a friend where we have both been taking tea. You lie, snarled Hiram. What did I understand you to say, Mr. Green? It don't make any matter what you understood me to say. I said, you lie, and I'll say it again, too, if I like. You needn't get off any more of your fine words, for they don't go down with me even if you have been to college. All I've got to say is you let my girl alone from now on. Do you understand that? If you don't, I'll take means to make ye. And Hiram's big fist was raised threateningly again. But somehow the next instant Hiram was sprawling in the dust, and this time Nathaniel held something gleaming and sinister in his hand as he stood above him. I always go armed, said Nathaniel, in a cool voice. You will oblige me by lying still where you are until I am out of sight down the road. Then it will be quite safe for you to rise to go home and wash your face. If I see you get up before that, I will shoot. Another thing. If I hear another word of this ridiculous nonsense from you, I will have you arrested and brought before my uncle on charge of assault, and blackmail, and several other things, perhaps. As for speaking to the young lady in question, or showing her any courtesy whatever that is ordinarily shown between young men and women in good society, that shall be as Miss Dean says, and not in any way as you say. You are not fit to speak her name. Nathaniel stepped back slowly a few paces, and Hiram attempted to rise, pouring forth a volley of oaths and vile language. Nathaniel halted and raised the pistol, flashing in the moonlight. You will keep entirely still, Mr. Green. Remember that this is loaded. Hiram subsided, and Nathaniel walked deliberately backward until the man on the ground could see but a dim speck in the gray of the distance, and a night-hawk in the trees by his home mocked him in a clamorous tone. Now all this happened not a stone's throw from Albert Dean's front gate, and might almost have been discerned from Phoebe's window if her room had not been upon the other side of the house. After a little, Hiram crawled stiffly up from the ground, looked furtively about, shook his fist menacingly at the distance where the flash of Nathaniel's pistol had disappeared, and slunk like a shadow close to the fence till he reached his house. Presently only a bit of white paper ground down with a great heel mark, and a few footprints in the frosty dust, told where the encounter had been. The moon spread her obliterating white light over all, and Phoebe slept smiling in her dreams and living over her happy afternoon and evening again. But Nathaniel sat up far into the night till his candle burned low and sputtered out, and even the moon grew weary and bent low. He was thinking, and his thoughts were not all of the oppressed Texans. It had occurred to him that there were other people in the world whom it might be harder to set free than the Texans. If Hiram Green did not sleep, it was because his heart was busy with evil plans for revenge. He was by no means meekly done with Nathaniel Graham. He might submit under necessity, but he was a man in whom a sense of injury dwelt long and smoldered into a great fire that grew far beyond all proportion of the fancy defense. Hatred and revenge were the ruling passions with him. But Phoebe slept and dreamed not that more evil was brewing. The lights had been out, all save a candle in Emma Lyne's room when she came home, but the door was left on the latch for her. She knew Emma Lyne wished to reprove her for the late hour of her return, and was fully prepared for the greeting next morning, spoken frigidly. Oh, say you did come home last night after all! Or was it this morning? I am surprised, I thought you had gone for good. At breakfast things were uncomfortable. Albert persisted in asking Phoebe questions about her tea-party in spite of Emma Lyne's disagreeable sarcasms, when Emma Lyne complained that Phoebe had sneaked away without giving her a chance to send for anything to the village, and that she needed thread for her quilting that very morning, Phoebe arose from her almost untasted breakfast and offered to go for it at once. She stepped into the crisp morning with a sigh of relief and walked briskly down the road, feeling exultantly happy that she had escaped her prison for a little hour of the early freshness. Then she stopped suddenly, for there before her lay a letter ground into the dust, and about the writing there was something strangely familiar, as if she had seen it before, yet it was not any one's she knew. It was not folded so that the address could be seen, as the manner of letters was in those days with no envelopes, but open and rumpled with a communication uppermost, and the words that stood out clearly to her vision as she stooped to pick it up were these. It is most important that you present this letter or it will do no good to go, but be sure that no one else sees it, or great harm may come to you. She turned the paper over with reverent fingers, for a bit of writing was not so common then as now, and was treated with far more importance. And there on the other side lay the name that had gleamed at her pleasantly but a few days before through the laurel bushes as she lay in hiding, Nathaniel Graham Esquire. Did it look up at her confidingly now as if it would plead to be restored to its owner? Phoebe started at the foolish fancy, and was appalled with her responsibility. Was this letter but an old one, useless now, and of no value to its owner? Surely it must be, and he had dropped it on his way home with her last night. The wind had blown it open, and a passer-by had trodden upon it. That must be the explanation, for surely if it were important he would not have laid it down behind the lugs so carelessly in keeping of a stranger. Yet there were the words in the letter. It is most important that you present it when you come. Well, perhaps he had already come wherever that was, and the letter had seen its usefulness and passed out of value. But then it further stated that great harm might come to the owner if any one saw it. She might make sure no one would see it by destroying it. But how was she to know but that she was really destroying an important document? And she might not read further because of that caution, be sure that no one else sees it. A less conscientious soul might not have heeded it, but Phoebe would not have read another word for the world. She felt it was a secret communication to which she had no right, and she must respect it. More and more as this reasoning became clear to her, she saw that there was only one thing to do, and that was to go at once to the owner and give it to him, telling him that she had not read another word than those she saw at first, and making him understand that not a breath of it would ever pass her lips. Her troubled gaze saw nothing of the morning beauties. Little jewels gemmed the fringes of the grass along the road, and the dull red and brown leaves that still lingered on their native branches were coated over with silver gauze. It would have given her joy at another time, but now it was as if it was not. She passed by Hiram Green's farm just as he was coming down to his barn near the road. He was in full view, and near enough for recognition. He quickened his pace as he saw her coming in her morning tidiness and beauty. She made a trim and dainty picture. But her eyes were straight ahead, and she did not turn her head to look at him. He thought she did it to escape speaking, and he had had it in mind to imitate Nathaniel and call a good morning. It angered him anew to have her pass him by unseeing, as if he were not good enough to treat with ordinary common politeness as between neighbors at least. If he had needed anything more to justify his heart in its evil plot, he had it now. With lowering brow and ugly mean, he raised his voice and called on pleasantly. Where you go in this early, Phoebe? But with her face set straight ahead, and eyes that were studying perplexing questions, she went on her way and never even heard him. Then the devil entered into Hiram Green. He waited until she had passed beyond the Red School House that marked the boundary line between the village and the country, and then slouched out from under the shelter of the barn, and with long dogged steps followed her, keeping his little eyes narrowed and intent upon the blue of her frock in the distance. He would not let her see him, but he meant to know where she was going. She had a letter in her hand as she passed, at least it was a small white article much like a letter. Was she writing his rival a letter already? The thought brought a throb of hate, hate toward the man who was better than he, toward the girl who had scorned him, and toward the whole world even the little weak caterpillar that crawled in a sickly way across his path, which he crushed with an ugly twist of his cruel boot. Phoebe, all unsuspecting, thinking only of her duty, which was not at all a pleasant one to her, went on her way. She felt she must get the letter out of her hands at once before she did anything else, so she turned down the street past the church to the stately house with its white fence and high hedge, and her heart beat fast and hard against her blue print frock. In the presence of the great house she suddenly felt that she was not dressed for such a call, yet she would not turn back nor even hesitate, for it was something that must be done at once. She gave herself no time for thought of what would be said, but entered the great gate which to her relief stood open. She held the letter tight in her cold trembling hand. Hyrum had arrived at the church corner just in time to see her disappear within the white gates, and his jaw dropped open in astonishment. He had not dreamed she would go to his house. Yet after a moment's thought, his eyes narrowed and gleamed with the satisfaction they always showed when he had thought out some theory or seen through some possibility. The situation was one that was trying for the girl, and the fact of his being an eyewitness might someday give him power over her. He took his stand behind the trunk of a weeping willow tree in the churchyard to see what might happen. Meantime Phoebe raised the great brass knocker held in the mouth of a lion. She felt as if all the lions of the earth were come to meet her at this threshold, and her heart was beating in her throat now so that she could hardly speak. How hollow the sound of the knocker was as it reverberated through the great hall, not at all the cheerful thing it had been when Nathaniel knocked at Mrs. Spafford's door. A plump black woman in a large yellow turban and white apron opened the door, and was even more formidable than some of the family whom she had expected to meet might have been. She managed to ask if Mr. Graham were in. Mrs. Graham? Dare ain't no Mrs. Graham! ejaculated the old woman, looking her over carefully, and it must be admitted rather scornfully. The young ladies who came to that house to visit did not dress as Phoebe was dressed just then, in working garb. There's only just Ms. Bristol, Ms. Janet, we calls her. Mr. Graham, Mr. Nathaniel Graham, corrected Phoebe intrepidation. She thought she felt a rebuke in the black woman's words that she should call to see a young man. I have a message for him, she added bravely. I will wait here, please. No, I'd rather not come in. I'll call Ms. Janet," said the servant briefly, and swept away, closing the door with a bang in Phoebe's face. She waited several minutes before it was opened again, this time by Janet Bristol. CHAPTER XII You wished to see me? questioned the tall, handsome girl in the doorway, scrutinizing Phoebe hotly. There was nothing encouraging in her attitude. I wished to see Mr. Graham, said Phoebe, trying to look as if it were quite the natural thing for a young woman to call on a young man of a morning. I thought you had a message for him, said Janet sharply. She was wondering what business this very pretty girl could possibly have with her cousin. Yes, I have a message for him, but I must give it to him, if you please," she said with gentle emphasis. She lifted her eyes, and Janet could not help noticing the lovely face and the beauty of the smile. Well, that will not be possible, for he is not here. Janet said it stiffly, and Phoebe felt the disapproval in her glance. Oh! said Phoebe, growing troubled. He is not here. What shall I do? He ought to have it at once. When will he come? I might wait for him. He will not be at home until evening, said Janet, as if she were glad. You will have to leave your message. I am sorry, said Phoebe, in a troubled tone. I cannot leave it. The one who sends it said it was private. That would not mean you could not tell it to his family, said Janet in a superior tone. She was bristling with curiosity. I do not know, said Phoebe, turning to go. I can't understand how it is that you, a young girl, should be trusted with a message if it was so private that his own people are not to know. Her tone was vexed. I know, said Phoebe. It is strange, and I am sorry that it happened so, but there is nothing wrong about it, really. And she looked up wistfully with her clear eyes so that Janet's scares could continue to think evil of her. Perhaps Mr. Graham may be able to explain it to you. I would have no right. She turned and went down the steps. I will come back this evening. She said, more as if she were making a resolve than as if it were a communication to Janet. Wait! said Janet sharply. Who are you? I've seen you in church, haven't I? Oh, yes, said Phoebe, glad to have something natural said. I sit just behind you. I'm only Phoebe Dean. And who sends this message to my cousin? Phoebe's face clouded over. I do not know. She said, slowly. Well, that is very strange indeed. If I were you I would not carry messages for strange people. It doesn't look well. Girls can't be too careful what they do. Janet did not mean to be hateful, but she was deeply annoyed and curious. Phoebe's face was pained. I hope Mr. Graham will be able to explain, she said sorrowfully. I do not like to have you think ill of me. Then she went away while Janet stood perplexed and annoyed. She took the letter safely in the bosom of her gown and held her hand over it as she hurried along, not looking up nor noticing any more than when she had come. She passed Miranda on the other side of the street and never saw her, and Miranda wondered where she was going and why she looked so troubled. If she had not been hurrying to the store for something that was needed at once for the day's dinner, she would have followed her to find out and perhaps have asked her point blank. It would have been a good thing, for when one is tracked by a devil it is well to be followed also by an angel, even if it be only one with a freckled face. Without a thought for anything but her perplexities Phoebe made her way through the village and out on the country road, and in a very short time arrived in the kitchen of her home, where Emmeline had just finished the breakfast dishes. Well, she said grimly, looking up as Phoebe entered and noticing her empty hands. Where's the thread? Didn't they have any? Oh! said Phoebe blankly. Her hands flew to her heart in dismay as she took in her situation. I forgot it. She murmured humbly, I'll go right back. And without waiting for a word from the amazed Emmeline, she turned and sped down the road again towards the village. Of all things! ejaculated Emmeline as she went to close the door that had blown open. She needs a nurse. I didn't suppose going out to tea and a little money in the bank could make a girl lose her head like that. She has turned into a regular scatter brain. The idea of her forgetting to get that thread when she hadn't another earthly thing to do. I'd like to know who T'was brung her home last night. I don't know how I could have missed him till he was way out in the road. It didn't look exactly like David Spafford, and yet who could it have been if it wasn't? She must have went to Miss Spafford's again this morning instead of going to the store, or she'd never have forgot. I'll have to find out when she gets back. It's my duty. Emmeline snapped her lips together over the words as if she anticipated the duty would be a pleasant one. Phoebe in her hasty flight down the road almost ran into Hyrum Green, who was sulkily plotting back from his fruitless errand to his belated chores. Gosh! he said as she started back with a hasty, excuse me, Mr. Green, I'm in such a hurry I didn't see you. She was gone on before her sentence was quite finished, and the breeze wafted it back to him from her flying figure. Gosh! he said again, looking after her. I wonder what's up now? Then he turned doggedly and followed her again. If this kept up, detective business was going to be lively work. He was tired already and his mornings work not half done. Two trips to the village on foot in one morning were weary some, yet he was determined to know what all this meant. Phoebe did her errand swiftly this time and was so quick in returning with her purchase that she met Hyrum face to face outside the store before he had had time to conceal himself. He was thrown off his guard, but he rallied and tried to play the galant. I thought I'd come long and see if I couldn't carry your bundle for you. Oh, thank you, Mr. Green," said Phoebe, at new dismay at this unwonted display of courtesy on his part. But I can't wait, for Emmeline is in a great hurry for this. I shall have to run most of the way home. Besides, it's very light. I couldn't think of troubling you." She had backed off as she spoke, and with the closing words she turned and flew up the street on feet as light as a thistle down. Gosh! said Hyrum under his breath, almost dazed at the rebuff. Gosh! but she's a slippery one, but I'll catch her yet where she can't squirm out so easy. See if I don't. And with scowling brows he started slowly after her again. He did not intend any move on her part should go unwatched. He hated her for disliking him. Miranda, from her watchtower in the Spafford kitchen window, saw Phoebe's flying figure and wondered. She did not know what it meant, but it meant something she was sure. She felt stirrings in her soul that usually called for some action on her part. Her alert soul was ready when the time should arrive, and she felt it arriving fast, and sniffed the air like a trained war horse. To be sure she sniffed nothing more dangerous than the fragrance of mince pies just out of the great brick oven standing in a row on the shelf to cool. The remainder of the morning was not pleasant for Phoebe. Her mind was too busy with her perplexity about how to get the letter to Nathaniel for her to spend much time in planning how to excuse her forgetfulness. She merely said, I was thinking of something else, Emmeline, and so came back without going to the store at all. Emmeline scolded and sniffed and scoffed to no purpose. Phoebe silently worked on, her brow thoughtful, her eyes far away, her whole manner showing she was paying little heed to what her sister-in-law said. This made Emmeline still more angry, so that she exhausted the vials of her wrath in fruitless words upon the girl. But Phoebe's lips were sealed. She answered questions when it was necessary and quietly worked on. The tasks disappeared from under her hand as if by a sort of magic. When everything else was done she seated herself at the quilt and began to set tiny stitches in a brilliant corner. Don't trouble yourself, said Emmeline coldly. You might forget to fasten your thread or tie a knot in it. I wouldn't be sprized. But Phoebe worked mechanically on and soon had got a whole block ahead of Emmeline. Her mind was busy with the problem of the evening. How should she get that letter to Nathaniel without being discovered and questioned at home? At dinner she was unusually silent, excusing herself to go back to the quilt as soon as she had taken a few mouthfuls. Emmeline looked scrutinizingly at her and became silent. It seemed to her there was something strange about Phoebe. She would have given a good deal to know all about her afternoon at the Spaffords, but Phoebe's monosyllabic answers brought forth little in the way of information. Albert looked at her in a troubled way, then glanced at Emmeline's forbidding face and forbore to say anything. The afternoon wore away in silence. Several times Emmeline opened her lips to ask a question and snapped them shut again. She made up her mind that Phoebe must be thinking about Hyrum Green, and if that was so she would better keep still and let her think. Nevertheless there was something serene and lofty about Phoebe's look that was hardly in keeping with the thought of Hyrum Green, and there was something sphinx-like in her manner that made Emmeline feel it was useless to ask questions, though of course Emmeline had never heard of the sphinx. Phoebe acted like one who was making up for lost time. The dishes seemed to marshal themselves into cleanly array on the shelves, and before the darkness came on she had caused a number of suns on the sunrise bed quilt to set forever behind a goodly roll of fine stitches set in most intricate patterns. She arose like one who was wound up at five o'clock and without a word got the supper. When eating little or nothing herself she cleared it rapidly away and went up to her room. Albert took the newspaper and Emmeline went grimly at her basket of stockings. She was wondering whether the girl intended coming down to help her with them. After all it was rather profitable to have Phoebe work like that, things got done so quickly. Is Phoebe sick? asked Albert, suddenly looking up from his paper. Emmeline started and pricked her fingers with the needle. I should like to know what makes you think that. She snapped frowning at the prick. You seem to think she is made of some kind of perishable stuff that needs more ordinary care. You never seem to think I'm sick as I've noticed. Now, Emmeline—he began pleasantly. You know you ain't never sick, and this is your home, and you like to stay in it, and you've got your own folks and all. But Phoebe's kind of different. She doesn't seem to quite belong, and I wouldn't want her to miss anything out of her life because she's living with us. Bosh! said Emmeline. Phoebe's made of no better stuff than I am. She can do more work when the fits on her than a yoke of sin. The fits been on her today. She's got her spunk up. That's all the matter. She's trying to make up for losing yesterday afternoon just to spite me for what I said about her going out. I know her. She's done a whole lot on that there quilt this afternoon. At this rate we'll have it off the frames before the week's out. She ain't at much because she's mad. But she'll come out of it all right. You make me sick the way you fret about her doldrums. Albert subsided, and the darning needle had it all its own way clicking in and out. They could hear Phoebe moving about her chamber quietly, though it was not directly over the sitting room, and presently the sounds ceased altogether, and they thought she had gone to bed. A few minutes more, and Hyrum with his customary shuffle opened the sitting-room door and walked in. Where's Phoebe? He asked, looking at the silent group around the candle. She ain't out to another tea-party, is she? She's gone to bed, said Emma Lyne shortly. Is it cold out? Phoebe, upstairs by her open window, arrayed in her plain brown delaying, brown sheared bonnet and brown cape, with the letters safely pinned inside her cape, waited until the accustomed sounds downstairs told her Hyrum had come and was seated. Then she softly, cautiously climbed out of her window to the roof of a shed a few feet below her window, crept out to the back edge of this and dropped like a cat to the ground. She had performed this feat many times as a child, but never once since she wore long dresses. She was glad the moon was not up yet, and she hurried around the back of the house and across the side yard to the fence, which she climbed. Her feet had scarcely left the last rail ere she heard the door latch click, and a broad beam of light was flung out across the path not far from her. To her horror she saw Hyrum Green's tall form coming out, and then the door slammed shut, and she knew he was out in the night with her. But she was in the road now, with nothing to hinder her, and her light feet fairly flew over the ground, treading on the grassy spots at the edge so she would make no sound, and never turning her head to listen even if he were following. Somehow she felt he was coming nearer and nearer every step she took. Her heart beat wildly, and great tears started to her eyes. She tried to pray as she fled along. Added to her fear of Hyrum was her dread of what he would think if he found her out there in the dark alone, and a third fear for the secret of the letter she carried. For instinctively she felt that of all people to find out a secret, Hyrum Green would be among the most dangerous. She put her hand upon the letter and clenched it fast as though it might be spirited away unless she held it. She was glad it was dark, and yet, if he had seen her, and were pursuing, how dreadful it would be to be captured by him in the dark. If she might but reach the village streets where others would be near to help, her heart would not be so frightened. When she passed the silent sleeping schoolhouse, she turned her head as she hurried along, and felt sure she heard him coming. The sky was growing luminous, the moon would soon be up, and then she would be seen. Then quite distinctly she heard a man's heavy tread running behind her. Her heart nearly stopped for an instant, and then, bounding up almost to bursting, she leaped ahead, her lips set, her head down, her hands clenched over the letter. A few more rods. She could not hold out to run like this much further. But at last she reached the village pavement, and could see the blessed friendly lights of the houses all about her. She hurried on, not daring to run so fast here, for people were coming ahead, and she tried to think and to still the wild fluttering of her heart. If Hiram Green were behind, and really following her, it would not do for her to go to judge bristles at once. She could scarcely hope to reach there and hide from him now, for her strength for running was almost spent, and not for anything must he of all people know where she was going. This thought gave new wings to her feet, and she fled past the houses, scarcely stopping to realize where she was. She could hear the man's steps on the brick pavement now, and his heavy boots rang out distinctly on the frosty air. She felt as if she had been running for years with an evil fate pursuing her. Her limbs grew heavy, and her feet seemed to drag behind. She half closed her eyes to stop the surging of the blood. Her ears rang, her cheeks were burning, and perspiration was standing on her lips and brow. Her breath came hard and hurt her. And then, quite naturally, as if it had all been planned, Miranda, with a little shawl around her shoulders and over her head, stepped out from behind the lilacs in the Spafford Garden by the gate, and walked along beside her, fitting her large easy gait to Phoebe's weary flying steps. I heard you coming, and thought I'd go a peace with you! She explained, easily, as if this were a common occurrence. Do you have to hurry like this, or was you doing it for exercise? Oh, Miranda! gasped Phoebe, slowing down her going, and putting a plaintive hand out to reach the strong red-friendly one in the dark. I'm so glad you are here! So, my! said Miranda confidently. But you just wait till you get your breath. Can't you come in and set a spell for you go on? No, Miranda, I must hurry. I had an errand and must get right back. But I'm almost sure someone is following me. I don't dare look behind, but I heard footsteps, and I'm so frightened. Her voice trailed off, trembling into another gasp for breath. Well, all right, we'll fix them. You just keep your breath for walkin', and I'll boss this pilgrimage's spell. We'll go down to the village store for a spool of cotton Miss Spafford asked me to get, the first thing in the mornin', to sew some sprigged calico curtains she's been gettin' up to the spare bed. And while we're down to the store, we'll just naturally lose sight of that man, till he don't know where he's at. And then we'll meander on our happy way. Don't talk or he'll hear you. You just follow me. CHAPTER XIII Phoebe, too much exhausted to demur, walked silently beside the self-reliant Miranda, and in a moment more they were safely in the store. Say, Mr. Peebles, is Miss Peebles to home? Cos Phoebe Dean wants to get a drink of water powerful bad. Can she just go right in and get it whilst I get a spool of cotton? Why, certainly, certainly young ladies, walk right in, said the affable Mr. Peebles arising from a nail keg. Miranda had Phoebe into the back room in no time, and was calmly debating over the virtues of different spools of thread when Hyrum Green entered puffing and snorting like a porpoise, and gazed about him confidently. Then suddenly a blank look spread over his face. The one he was searching for was not there. Could he have been mistaken? Miranda, innocently paying for her thread, eyed him furtively and began her keen putting of two and two together, figuring out her problem with a relish. Hyrum Green, to be sure. Ah, it was Hyrum who had tried to walk beside Phoebe on Sunday. Hyrum Green, contemptuously. Of all men. Umph! These were something like her thoughts. Then with wide-eyed, good nature, she paid for her thread, said good evening to Mr. Peebles, and deliberately went out the door of the store to the street. Hyrum had watched her suspiciously, but she held her head high as if she were going straight home, and slipped in the dark around to the side door, where she walked in on Mrs. Peebles and the astonished Phoebe without ceremony. Did you get your drink, Phoebe? Evening, Mrs. Peebles. Thank you. No, I can't sit down. Miss Bafford needs this thread to once. She just asked me, wouldn't I run down and get it, so she could finish up some pillar slips she's making. Come on, Phoebe, if you're ready. Can we go right out this door, Mrs. Peebles? There's so many men in the store, and I can't bear them to stare at my pretty red hair, you know. And in a moment more she had whisked Phoebe out the side door into the dark yard, where they could slip through the fence to the side street. Now, which way? demanded Miranda briefly in a low tone, as they emerged from the shadow of the store to the sidewalk. Oh, Miranda, you're so kind! said Phoebe, hardly knowing what to do, for she dared not tell her errand to her. I think I can go quite well by myself now. I'm not much afraid, and I'll soon be done and go home. See here, Phoebe Dean, do you think I'm going to leave a little white-faced thing like you with them two-star eyes to go buffet and round alone in the dark when there's liable to be lopsided nimshies following round? You can say what you like, but I'm going to follow you till I see you safe inside your own door. Oh, you dear good Miranda! choked Phoebe with a teary smile, grasping her arm tight. If you only knew how glad I was to see you. I knowed all right, I could see you as scared. But come long quick, or that hound in there'll be tracking us again. Which way? To judge Bristol's. Breathed Phoebe in low frightened whisper. That's a good place to go, said Miranda, with satisfaction. I guess you won't need me inside with you. I'm not much on fancy things, and I'll fit better outside with the fence-posts. But I'll be there to take you home. My, but you'd order a scene Hiram Green's blank look when he got in the store and seen you wand there. I'm calculating he'll search quite a spell, for he makes out which way we disappeared. Phoebe's heart beat wildly at the thought of her escape. She felt as if an evil fate were dogging her every step. Oh, Miranda! she shivered. What if you hadn't come along just then? Well, there ain't no use ciphering on that proposition. I was there, and I generally calculate to be there when I'm needed. Just you rest easy. There ain't no long-legged, good-for-nothing bully like Hiram Green going to gather you in, not while I'm able to bob round. Here we be. Now I'll wait in the shatter behind this bush while you go in. Phoebe timidly approached the house, while Miranda, as usual, selected her post of observation with discernment, and a view to the lighted window of the front room where the family were assembled. Janet did not keep Phoebe waiting long this time, but swept down upon her in a frock of ruby red with a little gold locket hung from a bit of black velvet ribbon about her neck. Her dark hair was arranged in clusters of curls each side of her sparkling face, and the glow on her cheek seemed reflected from the color of her garments. Phoebe almost spoke her admiration, so beautiful did this haughty girl seem to her. I am afraid my cousin is too busy to see you, she said, in a kindly condescending tone. He is very busy preparing to leave on the early stage in the morning. He finds he must go to New York sooner than he expected. I will not keep him, said Phoebe earnestly, rising, but I must see him for just a minute. Will you kindly tell him it is Phoebe Dean, and that she says she must see him for just a moment? You will find he will desire you to send the message by me, said Janet quite confidently. It does not do to say must to my cousin Nathaniel. But contrary to Janet's expectation, Nathaniel came down at once with welcome in his face. Phoebe was standing with her hand upon the letter over her heart, waiting for him breathlessly. The watching Miranda eyed him jealously through the front window pane to see if his countenance would light up properly when he saw his visitor, and was fully satisfied. He hastened to meet her and take her hand in greeting, but she, alarmed for her mission, did but hold out the letter to him. I found this Mr. Graham spread out in the road, and read the one sentence which showed it was private. I have not read any more, and I shall never breathe even that one, of course. After I had read that sentence I did not dare to give it into any hands but yours. I may have been wrong, but I have tried to do right. I hope you can explain it to your cousin, for I see she thinks it very strange. He tried to detain her, to thank her, to introduce her to his cousin, who had by this time entered and was watching them distantly, but Phoebe was in haste to leave, and Janet was hotly irresponsive. He followed her to the door and said in a low tone, Miss Dean, you have done me a greater service than I can possibly repay. I have been hunting frantically for this letter all day. It is most important. I know I can trust you not to speak of it to a soul. I am deeply grateful. You may not know it, but not only my life and safety, but that of others as well, has been in your hands today with the keeping of that letter. Oh, then I am glad I have brought it safely to you. I have been frightened all day lest something would happen that I could not get it to you without its being found out. And if it has been of service I am more than glad, because then I have repaid your kindness to me in the woods that day. Now that she was away from Janet's scrutinizing eyes, Phoebe could dimple into a smile. Oh, what I did that day was a little, little thing beside your service, said he. A kindness is never a little thing, answered Phoebe gently. Good night, Mr. Graham. Miranda is waiting for me. And she sped down the path without giving him opportunity for a reply. Miranda had wandered into the shaft of light down by the gate that streamed from the candle Nathaniel held, and Phoebe flew to her as if to a rock of refuge. They turned and looked back as they reached the gate. Nathaniel was still standing on the top step with the tall candle held above his head to give them light, and through the window they could dimly see Janet's slim figure standing by the mantelpiece toying with some ornaments. Phoebe gave a great sigh of relief that the errand was accomplished, and grasping Miranda's arm clung lovingly to her, and so they too walked softly through the village streets and out the country way into the road that was white with the new risen moon. While Hyrum Green, perplexed and baffled, searched vainly through the village for a clue to Phoebe's whereabouts, and finally gave it up and dragged his weary limbs home. Excitement of this sort did not agree with his constitution, and he was mortally tired. Nathaniel turned back into the house again, his vision filled with the face of the girl who had just brought his letter back to him. His great relief at finding it was almost lost in his absorption in the thought of Phoebe Dean, and the sudden pang that came to him with his remembrance of Hyrum Green. Could it be? Could it possibly be that she was bound in any way to that man? Janet roused him from this thought by demanding to know what on earth the message was that made that girl so absurdly secretive. Nathaniel smiled. It was just a letter of mine she had found, a letter that I have searched everywhere for. How did she know it was your letter? There was something offensive in Janet's tone. Nathaniel felt his color rising like a girl. He wondered what was the matter with Janet that she should be so curious. Why, it was addressed to me, of course. Then why in the world couldn't she give it to me? She was here in the morning and we had a long argument about it. She said it was a private message and the person who sent it did not wish anyone but you to see it. And yet she professed not to know who the person was who sent it. I told her that was ridiculous, that of course you had no secrets from your family, but she was quite stubborn and went away. Who is she anyway and how does she happen to know you? Nathaniel could be haughty, too, when he liked, and now he drew himself up to his greatest height. Miss Dean is quite a charming girl, Janet, and you would do well to make her acquaintance. She is a friend of Mrs. Bafford and was visiting her last evening when I happened in on business and they made me stay to tea. That's no sign of where she belongs socially, said Janet disagreeably. Mrs. Bafford may have had to invite her just because she didn't know enough to go home before supper. Besides, Mrs. Bafford's choice in friends might not be mine at all. Janet, Mr. and Mrs. Bafford, are unimpeachable socially and every other way, and I happened to know that Miss Dean was there by invitation. I heard her speaking of it as she bade her good night. Oh, indeed! sneered Janet, quite beside herself with jealousy. I suppose you were waiting to take her home. Why, certainly! said Nathaniel, looking surprised. What has come over you, Janet? You do not talk like your usual kind self. His tone brought angry tears to Janet's eyes. I should think it was enough, she said, trying to hide the tears in her little lace handkerchief. Having you go off suddenly like this when we scarcely had you a week, and you busy and absent-minded all the time. And then to have this upstart of a girl coming here with secrets that you will not tell me about. I want to know who wrote that letter, Nathaniel, and what it is about. I can't stand it to have that girl smirking behind me in church knowing things about my cousin than I am not told. I must know. Janet, said Nathaniel, pained and surprised. You must be ill. I never saw you act this way before. You know very well that I'm just as sorry as can be to have to rush off sooner than I had planned, but it can't be helped. I'm sorry if I have been absent-minded. I have been trying to decide some matters of my future, and I suppose that has made me somewhat abstracted. As for the letter, I would gladly tell you about it, but it is another secret, and I could not honorably do so. You need fear no such feeling on Miss Dean's part, I am sure. Just meet her with your own pleasant, winning way, and say to her that I have explained to you that it was all right. That ought to satisfy both you and her. She asked me to explain it to you. Well, you haven't done so at all. I am sure I can't see what possible harm it would do for you to tell me about it, in as much as that other girl knows all about it, too. I should think you would want me to watch and be sure that she doesn't tell, because indeed the secret is between you two. There was a hint in Janet's tone which seemed almost like an insinuation. Nathaniel grew quite stern. The secret is not between Miss Dean and myself, he said, and she does not know it any more than you do. She found it open and read only one line which told her it was absolutely private. She tells me she did not read another word. Very likely, sneered Janet coldly, do you think any woman would find it possible to read only one line of a secret? Your absolute faith in this stranger is quite childlike. Janet, would you have read further if it had fallen into your hands? Well, I—why, of course that would be different! said Janet, colouring and looking disconcerted. But you needn't compare me. Janet, you have no right to think she has a lower sense of honour than you have. I feel sure she has not read it. But Janet, with haughty mean and flashing eyes in which tears were scarcely concealed, swept up the stairs and took refuge in her room where a perfect storm of tears and mortification followed. Nathaniel, confounded, dismayed, after vainly tapping at her door and begging her to come out and explain her strange conduct, went sadly to his packing, puzzling much over the strange ways of girls with one another. Here, for instance, were too well suited to friendship, and yet he could plainly see that they would have nothing to do with one another. He dearly loved his cousin. She had been his playmate and companion from childhood, and he could not understand why suddenly she had grown so disregardful of his wishes. He tried to put it away, deciding that he would say another little word about this charming Miss Dean to Janet in the morning before he left. But Miss Janet forestalled any such attempt by sending down word that she had a headache and would try to sleep a little longer to get rid of it. She would only call a cool little goodbye to her cousin through the closed door, as he, mildly distressed, was hurrying down to the stage waiting for him at the door. Meantime Miranda and Phoebe had hurried out past the old red school house into the country road white with frosty moonlight. Phoebe all the time protesting that Miranda must not go with her. Why not in conscience? said Miranda. I'll just enjoy the walk. I was thinking of going on a lark this very evening, only I hadn't picked out a companion. But you'll have to come all the way back alone, Miranda. Well, what's that? You don't suppose anybody's going to chase me, do ya? If they want to, they're welcome. I'd just turn round and say, boo, I'm red-haired and freckled, and I don't want nothing of you nor you of me. Get long with ya! Miranda's inimitable manner brought a merry laugh to Phoebe's lips, and helped to relieve the tension of the heavy strain she had been under. She felt like laughing and crying all at once. Miranda seemed to understand and enter into her mood and kept her in ripples of laughter till they neared her home. Then, suddenly sobering, Phoebe attempted to make Miranda go back at once, but Miranda was stubborn, not until she saw her charge safe inside her own door with the faithful soul budge an inch. Well, then, Miranda, I'll have to tell you how I got out, said Phoebe confidentially. There was a collar, some one I didn't care to see. So I went upstairs, and they thought I'd gone to bed. I just slipped out my window to the low shed roof and dropped down. I'll have to be very still, for I wouldn't care to have them know I slipped away like that. It might make them ask me questions. You see, I had found a letter that I knew Mr. Graham had dropped, and it ought to go to him at once. If I had asked Albert to take it, there would have been a big fuss, and Emmeline would have wanted to know all about it, and maybe read it. And I didn't think it would be best. I see, said Miranda, comprehensively. So you tuck it yourself, of course. Who wouldn't I'd like to know? All right, we'll just slip in through the pasture and round to your shed, and I'll give you a boost up. I take it your collar ain't present any longer. Wrecking he made out to follow you apiece. But we run him into a hole, and he didn't make much. Hush now, don't go to thankin', taint worth while till I get through. For I've just begun this job, and I intend to see it through. Here, put your hand on my shoulder. Now let me hold this foot. Don't you be afraid, I'm good and strong. There you go, now you're up. Is that your window up there? Well, I hope to see you again soon. Happy dreams!" And she slid round the corner to watch Phoebe till she disappeared into the little dark window above. Then Miranda made for the road, looking cautiously in at the side window of the dean's sitting-room on the way, to make sure she was right about the collar being gone, and to watch if they had heard Phoebe, for she thought it might be necessary for her to invent a diversion of some sort. But she only saw Albert asleep in his chair, and Emmeline working grimly at her sewing. About half way to the Red School House Miranda met Hiram Green. He looked up frowning. He thought it was Phoebe and wondered if it were possible she was going to the village for a fourth trip yet that night. If she were, she must be crazy. Evening, Hiram, said Miranda, nonchalantly. Seen anything of a little white kitten with one blue eye and one green one, and a black tip to her tail and a pink nose? I've been up to see if she followed Phoebe Dean home from our house last night, but she's gone to bed with the toothache and I wouldn't disturb her for the world. I thought I'd maybe found her round this way. You ain't seen her, have you? No, growled Hiram suspiciously. I'd a runger neck if I had. Oh, thank you, Mr. Green, you're very kind, said Miranda, sweetly. I'll remember that next little kitten I lose. I'll know just who to apply to for it. Lovely night, ain't it? Don't trouble yourself about the kitten. I reckon it's safe somewheres. Taint everyone is as bloodthirsty as you be. Good night. And Miranda flung off down the road before Hiram could decide whether she was poking fun at him or was extremely dull. At last he roused himself from his weary pondering, uttered his accustomed ejaculation, gosh, looked up the road toward the deans and down toward the vanishing Miranda, brought forth the expression he reserved for the perplexing crises in his life, gosh, ninety, and went home to bed. He had not been able all day to quite fathom the mystery which he was attempting to control, and this new unknown quantity was more perplexing than all that had gone before. What, for instance, had Miranda Griscum to do with Phoebe Dean? His slow brain remembered that she had been in the store where Phoebe, it must have been Phoebe, for he did not believe he could have been mistaken, had disappeared. Had Miranda spirited her away somewhere? Ah! and it was Miranda who had come up to Phoebe after church and interrupted their walk together. What had Miranda to do with it all? Hang, Miranda! He would like to wring her neck, too. With such charming meditations he fell asleep. CHAPTER XIV Nathaniel sat inside the coach as it rolled through the village streets and out into the country road toward Albany and tried to think. All remembrance of Janet and her foolish pet had passed from his mind. He had before him a problem to decide. It was the harder because the advice of his nearest and dearest friends was so at variance. He took out two letters which represented the two sides of the question and began to reread. The first was the letter which Phoebe had brought, torn, disfigured by the dust but still legible. It bore a Texas postmark and was brief and businesslike. Dear nephew, it read, if you are keen as you used to be, you have been keeping yourself informed about Old Texas and know the whole state of the case better than I can put it. Ever since Austin went to ask the admission of Texas as a separate state into the Mexican Republic, and was denied and thrown into prison, our people have been gathering together, and now things are coming to a crisis. Something will be done in that right soon, perhaps in a few days. The troops are gathering near Gonzales. Resistance will be made, but we need help. We want young blood and strong arms behind which are heads and hearts with a conviction for right and freedom. No one on earth has a right to deprive us of our property, and say we shall not own slaves which we have come honestly by. We will fight and win, as the United States has fought and won its right to govern itself. Now I call upon you, Nathaniel, to rise up and bring honor to your father's name by raising a company of young men to come down here and set Texas free. I know you are busy with your law studies, but they will keep, and Texas will not. Texas must be set free now or never. When you were a little chap, you had strong convictions about what was right, and I feel pretty sure my appeal will not come to deaf ears. Your father loved Texas and came down here to make his fortune. If he had lived, he would have been here fighting. He would have been a slave owner and have asserted his right as a free man in a free country to protect his property. He would have taught his son to do the same. I call upon you for your father's sake to come down here in the hour of your Texas's need, for it is the place where you were born, and help us. Use your utmost influence to get other young men to come with you. Your uncle the judge will perhaps help you financially. He owns a couple of slaves himself, I remember. House servants, does he not? Ask him how he would like the government of the United States to order him to set them free. I feel sure he will sympathize with Texas in her need, and help you to do this thing which I have asked. I am a man of few words, but I trust you, Nathaniel, and feel sure I am not pleading in vain. I shall expect something from you at once. We need the help now, or the cause may be lost. If you feel as I think you do, go to the New York address given below. This letter will be sufficient identification for you, as I have written to them of you. But it is most important that you present this letter, or it will do no good to go. But be sure that no one else sees it, or great harm may come to you. There is grave danger in being found out, but if I did not know your brave spirit, I would not be writing you. Come as soon as possible. Your uncle, Royal Graham. The other letter was kept waiting a long time while the young man read and re-read this one, and then let his eyes wander through the window of the coach to the brown fields and dim hills in the distance. He was going over all he could remember of his boyhood life in that faraway southern home. He could dimly remember the form of his father, who had been to him a great hero, who had taken him with him on horseback wherever he went, and never been too weary or too busy for his little son. There came a blur of sadness over the picture, the death of his beloved father, and an interval of emptiness when the gentle mother was too full of sorrow to know how the baby heart had felt the utter loneliness. And then one day this uncle, Royal, so like, yet not like, his father, had lifted him in his arms and said, Good-bye, little chap, some day you'll come back to us and do your father's work and take his place. Then he and his mother had ridden away in an endless succession of post-chases and coaches, until one day they had come to Judge Bristol's Great White House, set among the green hedges, and there Nathaniel had found a new home. There, first his mother and then Janet's mother, had slipped away into that mysterious door of death, and he had grown up in the home of his mother's brother, with Janet as a sister. From time to time he had received letters from this shadowy uncle in Texas, and once, when he was about twelve, there had been a brief visit from him which cleared the memory and kept him fresh in Nathaniel's mind, and always there had been some hint or sentence of expectation that when Nathaniel was grown and educated he would come back to the country which had been his father's and helped to make it great. This had been a hazy undertone always in his life, in spite of the fact that his other uncle, Judge Bristol, was constantly talking of his future career as a lawyer in New York City, with the possibility of a political career also. Nathaniel had gone on with his life, working out the daily plan as it came, with all the time the feeling that these two plans were contending in him for supremacy. Sometimes during leisure moments lately he had wondered if the two could ever be combined, and if not, how possibly they were to both work out. Gradually it had dawned upon him that a day was coming, indeed might not be far away, when he would have to choose, and now, since these two letters had reached him, he knew the time had come. And how was he to know how to choose? His uncle Royle's letter had reached him the afternoon of the nutting-party on the hill. Pompey, his uncle's house servant, had brought it to him on a silver salver just as they were starting. He had glanced at the familiar writing, known it for his uncles, and put it in his pocket for reading at his leisure. He always enjoyed his uncle's letters, yet they were not of deep moment to him. He had been too long separated from him to have keen interests in common with him. Hence he had not read the letter until after his return from the hillside, which explains how he had carelessly left it behind the log by Phoebe, as an excuse to return and help her out of the laurel. In the quiet of his own room after Janet and the others were sleeping, he had remembered the letter, and, relighting his candle which had been extinguished, he had read it, feeling a touch of reproach that he could have so lightly put off attending to his good relatives' words. How, then, was he startled to discover its contents? The talk of the afternoon floated back to him, idle talk about his going down to set Texas free, talk that grew out of his own keen interest in all the questions of the day, and his readiness to argue them out. But he had never had a very definite idea of going to Texas to take part in the struggle that was going on, until this letter brought him face to face with a possible duty. Perhaps he would have had no question about his decision if, following hard upon this letter, had not come the other one, the very next day, in fact, which put an entirely new phase upon some sides of the question, and made duty seem an uncertain creature with more faces than one. The coach was half way to Albany before Nathaniel finally folded away his uncle's letter, and put it in his inner pocket with great care. Then he took up the other letter with a perplexed sigh, and read, Dear Chum, I am sitting on a high point of white sand where I can look off at the blue sea. At my right is a great hairy, prickly cactus with a few gorgeous yellow blossoms in a glory of delicate petals and fringed stamens that look as out of place amid the sand as a diamond on a plank. Just now a green lizard peered curiously out from under one of the hairy balls that pass for leaves with a cactus, and then slid back out of sight. But the next time I looked he was blue, brilliant, and palpitating as a peacock's feathers, and sunning himself, not thinking of me at all. Then just as I moved he became a dull gray brown, hardly discernible from the sand. And thus I know he is not a lizard at all, but a chameleon. The sun is very warm and bright, and everything about seems basking in it. As I look off to sea the gulf stream is distinct today, a brilliant green ribbon in the brilliant blue of the sea. It winds along so curiously and so independently in the great ocean, keeping its own individuality in spite of storm and wind and tide. I went out in a small boat across it the other day, and could look down and see it as distinctly as if there were a glass wall between it and the other water. I cannot but think that God took pleasure in making this old earth so curious, mysterious, and beautiful. A great lazy bird is floating high in the air, looking down to the water for prey doubtless. I think I could almost see the bright, curious fishes of this strange climb darting in the sunny water myself, if I tried. The air is so clear and the day is so bright. There are orange groves back of me, not far away, a few miles. I fancy their perfume is wafted even here. There is a curious sweet apathy that steals over one down here, which soothes and rests. I am having a holiday, for my little pupils are gone away on a visit. This is a delightful land to which I have come, and a charming family with whom my lot is cast. I am having an opportunity to study the south in a most ideal manner, and many of my former ideas of it are becoming much modified. For example, there is slavery. I am by no means so sure as I used to be that it was ordained of God. I wish you were here to talk it over with me, and to study it too. There are possibilities in the institution that make one shudder. Perhaps, after all, Texas is in the wrong. As you have opportunity, drop into an abolition meeting now and then and see what you think. I have been reading the Liberator lately. I find much in it that is strong and appeals to my sense of right. You know what a disturbance it has made in the country recently. I hear some males have even been broken into and burned on account of it. I wonder if this question of slavery will ever be an issue in our country. If it should be, I cannot help wondering what the south will do. From what I have seen, I feel sure they will never stand it to have their rights interfered with. Now I have to confess that much as I rebelled against giving up my work and coming down here, I feel that it has already benefited me. I can take long walks without the least weariness, and can even talk and sing like anyone else without becoming hoarse. I do not feel my lungs have ever been affected, and I feel I am going to get well and come back to my work. With that hope in my veins, I can go joyfully through these sunny days and feel the new life creeping into me with every breath of balmy air. We shall yet work shoulder to shoulder, my friend, I can feel it. God bless you and keep you and show you the right. Yours faithfully, Martin Venrenselier. Nathaniel folded the letter, placed it in his pocket with the other, and leaned his head back to think. It was all perplexing. This man, Venrenselier, had been his roommate for four years. They had grown into one another's thoughts as to who are much together and love each other will grow until each had come to depend upon the other's decision as if it were nearly his own judgment. Nathaniel could not quite tell why it was that this letter troubled him, yet he felt breathing through the whole epistle the stirring of a new principle that seemed to antagonize his sympathy with Texas. So, through the long, cold journey, the question was debated back and forth. His duty to his uncle demanded that he go to the address given, and investigate the matter of helping Texas, else his uncle might think him exceedingly neglectful. And when he looked at the question from his uncle's standpoint, and thought of his father, and his own natural heritage, his sympathy was with Texas. On the other hand, his love for his friend, and his perfect trust in him, demanded that he investigate the other side also. He felt intuitively that the two things could not go together. Martin Venrenselier had been preparing for the Christian ministry. His zeal and earnestness were great, too great for his strength, and before he had finished his theological studies he had broken down and been sent south as it was feared he had serious lung trouble. This separation had been a great trial to both young men. Martin was three years older than Nathaniel, and two years ahead of him in his studies, but in mind and spirit they were as one, so that the words of the letter had great influence. The day had grown surly as the coach rambled on. Solon clouds lowered in the corners of the sky as if meditating mutiny. There was a hint of snow in the biting air that whistled around the cracks of the coach windows. Nature seemed to have suddenly put on a bare, brown look, hopeless, discouraging, cold. Nathaniel shivered and drew his cloak close about him. He wished the journey were over, or that he had someone with whom to advise. Somehow the question troubled him as if it were of immediate necessity that it be decided, and he could not dismiss it nor put it off. He had once or twice broached the subject with Judge Bristol, but had hesitated to show him either of the letters which had been the cause of his own perplexity. He felt that his uncle's letter might arouse antagonism in Judge Bristol on account of the claim it seemed to put upon himself as his father's son to come and give himself. Judge Bristol was almost jealously fond of his sister's son, and felt that he belonged to the North. Aside from that, his sympathies would probably have been with Texas. Keeping a few slaves himself as house servants, and treating them as kindly as if they had been his own children, he saw no reason to object to slavery, and deemed it a man's right to do as he pleased with his own property. Martin Van Rensselier's letter the judge would have been likely to look upon as the production of a sentimental, hot-headed fanatic whose judgment was unsound. Nathaniel was morally certain that if the judge should read those letters he would advise against having anything to do with either cause personally. Yet, dearly as he loved and honored the judge, who had been a second father to him, Nathaniel's conscience would not let him drop the matter thus easily. So the coach thumped on over rough roads and smooth. The coachman called to his horses, snapped his whip alluringly, and wondered why Nathaniel, who was usually so sociable and liked to sit on the box and talk, stayed glumly inside with never a word for him. The coachman was the same one who had brought Nathaniel and his mother to the judge's door that first time went on their last-stage route from Texas. He felt aggrieved for Nathaniel belonged to him. Had he not allowed him to drive in smooth stretches of road even when he was a little fellow, could it be possible that New York had spoiled him, and he was growing too proud to companion with his old friend, or was he in love? The coachman sat glumily, mile after mile, and tried to think what girl of his acquaintance was good enough for Nathaniel. But all oblivious of his old friend's disquietude, Nathaniel sat inside with closed eyes and tried to think, and ever an anon there came a vision of a sweet-faced girl with brown hair and a golden gown sitting among the falling yellow leaves with bowed head. And somehow in his thoughts her trouble became tangled, and it seemed as if there were three instead of two who needed setting free, and he was to choose between them all.