Roe_Opening_a_Chestnut_Burr.txt topic ['13', '324', '378', '393']
CHAPTER I
A HERO, BUT NOT HEROIC
Shall I ever be strong in mind or body again?"
said Walter Gregory, with irritation, as he entered
a crowded Broadway omnibus.
The person thus querying so despairingly with himself
was a man not far from thirty years of age, but the lines of
care were furrowed so deeply on his handsome face, that
dismal, lowering morning, the first of October, that he
seemed much older. Having wedged himself in between
two burly forms that suggested thrift down town and good
cheer on the avenue, he appears meagre and shrunken in
contrast. He is tall and thin. His face is white and
drawn, instead of being ruddy with health's rich, warm
blood. There is scarcely anything remaining to remind
one of the period of youth, so recently vanished; neither
is there the dignity, nor the consciousness of strength, that
should come with maturer years. His heavy, light-colored
mustache and pallid face gave him the aspect of a blas$ man
of the world who had exhausted himself and life at an age
when wisely directed manhood should be just entering on
its richest pleasures.
And such an opinion of him, with some hopeful excep
tions and indications, would be correct. The expression of
irritation and self -disgust still remaining on his face as the
stage rumbles down town is a hopeful sign. His soul at least
is not surrounded by a Chinese wall of conceit. However
(15)
16 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
perverted his nature may be, it is not a shallow one, and
he evidently has a painful sense of the wrongs committed
against it. Though his square jaw and the curve of his lip
indicate firmness, one could not look upon his contracted
brow and half -despairing expression, as he sits oblivious of
all surroundings, without thinking of a ship drifting help
lessly and in distress. There are encouraging possibilities
in the fact that from those windows of the soul, his eyes, a
troubled rather than an evil spirit looks out. A close ob
server would see at a glance that he was not a good man,
but he might also note that he was not content with being
a bad one. There was little of the rigid pride and sinister
hardness or the conceit often seen on the faces of men of
the world who have spent years in spoiling their manhood;
and the sensual phase of coarse dissipation was quite wanting.
You will find in artificial metropolitan society many men
so emasculated that they are quite vain of being blase fools
that with conscious superiority smile disdainfully at those
still possessing simple, wholesome tastes for things which
they in their indescribable accent characterize as a "bore."
But Walter Gregory looked like one who had early found
the dregs of evil life very bitter, and his face was like that of
nature when smitten with untimely frosts.
He reached his office at last, and wearily sat down to the
routine work at his desk. Instead of the intent and inter
ested look with which a young and healthy man would
naturally enter on his business, he showed rather a dogged
resolution to work whether he felt like it or not, and with
harsh disregard of his physical weakness.
The world will never cease witnessing the wrongs that
men commit against each other; but perhaps if the wrongs
and cruelties that people inflict on themselves could be
summed up the painful aggregate would be much larger.
As Gregory sat bending over his writing, rather from
weakness than from a stooping habit, his senior partner
came in, and was evidently struck by the appearance of
feebleness on the part of the young man. The unpleasant
A HERO, BUT NOT HEROIC 17
impression haunted him, for having looked over his letters
he came out of his private office and again glanced uneasily
ait the colorless face, which gave evidence that only sheer
force of will was spurring a failing hand and brain to their
tasks.
At last Mr. Burnett came and laid his hand on his junior
partner's shoulder, saying, kindly, "Come, Gregory, drop
your work. You are ill. The strain upon you has been
too long and severe. The worst is over now, and we are
going to pull through better than I expected. Don't take
the matter so bitterly to heart. I admit myself that the
operation promised well at first. You were misled, and so
were we all, by downright deception. That the swindle was
imposed on us through you was more your misfortune than
your fault, and it will make you a keener business man in
the future. You have worked like a galley-slave all sum
mer to retrieve matters, and have taken no vacation at all.
You must take one now immediately, or you will break
down altogether. Go off to the woods; fish, hunt, follow
your fancies ; and the bracing October air will make a new
man of you."
"I thank you very much," Gregory began. "I sup
pose I do need rest. In a few days, however, I can leave
better"
"No," interrupted Mr. Burnett, with hearty emphasis;
"drop everything. As soon as you finish that letter, be
off. Don't show your face here again till November."
"I thank you for your interest in me," said Gregory,
rising. "Indeed, I believe it would be good economy, for
if I don't feel better soon I shall be of no use here or any
where else."
"That's it," said old Mr. Burnett, kindly. "Sick and
blue, they go together. Now be off to the woods, and send
me some game. I won't inquire too sharply whether you
brought it down with lead or silver. ' '
Gregory soon left the office, and made his arrangements
to start on his trip early the next morning. His purpose
18 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
was to make a brief visit to the home of his boyhood and
then to go wherever a vagrant fancy might lead.
The ancestral place was no longer in his family, though
he was spared the pain of seeing it in the hands of strangers.
It had been purchased a few years since by an old and very
dear friend of his deceased father a gentleman named Wal
ton. It had so happened that Gregory had rarely met his
father's friend, who had been engaged in business at the
West, and of his family he knew little more than that there
were two daughters one who had married a Southern gen
tleman, and the other, much younger, living with her father.
Gregory had been much abroad as the European agent of his
house, and it was during such absence that Mr. Walton had
retired from business and purchased the old Gregory home
stead. The young man felt sure, however, that though a
comparative stranger himself, he would, for his father's
sake, be a welcome visitor at the home of his childhood.
At any rate he determined to test the matter, for the mo
ment he found himself at liberty he felt a strange and an
eager longing to revisit the scenes of the happiest portion
of his life. He had meant to pay such a visit in the pre
vious spring, soon after his arrival from Europe, when his
elation at being made partner in the house which he so long
had served as clerk reached almost the point of happiness.
Among those who had welcomed him back was a man a
little older than himself, who, in his absence, had become
known as a successful operator in Wall Street. They had
been intimate before Gregory went abroad, and the friend
ship was renewed at once. Gregory prided himself on his
knowledge of the world, and was not by nature inclined to
trust hastily; and yet he did place implicit confidence in
Mr. Hunting, regarding him as a better man than himself.
Hunting was an active member of a church, and his name
figured on several charities, while Gregory had almost
ceased to attend any place of worship, and spent his
money selfishly upon himself, or foolishly upon others,
giving only as prompted by impulse. Indeed, his friend
A HERO, BUT NOT HEROIC 19
had occasionally ventured to remonstrate with him against
his tendencies to dissipation, saying that a young man of
his prospects should not damage them for the sake of pass
ing gratification. Gregory felt the force of these words, for
he was exceedingly ambitious, and bent upon accumulating
wealth and at the same time making a brilliant figure in
business circles.
In addition to the ordinary motives which would natur
ally lead him to desire such success he was incited by a se
cret one more powerful than all the others combined.
Before going abroad, when but a clerk, he had been the
favored suitor of a beautiful and accomplished girl. Indeed
the understanding between them almost amounted to an en
gagement, and he revelled in a passionate, romantic attach
ment at an age when the blood is hot, the heart enthusias
tic, and when not a particle of worldly cynicism and adverse
experience had taught him to moderate his rose-hued antici
pations. She seemed the embodiment of goodness, as well
as beauty and grace, for did she not repress his tendencies
to be a little fast? Did she not, with more than sisterly
solicitude, counsel him to shun certain florid youth whose
premature blossoming indicated that they might early run
to seed ? and did he not, in consequence, cut Guy Bonner,
the jolliest fellow he had ever known ? Indeed, more than
all, had she not ventured to talk religion to him, so that for
a time he had regarded himself as in a very "hopeful frame
of mind," and had been inclined to take a mission- class in
the same school with herself ? How lovely and anglic she
had once appeared, stooping in elegant costume from her
social height to the little ragamuffins of the street that sat
gaping around her! As he gazed adoringly, while waiting
to be her resort home, his young heart had swelled with the
impulse to be good and noble also.
But one day she caused him to drop out of his roseate
clouds. With much sweetness and resignation, and with
appropriate sighs, she said that "it was her painful duty
to tell him that their intimacy must cease that she had
20 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURB
received an offer from Mr. Grobb, and that her parents,
and indeed all her friends, had urged her to accept him.
She had been led to feel that they with their riper experi
ence and knowledge of life knew what was best for her, and
therefore she had yielded to their wishes and accepted the
offer. ' ' She was beginning to add, in a sentimental tone,
that "had she only followed the impulses of her heart"
when Gregory, at first too stunned and bewildered to speak,
recovered his senses and interrupted with, "Please don't
speak of your heart, Miss Bently. Why mention so small
a matter ? Go on with your little transaction by all means.
I am a business man myself, and can readily understand
your motives;" and he turned on his heel and strode from
the room, leaving Miss Bently ill at ease.
The young man's first expression of having received, as
it were, a staggering blow, and then his bitter satire, made
an impression on her cotton-and-wool nature, and for a time
her proceedings with Mr. Grobb did not wear the aspect in
which they had been presented by her friends. But her
little world so confidently and continually reiterated the
statement that she was making a "splendid match" that
her qualms vanished, and she felt that what all asserted
must be true, and so entered on the gorgeous preparations
as if the wedding were all and the man nothing.
It is the custom to satirize or bitterly denounce such
girls, but perhaps they are rather to be pitied. They are
the natural products of artificial society, wherein wealth,
show, and the social eminence which is based on dress and
establishment are held out as the prizes of a woman's exist
ence. The only wonder is that so much heart and truth as
sert themselves among those who all their life have seen
wealth practically worshipped, and worth, ungilded, gener
ally ignored. From ultra-fashionable circles a girl is often
seen developing into the noblest womanhood; while narrow,
mercenary natures are often found where far better things
might have been expected. If such girls as Miss Bently
could only be kept in quiet obscurity, like a bale of mer-
A HERO, BUT NOT HEROIC 21
chandise, till wanted, it would not be so bad; but some of
them are such brilliant belles and incorrigible coquettes
that they are like certain Wall Street speculators who
threaten to "break the street" in making their own
fortunes.
Some natures can receive a fair lady's refusal with a
good-natured shrug, as merely the result of a bad venture,
and hope for better luck next time; but to a greater num
ber this is impossible, especially if they are played with and
deceived. Walter Gregory pre-eminently belonged to the
latter class. In early life he had breathed the very atmos
phere of truth, and his tendency to sincerity ever remained
the best element of his character. His was one of those fine-
fibred natures most susceptible to injury. Up to this time
his indiscretions had only been those of foolish, thoughtless
youth, while aiming at the standard of manliness and style
in vogue among his city companions. High-spirited young
fellows, not early braced by principle, must pass through
this phase as in babyhood they cut their teeth. If there is
true mettle in them, and they are not perverted by excep
tionally bad influences, they outgrow the idea that to be
fast and foolish is to be men as naturally as they do their
roundabouts.
What a man does is often not so important as the state
of the heart that prompts the act. In common parlance,
Walter was as good-hearted a fellow as ever breathed.
Indeed, he was really inclined to noble enthusiasms.
If Miss Bently had been what he imagined her, she
might have led him swiftly and surely into true manhood;
but she was only an adept at pretty seeming with him, and
when Mr. Grobb offered her his vast wealth, with himself
as the only incumbrance, she acted promptly and charac
teristically.
But perhaps it can be safely said that in no den of in
iquity in the city could Walter Gregory have received such
moral injury as poisoned his very soul when, in Mr. Bently 's
elegant and respectable parlor, the "angel" he worshipped
22 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
"explained how she was situated," and from a "sense of
duty" stated her purpose to yield to the wishes of her
friends. Gregory had often seen Mr. Grobb, but had
given him no thought, supposing him some elderly rela
tive of the family. That this was the accepted suitor of
the girl who had, with tender, meaning glances, sung for
him sentimental ballads, who had sweetly talked to him of
religion and mission work, seemed a monstrous perversion.
Call it unjust, unreasonable, if you will, yet it was the most
natural thing in the world for one possessing his sensitive,
intense nature to pass into harsh, bitter cynicism, and to re
gard Miss Bently as a typical girl of the period.
A young man is far on the road to evil when he loses
faith in woman. During the formative period of character
she is, of earthly influences, the most potent in making or
marring him. A kind refusal, where no false encourage
ment has been given, often does a man good, and leaves
his faith intact; but an experience similar to that of young
Gregory is like putting into a fountain that which may stain
and imbitter the waters of the stream in all its length.
At the early age of twenty- two he became what is usu
ally understood by the phrase "a man of the world." Still
his moral nature could not sink into the depths without
many a bitter outcry against its wrongs. It was with no
slight effort that he drowned the memory of his early
home and its good influences. During the first two or
three years he occasionally had periods of passionate re
morse, and made spasmodic efforts toward better things.
But they were made in human strength, and in view of
the penalties of evil, rather than because he was enamored
of the right. Some special temptation would soon sweep
him away into the old life, and thus, because of his broken
promises and repeated failures, he at last lost faith in him
self also, and lacked that self-respect without which no man
can cope successfully with his evil nature and an evil world.
Living in a boarding-house, with none of the restraints
and purifying influences of a good home, he formed intima-
A HERO, BUT NOT HEROIC 23
cies with brilliant but unscrupulous young men. The the
atre became his church, and at last the code of his fast,
fashionable set was that which governed his life. He
avoided gross, vulgar dissipation, both because his nature
revolted at it, and also on account of his purpose to permit
nothing to interfere with his prospects of advancement in
business. He meant to show Miss Bently that she had
made a bad business speculation after all. Thus ambition
became the controlling element in his character; and he
might have had a worse one. Moreover, in all his moral
debasement he never lost a decided tendency toward truth
fulness and honesty. He would have starved rather than
touch anything that did not belong to him, nor would he
allow himself to deceive in matters of business, and it was
upon these points that he specially prided himself.
Gregory's unusual business ability, coupled with his
knowledge of French and German, led to his being sent
abroad as agent of his firm. Five years of life in the ma
terialistic and sceptical atmosphere of continental cities con
firmed the evil tendencies which were only too well devel
oped before he left his own land. He became what so many
appear to be in our day, a practical materialist and atheist.
Present life and surroundings, present profit and pleasure,
were all in all. He ceased to recognize the existence of a
soul within himself having distinct needs and interests. His
thoughts centred wholly in the comfort and pleasures of the
day and in that which would advance his ambitious schemes.
His scepticism was not intellectual and in reference to the
Bible and its teachings, but practical and in reference to
humanity itself. He believed that with few exceptions men
and women lived for their own profit and pleasure, and that
religion and creeds were matters of custom and fashion, or
an accident of birth. Only the reverence in which religion
had been held in his early home kept him from sharing fully
in the contempt which the gentlemen he met abroad seemed
to have for it. He could not altogether despise his mother's
faith, but he regarded her as a gentle enthusiast haunted by
24 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
sacred traditions. The companionships which he had formed
led him to believe that unless influenced by some interested
motive a liberal-minded man of the world must of necessity
outgrow these things. With the self-deception of his kind,
he thought he was broad and liberal in his views, when in
reality he had lost all distinction between truth and error,
and was narrowing his mind down to things only. Jew or
Gentile, Christian or Pagan, it was becoming all one to him.
Men changed their creeds and religions with other fashions,
but all looked after what they believed to be the main chance,
and he proposed to do the same.
As time passed on, however, he began to admit to him
self that it was strange that in making all things bend to his
pleasure he did not secure more. He wearied of certain
things. Stronger excitements were needed to spur his
jaded senses. His bets, his stakes at cards grew heavier,
his pleasures more gross, till a delicate organization so re
volted at its wrongs and so chastised him for excess that he
was deterred from self -gratification in that direction.
Some men's bodies are a "means of grace" to them.
Coarse dissipation is a physical impossibility, or swift sui
cide in a very painful form. Young Gregory found that
only in the excitements of the mind could he hope to find
continued enjoyment. His ambition to accumulate wealth
and become a brilliant business man most accorded with his
tastes and training, and on these objects he gradually con
centrated all his energies, seeking only in club- rooms and
places of fashionable resort recreation from the strain of
business.
He recognized that the best way to advance his own in
terests was to serve his employers well ; and this he did so
effectually that at last he was made a partner in the busi
ness, and, with a sense of something more like pleasure
than he had known for a long time, returned to New York
and entered upon his new duties.
As we have said, among those who warmly greeted and
congratulated him, was Mr Hunting. They gradually came
A HERO, BUT NOT HEROIC 25
to spend much time together, and business and money- get
ting were their favorite themes. Gregory saw that his
friend was as keen on the track of fortune as himself,
and that he had apparently been much more successful.
Mr. Hunting intimated that after one reached the charmed
inner circle Wall Street was a perfect Eldorado, and seemed
to take pains to drop occasional suggestions as to how an in
vestment shrewdly made by one with his favored point of
observation often secured in a day a larger return than a
year of plodding business.
These remarks were not lost on Gregory, and the wish
became very strong that he might share in some of the
splendid "hits" by which his friend was accumulating so
rapidly.
Usually Mr. Hunting was very quiet and self-possessed,
but one evening in May he came into Gregory's rooms in a
manner indicating not a little excitement and elation.
"Gregory!" he exclaimed, "I am going to make my
fortune. ' '
"Make your fortune! You are as rich as Croesus
now. ' '
"The past will be as nothing. I've struck a mine rather
than a vein. ' '
"It's a pity some of your friends could not share in your
luck."
"Well, a few can. This is so large, and such a good
thing, that I have concluded to let a few intimates go in
with me. Only all must keep very quiet about it;" and
he proposed an operation that seemed certain of success as
he explained it.
Gregory concluded to put into it nearly all he had inde
pendent of his investment in the firm, and also obtained
permission to interest his partners, and to procure an in
terview between them and Mr. Hunting.
The scheme looked so very plausible that they were
drawn into it also; but Mr. Burnett took Gregory aside
and said: "After all, we must place a great deal of confi-
ROE IV 2
26 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
dence in Mr. Hunting's word in this matter. Are you sat
isfied that we can safely do so?"
"I would stake my life on his word in this case," said
Gregory, eagerly, "and I pledge all I have put in the firm
on his truth."
This was the last nicker of his old enthusiasm and trust
in anybody or anything, including himself. With almost
the skill of genius Mr. Hunting adroitly, within the limits
of the law, swindled them all, and made a vast profit out of
their losses. The transaction was not generally known, but
even some of the hardened gamblers of the street said "it
was too bad."
But the bank-officers with whom Burnett & Co. did busi
ness knew about it, and if it had not been for their lenience
and aid the firm would have failed. As it was, it required
a struggle of months to regain the solid ground of safety.
At first the firm was suspicious of Gregory, and dis
posed to blame him very much. But when he proved to
them that he had lost his private means by Hunting's
treachery, and insisted on making over to them all his
right and title to the property he had invested with them,
they saw that he was no confederate of the swindler, but
that he had suffered more than any of them.
He had, indeed. He had lost his ambition. The large
sum of money that was to be the basis of the immense for
tune he had hoped to amass was gone. He had greatly
prided himself on his business ability, but had signalized
his entrance on his new and responsible position by being
overreached and swindled in a transaction that had impov
erished himself and almost ruined his partners. He grew
very misanthropic, and was quite as bitter against himself
as against others. In his estimation people were either
cloaking their evil or had not been tempted, and he felt
after Hunting dropped the mask that he would never trust
any one again.
It may be said, all this is very unreasonable. Yes, it is;
but then people will judge the world by their own experience
A HERO, BUT NOT HEROIC 27
of it, and some natures are more easily warped by wrong
than others. No logic can cope with feeling and prejudice.
Because of his own misguided life and the wrong he had re
ceived from others, Walter Gregory was no more able to
form a correct estimate of society than one color-blind is to
judge of the tints of flowers. And yet he belonged to that
class who claim pre-eminently to know the world. Because
he thought he knew it so well he hated and despised it, and
himself as part of it.
The months that followed his great and sudden downfall
dragged their slow length along. He worked early and late,
without thought of sparing himself. If he could only see
what the firm had lost through him made good, he did not
care what became of himself. Why should he ? There was
little in the present to interest him, and the future looked,
in his depressed, morbid state, as monotonous and barren as
the sands of a desert. Seemingly, he had exhausted life,
and it had lost all zest for him.
But while his power to enjoy had gone, not so his power
to suffer. His conscience was uneasy, and told him in a
vague way that something was wrong. Reason, or, more
correctly speaking, instinct, condemned his life as a wretched
blunder. He had lived for his own enjoyment, and now, when
but half through life, what was there for him to enjoy ?
As in increasing weakness he dragged himself to the
office on a sultry September day, the thought occurred to
him that the end was nearer than he expected.
"Let it come," he said, bitterly. "Why should I
live?"
The thought of his early home recurred to him with in
creasing frequency, and he had a growing desire to visit it
before his strength failed utterly. Therefore it was with a
certain melancholy pleasure that he found himself at lib
erty, through the kindness of his partners, to make this
visit, and at the season, too, when his boyish memories of
the place, like the foliage, would be most varied and vivid.
OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
CHAPTER II
OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
IF THE reader could imagine a man visiting his own
grave, he might obtain some idea of Walter Gregory's
feelings as he took the boat which would land him not
far from his early home. And yet, so different was he from
the boy who had left that home fifteen years before, that it
was almost the same as if he were visiting the grave of
a brother who had died in youth.
Though the day was mild, a fresh bracing wind blew
from the west. Shielding himself from this on the after-
deck, he half reclined, on account of his weakness, in a posi
tion from which he could see the shores and passing vessels
upon the river. The swift gliding motion, the beautiful and
familiar scenery, the sense of freedom from routine work,
and the crisp, pure air, that seemed like a delicate wine, all
combined to form a mystic lever that began to lift his heart
out of the depths of despondency.
A storm had passed away, leaving not a trace. The Oc
tober sun shone in undimmed splendor, and all nature
appeared to rejoice in its light. The waves with their silver
crests seemed chasing one another in mad glee. The sail
ing vessels, as they tacked to and fro across the river under
the stiff western breeze, made the water foam about their
blunt prows, and the white-winged gulls wheeled in grace
ful circles overhead. There was a sense of movement and
life that was contagious. Gregory's dull eyes kindled with
something like interest, and then he thought: "The storm
lowered over these sunny shores yesterday. The gloom
OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR 29
of night rested upon these waters but a few hours since.
Why is it that nature can smile and be glad the moment
the shadow passes and I cannot ? Is there no sunlight for
the soul ? I seem as if entering a cave, that grows colder
and darker at every step, and no gleam shines at the further
end, indicating that I may pass through it and out into the
light again."
Thus letting his fancy wander at will, at times half-
dreaming and half-waking, he passed the hours that elapsed
before the boat touched at a point in the Highlands of the
Hudson, his destination. Making a better dinner than he
had enjoyed for a long time, and feeling stronger than for
weeks before, he started for the place that now, of all the
vorld, had for him the greatest attraction.
There was no marked change in the foliage as yet, but
only a deepening of color, like a flush on the cheek of
beauty. As he was driving along the familiar road, farm
house and grove, and even tree, rock, and thicket, began
to greet him as with the faces of old friends. At last he
saw, nestling in a wild, picturesque valley, the quaint out
line of his former home. His heart yearned toward it, and
he felt that next to his mother's face no other object could
be so welcome.
1 ' Slower, please, ' ' he said to the driver.
Though his eyes were moist, and at times dim with tears,
not a feature in the scene escaped him. When near the gate
way he sprung out with a lightness that he would not have
believed possible the day before, and said, "Come for me
at five."
For a little time he stood leaning on the gate. Two chil
dren were playing on the lawn, and it almost seemed to him
that the elder, a boy of about ten years, might be himself,
and he a passing stranger, who had merely stopped to look
at the pretty scene.
"Oh that I were a boy like that one there! Oh that I
were here again as of old!" he sighed. "How unchanged it
all is, and I so changed ! It seems as if the past were mock-
SO OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
ing me. That must be I there playing with my little sister.
Mother must be sewing in her cheery south room, and father
surely is taking his after-dinner nap in the library. Can it
be that they are all dead save me ? and that this is but a
beautiful mirage ?' '
He felt that he could not meet any one until he became
more composed, and so passed on up the valley. Before
turning away he noticed that a lady come out at the front
door. The children joined her, and they started for a walk.
Looking wistfully on either side, Gregory soon came to
a point where the orchard extended to the road. A well-
remembered fall pippin tree hung its laden boughs over the
fence, and the fruit looked so ripe and golden in the slant
ing rays of October sunlight that he determined to try one
of the apples and see if it tasted as of old. As he climbed
upon the wall a loose stone fell clattering down and rolled
into the road. He did not notice this, but an old man dozing
in the porch of a little house opposite did. As Gregory
reached up his cane to detach from its spray a great, yellow-
cheeked fellow, his hand was arrested, and he was almost
startled off his perch by such a volley of oaths as shocked
even his hardened ears. Turning gingerly around so as not
to lose his footing, he faced this masked battery that had
opened so unexpectedly upon him, and saw a white-haired
old man balancing himself on one crutch and brandishing
the other at him.
"Stop knockin' down that wall and fillin' the road with
stuns, you , " shouted the venerable man, in tones that
indicated anything but the calmness of age. "Let John
Walton's apples alone, you thief. What do you mean
by robbin' in broad daylight, right under a man's nose ?"
Gregory saw that he had a character to deal with, and,
to divert his mind from thoughts that were growing too
painful, determined to draw the old man out; so he said,
"Is not taking things so openly a rather honest way of
robbing?"
"Git down, I tell yer," cried the guardian of the orchard.
OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR 31
"Suppose 'tis, it's robbin' arter all. So now move on, and
none of yer cussed impudence. ' '
"But you call them John Walton's apples," said Greg
ory, eating one with provoking coolness. "What have you
got to do with them ? and why should you care ?' '
"Now look here, stranger, you're an infernal mean cuss
to ask such questions. Ain't John Walton my neighbor ?
and a good neighbor, too? D'ye suppose a well-meanin'
man like myself would stand by and see a neighbor robbed;?
and of all others, John Walton ? Don't you know that rob
bin' a good man brings bad luck, you thunderin' fool?"
"But I've always had bad luck, so I needn't stop on that
account, ' ' retored Gregory, from the fence.
"I believe it, and you allers will," vociferated the old
man, "and I'll tell yer why. I know from the cut of yer
jib that yer've allers been eatin' forbidden fruit. If yer
lived now a good square life like 'Squire Walton and me,
you'd have no reason to complain of yer luck. If I could
get a clip at yer with this crutch I'd give yer suthin' else
to complain of. If yer had any decency yer wouldn't stand
there a jibin' at a lame old man."
Gregory took off his hat with a polite bow and said: "I
beg your pardon; I was under the impression that you were
doing the 'cussing.' I shall come and see you soon, for
somehow it does me good to have you swear at me. I only
wish I had as good a friend in the world as Mr. Walton
has in you." With these words he sprung from the fence
on the orchard side, and made his way to the hill behind
the Walton residence, leaving the old man mumbling and
muttering in a very profane manner.
"Like enough it was somebody visitin' at the Walton's,
and I've made a fool of myself after all. What's worse,
that poor little Miss Eulie will hear I've been swearin' agin,
and there'll be another awful pray in' time. What a cussed
old fool I be, to promise to quit swearin' ! I know I can't.
What's the good o' stoppin'? It's inside, and might as well
come out The Lord know? I don't mean no disrespect to
32 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
Him. It's only one of my ways. He knows well enough
that I'm a good neighbor, and what's the harm in a little
cussin'?" and so the strange old man talked on to himself
in the intervals between long pulls at his pipe.
By the time Gregory reached the top of the hill his
strength was quite exhausted, and, panting, he sat down on
the sunny side of a thicket of cedars, for the late afternoon
was growing chilly. Beneath him lay the one oasis in a
desert world.
With an indescribable blending of pleasure and pain, he
found himself tracing with his eye every well- remembered
path, and marking every familiar object.
Not a breath of air was stirring, and it would seem that
Nature was seeking to impart to his perturbed spirit, full
of the restless movement of city life and the inevitable
disquiet of sin, something of her own calmness and peace.
The only sounds he heard seemed a part of nature's silence,
the tinkle of cowbells, the slumberous monotone of water
as it fell over the dam, the grating notes of a katydid, ren
dered hoarse by recent cool nights, in a shady ravine near
by, and a black cricket chirping at the edge of the rock on
which he sat these were all. And yet the sounds, though
not heard for years, seemed as familiar as the mother's lul
laby that puts a child to sleep, and a delicious sense of rest-
fulness stole into his heart. The world in which he had so
greatly sinned and suffered might be another planet, it
seemed so far away. Could it be that in a few short hours
he had escaped out of the hurry and grind of New York
into this sheltered nook ? Why had he not come before ?
Here was the remedy for soul and body r if any existed.
Not a person was visible on the place, and it seemed that
it might thus have been awaiting him in all his absence, and
that now he had only to go and take possession."
"So our home in heaven awaits us, mother used to say,"
he thought, "while we are such willing exiles from it. I
would give all the world to believe as she did."
He found that the place so inseparably associated with
OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR 38
his mother brought back her teachings, which he had so
often tried to forget.
"I wish I might bury myself here, away from the world,"
he muttered, "for it has only cheated and lied to me from
first to last. Everything deceived me, and turned out differ
ently from what I expected. These loved old scenes are true
and unchanged, and smile upon me now as when I was here
a happy boy. Would to heaven I might never leave them
again!"
He was startled out of his revery by the sharp bark of
a squirrel that ran chattering and whisking its tail in great
excitement from limb to limb in a clump of chestnuts near.
The crackling of a twig betrayed to Gregory the cause of its
alarm, for through an opening in the thicket he saw the
lady who had started out for a walk with the children while
he was leaning on the front gate.
Shrinking further behind the cedars he proposed to recon
noitre a little before making himself known. He observed
that she was attired in a dark, close-fitting costume suitable
for rambling among the hills. At first he thought that she
was pretty, and then that she was not. His quick, critical
eye detected that her features were not regular, that her
profile was not classic. It was only the rich glow of exer
cise and the jaunty gypsy hat that had given the first im
pression of something like beauty. In her right hand, which
was ungloved, she daintily held, by its short stem, a chest
nut burr which the squirrel in its alarm had dropped, and
now, in its own shrill vernacular, was scolding about so
vociferously. She was glancing around for some means to
break it open, and Gregory had scarcely time to notice her
fine dark eyes, when, as if remembering the rock on which
he had been sitting, she advanced toward him with a step
so quick and elastic that he envied her vigor.
Further concealment was now impossible. Therefore
with easy politeness he stepped forward and said: "Let me
open the burr for you, Miss Walton."
She started violently at the sound of his voice, and for
&4 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
a moment reminded him of a frightened bird on the eve of
flight.
"Pardon me for so alarming you, " he hastened to say,
"and also pardon a seeming stranger for addressing you in
formally. My name may not be unknown to you, although
I am in person. It is Walter Gregory. ' '
She had been so startled that she could not immediately
recover herself, and still stood regarding him doubtfully,
although with manner more assured.
"Come," said he, smiling and advancing toward her
with the quiet assurance of a society man. "Let me open
the burr for you, and you shall take its contents in confir
mation of what I say. If I find sound chestnuts in it, let
them be a token that I am not misrepresenting myself.
If my test fails, then you may justly ask for better
credentials. ' '
Half smiling, and quite satisfied from his words and ap
pearance in advance, she extended the burr toward him.
But as she did so it parted from the stem, and would have
fallen to the ground had he not, with his ungloved hand,
caught the prickly thing. His hand was as white and soft
as hers, and the sharp spines stung him sorely, yet he per
mitted no sign of pain to appear upon his face.
"Ah!" exclaimed Miss Walton, "I fear it hurt you."
He looked up humorously and said, "An augury is a
solemn affair, and no disrespect must be allowed to nature's
oracle, which in this case is a chestnut burr;" and he speed
ily opened it.
"There!" he said, triumphantly, "what more could you
ask? Here are two solid, plump chestnuts, with only a
false, empty form of shell between them. And here, like
the solid nuts, are two people entitled to each other's ac
quaintance, with only the false formality of an introduction,
like the empty shell, keeping them apart. Since no mutual
friend is present to introduce us, has not Nature taken upon
herself the office through this chestnut burr ? But perhaps
I should further Nature's efforts by giving .you my card."
OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR 35
As Miss Walton regained composure, she soon proved
to Gregory that she was not merely a shy country girl. At
the close of his rather long and fanciful speech she said,
genially, extending her hand: "My love for Nature is un
bounded, Mr. Gregory, and the introduction you have so
happily obtained from her weighs more with me than any
other that you could have had. Let me welcome you to
your own home, as it were. But see, your hand is bleed
ing, where the burr pricked you. Is this an omen, also?
If our first meeting brings bloody wounds, I fear you will
shun further acquaintance."
There was a spice of bitterness in Gregory's laugh, as he
said: "People don't often die of such wounds. But it is
a little odd that in taking your hand I should stain it with
my blood. I am inclined to drop the burr after all, and
base all my claims on my practical visiting card. You may
come to look upon the burr as a warning, rather than an
introduction, and order me off the premises."
"It was an omen of your choice," replied Miss Walton,
laughing. "You have more to fear from it than I. If you
will venture to stay you shall be most welcome. Indeed, it
almost seems that you have a better right here than we, and
your name has been so often heard that you are no stranger.
I know father will be very glad to see you, for he often
speaks of you, and wonders if you are like his old friend,
the dearest one, I think, he ever had. How long have you
been here?"
"Well, I have been wandering about the place much
of the afternoon."
"I need not ask you why you did not come in at once,"
she said, gently. "Seeing your old home after so long an
absence is like meeting some dear friend. One naturally
wishes to be alone for a time. But now I hope you will
go home with me."
He was surprised at her delicate appreciation of his feel
ings, and gave her a quick pleased look, saying: "Nature
has taught you to be a good interpreter, Miss Walton. You
86 OPENING A CHESTNUT BDRR
are right. The memories of the old place were a little too
much for me at first, and I did not know that those whom
I met would appreciate my feelings so delicately."
The two children now appeared, running around the
brow of the hill, the boy calling in great excitement:
"Aunt Annie, oh! Aunt Annie, we've found a squirrel-
hole. We chased him into it. Can't Susie sit by the hole
and keep him in, while I go for a spade to dig him out?"
Then they saw the unlooked-for stranger, who at once
rivalled the squirrel- hole in interest, and with slower steps,
and curious glances, they approached.
"These are my sister's children," said Miss Walton,
simply.
Gregory kindly took the boy by the hand, and kissed
the little girl, who looked half- frightened and half-pleased,
as a very little maiden should, while she rubbed the cheek
that his mustache had tickled.
"Do you think we can get the squirrel, Aunt Annie?"
again asked the boy.
"Do you think it would be right, Johnny, if you could ?"
she asked. "Suppose you were the squirrel in the hole, and
one big monster, like Susie here, should sit by the door,
and you heard another big monster say, 'Wait till I get
something to tear open his house with. ' How would you
feel?"
"I won't keep the poor little squirrel in his hole," said
sympathetic Susie.
But the boy's brow contracted, and he said, sternly:
"Squirrels are nothing but robbers, and their holes are
robbers' dens. They take half our nuts every year."
Miss Walton looked significantly at Gregory, and
laughed, saying, "There it is, you see, man and woman."
A momentary shadow crossed his face, and he said, ab
ruptly, "I hope Susie will be as kindly in coming years."
Miss Walton looked at him curiously as they began to
descend the hill to the house. She evidently did not under
stand his remark, coupled with his manner.
OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR 37
As they approached the barn there was great excitement
among the poultry. Passing round its angle, Walter saw
coming toward them a quaint-looking old woman, in what
appeared to be a white scalloped nightcap. She had a pan
of corn in her hand, and was attended by a retinue that
would have rejoiced an epicure's heart. Chickens, ducks,
geese, turkeys, and Guinea fowls thronged around and after
her with an intentness on the grain and a disregard of one
another's rights and feelings that reminded one unpleas
antly of political aspirants just after a Presidential election.
Johnny made a dive for an old gobbler, and the great red-
wattled bird dropped his wings and seemed inclined to show
fight, but a reluctant armistice was brought about between
them by the old woman screaming: "Maister Johnny, an' ye
let not the fowls alone ye' 11 ha' na apples roast the night."
Susie clung timidly to her aunty's side as they passed
through these clamorous candidates for holiday honors,
and the young lady said, kindly, "You have a large family
to look after, Zibbie, but I'm afraid we'll lessen it every
day now."
"Indeed, an' ye will, and it goes agin the grain to wring
the necks of them that I've nursed from the shell," said the
old woman, rather sharply.
"It must be a great trial to your feelings," said Miss
Walton, laughing; "but what would you have us do with
them, Zibbie ? You don't need them all for pets."
Before Zibbie could answer, an old gentleman in a low
buggy drove into the large door-yard, and the children
bounded toward him, screaming, "Grandpa."
A colored man took the horse, and Mr. Walton, with
a briskness that one would not expect at his advanced age,
came toward them.
He was a noble-looking old man, with hair and beard as
white as snow, and with the stately manners of the old
school. When he learned who Gregory was he greeted
him with a cordiality that was so genuine as to compel
the cynical man of the world to feel its truth.
38 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
Mr. Walton's eyes were turned so often and wistfully
on his face that Gregory was embarrassed.
"I was looking for my friend," said the old gentleman,
in a husky voice, turning hastily away to hide his feeling.
"You strongly remind me of him; and yet " But he
never finished the sentence.
Gregory well understood the "and yet," and in bitterness
of soul remembered that his father had been a good man,
but that the impress of goodness could not rest on his face.
He had now grown very weary, and gave evidence of it.
"Mr. Gregory, you look ill," said Miss Walton, hastily.
"I am not well," he said, "and have not been for a long
time. Perhaps I am going beyond my strength to-day."
In a moment they were all solicitude. The driver, who
then appeared according to his instructions, was posted
back to the hotel for Mr. Gregory's luggage, Mr. Walton
saying, with hearty emphasis that removed every scruple,
"This must be your home, sir, as long as you can remain
with us, as truly as ever it was."
A little later he found himself in the "spare room," on
whose state he had rarely intruded when a boy. Jeff, the
colored man, had kindled a cheery wood fire on the ample
hearth, and, too exhausted even to think, Gregory sank
back in a great easy-chair with the blessed sense of the
storm-tossed on reaching a quiet haven.
MORBID BROODING 39
CHAPTER III
MORBID BROODING
TO the millions who are suffering in mind or body-
there certainly come in this world moments of re
pose, when pain ceases; and the respite seems so
delicious in contrast that it may well suggest the "rest that
remaineth." Thinking of neither the past nor the future,
Gregory for a little time gave himself up to the sense of
present and luxurious comfort With closed eyes and mind
almost as quiet as his motionless body, he let the moments
pass, feeling dimly that he would ask no better heaven
than the eternal continuance of this painless, half-dreaming
lethargy.
He was soon aroused, however, by a knocking at the
door, and a middle-aged servant placed before him a tempt
ing plate of Albert biscuit and a glass of home-made cur
rant wine of indefinite age. The quaint and dainty little
lunch caught his appetite as exactly as if manna had fallen
adapted to his need; but it soon stimulated him out of his
condition of partial non-existence. With returning con
sciousness of the necessity of living and acting came the
strong desire to spend as much of his vacation as possible
in his old home, and he determined to avail himself of Mr.
Walton's invitation to the utmost limit that etiquette would
permit.
His awakened mind gave but little thought to his enter
tainers, and he did not anticipate much pleasure from their
society. He was satisfied that they were refined, cultivated
40 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
people, with whom he could be as much at ease as would be
possible in any companionship, but he hoped and proposed
to spend the most of his time alone in wandering amid old
scenes and brooding over the past. The morbid mind is
ever full of unnatural contradictions, and he found a melan
choly pleasure in shutting his eyes to the future and recall
ing the time when he had been happy and hopeful. In his
egotism he found more that interested him in his past and
vanished self than in the surrounding world. Evil and ill-
health had so enfeebled his body, narrowed his mind, and
blurred the future, that his best solace seemed a vain and
sentimental recalling of the crude yet comparatively happy
period of childhood.
This is sorry progress. A man must indeed have lived
radically wrong when he looks backward for the best of his
life. Gray-haired Mr. Walton was looking forward. Greg
ory's habit of self-pleasing of acting according to his mood
was too deeply seated to permit even the thought of return
ing the hospitality he hoped to enjoy by a cordial effort on
his part to prove himself an agreeable guest. Polite he ever
would be, for he had the instincts and training of a gentle
man, in society's interpretation of the word, but he had lost
the power to feel a generous solicitude for the feelings and
happiness of others. Indeed, he rather took a cynical pleas
ure in discovering defects in the character of those around
him, and in learning that their seeming enjoyment of life
was but hollow and partial. Conscious of being evil him
self, he liked to think others were not much better, or would
not be if tempted. Therefore, with a gloomy scepticism, he
questioned all the seeming happiness and goodness he saw.
"It is either unreal or untried," he was wont to say bitterly.
About seven o'clock, Hannah, the waitress, again ap
peared, saying: "Supper is ready, but the ladies beg you
will not come down unless you feel able. I can bring up
your tea if you wish. "
Thinking first and only of self, he at once decided not
to go down. He felt sufficiently rested and revived, but
MORBID BROODING 41
was in no mood for commonplace talk to comparative
strangers. His cosey chair, glowing fire, and listless ease
were much better than noisy children, inquisitive ladies,
and the unconscious reproach of Mr. Walton's face, as he
would look in vain for the lineaments of his lost friend.
Therefore he said, suavely: "Please say to the ladies that
I am so wearied that I should make but a dull companion,
and so for their sakes, as well as my own, had better not
leave my room this evening. ' '
It is the perfection of art in selfishness to make it appear
as if you were thinking only of others. This was the design
of Walter's polite message. Soon a bit of tender steak, a
roast potato, tea, and toast were smoking appetizingly be
side him, and he congratulated himself that he had escaped
the bore of company for one evening.
Notwithstanding his misanthropy and cherished desola
tion the supper was so inviting that he was tempted to par-
take of it heartily. Then incasing himself in his ample
dressing-gown he placed his slippered feet on the fender
before a cheery fire, lighted a choice Havana, and pro
ceeded to be miserable after the fashion that indulged
misery often affects.
Hannah quietly removed the tea-tray, and Mr. Walton
came up and courteously inquired if there was anything that
would add to his guest's comfort.
"After a few hours of rest and quiet I hope I shall be
able to make a better return for your hospitality," Gregory
rejoined, with equal politeness.
"Oh, do not feel under any obligation to exert your
self," said kind Mr. Walton. "In order to derive full
benefit from your vacation, you must simply rest and follow
your moods. ' '
This view of the case suited Gregory exactly, and the
prospect of a visit at his old home grew still more inviting.
When he was left alone, he gave himself up wholly to the
memories of the past
At first it was with a pleasurable pain that he recalled
42 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
his former life. With an imagination naturally strong he
lived it all over again, from the date of his first recollec
tions. In the curling flames and glowing coals on the hearth
a panorama passed before him. He saw a joyous child, a
light-hearted boy, and a sanguine youth, with the shifting
and familiar scenery of well-remembered experience. Time
softened the pictures, and the harsh, rough outlines which
exist in every truthful portraiture of life were lost in the
haze of distance. The gentle but steady light of mother
love, and through her a pale, half-recognized reflection of
the love of God, illumined all those years; and his father's
strong, quiet affection made a background anything but
dark. He had been naturally what is termed a very good
boy, full of generous impulses. There had been no lack of
ordinary waywardness or of the faults of youth, but they
showed a tendency to yield readily to the correcting influ
ence of love. Good impulses, however, are not principles,
and may give way to stronger impulses of evil. If the
influences of his early home had alone followed him,
lie would not now be moodily recalling the past as the
exiled convict might watch the shores of his native land
recede.
And then, as in his prolonged revery the fire burned
low, and the ruddy coals turned to ashes, the past faded
into distance, and his present life, dull and leaden, rose
before him, and from regretful memories that were not
wholly painful he passed to that bitterness of feeling which
ever comes when hope is giving place to despair.
The fire flickered out and died, his head drooped lower
and lower, while the brooding frown upon his brow dark
ened almost into a scowl. Outwardly he made a sad pic
ture for a young man in the prime of life, but to Him who
looks at the attitude of the soul, what but unutterable love
kept him from appearing absolutely revolting ?
Suddenly, like light breaking into a vault a few notes
of prelude were struck upon the piano in the parlor below,
and a sweet voice, softened by distance sung:
MORBID BROODING 43
"Rock of ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in thee,' '
How often he had heard the familiar words and music in
that same home ! They seemed to crown and complete all
the memories of the place, but they reminded him more
clearly than ever before that its most inseparable associa
tions were holy, hopeful, and suggestive of a faith that he
seemed to have lost as utterly as if it had been a gem
dropped into the ocean.
He had lived in foreign lands far from his birthplace,
but the purpose to return ever dwelt pleasurably in his
mind. But how could he cross the gulf that yawned be
tween him and the faith of his childhood ? Was there really
anything beyond that gulf save what the credulous imagina
tion had created ? Instinctively he felt that there was, for
he was honest enough with himself to remember that his
scepticism was the result of an evil life and the influence
of an unbelieving world, rather than the outcome of patient
investigation. The wish was father to the thought.
Yet sweet, unfaltering, and clear as the voice of faith
ever should be, the hymn went forward in the room below,
his memory supplying the well-known words that were lost
from remoteness:
"When mine eyelids close in death,
When I soar to worlds unknown."
"Oh, when!" he exclaimed, bitterly. "What shall be
my experience then ? If I continue to fail in health as I
have of late I shall know cursedly soon. That must be Miss
Walton singing. Though she does not realize it, to me this
is almost as cruel mockery as if an angel sang at the gates
of hell."
The music ceased, and the monotone of one reading
followed.
"Family prayers as of old," he muttered. "How every
thing conspires to-day to bring my home-life back again!
and yet there is a fatal lack of something that is harder to
44 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
endure than the absence of my own kindred and vanished
youth. I doubt whether I can stay here long after all,
Will not the mocking fable of Tantalus be repeated con
stantly, as I see others drinking daily at a fountain which
though apparently so near is ever beyond my reach ?"
Shivering with the chill of the night and the deeper chill
at heart, he retired to troubled sleep.
HOW MISS WALTON MANAGED PEOPLE 45
CHAPTER IV
HOW MISS WALTON MANAGED PEOPLE
REST, and the sunny light and bracing air of the fol
lowing morning, banished much of Gregory's moodi-
ness, and he descended the stairs proposing to dismiss
painful thoughts and get what comfort and semblance of en
joyment he could out of the passing hours. Mr. Walton met
him cordially indeed with almost fatherly solicitude and
led him at once to the dining-room, where an inviting
breakfast awaited them. Miss Wallton also was genial,
and introduced Miss Eulalia Morton, a maiden sister of
her mother. Miss Eulie, as she was familiarly called, was
a pale, delicate little lady, with a face sweetened rather
than hardened and imbittered by time. If, as some be
lieve, the flesh and the spirit, the soul and the body, are
ever at variance, she gave the impression at first glance
that the body was getting the worst of the conflict. But in
truth the faintest thoughts of strife seemed to'have no asso
ciation with her whatever. She appeared so light and aerial
that one could imagine her flying over the rough places of
life, and vanishing when any one opposed her.
Miss Walton reversed all this, for she was decidedly
substantial. She was of only medium height, but a fine
figure made her appear taller than she was. She immediately
gave the impression of power and reserve force. You felt
this in her quick, elastic step, saw it in her decided though
not abrupt movements, and heard it in her tone. Even the
nonchalant Mr. Gregory could not ignore her in his custom
ary polite manner, though quiet refinement and peculiar
46 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
unobtrusiveness seemed her characteristics. She won atten
tion, not because she sought it, nor on the ground of eccen
tricities, but because of her intense vitality. From her dark
eyes a close observer might catch glimpses of a quick, ac
tive mind, an eager spirit, and well, perhaps a passionate
temper. Though chastened and subdued, she ever gave the
impression of power to those who came to know her well.
In certain ways, as they interpreted her, people acknowl
edged this force of character. Some spoke of her as very
lively, others as exceedingly energetic and willing to enter
on any good work. Some thought her ambitious, else why
was she so prominent in church matters, and so ready to
visit the sick and poor? They could explain this in but
one way. And some looked knowingly at each other and
said: "I wonder if she is always as smiling and sweet as
when in society;" and then followed shaking of heads
which intimated, "Look out for sudden gusts."
Again, as in simple morning wrapper she turned to greet
Gregory, she gave him the impression of something like
beauty. But his taste, rendered critical by much observa
tion both at home and abroad, at once told him that he was
mistaken.
"The expression is well enough," he thought, "but she
has not a single perfect feature not one that an artist would
copy, except perhaps the eyes, and even they are not soft
and Madonna-like."
He had a sybarite's eye for beauty, and an intense ad
miration for it. At the same time he was too intellectual
to be satisfied with the mere sensuous type. And yet, when
he decided that a woman was not pretty, she ceased to in
terest him. His exacting taste required no small degree of
outward perfection crowned by ready wit and society polish.
With those so endowed he had frequently amused himself
in New York and Paris by a passing flirtation since the
politic Miss Bently had made him a sceptic in regard to
women. All his intercourse with society had confirmed his
cynicism. The most beautiful and brilliant in the drawing-
HOW MISS WALTON MANAGED PEOPLE 47
rooms were seldom the best. He flattered them to their faces
and sneered at them in his heart. Therefore his attentions
were merely of a nature to excite their vanity, stimulated
by much incense from other sources. He saw this^ plainly
manifested trait, which he contributed to develop, and de
spised it. He also saw that many were as eager for a good
match as ever the adored Miss Bently had been, and that,
while they liked his compliments, they cared not for him.
Why should they? Insincere and selfish himself, why
should he expect to awaken better feelings on the part
of those who were anything but unsophisticated, and from
knowledge of the world could gauge him at his true worth ?
Not even a sentimental girl would show her heart to such
a man. And yet with the blind egotism of selfishness
he smiled grimly at their apparent heartlessness and said,
"Such is woman."
At the same time it must in justice be said that he de
spised men in general quite as sincerely. "Human nature
is wretched stuff," had come to be the first article in his
creed.
In regard to Miss Walton he concluded: "She is a good-
ish girl, more of a lady than the average, pious and ortho
dox, an excellent housekeeper, and a great comfort to her
father, no doubt. She is safe from her very plainness,
though confident, of course, that she could resist tempta
tion and be a saint under all circumstances;" and he dis
missed her from his mind with a sort of inward groan and
protest against the necessity of making himself agreeable
to her during his visit.
He did not think it worth while to disguise his face as
he made these brief critical observations, and quick-witted
Annie gathered something of the drift of his thoughts, as
she stole a few glances at him from behind the coffee-urn.
It piqued her pride a little, and she was disappointed in
him, for she had hoped for a pleasant addition to their
society for a time. But she was so supremely indifferent
to him, and had so much to fill her thoughts and days,
48 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
that his slight promise to prove an agreeable visitor caused
but momentary annoyance. Yet the glimmer of a smile
flitted across her face as she thought: "He may find him
self slightly mistaken in me, after all. His face seems
to say, 'No doubt she is a good young woman, and well
enough for this slow country place, but she has no beauty,
no style.' I think I can manage to disturb the even current
of his vanity, if his visit is long enough, and he shall learn
at least that I shall not gape admiringly at his artificial
metropolitan airs."
Her manner toward Gregory remained full of kindness
and grace, but she made no effort to secure his attention and
engage him in conversation, as he had feared she would do.
She acted as if she were accustomed to see such persons
as himself at her father's breakfast- table every morning;
and, though habitually wrapped up in his own personality,
he soon became dimly conscious that her course toward him
was not what he had expected.
Miss Eulie was all solicitude in view of his character of
invalid ; and the children looked at him with curious eyes
and growing disapprobation. There was nothing in him to
secure their instinctive friendship, and he made no effort
to win their sympathies.
The morning meal began with a reverent looking to
heaven for God's blessing on the gifts which were acknowl
edged as coming from Him; and even Gregory was com
pelled to admit that the brief rite did not appear like a care
less signing of the cross, or a shrivelled form from which
spirit and meaning had departed, but a sincere expression
of loving trust and gratitude.
During the greater part of the meal, Mr. Walton dwelt
on the circumstances that had led to his friendship with
Gregory's father, but at last the conversation flagged
a little, since the young man made so slight effort to
maintain it.
Suddenly Mr. Walton turned to his daughter and said,
"By the way, Annie, you have not told me where you
HOW MISS WALTON MANAGED PEOPLE 49
found Mr. Gregory, for my impression is that you brought
him down from the hills."
"I was about to say that I found him in a chestnut
burr," replied Annie, with a twinkle in her eye. "At
least I found a stranger by the cedar thicket, and he proved
from a chestnut burr who he was, and his right to acquaint
ance, with a better logic than I supposed him capable of."
"Indeed?" asked Gregory, quickly, feeling the prick of
her last words; "on what grounds were you led to estimate
my logic so slightingly?"
"On merely general grounds; but you see I am open to
all evidence in your favor. City life no doubt has great
advantages, but it also has greater drawbacks."
"What are they?"
"I cannot think of them all now. Suffice it to say that
if you had always lived in the city you could not have in
terpreted a chestnut burr so gracefully. Many there seem
to forget Nature's lore."
"But may they not learn other things more valuable?"
Miss Walton shook her head, and said, with a laugh:
"An ignorant exhorter once stated to his little schoolhouse
audience that Paul was brought up at the foot of the hill
Gamaliel. I almost wish he were right, for I should have
had more confidence in the teachings of the hill than in
those of the narrow-minded Jewish Rabbi."
"And yet you regard Paul as the very chief of the
apostles. ' '
"He became such after he was taught of Him who
teaches through the hills and nature generally."
"My daughter is an enthusiast for nature," remarked
Mr. Walton.
"If the people are the same as when I was here a boy,
the hills have not taught the majority very much," said
Gregory, with a French shrug.
"Many of them have a better wisdom than you think,"
answered Annie, quietly.
"In what does it consist?"
ROE IV 3
50 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
"Well, for one thing they know how to enjoy life and
add to the enjoyment of others. ' '
Gregory looked at her keenly for a moment, but saw
nothing to lead him to think that she was speaking on other
than general principles; but he said, a little moodily, as
they rose from the table, "That certainly is a better wisdom
than is usually attained in either city or country. ' '
"It is not our custom to make company of our friends,"
said Mr. Walton, cordially. "We hope you will feel com
pletely at home, and come and go as you like, and do just
what you find agreeable. We dine at two, and have an
early supper on account of the children. There are one
or two fair saddle horses on the place, but if you do not
feel strong enough to ride, Annie can drive you out, and I
assure you she is at home in the management of a horse."
"Yes, indeed," echoed the little boy. "Aunt Annie
can manage anything or anybody. ' '
"That is a remarkable power," said Gregory, with an
amused look and a side glance at the young girl. "How
does she do it ?' '
"Oh, I don't know," replied the boy; "she makes them
love her, and then they want to do as she says. ' '
A momentary wrathful gleam shot from Annie's eyes at
her indiscreet little champion, but with heightened color
she joined in the laugh that followed.
Gregory had the ill grace to say with a sort of mocking
gallantry, as he bowed himself out, "It must be delightful
to be managed on such terms."
WAS IT AN ACCIDENT f 51
CHAPTEE V
WAS IT AN ACCIDENT?
PUTTING on a light overcoat, for the morning air was
sharp and bracing, Gregory soon found himself in
the old square garden. Though its glory was de
cidedly on the wane, it was as yet unnipped by the frost.
It had a neatness and an order of its own that were quite
unlike those where nature is in entire subordination to art.
Indeed it looked very much as he remembered it in the
past, and he welcomed its unchanged aspect. He strolled
to many other remembered boyish haunts, and it seemed
that the very lichens and mosses grew in the same places
as of old, and that nature had stood still and awaited his
return.
And yet every familiar object chided him for being so
changed, and he began to find more of pain than pleasure
as this contrast between what he had been and what he
might have been was constantly forced upon him.
"Oh that I had never left this place!" he exclaimed,
bitterly: "It would have been better to stay here and
drudge as a day laborer. What has that career out in the
world to which I looked forward so ardently amounted to ?
The present is disappointment and self-disgust, the future
an indefinite region of fears and forebodings, and even the
happy past is becoming a bitter mockery by reminding me
of what can never be again."
Wearied and despondent, he moodily returned to the
house and threw himself on a lounge in the parlor. A
smouldering wood fire upon the hearth softened the air
62 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
to summer temperature. The heat was grateful to his
chilled, bloodless body, and gave him a luxurious sense of
physical comfort, and he muttered: "I had about resolved
to leave this place with its memories that are growing into
torment, but I suppose it would be the same anywhere else.
I am too weak and ill to face new scenes and discomfort.
A little animal enjoyment and bodily respite from pain seem
about all that is left to me of existence, and I think I can
find these here better than elsewhere. If I am expected,
however, to fall under the management of the daughter of
the house on the terms blurted out by that fidgety nephew
of hers, I will fly for my life. A plague on him ! His rest
lessness makes me nervous ! If I could endure a child at
all, the blue-eyed little girl would make a pretty toy."
Sounds from the sitting-room behind the parlor now
caught his attention, and listening he soon became aw&re
that Miss Walton was teaching the children.
"She has just the voice for a 'schoolmarm,' " he thought
"quick, clear-cut, and decided."
If he had not given way to unreasonable prejudice he
might also have noted that there was nothing harsh or
querulous in it.
"With her management and love of nature, she doubt
less thinks herself the personification of goodness. I sup
pose I shall be well lectured before I get away. I had a
foretaste of it this morning. 'Drawbacks of city life,' for
sooth! She no doubt regards me as a result of these dis
advantages. But if she should come to deem it her mission
to convert or reform me, then will be lost my small remnant
of peace and comfort."
But weakness and weariness soon inclined him to sleep.
Miss Walton's voice sounded far away. Then it passed into
his dream as that of Miss Bently chiding him affectedly for
his wayward tendencies; again it was explaining that con
scientious young lady's "sense of duty" in view of Mr.
Grobb's offer, and even in his sleep his face darkened with
pain and wrath.
WAS IT AN ACCIDENT? 53
Just then, school hours being over, Miss Walton came
into the parlor. For a moment, as she stood by the fire,
she did not notice its unconscious occupant. Then, seeing
him, she was about to leave the room noiselessly, when the
expression of his face arrested her steps.
If Annie Walton's eyes suggested the probability of
"sudden gusts," they also at times announced a warm,
kind heart, for as she looked at him now her face instantly
softened to pity.
"Good he is not," she thought, "but he evidently suffers
in his evil. Something is blighting his life, and what can
blight a life save evil ? Perhaps I had better change my
proposed crusade against his vanity and cynicism to a kind,
sisterly effort toward making him a better and therefore a
happier man. It will soon come out in conversation that
I have long been the same as engaged to another, and this
will relieve me of absurd suspicions of designs upon him.
If I could win a friendly confidence on his part, I'm sure I
could tell him some wholesome truths, for even an enemy
could scarcely look on that face without relenting."
There was nothing slow or cumbrous about Annie.
These thoughts had flashed through her mind during the
brief moment in which her eyes softened from surprise into
sympathy as they caught the expression of Gregory's face.
Then, fearing to disturb him, with silent tread she passed
out to her wonted morning duties.
How seemingly accidental was that visit to the parlor!
Its motive indefinite and forgotten. Apparently it was but
a trivial episode of an uneventful day, involving no greater
catastrophe than the momentary rousing of a sleeper who
would doze again. But what day can we with certainty call
uneventful ? and what episode trivial ? Those half-aimless,
purposeless steps of Annie Walton into the quiet parlor
might lead to results that would radically change the end
less future of several lives.
In her womanly, pitying nature, had not God sent His
angel? If a viewless "ministering spirit," as the sinful
54 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
man's appointed guardian, was present, as many believe is
the case with every one, how truly he must have welcomed
1 this unselfish human companionship in his loving labor to
save life; for only they who rescue from sin truly save
life.
And yet the sleeper, even in his dreams, was evidently
at war with himself, the world, and God. He was an exam
ple of the truth that good comes from without and not from
within us. It is heaven stooping to men; heaven's messen
gers sent to us; truth quickened in our minds by heavenly
influence, even as sunlight and rain awaken into beautiful
life the seeds hidden in the soil; and, above all, impulses
direct from God, that steal into our hearts as the south wind
penetrates ice-bound gardens in spring.
But, alas! multitudes like Walter Gregory blind their
eyes and steel their hearts against such influences. God
and those allied to Him longed to bring the healing of faith
and love to his wounded spirit. He scowled back his an
swer, and, as he then felt, would shrink with morbid sensi
tiveness and dislike from the kindest and most delicate
presentation of the transforming truth. But the divine
love is ever seeking to win our attention by messengers
innumerable; now by the appalling storm, again by a sum
mer sunset; now by an awful providence, again by a great
joy; at times by stern prophets and teachers, but more
often by the gentle human agencies of which Annie was
the type, as with pitying face she bent over the worn and
jaded man of the world and hoped and prayed that she
might be able to act the part of a true sister toward
him. Thorny and guarded was every avenue to his heart;
and yet her feminine tact, combined with the softening and
purifying influence of his old home, might gain her words
acceptance, where the wisest and most eloquent would plead
in vain.
After dinner he again hastened forth for a walk, his
purpose being to avoid company, for he was so moody and
morbid, so weak, nervous, and irritable, that the thought
WAS IT AN ACCIDENT f 55
of meeting and decorously conversing with those whose
lives and character were a continual reproach to him was
intolerable. Then he had the impression that the "keep-
eyed, plain-featured Miss Walton," as he characterized her
in his mind, would surely commence discoursing on moral
and religious subjects if he gave her a chance; and he
feared that if she did, he would say or do something very
rude, and confirm the bad impression that he was sure of
having already made. If he could have strolled into his
club, and among groups engaged with cards, papers, and
city gossip, he would have felt quite at home. Ties formed
at such a place are not very strong as a usual thing, and
the manner of the world can isolate the members and their
real life completely, even when the rooms are thronged.
As Gregory grew worn and thin and his pallor increased,
as he smoked and brooded more and more apart, his com
panions would shrug their shoulders significantly and whis
per, "It looks as if Gregory would go under soon. Some
thing's the matter with him."
At first good-natured men would say, "Come, Gregory,
take a hand with us, ' ' but when he complied it was with
such a listless manner that they were sorry they had asked
him. At last, beyond mere passing courtesies, they had
come to leave him very much alone; and in his unnatural
and perverted state this was just what he most desired. His
whole being had become a diseased, sensitive nerve, shrink
ing most from any effort toward his improvement, even as
a finger pointed at a festering wound causes anticipatory
agonies.
At the club he would be let alone, but these good people
would "take an interest in him," and might even "talk re
ligion," and probe with questions and surmises. If they
did, he knew, from what he had already seen of them,
that they would try to do it delicately and kindly, but he
felt that the most considerate efforts would be like the
surgical instruments of the dark ages. He needed good,
decisive, heroic treatment. But who would have the cour-
66 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
age and skill to give it ? Who cared enough for him
to take the trouble ?
Not merely had Annie Walton looked with eyes of hu
man pity upon his sin-marred visage that morning. The
Divine personality, enthroned in the depths of her soul
and permeating her life, looked commiseratingly forth
also. Could demons glare from human eyes and God not
smile from them ?
As Annie thought much of him after her stolen glance
in the morning, she longed to do that which he dreaded she
would try to do attempt his reformation. Not that she
cared for him personally, or that she had grown sentiment
ally interested in his Byronic style of wretchedness. So
far from it, her happy and healthful nature was repelled by
his diseased and morbid one. She found him what girls
call a "disagreeable man." But she yearned toward a sin
ning, suffering soul, found in any guise. It was not in her
woman's heart to pass by on the other side.
UNEXPECTED CHESTNUT BURRS 57
CHAPTER VI
UNEXPECTED CHESTNUT BURRS
GREGORY'S afternoon walk was not very prolonged,
for a shivering sense of discomfort soon drove him
back to the house. Although the morning had been
cool, the sun had shone bright and warm, but now the fore
shadowing of a storm was evident. A haze had spread over
the sky, increasing in leaden hue toward the west. The
chilly wind moaned fitfully through the trees, and the
landscape darkened like a face shadowed by coming
trouble.
Walter dreaded a storm, fearing it would shut him up
with the family without escape; but at last the sun so en
shrouded itself in gloom that he was compelled to return.
He went to his room for a book, hoping that when they saw
him engaged they would leave him more to himself. But
to his agreeable surprise he found a cheerful fire blazing
on the hearth, and an ample supply of wood in a box near.
The easy-chair was wheeled forward, and a plate of grapes
and the latest magazine were placed invitingly on the table.
Even his cynicism was not proof against this delicate thought-
fulness, and he exclaimed, "Ah, this is better than I ex
pected, and a hundred- fold better than I deserve. I make
but poor return for their kindness. This cosey room seems
to say, 'We won't force ourselves on you. You can be
alone as much as you like,' for I suppose they must have
noticed my disinclination for society. But they are wise
after all, for I am cursed poor company for myself and
worse than none at all for others."
58 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
Eating from time to time a purple grape, he so lost him
self in the fresh thoughts of the magazine that the tea-bell
rang ere he was aware.
"In the name of decency I must try to make myself
agreeable for a little while this evening," he muttered, as
he descended to the cheerful supper-room.
To their solicitude for his health and their regret that
the approaching storm had driven him so early to the
house, he replied, "I found in my room a better substi
tute for the sunlight I had lost; though as a votary of
nature, Miss Walton, I suppose you will regard this as
sertion as rank heresy."
"Not at all, for your firelight is the result of sunlight."
answered Annie, smiling.
"How is that?"
"It required many summers to ripen the wood that
blazed on your hearth. Indeed, good dry wood is but
concentrated sunshine put by for cold, gloomy days and
chilly nights."
"That is an odd fancy. I wish there were other ways
of storing up sunshine for future use."
"There are," said Miss Walton, cheerfully; and she
looked up as if she would like to say more, but he instantly
changed the subject in his instinctive wish to avoid the
faintest approach to moralizing. Still, conversation con
tinued brisk till Mr. Walton asked suddenly, "By the
way, Mr. Gregory, have you ever met Mr. Hunting of
Wall Street?"
There was no immediate answer, and they all looked in
quiringly at him. To their surprise his face was darkened
by the heaviest frown. After a moment he said, with pecul
iar emphasis, "Yes; I know him well."
A chill seemed to fall on them after that; and he, glanc
ing up, saw that Annie looked flushed and indignant, Miss
Eulie pained, and Mr. Walton very grave. Even the little
boy shot vindictive glances at him. He at once surmised
that Hunting was related to the family, and was oppressed
UNEXPECTED CHESTNUT BURRS 59
with the thought that he was fast losing the welcome given
him on his father's account. But in a few moments Annie
rallied and made unwonted efforts to banish the general em
barrassment, and with partial success, for Gregory had tact
and good conversational powers if he chose to exert them.
When, soon after, they adjourned to the parlor, outward
serenity reigned.
On either side of the ample hearth, on which blazed a
hickory fire, a table was drawn up. An easy-chair stood
invitingly by each, with a little carpet bench on which to
rest the feet.
"Take one of these," said Mr. Walton, cordially, "and
join me with a cigar. The ladies of my household are in
dulgent to my small vices."
"And I will send for your magazine," said Annie, "and
then you can read and chat according to your mood. You
see that we do not intend to make a stranger of you."
"For which I am very glad. You treat me far better
than I deserve."
Instead of some deprecatory remark, Annie gave him a
quick, half-comical look which he did not fully understand.
"There is more in her than I at first imagined," he
thought.
Seated with the magazine, Gregory found himself in the
enjoyment of every element of comfort. That he might be
under no constraint to talk, Annie commenced speaking to
her father and Miss Eulie of some neighborhood affairs, of
which he knew nothing. The children and a large grey
hound were dividing the rug between them. The former
were chatting in low tones and roasting the first chestnuts
of the season on a broad shovel that was placed on the
glowing coals. The dog was sleepily watching them lest
in their quick movements his tail should come to grief.
Gregory had something of an artist's eye, and he could
not help glancing up from his reading occasionally, and
thinking what a pretty picture the roomy parlor made.
"Annie," said Mr. Walton, after a little while, "I can't
60 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
^v
*
get through this article with my old eyes. Won't you finish
it for me? Shall we disturb you, Mr. Gregory ?"
"Not at all."
Gregory soon forgot to read himself in listening to her.
Not that he heard the subject-matter with any interest, but
her sweet, natural tones and simplicity arrested and retained
his attention. Even the statistics and the prose of "political
economy seemed to fall from her lips in musical cadence,
and yet there was no apparent effort and not a thought
of effect. Walter mused as he listened.
"I should like to hear some quiet, genial book read
in that style, though it is evident that Miss Walton is
no tragedy queen."
Having finished the reading, Annie started briskly up
and said, "Come, little people, your chestnuts are roasted
and eaten. It's bedtime. The turkeys and squirrels will
be at the nut-trees long before you to-morrow unless you
scamper off at once. ' '
"O, Aunt Annie," chimed their voices, "you must sing
us the chestnut song first; you promised to."
"With your permission, Mr. Gregory, I suppose I must
make my promise good, ' ' said Annie.
"I join the children in asking for the song," he replied,
glad to get them out of the way on such easy conditions,
though he expected a nursery ditty or a juvenile hymn
from some Sabbath- school collection, wherein healthy,
growing boys are made to sing, "I want to be an angel."
"Moreover," he added, "I have read that one must always
keep one's word to a child."
"Which is a very important truth: do you not think
so?"
"Since you are using the word 'truth' so prominently,
Miss Walton, 1 most say that I have not thought much
about it But I certainly would have you keep your word
on this occasion."
"Aunt Annie always keeps her word," said Johnny,
rather bluntly. By some childish instinct he divined that
UNEXPECTED CHESTNUT BURRS 61
Gregory did not appreciate Aunt Annie sufficiently, and
this added to his prejudice.
"You have a stout little champion there," Gregory
remarked.
"I cannot complain of his zeal," she answered signifi
cantly, at the same time giving the boy a caress. "Mr.
Gregory, this is a rude country ballad, and we are going
to sing it in our accustomed way, even though it shock your
city ears. Johnny and Susie, you can join in the chrous;"
and she sang the following simple October glee:
Katydid, your throat is sore,
You can chirp this fall no more;
Robin red-breast, summer's past,
Did you think 'twould always last?
Fly away to sunny climes,
Lands of oranges and limes ;
With the squirrels we shall stay
And put our store of nuts away.
the spiny chestnut burrs! the prickly chestnut burrs!
Harsh without, but lined with down,
And full of chestnuts, plump and brown.
Sorry are we for the flowers ;
We shall miss our summer bowers;
Still we welcome frosty Jack,
Stealing now from Greenland back.
And the burrs will welcome him ;
When he knocks, they'll let him in.
They don't know what Jack's about;
Soon he'll turn the chestnuts out.
the spiny, etc.
Turkey gobbler, with your train,
You shall scratch the leaves in vain;
Squirrel, with your whisking tail,
Your sharp eyes shall not avail ;
In the crisp and early dawn,
Scampering across the lawn,
We will beat you to the trees,
Come you then whene'er you please.
the spiny, etc.
62 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURE
Gregory's expression as she played a simple prelude was
one of endurance, but when she began to sing the changes
of his face were rapid. First he turned toward her with a
look of interest, then of surprise. Miss Eulie could not
help watching him, for, though she was well on in life,
just such a character had never risen above her horizon.
Too gentle to censure, she felt that she had much cause
for regret.
At first she was pleased to see that he found the ditty
far more to his taste than he had expected. But the rapid
alternation from pleased surprise and enjoyment to some
thing like a scowl of despair and almost hate she could not
understand. Following his eyes she saw them resting on
the boy, who was now eagerly joining in the chorus of the
last verse. She was not sufficiently skilled to know that to
Gregory's diseased moral nature things most simple and
wholesome in themselves were most repugnant. She could
not understand that the tripping little song, with its wild-
wood life and movement that the boy singing with the de
light of a pure, fresh heart told him, beyond the power
of labored language, how hackneyed and blase* he had be
come, how far and hopelessly he had drifted from the same
true childhood.
And Miss Walton, turning suddenly toward him, saw
the same dark expression, full of suffering and impotent
revolt at his destiny, as he regarded it, and she too was
puzzled.
"You do not like our foolish little song," she said.
"1 envy that boy, Miss Walton," was his reply.
Then she began to understand him, and said, gently,
"You have no occasion to."
"I wish you, or any one, could find the logic to prove
that"
"The proof is not in logic but in nature, that is ever
young. They who draw their life from nature do not fall
into the only age we need dread. ' '
"Do you not expect to grow old?"
UNEXPECTED CHESTNUT BURRS 63
She shook her head half humorously and said, "But these
children will before I get them to bed."
He ostensibly resumed his magazine, but did not turn
any leaves.
His first mental query was, "Have I rightly gauged Miss
Walton ? I half believe she understands me better than I
do her. I estimated her as a goodish, fairly educated coun
try girl, of the church-going sort, one that would be dread
fully shocked at finding me out, and deem it at once her
mission to pluck me as a brand from the burning. I know
all about the goodness of such girls. They are ignorant of
the world; they have never been tempted, and they have
a brood of little feminine weaknesses that of course are not
paraded in public.
"And no doubt all this is true of Miss Walton, and yet,
for some reason, she interests me a little this evening. She
is refined, but nowhere in the world will you meet drearier
monotony and barrenness than among refined people. Hav
ing no real originality, their little oddities are polished
away. In Miss Walton I'm beginning to catch glimpses
of vistas unexplored, though perhaps I am a fool for
thinking so.
'What a peculiar voice she has! She would make
a poor figure, no doubt, in an opera; and yet she might
render a simple aria very well. But for songs of nature
and ballads I have never heard so sympathetic a voice. It
suggests a power of making music a sweet home language
instead of a difficult, high art, attainable by few. Really
Miss Walton is worth investigation, for no one with such a
voice can be utterly commonplace. Strange as it is, I can
not ignore her. Though she makes no effort to attract my
attention, I am ever conscious of her presence."
64 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
CHAPTER YII
A CONSPIRACY
WHEN Miss Walton returned to the parlor her
father said, "Annie, I am going to trespass
on your patience again."
She answered with a little piquant gesture, and was
soon reading in natural, easy tones, without much stum
bling, what must have been Greek to her.
Gregory watched her with increasing interest, and an
other question than the one of finance involved in the
article was rising in his mind.
"Is this real? Is this seeming goodness a fact?" It
was the very essence of his perverted nature to doubt
it. Now that his eyes were opened, and he closely ob
served Miss Walton, he saw that his prejudices against
her were groundless. Although not a stylish, pretty wo
man, she was evidently far removed from the goodish,
commonplace character that he could regard as part of the
furniture of the house, useful in its place, but of no more
interest than a needful piece of cabinet work. Nor did she
assert herself as do those aggressive, lecturing females who
deem it their mission to set everybody right within their
sphere.
And yet she did assert herself; but he was compelled
to admit that it was like the summer breeze or the perfume
of a rose. He had resolved that very day to avoid and
ignore her as far as possible, and yet, before the first even
ing in her presence was half over, he had left a magazine
story unfinished; he was watching her, thinking and sur-
A CONSPIRACY 65
raising about her, and listening, as she read, to what he did
not care a straw about. Although she had not made the
slightest effort, some influence from her had stolen upon
him like a cool breeze on a sultry day, and wooed him as
gently as the perfume of a flower that is sweet to all. He
said to himself, "She is not pretty," and yet found pleasure
in watching her red lips drop figures and financial terms as
musically as a little rill murmurs over a mossy rock.
From behind his magazine he studied the group at the
opposite table, but it was with the pain which a despairing
swimmer, swept seaward by a resistless current, might feel
in seeing the safe and happy on the shore.
Gray Mr. Walton leaned back in his chair, the embodi
ment of peace and placid content
The subject to which he was listening and kindred topics
had so far receded that his interest was that of a calm,
philosophic observer, and Gregory thought, with a glim
mer of a smile, "He is not dabbling in stocks or he could
not maintain that quiet mien."
His habits of thought as a business man merely made it
a pleasure to keep up with the times, in fact he was in
that serene border- land between the two worlds where the
questions of earth are growing vague and distant and those
of the "better country" more real and engrossing, for Greg
ory observed, later in the evening, that he took the family
Bible with more zest than he had bestowed on the motive
power of the world. It was evident where his most valued
treasures were stored. With a bitter sigh, Gregory thought,
"I would take his gray hairs if I could have his peace and
faith."
Miss Eulie, to whom he gave a passing glance, seemed
even less earthly in her nature. Indeed, it appeared as if
she had never more than half belonged to the material crea
tion. Slight, ethereal, with untroubled blue eyes, and little
pufi curls too light to show their change to gray, she struck
Gregory unpleasantly, as if she were a connecting link be
tween gross humanity and spiritual existence, and his eyes
66 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
reverted to Miss Walton, and dwelt with increasing interest
on her. There at least were youth, health, and something
else what was it in the girl that had so strongly and sud
denly gained his attention ? At any rate there was nothing
about her uncanny and spirit- like.
He did not understand her. Was it possible that a
young girl, not much beyond twenty, was happy in the
care of orphan children, in the quiet humdrum duties of
housekeeping, and in reading stupid articles through the
long, quiet evenings, with few excitements beyond church-
going, rural tea- drin kings, and country walks and rides?
With a grim smile he thought how soon the belles he had
admired would expire under such a regimen. Could this
be good acting because a guest was present ? If so it was
perfect, for it seemed her daily life.
"I will watch her," he thought. "I will solve this little
feminine enigma. It will divert my mind, and I've nothing
else to do."
"My daughter spoils me, you see, Mr. Gregory," said
Mr. Walton, starting up as Annie finished a theory that
would make every one rich by the printing-press process.
"Don't plume yourself, papa," replied Annie, archly;
"I shall make you do something for me to pay for all this."
With a humorous look he replied, "No matter, I have
the best of the bargain, for I should have to do the 'some
thing' anyway. But what do you think of this theory,
sir?" And he explained, not knowing that Walter had
been listening.
The gentlemen were soon deep in the mysteries of cur
rency and finance, topics on which both could talk well.
Annie listened with polite attention for a short time
indeed Gregory was exerting himself more for her sake
than for Mr. Walton's and she was satisfied from her
father's face that his guest was interesting him; but as the
subject was mainly unintelligible to her she soon turned
with real zest to Miss Eulie's fancy-work, and there was an
earnest whispered discussion in regard to the right number
A CONSPIRACY 67
of stitches. Walter noted this and sneeringly thought, with
a masculine phase of justice often seen, "That's like a
woman. She drops one of the deepest and most important
subjects of the day" (and he might have added, "As ex
plained by me") "and gives her whole soul to a bit of
thread lace;" and he soon let Mr. Walton have the discus
sion all his own way.
In furtherance of his purpose to draw Annie out he said,
rather banteringly, "Miss Walton, I am astonished that so
good a man as your father should have as an ardent friend
the profane and disreputable character that I found living
in the cottage opposite on the day of my arrival. ' '
"Profane, I admit he is," she replied, "but not disrepu
table. Indeed, as the world goes, I think old Daddy Tug-
gar, as he is called in this vicinity, is a good man. ' '
"O, Annie!" said Miss Eulie. "How can you think so?
You have broader charity than I. He is breaking his poor
wife's heart."
"Indeed?" said Annie, dryly; "I was not aware of it."
"I too am astonished," said Walter, in mock solemnity.
"How is it that a refined and orthodox young lady, a pillar
of the church, too, I gather, can regard with other than
unmixed disapprobation a man who breaks the third com
mandment and all the rules of Lindley Murray at every
breath?"
"I imagine the latter offence is the more heinous sin in
your eyes, Mr. Gregory," she said, scanning his face with
a quick look.
"Oh, you become aggressive. I was under the impres
sion that I was making the attack and that you were on the
defensive. But I can readily explain the opinion which
you, perhaps not unjustly, impute to me. You and I judge
this venerable sinner from different standpoints."
"You explain your judgment, but do not justify it," re
plied Annie, quietly.
"Annie, I don't see on what grounds you call Daddy
Tuggar a good man," said Miss Bulie, emphatically.
68 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
"Please understand me, aunty," said Annie, earnestly.
"I did not say he was a Christian man, but merely a good
man as the world goes; and I know I shall shock you when
I say that I have more faith in him than in his praying
and Scripture-quoting wife. There, I knew I should," she
added, as she saw Miss Eulie's look of pained surprise.
Mr. Walton was listening with an amused smile. He
evidently understood his quaint old friend and shared
Annie's opinion of him.
Gregory was growing decidedly interested, and said,
"Really, Miss Walton, I must side with your aunt in this
matter. 1 shall overwhelm you with an awful word. I think
you are latitudinarian in your tendencies. ' '
"Which Daddy Tuggar would call a new-fangled way of
swearing at me," retorted Annie, with her frank laugh that
was so genuinely mirthful that even Aunt Eulie joined in it.
"I half think," continued Annie, "that the churchmen
in the ages of controversy did a good deal of worse swear
ing than our old neighbor is guilty of when they hurled at
each other with such bitter zest the epithets Antinomian,
Socinian, Pelagian, Calvinistic, etc."
"Those terms have an awful sound. They smite my ear
with all the power that vagueness imparts, and surely must
have caused stout hearts to tremble in their day," he
remarked.
"We are no longer on the ground of currency and
finance," said Annie, archly, "and I shall leave you to
imagine that I know all about the ideas represented by the
polysyllabic terms of churchmen's warfare."
He looked at her a moment in comic dismay. Really
this country girl was growing too much for him in his
game of banter.
"Miss Walton, I shall not dispute or question your
knowledge of the Socin cin (you know the rest) heresy "
"Alas!" put in Annie, quietly, "I do know all about
the 'sin heresy.' I can say that honestly."
"I am somewhat inclined to doubt that," he said,
A CONSPIRACY 69
quickly; then added, in sudden and mock severity, "Miss
Walton, if I were a judge upon the bench I should charge
that you were evading the question and befogging the case.
The point at issue is, How can you regard Daddy Tuggar
as a good man ? As evidence against him I can affirm that
I do not remember to have had such a good square cursing
in my life, and I have received several."
This last expression caused Miss Eulie to open her eyes
at him.
"Not for your sake, sir," said Annie, with a keen yet
humorous glance at him, "who as judge on the bench have
in your pocket a written verdict, I fear, but for Aunt Eulie' s
I will give the reasons for my estimate. I regard her in the
light of an honest jury. In the first place the term you
used, 'square,' applies to him. I do not think he could be
tempted to do a dishonest thing; and that, as the world
goes, is certainly a good point."
"And as the church goes, too," he added, cynically.
"He is a good neighbor, and considerate of the rights
of others. He can feel, and is not afraid to show a sincere
indignation when seeing a wrong done to another."
"I can vouch for that. I shall steal no more of your
apples, Mr. Walton."
"There is not a particle of hypocrisy about him. I wish
I could think the same of his wife. For some reason she
always gives me the impression of insincerity. If I were
as good as you are, aunty, perhaps I should not be so sus
picious. One thing more, and my eulogy of Daddy the
only one he will ever receive, I fear is over. He is capa
ble of sincere friendship, and that is more than you can say
of a great many."
"It is indeed, " said Gregory, with bitter emphasis. "I
should be willing to take my chances with Daddy Tuggar
in this or any other world. ' '
' ' You had better not, ' ' she answered, now thoroughly in
earnest.
"Why so?"
70 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
"I should think memories of this place would make my
meaning clear," she replied, gently.
Gregory's face darkened, and he admitted to himself that
most unexpectedly she had sent an arrow home, and yet he
could take no exception.
His indifference toward her had vanished now. So far
from regarding her as a dull, good, country girl with a
narrow horizon of little feminine and commonplace inter
ests, he began to doubt whether he should be able to cope
with her in the tilt of thought. He saw that she was quick,
original, and did her own thinking, that in repartee she hit
back unexpectedly, in flashes, as the lightning strikes from
the clouds. He could not keep pace with her quick intuition.
Moreover, in her delicate reference to his parents' faith
she had suggested an argument for Christianity that he had
never been able to answer. For a little time she had caused
him to forget his wretched self, but her last remark had
thrown him back on his old doubts, fears, and memories.
As we have said, his cynical, despondent expression re
turned, and he silently lowered at the fire.
Annie had too much tact to add a word. "He must be
hurt well probed indeed before he can be well," she
thought.
Country bedtime had now come, and Mr. Walton said,
"Mr. Gregory, I trust you will not find our custom of family
prayers distasteful. ' '
"The absence of such a custom would seem strange to
me in this place, ' ' he replied, but he did not say whether
it would be agreeable or distasteful.
Annie went to the piano as if it were a habit, and after
a moment chose the tender hymn
"Come, ye disconsolate."
At first, in his morbid sensitiveness, he was inclined to
resent this selection as aimed at him, but soon he was under
the spell of the music and the sentiment, which he thought
had never before been so exquisitely blended.
A CONSPIRACY 71
Miss Walton was not very finished or artistic in any
thing. She would not be regarded as a scholar, even among
the girls of her own age and station, and her knowledge
of classical music was limited. But she was gifted in a
peculiar degree with tact, a quick perception, and the
power of interpreting the language of nature and of the
heart. She read and estimated character rapidly. Almost
intuitively she saw people's needs and weaknesses, but so
far was she from making them the ground of satire and con
tempt that they awakened her pity and desire to help. In
other words, she was one of those Christians who in some
degree catch the very essence of Christ's character, who
lived and died to save. She did not think of condemning
the guilty and disconsolate man that brooded at her fireside,
but she did long to help him.
1 ' I may never be able to say such words to him directly, ' '
she thought, "but I can sing them, and if he leaves our
home to-morrow he shall hear the truth once more."
And she did sing with tenderness and feeling. In ren
dering something that required simplicity, nature, and
pathos, no prima donna could surpass her, for while her
voice was not powerful, and had no unusual compass, it
was as sweet as that of a thrush in May.
Only deaf ears and a stony heart could have remained
insensible, and Gregory was touched. A reviving breath
from Paradise seemed to blow upon him and gently urge,
"Arise, struggle, make one more effort, and you may yet
cross the burning sands of the desert. It is not a mirage
that is mocking you now."
As the last words trembled from the singer's lips he
shaded his eyes with the hand on which his head was lean
ing, but Miss Eulie saw a tear fall with momentary glitter,
and she exulted over it as his good angel might have
done.
If penitent tears could be crystallized they would be the
only gems of earth that angels would covet, and perhaps
God's co-workers here will find those that they caused to
72 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
flow on earth set as gems in their "crown of glory that
fadeth not away."
Mr. "Walton, in reverential tones, read the fifty-third
chapter of Isaiah, which, with greater beauty and tender
ness, carried forward the thought of the hymn; and then
he knelt and offered a prayer that was so simple and child
like, so free from form and cant, and so direct from the
heart, that Gregory was deeply moved. The associations
of his early home were now most vividly revealed and
crowned by the sacred hour of family worship, the memory
of which, like a reproachful face, had followed him in all
his evil life.
When he arose from his knees he again shaded his face
with his hand to hide his wet eyes and twitching muscles.
After a few moments he bade the family an abrupt good
night, and retired to his room.
At first they merely exchanged significant glances. Then
Miss Eulie told of the tear as if it were a bit of dust from
a mine that might enrich them all. For a while Annie sat
thoughtfully gazing into the fire, but at last she said, "It
must be plain to us that Mr. Gregory has wandered further
from his old home in spirit than he has in body; but it
seems equally evident that he is not happy and content
He seems suffering and out of health in soul and body.
Perhaps God has sent him to us and to his childhood's
home for healing. Let ns, therefore, be very careful, very
tender and considerate. He is naturally proud and sensi
tive, and is morbidly so now."
"I think he is near the Kingdom," said Miss Eulie, with
a little sigh of satisfaction.
"Perhaps all are nearer than we think," said Annie, in
a musing tone. "God is not far from any one of us. Bat
it is the curse of sin to blind. He has, no doubt, been long
in reaching his present unhappy condition, and he may be
long in escaping from it"
41 Well, the Lord reigns," said Mr. Walton, sententiously,
as if that settled the question.
A CONSPIRACY 73
"Dear old father!" said Annie, smiling fondly at him,
"that's your favorite saying. You have a comfortable habit
of putting all perplexing questions into the Lord's hand
and borrowing no further trouble. Perhaps that is the
wisest way after all, only one is a long time learning it."
"I've been a long time learning it, my child," said her
father. "Let us agree to carry his case often to the throne
of mercy, and in His good time and way our prayers will
be answered."
Thus in quaint old scriptural style they conspired for
the life of their unconscious guest. This was in truth a
"holy alliance." How many dark conspiracies there have
been, resulting in blood, wrong, and outrage, that some
unworthy brow might wear for a little time a petty, per
ishing crown of earth ! Oh, that there were more conspira
cies like that in Mr. Walton's parlor for the purpose of ren
dering the unworthy fit to wear the crown immortal !
ROE iv i
74: OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
M 1
CHAPTER VIII
WITCHCRAFT
ISS EULIE was doomed to disappointment, for
Gregory came down late to breakfast the follow
ing morning with not a trace of his softened feel
ings. Indeed, because of pride, or for some reason, he
chose to seem the very reverse of all she had hoped. The
winter of his unbelief could not pass away so easily.
Even in January there are days of sudden relenting,
when the frost's icy grasp upon nature seems to relax.
Days that rightfully belong to spring drop down upon us
with birds that have come before their time. But such
days 'may end in a northeast snowstorm and the birds
perish.
The simile appeared true of Gregory. As far as he
took part in the table-talk he was a cold, finished man
of the world, and the gloom of the early morning rested
on his face. But Annie noticed that he made an indiffer
ent breakfast and did not appear well.
After he had retired to his room to write some letters,
as he said, she remarked to her father when alone with him :
"I suppose you remember Mr. Gregory's manner when
you spoke of Mr. Hunting. They evidently are acquainted
and not on good terms. What could have occurred between
them?"
"Some quarrel resulting from business, perhaps," said
Mr. Walton, musingly.
"I believe Charles has been trying to restrain Mr. Greg
ory in some of his fast ways," Annie continued, emphati-
WITCHCRAFT 75
cally, "and they have had hot words. Men have so little
discretion in their zeal."
"Business men are not apt to interfere with each other's
foibles unless they threaten their pockets," her father re
plied. "It is more probable that Gregory has borrowed
money of Hunting, and been compelled to pay it against
his will; and yet I have no right to surmise anything of
the kind."
"But Mr. Hunting is not a mere business man, father.
He is bent on doing good wherever he can find opportu
nity. I incline to my solution. But it is clear that we must
be silent in regard to him while Mr. Gregory is with us, for
I never saw such bitter enmity expressed in any face. It is
well that Charles is to be absent for some time, and that we
have no prospect of a visit from him while our guest is here.
Oh, dear! I wish Charles could come and make us a visit
instead of this moody, wayward stranger."
"I can echo that wish heartily, Annie, for in the son I
find little of my old friend, his father. But remember what
you said last night. It may be that he was sent to us in
order that we should help him become what his father
was. ' '
"I will do my best; but I do not look forward to his
society with much pleasure. Still, if there should be any
such result as we hope for, I should feel repaid a thousand
fold."
Gregory finished his letters and then paced restlessly up
and down his room.
"That this country girl should have so moved me!" he
muttered. "What does it mean ? What is there about her
that takes hold of my attention and awakens my interest ?
I wish to go downstairs now, and talk to her, and have her
read to me, and am provoked with myself that I do. Yes
terday at this time I wished to avoid her.
"Why should I wish to avoid her? If she amuses me,
diverts my mind, beguiles my pain, or more dreary apathy,
why not let her exert her power to the utmost and make
76 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
herself useful ? Yes, but she will try to do more than
amuse. Well, suppose she does; one can coolly foil such
efforts. Not so sure of that. If I were dealing with a man
I could, but one must be worse than a clod to hear her sing
and not feel. I suppose I made a weak fool of myself be
fore them all last night, and they thought I was on the eve
of conversion. I half wish I were, or on the eve of any
thing else. Any change from my present state would seem
a relief. But a man cannot go into these things like an im
pulsive girl, even if he believes in them, which is more than
I do. I seem to have fallen into a state of moral and
physical imbecility, in which I can only doubt, suffer,
and chafe.
"I won't avoid her. I will study and analyze her char
acter. I doubt whether she is as good, fresh, and original
as she seems. Such girls exist only in moral stories, and
I've met but few even there. I will solve her mystery.
Probably it is not a very deep one, and after a day or two
she will become an old story and life resume its normal
monotony;" and he at once descended the stairs to carry
out his purpose.
The children were just coming from the sitting-room
where they had their school, exclaiming, "Oh, aunty,
what shall we do this awful rainy day?"
"Wait till I have given some directions to Zibbie, and
I will read you a fairy story, and then you can go up into
the garret until dinner-time."
"May I listen to the fairy story also?" asked Walter.
Miss Walton looked up with a smile and said, "You
must be half-desperate from your imprisonment to accept
of such solace. But if you can wait till I have kept my
word to the children I will read something more to your
taste."
"I think I should like to hear how a fairy story sounds
once again after all these years."
"As Shakespeare may sound to us some time in the fu
ture," she replied, smiling.
WITCHCRAFT 77
"I can't believe we shall ever outgrow Shakespeare," he
said.
"I can believe it, but cannot understand how it is pos
sible. As yet I am only growing up to Shakespeare."
" You seem very ready to believe what you cannot un
derstand. ' '
"And that is woman's way, I suppose you would like
to add," she answered, smiling over her shoulder, as she
turned to the kitchen department. ' ' You men have a gen
eral faith that there will be dinner at two o'clock, though
you understand very little how it comes to pass, and if
you are disappointed the best of your sex have not forti
tude enough to wait patiently, so I must delay no longer to
propitiate the kitchen divinity."
"There!" he said, "I have but crossed her steps in the
hall, and she has stirred me and set my nerves tingling like
an October breeze. She is a witch."
After a few minutes Miss Walton entered. Each of the
children called for a story, and both clamored for their
favorites.
"Johnny," said Miss Walton, "it is manly to yield to
the least and weakest, especially if she be a little woman."
The boy thought a moment, and then with an amusing
assumption of dignity said, "You may read Susie's story
first, aunty."
"Susie, promise Johnny that his story shall be read first
next time;" which Susie promptly did with a touch of the
womanly grace which accompanies favors bestowed after
the feminine will has triumphed.
"Now, little miniature man and woman, listen!" and
their round eyes were ready for the world of wonders.
And this child of nature was at the same time showing
Gregory a world as new and strange a world that he had
caught glimpses of when a boy, but since had lost hope
lessly. She carried the children away into fairy- land. She
suggested to him a life in which simplicity, truth, and gen
uine goodness might bring peace and hope to the heart.
78 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
"Well, what do you think of the fairy story ?" she asked
after she had finished and the children had drawn sighs of
intense relief at the happy denouement, in which the ugly
ogre was slain and the prince and princess were married:
"I did not hear it," he said.
"That's complimentary. But you appeared listening
very closely."
"You have heard of people reading a different meaning
between the lines, and I suppose one can listen to a different
meaning. ' '
"And what could you find between the lines of this fairy
tale ?' ' she asked with interest
"It would be difficult for me to explain something too
vague and indefinite for words, I fear. But if you will read
me something else I will listen to the text itself."
"Come, children, scamper off to the garret," said Annie,
"and remember you are nearer heaven up there, and so must
be very kind and gentle to each other. ' '
"You will fill those youngsters' heads with beautiful
superstitions."
"Superstition and faith are not so very far apart, though
so unlike."
"Yes, it is hard to tell where one leaves off and the other
begins. ' '
"Is it?"
"Isn't it?"
"I don't like to contradict you, sir."
"You have contradicted me, and I suppose 'it is manly
to yield to a lady. ' ' '
"Not in matters of principle and honest conviction."
"Alas! if one has not very much of either!"
"It is a very great misfortune, and, I suppose I ought to
add, fault."
"I have no doubt it is a misfortune. Miss Walton- but
you are not reading."
"Well, make your choice."
"I leave it entirely to you."
WITCHCRAFT 79
"You don't look very well to-day. I will select some
thing light and cheerful from Dickens."
"Excuse me, please. I am in no mood for his deliberate
purpose to make one laugh. ' '
"Then here is Irving. His style flows like a meadow
brook."
"No, he is too sentimental."
"Walter Scott, then, will form a happy medium."
"No, he wearies one with explanations and history."
"Some of Tennyson's dainty idyls will suit your fastidi
ous taste."
"I couldn't abide his affected, stilted language to-day."
"Shakespeare, then; you regard him as perfect."
"No, he makes me think, and I do not wish to."
"Well, here are newspapers, the latest magazine, and
some new novels."
"Modern rubbish a mushroom growth. They will soon
kindle kitchen fires instead of thought."
"Then I must make an expedition to the library. What
shall I bring? There is Mosheim's 'Ecclesiastical Ancient
History'; that has a solid, venerable sound. Or, if you
prefer poetry, I will get Gray's 'Elegy.' That cannot be
a literary mushroom, for he was twenty years writing it.
But perhaps it is Tupper you would like. That would suit
your mood exactly, Tupper's 'Proverbial Philosophy.' '
"You are growing satirical, Miss Walton. Why don't
you assert plainly that I am as full of whims as a "
"Woman, would you like to say?"
"Present company excepted. The fact is, I am two-
thirds ill to-day, and the most faultless style and theme in
our language would weary me. I am possessed by the evil
spirits of ennui, unrest, and disgust at myself and all the
world, present company always excepted. Do you know of
any spell that can exorcise these demons?"
"Yes, a very simple one. Will you put yourself abso
lutely in my power and obey ?"
"I am your slave."
80 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
Miss Walton left the room and soon returned with a large
afghan. "You must take a horizontal position in order that
my spell may work. ' '
"Pshaw! you are prescribing an ordinary nap."
"I am glad to say the best things in this world are
ordinary. But permit me to suggest that in view of your
pledged word you have nothing to do in this matter but
to obey. ' '
"Very well;" and he threw himself on the sofa.
"The day is chilly, sir, and I must throw this afghan
over you;" and she did so with a little touch of delicacy
which is so grateful when one is indisposed.
Her manner both soothed and pleased him.
He was more lonely than he realized, for it had been
years since he had experienced woman's gentle care and
ministry; and Annie Walton had a power possessed by few
to put jangling nerves at rest. Suddenly he said, "I wish
I had a sister like you. ' '
"My creed, you know," she replied, "makes all man
kind kindred."
"Nonsense!" said Gregory, irritably; "deliver me from
your church sisters."
"Take care!" she answered, with a warning nod, "I'm
a church sister; so don't drive me away, for I am going to
sing you to sleep."
"I'm half inclined to join your church that I may call
you sister."
"You would be disciplined and excommunicated within
a month. But hush; you must not talk."
"How would you treat me after I had been anathe
matized ?' '
"If you were as ill as you are to-day I would make you
sleep. Hush; not another word. I am going to sing."
A luxurious sense of comfort stole over him, and he
composed himself to listen and criticise, little imagining,
though, that he would fall asleep. He saw through the
window a lowering sky with leaden clouds driven wildly
WITCHCRAFT 81
across it. The wind moaned and soughed around the angles
of the house, and the rain beat against the glass. All with
out seemed emblematic of himself. But now he had a brief
but blessed sense of shelter from both the storm and him
self. The fire blazed cheerily on the hearth. The afghan
seemed to envelop him like a genial atmosphere. Had Miss
Walton bewitched it by her touch ? And now she has found
something to suit her, or rather him, and is singing.
"What an unusual voice she has!" he thought. "Truly
the spirit of David's harp, that could banish the demon from
Saul, dwells in it. I wonder if she is as good and real as
she seems, or whether, under the stress of temptation or the
poison of flattery, she would not show herself a true daugh
ter of Eve ? I must find out, for it is about the only re
maining question that interests me. If she is like the rest
of us if she is a female Hunting then good-by to all hope.
I shall not live to find anybody or anything to trust. If
she is what she seems, it's barely possible that she might
help me out of this horrible 'slough of despond,' if she
would take the trouble. I wish that she were my sister, or
that my sister had lived and had been just like her."
OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
CHAPTEB IX
MISS WALTON RECOMMENDS A HOBBY
TO GBEGOEY'S surprise he waked and then admitted
to himself that, contrary to his expectation and pur
pose, he had been asleep. His last remembered con
sciousness was that of sweet, low music; and how long
ago was that? He looked at his watch; it was nearly two,
and he must have slept several hours. He glanced around
and saw that he was alone, but the fire still blazed on the
hearth, and the afghan infolded him with its genial warmth
as before, and it seemed that although by himself he was
still cared for.
1 ' She is a witch, ' ' he muttered. ' ' Her spells are no jokes.
But I will investigate her case like an old-time Salem in
quisitor. With more than Yankee curiosity, which was at
the bottom of their superstitious questionings, I will pry
into her power. But she will find that she has a wary sceptic
to convince. I have seen too many saints and sinners to be
again deceived by fair seeming. ' '
" A broad ray of sunlight shot across the room. ' ' By my
soull it's clearing off. Is this her work also? Has she
swept away the clouds with her broomstick? And there
goes the dinner-bell, too;" and he went to his room two
steps at a time, as he had done when a boy.
Annie coming out of the sitting-room at that moment,
smiled and said: "He must be better."
At the table she asked, "How do you find yourself now ?"
1 ' Much given to appetite. ' ' Then, turning to Mr. W alton,
he said, abruptly, "Do you believe in witchcraft?"
MISS WALTON RECOMMENDS A HOBBY 83
"Well, no, sir," said Mr. Walton, a little taken aback.
"I do!" continued he, emphatically.
"When and where have you had experience of the black
art?"
"This morning, and in your house, sir."
"You seem none the worse for it," said his host, smiling.
"Indeed, I have not felt so well in months. Your larder
will suffer if I am practiced upon any more."
"Well, of all modern and prosaic results of witchery this
exceeds," said Annie, laughing, "since only a good appetite
comes of it. ' '
"It yet remains to be seen whether this is the only re
sult," replied Gregory. "What possessed the old Puritans
to persecute the Salem witches is a mystery to me, if their
experience was anything like mine."
"You must remember that the question of what was
agreeable or otherwise scarcely entered into a Puritan's
motives."
"I am not so sure of that," he answered, quickly. "It
has ever seemed to me that the good people of other days
went into persecution with a zeal that abstract right can
hardly account for. People will have their excitements,
and a good rousing persecution used to stir things like the
burning of Chicago or a Presidential election in our day."
"Granting," said Annie, "the bigotry and cruelty of the
persecutor and these must be mainly charged to the age
still you must admit that among them were earnest men
who did from good motives what appears very wrong to us.
What seemed to them evil and destructive principles were
embodied in men and women, and they meant to destroy the
evil through the suffering and death of these poor creatures."
"And then consider the simplicity and ease of the perse
cutor's method," continued Gregory, mockingly. "A man's
head has become full of supposed doctrinal errors. To re
fute and banish these would require much study and argu
ment on the part of the opponent. It was so much easier
to take an obstinate heretic's head off than to argue with
84 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
him! I think it was the simplicity of the persecutor's
method that kept it in favor so long."
"But it never convinced any one," said Annie, "and
the man killed merely goes into another world of the same
opinion still."
"And there probably learns, poor fellow, that both were
wrong, and that he had better have been content with good
dinners and a quiet life, and let theology alone. ' '
"The world would move but slowly, if all men were
content with 'good dinners and a quiet life,' " said Annie,
satirically. "But you have not answered my question.
Could not good, earnest men have been very cruel, believ
ing that everything depended on their uprooting some evil
of their day?"
"To tell the truth, Miss Walton," he replied, a little
nettled, "I have no sympathy with that style of men. To
me they are very repulsive and ridiculous. They remind
me of the breathless, perspiring politicians of our time, who
button-hole you and assert that the world will come to an
end unless John Smith is elected. To me, the desperate
earnestness of people who imagine it their mission to set
the world right is excessively tiresome. For one man or a
thousand to proclaim that they speak for God and embody
truth, and that the race should listen and obey, is the ab
surdity of arrogance."
"If we were to agree with you, should we not have to
say that the prophets should have kept their visions to
themselves, and that Luther should have remained in his
cell, and Columbus have coasted alongshore and not in
sisted on what was to all the world an absurdity ?' '
"Come, Miss Walton," said Gregory, with a vexed laugh
as they rose from the table, "you are a witch, I am willing
to argue with flesh and blood, but I would rather hear you
sing. Still, since you have swept away these clouds so I
can have my ramble, I will forgive you for unhorsing me in
our recent tilt. ' '
"If you would mount some good honest hobby and ride
MISS WALTON RECOMMENDS A HOBBY 85
\
it hard, I doubt whether any one could unhorse you,"
she replied in a low tone, as she accompanied him to the
parlor.
"Men with hobbies are my detestation, Miss Walton."
"Nevertheless, they are the true knights-errant of our
age. Of course it depends upon what kind of hobbies they
ride, or whether they can manage their steeds."
"Miss Walton, your figure suggests a half-idiot, with a
narrow forehead and one idea, banging back and forth on
a wooden horse, but making no progress in other words, a
fussy, bustling man who can do and talk but one thing."
"Your understanding of the popular phrase is narrow
and literal, and while it may have such a meaning, it can
also have a very different one. Suppose that, instead of
looking with languid eyes alike upon all things, a man
finds some question of vital import, or a pursuit that
promises good to himself and to others and that enlists
his interest. He comes at last to give it his best energies
and thought. The whole current of his life is setting in
that direction. Of course he must ever be under the re
straints of good sense and refinement. A man's life with
out a hobby is a weak and wavering line of battle indefi
nitely long. One's life with a hobby is a concentrated
charge. ' '
There was in Miss Walton's face and manner, as she
uttered these words, that which caused him to regard her
with involuntary admiration. Suddenly he asked, "Have
you a hobby?"
Her manner changed instantly, and with an arch look
she said, "If you detest a man with a hobby, what a mon
ster a woman with one would be in your eyes!"
"I have admitted that you are a witch."
"Oh, I am a monster already, and so have no character
to lose. But where is your penetration ? If a man with a
hobby is idiotic, narrow -browed, fussy and bustling, exces
sively obtrusive with his one idea, a woman must be like
him with all these things exaggerated Has it not occurred
86 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
4
to you that I have a hobby of the most wooden and clumsy
order?"
"But that was my idea of a hobby. You have spiritual
ized my wooden block into a Pegasus the symbol of inspi
ration. Have you such a hobby ?' '
"I have."
"What is it?"
She went out of the room, saying smilingly over her
shoulder, "You must find that out for yourself."
A PLOT AGAINST MISS WALTON
CHAPTER X
A PLOT AGAINST MISS WALTON
GREGORY was soon off for his ramble. The storm
had cleared away, leaving the air so warm and
genial as to suggest spring rather than fall; but
he was quite oblivious of the outer world, and familiar
scenes had not the power to awaken either pleasant or
painful associations. He was trying to account for the
influence that Annie Walton had suddenly gained over
him, but it was beyond his philosophy. This provoked
him. His cool, worldly nature doubted everything and
especially everybody. He believed in the inherent weak
ness of humanity, and that if people were exceptionally
good it was because they had been exceptionally fortunate
in escaping temptation. He also had a cynical pleasure in
seeing such people tripping and stumbling, so that he might
say in self -excusing, "We are all alike."
And yet he was compelled to admit that if Annie's good
ness was seeming it was higher art than he had known be
fore. There was also an unconscious assertion of superior
ity in her manner that he did not like. True, things had
turned out far better than he had expected. There was no
cant about her. She did not lecture him or "talk religion"
in what he regarded as the stereotyped way, and he was sure
she would not, even if they became better acquainted. But
there is that in genuine goodness and nobility of character
that always humiliates the bad and makes them feel their
degradation. A real pity and sympathy for him tinged her
manner, but these qualities are not agreeable to pride. And
88 . OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
it must be admitted that she had a little self-righteous satis
faction that she was so much better than this sadly robbed
and wounded man suddenly appearing at the wayside of her
life. In human strength there is generally a trace of arro
gance. Only divine strength and purity can say with per
fect love and full allowance for all weakness and adverse
influences, "Neither do I condemn thee; go, and sin no
more. ' '
Gregory had now reached a rustic bridge across a little
stream that, swollen from the recent rain, came gurgling
and clamoring down from the hills. Leaning upon the
rail he seemed to watch the foaming water glide under his
feet; but the outward vision made no impression on his
mind.
At last in the consciousness of solitude he said: "She
told me I must find her out. I will. I will know whether
she is as free from human frailty as she seems. I have little
doubt that before many days I can cause her to show all the
inherent weaknesses of her sex; and I should think New
York and Paris had taught me what they are. She has
never been tempted. She has never been subjected to the
delicate flattery of an accomplished man of the world. I
am no gross libertine. I could not be in this place.
I could not so wrong hospitality and the household of my
father's friend. But I should like to prove to that girl
her delusion, and show her that she is a weak woman like
the rest; that she is a pretty painted ship that has never
been in a storm, and therefore need not sail so confidently.
We all start on the voyage of life as little skiffs and pleas
ure boats might cross the ocean. If any get safely over, it
is because they were lucky enough not to meet dangerous
currents or rough weather. I should like her better with
her piquant ways if she were more like myself. Saints and
Madonnas are well enough in pictures, but such as I would
find them very uncomfortable society. ' '
With sudden power the thought flashed upon him, "Why
not let her make you as she is?" Where did the thought
A PLOT AGAINST MISS WALTON 89
come from? Tell me not that the Divine Father forgets
His children. He is speaking to them continually, only
they will not hear. There was a brief passionate wish on
the part of this bad man that she might be what she seemed
and that he could become like her. As the turbulent, muddy
Jordan divided that God's people might pass through, so this
thought from heaven found passage through his heart, and
then the current of sinful impulse and habit flowed on as be
fore. With the stupidity of evil he was breaking the clew
that God had dropped into his hand even when desperately
weary of his lost scate. He is wrecked and helpless on the
wide ocean; a ship is coming to his rescue; and his first ef
fort is that this vessel also may be wrecked or greatly in
jured in the attempt
There is no insanity like that of a perverted heart
The adversary of souls has so many human ' victims doing
his work that he can fold his hands in idleness. And yet
according to the world's practice, and we might almost say
its code, Gregory purposed nothing that would be severely
condemned nothing more than an ordinary flirtation, as
common in society as idleness, love of excitement, and
that power over others which ministers to vanity. He
had no wish to be able to say anything worse of her than
that under temptation she would be as vain and heartless
a coquette as many others that he knew in what is regarded
as good society. He would have cut off his right hand, as
he then felt, rather than have sought to lead her into gross
sin.
And yet what did Gregory purpose in regard to Annie
but to take the heavenly bloom and beauty from her char
acter ? As if they can be lovely to either God or man of
whom it can be said only, They commit no overt crime.
What is the form of a rose without its beauty and fra
grance ? They who tempt to evil are the real iconoclasts.
They destroy God's image.
But the supreme question of the selfish heart is, "What
do I want now?"
90 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
Gregory wished to satisfy himself and Miss Walton that
she had no grounds for claiming any special superiority over
him, and he turned on his heel and went back to the house
to carry out his purpose. Nature, purified and beautiful by
reason of its recent baptism from heaven, had no attractions
for him. Gems of moisture sparkled unseen. He was plan
ning and scheming to turn her head with vanity, make her
quiet life of ministry to others odious, and draw her into a
fashionable flirtation.
Annie did not appear until the supper-bell summoned
her, and then said, "Mr. Gregory, I hope you will not think
it rude if father and I leave you to your books and Aunt
Eulie's care this evening. Jt is our church prayer-meeting
night, and father never likes to be absent."
"I shall miss you beyond measure. The evening will
seem an age."
Something in his tone caused her to give him a quick
glance, but she only said, with a smile, "You are very po
lite to say so, but I imagine the last magazine will be a good
substitute."
"I doubt whether there is a substitute for you, Miss
Walton. I am coming to believe that your absence would
make that vacuum which nature so dreads. You shall see
how good I will be this evening, and you shall read me
everything you please, even to that 'Ancient Ecclesiastical
History.' If you will only stay I will be your slave; and
you shall rule me with a rod of iron or draw me with the
silken cords of kindness, according to your mood."
"It is not well to have too many moods, Mr. Gregory,"
said Annie, quietly. "In reply to all your alluring reasons
for staying at home I have only to say that I have promised
father to go with him; besides, I think it is my duty to
go."
' 'Duty' is a harsh, troublesome word to be always quot
ing. It is a kind of strait-jacket which we poor moral luna
tics are compelled to wear. ' '
' 'Duty' seems to me a good solid road on which one may
A PLOT AGAINST MISS WALTON 91
travel safely. One never knows where the side paths lead :
into the brambles or a morass like enough."
"Indeed, Miss Walton, such austerity is not becoming
to your youth and beauty."
"What am I to think of your sincerity when you speak
of my beauty, Mr. Gregory ?' '
"Beauty is a question of taste," answered Gregory, gal
lantly. "It is settled by no rigid rules or principles, but
by the eyes of the observer."
"Oh! I understand now. My beauty this evening is the
result of your bad taste. ' '
"Calling it 'bad' does not make it so. Well, since you
will not remain at home with me, will you not let me go
with you to the prayer- meeting? If I'm ever to join your
church, it is time I entered on the initiating mysteries."
"I think a book will do you more good in your present
mood."
"What a low estimate you make of the 'means of grace' !
Why, certain of your own poets have said, 'And fools who
came to scoff remained to pray.' "
"The quotation does not apply to you, Mr. Gregory.
For, even if you can doubt the power and truth of Chris
tianity, the memory of your childhood will prevent you
from scoffing at it."
A sudden shadow came across his face, but after a mo
ment he said, in his old tones:
"Will you not let me go to the prayer-meeting?"
"Father will be glad to have you go with us, if you
think it prudent to venture out in the night air."
"Prudence to the dogs! What is the use of living if we
cannot do as we please? But will you be glad to have
me go?"
"That depends upon your motives."
"If I should confess you wouldn't let me go," he replied
with a bow. "But I will try to be as good as possible, just
to reward your kindness. ' '
The rest of the family now joined them in the supper-
92 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
room, and during the meal Walter exerted himself to show
how entertaining he could be if he chose. Anecdotes, inci
dents of travel, graphic sketches of society, and sallies of
wit, made an hour pass before any one was aware.
Even the children listened with wondering eyes, and
Mr. Walton and Miss Eulie were delighted with the vivac
ity of their guest. Annie apparently had no reason to
complain of him, for his whole manner toward her dur
ing the hour was that of delicately sustained compliment.
When she spoke he listened with deference, and her words
usually had point and meaning. He also gave to her re
marks the best interpretation of which they were capable,
and by skilfully drawing her out made her surpass even
herself, so that Miss Eulie said, "Why, Annie, there surely
is some witchcraft about. You and Mr. Gregory are as
brilliant as fireworks."
"It's all Miss Walton's work, I assure you," said Greg
ory. "As Pat declared, 'I'm not meself any more,' and
shall surprise you, sir, by asking if I may go to the prayer-
meeting. Miss Walton says I can if I will behave myself.
The last time I went to the old place I made faces at the
girls. I suppose that would be wrong. ' '
4 ' That is the sin of our age making faces, ' ' said Annie.
"Many have two, and some can make for themselves even
more. ' '
"Now that was a barbed arrow," said Gregory, looking
at her keenly. "Did you let it fly at a venture ?' '
"Bless me!" said Mr. Walton, rising hastily, "we should
have been on the road a quarter of an hour ago. You
mustn't be so entertaining another prayer-meeting night,
Mr. Gregory. Of course we shall be glad to have you ac
company us if you feel well enough. J give you both but
five minutes before joining me at the wagon."
Walter again mounted the stairs with something of his
old buoyancy, and Annie followed, looking curiously after
him.
It was not in human nature to be indifferent to that most
A PLOT AGAINST MISS WALTON 93
skilful flattery which can be addressed to woman the rec
ognition of her cleverness, and the enhancing of it by adroit
and suggestive questions and yet all his manner was tinged
by a certain insincere gallantry, rather than by a manly,
honest respect. She vaguely felt this, though she could
not distinctly point it out. He puzzled her. What did
he mean, and at what was he aiming?
94 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
CHAPTER Xf
A DRINKING-SONG AT A PBAYEB-MEETING
HAVING failed in his attempt to induce Annie to
remain at home, Gregory resolved that the prayer-
meeting should not be one of quiet devotion. Mr.
Walton made him, as an invalid, take the back seat with
Annie, while he sat with the driver, and Gregory, after
a faint show of resistance, gladly complied.
"It's chilly. Won't you give me half of your shawl ?"
he said to her.
"You may have it all," she replied, about to take it off.
"No, I'll freeze first. Do the brethren and sisters sit
together ?' '
"No," she answered, laughing, "we have got in the
queer way of dividing the room between us, and the few
men who attend sit on one side and we on the other. ' '
"Oh, it's almost a female prayer- meeting then. Do the
sisters pray ?' '
"Mr. Gregory, you are not a stranger here that you need
pretend to such ignorance. I think the meeting is conducted
very much as when you were a boy."
"With this most interesting difference, that you will be
there and will sing, I hope. Miss Walton, where did you
learn to sing?"
"Mainly at home."
"I should think so. Your voice is as unlike that of a
public singer as you are unlike the singer herself. ' '
"It must seem very tame to you."
"It seems very different. We have an artificial-flower
A DRINKING-SONG AT A PRAYER-MEETING 95
department in our store. There is no lack of color and
form there, I assure you, but after all I would prefer your
rose garden in June."
"But you would probably prefer your artificial- flower
department the rest of the year, ' ' said Annie, laughing.
"Why so?"
"Our roses are annuals and are only prosaic briers after
their bloom."
"Imagine them hybrid perpetuals and monthlies and
you have my meaning. But your resemblance to a rose
extends even to its thorns. Your words are a little sharp
sometimes. ' '
"In the thorns the resemblance begins and ends, Mr.
Gregory. I assure you I am a veritable Scotch brier.
But here we are at our destination. I wonder if you will
see many old, remembered faces. ' '
"I shall be content in seeing yours," he replied in a low
tone, pressing her hand as he assisted her to alight.
If he could have seen the expression of her face in the
darkness it would have satisfied him that she did not re
ceive that style of compliment like many of the belles of his
acquaintance, who would take the small change of flattery
with the smiling complacency of a public door-keeper.
They were late. The good old pastor was absent, and
one of the brethren was reading a chapter in the Bible.
Gregory took a seat where he could see Annie plainly, and
she sat with her side face toward him.
He watched her keenly, in order to see if she showed
any consciousness of his presence. The only evidence in
his favor was a slight flush and a firmness about the lips,
as if her will was asserting itself. But soon her face had
the peaceful and serious expression becoming the place and
hour, and he saw that she had no thoughts for him what
ever. He was determined to distract her attention, and by
restlessness, by looking fixedly at her, sought her eye, but
only secured the notice of some young girls who thought
him "badly smitten with Miss Walton."
96 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
The long chapter having been read, a hymn was given
out. The gentleman who usually led the music was also
absent, and there was an ominous pause, in which the good
brother's eye wandered appealingly around the room and at
last rested hopefully on Annie. She did not fail him, but,
with heightened color and voice that trembled slightly at
first, "started the tune." It was a sweet, familiar air, and
she soon had the support of other voices. One after another
they joined her in widely varying degrees of melody, even
as the example of a noble life will gradually secure a num
ber of more or less successful imitators.
Gregory had seen the appeal to her with an amused,
half-comical look, but her sincere and ready performance
of the duty that had unexpectedly revealed itself rapidly
changed the expression of his face to one of respect and
admiration. Distinct, and yet blending with the others, her
voice seemed both to key up and hide the little roughnesses
and discords of some who perhaps had more melody in
their hearts than in their tones.
Again a divine impulse, like a flower-laden breeze
sweeping into a dark and grated vault at Greenwood,
stirred Gregory's evil nature.
"Let her teach you the harmony of noble, unselfish liv
ing. Follow her in thought, feeling, and action, as those
stammering, untuned tongues do in melody, and the blight
of evil will pass from your life. Seek not to muddy and
poison this clear little rill that is watering a bit of God's
world. Grant that her goodness is not real, established,
and thoroughly tested that it is only a pretty surface
picture. Seek not to blur that picture."
But the evil heart is like Sodom. Good angel-thoughts
may come to it, but they are treated with violence and
driven out. His habit of cynical doubt soon returned,
and his purpose to show Miss Walton that she was a weak,
vain woman after all became stronger than ever.
It seemed to have come to this, that his salvation de
pended on, not what Miss Walton could say or do directly
A DRINKING-SONG AT A PRAYER-MEETING 97
in his behalf, but upon her maintenance of a character that
even a sceptical world must acknowledge as inspired by
heaven, and this, too, against a tempter of unusual skill
and tact. She might sing with resistless pathos, and argue
and plead with Paul's logic and eloquence. His nature
might be stirred for a moment as a stagnant pool is agitated
by the winds of heaven, and, like the pool, he would soon
settle back into his old apathy. But if she could be made
to show weakness, to stumble and fall, it would confirm
him in his belief that goodness, if it really existed, was ac
cidental; that those whose lives were apparently free from
stain deserved no credit, because untempted; and that
those who fell should be pitied rather than blamed, since
they were unfortunate rather than guilty. Anything that
would quiet and satisfy his conscience in its stern arraign
ment of his evil life would be welcome. The more he saw
of Miss Walton the more he felt that she would be a fair
subject upon whom to test his favorite theory. Therefore,
by the time one of the brethren present had finished his
homely exhortation he was wholly bent upon carrying out
his plan.
But Miss Walton sat near, as innocently oblivious of
this plot against her as Eve of the serpent's guile before
the tempter and temptation came into fatal conjunction.
What thoughts for and against each other may dwell
utterly hidden and unknown in the hearts of those so near
that their hands may touch ! Conspiracies to compass the
death that is remediless may lurk just behind eyes that
smile upon us. Of course Gregory desired no such fatal
result to follow his little experiment. Few who for their
own pleasure, profit, or caprice tempt others wish the evil
to work on to the bitter end. They merely want a sufficient
letting down of principle and virtue for the accomplishment
of their purpose, and then would prefer that the downward
tendency should cease or be reversed. The merchant who
requires dishonorable practices of his clerk wishes him to
stop at a point which, in the world's estimation, is safe.
BOB IV 6
98 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
And those who, like Gregory, would take the bloom from
woman's purity and holiness in thought and action, that
they may enjoy a questionable flirtation, would be horrified
to see that woman drop into the foul gulf of vice. With
the blind egotism of selfishness, they wish merely to gratify
their present inclinations, ignoring the consequences. They
are like children who think it would be sport to see a little
cataract falling over a Holland dike. Therefore, when the
tide is in they open a small channel, but are soon aghast
to find that the deep sea is overwhelming the land.
Gregory, as is usual with his kind, thought only of his
own desires. When he had accomplished these Miss Wal
ton must take care of herself. W hen from seeming a sweet,
pure woman she had, by a little temptation, proved to be
capable of becoming a vain flirt, he would go back to busi
ness and dismiss her from his thoughts with the grim
chuckle, "She is like the rest of us."
And thus Annie was destined to meet her mother Eve's
experience; and with the energy and promptness of evil
Gregory was keenly on the alert for anything to further
his purpose.
It would seem that the satanic ally in such schemes does
not permit opportunity to be wanting long. The leader of
the meeting again selected a hymn, but of a peculiar metre.
He read only two lines, and then looked expectantly toward
Annie, who could not at the moment think of a tune that
would answer; and while with knit brows she was bending
over her book, to her unbounded surprise she heard the
hymn started by a clear, mellow tenor voice. Looking up
she saw Gregory singing as gravely as a deacon. She was
sufficiently a musician to know that the air did not beloag
to sacred music, though she had never heard it before.
In his watchfulness he had noted her hesitation, and
glancing at the metre saw instantly that the measure of a
drinking-song he knew well would fit the words. This fell
out better than he had hoped, and with the thought, "I will
jostle her out of her dignity now," he began singing with-
A DRINKING SONQ AT A PRAYER-MEETING 99
out any embarrassment, though every eye was upon him.
He had been out in the world long enough for that.
As Annie turned with a shocked and half-frightened
expression toward him his eyes met hers with a sudden
gleam of drollery which was irresistible, and he had the
satisfaction of seeing her drop her head to conceal a smile.
But he noticed, a moment later, that her face became grave
with disapprobation.
Having sung a stanza he looked around with an injured
air, as if reproaching the others for not joining in with him.
"The tune is not exactly familiar to us," said the good
man leading the meeting, ' ' but if the brother will continue
singing we will soon catch the air; or perhaps the brother
or some one else (with a glance at Annie) will start one better
known."
Gregory deliberately turned over the leaves, and to the
tune of Old Hundred started a hymn commencing:
"Unveil thy bosom, faithful tomb,
Take this new treasure to thy trust,
And give these sacred relics room
To slumber in the silent dust."
Annie had a keen sense of the ludicrous, and the transi
tion from what he had been singing to the funereal and most
inapproriate words was almost too much for her. To her
impotent anger and self-disgust she felt a hysterical desire
to laugh, and only controlled herself by keeping her head
down and her lips firmly pressed together during the re
mainder of the brief service.
Even others who did not know Gregory could not pre
vent a broad smile at the incongruous hymn he had chosen,
but they unitedly wailed it through, for he persisted in
singing it all in the most dirge-like manner. They gave
him credit for doing the best he could, and supposed his
unhappy choice resulted from haste and embarrassment.
In the spontaneity of social meetings people become accus
tomed to much that is not harmonious.
100 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
Mr. Walton was puzzled. His guest was certainly ap
pearing in an unexpected, role, and he feared that all was
not right.
After the meeting the brethren gathered round Gregory
and thanked him for his assistance, and he shook hands with
them and the elderly ladies present with the manner of one
who might have been a "pillar in the temple." Many of
them remembered his father and mother and supposed their
mantle had fallen on him.
An ancient "mother in Israel" thanked him that he had
"started a tune that they all could sing, instead of the new
fangled ones the young people are always getting up now
adays. But," said she, "I wish you could learn us that
pretty one you first sang, for it took my fancy amazingly.
I think I must have heard it before somewhere. ' '
Gregory gave Annie another of his suggestive glances,
that sent her out hastily into the darkness, and a moment
later he joined her at the carriage steps.
FOILED IN ONE DIRECTION 101
CHAPTER XII
FOILED IN ONE DIRECTION
GREGORY lifted Miss Walton very tenderly into the
carriage and took his place by her side, while
her father was detained by some little matter of
business.
"I am not an invalid," said Annie, rather curtly.
"Indeed you are not, Miss Walton; from your super
abundance you are even giving life to me. ' '
"I thought from your manner you feared I was about to-
faint," she answered, dryly.
Mr. Walton joined them and they started homeward.
"Come, Miss Annie," said Gregory (addressing her thus
for the first time); "why so distant? Was I not called a
brother in the meeting ? If I am a brother you are a sister.
I told you I would secure this relationship."
She did not answer him.
"I think it was too bad," he continued, "that you did
not second my efforts better. You would not help me sing
either of the tunes I started."
"Mr. Gregory," said Annie, emphatically, "I will never
go to a prayer- meeting with you again."
"What a rash resolve! But I confess that I preferred to
have you stay at home with me. ' '
"You have spoiled the whole evening for me."
"And you spoiled mine. So we are quits," he replied,
laughingly.
"No, we are not. How can you turn sacred things into
a jest?"
102 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
"I was possessed to see a smile light up the awful gravity
of your face, and I feel amply repaid in that I succeeded.
It was a delicious bit of sunshine on a cloudy day."
"And I am provoked at myself beyond measure, that I
could have laughed like a silly child."
"But did you not like the first tune I sang? 'Old Hun
dred' was selected in deference to the wishes of the meeting."
"No, I did not like it. It was not suitable to the place
and words. Though 1 never heard it before, its somewhat
slow movement did not prevent it from smacking of some
thing very foreign to a prayer-meeting."
"A most happy and inspired expression. Many a time
I have smacked my lips when it was being sung over the
best of wine."
"Was it a drinking-song, then?" she asked, quickly.
"What will you do with me if I say it was ?"
"Mr. Gregory, I would not have thought this even of
you."
' ' Even of me ! That is complimentary. I now learn what
a low estimate you have of me. But see how unjust you
are. The musical commissaries of the church militant are
ever saying, 'It's a pity the devil should have all the good
music,' and so half the Sunday-school tunes, and many sung
in churches, have had a lower origin than my drinking-song.
I assure you that the words are as fine as the air. Why have
I not as good a right to steal a tune from the devil as the
rest of them?"
"It's the motive that makes all the difference," said
Annie. "But I fear that in this case the devil suffered
no loss. ' '
"I'm sure my motive was not bad. I only wished to see
a bonny smile light up your face. ' '
Before she could reply the carriage stopped at Mr. Wal
ton's door, and with Mr. Gregory she passed into the cosey
parlor. Her father did not immediately join them.
As Gregory looked at her while she took off her wraps,
lie thought, "By Jove! she's handsome if she is not pretty."
FOILED IN ONE DIRECTION 103
In fact Annie's face at that time would have attracted at
tention anywhere. The crisp air had given her a fine color.
Her eyes glowed with suppressed excitement and anger,
while the firm lines about the mouth indicated that when
she spoke it would be decidedly. In spite of herself the
audacity, cleverness, and wickedness of this stranger had
affected her greatly. As he threw off his moodiness, as he
revealed himself by word and action, she saw that he was
no ordinary character, but a thorough man of the world,
and with some strange caprices. The suspicion crossed her
mind that he might be not only in peril himself but also
a source of danger. She had determined during the ride
home that even though he meant no slur upon sacred things
he should carry his mocking spirit no more into them.
Therefore, after a moment's thought, she turned toward
him with a manner of mingled frankness and dignity, and
said, "Mr. Gregory, I regret what has occurred this even
ing. I have a painful sense of the ludicrous, and you have
taken unfair advantage of it. I am usually better and hap
pier for going to our simple little meeting, but now I can
think of the whole hour only with pain. I think I am as
mirth-loving as the majority of my age, and perhaps more
so. I say truly that my heart is very light and happy.
But, Mr. Gregory, we look at certain things very differently
from you. While I would not for a moment have you think
that religion brings into my life gloom and restraint quite
the reverse still it gives me great pain when anything con
nected with my faith is made a matter of jest. These things
are sacred to us, and I know my father would feel deeply
grieved if he understood you this evening. Do you not see?
It appears to us differently from what it does to you and
perhaps to the world at large. These things are to us what
your mother's memory is to you. I would sooner cut off
my right hand than trifle with that."
Gregory had been able to maintain his quizzical look of
mischief till she named his mother; then his face changed
instantly. A flush of shame crossed it, and after a moment,
104 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
with an expression something like true manhood, he stepped
forward and took Annie's hand, saying, "Miss Walton, I
sincerely ask your pardon. I did not know I could not
believe that you felt as you do. I will give you no further
reason to complain of me on this ground. I hope you will
forgive me."
She at once relented, and said :
" 'Who by repentance is not satisfied
Is not of heaven nor earth.'
There is an apt quotation from your favorite Shakespeare."
"You seem a delightful mixture of both, Miss Walton."
"If you were a better judge, sir, you would know that
the earthly ingredient is too great. But that is in your
favor, for I am sufficiently human to make allowance for
human folly. ' '
"I shall tax your charity to the utmost."
As Gregory sat in his arm-chair recalling the events of
the day before retiring, he thought: "Well, my attempt has
failed signally. While by her involuntary smile she snowed
that she was human, she has also managed this evening
to prove that she is perfectly sincere in her religion, and to
render it impossible for me to assail her in that direction
again. As the old hymn goes, I must 'let her religious
hours alone. ' But how far her religion or superstition will
control her action is another question. I have learned both
at home and abroad that people can be very religious and
very sincere in matters of faith and ceremony, and jealous
of any hand stretched out to touch their sacred ark, but
when through with the holy business they can live the life
of very ordinary mortals. This may be true of Miss Wal
ton. At any rate I have made a mistake in showing my
hand somewhat at a prayer- meeting, for women are so te
nacious on religious matters. Deference, personal attention,
and compliments these are the irresistible weapons. These
inflate pride and vanity to such a degree that a miserable
collapse is necessary. And yet I must be careful, for she
FOILED IN ONE DIRECTION 105
is not like some belles I know, who have the swallow of
a whale for flattery. She is too intelligent, too refined, to
take compliments as large and glaring as a sunflower.
Something in the way of a moss-rose bud will accomplish
more. I will appear as if falling under her power; as if
bewitched by her charms. Nothing pleases your plain girls
more than to be thought beautiful; I shall have her head
turned in a week. I am more bent than ever on teaching
this little Puritan that she and I live upon the same level."
Saturday morning dawned clear and bracing, and the
grass was white with hoar-frost. The children came in to
breakfast with glowing cheeks and hair awry, crying ex
citedly in the same breath that they "had been to the chest
nut trees and that Jack had opened the burrs all night."
In answer to their clamorous petitions a one-o'clock
dinner was promised, and Aunt Annie was to accompany
them on a nutting expedition with Jeff as pioneer to thresh
and club the trees.
"Can I go too?" Gregory asked of the children.
"I suppose so," said Johnny, rather coldly; "if Aunt
Annie is willing."
"You can go with me," said kind-hearted little Susie.
"Now I can go whether Aunt Annie is willing or not, n
said Gregory, with mock defiance at the boy.
He glanced at his aunt's face to gather how he should
take this, but she settled the matter satisfactorily to him by
saying, "You shall be my beau, and Mr. Gregory will be
Susie's."
"Good, good!" exclaimed Susie. "I've got a beau al
ready;" and she beamed upon Gregory in a way that made
them all laugh.
" 'Coming events cast their shadows before,' you per
ceive, Miss Walton," said he, meaningly.
"Sometimes the events themselves are but shadows," she
replied, dryly.
" Now that is severe upon the beaux. How about the
belles ?' ' he asked, quickly.
106 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
"I have nothing to say against my own sex, sir."
"That is not fair. Of course I can say nothing adverse."
"If you should say what you think, I fear we should be
little inclined to cry with Shy lock, 'A Daniel come to judg
ment!' "
"You have a dreadful opinion of me, Miss Walton. I
wish you would teach me how I can change it. ' '
"You discovered so much in a chestnut burr the day you
came I should not be surprised if you could find anything
else there that you wish to know. ' '
"1 shall not look in burrs for chestnuts this afternoon,
but for something else far more important."
Gregory spent the forenoon quietly in his own room
reading, in order that he might have all the vigor possible
for the ramble. And to Annie, as housekeeper, Saturday
morning brought many duties.
By two o'clock the nutting expedition was organized,
and with Jefi in advance, carrying a short ladder and a
long limber pole, the party started for the hills. At first
Johnny, oppressed with his dignity as Aunt Annie's
"beau," stalked soberly at her side, and Susie also
claimed Gregory according to agreement, and insisted on
keeping hold of his hand.
He submitted with such grace as he could muster, for
children were tiresome to him, and he wanted to talk to
Miss Walton, without "little pitchers with large ears"
around.
Annie smiled to herself at his half -concealed annoyance
and his wooden gallantry to Susie, but she understood child
life well enough to know that the present arrangement would
not last very long. And she was right. They had hardly
entered the shady lane leading to the trees before a chip-
monk, with its shrill note of exclamation at unexpected
company, started out from some leaves near and ran for its
hole.
Away went Aunt Annie's beau after it, and Susie also,
quite oblivious of her first possession in that line, joined in
FOILED IN ONE DIRECTION 107
the pursuit. There was an excited consultation above the
squirrel's retreat, and then Johnny took out his knife and
cut a flexible rod with which to investigate the "robber's
den."
Gregory at once joined Annie, saying, "Since the beau
of your choice has deserted you, will you accept of another?"
"Yes, till he proves alike inconstant."
"I will see to that. A burr shall be my emblem."
"Or I do," she added, laughing.
"Now the future is beyond my power."
"Perhaps it is anyway. Johnny was bent upon being a
true knight. You may see something that will be to you
what the chipmonk was to him."
"And such is your opinion of man's constancy ? Miss
Walton, you are more of a cynic than I am."
"Indeed! Do women dwell in your fancy as fixed
stars?"
"Fixed stars are all suns, are they not? I know of one
with wonderful powers of attraction," said he, with a sig
nificant glance.
"Does she live in New York?" quietly asked Annie.
"You know well she does not. She is a votaress of na
ture, and, as I said, I shall search in every burr for the hid
den clew to her favor."
"You had better look for chestnuts, sir."
"Chestnuts! Fit food for children and chipmonks. I
am in quest of the only manna that ever fell from heaven.
Have you read Longfellow's 'Golden Legend,' Miss Wal
ton?"
"Yes," she replied, with a slight contraction of the brow
as if the suggestion were not pleasing.
The children now came running toward them and wished
to resume their old places. "No, sir," said Walter, deci
sively. "You deserted your lady's side and your place is
filled; and Susie
" 'Thou fair, false one,'
108 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
you renounced me for a chipmonk. My wounded heart
has found solace in another. ' '
Johnny received this charge against his gallantry with
a red face and eyes that began to dilate with anger, while
Susie looked at Gregory poutingly and said, "I don't like
big beaux. I think chipmonks are ever so much nicer."
The laugh that followed broke the force of the storm that
was brewing; and Annie, by saying, "See, children, Jeff is
climbing the tree on top of the hill; I wonder who will get
the first nuts," caused the wind to veer round from the
threatening quarter, and away they scampered with griev
ances all forgotten.
"If grown-up children could only forget their troubles
as easily!" sighed Gregory. "Miss Walton, you are gifted
with admirable tact. Your witchery has cleared up another
storm. ' '
"They have not forgotten," said Annie, ignoring the
compliment "they have only been diverted from their
trouble. Children can do by nature what we should from
intelligent choice turn away the mind from painful sub
jects to those that are pleasing. You don't catch me brood
ing over trouble when there are a thousand pleasant things
to think of."
"That is easier said than done, Miss Walton. I read on
your smooth brow that you have had few serious troubles,
and, as you say, ''you have a thousand pleasant things to
think of. ' But with others it may be very different. Some
troubles have a terrible magnetism that draws the mind back
to them as if by a malign spell, and there are no 'pleasant
things to think of. ' "
"No 'pleasant things'? Why, Mr. Gregory! The uni
verse is very wide. ' '
" Present company excepted," replied he gallantly. "But
what do I care for the universe? As you say, it is 'very
wide' a big, uncomfortable place, in which one is afraid of
getting lost. ' '
"I am not," said Annie, gently.
FOILED IN ONE DIRECTION 109
"How so?"
"It's all my Father's house. I am never for a moment
lost sight of. W herever I am, I am like a little child play
ing outside the door while its mother, unseen, is watching it
from the window. ' '
He looked at her keenly to see if she were perfectly sin
cere. Her face had the expression of a child, and the thought
flashed across him, "If she is so watched and guarded, how
vain are my attempts!"
But he only said with a shrug, "It would be a pity to
dissipate your happy superstition, Miss Walton, but after
what I have seen and experienced in the world it would seem
more generally true that the mother forgot her charge, left
the window, and the child was run over by the butcher's
cart."
"Do you think it vain confidence," said Annie, ear
nestly v "when I say that you could not dissipate what you
term my 'superstition,' any more than you could argue me
out of my belief in my good old father's love ?"
110 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
CHAPTER XIII
INTERPRETING CHESTNUT BURRS
THE conversation had taken a turn that Gregory wished
to avoid, so he said: "Miss Walton, you regard me
as wretched authority on theology, and therefore my
opinions will go for nothing. Suppose we join the children
on the hill, for I am most anxious to commence the search
for the clew to your favor. Give me your hand, that as
your attendant I may at least appear to assist you in climb
ing, though I suppose you justly think you could help me
more than I can you."
"And if I can, why should I not ?" asked Annie, kindly.
"Indeed, Miss Walton, I would crawl up first. But thanks
to your reviving influences, I am not so far gone as that."
"Then you would not permit a woman to reach out a
helping hand to you ? Talk not against Turks and Arabs.
How do Christian men regard us ?' '
"But you look upon me as a 'heathen.'
"Beg your pardon, I do not."
"Miss Walton, give your honest opinion of me just what
you think. ' '
"Will you do the same of me?"
"Oh, certainly!"
"No, do not answer in that tone. On your honor."
Gregory was now caught. If he agreed he must state his
doubts of her real goodness; his low estimate of women in
general which led to his purpose to tempt her. This would
not only arm her against his efforts, but place him in a very
unpleasant light.
INTERPRETING CHESTNUT BURRS 111
"I beat a retreat, Miss Walton. I am satisfied that your
opinion would discourage me utterly."
"You need have no fears of that kind," she said; "al
though my opinion would not be flattering it would be most
encouraging. ' '
"No, Miss Walton, I am not to be caught. My every
glance and word reveal' my opinion of you, while yours of
me amounts to what I used to hear years ago: 'You are a
bad boy now, but may become a good one.' Come, give
me your hand."
As she complied she gave him a quick, keen look. Her
intuition told her of something hidden, and he puzzled
her.
Her hand was ungloved, and he thought, "When have
I clasped such a hand before ? It could help a Hercules.
At any rate he would like to hold it, for it is alive. ' '
There is as much diversity of character in hands as in
faces. Some are very white and shapely, and a diamond
flashes prettily upon them, but having said this you have
said all. Others suggest honest work and plenty of it, and
for such the sensible will ever have a genuine respect.
There are some hands that make you think of creatures
whose blood is cold. A lady's hand in society often sug
gests feebleness, lack of vitality. It is a thing to touch
decorously, and if feeling betray you into giving a hearty
grasp and pressure, you find that you are only causing pain
and reducing the member to a confused jumble of bones and
sinews. There are hands that suggest fancy-work, light
crochet needles, and neuralgia.
Annie's hand was not one that a sculptor would care to
copy, though he would find no great fault with it; but a
sculptor would certainly take pleasure in shaking hands
with her the pleasure that is the opposite of our shrinking
from taking the hand of the dead. It was soft and delicate
to the pressure, and yet firm. It reminded one of silk
drawn over steel, and was all electric and throbbing with
life. You felt that it could give you the true grasp of
112 OPENING 4 CHESTNUT BURR
friendship that it had power to do more than barely cling
to something that it could both help and sustain, yet its
touch would be gentleness itself beside the couch of suf
fering.
When they had reached the brow of the hill he was
much more exhausted than she, and sat down panting.
"Miss Walton," he asked, "do you not despise a feeble
man?"
"What kind of feebleness do you mean ?"
"The weakness that makes me sit pale and panting here,
while you stand there glowing with life and vigor, a veri
table Hebe."
"All your compliments cannot balance that imputation
against me. Such weakness awakens my pity, sympathy,
and wish to help. ' '
"Ah! the emotions you would bestow on a beggar very
agreeable to a man. Well, what kind of feebleness do you
despise?"
"I think I should despise a feeble, vacillating Hercules
most of all a burly, assuming sort of person, who could be
made a tool of, and led to do what he knew to be mean and
wrong."
"You must despise a great many people then."
"No, I do not. Honestly, Mr. Gregory, I have no right
to despise any one. I was only giving the reverse of my
ideal man. But I assure you I share too deeply in human
ity's faults to be very critical."
"I am delighted to hear, Miss Walton, that you share in
our fallen humanity, for I was beginning to doubt it, and
you can well understand that I should be dreadfully un
comfortable in the presence of perfection."
"If you could escape all other sources of discomfort as
surely as this one, you would be most happy," replied
Annie, with heightened color. "I shall ever think you
are satirical when you speak in such style."
"A truce, Miss Walton; only, in mercy to my poor
mortality, be as human as you can. Though you seem to
INTERPRETING CHESTNUT BURRS 113
suspect me of a low estimate of your sex, I much prefer
women to saints and Madonnas. I am going to look for
the burr."
This was adroitness itself on the part of Gregory, for, of
all things, sensible Annie, conscious of faults and many
struggles, did not wish to give the impression that she
thought herself approaching perfection. And yet he had
managed to make her sensitive on that point, and given
her a strong motive to relax strict rules of duty, and act
"like other people," as he would say.
Jeffs limber pole was now doing effective service.
With many a soft thud upon the sward and leaves the
burrs rained around, while the detached chestnuts rattled
down like bail. The children were careering about this
little tempest of Jeff's manufacture in a state of wild glee,
dodging the random burrs, and snatching what nuts they
could in safety on the outskirts of the prickly shower. At
last the tree was well thrashed, and had the appearance of
a school-boy bully who, after bristling with threats and
boasts for a long time, suddenly meets his master and is
left in a very meek and plucked condition.
But the moment Jeff's pole ceased its sturdy strokes
there was a rush for the spoils, the children awakening the
echoes with their exclamations of delight as they found the
ground covered with what was more precious to them than
gold. Even Gregory's sluggish pulses tingled and quick
ened at the well-remembered scene, and he felt a little of
their excitement. For the moment he determined to be a
boy again, and running into the charmed circle, picked
away as fast as any of them till his physical weakness
painfully reminded him that his old tireless activity had
passed away, perhaps forever.
He leaned against the trunk of the tree and noted with
something of an artist's eye the pretty picture. The valley
beneath was beginning to glow with the richest October
tints, in the midst of which was his old home, that to his
affection seemed like a gem set in gold, ruby, and emerald.
114 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
The stream appeared white and silvery as seen through
openings of the bordering trees, and in the distance the
purple haze and mountains blended together, leaving it
uncertain where the granite began, as in Gregory's mind
fact and fancy were confusedly mingling in regard to Miss
Walton.
And he soon turned from even that loved and beautiful
landscape to her as an object of piquant interest, and the
pleasure of anlyzing and testing her character, and well,
some hidden fascination of her own, caused a faint stir of
excitement at his heart, even as the October air and exercise
had just tinged his pale cheeks.
But Miss Walton reminded him of a young sugar maple
that he had noticed, all aflame, from his window that morn
ing, so rich and high was her color, as, still intent upon the
thickly scattered nuts, she followed the old unspent child
ish impulse to gather now as she had done when of Susie's
age. With a half -wondering smile Gregory watched her
intent expression, so like that of the other children, and
thought, "Well, she is the freshest and most unhackneyed
girl I have ever met for one who knows so much. It seems
true, as she said, that she draws her life from nature and
will never grow old. Now she is a child with those chil
dren, looking and acting like them. A moment later she
will be a self-possessed young lady, with a quick, trained
intellect that I can scarcely cope with. And yet in each
and every character she seems so real and vital that even I,
in spite of myself, feel compelled to admit her truth. Her
life is like a glad, musical mountain stream, while I am a
stagnant pool that she passes and leaves behind. I wonder
if it is possible for one life to be awakened and quickened
by another. I wonder if her vital force would be strong
enough to drag another on who had almost lost the power
to follow. It is said that young fresh blood can be infused
directly into the veins of the old and feeble. Can the same
be true of moral forces, and a glad zest and interest in life
be breathed into the jaded, cloyed, ennui-cursed spirit of
INTERPRETING CHESTNUT BURRS 115
one who regards existence with dull eye, sluggish pulse,
and heart of lead ? It seems to me that if any one could
have such power it would be that girl there with her in
tense vitality and subtle connection with nature, which, as
she says, is ever young and vigorous. And yet I propose
to reveal her to herself as a weak, vain creature, whose fair
seeming like a pasteboard castle falls before the breath of
flattery. By Jove, I half hope I shan't succeed, and yet
to satisfy myself I shall carry the test to the utmost
limit."
In her absorbed search for nuts, Annie had approached
the trunk of the tree, and was stooping almost at Gregory's
feet without noticing him. Suddenly she turned up a burr
whose appearance so interested her that she stood up to
examine it, and then became conscious of his intent
gaze.
"There you stand," she said, "cool and superior, criti
cising and laughing at me as a great overgrown child."
"if you had looked more closely you would have seen
anything rather than cool criticism in my face. I wish you
could tell me your secret, Miss Walton. What is your
hidden connection with Nature, that her strong, beautiful
life flows so freely into yours ?' '
"You would not believe me if I told you."
"Indeed, Miss Walton, I should be inclined to believe
anything you told me, you seem so real. But, pardon me,
you have in your hand the very burr I have been looking
vainly for. Perhaps in it I may find the coveted clew to
your favor. It may winningly suggest to you my meaning,
while plain, bald words would only repel. If I could only
interpret Nature as you breathe her spirit I might find that
the autumn leaves were like illuminated pages, and every
object even such an insignificant one as this burr an in
spired illustration. When men come to read Nature's open
book, publishers may despair. If I wished to tell you how
[ would dwell in your thoughts, what poet has written any
thing equal to this half-open burr ? It portrays our past, it
116 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
gives our present relations, and suggests the future; only,
like all parables, it must not be pressed too far, and too
much prominence must not be given to some mere detail.
These prickly outward pointing spines represent the reserve
and formality which keep comparative strangers apart. But
now the burr is half-open, revealing its heart of silk and
down. So if one could get past the barriers which you,
alike with all, turn toward an indifferent or unfriendly
world, a kindliness would be found that would surround
a cherished friend as these silken sides envelop this sole and
favored chestnut. Again, note that the burr is half -open,
indicating, I hope, the progress we have made toward such
friendship. I have no true friend in the wide world that I
can trust, and 1 would like to believe that your regard, like
this burr, is opening toward me. The final suggestion that
I should draw may seem selfish, and yet is it not natural ?
This chestnut dwells alone in the very centre of the burr.
We do not like to share a supreme friendship. There are
some in whose esteem we would be first."
When Gregory finished he was half -frightened at his
words, for in developing his fanciful parallel in the bold
style of gallantry he had learned to employ toward the
belles of the ball-room, and from a certain unaccountable
fascination that Annie herself had for him, he had said
more than he meant.
"Good heavens!" he thought, "if she should take this
for a declaration and accept me on the spot, I should then
be in the worst scrape of my sorry life. ' '
Miss Walton's manner rather puzzled him. Her height
ened color and quickened breathing were alarming, while
the contraction of her brow and the firmness of her lips,
together with an intent look on the chestnut in the centre
of the burr, rather than a languishing look at him or at
nothing, were more assuring. She perplexed him still more
when, as her only response to all this sentiment, she asked,
"Mr. Gregory, will you lend me your penknife?"
Without a word he handed it to her, and she at the same
INTERPRETING CHESTNUT BURRS 117
time took the burr from his hand, and daintily plucking out
the chestnut tossed the burr rather contemptuously away.
"Mr. Gregory, if I understand your rather far-fetched and
forced interpretation of this little 'parable of nature,' you
chose to represent yourself by this great lonely chestnut
occupying the space where three might have grown. On
observing this emblematic nut closely I detect something
that may also have a place in your 'parable';" and she
pushed aside the little quirl at the small end of the nut,
which partially concealed a worm-hole, and cutting through
the shell showed the destroyer in the very heart of the
kernel.
There was nothing far-fetched in this suggestion of
nature, and he saw and he understood that Miss Walton
saw evil enthroned in the very depths of his soul. The
revelation of the hateful truth was so sudden and sharp
that his face darkened with involuntary pain and anger.
It seemed to him that, by the simple act of showing him
the worm-infested chestnut, she had rejected anything ap
proaching even friendship, and had also given him a good
but humiliating reason why. He lost his self-possession
and forgot that he deserved a stinging rebuke for his insin
cerity. He would have turned away in coldness and resent
ment. His visit might have come to an abrupt termination,
had not Annie, with that delicate, womanly tact which was
one of her most marked characteristics, interrupted him as
he was about to say something to the effect, "Miss Walton,
since you are so much holier than I, it were better that
I should contaminate the air you breathe no longer."
She looked into his clouded face with an open smile,
and said, "Mr. Gregory, you have been unfortunate in the
choice of a burr. Now let me choose for you;" and she
began looking around for one suited to her taste and purpose.
This gave him time to recover himself and to realize the
folly of quarrelling or showing any special feeling in the
matter. After a moment he was only desirous of some
pretext for laughing it ofi, but how to manage it he did
118 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
not know, and was inwardly cursing himself as a blunder
ing fool, and no match for this child of nature.
Annie soon came toward him, saying, "Perhaps this
burr will suggest better meanings. You see it is wide
open. That means perfect frankness. There are three
chestnuts here instead of one. We must be willing to
share the regard of others. One of these nuts has the cen
tral place. As we come to know people well, we usually
find some one occupying the supreme place in their esteem,
and though we may approach closely we should not wish
to usurp what belongs to another. Under Jeff's vigorous
blows the burr and its contents have had a tremendous
downfall, but they have not parted company. True friends
should stick together in adversity. What do you think of
my interpretation?"
"I think you are a witch, beyond doubt, and if you had
lived a few centuries ago, you would have been sent to
heaven in a chariot of fire. ' '
"Keally, Mr. Gregory, you give me a hot answer, but it
is with such a smiling face that I will take no exception.
Let us slowly follow Jeff and the children along the brow
of the hill to the next tree. The fact is I am a little
tired."
What controversy could a man have with a pretty and
wearied girl? Gregory felt like a boy who had received
a deserved whipping and yet was compelled and somewhat
inclined to act very amiably toward the donor. But he was
fast coming to the conclusion that this unassuming country
girl was a difficult subject on which to perform his experi
ment. He was learning to have a wholesome respect for
her that was slightly tinged with fear, and doubts of success
in his plot against her grew stronger every moment. And
yet the element of persistence was large in his character,
and he could not readily give over his purpose, though his
cynical confidence had vanished. He now determined to'
observe her closely and discover if possible her weak points.
He still held to the theory that flattery was the most avail-
INTERPRETING CHESTNUT BURRS 119
able weapon, though he saw he could employ it no longer
in the form of fulsome and outspoken compliment. The
innate refinement and truthfulness of Annie's nature re
volted at broad gallantry and adulation. He believed that
he must reverse the tactics he usually employed in society,
but not the principles. Therefore he resolved that his flat
tery should be delicate, subtle, manifested in manner rather
than in words. He would seem submissive; he would hum
bly wear the air of a conquered one. He would delicately
maintain the "I-am-at-your-mercy" attitude.
These thoughts flashed through his mind as they passed
along the brow of the hill, which at every turn gave them
a new and beautiful landscape. But vales in Eden would
not have held his attention then. To his perplexity this
new acquaintance had secured his undivided interest. He
felt that he ought to be angry at her and yet was not.
He felt that a man who had seen as much of the world as
he should be able to play with this little country girl as with
a child; but he was becoming convinced that, with all his
art, he was no match for her artlessness.
In the interpretation of the burr of her own choice,
Annie had suggested that the central and supreme place
in her heart was already occupied, and his thoughts re
curred frequently to that fact with uneasiness. The slight
est trace of jealousy, even as the merest twinge of pain is
often precursor of serious disease, indicated the power Miss
Walton might gain over one who thought himself proof
against all such influence. But he tried to satisfy himself
by thinking, "It is her father who occupies the first place in
her affections."
Then a moment later with a mental protest at his folly,
"What do I care who has the first place? It's well I do
not, for she would not permit such a reprobate as I, with evil
in my heart like that cursed worm in the chestnut, to have
any place worth naming unless I can introduce a little
canker of evil in her heart also. I wish I could. That
would bring us nearer together and upon the same level."
120 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
Annie saw the landscapes. She looked away from the
man by her side and for a few moments forgot him. The
scenes upon which she was gazing were associated with
another, and she ardently wished that that other and more
favored one could exchange places with Gregory. Her eyes
grew dreamy and tender as she recalled words spoken in days
gone by, when, her heart thrilling with a young girl's first
dream of love, she had leaned upon Charles Hunting's arm,
and listened to that sweetest music of earth, all the more
enchanting when broken and incoherent; and Hunting, with
all his coolness and precision in Wall Street, had been ex
cessively nervous and unhappy in his phraseology upon one
occasion, and tremblingly glad to get any terms from the
girl who seemed a child beside him. Annie would not per
mit an engagement to take place. Hunting was a distant
relative. She had always liked him very much, but was not
sure she loved him. She was extremely reluctant to leave
her father, and was not ready for a speedy marriage; so she
frankly told him that he had no rival, nor was there a pros
pect of any, but she would not bind him, or permit herself
to be bound at that time. If they were fated for each other
the way would eventually be made perfectly clear.
He was quite content, especially as Mr. Walton gave his
hearty approval to the match, and he regarded the under-
Btanding as a virtual engagement. He wanted Annie to
wear the significant ring, saying that it should not be re
garded as binding, but she declined to do so.
Nearly two years had passed, and, while she put him off,
she satisfied him that he was steadily gaining the place that
he wished to possess in her afiections. He was gifted with
much tact and did not press his suit, but quietly acted as if
the matter were really settled, and it were only a question
of time. Annie had also come to feel in the same way. She
did not see a very great deal of him, though he wrote regu
larly, and his letters were admirable. He became her ideal
man and dwelt in her imagination as a demi-god. To the
practical mind of this American girl his successes in the vast
INTERPRETING CHESTNUT BURRS 121
and complicated transactions of business were as grand as
the achievements of any hero. Her father had been a mer
chant, and she inherited a respect for the calling. Her father
also often assured her that her lover bade fair to lead in
commercial circles.
"Hunting has both nerve and prudence," he was wont
to say; and to impetuous Annie these qualities, combined
with Christian principles, formed her very ideal man.
Her lover took great pains not to undeceive her as to his
character, and indeed, with the infatuation of his class,
hoped that, when he had amassed the fortune that glittered
ever just before him, he could assume, in some princely
mansion, the princely, knightly soul with which she had
endowed him.
So he did not press matters. Indeed in his rapid accu
mulation of money he scarcely wished any interruption, and
Annie thought all the more of him that he was not daw
dling around making love half the time. There was also less
danger of disenchanting her by his presence, for woman's
perception is quick.
But now she inwardly contrasted her strong, masterful
knight, "sans peur et sans reproche," as she believed, with
the enfeebled, shrunken man at her side. Gregory suffered
dreadfully by the comparison. The worm-eaten chestnut
seemed truly emblematic, and in spite of herself her face
lighted up with exultation and joy that the man of her
choice was a man, and not one upon whom she could not
lean for even physical support.
Gregory caught her expression and said, quickly: "Your
face is full of sudden gleams. Tell me what you are think
ing about."
She blushed deeply in the consciousness of her thoughts,
but after a moment said, "I do not believe in the confes
sional."
He looked at her keenly, saying, "I wish you did and
that I were your father confessor."
She -replied, laughing, "You are neither old nor good
KOE IV 6
122 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
enough. If I were of that faith I should require one a great
deal older and better than myself. But here we are at our
second tree, which JeS has just finished. 1 am going to be
a child again and gather nuts as before. I hope you will
follow suit, and not stand leaning against the tree laughing
at me."
'A WELL-MEANIN 1 MAN" 123
CHAPTER XIV
'A WELL-MEANIN' MAN'
THE western horizon vied with the autumn foliage as
at last they turned homeward. Their path led out
upon the main road some distance above the house,
and, laden with the spoils that would greatly diminish the
squirrels' hoard for the coming winter, they sauntered along
slowly, from a sense of both weariness and leisure.
They soon reached the cottage of the lame old man who
had fired such a broadside of lurid words at Gregory, as he
stood on the fence opposite. With a crutch under one arm
and leaning on his gate, Daddy Tuggar seemed awaiting
them, and secured their attention by the laconic salutation,
"EveninM"
"Why, Daddy," exclaimed Annie, coming quickly to
ward him. "I am real glad to see you so spry and well.
It seems to me that you are getting young again;" and she
shook the old man's hand heartily.
"Now don't praise my old graveyard of a body, Miss
Annie. My sperit is pert enough, but it's all buried up in
this old clumsy, half-dead carcass. The worms will close
their mortgage on it purty soon."
"But they haven't a mortgage on your soul," said Annie,
in a low tone. "You remember what I said to you a few
days ago. ' '
"Now bless you, Miss Annie, but it takes you to put in
a 'word in season.' The Lord knows I'm a well-meanin'
124 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
man, but I can't seem to get much furder. I've had an
awful 'fall from grace,' my wife says. I did try to stop
swearin', but that chap there "
"Oh, excuse me," interrupted Annie. "Mr. Gregory,
this is our friend and neighbor Mr. Tuggar. I was under
the impression that you were acquainted, " she added, with
a mischievous look at her companion.
"We are. I have met this gentleman before, " he replied,
with a wry face. "Pardon the interruption, Mr. Tuggar,
and please go on with your explanation."
"Mr. Gregory, I owe you a 'pology. I'm a well-meanin'
man, and if I do any one a wrong I'm willin' to own it up
and do the square thing. But I meant right by you and
I meant right by John Walton when I thought you was
stealin' his apples. I couldn't hit yer with a stun and knock
yer off the fence, as I might a dozen years ago, so I took
the next hardest thing I could lay hands on. If I'd known
that you was kinder one of the family my words would have
been rolls of butter."
"Well, Mr. Tuggar, it has turned out very well, for /
would rather you had fired what you did than either stones
or butter. ' '
"Now my wife would say that that speech showed you
was 'totally depraved.' And this brings me back to my
'fall from grace.' Now, yer see, to please my wife some
and Miss Eulie more, I was tryin' cussed hard to stop
swearin' "
"Didn't you try a little for my sake, too?" interrupted
Annie.
"Lord bless you, child; I don't have to try when you're
around, for I don't think swearin'. Most folks rile me, and
I get a-thinkin' swearin', and then 'fore I know it busts
right out. You could take the wickedest cuss livin' to
heaven in spite of himself if you would stay right by him
all the time. ' '
"I should 'rile' you, too, if I were with you long, for I
get 'riled' myself sometimes."
"A WELL-MEANIN' MAN" 125
"Do you, now?" asked Mr. Tuggar, looking at her ad
miringly. "Well, I'm mighty glad to hear it."
"O Daddy! glad to hear that I do wrong?"
"Can't help it, Miss Annie. I kinder like to know you're
a little bit of a sinner. 'Tain't often I meet with a sinner,
and I kind o' like 'em. My wife says she's a 'great sinner,'
but she means she's a great saint. 'Twouldn't do for me to
tell her she's a 'sinner.' Then Miss Eulie says she's a 'great
sinner,' and between you and me that's the only fib I ever
caught Miss Eulie in. Good Lord ! there's no more sin in
Miss Eulie 's heart than there is specks of dirt on the little
white ruff she wears about her neck that looks like the snow
we had last April around the white hyacinths. She's kind
of a half-sperit anyhow. Now your goodness, Miss Annie,
is another kind. Your cheeks are so red, and eyes so black,
and arms so round and fat I've seen 'em when you was
over here a-beatin' up good things for the old man that
you make me think of red and pink posies. I kinder think
you might be a little bit of a sinner just enough, you know,
to make you understand how I and him there can be mighty
big ones, and not be too hard on us for it."
' ' Mr. Tuggar, you are the man of all others to plead my
cause."
"Now look here, young gentleman, you mustdoyer own
pleadin'. It would be a 'sinful waste of time' though, as
my wife would say eh, Miss Annie ? I never had no luck
at pleadin' but once, and that was the worst luck of all."
Annie's face might well suggest "red posies" during the
last remarks, and its expression was divided between a
frown and a laugh.
"But I want you to understand," continued Daddy Tug.
gar, straightening himself up with dignity, and addressing
Gregory, "that I'm not a mean cuss. All who know me
know I'm a well-meanin' man. I try to do as I'd be done
by. If I'm going through a man's field and find his bars
down, so the cattle would get in the corn, I'd put 'em
up"
126 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
"Yes, Daddy, that is what you always say," interrupted
Annie; "but you can't go through the fields any more and
put up bars. You should try to do the duties that belong
to your present state. ' '
"But I've got the sperit to put up a man's bars, and it's
all the same as if I did put 'em up," answered the old man,
with some irritation. "Miss Eulie and the rest of yer is
allers sayin' we must have the sperit of willingness to give
up the hull world and suffer martyrdom on what looks in
the picture like a big gridiron. She says we must have the
sperit of them who was cold and hungry and the lions eat
up and was sawn in two pieces and had an awful time gen
erally for the sake of the Lord, and that's the way the Chris
tians manage it nowadays. My wife gets all the money she
can and keeps it, but she says she has the sperit to give up
the hull world. I wish she'd give up enough of it to keep
me in good terbacker. Mighty few nice bits would the old
man git wasn't it for you and Miss Eulie. Then I watch
the good people goin' to church. 'Mazin' few out wet
Sundays. But no doubt they've all got the 'sperit' to
go. They would jist as lief be sawn in two pieces 'in
sperit' as not, if they can only sleep late in the mornin' and
have a good dinner and save their Sunday-go-to-meetin'
clothes from gettin' wet. It must be so, for the Lord gets
mighty little worship out of the church on rainy Sundays.
If it wasn't for you and Miss Eulie I don't know what
would become of the old man and all the rest of the sick
and feeble folks around here. I ask my wife why she doesn't
go to see 'em sometimes. She says she has the 'sperit to go, '
but she hasn't time and strength. So I have the 'sperit' to
put up a man's bars while I sit here and smoke, and what's
more, Miss Annie, I did it as long as I was able."
"You did indeed, Daddy, and, though unintentionally,
you have given me a good lesson. We little deserve to be
mentioned with those Christians who in olden times suffered
the loss of all things, and life itself. ' '
"Lord bless you, child, I didn't mean you. Whether
"A WELL-MEANIN' MAN" 127
you've got the sperit to do a thing or not yer allers do it,
and in a sweet, natteral way, as if you couldn't help it.
When my wife enters on a good work it makes me think
of a funeral. I'm 'mazin' glad you didn't live in old
times, 'cause the lions would have got you sure 'nuff.
Though, if it had to be, I would kinder liked to have
been the lion;" and the old man's eyes twinkled humor
ously, while Gregory laughed heartily.
"Oh, Daddy Tuggar!" exclaimed Annie, "that is the
most awful compliment I ever received. If you, with
your spirit, were the only lion I had to deal with, I
should never become a martyr. You shall have some
jelly instead, and now I must go home in order to have
it made before Sunday."
"Wait a moment," said Gregory. "You were about to
tell us how I caused you to 'fall from grace.' '
"So I was, so I was, and I've been goin' round Robin
Hood's barn ever since. Well, I'd been holdin' in on my
swearin' a long time, 'cause I promised Miss Eulie I'd stop
if I could. My wife said I was in quite a 'hopeful state,'
while I felt all the time as if I was sort of bottled up and
the cork might fly out any minute. Miss Eulie, she came
and rejoiced over me that mornin', and my wife she looked
so solemn (she allers does when she says she feels glad) that
somehow I got nervous, and then my wife went to the store
and didn't get the kind of terbacker I sent for, and I knew
the cork was going to fly out. I was smokin' and in a sort
of a doze, when the first thing I knowed a big stun rolled
into the road, and there I saw a strange chap, as I thought,
a stealin' John Walton's apples and knockin' down the fence.
If they'd a been my apples I might have held in a little longer,
but John Walton's it was like a dam givin' way."
"It was, indeed," said Gregory, significantly. "It was
like several."
"I knowed my wife heard me, and if she'd come right
out and said, 'You've made a cussed old fool of yourself,' I
think I would have felt better. I knowed she was goin' to
128 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
speak about it and lament over it, and I wanted her to do it
right away; but she put it off, and kept me on pins and
needles for ever so long. At last she said with solemn
joy, 'Thomas Tuggar, I told Miss Eulie I feared you was
still in a state of natur, and, alas! I am right; but how
she'll mourn, how great will be her disappointment, when
she hears'; and then I fell into a 'state of natur' agin.
Now, Miss Annie, if the Lord, Miss Eulie, and you all
could only see I'm a well-meanin' man, and that I don't
mean no disrespect to anybody; that it's only one of my
old, rough ways that I learned from my father and mother
too, for that matter, I'm sorry to say and have followed
go long that it's bred in the bone, it would save a heap of
worry. One must have some way of lettin' off steam. Now
my wife she purses up her mouth so tight you couldn't stick
a. pin in it when she's riled. I often say to her, 'Do explode.
Open your mouth and let it all out at once. ' But she says
it is not becoming for such as her ter 'explode.' But it will
come out all the same, only it's like one of yer cold north
east, drizzlin', fizzlin' rain-storms. And now I've made a
clean breast of it, I hope you'll kinder smooth matters over
with Miss Eulie; and I hope you, sir, will just think of what
I said as spoken to a stranger and not a friend of the family."
"Give me your hand, Mr. Tuggar. I hope we shall be
the best of friends. I am coming over to have a smoke
with you, and see if I can't fill your pipe with some tobacco
that is like us both, 'in a state of natur.' '
A white-faced woman appeared at the door, and cour-
tesying low to Miss Walton, called, "Husband, it's too late
for you to be out; I fear your health will suffer."
"She's bound up in me, you see," said the old man,
with a curious grimace. "Nothing but the reading of my
will will ever comfort her when I die."
"Daddy, Daddy," said Annie, reproachfully, "have
charity. Good-night; I will send you something nice
for to-morrow."
t An amused smile lingered on Gregory's face as they
"A WELL-MEANIN' MAN" 129
pursued their way homeward, now in the early twilight;
but Annie's aspect was almost one of sadness. After a
little he said, "Well, he is one of the oddest specimens of
humanity I ever met. ' '
She did not immediately reply, and he, looking at her,
caught her expression.
"Why is your face so clouded, Miss Annie?" he
asked. "You are not given to Mrs. Tuggar's style of
'solemn joy' ?"
"What a perplexing mystery life is after all!" she re
plied, absently. "I really think poor old Daddy Tuggar
speaks truly. He is a 'well-meaning' man, but he and
many others remind me of one not having the slightest
ear for music trying to catch a difficult harmony."
"Why is the harmony sc difficult?" asked Gregory,
bitterly.
"Perhaps it were better to ask, Why has humanity so
disabled itself?"
"I do not think it matters much how you put the case.
It amounts to the same thing. Something is required of us
beyond our strength. The idea of punishing that old man
for being what he is, when in the first place he inherited
evil from his parents, and then was taught it by precept
and example. I think he deserves more credit than
blame."
"The trouble is, Mr. Gregory, evil carries its own pun
ishment along with it every day. But I admit that we are
surrounded by mystery on every side. Humanity, left to
itself, is a hopeless problem. But one thing is certain: we
are not responsible for questions beyond our ken. More
over, many things that were complete mysteries to me as
a child b are now plain, and I ever hope to be taught some
thing new every day. You and I at least have much
to be grateful for in the fact that we neither inherited
evil nor were taught it in any such degree as our poor
neighbor."
"And you quietly prove, Miss Walton, by your last re-
130 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
mark, that I am much more worthy of blame than your
poor old neighbor."
"Then I said more than I meant," she answered, eagerly.
"It is not for me to judge or condemn any one. The thought
in my mind was how favored we have been in our parentage
our start in existence, as it were. ' '
"But suppose one loses that vantage-ground ?"
"I do not wish to suppose anything of the kind."
"But one can lose it utterly."
"I fear some can and do. But why dwell on a subject
so unutterably sad and painful? You have not lost it, and,
as I said before to-day, I will not dwell upon the disagree
able any more than I can help."
"Your opinion of me is poor enough already, Miss Wal j
ton, so I, too, will drop the subject."
They had now reached the house, and did ample justice
to the supper awaiting them.
Between meals people can be very sentimental, morbid,
and tragical. They can stare at life's deep mysteries and
shudder or scoff, sigh or rejoice, according to their moral
conditions. They can even grow cold with dread, as did
Gregory, realizing that he had "lost his vantage-ground,"
his good start in the endless career. "She is steering across
unknown seas to a peaceful, happy shore. I am drifting
on those same mysterious waters I know not whither," he
thought. But a few minutes after entering the cheerfully
lighted dining-room he was giving his whole soul to muffins.
These homely and ever-recurring duties and pleasures of
life have no doubt saved multitudes from madness. It would
almost seem that they have also been the innocent cause of
the destruction of many. There are times when the mind
is almost evenly balanced between good and evil. Some
powerful appeal or startling providence has aroused the
sleeping spirit, or some vivifying truth has pierced the
armor of indifference or prejudice, and quivered like an
arrow in the soul, and the man remembers that he is a
man, and not a brute that perishes. But just then the
"A WELL-MEAN1N 1 MAN" 131
dinner-bell sounds. After the several courses, any physi
cian can predict how the powers of that human organization
must of necessity be employed the next few hours, and the
partially awakened soul is like one who starts out of a doze
and sleeps again. If the spiritual nature had only become
sufficiently aroused to realize the situation, life might have
been secured. Thought and feeling in some emergencies
will do more than the grandest pulpit eloquence quenched
by a Sunday dinner.
132 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
CHAPTER XV
MISS WALTON'S DREAM
THE hickory fire burned cheerily in the parlor after
tea, and all drew gladly around its welcome blaze.
Bat even the delights of roasting chestnuts from
the abundant spoils of the afternoon could not keep the
heads of the children from drooping early.
Gregory was greatly fatigued, and soon went to his
room also.
Sabbath morning dawned dim and uncertain, and by
the time they had gathered at the breakfast- table, a north
east rain-storm had set in with a driving gale.
"I suppose you will go to church 'in sperit' this morn
ing, as Mr. Tuggar would say," said Gregory, addressing
Annie.
"If I were on the sick list I should, but I have no such
excuse."
"You seriously do not mean to ride two miles in such a
storm as this?"
"No, not seriously, but very cheerfully and gladly."
"I do not think it is required of you, Miss Walton.
Even your Bible states, 'I will have mercy and not sacri
fice.' "
"The 'sacrifice' in my case would be in staying at home.
I like to be out in a storm, and have plenty of warm blood
to resist its chilling effects. But even were it otherwise,
what hardship is there in my wrapping myself up in a
waterproof and riding a few miles to a comfortable church ?
MISS WALTON'S DREAM 133
I shall come back with a grand appetite and a double zest
for the wood fire."
"But it is not fair on the poor horses. They have no
waterproofs or wood fires. ' '
"I think I am not indifferent to the comfort of dumb
animals, and though I drive a good deal, father can tell
you I am not a 'whip.' Of all shams the most transparent
is this tenderness for one's self and the horses on Sunday.
I am often out in stormy weather during the week, and
meet plenty of people on the road. The farmers drive to
the village on rainy days because they can neither plow,
sow, nor reap. But on even a cloudy Sabbath, with the
faintest prospect of rain, there is but one text in the Bible
for them: 'A righteous man regardeth the life of his beast.'
People attend parties, the opera, and places of amusement
no matter how bad the night. It is a miserable pretence to
say that the weather keeps the majority at home from church.
It is only an excuse. I should have a great deal more re
spect for them if they would say frankly, 'We would rather
sleep, read a novel, dawdle around en deshabille, and gos
sip.' Half the time when they say it's too stormy to ven
ture out (oh, the heroism of our Christian age !), they should
go and thank God for the rain that is providing food for
them and theirs.
"And granting that our Christian duties do involve some
risk and hardship, does not the Bible ever speak of life as a
warfare, a struggle, an agonizing for success ? Do not ar
mies often fight and march in the rain, and dumb beasts
share their exposure ? There is more at stake in this
battle. In ancient times God commanded the bloody
sacrifice of innumerable animals for the sake of moral
and religious effect. Moral and religious effect is worth
just as much now. Nothing can excuse wanton cruelty;
but the soldier who spurs his horse against the enemy, and
the sentinel who keeps his out in a winter storm, are not
cruel. But many farmers about here will overwork and
underfeed all the week, and on Sunday talk about being
134 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
'merciful to their beasts.' There won't be over twenty-
five out to-day, and the Christian heroes, the sturdy yeo
manry of the church, will be dozing and grumbling in
chimney-corners. The languid half-heartedness of the
church discourages me more than all the evil in the
world."
Miss Walton stated her views in a quiet undertone of
indignation, and not so much in answer to Gregory as in
protest against a style of action utterly repugnant to her
earnest, whole-souled nature. As he saw the young girl's
face light up with the will and purpose to be loyal to a
noble cause, his own aimless, self-pleasing life seemed petty
and contemptible indeed, and again he had that painful
sense of humiliation which Miss Walton unwittingly caused
him; but, as was often his way, he laughed the matter off
by saying, "There is no need of my going to-day, for I have
had my sermon, and a better one than you will hear. Still,
such is the effect of your homily that I am inclined to ask
you to take me with you. ' '
Annie's manner changed instantly, and she smilingly
answered, "You will find an arm-chair before a blazing
fire in your room upstairs, and an arm-chair before a blaz
ing fire in the parlor, and you can vacillate between them
at your pleasure."
"As a vacillating man should, perhaps you might
add."
"I add nothing of the kind."
"Will you never let me go to church with you again ?"
"Certainly, after what you said, any pleasant day."
"Why can't I have the privilege of being a martyr as
well as yourself?"
"I am not a martyr. I would far rather go out to-day
than stay at home."
"It will be very lonely without you."
"Oh, you are the martyr then, after all. I hope you will
have sufficient fortitude to endure, and doze comfortably
during the two hours of my absence. ' '
MISS WALTON'S DREAM 135
"Now you are satirical on Sunday, Miss Walton. Let
that burden your conscience. I'm going to ask your father
if I may go. ' '
"Of course you will act at your pleasure," said Mr.
Walton, "but I think, in your present state of health,
Annie has suggested the wiser and safer thing to do."
"I should probably be ill on your hands if I went, so
I submit; but I wish you to take note, Miss Walton, that I
have the 'sperit to go.' '
The arm-chairs were cosey and comfortable, and the hick
ory wood turned, as is its wont, into glowing and fragrant
coals, but the house grew chill and empty the moment that
Annie left. Though Mr. Walton and Miss Eulie accom
panied her, their absence was rather welcome, but he felt
sure that Annie could have beguiled the heavy-footed
hours.
"She has some unexplained power of making me forget
my miserable self," he muttered.
And yet, left to himself, he had now nothing to do but
think, and a fearful time he had of it, lowering at the fire,
in the arm-chair, from which he scarcely stirred.
"I have lost my vantage-ground," he groaned "lost it
utterly. I am not even a 'well-meaning man.' I purpose
evil against this freshest, purest spirit I have ever known
since in this house I looked into my mother's eyes. I am
worse than the wild Arab of the desert. I have eaten salt
with them; I have partaken of their generous hospitality,
given so cordially for the sake of one that is dead, and in
return have wounded their most sacred feelings, and now
propose to prove the daughter a creature that I can go away
and despise. Instead of being glad that there is one in the
world noble and good, even though by accident instead of
noting with pleasure that every sweet flower has not become
a weed I wish to drag her down to my own wretched level,
or else I would have her exhibit sufficient weakness to show
that she would go as far as she was tempted to go. A
decent devil could hardly wish her worse. I would like
136 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
to see her show the same spirit that animates Miss Belle
St. Glair of New York, or Mrs. Grobb, my former adored
Miss Bently creatures that I despise as I do myself, and
what more could I say ? If I could only cause her to show
some of their characteristics the reproach of her life would
pass away, and I should be confirmed in my belief that
humanity's unutterable degradation is its misfortune, and
the blame should rest elsewhere than on us. How absurd
to blame water for running down hill! Give man or woman
half a chance, that is, before habits are fixed, and they
plunge faster down the inclined moral plane. And the
plague of it is, this seeming axiom does not satisfy me.
What business has my conscience, with a lash of scorpion
stings, to punish me this and every day that I permit my
self to think? Did I not try for years to be better? Did
I not resist the infernal gravitation ? and yet I am falling
still. I never did anything so mean and low before as I am
doing now. If it is my nature to do evil, why should I not
do it without compunction ? And as I look downward
there is no looking forward for me there seems no evil
thing that I could not do if so inclined. Here in this home
of my childhood, this sacred atmosphere that my mother
breathed, I would besmirch the character of one who as yet
is pure and good, with a nature like a white hyacinth in
spring. I see the vileness of the act, I loathe it, and yet it
fascinates me, and I have no power to resist. Why should
a stern, condemning voice declare in recesses of my soul,
'You could and should resist' ? For years I have been daily
yielding to temptation, and conscience as often pronounces
sentence against me. When will the hateful farce cease ?
Multitudes appear to sin without thought or remorse. Why
cannot I? It's my mother's doings, I suppose. A plague
upon the early memories of this place. Will they keep me
upon the rack forever ?' '
He rose, strode up and down the parlor, and clenched
his hands in passionate protest against himself, his destiny,
and the God who made him.
MISS WALTON'S DREAM 137
A dullness, resulting partly from dread and partly from
the wild storm raging without, caused him to heap up the
hearth with wood. It speedily leaped into flame, and,
covering his face with his hands, he sat cowering before
it. A vain but frequent thought recurred to him with
double power.
"Oh that I could cease to exist, and lose this miserable
consciousness! Oh that, like this wood, I could be aflame
with intense, passionate life, and then lose identity, mem
ory, and everything that makes me, and pass into other
forms. Nay, more, if I had my wish, I would become
nothing here and now."
The crackling of flames and the rush of wind and rain
against the windows had caused the sound of wheels, and
a light step in the room, to be unheard.
He was aroused by Miss Walton, who asked, "Mr.
Gregory, are you ill?"
He raised his woe-begone face to hers, and said, almost
irritably, "Yes no or at least I am as well as I ever
expect to be, and perhaps better." Then with a sudden
impulse he asked, "Does annihilation seem such a dreadful
thing to you?"
"What! the losing of an eternity of keen enjoyment?
Could anything be more dreadful! Really, Mr. Gregory,
brooding here alone has not been good for you. Why do
you not think of pleasant things?"
"For the same reason that a man with a raging toothache
does not have pleasant sensations, " he answered, with a grim
smile.
"I admit the force of your reply, though I do not think
the case exactly parallel. The mind is not as helpless as
the body. Still, I believe it is true that when the body
is suffering the mind is apt to become the prey of all sorts
of morbid fancies, and you do look really ill. I wish 1
could give you some of my rampant health and spirits
to-day. Facing the October storm has done me good every
way, and I am ravenous for dinner. "
188 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
He looked at her enviously as she stood before him,
with her waterproof, still covered with rain- drops, partially
thrown back and revealing the outline of a form which,
though not stout, was suggestive of health and strength.
She seemed, with her warm, high color, like a hardy flower
covered with spray. Instead of shrinking feebly and deli
cately from the harsher moods of nature, and coming in
pinched and shivering, she had felt the blood in her veins
and all the wheels of life quickened by the gale.
"Miss Walton," he said, with a glimmer of a smile, "do
you know that you are very different from most young
ladies ? You and nature evidently have some deep secrets
between you. I half believe you never will grow old, but
are one of the perennials. I am glad you have come home,
for you seem to bring a little of yesterday's sunshine into
the dreary house. ' '
As they returned to the parlor after dinner, Gregory
remarked, "Miss Walton, what can you do to interest me
this afternoon, for I am devoured with ennui?"
She turned upon him rather quickly and said, "A young
man like you has no business to be 'devoured with ennui.'
Why not engage in some pursuit, or take up some subject
that will interest you and stir your pulse ?"
With a touch of his old mock gallantry he bowed and
said, "In you I see just the subject, and am delighted to
think I'm going to have you all to myself this rainy
afternoon."
With a half- vexed laugh and somewhat heightened color
she answered, "I imagine you won't have me all to yourself
long."
She had hardly spoken the words before the children
bounded in, exclaiming, "Now, Aunt Annie, for our
stories. ' '
"You see, Mr. Gregory, here are previous and counter
claims already. ' '
"I wish I knew of some way of successfully disputing
them."
MISS WALTON'S DREAM 139
"It would be difficult to find. Well, come, little peo
ple, we will go into the sitting-room and not disturb
Mr. Gregory."
"Now, I protest against that," he said. "You might
at least let me be one of the children. ' '
"But the trouble is, you won't be one, but will sit by
criticising and laughing at our infantile talk."
"Now you do me wrong. I will be as good as I can,
and if you knew how long and dreary the day has been
you would not refuse. ' '
She looked at him keenly for a moment, and then said,
a little doubtfully, "Well, I will try for once. Run and get
your favorite Sunday books, children."
When they were alone he asked, "How can you permit
these youngsters to be such a burden ?"
"They are not a burden," she answered.
"But a nurse could take care of them and keep them
quiet. ' '
"If their father and mother were living they would not
think 'keeping them quiet' all their duty toward them, nor
do I, to whom they were left as a sacred trust."
"That awful word 'duty' rules you, Miss Walton, with
a rod of iron. ' '
"Do I seem like a harshly driven slave?" she asked,
smilingly.
"No, and I cannot understand you."
"That is because your philosophy of life is wrong. You
Still belong to that old school who would have it that sun,
moon, and stars revolve around the earth. But here are
the books, and if you are to be one of the children you must
do as I bid you be still and listen."
It was strange to Gregory how content he was to obey.
He was surprised at his interest in the old Bible stories told
in childish language, and as Annie stopped to explain a
point or answer a question, he found himself listening as
did the eager little boy sitting on the floor at her feet. The
hackneyed man of the world could not understand how the
140 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
true, simple language of nature, like the little brown blos
soms of lichens, has a beauty of its own.
At the same time he had a growing consciousness that
perhaps there was something in the reader also which mainly
held his interest. It was pleasant to listen to the low, mu
sical voice. It was pleasant to see the red lips drop the
words so easily yet so distinctly, and chief of all was the
consciousness of a vitalized presence that made the room
seem full when she was in it, and empty when she was
absent, though all others remained.
He truly shared the children's regret when at last she
said, "Now I am tired, and must go upstairs and rest
awhile before supper, after which we will have some music.
You can go into the sitting-room and look at the pictures
till the tea- bell rings. Mr. Gregory, will my excuse to the
children answer for you also?"
"I suppose it must, though I have no pictures to look at. "
She suddenly appeared to change her mind, and said, brisk
ly, ' ' Come, sir, what you need is work for others. I have read
to you, and you ought to be willing to read to me. If you
please,! will rest in the arm-chair here instead of in my room. "
"I will take your medicine," he said, eagerly, "without
a wry face, though an indifferent reader, while I think you
are a remarkably good one; and let me tell you it is one of
the rarest accomplishments we find. You shall also choose
the book."
"What unaccountable amiableness!" she replied, laugh
ing. "I fear I shall reward you by going to sleep."
"Very well, anything so I am not left alone again. I
am wretched company for myself."
"Oh, it is not for my sake you are so good, after all!"
"You think me a selfish wretch, Miss Walton."
"I think you are like myself, capable of much improve
ment. But I wish to rest, and you must not talk, but read.
There is the 'Schonberg- Gotta Family.' I have been over
it two or three times, so if I lose the thread of the story it
does not matter."
MISS WALTON'S DREAM 141
He wheeled the arm-chair up to the fire for her, and for a
while she listened with interest; but at last her lids drooped
and soon closed, and her regular breathing showed that she
was sleeping. His voice sank in lower and lower monotone
lest his sudden stopping should awaken her, then he laid
down his book and read a different story in the pure young
face turned toward him.
"It is not beautiful," he thought, "but it is a real, good
face. I should not be attracted toward it in a thronged and
brilliant drawing-room. I might not notice it on Fifth Ave
nue, but if I were ill and in deep trouble, it is just such a
face as I should like to see bending over me. Am I not ill
and in deep trouble ? I have lost my health and lost my
manhood. What worse disasters this side death can I ex
perience ? Be careful, Walter Gregory, you may be break
ing the one clew that can lead you out of the labyrinth.
You may be seeking to palsy the one hand that can help
you. Mother believed in a special Providence. Is it her
suggestion that now flashes in my mind that God in mercy
has brought me to this place of sacred memories, and given
me the companionship of this good woman, that the bitter
waters of my life may be sweetened ? I do not know from
whom else it can come.
"And yet the infernal fascination of evil! I cannot I
will not give up my purpose toward her. Vain dreams!
Miss Walton or an angel of light could not reclaim me.
My impetus downward is too great.
"Oh, the rest and peace of that face! Physical rest and
a quiet, happy spirit dwell in every line. She sleeps there
like a child, little dreaming that a demon is watching her.
But she says that she is guarded. Perhaps she is. A
strong viewless one with a flaming sword may stand be
tween her and me.
"Weak fool! Enough of this. I shall carry out my ex
periment fully, and when I have succeeded or failed, I can
come to some conclusion on matters now in doubt.
"I should like to kiss those red parted lips. I wonder
142 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
what she would do if I did ?" Annie's brow darkened into
a frown. Suddenly she started up and looked at him, but
seemed satisfied from his distance and motionless aspect.
"What is the matter?" he asked.
"Oh, nothing. I had a dream," she said, with a slight
flush.
"Please tell it," he said, though he feared her answer.
"You will not like it. Besides, it's too absurd."
"You pique my curiosity. Tell it by all means."
"Well, then, you mustn't be angry; and remember, I
have no faith in sleeping vagaries. I dreamed that you
were transformed into a large tiger, and came stealthily to
bite me."
He was startled as he recalled his thought at the moment
of her awaking, but had the presence of mind to say, "Let
me interpret the dream."
"Well."
"You know, I suppose, that dreams go by contraries.
Suppose a true friend wished to steal a kiss in your uncon
sciousness. ' '
"True friends do not steal from us," she replied, laugh
ing. "I don't know whether it was safe to let you read me
to sleep?"
"It's not wrong to be tempted, is it? One can't help
that. As Mr. Tuggar says, I might have the 'sperit to do
it, ' and yet remain quietly in my chair, as I have. ' '
"You make an admission in your explanation. Well, it
was queer, ' ' she added, absently.
Gregory thought so too, and was annoyed at her unex
pected clairvoyant powers. But he said, as if a little piqued,
"If you think me a tiger you had better not sleep within my
reach, or you may find your face sadly mutilated on awaking. ' '
"Nonsense," she said. "Mr. Gregory, you are a gentle
man. We are talking like foolish children."
The tea-bell now rang, and Gregory obeyed its summons
in a very perplexed state. His manner was rather absent
during the meal, but Annie seemed to take pains to be kind
MISS WALTON'S DREAM 143
and reassuring. The day, so far from being a restraint, ap
peared one of habitual cheerfulness, which even the dreary
storm without could not dampen.
"We shall have a grand sing to-night with the assistance
of your voice, I hope, Mr. Gregory," said Mr. Walton, as
they all adjourned to the parlor.
"I do not sing by note," he replied. "When I can I
will join you, though I much prefer listening to Miss
Walton."
"Miss Walton prefers nothing of the kind, and we shall
sing only what you know," she said, with a smiling glance
at him over her shoulder, as she was making selections from
the music-stand.
Soon they were all standing round the piano, save Mr.
Walton, who sat near in his arm-chair, his face the picture
of placid enjoyment as he looked on the little group so dear
to him. They began with the children's favorites from the
Sabbath-school books, the little boy dutifully finding the
place for his grandfather. Many of them were the same
that Gregory had sung long years before, standing in the
same place, a child like Johnny, and the vivid memories
thus recalled made his voice a little husky occasionally.
Annie once gave him a quick look of sympathy, not curi
ous but appreciative.
"She seems to know what is passing in my soul," he
thought; "I never knew a woman with such intuitions."
The combined result of their voices was true home
music, in which were blended the tones of childhood and
age. Annie, with her sweet soprano, led, and gave time
and key to them all, very much as by the force and love
liness of her character she influenced the daily harmony of
their lives. The children, with their imitative faculty,
seemed to gather from her lips how to follow with fair
correctness, and they chirped through the tunes like two
intelligent robins. Miss Eulie sang a sweet though rather
faint alto that was like a low minor key in a happy life.
Mr. Walton's melody was rather that of the heart, for his
144 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
voice was returning to the weakness of childhood, and his
ear was scarcely quick enough for the rapid changes of the
air, and yet, unless "grandpa" joined with them, all felt
that the circle was incomplete.
Gregory was a foreign element in the little group, al
most a stranger to its personnel, and more estranged from
the sacred meanings and feeling of the hour; yet such was
the power of example, so strong were the sweet home-spells
of this Christian family, that to his surprise he found him
self entering with zest into a scene that on the Sabbath be
fore he would have regarded as an unmitigated bore. The
thought flashed across him, "How some of my club acquaint
ances would laugh to see me standing between two children
singing Sabbath-school hymns!"
It was also a sad truth that he could go away from all
present influences to spend the next Sabbath at his club
in the ordinary style.
When the children's hour had passed and they had been
tucked away to peaceful spring-time dreams, though a storm,
the precursor of winter, raged without, Annie returned to
the parlor and said, "Now, Mr. Gregory, we can have some
singing more to your taste. ' '
"I have been one of the children to-day," he replied,
"so you must let me off with them from any further sing
ing myself."
"If you insist on playing the children's role you must go
to bed. I have some grand old hymns that I've been wish
ing to try with you. ' '
"Indeed, Miss Walton, I am but half a man. At the
risk of your contempt I must say in frankness that my
whole physical nature yearns for my arm-chair. But please
do not call my weakness laziness. If you will sing to me
just what you please, according to your mood, I for one
will be grateful."
"Even a dragon could not resist such an appeal," said
Annie, laughing. She sat down to her piano and soon par
tially forgot her audience, in an old Sabbath evening habit,
MISS WALTON'S DREAM 146
well known to natural musicians, of expressing her deeper
and more sacred feelings in words and notes that harmon
ized with them. Gregory sat and listened as the young girl
unwittingly revealed a new element in her nature.
In her every- day life she appeared to him full of force
and power, practical and resolute. To one of his sporting
tastes she suggested a mettled steed whose high spirit was
kept in check by thorough training. Her conversation was
piquant, at times a little brusque, and utterly devoid of sen
timentality. But now her choice of poetic thought and her
tones revealed a wealth of womanly tenderness, and he was
compelled to feel that her religion was not legal and cold, a
system of duties, beliefs, and restraints, but something that
seemed to stir the depths of her soul with mystic longings,
and overflow her heart with love. She was not adoring the
Creator, nor paying homage to a king; but, as the perfume
rises from a flower, so her voice and manner seemed the nat
ural expression of a true, strong affection for God Himself,
not afar off, but known as a near and dear friend. In her
sweet tones there was not the faintest suggestion of the ef
fect or style that a professional singer would aim at. She
thought no more of these than would a thrush swaying on
its spray in the twilight of a June evening. As unaffect
edly as the bird she sang according to the inward prompt
ings of a nature purified and made lovely by the grace of
God.
No one not utterly given over to evil could have listened
unmoved, still less Gregory, with his sensitive, beauty-lov
ing, though perverted nature. The spirit of David's harp
again breathed its divine peace on his sin-disquieted soul.
The words of old Baddy Tuggar flashed across him, and he
muttered:
"Yes, she could take even me to heaven, 'if she stayed
right by me. ' '
When finally, with heartfelt sincerity, she sang the fol
lowing simple words to an air that seemed a part of them,
he envied her from the depths of his soul, and felt that he
ROE IY 7
146 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
would readily barter away any earthly possession and life
itself for a like faith:
Nearer, nearer, ever nearer,
Come I gladly unto Thee;
And the days are growing brighter
With Thy presence nearer me.
Though a pilgrim, not a stranger;
This Thy land, and I Thine own;
At Thy side, thus free from danger,
Find I paths with flowers strown.
Voices varied, nature speaking,
Call to me on every side ;
Friends and kindred give their greeting,
In Thy sunshine I abide.
Though my way were flinty, thorny,
Were I sure it led to Thee,
Could I pass one day forlornly,
Home and rest so near to me?
Then she brought the old family Bible, indicating that
after that hour she was in no mood for commonplace con
versation. In the hush that followed, the good old man
reverently read a favorite passage, which seemed not to
consist of cold, printed words, but to be a part of a loving
letter sent by the Divine Father to His absent children.
As such it was received by all save Gregory. He sat
among them as a stranger and an alien, cut off by his own
acts from those ties which make one household of earth and
heaven. But such was the influence of the evening upon
him that he realized as never before his loss and loneliness.
He longed intensely to share in their feelings, and to appro
priate the words of love and promise that Mr. Walton read.
The prayer that followed was so tender, so full of heart
felt interest in his guest, that Gregory's feelings were deeply
touched. He arose from his knees, and again shaded his
face to hide the traces of his emotion.
When at last he looked up, Mr. Walton was quietly
reading, and the ladies had retired. He rose and bade Mr.
MISS WALTON'S DREAM 147
Walton good- night with a strong but silent grasp of the
hand.
The thought flashed across him as he went to his room,
that after this evening and the grasp as of friendship he had
just given the father, he could not in the faintest degree
meditate evil against the daughter. But so conscious was
he of moral weakness, so self -distrustful in view of many
broken resolutions, that he dared resolve on nothing. He
at last fell into a troubled sleep with the vain, regretful
thought, "Oh that I had not lost my vantage-ground 1 Oh
that I could live my life over again I"
148 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
CHAPTER XVI
AN ACCIDENT IN THE MOUNTAINS
IN VIEW of her recent stormy mood, Nature seemed full
of regretful relentings on Monday, and, as if to make
amends for her harshness, assumed something of a sum
mer softness. The sun had not the glaring brightness that
dazzles, and the atmosphere, purified by the recent rain,
revealed through its crystal depths objects with unusual
distinctness.
"It is a splendid day for a mountain ramble," said
Annie, with vivacity, at the breakfast- table.
"Why don't you take old Dolly and the mountain wagon,
and show Mr. Gregory some of our fine views this after
noon?" asked Mr. Walton.
"Nothing would please me more," said his daughter,
cordially; "that is, if Mr. Gregory feels equal to the
fatigue. ' '
"I'd be at my last gasp if I refused such an offer," said
Gregory, eagerly. "It would do me good, for I feel much
stronger than when I first came, and Miss "Walton's society
is the best tonic I know of."
"Very well," said she, laughing. "You shall take me
this afternoon as a continuation of the tonic treatment under
which you say you are improving. ' '
"To carry on the medical figure," he replied, "I fear
that I am to you the embodiment of the depletive system."
"From my feelings this bright morning you have very
little effect. I prescribe for you a quiet forenoon, as our
AN ACCIDENT IN THE MOUNTAINS 149
'
mountain roads will give you an awful jolting. You, if not
your medicine, will be well shaken to-day."
"You are my medicine, as I understand it, so I shall
take it according to the old orthodox couplet."
"No, the mountain is your medicine, and I anticipate no
earthquakes."
"It is settled then," said Mr. Walton, smiling, "that you
adopt Mahomet's compromise and go to the mountain. I
will tell Jeff to fit you out in suitable style."
Gregory, in excellent spirits, retired to his room for a
quiet morning. The prospect for the afternoon pleased him
greatly, and a long te"te-a-te v te with Annie among the grand
and beautiful solitudes of nature had for him an attraction
that he could scarcely understand.
"She is just the one for a companion on such an expedi
tion, ' ' he said to himself. ' ' She seems a part of the scenes
we shall look upon. The free, strong mountain spirit
breathes in her every word and act. Old Greek mythology
would certainly make her a nymph of the hills."
After dinner they started, Gregory's interest centring
mainly in his companion, but Annie regarding him as a
mere accessory to a sort of half -holiday in her busy life,
and expecting more enjoyment from the scenery and the
exhilarating air than from his best efforts to entertain her.
And yet in this respect she was agreeably disappointed.
Gregory was in a mood that he scarcely understood him
self. If Annie had been somewhat vain and shallow,
though possessing many other good traits, with the prac
ticed skill of a society man he would have made the most
of these weaknesses, amused himself with a piquant flirta
tion, and soon have been ready for his departure for New
York with a contemptuous French shrug at the whole affair.
But her weaknesses did not lie in that direction. Her nat
urally truthful and earnest nature, deepened and strength
ened by Christian principle, from the first had foiled his
unworthy purposes, and disturbed his contemptuous cyni
cism. Then as he was compelled to believe in her reality,
150 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
her truth and nobleness, all that was in his own nature re
sponsive to these traits began to assert itself. Even while
he clung to it and felt that he had no power to escape it,
the evil of his life grew more hateful to him, and he con
demned himself with increasing bitterness. When good in
fluences are felt in a man's soul, evil seems to become
specially active. The kingdom of darkness disputes every
inch of its ill-gotten power. Winter passes away in March
storms. It is the still cold of indifference that is nearest
akin to death.
The visit to his old home, and the influence of Annie
Walton, were creating March weather in Walter Gregory's
soul. There were a few genial moods like gleams of early
spring sunshine. There were sudden relentings and pas
sionate longings for better life, as at times gentle, frost-
relaxing showers soften the flinty ground. There were
fierce spiritual conflicts, wild questionings, doubts, fears,
and forebodings, and sometimes despair, as in this gusty
month nature often seems resolving itself back to primeval
chaos. But too often his mood was that of cold hard scep
ticism, the frost of midwinter. The impetus of his evil life
would evidently be long in spending itself.
And yet the quiet influence of the hallowed Sabbath
evening, and Annie Walton's hymns of faith and love,
could not readily be lost. The father's prayer still echoed
in his soul, and even to him it seemed that the heavens
could not be deaf to such entreaty. These things affected
him as no direct appeals possibly could. They were like
the gentle but irresistible south wind.
He was now simply drifting. He had not definitely
abandoned his purpose of tempting Annie, nor did he con
sciously thrust it from him. Quite convinced that she was
what she seemed, and doubting greatly whether during his
brief visit there would be time to affect her mind seriously
by any evil influences he could bring to bear, and won un
wittingly by her pure spirit to better things himself, he let
the new and unexpected influence have full play.
AN ACCIDENT IN THE MOUNTAINS 151
He was like a man who finds himself in the current
above Niagara, and gives up in despair, allowing his boat
to glide onward to the fatal plunge. A breeze springs up
and blows against the current. He spreads a sail and finds
his downward progress checked. If the wind increases and
blows steadily, he may stem the rushing tide and reach
smooth, safe waters.
A faint glimmering of hope began to dawn in his heart.
An unexpected gale from heaven, blowing against the cur
rent of evil, made it seem possible that he too might gain
the still waters of a peaceful faith. But the hope dwelt in
his mind more as a passing thought, a possibility, than an
expectation.
In his wavering state the turn of the scales would depend
mainly upon the mood of his companion. If she had been
trifling and inclined to flirt, full of frivolous nonsense,
bent upon having a good time in the frequent acceptation
of the phrase, little recking the consequences of words or
acts, as is often the case with girls in the main good- hearted
and well-meaning, Gregory would have fallen in with such
a mood and pushed it to the extreme.
But Annie was simply herself, bright and exhilarating
as the October sunshine, but as pure and strong. She was
ready for jest and repartee. She showed almost a childish
delight in every odd and pretty thing that met her eye,
but never for a moment permitted her companion to lose
respect for her.
Her cheeks were like the crimson maple-leaves which
overhung them. Her eyes were like the dark sparkle of the
little brook as it emerged from the causeway over which
they drove. Her brown hair, tossed by the wind, escaped
somewhat from its restraints and enhanced the whiteness
of her neck, and the thought occurred to Gregory more than
once, "If she is not pretty, I never- saw a face more pleasant
to look at. ' '
The wish to gain her esteem and friendship grew stronger
every moment, and he exerted himself to the utmost to
152 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
please her. Abandoning utterly his gallantry, his morbid
cynicism, he came out into the honest sunlight of truth,
where Annie's mind dwelt, and directed the conversation
to subjects concerning which, as an educated and travelled
man, he could speak frankly and intelligently. Annie had
strong social tastes and the fondness for companionship
natural to the young, and she was surprised to find how
he stimulated and interested her mind, and how much they
had in common. He appeared to understand her immedi
ately, and to lead her thoughts to new and exciting flights.
It was their purpose to cross a spur of the main mountain-
range. After a long and toilsome climb, stopping to give
Dolly many a breathing spell, they at last reached the brow
of the wooded height, and turned to look at the autumn
landscape glimmering in the bright October sunshine. It is
impossible by either pen or brush to give a true picture
of wide reaches of broken and beautiful country, as seen
from some of the more favored points of outlook among
the Highlands on the Hudson. The loveliness of a pretty
bit of scenery or of a landscape may be enhanced by art,
but the impressive grandeur of nature, when the feature of
vast and varied expanse predominates, cannot be adequately
expressed. The mind itself is oppressed by the extensive-
ness of the scene, and tends to select some definite object,
as a village, hamlet, or tree-embowered farmhouse, on which
to dwell. These accord more with the finite nature of the
beholder. Spires and curling wreaths of smoke suggested
to Annie and Gregory many a simple altar and quiet hearth,
around which gathered the homely, contented life, spiritual
and domestic, of those who occupied their own little niche
in the great world, and were all unburdened with thought
or care for the indefinite regions that stretched away beyond
their narrow circle of daily acquaintance. Only God can
give to the whole of His creation the all-seeing gaze that
we bestow upon some familiar scene. His glance around
the globe is like that of a mother around her nursery, with
her little children grouped at her feet
AN ACCIDENT IN THE MOUNTAINS 153
The laden orchards, with men climbing long ladders, and
boys in the topmost branches looking in the distance like
huge squirrels, were pleasant objects to the mountain ram
blers. Huskers could be discerned in the nearer cornfields,
and the great yellow ears glistened momentarily in the
light, as they were tossed into golden heaps. There was
no hum of industry as from a manufacturing village, or roar
of turbulent life as from a city, but only the quiet evidence
to the eye of a life kindred to that which nature so silently
and beautifully elaborates.
"How insignificant we are!" said Gregory, gloomily;
"how the great world goes right on without us! It is the
same when one dies and leaves it, as we left it by climbing
this mountain. In the main we are unknown and uncared
for, and even to those who know us it is soon the same as
if we had never been."
"But the world cannot go on without God. Though
forgotten, He never forgets! His friends need never have
the sense of being lost or lonely any more than a child
travelling with his father in a foreign land among indifferent
strangers. God does not look at us, His creatures, as we do
at the foliage of these forests, seeing only the general effect.
He sees each one as directly as I now look at you."
"I wish I could believe He looked as kindly."
"I wish you could, Mr. Gregory. It is sad to me that
people can't believe what is so true. The fondest look your
mother ever gave you was cold compared with the yearn
ing, loving face God turns toward every one of us, even as
we go away from Him."
He looked at her earnestly for a moment and saw that
sincerity was written on her face. He shook his head sadly,
and then said, rather abruptly, "Those lengthening shadows
remind us that we must be on our way"; and then their
thoughts dwelt on lighter subjects as they ascended another
lofty mountain terrace, and paused again to scan the wider
prospect that made the sense of daily life in the valleys below
as remote as the world seems to the hermit in his devotional
154 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
seclusion. Then they began to descend the sloping plateau
which inclined toward the brow of the hill overlooking the
region of the Walton residence.
After one or two hours of broken but very agreeable
conversation Annie suddenly sighed deeply. '
"Now, Miss Walton," said Gregory, "that sigh came
from the depths. What hidden sorrow could have caused
it?"
With a slight flush and laugh, she said, "It was caused
by a mere passing thought, like that cloud there sailing
over the mountain slope."
"Your simile is so pretty that 1 should like to know
the thought. ' '
"I hardly know whether to tell it to you. It might have
the same effect as if that cloud should expand and cover
the sky."
"Might not the telling also have the same effect as if the
cloud were dissipated altogether?"
She looked at him quickly and said, "How apt your an
swer is! Yes, it might if you would be sensible. I do not
know you so very well yet. Are you not a little ready to
take offence?"
"You do not look as if about to say anything I should
resent very deeply. But I promise that the cloud shall
vanish."
"I am not so sure about that The cloud represents my
thought; and yet I hope it may eventually vanish utterly.
The thought occurred to me after the pleasant hours of this
afternoon what congenial friends we might be."
"And that caused you to sigh so deeply ?"
"I laid emphasis on the word might. 11
"And why should you, Miss Annie ? Why need you ?"
he asked, eagerly.
"You have shown a great deal of tact and consideration
this afternoon, Mr. Gregory, in choosing topics on which
we could agree, or about which it is as nice to differ a little.
I wish it were the same in regard to those things that make
AN ACCIDENT IN THE MOUNTAINS 155
up one's life, as it were;" and she looked at him closely
to see how he would take this.
After a moment he said, a little bitterly, "In order to be
your friend, must one look at everything through the same
colored glass that you employ ?"
"Oh, no," she replied, earnestly; "it is not fair to say
that. But you seem almost hostile to all that 1 love best
and think most of, and my sigh was rather an earnest and
oft-recurring wish that it were otherwise."
Again he was silent for a short time, then said, with
sudden vehemence, "And I also wish it were otherwise";
adding more quietly, "but it is not, Miss Walton. You
know me too well, even if I wished to deceive you. And
yet I would give a great deal for such a friendship as you
could bestow. Why can you not give it as it is? The
Founder of your faith was a friend of publicans and
sinners. ' '
"He was indeed their friend, and has been ever since,"
she answered. "But was it not natural that He found more
that was attractive and congenial in that little group of dis
ciples who were learning to know and believe in Him?"
"I understand you, Miss Walton. I was unfortunate
in my illustration, and you have turned it against me.
You can be my friend, as the missionary is the friend
of the heathen."
"You go to extremes, Mr. Gregory, and are hardly fair.
I am not a missionary, nor are you a heathen. I make my
meaning clear when I echo your thought of a moment ago,
and wish that just such a friendship might exist between
us as that between your father and mine."
"I am what I am," he said, with genuine sadness.
"I wish you had my faith in the possibilities of the
future," she replied, turning brightly toward him.
But he shook his head, saying, "I have about lost all
faith in everything as far as I am concerned. Still I feel
that if any one could do me any good, you might, but I
fear it is a hopeless task." Then he changed the subject
156 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
in such a way as to show that it was painful, and that he
preferred it should be dropped.
After all, the cloud had overcast the sky. The inevita
ble separation between those guided by divine principles
and those controlled by earthly influences began to dawn
upon him. He caught a glimpse of the "great gulf," that
is ever "fixed" between the good and evil in their deepest
consciousness. The "loneliness of guilt" chilled and op
pressed him, even with the cheery, sympathetic companion
at his side. But he hid his feelings under a forced gayety,
in which Annie joined somewhat, though it gave her a
vague shiver of pain. She felt they had been en rapport
for a little while, but now a change had come, even as the
damp and chill of approaching night were taking the place
of genial sunshine.
Suddenly she said, as they were riding along on the
comparatively level plateau among thick copse-wood and
overshadowing trees that already created a premature twi
light, "It is strange we do not come out on the brow of the
mountain overlooking our home. This road does not seem
familiar either, though it is two or three years since I have
been over it, and then Jeff drove. I thought I knew the
way well. Can it be possible we have taken the wrong
turning?"
"I ought to be familiar with these roads, Miss Walton,
but I am sorry to say I too am confused. I hunted over
these hills to some extent when a boy, but did not pay
much heed to the roads, as I took my own courses through
the woods. ' '
"I think I must be right," said Annie, after a little
time; "the brow of the hill must be near;" and they
hastened the old horse along as fast as possible under the
circumstances. But the road continually grew rougher and
gave evidence of very little travel, and the evening deep
ened rapidly. At last they resolved to turn round at the
first place that would permit of it, but this was not readily
found, there being only a single wheel-track, which now
AN ACCIDENT IN THE MOUNTAINS 157
stretched away before them like a rarrow cut between banks
of foliage, that looked solid in the increasing darkness; the
road also was full of rocks, loose stones, and deep ruts, over
which the wagon jolted painfully. With a less sure-footed
horse than Dolly they would soon have come to grief.
Gregory was becoming greatly fatigued, though he strove
to hide it, and both were filled with genuine uneasiness
at the prospect before them. To make matters seemingly
desperate, as they were descending a little hill a fore-wheel
caught between two stones and was wrenched sharply off.
Quick, agile Annie sprang as she felt the wagon giving,
but Walter was thrown out among the brushwood by the
roadside. Though scratched and bruised, he was not seri
ously hurt, and as quickly as possible came to the assistance
of his companion. He found her standing by Dolly's head,
holding and soothing the startled beast. Apparently she
was unhurt. They looked searchingly at the dusky forest,
their broken vehicle, and then at each other. Words were
unnecessary to explain the awkwardness of their situation.
158 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
CHAPTER XVII
"PROMISE OR DIE"
WHILE they were thus standing irresolute after the
accident, suddenly a light glimmered upon them.
It appeared to come from a house standing a lit
tle off from the road. "Shall I leave you here and go for
assistance ?' ' asked Walter.
"I think I would rather go with you. Dolly will stand,
and I do not wish to be left alone."
They soon found a grassy path leading to a small house,
from which the light shone but faintly through closely cur
tained windows. They met no one, nor were their footsteps
heard till they knocked at the door. A gruff voice said,
"Come in," and a huge bull-dog started up from near the
fire with a savage growl.
They entered. A middle-aged man with his coat off sat
at work with his back toward them. He rose hastily and
stared at them with a strangely blended look of consterna
tion and anger.
"Call off your dog," said Gregory, sharply.
"Down, Bull," said the man, harshly, and the dog slunk
growling into a corner, but with a watchful, ugly gleam in
his eyes.
The man's expression was quite as sinister and threaten
ing.
"Who are you, and what do you want?" he asked,
sternly.
"We want help," said Gregory, with a quickened and
apprehensive glance around, which at once revealed to him
"PROMISE OR DIE" 159
why their visit was so unwelcome. The man had been coun
terfeiting money, and the evidences of his guilt were only
too apparent. "We have lost our way, and our wagon is
broken. I hope you have sufficient humanity to act the
part of a neighbor."
''Humanity to the devil!" said the man, brutally, "I am
neighbor to no one. You have come here to pry into what
is none of your business."
"We have not," said Gregory, eagerly. "You will find
our broken wagon in the road but a little way from here."
The man's eye was cold, hard, and now had a snake-like
glitter as he looked at them askance with a gloomy scowl.
He seemed thinking over the situation in which he found
"himself.
Gregory, in his weak, exhausted state, and shaken some
what by his fall, was nervous and apprehensive. Annie,
though pale, stood firmly and quietly by.
Slowly and hesitatingly, as if deliberating as to the best
course, the man reached up to the shelf and took down a
revolver, saying, with an evil-boding look at them, "If I
thought you had come as detectives, you would have no
chance to use your knowledge. You, sir, I do not know,
but I think this lady is Squire Walton's daughter. As it
is, you must both solemnly promise me before God that
you will never reveal what you have seen here. Otherwise
I have but one method of self -protection," and he cocked
his pistol. "Let me tell you, " he added, in a blood-curdling
tone, "you are not the first ones I have silenced. And mark
this if you go away and break this promise, I have confed
erates who will take vengeance on you and yours."
"No need of any further threats," said Gregory, with a
shrug. "I promise. As you say, it is none of my business
how much of the 'queer' you make."
Though naturally not a coward, Gregory, in his habit
of self-pleasing and of shunning all sources of annoyance,
would not have gone out of his way under any circum
stances to bring a criminal to justice, and the thought of
160 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
risking anything in this case did not occur to him. Why
should they peril their lives for the good of the common
wealth ? If he had been alone and escaped without further
trouble, he would have thought of the matter afterward as
of a crime recorded in the morning paper, with which he
had no concern, except perhaps to scrutinize more sharply
the currency he received.
But with conscientious Annie it was very different. Her
father was a magistrate of the right kind, who sincerely
sought to do justice and protect the people in their rights.
From almost daily conversation her mind had been im
pressed with the sacredness of the law. When she was
inclined to induce her father to give a ligher sentence than
he believed right he had explained how the well-being and
indeed the very existence of society depended upon the
righteous enforcement of the law, and how true mercy lay
in such enforcement. She had been made to feel that the
responsibility for good order and morals rested on every
one, and that to conceal a known crime was to share deeply
in the guilt. She also was not skilled in that casuistry
which would enable her to promise anything with mental
reservations. The shock of their savage and threatening
reception had been severe, but she was not at all inclined
to be hysterical; and though her heart seemed to stand still
with a chill of dread which deepened every moment as she
realized what would be exacted of her, she seemed more
self-possessed than Gregory. Indeed, in the sudden and
awful emergencies of life, woman's fortitude is often su
perior to man's, and Annie's faith was no decorous and
conventional profession for Sabbath uses, but a constant
and living reality. She was like the maidens of martyr
days, who tremblingly but unhesitatingly died for con
science' sake. While there was no wavering of purpose,
there was an agony of fear and sorrow, as, after the mo
mentary confusion of mind caused by the suddenness of
the occurrence, the terrible nature of the ordeal before
her became evident.
"PROMISE OR DIE" 161
Through her father she had heard a vague rumor of this
man before. Though he lived so secluded and was so reti
cent, his somewhat mysterious movements had awakened
suspicion. But his fierce dog and his own manner had
kept all obtrusive curiosity at a distance. Now she saw
her father's worst fears and surmises realized.
But the counterfeiter at first gave all his attention to her
companion, thinking that he would have little trouble with
a timid girl; and after Gregory's ready promise, looked
searchingly at him for a moment, and then said, with a
coarse, scornful laugh, "No fear of you. You will keep
your skin whole. You are a city chap, and know enough
of me and my tribe to be sure I can strike you there as well
as here. I can trust to your fears, and don't wish to shed
blood when it is unnecessary. And now this girl must make
the same promise. Her father is a magistrate, and I intend
to have no posse of men up here after me to-morrow."
"I can make no such promise," said Annie, in a low
tone.
"What?" exclaimed the man, harshly, and a savage
growl from the dog made a kindred echo to his tone.
Deathly pale, but with firm bearing, Annie said, "I can
not promise to shield crime by silence. I should be a par
taker in your guilty secrets."
"Oh, for God's sake, promise!" cried Gregory, in an
agony of fear, but in justice it must be said that it was
more for her than for himself.
"For God's sake I cannot promise."
Then man stepped menacingly toward her, and the great
dog also advanced unchecked out of his corner.
"Young woman," he hissed in her ear, "you must prom
ise or die. I have sworn never to go to prison again if I
wade knee- deep in blood."
There came a rush of tears to Annie's eyes. Her bosom
heaved convulsively a moment, and then she said, in a tone
of agony, "It is dreadful to die in such a way, but I cannot
make the promise you ask. It would burden my conscience
162 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
and blight my life. I will trust to God's mercy and do right.
But think twice before you shed my innocent blood."
Gregory covered his face with his hands and groaned
aloud.
The man hesitated. He had evidently hoped by his
threats to frighten her into compliance, and her unex
pected refusal, while it half frenzied him with fear and
anger, made his course difficult to determine upon. He
was not quite hardened enough to slay the defenceless girl
as she stood so bravely before him, and the killing of her
would also involve the putting of Gregory out of the way,
making a double murder that would be hard to conceal.
He looked at the dog, and the thought occurred that by
turning them out of doors and leaving them to the brute's
tender mercies their silence might be effectually secured.
It is hard to say what he would have done, left to his
own fears and evil passions; but a moment after Annie had
spoken, the doors opened and a woman entered with a pail
of water, which she had just brought from a spring at some
little distance from the house.
"What does this mean?" she asked, with a quick,
startled glance around.
"It means mischief to all concerned," said the man,
sullenly.
"This is Miss Walton," said the woman, advancing.
"Yes," exclaimed Annie, and she rushed forward and
sobbed out, "save me from your husband; he threatened
to take my life."
" 'My husband!' " said the woman, with intense bitter
ness, turning toward the man. "Do you hear that, Vight?
Quiet your fears, young lady. Do you remember the sick,
weary woman that you found one hot day last summer by
the roadside ? I was faint, and it seemed to me that I was
dying. I often wish to, but when it comes to the point and
I look over into the black gulf, I'm afraid "
"But, woman " interrupted the man, harshly.
"Be still," she said, imperiously waving her hand.
"PROMISE OR DIE" 163
"Don't rouse a devil you can't control." Then turning
to Annie, she continued, " I was afraid then; I was in an
agony of terror. I was so weak that 1 could scarcely do
more than look appealingly to you and stretch out my
hands. Most ladies would have said, 'She's drank,' and
passed contemptuously on. But you got out of your wagon
and took my cold hand. I whispered, 'I'm sick; for God's
sake help me.' And you believed me and said, 'I will help
you, for God's sake and your own.' Then you went to the
carriage, and got some cordial which you said was for an
other sick person, and gave me some; and when I revived,
you half carried me and half lifted me into your nice cov
ered little wagon, that kept the burning sun off my head,
and you took me miles out of your way to a little house
which I falsely told you was my home. I heard that you
afterward came to see me. You spoke kindly. When I
could speak I said that I was not fit for you to touch, and
you answered that Jesus Christ was glad to help touch any
human creature, and that you were not better than He I
Then you told me a little about Him, but I was too sick
to listen much. God knows I've got down about as low as
any woman can. I dare not pray for myself, but since that
day I've prayed for you. And mark what I say, Vight,"
she added, her sad, weird manner changing to sudden fierce
ness, "not a hair of this lady's head shall be hurt."
"But these two will go and blab on us," said the man,
angrily. "At least the girl will. She won't promise to
keep her secret I have no fears for the man; I can keep
him quiet."
"Why won't you promise?" asked the woman, gently,
but with surprise.
"Because I cannot," said Annie, earnestly, though her
voice was still broken by sobs. "When we hide crime, we
take part in it. ' '
"And would you rather die than do what you thought
wrong?"
"It were better," said Annie.
264 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
"Oh that I had had such a spirit in the fatal past I"
groaned the woman.
"But won't you protect me still?" exclaimed Annie,
seizing her hand. "It would kill my poor old father too,
if I should die. I cannot burden my soul with your se
crets, but save me oh, save me, from so dreadful a death!"
"I have said it, Miss Walton. Not a hair of your head
shall be hurt."
"What do you advise then, madam?" asked the man,
satirically. "Shall we invite Mr. Walton and the sheriff up
to-morrow to take a look at the room as it now stands ?"
"I advise nothing," said the woman, harshly. "I only
say, in a way you understand, not a hair of this girl's head
shall be hurt."
"Thank God, oh, thank God," murmured Annie, with a
feeling of confidence and inexpressible relief, for there was
that in the woman's bearing and tone which gave evidence
of unusual power over her associate in crime.
Then Annie added, still clinging to a hand unsanctified
by the significant plain ring, "I hope you will keep my com
panion safe from harm also."
During the scene between Annie and her strange pro
tector, who was evidently a sad wreck of a beautiful and
gifted woman, Gregory had sunk into a chair through
weakness and shame, and covered his face with his hands.
The woman turned toward him with instinctive antipathy,
and asked, "How is it, sir, you have left a young girl to
meet this danger alone?"
Gregory's white, drawn face turned scarlet as he an
swered, "Because I am like you and this man here, and
not like Miss Walton, who is an angel of truth and good
ness. ' '
" 'Like ws,' indeed!" said she, disdainfully. "I don't
know that you have proved us cowards yet. And could
you be bad and mean enough to see this brave maiden slain
before your eyes, and go away in silence to save your own
miserable self?"
"PROMISE OR DIE" 165
"For aught I know 1 could," answered he, savagely. "I
would like to see what mean, horrible, loathsome thing, this
hateful, hated thing I call myself could not do."
Gregory showed, in a way fearful to witness, what in
tense hostility and loathing a spirit naturally noble can feel
toward itself when action and conscience are at war.
"Ah," said the woman, bitterly, "now you speak a lan
guage I know well. Why should I fear the judgment-
day ?' ' she added, with a gloomy light in her eyes, as if
communing with herself. "Nothing worse can be said of
me than I will say now. But," she sneered, turning
sharply to Gregory, "I do not think I have fallen so low
as you."
"Probably not," he replied, with a grim laugh, and a
significant shrug which he had learned abroad. "I will
not dispute my bad pre-eminence. Come, Vight, or what
ever your name is, " he continued, rising, "make up your
mind quickly what you are going to do. I am a weak
man, morally and physically. If you intend to shoot me,
or let your dog make a meal of me, let us have it over as
soon as possible. Since Miss Walton is safe, I am as well
prepared now as I ever shall be. ' '
"I entreat you," pleaded Annie, still clinging to the wo
man, "don't let any harm come to him."
"What is the use of touching him?" said the man,
gruffly. Then turning to Gregory he asked, "Do you still
promise not to use your knowledge against me? You
might do me more harm in New York than here."
"I have promised once, and that is enough," said
Gregory, irritably. "I keep my word for good or evil,
though you can't know that, and are fools for trusting
me."
"I'll trust neither of you," said the man, with an oath.
"Here, Dencie, I must talk with you alone. I'm willing to
do anything that's reasonable, but I'm not going to prison
again alive, mark" that (with a still more fearful impreca
tion). "Don't leave this room or I won't answer for the
166 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
consequences," he said sternly to Gregory and Annie, at
the same time looking significantly at the dog.
Then he and the woman went into the back room, and
there was an earnest and somewhat angry consultation.
Gregory sat down and leaned his head on the table in a
manner that showed he had passed beyond despondency and
fear into despairing indifference as to what became of him.
He felt that henceforth he must be simply odious to Miss
Walton, that she would only tolerate his presence as long
as it was necessary, veiling her contempt by more polite
ness. In his shame and weakness he would almost rather
die than meet her true, honest eyes again.
Annie had the courage of principle and firm resolve,
rather than that which is natural and physical. The
thought of sudden and violent death appalled her. If
her impulsive nature were excited, like that of a soldier
in battle, she could forget danger. If in her bed at home
she were wasting with disease, she would soon submit to
the Divine will with childlike trust. But her whole being
shrunk inexpressibly from violent and unnatural death.
Never before did life seem so sweet. Never before was
there so much to live for. She could have been a martyr
in any age and in any horrible form for conscience' sake,
but she would have met her fate tremblingly, shrinkingly,
and with intense longings for life. And yet with all this
instinctive dread, her trust in God and His promises would
not fail. But instead of standing calmly erect on her faith,
and confronting destiny, it was her nature, in such terrible
emergencies, to cling in loving and utter dependence, and
obey.
She therefore in no respect shared Gregory's indiffer
ence, but was keenly alive to the situation.
At first, with her hand upon her heart to still its wild
throbbings, she listened intently, and tried to catch the
drift of the fateful conference within. This being vain,
her eyes wandered hurriedly around the room. Standing
thus, she unconsciously completed a strange picture in that
"PROMISE OR DIE" 167
incongruous place, with her dejected companion on one side,
and the great dog, eying her savagely, on the other. Greg
ory's despairing attitude impressed her deeply. In a sud
den rush of pity she felt that he was not as cowardly as he
had seemed. A woman with difficulty forgives this sin. His
harsh condemnation and evident detestation of himself im
pelled her generous nature instinctively to take the part of
his weak and wronged spirit. She had early been taught
to pity rather than to condemn those whom evil is destroy
ing. In all his depravity he did not repel her, for, though
proud, he had no petty, shallow vanity; and the evident
fact that he suffered so deeply disarmed her.
Moreover, companionship in trouble which she felt was
partly her fault, drew her toward him, and, stepping to his
side, she laid her hand on his shoulder and said, gently,
"Cheer up, my friend; I understand you better than you
do yourself. God will bring us safely through."
He shrunk from her hand, and said, drearily, "With
better reason than younder woman I can say, 'I am not fit
for you to touch. ' As for God, He has nothing to do with
me."
She answered, kindly, "I do not think that either of
those things is true. But, Mr. Gregory, what will they
do with us? They will not dare "
She was interrupted by the entrance of the strangely
assorted couple into whose crime-stained hands they had
so unexpectedly fallen. Both felt that but little trust could
be placed in such perverted and passion-swept natures
that they would be guided by their fears, impulses, and
interests. Annie's main hope was in the hold she had on
the woman's sympathies; but the latter, as she entered,
wore a sullen and disappointed look, as if she had not
been given her own way. Annie at once stepped to her
side and again took her hand, as if she were her best hope
of safety. It was evident that her confidence and unshrink
ing touch affected the poor creature deeply, and her hand
closed over Annie's in a way that was reassuring.
168 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
"I suppose you would scarcely like to trust yourselves
to me or my dog, " said the man, with a grim laugh. " What 1 s
more, I've no time to bother with you. Since my compan
ion here feels she owes you something, Miss Walton, she
can now repay you a hundred-fold. But follow her direc
tions closely, as you value your lives;" and he left the
house with the dog. Soon after, they heard in the forest
what seemed the note of the whippoorwill repeated three
times, but it was so near and importunate that Annie was
startled, and the woman's manner indicated that she was not
listening to a bird. After a few moments she said, gloomily :
"Miss Walton, I promised you should receive no harm, and
I will keep my word. I hoped I could send you directly
home to-night, but that's impossible. J can do much with
Vight, but not everything. He has sworn never to go to
prison again alive, and none of our lives would be worth
much if they stood in the way of his escape. We meant to
leave this region before many months, for troublesome
stories are getting around, and now we must go at once.
I will take you to a place of safety, from which you can
return home to-morrow. Come."
"But father will be wild with anxiety," cried Annie,
wringing her hands.
"It is the best I can do," said the woman, sadly. "Come,
we have no time to lose. ' '
She put on a woollen hood, and taking a long, slender
staff, led the way out into the darkness.
They felt that there was nothing to do but follow, which
they did in silence. They did not go back toward their
broken wagon, but continued down the wheel-track whereon
their accident had occurred. Suddenly the woman left this,
taking a path through the woods, and after proceeding with
difficulty some distance, stopped, and lighted a small lantern
she had carried under her shawl. Even with the aid of this
their progress was painful and precarious in the steeply
descending rocky path, which had so many intricate wind
ings that both Annie and Gregory felt that they were in-
"PROMISE OR DIE" 169
deed being led into a terra incognita. Annie was consumed
with anxiety as to the issue of their strange adventure, but
believed confidence in her guide to be the wisest course.
Gregory was too weary and indifferent to care for himself,
and stumbled on mechanically.
At last he said, sullenly, "Madam, I can go no further.
I may as well die here as anywhere. ' '
"You must go," she said, sharply; "for my sake
and Miss Walton's, if not for your own. Besides, it's
not much further. What I do to-night must be done
rightly."
"Well, then, while there is breath left, Miss Walton
shall have the benefit of it."
"May we not rest a few minutes?" asked Annie. "I
too am very tired."
"Yes, before long at the place where you must pass the
night."
The path soon came out in another wheel-track, which
seemed to lead down a deep ravine. Descending this a little
way, they reached an opening in which was the dusky out
line of a small house.
"Here we part," said their guide, taking Annie's hand,
while Gregory sank exhausted on a rock near. "The old
woman and her son who live in that house will give you
shelter, and to-morrow you must find your best way home.
This seems poor return for your kindness, but it's in keep
ing with my miserable life, which is as dark and wild as the
unknown flinty path we came. After all, things have turned
out far better than they might have done. Vight was ex
pecting some one, and so had the dog within doors. He
would have torn you to pieces had he been without
as usual."
"Lead this life no longer. Stay with us, and I will help
you to better things, ' ' said Annie, earnestly.
The look of intense longing on the woman's face as the
light of the flickering lantern fell on it would haunt Annie
to her dying day.
ROE IV 8
170 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
"Oh that I might!" she groaned. "Oh that I might 1
A more fearful bondage never cursed a human soul!"
"And why can you not?" pleaded Annie, putting her
hand on the trembling woman's shoulder. "You have seen
better days. You were meant for a good and noble life.
You can't sin unfeelingly. Then why sin at all? Break
these chains, and by and by peace in this life and heaven
in the life to come will reward you."
The woman sat down by the roadside, and for a moment
her whole frame seemed convulsed with sobs. At last she
said, brokenly, "You plead as my good angel did before
it left me but it's no use it's too late. I have indeed seen
better days, pure, happy days; and so has he. We once
stood high in the respect of all. But he fell, and I fell in
ways I can't explain. You cannot understand, that as love
binds with silken cords, so crime may bind with iron chains.
No more say no more. You only torment me," she broke
in, harshly, as Annie was about to speak again. "You can
not understand. How could you ? We love, hate, and fear
each other at the same time, and death only can part us.
But that may soon that may soon;" and she clenched her
hands with a dark look.
"But enough of this. I have too much to do to tire
myself this way. You must go to that house; I cannot.
Old Mrs. Tompkins and 'her son will give you shelter. I
don't wish them to get into trouble. There will be a close
investigation into all this. I know what your father's dis
position is. And now farewell. The only good thing about
me is, I shall still pray for you, the only one who has ever
treated me like a woman since since since I fell into
hell," she said in a low, hoarse tone, and printing a pas
sionate kiss on Annie's hand, she blew out her light, and
vanished in the darkness.
It seemed to swallow her up, and become a type of the
mystery and fate that enshrouded the forlorn creature.
Beyond the bare fact that she took the train the following
morning with the man she called "Vight,' 1 Annie never
"PROMISE OR DIE" 171
heard of her again. Still there was hope for the wretched
wanderer. However dark and hidden her paths, the eyes
of a merciful God ever followed her, and to that God Annie
prayed often in her behalf.
NOTE This chapter has some historic basis. The man called "Vight" is
not altogether an imaginary character, for a desperate and successful counter
feiter dwelt for a time among the mountains on the Hudson, plying his nefari
ous trade. It is said that he took life more than once to escape detection.
172 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
CHAPTER XVIII
IN THE DEPTHS
AFTER the departure of their strange guide, who had
befriended them as best she could, Gregory at once
went to the house and knocked. There was a move
ment within, and a quavering voice asked, "Who's there?"
"Friends who have lost their way, and need shelter."
"I don't know about lettin' strangers in this time o 1
night," answered the voice.
"There are only two of us," said Annie. "Perhaps you
know who Miss Walton is. I entreat you to let us in. ' '
"Miss Walton, Miss Walton, sartin, I know who she is.
But I can't believe she's here."
"Our wagon broke down this afternoon, and we have lost
our way," explained Gregory.
Again there was a stir inside, and soon a glimmer of
light. After a few moments the door was opened slightly,
and a woman's voice asked, apprehensively, "Be you sure
it's Miss Walton?"
"Yes," said Annie, "you need have no fears. Hold the
light, and see for yourself. ' '
This the woman did, and, apparently satisfied, gave them
admittance at once.
She seemed quite aged, and a few gray locks straggled
out from under her dingy cap, which suggested anything
but a halo around her wrinkled, withered face. A ragged
calico wrapper incased her tall, gaunt form, and altogether
she did not make a promising hostess.
Before she could ask her unexpected guests any further
IN THE DEPTHS 173
questions, the cry of a whippoorwill was again heard three
times. She listened with a startled, frightened manner.
The sounds were repeated, and she seemed satisfied:
"Isn't it rather late in the season for whippoorwills ?"
asked Annie, uneasily, for this bird's note, now heard again,
seemed like a signal.
"Idunno nothin' about whippoorwills," said the woman,
stolidly. "The pesky bird kind o' started me at first. Don't
like to hear 'em round. They bring bad luck. I can't do
much for you, Miss Walton, in this poor place. But such
as 'tis you're welcome to stay. My son has been off haulin 1
wood; guess he won't be back now afore to-morrow."
"When do you think he will come?" asked Annie,
anxiously.
"Well, not much afore night, I guess."
"What will my poor father do?" moaned Annie. "He
will be out all night looking for us."
"Sure now, will he though?" said the woman, showing
some traces of anxiety herself. "Well, miss, you'll have to
stay till my son gits back, for it's a long way round through
the valley to your house."
There was nothing to do but wait patiently till morning.
The woman showed Gregory up into a loft over the one
room of the house, saying, "Here's where my son sleeps.
It's the best I can do, though I s'pose you ain't used to
such beds. ' '
He threw his exhausted form on the wretched couch, and
soon found respite in troubled sleep.
Annie dozed away the night in a creaky old rocking-
chair, the nearest approach to a thing of comfort that the
hovel contained. The old woman had evidently been so
"started" that she needed the sedative of a short clay pipe,
highly colored indeed, still a connoisseur in meerschaums
would scarcely covet it. This she would remove from her
mouth now and then, as she crouched on a low stool in the
chimney-corner, to shake her head ominously. Perhaps she
knew more about whippoorwills than she admitted. At last
174 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
it seemed that the fumes, which half strangled Annie, had
their wonted effect, and she hobbled to her bed and was
soon giving discordant evidence of her peace. Annie then
noiselessly opened a window, that she too might breathe.
When Gregory waked next morning, it was broad day.
He felt so stiff and ill he could scarcely move, and with
difficulty made his way to the room below. The old woman
was at the stove, frying some sputtering pork, and its rank
odor was most repulsive to the fastidious habitue" of metro
politan clubs.
"Where is Miss Walton?" he asked, in quick alarm.
"Only gone to the spring after water," replied the
woman, shortly. "Why didn't you git up and git it for
her?"
"I would if I had known," he muttered, and he escaped
from the intolerable air of the room to the door, where he
met Annie, fresh and rosy from her morning walk and her
toilet at the brook that brawled down the ravine.
"Mr. Gregory, you are certainly ill," she exclaimed. "I
am so sorry it has all happened!"
He looked at her wonderingly, and then said, "You ap
pear as if nothing had happened. I am ill, Miss Walton,
and I wish I were dead. You can not feel toward me half
the contempt I have for myself. ' '
"Now, honestly, Mr. Gregory, I have no contempt for
you at all."
He turned away and shook his head dejectedly.
"But I mean what I say," she continued, earnestly.
"Then it is your goodness, and not my desert."
"As I told you last night, so again I sincerely say, I
think 1 understand you better than you do yourself. ' '
"You are mistaken," he answered, with gloomy empha
sis. "Your intuitions are quick, I admit. I have never
known your equal in that respect. But there are some
things I am glad to think you never can understand. You
can never know what a proud man suffers when he has
utterly lost hope and self-respect. Though I acted so mean
IN THE DEPTHS 175
a part myself, I can still appreciate your nobleness, cour
age, and fidelity to conscience. I thought such heroism
belonged only to the past."
"Mr. Gregory, I wish I could make you understand
me," said Annie, with real distress in her tone. "I am
not brave; I was more afraid than you. Indeed, I was in
an agony of fear. I refused that man's demand because
I was compelled to. If you looked at things as I do, you
would have done the same. ' '
"Please say no more, Miss Walton," said he, his face
distorted by an expression of intense self-loathing. "Do
not try to palliate my course. I would much rather you
would call my cowardly selfishness and lack of principle by
their right names. The best thing I can do for the world
is to get out of it, and from present feelings, this 'good-
riddance' will soon occur. Will you excuse me if I sit
down?" and he sank upon the door-step in utter weakness.
Annie had placed her pail of water on the door-step and
forgotten it in her wish to cheer and help this bitterly
wounded spirit.
"Mr. Gregory," she said, earnestly, "you are indeed ill
in body and mind, and you take a wrong and morbid view
of everything. My heart aches to show you how complete
and perfect a remedy there is for all this. It almost seems
as if you were dying from thirst with that brook yonder
running "
"There is no remedy for me," interrupted he, almost
harshly. Then he added in a weary tone, pressing his hand
on his throbbing brow, "Forgive me, Miss Walton; you see
what I am. Please waste no more thought on me."
"If yer want any breakfast to-day, yer better bring that
water," called the old woman from within.
Annie gave him a troubled, anxious look, and then
silently carried in the pail.
"Have you any tea?" she asked, not liking the odor
of the coffee.
"Mighty little," was the short answer.
176 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
"Please let me have some, and I will send you a pound
of our best in its place, ' ' said Annie.
"1 hain't such a fool as to lose that bargain," and the
old woman hobbled with alacrity to a cupboard; but to
Annie's dismay the hidden treasure had been hoarded too
near the even more prized tobacco, and seemed redolent of
the rank odor of some unsavory preparation of that remark
able weed which is conjured into so many and such diverse
forms. But she brewed a little as best she could before eat
ing any breakfast herself, and brought it to Gregory as he
still sat on the step, leaning against the door-post.
"Please swallow this as medicine," she said.
"Indeed, Miss Walton, I cannot," he replied.
"Please do," she urged, "as a favor to me. I made it
myself; and I can't eat any breakfast till I have seen you
take this. ' '
He at once complied, though with a wry face.
"There," said she, with a touch of playfulness, "I have
seldom received a stronger compliment. After this compli
ance I think I could venture to ask anything of you."
' ' The tea is like myself, ' ' he answered. ' ' You brought
to it skilled hands and pure spring water, and yet, from the
nature of the thing itself, it was a villanous compound.
Please don't ask me to take any more. Perhaps you have
heard an old saying, 'Like dislikes like.' "
She determined that he should not yield to this morbid
despondency, but had too much tact to argue with him;
therefore she said, kindly, "We never did agree very well,
Mr. Gregory, and don't now. But before many hours I
hope I can give you a cup of tea and something with
it more to your taste. I must admit that I am ready even
for this dreadful breakfast, that threatens to destroy my
powers of digestion in one fatal hour. You see what a
poor subject I am for romance;" and she smilingly turned
away to a meal that gave her a glimpse of how the "other
half of the world lives."
Before she had finished, the sound of wheels and horses'
IN THE DEPTHS 177
hoofs coming rapidly up the glen brought her to the door,
and with joy she recognized a near neighbor of her father's,
a sturdy, kind-hearted farmer, who had joined in the search
for the missing ones the moment he learned, in the dawn
of that morning, that they had not returned.
He gave a glad shout as he saw Annie's form in the
doorway, and to her his broad, honest face was like that
of an angel. All are beautiful to those they help.
"Your father is in a dreadful state, Miss Annie," said
Farmer Jones; "but I told him if he would only stay at
home and wait, I, and a few other neighbors, would soon
find you. He was up at the foot of the mountain ever
since twelve o'clock last night. Then he came home to
see if you hadn't returned some other way. I'm usually
out as soon as it's light, so I hailed him as he passed and
asked what on earth he was up for at that time of day.
He told me his trouble, so I hitched up my light wagon
and got to your house as soon as he did. When he found
you hadn't come yet, he was for starting right for the moun
tains, but I saw he wasn't fit, so I says, 'Mr. Walton, you'll
just miss 'em. They've taken a wrong road, or the wagon
has broken down, but they'll be home before ten o'clock.
Now send Jeff up the road you expected them on. I'll
send Mr. Harris, who lives just beyond me, out on the
road they took first. My horse is fast, and I'll go round
up this valley, and in this way we'll soon scour every
road; 7 and so with much coaxing I got him to promise
to stay till I returned. So jump in quick, and I'll have you
home in little over an hour."
"But we can't leave Mr. Gregory here. Let him go first.
He is ill, and needs attention immediately."
"Miss Walton, please return at once to your father,"
said Gregory, quickly. "It is your duty. lean wait."
"No, Mr. Gregory, it would not be right to leave you
here, feeling as you do. As soon as father knows I am safe
his mind will be at rest. I am perfectly well, and you have
no idea how ill you look."
178 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
"Miss Walton," said Gregory, in a tone that was almost
harsh in its decisiveness, "I will not return now."
"I am real sorry," said Mr. Jones, "that my wagon is
not larger, but I took the best thing that I had for fast driv
ing over rough roads. Come, Miss Walton, your friend has
settled it, and if he is sick he had better come more slowly
in an easier carriage."
After cordially thanking the old woman for such rude
hospitality as she had bestowed, and renewing her promise
to send ample recompense, she turned with gentle courtesy to
Gregory and assured him that he would not have long to wait.
He gave her a quick, searching look, and said, "Miss
Walton, I do not understand how you can speak to me
in this way. But go at once. Do not keep your father
in suspense any longer."
"I hope we shall find you better when we come for you,"
she said, kindly.
"It were better if you found me dead," he said, in sud
den harshness, but it was toward himself, not her.
So she understood it, and waving her hand encourag
ingly, was rapidly driven away.
As they rode along she related to Mr. Jones the events
already known to the reader, but carefully shielded Gregory
from blame. She also satisfied her companion's evident
curiosity about the young man by stating so frankly all
it was proper for him to know that he had no suspicion
of anything concealed. She explained his last and unusual
expression by dwelling with truth on the fact that Gregory
appeared seriously ill and was deeply depressed in spirits.
Mr. Walton received his daughter with a joy beyond
words. She was the idol of his heart the one object on
earth that almost rivalled his "treasures in heaven." His
mind had dwelt in agonized suspense on a thousand possi
bilities of evil during the prolonged hours of her absence,
and now that he clasped her again, and was assured of her
safety, he lifted his eyes heavenward with overflowing
gratitude in his heart.
IN THE DEPTHS 179
But Annie's success in keeping up before him was brief.
The strain had been a little too severe. She soon gave way
to nervous prostration and headache, and was compelled to
retire to her room instead of returning for Gregory as she
had intended. But he was promptly sent for, Miss Eulie
going in her place, and taking every appliance possible for
his comfort.
She found him in Mrs. Tompkins's hovel, sitting in the
creaky arm-chair that Annie had occupied the night before,
and enduring with a white, grim face the increasing suffer
ing of his illness. He seemed to have reached the depths
of despair, and, believing the end near, determined to meet
it with more than Indian stoicism.
Many, in their suicidal blindness and remorse, pass sen
tence upon themselves, and weakly deliver their souls into
the keeping of that inexorable jailer, Despair, forgetting
the possibilities nay, certainties of good that ever dwell
in God. If man had no better friend than himself, his
prospects would be sombre indeed. Many a one has con
demned himself and sunk into the apathy of death, but He
who came to seek and to save the lost has lifted him with
the arms of forgiving love, and helped him back to the
safety and happiness of the fold. Satan only, never the
/Saviour, bids the sinner despair.
But poor Gregory was taking advice from his enemy
and not from his Friend. During the long hours of pain
and almost mortal weakness of that dreary morning, he
acknowledged himself vanquished utterly defeated in the
battle of life. As old monkish legends teach, the devil might
have carried him off bodily and he would not have resisted.
In his prostrated nature, but one element of strength was
apparent a perverted pride that rose like a shattered, black
ened shaft, the one prominent relic of seemingly utter
ruin.
At first he coldly declined the cordial and nourishment
Miss Eulie brought, and said, with a quietness that did not
comport with the meaning of his words, that she had better
180 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
leave him to himself, for he would not make trouble for any
one much longer.
Miss Eulie was shocked, finding in these words and in his
general appearance proof that he was more seriously ill than
she had anticipated.
He was indeed ; but his malady was rather that of a mor
bid mind depressing an enfeebled body than actual disease.
But mental distress could speedily kill a man like Gregory.
Miss Eulie soon brought him to terms by saying, "Mr.
Gregory, you see I am alone. Mr. Walton was too ex
hausted to accompany me, and Annie did not send any
of the neighbors, as she thought the presence of strangers
would be irksome to you. ' '
"She said she would come herself, but she has had time
to think and judge me rightly," muttered he, interrupting
her.
"No, Mr. Gregory," Miss Eulie hastened to say; "you
do her wrong. She was too ill to come, as she intended
and wished to do, and so with many anxious charges sent
me in her place. I am but a woman, and dependent on
your courtesy. I cannot compel you to go with me. But
I am sure you will not wrong my brother's hospitality, and
make Miss Walton's passing indisposition serious, by refus
ing to come with me. If you did she would rise from her
sick bed and come herself. ' '
Gregory at once rose and said, "I can make no excuse
for myself. I seem fated to do and say the worst things
possible under the circumstances."
"You are ill," said Miss Eulie, kindly, as if that ex
plained everything.
Declining aid, he tottered to the carriage, into which
Jeff, with some curious surmises, helped him.
Miss Eulie made good Annie's promises to Mrs. Tomp-
kins fourfold, and left the shrivelled dame with a large
supply of one of the elements of her heaven tea, and with
the means of purchasing the other tobacco, besides more
substantial additions to the old woman's meagre larder.
IN THE DEPTHS 181
Gregory was averse to conversation during the long, slow
ride. The jolting, even of the easy cushioned carriage, was
exceedingly painful, and by the time they reached home he
was quite exhausted. Leaning on Mr. Walton's arm he at
once went to his room, and at their urgent entreaties forced
himself to take a little of the dainty supper that was forth
coming. But their kindly solicitude was courteously but
coldly repelled. Acting reluctantly upon his plainly mani
fested wish, they soon left him to himself, as after his first
eager inquiry concerning Miss Walton it seemed a source
of pain to him to see or speak to any one.
At first his arm-chair and the cheery wood-fire formed a
pale reflection of something like comfort, but every bone in
his body ached from the recent cold he had taken. He had
just fever enough to increase the distortion of the images of
his morbid and excited mind. Hour after hour he sat with
grim white face and fixed stare, scourging himself with the
triple scorpion-whip of remorse, vain regret, and self-dis
gust. But an old and terrible enemy was stealing on him
to change the nature of his torment neuralgic headache;
and before morning he was walking the floor in agony, a
sad type, while the world slept and nature rested, of that
large class, all whose relations, physical and moral, are a
jangling discord.
182 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
CHAPTER XIX
MISS WALTON MADE OF DIFFERENT CLAY FROM OTHERS
SIMPLE remedies and prolonged rest were sufficient to
restore Annie after the serious shock and strain she
had sustained. She rose even earlier than usual, and
hastily dressed that she might resume her wonted place as
mistress of her father's household. In view of her recent
peril and the remediless loss he might have suffered, she
was doubly grateful for the privilege of ministering to his
wants and filling his declining years with cheer and comfort.
She had not been awake long before Gregory's irregular
steps in the adjoining room aroused her attention and caused
anxious surmises. But she was inclined to think that his
restless resulted from mental distress rather than physical.
Still she did not pity him less, but rather more. Though so
young, she knew that the "wounded spirit" often inflicts
the keener agony. Her strong womanly nature was deeply
moved in his behalf. As we have seen, it was her disposi
tion to be helpful and sustaining, rather than clinging and
dependent. She had a heart "at leisure from itself, to
soothe and sympathize." From the depths of her soul
she pitied Gregory and wished to help him out of a state
which the psalmist with quaint force describes as "a hor
rible pit and the miry clay."
She was a very practical reformer, and determined t,hat
a dainty breakfast should minister to the outer man before
she sought to apply a subtler balm to the inner. Trusting
not even to Zibbie's established skill, she prepared with
her own hands some inviting delicacies, and soon that
OF DIFFERENT CLAY 183
which might have tempted the most exacting of epicures
was ready.
Mr. Walton shared the delight of the children at seeing
Annie bustling round again as the good genius of their home,
and Miss Eulie's little sighs of content were as frequent as
the ripples on the shore. Miss Eulie could sigh and wipe
a tear from the corner of her eye in the most cheerful and
hope-inspiring way, for somehow her face shone with an in
ward radiance, and, even in the midst of sorrow and when
wet with tears, reminded one of a lantern on a stormy night,
which, covered with rain-drops, still gives light and comfort.
Breakfast was ready, but Gregory did not appear. Han
nah, the waitress, was sent to his room, and in response to
her quiet knock he said, sharply, "Well?"
' ' Breakfast is waiting. ' '
"I do not wish any," was the answer, in a tone that
seemed resentful, but was only an expression of the intol
erable pain he was suffering. Hannah came down with a
scared look and said she "guessed something was amiss
with Mr. Gregory."
Annie looked significantly at her father, who immedi
ately ascended to his guest's door.
"Mr. Gregory, may I come in?" he asked.
"Do not trouble yourself. I shall be better soon," was
the response.
The door was unlocked, and Mr. Walton entered, and
saw at once that a gentle but strong will must control the
sufferer for his own good. Mental and nervous excitement
had driven him close to the line where reason and his own
will wavered in their decisions, and his irregular, tottering
steps became the type of the whole man. His eyes were
wild and bloodshot. A ghastly pallor gave his haggard
face the look of death. A damp chlllness pervaded the
heavy air of the room, which in his unrest he had greatly
disordered. The fire had died out, and he had not even
tried to kindle it again. His broodings had been so deep
and painful during the earlier part of the night that he had
184 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
been oblivious of his surroundings, and then physical an
guish became so sharp that all small elements of discomfort
were unnoted.
With fatherly solicitude Mr. Walton stepped up to his
guest, who stood staring at him as if he were an intruder,
and taking his cold hand, said, "Mr. Gregory, you must
come with me."
"Where?"
"To the sitting-room, where we can take care of you and
relieve you. Come, I'm your physician for the time being,
and doctors must be obeyed. ' '
Gregory had not undressed the night before, and, wrapped
in his rich dressing-gown and with dishevelled hair, he me
chanically followed his host to the room below and was
placed on the lounge.
"Annie has prepared you a nice little breakfast. Won't
you let me bring it to you ?' ' said Mr. Walton, cheerily.
"No," said Gregory, abruptly, and pressing his hands
upon his throbbing temples, "the very thought of eating is
horrible. Please leave me. Indeed I cannot endure even
your kindly presence."
Mr. Walton looked perplexed and scarcely knew what to
do, but after a moment said, "Eeally, Mr. Gregory, you are
very ill. I think I had better send for our physician at
once."
"I insist that you do not," said his guest, starting up.
"What could a stupid country doctor do for me, with his
owl-like examination of my tongue and clammy fingering
of my pulse, but drive me mad? I must be alone."
"Father," said Annie, in a firm and quiet voice, "I will
be both nurse and physician to Mr. Gregory this morning.
If I fail, you may send for a doctor."
Unperceived she had entered, and from Gregory's man
ner and words understood his condition.
"Miss Walton," said Gregory, hastily, "I give you warn
ing. I am not even the poor weak self you have known be
fore, and I beg you leave me till this nervous headache passes
OF DIFFERENT CLAY 186
ofi, if it ever does. I can't control myself at such times, and
this is the worst attack I ever had. I am low enough in
your esteem. Do not add to my pain by being present now
at the time of my greatest weakness."
"Mr. Gregory," she replied, "you may speak and act
your worst, but you shall not escape me this morning. It's
woman's place to remove pain, not fly from it. So you
must submit with the best grace you can. If after I have
done all in my power you prefer the doctor and another
nurse, I will give way, but now you have no choice."
Gregory fell back on the sofa with a groan and a mut
tered oath. At a sign from his daughter, Mr. Walton re
luctantly and doubtfully passed through the open door into
the parlor, where he was joined by Miss Eulie.
Annie quietly stepped to the hearth and stirred the fire
to a cheerful blaze. She then went to the parlor and brought
the afghan, and without so much as saying, "by your leave,"
spread it over his chilled form.
Gregory felt himself helpless, but there was something
soothing in this assertion of her strong will, and like a sick
child he was better the moment he ceased to chafe and
struggle.
She left the room a few moments, and even between the
surges of paid he was curious as to what she would do next.
He soon learned with a thrill of hope that he was to experi
ence the magnetism of her touch, and to know the power of
the hand that had seemed alive in his grasp on the day of
their chestnutting expedition. Annie returned with a quaint
little bottle of German cologne, and, taking a seat quietly by
his side, began bathing his aching temples.
"You treat me like a child," he said, petulantly.
"I hope for a while you will be content to act like one,"
she replied.
"I may, like a very bad one."
"No matter," she said, with a laugh that was the very
antidote of morbidness; "I am accustomed to manage chil
dren."
186 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
But in a very brief time he had no disposition to shrink
from her touch or presence. Her hand upon his brow seemed
to communicate her own strong, restful life; his temples
throbbed less and less violently. Silent and wondering he
lay very still, conscious that by some subtle power she was
exorcising the demons of pain. His hurried breathing be
came regular; his hands unclinched; his form, which had
been tense and rigid, relaxed into a position of comfort.
He felt that he was under some beneficent spell, and for
an hour scarcely moved lest he should break it and his
torment return. Annie was equally silent, but with a
smile saw the effects of her ministry. At last she looked
into his face, and said, with an arch smile, "Shall I
send for Doctor Bludgeon and Sairy Gamp to take my
place?"
He was very weak and unstrung, and while a tremulous
smile hovered about his mouth, his eyes so moistened that
he turned toward the wall. After a moment he said, "Miss
Walton, I am not worthy of your kindness. ' '
"Nor are you unworthy. But kindness is not a matter
of business so much for so much."
"Why do you waste your time on me?"
"That is a childish question. What a monster I should
be if I heedlessly left you to suffer! The farmers' wives
around would mob me. ' '
"I am very grateful for the relief you are giving me,
even though mere humanity is the motive."
"Mere humanity is not my motive. You are our guest,
the son of my father's dearest friend, and for your own sake
I am deeply interested in you."
"Miss Walton, I know in the depths of your soul you
are disgusted with me. You seek to apply those words to
my spirit as you do cologne to my head."
"I beg your pardon. It is not the cologne only that re
lieves your headache."
"I know that well. It is your touch, which seems
magical."
OF DIFFERENT CLAY 187
"Well then, you should know from my touch that I am
not sitting here telling fibs. If I should bathe your head
with a wooden hand, wouldn't you know it?"
"What an odd simile ! I cannot understand you. "
"It is not necessary that you should, but do not wrong
me by doubting me again. ' '
"I have done nothing but wrong you, Miss Walton."
"I'm not conscious of it, so you needn't worry, and I as
sure you I find it a pleasure to do you good. ' '
"Miss Walton, you are the essence of goodness."
"Oh, no, no; why say of a creature what is only true of
God? Mr. Gregory, you are very extravagant in your lan
guage."
A scowl darkened his face, and he said, moodily, "God
seems to me the essence of cruelty."
" 'Seems, seems!' An hour since I seemed a torment,
and you were driving me away."
"Yes, but you soon proved yourself a kind, helpful,
pitiful friend. I once thought my cheek would flame with
anger even if I were dying, should I be regarded as an ob
ject of pity. But you, better than any one, know that I am
one."
"I, better than any one, know that you are not, in the
sense you mean."
"Come, Miss Walton, you cannot be sincere now. Do
you think I can ever forget the miserable scene of Monday
evening, when you placed yourself beside the martyrs and I
sank down among the cowards of any age ? I reached the
bottom of the only perdition I believe in. I have lost my
self-respect."
"Which I trust God will help you regain by showing you
the only sure and safe ground on which self-respect can be
maintained. Much that is called self-respect is nothing but
pride. But, Mr. Gregory, injustice to one's self is as wrong
as injustice to another. Answer me honestly this question.
Did you act that evening only from fear because you hava
it not in you to face danger ? or did you promise secrecy
188 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
because you felt the man's crime was none of your business,
and supposed I would take the same view ?' '
Gregory started up and looked at her with a face all
aglow with honest, grateful feeling, and said, "God knows
the latter is the truth."
"And I know it too. I knew it then."
"But the world could never be made to see it in that
light."
"Now pride speaks. Self-respect does not depend upon
the opinion of the world. The world has nothing to do with
the matter. You certainly do not expect J am going to mis
represent you before it."
He bent a look upon her such as she had never, sustained-
before. It was the look of a man who had discovered some
thing divine and precious beyond words. It was a feeling
such as might thrill one who was struggling in darkness,
and, as he supposed, sinking in the deep sea, but whose
feet touched something which seemed to sustain him. The
thought, "I can trust her she is true," came to him at
that time with such a blessed power to inspire hope and
give relief that for a moment he could not speak. Then he
began, "Miss Walton, I cannot find words "
"Do not find them," she interrupted, laughingly. "See,
your temples are beginning to throb again, and I am a sorry
nurse, a true disciple of Mrs. Gamp, to let you excite your
self. Lie down, sir, at once, and let your thoughts dwell
the next half-hour on your breakfast. You have much
reason for regret that the dainty little tidbits that I first
prepared are spoiled by this time. I doubt whether I can
do so well again. ' '
"I do not wish any breakfast. Please do not leave
me yet."
"It makes no difference what you wish. The idea of an
orthodox physician consulting the wishes of his patient!
My practical skill sees your need of breakfast."
"Have you had any yourself?" lie asked, again starting
up, and looking searchingly at her.
OF DIFFERENT CLAY 189
"Well, I have had a cup of coffee," she replied, color
ing a little.
"What a brute I am !" he groaned.
"In that charge upon yourself you strongly assert the
possession of an animal nature, and therefore of course the
need of a breakfast."
"May I be choked by the first mouthful if I touch any
thing before I know you have had your own."
"What an awful abjuration! How can you swear so be
fore a lady, Mr. Gregory?"
"No, it is a solemn vow."
"Then I must take my breakfast with you, for with your
disposition to doubt I don't see how you can 'know' any
thing about it otherwise."
"That is better than I hoped. I will eat anything you
bring on those conditions, if it does choke me and I know
it will."
"A fine compliment to my cooking, " she retorted and
laughingly left the room.
Gregory could not believe himself the haggard wretch
that Mr. Walton had found two hours since. Then he was
ready to welcome death as a deliverer. Insane man ! As if
death ever delivered any from evil but the good! But so
potent had been the sweet wine of Annie's ministry that
his chilled and benumbed heart was beginning to glow with
a faint warmth of hope and comfort. Morbidness could no
more exist in her presence than shadows on the sunny side
of trees. With her full knowledge of the immediate cause
of his suffering, and with her unusual tact, she had applied
balm to body and spirit at the same time. The sharp, cut
ting agony in his head had been charmed away. The par
oxysm had passed, and the dull ache that remained seemed
nothing in comparison merely the heavy swell of the de
parted storm.
He forgot himself, the source of all his trouble, in think
ing about Miss Walton. The plain girl, as he had at first
regarded her, with a weak, untried character that he had
190 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
expected to topple over by the breath of a little flattery,
now seemed divinely beautiful and strong. She reminded
him of the graceful, symmetrical elm, which, though bend
ing to the tempest, is rarely broken or uprooted.
He hardly hoped that she would give him credit for the
real state of his mind which had led to his ready promise
of secrecy. To the counterfeiter's wretched companion he
had seemed the weakest and meanest of cowards, and if the
story were generally known he would appear in the same
light to the world. To his intensely proud nature this would
be intolerable. And why should it not be known ? If Miss
Walton chose to regard his choice as one of cowardice, how
could he prove, even to her, that it was not ?
Moreover, his low estimate of human nature led him to
believe that even Annie would use him as a dark back
ground for her heroism; and he well knew that when such
a story is once started, society's strongest tendency is to
exaggerate man's pusillanimity and woman's courage. He
shuddered as he saw himself growing blacker and meaner
in every fireside and street corner narration of the strange
tale, till at last his infamy should pass into one of the tradi
tions of the place. A man like Gregory could not long have
endured such a prospect. He would have died, either by
every physical power speedily giving way under mental
anguish, or by his own hand; or, if he had lived, reason
would have dropped its sceptre and become the sport of
wild thoughts and fancies.
Little wonder that Annie appeared an angel of light
when she stood between him and such a future. The ugli
est hag would have been glorified and loved in the same
position. But when she did this with her own peculiar
grace and tact, as a matter of justice, his gratitude and ad
miration knew no bounds. He was in a fair way to become
an idolater and worship the country girl he had once sneered
at, as no pictured Madonna was ever revered even in super
stitious Italy. Besides placing him under personal obliga
tion, she had, by tests certain and terrible, proved herself
OF DIFFERENT CLAY 191
true and strong in a world that lie believed to be, in the
main, utterly false at heart. It is one of our most natural
instincts to trust and lean upon something, and Annie Wal
ton seemed one whose friendship he could value above life.
He did not even then realize, in his glad sense of relief,
that in escaping the charge of cowardice he fell upon the
other horn of the dilemma, namely, lack of principle that
the best explanation of his conduct admitted that he was
indifferent to right and wrong, and even to the most serious
crime against society, so long as he was not personally and im
mediately injured. He had acted on the selfish creed that a
man is a fool who puts himself to serious trouble to serve
the public. The fact that he did not even dream that Annie
would make the noble stand she did proves how far selfish
ness can take a man out of his true course when he throws
overboard compass and chart and lets himself drift.
But in the world's code (which was his) cowardice is the
one deadly sin. His lack of anything like Christian prin
ciple was a familiar fact to him, and did not hurt him among
those with whom he associated.
Even Annie, woman-like, could more readily forgive all
his faults than a display of that weakness which is most
despised in a man. But she too was sufficiently familiar
with the world not to be repelled or shocked by a life
which, compared with all true, noble standards, was sadly
lacking. And yet she was the very last one to be dazzled
by a fast, brilliant man of the world. She had been too well
educated for that, and had been early taught to distinguish
between solid worth and mere tinsel. Her native powers of
observation were strong, and her father, and mother also
before she died, had given her opportunities for exercis
ing them. Instead of mere assertions as to what was
right and wrong and general lecturing on the subject,
they had aimed to show her right and wrong embodied in
human lives. They made her feel that God wanted her to
do right for the same reason that they did, because He loved
her. First in Bible narrative told in bedtime stories, then
192 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
in history and biography, and finally in the experience of
those around them, she had been shown the happy contrast
of good, God- pleasing life with that which is selfish and
wicked. So thorough and practical had been the teaching
in this respect, and so impressed was she by the lesson,
that she would as soon have planted in her flower-bed the
seeds of tender annuals on the eve of autumn frosts, and ex
pected bloom in chill December, as to enter upon a course
that God frowns upon, and look for happiness. Her father
often said, "A human being opposing God's will is like a
ship beating against wind and tide to certain wreck."
An evil life appeared therefore to her a moral madness,
under the malign influence of which people were like the
mentally deranged who with strange perversity hate their
best friends and cunningly watch for chances of self -detrac
tion. While on one hand she shrunk from them with some
thing of the repulsion which many feel toward the unsound
in mind, on the other she cherished the deepest pity for
them. Knowing how full a remedy ever exists in Him
whose word and touch removed humanity's most desperate
ills, it was her constant wish and effort to lead as many as
possible to this Divine Friend. If she had been like many
sincere but selfish religionists, she would have said of
Gregory, "He is not congenial. We have nothing in com
mon," and, wrapped in her own spiritual pleasures and
pursuits, would have shunned, ignored, and forgotten him.
But she chiefly saw his pressing need of help, and said to
herself, "If I would be like my Master, I must help him."
Gregory at first had looked upon himself as immeasur
ably superior to the plain country girl. He little imagined
that she at the same time had a profound pity for him, and
that this fact would become his best chance for life. She
had not forgotten the merciful conspiracy entered into the
second evening after his arrival, but was earnestly seeking
to carry out its purposes. In order to do this, she was anx
ious to gain his good- will and confidence, and now saw with
gratitude that their adventure on the mountain, that had
OF DIFFERENT CLAY 193
threatened to end in death, might be the beginning of a new
and happy life. She exulted over the hold she had gained
upon him, not as the selfish gloat over one within their
power, whom they can use for personal ends not as the
coquette smiles when another human victim is laid upon
the altar of her vanity, bat as the angels of heaven rejoice
when there is even a chance of one sinner's repentance.
And yet Annie had no intention of "talking religion"
to him in any formal way, save as the subject came up nat
urally; but she hoped to live it, and suggest it to him in
such an attractive form that he would desire it for his own
sake.
But her chief hope was in the fact that she prayed for
him; and she no more expected to be unheard and un
answered than that her kind father would listen with a
stony face to some earnest request of hers.
But Annie was not one to go solemnly to work to com
pass an event that would cause joy in heaven. She would
ask one to be a Christian as she would invite a captive to
leave his dungeon, or tell the sick how to be well. She
saw that morbid gloom had become almost a disease with
Gregory, and she proposed to cure him with sunshine.
And sunshine embodied she seemed to him as she re
turned, her face glowing with exercise and close acquaint
ance with the kitchen-range. In each hand she carried a
dish, while Hannah followed with a tray on which smoked
the most appetizing of breakfasts.
"Your rash vow," she said, "has caused you long wait
ing. I'm none of your ethereal heroines, but have a crav
ing for solids served in quantity and variety. And while
I could have soon got your breakfast it was no bagatelle
to get mine. ' '
How fresh and bright she looked saying all this! and he
ejaculated, "Deliver me from the ghastly creatures you call
'ethereal heroines.' '
"Indeed, sir," she retorted, "if you can't deliver your
self from them you shall have no help from me. But let us
ROE IV 9 *
194 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
at once enter upon the solemnities, and as you have a spark
of gallantry, see to it that you pay my cookery proper
compliment."
"Your 'cookery,' forsooth!" said he, with something of
her own light tone. "That I should find Miss Walton steal
ing Zibbie's laurels!"
"Chuckle when you find her doing it. Hannah, who
prepared this breakfast?"
' ' Yourself, miss, ' ' answered the woman, with an admir
ing grin.
"That will do, Hannah; we will wait upon ourselves.
Shame on you, sir! You are no connoisseur, since you
cannot tell a lady's work from a kitchen-maid's. More
over, you have shown that wretched doubting disposition
again."
Now that they were alone, Gregory said, earnestly, "I
shall never doubt you again."
"I hope you never will doubt that I wish to do you
good, Mr. Gregory," she replied, passing him a cup of tea.
"You have done me more good in a few brief hours than
I ever hoped to receive. Miss Walton, how can I repay
you?"
"By being a better friend to yourself. Commence by
eating this."
He did not find it very difficult to comply. After a little
time he said, "But my conscience condemns me for caring
too much for myself. ' '
"And no doubt your conscience is right. The idea of
being a friend to yourself and going against your con
science!"
"Then I have ever been my own worst enemy."
"I can believe that, and so you'll continue to be if you
don't take another piece of toast."
"And yet there has always seemed a fatal necessity for
me to do wrong and go wrong. Miss Walton, you are made
of different clay from me and most people that I know.
It is your nature to be good and noble."
OF DIFFERENT CLAY 195
"Nonsense!" said Annie, with a positive frown. "Dif
ferent clay indeed ! I imagine you do wrong for the same
reason that I do, because you wish to; and you fail in doing
right because you have nothing but your weak human will
to keep you up."
"And what keeps you up, pray?"
"Can you even suppose that I or any one can be a
Christian without Christ?"
He gave one of his incredulous shrugs.
"Now what may that mean ?" she asked.
"Pardon me if I say that I think yours is a pretty and
harmless superstition. This world is one of inexorable law
and necessity down to the minutest thing. A weed is always
a weed. A rose is always a rose. It's my misfortune to be
a weed. It's your good fortune to be a rose."
Annie looked as if she might become a briery one at that
moment, for this direct style of compliment, though honest,
was not agreeable. Conscious of many struggles with evil,
it was even painful, for it did her injustice in two aspects
of the case. So she said, dryly, "What an automaton you
make me out to be!"
"How so?"
"If I merely do right as the rose grows, I deserve no
credit. I'm but little better than a machine."
"Not at all. I compared you to something that has a
beautiful life of its own. But I would willingly be a ma
chine, and a very angular, uncouth one too, if some outside
power would only work me right and to some purpose. ' '
"Such talk seems to me idle, Mr. Gregory. I know that
I have to try very hard to do right, and I often fail. I do
not believe that our very existence begins in a lie, as it
were, for from earliest years conscience tells us that we
needn't do wrong and ought not to. Honestly now, isn't
this true of your conscience?"
"But my reason concludes otherwise, and reason is
above conscience above everything, and one must abide
by its decisions."
196 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
For a moment Annie did not know how to answer.
She was not versed in theology and metaphysics, but she
knew he was wrong. Therefore she covered her confusion
by quietly pouring him out another cup of tea, and then
said, "Even my slight knowledge of the past has taught
me how many absurd and monstrous things can be done
and said in the name of reason. Eeligion is a matter of
revelation and experience. But it is not contrary to
reason, certainly not to mine. If your reason should
conclude that this tea is not hot, what difference would
that make to me? My religion is a matter of fact, of
vivid consciousness."
"Of course it is. It's your life, your nature, just as in
my nature there is nothing akin to it. That is why I say
you are made of different clay from myself; and I am very
glad of it," he added with an air of pleasantry which she
saw veiled genuine earnestness, "for I wish you the best
of everything now and always."
Annie felt that she could not argue him out of his folly;
and while she was annoyed, she could not be angry with
him for expressions that were not meant as flattery, but
were rather the strong language of his gratitude. "Time
will cure him of his delusions," she thought, and she said,
lightly, "Mr. Gregory, from certain knowledge of myself
which you cannot have I disclaim all your absurd ideas in
regard to the new-fangled clay of my composition. I know
very well that I am ordinary flesh and blood, a fact that
you will soon find out for yourself. As your physician, I
pronounce that such wild fancies and extravagant language
prove that you are out of your head, and that you need
quieting sleep. I am going to read you the dullest book
in the library as a sedative."
"No, please, sing rather."
"What! after such a breakfast! Do you suppose that I
would ruin the reputation of my voice in one fell moment?
Now what kind of clay led to this remark? Do as your
doctor says. Eecline on the lounge. Close your eyes.
OF DIFFERENT CLAY 197
Here is a treatise on the Nebular Hypothesis that looks
unintelligible enough for our purpose."
"Nebular Hypothesis! Another heavenly experience
such as you are ever giving me."
"Come, Mr. Gregory, punning is a very bad symptom.
You must go to sleep at once." And soon her mellow
voice was finding its way into a labyrinth of hard scientific
terms, as a mountain brook might murmur among the
stones. After a little time she asked of Gregory, whose
eyes remained wide open, "How does it sound?"
"Like the multiplication table set to music."
"Why don't you go to sleep ?"
"I'm trying to solve a little nebular hypothesis of my
own. I was computing how many million belles such as I
know, and how many ages, would be required to condense
them into a woman like yourself. ' '
Annie shut the book with a slam, and with an abrupt,
half- vexed "good- by," left the room. For a brief time
Gregory lay repenting of his disastrous levity, and then
slept.
198 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
CHAPTER XX
MISS WALTON MADE OF ORDINARY CLAY
WHEN Gregory awoke, the sun had sunk behind
the mountains that he could not even look to
ward now without a shudder, and the landscape,
as seen from the window, was growing obscure in the early
dusk of an autumn evening. But had the window opened
on a vista in Paradise he would not have looked without,
for the one object of all the world most attractive to him
was present. Annie sat near the hearth with some light
crochet- work in her hands. She had evidently been out
for a walk, for she was drying her feet on the fender.
How trim and cunning they looked, peeping from under
the white edge of her skirt, and what a pretty picture she
made sitting there in the firelight! The outline of her
figure surely did not suggest the "ethereal heroine," but
rather the presiding genius in a happy home, in which
the element of comfort abounded. She looked as if she
would be a sweet-tempered, helpful companion, in the
every-day cares and duties of a busy life:
"A creature not loo bright or good
For human nature's daily food."
"How dark and lustrous her eyes are in the firelight!"
Gregory thought. "It seems as if another and more genial
fire were burning in them. What can she be thinking of,
that such happy, dreamy smiles are flitting across her face?
If I had such a hearth as that, and such a good angel beside
it to receive me after the day's work was over, I believe I
OF ORDINARY CLAY 199
could become at least a man, if not a Christian;" and he
sighed so deeply that Annie looked hastily up, and encoun
tered his wistful gaze.
"What a profound remark you just made!" she said.
"What could have led to it ?"
"You."
"I do not think that I am an object to sigh over. I'm
perfectly well, I thank you, and have had my dinner. ' '
"You have no idea what a pretty picture you made."
"Yes, in this poor light, and your disordered imagina
tion. But did you sigh on that account?"
"No, but because to me it is only a picture one that
shall have the chief place in the gallery of my memory. In
a few days I shall be in my cheerless bachelor apartments,
with nothing but a dusty register in the place of this home
like hearth."
"Come, Mr. Gregory, you are growing sentimental.
I will go and see if supper is ready."
"Please stay, and I will talk of the multiplication table."
"No, that led to the 'Nebular Hypothesis.' You had
better prepare for supper;" and she vanished.
"It's my fate," he said, rising, "to drive away every
good and pleasant thing."
He went to the fire and stood where she had sat, and
again thought was busy.
"She seems so real and substantial, and yet so intangi
ble ! Her defensive armor is perfect, and I cannot get near
or touch her unless she permits it. The sincerest compli
ment glances off. Out of her kindness she helps me and
goes me good. She bewitches and sways me by her spells,
but I might as well seek to imprison a spirit of the air as to
gain any hold upon her. I wonder whom or what she was
thinking of, that such dreamy, tender smiles should flit
across her face."
How his face would have darkened with wrath and hate,
if he had known that his detestation, Hunting, had inspired
them!
200 . OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
The tea- bell reminded him how time was passing, and
he went to his room with an elastic step that one would
suppose impossible after seeing him in the morning. But,
as is usual with nervous organizations, he sank or rallied
rapidly in accordance with circumstances. When he ap
peared at the table, Mr. Walton could hardly believe his eyes.
"It is again the result of Miss Walton's witchcraft," ex
plained Gregory. "The moment 1 felt her hand upon my
brow, there came a sense of relief. In Italy they would
make a saint of her, and bring out the sick for her to
touch."
"And so soon lose their saint by some contagious dis
ease," said Annie, laughing.
"I* fear, sir, I was very rude to you this morning, but
in truth I was beside myself with pain."
"Annie has a wonderful power of magnetism; I don't
know what else to call it," said Miss Eulie. "She can
drive away one of my headaches quicker than all other
remedies combined."
"You are making out," said Annie, "that my proper
calling is that of a nurse. If you don't change the subject,
I'll leave you all to take care of yourselves, and go down
to Bellevue."
"If you do," laughed Gregory, "I'll break every bone
in my body, and be carried into your ward as a homeless
stranger. ' '
The supper- hour passed away in light and cheerful con
versation. As if by common consent, the scenes on the
mountain were not mentioned in the presence of the chil
dren, and they evidently had had their curiosity satisfied
on the subject.
Annie seemed tired and languid after supper and Miss
Eulie volunteered to see the children safely to their rest.
Mr. Walton insisted that Annie should take his easy-chair,
and Gregory placed a footstool at her feet, and together
they "made a baby of her," she said. The old gentleman
then took his seat, and seemed to find unbounded content
OF ORDINARY CLAY 201
in gazing on his beloved daughter. Their guest appeared
restless and began to pace the room. Suddenly he asked
Mr. Walton, "Have you heard anything of the fugitives?"
"Not a word beyond the fact that they bought tickets
for New York and took the train. I have telegraphed to
the City Police Department, and forwarded the description
of their persons which Annie gave me. Their dwelling has
been examined by a competent person, but evidently he is
an old and experienced criminal and knows how to cover
up his tracks. I think it extremely providential that they
did nothing worse than send you over on the other side of
the mountain in order to clear a way for escape. Such des
perate people often believe only in the silence of death.
They might have caused that dog to tear you to pieces and
have appeared blameless themselves. If caught, only your
testimony could convict them, though I suspect Mrs. Tomp-
kins and her son. Young Tompkins brought them with
their luggage to the depot. He says the man called 'Vight'
met him returring from the delivery of a load of wood, and
engaged his services. As he often does teaming for people
in those back districts his story is plausible; and he swears
he knew nothing against the man. But he is a bad drink
ing fellow, and just the one to become an accomplice in any
rascality. I fear they will all escape us, and yet I am pro
foundly grateful that matters are no worse. ' '
While Mr. Walton was talking, Gregory was looking
intently at Annie. She was conscious of his scrutiny, and
her color rose under it, but she continued to gaze steadily
at the fire.
"And I am going to increase that gratitude a hundred
fold, sir," he said, earnestly.
Annie looked up at him with a startled, deprecatory air.
"No, Miss Walton^" he said, answering her look, "I will
not be silent. While it is due to your generosity that the
world does not hear of your heroism as the story would nat
urally be told, it is your father's right that he should hear
it, and know the priceless jewel that he has in his daughter.
202 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
I know that appearances will be against me. If you can
take her view of the matter, sir, I shall be glad, otherwise
I cannot help it;" and he related the events as they had
actually occurred, softening or palliating his course in not
the slightest degree.
Mr. Walton turned ashen pale as he thus for the first
time learned the desperate nature of his daughter's peril.
Then rising with a sudden impulse of pride and affection
he clasped her in his arms.
Gregory was about to leave the room, when Mr. Wal
ton's voice detained him.
"Do not go, sir. You will pardon a father's weakness."
"Father, I give you my word and honor," cried Annie,
eagerly, "that Mr. Gregory did not act the part of a cow
ard. He scarcely does himself justice in his story. He did
not realize the principle involved, and saw in the promise
he gave the readiest way out of an awkward and dangerous
predicament. He did not think the man's crime was any of
our business "
"There is no need of pleading Mr. Gregory's cause so
earnestly, my dear," interrupted her father. "I think I
understand his course fully, and share your view of it.
I am too well accustomed to the taking of evidence not to
detect the ring of truth. ' '
"I cannot tell you, sir, what a relief it is to me that you
and Miss Walton can judge thus correctly of my action.
This morning and yesterday I believed that you and all
the world would regard me as the meanest of cowards, and
the bitterness of death was in the thought. ' '
"No, sir," said Mr. Walton, kindly but gravely; "your
course did not result from cowardice. But permit an old
man and your father's friend to say that it did result from
the lack of high moral principle. Itg want in this case
might have been fatal, for the world, as you feared, would
scarcely do you justice. Let it be a lesson to you, my dear
young friend, that only the course which is strictly right is
safe, even as far as this world is concerned."
OF ORDINARY CLAY 203
Gregory's face flushed deeply, but he bowed his head in
humility at the rebuke.
"At the same time," continued Mr. Walton, "it was
manly in you to state the case frankly to me as you have
done; for you knew that you might shield yourself behind
Annie's silence."
"It was simply your right to know it," said Gregory, in
a low tone.
After a few moments of musing silence, Annie said,
earnestly, "I do so pity that poor woman!"
"I imagine she is little better than her companion," said
Mr. Walton.
"Indeed she is, father," said Annie, eagerly. "I can
not tell you how I feel for her, and I know from her man
ner and words that her guilty life is a crushing burden. It
must be a terrible thing to a woman capable of good (as she
is), and wishing to live a true life, to be irrevocably bound
to a man utterly bad. ' '
"She is not so bound to him," said her father; "can she
not leave him?"
"Ah! there comes in a mystery," she replied, and the
subject dropped. Soon after, they separated for the night.
But Gregory had much food for painful thought. After
the experience of that day his chief desire was to stand well
in Miss Walton's esteem. And yet how did he stand how
could he stand, being what he was ? He was not conscious
of love for her as yet. He would have been satisfied if she
had said, "I will be your friend in the truest sense of the
word." He had no small vanity, and understood her kind
ness. She was trying to do good to him as she would to
any one else. She was sorry for him as for the wretched
woman who also found an evil life bitter, but she could
never think of him as a dear, congenial, trusted friend.
Even her father, in her presence, had rebuked his lack of
principle, asserting that his nature was like the vile weed;
and this had been proved every day of his visit. If she
should come to know of his purpose and effort to tempt
204 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
her into the display of petty weakness and lack of prin
ciple herself, would she not regard him as "utterly bad,"
and shrink with loathing even from the bonds of friendship ?
He was learning the lesson that wrong sooner or later
will bring its own punishment, and that the little experi
ment upon which he had entered as a relief from ennui
might become the impassable gulf between him and happi
ness; for he knew that, if their relations ever verged to
ward mutual confidence, she would ask questions that would
render lies his only escape. He could not sink to that
resort. It was late before he found in sleep refuge from,
painful thoughts.
The next day he was much alone. The news of their
adventure having got abroad, many because of their sincere
regard for Annie, and not a few out of curiosity, called to
talk the matter over. After meeting one or two of these
parties, and witnessing the modesty and grace with which
Annie satisfied and foiled their curiosity at the same time,
he was glad to escape further company in a long and soli
tary ramble. The air was mild, so that he could take rest
in sunny nooks, and thus he spent most of the day by him
self. His conscience was awakened, and the more pure and
beautiful Annie's character grew in his estimation, the more
dastardly his attempt upon it seemed. Never before had his
evil life appeared so hideous and hateful.
And yet his remorse had nothing in it of true penitence.
It was rather a bitter, impotent revolt at what he regarded
as cruel necessity. Now that he had been forced to aban
don his theory that people are good as they are untempted,
he adopted another, which, if it left him in a miserable pre
dicament, exonerated him from blame. He had stated it to
Annie when he said, ' ' You are made of different clay from
other people." He tried hard to believe this, and partially
succeeded. "It is her nature to be good, and mine to be
evil," he often said to himself that long and lonely day.
"I have had a fatal gravitation toward evil ever since I can
remember. ' '
OF ORDINARY CLAY 20fr
But this was not true. Indeed, it could be proved out
of his own memory that he had had as many good and
noble impulses as the majority, and that circumstances had
not been more adverse to him than to numerous others. He
was dimly conscious of these facts, though he tried to shut
his eyes to them.
A man finally gets justice at the bar of his own con
science, but it is extorted gradually, reluctantly, with
much befogging of the case.
Still this theory would not help him much with Annie
Walton, for he knew that she would never entertain it a
moment.
Thus he wandered for hours amid old scenes and boyish
haunts, utterly oblivious of them, brooding more and more
darkly and despondingly over his miserable lot. He tried
to throw off the burden of depressing thought by asking, in
sudden fierceness, "Well, what is Annie Walton to me? I
have only known her a short time, and having lived thus
long, can live the rest of my days probably few without
her."
But it was of no use. His heart would not echo the
words, but in its very depths a voice clear and distinct
seemed to say, "I want to be with her to be near her.
With her, the hours are winged; away, they are leaden-
footed. She awakens hope, she makes it appear possible
to be a man."
He remembered her hand upon his aching brow, and
groaned aloud in view of the gulf that his own life had
placed between them.
" 'Neither can they pass to us,' " he said, unconsciously
repeating the words of Scripture. "With her nature what
I know it to be, she cannot in any way ally it to mine."
As the shadows of evening deepened he sauntered wear
ily and despondingly to the house. There were still guests
m the parlor, and he passed up to his room. For the first
time he found it chilly and fireless. It had evidently been
forgotten, and he felt himself neglected ; and it seemed that
206 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
he could drop out of existence unnoted and uncared for. In
what had been his own home, the place where for so many
years he had experienced the most thoughtful tenderness,
there came over him a sense of loneliness and desolation
such as he had never before known or believed possible.
He felt himself orphaned of heaven and earth, of God and
man.
But a process had commenced in Annie's mind that
would have surprised him much. Unconsciously as yet
even to herself, she was disproving his "superior clay"
theory. Though carefully trained, and though for years
she had prayerfully sought to do right, still she was a true
daughter of Eve, and was often betrayed by human weak
ness. She had not the small, habitual vanity of some
pretty women, who take admiration and flattery as their
due, and miss it as they do their meals. Still there were
pride and vanity in her composition, and the causes that
would naturally develop them were now actively at work.
She considered herself plain and unattractive personally,
and so she was to the careless glance of a stranger, but she
speedily became beautiful, or, what was better, fascinating,
to those who learned to know her well. All are apt to learn
their strong points rather than their weak ones, and Annie
had no little confidence in her power to win the attention
and then the respect and regard of those whose eyes turned
away indifferently after the first perception of her lack of
beauty. She did not use this power like a coquette, but
still she exulted in it, and was pleased to employ it where
she could innocently. She was amused by Gregory's sub
lime indifference at first, and thought she could soon change
that condition of his mind. She did not know that she was
successful! beyond her expectation or wishes.
But while she rejected and was not affected by the ful
some flattery with which he at first plied her, detecting in it
the ring of insincerity, she had noted, with not a little self-
gratulation, how speedily she had made him conscious of
her existence and developed a growing interest. She knew
OF ORDINARY CLAY 207
nothing of his deliberate plot against her, or of its motive.
Therefore his manner had often puzzled her, but she explained
everything by saying, "He has lived too long in Paris."
Still it is justice to her to say that while, from the nat
ural love of power existing in every breast, she had her own
little complacencies, and often times of positive pride and
self-glorification, yet she struggled against such tendencies,
and in the main she earnestly sought to use for their own
good the influence she gained over others.
But of late there had been enough to turn a stronger
head than hers. Gregory's homage and admiration were
now sincere, and she knew it, and it was no trifling thing
to win such unbounded esteem from a man who had seen so
much of the world and was so critical. "He may be bad
himself, but he well knows what is good and noble," was a
thought that often recurred to her. Then, in a moment of
sudden and terrible peril, she had been able to master her
strong natural timidity, and be true to conscience, and while
she thanked God sincerely, she also was more and more in
clined to take a great deal of credit to herself. Gregory's
words kept repeating themselves, "You are made of differ
ent clay from others." While she knew that this was not
true as he meant it, still the tempter whispered, "You are
naturally superior, and you have so schooled yourself that
you are better than many others." Her father's intense
look of pride and pleasure when he first learned of her for
titude, and his strong words of thankfulness, she took as in
cense to herself. Then came a flock of eager, curious, sym
pathizing people, who continued to feed her aroused pride
by making her out a sort of heroine. Chief of all she was
complacent in the consciousness of so generously shielding
Gregory when, if she had told the whole story, she, in con
trast with him, would appear to far greater advantage.
Altogether, her opinion of Annie Walton was rising
with dangerous rapidity; and the feeling grew strong
within her that, having coped successfully with such
temptations, she had little to fear from the future. And
208 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
this feeling of overweening self-confidence and self-satis
faction was beginning to tinge her manner. Not that she
would ever show it offensively, for she was too much of a
lady for that. But at the supper- table that evening she
gave evident signs of elation and excitement. She talked
more than usual, and was often very positive in matters
where Gregory knew her to be wrong; and she was also a
little dictatorial. At the same time the excitement made
her conversation more brilliant and pointed, and as Greg
ory skilfully drew her out, he was surprised at the force
and freshness of her mind.
And yet there was something that jarred unpleasantly,
a lack of the sincere simplicity and self-forgetfulness which
were her usual characteristics. He had never known her to
use the pronoun "I" with such distinctness and emphasis
before. Still all this would not have seemed strange to
him in another, but it did in her.
She did not notice the cloud upon his brow, or that he
spoke only in order to lead her to talk. She was too much
preoccupied with herself for her customary quick sympathy
with the moods of others. She made no inquiries as to how
he had spent the day, and seemingly had forgotten him as
completely as he had been absorbed in her. He saw with
a deeper regret than he could understand that, except when
he awakened her pity by suffering, or entertained her by
his conversation as any stranger might, he apparently had
no hold upon her thoughts.
After supper, in/ answer to the children's demand for
stories, she said almost petulantly that she was "too tired,"
and permitted Aunt Eulie to take them with sorrowful faces
away to bed earlier than usual.
"I need a little rest and quiet," she said.
Gregory was eager for further conversation in order that
he might obtain some idea how mercy would tinge her judg
ment of him if she should ever come to know the worst, but
she suddenly seemed disinclined to talk, or give him any
attention at all.
OF ORDINARY CLAY 209
Taking the arm-chair he usually occupied, and leaving
the other for her father, she leaned back luxuriously and
gazed dreamily into the fire. Mr. Walton politely offered
Gregory his. Then Annie, suddenly, as if awakening, rose
and said, "Excuse me," and was about to vacate her seat.
But Gregory insisted upon her keeping it, saying, "You
need it more than I, after the unusual fatigues of the day.
I am no longer an invalid. Even the ache in my bones from
my cold has quite disappeared."
She readily yielded to his wish, and again appeared to
see something in the fire that quite absorbed her. After
receiving a few courteous monosyllables he apparently
busied himself with a magazine.
Suddenly she said to her father, "Are you sure the
steamer is due to-day?"
He replied with a nod and a smile that Gregory did not
understand, and he imagined that she also gave him a quick
look of vexed perplexity.
She did, for by that steamer she expected her lover, Mr.
Hunting, who had been abroad on a brief business visit,
and she hoped that in a day or two he would make his ap
pearance. Conscious of the bitter enmity that Gregory for
some unknown reason cherished toward him, she dreaded
their meeting. As Gregory watched her furtively, her brow
contracted into a positive frown. The following thoughts
were the cause:
"It will be exceedingly stiff and awkward to have two
guests in the house who are scarcely on speaking terms,
and unless I can make something like peace, it will be un
endurable. Moreover, I don't want any strangers around,
much less this one, while Charles is here."
Thus in the secret of her soul Annie's hospitality gave
out utterly, and in spirit she had incontinently turned an
unwelcome guest out of doors. Now that she had really
won a vantage-ground that could be used effectively, all
her Christian and kindly purposes were forgotten in the
self -absorption that had suddenly mastered her.
210 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
The evening was a painful one to Gregory. His sense
of loneliness was deepened, and nowhere is such a feeling
stronger than at a fireside where one feels that he has no
right. Mr. Walton was occupied that evening with some
business papers. He had not a thought of discourtesy to
ward his guest. Indeed, in the perfection of hospitality,
he had adopted Gregory so completely into his household
that he felt that he could treat him as one of the family.
And yet Mr. Walton was also secretly uneasy at the pros
pect of entertaining hostile guests, and, with his knowledge
of the world, was not sure that peace between them could
be made in an hour.
The disposition of those around us often creates an atmos
phere, nothing tangible but something felt; and the im
pression on Gregory's mind, that he belonged not to this
household, but to the outside world that the circle of their
lives did not embrace him, and that his visit might soon
come to an end without much regret on their part was not
without cause. And yet they would have consciously failed
in no duty of hospitality had he stayed for weeks.
But never before had Gregory so felt his isolation. He
had but few relatives, and they were not congenial. His life
abroad, and neglect, had made them comparative strangers.
But here, in the home of his childhood, the dearest spot of
earth, were those who might become equally loved with it.
In a dim, obscure way the impression was growing upon
him that his best chance for life and happiness still centred
in the place where he had once known true life and happi
ness. Annie Walton seemed to him the embodiment of life.
She was governed and sustained by a principle which he
could not understand, and which from his soul he was be
ginning to covet.
His good father and mother had been like old Mr. Wal
ton. Their voyage of life was nearly over as he remem
bered them, and they were entering the quiet, placid waters
of the harbor. Whether they had reached their haven of
rest through storm and temptation, he did not know, but
OF ORDINARY CLAY 211
felt that they never could have had his unfortunate experi
ence or been threatened with utter wreck. They belonged
to his happier yet vanished past, which could never return.
But Annie unexpectedly awakened hope for the present
and future. This eager-eyed, joyous girl, looking forward
with almost a child's delight to the life he dreaded this
patient woman already taking up the cares and burdens of
her lot with cheerful acceptance this strong, high-prin
cipled maiden, facing and mastering temptation in the spirit
of the olden time this daughter of nature was full of in
spiration. Never had he found her society a weariness.
On the contrary she had stirred his slow, feeble pulse, and
revived his jaded mind, from the first. Her pure, fresh
thought and feeling had been like a breath from an oasis to
one perishing in the desert. But chiefly had her kindness,
delicacy, and generosity, when in his moral and physical
weakness he had been completely at her mercy, won his
deepest gratitude. Also he felt that in all his after life
he could never even think of her touch upon his aching
temples without an answering thrill of his whole nature that
appeared to have an innate sympathy with hers.
And yet the exasperating mystery of it all! While she
was becoming the one source of life and hope for him, while
his very soul cried out for her friendship and sisterly re
gard (as he would then have said), she seemed, in her pre
occupation, unconscious of his existence, and he instinc
tively felt that she would bid him "good- by" on the follow
ing day, perhaps, with a sense of relief, and the current of
her life flow on as smoothly and brightly as if he had never
caused a passing agitation.
With gnawing remorse he inwardly cursed his evil life
and unworthy character, for these he believed formed the
hopeless gulf that separated them.
"It is the same," he said, in his exaggerating way, "as
if a puddle should mirror the star just above it, and, becom
ing enamored, should wish it to fall and be quenched in its
foul depths."
212 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
But he did himself great wrong; for in the fact that
Annie so attracted him he proved that he possessed large
capabilities of good.
He could not bear to see her sitting there so quietly for
getful of him, and so made several vain attempts during the
evening to draw her into conversation. Finding her dis
inclined to talk, he at last ventured to ask her to sing.
With something like coldness she replied, "Really, Mr.
Gregory, I am not in the mood for it this evening; besides,
I am greatly fatigued."
What a careless, indifferent shrug he usually gave when
fair ladies denied his requests ! Now, for some unaccount
able reason, he flushed deeply and a sharp pain came into
his heart. But he only said, "Pardon me, Miss Walton, for
not seeing this myself. But you know that I am selfish
ness embodied, and your former good-nature leads me to
presume. ' '
Annie gave him a hurried smile, as she answered, "An
other time I will try to keep up my character better' ' ; and
then she was absorbed again in a picture among the hickory
coals.
Like many who live in the country and are much alone,
she was given to fits of abstraction and long reveries. She
had no idea how the time was passing, and meant to exert
herself before the evening was over for the benefit of her
father and guest. But her lively imagination could not
endure interruption till it had completed some scenes con
nected with him she hoped so soon to see. Moreover, as we
have said, the tendency to self -absorption had been develop
ing rapidly.
After the last rebuff, Gregory was very quiet, and soon
rose and excused himself, saying that he had taken longer
walks than usual and needed rest.
Annie awakeneed, as if out of a dream, with a pang of
self-reproach, and said, "I have been a wretched hostess
this evening. I hope you will forgive me. The fact is, I've
been talked out to-day."
OF ORDINARY CLAY 213
"And I had not the wit to entertain and interest you, so
I need forgiveness more. Good-night."
Mr. Walton looked up from his business papers and
smiled genially over his spectacles, and then was as ab
sorbed as before.
Annie sat down with a vague sense of discontent. With
their guest, her dreams also had gone, and she became con
scious that she had treated him with almost rude neglect,
and that he had borne it in a spirit different from that which
he usually showed. But she petulantly said to herself, "I
can't always be exerting myself for him as if he were a sick
child."
But conscience replied, "You have so much to make you
happy, and he so little! You are on the eve of a great joy,
and you might have given him one more pleasant evening."
But she met these accusations with a harshness all un
like herself. "It's his own fault that he is not happy. He
had no business to spoil his life."
"Yes," retorted conscience, "but you have promised and
purposed to help him find the true life, and now you wish
him out of the way, and have lost one of your best oppor
tunities and perhaps your last; for he will not stay after
Hunting comes;" and, self-condemned, she felt that she
had spent a very selfish and profitless evening.
For some reason she did not feel like staying to prayers
with her father and Miss Eulie, who now came in, but,
printing a hasty kiss on Mr. Walton's cheek, said, "Good
night. I'm tired, and going to bed." Even in her own
room there was a malign influence at work that made her
devotion formal and brief, and she went to sleep, "out of
sorts."
214 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
PASSION AND PENITENCE
THE cloud on her brow had- not disappeared on the
ensuing morning when she came down to breakfast.
Unless the causes are removed, the bad moods of
one day are apt to follow us into the next.
Annie was now entering upon one of those periods when,
in accordance with a common expression, "everything goes
wrong, ' ' and the world develops a sudden perverseness that
distracts and irritates even the patient.
The butcher had neglected to fill the order for breakfast,
and Jeff, also under the baleful spell, had killed an ancient
hen instead of a spring chicken, to supply the sudden need.
"Couldn't cotch nothin' else," he answered stolidly to
Annie's sharp reprimand, so sharp that Gregory, who was
walking toward the barn, was surprised.
Zibbie was fuming in the broadest Scotch, and had
spoiled her coffee, and altogether it was a sorry breakfast
to which they sat down that morning; and Annie's worried,
vexed looks did not make it more inviting. Gregory tried
to appear unconscious, and directed his conversation chiefly
to Mr. Walton and Miss Eulie.
"Annie," said her father, humorously, "it seems to me
that this fowl must have reminiscences of the ark. ' '
But she could not take a jest then, and pettishly answered
that "if he kept such a stupid man as Jeff, he could not ex
pect anything else."
Annie was Jeff's best friend, and had interceded for him
in some of his serious scrapes, but her mood now was like a
gusty day that gives discomfort to all.
PASSION AND PENITENCE 215
After a few moments she said, suddenly, "O father, I
forgot to tell you. I invited the Camdens here to dinner
to-day."
His face clouded instantly, and he looked exceedingly
annoyed.
' ' I am very sorry to hear it, ' ' he said.
"Why so?" asked Annie, with an accent that Gregory
had never heard her use toward her father.
"Because I shall have to be absent, for one reason. I
meant to tell you about it last evening, but you seemed so
occupied with your own thoughts, and disappeared at last
so suddenly, that I did not get a chance. But there is no
help for it. I have very important business that will take
me out to Woodville, and you know it requires a good long
day to go and come."
"It will never do in the world for you to be away,"
cried Annie.
"Can't help it, my dear; it's business that must be at
tended to. '
"But, father," she urged, "the Camdens are new people,
and said to be very wealthy. We ought to show them some
attention. They were so cordial yesterday, and spoke so
handsomely of you, expressing a wish to meet you and be
social, that I felt that I could not do otherwise than invite
them. For reasons you understand it may not be convenient
to see them very soon after to-day."
The old gentleman seemed to share his daughter's vexa
tion, but from a different cause, and after a moment said,
"You are right; they are 'new people' in more senses than
one, and appear to me to be assuming a great deal more
than good taste dictates in view of the past. As mistress
of my home I wish you to feel that you have the right to
invite any one you please, within certain limits. The Cam
dens are people that I would do any kindness to and readily
help if they were in trouble, but I do not wish to meet them
socially. ' '
Tears of shame and anger glistened in Annie's eyes as
216 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
she said, "I'm sure you know very well that I wish, to enter
tain no vulgar, pushing people. I knew nothing of their
'past.' They seemed pleasant when they called. They
were said to have the means to be liberal if they wished,
and I thought they would be an acquisition to our neigh
borhood, and that we might interest them in our church
and other things."
"In my view," replied Mr. Walton, a little hotly, "the
church and every good cause would be better oft without
their money, for, in plain English, it was acquired in a way
that you and I regard as dishonorable. I'm very sorry
they've come to spend it in our neighborhood. The fact
may not be generally known here, but it soon will be. I
consider such people the greatest demoralizers of the age,
flaunting their ill-gotten wealth in the faces of the honest,
and causing the young to think that if they only get money,
no matter how, society will receive them all the same. I
am annoyed beyond measure that we should seem to give
them any countenance whatever. Moreover, it is necessary
that I go to Woodville."
"0 dear!" exclaimed Annie, in a tone of real distress,
"what shall I do? If I had only known all this beforel"
Then, turning with sudden irritation to her father, she
asked, "Why did you not tell me about them?"
' ' Because you never asked, and I saw no occasion to. I
do not like to speak evil of my neighbors, even if it be true.
I did not know of your call upon them till after it occurred,
and then remarked, if you will remember, that they were
people that I did not admire."
"Yes," she exclaimed, in a tone of strong self-disgust,
"I do remember your saying so, though I had no idea you
meant anything like what you now state. The wretched
mystery of it all is, why could I not have remembered
it yesterday?"
"Well, my dear," replied the father, with the glimmer
of a smile, "you were a bit preoccupied yesterday; though
I don't wonder at that"
PASSION AND PENITENCE 217
"I see it all now," cried Annie, impetuously. "But it
was with myself I was preoccupied, and therefore I made
a fool of myself. I was rude to you last night also, Mr.
Gregory, so taken up was I with my own wonderful being."
"Indeed, Miss Walton, I thought you were thinking of
another," said he, with a keen glance, and she blushed so
deeply that he feared she was; but he added, quickly, "You
once told me that it was as wrong to judge one's self harshly
as another. I assure you that I've no complaints to make,
but rather feel gratitude for your kindness. As to this
other matter, it seems to me that in your ignorance of these
people you have acted very naturally. ' '
"I'm sorry I did not tell you more about them," said
her father. "I did intend to, but somehow it escaped me."
"Well," said Annie, with a long breath, "I am fairly in
the scrape. I've invited them, and the question now is, what
shall we do?"
The old merchant, with his intense repugnance to any
thing like commercial dishonesty, was deeply perturbed.
The idea of entertaining at his board as guest a man with
whom he would not have a business transaction was ex
ceedingly disagreeable. Leaving the unsatisfactory break
fast half-finished, he rose and paced the room in his per
plexity. At last he spoke, as much to himself as to his
daughter. "It shall never be said that John Walton was
deficient in hospitality. They have been invited by one
who had the right, so let tham come, and be treated as
guests ever are at our house. This much is due to our
selves. But after to-day let our relations be as slight as
possible. Mr. Gregory, you are under no obligation to
meet such people, and need not appear unless you wish.*'
"With your permission I will be present, sir, and help
Miss Walton entertain them. Indeed, I can claim such
slight superiority to these Camdens or any one else that I
have no scruples."
"How is that?" asked Mr. Walton, with a grave, ques
tioning look. "I trust you do not uphold the theory that
KOE IV 10
218 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
seems to prevail in some commercial circles, that any mode
by which a man can get money and escape State prison is
right?"
"I imagine I am the last one in the world to uphold such
a 'theory,' " replied Gregory, quickly, with one of his ex
pressive shrugs, "inasmuch as I am a poor man to-day
because this theory has been put in practice against me.
No, Mr. Walton," he continued, with the dignity of truth,
"it is but justice to myself to say that my mercantile life
has been as pure as your own, and that is the highest en
comium that I could pass upon it. At the same time it has
been evident to you from the first day I came under your
roof that I am not the good man that you loved in my
father."
The old gentleman sighed deeply. He was too straight
forward to utter some trite, smooth remark, such as a man
of the world might make. Regarding Gregory kindly, he
said, almost as if it were a prayer, "May his mantle fall on
you. You have many traits and ways that remind me
strongly of him, and you have it in you to become like
him."
Gregory shook his head in deep dejection, and said in
a low tone, "No, never."
"You know not the power of God," said Mr. Walton,
gravely. "At any rate, thank Him that He has kept you
from the riches of those who I am sorry to find must be our
guests to-day."
The children now came in from their early visit to the
chestnut- trees, and the subject was dropped. Mr. Walton
left the room, and Gregory also excused himself. Miss
Eulie had taken no part in the discussion. It was not in
her nature to do so. She sat beaming with sympathy on
both Annie and her brother-in-law, and purposing to do all
she could to help both out of the dilemma. She felt sorry
for them, and sorry for the Camdens and (^regory, and in
deed everybody in this troubled world; but such were her
pure thoughts and spiritual life that she was generally on
PASSION AND PENITENCE 219
the wing, so far above earthly things that they had little
power to depress her.
The burden of the day fell upon Annie, and a heavy one
she found it. Her lack of peace within was reflected upon
her face, and in her satellites that she usually managed with
such quiet grace. Zibbie was in one of her very worst tan
trums, and when she heard that there was to be company
to dinner, seemed in danger of flying into fragments. The
thistle, the emblem of her land, was a meek and downy
flower compared with this ancient dame. When she took
up or laid down any utensil, it was in a way that bade fair
to reduce the kitchen to chaos before night. Jeff had "got
his back up" also about the henj and was as stupid and
sullen as only Jeff knew how to be; and even quiet Hannah
was almost driven to frenzy by Zibbie reproaching her for
being everything under heaven that she knew she was not.
In her usual state of mind Annie could have partly allayed
the storm, and poured oil on the troubled waters, but now
disquietude sat on her own brow, and she gave her orders in
the sharp, decisive tone that compels reluctant obedience.
The day was raw and uncomfortable, and Gregory re
solved to make his easy-chair by the parlor fire the point
from which he would watch the development of this domes
tic drama. He had no vulgar, prying curiosity, but an
absorbing interest in the chief actor; and was compelled
to admit that the being whom he had come to regard as
faultless was growing human faster than he liked.
This impression was confirmed when the children came
tearing through the main hall past the parlor to the dining-
room opposite, which they entered, leaving the door open.
Annie was there preparing the dessert. Country house
keepers can rarely leave these matters to rural cooks, and
Zibbie could be trusted to sweeten nothing that day.
With exclamations of delight the children clamored to
help, or "muss" a little in their own way, a privilege often
given them at such times. But Annie sent them out-of-
doors again with a tone and manner that caused them to tip-
220 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
toe back past the parlor with a scared look on their faces,
and the dining-room door was shut with a bang.
Gregory was puzzled. Here was one who had foiled his
most adroit temptations, and resisted wrong in a way that
was simply heroic, first showing something very like vanity
and selfishness, and then temper and passion on what
seemed but slight provocation. He did not realize, as
many do not, that the petty vexations of life will often
sting into the most humiliating displays of weakness one
who has the courage and strength to be a martyr. Generals
who were as calm and grand in battle as Mont Blanc in a
storm have been known to fume like small beer, in camp,
at very slight annoyances.
Annie's spirit was naturally quick and imperious, brook
ing opposition from no one. She was also fond of approba
tion. She rated Gregory's hollow French gallantry at its
true worth, but his subsequent sincere respect and admira
tion, after their mountain adventure, had unconsciously
elated her, especially as she felt that she had earned
them well.
Thus, when he had not intended it, and had given over
as hopeless his purpose to tempt her, and dropped it in self-
loathing that he should ever have entertained it, he had by
his honest gratitude and esteem awakened the dormant van
ity which was more sensitive to tributes to her character
than to mere personal compliments. The attention she had
received the day before had developed this self-complacency
still more, and the nice balance of her moral life had been
disturbed.
It seems that the tempter watches for every vantage.
At any rate, as she expressed it, "everything went wrong"
that day. One weakness, one wrong, prepares the way for
another as surely as when one soldier of Diabolus gets
within the city he will open the gates to others; and Annie's
temper, that she had so long and prayerfully schooled, was
the weak point inevitably assailed. She was found with her
armor off. She had closed the preceding day and entered
PASSION AND PENITENCE 221
on the present with the form and not the reality of prayer.
Therefore it was Annie Walton alone who was coping with
temptation. She felt that all was wrong without and within.
She felt that she ought to go to God at once in acknowledg
ment and penitence, and regain her peace; but pride and
passion were aroused. She was hurried and worried, full
of impotent revolt at herself and everything. She was in
no mood for the dreaded self-examination that she knew
must come. She was like a little wayward child, that, while
it loves its parents, yet grieves and wrongs them by lack
of obedience and simple trust, and having wronged them,
partly from pride and partly from fear, does not humbly
seek reconciliation.
The obnoxious guests came, and the dinner followed.
Mr. Walton was the embodiment of stately courtesy, but
it was a courtesy due to John Walton rather than to them,
and it somewhat awed and depressed the Camdens. Zibbie
had done her best to spoil the dinner, and, in spite of Annie,
had succeeded tolerably well. Only the dessert, which
Annie had made, did credit to her housekeeping. Hannaji
waited on them as if she were assisting at their obsequies.
Altogether it was a rather heavy affair, though Gregory
honestly did his best to entertain, and talked on generali
ties and life abroad, which the Camdens were glad to hear
about, so incessantly that he scarcely had time to eat. But
he was abundantly rewarded by a grateful look from Annie.
As for herself, she could not converse connectedly or
well. She was trammelled by her feeling toward the
guests; she was so vexed with herself, mortified at the
dinner, and angry with Zibbie, whom she mentally vowed
to discharge at once, that she felt more like crying than
talking graceful nonsense; for the Camdens soon proved
themselves equal only to chit-chat. She sat at her end of
the table, red, flurried, and nervous, as different as pos
sible from the refined, elegant hostess that she could be.
Gregory was also much interested in observing how one
so truthful would act under the circumstances, and he saw
222 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
that she was sorely puzzled continually by her efforts to be
both polite and honest.
The Camdens were puzzled also, and severely criticised
their entertainers, mentally concluding and afterward assert
ing, with countless variations, that Miss Walton was won
derfully overrated that she was a poor housekeeper, and,
they should judge, but little accustomed to good society.
"I never saw a girl so flustered," Mrs. Camden would
remark, complacently. "Perhaps our city style rather op
pressed her; and as for Mr. Walton, he put on so much
dignity that he leaned over backward. They evidently
don't belong to our set."
That was just the trouble, and Mrs. Camden was right
and wrong at the same time.
Their early departure was satisfactory to both parties.
Mr. Walton drew a long breath of immeasurable relief, and
then called briskly to Jeff, who was coming up from the
garden, ' ' Harness Dolly to my buggy. ' '
"Why, father, where are you going ?" exclaimed Annie.
"To Woodville."
"Now, father " began Annie, laying hold of his arm.
"Not a word, my dear; I must go."
"But it will be late in the night before you can get back.
The day is cold and raw, and it looks as if it would rain."
"I can't help it. It's something I can't put off. Hurry,
Jeff, and get ready to go with me."
"O dear!" cried Annie; "this is the worst of all. Let
me go for you please do."
"I'm not a child," said the old gentleman, irritably.
"Since I could not go this morning, I must go now. Please
don't worry me. It's public business that I have no right
to delay, and I promised that it should be attended to to
day;" and with a hasty "good-by" he took his overcoat
and started.
Annie was almost beside herself with vexation and self-
reproach, and her feelings must find vent somewhere. Greg
ory prudently retired to his room.
PASSION AND PENITENCE 223
"There's Zibbie," she thought; "I'll teach her one les
son;" and she went to the kitchen and discharged the old
servant on the spot.
Zibbie was in such a reckless state of passion that she
didn't care if the world came to an end. The only comfort
Annie got in this direction was a volley of impudence.
"I hod discharged mesel' afore ye spoke," said the irate
dame. "An 1 ye think I'm gang to broil an ould hen for a
spring chicken in peace and quietness, ye're a' wrong. An'
then to send that dour nagur a speerin' roun' among my
fowl that I've raised from babies I'll na ston it. I'll gang,
I'll gang, but ye' 11 greet after the ould 'ooman for a' o' that."
Annie then retreated to the sitting-room, where Miss Eulie
was placidly mending Susie's torn apron, and poured into
her ears the story of her troubles.
"To be sure to be sure," Aunt Eulie would answer,
soothingly; "but then, Annie dear, it all won't make any
difference a hundred years from now."
This only irritated Annie more, and at the same time
impressed her with her own folly in being so disturbed by
comparative trifles.
Gregory found his room chill and comfortless, therefore
he put on his overcoat, and started for a walk, full of sur
prise and painful musings. As he was descending the
stairs, Johnny came running in, crying in a tone of real
distress, "Oh, Aunt Annie, Aunt Annie, I'm so sorry, so
very sorry "
Annie came running out of the sitting-room, exclaiming
sharply, "What on earth is the matter now? Hasn't there
been trouble enough for one day?"
"I'm so sorry," sobbed the little boy, "but I got a let
ter at the post-office, and I I lost it coming across the
lots, and I I can't find it."
This was too much. This was the ardently -looked- for
letter that had glimmered like a star of hope and promise
of better things throughout this miserable day, and Annie
lost all control of herself. Bushing upon the child, she
224 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
cried, "You naughty, careless boy! I'll give you one les
son"; and she shook him so violently that Gregory's in
dignation got the better of him, and he said, in a low, deep
tone, "Miss Walton, the child says he is 'very, very sorry.'
He has not meant to do wrong. ' '
Annie started back as if she were committing sacrilege,
and covered her face with her hands. Her back was toward
Gregory, but he could see the hot blood mantling her very
neck. She stood there for a moment, trembling like a leaf,
and he, repenting of his hasty words, was about to apolo
gize, when she suddenly caught the boy in her arms, and
sped past him up the stairs to her own room.
To his dying day he would never forget the expression
of her face.
It cannot be described. It was the look of a noble spirit,
deeply wounded, profoundly penitent. Her intense feeling
touched him, and the rough October winds brushed a tear
from his own eyes more than once before he returned.
NOT A HEROINE, BUT A WOMAN 225
CHAPTER XXII
NOT A HEROINE, BUT A WOMAN
THE cold, cynical man of the world was in a maze.
He was deeply and painfully surprised at Miss
Walton, and scarcely less so at himself. How
could he account for the tumult at his heart? When
he first saw that outburst of passion against a trembling,
pleading child, he felt that he wished to leave the house
then and forever. The next moment, when he saw Annie's
face as she convulsively clasped the boy to her breast, and
with supernatural strength fled to the refuge of her room,
he was not only instantly disarmed of anger, but touched
and melted as he had never been before.
Feeling is sometimes so intense that it is like the light
ning, and burns its way instantly to the consciousness of
others. Words of condemnation would have died on the
lips of the sternest judge had he seen Annie's face. It
would have shown him that the harshest things that he
could utter were already anticipated in unmeasured self-
upbraidings.
From anger and disgust Gregory passed to the profound-
est pity. The children's unbounded affection for Annie
proved that she was usually kind and patient toward them.
A little thought convinced him that the act he saw was a
sudden outburst of passion for which the exasperating
events of the day had been a preparation. Her face
showed as no language could how sincere and deep would
be her repentance.
226 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
He had not gone very far into the early twilight of a
grove before he was conscious of a strong and secret ex
ultation.
"She is not made of different clay from others," he
said. "She cannot condemn me so utterly now; and, in
view of what I have seen, she cannot loftily deny the kin.
ship of human weakness.
"What a nature she has, with its subterranean fires!
She is none of your cool, calculating creatures, who cipher
out from day to day what is policy to do. She will act
rightly till there is an irrepressible irruption, and then,
beware. And yet these ebullitions enrich her life as the
lava flow does the sides of Vesuvius. I shall be greatly
disappointed if she is not ten times more kind, sympa
thetic, and self- forgetful than she was before; and as for
that boy, she will keep him in the tallest clover for weeks
to come, to make up for this.
"How piquant she is! I do not fear her quick, flame-
like spirit when it is combined with so much conscience and
principle. Indeed, I like her passion. It warms my cold,
heavy heart. I wish she had shaken me, who deserved it,
instead of the child, and if any makings-up like that in yon
der room could follow, I would like to be shaken every day
in the week. It would make a new man of me."
In the excitement of his feelings, he had gone further
than he had intended, and the dusk was deepening fast
when he reached the house on his return. He felt not a
little uneasy as to his reception after the rebuke he had
given, but counted much on Annie's just and generous
disposition. He entered quietly at a side door and passed
through the dining-room into the hall. The lamp in the
parlor was unlighted, but the bright wood fire shed a soft,
uncertain radiance throughout the room. A few notes of
prelude were struck on the piano, and he knew that Miss
Walton was there. Stepping silently forward opposite the
open door, he stood in the dark hall watching her as she
sung the following words:
NOT A HEROINE, BUT A WOMAN 227
'My Father, once again Thy wayward child
In sorrow, shame, and weakness comes to Thee,
Confessing all my sin, my passion wild,
My selfishness and petty vanity.
"0 Jesus, gentle Saviour, at Thy feet
I fall, where often I have knelt before ;
Thou wilt not spurn, nor charge me with deceit,
Because old faults have mastered me once more.
"Thou knowest that I would be kind and true,
And that I hate the sins that pierced Thy side;
Thou seest that I often sadly view
The wrong that in my heart will still abide.
"But Thou didst come such erring ones to save,
And weakness wins Thy strong and tender love;
So not in vain I now forgiveness crave,
And cling to hopes long stored with Thee above.
"And yet I plead that Thou would'st surely keep
My weak and human heart in coming days ;
Though now in penitence I justly weep,
fill my future life with grateful praise. ' '
As in tremulous, melting tones she sung this simple
prayer with tears glistening in her eyes, Gregory was
again conscious of the strong, answering emotion which
the presence of deep feeling in those bound to us by some
close tie of sympathy often excites. But far more than
mere feeling moved him now. Her words and manner
vivified an old truth familiar from infancy, but never real
ized or intelligently believed the power of prayer to se
cure practical help from God.
How often men have lived and died poor just above
mines of untold wealth! Gaunt famine has been the in
mate of households while there were buried treasures un
der the hearthstone. So multitudes in their spiritual life
are weak, despairing, perishing, when by the simple di
vinely appointed means of prayer they might fill their lives
with strength and fulness, flow long men suffered and died
with diseases that seemed incurable, before they discovered
228 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
in some common object a potent remedy that relieved pain
and restored health !
As is the case with many brought up in Christian homes,
with no one thing was Gregory more familiar than prayer.
For many years he had said prayers daily, and yet he had
seldom in all his life prayed, and of late years had come to
be a practical infidel in regard to this subject. People who
only say prayers, and expect slight, or no results from them,
or are content year after year to see no results who lack
simple, honest, practical faith in God's word, such as they
have in that of their physician or banker who only feel
that they ought to pray, and that in some vague, mystical
manner it may do them good, are very apt to end as scep
tics in regard to its efficacy and value. Or they may be
come superstitious, and continue to say prayers as the poor
Indian mutters his incantation to keep off the witches. God
hears prayer when His children cry to Him when His faith
ful friends speak to Him straight and true from their hearts;
and such know well that they are answered.
As Gregory looked at and listened to Annie Walton, he
could no more believe that she was expressing a little aim
less religious emotion, just as she would sing a sentimental
ballad, than he could think that she was only showing pur
poseless filial affection if she were hanging on her father's
arm and pleading for something vital to her happiness. The
thought flashed across him, "Here may be the secret of her
power to do right the help she gets from a source above
and beyond herself. Here may be the key to both her
strength and weakness. Here glimmers light even for me. "
Annie was about to sing again, but the interest which
she had awakened was so strong that he could not endure
delay. Anxiety as to his personal reception was forgotten,
and he stepped forward and interrupted her with a question.
"Miss Walton, do you honestly believe that?"
"Believe what?" said she, hastily, quite startled.
"What I gathered from the hymn you sung that your
prayer is really heard and answered ?' '
NOT A HEROINE, BUT A WOMAN 229
"Why, certainly I believe it," said Annie, in a shocked
and pained tone. "Do you think me capable of mockery in
such things? And yet," she added, sadly, "perhaps after
to-day you think me capable of anything."
"Now you do both yourself and me wrong," Gregory
eagerly replied. "I do believe you are sincerely trying to
obey your conscience. Did I not see your look of sorrow
as you passed me on the stairs? when shall I forget it!
Remember words that must have been inspired, which you
once quoted to me
" 'Who by repentance is not satisfied
Is not of heaven nor earth,'
and pardon me when I tell you that I have oeen listening
the last few moments out in the hall. Your tones and man
ner would melt the heart of an infidel, and they have made
me wish that I were not so unbelieving. Forgive me for
even putting such thoughts in your mind I feel it is wicked
and selfish in me to do it but how do you know that your
prayer, though so direct and sincere, was not sound lost
in space?"
"Because it has been answered," she replied, eagerly.
"Peace came even as I spoke the words. Because when
ever I really pray to God he answers me."
They now stood on opposite sides of the hearth, with the
glowing fire between them. In its light Annie's wet eyes
glistened, but she had forgotten herself in her sincere and
newly awakened interest in him whom she had secretly
hoped and purposed before to lead to better things. It had
formed no small part of her keen self-reproach that she
had forgotten that purpose, and wished him out of the
way, just as she was beginning to gain a decided influence
over him for good. After what he had witnessed that after
noon she felt that he would never listen to her again.
He would not had he detected the slightest tinge of act
ing or insincerity on her part, but her penitence had been as
real as her passion.
230 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
She was glad and grateful indeed when he approached
her again in the spirit he now manifested.
As she stood there in the firelight, self-forgetful, con
scious only of her wish to say some words that would be
/ /
like light to him, her large, humid eyes turned up to his
face, she made a picture that his mother would like to see.
He leaned against the mantel and looked dejectedly into
the fire. After a moment he said, sadly, "I envy you, Miss
Walton. I wish I could believe in a personal God who
thought about us and cared for us that is, each one of us.
Of course I believe in a Supreme Being a great First
Cause; but He hides Himself behind the stars; He is lost
to me in His vast universe. I think my prayers once had
an effect on my own mind, and so did me some good. But
that's past, and now I might as well pray to gravitation as
to anything else. ' '
Then, turning to her, he caught her wistful, interested
look an expression which said plainly, "I want to help
you," and it touched him. He continued, feelingly, "Per
haps you are not conscious of it, but you now look as if
you cared whether I was good or bad, was sad or happy,
lived or died. If I could only see that God cared in some
thing the same way ! He no doubt intends to do what is
best for the race in the long run, but that may involve my
destruction. I dread His terrible, inexorable laws."
"Alas!" said Annie, tears welling up into her eyes, "I
am not wise enough to argue out these matters and demon
strate the truth. I suppose it can be done by those who
know how."
"I doubt it," said he, shaking his head decisively.
"Well, I can tell you only what I feel and know."
"That is better than argument that is what I would
like. You are not a weak, sentimental woman, full of mys
ticism and fancies, and I should have much confidence in
what you know and feel."
"Do not say that I am not a weak woman; I have shown
you otherwise. Be sincere with me, for I am with you.
NOT A HEROINE, BUT A WOMAN 231
Well, it seems to me that this question of prayer is simply
one of fact. We know that God answers prayer, not only
because He said He would, but because He does. From
my own experience I am as certain of it as of my existence.
I think that many who sneer or doubt in regard to prayer
are very unfair. I ask you, is it scientific for men to say,
'Nothing is true save what we have seen and know our
selves ? ' How that would limit one's knowledge. If some
facts are discovered in Europe and established by a few
proper witnesses, we believe them here. Now in every age
multitudes have said that it was a fact that God heard and
answered their prayers. What right has any one to ignore
these truths any more than any other truths of human ex
perience ? I ask my earthly father for something. The next
day I find it on my dressing-table. Is it a delusion to be
lieve that he heard and granted my request ? When I ask
my Heavenly Father for outward things, He sometimes
gives them, and sometimes He does not, as He sees is best
for me, just as my parents did when I was a little child.
And I have already seen that He has often been kinder in
refusing. But when I ask for that which will meet my
deeper and spiritual needs I seldom ask in vain. If you
should ask me how I know it, I in return ask how you
know that you are ill, or well, that you are glad or sad, or
tired, or anything about yourself that depends on your own
inner consciousness ? If I should say unjust, insulting
things to you now, how would you know you were angry ?
If I should say, Mr. Gregory, you are mocking me; what
I am now saying has no interest for you; you don't hear
me, you don't understand me, you are thinking of some
thing else, what kind of proof to the contrary could you
offer? Suppose that I should say I want mathematical
proof that you do feel an interest, or physical proof
something that I can measure, weigh, or see should I be
reasonable ? Do I make it clear to you why I say 1 know
this?"
"Clearer than it was ever made to me before. I cannot
232 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
help seeing that you are sincere and sure about it. But
pardon me I've got in such an inveterate habit of doubt
ing are not good Catholics just as sure about the Virgin
and the saints hearing and answering them ? and do not
pagans feel the same way about their deities ?' '
"Now, Mr. Gregory," said Annie, with a little indignant
reproach in her tone, "do you think it just and reasonable
to compare my faith, or that of any intelligent Christian,
with the gross superstitions you name ? Christianity is not
embraced only by the ignorant and weak-minded: multi
tudes of the best and ripest scholars in the world are honest
believers."
"Indeed, Miss Walton, I did not mean you to draw any
such inference as that," replied he, hastily and in some
confusion.
"I do not see how any other can be drawn," she contin
ued; "and I know from what I have read and heard that
unbelievers usually seek to give that impression. But it's
not a fair one. The absurdities of paganism, monkish le
gends, and even the plausible errors of the .Romish Church,
will not endure the light of intelligent education ; but the
more I know the more I see the beauty and perfection of
the Christian religion and the reasonableness of prayer, and
so it is with far stronger and wiser heads than mine. Your
father and mine were never men to be imposed upon, nor
to believe anything just because they were told to do so
when children."
"Keally, Miss Walton, you said you couldn't argue about
this matter. I think you can, like a lawyer. ' '
"If you mean that I am using a lawyer's proverbial
sleight of hand, I'm sorry."
"I don't mean that at all, but that you put your facts in
such a way that it's hard to meet them."
"I only try to use common-sense. It's about the only
sense I have. But I was in hopes you did not want to meet
what I say adversely, but would like to believe."
"I would, Miss Walton, honestly I would; but wishes
NOT A HEROINE, BUT A WOMAN 233
go little way against stubborn doubt. This one now rises:
How is it that scientific men are so apt to become infidel
in regard to the Bible and its teachings, and especially
prayer?"
"I'm sure I hardly know," she answered, with a sigh;
"but I will tell you what I think. I don't believe the ma
jority of them know much about either the Bible or prayer.
With my little smattering of geology I should think it very
presuming to give an opinion contrary to that held by the
best authorities in that science; and I think it very pre
suming in those who rarely look into a Bible and never
pray, to tell those who read and pray daily that they don't
know what they do know. Then again, scientific people
often apply gross material tests to matters of faith and re
ligious experience. The thing is absurd. Suppose a man
should seek to investigate light with a pair of scales that
could not weigh anything less than a pound. There is a
spiritual and moral world as truly as a physical, and spirit
ual facts are just as good to build on as any other; and I should
think they ought to be better, because the spirit is the noblest
part of us. A man who sees only one side of a mountain has
no right to declare that the other is just like it. Then again
your scientific oracles are always contradicting one another,
and upsetting one another's theories. Science to-day laughs
at the absurdities believed by the learned a hundred years
ago; and so will much that is now called science, and be
cause of which men doubt the Bible, be laughed at in the
future. But my belief is the same substantially as that of
Paul, St. Augustine, Luther, and the best people of my own
age; and Luther, who did more for the world than any other
mere man, said that to 'pray well was to work well.' "
When Annie was under mental excitement, she was a
rapid, fluent talker, and this was especially her condition
this evening. As she looked earnestly at Gregory while
she spoke, her dark eyes glowing with feeling and intelli
gence and lighting her whole face, he was impressed more
than he could have been by the labored arguments of a
234 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
cool, logical scholar. Her intense earnestness put a soul
into the body of her words. He was affected more than he
wished her to know, more than was agreeable to his pride.
What she had said seemed so perfectly true and real to her
that for the time she made it true to him; and yet to admit
that his long-standing doubts could not endure so slight an
assault as this, was to show that they had a very flimsy
basis. Moreover, he knew that when, left to himself, he
should think it all over, new questions would rise that
could not be answered, and new doubts return. Therefore
he could not receive now what he might be disposed to
doubt to-morrow. He was a trifle bewildered, and wanted
time to think. He was as much interested in Miss Walton
as in what she was saying, and when her words proved that
she was a thoughtful woman, and could be the intelligent
companion of any man, the distracting fear grew stronger
that when she came to know him well, she would coldly
stand aloof. The very thought was unendurable. In all
the world, only in the direction of Annie Walton seemed
there any light for him. So to gain time he instinctively
sought to give a less serious turn to the conversation, by
saying, "Come, Miss Walton, this is the best preaching I've
ever heard. It seems to me quite unusual to find a young
lady so interested and well versed in these matters. You
must have given a good deal of thought and reading to
the subject."
Annie looked disappointed. She had hoped for a better
result from her earnest words than a compliment and a little
curiosity as to herself. But she met him in his own apparent
mood, and said, "Now see how easily imposed upon your
sceptical people are! I could palm myself off, like Portia,
as a Daniel come to judgment, and by a little discreet silence
gain a blue halo as a woman of deep research and pro
found reading. Just the contrary is true. I am not a very
great reader on any subject, and certainly not on theology
and kindred topics. The fact is I am largely indebted to
my father. He is interested in the subjects and takes pains
NOT A HEROINE, BUT A WOMAN 235
to explain much to me that would require study; and since
mother died he has come to talk to me very much as he did
to her. But it seems to me that all I have said is very sim
ple and plain, and you surely know that my motive was
not to air the little instruction I have received."
Gregory's policy forsook him as he saw her expression
of disappointment; and as he looked at her flushed and to
him now lovely face, acting upon a sudden impulse he
asked, "Won't you please tell me your motive?"
His manner and tone convinced her in a moment that
he was more moved and interested than she had thought,
and answering with a like impulse on her part, she said,
frankly, "Mr. Gregory, pardon me for saying it, but from
the very first day of your visit it seemed clear to me that
you were not living and feeling as those who once made
this your home could wish, and the thought was impressed
upon me, impressed strongly, that perhaps God had sent
you in your feeble health and sadness (for you evidently
were depressed in mind also), to this place of old and holy
memories, that you might learn something better than this
world's philosophy. I have hoped and prayed that I might
be able to help you. But when to-day," she continued,
turning away her head to hide the rising tears, "I showed
such miserable weakness, I felt that you would never listen
to me again on such subjects, and would doubt more than
ever their reality, and it made me very unhappy. I feel
grateful that you have listened to me so patiently. I hope
you won't let my weakness hurt my cause. Now you see
what a frank, guileless conspirator I am," she added, trying
to smile at him through her tears.
While she spoke Gregory bent upon her a look that tried
to search her soul. But the suspicious man of the world
could not doubt her perfect sincerity. Her looks and words
disclosed her thought as a crystal stream reveals a white
pebble over which it flows. He stepped forward and took
her hand with a pressure that caused it pain for hours after,
but he trusted himself to say only, "You are my good
236 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
angel, Miss Walton. Now I understand your influence
over me," and then abruptly left the room.
But he did not understand her influence. A man seldom
does when he first meets the woman whose words, glances,
and presence have the subtle power to fill his thoughts,
quicken his pulse, stir his soul, and awaken his whole
nature into new life. He usually passes through a lumi
nous haze of congeniality, friendship, Platonic affinity, or
even brotherly regard, till something suddenly clears up
the mist and he finds, like the first man, lonely in Eden,
that there is but one woman for him in all the world.
Gregory was in the midst of the cloud, but it seemed
very bright around him as he paced his room excitedly.
GREGORY'S FINAL CONCLUSION 237
CHAPTER XXIII
GREGORY'S FINAL CONCLUSION IN REGARD TO MISS WALTON
ANNIE WALTON" was now no longer an enigma to
Gregory. He had changed his views several times
in regard to her. First, she was a commonplace,
useful member of the community, in a small way, and part
of the furniture of a well-ordered country-house plain fur
niture too, he had said to himself. But one evening in her
company had convinced him that such a Miss Walton was a
fiction of his own mind, and he who had come to regard
average society girls as a weariness beyond endurance was
interested in her immediately.
Then her truth and unselfishness, and the strong religious
element in her character, had been a constant rebuke to him,
but he had soothed himself with the theory that she differed
from others only in being untempted. He then had re
solved to amuse himself, ease his conscience, and feed his
old grudge against her sex, by teaching the little saint that
she was only a weak, vain creature. Yet she had sustained
not only his temptations, but another ordeal, so searching
and terrible that it transformed her into a heroine, a being
of superior clay to that of ordinary mortals. "It's Her
nature to be good, mine to be bad," he had said; "Fm
a weed, she is a flower." But Annie herself had rudely
dispelled this illusion.
Now he saw her to be a woman who might, did she yield
to the evil within her and without, show all the vanity,
weakness, and folly generally, of which he had at first be
lieved her capable, but who, by prayer and effort, daily
238 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
achieved victories over herself. In addition, she had mani
fested the most beautiful and God-like trait that can ennoble
human character the desire to save and sweeten others'
lives. To have been lectured and talked to on the subject
of religion in any conventional way by one outside of his
sympathies would have been as repulsive as useless, but
Annie had the tact to make her effort appear like angelic
ministry.
There is that about every truly refined woman with a
large loving heart which is irresistible. The two qualities
combined give a winning grace that is an "open sesame"
everywhere. The trouble is that culture and polish are too
often the sheen of an icicle.
He believed he saw just her attitude toward him. It
reminded him of Miss Bently's efforts in his behalf, but
with the contrast that existed between Miss Bently and
Annie. He now wondered that he could have been inter
ested in such a vain, shallow creature as Mrs. Grobb had
proved herself, and he excused himself on the ground that
he had idealized her into something that she was not. All
that Annie said and did had the solidity of truth, and not
the hollowness of affectation. And yet there was one thing
that troubled him. While her effort to help him out of his
morbid, unhappy state was so sincere, she showed no special
personal interest in himself, such as he had in her. If he
should now go away, she would place him merely in the
outer circle of her friends or acquaintance, and make good
the old saying, "Out of sight, out of mind." But already
the conviction was growing strong that it would be long be
fore she would be out of his mind. Though he had plenty
of pride, as we have seen, he was not conceited, and from
long familiarity with society could readily detect the differ
ence between the regard she would feel for a man personally
attractive and the interest of aroused sympathies which she
might have in any one, and which her faith and nature led
her to have in every one. Of course he was not satisfied
with the latter, and it was becoming one of his dearest
GREGOR Y 'S FINAL CONCL USION 239
hopes to awaken a personal feeling, though of just what
kind he had not yet even defined to himself.
When the tea-bell rang, much later than usual on account
of the chaos of the day, he was glad to go down. Her soci
ety was far pleasanter than his own, and future events might
make everything clearer.
His supposition in regard to Johnny was correct. As he
descended the stairs, the boy came out of the sitting-room,
holding Annie tightly by the hand and beaming upon her
like the sun after a shower, and when he found by his plate
a huge apple that had been roasted specially for him, his cup
of happiness was full and he was ready for another shaking.
If the apple once caused discord it here confirmed peace.
The supper was as inviting as the dinner had been for
bidding, indicating a change of policy in the kitchen cabi
net. In fact, after Zibbie cooled off, she found that she
was not ready for "the world to come to an end" (or its
equivalent, her leaving the Waltons after so many years of
service and kindness). She had not yet reached the point
of abject apology, though she knew she would go down on
her old rheumatic knees rather than leave her ark of ref
uge and go out into the turbulent waters of the world ; still
she made propitiating overtures in the brownest of buttered
toast, and a chicken salad that might have been served as
ambrosia on Mount Olympus. Zibbie was a guileless strate
gist, for in the success of the supper she proved how great
had been her malign ingenuity and deliberation in spoiling
the dinner. She could never claim that it was accidental.
Hannah no longer waited as if it were a funeral occasion,
and the domestic skies were fast brightening up, except
in one quarter: Mr. Walton's chair was vacant, and Greg
ory noticed that Annie often looked wistfully and sadly
toward it.
With the sensitiveness of one who Habitually hid his
deeper feeling from the world, Gregory tried to act as if
his last conversation with Annie had been upon the weather ;
and as might be expected of refined people, no allusion was
240 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
made to the unpleasant features of the day. Neither then
nor afterward was a word adverse to the Camdens spoken.
They had been guests, and that was enough for the Wai-
tons' nice sense of courtesy. Only Susie, with a little sigh
of relief, gave expression to the general feeling by saying,
"Somehow I feel kind of light to-night. I felt dreadfully
heavy this morning."
Annie, with a smile on her lips and something like a tear
in her eye, noticed the child's remark by adding, "I think
we should all feel light if grandpa were only here."
After supper she sung to the children and told them a
bedtime story, and then with a kiss of peace sent them off
to their dream-wanderings.
During Annie's absence from the parlor, Gregory re
mained in his room. He was in no mood to talk with any
one else. Even Miss Eulie's gentle patter of words would
fall with a sting of pain.
When Annie came down to the parlor she said, "Now,
Mr. Gregory, ^1 will sing as much as you wish, to make
up for last evening. Indeed I must do something to get
through the hours till father's return, for I feel so anxious
and self-reproachful about him."
"And so make happiness for others out of your pain,"
said he. "Why don't you complain and fret all the evening
and make it uncomfortable generally ?"
"I have done enough of that for one day. What will
you have ?"
An impulse prompted him to say "You," but he only
said, "Your own choice," and walked softly up and down
the room while she sung, now a ballad, now a hymn, and
again a simple air from an opera, but nothing light or gay.
He was taking a dangerous course for his own peace.
r As we have seen, Annie's voice was not one to win special
admiration. It was not brilliant and highly cultivated, and
had no very great compass. She could not produce any of
the remarkable effects of the trained vocalist. But it was
exceedingly sweet in the low, minor notes. It was sympa-
GREGORY'S FINAL CONCLUSION 241
thetic, and so colored by the sentiment of the words that
she made a beautiful language of song. It was a voice
that stole into the heart, and kept vibrating there long
hours after, like an ^Eolian harp just breathed upon by
a dying zephyr.
As was often the case, she forgot her auditor, and began
to reveal herself in this mode of expression so natural to
her, and to sing as she did long evenings when alone. At
times her tones would be tremulous with pathos and feeling,
and again strong and hopeful. Then, as if remembering the
great joy that soon would be hers in welcoming back her
absent lover, it grew as tender and alluring as a thrush's
call to its mate.
"O'er the land and o'er the sea
Swiftly fly my thoughts to thee;
Haste thee and come back to me:
I'm waiting.
"Thou away, how sad my song!
When alone, the days are long ;
Soon thou'lt know how glad and strong
My welcome.
"Haste thee, then, o'er sea and land:
Quickly join our loving band,
Waiting here to clasp thy hand
In greeting."
"Indeed, Miss Walton," said Gregory, leaning upon the
piano, "that would bring me from the antipodes."
She did not like his tone and manner, and also became
conscious that in her choice of a ballad she had expressed
thoughts that were not for him; so she tried to turn the
matter lightly off by saying, "Where you probably were
in your thoughts. What have you been thinking about
all this long time while I have fallen into the old habit
of talking to myself over the piano?"
"You, I might say; but I should add, in truth, what
you have said to me this evening."
ROE IV 11
242 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
"I hope only the latter."
"Chiefly, I've been enjoying your singing. You have a
very peculiar voice. You don't 'execute' or 'render' any
thing, any more than a bird does. I believe they have
been your music teachers."
"Crows abound in our woods," she answered, laughing.
"So do robins and thrushes."
Her face suddenly had an absent look as if she did not
hear him. It was turned from the light, or the rich color
that was mantling it would have puzzled him, and might
have inspired hope. With -some abruptness and yet hesi
tation, such as is often noted when a delicate subject is
broached, she said, "Mr. Gregory, I wish I could make
peace between you and Mr. Hunting. I think you are
not friendly."
As she looked to see the effect of her remark the light
shone on his face, and she was again deeply pained to see
how instantly it darkened. For a moment he did not reply;
then in a cold, constrained voice, he said, "He is a friend
of the family, I suppose."
1 ' Yes, ' ' she replied, eagerly.
"I too would like to be regarded as a friend, and espe
cially to you; so I ask it as a great personal favor that you
will not mention that gentleman's name again during the
brief remnant of my visit."
"Do you mean any imputation against him?" she asked,
hotly.
Policy whispered, "Don't offend her. Hunting may be
&. near relation;" so he said, quietly, "Gentlemen may have
difficulties concerning which they do not like to speak. I
have made no imputation against him whatever, but I entreat
you to grant my request. ' '
Annie was not satisfied, but sat still with knit brows.
At that moment she heard her father's step and ran joy
fully to meet him. He had come home chilled from a long
ride in the raw wind, and she spent the rest of the evening
in remorseful ministrations to his comfort. As she flitted
GREGORY'S FINAL CONCLUSION 243
around him, served his tea and toast, and petted him gen
erally, Gregory felt that he would ride for a night after the
"Wild Huntsman" to be so treated.
He also rightly felt that Annie's manner was a little cool
toward him. It was not in her frank, passionate nature to
feel and act the same toward one who had just expressed
such bitter hostility toward her lover. But the more he
thought of it the more determined he was that there should
be no alienation between them on account of Hunting.
"Curse him!" he muttered, "he has cost me too much
already."
He had the impression that Hunting was a relative of
the family. That he was the accepted lover of the pure and
true girl that he himself was unconsciously learning to love
was too monstrous a thought to be entertained. Still An
nie's words and manner caused him some sharp pangs of
jealousy, till he cast the very idea away in scorn as un
worthy of both himself and her.
"Evil as my life has been, it is white compared with
his," he said to himself.
In accordance with his purpose to keep the vantage-
ground already gained, he was geniality itself, and so en
tertained Miss Eulie and Mr. Walton that Annie soon re
lented and smiled upon him as kindly as ever. She was
in too humbled and softened a mood that evening to be re
sentful, except under great provocation, and she was really
very grateful to Gregory for his readiness to overlook her
weakness and give her credit for trying to do right. In
deed, his sincere admiration and outspoken desire for her
esteem inclined her toward him, for was she not a woman ?
"After all," she thought, "he has said nothing against
Charles. They have had a quarrel, and he no doubt is the
one to blame. He is naturally very proud and resentful,
and would be all the more so in that degree that he was
wrong himself. If I can help him become a Christian,
making peace will be an easy affair; so 1 will not lose the
hold that I have gained upon him When Charles comes
244 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
he will tell me all about it, and I will make him treat Greg
ory in such a way that enmity cannot last. ' '
How omnipotent girls imagine themselves to be with
those who swear they will do anything under heaven to
please them, but who usually go on in the old ways!
It was late when the family separated for the night, but
later far when Gregory retired. The conclusion of his long
revery was that in Annie Walton existed his only chance
of life and happiness. She seemed to possess the power to
wake up all the man left in him, and if there were any help
in God, she only could show him how to find it.
Thus his worldly wisdom had taught him, as many
others had been taught, to lean on a human arm for his
main support and chief hope, while possibly in the uncer
tain future some help from heaven might be obtained. He
was like a sickly plant in the shade saying to itself, "Yon
der ray of sunlight would give me new life," while it has
no thought of the sun from which the ray came. He truly
wished to become a good man for his own sake as well as
Annie's, for he had sufficient experience in the ills of evil;
but he did not know that a loving God does not make our
only chance dependent on the uncertain action and imper
fect wisdom of even the best of earthly friends. The One
who began His effort of saving man by dying for him will
not afterward neglect the work, or commit it wholly to
weak human hands.
The next morning, being that of Saturday, brought
Annie many duties, and these, with callers, so occupied
her time that Gregory saw but little of her. The shadow
between them seemed to have passed away, and she treated
him with the utmost kindness. But there was a new shadow
on her face that he cruld not understand, and after break
fast he said to her as they were passing to the parlor, "Miss
Walton, you seem out of spirits. I hope nothing painful
has happened."
"Jeff found my lost letter this morning," she said, "and
1 have been deservedly punished anew, for it brought me
GREGORY'S FINAL CONCLUSION 245
unpleasant tidings;" and she hastily left the room, as if not
wishing to speak further on the matter.
It had indeed inflicted a heavy disappointment, for it
was from Hunting, stating that business would detain him
some days longer in Europe. But she had accepted it with
resignation, and felt that it was but a light penalty for all
her folly of the two preceding days.
Gregory was not a little curious about it, for he was in
terested now in everything connected with her: but as she
did not speak of it again, good taste required that he should
not. An uncomfortable thought of Hunting as the possible
writer crossed his mind, but he drove it from him with some
thing like rage.
As Gregory sat brooding by his fire, waiting till the sun
should grow higher before starting for a walk, Jeff came up
with an armful of wood, and seemed bubbling over with
something. He, too, had suffered sorely in the storm he
had helped to raise the preceding day, and had tremblingly
eaten such dinner as the irate Zibbie had tossed on the table
for him, as a man might lunch in the vicinity of a bombshell.
He seemed to relieve himself by saying, with his character
istic grin, as he replenished the fire, "It was dreadful 'pes-
tuous yesterday, but de winds is gone down. I'se glad dat
ole hen is done for, but she hatch a heap ob trouble on her
las' day."
Jeff belonged to that large school of modern philoso
phers who explain the evils of the day on very superficial
grounds. The human heart is all right. It's only "dat
ole hen" or unfavorable circumstances of some kind, that
do the mischief.
246 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
CHAPTER XXIV
"THE WORM-INFESTED CHESTNUT" GREGORY TELLS THE
WORST
IN his solitary ramble, Gregory again thought long and
deeply over the situation. The impression was grow
ing strong that the supreme hour of his life, which
would decide his destiny for good or evil, was fast ap
proaching. For years previously he had given up the
struggle against the latter, and had sunk deep in moral
apathy, making greater effort to doubt everything con
cerning God than to believe. Then he had lost even his
earthly ambition, and become mere driftwood on the tide
of time. But a sweet, true woman was doing a work for
him like that of Elsie for Prince Henry in the Golden Le
gend. A consciousness of power to take up his burden
again and be a man among men was coming back, and old
Daddy Tuggar's words were growing into a hope-inspiring
prophecy: "She could take the wickedest man livin' to
heaven, if she'd stay right by him."
And yet his self-distrust was painfully and dangerously
great, and he feared that when Annie came to know the
worst about him, and how he had plotted against her, she
would shrink from him. If she despaired of him he would
despair of himself. He was certain that he could not win
even an intimate congenial acquaintance, much less a more
tender regard, unless he became a true, good man, worthy
of her confidence. He could not become such by commenc
ing in deception by hiding the past, and trying to appear
what he was not. For in the first place she would certainly
find him out and despise him, and in the second place his
GREGORY TELLS THE WORST 247
own nature now revolted at anything false in his relations
with her. After long anxious thought, he concluded that
the only safe, as well as the only honorable, course was per
fect frankness. If he began wrong, the end would be dis
astrous. He was no longer subject to school-boy impulses,
but was a mature and thoughtful man, and had trained him
self in business to look far and keenly into the consequences
of present action. He saw in this Walton blood an intense
antipathy to deceit. His own nature was averse to it also,
and his experience with Hunting had made it doubly hate
ful. His pride revolted at it, for his lack of hypocrisy had
been the one ground of self-respect that remained in him.
If in his folly and wickedness he had blotted out the possi
bility of a happy future, he must endure the terrible truth
as he could. To try to steal into heaven, earthly or celes
tial, by the back door of specious seeming, only to be dis
covered in his true character and cast out with greater igno
miny, was a course as revolting as foolish. Annie knew
him to be a man of the world, with sceptical tendencies,
but to her guileless nature and inexperience this might not
mean anything very bad. In the secret of his own soul,
however, he had to meet these terrible questions:
"Can God receive and pardon a willing unbeliever, a
man who has sinned against the clearest light, a gambler,
a libertine, an embodiment of selfishness ? Can it be that
Annie Walton will ever receive even friendship from one so
stained, knowing the additional fact that I plotted against
her and sought for my own senseless gratification to prove
that she was a weak, vain woman, who would be no better
than myself if tempted in like manner ? It is true that I
never betrayed innocence or wronged a man out of a dollar.
It is true that in the code of the world I have done nothing
to lose my character as a gentleman, and even my design
upon Miss Walton would pass as a harmless flirtation in
society ; but the code of the world has no force in her pure
mind, and the license it permits is an insult to the law of
God. And now it is not with the world, but with her and
248 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
Heaven that I have to deal. Things at which society shrugs
its shoulders indifferently are to them crimes, and black
ones too. I might as well seek her love with a felon's in
dictment hanging over me as to seek it hiding my past life.
When she came to find me out she would feel that I had
wronged her unutterably, and confidence, the only basis of
lasting esteem, would be gone.
"Deep in my heart I have never doubted my mother's
faith. When I imagined I did I was self-deceived. Every
thing here confirms it, and Miss Walton more than all. I
will consult the divine oracle. She shall be the fair vestal,
the gentle priestess. She lives near to heaven, and knows
its mind. If her kind and womanly nature shrinks from
me, if she coldly draws her skirts aside that I pollute them
not even with a touch if she by word or even manner
proves that she sees an impassable gulf between us then
she need waste no breath in homilies over repentance and
in saying that God can receive those whom man cannot.
I'll not even listen, but go back to the city and meet my
fate. If imperfect human creatures cannot forgive each
other if I have gone so far beyond the mercy of a tender
hearted woman then I need look for nothing from a just
and holy God. It's mockery for good people, with horror
and disgust slightly veiled upon their faces, to tell poor
wretches that God will receive them and love them, while
they would no more take them into their confidence and
esteem than they would a pestilence. It's like people say
ing to one in the last stage of consumption, 'I hope you
will be better soon.' They don't hope or expect any such
thing. The Bible is said to teach that a man can sin away
his day of grace. I had about believed that I had sinned
away mine. This genuine, honest Christian girl has made
me think differently. She has inspired the strong hope
that she could lead me to become a good man even a
Christian. She shall either fulfil that hope or show it to
be false."
Such was the outline of his thoughts that long day, dur-
GREGORY TELLS THE WORST 249
ing which hope and fear balanced an even scale. But the
evening shadows found fear predominating. His awakened
conscience and his recent contact with true moral standards
revealed him to himself in darker and still darker shadow.
At times he was almost ready to despair, to bid his enter
tainers a courteous farewell on Monday, and go back to the
city as he came, with the additianal wretchedness of having
seen the heaven he could not enter.
But when he came down to supper, Annie smiled so
sweetly and looked so gentle and kind, that he thought,
"She does not seem one to push a wretch over a precipice.
That warm little hand that charmed away my headache so
gently cannot write Dante's inscription over my 'Inferno,'
and bid me enter it as 'my own place' ; and yet I dread her
sense of justice."
In his anxiety and perturbation of mind he was unusually
grave and silent during the meal and evening. Annie ex
ulted secretly over him.
"He ]s thinking in earnest now. His old apathy and
trifling manner are gone."
He was indeed thinking in terrible earnest. Her effort
had awakened no school-girl interest and penitence that she
could soothe and reward by quoting a few sweet promises,
but had aroused a spirit like that which came down from
the hills of Gadara, and which no man could bind.
Men and women in good society may be very polished
and refined, and yet their souls in God's sight and their
own be shameful, "naked," wearing no robe of righteous
ness, bound by no laws of purity and right, and "always,
night and day, crying and cutting" themselves in the unrest
of remorse. Sad and yet true it was that the demon-
possessed man, the terror of the Gadarenes, was but too
true a type of the gentlemanly and elegant Walter Gregory,
as he sat that night in a torment of dread and hope at the
peaceful fireside of a Christian family. If his fears were
realized if Annie turned from him when he revealed his
true self to her there seemed to him every probability that
250 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
evil evermore would be his master. While she was inno
cently hoping and praying that her words and influence
might lead him to read his Bible, go to church, and eventu
ally find his way into the "green pastures beside the still
waters," it seemed that within a few hours she would either
avert or complete that most awful of tragedies the loss
of a soul.
He accompanied them to church the following morning,
and his manner was grave even to solemnity. Little won
der. In a certain sense, in view of his resolution, the Judg
ment Day had come to him.
With heavy, contracted brows he listened to a sermon
anything but reassuring. The good old minister inclined to
a legal and doctrinal gospel, and to-day his subject was
the perfection and searching character of the divine law.
He showed how God could make no terms with sin that
he hated it with a terrible and vindictive hatred, because in
all respects it was opposite and antagonistic to His nature
because it defiled, degraded, and destroyed. He traced all
human wretchedness to this poisonous root, and Gregory
trembled and his face grew dark with despair as he realized
how it was inwoven with every fibre of his heart. Then in
simple but strong language the silver-haired old man, who
seemed a type of the ancient prophets, portrayed the great
white throne of God's justice, snowy, too dazzling for human
eyes, and the conscience- stricken man shrunk and cowered.
He turned to Annie to see how this train of thought, so
terrific to him, affected her. Not a trace of fear was upon
her face, but only serene, reverent awe. He glanced at Mr.
Walton, but the old magistrate sat in his place, calm and
dignified, evidently approving the action of the greater
Judge. Miss Eulie's face, as seen between himself and the
light of the window, appeared spirit-like.
"Thus they will look on the Judgment Day," thought
Gregory, "while I tremble even at its picture. the vital
difference between guilt and innocence, between faith and
unbelief I' 1
QREGORY TELLS THE WORST 251
If the venerable clergyman had been talking personally
to Gregory or any sinful creature, he would not have con
cluded his subject where he did. He would have shown
how between the throne of justice and the sinner there
stood an Advocate, an Intercessor, a Saviour. But having
logically developed his text, he finished his discourse
Perhaps on the following Sabbath he might present the
mercy of God with equal clearness. But the sermon of
the day, standing alone and confirming the threatenings
of an accusing conscience, depressed Gregory greatly. It
did not anger him, as such truth usually did. He was too
weak and despairing. He now felt the hopelessness and
folly of opposition. The idea of getting into a passion with
fate! Only weak natures fume at the inevitable. There is
a certain dignity in silent, passive despair.
Annie's voice singing the closing hymn beside him
sounded like an angel's voice across the "great gulf."
Almost mechanically he walked down the aisle out into
the sunny noon of a warm October day. Birds were twit
tering around the porch. Fall insects filled the air with
their cheery chirpings. The bay of a dog, the shrill crow
ing of a cock, came softened across the fields from a neigh
boring farm. Cow- bells tinkled faintly in the distance, and
two children were seen romping on a hillside, flitting here
and there like butterflies. The trees were in gala dress of
crimson and gold, and even the mountains veiled their stern
grandeur in a purple haze, through which the sun's rays
shimmered with genial but not oppressive warmth.
The people lingered around the door, shaking hands and
greeting one another with the plain but cordial courtesy
of the country. Gregory heard one russet-apple-faced man
say that "Betsy was better," and an old colored woman,
with a visage like that apple in black and mottled decay,
Baid in cheerful tones that ' ' little Sampson was gittin' right
peart." A great raw-boned farmer asked a half-grown boy,
"How's yer mare?" and the boy replied that the animal
was better also. All seemed better that bright day, and
252 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
from a group near came the expression, "Crops were good
this year. ' ' While the wealthier and more cultured members
of the congregation had kindly nods and smiles for all,
they naturally drew together, and there seemed a little
flutter of excitement over the renewal of the sewing society
that had been discontinued during the summer.
Gregory stood apart from all this, with the heavy con
traction still upon his brow, and asked himself, "What
have these simple, cheery, commonplace people, with their
petty earth-born cares and interests, to do with that 'great
white throne' of which we have just heard ? and where in
this soft, dreamy landscape, so suggestive of peace, rest,
and everyday life, lurks any hint of the 'wrath of a just and
holy God'?"
And then the old pastor, who a little before had seemed
a prototype of John, the stern reformer from the wilderness,
came out smiling and benignant, greeting his flock as a
father might his children. The very hand that had been
raised in denunciation, and in threatening a doom that
would appall the heart of courage itself, was given to
Gregory in a warm and cordial grasp. The man he had
trembled before now seemed the personification of sweet-
tempered human kindness. The contrast was so sharp that
it seemed to Gregory that either what he saw or what he
had heard must be an utter delusion.
As they were driving home, he suddenly broke the
moody silence by asking Miss Walton, "How do you recon
cile the scene at the church door, so matter-of-fact, cheery,
and earthly, with the terrible pictures suggested by the
sermon ? If such things are before us, it seems to me that
bright, sunny days like these are mockery. ' '
She looked at him wistfully. The sermon had not been
what she would have wished, but she trusted it would do
him good by cutting away every hope based on anything
in himself or in vague general ideas of God's indiscriminate
mercy. She answered gently, "The contrast was indeed
great, now I think of it, and yet each scene was 'matter-
GREGORY TELLS THE WORST 253
of- fact' to me in the sense of being real. Besides, that one
which our pastor described was a court of justice. I shall
have an Advocate there who will clear me. As for 'bright
days, ' I believe they are just what God means His people
to have always."
"Yes," said he, gloomily, "that is your side of the
question."
"It may be yours also," she replied, in a low tone.
He shook his head and looked away to hide his pain.
After a short time he again said, "Do you not think that
the view of God which your minister gave is very depress
ing to the average man ? Is not His law too perfect for im
perfect humanity?"
"Not at all," she answered, eagerly; but before she
could say more, Mr. Walton, unaware of the subject occu
pying them, turned from the front seat and introduced
another topic.
After dinner, Gregory went to his room, which he rest
lessly paced.
"Even her creed, her faith, as well as her purity and
truth, raises a wall as high as heaven between us," he ex
claimed, bitterly. "She has only to see me as God sees, to
shrink away appalled, disgusted. Well, she shall, ' ' he mut
tered, grinding his teeth; "I shall not add the worst tor
ment of all to my perdition by deceiving her."
As he came down stairs, Annie had just finished reading
to the children, and he said, "Miss Walton, will your ideas
of Sabbath- keeping prevent you from taking a stroll in the
garden with me ?"
"Not at all," she replied, smiling. "A garden is a good
place to keep Sunday in."
He walked silently at her side across the lawn down a
shady walk. Annie hoped much from this interview, and
sent a swift, earnest prayer to Heaven that she might speak
wisely. She feared that his dejection would pass into dis
couragement and despair. She saw that he was much de
pressed, and judged correctly that it was because he had
254 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
seen only one side of a great truth. She hoped to cheer
and inspire him with the other side. Moreover, her religion
was very simple. It was only becoming God's friend, in
stead of remaining indifferent or hostile. To her, no matter
what the burden, it was simply leading the heavy-laden to
the strong Divine Friend as people were brought to Him of
old, and establishing the personal relations of love, faith,
and following.
But she did not realize the desperate nature or the com
plications of Gregory's moral infirmity. Still she was a safe
adviser, for she did not propose to cure him herself. She
wished to rally and cheer him, to inspire hope, and to turn
his eyes from sin to the Saviour, so she said, "Mr. Gregory,
why do you look as if marching to execution ?"
"Perhaps because I feel as if I were," he said.
Just then a variegated leaf parted from a spray over
hanging the path somewhat in advance of them, and flut
tered to their feet.
"Poor little leaf!" said Gregory, picking it up, "your
bright colors will soon be lost. Death has come to you too.
Why must this wretched thought of death be thrust on one
at every turn ? Nature is full of it. Things only live, ap
parently, for the sake of dying. Just as this leaf becomes
most beautiful it drops. What a miserable world this is,
with death making havoc everywhere! Then your theology
exaggerates the evil a thousand-fold. If a man must die,
let him die and cease to be. But your minister spoke to
day of a living death, in which one only exists to suffer.
What a misfortune to have existed!"
As Gregory gloomily uttered these bitter words, they
stood looking at the leaf that had suggested them. Annie's
face brightened with a sudden thought. She turned, and
after a few rapid steps sprung lightly up and caught the
twig from which the leaf had fallen. Then turning to her
companion, who regarded with surprise and admiration
the agile grace of the act, she said, "Mr. Gregory, you
need lessons in logic. If the leaf you hold is your theme,
GREGORY TELLS THE WORST 255
as you gave me reason to believe, you don't stick to it,
and you draw from it conclusions that don't follow the
premise. Another thing, it is not right to develop a sub
ject without regard to its connection. Now from just this
place," she continued, pointing with her finger, "the leaf
dropped. What do you see? What was its connection?"
"Why, little branch full of other leaves. These would
soon have dropped off and died also, if you had not
hastened their fate."
"That's a superficial view, like the one you just took
of this 'miserable world,' as you call it. I think it is a very
good world a much better one than we deserve. And now
look closely and justly at your theme's connection, and tell
me what you see. Look just here;" and her finger rested
on the little green spot where the stem of the leaf had joined
the spray.
"I see a very small bud," lie said, intelligence of her
meaning dawning in his face.
"Which will develop next spring into other leaves and
perhaps into a new branch. All summer long your leaf
has rustled and fluttered joyously over the certainty that a
richer and fuller life would come after it, a life that it was
providing for through the sunny days and dewy nights.
There is no death here, only change for the better. And
so with everything that has bloomed and flourished in this
garden during the past season, provision has been made for
new and more abundant life. All these bright but falling
leaves and fading flowers are merely Nature's robes, orna
ments that she is throwing carelessly aside as she withdraws
for a little time from her regal state. Wait till she appears
again next spring, as young, fresh, and beautiful as when,
like Eve, she saw her first bright morning. Come and see
her upon her throne next June. Nature full of death!
Why, Mr. Gregory, she speaks of nothing but life to those
who understand her language."
"O that you would teach it to me I" he said, with a
deeper meaning than she detected.
256 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
"Again," she continued, "our theology does not repre
sent death as making havoc anywhere. It is sin that makes
the havoc, and death is only one of its consequences. And
even this enemy God compels to work for the good of His
friends. Do not think, " she continued, coming a step nearer
in her earnestness, "that I make such allusions to pain you,
but only in my sincere wish to help you, and illustrate my
meaning by something you know so well. Did death make
havoc in your mother's case ? Was it not rather a sombre-
liveried janitor that opened for her the gates of heaven?"
He was deeply touched, and turned away his face. After
a moment he continued his walk, that they might get fur
ther away from the house and the danger of interruption.
He suddenly startled A nnie by saying, in a tone of harsh
and intense bitterness, "Her death made 'havoc' for me. If
she had lived I might have been a good man instead of the
wretch I am. If death as janitor opens the gates of heaven,
your religion teaches that it also opens the gates of hell.
How can I love a God who shuts up the sinful in an inferno
in dungeons of many and varied tortures, and racks them
forever ? Can I, just to escape all this, pretend that I love
Him, when in truth I fear and dread Him unspeakably ?
No, I'll never be a hypocrite."
Tears glistened in Annie's eyes as he turned to look at
her.
"You pity me," he said, more gently. "Your God does
not. If He wanted to be loved He should never have
revealed a hell,"
"Should He not in mercy, if it really existed ? And does
it not exist? Will merely a beautiful place make heaven
for anybody ? Mr. Gregory, look around this lovely autumn
evening. See the crimson glory of those clouds yonder in
the west. See that brightness shading off into paler and
more exquisite tints. Look, how those many-hued leaves
reflect the glowing sky. The air is as sweet and balmy as
that of Eden could have been. The landscape is beautiful
in itself, and especially attractive to you. To our human
GREGORY TELLS THE WORST 257
eyes it hardly seems as if heaven could be more perfect than
this. And yet, standing in the one spot of all the earth
most beautiful to you, Mr. Gregory, pardon me for saying
it, your face expresses nothing but pain. There is not a trace
of happiness in it. You were not happy when you came
here. I saw that the first day. All the pleasant surround
ings of your own home have not made you happy. Have
they given you even peace and quiet? Place does not
make heaven, but something we carry in our own bosoms,"
she concluded, leaving him to supply the rest of her thought.
His face was white with fear, and there was terror in his
tone as he turned and said to her, in a low voice, "Miss
Walton, that is what I have been coming to see and dread,
of late, and as you put the thoughts into words I see that
it is true. I carry perdition in my own heart. When I am
alone my imaginings frighten me; and when with others,
impulses arise to do the devil's own work."
"But it is the nature of God to save from all this. I am
so sorry that you do not understand Him better."
1 ' He saves some, ' ' said Gregory, gloomily.
"But many will not let Him save them," urged Annie.
"I should be only too glad to have Him save me, but
whether He will or not is the point at issue, and my hope
is very faint. Everything to day, but you, seems to con
firm my fate. Miss Walton, won't you take that little rustic
seat there by the brook ? I wish to tell you something that
will probably settle this question."
Annie wonderingly complied. This was an experience
she had never had before. She was rapidly realizing the
difference between being the spiritual guide of the girls in
her Bible-class and being the adviser of this strong-minded
yet greatly perverted man. But she turned to him a face
full of sympathy and encouragement.
For a moment it seemed he did not know how to begin,
and he paced restlessly up and down before her. Then
he said, "Miss Walton, you remember that worm-infested
chestnut through which you gave me such a just lesson ?' '
258 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
"Please do not speak of my foolish words at that time,"
she replied, eagerly.
"Pardon me, they were not foolish. They, with the
illustration of my own choice, revealed me to myself as
nothing had ever done before. Had it not been for your
graceful tact, I should have made a fool of myself by being
angry. If you had known what I deserved then you would
not have let me off so easily. But it's true. That lonely,
selfish chestnut, with a worm in its kernel, was a good em
blem of myself. Evil is throned in my heart supreme and
malignant. I suppose it's through my own fault, but be
that as it may, it's there, my master. I groan over and
curse the fact, but I do evil and think evil continually,
and I fear I always shall.
"No, listen to me to the end," he continued, as she was
about to speak.
"When on that strange mountain expedition, you made
the remark, 'What congenial friends we might be!' Those
words have echoed in my heart ever since, like the refrain
of a home- song to a captive. I would give more than I can
express for your friendship for the privilege of seeing you
and speaking to you frankly on these subjects occasionally,
for you and you only have inspired a faint hope that I
might become a better man. You are making Christianity
seem a reality and not a fashion. Though possessing human
weakness, you triumph over it, and you say it is through
prayer to God. I find it impossible not to believe every
thing you say, for whatever your faults are you are truth
itself. Through your influence the thought has come that
God might also hear and help me, but I have the fear and
almost the belief that I have placed myself beyond His
mercy. At any rate I have almost lost hope in anything
I can do by myself. I was in moral despair when I came
here, and might as well have been dead, but you have led
me to a willingness to make one more struggle, and a great
one, if I can see in it any chance of success. I fear I am
deceiving myself, but when with you, though you are im-
GREGORY TELLS THE WORST 259
measurably better than I, hope steals into my heart, that
before was paralyzed by despair. When you come to know
me as I know myself, I fear that you will shrink in just
horror away, and that I shall see reflected in your face the
verdict of heaven. But you shall know the worst the very
worst. I can never use deceit with you. If afterward you
ever take my stained hand again "
He did not finish the sentence, but heaved a great sigh,
as if of longing and hope that words could not utter.
It was the old truth illustrated, that God must become
human to gain humanity. Abstract truth could not save
this lost and guilty man, but the wanderer hoped that in
this sweet human life he had found the clew back to the
divine life.
Annie trembled at the responsibility that now suddenly
burdened her as she saw this trembling spirit clinging to
her as the one frail barrier between himself and the gulf
of utter despair. She nerved herself, by prayer and the
exertion of all her will, to be equal to the emergency.
And yet it was a fearful ordeal that she was called to go
through as the remorseful and deeply agitated man, his face
flushed with shame, now with impassioned, more often with
despairing gesture and accent, poured out the story of his
past life, and laid bare his evil heart, while he paced up and
down the little walk before her.
The transaction with Hunting he purposely passed over,
speaking of it merely as a business misfortune that had
robbed him even of earthly ambition. She saw a few sin-
stained pages of that dreadful book of human guilt which
God must look at every day.
Gregory did not spare himself, and palliated nothing,
softening and brightening no harsh and dark lines. On the
contrary, he was stern and blunt, and it was strange indeed
to hear him charging himself before a pure, innocent young
girl, whose good opinion was life to him, with what she re
garded as crimes. When he at last came to speak of his
designs against herself, of how he had purposed to take the
260 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
bloom and beauty from her character that he might laugh
at goodness as a dream and pretence, and despise her as he
did himself, his eye flashed angrily, and he grew vindictive
as if denouncing an object of his hate. He could not even
look at her during the last of his confession, but turned
away his face, fearing to see Annie's expression of aversion
and disgust.
It was with a paling cheek and growing dread that she
looked into that dark and fearful place, a perverted human
heart, and her every breath was a prayer that God would
enable her to see and act as Christ would were some poor
creature revealing to Him his desperate need.
Gregory suddenly paused in his low but passionate flow
of words, and put his hand to his head as if the pain were
insupportable. In fact, his anguish and the intense feeling
of the day had again brought on one of his old nervous
headaches. Thus far he had scarcely noticed it, but now
the sharp, quivering pangs proved how a wronged physical
nature could retaliate; how much more the higher and more
delicate moral nature !
After the paroxysm had passed, he continued, in the
hard, weary tone of utter dejection (for he had dreaded
even to look at Annie, and her silence confirmed his worst
fears), "Well, Miss Walton, you now know the worst. On
this peaceful Sabbath evening you have seen more of perdi
tion than you ever will again. You cannot even speak to
me, and I dare not look at your face. The expression
of horror and disgust which I know must be there would
blast me and haunt me forever. It would be worse than
death, for I did have a faint hope ' '
He was interrupted by an audible sob, and turning, saw
Annie with her face buried in her hands, weeping as if her
heart would break. He was puzzled for a moment, and
then, in the despairing condition of his mind interpreted
her wrongly. Standing near her with clenched hands, he
said, in the same hard tones which seemed to have passed
beyond the expression of feeling, "I'm a brute and worse.
GREGORY TELLS THE WORST 261
I have been wounding you as with blows by my vile story.
1 have been dragging your pure thoughts through the mire
of my wretched life. ' '
Annie tried to speak, but apparently could not for excess
of emotion.
"Why could I not have gone away and died by myself,
like some unclean beast?" he muttered. Then, in a tone
which she never forgot, and with the manner of one who
was indeed leaving hope and life behind him, he said, "Fare
well, Miss Walton; you will be better after I am gone."
She sprung up, and laying restraining hands upon his
arm, sobbed, "No no. Why don't you you understand
me ? My heart's breaking for you wait till I can speak. "
He placed her gently on the seat again. A great light
was coming into his eyes, and he stood bending toward her
as if existence depended on her next words. Could it be
that her swelling throat and sobs meant sympathy for him ?
She soon controlled herself, and looking up at him, with
a light in her eyes that shone through her tears as sun-rays
through the rain, said, "Forgive me. I never realized
before that so much sin and suffering could exist in one
unhappy life. I do pity you, as God does far more. I will
help you as He will."
Gregory knelt at her feet, and kissed her hand with the
fervor of a captive who had just received life and liberty.
"See, I do not shrink from you," she continued. "My
Master would not. Why should I ? He came to save just
such, and just such we all would be but for His grace and
shielding. I'm so sorry for you. "
He turned hastily away for a moment to hide his feel
ings, and said, slowly, "I cannot trust myself I cannot
trust God yet; but I trust you, and I believe you have
saved a soul from death."
He stood looking toward the glowing west, and, for the
first time in years, hoped that his life might close in
brightness.
"Mr. Gregory," said Annie, in a voice so changed that
262 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
he started and turned toward her hardly knowing what to
expect. She stood beside him, no longer a tender, com
passionate woman grieving for him, as if his sin were only
misfortune, but her face was almost stern in its purity and
earnestness. "Mr. Gregory, the mercy which God shows,
and which I faintly reflect, is for you in sharp distinction
from your sin. Do not for a moment think that I can look
with any lenience or indulgence on all the horrible evil you
have laid before me. Do not think I can excuse or pass
lightly over it as something of little consequence. I hate
your sin as I hate my own. I can honestly feel and frankly
show the sympathy I have manifested, only in view of your
penitence, and your sincere purpose, with God's help, to
root out the evil of your life. This I am daily trying to do,
and this you must do in the one and only way in which
there is any use in trying. It is only with this clear under
standing that I can give you my hand in the friendship of
mutual helpfulness, and in the confidence of respect."
He reverently took her hand and said, "Your conditions
are just, Miss Walton, and 1 accept your friendship as
offered with a gratitude beyond words. I can never use
deceit where you are concerned, even in thought. But
please do not expect too much of me. I have formed the
habit of doubting. It may be very long before I have your
simple, beautiful faith. I will do just the best I can! It
seems that if you will trust me, help me, pray for me, I can
succeed. If I am mistaken, I will carry my wretchedness
where the sight of it will not pain you. If I ever do reach
your Christian life, I will lavish a wealth of gratitude upon
you that cannot be expressed. Indeed, I will in any case,
for you have done all that I could hope and more."
"I will do all you ask," she said, heartily, giving at the
same time his hand a strong pressure with her warm, throb
bing palm, that sent a subtle current of hope and strength
into his heart. Her face softened into an expression of al
most sisterly affection, and with a gleam of her old mirth-
fulness she continued., "Take counsel of practical common-
GREGORY TELLS THE WORST
sense, Mr. Gregory. Why talk so doubtfully of success,
seeking it as you purpose to ? What right have you even
to imagine that God will bestow upon you the great distinc
tion of making you the first one of the race He refused to
hear and answer? Be humble and believe that He will
treat you like other people."
He stopped in their slow walk toward the house and
said, with glad animation, "Miss Walton, do you know you
have done more to strengthen me in that little speech than
by a long and labored argument?"
And so they passed in out of the purple twilight, Annie's
heart thrilling with something of the joy of heaven, and
Gregory feeling as if the dawn were coming after Egyptian
night.
As they left the garden a dusky face peered out of some
thick shrubbery and looked cautiously around. Then Jeff
appeared and attributed to the scene just described a very
different meaning from its real significance.
264 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
CHAPTER XXV
THE OLD HOME IN DANGER GREGORY RETRIEVES
HIMSELF
GREGORY made desperate efforts to keep up at the
supper- table, but could not prevent slight evidences
of physical pain, which Annie silently noticed.
After tea he hoped to escape to his room, for he could not
endure to show even his physical weakness so soon again.
On the contrary, he was longing intensely for an oppor
tunity to manifest a little strength of some kind. After his
recent interview he felt that he could even bear one of
his nervous headaches alone. But as he was about to excuse
himself, Annie interrupted, saying, "Now, Mr. Gregory,
that is not according to agreement. Do you suppose I can
not see that you are half beside yourself with one of your
old headaches? Was I such a poor physician the last time
that .you seek to escape me now ? Come back to the parlor.
I will not go out to church this evening, but devote myself
to you."
"Miss Walton," he replied, in a low tone, "when can
I make any return for all your kindness? I must seem
weakness itself in every respect, and I dread to appear to
you always in that light."
"Your pride needs bringing down, sir; see how towering
it is. Here you would go off by yourself, and endure a use
less martyrdom all night perhaps, when by a few simple
remedies I can relieve you, or at least help you forget the
pain. I have not the slightest objection to your being a
martyr, but I want some good to come out of it. ' '
"But I shall spoil your evening."
GREGORY RETRIEVES HIMSELF 265
"Certainly you will, if I think of you groaning up there
by yourself, while I am singing, perhaps:
" 'I love to steal awhile away
From every cumbering careP "
"Then I'm a cumbering care!"
"Whether you are or not, I'm not going to steal away
from you to-night. Come, do as I bid you."
He was only too glad to submit to her delicious tyranny.
She wheeled the lounge up to the fire, and placed her chair
beside it, while the rest of the family, seeing that he had
his old malady, went to the sitting-room.
"I have great pride in my nursing powers," she contin
ued, in her cheery way. "Now, if I were a man, I'd cer
tainly be a doctor. ' '
"Thank Heaven you are not!" he said, with a devout'
earnestness that quite startled her.
"What? A doctor?" she asked, quickly.
"Yes no; I mean a man, and doctor too."
"I see no reason why you should show such bitter
opposition to my being a man or a doctor either. Why
should you?"
"O well I think you are just right as a woman. You
make me believe in the doctrine of election, for it seems to
me that you were destined from all eternity to be just what
you are."
"What a strange, unfathomable doctrine that is!" said
Annie, softly and musingly.
"It's nothing but mystery all around us," he replied,
wearily and dejectedly.
"No, not 'all around us,' " she answered, quickly.
"It's clear when we look up. Faith builds a safe bridge
to God, and to Him there are no mysteries."
Her touch upon his brow thrilled him, and her presence
was both exhilarating and restful.
At last she said, "I am sorry you have these dreadful
headaches so often.''
ROE IV 12
266 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
"I shall never be again."
"Why so?"
"Because they have led to this evening. It has been so
many long, miserable years since I experienced anything
like this. ' '
"Ah, I see, you have been very lonely. You have had
no one to care for you, and that I believe has been the cause
of half your trouble evil, I mean. Indeed, they are about
the same thing. Don't you see? The world is too large a
place for a home. You need a nook in it, with some one
there to look after you and for you to think about."
He looked at her searchingly, and then turned away his
face in pain. She could not utter such words in that placid
style, were she not utterly devoid of the feeling that was
filling his soul with an ecstasy of hope and fear.
"Do not think that even many of our sex are like Miss
Bently. You will see and choose more wisely hereafter, and
find that, in exchanging that wretched club- life for a cosey
home of your own, you take a good step in all respects. ' '
"Would to Heaven that I had met such a girl as you at
first!" he ventured to say. "How different then all might
have been I"
"There is no use in dwelling on the past," she replied,
innocently. "You are now pledged to make the future
right."
"God helping me, I will. I will use every means in my
power," he said, in a tone of deep earnestness; and, as prin
cipal part of the means, determined to take her advice, but
with reference to herself. After a few moments he said,
"Miss Walton, as I promised to be perfectly frank with
you, I want to ask an explanation of something that I do
not understand, and which has been almost a heavenly sur
prise to ,me. I was nearly certain before this afternoon
that when you came to know what a stained, evil man I
am"
"Was," interrupted Annie.
"No, what I am. Character is not made in a moment
GREGORY RETRIEVES HIMSELF 267
As yet, I only hope and purpose to do better. I can hardly
understand why you do not shrink from me in disgust. It
seemed that both your faith and your nature would lead you
to do this. I thought it possible that out of your kindness
you might try to stand at a safe distance and give me some
good advice across the gulf. But that which I feared would
drive you from me forever has only brought you nearer.
Again I say, it has been a heavenly surprise."
"You use the word 'heavenly' with more appropriateness
than you think," she replied, gravely. "All such surprises
are heavenly in their origin, and my course is but a faint
reflection of Heaven's disposition toward you, and was
prompted by the duty I owe to God as well as to you.
Self-righteousness would have led me in Pharisaic pride to
say, 'Stand aside, 1 am holier than thou.' But you have
only to read the life of the perfect One to know that in so
doing I should not have been like Him. He laid His res
cuing hands on both the physical and the moral leper "
"As you have upon me," said Gregory, with a look of
such intense gratitude that she was embarrassed.
"I deserve no great credit, for it was only right that I
should do the utmost in my power to help you. How else
could I be a Christian in any real sense ? But there is noth
ing strange about it. Christianity is not like false religions,
that require unnatural and useless sacrifices. If I were a
true physician, and found you suffering from a terrible and
contagious disease, while I feared and loathed the disease,
I might have the deepest sympathy for you and do my best
to cure you. I do loathe the sin you confessed, inexpres
sibly. See how near it came to destroying you. While
God hates the sin, He ever loves the sinful."
"I hope you will always be divine in that respect," he
could not forbear saying, with rising color.
But her thoughts were so intent on what was uppermost
in her heart that she did not notice his covert meaning, and
said, innocently, "I will give you honest friendship so long
as you honestly try to redeem the pledges of to-day."
2G3 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
"Then I have your friendship for life, be it long or
short," said he, decisively.
With more lightness in her tone she continued, "And I
too will ask a question that has a bearing on a little theory
of my own. Supposing I had shrunk from you, and tried
to give some good advice from a safe distance, what would
you have done?"
"Left for New York to-morrow, and gone straight to the
devil as one of his own imps," he replied, without a mo
ment's hesitation.
She sighed deeply, and said, "I fear you would that is,
if left to yourself. And the worst of it is, it seems to me
that this is the way the Church is trying to save the world.
Suppose a doctor should address his patients through a
speaking-trumpet and hand them his remedies on the end
of a very long rod. Death would laugh at his efforts.
People can be saved only as Christ saved them. We must
go where they are, lay our hands upon them, and look
sympathy and hope right into their eyes. If Christ's fol
lowers would only do this, how many more might be res
cued who now seem hopelessly given over to evil!"
"Those -who won't do it," said Gregory, bitterly, "are
in no sense His true followers, but are merely the 'hangers
on' of His army, seeking to get out of it all they can for
self. Every general knows that the 'camp-followers' are
the bane of an army."
"Come, Mr. Gregory," said she, gently, "we are not the
general, and therefore not the judge. After this I shall ex
pect to see you in the regular ranks, ready to give and
take blows."
They now joined Mr. Walton and Miss Eulie in the
sitting-room, and Gregory professed to feel, and indeed
was, much better, and after a little music they separated
for the night. Although still suffering, Gregory sat by his
fire a long time, forgetful of pain.
High, blustering winds prevailed all the following day,
but they only made the quiet and cosiness of Mr. Walton's
GREGORY RETRIEVES HIMSELF 269
fireside more delightful. Gregory did not care to go out if
he went alone. He wished to be where he could see Annie
as often as possible, for every word and smile from her in
the intervals of her duties was precious. He did honestly
mean to become a good man if it were possible, but he saw
in her the only hopeful means. He did not pretend to
either faith in God or love for Him as yet, but only felt
a glow of gratitude, a warming of his heart toward Him in
view of His great mercy in sending to his aid such a minis
tering spirit as Annie had proved. He took it as an omen
that God meant kindly by him, and through this human
hand might save at last.
And he clung to this hand as the drowning do to any
thing that keeps them from sinking into dark and unknown
depths. He saw in Annie Walton earthly happiness cer
tainly, and his best prospect of heaven. What wonder then
that his heart lay at her feet in entire consecration ? Apart
from the peculiar fascination that she herself had for him,
he had motives for loving her that actuate but few. If
she had saved him from physical death it would have
been a little thing in comparison, but he shuddered to
think of the precipice from which she had drawn him
back.
He was cautious in revealing himself to her. The pres
ence of others was a restraint, and he plainly saw that she
had no such regard for him as he felt for her. But he hoped
with intense fervor yes, he even prayed to that God whom
he had so long slighted that in time she might return his
love. To-day he would close his eyes on the past and
future. She, the sunshine of his soul, was near, and he
was content to bask in her smiles.
Annie had given her father and aunt to understand that
their conspiracy promised to result in success, and they
treated him with marked but delicate kindness. The day
passed in music, reading, and conversation, and it was to
Gregory the happiest he remembered one of the sweet May
days that, by some happy blunder of nature, occasionally
270 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
bless us in March and he made the very most of it. Its
close found Annie Walton enthroned in his heart.
As for Annie, he perplexed her a little, but she explained
everything peculiar in his words and manner on the ground
of his gratitude only, and the glow of his newly awakened
moral nature. If she had been an experienced belle, she
might have understood his symptoms better, but she was
one of the last in the world to imagine people falling in
love with her. Never having received much admiration
from strangers, with no long list of victims, and believing
from her own experience that love was a gradual growth
resulting from long knowledge and intimacy with its object,
she could not dream that this critical man, who had seen
the beauties of two continents, would in a few days be
carried away by her plain face. Nor was he by her face,
but by herself.
Men of mind are rarely captivated by a face merely,
however beautiful, but by what it represents, or what they
imagine it does. Woe be to the beauty who has no better
capital than her face ! With it she can allure some one into
marrying her; but if he marries for an intelligent compan
ion, he is likely to prove the most disappointed and indiffer
ent of husbands on discovering the fraud. The world will
never get over its old belief that the fair face is the index
of graces slightly veiled, and ready to be revealed when the
right to know is gained. In nursery rhymes, fairy tales,
and the average novel, the beautiful heroine is also lovely,
and so in spite of adverse experience the world will ever ex
pect wisdom and truth from red lips, till they say too much
till the red lips themselves prove the contrary. Then
come the anger and disgust which men ever visit upon
those who deceive and disappoint them. Beauty is a dainty
and exquisite vestibule to a temple; but when a worshipper
is beguiled into entering, only to find a stony, misshapen
idol and a dingy shrine, this does not conduce to future
devotion.
Annie's face would not arrest passers-by, and so she had
GREGORY RETRIEVES HIMSELF 271
not been spoiled by too much homage, which is not good
for man or woman. But after passing the plain, simple
portico of externals into the inner temple of her sweet and
truthful life, the heart once hers would worship with undy
ing faith and love.
Gregory had come to interest her deeply, not only on the
ground of his need, but because she saw in him great capa
bilities for good. In all his evil, his downright honesty
and lack of conceit inspired a kind of respect. She also
saw that this excessively fastidious man had learned to
admire and esteem her greatly. It was not in her woman's
nature to be indifferent to this fact. She felt that if be
could be redeemed from his evil he might become a con
genial and valuable friend indeed, and if she could be the
means of rescuing the son of her father's friend it would
ever be one of her happiest memories. But with her heart
already occupied by a noble ideal of Hunting, the possibility
of anything more than friendship never entered her 1 mind.
The very fact that her affections were so engaged made her
blind to manifestations on the part of Gregory which might
otherwise have awakened suspicion. Still the confidential
relations growing up between them made her wish that she
might reveal to him her virtual engagement to Hunting;
and she would have done so, had he not resented the slight
est allusion in that direction. It now seemed probable that
Hunting would return before Gregory took his departure,
and if so, she felt that she could immediately reconcile
them. She came to the conclusion that her best course was
to wait till she could bring them together, and so make the
reconciliation certain by her own presence and influence;
for now, in her increasing regard for Gregory, she was de
termined that they all should be on good terms, so that in
the city home to which she looked forward the man she was
trying to lead to true life might be a frequent and welcome
visitor.
But it is a difficult thing to keep such friendships Pla
tonic in their nature under any circumstances, and in view
272 OPENING A VHESTNVT BURR
of Gregory's feelings, Annie's pretty dreams of the future
would be but baseless visions.
Monday evening brought one of those genial domestic
experiences that make home more satisfying in its pleasures
than all the excitements of the world. Mr. Walton had a
slight cold, and Annie was nursing and petting him, while
contributing to the general enjoyment by reading the daily
paper and singing some new ballads which she had just ob
tained from New York. Her father's indisposition was so
slight that it merely called for those little attentions which
are pleasant for affection to bestow and receive. The wind
howled dismally without, only to enhance the sense of peace
and comfort within, and at the usual hour all retired to rest,
without even the passing thought that anything might dis
turb them before they should meet again at the cheerful
breakfast- table.
Some time during the night Gregory seemed to hear
three distinct peals of thunder, wrathful and threatening,
and then a voice like that of Annie "Walton calling him to
escape a great danger. But it seemed that he was para
lyzed, and strove in vain to move hand or foot. Again
and louder pealed the thunder, and more urgent came the
call of the warning voice. By a desperate effort he sprung
with a bound upon the floor, and then realized that what
seemed thunder in the exaggeration of his dream was loud
knocking at his door. Annie's voice again called, "Mr.
Gregory, awake, dress. There is a fire. There may be
danger. ' '
He assured her that he would be out in a few moments,
and had only to open a shutter to obtain plenty of light,
though he could not see whence it came. In five minutes
he hastened downstairs and found Mr. Walton just issuing
from his room; and all went out on the front piazza. Greg
ory then saw that a large factory some distance up the
stream was burning, and that the fire was under such head
way that nothing could save the building. The wind had
increased during the night and fanned the flames into ter-
GREGORY RETRIEVES HIMSELF 273
rific fury. The building was old and dry, inviting destruc
tion in every part.
For a while they gazed with that fearful awe which this
terrible element, when no longer servant, but master, always
inspires. Susie had not been well during the night, and in
waiting on her, Annie had discovered the disaster.
A warning cough from Mr. Walton revealed to Annie
the danger of staying out in the raw winds; but from the
windows everything was apparent, and silently they watched
the rapid progress of the flames. The fire had caught in the
lower part of the building, and was advancing up from floor
to floor with its horrid illumination at the windows.
"Do you think I can do any good by going there?"
asked Gregory.
"Not at all," said Mr. Walton. "The whole of the
New York Fire Department could not save it now; and
from the sounds I hear, there will soon be throngs of people
there. Indeed, I am anxious about my own place. When
that shingle roof begins to burn there is no telling how far
the wind will carry the cinders. ' '
Annie looked at her father in quick alarm, then drew
Miss Eulie aside, and they immediately went upstairs.
With a more painful interest, Gregory now watched the
scene. The tall ladders which had first been raised against
the building were withdrawn. They were useless for the
whole interior seemed ablaze. Great tongues of fire began
leaping from the windows, mocking every effort. The rapid
Bteps of those hastening to the scene resounded along the
road, and the startling cry of "Fire! Fire!" was heard up
and down the valley till all merged in the shouts and cries
around the burning building. Mingling with the deeper,
hoarser tones of men were the shrill voices of women, show
ing that they too had been drawn to witness a destruction
that meant to them loss of bread. The foliage near was red
as blood in the dreadful glare, and the neighboring pines
tossed their tasselled boughs like dark plumes at a torch
light funeral. With a sudden roar a pyramid of flame shot
274 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
up through the roof, and was echoed by a despairing cry
from those whose vocation now indeed was gone. A mo
ment later a fiery storm of flakes and burning shingles filled
the sky.
To the great joy of our friends the wind was from such
a quarter as to carry this destructive tempest past them into
the woodland back of the house, which happily had been
rendered damp by recent rains.
But a cinder frequently sailed by unpleasantly near, re
minding one of scattering shots in a battle. A slight change
of wind would be their destruction, and a single stray fire
brand would endanger them.
Just as they began to breathe somewhat freely, hoping
that danger was past, a sudden side-eddy of the gale scat
tered a shower of sparks and burning shingles over the
house and out-buildings. Mr. Walton immediately rushed
forth, and, with a little whistle which he usually carried,
gave a shrill summons for Jeff, who lived in a cottage near.
But Jeff was off to the fire, and so did not appear. Gregory
and Annie also hastened out, and the former ran to the barn
and out-buildings first, as from their nature they were most
inflammable. To his and Mr. Walton's joy, no traces of
fire were seen. One or two smoking brands lay in the door-
yard, where they could cause no injury. But a cry of alarm
from Annie, who had stayed nearer the house, brought Mr.
Walton and Gregory to her side instantly. Pointing to the
roof of their house, she said, in tones of strong excitement,
"See there oh, see there!"
A burning piece of wood had caught on the highest part
near the ridge, and was smoking and smouldering in a way
that, with the strong wind fanning it, would surely cause
destruction if it were not dislodged.
"Oh, what shall we do?" she cried, wringing her hands.
"Can a ladder reach it?"
"The roof is too steep, even if it did," said Mr. Walton.
"Where is the ladder?" cried Gregory.
"By the carriage- house. But I fear it is useless."
GREGORY RETRIEVES HIMSELF 275
"Will you help me bring it, sir?"
They instantly brought the longest ladder on the place,
but saw that though it might touch the eaves, it would not
reach the ridge. The roof was so steep that one could not
keep footing on it; and when they took time to look and
consider, both gentlemen admitted that an effort in that
direction would fail, and probably at the cost of life.
"Is there no scuttle by which to get out on the roof?"
asked Gregory.
"No. Quick, Annie, get out what you can, for we shall
soon be homeless."
"Wait," said Gregory. "Is there no way to reach the
roof?"
"None that we can use. A light and daring climber
might possibly reach the ridge by the lighting-rod, after
leaving the ladder."
"Where is it?" cried Gregory, eager to do something to
make impossible even the thought that he was cowardly; for
the memory of his course in the counterfeiter's den rankled
deeply.
"No," cried both Mr. Walton and Annie, laying their
hands on him. "Your life is worth more than the house."
"My life is my own," he answered. "I will make an
effort to save the old place. Quick, help me. Here, girls"
(to Zibbie and Hannah, who now stood beside them in dis
may), "take hold of that end of the ladder and carry it out
there. Now push it up while I hold its foot. There, that's
it. I will do it. You cannot hinder, but only help. Miss
Walton, get me a rope. Hurry, while I prepare to climb."
With the help of the stout women, whose strength was
doubled by their fears and excitement, he placed the ladder
against the lightning-rod and siding of the house just under
the ridge. His tones were determined and authoritative.
He was now acting as Annie would if she were a man,
and she admired and respected him as never before. In
two or three moments she and her father returned with a
line, but again expostulated.
276 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
"Mr. Gregory, the risk is too great."
"You can't prevent it," said he, firmly. "I absolve
you from all responsibility. I take the risk in spite of
you. Make haste see how it's burning. There, that will
do. Stand back."
Even as he spoke he was climbing.
"Now that's generous," said Annie ; "but if you are in
jured, I shall never forgive myself."
He turned, and for a second smiled down upon her.
The strength of his new-born love made him glad to en
danger even life in her service, and the thought, "I can at
last win a little respect, as well as sympathy," nerved him
to double his ordinary powers. Like most country boys,
he had been a bold, active climber, and his knowledge and
former skill made the attempted feat possible. The main
question was whether in his feeble state his strength would
hold out. But the strong excitement of the moment would
serve him in place of muscle. He had thrown off his coat
and boots, and, with a small rope fastened about his waist,
he swiftly ascended to the top of the ladder. But there
were three or four feet that he must overhand up the
lightnirig-rod in order to reach the ridge. It was large
and twisted, and gave him a good hold, but he had to
take the risk of its being strong enough in its fastening
to sustain his weight. Fortunately it was, and he unhesi
tatingly commenced the perilous effort. He made good
progress till he was within a foot of the ridge. Then his
strength began to fail, and plainly to those below he
wavered.
With white face, clasped hands, and lips moving in
prayer, Annie watched him. Her heart almost stood still
with dread; and when toward the last he slowly and still
more slowly overhanded upward, plainly indicating that
his strength was ebbing, she cried, in an agony of fear,
"Come back, oh come back! What is all here to your
life?"
A second before it seemed to him that he must fail,
GREGORY RETRIEVES HIMSELF 277
that he might suddenly fall at her feet a crushed and life
less mass; but her voice revived him, and the passionate
thought came with inspiring power, "I can do more to win
her love now than by years of effort"; and he made a des
perate struggle, gained the ridge, and crawled out upon it,
panting for a moment, and powerless to do more than cling
for support.
The burning cinder was now but little in advance of
him, and he saw that there was not a second to lose. It
had charred and blackened the roof where it had caught,
and, fanned by the wind, was a live, glowing coal. The
shingles under it were smoking yes, smouldering. Had
it not been for their dampness and mossy age, they would
have been blazing. In a few moments nothing could have
saved the house.
As soon as he got his breath, he crept along the ridge
within reach of the fiery flake. There seemed no place
where he could lay hold of it without burning himself. It
would not do to simply detach it, as it might catch further
down the steep roof where it could not be reached. Above
all, there was not a moment to spare, fle did not hesitate,
but with sufficient presence of mind to use his left instead
of his right hand, he seized the fatal brand and hurled it, a
fiery meteor, clear of the house. It hurt him cruelly, and
for a moment he felt sick and faint; but a round of applause
from those below (for now Miss Eulie and the children were
out, looking tremblingly on), and Annie's cry of joy and en
couragement, again gave him strength.
But as he looked closely at the spot where the cinder
had laid, his fears were realized. It had ignited the roof.
A little water would extinguish it now, but in a few mo
ments, under the wild wind that was blowing, all would
be ablaze.
He crawled to the end of the ridge and shouted, "Tie a
light pail of water to the cord not much at a time, or I
can't draw it up."
Annie darted to the house for a lighter pail than Han-
278 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
nah had brought, and to Gregory's joy he found that he
had strength enough to lift it, though with his burned
hand it was agony to do so. But with the now good pros
pect of finishing his work successfully, his spirits rose. He
grew more familiar and confident in his dangerous position.
He did not look down from his giddy height, and permitted
himself to think of nothing but his task. Indeed, in his
strong excitement, he felt that it would not be a bitter
thing to die thus serving the woman he loved; and in his
false philosophy he hoped this brave act might atone for
the wrong of the past.
It is the nature of noble, generous deeds to exalt a
man's soul so that he can fearlessly face death, when in
calm moments he would shrink back appalled. In the
excitement of the hour, and under the inspiration of his
strong human love, Gregory was not afraid to die, though
life seemed, with its new possibilities, sweeter than ever
before. He knew that his strength was failing fast, that
reaction would soon set in, and that he would be helpless,
and his great hope was that he could save the house first.
He determined therefore not to waste a drop of water,
and to make this one pail answer if possible. He therefore
poured it slowly out, and let it run over the burning part.
The continued hissing and smoke proved that the fire
had penetrated deeper than he thought. The last drop
was gone, and still the place smoked. A little more was
absolutely necessary.
"Will my strength hold out ?" he asked himself, in al
most an agony of doubt.
Crawling back to the end of the ridge, he once more
lowered the pail.
"Fill it again," he cried.
"Can you stand it?" Mr. Walton asked.
"I must, or all is useless," was his answer.
Again, but more slowly and painfully, he pulled the
water up.
Annie wrung her hands in anguish as she saw in the red
GREGORY RETRIEVES HIMSELF 279
glare of the still burning factory how pale and exhausted
he was.
But he once more managed to reach the point above
the still smouldering spot, and caused the water to trickle
down upon it. By the time he had half emptied the pail the
smoke ceased.
After a moment it again faintly exuded, but another lit
tle stream of water quenched the fire utterly. But for five
minutes he watched the place to make sure that there was
not a lingering spark, and then let the rest of the water flow
over the place to saturate it completely.
He was now certain that the house was saved. But he
was satisfied from his sensations that he had but little time
in which to save himself. Reaction was fast setting in.
He untied the rope from his waist, and let pail and all
roll clattering down the roof. This noise was echoed by a
cry of alarm from those below, who feared for a moment
that he was falling. They all had the sickening dread
which is felt when we look at one in great peril, and yet
can do nothing to help.
At first Gregory thought that he would lie down upon
the ridge and cling to it, thus gaining strength by a little
rest. But he soon found that this would not answer. His
overtaxed frame was becoming nerveless, and his only hope
was to escape at once. In trembling weakness he crawled
back to the edge and looked over. Annie stepped forward
to the foot of the ladder and extended her hands as if to
catch him.
"Stand back," he cried; "if I fall, I shall kill you."
"I will not stand back," she answered. "You shall not
take all the risk." .
But her father, who still kept his presence of mind in
the terrible excitement of the moment, forced her away,
and saved her from the danger of this useless sacrifice. As
soon as she could do nothing, her fortitude vanished, and
she covered her face with her hands and wept bitterly.
The chief point of difficulty in Gregory's weak state was
280 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
to get off the ridge upon the lightning-rod without losing
his hold and falling at once. If he could turn the edge and
begin to descend in safety, his strength might hold out till
he reached the ladder and so the ground. But he realized
the moment of supreme peril, and hesitated.
Then, with something like a prayer to God and with a
wistful look at Annie, he resolutely swung himself over.
His hands held the weight of his body, and he commenced
the descent. Annie's glad cry once more encouraged him.
He gained the ladder and descended till not far from the
ground.
Suddenly everything turned black before his eyes, and
he fell.
CHANGES IN GREGORY 281
CHAPTER XXVI
CHANGES IN GREGORY
WHEN Gregory became conscious, he was lying on
the ground, with his head in Miss Eulie's lap,
and Annie was bending over him with a small
flask. She again gave him a teaspoonful of brandy, and
after a moment he lifted himself up, and, passing his hand
across his brow, looked around.
"You are not hurt. Oh, please say you are not hurt!"
she exclaimed, taking his hand.
He looked at her a moment, and then it all came back to
him, and he smiled and said, "Not much, I think; and if I
am it does not signify. You've helped me on my feet once
or twice before. Now see if you can again;" and he at
tempted to rise.
As Daddy Tuggar had intimated, there was plenty of
muscle in Annie's round arms, and she almost lifted him
up, but he stood unsteadily. Mr. Walton gave him his
arm, and in a few moments he was on the sofa in the sit
ting-room, where a fire was soon kindled. Zibbie was told
to make coffee, and to provide something more substantial.
They were all profuse in expressions of gratitude, in
praises of his heroism, but Jie waived the whole matter off
by saying, "Think of me as well as you can, for Heaven
knows I have need to retrieve my character. But please
do not speak as if I had done more than I ought. For a
young man to stand idly by, and see the home of his child
hood, the place where he had received unbounded hospital
ity, destroyed, would be simply base. If I had not been
282 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
reduced by months of ill health, the thing would not have
been difficult at all. But you, Miss Walton, displayed the
real heroism in the case, when you stood beneath with your
arms out to catch me. I took a risk, but you took the cer
tainty of destruction if I had fallen. Still, ' ' he added, with
a humorous look as if in jest, though he was only too sin
cere, "the prospect was so inviting that I should have liked
to fall a little way."
"And so you did," cried innocent Johnny, eagerly.
"You fell ever so far, and Aunt Annie caught you."
"What!" exclaimed Gregory, rising. "Is this true?
And are you not hurt?"
"That's the way with children," said Annie, with height
ened color and a reproachful look at the boy, who in the ex
citement of the hour was permitted to stay up for an hour
or more; "they let everything all out. No, I'm not hurt
a bit. You didn't fall very far. I'm so thankful that your
strength did not give out till you almost reached the
ground. O dear! I shudder to think what might have
happened. Do you know that I thought, with a thrill of
superstitious dread, of your chestnut-burr omen, when you
stained my hand with your blood. If you had fallen if "
and she put her hand over her eyes to hide the dreadful
vision her imagination presented. "If anything had hap
pened," she continued, "rny hands would have been stained,
in that they had not held you back."
"What a tender, innocent conscience you have!" he re
plied, looking fondly at her. "I confess I'd rather be here
listening to you than somewhere else."
She gave him a troubled, startled look. To her that
"somewhere else" had a sad and terrible meaning. She sat
near him, and could not help saying in a low, earnest tone,
"flow could you, how could you take such a risk with
out " She did not finish the sentence, which was plain
enough in its meaning, however.
On the impulse of the moment, Gregory was about to re
ply indiscreetly in a way that would have revealed more
CHANGES IN GREGORY 283
of his feelings toward her than he knew would be wise at
that time. But just then Hannah came in with the lunch,
and the attention of the others, who had been talking
eagerly on the other side of the room, was directed toward
them. He checked some rash words as they rose to his lips,
and Annie, suspecting nothing of the wealth of love that
he was already lavishing upon her, rose with alacrity, glad
to serve one who had just served her so well. The generous
coffee and the dainty lunch, combined with feelings to
which he had long been a stranger, revived Gregory
greatly, and he sprang up and walked the room, declaring
that with the exception of his burned hand, which had been
carefully dressed, he felt better than he had for a long time.
"I'm so thankful!" said Annie, with glistening eyes.
"We all have cause for thankfulness," said Mr. Walton,
with fervor. "Our kind Father in heaven has dealt with
us all in tender mercy. Home, and more precious life, have
been spared. Before we again seek a little rest, let us re
member all His goodness;" and he led them in a simple,
fervent prayer, the effect of which was heightened by Mr.
Walton saying, after he rose from his knees, "Annie, we
must see that none of our poor neighbors lack for anything,
now that their employment has so suddenly been taken
away."
That is acceptable devotion to God which leads to prac
tical, active charity toward men, and the most unbelieving
are won by such a religion.
Annie noticed with some anxiety that her father's voice
was very hoarse, and that he put his hand upon his chest
several times, and she expressed the fear that the exposure
would greatly add to his cold. He treated the matter lightly,
and would do nothing more that evening than take some
simple remedies.
When Gregory bade them good-night, Annie followed
him to the foot of the stairs, and giving his hand one of her
warm grasps, said, "Mr. Gregory, I can't help feeling that
your mother knows what you have done to-night."
284 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
Tears started to his eyes. He did not trust himself to
reply, but, with a strong answering pressure, hastened
to his room, happier than he had been in all his past.
It was late the next morning when they assembled at
the breakfast- table, and they noted with pain that Mr. Wal
ton did not appear at all well, though he made a great effort
to keep up. He was very hoarse, and complained of a tight
ness in his chest.
"Now, father," said Annie, "you must stay in the
house, and let me nurse you."
"I am very willing to submit," he replied, "and hope I
shall need no other physician." But he was feverish all
day. His indisposition did not yield to ordinary remedies.
Still, beyond a little natural solicitude, no anxiety was felt.
Gregory was a different man. Even his sincere human
love for so worthy an object had lifted him out of the miser
able depths into which he had been sinking. It had filled
his heart with pure longings, and made him capable of
noble deeds.
As a general thing a woman inspires love in accordance
with her own character. Of course we recognize the fact
that there are men with natures so coarse that they are little
better than animals. These men may have a passing pas
sion for any pretty woman; but the holy word Love should
not be used in such connection. But of men of those pos
sessing true manhood, even in humblest station the above
assertion I think will be found true. The woman who gains
the boundless power which the undivided homage of an
honest heart confers will develop in it, and quicken into
life, traits and feelings corresponding to her own. If the
great men of the world have generally had good mothers,
so as a parallel fact will it be found that the strong, useful,
successful men men who sustain themselves, and more than
fulfil the promise of their youth have been supplemented
and continually inspired to better things by the ennobling
companionship of true women.
Good breeding, the ordinary restraints of self-respect, and
CHANGES IN GREGORY 285
fear of the world's adverse opinion, greatly reduce the out
ward diversities of society. Well-bred men and women act
and appear very much alike in the public eye. But there
is an inner life, a real character, upon which happiness here
and heaven hereafter depend, which results largely from
that tie and intimacy which is closest of all. A shallow,
frivolous girl, having faith in little else than her pretty face
and the dressmaker's art, may unfortunately inspire a good,
talented man, who imagines her to possess all that the poets
have portrayed in woman, with a true and strong affection,
but she will disappoint and dwarf him, and be a millstone
about his neck. She will cease to be his companion. She
may be thankful if, in his heart, he does not learn to de
spise her, though a man can scarcely do this and be guilt
less toward the mother of his children.
What must be the daily influence on a man who sees in
his closest friend, to whom he is joined for life, a passion
for the public gaze, a boundless faith in eternals, a com
plete devotion to the artificial enhancing of ordinary and
vanishing charms, combined with a contemptuous neglect
of the graces of mind and heart? These alone can keep the
love which outward appearance in part may have won at
first. Mere dress and beauty are very well to skirmish with
during the first approaches; but if a woman wishes to hold
the conquered province of a man's heart, and receive from
it rich revenues of love and honor, she must possess some
queenly traits akin to divine royalty, otherwise she only
overruns the heart she might have ruled, and leaves it a
blighted waste.
As we have seen, Annie's actual character rebuked and
humiliated the evil-minded Gregory from the first. He
could not rest in her presence. To relieve himself from
self-condemnation, he must prove her goodness a sham or
an accident mere chance exemption from temptation. Her
safety and hap^y influence did not depend upon good reso
lutions, wise policy, and careful instruction, but upon her
real possession of a character which had been formed long
286 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
before, and which met and foiled him at every point. Lack
ing this, though a well-meaning, good girl in the main, she
would have been a plaything in the hands of such a man.
Her absolute truth and crystal purity of principle incased
her in heaven's armor, and neither he nor any other evil-
disposed person could harm her. She would not listen to
the first insidious suggestion of the tempter. Thus the man
who expected to go away despising now honored, rever
enced, loved her, and through her strong but gentle min
istry had turned his back on evil, and was struggling to
escape its degrading bondage.
Gregory was right in thinking that such a woman as
Annie could help him to an extent hard to estimate, but
fatally wrong in looking to her alone. The kind Father
who regards the well-being of His children for eternity
rather than for the moments of time, must effectually cure
him of this error.
But those two days were memorable ones to him. The
cold and stormy weather shut them all in the house, and
that meant to him Annie's society. He was seldom alone
with her; he noted with pain that her manner was too frank
and kindly, too free from all consciousness, to indicate any
thing more than the friendship she had promised; but, not
knowing how her heart was preoccupied, he hoped that
the awakening of deeper feeling was only a question of
time. His present peace and rest were so blessed, her
presence was so satisfying, and his progress in her favor
so apparent as he revealed his better nature, that he was
content to call his love friendship until he saw her friend
ship turning into love.
Had not Annie expected Hunting every day she would
have told Gregory all about her relation with him, but now
she determined that she would bring them together under
the same roof, and not let them separate till she had ban
ished every trace of their difficulty. A partial reconcilia
tion might result in future coolness and estrangement. This
she would regard as a misfortune, even if it had no unfavor-
CHANGES IN GREGORY 287
able influence on Gregory, for lie now proved himself the
best of company. Indeed, they seemed to have a remark
able gift for entertaining each other.
While Wednesday did not find Mr. Walton seriously
ill to all appearance, he was still far from being well. He
employed himself with his papers and seemed to enjoy
Gregory's conversation greatly.
"He now grows very like his father, and reminds me
constantly of him," he said more than once to Annie.
Mr. Walton's indisposition was evidently not trivial.
There was a soreness about the lungs that made it painful
for him to talk much, and he had a severe, racking cough.
They were all solicitude in his behalf. The family physi
cian had been called, and it was hoped that a few days of
care would remove this cold.
As he sat in his comfortable arm-chair by the fire he would
smilingly say he was having such a good time and so much
petting that he did not intend to get well very soon.
Though Gregory's burn was painful, and both hands
were bruised and cut from climbing, he did not regret the
suffering, since it also secured from Annie some of the
attention she would otherwise have given her father.
Wednesday afternoon was pleasant, and Gregory went
out for a walk. He did not return till rather late, and,
coming down to supper, found by his plate a letter which
clouded his face instantly.
Annie was radiant, for the same mail had brought her
one from Hunting, stating that he might be expected any
day now. As she saw Gregory's face darken, she said, "I
fear your letter has brought you unpleasant news."
"It has," he replied. "Mr. Burnett, the senior partner,
is quite ill, and it is necessary that I return immediately."
"I'm so sorry," she exclaimed, with such hearty em
phasis that he looked at her earnestly and said, "Are you
really?"
"You shouldn't ask such a question," she answered,
reproachfully.
288 OPENING A CHESTNUT BDRR
"Why, Miss Walton, I've made a very long visit."
"So much has happened that it does seem a long time
since you came. But I wish it were to be longer. We shall
miss you exceedingly. Besides," she added, with rising
color, "I have a special reason for wishing you to stay a
little longer. ' '
His color rose instantly also. She puzzled him, while he
perplexed her.
"I hope Mr. Gregory's visit has taught him," said Mr.
Walton, kindly, "that he has not lost his former home
through our residence here, and that he can run up to the
old place whenever he finds opportunity."
"I can say sincerely," he responded, "that I have en
joyed the perfection of hospitality;" adding, in a low tone
and with a quick, remorseful look at Annie, "though little
deserving it."
"You have richly repaid us," said Mr. Walton, heartily.
"It would have been very hard for me at my years to have
to seek a new home. I have become wedded to this old
place with my feelings and fancies, and the aged, you know,
dislike change. I wish to make only one more, then rest
will be complete."
"Now, father," said Annie, with glistening eyes, "you
must not talk in that way. You know well that we cannot
spare you even to go to heaven."
"Well, my child," answered he, fondly. "I am content
to leave that in our best Friend's hands. But I cannot
say," he added, with a touch of humor, "that it's a heavy
cross to stay here with you."
"Would that such a cross were imposed upon me!"
echoed Gregory, with sudden devoutness. "Miss Walton,
did not my business imperatively demand my presence, I
would break anything save my neck, in order to be an
invalid on your hands."
"Come," cried Annie, half- vexed; "a truce to this style
of remark. 1 think it's verging toward the sentimental, and
I'm painfully matter-of-fact. Father, you must not think
CHANGES IN GREGORY 289
of going to heaven yet, and I don't like to hear you talk
about it. Mr. Gregory can break his little finger, if he
likes, so we may keep him longer. But do let us all be
sensible, and not think of anything sad till it comes. Why
should we? Mr. Gregory surely can find time to run up
and see us, if he wishes, and I think he will."
Before he could reply, an anxious remark from little
Susie enabled them to leave the table in the midst of one
of those laughs that banish all embarrassment.
"But we'll be burned up if Mr. Gregory goes away."
KOE IV 13
290 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
CHAPTER XXVII
PLEADING FOR LIFE AND LOVE
KNOWING that it was to be Gregory's last day with
them, Annie determined it should be full of pleas
ant memories. She sung with him, and did any
thing he asked. Her heart overflowed toward him in a
genial and almost sisterly regard, but his most careful
analysis could find no trace even of the inception of
warmer feelings. She evidently had a strong and grow
ing liking for him, but nothing more, and she clearly felt
the great interest in his effort to become a man of Christian
principles. This fact gave him his main hope. Her pas
sion to save seemed so strong that he trusted she might
be approached even thus early upon that side.
He felt that he must speak must get some definite hope
for the future before he went away. It seemed to him that
he could fairly bring his great need as a motive to bear
upon her. Her whole course encouraged him to do this,
for she had responded to every such appeal. Still with
fear and trembling he admitted that he was about to ask
for more now than ever before.
But he felt that he must speak. He had no hope that
he could ever be more than his wretched self without her.
He would ask nothing definite only encouragement that
if he could make himself worthy of her she would give him
a chance to win her love. In her almost sisterly frankness
it seemed that the idea of loving him had never occurred to
her, and would not after he had gone. The thought of leav
ing her heart all disengaged, for some other to come and
PLEADING FOR LIFE AND jJOVE 291
make a stronger impression, was torture. He never could
be satisfied with the closest friendship, therefore he must
plainly seek a dearer tie, even though for a time their frank,
pleasant relations should be disturbed. He resolved to take
no denial, but to give fair warning, before it was too late,
that he was laying siege to her heart. He dreaded that
attitude of mind upon her part which enables a woman to
say to some men, "I could be your sister, but never your
wife."
So he said before they separated for the night, "Miss
Walton, I'm going to snatch a few hours from the hurry
and grind of business, and shall not return to town till
to-morrow afternoon. Won't you take one more ramble
with me in the morning?"
"With pleasure," she replied, promptly. "I will devote
myself to you to-morrow, and leave you without excuse for
not coming again. ' '
He flushed with pleasure at her reply, but said, quickly,
"By the way that reminds me. Won't you tell me what
your 'special reason' was for wishing me to stay a little
longer?"
It was her turn to blush now, which she did in a way
that puzzled him. She answered, hesitatingly, "Well, I
think I'll tell you to-morrow."
"Good- night," said Mr. Walton, feelingly retaining
Gregory's hand when he came to his chair. "We are
coming to treat you almost as one of the family. Indeed
it seems hard to treat you in any other way now, especially
in your old home, now doubly yours since you have saved
it from destruction. Every day you remind me more of my
dear old friend. For some reason he has seemed very near
me of late. If it should be my lot to see your sainted
parents before you do, as it probably will, I believe it will
be in my power to add even to their heavenly joys by tell
ing them of your present prospects. Good-night, and may
the blessing of your father's and mother's God rest upon
you."
292 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
Tears sprung into the young man's eyes, and with a
strong responsive pressure of Mr. Walton's hand, he
hastened to his room, to hide what was not weakness.
That was the last time he saw his father's friend.
Annie's eyes glistened as she looked after him, and
throwing her arms around her father's neck, she whis
pered, "God did send him here I now truly believe.
We have not conspired and prayed in vain."
Mr. Walton fondly stroked his daughter's brown hair,
and said, "You are right, Annie; he will be a gem in your
crown of rejoicing. You have acted very wisely, very wo
manly, as your mother would, in this matter. He was a
bad man when he first came here, and if I had not known
you so well, I should not have trusted you with him as I
have. Be as faithful through life, and you may lead many
more out of darkness."
"Dear father," said Annie, tenderly, "this whole day,
with Charles's good letter, and crowned with these precious
words from you, seem like a benediction. May we have
many more such."
"May God's will be done," said the riper Christian, with
eyes turned homeward.
Thus in hope, peace, and gladness the day ended for all.
"Ye know not what shall be on the morrow."
To Gregory's unfeigned sorrow Mr. Walton was not well
enough to appear at the breakfast- table the following morn
ing. Annie was flitting in and out with a grave and troubled
face. But by ten o'clock he seemed better and fell asleep.
Leaving Miss Eulie watching beside him, she came and
said, 'Now, Mr. Gregory, I can keep my promise in part,
and take a short walk with you. You can well understand
why I cannot be away long. ' '
"Please do not feel that you must go," he said. "How
ever great the disappointment, I could not ask you to leave
your father if he needs you."
"You may rest assured that nothing would tempt me
from father if he needed me. But I think the worst is now
PLEADING FOR LIFE AND LOVE 293
over. He is sleeping quietly. I can trust aunty even bet
ter than ' myself. Besides, I want to go. I need the fresh
air, and I wish to see more of you before you leave us. ' '
He cordially thanked her and said, "I shall wait for you
on the piazza."
They went down across the lawn through the garden.
The sun was shining brightly, though occasionally obscured
by clouds.
"How beautiful everything is," said Annie, "even now,
when the leaves are half off the trees and falling fast! At
any season the moment I get out of doors I feel new life
and hope."
"What nature does for you, Miss Annie, you seem to
do for others. I feel 'new life and hope' the moment I am
with you."
She looked at him quickly, for she did not quite like his
tone and manner. But she only said, "You must believe,
as I do, in a power behind nature."
"But even you believe He works through human
agencies."
"Yes, up to a certain point."
"But who can say where that point is in any experience ?
Miss Walton," he continued, in grave earnestness, stopping
and pointing to the rustic seat where, on the previous Sab
bath, he had revealed to her his evil life, "that place is
sacred to me. No hallowed spot of earth to which pilgrim
ages are made can compare with it. You know that in
some places in Europe they raise a rude cross by the road
side where a man has been murdered. Should there not
be a monument where one was given life?"
As they resumed their walk, he said in a low, meaning
tone, "Do you remember old Daddy Tuggar's words 'You
could take the wickedest man living straight to heaven
if you'd stay right by him ? '
"But he was wrong," she replied.
"Pardon me if I differ with you, and agree with him,,
Miss Walton, I've been in your society scarcely three
294 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
weeks. You know what I was when I came. I make no
great claims now, but surely if tendencies, wishes, purposes
count for anything, I am very different. How can you
argue me out of the consciousness that I owe it all to
you?"
"You will one day understand, " she answered, earnestly,
"that God has helped us both, and how futile my efforts
would have been without such help. But, Mr. Gregory,"
she continued, looking frankly into his flushed face (for she
was beginning to suspect now something of his drift, and
instinctively sought to ward off words which might disturb
their pleasant relations), "I do not intend to give you up
from this day forth. As our quaint old friend suggests, I
do mean to stand right by you as far as circumstances will
allow me. I recognize how isolated and lonely you are,
and I feel almost a sister's interest in you."
"You emphasize the word 'sister.' I suppose I ought to
be more than satisfied. Believe me I am very grateful that
you can so speak. But suppose the frankness I promised
compels me to say that it does not, and never can satisfy?"
"Then I shall think you very unreasonable. You have
no right to ask more than one has the power to give," she
answered, with a look and manner that were full of pain.
"But surely, Mr. Gregory, we do not understand each
other."
"But I want you to understand me," he exclaimed, ear
nestly. "If you had the vanity and worldly experience of
most women, you would have known before this that I love
you."
Tears rushed into Annie's eyes, and for a few moments
she walked on in utter silence. This was so different an
ending from what she had expected ! She felt that she must
be very careful or she would undo all she had attempted.
She now dreaded utter failure, utter estrangement, and how
to avoid these was her chief thought.
They had reached the cedar thicket near which they had
first met, and she sat down upon the rock where she had
PLEADING FOR LIFE AND LOVE 295
round Gregory. Her whole aim was to end this unfortunate
matter so that they might still continue friends. And yet
the task seemed wellnigh impossible, for if he felt as he
said, how could she tell him about Hunting without increas
ing alienation ? But her impression was strong that he was
acting under an exaggerated sense of her services and under
a mistaken belief that she was essential to him. Therefore
she tried at first to turn the matter off lightly by saying,
"Mr. Gregory, you are the most grateful man I ever heard
of. You need not think you must reward my slight ser
vices by marrying me."
"Now you greatly wrong me," he answered. "Did I not
say I loved you? How deeply and truly you can never
know. I cannot reward you. I did not dream of such a
thing. My best hope was that some time in the future, when
by long and patient effort I had become truly a man, you
might learn to think of me in the way I wish."
"Mr. Gregory," said she, in a voice full of trouble, "has
my manner or words led you to hope this? If so, I can
never forgive myself. ' '
"You have no cause for self-reproaches," he said, ear
nestly. "Though my suit should ever prove hopeless, in
the depths of my heart I will acquit you of all blame. You
have been what you promised a true friend, nothing more.
But please understand me. I ask nothing now, I am not
worthy. Perhaps I never shall be. If so, I will not bind
you to me with even a gossamer thread. I have too deep a
respect for you. But I am so self -distrustful! I know my
weakness better than you can. Still I am confident that if
you could 'reward' me, and give the hope that you would
crown the victory with yourself, I could do anything.
In loving me, you would save me."
"Pardon me, but you are all wrong. I'm only an oar,
but you look upon me as the lifeboat itself. In that you
persist in looking to me, a weak, sinful creature, instead of
to Him who alone 'taketh away the sin of the world, 1 you.
discourage me utterly."
296 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
*'I will look to Him, but I want you to lead me to Him,
and keep me at His side."
"I can do that just as well by being your friend."
"I can never think so. I shall go away from this place
utterly disheartened unless you give me some hope, no
matter how faint, that I shall not have to struggle alone."
She sprung up quickly, for he incensed her, while at the
same time she pitied him. She could not understand how
he had so soon learned to love her "deeply and truly."
It rather appeared true that he had formed the mistaken
opinion that she was essential to his success, and that he
was bent upon bolstering himself up in his weakness, and
sought to place her as a barrier between him and his old
evil life ; and she felt that he might need some wholesome
truth rather than tender sympathy. At any rate her wo
manly nature took offence at his apparent motive, as she
understood it a motive that appeared more selfish and un
worthy every moment. He was asking what he had no
right to expect of any one. But she would not misunder
stand him, and therefore said with a grave, searching look,
"Only then as I give you the hope you ask for, will you
make the effort you have promised to make?"
"Only then can I make it," he replied, in some confu
sion. "Can effort of any kind be asked of one utterly dis
abled?"
Sudden fire leaped into her dark eyes, but she said, with
dignity, "Mr. Gregory, you disappoint me greatly. You
assume a weakness a disability which does not and can
not exist under the circumstances. You made me a prom
ise, but now impose a new condition which I did not dream
of at the time, and which I cannot accept. You are asking
more than you have a right to ask. However imperfect my
efforts have been in your behalf, they were at least sincere
and unselfish, and I was beginning to have a warm regard
for you as a friend. I tell you frankly that I am most anx
ious that we should remain friends as before. If so, this
kind of folly must cease now and forever. I have no right
PLEADING FOR LIFE AND LOVE 297
to listen to such words at all, and would not but for your
sake, and in the hope of removing from your mind a very
mistaken and unworthy idea. You are entirely wrong in
thinking that your future depends solely upon me. It can
not it ought not. It rests between you and God, and you
cannot shift the responsibility. I am willing to do all you
can ask. of a sister, but no more. Do you think I have no
needs, no weakness, myself ? In a husband I want a man
I can lean upon as well as help. I wish to marry one with
a higher moral character than mine, to whom I can look up.
There is the widest difference in the world between giving
help, and even sincere affection to those who win it, and
giving one's self away. Simple justice requires that my
happiness and feelings be considered also. It is selfish in
you to ask of me this useless sacrifice of myself. ' '
Annie's quick, passionate nature was getting the better
of her. It seemed in a certain sense disloyalty to Hunting
to have listened thus long to Gregory. Moreover, not be
lieving in nor understanding the latter's love for her, she
was indignant that he should seek to employ her as a sort
of stepping-stone into heaven. She would despise the man
who sought her merely to advance his earthly interests, and
she was growing honestly angry at Gregory, who, it seemed,
wanted her only as a guide and staff in his pilgrimage justly
angry, too, if she were right.
Gregory became very pale as her words quivered in his
heart like arrows, but in the consciousness of a true and unself
ish love, he looked at her unfalteringly to the last, and said,
"In justice to myself I might again urge that you misunder
stand me. I asked for nothing now, only a hope for the
future based on what I possibly might become. But, as you
say, I now know I asked too much more than I had a right
to. You can never look up to me, and with a sadness you
will never understand, I admit myself answered finally.
But there is one imputation in your words that I cannot
rest under. I solemnly assert before God, and in the
name of my mother, that my love for you is as strong,
298 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
pure, and unselfish as can exist in my half -wrecked
nature. ' '
"Oh dear!" exclaimed Annie, in a tone of mingled
vexation and distress, "why has it all turned out so mis
erably ? I'm so sorry, so very sorry; but in kindness I
must show you how hopeless it all is. I am the same as
engaged to another."
Gregory started violently. His despairing words had
been not quite despairing. But now a chill like death set
tled about his heart. He was well satisfied that she was
one who would be true as steel to all such ties, and that no
man who had learned to know her would ever prove incon
stant. But, with a white face and firmly compressed lips,
he still listened quietly.
"I came out this morning hoping to tell you a little se
cret as I might confide in a brother, and I trusted that your
friendship for me would prove strong enough to enable me
to make you his friend also. I wanted you to stay a little
longer, that you might meet him, and that I might recon
cile you, and prepare the way for pleasant companionship
in the future. I am expecting Charles Hunting now
every
"What is the matter? What do you mean by that look
of horror ? What have you against him, that you should
show such deep hostility before, and now -stare at me in
almost terror?"
But he only staggered against a tree for support.
"Speak," cried she, passionately seizing his arm. "I
will not endure the innuendo of your look and manner."
"I will speak," he answered, in suddep vehemence.
"I've lost too much by him. Charles Hunting is "
But he stopped, clinched his hands, and seemed to make
a desperate effort at self-control. She heard him mutter as
he turned away a few steps, "Stop! stop! All that is left
you now is a little self-respect. Keep that keep that."
Annie misunderstood him, and thought he referred to
some slander that he had hesitated to utter against his en-
PLEADING FOR LIFE AND LOVE 299
emy even in his anger and jealousy. With flashing eyes
she said, "Let me complete the sentence for you. Charles
Hunting is a Christian gentleman. You may well think
twice before you speak one word against him in my
presence."
"Did I say one word against him?" he asked, eagerly.
"No, but you looked much more than words can
express."
"I could not help that. Your revelation was sudden,
Miss Walton."
"How could it be otherwise?" she asked, indignantly.
"The first evening of your arrival, when his name was men
tioned, your face grew as black as night. When I again
sought to speak to you of him, you adjured me never to
mention his name. You taxed my forbearance severely
at that time. But I hoped you would become so changed
that such enmity would be impossible."
"I see it all now," he groaned "the miserable fatality
of it all. I must shut off the one way of escape, and then
go forward. By my own act, I must destroy my one chance.
If I had only known this in time. And yet it's through my
own act that I did not know. Your God is certainly one of
justice. I'm punished now for all the past. But it seems a
trifle cruel to show one heaven and then shut the door in
one's face. If I had only known !"
"There," exclaimed Annie, in the deepest distress; "be
cause of this little thing you fall back into your old scepti
cism. "
"This 'little thing' is death to me," he said, in a hard,
bitter tone. "Oh no, I'm not at all sceptical. The 'argu
ment from design,' the nature of the result, are both too
clear. I'm simply being dealt with according to law.
Though perfectly sincere, you were entirely too lenient
that Sunday evening when I told you what I was. My
conscience was right after all. I only wish that I had
fallen from yonder roof the other night. I might then
have made my exit decently."
300 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
"Mr Gregory, you shock me," she said, almost sternly.
"You have no right to insult my faith in a merciful God by
such words, and your believing Him cruel and vindictive on
this one bit of your experience is the sheerest egotism. It
is the essence of selfishness to think everything wrong when
one does not have one's own way."
He only bowed his answer, then stepped out to the point
of the hill, and took a long, lingering look at the valley and
his old home, sighed deeply, turned, and said to her, quietly,
"Perhaps it is time for you to return to your father."
WHAT A LOVER COULD DO 301
CHAPTER XXVIII
WHAT A LOVER COULD DO
WITHOUT a word they descended the hill. Greg-
ory was very pale, and this, with a certain firm
ness about his mouth, was the only indication of
feeling on his part. Otherwise, he was the same finished
man of the world that he had appeared when he came.
Annie's face grew more and more troubled with every
glance at him.
"He is hardening into stone," she thought; and she was
already reproaching herself for speaking so harshly. "I
might have known," she thought, "that his rash, bitter
words were only incoherent cries of pain and disappoint
ment. ' '
He perplexed her still more by saying at the foot of the
hill, in his old light tone, "See, Miss Walton, our 'well-
meaning friend' has not been here to put up the bars, and
we can take the shorter way through the orchard. I would
like to see them picking apples once more. By the way,
you must say good-by for me to your old neighbor, and
tell him that out of respect for his first honest greeting,
I'm going to fill his pipe for the winter."
But Annie's heart was too full to answer.
"How familiar these mossy-trunked trees are!" he con
tinued, determined that there should be no awkward pauses,
no traces to the eyes of others ot what had occurred. "How
often I've picked apples from this one and that one indeed
from all! Good-by, old friends."
"Do you never expect to come back to these 'old friends, '
302 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
and others that would be friends again ?' ' she asked, in low,
trembling tones. "Mr. Gregory, you are cruel. You are
saying good-by as if it were a very ordinary matter. ' '
He did not trust himself to look at her, but he said,
firmly, "Miss Walton, in a few moments we shall be un
der the eyes of others, and perhaps I shall never have an
other chance to speak to you alone. Let me say a few
plain, honest words before I go. I am not ashamed of my
love for you, nor to have it known. I am glad there was
man enough in me to love such a woman as you are. You
are not one of those society belles who wish to boast of their
conquests. I wish merely to leave in a manner that will
save you all embarrassing questions and surmises, and en
able you to go back to your father as if nothing had hap
pened. The best I can do is to maintain the outward sem
blance of a gentleman with which I came. In regard to
Charles Hunting please listen patiently I know that you
will not believe any statement of mine. It is your nature
to trust implicitly those you love. But since I have had
time to think, even the little conscience I possess will not
permit me to go away in silence in regard to him. Do not
think my words inspired by jealousy. I have given you
up. You are as unattainable by me as heaven. But that
man is not worthy of you. Think well before you "
"You are right," she interrupted, hotly. 1 I will not
believe anything against him whom I have known and
loved for years. If sincere, you are mistaken. But I en
treat you, for my own sake as well as yours, never speak a
word against him again. Because, if you do, it will be hard
for me to forgive you. If you place the slightest value on
my good opinion and continued regard, you will not throw
them away so uselessly. I do feel I ever wish to feel a
deep and friendly interest in you, therefore speak for your
self, and I will listen with honest sympathy. Give me hope,
if possible, that you will think better of all this folly that
you will visit your old home and those who wish to be your
true friends that you will give me a chance to make you
WHAT A LOVER COULD DO 303
better acquainted with one whom you now greatly wrong.
Please give me something better than this parting promises
to end in."
He merely bowed and said, "I supposed it would be so.
It is like you. As for myself I do not know what my fu
ture will be, save that it will be full of pain. Rest assured
of one thing, however. I can never be a common, vulgar
sinner again, after having loved you. That would be sac
rilege. Your memory will blend with that of my mother,
and shine like a distant star in my long night But you
have no right to ask me to come here any more. Though
you do not believe in my love, it is a reality nevertheless,
and I cannot inflict upon myself the unbearable pain of see
ing you, yet hedged about with that which must ever keep
me at a distance. With my feelings, even my poor sense of
honor forbids my seeking your presence. Can I visit you
feigning friendship, while my heart is consuming with love?
Come, Miss Walton, we shall have our real leave taking here,
and our formal one at the house. I don't think gratitude
will ever fade out of my heart for all you have tried to do
for me, wherever I am. Even the 'selfish' Walter Gregory
can honestly wish you happiness unalloyed. And you will
have it, too, in spite of well, in spite of everything, for
your happiness is from within, not without. Give me your
hand, and say good-by under the old mossy trees."
Annie burst into tears and said, "I can't say good-by
and have you leave us so unhappy so unbelieving.
Mr. Gregory, will you never trust in God?"
"I fear not not after what I know to-day. He seems
wronging you who are so true to Him, as well as me. You
see I am honest with you, as I said I would be. Can you
take the hand of such as I ?"
She did take it in both of hers, and said, with passionate
earnestness, "O that I could save you from yourself by main
force!"
He was deeply moved, but after a moment said, gently,
4 'That is like your warm heart. But you cannot. Good-by,
804 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
Annie Walton. Go on in your brave, noble life to the end,
and then heaven will be the better for your coming."
"Will you forgive my harsh words?"
"They were more true than harsh. They were forgiven
when spoken. ' '
"Mr. Gregory," she cried, "I will not say farewell as
you say it. I have prayed for you, and so has your mother.
I will still pray for you unceasingly. You cannot prevent
it, and I will not doubt God's promise to hear."
"I cannot share your faith. I am saying good-by in the
saddest sense."
He stooped and kissed her hand, and then said, firmly,
"The end has come. We really part here. I leave you as
I came."
With eyes downcast and blinded with tears she accom
panied him out of the deep shade to the further side of the
orchard nearest the house. Jeff was on a tall ladder that
leaned against a heavily laden tree, and was just about to
descend.
"That's right," cried Gregory; "come down with your
basket and give me a taste of those apples. They look the
same as when I used to pick them sixteen years ago."
Jeff obeyed with alacrity. Gregory accompanied him a
few steps, and dropped a banknote into the basket, saying,
"That's for the jolly wood-fires you made for me," and then
turned quickly toward Annie to escape the profuse thanka
impending.
He had turned none too soon. The apple-boughs, re
lieved of the weight of the fruit and Jeff's solid person,
threw out the heavy ladder that had been placed too nearly
in a perpendicular position at first. It had trembled and
wavered a moment, but was now inclining over the very
spot where Annie was standing.
"Miss Walton !" he cried, with a look of horror; rushed
toward her, and stood with head bent down between her and
the falling ladder.
She heard a rushing sound, and then with a heavy thud
WHAT A LOVER COULD DO 305
the ladder struck him, glanced to one side, grazing her
shoulder, and fell to the ground.
He lay motionless beneath it.
For a moment she gazed vacantly at him, too stunned to
think or speak.
But Jeff ran and lifted the ladder off Gregory, exclaim
ing, "Lor' bless him, Miss Annie, he jus' done save your
life."
She knelt at his side and took his hand, but it seemed
that of the dead. She moaned, "The omen's true. His
blood is on me now his blood is on me now. He died for
my sake, and I called him selfish."
She took his head into her lap, and put her hand over
his heart.
She thought she felt a faint pulsation.
In a moment all trace of weakness vanished, and her face
became resolute and strong.
"Jeff," she said, in clear-cut, decided tones, "go to the
house, tell Hannah and Zibbie to come here; tell Hannah
to bring brandy and a strong double blanket. Not a word
of this to my father. Go, quick. ' '
Jeff ran as he had done once before when the blood
hounds were after him, saying under his breath all the way,
"Lor 7 bless him! He save Miss Annie's life; he orter have
her sure 'nuff. "
Annie was left alone with the unconscious man. She
pushed his hair from his damp brow, and, bending down,
impressed a remorseful kiss upon it.
"God forgive me that I called you selfish," she mur
mured. "Where is your spirit wandering that I cannot
call it back? live, live; I can never be happy if you
die. Can this be the end? God keep my faith from
failing."
Again she put her hand over his heart, whose love she
could doubt no more. Did it beat ? or was it -only the
excited throbbing of her own hand?
Jeff now returned, and, with white, scared faces, the
806 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
women soon followed. Annie tried to give Gregory
brandy, but he did not seem to swallow it. They then
lifted him on the blanket and carried him to the house,
and up the back stairway to his room, so that Mr. Walton
might not know.
"Now, Jeff," whispered Annie, "harness the fastest
horse to the buggy, and bring the doctor mind, bring
him. Don't tell him to come. Hannah, tell Miss
Eulie to come here quietly now. Zibbie, bring hot
water."
Again she poured a teaspoonful of brandy into his
mouth, and this time he seemed to swallow it. She bathed
his face and hands with spirits, while her every breath was
a prayer.
Miss Eulie did not want a long explanation. Annie's
hurried words, "A ladder fell on him," satisfied her, and
she set to work, and more effectively with her riper experi
ence. She took off his collar and opened his shirt at the
throat, and soon, with a look of joy, to Annie, said, "His
heart beats distinctly."
Again they gave him brandy, and this time he made a
manifest effort to swallow it.
With eyes aglow with excitement and hope they re
doubled their exertions, Hannah and Zibbie helping, and
at last they were rewarded by seeing their patient make a
faint movement.
Now with every breath Annie silently sent the words
heavenward, ' ' God, I thank thee. ' '
She bent over him, and said, in a low, thrilling tone,
"Mr. Gregory." A happy smile came out upon his face,
but this was the only response.
"Do you think he is conscious?" she whispered to her
aunt.
"I hardly know. Let me give him a little more stimu
lant."
After receiving it he suddenly opened his eyes and
looked fearfully around. Then he tried to rise, but fell
WHAT A LOVER COULD DO 307
back, and asked, faintly, "Where is Miss Walton? Is she
safe ? I heard her voice. ' '
"You did. I'm here. Don't you know me?"
"Are you really here unhurt ?"
"Yes, yes," she answered, eagerly; "thanks to you."
Again he closed his eyes with a strange and quiet smile.
"Can't you see me?" she asked.
"There seems a blur before my eyes. It does not sig
nify. I know your voice, so true and kind."
"Why can't he see ?" she asked, drawing her aunt aside.
"I don't know. What I fear most are internal injuries.
Did the ladder strike his head?"
"O merciful Heaven!" said Annie, again in an agony of
fear. "I don't know. Oh, if he should die if he should
die ' ' and she wrung her hands with terror at the thought.
The doctor now stepped lightly in. Jeff had told him
enough to excite the gravest apprehensions. He made a
few inquiries and felt Gregory's pulse.
"It's very feeble," he said. "More brandy."
Then he added, "I must make such examination as I can
now without disturbing him much. Miss Morton, you and
Jeff stay and help me. ' '
Annie went down to her father with a greater anxiety as
to the result of the examination than if the danger had been
her own.
She found her father awake, and wondering at the sounds
in the room above.
"Annie," he said, feebly, "what is going on in Mr.
Gregory's room?"
As she looked at him, she saw that he was not better, as
she hoped, but that his face had a shrunken look, betoken
ing the rapid failing of the vital forces. The poor girl felt
that trouble was coming like an avalanche, and in spite of
herself she sat down, and, burying her face in her father's
bosom, sobbed aloud. But she soon realized the injury she
might do him in thus giving way, and by a great effort
controlled herself so as to tell him the softened outlines of
308 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
the accident. But the ashen hue deepened on the old man's
face, as he said, fervently, "God bless him! God bless him!
He has saved my darling's life. What should I have done
in these last days without you ?"
"But, father, don't you think he will get well?" she
asked, eagerly.
"I hope so. I pray so, my child. But I know the lad
der, and it is a heavy one. This is time for faith in God.
We cannot see a hand's- breadth in the darkness before us.
He has been very merciful to us thus far, very merciful,
and no doubt has some wise, good purpose in these trials
and dangers. Just cling to Him, my child, and all will be
well."
"O father, how you comfort me! We must leave every
thing in His hands. But, father, you feel better, do you
not?"
"Yes, much better; not much pain now; and yet for
some reason I feel that I shall soon be where pain never
comes. How otherwise can I explain my almost mortal
weakness ?' '
Annie again hid her tearful eyes on the bedside. Her
father placed his hand upon her bowed head and continued,
"It won't break your heart, my little girl, will it, to have
your father go to heaven ?' '
But she could not answer him.
At last the doctor came down, and said, "His injuries
are certainly serious, and may be more so than I can yet
discover. The ladder grazed his head, inflicting some in
jury, and struck him on the shoulder, which is much
bruised, and the collar-bone is badly broken. The whole
system has received a tremendous shock, but I hope that
with good care he will pull through. But he must be kept
very quiet in mind and body. And so must you, sir. Now
you know all, and have nothing to suspect. It's often in
jurious kindness to half hide something from the sick."
"Well, doctor, do your very best by him, as if he were
my own son. You know what a debt of gratitude we owe
WHAT A LOVER COULD DO 309
him. Spare no expense. If he needs anything, let it be
sent for. If I were only up and around; but the Lord wills
it otherwise. ' '
Annie followed the physician out and said, "You have
told us the very worst then ?"
"Yes, Miss Walton, the very worst. Unless there are
injuries that I cannot now detect I think he will get better.
I will send a young man whom I can trust to take care of
him. Best assured I will do all that is possible, for I feel
very grateful to this stranger for saving my much-esteemed
little friend. I suppose you know we all think a great deal
of you in our neighorhood, and I shudder to think how near
we came to a general mourning. You see he was nearer the
base of the ladder than you, Jeff says. The ladder therefore
would have struck you with greater force, and you would not
have had a ghost of a chance. You ought to be very grate
ful, eh, Miss Annie?" he added, with a little sly fun in his
face.
But she shook her head sadly, and only said with deep
feeling, "I am very, very grateful." Then she added,
quickly, "What about father?"
The doctor's face changed instantly and became grave.
"I don't quite understand his case. He was threatened
with pneumonia; but there seems no acute disease now, and
yet he appears to be failing. The excitement and exposure
of the other night were too much for him. You must make
him take all the nourishment possible. Medicine is of no
use."
Agitated by conflicting fears and hopes Annie went to
the kitchen to make something that might tempt her father's
appetite.
Blessed are the petty and distracting cares of the house
hold, the homely duties of the sick-room. They divert the
mind and break the force of the impending blow. If, when
illness and death invade a house, the fearing and sorrowing
ones had naught to do but sit down and watch the remorse*
less approach of the destroyer, they might go mad.
810 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
When Annie stole noiselessly back to Gregory's room
he was sleeping, though his breathing seemed difficult.
What a poor mockery the dinner hour was ! Even the
children were oppressed by the general gloom and talked in
whispers. But before it was over there came a bright ray
of light to Annie in the form of a telegram from Hunting,
saying that he had arrived in New York safely, and would
be at the village on the 5 P. M. train.
"0 I am so glad!" cried Annie; "never was he so
needed before."
And yet there was a remorseful twinge at her heart as
she thought of Gregory. But she felt sure of reconciliation
now, for would not Hunting overwhelm her preserver with
gratitude, and forgive everything in the past ?
She said to Jefi, "Have Dolly and the low buggy ready
for me at half -past four."
Her father seemed peculiarly glad when he heard that
his relative, the man he hoped would soon be his son, was
coming.
"it's all turning out for the best," he said, softly.
The hour soon came, for it was already late, and Annie
slipped away, leaving both her father and Gregory sleep
ing. To her great joy Hunting stepped down from the train
and was quickly seated by her side. As they drove away
in the dusk he could not forbear a rapturous kiss and em
brace which she did not resist.
"0 Charles, I'm so glad you've come so very glad!"
she exclaimed almost breathlessly; "and I've so much to
tell you that I hardly know where to begin. How good
God is to send you to me now, just when I need you
most!"
"So you find that you can't do without me altogether?
That's grand news. How I've longed for this hour I If I'd
had my own way I would have exploded the boilers in my
haste to reach port to see you again. It was real good of
you to come, and not send for me. Come Annie, celebrate
my return by the promise that you will soon make a home
WHAT A LOVER COULD DO 311
for me. I am happy to say that 1 can now g: ve you the
means of making it a princely one."
"I haven't the time nor the heart to think about that
now, Charles. Father is very ill. I'm exceedingly anxious
about him."
''Indeed!" said Hunting, "that is bad news;" and yet
his grief was not very deep, for he thought, "Jf she is left
alone she will come to me at once."
"What is more," cried Annie, a little hurt at the quiet
manner in which he received her tidings, "suppose, instead
of meeting me strong and well, you had found me a crushed
and lifeless corpse to-night?"
"Annie," he said, "what do you mean?"
"I mean that this would have been true but for one with
whom I am sorry you are on bad terms. Walter Gregory is
at our house."
He gave a great start at the mention of this name, and
even in the deep twilight his face seemed very white.
"I don't understand," he almost gasped.
"I knew you would be deeply affected," said the unsus
picious Annie. "He stood between me and death to-day,
and it may cost him his own life. He was severely injured
how badly we can hardly tell yet;" and she rapidly
related all that had occurred. "And now, Charles," she
concluded, "no matter what he may have done, or how
deeply he may have wronged you, I'm sure you'll do every
thing in your power to effect a complete reconciliation, and
cement a lasting friendship. If possible, you must become
his untiring nurse. How much you owe him!"
She noticed that he was trembling. After a moment he
asked, hesitatingly, "Has he how long has he been here,
did you say?"
"About three weeks. You know our place was his old
home, and his father was a very dear friend of my father."
"If I knew it I had forgotten it," he answered, with a
chill of fear growing deeper every moment. "Did he ha*
he said anything about our difficulties?"
812 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
"Nothing definite," said she, a little wonderingly at
Hunting's manner. "Father happened to mention your
name the first evening of his arrival, and the bitter enmity
that came out upon his face quite startled me. You know
well that I wouldn't hear a word against you. He once
commenced saying something to your prejudice, but I
stopped him and said I would neither listen to nor believe
him that he did not know you, and was entirely mistaken
in his judgment It was evident to us that Mr. Gregory was
not a good man. Indeed, he made no pretence of being
one; but he has changed since, as you can well understand,
or he couldn't have sacrificed himself as he has to-day. I
told father that I thought the cause of your trouble arose
from your trying to restrain him in some of his fast ways,
but he thought it resulted from business relations. ' '
"You were both right," said Hunting, slowly, as if he
were feeling his way along. "He was inclined to be very
dissipated, and I used to remonstrate with him ; but the im
mediate cause was a business difficulty. He would have
kept me out of a great deal of money if he could."
His words were literally true, but they gave an utterly
false impression. Annie was satisfied, however. It seemed
a natural explanation, and she trusted Hunting implicitly.
Indeed, with her nature, love could scarcely exist without
trust
"That's all past now," said Annie, eagerly. "You surely
will not let it weigh with you a moment. Indeed, Charles,
I shall expect you to do everything in your power to make
that man your friend."
"O, certainly, I could not act otherwise," he said, rather
absently. He was scheming with desperate earnestness to
meet and avert the impending dangers. Annie's frank and
cordial reception showed him that so far as she was con
cerned he was as yet safe. But he knew her well enough
to feel sure that if she detected falsehood in him his case
would be nearly hopeless. He recognized that he was walk
ing on a mine that at any moment might be sprung. With
WHAT A LOVER COULD DO 313
his whole soul he loved Annie Walton, and it would be
worse than death to lose her. The thought of her had made
every gross temptation fall harmless at his feet, and even
his insatiate love of wealth had been mingled with the
dearer hope that it would eventually minister to her hap
piness. But he had lived so long in the atmosphere of
Wall Street that his ideas of commercial integrity had
become exceedingly blurred. When a questionable course
opened by which he could make money, he could not resist
the temptation. He tried to satisfy himself that business
required such action, and called his sharp practice by the
fine names of skill, sagacity. But when on his visits to
Annie, which, of late, during the worst of his transactions,
had been frequent rather than prolonged, he had had a
growing sense of humiliation and fear. He saw that she
could never be made to look upon his affair with Burnett
& Co. as he regarded it, and that her father was the soul
of commercial honor. Though Mr. Walton's fortune was
moderate, not a penny had come to him stained. After
these visits Hunting would go back to the city, resolved to
quit everything illegitimate and become in his business and
other relations just what he seemed to them. But some
glittering temptation would assail him. He would make
one more adroit shuffle of the cards, and then, from being
hollow, would become morally and religiously sound at once.
During his voyage home, there was time for thought. A
severe gale, while lashing the sea into threatening waves,
had also disturbed his guilty conscience. He had amassed
sufficient to satisfy even his greed of gold for the present,
and his calculating soul hinted that it was time to begin to
put away a little stock in heaven as well as on earth.
He resolved that he would withdraw from the whirlpool
of Wall Street speculation and engage in only legitimate
operations. Moreover, he began to long for the refuge and
more quiet joys of home, and he felt, as did poor Gregory,
that Annie of all women could do most to make him happy
here and fit him for the future life. Therefore he had re-
ROE IV u
314 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
turned with the purpose of pressing his suit for a speedy
marriage as strongly as a safe policy would permit.
The bright October day of his arrival in New York
seemed emblematic of his hopes and prospects, and now
again the deepening night, the rising wind, and the wildly
hurrying clouds but mirrored back himself.
His safest and wisest course would have been to make
an honest confession to Annie of the wrong he had done
Gregory. As his mind recovered from its first confusion
this thought occurred to him. But he had already given
her the impression that he had received the wrong, or rather
that it had been attempted against him. Moreover, by any
truthful confession he would stand convicted of deceiving
and swindling Burnett & Co. He justly feared that Annie
would break with him the moment she learned this. So like
all schemers, he temporized, and left his course open to be
decided by circumstances rather than principle.
His first course was to learn of Annie all that he could
concerning Gregory and his visit, so that he might act in
view of the fullest knowledge possible. She told him
frankly what had occurred, so far as time permitted during
their ride home. But of Gregory's love she did not speak,
and was perplexed as to her proper course. Loyalty to her
lover seemed to require that he should know all, and yet
she was sure that Gregory would not wish her to speak of
it, and she owed so much to him that she felt she could
not do what was contrary to his wishes. But Hunting well
surmised that, whether Annie knew it or not, Gregory could
not have been in her society three weeks and go away an
indifferent stranger.
"Jeff can give me more light," he thought.
Conscious of deceit himself, he distrusted every one, even
crystal-souled Annie.
DEEPENING SHADOWS 316
M
CHAPTER XXIX
DEEPENING SHADOWS
R. WALTON received Hunting in a fatherly way.
Indeed, he looked upon the young man as a son,
and the thought of leaving Annie to his protection
was an unspeakable comfort.
Altogether Hunting was reassured by his reception,
which proved that his relations were as yet undisturbed.
But in the depths of his soul he trembled at the presence
of Gregory in the house; and when Miss Eulie came down
.and said, after an affectionate greeting, that Gregory was in
something like a stupor, he was even base enough to wish
that he might never come out of it.
At the word "stupor," Annie's face grew pale. She had
a growing dissatisfaction with Hunting's manner in regard
to Gregory, and felt that he did not feel or show the interest
or gratitude that he ought; but there was nothing tangible
with which she could tax him.
The doctor, who came early in the evening, reassured
her, and said that the state of partial consciousness was not
necessarily a dangerous symptom, as it might be the result
of a severe shock. The young man he brought was in
stalled as nurse under Miss Eulie's charge, and Annie said
that Mr. Hunting would also take his turn as watcher.
Then she, Mr. Hunting, and her father had a long talk
over what had happened in his absence, Mr. Walton dwell
ing most feelingly on what he regarded as the providential
character of the visit from the son of his old friend.
"If he never leaves our house alive, I have a strong
316 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
assurance that he will join his father in the better home.
Indeed, I may soon be there with them."
"Please don't talk so, father," pleaded Annie.
"Well, my child, perhaps it's best I should, and prepare
your minds for what may be near. It's a great consolation
to see Charles again, and he will help you bear whatever is
God's will."
"You can trust her to me," said Hunting, fervently.
"I have ample means to gratify her most extravagant wish,
and my love will shelter her and think for her even as yours
would. But I trust you will soon share our home with us."
"I expect to, my children, but it will be our eternal
home. ' '
Annie strove bravely to keep her tears back, for her
father's sake, but they would come.
"Annie," said Hunting, "won't you please let your
father put this ring on your engagement finger?" and he
gave Mr. Walton a magnificent solitaire diamond.
Mr. Walton took his daughter's hand, and looked ear- ,
nestly into her tearful, blushing face.
"Annie," he said, in a grave, sweet tone, "I hope for
your sake that I may be wrong, but I have a presentiment
that my pilgrimage is nearly ended. You have made its
last stage very happy. A good daughter makes a good
wife, Mr. Hunting; and, Annie, dear, I shall tell your
mother that you supplied her place, as far as a daughter
could. It will add greatly to my peace if I can leave you
and my sister, and the dear little ones, under the care
of one so competent to protect and provide for you all.
Mr. Hunting, do you feel that you can take them to your
home and heart, with my daughter?"
"Certainly," said Hunting. "I had no other thought;
and Annie's will shall be supreme in her future home."
"But, after all, the chief question is, Does this ring join
your hearts? I'm sure I'm right in thinking so, Annie?"
"Yes," she said, in a low tone.
Slowly, with his feeble, trembling hands he put the
DEEPENING SHADOWS 317
flashing gem on Annie's finger, and then placed her hand
in Hunting's, and, looking solemnly to heaven, said, "May
God bless this betrothal as your father blesses it."
Hunting stooped and kissed her hand and then her lips.
With mingled truth and policy, he said, "This ceremony is
more solemn and binding to me than the one yet to come at
the altar."
Annie was happy in her engagement It was what she
expected, and had been consummated in a way that seemed
peculiarly sweet and sacred; and yet her thoughts, with a
remorseful tinge, would keep recurring to the man who even
then might be dying for her sake.
After they had sat a little while in silence, which is often
the best expression of deep feeling, she suddenly said, with
an involuntary sigh, "Poor Mr. Gregory! I'm so sorry for
him!"
Thus Hunting knew where her thoughts were, and in
stantly the purpose formed itself in his mind to induce her
through her father to consent to an immediate marriage.
He saw more plainly than Annie the great change in her
father, and based his hope on the fact that the parent might
naturally wish to give his child a legal protector before he
passed away.
Mr. Walton now showed such signs of weariness that
they left him in Miss Eulie's care, who seemed to flit like
a ministering spirit between the two patients.
After the great excitement of the day, Annie, too, was
very weary, and soon the household sought such rest as was
possible with two of its inmates apparently very near the
boundaries that separate the known world from the un
known. Glimmering all night long, like signals of dis
tress at sea, the faint lights of the watchers reminded late
passers-by of the perilous nature of earthly voyaging.
Annie had gone with Miss Eulie to take a parting look
at Gregory. She bent over him and said, "Mr. Gregory,"
but his spirit seemed to have sunk into such far depths that
even her voice could not summon him.
318 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
"Oh, if he should die now!" she moaned, shudderingly,
and on the night of her engagement sobbed herself to sleep.
The next morning saw little change in the patients, save
that Mr. Walton was evidently weaker. Miss Bulie said
that Gregory had roused up during the night and seemed
perfectly conscious. He had inquired after Mr. Walton
and Annie, but toward morning had fallen into his old
lethargy.
After breakfast Annie took Hunting up to see him, but
was pained at the darkening of her lover's face as he looked
at the prostrate and unconscious man. She could not un
derstand it. He seemed to have no wish to remain. She
felt almost indignant, and yet what could she say more
than she had said? Gregory's condition, and the cause,
should naturally plead for him beyond all words.
Annie spent most of the day with her father, and pur
posed watching with him that night. The doctor came and
reported more favorably of Gregory, but said that every
thing depended upon his being quiet. Annie purposed that
Hunting should commence the duties of watcher as soon as
possible. Therefore she told her aunt to tell Gregory, as
soon as she thought it would answer, that Hunting had ar
rived. In the afternoon, Gregory seemed to come out of
his lethargy more decidedly than he had before, and took
some nourishment with marked relish. Then he lay quietly
looking at the fire.
"Do you feel better now?" Miss Eulie asked, gently.
"I'm sure I don't know," he answered, wearily. "I
have a numb, strange feeling."
"Would you like to see Miss Walton ?"
"No, not now; I am satisfied to know she is well."
"She wished me to tell you that Mr. Hunting had ar
rived."
He turned away his face with a deep scowl, but said
nothing.
After some time she came to his side and said, "Is there
anything you would like ?"
DEEPENING SHADOWS 319
"Nothing," he replied, gently. "I appreciate your great
kindness. ' '
Miss Eulie sighed and left the room, feeling dimly that
there were internal injuries after all, but such as were be
yond the doctor's skilh
Annie echoed her sigh when she heard how he received
Miss Eulie's information. She determined to prepare and
take him his supper.
When she noiselessly entered, he was again looking fix
edly at the fire. But she had not advanced far into the room
before he recognized her step and looked up quickly.
"See," she said, cheerily, coming to his side, "I've pre
pared and brought you this supper with my own hands, and
shall expect in return that you compliment it highly. Now,
isn't it a good supper?" she asked, holding it before him.
But his eyes fastened on the glittering and significant
ring, whose meaning he too well understood. With an ex
pression of intense pain he turned his face to the wall with
out a word.
"Mr. Gregory," pleaded Annie, "I never thought you
would turn away from me. ' '
"Not from you, not from you," he said, in a low tone,
"but I'm very weak, and the light of that diamond is too
strong for me yet."
"Forgive me," she said, in a tone of deep reproach; "I
did not think."
"No, forgive me. Please leave me now, and remember
in charity how weak I am."
She put the tray down and hastened from the room. He
ate no supper that night, neither did she. Hunting watched
her gloomily, with both fear and jealousy at heart. The
latter, however, was groundless, for Annie's feeling was
only that of profound sorrow for something she could not
help. But lack of strongly manifested interest and sym
pathy for Gregory injured him in her estimation; for wo
man-like she unconsciously took the side of the one he
wronged. She could understand Gregory's enmity, but
OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
it seemed to her that Hunting should be full of generous
enthusiasm for one who was suffering so much in her
behalf.
"Men are so strange!" she said, half-vexedly. "They
fall in love without the slightest provocation, and hate each
other forever, when a woman would have sharp words and
be over with it. They never do what you would naturally
expect."
During the day Hunting had found time to see Jeff alone,
but had found him inclined to be sullen and uncommunica
tive. Jeff had changed sides, and was now an ardent ad
herent of Gregory's, who had given him five dollars with
out imposing any conditions; and then, what was of far
greater import, had saved the house and Annie's life, and,
according to Jeff's simple views of equity, he ought to have
both. And yet a certain rude element of honesty made him
feel that he had made a bargain with Hunting, and that he
must fulfil his part and then they would be quits. But he
was not disposed to do it with a very good grace. So when
Hunting said, "Well, Jeff, I suppose you've seen a good
deal since I was last here."
"Yes, I've seen a mighty lot," said Jeff, sententiously.
"Well, Jeff, you remember our agreement. What did
you see? Only the truth now."
"Sartin, sah, only de truf. I'se belong to de Walton
family, and yous doesn't get nothin' but de truf from
dem."
"All right, Jeff; I'm glad your employers have so good
an influence on you. Well ?"
"I'se seen Misser Gregory on de roof," said Jeff, draw
ing on his imagination, as he had only heard about that
event through Zibbie's highly colored story, "where some
other folks wouldn't dar go, and now I'se see dat house dar,
which I wouldn't see dar, wasn't it for Misser Gregory."
"Well, well," said Hunting, impatiently, "I've heard all
about that. What else ?' '
"I'se seen Miss Annie roun' all day bloomin' and sweet
DEEPENING SHADOWS 321
as a rose, and I'se seen how she might have been a crushed
white lily," Jeff continued, solemnly, with a rhetorical wave
of the hand.
There existed in Jeff the raw material of a colored
preacher, only it was very crude and undeveloped. But
upon any important occasion he always grew rhetorical and
figurative in his language.
"Come, come, Jeff, tell me something new."
14 Well," said Jeff, "since I'se promised to tell you, and
since I'se spent de ten dollars, and hasn't got it to give you
back again, I'se seen Misser Gregory las' Sunday evenin', a
kneelin' afore Miss Annie as if he was a sayin' his prayers
to her, and I shouldn't wonder if she heard 'em (with a
chuckle); anyhow she wasn't lofty and scornful, and Misser
Gregory he's looked kinder glorified ever since; afore that
he looked glum, and Miss Annie, she's been kinder bendin 1
toward him since dat evenin', like a rosebud wid de dew
on it."
Hunting's face darkened with suppressed anger and jeal
ousy. After a moment he said, "Is that all ?"
" Dat' sail."
"Well, Jeff, here's ten dollars more, and look sharper
than ever now."
" 'Souse me, Misser Hunting. We'se squar' now.
I'se done what I agreed, and now I'se gwine out ob de
business. ' '
"Has Gregory engaged your services ?" asked Hunting,
quickly.
"No, sah, he hab not. I reckon Misser Gregory tink he
doesn't need any help."
"Why won't you do as I wish, then?"
"Well, Mr. Hunting, it kinder makes me feel bad here,"
said Jeff, rubbing his hand indefinitely over several physi
cal organs. "I don't jes' believe Miss Annie would like it,
and after seein' Mr. Gregory under dat pesky ladder, I
couldn't do nothin' dat he wouldn't like. If it hadn't
been for him I'd sorter felt as if I'd killed Miss Annie
OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
by leavin' dat doggoned ladder so straight up, and I neb-
ber could hab gone out in de dark agin all my life."
"Why, you old black fool," said Hunting, irritably,
"don't you know I'm going to marry Miss Annie?
You'd better keep on the right side of me."
"Which is de right side?" Jeff could not forbear say
ing, with a suppressed chuckle.
"Come, sir, no impudence. You won't serve me any
more then?"
"Oh yes, Misser Hunting. I'se black yer boots, make
de fire, harness de hoss, do anything dat won't hurt in
here," with a gesture that seemed to indicate the pit of
his stomach. "Anything more, please 'souse me."
"You will not speak of what has passed between us?"
"I'se given my word," said Jeff, drawing himself up,
"de word ob one dat belongs to de Walton s."
Hunting turned on his heel and strode away. Annie
had given one aspect to the scene on that Sabbath evening,
and Jeff had innocently given another. Hunting was not
loyal enough even to such a woman as Annie to believe her
implicitly. But it is the curse of conscious deceit to breed
suspicion. Only the true can have absolute faith in the
truth of others. Moreover, Hunting, in his hidden selfish
ness and worldliness could not understand Annie's ardent
effort to save a fellow-creature from sin. Skilled in the
subtle impulses of the heart, he believed that Annie, un
consciously even to herself, was drifting toward the man
he hated all the more because he had wronged him, while
the danger of his presence made him almost vindictive.
Yet he realized the necessity of disguising his feelings, for
if Annie discovered them he might well dread the conse
quence. But the idea of watching alone with Gregory was
revolting. It suggested dark thoughts which he tried to
put from him in horror, for he was far from being a hard
ened villain. He was only a man who had gradually formed
the habit of acting from expedience and self-interest, instead
of principle. Such a rule of life often places us where
DEEPENING SHADOWS 323
expedience and self-interest require deeds that are black
indeed.
But he was saved from the ordeal of spending hours alone
with a man who even in his helplessness might injure him
beyond remedy, for on the following morning Annie again
sought Gregory's room bent on securing reconciliation at
once. She felt that she could endure this estrangement no
longer.
The young man employed as watcher was out at the
time.
Gregory was gazing at the fire with the same look of list
less apathy. A deep flush overspread his deathly pale face
as she came and sat down beside him, but he did not turn
from her.
"Mr. Gregory," she said, very gently, "it seems that I
can do nothing but receive favors from you, and I've come
now to ask a great one."
He suspected something concerning Hunting, and his
face darkened forbiddingly. Though Annie noted this,
she would not be denied.
"Do you think," she said, earnestly, "that, after your
sacrifice for me, I can ever cease to be your friend in the
truest and strongest sense?"
"Miss Walton," he said, calmly, "I've made no sacrifice
for you. The thought of that episode in the orchard is my
one comfort while lying here, and will be through what is
left of life. But please do not speak of it, for it will become
a pain to me if I see the obligation is a burden to you."
"It is not," she said, eagerly. "I'm glad to owe my life
to you. But do you think I can go on my way and forget
you?"
"It's the very best you can do, Miss Walton."
"But I tell you it's impossible. Thank God, it's not my
nature to do it!"
He turned toward her with a wistful, searching look.
"We must carry out our old agreement," continued
Annie. "We must be close and lasting friends. You
324 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
should not blame me for an attachment formed years
ago."
"I do not blame you."
44 Then you should not punish me so severely. You first
make your friendship needful to me, and then you deny it."
"I am your friend, and more."
"How can we enjoy a frank and happy friendship through
coming years, after after you feel differently from- what
you do now, when you will not even hear the name of him
who will one day be my second self ?"
Again his face darkened; but she continued rapidly,
"Mr. Hunting is deeply grateful to you, and would like
to express his feelings in person. He wishes to bury the
past ' '
"He will, with me, soon," interrupted Gregory,
gloomily.
"No; please do not speak in that way," she pleaded.
"He wishes to make what little return he can, and offers
to watch with you night and day."
He turned upon her almost fiercely, and said, "Are you
too in league with my evil destiny, in that you continually
persecute me with that man ? Miss Walton, I half doubt
whether you know what love means, or you would not make
such a proposition. Let me at least die quietly. With the
memory of the past and the knowledge of the present, his
presence in my room would be death by torture. Pardon
me, but let us end this matter once for all. We have both
been unfortunate, you in inspiring a love that you cannot
return; I in permitting my heart to go from me, beyond
recall, before learning that my passion would be hopeless.
I do not see that either of us has been to blame, you cer
tainly not in the slightest degree.
"But, however vain, my love is an actual fact, and I
cannot act as if it were not. As well might a man with
a mortal wound smile and say it's but a scratch. I cannot
change my mind merely in view of expedience and invest
such feelings in another way. The fact of my love is now
DEEPENING SHADOWS 325
a past disaster, and I must bear the consequences with such
fortitude as I can. But what you ask would drive me mad.
If I should live, possibly in the future I might meet you
often without the torturing regret I now feel. But to make
a smiling member of Charles Hunting's friendly circle would
require on my part the baldest hypocrisy; and I can't do it,
and won't try. If that man comes into my room, I will
crawl out if I can."
He was trembling with excitement, his face flushed and
feverish, and his eyes unnaturally bright.
"And you banish me too," said Annie, hurt and alarmed
at the same time.
"Yes, yes; forgive me for saying so. Yes; till I'm
stronger. See how I've spoken to you. I've no self-
control. ' '
She was most reluctant to go, and stood a moment, hesi
tating. Timidly she ventured to quote the line:
"Earth has no sorrows that Heaven cannot cure."
"That's a comforting fact for those who are going there, "
he said, coldly.
With a sudden burst of passionate grief she stooped and
kissed his hand, then fled to her own room, and cried as if
her heart would break. It seemed as if he were lost to her
and heaven, and yet he was capable of being so noble and
good!
Miss Eulie entered Gregory's room soon after, and was
alarmed at his feverish and excited appearance. She de
cided that Annie's visits must cease for the present. How
ever, she took no apparent notice of his disturbed condition,
but immediately gave a remedy to ward off fever, and a
strong opiate, which, with the reaction and his weakness,
caused him to sink back into something like his old
lethargy.
Hunting had spent the morning with Mr. Walton, pre
paring his mind for the plan of immediate marriage. He
326 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
found the failing man not averse to the project, as his love
ought to secure to Annie every help and solace possible.
After Annie had removed from her face, to the best of
her ability, every trace of her emotion, she came down and
took her place at her father's side, intending to leave it only
when compelled to. Hunting knew of her mission to Greg
ory, and looked at her inquiringly, but she sadly shook her
head. He tried to look hurt, but only succeeded in look
ing angry. He soon controlled himself, however, though
he noted with deep uneasiness Annie's sad face and red
eyes. Mr. Walton fortunately was dozing and needed no
explanation.
That night he was much worse, and had some very seri
ous symptoms. Annie did not leave his side. But toward
morning he rallied and fell into a quiet sleep. Then she
took a little rest.
The next day she was told that there was a gentleman
in the parlor who wished to see her. The stranger proved
to be one of Gregory's partners, Mr. Seymour, who cour
teously said, "I should have been here before, but the
senior partner, Mr. Burnett, is unable to attend to busi
ness at present, and I came away the first moment I could
leave. I felt sure also that everything would be done that
could be. I hope the injury is not so serious as was first
supposed. ' '
"You may rest assured that we have tried to do every
thing," said Annie, gravely, "but Mr. Gregory is in a very
precarious condition. You would like to see him, I sup
pose. ' '
"If I can with safety to him."
"I think a brief interview may do him good. He needs
rallying."
At that moment Hunting, not knowing who was present,
entered. Both gentleman started, but Mr. Seymour gave
no sign of recognition, nor did Hunting, though he could
not at first hide a certain degree of nervous agitation.
Annie presented him. Mr. Seymour bowed stiffly, and
DEEPENING SHADOWS 327
said, rather curtly, "We have met before," and then gave
him no further attention, but continuing to address Annie,
said, "I well understand that Mr. Gregory needs rallying.
That has been }"ust his need for the last few months, during
which time his health has been steadily failing. I was in
hopes he would come back " and then he stopped, quite
puzzled for a moment by the sudden change in Annie's
manner, which had become freezingly cold toward him,
while there was a look of honest indignation upon her
face.
"Excuse me, sir," she said, briefly. "I will send you
my aunt, who will attend to your wishes;" and she left Mr.
Seymour standing in the middle of the room, both confused
and annoyed; but he at once surmised that it was on ac
count of his manner toward Hunting, who sat down with
a paper at the further side of the room, as if he were
alone.
But when, a moment later, Miss Eulie entered with her
placid, unruffled face, Mr. Seymour could not be otherwise
than perfectly polite, and after a few words, followed her
to Gregory's room.
Annie at once came to Hunting and asked, "Why did
that man act so ?' '
"Why, don't .you see?" answered he, hastily. "Mr.
Seymour is Mr. Gregory's partner. They all have the same
reason for feeling hostile toward me, though perhaps Greg
ory has special reasons," he added, with a searching look.
Annie blushed deeply at this allusion, but said with em
phasis, "No man shall treat you in that way in my presence
and still receive courtesy from me. ' '
But his jealous spirit had noticed her quick blush more
than her generous resentment of the insult she supposed
offered him. Therefore he said, "Mr. Gregory would treat
me worse if he got a chance. "
"But his case is different from any one's else," she said,
with another quick flush.
"Evidently so in your estimation."
328 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
Then for the first time she noted his jealousy, and it hurt
her sorely. She took a step nearer and looked very gravely
into his face for a moment without speaking, and then said,
with that calmness which is more effective than passion,
"Charles, take care. I'm one that will be trusted. Though
it seems a light matter to you that he has saved my life,
at perhaps the cost of his OWD, it does not to me."
The cool and usually cautious man had for once lost his
poise, and he said, with sudden irritation, "I hear that and
nothing else. What else could he have done? If you had
stayed at your father's side you would have been safe. He
took you out to walk, and any man would have risked
his life to bring you back safely."
He now saw in Annie a spirit he could never control as
he managed people in Wall Street, for, with a sudden flash
in her eyes, she said, hotly, "I do not reason thus coldly
about those to whom I owe so much," and abruptly left
him.
In bitterness of fear and self-reproach he at once realized
his blunder. He followed her, but she was with her father,
and he could not speak there. He looked imploringly at
her, but could not catch her eye, for she was deeply
incensed. Had she not heard him she would not have
believed that he could be so ungenerous,
He wrote on a scrap of paper, "Annie, forgive me.
I humbly ask your pardon. I'm not myself to-day, and
that man's conduct, which you so nobly resented in my
behalf, vexed me to that degree that I acted like a fool.
I am not worthy of you, but you will perceive that my
folly arises from my excess of love for you. I'm going
for a walk. Please greet me with pardon in your face on
my return."
Impulsive, loving, warm-hearted Annie could not resist
such an appeal. She at once relented, and began to make
a thousand better excuses for her lover than he could for
himself. But she had taught him a lesson, and proved that
she was not a weak, willowy creature that would cling to
DEEPENING SHADOWS 329
him no matter what he was or did. He saw that he must
seem to be worthy of her.
Gregory greeted his partner with a momentary glow of
gratitude that he had come so far to see him, and began
talking about his business.
"Not a word of that, old fellow," said Mr. Seymour.
"Your business is to get well. It seems to me that you
have everything here for comfort good medical attend
ance, eh?"
"Yes; if anything, too much is done for me."
"I don't understand just how it happened."
Gregory told him briefly.
"By Jove! this Miss Walton ought to be very grateful
to you."
"She is too grateful."
"I don't know about that. I met that infernal Hunting
downstairs. Of course I couldn't treat him with politeness,
and do you know the little lady spunked up about it to that
degree that she almost turned her back upon me and left
the room. ' '
"Of course," said Gregory, coolly, shielding his secret
by a desperate effort; "they are engaged."
"Oh, I understand now. Well, I rather like her spirit.
Does she know how accomplished her lover is in Wall
Street?"
"No. Hunting is a distant relative of the family. They
believe him to be a gentleman, and would not listen to
a word against him."
"But they ought to know. He lied like a scoundrel to
us, and in your trying all summer to make up the losses,
he has nearly been the death of you. I wouldn't let my
daughter marry him though he had enough money to break
the Street: and it is a pity that a fine girl, as this Miss
Walton seems, should throw herself away on him."
"Well, Seymour, that's not our affair," said Gregory,
pale and faint from his effort at self-control. "They would
listen to nothing."
330 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
"Well, good-by, old fellow. I see it won't do to talk
with you any more. Get well as soon as you can, for we
want you wofully in town. Get well, and carry off this
Miss Walton yourself. It would be a neat way of turning
the tables on Hunting."
"Don't set your heart on seeing me at the office again,"
said Gregory, feelingly. "I have a presentiment that I
shan't pull through this, and I don't much care. Give my
kindest regards to Mr. Burnett, and tell him I shall think
of him to the last as among my best friends. ' '
Seymour made a few hearty remonstrances against
such a state of mind, and took his departure with many
misgivings. Gregory relapsed into his old dreary apathy.
Life had so many certain ills that upon the whole he felt
he would rather die. But he was too stunned and weak to
think much, save when Annie came to him. Her presence
was always life, but now it was a sharp revival of the con
sciousness of his loss. Left to himself, his mind sank down
into a sort of painless lethargy, from which he did not wish
to be aroused.
Mr. Walton passed a quieter night, but was clearly fail
ing fast. He sent frequent messages of love and sympathy
to Gregory, and had an abiding faith that all would be well
with him in the next life, if not in this. Annie had not the
heart to undeceive him. When he thought it a little strange
that Hunting was not with Gregory, Annie explained by
saying that the doctor insisted on perfect quiet of mind,
and the presence of Hunting might unpleasantly revive old
memories, and so unduly excite him.
After the physician saw his patients the following morn
ing, he looked grave and dissatisfied. Annie followed him
to the door, and said, "Doctor, I don't like the expression
of your face. ' '
"Well, Miss Annie," said the doctor, discontentedly,
"I've a difficult task on my hands, in trying to cure two
patients that make no effort to live. Your father seems
homesick for heaven, and mere drugs can't rouse Mr.
DEEPENING SHADOWS 331
Gregory out of his morbid, gloomy apathy. I could get
him ashore if he would strike out for himself, but he just
floats down stream like driftwood. But really I'm doing all
that can be done, I think."
"I believe you are," she said, sadly. "Good-by."
"O merciful God!" she exclaimed when alone. "What
shall I do what shall I do to save him ? Father's going to
heaven and mother. Where is he going ?"
332 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
CHAPTER XXX
KEPT FROM THE EVIL
WITH the light of the following day Annie gave up
all hope of her father's recovery. He was sink
ing fast, and conscious himself that death was
near. But his end was like the coming into harbor of a
stately ship after a long, successful voyage. He looked
death in the face with that calmness and dignity, that
serene certainty that it was a change for the better, which
Christian faith alone can inspire. His only solicitude was
for those he was leaving, and yet he had no deep anxiety,
for his strong faith committed them trustingly to God.
Annie tried to feel resigned, since it was God's will.
But the tie that bound her to him was so tender, so inter
woven with every fibre of her heart, that she shrunk with
inexpressible pain from its sundering. She knew that she
was not losing her father, that the worst before them was
but a brief separation, but how could she, who had lived so
many happy years at his side, endure even this ? It seemed
as if she could not let him go, and in the strong, passionate
yearning of her heart, she was almost ready to leave youth,
friends, lover, and all, to go with him.
She was one who lived in her affections rather than her
surroundings. The latter would matter little to her could
she keep her heart- treasures. It would have touched the
coldest to see how she clung to him toward the last. All
else was forgotten, even Gregory, who might be dying also.
The instinct of nature was strong, and her father was first.
Moreover, the relation between this parent and child was
KEPT FROM THE EVIL 333
peculiarly close, for they were not only in perfect sympathy
in views, character, and faith, but Annie had stepped to the
side of the widowed man years before and sought success
fully to fill the place of one who had reached home before
him. Though so young, she had been his companion and
daily friend, interesting herself in that which interested
him, and thus he had been saved from that terrible loneli
ness which often breaks the heart even in the midst of a
household. It was therefore with a love beyond words that
his eyes rested most of the time on her and followed her
every movement.
She also had a vague and peculiar dread in looking for
ward to her bereavement. An anticipating sense of isola
tion and loneliness chilled her heart.
Though she would not openly admit it to herself, Hunt
ing had disappointed her since his return. She did not get
from him the support and Christian sympathy she expected.
She tried to excuse him, and charged herself with being too
exacting, and yet the sense of something wanting pained
her. She had hoped that in these dark days he would be
serene and strong, and yet abounding in the tenderest sym
pathy. She had expected words of faith and consolation
that would have sustained her spirit, fainting under a double
and peculiar sorrow. She had felt sure that before this his
just gratitude, like a torrent, would have overwhelmed and
destroyed Gregory's enmity. But all had turned out so
differently ! Instead of being a help, he had almost added
to her burden by his hostile feeling toward her preserver,
which he had not been able wholly to disguise. Such a
feeling on his part seemed both unnatural and wrong.
He professed himself ready to do anything she wished for
Gregory, but it was in a half-hearted way, to oblige her,
and not for the sake of the injured man. When she went
to him for Christian consolation, his words, though well-
chosen, lacked heartiness and the satisfying power of truth.
Why this was so can be well understood. Hunting could
not give what he did not possess. Of necessity there would
334 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
be a hollow ring when he spoke of that which he did not
understand or feel. During his brief visits, and in his care
fully written letters, he could appear all she wished. He
could honestly show his sincere love for her, and there was
no special opportunity to show anything else. In her vivid,
loving imagination she supplied all else, and she believed
that when they were more together, or in affliction, he would
reveal more distinctly his deeper and religious nature, for
such a nature he professed to have; and his letters, which
could be written deliberately, abounded in Christian senti
ment. Self -deceived, he meant to be honestly religious
as soon as he could afford to give up his questionable
speculations.
But when a man least expects it the test and strain
will come, that clearly manifest the character of his moral
stamina. It had now come to Hunting, and though he
strove with all the force and adroitness of a resolute will
and though he was a practiced dissembler, he was not equal
to the searching demands of those trying days, and steadily
lost ground. The only thing that kept him up was his sin
cere love for Annie. That was so apparent and honest that,
loving him herself, she was able to forgive the rest. But it
formed no small part of her sorrow at that dark time, that
she must lower her lofty ideal of her lover. Hunting and
Gregory seemed nearer together morally than she could
have believed possible. Thus she already had the dread
that she would not be able to "look up" to Hunting as she
had expected, and that it would be her mission to deepen
and develop his character instead of "leaning" upon it.
It seemed strange to her as she thought of it, during her
long hours of watching, that after all she would have to do
for Hunting something like what poor Gregory had asked
her to do for him. She prayerfully purposed to do it, for
the idea of being disloyal to her engagement never entered
her mind.
"Unless men have a Christian home, in which their re
ligious life can be daily strengthened and fostered, they
KEPT FROM THE EVIL 385
cannot be what they ought," she said to herself. u ln con
tinual contact with the world, with nothing to counteract,
it's not strange that they act and feel as they do."
Thus she was more disposed to feel sorry for both Hunt
ing and Gregory than to blame them. And yet she looked
upon the two men very differently. She regarded Hunting
as a true Christian who simply needed warming and quick
ening into positive life, while she thought of Gregory with
only fear and trembling. Her hope for the latter was in the
prayers stored up in his behalf.
But now upon this day that would ever be so painfully
memorable she had thoughts only for her father, and noth
ing could tempt her from his side.
Hunting also saw that the crisis was approaching, and
made but a formal semblance of a breakfast. He then en
tered the sick-room, and was thinking how best to broach
the subject of an immediate marriage, when a thumping of
crutches was heard in the hall.
Miss Eulie entered and said that Daddy Tuggar had
managed to hobble over, and had set his heart upon seeing
his old friend.
"Certainly," said Mr. Walton; "he shall come in at
once. ' '
"Caution him to stay but a few minutes," warned Annie.
Miss Eulie helped the old man in, and he sat down by
Mr. Walton's side, with a world of trouble on his quaint,
wrinkled face.
But he said abruptly, as if he expected an affirmative
answer, "Yer gettin' better this mornin' yer on the
mend?"
"Y"es, my kind old neighbor," said Mr. Walton, feebly.
"I shall soon be well. It was kind of you, in your crippled
state, to come over to see me."
"Well, now," said Mr. Tuggar, greatly relieved, "there
is use of prayin'. I ain't much of a hand at it, and didn't
know how the Lord would take it from me; but when I
heard you was sick, I began to feel like prayin', and when
336 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
I heard you was gettin' wuss, I couldn't help prayin'.
When I heard how that city chap as saved the house
(what an old fool I was to cuss him when he first came!
The Lord knew what He was doin' when fle brought him
here) when I heard how he kept the ladder from falling
on Miss Annie, I prayed right out loud. My wife, she
thought I was gettin' crazy. But I didn't care what anybody
thought. I've been prayin' all night, and it seemed as if
the Lord must hear me, and I kinder felt it in my bones
that He had. So I expected to hear you say you was goin'
to get well; and Mr. Gregory, he's better too ain't he?"
There was no immediate answer. Neither Miss Eulie nor
Annie seemed to know how to reply to the old man at first.
But Mr. Walton reached slowly out and took his neighbor's
hand, saying, "Your prayers will be answered, my friend.
Honest prayer to God always is. I shall be well soon, never
to be old, feeble, and sick any more. I'm going where
there's 'no more pain.' Perhaps I've seen my last night,
for there is 'no night there.' '
"But the Lord knows I didn't mean nothin' of that kind.
We need you here, and He orter know it. What's the use
of prayin' if you get just the opposite of what you pray for ?' '
"Suppose the opposite is best ? I'm an old man a shock
of corn fully ripe. I'm ready to be gathered. "
"Are yer goin' to die?" asked the old man, in an awed
whisper.
"No, Mr. Tuggar; I've been growing old and feeble,
I've been dying for a long time. Now I'm going to live
to be strong and well, forever and ever. So don't grieve,
but rather rejoice with me."
The old man sat musing a moment, and then said softly
to himself, "This is what the Scripter means when it tells
about the 'death of the righteous.' '
"Yes," continued Mr. Walton, though more feebly;
"and the Scripture is true. The dear Lord doesn't desert
His people. He who has been my friend and helper so
many years now tells me that my sins, which are many,
KEPT FROM THE EVIL 337
are all forgiven. It seems that I have also heard Him say,
'To-day thou shalt be with me in Paradise.' "
Tears gathered in Daddy Tuggar's eyes, and he said,
brokenly, "The Lord knows I've allers been a sort of
well-meanin' man -but I couldn't talk that way if I was
where you be. ' '
"Mr. Tuggar," said Mr. Walton, "I'm too weak to say
much more, but I want to ask you one question. You have
read the Bible. Whom did the Lord Jesus come to save?"
"Sinners," was the prompt response.
"Are you one?"
"What else be I?"
"Then, old neighbor, you are safe, if you will just re
ceive Him as your Saviour. If you were sure you were
good enough and didn't need any Saviour, I should despair
of you. But according to the Bible you are just such as He
came after. If you feel that you are a sinner, all you have
to do is to trust Him and do the best you can. "
"Is that all you did?"
"All. I couldn't do anything more. And now, good-
by. Eemember my last words Whom did Jesus come to
save?"
"Why, He come to save me," burst out the old man,
rising up. "What a cussed old fool I was, not to see it
afore ! I was allers thinkin' He came after the good folks,
and I felt that no matter how I tried I could not be good
enough. Good-by, John Walton. If they are goin' to let
sinners into heaven who are willin' to come any way the
Lord will let 'em come, I'll be yer neighbor again 'fore
long;" and with his withered, bronzed visage working
with an emotion that he did not seek to control, he wrung
the dying man's hand, and hobbled out.
But he pleaded with Miss Eulie to let him stay. "I
want to see it out," he said, "for if grim Death ain't goin'
to get one square knock-down now, then he never had it.
I want to see the victory. 'Pears to me that when the
gates open the glory will shine out upon us all."
ROE IV 15
338 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
So she installed him in Mr. Walton's arm-chair by the
parlor fire, and made him thoroughly at home.
"I'm a waitin' by the side of the river," he said. "I
wish I could go over with him. 'Pears I'd feel sure they
wouldn't turn me back then."
"Jesus will go over the river with you," she said,
gently, "and then they can't turn you back."
"I hope so, I hope so," said this old, child-like man,
"for I'm an awful sinner."
After this interview, which greatly fatigued him, Mr.
Walton dozed for an hour, and then brightened up so
decidedly that Annie had faint hopes that he was better.
The children were brought to him, and he kissed and
fondled them very tenderly. Then, in a way that would
make a deep impression on their childish natures, he told
them how he was going to see their father and mother, and
would tell what good children they had been, and how they
always meant to be good, and how all would be waiting for
them in heaven.
Thus the little ones received no grim and terrible im
pressions at that death- bed, but rather memories and hopes
that in all their future would hold them back, like angel
hands, from evil.
Hunting now believed that the time for him to act had
come. He had told Jeff to have the horse and buggy ready
so that he might send for the old pastor at once.
He came to Annie's side, and taking her hand and her
father's, thus seeming a link between them, said very
gently, very tenderly, "Annie, your father has told me
that it would be a great consolation to him to leave me
in charge of you all as his son, legally and in the eyes of
the world, as I feel I am in reality. I could then do every
thing for you, relieve you of every care, and protect with
unquestionable right all the interests of the household.
Again, the marriage tie, like that of our betrothal, con
summated here at his side, would ever seem to us pecu
liarly tender and sacred. It will almost literally be a mar-
KEPT FROM THE EVIL 339
riage made in heaven. I hope you will feel that you can
grant this, your father's last wish."
Annie felt a sudden and strong repugnance to the plan.
In that hour of agonized parting she did not wish to think
of marriage, even to one she loved. Her thoughts imme
diately recurred to Gregory, and she felt that such an act
might, in his weak state, cause disastrous results. And yet
if it were her father's wish his last wish how could she re
fuse him how could she refuse him anything ? The mar
riage day would eventually come. If by making this the
day she could once more show her filial love and add to
his dying peace, did she not owe him her first duty ? The
dying are omnipotent with us. Who can refuse their last
requests ?
She looked inquiringly, but with tear- blinded eyes, at
her father.
"Yes, Annie," he said, answering her look, "it would
be a great consolation to me, because I can see how it will
be of much advantage to you more than you can now un
derstand. It will enable Charles to step in at once as head
of the household, and so you will be relieved of many per
plexities and details of business which would be very trying
to you, as you will feel. I want to spare you and sister all
this, and you have no idea how much it will save your feel
ings, and add to your comfort, to have one like Charles act
for you with such power as he would have as your husband.
After seeing you all thus provided for, it seems to me that
I could depart in perfect peace."
"Dear father," said Annie, tenderly, "how can I deny
you anything! This seems to me no time for marriage, but,
since you wish it, your will shall be mine. It must be right
or you would not ask it; and yet " She did not finish
the sentence, but buried her face in her hands, weeping.
"That's my noble Annie," Hunting exclaimed, with a
glad exultation in his voice that he could not disguise;
and, hastening out, he told Jeff to bring the minister as
speedily as possible.
340 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
Miss Eulie was called, and acquiesced in her brother's
opinion, and hovered around Annie in a tender flutter of
maternal love.
Hunting now felt that he was master of destiny, and in
his heart bade defiance to Gregory and all his own fears.
His elation and self-applause were great, for had he not
snatched the prize out of the hand of death itself, and
made events that would have awed and disheartened other
men combine for his good ? He had schemed, planned, and
overreached them all, though, in this case, for their inter
ests as well as his own, he believed. While he would nat
urally wish the marriage to take place as soon as possible,
his chief reason was to forestall any revelations which might
come through Gregory; and this motive made his whole
course, though apparently dictated by the purest feeling, a
crafty trick. Yet such was the complex nature of the man
that he honestly meant to fulfil all Mr. Walton's expecta
tions, and become Annie's loving shield from every care
and trial, and a faithful guardian of the household. Nay,
more, as soon as he was securely intrenched, with all his
coveted possessions, he purposed that Annie should help
him to be a true, good man a Christian in reality.
Well may the purest and strongest pray to be kept from
the evil of the world. It lurks where least suspected, and
can plot its wrongs in the chamber of death, and on the
threshold of heaven. Annie and her father might at least
suppose themselves safe now. Were they so, with God's
minister on his way to join truth with untruth a pure-
hearted maiden to a man from whom she would shrink the
moment she came to know him ? Not on the human side.
They were safe only as God kept them. If Annie Walton
had found herself married to a swindler, hers would have
been a life-long martyrdom. But unconsciously she drew
momentarily nearer the edge of the precipice. Time was
passing, and their venerable pastor would soon be present.
Annie had welcomed him every day previously, as he came
to take sweet counsel with her father rather than prepare
KEPT FROM THE EVIL 341
him for death, but now she had a strange, secret dread of
his coming.
Her father suddenly put his hand to his heart.
"Have you pain there?" asked Annie.
"It's gone," he replied, after a moment. "They will
soon be all past, Annie dear. How does Mr. Gregory
seem now?" he asked of Miss Eulie.
"Greatly depressed, I'm sorry to say," she answered.
"He knows that you are no better, and it seems to distress
him very much."
"God bless him for saving my darling's life!" he said,
fervently; "and He will bless him. I have a feeling that
he will see brighter and better days. I can send him al
most a father's love and blessing, for he now seems like a
son to me. Say to him that I shall tell his father of his
noble deeds. Be a sister to him, Annie. Carry on the
good work you have so wisely begun. May the friendship
of the parents descend to the children. And you, Charles,
my son, will surely feel toward him as a brother, whatever
may have been the differences of the past."
Innocent but deeply embarrassing words to both Hunt
ing and Annie.
Again Mr. Walton put his hand to his heart.
Hunting left the room, for it was surely time for Jeff to
return. With a gleam of exultant joy he saw him driving
toward the house with the white-haired minister at his side.
He returned softly to the sick-room.
Mr. Walton had just taken Annie's hands, and after a
look of unutterable fondness, said, "Before I give you to
another while you are still my own little girl let me
thank you for having been all and more than a father
could ask. How good God was to give me such a com
fort in your mother's place!"
"Dear father!" was all that Annie could say.
Even then the minister was entering the house.
"I bless thee, my child," the father continued; then
turning his eyes heavenward he reverently closed them in
342 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
prayer, saying, "and God bless thee also, and keep thee
from every evil. ' '
God answered him.
His grasp on Annie's hand relaxed; without even a sigh
he passed away.
Annie started up with a look of alarm, and saw the same
expression on the faces of her aunt and Hunting. They
spoke to him; he did not answer. Hunting felt his pulse.
Its throb had ceased forever. The chill of a great dread
turned his own face like that of the dead.
Miss Bulie put her hand on her brother's heart. It was
at rest. Annie stood motionless with dilating eyes watch
ing them. Bat when her aunt came toward her with stream
ing eyes she realized the truth and fell fainting to the floor.
Just then the old minister crossed the threshold, but
Hunting said to him, almost savagely, "You are too late."
"LIVE! LIVE l ANNIES APPEAL 343
CHAPTER XXXI
"LIVE! LIVE I" ANNIE'S APPEAL
ANNIE'S swoon was so prolonged that both her aunt
and Hunting were alarmed. It was the reaction
from the deep and peculiar excitement of the last
few days. Every power of mind and body had been under
the severest str lin, and nature now gave way.
The doctor, when he came to make his morning call, was
most welcome. He said there was nothing alarming about
Miss Walton's symptoms, but added very decisively that
she would need rest and quiet of mind for a long time in
order to regain her former tone and health.
When Annie revived he gave something that would tend
to quiet her nervous system and produce sleep.
"I now understand Mr. Walton's case," he said to Miss
Eulie. "I could not see why his severe cold, which he had
apparently cured, should result as it did. But now it's
plain that it was complicated with heart difficulties/'
His visit to Gregory was not at all satisfactory, for his
patient's depression was so great that he was sinking under
it. Mr. Walton's death, leaving Annie defenceless, as it
were, in the hands of a man like Hunting, seemed another
of the dark and cruel mysteries which to him made up hu
man lif j. The death that had given Daddy Tuggar such
an impulse toward faith and hope only led him to say with
intense bitterness, "God has forgotten His world, and tho
devil rules it."
"Mr. Gregory," said the physician, gravely, "do you
Know that you are about the same as taking your own
844 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
life ? All the doctors in the world cannot help you un
less you try to live. Drugs cannot remove your apathy and
morbid depression."
"Very well, doctor," he replied; "do not trouble your
self to come any more. I absolve you from all blame."
"But I cannot absolve myself. Besides, it's not manly
to give up in this style."
"I make no pretence of being manly or anything else.
I am just what you see. Can a broken reed stand up like
a sturdy oak? Can such a thing as I reverse fate ? Thank
you, doctor, for all you have done, but waste no more time
upon me. I knew, weeks ago, that the end was near, and
I would like to die in the old place."
The doctor looked at him a moment in deep perplexity,
and then silently left the room.
"Internal injuries that I can't get at," he muttered, as
he drove away.
Miss Bulie came to Gregory's side, and laying her hand
gently on his brow said, "You are mistaken, my young
friend. You are going to live."
"Why do you think so?" he asked.
"The dying often have almost prophetic vision;" and
she told him all that Mr. Walton had said, though nothing
of the contemplated marriage. She dwelt with special em
phasis on the facts that he had told Annie to be a sister to
Gregory and had gone to heaven with the assurance to his
old friend that his son would join him there.
Gregory was strongly moved, and turning his face upon
the pillow, gave way to a passion of tears; but they were
despairing, bitter, regretful tears. He soon seemed ashamed
of them, and when he again turned his face toward Miss
Bulie, it had a hard, stony look.
Almost with sternness he said, "If the dying have super
natural insight, why could not Mr. Walton see what kind
of a man Hunting is ? Please leave me now. I know how
kind and well-meant your words are, but they are mockery
to me;" and he turned his face to the wall.
"LIVE! LIVE!" ANNIE'S APPEAL 345
Miss Eulie sighed very deeply, but felt that his case was
beyond her skill.
Daddy Tuggar was at first grievously disappointed.
He had wrought himself up into the hope of a celestial
scene, and the abrupt and quiet termination of Mr. Wal
ton's life seemed inadequate to the occasion. But Miss
Eulie comforted him by saying that "the Christian walked
by faith, and not by sight that God knew what was best,
better than we, His little children.
"Death had not even the power to cause him a moment's
pain," she said. "God gave him a sweet surprise, by letting
him through the gates before he was aware. ' '
Thus she led the strange old man to think it was for the
best after all. The Rev. Mr. Ames, who had come on such
a different mission, also tried to make clearer what Mr. Wai-"
ton had said to him. But Daddy Tuggar would not permit
his mind to wander a moment from the simple truth, which
he kept saying over and over to himself, "I'm an awful
sinner, and the good Lord come after just such."
Another thing that greatly perplexed the old man was
that Mr. Walton had not been permitted to live long enough
to see his daughter married. As an old neighbor, and be
cause of his strong attachment to Annie, he had been invited
to be present.
" 'Pears to me that the Lord might have spared him a
few minutes longer," he said.
"It appears to you so," replied Mr. Ames, "but the Lord
knows why he did not."
"Well, parson," said Daddy Tuggar, "I thank you very
kindly for what you have said, but John Walton has done
the business for me. I'm just goin' to trust I'm just goin'
to let myself go limber and fall right down on the Lord
Jesus' word. I don't believe it will break with me. Any
how, it's all I can do, and John Walton told me to do it
and I allers found he was about right." And thus late in
the twilight of life the old man took his pilgrim's staff and
started homeward.
346 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
As soon as Hunting recovered from his bitter disappoint
ment and almost superstitious alarm at the sudden thwarting
of his purpose, his wily and scheming mind fell to work on
a new combination. If he still could induce Annie to be
married almost immediately, as he greatly hoped, all would
be well. If not, then he would assume that they were the
same as married, and at once take his place so far as possi
ble at the head of the household, in accordance with Mr.
Walton's wish. On one hand, by tender care and thought-
fulness for them all, he would place Annie under the deep
est obligation; on the other, he would gain, to the extent
he could, control of her affairs and property. In the latter
purpose Mr. Walton had greatly aided by naming him one
of the executors of his will; and only Miss Eulie, the sister-
in-law, was united with him as executrix. Thus he would
substantially have his own way. Indeed, Mr. Walton, in
his perfect trust, meant that he should.
Having seen Annie quietly sleeping, he started for New
York to make arrangements for the funeral, and look after
some personal matters that had already been neglected too
long.
His feelings on the journey were not enviable. He had
enough faith to fear God, but not to trust and obey. The
thought recurred with disheartening frequency, "If God is
against this, He will thwart me every time."
The day had closed in thick darkness and a storm before
Annie awoke from the deep sleep which the sedative had
prolonged. Though weak and languid, she insisted on get
ting up. Her aunt almost forced her to take a little supper,
and then she went instinctively and naturally to that room
which had always been a place of refuge, but which now
was the chamber of death.
She turned up the light that she might look at the dear,
dear face. How calm and noble it was in its deep repose !
It did not suggest death only peaceful sleep.
With a passionate burst of sorrow she moaned, "0 father,
let me sleep beside you, and be at rest!"
"LIVE! LIVE!" ANNIE'S APPEAL 347
Then she took his cold hand, and sat down mechanically
to watch, as in the days and nights just passed. But as she
became composed and thought grew busy, the deep peace of
the sleeper seemed imparted to her. In vivid imagination
she followed him to the home and greetings that he had so
joyously anticipated. She saw him meet her mother and
sister, and other loved ones who had gone before. She saw
him at his Saviour's feet, blessed and crowned. She heard
the wild storm raging without in the darkness, and then
thought of his words "There is no night there."
"Dear father," she murmured, "I would not call you
back if I could. God give me patience to come to you in
His own appointed way. ' '
Then she dwelt upon the strange events of the day.
How near she had come to being a wife! Why had she
not become one? That the marriage should have been so
suddenly and unexpectedly prevented on the very eve of
consummation, caused some curious thoughts to flit through
her mind.
"It is enough to know that it was God's will," she said;
"and my future is still in His hands. Poor Charles! it will
be a disappointment to him; and yet what difference will a
few weeks or months make?"
Then her father's words, "Be a sister to Gregory," re
curred to her, and she reproached herself that she had
so long forgotten him.
"Father is safe home," she said, "and I am leaving him
to wander further and further away. Father told me to be
a sister to him, and I will. When he gets well and strong,
if he ever does, he will feel very differently; and if he is to
die (which God forbid), what more sacred duty can I have
than to plead with him and for him to the last ?' '
Pressing a kiss on her father's silent lips, she went to
fulfil one of their last requests. She first asked her aunt
if it would be prudent to visit Gregory.
"I hardly know, Annie, what to say," said Miss Eulie,
in deep perplexity; and she told her what had occurred in
348 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
relation to Gregory, the doctor, and herself, omitting all
reference to Hunting. "If he is not roused out of his gloom
and apathy, I fear he will die," concluded her aunt; "and
if you can't rouse him, I don't know who can."
Annie gave her a quick, questioning glance.
"Yes, Annie, I understand," she said, quietly. "He
received his worst injury before the ladder fell."
"O aunty, what shall I do ?"
"Indeed, my dear child, I can hardly tell you. You are
placed in a difficult and delicate position. Perhaps your
father's words were wisest, 'Be a sister to him.' At any
rate, you have more power with him than any one else, and
you owe it to him to do all you can to save him. "
"I am ready to do anything, aunty, for it seems as if I
could never be happy if he should die an unbeliever. ' '
Annie stole noiselessly to Gregory's side, and motioned
to the young man who was in charge to withdraw to the
next room. Gregory was still asleep. She sat down by
him and was greatly shocked to see how emaciated and
pale he was. It seemed as if he had suffered from an illness
of weeks rather than days.
"He will die," she murmured, with all her old terror at
the thought returning. "He will die, and for me. Though
innocent, I shall always feel that his blood is upon me;"
and she buried her face in her hands, and her whole frame
shook with a passion of grief.
Her emotion awoke him, and he recognized with some
thing like awe the bowed head at his side.
Her grief for her father, as he supposed it to be, seemed
such a sacred thing ! And yet he could not bear to see her
intense sorrow. His heart ached to comfort her, but what
words of consolation could such as he offer ? Still, had she
not come to him as if for comfort? This thought touched
him deeply, and he almost cursed his unbelieving soul that
made him dumb at such a time. What could he say but
miserable commonplaces in regard to a bereavement like
hers?
"LIVE! LIVE!" ANNIE'S APPEAL 349
He did not say anything, but merely reached out his
hand and gently stroked her bowed head.
Then she knew he was awake, and she took his hand
and bowed her head upon it.
"Miss Walton," he said, in a husky voice, "it cuts me
to the heart to see you grieve so. But, alas! I do not know
how to comfort you, and I can't say trite words which mean
nothing. After losing such a father as yours, what can any
one say ?"
She raised her head and said, impetuously, "It's not for
father I am grieving. He is in heaven he is not lost to
me. It's for you you. You are breaking my heart."
"Miss Walton," he began, in much surprise, "I don't
understand "
"Why don't you understand ?" she interrupted. "What
do you think I am made of ? Do you think that you can
lie here and die for me and I go serenely on ? Do you not
see that you would blight the life you have saved?"
His apathy was gone now. But he was bewildered, so
sudden and overpowering was her emotion. He only found
words to say, "Miss Walton, God knows I am yours, body
and soul. What can I do ?"
"Live! live!" she continued, with the same passionate
earnestness. "I impose no conditions, I ask nothing else.
Only get well and strong again. If you will do this, I have
such confidence in your better nature, and the many prayers
laid up for you, as to feel sure that all will come out right.
But if you will just lie here and die, you will imbitter my
life. What did the doctor tell you this morning? And yet
I shall feel that I am partly the cause. O, Mr. Gregory,
you may think me foolish, but that strange little omen of
the chestnut burr is in my mind so often! I never was
superstitious before, but it haunts me. Don't you remem
ber how you stained my hand with your blood? I can't
get it out of my mind, and it has for me now a strange sig
nificance. If I had to remember through coming years that
you died for me all hopeless and unbelieving, do you think
350 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
so poorly of me as to imagine I could be happy ? Why
can't you be generous enough to brighten the life you have
saved ? Among my father's last words he said I must be
a sister to you. How can I if you die ? You would make
this dear old place, that we both love, full of terrible
memories."
He was deeply moved, and after a moment said, "I did
not know that you felt in this way. I thought the best
thing that I could do was to get out of the world and out of
the way. I thought I knew you, but I do not half under
stand your large, generous heart. For your sake I will try
and get well, nor will I impose any conditions whatever.
But pardon me: I am going to ask one thing, which you
can grant or not as you choose. Please do not wrong me
by thinking that I have any personal end in view. I have
given all that up as truly as if I were dead. I ask that you
do not speedily marry Charles Hunting not till you are
sure you know him."
"O dear!" exclaimed Annie, in real distress, "this
dreadful quarrel! What trouble it makes all around!"
"If your father," continued Gregory, with grave ear
nestness, "told you to be a sister to me, then 1 have some
right to act as a brother toward you. But as an honest
man, with all my faults, and with your interests nearest
my heart, I entreat you to heed my request. Nay, more:
I am going to seem ungenerous, and refer for the first and
last time to the obligation you are under to me. By all
the influence I gained by that act, I beg of you to hesitate
before you marry Charles Hunting. Believe me, I would
not lay a straw in the way of your marrying a good man. ' '
"Your words pain me more than I can tell you," said
Annie, sadly. "I do not understand them. Once they
would have angered me. But, however mistaken you are,
J cannot do injustice to your motive.
"I do not see how your request can injure Charles," she
continued, musingly. "I have no wish to marry now for a
long time not till these sad scenes have faded somewhat
"LIVE! LIVE!" ANNIE'S APPEAL 351
from memory. If you will only promise to live 1 will not
marry him till you get strong and well till you can look
upon this matter as a man as a brother ought. But your
hostility must not be unreasonable or implacable. I know
you do Mr. Hunting great injustice. And yet such is my
solicitude for you that I will do what seems to me almost
disloyal. But I know that 1 owe a great deal to you as
well as Charles."
"What I ask is for your sake, not mine. I only used
the obligation as a motive. ' '
"Well," said Annie, "I yield; and surely a sister could
do no more than I have done to-night."
"And I have simply done my duty," he answered,
quietly. "And yet I thank you truly. You also may
see the time when you will thank me more than when I
interposed my worthless person between you and danger."
"Please never call yourself * worthless' to me again. We
never did agree, and I fear we shall be gray before we do.
But mark this: I am never going to give you up, whatever
happens. I shall obey dear father's last words from both
duty and inclination. But let us end this painful conversa
tion. What have you eaten to-day ?"
"I'm sure I don't know," he said.
"Will you eat something if I bring it?"
"I will do anything you ask."
"Now you give me hope," and she vanished, sending
the regular watcher back to his post.
Gregory found it no difficult task to eat the dainty little
supper she brought. She had broken the malign spell he
was under. As we have seen, his was a physical nature
peculiarly subject to mental conditions.
Soon after she said, in a low tone meant only for his
ear, "Good- night, my poor suffering brother. We all
three shall understand each other better in God's good
time."
"I hope so," he said, with a different meaning. "Yon
have made me feel that I am not alone and uncared for in
862 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
the world, though I cannot call you sister yet. Good
night."
Annie went back to her father's side, and remained till
her aunt almost forced her away.
It is not necessary to dwell on the events of the next few
days. Such is our earthly lot, nearly all can depict them
by recalling their own sad experience: the hushed and sol
emn household, even the children speaking low and tread
ing softly, as if they might awake one whom only "the last
trump" could arouse.
John Walton's funeral was no formal pageant, but an
occasion of sincere and general mourning. Even those
whose lives and characters were the opposite of his had
the profoundest respect for him, and the entire community
united in honoring his memory.
Perhaps the most painful time of all to the stricken fam
ily was the evening after their slow, dreary ride to the vil
lage cemetery. Then, as not before, they realized their
loss.
Annie felt that her best solace would be in trying to
cheer others. She had seen Gregory but seldom and
briefly since the interview last described, but had been
greatly comforted by his decided change for the better.
He had kept his word. Indeed, it was only the leaden
hand of despondency that kept him down, and he rallied
from the moment it was lifted. This evening he was
dressed and sitting by the fire. As she entered, in her
deep mourning, his look was so wistful and kind, so elo
quent with sympathy, that instead of cheering him, as she
had intended, she sat down on a low ottoman, and burying
her face in her hands, cried as if her heart would break.
41 Oh that I knew how to comfort you!" said Gregory,
in the deepest distress. "I cannot bear to see you suffer."
He rose with difficulty and came to her side, saying,
"What can I do, Miss Walton ? Would that I could pre
vent you, at any cost to myself, from ever shedding another
tear!"
"LIVE! LIVE!" ANNIE'S APPEAL 353
His sympathy was so true and strong that it was a lux
ury for her to receive it; and she had kept up so long that
tears were nature's own relief.
At last he said timidly, hesitatingly, as if venturing on
forbidden ground, "I think the Bible says that in heaven
all tears will be wiped away. Your father is surely
there."
"Would that I were there with him!" she sobbed.
"Not yet, Annie, not yet," he said, gently. "Think
how dark this world would be to more than one if you were
not in it."
"But will you never seek this dear home of rest?" she
asked.
"The way of life is closed to me," he said, sadly.
"O, Mr. Gregory! Who is it that says, 'I am the
way?' "
"But He says to me, 'Depart.' "
"And yet I, knowing all I, a weak, sinful creature like
yourself say, Come to Him. I am better and kinder than
He who died for us all! What strange, sad logic! Good
night, Walter. You will not always so wrong your best
Friend."
Gregory's despairing conviction that his day of mercy
was past was hardly proof against her words and manner,
but he was in thick darkness and saw no way out.
Annie went down to her aunt and Hunting in the par
lor. "Why will Mr. Gregory be so hard and unbeliev
ing?" she said, tearfully.
"If you knew him as well as I do you would under
stand," said Hunting, politicly, and then changed the
conversation.
He was consumed by a jealousy which he dared not
show. Annie's manner toward him was all that he could
ask, and he felt sure of her now. But it was the future he
dreaded, for he was satisfied that Gregory had formed an
attachment for Annie, whether she knew it or not, and,
unless he could secure her by marriage, the man he had
354 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
wronged might find means of tearing off his mask. With
desperate earnestness he resolved to press his suit.
His course since Mr. Walton's death had been such as
to win Annie's sincerest gratitude. When action rather
than moral support was required, he was strong, and no
one could be more delicately thoughtful of her feelings
and kinder than he had been.
"Dear Charles," said Annie, when they were alone.
"What should I have done without you in all these
dreary days! How you have saved me from all painful
contact with the world!"
"And so I ever wish to shield you," said Hunting.
"Will you not, as your father purposed, give me the
right at once ?' '
"You have the right, Charles. I ask no more than
you have done and are doing. But do not urge marriage
now. I yielded then for father's sake, not my own. My
heart is too sore and crushed to think of it now. After all,
what difference can a few months make to you ? Be gen
erous. Give me a respite, and I will make you a better
wife and a happier home."
"But it looks, Annie, as if you could not trust me," he
said, gloomily.
"No, Charles," she said, gravely, "it looks rather as if
you distrusted me; and you must learn to trust me implic
itly. Out of both love for you and justice to myself, I ex
ercise my woman's right of naming the day. In the mean
time I give you my perfect confidence. No words of others
nothing but your own acts can disturb it, and of this I
have no fear."
He did not seek to disguise his deep disappointment.
While she felt sorry for him, she remained firm, and he saw
that it would not be wise to urge her.
Annie would not carelessly give pain to any one, much
less to those she loved. And yet her mind was strong and
well-balanced. She knew it was no great misfortune to Hunt
ing to wait a few months when her own feelings and the duty
"LIVE! LIVE!" ANNIE'S APPEAL 355
she owed another required it. "When Mr. Gregory gets
strong and well and back to business," she thought, "he
will wonder at himself. I have no right almost to destroy
him now in his weakness by doing that which can be done
better at another time; and indeed, for my own sake, I
should have required delay."
The next day Hunting was reluctantly compelled to go
to the city. Somewhat to Annie's surprise, Gregory made
no effort to secure her society. In her frank, sisterly re
gard she was slow in understanding that her presence caused
regretful pain to him. But he seemed resolutely bent upon
getting well, and was gaining rapidly. He walked out a
little while during the middle of the day, and her eyes fol
lowed him wistfully as he moved slowly and feebly along
the garden walk. She saw, with quickly starting tears,
that he went to the rustic seat by the brook where they
had spent that memorable Sunday afternoon, and that he
stood in long, deep thought.
When he came back she offered to read to him.
"Not now not yet," he said, sadly. "I know my own
weakness, and would be true to my word."
"Why do you shun me?" she asked.
"May you never understand from experience," he said,
with a smile that was sadder than tears, and passed on up
to his room.
And yet, though he did not know it, his course was the
best policy, for it awakened stronger respect and sympathy
on her part.
The next morning ushered in the first of the dreamy In
dian-summer days, when Nature, as if grieved over the
havoc of the frost, would hide the dismantled trees and
dead flowers by a purple haze, and seek as do fading beau
ties to disguise the ravages of time by drawing over her
withered face a deceptive veil.
Grsgory felt so much better that he thought he could
venture to make a parting call on Daddy Tuggar. He
found the old man smoking on his porch, and his recep-
356 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
tion was as warm and demonstrative as his first had been a
month ago, though of a different nature. Gregory lighted
a cigar and sat down beside him.
"I'm wonderful glad to see you," said Mr. Tuggar.
44 To think that I should have cussed you when it was the
good Lord that brought you here!"
"Do you think so ?" asked Gregory.
"Certain I do. W ould that house be there ? Wouldn't
all our hearts be broke for Miss Annie if it wasn't for you?"
Gregory felt that his heart was "broke" for her as it was,
but he said, "It was my taking her out to walk that caused
her danger. So you wouldn't have lost her if I had not
come. ' '
"You didn't knowin'ly git her in danger, and you did
knowin'ly git her out, and that's enough for me," said the
old man.
"Well, well, Mr. Tuggar, if I had broken my neck it
would have been a little thing compared with saving the
life of such a woman as Miss Walton. Still, I fear the
Lord has not much to do with me."
"And have you been all this time with John Walton
and Miss Annie and still feel that way ?"
"It's not their fault."
"I believe that. Are you willin' to say you are a great
sinner?"
"Of course. What else am I?"
"That's it that's it," cried the old man, delightedly.
"Now you're all right That's just where I was. When
John Walton bid me good-by, he asked me one question
that let more light into my thick head than all the readin'
and preachin' and prayin' I ever heard. He asked, 'Whom
did Jesus Christ come to save?' Answer that."
"The Bible says He came to save sinners," replied Greg
ory, now deeply interested.
"Well, I should think that meant you and me," said
Mr. Tuggar, emphatically. "Anyhow, I know it means
me. John Walton told me that all I had to do was to
"LIVE! LIVE!" ANNIE'S APPEAL 857
just trust the Saviour not of good people but of sin
ners, and do the best I could; and I have just done it,
and I'm all right, Mr. Gregory, I'm all right. I don't
know whether I can stop swearin', but I'm a tryin'. I
don't know whether I can ever get under my old ugly
temper, but I'm a tryin' and a prayin'. But whether I
can or not, I'm all right, for the good Lord came to save
sinners; and if that don't mean me, what's the use of
words?"
"But can you trust Him ?" asked Gregory.
"Certain I can. Wasn't John Walton an honest man?
Wasn't Jesus Christ honest? Didn't he know what He
come for?"
"Admitting that He came to save sinners, how can you
be sure He will save all ? He might save you and not rne. "
"Well," said Mr. Tuggar, "I hadn't been home long be
fore that question come up to me, and I thought on it a long
time. I smoked wellnigh a hundred pipes on it afore I got
it settled, but 'tis settled, and when I settle a thing I don't
go botherin' back about it. But like enough 'twon't satisfy
you."
"At any rate, I should like to hear your conclusion."
"Well, I argued it out to myself. I says, 'Suppose there's
some sinners too bad, or too somethin' or other, for the Lord
to save, and suppose you are one of them, ain't "lected,' as
my wife says. If I could be an unbelievin' sinner for eighty
years, it seemed to me that if anybody wasn't 'lected I
wasn't. I was dreadfully down, I tell yer, for I'd set my
heart on bein' John Walton's neighbor again. After I'd
smoked a good many pipes, I cussed myself for an old
fool. 'There, you've brought your case into court,' I says,
'and you're goin' to give it up afore it's argued.' Then I
argued it. I was honest, you may be sure. It wouldn't
do me any good to pettifog in this matter. First I says, if
there was any doubt about the Lord savin' all sinners who
wanted Him to, John Walton orter have spoken of it, and
trom what I know of the man he would. Then I says, arter
368 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
all, it's the Lord I've got to deal with. Now what kind of
a Lord is He ? Then I commenced rememberin' all that
Miss Eulie and Miss Annie had read to me about Him, and
all I'd heard, and I got my wife to read some, and my hopes
grew every minute. I tell you what, Mr. Gregory, it was
a queer crowd He often had around Him. I'd kinder felt
at home among 'em, 'specially with that swearin' fisherman
Peter. Well, the upshot of it was, I couldn't find that He
ever turned one sinner away. Then why should He me?
Then my wife, as she was readin', come across the words,
'Him that cometh to Me I will in no wise cast out.' I had
heard them words afore often, but it seemed now as the first
time, and I just shouted, 'I've got His word for it,' and my
wife thought I was crazy, sure 'nuff, for she didn't know
what I was drivin' at. And now, Mr. Gregory, you're just
shut up to two things, just two things. Either the Lord
Jesus will save every sinner that comes to Him, or he ain't
honest, and don't mean what he says, and won't do as he
V I
used to. I tell yer I'm settled, better settled than yonder
mountain. I just let myself go limber right down upon the
promise, and it's all right. I'm going to be John Walton's
neighbor again."
Gregory was more affected by the old man's quaint talk
than he would have believed possible. It seemed true that
he was "shut up" to one or the other of the alternatives
presented. He commenced pacing up and down the little
porch in deep thought. Mr. Tuggar puffed away at his pipe
with such vigor that he was exceedingly beclouded, how
ever clear his mind. At last Gregory said, "I shall think
over what you have said, very carefully, for I admit it has
a greal deal of force to my mind. ' '
"That's right," said Mr. Tuggar; "argue it out, just as
I did. Show yourself no favors, and be fair to yourself,
and you can't get away from my conclusion. You've got to
come to it"
"1 should be very glad to come to it," said Gregory,
gravely.
"LIVE! LIVE!" ANNIE'S APPEAL 559
"I should think you would. There'll be some good
neighbors up there, Mr. Gregory; these Waltons are all
bound to be there. Miss Annie would be kinder good
company eh, Mr. Gregory?"
In spite of himself he flushed deeply under the old man's
keen scrutiny.
"There's one thing that's mighty 'plexing to me," said
Mr. Tuggar, led to the subject by its subtle connection with
Gregory's blush, "and that's why the Lord didn't keep John
Walton alive a few minutes longer, so that the marriage
could take place."
Gregory gave a great start. ' ' What marriage ?' ' he asked.
"Why, don't you know about it?" said Mr. Tuggar, in
much surprise.
"No, nothing at all."
"Then perhaps I ortn't ter speak of it."
"Certainly not, if you don't think it right."
"Well, I've said so much I might as well say it all,"
said the old man, musingly. "It's no secret, as I knows
of;" and he told Gregory how near Annie came to being
a wife.
Gregory drew a long breath and looked deathly pale and
faint.
"Well, now, I'd no idea that you'd be so struck of a
heap," said the old man, in still deeper surprise.
"God's hand was in that," murmured Gregory; "God's
hand was in that." .
"Do you think so, now? Well, it does seem kinder
cur 'us, and per'aps it was, for somehow I never took to that
Hunting, though he seems all right."
"Good- by, Mr. Tuggar," said Gregory, rising; "you
have given me a good deal to think about, and I'm going
to think, and act, too, if I can. I am going to New York
to-morrow, and one of the first things I do will be to fill
your pipe for a long time;" and he pressed the old man's
hand most cordially.
"Let yourself go limber when you come to trust, and it
360 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
will be all right," were Daddy Tuggar's last words, as he
balanced himself on his crutches in parting.
Gregory found Annie in the parlor, and he said, "I have
good news for you; Daddy Tuggar is a Christian."
Annie sprang joyfully up and said, "I'm going over to
see him at once. ' '
When she returned, Gregory was quietly reading in the
parlor, showing thus that he had no wish to avoid her.
She came directly to him and said, "Daddy Tuggar says
that you propose going home to-morrow. ' '
"Well, really, Miss Walton, I have no home to go to;
but I expect to return to the city. ' '
"Now I protest against it."
"I'm glad you do."
"Then you won't go?"
"Yes, I must; but I'm glad you don't wish me to go. '
"Why need you go yet ? You ought not. You should
wait till you are strong. ' '
"That is just why I go to get strong. I never could
here, with you looking so kindly at me as you do now.
You see I am as frank as I promised to be. So please say
no more, for you cannot and you ought not to change my
purpose."
"Odear!" cried Annie, "how one's faith is tried! Why
need this be so ?' '
"On the contrary," he said, "what little faith I ever had
has been quite revived this afternoon. Daddy Tuggar has
been 'talking religion' to me, and, pardon me for saying it,
I found his words more convincing than even yours."
"I am not jealous of him," said Annie, gladly.
"I can't help thinking that God does see and care, in
that He prevented your marriage. "
Annie blushed deeply, and said, coldly, "I am sorry you
touched upon that subject," and she left the room.
Gregory went quietly on with his reading, or seemed to
do so. Indeed, he made a strong effort, and succeeded, for
he was determined to master himself outwardly.
"LIVE! LIVE!" ANNIE'S APPEAL 361
She soon relented and came back. When she saw him
apparently so undisturbed, the thought came to her, "He
has truly given me up. There is nothing of the lover in
that calmness, and he makes no effort to win my favor,"
but she said, "Mr. Gregory, I fear I hurt your feelings.
You certainly did mine. I cannot endure the injustice
you persist in doing Mr. Hunting."
" J only repeat your own words, ' We all three shall under
stand each other in God's good time' ; and after what I heard
to-day, I have the feeling that He is watching over you."
"Won't you promise not to speak any more on this
subject?"
' ' Yes, for I have done my duty. ' '
She took up his book and read to him, thus giving one
more hour of mingled pain and pleasure; though when he
thought how long it would be before he heard that sweet
voice again, if ever, his pain almost reached the point of
anguish. As she turned toward him and saw his look
of suffering, she realized somewhat the effort he had made
to keep up before her.
She came to him and said, "I was about to ask a favor,
but perhaps it's hardly right."
"Ask it, anyway," he said, with a smile.
"I don't urge it, but I expect Mr. Hunting this even
ing. Won't you come down to supper and meet him ?"
4 ' For your sake I will, now that I have gained some self-
control. I am not one to quarrel in a lady's parlor under
any provocation. For your sake I will treat Mr. Hunting
like a gentleman, and make my last evening with you as
little of a restraint as possible."
"Thank you thank you. You now promise to make it
one of peculiar happiness."
Annie drove to the depot for Hunting, and told of Greg
ory's consent to meet him. She said, "Now is your oppor
tunity, Charles. Meet him in such a way as to make enmity
impossible."
His manner was not very reassuring, but, in his pleasure
ROE IV 16
362 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
at hearing that Gregory was soon to depart, and that in his
absence Annie's confidence in him had not been disturbed,
he promised to do the best he could. She was nervously
excited as the moment of meeting approached, and, some
what to her surprise, Hunting seemed to share her uneasi
ness.
Gregory did not come down till the family were all in
the supper-room. Annie was struck with his appearance as
he entered. Though his left arm was in a sling, there was
a graceful and almost courtly dignity in his bearing, a
brilliancy in his eyes and a firmness about his mouth,
which proved that he had nerved himself for the ordeal
and would maintain himself. Instantly she thought of the
time when he had first appeared in that room, a half-
wrecked, blase* man of the world. Now he looked and
acted like a nobleman.
Hunting, on the contrary, had a shuffling and embar
rassed manner; but he approached Gregory and held out
his hand, saying, "Come, Mr. Gregory, let by-gones be
by-gones. "
But Gregory only bowed with the perfection of distant
courtesy, and said, "Good-evening, Mr. Hunting," and took
his seat.
Both Hunting and Annie blushed deeply and resentfully.
After they were seated, Annie looked toward Hunting to
say "grace" as usual, but he could not before the man who
knew him so well, and there was another moment of deep
embarrassment, while a sudden satirical light gleamed from
Gregory's eyes. Annie saw it, and it angered her.
Then Gregory broke the ice with quiet, well-bred ease.
In natural tones he commenced conversation, addressing
now one, now another, in such a way that they were forced
to answer him in like manner. He asked Hunting about the
news and gossip of the city as naturally as if they had met
that evening for the first time. He even had pleasant
repartee with Johnny and Susie, who had now come to like
him very much, and his manner toward Miss Eulie was
"LIVE! LIVE!" ANNIE'S APPEAL 363
peculiarly gentle and respectful, for he was deeply grateful
to her. Indeed, that good lady could scarcely believe her
eyes and ears; but Gregory had always been an enigma to
her. At first he spoke to Annie less frequently than to any
one else, for he dreaded the cloud upon her brow and her
outspoken truthfulness, and he was determined the evening
should pass off as he had planned. Though so crippled
that his food had to be prepared for him, he only made it
a matter of graceful jest, and gave ample proof that a highly
bred and cultivated man can be elegant in manners under
circumstances the most adverse.
Even Annie thawed and relented under his graceful tact,
and felt that perhaps he was doing all she could expect in
view of the simple promise to "treat Hunting like a gentle
man, for her sake. ' ' But it had pained her deeply that he
had not met Hunting's advances; and she saw that, though
perfectly courteous, he was not committing himself in the
slightest degree toward reconciliation.
Moreover, she was excessively annoyed that Hunting
acted so poor a part. It is as natural for a woman to take
pride in her lover as to breathe, but she could have no
pride in Hunting that evening. He seemed annoyed be
yond endurance with both himself and Gregory, though
he strove to disguise it. He knew that he was appearing
to disadvantage, and this increased his embarrassment, and
he was most unhappy in his words and manner. Yet he
could take exception at nothing, for Gregory, secure in
his polished armor, grew more brilliant and entertaining
as he saw his adversary losing ground.
All were glad when he supper-hour was over and they
could adjourn to the parlor. Here Gregory changed his
tactics, and drawing the children aside, told them a marvel
lous tale as a good-by souvenir, thus causing them to feel
deep regret for his departure. He next drew Miss Eulie
into an animated discussion upon a subject he knew her to
be interested in. From this he made the conversation gen
eral, and continued to speak to Hunting as naturally as if
864 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
there were no differences between them. But all saw that
he was growing very weary, and early in the evening he
quietly rose and excused himself, saying that he needed
rest for his journey on the morrow. There was the same
polite, distant bow to Hunting as at first, and in deep dis
appointment Annie admitted that nothing had been gained
by the interview from which she had hoped so much. They
were no nearer reconciliation. While Gregory's manner
had compelled respect and even admiration, it had annoyed
her excessively, for he had made her lover appear to dis
advantage, and she was almost vexed with Hunting that
he had not been equal to the occasion-. She was sorry that
she had asked Gregory to come down while Hunting was
present, and yet courtesy seemed to require that he should
be with them, since he was now sufficiently well. Alto
gether it was a silent little group that Gregory left in the
parlor, as all were busy with their own thoughts.
Hunting determined to remain the following day and see
Gregory off and out of the way forever, he hoped.
The next morning Gregory did not come down to break
fast. But at about ten o'clock he started for a short fare
well stroll about the old place. Annie joined him in the
garden.
"I do not think you were generous last evening," she
said. "Mr. Hunting met you half-way."
"Did I not do just what I promised ?"
"But I was in hopes you would do more, especially when
the way was opened."
"Do you think, Miss Walton, that Mr. Hunting's man
ner and feelings toward me were sincerely cordial and
friendly? Was it the prompting of his heart, or your
influence, that led him to put out his hand?"
Annie blushed, in conscious confusion. "I fear I shall
never reconcile you," she said, sadly.
"I fear not," he replied. "There must be a great
change in us both before you can. Though the reason I
give you was a sufficient one for not taking his hand in
"LIVE! LIVE!" ANNIE'S APPEAL 365
friendly feeling, it was not the one that influenced me.
I would not have taken it under any circumstances."
"Mr. Gregory, you grieve me most deeply," she said,
in a tone of real distress. "Won't you, when you come
to part, take his hand for my sake, and let a little of the
ice thaw? 1 '
"No," he said, almost sternly; "not even for your sake,
for whom I would die, will I be dishonest with myself or
him; and you are not one to ask me to act a lie."
"You wound me deeply, sir!" she said, coldly.
"Faithful are the wounds of a friend," he replied.
She did not answer.
"We shall not part in this way, Annie," he said, in a
low, troubled voice.
"The best I can do is to give you credit for very mis
taken sincerity," she answered, sadly.
"That is all now, I fear," replied he, gently. "Good-by,
Annie Walton. We are really parting now. My mission
to you is past, and we go our different ways. You will
never believe anything I can say on this painful subject,
and I would not have spoken of it again of niy own accord.
Keep your promise to me, and all will yet be well, 1 be
lieve. As that poor woman who saved us in the mountains
said, 'There will at least be one good thing about me.
Whether I can pray for myself or not, I shall daily pray
for you' ; and I feel that God who shielded you so strangely
once, will still guard you. Do not grieve because I go away
with pain in my heart. It's a better kind of suffering than
that with which I came, and lasting good may come out of
it, for my old reckless despair is gone. If I ever do become
a good man a Christian I shall have you to thank; and
even heaven would be happier if you were the means of
bringing me there."
"When you speak that way, Walter," she said, tears
starting to her eyes, "I must forgive everything; and when
you become a Christian you will love even your enemy.
Please take this little package from me, but do not open it
366 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
till you reach the quiet and seclusion of your own rooms.
Good-by, my brother, for as- such my father told me to act
and feel toward you, and from my heart I obey."
He looked at her with moistened eyes, but did not trust
himself to answer, and without another word they returned
to the house.
Gregory's leave-taking from the rest of the household
was no mere form. Especially was this true of Miss Eulie,
to whom he said most feelingly, "Miss Morton, my mother
could not have been kinder or more patient with me."
When he pressed Zibbie's hand and left a banknote in
it, she broke out in the broadest Scotch, "Maister Gregory,
an' when I think me auld gray head would ha' been oot in
the stourm wi' na hame to cover it, I pray the gude God
to shelter yours fra a' the cauld blasts o' the wourld. "
Silent Hannah, alike favored, seemed afflicted with a
sudden attack of St. Vitus's dance, so indefinite was the
number of her courtesies; while Jeff, on the driver's seat,
looked as solemn as if he were to drive Gregory to the
cemetery instead of the depot.
At the moment of final parting, Gregory merely took
Annie's hand and looked into her eyes with an expression
that caused them speedily to droop, tear-blinded.
To Hunting he had bowed his farewell in the parlor.
When the last object connected with his old home was
hidden from his wistful, lingering gaze, he said, with the
sorrow of one who watches the sod placed above the grave
of his dearest, "So it all ends."
But when in his city apartments, which never before had
seemed such a cheerless mockery of the idea of home, he
opened the package Annie had given him when he found
a small, worn Bible, inscribed with the words, "To my
dear little daughter Annie, from mother," and written
beneath, in a child' s hand, "I thank you, dear mother.
1 will read it every day" he sprang up, and exclaimed
it, strongest feeling, "No, all has not ended yet."
When he became sufficiently calm he again took up the
"LIVE! LIVE!" ANNIE'S APPEAL 367
Bible, and found the leaves turned down at the 14th chapter
of St. John, with the words, "Begin here."
He read, "Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe
in God, believe also in me.
"In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not
so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you."
"How sweetly with what exquisite delicacy she points
me beyond the shadows of time!" he said, musingly. "I
believe in God. I ever have. Then why not trust the 'Man
of Sorrows,' who also must be God? Both Annie and her
quaint old friend are right. He never turned one away who
came sincerely. In Him who forgave the outcast and thief
there glimmers hope for me. How thick the darkness as
I look elsewhere. Lord Jesus," he cried, with a rush of
tears, "I am palsied through sin: lift me up, that I may
come to Thee."
Better for him that night than a glowing hearth with
genial friends around it was Annie's Bible.
Looking at it fondly, he said, "It links me to her happy
childhood before that false man came, and it may join me
to her in the 'place' which God is preparing, when he who
BOW deceives her is as far removed as sin."
368 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
CHAPTER XXXII
AT SEA A MYSTERIOUS PASSENGER
IMMEDIATELY after Mr. Walton's funeral Miss Eulie
had written to a brother-in-law, then in Europe, full
particulars of all that had occurred. This gentleman's
name was Kemp, and he had originally married a sister of
Miss Eulie and Mrs. Walton. But she had died some years
since, and he had married as his second wife one who was
an entire stranger to the Walton family, and with whom
there could be but little sympathy. For this reason, though
no unfriendliness existed, there had been a natural falling-
off of the old cordial intimacy. Mr. Walton had respected
Mr. Kemp as a man of sterling worth and unimpeachable
integrity, and his feelings were shared by Miss Eulie and
Annie, while Mr. Kemp himself secretly cherished a lender
and regretful memory of his earlier marriage connection.
When he heard that his niece, Annie, was orphaned, his
heart yearned toward her, for he had always been fond of
her as a child. But when he came to read of her relations
with Hunting, and that this man was in charge of her prop
erty, he was in deep distress. He would have returned
home immediately, but his wife's health would not permit
his leaving her. He wrote to Miss Eulie a long letter of
honest sympathy, urging her and Annie to come to him
at Paris, saying that the change would be o great benefit
to both.
This letter was expressed in such a way that it could be
shown to Annie. But he inclosed another under seal to the
aunt, marked private, in which by strong and guarded Ian-
AT SEA A MYSTERIOUS PASSENGER
guage he warned her against Hunting. He did not dare
commit definite charges to writing, not knowing how much
influence Hunting had over Miss Bulie. He felt sure that
Annie would not listen to anything against her lover, and
justly feared that she would inform him of what she heard,
thus putting him on his guard, and increasing his power for
mischief. Mr. Kemp's hope was to act through Miss Eulie,
and get both her and Annie under his protection as soon as
possible. He knew that when he was face to face with
Annie he could prove to her the character of her lover,
and through her compel him to resign his executorship.
Therefore he solemnly charged Miss Eulie, as she loved
Annie, not to permit her marriage with Hunting, and, as
executrix, to watch his financial management closely.
Miss Eulie was greatly distressed by the contents of this
letter. Mr. Kemp's words, combined with Gregory's man
ner, destroyed her confidence in Hunting, and made her feel
that he might cause them irretrievable disaster. She knew
her brother to be a man of honor, and when he wrote such
words as these, "If Mr. Walton had known Hunting as I
do he would rather have buried his daughter than permit
her to marry him," she was sure that he did not speak
unadvisedly.
"Moreover," Mr. Kemp wrote, "I am not giving my
mere opinion of Hunting. I have absolute proof of what
he is and has done."
But it was his opinion that it would not be safe to reveal
to Annie the contents of this letter, as Hunting, in the des
peration of his fears, might find means to compass a hasty
marriage, or disastrously use his power over her property.
As we have seen, in quiet home-ministenngs Miss Eulie
had no superior, but she felt peculiarly timid and self-
distrustful in dealing with matters like these. Her first
impulse and her growing desire were that she and Annie
might reach the shelter and protection of her brother. She
did not understand business, and felt powerless to thwart
Hunting
570 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
Annie's spirits greatly flagged after her father's death.
Hunting did not seem to have the power to comfort and
help her that she had expected to find in him. She could
not definitely find fault with a single act, save his treatment
of Gregory; he was devotion itself to her, but it was to her
alone. He proved no link between her and God. Even
when in careful phrases he sought to use the "language of
Canaan," he did not speak it as a native, and ever left
a vague, unsatisfied pain in her heart. He was true and
strong when he spoke of his own love. He was eloquent
and glowing when his fancy painted their future home, but
cold and formal in comparison when he dwelt on that which
her Christian nature most needed in her deep affliction.
When Annie found that she could leave the children
in charge of a careful, trustworthy relative, she was readily
persuaded into the plan of going abroad. She felt the need
of change, for her health had begun to fail, and she was
sinking into one of those morbid states which are partly
physical and partly mental.
Hunting, also, strongly approved of the project. Busi
ness would require him to visit Europe during the winter,
and in having Annie as a companion he thought himself
fortunate indeed. He felt sure that as soon as she regained
her health and spirits she would consent to their marriage;
moreover, it would place the sea between her and Gregory,
thus averting all danger of disclosure. A trip abroad prom
ised to further his interests in all respects. He knew noth
ing of Mr. Kemp save as a New York business man, and
supposed that Mr. Kemp had only a general and favorable
knowledge of himself.
For Annie's sake and her own Miss Eulie tried to pre
vent any marked change in her manner toward Hunting,
and though she was not a very good actress he did not care
enough about her to notice her occasional restraints and for
mality of manner. But Annie did, and it was another source
of vague uneasiness and pain, though the causes were too
intangible to speak o She thought it possible that Greg-
AT SEA A MYSTERIOUS PASSENGER 371
ory had prejudiced her aunt slightly. But it was her na
ture to prove all the more loyal to Hunting, especially
when he was so devoted to her.
Before they could complete arrangements for depar
ture, Annie was taken seriously ill, and January of the
ensuing year had nearly passed before she was strong
enough for the journey. During her illness no one could
have been more kind and attentive than Hunting, and
Annie felt exceedingly grateful. Still, in their prolonged
and close intimacy since her father's death, something in
the man himself had caused her love for him to wane. She
had a growing consciousness that he was not what she had
supposed. She reproached herself bitterly for this, and un
der the sense of the wrong she felt herself doing him, was
disposed to show more deference to his wishes, and in jus
tice to him to try to make amends. When, therefore, he
again urged that the marriage take place before they sailed,
giving as his reasons that he could take better care of her,
and that henceforth she could be with him, and that he
would not be compelled to leave her so often on account
of his business, she was half inclined to yield. She felt
that the marriage-tie would confirm her true feelings as a
wife, and that it was hardly fair to ask him to be away
from his large and exacting business so much, especially
when he had appeared so generous in the time he had given
her, which must have involved to him serious loss and in
convenience. She said to herself, "I shall be better and
happier, and so will Charles, when 1 cease secretly finding
fault with him, and devote myself unselfishly to making a
good wife and a good home."
Hunting exultantly thought that he would carry his
point, but Miss Eulie proved she was not that nonentity
which, in his polite and attentive indifference, he had se
cretly considered her. With quiet firmness she said that, as
Annie's natural guardian, she would not give her consent
to the marriage. As a reason she said, "I think it would
show a great lack of respect and courtesy to Annie's uncle
372 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
and my brother, who is so fond of her, and has been so
kind. I see no pressing need for the marriage now, for I
am going with Annie and can take care of her as I have
done. If it seems best, you can be married over there, and
I know that Mr. Kemp would feel greatly hurt if we acted
as if we were indifferent to his presence at the ceremony."
The moment her aunt expressed this view Annie agreed
with her, and Hunting felt that he could not greatly com
plain, as the marriage would be delayed but a few weeks.
Annie felt absolved from her promise to Gregory by an
event that occurred not very long after his departure. Greg
ory had sent a box, directed to Miss Eulie's care, containing
some toys and books for the children, and the promised to
bacco for Daddy Tuggar, also a note for Annie, inclosed in
one to Miss Eulie, in which were these words only, "If you
had searched the world you could not have given me any
thing that I would value more."
In his self -distrust, and in his purpose not to give the
slightest ground for the imputation that he had sought her
promise of delay to obtain time to gain a hearing himself,
he had said no more. But Annie thought that he might
have said more. The note seemed cold and brief in view
of all that had passed between them. Still, she hoped
much from the influence of her Bible.
One evening Hunting came up from the city evidently
much disturbed. Tc her expressions of natural solicitude
he replied, "I don't like to speak of it, for you seem to
think that I ought to stand everything from Mr. Gregory.
And so I suppose 1 ought, and indeed I was grateful, but
one can't help having the natural feelings of a man. I was
with some friends and met him face to face in an omnibus.
Knowing how great was your wish that we should be friendly,
I spoke courteously to him, but he looked at me as if I were
a dog. He might as well have struck me. I saw that my
friends were greatly surprised, but of course I could not ex
plain there, and yet it's not pleasant to be treated like a
pickpocket, with no redress. I defy him," continued Hunt-
AT SEA A MYSTERIOUS PASSENGER 373
Ing, assuming the tone and manner of one greatly wronged,
"to prove anything worse against me than that I compelled
him and his partners to pay money to which I had a legal
right, and which I could have collected in a court of law."
The politic Hunting said nothing of moral right, and in
nocent Annie was not on the lookout for such quibbles.
Her quick feelings were strongly stirred, and on the im
pulse of the moment she sat down and wrote:
"Ms. GREGORY I think your course toward Mr. Hunt
ing to-day was not only unjust, but even ungentlemanly.
You cannot hurt his feelings without wounding mine. I
cannot help feeling that your hostility is both 'unreason
able and implacable.' In sadness and disappointment,
"ANNIE WALTON."
"There," she said, "read that, and please mail it for me."
"That's my noble Annie," he said, gratefully. "Now
you prove your love anew, and show you will not stand
quietly by and see me insulted. ' '
"You may rest assured I will not," she said, promptly;
adding very sadly after a moment, "I cannot understand
how Mr. Gregory, with all his good qualities, can act so."
"You do not know him so well as I do," said Hunting;
"and yet even I feel grateful to him for his services to you,
and would show it if he would treat me decently."
"He shall treat you decently, and politely too, if he
wishes to keep my favor, ' ' said she, hotly.
But the next day, when she thought it all over quietly,
she regretted that she had written so harshly. "My words
will not help my Bible's influence," she thought in self-
reproach, "and only when he becomes a Christian will he
show a different disposition."
Her regret would have been still deeper, if she had
known that Hunting had sent her note with one from
himself to this effect:
"You perceive from the inclosed that you cannot insult
me as you did yesterday and still retain the favor of one
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whose esteem you value too highly perhaps. My only re-
gret is that you were not a witness to the words and man
ner which accompanied the act of writing."
Still stronger would have been her indignation had she
known that Hunting had greatly exaggerated his insult.
Gregory had merely acted as if unconscious of his pres
ence, and there had been no look of scorn.
When Gregory received the missives he tossed Hunt
ing's contemptuously into the fire, but read Annie's more
than once, sighed deeply, and said, "He keeps his ascen
dency over her. O God ! quench not my spark of faith by
permitting this great wrong to be consummated." Then
he indorsed on her note, "Forgiven, my dear, deceived
sister. You will understand in God's good time."
But he felt that God must unravel the problem, for
Annie would listen to nothing against her lover.
She hoped that Gregory would write an explanation, or
at least some words in self-defence, and then she meant to
soften her hasty note, but no answer came. This increased
her depression, and she was surprised at her strong and
abiding interest in him. She could not understand how
their eventful acquaintance should end as it promised to.
Then came her illness, and through many long, sleepless
hours, she thought of the painful mystery.
As she recovered strength of body and mind she felt
that it was one of those things that she must trustingly
put in God's hands and leave there. This she did, and
resolutely and patiently addressed herself to the duties of
her lot.
As for Gregory, from the first evening of his return to
the city, he adopted the resolution in regard to Annie's
Bible which she, as a little child, had written in it so
many years ago, "I will read it every day."
It became his shrine and constant solace. Instead of
going to his club, as was his former custom, he spent the
long, quiet evenings in its study. The more he read the
more fascinated he became by its rich and varied truths.
AT SEA A MYSTERIOUS PASSENGER 375
Sometimes as he was tracing up a line of thought through
its pages, so luminously and beautifully would it develop
that it seemed to him that Annie and his mother, with un
seen hands, were pointing the way. Though almost alone
in the great city, he grew less and less lonely, and welcomed
the shades of evening, that he might return to a place now
sacred to him, where the gift Bible, like a living presence,
awaited him.
His doubts and fears vanished slowly. His faith kindled
even more, slowly; but the teachings of that inspired Book
gave him principle, true manhood, and strength to do right,
no matter how he felt. He had honestly and sturdily re
solved to be guided by it, and it did guide him. He was a
Christian, though he did not know it, and would not pre
sume to call himself such even to himself. In view of his
evil past he was exceedingly humble and self -distrustful.
As Mr. Walton had told poor old Daddy Tuggar, he was
simply trying to "trust Jesus Christ and do the best he
could."
But those associated with him in business, and many
others, wondered at the change in him. Old Mr. Burnett,
his senior partner, was especially delighted, and would
often say to him, "I thank God, Mr. Gregory, that you
nearly had your neck broken last October"; for the good
old man associated this accident with the change.
Gregory also began attending church not a gorgeous
temple on Fifth Avenue, where he was not needed; but
he hunted up an obscure and struggling mission, and said
to the minister, "I am little better than a heathen, but if
you will trust me I will do the best I can to help you."
Within a month, through his liberal gifts and energetic
labors, the usefulness of the mission was almost doubled.
It was touching to see him humbly and patiently doing the
Lord's lowliest work, as if he were not worthy. He hoped
that in time he might receive the glad assurance that he was
accepted; but whether it came or not, he purposed to do the
best he could, and leave his fate in God's hands. At any
376 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
rate God seemed not against him, for both his business and
his Christian work prospered.
One bright morning late in January, Annie, Miss Eulie,
and Hunting were driven down to the steamer, and having
gone to their state-rooms and seen that their luggage was
properly stowed away, they came up on deck to watch the
scenes attending the departure of the great ship, and ob
serve the views as they sailed down the bay. Hunting
had told them to make the most of this part of the voy
age, for in a winter passage it might be long before they
could enjoy another promenade.
Annie was intensely interested, for all was new and
strange. She had a keen, quick eye for character, and a
human interest in humanity, even though those around her
did not belong to her "set." Therefore it was with appre
ciative eyes that she watched the motley groups of her
fellow-passengers waving handkerchiefs and exchanging
farewells with equally diversified groups on the wharf.
"It seems," she said to her aunt," as if all the world
had sent their representatives here. It makes me almost
sad that there is no one to see us off."
Then her eye rested upon a gentleman who evidently
had no one to see him off. He was leaning on the railing
upon the opposite side of the ship, smoking a cigar. His
back was toward all this bustle and confusion, and he
seemed to have an air of isolation and of indifference to
what was going on about him. His tall person was clad
in a heavy overcoat, which seemed to combine comfort
with elegance, and gave to him, even in his leaning pos
ture, a distingue air. But that which drew Annie's at
tention was the difference of his manner from that of all
others, who were either excited by their surroundings,
or were turning wistfully and eagerly toward friends whom
it might be long before they saw again. The motionless,
apathetic figure, smoking quietly, with his hat drawn down
over his eyes, and looking away from everything and every
body, came to have a fascination for her.
AT SEA A MYSTERIOUS PASSENGER 377
The steamer slowly and majestically moved out into
the stream. Shouts, cries, final words, hoarse orders from
the officers a perfect babel of sounds filled the air, but the
silently-curling smoke- wreaths were the only suggestion of
life from that strangely indifferent form. He seemed like
one so deeply absorbed in his own thoughts that he would
have to be awakened as from sleep.
Suddenly he turned and came toward them with the air
of one who feels himself alone, though jostled in a crowd,
and instantly, with a strange thrill at heart, Annie recog
nized Walter Gregory.
Hunting saw him also, and Annie noted that, while the
blackest frown gathered on his brow, he grew very pale.
In his absorption, Gregory would have passed by them, but
Annie said, ' ' Mr. Gregory, are you not going to speak to us ?"
He started violently, and his face mantled with hot
blood, and Annie also felt that she was blushing unac
countably. But he recovered instantly, and came and
shook her hand most cordially, saying, "This is a strangely
unexpected pleasure. And Miss Morton, also! When was
I ever so fortunate before ?' '
Then he saw Hunting, to whom he bowed with his old,
distant manner, and Hunting returned the acknowledgment
in the most stiff and formal way.
"Do you know," said Annie, "I have been watching you
with curiosity for some time past, though I did not know who
you were till you turned. I could not account for your
apathy and indifference to this scene, which to me is so
novel and exciting, and which seems to find every one
interested save yourself. I should hardly have thought you
alive if you had not been smoking."
"Well," he said, "I have been abroad so often that it
has become like crossing the ferry, and I was expecting no
one down to see me off. But you do not look well;" and
both she and Miss Eulie noticed that he glanced uneasily
from her to Hunting, and did not seem sure how he should
address her.
878 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
"Miss Walton has just recovered from a long illness,"
said Miss Eulie, quietly.
His face instantly brightened, and as quickly changed to
an expression of sincerest sympathy.
"Not seriously ill, I hope," he said, earnestly.
"I'm afraid I was," replied Annie, adding, cheerfully,
"I am quite well now, though."
His face became as pale as it had been flushed a moment
before, and he said, in a low tone, "I did not know it."
His manner touched her, and proved that there was no
indifference on his part toward her, though there might be
to the bustling world around him.
Then he inquired particularly after each member of the
household, and especially after old Daddy Tuggar.
Annie told him how delighted the children had been with
the toys and books. "And as for Daddy Tuggar," she said,
smiling, "he has been in the clouds, literally and metaphori
cally, ever since you sent him the tobacco. Whenever I go
to see him he says, most cheerfully, 'It's all settled, Miss
Annie. It grows clearer with every pipe' (while I can
scarcely see him), 'I'm all right, 'cause I'm an awful
sinner.' '
She was rather surprised at the look of glad sympathy
which Gregory gave her, but he only said, "He is to be
envied."
Then at her request he began to point out the objects of
interest they were passing, and with quiet courtesy drew
Hunting into the conversation, who rather ungraciously
permitted it because he could not help himself.
Annie again, with pain, saw the unfavorable contrast of
her lover with this man, who certainly proved himself the
more finished gentleman, if nothing else.
With almost a child's delight she said, "You have no
idea how novel and interesting all this is to me, though
so old and matter-of-fact to you. I have always wanted to
cross the ocean, and look forward to this voyage with un-
mingled pleasure."
AT SEA A MYSTERIOUS PASSENGER 379
"I'm sincerely sorry such a disastrous change is so soon
to take place in your sensations, for it will be rough outside
to-day, and I fear you and Miss Morton will soon be suffer
ing from the most forlorn and prosaic of maladies."
"I won't give up to it," said Annie, resolutely.
"I have no doubt," he replied, humorously, "as our
quaint old friend used to say, that you are 'well meanin','
but we must all submit to fate. I fear you will soon be con
fined to the dismal lower regions."
"Are you sick?"
"I was at first."
His prediction was soon verified. From almost a feeling
of rapture and a sense of the sublime as they looked out
upon the broad Atlantic with its tumultuous waves, the
ladies suddenly became silent, and glanced nervously toward
the stairway that led to the cabin.
Gregory promptly gave his arm to Miss Eulie, while
Hunting followed with Annie, and that was the last ap
pearance of the ladies for three days.
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CHAPTEE XXXIII
COLLISION AT SEA WHAT A CHRISTIAN COULD DO
ON THE morning of the fourth day, as the sea had
become more calm, the ladies ventured upon deck
for a short time. Gregory immediately joined them
and complimented their courage in coming out during a
winter voyage.
"Nature and I are friends all the year round," said
Annie, with a faint attempt at a smile, for she was still
sick and faint. "I rather like her wild, rough moods. It
has been a great trial to my patience to lie in my berth,
helpless and miserable from what you well term a 'prosaic
malady,' when I was longing to see the ocean. Now that
we have made a desperate attempt to reach deck, there is
nothing to see. Do you think this dense fog will last long ?' '
"I hope not, especially for your sake. But do not regret
coming out, for you will soon feel better for it."
"I do already; I believe I could live out of doors. Have
you been ill?"
"0 no; I should have been a sailor."
"Mr. Hunting has fared almost as badly as we," said
Annie, determined that they should make one group.
"Indeed! I'm sorry," said Gregory, quietly.
"I hate the ocean," snarled Hunting, with a grim, white
face; "I'm always sick."
"And I'm afraid of it," said Miss Eulie. "How can they
find their way through such a mist ? Then, we might run
into something. ' '
"In any case you are safe, Miss Morton," said Gregory,
with a smile.
WHAT A CHRISTIAN COULD DO 381
She gave him a bright look and replied, "I trust we all
are. But the sea is rough, boisterous, treacherous, and
mysterious, just the qualities I don't like. What a perfect
emblem of mystery this fog is through which we are going
so rapidly!"
"Well," said Gregory, with one of his expressive shrugs,
"I find all these experiences equally on the land, especially
the latter."
Annie gave him a quick, inquiring look, while color
came into even Hunting's pale face.
Annie felt no little curiosity as to Gregory's developing
character, for though he had said nothing definite, his soft
ened manner and quiet dignity made him seem very unlike
his old self.
"How do you pass your time?" she asked.
"Well, I read a great deal, and I take considerable exer
cise, for I wish fully to regain my health."
She gave him a grateful look. He was keeping his
promise. She said, "You look very much better than I
expected to see you, and I'm very glad, for you were al
most ghostly when you left us. What do you find so inter
esting to read ?' '
"His color rose instantly, but he said with a smile, "A
good old book that I brought with me."
The expression of his face answered her swift, question
ing look. It was her Bible. Neither Miss Eulie nor Hunt
ing understood why she became so quiet; but the latter,
who was watching them closely, thought he detected some
secret understanding. In his jealous egotism it could only
mean what was adverse to himself, and he had an attack of
something worse than sea-sickness.
Gregory quietly turned the conversation upon ocean
travel, and for a half-hour entertained the ladies without
any effort on their part, and then they went back to their
state-rooms.
By evening the ship was running so steadily that they
all came out to supper. Gregory, who was a personal
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friend of the captain, had secured them a place near the
head of the table, where they received the best of attention.
Annie, evidently, was recovering rapidly, and took a gen
uine interest in the novel life and scenes around her. She
found herself vis-a-vis and side by side with great diver
sities of character, and listened with an amused, intelligent
face to the brisk conversation. She noted with surprise that
Gregory seemed quite a favorite, but soon saw the reason
in his effort to make the hour pass pleasantly to his fellow-
passengers. The captain had given him a seat at his right
hand, and appealed to him on every disputed point that
was outside of his special province.
She was also pleased to see how Gregory toned up the
table-talk and skilfully led it away from disagreeable topics.
But he had a rather difficult task, for, sitting near her, was
a man whose ostentatious dress reflected his character and
words.
Some one was relating an anecdote of a narrow escape,
and another remarked, "That's what I should call a special
Providence."
"Special Providence!" said Annie's loud neighbor, con
temptuously. "A grown man is very weak-minded to be
lieve in any Providence whatever. ' '
There was a shocked, pained expression on many faces,
and Annie's eyes flashed with indignation. She turned to
Hunting, expecting him to resent such an insult to their
faith, but saw only a cold sneer on his face. Hunting was
decidedly English in his style, and would travel around
the world and never speak to a stranger, or make an ac
quaintance, if he could help it Then, instinctively, she
turned to Gregory. He was looking fixedly at the man,
whose manner had attracted general attention. But he only
said, "Then I am very weak-minded."
There was a general expression of pleased surprise and
sympathy on the faces of those who understood his reply,
while the captain stared at him in some astonishment.
"I beg your pardon, sir," said the man; "I meant noth-
WHAT A CHRISTIAN COULD DO 383
ing personal. It was only a rather blunt way of saying that
I didn't believe in' any such things myself."
"I give you credit for your honesty, but some of us
do."
"Then you pretend to be a Christian?"
"I should not pretend to be one under any circum
stances," said Gregory, with the perfection of quiet dig
nity, "and I am very sorry to say that I am not so favored.
But I have full belief in a Providence, both special and
general."
"I like your honesty, too," said the man, seemingly
anxious for an argument. "By the word 'pretend' I only
meant claim, or assert. But it seems to me that the facts
in the case are all against your belief. I find nothing but
law in the universe. You might as well say that this ship
is run by special Providence, when, in fact, it is run by
accurately gauged machinery, system, and rules."
"Now your argument is lame," said the captain, laugh
ing. "We have plenty of good machinery, system, and
rules aboard, but if I wasn't around, looking after every
thing all the time, as a special Providence, I'm afraid you'd
find salt water before Liverpool."
A general laugh followed this sally, and Gregory said:
"And so I believe that the Divine Providence superintends
His own laws and system. I think my friend the captain
has given a most happy illustration of the truth, and I had
no idea he was so good a theologian."
"That's not an argument," said the man, considerably
crestfallen. "That's only a joke."
"By the way, Mr. Gregory, it seems to me that your
views have changed since you crossed with me last,"
remarked the captain.
"I frankly admit they have," was the prompt reply.
"Perhaps I can explain myself by the following question:
If you find, by a careful observation, that you are heading
your ship the wrong way, what do you do?"
"Put her about on the right course."
384 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
"That is just what I have tried to do, sir. I think my
meaning is plain?"
"Nothing could be clearer, and I'd rather be aboard now
than when you were on the old tack. ' '
Annie gave Gregory a glance of glad, grateful approval
that warmed his heart like sunshine.
Hunting said, enviously, sotto voce, "I think such con
versation at a public table wretched taste."
"I cannot agree with you," said Annie, decidedly; "but,
granting it, Mr. Gregory did not introduce the subject, and
I wish you had spoken as he did when every Christian at
the table was insulted."
He colored deeply, but judiciously said nothing.
With increasing pain she thought, "He who says he is
not a Christian acts more like one than he who claims the
character."
But she now had the strongest hopes for Gregory, and
longed for a private talk with him.
The next day it blew quite a gale, and Hunting and Miss
Eulie were helplessly confined to their staterooms. But
Annie had become a sailor, and having done all she could
for her aunt, came upon deck, where she saw Gregory walk
ing back and forth with almost the steadiness of one of the
ship's officers.
She tried to go to him, but would have fallen had he not
seen her and reached her side almost at a bound. With a
gentleness and tenderness as real as delicate, he placed her
in a sheltered nook where she could see the waves in their
mad sport, and said, "Now you can see old ocean in one of
his best moods. The wind, though strong, is right abaft,
filling all the sails they dare carry, and we are making
grand progress. ' '
"How wonderful it is!" cried Annie, looking with a
child's interest upon the scene. "Just see those briny
mountains, with foam and spray for foliage. If our own High
lands with their mingled evergreens and snow were changed
from granite to water, and set in this wild motion, it could
WHAT A CHRISTIAN COULD DO 385
hardly seem more strange and sublime. Look at that great
monster coming so threateningly toward us. It seems as if
we should be engulfed beyond a chance."
"Now see how gracefully the ship will surmount it,"
said Gregory, smiling.
"0 dear!" said she, sighing, "if we could only rise above
our troubles in the same way!" Then, feeling that she had
touched on delicate ground, she hastened to add, "This
boundless waste increases my old childish wonder how
people ever find their way across the ocean."
"The captain is even now illustrating your own teaching
and practice in regard to the longer and more difficult voy
age of life," said Gregory, meaningly. "He is 'looking
up' taking an observation of the heavens, and will soon
know just where we arc and how to steer."
Annie looked at him wistfully, and said, in a low tone,
"I was so glad to learn, last evening, that you had taken
an observation also, and I was so very grateful, too, that
you had the courage to defend our faith. ' '
"I have to thank you that I could do either. It was
really you who spoke."
"No, Mr. Gregory," she said, gently, "my work for yon
reached its limit. God is leading you now."
"I try to hope so," he said; "but it was your hand that
placed in- mine that by which He is leading me. He surely
must have put it into your heart to give me that Bible.
When I reached my cheerless rooms in New York I felt so
lonely and low-spirited that I had not the courage to go a
single step further. But your Bible became a living, com
forting presence from that night. What exquisite tact you
showed in giving me that little worn companion of your
childhood, instead of a new gilt- leaved one, with no associ
ations. I first hoped that you might with it give me also
something of your childhood's faith. But that does not
come yet. That does not come."
"It will," said she, earnestly, and with moistened eyes.
"That, now, is one of my dearest hopes. But after what
ROE IV 17
386 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
I have been, I am not worthy that it should come soon.
But if I perish myself I want to try to help others. ' '
Then he asked, in honest distrustfulness, "Do you think
it right for one who is not a Christian to try to teach
others?"
"Before I answer that question I wish to ask a little
more about yourself;" and she skilfully drew him out, he
speaking more openly in view of the question to be decided
than he would otherwise have done. He told of the long
evenings spent over her Bible; of his mission work, and of
his honest effort to deal justly with all; at the same time
dwelling strongly on his doubts and spiritual darkness, and
the unspent influences of his old evil life.
The answer was different from what he expected; for
she said: "Mr. Gregory, why do you say that you are not
a Christian?"
"Because I feel that I am not."
"Does feeling merely make a Christian?" she asked.
"Is not action more than feeling? Do not trusting, follow
ing, serving, and seeking to obey, make a Christian ? But
suppose^that even with your present feeling you were living
at the time of Christ's visible presence on earth, would you
be hostile or indifferent, or would you join His band even
though small and despised?"
"I think 1 would do the latter, if permitted."
"I know you would, from your course last night. And
do you think Jesus would say, 'Because you are not an emo
tional man like Peter, you are no friend of mine' ? Why,
Mr. Gregory, He let even Judas Iscariot, though with un
worthy motive, follow Him as long as he would, giving
him a chance to become true."
"Miss Walton, do not mislead me in this matter. You
know how implicitly I trust you."
"And I would rather cast myself over into those waves
than deceive you," she said; "and if I saw them swallowing
you up I should as confidently expect to meet you again,
as my father. How strange it is you can believe that Jesus
WHAT A CHRISTIAN COULD DO 387
died for you and yet will not receive you when you are doing
just that which He died to accomplish."
He took a few rapid turns up and down the deck and
then leaned over the railing. She saw that he brushed more
than one tear into the waves. At last he turned and gave
his hand in warm pressure, saying, "I cannot doubt you,
and I will doubt Him no longer. I see that I have
wronged Him, and the thought causes me sorrow even in
my joy."
"Now you are my brother in very truth," she said,
gently, with glad tears in her own eyes. "All that we
have passed through has not been in vain. How wonder
fully God has led us!"
It was a long time before either spoke again.
At last he said, with a strange, wondering smile, "To
think that such as I should ever reach heaven! As Daddy
Tuggar says, 'there will be good neighbors there.' "
She answered him by a happy smile, and then both were
busy with their own thoughts again. Annie was thinking
how best to introduce the subject so near her heart, his
reconciliation with Hunting.
But that gentleman had become so tortured with jeal
ousy and so alarmed at the thought of any prolonged con
ference between Annie and Gregory, that he dragged him
self on deck. As he watched them a moment before they
saw him, he was quite reassured. Gregory was merely
standing near Annie, and both were looking away to sea,
as if they had nothing special to say to each other. Annie
was pained to see that Gregory's manner did not change
toward Hunting. He was perfectly polite, but nothing
more; soon he excused himself, thinking they would like
to be alone.
In the afternoon she found a moment to say, "Mr. Greg
ory, will you never become reconciled to Mr. Hunting?
You surely cannot hate him now?"
He replied, gravely, "I do not hate him any longer.
A would do him any kindness in my power, and that is a
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great deal for me to say. But Mr. Hunting has no real
wish for reconciliation. ' '
In bitter sorrow she was compelled to admit to herself
the truth of his words. After a moment he added, "If he
does he knows the exact terms on which it can be effected."
She could not understand it, and reproached herself bit
terly that so many doubts in regard to her affianced would
come unbidden, and force themselves on her mind. The
feeling grew stronger that there was wrong on both sides 7
and perhaps the more on Hunting's.
That was a memorable day to Gregory. It seemed to
him that Annie's hand had drawn aside the sombre curtain
of his unbelief, and shown the path of light shining more
and more unto the perfect day. Though comparatively
lonely, he felt that his pilgrimage could not now be un
happy, and that every sorrow would at last find its cure.
In regard to her earthly future he could only hope and
trust It would be a terrible trial to his faith if she were
permitted to marry Hunting, and yet he was sure it would
all be well at last; for was it not said that God's people
would come to their rest out of "great tribulation" ? She
had given him the impression that, under any circumstances,
her love for him could only be sisterly in its character.
But he was too happy in his new-born hope to think
of much else that day; and, finding a secluded nook, he
searched Annie's Bible for truths confirmatory of her words.
On every side they glowed as in letters of light. Then late
that night he went on deck, and in his strong excitement
felt as if walking on air in his long, glad vigil.
At last, growing wearied, he leaned upon the railing and
looked out upon the dark waves not dark to him, for the
wanderer at last had seen the light of his heavenly home,
and felt that it would cheer his way till the portals opened
and received him into rest.
Suddenly, upon the top of a distant wave, something
large and white appeared, and then sank into an ocean val
ley. Again it rose a sail, then the dark hull of a ship.
WHAT A CHRISTIAN COULD DO
In dreamy musing he began wondering how, in mid-
ocean, with so many leagues of space, two vessels should
cross each other's track so near. "It's just the same with
human lives," he thought, "A few months or years ago,
people that I never knew, and might have passed on the
wider ocean of life, unknowing and uncaring, have now
come so near! Why is it? Why does that ship, with the
whole Atlantic before it, come so steadily toward us ?"
It did come so steadily and so near that a feeling of un
easiness troubled him, but he thought that those in charge
knew their business better than he.
A moment later he started forward. The ship that had
come so silently and phantom-like across the waves seemed
right in the path of the steamer.
Was it not a phantom ?
"No ; there's a white face at the wheel the man is mat
ing a sudden, desperate effort it's too late.
With a crash like thunder the seeming phantom ship
plows into the steamer's side.
For a moment Gregory was appalled, stunned; and
stared at the fatal intruder that fell back in strong re
bound, and dropped astern.
Then he became conscious of the confusion and awaken
ing uproar on both vessels. Cries of agony, shouts of
alarm, and hoarse orders pierced the midnight air. He
ran forward and saw the yawning cavern which the blow
had made in the ship's side, and heard the rush of water
into the hold. Across the chasm he saw the captain's pale
face looking down with a dismay like his own.
"The ship will sink, and soon," Gregory shouted.
There was no denial.
Down to the startled passengers he rushed, crying,
"Awake ! Escape for your lives !"
His words were taken up and echoed in every part of
the ship.
He struck a heavy blow upon the door of Annie's state
room. "Miss Walton !"
890 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
"Oh, what has happened ?" she asked.
"You and Miss Morton come on deck, instantly; don't
stop to dress; snatch a shawl anything. Lose not a mo
ment. What is Hunting's number?"
"Forty, on the opposite side."
"I will be back in a moment ; be ready."
Hunting's state-room was so near where the steamer had
been struck that its door was jammed and could not be
opened.
"Help! help! I can't get out," shrieked the terrified
man.
Gregory wrenched a leaf from a dining-room table and
pried the door open.
"Come," he said, "you've no time to dress."
Hunting wrapped his trembling form in a blanket and
gasped, as he followed, "I'll pay you back every cent of
that money with interest"
"Make your peace with God. We may soon be before
Him," was the awful response.
Miss Eulie and Annie stood waiting, draped in heavy
shawls.
"I'm sorry for the delay; Hunting's door was jammed
and had to be broken open. Come;" and putting his arm
around Miss Eulie and taking Annie's hand, he forced them
rapidly through the increasing throng of terror-stricken
passengers that were rushing in all directions.
Even then, with a strange thrill at heart, Annie thought,
"He has saved his enemy's life."
He took them well aft, and said, "Don't move; stand
just here until I return," and then pushed his way to the
point where a frantic crowd were snatching for the life pre
servers which were being given out The officer, knowing
him, tossed him four as requested.
Coming back, he said to Hunting, "Fasten that one on
Miss Morton and keep the other." Throwing down his own
for a moment, he proceeded to fasten Annie's. He would
not trust the demoralized Hunting to do anything for her,
WHAT A CHRISTIAN COULD DO 391
and he was right, for Hunting's hands so trembled that he
was helpless. Having seen that Annie's was secured beyond
a doubt, Gregory also tied on Miss Eulie's.
In the meantime a passenger snatched his own preserv
ing-belt, which he had been trying to keep by placing his
foot upon it.
"Stop," Annie cried. "O Mr. Gregory! he has taken
it and you have none. You shall have mine;" and she was
about to unfasten it.
He laid a strong grasp upon her hands. "Stop such
folly," he said, sternly. "Come to where they are launch
ing that boat You have no choice;" and he forced her
forward while Hunting followed with Miss Eulie.
They stood waiting where the lantern's glare fell upon
their faces, with many others more pale and agonized.
Annie clung to him as her only hope (for Hunting seemed
almost paralyzed with fear), and whispered, "Will you the
same as die for me again ?"
"Yes, God bless you! a thousand times if there were
need," he said, in tones whose gentleness equalled the harsh
ness of his former words.
She looked at him wonderingly. There was no fear upon
his face, only unspeakable love for her.
"Are you not afraid ?" she asked.
"You said I was a Christian to-day, and your Bible and
God's voice in my heart have confirmed your words. No,
I am at peace in all this uproar, save anxiety for you."
She buried her face upon his shoulder.
"My darling sister!" he murmured in her ear. "How
can I ever thank you enough?"
Then he started suddenly, and tearing off the cape of his
coat, said to Hunting, "Fasten that around Miss Morton;"
and before Annie quite knew what he was doing he had
taken off the body part and incased her in it.
"Here, Hunting, your belt is not secure" ; and he tight
ened the straps.
"Pass the women forward," shouted the captain.
S92 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
Of course those nearest were embarked first. The ladies
in Gregory's charge had to take their turn, and the boat was
about full when Miss Eulie was lowered over the side.
At that moment the increasing throng, with a deeper
realization of danger, as the truth of their situation grew
plainer, felt the first mad impulse of panic, and there was
a rush toward the boat. Hunting felt the awful contagion.
His face had the look of a hunted wild beast. Annie gazed
wonderingly at him, but as he half-started with the others
for the boat she understood him. Laying a restraining hand
upon his arm, she said, in a low tone, "If you leave my side
now, you leave it forever."
He cowered back in shame.
The officer in charge of the boat had shouted, "This boat
is for women and children; as you are men and not brutes,
stand back."
This checked the desperate mob for a moment, and
Gregory was about to pass Annie down when there was
another mad rush led by the blatant individual who had
scouted the idea of Providence.
"Cut away all," shouted the captain from the bridge,
and the boat dropped astern.
It was only by fierce effort that Gregory kept himself
and Annie from being carried over the side by the surging
mass, many of whom leaped blindly over, supposing the
boat to be still there.
Pressing their way out they went where another boat
was being launched. Hunting followed them like a child,
and was as helpless. He now commenced moaning, "O God !
what shall I do ? what shall I do ?"
"Trust Him, and be a man. What else should you do ?"
said Gregory, sternly, for he was deeply disgusted at Hunt
ing's behavior.
Around this boat the officer in charge had placed a cor
don of men to keep the crowd away, and stood pistol in
hand to enforce his orders. But the boat was scarcely low
ered, before there was the same wild rush, mostly on the
WHAT A CHRISTIAN COULD DO 393
part of the crew and steerage passengers. The officer fired
and brought down the foremost, but the frenzied wretches
trampled him down with those helping, together with
women and children, as a herd of buffaloes might have
done. They poured over into the boat, swamped it, and as
the steamer moved slowly ahead, were left struggling and
perishing in the waves.
Gregory had put his arm around Annie and drawn her
out of the crush. Fortunately they had been at one side, so
that this was possible.
"The boats are useless," he said, sadly. "There will be
the same suicidal folly at every one, even if they have time
to lower any more. Come aft. That part will sink last, and
there will be less suction there when the ship goes down.
We may find something that will keep us afloat."
Annie clung to his arm and said, quietly, "I will do just
as you say," while Hunting followed in the same maze of
terror.
They had hardly got well away before a mast, with its
rigging, fell where they had stood, crushing many and maim
ing others, rendering them helpless.
"Awful! awful" shuddered Bunting, and Annie put her
hands before her eyes.
An officer, with some men, now came toward them with
axes, and commenced breaking up the after wheelhouse.
1 ' Here is ou r best c hance, " sai d Gregory. ' ' Let us calmly
await the final moment and then do the best we can. All
this broken timber will float, and we can cling to it."
The ship was settling fast, and had become like a log
upon the water, responding slowly and heavily to the action
of the waves. But under the cold, pitiless starlight of that
winter night, what heartrending scenes were witnessed upon
her sinking deck ! Death had already laid its icy finger on
many, and many more were grouped near in despairing ex
pectation of the same fate.
While many, like Hunting, were almost paralyzed with
fear, and others shrieked and cried aloud in agony while
394 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
some prayed incoherently, and others rushed back and forth
as if demented there were not wanting numerous noble
examples of faith and courage. Fortunately, there were
not many ladies on board, and most of these proved that
woman's fortitude is not a poetic fiction. One or two family
groups stood near in close embrace, and some men calmly
folded their arms across their breasts, and met their fate as
God would have them.
Annie was conscious of a strange peace and hopefulness.
She thrilled with the thought which she expressed to Greg
ory "How soon I may see father and mother!"
She stood now with one hand on Hunting's trembling
arm, for at that supreme moment her heart was very tender,
and she pitied while she wondered at him. But Gregory was
a tower of strength. He took her hand in both his own,
and said, "I can say the same, and more. Both father and
mother are awaiting me and, Annie," he whispered, ten
derly, "you, too, will be there. So, courage! 'Good neigh
bors,' soon."
Why did her heart beat so strangely at his words ?
"O God! have mercy on me!" groaned the man who had
seemed, but was not.
"Amen!" breathed both Annie and Gregory, fervently.
Suddenly they felt themselves lifted in the air, and, look
ing toward the bow, saw it going under, while what seemed
a great wave came rolling toward them, bearing upon its
dark crest white, agonized faces and struggling forms.
Annie gave a swift, inquiring look to Gregory. His face
was turned heavenward, in calm and noble trust.
Hunting's wild cry mingled with the despairing shriek
of many others, but ended in a gurgling groan as he and all
sank beneath the waters.
UNMASKED 395
CHAPTER XXXIV
UNMASKED
IT SEEMED that they passed through miles of water that
roared around them like a cataract. But Annie and
Gregory held to each other in their strong, convulsive
grasp, and her belt caused him to rise with her to the sur
face again. A piece of the wheelhouse floated near; Greg
ory swam for it, and pushing it to Annie helped her upon
it. Hunting also grasped it. But it would not sustain the
weight of all three, especially as Gregory had no pre
server on.
One must leave it that the other two might escape.
"Good-by, Annie, darling," said Gregory. "We will
meet again in heaven if not on earth. Cling to your plank
as long as you can, and a boat may pick you up. Good-by,
poor Hunting, I'm sorry for you."
"What are you going to do?" gasped Annie.
"Don't you see that this won't float all three? I shall
try to find something else."
"No, no," cried Annie, "don't leave me: you have no
belt on. If you go I will too."
"I once lived for your sake; now you must for mine.
I may save myself; but if you leave we shall both drown.
Good-by, dearest. If I reach home first, I'll watch and wait
till you come."
She felt him kiss her hand where* she clung to her frail
support, and then he disappeared in the darkness.
"Why did you let him go ?" she said to Hunting "you
who have a preserver on?"
396 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
"O God, have mercy on me!" groaned the wretched man.
Annie now gave up all hope of escape, and indeed wished
to die. She was almost sure that Gregory had perished, and
she felt that her best- loved ones were in heaven.
She would have permitted herself to be washed away had
not a sense of duty to live until God took her life kept her
firm. But every moment it seemed that her failing strength
would give way, and her benumbed hands loosen their hold.
"But," she murmured in the noblest triumph of faith,
"I shall sink, not in these cold depths, but into my Sav
iour's arms."
Toward the last, when alone in the very presence of
death, He seemed nearest and dearest. She could not bear
to look at the dark, angry waters strewn with floating
corpses. She had a sickening dread that Gregory's white
face might float by. So she closed her eyes, and only
thought of heaven, which was so near that its music
seemed to mingle with the surging of the waves.
She tried to say a comforting word to Hunting, but the
terror-stricken man could only groan mechanically, "God
have mercy on me!"
Soon she began to grow numb all over. A dreamy peace
pervaded her mind, and she was but partially conscious.
She was aroused by hearing her name called. Did the
voice come from that shore beyond all dark waves of earthly
trouble ? At first she was not sure.
Again and louder came the cry, but too full of human
agony to be a heavenly voice
"Annie! Annie!"
"Here!" she cried, faintly, while Hunting, helpful for
once, shrieked aloud above the roar of the waves.
Then she heard the sound of oars, and a moment later
strong hands lifted her into the boat, and she found herself
in Gregory's arms, her head pillowed on his breast. Then
all grew dark.
When she again became conscious she found herself in
a small cabin, with many others in like pitiable plight.
UNMASKED 397
Her aunt was bending over her on one side and Gregory
on the other, chafing her hands. At first she could not
remember or understand, and stared vacantly at them.
"Annie, darling," said Miss Eulie, "don't you know
me?"
Then glad intelligence dawned in her face, and she
reached out her arms, and each clasped the other as one
might receive the dead back to life.
But quickly she turned and asked, "Where is Mr.
Gregory?"
"Here, safe and sound," he said, joyously, "and Hunt
ing, too. I shall bless him all the days of my life, for his
cries drowned old ocean's hoarse voice and brought us right
to you."
Hunting looked as if he did not exactly relish the trib
ute, but he stooped down and kissed Annie, who permitted
rather than received the caress.
"How did you escape?" she asked Gregory, eagerly.
"Well, J swam toward the ship that struck us, whose
lights I saw twinkling in the distance, till almost exhausted.
I was on the point of giving up, when a small piece of the
wreck floated near. By a great effort I succeeded in reach
ing it. Then a little later a boat from this ship picked me
up and we started after you or any others that could be
found. I am glad to say that quite a number that went
down with the ship were saved."
She looked at him in a way to bring the warm blood into
his face, and said, in a low tone, "How can I ever repay
you?"
"By doing as you once said to me, 'Live! get strong and
well.' Good- by now. Miss Morton will take care of you. "
Her eyes followed him till he disappeared, then she
turned and hid her face on Miss Eulie's shoulder. The
good old lady was a little puzzled, and so was Hunting,
though he had dismal forebodings. But he was so glad to
have escaped that he could not indulge in very bitter regrets
just then. As his mind recovered its poise, however, and
398 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
he had time to think it all over, there came a sickening
sense of humiliation.
In a few minutes Gregory returned and said to Annie,
"See how honored you are. I've been so lucky as to get
the captain's best coat for you, and those wet things that
would chill you to death can be taken off. You can give
my coat to Hunting. You see I was up at the time of the
accident, and so am dressed. ' '
"If I am to wear the captain's coat," said Annie, "then,
with some of his authority, I order you to go and take care
of yourself. You have done enough for others for a little
while."
"Ay, ay, captain," said Gregory, smiling, as he again
vanished.
It would only be painful to dwell on the dreary days and
nights during which the comparatively small sailing vessel
was beating back against a stormy wind to the port from
which she had sailed. She had been much injured by the
collision, and many were doubtful whether, after all, they
would ever see land. Thus, to the manifold miseries of the
rescued passengers, was added continued anxiety as to their
fate. It was, indeed, a sad company that was crowded in
that small cabin, half-clothed, bruised, sick, and fearful.
What seemed to them an endless experience was but a long
nightmare of trouble, while some, who had lost their best
and dearest, refused to be comforted and almost wished
they had perished also.
Annie's gratitude that their little party had all been
spared grew stronger every hour, and the one through
whose efforts they had been saved grew daily dearer.
At first she let her strong affection go out to him un
checked, not realizing whither she was drifting; but a little
characteristic event occurred which revealed her to herself.
Her exposure had again caused quite a serious illness,
and she saw little of Gregory for a few days. Hunting
claimed his right to be with her as far as it was possible.
Though she would not admit it to herself, she almost shrunk
UNMASKED 399
from him. Of course the sailing ship had been provisioned
for only a comparatively small crew, and the sudden and
large accession to the number threatened to add the terrors
of famine to their other misfortunes.
Annie had given almost all of her allowance away. Indeed
she had no appetite, and revolted at the coarse food served.
But she noticed that Hunting ate all of his, or else put some,
quietly away, in view of future need. She said to him,
upon this occasion, "Can't you spare a little of your por
tion for those poor people over there? They look half-
famished."
"I will do so if you wish," he replied, "but it would
hardly be wise. Think what tremendous business interests
I represent, and it is of the first importance that I keep up. "
"Mr. Gregory is almost starving himself," said Miss
Eulie, quietly. "I feel very anxious about him."
"I represent a business of thousands where Mr. Gregory
does hundreds," said Hunting, complacently.
"I wish you represented something else," said Annie,
bitterly, turning away.
Her words and manner jostled him out of himself. A
principle that seemed to him so sound and generally ac
cepted appeared sordid and selfish calculation to Annie
and she felt that Gregory represented infinitely greater
riches in his self-denial for others.
Hunting saw his blunder and instantly carried all his
portion to those whom Annie had pointed out. But it was
too late. He had shown his inner nature again in a way
that repelled Annie's very soul. She turned sick at the
thought of being bound to such a man.
At first she had tried to excuse his helpless terror on the
ship by thinking it a physical trait; but this was a moral
trait. It gave a sudden insight into the cold, dark depths
of his nature.
Immediately after the disaster she had been too sick and
bewildered to realize her situation. Her engagement was
such an old and accepted fact that at first no thought of any
400 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
other termination of it than by marriage entered her mind.
Yet she already looked forward to it only as a duty, and
she felt that her love for Hunting would be that of pity
rather than trust and honor. But she was so truthful so
chained by her promises that her engagement rested upon
her like a solemn obligation. Again, it had been entered
into under circumstances so tenderly sacred that even the
wish to escape from it seemed like sacrilege. Still, she
said, in intense bitterness, "Dear father was deceived also.
We did not know him as we should."
Yet she had nothing against Hunting, save a growing
lack of congeniality and his cowardice at a time when few
men could be heroic. In her strong sense of justice she felt
that she should not condemn a man for an infirmity. But
her cheeks tingled with shame as she remembered his weak
ness, and she felt that a Christian ought to have done a lit
tle better under any circumstances. When, in the event
above described, she saw his hard, calculating spirit, her
whole nature revolted from him almost in loathing.
After a brief time she told him that she wanted to be
alone, and he went away cursing his own folly. Miss Eulie,
thinking she wished to sleep, also left her.
"How can I marry him?" she groaned; "and yet how
can I escape such an engagement?"
When her aunt returned she found her sobbing as if her
heart would break.
"Why, Annie, dear, what is the matter?" she asked.
"Don't ask me," she moaned, and buried her face in her
pillow.
Then that judicious lady looked very intelligent, but said
nothing more. She sat down and began to stroke Annie's
brown, dishevelled hair. But instead of showing very great
sympathy for her niece, she had an unusually complacent
expression. Gregory had a strong but discreet friend in the
camp.
When Annie became calmer, she said, hesitatingly, "Do
you think is Mr. Gregory doesn't he eat anything?"
UNMASKED 401
"No; he is really wronging himself. I heard it said that
the captain had threatened, jokingly, to put him in irons if
he did not obey orders and eat his allowance."
"Do you think I could make do you think he would do
better if I should ask him ?' ' inquired Annie, with her face
buried in her pillow.
"Well," said Miss Eulie, gravely, though with a smile
upon her face, "Mr. Gregory is very self-willed, especially
about some things, but I do think that you have more power
over him than any one else."
"Won't you tell him that I want to see him ?"
He was very glad to come. Annie tried hard to be very
firm and composed, but, with her red eyes and full heart,
did not succeed very well.
At first he was a little embarrassed by her close scrutiny,
for she had wrought herself up into the expectation of seeing
a gaunt, famine-stricken man. But his cheeks, though some
what hollow, were ruddy, and his face was bronzed by ex
posure. Instead of being pained by his cadaverous aspect,
she was impressed by his manly beauty; but she said,
"I have sent for you that I might give you a scold-
ing."
"I'm all meekness," he said, a little wonderingly.
"Aunty tells me that you don't eat anything."
"That is just what she says of you."
"But I'm ill and can't eat."
"Neither can I."
"Why not?"
"How can a man eat when there are hungry women
aboard? It would choke me."
Instead of scolding him, she again buried her face in her
pillow, and burst into tears.
He was a little perplexed, but said, gently, "Come, my
dear little sister, I hope you are not worrying about me. I
assure you there is no cause. I never felt better, and the
worst that can happen is a famine in England when I reach
there. It grieves me to the heart to see you so pale and
402 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
weak. The captain says I have a bad conscience, but it's
only anxiety for you that makes me so restless."
"Do you stay upon deck all night this bitter weather?"
"Well, I want to be ready if anything should hap
pen."
"0 Walter, Walter! how I have wronged you!"
"No, beg your pardon, you have righted me. What was
I when I first knew you, Annie Walton? There is some
chance of my being a man now. But come, let me cheer
you up. I have good news for you. If I had lost every
dollar on that ship I should still be rich, for your little
Bible (I shall always call it yours) remained safe in my
overcoat pocket, and you brought it aboard. Now let me
read you something that will comfort you. I find a place
where it it written, 'Begin here.' Can you account for
that?"
And he read that chapter, so old but inexhaustible,
beginning, "Let not your heart be troubled."
Having finished it, he said, "I will leave my treasure
with you, as you may wish to read some yourself. In re
gard to the subject of the 'scolding,' which, by the way, I
have not yet received, if Miss Morton here can tell me that
you are eating more, I will. Good- by. "
Annie's appetite improved from that hour. She seized
upon the old Bible and turned its stained leaves with the
tenderest interest. As she did so, her harsh note to Greg
ory, written when Hunting complained that he had been
insulted, dropped out. How doubly harsh and unjust her
words seemed now! Then she read his words, "Forgiven,
my dear, deceived sister." She kissed them passionately,
then tore the note to fragments.
Miss Eulie watched her curiously, then stole away with
another smile. She liked the spell that was acting now, but
knew Annie too well to say much. Miss Eu^ie was one of
those rare women who could let a good work of this kind
go on without meddling.
Annie did not read the Bible, but only laid it against
UNMASKED 403
her cheek. Then Hunting came back looking very discon
tented, for he had managed to catch glimpses of her inter
view with Gregory.
"Shall I read to you from that book?" he said.
She shook her head.
"You seemed to enjoy having Mr. Gregory read it to
you," he said, meaningly.
Color came into her pale face, but she only said, "He
did not stay long. I'm ill and tired."
"It's rather hard, Annie," he continued, with a deeply
injured air, "to see another more welcome at your side
than I am."
"What do you mean?" she asked, in a sudden passion.
"How much time has Mr. Gregory been with me since he
saved both our lives ? You heard my father say that I
should be a sister to him; and yet I believe that you would
like me to become a stranger. Have you forgotten that but
for him you would have been at the bottom of the Atlantic ?
There, there, leave me now, I'm weak and ill leave me till
we both can get into better moods. ' '
Pale with suppressed shame and anger, he went away,
wishing in the depth of his soul that Gregory was at the
bottom of the Atlantic.
Again she buried her face in her pillow and sobbed and
moaned, ' ' How can I marry that man ! He makes my very
flesh creep. ' '
Then for the first time came the swift thought, "I could
marry Gregory; I'm happy the moment I'm near him;"
and her face burned as did the thought in her heart.
Then she turned pale with fear at herself. A sudden
sense of guilt alarmed her, for she had the feeling that she
belonged to Hunting. So solemn had been her engagement
that the thought of loving another seemed almost like dis
loyalty to the marriage- tie. With a despairing sigh, she
murmured, "Chained, chained."
Then strongly arose the womanly instinct of self-shield
ing, and the purpose to hide her secret. An hour before,
404 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
Gregory could not come too often. He might have stooped
down and as a brother kissed her lips, and she would not
have thought it strange or unnatural. Now she dreaded to
see him. And yet when would he be out of her thoughts ?
She hoped and half -believed that he was beginning to regard
her as a sister, and still, deep in her soul, this thought had
an added sting of pain.
Ah, Annie! you thought you loved before, but a master
spirit has now come who will stir depths in your nature of
which neither you nor Hunting dreamed.
Hunting, seemingly, had no further cause to be jealous
of Gregory during the rest of the voyage. With the whole
strength of her proud, resolute nature, Annie guarded her
secret. She sent kind messages to Gregory, and returned
the Bible, but did not ask him to visit her again. Neither
did she come on deck herself till they were entering the
harbor of an English port.
When Gregory came eagerly toward her, though her face
flushed deeply, she greeted him with a kind and gentle dig
nity, which, nevertheless, threw a chill upon his heart. All
the earnest words he meant to say died upon his lips, and
gave way to mere commonplaces. Drawing her heavy shawl
about her, she sat down and looked back toward the sea as
if regretting leaving it with all its horrors. He thought,
"When have I seen such a look of patient sorrow on any
human face? She saw the love 1 could not hide at our
last interview. I did not deceive her by calling her
'sister.' Her great, generous heart is grieving because of
my hopeless love, while in the most delicate manner she
reminds me how vain it is. Now I know why she did not
send for me again. ' '
He walked away from the little group pale and faint, and
she could not keep back the hot tears as she watched him.
Miss Eulie was also observant, and saw how they misunder
stood each other. But she acted as if blind, feeling that
quickly coming events would right everything better than
any words of hers.
UNMASKED 405
Gregory went to another part of the vessel, and leaned
over the railing. Annie noticed with an absorbing interest
that he seemed as indifferent to the delight of the passengers
at the prospect of soon being on land, and the bustle on the
wharf, as he had appeared at the commencement of the
voyage. But she rightly guessed that there was tumult at
his heart. There certainly was at hers. When the vessel
dropped anchor and they would soon go ashore, he turned
with the resolve, "I will show her that I can bear my hard
lot like a man," and again came toward them, a proud and
courteous gentleman.
Annie saw and understood the change, and her heart
was chilled by a sense of loneliness and isolation greater
than if the stormy Atlantic had rolled between them. And
yet his manner toward her was very gentle, very considerate.
He took charge of Miss Eulie, and soon they were at the
best hotel in the place. The advent of the survivors caused
great excitement in the city, and they were all overwhelmed
with kindness and sympathy.
After a few hours Gregory returned to the hotel, dressed
in quiet elegance, and he seemed to Annie the very ideal of
manhood ; while she, in her mourning robes, seemed to him
the perfection of womankind. But their manner toward each
other was very quiet, and only Miss Eulie guessed the sub
terranean fires that were burning in each heart.
"Are you sure that you will be perfectly comfortable
here?" he asked.
"Entirely so," Annie replied. "Mr. Hunting has tele
graphed to my uncle, and we will await him here. I do not
feel quite strong enough to travel yet."
"Then I can leave you for a day or two with a quiet
mind. I must go to Liverpool."
She turned a shade paler, but only said, "I am very
sorry you must leave us so soon."
"I missed a note from your Bible, " he said, in a low tone.
"Forgive me! I destroyed it," and she turned and
walked to the window to hide her burning face.
406 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
Just then Hunting entered, and a few moments later
Gregory bade them a quiet farewell.
"How wonderful is her constancy!" he sighed as he
went away. "How can she love and cling to that man
after what he has shown himself!"
He had utterly misunderstood her and believed that she
had destroyed the note, not because of her own harsh words,
but of his reflecting on Hunting.
Annie thought she knew what sorrow was, but confessed
to herself in bitterness, after he had gone, that such had not
been the case before.
If Hunting secretly exulted that Gregory was out of the
way, and had been taught by Annie that he must keep his
distance, as he would express it, he was also secretly uneasy
at her manner toward him. She merely endured his lavish
attentions, and seemed relieved when he was compelled to
leave her for a time. "She will feel and act differently," he
thought, ' l when she gets well and strong, and will be the same
as before." Thus the harassing fears and jealousy that had
tortured him at sea gave way to complacent confidence. But
he was greatly provoked that he could scarcely ever see Annie
without the embarrassing presence of Miss Eulie.
He had a growing antipathy for that lady, while he felt
sure that she did not like him. Annie was very grateful to
her aunt for quietly shielding her from caresses that every
hour grew more unendurable.
Gregory was detained for some time in Liverpool, and
on his return to the city where he had left Annie and Miss
Eulie he met Mr. Kemp, whom he had known well in New
York, also seeking them. This gentleman greeted him most
warmly, for he had read in the papers good accounts of Greg
ory's behavior. In a few moments they entered the hotel
together. Fortunately, as Gregory thought, but most un fortu
nately, has he learned afterward, Hunting was out at the time.
The warm color came into Annie's face as he greeted her,
and she seemed so honestly and eagerly glad .to see him that
his sore heart was comforted.
UNMASKED 407
Mr. Kemp's manner toward his niece and sister was affec
tionate in the extreme. Indeed, the good old man seemed
quite overcome by his feelings, and Gregory was about to
retire, but he said, "No, please stay, sir. Forgive my weak
ness, if it is such. You don't know how dear these people
are to me, and when I think of all they have passed through
I can hardly control myself. ' '
"We should not be here, uncle," said Annie, in a low,
thrilling voice, "had it not been for Mr. Gregory."
Then the old gentleman came and gave Gregory's hand
such a grasp that it ached for hours after. "I have been
reading," he said, "warm tributes to his conduct in the
papers, but I did not know that we were all under such
deep personal obligations to him. Come, Annie, you must
tell me all about it. ' '
"Not now, please," said Gregory. "I start in a few mo
ments for Paris, and must even now say good-by for a little
time. I warn you, Mr. Kemp, that Miss Walton will exag
gerate my services. She has a way of overvaluing what is
done for her, and undervaluing what she does for others."
"Well," said Mr. Kemp, with a significant nod, "that's
a trait that runs in the Walton blood."
' ' I long ago came to regard their blood as of the truest
blue," said Gregory, laughing.
"Must you leave us again so soon?" said Annie, with a
slight tremble in her voice.
"Yes, Miss Walton, even now I should be on the way to
the train. But you are surrounded by those who can best
take care of you. Still I earnestly hope that, before many
days, I shall see you in Paris, and in greatly improved
health. So I won't say good-by, but only good-morning."
Ah, he did not know, or he would have said "farewell"
with a heavy heart.
His parting from her was most friendly, and the pressure
of his hand warm and strong, but Annie felt, with a deep,
unsatisfied pain at heart, that it was all too formal. Mr. Kemp
was exceedingly demonstrative, and said, "Wait till I see you
408 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
in Paris, and I will overwhelm you with questions, especially
about your partner, my dear old friend, Mr. Burnett."
But staid, quiet Miss Eulie surprised them all. She just put
her arms about his neck, and gave him a hearty kiss, saying,
"Take that,Mr.Gregory,f rom one who loves you like a mother."
He returned the caress most tenderly, and hastened away
to hide his emotion.
Then envious Annie bitterly reproached herself that she
had been so cold, and, to make amends, began giving a
glowing account of all that Gregory had done for them.
The old gentleman listened with an amused twinkle in
his eyes, secretly exulting over the thought, "It is not
going to break her heart to part with Hunting."
In the midst of her graphic story that unfortunate man
entered, and her words died upon her lips. She rose
quietly, and said, "Charles, this is rny uncle, Mr. Kemp."
But she was amazed to see Mr. Kemp, who thus far had
seemed geniality itself, acknowledge her affianced with freez
ing coldness, and Hunting turned deathly pale with a pre
sentiment of disaster.
"Be seated, sir," said Mr. Kemp, stiffly; "I wish to
make a brief explanation, and after that will relieve you
of the care of these ladies."
Hunting sank into a chair, and Annie saw something of
the same terror on his face which had sickened her on the
sinking ship. "Annie," said her uncle, very gravely, "have
you entire confidence in me? Your father had."
"Certainly," said Annie, wondering beyond measure at
this most unaccountable scene.
"Will you take my word for it, that this man, who
seems most conscious of his guilt, deceived yes, lied to
Burnett & Co., and swindled them out of so large a sum of
money that the firm would have failed but for me ? Because,
if you cannot take my word, I can give you absolute proof. "
Annie buried her face in her hands and said, "Now I
understand all this wretched mystery. How I have wronged
Mr. Gregory!"
UNMASKED 409
"You could not do other than wrong him while Mr.
Hunting had any influence over you. I know Mr. Gregory
well. He is an honorable business man, and always was,
with all his faults. And now, sir, for your satisfaction, let
me inform you that Mr. Burnett is one of my most intimate
friends. He told me all about it, and gave ample proof of
the nature of the entire transaction. I am connected with
the bank with which the firm deposited, and through my
influence I secured them such accommodation as tided
them over the critical time in their affairs which your
villany had occasioned."
Hunting now recovered himself sufficiently to say, "I
did nothing different from what often occurs in business.
I had a legal right to every cent that I collected from
Burnett & Co."
"But how about moral right? Do we not all know that
often the most barefaced robberies take place within the
limits of the law ? And such was your act. Even the hard
ened gamblers of the Street were disgusted."
"You have no right to speak to me in this way, sir, " said
Hunting, trying to work up a little indignation. "Mr. Wal
ton trusted me, and I became engaged to Miss Walton under
circumstances the most solemn and sacred; we are the same
as married."
"Come, sir," interrupted Mr.. Kemp, hotly, "don't make
me lose my temper. John Walton was the soul of Christian
honor. He would have buried his daughter rather than
have her marry you, if he had known you as I do. I now
insist that you resign your executorship and relieve us of
your presence."
"Annie," cried Hunting, in a voice of anguish, "can you
sit quietly by and hear me so insulted ?"
She sat motionless her face, burning with shame, buried
in her hands. With her intense Walton hatred of deceit,
the thought that she had come so near marrying a swindler
and liar scorched her very soul.
He came to her side and tried to take her hand, but she
BOB IV 18
410 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
shrunk from him in loathing, and, springing up, said pas
sionately, "When I think, sir, that with this guilty secret
you would have tricked me into marriage by my father's
death- bed, I am perfectly appalled at your wickedness. God
in mercy snatched me then from a fate worse than death."
She turned away for a moment and pressed her hands
upon her throbbing heart. Then turning her dark and flash
ing eyes to where he stood, pale, speechless, and trembling,
she said, more calmly, "May God forgive you. I will when
lean. Go."
She proved what is often true, that the gentle, when des
perately wronged, are the most terrible.
He slunk cowering away without a word, and to avoid
exposure Mr. Kemp at once compelled him to sign papers
that took from him all further power of mischief. Mr.
Kemp eventually became executor in his stead.
As soon as Annie grew calmer she had a glad sense of
escape greater than that which had followed her rescue from
the wrecked ship. Her heart sprung up within her bosom
and sung for joy. Then again she would shudder deeply at
what she had so narrowly avoided. Stronger than her grati
tude for life twice saved was her feeling of obligation to
Gregory for his persistent effort to shield her from this
marriage. She was eager to start for Paris at once that she
might ask forgiveness for all her injustice toward him. But
in the excess of her feelings she was far more unjust toward
herself, as he would have told her.
Still, even if Hunting's dishonesty had not been revealed
to her, Annie would have broken with him. As soon as she
gained her mental strength and poise as soon as she real
ized that her love was hopelessly gone from him her true,
strong nature would have revolted from the marriage as
from a crime, and she would have told him, in deepest
pity, but with rock- like firmness, that it could not be.
The next day she greatly relented toward him, and, in
her deep pity, sent a kind farewell message which it would
have been well for him to heed.
A CHESTNUT BURR AND A POME 411
CHAPTER XXXV
A CHESTNUT BURR AND A HOME
WHEN Gregory reached Paris, to bis grief and con
sternation he found a despatch informing him
of the sudden death of old Mr. Burnett, and the
illness of Mr. Seymour, the other partner. "Return in
stantly," it read; "the senior clerk is coming out to take
your place."
At first it appeared a double grief that he could scarcely
endure, for it seemed that if he went back now Annie would
be lost to him beyond hope. But after thinking it all over
he became calmer. "It may be best after all, for as my
wife she is lost to me beyond hope, and God sees that I am
not strong enough to meet her often yet and sustain myself,
and so snatches me from the temptation."
Thus little children guess at the meaning of an earthly
father, but Gregory did what a child should he trusted.
He wrote a warm but hasty note to Annie, which through
some carelessness was never delivered, attended to some
necessary matters, and was just in time to catch the French
steamer outward bound.
When Annie reached Paris, she learned in dismay that
he had sailed for New York. Seemingly he had left no
message, no explanation; all they could learn at his hotel
was that he had received a despatch summoning him in
stantly home. Annie was deeply wounded, though she
tried to believe that he had written and that the letter
had been missent or lost. A thousand conjectures of evil
ran in her mind, and the thought of his being again on the
ocean, which she now so dreaded, at the stormiest season
412 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
of the year, was a source of deep anxiety. In her morbid
fears she even thought that the scheming Hunting might
have something to do with it. She gave way to despond
ency. Then her aunt tried to comfort her by saying,
"Annie, I am sure I understand you both better than you
do each other, and I think I can write Mr. Gregory a line
which will clear up everything."
But the quiet little lady was quite frightened by the way
in which Annie turned upon her.
"As you love me, aunty," she said, "never write a line
on this subject. I am not one to seek, but must be sought,
even by Gregory. Not one line, I charge you, containing
a hint of my feelings."
"Well, Annie, darling," she said, gently, "it's all going
to come out right. ' '
But Annie, in her weak, depressed state, saw only the
dark side. As with Gregory there was nothing for her but
patient trust.
But when, in due time, there came a despatch from him
announcing his safe arrival, she was greatly reassured. The
light came back into her eyes and the color to her cheeks.
"What kind of medicine have you been taking to-day?"
asked her uncle, slyly.
"She has been treated with electricity," Miss Eulie re
marked, quietly.
"O, aunty!" said Annie, with a deep blush, "when did
I ever hear you indulge in such a witticism before ?' '
And when, some days later, she received a cordial,
brotherly letter from Gregory, relating all that had occurred,
a deep content stole into her heart, and she felt, with Miss
Eulie, that all would eventually be well. She replied scru
pulously, in like vein with himself, and thus began a cor
respondence that to each became a source of the truest
happiness. Their letters were intensely brotherly and sis
terly in character, but Annie felt almost sure that, under
his fraternal disguise, she detected the warmth and glow
of a far stronger affection; and, before many months had
A CHESTNUT BURR AND A HOME 413
passed, he hoped the same of her dainty letters, though he
could not lay his finger on a single word and say, "This
proves it." But Annie's warm heart unconsciously colored
the pages, nevertheless.
Of Hunting he briefly wrote, "God pity him."
In May, Gregory was glad to find that he would have to
go to Europe again, and purposed to give Annie a surprise.
But he received only a very sad one himself, for, on arriv
ing at Paris, he learned, to his intense disappointment, that
Mr. Kemp and his party had suddenly decided to return
home. He was eventually comforted by receiving a letter
from Annie, showing clearly that she had been as greatly
disappointed as himself; but, woman-like, most of the letter
was an effort to cheer him.
Still he was growing almost superstitious at the manner
in which she seemed to elude his loving grasp, and sighed,
"1 fear she will always prove to me a spirit of the air."
One bright morning, in the ensuing October, Gregory
again greeted, like the face of a friend, the shores of his
native country, and the thought that Annie was beyond
that blue line of land thrilled his heart with impatient
expectation.
As they approached Sandy Hook, the pilot brought
abroad a New York paper, and as he was carelessly glanc
ing over it, his eyes were caught by an advertisement of
the sale by auction of the Walton estate, his old home.
He saw by the date that the sale would not take place till
the following day, and he now felt sure that he could give
Annie a double surprise, for he had not written of his re
turn. He had learned from Annie that her father must
have intrusted large sums to Hunting which could not be
accounted for, and that beyond the country-place not much
had been left. He rightly guessed that this place was about
to be sold to provide means for the support of the family.
He was surprised that Annie had not written to him about
the sale, and indeed she had wished to, thinking that he
might like to buy it. But Mr. Kemp had dissuaded her,
414 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
saying that it was not at all probable that Gregory had the
means to buy so large a property, and judging Gregory by
himself, he added, "A business man does not want a country-
place anyway. Besides, Annie, if you should suggest it, it
might be a source of much pain to him to feel that he could
not."
But as soon as Gregory was ashore he hunted up one of
his senior clerks, and instructed him to go up the following
morning and buy the place at any cost, but not to let any
one know it was for him. He also told him to assure the
family that they need not vacate the place in any haste.
It soon became evident at the sale that the stranger from
the city was determined to have the property, and the other
bidders gave way.
When the clerk returned that evening Gregory plied him
with questions, and learned that Miss Walton seemed to
have great regret at leaving, and was very grateful when
told that she could take her own time for departure. In
fact, Annie grudged every October day at the old place,
that brought back the past so vividly. Gregory could not
forbear asking, with a slight flush, "How did Miss Walton
look?"
"Like her surroundings," said the clerk, politely blind,
"and not like a city belle. Mr. Gregory, I congratulate you
on possessing the most home- like place on the river."
Gregory took the earliest train the following morning,
and at noon found himself by the cedar thicket again, with
a strange thrill, as he recalled all that had occurred there
and since. He sat down to rest for a moment on the rock
where Annie had first found him more than a year before.
Beneath him lay his home his now in truth embowered
in crimson and golden foliage, that seemed doubly bright in
the genial October sunlight, while at his very feet were the
orchard's laden boughs, beneath which he had proved to
Annie the reality and depth of his love; and there beyond
was the cottage of Daddy Tuggar, with that old man smok
ing upon the porch. But, chief of all, he could mark the
A CHESTNUT BURR AND A HOME 415
very spot by the brook in the garden where Annie's hand,
like an angel's, had plucked him from the brink of despair,
and given the first faint hope of immortal life. Tears blinded
his eyes, but the bow of promise shone in them as he looked
heavenward, and said, "Merciful Father! how kind of Thee,
in view of my past, to give me this dear earnest of my
heavenly home!"
The sound of approaching steps aroused him, .and spring
ing up he saw through the thicket, with an emotion so deep
that it made him tremble, the one woman of the world
to him.
With an expression of deep sadness, and the manner of
one taking a lingering leave of a very dear friend, Annie
came slowly toward him along the brow of the hill. He
tried to still even the beating of his heart, for he would
not lose one moment of exquisite anticipation. And yet he
was deeply agitated, for he knew that he could not maintain
the brotherly disguise an hour longer.
Suddenly she looked toward the cedar thicket, and, as
if recalling what had occurred there, covered her face with
her hands, to hide the painful scene. Then he saw that she
would not even come to the place, but was turning to go to
the house by another way.
He darted out from his concealment and rushed toward
her. At first, in wild alarm, she put her hand to her side,
and leaned against a chestnut- tree for support Then recog
nizing him, with a glad cry, she permitted him to take her in
his arms, while she hid her face on his shoulder. A moment
later they recoiled from each other in blushing confusion.
"Well?" said Gregory, stupidly.
She was the first to recover herself, and said, "0, Walter,
I'm so so glad you have come at last!"
"Do I look sorry ?" he asked, taking her hand.
"Oh!" she exclaimed; "this is too good to be true!"
"That's what I think, i feared you would take flight
the moment I appeared."
4 ' W hen did you arrive ? Come, tell me everything. ' '
416 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
"Not all at once, dear Annie. But let me give you
a seat on the rock by the thicket, and then I will say the
catechism."
"Please, no, Walter; not there," she said, drawing back.
"Yes, there; we will give that place a new association."
But she was glad to reach the seat, for she trembled so
she could hardly stand.
Then he told her how he purposed to surprise her, and
answered every eager question.
"O, Anniel" he concluded, "how I have longed for this
hour! Never did that dreadful ocean seem so wide before."
She looked at him more fondly than she knew, and said,
"Ah, Walter! your blood is not on my hands after all."
"Let me see," he said.
"I know it is not," she replied, putting them behind her
back; "don't I see you there well and happy?"
"1 don't know but it will be on your hands yet," he said,
half- tragically, springing up.
She gave him a swift look of inquiry, but her eyes
dropped as quickly beneath his eager gaze, while her deep
blush caused her to vie with the sugar-maple on the lawn
in very truth. But he said after a moment, "Annie, dear,
Won't you let me interpret another chestnut burr for you ?"
"Certainly, Walter," she tried to say innocently, "all
that are on the tree. ' '
"Now don't make fun of me, because I'm desperately
in earnest. J don't want one like that I chose with a great
lonely worm-infested chestnut in it What a good, whole
some lesson you gave me then I Thank you, Annie,
darling."
"Brothers don't use such strong language toward their
sisters," said Annie, looking on the ground.
"i can't help it. To tell the honest truth I'm not much
of a brother. Neither do I want one like that which you
chose with three chestnuts in it Three, faugh! I've had
enough of that. I want to find one like that which you
brought me the first day I met you here."
A CHESTNUT BURR AND A HOME 417
"You will never find it if you stand talking forever."
"You won't go away ?"
"Perhaps not."
He looked at her doubtfully, but she would not meet his
eye. Then he started on his search, but kept looking back
so often that she laughed, and said, "I'm not a chestnut
burr."
"I'm afraid of you."
"Then you had better run away."
"Sisters shouldn't tease their brothers."
"Well, forgive me this time."
He caught a branch full of half -open burrs, and peered
eagerly in them -till he found one to his mind, and pulled it
off regardless of the pricking spines, then came and kneeled
at her side, and said, "Now, Annie, dear, look into it care
fully. This is nature's oracle. You see two solid, plump
chestnuts."
"Well?" she said, faintly.
"And you see this false, empty form of shell between
them?"
"Yes" with a touch of sadness.
"That's Hunting, poor wretch! flow unspeakable was
his loss!" and he tossed the worthless emblem away.
"And now, Annie, loved beyond all words I can ever
find to tell you, see how near these two chestnuts are to
gether as near as you and I are in heart, I trust. Surely
my poor pretence of brotherly character has not deceived
you for a moment. Won't you please put your dainty
fingers down into the burr and join the two together?"
She lifted her drooping eyes a moment to the more
eloquent pleading of his face, but they fell as speedily.
In a low, thrilling tone she said, "No, Walter, but you
may."
He dropped the burr and sealed the unspoken covenant
upon her lips.
After a few moments he said, very gently and gravely,
"Annie, do you remember when my arm last encircled you ?"
418 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
The crimson face turned pale as she recalled that awful
midnight when he rescued her from death.
Both breathed fervently, "How good God has been
to us!"
In their joy, as in fear and sorrow, they remembered Him.
"O, see!" cried Annie, "your hands are bleeding where
the burr pricked them, and you have stained my hands
again. Your blood is on them, ' ' she added, almost in fear.
"Yes, and the best blood of my heart ever will be. Is
not the 'blood upon us 1 the deepest and most sacred hope
of our hearts ? Is it not the proof of the strongest love the
world has known ? Let mine there be the pledge that my
life is as nothing when it can shield and shelter you."
And so he changed the meaning of the omen.
The hours passed unheeded. At last they went across
the orchard as before, and stopped and looked at the place
where the ladder fell, and then at each other.
"Walter," said Annie, shyly, "I gave you my first kiss
here. ' '
"I am repaid then."
Before going to the house, they called on Daddy Tuggar.
He was so amazed that he could only ejaculate, "Even in'."
"Mr. Tuggar, I have acted on your suggestion," said
Gregory. "I thought Miss Walton would be good company
forever, and I have the promise of it. ' '
"To think that I should have cussed you!" said the old
man, in an awed tone.
"But you will give us your blessing, now ?" said Annie,
smiling.
"My blessin' ain't worth nothin'; but I know the good
Lord will bless you both, even if Miss Annie never was an
awful sinner."
"Mr. Tuggar," said Gregory, "I own that place over
there. Will you take me for a neighbor till you are ready
to be Mr. Walton's?"
"O, Walter!" said Annie, with a glad cry, "is that really
true?"
A CHESTNUT BURR AND A HOME 419
"Yes, it became mine yesterday; or, rather, it remained
yours."
"Mr. Gregory," said Daddy Tuggar, his quaint face
twitching strangely, "if anybody steals your apples, I'm
afraid I'll swear at 'em, even yet."
"No, you won't, Daddy," said he. "But I'm going to
bring you over to spend an evening with us soon. Good- by 1"
They found Miss Eulie in the parlor, pensively packing
up some dear little relics of a home she supposed lost.
Gregory put his arm around her and said, "Aunty, I'm
going to claim relationship right away; put those things
back where you found them, and sit down here in the cosiest
corner of the hearth, your place from this time forth."
"How is this?" she exclaimed, in breathless astonish
ment.
"Well, Annie owns me, and therefore this place."
Johnny came bounding in, and Gregory caught him, and
said, "Here is the prophet of my fate. How did you tell
me your Aunt Annie managed people, the morning after
my first arrival here ?' '
V 'I said she kinder made people love her, and then they
wanted to do as she said," replied the boy, timidly.
"Let me tell you a secret," and he drew the boy and
whispered in his ear, "she is going to manage me on just
those terms. ' '
Then little Susie came sidling in, and Gregory took her
in his arms, saying, "So dimpled, yet so false, you re
nounced me for a chipmonk; and now I am going to be
Aunt Annie's beau till I'm gray."
Jeff next appeared with a basket of wood. Gregory gave
his black hand an honest shake, and said, "Why, Jeff, old
fellow, what is the matter with you to-night? The last
time I saw you you looked as if you were driving me to
the cemetery. ' '
"Well, Misser Gregory," said Jeff, ducking and shuffling.
"Ise did come mighty neah takin' de turnin' to de cem'try
dat day. I tho't you looked as if you wanted to go dar."
420 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR
As they sat down to tea, Zibbie put her head in at the
door, and said, "The gude God bless ye, for ye ha' kept
the auld 'ooman fra the cauld wourld yet."
Delighted Hannah could not pass a biscuit without a
courtesy.
That evening the hickory fire glowed and turned to
bright and fragrant coals as in the days past, but Annie
looked wistfully toward her father's vacant chair, and
sighed, "If father were only here!"
"Don't grieve, darling," said Gregory, tenderly. "He
is at home, as we are. ' '
A few evenings later Gregory brought up from the city
a large, square bundle.
"What have you there?" said Annie, greeting him as
the reader can imagine.
"Your epitaph."
"O, Walter! so soon?"
His answer was a smile, and quickly opening the pack
age, he showed a rich, quaint frame containing some lines
in illuminated text. Placing it where the light fell clearly,
he drew her to him and said, "Bead that."
"God sent His messenger of faith,
And whispered in the maiden's heart,
'Rise up and look from where thou art,
And scatter with unselfish hands
Thy freshness on the barren sands
And solitudes of death. ' "
"0 beauty of holiness,
Of self-forgetfulness!"
With a caress of unspeakable tenderness he said, "You
are the maiden, and God sent you to me."