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ageYou will believe me, won't you, when I say rash I'm sorry?»

I do believe you,» he replied; «and God bless you for it. It's the only kind word I've heard to-day.»

And then, feeling the lump coming back, he thurried on around the house, and left Jane erstanding there as if she did not exactly underle stand the young man. Abner walked slowly Valong the side of the yard, and summoned all his will power to repress the emotion which he felt to be unworthy of him as a man. Finally he turned the other corner and mingled with the crowd.

A half-hour later the people saw Abner and John go down to the barn, but they did not see them making their way over the field under cover of the fence, nor did they hear Abner saying: «I guess they expect us to stay in the house all night; but, John, I just can't do it. It's not ours any longer.»>

«That's how I feel, Abner; but where are we goin' to sleep to-night? »

"I'm blessed if I know,» he answered, and ooth became thoughtful.

They walked along at a good gait until they came to the fence at the edge of the woods, and, as if controlled by a common impulse, they halted on the top rail and sat there in solemn meditation.

«Anyhow, I'm glad it's over,» said Abner, with a sigh.

«It was worse than a funeral,» said John. There was another pause, but presently Abner brought back his far-away thoughts. «John," he said, «how would you like to go to store-keeping? »

« What on?»

«Nothing; that 's what all these millionaires began on.»

« We don't know nothin' about keepin'

store.»

« We'll learn.»

« Who's goin' to start us?»>

<<I was thinking if we could get old man Cobb to let us have that house down at the cross-roads, we could borrow a dollar or two and start in just for luck. There ain't any store in this neighborhood, and I believe we could make enough, anyhow, to live on. We've got to do something.»>

«No doubt about that. Where are we goin' to get our supper and lodgin'? »

«John,» replied Abner, with a slight tone of resentment, «all these rich men had to go round hungry before they struck luck. If you 're going to give in like this you'll be poor the rest of your days.»

John was silent. He propped his boot-heels

on the second rail, and, bending his body forward, placed his elbows on his knees and his chin in the palms of his hands.

Abner was disposed to argue the point. «I've read all about these rich men,» he said; and I tell you that some of them, when they started out, were no better off than we are.»>> Only a few lingering rays of daylight were left, but from beneath his ill-fitting coat Abner drew the precious volume.

«You brung it, did you?» asked John, in evident disappointment.

« Of course I brought it. This book is worth more to me than the old farm.»

"I guess it 's mighty nice to know how to read,» said John-«mighty nice; but I wish the old book had never come to the house. You're not half as sociable as you used to be. Course the book can talk to you; but who's goin' to talk to me?»

Abner laughed one of his cheery old laughs, the first since the day of his father's death; and he followed it with a slap on John's shoulder that threatened to upset his equilibrium.

« Well, anyhow, it 's good to hear a laugh once more,» John declared. «I'd begun to think we'd gone into the long-faced business for good.»

Abner became serious. «I feel, John, as if we'd escaped from somewhere-just like a bird must feel when it gets out of the cage.»> He was turning the leaves as he spoke, and when he came to the page he wanted he held it up. «Do you see that man? >>

"Yes, I see him. He 's pretty enough to balk a mule.»>>

«That man 's worth forty million dollars. Think of it! Forty millions! Lots of them in here are worth millions too, and they were all poor. Some of them were barefooted, and you know we 're not that bad off. I like this man the best because he did n't do everything all at once. He started a little store, and worked up and up and up till he owned about everything in sight; and he says-I can't see to read it, but I remember his words-he says: (Begin modestly, deal honestly, take good risks, and keep eternally at it, and you'll succeed.) And I tell you, John, that the reason these fellows got along was because they had the nerve to strike out. One over in the back part of the book-he 's worth twenty millionssays: No young man will accomplish anything or is worth anything unless he has confidence in himself; and the one next to him in the book says, Nerve is better than genius, and pluck will beat luck every day in the week.› »

<«<That's all right, Abner; but have you got the nerve to ask old man Cobb?»

Abner hesitated, and John had to repeat the question.

«Yes, I have. As the fellow who made ten millions said, Never put off anything. If it's worth doing, do it at once. I'll do it this very night.»

He sprang from the fence, and called to John to follow. Night had come on, but they knew the woods as well as they did the public highway. They proceeded in single file until they reached the mill-dam, and they went over it to the house of Mr. Anthony Cobb. John remained at the gate, and Abner proceeded up the path. Before he reached the door a sudden weakness came upon him; he paused as if to breathe a prayer. «Just so she don't come to the door I can pull through,» he muttered to himself.

But she did come. «Why, Abner! Walk right in," she said. «We are very glad to see you.»

«No-no-thank you, Jane-thank youI just wanted to see Mr. Cobb.>>

« I'm very sorry, but he went to town after the sale.» The light shone through the open door and disclosed John with his elbows on the gate. «John, is that you?» she asked; and then she added, «Both of you come in and have some supper.»

John's listlessness disappeared as if by magic, and he opened the gate and started forward, but he was stopped by Abner's words. « We are very much obliged, but you must

excuse us.»

Then, with a good night, he went on down the path, and John followed him over the dam in melancholy silence.

«Abner," he said presently, «when them there millionaires of yourn were goin' round hungry, did they throw away chances and starve for the fun of the thing, or did they do it just 'cause they had to?»

«John, you have n't any pride.»

water. The machinery of this gate was a primitive and cumbrous contrivance of thick boards that to be operated had to be raised by main force.

For more than a year the sawmill had been idle. It was not much of a building at best, being simply a plain shed of ample proportions, with windows concealed by big board shutters, and a roof of old shingles that had grown tired of one another and parted company, and turned their faces to a hundred different angles, as if inviting the sun to warp them from their fastenings, and allow them to drop to the ground and decay in peace.

Abner plunged through the darkness, with John following. When they reached the sawmill he stopped.

«John," he said, «we've got to sleep somewhere, and I guess we 'd better try this.» « But how about supper?»

Abner replied, with a slight tone of disgust, «Oh, go over into the orchard and get some apples, and while you are gone I'll pick out a place for a bed.»

When John came back with his hat full, Abner had selected the spot for the night's rest. In all truth, John was not happy, and he even said that he did not want to be a millionaire; and then he sank into a sleep that many a millionaire would have given his millions to enjoy.

Abner was sleepy, but at first he could not sleep. The face of Jane haunted him. It had in it something he had never seen before. Much as he had liked her, he had never felt what had come to him that day. When she spoke so sweetly the few kind words, it seemed

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«Maybe not, but I got an appetite as big succeeded. They struck out.» And he forgot as this mill-pond.»

IN that part of the country there is a stream not large enough to be a river, almost too small to be a creek, that winds in and out for many miles; and wherever it dips between ridges of high ground there is a dam to intercept its progress and to store up water-power for a mill. The dam at this point was a big embankment of earth with a grist-mill at one end and a sawmill at the other, and with a great rude trough of thick timber in the middle for a flood-gate to carry off the surplus

about the sale, and thought of Jane; and as he thought of her he fell asleep, and dreamed that he was at the supper-table, and she was helping him to hot biscuit and steaming coffee, and fried chicken smothered in rich brown gravy.

When Abner awoke the next morning John was standing over him. «Breakfast is ready,» he said, and Abner looked and saw two biscuits and a piece of cold chicken. Before he could recover from his astonishment, John explained.

I've been up more 'n a' hour. I thought I'd go over and see if old man Cobb had got

back. Miss Jane asked me if I'd been to breakfast. I did n't ask to be excused, -I did n't, but set right down and paralyzed things. When she went out of the room I put the two biscuits and the chicken leg in my pocket, and I'm sorry it 's not more.»>

The incongruity of the thing began to dawn upon Abner. He had forsaken the old home because Mr. Cobb had bought it, and here he was occupying Mr. Cobb's sawmill and eating his apples, and John had literally stolen a breakfast for him from the Cobb home! The only excuse he could make to himself was that nobody was using the mill, and he could not think of going back to the farm. Worse than all was the fact that Mr. Cobb was not at home, and would probably not return until the next day. This meant more waiting and more loss of time.

Indeed, Mr. Cobb did not return that night, and the next day a heavy rain set in. John trudged again to the Cobb house, only to find that they did not expect him until late at night, as he had sent word that important business detained him in town.

All through the afternoon the rain came down dismally. It was very tiresome waiting in the old mill, but there was nothing else to do, and Abner and John spent the time as comfortably as they could, Abner reading from his book, and John falling regularly to sleep as he read.

When nightfall came the steady pattering on the roof did not disturb them; the soughing of the wind among the trees did not bother them; the creaking of the loose boards, the rattling of the old shutters, did not interfere with their slumbers: but just before the break of day Abner awoke, and he suddenly realized that it was a very unusual storm. He sat up and listened, and then nudged his companion, who also sat up and listened.

«I wonder if it's been going on all night?» "Don't know,» replied John; « but if it has we'd better be moving. This old dam won't stand much of a strain.»

Abner made his way to the front of the mill. By the first murky light of the dawn he saw that the water had risen considerably in the pond. John joined him, and together they watched the downpour.

"If it keeps on the upper dam will break sure as thunder,» said John. «They 're not running the mill now, and there's nobody to look out for it, and if it breaks it's good-by here.»> "Look, John!» exclaimed Abner--«look! It's getting higher. I'll bet she's broke. This end is all right; come on to the other side to see how it is there.»>

They found everything safe as far as the flood-gates. They tried to lift the gates and thus relieve the pressure, but they could not budge the huge timbers. Several times they threw all their weight into the work, but it was of no use. Then Abner started on a run toward the grist-mill. They had not gone fifty yards when they saw that the break had begun. They reached the place as soon as they could, and found a stream of water cutting a small channel across the sand. In an instant Abner was on his knees digging with his hands and throwing the dirt to check it, and John was helping him with all his might and main. But the stream was running faster than they were hindering it. Abner looked around for something to use-for a shovel or a board or a log, but there was nothing in sight. « We can't do it,» said John; «it's no use to try.»

But Abner did not heed him. His mind was working with an intensity it had never known. As if in a flash the stories in the book of how men had saved railroad trains or stopped machinery or risen to a crisis which involved life and property went through his brain. If he could only do something, what a satisfaction it would be! Perhaps this was his first great opportunity. But what could he do? Suddenly the idea came. His ingenuity met the occasion. Spreading his coat-tails so that they would do the most good, he sat down in the middle of the channel, and with a voice more imperious than John had ever heard, he shouted:

«Pile the dirt back of me! Pile the dirt back of me!» Without a word John began the work. The stream was checked. There was a barrier to its flow, and John strengthened it by more sand, by pebbles, by everything he could lay his hands on. The emergency had been met, but it was by no means past. The water was chilling Abner to the bone.

«Do you think I can get up?» he asked. « If you do she 'll start again,» John replied. << Then I suppose I'll have to stay till somebody comes.»>

It was not a cheerful situation, but Abner took matters as patiently as he could with chills chasing through every nerve and fiber. But there was no help. Even when John began work again, and piled in more dirt with his hands, all that he could do was insufficent to take the place of the broad back that stayed the water's flow.

"It's just this way, Abner,» he said; «< if you get up the dam's gone.»

Abner commanded him again: «Run up to the other end and turn the water through the

mill.»

Off John went as fast as his fat legs could carry him. He threw the gate open, letting the water through, and starting the buzz of machinery. Then, as if frightened at what he had done, he hurried back to the place where his luckless companion was struggling with cramps and chills. This time the situation seemed to impress him humorously, and he asked Abner if he felt like a millionaire.

<«<If it's all the same to you,» replied Abner, «I don't want to sit here more than a week. If you've got any sense run up to Cobb's and tell the old man if he don't hurry down and help me out, I'll let his old dam go to smash and sue him for damages to boot.>>

Again John started, and after he had gone Abner closed his eyes, as if sinking under the strain and the cold, and he kept them closed until he thought he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. When he opened them his body moved in a sudden start that threatened the safety of the earthworks which it supported. Coming toward him rapidly, with hands occupied with a tin pot and an umbrella, was Jane Cobb.

It is curious how surprise acts upon human vanity. Abner ought to have thought of something worthy of the occasion; but the truth was that the first emotion that went through him was the remembrance that he had not been shaved for three days, and, worse still, that his face had not been washed or his hair combed since the morning before. But he did not have time to dwell upon such things. Jane was approaching rapidly. He had never seen her excited; she was always calm, self-possessed. Now she was flushed and trembling. Before he could speak she began to send, between her gasps, words across the distance between them- a distance which she was quickly diminishing.

«Oh, Abner, is n't it awful! You'll catch your death of cold. Father had started for the upper dam; I put John on the horse to overtake him. He'll be here soon. My! but you are brave! Is n't it cold sitting down there?» «I've been in warmer places; but it won't hurt me. I'm never sick, you know. Why, Jane, what's that? >>

She had quickly poured some coffee from the pot into a cup, and handed it to him.

"I thought you'd be awfully chilly inside,» she said, so I brought it; but I'm afraid it's not good. I was in such a hurry that I forgot all about the sugar. Drink it right down.»

She was standing at his side, holding the umbrella over him-so far over him that she was not fully protecting herself.

"I'll not drink a drop," he said, «until you

get under the umbrella. Don't bother about me; I'm wet anyhow.»>

But she did bother, and although she took a step closer, she did not leave him unprotected. He put the cup to his mouth, and then, more nervously than before, she exclaimed, «Oh, wait a minute! Here are some quinine pills. Take all of them,» and she poured half a dozen into his hand. Obedient to her commands, he washed them down with the coffee.

<<That's the best coffee I ever drank in all my life," he said.

<< Why, Abner!»

«Yes," he said, bending forward and looking up, «because you made it and because you brought it.»

She gave a quick scream. «Don't move! don't move!» she exclaimed; and throwing down umbrella and coffee-pot, she jumped behind him and with her hands repaired the little break in the sand that his movement had made. Then she took the umbrella once more, and stood at his side.

«I beg your pardon; I won't do it again,» he said; and then added, «Jane, you are the most thoughtful person I ever knew. At the sale you were the only one who said a kind word to me, and now-»

«Do you think the water will get any higher?» she quickly asked. «No; but I don't care-just so you are here.»>

«Hold the umbrella, Abner, and I'll pour you another cup of coffee. It 's not very warm, but it's better than nothing.»>

He held the umbrella over her as far as he could hold his arm, and wished that his arm were longer. Somehow as she poured the coffee Abner forgot about his unwashed and unshaven face and uncombed hair, and admired the girl at his side, her graceful ways, her sweet, earnest face. It made him glad that his better intentions had conquered, and that he had saved the dam, if only for the few moments of her devoted attention. When a young man feels that a good woman is regarding him as a hero, martyrdom is easy and pain is naught. Abner felt that he might like the saving of dams as a steady occupation, provided Jane would rush to his rescue. An inexpressible something surged through his heart, and in the warmth it brought the cramps were forgotten and he was happy. He did not know what it was, but he did not know what love was; and he took the coffee as if it had been brought down between the raindrops by an angel, instead of being poured from a tin pot by a girl enveloped in a red

shawl that in all candor was not becoming to her purple dress.

«Jane," he said, « I'll never be able to thank you for this. You are so good and kind.»>

He might have said more, but from the distance came the sound of horses urged to their utmost speed.

It was true that Abner had never been ill, but his experience that morning was too much even for his fine health. It was pneumonia, and for several days the doctor feared the worst; but the worst stopped at the narrow line that separates life from death, and when the recession began the patient returned safely to consciousness and strength. When he came to himself—it was an afternoon when the sun of early winter was flooding the room with its warmth and beauty-he saw Jane sitting near the open fire, busily knitting. Before he could speak she had glanced toward him, and had interpreted his wondering look. She arose and went to the bedside.

«You must not talk,» she said; «you are not strong enough yet. You're getting well now; you know the doctor said you must be quiet.>> In his weakness and helplessness her domination of him seemed the sweetest tyranny he had ever known.

But returning health brought its blessing speedily, and then came days when he was allowed to speak, and the only sorrows of those days were the absences of Jane from the room-absences which she tried to make, and which Abner with every resource at his command tried to unmake. One afternoon she had read to him, and he had asked her to stop.

"I've something to say, Jane; and I'll get better faster if you 'll let me say it now. I think you are the loveliest girl that ever lived in this world.»

She smiled slightly, but instead of replying picked up her knitting and began to work. She had taken several stitches when Abner spoke again.

«Jane, I love you.»

The smile went away and a warmth of sweetness and roses-the old roses that in summer bloomed out in the yard-came into her cheeks.

« I love you so much, Jane, that if you can't love me I don't think I care to get well.» Then the smile came back, only it was fuller and brighter now, and she turned her chair so as to face her patient.

«Abner," she said, «if a man loves anybody, do you think it's right for him to talk

VOL. LII.-88.

about it to others before he tells her? » And she put a significant accent on the word. «I don't understand,» he said.

<<Then I'll tell you. The second day after we brought you to the house you became delirious, and got to talking about being a millionaire, and other things. I did not feel it was exactly right for me to nurse you; but father had to be away, and John did n't know one medicine from another, and we could n't get anybody, and so it seemed that I had to do it.» This hurt Abner's pride. He wished she had explained it some other way.

«And you began to talk about other things that I did not care for anybody else to hear, and so I sat here through the days.»> "What other things, Jane?»

« Well, you went over all your plans about the store, and about getting rich, and then about getting married. You wanted a room where the sun shone in, and where after you got through your work you could come and sit and watch your wife while she was knitting, and you said that you would love her more and more every day.»

She suddenly changed. «Father heard you going over your plans about the store, and he thinks it 's a good idea and a fine opportunity, and I rather think that when you get up he will be willing to help you. In fact, I believe John has been at work down at the crossroads getting the old house ready for you.»

Abner could not find words, his thoughts were so confused, his emotions so confusing. At last he was able to ask:

«Jane, when my mind came back, and I could see and know, were you not knitting?»

«Yes, Abner; I've been knitting nearly all the time; but really it had to be done, it's so long since there has been any knitting done in the house.>>

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