How

"hant" had rocked in the chairs, and where all day yesterday the corpse had lainand the more mundane terror of having a hand in the division of the Durket property shook her being to its foundations, for the Durkets were fierce and reckless. Hurriedly she stuck the straws in cracks so far apart that if one projected a little more it could not be detected. Then she scurried out, giving the door a great jerk. What a hollow, reverberating, awful sound it was! Si started with an oath. Why had he let them put the straws in his father's room! It was there he had struck his mother-it was there he had intimidated his old father. He shivered as he remembered. could he have any luck in there? All seemed spellbound until Dave rose. "I'm feared," he said. This broke the spell, and they moved toward the door in a body. Along the narrow hall they jostled, none wanting to be first or last, and at the open door of the dead man's room they paused in silence. Then again Dave said, "I'm feared"-and Minerva pushed him in. Si pushed his way through the group and, following the reluctant David, marched up to the fireplace. He paused; he could not touch the straws; he asked Dave, "Which hand?" and Dave, being lefthanded, held up that member, causing his wife to snarl-" Don't he know thet han's unlucky-don't he know nothin'? "

Si knew it, and turned quickly to the right. He put his fingers on the straw, but did not draw it out until Dave did. One second Si stood still.

"Measure-measure!" came from the group in the doorway. Dave held up his straw, with a smile on his idiot face. It was at least three times as long as Si's!

Reub Budd strode into the room. From one to the other Si glanced, covered with Reub's pistol, then turned. He dashed his heavy heel against a window, driving out frame and glass. One wrench of the wreck with his hand, and he sprang through into the vard and was gone.

ΧΙ

The old heart sighs and waiteth patiently, For Time is sure, and Truth is very strong. "IF you had seen Si lip outer thet winder, Gramper, you'd abeen feared he'd kill hisseff." Hannah was telling the

story of the will, for Mrs. Warren had stated only the bare facts. She had watched Si's violent exit, then had ordered the horses. She had not said one word of farewell, nor had she spoken during the ride home. Arriving, she had given Mr. Warren an outline, had changed her dress, then sat knitting until supper, as silent as the dead.

The maltreatment of her father, and the defrauding of herself by her brother, were bad, but could be borne, because in her estimation they had aggrandized the Durkets. But that this evil should work for an enemy was intolerable.

When Hannah finished, Mr. Warren shook his head. Si ain't agoin to kill hisseff," he said, ner do nothin' to nobody what kin hurt him, 'ceppen when he's drunk. Big talkin' don't make big doin'; hit's these still tongue folks what's dangerous. An' now I know why Dave Durket ain't hed no luck. Mertildy's daddy were a hard man, but I never 'llowed Dave'd beat him when he got too weak to do nothin'. The Lord'll wipe the Durkets out if they ain't keerful. I've seen amany a name go out for the lack o' the Lord's blessin'. Peaceful folks what tries to do right don't make much stirrin', mebbe, but they spreads an' multiplies. But when folks gits biggitty an' tucks all they can git, then if you'll watch you'll see 'em fadin' outer the land. An' folks says mournful

Thet's the last one'-they never 'llows thet God done hit kase the folks wornt wuth nothin' by hisn's count. If folks is fine, folks 'llows they oughter live."

"Minervy's mighty biggitty," Hannah

said.

"But them Budds is mighty keerful; they allers cropes tell they're sure they kin walk. Now they've done crope inter Durket's farm, I reckon they'll start to stomp. But thar's no luck ner blessin' thar, an' I'm glad we ain't never hed a stick ner a straw frum thar."

Hannah looked up. "Si ain't got much now," she said; "won't Granny let me 'lone?

"Thar ain't no tellin', Honey; Si's a Durket yit. Mertildy is asteddyin' 'bout sumpen, asettin' thar so still; but soon she can't hold hit, an' then I'll know. I never pesters her tell she gits done asteddyin'; then I 'grees tell I works her round. But

sayin' no at fust settles her fur ever-andever, an' she'll grind tell she gits what she wants. She gits sorry, too, but she'll die 'fore she'll sesso. Po' Mertildy! I wonder whar Si is?" looking up as Mrs. Warren entered.

"I ain't pestered 'bout Si," she answered, quickly, "an' if money an' Lawyer Blogs kin get them Budds out Si's house, they'd better start; for I'll hev my right now, sure."

"You didn't surely git youun's shar', Mertildy, but we hed plenty."

"John Warren," looking at her husband, severely, " you knows I ain't greedy ner gredgin'; but young Dave is a fool, an' no pusson gainsays hit; an' as fur Minervy Budd," slapping her hands together, "if I jest could box her jaws oncest, she'd not chaw none fur awhile. Gosh! " and taking a piece of corn-cob and a knife from her pocket, she began to hollow out a pipebowl. "An' them two fools shent hev the ole place."

-

"Ain't you got no pipe, Mertildy?" "Pipe? I were that mad when Joe Billingsly I ain't again' to call him preacher' ner brether, nuther-when he were areadin' thet paper thet I busted my pipe 'ginst the chimbly back. Gosh! I wish I hed abusted hit 'ginst Joe Billingsly's head. I wisht I hed! An' when I 'members how I jawed Hannah," looking down at the girl who kneeled in front of the fire, "kase she wouldn't holler at the buryin', I'm mad. If I'd aknowed what my brether Dave hed wrote in thet paper, I'd never hev gone nighst the buryin', much less hollered." Screwing a piece of cane into the hole she had made for the pipestem, "But I will say thet Hannah Warren never put me to no shame 'ceppen as a moaner, an' now I'm glad 'bout thet. An' when I seen Hannah astannin' 'longsider Minervy Budd, I says to Betty Slocum, says I,If hit ain't fur all the worl' liker horse an' a mule,' says I. But Betty knowed thet the mule were agoin' in the horse's stable, an' she never said nothin'. But I'll git my shar' if I hes to gie hit to ole Blogs."

66

to the Durkets yit; an' if you tuck hit, hit'll be Warren land or Blogs land one ; but leff hit, an' hit's Durket land yit. An' if Si'll do what I say, he'll build him a nice house. If I'members, thar's a good grove o' trees on Si's side o' the place."

"You 'members," Mrs. Warren answered, "but them trees is in the ole graveyard. A lot o' Si's land is in thet graveyard, an' thar's heaps o' onjestice in the line drawed across the farm."

"I'grees to thet, Mertildy, but Dave might hev hed the bad side jest like Si done. An' then sperrets walks in the old house. Thet nigger what come to tuck the nags back, says Dave'll not git no niggers to stay on hisn's place."

Perhaps Mi

Mrs. Warren was silent. nerva had not gained so much after all.

"An' if Si'll jest do as I say," Mr. Warren went on, "he'll build him a house like them houses to Sewanee. Then thar'll be two Durket places." Hannah rose. She had to go; this soothing method did not seem honest to her, and yet she saw the wisdom. A difficult point had been rounded, and Si reinstated, as it were. But did not her grandfather realize that if once Mrs. Warren undertook the uplifting of Si, she would insist on Hannah's marrying him? A new house-new furniture-and then a wife? She raised her hand in a silent vow.

Si did not kill himself, but appeared in Lost Cove the next day in a vile temper ; and Mrs. Warren became so much interested in persuading him to a quiet course of action, that she forgot the lawsuit she had threatened. She built and furnished Si's new house several times that morning, while Mr. Warren showed Si that if he chose the arbitrators wisely, and let them hear no complaint, that they would give him every advantage in the division of the stock and movable stuff. People knew that Dave had more than his share, and public feeling would turn to Si. By dinner Si was quiet, and he and Mrs. Warren took Dock into their confidence; while from her grandfather Hannah heard the morning's talk, and found that his sympathies

"I'd ruther the Blogs hev hit as the Budds."

per seems like he thinks more o' Si; an' youun's Granny is agoin' to stay in Si's fine new house. Will you go, Hannah?" "Thet I won't."

"An' if youun's Gramper goes?" The girl's face was white and set. hire out, or kill myself," she said.

"I'll

Si went away pacified, and surprised Minerva so much by his quiet demeanor, that she insisted on his returning to his old quarters. And Si speaking of his new house, Reub Budd said that Dr. Slocum had a book of plans which he would get for Si. And the Budds, who had remained to keep the peace, rode away, feeling that things were safe. But Minerva's feelings were mixed. All the talk was for Si; all the plans were for Si-and she saw Hannah ruling over a much finer house, and Mrs. Warren playing the great lady. She began to think that she would rather have the new place.

The spring was turning out unusually bad. Rain and premature warmth that set all the fruit-trees blooming. "Thar'll be no fruit this year," Mrs. Warren said, "kase thar's 'bleeged to be a late frost." Hannah was troubled. Still, she had been lucky of late. The hens were doing well, and there were two litters of pigs, and the calf born lately was a heifer; so that there were some cheerful things. But the weather was bad, and she seemed to see the seed rotting in the ground.

Meanwhile Si came often. His house had been contracted for, and the lumber was on the spot near the old graveyard, where some trees had grown out of the burying limits, and made a pleasant shade. Mrs. Warren had spent a night at Minerva's to look after Si's plans and the site, and when she came away she left Minerva feeling that the worst luck of her life was Dave's drawing the best half of the farm. The division of the movables and stock was now at hand, however, and Minerva determined to strike for her own advantage.

XII

I love thee with the breath,

ise much for clearing. Hannah looked after the young creatures to see that none had been drowned; looked hopelessly at the fields, and thought anxiously of the big spring. This was a strange formation in the side of the mountain. A steep path climbed up to it, then climbed down again into a great basin of rock where lay the pool. It had no inlet or outlet-an underground lake, and tradition said that it had no bottom.

This morning when Hannah went for water she climbed up as usual, and, as the path was slippery, made a long step to put her over the top of the basin. The day before she had had to go down several feet to dip up the water-to-day she grasped the rock to regain her balance; for the water brimmed up to the top. She stood still in anxious astonishment. had never seen it so high. She had heard her grandfather say that once or twice it had come over; the creek had backed up at

She

the same time from the end of the Cove, the outlet not being large enough, and together they had flooded the little valley. Would there be a flood now? There was not much hope in the soft, gray sky; and she filled her buckets quickly. She must get the pigs and calves to a safe place. She must get Dock to help her. It was early, and her grandmother was just stirring when she went to tell the news. "Lord, Lord!" she heard her grandfather say, then groan as he realized his helplessness. She kindled the kitchen fire, and put on the kettle, then, mounting old Bess bare backed, she Lizer stood in rode off to the Wilsons. the door of the house, and Dock was at the wood-pile.

"Dock!" she called, "Dock, come quick!" and, dropping the axe, Dock ran. Lizer came forward, too, but Hannah had already turned, and, with Dock trotting alongside, was on the way home.

"The spring's clean up to the top," she explained, "an' yisterday I went down an' seen that the creek was abackin' up, an' I wants to git the stock to the mountain. Hit'll be awful, Dock."

"Mebbe hit won't; mebbe hit won't

looking up, his kind face flushed with the quick time he was making, “kase I'll make a pen fur 'em an' kivver hit with rails; an' 'ginst night comes I'll build a fire nighst hit an' put my dog Buck in the pen, an' I reckon no varmints 'll come thar. An' we'll shet the calves in thar, too. "Jest don't you fret, Hannah.”

"I won't; an' we'll put the chickens in the loft an' the wood in the house; but the crap, Dock?”

enough to burn all night, and if it fell it could not hurt anything. Dock was at the fire now, stirring it until a great cloud of red, wild sparks flurried about him; and silhouetted against the lurid light he looked double his real size. The dog was barking with delight, and Hannah could see the cows passing in front of the fire. She drew her little shawl closer about her; it was not raining, and she remembered some wood they had not brought in. She

Hannah never forgot that day, gray and chilly, and raining at intervals. Fortunately it was not far they had to go to build the pen, and the part of the rail-fence that was nearest the spot was quickly taken down and put into proper shape. Then Dock enticed the pigs and Hannah drove the calves, and, grunting and bleating, they were put away. The sitting-hens were the next difficulty. To move one is almost fatal, and Hannah was tempted to take the risk of the water; but an extra shower made her change her mind, and in tubs and baskets, the hens, unmoved from their nests, were transported to the loft, and left covered until they should quiet down.

At last the day was done, and Hannah, kneeling in front of the fire, looked very tired. But she felt more hopeful. The rain might put out Dock's watchfire, but the dog was in the pen, and the evil from the water was sure, while the evil from "varmints" was only possible.

"Hit seems to me like I hearn the water apourin' over at the spring," Mrs. Warren said, coming in suddenly. "Hit's bad; an' Dock's gone to turn the stock out, so they kin find a high place. Hit's bad to be shet up in a hole."

Hannah went outside quickly to listen. She could hear Dock's voice and the stumbling footsteps of the cattle; and the calves, hearing their mothers, began to bleat.

The rain had ceased, and in the pause she listened. She heard a dim sound like falling water; she could not be sure it was the spring, for any stream would sound on a night like this. She looked for Dock's fire. It was a good thought putting it into that hollow gum-trunk where the rain could not reach it. The trunk was big

armful, went back into the house. The next turn she let fall a log, and water splashed into her face. A rain-pool, she thought. The third turn she made she met Dock. "I'm totin' in mo' wood," she said, and he turned to help her. This time she seemed to get into the water. She filled her arms and turned away, when an exclamation from Dock stopped her.

• Water ! Hit's backed up, Hannah, an' don't come out no mo'." Hannah's heart failed her.

She staggered a little with her heavy load, then Dock came up.

"Hit's all right," he said, cheerily; "hit'll soon clear up."

But Hannah walked beside him, silent. The darkness, the rising wind, the creeping water-seemed living enemies.

She was chilly, and her feet and clothes were wet, and there seemed nothing to do now and she went into the kitchen. Dock looked down on her for a moment as she sat, all drooped together, then, pushing up the fire in the stove, he went out, shutting the door.

Hannah did not move. She was tired out, and it seemed useless to fight any longer now that the water had backed up. The kettle began to sing. Since dawn she had worked like a man-now she must work like a woman. If her father had lived, it would have been better. His patient face came up before her. She had never heard him complain. The kettle sang louder, and the steam shot from the spout. She got up slowly. "Po' daddy, hit's youun's work I'm doin'," she said; “an' I'll do hit tell I draps."

The dishes were soon put away, and she pulled down her sleeves, put out the fire, then paused to tell the old people that all was safe, saying nothing of the rising water.

She wondered if she needed to make a fire for herself; she was so tired. She saw a line of light under her door. She opened it a bright fire burned in the chimney, the hearth was swept, and a pile of wood was in the corner.

"Dock done hit," she said, "an' him so wet an' tired. I'd ruther been beat!" She shut the door softly and walked to the fire, while the slow tears filled her eyes. "He seen I were clean down, an' he done

T is an impertinence to ask a man still in the game whether the game be worth the candle. He thought so once, no doubt, or he would not have begun playing; and the courteous presumption is that he persists in his opinion. Whatever may be his secret guesses as to the value of the stake, your true sportsman will play out the game, and as long as he is playing his best he makes but an indifferent philosopher. No man absorbed in a profession can assess critically that profession's claims and its rewards, but he can at least recall some of his anticipations upon entering it and compare them with the realities of his actual experience.

To a young man with some taste for the things of the mind, the life of a college professor offers manifold points of attraction. The candidates for the profession have usually won some distinction as undergraduates, so that from the first moment of post-graduate study one has the feeling of association and rivalry with picked men. The days when the valedictorian was invariably called back to his Alma Mater as a tutor, to be used in any department that was short of tutors that year, or when the Rev. Mr. Blinker of Mudville, famous in college as a mighty handler of the lexicon, but quite unappreciated in Mudville, was on that account tolerably sure of getting a professorship, are indeed rapidly receding. Sometimes men drift into college work from other callings, or are drafted

from among the teachers in preparatory schools, but the conventional road to pro motion is some form of specialized graduate study. The experience of foreign life thus comes to many an American in the years when he is most impressionable to its stimulus and charm. Berlin and Leipsic, it is true, send back young doctors who are delightfully unconscious how much they must unlearn, but most of them get their bearings again long before they secure their coveted chairs. The years of preliminary training as tutor or assistant are likely to be happy years, too, in spite of drudgery and jealousies and hope deferred. There is the excitement of meeting one's first classes; the first curious glimpse, it may be, into faculty meetings; the first letter addressed to you as "Professor "—you bless the kindly error; the notice of your first paper; the companionship of other young fellows like yourself, already infinitely removed from undergraduate sympathies, and not yet admitted to the inner circle of professorial intimacies. Lucky years, when spurs are to be had for the winning, and when many a teacher, without ever suspecting it, does the best work of his life!

At last, on the red-lettered day of all, comes the professorship, the solid-built chair that is warranted to last, instead of the temporary affair which you now turn over to the next man behind you. You are secure. Barring incapacitating illness, and