opinion of doctors ever since they insisted on vaccinating the family, and mamma Knipple sided with the board of health. Otto began to feel a painful sympathy with Dake. "Oh, I didn't go for to kill him or to hurt him neither,' he was always saying to himself. "I wouldn't take the things 'cause he's a traitor, but he was good to me. I don't want him to die!" Mr. Francis's praises of his conduct were like a thorn pressing a raw wound; but he did not dare to repulse them. He longed to fly, but his anxiety for some word from Dake kept him passive. He waited, in his torture, until he saw Mrs. Francis's pretty, kind smile through the crowd of faces and the lights, and heard her declare that Dake's hurt was not serious; then he slunk away.

He crept under the shadow of the cypress trees, along the edge of the brake, to the new mill. He looked at it, not a beam shaken, not a stone of the chimney jarred.

He looked a little while, then he walked back to the store.

The door stood open, just as they had left it, in their flight. Otto walked up the dark stairs, feeling his way; but when he came to touch the door he recoiled. An uncontrollable, utterly irrational terror seemed to swoop down out of the night and clutch his soul. His knees knocked together and the chatter of his own teeth scared him, yet he could not for the life of him keep his jaws still.

"Oh Lord," gasped poor Otto, "how'll I ever live through this night? If only a rat 'ud come!

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But with a desperate effort he flung the door back and, running swiftly, he crossed the floor, jumped into bed, and cowered under the blankets. But the blankets are not woven that shall keep out Fear. Otto was not repentant, he was frightened.

His imagination had armed his nerves, beforehand, against one train of shocks; instead there came a horror for which he had not prepared and they were defenceless. The homesick boy loved Boo; over and over again he saw her laughing at that devil's plaything. He saw Dake's pallid face and the woman's wild eyes. He heard the oaths and

threats and curses. Somehow, Otto had expected that the poor people about would rather exult in the planter's misfortune; was he not, by rights, their oppressor? But now they raged against the man who had tried to kill Dake. They would kill Otto, if they knew. There was a step on the stair! No, it was nothing! The rustle of leaves was like voices. It was not the click of hammers, only the rattle of a sycamore bough in the wind. So the hideous hours wore on until, exhausted by his torment, the poor little lonely sinner slept.

Meanwhile, Dake was hardly less wretched. He uttered a deep groan in the middle of the night, startling Aunt Betsey, who was in the act of pouring some medicine into a spoon, and naturally shook the spoon. But she gave him the medicine just the same, conscientiously adding an extra half-spoonful. Then she looked down upon him with great tenderness and emotion.

Mother," said Dake, "why do you cry?" for the tears were twinkling on Aunt Betsey's lashes and, holding the bottle of medicine in one hand, she was gently stroking his hair with the other -and the spoon.

"Law me, honey," she answered briskly (after a sniff), "I ain't cryin', my eyes is jes' weakly, like."

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Am I 'urt bad?" said Dake.

"Naw, boy, Lord be praised, you aint. Doctor says a board struck ye an' knocked ye 'gin the tree, an' ye got a confusion (that's what he calls hit), in you head; an' you leader unner you right knee got tore by suthin'; but no bones is broke, an' you'll be peart agin, in no time."

Dake sighed and turned his face to the wall.

!

"Talk er me cryin'!" the old woman went on, "aint I got good reason fur ter cry an' praise the Lord fur whut you done fur we all this night. Me cry Ye had orte seen Marty Ann, she cried a haff hour studdy, when she warn't bussin' an' muchin' er Boo."

A quiver passed over Dake's face. Not a word did he say, being, truly, past speaking.

Drearily his memory had been plodding through the past evening. Bas

sett? Of course it was Bassett. But how much had Marty Ann helped him? He acquitted her, promptly, of any guilty knowledge, but he suspected that unconsciously she had given Bassett all his information. Through her he had learned of Dake's habit of working in the mill at night. It was at him, William Dake, that the blow was aimed. His single glance that night had shown him the hiding place cunningly contrived in the hollow behind the chest of drawers and covered with boards. By what miracle had the baby, pulling it out, escaped firing the horrible thing? The fuse, most likely, was burning all the while he was in the mill-had he remained his usual time- "By, I wish I had!" thought the wretched man. Then it was that he had groaned. The desolate loneliness, the sense of being hated, the shadow of entailing misfortune upon whomsoever befriended him, which had poisoned life for him before, had in it now the venom of a woman's deceit.

"Woman is a magic fire," muttered Dake, with his face to the wall that he wished was his grave.

"Fire?" cried Aunt Betsey. "Be ye chillin', honey? Marty Ann fotch in the big blanket!"

Marty Ann appeared, the prettier for the violet shadows under her large eyes and the pale cheeks and tremulous mouth. She stammered a few words of gratitude, which Dake received gently and coldly. She could not understand

him.

Neither could Aunt Betsey nor Mr. Francis.

He was the best of patients, quiet, morbidly cautious about giving trouble, joking, in a dry way, over his pain, and pathetically grateful for every kindness. "But someway, fur all his funnin', the critter's mightily down," declared Aunt Betsey.

"I wisht you'd go in sometimes, Marty Ann," she said once to her daughter, "you kin chirk him up better 'n ar un else."

"No, I caynt," answered Marty Ann quickly; "caynt you see yourself he

don't want me 'round?"

"Hev ye ben ill ter the pore critter? I'll bet ye hev."

"No, I ain't, maw," said Marty Ann. "I don't know what's the matter. Nor I don't care neither."

Why, then, did Marty Ann go and cry over Boo until the child howled in sympathy?

Dake could not help noticing her changed looks. "She's fretting because her scoundrel sweetheart done such a mean trick," he thought dismally. Nevertheless his heart yearned over her. Bassett was a boaster, a coarse fellow, but may be he would be good to her, and he was Marty Ann's choice. "I'll not stand in the way," said Dake.

The next day he spoke to Mr. Francis. "They've downed me," he said. What's the use? I'll go away. There's a good carpenter in Portia and he's a Knight of Labor, so they won't make a row. You can get Bassett back, then

66

I don't want him," said Mr. Francis. "He's not half a bad fellow," said Dake, "and a first-rate workman. I don't bear him no malice. I know how the decent workmen feel about scabs; I used to feel that way, myself. They're fellows that make a good bargain for themselves at the expense of their mates; the decent Knights or union men won't lift a hand against them, themselves, but they don't feel bad, I assure you, when the rough fellows do them a mischief. If I stay here, they'll do something to you. I'm going, that's all."

Mr. Francis's indignation, appeals, protestations were equally vain. The planter fumed, young Caroll swore, Aunt Betsey cried, Dake looked miserable, but his determination was not shaken one whit. Meanwhile, the swamp had been scoured, a couple of detectives were prowling about in disguise, and nobody was a pin's point the wiser.

Bassett rode defiantly to the store with a couple of witnesses, who swore (and he offered to bring a dozen more who would swear the same) that he spent the whole evening from seven until eleven of the night in question, at a certain saloon in Portia. "And I aint that kind of a fellow," said Bassett to the scowling faces, happily few, that day, which met his, "I fight fair, I do; and I'm ready to hold up my hands to anybody that doubts it! D -'em! Dyou all!" he yelled. In fact, Bassett

had primed up his courage for the trip a little too heavily.

The planter, Shinault, and a few of the cooler heads got him off the place with all speed.

Otto, who was in the store buying quinine for Dake, witnessed the scene, in indescribable agitation. The lad was a creature to be pitied. He spent most of his spare time in Dake's room. At first he had shrunk from seeing Dake, but very soon the only relief that he could get was there. Against his will he grew fond of Dake. It is hard when a man's eyes brighten at the sight of you, when he likes the touch of your hand, when you lift his weak head, when you see him suffering but always with a smile for you-it is hard, even if you are a young anarchist, to properly hate that Before a week was over Otto surrendered, he knew that he could not hate Dake ever again.

man.

"That 'ar boy 's plum changed up," Aunt Betsey declared, "ter my mind, now he sees how that 'ar sekrit socity done Dake, he are 'shamed an' he got a anxious notion er makin' up tew Dake fur bein' so mean. Got them blue pants on him, t' day, done so. Then, I made him h'ist his legs up on a chair so Dake wud shore see 'em. Dake smiled right pleasant when he seen them legs. But that boy, he looks so puny an' down, hits jes' turrible! Wunt eat a mite. Makes me feel right bad."

There was reason enough for Otto's looks. Harassed by the criminal's galley slave, Fear, which made him look askance at every new comer's face to see if it darkened at the sight of him; and strain his ears to catch the words of any voice roughened by anger, the unhappy little dynamiter cried out: "Am I always going to be scared like this?"

It never occurred to him to give up his job; his people needed his wages too much.

The threats which are always uttered, on such occasions, in primitive communities, kept his dread at fever heat. Apparently the least he had to expect was to be butchered with bowie knives, or strangled on a high limb of the great overcup oak facing the mill.

Neither was fear his only torturer. He was a frank lad with a sturdy self

respect of his own, witness his declining Dake's gifts though his rags hardly covered his skin, yet now he must be praised on every side for snatching the baby up and running; he must be clapped on the back by a score of hands black and white, and receive a miscellaneous array of tributes ranging from Marty Ann's Waterbury watch (you can buy a very good one at the store for two dollars and sixty cents) to the package from a burly admirer which contained a bowie knife and a popcorn ball- -it was intolerable!

But Otto remembered the threats and his heart failed him; he dared not attract suspicion by refusing.

"How they'd hate me if they knowed!" he thought. Neither had he any longer the poor comfort of being able to hate and despise the givers, because it is so difficult to hate and despise people who are kind to you.

Very worst of all, Otto was beginning to have ghastly doubts about the righteousness of the cause. He was so utterly solitary, poor little wretch. Winter, the blacksmith, voiced the universal opinion: ""Twar a skulkin' pusillanimous deed."

He addressed a crowd of farmers waiting their turn before his forge.

"Them fellers, them Knights er Labor done it, ter my mind," he continued. "Bassett when he war yere, he tole me er a heap er meanness they all done ter folks iz displeased 'em. "Taint safe ter mad us,' says he."

"He tole me," said a red-haired youth, "that when the Knights got thar will, nobody had need ter work more 'n eight hours a day. That's 'nuff, he says."

"An' how'd we all make a crap on eight hours a day, do ye reckon?" said Lum Shinault. "Shucks! ef ye want money an' truck ye got ter work fur it! Them knights is the durndes' fools! W'y that ar' Bassett he 'lows land had orter be free like water. By gum, I got a good farm I paid for, my wife an' me workin' hard, does he reckon we all goin' ter sheer with any triflin' feller comes 'long?"

"Whut I caynt enjure," said an old farmer, "is the way he done we all. He didn't have no gredge agin we all, yit yere he tries fur ter cheat us outen

""Twar a mean trick on Mist' Francis," said Shinault, "tell ye he done a sight er good, yere. I kin remember when thar warnt nary sightly heouses an' the store didn't sell nuthin' much 'cept white whiskey, an' the whole settlement wud git 'rarin' chargin' drunk Saturday night. Yes, sir, they wud so. Look a' the place, now, look a' them fine painted heouses an' the heap er winders! Look a' the school'us that's a church heouse, too! An' ain't the store the best all sorts store onywhar', an' don't sell a drop er licker. Ain't we all's farms more valluble kase er j'inin' this yere estate with the gin an' the store an' the steamboat landin'? I tell ye, Francis an' Caroll done a sight er good."

"Dey's kin' gen'lemen fo' a fac'," agreed a tall negro, "dey did guv me dey did guv me credit to de sto' fo' meal an' po'k endurin' de winter w'en I ben down wid de antedelarious fever nur dey didn't know wedder I evah git up fo' to mek a crap fo' dem."

"Waal, ter my mind," said a big farmer, he of the bowie knife and popcorn ball, "ef a man got a gredge 'gin a yuther man let him go ter 'im an' have it out fair an' square. In co'se take 'is gun. This yere blowin' up mills -w'y, it's ondecent!"

A hollow-eyed man in butternut jeans was stirred to reminiscence, and told a long tale of how a Jew set fire to his brother's cotton gin in revenge for a bad debt.

"War ye shore 'twar him done it?" said Shinault.

out!"

"Leave 'im t' the law, boys. Ye better!" said Lum Shinault; he was Esquire Shinault now, a justice of the peace, and with a profound respect for legal methods.

"Oh we all aint goin," said the farmer, and there must have been some occult pleasantry in the remark, since the crowd broke into a rough laugh.

Otto was afraid of their mirth; he hurried away-to think.

Now, as it happened, the farmer was merely bragging; and had he not been, Bassett was safe in St. Louis. But this Otto did not know. He said to himself that either he must confess or Bassett would be sacrificed. The idea of confession was not new; it had come to him once or twice before; and this morning he had felt a desperate longing to thus prevent Dake's going. For Dake was going that day. Otto overheard part of the conversation between him and Mr. Francis.

'Dake, I am sorrier than I can say," said the planter; "it's all nonsense, your notions about my being exposed to danger if you stay. A lot of trifling blowhards, I aint afraid of them. Why, confound it, I reckoned you'd stay and marry a pretty Arkansas girl and settle down."

Then Dake's voice came with a tremor

in it: I swear I wouldn't ask any girl to take a man for a 'usband that might be brought in dead to her, any day, or all crippled up and useless, worse than dead. I'd think too much of the girl I cared for, to ask that!"

And, directly, the voices having grown duller because Boo was drawing Seerayphine Dake and a new wagon through the gallery, Aunt Betsey appeared blowing her nose and wiping her eyes and slashing the air with her big red handkerchief, in a state of mingled wrath and woe.

"The critter's deestracted," she wailed, "fixin' t' go t' Porshy t' see the cyarpenteer thar, ef he'll come-in co'se he'll come, dad burn him!—then, he are goin' fur good. An' he aint no whar nigh well. Aint sot up yit. Goin' off by his lone, pore boy. Declare, I wisht them sekrit socities was all sunk en the river!

She hurried away, crying.

Otto had wondered if he could not tell, but his heart failed him.

It is so seldom that we act from simple motives, in this world; we do in fiction, we do in the newspapers, and we are continually presuming that other people do; but we ourselves-how of ten can we even decide which one of our medley of motives cast the final vote?

Was it his remorse for the wrong which he had done Dake, or his disgust with his false position, or his still ardent loyalty to "the order," impelling him to protect Bassett at any cost? Otto did not try to decide. He only knew there was nothing left but to tell.

Was Uncle Bruno, who was so good, right? Or was Mr. Francis right? he was good, too. And Dake was good. But did good people oppress the poor? How could it all be? It did not matter, anyhow he had only done mischief; he, not Dake, was the traitor; he had disgraced the order. Yes, there was nothing left.

"They all think so kind of me," he thought with an ache in his throat, "and they trust me so. He will feel awful bad" (he meant Dake) "but it ain't no use, I'll tell Mr. Francis and beg him he shall not tell Mr. Dake, and they kin hang me to the blacksmith's tree, for his bed is the other way, or they kin wait till he is gone so he shall not know-but Oh, meine Mutter und die Kleine !"

by distance, sobs and moans and the hoarse murmur as of a frantic mob approaching; he heard them all more plainly than he heard the wind rising in the cypress brake. Did he stop and listen intently, such noises would cease, and he would realize that his imagination had feigned them, but they added to the constant strain on his nerves. Even now that the worst was come, that he ought to be absorbed in the moment (for he felt his feet stumbling against the steps), even now he caught himself wondering was it really Marty Ann weeping back in a dim corner of the empty store, or the same old noises of a dream.

No one was in the store.

He crawled down the long room, feeling his way, for he could not see.

Behind the gilt wire screen which protects the office proper from the small room in the rear of the store, Mr. Francis sat poring and frowning over the biggest ledger of all.

Otto did not see a head leaned against the wall of the safe, a head with haggard features and a white cheek, or a thin hand which clutched the safe door knob to hide its trembling. Neither did he perceive Aunt Betsey towering above the screen in a yellow sunbonnet, flapping with her motions, as she rocked her high stool by bracing her two hands against the desk. All Otto's dim eyes showed him was Mr. Francis's stern face.

He staggered into the office and steadied himself against the leg of the

His

"Mister," said he, "I done it all. If they hang me you send my mother the wages. Don't let them hurt Jim, I done it all."

"What in the devil-" said Mr. Francis; he was not a profane man, but he had been sorely tried, to-day, losing Dake. He shut the ledger with a bang. "What do you mean?" said he.

"The explosion-that blowed up the mill," faltered Otto; this anger was the beginning, "I done it all; nobody else knowed nothin' 'bout it."

Aunt Betsey jumped from her stool with a thud.

"I don't believe you," cried Dake hoarsely.