The Light in the Clearing
A TALE of the NORTH COUNTRY in the TIME of SILAS WRIGHT
By IRVING BACHELLER.
Author Of EBEN HOLDEN. DUI AND L DABJLBL OP TUB
ISLES. KEEPING UP WITH LIZZIE, fit*. Bto.
Oopyrlghl By h Hog 1
the deacon's shoulder and
a little shake.
"Awake, ye limb o' the law." ha de-
manded. "Prayer is better
sleep."
The deacon arose and stretched | Public Square of AlTlt It to Be
CHAPTER X.
—11—
A Party and—My Fourth PerilT
It was a rainy Sunday. In the
middle of the afternoon Uncle Pea-
body and I had set out In our spring
buggy with the family umbrella—a
faded but sacred Implement, alwnys
a ghost. It seemed to me, although I
caught her. often, looking at me. I
Judged that her father had given her
a bad report of us and had some re-
grets, In spite of my knowledge that
we were right, although they related
mostly to Amos.
Next afternoon I saw Mr. Wright
carefully dried, after using, and hung i and the president walking back at d
In the clothes press. We were drenched
to the skin In spite of the umbrella.
It was still raining when we arrived
at the familiar door In Ashery lune.
Uncle Peabody wouldn't stop.
He hurried away. Ws pioneers rare-
ly stopped or even turned out for the
weather.
“Come In," said the voice of the
schoolmaster at the door. “There's
good weather under this roof."
Hs saw my plight as I entered.
"I’m like a shaggy dog that’s been
In swimming," I said.
"Upon my word, boy, we’re In luck,”
remarked the schoolmaster.
I looked up at him.
"Michael Henry’s clothes l—sure,
they're Just the thing for you I"
I followed him upstairs, wondering
how It had happened that Michael
Henry had clothes.
He took me Into his room and
brought some handsome, soft clothes
out of n press with shirt, socks nnd-
boots to match.
"There, my laddie buck," said he,
"put them on.”
"These will soon dry on me," I said.
"Put them on—ye laggard I Michael
Henry told me to give them to you.
It's the birthday night o’ little Ruth,
my boy. There’s n big cake with can-
dles and chicken pie and Jellied cook-
ies and all the like o’ that Put them
on. A wot hoy at the feast would
dampen the whole proceedings."
I put them on and with a great
sense of relief and comfort. They
were an admirable lit—too perfect for
an accident, although nt the time I
thought only of their grandeur as I
stood surveying myself In the looking-
glass. They were of blue cloth nnd I
saw that they went well with my
blond hair and light skin. I was put-
ting on niy collar and necktie when
Mr. Uacket returned.
We went below nnd the table was
very grand with Its great frosted cake
and Its candles, In shiny brass sticks,
and Its Jellies and preserves with the
gleam of polished pewter among them.
Mrs. Hscket nnd all the children, save
Ruth, were waiting for us In the din-
ing room.
"Now sit down here, all o' ye, with
Michael Henry," said the schoolmas-
ter. "The little lady will he Impatient
ril go and get her nnd God help us to
make her remember the day."
He wus goue a moment, only, when
he came back with lluth In lovely
white dress and slippers and gny with
ribbons, and the silver heads of Mnry
on her neck. We clapped our hands
and cheered nnd, In the excitement of
the moment John tipped over his
drinking glass and shattered It oa
the floor.
“Never mind, my brave lad—no glass
ever perished In a better cause. God
bleas you!"
We nte nnd Jested nnd talked, and
the sound of our laughter drowned
the cry of the wlud lu the chimney
and the drumming of the rain upon
the windows.
Next morning ray clothes, which had
been hung by the kitchen stove, were
damp nnd wrinkled. Mr. Racket came
to my n*om before 1 had risen.
“Michael Henry would rather see
his clothes hanging on n good boy
than on a nail In the closet,” said he.
“Sure they give no comfort to the
nail at all."
“I guess mine are dry now," I an-
swered.
"They're wet and heavy, boy. No
, sod o' Raldur could keep a light heart
lo them. 8ure ye'd he ns much out
o’ place as a sunbeam lu a cave o'
bat^. If ye cure not fur your own
comfort think o' the poor Ind lo the
green choir. He's that proud and
pleased to see them on ye It would bs
• shams to reject his offer. Sure, If
they were dry yer own garments
would he good enough, God knows,
but Michael Henry loves the look o'
ye In these togs, and then the presi-
dent la In town."
That evening he discovered a big
stain, black ns Ink, uu my cont nnd
trousers. Mr. Market expressed the
opinion that It might have cotue from
the umbrella, hut I am quite sure that
he had spotted them to save me from
the laat homemade suit I ever wore,
save In rough work, nnd keep Michael
. Henry's on my hack. In any event I
wore them no more save at chore time.
Hally came and went, with the Wills
hoy, and gsvs do heed to ms. In hsr
I had bo mors substaucs Uaaa
forth on tho bridge as they talked
together. A number of men stood In
front of the blacksmith shop, by the
river shore, watching them, as I
passed, on my way to the mill on an
errand. The» two statesmen were In
broadcloth and white linen and beaver
hats. They stopped as I approached
them.
“Well, partner, we shall be leaving
In an hour or so,” said Mr. Wright as
he gave me his hand. "Ton may look
for me here soon after the close of the
session. Take care of yourself and go
often tq see Mrs. Wright and obey
your captain and remember me to your
aunt und uncle.
“See that you keep coming, my good
boy,” said the president as he gave me
his hand, with playful reference, no
doubt, to Mr. Wrlght'a remark that I
was a coming man.
“Bart, I’ve some wheat to be
thrashed In the barn on the back lot,'
said the senator as I was leaving
them. “You can do It Saturdays, If
you care to, at a shilling an hour.
Stack the straw out of doors until
you've finished, then put It back In the
bay. Winnow the wheat carefully and
sack It and bring It down to the gran-
ary and I’ll settle with you when
return.”
I remember that a number of nqeu
who worked In Grlmshaw's sawmill
were passing as he spoke.
“Yes, sir,” I answered, much elated
by the prospect of earning money.
The examination of Amos was set
down for Monday and the people 6f
the vlllngo were stirred and shaken
by wildest rumors regarding the evi-
dence to he adduced. Every day men
nnd women stopped me In the street
to ask what I knew of the murder,
followed the ndvlce of Bishop Per-
kins nnd kept my knowledge to myself.
Saturday came, nnd when the chores
were done I went alone to the grain
barn In the back lot of the senator’s
fnrm with flail nnd measure nnd broom
and fork and shovel and sacks and my
luncheon. In a pushcart, with all of
which Mrs. Wright had provided ms.
It was a lonely place with woods
on three sides of the field and a road
on the other. I kept laying down
beds of wheat on the barn floor and
heating them out with the flail until
the sun was well over the roof, when
I sat down to cat my luncheon. Then
I swept up the grain nnd winnowed
ont the chaff nnd filled one of my
sacks. That done, I covered the floor
nguln nnd the thump of the flail eased
my loneliness until In the middle of
the afternoon two of my schoolmates
came and asked me to go swimming
with them. The river was not forty
rods awny nnd a good trail led to the
swimming hole. It was a warm, bright
day nnd I was hot and thirsty. The
thought of cool waters nnd friendly
companionship wns too much for me.
I went with them nnd stayed with
them longer than I Intended. I re-
member saying ns I dressed that I
should have to work late and go with-
out my supper lu order to finish my
stint
It wns almost dark when I was put-
ting the last sack of wheat Into my
enrt, In the gloomy barn and getting
ready to go.
A rustling In the straw where I
stood stopped me suddenly. I heard
stealthy footsteps In the darkness. I
stood my ground nnd demanded:
“Who's there?"
I saw n form approaching In the
gloom with feet ns noiseless as a cat's.
I took a step backward and, aesing
that It was a woman, stopped.
“It’s Kate," come In s hoarse whis-
per as I recognised her form and staff.
“Run, boy—they have Just com# out
o' the woods. I saw them. They will
take you away. Run."
She had picked up the flail, sod now
she put It In my hands and gave ms
a push towsrd the door. I ran, and
none too quickly, for 1 had not gone
fifty feet from the barn In the stubble
when I heard them coming nft*r me.
whoever they were. 1 saw that they
were gaining nnd turned quickly. I
had time to raise my flail and bring It
down upon the head of the lender,
who fell as I had seen s beef fall un-
der the nx. Another man stopped be-
yond the reach of my flail and, after
n second’s hesitation, turned and ran
awny In the darkness.
1 could hear or see no other motion
in the field. I turned and ran
down the slope toward tho village).
b moment I
of the maple grove at the field’s end.
Just ahead, with a lantern.
Then I heard the voice of the school-
master saying:
“la It you, my lad?"
“Yes/ I answered, as I came up to
him and Mary, In a condition of
breathless excitement
I told them of the curious adventure
I had had.
“Come quick," said the schoolmas-
ter. “Let’s go back and And the man
In the stubble."
I remembered that I had struck the
path In my flight Just before stopping
to swing the flail. The man must have
fallen very near Jt Soon we found
where he had been lying and drops of
fresh blood on the stnbble. '
"Hush," said the schoolmaster.
We listened and heard a wagon rat-
tling at a wild pace down the road
toward the river.
"There he goes," said Mr. Hacket
“His companions have carried him
away. Ye’d be riding In that wagon
now, yerself, my brave lad, If ye hadn’t
’a’ made a lucky hit with the flail—
God bless ye I"
“What would they ’a’ done with
me?” I asked.
“Oh, I reckon they’d ’a’ took ye off,
lad, and kep’ ye for n year or so until
Amos was out o* danger,” said Mr.
Uacket “Maybe they’d drowned ye In
the river down there an’ left yer
clothes on the bank to make It look
like an honest drowning. The devil
knows tohat they’d ’a’ done with ye,
toddle buck. We’ll have to keep an
eye on ye now, every day until the
trial Is over—sure we will. Come, we’ll
go up to the barn and see If Kate Is
there."
Just then we heard the receding
wagon go roaring over the bridge on
Little river. Mary shuddered with
fright. The schoolmaster reassured us
by Raying:
"Don’t be nfrald. I brought my gun
In cose we’d meet a painter. But the
danger Is past.”
He drew a long pistol from his coat
pocket nnd held it In the light of the
lantern.
The loaded cart stood In the middle
of the barn floor, where I had left It,
hut old Kate had gone. We closed
the barn, drawing the cart along with
us. When we came into the edge of
the village I began to reflect upon the
strange peril out of which I had so
luckily escaped. It gave me a heavy
sense of responsibility and of the
wickedness of men.
I thought of old Kate nnd her broken
silence. For once I had heard her
speak. I could feel my flesh tingle
when I thought of her quick words
and her hoarse, passionate whisper.
I knew, or thought I knew, why she
took such care of me. She was In
league with the gallows and could not
bear to see it cheated of Its prey. For
some reason she hated the Grlmshnwa
had seen the hate In her eyes the
day she dogged along behind the oU
money lender through the streets of
the village when her pointing finger
had seemed to say to me: “There,
there Is the man who has brought ms
to this. He has put these rags upon
my hack, this fire In my heart, this
wild look In my eyes. Walt and you
will see what I will put upon him.”
I knew that old Kate was not the
Irresponsible, witless creature that
people thought her to be. I had begun
to think of her with a kind of owe as
one gifted above all others. One by
one the things she had said of the
future seemed to be coming true.
As we were going Into the house the
•schoolmaster said:
"Now, Mary, you take this lantern
and go across the street to the bouse
o’ Deacon Blnks, the constable. You’ll
find him asleep by the kitchen stove.
Arrest his slumbers, but not rudely,
and, when he has come to, tell him
that I have newa o’ the devil."
Deacon Blnks arrived, a fat man
with a big. round body and n very
wise and serious countenance between
side whisk era bending from his temple
to his neck and suggesting parents
of hair, as If his heed and Its acces-
sories ware In ths nature of e elde
Issue. He and the schoolmaster went
out of doors and must have talked to-
gether while I was eating a bowl
bread nnd milk which Mrs. Hscket hat
brought to me.
When I went to bed, by nnd by,
henrd somebody snoring on the lltvle
porch Under my window. The first
sound that reached my ear at ths
break of dnwn wns the snoring of
some sleeper. I dressed and went be-
low and found the constable In his
coonskln overcoat asleep on the porch
with a long-barreled gun at his side.
While I stood there the schoolmaster
himself and cleared his throat end as-
sumed an air of alertness and said It
was a floe morning, which It wan not,
the aky being overcast and the air
dark and chUly. Mr. Hacket removed
his greatcoat and threw It on the stoop
saying:
“Deacon, yon lay there. From now
on I’m constable and ready for any act
that may be necessary to maintain the
law. I can be aa severe as Napoleon
Preserved.
Just as War Left It, It Will Serve to
Remind the World That Here the
Marauding Huns Were
Checked.
In the Little Place of Arras, where
once stood the Hotel de Ville, with Its
Bonaparte and as cunning as Satan, If I belfry and Its peal of bells, led by La
I have to be."
While I wns milking the deacon sat
on a bucket In the doorway of the
stable and snored until I had finished.
He awoke when I loosed the cow and
the constable went back to the pasture
with me, yawning with hffc hand over
Ills mouth much of the way. The dea-
con leaned his elbow on the top of
the pen and snored again, lightly,
while I mixed the feed for the pigs.
Mr. Hacket met us at the kitchen
door, where Deacon Blnks said to him:
"If you'll look after the boy today
HI go home and get a little rest."
"God bless yer soul, ye had n busy
night," said the schoolmaster with a
smile.
He added as he went Into the house:
"I never knew a man to rest with
more energy and persistence. It was
perfect flood o’ rest It kept
awake until long after midnight"
came around the corner of the bones
Ho put Ma head
CHAPTER XI.
The 8plrlt of Michael Henry and
Others.
At the examination of Amos Grim-
shaw my knowledge was committed to
the records and ceased to be a source
of danger to me. Grlmshaw came to
< he village that day. On my way to
the courtroom I saw him walking
slowly, with bent head as I had seen
him before, followed by old Kate. She
carried her staff In her left hand whUe
the forefinger of her right hand was
pointing him out. Silent as a ghost
and as unheeded—one would
followed his steps.
I observed that old Kate sat on a
front seat with her hand to her ear
and Grlmshaw beside his lawyer at a
big table and that when she looked at
him her Ups moved In a strange un-
uttered whisper of her spirit. Her
face filled with joy aa one damning
detail after another came out In the
evidence.
The facts hereinbefore alleged, and
others, were proved, for the tracks fit-
ted the shoes of Amos. The young
man was held and presently Indicted.
The time of his trial was not deter-
mined.
I wrote a good hand those days nnd
the leading merchant of the village
engaged me to post his books every
Saturday at ten cents an hour. Thence-
forward until Christmas I gave mp
free days to that task. I estimated
Joyeuse, Is today a notice board in Eng-
lish. It says that this place Is to bev
preserved In Its ruin as war has left
It
Other places will be rebuilt again,
and will forget, but this Little Place
will remain empty, and one day Ar-
ras will be more proud of that empti-
ness and of those few broken stones
than are other towns of the moot
beautiful things that they possess.
For so Arras will remain always, as
it Is today one of the rocks visible
on which the great waters of invasion
broke and surged and broke again,
but could flow no farther. There they
were held. There In the center of
Arras you come suddenly today on
the dark line of their highest tide.
Elsewtw*e, across the open country,
you come more gradually In tho
land of war, by roads where troops
move, by fields where are lines and
lines of brown and white trenches,
ready but never used; by empty vil-
lages, with here and there a house
broken; and so at last Into the great
No Man’s land of France, uninhabited,
uninhabitable, where armies fought
and fought again, until all Is de-
stroyed and men live a gypsy Ufo
by the roadside.
For three years one could only
enter Arras from the west, by the
road from Doullens through the
Amiens gate or by the road from
St. Pol past Dead Man’s corner, where
nightly the reliefs, coming up, were
shelled. Beside both these roads the
trees stand, and the fields are tilled
and there are woods across the hills.
You enter Arras today through a
country unchanged by war. The
change Is not yet.
It Is a silent town. Its houses
stand, though scarcely one Is quite
whole. Their shutters are closed—
their broken faces boarded up. The
town is like a man that sleeps after
long suffering. •
So you pass through cobbled
streets, very gray, dean, silent
streets, between those exhausted
houses, going down the Rue St. An*
bert and by the white hospital with
its green vine leaves. Then you
turn up other little streets, with
their narrow sky above them and
come, very suddenly, on an open lane
with banks on either side, where net-
tles and coltsfoot and loosestrife
grow. But this that looks like a conn-
\ ?h°Uld ,*a™ a“J try lane Is cobbled, and Its banks are
planned to divide It in equal parts and | he'np9 of brlck
It Is as you enter this lane that
proudly present It to my aunt and
uncle on Christmas day.
One Saturday while I was at work
on the big ledger of the merchant I
ran upon this Item:
you are consdous of something more
unexpected and more awful than any
ruined and broken things—of an
enormous emptiness In the middle of
that town of tall houses and narrow
streets.
When the years have passed and
all the country to the east of Arras
I knew then the history of ths suit I has long been made whole; when the
of clothes which I had worn since that trees grow again beside the Cam-
rainy October night, for I remembered bral    the Bapaume roads and
that Sam Robinson, the tailor, had there are cottages once more in Beau-
measured me at our house and made | rains and Remy and Vls-en-Artois,
October 1—8. Wright—To one suit
of clothea for MlchaSI Henry from
measures furnished by 8. Bo bin-
son .......................................I
Shirts to match .........................
up the cloth of Aunt Deel’a weaving.
I observed, also, that numerous ar-
ticles—a load of wood, two sacks of
flour, three pairs of boots, one coat,
ten pounds of salt pork and four
bushels of potatoes—all for “Michael
Henry"—had been charged to
Wright
So by. the merest chance I learned
that the Invisible “Michael Henry" was
the almoner of the modest statesman
and really the spirit of Silas Wright
feeding the hungry and clothing the
naked and warming the cold house,
in the absence of Its owner. It was
the heart of Wright Joined to that of
the schoolmaster, which sat In ths
green chair.
I fear that my work suffered a mo-
ment’s Interruption, for Just then ]
began to know the great heart of the
senator. Its warmth was in the cloth-
there will still he that sudden emp-
tiness beneath the sky among ths nar-
row streets of Arras.
Standing there, men wtU remem-
ber that once one could come Into
Arras only from the west. They
will think of It then as of one of
those towns, now far Inland and sur-
rounded by quick fields, which onco
were on the seashore. They will
look at that gray ruin of the town
hall ns at the ruins of a great rock
where once the storms beat
Town of Hlatorls Interest
Brlenne-le-Chateau, the little French
town where Napoleon received his
military education, recently celebrated
the 105th anniversary of the emperor's
Inst visit to the village. It was on
January 29 that Napoleon began his
campaign against the allies, who
SJ5K&SJT ~ “ WJtTof jstjS
cro bb CONTINUED.)    | by ra(](]«a]7 interposing htotoroag
between those of Schwartsenberg an®
Bluecher, the object being to prevent
their uniting. Almost on ths tnn
spot and on the same day Napoleon
had a hairbreadth escape from tho afr
• sek of a Cossack who attempted to
murder him. It was only the prompt
assistance of Gorgaud that saved Ne*
(.olooa.
High-Water Mark.
"High-water mark" la the line ordi-
narily reached by the sea at high tid*
The general high-water mark of the
sen Is taken as the line at the limit
of the rise of the medium tides and
that of a body of fresh water Id
which there Is no ebb end flow tldst la
taken nt the limit of the soil that la
so affected by the water as to bs
mnrked with a nature and vegetation
distinct from that of the banka.
Might Be Elthsr.
Student—“That big fellow over therS
la our first base.” The Girl—“In tha
glee club or on the alaaf"-
TraAicrlpk
Defining an Impression.
"So you’re on the water wngob If
last?"
"Nothing to limited," replied Unctt
Hill Bottletop. “Water has become so
predominant wherever I look that I
feel more aa If 1 wart on a steal*
I boat."