Chapter I: Front Matter (1)

The Silica Gel Pseudomorph

And Other Stories

-------

BY

EDWARD HART,

Author of “Our Farm in Cedar Valley.”

EASTON, PA.

THE CHEMICAL PUBLISHING CO.

1924

LONDON, ENGLAND:
WILLIAMS & NORGATE
14 HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN, W. C.

TOKYO, JAPAN:
MARUZEN COMPANY, LTD.
11-16 NIHONBASHI TORI-SANCHOME.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

COPYRIGHT, 1924, BY EDWARD HART

------------------------------------------------------------------------

To Harvey Washington Wiley,

Scholar, Teacher, Poet, Writer and Speaker,
Fearless Publicist, Lifelong Friend.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

I have a boy who loves to have me tell him
stories. True stories usually need modification and
adornment if they are to remain interesting, and so
many stories told him were embellished. These
stories have been written for my own amusement at
night while others were sleeping or as a rest
between more serious tasks. Some of these are true,
some partly true and some are products of the
imagination.

Edward Hart.

October 1, 1924

------------------------------------------------------------------------

CONTENTS

PAGE
THE SILICA GEL PSEUDOMORPH 1
PEEP-CHICK MOUNTAIN 12
ROUND VALLEY 16
MONT L’HERY 22
DEATH VALLEY 31
THE PROFESSOR’S STORY 41
MY FRIEND ZAHN 52
JUST SAMUEL JONES 67
FAT AND LEAN 83
WOOZY 90
THE HERMIT 93
SANDY’S STORY 96
THE HOBOES 99
JUMPING STEEL 103
ALL THE WAY FROM MELBOURNE 108
A DEFENSE OF THE WEALTHY 113
THE SKIN OF THE BEAR 119
A VISIT FROM THE WILEYS 124
IN THE DAYS OF THE ROSES 133
THE RED DEVIL 151

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Silica Gel Pseudomorph

-------

South Jersey is a very sandy country. There are miles and miles of sand there. Some of it is very pure white sand used for making glass and for molding sand. Some of this sand has sharp edges but most of it is rounded as if the grains had rolled around until the edges were worn away. Mr. Kummel has written a paper about this sand in the Report of the New Jersey State Geological Survey for 1906. His paper is entitled “The Glass Sand Industry of New Jersey.” It is a very interesting paper though you might not think so from the title.

There are also very large beds of green and red sand. The green sand is especially interesting because it contains such immense amounts of alumina, iron and potash. If our chemists can only find cheap methods for extracting these substances we shall have enough to last us forever.

The most curious thing about this green sand is that it is still forming in the water along our coasts. Here the limestone shells of dead foraminifera are slowly filling up with the green substance as their bodies decay. The shells are slowly dissolved by the sea water at the same time, so that the green sand grains give a perfect cast of the inside of the shells.

I became interested in this sand while I was in college. The professor sent me down to Mullica Hill to get a load of it to experiment with. He wanted to find a way to work it. At Mullica Hill I heard that a farmer by the name of Peter Norman had a pit on his farm. One of the loafers there offered to go along and show me the way. I told him he might go if he would get the farmer to let me have a load of sand for nothing and help me load. This he promised to do. On the way he informed me that Norman’s daughter, Euphemia, had taken a notion to him and that probably they would jine up. I said I was looking for a wife myself and if I liked her looks I would take her along, but I must be sure first that she was a good cook. He looked me over as if I were some kind of an insect and asked me how much I weighed. I told him all of fifty tons.

When we got to the house Euphemia came to the door herself. I must say she was a fine looking girl with very mischievous eyes. She said her father was down at the other end of the farm and my friend had better go and get him. Then she giggled. When he had gone she looked at me and giggled some more. Said I might go ahead and take all the sand I wanted. I asked her if she was sure her father would be willing and she said: Sure! She said she would show me the pit and got on the seat beside me. As we drove along she told me that one of her girl friends had told Sim she was gone on him.

I said, “yes, so he told me.”

“Did he?” says she, “the poor simp!”

“If you go about breaking hearts like that,” said I, “you’ll get in jail next. I understand that the sheriff has been instructed to jug all the flappers.” This made her giggle some more.

She stood by the side of the pit while I threw the sand into the truck. After I had been digging a bit my shovel struck something that felt like rubber. It was round like a rubber ball as I uncovered it and larger than a canteloupe. I tried to throw it out, but it seemed to be fastened to something at one side. I went on digging and was getting interested when I heard some one shouting, and there was the farmer coming as fast as he could, waving his arms and shouting with all the breath he had left. When he reached the pit he was puffing and blowing so he could hardly speak, but he made it plain that he was cross because I had dug without permission, said I had no business to do it, it was trespass, and he had a great mind to have me arrested.

I said that his daughter had allowed me to dig but this did not seem to satisfy him. Euphemia told him I wasn’t hurting anything and he needn’t make a goose of himself, so he quieted down. Asked what the round ball was? I told him I didn’t know and he got a shovel and dug too. After awhile the girl said:

“Why it looks like a man!”

It did, too. We went on digging and uncovered his legs and then his feet. They _were_ feet all right, but he was the queerest looking thing you ever saw. After he was uncovered we turned him over and I declare he had a nose, mouth and ears; it was a man! But the oddest looking man you ever saw. His body was nearly transparent; like cloudy glass. You could see all his bones through this. He looked like stiff jelly with pieces of cotton in it. We looked at him and then at one another.

“Well, I vum,” said Papa.

“Did you ever,” said Phemy.

“Geewhitakers,” said Sim.

The farmer brought out a wide board and we rolled him on it. Then I nailed narrow boards on the side, so that he was in a kind of a trough. There he lay, glistening in the sunlight. When I looked up I saw that Euphemia was giggling again.

“Why the laugh?” said I.

“Don’t you think he looks funny? I never expected to see a man’s bones like that.”

It hadn’t struck me that way before but it was funny, and I had to laugh too. Just then the man sneezed. Euphemia gathered up her skirts, for she had on a long dress, not one of the bathing suits the flappers wear on the streets nowadays, and made a bee line for the house. I felt kind of scary myself. It isn’t every day, I can tell you, that you dig up a jelly corpse and have him sneeze just as life-like! Pop Norman by this time was as white as a sheet. But what the corpse did next certainly made me stare. He opened one eye, and after looking around a bit, confused-like, he looked at me, and _winked_. I certainly was flabbergasted. Then he opened the other eye and sat up. Then the farmer scooted. The corpse began to talk to himself in some kind of outlandish jabber. I thought it sounded like Spanish but it came out like lightning and I couldn’t get it. I had studied Spanish at college but I was not very well acquainted with it. After saying the same thing over three or four times he turned to me and said it again—slowly, and quite imperiously. He was asking where his clothes were. I said I didn’t know but would enquire. I went to the house and found Euphemia very badly scared and the old man drinking blackberry brandy. He called it a cordial. I insisted that he get some clothes for the stranger and we picked out an old suit I thought might fit. I took these out to the Spaniard but he was much displeased with them and said he was not accustomed to such garb. I told him it was that or nothing and the girl was coming so finally he put them on. He seemed to be about as spry as ordinary people, and his manner was very polite.

Euphemia got over her fright after awhile and came downstairs but she seemed quite shook up. After awhile the Spaniard tried to talk to her but of course she couldn’t understand until I translated for her. After awhile she seemed to like to hear what he said. His talk was quite high-flown, and after every few words he would put his hand on his chest and make a low bow. This seemed to suit Euphemia.

It was getting on towards evening and I was obliged to leave but I asked Euphemia to take care of him and I promised to bring a Spanish book so she could make out what he said, and I told him to stay here until I got back. He promised to do so and I went away.

When I told the professor about my glass man he smiled and smiled. He said the Spaniard must be a silica gel pseudomorph, and he was surprised and delighted he or it could talk Spanish, and when he said this he grinned like a Cheshire cat. I got a Spanish dictionary and phrase book at the college bookstore and went back next day. I found he was trying to explain the difference between _ser_ and _estar_. It struck me that was a funny thing to do, but he seemed rather touchy, so I gave her the books and went back to college. I was very busy the rest of the term and couldn’t get away, but as soon as possible I went back. They were out riding the old man said, and he seemed rather put out.

When they came back I tried to tell her about the green sand, but she didn’t seem to be interested and he yawned; so, after talking to the old man for awhile I came away. She didn’t ask me to come again. He was polite but quite formal.

I saw no more of the Normans nor of my Spanish friend for a month. I was in Trenton one afternoon and was walking on the street when who should I run into but the Normans. They were staying with an aunt of hers and I went with them. We sat up pretty late that night while Euphemia told me about the Spaniard. She said she wondered I hadn’t heard about it; part of it, it seemed, had got into the newspapers.

She told me she soon got so she could talk Spanish pretty well. It was not difficult except that miserable _ser_ and _estar_. They both meant the same thing and you were pretty sure to use the wrong one. I told her it was like the old lady who knew the difference between soldier and shoulder but never could tell which was which. She said the Spaniard talked all the time. He was so polite that at first she liked him pretty well, but he never seemed to like her father and didn’t treat him very well. He claimed to be a hidalgo, which appeared to be some kind of a nobleman. He was terribly stuck on himself. He was a ferocious eater and kept her cooking most of the time. He was always asking for _dos huevos fritas_ or _carne de vaca_. “He kept me fryin eggs or Dad runnin to town for meat all the time. I believe he could eat a gallon of soup, and it took so much butter to fry the _papa fritas_ that we had none left for anything else. He was fond of fish, too, and was always askin for them. This got so bad that Dad and I concluded we had better take him down to the shore where fish don’t cost so much. By this time something got the matter with him. It had been rather cool and moist up to this time but by the time we were ready to start there was a hot dry spell. Before this you could see everything inside his head except where the bones were in the way. But now white patches like snow began to grow on his face, and pretty soon he began to look like a snow man. His face was perfectly white without a trace of color. It was frightful. I kinda liked his looks before that. You needn’t laugh; you like the good lookin women best, and I don’t see any reason why we shouldn’t like the good lookin men.”

“If he didn’t get what he wanted at once he flew into an awful rage, and it was pretty fierce, I can tell you, to have Snow White rampagin around. So we took him to the shore, or at least we started for the shore. He had a sword that the blacksmith had made for him out of an old scythe of Dad’s and belt around him to hold it. I said we might be arrested for carrying such things around, but Dad said you could not carry concealed weapons, but nothing was said about other kinds, and there was nothing concealed about that sword. So we started off in the wagon, and he sat in the front seat with Dad. Pretty soon I noticed that little white scales was driftin down from him on the floor. It was hot that day but he didn’t seem to feel it in any other way, but all the time those little white scales kept siftin down ’till the floor was all white. I didn’t like to say anything for fear of hurtin his feelings but I got mighty nervous.

“We had been on the way about an hour when he spied some oranges in a store we was passin, and he got out, went in and took them. Didn’t stop to pay, just took them and came out. The store keeper came out and said, politely, that he had forgotten to pay, but Snow White flew into a rage and began to swear frightful. He pulled out his sword and chased the store keeper into his store. Then we drove on, but by this time Dad and I were scared stiff. About an hour later we passed through Swedesboro when a little fellow with a star on his coat came up and told us we were his prisoners. The Spaniard jumped out and ran at him with the sword. The constable was plucky; he pulled out a pistol and fired at the Spaniard, but he didn’t hit him, and the Spaniard chased him a ways down the road. We drove on then but more scared than before. I asked the Spaniard if he wasn’t afraid of being put in jail but he said no, they wouldn’t dare touch a hidalgo.

“Pretty soon we came to a cross road and somebody yelled at us from a clump of bushes ‘Surrender in the name of the law.’ But that didn’t frighten him. He just jumped out and charged that clump and drove the two men in it down the road. By this time we were almost to Pennsgrove. I was so scared that I got off and ran down a side street and Dad after me. We didn’t see any more of him but we was told he drove in as large as life and met the Sheriff, with two deputies. He chased them and cut one of them pretty bad. Then he ran to the wharf, jumped on a fishing boat, cut the cable and started down the river. The revenue cutter got after him and they fired a shot at the boat. This made her fill and she went down but they managed to pull him out. Of course he got very wet. They took him to the jail, gave him some dry clothes and put him in a cell. They captured Dad and me too, but after they had asked us a lot of questions they concluded we wasn’t to blame and let us go. I went to see the Spaniard next day and, say, he was a sight! All the white scales was gone but they had been thicker in some places than in others, and where they had been thickest there was a kind of a pit on his face like a man who had small pox. He looked fierce, but the water had made him look like glass again. There was no snow white stuff on him at all.

“They took him before a J. P. that day and he told them he was a Spanish nobleman who was willing to die for Spain. He said he had sunk many English ships and killed many English and that he was going to do it some more.”

“Now, I don’t know what you think,” Euphemia said to me, “but I think that fellow had been thrown overboard from some ship and was petrified on the bottom of the sea and covered with sand. When you dug him up he just came to life again. He must have been a bird when he was alive, and so he just went on being a bird when he came back to life.”

“Well, the Justice of the Peace thought he must be crazy so he sent him to the asylum. But he didn’t stay there long. He broke loose one night, made for the shore, killed two men who was sleepin in a small vessel, pulled up the anchor and put to sea and hasn’t been heard of since.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Peep-Chick Mountain

-------

Over in that funny state called New Jersey there is a mountain called Peep-Chick Mountain, or something like that, and this is the story of how it got the name:

There was once a band of robbers who lived in a cave on the side of this big mountain. They stole sheep and pigs and chickens from the farmers who lived in the valley. Once they had no bread, and the chief robber said: “Go and steal all the eggs you can find and we will trade them for bread at the store.” So they all went out to steal eggs except one. He was a red-headed robber and he said: “I think I am for Direct Action. I don’t believe in this roundabout business of stealing eggs and then trading them for bread. Besides I should like to have some pie and cake also.” So he went down to the road and hid in some bushes.

Pretty soon a big automobile came whishing by. “Go along whisher!” said the robber, “I can’t eat you.” Then a truck came rumbling by. “Get along, rumble bumble,” said Red Head. Then along came a baker’s cart. “Hi!” said Reddy, “Here’s the Staff of Life!” So saying, he pulled out his pistol and fired at the tire. There was a bang and rattle, just as if a pane of glass had fallen on the sidewalk, and the baker’s cart began to wabble and pound on the road. “Ho!” said the baker’s boy who was driving, “there goes a tire.” He got down and went around the car. Just then Reddy came rushing up.

“Hands up for pie!” said he.

The baker’s boy was so frightened that he ran and jumped into the canal, swam across and hid behind some trees. The robber fired several shots after him but they only splashed the water and scared the boy. Then Reddy unfastened a bag which had been wrapped around him and shoved in pies, cakes, loaves of bread and doughnuts as fast as he could. When this was full he filled another bag. Then he tied the two together, flung them over his back and made off as fast as he could.

Presently the watchman spied Red Head coming up the hill with his bags of pies, bread, cake and doughnuts. It was misty and he loomed through the fog like a donkey carrying sacks.

“Hey, Jack!” called the watch, “Ohe, Ohe!”

“Ohe yourself!” said Red Head fetching him a slap over the head. But he struck hard and lost his balance, fell and rolled down the hill. The other robbers rushed out and grabbed him, but soon discovered that it was Red Head and let him go.

“I know what your eggs will look like,” said the chief.

When they turned the bags inside out they found the pies, cake, doughnuts and bread all mashed together. There was blackberry pie making a red streak and lemon custard making a yellow streak, with doughnuts flattened out and loaves of bread between. The juice of the pies had been soaked up by the bread and cake.

“Hey!” said the chief, “What have we here?”

“That,” said Reddy, “is pie-cake-doughnut-bread.”

“It looks it,” said the chief, “but I believe we can eat it.”

So they sat down and ate some; and, sure enough, it was good.

In the meantime the other robbers who had gone out had stolen all the eggs they could find and put them in another cave near by. There were 503 dozen in all. Now it happened that there was a hot spring in one corner of the cave where the eggs were stored and after they had lain there long enough they began to hatch out. One morning when the robbers came out of their cave they heard a great rustling and peeping all over the hillside. There were 5798 peeps moving through the grass and among the trees and crying: “peep! peep!”

“Goodness!” said the robber chief, “look at our eggs! they are hungry.”

That night they stole a feed grinder from a farmer in the valley and several bags of corn. Three robbers shelled corn, three drove the mill, three fed the corn and three made mush of the meal and fed it to the peeps. The other robbers stole the corn and carried it up the mountain. In about two weeks they were tired out. “We are not robbers any longer,” they said, “this is work!” so they all ran away. By this time the peeps had become chicks and begun to eat grasshoppers and crickets and were able to take some care of themselves; but the foxes, weasels, skunks and minks had a fine time eating them as they scattered over the mountain side. Bye and bye the farmers caught them until there were no more left; but the mountain is called Peep-Chick, or something like that, to this day.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Round Valley

-------

They called it Round Valley because it really was round, hemmed in by very high hills, except on the west; here there was an opening through the hills, down the middle of which flowed a mill stream which drained the valley. Part way down the gap between the hills was a mill dam; and a short distance below the dam was the mill. The miller was a little Gnome who lived in the mill with his wife and daughter. The mother had once been beautiful, but hard work had made her old before her time. Her face was wrinkled; there were crow’s feet in the corners of her eyes; her steps were slow and feeble and her hair was growing gray.

The daughter was a very beautiful and charming girl; she was happy-hearted. She moved around quickly, helping her mother wash the dishes, sweep the floor, put wood on the fire, take up the ashes, milk the cow and feed the pigs and chickens. As she did these things she often smiled, and anyone who took the trouble to watch her could easily see that she had happy thoughts.

There were many Little People living in this valley. You seldom saw them but often heard them. In one place below the mill the water fell over some rocks, and here, if you listened, you could hear some of them saying: “Urgle, urgle, urgle,” just as plain!

Some lived in the branches of the pines and cooed: “Whoo, whoo, whoo,” and others called from the dry grass: “z-z-z.” Everywhere their voices could be heard, but very soft and low—for they were Little People.

Every day the Gnome worked in the mill—pouring grain into the hopper, tying up the bags of flour and writing in a big book in one corner of the mill. His clothes were always full of flour, and though he banged them with his hands and shook himself before going into the house, he was always gray or white. He was always busy, and seldom came into the house except for meals; but he appeared to be interested in his work and quite cheerful.

One evening the sky became dark earlier than usual, and a mist fell over the valley; then the wind rose and the rain began to fall. It was a dismal night out of doors, but within the miller’s house it was bright and cheerful. The window panes shone in the light from the bright fire burning in the fireplace; the curtains over the windows drooped gracefully and were clean and white; there was a bookshelf filled with new books with golden titles and a shelf filled with flowers in pots in one of the windows. The room was clean and dry and warm as the miller and his wife and daughter sat down to their evening meal.

As they sat eating and talking there came a knock at the door and the daughter went to open it. A dark-eyed Stranger was standing on the threshold. “Come in quickly,” said the girl, “the wind is driving the dead leaves and the rain into the house. You are very welcome; come and share our meal!”

The Stranger muttered his thanks and drew a chair to the fire. The mother went upstairs and presently came down again. “You are very wet,” said she. “I have laid out a suit of my husband’s in the room above. Go up and put it on! It will keep you warm and dry until your own is ready.” So saying she opened the door of the stairway and stood aside to allow the Stranger to pass.

In a short time he came down and ate a hearty meal; but his face was far from cheerful. He appeared to be gloomy and glum; he said little and looked at no one. “He is tired,” said the mother to her husband, “take him up to the guest room!”

In the morning the visitor appeared to be more cheerful than before. He was still gloomy and glum, however, as he ate his breakfast. He had come down late and the miller had gone to his work in the mill. The mother was in the kitchen, and the daughter sang as she waited on him, poured water on the flowers and drew back the curtains to let more light into the room.

“Why are you sad?” said she, “see what a beautiful morning! The fleecy clouds are sailing over the hills; the mill stream is shouting for joy and the birds are singing.”

“Why should I be happy?” said he, “My wife and child are dead; I am not well and I have lost my money. Why should I rejoice?” So saying he looked gloomier and glummer than before.

“Oh, you poor man,” said the girl, “I am so sorry.” So saying she brought in another plateful of hot cakes and put a jugful of maple syrup on the table; but still she kept on singing, for her heart was filled with joy.

“It is very pleasant here,” said the Stranger. “If you do not mind I will stay a few days. I have enough money left to pay my board.”

“You must settle that with my mother,” said the girl. “It is rather lonesome here sometimes, but you will be very welcome to stay as long as you like.” So saying she ran off to tell her mother. “Oh, mother!” said she, “I think it will be splendid to have him here; he is so sad; and he has lost his wife and child and his money; and his health is poor, too. I am _so_ sorry for him.”

“That is too bad,” said her mother, “We must be good to him and perhaps he will become more cheerful.”

At first the Stranger wandered up and down the stream, hunting in the woods or fishing in the brook. Presently he tired of this and began to help the miller. Very soon he spent most of his time in the mill. In the evening he and the daughter would sometimes take a walk through the woods or over the hills. As he worked in the mill and grew tired and hungry, and slept in the clean, sweet country air, lulled by the voices of the Little People, he grew stronger and happier; the frown left his brow; he began to smile, and presently to hum a tune.

One day the miller did not feel very well, and he went to lie down on his bed, leaving the mill in charge of the Stranger. A few days later this happened again. Presently the Gnome laid down every day, and then he became so weak that he must stay in bed all day, while the Stranger took care of the mill alone. They sent for the Doctor who said he must stay in bed until he got better. But he got no better; he grew worse each day. One day he called the Stranger to him and said: “I feel very sick, and I believe I shall soon be going to a far country; will you take care of my wife and daughter when I am gone?” “Yes,” said the Stranger, “I will do all I can. You have all been good to me and I will do my best to return your kindness.”

Then the old miller turned his face to the wall and died. And they buried him beneath the whispering pines. And the daughter said: “Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do?” “Let me help you bear it,” said he. Then she looked at him and smiled through her tears.

After the miller died the mother was very lonely, and she often said that she would like to go to him. Presently she, too, sickened. Every day she grew worse, and finally she died and was laid to rest beneath the spreading pines beside her man.

After the funeral they sat before the fireplace. She was crying and his eyes were wet. “What can I do?” said she, “I have no one to love me and care for me.” “Yes you have,” said he, “I promised your father I would take care of you, and I love you very much. It will not be hard work for me to love you and care for you.”

“Oh,” said she, “I am so glad you love me, I have loved you for a long time.” Then she kissed him, shyly.

In a few days they were married. She cared for the house and he ran the mill. She is a good housewife and sings as she works and he is a good miller and sings as he runs the mill. They often kiss. I have noticed that when he kisses her he grows younger but as she kisses him she grows older. They grow happier every day.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mont L’Hery

-------

To Angelo Catto, Archbishop of Vienna, from Philip de Comines, Lord of Argenton:—

In the Memoirs which I have written, my good Lord Archbishop, at your desire, I have spoken of an occurrence of little importance, it may appear, and which was of small note among the great and mighty events which took place then and thereafter. None the less, though I have there written but a few words, (as thinking the relation of my own small affairs of little value) matters of great import to me and mine transpired which I shall here set forth, that you may, if you see fit, relate them to my dear daughter, Joan, when I am no more.

In these Memoirs I have related that after the battle of Mont l’Hery the horse I bestrode was old and tired, which thrusting by accident his head into a bucket of wine, drank it and was thereby become lustier and more serviceable than he was before. I have also there set down that on the third day after the battle we took up our quarters in the village of Mont l’Hery and that the inhabitants were in such consternation at our approach that they fled, some into the church steeple, and some into the castle, which held out against us and was not taken.

I have not set down the events of the first and second days after the battle because, as you shall see, I could not know much of them, being away on my own affairs.

After I had mounted this old, tired horse which I had ridden for several days, I laid the reins upon his neck as was my wont. Straightway he began to gallop, and when I sought to rein him in I found the bit between his teeth, and he on a mad run. We burst through the ranks of the men-at-arms, whereat I suffered not a little, being without armour at the time, and galloped hard into the village. As we turned at the church my old horse stumbled and fell and I was thrown violently into a meadow at one side of the way.

Of what happened next I know only as it was related to me thereafter. For a long time, it appeared, my wits were wandering. Then I opened my eyes to look into the eyes of a young maid bending over me anxiously. She smiled and said: “I am glad, good sir. You were as one dead. It was an ugly fall.”

“Where am I?” I asked.

“You are in the house of my aunt’s nurse,” she replied. “She lies sick in the room above. I had come to visit her and saw you fall. I fear some of the King’s men saw you also and will do you a mischief.” With that there came a knocking at the door and hoarse voices shouting: “Open in the King’s name!”

She opened the door and I heard loud voices talking. Three archers were there, sent, they said, to bring me to the Castle, but the maid denied them. She averred I was in great pain and unfit to be moved. There was much said that I did not fully hear (my wits not yet being fully returned), but presently she closed the door and came back.

“I have staved them off for awhile,” she said, “but you must get back your wits as soon as may be, for they will come again.” But I was in a maze at the beauty of her and said no word. She seemed like an angel to my sleepy eyes; for by now I felt dead tired and of a mind to sleep. This she saw and said: “Sleep, fair Sir! I will fend them from you.” At which I dropped off to sleep to dream of yellow-haired angels singing; and when I awoke, of a truth she was singing in the chamber above. In a few minutes she returned quietly and, seeing I was awake, said: “I have now two patients, fair Sir, I pray you tell me how you do?”

“I am stronger,” I replied “but my arm pains me, and methinks a bone may perchance be broken.”

“Not so,” said she, “but it is much bruised.”

Again there was a knocking at the door, and when she opened a rough voice enquiring for me.

“He has been sleeping and is better, but he has been much bruised and must stay the night.”

“Nay, Nay!” said the archer, “that must not be. I am bidden to bring him straight to the Castle.”

“He is my patient,” she replied, “and I tell thee I will not have him moved, Count or no Count.”

“You must even have your way, Lady,” said he, “But I see a heavy reckoning to be paid if he come not soon.”

“I will answer,” said she.

When she returned: “I am beholden to you, Lady,” I said, “for your too great kindness. But I must not lead you into danger. That would be a poor return. Let me be led to the Count.”

“How say you?” she replied, “would you put your head in the noose? I tell you the Count is bitterly angry with the Count de Charolois and will hang all his men.”

“I care not,” said I, “I will not see you led into danger through my fault;” so saying, I sought to rise but fell back almost fainting.

“See,” said she, “was I not right? You are unfit to go, and I will not have you go until you are fit!” Here her eyes flashed and she stamped her little foot fiercely.

I slept but poorly that night and a fierce fever consumed me. In the morning she was much distressed and vowed again I should not be moved. Shortly there came another knock and a voice saying:

“You little vixen! What matter if he die of a fever or be hanged?”

“Hanged he may be,” she replied, “and you will, but he must come to his trial well. And you do force him to it I shall have your own head sooner or later, and that I vow!”

“I warn you the King shall hear of this!” he said.

“Let him,” she said, “and let him do his worst. I have cared for many wounded, and I have yet to ask whether they be rich or poor, or of high or low degree.”

’Tis said the Count was in awe of his Countess and of her niece, my nurse. However this may be I know not. I do know that I was not more disturbed that day.

On the morrow I was still feverish having passed but a poor night. In the morning she visited me again, saying: “Fair Sir, I see but one way by which I may save you from that murderer at the Castle. He is my uncle, and were you but husband of mine he dare not touch you. Have you a mind to wed?”

Verily, this I had not thought of, but the thought left me warm and not cold. And yet I must hesitate for her sake. I dare not lest she regret. So I said:

“Truly, my Lady, the honor you speak of is far beyond my just deserts. Did I think you truly willing I should hurry on the match. But should you regret, nothing would be left for me but death. Let me therefore die the death at the hand of this dread Count rather than you should grant so great a boon and then repent.”

“Say no more,” said she. “I have said you shall not be harmed, and by God’s word no harm shall befall you.” So saying, without more ado, she sent for the priest who said mass and married us.

Great was the wrath of the Count, her uncle. But what was done could not be undone. When he was gone she turned her face to me in shame. “What must you think of me?” she said.

“If you will but trust me,” said I, “you will see that I think well of you. Before that you thus sacrificed your future for me I thought you an angel. My life shall be devoted to winning and keeping your love.”

“How do you know I do not love you now?” said she—and fled.

When our army came up and I was well again she had disappeared. I saw her no more for months, being detained from pursuing her by the war which came to an end but slowly. After that I had served King Louis at Peronne and had been taken into his service I heard much of her, but do what I would, could never come near her. At last, despairing, I went to the King and confessed my plight and sought his Majesty’s assistance. “What would you?” said the King.

“Do but let me see her, your Majesty,” said I, “that I may at least have speech of her.”

“That I will do right gladly,” said he.

About a week thereafter I was sent for to the Royal Cabinet and entering found the King with my wife. “Did I not promise to bring you together?” said the King. “Take now thy wife, de Comines and teach her her duty. You may withdraw!”

I offered my hand to my Lady and we withdrew to an antechamber. Here she would fain have left me, but I said: “Lady I am your humble slave. Will you not listen to me?”

“Nay,” said she, “I have said and done unmaidenly things and I am ashamed. Let me withdraw.”

“Not so,” said I, “your acts were acts only of pity which I would fain turn into acts of love if you will only listen.”

“Men speak well of you,” said she, “they tell me you are kind of heart and merciful and will spare my shame. But I ask not for pity. I will not be companion to a man who does not love me without pity, that I may be triumphant and without shame.”

“That you may well be,” said I, “if you will but listen.”

“It is not ears but eyes shall convince me,” said she.

“Set me any task,” said I.

“Nay,” she replied, “let me but see you. Do not pursue me. Let me see you in your daily work. I am to be Lady in Waiting to the Queen, and I may see you thus.”

“You are harsh,” said I, “What have I done to be treated so unkindly?”

“I will not listen,” said she, stopping her ears with her fingers and running away.

For weeks thereafter I was condemned to see her daily but scarcely to speak to her. The King and Queen sought to throw us together but failed because she would not. At last I despaired. I went to the King and asked that I might be allowed to depart to my estate in Flanders so that I need no longer be on the rack. To this the King replied: “Do but let me speak to her again!” to which I gave consent.

The next day I was sent for again to the King’s Cabinet, and entering found her again. “Why will you not put an end to this severity?” said the King, turning to her. “The poor fool pines daily. He loses flesh. He sulks. He is as one distraught. Mend him or break him, but torture him no longer.”

“He is my own husband,” said she, her eyes flashing defiance.

“Surely,” said the King, “treat him therefore as a man and not as a dog. Now leave me. I am weary of your quarrel.”

Again we departed; as we reached the anteroom she whispered: “May I not do as I please with you?”

“You may indeed,” said I, “but trample no longer upon my heart, I beseech you.”

“Thou art but a poor fool,” said she, “why not make me be good since I have loved thee from the first? Do I not love thy eyes and thy curly hair and thy straight back and even thy coat and hat. Surely I love thee, thou blind goose!”—and fled again. But this time I was too quick. I caught her and I have held her ever since, and with her good will as she declares and I believe. She has been my willing slave and I hers. Hath any man ever had a more devoted mate? Did she not visit me each day I spent in the iron cage at Loches? In rain, in fog, in sleet, in sunshine; still she came, and she is mine and I am hers, forever.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Death Valley

-------

Away out in California, near the Nevada line, lies a lonely valley. No one lives in this valley very long; it is a very lonesome place. In the winter the thermometer goes down below freezing point at night and rises to eighty degrees during the day. This is the pleasant time of year. In the spring and fall violent wind storms sweep over the desert, for it is a desert—the Mohave Desert—and in the summer the hot wind blows, drying up every drop of moisture and baking the country as if it had been placed in a baker’s oven. The few who must stay there get a leather-like skin from the heated wind and the glaring sun, with never a cloud to hide its pitiless rays. Sagebrush and greasewood are found here and there, and in the infrequent river bottoms a few willows are seen. Fissure springs, from deep faults in the earth’s crust let out small streams of water from sources far remote; sometimes fit to drink; sometimes loaded with salts in solution and sometimes hot. Such a spring is that which gives rise to Willow Creek which rises among the niter hills of the Great Basin and empties into the Amargosa River a short distance below its source. Alas for the name! The Amargosa “River” turns out on examination to be a stream scarce large enough to turn a mill. After a run of less than 25 miles it sinks into the sands to rise no more. Shortly below this place we find Saratoga Springs and “Lakes.” These “Lakes” are perhaps 10 feet in diameter. All along the banks of the Amargosa the water as it evaporates rapidly in this thirsty land leaves a white crust of salt, soda and borax. In many places, scattered over the desert, deposits of mixed salts have been left by evaporated water which glisten in the sun from a distance. As the weary traveler walks through them the alkali rises in fine white clouds burning throat and nostril and biting the skin into sores.

Over this desert roams the dismal coyote—always hungry, an Ishmaelite. Kangaroo rats swarm in rocky spots; the side-winder threads his snaky way; and lizards and tarantulas scuttle to their holes to escape the traveler.

In 1849 the Bennett family wandered into this valley and perished, giving to the valley its name. All along the wagon tracks—for there are no roads—bottles, tin cans and the skeletons of abandoned animals mark the progress of civilization and the survival of the fittest. It is a weary land; over 400 feet below sea level; bounded by the black rocks of the Funeral Range on the northeast, the Kingston Range on the north, the Shadow Mountains on the southeast, the Avawatz Mountains on the south and the Telescope Range on the west. These mountains rise in some places to a height of 10,000 feet. The springs are far apart, from 30 to 90 miles, often with a very small flow and hard to find. At Cave Wells, for example, the traveler in search of water goes into a hole in the side of a cliff and descends a few steps to the margin of a shallow pool with no apparent overflow.

* * * * *

“When does your uncle come for you, Jack?” said her friend.

“To-morrow morning,” Jack replied.

Next morning her friend was getting breakfast when a knock sounded on the door. When the door was opened, a wiry, pale-faced man stood in front of her.

“Where is Jack’s kid?” he enquired.

“Upstairs in bed,” was the reply.

Without a word he brushed by her, mounted the stairs, opened the door, bent over the half-awakened girl, put his arms around her and kissed her.

“Is your name Jack, too?” he enquired. “You are a mighty nice-looking boy and I will love you and look after you for his sake. Now I must go. We will leave for the west at 10 to-morrow morning. I am ordered to the desert to spend the winter there in the out of doors for the sake of my health. Get yourself a corduroy suit with high-laced boots. Here is some money. I will be here for you at nine-thirty. Good bye till then!” So saying, he turned, rushed down the stairs and out of the house.

“Did you ever see such a whirlwind?” said Jacqueline. “He thinks I am a boy, and he will be disappointed and not let me go. What shall I do?”

“Go as a boy,” said her friend. “You are slim and can easily pass as a boy. I will help you get ready. Come along!”

Next morning when Uncle appeared Jack was ready, dressed in corduroy knickers, stout, high-laced shoes, short, thick corduroy coat and felt hat.

“Well, come along!” said Uncle, “We have just time to make the train.”

At Salt Lake City they outfitted for the desert. Five burros were bought, two for riding and three for packing. Jack’s burro was called Jenny. Jenny was a canny animal. She grunted at every step. Her progress might in some measure be likened to that of a drove of pigs, except that her grunts lacked the solidity and conviction which characterize the grunt of the real porker. Mexico is the real land of the burro. Here they are used to such an extent as freighters as to threaten the existence of the railroads. The Mexican will load his burros to their full capacity and at the stopping places let them graze. No food is provided except what they can pick up. If there should be no food and the animal starves he buys another since this is the cheapest plan.

They carried a light rifle and two Colt’s revolvers, or “Guns” as they are called in the west. There was a tent, two blankets, a bucket, a frying pan, two large canteens, a spade, pick, axe, plenty of coffee and tea, canned baked beans, hard bread, bacon, butter and lard, some flour and feed for the burros.

Neither one could bake or shoot but Uncle remarked that there would be time enough to learn and plenty of teachers. Notwithstanding his quick and sometimes almost rough manner, Jack soon discovered that Uncle was growing fond of her and was really very kind. At first she was very tired as night drew near after a hard day’s riding over the rough trails. They went slowly of necessity, for the burro is not a fast goer and dislikes hurry to an extreme. As the days went by she found her strength growing. He, too, appeared to benefit. They ate plain food, drank nothing but water, and coffee or tea, and retired early and slept soundly. Occasionally they stopped at a settlement, ate a square meal, renewed supplies, had a bath and made ready for another trip.

In this way the winter passed rapidly. Jack learned to shoot, and, profiting from the directions of a good-natured miner, after several failures, they learned to make fair bread.

Jack’s greatest trouble was her cowardice, because she felt sure her Uncle would detest in a boy what he might condone knowing her to be a girl. She made desperate efforts and finally succeeded in controlling her fears moderately well. The dislike she had for shooting was never overcome.

Most of all she enjoyed the evenings by the camp fire when the exertions of the day had not been so great as to compel early hours. Here she looked into his heart and found it clean and good.

There were plenty of indications that all the men one might meet were not of his kind. Bottles innumerable left along the way testified to the fact that though the desert might be dry the travelers were not.

They traveled down the post road from Milford to Delmar and from there struck across country, intending to cross the Hiko, Paranaga and Belted Ranges and strike the Amargosa Desert to the south. These ranges cover a very rough and broken country, and progress was slow and difficult. Several times they were lost, and only the compass finally enabled them to escape from the mountain tangle. The greatest difficulty was in the supply of water for the burros. Their own supply could easily be carried. Several times the burros were saved from death by the finding of one or two barrel cactus which were cut up and fed to them as both food and drink.