CHAPTER XI

*

*THE HOUSE-RAISING*

"I've travelled all over ther country, prospectin' an' diggin' fur gold; I've tunnelled, hydraulicked an' cradled, an' I hev be'n frequently sold. An' I hev be'n frequently s-o-old, an' I hev be'n frequently sold, I've tunnelled, hydraulicked an' cradled, an' I hev be'n frequently sold."

Mose rested on his ax and listened. It was a boy's voice, loud and clear, though it slurred over difficult notes, and filled in uncertain words with a whistle. And it startled the woods, rising above the thunder of the cataract, and rang a hundred echoes from cliff and spur.

"So rollin' my grub in my blanket, an' leavin' my tools on ther ground, I started one mornin' to shank it, fur a country they call Puget Sound. Fur a country they call Puget So-ou-ound--"

"Saprie, dat ees Lem Myers." Mose lifted his ax and lopped off a branch which trailed over the rustic table he had completed. All the space around him was filled with building material; straight logs cut into even lengths, rows of cedar shakes, piles of hewn flooring, posts and rafters, newly made by hand from the felled timber of the small clearing, and surrounded by a resinous litter of boughs and chips.

"'Arrivin' dead broke in mid-winter, I found it enveloped in fog, An' covered all over 'ith timber, thick as hair on ther back of er dog. Thick as hair on ther back of er do-o-g, thick as hair on ther back of er dog,--'

Aw, git up ther, Ginger, git up, I tell you."

Lem rounded a fallen hemlock, tugging at the halter of the reluctant pony, who, heavily laden with hampers, tinware and sundries, sidled this way and that at the obstructions which culminated at the end of the new trail. He lunged back from the long table, and rolling his eyes, came to an immovable standstill.

Mose laid down his ax and walked over to the pony, "Saprie, it ees not'ing to tek dese t'ings 'cross." And he waved his hand with pardonable pride towards a small pavilion roofed in fir boughs.

"Guess we'll hev ter," answered Lem, surveying the scene with evident satisfaction. "This here no 'count cayuse knows he ain't erlowed in nobody's front room. No, sir, ther ain't no use tryin' ter make him budge." And he lifted his bare foot and gave the horse a resentful thrust, which was received with a slight flinching of the flanks, and increased exhibition of the whites of his eyes.

"Hams?" enquired Mose, inhaling a deep breath while he unbuckled the straps of a hamper.

"You bet," answered Lem. "Hams and chickuns. Ole Mother Girard cooked 'em."

"De ole madame ees be one good cook, for sure. It ees fine t'ing her Baptiste ees die, an' dat she ees able sell de ranch, for it ees pos'ble she can stay all tam to de cabane to work for de te'cher."

"This here," said Lem, lowering a second hamper to the ground, "is prince-pally cake. An' you kin jes' bet ther ain't never be'n no sech cake in ther hull deestrict. Ther schoolmarm made it herself, an' it's full o' ceetron, an' raisins; I dunno what all. She gimme this here knife fur takin' ther seeds out. I'd er done it fur nothin' but I wa'n't goin' ter refuse no sech whittler's that." He took the knife from his pocket and exhibited the blades. "I 'low it's ther same one I hed my eye on down ter Yelm Station."

"Nawitka," answered Mose, returning the knife after deliberate inspection, "it ees bran' new. But to me she ees give a'ready one piece gold monies, for dat I ees work on de trail. For dese logs an' shakes, an' dese posts dat I ees help Mill T'ornton mek, she ees lak give me one gran' new gun."

"Les see ther gold piece," said Lem.

"But no, it ees not here. It ees bury in ver' good plas to my fader's gardeen."

"I'll bet you was erfraid Mill er John Phiander'd git it erway from you."

Mose flushed under the taunt and began to turn up his denim sleeve. "It ees bes' you doan' say dat to me," he said slowly. "I am but 'fraid I lose dat gold monies for it ees be so small. Sacre, I t'ink I doan' have some trouble to trash dose boys." He doubled his arm, clinching his hand. "Feel dare, Lem Myers, and dare. Since I ees work to dose logs, Laramie, heemself doan' have so beeg muscle."

Lem laid his fingers on the tense cords with a gradually increasing pressure, while his glance moved from the splendid forearm to the boy's frowning face. "Oh, gee," he said reverently, "gee, but you've growed some, Mose. I'd like ter see you tackle 'em both. I 'low you could lick either one of 'em 'lone, 'ith jes' one hand, or mebbe 'ith your little finger."

Mose smiled his fleeting smile and relaxed his arm. "Saprie," he said, and turned again to the hamper, "I beli've A'm able, ya-as."

"She baked this here cake in ther cookstove down ter Yelm Station," said Lem, "an' it filled ther hull oven." He unfastened the lid of the basket and Mose came around and looked over his shoulder. The cake was wrapped in a piece of muslin. Lem brushed his hand across the seat of his jeans and lifted the end of the cloth with the tips of his thumb and finger. "It ain't white clear through," he added softly; "she made er kind o' whitewash out'n eggs an' reg'lar first class sugar."

"It ees ver' gre't, for sure," said Mose, and he raised a side of the hamper as though it was something holy, and helped Lem carry it across to the pavilion.

When the remainder of Ginger's pack had been stored they lingered in the arbor, making conjectures, and certifying them, as to the contents of various bags and bundles, until further investigation was stopped by the voice of the teacher in the clearing.

It was a bright day at the end of February, the Puget Sound spring, and she had found and fastened on her breast a first cluster of Oregon currant. The heart of the blossoms was reflected on her cheeks; the light of the early morning was in her eyes. "Oh," she said, "what a splendid table, Mose." And turning to the town carpenter, who accompanied her, "Isn't it fine? And this is the boy of whom I told you. He has split all of the shakes, hewn flooring, cut logs. He has done everything except what the young ranchers could do for me in a few odd days."

The carpenter admitted that Mose had done "uncommon well." Then while the boy, pleased and embarrassed, led away and picketed the horses, she showed the man the building site and talked over the material and plans. But, presently, there were voices on the trail, and here were the Laramies, the Phianders, with Eben Myers and Martha and Mother Girard, followed by the people from the prairie and many more. The men walking, bearing axes, saws, sometimes a rifle; the young folk afoot also, while the older women and children rode double and by threes on mules, draught horses, steers and Indian ponies. Then, were not those the hoof-beats of John Phiander's Baldy, timed by the rapid pace of Mill Thornton's sorrel? And the plodders in the trail must press quickly forward or crowd into the thicket, to give the young blood room.

But these gay fellows were capable of sobering down. They were ready to "match muscle," urging each other with dares and taunts to set their swelling chests and heaving shoulders to the heavy timbers. And surely the Nisqually had never seen another such raising; never so great a company. People from Yelm and Tenalquet were there, and from Tacoma, in Pierce County beyond the Puyallup. The walls went up apace; the huge fir rafters were swung into position, and then appeared a wondrous gable, its sloping eaves arching a roomy balcony. Surely the settlement had yet to see as fine a cabin. Wild things crept to cover. And the soughing of the chinook in the branches, the distant thunder of the falls, the falling of rock up the mountain, were not to be heard in this tumult of construction, the babel of voices, multiplied by the answering clamor of the speaking hills.

But while these experienced settlers, men who had themselves conducted raisings and superintended the building of a score of cabins, moved about, taking meekly the orders of the town carpenter, their wives followed the novel directions of the young teacher. Never before had the Nisqually looked on such a table. All the long board was fringed with cedar and twigs of flowering dogwood; turkeys and chickens placed on huge wooden platters were garnished with the glossy leaves of the Washington holly; hams in big trenchers, bearing yet the fragrance of pine, were decorated with crisp sprigs of salal; and there were haunches of venison and rounds of bear meat, or at intervals a wild goose, a brace of ducks, all decked with bright shoots of spruce or fir. But the center of the board was given to the great white cake, throned on a bank of moss and embellished, to Lem's delight, with small flags. Others, of a larger size, intermingled with Japanese lanterns, were fastened in groups and singly among the trees which bordered the clearing. The boughs over the table flamed with them.

"I give it up, but I 'low ther's 'bout five hundred." Lem cast a final calculating glance over the table and the surrounding decorations. He was seated on a lofty stump, his arms folded, his bare heels beating a slow tattoo on the bark. "Ther small ones down to Yelm sells fur ten cents er half dozen." He paused, then added speculatively, "I wonder what she's goin' ter do with 'em when she gits through?"

His reverie was broken by a summons to table, and in the general rush, he slipped from his perch and ferreted into a place at the foot of the board. Only the men were seated, while the women served; the children played or loitered about, watchful of the chance attention that sometimes fell to them. At last in her rounds the boy's mother detected him. "Wal, ef you don't beat all," she said, stopping short with a huge tray of carved venison in her hands. "You git right up an' make yourself scarce tell ther men's through."

Lem sat with his head bent, hands folded meekly; Ginger himself had never shown greater dejection, and, like Ginger, he did not move.

"Oh, let him erlone," said Mill Thornton, lifting his tankard and including the company with a bland smile. "He's goin' ter sing ther Ole Settler fur us."

"I ain't nuther; I dunno it. Ask Cousin Samanthy." Lem cast a sidelong glance at the young man, who blushed hotly and put down his embarrassment with a draught from the tankard. "She'd be mighty diserpointed ef you didn't ask her; she's be'n gittin' ready fur a week."

With this Lem helped himself liberally from the platter in his mother's hands, and cast another look at Samantha, who, also flushing pinkly, stood in amazement, while the coffee-pot which she carried poured a brown stream on the earth.

"Pshaw, 'tain't so," she said, drawing her breath quickly. "Lem 'lowed all along he'd sing it ef I'd learn him ther words. Fur ther land sakes," she added, addressing the coffee-pot, which she speedily righted; and at the same time she caught the skirt of her pink cotton frock out of range.

"I dunno 'em all," said Lem, and boldly held out his empty cup.

"Guess you'll hev ter, Samanthy," said Eben, laughing. "Come, now, tune up."

At this, a cry repeated warmly by a score of throats, the girl put down the coffee-pot and darted away. It then became Mill Thornton's office to pursue and bring her back. He was encouraged by shouts and laughter as the pink dress appeared and disappeared among the trees.

She stopped at length all flushed and panting, and turned her face shyly to her pursuer. "I guess I'll hev ter, Mill. I'm ready ter drop."

"You're mighty pretty that erway," he said softly, putting his hand on her arm,--he felt its plump roundness through the thin sleeve,--"I'd like ter kiss you, ef I 'lowed you could stand it to hev that ther tiresome crowd laffin'."

"My stars, Mill," she said and all the imps in her eyes mocked him, "ain't you good? You're most er an-gel. I'll bet under your shirt you kin jest feel ther wings er sproutin'."

But even then his courage failed him. "Oh, kem on," he said, "ther ain't er girl in this hull deestrict kin beat you singin'. I'm ready ter lick ther fellow says so."

He led her back towards the waiting company, his grasp tightening on her arm. She hung her head and came reluctantly, catching at a branch, dragging her feet.

"Well," said Eben, putting down his mug and drawing his hand across his whiskers, "ef you're done er bein' bashful, now, Samanthy, we're ready ter listen."

She straightened herself with a little cough and looked at her audience. Then her glance fell and she shrank behind her captor with a faint, "I don't like ter."

But the young man did not relax his hold, and though his face crimsoned, he impelled her forward, closing his lips firmly over locked teeth, and watching her warily, as an athlete measures an uncertain antagonist. And he confessed to her privately, afterwards, that it "took more nerve" to make her sing than was required later "to put a head on Pete Smith."

She met his look helplessly, but straightened herself once more, with that little cough, and commenced in a clear quavering soprano.

"I've travelled all over ther country, prospectin' an' diggin' fur gold, I've tunnelled, hydraulicked an' cradled, an' I hev be'n frequently sold."

The men grew silent, those to whom the song was new giving attention only to the singer, the others dividing interest between her and the table. But the words appealed to most, and convinced that, well started, she would brave out the ordeal, Thornton resumed his place. He masked his face in a set expression of indifference, but when his glance moved to Samantha, his bold young heart leaped and proclaimed itself through the batteries of his eyes.

She finished the song and took up her interrupted work of pouring coffee. Eben cleared his throat, and parted his beard, stroking it gently. "That ther chase you jest hed, Mill, 'minds me of er time I hed over to Montaner. I dunno's I ever let on 'bout that ther hunt o' mine."

He paused, still stroking his whiskers, while the audience grew attentive. "It was er full grown grizzly," he went on, "an' I'd give her a mighty mean shot, so't she was fightin' ugly. I hedn't another catridge an' I dunno's I'd hed time ter load up ef I hed. I natu'ally hed ter light out, an' ther wa'n't er tree in sight; nothin' but er few scrub hazels. But I got ter circlin' round them, ther bear after me, tell ther first thing I see we was wearin' er reg'lar ditch in ther ground. When it got 'bout's high's my head he let up er minute ter get his wind, an' I see my chanct ter climb out. I was jest dead beat an' all I could do was ter lay down close ter that bank an' watch that ther grizzly chase hisself--didn't seem ter miss me--tell he dropped."

There was a pregnant silence, then young Thornton said gravely, "It was er mighty close call, Eben, sure; 'bout ther closest you ever hed. But I 'low you never showed us that ther grizzly's skin."

There was another brief silence, during which Eben thoughtfully regarded his empty plate. "You're right," he said at last, "you're right, Mill, but that ther pelt wa'n't worth keepin'. You see when I clumb down after it I see it was spoiled. That ther ditch was mighty narrer, an' scrapin' round so long he jest natu'ally rubbed ther hair clean offn both sides."

The men, laughing, rose by twos and threes to return to their work. It was then, while the women and children closed in around the table, that Stratton rode into the clearing. Though he had travelled far that day his person was not the worse for it; and Sir Donald's shining coat, his long, lithe body, slender limbs and swelling chest, must have delighted more critical eye than Alice Hunter's.

"This is very nice of you," she said, going to meet him. "I was just feeling a little homesick for a face from the Sound. But Judge Kingsley is in Washington, and no one else knew of the house-raising. What happened to bring you?"

"Why, this quarter section caught my fancy the first time I saw it, last summer, and I made up my mind to take it. But I heard, yesterday, an entry had already been made, by a woman; probably one of these Canadian daughters of the settlement, and the easiest course was to hurry straight on to the headwaters, and ward off her improvements, and buy her off."

"She is not to be bought."

"You think not? Then,"--he gave her a side glance and finished tying the knot in Sir Donald's halter,--"I may decide to contest."

"Contest--this claim? you wouldn't do that?"

"Oh, yes I would." He paused to break a sword fern, with which he flecked off nicely a remaining bit of dust from his riding-boot. "I think I could make out a very good case. I should cover it with a timber filing."

"A timber filing," she replied quietly, "doesn't hold over a homestead right. At least, the exception is rare."

"But I should prove the exception. I should prove that the land is worthless for agriculture, and the timber entry of the adjoining quarter would strengthen the point. I might, however, find it advisable to make the location under mineral rights."

"But there is no mineral, to my knowledge, on this tract; though beyond, somewhere, in these hills, I have heard--there are indications."

"Then," and he waived that possibility, "it is enough that it is one of the best timbered sections in the Puget Sound Basin. These are fine old trees. And"-- He paused to fleck an ant from his sleeve--"I have friends at court."

"Doubtless." Her patience was exhausted. "Such as those irreproachable men of whom Phil Kingsley once told us." She flashed him a look with that swift uplifting of her chin, and turned her face to the high shoulder of the hill. Her lips closed firmly; her breath came a little hard and quick; the ready color burned in her cheek.

Her retort brought the steel to his own eyes, but he had no answer. Her glance returned. "How could you find a timber claim desirable in this mountainous place? Twenty miles from a railroad, and on the Des Chutes, where to raft logs, or even dream of it, is sheer madness?"

"But suppose I should wish to put up a sawmill, and cut the timber right here on the ground? It would be a great thing for the settlement." His smile, which always hinted of mockery, lingered, and he watched her with the quiet enjoyment of the true angler, who is sure, but plays cautiously, to lose nothing of the sport.

"It might benefit the settlement," she said, and flashed him another look of fine scorn, though he saw her lip tremble, "but it would be years before you could hope for returns on the investment."

At this he laughed outright. "I withdraw," he said, "I withdraw. You are in fighting trim to your fingertips. You know too much about land law, Miss Hunter; the Judge has been a thorough instructor, and what you do not know about logging and milling, I am inclined to think is not worth knowing. But the homestead is yours. Now please establish a record for hospitality. I've had a long ride since breakfast."

"Do you mean--" She paused, flushing, then lifted her face to him all sudden brightness and charm. "Oh, you do mean it; I see--I see. You were only teasing me. It's hard, sometimes, to tell just where your jest breaks off--or begins. But did you really want this section?

"Yes, I looked it up at the Land Office, as I came through Olympia, intending to make a timber entry, and found the homestead filing under your name." He had followed her to the table, taking the seat beside her. And he stopped a moment, while he divided a roasted pheasant which he shared with her, then he said, "I do not pretend to fathom your reasons for burying yourself here in the wilderness; it is enough for me to know that you want this land. And the next quarter, on the other side of the cataract, is vacant. It is unsurveyed, but the squatter's right will serve me as well. I only want the place now for a sort of shooting-box; somewhere to stay in the hunting and fishing seasons, and, incidentally, to carry on a little traffic with Laramie and one or two other trappers, who have shown me already some very good furs."

She looked him over interestedly from this new point of view. "So," she said, "So, you are to be my nearest neighbor, with just the river between. Last autumn I thought I should have all the big heart of the hills to myself, but since Christmas Mill Thornton has taken up the next section but one on the school trail, and now you follow. The country is being settled very fast." She turned her eyes again to that high spur. After a moment she asked, "Have you been in Seattle lately, or at the mills?"

"Yes, I was there two days ago and saw your sister. She was well, but I think that the isolation wears on her, though she will not say so. She admits, however, that she misses you, and she and the Captain are planning a cruise among the islands. They are timing it for your spring vacation, confident you will join them."

"Oh," she said, and delight shone in her eyes, "you don't know how that tempts me; it's my favorite cruise."

"And you will arrange to go?"

She shook her head. "How can I? That short vacation means so much to me; I've planned it all away. Mose is going to clear a strip towards the river, for Colonel's pasture, and it must be big enough for the two Jerseys which Judge Kingsley is sending me. And I must furnish the cabin and take actual possession. But I don't know what to say to Louise. She doesn't know about this homestead, Mr. Stratton; I don't want her to know. You see it's all a venture; I might have to relinquish; I might--fail."

"I understand," he answered, again laughing, "and I promise to keep the secret from the Captain,--he can ridicule,--I promise, provided you go that cruise."

"I'm afraid I must." She shook her head again, ruffling her brows. "After all I ought to be able to spare this one week to my sister; she's going to think I'm forgetting her, often enough, before I'm through."

While they were talking a man had entered the clearing from the river side. He moved with a noiseless, sliding motion, and, seating himself at the lower end of the table, aloof from the children, who still loitered there, began unceremoniously to appease a prodigious appetite. Alice watched him in half recognition. His face in the strong light of midday was more than forbidding; it repelled while it also possessed the fascination of extreme ugliness. His old ragged hatbrim, turned back from a slanting forehead, left unshaded a pair of small, beadlike, shifting eyes. Suddenly she remembered where she had seen him before. It was at Laramie's cabin the time she had taken refuge from the storm. He was that midnight visitor, Smith.

None of the settlers gave him special attention, though Samantha filled his cup and Martha supplied him with an abundance of meat and bread. That was the unwritten code of the wilderness; no man was ever turned away hungry. And this man, though an escaped criminal, convicted of some crime against a remote Government, belonged to the community; as long as he respected its primitive laws he might come and go unmolested. But to pillage his neighbor--that was the unpardonable sin. And presently, at the moment of his departure, Smith crossed this line.

A short cruiser's ax, which young Thornton always carried in his belt over a new trail, was lying on a fallen tree directly in the outlaw's way. He was hampered by his gun, as he vaulted the log, but, by some sleight of hand, he slipped the ax under his blouse. Instantly there was a loud outcry, and before he could reach the cover of the jungle a cordon of settlers cut him off.

He swung about to break for the thicket at another point, but there the crowd closed. He stood motionless, weighing the odds, then he put his gun aside, setting the stock against a stump, and the ax reappeared, resting in the hollow of his arm. He caressed the edge of the blade lightly, with his long nervous fingers, and at the same time raised his shifting eyes to the owner, who confronted him. "A'm have some look at your ax, Mill," he said at last in a thick, choppy voice; "mebbe I lak to buy heem, ya-as, you want to sell heem, hey?"

Thornton drew a step nearer. "I 'low," he answered with slow emphasis, "you've examined that ther little ax of mine mighty close, Pete."

Smith understood. There was little use of subterfuge or denial. This cordon of men had become a tribunal, that, having already condemned, awaited the transgressor's punishment. His only escape hung on action, swift, sure. He swung the ax lightly, in a flash, but the instant it left his hand, the young rancher dipped his great shoulder, and rushing under the hurled blade, grappled with him. The confusion he had expected to create failed; his chances of reaching the friendly jungle shrank again. He writhed, twisted out of Thornton's grasp, and, snakelike, struck. Harder pressed, he fought, without system, ferociously, like a cornered rat, squeaking horribly and using his teeth.

There could be no doubt of the outcome. Nature, in creating Thornton, had made an athlete, and the great primal passions, latent in every man, sprang unleashed to meet the beast with whom he had to deal. His quick blows gathered impetus. His victim gave back slowly, snapping, snarling, steps he made no effort to regain. And the human ring moved with them, riverwards. It was miserable, but very swift, and the finish came when the retreating man tripped backward over a root and went down.

Laramie sprang to raise him, but at the same instant the teacher, throwing off Stratton's detaining arm, pushed into the circle and stood before the fallen man. She did not speak at once; the words, struggling in her throat, choked. But Thornton's great doubled forearm relaxed and dropped at his side. He met the command, the reproach in her brave eyes and the fury in his own died.

"I will not have it," she said at last, and her voice rang. "Remember,"--her look swept the cordon,--"from this day I will not have fighting on _my land_."

There was a brief silence. Laramie moved back to his place. Behind her the outlaw rolled on his side, then to his stomach, and began to worm himself towards a cedar that had broken the ring. No one stopped him. He covered the ground with incredible swiftness, with a writhing motion, learned of necessity and long contact with the jungle, and like some hideous goblin crawled under the dragging boughs of the tree.

Myers cleared his throat. "Pete orter kep' erway," he said mildly. "I 'low he didn't get mor'n was due him. Tell you, I've seen er man over in Montaner catch it er sight worse fur doin' less. That ther's a mighty good little ax o' Mill's."

Stratton, who had followed Alice closely, lifted Smith's rifle and walked coolly over to the cedar and passed it between the boughs. The outlaw was on his feet, and he clutched the gun and ran across the remaining bit of open, and dropped out of sight in the dense undergrowth.

"Of course," she said, replying to Eben, "I understand that. The man must be punished; but there are better ways."

"Ther nighest sheriff," said Eben, still mildly, "lives to Olympia, sixty miles straight. That's ther closest jedge, too, an' court."

"Still, here are men enough to hold him," and her voice deepened to a dominant note; "lock him in his cabin, guard him until the right officers can arrive. He should have been turned over to the Government long ago, you all know it, for greater crimes. It must be done now."

She set her lips and turned, and for the first time realized Smith was gone. Stratton stood waiting near the cedar. He saw the sudden relief flash through the consternation in her face. "You let him go," she said slowly. "You could have stopped him. It was your duty."

"Yes," he came towards her, "I let him go. I even helped him off. Pardon me or--punish me."

She stood for a moment looking up into his face, but he bore the scrutiny easily enough, smiling, with a tinge of mockery. "Oh," she said, "how could you? How could you? But I know the reason; it was an impulse--of the heart--to take the losing side. It was wrong--but I--like you for it."

"You like me?" he laughed softly, "You like me?" He paused, enjoying the confusion in her face. She turned it away. "So," he went on, "So you think I sided with the under dog? No, no, Miss Hunter, I am not that kind of a man. It just seemed the quickest way to terminate that miserable row. You should never have witnessed it; you should not have been here. This wilderness is no place for you."

Instantly her confusion was gone. "Oh," she said, "surely this has been proof enough. It is the one place, the right place; the settlement needs me. But--it's going to be the hardest work," she shook her head gravely, "and I want you to help me." She stood another moment searching his face, then, "You are a strange man," she added. "Why is it you cover your best and delight in showing your worst side?"

"There is no best," he answered quickly. "I am past appeal." And he turned and walked swiftly away towards the river and that section of land he had come to see.

Smith was gone; the episode was closed, and the men had resumed their interrupted work. Then, presently, the teacher called Mose and the older children to her assistance, and an arch was formed of stout saplings twined with hemlock and cedar. And when Stratton had returned and it had been set up on the finished floor, he helped to decorate it with flags and yards on yards of gay ribbon, in loops and bows and streamers. There were also, nodding under the smartest twigs, mysterious little packages wrapped in bright papers with fringed ends, so that Lem with increasing difficulty held his wonder. Garlands strung from the rafters, were studded with other flags and supported every variety of Japanese lantern.

The day drew to a close. On the ashes of last year's camp-fire, Mose kindled a new blaze, and the people gathered around it for a brief interval of rest. They discussed the gabled roof, the roomy balcony, and then the conditions of the soil. And afterwards Myers spun a grizzly yarn, rivaled by Laramie's recital of the elk hunt from which he had lately returned. And the women, brought together from remote solitudes, exchanged small personalities, sure of a sympathetic ear. They took up the misfortunes of Slocum's family, left without a head, and the fatal accident that had befallen young Girard, soothing his mother with a reminder of the good bargain she had made in selling the ranch, and the comfortable home she was to find with the teacher.

But when the round moon looked over the high shoulder of the slope, and the lighted lanterns began to show blue or red or orange spheres along the edge of the clearing, and filled the cabin with a soft illumination, Eben brought his violin, and with various trials of the bow upon the strings, led the way into the building. Then, when Mill Thornton had danced a hornpipe, and all the young folk had warmed their blood to the tune of Money Musk, followed by a stirring jig, the teacher led them a new step, fitting to the music of the settlement the qualities of the cotillion. She came under the arch, and reaching, took one of the small flags. But it was not to Stratton that she gave it, but to Laramie, who stood frowning in the doorway. Laramie, who had not danced these many years. And to the astonishment of everybody the Canadian answered the salutation of her pretty head, and sticking the flag in his buttonhole, commenced with much shuffling of the cowskin boots, a series of gyrations and curvetings that filled the newer generation with amazement and delight.

It was an easy matter for Samantha to learn that little novelty as to the flags, and the more difficult methods with the ribbons. Lem, there in the corner, with folded arms and watchful eyes imitating Laramie's wild motions, saw the teacher open that first package with the fringed ends, and still with that swaying movement, unfold and place on her head a yellow tissue hat. Then here were all of these large girls following her example, and Laramie himself pulling off his old squirrel-skin cap, and flinging it aside for a red bonnet. Mill Thornton too, and all the boys from Yelm and Tenalquet, were rigging themselves out in every kind of head-gear, and with flags and ribbons; making their best steps, and cheered on by the shouts and laughter of the older people ranged along the walls.

The bow ran faster and faster, as though it laughed in its sleeve at the wild figures they cut. Then, at length, the teacher slipped aside to relieve Eben. It was a different music, sweeter, softer, that she drew from the old cracked instrument, and she kept time with one foot, thrust a little forward; a smile played on her lips, there was a shining light in her eyes, and the yellow hat was pale against her ruddy hair.

But finally the measure changed. The revellers quieted under the unfamiliar strain. It was no longer dance music but Schubert's Serenade. A far-away look came over her face; a sweet tenderness. Her soul was in her touch; she called a speaking sadness from the strings. A great hush fell over the room.

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