Oscar Micheaux - The Homesteader: Pgs. 131-206 lyrics

[CHAPTER XVII: HARVEST TIME AND WHAT CAME WITH IT] HARVEST time, harvest time! When the harvest time is, all worries have pa**ed. When the harvest time is, all doubts, droughts, fears and tears are no more. When the golden grain falls upon the canvas; when the meadow larks, the robins and all the birds of the land sing the song of harvest time, the farmer is happy, is gay, and confident. And harvest time was on in the country of our story. Jean Baptiste pulled his new binder before the barn, jumped from the seat, and before he started to unhitch, he gazed out over a stretch of land which two years before, had been a ma** of unbroken prairie, but was now a world of shocked grain. Thousands upon thousands of shocks stood over the field like a great army in the distance. His crop was good the best. And no crops are like the crop on new land. Never, since the beginning of time had that soil tasted tamed plant life. It had seemed to appreciate the change, and the countless shocks before him were evi- dence to the fact. From where he stood when he had unhitched, he gazed across country toward the southeast where lay his other land. Only a part of which he could see. As it rose in the distance he could see the white topped oats ; and just beyond he could see the deep purple of the flaxseed blossoms. He sighed contentedly, unharnessed his horses, let them drink, and turned them toward the pasture. He was not tired ; but he went to the side of the house which the sun did not strike, and sat him down. At the furthest side of the field he observed Bill and George as they shocked away to finish. He was at peace again, as he always was, and thereupon fell into deep thought. " My crop of wheat will yield not less than thirty bushels to the acre," he whispered to himself. " And one hundred and thirty acres should then yield almost four thousand bushels. I should receive at least eighty cents the bushel, and that would approximate about three thousand dollars, with seed left to sow the land again." He paused in his meditation, and considered what even that alone would mean to him. He could pay the entire amount on the land he had purchased, and perhaps a thousand or two more from the flax crop. That would leave him owing but four hun- dred dollars on the land he had bought, and that amount he felt he would be able to squeeze out somewhere and have 520 acres clear! He could not help being cheerful, perhaps somewhat vain over his prospects. He was now just twenty-three and appreciated that most of his life was yet before him. With, at the most, two or three more seasons like the present one, he could own the coveted thousand acres and the example would be completed. That was the goal toward which he was working. If he or any other man of the black race could acquire one thou- sand acres of such land it would stand out with more credit to the Negro race than all the protestations of a world of agitators in so far as the individual was concerned. " It is things accomplished," he often said to himself. " It is what is actually accomplished that will get notice and credit ! Damn excuses ! The best an excuse can secure is dismissal, and positively that is no a**et." He would then invariably think deeply into the conditions of his race, the race who protested loudly that they were being held down. Truly it was an intricate, delicate subject to try to solve with prolific thinkings. He compared them with the Jew went away back to thousands of years before. Out of the past he could not solve it either. All had begun to- gether. The Jew was hated, but was a merchant enjoying a large portion of the world commerce and success. The Negro was disliked because of his black skin and some- times seemingly for daring to be human. At such times he would live over again the life that had been his before coming West. He thought of the multi- tudes in the employment of a great corporation who monopolized the sleeping car trade. Indeed this company after all was said, afforded great opportunities to the men. Not so much in what was collected in tips and in other devious ways, nor from the small salary, but from the great opportunity of observation that that particular form of travel afforded. But so few made the proper effort to benefit themselves thereby. He continued to think along these lines until his thoughts came back to a point where in the past they were wont to come and stop. He could not in that moment un- derstand why they had not been coming back to that self- same point in recent months. . . . Since one cold day during the first month of that year. ... He gave a start when he realized why, then sighed. It seemed too much for his thoughts just then. He regarded Bill and George at their task of trying to finish their work. Upon hearing a sound, he turned. Behind him stood Agnes. " My, how you frightened me ! " he cried. She held in her hand a basket containing lunch for him and her brothers. This she had brought every day, but he had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he had quite forgotten that she was coming on this day as well. As she stood quietly before him, she seemed rather shorter than she really was, also more slender, and appeared withal more girlish than usual. Her eyes twinkled and her heavy hair drawn together at the back of her head, hung over her shoulders. Her sunkist skin was a bit tanned; her arms almost to the elbows were bare, brown and were very round. And as Jean Baptiste regarded her there in the bright golden sunlight she appeared to him like the Virgin Mary. " You are tired/' he cried, and pointed to a crude bench that reposed against the sod house, which he had just left in his prolific thinking of a moment before. " Sit down, please, and rest yourself," he commanded. She obeyed him modestly, with a smile still upon her pleasant face. " I judge that Bill and George will finish in a few min- utes, so I'll wait, that we may all dine together. You'll be so kind as to wait until then, will you not?" he asked graciously, and bowed. " Until then, my lord," she smiled, coquettishly. " Thanks ! " he laughed, good humoredly. Suddenly she cried : " Oh, isn't it beautiful ! " And swept her hands toward the field of shocked wheat. He had been looking away, but as she spoke he turned and smiled with satisfaction. " It is." " Just lovely/' she cried, her eyes sparkling. " And all safe, that's the best part about it," he said. " Grand. I'm so glad you have saved it," she said with feeling. " Thank you." " You have earned it." " I hope so. Still I thank you." " It will bring you lots of money/' " I am hoping it will." " Oh, it will." " I was thinking of it before you came up." " I knew it." "You knew it!" " I saw you from a distance/' " Oh. . . ." " And I knew you were thinking/' " Oh, come now." " Why shouldn't I ? You're always thinking. The only time when you are not is when you are sleeping." " You can say such wonderful things," he said, standing before her, the sun shining on his tanned features. " Won't ah won't you be seated ? " she invited. He colored unseen. She made room for him and he hesi- tatingly took a seat, at a conventional distance, on the bench beside her. " Your other crops are fine, too," she said, sociably. " I'm going over to look at them this afternoon." "You should." " Where is your father today ? " " Gone to town/' " Wish I'd known he was going ; I'd had him bring out some twine for me. I think the oats will be ready to cut over on the other place right away, and I don't want to miss any time." " No, indeed. A hail storm might come up/' He glanced at her quickly. She was gazing across the field to where her halfwitted brothers worked, while he was thinking how thoughtful she was. Presently he heard her again. " Why, if it is urgent you are out, I I could go to town and get the twine for you." She was looking at him now and he was confused. Her offer was so like her, so natural. Why was it that they understood each other so well? " Oh, why, Agnes," he stammered, " that would be ask- ing too much of you ! " " Why so ? I shall be glad glad to oblige you in any way. And it is not too much if one takes into consider- ation what you have done for I'll be glad to go. . . ." " Done for what ? " he said, catching up where she had broken off, and eyeing her inquiringly. She was confused and the same showed in her face. She blushed. She had not meant to say what she did. But he was regarding her curiously. He hadn't thought about the note. She turned then and regarded him out of tender eyes. She played with the bonnet she held in her lap. She looked away and then back up into his face, and her eyes were more tender still. In her expression there was almost an appeal. " What did you mean by what you started to say, Agnes," he repeated, evenly, but kindly. "I I mean what you did for papa. What you you did about that that note." It was out at last and she lowered her eyes and struggled to hold back the tears with great effort. " Oh," he laughed lowly, relievedly. " That was noth- ing." And he laughed again as if to dismiss it. " But it was something," she cried, protestingly. " It was something. It was everything to us." She ended with great emotion apparent in her shaking voice. He shifted. It was awkward, and he was a trifle confused. " Please don't think of it, Agnes." " But how can I keep from thinking of it when I know that had it not been your graciousness ; your wonderful thoughtfulness, your great kindness, we would have been sold out bankrupted, disgraced, oh, me ! " She covered her face with her hands, but he could see the tears now raining down her face and dropping upon her lap. " Oh, Agnes," he cried. " I wish you wouldn't do that ! Please don't. It hurts me. - Besides, how did you know it? I told Brookings that your father was not to know it. I did not want it known." He paused and his voice shook slightly. They had drawn closer and now she reached out and placed her small hand upon his arm. " Brookings didn't tell. He didn't tell papa ; but I knew." She was looking down at the earth. " I don't understand," she heard him say wonderingly. " But didn't you think, Jean, that / understood ! I un- derstood the very day a few minutes after papa returned home, brought the old note and told me about the exten- sion." She paused and looked thoughtfully away across the field. " I understood when you drove by a few min- utes later. You had forgotten about it, I could see, and your mind was on other things ; but the moment you came into my sight, and I looked out upon you from the window, I knew you had saved us." Her hand still rested lightly upon his arm. She was not aware of it, but deeply concerned with what she was saying. Presently, when he did not speak, she went on. " I understood and knew that you had forgotten it that you were too much of a man to let us know what you had done. I can't forget it! I have wanted to tell you how I felt I felt that I owed it to you to tell you, but I couldn't before." " Please let's forget it, Agnes," she heard him whisper. " I can keep from speaking of it, but forget it never ! It was so much like you, like the man that's in you ! " and the tears fell again. " Agnes, Agnes, if you don't hush, almost I will forget myself. . . ." " I had to tell you, I had to ! " she sobbed. " But it is only a small return for what you did for me. Do you realize, Agnes, had it not been for you, I I would not be sitting here now? Oh, think of that and then you will see how little I have done how very little I can ever do to repay ! " His voice was brave, albeit emotional. He leaned toward her, and the pa**ion was in his face. She grasped his arm tighter as she looked up again into his face out of her tear bedimmed eyes and cried brokenly : " But Jean, the cases are not parallel. What I did for you I would have done for anybody. It was merely an act of providence; but yours oh, Jean, cant you under- stand!" He was silent. " Yours was the act of kindness," she went on again, " the act of a man ; and you would have kept it secret ; because you would never have had it known, because you would not have us feel under obligation to you. Oh, that is what makes me oh, it makes me cry when I think of it." The tears flowed freely while her slender shoulders shook with emotion. And wheji she had concluded, the man beside her had forgotten the custom of the country, and its law had pa**ed beyond him. He was as a man toward the maid now. Beside him wept the one he had loved as a dream girl. Behind him was the house with the bed she had laid him upon when she saved his life. And when he had awak- ened, before being conscious of where he was or what had happened to him, he had looked into her eyes and had seen therein his dream girl. She was his by the right of God; he forgot now that she was white while he was black. He only remembered that she was his, and he loved her. His voice was husky when he answered: "Agnes, oh, Agnes, I begged you not to. I almost be- seeched you, because oh, don't you understand what is in me, that I am as all men, weak? To have seen you that night the night I can never forget, the night when you stood over me and I came back to life and saw you. You didn't know then and understand that I had dreamed of you these two years since I had come here : that out of my vision I had seen you, had talked with you, oh, Agnes ! " She straightened perceptibly; she looked up at him with that peculiarity in her eyes that even she had never come to understand. They became oblivious to all that was about them, and had unconsciously drawn closer together now and regarded each other as if in some enchanted garden. She sang to him then the music that was in her, and the words were : "Jean, oh, Jean Baptiste, you have spoken and now at last 7 understand. And do you know that before I left back there from where I came, I saw you: I dreamed of you and that I would know you, and then I came and so strangely met and have known you now for the man you are, oh, Jean ! " Gradually as the composure that had been theirs pa**ed momentarily into oblivion, and the harvest birds twittered gayly about them, his man's arm went out, and into the embrace her slender body found its way. His lips found hers, and all else was forgotten. [EPOCH THE SECOND] [CHAPTER I: REGARDING THE INTERMARRIAGE OF RACES] IT WAS winter, and the white snow lay everywhere; icicles hung from the eaves. All work on the farms was completed. People were journeying to a town half way between Bonesteel and Gregory to take the train for their former homes; others to spend it with their rela- tives, and Jean Baptiste was taking it for Chicago and New York where he went as a rule at the end of each year. He was going with an air of satisfaction apparently; for, in truth, he had everything to make him feel so that is, almost everything. He had succeeded in the West. The country had experienced a most profitable season, and the crop he reaped and sold had made him in round num- bers the sum of seven thousand five hundred dollars. He had paid for the two hundred acres of land he had bar- gained for; he had seeded more land in the autumn just pa**ed to winter wheat which had gone into the winter in the best of shape; his health was the best. For what more could he have wished? And yet no man was more worried than he when he stepped from the stage onto the platform of the station where he was to entrain for the East. ... It is barely pos- sible that any man could have been more sad. ... To ex- plain this we are compelled to go back a few months ; back to the harvest time; to his homestead and where he sat with some one near, very near, and what followed. " I couldn't help it I loved you ; love you have loved you always ! " he pa**ionately told her. For answer she had yielded again her lips, and all the love of her warm young heart went out to him. " I don't understand you always, dear," he whispered. " Sometimes there is something about you that puzzles me. I think it's in your eyes; but I do understand that whatever it is it is something good it couldn't be other- wise, could it?" " No, Jean," she faltered. "And did you wonder at my calling your name that night?" " I have never understood that fully until now/' she re- plied. " You came in a vision, and it must have been divine, two years ago gone now," she heard him ; " and ever since your face, dear, has been before me. I have loved it, and, of course, I knew that I would surely love you when you came." Isn't it strange," she whispered. " But beautiful." " So beautiful/' " Was it providence, or was it God that brought you that night and saved me from the slow d**h that was coming over me, Agnes ? " "Please, Jean, don't! Don't speak again of that awful night! Surely it must have been some divine providence that brought me to this place; but I can never recall it without a tremor. To think that you would have died out there! Please, never tell me of it again, dear." She trembled and nestled closer to him, while her little heart beat a tattoo against her ribs. They looked up then, as across the field her halfwitted brothers were approaching. It was only then that they seemed to realize what had trans- pired and upon realization they silently disembraced. What had pa**ed was the most natural thing in the world, true; and to them it had come because it was in them to a**ert themselves, but now before him rose the Custom of the Country, and its law. So vital is this Custom; so much is it a part of the body politic that certain states have went on record against it. Not because any bad, or good, any wealth or poverty was involved. It had been because of sentiment, the sentiment of the stronger faction. . . . So it ruled. In the lives of the two in our story, no thought but to live according to God's law, and the law of the land, had ever entered their minds, but now they had while laboring under the stress of the pent-up excitement and emotion overruled and forgot the law two races are wont to observe and had given vent and words to the feeling which was in them. . . . They stood conventionally apart now, each absorbed in the calm realization of their positions in our great American society. They were obviously dis- turbed ; but that which had drawn them to the position they had occupied and declared, still remained, and that was love. So time had gone on as time will ; never stopping for any- thing, never hesitating, never delaying. So the day went, and the week and the month, and the month after that and the month after that, until in time the holidays were near, and Jean Baptiste was going away, away to forget that which was more to him than all the world the love of Agnes Stewart. He had considered it he had considered it before he caught the one he loved into his arms and said the truth that was in him. . . . But there was another side to it that will have much space in our story. Down the line a few stations from where he now was, there lived an example. A man had come years ago into the country, there, a strong, powerfully built man. He was healthy, he was courageous and he was dark, because forsooth, the man was a Negro. And so it had been with time this man's heart went out to one near by, a white. Be- cause of his race it was with him as with Jean Baptiste. Near him there had been none of his kind. So unto him- self he had taken a white wife. He had loved her and she had loved him ; and because it was so, she had given to him children. And when the children had come she died. And after she had died and some years had pa**ed, he took unto himself another wife of the same blood, and to that union there had come other children. So when years had pa**ed, and these selfsame children had reached their majority, they too, took unto themselves wives, and the wives were of the Caucasian blood. But when this dark man had settled in the land below, which, at that time, had been a new country, he decided to claim him- self as otherwise than he was. He said and said again, that he was of Mexican descent, mongrel, forsooth; but there was no Custom Of The Country with regard to the Mexican, mongrel though he be. But the people and the neighbors all knew that he lied and that he was Ethiopian, the which looked out through his eyes. But even to merely claim being something else was a sort of compromise. So his family had grown to men and women, and they in turn brought more children into the world. And all claimed allegiance to a race other than the one to which they belonged. Once lived a man who was acknowledged as great and much that goes with greatness was given unto him by the public. A Negro he was, but as a climax in his great life, he had married a wife of that race that is superior in life, wealth and achievements to his own, the Caucasian. So it had gone. The first named, Jean Baptiste never felt he could be quite like. Even if he should disregard The Custom Of The Country, and its law, and marry Agnes, he did not feel he would ever attempt that. But to marry out of the race to which he belonged, especially into the race in which she belonged, would be the most unpopular thing he could do. He had set himself in this new land to suc- ceed ; he had worked and slaved to that end. He liked his people; he wanted to help them. Examples they needed, and such he was glad he had become; but if he married now the one he loved, the example was lost; he would be condemned, he would be despised by the race that was his. Moreover, last but not least, he would perhaps, by such a union bring into her life much unhappiness, and he loved her too well for that. Jean Baptiste had decided. He loved Agnes, and had every reason to; but he forswore. He would change it. He would go back from where he had come. He would be a man as befitted him to be. He would find a girl; he would marry in his race. They had education; they were refined well, he would marry one of them anyhow ! So Jean Baptiste was going. He would forget Agnes. He would court one in his own race. So to Chicago he now sped. He had lived in the windy city before going West, and was very familiar with that section of the city on the south side that is the center of the Negro life of that great metropolis. Accordingly, he approached a station in the loop district, entered one of the yellow cars and took a seat. He looked below at the hurly-burly of life and action, and then his eyes took survey of the car. It was empty, all save himself and another, and that other was a girl, a girl of his race! The first he had seen since last he was in the city. How little did she know as she sat across the aisle from him, that she was the first of his race his eyes had looked upon for the past twelve months. He regarded her curiously. She was of that cross bred type that are so numerous, full bloods seemingly to have become rare about those parts. She was of a light brown complexion, almost a mulatto. She seemed about twenty-two years of age. Of the curious eyes upon her she seemed entirely unaware, finally leaving the train at a station that he was familiar with and disappeared. At Thirty-first Street he left the train, fell in with the scattered crowd below and the dash of the city life was his again in a twinkling. He found his way to State Street, the great thoroughfare of his people. The novelty in view- ing those of his clan now had left him, for they were all about. Even had he been blind he could have known he was among them, for was not there the usual noise; the old laugh, and all that went with it ? He hurried across and pa**ed down Thirty-first to Dear- born Street, Darktown proper; but even when he had reached Federal, then called Armour, he had seen noth- ing but his race. He had friends at least acquaintances, so to where they lived he walked briskly. " And if it isn't Jean Baptiste, so 'elp me Jesus," cried the woman, as she opened the door in response to his knock, and without further ceremony encircled his neck with her arms, and kissed his lips once and twice. " You old dear ! " she exclaimed with him inside, holding him at arms' length and regarding him fondly. " How are you, anyhow ? " " Oh, fine," he replied, regarding her pleasantly. " You are certainly looking good," she said, looking up into his face with fun in her eyes. " Sit down, sit down and make yourself at home," she invited, drawing up a chair. "Well, how's Chicago?" he inquired irrelevantly. " Same old burg," she replied, drawing a chair up close. "And how's hubby?" "Fine!" " And the rest of the family? " " The same. Pearl, too." "Oh, Pearl. . . . How is Pearl?" " Still single. . . ." " Thought she was engaged to be married when I was here last year ? " " Oh, that fellow was no good ! " " What was the matter ?" " What's the matter with lots of these n***a' men 'round Chicago ? They can't keep a wife a posing on State Street." " Humph ! " " It's the truth ! " " And how about the women? They seem to be fond of pa**ing along to be posed at. . . ." " Oh, you're mean," she pouted. Then : " Are you married yet? " " Oh, lordy ! How could I get married ? Not thirty minutes ago I saw the first colored girl I have seen in a year ! " "Oh, you're a liar!" "It's the truth!" " Is it so, Jean ? Have you really not seen a colored girl in a whole year ? " " I have never lied to you, have I ? " " Well, no. Of course you haven't ; but I don't know what I would do under such circumstances. Not seeing n***a's for a year." " But I've seen enough already to make up." She laughed. " Lordy, me. Did you ever see so many ' shines ' as there are on State Street ! " She paused and her face became a little serious for a moment. " By the way, Jean, why don't you marry my sister ? " " You're shameful ! Your sister wouldn't have me. I'm a farmer." " Oh, yes she would. Pearl's getting tired of getting engaged to these Negroes around Chicago. She likes you, anyhow." " Tut, tut," he laughed depreciatingly. " Pearl would run me ragged out there on that farm ! " She laughed too. " No, she wouldn't, really. Pearl is good looking and is tired of working." " She's good looking, all right, and perhaps tired of work- ing; but she wouldn't do out there on the farm." " Oh, you won't do. I'll bet you are married already." " Oh, Mrs. White ! " "But you're engaged?" "Nope!" "Jean. I'll bet you'll marry a white girl out there and have nothing more to do with n***a's." " Now you're worse." " And when you marry a white woman, I want to be the first one to shoot you in the leg." He laughed long and uproariously." ' You can laf all you want ; but you ain't goin' through life lovin' nobody. You gotta girl somewhere; but do what you please so long as it don't come to that." "Come to what?" "Marrying a white woman." " Wouldn't that be all right? " She looked up at him with a glare. He smiled amusedly. " Don't you laf here on a subject like that! Lord! I think lots of you, but if I should hear that you had married a white woman, man, I'd steal money enough to come there and k** you dead ! " " Why would you want to do that ? " " Why would I want to do that? Humph ! What you want to ask me such a question for ? The idea ! " " But you haven't answered my question ? " She glared at him again, all the humor gone out of her face. Presently, biting at the thread in some sewing she was doing, she said : " In the first place, white people and Negroes have no business marrying each other. In the second place, a n***a' only gets a po' white woman. And in the third place, white people and n***a's don't mix well when it comes to society. Now, supposin' you married a white woman and brought her here to Chicago, who would you a**ociate with? We n***a's 's sho goin' to pa** 'er up. And the white folks you better not look their way ! " He was silent. " Ain't I done outlined it right? " " You've revealed some very delicate points with regard to the matter," he acknowledged. "Of course I have, and you can't get away from it. But that ain't all. Now, to be frank with yu'. I wouldn't ceh so much about some triflin' no 'count n***a' marrying some old white woman; but that ain't the kind no white woman wants when she stoops so low as to marry a n***a'. Uh, naw ! Naw indeedy ! She don't fool with nothin' like that! She leaves that kind for some poor colored woman to break her heart and get her head broken over. She mar- ries somebody like you with plenty of money and sense with it, see!" He laughed amusedly. " No laffin' in it. You know I'm tellin' the truth. So take warning ! Don't marry no white woman up there and come trottin' down here expectin' me to give you blessin'. Because if you do, and just as sure as my name is Ida White, I'm going to do something to you ! " " But a white woman might help a fellow to get up in the world/' he argued. "Yes, I'll admit that, too. But ouh burden is ouh bur- den, and we've got to bear it. And, besides, you c'n get a girl that'll help you when you really want a wife. That ain't no argument. Of course I'd like to see Pearl mar- ried. But you ain't going to fool with her, and I know it. Pearl thinks she would like it better if she could marry somebody from out of Chicago; but they'd all be the same after a month or so with her." " Well," said he, " I'd better get over to the Keystone. You've interested me today. I've learned something re- garding the amalgamation of races. . . ." " I hope you have, if you had it in your mind. Any- thing else might be forgiven, but marrying a white woman never ! " They parted then. She to her sewing, and Jean Bap- tiste to his thoughts. . . . [CHAPTER II: WHICH?] JEAN BAPTISTE returned to the West after two months' travel through the East, and the spring fol- lowing, sowed a large crop of small grain and reaped a bountiful yield that fall. About this time the county just west of where he lived was opened to settlement, and a still larger crowd than had registered for the land in the county he lived came hither and sought a quarter section. The opening pa**ed to the day of the drawing, and when all the lucky numbers had secured their filings, con- tracts for the purchases of relinquishments began. By this time the lands had reached great values, and that which he had purchased a short time before for twenty dollars the acre, had by this time reached the value of fifty dollars the acre. And now he had an opportunity of increasing his possessions to the number coveted, one thousand acres. He had paid a visit to his parents that winter, and found his sisters, who were mere children when he had left home, grown to womanhood, and old enough to take claims. So with them he had discussed the matter. In- spired by his great success, they were all heart and soul to follow his bidding; so thereupon it was agreed that he would try to secure three relinquishments on good quarters, and upon one or more of these they would make filings. His grandmother, who had raised a family in the days of slavery agreed and was anxious to file on one ; one sister on another, and the third place, was to be his bride's. By doing this, he could have her use her homestead right, providing she filed on the claim before marrying him. So it was planned. But Jean Baptiste knew no girl that he could ask to become his wife, therefore this was yet to be. When he had given up his real love to be loyal to his race, he had determined on one thing: that marriage was a business, even if it was supposed to be inspired by love. But when Agnes was left out, he loved no one. Therefore it must be resolved into a business proposition and the love to come after. So, resigned to the fact, he set himself to choose a wife. On his trip East the winter before he met two persons with whom he had since corresponded. One, the first, was a young man not long out of an agricultural college whose father was a great success as a potato grower. He and Jean became intimate friends. It now so happened that the one mentioned had a sister, and through him Jean Baptiste was introduced to her by mail. Correspondence followed and by this time it had become very agreeable. She proved to be a very logical young woman, and Jean Baptiste was favorably impressed. She was, moreover, industrious, ambitious, and well educated. Her age was about the same as his, so on the surface he thought that they should make a very good match. So be it. In the meantime, however, he had opened a correspond- ence with another whom he had met on his trip the winter before where she had been teaching in a coal mining town south of Chicago. The same had developed mutually, and he had found her agreeable and obviously eligible. Her father was a minister, a dispenser of the gospel, and while for reasons we will become acquainted with in due time he had cultivated small acquaintance with preachers, he took only such slight consideration of the girl's father's pro- fession that he had good cause to recall some time later. About the time he was deeply engrossed in his corre- spondence with both the farmer's daughter and the young school teacher, he received a letter from a friend in Chicago introducing him to a lady friend of hers through mail. This one happened to be a maid on the Twentieth Century Limited, running between New York and Chicago. Well, Jean Baptiste was looking for a wife. Sentiment was in order, but it was with him, first of all, a business propo- sition. So be it. He would give her too a chance. He was somewhat ashamed of himself when he ad- dressed three letters when perhaps, he should have been ad- dressing but one. It was not fair to either of the three, he guiltily felt; but, business was business with him. From his friend's sister he received most delightful epistles, not altogether frivolous, with a great amount of common sense between the lines. But what was more to the point, her father was wealthy, and she must have some conception of what was required to accumulate and to hold. He rather liked her, it now seemed. Now from the preacher's daughter he received also pleas- ing letters. Encouraging, but not to say unconventionally forward. He appreciated the fact that she was a preach- er's child, and naturally expected to conform to a certain custom. But from New York he received the most encourage- ment. The position the maid held rather thrilled him. He loved the road and she wrote such letters ! It was plain to be seen here what the answer would be. Which? He borrowed ten thousand dollars, giving a mortgage upon his land in security therefor. He purchased relin- quishments upon three beautiful quarter sections of land in the county lying just to the west. The same, having to be homesteaded before title was acquired, had all ready been in part arranged for. His grandmother and sister were waiting to file on a place each the third was for the bride-to-be. There remained a few weeks yet in which to make said selection; but, notwithstanding, all must be ready to make filing not later than the first day of October and September at last arrived. He became serious, then uneasy. Which? He wrote all three letters that would give either or all a right to hear the words from him, but did not say sufficient to any to give grounds for a possible breach of promise suit later. He rather liked the girl whose father had made money. Yes, it so seemed more than either of the other two. A match with her on the surface seemed more practical. But for some reason she did not reply within the time to the letter he had written her. Oh, if he could only have courted her; could have been in the position to have seen her of a warm night ; to have said to her : " ." Poor Jean Baptiste your life might not have later come to what it did. . . . He waited but in vain. October was drawing danger- ously near when at last he left for somewhere. Indeed he had not a complete idea where, but of one thing he had concluded, when he returned he would bring the bride-to-be. At Omaha he made up his mind. The girl whose father had made money had had her chance and failed. He re- gretted it very much, but this was a business proposition, and he had two thousand dollars at stake that he would lose if he failed to get some one to file on that quarter section he had provided, on October first. He was rather disturbed over the idea. He really would have preferred a little more sentiment but time had be- come the expedient. "Of course," he argued, as he sped toward Chicago, " I'll be awfully good to the one I choose, so if it is a little out of the ordinary why, I'll try to make up for it when she is mine." With this consolation he arrived in Chicago, wishing that the girl who lived two hundred miles south of Omaha and whose father was well-to-do had replied to his letter. He really had chosen her out of the three. However, he re- signed himself to the inevitable one of the other two. He left the train and boarded the South Side L. He got off again at Thirty-first Street, and found what he had always found before, State Street and Negroes. He was not interested in either this time. He had sent a tele- gram to New York from Omaha to the effect that he was headed for Chicago. It was to the maid, for she had drawn second choice. He planned to meet her at the number her dear friend and the match maker, lived. So it was to this number he now hurried. " Oh, Mr. Baptiste," cried this little woman, whose name happened to be Rankin, and she was an old maid. She gave him her little hand, and was " delighted " to see him. " And you've come ! Miss Pitt will be so glad ! She has talked of nobody but Mr. Baptiste this summer. Oh, I'm so glad you have come ! " and she shook his hand again. " I sent her a telegram that I was coming, and I trust she will let me know. . . ." " She is due in tomorrow," cried their little friend, and her voice was like delicate music. "I expect a telegram," he said evenly. " I am somewhat rushed." " Indeed ! But of course, you are a business man, Mr. Baptiste," chimed Miss Rankin with much admiration in her little voice. " How Miss Pitt will like you ! " Jean Baptiste smiled a smile of vanity. He was getting anxious to meet Miss Pitt himself inasmuch as he ex- pected to ask her to become his wife on the morrow. " Ting-aling-aling ! " went the bell on the street door, and little Miss Rankin rushed forth to open it. " Special for Mr. Jean Baptiste," he heard and went to get it. After signing, he broke the seal a little nervously, and drawing the contents forth, read the enclosed message. He sighed when it was over. Miss Pitt had been taken with a severe attack of neuralgia in New York, was indis- posed and under the care of a physician, but would be in Chicago in six days. He studied the calendar on the wall. Six days would mean October second ! Too late, Miss Pitt, your chance is gone. And now we turn to the party of the third part who will follow us through our story. [CHAPTER III: MEMORIES N. JUSTINE MCCARTHY] "HE will not be in tomorrow," said Baptiste, handing the letter to Miss Rankin. " Oh, is that so ! " cried Miss Rankin in a tone of deep disappointment, as she took the letter. " Now isn't that just too bad ! " " It is," agreed Baptiste. " I will not get to see her, since I shall have to return to the West not later than two or three days." He was extremely disappointed. He sat down with a sigh and rested his chin in his palm, looking before him thoughtfully. " I'm sure sorry, so sorry," mused Miss Rankin ab- stractedly. " And you cannot possibly wait until next week ? " she asked, anxiously. He shook his head sadly. " Impossible, absolutely impossible." " It is certainly too bad. Miss Pitt was so anxious to meet you. And I was, too, because I think you and her would like each each other. She's an awfully good girl, and willing to help a fellow. Just the kind of a girl you need." He shifted his position now and was absorbed in his thoughts. He had come back to his purpose. He was sorry for Miss Pitt; but he had also been sorry that Miss Grey had not answered his letter. . . . The a**ociation with neither, true, had developed into a love affair, so would not be hard to forget. He had agreed with himself that love was to come later. He had exercised discretion. Any one of the three was a desirable mate from a practical point of view. After marriage he was confident that they could conform sufficiently to each other's views to get along, per- haps be happy. Miss McCarthy was, in his opinion, the most intelligent of the three, as she had been to school and had graduated from college. He had confidence in educa- tion uplifting people; it made them more observing. It helped them morally. And with him this meant much. He was very critical when it came to morals. He had studied his race along this line, and he was very exacting; because, unfortunately as a whole their stand- ard of morals were not so high as it should be. Of course he understood that the same began back in the time of slavery. They had not been brought up to a regard of morality in a higher sense and they were possessed with certain weaknesses. He was aware that in the days of slavery the Negro to begin with had had, as a rule only what he could steal, therefore stealing became a virtue. When accused as he naturally was sure to be, he had re- sorted to the subtle art of lying. So lying became an ex- pedient. So it had gone. Then he came down to the point of physical morality. The masters had so often the slave women, lustful by dis- position, as concubine. He had, in so doing of course, mixed the races, Jean Baptiste knew until not more than one half of the entire race in America are without some trait of Caucasian blood. There had been no defense then, and for some time after. There was no law that exacted pun- ishment for a master's cohabitation with slave women, so it had grown into a custom and was practiced in the South in a measure still. So with freedom his race had not gotten away from these loose practices. They were given still to lustful, unde- pendable habits, which he at times became very impatient with. His version was that a race could not rise higher than their morals. So in his business procedure of choosing a wife, one thing over all else was unalterable, she must be chaste and of high morals. Orlean McCarthy, however she as yet appeared from a practical standpoint, could, he estimated rightly, boast of this virtue. No doubt she was equally as high in all other perquisites. But strangely he did not just wish to ask Miss McCarthy to become his wife. He could not understand it altogether. He was confident that no girl lived who per- haps was likely, as likely, to conform to his desires as she ; but plan, do as he would, that lurking aversion still re- mained infinitely worse, it grew to a fear. He sighed perceptibly, and Miss Rankin, catching the same, was deeply sympathetic because she thought it was due to the disappointment he felt in realizing that he was not to see Miss Pitt on the morrow. She placed her arm gently about his shoulders, leaned her small head close to his, and stroked his hair with her other hand. " Well," said he, after a time, and to himself, " I left the West to find a wife. I've lived out there alone long enough. I want a home, love and comfort and only a wife can bring that." He paused briefly in his mutterings. His face became firm. That will that had a**erted itself and made him what he was today, became uppermost. He slowly let the sentiment out of him, which was at once mechanically replaced by a cold set purpose. He smiled then ; not a sentimental smile, but one cold, hard, and singularly dry. " Oh, by the way, Miss Rankin," he essayed, rising, apparently cheerful. " Do you happen to be acquainted with a family here by the name of McCarthy? " "McCarthy?" " Yes. I think the man's a preacher. A Rev. N. J. McCarthy, if I remember correctly." She looked up at him. Her face took on an expression of defined contempt as she grunted a reply. "Humph!" " Well . . ." " Who doesn't know that old rascal ! " " Indeed ! " he echoed, in affected surprise ; but in the same instant he had a feeling that he was to hear just this. Still, he maintained his expression of surprise. " The worst old rascal in the state of Illinois," she pur- sued with equal contempt. "Oh, really!" " Really yes, positively!" " I cannot understand ? " " Oh well," she emitted, vindictively. " You won't have to inquire far to get the record of N. J. McCarthy. Lordy, no! But now," she started with a heightening of color, " He's got a nice family. Two fine girls, Orlean and Ethel, and his wife is a good little soul, rather helpless and with- out the force a woman should have; but very nice. But that husband forget him ! " " This is er rather unusual, don't you think ? " " Well, it is," she said. " One would naturally suppose that a man with such a family of moral girls as he has, would not be so not because he is a preacher." She paused thoughtfully. " Because you know that does not count for a high morality always in our society. . . . But N. J. McCarthy has been like he is ever since I knew him. He's a rascal of the deep water if the Lord ever made one. And such a hypocrite there never lived! Added to it, he is the most pious old saint you ever saw ! Looks just as innocent as the Christ and treats his wife like a dog ! " " Oh, no ! " " No ! " disdainfully. " Well, you'd better hush I " She paused again, and then as if having reconsidered she turned and said : " I'll not say any more about him. Indeed, I don't like to discuss the man even. He is the very embodi- ment of rascalism, deceit and hypocrisy. Now, I've said enough. Be a good boy, go out and buy me some cream." And smilingly she got his hat and ushered him outside. " Well, now what do you think of that," he kept repeat- ing to himself, as he went for the ice cream, " what do you think of that?" Suddenly he halted, and raised his hands to his head. He was thinking, thinking, thinking deeply, reflectively. His mind was going back, back, away back into his youth, his earliest youth no ! It was going had gone back to his childhood ! " N. J. McCarthy, N. J. McCarthy? Where did / know you! Where, where, where!" His head was throbbing, his brain was struggling with something that happened a long time before. A saloon was just to his left, and into it he turned. He wanted to think ; but he didn't want to think too fast. He took a gla** of beer. It was late September, but rather warm, and when the cold beverage struck his throat, his mind went back into its yesterdays. It had happened in the extremely southern portion of the state, in that part commonly referred to as " Egypt," where he then lived. He recalled the incident as it occurred about twenty years before, for he was just five years of age at the time. His mother's baby boy they called him, because he was the youngest of four boys in a large family of chil- dren. It was a day in the autumn. He was sure of this because his older brothers had been hunting; they had caught several rabbits and shot a few partridges. He had been allowed to follow for the first time, and had carried the game. . . . How distinctly it came back to him now. He had picked the feathers from the quail, and had held the rabbits while his brothers skinned them. And, later, they had placed the game in cold water from their deep well, and had thereupon placed the pan holding the same upon the roof of the summer kitchen, and that night the frost had come. And when morning was again, the ice cold water had drawn the blood -from the meat of the game, and the same was clear and white. " Now, young man," his mother said to him the following morning, " you will get into clean cothes and stay clean, do you understand ? " " Yes, mama, I understand," he answered. " But, mama, why ? " he inquired. Jean Baptiste had always asked such questions and for his doing so his mother had always re- buked him. " You will ask the questions, my son," she said, raising his child body in her arms and kissing him fondly. " But I don't mind telling you." She stood him on the ground then, and pointed to him with her forefinger. " Because we are going to have company from town. Big people. The preachers. Lots of them, so little boys should be good, and clean, and be scarce when the preachers are around. They are big men with no time, or care, to waste with little boys ! " " M-um ! " he had chimed. " And, why, mama, do the preachers have no time for little boys? Were they not little boys once themselves?" " Now, Jean! "she had admonished thereupon, " you are entirely too inquisitive for a little boy. There will be other company, also. Teachers, and Mrs. Winston, do you un- derstand ! So be good." With that she went about her dinner, cooking the rabbits and the quail that he had brought home the day before. It had seemed an age before, in their spring wagon fol- lowed by the lumber wagon, the dignitaries of the occasion wheeled into the yard. He could not recall now how many preachers there were, except that there were many. He was in the way, he recalled, however, because, unlike his other brothers, he was not bashful. But the preachers did not seem to see him. They were all large and tall and stout, he could well remember. But the teachers took notice of him. One had caught him up fondly, kissed him and thereupon carried him into the house in her arms. She talked with him and he with her. And he could well recall that she listened intently to all he told her regarding his adventures of the day before in the big woods that was at their back. How beautiful and sweet he had thought she was. When she smiled she showed a golden tooth, some- thing new to him, and he did not understand except that it was different from anything he had ever seen before. After a long time, he thought, dinner was called, and, as was the custom, he was expected to wait. He had very often tried to reason with his mother that he could sit at the corner of the table in a high chair and eat out of a saucer. He had promised always to be good, just as good as he could be, and he would not talk. But his mother would not trust him, and it was understood that he should wait. At the call of dinner he slid from the teacher's lap upon the floor and went outside. He peeped through the window from where he stood on a block. He saw them eat, and eat, and eat, He saw the quail the boys had shot disappear one after another into the mouths of the big preachers, and since he had counted and knew how many quail there were, he had watched with a growing fear. " Will they not leave one ? " he cried. At last, when he could endure it no longer, he ran into the house, walked into the dining room unseen, and stood looking on. Now, the teacher who had the golden tooth happened to turn and espy him and thereupon she cried : " Oh, there is my little man, and I know he is hungry ! Where did you go, sweet one? Come, now, quick to me," whereupon she held out loving arms into which he went and he had great difficulty in keeping back the tears. But he was hungry, and he had seen the last quail taken from the plate by a preacher who had previously taken two. Upon her knee she had sat him, and he looked up into all the faces about. He then looked down into her plate and saw a half of quail. His anxious eyes found hers, and then went back to the plate and the half of quail thereon. " That is for you, sweetness/' she cried, and began to take from the table other good things, while he fell to eating, feeding his mouth with both hands for he was never before so hungry. After a few moments he happened to lift his eyes from the plate. Just to the side of the beloved teacher, he ob- served a large, tall and stout preacher. He wore a jet black suit and around his throat a clerical vest fit closely; while around his neck he wore a white collar hind part before. The preacher's eyes had found Jean's and he gave a start. The eyes of the other were upon him, and they were angry eyes. He paused in his eats and gazed not un- derstanding, into the eyes that were upon him. Then sud- denly he recalled that he had observed that the preacher had been smiling upon the teacher. He had laughed and joked; and said many things that little Jean had not un- derstood. As far as he could see, it appeared as if the teacher had not wished it; but the flirtation had been kept up. At last, in his child mind he had understood. His crawl- ing upon the teacher's lap had spoiled it all ! The preacher was angry, therefore the expression in his eyes. From across the table his mother stood observing him. She seemed not to know what to say or do, for it had always been so very hard to keep this one out of grown people's way. So she continued to stand hesitatingly. " Didn't your mother say that you were to wait," growled the preacher, and his face was darker by the anger that was in it. This frightened Jean. He could find no answer in the moment to such words. His little eyes had then sought those of the teacher, who in reply drew him closely to her. " Why, Reverend," she cried, amazed, " he's a little boy, a nice child, and hungry ! " Whereupon she caressed him again. He was pacified then, and his eyes held some fire when he found the preacher's again. The others, too, had grown more evil. The preacher's lips parted. He leaned slightly forward as he said lowly, angrily: " You're an impudent, ill mannered little boy, and you need a spanking ! " Then suddenly the child grew strangely angry. He couldn't understand. Perhaps it was because he had helped secure the quail, all of which the preachers were eating, and felt that in view of this he was entitled to a piece of one. He could not understand afterward how he had said it, but he extended his little face forward, close to the preacher's, as he poured : " I ain't no impudent 'ittle boy, either ! I went to hunt with my brothers yistidy and I carried all the game, and now you goin' eat it all and leave me none when I'm hungry. You're mean man and make me mad ! " As he spoke everything seemed to grow dark around him. He recalled that he was suddenly snatched from the teach- er's lap, and carried to the summer kitchen which was all closed and dark inside. He recalled that switches were there, and that soon he felt them. As a rule he cried and begged before he was ever touched; but strangely then he never cried, and he never begged. He just kept his mouth shut tightly, and had borne all the pain inflicted by his mother, and she had punished him longer than she had ever done before. Perhaps it was because she felt she had to make him cry ; felt that he must cry else he had not repented. After a time he felt terribly dazed, became sleepy, and gradually fell into a slumber while the blows continued to fall. How long he slept he could not remember, but gradually he came out of it. There were no more blows then. Yet, his little body felt sore all over. When he looked up (for he was lying on his back in the summer kitchen), his mother sat near and was crying and wiping the tears with her apron, while over him bent the teacher, and she was crying also. And as the tears had fallen unchecked upon his face he had heard the teacher saying : " It's a shame, an awful shame ! The poor, poor little fellow! He was hungry and had helped to get the game. And to be punished so severely because he wanted to eat is a shame ! Oh, Mrs. Baptiste, you must pray to your God for forgiveness ! " And his mother had cried more than ever then. Presently he heard a heavy footfall, and peeped upward to see his father standing over him. His father was fair of complexion, and unlike his mother, never said much and was not commonly emotional. But when he was angry he was terrible, and he was angry now. His blue eyes shone like fire. " What is this, Belle," he cried in a terrible voice, " you've k**ed my boy about that d n preacher ! " His father stooped and looked closely into his face. In fear he had opened his eyes. " Jean ! " he heard his father breathe, " God, but it's a blessing you are alive, or there would be a dead preacher in that house/' " Oh, Fawn," his mother cried and fell on him, weeping. The teacher joined in to pacify him, and in that moment Jean was forgotten. Stiffly he had slipped from the room, and had gone around near the kitchen step of the big house to a place where the dogs had their bed. Here he kept a heavy green stick, a short club. He pa**ed before the door, and observed the preacher still sitting at the table, talking with Mrs. Winston. He glared at him a moment and his little eyes narrowed to mere slits. Then he thought of something else ... It was Mose Allen, Mose Allen, a hermit who lived in the woods. It was miles in his mind to where Mose lived, through heavy forests and timber ; but he was going there, he was going there to stay with old Mose and live in the woods. He had done nothing wrong, yet had been severely punished. Before this he had thought several times that when he became a man he would like to be a preacher, a big preacher, and be admired ; but, now never ! He would go to old Mose Allen's, live in the woods and hate preachers forever! Later, deep into the forest he plodded. Deep, deeper, until all about him he was surrounded with overgrowth, but resolutely he struggled onward. He crossed a branch presently, and knew where he was. The branch divided their land with Eppencamp's, the German. From there the forest grew deeper, the trees larger, and the underbrush more tangled. But he was going to Mose Allen and re- membered that that was the way. He grasped his green club tighter and felt like a hunter in the bear stories his big brothers had read to him. He crossed a raise between the branch and the creek where the water flowed deeply, and where they always went fishing. He paused upon reaching the creek, for there a footlog lay. For the first time he experienced a slight fear. He didn't like foot logs, and had never crossed one alone. He had always been carried across by his brothers; but his brothers were not near, and he was running away ! So he took courage, and approached the treacherous bridge. He looked down at the whirling waters below with some awe; but finally with a grimace, he set his foot on the slick trunk of the fallen tree and started across. He recalled then that if one looked straight ahead and not down at the water, it was easy; but his mind was so much on the waters below. He kept his eyes elsewhere with great effort, and finally reached the middle. Now it seemed that he could not go one step further unless he saw what was below him. He hesitated, closed his eyes, and thought of the whipping he had re- ceived and the preacher he hated, opened them, and with calm determination born of anger, crossed safely to the other side. He sighed long and deeply when he reached the other side. He looked back at the muddy waters whirling below, and with another sigh plunged into the forest again and on toward Mose Allen's. He gained the other side of the forest in due time, and came into the clearing. A cornfield was between him and another forest, and almost to the other side of this Mose Allen lived. The sun was getting low, and the large oaks behind him cast great shadows that stretched before him and far out into the cornfield. He thought of ghosts and hurried on. He must reach Mose Allen's before night, that was sure. It was a long way he thought when he reached the other side, and the forest before him appeared ominous. He was inclined to be frightened, but when he looked toward the west and home he saw that the sun had sunk and he plunged grimly again into the deep woodland before him. Now the people of the neighborhood had made com- plaints, and it was common talk about the country, that chickens, and young pigs, and calves had been attacked and destroyed by something evil in the forests. At night this evil spirit had stolen out and ravaged the stock and the chickens. Accordingly, those interested had planned a hunt for what was thought to be a catamount. It was not until he had gone deeply into the woods, and the darkness was every- where about him, that he remembered the catamount. He stopped and tried to pick the briers out of his bleeding hands, and as he did so, he heard a terrible cry. He went cold with fear. He hardly dared breathe, and crouched in a hole he had found where only his shoulders and head were exposed. He awaited with abated breath for some minutes and was about to venture out when again the night air and darkness was rent by the terrible cry. He crouched deeper into the hole and trembled, for the noise was drawing nearer. On and on it came. He thought of a thousand things in one minute, and again he heard the cry. It was very near now, and he could hear the crunch of the animal's feet upon the dry leaves. And still on and on it came. Presently it was so close that he could see it. The body of the beast became dimly outlined before him and he could see the eyes plainly, as it swung its head back and forth, and its red eyes shone like coals of fire. Again the varmint rent the night air with its yell, as it espied its prey crouching in the hole. By watching the eyes he observed the head sink lower and lower until it almost touched the earth. And there- upon he became suddenly calm and apprehensive. He held his breath and met it calmly, face to face. His club was drawn, his eyes were keen and intense. He waited. Sud- denly the air was rent with another d**h rendering cry, and the beast sprung. It had reckoned well, but so had he. He had, more- over, struck direct. The blow caught the beast on the point of its nose and muffled and spoiled its directed spring. He quickly came out of the hole and then, before the ani- mal could get out of his reach, he struck it again with such force at the back of the head, that the beast was stunned. Again and again he struck until the head was like a bag of bones. When his strength was gone, and all was quiet, he became conscious of a drowsiness. He sank down and laid his head upon the body of the dead animal, and fell into a deep sleep. And there they found him during the early hours of the morning and took him and the dead catamount home. " Another beer, Cap'n ? " he heard from the bartender. He quickly stood erect and gazed about in some confusion. " Yes," he replied, throwing a coin upon the bar. He drank the beer quickly, went out, bought Miss Rankin the cream and after delivering it to her, went outside again and up State Street. He was overcome with memories, was Jean Baptiste. He had a task to accomplish. He was going to Vernon Avenue where Miss McCarthy lived to ask her to become his wife. And the preacher who had been the cause of his severe punishment twenty years before was her father, the Rev. N. J. McCarthy. [CHAPTER IV: ORLEAN] "MAMA," cried Orlean E. McCarthy, coming hastily from the hallway into the room where her mother sat sewing, and handing her a note, " Mr. Baptiste is in the city and wishes to call at the earliest possible convenience." " Indeed," replied her mother, affecting a serious ex- pression, " this is rather sudden. Have you sent him word when he could ? " " Yes, mama, I wrote him a note and returned it by the boy that brought this one, that he could call at two o'clock/' Her mother's gaze sought the clock automatically. " And it is now past one," she replied. " You will have to get ready to receive him," she advised ceremoniously. " All right, mama," said Orlean cheerfully, and suddenly bending forward, kissed her mother impulsively upon the cheek, and a moment later hurried upstairs. " What is this I hear about somebody coming to call," inquired another, coming into the room at that moment. Mrs. McCarthy looked up on recognizing the voice of her younger daughter, Ethel, who now stood before her. She gave a perceptible start as she did so, and swallowed before she replied. In the meantime the other stood, regarding her rather severely, as was her nature. She was very tall, was Ethel, and because she was so very thin she appeared really taller than she was. She did not resemble her mother, who was a dumpy light brown skinned woman. She was part Indian, and possessed a heavy head of hair which, when let down, fell over her shoulders. Ethel, on the other hand, was somewhat darker, had a thin face, with hair that was thick, but rather short and bushy. Her eyes were small and dark, out of which she never seemed to look straight at one. They appeared always to be lurking and without any expression, unless it was an expression of dislike. Forsooth, she was a known disagreeable person, ostentatious, pompous, and hard to get along with. She was a bride of a few weeks and was then resting after a short honeymoon spent in Racine, Wisconsin, sixty miles north of Chicago. " Why, Mr. Baptiste is coming. Coming to call on your sister. He has been corresponding with her for some time, you understand," her mother returned in her mild, trained manner. " Oh ! " echoed Ethel, apparently at a loss whether to be pleased or displeased. She was as often one way as the other, so her mother was apprehensive of something more. " I think you have met him, have you not ? " her mother inquired. "Yes, I've met him," admitted Ethel. "Last winter while teaching." " And what do you think of him, my dear? " " Well, he has some ways I don't like." " What ways, please ? " She had started to say " naturally" but thought better of it. " Oh, he does not possess the dignity I like in a man. Struck me as much too commonplace." " Oh," her mother grunted. She was acquainted with Ethel's disposition, which was extremely vain. She loved pomp and ceremony, and admired very few people. " What's he calling to see Orlean for ? " Her mother looked up in some surprise. She regarded her daughter keenly. " Why, my dear ! Why do you ask such a question! Why do young men call to see any young ladies ? " Both turned at this moment to see Orlean coming down the stairway, and attention was fastened upon her following. " All ' dolled ' up to meet your farmer," commented Ethel with a touch of envy in her voice. In truth she was en- vious. Her husband was just an ordinary fellow that is, he was largely what she was making of him. It was said that she had found no other man who was willing to tolerate her evil temper and that, perhaps, was why she had married him. While with him, he had been anxious to marry her to satisfy his social ambition. Although an honest, hard- working fellow, he had come of very common stock. From the backwoods of Tennessee where his father had been a crude, untrained preacher, he had come to Chicago and had met and married her after a courtship of six years. " You look very nice, my dear," said her mother, address- ing Orlean. Between the two children there was a great difference. Although older, Orlean was by far the more timid by disposition. An obedient girl in every way, she had never been known to cross her parents, and had the happy faculty of making herself generally liked, while Ethel invited disfavor. She was not so tall as Ethel, and while not as short as her mother, she was heavier than either. She was the im- age of her father who was dark, although not black. After her mother she had taken her hair, which, while not as fine, was nevertheless heavy, black and attractive. Her eyes were dark like .her mother's, which were coal black. They were small and tender. Her expression was very frank; but she had inherited her mother's timidness and was sub- servient unto her father, and in a measure unto her younger sister, Ethel. She was a year older than the man who was coming to see her, and had never had a beau. " Do I look all right, mama ? " she asked, turning so that she might be seen all around. " Yes, my dear," the other replied. She always used the term "my dear." She had been trained to say that when she was a young wife, and had never gotten out of the habit. " Now sit down, my daughter," she said judiciously, " and before the young man comes to call on you, tell me all about him." " Yes, and leave out nothing," interposed Ethel. " She is talking to your mother, Ethel. You will do her a favor by going to your room until it is over," advised their mother. " Oh, well, if I'm not wanted, then I'll go," spit out Ethel wickedly, whereupon she turned and hastened up the stairs to her room and slammed the door behind her. " Ethel has such a temper," her mother sighed deplor- ingly. " She is so different from you, dear. You are like your mother, while she well, she has her father's ways." " Papa is not as mean as Ethel," defended Orlean, ever obedient to her mother, yet always upholding her father, it mattered not what the issue. Her mother sighed again, shifted in her chair, and said no more on that subject. She knew the father better than Orlean, and would not argue. She had been trained not to. . " Now where did you meet Mr. Baptiste, my dear?" she began. " Where I taught last winter, mother," she replied obedi- ently. " And how did you come to meet him, daughter ? " " Why, he was calling on a girl friend of mine, and I happened along while he was there, and the girl introduced us." " M-m. Was that the first time you had seen him ? " " No, I had met him on the street when he was on the way down there." " I see. Did he speak to you on the street ? " " Oh, no, mother. He did not know me." " But he might have spoken anyhow. . . ." " But he was a gentleman, and he never spoke." She paused briefly, and then, her voice a trifle lower, said : "Of course he looked at me. But " " Well, any man would do that. We must grant that men are men. How were you impressed with him when you met him later at this friend's house ? " " Well, I don't know," returned Orlean hesitatingly. " He seemed to be a great talker, was very commonplace, dressed nicely but not showily. He knew quite a few people in Chicago that we know, and was born near the town in which I met him. He was just returning from New York, and well, I rather admired him. He is far above the average colored man, I can say." " M-m," her mother mused thoughtfully, and with an air of satisfaction. She couldn't think of anything more to say just then, and upon looking at the clock which showed ten minutes of two, she said : " Well, you had better go in the parlor, and after he has called, when convenient, call me and permit me to meet him. You will be careful, my dear, and understand that we have raised you to be a lady, and exercise your usual dignity." " Yes, mama." On the hour the street door bell was pulled with a jerk, and arising, Orlean went toward the door expectantly. " Oh, how do you do," she cried, a moment later, her face lighted with a radiant smile as she extended her hand and allowed it to rest in that of Jean Baptiste's. " Miss McCarthy," he cried, with her hand in one of his, and his hat in the other, he entered the door. " May I take your hat ? " asked Orlean, and taking it, placed it on the hall tree. In the meantime, his habitually observing eyes were upon her, and when she turned she found him regarding her closely. " Come right into the parlor, please, Mr. Baptiste, and be seated." She hesitated between the davenport and the chairs; while he, without ado, chose the davenport and be- came seated, and the look he turned upon her commanded more than words that she, too, be seated. With a little hesitation, she finally sank on the davenport at a conven- tional distance, beside him. " I was not certain, judging by your last letter, just when you would get here," she began timidly. He regarded her out of his searching eyes attentively. He was weighing her in the balance. He saw in those close glances what kind of a girl she was, apparently, for, after a respite, he re- laxed audibly, but kept his eyes on her nevertheless. " I was not certain myself," he said. " I am so rushed these days that I do not know always just what comes next. But I am glad that I am here at last and to see you looking so well." They exchanged the usual words about the weather, and other conventional notes, and then she called her mother. " Mama, I wish you to meet Mr. Baptiste. Mr. Baptiste, this is my mother." " Mr. Baptiste," said her mother, giving him her hand, " I am glad to know you." " The same here, madam," he returned cheerfully. " Guess your health is good ! " " Very good, I'm glad to say." They talked for a time, and all were cheered to find themselves so agreeable. " I think I can slightly recall your people, Mr. Baptiste," her mother remarked, thoughtfully. " My husband, Dr. McCarthy," she said, giving him an honorary term, " pas- tored the church in the town near where you were born, many years ago." " I do say," he echoed non-commitally. " Do you recall it ? " she asked. He appeared to be thinking. . . . He hardly knew what to say, then, after some deliberation he brightened and said : " I think I do. I was very young then, but I think I do recall your husband. . . ." " Your name the name of your family has always re- mained in my mind," said she then, reflectively. " Indeed. It is a rather peculiar name." " It is so, I should say," she cried. " If it is quite fair, may I ask where or how your father came by such a name?" " Oh, it is very simple. My father, of course, was born a slave like most almost all Negroes previous to the war and took the name from his master who I suppose was of French descent." " Oh, that explains it. Of course that is natural. M-m ; but it's a beautiful name, I must say." He smiled. " It is an illustrious name, also," she commented further. " But the man who carries it in this instance, is much to the contrary notwithstanding," he laughed depreciatingly. " It is a very beautiful day without, my dear," she said, addressing her daughter, " and perhaps Mr. Baptiste might like to walk out and see some of the town." " I most a**uredly would," he cried, glad of something for a change. He was restless, and estimated that if he felt the air, with her at his side, it might help him. Orlean arose, went upstairs, and returned shortly wear- ing a large hat that set off her features. He rather liked her under it, and when they walked down the street together, he was conscious of an air of satisfaction. " Where would you like to go ? " she asked as they neared the intersection. " For a car ride on the elevated," he replied promptly. " Then we will go right down this street. This is Thirty- third, and there's an elevated station a few blocks from here." They walked along leisurely, she listening attentively, while he talked freely of the West, his life there and what he was doing. When they reached the L. he a**isted her upstairs to the station, and in so doing touched her arm for the first time. The contact gave him a slight sensation but he felt more easy when they had entered the car and taken a seat together. A moment later they were gazing out over the great city below as the cars sped through the air. It was growing dark when they returned, and she invited him to dinner. He accepted and thereupon met Ethel and her husband. Ethel was all pomp and ceremony, while her husband, with his cue from her, acted in the same manner, and they rather bored Jean Baptiste with their airs. He was glad when the meal was over. He followed Orlean back to the parlor, where they took a seat on the davenport again, and drew closer to her this time. Soon she said : " Do you play?" " Lord, no ! " he exclaimed ; " but I shall be glad to listen to you." " I can't play much," she said modestly ; " but I will play what little I know." Thereupon she became seated and played and sang, he thought, very well. After she had played a few pieces, she turned and looked up at him, and he caught the full expression of her eyes. He could see that they were tender eyes ; eyes behind which there was not apparently the force of will that he desired ; but Orlean McCarthy was a fine girl. She was fine because she was not wicked; because she was intelligent and had been care- fully reared; she was fine because she had never cultivated the society of undesirable or common people; but she was not a fine girl because she had a great mind, or great ability; or because she had done anything illustrious. And this Jean Baptiste, a judge of human nature could readily see ; but he would marry her, he would be good to her ; and she would, he hoped, never have cause to regret having married him. And thereupon he bent close to her, took her chin in his hand and kissed her upon the lips. She turned away when he had done this. In truth she was not expecting such from him and knew not just how to accept it. Her lips burned with a new sensation; she had a peculiar feeling about the heart. She arose and went to the piano and her fingers wandered idly over the keys as she endeavored to still her beating heart. Shortly she felt his hand upon her shoulder and she turned to hear him say : " Won't you come back into the parlor ? I would like to speak to you ? " She consented without hesitation, and arising followed him timidly back to the seat they had occupied a few minutes before. Again seated he drew closely but did not deign to place his arm about her, looked toward the rear of the house where the others were, and, seeing that the doors were closed between them, sighed lightly and turned to her. " Now, Miss McCarthy," he began, evenly. " I am going to say something to you that I have never said to a woman before." He paused while she waited with abated breath. " I haven't known you long ; but that is not the point. What I should say is, that in view of our brief corre- spondence, it will perhaps appear rather bold of me to say what I wish to. Yet, there comes a time in life when cir- cumstances alter cases. " Now, to be frank, I have always regarded matrimony as a business proposition, and while sentiment is a very great deal in a way, business considerations should be the first expedient/' She was all attention. She was peculiarly thrilled. It was wonderful to listen to him, she thought, and not for anything would she interrupt him. But what did he mean ; what was he going to say. "Well, I, Miss McCarthy, need a wife. I want a wife; but my life has not been lived where social intercourse with girls of my race has been afforded, as you might under- stand." She nodded understandingly, sympathetically. Her woman's nature was to sympathize, and what she did was only natural with all women. " It has not been my privilege to know any girl of my race intimately; I am not, as I sit here beside you able to conscientiously, or truly, go to one and say : ' I love you, dear, and want you to be my wife/ in the conventional sense. Therefore, can I be forgiven if I say to you; if I ask you, Miss McCarthy," and so saying, he turned to her, his face serious, " to become my wife ? " He had paused, and her soul was afire. Was this a proposal or was it a play? For a time she was afraid to say anything. She wouldn't say no, and she was afraid to say yes, until well, until she was positive that he had actually asked her to marry him. As it was, she hesitated. But it was so wonderful she thought. It was so beautiful to be so near such a wonderful young man, such a strong young man. The young men she had known had not been like this one. And, really, she wanted to marry. She was twenty- six, and since her sister had married, she had found life lonely. To be a man's wife and go and live alone with him must be wonderful. She was a reader, and he had sent her books. In all books and life and everything there was love. And love always had its climax in a place where one lived alone with a man. Oh, glorious ! She was ready to listen to anything he had to say. " Now, I do not profess love to you, Miss McCarthy, in trying to make this clear. I could not, and be truthful. And I have always tried to be truthful. Indeed, I could not feel very happy, I am sure, unless I was truthful. To pretend that which I am not is hypocrisy, and I despise a hypocrite. I am an owner of land in the West, and I be- lieve you will agree with me, that it behooves any Negro to acquire all he can. We are such a race of paupers! We own so little, and have such little prestige. Thankfully, I am at present, on the high road to success, and, because of that, I want a wife, a dear, kind girl as a mate, the most natural thing in the world." She nodded unaware. What he was saying had not been said to her in that way ; but the way he said it was so much to the point. She had not been trained to observe that which was practical; indeed, her father was regarded as a most impractical man; but she liked this man beside her now, and was anxious for him to go on. He did. " I own 520 acres of very valuable land, and have con- summated a deal for 480 more acres. This land is divided into tracts of 160 acres each, and must be homesteaded be- fore the same is patented. " Now, my grandmother, and also a sister are already in the West, and will homestead on two places. The other, I have arranged for you. The proceeding is simple. It will be necessary only for you to journey out West, file on this land as per my directions, after which we can be married any time after, and we can then live together on your claim. Do you understand? " " I think so," she said a bit falteringly. " Now, my dear, do not feel that I am a charter bar- terer; we can simply acquire a valuable tract of land by this process and be as we would under any other circum- stances. Once you were out there all would be very plain to you, but at this distance, it is perhaps foreign to you, that I understand." She looked up into his face trustingly. Right then she wanted him to kiss her. It was all so irregular; but he was a man and she a maid, and she had never had a love. . . . He seemed to understand, and pa**ionately he caught her to him, and kissed her many, many times. It was all over then, as far as she was concerned. She had not said yes or no with words, but her lips had been her consent, and she knew she would love him. It was the happiest hour in the simple life she had lived, and she was ready to become his forever. [CHAPTER V: A PROPOSAL; A PROPOSITION; A CERTAIN MRS. PRUITT AND A LETTER] "MAMA, Mr. Baptiste has asked me to marry him," cried Orlean, rushing into the room and to the bed where her mother lay reading, after Jean Baptiste had left. " Why, my child, this this is rather sudden, is it not ? Mr. Baptiste has known you only a few months and has been corresponding with you just a little while," her mother said with some excitement, suddenly sitting erect in the bed. " Yes, mama, what you say is true, but he explained. He said well, I can't quite explain, but he he wants to marry me, mama, and you know well, mama, you under- stand, don't you ? " " Yes, I understand. All girls want husbands, but it must be regular. So take off your clothes, dear, get into bed and tell me just what Mr. Baptiste did say." The other did as instructed, and as best she could, tried to make plain what Jean had said to her regarding the land and all. She didn't make it very plain, and the matter rather worried her, but the fact that he had asked her to marry him, was uppermost in her mind, and she finally went to sleep happier than she had ever been in her life before. " Now, when the young man calls today, you will have him take his business up with me," her mother instructed judiciously the following morning. " He will explain it all, mama. He can do so very easily/' she said, glad to be relieved of the difficult task. Yet she bad her worries withal. Her mother was a very difficult person to explain anything to ; besides, Orlean knew her mother was in constant fear of her father who was a Presiding Elder, traveling over the southern part of the state, and who came into the city only every few months. And if her mother was hard to make understand anything, her father was worse and business, he knew next to noth- ing about although he was then five and fifty. Jean Baptiste had accomplished a great many more diffi- cult tasks than explaining to his prospective mother-in-law in regard to the land. When she seemed to have sensed what it all meant, he observed that she would give a peculiar little start, and he would have to try it all over again. In truth she understood better than she appeared to ; but it was the girl's father whom she feared to anger for in all her life she had never been able to please him. But she found a way out along late that afternoon when a caller was announced. The visitor was a woman possessed of rare wits, and of all the people that Mrs. McCarthy disliked, and of all who disliked Mrs. McCarthy, Mrs. Pruitt was the most pro- nounced. Yet, it was Mrs. Pruitt who settled the difficulty and saved the day for Orlean and Jean Baptiste. But as to why Mrs. Pruitt should dislike Mrs. McCarthy, and Mrs. McCarthy should dislike Mrs. Pruitt, there is a story that was known among all their friends and acquaintances. When Miss Rankin had said what she did about Rev. N. J. McCarthy, she had not told all, nor had she referred to any woman in particular. She was not a scandal monger. But she knew as all Chicago knew, that in so far as the parties in question were concerned there was a friendship between Mrs. Pruitt and the Reverend that was rather sub- tle, and had been for years. And it was this which caused the two mentioned to dislike each other with an -unspoken hatred. But Mrs. McCarthy trusted Orlean's going eight hun- dred miles west to file on a homestead, and what might come of it, to Mrs. Pruitt rather than to herself. While she could was aware of it she did not dare venture any- thing to the contrary where it might come back to her hus- band's ears, she knew Mrs. Pruitt had more influence with her husband than had she. . . . Therefore when she in- vited Jean Baptiste to meet Mrs. Pruitt, who had met him years before, she breathed a sigh of relief. It was over in a few hours. Mrs. Pruitt would accom- pany Orlean to the West and back, with Jean Baptiste pay- ing expenses, and preparations were made thereto. In two days they had reached Gregory where the great land excitement was on. From over all the country people had gathered, and the demand for the land had reached its greatest boom since Jean Baptiste had come to the country. His sister and grandmother had arrived during his ab- sence, and, after greeting them, he was handed a letter, which read : My dear Mr. Baptiste: Your most delightful letter was received by me today, and that you may see just how much I appreciate it, I am an- swering at once and hope you will receive the same real soon. To begin with : the reason I have not answered sooner is quite obvious. I was away on a short visit, and only re- turned home today, to find that your most interesting letter had been here several days. Think of it, and I would have given most anything to have had it sooner. Well, in reference to what you intimated in your letter regarding the land up there, I am deeply interested. Noth- ing strikes my fancy so much as homesteading which I think you meant. I would the best in the world like to hold down a claim, and am sure I would make a great home- steader. But why write more! An hour with you will explain matters more fully than a hundred letters, so I will close with this : You hinted about coming down, and my in- vitation is to do so, and do so at your earliest possible con- venience. I am waiting with great anxiety your honored appearance. In the meantime, trusting that you are healthy, hopeful and happy, please believe me to be, Cordially, sincerely and anxiously yours, IRENE GREY. He regarded the letter a little wistfully, and the next moment tore it to bits, flung it to the winds, and went about his business. [CHAPTER VI: THE PRAIRIE FIRE] MOTHER grabbed me, kissed and hugged me time and again when I returned," Jean Baptiste read in the letter he received from his wife-to-be a few days after she had returned to the windy city, and he was satisfied. " She had been so worried, you see, because she had written father nothing about it, and this was the first time in her married life that she has dared do anything without a long consultation with him. But she is glad I went now, and thinks you are a very sensible fellow there- for. Papa sent a telegram advising that he had been reap- pointed Presiding Elder over the same district, and would come into Chicago for a few days before entering into an- other year of the work. " I am deluged with questions regarding the West, and it gives me a great deal of pleasure to explain everything, and of the wonderful work you are doing. Now, papa will be home in a few days, and, knowing how hard he is to explain anything to, I am preparing myself for quite a task. I will close now. With love and kisses to you, be- lieve me to be, " Your own, " ORLEAN." Jean now went about his duties. His sister and grand- mother were with him, and he had planned to put them on their claims at once, so as to enable them to prove up as soon as possible. Therefore to their places he hauled lum- ber, coal and provisions. Their claims lay some forty-five miles to the northwest beyond the railroad which now had its terminus at Dallas. And, referring to that, we have not found occasion to mention what had taken place in the country in the two years pa**ed. When the railroad had missed Dallas and struck Gregory and the other two government townsites, Dallas was ap- parently doomed, and in a few months most of the busi- ness men had gone, and the business buildings, etc., had been moved to Gregory. This town, because of the fact that it was only five miles from the next county line the county that had been opened and which contained the land that Jean Baptiste had secured for his relatives and bride was, for a time, expected to become the terminus. And to this end considerable activity had transpired with a view to getting the heavy trade that would naturally come with the opening and settlement of the county west, which had twice the area of the county in which Gregory lay. Now, it was shortly after the railroad was under course of construction that one, the chief promoter of the town- site, called on the " town Dad's " of Gregory with a prop- osition. The proposition was, in short, to move Dallas to Gregory, and thereupon combine in making Gregory a real city. Unfortunately for Gregpry, her leaders were men who had grown up in a part of the country where the people did not know all they might have known. They consisted in a large measure of rustic mountebanks, who, because, and only because, Gregory happened to have been in the direct line of the railroad survey, and had thereby secured the road, took unto themselves the credit of it all. So, instead of entertaining the offer in a logical, business and appreci- ative manner, gave the promoter the big haw! haw! and turned their backs to him. There was a spell of inactivity for a time on the part of the said promoter. But in the fall, when the ground had frozen hard, and the corn was being gathered, all that was left in the little town of Dallas, laying beside the claim of Jean Baptiste, was suddenly hauled five miles west of the town of Gregory. And still before the Gregory illogics had time even to think clearly, business was going on in what they then chose to call New Dallas and the same lay directly on the line of the two counties, and where the railroad survey ended. It is needless to detail the excitement which had followed this. " Lies, lies, liars ! " were the epithets hurled from Gregory. " The railroad is in Gregory to stay ; to stay for" oh, they couldn't say how many years, perhaps a hundred; but all that noise to the west was a bluff, a simon pure bluff, and that ended it. That is, until they started the same noise over again. But it had not been a bluff. The tracks had been laid from Gregory to Dallas early in the spring that followed, and now Dallas was the town instead of Gregory, and the boom that had followed the building of the town, is a matter never to be forgotten in the history of the country. Gregory's one good fortune was that she had secured the land office which necessitated that all filings should be en- tered there, and in this way got more of the boom that was occasioned by the land opening at the west than it had ex- pected to when the railroad company had pushed its way west out of the town. It was about this time while great excitement was on and thousands of people were in the town of Dallas that some- thing occurred that came near literally wiping that town off the map. Jean Baptiste had loaded his wagons and was on the way from his land to the claims of his sister when the same came to pa**. The greatest danger in a new country comes after the gra** has died in the fall and before the new gra** starts in the spring. But in the fall when the gra** is dry and crisp, and the surface below is warm and dry, is the time of prairie fires. No time could have been more opportune for such an episode than the time now was. The wind had been blowing for days and days, and had made the short gra** very brittle, and the surface below as hot as in July. Jean Baptiste was within about a mile of where New Dallas now reposed vaingloriously on a hillside, her many new buildings rising proudly, defiantly, as if to taunt and annoy Gregory, against the skyline, when with the wind greeting him, he caught the smell of burning gra**. He reached a hillside presently, and from there he could see for miles to the west beyond, and the sight that met his gaze staggered him. " A prairie fire," he cried apprehensively, and urged his teams forward toward Dallas. One glance had been suffi- cient to convince him what it might possibly mean. A prairie fire with the wind behind it as this was, would bid no good for Dallas, and once there he could be of a little service, since he knew how to fight it. When he arrived at the outskirts of the embryo city, he was met by a frightened herd of humanity. With bags and trunks and all they could carry ; with eyes wide, and mouths gaped, in terror they were hurrying madly from the town to an apparent place of safety a plowed field nearby. Miles to the west the fire and smoke rose in great, dark reddened clouds, and cast even at that distance, dark shadows over the little city. As he drew into the town, he could see a line of figures working at fire breaks before the gloom. They were the promoters and the townspeople, and he imagined how they must feel with d**h possible and destruction, positive, coming like an angry beast di- rectly upon them. Soon, Jean Baptiste, with wet horse blankets, was with them on the firing line. The speed at which the wind was driving the fire was ominous. Soon all the west was as if lost in the conflagration, for the sun, shining out of a clear sky an hour before was now shut out as if clouds were over all. The dull roar and crackle of the burning gra** brought a feeling of awe over all before it. The heat became, after a time, intense; the air was surcharged with soot, and the little army worked madly at the firebreaks. Rolling, tumbling, twisting, turning, but always coming onward, the hurricane presently struck the fire guards. In that moment it was seen that a ma** of thistles, dried manure, and all refuse from the prairie was sweeping be- fore it, as if to draw the fire onward. The fire plunged over the guards as though they had not been made, pushed back the little army and rushed madly into the town. It was impossible now to do more. The conflagration was beyond control. Now in the town, an effort was there- fore made to get the people out of their houses where some had even hidden when it appeared that all would be swept away in the terrible deluge of fire. One, two, three, four, five, six ten houses went up like chaff,, and the populace groaned, when, of a sudden, something happened. Like Napoleon's army at Waterloo there was a quick change. One of those rare freaks but what some chose to claim in after years as the will of the Creator in sympathy with the hopeful builders, the wind gradually died down, whipped around, and in less than five minutes, was blowing from the east, almost directly against its route of a few minutes before. The fire halted, seemed to hesitate, and then like some cowardly thing, turned around and started back of the same ground it had raged over where it lingered briefly, sputtered, flickered, and then quickly died. And the town, badly frightened, hard worked, but thankful withal, was saved. [CHAPTER VII: VANITY] "FATHER is home, and, oh ! but he did carry on when he was informed regarding my trip West to take the homestead," Orlean wrote her be- trothed in her next letter. " He was so much upset over it that he went out of the house and walked in the street for a time to still his intense excitement. When he returned, however, he listened to my explanation, and, after a time, I was pleased to note that he was pacified. And still later he was pleased, and when a half day had pa**ed he was tickled to d**h. " Of course I was relieved then also, and now I am fully satisfied. I have not written you as soon as I should have on this account. I thought it would be best to wait until papa had heard the news and was settled on the matter, which he now is. He has written you and I think you should receive the letter about the same time you will this. He has never been anxious in his simple old heart for me to marry, but of course he understands that I must some day, and now that I am engaged to you, he appears to be greatly pleased. " By the way, I have not received the ring yet, and am rather anxious. Of course I wish to be quite reasonable, but on the whole, a girl hardly feels she's engaged until she is wearing the ring, you know. Write me a real sweet letter, and make it long. In the meantime remember me as one who thinks a great deal of you, " From your fond, " ORLEAN." Baptiste heard from his father-in-law-to-be in due time, and read the letter carefully, replying to the same forth- with. We should record before going further that the incident which had happened between them in his youth had been almost as completely buried as it had been before the day of its recent resurrection. In his reply he stated that he would come into the city Xmas, which meant of course, that they would meet and come to understand each other better. He was glad that the formalities were in part through with, and would be glad when it was over. He did not appreciate so much ado where so little was repre- sented, as it were. He had it from good authority without inquiry that the Reverend McCarthy had never possessed two hundred dollars at one time in his life, and the formali- ties he felt compelled to go through with far exceeded that amount already. And with this in mind he began gather- ing his corn crop which he had been delayed in doing on account of the stress of other more urgent duties. He had been at work but a few days when snow began to fall. For days it fell from a northwesterly direction, and then turning, for a week came from an easterly direction. This kept up until the holidays arrived, therefore most of the corn crop over all the country was caught and remained in the field all the winter through. By the hardest work his sister and grandmother succeeded in reaching his place from their homesteads, and stayed there while he went into Chicago. " Mr. Baptiste, please meet my father," said Orlean when he called, following his arrival in the city again. He looked up to find a tall, dark but handsome old man extending his hand. He regarded him, studied him carefully in a flash, and in doing so his mind went back twenty years ; to a memorable day when he had been punished and had fol- lowed it by running away. He extended his hand and grasped the other's, and wondered if he also remem- bered. . . . They exchanged greetings, and if the other re- called him, he gave no evidence of the fact in his expres- sion. When he had sat beside the teacher, such a long time before, Baptiste recalled now, that at the back of the other's head there had been a white spot where the hair was chang- ing color; but now this spot spread over all the head, and the hair was almost as white as snow. With his dark skin, this formed a contrast that gave the other a distinguished appearance which was noticeably striking. But his eyes did not meet with Baptiste's favor, though he was not inclined to take this seriously. But as he continued to glance at him at times during the evening he did not fail to see that the other seemed never to look straight and frankly into his eyes ; and there was in his gaze and expression when he met Baptiste, so Baptiste thought a peculiar lurking, as if some hidden evil were looking out of the infinite depths of the other's soul. It annoyed Baptiste because every time he caught the other's gaze he recalled the incident of twenty years before, and wanted to forget it; declared he would forget it, and to that task he set himself, and ap- parently succeeded while in the city. With Ethel and her husband, whose name was Glavis, he never got along at all. Ethel was pompous, and known to be .disagreeable ; while Glavis was narrow, and a victim of his wife's temper and disposition. So unless the talk was on society and " big " Negroes, which positively did not interest Jean Baptiste, who was practical to the superlative, there was no agreement. So when Jean Baptiste returned West, he was conscious of a great relief. The severe winter pa**ed at last and with early spring everybody completed the gathering of the corn and immedi- ately turned to seeding their crops. Work was plentiful everywhere, and to secure men to complete gathering his crop of corn, Baptiste had the greatest difficulty. Stewarts had failed to secure any land at all either of the fpur in the drawing, and, being unable to purchase relinquishments on even one quarter at the large sum demanded therefor, had gone toward the western part of the state and taken free homesteads. As for Agnes, she had apparently pa**ed out of his life. He labored so hard in the cold, wet muddy fields in try- ing to get his corn out that he was taken ill, and was not able to work at all for days, and while so, he wrote his fiancee his troubles; and that since he was so indisposed, with a world of work and expense upon him she would do him a great favor if she would consent to come to him and be married. Now the McCarthys had given Ethel a big wedding al- though her husband received only thirteen dollars a week for his work. Two hundred dollars, so it was reported, had been expended on the occasion. Such display did not appeal to the practical mind of Jean. He had lived his life too closely in accomplishing his purpose to become at this late day a victim of such simple vanity ; the ultra simple vanity of aping the rich. Upon this point his mind was duly set. The McCarthys had started to buy a home the summer be- fore which was quite expensive, and had entered into the contract with a payment of three hundred dollars. The Reverend had borrowed a hundred dollars on his life insur- ance and paid this in, while Glavis had paid another. Ethel had used what money she had saved teaching, to expend in the big wedding, so Orlean had paid the other hundred out of the money she had saved teaching school. Now, if there was any big wedding for Orlean, then he, Jean Baptiste, knew that he would be expected to stand the expense. Therefore, Baptiste tried to make plain to Orlean in his letters the gravity of his position. She would be compelled to establish residence on her homestead early in May, and this was April, or forfeit her right and sacrifice all he had put into it. But Orlean became unreasonable Jean Baptiste rea- soned. She set forth that she did not think it right for her to go away out there and marry him; that he should come to her. She seemed to have lost sense of all he had written her, regarding the crops, responsibilities, and other considerations. He wrote her to place it up to her mother and father, which she did, to reply in the same tenor. They had not agreed to it, either. He replied then heatedly, and hinted that her father was not a business man else he would have realized his circumstances, and, as man to man, appre- ciated the same. The next letter he received had enclosed the receipt for the first payment of the purchase price of six dollars an acre, a charge the government had made on the land, amount- ing to some $210, in the first payment. She released him from his promise but kept the ring. " Now, don't that beat the devil ! " he exclaimed angrily, when he read the letter. " As though this receipt is worth anything to me; or that it would suffice to get back the $2,000 I paid the man for the relinquishment. The only thing that will suffice is, for her to go on the land, so I guess I'll have to settle this nuisance at once by going to Chicago and marrying her." So he started for the Windy City. At Omaha he sent a telegram to her to the effect that he was on the way, and would arrive in the city on the morrow. He arrived. He called her up from the Northwestern station, and she called back that it was settled; she had given him her word. The engagement was off. " Oh, foolish," he called jovially. ..." It isn't," she called back angrily. ..." Well," said he, " I'll call and see you. . . .'' " No need," she said. ..." But you'll see me," he called. . . . "Yes, I'll see you. I'll do you that honor. . . ." Now when Jean Baptiste had called over the 'phone, Glavis had answered the call, and thereupon had started an argument that Orlean had concluded by taking the receiver from his hand. Of course she had jilted Jean Baptiste and had sent back the papers; moreover, she had declared she would not marry him under any circumstances. But she would attend to that herself and did not need the a**istance of her brother-in-law. . . . Glavis was quite officious that morning acting under his wife's orders. When the bell rang, although he should have been at his work an hour* before he opened the door. Bap- tiste was there and Glavis started to say something he felt his wife would be pleased to know he said. But, being af- fected with a slight impediment of speech, his tongue be- came twisted and when he could straighten it out, Baptiste had pa**ed him and was on his way to the rear of the house where Orlean stood pouting. Ethel stood near with her lips protruding, and Mrs. McCarthy, whom he had termed, " Little Mother Mary," stood nearby at a loss as to what to say. " Indeed, but it looks more like you were waiting for a funeral than for me/' as he burst in upon them. Pausing briefly, he observed the one who had declared everything against him, turned her face away and refused to greet him. "What's the matter, hon'," he said gaily and laughed, at the same time gathering her into his arms. " Will you look at that ! " exclaimed Ethel, ready to start something. But Glavis, countered twice the morning so soon, concluded at last that it was his time to keep his place. So deciding, he cut his eyes toward Ethel, and said : " Now, Ethel, this is no affair of yours/' and cautioned her still more with his eyes. " No, Ethel," commanded Orlean, " This is my affair. I " she did not finish, because at that moment Jean Bap- tiste had kissed her. " It beats anything I ever witnessed," cried Ethel, almost bursting to get started. " Then don't witness it," said Glavis, whereupon he caught her about the waist and urged her up the stairs and locked her in their room. " You've been acting something awful like," chided Bap- tiste, with Orlean still in his arms. She did not answer just then. She could not. She decided at that moment, however, to take him into the parlor, and there tell him all she said she would. Yes, she would do that at once. So deciding, she caught him firmly by the arm, and com- manded : " Come, and I will get you told ! " He followed meekly. When they reached the parlor she was confronted with another proposition. Where would they sit ? She glanced from the chairs to the davenport ; but he settled it forthwith by settling upon the davenport. She hesitated, but before she had reached a decision, she found herself pulled down by his side and dreadfully close. Well, she decided then, that this was better, after all, be- cause, if she was close to him he could hear her better. She would not have to talk so loud. She did not like loud talk- ing. It was too " n******gish," and she did not like that. But behold! He, as soon as she was seated, encircled her waist with his arm. Dreadful! Then, before she could tell him what she had made up all the night before to say to him, she felt his lips upon hers and, my! they were so warm, and tender and soft. She was confused. Ethel and her father had said that the country where Jean lived was wild ; that all the people in it were hard and coarse and rough but Jean's kisses were warm, and soft and tender. She al- most forgot what she had intended telling him. And just then he caught her to him, and that felt so well, she did not know could not say how it felt ; but she was for- getting all she had planned to tell him. She heard his voice presently, and for a moment she caught sight of his eyes. They were real close to hers, and, oh, such eyes ! She had not known he possessed such striking ones. How they moved her! She was as if hypnotized, she could not seem to break the spell, and in the meantime she was forget- ting more of what she had made up her mind to say. He spoke then, and such a wonderful voice he seemed to have ! How musical, how soft, how tender but withal, how strong, how firm, how resolute and determined it was. She was held in a thraldom of strange delight. "What has been the matter with my little girl?" And thereupon, as if they were not close enough, he gathered her into his arms. Oh, what a thrill it gave her ! She had for- gotten now, all she had had in mind to say and it would take an hour or so, perhaps a day, to think and remember it all over again. ..." Hasn't she wanted to see me ? Such beautiful days are these ! Lovely, grand, glorious ! " She looked out through the window. It was a beautiful day, in- deed ! And she had not observed it before. " And hear the birds singing in the trees," she heard. And thereupon she listened a moment and heard the birds singing. She started. Now she had felt she was thought- ful. She really loved to listen to the twitter of birds and it was springtime. It was life, and sunshine and happi- ness. She had not heard the birds before that morning, therefore it must have been because she had let anger rule instead of sunshine. And as if he had read her thoughts, she heard his voice again : " And because you were angry gave in to evil angriness and pouted instead of being cheerful, happy and gay, you have failed to observe how beautiful the sun shone, and that the birds were singing in the trees." She felt was sensitive of a feeling of genuine guilt. " And away out west, where the sunshine kisses the earth, and the wheat, the corn, the flax, and the oats grow green in great fields, everybody there is about his duty ; for, when the winter has been long, cold and dreary, the settlers must stay indoors lest they freeze. So with such days as these after the long, cold and dreary winters, everybody must be up and doing. For if the crops are to mature in the autumn time, they must be placed in the earth through seed in the springtime. But there is, unfortunately, one settler, called St. Jean Baptiste, by those who know him out there, who is not in his fields ; his crops are not being sown ; his fields wide, wide fields, which represent many thousands of dollars, and long years of hard, hard work, are lying idle, growing to wild weeds ! " " But, Jean," she cried of a sudden. " It is not so? " " Unfortunately it is so, my love ! " " Then Jean you must go hurry, and sow your crops, also ! " she echoed. " For years and years has Jean Baptiste labored to get his fields as they are. For, in the beginning, they were wild, raw and unproductive, whereupon naught but coyotes, prairie dogs and wild Indians lived ; where only a wild gra** grew weakly and sickly from the surface and yielded only a prairie fire that in the autumn time burned all in its path ; a land wherein no civilized one had resided since the begin- ning of time." "Oh, Jean!" " And he has longed for woman's love. For, according to the laws of the Christ, man should take unto himself a wife, else the world and all its people, its activity, its future will stop forthwith ! " " You are so wonderful ! " " Not wonderful, am I," quoth Baptiste. " Just a mite practical." " But it is wonderful anyhow, all you say ! " " And yet my Orlean does not love me yet ! " " I didn't say that," she argued, thinking of what she had written him. " Since therefore she has not said it, then methinks that she does not." " I I oh, you are awful ! " " And she will not go to live alone with me and share my life and my love ! " "I oh, I didn't say I wouldn't do all that." She was done for then. She had shot her last defense. " Then you will ? " he asked anxiously. " You will go back with me, and be mine, all mine and love me forever? " She sought his lips and kissed him then, and he arose and caught her close to him and kissed her again and looked into her eyes, and she was then all his own.