The third degree

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

/. the Middle Path .... 9 II. Breaking the Ice . . . .21

III. the Schemers . . . . • J5

Chapter I

The town had assumed its afternoon quiet ; the morning marketing was over. The little county seat was as dull and somnolent as could be desired by the most refined lover of that solitude which is bred in the midst of people. The overpowering stillness, the oppressive, awe-inspiring period of quietude, told it was the hour after the noon-day dinner in a community rated as yet ?twixt village and city. The sun shone down on the well-kept lawns, on the dignified houses and the broad, well-cared for main street, cast short shadows on the walks and marked out the engine-house belfry, clearly and sharply on the macadam floor of the square at the head of the street. This was the centre of the town life, when life existed, and the centre of rest at this hour.

Nothing was visible that justified a real conception of life. Just at the edge of the belfry shadow, to be sure, as it showed clear on the square, was an object which close scrutiny would have shown to be a dog. But even he, the necessary adjunct of an engine house, was reposing carelessly on his back, his stomach toward the clear blue sky, while one half of his body, including his tail, was already covered by the encroaching shadow.

The animal, a well cared for specimen of the genus fox-terrier, was awake and fully alive to the fact that the temperature was gradually changing, yet he preferred to wait and let the shadow cover him rather than move an inch outside its limits. He was the personification of the pace that does not kill.

Suddenly he moved his head slightly to one side and gazed long and earnestly at a large fly which was stalking for an advantageous position. He was making calculations as to whether to act or not when the surrounding quietude overcame him and he slept. He was tired out with waiting, and with ennui. He had waited for four weeks since the last fire — and — things were getting played out in Salsport anyway.

Aside from the dog, not a living thing was visible to ordinary eyes.

But this condition of apathy was soon destined to be broken, even in Salsport. As the solemn tones of the belfry bell pealed forth two notes, marking the time importantly and impressively, the little town seemed to awake from its reposeful state, and an occasional figure appeared on the street walking slowly and sedately. The business men appeared at the doors of their stores, looking up and down the streets; looking from habit for customers that came rarely, and then to talk as much as to purchase.

Walking rather more rapidly than anyone else, appeared a young fellow from a side street. Under his arm was a book; it was a law volume, and bespoke his calling. His tanned face glowed with health and vigor. He turned into the square, and then stopped abruptly by the engine house. A couple of the firemen now lounging at the door spoke to him, and then a merry, hearty laugh pealed forth from the young gentleman; for Theodore Stone, popularly called * Teddy," was what the town regarded as its ideal of gentler manhood. Teddy was handsome, strong and somewhat reckless, and by all odds the most popular young man in the place. He was a young lawyer of twenty-four, the possessor of a pair of clear, fearless blue eyes that had in them a very peculiar twinkle at times. Old friends said that twinkle came from his father; but, at all events, it denoted a very great love for the unexpected.

Turning to walk from the fire house, Stone suddenly caught sight of the white-drab body of the dog, now well within the shadow, awake and cogitating. His body moved occasionally from side to side in his half-"

conscious feats of balancing on his spine; his flexed, upturned paws lazily flapped the air at intervals, in a semi-slumbrous effort to adjust his poise, while the hind legs stood out nearly horizontal and in spreadeagle fashion, giving him a rakish and utterly abandoned appearance.

Imbued with a sudden impulse, Stone stepped back into the fire house, deposited his encumbrances on the floor and reaching for a dipper, which he evidently knew was there, he half filled it with water from the faucet behind the door. Holding it hidden behind him, with a bold, inconsequent air he walked out of the door and in the dog's direction. The animal, scenting trouble, opened his near eye and looked between his paws across the short line of his stomach, toward Mr. Stone. He comprehended instantly, but too late. The water, in a well-directed stream, struck him one inch below the liver and one-half inch above his last flea bite, and bowled him back into full vitality and action.

A loud guffaw rose from the firemen, and several distant observers joined in it. Stone gazed thoughtfully at the dog and smiled. The quadruped rose in the air in a single bound, turning round and round twice before he landed on the ground; all four feet braced, with face directly in front of the man with the dipper.

He barked once, coughed once, and then saw the joke.

With a wild, hilarious bark of joy that Salsport had at last awakened, he turned to catch his tail, gave the effort up, and started along Main street at a pace never before witnessed in that county. With ears back and head forward, giving vent to an occasional yap of pure, unadulterated joy, he never relaxed his speed, but tore like a demon of surprise down the thoroughfare.

In small communities changes are rapid. Excitement of any kind leads to inquisitiveness, and, consequently, at the first furlong of his dash that dog was watched by dozens from the windows and doorways abutting on Main Street. Another few seconds and he turned past the post-office up hill, bound for the woods; but here his flight of astonished pleasure was transformed to one of fear. As he grazed the lowest step of the post-oflice door he emitted a yell, for he detected a colored man with a pail of water preparing to wash the windows. From then on, his flight was actuated by a desire to avoid further trouble; there was no malice within his soul, nothing but a sudden yearning for solitude. Somebody saw him round the corner and blurted out " mad dog." Then Salsport entered upon a period of activity worthy of its best efforts.

From comparatively small and unexpected beginnings often take origin events that have claims to notice. From that dog and water episode came tears of joy and sorrow enough to fill a punch bowl, and passion, pleasure and distress sufficient for many a day.

At the first cry of " mad dog," Theodore Stone began a vain effort to stem the tide of opinion. He had followed up the street and was in the centre of the collecting crowd that was arming itself for the chase of the now disappearing dog, whose frenzied efforts at escape had carried him up the hill into the graveyard of the ancestral Salsporters — the sleeping city above the town, the city of the dead, which kept vigil night and day over the town below, and over the harbor and the Atlantic beyond.

But Teddy's efforts to explain were lost, woefully lost, on the ears of the excited citizens.

Up over the hill and through the plantation of ancestral heroes went several score of brave men armed with brooms, cudgels, whips and stones. One man especially courageous held an umbrella in one hand and a six-months'-old infant in the other, while a second, younger by several years in worldly knowledge, but also brave, carried a rusty pistol and his wife's bonnet in the same hand. These small items merely go to show the cosmopolitan nature of the crowd and the presence of mind of its leading spirits.

Over beyond the cemetery hill lived Jane Malley with her father and mother. Jane, who watched her young brothers and sister, and helped keep the wolf from the door of the little house, was advancing from the other side of the hill on her way into town. It was her intention to buy needles and two yards of brown goods with which to patch lattice-like openings in sundry garments of the youthful Malleys.

Thus she came — dear Jane Malley — she of seventeen and of face and figure of rapturous beauty; of vivacity and intelligence; of voice sweet and pure, and of wondrous power — she who sang in the Baptist church with notes as true as the soul within her. Jane Malley was the poorest of the poor, and none knew her or her soul well, save her Maker. None but her family cared for her, but many knew her slightly as the girl who had only one dress the year round, who always walked to church with her father and mother, brothers and sister, but never with those of her own age. Yet despite her isolation and poor clothing, Jane possessed a face of purity and a shapeliness of body that shamed the very idea of inferiority. Her gracious blue eyes and jet black hair, rare combination but not incongruous, more than balanced the want of clothes; but few saw it that way. The outlook of her neighbors was too limited. What she possessed of the unusual did not make amends for the lack of the usual. Jane, dear Jane of the hut, with the longings of beauty and youth, and the sorrow of poverty in the morning of life — the sorrow that rends and tears, and weakens and kills, without words and without recognition. Did I say kills and weakens — no! not always. Sometimes the sorrow strengthens and builds, until the devil of success picks it for a partner and together they form a combination, and then — ?

As Jane advanced up the other side of the hill, she became conscious from the medley of voices and the words of excitement that reached her, that something of a crowd was near. Frightened, and not knowing what to expect, she quickly retraced her steps to the hut-like home down in the hollow, and stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips, excitement, wonder and uncertainty showing in her face. She was alone; mother and father were in the fields and the other various members of the family were not in sight. What could this roaring mean? Suddenly, as she waited, she recognized the body of the engine house dog sneaking, head low and tail abashed, toward her. She saw its distress and called it by name.

"Hello, Engy, what's up?"

The dog recognized the voice of friendship and rushed to her in an ecstasy of delight at such hospitable welcome. But in another instant he vanished beneath the house, crawling belly down to the furthermost limit, for he saw and heard the vanguard of the hunters. Instinctively Jane knew it was the dog that was wanted. Soon she learned from the excited crowd how mad he was and how dangerous, and was showered with questions as to the animal's whereabouts.

Now J ane knew the animal was not sick, for had she not conversed with him? With emotion of anger and pity, she stood at the door, the dog's champion, surrounded by a crowd of villagers who were berating her and insisting that she was hiding a dangerous animal.

J ane stood as though infused with sublime contempt for the crowd, but really, poor girl, trembling like an aspen leaf. Suddenly she perceived the man with the baby, and the other with the pistol and the bonnet, and began to smile. Then she acted, and the dog was saved.

Throwing her head back until her beautiful neck strained to support it, she started a long peal of laughter, and suddenly bending forward, pointed with her hands at the baby and the bonnet, and with her wonderful voice began to launch a few remarks in a vein fearless and aggressive.

" Oh, you wonderful hunters of Salsport, you wonderful men of nerve! "Where are your wives? See! There is a baby! There is a bonnet! Oh, you brave fellows, did you need a baby to brace you up, and a bonnet too? "

She laughed sarcastically, with eyes ablaze and 2 cheeks aflame, and with hair falling forward across her shoulder and in front of her bended body. She told them to look over the hill, to chase the dog further, and then she intimated that they would better continue the search by chasing themselves. Then her courage failed, her ready tongue slowed and her sarcasm was gone. But the sting of her raillery remained, and the crowd melted, dejected.

Soon it learned the story of Stone's action in surprising the dog. The tide turned. The animal was pronounced badly treated, and much anxiety of a genuine nature was manifested as to its whereabouts. The boys at the engine house began to feel heartbroken, and Ted Stone was regarded as " entirely too fresh."

By sundown no word of the fugitive had reached those concerned, and at eight o'clock, when all was dark and still outside, and the little town had settled down to its accustomed nightly quiet, within the fire house the men and boys gathered and wondered if Engy would ever come back.

Nine o'clock came, and with it, from over the hill by a side path, appeared a figure, poorly clad, erect, calm, serene, and of sweet voice. It was Jane, and in her arms, tightly held to her bosom, was Engy. Caressingly the girl leaned her face toward the animal and said a word or two, and then there was instant reciprocation, for the dog would struggle, look up and kiss the face before him, in sheer happiness at having such a champion.

Unnoticed, Jane reached the fire house, and rapped on the great closed door.

It was an informal gathering inside, and Teddy, at home there, as he was everywhere in the town, was the first to reach the door and slide it open.

There, beautiful, bare-headed, and with dress scarce to her ankles, stood Jane. In her left arm was the dog, her right hand was holding her dress up slightly at the side, exposing quite unconsciously a ravishing figure. With a half-serious, half-mocking fling of the head, and an upward toss of the chin, she courtesied as the mellow voice rang out.

" Well, boys, I am an unbidden guest, but I have brought you Engy as a peace offering. Am I unwelcome? "

Courtesying lower yet, she liberated the dog, and stood, happily beaming, in the sweet goodness of her heart, at his antics and the reception he was having. Then, as she perceived that she was in turn becoming the centre of observation, she stepped out to leave, amidst thanks and good wishes of the assemblage. Late was the hour and the girl alone, but Jane was too poor for any there to offer her escort — any but the best young man in the town. With a firm step and a smile that captivated those who saw it, Ted stepped forward.

" I started this dog and you brought him back. Now, Miss Malley, let me take you home."

A furious blush of embarrassment surmounted her •cheek — she, Jane Malley, and he, Theodore Stone?

But she demurred not. What lady would?

" Thank you, Mr. Stone/' she said. " Let's go by way of the middle path over the hill. The road I came over is rough and hurts my feet. I cannot pick my way at night, you know," and saying this, she glanced at her poorly shod extremities, and laughed a mellow, deep note or two. But many who saw her graceful acceptance, and her defiance of her own poverty, swear to this day that there were tears in Jane Malley' s eyes as she turned with her escort and started for the middle path, the one that was not quite so rough, and that also led over the graveyard hill.

Chapter II

It was a new sensation indeed for this young man to escort such a girl over the cemetery hill, down into the little valley below; but in a very few moments after starting, he realized that there was something peculiarly pleasurable in it, something he had never experienced before, even in the company of any of the many nice girls of Salsport.

Jane was at first quiet and demure, and evidently much embarrassed. Never before had she seen her escort at close range. But, as he was Ted Stone, and as all the swell girls knew him, she had a pretty accurate idea of his appearance and reputation. Girls once in a while talk, even at school, and Jane's ears served her as well as if she had belonged to the " swell " set.

On this particular occasion she knew that she could hold her own, and she had a deep-seated notion that she was as good as any of the silk-stockinged crowd. All she needed was the chance to show it, and this was her opportunity.

So, mellow-voiced Jane, she of seventeen and of much inborn wisdom, soon broke the silence between them.

"I understand, Mr. Stone, that you have been up to some of your tricks again — Engy — dipper — you know," and glancing sidewise, she shook her head so that her long black hair flew over her shoulder and onto the face of her escort; and then she laughed a low chuckle, a slow, merry, teasing chuckle, and sprang forward to begin the ascent to the graveyard. Surprised at her method of attack, Ted hesitated, then blurted out some sort of an answer; she spoke back, and the ice of ages was broken in the moonlight as they ascended the hill — the thick ice that had frozen so many of Ted's family in an aristocratic barrier of exclusiveness. Ted himself had started out to escort Miss Jane home in a polite, sedate manner, but that was not what Miss Malley wished; she knew her opportunity, she liked his face and manner, and — the time was short.

" Eeally, Miss Malley, how do you manage to get up so fast? I slip all the time."

" Yes, I see you do," and the girl stood still above him and held out her hand to help him up a difficult spot.

" You see," she continued, " I know the path well. I travel over it with father in the mornings when you are dreaming."

" Yes? " and Ted remembered that it was said, Jane carried milk to a few of the families of the town. He had paused again in the ascent, while Jane continued to climb.

" I can't slip so easily because of my old shoes. If you don't believe me, try a race," and again the rogue laughed her merry, mellow peal.

It was no use, Ted laughed too — the girl was like a zephyr of loveliness and a tornado of youthful life and vivacity in one.

Soon Ted learned from her the history of Engy's escape, and as the narrative progressed they grew confidential as oldest friends.

Temperamentally, Jane was an instrument of many strings; the strong sea breeze blowing across the hill seemed to enliven her, or was it the unusual nature of her adventure that made her a little hysterical perhaps ? At all events, on reaching the top of the hill she sat down on a large flat-topped marble tombstone, her escort beside her.

She was serious a moment or two, then looking at Stone with a quizzical sort of a smile, said:

" Too bad, isn't it?"

" Why too bad, I don't understand? "

" Well, it just struck me as too bad that you should be sitting on the grave of your ancestor, Montgomery Stone, the Pilgrim."

Ted gave a start, and looking down realized that he was really on his great uncle's grave, but before he could venture a remark, the girl beside him continued:

" This Monty was a 6 peach/ wasn't he? Did he get hanged, or drowned, or what? "

Now the one weak, sensitive spot in the pride of the Stone family was reached when reference was made to this particular ancestor — this blight on the Pilgrim tree. He had never done anything especially wicked, but he had been foolish in his day, one of the boys, and his name was not crowned with a circle of glory, nor his memory a particularly sainted one.

Ted Stone looked long at the beautiful face before him and wondered if she were trying to humiliate him, or was simply ingenuous.

Knowing that she was on treacherous ground, purposely, to be sure, but still anxious not to offend, the girl quickly turned the line of thought by a laugh.

" Do you know, Mr. Stone, the last time I sat here was with my little brother last week? "

" Indeed? You seem pleased at the recollection. Why? "

" Tommy — that's our youngest, you know— was badly hurt then."

" Indeed, but why laugh at it? "

The girl shook her head with mock gravity, and bracing herself as she sat with her hands on the edge of the tomb-stone, smiling the while in a way that made her clear teeth and red lips seem beautiful touches to her uncommon personality, said as she looked into the face of her companion, " Well, you'd never guess."

" No, never; I give it up."

" Well, Tom sat on a yellow-bellied hornet."

Confused for a moment, yet glad to get away from his ancestral predicament, Ted blurted out, interestedly, " What did he do?"

With a mock solemnity becoming a great actress, the girl stood up before him and crossing her arms on her breast, threw her head back and answered:

" He did what you would have done, or any one — he hollered, and ran and ran, and then sat down in the pond at the foot of the hill."

The sedate young lawyer and the, to him as yet, incomprehensible girl laughed loud and long.

" And what happened then? " asked Ted.

" We got the doctor."

" Well? "

" Well! "

" Well, what did he say? "

" The doctor said it was lucky Tom's clothes were loose, for he might keep on swelling for a day or two, and, poor fellow, he isn't through yet." Jane's face was immovable as she spoke, and then Ted Stone began to realize that Jane was Jane, and not to be measured by other girls.

When he recovered himself, he ventured:

" Are you not afraid to be alone, as you were on this trip, Miss Malley? "

" Afraid? !No. Father is at the foot of the hill over yonder, smoking his pipe, and he told me to yell if I saw any spooks. He must know some one is coming home with me, for he can hear us."

And then she added in her mellow voice, " Don't be afraid of father; he is a dear old fellow, and he won't turn you out, for he says you're an awfully good hunter and a dead shot even if you did grow from the Montgomery Stone branch of the tree."

Ted marveled at her, A girl of seventeen of such sense and intelligence was rare — of such fearless independence was rarer.

But Jane, wise little Jane, was playing her cards well. She knew how to attack in the weak spot, and how to belittle her own misfortunes. Jane was a woman and ambitious. Though only seventeen, the woman's mind was there, and the beauty and the talent. She was making an impression as best she could. Unskilled, untutored, her weapons were only those of nature — this wild, young, pure-blooded but povertyoppressed daughter of the Pilgrims.

Chatting and laughing they walked down into the valley beyond to the Malley home. This was an extremely plain house standing in a little garden patch, and facing a duck pond to the town side. Beyond it was land that was cultivated, and which yielded something to the family, and then further away, the woods that led for miles and miles in all directions around Salsport. These were intersected with roads and dotted with what the natives called ponds — really large fresh water lakes — in profusion; such lakes as would be crowded as summer resorts, if located near a large city, but which here remained in their natural beauty, surrounded with wild forests of pine, hemlock, maple and oak, and free from frequent visits of strangers.

Mr. Malley, he who was responsible for Jane, was waiting, smoking his pipe, as he had told her he would be.

Knowing she had an escort, he arose and stepped to meet them; a bent, white-haired, smooth-faced, weather-beaten soldier of misfortune.

As the two came in line of the light from the open door, he recognized the face of Ted and an embarrassed look of uncertainty overspread his own features. Jane was liable to surprise his fireside at any time, but this was enough to take the air out of any father's lungs. He glanced at the daughter in a manner parental but kindly, which asked plainly enough for an explanation.

"Father, this is Mr. Stone; you are old friends, aren't you?" The girl accentuated the word "friends" as she courtesied; her cheeks were ablaze with excitement, and as the older man would have spoken, she rattled off the explanation.

" Mr. Stone started the riot, and was at the engine house when I took back the pup — " " And offered his services to escort the fair savior home," interjected Ted with a bow, extending his hand to Malley, who took it in a friendly way, but with a weather eye on Jane, nevertheless.

" Yes, yes; I see. Jane up to her old tricks? Bless her — always looking for things, and finding them, always caring for stragglers."

" Do you mean me ? " exclaimed the youth in feigned offense.

"You? Oh, no; the dog, of course," and then the three laughed and the footing became surer for all.

Mrs. Malley now appeared at the door and in a half-frightened, half -apologetic way, asked Stone if he would enter.

Ted Stone enter their home? Impossible, thought the older man and the girl; but with a free movement and clear smile, Theodore stepped in.

"Can only stop a moment, thank you. Miss Jane has saved my reputation. If the dog had never come back, I should have been blacklisted in Salsport."

The house was plain within, lowly, humble, devoid of any of the real comforts, but clean and well ordered. In the corner of the room was a piano — a better affair than was to be looked for amid such surroundings. Theodore knew it was for the daughter's sake it was there; for the girl who now sat so quiet and reserved, and who watched him attentively, as though trying to read his mind while he talked with the older people.

Then he rose to go, and the father and mother lighted him to the door, and Jane stepped out and down the path with him.

" Thank you, Mr. Stone; thank you ever so much." The last three words she half whispered, half spoke, looking him in the eye, with her beautiful, and now serious face upturned. Her hands were holding her frock as she courtesied and bowed, exposing the beautifully moulded ankle in the light of the moon; while she softly added, in a curiously trembling, purring, mellow voice, " good-night."

Ted walked briskly up the incline on to the cemetery heights. Revealed before him lay the beautiful harbor and the sea beyond, with the twinkling lights of the lighthouse on the beach two miles away, and the twin beacons of the far distant promontory, warning tne ships that move at sea that a great harbor lay — not within — but up and beyond, and that those who entered past them, bound for fair Salsport harbor, should keep well south and seek the channel carefully.

Quickly Theodore passed along the path, down to the main street, and thence home. Reaching his own room, large, airy and sumptuously furnished in the style of the period, he threw himself into an armchair before his desk and was soon lost in reverie.

Theodore Stone had a poor head for business the next day. More than once he caught himself thinking of a voice mellow and sweet, of a poorly clothed girl, with haunting blue eyes, and he likewise caught himself wondering concerning the manner of family to which this girl belonged. To fully appreciate his feelings, one must understand that society in Salsport was based on very rigorous lines. Many of the town's inhabitants were descendants of those who had come there more than a couple of centuries before, and who were far from desirous to divide honors with any of the later arrivals.

Some of the more recent settlers were, on the other hand, apt to pick flaws in the claim to the surrounding country and all therein contained, advanced by the descendants of the so-called " originals."

Then again, as elsewhere, some of the first comers had prospered fully; others not so well. The real aristocrats were the rich offspring of the first settlers, in their own estimation at least; while the poorer descendants from this very stock, and all of the later arrivals, were regarded by them as necessary evils to the development of the country.