My land. My country

CHAPTER I A morning in late September

All the day before the rain had fallen ; not swiftly, not slowly, just easily; not warm, not cold, just cool. The dry and parched earth drank it in gratefully, and in graceful acknowledgment the withered blades of grass, that had lain so long under the rays of a scorching sun, now began to fill and unroll and put on a darker and richer shade of green. Quietly, persistently the rain had continued to descend until the whole earth had begun to take on a very damp and moist appearance.

The leaves hung heavily down from the trees and dripped, dripped continually: the cool, freshening raindrops had stolen quietly into the deep foliage wetting the twigs from which the dripping leaves hung heavily, stole in on the branches and larger limbs, and then trickled softly down the great rugged trunks of the silent trees, and, one moving silently in and among these still sentinels of the woods, could almost hear the deep sighs of relief that went up from the souls of these stately occupants; while, at their massive feet, the little late wild flowers took on new life and beauty.

So all the world had gone to rest soothed by the sound of the gentle raindrops and greatly refreshed by their rich moisture.

All day the wind had blown gently from the south bearing upon its kindly bosom the greatly longed for rain ; and when all the world had retired to rest, it was with a

My Land. My Country. My Home.

silent and perfect satisfaction, and the contented feeling that a long and much needed rainy season was at hand.

Now, during the silent hours of the night, when all were sleeping, and no one seeming on watch, a little windsprite from another quarter had risen, and impishly tried his puny strength against the steadily blowing south wind ; but, upon meeting with a very damp rebuff, turned and hurried away to some of his fellow spirits, shaking off the raindrops from his tiny wings in his flight: then, quickly gathering help from his fellows, returned to do battle in the dark : and so for a time the friendly encounter continued : sometimes the little mischievous spirits of the west and north winds would gambol freely over the disputed ground, then the good mother south wind with her spreading wet cloak would put them all to a hurried flight shaking her wet drops over them as they scurried away through the trees.

Sometime later, upon one of their returns from such a flight, they had found no one on hand to do them battle, for the good south wind, now having accomplished that for which she had come, had silently folded her wet mantle about her and departed to the land from whence she came, leaving in her trail all sweetness and refreshing, so the little northwest wind now finding no resistance, in sportive glee had puffed and blown until the heavy cloud banks becoming much disturbed, ceased to drop down dampness and moisture, and with a stately dignity had folded their great heavy robes about them, and like an army striking camp, shouldered their tents and silently marched away to the southland leaving a few drifting clouds scattered across the heavens, as it were, to cover their retreat.

And so this September morning.

The sun rising over the eastern horizon had shot his slanting golden rays in between the leaves upon millions of raindrops upon leaf and blade and twig until the earth looked as if covered with a robe of most beautiful jewels, and the eye was almost dazzled by the sparkling display. The wind still continued to blow lightly and yet with an elasticity that was irresistible, which, filling the lungs and throat, created a feeling as of new wine being poured into the veins; a wine that seemed to hold in it all the virtues of life itself, until the mere joy of being alive and living filled the whole being with a most delicious rapture that was closely allied to pain.

Across the clear pale blue of the Heavens a few fleecy clouds floated like wisps of rare lace, in pattern and delicacy so exquisite that mortal hand could not copy or reproduce; for true it is, that, like the mystery of the Divine Birth, there are and will be, so long as time shall last, things and acts that the Great Creator hath reserved to Himself, although the sacriligious hands of man, and often those who profess the Divine right of wearing the Ecclesiastical robes, have, like an impish and sometimes malicious school boy, many times endeavored to thrust aside the veil that hangs between the seen and unseen, the known and unknown, that he might thus daringly and almost defiantly enter even the Holy of Holies, seemingly in open defiance, despite the injunction, thus far shalt thou go and no farther; and still God is patient, and long suffering, and merciful, until at times we are constrained to cry out, but with a different feeling and meaning, How long, Oh, Lord, how long wilt

Thou continue to be patient with Thy wilfully blinded and persistently erring children ?

Up from the wet earth, influenced by the rays of the rising sun, which shot its slanting golden rays through countless leaves and branches, rose an almost inperceptible mist, like, as it were, incense; token of the prayers of a thankful people who worshipped and adored in silence and in truth.

A black and white woodpecker whirred across an open glade, sounding his rich musical guitar, and all became silent. The clear resilient air seemed to hold all in a flexible silence, a silence infinitely more felt than could be understood, causing the heart to beat more quickly and the pulses to throb more rapidly, as if with expectancy: suddenly, from out of the leafy depths of the woods — Amelieo-ree-e-e-, a little belated wood robin, that had been beguiled into lingering after his mate had departed, feeling the expectancy in the air, poured forth his limpid call for his departed mate; like a thread of purest silver it floated out over the wonderful stillness : then a hush but no reply.

The light breeze floated through the branches like the lingering notes of an .Ttolian harp, and, listening now with a fierce intensity, one could almost catch the notes of some Divine harmony. The maples reared their stately, beautiful heads in the clear golden sunlight, a mass of pure, pale, yellow gold. The beeches, clothed in robes of delicate brown, and the dark green of the fir trees, made a combination and harmony of color mortal hand could not paint; while at their feet in the foreground the scarlet sumach flung out his feathery banner.

About a mile away to the west the little village of

My Land . My Country. My Home.

Bentwell nestled at the foot of the wooded hills of Bentberg, so called for their bent or circular form. The forests that covered their mighty breasts, after an early and hard frost, were now one riotous mass of gorgeous coloring of green and gold and scarlet and brown; a wonderful combination, which flooded by the golden light of this perfect September morning, thrilled the whole being with a feeling that was very near to awe ; and it seemed that some marvelous vision had been unfolded to mortal eyes.

Suddenly, from out the mysteriously thrilling silence there floated one startlingly beautiful tone.

Oh! Listen!

Surely that was not a mortal voice !

Far above the living pulsing silence, pealed out that single soprano note, more wonderfully beautiful than ever yet came from woman’s throat, and lay upon the bosom of the elastic air like the flight of some wondrously beautiful bird.

Involuntarily the hands clench, the throat contracts and the breast heaves with a painful pressure. The breath ceases; waiting, while all about the living air seemed to vibrate and thrill with the wonderful melody.

What was it? Whence did it come?

Involuntarily the eyes turn from side to side, looking, seeking, — the ear strains, listening, listening, — looking, listening, seeking, — for what?

Would it come again or w r as it simply a delusion called up by the effect of the morning, the sun, the gorgeous coloring? An hallucination caused by the life and vitality of that wonderful breath of the morning, the lambent air, which flooded the whole being with its intoxicating power?

The pulses throbbed and beat upon the temples like great hammers. The throat ached, the tension grew. Would it not come again? Had it ceased almost at its birth? No, no, it could not be! and yet it could not have been mortal.

Listen, listen.

The murmur of the winds in the trees.

Amelie-o-ree-e-e- the little wood robin; then, silence.

The clenched hands loose, the throat relaxes, the breath returns, but the heart feels a loss. The loss as of something that had died at its birth — Oh! Listen! there it comes again! that wondrously beautiful tone, and others — Oh! Listen! there are words! it must be mortal! Listen! Listen! those marvelous tones! those wonderful words! They burn themselves into the brain like living fire ! They stand forth in the radiant sunlight with a terribly significant meaning. And yet one cannot understand And the question, — what does it mean ? What can it mean ?

The beautiful morning — the golden sunlight — the gorgeous scene — the wonderful silence — the Heavenly peace, and now over all this marvelous voice.

Is it an angelic messenger come to earth? Listen! Listen ! Those words !

High above the breathless world as from a living trumpet — like the unerring flight of a bird —

“ To Thy Holy, To Thy Holy care elected,” the voice sunk down through that grand cadence with an appeal that was heartrending ; and the eyes begin to smart and fill with tears. Then, like a prayer, the voice began to ascend with that grand supplication —

“ Saviour, let me be protected on judgment day! ”

My Land . My Country. My Home.

The Inflammatus ! The wonderful Inflammatus !

Unconsciously one leans forward and breathlessly listens, firmly expecting some invisible choir to respond with that superbly beautiful minor passage that seems to contain within itself all the misery of a broken and ruined life.

“ On the dreadful Judgment Day, On the dreadful Judgment Day.

On the dreadful Judgment Day, The Judgment, The Judgment Day,”

But only silence.

Then from out that living, suffering, listening stillness, for all the world seemed to be listening now, stole again that voice of unearthly sweetness like a golden throated flute.

“ Through the loved Redeemer’s dying,”

The tears overflow and roll unheeded down the cheek as we listen again for the invisible choir, but the voice alone takes up the strain —

“ Let me fondly still relying ”

then again —

“Let me fondly still relying;

For Thy grace and mercy pray.”

on, on, up, up, through all those brilliant intricacies it threaded its way with a perfection and beauty of tone that was almost appalling, while the throat of the listener aches and aches with an unknown agony; and one listening must

My Land. My Country. My Home.

needs sob out, through the dreadful unreality of it all, — What is it? What is it? What does it mean?

A moment of deepest silence, laden with mystery, then — Ugh! Horrible! Horrible! A string of curses, deep, blasphemous, loathsome: can this be the bright September morning when all the earth seemed about to uplift its thousand golden voices in one mighty jubilant pean of thanksgiving to a Divine Creator? When it seemed impossible that anything evil or unclean could intrude at what seemed to be the very Gate of Heaven itself ; and now, oath upon oath, blasphemy upon blasphemy, surprise upon surprise. We ask again, but with far different feeling and meaning, — What does it all mean ? What can it mean ?

“ Alfred, what in do you mean by

stoppin’ there and yellin’ your head off when I

by the now you git along or I’ll break every

bone in your body ! ”

Then followed a string of oaths unfit for the ears to hear.

Very quickly was heard the light sound of footfalls down the wet forest path and then out from the shadows and golden patches of the glade there came, with hurried steps, a boy.

What pen can picture the look of sick horror upon the childish face? It was incredible. The childish mouth quivered and the face twitched with some inconceivable inward horror and agony while the slight boyish frame shook from head to foot as when a lash is applied.

With hurried, nervous step, half run, he came out in the clear light of the day; was he Alfred? the wonderful voice?

My Land . My Country. My Home.

No, it was not possible for that small childish frame to carry that almost Divinely melodious voice ; it was almost unthinkable ; and yet —

(Jgh ! That other voice, it was not a voice, ’twas rather some demon from the black abyss of hell itself let loose and scattering foulness in all his path.

But this boy was about twelve years of age, slender and boyish, flexible in movement, despite his present nervous agitation, which gave added impression of considerable strength.

The head which was finely set up upon a round, boyish throat and neck, and splendidly shaped, was covered with a mass of wavy, golden brown hair, which, falling in half curling and waving masses over his forehead, where it had escaped from the worn hat which was pressed back from his face, seemed to catch all the golden gleam of the sun, as if it had found its natural home there. His face was slightly oval in shape with a beautifully half-rounded halfpointed chin, while the forehead was but medium high and broad ; his mouth, though now quivering and distorted with inward emotion, was of fine shape and showed an unusual degree of character, remarkable in one so young ; but it was in the eyes that the most remarkable feature of the face was centered; they were extremely large and full and of a gray color with a strange gleam of gold in their depths, and that depth, who can describe it? and now that he was laboring under much excitement there showed a glint of green in them, or was it only the reflection of the sunlight on the green leaves of the oak under which he was passing? truly they were the most wonderful eyes ever seen and can be likened to nothing less than twin stars, and at this time

IO

My Land. My Country. My Home.

being dilated to their fullest, with wide open lids, they appeared almost unearthly.

The brows were medium heavy, a little darker than the hair, and like the eyes were set far apart, showing a very great intelligence; the ears, small, were exquisitely shaped and set close to the head, being half hidden by the hair, which was worn in a boyish, half childish fashion, half long; his hands and feet, bared and uncovered by his simple homely garments, were almost perfect in size and shape. Indeed, under happier circumstances this boy would have graced the halls of the Gods, as did Ganymede of old, except that where Ganymede was dark like an Egyptian, this boy was fair with a rich golden fairness. The smooth skin of the face, without spot or blemish, was tanned by the sun and wind and so had taken on the rich glow of a luscious peach hanging against the wall and ripening with its red cheek to the sun.

With a light elastic step, that was now half run, he continued on along the path where it took its way beside a little brook; indeed, he went almost like a young Indian, half leaning forward and going considerably on the ball of the foot, which upbore him like a fine steel spring.

In gayer moments, when going down this path, he often amused himself by springing back and forth across the little brook in simple excess of spirits ; but this morning he proceeded on his way, nor turned to the right or left. At other times he had gone, boy fashion, tossing his hat in the air and. as only a boy can, whistling and singing from sheer excess of joy. Now a sober deadly silence seemed to enfold him with its awful chill.

Coming to an old rail fence, that seemed the only

My Land. My Country. My Home.

ii obstacle in the way of the long path, he put his hands on the top rail, after a short approaching run, and leaped over as lightly as a bird and coming upon his feet ran now, swiftly as a swallow skims along, the remaining distance to the home of the neighboring farmer, whither he had been dispatched upon some errand.

Farmer James Beaton came out from his woodshed door, which was the entrance to the rear part of the house, scolding as he came; scolding because old Betty, his fine brood mare, had gotten tangled up in her stall, which necessitated the calling of all hands to help right “ the old lady,” as he was wont to call her; which accident had delayed breakfast, so he scolded about that. And now he was just getting out to begin his day’s work, “ a whole hour behind time,” so he scolded about that; but no one minded much when Farmer Jim, as he was best known, scolded; in fact, most everyone rather enjoyed hearing Farmer Jim scold, for he was never known to have become seriously angry in all his life; even Old Shep, his faithful old sheep dog, who now came sauntering along behind him, lifted up his head and emitted a prolonged yawn which ended in a very weary sounding y-o-w-1. “ See here, you Shep ! You shet

your head ; don’t you be makin’ fun of me or I’ll send you back to the house ! ” But Shep merely trotted on ahead pricking up his ears as he went.

“ What now! Cats again! You’d better let them cats alone or mother’ll take it out of your old hide ! ” as Shep darted around the comer of the house going toward the bam and barking as he went.

“ Hear, you old fool dog,” said Farmer Jim as he too turned the corner and saw the old dog running toward the barn, “ W’at’s the matter with you anyway ? ”

Down under the great spreading elm tree, that stood at the foot of the dooryard, stood an ancient horseblock that had been placed there years ago by Farmer Jim’s father.

It was an odd growth found in the neighboring woods that had made a very servicable stepping place and, being extremely ornamental, had never been removed, although more modern and fashionable horseblocks had been in use for some time.

Straight for the old horseblock the old dog trotted, barking and wagging his tail as he went.

“ Here you, Shep ; what the — ” and then he stopped short as he came around the great tree to the road; for there, crouching upon the low step of the great stump, sat a little, forlorn figure with great staring gray eyes, still panting from his long run across the wet meadow path.

The old dog laid his heavy muzzle on the childish knee and turned his great brown eyes up to the little white face of the boy he loved so well, for he and the boy were old friends, and now the boy was in trouble and the old dog knew it.

The slender boyish arms went around the shaggy neck of the dog and for a moment all three remained motionless; then —

“ Why ! Alfred, boy! ” exclaimed Farmer Jim.

“ Yes, Mr. Beaton — ,” gasped the boy, “ that is — good morning — a — Mr. Beaton, — a — I guess I must have run, a — maybe, too fast,” he choked rather breathlessly, then tried to utter a little short laugh, which was a most miserable failure.

“ But, Alfred! ” said Farmer Jim, as he looked sharply into the haggard face of the child before him and now saw the drawn lines and white circles around the childish mouth. Then dropping his great strong hand on the frail little shoulder he said, “ Alfred, boy, what is it? What — ”

“ Nothing, Mr. Beaton,” stammered the boy. “ Nothing,” and Farmer Jim saw how the childish throat choked and scraped as he tried to bring himself under control, and how the delicate, childish hands clenched themselves in the shaggy hair of old Shep’s beautiful collar, as if he were summoning all his strength to his aid. “ But, but, my, my, my father, he — a, he sent me over to get, to get some corn ; yes, that’s it, some corn ; he, he spoke to you about it ? ” and oh, the sickly smile that tried to come over that wan little face as the boy made another ghastly attempt to hide his emotion.

“ Why, yes,” said Farmer Jim, “ yes, of course, but you can’t carry it, no ! no ! ” as the boy tried to protest ; “ no! no! I’m going to drive Tom over to the village about ten o’clock and I’ll bring it with me.”

“ Oh, yes, Mr. Beaton ! ” said the boy eagerly, “ yes I can.” And he spoke quickly now as Farmer Jim began to shake his head disapprovingly. “ You see, you see I’m real strong ; oh, yes, I am, and you see he, he, my father wouldn’t like it if I came back without it, you see” — and in his eagerness the boy had risen and laid his small boyish hands upon the great strong hand of the man, and Farmer Jim, looking down, prepared to make a final refusal, met those wonderful gray eyes looking up into his with a mute appeal that left him absolutely powerless to follow even his own better judgment.

For a moment they stood thus, the mild blue eyes of the great strong man looking down into the great gray eyes of the boy, and the man became as wax in the hands of the child; only a moment, then Farmer Jim turned abruptly toward the corncrib and said something under his breath, no matter, gentle reader, what, only it wouldn’t look well in print, and coming from such a man as Farmer Jim it would sound a great deal worse.

“ I’ll hold the sack for you, sir,” said the boy, trotting along side now, with the old dog running on ahead.

“ You’ll go right up to the house and get a big fried cake, sir! Guess I know what boys of your size need; Henry’ll hold the sack,” said Farmer Jim gruffly, or at least as gruffly as he could.

“ But I’ve had my breakfast, and, and really I couldn’t,” stammered the boy, and then Farmer Jim said some more things.

Reaching the corncrib the corn was soon sacked and as they came out of the open door Fanner Jim lifted the heavy sack of corn and laid it upon the small slender shoulders of the boy very carefully, half expecting to see him go down under the burden.

Dear reader, have you ever come upon some slender stemmed plant, or sapling, and in idle playfulness laid a weight upon it just to see it sway and bend from side to side as if it would free itself from the hateful burden? Well, so this slender childish form swayed and bent from side to side for a moment, then gradually straightened and gaining his poise the boy moved off with his burden.

A few minutes later, when he was well along on his way, good Mrs. Beaton came down toward the sheep pen where were a couple of orphaned lambs which she was bringing up, as they say, by hand, and happening to look down over the meadows and distant glowing woods when her eyes caught sight of the moving figure of the heavily laden boy.

Dropping the basin of warm milk that she carried in her hand she hurried toward the barn calling as she went, “Jim! Jim Beaton! Jim!”

“ Yes, mother,” said Farmer Jim, coming toward her from the corncrib. “ What is it ? ”

“ Look yonder ! ” said she, pointing excitedly in the direction of the boy. “ What’s that going over the meadow ? ”

“ Oh,” said he quietly, “ that’s Alfred Raymond.”

“Alfred Raymond! and what on earth’s the child got on his shoulder ? ” said she.

“ A sack of corn.” Farmer Jim spoke as quietly as he could, for he too was more moved than he cared to show.

“A sack of corn!” cried she shrilly, “Jim Beaton! and do you mean to tell me that you let that child lug that sack of corn all the way home, and you planning to drive over to the village? Here! — ” and Mary Beaton, her face flushed, her eyes flashing, started as if to follow the boy and call him, when her husband laid his hand on her shoulder, saying kindly, “ Easy mother, easy.”

“ But, Jim ! ” protested she, “ that child ! ”

“ Yes, mother,” said he, “ I reckon I feel pretty much the same’s you do, but I mistrust strongly John’s drinkiir’

i6 My Land. My Country. My Home.

agin, and I wanted to bring it over, but the little shaver was so distressed, and ’twould only make a bad matter worse, en so I had to let him go.” And Farmer Jim dropped his head as a dark flush mounted to his face.

Mary Beaton turned away the tears streaming down her sweet comely face as the iron entered deeply into her soul, for hers was a childless home, and she and Jim Beaton loved this child with all the wealth of their great souls, and yet, in the face of this they were compelled to stand, absolutely powerless and watch a childhood slain, an early youth foully murdered, and shuddered as they looked forward and wondered what the coming years would bring.

Meanwhile the panting, overladen boy staggered along his way, his slender body bending slowly lower and lower, his breath beginning to come in long gasping sobs ; the damp moisture covered his face and neck and the wet hair clung to the skin wherever it chanced to touch. And now the fear began to grow upon him that he would not reach the rail fence before he would be compelled to let down his load. And if once he let it down how would he ever be able to lift it up again? Vainly he looked around for some friendly stone or stump. Nothing. The load was becoming heavier with every step.

Clenching his teeth, as the breath hissed in through them to the painfully aching throat and chest, he wrenched his little aching back into a more upright position and hurried forward. He was almost there. Could he reach it? Yes, he could see the top rail now quite clearly. One more wrench upward. Hurry, hurry, yes, here is the fence ; now slowly, carefully, turn around and bend down so as to lift the bottom of the bag up, there, back a little, slowly, care-

My Land . My Country. My Home. ly

fully, let down, — did it miss? Yes, and he must try again — No, it did not! Easy, there, it rests on the friendly rail, as carefully balancing it the almost exhausted boy, crouching, stepped out from underneath; but, oh, the agony of the reaction. Almost it seemed as if a hundred knives were plunged in that little quivering back all at once, and for a moment everything began to grow dark about him ; but gripping the sack with a firm hold he braced himself against the fence, and soon the blood resuming its natural course the air began to clear and the intense pain and nausea soon abated. After a little he felt much better ; the trouble was the boy had not been able to get his second wind, and a very few feet more would have laid him out insensible and possibly dangerously injured.

For a few minutes he stood there, the crushed shoulders and chest expanding under their new found freedom, drawing in great draughts of the freshly cool and sweetly invigorating air. The crushing load, which so shortly before had threatened to bring ruin and confusion, had served to relax the tension on the childish mind and brain, and the extreme overexertion caused the rich young blood to go bounding freely through the young body, bringing in its train a brighter and more hopeful outlook, so that the boy now began to look out upon the day with a more cheerful heart.

The beautiful gray eyes glowed and sparkled with a rich purplish light and at every turn of the head the golden glow from their wondrous depths seemed to burn with an almost unquenchable fire as they caught the glancing rays of the rising sun. The damp, curling hair clung to the moist skin with a loving carressing touch, while the rich red blood coursing now freely showed through the clear, sun-tanned skin, giving a most exquisite coloring to the face.