5
IC K BURTON and Mifry Cum-
ii!ilKs had lived side by side and
had not spoken to each other for
twenty years.
“ I will never speak to you ngain,” had
been her last words which fell upon his
car, and that had been twenty years ago.
There had been no good reason. So
Dick thought. Iflfary thought there was.
Anyway, the Quarrel had taken place, and
Mary had kept her word.
Mary’s father had died and her mother
had died, and Dick’s father and mother had
died, and first Mary and then Dick had
become the owner ot a big stony farm and
a century-old house. They had gone on
their accustomed ways, and had ignored
each other’s existence as much as if they
bad been living on separate planets in
stead of on farms the boundaries of which
wound in and out of each other after the
fashion of boundaries of farms which date
from old colonial times.
Never by any chance did either mention
the other’s name except when forced to
do so, and then it was with a casual in
difference which made their studious
avoidance of each other’s mention seem
the merest chance,
It was election day and Dick had been
to the polls and voted the straight Dem
ocratic ticket, after the fashion of his
father and grandfather and great-grand
father. His road led past Mary’s house. It
was 1884. when Cleveland and Blaine were
the contending candidates and when the
opposing partisans advertised their prefer
ences by wearing preposterous plug hats
of felt— the Republicans black and the
Democrats white. Dick had invested in
one of these foolish hats and proudly wore
it to the polls.
Constance Matthews was Mary’s niece,
and she was at th« window when Dick
went by. She begap to laugh.
“Come to the window. Aunt Mary,”
she called out.
“ What for?” »answered Mary, who was
deep in the mystery of pumpkin pies.
“ Dick Burton is going by on his way to
vote for Cleveland,” was the response.
“ Much good it will do him!” said Mary,
with a disdainful sniff.
Mary was a Republican, partly because
her father had been one, but chiefly be
cause Dick was a Democrat.
“ Come »and see him!” Constance ma
liciously insisted. “ He looke fine. He is
wearing a white plug hat.”
“ I wouldn’t care to see a man makin' a
fool o’ himself,” Mary snapped.
“ Uncle Morris wears a black plug,”
Constance said.
“Well, that’s different,” Mary began.
"It isn’t so— so-----”
“ And father wears a white one,” Con
stance continued.
“ Well, he can do it and welcome!”
Mary said wrathfully. “ He won’t wear it
very 'long after he knows Blaine is
elected.”
“ But Dick told me yesterday.” said the
girl, “that Cleveland is sure to be elected.”
“ That’s all he knows about it,” said
Mary, red with indignation. “ He’ll change
his mind later.”
“ He told me,” said the niece, with keen
enjoyment of her aunt’s displeasure, “that
he was going to pay the expense of having
a brass band come out at the head of the
Democrats who will march from the vil
lage to his house and have supper as a
celebration two nights after the election.
“Won’t it be fun to see them march past
here, with their banners and torches, and
playing ‘Hail Columbia’ or something like
that?”
Mary was white with wrath.
“He wouldn’t dare do such a thing!”
she panted.
“ Why not?” Constance queried.
“Uncle Morris will sic Bull on them as
they go by,” Mary suggested as a des
perate remedy for impending evil.
“ Fred English has sent him word that
if he does he will shoot Bull full of four
teen holes.” Constance cheerfully replied.
“ Well, if they come past here. I’ll-----
I ’ll-----■** Mary said, choking with anger.
“ But there is no use. They will not come.
They are going to be beaten.”
“ Dick says not,” Constance maliciously
insisted.
Mary was too angnr to reply. Anybody
less privileged than Constance would have
heard something decidedly to her disad
vantage.
Constance went to the window and
chuckled. Her chief interest in politics
came from the fact that th're was no
school on that day and that it gave her
opportunity to tease her Aunt Mary by
quoting Dick’s antagonistic opinions.
She sat by the window until Dick re
turned, when she mischievonsly called
Mary to the window, ostensibly to see
a red snuirre! on the wall but actually to
see Dick riding by with his white plug
hat. Mary retreated swiftly and nursed
her wrath until dinner, when her plan of
revenge was fully matured.
“ I think there arc sti!l some t r e a t y
D
Written Expressly for this Magazine
By JAM ES PURRIE
nuts over on the hill opposite,” she said
to Constance, when the meal was finished.
“ Don’t you want to go over there with
me and see if we can’t pick up a few?”
O f course Constance did and the basket
was soon filled. Then, as it seemed that
there were no more nuts to gather. Mary
wanted to know if Constance didn’t think
it would he fun to pile up some brush for
a future fire.
•
Constance thought it would. According
to Constance’s idea, the activities of this
world could be classed under the gen
eral headings of study, piano-practice,
dishwashing and fun. As piling brush
did not come under any of the other
headings, it must be fun.
Dick sat within his latticed porch with a
spy-glass directed toward the pair. He
would have died before he would have
let anybody else know of his occupation.
But he kept up the watch for hours while
the brush heap grew bigger. He had
given all his help a holiday and there was
no danger of his being caught at his
clandestine employment. So he laid down
the glass and looked and then raised it
and looked again. Trim and slim the two
figures moved gracefully about, alike, yet
different. Dick could not help thinking
how much like Constance was now Mary
had been twenty years before, still in
short skirts and full of fun and life.
Boy and girl they had been, with man
hood and womanhood just before them.
He was very certain that he had been in
love hut he had never admitted it to any
one else and now he was equally certain
that his love had long been cold. But
he thought it would be pleasant if they
could be friends once more and talk of
those old days and the confidences that
had been exchanged so long ago. But he
was not going to meet repulse again. He
was sorry that Mary was so unforgiving
and he would hold naught against her on
that account. But that did not mean that
he should expose his head to fresn
wounds from the metophorical broom
stick.
At last the brush heap was of suffici
ently colossal proportions to suit Miary’s
vindictive intentions.
“ There!” she said triumphantly, “that
will make a big enough bonfire to cele
brate Blaine’s election!”
“O h ! Aunt Mary !*’ exclaimed Con
stance, whose exceedingly small stock of
politics was of the Democratic pcrsuas'ou.
“ And I helped pile it ! What will father
say? What will Dick say?”
If Constance had rested with the first
question Mary might have felt conscience-
stricken. but the last hardened her heart.
And. to speak the truth, Constance asked
the question with no other purpose than
that of getting a rise out of Aunt Mary.
“ What do I care?” Mary savagely de
manded. while Constance turned aside to
hide a laugh.
“ You can tel! them to look out for it
about m idnight'’ Mary went on. "By
that time 1 will know for sure, though
I have been perfectly certain all along.
I have sent Abner to the village to get
the news as fast as it comes in. As soon
as he hears that Blaine is elected he is
going to hang a lantern in the gable of
Widow Mason's barn.”
“ And what when he hears that Cleve
land is elected?” Constance innocently
inquired.
“Cleveland isn’t going to be elected!”
Marv emphatically responded. “ But Ab
ner asked me some such foolish question
as that and just to satisfy him I told
him he could borrow a couple of lanterns
— a red and a green one—and put up the
green one when he hears Blaine is elect
ed and— but that’s all there is to it.”
Constance gave her atmt several more
of Dick’s confident predictions as to the
m a lt of the election and then mounted
her pory and started home. She stooped
in front of Dick’s gate and the owner,
with whom she had maintained an odd
and jolly friendship as long as she could
remember, came out to chat with her.
“ Aunt Mary says that Blaine is sure to
be elected,” she announced.
“ * o t in a thousand years!” Dick em
phatically returned. Cleveland is elected
just as sure as that sun is going down
in the west!”
“ Aunt Mary says not.”
“ Well, of course,” said Dick, keeping
in his temper as well as he could, “she
doesn’t know anything about politics.
She reads the Tribune and believes it.”
“ Yes,” said Constance, “and she says
she is sorry for anybody who will believe
anything the World says.”
“ She does, eh? Well, she will believe
something different from what she does
now in a few more hours.”
“ She has a big heap of brush over on
the hill which she is going to light as a
bonfire when she hears that Blaine is
elected,” Constance said, delivering the in
formation which had been the express rea
son for her stopping at the gate.
“ Well, if he doesn’t light it until she
hears that.” Dick spoke with grim con»
fidence, “the pile will rot away right
where it is.”
“ She has sent Abner to town,” Con
stance said, “to hang a lantern up when
he hears Blaine is elected and she will
light the fire at once.”
“ Good Heavens!” Dick exclaimed.
“ Surely she isn’t thinking of setting such
a fire with the wind blowing Ifke it is
n ow ! She will set the whole country
on fire!”
“ But you say that Blaine isn't going to
be elected !” said Constance.
“ He isn’t !” Dick insisted with passion
ate conviction. “ But that fool of an Ab
ner may hear and believe anything that
isn’t so— he’s a Republican— and he may
hang out a lantern without any reason
for it. Go back. Constance, like a good
little girl, and tell your aunt that it will
be extremely dangerous to start a fire on
a night like this. She will be almost cer
tain to lose her house if she does.”
Constance turned her pony’s head and
trotted back to Mary’s house. “Dick says
that you had better not set that fire to
night!” was the not particularly diplomatic
manner in which she announced her mes
sage.
“ He does, docs he?” Mary answered
furiously. "Well he can attend to his
own business and I will attend to mine.”
“ He says that you will set the whole
world on fire,” Constance continued sweet
ly. “He says, though, that if vou wait
until Blaine is elected, you’ll be lots older
than you are!”
“ Did he say that?” Mary asked in a
voice choking with indignation.
“ Welt, those were not his exact words.”
Constance admitted. “ But that was what
he meant. He said that the pile would
rot just where it lies. But he said that
Abner was a fool of a Republican and
that you were another— no he didn't say
that— he said that Abner would believe
any fool thing that he heard about Blaine
being elected and would hang up his lan
tern and then yon would believe it too and
go burning up the whole country.”
Mary could scarce speak for anger.
“ You just ¿0 back and tell him, she
said as soon as she could speak, “that
he may look toward the Widow Mason’»
barn and wheif he sees a green light be
will know that Blaine is elected. And
then he can look over here and see a big
bonfire burning in celebration of the vic
tory over him and all the other mean,
contemptible Democrats in the country.”
“ But, Aunt Marv, Dick says-----”
“ Don’t mention his name to me again!**
Man exclaimed in pa>*ioitatc anger.
Constance saw that her teasing had gone
«00 far and she now tried to soclh her
aroused relative and persuade her not to
set the dangerous fire. But she might as
weU have talked against the sweeping
wind which threatened danger in case the
angered woman persisted in her determi
nation.
Back the pony went again add Dick
was duly informed by a very much fright
ened and penitent Constance that Mary
was determined to set her fire as soon as
the green light appeared.
“ Well, that settles it,” Dick said. “ I
was going to the village to hear the news,
but I’ll stay here now to fight fire if she
should set one going. Be sure to tell yotir
father as soon as you get home to hurry
over and see your annt and reason with
her.”
“ I'll send Uncle Morris," Constance
“ He is a Republican and Aunt Mary is
too mad now to listen to any Democrat.”
But when Constance got home her
father and Uncle Morris and every other
man and boy in the neighborhood had
made for one or other of the villages to
get the election news. Telephones were
not common then as now and there was
no way of reaching them. There was
nothing to do but await the issue of
events.
Dick, chafing with impatience, went in
and out of his house, pacing around and
around the yard, then back by his parlor
fire, where he made an ineffectual effort
to interest himself in a book. Each time
he went forth he cast a dreadful glance
in the direction of the Widow Mason’s
barn, but nothing was to be saen. "file
hour of midnight came and still he looked
only into darkness. But from the win
dow of Mary's house shone a light
which showed that the owner was still
keeping vigil. He grew miserably de
pressed and when he went ont for the
fiftieth time his face felt flying particles
of ice, which the sweeping winds carried
along, betokening the start of a snow.
“ If a snow comes there will be no
danger,” he said to himself: but at that
moment he looked again and saw the
green light shining from the gable of
Widow Mason’s barn.
He turned a,quick glance toward Mary's
house and saw a lantern moving toward
the edge of the wood. Without waiting
to lock his door he hastened across his
own field in the direction where the fire
might be expected to spread.
He had with him a water pail and a
shovel with which to beat back the flames.
Ther’ was no water near the place where
the fire was starting, but if it spread it
might come within reach of the supply.
Tlie shovel was the best thing he could
think of for beating out the fire as it
spread through the dry grass.
He hurried over to his own line not
far from where the brush heap stood,
just in time to see Mary apply a “blazer”
to the dried leaves at the base of the heap.
She was on the windward side and the
flame at once drove into the heart of the
heap. A sharp snapping of twigs was
heard, then the steady roar of the rising
flames and the odor of burning bark rose
pleasantly upon the air.
Dick stood by the stone wall which'
marked the boundary of the two places.
He spoke no word and Mary knew no
thing of his presence. In the strong light
thrown by the brilliant fire Dick could see
her features as clearly as if it were day.
Hers was still a face of great beauty,
though it had lost the youthful prettiness
of twenty years before. There was in her
face none of the exultation he had ex
pected it to show. He saw her turn and
look toward where his own light still
burned, but she looked back with an ex
pression of sad weariness which took
away much of the resentment of the man.
gray and grim, who stood watching out
side the circle of light.
The wind came only in heavy gusts and
during one of the periods of calm the
flan« rose in a perpendicular sheet which
stood high as the neighboring tree-tops.
Now was beard the sound of wind com
ing througn the forest like the rushing of
a distant train. The next moment it was
upon them. There was a scurry of leaves,
the trees shook and bent and the great
flames, yielding to the mighty onrush of
air, lay almost level with the earth. When
the wind had passed, the fire was every
where for many yards to leeward of the
heap, burning fiercely among the dried
grass and underbrush.
Mary stood for a moment in dazed
fright, then picked up a crooked stick and
began beating finitely at the advancing
edge of flame. But the fire responded to
her strokes only by a shower of sparks
and she was forced to retreat step by
step, while the area of flame went hy
leaps, in the direction of her neighbor's
wall
She dropped the stick and turned with
the thought of running for help, hut she
realized that long before she could call
'* * W
on p ag e q ■ )