The next morning the alarm over the cholera is more intense. All kinds of horrifying stories go the rounds. News has been brought by passengers on the stage that a man and his wife, living near the Illinois River, died within an hour of each other. They were well at dawn. At noon they were both under the black soil of the river's shore, buried by three stalwart sons, who carried their bodies in the bed clothing and let them down by it into hastily made graves.

Something has happened here. The stage driver who silenced the rowdies last night is stricken this morning at the tavern. He is dead. By noon he is buried in the village cemetery where the ashes of my father lie.

Mrs. Spurgeon thinks that Reverdy should leave the tavern and come here with the rest of us. I am to take the word to him when I go to see Mr. Brooks. She has seen the ravages of cholera before. There is nothing to do but to be careful about diet, keep cheerful, and surrender to no fears. I am not in the least alarmed. But the negroes are panic stricken. They are calling upon the Lamb to save them. They are singing and wailing. They are congregating at the hut of Aunt Leah, an aged negress, who is sanctified and gifted with supernatural power. Zoe is not in fear, and Sarah goes about the duties of the day with calm unconcern.

I am off to see Mr. Brooks again. The streets are almost deserted. The faces of those I meet are white and drawn. Mr. Brooks acts as if his mind is stretched out of him in apprehension. Yet he is in his office ready to pick up what business may come his way; and he is waiting to see me.

I tell Mr. Brooks at once that I want to divide the property equally with Zoe. He thinks, evidently, that I have weakened before the mere prospect of a contest; and he assures me that the estate can be settled as my father intended. Well, but can this plan of mine be carried out? As easily as the other, he says, and of course more bindingly if there can be a difference. For he had intended to have the court decree a sale of the property and divide the money under the sanction of the court. But according to my plan Zoe could get no more; and therefore no one could object to it.

I am curious about my father. What is the danger of a contest, even if Zoe could be brought to make one? Mr. Brooks tells me that my father was drinking heavily toward the last; that he looked aged and worn. His hair had turned white, though he was only forty. He acted like a man who had a corroding sorrow in his heart. When he took the cold it developed rapidly into lung fever. He was dead in three days. His will was made just as he took to his bed at the tavern. There were stray scamps about Jacksonville who would swear to anything. And though Zoe was a colored girl, and notwithstanding the character of such witnesses in her behalf, a case so composed might be troublesome. Then there was the treasure at stake; and the hunger of lawyers and maintainers. Well, I had settled it. None of these wolves should have a chance. Mr. Brooks scrutinized my face with large, pensive eyes. After a silence he said: "You are the boss; but I want you to know that the will can stand. I will guarantee to win the case if there is one." "Can we see the farm?" I asked. "And my father's grave?" Mr. Brooks brought up his buggy and we were off.

But first I wished to find Reverdy and give him Mrs. Spurgeon's message. He had gone out to his little farm. He was raising a crop, having returned from the war just in time to get it planted. It was only a little out of our way, and we could stop there on our return.

Almost at once we came to the cemetery, a crude enclosure, fenced with rough pickets, evidently split with the ax. Mr. Brooks led me to the spot.

Weeds abounded everywhere. The grasshoppers were flying before our steps. A long snake glided away from my feet as I stepped near the yellow clay which tented the body of my father ... and Zoe's father ... the husband of my lovely mother, so long dead. Here was the soldier of Waterloo, the adventurer into this Far West, the man who had died with some secret sorrow, or some sorrow for which he found no words or no confidant. Above me was the blinding sun, before me the prairie, at my feet this hillock of clay, where weeds had already begun to sprout. Mr. Brooks watched me; and seeing me move he started on; and I followed him through the broken gate to the buggy.

It was two miles to the log house which my father had built on his land. We drove up and went in. A tenant named Engle was living here with his wife and numerous children. Some of them crowded around us; others ran and hid, afterwards peered around the corner, timid and wild. Engle was not there; but his wife came from her washing to tell us where he could be found, what he was doing. When Mr. Brooks revealed to her who I was she stared at me with simple wondering eyes, drying her hands the while upon her apron. She was terribly upset by the reports of the cholera. Besides ... she went on: "There's a right smart lot of lung fever this summer. I 'low the men let their lungs get full of dust in the barn or somethin'. And I never did see the like of bloody flux among the children, and the scarlet fever too. We never had nothin' like that in Kaintucky. But I says to my man this mornin', there ain't nothin' to do but to stick it out. When yer time comes I guess there ain't no use ter run. And people do die in Kaintucky, too."

We proceeded to drive around the entire acreage. It took us some hours. Always the prairie, boundless and colorful. Miles of rich tall grass, sprinkled everywhere with purple, brick red, yellow, white, and blue blossoms! Billows of air drove the surface of it into waves. It was a sea of living green.

We passed forests of huge oak and elm trees, which grew along the little streams. There were many fields of corn, too, tall and luxuriant; and wheat ready for harvest. We came upon Engle at last. He wanted me to come close to see the corn. I got out and stood beside it, stroked its long graceful banners, turned up the dark soil with my boot and saw how rich and friable it was. And all this was mine, mine and Zoe's.

My imagination took fire. My ambition rose. I resolved to study the whole agricultural matter, and to reduce these acres in their entirety to cultivation. I would raise cattle and sheep. I would build fences. Above all I would make a house for myself. Here was my place in life and my work. No delay. I should begin to-morrow with something directed to the general end.

Returning we went past Reverdy's farm. But he had finished his work and gone to town. Accordingly we speeded up. When I arrived home I found Reverdy already there. But he would not leave the tavern. He gave no reason in particular. He said he was as safe there as anywhere; and it was more convenient for him.

But there was much doing. Sarah and Zoe were mixing the ingredients of a cake. A turkey was roasting; we were going to have a guest for supper. Douglas, the law student, the new school teacher, was coming; and all was delighted expectation. "For," said Mrs. Spurgeon, "I reckon we ain't never had such a young feller before around these parts. Talk! You never heard such talk. It flows just like the water down hill. And there never was a friendlier soul. I never thought they raised such people up in Yankeeland as him. You can bet he'll make his mark. He'll be a judge before he's ten years older; and they do well to get him here. And what I say is: where did he get his eddication? He is an orphan too, like you, James ... raised by an uncle so far as he had a raisin'. But the uncle fooled him. He promised him an eddication, and then went back on it. And what does young Douglas do? He busts away. He gets awful mad and comes west to make his fortune. Make a young feller mad, hurt him good and plenty, and if he has the right stuff you make a man of him. I've seen it over and over. When a young feller's mad and disappointed, if he's got the right stuff in him, he gets more energy, like a kettle blown off. They do, unless they sulk. Now there's other types. There was your poppy; he warn't mad and he didn't sulk exactly, and yet there was somethin'. He seemed to simmer and stew a little. But he left five thousand acres of land. Maybe he was one of these here big speculators like as is all over Illinois now, that has some kind of a different secret, and makes a big success some other way. You can never tell. But you see when Douglas came here he landed from Alton down here at Winchester and went right to work makin' a few dollars at a auction where he was a appraiser. And he worked at his trade too. For he's a cabinet maker. Yes, sir, he has a trade. With all the books he's read he has a trade. And now he's up here to look over the ground; for they say he's comin' here next spring to practice law, and even then he'll be only twenty-one."

Surely, this was a land of haste, of easy expedients. I did not know a great deal about the legal education of an English lawyer; but enough to appreciate the difference between the slow and disciplined training there and the rapid and loose preparation which I heard Mrs. Spurgeon describe with so much pride. I went into the corner of the room to write a letter to my grandmother.

This is the letter that I wrote:

"Dear Grandmama: I cannot describe to you the conditions that surround me. The boundless extent of the country, the wildness and beauty of the prairies, the roughness of this frontier town, above all the people themselves. The house I am living in is unlike anything you ever saw; but yet it is very comfortable. And my hostess, Mrs. Spurgeon, as well as her granddaughter, have treated me with all the consideration that my own kindred could do. I was very dangerously ill and they took care of me with wonderful solicitude; particularly Zoe, who nursed me and scarcely left my side. Now I am well, or nearly so, and they insist on my living with them. I pay two dollars a week, or about eight shillings. And everything is clean and nice; the food very good, delicious bacon smoked with hickory wood; but altogether the diet is unlike what I was accustomed to in England. It all seems like a story, first that I should meet Reverdy Clayton when I landed in Chicago from the steamboat which had brought me from Buffalo. He offered to bring me here on his Indian pony. But I was afraid to risk so long a ride, especially as at that time I was beginning to feel very badly. Then it is strange that I should get here and awake from an illness so serious in the house of Mrs. Spurgeon, whose granddaughter Sarah is going to marry Reverdy ... one never knows whether to attribute these things to Providence or to the accidents of life.... Perhaps you were right never to tell me about my father's marriage to the octoroon girl; but you must have known that I would find it out on arriving here. It has caused me much thought, if not disturbance of mind; but I have worked out my problems, perhaps impulsively, but still to my own satisfaction. Zoe is about the color of an Indian from Bombay. She is a beautiful girl, and shows her English blood in her manner and her active mind. I do not believe that there was the slightest danger that she would have attacked the will; but many considerations moved me to divide the estate with her equally. She took care of me with the most affectionate interest when I was ill. Besides, the land is not worth so very much, and one half of it will give her no fortune to mention. She is in danger even now, and the future for her is not reassuring. Illinois is supposed to be free territory, but it is not so many years ago that a vote was taken in Illinois to have slavery here, and it was defeated by no very great majority. And now the Illinois laws are rather strict as to colored people. The country is beginning to be feverish about the slavery question. I saw evidence of this in New York and on the way here; though just in this place the matter is not so much agitated. Yet the other day a copy of a periodical arrived here called The Liberator, and it made much angry talk. I will not tire you with this subject, dear grandmama, but only say that the effort here and everywhere in America seems to be directed toward hushing the matter up. But to return to Zoe: if her mother's father wished to secure the mother against misfortune by bringing her north and marrying her to a white man (my father, as it turned out) why should not I, her half-brother, try to protect her against the future that her mother might have incurred? I reason that I have taken the place of Zoe's grandfather, and must do for her what he tried to do for Zoe's mother. This inheritance of duty comes to me as the land comes to me, without my will. Zoe's grandfather gave my father his start, gave him the $2500 bonus to marry Zoe's mother. I think, in considering what share of the estate Zoe should have, these things cannot be ignored. Of course I don't know exactly how much of the $2500 went into this land. From things I have heard I think my father spent money freely; he went about a good deal and was not as temperate as he should have been for his own health and prosperity. Something was evidently preying upon his mind. Anyway, I have decided the matter, and I hope you will approve of me. I went to father's grave this morning, and it made me sad. Afterwards Mr. Brooks, the lawyer, drove me to the farm and around most of it. I am going to take hold of it at once. This country is growing rapidly, and I mean to do what my father didn't exactly. I am going to be rich; that is my ambition. And I must think and work. I am well again, or nearly so, and full of hope and plans, though sometimes lonely for you and for England. Some day I shall come back to see you. My love to you, dear grandmama. And do write me as often as you can.

"Affectionately, James."

And that evening Douglas came. He was of the smallest stature, but with a huge chest and enormous head. His hair was abundant and flowing, tossed back from his full forehead like a cataract. His eyes were blue and penetrating, but kindly. His face rather square. His voice deep and resonant. His words were clearly spoken, and fell from his lips freely, as if he were loosening them into a channel worn by long thinking. His ideas were clearly envisioned. He had read books of which I had never heard. But apart from books his sallies of wit, the aptness of his stories and allusions quite dazzled me.

Though he was but two years my senior, I felt like a boy in his presence. His maturity and self-possession and intellectual mastery of the hour kept me silent. He recalled what he had done to bring me to the comforts of Mrs. Spurgeon's house when I arrived in Jacksonville, ill and helpless. After that he did not exactly ignore me, but I seemed not to enter into the association of his ideas or their expression. He talked of the country. There was the matter of Texas, a territory half as large as central Europe. But if Texas seceded from Mexico he wished the country absorbed into the domain of the United States. Texas has a right to secede. All governments derive their powers from the consent of the governed. Let moralists and dreamers say what they would, the course of America was toward mastery of the whole of North America. Yes, and there was Oregon. If the Louisiana Purchase of 1804 did not include Oregon, what of the Lewis and Clark expedition; what of the founding of Astoria by Mr. Astor of New York, on the shores of the Columbia River; what of the restoration of Astoria to the United States in 1818 after it had been forcibly seized by Great Britain in the War of 1812? Douglas looked forward to the day when Great Britain would not have an inch of land from the Gulf of Mexico to the North Pole, and from the Atlantic to the Pacific. All of this vast territory should be the abiding place of liberty forever. Homestead laws should be passed with reference to it, and settlers invited to reduce it to cultivation. It should be tilled by millions of husbandmen, the most intelligent and progressive of the world. It should be crossed by railroads and canals. Already there were the Mohawk and Hudson railroad, the Boston and Albany, and the Baltimore and Ohio. Illinois should have railroads and canals; the rivers and harbors should be improved. Lake Michigan should be connected with the Mississippi River by a canal joining Lake Michigan with the Illinois River.

What was it all about? National wealth as a foundation for education, power, the supremacy of the white stocks having the greatest vitality.

Zoe was waiting upon the table, occasionally sitting down to take a bite. Douglas neither saw her nor was he oblivious of her. He talked ahead, referring now to the slavery question. He believed the North should leave the South alone. He had seen the reformer, the intermeddler, in his native lair in Vermont. Who had brought into this remote and peaceful town that copy of Garrison's Liberator? He was a half-cracked busybody. People who had no business of their own made the business of other people their business. He would put all such drivelers to work upon the roads, and thus make them contribute to the nation's wealth. He referred to the works of Jefferson, which he had read, to the Federalist, which he had read, and to much else, of which at that time I did not know a line. I studied Reverdy's face to see whether or not Reverdy concurred in what Douglas said. I had confidence in Reverdy, and was willing to go along with Douglas if Reverdy approved of these programs; although my English blood was stirred to some extent by Douglas' evident hostility to Great Britain. I sensed that Reverdy did not wholly agree with Douglas in all his theories and plans. But Reverdy knew that he could not cope with such a whirlwind as this dynamic logician. He therefore at times smiled a half disapproval, but did not express it. For myself I found my mind consenting to the magic of Douglas' vision. I did not relish the idea of England's surrendering Oregon; but, on the other hand, since my fortunes were cast in the United States, did it not behoove me to draw upon the country's increasing prosperity and to help to increase it? Texas did not matter. I did not fancy the institution of slavery. It grated upon my sensibilities; but I had a very slight understanding of it in the concrete. I was glad that England was rid of it. I had never admired the Wesleys, the Methodists; but I was glad to give them credit for what they had done to relieve England of such an abomination. I rejoiced that more than seven years before I was born Clarkson and Wilberforce had brought about the abolition of this traffic from the land of my nativity and its dependencies.

Then here was Zoe. If I was indifferent to slavery I had to be logical and be indifferent to her becoming a subject of barter. At least what, but a sentimental reason, could I set up against the enforced servitude of Zoe? What did it matter in point of justice and civilization that the South could not carry on her commercial interests without slavery? Was trade everything? Were the merchants the leaders of civilization? Were merchants to be permitted to do what they chose in order that they might create wealth for themselves, or even the nation? In a word, was wealth everything? My Adam Smith had said no, and I had already read that. He had classified banks of issue, colonialism, and slavery, as well as some other things as equal parts of a mercantile program. I was, therefore, inclined to dissent from any plan that included any one of these things. And still I was swept along by the torrent of Douglas' thinking. His vision enthralled me. His outlook upon the country, its increasing power and wealth, fascinated my imagination. Was I not resolved to be rich myself? And for moments I was under the spell of his great power. He was a world thinker, but with his own country forefronted in the playing of a colossal part. It appealed to my English blood, that blood which does great deeds through great vision, and then repents the iniquities along the way and corrects them at last. And who was Douglas in spirit? Nothing less than the English genius. And so my feelings were mixed, but admiration for him predominated. I felt his edge and did not like it; his audacity and resented it; his power and rebelled against it; his brusqueness and shrank from it; his emphasis upon power and supremacy, and felt that he might be overlooking finer powers and more lasting triumphs. But his eyes were full of kindly lights, in spite of their intellectual penetration; and he was charming to the last degree.

He stood up. I was a head taller than he. But his torso belonged to a giant, and his head. We all arose. And after a time, saying that he was spending his evenings in the study of law, he took his leave.

The autumn was coming on. The cholera had abated. The air was cool and fresh. The country was taking fire from the colors of the changing year. And I was feeling more rugged than I had ever felt in my life.

As I have said, a college had already been founded in Jacksonville. Indeed, some years before my coming the one brick building on the campus had been constructed; and before that the log hut, also on the campus, in which the young president and his pretty wife had spent their first winter here in 1829. Reverdy told me that he had helped to hew and place the logs. I had become acquainted with Mr. Sturtevant, the president; for he was eager to hear of England, and Oxford and Eton. I was fascinated with this experiment of a college in the wilderness. He loaned me many books; and I often spent an evening at his house.

In September I decided to go out to the farm and live with the Engles. I had many plans for the spring which could be better attended to on the ground; and then I was getting ready to build me a house. Reverdy knew where to find the logs, how to prepare them. He knew where to get men to help him, and I was glad to leave these things to him. Mr. Brooks had already commenced proceedings to settle the title to the land, dividing it between Zoe and me. This was off my mind. I had men building fences, plowing. I was buying horses, cattle, hogs. In all these things Reverdy was an incalculable help. I could not have succeeded without him. He knew horses and he helped me to honest dealers.

One day I was walking over my land. I came to a beautiful grove of trees by the brook. And there in the midst of it was a log hut. I pushed the rude door open and entered. There was but one room. It had a fireplace needing repair. I saw a ladder in the corner, climbed it through a loft hole and looked into the loft. The rafters were rough and crooked, made only of undressed poles. I could see daylight through the shingles. The floor was of hewn planks. But I was elated. Why not come here to live? I did not like the Engle children. They were too numerous. I had no privacy there. But here! I could be to myself. I could make myself more comfortable than I was at the Engles'. I could have what food I wanted. I could kill game, for the country was full of it. I could bring my books. I could be a lord.

I hurried back to town to tell Reverdy; to ask him to help me to mend the fireplace, and to put the house in condition for the coming winter. Reverdy looked at me in astonishment. How could I stand the loneliness? Did I know what I was getting into? Could I take care of myself entirely? What if I fell ill again and in the middle of the winter, when the ways were snowbound?

I thought of Zoe. Why not take her with me? I could teach her. She could run the house. Reverdy looked at me with a certain dubiety. Sarah would hate to part with Zoe. Perhaps there were other things; but he did not express them. However, nothing could deter me.

Zoe was delighted with the plan. She wanted to get away, to be with me, since I wanted her. Besides, Reverdy and Sarah were to be married in a few days. He was coming to the house to live and that would make a difference in the conveniences. And Mrs. Spurgeon, as far as I could judge, was not averse to Zoe's departure. Thus it was to be as I wished.

Reverdy left off the work on my new house to help me repair the hut. We had to make a hearth. For this I found stones by the brook. We stopped the chinks between the logs with heavy, tough clay. We mended the holes in the roof. We repaired the floor. I bought beds and bedding, utensils for cooking, a rifle, an ax, and some other tools. I stocked the house with provisions. And in a week I was installed, listening at night to the cry of the wild animals, wolves and foxes and owls; and the song of late whippoorwills when an access of lingering summer warmed the midnights. I chopped my own wood. I killed quails and squirrels, and roasted them. I tried my hand at making cornbread. And I awoke in the delicious mornings, exuberant and happy. Zoe had not come to me yet, for she was staying on at Mrs. Spurgeon's until Sarah was married. And at last the wedding was celebrated.

I shall never forget that night. It was unlike anything of which I had ever heard. The town minister performed the ceremony. Mr. and Mrs. Sturtevant were present. Douglas had been invited; but whether he failed to get the message, or whether his new duties of teaching at Winchester prevented him from coming I do not know. We missed him greatly. An emergency arose in which his courage and gift of speech might have been of use. I can imagine how he would have handled the crowd that assembled outside while the wedding was in progress. In short, we were treated to a shivaree, or charivari.

No sooner had the clergyman pronounced the final words than the most unearthly noise broke loose right at the door. There was the sound of tin pans, kettles, horns, drums; and this pandemonium was punctuated by the firing of shots and the throwing of stones at the door and gravel upon the window panes. Sarah, already flushed from excitement, took on an expression of alarm. I thought that we had been attacked by a band of Indians bent upon massacre. The clergyman, however, smiled. And Reverdy left the side of his bride and went to the door.

He flung it open. And there burst upon my vision the wildest assemblage of faces I had ever seen. Some were blacked to resemble the negro. Some were painted to look like the Indian on the warpath. They were dressed fantastically, in a variety of colors, with feathers in their hair or hats or coon caps. They leered, grinned from ear to ear. They yelled, and again began to beat their pans and kettles and to fire their rifles. Sarah put her fingers to her lips in a gesture of terror, of violated privacy. But after all this was but the frontier's hymeneal chant, the festivities of the uninvited wedding guests. To quiet them it was necessary to ask them to partake of the wedding delicacies.

They pushed and writhed into the room. Some of them were half drunk. They trod upon each other. What they might have done if Reverdy had not managed them out of the kindness of his heart and with a certain adroitness is past conceiving. It seemed to me that a riot was on the point of breaking loose at any minute. But having satisfied themselves, they began to file out. Some lingered to wish the bride and groom a happy life. Reverdy spoke with each one in such friendliness of voice and manner, in which there was neither nervousness nor resentment. He took it all as a matter of course. But Sarah was visibly distrait. I could see that she was relieved as they began to depart. A few yells, a few intermittent shots marked their going away. Then all was silent. The guests now began to leave. And as I was going back to my hut for the night I came to Reverdy and Sarah to bid them God-speed. I had never seen Sarah look so charming. Her bridal dress was made of striped calico. She had a bonnet to match. Reverdy had a new suit of blue jeans. He looked handsome and strong. And he turned his eyes upon Sarah with a look of protecting tenderness. I took their hands in mine to emphasize my blessing with the closeness of affectionate contact. Sarah kissed me on the cheek; and I left, bestriding my horse at the gate, and riding through the darkness to my hut.

Zoe was to come to me the next morning.

The next morning while I was sitting near the door, cleaning my rifle, I heard the soft pounding of a horse's hoofs on the heavy sod, and looking up saw Reverdy and Sarah. He was in the saddle, she was riding behind. I was about to ask for Zoe when I saw her peeping mischievously around the shoulder of Sarah, showing her white teeth in a happy smile. It was not Reverdy's Indian pony that was carrying so many travelers, but a larger horse. They all got down and came in to see my hut. Sarah was greatly pleased with it, and Zoe could not contain her delight. Reverdy and Sarah were on their way to Winchester to pay a brief visit to Sarah's aunt. They were soon off, Reverdy giving me the assurance that it would only be a few days before he would again be at work on my new house. Meanwhile the other men would continue getting the logs.

Zoe did not delay a minute in taking charge of the house. I had not cleared the breakfast table. She did so, then made my bed. I told her to spread it with clean sheets as it was to be hers now, but she would not hear to this. She was afraid to be on the ground floor where an intruder could walk in upon her, or a stray wolf push the door open and wake her with its unfriendly nose against her cheek. I told her then to look at the loft. She climbed the ladder and took a peek, descended with the remark that she liked it and would take it for hers. Almost at once we had perfect order in the hut.

Zoe cooked, and cleaned the rooms. I was busy with my new dwelling. I killed enough game to keep us in meat. Sometimes standing in the doorway I could bring down a deer. Then we had venison. But we were never without quail and ducks and geese. Zoe made the most delicious cornbread, baking it in a pan in the fireplace. The Engles brought us some cider. I had bought a fiddle and was learning to play upon it. We never lacked for diversion. In the evenings I played, or we read. My days were full of duties connected with the new house, or the crops and improvements for the next year. And spring would soon be here.

I was beginning to be looked upon as a driving man. They had scoffed at me as a young Englishman who could not endure the frontier life, and who knew nothing of farming. But they saw me take hold with so much vigor and interest that I was soon spoken of as an immediate success. My coming to the hut and living and doing for myself had helped greatly to confirm me in their esteem. I saw nothing hazardous or courageous in it. As for the daily life I could not have been more happily placed.

The fall went by. The winter descended. The brook was frozen. I had to break the ice with the ax to get water. I had to spend an hour each day cutting wood for the fireplace and bearing it into the hut. These were the mornings when the cold bath, which I could never forego, no matter what the circumstances were, tested my resolution. For I was sleeping in the loft where the bitter wind fanned my cheeks during the night. Zoe had found it too rigorous, and preferred the danger of an intruder to the cold. Even snow sifted on my face from rifts in the shingles which we had overlooked. But nevertheless I adhered to the morning lustration, sometimes going to the brook to do it. I had never experienced such cold.

Yet the months of November and December, which at the time I thought were the extreme of winter weather, were as nothing to the polar blasts that poured down upon us in January and February. I had no thermometer. But judging by subsequent observations I am sure that the temperature reached twenty degrees below zero. I took no baths in the brook now but contented myself with a hurried splash from a pan. At night I covered myself with all the blankets that I could support. I protected my face with a woolen cap, which was drawn over the ears as well. Zoe, though sleeping near the immense fire which we kept well fed with logs, got through but a little better than I. We heated stones in hot water to take to bed with us. All kinds of wild animals coming forth for food were frozen in their tracks. I found wolves and foxes in abundance lying stiffened and defeated in the woods. Some nights, seeing the light of our candle they would howl for food and shelter; and I heard them run up and down past the door, wisping it with their tails. Then Zoe would cling to me. And I would take up the rifle in anticipation of the wind opening the door and admitting the marauder. We were snowbound the whole month of February. I had to shovel a path to the brook. But it was out of the question for any one to go to town, or for any one to come to us. And of course during these bitter days nothing was done on my new house. The logs were all cut. They stood piled under the snow, except for a few that had been put in place.

One brilliant morning in the last of February I had gone to the brook for water. The cold had moderated to some extent. But the snow remained deep in the woods and on the fields. For though the sun shone, the sky was nevertheless hazed with innumerable particles of frozen mist, having the appearance of illuminated dust, or powdered mica. Somewhere in the depths of this screen I heard the joyous cry of a jay. And Zoe, who was by my side, said that spring was at hand.

The next day the air was milder. Soon the snow began to melt. We heard musical droppings from our eaves. The brook broke from its manacles. I could see patches of dead grass and dark earth between the disappearing snow on the fields. At break of day we heard the chirrup of the chickadee, the sparrow. I now resumed my plunge at the brook. And as we were depleted of cornmeal and other provisions, Zoe and I went to town, riding one of the horses which Engle had brought over to me. Bad news waited us here. Mrs. Spurgeon had died during the bitter weather, about three weeks before. Sarah was very much depressed. And Reverdy seemed almost as unhappy over the loss.

He had much to do, but he would now set to work upon my house.

Soon he came out bringing the men. I had made a drawing for the work and I was much about watching to see that it was followed. We could have had bricks for the chimney, though it was a good deal of labor to haul them. But why not a chimney of stone? There were plenty of stones of adequate size along the bed of the brook. And so we used them. But I did buy lumber for the floors. I sent to St. Louis for the kind of doors I wanted, and windows too. I was having a house built with regard to roominess and hospitable conveniences; a large living room, two bedrooms, a dining room, a kitchen, downstairs. The second floor was to have four chambers. I had selected a site back from the road. It was in a grove of majestic oaks, not far from the brook and the hut. The work progressed none too rapidly. Some of the men had to be away at times to attend to their farming. As for myself I had learned to plow, and was at it from early morning until sundown. I had many laborers working for me, plowing, sowing, building fences, clearing; in a word, reducing the land to cultivation. It was a big job.

I had won the respect of the community by the energy with which I had undertaken the task. The neighbors said I was an improvement on my father. They wondered, however, if I would be as far-sighted and acquisitive as he, if I would add to what I had or lose it.

In March I had a letter from my grandmother. She expressed pride in me for what I had done, approved the spirit I had shown towards Zoe. She was a great admirer of Wilberforce; and as she disliked America for its separation from the Crown she wished the institution of slavery no good on these shores. But she was disturbed about the conditions in England and Europe. The old order seemed to her to be crumbling. Revolution might break forth. The middle classes in England, having secured their rights, as she expressed it, the laborers were now striving for the franchise. Chartism was rampant. What would it all come to? Was England safe against such innovation? But how about America, if the colored people were given freedom, not of the franchise merely, but in civil rights of property and free activity? But contemporaneous with this letter, two events came into my life of profound influence. One was my meeting with Russell Lamborn, the son of one of Jacksonville's numerous lawyers. And the other was an extraordinary debate between a Whig politician named John J. Wyatt and young Douglas. It was at the debate that I met Lamborn.

Douglas had finished his school teaching. He had been licensed to practice law, though not yet twenty-one years of age. He had opened an office in the courthouse at Jacksonville. His sharp wit, pugnacity, self-reliance, had already excited rivalry and envy. He had suddenly leaped into the political arena, carrying a defiant banner.

Affairs in America were no more tranquil than they were in England. President Jackson had stirred the country profoundly by his imperious attitude toward the banking interests on the one hand, and the matter of South Carolina's nullification of the tariff law on the other hand. This had weakened the Democratic party in Illinois. And as there was to be an election in the fall of state officials, it was necessary to success to satisfy the electorate that President Jackson had not betrayed his leadership.

Bantering words went around to the effect that Douglas was seizing the opportunity of this debate to make himself known, to get a start as a lawyer, and a lift in politics. When a chance to make a hit fits the orator's opportunity and convictions, it would be difficult for a man of Douglas' enterprise and audacity to resist it.

For Douglas had, in spite of everything, captured the town. His name was on every one's tongue. He had lauded President Jackson and his policies with as much fervor as he had with virulence and vehemence denounced the humbugging Whigs, as he had characterized them. The village paper, a Whig publication, had sat upon him. It had dubbed him a turkey gobbler, a little giant, a Yankee fire-eater. But Douglas gave no quarter to any one. He returned blow for blow. He had become a terror. He must be subdued.

John J. Wyatt, a man of ready speech, in the full maturity of his powers, a debater and campaigner, a soldier in the War of 1812, and a respected character, was to lay the adventurer, the interloper, low! He was elected to the task. Was Douglas a youth? No. He was a monstrosity. He had always been a man. He had never grown up. He had simply appeared in this part of the world, a creature of mature powers. Yet Wyatt would subdue him.

We were all in anticipation of the contest. It was to take place in the courthouse. What was the subject? Anything. Everything. Chiefly Whiggery and Democracy. I came into town bringing Zoe and leaving her with Sarah. Reverdy and I went together. Here I met Russell Lamborn. He sat on one side of me and Reverdy on the other.

I shall never forget this night. Wyatt opened the debate, and he closed it. The question was: Are the Whig policies best for the country? Douglas had the negative and, therefore, but one speech. Was it fair? Had not the young man given away too much? No, for Douglas proved a match for two or three such minds as Wyatt's. He humiliated to the last degree the older, and at first confident, antagonist.

It was the most extraordinary exhibition of youth and dash and confidence and ready wit, and knowledge and dialectic handling of difficult matter. It furnished the groundwork of my education in the history of American politics up to that time. It led into almost every possible matter of constitutional law and party policy.

Wyatt talked for an hour. He jeered at Douglas. He referred to his diminutive stature. He spoke ironically of his work as a cabinet maker, and advised Douglas to stick to it and leave the profession of the law alone. He characterized him as a strolling fellow who was trying to break into the favor of the community with an impudence as effective as burglar's tools. What did Douglas know of law? Who would trust his interests to a lawyer so inexperienced? When had Douglas had time to master its simplest principles? Who could not see through Douglas' thin scheme to attach his fortunes to the chariot of the great but misguided Jackson? Why had Douglas leaped to the defense of Jackson in this community, like a fice coming to the aid of a mastiff? Why, if not to get a bone for his own hungry stomach? Everything in the way of a taunt, a slur, a degrading image, a mockery of youth's ambition, an attack upon obscurity trying to rise, were thrown by Wyatt at Douglas. All the while Douglas sat imperturbed, his head at a slight angle, which gave him the appearance of attentive listening; and with a genial smile on his face that was lighted a little with ironic confidence. Then Wyatt sat down amid great cheering.

Reverdy thought that Wyatt had overdone himself, had forfeited to a degree the sympathy of the audience. There was no call for such rough handling of a young man. The feelings of the crowd reacted. And as Douglas arose he was given a loud reception. For there were Democrats enough in the room. But though Douglas looked like a man while seated, he seemed a boy when he stood up. His stature told against him. But as soon as he spoke the first word the silence was profound. The voice was the voice of a man, and a strong man. It rolled over our heads with orotund volume. The clearly syllabized words fell upon delighted ears. He caught the crowd at once.

Who would dare accuse him of subserviency to Jackson or to any man, for bread or for position? He differed from Jackson about the tariff, and all Jacksonville could know it. He agreed with Jackson about the bank, and the whole country would come to approve Jackson's course. Was nullification right? Perhaps Jefferson knew as much about that as Mr. Wyatt. Let the laws of the Constitution be obeyed and nullification would never be provoked. What had created nullification? The vile policies of the humbug Whig party, the old monarchist harlot masquerading in the robes of liberalism. How did these people dare to use the name of Whig, how dare to resort to such false pretenses, when it was common knowledge that the personnel of that party, having been put down as Federalists for gross usurpation and monarchist practices had, being forced to change their skin, adopted the title of the liberal party of England, remaining more Tory than the party that tried to destroy American liberty during the Revolution? And now this Whig party like a masked thief was abroad in the land to pick up what spoils it could, and to take from trusting hearts sustenance for its misbegotten existence. It was already beginning to coquette with the slavery question, hoping to deceive the people with humanitarian and moral professions. Very well! If it was the Good Samaritan it pretended to be let it give up its bank and its tariff, which took enough money out of the mouths of the poor to feed all the niggers in the world. Let the whiner about wrongs quit his own wrongs. Let the accusing sinner repent his own sin. Let the people of New England pluck the pine logs from their own eyes before talking of hickory splinters in the eyes of the South.

And then Douglas took up the history of the formation of the Union. What went into the Union? Sovereign states. Who concluded a treaty of peace with Great Britain after the Revolution? The thirteen sovereign states that had waged the war. Who formed themselves into the Confederate States, each retaining its sovereignty? The same states. Who left that union and formed the present Union? The same states. What did they do? They retained all the sovereign powers that they did not expressly grant. They never parted with their sovereignty, but only with sovereign powers. Where does sovereignty reside under our system? With the people of the states. What follows from all of this? Why, that each state is left to decide for itself all questions save those which have been expressly given over to Washington to decide. Who is trying to nullify these inestimable principles and safeguards? That is the real nullification. The humbug Whigs, who would like to centralize all authority at Washington ... "and Mr. Wyatt here in this new country, among people of plain speech and industrious lives, is the spokesman of these encroaching despotisms, which he has vainly attempted to defend to-night. He dares to assail the great name of Andrew Jackson. He would like to overcome the state sovereignty which permits Connecticut to raise cranberries and Virginia to have negro slaves, which leaves Kentucky with whisky and Maine with water, if Maine ever chooses so. He does not know that the French Revolution was waged for the great principle of the people to rule; and he fails to see that the whole world is coming to accept that doctrine. With the growing wealth and power of the North, of Illinois, it is necessary that the rights of the individual and local communities and of the small states as well as the large states should have the effectual counterbalance of state sovereignty to protect them against the ambition of centralists, who are money grabbers wrapping themselves about with the folds of the flag and with the garments of superior holiness."

He wished to see Illinois crossed by two railroads, from north to south, and from east to west. He would see the Illinois and Michigan canal completed, so that the great lake at the north of the state would be connected with the Mississippi River and with the Gulf of Mexico. What did it mean? The state would fill up with earners of wealth. Lands would increase in value. Cities would be built. As for himself, he would do his utmost to bring these benefits to the state.

By what authority was his right challenged to come to this state to make his home; and to this town to follow the profession of the law? Was there any one present who did not wish him to strive for these achievements for this western country? Perhaps Mr. Wyatt objected. No matter. He was here to stay. He had left a land walled in by hills and mountains, where the eye was deprived of its use in forming a vision of the world. Here he had found his mind liberalized, his vision quickened. Here he had found a hospitable people, inspired with hope of the future. And he was glad he had cast his lot with theirs. He had grown in this brief time to feel that they were his people. And he asked them to adopt him as their son, trusting him not to forget his filial duties.

The crowd was completely amazed at the vigor and fluency of Douglas' speech. Such applause arose that Wyatt was visibly embarrassed as he stood up for his rejoinder. He saw that Douglas had carried the day. He made a feeble attempt at reply. He tried satire; but it fell on unreceptive ears. He dropped denunciation. He dared not attempt that. He took up logical analysis. It left the audience cold. He pecked timidly at the doctrine of state sovereignty. Then voices began to question him. He shifted to Jackson. But the audience would not listen. After using one half of the hour allotted him for a conclusion, he sat down half wilted and discomfited.

A storm of cheers arose for Douglas. He was surrounded by a host of admirers. And I saw him now in a new phase. He was winning and gallant, of open heart, of genial manner. When he saw me he smiled a warm recognition. I went to where he stood to offer my congratulations. I asked him to come out and see me, and have a meal with me. He was already mingling with the young people of his own age at dances and in sports. That had been his custom at Winchester. He was glad to come, inquired the way. He was very happy. He knew that he had won his spurs this night. And from thenceforth he was a notable figure. Had anything just like this ever occurred in England? I had never heard of it. I should certainly write my grandmama of this event.

Russell Lamborn left the courthouse with Reverdy and me. He lingered at the gate as if he wished an invitation to go into Reverdy's house; but Reverdy did not invite him. He would have asked Douglas to come in for the remainder of the evening, such as it was, except for Sarah's condition.

Douglas had quite carried Reverdy away. And yet there lurked in him something that was not intellectually convinced and morally satisfied. I felt a little the same way. I did not know how to describe my state of mind. With Douglas' vision of the country, his hopes for it, the part he wished to play, I felt my English blood stir. But was there enough moral depth to him? Did he reckon enough with the forces which made for culture, enlightenment? Was he really high-minded? Did he not have the gesture and the touch of the magician, the abandonment of the indifferent demigod—indifferent to the higher and the deeper currents of man's life? I tried to formulate some of these nebulous ideas to Reverdy, but found myself running into denials, facts of contradiction in Douglas' attitude and thinking. Reverdy was equally unable to state the case against Douglas, which he felt a keener critic of thought would easily do. Meanwhile young Lamborn stood with us while we fumbled these doubtful things. He seemed reluctant to leave. I wondered in a vague way what kept him from going. What did he want?

And when Douglas did come to see me, which was within a few days of the night of the debate, Lamborn came with him. It was in the afternoon and they were on their way to a country dance. I could not help but observe that Lamborn had been drinking. What a strange taste—this whisky drinking! We did it in England, to be sure. But here it was done everywhere and at all hours and in all degrees of immoderation and vulgarity. Lamborn, however, was not unduly under the influence of drink; he was rather laughing and genial and humorously familiar. Douglas had doubtless taken as much as Lamborn, but he was quite equal to resisting its relaxing effects.

Douglas and I sat under a tree by the brook. The buds were coming out. There was the balmy warmth of spring in the air. I had a chance now to revise my first impressions of him. His charm could not be denied. His frankness, the quickness of his thought, his intellectual power, his vitality, his capacity for work, the tirelessness of his energies, were manifested in his speech, his movements, the clear and rapid glances of his eyes.

At the same time I found angles to him. I sensed a ruthlessness in him. I saw him as a fearless and sleepless antagonist, but always open and fair. There was only once when his nature broke ground and revealed something of his inner self, something of a sensitiveness which suffers for subtler things and penetrates to finer understandings. This was when he was telling me of the effect of his uncle's broken promise to educate him. He had suffered deeply for this; and he was sure his whole life would be influenced by it. It had stirred all the reserve ambition and power of his nature. It had thrown him forward in a redoubled determination to overcome the default, to succeed in spite of the lost opportunity.

Hence he had read many books. He had studied the history of America, and other countries as well. His mind ran to statecraft. He thought of nothing else. He sensed men as groups—thinking, desiring, trading, building—and for these ends organized into neighborhoods, villages, cities, and states. His genius, even then, was interested in using these groups for progressive ends, such as he had in view. He was a super-man who sees empires of progress and achievement for the race through the haze of the unformed future, and who takes the responsibility of carving that future out and of forcing history into the segment that his creative imagination has opened. He would guide and make the future, while serving men.

Here he was then just past twenty-one, born on April 23d, the reputed birthday of Shakespeare; young, and yet old with a maturity with which he was invested at his entrance into the world. He was in every way a new type to me. We were mutually drawn to each other. I knew that his courage could never stoop to littleness. His integrity, even when his judgment might err, seemed to me an assured quality of nature. As for me, he doubtless thought that I was one of the coming men of the community. Whatever I was, I was dependable. If I should become attached to him he could rely upon me in case of need. This, I think, made him regard me at this early stage of our friendship as a person not to be neglected in his business of creating adherents. When I spoke to him in terms of wonder and congratulation of his defeat of Wyatt, he took it with a smile and as a matter of course. He had found it an easy thing to rout Wyatt. Wyatt had stirred his fighting blood; and everything pertinent to the discussion had come to his mind in the heat of the debate....

And now we began to hear the sound of a fiddle, scraped in a loose and erratic fashion and giving forth an occasional note of a tune. I looked around and saw Lamborn sitting in the doorway of the hut. Zoe was near him, laughing at his half-drunken attempts to manage the instrument. Douglas looked up. A quick smile shot across his face. He glanced into my eyes in a searching manner which mystified me and sent a sudden thrill through me. What was he thinking? Surely he knew of my relation to Zoe. I caught out of his expression the prejudice of the time against the social equality that I was maintaining in standing by Zoe and having her with me. I had not shirked my heritage. Perhaps Douglas admired me too much to speak what was in his mind; or perhaps he was too much of the politician to trench upon ground so personal. At all events, we were silent for a moment. And then Douglas called to Lamborn. It was time to go. Lamborn rose to his feet, swaying a little as he did so, and came to where we sat. He looked me over in a scrutinizing way, then shot forth his hand for me to take it. It was an awkward act and out of place! Yet I felt compelled to give him my hand. And with good-bys they bestrode their horses and were gone. I began to have ominous reflections.

I went to the hut and asked Zoe what Lamborn had been saying to her. She laughed and seemed reluctant to tell me. I pressed her then; and she said that he had followed her through the house and tried to kiss her; that she had come around to the front door so as to be in sight of Douglas and me; then that Lamborn had taken the fiddle down and had begun to play it.

All the possibilities of Lamborn's attitude dawned on me instantly. How dearly might I pay in some way for my father's desire to be rich! If Douglas had taken his initial hurt in life from his uncle's failure to educate him, I had begun the weaving of my destiny with these threads which my father had bequeathed to me. What would my complications be if Zoe eloped with a wild fellow like Lamborn, bringing his personality into the texture of my affairs; the matter of this land, and Zoe's interest in it? I could sense ahead an unending difficulty, an ever deepening annoyance, or even tragedy. Had I gone too far in dividing the estate with Zoe? For the first time the presence of the negro in the state, the complications that it created, were forced upon me concretely and with impressive effect. My heart registered a vague apprehension. I warned Zoe against Lamborn, and decided that he should not come about me again.

The work on my house was now progressing rapidly. I wished to move into it on my birthday, June 18th. I watched its completion day by day, and in addition I had much to do around the farm. I had made a start with a few calves toward raising cattle. In every way I was forging ahead as fast as I could. But my greatest delight was the house. I wanted to make it as beautiful as possible, and I did not need to spare expense. I decided to go to St. Louis for curtains and chairs, for beds and lounges, chests and bureaus. When the last of May came I set out for the city.

This June weather in Illinois! Such glorious white clouds floating in the boundless hemisphere of fresh blue! The warmth and the vitality of the air! The glistening leaves of the forest trees! The deep green shading into purples and blues of the distant woodlands! The sweet winds, bending the prairie grasses for miles and miles! Glimpses of cool water in little ponds, in small lakes, in the brook! The whispering of rushes and the song of thrushes, so varied, so melodious! The call of the plowman far afield, urging the horses ahead in the great work of bringing forth the corn! The great moon at night, and the spectacle of the stars in the hush of my forest hut!

I was superbly well. And for diversion went farther into the woods to hear a fiddler and to have him teach me the art which fled my dull fingers and the unwieldy bow. And this fiddler! His curly hair, always wet from his lustrations for the evening meal; his cud of tobacco; his racy locutions; his happy and contented spirit; and his merry wife and the many children, wild like woodland creatures, with sparkling eyes and overflowing vitality! Many evenings I spent at this fiddler's hut. And such humbleness! Only the earth for a floor! Only one room where all his family ate and slept and lived!

In going to St. Louis I took the same stage that had brought me to Jacksonville. This time I rode on the City of Alton, a better boat than the one that had brought me from La Salle to Bath; but all the conditions were the same. There was the same roistering and sprawling crowd; the same loudness and profanity; the same abundance of whisky and its intemperate indulgence; the same barbaric hilarity of negroes, driven and cursed. And now many goatees, and much talk of politics, of Whigs and Democrats.

St. Louis was languid, weary and old. The buildings had an air of decay. The stream of life moved sluggishly, not swiftly as in New York or Buffalo, or even in the village of Chicago. There were luxury here and wealth. There were slaves and a slave market. I went to it, saw the business of selling these creatures, saw a woman of thirty, no darker than Zoe, sold to a man with a goatee, evidently from further south, who took her and led her away submissively. Whatever the institution might be of necessity and even of gentleness in good hands, here no less was the vile business of the sale. What would become of Zoe, was constantly in my thought. I turned away from the slave market to continue my shopping; but I could not drive Zoe from my thoughts.

Here was I in St. Louis and necessarily withdrawn from care of Zoe. I could not always watch over her. Even if I did, what was her life to be? How could she establish herself? With whom, and where? I was glad that I had not left her at the hut during my absence, that I had taken her to Sarah. Nothing could happen to her while she was with Sarah. Sarah had need of her too. Sarah's baby was soon to be born. Dorothy Clayton, Reverdy's sister, was coming to Jacksonville from Nashville to be a part of Reverdy's household for a time; and the house had to be set in order for her arrival. Turning Zoe over to Sarah was, therefore, a great help to her at this time.

I completed my purchases, arranged for their transportation and returned to Jacksonville. I arrived in the evening and went at once to Reverdy's. I had been gone a week. All were here to greet me. But Zoe was subdued in manner. Her smile was forced. She avoided me, going in and out of the room about the work of clearing the table. She did not pause to listen to the story of my trip. Was she perhaps ill? Reverdy and Sarah prevailed upon me to stay over night. And I did; but early the next morning all of us went to the country together; for Reverdy was now pushing the house to completion.

When we arrived at the hut, as Zoe remained silent and subdued, I began to question her. She protested at first that nothing was the matter; but I knew better, and I persisted in my attempts to draw her out. She began to cry at last. She came to me and rested her head on my shoulder. "Tell me now," I urged. And she relieved herself of the secret in broken words, in half-formed phrases.

She had gone walking one night with Lamborn. He had led her into the woods in search of a rabbit's nest he said was there. He had seized her, put his hand over her mouth, threatened her with harm, with being sold down South. He had overcome her. She had returned to Reverdy's afraid to tell him what had happened. She did not know what Lamborn would do to her if Reverdy went after him. She felt that she was in the wrong for having gone walking with Lamborn, and that she would be blamed by Sarah. Therefore she had not told her secret before. She was sure that neither Sarah nor Reverdy suspected it.

What was I to do? I could not conceive of a wrong like this going unpunished. But my brain refused to plan, to think out what was best to do. I did not know the community well enough, nor enough of the laws to make a decision by myself. I decided that I must consult with Reverdy. I hurried away from Zoe, telling her on no account to leave the hut; and went to find Reverdy. He was at work on my house, looked at me wonderingly as if to question what had brought me over so soon. I drew him aside and told him what I knew.

Reverdy's blue eyes grew terribly deep. They darkened like clouds in a rapidly gathering storm. They were full of comprehending compassion. They expressed alarm, but also an inexorable sense of futility, as if there was nothing to be done. He was silent. He had fought the Indians; he was used to the rough life of the West. He did not betray fear; rather he acted as if there was nothing to be done. When he began to speak that was the tenor of his words. He revealed to me possibilities that I had never dreamed of. I could see that I was caught in unforeseen circumstances. Some of the dangers involved in the situation he only hinted at. For example, the matter of my living with Zoe. There might be people in Jacksonville who believed that my attitude toward Zoe was not of a brotherly nature. Such a suspicion seemed horrible to me. But Reverdy went on to show me why it might be entertained. This remote country, lacking in opportunity for legitimate expression, held secrets of bestial and gross departures from nature. Here was Zoe, young and beautiful. What did our kindred blood have to do with the matter of my desire? I had not grown up with her, and it would be natural enough if I did not feel toward her as a brother. Incest was common enough around here. As to Lamborn, Zoe was a nigger, and the spoil of any one who wanted her. These were some of the things that Reverdy hinted at. If I prosecuted Lamborn, the countercharge would be made that I had been intimate with Zoe myself. If she had a child I would be proclaimed its father, especially if I raised an issue, and tried to fix the paternity upon Lamborn. If I went to see the state's attorney and asked him to act, there was danger that he would not wish to do so, because the present state's attorney was about to lose the office. He would not wish to start a social hostility that would react upon himself. In fact, Douglas was now trying to supplant him. I was known as a friend of Douglas'. Perhaps I would be trying to involve the state's attorney in an unpopular prosecution. If the prosecuting attorney refused to act that refusal would be known, and credit might be given to any reports that might arise that Zoe was mine before she was Lamborn's, if she ever was his. And if I resented the prosecuting attorney's refusal to act, then I might be accused of acting with Douglas in his ambition to get the office. Above all, under the law of Illinois, Zoe could not testify against Lamborn, a white man. Thus, in any prosecution that was to be made, evidence independent of Zoe's word had to be procured. Where was such evidence? That really settled the whole matter. But I had gone through the whole range of deliberation before finding out that Zoe's word would not be received in court.

But why had Reverdy not warned me against taking Zoe to live with me? There was the matter, too, of my equal division of the estate with Zoe. I had done this with the purest of motives. Now the edge of it was turned against me. For why would I surrender so much when I did not have to?

What was I now to do? Should I send Zoe away? Should I keep her in my household and let the tongues wag, as they were doing, or clatter if Zoe should have a child? The secret would be out soon. Lamborn would be sure to betray the fact that he had captured Zoe. There seemed nothing to do then but to settle down with British tenacity to live it out, and brave whatever came to me out of the complications. I was sure of the friendship of Reverdy and Sarah.

With these reflections I went back to the hut. Zoe was still in tears. She asked me if she had not better go away. If I would give her some of her money she would leave and never come back. "No," I said. "I am going to see you through, Zoe. We will face this out together; only do you consult me about what to do, and help me to stand by you."

I sat down and began to think it all over again. Here were all the pretty things I had bought in St. Louis soon to arrive, and the house would be ready to occupy in a few days. Yet these happy events were clouded for me. There was real bitterness in my cup now.

The house was done. My furnishings were delivered. There were curtains to make, many feminine touches were needed to settle the rooms. Sarah did all that she could, but Dorothy Clayton had come. She was just a year younger than I, and of charming appearance and manner. We had become friends almost at once. She was with me daily, as we put the house in order for occupancy. Reverdy thought that Sarah must be apprised of what had happened to Zoe. She was terribly wounded and distressed. But she approved of my course in keeping Zoe with me.

On my birthday, June 18th, we had the housewarming. I gave a party, inviting all the young people from Jacksonville and the country around: those that I knew and those that I didn't—all but Lamborn. The omission would be notable, but I could not invite him. The matter was promptly gossiped about. Lamborn himself was stirred to talk now. He made the most detestable references to Zoe and me; and I was told of them. At the party Douglas drew me aside and confided to me that Lamborn was in an ugly rage.

Douglas was quite the life of my party. He mingled freely with all the company, making himself charming to every one. He danced with every girl present, and more than once with Dorothy. His short figure gave him a certain comical appearance. But he was graceful and adept at the dances. And his wit and good humor kept every one in high spirits. Reverdy, too, participated in the joy of the occasion with generous enthusiasm. Altogether, we were a merry crowd. I had strengthened my hold upon the affections of the community. For the time I had forgotten my embarrassing troubles. They came back to my mind after the guests had departed. And there was something else to disturb me. Dorothy had gained more than my passing interest.

Work was now my salvation, and I had plenty to do. I had learned in this year a vast amount about running a farm; and I was blessed with excellent health. But meanwhile Zoe! It was not long before it was certain that she was to bear a child; and it would not be many months or even weeks when she could not walk out or go to town without betraying her secret to the world. But then what should the explanation be? Should I tell what I knew? Should I remain silent?

Except for engrossing duties, with time to think and brood, I should have been thrown into tortures with the possibilities. There was always the chance, too, that Zoe in the desperation of the moment might run away from me. She had the English blood of my father in her veins, venturesome, perhaps reckless. Perhaps it was well that she had no control of the profits of the farm which had thus far been allotted to her, nor her share of the ready money which my father had left. I had had Reverdy appointed her guardian, making myself accountable to him. I deemed this the fitting thing; and I was also brought to do it because I might be absent at times in the future when she would need money. But if Zoe should run away what would become of her? The chance of her being kidnapped and sold into slavery filled me with terror. Yet the days went on without change.

Except that Sarah's boy was born! What a father Reverdy was! So wondering and gentle. And he guarded Sarah like a lover and father in one. Zoe was wild to see Sarah's boy; but that was out of the question now. She wanted to deed some of her land to the boy, or better perhaps, to Sarah. But she would have to wait until she became of age to do this.

The birth of Sarah's boy affected Zoe profoundly. She was now about two months advanced in her own pregnancy. She was beginning to think of the ordeal herself, of the fate of the child, what it was being born to.... What, indeed? I noticed that Zoe had hours of deep depression. Would it not be best for me to have a woman in the house with Zoe? Mrs. Engle knew of a widow about fifty whose husband had been killed in the War of 1812. And I got her, a Mrs. Brown. Zoe was now free of the housework. She had a companion when I was away on my work about the farm. And I felt relieved. But my mind and heart were full of problems. There was always Zoe! There was always Lamborn, skulking in the shadows of my speculations. How would I unravel this tangle with him?

Then there was Dorothy. Some of the talk must reach her eventually. It might come to her as a smudge upon me. Then I could not expect to continue my attentions to her without explanations. How could I go into explanations with Dorothy? But even if Dorothy only knew that Zoe was my sister, what would she think of me? Could she have an interest in a man with a family relationship of this sort? Could Dorothy, bred in Tennessee, look with favor upon my attentions? Had Reverdy and Sarah kept this relationship from Dorothy? Had some one else told her? But if she had not found these circumstances a reason for turning from me could she tolerate the rest of my difficulties?

And one night I came home to find Zoe in bed. She was in great pain and very weak. She was scarcely able to talk. She took my hand and pressed it, only saying: "I have done something for you. If I die, it will be best anyway. If I live it will be all right. I could not bear to bring you such shame and trouble. Don't worry ... don't."

Mrs. Brown came in and stood by the bed. She did not speak. She looked at me as if to say that sometimes desperate things have to be done. I understood. I acquiesced. Did Mrs. Brown do it? I never asked. Zoe's sufferings were very great. All this for Lamborn's drunken madness. And then Zoe began to mend. She was out of her difficulty. She became herself in a few weeks. But her spirit had changed. She was wiser, more self-possessed. She was more a woman. A great load had been lifted from me; yet I now faced a new Zoe. What would this mature Zoe do to me?