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“Mr. Craig and gentlemen, you know j
ttrnt thrqe years ago I was known ns
'Old Ricketts’ nnd that I owe all I
am tonight, under God, to Mrs. Ma
yor, nnd,” with a little quiver in his
voice, “her baby. And we all know i
why. And what I say is that if she j
does not feel like singing tonight she
is ubt going to sing to keep any drunk-
•en brute of Slnvlu’s crowd quiet.”
There were deep growls of approval
all over the church. I could have hug
ged Shaw then nnd there. Mr. Craig
.went to Mrs. Mnvor nnd nfter a word
with her came back nnd said:
“Mra. Mnvor wisheB mo to thank her
dear friend TVIr. Shaw, but says she
Would like to sing.”
Tho response was perfect stillness.
Mr. Craig sat down at tho organ nnd
plnyed tho opening bars of the touch
ing melody, “Oft In tho Stilly Night.”
Mrs. Mnvor enmo to tho front ond.
with a smile of exquisite sweetness
upon her sad fnco nnd looking straight
at us with her glorious eyes, began to
sing.
Her voice, a rich soprano, even and
true, rose nnd fell, now soft, now
strong, but always filling tho building,
pouring around us floods of music. I
laid heard Patti’s “Home, Sweet
Home,” nnd of all singing that nlone
affected me ns did this.
At the ond of tho flrst verso the few
women in the church and some of tho
men wero weeping quiotly, but when
She began the words,
"Whon I remombor all
, Tho friends onoo linked together,”
sobs enmo on ovory side from these
tender honrted follows, nnd Shaw quite
loBt his grip. But she sang steadily on,
tho tone clearer and sweeter nnd fuller
at every note, and whon tho sound of
her voice died uway she stood looking
at the men as if in wonder that they
should weep. No one moved. Mr. Craig
ployed softly on nnd, wandering
through many variations, arrived at
last at—
“Jesus, lover of my soul.”
Ab she sang tho appealing words her
face was lifted up, and she saw none
of us, but she must hnve seen some
one, for the cry in her voice could only
come from ono who could see and feel
help close at hand. On and on went the
glorious voice, searching my soul’s
dopths, but whon she enmo to the
iwords,
“Thou, O Christ, art all I want,”
she stretched up her arms—she had
quite forgotten us; her voice had borne
her to other worlds—and sang with
Buch a pnssion of abandon that my soul
was ready to surrender anything, ev
erything.
Again Mr. Craig wandered on through
his changing chords till agnln he came
to familiar ground, and the voice be-
, ggn in low, thrilling tones Bernard’s
great song of home, “Jerusalem, the
Golden.”
Every word, with all its weight of
meaning, came winging to our souls till
wo found ourselves gazing afar Into
those stately halls of Zion, with their
daylight serene nnd their jubilant
throngs. When the singer came to the
last verse, there was a pause. Again
Mr. Craig softly played the interlude,
but still there was no voice. I looked
up. She was very white, nnd her eyes
were glowing with their deep light. Mr.
Craig looked quickly about,'saw her,
stopped nnd half rose, as If to go to
her, when, in a voice that seemed to
come from a fnroff land, she werif on:
“Oh, sweet and blessed country!”
The longing, the yearning, in the sec
ond “Oh” were indescribable. Again
and again as she held that word and
then dropped down with the cadence in
the music my heart ached for I knew
not what.
The audience were sitting as in a
jtrance. The grimy faces of the miners,
tor they never get quite white, were
furrowed with the tear courses. Shaw
by this time had his face, too, lifted
high, his eyes gazing far above the
singer’s head, and I knew by the rap
ture in his face that he was seeing, as
she saw, the thronging, stately halls
and the white robed conquerors. He
had felt and was still feeling all the
stress of the fight, and to him the
.vision of the conquerors in their glory
was soul drawing and soul stirring.
'And Nixon, too—he had his vision, but
what he saw was the face of the singer
With the shining eyes, and, by the look
of him, that was vision enough.
Immediately after her last note Mrs.
Mavor stretched out her hands to her
little girl, who was sitting on my knee,
caught her up and, holding her close to
her breast, walked quickly behind the
curtain. Not a sound followed the
the front and, motioning to me to fol
low Mrs. Mavor, began in a low, dis
tinct voice:
“Gentlemen, it was not easy for Mrs.
Mavor to sing for us, and you know
sbo sang boenuse she is n miner’s wife
and her henrt is with the miners. But
she sang, too, because her heart is his
who came to earth this day so mnny
years ago to save us all, and she
would make you love him, too, for in
loving him you are saved from all base
loves, and you know what I mean.
“And before we say good night, men,
1 want to know if the time is not come
when all of you who mean to be bet
ter than you aro should join in putting
from us this thln^ that has brought
sorrow and shame to us and to those
we love? You know what I mean.
Some of you are v strong. Will you
stand by and see weaker men robbed
of the money they have for those far
away nnd robbed of the manhood that
no money can buy or restore?
“Will the strong men help? Shall
we Join hands in this? What do you
say? In this town we have often seen
hell, nnd Just a mpment ago we were
all looking into heaven, ‘the sweet nnd
blessed country.’ Oh, men,” nnd his
voice rang iu an agony through the
building—“oh, men, which shall be
ours? For heaven’s dear sake, let us
help one anotherl Who will?”
I was looking out through a slit in
the curtain. Tho men, already wrought
to intense feeling by tho music, were
listening with set faces and gleaming
eyes, nnd as at tho appeal “Who will?”
Craig raised high his hand Shaw, Nix
on and n hundred men sprang to their
feet nnd held high their hands.
I have witnessed some thrilling scenes
in my life, but never anything to equnl
that, the one man on the platform
standing at full height, with his hand
thrown up to heavon, and the hundred
men below standing straight, with
arms up at full length, silent and al
most motionless.
For a moment Craig held them so,
and again his voice rang out, louder,
sterner than before:
“All who mean it say, ‘By God’s help,
I will.’ ”
And back from a hundred throats
came deep nnd strong the words, “By
God’s help, I will.”
At this point Mrs. Mavor, whom I
had quite forgotten, put her hand on
luy arm. “Go and tell him,” she pant
ed, “I want them to come on Thurs
day night, as they used to in the other
days—go—quick!” And she almost
pushed mo out. I gave Craig her mes
sage. He held up his hand for silence.
“Mrs. Mavor wishes me to say that
she will be glad to see you all, as in the
old days, on Thursday evening, and I
can think of no better place to give
formal expression to our pledgo of this
night.”
There was a shout of acceptance, and
then, at some one’s call, the long pent-
up feelings of the crowd found vent
in three mighty cheers for Mrs. Mavor.
“Now for our old hymn,” called out
Mr. Craig, “and Mrs. Mavor will lead
us.”
He sat down at the organ, played a
few bars of “The Sweet By and By,”
and then Mrs. Mavor began. But not
a soul joined till the refrain was reach
ed, and then they sang as only men
with their hearts on lire can sing. But
after the last refrain Mr. Craig made
a sign to Mrs. Mavor, and she sang
'alone, slowly nnd softly and with eyes
looking far away:
“In tho sweet by and by
We shall meet on that beautiful shore."
There was no benediction — there
seemed no need—and the men went
quietly out. But over and over again
the voice kept singing in my ears and
in my heart, “We shall meet on that
beautiful, shore.” And after the sleigh
loads of men had gone and left the
street empty, as I stood with Craig in
the radiant moonlight that made the
great mountains about come near us,
from Sandy’s sleigh we heard in the
distance Baptiste’s French-English
song, but the song that floated down
with the sound of the bells from the
miners’ sleigh was:
“We shall meet on that beautiful shore.”
“Poor old Shaw!” said Craig softly.
When the last sound had died away,
I turned to him and said: .
“You have won your fight.”
“We have won our fight. I was
beaten,’’ he replied quickly, offering me
his hand. Then, taking off his cap
and looking up beyond the mountain
tops and the silent stars, he added
softly, “Our fight, but his victory.”
And, thinking it all over, I could not
say but perhaps he was right.
| CHAPTER IV.
MBS. MAVOB’S STOUT.
B HE days that followed the
Black Rock Christmas were
anxious days and weary, but
not for the brightest of my
life would I change them now, for, as
after the burning he*|>iw rocking etotm
the dying day lies beautiful in the ten
der glow of the evening, so these days
have lost their weariness and lie bath
ed in a misty glory. The years that
bring us many ills and that pass so
stormfully over us bear away with
them the ■©llness, the weariness, the
pain, that are theirs, but the beauty,
the sweetness, the Mgrt, they leave un
touched, for these are eternal. As the
mountains, that near at hand stand
jagged and scarred, in the far distance
reposed in their soft robes of purple
haze, so the rough present fades into
the past, soft and sweet and beautiful.
I have set myself to recall the pain
and anxiety of those days and nights
when we waited in fear for the turn
of the fever, but I can only think of the
patience and gentleness and courage of
her who stood beside me, bearing more
than half my burden. And, while I can
see the face of Leslie Graeme, ghastly
or flushed, and hear his low moaning
or the broken words of his delirium, I
think chiefly of the bright face bending
over him and of tlie cool, firm, swift
moving hands that soothed and smooth
ed and rested, and the voice, like the,
soft song of a bird iu the twilight, that
never failed to bring peace.
Mrs. Mavor and I were much togeth
er during those days. I made my home
in Mr. Craig’s shack, but most of my
time was spent beside my friend. We
did not see much of Craig, for he was
heart deep with the miners, laying
plans for the making of the league the
following Thursday, and, though he
shared our anxiety and was ever
ready to relieve us, his thought and
his talk had mostly to do with the
league.
Mrs. Mavor’s evenings were given to
the miners, but her afternoons mostly
to Graeme and to me, and then it was
I saw another side of her character.
We would sit in her little dining room,
where tho pictures on the walls, the
quaint old silver and bits of curiously
cut glass all spoke of other and dif
ferent days, and thence we would roam
the world of literature and art. Keenly
sensitive to. all the good and beautiful
in these, she had her favorites among
the maBterB, for whom she was ready
to do battle, and when her argument,
instlnqt with fancy and vivid imagina
tion, failed she swept away all oppos
ing opinion with the swift rush of her
enthusiasm, so that, though I .felt she
was beaten, I was left without words
to reply. Shakespeare and Tennyson
and Burns she loved, but not Shelley
or Byron or even Wordsworth. Brown'
ing she knew not and therefore could
not rank him with her noblest three,
but wl^on I read to her “A Death In
tho Desert” and came to the noble
words at the end of the tale,
"For nil was pb I say, and now the man
Lies as he once lay, breast to breast with
God." |
the light shone in her eyes, and she
said: “Oh, that is good and great! I
shall get much out of him. I had al
ways feared he was impossible.” And
“Paracelsus,” too, stirred her. But
when I recited the thrilling fragment,
KProsplcte,” on to that closing raptur
ous cry,
“Then a light, then thy breast—
Oh, thou soul of my soul, I shall clasp
thee again,
And with God be the rest!"
the red color faded from her cheek, her
breath came in a sob, and she rose
quickly and passed out without a word,
Ever after Browning was among her
gods. But when we talked of music
she, adoring Wagner, soared upon the
•wings of the mighty “Tannhauser,”
far above, into regions unknown, leav
ing me to walk soberly with Beethoven
and Mendelssohn. Yet with all our
free, frank talk there was all the while
that in her gentle courtesy which kept
me from venturing into any chamber
of her life whose door she did not set
freely open to me. So I vexed myself
about her, and when Mr. Craig return
ed the next day from the Landing,
where he had been for some days, my
first questions were:
“Who is Mrs. Mavor? And how, in
the name of all that is wonderful and
unlikely, does she come to be here?
And why does she stay?”
He would not answer then. Whether
it was that his mind was full of the
coming struggle or whether he shrank
from the tale I know not. But that
night when we sat together beside his
fire he told me the story while I smok
ed. He was worn with,his long, hard
driye and with the burden of his work,
but as he went on with his tale, look
ing into the fire as he told it, he forgot
all his present weariness and lived
again the scenes he painted for me.
This was his story :
“I remember well my flrst sight of
her as she sprang from the front seat
of the stage to the ground, hardly
touching her husband’s hand. She look
ed a mere girl. Let’s see, five years
j ago—she couldn't have been a day over
twenty-three. She looked barely twen
ty. Her swift glance swept over the
group of miners at the hotel door and
then rested on the mountains standing
In all their autumn glory.
*T wa& proud of our mountains that
evening. Turning to her husband, she
exclaimed:
' ‘Oh, Lewis, are they not grand and
lovely too?’
“Every miner lost his heart then and
there, but all waited for Abe, the driv
er, to give his verdict before venturing
an opinion. Abe said nothing until he
had taken a preliminary drink, and
then, calling all hands to fill up, he
lifted his glass high and said solemnly:
“ ‘Boys, here’s to her.’
“Like a flash every glass was emp
tied, and Abe called out:
“ ‘Fill her up again, boys; my treat!”
“He was evidently quite worked up.
Then he began, with solemn emphasis:
“ ‘Boys, you hear me; she’s a No. 1,
triple X, the pure quill with a bead on
It* she’s
“And for the flrst time in his Black
Rock history Abe was stuck for a
word. Some one suggested ‘angel.’
« ‘Angel!’ repeated Abe 1 , with infinite
contempt. 'Angel be blowed!’ I para
phrase here. ‘Angels ain’t in the same
month with her. I’d like to Bee any
blanked angel swing my team around
them curves without a shiver.’
“ ‘Held the lines herself, Abe?’ asked
a miner. j
“‘That’s what,’ said Abe, and then
he went off into a fusillade of scientific
profanity expressive of his esteem for
the girl who had swung his team
round' the curves, and the miners nod
ded to each other and winked their en
tire approval of Abe’s performance,
for this was his specialty.
“Very decent fellow, Abe, but his
talk wouldn’t print.”
Here Craig paused, as if balancing
Abe’s virtues and vices.
“Well,” I urged, “who is she?”
“Oh, yes,” he said, recalling himself,
“ghe is an Edinburgh young lady; met
Lewis Mavor, a young Scotch-English-
man, in London, wealthy, good family
and all that, but fast and going to
pieces at home. His people, who own
large shares in these mines here, ns a
last resort send him out here to reform.
Curiously innocent Ideas those old
country people have of the reforming
properties of this atmosphere. They
send their young bloods here to re
form—here in this devil’s camp ground,
where a man’s lust is his only law and
when, from sheer monotony, a man
must betake himself to the .only ex
citement of the place, that offered by
the saloon. Good people in the east
hold up holy hands of horror at these
godless miners, but I tell you it’s ask
ing these boys a good deal to keep
straight and clean in a place like this.
I take my excitement in fighting the
devil and doing my work generally,
and that gives me enough, but these
poor chaps, hard worked, homeless,
with no break or change—God help
them and me!” And his voice sank
low.
“Well,” I persisted, “did Mavor re
form?”
Again he roused himself.
“Reform? Nqt exactly. In six
months he had broken through all re
straint, and, mind you, not the miners’
fault Not a miner helped him down.
It was a sight to make angels weep
when Mrs. Mavor would come to the
saloon door for her husband. Every
miner would vanish. They could not
look upon her shame, and they would
send Mavor forth in charge of Billy
Breen, a queer little chap who had be
longed to the Mayors in some way in
the old country, and between them they
would get him home. How she stood
it puzzles me to this day, but she never
made any sign, and her courage never
failed. It was always a bright, brave,
proud face she held up to the wprld,
except in church. There it was differ
ent. I used to preach my sermons, I
believe, mostly for her—but aever so
that she could suspect—as bravely and
as cheerily as I could, and as she lis
tened, and especially as she sang—how
she used to sing in those days!—there
was no touch of pride In her face,
though the courage never died out, but
appeal, appeal! I could have cursed
aloud the cause of her misery or wept
for the pity of it. Before her baby
was horn he seemed to pull himself to
gether, for he was quite mad about
her, and from the day the baby came—
talk about miracles!—from that day
he never drank a drop. She gave the
baby over to him,, and the baby simply,
absorhed him.
XO B»S CONTINUED.
•\
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