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THE CULVERT
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Weird Ad venture Befalls the Man,
, Who Travels Back 25 Years
Into the Past.
,Vway il i IjnK-nm. la tevUit ll.r pUrr uf
liomjly iiitmurir form. 4 m the fr nut, Put it
my be doubted wtuMhrr ny on uf ti appre.
hendi lie dungrr till too lie till, in Uit, the
journey Im form nude,' l for criir d hul
luwt IMUt Undergo i lunge. ( wily in t terp,
hi J Ihe rtuimr. wlutnrrr it for, it liilli)kjii
iitrni to id line pilgrim, lond rrenture tlut
he i. all rmrntlirm- iitl no iin.iguutioii, ,e
return iilinll with the anticipation of recover
mil that whnh he Ml rduiUntly o many years
I lie tinnier wa a frwr hour htrhut that
a f.dt'itiM r I'iui Ii; iii. utr had not form ap
preciably altered, though the thir had form
rained. nil a tmiiK man received llirm on the
pot once occupied by a grayburd; the village,
e thai ih rcwdf nhowcd more Utc ami (ewer
tliihr an that a new bra plate announced
ihr rutklrnrr ft a bank, a, at find iht, a I
had lmt krrn it.
Ai (or th folk-wrll. after all, quarter of a
fctiiury i a long road when one would travel
bark ti actualities
On itiy paage to lite inn I fancied I recog
nized, here and there, countenance middle aged
or old. et coulj nut he wholly certain; whrre.
upon a tort of anytime earn over me, and the
kalutatimi or greeting wa never made. A I
a to learn la-r. my old acquaintance of th
village were similarly aftrctcd; they doubted,
deviated and Irt me pa foy.
With spirit a little chilled. I climbed the hort
hill and reached the top, only for il to grow cold.
The inn of remembrance had been partially re
built and enlarged and wa now a hotel.
No hot met me at the door. With diffidence
I entered and carrfe np attains! a lit tfe glass of
fice. A young woman looked up from a ledger
and greeted me utiMiiilingly. though politely
enough. She spoke with an unmitigated Glas
gow accent, and for a moment I wondered
whethrr I had really arrived at one of the Outer
ialea within an evening'! walk of the Atlantic
itself.
Yes, my telegram had been received and a
room reserved, the last available, as it happened.
Might I have Home (upper?
A tritle haughtily ah Informed me that din
ner was then In course of being aorved.
Dinner good Lord: iJtnheartcned, I went
upstair, made my mod out toilet, put a novel tn
my pocket and descended to the coffee room.
Ono glance around, oa I entered, was enough.
A score of guest, each making the most of two
square Inches of overboiled fish and a blob of
pink sauce, gabbled at one another In what
must surely have been affected gayety. Elegant
gowns mingled with the latest in sporting cos
tumes and a couple of shirt fronts completed
my despair. Mercifully a small table In a cor
ner was unoccupied.
"Curse their civilization," I muttered as I
took my seat.
The more or less Swiss waiter, who lorded It
over a quartet of waitresses Highland girls,
thank heaven agreed that It was a fine eve
Ing and presented a tray of hors d'oeuvres. Was
there to be no limit to the mockery? I made
a gesture of refUBaal disgust, perhaps.
"Tick or claire, set-?"
I mumbled the one and he brought the other.
Its clarity was surpassed only by its innocence
of nourishingtiualities.
And so I came back to the inn of remem
brance to find hospitality dismissed and formal
ity in charge.
When the drear banquet was ended I aban
doned the company to its rank coffee and in
credibly priced liqueurs and went out. But
something, ere I. left the house, bade me ask
a question of the clerk, whereby I learned that
the hotel door was locked at 11. In the old
i'tt had stood on the latch all night If one
mav mi 4heword for the long, lovely twilight
that he'iHioTe dreams, more repose than ever
slumber coM"Aj. afford so that a man might take
his fill of sea Vctons or, were it his humor, hold
communion wit . the fairies of the black reefs
and yellow covei-S the ghosts of the gray and
purple mountainside, till dawn dispersed them.
Going westward, I soon left the village be
hind and came upon the well remembered vista
of a heaVing, winding road, gouged from the
moor, with crofts on cither side, some of which,
I noted, carried new cots where ancient'ones
had formerly stood not so sorry a change if,
haply, some of the old dwellers remained. Be
yond the farthest visible turn of the road lay
the outer loch, tranquil, darkly smiling, dotted
with skerries, opening wide to the Atlantic. On
tny left the moor fell away toward the water, on
my right it rose steeply toward the grim, fear
fully weather sead ranges. At every step a
memory stirred, and gradually -a strange, yt
familiar, sense of mystery wrapped me round
about.
At that hour few were using the road, but
on the crofts folk still found work to do, and
my eyes were ready for a wave, my ears for a
I hail. ... A casual look at the stranger was
all I received, and presently I was walking with
the last companion I should have dreamed of
meeting here loneliness. It was not fated,
however, that I should travel far in such wise.
I had come within sight of the last of the
crofts when a man, who had lately passed me,
overtook me, speaking my name. -
"Well,, well," he said, shaking my hand
warmly, "and you have come back again once
more!"
My pleasure at being recognized was tem
pered by my Inability to return the compliment.
There was something familiar in the peculiarly
soft voice, hut to the sound of it my eyes should
have seen a jnan in his prime, and the speaker
was white haired and furrowed of countenance.
Vet neither was ho altogether a stranger, and
suddenly I said:
"Can you be James Fraser?"
"Ay, ay," he answered, "I am just James
Fraser, and I forgive you for not knowing me
at once." x
I shook his hand again, for in those summers
of long ago he and I had been close comrades,
sharing adventures on the sea and in the moun
tains. Once, Indeed, we had come near to
drowning 'together, and twice we had been lost,
wellnigh for grood, among the mists up there.
I had a swift vision of him as then a tine look
ing, dark, muscular young fellow, working along
with others on the road we now trod, talking the
Gaelic like a native, though he was hardly that,
having come to the island, an orphan from
abroad, to live with an uncle when he was 12.
Our intimacy was no doubt quickened by the
fact that he was readier than his neighbors to
use the English, and possibly because he had
, seen something of the outer world. A stronger,
finer, gentler soul, I often told myself, I need
never hope to meet.
He Joined me in my walk, and presently I
inquired whether he had had an illness.
"No," he answered, as one used to the ques
tion, and added, "but I am not working now.
My uncle, you see, is dead. He left more money
than anybody expected, and -he left it to my
self, with his house the last house you can see
from here. Maybe I am not so strong as I was
when you used to come here, but a roadman's
life is a hard life, especially in a climate like
this,' and I left it when I could, before the
rheumatism got. too dep in me." He went on
,to inquire whom I had recognized In the
lage, and nodded at my reply.
"Well, well, you were maybe too keen in ex-,
pecting to know the old friends at once; to
morrow you will find them, and they will find
you when you TPast expect it. You will "
He halted -abruptly, and with his right foot
tamped twice, sharply, on the ground.
A a I htii t aUo fou rrjmiit'4 iur, .iiii, a
I uln aiili'-iK4U ;
'It i it nnrrr liMt.it i f mine when I am go
ing uvrr I list tulvrrt. If you'll mind. I wt
building It llm Inst tuns )uij nor her, five and
:o -4ia aau"
"I remember; and u continue to lest lh
aoundnrM of your orh?'
",l. imtt will t it," foe ri'llrJ, and
silent till I for4n t' milk fnqulrlei about old
frirnda, including nia at hi own.
Ilia rrpUm, thuuali frank enough, were not
eutly ittifiiia'; indeed, to nifSKcr was the
information lht I wundrrd if Jittuea Krasrr
(liitd heroin n trcluu, and, if , why,
I bad not tiiinn to tlm rnd of remrmbrance'a
lut bm li rhanaed lb aubjti,
"you are anil writing fouoka and atori, I
am a great rradr nowadays. I read
liny and tiiifht, ym would nut have thought
that of in j 5 and SO yeara ago'."
"Anlltin but that, Jam. You semd to
me to b rut for some ral adventure."
"Ah, well, w nevrr Know we never Know,
I tut. mind you, 1 turned to the books long I.e.
fore I had my um-le'a money; in fact, it w
I ft- 111
hi f I u tti-.
"Il fa 1 in
" am going to till you how
Alt MclndoT dUapptarmd."
not so long after you were here the last time.
Of course, since my uncle died I have been able
to buy many books that were not for me be
fore." He waved his hand towards the upper
slopes. "Yonder is my house. You will come
to see my books and drink a glass to the old
times."
I thanked him. my gaze on the austere, gray
stone cottage with its steep, slated roof. It
gave me a sense of grim bleakness, as do all the
modern dwellings, even when the sun shines in
that treeless place. Yet well I knew that the
gray stone houses sheltered the same warm,
human kindliness as did their ancient thatched
neighbors.
A question hesitated at my lips. He had had
a sweetheart when I sawtiim last. Now, some
how, I fancied, he had the look of a widower.
Even as I decided not to ask he answered.
"I am a single man," he said quietly, "and
in case you are remembering some things, I will
just tell you, once and for all, that there is a
single woman down yonder."
He offered no guidance of gesture or glance,
but the "down yonder" was enough. The cot
on the shore of the loch was a landmark of
memory, for there we had always got the boat
for our fishing and other sea excursions.
"We have not spoken for four and 20 years,"
he added. "And now all is said."
Taking my arm, he drew me from the road,
and wo made a short , cut across the moor to
wards his home.
"You have forgot how to walk on' the
heather and moss," he remarked presently as
I stumbled among the bowlders. "The body
forgets more easily than the mind." , And again
he went off at a tangent. "I have still the
housekeeper that was my uncle's, though she
does not sleep in the house. She Is getting old,
but she does very well. You will be thinking
it is a queer thing to see your old friend the
rough roadman in such softness'.'
He came to the house. He pressed the latch
and opened the door. He entered before me,
then turned and held out his hand and, for the
first time, smiled.
"Come away in, come away in," he said very
kindly; "none was ever so welcome, for you
bring back the good times of my life."
I was touched, not the less because I saw
his eyes fill.
Xext moment we were in the kitchen, warm
after the keen air, fragrant with the peat fire.
The room was plainly, even barely furnished,
and there was no attempt at decoration; but in
that dusky, ncmely atmosphere the glow of
peats, the shine of brass, and the glimmer of
scoured wood answered sufficiently the desire
of one sick of a blatant, garish city, and offered,
indeed, a haven of solace after -yonder stupid,
pretentious little hotel.
He put me into the well-worn armchair by
the hearth," my feet on one of those old rag
rugs, the colors of which grow never tiresome.
Within reach of my hand were a couple of short
shelves of books. But the orange red fire held
my gaze while he brought from a cupboard and
placed on the table glasses, quaint old stocky
things, and a stone jar. From the shelf in the
window he took a white jug of water, mutter
ing, "she filled it the last thing." and from the
dresser a corkscrew, and with them came back
to the table.
Then suddenly conscious that he was break
ing a seal on the big jar, I sat up and protested
that there was no need.
"It is the true Talisker," ho said as if he had
not heard, "and It is as old as our good friend
ship. My uncle never touched the whisky, but
he would always keep it In the house."
Cautiously he filled the old fashioned meas
uring glass abrim, and spilled it into mine.
"Take water, if you will," he said. "Nowa
days I take it myself."
We raised our glasses, and looked at each
other. Just for a moment his honest eyes wav
ered. Then he murmured the old Gaelic salu
tation. I echoed it awkwardly, and we drank.
"The true Talisker," he said, setting down
his glass, while I wondered why he had taken
only water. . . .
He led me to the room on the other side.
It was lined with books. A small fire smoul
dered in the grate.
"Books must have a fire in this place," he
, remarked. "I keep it burning summer and win
ter." 1
Yet before I had been 10 minutes in. the
room, I perceived that he was no lover only a
user of books. Not that his library was ill
chosen; most of the volumes were of worksv
which had stood the test of time, and those
which were modern" had that for their only re
proach He spoke little as I passed along the shelves.
Whether he or chance had planned that I'ehould
end the survey in some astonishment, I cannot
say, but having almost completed the circuit, I
came upon a division of shelves, all of which
were packed with books bearing on the subject
of murder. Here was no fiction, unless certain
records of highwaymen were to be accepted as
such. Some attempt had been made, I gathered,
to arrange the volumes chronologically, not ac
cording to their title pages but to their contents.
In short, my host seemed to have sought to fur
nish himself with a sort of history of murder
from the earliest times. And I noticed, as prob
ably his latest purchase, some 20 volumes of a
recently published series of famous murder
trials.
"Ay, ay," he said gravely, "you are thinking
it is a queer fancy. But it is a wonderful thing
to study a murder, and judge the man or woman
for yourself maybe putting younsclf in his or
her place. I have thought that once in a while
a man has been hanged with a better conscience
than the man he killed. . . . But you must
come back and have a look at them in the day
light." "Upon my word, James,"-I said, as we re
turned to the kitchen, "if I had ever thought of
your becoming a reader, I should have prophe
sied nothing but out-and-out romance for you."
"There are not so many romances without
murder in them," he said motioning me to the
armchair, and taking out his pipe, "and maybe
not so many murders without a romance some
where behind them. How long are you going to
stay with us?"
"Only three days, James."
"But this is nonsense!' Always in the good
times you stayed a month or two. I have a
room for you, and it is as clean as the blue sky,
but my housekeeper would need a few days to
air and warm it. Then you will bring your
things from the inn, and stay with me as long
as you like and be as free as you like. I can
not give you fine food like the inn's, but I can
give you always fresh fish and fresh milk and
fresh butter and fresh eggs and fresh-made
scones and 30-year-old Talisker.
"My dear James," I said gratefully, "I'd
come gladly, but I must go back on Saturday.
For me the good times, I'm afraid, finished
about 25 years ago. . . ."
"Ay, ay," he said softly, as if to himself.
Then aloud "Perhaps you can manage it, if
you sleep over it. Say nothing now. And, any
way, you will take your supper here tomorrow
and the other nights."
I thanked him heartily. "That hotel is a
fearful place," I added.
"Yes, I have heard it is an hotel now. . .
I may as well tell you that I have iiot been in.
the village for for many years." And yet again
he broke off and asked whether I would be for
trying the fishing this time.
Later, as he accompanied me along the road,
I put the question that had been floating in my
mind throughout our talk.
"Is your old fellow roadman, Alec Mclndoer,
still on the island?"
He removed his pipe to spit in the dltcrr, "I
thought you might have heard," he returned.
"It was in the Inverness paper, anyway. Alec
Mclndoer disappeared."
"What? disappeared?"
"Ay, he just disappeared."
"When?"
"It will li foui and i mi m Nounibei,"
No I rareT' ,
"No r''.'
nut wi r
tiod ami.''
I'ur while rn bolli Mlrnl. I lud t'rr
foked At Mclud'HT I bd 'l-"l ''
)-rtt-r, Alrv roitrwr $mn and f abifty
tiaiure; nevrnhrlrm, our mvinitl t'oinpmi
ln on lb "tirr and anion the hi Ha, h bad
tltod nothlntt foul ! humor and resource.
I think I will be leaving )iU now," aid
Jaiur aliiupilv. ...
We are alinoM at lb ruhrr!." I end. ""
an rfforl at hglitnrM, "H.nln't u fortter it
It aaaln before V fod?"
Aa ihoiisU he lmd not foiwrd, foe forld out bta
hand, eayiin "Yuu U mine tomorrow."
tia we parted. rrmly. paiin to l'hl
my pipe, I a lnfrid by Uie linklo of wutrr
that I was MandiiiK itltov the rulvrrl. At thia
point a email torrent rHiiie down a foUi'k and
rugsrd ford. At the moment it mre whin
per, but an huur'a foravy ram would art It ras
ing. In the old da it had hern a roiwtmit
menace to the rwd, the mrfioe of which Ha
overllow frjuetilly rarrird away. The- rulvrit,
though quite a small atTuir. "nia 1 Inches wM.
had apparently aloud all le!, and Krearr
entitled lo be proud of hie handiwork.
tlut what bad huppein'd l' Franor and the
"singlo, woman down yonder?" Tho quratlon
kept me occupied 111! I l-pt.
Next morning, a I'nmer had juophrnled. I
begun to renew !! Bcqiiulntuern. The experi
ence was plniMiralilo enough, yet Irna ellmulal
lug than anticipated, foimhow my mind wite
held by tho ihouisht f l'ruwr. I could not have
dlHcunwa the man, but several people mentioned
him, dotibtlins Imagining that they hud news for
me. For thvmwlvcs. as I gathered, the matter
had long klnce traced to bold Interest.
Fraser, they said, wan certainly a little mad
liad been o for more than 20 years. Tho
same applied lo Flora .Marlon!, who was hardly
ever "en abroad, and who had lived alone alma
the death of her parents, year ago. Love, It
seemed, had made fools of them both, but what
exactly had happened nobmly knew. It wan
generally ausperted that Alec Mclndoer hud
come between them before. he disappeared
that w another strange thing, but an old story
now. Mclndoer had made a good deal of trou
ble on tho Itdiind, and some supposed that ho
had ahlpped on board on Knglicli trawler In
tho early morning. Anyway, a good riddance.
In the afternoon I went to call on Flora and
discovered her at her loom. Absurdly enough,
I expected to see an aged woman, I found a
handsome one, grave indeed, with .hints of gray
In her dark hair and sadness hi her fine eyes.
"With all her old native shyness and frankness
she bade me welcome, and then she made tea,
and we talked a while of the distant past and
of nothing else. I camo away, feeling unhappy.
I supped with Fraser. His housekeeper cer
tainly did well, but the man's intense feeling for
hospitality brought an ache to the heart.
"You will not go on Saturday. You will
come tb me. I will get a boat for you, and you
will have everything in every way you please.
You will stay, and the good times will come back
again."
It was the same the following night and I
almost dreaded the final meeting.
.But on Friday ho seemed to have become re
signed to my going.
"When will you come to See me, James?" I
' asked him.
"Never," he answered gently.
After the housekeeper had tidied up and
taken her departure, he brought out the Talis
ker. "Now I will tell the truth," he said. "I have
not tasted whisky for 4 and 20 years. Nearly
always the whisky will make a man talk too
much.- But tonight, my good friend, I will take
a drop, because I am going to tell you a story.
If you would have stayed maybe I would not be
for telling it, for we might have "the good times
for a while, but now" he sighed "I am tired
and I will make an end of it all." Taking no
notice of my concern, he charged the glasses,
drew the table nearer the hearth, and seated
himself opposite me.
"Please say nothing till I have finished," he
said, and took a drink. His pipe lay neglected
on the table. "Well," he proceeded, "1 am go
ing to tell you how Alec Mclndoer disappeared.
Alec Mclndoer was a bad man, but I was late
nearly too late in learning It. He could do
what he liRed with women. There must be
women on the island that curse him to this day.
I do not know whether curses can follow a man
to hell, where Alec surely is. I was not afraid
of him, though I knew that for all my strength
and for all his slimness he could have broken
my back quite easily. He was like a cat on his
feet, a tiger in his fighting and-cruelty, Yet he
could not run quickly, for something was wrong
in one of his legs. So he would spring out out
of the dark on a woman. Or, maybe, lying
The Married Life of Helen and Warren
Helen's Sentimental Mood Aggra
vates Warren's Crabbed
Indifference.
From the lighted warmth of the
ttain the deserted wind-blown plat
form seemed bleakly unwelcoming.
"Be a joke if there's no one to
meet us," Warren buttoned up his
coat.
"Why, they 'phoned they'd meet
this train," dismayed Helen, gazing
down the snowy road, the black
limbed trees only shadowy outlines
in the early dusk.
"Huh, their car may be out of
commission, or the chauffeur off on
a bat. A lot of things can happen
in the country."
"Someone's coming now!" at a
distant honk, through the snow
muffled air. Another moment, and
a car glimmered down the road.
"Sorry to be late, sir," -as the
chauffeur sprang out to open the
door.
"It's all right we just got here."
Warren bundledHclen into the car.
"Oh, there's something warm at
my feet." Raising the robe," she ex
posed a flat paper-wrapped package.
"That's a soapstone, ma'am. This
. car's not heated."
. "How nice and old-fashioned!"
Helen snuggled against it. "Dear,
this is going to be a wonderful ride.
Don't you remember we came down
here a few weeks after we were
married? It was a dark, snowy
Sunday afternoon just like this."
"That's so, wc did," taking out a
cigar. -
"It was awfully cold! Don't you
remember how close you held me?"
nestling against him.
"Um-um." lighting his cigar, un
responsive to her wistful suggestion.
All the way out she had been
thinking of that other trip, compar
ing Warren's adoration then with
his curt indifference now. An emo
tional love story read on the train
accentuated her sentimental mood.
The bleak, snowy fields enhanced
the sheltered intimacy of the car.
Under the rug, her hand stole into
his, but there was no responsive
pressure.
Her throat 'ached with poignant
.memories pf that other . drive only
6
i
a few short years ago. His arm
about her, he "had held her close all
the way.
She remembered her glowing em
barrassment when the chauffeur had
glanced back, and her flushed, con
fused dishevelment when they ar
rived. She was never rumpled now by
Warren's caresses, she thought bit
terly. "Dear, I'm cold," shivering against
him.
"Pull that rug up around you."
The Missing Thrill.
Why had he changed so much
while she had changed so little? His
arm about her now would have made
it the same thrilled drive.
"Damnation!" spluttered Warren,
as a jolt of the car over a frozen
rut knocked his hat over his eyes.
"Rotten roads. Beastly trip out here,
anyway. Why in blazes do they
live so far out?"
"You didn't think it far last time.
You wished we could ride on for
ever." "Hello, that's their . place!" he
peered out at the lights twinkling
through the snow-burdened fir trees.
Turning in at an open gate, they
drove up to an old-fashioned house.
"Down, Bounder, down!" repri
manded the chauffeur, as a big' collie'
barking excitedly dashed out from
the side porch.
"Oh, what a dearl" Helen stooped
to pet himv"He had a sore paw when
we were here bMorc." ' .
A path of light fell across the
porch, as the door opened and a
stout, genial wan came out to receive
them.
"Hello, Bert!'.' Warren greeted
his cousin. "Why the Sam Hill do
you live so far from the station?"
"You. don't call this far? How
would you like to do it twice a day?"
"No commuting for me. Hello,
Margie, you're looking fit."
"You can leave your things in the
halL Helen, I guess you'd like to go
upstairs. Don't let him paw you
he's getting so rough!"
"Oh, I love collies!" as he raced
ahead of them up the stairs.
When, a few moments later, they
were settled in the living room.
Bounder insisted on lying on the
couch beside Helen, his head in her
lap.
"He's shedding dreadfully you'll
be covered with hairs," warned
Margie.
But as Helen never felt quite at
case with any of Warren's relatives,
she was grateful for Bounder's wor
shipful attention. Playing with his
silky ears, it seemed not so neces
sary to join in the family gossip.
"Uncle Joe's bought the old Milton
house. He's doing it over for Clara
you know she's to' be married in
the spring."
"Not a bad investment that's a
good street. It'll be better when they
open that new parkway." Warren
was always keen on real estate.
The xpom was suffocating the
dry, sickening heat of a hot air fur
nace. Helen, who loathed heat, was long
ing to have a window open. She
was rehearsing a timid request for a
"little air" when supper was an
nounced. Her hope that the dining room
would be cooler was dispelled as
soon as they entered. If anything,
the heat was more oppressive.
"You folks haven't been out since
that trip just after you w.re mar
ried," Bert was sharpening the carv
ing knife. "Doesn't seem that long,
does it?"
"In some was it seems ages,"
sighed Helen, thinking of Warren's
changed attitude.
Aunt Laura's Teeth.
"Hold on, not all white meat," pro
tested Warren. "Give me the sec
ond joint s, plenty of the fixings.
Seen anything of the Daggetts late
ly?" '
"We were there lait- Sunday. Some
of the gravy? Aunt Laura's having
trouble with her teeth pyorrhea
Afraid she's going to loe them all."
The talk drifted on. Helen thought
how thrilled she had been at this
family gossip on their first trip. It
had made her more intimately a part
of Warren.
Aunt Laura's teeth and Uncle Joe's
investments failrd to thrill her now.
But if she had changed in that,
toward Warren she had not changed
She could see bint in the mirror
J
opposite, dispatching with hearty
relish a liberal helping of cold chick-
en, oblivious to her pensive lack of
appetite. Yet, on that other trip,
his only thought had been of her.
The heat was growing intolerable.
How could they stand it?
"Don't you think it's warm in
here?" she ventured at last.
"Is it? Wrhy, I hadn't noticed it."
Crossing to a side window, Margie
opened it a grudging inch.
The faint breath of fresh air re
lieved but slightly the oppressive
warmth. Yet, after a few moments,
she rose to close the window.
"Cooled off now, hasn't it?" with
a nervous shiver. "I'm afraid of
drafts one's so apt to get pneu
monia this weather."
Murmuring a polite assent, Helen
resigned herself to the enervating
heat.
It was not until they were for a
moment alone, as they returned to
the living room, that she managed to
whisper an anxious:
"Dear, won't you say something
about opening a window? I'm almost
sick."
"Well, you can't freeze out every
body just because you're a fresh
air fiend."
And on that other trip, he had
been so gallantly attentive to her
every wish.
Flushing at his sharp rebuff, again
Helen cirrled up on the couch to in
dulge in morbid broodings while she
forced a facial interest in Margie's
account of a disagreeable neighbor.
Once more, the devoted Bounder
settled down, his head in Helen's lap.
"You Ho like me, don't you, dog
gie?" The same words she had used
before! With a swift heartache, she
remembered. And Warren, who had
been on the couch beside her, had
answered as he tweaked Bounder's
ears, "Of course, he does! How can
he help it?"
Now. he was on the othee side of
the room, laughing at Bert's golf
stories and wholly ignoring her.
Are All Marriages Like This?
IVere all marriages like this? Did
the thrills and romance always end
with the first year? She thought over
(Turn to ruse BerenJ
bid. In) would I'liili1 Iter -tjod know uw to
(hat alitf n'uU H"l mote,"
frrancr dianK and continued: I nete
tit famed be would ral tua eta fii rloi4. It
an wrll known we wire going to a't married
III tin pun, it t 4 oun bt ti nt Inti'd Aleo
mil and wliicpiird to hip. ho I k'l WJti ll,
iifs.r bt Hit a ttlniiu el melii. Hut tb
week went I'J'l end Ali'u nude tin trouble.
l;w iy Mi-oiid iUlil el 1 uVIm k 1 look Hot
limn from Iter Kinndiuoihi' looim up cm the
bill, hre Hoi4 went In the evening to read to
the old !), but we in w r mw the nhitdow cf
Mni. (Mi afternoon. In November, when It
was gi'tiiiig it.uk, AUc mid I weia soHlmr out
for Inline from a Jolt 'loe nt haul. Alei; had
a emit pinch w but you tuUlit tell a lever on
hie elmuliler, and amblenty h turned around a
by diance and lb" pinch urui k me hard' nit the
brad, laying me tint. I wit nre burl, but Alec
was no vexed mid lie was eo tender helping me
hunie I t tu I1 be angry w ith him.
"All tlm aaufo I guve a I I a immniio to '
I'loru. telling Iter not to go out that evening.
At 9 o'clock Aloe mine to n-k for me. I wu In
my bed and my uneln told him 1 wim In great
pain, which wna the truth. Hut in'.ir 1U o'clock
yoint'tllllig Willie mo get up."
I Hud to Till It."
Another ii bin mouth eeeuu'd to lie dry
and bo proereiled : " lmd not isot fr from the
houe when I met th lad ami lie bud forgot
all about my meiwuKi- to I'lor.i, I taiti'il to run,
but my head got mo hml I hiul t li" (low n on my
Iniiuli mid lini't h iiud ituwI ulong the turf ut the
Id of the rond. And no douht that I how
t I'uine to eati'li him. It wim a dark night, with
lulu dniwlrt near after dry weitther, fo dry
that not n drop of water wuh coming off the
lllllK.
"Now you know where the path to 1'lora'i
linuni leaves tho jnilil Jilnt a Btci beyond the
i ulvert. The' culvert opens m cIuko to it that
the path gets the spray In bml weather. The
bill end of the culvert In covered with a grating,
on thin night the culvert wuh, of course, oa dry
ns a hone, though anyboily could are that it
would not bo o for long. 1 wus creeping along,
half dorfd with feur and sIckneHs, ami was get
ting clone to the culvert, when I eaw something
moving on the rockly bed it llowa Into. A sheep,
I thought at flrxt, and then I biy flat, knowing
it was a num. And I felt no more pain and alt
my wits lamo Imek. I crept nearer. The man
was squatting down and doing something to hie
lace. It began to shine bluish. Then I knew,
remembering what the young l.ixs had whis
pered. AIho I had rcud of such tricks. But I
was not prepared for tho next thing. Ho lay
down ami wriggled blnmelf feet forward into
the culvert. After a moment I understood, if
Flora turned into the path then, he would see
that awful thing looking out of tho culvert. She
might be paralyzed, kIio might lose her senses.
Cut there was no mom timo for thinking. My
wits were working. Give me some water."
lie drank and went on. "Every Inch of that
culvert was known to me, for I had made every
inch. Top and bottom, a foot from the mouth,
.a hole wus drilled in the stones to hold a bar to
keep the sheep dogs from going in. But the bar
had never been placed. The tools we had left
that afternoon were not 50 yards away. Now I
was mado of fire and steel. Away and back
again, with all I needed. I walked heavily to
wards the culvert that was to make him draw
in from the opening. He would not take my
tread for flora's; besides, if she was coming
alone in the dark she would be singing, as every- '
one would know, -to keep her heart up. I got
down on my knees. In one minute J had broken
through the surface of the road and found the
top hole; in another I had forced through a
short pinch, felt it find the bottom hole and
jammed it firm in the top one. Ha was caged.
He never made a sound, but soon I knew he
was striving with the bar. But he had no pow
er, lying in there on his belly.
"I put back the surface, trod it down, and
at the last stamped twice liko that and
damned hiin. And then the wind moved and
the mist rolled down and tho rainstorm burst.
I picked up the tools and took them back to
their place. And I mind telling myself that in
an hour- he would begin to drown, and would
yell, and I must get Flora home before that, or,
better, make her stay the night at her grand
mother's. And then I fell down like a dead
man. They found me in the morning and I
was ill for a while. When I came to myself I
knew I was a murderer and could mSver speak
to Flora any more. And so I hated the dead
man worse than ever in life, and so I still stamp
on the cul on his grave. . . . And Flora
never spoke to me. Maybe it was her pride, but
I think, too, she has the second sight. . . .
That is nearly all. I had to tell it to a friend,
And I have lost all friends but you," he said,
and put his hand over his eyes. "Do not speak
yet! When I was able and the dry weather
came I went out in the night with a barrow
of lime and opened the grating and shoveled it
in. I went to look into the mouth of tho culvert,
but could not. He must have drowned with hia
arms inside the bar, maybe striving with it.
But nothing can be hid forever. Well, well, I -am
tirtd of waiting to be found out. Tomor
row, after your steamer sails, I will
along to the police station."
I leaned forward, seizing his hand.
"No, James for God's sake, no!"
"You have paid over and over again in punish
ment, and the beast deserved his death " I
fell back as the door opened.
Flora camq in, ghostly, yet younger looking
than two days ago. Fraser got up, reeled, stead
ied himself, his hand on his heart, crying:
"Flora, they are coming for mc! You have
como to warn "
"Xo, no, James," she answered in the Gaelic,
and caught sight of me.
I rose to go. She seemed to understand. '
"Stay," she said in her sweet English; "stay
and help us." j
"What is it, Flora?" asked Fraser, sudden
ly tremulous.
"Give me your hand," she said to him, and
to me: "Take his other, like a good friend."
Then softly, yet distinctly: "Alec Mclndoer has
come hack."
We let Fraser down into his chair, still hold
ing his hands.
"Yes," she went on very gently, "you thought
him dead. James. But I heard his screams that
night and I let him out half drowned and wo
put the bar back and everything as it had been.
For he made me take an oath that I would
never speak to you again, never tell you thac
he had escaped. Do you understand me, James?
I had to take the oath or he would have killed
you. O, yes, he would! So I have never spoken
to you all these years. Every month he sent me
a letter reminding me of my oath, to say he was
watching. . . . And 1 knew why you never -spoke
to me poor man. Well, it is all over:"
I gave Fraser whisky, and at last he spoke.
"Where is he?" he faintly asked.
"In my house," she deliberately answered,
"and he Is dead."
Fraser awoke. "Dead! Oh, Flora, you
"I might have done it, James," she said soft
ly; "I think if I had seen you as you are now,
so white and tired. I would gladly have done it.
But I did not. God did it. The man burst in.
mad drunk and shouting I do not know where
he rame from and fell down in a fit, and Just
died." She turned to me. "You will help us,"
she said. "We must have the policeman and, I
suppose, the'doctor."
"I ll fetch them," I said, and began to look
for my hat.
Before I found it they had forgotten rny
presence. She was on her knees beside him; his
arms were round her. .
I went out into the calm twilight. I did not
hurry on my erraud. The dead could wait. Tb '
living had waited a. long time.-
Cir right, !:
just
go
I cried.