Short Stories for English Courses

amer lay at the wharf, and George Faxon, sitting in the veranda of the woode

ver to behold! ... Part of the interval- the first part-was still a great gray blur. Even now he could not be quite sure how he had got back to Boston, reached the house of a cousin, and been thence transferred to a quiet

and it'll do you no end of g

ew of the plan and approved it. "You ought to be quiet for

irst faint stirr

the matter wi

or a bad breakdown before you started for New Hampshire last

had died. He

a letter without a moment's contraction of the heart. It was not that he had any special cause for apprehension, but merely that a great trail of darkness lay on everything. He had looked too deep down into the abyss. ... But little by little health and energy returned to him, and with them the common promptings of curiosity. He was beginning

picture-puzzle, some copies of Zion's Herald,

over, picking out the American ones first. These, as it happened, were the oldest: they dated back to December and January. To Faxon, however, they had all the flavor of novelty, since they covered the precise

his consciousness like a key slipping into a lock. It was the seventeenth of December: the date of the day after his arrival at Northridge. He glanced at the first page a

ment "Investigation" still held the centre of the stage. From its complex revelations of greed and ruin his eye wandered t

other papers from the table and scattered them on the floor at his feet. The uppermost lay spread out before him, and heavily his eyes began their search again. "Jo

it, dashed wildly away from it into the night, he might have broken the spell of iniquity, the powers of darkness might not have prevailed! He caught up the pile of newspapers and began

r call, had washed his hands of it, and fled. Washed his hands of it! That was the word. It caught him back to the dreadful

ESS

OND SHIPM

es of the past; far more attractive in his savage virtues than the more sensuous heroes of Greece and Rome. In this story he lives again in the American boy who has his ancestor's inexplicable uplift of spirit in the presenc

in the words of the General: "There is nothing in Am

ESS

by Mary R. S. Andrews. Copyright,

y their silver

ccour us that

y with golden

kyes, like fly

feendes to a

ht, they watch

Squadrons round

ove, and noth

venly God to men

s "Faerie

e glories in which we ever are. But sometimes when the veil wears thin in mortal stress, or is caught away by a rushing, mighty wind of inspiration, the trembling human soul, so bared, so purified, may look d

for a long half minute after Colonel Wilson

ing to do," he said.

Thornton

ing swiftly, saluted. "Present my compliments to Lieutenant Morgan and say that I should like to see him here

al casually. "I suppose we shall see in Lieutenant Morgan one of the b

el's lips. "I think I have chosen a c

nous, billowy prairie, the sluggish, shining river, bending in the distance about the base of Black Wind Mountain-Black Wind Mountain, whose high top lifted, though it was almost June, a white point of snow above dark pine ridges of the hill

is aide, and the grizzled old Captain, and th

here camped on Sweetstream Fork, they would not come this way; they would swerve up the Gunpowder River twenty miles away, destroying the settlement and Little Fort Slade, and would sweep on, probably for a general massacre, up the Great Horn as far as Fort Doncaster. He himself, with the regiment, would try to save F

have come with a little child into a scene like this. His large blue eyes were fixed on the Colonel as he talked, and in them was just such a look of innocent, pleased wonder, as might be in a child's eyes, who had been told to leave studying and go pick violets. But as the Colonel ended he spoke, and the few words he said, the few questions he asked, were full of poise, of crisp dire

"I think it may be right to warn you that there is

sh, young voice had

l wanted to say? He finished abruptly. "Ch

tily, but with a hint of bewilderment. "I s

d he sighed as if glad to have it over. The General

that blond baby to send on a missio

vention and facility of getting out of bad holes; he rides light and so can make a horse last longer than most, and"-the Colonel considered a moment-"I may say he has no fear of death. Even among my officers he is known for the quality of

moustache. "It seems a bit like taking

sn't it so, General? In this war music we play on human instruments, and if a big chord comes out stronger f

icers stared at the Colonel's face, as carved, as stern as if done in marble-a face f

silence. "Has the General ever heard of the t

he Colonel said briefly, and the Cap

hs, and the boy had taught him a lot of the language, and assured him that he would have the friendship of the band in return for his kindness to Blue Arrow-that was the chap's name. So he thought he was safe; but it turned out that Blue Arrow's father, a chief, had got i

reat jump like a startled fawn, and threw up his arms and stared like one demented into the tree over their heads. There was a mangy-looking crow sitting up there on a branch, and Morgan pointed at him as if at something marvellous, supernatural, and all

reat chief, bewa

ght it was going to fly, and he was lost. But it settled

an, or the curses of t

and his

and would have liked to go on some time, but he was beginning to get hoarse, and besides he was; in deadly terror for fear the crow would fly before he got to the point. So he had the spirit order them to give the white men their horses and turn them l

e point, to my mind,

ickly. "About h

t, pell-mell, all alone into that horde of fiends. They hadn't got over their funk, luckily, and he saw Blue Arrow and made his party call and got out again all right. He didn't tell that himself, but Sergeant O'Hara made the camp ring with it. He adores Morgan, and claims that he doesn't know what fear is. I believe it's about so. I've seen him in a fight three times now. His cap alwa

head suddenly. "Miles

ame Miles

. The grandson of the ol

w Jim left children. Why, he married "-he searched rapidly in his memory- "he married a daughter of General Fitzbrian's. This boy's got the church and the army both in him. I knew his mother," he went on, talking to the Colonel, garrulous with inte

ive enthusiasm. "You have summed him up by his antecedents, General," he sai

"Religious, eh? And popular?

the genuine thing, isn't it! I sometimes think"-the young Captain hesitated and smiled a trifle deprecatingly-"that Morgan is much of the same st

r heroism that I know of," the General affirmed stoutly, his fi

the Colonel were fixed musingly on two black points which crawled along the edge of

r horse. Listen! He's not loping evenly." The soft cadence of eight hoofs on earth had somewhere a lighter and then a heavier note; the ear of a g

the kindest baste in the rigiment f'r a pleasure ride, sorr-that willin' 'tis. So I tuk it. I think 'tis only the s

spond except with a plunge and increased lameness.

ans with a spavined horse. Why didn't you get a broomstick? Now go back to camp as fast as you can go; and that horse ought to be blistered when you get there. See

ll ride slow, sorr, f'r m

e no slow riding in this. I'll have to press right on without you; I mus

me?" and with all the Sergeant's respect for his superiors, it took the Lieutenant ten valuabl

y while he might, and suddenly he found himself singing softly as he galloped. How the words had come to him he did not know, for no conscious train of thought had broug

d o'er thee to keep; Though thou walk through hos

d that he believed it so, yet the familiar lines flashing suddenly, clearly, on the curtain of his mind, seemed to him, very simply, to be sent from a larger thought than his own. As a child might take a strong hand held out as it walked over ro

irm affection Thou on

protection He will s

being sheltered itse

he w

Indian country, where a shrub taken for granted might mean a warrior, and that warrior a hundred others within signal. It was his plan to ride until about twelve- to reach Massacre Mountain, and there rest his horse and himself till gray daylight. There was grass there and a spring-two good and innocent things that had been the cause of the bad, dark

of pale gold lifted sharply over the ridge; a huge round ball of light pushed faster, higher, and lay, a bright world on the edge of the world, great against the sky-the moon had risen. The twilight tremble

each moment into deeper danger, as if his every sense were not on guard. On through the shining moonlight and in the shadow of the hills he

the light of the moon on his damp, fair hair. But he did not sleep long. Suddenly with a start he awoke, and sat up sharply, and listened. He heard the horse still munching grass near him, and made out the shadow of its bulk against the sky; he heard the stream, softly falling and calling to the waters where it was going. That was all. Strain his hearing as: he might he could hear nothing else in th

d o'er thee to keep; Though thou walk through hos

lds "-that surely meant Massacre Mountain, and why should he not sleep here quietly, and let the angels keep their watch and ward! He

ire; the peaceful atmosphere of books and pictures; the dumb things about its walls that were yet eloquent to him of home and family; the sword that his great-grandfather had worn under Washington; the old ivories that another great-grandfather, the Admiral, had brought from China; the portraits of Morgans of half a dozen generations which hung there; the magazine table, the books and books and books. A pang of desperate homesickness suddenly shook him. He wanted them-his own. Why should he, their best-beloved, throw away his life-a life filled to the brim with hope and energy a

time there was no mistaking-something had rustled in the bushes. There was but

ded, and out of the darkne

fri

g. How might a friend be here, at midnight in this desert! As the thought framed itself swift

" demanded Miles st

that answered him. The calm voice spoke again: "You

such a sudden utter confidence in any one, such a glow of eager friendliness as this half-seen, mysterious stranger inspired. "It is because I was lonelier than I knew," he said m

Indians on your trail," he said. "A small band of Black Wo

smile shone into the night. "You came to save me -how was it? Tell me, so that w

ht, and the unhurried voice answered him. "No," it said, an

new-comer had said, it would be time enough later to understand the rest. Wondering a little at his own swift acceptance of an unknown authority, wondering more at the peace wh

of the old things that were in it, that he loved; of his mother; of little Alice, and her baby adoration for the big brother; of how they h

I almost thought I heard them singing it. You may not have heard it, but it has a grand swing. I always think"-he hesitated-"it always seems to me as if the God of battles and the beauty of

wonderful low tones, beautiful, clear, beyond any voice Miles had ever heard, beg

d o'er thee to keep; Though thou walk through hos

ight, but which seemed to him already familiar and dear beyond all reason. As he gazed the tall figure rose, lightly towering above him. "Look!" he said, and Miles was on his feet. In the ea

"and be off. Where is your hor

s arm was stretched pointing. "Look," he said aga

mist of the little river, crept slowly half a dozen pin points, and Miles, watching their tiny

r ago. Now here we are caught like rats in a trap; and who's to do my work and s

side, "God,"-and for a second there

eep into other hills and the west. "Our chance is that they're not on my trail after all-it's quite possible." There was a tranquil unconcern about the figure near him; his own bright courage caught the meaning of its relaxed lines with a bound of pleasure. "As you say, it's best to stay here," he said, and as if thinking

d smiled once again, and the boy thought suddenly of the martyrdom of St. Stephen,

ne might have looked at him, and looking away again, have said that wings were folded about him. But Miles did not see him. His eyes were on the fast nearing, galloping ponies, each with its load of filthy, cruel savagery. This was his death coming; there was disgust, but not dread in the thought for the boy. In a few minutes he should be fighting hopelessly, fiercely against this froth of a lower world; in a few minutes afte

rd rejoicing to destroy. With the coolness that may go with such a frenzy he felt that his pistols were loose; saw with satisfaction that he and his new ally were placed on the slope to the best advantage, then turned swiftly, eager now for the fight to come, toward the Indian band. As he looked, suddenly in mid-career, pulling in their plunging ponies with a jerk that threw them, snorting, on their haunches, th

voice of his companion spoke in one word again, like the single note of a deep bell. "Lo

otionless, it stretched back into silver mist, and the mist rolled beyond, above, about it; and through it he

ight save Captain Thornton and his men; he turned to speak to the young man who had been with him. There was no one there. Over the bushes the mountain breeze blew damp and cold; they rustled softly under its touch; his horse stared at him mi

ened. In a second he was pulling at his horse's girth, slipping the bit swiftly into its mouth-in a moment more

e here with us. We picked them up yesterday, headed straight for Black Wolf's w

re I camped, about an hour- about half an hour-awhile ago." He spoke vaguely, rather oddly, the office

icer. "They saw us

see you,"

Besides, they were out on the plain and had a farther

But he believes that when his time comes, and he goes to join the majority, he will know again the presence which guarde

RK

LOUIS S

reason for it. So sometimes a story opens the doors of a character's heart and mind, and invites us to look within. Such a story is called psychological. Sometimes there is action, not for action's sake, but for its revelation of character. Sometimes nothing happens. "This," says Bliss Perry, "may be precisely w

this story may be sta

inch

f life are of higher rank than those which are not; and that, consequently, the emotions highes

RK

Merry Men and Other

on, published by Cha

touch a dividend on my superior knowledge. Some are dishonest," and here he held up the candle, so th

rown familiar with the mingled shine and darkness in the shop. At these pointed wor

be balancing my books; you will have to pay, besides, for a kind of manner that I remark in you to-day very strongly. I am the essence of discretion, and ask no awkward questions; but when a customer cannot look me in the eye, he has to pay for it." The dealer onc

er the top of his gold spectacles, and nodding his head with every mark of disbel

hould more likely add to it than otherwise, and my errand to-day is simplicity itself. I seek a Christmas present for a lady," he continued, waxing more fluent as he struck into the speech he had prepared; "and certainly I owe

edulously. The ticking of many clocks among the curious lumber of the shop, and the

me to be an obstacle. Here is a nice thing for a lady now," he went on, "this hand glass-fifteenth century, warranted; comes from a good collection, to

done so, a shock had passed through Markheim, a start both of hand and foot, a sudden leap of many tumultuous passions to th

paused, and repeated it more clearly

ied the dealer. "

"You ask me why not?" he said. "Why, look here-look in it-lo

im with the mirror; but now, perceiving there was nothing worse on hand,

, and follies- this hand-conscience! Did you mean it? Had you a thought in your mind? Tell me. It will be better f

Markheim did not appear to be laughing; there was something i

driving at?" t

not pious; not scrupulous; unloving, unbeloved; a hand to get m

s, and then broke off again into a chuckle. "But I see this is a l

ange curiosity. "Ah, have you be

. "I in love! I never

all this nonsense. Wil

ne as this. We should rather cling, cling to what little we can get, like a man at a cliff's edge. Every second is a cliff, if you think upon it-a cliff a mile high-high enough, if we fall, to d

," said the dealer. "Either make yo

. "Enough fooling. To busin

tle nearer, with one hand in the pocket of his greatcoat; he drew himself up and filled his lungs-at the same time many different emotions were depicted

unded from behind upon his victim. The long, skewerlike dagger flashed and fell. The dealer st

voices and startled Markheim into the consciousness of his surroundings. He looked about him awfully. The candle stood on the counter, its flame solemnly wagging in a draught; and by that inconsiderable movement, the whole room was filled with noiseless bustle and kept heaving like a sea: the tall

othing. And yet, as he gazed, this bundle of old clothes and pool of blood began to find eloquent voices. There it must lie; there was none to work the cunning hinges or direct the miracle of locomotion-there it must lie till it was found. Found! ay, and then? Then would this dead flesh lift up a cry that would ring over

ace and voice-one deep as the bell from a cathedral turret, another ringing on its treble

nd still as he continued to fill his pockets, his mind accused him, with a sickening iteration, of the thousand faults of his design. He should have chosen a more quiet hour; he should have prepared an alibi; he should not have used a knife; he should have been more cautious, and only bound and gagged the dealer, and not killed him; he should have been more bold, and killed the servant also; he should have done all things otherwise; poignant regrets, weary, incessant toilin

startlingly recalled from that tender exercise; happy family parties, struck into silence round the table, the mother still with raised finger: every degree and age and humor, but all, by their own hearts, prying and hearkening and weaving the rope that was to hang him. Sometimes it seemed to him he could not move too softly; the clink of the tall Bohemian goblets rang out loudly like a bell; and al

pect, they could not know; through the brick walls and shuttered windows only sounds could penetrate. But here, within the house, was he alone? He knew he was; he had watched the servant set forth sweethearting, in her poor best, "out for the day" written in every ribbon and smile. Yes, he was alone, of course; and yet, in the bulk of empty house above him, he could s

kylight small and dirty, the day blind with fog; and the light that filtered down to the ground story was exceedingly faint, and

led upon by name. Markheim, smitten into ice, glanced at the dead man. But no! he lay quite still; he was fled away far beyond earshot of these blows and shoutings; he was sunk beneath seas of

n the other side of day, that haven of safety and apparent innocence-his bed. One visitor had come: at any moment another might follow and be more obstinate. To h

broken, fell into the oddest postures. The face was robbed of all expression; but it was as pale as wax, and shockingly smeared with blood about one temple. That was, for Markheim, the one displeasing circumstance. It carried him back, upon the instant, to a certain day in a fishers' village: a gray day, a piping wind, a crowd upon the street, the blare of brasses, the booming of drums, the nasal voice of a ballad singer; and a boy going to and fro, buried over head in the crowd and divided between interest and fear, until, coming out upon the chief place of concourse, he beheld a booth and a great screen with

dy had been all on fire with governable energies; and now, and by his act, that piece of life had been arrested, as the horologist, with interjected finger, arrests the beating of the clock. So he reasoned in vain; he could rise to no more remorseful consciousness; the same heart which had shudde

ilence. Like some dripping cavern, the chambers of the house were haunted by an incessant echoing, which filled the ear and mingled with the ticking of the clocks. And, as Markheim approached the door, he seemed to hear

eaking of doors held stealthily ajar, appeared to mingle with the patter of the drops upon the cupola and the gushing of the water in the pipes. The sense that he was not alone grew upon him to the verge of madness. On every side he was haunted and begirt by presences. He heard them moving in the upper chambers; from the shop, he heard the dead man getting to his legs; and as he began with a great effort to mount the stairs, feet fled quietly before him and followed stealthily behind. If he were but

idence of his crime. He feared tenfold more, with a slavish, superstitious terror, some scission in the continuity of man's experience, some wilful illegality of nature. He played a game of skill, depending on the rules, calculating consequence from cause; and what if nature, as the defeated tyrant overthrew the chessboard, should break the mould of their succession? The like had befallen Napoleon (so writers said) when the winter changed the time of its appearance. The like might befall Markheim: the solid walls might become transparent and reveal his doings like those of bees in a glass hive; the sto

w in a packing case before the cabinet, and began to search among the keys. It was a long business, for there were many; and it was irksome, besides; for, after all, there might be nothing in the cabinet, and time was on the wing. But the closeness of the occupation sobered him. With the tail of his eye he saw the door-even glanced at it from time to time directly, like a besieged commander pleased to verify the good estate of his defences. But in truth he was at peace. The rain falling in the street sounded natural and pleasant. Presently, on the other side, the notes of a piano were wakened to the music of a hymn, and the voices of many children took up the

the knob, and the lock clicked, and the door opened. Fear held Markheim in a vice. What to expect he knew not, whether the dead man walking, or the official ministers of human justice, or some chance witness blindly stumbling in to consign him to the gallows. But when a fa

ntly, and with that he entered the

aver like those of the idols in the wavering candlelight of the shop; and at times he thought he knew him; and at times he thought he bore a likene

looking on Markheim with a smile; and when he added: "You are looking

made no

sweetheart earlier than usual and will soon be here. If Mr. Markheim

e?" cried t

favorite of mine," he said; "and I have lo

" cried Markhe

other, "cannot affect the se

d by you? No, never; not by you! You do not

with a sort of kind severity or rath

t and stifles them. You see each dragged away by life, like one whom bravos have seized and muffled in a cloak. If they had their own control-if you could see their faces, they would be alto

nquired th

ave lived in a land of giants; giants have dragged me by the wrists since I was born out of my mother-the giants of circumstance. And you would judge me by my acts! But can you not look within? Can you not understand that evil is hat

en dragged away, so as you are but carried in the right direction. But time flies; the servant delays, looking in the faces of the crowd and at the pictures on the hoardings, but still she keep

rice?" aske

ce for a Christmas gif

ing at your hands; if I were dying of thirst, and it was your hand that put the pitcher to my lips, I s

a deathbed repentance,

lieve their effica

act of service-to repent, to die smiling, and thus to build up in confidence and hope the more timorous of my surviving followers. I am not so hard a master. Try me. Accept my help. Please yourself in life as you have done hitherto; please yourself more amply, spread your elbows at the board; and when the night begins to fall and the curtains to be drawn, I tell you,

nd sin, and, at last, sneak into heaven? My heart rises at the thought. Is this, then, your experience of mankind? or is it because you f

yes, the pretty maid who thwarts her mother with such taking graces on a question of a ball, drips no less visibly with human gore than such a murderer as yourself. Do I say that I follow sins? I follow virtues also; they differ not by the thickness of a nail, they are both scythes for the reaping angel of Death. Evil, for which I live, consists

an stand in these temptations; mine was not so: I had a thirst of pleasure. But today, and out of this deed, I pluck both warning and riches-both the power and a fresh resolve to be myself. I become in all things a free actor in the world; I begin to see myself all changed, these hands the agents of good, this heart at peace.

I think?" remarked the visitor; "and there, if I m

, "but this time I

u will lose," replied

back the half!

will lose," s

ays. I do not love the one thing, I love all. I can conceive great deeds, renunciations, martyrdoms; and though I be fallen to such a crime as murder, pity is no stranger to my thoughts. I pity the poor; who knows their trials better than myself? I pity and help them; I

d you steadily fall. Fifteen years ago you would have started at a theft. Three years back you would have blenched at the name of murder. Is there any crime, is there any cruel

th evil. But it is so with all: the very saints, in the mere exercise o

wn in many things more lax; possibly you do right to be so; and at any account, it is the same with all men. But granting that, are you

Markheim, with an ang

despair, "in none! I

you are, for you will never change; and the words of

it was the visitor who first broke the silence. "Th

e?" cried

e years ago, did I not see you on the platform of revival

r me by way of duty. I thank you for these lessons from my soul

house; and the visitant, as though this were some concerted sign

overacting, and I promise you success! Once the girl within, and the door closed, the same dexterity that has already rid you of the dealer will relieve you of this last danger in your path. Thenceforward you have the whole evening-

can lay it down. Though I be, as you say truly, at the beck of every small temptation, I can yet, by one decisive gesture, place myself beyond the reach of all. My love of good is

t downstairs very slowly, thinking to himself. His past went soberly before him; he beheld it as it was, ugly and strenuous like a dream, random as chance-medley-a scene of defeat. Life, as he thus reviewed it, tempted him no longer; but on the further side he perceived a qu

upon the threshold with

he police," said he: "I