Transcriber’s Note:

The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

TIBBY

TIBBY
A Novel Dealing with Psychic Forces and Telepathy

BY

ROSETTA LUCE GILCHRIST

Author of “Apples of Sodom,� etc.

“The practical effect of a belief is the best test of its soundness.�—Froude.

New York and Washington

THE NEALE PUBLISHING COMPANY

1904

Copyright, 1904

By

ROSETTA LUCE GILCHRIST

To my daughter Jessamine, who discovered and introduced Tibby to the Author

CONTENTS

TIBBY

CHAPTER I
THE FAIR UNKNOWN

The great bell of the cathedral chimed musically the hour of six, its vibrant tones mingling with the muffled din and clangor of smaller bells, steam whistles, town clocks and street-car jingle, making itself heard above the roar and rattle of travel over the stone-paved streets of the Forest City.

Away at the north the blue lake rolled, its waters dotted by the many white-clothed vessels and smoke-trailing steamships. The whole was made bright by a lowering, unveiled sun, which ere long must sink to rest in its waves. At the south a heavy cloud of smoke and vapor rested above the river flats, hiding the blackened roofs of the shops and manufactories, only broken by the scarlet tongues of fire that occasionally shot upward from seething furnaces and tall chimneys.

The rattle upon the pavement grew louder, and the confusion of sounds greater, as the crowds of workmen thronged the streets, homeward-bound, after the hard day of labor.

At an upper window of La Grande Hotel a lady, screened by the hanging folds of the curtain drapery, looked out upon the multitude of pedestrians hurrying along the sidewalk below. The close-fitting gown of soft, light material revealed a plump, stylish little figure, most attractive in its fashionable perfection. Against the dark wood of the window-casing rested a white, rounded wrist, and delicate, dimpled hand, upon the fingers of which glittering stones caught the rich sunlight and showered it in rainbow splendor upon the opposite wall.

The fluffy rings of fair hair that rested above her forehead seemed appropriate adornment to the bright, girlish face and careless, smiling eyes, that showed so certainly her exemption from sorrow and care.

The perfection and harmony of her costume showed also that she belonged to that class that “Toil not, neither do they spin,� but are the beautiful exponents of the art of modiste and hairdresser.

Across the room, resting indolently in an easy chair, a gentleman studied the third edition of the Daily Leader, apparently oblivious of the presence of the fair lady at the window. He, too, had the well-fed, well-groomed look of the man with full purse and few anxieties, together with an air of unmistakable elegance and worldly wisdom.

In age he appeared five and thirty. His face was smooth shaven, except for the long, drooping mustache which shaded the corners of his firm-lipped mouth. His dark hair, inclined to curl, was closely cropped. His brown eyes were marvelously clear and penetrating, his forehead broad and particularly full above the temples. His heavy, massive build, with the squarely cut and rather prominent chin gave him an awesome individuality, which was counteracted by the exceeding graciousness, gentleness, and courtesy of his manner.

He was well known in business circles, a man keen, shrewd, and full of worldly cunning, but as honest and upright as the majority of his compeers who make or lose fortunes in a day at the mart of speculation.

At present he was connected with a steel industry, and greatly interested in the fluctuations of the ore and coal market, the strikes at the mines, and the attitude of the United States Congress with reference to tariff rates. He was yet studying the columns before him, and balancing in his mind the advisability of recalling salesmen from certain localities, when the lady interrupted his thought.

“Horace, have you ever noticed that pretty, sad-looking woman, dressed in black, who goes by here so frequently, leading a little child?�

“Pretty, sad woman, dressed in black—small child. A definite description, truly. How many in this delightful city will answer to the same, think you? Pretty—in a city noted for handsome women; sad—few are happy; dressed in black—the fashionable street dress at present; and small child—not a scarce article, I believe. Really, Nellie, you must be more specific.� And Mr. Wylie laid his paper carefully over the arm of his chair and smiled provokingly at his wife.

“Oh, you are too bad! This lady has such a sweet face, she is really conspicuous, and she always comes down Leader Avenue at about this hour and turns down Herald Street, going into one of those blocks across the way. I feel quite sure she gets sewing to do, for she usually carries a good-sized parcel with her. She is very interesting.�

“Why, my dear, I am surprised at your enthusiasm. You really seem to have been cultivating a habit of observation.� Mr. Wylie leaned his head against the back of his chair and looked at his wife through half-closed eyes, while with his large, shapely hand he softly stroked his smooth chin.

“A woman with a parcel and a mystery,� he continued. “I am not sure but you would shine as a female detective, Nellie. Shall I send in your name at the next meeting of the police board?�

Mrs. Wylie looked at her husband with a petulant pout of her pretty lips. “You are really unkind to ridicule me when I want to be very serious. Truly, I believe this is a woman with a mystery and history. She has attracted me wonderfully, as she would you could you see her. I wish I knew of some way to learn more about her.�

“And so you have been sitting here watching for the unknown, when I supposed you were studying costumes, or mentally rhapsodizing upon the architectural beauties of the stone walls opposite. I am afraid, Nellie, you are getting lonely. The Misses Eldridge have not called lately, or that dear, delightful Mrs. Lee, about whom you were raving a month ago, has gone away. I must look into this. When my wife is forced to seek amusement and objects of interest in the faces of the passers-by upon the streets—�

“Oh, how fortunate! There she comes now! You shall see for yourself,� interrupted Mrs. Wylie, eagerly leaning forward and scanning the street before her. “She will be opposite here before long.�

Mr. Wylie arose languidly, and slightly shaking his body to adjust his clothing, moved gracefully across the room to his wife’s side, where, glancing over her shoulder, he sought the described woman. Among the throng of hurrying pedestrians crossing the street a few rods away they saw a lady, dressed in plain and unassuming black, slowly accommodating her footsteps to the pace of the little toddler at her side, who trudged along with the half-tottering, uncertain gait of infants of her age. So slowly was she obliged to walk that the spectators at the window had ample opportunity for close inspection.

The woman was of medium height, slender and pliant, with a fine poise of the head and grace of sloping shoulders. Her face was pale, too pale for perfect health, Elinor Wylie thought, and her features were clear-cut and expressive. But the beauty of her face was in her eyes. As she came opposite the hotel she seemed accidentally to glance upward. Involuntarily Mr. and Mrs. Wylie drew back from the window, then looked at each other and laughed.

“Is she not lovely?� questioned Mrs. Wylie triumphantly.

“She has rather fine features,� returned the gentleman, absently twirling the curtain about his fingers. “I fancy I have seen her before somewhere, but I cannot now remember where.� He wrinkled his brow thoughtfully. “I do not associate that face in my memory, however, with black robes or the character of sewing woman in Forest City.�

“I knew you would be interested if you could but see her; and now how can I learn more of her? I might seek her in a business way to get her to sew for me or something of that kind,� said the little woman, looking inquiringly at her husband.

He laughed, a soft-modulated laugh, that well harmonized with his languid movements and studied grace.

“I am afraid you are premature in arriving at conclusions. You are not yet sure that she is a sewing woman. I think I begin to understand your mission on earth. You should be at the head of an organized benevolent society. You are such an adept at fishing out cases upon which to waste your sympathy.�

“Please do not laugh, Horace. It is very seldom I become interested in anything of the kind and you should encourage me,� she said.

And truly it was a rare thing for careless, thoughtless Elinor Wylie to take interest in anything outside the fashionable circle which she denominated “our set.� Her life had been too carefully ordered for her to have much appreciation of the wretchedness beyond her gates.

“And so you think I should allow you the luxury of an entirely new sensation,� said Mr. Wylie, with his habitual drawl. “All right. Be as benevolent as you choose, only be careful,� he continued, rising and beginning to draw on his gloves.

Mrs. Wylie looked at him inquiringly.

“I am going to keep an appointment with Colonel Fenton. By the way, Nellie, did I tell you, Doctor Lyman, the noted seer and spiritist, is coming next week to give a series of lectures in Garrett’s Hall? I think we’ll have to attend, will we not?�

“Dr. Lyman? Oh, yes; Mrs. Wallace was telling me about him. Do you care to hear him?� asked Mrs. Wylie doubtfully.

“Most assuredly, and so must you. People say he is remarkably interesting; and besides, it will never do to lose so good an opportunity to learn of the invisible world toward which we are fast hastening; eh, Nelly?�

“But, Horace—� Little Mrs. Wylie hesitated and raised her blue eyes to his questioningly.

“Well, my dear, I am the personification of devout attention; what will you have?�

“I wonder—do you really believe he knows any more about the other world than any one else?�

“Undoubtedly; a great deal more.� Mr. Wylie assumed a serio-comic air.

“I don’t see why; but I mean, do you really believe he is right? Do you believe they are right who believe in spirit manifestation and all that sort of thing?�

“Do I believe in them who do believe? My dear girl, you are asking unanswerable questions. I believe in an infinite number of things or I believe in nothing. It is to find out just what I believe that I propose to attend Dr. Lyman’s lectures. I have listened to the preaching of orthodoxy from childhood; now, I will absorb a little heterodoxy and see if it is any more clear to the human comprehension. But I must be going. Is not that the fair lady again?�

“Yes, and see, she has another and different-sized parcel. Poor thing, I wonder if it is hard work?�

“I think I’ll go down on the street and get a nearer view of the fair unknown. It seems to me I have seen that face some time before this. It is probably a chance resemblance to some one I have known, that haunts me. Good-by.� And kissing his hand to his wife, Mr. Wylie left the room.

“Talk of woman’s curiosity,� laughed Elinor to herself. “It does not compare with that of the sterner sex.� And she watched her husband cross Herald Street and walk down the avenue with more than his usual celerity. Then she touched a tiny bell, which was answered by a young girl from the adjoining room.

“You may bring Robbie to me, Tibby. Mr. Wylie has gone away and I am at leisure to amuse him.�

The young nurse departed, to return with a mischievous little lad of four years, beautiful in his night robes of linen and lace, and the mother-love, which even the society life could not destroy, shone in Mrs. Wylie’s eyes as she clasped him in her arms.

“You may leave us now, Tibby. I will call you when Robbie has done with his play.�

The smiling, dimple-cheeked maid withdrew, and the mother gave herself up to the enjoyment of a frolic with the wide-awake child. When, an hour later, she summoned the maid to put the cherub in his bed, she met with opposition. Robbie had not wearied of his mother, and refused to go.

“But it is bed-time, Robbie, and the sand-man will come to put sand in your eyes,� remonstrated Mrs. Wylie.

“Don’t tare, ain’t doin’ to bed,� asserted the wilful child.

“But you must go, dear; mother desires it.�

“Ain’t doin’ to,� persisted Robbie, with the perversity of a spoiled child.

The mother looked helplessly at Tibby, who came forward smiling, while her eyes sought those of the little rebel.

“Come,� she said sweetly, and to Mrs. Wylie’s surprise the boy put his hand into the inviting one of the nurse and suffered himself to be led from the room.

“What remarkable eyes that girl has,� soliloquized Mrs. Wylie as the door closed behind them. “I have been more fortunate than I dared hope in securing her services.�

CHAPTER II
TIBBY’S EYES

As for Tibby’s eyes, no one had been able to decide upon the exact color of them. On warm, sunshiny afternoons, when Tibby yawned in a swinging hammock on the back veranda and the pupils were small and contracted, they appeared of a cerulean hue, warm and languorous. On cloudy days, when the sky was dark and lowering, Tibby’s eyes were gray and forbidding. But when a tempest of rage shook her pliant figure her eyes sparkled black as coal from the mines. Her brothers called them cat’s eyes, not only because the name Tibby was a contraction of the more severe Tabitha of her christening, but from the ever-varying, changing light which shone in their restless depths, which now dilated until the least rim of color was visible, now contracted like those of a purring kitten.

Tibby had not to depend upon the beauty of her opalescent eyes for recognition, for nature had dealt most generously with her, giving her regular features, and so mixing and intermingling the types of brunette and blonde in her physique that no one could determine in which class to catalogue her. The delicious glint of the sun in her brown hair, the rich waves of carmine that tinged and receded from her cheeks, the arched black brows which defined themselves so conspicuously against the shining whiteness of her forehead were contradictions when compared, but formed a tout ensemble most charming.

It appeared, too, that Tibby’s nature was as contradictory. Wayward and wilful as she was at times, at others she appeared of angelic sweetness, and the soft, innocent depths of those slumberous blue eyes captivated the hearts of all who met her, and made them swear no evil could exist in her.

And now while Tibby, like her feline namesake, purrs most delusively in the midst of her aesthetic surroundings, and her pink-tinted fingers effectually conceal any hidden claws, her mind reviews a scene but three weeks behind the present.

She sees an old-fashioned, wood-colored farm-house with broad lawn, in which are bright beds of dear old-fashioned flowers, marigolds and petunias, bachelor buttons and scarlet poppies; and she sees herself in calico gown and big sunbonnet standing under the old elm, in listening attitude, while a shrill, chirruping note sounds in her ear.

“Hello, Tib, what’s up?� shouts a boyish voice, and a stout-limbed, bare-footed lad bounds down the path toward her.

“Hush!� she says. “Ah, you have frightened it away! It was singing in the old elm and I hoped to find it. It’s a tree-toad, isn’t it? Did you ever see one, Tom?�

“Hundreds of ’em,� replies the boy contemptuously.

“What do they look like, Tom? Are they green?�

“They’re mostly the color of the thing they’re on, I reckon,� says the oracle. “Sometimes they’re like the bark of the trees or fence, and then again they’re sort of green if they’re on the grass.�

“Humph! You don’t expect me to believe such a fish story as that, do you?� replies Tibby scornfully, drawing up her straight, slim figure with dignity. “As if any mortal thing could change its color! As well might the leopard change his spots,� she continues as her mind reverts to the Scripture lesson of the preceding Sabbath.

“That’s all you know about it! They’re thicker ’n spatter down in the lane, an’ I guess I know what I’m telling you! Why, Tibby, they’re like your eyes. A minute ago they were blue, now they’re yeller. Mother says your eyes make her fidgety, they’re so changeable.� And Tom laughed gleefully.

“Did she, Tom; when?�

“Yisterday. I heard her tell pop. And say, Tibby, if you don’t go down cellar and do that churnin’, she’ll make it hot for you. She says you allus slip off on churnin’ days.�

“It’s already done, Mr. Tom. I did it before I came out here. But mother’ll think I haven’t, and won’t she have a conniption fit?�

Again the twain laugh.

“Say, Tom, wouldn’t you like to go away somewheres, where folks are different—into the city, or somewhere? It’s deadly dull here, an’ then mother’s so cross—�

“I dunno, pop’s all right if she didn’t put him up to pitch into us.� Tom gives his trousers a jerk, and digs his bare toes into the grass. “An’ she tells him you’re wilful and headstrong as fury.�

Tibby tosses her red-brown curls and purses up her small mouth expressively, then she remembers her quest.

“Just find this toad for me, Tom, and I’ll thank you ever so much, that’s a good boy,� she purrs as she approaches the tree more closely. “I want to see one for myself. Here, I’ll boost you up into the tree. I think it’s out on that limb.�

And the good-natured Tom, declining her proffered aid, climbs the tree with an agility born of long practice, while the girl feels her eyes dilate with expectancy, and then he captures the singer and brings it to her for inspection. Good Tom! Tibby feels these same eyes filling as she looks upon this picture. The toad is a dull gray, and looks incapable of producing these strident sounds. What a queer, homely thing it is. Ugh!

“Put it back upon the limb, Tom. I’m afraid to touch it,� she says with a shiver, and Tom laughs contemptuously.

“You know about as much about toads as Bess does,� he says; “we saw some toad-stools, last night, growing in the moss down on the bank and she said, ‘O, ain’t they pretty, Tom? And to think the toads made ’em, too.’ Ha, ha, ha! she thought the toads made ’em.�

Tibby feels a little lump rise in her throat as she remembers this, and as she turns away her head she sees, as she saw then, a glittering carriage, drawn by a handsome span of bays, come swiftly down the big hill on the east, and watches it with fascinated glance as it spins across the level of the flats and up into the covered, wooden bridge. It comes forth from the nearer end of the structure, and then something happens, for almost before the house the horses come to a halt and the driver springs out. Something has broken. Tibby knows that it must have been caused by that steep pitch off the end of the bridge, which should have been repaired, or filled in, long ago.

“There,� she says to Tom, “if Path-master Morton had attended to that place, this wouldn’t have happened.�

“That comes from putting in politicians that don’t know beans from broomsticks,� says Tom oracularly. “A man that don’t keep his own place in repair can’t be expected to look after the public ones.�

The driver examines the carriage closely, and then comes into the yard and asks for hammer, nails, and other repairing material. Tom runs for the supplies, while Tibby watches a small lady, accompanied by a yellow-haired boy with long curls and kilts, step daintily from the broken carriage and enter the yard. The lady smiles upon Tibby and asks if she may sit down to wait under the shade of the patriarchal old tree; and Tibby replies to her questioning, while she sits before her and tells her of her brothers and sisters, and her heart swells with pride at the lady’s praise of her home and surroundings. Her eyes follow those of the lady to the old-fashioned, weather-brown farm-house, with its low-browed gables and spreading lean-tos, built apparently without regard to economy of ground space; then to the left, where upon a little lower ground the great red-roofed barns and spacious corn-cribs stand, and again to the nodding, smiling flowers dotting the lawn.

Yes, it was beautiful, the old home, with all its homely comforts, but Tibby had longed to try her wings in flight to seek other fields of enchantment.

By and by the little boy becomes restless and begs his mother to go and ride, fidgets and whimpers. Tibby wishes to amuse him, and looks at him longingly, until he comes and puts his small hands in her brown ones, and she tells him of the little singing toad in the tree-top, and of the twittering squirrels who make the elm their home, until his brown eyes grow heavy and he falls asleep in her arms. Then Tibby sits and feasts her eyes on the strange lady’s costume, a poem of harmony in color and fit,—though Tibby does not name it thus,—and feels the contrast between this lady’s attire and her own, marvels at the glittering jewels on her white fingers, and alas, in the girl’s heart, a dormant wild desire springs into active growth. She longs to go with this city-bred woman and have dainty boots and beautiful gowns.

Does the cry which she feels within herself reach the heart of the lady? Surely, surely her lips have not spoken, but the stranger lady, as if understanding her thought, says:

“What a nice way you have with children, my dear. I should like to have a girl like you to live with me and help me to look after Robert. You have done wonders with him. He is usually averse to strangers. How would you like to go home with me?�

“I should like it very much indeed,� she replies, with conviction.

“You have no mother, I believe you said,� the lady continues.

“Yes, a stepmother. The children are my half-brothers, except Tom and Bess. Our mother died when I was a little girl.�

“And what are you now?� asks the lady, smiling.

“Quite as large as you, I think,� Tibby says, with no intentional disrespect.

“That is true, but I suspect you are not quite so old.� And then the child tells her she is fourteen and does not have to go to school any more; and then—ah, Tibby heaves a sigh as she remembers the fluttering of her heart while Mrs. Wylie was talking with her husband, standing by the broken vehicle, and how she kept saying to herself, “I want to go! Take me! Take me!�

She smiles as she remembers Mr. Wylie’s good-natured banter and his questions as to her trustworthiness and honesty.

“As if my word would be of any worth if I were not honest,� she thinks. And then Mr. Wylie talks to her father, and—here she is, surrounded by all the luxury she coveted, with the tumult and noise of the great city beneath her window.

Tibby rises from her chair and stretches her arms high above her head with a cat-like yawn, then walks with padding footsteps up and down the thick-carpeted room, and back and forth before the long mirror, smiling at the trim, well-dressed figure reflected therein. And the face in the mirror smiles back at her, till the dimples deepen in the blooming cheeks and the red-curved lips open to reveal the gleaming rows of teeth behind them.

“Tibby, Tibby,� the girl whispers to the reflection, “your feet have been shod in French slippers and set in pleasant places. You have pretty gowns and dainty ribbons. If you are only a nurse-girl, you have much to be thankful for. You can learn to be a lady, and you must be very, very good, so these advantages shall not be taken away from you. It will be your own fault, your own fault, Tibby Waring, if you ever go back to—to—� She hesitates, and stopping before the mirror she looks long and searchingly into its crystal depths.

The little Swiss clock on the mantel chimes musically. It is nine o’clock. But Tibby’s eyes are half-closed, and she sees beyond her own reflection the plain family room at the farm-house, with its bright rag-carpet on the floor and its chintz-covered chairs. She sees her gray-haired father dozing in his chair tilted back against the wall, with his hands clasped before him. She sees Tom sleeping, stretched out upon the old, green-covered lounge. She sees little Bess and Ted in their night-gowns scampering up the closed-in stairway to their beds. Ah, she is not there to give them their good-night kiss when they have repeated their “Now I lay me down to sleep.� She sees her father rise, yawning, and step heavily across the room to the old wooden clock in its niche in the wall, and she can even hear the creaking of the iron weights as he winds the clock for the night. She sees her own little bed with its high posts and white valances. She closes her eyes tightly to shut out the vision and the tears that stand ready to fall. Then she hears her father call, “Come, Tom, you sleepy lubber! Get you up and off to bed!� She knows how Tom will stagger to his feet and rub his leaden eyelids, and start in the wrong direction. Dear lad! It is harder to think of him than all the rest. But she has had her wish. She is in the great city, and they—Tom, Bess, father—are there at home where the old life will go on day by day, and she in this new life must be brave and—grateful.

CHAPTER III
THE NEW ACQUAINTANCE

“I have succeeded in becoming acquainted with the lady in black,� remarked Elinor Wylie, a few days subsequent to the date of the beginning of this story, as, with her husband, she came slowly up from the dining-room and entered their private apartment. “Did I tell you?�

“No, I think not. Do you find her as interesting as fancy painted her?� drawled Mr. Wylie languidly.

“Yes, more so. At least, I find her very refined and cultured. She has surely been in better circumstances.�

“Ah, the pity of it, in this world of ours!� replied Mr. Wylie, throwing himself into a luxurious armchair and shaking his head expressively. “It is the story common to the lives of too many Americans. One day we’re dining at Delmonico’s, the next, starving in a hovel. Ah, seductive, evanescent, elusive Fortune, why do we trifle with you? To me the pathos of life is epitomized in the words, ‘She has seen better days.’�

“I have engaged her to sew for me.�

“Indeed!� Mr. Wylie’s eyebrows were elevated quizzingly. “What has become of Madame Somers?�

“I found out by asking Mrs. Wallace,� continued Mrs. Wylie, following her own train of thought, and ignoring his question, “that the block on Herald Street had an establishment for making and selling ready-made clothing, so that I felt sure she did sewing, and I followed her home one day and saw her enter a stairway leading up over Mrs. Dray’s hairdressing rooms. I accordingly asked Mrs. Dray if she could tell me where I might find a woman to do plain sewing or embroidery, and she spoke at once of a worthy woman in the block who wanted to get work, and directed me to her rooms. She is on the third floor, in wretched little quarters, but she has pretty things about her. She met me kindly, and when I made known my business, seemed glad to get work. I’m thankful that I went, for, if you will believe me, Horace, she had been making buttonholes for Darkson at a quarter of a cent apiece, supporting herself and child upon that.�

“Such things are painful to hear of,� said Mr. Wylie, shaking his head again. “I trust you will pay her better.�

“Of course. And, Horace, she has been making cotton blouses and overalls for workmen for eighty-five cents a dozen. Think of it.�

“I suppose you learned her name and history?� he interrogated.

“Yes—no—� hesitated Mrs. Wylie. “I learned her name was, or at least she told me to call her Mrs. Lucien, and the child’s name is Dolores. Odd, isn’t it? She nicknames her Dolly. Such a sweet little creature, too. I wonder if that is Mrs. Lucien’s real name?� she continued musingly as she toyed with a tassel of the upholstering.

Mr. Wylie sank into the depths of his chair and studied the opposite wall intently for several moments.

“I wish,� he said, “I could think of whom it is she reminds me. I believe if I could see her gowned in white silk and diamonds I should remember.�

“What an idea,� laughed his wife. “I should like to see her so dressed, I confess. She should have more color in that pale face and less sadness in those dark eyes, then she would shine in such a brilliant setting. Yes, I am sure she has a history.�

“Which you did not learn?�

“Which I did not learn.�

Again Mr. Wylie sat wrapped in thought, stroking his massive chin softly.

“Do you remember, Nell, all who composed our party two years ago in the Adirondacks? Or was it three years?�

“More nearly four, I think. Why, there was Judge Matthews and wife; the Misses Eldridge—just think, Fannie is married; Mrs. Harmon and her brother; Tiny Lewis, Dr. Bessemer, and Cousin Harry and Lottie,—and—no—let me see! That was all that there were at Paul Smith’s, I believe, except the time that we went to Au Sable Chasm we met Major—oh—what was his name, that Major Somebody and his wife, that Cousin Harry was so taken with at the fancy ball? Don’t you remember her, Horace? They went to Childwold with us, too.�

Mr. Wylie started.

“Ah, I remember! He went West. He did have a lovely wife. I wonder if she is the one I am reminded of.�

“And then there were the Pemberton girls who went to Saranac with us, and old Professor Sawyer with his bugs and beetles, hunting specimens. What a perfectly lovely time we had that summer.�

“Yes,� dreamily. “We’d better be planning a trip for next season. This fad of staying in the city because it’s cooler won’t last, I fancy. I’ve been thinking of Ocean Beach,� tentatively.

“And I of Bar Harbor; but it doesn’t matter. We’ve been most everywhere,� Mrs. Wylie said with a little sigh. “I don’t know but what I have enjoyed Forest City as much as I should any other place. It has been delightfully cool here on the lake.�

“Yes, but I suspect that my little Nell has a hankering for the moon, just the same. I reckon we’d better go to the seashore for a little while next month, just to break the monotony of life. And if you go, you’ll want to take Tibby with you, I suppose.�

“Most assuredly. She’s a perfect treasure. I couldn’t get along without her.�

“I see you are becoming much attached to her.�

“Indeed I am. I never had a maid before so deft and pleasing.�

“I’m afraid she’s too pretty for her position.�

“O, no; not too pretty. Children like a pretty companion. Robbie never obeyed Mrs. Harbeck as he does Tibby. But she has remarkable eyes. For some reason she has taken a great dislike to that young man with the eye-glasses, on the third floor. It’s amusing to see the look with which she regards him. Yesterday Tibby was waiting at the head of the stairs for Robbie and that man came along and stared at her rather insolently through his glasses. You should have seen Tibby. Her eyes began to dilate like those of a tigress at bay, and she returned his stare. The fellow started down, but for some reason stumbled and made a very ungraceful descent to the bottom of the staircase. It really seemed as if Tibby made him fall. You can imagine her delight at his mishap.�

“That is the way of womankind,� said Mr. Wylie, smiling. “They laugh at our downfalls, unless we drag them down with us, which we’re apt to do. Tibby is no exception; but seriously, do not pet her too much, or she may forget what is due to her position in life. She must not appear impertinent.�

“I’m sure she behaves well. Tibby is not ill-bred. Her parents were quite superior people, if they did live on a farm. Tibby boasts that her mother was a Devereaux, grand-niece to an earl,� said Mrs. Wylie, laughing.

“The little minx! She has pride enough, no doubt, and who cannot boast of ancestors in America! She certainly is a bright girl, and has a remarkably pretty face. She cannot fail to attract attention, especially as you treat her like a younger sister, rather than like a servant. It is really unfortunate for her that she is so unlike the ordinary maid.�

“I have thought of all this, Horace, and I mean to make more of her than simply a servant. In time she will grow to be my trusted friend and companion, I am sure. Why may she not? She is well-born; better than many in our best society.�

“You dear little philanthropic soul, you’d better adopt her at once. But don’t pick up too many pretty girls to waste sympathy upon or I shall be neglected, I fear. Besides, I have often noticed how illy such kindness is repaid. You might have cause to regret it.� Mr. Wylie picked up the evening paper and was soon absorbed in its columns.

CHAPTER IV
THROUGH CLAIRVOYANT VISION

And now, as the exhibitor of a panorama might say, it becomes necessary to introduce our readers or audience to new scenes and stranger people. But these strangers being near and dear to the heart of the writer, if not yet to the reader, become in their lives so intermingled and interwoven in the lives and histories of the persons first introduced that we can no longer allow them to remain behind the scenes.

We must also go back in time several years to a period when the prairies of the West were in some portions less thickly populated than at present, and the mushroom growth of the towns was still a marvel to the slower growing East. To a time, also, when the so-called modern spiritualism was of a newer growth and when esoteric philosophy, occultism, and the many other isms dealing with the life beyond the grave were less talked of.

The place, a small town in western Iowa, and a country farm-house, nestles down in one of the horse-shoe coves formed by the bluffs above the eastern border of the Missouri River.

There are no neighboring dwellings in sight, though but a few rods away are other houses situated also in coves in the bluffs, forming quite a large community, living near but out of sight of each other.

Large herds of horses and cattle are seen grazing upon the unfenced pasture land, and a small schoolhouse standing out like a beacon from a ridge of highland is the only building visible, except the barns and corn-cribs belonging to the farms.

The house itself is low and long, with several additions or lean-tos, but has an air of comfort and hospitality, looking out as it does upon the many acres of rolling plateau, where far away is seen the dark line of the country road winding about the base of the bluffs or climbing steeply up the sides of them. A long lane branches from the main road and leads up to the house, and affords a view of any coming visitor for some distance away, and lines of cowpaths thread the steep hills at the back of the dwelling.

Thus sequestered and hill-environed lived Squire Bartram with his wife and two sons, enjoying the peace and plenty of the average well-to-do farmer, with none of the business care and excitements which a life in town might bring.

Squire Bartram was one of those who had the good fortune to have been born in that most coveted birth-place, Massachusetts, and perhaps, better than all, he first opened his eyes upon the renowned and beautiful Berkshire Hills. In early childhood he had been taught the religion and creed of those Puritan fathers who founded the first homes there, and had been brought up to a most strict observance of all moral and evangelical law. His life had been frugally and honestly spent upon a farm up to the time when, listening to the preaching of the early apostles of Mormonism, he felt himself called to a priesthood among the Saints.

Later, when he had endured martyrdom and privations for the sake of this belief, he found himself face to face with the till-then concealed doctrine of plural marriage. From this his Puritan instincts revolted and he quitted the church with many others who located near Council Bluffs. But, cast out from a church he had loved, his faith shattered, his illusions destroyed, he was ready to turn to any creed or ism which came his way.

As he learned more of the newly taught creed of modern spiritism, he began to give it credence, the more so as he believed he could understand, from such a standpoint, the life of the prophet Joseph Smith. Was not Smith a spirit-medium and were not the trances and visions which he claimed to have had similar or identical with those mediumistic exhibitions which he now witnessed? Might not the prophet himself have been deceived and the revelation which he supposed to have come from God been but the communication of a false and dangerous spirit? In this way, only, could he find an apology for the prophet, whom he had loved and believed in as little less than a god.

Squire Bartram’s sons had grown up stalwart, brainy lads, ambitious and capable. Nathan, the elder, who had lately brought to his father’s home a bright little sixteen-year-old wife, with black eyes, shining ringlets and bird-like movements, had prepared a home on the Nebraskan prairies, to which he was soon to take his bride. He had preempted a homestead, bought another one hundred and sixty acres, and thus secured a nice farm on the plain some distance north of the Platte River. He had, after the manner of the pioneers of the country, built himself an adobe house, and was now ready to begin life in earnest.

His wife, Lissa, whose sister lived in that locality, was possessed of the delighted eagerness of a child to see and occupy the new home and was almost impatient of the delay which Nathan insisted upon, namely, the visit of a few weeks at his father’s house.

The sun had already been hidden from view by the huge bluff behind the house, though it was still broad daylight at the homestead, and good Mrs. Bartram had dallied in her supper work to talk with Nathan’s wife, when the Squire put his head in at the door to announce that Professor Russell, the noted seer, medium, and clairvoyant, would honor them with a visit and give them proof of his supernatural powers.

“For the land’s sake,� exclaimed Mrs. Bartram, “why didn’t you tell us before! Here I hain’t got my work done up yet. How long before he’ll be here, I wonder?�

“O, not for a half hour or so; he stopped down to Job Atkins to help find them that colt that was lost,� replied the Squire.

“And how can he help them, unless he’s the one that took it? Them that hides can find, I take it,� continued the good lady, with a sniff. “I haven’t much use for these folks that knows too much and whose ways are dark.�

“Wait until after you see the Professor, before you judge,� said the Squire.

“And so we are to be entertained to-night by one who is in league with the powers of darkness,� said Donald, a young man of eighteen years, as he entered the family room and seated himself by the side of his new sister-in-law. “Lissa, don’t you tremble at the thought of the evil wraiths that are to fill this room?�

“I fear more the evil spirit that shall animate your Professor, Donald,� replied Melissa, who in her Eastern home had imbibed a deep prejudice against the so-called spiritualists.

“His spirit? Mne, let me see. I believe a big Injun, Stuck-in-the-mud, or some such high-sounding name, is his especial Control; but he is not confined to one familiar. His demons are many.�

“How absurd,� laughed Lissa.

“You won’t say so after to-night. I’ll wager the best pony on the ranch you’ll be a firm convert before the evening is over. Maybe I’ll add a side-saddle, too. Eh, Lissa?�

“I’m afraid I can’t gratify you by accepting any such foolishness as that, even for the sake of the saddle, or permit you to wager upon a certainty of losing.�

“Did I ever tell you how the Professor found his wife?� Donald asked.

“No, but I suppose you’ll tell me through some celestial matrimonial agency,� she replied.

“Sure! His wife was a strongly developed medium living in London, England. One day, while in a trance, the Professor, here in the United States, was made cognizant of the existence of this lady by spirit agency, and instructed to write to her, which he did. It seems she had received a communication concerning him at about the same time and in the same manner, with the same instructions, which she also followed. The two letters reached their destinations simultaneously, and each person, with the other’s letter in hand, could summon the writer’s materialized spirit before him. In this way they communicated with each other at will, and finally the lady embarked for this country at his request. He was kept daily informed as to her whereabouts, and when she arrived at New York he was there to meet her, and they were married speedily, only one letter from each having passed between them, and yet each was well acquainted with the past history of the other.�

“Impossible! You must be very credulous, Donald, to believe such a story as that.�

“Quite convenient, wasn’t it? If the black powers would deal as kindly with me I should not long remain a bachelor. This knowing to a certainty all about the lady of one’s choice would remove the fear of flying into the dangers we know not of. One could be certain then if she did up her hair on curl-papers.� And Donald glanced significantly at Lissa’s shining ringlets.

“Surely, you don’t pretend to believe such a preposterous story, Donald,� she said, laughing.

“We have the Professor and his wife to testify to it, neither one ever known to l—prevaricate; and in the mouths of two witnesses the truth shall be affirmed,� misquoted Donald. “At any rate one story is good until another is told.�

“They must be a pair of charlatans, and I don’t think I care to make their acquaintance.�

“I suspect you begin to fear them. There is no telling what they may discover,� Donald said with mock gravity. “But here comes the redoubtable hero himself. All hail, ye Prince of Darkness, hail!� he continued in a sepulchral voice, as a step was heard outside the door.

A moment later the Professor entered the apartment. Melissa had time, while he greeted the head of the family, to note that he was a medium-sized, wiry-looking man, of about forty, with very long red hair hanging to his shoulders, and bristling whiskers of the same color. His lower jaw was prominent and his ears were flattened very close to his head. But his most remarkable feature was a pair of keen gray eyes, which gleamed restlessly from under rather overhanging brows.

When presented to Lissa he fixed his eyes upon her in a way that caused her to suppress a shudder, and regarded her steadily for a moment, then, still holding her by the hand, which she would gladly have withdrawn, he said:

“You look like your mother, Mrs. Bartram, except that she has blue eyes. She has a scar on her left wrist, made in a peculiar manner.�

Lissa blushed painfully, and followed his eyes to her own wrist as she drew away her hand. She knew the history of the scar alluded to, though she believed it unknown to any one outside her own immediate family. She felt the inquiring eyes of her husband’s relatives upon her, and sat down ill at ease.

Presently the company were seated about a table in the center of the room, and the clairvoyant announced himself in readiness to afford proof of his wonderful powers.

Accordingly, two or three lines cut from a letter from a sister of the bride were placed in his hand, so rolled that no words written there could give any clue to the writer.

Professor Russell gazed passively at the rolled scrap for a time, then the muscles of his face began to twitch slightly, his eyes became vacant and partly closed; there was a convulsive movement of his shoulders, a long-drawn sigh, and he began to speak.

“I can see a wilder scene than this, a country as far as the eye can reach, a vast table-land, dotted here and there with adobe houses and their contiguous cotton-wood groves of one or two years’ growth. One of these houses stands facing south, and in the doorway I can see a woman. She is looking anxiously westward, shading her face with her hand. She has on a dress of some dark material, partly covered with a kitchen apron. She has dark hair and—ah, now she has removed her hand; she looks like a lady in this room, except that she is taller, and her hair, a shade lighter, is worn in braids instead of curls. Her gray eyes have an anxious look in them. A number of ponies are corralled near the house. What is she looking at?�

The Professor spoke slowly, as if studying the scene of his clairvoyant vision. Nathan and Lissa exchanged glances, while Donald rolled up his eyes with a concealed affectation of awe. Squire Bartram appeared interested, and glanced toward Lissa inquiringly, while his wife, good soul, gazed sternly and forbiddingly at the Professor as though she believed him in league with his Satanic majesty, and the ghosts of her Puritan forefathers were warning her against him.

Meanwhile the face of the man was working strangely.

“The house has disappeared from my vision,� he cried, “and I can see a still wilder country, through which runs a placid, shining river. A large party of Indians are cantering across the prairie, mounted on round, sleek-looking mustangs. With them is a white man, young and handsome, with light, flowing hair, and fearless blue eyes. He is dressed in hunting costume, with wide-brimmed hat, and he rides a white pony with an army saddle and large stirrups. There is a coil of rope at his saddle bow and a couple of pistols and a hatchet in his belt. He carries also a rifle.

“The ground over which they are traveling is torn and trampled as if an army had lately traversed it, and—ah, yes, I see, away in the west, a herd of buffalo looking like a great black cloud against the sky, and showing distinctly against the red of the setting sun behind it. But, look, they have turned their course toward the south and are running their horses at full speed! They turn in their saddles and look northward. I see! There is another party coming from that direction.�

The Professor looked fixedly a moment and continued:

“They are Indians, also; a larger band, and hideously painted. The others are spurring their horses toward the river to escape this hostile band, who have seen them, and like the wind are rushing down upon them. Their horses are more fleet, they are gaining upon them—they lift their rifles and shoot! Good! Their shots do not reach them. The white man rises in his stirrups and returns the fire. The Indians of his party follow his example. Their rifles have longer range and their shots tell. Several saddles of the pursuing party are empty.�

The man spoke eagerly now. His restless gray eyes kindled, and his face glowed with animation. His story had produced a like effect upon his listeners, all of whom showed more or less excitement.

Lissa was pale, her large, dark eyes fixed intently upon the speaker, while her small hands gripped each other tightly in her lap. Squire Bartram peered over his spectacles and rubbed one palm upon the other, a habit he had when deeply moved. Donald looked from one to another quizzingly, but said nothing.

“The fleeing party have reached the river and taken refuge behind the protecting bank—yes, their shots speak now. One, two, three of the painted devils reel from their ponies. More fall! Half of them are down! On come the rest, swinging their hatchets! They are at the bank! They fight hand to hand with their tomahawks. Great Scott! There he is struck, he is down!—the white man is hurt!—he topples over and falls backward down the bank!—he sinks into the river and disappears!�

A shriek from Lissa interrupted the further description of the scene. Nathan sprang to her side, and in the confusion that followed the Professor seemed to lose sight of his vision, nor could he be persuaded to again enter the clairvoyant state.

Poor Lissa was greatly excited. The man had so accurately described her brother-in-law, then living in Nebraska, and knowing as she did that he was in command of a party of Pawnee scouts she could not free herself from the idea that the scene depicted was a true one, notwithstanding her former scepticism.

CHAPTER V
THE LETTER

“What would you give me for a letter from Nebraska,� said Donald a few days after the Professor’s visit, as he flung himself from his horse and sat down on the steps of the veranda where Lissa sat, with her lap full of flowers which she had been gathering.

“O Donald, give it to me quick! I can’t wait a minute,� she cried, espying the gleam of white sticking from the pocket of his coat.

“But tell me first, before you read it, whether you have any faith in Professor Russell’s vision,� he said, teasing.

“Yes, no; I don’t know. I can tell better after I have read Alice’s letter.�

“Of course, but that will not demonstrate your faith. However, I’ll be good and let you have it.� And Donald placed the coveted missive in her hand.

With the remembrance of the vision before her, Lissa’s fingers trembled as she tore open the envelope. The letter would confirm or refute the truth of the Professor’s clairvoyance. And although she would not admit for a moment even to herself that she believed in any spirit agency, she understood so little of clairvoyancy as to believe it connected with supernatural phenomena.

As she read the letter, her expressive eyes dilated with wonder and awe.

“What is it?� asked Nathan, noticing her agitation.

She placed the written pages in his hand.

“Read that, Nathan, and tell me what to think, what to believe. Read it aloud that all may hear and judge.�

Nathan took the letter and read as follows:

“‘Cramer Cabin, Prairieland,

“‘August 28, 18—.

“‘My Darling Little Sister:

“‘Don’t you wish you were here with me this summer evening? Outside, the white stillness of the great prairie woos one to meditation and letter writing. Now you will expect something poetical and fine, will you not? Well, the inspiration is here, but alas, I am one of those “Who cannot sing, but die with all their music in them.� My muse deserted me in my infancy. Besides I have been having unexpected duties.

“‘Mark is at home laid up with a couple of wounds, not serious ones, I am happy to say, but such as to give me an opportunity to coddle and pet him for a time. I am not sure I am sorry he received them, but don’t whisper this to him.

“‘How did he get them, did you ask? Well, he was away on a hunting expedition with a band of his Pawnees, when they were surprised by some Sioux. Mark got a flesh wound in his shoulder from a tomahawk blow, and a bullet grazed him in the left side. Close call, wasn’t it? The skirmish was on the bank of the Niobrara, where Mark’s party had fled for shelter, and he managed to get under water until a clump of hazel-brush enabled him to climb out and hide. He was too exhausted from the loss of blood to fight any longer. However, his men drove off the Sioux and found him and brought him home. Mark says I have represented him in a cowardly position. I hope not. He was in a dead faint when the men found him. Anyway, I don’t see any bravery in standing up to have your scalp taken off by a savage, do you? But men are so very sensitive upon those points.

“‘I can hardly wait for your arrival. Mark says I act like a crazy woman whenever I speak of it. O Lissa, Lissa, Lissa! We’re out of the world here, but I am sure you will enjoy it. I hug myself with delight whenever I think of seeing you so soon.’�

Nathan paused in his reading.

“It is wonderful,� he said. “Professor Russell must have seen the entire skirmish.�

“Yes,� responded Lissa, “unless he may have heard of it in some way. Alice does not say upon what day Mark was hurt.�

“Ah, you are yet a doubting Thomas,� Nathan said, smiling fondly upon the winsome upturned face of his girl-wife.

“No, only looking for a peg to hang a doubt upon. Nathan, I am very anxious to get to our new home.�

“My dear, we shall be there in a fortnight. I must wait until the wagon is finished, you know. I hope, little one, you will not be disappointed when you see what a poor home it is,� he continued, shaking his head doubtfully.

“I shall not be. Read the rest of Alice’s letter.�

Nathan continued his reading:

“‘Just think, sister, of having no social barriers or stiff conventionalities to hamper one. No fussing to prepare elaborate toilets, no two-minute fashionable calls to make, no questioning as to what one shall wear. I am happy and well-dressed for any occasion in my pink gingham. It is a pretty gingham, and made up prettily, I assure you, as I made it myself. Then, we are all so well acquainted with one another, and call each other by the first names, and run about to each other’s houses whenever we please and stay as long as we please, and talk about our chickens and ponies, and—and—O Lissa, dear, you cannot realize what a free, wild life this is. And the air is so pure and invigorating.’�

“And there’s plenty of it,� interpolated Donald.

“Yes, too much, sometimes,� said Nathan.

“Now don’t, Nate! Don’t say a word to discourage me. If I were going to Kansas I should be afraid of cyclones, but I am sure we shall have none in Nebraska.�

“And if we should, you know we have the dug-out,� Nathan replied.

“I’d really advise you, Lissa, to arrange to sleep all the time in the dug-out. It would be so uncomfortable to wake up some morning and find yourself occupying some one else’s farm or tree-top,� said Donald.

Lissa smiled indulgently, but made no reply, and Nathan continued reading the letter.

CHAPTER VI
AN OLD-FASHIONED JOURNEY

“Put on your big sun hat and dust wrap,� Nathan had said, “we are to drive through a wild region much of the way and shall have plenty of dust and sun, besides you need have little fear of meeting acquaintances on our long path over the prairie.�

And Lissa had packed in big trunks, that were to be sent ahead of them by express, all the pretty dresses and hats which were so becoming to her, and reserved only the most serviceable costume for that season of the year. This she covered with an ample linen wrap, and tied a leghorn flat over her shining curls.

They were to go in a wagon, and, contrary to the usual emigrant fashion, an uncovered one. Nathan wanted a light spring-wagon to use upon his farm, and Lissa insisted that she could see the country and enjoy the ride after the fleet little mustangs better in that particular wagon than in any other possible conveyance.

They started upon a beautiful September morning, one of those days which seem to blend the perfection of summer loveliness with the delightful, hazy charm of early autumn.

“All you need now is a brass band and a banner,� Donald said, as Nathan drove up to the door with the scrubby little ponies attached to the brightly painted wagon, “and you could take a bridal tour in first-class style.

“And, Lissa, if you should meet any Indians by the way be sure you shake hands with them, and say ‘How,’ which is the Indian for ‘How d’you do.’ It means, you know, that you are ready for decapitation if it so pleases them and only question their manner of procedure. They might be offended if you omitted this little ceremony, and become unpleasant; and, Lissa, if any of them shall ask you for a lock of your hair don’t hesitate to cut off a curl and give it to them with the sweetest smile you can muster, for they might take a notion to take the whole of them just to hang in their belts for ornaments, and—But I don’t mean to frighten you, ’pon my soul I don’t!� he continued, noting the suspicion of tears in Lissa’s bright eyes and the tremor in her voice as she turned to bid good-by to Squire Bartram and the irrepressible, fun-loving brother whom she had taken into her affection.

“The wild home to which you are going will have one star of the first magnitude to brighten it before many days, but I reckon it will be rather dark in this quarter of the heavens to-night,� he said, looking graver than she had ever before seen him.

“O Don, how can that be, when you are to remain?� Lissa replied, smiling through her tears.

“I am a planet and only shine by reflected light,� he replied; “not that I shall cast any reflection upon what has gone before,� he added in his old manner. “But don’t be surprised if you should see a stray comet out on the prairies before many moons-there’s no telling when one may be liable to strike you.�

“The sooner the better,� she responded brightly, and with a few more words of final adieu they drove away.

They had several miles of drive to the ferry which should transport them across the Missouri River, or the “Big Muddy� as the Indians named its roily waters.

“It well deserves its name,� observed Lissa.

“Yes,� responded Nathan, “and this river keeps its color and current separate unto itself for many miles after emptying into the clear Mississippi.�

“I should say the Mississippi refused to be polluted by it and tried to quarantine against it,� Lissa returned.

They noted the pretty villages along the shore, which had looked so near to them from the bluffs, before they crossed to the Nebraska side and found themselves in the flourishing city of Omaha. There was little to distinguish it from other cities in the East, except the regularity of its streets and the newer style of architecture which uniformly met their gaze. An hour later they were out upon the broad, balsam-scented prairie.

The wind-swept grasses nodded to them invitingly and the unrebuked sun shone down smilingly upon the unmarred handiwork of Nature.

Lissa was enraptured. This was the unfettered life of which she had dreamed. Her buoyant spirit was exhilarated by the fresh, flower-scented air and the glory of the landscape.

“O Nathan, I shall never want to go East again!� she cried as they approached the Platte River and viewed the magnificent stretch of land for several miles up the valley, so level, so perfect, with the shining thread of the river like a prescient nerve carrying health and vigor to the adjacent territory. And far at the north and south the soft gray hills arose, joining the clear blue of the sky above as if earth, enamoured with the beauty of heaven, had arisen to meet the sky’s embrace.

They had been riding many hours, when Nathan said: “Look yonder, Lissa, in our way. If I am not greatly mistaken, your desire to see a wild Indian is about to be gratified.�

Lissa beamed with excitement. A wild Indian! Should she be afraid?

“How can you tell at such a distance? I can see nothing but a dark object, and cannot determine if it be man or beast,� she said.

“You have not trained your eye to long distances. I can see that it is a pony and that it has a rider, and the swift, steady gallop, together with the position of the rider, suggests an Indian; besides, we are in a locality where we are more likely to meet the ‘noble redman’ coming alone upon the prairie than his white brother.�

Lissa watched the approach of the stranger with a shade of uneasiness. The thought of meeting a savage aboriginal, who to her mind was connected with all sorts of deeds of fiendish cruelty, caused a fluttering of the heart which Nathan’s assurances could not wholly allay.

“How,� was Nathan’s salutation to the man as he drew near; and “how� was the guttural response of the Indian as he came to an abrupt halt by the side of the wagon, sitting in statuesque uprightness upon his pony. Not a muscle of his face moved. His countenance was as stolid and blank as if cut in stone, and during the time Nathan conversed with him in the Pawnee dialect he neither smiled nor expressed any feeling or thought in his face.

Lissa studied this native specimen with much interest while Nathan detained him. He was clad in gala costume and was going down to attend an Indian festival at Omaha, he said. His head was bound with a woolen scarf of red and black, knotted behind with falling ends. Beneath this his long, straight, black hair fell to his shoulders. Several long feathers were stuck in this zone, and a plaited lock of hair hung over it from the crown of his head. His brown face was smeared with little lines of red paint, seemingly ingrained in his skin, and his ears had long slits in them, which were literally filled with ear-rings of different kinds, sticking out in bunchy confusion. A large red blanket covered his shoulders and one arm. The other was free and cinctured with numerous bracelets, while his hand grasped the rope which bound the lower jaw of his pony. He wore deer-skin leggins, fringed and ornamented profusely, and beaded moccasins.

Around his neck were strings of wampum and other beads, and he carried the primitive bow and arrows.

“I am glad you saw him,� said Nathan, “for it may be a long time before you will have opportunity of seeing another Indian so magnificently dressed. Their every-day costume is much less elaborate. Besides, this fellow is rich. Those wampum beads around his neck are money and current coin with them. You noticed it was a long string, wound several times about his neck. He also had on wampum bracelets. That braided necklace, made of what looked like dried grass, is a charm, and a valuable possession. It is made from a rare grass or weed which is found only a spear in a place, and is very fragrant. He carried the bow and arrows, instead of gun, to take part in the festival.�

“Did you ever see him before?�

“O, yes. His name is We-wan-shee. He is one of Mark’s scouts. He tells me they have been having trouble with the Indians stealing from the post. Squint-eye and Handle-the-bow have been thieving, and the chief has given them up to the Government for punishment.�

“What did they steal,� asked Lissa.

“Horses. They make little account of anything else. They have not been many years subject to the United States Government, and are quite primitive in their habits and manners, you will find. I’ll take you down to the reservation as soon as we are settled. You will enjoy them immensely.�

“I suppose there is no danger in going among them,� she ventured.

“O, no,� and Nathan laughed. “I believe you are trembling now. You are not afraid of that one Indian, I hope.�

“Yes,� Lissa said meekly, “I believe I was. It is lonely on this immense prairie, with no sign of habitation anywhere, and—he looked ferocious.�

Again Nathan laughed.

“You’ll get used to them when you have them for neighbors.�

In the middle of the afternoon they stopped upon the banks of the river and baited their horses, and rested while partaking of their luncheon which they had brought with them. They had passed through many small towns on their way, towns of mushroom growth, and at one of them they had bought their dinner.

“We are upon the old overland route,� Nathan said. “Over this road many emigrants have toiled along, suffering and dying, many of them at the hands of the Indians. Do you see that ridge of earth which seems to have been artificially thrown up there? That was undoubtedly a sort of breastwork hastily made by a party of emigrants who were assaulted at this place.�

Lissa shuddered. “Can it be possible I am really in this wild land of which I have read. I wonder if any were killed here, and if the ground has been soaked with their blood. How strange it all seems! I can imagine so much since seeing that Indian. He does not look much like those I have seen at Niagara, selling bead-work.�

“Not much; and you will receive another impression should you ever see a band out on a war expedition against a hostile band, fully decorated with warpaint and feathers. They really look formidable then.�

Lissa shivered again.

“We have made good time to-day. How far do you think we have driven?� Nathan asked as, toward evening, they approached the suburbs of a small town.

“I am sure I have no idea. The ponies have trotted steadily all day. These mustangs are good travelers, if they are small.�

“They have endurance. I have been out on a hunt with the Indians when we have kept in the saddle for a hundred miles at a time, the ponies loping or running most of the way.�

“But how could you stand it to ride so far?�

“O, I can sleep in the saddle if necessary. One never knows what he can do until he is put to the test. But I think we have come about forty-five miles to-day. Yonder is the town. They are just lighting it. How pleasant it looks, doesn’t it, this evidence of life after so many miles of uninhabited wilds.�

“The ride has been perfectly delightful,� said Lissa. “I never better enjoyed a day in my life.�

They drew rein at a freshly painted building, bearing a sign “Badger House.� The landlady was evidently a Yankee, for she began a series of questions to Lissa. Where did they hail from? Where were they going? Had she ever been West before?

To Lissa’s responses she vouchsafed a consolatory remark: “Well, I’m kind of sorry for you. There is nothin’ but work out here. Ye don’t look as if ye’d seen much hardships. Ye’ll git awful homesick, I reckon. What with the poor crops and the hot winds, and the grasshoppers, there ain’t much to look for’d to.� After which she left the room to see to their supper.

The next morning they started early, that they might get well on their way before the intense heat of mid-day. They had been traveling for some time, when Lissa suddenly started and grasped Nathan’s arm.

“Stop, stop!� she cried; “I’ve been here before. I know just what is before us! Ah, how can it be—and yet, yet, I’ve seen it all before. Just beyond that large tree the ground descends to a river. There is a marshy strip of ground at the left, and a log lying diagonally, thus.� Lissa indicated the position by crossing her hands. She was excited and eager. “What does it all mean? Am I, too, clairvoyant?�

“We will see,� he said, chirruping to his horses. They soon came to the height overlooking the river flats. Before them lay the scene Lissa had described. The tears started in her eyes.

“O Nathan, have I ever lived in another form than this? I certainly could never have been here before. I cannot understand it.�

“Not unless you have been here in a dream.� At the word, Lissa started.

“Ah, I know now. I remember! It is a dream! It is written down in my journal. I wrote it when I first began to keep a journal, many years ago. The dream made such an impression upon me, I wrote it down, and a description of the scene. I have frequently read it over since.�

“What happened here, do you remember?�

“No, I could not remember at the time, but I awoke with great fright, trying to cry out, with the feeling that I had been passing through some terrible experience, with this scene clearly imprinted upon my consciousness.�

“It is a very strange coincidence, Lissa, but this is the place where a white man was flayed alive a number of years ago by the Indians.�

“Ah, I remember reading of it, and how horrible it was.�

“The man brought the punishment upon himself. He wantonly shot an Indian woman. It was a terrible method of torture, however. He was flayed before the eyes of his friends, and afterwards burned, I am told.�

“Oh, dreadful, dreadful!�

“The remainder of the party were allowed to go, I believe, after being made to witness his suffering and death. I used to know the man when I lived in Illinois,� Nathan added. “Remember, it is not so many years ago. We are to go among the same tribe of Indians. Probably those who committed the outrage are still living.�