I raised the shade of one of the study windows, with intent to draw the bolt, but my hand paused in the act, for my eyes were captured by a scene of surpa.s.sing beauty. Fall had lately swept her gorgeous leaves one side, and closed her doors for the season, and we were now standing on the threshold of winter. The early snows are apt to be soft and clinging; it is later on, usually, when the thermometer takes a plunge downward, that they become crisp and hard. It is seldom, however, at any time of year that the atmospheric conditions are favorable to such a creation as I beheld that night. I hardly know just what is necessary to make it all-a still, moderate cold, and a very humid air are among the most important conditions, I believe.

When I stepped outside my door early in the evening, the air all about me seemed to be snow, not separated into flakes, but diffused evenly.

Altogether it had the effect of a heavy white fog, and I could see even then, that it was settling in visible, palpable, feathery forms, not only upon the ground, but upon every bush and tree as well. It was a most unusual scene, and I gazed at it long and admiringly; but having no fondness for walking through soft, clinging snow, I was not enticed to sally forth, as I always am when the snow is firm and sparkling.

But by ten o'clock the temperature had changed, and in the cooler air the almost imperceptible melting of the snow had been stayed.

The white carpet that had slowly been sinking, was now stationary, and was covered by a firm crust that gleamed in the moonlight. There was no sparkle on the trees, but the feathery tufts and pinions had ceased floating to the ground, and melting into air. The scene, in all its matchless beauty, was arrested-held upon nature's canvas for a few hours, by the Master hand.

Stay in doors that night! Would I be so wicked as to turn my back, or close my eyes upon one of the most delectable scenes that ever a kind Providence spread before the soul of human creature! Would I deliberately slight such an exhibition of love and marvelous skill? Not I!

It didn't take me long to catch up hat and jacket, and with a heart that beat high, slip from my house, as a greyhound slips the leash, and hie me away.

What mattered it that the neighborhood lights were raised-a story, at least-and that the owners of all the villas near at hand, were preparing for decorous, temporary retirement. I merely pitied them for their stupidity, and went my way. I had long been a law unto myself, and while I did not believe in flaunting my independence in their faces, I none the less continued to enjoy it.

There are nights when to sleep would be the sin of an ingrate; 'twould be like gathering up the good things of Providence, and hurling them from out the window, in reckless waste. And this night was such a one.

The keen air, and the entrancing beauty about me, seemed to run in a subtle, fascinating torrent through my veins, and lend me wings. I felt as though I were buoyed up by magic hands; I hardly think I set foot on ground the whole way, and yet I must, for I was conscious of a crisp crackle of the snow at every step.

Oh, is there any sound just like it! Could our poor invalids but pitch their nostrums over the wall, and take this tonic instead!

Some friends of mine moved a while ago and drove their family stake in a spot far off from here. They are continually writing me of a region of perpetual sunshine and summer. I thought of them on this glorious night, and pitied them from the depths of my heart, as I often have, indeed, since they went out there. Theirs is the place for the extremely indigent, no doubt, but for any one who can command a dollar or so for fuel, this-this is the land of delight.

I was at no loss as to direction; our suburb was beautiful throughout, especially all along by the lake, but there was one place in particular, where art and nature had joined hands, with a result indescribable.

Toward these grounds I hastened, on this particular night.

Oh, the glory of that moon! the glory of the lake! an undulating sea of waves, each crested with a feather, as soft, as snowy in the moonlight, as the tinier ones that hung upon the trees.

I ran down the winding avenue-the white fog still lingered in the deep places, but above, all was clear and glorious. Erelong I entered the Dunham's grounds. At a certain point, unmarked to the stranger's eye, a rustic flight of stairs, now strewn with dead leaves-padded with snow as well, to-night, dips down from the broad driveway. Quickly I made my way by this path, and erelong, stood upon one of the little rustic bridges spanning the ravine, and connecting with a similar flight of ascending stairs upon the other side. There I paused, and well I might. It were a dull, plodding creature indeed, who would not be spellbound by such a scene! On either hand were the sloping wooded sides of the ravine whose depths were shrouded in the mysterious whiteness of the fog; above me, a short distance in front, was the arch of the broad, picturesque bridge with which the driveway spans the hollow. The little rustic bridge on which I stood was much lower than the larger one; hence, from my position, I looked through the archway, beyond, down, and far along the ravine. Can you call up fairyland to your mental eye? It would pale before this scene-those feathery trees! that enchanting vista! I stood there drinking it in, and pitying the sleeping world. I could not, even in thought, express my delight and grat.i.tude for being permitted to behold such beauty, but finally a familiar line leaped from my lips:

"Praise G.o.d from whom all blessings flow."

I can never forget that night; it kindled and warmed my heart with a reverential fire. If, in the course of years, my way should be overcast; if, for a time, I should let the artificial-the ign.o.ble, clog the path, and shut me out from the light of heaven, even then I shall be saved from doubt, which is always engendered by our stupidity-the things of our own manufacture-I shall be saved from doubt by the sweet, pure, radiant memory of that winter, moonlight scene. Only a beneficent G.o.d could create such beauty.

XI

On my way back-at what dissipated hour I firmly decline to state-I pa.s.sed a home with an interesting history tacked thereto.

The leading events were brought me by one of those active, inquisitive little birds that find out all sorts of things, and often fetch from great distances.

The couple who live there, though Americans, once lived in Winnipeg, Manitoba, and it was in that place that the husband fell to drinking.

The little bird above alluded to-the bird that acts as a kind of domestic ferret-told me that, in the early years of their married life, the wife was of an excitable, hysterical temperament, and given to making scenes. Just here let me digress a moment to erect a warning signboard. I have a friend who is busy mixing and administering a deadly draught to her domestic happiness, and yet does not know it. She has only been married a year, and she uses tears and scenes, in general, as instruments to pull from her husband the attention, affection, and devotion she craves. The tug waxes increasingly hard, but she has not, as yet, sense enough to see that, and desist. She cannot realize that the success attained by such methods is but the temporary and external beauty, which, in reality, covers a failure of the most hopeless type, just as the flush on the consumptive's cheek is but a pitiable counterfeit, and covers a fatal disease.

Whether in this particular story, the report of the wife's early blunders be true or false, there seems to be no doubt that presently the husband grew careless and indifferent; that scene followed scene between them, until at last he went to drinking. Then the little wife waxed sober, thoughtful, and studied much within herself. This awful sorrow, following so closely upon the heels of her wedding-day joy, matured her judgment-her womanhood, and she began to use every skillful device to call back her husband from the dark paths he had chosen, to the light. All in vain, however; and when she realized this, after several years of heroic effort, she made one last scene, and told him she was going to leave him. Then his old-time tenderness returned-if you can compare a tenderness which was blurred and cringing, with that which was clear and manly. He begged and promised in vain, however, for she had lost faith, and a lost faith is not found again for many a day.

So she went off, and she covered all traces and signs so carefully that no anxious, heartbroken effort of his could find her. Meanwhile she wrote him frequently and regularly, and although he knew not where to send reply, it is quite likely she had word of him from some one to whom she had given her confidence in this dreary time.

And so five years pa.s.sed, and at their close she walked into her home one day, and her husband-a man once more, took her in his arms, and looked his love and joy with clear, honest eyes.

They came to our city, or rather this little suburb of our city, soon afterward, and although it is well-nigh ten years now that they have been among us, there has never been a hint of trouble. Hers was a unique method, but it brought about the desired end.

Verily it would seem that for some dinners, it is best for the cook to vanish, and leave the dishes to get themselves.

I was meditating on this as I walked home that night, and the next morning, stirred by the recollection of all I had seen and felt, was moved to write out a story given me by a young man-a friend of mine, who lives at a great distance from here, on an olive ranch out of Los Gatos, California.

I wish I could give you this little tale just as he told it. I can't, I know, but I'll do my best in trying.

Mrs. Purblind dropped in just as I was reading it over to myself, before my study fire.

"Do you remember my story about Duke?" I asked.

"Yes, I liked it," she said, "though I'm not very partial to dogs."

"I have one here about horses. I've written it out as nearly as possible as my friend told it to me, but so much flavor is lost when these things change hands. Here it is, and I think that the lamentation David sang over Saul, might head it.

"A while ago we owned a couple of horses-work horses, and yet, by reason of the strength of their affections, they were lifted from out the commonplace, and enveloped with an atmosphere of romance that gave them the flavor of a story book, plumb full of princes and heroes. And by the way, Prince was the name of one of them, and he was a genuine hero, as you will see. His mate was called Nelly, and albeit she was as awkward and as angular as the ideal old maid, vastly inferior to Prince, who was a fine-looking chap, yet his admiration for her was unbounded. She cared for him, I'm sure, but she was less demonstrative; more coquettish, I would say, if she hadn't been too homely a beast to think of, in connection with such a word.

"They were brought up together; were taught by the same master; sat on the same bench, in a figurative sense; were lovers from the very first.

Prince certainly had the most elegant manners; Nelly was his first thought, at all times, and his courtesy to her savored of the old school. He wouldn't go into the shed of a cold, rainy day and leave Nelly outside; but if she went in, he was more than content to follow.

When it was necessary to separate them-we couldn't always work them together-we had to tie Prince with ropes and cables, as it were, to hold him fast. Nelly was less difficult to manage; at least, she would let him go out of sight without fretting, and yet, after all, she seemed easier if he were at hand. I remember, one day, he was tied in front of the house, and she was loose, grazing near by. As long as he could see her, all went well enough, but the moment she sauntered around the fence, he began first to fidget, then to paw and neigh, and finally to struggle, until in the end, he broke loose and rushed after his inamorata. And what a time he made over her! whinnying, and demonstrating his delight in a dozen different ways. She? oh, she took it coolly, but that was all feminine bosh, or coquetry on her part. She liked to have him near her well enough.

"There was an amusing thing happened one day, down in the field. Father and I were plowing with Nell. We had tied Prince to a tree, the other side of the knoll we were working on, and supposed he was fast, but to our surprise, just as we turned, after finishing a long furrow, we confronted the gentleman, tree and all, standing before us in a weak and fainting condition. He had struggled until he had uprooted the whole business, and was so used up in consequence, that he could hardly stagger, much less go into his usual hysterics over Nell. She looked as amazed as we did, and I've no doubt gave him a sound curtain lecture on his folly that night.

"One day father and Ned took Prince down into the field. Steve and I stayed up near the house, working around the vineyard. Nelly was in the stable.

"The morning was half gone, when all at once Steve happened to turn around, and look down the hill.

"'Gosh, Jack!' he exclaimed, 'the barn's afire.'

"I gave one startled look, and then ran for the hose.

"'Get Nelly out!' I cried to Steve; but after a second look, I called, 'No, don't you do it! Let her go! it's too late!'

"'I won't let her go!' he shouted; 'do you think I'll stand by and see Nelly burned to death!'

"'You'd be a fool to go in now! Look at that stable! Here! Stand back!

Have you lost your wits?'

"'Let me go!' he cried; 'Jack, get out of the way!'

"But I threw him down and held him. I was bigger than he; older, and cooler-headed too.

"'There, I give in,' he said in a moment; 'it's wicked to lose time this way. Let me up, Jack, and we'll get the hose. I promise you I won't go in.'

"We ran for the hose, and turned on all the water we could command, and by this time mother and the servant girl had come from the house, and were helping us.