CHAPTER XVII

WHETHER one is supposed to partake of enough spiritual food on the first day of the week to tide over the necessity of an evening meal, or is expected to make an elaborate Sunday dinner do double service, it is certain that in Core City the kitchen ranges are cold from one o'clock till the next morning. Hence, Peter was not missed from home as he wandered among the red hills, dazed, tortured, abject in self-abasement. He did not appear in the choir loft that evening, but the anthem progressed from page to page as if it knew him not. Long after Timothy's household had sunk into slumber, a wretched, bedraggled, white-faced fugitive crept up the stair and entered the chamber of entrancing dreams.

It was a homely apartment, but neat and roomy, with several windows, all open to the fragrant summer breezes. In one bed lay Oscar and Will, asleep. On the other side of the rag-carpeted chamber, stood another bed inviting Peter. He looked at it with a catching of the breath. On that bed, how many golden dream-ladders had rested, reaching from his visionenwrapped mind to a heaven of dreams! He did not light the lamp, but, seating himself near a window, bent forward, resting his chin in his hands. Oscar was restless, and from time to time gave utterance to various sounds indicative of a mind working underground. Will lay in the profound repose of an innocent child. The night wore drearily on, and Peter, as if turned

to stone, stared into the darkness, his chin cutting into his benumbed palm. The house was filled with the ticking of a hall-clock which groaned so dismally throughout its rusty machinery, whenever it struck, that one could hardly count the hour. Once a phantom form glided through the door and crouched in surprise at sight of Peter.

It was Thomas Jefferson. His air said plainly: "What! you, too, are looking for a mouse?"

"Come here, old fellow," said Peter softly. He straightened himself and felt violent pains up and down his thin frame. He had not thought of the time, but a faint lift in the gray air told him it was approaching dawn. He could not remember having ever petted the cat before, but now he took the resisting creature upon his knee. "Are you afraid of me, Jeff?" he said plaintively. "Don't be afraid. Why! I've made a specialty of cats. You ought to meet Miss Goldie!"

Perhaps Thomas Jefferson recognized the lonely kindliness in the tone; perhaps he smelled the Thornberry; at any rate, he put his paws upon Peter's breast and began to purr.

Morning came on. The clock struck six, which meant three-quarters past five. Peter rose to his feet, rubbed his long legs, and went down to the kitchen. He was making the fire when his grandfather entered, partially clad.

"What on earth?" cried the old man feebly.

"Let me do it, grandfather," said Peter. "I won't have a chance often. . . . I'm going away. . . . Grandfather, of all the fools Core City ever produced, I am Number One. But I know that Pickens girl now, for just what she is. . . I owe all of you an apology."

The captain grew vivacious. "Praise the Lord, that you've fulfilled your nine days!" he cried. “And as you've got your eyes open at last, there's no call to refer to it again." The old gentleman slipped back to his bedroom.

"Honey," he said to the night-capped form resting among the pillows, "Pete's making the kitchen fire." Mrs. Polly Thornberry sat up in bed. "Great fathers alive!" she murmured.

"Yes, m'om," said Timothy emphatically, "and he's done with that Pickens gorl, bodaciously finished with her. He knows her like a book, and his readin' of her has made him a new man. I said 'had went to him, and he never peeped. He never peeped, Polly! I even told him I 'hadn't brung' in the water, and he never said nothing. I believe he's done made up his mind to quit trying to improve us; which if so it be, Polly, perhaps our last days may be our best days.'

"Timothy," said the old lady excitedly, "hand me that glass with my teeth in it, will you?"

"Yes, honey, as soon as I find my spectacles-my far ones."

Mrs. Thornberry climbed carefully out of bed, saying sympathetically, "Oh, where can they be!"

"It ain't so much a question of where can they be," returned the captain, "as where needn't I look; for I've found so many good places to keep 'em just in the last few days, that it's plumb confusing."

The breakfast was passed in a rather awkward silence, for Will's half-defiant, half-startled expression seemed to challenge any one to mention Mary's name; hence, Mary was uppermost in the minds of those who looked at him. But Peter, who had not been present while Will's confession of love was being extorted from

him by the relentless Mary, was still far from suspecting the truth.

When Will started forth for the grocery, Peter accompanied him, and as soon as they were upon the street, went at once to the point.

"Will, I want to borrow some money.'

"All O. K.," said Will; "all I've got's yours."

"Thank you," returned Peter contritely. Among the many facts to which his eyes had been opened, the real worth of his brother stood prominent. "I'm going away, and I'll need something like a hundred dollars."

"All right. But, man! I'll be lonesome! Oscar and Atterton are going to pull out in a couple of days. Where are you going, Peter? What about the bank?"

"For one thing," said Peter desperately, "I'm going where I hope never to hear of that Pickens girl again. The rest is immaterial."

Will secretly exulted, but he was too wise to show any signs of triumph.

He observed simply enough: "Oscar is going to take Atterton to Little Rock to watch over him, to see that he keeps straight. Ethel is at the bottom of it. A young man was visiting her from Fort Smith-you know-Johnson-the fellow that lived six months in Boston. He was called, last spring, to be superintendent of schools in the capital, and now, all of a sudden, one of the teachers has upped and married, and it's a hard place to fill. He was telling Ethel all about it, so of course she thought at once of Osk, praised up his studying, and learning, and said how he had made up his mind to leave Core City, and branch out. The Boston fellow,-Johnson,—he was mighty interested, and wanted to see Osk right away; and the upshot of the matter is that Osk is going to Little Rock at once.

Johnson stands in with the school board, and he says Osk is as good as elected to the position. Of course, he won't get much,-Arkinsaw teachers are paid mighty little, you know, but Osk is just naturally tickled to death. He looks on it as a sign that Ethel is coming round. She's only refused him twice, anyhow, and now he's bobbing up as cheerful as a cricket. Ethel

has asked him to take Atterton along, so he can keep him out of trouble,-don't say anything about it. How do you think you'd like Little Rock as a stompingground?"

"As well as any," said Peter abstractedly. "Of course, it would take away some of the lonesomeness, to be with the boys."

Then his tone grew more centered: "Look here, Will; I want to speak to you about something that I was told by that Pickens girl. It's ridiculous, and I told her I knew it wasn't true; but you ought to be posted on what everybody is saying."

"Now, Little Rock," said Will, slightly raising his voice, and gazing at a distant grove of post oaks as if trying to count their smooth, slim boles, "that's a pretty likely city. You know it's called the 'City of Roses.' Of course, there aren't many roses there, but that's because the people have let the weeds take their gardens. The roses would be there if they were given a chance, and the folks look out on those weedy patches, and sorter imagine they can see the buds a-bursting."

"Everybody is saying" Peter resumed.

"I don't want to know what they are saying," Will hastily interposed. "If it was something true, everybody wouldn't be agreeing about it. They say we ship more cotton from Pine Bluff,-now there's a city that ought to be sketched in white and black,-cotton and