The Red Lock A Tale of the Flatwoods By DAVID ANDERSON Author of * The Bine Moon™ llustrations by IRWIN MYERS Copyright by The Bobbs- Merrill Co, THE FOOTPRINT — SYNOPSIS. —On the Wabash stand and Jack Warhope, young and very much in love Texle is the only daughter of old Pap Bimon, rich man and money-lendor, Jack is the orphan bound boy of Pap Simon who had foreclosed a mortgage on the Warhope estate, At first Texie and Jack talk sadly of Ken Colin, the girl's missing brother. Then Jack says that In ten days his servitude will be over, that he will ride out Into the big world to seek his fortune. Both know what that will mean to them. Texlie and Jack talk of dhe red lock of “Red Colin” ip- herited by Ken And Jack says he's coming back as soon as he finds gold in California Then arrives the new preacher, Rev. Caled Hopkins Pap Simon in. treduces the villagers to the new preacher, who was a college mate of Ken. At supper at the Colin home the preacher tells how the boy kilied a gambler aad disap- peared Mis father attributes Ken's fall from grace to his red lock eof hair. Then Pap Simon has a sert of stroke, brought on by reading a letter from Ken, “somewhere in New York" whe eurses his father ou his death bed A postscript by another hand says he la dead. At the vil. lage store and post office loge Helden, a newcomer, says he saw the new parson with his arm around Texle, Jack licks him, ots a pistol from his hand and makes him say he was mistaken The preacher and the villagers ®o fishing Jack discovers the preacher carries a six-gun the banks of Texlae Colin she CHAPTER V—Continued. we 7 se Mud haul he muttered: “is it ar?’ ‘Mi stooped ¢ le 'r 80," grunted Uncle Nick, as he over the iping spread the meshes straight “L really should not remain from the study so long.” the pursued. “l must have time t my thoughts somewhat, as | stand I shall be expected to make a few remarks at the—festival tonight.” Uncle Nick leered around at him seine, he Ore ¥ 0 collect under son. | ‘low y'u neen’ t' worry be another scent in the air t'night.” irudged off down the sandbar to the Hve box, dragged It up along the edge stern of the skiff. He had hardly fin. ished when Jack and C(ounterman spine with the seine. The preacher came last, his eyes still drawn irresistibly up the river, “Is there not sowme—other place? he asked, reluctantly taking his seat in the bow, “some-—nearer place?” Uncle Nick studied him out of his deep-set eyes. He was a guest, In a Guest and Preacher Though He Was, He Was Still a Tenderfoot, sense, nnd he was-—the preacher. The old man's face became thoughtful; he glanced at Counterman. “Thar's Grassy bar,” he muttered ; half questioned, “an' thar's Yaller branch—" : Counuterman spit out into the river ~-a preliminary that usually had to be attended to before he spoke, “Grassy bar,” he repeated thought. fully, peering over his shoulder at the preacher in the bow, as if he too had caught something of Uncle Nick's con. siderations, “Hit's better 'r spearin’, An’ Yaller branch”—he glanced up at the sun; swept sky andl river with his puckered one eye—*t'day’'s too glary, Hit ain't deep enough. No, I'm fr Mud haul. They'll be scrooched in thar thick as bees around a haw tree.” The decision seemed final, The preacher glanced again up the river, and pulled the faded straw hat farther down over his head as If afrald of sunburn, “Is it dreadfully—muddy *’ he mum- bled. Guest and preacher though he was, he was still a tenderfoot. Counter man's raucous laugh exposed the huge wad of tobacco between his Jaws, Nick took the unlighted pipe from be- tween his lips, and his roar wheeled a wisp of sand snipe that happened at the moment to be glancing up the bar. “Not as muddy as it—sounds,” he chuckled, grabbing a match eut of his trousers pocket, That settled it. The preacher, ap- parently resigned to whatever further hardships fate might have In store for him, sat watching the shore line, with its witchery of lapping water, its bor shells, draw slowly by. The fishermen landed. The live box half-reluctant preacher left to hold the brall stick, while the others rowed out and around the fifty yards or more of murky water that lay between the point and the shore, Hardly had the elreult been com- that Counterman’s judgment would be amply Justified. The final haul proved to be much the best of the day. The good fish were dropped Into the live box, the others tossed back Into the river, and the fishermen set about preparing to return to the village. were united, the seine rolled up, and up the bar for the boat. He stooped aver the craft, possibly recalling the clrenmstance of the six- gun concealed In the frock coat; lald his hand te the bow to push it of; straightened after a moment, walked some distance farther up the bar and ood gasing lnteatly teward the uar- row upper sod of the arm of water one point, lay a small houseboat, A trifling circumstance bash but why there? The place was thers was no spring short of island. The woodsman motioned to his companions They had been watchis Alpine t urned came trooping up the har preacher fagged and lagging and gathered around him wing the direction of his peered in under t} Fol e overl ing trees around at moment and jerked his thumb back toward the skiff “S'posin’ Up an’ pay ''m a visit? I'd like t' see a man with sich pp Counterman grinned others after a we row Uncle Nick tossed up his chin. grunt. edd, and led the way d The preacher appeared to be consid to him. Imaginad irksome have bean and more that a But as the ak!ff glided ap There is little formality among men the river and the woods—a fine come, They brought the how secinded little craft apd climbed aboard There was both a fore to the tiay eabin the whale midsection of no windows on either side were and an aft that heavily padlocked—a further of the owner's exclusiveness On the dusty boards there were a num ber of footprints, some of them-—curl- ously enough-—made by a boot that must have been stylish, even dainty, Uncle Nick leaned upon the railing of the forward deck and prodded his pipe, whila the one-eyed fisherman gnawed himself 8 fresh chew from a sweaty plug that he clawed up out of his overalls pocket, the two of them generalizing on the circumstance of stylish boot tracks, no windows and padiocked doors, The preacher had joined in the dis cussion and was just telling them, In his haif-bored drawl, that it might be some naturalist taking uvnusual pains to preserve his specimens, when Jack Warhope, still standing in the skiff and holding it to the stern of the house boat, picked up one of the shiny boots from the preacher's stack of clothes in the bow, and, hidden from the others by the cabin, pressed the heel of it down hard beside one of the heel-prints on the dusty after-deck. The two prints coincided perfectly, a—_ proof CAPTER Vv) Mette of the Minister. The Buckeye schoolheuss stood on the extreme west side of the village. A plain one-room bullding of the gen: eral type of the period—paint gone ; weather-beaten; no belfry: no orna. mentation; three windows on each side; a chimney at the back; a oat tered door in front, The “festival” in celebration of the cloge of school was a distinct event at Buckeye, The pupils’ desks had been removed and placed around the walle, A long table extended across the rear. The rest of the room was clear, except for the great box stove that stood in the center of the floor, rusty red, and huge enough and deep enough to swallow a stick of cord-wood whole, Everything was free, each family that sent children to school bringing a well-filled basket. And such a feast us the housewives of the neighborhood furnished forth could have been found nowhere else In the land except there In the great Flatwoods that lay, warped and wild, along the north bank of the upper Wabash. Uncle Nick was there—-which meant that things wers not likely to drag. ax he himself said, “the no-accountest” man in the Flatwoods—a freeand eusy, happy-goducky, enteh-as-cateh- can sort of man, dangerous, been one of Harrison's scouts, and had borne most an on the Tippecanoe, Nick, was there too. an oversupply of jollity in his disposi tion, she had a far greater over supply of grinness. Aunt Liza Uncle Nick's wit fell flat. acres of bottom land, and In cabin home a iittle way up Eagle Hol Uncle Nick was perched upon one of the desks, his back to the wall, his eyes twinkling merrily, already an in of Words for the Occasion, Ons That Would Fit him roaring Jack Warhope his way through the jam of at his droliery, when schoolhouse, The Reversad rived, aa he had Texle and Mrs. Mason (aleh Hopkins ar prowised-—he and He had been had long been the custom to have the minister sit at the first table and launch “festival” with a blessing. Zake Polick— likewise by ancient custom, a sort of self-appointed master to the head of the table, with Widow Mason f= left, and as many pupils as pos up along the sides of the bounteocus board The preacher's remarks were short simple ; concise ; every sentence packed with thought; every gesture alive with grace. No speaker could have asked a better audience. He had been well heralded and expectation was at keen est piteh. And ne speaker ever better improved his opportunity. The speech ended while the audience was still hungry te hear more—a trick that many a less brilllant speaker might well copy. He turned back te the table and raised his hand. The two long rows of youngsters stood in awk. wardly decorous expectancy. The low tones of the solemn grace fell softly impressive; the minister resumed his seat; a deep breath swept down the two rows of hungry urchins: andthe “festival” was on, A good length of the candies In the windows had burned away when Jack, sauntering aimlessly In the erowd, found himself, for the first time that evening, face to face with Texie, where she leaned over Mrs. Mason's chalr. The girl looked up and smiled. Hae was raking ever his scant stock of words for one that would fit the occa. sion--words being about the hardest things he had te reckon with-—whea the young preacher, suave and affable, by odds the most popular man in the house, joined the group, Through the mind of Jack Warh flashed a comparison between the preacher and himself. The compari: son showed dead against him. For the first time in his life he was half ashamed of his ungainly clothes, of the great limbs, the massive chest and shoulders — the “six-foot-three” of bestowed the title: Big Jack. —— seo “The preacher slowly raised an arm and pointed toward the open door, Tro PMorarlircoo wm rofl | Christmas story T'ribune was 3 y » i wrillen {o the order of Lhe Spuge— | York Socsety for the Prevention of Uge- | It is a story from far- | ‘ransialed the | of Frederic Boulet by Wil- | McPh Erson. / Mouriines are {0 less (Firing away France, from French liam L the every American city and thew name | May they come to a bet | Nevertheless, | be found mm i wu legion. ter undersianding of the Chrisimas | spar. John Dickinson Shermans. i -—e fv FREDERIC BOUTET AID Mme Mourline : ! “And the Jullins—we | must think of them. | What are we geing te give them this year? Mme. Mouriine's ques | tion put a damper om | the gayety of her hos | band and ber danghier, A chill seemed 10 settle down in the dining room, where ther | were all three still sitting about the | table and talking. M Mouriine had lust promised his wife an umbrella with an ivory handle and his daughter | t coral necklace, He was pleased with himself. Now he looked worried. Si. mone Mouriine, who was eighteen and | hud set her heart the necklace, | iso became uneasy | “Yen " Mme Mourline repented | with emphasis. “what are we going to | give the Jullins® “That's right! That's right! What are we going to give them? M. Mour line murmured, “You understand it must be some | thing nice this year. We'll have to! «tand the extra cost somehow. [| know it is a nuisance. This Christ. | mas season is aboininable, We have | iil sorts of additional expenses!” ; “But, mamma, we never spent mueh | Mt presents for the Julllme™ Simone | interrupted. “Last year thelr little | naket cost only eighteen frances, and | it was perfectly good enough” "1 don’t see it that way, Simone! You dom’t take into account that for merly. when the Julline were no het. ter off than we are, we could make them gifts without any particular value, any little trifles such as they gave us. But that isn’t possible now, vhen they have an income of 150,000 franes.” As If to render homage te that sum she had lavoluntarily raised her volee, The Jullins, whose fortune dated hack ly a few months, were the Mourn ines’ best friends. Jullla and Mour fine, fellow students at law school and afterward employees in the same gov. on the two young women, well brought up but without dowries, whom they had made thelr wives, The twe householdp—each had ha SRT pa o 3X Ee, ey hg 3 A R RE L < AY ~ a i) AEE) Rh Ne - TRE wh SA TN Le RnR RA iS A LL na CRT . Ey 8 single daughter—possessed about the same resources and lived In a sim. liar manner. For years they enjoyed & tranquil intimacy, sharing the same modest pleasures and striving to mutually sympathetic and agreeable An this be unexpected event had shattered intimacy M. Jullin's brother, considered up to then had suddenly noquired a through some risky operations had succeeded beyond all expectation, Intoxicated by his wenlth, so miracuy fortune which to muke up for lost time years of excesses he died The Jul millionaires. Certainly they had re mained the same to their dear friends, government's service and spend days driving an automobile Jullin avoided all ostentation In wear ing her collar of pearls und Mile. Jul lin nlways found Simone's simple his their new riches, Bo, you see, this Christus is going to be a great op portunity for them. They will sen! us 8 stunning present They are a little parvenu. Why deny it? To take our breath away they will give us something extraordinary, Well, 1 don't want to be thrown In the shade” “Yes, yes, 1 understand” sald M Mourline, “You are right I advise you to make a tour of the second-hand shops. You have good fudgment. You may something which looks like & real antique. And they will never know what It cost” Bhe shrugged her shoulders “I'l find nothing at all they know all about prices. Jullin poses nowadays gs a You can take it for granted that they will investigate our gift and find out wheth- er or not It has any va | want te give them something rea i. 1 Is Indispensable” The gift whic find lesides, collsctor Mn | chased was a handsome iardiniers It cost 340 francs. [It put a great straiw on the family budget. ut the Mour- lines had the consciousness of having done the proper thing, and on Christ mag morning they awaited with fect security arrival of the pres ent from the Jullins, There ring at It was a from { with a letter per the the doorbell Jullins, WOE 8 message the package and a The letter rend: “Dear Friende—We send rou only a little soufenir. Nothing at sli! We are sure thar we shall give you pleas ure in offering you, as in the past, a knicknack which has no value except that it represents an old and faithful friendship.” In the package was 8 miserable little boubonniere in painted porcelain, worth about twelve and a half francs There was a silence charged with astonishment and indignation “Is that the Julling' magnificent Mwe. Mourline trembled with anger. with their old friends. Money had come between the two families, ike a barrier which neither could ignore. “Come,” Mme. Mourline began again, addressing her hushand, “you know | am right. It is a question of dignity. We have had to endure a good deal since they became rich. I don’t envy them or criticise them, hut you must admit that it isn’t agreeable to enter tain them here In this little apartment, with a single mald of all work, and afterward to dine with them at thelr home, where everything la in grand style, with a butier and valet de cham. bre. They do put on airs. They lack tact. It amuses them, after having been with us. te overwhelm us with it to pieces on the marble hearth. “That's what 1 care for their old friendship 1” M. Mourline made an ironic gesture “Meanwhile they have your jardin. jere at 340 francs!” M. Juliin, in fact, was unwrapping the jardiniere at that very moment. Seeing it, he gave a start and called his wife, “Look at the present the Mouriines have sent us They certainly are fools 1” “Poor people,” murmured Mme, Jul lin, “they bled themselves white for this! Isn't it pitiful, In thelr situa. tion?! I tell you again, Adrien, we can’t associate with them any longer. Merely ns a matter of consideration for them we can't. Out of sheer vanity they would lmpoverish themselves” OFTLY, | think, at first. then swelling louder, clenrer more trivmphmntly, the first Clit. aR BONE rang over the wait ing eprth as Toe Child wax in a monger on that night =a gen: the ohlld wie, whiteves hw 1% taben of Him and His einem Birth, is Master of the world Hid Hi jlury tp God in i8e Ilejest Sn saril, pence; goodwill teward men at Christmas Time? For unte you is born this day, in the City af David, A Bavior. which is Christ Nort hegre west, wis no roots Tor Him that night the Lord There “x membering His quiet, “Inasmuch as ye have done It unto the least of these my brethen, ye have done it un to Me¥ Are our thoughts ocenpied entirely with the celebration we are preparing, the friends we are expect. ing the gifts we plan to parchisse and ep in oa manger bed, How ig it in this sour? f= thers oom for tH novour homseyorr heart? As PA wlebente His birth wlth sono saad i Jury lowing with Hghaed cunts Tracing Lrooms a Warmer suri ot | love {or Lotte and frlemls are we os | receive? hr are we lstening that we mys perelaihen, He sore 3 atte af ol wings a ie Ving furth of jie wid Mai canto Io Toman behing i alin Shea fait ¥ FH A938, Wesson Newap iy i
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers