CHAPTER XXXII.

THE END.

People began to remember that they had not seen their silent and singular little poet since the death and burial of the Gopher.

Surely he was ill. At all events, the Widow went boldly and regularly now to his cabin. And to the credit of the camp, be it said, it at last began to look with toleration on these missions to the humble vine-clad hermitage of the sad and lonesome little poet.

Only once more he came out and sat by the door, pale and dreamy and full of mystery.

The schoolmaster, not an unkindly man, stopped a moment with his book and slate under his arm, as he led a little girl by the hand, and looking into the palid face before him, said:

"It is a hard old world, Billie. A hard old world. At best we have to belabor the old earth; beat her to make her give us bread."

"Beat her!" The little thin hands clasped and lifted as if in prayer. "Belabor my dear mother Earth? Why, she gave us birth, she gives us all our bread, she gives us all that is beautiful and good. She will take us again to her bosom. I will pray to Earth, that I may have rest on her tranquil breast."

The schoolmaster passed on, and the sad little dreamer arose with difficulty, and passed for the last time from the light of the sun.

When the schoolmaster walked by next morning the door stood open. The little girl looked in, and then ran away as if afraid. Did she see with her child vision the face of death? The Schoolmaster, perhaps fearing to compromise his character by any association with this singular being, hurried on after the little girl, and did not turn around or look back till he had set foot over the sill of the little log school-house on the hill. His heart was beating very wildly. He had said nothing, he had heard nothing, he had seen nothing. But somehow the man's heart was beating with a strange terror, and he wanted to turn back and enter the cabin, and speak once more to the lonely little sufferer.

The man called his school to order, however, took off his coat, hung it up behind the door, ran his two hands through his hair, time and again, but failing to pacify himself by this means, called out a little boy, and flogged him soundly.

He afterwards remembered that there was a black cat sitting in the door as he passed, quietly washing her face, yet at the same time looking intently at him out of her green eyes.

The heroes of the world are women. The women, as a rule, have done the great deeds of valor. Men, however, have written the histories and appropriated a great deal indeed to themselves.

I know very well that in a certain kind of noisy heroism man makes a great mark, and instances of valor, even in a quiet way, where man fights his battle alone and in the dark, without the observation or applause of the world, are not wanting. But the great battles, in darkness and disgrace, where death and ignominy waited, the small-great battles, the heart the battle-field, where no friend would come, where no pen should chronicle, these silent fights have been fought and won by women.

Understanding all this I can understand why the Widow chose to bear all the reproof, and let her friend, the refugee, the dreamer, the "Poet," live and die unknown and in peace.

The next morning as the Schoolmaster came by, with the little girl sliding up close to his legs, on the opposite side from the cabin, the Widow with a face of unutterable sadness was outside trying to tie a piece of something black to the door-latch.

The man lifted his hat, and came reverently and slowly forward.

There was no need of saying anything now. He understood it all, and after assisting her in silence to do the office of respect for the dead within, he took the little girl's hand again in his, turned to go, took a few steps forward, and then stopping and turning around, again lifted his hat and said softly to the Widow:

"I will stop at the saloon and send up some of the boys to take charge of the body and prepare it for the grave."

"No," sighed the Widow in a voice that was scarcely heard above the beating of her heart, "No, George," and she came slowly and calmly up to the man and stood there with her white face lifted close into his. "No George, you will go back to the house, and get your mother and your sister to come and help me now at the last. For it is a woman that lies dead there in that little vine-covered cabin."

The woman had kept the woman's secret. She had given her life as it were for the life of another. But now that all was over; the whole story was to be written in the single name on the little granite gravestone. It was the name of NANCY WILLIAMS.

THE END.

PUBLICATIONS OF JANSEN, MCCLURG & CO.

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS.

CATON.--A Summer in Norway, with Notes on the Industries, Habits, etc., of the People, the History of the Country, the Climate and Productions, and of the Red Deer, Reindeer, and Elk, by Hon. J. D. Caton, LL.D.

"The tone of the book is frank, almost colloquial, always communicative and leaves a favorable impression both of the intelligence and good nature with which the author pursued his way through unknown wilds. * * They are excellent specimens of terse and graphic composition, presenting a distinct image to the mind, without any superfluous details."--_New York Tribune_.

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CHARD.--Across the Sea, and Other Poems. By Thos. S. Chard.

"This little gem of a book is one of the best instances of _multum in parvo_ that has been furnished the reading public in a long time. * * The poetry is of a kind not often seen now-a-days; it is of the soul, and reads as though given by inspiration. * * There is a mysticism in the little book, which reminds us of the 'Lotus Eaters' or 'Festus.'"--_The Alliance._

CLEVELAND.--Landscape Architecture, as applied to the wants of the West; with an Essay on Forest Planting on the Great Plains. By H. W. S. Cleveland, Landscape Architect.

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CRAWFORD.--A Few Thoughts for a Few Friends. By Miss Alice Arnold Crawford.

"There is about these poems an air of trusting faith, of gentle tenderness, as if of one who, soaring upon the confines of a better life, had longed to leave some sweet remembrance here. They stand forth from the way-side of poetic literature like some peaceful chapel robed in ivy, where the dead are strewn with flowers, and the living steal in the shadows of the evening to seek a rest from weariness and pain."--_Inter-Ocean._

FOYE.--Tables for the Determination and Classification of Minerals Found in the United States. By James C. Foye, A.M., Professor of Chemistry and Physics, Lawrence University, Appleton, Wisconsin.

"Following Dana, our chief American authority, and gathering aid from various distinguished European writers, this brief manual aims to furnish the student with such help as is needed in order to determine and classify the minerals of the United States. Some useful hints as to apparatus, and suitable notes upon other matters, precede the tables."--_Journal of Education._

GILES.--Out from the Shadows. A Novel; by Miss Ella A. Giles.

"Miss Giles' first work has had a very large sale, and has attracted the attention of readers and critics throughout the country. Her second book gives evidence of the ripening powers of the authoress, and shows the improvement which she has made as a writer, and a mastery of style and effect which are really uncommon."--_Milwaukee News._

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GILES.--Bachelor Ben. A Novel; by Miss Ella A. Giles.

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HALL.--Poems of the Farm and Fireside. By Eugene J. Hall.

"In vigor and pathos they are certainly equal--we should say superior--to Carleton's Farm Ballads; in humor scarcely inferior to the Biglow Papers."--_Interior._

"There is a nobility of mind even among the toilers of the land too often overlooked, and for this reason we like the flavor of these poems, because they smell of the field and forest, as well as portray the inner life of society at the fireside."--_Pittsburgh Commercial._

HEWITT.--"Our Bible." Three Lectures, delivered at Unity Church, Oak Park, Ill., by Rev. J. O. M. Hewitt.

"This volume is rich in erudition and conspicuously clear in the enunciation of the objections to the orthodox idea of an inspiration which makes it infallible in all particulars."--_Chicago Journal._

LAMARTINE.--Graziella; a Story of Italian Love. Translated from the French of A. De Lamartine by James B. Runnion.

"'Graziella' is a poem in prose. The subject and the treatment are both eminently poetic. * * * It glows with love of the beautiful in all nature. * * * It is pure literature, a perfect story, couched in perfect words. The sentences have the rhythm and flow, the sweetness and tender fancy of the original. It is uniform with 'Memories,' the fifth edition of which has just been published, and it should stand side by side with that on the shelves of every lover of pure, strong thoughts put in pure, strong words. 'Graziella' is a book to be loved."--_Tribune._

MASON.--Mae Madden. A Story; by Mrs. Mary Murdoch Mason, with an introductory poem by Joaquin Miller.

"There is hardly a page in which you may not find some bright, fresh thought; some little generalization full of the flavor of true wit, or some charming description, deliciously feminine, and running over with the spirit of poetry."--_Cincinnati Times._

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MASON AND LALOR.--The Primer of Political Economy, in Sixteen Definitions and Forty Propositions, by A. B. Mason and J. J. Lalor.

"We know of no other work anywhere of sixty pages that begins to give the amount of information on the subject that has been put with such remarkable clearness into these sixty pages."--_Hartford Courant._

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MILLER.--First Fam'lies of the Sierras. A Novel; by Joaquin Miller.

A most graphic and realistic sketch of life in a mining canon in the very earliest days of California. The rough heroes and heroines are evidently drawn from life, and the dramatic scenes are full of thrilling interest. Bret. Harte has never worked this rich vein of American life to better advantage.

MUeLLER.--Memories; A Story of German Love. Translated from the German of Max Mueller, by Geo. P. Upton.

"'Memories' is one of the prettiest and worthiest books of the year. The story is full of that indescribable half-naturalness, that effortless vraisemblance, which is so commonly a charm of German writers, and so seldom paralleled in English. * * * Scarcely could there be drawn a more lovely figure than that of the invalid Princess, though it is so nearly pure spirit that earthly touch seems almost to profane her."--_Springfield (Mass.) Republican._

McLANDBURGH.--The Automaton-Ear and Other Sketches. By Miss Florence McLandburgh.

Any one of the many who have read "The Man at Crib," "The Automaton-Ear," or "The Anthem of Judea," which have been so widely copied in various periodicals, will look with the highest anticipations to this author, who is no less gifted than she is original and eccentric.

SWING.--Truths for To-Day. _First Series._ By Professor David Swing.

"The preacher makes no display of his rich resources, but you are convinced that you are listening to a man of earnest thought, of rare culture, and of genuine humanity. His forte is evidently not that of doctrinal discussion. He deals in no nice distinctions of creed. He has no taste for hair-splitting subtleties, but presents a broad and generous view of human duty, appealing to the highest instincts and the purest motives of a lofty manhood."--_New York Tribune._

SWING.--Truths for To-Day. _Second Series._ By Professor David Swing.

This volume will contain the latest discourses of Prof. Swing, some of them preached at the Fourth Church, but most of them spoken at the Theatre to the New Central Church. It is universally conceded that these are the finest efforts he has ever made, and the general demand for their preservation in more permanent form than the newspaper reports, has led to their issue in this volume. They are selected, revised and arranged for publication by Prof. Swing himself.

SWING.--Trial of Prof. Swing. The _Official Report_ of this important trial.

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End of Project Gutenberg's First Fam'lies of the Sierras, by Joaquin Miller