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 The old hussy, delighted at having got so well off, hurried down the stairs as fast as possible, and, gaining the street, got clear away.

Madame Seeheim was delighted with her husband’s handsome present. ‘One would almost believe,’ she cried, ‘that we live in times when good deeds meet with a certain and prompt reward. Yesterday you read to me your sermon against mendicity and theft, and to-day, almost as soon as you have finished preaching it, this handsome present is sent to you.’

Mr. Seeheim tried in vain to guess who it could be that had sent him this pie. He fixed upon and rejected various personages, and at last ended by declaring that he could not satisfactorily attribute this compliment to any one of his acquaintance. While he was occupied with these agreeable reflections, a scene of a very different nature was acting in the floor below. As soon as the loss of the pie was discovered, a noise and confusion, which may easily be imagined, had ensued. Each person accused the other of inattention and negligence, but the tailor internally blamed himself for the ostentation with which he had displayed the pie; and but for which the accident would not have happened. He enjoined his maid servant, under threats of immediate dismissal, not to say a word of the matter to any one, in order that he might at least avoid the scoffs of the preacher and his wife, who, he concluded, would be delighted to hear of his misfortune.

The inmates of the second floor, in the meantime, had tried the contents of the pie, which they found excellent. Madame Seeheim had just finished dinner, when she said to her husband, ‘I can’t imagine what has happened below; but there is a great noise in our neighbour’s rooms, I hope no accident has happened to the poor woman who is confined.’

‘I should indeed be very sorry,’ said her husband; ‘for, although I don’t want our families to be united, they are very honest people, and I have a great regard for them. They have, upon many occasions, been very


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RV 11 (Rh)

license: Creative Commons - Attribution Share-Alike - https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/


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 civil to us; and as I should not be sorry to make the first advances for a reconciliation, suppose we send down some of the pie to the lying-in lady.’

Madame Seeheim readily accorded with her husband’s proposition; and, as she also knew that Mrs. Heftelmeyer’s name was Sophia, she sent that part of the pie on which the gilt S was placed.

While the servant carried this peace-offering down stairs, the worthy pastor was felicitating himself and his spouse upon what they had done. ‘There would not,’ he said, ‘be half so many quarrels in the world, nor would they last half as long, if people would be willing to accommodate their differences. I am sure we shall not have cause to repent this.’

Alas! how differently did the events turn out from what the parson had predicted. The tailor had no sooner set his eyes upon the dish with the pie in it, than he rushed by the servant, without hearing her message, and ran up stairs to his neighbour’s room, which he entered very abruptly.

‘How is this, sir,’ he cried; ‘do you mean to insult me by this treatment?’

‘Is it possible you can imagine that I mean to do so?’ said the pastor, mildly.

‘How can I think otherwise,’ said the angry tailor; ‘and how can I guess what has induced a man of your character and years to play so wanton a school-boy’s trick?’

‘I really don’t understand you,’ replied Mr. Seeheim; ‘but as your behaviour and language is very offensive, I beg it may cease. If this is the return you make to an act of politeness and good will, I shall take care not to repeat it.’

‘Politeness and good will, indeed!’ cried the angry tailor; ‘you shall see, sir, what the magistrate will say to such politeness’—and he bounced out of the chamber.

Mr. Seeheim could only think that his neighbour had gone mad; and, as he saw him go out of doors soon after, he expressed a very sincere hope that he would


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 is, for the deceased himself. Whilst the priest walked round the statue the Kher ḥeb said the following words four times:--

 * "[Here is] Semmȧn! [Here is] Semmȧn!
 * Open thy mouth, O Unȧs, and taste thou the taste thereof in the halls of the god,
 * for Semmȧn is the emission of Horus, for Semmȧn is the emission of Set,

 * for Semmȧn is the stablisher of the heart of the two Hawk-gods
 * (i.e., Horus and Set). Thou art cleansed with ḥemsen (natron)
 * and thou art like unto the followers of Horus."

The libation thus poured out either represented the essence of Horus and the essence of Set, which was the


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 come to no harm. In the course of a short time afterwards, Mr. Herbst, a lawyer, entered.

‘Your neighbour, the tailor, has been with me just now,’ he cried, ‘and has been consulting me with a view to taking legal proceedings against you; and I am come for the purpose of seeing whether I can arrange matters amicably between you.’

‘How is it possible to arrange matters amicably, or otherwise, with a man who is decidedly out of his senses?’

‘Well, indeed, I have perceived no signs of insanity,’ said the lawyer; ‘and, on the contrary, I must confess that the complaint he makes against you has very much surprised me. My friendship for you makes me say that it would give me great pain if the trick you have played him should be made public.’

‘Why, really, my dear Herbst,’ said the pastor, ‘you puzzle me as much as my neighbour has done. All the notions I have hitherto entertained of justice and decency must have been mistaken. You think seriously that what has passed between Mr. Heftelmeyer and me will furnish sufficient grounds for a formal complaint?’

‘Certainly; how can I think otherwise? Either what you have done was in jest, which, under the circumstances of disagreement which subsist between you and Mr. Heftelmeyer, would be looked upon as a very unwise and unjustifiable liberty, or else it is a downright theft.’

‘A theft—’

‘Don’t be angry—I know you are incapable of such an act; and, besides, your subsequent conduct shows—’

‘Do give me leave.—I will prove to you, in two words, that Heftelmeyer is unquestionably mad, and that he has represented things to you most absurdly false. This is the fact. All this disturbance arises from a contemptible piece of a pie, which I sent as a mark of civility to his wife, who is lying-in; and out of this, by some means or other, you make a theft, and an impropriety of behaviour.’


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 source of the strength of their hearts, and the substance which gave them life, or was believed to be transmuted into that essence through the words of power spoken by the Kher ḥeb. The power of the Semmȧn water was great, for as soon as it touched the face of the deceased his mouth was opened, and he was able to taste the emission, or life essence, of Horus and Set. Having tasted it, his whole being was changed, and he became a new creature, and henceforth he was a counterpart of the Shemsu Ḥeru, or “Followers of Horus.” The Horus here referred to must not be confounded with the twin-brother of Set. The Horus who is always associated with Set is “Horus the Great,” or “Horus the Elder,” the Haroeris of the Greeks, but the Horus mentioned in the Liturgy in connection with “Followers” is “Horus, the son of Isis.”

The “Followers of Horus” were a group of beings who were closely connected with Osiris, and having “followed” him in this world they passed after him into the Other World, where they became his ministrants and messengers, partaking of his immortal nature, and sharing his life. Horus the Elder was “followed” by a group of beings also, but these were of a totally different character, for they were called "Mesentiu,", i.e., "workers in metal," or "blacksmiths." In some texts the followers of Horus, the son of Isis, are identified with the metal-workers of


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 Horus the Elder, and it is possible that this is the case in the Liturgy. On the other hand, the deduction to be made from our text seems to be that the essence of Horus and Set introduced into the body of the deceased changed his nature into theirs, while the cleansing with natron made him a counterpart of the followers of Horus, the son of Isis. He thus possessed the nature of Horus, the oldest god of heaven, and the nature of a “follower” of the son of the man Osiris, who rose from the dead and became the ever-living god and judge of the dead.

The next ceremony continued the process of assimilating the deceased with the gods. The priest, having dissolved five grains of incense made from the salt deposit in a place in the Natron Valley called “Shet pet,”, or "Lake of Heaven," in a libation vase of water, and poured it into a vessel, walked with it four times round the mummy and sprinkled it each time. As he did so the Kher ḥeb said the following words four times:

 * "Thou art purified with natron, and Horus is purified with natron.
 * Thou art purified with natron, and Set is purified with natron.
 * Thou art purified with natron, and Thoth is purified with natron.


text: Supplement to the Fourth, Fifth, and Sixth Editions of the Encyclopædia Britannica/Aqua Tofana


text: Books on Egypt and Chaldaea/Collection 7/Volume 25/Fourth Ceremony


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The Pines of Lory/Chapter 9

FTER a lapse of time–an unremembered period of whose length he had no conception–Pats awoke.

Was it a little temple of carved wood in which he lay? At each corner stood a column; above him a little dome of silk, ancient and much faded. Gradually–and slowly–he realized that he was reposing on a bed of vast dimensions and in a room whose furnishings belonged to a previous century. A mellow, golden light pervaded the apartment. This light, which gave to all things in the room an air of unreality–as in an ancient painting luminous with age–came from the sunshine entering through a piece of antiquated silk, placed by considerate hands against the window.

Pats’s wandering eyes encountered a lady in a chair. She sat facing him, a few feet away, her head resting easily against the carved woodwork behind, a hand upon each arm of the seat. She was asleep. In this golden mist she seemed to the half-dreaming man a vision from another world–something too good to be true–a divine presence that might vanish if he moved. Or, perhaps, she might fade back into a frame and prove to be only another of the portraits that hung about the room. So far as he could judge, with his slowly awakening senses, he was gazing upon the most entrancing face he had ever beheld. At first the face was unfamiliar, but soon, with returning memory, he recalled it. But it seemed thinner now. There were dark lines beneath the eyes, and something about the mouth gave an impression of weariness and care; and these were not in the face as he had known it. However, the closed lids, and the head resting calmly against the back of the high chair made a tranquil picture. For a long time he lay immovable, his eyes drinking in the vision. There was nothing to disturb the silence save the solemn ticking of a clock in another part of the cottage. He heard, beyond the big tapestry, the sound of a dog snapping at a fly. Pats smiled and would have whistled to Solomon, but he remembered the weary angel by his bed. With a sort of terror he recalled this lady’s capacity for contempt.

Being too warm for comfort he pushed, with exceeding gentleness and caution, the bed-clothes farther from his chin. But the movement, although absolutely noiseless, as he believed, caused the eyes of the sleeper to open. She arose, then stood beside him. A cool hand was laid gently upon his forehead; another drew up the bed-clothes to his chin, as they were before. With anxious eyes he studied her face, and when he found therein neither contempt nor aversion he experienced an overwhelming joy. And she, detecting in the invalid’s eyes an unwonted look, bent over and regarded him more intently. As his eyes looked into hers he smiled, faintly, experimentally, in humble adoration. The face above him lit up with pleasure. In a very low tone she exclaimed:

“You are feeling better!”

He undertook to reply but no voice responded. He tried again, and succeeded in whispering:

“Has anything happened?”

“You have been very ill.”

“How long?”

“This is the eighth day.”

“The eighth day!” He frowned in a mental effort to unravel the past. “Then I must have been–out of my head.”

“Yes, most of the time.” She was watching him with anxious eyes. “Perhaps you had better not talk much now. Try and sleep again.”

“No, I am–full of sleep. Is this the same house–we discovered that first day?”

“Yes.”

He closed his eyes, and again she rested a hand upon his brow.

“Who is here besides you?” he asked.

“No one–except Solomon.”

“Solomon!” and he smiled. “Is Solomon well?”

“Oh, yes! Very well.”

“Then you have taken care of me all this time?”

She turned away and took up a glass of water from a table near the bed.

“Yes; Solomon and I together. Are you thirsty? Would you like anything?”

Pats closed his eyes and took a long breath. There was no use in trying to say what he felt, so he answered in a husky voice, which he found difficult to control:

“Thank you. I am thirsty.”

“Would you like tea or a glass of water?”

“Water, please.”

“Or, would you prefer grapes?”

“Grapes!”

“Yes, grapes, or oranges, or pears, whichever you prefer.”

His look of incredulity seemed to amuse her. “Do you remember the two boxes and the barrel left by the Maid of the North on the beach with our baggage?”

He nodded.

“Well, one of those boxes was filled with fruit.”

“Is there plenty for both of us?”

“More than enough.”

“Then I will have a glass of water first and then grapes–and all the other things.”

He drank the water, and as she took away the empty glass, he said, in a serious tone: “Miss Marshall, I wish I could tell you how mortified I am and how–how–”

“Mortified! At what?”

“All this trouble–this–whole business.”

“But you certainly could not help it!”

“That’s very kind of you, but it’s all wrong–all wrong!”

She smiled and moved away, and as she drew aside the tapestry and disappeared, he turned his face to the wall, and muttered, “Disgraceful! Disgraceful! I must get well fast.”

And he carried out this resolve. Every hour brought new strength. In less than a week he was out of bed and sitting up. During this early period of convalescence–the period of tremulous legs and ravenous hunger–the Fourth of July arrived, and they celebrated the occasion by a sumptuous dinner. There was soup, sardines, cold tongue, dried-apple sauce, baked potatoes, fresh bread, and preserved pears, and the last of the grapes. At table, Elinor faced the empty chair that held the miniature, for the absent lady’s right to that place was always respected. Pats sat at the end facing the door. They dined at noon. A bottle of claret was opened and they drank to the health of Uncle Sam.

Toward the end of the dinner, Pats arose, and with one hand on the table to reinforce his treacherous legs, held aloft his glass. Looking over to the dog, who lay by the open door, his head upon his paws, he said:

“Solomon, here’s to a certain woman; of all women on earth the most unselfish and forgiving, the most perfect in spirit and far and away the most beautiful–the Ministering Angel of the Pines. God bless her!”

At these words Solomon, as if in recognition of the sentiment, arose from his position near the door, walked to Elinor’s side and, with his habitual solemnity, looked up into her eyes.

“Solomon,” said Pats, “you have the soul of a gentleman.”

In Elinor’s pale face there was a warmer color as she bent over and caressed the dog.

After the dinner all three walked out into the pines, Pats leaning on the lady’s arm. The day was warm. But the gentle, southerly breeze came full of life across the Gulf. And the water itself, this day, was the same deep, vivid blue as the water that lies between Naples and Vesuvius. The convalescent and his nurse stopped once or twice to drink in the air–and the scene.

Pats filled his lungs with a long, deep breath. “I feel very light. Hold me fast, or I may float away.”

Both his head and his legs seemed flighty and precarious. Those two glasses of claret were proving a little too much–they had set his brain a-dancing. But this he kept to himself. She noticed the high spirits, but supposed them merely an invalid’s delight in getting out of doors.

Under the big trees they rested for a time, in silence, Elinor gazing out across the point, over the glistening sea beyond. The shade of the pines they found refreshing. The convalescent lay at full length, upon his back, looking up with drowsy eyes into the cool, dark canopy, high above. Soothing to the senses was the sighing of the wind among the branches.

“This is good!” he murmured. “I could stay here forever.”

“That may be your fate,” and her eyes moved sadly over the distant, sailless sea. “It is a month to-day that we have been here.”

“So it is, a whole month!”

Elinor sighed. “There is something wrong, somewhere. It seems to me the natural–the only thing–would be for somebody to hunt us up.”

“Certainly.”

“Could they have sailed by this bay and missed us?”

“Not unless they were idiots. Everybody on the steamer knew we sailed into a bay to get here.”

“Still, they may have missed us.”

“Well, suppose they did go by us, once or twice, or several times; people don’t abandon their best friends and brothers in that off-hand fashion.”

After a pause he added, “Something may have happened to Father Burke or to Louise.”

“But even then,” said Elinor, turning toward him, “wouldn’t they try and discover why I had not arrived? And wouldn’t they hunt you up?”

“No, I was to be a surprise. None of them knew I was coming. They think I am still in South Africa.”

There was a long silence, broken at last by Pats. “What a hideous practical joke I have turned out! In the first place I strand you here and–”

“No! I was very unjust that day and have repented–and tried to atone.”

“Atone! You! Angels defend us! If atonement was due from you, where am I? Instead of getting you away, I go out of my head and have a fever–and am fed–like a baby.”

She smiled. “That is hardly your fault.”

“Yes, it is. No man would do it. Pugs and Persian cats do that sort of thing. For men there are proper times for giving out. But there is one thing I should like to say–that is, that my life is yours. This skeleton belongs to you, and the soul that goes with it. Henceforth I shall be your slave. I do not aspire to be treated as your equal; just an abject, reverent, willing slave.”

She smiled and played with the ears of the sleeping Solomon.

“I am serious,” and Pats raised himself on one elbow. “Just from plain, unvarnished gratitude–if from nothing else–I shall always do whatever you command–live, die, steal, commit murder, scrub floors, anything–I don’t care what.”

“Do you really mean it?”

“I do.”

“Then stop talking.”

With closed eyes he fell back into his former position. But again, partially raising himself, he asked, “May I say just one thing more?”

“No.”

Again he fell back, and there was silence.

For a time Elinor sat with folded hands gazing dreamily beyond the point over the distant gulf, a dazzling, vivid blue beneath the July sun. When at last she turned with a question upon her lips and saw the closed eyes and tranquil breathing of the convalescent, she held her peace. Then came a drowsy sense of her own fatigue. Cautiously, that the sleeper might not awake, she also reclined, at full length, and closed her eyes. Delicious was the soft air: restful the carpet of pine-needles. No cradle-song could be more soothing than the muffled voices of the pines: and the lady slept.

But Pats was not asleep. He soon opened his eyes and gazed dreamily upward among the branches overhead, then moved his eyes in her direction. For an easier study of the inviting creature not two yards away, he partially raised himself on an elbow. The contemplation of this lady he had found at all times entrancing; but now, from her unconscious carelessness and freedom she became of absorbing interest. Her dignity was asleep, as it were: her caution forgotten. With captivated eyes he drank in the graceful outlines of her figure beneath the white dress, the gentle movement of the chest, the limp hands on the pine-needles. Some of the pride and reserve of the clean-cut, patrician face–of which he stood in awe–had melted away in slumber.

Maybe the murmur of the pines with the drowsy, languorous breeze relaxed his conscience; at all events the contours of the upturned lips were irresistible. Silently he rolled over once–the soft carpet of pine-needles abetting the manœuvre–until his face was at right angles to her own, and very near. Then cautiously and slowly he pressed his lips to hers. This contact brought a thrill of ecstasy–an intoxication to his senses. But the joy was brief.

More quickly than his startled wits could follow she had pushed away his face and risen to her feet. Erect, with burning cheeks, she looked down into his startled eyes with an expression that brought him sharply to his senses. It was a look of amazement, of incredulity, of contempt–of everything in short that he had hoped never to encounter in her face again. For a moment she stood regarding him, her breast heaving, a stray lock of hair across a hot cheek, the most distant, the most exalted, and the most beautiful figure he had ever seen. Then, without a word, she walked away. Across the open, sunlit space his eyes followed her, until, through the doorway of the cottage, she disappeared.

For a moment he remained as he was, upon the ground, half reclining, staring blankly at the doorway. Then, slowly, he lowered himself and lay at full length along the ground, his face in his hands.

Of the flight of time he had no knowledge: but, at last, when he rose to his feet he appeared older. He was paler. His eyes were duller. About the mouth had come lines which seemed to indicate a painful resolution. But to the shrunken legs he had summoned a sufficient force to carry him, without wavering, to the cottage door. He entered and dropped, as a man uncertain of his strength, into the nearest chair–the one beside the doorway. Solomon, who had followed at his heels, looked up inquiringly into the emaciated face. Its extraordinary melancholy may have alarmed him. But Pats paid no attention to his dog. He looked at Elinor who was ironing, at the heavy table–the dining-table–in the centre of the room. Her sleeves were rolled back to the elbow; her head bent slightly over as she worked.

The afternoon sun flooded the space in his vicinity and reached far along the floor, touching the skirt of her dress. Behind her the old tapestry with the two marble busts formed a stately background. To the new arrivals she paid no attention.

After a short rest to recover his breath, and his strength, Pats cleared his throat:

“Miss Marshall, you will never know, for I could not begin to tell you–how sorry–how, how ashamed I am for having done–what I did. I don’t ask you to forgive me. If you were my sister and another man did it, I should–” He leaned back, at a loss for words.

“I don’t say it was the claret. I don’t try to excuse myself in any way. But one thing I ask you to believe: that I did not realize what I was doing.”

He arose and stood with his hand on the back of the chair. As he went on his voice grew less steady. “Why, I look upon you as something sacred; you are so much finer, higher, better than other people. In a way I feel toward you as toward my mother’s memory; and that is a holy thing. I could as soon insult one as the other. And I realize and shall never forget all that you have done for me.”

In a voice over which he seemed to be losing control, he went on, more rapidly:

“And it’s more than all that–it’s more than gratitude and respect. I–” For an instant he hesitated, then his words came hotly, with a reckless haste. “I love you as I never thought of loving any human being. It began when I first saw you on the wharf. You don’t know what it means. Why, I could lay down my life for you–a thousand times–and joyfully.”

From Elinor these words met with no outward recognition. She went quietly on with her ironing.

Pats drew a deep breath, sank into his chair and muttered, in a lower tone, “I never meant to tell you that. Now I–I–have done it.”

During the pause that followed these last words she said, quietly, without looking up:

“I knew it already.”

He straightened up. “Knew what already?”

She lifted a collar she was ironing and examined it, but made no reply.

“You knew what already?” he repeated. “That I was in love with you?”

She nodded, still regarding the collar.

“Impossible!”

She laid the collar beside other collars already ironed and took up another; but he heard no answer.

“How did you know?” he asked. “From what?”

“From various things.”

“What things?”

There was no reply.

“From things I did?”

She nodded, rather solemnly, and her face, what he could see of it–seemed very serious. Pats was watching her intently, and exclaimed, in surprise:

“That is very curious, for I kept it to myself!”

“Any woman would have known.”

Pats leaned back, and frowned. A torturing thought possessed him. In an anxious tone he said: “I hope I did not talk much when I had the fever.”

As she made no reply he studied the back of her head for some responsive motion. But none came.

“Did I?” he demanded.

“Yes.”

A look of terror came into his face and his voice grew fainter as he asked: “Did I talk about you?”

“Freely.”

With trembling fingers he felt for his handkerchief and drew it across his brow. “Did I say things that–that–I should be ashamed of?”

She nodded.

Pats sunk lower in his chair and closed his eyes. Judging from the lines in his cadaverous face the last three minutes had added years to his age.

“Would you mind telling me,” he asked in a deferential voice, so low that it barely reached her, “whether they were impertinent and ungentlemanly–or–or–what?”

“Everything.”

His lips were dry, and on his face came a look of anguish–of unspeakable shame. There was a pause, broken only by the faint sound of the flatiron.

“Then I really talked about you–at one time?”

She nodded.

“More than once?”

“For days together.”

Pats closed his eyes in pain, and there was a silence. Then he opened them: “Would you mind telling me some of the things I said?”

“I could not remember.”

“Have you forgotten all?”

“No–but I prefer not repeating them.”

On Pats’s face the look of shame deepened. In a very low voice he said: “Please remember that I was not myself.”

“I make allowance for that.”

“Excuse my asking, but if I was out of my head and irresponsible, what could I have said to make you believe that I was–in love with you?”

“You protested so violently that you were not.”

With unspeakable horror and humiliation Pats began to realize the awful possibilities of that divulgence of his most secret thoughts. A cold chill crept up his spine. He looked down at the floor, from fear that she might glance in his direction and meet his eyes. Solomon, who felt there was trouble in the air, came nearer and placed his cold wet snout against the clinched hands of his master; but the hands were unresponsive.

At last, the stricken man mustered courage enough to stammer in a constrained voice:

“It is not from curiosity I ask it, but would you mind telling me–giving me at least some idea of what I said?”

Elinor carefully deposited a neatly folded handkerchief upon a little pile of other handkerchiefs. Then, looking down at the table and not at Pats, she said calmly, as she continued her work:

“You said I was a pious hypocrite–coldblooded and heartless–and a fool. You repeated a great many times that I was superior, pretentious, and ‘everlastingly stuck on myself,’–I think that was the expression. Of course, I cannot repeat your own words. They were forcible, but exceedingly profane.”

“Oh!”

“You kept mentioning three other men who could have me for all you cared.”

Pats felt himself blushing. He frowned, grew hot, and bit his lip. Mingled with his mortification came an impotent rage. He felt that behind her contempt she was laughing at him. As there was a pause, he muttered bitterly:

“Go on.”

But she continued silently with her ironing.

“Please go on. Tell me more; the worst. I should like to know it.”

Raising one of the handkerchiefs higher for a closer examination, she added: “You sang comic songs, inserting my name, and with language I supposed no gentlemen could use.”

Pats gasped. His cheeks tingled. In shame he closed his eyes. The ticking of the old clock behind the door seemed to hammer his degradation still deeper into his aching soul. As his wandering, miserable gaze encountered the marble face of the Marshal of France he thought the old soldier was watching him in contemptuous enjoyment.

But Elinor went on quietly with her ironing.

Suddenly into his feverish brain there came a thought, heaven-born, inspiring. It lifted him to his feet. With a firm stride he approached the table. No legs could have done it better. He stood beside her, but she turned her back as she went on with the ironing. His expression was of a man exalted, yet anxious; and he spoke in a low but unruly voice.

“You say you have known I was in love with you ever since the fever?”

She nodded slightly, without looking up.

“And yet you have been very–kind, and not–not annoyed or offended. Perhaps after all, you–you–oh, please turn around!”

But she did not turn, so he stepped around in front. Into her cheeks had come a sudden color, and in her eyes he saw the light that lifts a lover to the highest heaven.

It was Pat’s cry of joy and his impulsive and somewhat violent embrace of this lady that awakened the dog reposing by the door. Looking in the direction of the voice Solomon seemed to see but a single figure. This was a natural mistake. In another moment, however, he realized that extraordinary things were happening,–that these two distinct and separate beings with a single outline signified some momentous change in human life. Whether from an over-mastering sympathy, from envy, delicacy, or disgust, Solomon looked the other way. Then, thoughtfully, with drooping head, he walked slowly out and left the lovers to themselves.

title: The Pines of Lory/Chapter 9


text:
The Pines of Lory/Chapter 10

APPY were the days that followed. Pats, uplifted with his own joy, became a lavish dispenser of cheerfulness and folly. Elinor, with unclouded eyes and a warmer color in her cheeks, seemed to have drifted into the Harbor of Serenity. Both were at peace with creation.

In pleasant weather they strolled among the pines, worked in the little garden behind the house, fished, played upon the beach, or explored the neighborhood. When it rained, which was seldom, they cleaned up the house, read books and old letters, ransacking trunks and drawers trying to discover the secret of the departed owner. But in vain. The departed owner had been careful to leave no clew to his identity or of his reason for abiding there. They did find, however, between the leaves of a book, a little chart of the point done by his own hand apparently, and beneath it was written

So they felt they had learned the name of the place, but whether it was the official name or one given by the old gentleman for his private use they could not discover.

“There is a town of St. Lory in the south of France,” said Pats. “I knew a man who came from there. Perhaps our host was from that vicinity.”

The days went by and no sail appeared. This, however, was of slight importance. In fact, during that first ecstatic period, nothing was important,–that is, nothing like a ship. It was during this period they forgot to keep tally of time, and they either lost or gained a day, they knew not which–nor cared.

All days were good, whatever the weather. Time never dragged. With a companion of another temperament Elinor could easily have passed moments of depression. For a girl in her position there certainly was abundant material for regret. But the courage and the unwavering cheerfulness of Pats were contagious. He and melancholy were never partners. A discovery, however, was made one morning on the little beach that, for a moment at least, filled Elinor with misgivings.

Midway along this beach they found a bucket, rolling about on the sand, driven here and there by the incoming waves.

“That is worth saving,” and Pats, watching his opportunity, followed up a receding breaker and procured the prize. It resembled a fire-bucket; and there were white letters around the centre. Elinor ran up and stood beside him, and, as he held it aloft, turning it slowly about to follow the words, both read aloud:

“Of–the–North–Maid.”

“Maid of the North!” exclaimed Elinor, grasping Pats by the arm. “Oh, I hope nothing has happened to her!”

“Probably not. More likely some sailor lost it overboard.” Then, looking up and down the beach, “There is no wreckage of any kind. If she had blown up or struck a rock there would surely be something more than one water-bucket to come ashore and tell us. I guess she is all right.”

“But how exciting! It seems like meeting an old friend.”

She held it in her own hands. “Poor thing! You did look so melancholy swashing about on this lonely beach.”

When they returned to the house they carried the bucket with them.

Pats had his own misgivings, however. One or two other objects he had discerned floating on the water farther out, too far away to distinguish what they were. And the fact that no search had been made for Elinor was in itself disquieting. But as his chief aim at present was to bring contentment to the girl beside him, he carefully refrained from any betrayal of these doubts. Nothing else, however, that might cause alarm was washed ashore.

And Pats, all this time, was growing fat. His increasing plumpness was perceptible from day to day, and it proved a constant source of mirth to his companion. One morning he appeared in a pair of checkered trousers purchased in South Africa during his skeleton period. They seemed on the verge of exploding from the outward pressure of the legs within. Elinor made no effort to suppress her merriment. She called him “Fatsy.” And to the dog, who regarded the trousers with his usual solemnity, she remarked:

But with “Fatsy’s” flesh came increase of strength, and he proved a hard worker. As soon as he was strong enough he began to build the raft by which they hoped to cross the river. But progress was slow for his endurance had limits, and he could work but an hour or two each day. Their plan was to paddle across the river on this raft as they floated down. Owing to the swiftness of the current they built the raft nearly a mile farther up the stream. With the walk to and fro, which also taxed the builder’s strength, the month of July brought little progress. One afternoon, they sauntered home, the broad, swift, silent river on their right, the sun just above the trees on the opposite bank. Close at hand, on their own side of the river the nearest pines stood forth in strong relief against the mysterious depths behind. Near the river’s bank long shadows from these towering trunks lay in purple bars across the smooth, brown carpet. It was about half-way home that the man, with an air of weariness, seated himself upon a fallen tree. Elinor regarded him with an anxious face.

“Patsy, you have done too much again.” As he looked up, she saw in his eyes an expression she had learned to associate with levity and foolishness. “Be serious. You are very tired, now aren’t you?”

“Just pleasantly tired. But if I were suddenly kissed by a popular belle it would give me new strength.”

When, a moment later, he arose, fresh life and vigor seemed certainly to have been acquired. Catching her by the waist, he hummed a waltz and away they floated, over the pine-needles, he in gray and she in white, like wingless spirits of the wood. When the waltz had ended and they were walking hand in hand, and a little out of breath, the lady remarked:

“When I am frivolous in these woods I feel very wicked. They are so silent and reserved themselves, so solemn and so very high-minded that it seems a desecration.”

“All wrong,” said Pats. “This is a temple built for lovers: shady, spacious, and jammed full of mystery–and safe.”

“But it’s the spaciousness and mystery that make it so like a temple and suggest serious thoughts.”

“Not to a healthy mind. Oh, no! This gloom is here for a purpose. Pious thoughts should seek the light, but lovers need obscurity. They always have and they always will.”

A few steps farther on he stopped and faced her, still holding her hand: “If you will feed the hens to-night, bring in the wood and wash the dishes, you may embrace me once again–now, right here.”

She snatched away her head. He sprang forward to catch her–but she was away, beyond his reach. She ran on ahead and Pats, after a short pursuit, gave up the chase, for his fallible legs were still unfit for speed. With a mocking laugh and a wave of the hand she hastened on toward the cottage. Following more leisurely he watched the graceful figure in the white dress hurrying on before him until it was lost among the pines.

Just at the edge of the woods, not a hundred feet from the house, he stopped. Standing behind a tree so that Elinor, if she came to the door, could not see him, he whistled three notes. These notes, clear and full, were in imitation of a quail. And he did it exceedingly well. The imitation was masterly.

But no one appeared at the cottage door, and after a short silence he repeated the call.

“Perfect!”

Pats started and turned about.

“A very clever hoax!”

And as Elinor stepped forth from behind a neighboring tree, there was a look in her eyes that caused the skilful deceiver to bow his head. With a slight movement of the hands, the palms turned outward, as if in surrender, he offered a mute appeal for mercy.

“So you are that quail!” And slowly up and down she moved her head as if realizing with reluctance the bitterness of the discovery. “What fun you must have had in fooling me so often and so easily! And the many times that I have hurried to that door and waited to hear it again! What was my offence that you should pay me back in such a fashion?”

“Oh, don’t put it that way! Don’t speak like that!”

“And my sentiment about it! My saying that I loved the sound because it took me back to my own home in Massachusetts–all that must have been very amusing.”

“Listen. Let me explain.”

“And to keep on making me ridiculous, day after day, when I was on the verge of collapse from pure exhaustion–yes, it showed a nice feeling.”

“Elinor, you are very unjust. Let me tell you just how it happened. The first morning that I could walk as far as this, you left me here at this very spot, and you went back to the house. I was told to whistle if I wanted anything. You remember?”

Almost perceptibly and with contempt she nodded.

“Well, when I did whistle, I whistled in that way–like a quail. You thought it was a real quail and you didn’t come out. When finally you helped me back you spoke of hearing a quail, and of how much pleasure it gave you. You hoped he would not go away.” And he smiled humbly, as he added: “And you made me promise not to shoot him.”

She merely turned her eyes away, over the river, toward the sunset.

“And I thought then that if it gave you so much pleasure, why not keep on with it? The Lord knows the favors a helpless invalid can bestow are few enough! And the Lord also knows that I have no accomplishments. I cannot sing, or play, or recite poetry. At that time I could not even start a fire or bring in water. In fact, my sole accomplishment was to imitate a bird. ’Tis a humble gift, but I resolved to make the most of it.”

She stood facing him, about a dozen feet away, a striking figure, with the light from the setting sun on her white dress, the dark recesses of the wood for a background. Into her face came no signs of relenting. But he detected in her eyebrows a slight movement as if to maintain a frown, and he ventured nearer, slowly, as a dog just punished manœuvres for forgiveness. Removing his straw hat he knelt before her, his eyes upon the ground.

“I confess to a guilty feeling every time I did it. I knew a day of reckoning would come. But I was postponing it. I am ashamed, really ashamed; but on my honor my motive was good. Please be merciful.”

“Are you serious?–or trying to be funny, and not really caring much about it?”

“I am serious; very serious.”

“Do you realize what a contemptible trick it was–how mean-spirited and ungrateful?”

Lower still sank his head. “I do.”

“And you promise never to deceive me again?”

“I swear it.”

“You value my good opinion, I suppose.”

“I would rather die than lose it!”

“Well, you have lost it, and forever.”

From the bowed head came a groan. At this point Solomon approached the kneeling figure and placed his nose inquiringly against the criminal’s ear. And the criminal involuntarily shrank from the cold contact. At this the lady smiled, but unobserved by the kneeling man.

“Are you sincerely and thoroughly ashamed?”

“Yumps.”

“What?”

“Yes, oh, yes!”

“I don’t like your manner.”

“Please like it. I am honest now. I shall always be good.”

“You couldn’t. It isn’t in you.”

“There is going to be a mighty effort.”

“Get up!”

He obeyed. As their eyes met, he smiled, but with a frown she pointed toward the cottage. “Turn around and walk humbly with your head down. You are not to speak until spoken to. And you are to be in disgrace for three days.”

“Oh! Three days?”

“Go ahead.”

And again he obeyed.

Elinor was firm. For three days the disgrace endured. But it was not of a nature to demolish hope or even to retard digestion. And Solomon, who was a keen observer, displayed no unusual sympathy, and evidently failed to realize that his master was in any serious trouble.

On pleasant evenings Pats and Elinor often went to the beach below and sat upon the rocks, always attended by Solomon, the only chaperon at hand. Here they were nearer the water. And one evening they found much happiness in watching a big, round moon as it rose from the surface of the Gulf. The silence, the shimmer of the moonlight on the waters–all tended to draw lovers closer together. Already the heads of these two people were so near that the faintest tone sufficed. And they murmured many things–things strictly between themselves, that would appear of an appalling foolishness if repeated here–or anywhere. They also talked on serious subjects; subjects so transcendentally serious as to be of interest only by night. Like all other lovers they exchanged confidences. Once, when Pats was speaking of his family she suddenly withdrew her hand. “By the way, there is something to be explained. Tell me about that interview with your father.”

“Which interview?”

“The disgraceful, murderous one.”

Pats reflected. “There were several.”

“Oh, Patsy! Are you so bad as that?”

“As what?”

“But you did not mean to do him injury, did you?”

“I do him injury?” he inquired, in a mild surprise. “Why, what are you driving at, Elinor?”

“I mean the quarrel in the arbor.”

“And what happened?”

“You know very well.”

“Indeed I do! But there were several quarrels. Which one do you mean?”

“I mean the one when you were violent–and murderous.”

“But I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were. I know all about it.”

“If you know all about it, what do you want me to tell?”

“Tell about the worst quarrel of all.”

“That must have been the last one.”

“Well, tell me about that.”

Pats took a long breath, then began: “The old gentleman was a hot Catholic. There was no harm in that, you will think. And I am not such a fool as to spoil a night like this by a religious discussion.”

“Go on.”

“Well, he insisted upon my becoming a Catholic priest. Now, for a young man just out of college–and Harvard College at that–it was a good deal to ask. Wasn’t it?”

“Continue.”

“One day in that summer-house he sailed away into one of his tempers–did you ever happen to see him in that condition?”

“No, but I have heard of them.”

“Well, my mother was a Unitarian. So was I. And the gulf between a Unitarian and a Catholic priest is about as wide as from here to that moon. It was like asking me to become a beautiful young lady–or a green elephant–I simply couldn’t. Perhaps you agree with me?”

“Go on. Don’t ask so many questions.”

“I told him, respectfully, it was impossible. Then as he made a rush for me I saw, from his eyes and his white face, that murder and sudden death were in the air. Being younger I could dodge him and get away, and that so increased his fury that he fell down on the gravel walk in a sort of convulsion–or fit. I ran into the house for assistance, and while Sally and Martha tried to bring him to I went for the doctor.”

A silence followed this story. At last Elinor inquired if his father persisted.

“Persisted! That question, oh, Angel Cook, shows how little you knew my father! As soon as he recovered he lost no time in telling me to leave the house and never see him again.”

“And what happened?”

“I vanished.”

“Oh!” A sympathetic pressure of his hand and the girl beside him leaned closer still. “Horrible! So you wandered out into the world and this is your home-coming. Well, Patsy, I shall never treat you in that way. When you are very obstinate I shall just put my arms around your neck and treat you very differently.”

“Well,” said Pats, “I think it safer for you to be doing that most of the time, anyway. It might stave off any inclination to obstinacy.”

Here followed a snug, celestial silence, broken at last by Pats. “Would you mind telling me, O Light of the North, where you heard I was the attacking party at that interview?”

“No, I must not tell.”

“Did Father Burke make you promise?”

“Why do you mention him?”

“For lots of reasons. One is that he is the only person on earth who could possibly have told you. But it was clever of him to warn you against me. I knew from his expression when he said good-by, on the boat, that he thought he had settled my prospects, and to his perfect satisfaction. However, I don’t ask you to betray him. And I bear no malice. He did his best to undo me, but Love and all the angels were on my side.”

She laughed gently. “And you all made a strong combination, Patsy.”

Then another long silence, and soon he felt the lady leaning more heavily against him. The head drooped and he knew she slumbered. Having no wish to disturb her, he sat for a while without moving, and watched the moon and thought delectable thoughts of the creature by his side. And as his thoughts, involuntarily, and in an amiable spirit, travelled back to Father Burke, he smiled as he pictured quite a different expression on the face of the priest when he should learn what had happened. And the smile seemed reflected in the radiant countenance of the big, round moon mounting slowly in the heavens. She appeared to beam approval upon him and upon the precious burden he supported. But with the drowsiness which soon came stealing over him he saw–or dreamed he saw–out in the glistening path of light between the moon and him, not far from where he sat, an object like a human face, upturned, moving gently with the waves. And mingling among the quivering moonbeams around the head was a silvery halo that might be the hair of Father Burke; for the face resembled his.

Pats was startled and became wide awake. Even then, he thought he had a glimpse of the face with its silver hair, as it drifted out of the bar of light into the darkness, slowly, toward the sea.

title: The Pines of Lory/Chapter 10


text:
The Pines of Lory/Chapter 11

HERE came, with August, a perceptible shortening of the days. Cooler nights gave warning that the brief Canadian summer was nearing its end.

Pats labored on the raft, but the work was long. A float that would bear in safety two people down the river’s current–and possibly out to sea–demanded size and strength and weight. Felling trees, trimming logs, and steering them down the river to the “ship-yard,” proved a slower undertaking than had been foreseen. But nobody complained. The air they breathed and the life they led were in themselves annihilators of despair. It was an exhilarating, out-of-door life,–a life of love and labor and of ecstatic repose.

Both Elinor and Pats were up with the sun, and the days were never too long. To them it mattered little whether the evenings were long or short or cold or warm, for by the time the dishes were washed and the chores were done, they became too sleepy to be of interest to each other. And when the lady retired to her own chamber behind the tapestries, Pats, at his end of the cottage, always whistled gently or broke the silence in one way or another as a guarantee of distance, that she might feel a greater security.

As for lovers’ quarrels none occurred that were seriously respected by either party. In fact there was but little to break the monotony of that solid, absolute content with which all days began and ended.

There is no doubt of that, but two lovers, with unfailing appetites, however exalted their devotion, are sure, in time, to produce conspicuous results with any ordinary store of provisions. In the present instance the discovery–or realization–of this truth was accidental. It came one morning as Elinor, in a blue and white apron, with sleeves rolled up, was preparing corn-bread at the kitchen table–so they called the table near the fireplace at the end of the room. Pats came up from the cellar with a face of unusual seriousness.

“I have been an awful fool!”

She looked up with her sweetest smile:

“And that troubles you, darling?”

Without replying, he laid three potatoes on the table.

“I told you to get four.”

“These are the last.”

“Isn’t there a second barrel?”

“No.”

“Why, Patsy! We both saw it!”

“That’s where I was a fool. I took it for granted the other barrel held potatoes because it looked like the first one.”

“But it was full of something.”

“Yes, but not potatoes. It is crockery, glassware, a magnificent table-set. Old Sèvres, I should say.”

“What a shame!” And with the back of a hand whose fingers were covered with corn-meal, she brushed a stray lock from her face.

“Yes,” he went on, “it’s a calamity, for we cannot afford it. I took an account of stock while I was down there, and all we have now in the way of vegetables is the dried apples. Of course, there’s the garden truck,–the peas, beans, and the corn,–if it ever ripens.”

After further conversation on that subject, Elinor said, with a sigh: “Well, we did enjoy those baked potatoes! We shall have to eat more eggs, that’s all.”

“Eggs!” and his face became distorted. “I am so chock full of eggs now that everything looks yellow. I dream of them. I cackle in my sleep. My whole interior is egg. I breathe and think egg. I gag when I hear a hen.”

“But you are going to eat them all the same. We have a dozen a day, and you must do your share.”

“I won’t.”

“Yes, you will.”

As Pats’s eyes fell on Solomon, he brightened up. “There’s that dog eats only the very things we are unable to spare. Why shouldn’t he eat eggs?”

“You might try and teach him.”

“Tell me,” said Pats, “why hens should lay nothing but eggs, always eggs? Why shouldn’t they lay pears, lemons, tomatoes,–things we really need?”

In silence the lady continued her work.

“Angel Cook?”

“Well?”

“What do you think?”

“I think, considering your years, that your conversation is surprising. Eggs are very nourishing, and we are lucky to have them. Didn’t I make you a nice omelette only a few days ago?”

“You did, and I never knew a better for its purpose. I still use it for cleaning the windows.”

“Really! Well, you had better make it last, for you won’t get another.”

“Oh, don’t be angry! I thought you meant it as a keepsake.”

He approached with repentant air, but when threatened with her doughy hands, he retreated, and sat on the big chest by the window. This chest had served for his bed since his convalescence.

Elinor frowned, and pointed to the fire. Pats arose and laid on a fresh stick, then knelt upon the hearth and, with a seventeenth-century bellows, inlaid with silver, that would have graced the drawing-room of a palace, he coaxed the fire into a more active life.

“Now go out and bring in some wood. More small sticks. Not the big ones.”

title: The Pines of Lory/Chapter 11


text:
The Pines of Lory/Chapter 12

URING dinner, which occurred at noon, there were fewer words that day, and with somewhat more reflection than was usual. The store of provisions now rapidly disappearing, together with no prospect of immediate escape, furnished rich material for thought. Both knew the raft might prove a treacherous reliance. Instead of landing them on the opposite bank of the river there were excellent chances of its carrying them out to sea. And the prevailing westerly wind was almost sure to drive them backward to the east again. Pats had been all over this so many times in his own mind, and with Elinor, that the subject was pretty well exhausted. But still, from habit, he speculated.

“A penny for your thoughts.”

He raised his eyes, and as they met her own his habitual cheerfulness returned. “My thoughts are worth more than that, for I was thinking of you.”

“Something bad?”

“I was wondering how many days you could foot it through the wilderness before giving out.”

“For ever, little Patsy, if you were with me.”

“Then we have nothing to fear. We can both march on for ever. You are not only food and drink to me,–that is, the equivalent of corncake, potatoes, marmalade, and claret,–but your presence is life and strength and a spiritual tonic.”

“That is a good sentiment,” and she reached forth a hand, which he took.

“Merely to look at you,” he continued, “will be exhilarating on a long march. And to hear your voice, and touch you–why, my soul becomes drunk in thinking of it.”

“Then you expect to be in a state of intoxication during the whole journey?”

“That is my hope.”

It happened, a few minutes later, that she herself became preoccupied, her eyes fixed thoughtfully upon the little portrait on the opposite chair.

“A dollar for your thoughts.”

“Why so much?”

“Because any thought of yours,” said Pats, “is worth at least a dollar.”

“Thanks.”

“You are thinking, as usual, of that woman. The woman who has my place.”

“It is her place; she had it before we came.”

“But you ought to be looking at me all this time. I am the person for you to think about. I shall end by hating the woman.”

“Oh, you mustn’t be jealous. You can’t hate her. Such a gentle face! And then all the mystery that goes with her! I would give anything to know who she was.”

Pats scowled: “You would give Solomon and me, among other things.”

“No, never!” And again she extended the hand, but he frowned upon it and drew back into the farther corner of his chair. She laughed. “And is Fatsy really jealous?”

“No, not jealous; but hurt, disgusted, outraged, and upset.”

“Because I insist upon treating our hostess with respect and recognizing her rights?”

“Our hostess! More likely some female devil who beguiled the old man. Probably he was so ashamed of her he never dared go home again.”

“Oh, Pats! I blush for you.”

“It’s a silly face.”

“It is a face full of character.”

“Oh, come now, Elinor! It would pass for a portrait of the full moon.”

“Well, the full moon has character. And I love those big merry eyes with the funny little melancholy kind of droop at the outer corners. Poor thing! She must have had a sad life out here in the wilderness.”

“Thank you.”

As their eyes met he frowned again, and she, for the third time, extended the hand. “A sad life, because she had no Pats.”

But he refused the hand. “That is very clever, but too late. The stab had already reached home.”

She smiled and began to fold her napkin.

“To return to business, Miss Marshall, of Boston, the provisions are so low that we really must decide on something.”

“How long will they last?”

“Perhaps a month or six weeks. Could you pull through the winter on eggs and dried apples–and candles?”

“If necessary.”

He laughed. “I believe you could! You are an angel, a Spartan, and a sport. Your nature is simply an extravagant profusion of the highest human attributes. And the worst of it is, you look it. You are too beautiful–in a superior, overtopping way. You scare me.”

She pushed back her chair. “You have said all that before.”

“You remember the frog who was in love with the moon?”

She regarded him from the corners of her eyes, but made no reply.

“He used to sit in his puddle and adore her. One pleasant evening she came down out of the sky and kissed him.”

“That was very good of her. And then what happened?”

“It killed him.”

Elinor pushed back her chair, arose from the table and stood beside him. “Do you think it was a happy death?”

“Of course it was! Lucky devil!”

“Well, close your eyes and dream that I am the moon looking down at you.”

With face upturned, just enough to make it easier for the moon, Pats closed his eyes. In serene anticipation he awaited the delectable contact that never failed to send a thrill of pleasure through all his being. But the tranquil, beatific smile changed swiftly to a very different expression as he felt against his lips–a slice of dried apple. And the cold moon stepped back beyond his reach, and laughed.

When the table had been cleared and the dishes washed Pats, Elinor, and Solomon went out behind the house and stood near the edge of the cliff. Eastward, across the bay, Pats pointed to a distant headland running out into the Gulf, the highest land in sight.

“As near as I can guess that hill is about twenty miles away. If there is nothing between to hinder I can walk it in a day. Now, from that highest point I can probably get a view for many miles. Who knows what lies beyond? There may be a settlement very near. In that case we are saved.”

“And suppose there is none?”

“Then I return, and we are no worse off than we were before.”

Elinor stood beside him, regarding the distant promontory with thoughtful eyes. He put his arm around her waist. “You see the sense of it, don’t you?”

“Yes, I suppose so. How long would you be gone?”

“Not over three days.”

“That is, three days and two nights.”

“Yes.”

“And if the ground is very rough, and there are swamps, and divers things, it might be longer still.”

“Hardly likely.”

“And what am I to do while you are gone?”

“Oh, just wait.”

She moved away and stood facing him.

“Yes, that is like a man. Just wait! Just wait and worry. Just watch by day and lie awake at night. Just be sick with anxiety for four or five days. You would find me dead when you returned. Why should not I go with you?”

He seemed surprised. Into the ever-cheerful face came a look of anxiety. “I am afraid it would be a hard tramp for you, Angel Cook. And there would be twice as much luggage to carry, and we should be a longer time away.”

“I will carry my own luggage.”

“Never!”

“But I shall go with you.”

“Is that a final decision?”

She nodded, an emphatic, half-fierce little nod, and frowned.

Pats smiled. “Miss Elinor Marshall, I am, as I have before remarked, your humble and adoring slave. Your will is law. When shall we start?”

“Whenever you say.”

“To-morrow?”

She nodded, this time with a smile.

“Early?”

“As early as you please.”

“Then at crack o’ dawn we go.”

And the next morning, at crack o’ dawn, they started off, Pats with a knapsack so voluminous that he resembled a pedler.

Elinor thought it too much for him to carry. “You can never walk all day with that on your back. Pedestrians that I have seen never carry such loads.”

“Then you have never seen pedestrians who carry their food and lodgings with them. And you forget that we are not in the zone of large hotels.”

“I feel very guilty. If I were not along you would have less to carry.”

“Have no fears, Light of the North. If one of us three falls by the wayside it will be neither Solomon nor myself.”

This knapsack consisted of three blankets,–two of flannel, one of rubber,–some claret bottles filled with water, and food for five days. There was also coffee and a little brandy.

As they started off, along their own little beach, the sun was just appearing over the strip of land ahead. Solomon, in high spirits, galloped madly about on the hard sand, with an occasional plunge among the breakers. But Pats and Elinor, although similarly affected by the morning air, economized their steps, for a long day’s tramp was before them.

At the eastern end of the beach, before entering the woods, both stopped and took a final look toward home. A rosy light was on sea and land. Beyond the beach, with its tumbling waves all aglow from the rising sun, stood the Point of Lory, and their eyes lingered about the cottage. Nestling peacefully among the pines, it also caught the morning light.

“Adieu, little house,” said Elinor. And then, turning to Pats, “Why, I am really sorry to leave it.”

“So am I, for it has given me the happiest days of my life–or of anybody’s life.”

In and out among the trees they tramped, three hours or more, with intervals for rest, generally through the woods, but always keeping near the coast unless for a shorter cut across the base of some little peninsula. Elinor stood it well and enjoyed with Pats the excitement of discovery. After a long nooning they pushed on until nearly sunset. When they halted for the night both explorers were still in good condition; but the next morning, in starting off, each confessed to a stiffness in the lower muscles. This disappeared, however, after an hour’s walking.

Early in the afternoon of this second day’s march they stood upon the top of the hill which, from a distance, had promised a commanding view. But they found, as so often happens to every kind of climber, that another hill, still higher and farther on, was the one to be attained. So they pushed ahead. Just before reaching the summit of this final hill Pats halted.

“Now comes a critical moment. What do you think we shall see?”

Elinor shook her head sadly. “I am prepared for the worst; for the wilderness, without a sign of human life.”

Pats’s ever-cheerful face took on a smile. “I suspect you are right, but I am not admitting it officially. I prophesy that we shall look down upon a large and very fashionable summer hotel.”

“Awful thought!” And she smiled as she surveyed her own attire and that of Pats. “What a sensation we should create! You with that faded old flannel shirt, your two days’ beard, and those extraordinary South African trousers; and I, sunburnt as a gypsy, with my hair half down–”

“No hair like it in the world–”

“And this weather-beaten dress. What would they take us for?”

“For what we are–tramps, happy tramps.”

Five minutes later they stood upon the summit. To the eastward, as far as sight could reach, lay the same wild coast. For several miles every detail of the shore stood clearly out beneath a cloudless sky. Of man or his habitation they saw no sign. To the vast sweep of pines–like an ocean of sombre green–there was no visible limit either to the east or north. And southward, over the blue expanse, no sail or craft of any kind disturbed the surface of the sea. Here and there along the coast shone a strip of yellow beach with its fringe of glistening foam. Not far away an opening among the trees, extending inland for several miles, showed the grasses of a salt marsh.

In silence Pats and Elinor gazed upon this scene. Beautiful it was, grand, indescribably impressive; but it brought to both observers the keenest sense of their isolation. The vastness of it, and the stillness, brought a vague despair, and, to the girl, a sort of terror. Tears came to her eyes.

Pats turned and saw them. His own face had taken on a sadder look than was often allowed there, but his eyes met hers with their customary cheerfulness. For the first time since their acquaintance, Elinor wept–very gently, but she wept. All that a sympathetic and unskilful lover could do was done by Pats. He patted her back, kissed her hair, and suggested brandy. Her collapse, however, was of short duration. She drew back and smiled and apologized for her weakness.

“I am ashamed of myself for breaking down. But it’s the first time, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is; and I have wondered at your courage. But do it all the time if you feel the least bit better.”

She smiled and shook her head. “No, I shall not collapse again. I shall follow your example. You are always in good spirits.”

“I? Well, I should think I might be! Here I am alone in the wilderness with the girl that all men desire,–and not a rival in sight! Why, I am in Heaven! I had never dreamed that a fellow could have such an existence.”

When they descended the hill and started leisurely on the homeward march two smiling faces were illumined by the western sun.

title: The Pines of Lory/Chapter 12


text:
The Pines of Lory/Chapter 13

EAVY showers escorted the travellers during the last afternoon of their homeward march. Of the trio Solomon was the wettest, for his two friends were enfolded in a rubber blanket, drawn over their heads and shoulders and held together in front. Thus, by walking arm in arm and keeping close together, they escaped a soaking. But Elinor was tired, with a tendency to sadness. This was excusable, as the failure of the expedition left the choice of a perilous experiment on the raft or of starvation at the cottage. Even the saturated Solomon, as he preceded them with drooping head, seemed to have lost his buoyancy.

But Pats, whatever his inward state, continued an unfailing well-spring of cheerfulness and courage. Not a disheartening word escaped him, nor a sign of weakening. And his efforts to enliven his companion were persistent–and successful. Being of a hopeful and self-reliant nature this task was not so very difficult.

At last, toward the middle of the afternoon, in rain and mist, they came to the eastern end of their own beach. But all view was shut out. Both the cottage and the point of land on which it stood were hidden in the fog. As they tramped along this beach, on the hard wet sand, the wind and rain from the open sea came strong against their faces.

“It will be good to get back,” said Elinor.

“Yes, but I like this better,” and Pats drew the rubber blanket a little closer still. “Our life at the cottage is too confined; too cut and dried, too conventional and ceremonious.”

“Too much company?”

“No, just enough. But too much routine and sameness. Above all, it is too laborious. The charm of this life is having no chores to be done. No shaving; no floors to scrub or windows to clean.”

“Poor boy! And you must work doubly hard when we first get back. To begin with, you will have to eat your half of all the eggs that have been laid.”

“Not an egg! I swear it!”

“Let’s see–four days. That will make about thirty-six eggs. You must eat eighteen this afternoon.”

Their heads were of necessity very close together, and as Pats with a frown turned his face to look at her, she continued: “And to-morrow being your birthday, you shall have a double allowance. Just think of being thirty-one years old! Why, Patsy, it take one’s breath away.”

“Yes, it is a stupendous thought.”

“How does it feel?”

“Well, I can still see and hear a little; and I am holding on to my teeth. Of course, the lungs, liver, brain, and all the more perishable organs have long since gone.”

“Naturally.”

“But the heart is still there, and thumping hard and strong for the finest woman in the world.”

“Well, the heart is everything, and you are a good boy–I mean a good old man.”

“Thanks.”

“And as soon as we get to the cottage I shall–” She pressed his arm, stopped suddenly, and listened. “Why, what was that?”

“What was what?”

“Out on the water, off the point there. I heard a noise like a steamboat.”

Both listened.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“I certainly thought so.”

Again they listened. Nothing was heard, however, except the lapping of the waves along the beach.

At last, in a low tone, Pats muttered:

“A whole fleet might be within a mile on a day like this and nobody know it. Are you sure it wasn’t Solomon? He is a heavy breather sometimes.”

She sighed. “Very likely. With this blanket about one’s ears anything was possible.”

They started on again. A few moments later the final shower had ceased. Swiftly the clouds dispersed, but the mist, although illumined by the sun, still lingered over land and sea. Solomon, followed by his friends, climbed the gentle ascent at the end of the beach, and as they hastened on among the pines all felt a mild excitement on approaching the cottage.

Gathered about the doorway, as if to welcome the returning travellers, stood a few white hens and the pompous rooster. To this impressive bird Pats took off his hat with a deferential bow.

“Glad to see you again, Senator.”

“Why ‘Senator’? Because nobody listens when he talks?” Elinor had been to Washington.

“Yes; and he knows so little and feels so good over it.”

From its hiding-place behind the vines, Pats took the key and opened the door. With a military salute he stood aside, and the lady entered. He followed; and as he unslung his knapsack Elinor looked about her with a pleased expression.

“How rich it all is!” she exclaimed. “I had forgotten what a splendid collection we had.”

Pats drew a long breath, as if to inhale the magnificence.

“Are you familiar with bric-à-brac shops?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“And with the rooms of old palaces and châteaux that are opened only when visitors arrive?”

“Yes.”

“Well, this is that smell.”

She also inhaled, and closed her eyes. “So it is.”

“It’s the tapestries and old wood, and the bloom on the paintings, I suppose. But it’s good. I like it.”

“It’s a little musty, perhaps, but–”

She stopped so suddenly that Pats turned toward her. With a look of surprise she was pointing to the dining-table, close beside them. In the centre of this table, and very white against the dark oak, lay an envelope. Upon it had been placed a silver spoon to prevent disturbance from any possible gust of air through the open door.

“Some one has been here!” And she regarded Pats with startled eyes.

Before touching the letter he instinctively cast a look about the room for other evidence. While he was doing it, Elinor pointed toward the farther end of the cottage, to the kitchen table, and whispered:

“Look!”

Upon that table rested a pile of cans, boxes, and sundry packages. For a short moment both regarded in silence this almost incredible display. Then Pats took up the letter. On the envelope was no address–no name nor writing whatsoever. He turned it over in his fingers. “I suppose it is intended for the old gentleman, the owner of the place.”

“And how careful they are that nobody shall know his name.”

“There must have been several men here to bring up all these provisions, and whoever left the letter had no intention of giving the old gentleman away,” and Pats tossed the letter upon the table.

Elinor in turn picked it up and looked it over. “I would like to know what it says.”

“So would I,” said Pats. “Let’s open it.”

“Open another man’s letter!” And she frowned.

“It may not be a letter. It may be some information as to when they are coming again, or what he is to do about provisions or something important for us to know. Our getting away from here may depend on what is inside that envelope.”

“Yes, that is possible.”

“Well, open it.”

But she handed it back to him. “No, you must do it.”

Pats tore open the envelope. Elinor stepped nearer and stood beside him, that she also might read.

“It is in French.” Then he began

“Monsieur le Duc–”

“Why, the old gentleman was a duke!” exclaimed Elinor.

“I am not surprised. You know we always suspected him of being a howling swell. But this writing and the language are too much for me. You really must read it.” And he put the paper in her hands.

Elinor’s French was perfect, but after the first sentence Pats interrupted:

“Translate as you go along. It is too important to take chances with, and I never was at home in that deceitful tongue.”

Elinor dropped into the chair that stood beside her. Pats sat upon the edge of the table.

She laid the letter on the table. “What a shame! It really tells us nothing.”

“Not a thing. Lafenestre might at least have mentioned the date of the next visit.”

“They all seem dreadfully afraid we may learn something.” She took up the other paper and unfolded it. “This is the list.”

Then she read:

“Those must be downstairs,” said Pats. “I see the cellar door is open.”

Elinor continued:

“Good!” said Pats. “Just what we need.”

She went on:

“Six what?”

“Six old maids: vieilles filles–that is certainly old maids.”

“Yes, but, Heavens! What does he want so many for? And where are they? In the cellar?”

She smiled, still regarding the paper. “But you needn’t worry. They are something to wear. It says six old maids, extra thick and double length.”

“Double length! Well, each man to his taste. Go on.”

“That is all,” and she dropped the paper on the table and looked up into his face. Thoughtfully he stroked the three days’ beard upon his chin. He was watching through the open door the last clouds of mist as they floated by, driven before the wind.

Suddenly he jumped to his feet. “Then you were right about the boat! You did hear one. And it was here an hour ago!”

Quickly he snatched a shotgun from the wall, rushed out of the house, down to the edge of the point and discharged one of the barrels. He shouted at the top of his voice, fired the second barrel and shouted again. For a few moments he stood looking off into the slowly dissolving fog, listening vainly for an answering sound.

Elinor joined him.

“I know it’s of no use,” he said, “for the wind is in the wrong direction. But I thought I would try it.”

A moment later the final cloud of mist in which they stood was swept away, giving a clear view over all the waters to the south. And they saw, disappearing toward the west, around a promontory, a speck upon the blue horizon, and behind it a line of smoke.

In a melancholy silence both watched this far-away handful of vapor until it faded into space. When no trace remained of the vanished craft, Pats dropped the empty gun, slowly turned his head and regarded his companion. In Elinor’s eyes, as they met his own, he recognized a gallant effort at suppressing tears. Remembering her resolve of yesterday he smiled,–a smile of admiration, of gratitude, and encouragement.

She also smiled, for she read his thoughts. And something more was plainly written in his face,–that self-effacing, immortal thing that lovers live on; and it shone clear and honest from this lover’s eyes. Whereupon she stepped forward; he gathered her in his arms, and an ancient ceremony was observed,–very ancient, indeed, primitive and easily executed.

Solomon, weary of this oft-repeated scene, looked away with something like a sigh, then closed his eyes in patience.

title: The Pines of Lory/Chapter 13


text: Supplement to the Fourth, Fifth, and Sixth Editions of the Encyclopædia Britannica/Arachnides


text:
Page:Ollanta An Ancient Ynca Drama.pdf/95

Rh


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Page:กม ร ๘ - ๒๔๗๘ fixed.pdf/1207

 When a court has accepted a charge, it shall serve a copied charge upon the accused one by one, save where the accused have already received ones.

When the court has accepted the charge but the accused cannot yet be taken, the court shall issue a summons or warrant of arrest, whichever appropriate, so that the trial could further proceed.

The court order declaring the case well-founded shall be conclusive. But the order declaring the case ill-founded shall be subject to the power of the prosecutor to submit an appeal or final appeal according to the provisions dealing with appeals and final appeals.

Upon a motion of the prosecutor, the court may detain an accused or provisionally release him during an appeal or final appeal.

The provisions dealing with inquiries and trials, save section 175, shall apply mutatis mutandis to preliminary examinations.

The trials and the taking of evidence in court shall be held publicly in the presence of the accused, save where it is otherwise prescribed.

title: Page:กม ร ๘ - ๒๔๗๘ fixed.pdf/1207


text: Page:Books on Egypt and Chaldaea, Vol. 25--Liturgy of Funeral Offerings.pdf/19


text:
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text: Index:Was Most Grotesque Animal.jpg

title: Index:Was Most Grotesque Animal.jpg


text:
Page:Books on Egypt and Chaldaea, Vol. 25--Liturgy of Funeral Offerings.pdf/84

 * Thou art purified with natron, and Sep is purified with natron.
 * Thou art purified with natron, and thou art 'stablished among them.
 * Thy mouth is the mouth of the sucking calf on the day of his birth."

It is possible to translate "Thou art purified with

natron as Horus is purified with natron," &c., as did Dümichen, but it seems better to render the passage without the addition of "as" in each member, for it is clear that the salted water was offered as much to the deceased as to each god. The effect of this sprinkling was to give the deceased power to take his place with


text:
Page:North Dakota Law Review Vol. 1 No. 8 (1924).pdf/8

8

If you expect to attend the American Bar Association meeting at Detroit, Michigan, September 2nd and 3rd, please advise President Cupler at once.

The program committee for the annual meeting announces that two of the men who have accepted invitations to speak are: Hon. Royal A. Stone, Justice of the Supreme court of Minnesota, and Hon. A. M. Christianson, Chief Justice of the Supreme court of North Dakota.

There will be other prominent speakers, outside the field of law, but announcement of their names can not be made at this time.

There seems to be some difference of opinion concerning the method of selecting a successor to the Hon. E. F. Ladd, deceased United States Senator from this State; and, notwithstanding the fact that the press of the State has recently carried an announcement from the Governor’s office to the effect that an appointment will be made prior to the opening of the next session of Congress, and that such announcement, undoubtedly, came after consultation with attorneys of unquestionable character and good standing; nevertheless, we feel impelled to the expression and publication of our humble opinion that the Executive of this state has not the power of filling the vacancy created by the death of Senator Ladd.

Though men may differ in their interpretation of the Sections of the Federal Constitution and the State Constitution touching upon the matter, or may argue about the intent of the Legislature when it passed Chapter 249 of the Session Laws of 1917 (amending Section 696 of the Compiled Laws of 1913); yet, the very fact that the Legislature (Section 1034 Laws of 1913) refused to extend the power of appointment in cases of legislative vacancies arising during a session of the legislature, and has never changed the language of Section 1033 of the Compiled Laws of 1913, indicates a rather strong desire, at least, on the part of the Legislature to reserve the power of filling vacancies in Congress and in the Legislature to the electorate.

Section 1033 of the 1913 Laws appeals to us as being rather clear and definite. It reads:

“And when any vacancy occurs in the office of a member of congress from this state, it shall be the duty of the governor to issue his proclamation appointing a day to hold a special election to fill such vacancy.”


text:
Page:Books on Egypt and Chaldaea, Vol. 25--Liturgy of Funeral Offerings.pdf/85

 the gods of each of the four quarters of heaven, and to make him their equal. In the last line of the passage, “Thy mouth is the mouth of the sucking-calf on the day of his birth,” we appear to have an allusion to the calf figured in the Vignettes to Chapter CIX. of the Book of the Dead, which is entitled “The Chapter of knowing the Souls of the East.” In the Theban Recension we see the deceased standing in adoration before Rā-Harmachis, between whom and the deceased is a spotted calf. In the Saïte Recension the deceased stands in adoration before the Boat of Rā, which is about to pass between the two “Trees of Emerald” into the sky. In the Boat are : 1. Rā-Harmachis, with the sign for wind above his disk,. 2. The deceased. 3. A calf with a star above his back. The text tells us that the Souls of the East are Rā-Harmachis, the Calf of the goddess Kherȧ(?), and Neter-ṭuai, or the planet Venus. The “Sucking-calf” must therefore be the name of a morning star which was associated with the rising sun, and with Isis as a morning star. It seems clear, then, that the passage in the Liturgy signifies that the deceased is identified in it with the star which was born in the sky at sunrise; as its mother was Isis the star was a form of Horus, son of Osiris and Isis, and the deceased is therefore the son of Osiris, that is, Horus.


text:
The Pocket Magazine (Robins)

 * /Volume 1/ (January–June 1827)
 * /Volume 2/ (July–December 1827)
 * /Volume 3/ (January–June 1828)
 * /Volume 4/ (July–December 1828)
 * /Volume 5/ (January–June 1829)
 * /Volume 6/ (July–December 1829)
 * /Volume 7/ (January–June 1830)
 * /Volume 8/ (July–December 1830)
 * /Volume 9/ (January–June 1831)
 * /Volume 10/ (July–December 1831)
 * /Volume 11/ (January–June 1832)
 * /Volume 12/ (July–December 1832)
 * /Volume 13/ (January–June 1833)
 * /Volume 14/ (July–December 1833)

title: The Pocket Magazine (Robins)


text: Books on Egypt and Chaldaea/Collection 7/Volume 25/Fifth Ceremony


text:
The Pocket Magazine (Robins)/Volume 1

 * /January 1827/
 * /February 1827/
 * /March 1827/
 * /April 1827/
 * /May 1827/
 * /June 1827/

title: The Pocket Magazine (Robins)/Volume 1


text:
Page:North Dakota Law Review Vol. 1 No. 8 (1924).pdf/6

6

As a delegate of the State. Bar Association, the writer fortunately was able to attend the 29th Annual Session of the American Academy of Political and Social Science, held at Philadelphia, May 16th and 17th.

The Academy of Political and Social Science is a body composed of many of the prominent educators, writers and thinkers of this country, publishing from time to time important discussions of difficult local and international questions. Once each year a session is held, at which a large number of leaders discuss certain formulated questions. The various bar associations, governors, and some other bodies are asked to appoint delegates to attend and enter into the discussion of the formulated questions.

The 1925 meeting was divided into six sessions, at each of which a special question was propounded by a nationally known figure. There then followed a pro and con discussion somewhat in the nature of a debate. Following this, the question was thrown open to general discussion by the delegates.

The topics discussed were as follows:

“International Debts in Their Relation to World Peace.”

“The Operation of the Dawes Plan.”

“The Possibility of Disarmament.”

“Foreign Investments and International Peace.”

“Can the Feeling of Insecurity in Europe be Eliminated Without the Cooperation of the United States?”

“The Outlawry of War.”

A detailed statement of the events of the session would prove extremely tedious, so I will merely touch upon a few of the features which were of especial interest to me.

The discussion of the Dawes plan gave a clear view of the major points of the Reparations Settlement. In connection with this discussion, the writer enjoyed hearing Herbert A. Gibbons discuss the psychological effect of the Dawes plan in Europe. Professor Gibbons talks as entertainingly as he writes. It seemed to be the consensus of opinion that the Dawes plan was of a temporary nature, but that it gave Europe a breathing spell, in which to recover its equilibrium.

Friday noon, the delegates and speakers were given a luncheon at the Bellevue-Stratford. Here was an opportunity to meet many interesting and distinguished persons. The writer drifted into an academic group, and was quite content to listen. Madame Grouitch of Belgrade, Jugo-Slovakia, spoke at the luncheon and also at the Saturday afternoon session. She possesses a charming personality and made quite an impression on the Assembly

To me the most interesting session was Friday night. The session was presided over by General Allen, and the following list of speakers will show that there was nothing tame about the discussion.

Ex-Justice of the Supreme Court Clarke, President of the Nation’s Nonpartisan Association, Rear-Admiral Bradley A. Fiske, Rear-Admiral William A. Rodgers, Arthur D. Call, Editor Advocate of Peace; Brigadier General William Mitchell.


text:
The Pocket Magazine (Robins)/Volume 1/April 1827

 * "/The Pie/" by Friedrich August Schulze, translated anonymously
 * "/Lines Written in an Album/", author unknown


text:
Page:North Dakota Law Review Vol. 1 No. 8 (1924).pdf/5

Rh fault this mortgage was foreclosed and sold under a decree of foreclosure. The former wife was made a party in the foreclosure proceedings by a special guardian regularly appointed. The guardian filed an affidavit that he had been advised by counsel that the former wife had no meritorious defense, and therefore no defense was interposed. The judgment in foreclosure decrees that the former wife’s interest in the land is inferior and junior to the lien of the mortgage. An action was brought on behalf of the wife to set aside the conveyance to her husband, and to remove the cloud of the foreclosure proceedings. HELD: That the action brought was treated by the parties as an action to quiet title and is not a direct proceeding to vacate or set aside the judgment in foreclosure, and that since such judgment determines the question of paramount title adversely to the plaintiff, though its determination in that regard may be irregular and ordinarily improper, such irregularity is not jurisdictional and the foreclosure decree therefore is conclusive against collateral attack.

A 20-pay life insurance policy issued in accordance with the provisions of a term policy, which it replaces upon the mere application of the insured, is governed by the law of the place where the original policy was issued.—Aetna Life Ins. Co. vs. Dunken, Sup. Ct. Rep. 45-129

The validity of a by-law of a fraternal benefit society is determined by the law of the State of incorporation, and a member who joined in another state is nevertheless bound by the by-law where the courts of the State of incorporation have declared it valid.—Modern Woodmen vs. Mixer, Sup. Ct. Rep. 45-389.

The Harrison Narcotic Law is essentially a revenue measure; under it a physician cannot be prosecuted for selling to an addict for self-administration four small doses to relieve conditions incident to addiction.— Linder vs. U. S., Sup. Ct. Rep. 45-446.

A statute requiring policies insuring against liability for injury by operation of an automobile to contain a clause subrogating the injured person to the rights of the insured in case the latter becomes bankrupt, does not deny due process or effect an unlawful preference under the Bankruptcy Act.—Merch. Mut. Auto Liability Ins. Co., Sup. Ct. Rep. 45.

Congress may constitutionally make it a crime to transport, receive, conceal, store, barter, sell or dispose of, in interstate commerce, a motor vehicle which is known to have been stolen.—Brooks vs. U. S., Sup. Ct. Rep. 45.

The North Dakota Grain Grading Act by its necessary operation directly interferes with and burdens interstate commerce, and is therefore invalid.—Shafer vs. Farmers’ Grain Co. of Embden, Sup. Ct. Rep. 45-481.


text: The Pocket Magazine (Robins)/Volume 1/April 1827/The Pie


text: The Pocket Magazine (Robins)/Volume 1/April 1827/Lines Written in an Album


text:
Page:Journal Of The Indian Archipelago and Eastern Asia Series.ii, Vol.1 (IA dli.ernet.107703).pdf/329

Gamboge plant or tree is woody, with thick ovate leaves, and the natives say that it sometimes grows to be 18 inches in diameter, though generally less, reaching a great height. The plant is not cultivated, but grows wild like the sugar maple in the forests of America. At the commencement of the rainy season parties of the natives go out in search of the trees, and finding one of the proper size they make a spiral incision in the bark on two sides of the tree, at the base of which they place joints of bambu, into which the sap percolates, day by day, for months. It is at first a yellowish fluid, hardening gradually into a viscous and then into a solid state. In the viscous state its fracture is glistening like crystal. In this consists the whole process of its preparation when pure, and on the spot where it is gathered it sells for only 4, 5 to 6 ticals per picul. It hardens in the bambu.

The common means of adulteration is rice flour or the bark of the tree pulverized, but this last is apt to impart a greenish tinge. Sand is also added.

The flowers are said to resemble those of the "egg-plant" and the fruit to be small and globular. Accounts differ as to the season of gathering the gum. Some persons say they have been accustomed to gather it in the rainy season while others say they collect it in the dry season. A good tree generally yields enough of sap to fill three joints of bambu, 18 to 20 inches long and 1½ inches in diameter. The trees are said to grow on both high and low land. If the trees are tapped every year it shortens their lives, but when the gum is only drawn every alternate year they do not appear to suffer injury and last for many years. There are several kinds of trees which produce substances resembling gamboge, but they differ essentially from it.

Although Kamboja is the appropriate locality of the plant, there are at present large forests of it in the province of Chantibun in Siam. It does not grow in Kamboja so far north as Matabong. The name is unquestionably derived from the native name of the place of its original discovery, which should be written in accordance with both Kambojan and Siamese usage—Kambuja. Hence the Portuguese "Gutta Kambuja" "Kambuja drops." The Siamese call it Rŏng, sounding the o as in cone but shorter.


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Page:กม ร ๘ - ๒๔๗๘ fixed.pdf/1208

 When the prosecutor or his attorney and the accused appear before the court and the court believes that the accused is real, it shall read and explain the charge to the accused and ask if he has actually committed the offence and how he would reply in defence. The replies of the accused shall be docketed. If the accused refuses to reply, the court shall docket this and proceed with the trial.

In a serious case of which the maximum rate of imprisonment is ten years or more, or in a case in which the accused is a child according to section 56, 57, or 58 of the Penal Code, the court shall, before starting the trial, ask the accused if he has an attorney. If he has none and needs one, the court shall appoint one for him.

Before introducing his evidence, the prosecutor has the power to make an opening statement in order that the court would understand the case for the prosecution, that is to say, he shall state the nature of the charge as well as the evidence to be adduced for proving the guilt of the accused. Upon finish thereof, the prosecutor shall introduce his evidence.

Once the prosecution evidence has been taken, the accused has the power to make an opening statement in order that the court would understand the case for the defence, that is to say, he shall state the facts or laws he intends to cite and to produce the evidence he is to adduce. Upon finish thereof, the accused shall introduce his evidence.

title: Page:กม ร ๘ - ๒๔๗๘ fixed.pdf/1208


text: Journal of the Indian Archipelago and Eastern Asia/Series 2/Volume 1


text: Journal of the Indian Archipelago and Eastern Asia/Series 2/Volume 1/The Gamboge Tree


text: Page:Journal Of The Indian Archipelago and Eastern Asia Series.ii, Vol.1 (IA dli.ernet.107703).pdf/5


text:
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text:
Page:Journal Of The Indian Archipelago and Eastern Asia Series.ii, Vol.1 (IA dli.ernet.107703).pdf/4

 THE

OF

AND

EASTERN ASIA.

Edited by

J. R. LOGAN.

NEW SERIES—VOL. I.

SINGAPORE:

1856.


text:
Page:Journal Of The Indian Archipelago and Eastern Asia Series.ii, Vol.1 (IA dli.ernet.107703).pdf/7

 * Sec. 5 (contd.). The Miscellaneous Glossarial Affinities of the Tibetan Dialects amongst themselves and with Chinese and Scythic. ... 1
 * Sec. 6. The glossarial connection between Ultraindo-Gangetic and Tibetan. ... 8
 * Sec. 7. The forms and distribution of the Chino-Himalaic Numerals in China, Tibet, India and Ultraindia, considered as illustrative of the ancient relations and movements of the tribes of this Province, and of the secular changes in their glossaries. ... 116

 * A. Comparative Vocabulary of the Numerals of the Mon-Anam Formation. ... 1
 * B. Comparative Vocabulary of Miscellaneous Words of the Mon-Anam Formation ... 6
 * C. Comparative Vocabulary of Chinese and Tibeto-Ultraindian Numerals. ... 21
 * D. Comparative Vocabulary of Miscellaneous Words common to Tibetan, Indian and Ultraindian Languages. ... 31
 * E. Vocables Non-Bhotian in root or form common to North Ultraindian, Himalayan and Middle Gangetic Languages. ... 42


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Page:กม ร ๘ - ๒๔๗๘ fixed.pdf/1209

 Once the taking of the defence evidence is finished, the prosecutor and the accused have the power to make their own closing arguments in oral or written form or in both forms.

In the course of the trial, if the court finds that it is not necessary to take any evidence or do anything further, it may order such evidence or thing to be dispensed with.

Once the prosecutor has finished adducing his evidence, the court, if finding it appropriate, has the power to summon the inquiry file from the public prosecutor to corroborate its ruling.

In the trial instance, if the accused replies guilty as charged, the court can then render the judgment. But if the maximum rate of imprisonment governing the case is ten years or more, the court must hear the prosecution evidence until it is satisfied that the accused has actually committed the offence.

The court has the power to order a secret trial proprio motu or upon a request from any party, but this must be in the interest of public peace and order or good morals or for the prevention of a secret which relates to the safety of the Country from leaking to the public.

title: Page:กม ร ๘ - ๒๔๗๘ fixed.pdf/1209


text:
Page:Journal Of The Indian Archipelago and Eastern Asia Series.ii, Vol.1 (IA dli.ernet.107703).pdf/8

 INDEX.

A

 * Archipelago, Notes of Dutch History in the
 * ... 141

 * 's Considerations on the Conquest of Keddah &c.
 * ... 299

B

 * Baniah Islands, The Maruwi of the. By J.R. Logan
 * ... 1

 * Banda Nutmeg Plantations. By T. Oxley, Esq.
 * ... 127

 * Bima and Sumbawa. By H. Zollinger.
 * ... 233

 * , Esq. T. Notes on Malacca.
 * ... 43

 * Gambling and Opium Smoking in the Straits of Malacca
 * ... 66

 * Notes on Naning
 * ... 194

 * Map of Malacca
 * ... 206

C
 * Descriptive Dictionary, Notice of
 * ... 201

D
 * Dutch History in the Archipelago, Notes of
 * ... 141

 * Dictionary, Notice of Mr Crawfurd's Descriptive
 * ... 291

E
 * Ethnology of the Indo Pacific Islands
 * ... * 1
 * Vocabularies &c.
 * ... (at end)
 * The Maruwi of the Baniak Islands
 * ... 1
 * ... 1

G
 * Gambling and Opium Smoking in the Straits of Malacca. By T. Braddell, Esq.
 * ... 66

 * Gamboge Tree
 * ... 316

 * Notes on Malacca
 * ... 43
 * Journal of a Tour on the Kapuas
 * ... 84
 * Notes on Naning
 * ... 194
 * Bima and Sumbawa
 * ... 233
 * Map of Malacca
 * ... 296
 * ... 296

I
 * Indo-Pacific Islands, Ethnology of the
 * ... * 1

 * Indian Archipelago, Raffles and the
 * ... 266

 * Indian Islands, Notice of Crawfurd's Descriptive Dictionary of
 * ... 291

J
 * Journal of a Tour on the Kapuas
 * ... 84