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of Mr. Shore's ministry at The Forks, Elath Dent and his wife dropped in on Aunt Sue and the Deacon to spend the evening. There was nothing unusual in that, it is true, because these four people often got together, either at the Deacon's or at Uncle Elath's, for a social evening during the long, cold winters. On such occasions, although the conversation was more or less general, there was always a tendency to "pair off," Uncle Elath with Aunt Sue and the Deacon with Aunt Betsey-an arrangement that seemed to be satisfactory all around. On such occasions, too, the pan of apples and the pitcher of cider were the indispensable refreshments, often with mince or "punkin" pie in addition. The Deacon liked his cider. He liked it best after it had a good bead, In fact, the harder the cider the better he liked it. But he was strictly temperate. True, the cider might contain a larger percentage of alcohol than many of the beverages which the Deacon classed as "likker"; but still it was cider, pure juice of the apple; and the apple is a most wholesome and harmless fruit. The Deacon never drank "likker" of any kind. It was against his principles. He was strictly temperate.

On the particular occasion referred to, after the apples and cider had been duly discussed and the children had gone to bed, Uncle Elath abruptly cut the thread of small talk by saying:

We'd like

"Me 'n' Betsey 's got so'thin' on our min's. to do so'thin' fer Mr. Shore 'n' his fambly. I don't 'gree with 'im in religion, ner with you nuther, fer the matter o' thet. But he's doin' lots o' good here outside of 'is preachin', an' he 'pears to be consid'able of a man; an' it's a blasted shame how little he's a-gittin' to live on. I've b'en keepin' my eyes open an' pickin' up the fac's in the case. Now, me 'n' Betsey 'd like to do so'thin', but we don't jes' see our way clear onless you help us. It won't do fer me to go to Shore an' offer 'im money ner nothin' else. I don't b'lieve he'd take it, an' I don't b'lieve I would nuther 'f I was in his place. Besides, even ef he felt 'twas all right hisself, ever'body 'd be talkin' 'bout it 'n' throwin' it up at 'im, an' like 's not it 'ould hurt 'is standin' in 'is church. So what me 'n' Betsey wants to do 's this: You jes' su'scribe double what ye intended to an' we'll pay half on 't. An' whenever you think we've got so'thin' the Shore fambly needs, er we think we've got so'thin' they'd like, I'll bring

it down here an' you kin take it over an' say nothin' 'bout it more'n 's ef 'twas f'm you. An' we'll jes' keep it quiet 'twixt oursel'es-an' God"-the last two words with a grim smile.

The Deacon looked a little shocked and dubious; but Aunt Sue, wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron, spoke up before the Deacon's slow faculties could frame a reply.

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We'll do it, Elath, an' be glad to," she said. ""Tain't fer me to turn ye off f'm doin' a good deed an' helpin' them thet diserves it an' needs it, jes' 'cause you 'n' me 'n' some other folks don't 'gree 'bout some things."

The Deacon was not entirely satisfied; but he couldn't think of anything to say, and he had never yet repudiated a bargain made by his wife; so he silently acquiesced in the arrangement.

And for all the increase in the contents of the parsonage pantry and the ministerial purse which resulted from this unholy compact the Rev. Joseph Shore devoutly thanked God.

CHAPTER 7

THE GRANGER FAMILY AT HOME

THE Granger family lived in a little old tumble-down house on a crossroad, nearly a mile from the schoolhouse. The house had been abandoned several years before as a dwelling, and had been used thereafter as a hay-barn until Joshua Granger rented it. Joshua had persuaded his wife to move in there much against her inclination, urging that it was just for one summer, in order that he might be near his work, he having hired out by the month that summer to Henry Krater, the owner of the farm on which the old house stood. So Mary yielded, meekly, as she always yielded to Joshua, and they moved in. Joshua boarded up some of the windows, and bought a few panes of glass for others, 'jes' 'nough to git along with fer the summer." Farmer Krater looked his surprise when Joshua sought to rent the old shell, but offered it to him, with a little garden spot, for ten dollars, understanding it to be merely for that season.

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Fall came, and Joshua, with his habitual reluctance to

A COUNTRY CROSSROAD

49

enter upon any new project of a worldly nature, clung to the house, banked around the foundation with a few loads of odoriferous product of the horsebarn, calked and chinked the cracks and crevices, patched the roof with a few old shingles, and told Mary he guessed they could "git along with it till nex' fall." And she said she guessed so. Farmer Krater told Joshua he could have the house and garden for ten dollars a year "tell the ruf caved in "; and Mrs. Krater, when informed of the arrangement by her husband, remarked:

"Josh 'll prob'ly keep the place fer the full length o' the lease, onless his poor wife ketches her death o' cold sooner."

Having thus fixed things, Joshua Granger, exhorter, settled down to his theological studies with renewed zeal and preached with increased fervor and unction.

During the three years the house had sheltered the Grangers the sway-backed roof had continued to sag, and had required more frequent and extensive patching, but had not yet caved in. So Joshua's lease still ran on.

The road past the house looked more like a lane than a public highway. Nevertheless it was a road, as anyone familiar with the inevitable and unmistakable characteristics of a New York country crossroad would readily discover, There were the two wagon ruts, with an open space of a few feet on each side of them, stretching away till they disappeared over a hill. True, the ruts were usually more or less hidden from view, in winter by snow and in summer by the grass that filled the space between the ruts and continually struggled to get a footing in the wheel-tracks themselves. But the ruts were still there, and could easily be found by anyone who cared to verify their presence. Indeed, on rare occasions when a farm wagon passed along the crossroad, the ruts remained for a brief period visible to the naked eye. In summer the space on each side of the track grew rank with Canada thistles, "bull" thistles, burdocks, daisies, “sticktights," "yellertop," golden rod, and other common weeds, noxious and innoxious; one of thrifty Dame Nature's seed patches, the product of which she scattered, by her manifold, effective devices, far and wide in the neighboring fields; where, when they sprang up, the farmer fought them vigorously and intelligently, and wondered why in blazes he could never rid his ground of the pests.

Nor were the ruts and the weeds the only signs of a road. Dame Nature's long, narrow posy bed and seed garden was separated from the adjoining fields and woods by a straggly, unkempt hedge-another piece of the Dame's unstudied handiwork-composed of blackberry and red-raspberry bushes, choke-cherries, elderberry bushes, an occasional sumac, and various other common shrubs and trees, none of them over fifteen feet high. Hidden away here and there in the hedge were little pieces of stone wall or rotten fragments of rail fence. Clearly, Dame Nature was putting forth her best efforts to wipe out all evidence of man's whilom encroachment on this strip of her domain and to restore it to its pristine luxuriant beauty.

A little clump of second-growth woods shut the Granger house off from all view of the main road that ran by the schoolhouse, leaving it as isolated, as far as immediate surroundings were concerned, as if it had been the only building within twenty miles. But the blackberries and raspberries and elderberries were very handy for Mary and Paul to pick in summer; and she was rather glad than sorry that the poor old dwelling was concealed from the view of people traveling the main road; though she sometimes found it very, very lonesome staying in the cheerless, uncomfortable old house, especially during the bleak winter days when Joshua was away from home-either at work or gone to "fill an app'intment"-and Paul was at school. But she never complained, at least not to anybody but God, and Joshua thought her quite content with her lot. He was rather ashamed himself to live in the house; but he consoled himself with the thought that it cost little and therefore left him more time (he worked out the rent) for study; besides, it was a better house than many of the apostles and missionaries and other servants of God had lived in; and finally, the poorer and meaner and harder one's lot here, the greater and richer his reward in heaven.

Paul Granger at the age of eight years was timid, shy, over-sensitive among strangers and in company generally, but quick, nervous, and impulsive in the extreme when not restrained by timidity. His crooked eyes were a source of constant shame and mortification to him when in company, deadening his natural social instinct and breeding in him an unchildish and harmful desire for solitude. The only society in which he found entire freedom and peace was

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that of his mother and father. Some of his playmates took delight in torturing him by calling him "crooky-eye Paul," or simply "crooky," epithets that never failed to throw him into a fit of violent anger. He was too weak physically, however, to defend or avenge himself by "thrashing" his tormentors. He could vent his wrath and'indignation at the wrong done him in no way but by passionate weeping. His only means of self-protection was that of the hunted hare-flight. But flight, to his youthful companions, meant cowardice, a despicable trait that prompted them to fresh attacks. His disposition to weep upon the slightest provocation-a disposition which he afterwards learned was impressed on him before birth, and which clung to him through life-was farther taken by his boyish tormentors as an evidence of silly weakness, and brought on him additional epithets like "sissy," and "cry-baby," and other terms of derision that childish ingenuity is quick to devise or apply.

The impression made upon Paul's mind by the events of that night when the Rev. Jason Gurley preached, was as lasting as vivid. It seemed to him as though on that night he was really "born again," though not in the theological sense. It was on that night that the sense of individuality and personal responsibility was born in him. Up to that night he had been merely a part of the Granger family: thenceforth he was himself.

The evidence of spiritual awakening which Paul showed by rising for prayers, led his father to treat him for some time afterward with special tenderness and consideration. After Paul had gone to bed on that eventful evening of his religious start, Joshua inquired of his wife:

Hev ye' said anything to Paul er him to you on the subjic' of religion?"

No," replied Mary, "not anything in particular; not anything to incourage 'im to make a start.'

"I didn't s'pose he hed any feelin' on the subjic'," continued Joshua;" though it's time fer us to ixpect it, fer he's old 'nough an' hez hed his 'ttention called to religious things ever sence he was a baby. Now that he's tuk the step fer hisself, we mus' be keerful to help 'im all we kin. I do so wish he c'd ixperience a good thorough conversion at this age.

"Yes," answered Mary, "I wish so too. I shall pray