It was in the afternoon of a raw December day just forty years ago, when that superb, safe, swift-going floating palace the Di Vernon, No. 4, Shaw, Master, plying between Wheeling and Louisville, puffed up to the city of Arcadia on the Virginia side of the river and stopped, with a panther-like shriek that rang through the ranges of steep white hills.

The "floating palace" was a squat, grimy little tub of a stern-wheeler, that crept and creaked and snorted up and down the river like a rheumatic tortoise; in point of fact, too, the city of Arcadia (nee Onion creek) consisted of coaling sheds and one frame house, yellow-washed, with a long porch and watering trough outside, and a Store, Bar and Post-office, all in one room within. Up on the snowy hill that banked the back of the hamlet, yawned the black mouths of two or three coal-mines; the oily grime of the bituminous coal streaked the yellow house, turned the mud of the landing into pitch, and lay in drifts of feathery black flakes over the dazzling fields of snow.

The passengers of the Di Vernon did not come on deck to look at the station; they had all gathered in the much begilt little cabin. A small, vivacious, dark man was in the midst of them, making ready to go ashore.

"Got all your traps ready, Doc?" shouted the captain down into the cabin through a sky-light.

“Oh, yes, yes. At least, I think- -over

coat, carpet-bag, leggins-one, two, threemy wife told me to be sure and count or I'd certainly leave something-leggins,— bless my soul, did anybody see my leggins?" running here and there, upsetting chairs and coal scuttle.

"Here's your rifle," said one of the lady passengers, holding it at arm's length and eying it askance, "and shot pouch, and pistols. I suppose they 're not loaded?"

"Good gracious, no! Do you think I'd carry loaded weapons where there are women and children about? I'm too old a hunter for that! Here are the leggins, after all. Now, my wamus. I wore that wamus, sir, the last time I went hunting, just eleven years ago come next May. Well, good-bye, good-bye!" beginning to shake hands all round for the second time. The little man's motions were as eager and jerky as his talk.

"Cap's in a hurry, I suppose, as usual. Oh, I've enjoyed myself tre-mendously this trip! First holiday in ten years; and then you 've all been so kind and friendly. Oh, I'm not blind! I only wish my wife had been aboard. Never made any friends before without my wife, and, -eh, what's that? What is it, young Territt?"

Young Territt, clerk of the Di Vernon, six feet two in height, with the face of a rosy, overgrown baby, bowed ponderously. Captain Shaw bade me say that there is no haste, Dr. Rhawn. The Di Vernon lays up at Arcadia for an hour."

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The passengers cast uneasy glances out to

the threatening sky. "So long?" said one old man. "No danger of the river's closing over, Mr. Territt? I must reach Pittsburg by Thursday."

Young Territt glanced at the enormous paste diamond on his shirt-front, and then turned his infantile round eyes on the speaker.

"I apprehend, Mr. Fleming, the river will not close, sir. The Di Vernon always lays up at Arcadia for an hour. Captain Shaw has business on shore. In point of fact, his mother lives in Arcadia. She is the proprietor of the Hotel," waving his hand to the yellow-washed. Then he strode solemnly back to the bar. The little doctor clapped him on the back as he passed.

"Young Territt, you're wasted on the Di Vernon ! You've bounce enough to carry the whole Ottoman Empire. So I've an hour more with you!" turning to the passengers, "glad o' that. Though my fingers itch to handle the rifle. I've only five days furlough, you see, and it's the first in ten years."

"This is a miserable hole where you're going to stop," said the old gentleman, peering out.

"Arcadia? Onion Creek, we used to call it. Oh, it's bad enough! But I'll get a horse from Mrs. Shaw and push right on back into the mountains; old Ben Hammitt lives ten miles in,-famous hunter. None better west of the Blue Ridge. Lots of deer and bear and small game in there. I'll camp right down with Ben. I'll use my five days up to the last minute, take my word for that! There comes Cap!" and the voluble little man darted up to him; "I'll go ashore with you and talk to your mother about the horse, Shaw."

Shaw bowed in the top-heavy fashion which he reserved for "shore," and which he fondly imagined was that of the most high-toned southern gentleman.

"Happy-honor, sir; you put up with my mother, Dr. Rhawn, when I was a mere shaver."

"Yes, yes! I was a famous hunter and fisherman, too, when I was a young man. Last time I was at Onion creek gunning was just ten years ago. Did I tell you about that

Mr. Fleming?" tapping the sharp-featured old man on the arm.

"Yes, several times," drily.

"You think there's no danger of the river's closing above, Captain? I must make Pittsburg by Thursday.” "I reckon on doin' it, sir. The ice is a runnin' tolerable thick, it's true. The Di Vernon is the last boat that 'll run up the Ohio this winter. Thar's none comin' behind us," said Shaw, leisurely.

Shaw was a leisurely, solid young man, from the top of his new high beaver hat to the cow-skin boots, on which the mud and soot of many years had, unmolested, left their marks. He wore a check shirt, velveteen waiscoat of faded purple, and leathercolored trousers jammed into the boots. On top of this work-day dress, to do honor to his mother, he had put on a new broadcloth frock-coat, and the shiny, genteel hat aforesaid. Across his broad chest always hung a gold chain dangling with heavy seals, and on his stubby forefinger blazed a costly ruby set in pearls, yet jewel and chain seemed as if they had grown there deliberately; they belonged to his personality quite as much as did dusty shirt or patched jacket. For the rest, Truman Shaw was a captain, the outgrowth as usual of a pilot. He was known too on the river as the most profane man on it; he was probably the champion swearer, whose swearing was a birthright, because he went at the business steadily, without the slightest anger; he never lost his wind between oaths. With woman Truman never had been known to let fall a single damn. If cursing clothed him on deck as a garment, he dropped it as easily when in the cabin, and was underneath an honest, obstinate, good-hearted lad. Miss Sewell, a young lady from Connecticut who had been teaching in the South, began now, as usual, to quiz him for the amusement of the other passengers.

"What a pretty name you chose for your boat, Captain," she said; "I infer that he is a favorite of yours?"

"Scott? I knew Jim Scott, ma'am. But Philiby run the river afore my time."

"I should have said the character: Di Vernon you know."

Miss Sewell gave a shrill little laugh. Her sense of humor was weak, but she laughed at the feeblest joke if it escaped somebody else. Dr. Rhawn was looking at her gravely.

"You could afford to hunt larger game," he said in a low voice. "Come Shaw, we'll go ashore."

Miss Sewell with another lady went up on deck and leaned over the railing, a contempt uous smile on her thin, finely-lined face. She was going home for a month's vacation, and could afford to indulge the disgust for Southern and Western people which had been choking in her for a year.

"This Silas Rhawn, for instance," she said looking after him critically through half closed eyes. "Why, Mary, there is not a more popular man in Middle Kentucky; yet in New England he would rate as a prosy gabbler, hopelessly commonplace. What weight can such men hold in the great scales?"

Miss Sewell had been teaching in Kentucky; before that on a Mississippi plantation. She felt that she was going up out of a sterile desert into a land flowing with intellectual milk and honey. It was quite right that she, a Brahmin of the Brahmins, should give verdict and sentence as omniscient judge and jury on the Pariahs who dwelt on these barbarous suburbs of Ignorance. There was a good deal of this tone and temper assumed by New Englanders who were in the South at that time. It told -in '61.

Dr Rhawn, meantime, going up the muddy wharf, told the captain for the twentieth time of his hunting feats ten years ago. Shaw nodded. "Cussed little bore!" he thought good-humoredly.

Dr. Rhawn, at home, was a hard student; he was not naturally clever, so that study cost more from him than from other men. He was a poorly-paid country doctor, and sometimes, what with this incessant study and the hard work, and the anxiety to keep

Jane and the three children comfortable, he really felt quite like an old decrepit man. But to-day he was not a day older than twenty. He could hardly keep from turning somersaults in the snow.

"If your mother has a horse to spare, Truman," he said, "I'll be off at once to old Hammitt's. I don't want to lose an hour. You see my wife's brother happened along and took my patients. That's the way I got the harness off. Such a thing might not happen again these fifty years. I don't want to lose an hour."

"No, of course not. Come into the bar. I'll go in and see about the horse. I reckon mother's inside somewhere."

The doctor turned into the bar. There was a sooty stove and a sooty counter, and behind it a row of barrels of whisky, cider and apple-molasses; kegs of maple sugar: over them shelves with alternately layers of cheese, pink calico, boots, and Brandreth's pills; in the corner a pine box marked P. O. The doctor dropped in a letter he had written to Jane. "God bless the girl! I wish I had her along."

But with the dropping of the letter he had cut loose from home, work, civilization. Now for his frolic. He buttoned on the leggings, whistling "Zip Coon," drew on his old surtout, lighted his pipe.

Shaw would have the horse round in a minute. The captain came in. His heavy countenance had undergone some curious change since he went out.

"The mare 's all right. Nip's a saddlin' her fur you."

She

"What's the matter, Shaw ?" "My mother's in yonder. Sick. It's small-pox I reckon by the look on 't. haint had no care, except from that halfblind old nigger woman, Nip. The folks 's all bin afeard to come nigh her." His quiet, and the utter absence of his wonted oaths, impressed the doctor with the extent of Shaw's excitement.

"I'll go in and look at her," he said gravely. "Very likely it is not as bad as you think."

"I wish you would, Doc."

The doctor followed him into a dark little room at the back of the store, where

Mrs. Shaw had her untidy bed in the midst of boxes of candles, soap and other stock. When he opened the door the insufferable odor made both men draw back.

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Small-pox, and no mistake," said Rhawn. "Go into the bar, Shaw. I'll examine her alone."

"She's calling you now, Truman." Shaw spat out the tobacco, rinsed his mouth hastily and hurried in.

Doctor Rhawn walked up and down the space between the barrels, thinking of something so intently that his pipe went out. Outside was the mare fastened to a post

"It's a pretty severe case, Truman. But there's really no danger provided she has proper nursing. You must get somebody. That old darkey is of no account."

"Get somebody!" Shaw laughed. "Who'd you get? Thar's only two neighbors back in the hills, and a gold mine would n't hire one of them to come nigh a case of smallpox."

There was a moment's pause, in which the Yankee clock on the shelf ticked away vociferously. “I've got to stay," said Shaw, at last. "That's about the size on 't." "I suppose so," said Rhawn. no daughter?"

"She has

"Not a chick nor child but me. She'd have give her heart's blood for me any day, even when I was sowin' the worst of my oats. This don't seem much to do for her," he muttered reflectively, grinding the toe of his boot into the muddy floor, "but it'll cost like the devil."

"Young Territt can take the boat up." "Territt? That infant?" Shaw burst into an uneasy roar of laughter. "No; the boat'll have to lay up at Arcadia fur the winter."

old Hammitt's wound over the mountains, which rose range on range, white and sparkling, into the frosty sky. He remembered the chase he and the old man had given a panther. He had told the story a thousand times since to his patients; the hunt for days on its track-his heart used fairly to stop beating when he would pounce on the velvety, three-lobed, clawless print of its paw in the mud; the ravenous hunger after the day's tramp, the taste of the delicious corn bread and fat pork, the coming upon the beast suddenly under a rock, Hammitt's missing fire, the leap of the brute, the "ping" of his own bullet, the sush, sush of the blood from its heart on to the dead leaves. Why, the icy air up yonder was like wine! There were plenty of panthers yet on the deer trails. He had been looking forward to this for ten years.

Back of the bar was the foul little room and the ugly, vulgar old woman with her fetid disease.

It was no great heroic sacrifice which the little doctor felt called upon to make; only the giving up of a holiday. One of those commonplace little chances to be unselfish and generous which our Master gives to all

When Shaw came back the doctor had taken off his leggings and overcoat.

"How long would it take you to run the Di Vernon up to Pittsburg and to get back again?"

"I can do it inside of a week. Shorter if the ice don't thicken. Why, what d'ye mean, Doc?" eying him anxiously.

"I'll stay with your mother. You go ahead. But mind, Shaw, you be back here on time, if you have to walk it. My furlough only lasts ten days at the outside."

Shaw stood looking at him, his jaws working hard, though there was no tobacco in his mouth.