As the darkness closed down an hour later, what is to this day called the Great Storm began. It was in reality a Blizzard, but that expressiveⒶalteration in the MS word had not then been invented. It was this storm'sⒶalteration in the MS mission to bury the farms and villages ofⒶalteration in the MS a long narrow strip of country for ten daysⒶalteration in the MS, and do it as compactly and as thoroughly as the mud and ashes had buried Pompeii nearly eighteen centuries before. The Great Storm began its work modestly, deceptively. It made no display, there was no wind and no noise; whoever was abroad and crossed the lamp-glares flung from uncurtained windows noticed that the snow came straight downⒶalteration in the MS, and that it laid its delicate white carpet softly, smoothly, artisticallyⒶalteration in the MS, thickening the substance swiftly and equably; the passenger noticed alsoⒶalteration in the MS that this snow was of an unusual sort, it not coming in an airy cloud of great feathery flakes, but in a fogⒶalteration in the MS of white dust-forms—mere powder; just powder; the strangest snow imaginable. By 8 in the evening this snow-fog had become so dense that lamp-glares four steps away were not visible, and without the help of artificial light a passenger could see no object till he was near enough to touch it with his hand. Whosoever was abroad now was practically doomed, unless he could soon stumble upon somebody's house.Ⓐalteration in the MS Orientation was impossible; to be abroad was to be lost. A man could not leave his own door, walk ten steps and find his way back again.

The wind rose, now, and began to sing through this ghastly fog; momently it rose higher and higher, soon its singing had developed intoⒶalteration in the MS roaring, howling, shrieking. It gathered up the snow from the ground and drove it in massy walls ahead of it and distributed it here and there across streets and open lots and against houses,Ⓐalteration in the MS in drifts fifteen feet deep.

[begin page 201]

There were disasters now, of course. Very few people were still out, but those few were necessarily in bad case. If they faced the wind, it caked their faces instantly with a thick mask of powder which closed their eyes in blindness and stopped their nostrils and their breath, and they fell where they were; if they tried to move with the wind they soon plunged into a drift and the on-coming wall of snow buried them. Even in that little village twenty-eight persons perished that night, some because they had heard cries of distress and went out to help, but got lost within sixty seconds, and then, seeking their own doors, went in the wrong direction and found their graves in five minutes.

At 8, just as the wind began to softly moan and whimper and wheeze, Mr. Hotchkiss laid his spiritualistic book down, snuffed the candle, threw an extra log on the fire, thenⒶalteration in the MS parted his coat tails and stood with his back to the blaze and began to turn over in his mind some of the information which he had been gathering about the manners and customs and industries of the spirit land, and to repeat and try to admire some of the poetry which Byron had sent thence through the rapping-mediums. He did not know that there was a storm outside. He had been absorbed in his book for an hour and a half. Aunt Rachel appeared, now, with an armful of wood, which she flung in the box and said—

“Well, seh, it's de wust I ever see; and Jeff say de same.”

“Worst what?”

“Storm, seh.”

“Is there a storm?”

“My! didn't you know it, seh?”

“No.”

“Why, it's de beatenes' storm—tain't like nothin' you ever see, Marse Oliver—so fine—like ashes a-blowin'; why, you can't see no distance scasely. Me en Jeff was at de prar meetin', en come back a little bit ago, en come mighty near miss'n de house; en when we look out, jist dis minuteⒶalteration in the MS it's a heap wuss'n ever.Ⓐalteration in the MS Jeff he uzⒶalteration in the MS a sayin'—” She glanced around; an expression of fright came into her face and she exclaimed, “Why, I reckoned of cose he uz here—en he ain't!”

[begin page 202]

“Who?”

“Young Marse Fawty-fo'Ⓐemendation Ⓐalteration in the MS.”

“Oh, he's playing somewhere; he'll be along presently.”

“You hain't seen him, seh?”

“No.”

“O, my Gawd!”

She fled away, and in five minutes was back again, sobbing and panting.

“He ain't in his room, his supper ain't tetched, he ain't anywhers; I been all over de house. O, Marse Oliver de chile's lost, we ain't never gwyne to see him no mo'.”

“Oh, nonsense, you needn't be afraid—boys don't mind a storm.”

Uncle Jeff arrived at this moment, and said—

“But Marse Oliver dis ain't no common storm—has you been to look at it?”

“No.”

Hotchkiss was alarmed, at last, and ran with the others to the front door and snatched it open. The wind piped a high note, and they disappeared in a world of snow which was discharged at them as if from steam-shovels.

“Shut it, shut it!” gasped the master. It was done. A blast of wind cameⒶemendation that rocked the house. There was a faint and choking cry outside. Hotchkiss blenched, and said, “What can we do? It's death to go out there. But we must do something—it may be the boy.”

“Wait, Marse Oliver, I'll fetch a clo'es line, en JeffⒶalteration in the MS he—” SheⒶalteration in the MS was gone, and in a moment brought it and began to tie an end around uncle Jeff's waist. “Now, den, out wid you! me en Marse Oliver'll hole on to de yuther end.”

Jeff was ready; the door was opened for the plunge, and the plunge was made; but in the same instant a suffocating assault of snow closed the eyes and took away the breath of the master and Rachel and they sank gasping to the floor and the line escaped from their hands. They threw themselves on their faces, withⒶalteration in the MS their feet toward the door; their breath returned, and Rachel moaned, “He's gone, now!” By the light from the hall lamp over the doorⒶalteration in the MS she caught a dim vision of the new boy, coming from toward the dining [begin page 203] room, and said “Thank de good Gawd for dat much—how ever did he find de back gate?”

The boy came through against the wind and shut the frontⒶalteration in the MS door. The master and Rachel roseⒶalteration in the MS out of their smother of snow, and the former said, in words broken by sobs—Ⓐalteration in the MS

“I'm so grateful! I never expected to see you again.Ⓐtextual note”Ⓐemendation

By this time Rachel's sobs and groans and lamentations were rising above the clamors of the storm, and the boy asked what the trouble was. Hotchkiss told him about Jeff.

“I will go and fetch him, sir. Get into the parlor, and close the door.”

“You will venture out? Not a step—stay where you are! I wouldn't allow—”

The boy interrupted—not with words, but only a look—and the man and the servant passed into the parlor and closed the door. Then they heard the front door close, and stood looking at each other. The storm raged on; every now and then a gust of wind burst against the house with a force which made it quake, and in the intervals it wailed like a lost soul; the listenersⒶalteration in the MS tallied the gusts and the intervals, losing heart all the time, and when they had counted five of each, their hopes died.

Then they opened the parlorⒶalteration in the MS door—to do they didn't know what —the street door sprang open at the same moment, and two snow-figuresⒶemendation entered: the boy carrying the unconsciousⒶalteration in the MS old negro man in his arms. He delivered his burden to Rachel, shut the door, and said—

“A man has found refuge in the open shed over yonder; a slender, tall, wild-looking man with thin sandy beard. He is groaning. It is not much of a shelter, that shed.”

He said it indifferently, and Hotchkiss shuddered.

“Oh, it is awful, awful!” he said, “he will die.”

“Why is it awful?” asked the boy.

“Why? It—it—why of course it's awful!”

“Perhaps it is as you say; I do not know.Ⓐalteration in the MS Shall I fetch him?”

“Great guns, no! Don't dream of such a thing—one miracle of the sort is enough.”

[begin page 204]

“But if you want him— Do you want him?”

“Want him? I—why, I don't want him—that isn't it—I mean, why, don't you understand?—it's a pity he should die, poor fellow; but we are not in a position to—”

“I will fetch him.”

“Stop, stop, are you mad!—come back!”

But the boy was gone.

“Rachel, why the devil did you let him get out? Can't you see that the lad's a rank lunatic?”

“O, Marse Oliver, gim it to me, I deserve it! I's so thankful to git my ole Jeff back I ain't got no sense en can't take notice of nothin'. I's so shamed, en O, my Gawd, I—”

“We had him, and now we've lost him again; and this time for good; and it's all your fault, for being a—”

The door fell open, a snow image plunged in upon the floor, the boy's voice calledⒶalteration in the MS, “There he is—there's othersⒶalteration in the MS, yet,” and the door closed again.

“Oh, well,” cried Hotchkiss with a note of despair, “we've got to give him up, there's no saving him. Rachel!” He was flapping the snow from the new take, with a “tidy.” “Bless my soul, it's Crazy Meadows! Rouse up, Jeff! lend a hand, both of you—drag him to my fire.” It was done. “Now, then, blankets, food,Ⓐalteration in the MS hot water, whisky—fly around! we'll save him, he isn't more than half dead, yet.”

The three worked over Crazy Meadows half an hour, and brought him around. Meantime they had kept alert ears open, listening; but their listening was unblessed, no sounds came but the rumbling and blustering of the storm. Crazy Meadows gazed around confusedly, gradually got his bearings, recognized the faces, and said—

“I am saved! Hotchkiss, it seems impossible. How did it happen?”

“A boy did it—the most marvelous boy on the planet. It was lucky you had a lantern.”

“Lantern? I hadn't any lantern.”

“Yes, you had. You don't know. The boy described your build and beard.”

[begin page 205]

“I hadn't any lantern, I tell you. There wasn't any light around.”

“Marse Oliver,” said Rachel, “didn't Miss Hannah say de young marster kin see in de dark?”

“Why, certainly—now that you mention it. But how could he see through that blanket of snow? My gracious, I wish he would come! Oh, but he'll never come, poor youngⒶalteration in the MS chap, he'll never come—never any more.”

“Marse Oliver, don't you worry, de good Lawd kin take care of him.”

“In this storm, you old idiot? You don't know what you're talking about. Wait—I've got an idea! Quick—get around the table; now then, take hold of hands. Banish all obstructive influences—you want to be particular about that; the spirits can't do anything against doubt and incredulity. Silence, now, and concentrate your minds. Poor boy, if he is dead he will come and say so.”

He glanced up, and perceived that there was a hiatus in the circle; Crazy MeadowsⒶalteration in the MS said, without breach ofⒶalteration in the MS slave-State politeness, and without offence to the slaves present, since they had been accustomed to the franknesses of slave-State etiquette all their lives—

“I'll go any reasonable length to prove my solicitude for the fate of my benefactor, for I am not an ungrateful man, and not a soured one, either, if the children do chase me and stone me for the fun they get out of it; but I've got to draw the line. I'm willing to sit at a table with niggers for just this once, for your sake, Oliver Hotchkiss, but that is as far as I can go—I'll get you to excuse me from taking them by the hand.”

The gratitude of the two negroesⒶalteration in the MS was deep and honest; thisⒶalteration in the MS speech promised relief for them; their situation had been a cruelly embarrassing one; they had sat down with these white men because they had been ordered to do it, and it was habit and heredity to obey, but their seatsⒶalteration in the MS had not been more comfortable than a hot stove would have been. They hoped and expected that their master would be reasonable and rational, now, and send them away, but it didn't happen. He could manage his seance without Meadows, and would do it. He didn't mind holding handsⒶalteration in the MS with negroes, for [begin page 206] he was a sincere and enthusiastic abolitionist; in fact had been an abolitionist for five weeks, now, and if nothing happened would be one for a fortnight longer. He had confirmed the sincerity of his new convictions in the very beginning byⒶalteration in the MS setting the two slaves free—a generosity which had failed only because they didn't belong to him but to his wife. As she had never been an abolitionist it was impossible that she could ever become one.

By command the slaves joined hands with their master and sat trembling and silent, for they were miserably afraid of spectres and spirits. Hotchkiss bowed his head solemnlyⒶalteration in the MS to the table, and said in a reverent tone:

“Are there any spirits present? If so, please rap three times.”

After a pause the responseⒶalteration in the MS came—three faint raps. The negroes shrunk together till their clothes were loose upon their bodies, and begged pathetically to be released.

“Sit still! and don't let your hands shake like that.”

It was Lord Byron's spirit. Byron was the most active poet on the other side of the graveⒶalteration in the MS in those days, and the hardest one for a medium to get rid of. He reeled off several rods of poetry now, of his usual spiritual pattern—rhymy and jingly and all that, but not good, for his mind had decayed since he died. At the end of three-quarters of an hour he went awayⒶalteration in the MS to hunt for a word that would rhyme with silver—good luck and a long riddance, Crazy Meadows said, for there wasn't any such word. Then Napoleon came and explained Waterloo all over again and how it wasn't his fault—a thing which he was always doing in the St. Helena days, and latterlyⒶalteration in the MS aroundⒶemendation the festive rapping-table. Crazy Meadows scoffed at him, and said he didn't even get the dates right, let alone the facts; and he laughed his wild mad laugh—a reedy and raspy and horrid explosion which had long been a fright to the village and its dogs, and had brought him many a volley of stones from the children.

Shakspeare arrived and did some rather poor things, and was followed by a throng of Roman statesmen and generals whose English was the only remarkable thing about their contributions; [begin page 207] then at last, about eleven o'clock, came some thundering raps which made the table and the company jump.

“Who is it, please?”

“Forty-four!”

“Ah, how sad!—we are deeply grieved, but of course we fearedⒶalteration in the MS it and expected it. Are you happy?”

“Happy? Certainly.”

“We are so glad! It is the greatest comfort to us. Where are you?”

“In hell!”

“O, de good Lawd!—please, Marse Oliver, lemme go, oh, please lemme go—oh, Marse Oliver, me en Rachel can't stan' it!”

“Hold still, you fool!”

“Oh, please, please, Marse Oliver!”

“Will you keep still, you puddnhead! Ah, now, if we can only persuade him to materialize! I've never seen one yet. Forty-four, dear lost lad, would you mind appearing to us?”

“Oh, don't, Marse Oliver!—please, don't!”

“Shut up! Do materialize! Do appear to us, if only for a moment!”

Presto! There sat the boy, in their midst! The negroes shrieked, and went over on their backs on the floor and continued to shriek. Crazy Meadows fell over backwards, too, but gathered himself up in silence and stood apart with heaving breast and flaming eyes, staring at the boy. Hotchkiss rubbed his hands together in gratitude and delight, and his face was transfigured with the glory-light of triumph.

“Now let the doubter doubt and the scoffer scoff if they want to —but they've had their day! Ah, Forty-four, dear Forty-four, you've done our cause a noble service.”

“What cause?”

“Spiritualism.Ⓐalteration in the MS Stop that screeching and screaming, will you!”

The boy stooped and touched the negroes, and said—

“There—go to sleep. Now go to bed. In the morning you will think it was a dream.” They got up and wandered somnambulistically away. He turned and looked at Crazy Meadows, whoseⒶalteration in the MS lids [begin page 208] at onceⒶalteration in the MS sank down and hid his wild eyesⒶalteration in the MS. “Go and sleep in my bed; in the morningⒶalteration in the MS it will be a dream to you, too.” Meadows drifted away like one in a trance, andⒶalteration in the MS followed after the vanished negroes. “What is spiritualism, sir?”

Hotchkiss eagerly explained. The boy smiled, made no comment, and changed the subject.

“Twenty-eight have perished in your village by the storm.”

“Heavens! Can that be true?”

“I saw them; they are under the snow—scattered over the town.”

“Saw them?”

The boy took no notice of the inquiry in the emphasised word.

“Yes—twenty-eight.”

“What a misfortune!”

“Is it?”

“Why—how can you ask?”

“I don't know. I could have saved them if I had known it was desirable. After you wanted that man saved I gathered the idea that it was desirable, so I searched the town and saved the rest that were straggling—thirteen.”

“How noble! And how beautiful it was to die in such a work. Oh, sainted spirit, I worship your memory!”

“Whose memory?”

“Yours; and I—”

“Do you take me for dead?”

“Dead? Of course. Aren't you?”

“Certainly not.”

Hotchkiss's joy was without limit or measure. He poured it eloquently out until he was breathless; then paused, and added pathetically—

“It is bad for spiritualism—yes, bad, bad—but let it go—go and welcome, God knows I'm glad to have you back, even on those costly terms! And by George, we'll celebrate! I'm a teetotaler—been a teetotaler for years—months, anyway—a month—but at a time like this—”

The kettle was stillⒶalteration in the MS on the fire, the bottle which had revived Meadows was still at hand,Ⓐalteration in the MS and in a couple of minutes he had [begin page 209] brewed a pair of good punches—“anyway, good enough for a person out of practice,”Ⓐemendation he said.Ⓐalteration in the MS

The boy began to sip, and said it was pleasant, and asked what it was.

“Why, bless your heart, whisky of course—can't you tell by the smell of it? And we'll have a smoke, too. I don't smoke—haven't for years—I think it's years—because I'm president of the Anti-SmokingⒶalteration in the MS League—but at a time like this—” He jumped up and threw a log on the fire, punched the pile into a roaring blaze, then filled a couple of cob pipes and brought them. “There, now, ain't it cosy, ain't it comfortable?—and just hear the storm! My, but she's booming! But snug here?—it's no name for it!”

The boy was inspecting his pipe with interest.

“What shall I do with it, sir?”

“Do with it? Do you mean to say you don't smoke? I never saw such a boy. Next you'll say you don't break the Sabbath.”

“But what is the material?”

“That? Tobacco—of course.”

“Oh, I see. Sir Walter Raleigh discovered it among the Indians; I read about it in the school. Yes, I understand now.”

He applied the candle and began to smoke, Hotchkiss gazing at him puzzled.

“You've read about it! UponⒶalteration in the MS my word! Now that I come to think about it, you don't seem to know anything except what you've read about in that school. Why how in the world could you be born and raised in the State of Missouri and never—”

“But I wasn't. I am a foreigner.”

“You don't say!—and speak just like an educated native—not even an accent. Where were you raised?”Ⓐalteration in the MS

The boy answered naïvely—

“Partly in heaven, partly in hell.”

Hotchkiss's glass fell from one handⒶalteration in the MS, his pipe from the other, and he sat staring stupidly at the boy, and breathing short. Presently he murmured dubiously—

“I reckon the punch—out of practice, you know—maybe both of us—and—” He paused, and continued to gaze and blink; then [begin page 210] shook his thoughts together and said, “Can't tell anything about it—it is too undeveloped for me; but it's all right, we'll make a night of it. It's my opinion, speaking as a prohibitionist—” He stooped and picked up his glass and his pipe, and went rambling on in a broken and incoherent way while he filled them, glancing furtively at the boy now and then out of the corner of his eye and trying to settle his disturbed and startled mind and get his bearings again. But the boy was not disturbed; he smoked and sipped in peace, and quiet, and manifest contentmentⒶalteration in the MS. He took a book out of his pocket, and began to turn the pages swiftly; Hotchkiss sat down, stirring his new punch, and keepingⒶalteration in the MS a wistful and uneasyⒶalteration in the MS eye upon him.Ⓐalteration in the MS After a minute or two the book was laid upon the table.

“Now I know all about it,” said the boy. “It is all here—tobacco, and liquors, and such things. Champagne is placed at the head of everything; and Cuban tobacco at the head of the tobaccos.”

“Oh, yes, they are the gems of the planet in those lines. Why—I don't recognise this book; did you bring it in to-night?”

“Yes.”

“Where from?”

“The British MuseumⒶalteration in the MS.”

Hotchkiss began to blink again, and look uneasy.

“It is a new work,” added the boy.Ⓐalteration in the MS “Published yesterday.”

The blinking continued. Hotchkiss started to take a sip of punch, but reconsidered the motion; shook his head and put the glass down.Ⓐalteration in the MS Upon pretext of examining the print and the binding, he opened the book; then closed it at once and pushed it away. He had seen the Museum stamp—bearing date of the preceding day. He fussed nervously at his pipe a moment; then held it to the candle with a hand that trembledⒶalteration in the MS and made some of the tobacco spill out, then asked timidly—

“How did you get the book?”

“I went after it myself.”

“Your—self. Mercy! When?”

“While you were stooping for your pipe and glass.”

Hotchkiss moaned.

“Why do you make that noise?”

[begin page 211]

“Be—because I—I am afraid.”

The boy reached out and touched the trembling hand and said gently—

“There—it is gone.”

The troubled look passed from the old prohibitionist's face, and he said, in a sort of soft ecstasy of relief and contentment—

“It tingles all through me—all through me. De—licious! Every fibre—the root of every hair—it is enchantment! Oh magician of the magicians, talk to me—talk! tell me everything.”Ⓐalteration in the MS

“Certainly, if you like.”

“Now, that is lovely! First I will rout out old Rachel and we'll have a bite and be comfortable and freshen up; I am pretty sharp-set after all these hours, and I reckon you are, too.”

“Wait. It is not necessary. I will order something.”

Smoking dishes began to descend upon the table; it was covered in a moment.

“It's the Arabian Nights come again! And I am not scared, now. I don't know why—it was that magic touch, I think. But you didn't fetch them yourself, this time; I was noticing, and you didn't go away.”

“No, I sent my servants.”

“I didn't see them.”

“You can if you wish.”

“I'd give anything!”

The servants became visible; all the room was crowded with them. Trim and shapely little fellows they were; velvety little red fellows, with short horns on their heads and spiked tails at the other end; and those that stood, stood in metal plates, and those that sat—on chairs, in a row upon settees, and on top of the bookcase with their legs dangling—Ⓐalteration in the MS hadⒶalteration in the MS metal plates under them—“to keep from scorching the furniture,” the boy quietly explained, “these have come but this moment, and of course are hot, yet.”

Hotchkiss asked, a little timidly—

“Are they little devils?”

“Yes.”

“Real ones?”

[begin page 212]

“Oh, yes—quite.”

“They—are they safe?”

“Perfectly.”

“I don't need to be afraid?”

“Oh, not at all.”

“Then I won't be. I think they are charming. Do they understand English?”

“No, only French. But they could be taught it in a few minutes.”

“It is wonderful. Are they—you won't mind my asking—relatives?”

“Of mine? No; sons of my father's subordinates.Ⓐalteration in the MS You are dismissed, young gentlemen, for the present.”

The little fiends vanished.

“Your father is—er—”

“Satan!”

“Good land!”