Silas Strong, Emperor of the Woods. Irving Bacheller

smile overspread the man's face.

      The children, quick to see their opportunity, approached him on either side. Sue put her arms around the neck of her father and kissed him.

      "Tell us a story about Uncle Silas," she pleaded.

      "Uncle Silas!" he exclaimed. "We're all going to see him in a few days."

      The children were mute with surprise. Sue's little doll dropped from her hands to the floor. Her face changed color and she turned quickly, with a loud cry, and drummed on the table so that the dishes rattled. Socky leaned over the back of a chair and shook his head, and gave his feet a fling and then recovered his dignity.

      "Now don't get excited," remarked their father.

      They ran out of the room, and stood laughing and whispering together for a moment. Then they rushed back.

      "When are we going?" the boy inquired.

      "In a day or two," said Gordon, who still sat drinking his tea.

      Sue ran to tell Aunt Marie, the housekeeper, and Socky sat in his little rocking-chair for a moment of sober thought.

      "Look here, old chap," said Gordon, who was wont to apply the terms of mature good-fellowship to his little son. Socky came and stood by the side of his father.

      "You an' I have been friends for some time, haven't we?" was the strange and half-maudlin query which Gordon put to his son.

      The boy smiled and came nearer.

      "An' I've always treated ye right—ain't I? Answer me."

      "Yes, sir."

      "Well, folks say you're neglected an' that you don't have decent clothes an' that you might as well have no father at all. Now, old boy, I'm going to tell you the truth; I'm broke—failed in business, an' have had to give up. Understand me; I haven't a cent in the world."

      The man smote his empty pocket suggestively. The boy was now deeply serious. Not able to comprehend the full purport of his father's words, he saw something in the face before him which began to hurt. His lower lip trembled a little.

      "Don't worry, old friend," said Gordon, clapping him on the shoulder.

      Just then Sue came running back.

      "Say," said she, climbing on a round of her father's chair, "did Uncle Silas ever ketch a panther by the tail?"

      The children held their breaths waiting for the answer.

      "Ketch a panther by the tail!" their father exclaimed. "Whatever put that in your head?"

      Sue answered with some show of excitement. Her words came fast.

      "Lizzie Cornell's cousin he said that his Uncle Mose had ketched a panther by the tail an' knocked his brains out."

      Their father smiled again.

      "That kind o' floored ye, didn't it, old girl?" said he, with a kiss. "Le's see," he continued, drawing the children close on either side of him. "I don' know as he ever ketched a panther by the tail, but I'll tell ye what he did do. One day when he hadn't any gun with him he come acrost a big bear, an' Uncle Sile fetched him a cuff with his fist an' broke the bear's neck, an' then he brought him home on his back an' et him for dinner."

      "Oh!" the girl exclaimed, her mouth and eyes wide open.

      Socky whistled a shrill note of surprise and thankfulness. Then he clucked after the manner of one starting his horse.

      "My stars!" he exclaimed, and so saying he skipped across the floor and brought his fist down heavily upon the lounge. Uncle Silas had been saved—plucked, as it were, from the very jaws of obscurity.

      When they were ready to get into bed the children knelt as usual before old Aunt Marie, the housekeeper. Sue ventured to add a sentence to her prayer. "God bless Uncle Silas," said she, "and make him very—very——"

      The girl hesitated, trying to find the right word.

      "Powerful," her brother suggested, still in the attitude of devotion.

      "Powerful," repeated Sue, in a trembling voice, and then added: "for Christ's sake. Amen."

      They lay a long time discussing what they should say and do when at last they were come into the presence of the great man. Suddenly a notion entered the mind of Socky that, in order to keep the favor of fortune, he must rise and clap his hand three times upon the round top of the posts at the foot of the bed. Accordingly he rose and satisfied this truly pagan impulse.

      Then he repeated the story of his uncle and the bear over and over again, pausing thoughtfully at the point of severest action and adding a little color to heighten the effect. Here and there Sue prompted him, and details arose which seemed to merit careful consideration.

      "I wouldn't wonder but what Uncle Silas must 'a' spit on his hand before he struck the bear," said Socky, remembering how strong men often prepared themselves for a difficult undertaking.

      When the story had been amplified, in a generous degree, and well committed to memory, they began to talk of Lizzie Cornell and her cousin, the red-headed boy, and planned how they would seek them out next day and defy them with the last great achievement of their Uncle Silas.

      "He's a nasty thing," the girl exclaimed, suddenly.

      "I feel kind o' sorry for him," said Socky, with a sigh.

      "Why?"

      "Cos he thinks his uncle beats the world an' he ain't nowhere."

      "Maybe he'll want to fight," said Sue.

      "Then I'll fetch him a cuff."

      "S'pose you was to break his neck?"

      "I'll hit him in the breast," said Socky, thoughtfully, feeling his muscle.

      Sue soon fell asleep, but Socky lay thinking about his father. He had crossed the edge of the beginning of trouble. He thought of those words—and of a certain look which accompanied them—"I haven't got a cent in the world." What did they mean? He could only judge from experience—from moments when he had stood looking through glass windows and showcases at things which had tempted him and which he had not been able to enjoy. Oh, the bitter pain of it! Must his father endure that kind of thing? He lay for a few moments weeping silently.

      All at once the thought of his little bank came to him. It was nearly full of pennies. He rose in bed and listened. The room was dark, but he could hear Aunt Marie at work in the kitchen. That gave him courage, and he crept stealthily out of bed and went to his trunk and felt for the little square house of painted tin with a slot in the chimney. It lay beneath his Sunday clothes, and he raised and gently shook it. He could hear that familiar and pleasant sound of the coin.

      Meanwhile his father had been sitting alone. For weeks he had been rapidly going downhill. His friends had all turned against him. He had been fairly stoned with reproaches. He could see only trouble behind, disgrace before, and despair on either side. He held a revolver in his hand. A child's voice rang out in the silence, calling "father."

      Gordon leaned forward upon the table. He began to be conscious of things beyond himself. He heard the great mill-saw roaring in the still night; he heard the tick of the clock near him. Suddenly his little son peered through the halfopen door.

      "Father," Socky whispered.

      Gordon started from his chair, and, seeing the boy, sat down again.

      Socky was near crying but restrained himself. Without a word he deposited his bank on the table. It was a moment of solemn renunciation. He was like one before the altar giving up the vanities of the world. He looked soberly at his father and said, "I'm going to give you all my money."

      Gordon said not a word and there was a moment of silence.

      "More than a dollar in it," the boy suggested, proudly.

      Still his father sat resting his head