The Purple Heights

se, for one may be damned quite as effectually and everlastingly upon the cross as off it; but to be poor long enough to acquire a sense of proportion by coming to close grips with life; to learn what

an kindness. It is an expe

derful she had been. How she had kept the roof over his head, and his stomach somehow satis

is tailor and his shoemaker. Peter wasn't blood kin to anybody in Riverton, so there was no home open to him. He was deeply sensible of the genuine kindness extended to him in his dark hour, but he wouldn't, he co

Peter, gently enough, the boy turned upon her with flaming eyes, and said he wouldn't stay in any asylum; he'd run away, and keep on running awa

of those long, dim country stores that sell everything from cradles to

or you this mawnin'?" he aske

one, please," said

The large man stare

ter, patiently. "I hear it's you doing most of

ed to run loose, Peter. 'T aint right. 'T ain't moral. 'T ain't Christian. You'll be better off

in my own hous

you can't! The thing to do is to sell that place for what it'll fetch, sock the money in bank for you, and it'll

hing sure and certain. If you send me to any orphan-asylum, I'

ani

tout vestryman a glance like

s," said he, with the deadl

ther. It wasn't the boy'

' a father of a family, are you?

threatening you, at all. I'm j

Peter handle a shot-gun: you'd think the little devil had been born with a gun in his fist! He had a thumb-nail vision of Mrs. McMasters collecting hi

ou damned Champneys!" he roared. Pe

-asylum, Mr. McMasters. I'm going to stay right here at home.

ur old strip of sand and cockspurs? Get to hel

the place on the cove, the last poor remnant of Champneys land. To this end had she pinched and slaved. When Peter thought of McMasters intriguing to take from him even this poor possession, his lips ca

ong talks; then Emma called in Cassius, an ex-husband of hers who so long as he didn't live with her could get along with her, and had him widen the shed room, Peter taking in its stead his mother's bedroom. Cassius built a better w

ary he specked she must be 'flicted wid de moonness, which is one way of saying that one is a bit weak in the head. But he liked her, and she washed his shirts and sewed on a button or so for him occasionally, or occasionally cracked him over the sconce with the hominy-spoon, just to show that she considered her marital ties binding. Emma had been married twice since Cassius left

ave charged. Half the time he made his living out of the river, going partners with some negro boatman. They are daring watermen, the coast negroes. They took Peter on deep-sea fishing-trips, and at night he curled up on a furled sail and went to sleep to the sound of Atlantic waves, and of negro men singing as only negro men can sing. Somet

nd thirst of those who long to know; and he wished to express what he learned, by making pictures and thus interpreting it for himself and others. It wasn't easy. Life turned a rather harsh face to him. He wasn't c

n looks like peep-thoo-de-winduh; daylight 's comin'." She added anxiously: "Don't you let a h

nees. Upon reflection, he sold his mother's sewing-machine-it was an ol

on me, like you were," he confided t

rry about trousers, nor yet shoes for his six feet! And all he had to do w

ll a good time. It's hard to be me, butterfly. Nothing nice has happened in such a

wiggle them in the friendliest way you know how, you'

mon Stylites slide down his pillar and grab for a piece of it, a fat chicken with an accompaniment of hot biscuit and good brown gravy. She didn't tell Peter how she had come by the chicken, nor did he wait to ask. He crammed his mouth, and Emma leaned against the d

down," for which the one specific is to take a wisp of your hair and wrap it as tightly around a tin spoon, or a match stem, as you can twist it; that pulls your palate up. It is, of course, absolutely necessary for you to have your palate up, even though you scalp yourself in the process of making it stay up. Emma generally had a couple of spoons

nly a boy, and because nothing so pleasant as this had happened to him for a long, long time-not since his

axes you not to lemme see you cryin' like dat! When I sees Miss Maria's chile cryin', jes' 'ca

course, had Simms's "War Poems of the South." He knew much of Father Ryan by heart. He, as well as another, could wave his brown stick of an arm and bid somebody "Take that banner down, 'tis tattered." He had been brought up on the story of the glory of the men who wore the gray, and for him the sword of Rob

nd he was getting too big to be paid in pennies and dimes. People didn't exactly know what to do with him. One can't be supercilious to a boy who is a Champneys born, but can one invite a boy who runs errands, is on very

t lawn-mower out there in the sun! And now, while all the other children were playing and laughing, dressed in their party finery, Peter was splitting wood for old Miss Carruthers, a little farther down the street. Mrs. Humphreys could see him from her bedr

istmas, one of the town beggars. Daddy Christmas was incredibly old, wrinkled, ragg

r you." She blushed as she spoke. "It's a hot day-and you're working. I t

ed at her

ind, Mis' Humphr

But at the gate, beside the thick crape-myrtle bushes, she paused and looked back

ling to share this treat with you. As it is, you'll have to eat it all by yourself." A second later the voice added: "Funny, you just saying the Lord

the lane to her house, wi