ason with an applicant who would take
no denial. "A rough man, a very rough old man, and in a most terrible
state of mind," said the girl who brought the message; "and room he
would have, or he would know the reason."

"The reason is not far to seek," I answered, more to myself than her, as
I ran down the stairs to discomfit that old man. At the open door, with
the hot wind tossing worn white curls and parching shriveled cheeks, now
wearily raising his battered hat, stood my dear Uncle Sam, the Sawyer.

"Lor' a massy! young lady, be you altogether daft? In my best of days,
never was I lips for kissing. And the bootifulest creatur--Come now, I
ain't saved your life, have I now?"

"Yes, fifty times over--fifty thousand times. Uncle Sam, don't you know
Erema?"

"My eyes be dashed! And dashed they be, to forget the look of yours,
my dearie. Seven days have I marched without thanking the Lord; and hot
coals of fire has He poured upon me now, for His mercy endureth forever.
To think of you--to think of you--as like my own child as could be--only
of more finer breed--here standing in front of me, like this here!
There! I never dreamed to do that again, and would scorn a young man at
the sight of it."

The Sawyer was too honest to conceal that he was weeping. He simply
turned his tanned and weathered face toward the door-post, not to hide
his tears, but reconcile his pride by feigning it. I felt that he must
be at very low ebb, and all that I had seen of other people's sorrow had
no power to assuage me. Inside the door, to keep the hot wind out and
hide my eyes from the old man's face, I had some little quiet sobs,
until we could both express ourselves.

"It is poor Firm, the poor, poor lad!--oh, what hath happened him? That
I should see the day!"

Uncle Sam's deep voice broke into a moan, and he bowed his rough
forehead on his arm, and shook. Then I took him by the sleeve and
brought him in.

"Not dead--poor Firm, your only one--not dead?" as soon as words would
come, I asked, and trembled for the opening of his lips.

"Not dead--not quite; but ten times worse. He hath flown into the face
of the Lord, like Saul and his armor-bearer; he hath fallen on his
own sword; and the worst of it is that the darned thing won't come out
again."

"Firm--the last person in the world to do it! Oh, Uncle Sam, surely they
have told you--"

"No lies--no lie at all, my dear. And not only that, but he wanteth now
to die--and won't b