"But a crab may mean getting wet."

"I'm not afraid of water, and I won't catch crabs."

He pulled up to a log and exchanged places. The rolling seat cost her a crab or two, for the motion was new to her; but she quickly became accustomed to it, and was delighted with the power it gave. The forests were robed in all the glories of Indian summer, and the river rolled slowly on in its majesty, gleaming in the sunlight, black in the shadow, unruffled by a breeze. The girl was in the mood for testing her skill and strength to the uttermost. There was something almost fierce in her energy, yet none of it was wasted. It was like the action of a thoroughbred horse, that trots to the point of breaking and never breaks. The shell sped on faster and faster. Each stroke left its graceful swirl farther and still farther behind. Craigin sat in the stern and watched the rower, divine in the grace of motion, her glorious features flushed with health, glowing with exercise, sparkling with exhilaration. He caught also a glimpse of something more -the spirit of the moment.

Suddenly she rested the oars and sat motionless and silent.

"I've learned something in spite of boardingschool!" she exclaimed at last. "I can row and swim and skate and ride a horse-ladylike accomplishments, are n't they? I was n't such a very bad scholar, either; I graduated fifth in my class."

"And I only fifteenth," remarked Craigin.

"Fifteenth in a class of two hundred is better than fifth in a class of nine, is n't it?" she replied. "Any

how, what difference does it make? I wish I'd been a man and had lived twenty-five years ago!"

"Why?"

"Because there was life worth living then, and death worth dying."

"Not more then than now."

"What do you mean?"

"That men must live and die to save the republic, as they did twenty-five years ago."

"I know what you mean, for I heard your speech the other night. You mean the liquor business."

"Yes; that and other things-that most of all.” "You really mean what you said, that it had done more harm to English-speaking people than war and famine and pestilence combined?"

"That's what Gladstone says. I believe it's true. The nation could stand it well enough if the evil were confined to drunkards themselves, but that's the smallest part of it.”

"What did you mean by saying men must die?” "Something very different from what you were thinking of. Not death at the cannon's mouth, a nation's praise, a hero's name in song and story; that-"

"That's a death brave men covet," interrupted Isabel. "I meant a living death, fighting for God and the manhood of men; misunderstood, jeered at as a crank, disowned by one's dearest friends, cut off from honors and advancement, isolated, reviled, hated, persecuted, belied."

"That's a death only the bravest can face."

"Thousands and tens of thousands must face it,"

replied Craigin. "Do you know how the Turks took Constantinople?"

"No."

"There was a deep trench in front of the walls. When they had made a breach in the walls, men flung themselves into the trench until it was full, and horse, foot, and artillery passed over them to victory."

"How horrible-and heroic! "

"In great reforms myriads of men must fling themselves into living graves for the world to pass over them to higher things. In one way or another, human progress is over bleeding hearts. It always has been so; it always will be so."

For several minutes not a word was spoken. Suddenly there was a splash. A muskrat had dived from the river bank. The boat had drifted close to the shore.

"If he thought a course were right," said Isabel to herself, "he 'd follow it straight to death-that kind of death-and never flinch a hair. He's a hero if there ever was one! And papa-the terrible fightthe presentiment! I won't believe it-not yet!"

What she said to the hero was quite different from what she said to herself. "Don't you think it's your turn to row now? I'll pull up to that boom, and we'll change seats."

When once more seated in the stern she introduced a momentous question: "I'm to have a new travelinghat, and there are two at the house that are just too lovely for anything. Mama and I can't tell which we like the better. I'll leave the choice to you."

IX

WHEREIN DANIELS DIFFER

2T almost any time within twenty years the liquor interest might have reported, "All is quiet in Apsleigh." A quick ear could now catch mutterings of a rising storm. The Reform Club had acquired influence and position. The "Tocsin" was gradually assuming a more aggressive tone. There was much agitation elsewhere, and men began to ask one another if something could not be done in Apsleigh. A temperance "union" was formed. It included people of all shades of opinion, from Eben Harpswell to people who drew the line at getting drunk and selling to sots. This motley organization began its career with a vast amount of talk. Agreeing in nothing else, it finally agreed to vest its powers and responsibilities in an executive committee, upon which its members, with astonishing unanimity, declined to serve. At length the twenty gentlemen whose names stood first on the call, of whom ten were clergymen, were conscripted, and were authorized to do battle on the implied basis of "Heads we win, tails you lose."

After many meetings the committee decided to ask the city fathers to do what the law commanded and their oaths of office required. A petition was circulated. Some signed because they wanted the law enforced, more because they favored closing two or three low dives, hundreds as a joke "to see the mayor and aldermen wiggle," and the great majority because they were asked to and it cost them nothing. The city fathers talked the petition over from week to week, and received many intimations from influential members of the Temperance Union that a fight with Denman was not to be thought of. They were told that nearly every one, except Harpswell and his small following, would be satisfied if Bridget Maloney and One-legged Gibbs were attended to. In due course of time the old woman and the cripple retired from mercantile pursuits and took refuge in the almshouse. Three aldermen made themselves politically unavailable by declaring that it was cowardly to prosecute two paupers and let a millionaire sell barrels where they had sold pints. The mayor and six aldermen protested that prudence was not cowardice. They said it would be better to go slowly and make thorough work of it. They made thorough work of going slowly. Months passed and nothing further was attempted. The "Tocsin" published sarcastic and stinging editorials. A local Junius dipped his pen in gall. The executive committee demanded that something should be done. Mass-meetings were held. Prosecuting members of the city government for criminal neglect of duty was publicly discussed.

As the official year wore on the clamor died away