weary pumping; how deep in the lower hold, where a falling spar by piercing three decks had carried a spark, the fire was impossible to get at; how they scuttled the ship and poured tons of water into her and still the fire burned; how she settled to the bottom, but her great depth refused to let her be saved; how for three days they fought for her till the fire reached the water's edge and, the torrent causing her cargo of grain to swell, she burst open and was abandoned, a hopeless wreck, to the underwriters. She was rebuilt later by other hands, but considerably reduced in hull and rig, and was never the same Great Republic.

Donald McKay never recovered from the blow. Not that he gave up he was not that kind-but though he continued to build ships something was lacking, and that something was a great deal, for after a few years of indifferent fortune he re

tired to a farm a broken man and died there.

In the upper floor of the Louvre in Paris there is a far-famed Musée de "Marine." In it and under the same roof that shelters for all time the work of Phidias, Velasquez, Titian, Da Vinci-of all the great masters of achievement in all ages

there is a beautiful rigged model of the Great Republic. And under it a card inscribed with the ship's name, her dimensions, the name of her builder, where built, and the date of construction. Then follows a brief description of the "Clipper Americain" as the highest type of wooden merchant ship under sail, a glowing account of some of her exploits, and a final note stating that the model was made from the ship's drawings in the "Atelier of the Museum" as the greatest of them all!

THE

PARSON

P

SMALL

ARSON SMALL rose. From the tail-pocket of his long broadcloth coat he pulled a red bandanna handkerchief and blew his nose. He put the big blunt forefinger of his right hand on the text of the open Bible before him.

"Suffer" he said. He glanced over his flock-the blacksmith, his wife and her child, the old miller and Aunt Betsey, the mission teacher and some of her brood, past Pleasant Trouble with his crutch across his half a lap, and to the heavy-set middle-aged figure just slipping to a seat in the rear with a slouched hat in his hand. The parson's glance grew stern and he closed the Great Book. Jeb Mullins, the newcomer, was-moonshiner and undesirable citizen in many ways. He had meant, said the parson, to preach straight from the word of God, but he would take up the matter in hand, and he glared with doubtful benevolence at Jeb's moon face, grayish whiskers, and mild blue eyes. Many turned to follow his glance, and Jeb moved in his seat and his eyes began to roll, for all knew that the matter in hand was Jeb.

Straightway the parson turned his batteries on the very throne of King Alcohol and made it totter. Men "disguised by liquer" were not themselves. Whiskey made the fights and the feuds. It broke up meetings. It made men lie around in the woods and neglect their families. It stole brains and weakened bodies. It made women unhappy and debauched children. It turned Holy Christmas into a drunken orgy. And "right thar in their very midst," he thundered, was a satellite of the Devil-King, "who was a-doin' all these very things," and that limb of Satan

OF

must give up his still, come to the mourner's bench, and "wrassle with the Sperit or else be druv from the county and go down to burnin' damnation forevermore." And that was not all: this man, he had heard, was "a-detainin' a female, an' the little judge of Happy Valley would soon be hot on his trail. The parson mentioned no name in the indictment, but the stern faces of the women, the threatening looks of the men were too much for Jeb. He rose and bolted, and the parson halted.

"The wicked flee when no man pursueth!" he cried, and he raised hands for the benediction.

"Thar's been so much talk about drinkin'," muttered Aunt Sis Shell as she swayed out, "that hit's made me plum' thirsty. I'd like to have a dram right now." Pleasant Trouble heard her and one eye in his solemn face gave her a covert wink.

The women folks had long clamored that their men should break up Jeb's still; and the men had stood the nagging and remained inactive through the hangingtogether selfishness of the sex, for with Jeb gone where then would they drink their drams and play Old Sledge? But now Jeb was "a-detainin' of a female," and that was going too far. For a full week Jeb was seen no more, for three reasons: he was arranging an important matter with Pleasant Trouble; he was brooding over the public humiliation that the parson had visited on him; and he knew that he might be waited upon any day by a committee of his fellow citizens and customers headed by a particular enemy of his. And indeed such a committee, so headed, was formed, and as chance would

have it, they set forth the following Sunday morning just when Jeb himself set forth to halt the parson on his way to church. The committee caught sight of Jeb turning from the roadside into the bushes and the leader motioned them too into the rhododendron, whispering:

"Wait an' we'll ketch him in some mo' devilment." In the bushes they waited. Soon the parson hove in view on a slowly pacing nag, with his hands folded on the pommel of his saddle and deep in meditation. Jeb stepped out into the road and the hidden men craned their necks from the bushes with eyes and ears alert.

Good mornin', Parson Small!" The old nag stopped and the parson's head snapped up from his revery.

"Good mornin', Jeb Mullins." The parson's greeting was stern and somewhat uneasy, for he did not like the look on old Jeb's face.

"Parson Small," said Jeb unctuously, "las' Sunday was yo' day." The men in the bushes thrust themselves farther out -they could hear every word-"an' this Sunday is mine."

"Every Sunday is the Lawd's, Jeb Mullins-profane it not."

"Well, mebbe He'll loan me this un, parson. You lambasted me afore all Happy Valley last Sunday an' now I'm a-goin' to lick you fer it." The parson's eye gleamed faintly and subsided.

"I'm on my way to preach the word of God, Jeb Mullins."

"You'll git thar in time, parson. Git off yo' hoss!"

"I've got my broadcloth on, Jeb Mullins, an' I don't want to muss it up-wait till I come back."

"You can take it off, parson, or brush off the dust atterwards-climb off yo' hoss." Again the parson's eye gleamed and this time did not subside.

"I reckon you'll give me time to say a prayer, Jeb Mullins!"

"Shore-you'll need it afore I git through with ye."

With a sigh the parson swung offside from Jeb, dexterously pulling a jack-knife from his trousers-pocket, opening it, and thrusting it in the high top of his right boot. Then he kneeled in the road with uplifted face and eyes closed:

"O Lawd," he called sonorously,

"thou knowest that I visit my fellow man with violence only with thy favor and in thy name. Thou knowest that when I laid Jim Thompson an' Si Marcum in thar graves it was by thy aid. Thou knowest how I disembowelled with my trusty knife the miserable sinner Hank Smith." Here the parson drew out his knife and began honing it on the leg of his boot. "An' hyeh's another who meddles with thy servant and profanes thy day. I know this hyeh Jeb Mullins is offensive in thy sight an' fergive me, oh Lawd, but I'm a-goin' to cut his gizzard plum' out, an' O Lawd-" Here Parson Small opened one eye and Jeb Mullins did not stand on the order of his going. As he went swiftly up the hill the committee sprang from the bushes with haw-haws and taunting yells. At the top of the hill Jeb turned:

"I was a-goin' anyhow," he shouted, and with his thumb at his nose he wriggled his fingers at them.

"He'll never come back now-he'll be ashamed."

"Friends," called the parson, "the Lawd is with me peace be unto you." And the committee said: "Amen!"

The Japanese say: be not surprised if the surprising does not surprise. When Jeb walked into meeting the following Sunday no citizen of Happy Valley had the subtlety to note that of them all Pleasant Trouble alone, sitting far in the rear, showed no surprise. Pleasant's face was solemn but in his eyes was an expectant smile. Women and men glared, and the parson stopped his exhortation to glare, but Jeb had timed his entrance to the parson's call for sinners to come to the mourner's bench. It was the only safe place for him and there he went and there he sat. The parson still glared, but he had to go on exhorting-he had to exhort even Jeb. And Jeb responded. He not only "wrassled with the Sperit" valiantly but he "came through"-that is, he burst from the gloom of evil and disbelief into the light of high purpose and the glory of salvation. He rose to confess and he confessed a great deal; but, as many knew, not all-who does? He had driven the woman like Hagar into the wilderness; he