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HE mass-meeting at Springtown was a most important event. It was held in the court-house in the centre of the few straggling houses which made up the hamlet. The entire Bishop family, including the servants, attended. Pole Baker brought his wife and all the children in a new spring-wagon. Darley society was represented, as the Springtown Gazette afterwards put it, by the fairest of the fair, Miss Dolly Barclay, accompanied by her mother and father.

The court-house yard was alive with groups of men eagerly talking over the situation. Every individual whose land was to be touched by the proposed road was on hand to protect his rights. Pole Baker was ubiquitous, trying to ascertain the drift of matters. He was, however, rather unsuccessful. He discovered that many of the groups ceased to talk when he entered them. "Some 'n' s up," he told Alan and Miller in the big, bare-looking court-room. "I don't know what it is, but I smell a rat, an' it ain't no little one, nuther."

"Opposition," said Miller, gloomily. "I saw that as soon as I came. If they really were in favor of the road they'd be here talking it over with us."

"I'm afraid that's it," said Alan. "Joe Bartell is the most interested, and he seems to be a sort of ringleader. I don't like the way he looks. I saw him sneer at Wilson when he drove up just now. I wish Wilson hadn't put on so much style—kid gloves, plug hat, and a negro driver."

"No, that won't go down with this crowd," agreed Miller. "It might in the slums of Boston, but not with these lords of the mountains. As for Bartell, I think I know what ails him. He's going to run for the legislature and thinks he can make votes by opposing us—convincing his constituency that we represent moneyed oppression. Well, he may down us, but it's tough on human progress."

Alan caught Dolly's eye and bowed. She was seated near her father and mother, well towards the judge's stand. She seemed to have been observing the faces of the two friends, and to be affected by their serious expressions. Adele sat at the long wood stove, several yards from her parents, who appeared quite as if they were in church waiting for service to begin. Abner Daniel leaned in the doorway opening into one of the jury-rooms. Wilson had given him a fine cigar, which he seemed to be enjoying hugely.

At the hour appointed for the meeting, to open, a young man who held the office of bailiff in the county, and seemed proud of his stentorian voice, opened one of the windows and shouted:

"Come in to court! Come in to court!" and the motley loiterers below began to clatter up the broad stairs and fall into the seats. Joe Bartell, a short, thick-set man in the neighborhood of fifty, with a florid face and a shock of reddish hair, led about twenty men up the aisle to the jury-benches at the right of the stand. They were the land-owners whose consent to grant the right of way was asked. Stern opposition was clearly written on the leader's brow and more or less distinctly reflected on the varying faces of his followers.

"Ef we needed it, it ud be a different matter," Miller overheard him say in a sudden lull, as the big room settled down into sudden quiet, "but we kin do without it. We've got along so fur an' we kin furder. All of us has got good teams."

Wilson, in his crisp, brusque way, made the opening speech. He told his hearers just what his company proposed to do and in much the same cold-blooded way as he would have dictated a letter to his stenographer, correctly punctuating the text by pauses, and yet, in his own way, endeavoring to be eloquent. He and his capital were going to dispel darkness where it had reigned since the dawn of civilization; people living there now would not recognize the spot ten years from the day the first whistle of a locomotive shrilled through those rocky gorges and rebounded from those lofty peaks—silent fingers pointing to God and speaking of a past dead and gone. All that was needed, he finished, was the consent of the property-owners appealed to; who, he felt confident, would not stand in their own light. They looked like intelligent men, and he believed they did not deceive appearances.

He had hardly taken his seat when Joe Bartell stood up. Alan and Miller exchanged ominous glances. They had at once recognized the inappropriateness of Wilson's speech, and did not like the white, twitching sneer on Bartell's smooth-shaven face. It was as if Bartell had been for a long time seeking just such an opportunity to make himself felt in the community, and there was no doubt that Wilson's almost dictatorial speech had made a fine opening for him.

"Fellow-citizens, an' ladies an' gentlemen," he began, "we are glad to welcome amongst us a sort of a second savior in our Sodom an' Gomorry of cracker-dom. What the gentleman with the plug hat an' spike-toe shoes ain't a-goin' to do fer us the Lord couldn't. He looks nice an' talks nice, an', to use his words, I don't believe he deceives appearances. I 'll bet one thing, an' that is 'at he won't deceive us. Accordin' to him we need 'im every hour, as the Sunday-school song puts it. Yes, he's a-goin' to he'p us powerful an' right off. An', fellow-citizens, I'm heer to propose a vote o' thanks. He's from away up in Boston, whar, they tell me, a nigger sets an' eats at the same table with the whites. When his sort come this away durin' the war, with all the'r up-to-date impliments of slaughter, they laid waste to ever'thing they struck, shot us like rabbits in holes, an' then went back an' said they'd had a good hunt. But they've been livin' high up thar sence the war an' the'r timber is a-playin' out, an' they want some more now, an' they want it bad. So they send the'r representatives out to find it an' lay hold of it. How does he happen to come heer? As well as I kin make out, old Alf Bishop, a good man an' a Southern soldier—a man that I hain't got nothin' agin, except maybe he holds his head too high, made up his mind awhile back that lumber would be in demand some day, an' he set to work buyin' all the timber-land he could lay his hands on. Then, when he had more'n he could tote, an' was about to go under, he give this gentleman a' option on it. Well, so fur so good; but, gentlemen, what have we got to do with this trade? Nothin' as I kin see. But we are expected to yell an' holler, an' deed 'em a free right of way through our property so they kin ship the timber straight through to the North an' turn it into cold Yankee coin. We don't count in this shuffle, gentlemen. We git our pay fer our land in bein' glad an' heerin' car-bells an' steam-whistles in the middle o' the night when we want to sleep. The engynes will kill our hogs, cattle, an' hosses, an' now an' then break the neck o' some chap that wasn't hit in the war, but we mustn't forget to be glad an' bend the knee o' gratitude. Of course, we all know the law kin compel us to give the right of way, but it provides fer just and sufficient payment fer the property used; an', gentlemen, I'm agin donations. I'm agin' em tooth an' toe-nail."

There was thunderous and ominous applause when Bartell sat down. Wilson sat flushed and embarrassed, twirling his gloves in his hands. He had expected anything but this personal fusillade. He stared at Miller in surprise over that gentleman's easy, half-amused smile as he stood up.

"Gentlemen," he began, "and ladies," he added, with a bow to the right and left. "As many of you know, I pretend to practise law a little, and I want to say now that I'm glad Mr. Bartell ain't in the profession. A lawyer with his keen wit and eloquence could convict an innocent mother before a jury of her own children. [Laughter.] And that's the point, gentlemen; we are innocent of the charges against us. I am speaking now of my clients, the Bishops. They are deeply interested in the development of this section. The elder Bishop does hold his head high, and in this case he held it high enough to smell coming prosperity in the air. He believed it would come, and that is why he bought timber-lands extensively. As for the accused gentleman from the Hub of the Universe, I must say that I have known of him for several years and have never heard a word against his character. He is not a farmer, but a business man, and it would be unfair to judge him by any other standard. He is not only a business man, but a big one. He handles big things. This railroad is going to be a big thing for you and your children. Yes, Wilson is all right. He didn't fight in the late unpleasantness. He tells the women he was too young; but I believe he hadn't the heart to fight a cause as just as ours. His only offence is in the matter of wearing sharp-toed shoes. There is no law against 'em in Atlanta, and he's simply gotten careless. He is ignorant of our ideas of proper dress, as befitting a meek and lowly spirit, which, in spite of appearances, I happen to know Wilson possesses. However, I have heard him say that these mountains produce the best corn liquor that ever went down grade in his system. He's right. It's good. Pole Baker says it's good, and he ought to know. [Laughter, in which Pole joined good-naturedly.] That reminds me of a story," Miller went on. "They tell this of Baker. They say that a lot of fellows were talking of the different ways they would prefer to meet death if it had to come. One said drowning, another shooting, another poisoning, and so on; but Pole reserved his opinion to the last. When the crowd urged him to say what manner of death he would select, if he had to die and had his choice, he said: 'Well, boys, ef I had to go, I'd like to be melted up into puore corn whiskey an' poured through my throat tell thar wasn't a drap left of me.'[Laughter and prolonged applause.] And Wilson said further, gentlemen and ladies, that he believed the men and women of this secluded section were, in their own way, living nearer to God than the inhabitants of the crowded cities. Wilson is not bad, even if he has a hang-dog look. A speech like Bartell's just now would give a hang-dog look to a paling-fence. Wilson is here to build a railroad for your good and prosperity, and he can' t build one where there is nothing to haul out. If he buys up timber for his company, it is the only way to get them to back him in the enterprise. Now, gentlemen of the opposition, if there are any here to-day, don't let the thought of Wilson's possible profit rob you of this golden opportunity. I live at Darley, but, as many of you know, this is my father's native county, and I want to see it bloom in progress and blossom like the rose of prosperity. I want to see the vast mineral wealth buried in these mountains dug out for the benefit of mankind wherever God's sunlight falls."

Miller sat down amid much applause, a faint part of which came even from the ranks of Bartell's faction. After this a pause ensued in which no one seemed willing to speak. Colonel Barclay rose and came to Miller.

"That was a good talk," he whispered. "You understand how to touch 'em up. You set them to laughin'; that's the thing. I wonder if it would do any good for me to try my hand."

"Do they know you have any timber-land over here?" asked Miller.

"Oh yes, I guess they do," replied the Colonel.

"Then I don't believe I'd chip in," advised Miller. "Bartell would throw it up to you."

"I reckon you are right," said Barclay, "but for the Lord's sake do something. It never will do to let this thing fall through."

"I've done all I can," said Miller, dejectedly. "Bartell's got the whole gang hoodooed—the blasted blockhead! Wouldn't he make a fine representative in the legislature?"

The Colonel went back to his seat, and Wilson came to Miller, just as Alan approached.

"It's going to fall flatter than a pancake," said Wilson. "My company simply cannot afford to buy the right of way. Can' t you choke that illiterate fellow over there or—or buy him off?"

"He ain't that sort," said Miller, disconsolately.

Alan glanced at his father and mother. On their wrinkled faces lay ample evidences of dejection. The old man seemed scarcely to breathe. Up to Bartell's speech he had seemed buoyantly hopeful, but his horizon had changed; he looked as if he were wondering why he had treated himself to such a bright view of a thing which had no foundation at all.

At this juncture Abner Daniel rose from his seat near the stove and slowly walked forward till he stood facing the audience. Immediately quiet reigned, for he was a man who was invariably listened to.

"Gentlemen an' ladies," he began, clearing his throat and wiping his mouth with his long hand. "This ain't no put-in o' mine, gracious knows! I hain't got nothin', an' I don't expect to lose or gain by what is done in this matter, but I want to do what I kin fer what I think is right an' proper. Fer my part, I don't think we kin do without a railroad much longer. Folks is a-pokin' fun at us, I tell you. It's God's truth. T'other day I was over at Darley a-walkin' along the railroad nigh the turnin'-table, whar they flirt engynes round like children on a flyin'-jinny, when all at once a big strappin' feller with a red flag in his hand run up an' knocked me off'n the track kerwhallop in a ditch. It was just in time to keep me from bein' run over by a switch-engyne. He was as mad as Tucker. 'Looky' heer,' ses he, 'did you think that thing was playin' tag with you an' ud tap you on the shoulder an' run an' hide behind a tree? Say, ain't you from Short Pine Destrict, this side o' the mountains?' I told 'im he'd guessed right, an' he said, 'I'lowed so, fer thar ain't no other spot on the whirlin' globe that produces folks as green as gourds.' Well, gentlemen, that floored me; it was bad enough to be jerked about like a rag doll, but it was tough to heer my section jeered at. 'What makes you say that?' I axed 'im, as I stood thar tryin' to git a passle o' wet glass out o' my hip-pocket without cuttin' my fingers. [Laughter, led by Pole Baker, who sensed the meaning of the reference.] 'Beca'se,' ses he, 'you moss-backs over thar don't know the war's over; a nigger from over thar come in town t'other day an' heerd fer the fust time that he was free. Two men over thar swapped wives without knowin' thar was a law agin it. Half o' you-uns never laid eyes on a railroad, an' wouldn't have one as a free gift.' I turned off an' left 'im an' went up on the main street. Up thar a barber ketched me by the arm an' said, ses he: 'Come in an' le' me cut that hair. You are from Short Pine, ain't you?' I axed him why he thought so, an' he said, ses he, 'beca'se you got a Short Pine hair-cut.'' What's that?'ses I. An' he laughed at a feller cocked up in a cheer an' said: 'It's a cut that is made by the women out yore way. They jest turn a saucer upside down on the men's heads an' trim around the edges. I could tell one a mile; they make a man look like a bob-tailed mule.'[Laughter, loud and prolonged.] Yes, as I said, they are a-pokin' all manner o' fun at us, an' it's chiefly beca'se we hain't got no railroad. The maddest I ever got on this line was down at Filmore's store one day. A little, slick chap come along sellin' maps of the United States of America. They was purty things on black sticks, an' I wanted one fer the wall o' my room. I was about to buy one, but I thought I'd fust make shore that our county was on it, so I axed the peddler to p'int it out to me. Well, after some s'arch, he put his knife-blade on what he called this county, but lo an' behold! it was mighty nigh kivered with round dots about the size of fly-specks. 'What's the matter with it?'I axed 'im. 'Oh, you mean them dots,' ses he, an' he turned to a lot o' reference words in the corner of the map. 'Them,' ses he, 'them's put thar to indicate the amount o' ignorance in a locality. You 'll find 'em in all places away from the railroads; a body kin say what they please agin railroads, but they fetch schools, an' books, an' enlightenment. You've got a good many specks' ses he, kinder comfortin' like, 'but some o' these days a railroad will shoot out this away, an' them brainy men amongst you will git the chance God intends to give 'em,' Gentlemen, I didn't buy no map. I wouldn't 'a' had the thing on my wall with them specks a-starin' me in the face. It wouldn't 'a' done any good to scrape 'em off, fer the'r traces would 'a' been left. No, friends, citizens, an' well-wishers, thar ain't but one scraper that will ever rake our specks off, an' that's the cow-catcher of a steam-engyne. I say let 'er come. Some objection has been raised on the score o' killin' cattle. That reminds me of a story they tell on old Burt Preston, who has a farm on the main line beyant Darley. He was always a-gittin' his stock killed so fast, an' a-puttin' in heavy claims fer damages, until folks begun to say he made his livin' by buyin' scrub cattle an' sellin' mashed beef to the corporation. One day the road sent out a detective to watch 'im, an' he seed Burt drive a spindlin' yeerlin' out o' the thicket on the track jest in time to get it knocked off by a through freight. The detective wen............