The Ruling Passion | Page 4

of these ruling passions, simply, clearly, and
concretely, is what I want to do in this book. The characters are chosen,
for the most part, among plain people, because their feelings are
expressed with fewer words and greater truth, not being costumed for
social effect. The scene is laid on Nature's stage because I like to be
out-of-doors, even when I am trying to think and learning to write.
"Avalon," Princeton, July 22, 1901.

CONTENTS
I. A Lover of Music

II. The Reward of Virtue
III. A Brave Heart
IV. The Gentle Life
V. A Friend of Justice
VI. The White Blot
VII. A Year of Nobility
VIII. The Keeper of the Light

A LOVER OF MUSIC
I
He entered the backwoods village of Bytown literally on the wings of
the wind. It whirled him along like a big snowflake, and dropped him at
the door of Moody's "Sportsmen's Retreat," as if he were a New Year's
gift from the North Pole. His coming seemed a mere chance; but
perhaps there was something more in it, after all. At all events, you
shall hear, if you will, the time and the manner of his arrival.
It was the last night of December, some thirty-five years ago. All the
city sportsmen who had hunted the deer under Bill Moody's direction
had long since retreated to their homes, leaving the little settlement on
the border of the Adirondack wilderness wholly under the social
direction of the natives.
The annual ball was in full swing in the dining-room of the hotel. At
one side of the room the tables and chairs were piled up, with their legs
projecting in the air like a thicket of very dead trees.
The huge stove in the southeast corner was blushing a rosy red through
its thin coat of whitewash, and exhaling a furious dry heat flavoured

with the smell of baked iron. At the north end, however, winter reigned;
and there were tiny ridges of fine snow on the floor, sifted in by the
wind through the cracks in the window- frames.
But the bouncing girls and the heavy-footed guides and lumbermen
who filled the ball-room did not appear to mind the heat or the cold.
They balanced and "sashayed" from the tropics to the arctic circle.
They swung at corners and made "ladies' change" all through the
temperate zone. They stamped their feet and did double-shuffles until
the floor trembled beneath them. The tin lamp-reflectors on the walls
rattled like castanets.
There was only one drawback to the hilarity of the occasion. The band,
which was usually imported from Sandy River Forks for such
festivities,--a fiddle, a cornet, a flute, and an accordion,--had not
arrived. There was a general idea that the mail-sleigh, in which the
musicians were to travel, had been delayed by the storm, and might
break its way through the snow-drifts and arrive at any moment. But
Bill Moody, who was naturally of a pessimistic temperament, had
offered a different explanation.
"I tell ye, old Baker's got that blame' band down to his hotel at the Falls
now, makin' 'em play fer his party. Them music fellers is onsartin; can't
trust 'em to keep anythin' 'cept the toon, and they don't alluz keep that.
Guess we might uz well shet up this ball, or go to work playin' games."
At this proposal a thick gloom had fallen over the assembly; but it had
been dispersed by Serena Moody's cheerful offer to have the small
melodion brought out of the parlour, and to play for dancing as well as
she could. The company agreed that she was a smart girl, and prepared
to accept her performance with enthusiasm. As the dance went on, there
were frequent comments of approval to encourage her in the labour of
love.
"Sereny's doin' splendid, ain't she?" said the other girls.
To which the men replied, "You bet! The playin' 's reel nice, and good
'nough fer anybody--outside o' city folks."

But Serena's repertory was weak, though her spirit was willing. There
was an unspoken sentiment among the men that "The Sweet By and
By" was not quite the best tune in the world for a quadrille. A
Sunday-school hymn, no matter how rapidly it was rendered, seemed to
fall short of the necessary vivacity for a polka. Besides, the wheezy
little organ positively refused to go faster than a certain gait. Hose
Ransom expressed the popular opinion of the instrument, after a figure
in which he and his partner had been half a bar ahead of the music from
start to finish, when he said:
"By Jolly! that old maloney may be chock full o' relijun and po'try; but
it ain't got no DANCE into it, no more 'n a saw-mill."
This was the situation of affairs inside