The Black Forge Mills

by William P. Chipman

Of the three, Ray, perhaps, had changed the least. His tall form had rounded out somewhat, and he had a maturer look, but otherwise there was scarcely a perceptible difference. The same honest eyes and noble countenance, the same resolute purpose, and the same trustful spirit were all there. He and Edward have actually completed three years at Clinton Academy, and are now nearly twenty. They have lost nothing in rank as scholars, or in their influence as Christians; and they have been able to meet their expenses largely through their own exertions.

Ray was no longer the bell ringer and sweeper at the academy, however. Not that he was ever ashamed of those offices, but because he no longer needed to keep them. George persisted in paying back the money that he had received from Ray in the time of his greatest need, and Mr. Jacob Woodhull as stubbornly declared he had money that belonged to the lad, and from these two, with what he had himself earned during the summer vacation, Ray had enough to meet the expenses of the second year without special effort. Since then he had had a position as tutor to a deformed boy in Easton, and the compensation he received was ample enough to defray his school expenses. This was an arrangement for the year to come also, and Ray had no anxiety on the score of his finances.

Edward was more delicate than Ray, and his studies told upon him more. He was, too, the same slightly-built lad of two years before. Daisy, however, had changed the most of all. She was a young lady now; had graduated from the Graded School at Afton, and had been for a year in a young ladies' school of national repute. If she was beautiful as a girl, she is certainly more interesting now as she is just budding into young womanhood. Her golden locks adorn a face of intense loveliness; her bright blue eyes look up almost saucily into yours, while her sweet disposition and earnest Christian spirit win hosts of friends for her wherever she goes. She is a rare scholar, a fine musician, and possesses a voice that would bring her a fortune if she cared to use it for the public. She and Ray are as good friends as ever, and his fine tenor and her soprano blend in wondrous harmony as they sing some of those old matchless hymns of praise unto God. This is not her first visit to Wenton with Ray, and Nettie Branford and she are fast friends, for one tie binds them close together: they are both members of the same royal family, are both daughters of the King.

The next morning dawned bright and beautiful. A delightful day was promised for the picnic, and at an early hour the Wenton Memorial Sunday-school and its friends were off on their five miles' ride to White Rock Lake. This was a beautiful sheet of water, lying at the foot of the highest hill in that part of the State. The lake afforded fine boating and fishing, while from the summit of the hill a most charming view of the country for forty miles around could be obtained. These two features had made the locality one of great resort by the people for miles around.

A drive of about an hour brought the party to the favored spot, and soon the large grove by the lake rang with the merry voices of the happy children at their play. Some played at hide and seek, some used the swings, some ran off to the boats, some played on the sandy beach, or tossed stones into the shining ripples. After two or three hours of amusement, the children were called together for dinner; and when this had been eaten there was to be Ray's address, and the singing of familiar songs. Before the children had well gotten into their places, however, a piercing scream was heard a short distance away. A glance showed Daisy Lawton part way up the hillside, where she had gone with several other young ladies in search of wild flowers, and from her lips there came for the second time that piercing scream. A number ran at once toward her, and when near enough they beheld the cause of her alarm. She had stooped to pluck a bunch of flowers just in front of her, when a large red or copper-back snake had crawled out from a thicket near by; and now, with its bright eyes fastened upon her with a power she could not resist, was slowly creeping toward her for its fatal strike.

Those who had run thither from the neighborhood of the table would hardly have been in time to save the terrified girl, however. But only a short distance away, and coming down from the hilltop, was Mr. Branford. He heard the girl's cry, and saw her danger, and sprang down the hill with tremendous bounds. The hand Daisy had extended to pluck the flowers was still held, as though paralyzed, in that position, and as Mr. Branford reached her side the snake was already coiled for its spring. He had no weapon with him, and he did the only thing he could do in the brief instant remaining to him to save the girl. He quickly thrust his own arm before hers and received the stroke that otherwise would have fallen upon her fair hand. Then shaking off the snake, he ground it to pieces beneath his heavy boots.

The greatest confusion now followed. Some bore the fainting but uninjured girl to the nearest house; others took care of the bitten man. Horses were harnessed, Mr. Branford was hurried into a wagon, and driven off to the nearest doctor. The rest, with no heart to continue the festivities, made ready for a return home.

Ray and George had accompanied their father. He was perfectly calm. "There is but one way to save me, my lads," he said, "and that I cannot permit. Liquor would perhaps, if taken in large quantities, nullify this poison, but it would awaken a serpent more to be feared. Take me home, I am willing to die, now that sweet young life is saved."

They carried him home, and a physician was brought. The wound was cauterized, but to no purpose; the poison had already entered the whole system.