"N ORTHERN LI When the Swallows Homeward Fly away into the evening, trailing behind him banners of gold and crimson, and a swift twilight was streaming over the land. As the sun Passed, the eyes of two men on a high hill followed it, and the look of one was like a light in a window to a lost traveler. It had in it the sense of home and the tale of a journey done. Such a journey this man had made as few have ever attempted and fewer accomplished. To the far- thormost regions of Snow and ice, where the shoulder of a continent juts out into the northwestern arctic Seas, he had traveled on foot and alone, save for his dogs, and for In- dian guides who now and then shep- herded him from point to point. The vast ice-hummocks 'had been his housing: pemmican, the raw'flesh of ~fiéh;'and even the fat and oil of seals had been his food. Ever and ever through long months the evériasting white glitter of the snow and ice, ever and ever the cold stars, the cloudless sky, the moon at full, or swung like a white sickle in the sky to warn him that his life it be mown like grass. At night to sleep in a bag of fur and wool, by day the steely wind, or the air shaking with a filmy powder of frost: while the illimitably distant syn made the tiny flakes sparkle like 'silver--a poudre day, when the face and hands are most like to be frozen, and all so still and white and passionless, yet aching with energy. Hundreds upon hundreds of miles that endless trail went winding to the farthest North- west. No human being had ever trod 'its length before, though In- dlans or a stray Hudson's Bay Com- pany had made journeys over part of it during the years that have "passed since Prince Rupert sent his adventurers to dot that northern land with posts and forts and trace fine arteries of civilization through the wastes. 'Where this man had gone none other had been of white men from the western lands, though from across the wide Pacific, from the Eastern world, adventurers and ex- fles had once visited what is now known as the Yukon Valley. $6 this man, browsing in the library of his grandfather, an Eastern scholar, had tome to know; and for love of ad- venture, and because of the tale of a valley of gold and treasure to be had, and because he had been ruined by bad investments, he had made a Journey like none ever essayed be- fore. And on his way up to those regions, where the vell before the face of God is very thin and fine, and men's hearts glow within them, where there was no oasis save the unguessed deposit of a great human dream that his soul could feel, the face of a girl had haunted him. Her voice--s0 sweet a voice that it rang like muffled silver in his ears, till, T- arrogant Sun had stalked of five days while he fitted out for his expedition, but in this brief time it had sunk deep into his mind that life was now a thing to cherish, and that he must indeed come back; though he had left England caring little if, in the peril and danger of his quest, he ever returned. He had been indifferent to his fate till he game to the Valley of the Saskatch- ewan, to the town lying at the foot of the maple hill beside the great northern stream, and saw the girl whose life was knit gfth the far North, whose mother's heart was buried in' the great wastes where Sir John Franklin's expedition was lost; for her husband had been one of the f{ll-fated if not unhappy band of lovers of that civ- flization for which they had risked all and lost all save immortality, Hither the two had "€ome "after he had been cast away on the icy plains, and, as the settlement had crept north, had gone north with it, always on the outer edge of house and field, ever stepping northward. Here, with small income but high hearts and quiet souls, they had lived and labored. And when this newcomer from the old land set his face northward to an unknown destination, the two women had prayed as the mother did In the old days when the daugh- ter was but a babe at hér knee, and it was not yet certain that Franklin and his men had been cast away for- ever. Bomething in him--his great height, his strength of body, his clear, meditative eyes, his brave laugh--reminded her of him, her husband, who, like Sir Humphrey Gilbert, had sald that it mattered little where men did their duty, since God was always near to take or leave as it was His will. When Bickersteth went, it was as though one they had known all their lives had passed; and the woman knew also that a new thought had been sown in her daughter's mind, a new door opened in her heart. And he had returned. He was now looking down into the valley Where the village lay. Far, far over, two days' march away, he could see the cluster of houses, and the glow of the sun on the tin spire of the little mission church where he had heard the girl and her mother sing, till the hearts of all were swept by feeling and ravished by the desire for "the peace of the Holy Grajl." The village was, in truth, but a day's march away from him, but he was not alone, and the journey could not be hastened. Beside him, his eyes also upon the sunset and the village, was a man in a costume half-trap- per, -half-Indian,- with bushy gray beard and massive frame, and a dis- tant, sorrowful look, like that of one whose soul was tuned to past suffer- ing. As he sat, his head Sunk on his breast, his elbow resting on a stump of pine--the token of a pro- gressive civilization--his chin upon hills, (his hand, he looked like the figure she had sung a song which had been fire in his heart, not alone be- the words of it, but be- And the years are a broken song, The right grows weak in the strife with wrong, - The lles of love have a crimson stain, And the again. Sometime shall the veil be- are dim 'Neath the tremulous tread of the old days never will come vail, That have prayed for the peace of the Holy Grail? The things that are and that might have been 'Be folded back for our eyes to see, of Moses made immortal by Michael Angelo, But his strength was not like that of the man beside him, .who was thirty years younger. When he walked, it was as one who had no destination, who had no haven to- ward which to travel, who journeyed as one to whom the world is a wild- erness, and one tent or one hut is the same as another, and none is home. Like two ships meeting hull to hull on the wide seas, where a few miles of water will hide them from each other, whose ports are thou- sands of miles apart, whose courses are not the same, they two had met, the elder man, sick and worn and near to dear in the poor hospitality of an Indla#s tepee. John Bicker- teth had nursed the old man back strength, and had brought him southward with him--a silent com- panion, who spoke in monosyllables, who had no conversation at all of the past and little of the present, but who was a woodsman and an arctic traveler of the most expert kind, who knew by instinct where the best places for shelter and for sleeping might be found, who never complained, and was wonderful with the dogs. Close as their association was, Bickersteth had felt concerning the other that his real self was in some other sphere or place toward which his mind was always turning, as though to bring it back. ; Again and again had Bickersteth tried to get the old man to speak about the past, but he had been met by a dumb sort of look, a straining to understand. Once or twice the old man had taken his hands in both of his own and gazed with painful eagerness into his face, as though trying to remember or to compre- hend something that eluded him. Upon these occasions the old man's eyes dropped tears in an apathetic Quiet, which tortured Bickersteth beyond bearing. Just such a look he had seen in the eves of a favorite dog when he had performed an oper- ation on it to save its life--a re- proachful, non-comprehending, lov- ing gaze. Bickersteth understood a little of the Chinook language, which is fa- miliar to most Indian tribes, and he had leafned that the Indians knew nothing exact concerning the old man, but rumors had passed from tribe to tribe that this white man had lived forever in 'the farthest North among the arctic tribes, and that he passed from people to peo- ple, disappearing ints the untenant- ed wilderness, but reappearing again among stranger tribes, never rest- ing, and as one always seeking what he could not find. One thing had helped this old man in all his travels and sojourning. He had, as it seemed to the native peo- ple, a gift of the hands; for when they were sick a few moments' manipulation of his huge, quiet fin- gers vanquished pain. A few herbs he gave in tincture, and these also were praised; but it was a legend that when he was persuaded to lay on his hands and close his eyes, and with his fingers to "search for the pain and find it, and kill it," he always prevailed. They believed that, though his body was on earth, his soul was with Manitou, and that it was his soul which came into him again, and gave the Great Spirit's healing to the fingers. This had been the man's safety through how many years--or how many genera- tions--they did not know; for le- gends regarding the pligrim had grown and were fostered by the medicine-men, who, by giving him Breat age and supernatural power, could, with more self-respect, apolo- gize for their own incapacity. So the years--how many it was impossible te tell, since he did not know or would not say--had gone on; and now, after ceaseless wan- dering, his face was turned toward that civilization out of which he had come so long ago--or was it so long ago?--one generation, or two, or ten? It seemed to Bickersteth at times as though it were ten, so strange, so unworldly was hig com- panion. At first he thought that the man remembered more than he would appear to acknowledge, but he found that after a day or two everything that. happened as they Journeyed was also forgotten. It was only visible things, or sounds, that appeared to open the doors of memory of the most recent happenings. These happenings, if not varied, were of critical moment, since, passing down from the land of unchanging ice and snow, they had come Into March and- April stoyms andl the perils of the rapids and the swollen floods of May. Now, in June, two years and a month since Bickersteth had gone into the wilds, they looked down upon 'the goal of one at least--of the younger man who had triumphed in his quest turies ago. With the joyous thought in his heart that he had discovered anew one of the greatest gold flelds of the world, that a journey unparalleled had been accomplished, he turned toward his ancient companion, and a feeling of pity and human love enlarged within him. He, John Bickersteth, was going into a world again _where--as he believed--a hap- py fate awaited him; but what of this old man? He had brought Mm GATS y GILBERT PARKER © 192. by The MoClure Newspaper Syndicate out of the wilds, out of the unknown --was he only taking him into the unknown again? Were there friends, any friends anywhere in the world, waiting for him? He called himself by no name, he said he had no name. Whence came 'he? Of whom? Whither was he wending now? Bickersteth had thought of the prob- lem often, and he had no answer for it save that he must be taken care of, if not by others, then by him- | self; for the old man had saved him | from drowning; had also saved him from awful death on a March day whi he fell into a great hole and was| knocked insensible in the drifting snow; had saved him from brooding on himself--the beginning of madness--by compelling him to think for another. And sometimes, as he looked at the old man, his imagination had caught the spirit of the legend of the Indians, and he had cried olit, "O soul, come back and give him memory---give him back his memory, Manitou the up in these wilds abandoned cenm-| W/7 br Looking on the. old man now, an impulse seized him. "Dear old man," he said, speaking as one speaks to a child that cannot understand, "you shall never want while I have a pen- ny, or have head or hands to work. But is there no ome that you care for or that cares for you, that you remember, or that remembers you?" The old man shook his head, though not with understanding, and he laid a hand on the young man's shoulder, and whispered: "Once it was always snow, but now it is green, the land. I have seen it--I have seen It once" His shaggy eyebrows gathered over, his eyes searched; searched the face of John Bickersteth. "Once, so long ago--I cannot think," te added, helplessly. "Dear old man," Bickersteth said, gently, knowing he would not wholly comprehend, "I am going to ask her --Alice--to marry me, and if she does, she will help look after you, too. Neither of us would have been here without the other, dear old man, and we shall not be separated. Whoever you are, you are a gentle- man, and you might have been my father or hers--or hers." He stopped suddenly. A thought had flashed through his mind, a thought which stunned him, which passed like some powerful current through his veins, shocked him, then gave him a palpitating life. It was a wild thought, but yet why not?-- why not? There was the chance, the faint, far-off chance. He caught the old man by the shoulders, and looked him in the eyes, scanned his features, pushed back the hair from the rugged forehead. "Dear old man," he said, his voice shaking, "Co you know what I'm thinking? I'm thinking that you may be of those who went out to the Arctic Sea with Sir John Franklin --with Sir John Franklin, you un- derstand. Did you know Sir John Franklin?--is it true, dear old boy? -=is it true? Are you one that has lived to tell the tale? Did you know Sir John Franklin ?--is it--tell me, is it true?" . He let go the old man's shoulders, for over the face of the other there has passed a change. It was strained and tense. The hands were outstretched, the eyes were staring straight into the west and the com- ing night. "It is--it is--that's it!" cried Bick- ersteth. "That's it--oh, love o' God, that's it! Sir John Franklin--Sir John Franklin, and all the brave lads that died up there! You re- member the ship--the Arctic Sea-- the ice-fields, and Franklin--you re- member him? Dear old man, say you remember Franklin?" The thing had seized him. Con- viction was upon him, and he watched the other's anguished face with anguish and excitement in his own. But--but it might be, it might be her father--ithe eyes, the forehead are like hers; the bands, the long hands, the pointed fingers. " a hope shot into her heart for her daughter--a hope that had flamed up and died down so often during the past year. Yet she had fanned with heartening words covery such glimmer of hope when it came, and now she went to bed saying, "Per- baps he will come tomorrow." In ber mind, too, rang the words of the song which had ravished her ears that night, the song she had sung the night before her own husband, Dyke Allingham, had gone with Franklin to the Polar seas: ~ "When fly--* child, and were they both called Alice--do you remember? 'Franklin! --dAlice! Do you remember?" The old man got slowly to his feet, his arms outstretched, the look in his face, changing, understanding, struggling for its place, memory fighting for its own, the soul con- tending for its mastery. "Franklin--Alice--the snow," said, confusedly, and sank down. "God have mercy!" cried Bicker- steth, as he caught the swaying body and laid it upon the ground "He was there--almost." He settled the old man against the great pine stump and chafed his hands. "Man, dear man, if you be- long to her--if you do, can't you see what it will mean to me? She can't Say no to me then. But if it's true, you'll belong to England and to all the world, too, and you'll have fame everlasting. I'll have gold for her and for you, and for your Alice, too, déar old man. Wake up now and remember if you are Dyke Alling- bam, who went with Franklin to the silent seas of the Pole. If it's you, really you, what wonder you lost your memory! You saw them all dle, Franklin and all, die th n the snow, with all the white' world around them. If you were there, what a travel you have had, what strange things you have scen!| Where the world is lonellest, God lives most. If you get close to the heart of things, it's no marvel you forgot what you were, or where you came from; because it didn't matter: you knew that you were only one of thousands of millions who have come and gone, that make up the soul of things, that make the pulses of the universe beat. That's it, dear old man. The universe would do, if it weren't for the souls that leave this world and fill it with life. Wake up! Wake up, Allingham, and tell us where you've been, and what you've seen." . he the swallows homeward As she und her daughter entered the little church on the Sunday eve- ning, two men came over the prairie slowly toward the town, and both raised their heads to the sound of the church bell calling to prayer. In the eyes of the youngsr man there was a look which has come to many In this world returning from hard enterprise and great dangers, to the familiar streets, the friendly faces ot men of their kin and cian--to the lights of home. The face of the oider man, how- ever, had another look. It was such a look as is seldom seen in the faces of men, for it showed the le of a soul to regain its identity. The words which the old man had wut- tered in response to Bickersteth's appeal before he fainted away--- "Franklin -- Alice -- the snow" -- hag showed that he. was on the ; $ the bells of the church Dealing tn th summer air brought him near it once again. How many years had sone since he had heard church bells? Bickersteth, gazing at him in eager scrutiny, wondered if, after all, might be mistaken about him. But He did not labor in vain. Slowly Toul 300n be the test Yet he shuddered, t. h consciousness came back, and the think what' might happen if re gray eyes opened wide, the lips all true, and discover smiled faintly under thé bushy should Siiake 0 On Mo reunion beard; but Bickersteth saw that the [30Ud Sha Ly Senter the very look in the face was much the same He saw the Eo 5; pa : ones. as it had been before. The struggle and joy at once in plea pain had been too great, the fight for the [S01 JOY ae ane of the other lost self had exhausted him, he was almost glad po il and mind and body, and only a deep ob- liquity and a great weariness filled Hy - The old man turned to the countenance. He had come back a . - to the verge, he had almost again to ey he snd. T remem- discovered himself; but the opening Shain Toe ea Pped suddenly, door had shut fast suddenly, and he An hour later, cleared of the dias was back again in the night, the in- _ {of travel, the two walked slowly to- Sumpanimable night of - furgetful- |. TeV, Ti6 U9 from the little tav- ness. i Bickersteth saw that the travail [°'% Where they wee lodged. The and strife had drained life and ener- sory RS nas how over, but the con- gy, and that he must not press the ol aun, e church was mind and vitality of this exile of |fU!: 2 ere were people in the time and the unknown too far. He |POrch: but these made way for the felt that when the next test came | WC Strangers; and, as Bickersteth the old man would either break com- | 7° Tegugnised id two hires pres- pletely, and sink down into another a nae oo 2 foun or t - ine and everlasting forgetfulness, or tear in a contused avs Maied Joan m away forever the veil between him- his motions wer ny ed oa but self and his past, and emerge into a od and oo ey a Strat. long-lost life. His strength must be 1 his e some old vik- shepherded, and he must be kept| "8 Jorsaday life done, come to quiet and undisturbed until they {FRY oe went hence forever. came to the town yonder in the val- y beptered In a pause in the Jey, over which the night was slow- SonceEl: sg two ladies came ward chancel steps, and ly settling down. There two women o ne with her hands clasped before waited, the two Alices, from both of her n to sing: whom had gone lovers into the North, The daughter was living "When the s ows homeward fy, And the roses' bloom is o'er, over again in her young love the pangs of suspense through which And the nightingale's sweet song In the woods is heard no more--" her mother had passed. Two years since Bickersteth had gone, and not a sign! x Yet, if the girl had looked from her bedroom window, this Friday night, she would have seen on the far hill a sign; for there burned a fire beside which sat two travelers who had come from the uttermost limits of snow. But as the fire burned--a beacon to her heart if she had but known it--she went to her bed, the words of a song she had sung at choir practiée with tears in her voice and in her heart ringing in her ears. A concert was to be held after the service on the coming Sunday night, at which there was to be a collection for funds to build an- other mission house a hundred miles farther north, and she had .been practicing music she was to sing. Her mother had been an amateur singer of great power, and she was renewing her mother's gift in a voice behind which lay a hidden sorrow. As she cried herself to sleep the words of the song which had moved her kept ringing In her ears and echoing in her heart; It was Alice--Alice the daughter-- and presently the mother, the other Alice, joined in the refrain. At sight of them Bickersteth's eyes had filled, not with tears, but with a cloud of feeling, so that he went blind. There she was, the girl he loved, Her voice was ringing in his ears. In his own joy for one instant he had forgotten the old man beside him and the great test that was now upon him. He turned quickly, how- ever, as the old man got to his feet. For an instant the lost exile of the North stood as though light broke into his eyes, his face flushed healthily and shone, his arms. went up, and there rang in his ears the words: "Then I think, with bitter pain, Shall we ever meet again, : "When the swallows homeward fly, | When the swallows homeward fly?" the roses' bloom is o'er--" And "Alice--Alice!" he called, and tot- tered forward up the aisle, followed by John Bickersteth. "Alice, I have come back!". he But her mother, looking out into the night, saw on the far hill the fire, like a star, where she 'Dear oid man, qid you have a wife and had never séen a fire set before, and cried again. x oor Prognosticator not make an exception in the case of a prophet who had it he promised sunshine. scanned his dally reports Hiram with well as Hiram's. She just couldn't rain when |help having some faith in her weather man, because--because-- | tio: well, she did care for him, even meticulous care and made his de- though he was the joke of the ductions with scrupulous caution, but when a low pressure areal Out certain in the |the direction of Wesley and hé pre-|the on the strength of | hik seemed headed for dicted a town. on a country road, through woods turning green under breath of spring, the hikers , carrying lunch baskets and storm it, mild weather was inevitable, creating sharp appetites for their The Sunday of, the big picnic |contents. Their blood was warmed | man, will they?" she said to her-| self, and felt a semse of satisfac- in. Suddenly, without fgrther pre- liminaries, the black of a Pi i oa th ral cutting . the 'branches of the trees under which the party sought safety. Jacob Hanafor =m © "Hello, Hiram!" Julia re- sponded. "How are the chances for a free ride?" | "Fine--for you. But I couldn't possibly take anybody else. umbrella, perhaps I would be able to keep my promise and accom- pany mother to church this eve- ning.