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German, taking off his hat and with his large and firmly shaped hand, pushing back the silver locks which fell over his forehead, "I fear that the worshippers will be but few today. I am inexperienced in military matters, I know, but to my poor judgment, it seems a grave mistake for Col. Gansevont to send away so many regulars from Fort Plank with all our militia to Fort Schuyler, leaving us here so helpless if the Indians and Tories should come down upon us."

"They'd have all their own way," answered the sexton in a gruff tone, "unless we had warning in time to make for the fort. But how'd we be warned? Col. Gansevcnt hangs around there in. the fort without sendin' out a scout. We'd all be scalped before he'd raise a hand to help us."

"Hush, man," replied the domine softly, although his face had something of an anxious expression, "we are talking rank nonsense and you are doing Col. Gansevont an injustice. He has hardly troops enough to guard the fort, to speak nothing of protecting our farms. There is no use worrying about it, however, as he would never send our brethren to Fort Schuyler if there were any danger here. Besides, Jacob, we are in God's hands. and He will do what is best. This is indeed a cruel, cruel war which separates us one from another in bloody wrath, makes us forget holy things and desecrate the Sabbath day.”

"The Tories don't think of the Sabbath day," muttered the sexton with a frown.

"Silence, Jacob," said Peter Van Arnum sternly. "Utter no such hellish curses on this day of peace; leave such things for the morrow if they must be said. God will punish our enemies as they deserve when He thinks best. But meanwhile we have our work before us. The women and children and a few old men like you and I, must pray to our Faith today to save us from the redcoat and the red-man."

The audience consisted on that Sunday morning, as he had predicted, of a few women and children, with two or three old men. But the Rev. Peter Van Arnum went through the services

with his usual exactitude and offered up a touching prayer for the man who had gone forth a few hours before to stay the Tory forces from devastating the peaceful farms of the Mohawk Valley. The sermon was, of course, in the German language and in a loud, clear voice, he spoke of the everlasting glory of those who should fall for the good cause, and the punishment to be meted out to the Johnsons, the Butters, and the other Tory leaders, whose natures seemed to lack any sense of mercy or pity.

Suddenly in the midst of his sermon were heard outside men's voices, and a shadow was seen in the doorway. The Rev. Peter Van Arnum's voice trembled for an instant and his face grew pale, but with a sign to his terrified congregation to remain seated, he continued as if he had heard nothing.

A huge man dressed in the uniform of a British officer stepped into the doorway, and after quickly seeing that there was no one present to resist him, he strode up the aisle.

"Here are a nest of them now, praying to their Lord to wipe us all out of existence, I suppose," he said in a rough voice, turning to several of the military men who, with two or three Indians, had followed him within. Outside through the open door, a large band of Tories and Indians, their faces lighted up in anticipation of satisfying their bloody desires, could be seen looking in at the congregation, who sat with white, set faces waiting the inevitable signal for their deaths.

The leader laughed grimly as he saw the minister in the pulpit. "We shall have to brighten the sombre countenance of this sour visaged domine. 'Tis ill-becoming of the hypocrite to appear with such a face as this on the Sabbath."

Although Peter felt despair creeping into his heart as he realized the terrible fate that inevitably lay before his people,not before himself, he was too unselfish to think of that-his sad, stern face never betrayed for an instant the tenor of his thoughts. With an unfaltering voice in which there was neither tremor nor pause, raising his eyes until they looked squarely at the British officer, who stood almost at the foot of the pulpit, staring at the

minister with some surprise, while an ironical smile twitched the corners of his cruel mouth, Peter continued: "If these heartless men could only realize the desolation they have brought about in this once peaceful valley, their souls would be filled with unutterable terror and they would plead for mercy before their God."

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the officer, and then he slowly added, looking at the minister in a sinister manner, "who do you mean?"

"Whom do I mean?" repeated Peter bravely, already determined upon what he was to do, "I mean the Tories, reared as neighbors by our sides, who seem to have lost all sense of mercy or pity, such men as the Johnsons, the cruel Brant, Colonel John Butler and yea-his twice wicked son, Walter Butler."

"Walter Butler, do you say?" asked the red-coat softly, while his small, half-shut eyes shone with a treacherous, cat-like look, "I am Walter Butler. What do you say to that?"

Although he unflinchingly continued his brave gaze at the officer, Peter trembled for the lives of his congregation when he heard this. Walter Butler was considered the worst of all the Tories. Educated at Abbey for the bar, and living in close relationship with the best of men in the colony of New York, he profited little by this, and became almost a demon in human shape as the massacre of Cherry Valley which he personally directed, testifies. As Peter remained silent, he softly repeated, "What will you say to that?"

"I will only ask you, sir, to listen to good advice," said Peter, still looking him full in the face.

Butler's cheeks flushed scarlet with anger, his cruel eyes flashed and he drew the corners of his mouth down in a hard, resolute

manner.

"You are a cursed, impudent rebel," he said, lifting his hand as if to strike him.

Peter Van Arnum never flinched, although his heart grew faint within him, and he looked him through and through with his steel gray eyes. The other could not bear the gaze and quickly turned his head. He soon recovered himself, however, careful

not to look at Peter, and said to the other, in a slow, deliberate manner, as he glanced around at the women and children, "Let the Indians inflict a little just chastisement upon these religious beings; let these innocent people have for once a taste of hell." For a second he paused and then added in ferocious tones, "See that not one escapes."

There was a moment's hesitation; even the Tories were startled at the cruelty of the order. Peter Van Arnum saw there was only one thing for him to do, and he instantly jumped down from the pulpit and faced the amazed Tory.

"For God's sake, man, have pity on these defenceless women and children. If you must have blood, kill-kill me, but spare these innocent creatures, who can in no way injure you. Let me do for all."

"I'll take you at your word, domine," Butler said in a strange, low voice, and raised his pistol until it covered the head of the preacher.

"Art thou ready to meet thy God?" he asked in mock solemnity.

"I pray thee, don't blaspheme thy Maker," said Peter, dropping his eyes and folding his hands on his breast.

There was silence for a few seconds which seemed hours to the breathless spectators, and Butler dropped his arm. "Come, gentlemen," he said shortly, "we have other game more valuable than this." He strode towards the door as if half ashamed of his clemency. Before leaving he turned to the Rev. Peter Van Arnum and said, "You are a brave man, domine." With that, he was gone.

There was a moment's silence, and then Peter, his eyes swimming with grateful tears, stretched out his arms over his beloved people and said: "Let us thank God."

C. M. W., '03.

PROFESSOR HOLLIWAY'S DISCOVERY.

Professor Holliway was spending his summer vacation in one of the small fishing towns on the eastern coast of Maine. He was known among the guests as "The Professor," and I learned from the single bell-boy, who was the first one to address him as a dignitary, that he was a retired professor of archæology in one of the minor state universities of the West and had come with his only daughter for the summer. The arrival of the Professor was as refreshing as an east breeze, for the boarders had begun to settle into that regular routine of piazza gossip and the conventionalities of vacation time.

I should probably have known no more of the Professor than I have told, had it not been for a singular thing, a most novel and extraordinary discovery in which he made me his sole confidant. The facts of this discovery and the results attending it I will give as nearly as I remember, with the aid of notes and observations made at the time in my diary.

The northern coast of Maine, as the reader may know, is a much broken shore made up of innumerable bays and headlands, due, no doubt, to the action of the heavy storms and high tides, to which this part of the American coast has from earliest times been subjected. The Professor made this the subject of a very interesting lecture which he delivered before the guests in the parlors of the hotel and which has since been printed in the government reports of the coast survey. The three weeks of fine weather which followed the coming of the Professor was finally broken by a terrible storm. About noon of the day of the storm the hotel barometer began to fall and by three o'clock all the shutters and windows of the building had been closed. A little later the storm, which had been announced by faint rumblings far out at sea, came nearer and nearer and finally broke with terriffic force upon the coast. The fishermen of the small town could be seen in their oil-skins hurrying with all speed to give their smacks a safer moor

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