a traitor to their cause, when they should find that he was not there
to sign the tax levy and save the court-house and the county-seat,
came back to him as he gazed at the mountain, waiting for the
headlight, and he remembered how he made a paper trail of torn bits
from a Congregational hymn-book, left in Bob's pocket from the morning
service, dropping the bits under the buggy wheels in the dust so that
the men from the Ridge would see the trail and follow the captives. In
his memory he saw Jake Dolan, who had followed the trail where it led
to Carnine's farm, come stumbling into the farm-house Tuesday where
they were hidden, and John, in memory, heard Jake whisper that he had
left his dog with the rescuing party to lead the rescuers to him if he
was on the right trail and did not return.

And then as Barclay's mind went back to the long Tuesday, when he
should have been at the Ridge to sign the tax levy, the headlight
flashed out of the tunnel. But these were fading pictures. The one
image that was in his mind--clear through all the years--was of a
wood and a tree,--a great, spreading, low-boughed elm, near Carnine's
house where the young people were held prisoners, and Jane Mason
sitting with her back against the tree, and lying on the dry grass at
her feet his own slight figure; sometimes he was looking up at her
over his brow, and sometimes his head rested on the roots of the tree
beside her, and she looked down at him and they talked, and no one was
near. For through youth into middle life, and into the dawn of old
age, That Day was marked in his life. The day of the month--he forgot
which it was. The day of the week--that also left him, and there came
a time when he had to figure back to recall the year; but for all
that, there was a radiance in his life, an hour of calm joy that never
left him, and he called it only--That Day. That Day is in every
heart; in yours, my dear fat Mr. Jones, and in yours, my good dried-up