1364 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER 
December 20, 
3 
i 
The Land of Fulfillment 
STORY 
OF HOMESTEADING 
By ROSE SEELYE-MILLER 
| 
I 
J 
CHAPTER I. 
Tiie Great Handicap, 
Nathan Lee received his pay envelope 
listlessly. His face was of a transparent 
whiteness, blue-veined at the temples; his 
eyes were of a peculiar, luminous bril¬ 
liance. Ilis shoulders were broad, but his 
sunken chest and hectic flush showed the 
cause of his apathy and lack of buoyance. 
And Nate, as he was familiarly called, 
was not yet twenty-one. Nate did not 
note the eyes of his employer, which were 
fastened upon him in a way both curious 
and compassionate. His only idea seemed 
to be to get out of the Chemical Works, 
and get home to his hall bedroom. He 
felt too listless even to want his supper 
after his day’s work. 
“Nate!” A concise but not unkindly 
voice roused the boy. 
“Mr. Rodman !” Nate ejaculated, be¬ 
coming at once alert and listening. 
“I’m sorry. Nate, to see you so poorly. 
I hoped the coming of the Spring might 
put some new life into you. You used 
to be one of our best workers, and I 
though you’d rise to be one of our head 
men, and you could have done it, too— 
if—” The man paused suggestively. 
“Oh.” Nate flared hotly, “speak out if 
you like. I’ve had my fling, and now I'm 
about ready to be flung into the dust-heap 
myself. I’ll quit if you like. I can't 
keep up much longer, anyway.” He spoke 
with bitterness, for he was bitter to the 
core because he began to realize that he 
had been his own worst enemy. He hated 
weakness, he hated being a “sissy,” but 
he was being forced to admit that he 
could not work all day and have “a good 
time” most of the night without having 
to come to a final reckoning sooner or 
later. Nate’s reckoning had come so 
early, and the score against him seemed 
to be more than he had physical strength 
to pay. He was bankrupt. Not that 
Nate was worse than other boys. He 
liked a “good time,” and that idea had 
been made the paramount issue in his 
creed of life. When Nate worked, he 
worked well, and with his keen mind and 
fine understanding he had bidden fair to 
be an important worker in chemicals had 
his constitution been of the calibre to en¬ 
dure days amongst acid fumes and nights 
of hilarity. 
“You’re doing both yourself and me an 
injustice,” Mr. Rodman’s calm voice 
broke in upon Nate’s turbid thought 
soothingly. “I know it is just your con¬ 
dition that makes you irritable. You need 
the free life out doors. Mind, I am not 
discharging you, or even letting you quit, 
but you are going on a long vacation. 
Go out on a farm, somewhere, and at the 
end of a year come back. I'll not merely 
hold your old place for you ; I’ll give you 
a better one. I wish most cordially not 
only for your sake, but for mine and that 
of the company, that you could assume 
such a position right now. You’re want¬ 
ed; you’re needed.” Mr..Rodman paused, 
but Nate had no reply. They had been 
walking slowly. “Here we are at the 
office of the company’s doctor. Out of 
regard for my feelings in this matter, if 
not your own, I want you to go in and 
be looked over. If the doctor says you 
can stay, you may. I want to do the best 
thing for you.” 
Nate’s pale cheeks flushed hotly and a 
rose of color rested high on his cheek¬ 
bones, but he went bravely into the doc¬ 
tor's office, and chanced to find him free 
for immediate consultation. 
“It’s too late,” Nate said dully as he 
re-entered the waiting-room where Mr. 
Rodman still paced back and forth rest¬ 
lessly. Nate dragged listlessly to the 
outer door and passed out. • 
“Come ’round to my office in the morn¬ 
ing, Nate,” Mr. Rodman said warmly. 
“Don’t forget I’m the one to help you 
when you need it.” But Nate made no 
response and went slowly forward. 
“A change of climate.” the doctor said 
concisely, “and to a high altitude—Dako¬ 
ta, or Colorado, or Arizona, the boy 
might find help; but too much intaking 
of acid fumes, too little constitution for 
him to keep on here.” 
“Is this absolute and final?” Mr. Rod¬ 
man’s voice was very grave. 
“Absolute and final,” the doctor re¬ 
iterated. “Seems about to the end of his 
tether. Fine young man, too.” 
“He is a fine fellow,” Mr. Rodman 
agreed with warmth. 
“The acid fumes are hard on weak- 
lunged men,” the doctor replied in a tone 
as warm as though he were speaking of 
the acid corrosion of a metal, for he was 
a very busy man, with many men to keep 
oiled " up and kept going. And because 
both he and his employer, Mr. Rodman, 
were men of the world, they went about 
their own work and Nate went out to 
fulfil his destiny. 
As previously stated, this occurred 
while Nate still had his wages in his 
pocket. His board he paid in advance, 
and hence he walked out of that old world 
with his conscience clear and his purse 
not entirely empty. The boy’s desire to 
get to his hall bedroom that he might lie 
down was forgotten, and with a feverish 
haste he walked on towards the setting 
sun. As he walked lie thought many, 
many bitter things. Most of all, he re¬ 
belled against the fate which was deal¬ 
ing so unfairly with him by not giving 
him a body equal to his needs. 
Nate’s brisk haste was of short dura¬ 
tion, for it came merely from a spurt of 
excited strength, which soon exhausted 
itself and Nate, too. He had walked out 
of the city and into the clean ways of the 
country. The farmhouses clustered thickly 
at first, but as he went slowly forward 
they were farther and farther apart, with 
lulls and valleys, streams and forests, 
that looked almost as though they might 
belong to the primitive world in the old 
days of Eden. The stars came out one 
by one, and Nate, very much worn out 
by his unusual strain, both mental and 
physical, sank down by the side of a hos¬ 
pitable-looking haystack and fell asleep. 
He woke coughing, and when he had re¬ 
gained his breath after the paroxysm he 
buttoned his light overcoat snugly about 
his throat and burrowed deeply in the 
warm hay. with his thin, white face open 
to the full breath of the Spring night. 
He again slept the sleep of exhaustion, 
lie had not so slept for many weeks, and 
although he woke coughing as usual, there 
was a certain sense of cleanliness per¬ 
vading his respiratory organs, as though 
all night long they had been washed and 
washed by the clear country air. 
Nate felt too indolent to rise, but he 
lay there in his warm bed long, thinking 
more quietly about himself and his cir¬ 
cumstances. He saw no way out of his 
trouble, for he realized that his strength 
was insufficient for even light farm-work ; 
and, then, the doctor had spoken of high 
altitudes and the West as his only hope, 
as though all Nate had to do was to take 
wing and fly away to any desirable spot, 
there to luxuriate without effort and 
without charge. Nate had taken care of 
himself too long either to expect or to 
want alms of any kind. He was too 
proud, even, to try to hire out when he 
knew that he could not give the labor 
equivalent for the wages his employer 
might pay him. The cold sweat stood 
on Nate’s forehead as he lay facing this 
terrible outlook and inlook of his life, 
but, finally worn out with its futility, he 
again dozed off into forgetfulness. 
Nate was awakened by the strident 
tooting of a horn. His first thought was 
that the city milkman was delivering his 
wares beneath his window ; then, rousing 
to the situation, he sat up, rubbed his 
eyes and realized an emptiness that even 
a glass of good milk would hardly satisfy. 
He rose, brushed his coat with a pocket 
broom which he always carried, went to 
a little stream that laughed and gurgled 
near, and washed his face and hands and 
combed his hair with his pocket comb; 
then he walked towards the farm-house 
from whence had issued the sound of the 
dinner-horn. Evidently the dinner was in 
progress when he reached there. A man 
answered his rap on the side door. The 
man, a burly, kindly, shrewd farmer, 
looked at him questioningly, and then re¬ 
marked : 
“If you’re selling anything, we don’t 
want it.” 
“I haven’t a thing to sell, but I want 
to get my dinner.” Nate made this sim¬ 
ple statement with a strange hesitation, 
feeling almost like a beggar already. 
The man turned to the inner room, 
from whence issued many smells that 
smote Nate’s hunger with their savori¬ 
ness. 
“It’s a tramp,” the man explained. 
“He wants a handout.” 
“He doesn’t look like a tramp,” a 
woman’s voice said quickly, as she peered 
out at the young man upon the porch. 
Just then Nate began coughing, and he 
turned and went down the steps. 
“He’s sick,” the woman asserted sharp¬ 
ly. and running to the door she called: 
“ Here, you ; come back, come back and 
get your dinner. The’s lots of it, and it’s 
piping hot. It’ll do you good.” 
Nate paused in his precipitate retreat, 
flushing hotly. He raised his hat. “I 
beg your pardon, I am not begging, and I 
shali be glad to come in.” 
“You set right here,” the woman di¬ 
rected. “This here’s my husband, Mr. 
Fraser; and these are the boys and the 
hired men,” she introduced simply. “Pa, 
fill up a plate.” 
And “Pa” fulfilled her injunction with 
great literalness, for the plate he passed 
to Nate was as full as it well could be. 
“My name is Lee—Nathan Lee,” Nate 
explained. “I came from the city east of 
here. ” 
Nate then proceeded to the task of 
emptying his plate, while Mrs. Fraser 
watched him approvingly. 
“You was plum hungry,” she said, 
cheerfully. 
“I came to a good place for satisfac¬ 
tion,” Nate replied gallantly, and smiled 
into her kindly, watching eyes. "I guess 
it’s been about 24 hours since I last ate.” 
Nate laughed, and be was surprised that 
he could feel gay enough to even force a 
laugh, let alone laughing spontaneously. 
Nate did not analyze it, but this living 
sympathy, offered by the plain, middle- 
aged woman, was giving him new hope 
and courage. 
“Travellin’?” inquired Mr. Fraser, be¬ 
nignly, while the entire tableful paused 
to hear Nate’s reply. 
Nate felt embarrassed to be the centre 
of so much interest, but glancing around 
at. the kindly faces, he began doubtfully, 
“Why—” then suddenly his decision 
seemed taken out of his own jurisdiction 
by his own words. “Yes, I’m on a walk¬ 
ing trip,” he heard himself saying posi¬ 
tively. 
“Goin’ West?” Mr. Fraser half assert¬ 
ed, half asked. 
Nate remembered that the trend of his 
walk had been straight West, so he said 
quite truthfully, "Yes. I’m going West,” 
adding, to himself, “if I don’t fall and 
help make a dust heap before I get 
there. ” 
“Going to take up land. I reckon.” 
Mr. Fraser asserted. “The’s lots of va¬ 
cant land out there Uncle Sam’s givin’ 
away to them that’ll take it and hold it. 
It’s a-drawin’ men from all over. I 
wouldn’t mind goin’ myself if I wa’n’t so 
hampered ’nd tied down right here.” Mr. 
Fraser spoke half jestingly and yet w’ith 
a note of earnestness in his voice. 
“So?” inquired Nate with interest. 
Perhaps his destiny was leading him in a 
plain path, after all. 
“Hain’t read the papers much, eh?” 
Mr. Fraser put forth, tentatively, “They 
are full of it.” 
“ Well, no; I haven’t read that part of 
the papers much. I’ve been working in 
the Rodman-Roseberry Chemical Works, 
but I had to—quit.” Nate’s face turned 
red, and seeing the eyes of his entire au¬ 
dience upon him, he blurted out. “Y'es, 
I did quit; but I’d have got the bounce 
if I hadn’t, for Mr. Rodman took me to 
the company’s doctor, and he said, virtu¬ 
ally, that I'd go to make fertilizer in 
less’n six months if I didn’t get out of 
the acid fumes and to a higher altitude.” • 
There was a solemn hush around the 
table, which was broken by Mrs. Fraser, 
saying admiringly, “So you just took your 
life in your hands and started. Well, 
well, as old as I be I’d admire to see the 
West. ” 
Mr. Fraser pushed back from the table, 
his chair creaking under his weight, and 
this seemed to be the signal for the other 
men and boys to leave also, and they 
filed out, some with a nod and a smile 
for Nate, and some looking at him grave¬ 
ly, as though they were looking for the 
last time on the face of one doomed. 
“Let us know how you make it out 
thar,” Mr. Fraser said heartily, shaking 
Nate by the hand. “I knew you didn’t 
look like no common tramp. When you 
make your fortune if you think the’s a 
chance for Ma ’nd me, just let us know. 
We’re both mighty flighty ’nd triflin’ ’nd 
ready for a spree, though we don’t look 
it, not a mite.” Mr. Fraser laughed, and 
Mrs. Fraser nodded her small head in a 
way that would have loosened a coiffure 
less tightly wadded than her own. 
Nate paid for his dinner, much to the 
distaste of the kindly Mrs. Fraser, and 
went on his way, feeling not only well fed 
but warmed and comforted by the human 
interest shown in him. It was a pleasant 
day in mid May, and he walked along in 
idle blissfulness in spite of the dark cloud 
hanging over him. He walked only till 
he felt tired or found some object of in¬ 
terest, a bed of wild-flowers, or a bird’s 
nest, some children playing beside a brook 
—everything had for him a keen interest, 
for he could not remember ever being free 
from work, or ever being out on a limit¬ 
less country road, going on a quest—the 
great quest, not merely of fortune but of 
life itself. Nate had planned no itinerary 
but he set his face always to the West, 
lie realized that to live at all independ¬ 
ently he must conserve every cent of his 
small resources, and he decided that his 
journey must be all on foot and without 
hotel accommodations. And instead of 
feeling all this to be a hardship he recog¬ 
nized it as the one great and glorious 
freedom of his cramped life, and whether 
he prolonged or shortened that life, his 
old desire for a “good time,” while life 
lasted, led him to enjoy this trip, so 
strangely thrust upon him. There was 
nothing to hurry him, nothing to hinder 
him. He did not have to wait for his 
poor meals in a dingy dining-room, nor 
did he have to rush out of a still more 
dingy hall bedroom at the insistent call 
of a whistle in the morning. 
As he had slept in a haystack the first 
night from sheer exhaustion, so he slept 
the second night, but this time from full 
and free choice. But he did not sleep un¬ 
til he had eaten, for upon putting on his 
light overcoat as a night covering, he 
found the pockets heavily bulged out with 
packages. Nate’s eyes bulged, too, as he 
discovered them, for he could in no way 
account for their presence; but upon 
opening one he knew at once that these 
were the bounty of good Mrs. Fraser, 
and never was bounty more enjoyed. She 
had put up such a lunch from her best 
store that Nate might be fed appetizingly 
and with the greatest amount of nourish¬ 
ment possible. And this store not only 
served for his evening meal, which he had 
intended to forego, but for several other 
meals as well. This small act of human 
kindness stirred Nate to the depths, and 
herinwardly vowed that he should yet in 
some way do something to merit such 
kindness and goodness. lie would “make 
good,” if in no other way could he prove 
that he appreciated the trust of his fellow 
beings. 
By easy stages and for many, many 
days Nate travelled westward, sleeping 
always in the open, unless it chanced to 
be rainy or too cold. Then he crept into 
some barn loft, where lying in the midst 
of fragrant hay, companioned by sundry 
living things, lie either lay and listened 
and thought quietly, or fell asleep, to 
dream of the Golden West, where life 
flowed like a river, and where sustenance 
was vague but very certain. 
Nate had walked for 40 days, covering 
about 10 miles a day, by short periods of 
walking. He had seemed to gain strength 
all the time in spite of his complete un¬ 
housing ; but along the latter part of 
June there came a spell of very hot 
weather, with many showers, which often 
overtook Nate when he could not find a 
ready shelter; and as he had started out 
with no clothes but those be had on, and 
had bought only a change of undercloth¬ 
ing and socks, which he washed out al¬ 
most daily in some ready stream, he was 
drenched many times when unable to get 
into the needed dry garments. Nate still 
coughed a great deal, but this bothered 
him less than it had done at the start, 
until one day, when ho had shivered half 
the time from the effect of a wetting, 
which he had been unable to escape, and 
from the blowing of the rawest kind of a 
wind which made his wet clothes seem 
doubly wet and cold. Nate tried to walk 
himself into warmth, but for some reason 
warmth did not come, nor did any farm¬ 
house or place of hostelry. Finally, com¬ 
ing to a wooded tract, lie dragged wear¬ 
ily along a beaten path. This he followed 
for a time, and the shelter seemed very 
grateful to him ; but the aching in his 
limbs had grown intolerable, his cough 
came almost incessantly, and finally, wet 
as he was, he was still more worn and 
tired, and he threw himself down beneath 
a great tree, still coughing violently, and 
a little streak of red oozed to his lips and 
touched the whitenss of his chin, like a 
scarlet flag of danger. The bloodstains 
on his handkerchief sent a shudder 
through the boy, which was not all of 
cold, and he sank back and closed his 
eyes. Nate had given up. He had done 
his best, and he could do no more. He 
had fought a brave battle, but the odds 
had been too much for even his courage. 
He thought vaguely of digging a small pit 
and making a fire, but he could not rouse 
enough interest in himself to do so. 
“I may make mud, but hardly a dust 
heap, here in the wet,” he said whimsi¬ 
cally. aloud, for he had formed tin* habit 
of talking to himself to keep himself com¬ 
pany. “I’ve had a pretty good time, any¬ 
way—a pretty good time.” Nate lay 
back with closed eyes, still murmuring, 
"A pretty good time.” 
(To be continued.) 
