Coming closer to the toiling line I saw Degory Priest laboring at the rope. Both cheeks were flushed and the wild look in his eyes told the story of his feebleness. His cough was worse and at every halt he was compelled to sit down.

A dozen or more timbers were lying at the site of the common-house, which was to consist of one room twenty feet square. As soon as the log the colonists were dragging was laid with the others, they went back for more without so much as resting. Returning in the evening I heard the men off in the forests, and shortly saw a long line emerge from the trees, dragging the last stick for the day. Waiting until they had ended their task, I took my way with the few who were returning to the ship down, to the shallop. As Degory Priest got into the boat I gave him a duck. He thanked me and drawing his coat tightly about his thin body crouched in the bottom, where the wind could not strike him.

During the night it began to blow and rain. I felt pity for the poor fellows who were ashore. There was no cessation in the gale in the morning, the waves running so high the shallop could not go ashore. Once or twice I saw Degory Priest on the deck, looking longingly towards land, as if he was being defrauded of a day's work. My compassion for the man prompted me to advise him to keep off the deck, but his impatience to be free of the ship was such that he would not heed it. Chafing under his enforced idleness, he went below in the evening still willful.

This day Mistress Lora came on deck and then I had but a word with her. She said that the sick were lying in their rugs, impatient to be ashore. Though Doctor Fuller was working with them day and night many of them were growing weaker. I watched her closely to see if she was being stricken by the fever which was raging, but the glow of her cheek belied the presence of the malady. Though I was duly thankful for this, still I began to be alarmed and wished that the men did not have to drag their timbers such distances.

Though the harbor was still in the throes of the passing storm, the next day the shallop was made ready for a trip ashore. Degory Priest brought up his sleeping-rug, prepared

to take up his abode in the clearing, and determined not to lose more of his life's time.

The sea calming, I went shorewards in the middle of the afternoon. En route to my hunting-ground I saw a fourth log of the side of the common-house rolled into position. Governor Carver's clothes were covered with mud, while he worked like a common menial with his subjects. A king, who would do thusly, would soon lose his throne; but this new form of government seemed to encourage the leveling of ruler and ruled.

Inquiring after Degory Priest, I was told that he was too weak to swing an ax. Later I came upon him, kneeling upon the cold ground, working feverishly with a sickle amongst the coarse yellow grass which was to be used for thatching. From time to time he stopped to cough; but as soon as the paroxysm passed, he took up his blade, laying to the right and left of him the winnows of straw. As I passed on I could hear him cough, which haunted me until I willingly would have gone back and done his work for him. I knew that my inteference however, would be futile, as he was determined to labor for his comrades as long as the breath of life was in him.

The struggle of Degory Priest excited my sympathy. I saw him the following day weaker than ever, mixing the clay to be used as daubing for the houses. He had a chill during the night. His comrades wished to send him back to the ship, where he could have the care of Doctor Fuller, but he steadfastly refused to go. He seemed so frail I expected to see him fall any moment. When I offered to send Doctor Fuller to him, if he would not give up his work and return to the ship, he looked at me and shook his head, saying, "Master Beaumont, it is too late."

In the afternoon not being strong enough to wield a hoe, he attempted to smooth the clay in the cracks, finding that was too much, he would not give up but sat on the ground handing chips to the daubers. Before sundown I helped him back to the camp. As I saw him crawl into the shed and throw himself heavily on his rugs, I thought his call from his toils would come before morning.

But Degory Priest was up and abroad by the time I had come from the ship the next day. There was the look in his bloodshot eyes and haggard face of the hunted animal when at bay and fighting a losing battle. Though his steps were short and tottering, his courage was splendid. He still had strength to pick up chips. My heart went out to him and I thought his heroism was past any that I had ever beheld. As he was moving feebly about his work, I saw him trembling as if about to fall, coming up to his side quickly I said, "My man, you should be in your rugs."

"I will be there soon, and forever," came out of his throat with a peculiar sound.

These were his last words, stooping to pick up a stick he fell forward on his face. There was a fleck of blood upon his lips and his breath came feebly from between his parched lips. We lifted him tenderly to carry him to his rugs. But he began his eternal journey, ere we finished ours.

So died Degory Priest, the Leyden hatter.

W

THE STORY OF THE PILGRIMS

HILE the men labored and strove upon the bleak land,

the women, children, and the sick remained on the vessel. Captain Jones was now impatient to be off, as his sailors were beginning to be stricken with scurvy from living on stale meat. The forecastle was filled with moans and groans of the poor fellows. It was evil with the seamen on this ship, who seemed to be more brutes than men, for they showed no kindness to each other, even looking with selfish eyes on the possessions of their comrades who were ill beyond recovery.

Captain Jones rarely went ashore but sat in the roundhouse swallowing his beer, cursing his ill fortune that kept him on one side of the ocean, when he should be well along upon his return. As a matter of fact he was afraid to venture out of the sight of land. If we had not come from Cape Cod when we did, he might not have been able to have moved his ship at all. The captain was careful to conceal his fear from the colonists. Jones was surly enough at any time, but now as he saw his sailors lying sick and himself helpless, he drank his brandy more freely than his beer, so that his company was undesirable.

When Jones was ill humored he would storm and threaten the colonists, but they gave little heed to his moods; but it was when the mariner counted the cost of staying, calmly saying he must return shortly, they seemed alarmed. This fretting of the captain kept them toiling in the cold and sleet.

Fortunately for me and the colonists, there came on a few bright days, bringing cheer to those on board as well as to the laborers in the great clearing. I made the most of these days, seeing Mistress Lora frequently upon the deck with Mistress Rose Standish who was ever hovering around her. She was such a good companion I was glad to welcome her.

My interest in the present struggle of the colonists, excited my curiosity about how they came to plan this voyage, and

especially why they made it in the fall instead of the summer, when the sea was smooth and the land was dressed in green leaves instead of being covered with snow. I suppose I would never have heard of the wanderings of this band of Separatists had it not been for Mistress Rose whom I had come to know well. For one bright afternoon while I was standing at the side of the ship looking at the colonists laboring in the clearing, she and Mistress Lora happened along. I fell to praising the courage with which the men who were unaccustomed to drudging toils endured them.

Mistress Standish said that most of them were yeomen at one time.

"But not in recent years?" I asked.

"Nay, when they lived in England."

Then Mistress Lora spoke forth, "When a little girl in the north of England, I remember when a few of these men came to our house and spent the Sabbath day in worship."

Interested immediately at this bit of light on the early life of the colonists I asked, "Pray, where was this?"

"In the manor house of Scrooby Palace in Nottinghamshire." Mistress Rose showing as great interest in the subject as I did, I at once appealed to the maiden for more of her story. Looking around the deck and spying a nook in the angle between the bulwark and the cabin where we would be protected, I suggested that we be seated there, while the maiden told her memories. Not knowing how well the two women could stand the air with its tinge of cold, I brought a pair of rugs and made them comfortable.

"My first recollection of my childhood," began the maiden, "was when Father kept a post-house on the Great North Road that led from Edinburgh to London.

"Being a postman gave Father a position in Scrooby, so that others looked up to him. I have heard Father say, that when King James came down the Great North Road from Scotland, his retinue was so numerous as to cause the ignorant people to say that the Scotch were making a descent upon England. "Father was glad to welcome King James as monarch, for