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Scala Reactive Programming

Build scalable, functional reactive microservices with

Akka, Play, and Lagom
Rambabu Posa

BIRMINGHAM - MUMBAI
Scala Reactive Programming
Copyright © 2018 Packt Publishing

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or
transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the
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However, Packt Publishing cannot guarantee the accuracy of this information.

Commissioning Editor: Merint Mathew

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First published: February 2018

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Published by Packt Publishing Ltd.

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ISBN 978-1-78728-864-5

www.packtpub.com
To my lovely wife, Bhargs, for all her help and encouragement during
this book and to my beautiful little princess, Sai Aashika.
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Contributors
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About the author
Rambabu Posa has been working as Java developer since 2004
and a Scala developer since mid-2015. He loves Functional
Programming in the Test-Driven Development way to develop
Reactive microservices. He loves teaching and has been giving online
training and writing tutorials on both the Java and Scala ecosystems.
He loves developing Reactive systems using Lightbend's Reactive
Platform Technology stack like Lagom Framework, ConductR, Scala,
Akka Toolkit, Akka Streams, Play Framework, and others.

I would like to thank my wife, Bhargs, who helped me to draw some

of the images, taking paper drawn pictures and photos, and sharing
them with me. Without her efforts and encouragement, it would not
have been possible to write this book.
About the reviewers
Pavlo Lysak is a seasoned developer with 10 years of experience in
JVM and languages that run on it. He has previously worked on
Java, that is, JavaEE and Spring, however, since the past 5 years, he
has been working mostly with Scala, that is, Play, Akka, and Spark.
After working with companies such as Jaspersoft, Kreditech, and
more, he became an independent consultant. His daily work includes
the development of Reactive Web Applications and RESTful services,
taking care of their stability, maintainability, and transparency.

Dave Wentzel is the Chief Technology Officer (CTO) of Capax

Global, a premier Microsoft consulting partner. He is responsible for
setting the strategy and defining service offerings and capabilities for
the data platform and Azure practice at Capax. Dave also works
directly with clients to help them with their big data journey. He is a
frequent blogger and speaker on big data and data science topics.
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright and Credits
Scala Reactive Programming
Dedication
Packt Upsell
Why subscribe?
PacktPub.com
Contributors
About the author
About the reviewers
Packt is searching for authors like you
Preface
Who this book is for
What this book covers
To get the most out of this book
Download the example code files
Download the color images
Conventions used
Get in touch
Reviews
1. Getting Started with Reactive and Functional Programming
Introduction to Reactive
What is Reactive?
What is Reactive programming?
What is a data stream or stream?
RP versus Reactive systems versus Reactive architecture
Event-Driven versus Message-Driven
Benefits of Reactive systems with RP
Functional programming
What is functional programming?
Principles of functional programming
Benefits of functional programming
Functional Reactive programming
Types of RP
Why FP is the best fit for RP
Reactive Manifesto
Need of Reactive Manifesto
Principles of Reactive systems
Message-Driven
Elasticity
Resilience
Responsiveness
Why Reactive Streams specification?
Why is Play Framework the best for Reactive systems?
Reactive systems versus traditional systems
The Java 9 Flow API
Flow API – Publisher
Flow API – Subscriber
Flow API – Subscription
Flow API – Processor
Flow API – Flow
Implementations of Reactive Streams
Lightbend's Reactive Platform
Pivotal's Reactor project
Microsoft's Reactive Extensions (RX)
Netflix's RxJava
 Eclipse's Vert.x
Ratpack
How are Reactive Streams born?
Marble diagrams
What is a Marble diagram?
Data transformation
Benefits of Marble diagrams
Rules of Marble diagrams
Important FRP operators
FRP – the map() function Marble diagram
FRP – the flatMap() function Marble diagram
FRP – the merge() function Marble diagram
FRP – the filter() function Marble diagram
FRP – the reduce() function Marble diagram
FRP – the concat() and sorted() functions Marble diagram
Observer pattern versus Reactive pattern
Summary
2. Functional Scala
Introduction to Scala
The Scala ecosystem
Understanding the Scala Application
Scala REPL
Principles of Scala FP
FP Design Patterns
Scala FP features in action
Immutability
Scala functions
Scala pure functions
Pattern matching
Scala combinators
For-comprehensions
Scala implicits
Implicit parameters
Implicit conversions
Scala anonymous functions
Everything is an expression
Referential transparency
Functions are first-class citizens
Partial functions
Function currying
Higher-Order Functions
Scala tail-recursion
Types of recursions
Benefits of linear recursion
A linear-recursion example
Benefits of tail-recursion
A tail-recursion example
Scala Type class
Benefits of Type classes
Scala Collections in action
Scala List
Scala List Cons operator
Right associative rule
 Scala Map
Scala Range
Scala Functional Design Patterns
Scala map() function
Scala flatMap() function
Advantages of flatMap
Scala Monads in action
Scala Option
Scala Either
Scala Case class and object
Benefits of Scala Case class
Scala Traits in action
Trait as an interface
Traits linearization 
Linearization rules
Summary
3. Asynchronous Programming with Scala
Introduction to Scala AP
What is asynchronous?
Differences between asynchronous and synchronous
Benefits of asynchronous programming
Differences between Concurrency and Parallelism
How Scala supports AP
The Scala Future API
Building blocks of the Scala Future API
Benefits of the Scala Future API
The Scala Future
What is a Future in Scala?
The Scala Future API
What is a computation unit?
Future Trait definition
Future Companion object
The complete Scala Future API
Scala Future examples
The Scala Promise
What is a Scala Promise?
The Scala Promise API
Scala Promise examples
Scala ExecutionContext
What is ExecutionContext?
The relationship between Scala Future components
Differences between a Future and a Promise
Scala Future API callbacks
Scala Future API combinators
Scala Future.sequence()
The Scala Async Library
Scala Async API
The Scala Future API in Play Framework
The Scala Future API in the Akka Toolkit
A Scala Future versus a Java Future
Summary
4. Building Reactive Applications with Akka
Introduction to Akka
What is Akka?
Applications on the JVM (Java Virtual Machine)
Features of Akka
Benefits of Akka (or why do we need Akka?)
Building blocks of the Akka Toolkit
Akka Extensions (or modules)
Akka Clients
Actor Model in-depth
What is the Actor Model?
Principles of the Actor Model (or properties of Actor in the Actor Model)
Issues with the Shared-State Concurrency model
Benefits of the Actor Model
Components of the Actor Model (or building blocks of the Actor Model)
What are the benefits of immutable messages in the Actor Model?
How Akka implements the Actor Model
Other Actor Model implementations
Akka ActorSystem
What is the ActorSystem?
Roles and responsibilities of ActorSystem
How to create an Akka ActorSystem?
How to shut down an Akka ActorSystem?
Components of Akka's ActorSystem
What is materialization and Akka's implementation?
Akka Actors
What is an Actor?
Components of Akka Actor
Akka Actor – ActorRef
Akka Actor – Dispatcher
Benefits of the dispatcher pattern
Akka Actor – Mailbox(MessageQueue)
Akka Actor – Actor
Akka Actor – ActorPath
Actor versus thread
The lifecycle of an Akka Actor
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 Actor's preStart() lifecycle method
Actor's postStop() lifecycle method
Actor's preRestart() lifecycle method
Actor's postRestart() lifecycle method
Why Actors are lightweight?
Actor basic operations
Defining an Actor
Creating an Actor
Sending messages to an Actor
The tell (!) function
The ask (?) function
Replaying messages from an Actor
Actor to Actor communication
Actor to non-Actor communication
Stopping an Actor
Killing an Actor
Become/unbecoming an Actor
Case object Switch
Supervise an Actor
Akka Supervision
What is supervision?
What is the main goal of Akka's supervision?
Benefits of supervision
Why don't we write exceptions or failures&#xA
0;handling in Actor itself?
Rules of Akka Supervision
Akka Supervision strategies
Akka's supervision hierarchy
Actor's Path
What is Akka's Let It Crash model?
Akka HelloWorld Actor example
Akka Actors communicate example
Akka Actor's lifecycle example
Akka parent-child Actors example
Actor's Path versus Reference
Differences between ActorRef and ActorPath
When we execute actorRef.tell (message), what happens internally?
MessageDispatcher
How to configure a dispatcher?
Akka Configuration
Akka SBT Templates
Akka Logging
Business problem
Problem discussion
Akka Actor's implementation
Summary
5. Adding Reactiveness with RxScala
Introduction to RxScala
Reactive Extensions
Understanding Rx implementations
RxScala
Benefits of Reactive Extensions
Limitations of Reactive Extensions
Building blocks of RxScala
Understanding the Observable
Developing RxScala HelloWorld with an Observable
Observer
Extending RxScala HelloWorld with Observer
Subscriber
Extending RxScala HelloWorld with Subscriber
Subscription
Scheduler
RxScala Marble diagrams
RxScala's map() function
Summary
6. Extending Applications with Play
Introduction to Play Framework
What is Play Framework?
Features of Play Framework
Benefits of Play Framework
Why Play Framework is so fast?
Clients of Play Framework
Building blocks of Play Framework
Play Routings
Client Request
Controller Action
Routes
Play Controllers
View Templates
Benefits of Twirl Templates
Model and Forms
Other components – services and repositories
Configuration
Play Framework View Template constructs
Twirl View Templates
Twirl Template Constructs
Architecture of Play Framework
The new features of Play Framework
Play Framework 2.5.x features
Play Framework 2.6.x features
Play Application project structure
Play/Scala HelloWorld example
What is Play Dependency Injection (DI)
Benefits of DI
Extend HelloWorld Example With DI
Extending HelloWorld example with Scala Futures
Play Form – Data Model
Play Framework Form API
Play Form – Binding Data
Play Form functions
Play Framework Form-based web application
Extending Play/Scala HelloWorld example with Akka Toolkit
Play Fileupload web application
Summary
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 They were indeed fine animals, but one in particular attracted
Jack’s attention. He pointed out the horse and Mr. Kurtz said, “That’s
Clicker, my woman’s saddle horse.”
At the sound of his name, Clicker pricked up his ears and
whinnied.
“Your wife’s saddle horse!” Jack repeated in astonishment.
“Sartin,” returned Mr. Kurtz, and chirruped softly to the animal
which trotted gracefully up to him, rubbing his velvety nose on the
old man’s arm.
The horse was a light bay, fully sixteen hands high, magnificently
muscled, broad forehead, intelligent eye, gracefully arched neck and
luxuriant mane and tail.
Jack, a real lover of horses, took in all these good points at a
glance and determined to own him if money could buy.
They were here joined by Elsie, who threw her arms around
Clicker’s neck, kissing and petting him; then, turning to Jack, she
said,—“Is he not superb?”
“The most magnificent horse I ever saw, but I should never take
him for a lady’s horse.”
Elsie laughed as she said,—“Clicker is a gallant. Why, children
climb up his legs while he looks approvingly on, and with a woman
on his back he is simply a lamb. Just mount him if you are a fearless
rider and he’ll behave accordingly.”
At first, they flatly refused all offers; but Jack’s offer of seventy-
five dollars proved too tempting and the bargain was closed, Mrs.
Kurtz adding the saddle that had belonged to Elsie’s uncle.
They would receive no pay for Jack’s accommodation, evidently
considering the obligation on their side. Western hospitality is noted
for its breadth, but never before had Jack appreciated the full
meaning of the word and he was greatly affected by the honest
simplicity of these Germans.
Early Saturday morning Jack and Elsie started for Squaw Creek
Valley, ten miles distant. It received its name from the fact that when
the Comanche warriors went out on their raids, the squaws were left
in this valley on the banks of the stream.
 Clicker’s step was light and springy as a panther’s and his motion
so easy that Jack felt as if in a rocking-chair. Elsie sat on her pony
like the practised horsewoman she was. They were galloping over
the cattle trail which at times was invisible, and they then gave their
horses rein as every foot of the ground was familiar to them. Jack
noticed with admiration how deftly the animals avoided the thorny
mesquit and cacti.
Herds of sleek cattle grazed on the prairie covered with mesquit
and buffalo grass. The former is the best in the world. It grows
luxuriantly upon the plains of Texas, renews itself early in the spring,
matures early, and throughout the year remains nutritious as
naturally cured hay. Innumerable varieties of cacti blazed their
gorgeous blossoms of yellow, red, pink and white over the expanse,
but no trace of water; for it had now been six months since they had
had any rain, and Jack marvelled at the healthy look of vegetation.
“How is it,” he asked, “that the trees attain such size and look so
thrifty?”
“It is a common saying in these parts that their roots are attached
to the bottom of a subterranean lake which is supposed to underlie
this county,” laughed Miss Kurtz.
Jack also laughed as he answered, “Then why is not someone
enterprising enough to utilize these everlasting winds in bringing
some of the water to the surface? Honestly, I wonder that you do
not irrigate.”
“One or two have tried it, but the water is very, very deep, and the
scheme is an expensive one.”
“This soil is a rich, dark alluvium, very productive without rain.
What would it produce with it?” he continued.
“Prickly pears and all the other varieties of cacti,” Elsie replied
demurely.
They were now nearing a series of bluffs which gradually arose to
an elevation of about one thousand feet forming a wall, or chain of
hills, which hemmed in Squaw Creek Valley on the east for its entire
length of seventeen miles. Their ascent was gradual, trees grew
smaller with elevation and soon they were picking their way through
a tangle of shin oak, cacti and mesquit bushes. Exhilarated by the
pure air, they halted on the summit and looked down into Squaw
Creek Valley. Jack started at its resemblance to his own dear valley
in the North, only the walls which hemmed in this one would be
called hills there.
At the head, or rather three heads, of the valley, Squaw Creek has
its source in a chain of small lakes of pure spring water; thence it
winds its way through the entire valley and at the extreme northern
end unites its waters with the Onion to form Beaver Creek which
empties into Llano River. The valley itself appears perfectly level and
its walls have a perpendicular height of nearly five hundred feet. The
road into it was at the northern end.
For several miles they travelled along its summit, then, descending
abruptly into a pass, struck the stage-road for Fredericksburgh and
dismounted to water the horses. As Jack was assisting Elsie to alight,
her watch slipped from her belt and fell to the ground. In stooping to
pick it up, he was struck with its unique workmanship. “May I
examine it?” he asked. “I never saw one like it.”
“Certainly,” she answered, handing it to him. “It belonged to a
Spanish woman who died at our house. I nursed her and just before
her death she gave me this, saying it was all she had; and this,”
opening the back of the watch, “is a miniature of her only child. She
called him Hernando.”
“My God!” exclaimed Jack, greatly agitated. “Tell me all she said.”
“She left a package of letters for her boy should his whereabouts
ever be discovered, and I have kept them securely locked. Mother
said it was useless to try to find him.”
Jack’s eyes were blurred with tears as he looked at the picture;
the same wonderfully blue eyes and golden hair. Even as a boy, the
sensitive mouth showed a downward curve. Jack leaned his head
wearily against Clicker’s neck, as he said: “Miss Kurtz, in befriending
this Spanish woman, you have placed the discoverer of ‘Old Ninety-
Nine’ under a debt of deep gratitude.”
She looked puzzled and he continued, “This is a picture of
Hernando Genung who located my father’s mine and developed it
too. He is a hero and a martyr and you may well prize his picture.”
“But I shall send it to him along with the letters,” said Elsie.
“No,” Jack protested firmly, “wear it always, but give me in writing
a full account of his mother’s time with you and I will forward that
and the letters to my father.”
Jack’s cheeks were colorless and his wan look made Elsie’s heart
ache. Something more than ordinary grief was back of this, but she
dared not speak and felt greatly relieved when they drew up before
Mr. Nelson’s house.
It was a one-story adobe building built around a courtyard and
around this ran a piazza onto which a door from each room opened.
In front was a large central door, and opposite this was another
leading to a corral in the rear. The windows were small and placed
high.
They saw Mr. Nelson himself coming by a well-beaten path from
the creek. He had evidently not heard their approach for his glance
was fixed on some object up the stream but on turning an angle he
saw them and a hearty “Howdy!” indicated that Elsie was no
stranger. He shook hands warmly, scanning Jack’s letter as a matter
of secondary consideration.
Nine of Mr. Nelson’s children were married and settled in homes of
their own and Dora, his remaining one, now approached with her
mother.
Texas hospitality again. The best they had was literally his while
under the protection of their roof and Jack was made to feel that he
conferred a favor in accepting it.
Dinner was soon ready and seated at that hospitable board, Jack
first tasted the succulent steaks which had heretofore existed only in
his imagination.
“I reckon that this is your first meal in a ’dobe house,” remarked
Dora.
“The first one I ever entered,” Jack returned, “and it has a
distinctly foreign air.”
“Well,” said Mr. Nelson, “I spent some time in Mexico and their
manner of building struck me as suitable to this climate. ’Dobe is
cheap and durable.”
Jack’s head throbbed painfully and he could not conceal his
suffering. The strain he had been under for the past week, with the
shock received that morning, had completely prostrated him, and he
was only too glad to follow Mrs. Nelson’s advice and go to bed. His
room was sweet and inviting, but he sank into bed too ill to
appreciate it.
For two weeks he was confined to his bed and when able to sit up
his eyes fell on a small box, on a stand beside the bed, which Dora
said had been brought by Elsie.
“Will you kindly hand it to me?” Jack requested. Dora complied
and she was about to leave the room when he protested and she
resumed her seat.
Jack’s hand trembled as he took the box and Dora’s eyes were
moist when he looked in her direction. Was it the attraction of her
womanliness which made him lay before her the awful fate of the
one to whom these letters belonged? Gradually he spoke of himself,
his aspirations, his plans for the future with its seemingly infinite
possibilities all gone now. “There is no use in longer deceiving
myself. My future in this world lies in the past.” His tone was bitter
and though evidently relieved by unburdening his mind, he seemed
utterly crushed.
“Mr. De Vere,” said Dora resolutely, “what you tell me is indeed
terrible. I do not pretend to understand why one endowed with so
many noble qualities should be thus stricken. An orthodox Christian
would tell you that it is the will of God that it should be so and you
must pray for strength to bear it. Never mind that, you have
something more tangible to deal with and that is your own physical
condition. ‘Self-preservation is nature’s first law,’ and it is your duty
to obey. Are you doing it? You are utterly cast down, oblivious of the
many blessings around you. The doctor says if your nervous system
would react—which lies in your own power—in this dry, thin air, your
lungs would undoubtedly become restored to a healthy condition.
Brooding over misfortune is sinful. Forgive me if I wound you, but no
one excepting true friends point out our shortcomings.”
 Jack seemed in a quandary as he replied quietly, “Leaving out all
superfluous words, you mean that I am a coward.”
“Not exactly coward, but you are shirking a grave responsibility.”
“A shirk, then,” he corrected. “You are very frank, Miss Nelson.”
But Dora was out of the room by this time, leaving him wholesome
food for reflection. More than anything else, Jack detested a
“coward” or “shirk,” and the thought of his appearing in the guise of
one was not pleasant. It nettled him, but his judgment told him that
Dora’s philosophy was sound, and when the doctor next came, he
saw a decided change for the better in his patient. Soon he was able
to go for a short ride on Clicker, and the doctor exchanged knowing
looks with Mrs. Nelson.
 CHAPTER XI

A UGUST came and for nine months not a drop of rain had fallen.
The earth looked burned up, and the grass was so dry that in
travelling through it it flew into dust which the wind sent whirling
over the plain. No crop promised to be a good one. The sun beat
pitilessly down on the brown fields and cattle subsisted mainly on
mesquit beans that dangled their long pods in the never-ceasing
wind.
“All in the world this country needs is water,” thought Jack who
was studying irrigation schemes. Water from the streams was
impracticable and he now decided to bore on his tract of one
hundred and sixty acres just northeast of Brockman’s Point, and
have his irrigation plant ready and in operation by the middle of
September, superintending the work himself. But it was well into
December before the work was completed, and he was returning
from a final inspection when whom should he meet but Tim Watson.
“Howdy there, young Yank!” the latter called out to Jack.
“Well I declare if it isn’t Mr. Watson!” Jack shouted, bounding
forward.
Watson eyed the brown, healthy specimen of manhood before him
admiringly and remarked on his improved looks. “Your cousin sends
her regards and this,” said Watson, handing Jack a parcel which he
opened immediately. It contained a pair of moccasins, embroidered
by Miss De Vere herself, and an extremely kind letter.
Jack’s eyes filled with tears of pleasure at the acceptable present
and the spirit that prompted her to make it.
“She is very kind to take such an interest in a comparative
stranger,” he said with great feeling.
 “She is a De Vere, you know,” Watson answered, slyly punching
him. “Is Nelson about?” When answered affirmatively he continued,
“Dora is a nice girl, now, aint she?”
Jack De Vere
 “Certainly,” replied Jack quickly, “a fine character.”
Watson eyed him closely and then burst into a loud laugh which
was so infectious that Jack joined in without knowing why. Suddenly
checking himself, he said, “What are we laughing at anyway?”
“You sly dog,” said Watson, “I’ve been there myself, and you
needn’t try to look innocent. She’s a jewel, my boy, and I reckon
you’ve done the right thing.” Then changing his tone, he continued:
“After you left Austin, I wrote Andrew Genung stating that I had
seen you, and made some inquiries about his brother and what had
become of the boy Hernando. He answered at great length telling
me that, as I knew, his brother Fred had died in a fight at Virginia
City. The wife is probably—God knows where!” Here his voice sank to
a whisper, “And their boy is a leper! Did you know this?”
“Yes,” replied Jack, “and I know that that poor Spanish woman
died a victim of treachery.” And Jack gave an account of the letters
left with Elsie Kurtz, also of what the Spanish woman told her of how
a man by the name of Bruce poisoned her mind against her
husband, and under the guise of a friend enticed her from home one
night; that her husband overtook them, would not listen to her
protestations of innocence, shot them both, as he supposed,
mortally and left. When she came to herself she was alone and
covered with blood. She dragged herself back to Virginia City feeling
sure that her boy Hernando would believe in his mother’s innocence;
but no trace of either him or his father could be found. Unable to
bear the slights and jeers of former companions, she wandered
about until she fell in with a family of Mexicans bound for southern
Texas. They pitied and cared for her and she made her home with
them until about three years ago when she drifted among the
Greasers in this part of the country.
Watson’s expression during this recital was first one of surprise;
this changed into astonishment, and then a look of such vindictive
hatred that Jack proceeded with difficulty; but when he had
concluded, his listener remarked coolly, “I’ll be doggoned if I aint
hungry!”
“Were you ever North, Mr. Watson?”
 “Never, but I reckon I’ll go some time, perhaps along o’ you when
you take a turn home.”
“Oh, how delightful! I may go next year.”
For dinner, they were served with blue cat-fish of which Jack never
seemed to tire, a long, slender fish averaging about one and a half
pounds, and equalling in flavor the northern brook trout. It is very
unlike the mud cat-fish which is coarser in grain and flavor and
sometimes attains a tremendous size; but even from a fifty-pound
fish, the steaks are very good.
“I do not believe there is a fish in the world equal to our blue cat-
fish,” observed Watson, deftly removing the bones from his mouth.
“Unless it is our speckled trout,” Jack suggested.
“There is a peculiar spring on my ranch,” said Watson abruptly; “in
dry weather it is full of water, but in time of rain there aint a drop in
it.”
“I can beat that,” laughed Jack. “Just back of Sampsonville in the
town of Olive, and nearly at the top of High Point, four thousand feet
high, is a spring called the ‘Tidal Spring’ because, when the tide is in,
the spring overflows, and when it ebbs the water lowers.”
Jack looked quickly in Watson’s direction. For an instant their eyes
met and the answering glance told that in Ulster County was still
another spring where, in durance vile, was being served what
seemed an unjust term.
After a long silence, Watson shook himself like a great dog and
turning to Jack said,—“Young man, I reckon you think I’ve come just
in compliment to your irrigation plant, but you’re mighty mistaken if
you do. They’ve made a big strike of gold down in the Llano District.
I’ve always believed there was gold there, for the formation is similar
to that of the well-known mining camps in Colorado. Some years ago
in panning the gravel in the streams and gullies I found colors of
gold. The granite in that section has been crumbling away for ages,
the debris covering the formation. Report is, that in the side of the
gully at the foot of Mt. Fisher, a narrow seam of quartz not more
than an inch wide that shows gold and assays eighty dollars to the
ton, has been discovered.”
 “The very thought of exploiting another vein makes me sick,” said
Jack.
“But,” replied Watson, “already a number of loads of high-grade
selected ore have been taken from the surface trenches and sent on
to the Colorado smelters. The mine is being rapidly developed, and
assays are running up into the thousands. Are you going to let a
chance like that go by?”
“I want nothing to do with it,” Jack insisted.
“Further report says,” continued Watson, “that the strike in the Mt.
Fisher Mine is of such a remarkable character, both in richness and
extent of the veins, as to prove beyond a doubt that this belt is as
rich in ore as any in Colorado.”
Jack remained stolidly indifferent and, really annoyed, Watson said
hotly,—“Reckon you can leave your damned irrigation plant long
enough to ride over there along o’ me in the morning?”
“I’ll go with pleasure—would really enjoy the ride with you. When
do you propose to start?”
“Long afore daylight.”
Nights are always cool enough to sleep under a cover in Texas and
the morning that Watson and Jack started for the mining camp, they
found it necessary to wrap themselves in their blankets.
During the winter season all ranchmen on starting out for a trip of
any length go prepared to encounter one of those terrible
“northers,”[E] and carry with them a twenty-five pound sack in which
are bacon, biscuits, coffee, a coffeepot and tin cup, a lariat and
hobbles attached to the saddle.
[E] Norther: “Specifically, a wind blowing over Texas
to the Gulf, following the passage of a low area
or cyclone. The contrast in temperature is
generally very marked, as the preceding winds
are warm, moist, southerly ones.”—Standard
Dictionary.
 Three miles out of the valley where the stage road forked with the
one leading to Fort Minard, Watson and Jack took a north-easterly
course for the Llano District, following an old cattle trail. Almost
every bush and plant in Texas has a thorn and, as they threaded
their way through clumps of parched buffalo grass and weird cactus
plants, Jack appreciated the value of “chaps.”[F] The soil was very
dry and every step of the horses sent clouds of dust whirling; but
the air, stirred by the warm breeze, was delightful, and Jack felt his
lungs expand with a vigor heretofore unknown. That annoying cough
had quite disappeared, and no one would dream of accusing him of
being a prey to ill health. Like a new being, his pulse bounding and
mind alert, he galloped over the plain beside Watson with the
keenest enjoyment.
[F] “Chaps”: leather leggings.
They were now sixteen miles from Squaw Creek settlement and
following the creek washes of the Llano River. Clicker had shown
signs of uneasiness and occasionally gave an ominous snort.
“What can be the matter with this horse?” said Jack. “He seems
determined to make for that streak of woods yonder.”
“Matter enough! He knows a heap more than we do! To the
bushes!” Watson shouted, whirling his horse about.
Clicker needed no urging. Jack felt those powerful muscles quiver
under him and with one bound the animal cleared the ground ten
feet. Like an arrow he flew and, bending low in the saddle, horse
and rider appeared like a cloud of dust.
In an incredibly short space of time, the haze in the north had
wholly obscured the heavens and a biting north wind accompanied
by sleet pitilessly drove them back; but twenty minutes brought
them to a position of comparative shelter. The horses discovered a
rude shed into which they dashed and, jumping to the ground,
Watson and Jack endeavored to make their shelter more complete.
Evergreen boughs were piled up around the more exposed parts and
as the roof seemed tight, they congratulated themselves on having
found this haven. Next, they brought in wood and started a fire.
 “We want a powerful sight, my boy. A ‘norther’ means business.
When we do get things here we get ’em hard,” said Watson.
Nearly all the afternoon they worked with a will, bringing in fuel
and whatever fodder for the horses they could find.
Fiercer and fiercer the wind blew and the sleet dashed against
their shelter as if determined to gain access. Great trees were torn
up by the roots and the crashing was fearful. Sounds of distress from
herds of cattle huddled together in the woods came to their ears.
Cattle seem to scent these storms, and try to reach a place of
safety; but the weakly ones frequently perish on the plains.
Jack found an empty kettle, an immense black one, in one corner
of the shed. It was cracked entirely around the bottom and a blow
from a billet of wood knocked the bottom out. This he placed over
the fire leaving a draught-hole in one side and thus the coals were
prevented from being blown about, although their eyes suffered
from the smoke.
Watson deftly sliced some bacon with his jack-knife, the coffee
was soon boiling, and with a relish of a perfect appetite for sauce,
they pronounced their supper “fit for a king.”
Their stove soon became red-hot and Jack said they roasted on
one side while the other froze. How he pitied the poor animals
outside, but it was better than the open country.
They decided to divide the night into watches, and as Watson was
already nodding, he consented to turn in first and was soon snoring,
lying with his back to the fire.
Jack was no coward, but the weirdness of the situation impressed
him and with every sense on the alert, he prepared himself for any
emergency. The fire was kept burning and his rifle ready.
One o’clock. Suddenly a screech as of some human being in
distress sounded not twenty feet from their shelter.
Watson sprang up, pistol in hand, and seeing nothing, exclaimed
impatiently, “I aint deaf, that you’ve got to yell like that to wake me.”
Jack was about to explain when again that awful screech.
“A painter, by gosh!” said Watson, himself laughing. “Have I been
asleep?”
 Jack restrained a smile as he answered in the affirmative and
Watson said as he was now awake he’d better get up, so Jack
warmed over the coffee.
“Jerusalem!” Watson exclaimed, looking at his watch. “One
o’clock! Why, boy, why didn’t you call me before?”
Jack protested that he was not sleepy but Watson made him turn
in. “Steady your nerves, they’ll get a shock when we reach the
mining camp. Now don’t say I aint told you.”
Daylight showed nothing but sleet driven by an Arctic wind, and
they had the dreary consolation of knowing that in all probability it
would continue for three days; but Watson was an old frontiersman,
full of stories.
On the third day the storm visibly lightened. The wind coming in
fitful gusts indicated that its force had been spent, and it finally
ceased altogether, so that on the next day, they resumed their
journey. The trees were so weighted down with ice that many limbs
had broken off, thus impeding progress, and to any but horses
accustomed to this tangled undergrowth rendering it dangerous.
Threading their way cautiously, the open country was finally reached
and, after a short halt, they mounted and rode on to Mt. Fisher,
turning a deaf ear to the moans of distress from injured cattle on
their way. On they sped, Mt. Fisher seemingly not more than a mile
distant, and beyond the hills melting into a pinkish haze. The whole
scene was typical of absolute freedom and Jack was enjoying it to
the fullest extent when Watson suddenly called a halt and, reining
his horse beside Clicker, said earnestly,—“Do you recollect that I
warned you of a surprise at the mining camp?”
 Beyond the hills melting into a pinkish haze

“Yes.”
“Are your nerves steady?”
“What do you mean?” Jack asked hotly.
“Just this. You are going to meet two old acquaintances, namely,
Sheriff Smith of Nootwyck and a man you know as Valentine Mills;
and my reason for not telling you before is I knowed you’d wear
yourself out before we got here.”
“What the deuce is Mills doing here, and how long since you
turned detective?”
“Well, I aint studied human natur’ all these years for nothing, and
when you told me of Old Ninety-Nine’s mine, something you dropped
carelessly about Valentine Mills set me to thinking, and this ended in
acting, with the result that it is proved beyond a doubt that Valentine
Mills and Robert Bruce are one. I aint particular sharp, just been
doin’ a little missionary job. I haint no time for just ordinary sinners
but when God Almighty blazes a trail straight to a stomped-down,
pusley-mean, miserable coyote like Robert Bruce alias Valentine Mills
and all his other aliases, it’s my bounden duty to convert him!”
“Is Sheriff Smith at Mt. Fisher now?”
“Yes, he is to meet us in that piece of woods yonder,” pointing to
the left. “There he’ll wait. It’s only a few rods from the mine, and
you’re to go on ahead to open the way.”
“I’ll do it with a right good will,” said Jack in a voice that boded
Mills no good.
“We’ll be on the watch, and when your right hand goes up, Sheriff
Smith’ll appear on the scene, and at his signal I’ll show up. I reckon
he won’t be proper glad to see me!” Watson chuckled.
In another half-hour they reached the woods by a trail that
concealed them from view and their low “Hello” was answered by
Sheriff Smith, who anxiously awaited their coming. Like Jack, this
was his first experience in a “norther,” but he had been more
fortunate in not having left Fredericksburgh until that morning.
Sheriff Smith was a typical mountaineer, tall, muscular and without
an ounce of flesh to spare. No one had ever been hung in Ulster
County—his enemies hinted, much to his regret.
This morning he was positively affable and, after briefly delivering
many messages to Jack, turned toward Watson inquiringly.
The latter’s plan seemed a good one, so, leaving his horse, Jack
proceeded at once to the mine. Reaching the shaft, who should
spring lightly from the bucket but Mills himself! Instantly his glance
fell on Jack, he threw his arms around him in an ecstasy of delight,
overwhelming him with solicitous questions. “Oh, my dear boy!” he
said, wiping his eyes, “forgive this emotion. Such unexpected
pleasure completely unnerves me!”
Jack shook him rudely off, throwing up his right hand as he did so;
and while Mills was still wiping his eyes, Sheriff Smith’s hand was laid
on his shoulder and the words, “You are my prisoner!” quickly dried
his tears. Turning toward the miners who had collected near, he said
in an abused tone,—“Friends, what is the meaning of this?”
“I’ll explain that,” Sheriff Smith interjected. “Three indictments are
pending against you: abduction, theft and robbery; but at Nootwyck
you’ll get a chance to clear yourself.”
“Who accuses me of abduction?” Mills asked defiantly.
“Andrew Genung of Nootwyck,” was the calm reply.
“Now look here, Smith,” said Mills. “This is a plot concocted in the
brain of that rascally nephew of Andrew Genung. Genung is far too
sensible a man to cause my arrest on some trumped-up charge with
no proof that I committed the deed.”
“Aint there no proof, Robert Bruce?” and Tim Watson stepped
before him.
Mills’s blood receded from the surface, leaving his countenance a
ghastly green. Dumb with fear, balked at every turn, realizing that
his last card in this desperate game had been played, he fell on his
knees and begged for mercy.
Not a man present thought him worth a decent kick and all shrank
away from him in abhorrence.
Quick to see his advantage, Mills sprang past them toward the
woods, like a cat.
“Halt!” called the sheriff.
But Mills heeded not, and when the smoke which followed the
bullet from Sheriff Smith’s revolver cleared, it was plain that Mills’s
case would be tried in a higher court than Nootwyck.
 CHAPTER XII

S IX years have passed by. It is March and we are here at The

Laurels again.
Can this beautiful city with its population of ninety thousand
be Nootwyck? Electric lights, street railways, stately residences,
handsome public buildings and all modern conveniences. What
magic wand wrought this change?
Foreign capital has flowed in, Old Ninety-Nine is still rich, and
every Nootwyckian regards “Old Ninety-Nine” himself as the patron
saint of the valley. The mine is worked on the co-operative plan and,
thus far, results have justified the experiment.
Educational advantages are of the first order. Genung University,
situated on the piece of land known as “The Pines,” is a model
institution ranking with any in the State. The corps of instructors is
composed of eminent men and women and every means is
employed to keep the standing first class. Manufacturing is
encouraged. Farmers find a ready market for produce, thus
developing the magnificent agricultural interests; a railway center,
Nootwyck’s prosperity is assured.
Mr. and Mrs. De Vere seem supremely happy. Jack, now the proud
father of one little girl and three boys, is a prosperous ranchman,
and his letters assure his mother that Dora is simply the best wife
that ever a man had. And the children—!
Celeste and Elisha live down in the city. Eletheer expects to
graduate from a training school for nurses in New England next year,
and Cornelia has developed into the family beauty. In point of
resemblance, she is all her grandmother could have wished, a De
Vere, every inch. Reuben and Margaret are unchanged.
Point Wawanda is no more, and where it once towered the shaft-
house now rears its unsightly walls. But what has been lost in the
picturesque has been compensated by material benefit.
Deep down in the bowels of the earth is an underground city in
whose streets the miners are delving and sending the precious metal
to the surface.
Something unusual is in the wind at The Laurels. All is excitement
and bustle of preparation for some great event. Again and again are
the rooms inspected to see that everything is all right, the fires are
kept burning that no one may take cold. Four o’clock brings Celeste
who, with Elisha, will be among those to receive Jack and Dora with
the niece and nephews, who are the only grandchildren.
Celeste is a trifle more matronly, which only enhances her beauty,
and she follows Cornelia about the house, Cornelia feeling that if
Celeste approves there is no cause for criticism.
Jack is coming home and the telegram said he would reach
Nootwyck to-morrow morning.
The air had been spring-like all day with occasional flurries of
snow, but by evening the ground was white. As night came on, the
flakes fell faster and faster and by bedtime the storm had girded up
its loins and turned into a raging one. It meant business, for there
was no promise of a lull. A large body of old snow still lay on the
ground and by morning over a foot had been added to it while it was
still falling furiously. The air was filled with great feathery flakes and
the way the snow piled up was amazing. The wind increased every
hour and by ten o’clock great clouds of snow were sent whirling
about and piling up so that it was impossible to see beyond a few
feet.
The De Veres grew anxious. No sound of a locomotive’s whistle
since seven o’clock and now it was noon.
“They are probably in New York City,” said Mr. De Vere.
“But the train leaves there at seven o’clock and at that time no
one could have expected this Dakota blizzard,” Mrs. De Vere
protested.
The house, substantial as it was, shook with the fury of the raging
tempest. Long before night, the whole lower floor was in darkness
and the storm unabated. The city below was invisible. All day and
night the storm continued and Monday morning brought no change.
Reuben managed to keep the way to the woodhouse passable and
the fires burning, although the barn was invisible from the house.
His devoutly religious nature caused him to spend most of his leisure
time in prayer and reading the Bible.
“Oh, well,” said Margaret, as she deftly fished out the nut-brown
crullers from a skillet of hot fat, “life is a misery an’ I can’t nohow
unde’stan’ it, but I sholy do mean to live as long as I ken. Po’ Massa
Jack an’ dem sweet chillen all undah dis snow!” and her tears flowed
afresh.
On Wednesday morning the air cleared and by noon the
thermometer, which had registered zero, rose to twenty. The sun
coming out melted the surface, that formed a crust which precluded
further drifting.
Reuben and Mr. De Vere were working their way to the imprisoned
animals in the barn, which seemed an endless task. It was quite
dark when they accomplished it and sounds of distress greeted them
when at last the door was forced open. None of the animals in the
barn were seriously injured and they were quickly attended to; but in
the chicken-house, which was built against the mountain side, every
inmate was found frozen stiff—probably smothered—as the building
was completely covered with snow.
Hungry as wolves, Mr. De Vere and Reuben returned to the house
for supper, thankful that, excepting the chickens, none of the stock
was injured. The path they had made resembled an alley with the
snow piled up fully six feet at the sides.
As they neared the kitchen, Margaret’s melodious voice rang out:

“Dat awful Day, dat drefful Day,

When hebben an’ earth shall pass away.
De’s a l’il’ wheel er-turnin’ in my soul,
De’s a l’il’ wheel er-turnin’ in my soul.

“Fo’ gates on de no’f, fo’ gates on de souf,

 An’ yo’ ken enter in at enny gate.
I-n-n-e-r my s-o-u-l, i-n-n-e-r my s-o-u-l,
De’s a l’il’ wheel er-turnin’ in my soul.

“In er my s—o—u—l——!”
“Margaret,” said Mr. De Vere, “is supper nearly ready? We are
almost starved.”
“Law me, Massa John, been waiten’ dis bressed ouah,” she replied,
bustling into the dining-room.
“What is your honest opinion of a blizzard, Margaret?” Mr. De Vere
asked a few minutes later, as she appeared at the table with a
platter of hash.
“De’ jes’ ain’ no sayin’ ’bout dat, Massa John,” she answered with a
toss of her head. “I’se t’inkin’ ’bout dem po’ chillen.”
Margaret’s philosophy was decidedly original and a source of great
amusement to the family.
Night came on calm and beautiful, innumerable stars twinkling in
the heavens above. “The Laurels” stood calm and silent in the
shadow of the mountain and from his chamber window Mr. De Vere
looked out with feelings akin to awe. The world seemed dumb,
frozen by the hands of grim winter; Nootwyck a city of giant
snowdrifts. A few twinkling lights indicated that life was still there
but the silence was of that muffled kind which makes one
apprehensive.
“Oh, what untold sufferings this must have caused!” he reflected,
tears starting to his eyes as he glanced in the direction where
Shushan lay, and he thought of the young life among those snow-
bound hills, there being devoured by a relentless foe. What a power
for good he might have been! His very soul recoiled at the thought
that one with Hernando’s fine feelings should be a victim to the most
loathsome disease known and compelled to saturate his poor,
disfigured body with the nauseating fumes of “Stinking Spring.” “Ah,
well,” he thought bitterly, “this is one of the ‘mysteries.’”
Tired out, he retired early but tossed restlessly all night.
 Thursday’s paper contained a pretty good description of the
blizzard and at breakfast on Friday, Mr. De Vere read it aloud. It ran,
“A genuine sample of the Dakota article, the severest storm ever
known hereabouts. Nootwyck shut off from the outside world for
nearly a week. Factories stopped, schools closed, and business at a
standstill. All railways and highways blockaded. Snowbanks of
dimensions heretofore existing only in the imagination.
“It won’t do any longer to talk of the snow-storms of ‘auld lang
syne.’ The one of this week has eclipsed all previous records. Even
those who, in the early part of the week, had ‘remembered’ greater
storms are now fain to admit that they were mistaken, as inklings
from the outside world begin to come in showing how complete has
been the blockade over such a wide extent of country. No train since
Saturday and here it is Thursday night, and there are good prospects
that the embargo may last wholly or partially for several days longer.
The limits of Nootwyck’s communication with the world about her up
to Wednesday night were Wawarsing and Leurenkill. Nearly all the
remainder of the highways are still completely blockaded, and it is
doubtful if many roads will be opened up in a week yet. No mails
have arrived since Saturday night. In fact, Nootwyck would be
completely isolated from the rest of mankind were it not for the
telegraph and telephone. So far as we can learn, the same condition
of affairs exists generally over the State and New England. Fears are
entertained that there may have been considerable loss of life
attending the storm when the full particulars are made known.”
A loud ring at the door interrupted the reading and Reuben
returned from answering the bell, with a telegram from Jack. It
brought the welcome news that he and his family were safe in New
York City and that they would leave for Nootwyck as soon as the
tracks were cleared.
They had barely finished reading the message when another ring
called Reuben to the door. It was none other than Dr. Herschel who
wished to see Mr. De Vere on important business.
Mr. De Vere’s face blanched when told who the visitor was and he
entered the library with an apprehensive face.
 Dr. Herschel lost none of his dignity as he arose to meet Mr. De
Vere with,—“I wonder if Mr. De Vere will believe in the efficacy of my
treatment when I tell him that Hernando is cured!”
“Doctor,” said Mr. De Vere, “you are an eminent man, a profoundly
scientific one, and in presuming to still doubt your ability I must
appear pig-headed; but leprosy has been treated and investigated
for ages. Every known drug in the pharmacopœia has been tried,
but always the result has been disappointing. I appreciate your
efforts but can only reiterate that I have no faith in your ability to
effect a permanent cure.”
The doctor’s expression did not lose one iota of its earnestness as
he replied in a tone so convincing that his listener unconsciously
imbibed some hope. “Listen,” he said, “you are a just man and a
good one. I will not bore you with technical names, nor narrate
systems. On my honor as a gentleman, on my reputation as a
physician, backed up by the proof of microscopical examinations and
the expressed concurrence with me of two of the most eminent
dermatologists in the world, I pronounce Hernando Genung cured.”
Mr. De Vere grew dizzy and the doctor drew his chair near to wait
until he felt able to hear the rest. “Two of my friends—the gentlemen
mentioned—are snow-bound at Shushan. The road from there to
Lock Hill is broken by oxen and from there I came down on a hand-
car. If you say so, I will return in the same manner and come down
with Hernando and the two physicians, who wish to get back to the
city as soon as possible.”
“Are the trains running?”
“Not yet, but they probably will be some time to-day.” At that
moment, the warning whistle of a north-bound train sounded and Dr.
Herschel rushed out of the house.
“Doctor!” called Mr. De Vere, “do as you suggest by all means!”
Reuben, too, had heard the whistle and off he started at the
doctor’s heels. Nothing but paths were as yet broken but his strong
arms could carry two of “dem bressed chillen” who he knew were in
that train.
 Just as the train was about to stop, Reuben rushed breathlessly up
the station steps. “Suah ’nough, deah young Massa Jack had come,
but oh, how changed!” Rugged as a bear, brown and muscular, but
the same “Massa Jack” as of old.
“Dora,” said Jack, “this is Reuben, the guardian angel of our
family!”
Dora’s eyes told Reuben that she had heard of him before and,
greatly embarrassed, he took young Elisha and Celeste—one on each
arm—and led the way to The Laurels followed by the others.
Half way down the yard they were met by Celeste and Cornelia,
and Dora concluded that the De Veres must all be very much alike.
“So this is Dora of whom I am inclined to be jealous,” said Mrs. De
Vere, giving her a real motherly kiss.
Dora was dragged into the sitting-room and as she drank the
fragrant hot coffee, which Margaret said was good for frost bites,
she felt that Jack had not over-rated the virtues of his family. She
had rather dreaded meeting them and it had taxed her courage
greatly when she thought of the dignified mother-in-law who must
have strong ideas as to the fitness of any woman to be the wife of
her darling boy. But it was a clear case of mutual respect and before
Dora had spent an hour with her mother-in-law, she was ready to
swear to all that Jack had said.
Celeste and Elisha were now marshalled into the bathroom by
“Aunt Celeste,” while Dora took Jack-the-third under her protection.
Every nook in the dear old place was revisited by Jack. Lost in
admiration, he was gazing from the windows on the city below when
he was interrupted by his father who, in the excitement of their
arrival, had for the time being neglected to mention Hernando’s
restoration. Mr. De Vere had just told his wife of Dr. Herschel’s
verdict and was now in search of Jack on the same mission. Jack’s
experience in Texas, the land of surprises, had prepared him in a
measure for this overwhelming one. He was speechless for a few
moments and then said quietly, “Dr. Herschel’s reputation is such
that he would not make the statement without proof to substantiate
it. I am ready to believe it.”
 “His home-coming must be as happy as lies in our power,” said Mr.
De Vere fervently. “I have telegraphed Eletheer and undoubtedly she
will be home this coming week.”
“And I will help Margaret in getting his room ready,” said Jack.
Mrs. De Vere and Margaret were already busy there. The room
was open, the windows flung wide to let in the sunlight and fresh air.
Jack kindled a fire of fragrant birchwood. An odor of sweet clover
from clean linen scented the room. All hands joined in converting the
room into a bower of loveliness. Elisha appeared with an immense
bouquet of roses. These Celeste arranged on the table beside the
latest magazine which Jack had brought from New York. Nothing
was left undone and everything bespoke loving thoughtfulness.
In the kitchen Margaret was outdoing herself. Only too well did
she remember Hernando’s partiality for certain dishes and Reuben
haunted the city markets.
It was now five o’clock and the first down train was due at six. All
day long forces of men had been busy clearing the streets so that
the main ones were passable, and promptly at six Reuben reined up
at the station. Mr. De Vere sprang out of the sleigh, tramping
impatiently back and forth. Six-twenty and still no train. What could
be the matter? Mr. De Vere’s nervous strain was beginning to tell,
and although accosted by several of his acquaintances, he did not
heed; his mind was intent on one thing. The perspiration stood in
drops on his forehead and every few seconds he took off his hat to
wipe a bald spot on the top of his head. Suddenly stopping, he
called:
“Reuben, have you seen Mr. Genung to-day?”
“Yes, Massa, hyah he comes now,” pointing up the street.
De Vere rushed madly down the steps to meet Genung and
grasping the latter’s hand, whispered:
“I’m expecting Hernando on the six o’clock train; and cured! Now,
for God’s sake don’t make a fool of yourself!”
“And I’m here for the same thing you are; but one fool is enough
to amuse this gaping crowd!” Genung gasped with staring eyes.
 At last the welcome whistle sounded and before the train came to
a standstill these two dignified men scrambled up the steps,
heedless of the brakeman’s warning “Wait till the train stops.”
But a pair of intensely blue eyes had seen it all from the platform
and their owner gave a joyful exclamation as he sprang down to
meet them, shouting,—“Uncle! Mr. De Vere!” and his arms were
around both their necks.
Dr. Herschel, fearing a scene, hastily introduced Drs. Hinckle and
Le Corr and hustled the three into a sleigh. He then signalled a cab
and motioned Reuben to proceed. “Dear me, these emotional
Americans!” he said, seating himself with the other physicians in the
cab.
“A noble fellow,” remarked Dr. Hinckle.
“Interesting psychologically,” observed Dr. Le Corr.
“And personally,” Dr. Herschel continued, who regarded Hernando
as his own handiwork.
Further conversation was cut short by their arrival at the house.
Surely, if appreciation of honest effort is gratitude, Dr. Herschel must
have been a happy man. The entire family from Mr. De Vere to
Margaret burst into tears of joy.
Dr. Herschel blew his nose vigorously and, as every one else
seemed to have lost his head, he took the part of host upon himself
and ushered them into the library. Mr. Genung was the first to collect
his scattered senses and, beckoning to Reuben, he said: “My good
man, lead us in prayer.” Reuben obeyed instantly, and every one
knelt. For a few seconds there was profound silence and then
Reuben repeated word for word the ninety-first Psalm. Though each
may have interpreted it differently, every soul in that group realized
that God is “friendly.”
Hernando’s eyes looked bluer than ever under the snow-white
curls. The old hurt look was gone and in its place was one pure and
full of loving compassion for the sufferings of others. The glow of
perfect health was in his cheeks and his frame was vigorous. Mr.
Genung hung about him as one raised from the dead and, as
Hernando lovingly stroked those locks, silvered through sorrow for
him, he again and again thanked them all for their loyal friendship.
“My life has been spared for some definite purpose and it shall be
my duty to find out what that is,” he concluded.
Dinner was announced—such a dinner! Here also, Hernando saw
evidenced the same kindly thought, the same endeavor to make him
forget that he had ever been away from them. It was a Thanksgiving
dinner in very truth, and in each one’s heart was a prayer of
gratitude.
The doctors wished to take the ten o’clock train for New York City,
so, after dinner, they, with Mr. De Vere and Mr. Genung, withdrew to
the library and as soon as they were seated, Mr. De Vere said, “Dr.
Herschel, money cannot pay our debt of gratitude. It seems an insult
to mention it in connection with such miraculous skill; but this is a
practical world, and if you will allow us to place at your disposal a
certain sum, it could be used in any way you thought best.”
“To ‘Old Ninety-Nine,’ not me, is your gratitude due,” Dr. Herschel
replied.
“And but for you his cure would without doubt be still unknown,”
broke in Mr. Genung. “No, modesty is an estimable trait but, giving
‘Old Ninety-Nine’ due credit, our indebtness is to you.”
“‘Old Ninety-Nine’s’ will more than pays me,” returned the doctor
in a tone so decided as to preclude further discussion. “And,” the
doctor continued, “as an ‘immune,’ Hernando’s assistance will be
invaluable to me, should he decide to give it.”
At this both De Vere and Genung started. “Surely, Doctor, you will
not again part us!” they exclaimed.
“Not soon at any rate—perhaps never.”
It was nearly train time and the doctors arose to leave with,—“Just
let us slip off quietly. There has been quite enough excitement in the
family for one day.”
“But you will not desert us, Doctor?” De Vere protested.
“No indeed. In the fall I propose going abroad for six months, but
my earnest desire is that our friendly relations continue.” And with a
parting hand-shake they were gone.