For my knowledge of the color and spirit of the time I am indebted to a long course of reading in its books, newspapers and periodicals, notably _The North American Review, The United States Magazine and Democratic Review, The New York Mirror, The Knickerbocker, The St. Lawrence Republican_, Benton's _Thirty Years' View_, Bancroft's _Life of Martin Van Buren_, histories of Wright and his time by Hammond and Jenkins, and to many manuscript letters of the distinguished commoner in the New York Public Library and in the possession of Mr. Samuel Wright of Weybridge, Vermont. To any who may think that they discover portraits in these pages I desire to say that all the characters--save only Silas Wright and President Van Buren and Barton Baynes--are purely imaginary. However, there were Grimshaws and Purvises and Binkses and Aunt Deels and Uncle Peabodys in almost every rustic neighborhood those days, and I regret to add that Roving Kate was on many roads. The case of Amos Grimshaw bears a striking resemblance to that of young Bickford, executed long ago in Malone, for the particulars of which case I am indebted to my friend, Mr. H.L. Ives of Potsdam. THE AUTHOR. CONTENTS BOOK ONE WHICH IS THE STORY OF THE CANDLE AND COMPASS CHAPTER I The Melon Harvest II I Meet the Silent Woman and Silas Wright, Jr. III We Go to Meeting and See Mr. Wright Again IV Our Little Strange Companion V In the Light of the Candles VI The Great Stranger VII My Second Peril VIII My Third Peril BOOK TWO WHICH IS THE STORY OF THE PRINCIPAL WITNESS IX In Which I Meet Other Great Men X I Meet President Van Buren and Am Cross-Examined by Mr. Grimshaw XI A Party and--My Fourth Peril? XII The Spirit of Michael Henry and Others XIII The Thing and Other Things XIV The Bolt Falls BOOK THREE WHICH IS THE STORY OF THE CHOSEN WAYS XV Uncle Peabody's Way and Mine XVI I Use My Own Compass at a Fork in the Road XVII The Man with the Scythe XVIII I Start in a Long Way XIX On the Summit Epilogue BOOK ONE Which is the Story of the Candle and the Compass CHAPTER I THE MELON HARVEST Once upon a time I owned a watermelon. I say once because I never did it again. When I got through owning that melon I never wanted another. The time was 1831; I was a boy of seven and the melon was the first of all my harvests. Every night and morning I watered and felt and surveyed my watermelon. My pride grew with the melon and, by and by, my uncle tried to express the extent and nature of my riches by calling me a mellionaire. I didn't know much about myself those days except the fact that my name was Bart Baynes and, further, that I was an orphan who owned a watermelon and a little spotted hen and lived on Rattle road in a neighborhood called Lickitysplit. I lived with my Aunt Deel and my Uncle Peabody Baynes on a farm. They were brother and sister--he about thirty-eight and she a little beyond the far-distant goal of forty.