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 Contents
Acknowledgments

A Letter to Students and Instructors

Goals of the Book
Scope and Organization of the Book
Updates to the Sixth Edition
Features of the Book
Instructor Resources

Acronyms

Part I: Introduction to Sport Management

Chapter 1: Managing Sport

Paul M. Pedersen

Lucie Thibault
Defining Sport and Sport Management
Nature and Scope of the Sport Industry
Unique Aspects of Sport Management
Sport Management Competencies
Future Challenges and Opportunities

Chapter 2: Developing a Professional Perspective

Sally R. Ross

Brian P. McCullough

Susan E.C. Simmons

Professional Preparation
Professional Attitude
Career Planning and Management
Career Readiness for Occupational Success

Chapter 3: Historical Aspects of the Sport Business Industry

8
Elizabeth A. Gregg

Brenda G. Pitts

Paul M. Pedersen
Historical Aspects of Commercialization in Sport
Historical Aspects of the Sport Market
History of the Discipline of Sport Management
Critical Thinking in the History of the Sport Business Industry
Ethics in the History of the Sport Business Industry

Chapter 4: Management Concepts and Practice in Sport

Organizations

Kathy Babiak

Kathryn Heinze

Lucie Thibault
Organization Defined
Types of Sport Organizations
Organizational Environment
Organizational Effectiveness
Organizational Strategy
Organizational Culture
Organizational Structure and Design
Organizational Change and Innovation
Critical Thinking in Sport Organizations
Ethics in Sport Organizations

Chapter 5: Managing and Leading in Sport Organizations

Shannon Kerwin

Ming Li

Laura J. Burton
Theoretical Approaches to Management
Management Functions
Classifications of Managers
Managerial Skills

9
 Leadership
Decision Making, Authority, and Power
Organizational Diversity
Critical Thinking in Sport Managing and Leading
Ethics in the Leadership of Sport Organizations

Part II: Selected Sport Management Sites

Chapter 6: Community and Youth Sport

Marlene A. Dixon

Jennifer E. McGarry

Justin Evanovich
Origins of Community Sport
Youth Sport History
Definition of Community Sport
Size and Scope of Community Sport
Types of Community Sport Organizations
Management Challenges
Adult Community Sport Offerings
Youth Sport Offerings
Critical Thinking in Community and Youth Sport
Ethics in Community and Youth Sport

Chapter 7: Interscholastic Athletics

Eric W. Forsyth

Tywan G. Martin

Warren A. Whisenant
Arrival of Interscholastic Athletics
Governance of Interscholastic Athletics
Value of Interscholastic Athletic Programs
Participation Numbers
Operating Models
Careers in Interscholastic Athletics
Issues Facing Interscholastic Athletics
Critical Thinking in Interscholastic Athletics

10
Ethics in Interscholastic Athletics

Chapter 8: Intercollegiate Athletics

Ellen J. Staurowsky

Robertha Abney

Nicholas M. Watanabe
Origins of Intercollegiate Athletic Governance
College Sport Finance
Intercollegiate Athletic Administrators
Critical Thinking in Intercollegiate Athletics
Ethics in Intercollegiate Athletics

Chapter 9: Professional Sport

Jacqueline McDowell

Amy Chan Hyung Kim

Natasha T. Brison
Historical Aspects of Professional Sport
Unique Aspects of Professional Sport
Revenue Sources for Professional Sport Teams
Future Challenges Facing Professional Sport
Career Opportunities in Professional Sport
Critical Thinking in Professional Sport
Ethics in Professional Sport

Chapter 10: Sport Management and Marketing Agencies

Catherine Lahey

Jezali Lubenetski

Danielle Smith
Functions of Sport Management and Marketing Agencies
Types of Sport Management and Marketing Agencies
Careers in Agencies
Challenges Facing Agencies
Critical Thinking in Agency Activities

11
 Ethical Issues in Sport Management and Marketing Agencies

Chapter 11: Sport Tourism

Heather Gibson

Sheranne Fairley

Millicent Kennelly
Tourism and the Tourism Industry
Sustainability and Sport Tourism
Critical Thinking in Sport Tourism
Ethics in Sport Tourism

Part III: Selected Sport Management Functions

Chapter 12: Sport Marketing

Ketra L. Armstrong

Patrick Walsh

Windy Dees
Developing a Sport Marketing Plan
Market Research
Critical Thinking in Sport Marketing
Ethics in Sport Marketing
Future of Sport Marketing

Chapter 13: Sport Consumer Behavior

Andrea N. Geurin

Cara Wright

James J. Zhang
Understanding the Individual as a Sport Consumer
Group Influences on the Sport Consumer
Situational Influences on the Sport Consumer
Consumer Decision Making in Sport
Sport Consumer Behavior Challenges and Issues
Critical Thinking in Sport Consumer Behavior

12
Ethics in Promoting Sport Consumer Behavior

Chapter 14: Communication in the Sport Industry

G. Clayton Stoldt

Stephen W. Dittmore

Paul M. Pedersen
Theoretical Framework of Sport Communication
Strategic Sport Communication Model
Media Relations in Sport
Community Relations in Sport
Critical Thinking in Sport Communication
Ethics in Sport Communication

Chapter 15: Finance and Economics in the Sport Industry

Timothy D. DeSchriver

Marion E. Hambrick

Daniel F. Mahony
Current Financial Situation of U.S. Professional Sport
Current Financial Situation of U.S. College Athletics
Economics of Sport
Overview of Financial Management
Sources of Revenue and Expenses for Sport Organizations
Careers in Financial Management for Sport Organizations
Critical Thinking in Sport Finance and Economics
Ethics in Sport Finance and Economics

Chapter 16: Sport Facility and Event Management

Brianna L. Newland

Stacey A. Hall

Amanda L. Paule-Koba
Overview of Facility Management
Facility Management
Event Management

13
 Critical Thinking in Sport Facility and Event Management
Ethics in Sport Facility and Event Management

Part IV: Current Challenges in Sport Management

Chapter 17: Legal Considerations in Sport Management

Anita M. Moorman

R. Christopher Reynolds

Amanda Siegrist
Basics of Law
U.S. Constitution
Federal Legislation
State Legal Systems
Future Challenges
Critical Thinking in Sport Law
Ethics in Sport Law

Chapter 18: Sociological Aspects of Sport Management

Nicole M. LaVoi

Mary Jo Kane

Nancy Lough
Social Significance of Sport
Benefits of Sport
Dark Side of Sport
Sport as a Vehicle for Social Transformation
Implications for Sport Managers
Critical Thinking in Sport Sociology
Ethics in Sport Sociology

Chapter 19: A North American Perspective on International Sport

Ceyda Mumcu

Sylvia Trendafilova

Lucie Thibault

14
 What Is International Sport?
Expansion of International Sport
Current Issues in International Sport
Guidelines for Future International Sport Management Leaders
Critical Thinking in International Sport
Ethics in International Sport

Chapter 20: Analytics in the Sport Industry

Kevin Mongeon

David P. Hedlund

Ryan Spalding
The Sport Analytics Process
Sport Analytics Techniques
Critical Thinking in Sport Analytics
Ethics in Sport Analytics
Sport Analytics in Practice

Chapter 21: Sport Management Research

Nola Agha

Jess C. Dixon

Brendan Dwyer
What Is Sport Management Research?
Why Sport Managers Need to Understand Research
Key Features of Quality Research
Ethics in Sport Management Research
Critical Thinking in Sport Management Research
Current Challenges in Sport Management Research
Future of Sport Management Research

References

About the Editors

About the Contributors

15
 Acknowledgments
Paul M. Pedersen and Lucie Thibault would like to express deep gratitude
to numerous individuals, groups, and organizations whose collective
contributions made this sixth edition of Contemporary Sport Management
a reality.

This project could not have been accomplished without the input and
expertise of the 56 contributing authors, who are national and international
leaders and rising stars in various areas of study and segments of the sport
industry. The quality of this book is a direct result of the contributors’
outstanding efforts. Please refer to the back of the textbook for more
information about the activities and accomplishments of the chapter
authors.

In addition to welcoming in the new contributors, we would like to thank

those who were involved with chapters in the fifth edition (and some in
earlier editions as well) but who did not participate in the sixth edition.
These previous chapter contributors are Coyte Cooper, Ted Fay, Larry
Fielding, Wendy Frisby, Jay Gladden, Sam Olson, David Stotlar, Bill
Sutton, and Luisa Velez. Although we hope you are enjoying your
retirement, entrepreneurial endeavors, administrative duties, or whatever
other activities take the place of your involvement in this edition, we thank
you for your foundational work and previous contributions.

We express our sincere gratitude to Ashleigh-Jane Thompson from La

Trobe University (Australia) who served as this edition’s international
profile liaison. She solicited, coordinated, and edited an outstanding group
of international vignettes and learning activities for this edition. We
sincerely thank those who contributed the vignettes and learning activities
that are integrated throughout the chapters: Guillaume Bodet (France),
Veerle De Bosscher (Belgium), Sarah Gee (Canada), John Harris
(Scotland), Thomas Horky (Germany), Adam Karg (Australia), Elsa
Kristiansen (Norway), Sanghak Lee (South Korea), Simon Ličen
(Slovenia), Daniel Lock (England), Rosa López de D’Amico (Venezuela),
David Maralack (South Africa), E. Esra Erturan Ögüt (Turkey), Dimitra
Papadimitriou (Greece), Milena M. Parent (Canada), Richard Parrish
(England), Norbert Schütte (Germany), Kamilla Swart (South Africa),
Victor Timchenko (Russia), Jasper Truyens (Belgium), János Váczi

16
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(Hungary), Geoff Watson (New Zealand), Kong-Ting Yeh (Taiwan), and
Masayuki Yoshida (Japan). In addition, we are truly grateful to Corinne
Daprano from the University of Dayton for revising and updating the
instructor ancillaries and student web study guide. Furthermore, we are
appreciative of the time, effort, and input of the sport industry
professionals who are featured throughout the textbook: Kristin Bernert,
Ross Bjork, Mike Blackburn, Kirsten Britton, Trevor Bukstein, Terri
Carmichael Jackson, Scott Crowder, Andy De Angulo, Kyle Dubas,
Ashley Feagan, Marshall Fey, Alicia Greco-Walker, Kalen Jackson,
Megan Kahn, Nicole Kankam, Donna Lopiano, Ellen Lucey, Mitch Moser,
Sheila N. Nguyen, Heidi Pellerano, Keri Potts, Brandon Rhodes, Tracy
Schoenadel, Steven J. Silver, Andrew Tinnish, Vernon Walker, and Bill
Wise. Students will enjoy—and benefit from—reading the sport
management professional profiles included in this sixth edition.

Special notes of appreciation go to our educational institutions and

publisher for their outstanding support. We are grateful to Indiana
University – Bloomington (IU) and Brock University for providing the
resources that facilitated the completion of this book. We are privileged to
be university professors and fortunate to work in environments that
support our efforts. As always, we extend gratitude to the thousands of
students we have had the privilege of teaching across the years.
Furthermore, we sincerely appreciate Human Kinetics’ remarkable editors
and professionals associated with this project, including Skip Maier, Derek
Campbell, Denise D’Urso, Kari Testory, Merry Blakey, Nancy Rasmus,
Susi Huls, Keri Evans, Kelly Hendren, Matt Harshbarger, Jason Allen, and
Dalene Reeder, to name just a few. Although numerous individuals from
Human Kinetics have assisted and facilitated this sixth edition, we would
like to acknowledge two editors in particular. Bridget Melton, our
acquisitions editor, came on board with this sixth edition, and we consider
ourselves fortunate that she did. Bridget has been outstanding in terms of
leadership, decision making, communication, suggestions, advice, and
encouragement. The same is true for Melissa Zavala, the outstanding and
supportive development editor for this edition of the textbook. She and
Bridget simply made our jobs much easier by always being there with
valuable information, assistance, and advice. A special note of
appreciation goes out to Myles Schrag, who worked with us on various
earlier editions of this textbook and was a part of the initial planning of
this sixth edition. Although we definitely miss Myles, he was thrilled to
find out that Bridget would be taking his place for this project, and we now
understand why he was so happy and comfortable handing this project to

17
her.

Last, in addition to our expression of thanks to Janet Parks for her vision
and leadership of this project over the many years until her retirement, we
would like to acknowledge our various family members who have
provided tremendous support of our work on Contemporary Sport
Management. In particular, we are grateful for the patience and
understanding of Brock, Carlie, Hallie, Jennifer, and Zack.

18
 A Letter to Students and
Instructors
Welcome to the sixth edition of Contemporary Sport Management.
Whether you are a student or an instructor, this letter will provide you with
information that explains the goals, updates, and features of this new
edition. Many new updates and features make this sixth edition an exciting
and valuable resource that we are sure will broaden your understanding of
sport management.

Goals of the Book

As with the previous editions, the goal of the sixth edition of
Contemporary Sport Management is to introduce students to sport
management as an academic major and as a professional endeavor.
Toward that end, the book provides a broad overview of sport management
rather than detailed instructions about how to manage sport enterprises.
This distinction is important because the book must meet the needs of two
types of students: those who have already decided to major in sport
management and those who are still thinking about their choice of a major.
If you are currently majoring in sport management, you probably
anticipate learning more about the field and particularly about the variety
of professional opportunities that await you. Those of you who are
currently considering a major in sport management probably want to gain
general knowledge about the field before making a final decision. After
studying the information in this book, some of you will be even more
intrigued with the idea of seeking a career in sport management, and you
will pursue the remainder of your coursework with enhanced
understanding, insight, and maturity of purpose. Others among you may
discover that sport management is not really what you envisioned or is not
a field in which you want to work, and you will choose different majors. In
either case, the book will have served a valuable purpose.

The sixth edition of Contemporary Sport Management contains 21

chapters written by the two of us along with 56 other chapter contributors,
26 of whom are new arrivals for this edition: Nola Agha (University of
San Francisco), Natasha T. Brison (Texas A&M University), Laura J.

19
Burton (University of Connecticut), Windy Dees (University of Miami),
Brendan Dwyer (Virginia Commonwealth University), Justin Evanovich
(University of Connecticut), Elizabeth A. Gregg (University of North
Florida), Stacey A. Hall (University of Southern Mississippi), David P.
Hedlund (St. John’s University), Kathryn L. Heinze (University of
Michigan), Millicent Kennelly (Griffith University), Amy Chan Hyung
Kim (Florida State University), Nancy Lough (University of Nevada, Las
Vegas), Jacqueline McDowell (George Mason University), Kevin
Mongeon (Brock University), Ceyda Mumcu (University of New Haven),
Brianna L. Newland (University of Delaware), Amanda L. Paule-Koba
(Bowling Green State University), Amanda Siegrist (Coastal Carolina
University), Susan E.C. Simmons (Indiana University – Bloomington),
Danielle Smith (Wasserman), Ryan Spalding (Merrimack College), Sylvia
Trendafilova (University of Tennessee), Patrick Walsh (Syracuse
University), Nicholas M. Watanabe (University of South Carolina), and
James J. Zhang (University of Georgia). All the authors are experts in their
fields and are committed to sharing their knowledge with you, the next
generation of sport managers. The photographs and biographies of the
authors and for Corinne M. Daprano, the subject matter expert for the
instructor ancillaries and student web study guide, and Ashleigh-Jane
Thompson, the liaison for the international profiles, are included at the
back of the book. We hope that seeing their faces and reading about their
accomplishments will personalize the material in the chapters and make
the book more meaningful for you. We know that you will be impressed
with each contributor’s experience and depth of knowledge.

Scope and Organization of the Book

The Commission on Sport Management Accreditation (COSMA) is the
accrediting body for sport management curricula. This sixth edition of
Contemporary Sport Management addresses each of the common
professional component topical areas that COSMA considers essential to
the professional preparation of sport managers. These content areas,
according to COSMA’s 2016 Accreditation Principles Manual and
Guidelines for Self-Study Preparation, include sport management
foundations (i.e., management concepts, governance and policy, and
international sport), functions (i.e., sport operations, sport marketing, sport
communications, and sport finance and economics), environment (i.e.,
legal aspects, ethical aspects, diversity, and technical advances), and
experiential learning and career development (e.g., internships, capstone

20
experiences). The book provides basic information in all these content
areas (e.g., sport marketing and sport communication are covered in
chapter 12, Sport Marketing, and chapter 14, Communication in the Sport
Industry). In addition, every chapter includes a sidebar on international
aspects of the field and a section on ethics in sport management, which are
two requirements of the COSMA standards for accreditation. As you
progress through the professional preparation curriculum at your college or
university, you will study the content areas covered in this textbook (and
those required by programs to meet COSMA standards) in much greater
depth.

The 21 chapters in this sixth edition of Contemporary Sport Management

are organized within the following parts: Introduction to Sport
Management, Selected Sport Management Sites, Selected Sport
Management Functions, and Current Challenges in Sport Management.
Each of these parts begins with a brief description of its purpose, a
summary of the information you will find in the chapters, and a For More
Information section that identifies additional resources related to the
chapter topics. After studying all the chapters, completing the international
learning activities and the additional learning activities in the web study
guide, and taking advantage of the For More Information sections in the
part openers, you should be able to (1) define sport management; (2)
discuss the significance of sport as an international social institution; (3)
exhibit desirable professional skills and attitudes; (4) describe the nature
and scope of professional opportunities in the sport industry; (5) explain a
variety of functions that sport managers typically perform; (6) demonstrate
an understanding of theories associated with management, leadership, and
organizational behavior and of how these theories are applied in sport
enterprises; (7) demonstrate critical thinking skills to evaluate major
challenges confronting various segments of the industry; (8) explain the
relevance of legal, historical, sociological, and psychological concepts to
the management of sport; (9) engage in socially responsible activities and
make principled decisions through a thorough knowledge of the ethical
decision-making process; (10) demonstrate an appreciation of diversity;
(11) identify research questions in sport management, demonstrate the
ability to analyze and interpret data and published research, and develop an
awareness of analytics in sport; and (12) become a member of the
profession who will have a positive influence on the way that sport is
managed in the future.

21
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death of Ann Rutledge, he realized that he must either “die or get
better.”
Anna seemed happy enough in her new life, and liked to flaunt
her devotion to Oscar whenever her rejected lover was about.
Ordinarily this might have wounded him still deeper, but he was
absorbing fresh anxieties, reading Herbert Spencer, whose
abominable agnosticism soon wrecked his faith, and bereft of love
and the solace of immortality, he became the most wretched of men.
It was five years after Anna’s elopement, and when she was
twenty-one years old, that one morning she started for Endeavor to
get the mail and make some purchases at the country store. It was
a cold, raw day in the early spring, and the wild pigeons were flying.
The beechwoods on both sides of the road were alive with gunners,
old and young. Some one fired a shot which hurtled close to the
nose of the old roan family horse, a track horse in his day, and he
took the bit in his teeth and ran away madly, with the buggy
careening after him. Anna, standing up in the vehicle, was sawing on
the lines until he crashed into a big ash tree and fractured the poor
girl’s skull. She was picked up by some of the hunters and carried
home unconscious the next thing was to get the news to her
husband. Oscar at that time had just finished a raft on West Hickory
Creek, while his old time rival, McMeans, was completing one on
East Hickory, which stream flowed into “The Beautiful River”, almost
directly opposite to the West Hickory Run.
About the moment that Anna received her cruel death stroke, the
two rafts were being launched simultaneously, with much cheering
on both banks, for partisanship ran high among dwellers on either
side of the river. Members of the family hurried to the river side to
watch for the Wellendorf raft, to “head him off” before it was too
late. It was several hours after the accident when the two rival rafts,
with the stalwart young pilots at the sterns, swept around the Bend,
traveling “nip and tuck”. It promised to be an evenly matched race,
barring accidents, clear to Pittsburg. The skippers of the contending
yachts for the American Cup could not have been more enthused for
their races than were Andrew McMeans and Oscar Wellendorf.
 In front of the McNamor homestead several women were to be
seen running up and down the grassy sward, frantically waving red
and green shawls. What could they mean? They were so vehement
that Oscar divined something was wrong, and steered ashore,
followed by McMeans, who, noting the absence of Anna from the
signaling party, feared that a mishap had befallen her.
Both young men jumped ashore almost simultaneously, leaving
their rafts to their helpers. The worst had happened–Anna was in
the house with a fractured skull, and the doctors said she could not
live the night. If anything, McMeans turned the paler of the two. The
men said little as they followed the women up the boardwalk to the
house.
That night McMeans, who asked to be allowed to remain until the
outcome of the case, for the river had lost its attractions, was sitting
in the kitchen with Grandmother McClinton. The raw air had blown
itself into a gale after sundown, and during the night the fierce wind
beat about the eaves and corners of the house like an avenging fury.
The old tall clock, made years before by John Vanderslice, of
Reading, on top of which was a stuffed Colishay, or gray fox, with an
uncommonly fine brush, was striking twelve. Amid the storm a
wailing voice joined in the din, incessantly, so that there was no
mistaking it, the Warning of the McClintons.
 RUINS OF FORT BARNET. BUILT IN 1740. (Photograph
Taken 1895.)

The old grandmother watched McMeans’ face until she saw that
he understood. Then she nodded to him. "It is strange how that
thing has followed the McClinton family for hundreds of years. In
Scotland it was their ‘Caointeach’, in Ireland their ‘Banshee’, in
Pennsylvania their ‘Token’ or ‘Warning’. It never fails."
As McMeans listened to the terrible shrieks of anguish, which
sometimes drowned the storm, he shivered with pity for the lost soul
out there in the cold, giving the death message, so melancholy and
sad, and perhaps unwillingly. Anna lay upstairs in her room, facing
the river, or windward side of the house, and the Warning was
evidently somewhere below her window, where the water in waves
like the sea, was over-running the banks.
On a kitchen chair still lay a red Paisley shawl that had been used
to signal to Wellendorf earlier in the day. It seemed ample and
warm. Picking it up, McMeans went to the kitchen door, which he
opened with some effort in the force of the gale, and, walking
around the house, laid it on one of the benches at the front door,
saying, “Put on this shawl, and come around to the leeward side of
the house.”
When he returned, he said to Grandmother McClinton, “That
Token’s voice touched me somehow tonight. Something tells me she
hated her task, is cold and miserable. I left the shawl on the front
porch and told her to come out of the wind.”
After that they both noticed that the unhappy wailings ceased,
there was nothing that vied with the storm.
“Perhaps you have laid her,” said Grandmother McClinton. “Anna
may now pull through.”
But these words were barely out of her mouth, when Oscar
Wellendorf, pale as a ghost, appeared in the kitchen to say that
Anna had just passed away. Andrew felt her death keenly, but he
was also satisfied that perhaps he had by an act of kindness,
removed the Warning of the McClintons. He was more convinced
when a year later Anna’s father joined the majority, then her mother,
with no visits from the mournful-voiced Warning.
Five years more rolled around, and Andrew McMeans, still
unmarried, and cherishing steadfastly the memory of his beloved
Anna, embarked his fleet for Pittsburg. It was a morning in the early
spring, the air was soft and warm, and the shad flies were flitting
about. He arrived in safety, but was some time collecting his money,
as he was dealing with a scamp, and meanwhile put up at a
boarding house on the river front, near the Hotel Boyer. The
afternoon after his arrival he was sitting on the porch of his lodgings,
gazing out at the rushing, swirling river, which ran bank full, on a
bench similar in all ways to the one on which he had laid the shawl
to warm the freezing back of the Warning of the McClintons.
Somehow he fell to thinking about that ghost, and its disappearance,
and of Anna McNamor; how much he would give if only he could see
her again.
He recalled how the old grandmother had told him that some
families married out of the Warning, while others married into it,
much as he had heard was the case with the Assembly Ball in
Philadelphia. The McClinton Warning had evidently clung to the
female line, as it had been very much in evidence when Anna
McNamor’s time had come.
Something made him look up the street. Coming slowly towards
him was a slender school girl, with a little green hat perched on her
head, the living image of Anna, dead for five years! He almost fell off
the bench in surprise, to note the same slim oval face, the aquiline
features, and hazel eyes that he had known and loved so well. She
paused for a moment in front of the house next door, holding her
school books in her arms, while she looked out at the raging river.
The spring breezes blowing her short skirts showed her slim legs
encased in light brown worsted stockings. Then she went indoors.
It did not take him long to seek his landlady and learn that she
was a flesh and blood, sure enough girl, Anna Harbord by name,
whose mother, widow of Mike Harbord, an old time riverman, also
ran a boarding house. It was not many days before some errand
brought the girl to the house where McMeans was stopping, and
matters fortuitously adjusted themselves so that he met her.
He was struck by her similarity to the dead girl, even the tones of
her voice, and it seemed strange she should have such a
counterpart. She appeared friendly disposed towards him from the
start, and it was like a compensation sent after all his years of
disappointment and loneliness. She was then sixteen years old, and
must have been eleven when her “double” passed away.
As their acquaintance grew into love, and all seemed so serene, as
if it was to be, Andrew McMeans gradually regaining his faith, human
and divine, felt he owed his happiness to the Warning of the
McClintons’, whose misery he had appeased by taking the cloak out
to her, while engaged in her disagreeable duty of fortelling the
coming dissolution of the unfortunate girl.
McMeans and Anna Harbord married. They decided to remain in
Pittsburg, and he became in a few years a successful and respected
business man.
If few persons had been kind to ghosts, certainly he had profited
by his interest in the welfare of the “Warning of the McClintons”. The
girl’s mother informed him that in the early spring, about five years
before, her daughter had been seized with a cataleptic attack, had
laid for days unconscious, and when she came out of it, her entire
personality, even the color of her eyes, had changed. Could it have
been, the young husband often thought, as he sat gazing at his
bride with undisguised admiration, some act of the grateful
“Warning,” in sending Anna McNamor’s soul to enter the body of this
girl in Pittsburg, and reserving her for him, safe and sound from
Wellendorf and all harm, until his travels brought her across his
path! Human personality, he reasoned, is merely a means to an end.
The unfinished life of Anna McNamor could not go on, like a flower
unfolding, until her fragrance had been spent on the one who
needed it most. Then he would shudder at the idea that if the school
girl, who stopped to look at the flooded river, had started on again,
passing him by, never to see her again. He would feel that he had
been dreaming perhaps, until, touching his wife’s soft creamy
cheeks, would realize that she was actually there, and his.
Through her his soul took on new light, and from a vigorous
young woodsman, he was slowly but surely passing into an
intellectual existence. He had been strangely favored by the
mainsprings of destiny, and why should he not give the world all that
was best in him. Life, ruthless though it seems, has always
compensations, and if we live rightly and truly, the debt will be
owing us, whereas most of us through mistakes and misdeeds, have
a great volume of retribution coming in an inevitable sequence.
 XXIV
A Misunderstanding

It was the night before Christmas in the little mountain church

near Wolfe’s Store. The small, low-roofed, raftered chapel was
illumined as brightly as coal oil lamps in the early stage of their
development could do it; a hemlock tree, decked out with candles
and tinsel stood to one side of the altar, an almost red-hot ten-plate
stove on the other, while the chancel and rafters were twined and
garlanded with ground pine and ilex, or winter berries. In one of the
rear pews sat a very good looking young couple, a former school
teacher revisiting the valley, and his favorite pupil. Lambert Girtin
and Elsie Vanneman were their names.
The young man, who was a veteran of the Civil War, possessed
the right to wear the Congressional medal, and while teaching at the
little red school house on the pike near the road leading to Gramley’s
Gap, had noticed and admired the fair Elsie, so different from the
rest of his flock. She was the daughter of a prosperous lumberman,
a jobber in hardwoods, and her mother was above the average in
intelligence and breeding, yet Elsie in all ways transcended even her
parents.
She had seemed like a mere child when he left her at the close of
the term the previous Christmas, but he could not evict her image
from his soul. It was mainly to see her, though he would have
admitted this to no one, that induced him to revisit the remote valley
during the following holiday season. The long drive in the stage
through drifted roads had seemed nothing to him, he was so elated
at the thought of reviving old memories at the sight of this most
beloved of pupils.
 In order not to arouse any one’s suspicions, he did no more than
to inquire how she was at the general store and boarding house
where he stopped.
“You would never know her,” exclaimed old Mother Wolfe, the
landlady. “Why, she’s a regular young lady, grown a head taller,”
making a gesture with her hand to denote her increased stature.
On Christmas Eve there was to be the usual entertainment at the
Union Church, and Lambert Girtin posted himself outside the
entrance to wait for the object of his dreams. The snow was drifted
deep, and it was bitterly cold, yet social events were so rare in the
mountains that almost every one braved the icy blasts to be present.
It was not long before he was rewarded by a sight of Elsie
Vanneman. It was remarkable how tall she’d grown! As he expressed
it to himself, “An opening bud became a rose full-blown” in one short
year!
She of course recognized him, and greeted him warmly, and they
entered the church together. Inside by the lamplight he had a better
chance to study her appearance more in detail than by the cold
starlight on the church steps. She had grown until she was above
the middle height, yet had literally taken her figure and her grace
with her. She was slender, yet shapely, dainty and graceful in the
extreme. Her violet eyes were even more deeply pensive than of
yore, her cheeks were pink and white, her lips red and slightly full.
Her hair was a golden or coppery brown, and shone like those
precious metals in the reflected light of the lamps and the stove; the
slight upward turn of her nose still remained.
How demure, earnest and sincere she was! In the intervening year
he had never seen her like in Bellefonte, Altoona or Pittsburg. She
seemed to be happy to be with him again, minus the restraint
existing between a pupil and teacher. Instinctively their fingers
touched, and they held hands during most of the evening.
Towards the end of the sermon, which was long and loud, and
gave the young couple plenty of opportunity to advance their love
making unnoticed, Girtin whispered to her: “Have you an escort
home, dear Elsie?”
The answer was a hesitating “Yes.”
 The young man felt his heart give a jolt, then almost stop
throbbing, and an instant hatred of some unknown rival made his
blood boil furiously. How could she act that way? She had, even as
his pupil, been indifferent to all of the opposite sex except him, and
during the period of their separation her sprightly letters had borne
evidence of tender sentiments, to the utter exclusion of all others.
Had he not believed in her, he would not have taken that long
journey back into the mountains, that many might have been glad to
quit for good. Her beauty and her grace had haunted him, and he
had determined to wed her, until this sign of duplicity had been
sprung on him. Of course she did not know he was coming, and had
made the fatal arrangements before; yet, if she cared for him as he
did for her, she would not be making engagements with the boys,
especially at her tender age.
He tried to console himself by noticing a shade of regret flit over
her blushing face after she said the fateful words, but until the close
of services he was ill at ease and scarcely opened his mouth. At the
benediction he managed to stammer “Good evening,” and was out of
the church in the frosty starlight night before any one else.
With long strides he walked up the snowy road ahead of the
crowd who had followed him. The sky was very clear, and the North
Star, “The Three Kings,” or Jacob’s Rake, Job’s Coffin, and other
familiar constellations, were glimmering on the drifted snow. Instead
of observing the stars, had he looked back he would have seen that
the “escort” she referred to was none other than a girl friend, Katie
Moyer, and both, Elsie in particular, would have been only too happy
to have a sturdy male companion to see them through the snow
banks.
As a result of his disappearance, Elsie was as unhappy and silent
as Girtin had been, as she floundered about in the drifts. Despite her
gentle, sunny nature, she was decidedly out of sorts when she
reached home at the big white house near the Salt Spring. She gave
monosyllabic answers to her parents in response to their queries as
to how she had enjoyed the long-looked for Christmas
entertainment. She did not sleep at all that night, but tossed about
the bed, keeping her friend awake, and on Christmas Day was in a
rebellious mood. Her mother reminded her how ungrateful she was
to be so tearful and sullen in the face of so many blessings and gifts.
There was no stage or sleigh out of the valley on Christmas Day,
else Girtin would have departed. He moped about all day, telling
those who asked the matter that he was ill. Elsie, knowing that he
was still in the valley, hoped up to bedtime that he would at least
come to pay her a brief Christmas call, but supper over, and no signs
of him, she was uncivil to her mother to such a degree that her
friend openly said that she was ashamed of her.
Though Katie and she were rooming together, it did not deter her
mother, goaded by the remarks of the younger children to visit her
room while they were undressing, saying “that she deserved a good
dose of the gad,” and, ordering her to lay face downward on the
bed, administered a good, old-fashioned spanking with the flax-
paddle. After this humiliating chastisement in the presence of her
friend, the unhappy girl cried and sobbed until morning.
It was a wretched ending for what might have been a memorable
Christmas for Lambert Girtin and Elsie Vanneman.
The next morning the young man managed to hire a cutter and
was driven to Bellefonte, leaving the valley with deep regrets.
Through friends in the valley he learned afterwards that Elsie had
gone as a missionary to China.
Life ran smoothly in some ways for Lambert Girtin, for he became
uniformly successful as a business man. The oil excitement was at
its height, and he was sent by a large general supply house in
Pittsburg to open a store in Pithole City, “the Magic City,” to the
success of which he contributed so much that he was given an
interest in the concern.
At heart he was not happy. He could never focus his attentions on
any woman for long, as in the background he always saw the
slender form, the blushing face, the pansy-like eyes and the copper-
brown, wavy hair of his mountain sweetheart, Elsie Vanneman. Her
loveliness haunted him, and all others paled beside her. He was in
easy circumstances to marry; friends less opulent were taking wives
and building showy homes with Mansard roofs, along the outskirts of
the muddy main thoroughfare of Pithole City, where landscape
gardening often consisted of charred, blackened pine stumps and
abandoned oil derricks.
Sometimes, in his spiritual loneliness, he betook himself to strange
companions. One of these was a Chinese laundryman, a prototype of
Bret Harte’s then popular “Heathen Chinee,” who seemed to be a
learned individual, despite his odd appearance. Girtin, who had read
of the exploits of the Fox sisters and other exponents of early
spiritualism, was unprepared for the learning and insight possessed
by this undistinguished Celestial.
Drawn to him at first because he could possibly tell about
conditions in China, where Elsie was supposed to be, he became
gradually more and more absorbed by the laundryman’s philosophic
speculations. The fellow confided at length that he was married, and
had five children at Tien-Tsin, to whom he was deeply attached. He
would have died of a broken heart to be so far away from them but
for the power he had developed by concentrating on the image of
his native mountains, which yearning was reciprocated, and at night
he claimed that his spirit was drawn out of his body and “hopped”
half the span of the globe to the side of his loved ones. There must
be something after all in the old Scotch quotation, “Oh, for my
strength, once more to see the hills.”
Girtin expressed a strong desire to be initiated into these
compelling mysteries. In order to cultivate his psychic sense, the
Chinaman induced him to smoke opium, which, while repellent to
Girtin, he undertook in order to reach his desired object. If he had
been a man of any mental equilibrium, he would have secured a
leave of absence from business and gone to China and claimed the
fair Elsie, if she was still unmarried. He would not do that because
he was still tortured by the memory of her preferring another at the
moment when his hopes had been highest, yet he wanted to see
her, hoping that he could do so without her knowing it.
The results attained were beyond his expectations. He quickly
mastered his soul and “hopped” to the interior of China. Elsie was
there, surrounded by her classes; at twenty-one more wondrously
lovely and beautiful than when he had parted from her that frosty
night, with the Dipper and Jacob’s Rake shining so clearly in the
heavens.
Though there were many missionaries and foreign officials who
would have courted her, her dignity and quiet reserve were
impenetrable. Was she so because of the love for the youth who was
to escort her home from church that night, or did she cherish the
memory of her whilom schoolmaster admirer? These were the
thoughts that annoyed him by day, the “hang over” of his spiritual
adventures at night.
The opium and the intense mental concentration were taking a lot
out of him. He became sallow and irritable, and neglected many
business opportunities. One of the head partners of the firm in
Pittsburg was going to Pithole City “to have it out with him,” as the
mountain folks would say. Before he could reach the scene word was
telegraphed that Lambert Girtin, frightfully altered in appearance,
was found dead one morning in a bunk back of the Charley Wah
Laundry at Pithole.
He had no relatives in the town, and his sisters, who could not
come on, telegraphed to bury him in the new Mount Moriah
Cemetery, now all overgrown and abandoned, like Pithole itself!
There could be no doubt as to his death, as Bill Brewer, just coming
into fame as the “Hick Preacher,” officiated at the obsequies. So
Lambert Girtin was quickly forgotten in most all quarters. If he was
remembered for a time, it was in the remote valley in which he had
taught school, and where news of his early demise occasioned
profound regret.
Years passed, and Elsie Vanneman, after giving some of the best
years of her life to missionary activities in various parts of China,
resigned her position, in consequence of a shattered nervous
system, caused by overwork during a great earthquake, where she
ministered to thousands of refugees, and started for home. Her
parents had died while she was in the “Celestial Kingdom,” but she
had a number of brothers and sisters who were glad to welcome her,
and with whom she planned a round of visits.
She was only thirty when she returned, a trifle paler and a few
small lines around her mouth, but otherwise a picture of saintliness
and loveliness. One of the first bits of news she heard on reaching
the valley was of the ignominious end of Lambert Girtin in a Chinese
laundryman’s shack–"a promising career cut short," all allowed.
It was shocking to Elsie, as she had dreamed of this young man
nearly every night from a certain period of her stay in China. She
was on the street during the great quake, and as the earth cracked
and swallowed countless victims, she fancied she saw a European,
the counterpart of Girtin, plunged into the deadly abyss. She had
come home with the intention of learning definite news of him, and
if he was not the earthquake victim, and still lived, perhaps to renew
their old-time interests.
She had been so upset by his failure to call, or even to write, after
the Christmas eve at the little country church, that she had never
communicated with him again. Her dreams had been most vividly
realistic, as if he had been really near to her in China, and she could
not make herself believe that he was dead in Pithole City,
Pennsylvania.
Owing to this piece of bad news, she did not remain as long in the
valley as she had planned, and almost from the day of her arrival
had pined to be back in the Far East. The valley seemed dull,
anyway; saw-mills were making it as treeless as China; she hated to
see Luther Guisewhite destroy those giant original white pines,
which reared their black-topped spiral heads along the foot of the
mountains on the winter side; the wild pigeons no longer darkened
the sky with their impressive flights, the flying squirrels were being
shot out in Fulmer’s Sink, near her old home; her parents were
gone–everything was different.
Unsettled and dissatisfied, especially after a visit to the girl who
had accompanied her home on the eventful Christmas Eve, now the
mother of eight handsome children, she decided to return to China.
The vast herds of buffaloes that had impeded the progress of her
train on her first journey westward were gone. The Indians who
occasionally furnished a touch of color to the prairie landscape,
likewise had disappeared. Civilization was spreading through the
Great West.
 She timed her arrival in San Francisco so as to be there shortly
after the arrival of a ship from China, so as to go back on its return
journey. She would have several days to wait in the City of the
Golden Gate but it was quaint and picturesque, the time would pass
quickly.
One evening–she was not afraid, as she knew the language and
customs of the Celestials–she decided to take a stroll through the
famous Chinese Quarter. As she was walking along, her head down,
her mind abstracted and noticing little, some one touched her on the
arm. Looking around, as if to resent a familiarity, to her
bewilderment she beheld her long-lost friend, Lambert Girtin.
“Lambert Girtin!” she said, in amazed tones.
“Elsie Vanneman–it is surely you?” he replied.
“Of all people, after all these years! I had been hearing that you
died five years ago in the oil regions somewhere; what are you
doing?”
The ex-schoolmaster took hold of both of her hands, there in the
crowded, moving throngs of Chinatown, saying: “I came in from
China today, after what I thought was a hopeless search for you.
Years ago, after our separation, a Chinaman showed me how to visit
China in my dreams, and be close to you. It took a whole lot of
mental concentration, was pulling me down physically. I kept it up
too long, for one night I dreamed I was in a terrible earthquake. It
was so vivid that my physical as well as my spiritual being was
translated to China, and I found myself there penniless. But, search
as I may, I could not find you. If I died in the oil regions, it must
have been another physical self, shed as a snake does his skin, for
the Lambert Girtin who stands before you is fully alive, and resolved
never to part from you again.”
 JESSE LOGAN, PENNSYLVANIA
INDIAN CHIEF
(Photograph Taken 1915 by P. C.
Hockenberry)

Old memories came to Elsie Vanneman, conquering her fears, and

her face flushed as in schoolgirl days: "You speak of our
‘separation’–pray, tell me more about it; why did you leave me so
abruptly and run away that Christmas Eve after meeting? I could
never understand why you did not even come to wish me a ‘Merry
Christmas’ the next day. Why didn’t you ever write me a line? What
did I do to merit such neglect?"
 “What did you do?” replied Girtin, drawing her aside from the
passing stream of pig-tailed humanity into a shadowy doorway. “It
doesn’t seem very serious now, but it hurt me a whole lot at the
time. You told me you had an engagement with some one to see
you in from church, and I was angry and jealous, for I had been
imagining that your thoughts had only been of me, that you cared
for no one else.” “replied the girl with alacrity.
Girtin turned as pale as death; his sufferings, mental and physical,
his wanderings, physical and actual, his wasted years, all had been
caused by a misunderstanding. He was at a loss for words for some
time, but he held on to Elsie’s hands, looking into her beautiful,
ethereal face, the vari-colored light of a Chinese lantern shining
down on her coppery-gold hair.
“Do you care for me at all, now?” he said, at length.
“Yes, I think I do; I must, or I would not have came back all the
way from China to hunt you,” she answered.
“Then we have both suffered,” he said, sadly. “What shall we do
now?” “she said.
“That’s where I want to go,” he replied, “if I can ever live down
that dying story in Pithole City.” “said Elsie. "There was a case in our
valley of a soldier reported as killed at Gettysburg; they sent his
body home, began paying his widow a pension; she married a
former sweetheart, and then, worse than ‘Enoch Arden,’ he
appeared as if from the grave. He had no explanations to make, and
our mountain people asked no questions, all having faith in
supernatural things. Neither will I ask any of you. I have seen too
much in the east to make me disbelieve anything, or that we can die
two or three times under stress of circumstances, shedding our
physical selves–to use your words–as snakes do their skins. I am
only happy I did not marry some one else, as I was tempted to do
when I imagined you were engulfed in the earthquake."
That night in Chinatown for once a misunderstanding ended
happily.
 XXV
A Haunted House

When Billy Cloyd prospered in the lumber and milling business, he

determined to erect a mansion overlooking the arrowy waters of the
Sinnemahoning that would reflect not only his success, but the social
status of his family as well. Accordingly Williamsport architects who
made a specialty of erecting houses for the wealthy lumbermen of
that community were commissioned to prepare plans for what was
to be the grandest private dwelling on the outposts of civilization, a
structure which would outdo the already famous club house built for
the use of the stockholders of the Philadelphia Land Company at
Snow Shoe, or the offices of the agents of the Queen of Spain at
Reveltown and Scootac.
The result was a large, square house, along Colonial lines, with a
spacious doorway, above which was a transom of antique colored
glass brought all the way from the home of one of his ancestors at
Old Carlisle. Windows were numerous, commanding views up and
down the beautiful, billowy stream, then teeming with fish and
aquatic bird life.
The surrounding mountains were covered with virgin pine forests,
while the great hemlocks, oaks and birches hung over the water’s
edge. There was a clearing in which the mansion stood, the chief
feature of which was an old-fashioned garden of carefully laid
design, with plenty of columbine, called by the mountain folks
“church bells,” and eglantine, with boxwoods from the “Quaker City,”
purchased from the heirs of “Eaglesfield.”
The dark forest came to the back of the garden, and stood black
in the gorge of Mill Creek near the projected flouring and fulling
mills, to the east of the mansion; the ever-busy saw-mill, the chief
symbol of the prosperity of Castlecloyd, as the domain was called,
was situated near the mouth of the creek. There was barely a
distance of two hundred yards from the sloping banks of the
Sinnemahoning to where the forest and the steep mountains began,
consequently the mansion, mills, workshops, stables and mill hands’
and woodsmen’s houses were all close together.
Along the water’s edge carpenters were steadily at work building
arks and flats which carried the products of the mills to the terminus
of the railroad at Lock Haven, or to Sunbury or Harrisburg.
Now all is changed. The view from the portico and the lawn of
Castlecloyd is upon a stream flowing with a liquid the color and
texture of ink, frowning with fine yellow bubbles; not, a living fish
has been seen, according to the present occupant of the premises,
the venerable Seth Nelson, Jr., since 1899, when the paper mill at
Austin sent down its first installment of vile pollution. Then the fish
leaped on the shore in frightful agony, dying out of water, but away
from the insidious poisoning of the acids.
The water birds are gone; they cannot drink the polluted water,
and give the region a wide berth. Instead of cooling zephyrs, when
the wind blows off the creek towards the house, there comes a
stench worse than a week-old battlefield in Flanders.
No forests of virgin timber are to be seen, if you strain your eyes
looking up or down stream, nothing but charred, brown wastes, the
aftermath of killing forest fires which followed the lumbering
operations. Here and there on some inaccessible cliff a lone original
white pine or hemlock has its eyrie, but even there the fires are
finding them, and they are all scorched and shaky at the butts, and
go down easily in sharp gales. Altar Rock, famed in song and story,
still has one pine standing on its top, but it is dead, and will soon
share the fate of its mate, which was blown down over twenty years
ago.
The entire scene is one of loneliness and desolation, yet a quiet,
peaceful home for the octogenarian hunter Nelson and his devoted
and equally aged sister. How different all this from what it was in the
hey-day of prosperous Billy Cloyd! The hum of the mills, the busy
teams of horses and ox-spans bringing in the logs, the carpenters
and boatmen, the large family of the successful woodsman, their
guests, and the hunters and surveyors who often made the house
their headquarters.
It was at the time that the line of the Sunbury and Erie Railroad
was being surveyed from Rattlesnake, now Whetham, to Erie, and
one surveying crew was quartered at Castlecloyd. A few weeks
earlier Dr. J. T. Rothrock had stopped there, but was now further
west, camping with Mike Long, the wolf hunter, in the midst of a
great deer and pigeon country in Elk County.
Those were days of reckless waste of our natural resources,
according to the good Doctor. One of the surveyors, so as not to
have to curve his line, ordered that three giant original white pines
be cut. All the stumps were measured by Dr. Rothrock and averaged
considerably over six feet in diameter. They were, of course, left to
rot in the woods, thousands of feet of lumber of priceless value
today!
Philip L. Webster, who died a few years ago in Littletown, now
Bradford, was also a member of one of these surveying parties on
Elk Creek, a branch of the Clarion River; on one occasion he saw
four elks together, in a swale.
As “Buffalo Bill” had been the professional hunter for the Northern
Pacific engineering crews, Jim Jacobs, “The Seneca Bear Hunter,”
was attached to Mr. Webster’s organization in the same capacity.
Instead of bison roasts, Jacobs was to furnish fresh elk steaks, and
he kept the surveyors, axmen and chain-carriers supplied with plenty
of it all summer long.
The members of the party billeted at Castlecloyd were composed
of young Philadelphia gentlemen, sons of prospective stockholders in
the new railroad, finely educated, traveled youths, whose love of
adventure had been fired by the deeds of their colleagues, the
Brothers Kane. One of them stood out more brilliantly than the rest
for his scholarly attainments and poetic nature. He was young
Wayne Stewardson, scion of a distinguished Quaker house of that
name, and probably connected with the family who owned the lands
on Kettle Creek, once occupied by Ole Bull.
 The young man had been educated at the university in his native
city, and in Europe. His early upbringing had been in great cities, and
his sentimental tastes came out in a peculiar admiration of spires,
chimneys, towers, stacks, vanes, arched roofs, corbels and crockets.
He would wander for hours just at evening watching the skyline in
the changing light, peopling the growing shadows with all manner of
grotesque shapes and chimeras. His love of shadowland was so
great that he fell naturally to cutting charming silhouettes of his
friends, his likeness of the lovelorn and ill-fated Dr. E. K. Kane being
highly prized.
His visit to the Sinnemahoning Country was his first induction into
the heart of nature, and his admiration of man’s handicraft as
exemplified in minarets and high gables softened to a deep
reverence for the spiral, columnar forms of the giant pines as they
serrated the skyline of the Allegheny summits.
There was a bench between two red maple trees, on the bank of
the Sinnemahoning, just in front of Castlecloyd, where he would sit
after supper, watching the crimson sunset reflected in the stream,
with the dusky shapes of the ancient trees athwart, and the sky
gradually becoming less of rose and more of mother-of-pearl, behind
the sentinel pines on the comb of the mountains beyond Birch
Island. It was more beautiful than anything he had ever seen in
cities, in its sheer ferocious wildness.
One evening, on hearing a woman’s voice humming an old tune,
he looked around, beholding Cloyd’s pretty daughter sitting,
watching the afterglow from the portal of the classic doorway. Her
knees were crossed, revealing pretty, plump little legs, encased in
blue cotton stockings. His first thought at seeing her was to recall
Poe’s youthful lines, “Helen Thy Beauty is to Me.” Previously he had
not noticed her much, except that she seemed more than ordinarily
good-looking and refined, for the drudge’s life she was living. Now
that, like himself, she was a person who took notice of her
surroundings, she must be different, he thought, and have a soul
more in keeping with her lovely appearance.
When she saw that he had observed her, instead of jumping up
and running into the house and slamming the door, like some crude
backwoods girl might have done, she came forward and stood
leaning against one of the red maples, and chatted pleasantly about
the wonderful scenery.
It was a blissful experience for Stewardson, and as he had hardly
spoken to a girl for a month, was in a particularly susceptible mood.
He studied her appearance minutely. She was probably a trifle under
the middle height, very delicately made, with chestnut hair and eyes
of wondrous golden amber. Her skin was transparently white, and
the delicate peach-blow color in her cheeks was too hectic to
betoken good health. But the outstanding feature was the nose, the
most beautiful nose he had ever seen, the bridge slightly aquiline,
yet a sudden shortness at the tip that transcended the retrousse.
She was modest and simple, reticence being her chief trait, as she
told about the deer which often took harbor in the stream, in front
of where they were, when pursued by dogs.
She said that she had been christened Marie Asterie, but was
generally called by her second name, though the first was shorter
and easier to pronounce.
Just as they were becoming nicely acquainted, a young
woodsman, whom she introduced as Oscar Garis, put in an
appearance, and the two walked away together, leaving Stewardson
still meditating on the bench. Evidently they were lovers, thought
the young surveyor, and when he looked out on Sinnemahoning, the
light was gone–the water ran dark and menacing.
Though he had noticed the girl’s unusual nose the first time he
saw her, he had been too busy to become well acquainted, but he
recalled that she occupied a small interior room, just off where he
slept, in the second-floor lobby. He had seen her go upstairs to retire
every night, but proximity had meant nothing to him, so deeply had
he been imbued with ideas of class. Tonight it would be different.
He walked around a while longer, watching the bats flit hither and
thither, and listening to the plaintive calling of the whippoorwills,
then he went indoors and joined his fellow surveyors in the lobby.
He kept watching the clock and watching the door for Asterie to
return, amusing himself trying to cut her marvellous profile, the like
of which King Henry VIII or King Arthur may have admired, for she
was evidently a “throw back” to some archaic type. It was always
the rule for the men to remain downstairs until the women had
retired, and on this occasion they were all yawning but Stewardson,
waiting for Asterie, who was the last to come in, close to ten o’clock.
Garis seemed indifferent to her, but it was the negligence of bad
manners rather than lack of interest. This gave Stewardson a chance
to light her fat lamp for her, and she closed the door and went
upstairs. When the young surveyor and his companion ascended the
stairs, he noted the rays of light from her room, streaming from the
crack beneath her door. The night after the lights were out, and his
friends asleep, he drew his mattress nearly to her door, repeating to
himself the lines of Horace’s Ode X, in Book III:

“O Lyce, didst thou like Tanais,

Wed to some savage, what a pity ’tis
For me to lie on such a night as this
Before your door,
My feet exposed where haunting north winds hiss,
And angry roar.”

The concluding lines of which were:

“O thou as hard as oak no storm can break,

As pitiless as Mauritanian snake,
Not thus forever can I lie and quake,
Nor thus remain
Before thy threshold, for thy love’s sweet sake,
Soaked by the rain.”

But it wasn’t a terrible night, only a fairly chilly one in early June,
with all the stars out, and Asterie’s worst offense was that she was
“keeping company” with another!
The young man could not sleep all night and wondered if the girl
was similarly afflicted, as the light continued to burn; or maybe she
was only like many mountain people, and slept with a night-light, for
no sound came from her tiny apartment. After that night his
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