THE BLACK FORGE MILLS;

OR,

UP THE KING'S HIGHWAY.

BY WILLIAM PENDLETON CHIPMAN,

Author of "The Mill Boy of the Genesee," etc.

"Fear not; for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name; thou art mine."

PHILADELPHIA: AMERICAN BAPTIST PUBLICATION SOCIETY, 1420 Chestnut Street.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1889, by the AMERICAN BAPTIST PUBLICATION SOCIETY, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.

DEDICATION.

REMEMBERING THE EARNEST AND EFFICIENT HELP I HAVE EVER RECEIVED IN ALL MY STUDY AND TOIL FROM HER WHOM GOD HAS GRACIOUSLY PERMITTED FOR MORE THAN TEN YEARS TO WALK BY MY SIDE, I DEDICATE THIS TRUE STORY IN DEEPEST GRATITUDE TO

MY BELOVED WIFE.

CONTENTS.

THE BLACK FORGE MILLS;

OR,

UP THE KING'S HIGHWAY.

CHAPTER I.

THE BLACK FORGE MILLS.

The fragrant odor of sweet fern, and of pine and hemlock came to Ralph Carleton, the pastor of the First Baptist Church in Afton, as he leaned against the low window sill of his study. As he thus leaned he looked off toward the hills, which rose abruptly just back of the busy town. A heavy rain the night before had refreshed the thirsty earth, and clothed it anew in beauty. A perfect scene was spread before him, and, accustomed as he was to it, it still possessed for him new charms.

Field and grove were green and leafy; the waters of the broad bay sparkled in the sunlight, and the pure balmy air gave an indescribable sense of exhilaration. Morning glories, honeysuckles, and grape vines struggled for supremacy on the high trellis at the side of the tiny garden; roses clambered over the porch, and bud and blossom fairly rioted in profusion. The hum of bees, and the glad song of birds added to the perfection of that early June day, and to the young minister, who drank it all in with keenest enjoyment, there came an irresistible longing to throw aside his books and unfinished sermon for a ramble among the hills.

"I will do it," said he, eagerly, changing his dressing gown for his coat, and his slippers for his shoes. "In God's great temple I will seek fresh inspiration for my unfinished task, and who knows but that I shall meet the Master there, and receive the power that will make my words a living message; my tongue 'like as of fire.'"

A moment later, equipped for a long tramp, he entered the street, and walked briskly off toward the outskirts of the town.

After a half hour of hard climbing he reached a small plateau near the summit of the hill, from which an extended view could be obtained of the surrounding country. He had often heard his people speak of the beauty of this view since his coming to Afton; but as he now paused and for the first time took in the scene, an exclamation of surprise and delight escaped him.

Right at his feet lay the large and rapidly growing town, with its well-kept streets, its tasteful residences, and its huge manufactories; and yet, so far above it was he, that none of its din reached his ears, and only the tall chimneys, dark with smoke, told of the busy life going on there. In front of the town stretching away beyond the reach of human vision, and wonderfully suggestive of the unseen beyond, was the broad bay, its tossing waters dotted with sails of every size and many a hue. Well-cultivated farms extended to the bay on either side, and their growing crops waved gently to and fro in the balmy breeze. Back on the hillsides, and over the hilltops the dark forests lifted up their lofty heads, and perfumed the air with their piney fragrance. Altogether, it was a picture to delight an artist's eye, and Mr. Carleton, throwing himself down upon the greensward, eagerly took in the varied panorama, and felt his soul lifted by nature's matchless scenery nearer to nature's God.

His text for the coming Sunday came to his mind: "His glory covered the heavens, and the earth was full of his praise." And under the inspiration of his surroundings, and his consciousness of the Spirit's presence and help, his theme developed with marvelous rapidity. Taking a note book from his pocket, he jotted down thought after thought, utterly regardless of the lapse of time, until his sermon was finished. Then, looking at his watch, he found it was half-past eleven.

"Well," he remarked, "notwithstanding my long tramp, the morning has proved exceedingly profitable. Surely God has met and helped me here, and I will thank him for it."

Kneeling down by a boulder lying near, he poured forth his soul in thankfulness to God for his help, and asked for his blessing upon the message when it should be given to his people. When he arose a look of quiet peace rested upon his face, and new strength and courage for the Master's work were in his heart.

He now began his descent, taking a different route from that by which he had come, because it seemed to be shorter. He soon found, however, that the path led around the brow of the hill to the opposite side. As he was about to retrace his steps his eye rested upon a portion of the village which from the plateau he had not seen.

Below him there was a small valley, separated from the main portion of the town by a sharp declivity. Through this a considerable stream went foaming and dashing to the bay no great distance off. Along the banks of the stream five large buildings with their massive chimneys were built; and clustered about them were a half hundred or more tenement houses, exactly alike in size and hue. Mr. Carleton had no need to read the huge white letters on the roofs of the factories to know that they were the Black Forge Woolen Mills.

There came directly to his mind a conversation he had held only the Sunday before with Mr. Bacon, the superintendent of the mills. He had preached that morning on Christ's work in foreign lands. When he came down from the pulpit, Mr. Bacon had shaken hands with him, saying:

"Well, pastor, I have no objection to Christian work among the heathen. In fact I believe in it; but if there ever was a heathen field that needed immediate cultivation, we have it down at Black Forge Mills."