COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY
ALFRED A. KNOPF
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

This is a record and act of memory
of you at Dower House—of June
nights on the porch, with the foliage
of the willow tree powdered against
the stars; the white-panelled hearth
of the yellow room in smouldering
winter dusks; dinner with the candles
wavering in tepid April airs; and
the blue envelopment of late September
noons. A quiet reach like the old
grey house and green fields, the little
valleys filled with trees and placid
town beyond the hill, where the calendar
of our days and companionship is
set.

THE THREE BLACK PENNYS
A DEDICATION
CONTENTS
I THE FURNACE

IX
II THE FORGE
XXI

XII
XIII
XIV
XV
XVI
XVII
XVIII
XIX

III THE METAL
XXIII
XXIV
XXV
XXVI
XXVII
XXVIII
XXIX

XXXII
XXXIII
XXXIV
THE END

crisping frost had already stamped the maple trees with gold, the Spanish oaks were hung with patches of
wine red, the sumach was brilliant in the darkening underbrush. A pattern of wild geese, flying low and
unconcerned above the hills, wavered against the serene, ashen evening. Howat Penny, standing in the
comparative clearing of a road, decided that the shifting, regular flight would not come close enough for a
shot. He dropped the butt of his gun to the ground. Then he raised it again, examining the hammer; the flint
was loose, unsatisfactory. There was a probability that it would miss firing.

He had no intention of hunting the geese. With the drooping of day his keenness had evaporated; an habitual
indifference strengthened, permeating him. He turned his dark, young face toward the transparent, green
afterglow; the firm eyebrows drawn up at the temples, sombre eyes set, too, at a slight angle, a straight nose,
impatient mouth and projecting chin. Below him, and to the left, a heavy, dark flame and silvery smoke were
rolling from the stack of Shadrach Furnace. Figures were moving obscurely over the way that led from the
coal house, set on the hill, to the top and opening of the furnace; finishing, Howat Penny knew, the charge of
charcoal, limestone and iron ore.

Shadrach Furnace had been freshly set in blast; it was on that account he was there, to represent, in a way, his
father, who owned a half interest in the Furnace. However, he had paid little attention to the formality; his
indifference was especially centred on the tedious processes of iron making, which had, at the same time,
made his family. He had gone far out from the Furnace tract into an utterly uninhabited and virginal region,
where he had shot at, and missed, an impressive buck and killed a small bear. Now, that he had returned, his
apathy once more flooded him; but he had eaten nothing since morning, and he was hungry.

He could go home, over the nine miles of road that bound the Furnace to Myrtle Forge and the Penny
dwelling; there certain of whatever supper he would elect. But, he decided, he preferred something now, less
formal. There were visitors at Myrtle Forge, Abner Forsythe, who owned the other half of Shadrach, his son
David, newly back from England and the study of metallurgy, and a Mr. Winscombe, come out to the
Provinces in connection with the Maryland boundary dispute, accompanied by his wife. All this Howat Penny
regarded with profound distaste; necessary social and conversational forms repelled him. And it annoyed his
father when he sat, apparently morose, against the wall, or retired solitary to his room.

He would get supper here; they would be glad to have him at the house of Peter Heydrick, the manager of the
Furnace. Half turning, he could see the dwelling at his back—a small, grey stone rectangle with a narrow
portico on its solid face and a pale glimmer of candles in the lower windows. The ground immediately about it
was cleared of brush and little trees, affording Peter Heydrick a necessary, unobstructed view of the Furnace
stack while sitting in his house or when aroused at night. The dwelling was inviting, at once slipping into the
dusk and emerging by reason of the warm glow within. Mrs. Heydrick, too, was an excellent cook; there
would be plenty of venison, roast partridge, okra soup. Afterwards, under a late moon, he could go back to
Myrtle Forge; or he might stay at the Heydricks all night, and to-morrow kill such a buck as he had lost.

The twilight darkened beneath the trees, the surrounding hills lost their forms, in the east the distance merged into the oncoming night, but the west was still translucent, green. There was a faint movement in the leaves by the roadside, and a grey fox crossed, flattened on the ground, and disappeared. Howat Penny could see the liquid gleam of its eyes as it watched him. From the hill by the coal house came the heavy beating of wild turkeys' wings.

He could go to Peter Heydrick's, where the venison would be excellent, and Mrs. Heydrick was celebrated for her guinea pickle with cucumbers; but ... the Heydricks had no daughter, and the Gilkans had. Thomas Gilkan was only a founderman; his house had one room below and a partition above; and Mrs. Gilkan's casual fare could not be compared to Mrs. Heydrick's inviting amplitude. Yet there was Fanny Gilkan, erect and flaming haired, who could walk as far as he could himself, and carry her father's clumsy gun all the way.

His thoughts, deflected by Fanny Gilkan, left the immediate present of supper, and rested upon the fact that
hishis appreciation of her was becoming known at the Furnace; while Dan Hesa must be circulating it, with
biting comments, among the charcoal burners. Dan Hesa, although younger than Howat, was already
contracting for charcoal, a forward young German; and, Fanny had said with a giggle, he was paying her
serious attention. Howat Penny had lately seen a new moroseness among the charcoal burners that could only
have come from the association of the son of Gilbert Penny and the potential owner of Myrtle Forge with the
founderman's daughter. Charcoal burners were lawless men, fugitive in character, often escaped from terms of