Bellefonte, Pa., January 2, 1903. THE GIRL BEHIND THE PIE. The man behind the cannon and the girl behind the man Have been sung in fabled story ever since the world began— From the day the Trojan Helen, leader of a grizzled herd, To the time of *‘Maggie Moorphy, mascot of de bloomin’ Third; Round the world have spread the stories of the brave who do or die, But we’ve never heard an anthem of the Girl Be- hind the Pie. There she stands, with cups of coffee, slabs of pastry, chunks of cake, Temptingly arrayed arcund her, with dyspepsia in their wake— And she eyes the deadly sinkers with a most bewitching eye, As a stream of willing victims sorrowfully wan- ders by ; Filled or filling, starved or foundered, go they on their varied ways, And for her who works the pie pump they have naught but ready praise. Call her Liz, mayhap. Since the chance is ten to nothing that she doesn’t care a rap— Call her “madam” shé will “honey” she will frown, But you are safe to call her anything, so you don’t call her down; “Sinkers up—draw one!" the magic of her voice Is a wicked death to sorrow and a bidding to rejoice ! or plain Eliza, or Elizabeth, snicker; call her she murmurs; Ah! You may keep your fabled wonder in the long, immortal line, But I'll take the little pie girl as the heroine in mine! Ay ; I'll take the little pie girl in her modest suit of drab, As she cuts a brand new custard, when I ask her for a slab ! Laud your man behind the cannon and his girl to the sky, But I'm writing this here anthem to the Girl Be- hind the Pie! — Baltimore News. BRINER’S WHEAT. At the edge of Princeton stood the Sum- mit Mill. Dry, dusty, and suouny-yellow was the stretch of wagon ground in front, and the box-like office was in the middle of it, a lone wooden thing. It was half- past eleven. A breeze swayed the corn stalks across the way. An Air-Line engine, switching at the bottom of the descent be- hind the mill, rumbled and coughed and clattered empty freight cars. The sound that issued from the six wooden stories of the building was like ab undercurrent to all things, and the gray edifice trembled— a perpetnal agitation, as of palsy. Ed. McNair, the negro packer,came to the door with a flour-sack cap on his head: little Aleck Mynn, in the dust, was throwing stolen wheat to his flattering pigeons. And the negro’s voice rolled out on the Sep- tember air in mock-tragic warning : “I take yo’ livah, boy; I take yo’ livah!”’ Tom Jordan, the young office-man, sat on his stool in the reat room of the box. The desk and the ledger were dusty, the safe was sprinkled over with spilled samples of wheat. The weights that swung from the scale beam hy the window swung idly to and fro. Iu the front room young Mr. Dawson argued with old Mr. Shackner. ‘It’s the second offer from Rome, Georgia, in a week, and the third from Tallahassee. It’s good; we must conciliate. We must Xkeep their trade whatever we do.”” Jordan could see black-bearded Dawson fidgeting. ‘We wouldn’t have done it five years ago,’’ came Shackner’s slow and querulous answer. ‘‘Three dollars and fifteen cents for a barrel of patent flour. Oh, my—ob, my. We used to make a profit of a dollar a barrel. Dear me—we can thank the Lord if we make five cents now. But go on— do as you like. [’m semi-retired.” **Conciliation, yon know; following the times,’’ cried Dawson, running about and rabbing his hands. ‘‘Now, Tommie; write out that telegram, Tommie.” Outside there was the shrill grating of a brake on a wheel,and a farm wagon beavily laden came round the corner of the cooper- shop. James Briner, a weather-beaten, strong-faced farmer, drove the team, and by his side sat a gi1l in a wide blue hat. Her face was daintily colored; her features “were mobile and beautiful. Her eyes were smiling. Jordan made a mistake in the telegram, tore it up, and wrote another, with quick jabs of the pen. “Why, Jamie—why, I’m mighty glad to see you, Jamie!” Mr. Dawson was trot- ting into the street. ‘‘And Miss Maude— well !- I thought you were in Greencastle at college. Brought in a little wheat, Jamie! All right—all right !” ‘Times too bard for college!’ blurted Briner’s staccato ioice. His face was rough-cut, not unlike an Indian’s, hair- less, brownish red, vaguely humorous, plainly rendered ruggeder hy trouble. ‘*What you goin’ togive me for this wheat, hey ?”’ “Oh, Mr. Briner,”” came old white Shackner’s sick and complaining tones, as the senior proprietor of the Summit Mill sauntered into the street, ‘fifty-eight is . the hest we can do; dear me.’ *‘The Lord’s tryin’ to kill off the farm- ers—huh—I see that,”’ was the grim reply. | “Why, Jamie,” cried Dawson, examin- ing the wheat. ‘‘“We’ll make you the very highest price the market allows.’’ Shackver’s face was whiskerless. One of his old brown eyes always bad a look intensely shrewd, half shut; the other was wide, child-like, even plaintive. Maud smiled on him, and cautiously, shyly, stretched her pretty neck and strained her eye a second, sidewise toward the office door, and twisted a little restlessly on the wagou seat. She was flushed and beam- ing, full of expectant nerves. *‘Drive right on, Jamie. Tommie, weigh Mr. Briner’s wagon, now, Tommie.” The horses’ feet pounded the wooden platform. “Good morning,” cried Tom, through the scale window. ‘‘Mornin’,”’ ejaculated Briner. “Good morning,” caroled Maud. She bent far over to see the young office man, and then looked up into his eyes out of a summer countenance. ; ‘Your daughter would make a fine paint- ing up there,” called Jordan. HI'd call it ‘July,”’’ laughed Dawson affably. _'She’ll freeze up to January if you don’t gimme more’n fifty-eight cents,” wns Briner’s jest. ‘‘Git up.” The wagon made the long sweep, svat- teHoe the pigeons, and drew up at the mill. Tom, in gray trousers and vest, coatless, dead pencils in his pockets, came over here 00. ‘‘You’ve promised to show me the mill,”’ said Maud, a little diffidently. “Give me your hand,’” he cried, and she leaped down. She was trimly dressed and graceful. They entered the rumbling edifice. The support under the wagon’s rear wheels gave way, the wagon slumped, and its river of wheat ran into the bowels of the earth, where screw conveyors re- ceived it. . “I'm afraid you'd better let me hold your hand along here,”’ said Tom. ‘‘These passages are dangerous, here where the cog- wheels are.”” He stopped suddenly. “What wakes you look so scared?” laughed she, timidly letting him have a finger. *‘I was thinking how awful it would be if you got your biue skirt caught in there.”’ He was staring at the dress, holding to her finger in oblivious delight. *It—it would be bad. Put it would be more dreadful if you got your hand ground up in there—ugh !”’ It was necessary, all over the mill, for him to lead her by her hand; and she shrank, and was afraid, and laughed full of joy at the same time. Descending from the sixth story, they went down into the bowels of the earth. Here, in a kind of big, infernal cavern, endless mysteries of wheels and belts and mighty shafts whirled round. It was dusty and rather dark. “I’ll show you where your father’s wheat comes in,’’ said he, leading on among those steel monsters. ‘There it comes.”” He pointed to a hole, where a line of grain began its screw-like progress. ‘‘Mand, I’m glad you couldn’t go back to Greencastle. Through the high school, and one year at De Pauw, is educa- tion enough.”’ *'I was sorry,’”’ she murmured, ber face turned away. ‘‘It’s Papa’s money trou- bles. I'll maybe have to teach.’’ **‘Maud— if vou love me, you’ll never have to teach !”’ She startled, uttered a faint cry, like a sob and one note of happy laughter mingled together. He put his arms’round her and kissed her. ‘‘But—what will father say? He’s desperate all the time of late. He doesn’t like college men very well. You’ll have to be very careful, Tom, to say the right things to him !"’ she cried appealingly. “I'll come to-morrow and I'll try to win him,’’ said he, determined. The farm was only a mile from town. The fields wore an unmistakable air of prosperity. The house, near the road, with a lawn in front, was of brick. A tall poplar tree shaded it; a turkey who had made a success of life strutted at the kitchen door. Briner trod in and out of the barn, in big boots, his face iron-like, his eyes giving a hint of wild pain. The brim of his hat flopped down over one ear. *‘That’s Shackner and Dawson’s buggy, I see that,”’ muttered he, striding to the front gate. ‘‘Come in, Mr. Jordan; if you can eat mortgaged victuals you're welcome to ’em.”’ Jordan tied his horse and stepped on to the lawn. *‘Mr. Briner, I'm sorry il you’ve been having any trouble,’’ he said. “Trouble! Hub. I'ts the man that lent me the money that’s been havin’ the trouble,’’ named James, standing there, a horny specimen, gazing with grief, where- in his humor was barely evident, over his fields. ‘‘Mine comes next.’’ They went in. ‘‘You had to come into the country to get something to eat, I know,” said Mrs. Briuer. ‘Town folks starve, poor things. I’ve seen a whole family eat breakfast, and it wasn’t a thing but half a little paste- board package of meal, labelled fancy. And they’re all dyspeptics at that. Walk to the dining-room Mr. Jordan, I was just putting it on.” As he and Maud entered last, he stole a pressure of her hand behind her back. The dining-room door was open to a rear porch. The well looked very cool outside. Away over the stretch of fields the sunny air held a bluish-white haze. All during the meal Tom was aglow, seeing nothing but high-strung Maud, who sat opposite him. And she, conscious, pressed down the red how under her chin. ‘‘Mr. Jordan, I have to coax this girl to eat,”’ raid Mrs. Briner, pointingat Maud. Mrs. Briner was tall, her face was long and old, and because she was bent a little her chin was thruet pleasantly forward, to counter-halance the angle of her body. She had shy brown eyes. ‘‘Maud never eats.’’ “She blooms on it,”’ blurted Briner. Tom sought vaguely for some acceptable speech to bestow on the gram farmer. ‘About the wheat,”’ ventured he. ‘I’ve wondered why the farmers all raise wheat, anyhow. That’s why the price goes down. I’ve wondered now if you couldn’t raise something new. I've heard of a jasmine farm in Texas.”’ ‘‘Aw !"? cried Briner, gazing at the well. He was quite disgusted, but forgot about it at unce, and sat, a hewn monument with a cast of tragedy over its features. ‘They have big flower dealers in Indian- apolis. Why don’t you turn your farm into—well, say——"’ Maud’s eyes looked scared. ‘‘A violet farm, for instance,’’ said Tom. ‘What !’’ burst out Briner, and got sud- denly up, the sum of his troubles over- powering him. ‘Never mind—never mind —young folks have got to talk,”” and he stalked away. “Oh, Tom; you said the wrong thing,’’ cried Maud. III The sorrows of James Briner were com- ing to a crisis, and of that crisis the barn was the fitting scene. At four o’clock he entered the red edifice. There were bins of good wheat, waiting. He looked at them sorrowfully. He went to other bins, and gazed at them also, and took up some grain in Lis hand. “Smutty,’”’ muttered he. ‘‘Three-fourths of the crop. James Briner, the devil's tempting you.”* He took a letter out of his pocket and read it over. It meant only one thing,pay —pay, the creditors can wait no more. He read his doom in that epistle, and, chew- ing it up, he thought of Maud. ‘Lord I’” cried he, as though his thoughts were half a prayer, ‘I’ve slaved too many years for this. It's a great fall, old Briner. And they’ve called you the richest farmer in Gibson county for years. If I putin the smutty wheat just once, enough to tide over, maybe I could make it up some time again, and the price’ll go up next year—sure, the price’ll £0 up nexs year."’ He heard the gentle ripple of Maud’s laughter by the well, and looking out saw her seated there, the breeze blowing the red bow, her love looking from her eyes on Jordan. ‘“‘You’ve heen a just man all your life,’ the farmer said. ‘You can afford to sin once—to give it to her. A layer of good on top, and the bad underneath. They don’t have to examine your wheat any more. Why, they’ve known my honesty, O Lord, these thirty years—these thirty years.”’ . He in the shadow could see the little sunlit scene at the well, without being ob- served. “Will he lose everything, asked Jordan. “I'm afraid’’—ber eyes were wet—"'I'm afraid so, Tom." Briner’s heart smote him. The world had made him, without, a rock. The tears of Maud, sitting by the well with her lover, broke him. He rested his head against the boards of the bin of smutty wheat. “The devil's won for once,’’ groaned he. When, in the evening. Tom wonld have sought him out, wishing to tell him of his love for his daughter, Briner was not to be found. Mand ?”’ Iv “I'm going up to the depot,’”’ whined Shackner. “Here Jim came down and said there weren’t any cars for us. Ob. my—what kind of a railroad, anyhow ? How do they expect us to ship flonr—in the engine, maybe ?”’ “No freight cars? No freight cars?’ cried Dawson. “Why, Tommie, you told them we had that Nashville order ready to fill. Why, Tommie—O. say, Mr. Shack- ner, now I thought I'd make an offer of two-forty for that—Oh, Jim! Jim! come in here. Never mind—go ahead ! I said go ahead ! Now, I thought two-forty for that low grade—"’ *‘Go on, go on,”” mambled Shackner as he moved away on the cinder path. “‘Give it away for nothing if you want to—I'm semi-retired.”” And Shackner’s childlike and plaintive eye looked over his shoulder, the shrewd one remaining invisible. “Tomimie,’’ ran on Dawson. ‘‘now make out that invoice, Tommie. Wheat’s gone down a cent; offer fifty-seven, and don’t buy anything but the best at that. I'm going down to the engine-room. Wilkin- son said Briner’s going to haul to-day. Ab, Tommie—ha! ha !—where did yon drive to Sunday ? Try to get it over and your wits back before the busy season.’ He poked Tom in the ribs and went out. The low rumbling of the miil was the undercurrent to another day; a breeze swept through the wooden box and blew Tom’s hair on his temples. He was lost in successive reveries, from which he woke himself every little while with a start. A buggy came round the corner of the cooper-shop at a brisk rate, drawn bya trim little black horse which trotted to the office. Out came a blue hat and a pair of dancing eyes, and a girl jumping to the round. “Isn’t father here yet ?”’ cried Maud, daintily confused. ‘‘I was just going to town. Good-by. I wanted tosee him.” “Don’t get in !'’ implored he. She paused, with her hand on the dash- board, and turned to smile a little, linger- ing. “Why 2?’ faltered she. Is that all you came for ?’’ “I—I thought be would be cold. I brought his muffler,’’ she said, blushing, holding the white thing up. “It’s hot as can be,’’ ejaculated he. ‘‘But—oh, of course, it’ll probably ges cold. You’d better come in and wait for him.” *‘To--to give it to him.” “Yes.” ‘‘But--you said it was Lot.” “I’ve been cold ever since Sunday.’’ She cast mischievous eyes at him. “‘Since the violets ?’’ sang she. The familiar sound of the grating brake pierced the air, followed by the 1asping, angry torture of other brakes, and up the road came four heavily laden wagons, creaking; powerful drafs horses straining, heads down. On the seat of the first wagon sat Briner, his red hands gripping the lines, his face set, his hat brim flopping down over his forebead. “Good morning, Mr. Briner,”’ said Jor- dau, a shade of anxiety on his face, for he rememberec that fall of a cent in the market. ‘Mornin’. You like the millin’ business, Maud ?’’ grimly. She marked a little in the dust with her toe. ‘‘We're glad to get your wheat to-day,’”’ said Tom, still anxiously. ‘‘We need it.”’ “I've waited my head off for the price to rise. What you gimme to-day ?’’ “I’m sorry. The market’s very bad, Mr. Briner.”” Tom was rather pale just now. ‘‘We can’s give you but fifty-seven to-day.’ “Git up!’ The words were grated in Briner’s throat, and a savage desperation was in the guick sweep of his whip. The horses’ “feet pounded the scale platform. Maude came in to see Tom weigh the wheat. The four loads were weighed. As the mill wagon was being heaped with sacks of ‘Jersey Cream’’ at the sink, Briner must wait. His teams stood in a row, while he stared at the horses’ hips. His hands gripped the lines so hard that they ached. The wheat was in bulk, filling the wagon- beds, and spread smooth and shining to the gaze of the September sun. *‘This is your best wheat. of course, Mr. Briner?”’ Jordan climbed toa hub and twirled his fingers in the grain. Briner said : : ‘Yes. Forty loads.” Maud thought her father’s face] looked haggard. She sighed, and stood in the sun. Tom glanced but casually at the wheat. Briver was known to be as honest as the very United Presbyterian churoh, whereof he was a pillar. At length the mill wagon drove off, ite Clydesdales stamping the earth. *'Git up,’’ said Briner. . Oue quick fall of the wheels would do it. Wheat always ran out swiftly---and the bottom should run evenly with the top. What was the dread law of nature, which unschooled Briner knew not, about the running of wheat out of a wagon ? Would some inexorable principle of friction cause the surface to break, and let the guilty shadow be seen? Briner looked strangely on his danghter and Tom. What brought those young things here, in the very mid- dle of hig'sin ? ! . Maud, with a wistful yet a happy face, stood there to see the wheat run out—for no reason at all. The wagon’s end-gate was removed, the wooden lever was shifted. the timber un- der the rear wheels teetered violently down, with a crash the wagon slumped, and the river of wheat flowed into the depths. Briner now stood at his horse’s side, and Tom perceived that this rugged farmer bad a singular stare in his eyes. Jordan glanc- ed at Maud; she was infinitely beautiful, thought he. He turned his eyes to the vanishing wheat. There was a queer shad - ow in it. “Why, Mr. Briner!” stopped. The blood leaped to his face, and depart- ed entirely. He stooped and caught up a handfal of grain as the last disappeared. His trained eye knew too well the matter. He stood a moment, silent, looking at it. ‘A little smut has got into this, Mr. Briner,”’ he said. Maud was coming to see, half interest- ed, not imagining danger. In Briner’s cried he---then eyes was the truth, unrouated---for they had heen honest eves for sixty years. Bat hisface was a blank. The woman’s in- stinct all at once read the whole thing aright, and Maud, full of shame and stronger pity, turned a sudden pale conn- tenance to her father. “Git up!’ This time the words were ground between Briner’s teeth. The wagon rattled with slow movement. Maud stood forlorn, alone in the dust, suffering. The moment was a ciisi= for Jordan. This wax the hardest thing he had ever to do. He wanted this girl—he t wanted her now ! He might let the smut go. After all, maybe it was only in the one wagon. Briner---Briner of all men on earth ! Yet Briner was tempted. To do nothing would be to he faithless to a trust. Forty loads of that wheat would color the flour, perbaps lose thousands of dollars, and a reputation more valuable still, for his employers. One of those seconds of battle which wrench a man left him with a heart fall of misery and a blind dete mina- tion to do right. The wagons must wait. He walked to the office. The day had darkened, but Jordan had won. Maud sat in the door of the will; full of fear, while Briner walked yonder. Jor- dan came out of the office with a little pownted tin tester. He climbed to the hub of the second wagop, thrust that cone to the bottom of the wheat, and drew outa sample. It was smutty. So -it seemed to be Tom who was to he punished. With her eyes on him, he must walk to the third wagon, climb up, and find smut there. Then he must get down, seeing her pallid face, and go to the fourth, and climb up, and find yet smut—smut that colored life itself. Round the corner of the cooper-shop came feeble Shackuner, disgruntled about the freight cars. Up from the engine-room Dawson trotting with a smile on his face. Briner was standing stock-still in the san. “Why, Tommie, why, Tommie, what’s the matter, Tommie? Good morning, Jamie—brought in your——"’ : ‘It’s full of smut,’’ said Jordan, casting the sample into Dawson’s hand. “Smut? What's this? Hm. Why, Jamie---Why, there’s some mistake here; this is a little---this isn’t just---Oh, Mr. Shackner !”? Shackner put on spectacles; his trousers were all dusty and his knees were bent. *‘Oh, my---oh, my,”’ complained he. “‘Is it all like this, Tommie?’ Dawson was excited. Tom was in the office now, and cried out with a somewhat anguish-laden cry : CAL ”m Briner now strode up, a fierce look on his face. “I tell you it's good !"’ bly. ; ‘Dear me---we’'ll have to see,”” and Shackner, grunting, drew himself to a hub and pulled out a sample. “It’s smut,” he complained. James, what did you do it for ?”’ ‘‘Some error—it’s all right—it’ll be all right !"’ cried Dawson, agitated, patting Briner on the moveless shounlder. ‘‘Why, Jamie—where did you—how did it come. The farmer, like some gray crag, gazed at his wagons of ruin. Then he mounted to his sedt, swung his whip with a cut of despair, motioned his men after him, and the wheat was driven away, like a funeral cortege, down over the dusty road. round the corner of the coopershop, wheels grat- ing, horses straining with heads down, old James Briner’s back disappearing as he sat and gripped his lines and felt the hrim of his bat flop on his weather-beaten brow. Shackner and Dawson stood gazing after. Maud got up from the door-sill of the mill, and stumbled to the buggy. She climbed in, and the white muffler fell and lay in the dirt. Tom, looking out of the office-door, saw her drive down the road, letting the little black horse have his way, for Mand was weeping. Vv “I don’t know what the business is coming to.”’ said Shackner, in plaintive distress, ‘‘if all our old stand-bys go like shat. Oh, my, James, you've made me sick. *‘The old scoundrel, the old rip !’’ cried Dawson. “Mr. Dawson,” said Jordan, coming in from the rear office, where he had been sit- ting with his fingers in his hair, “I have something tosay about this.” Shackner’s dissimilar eyes swung round slowly to Tom, with a vague hope in them. “I'm going tetry to prove toyou,’’ said Tom, with firmness, ‘‘that this is a case in which there is reason to excuse.”’ *I don’t see how we could,” murmured Shackner, seeming, nevertheless, to grasp with the invalid’s eagerness at that idea. “It happens,’’ cried Tom, flushing a lit- tle and standing before the two, ‘‘that I’ve seen the cause of this, Mr. Shackner, you've koown that man for thirty years, and you never knew him to do a wrong thing be- fore. Every summer, year after year,yon’ve paid him a big check for the hest erop in the county. You've leant him money in advance, and without interest. And there was a time, too, when you weren’t so well-known here yourself, but that Briners word at the bank gave yon a lift.”’ “True,’”’ quavered Shackner. ‘‘James was sitting here when I got the telegram about the elevator burning down in Pet- ersburg.”’ ‘You know how long he’s werked, for you've worked with him. He never bought a piece of ground or built a barn without telling you his plans first. You know what the slow accumulation of his property has meant to him and how it is that his farm and the prosperity of his wife and daughter have been his hfe. Well— now he’s in debt.”’ ; - ‘‘They’re always in debt, I tell youn,”’ cried Dawson. ‘‘Who ever heard of a farm- er thas wasn’t in debt 2”? ‘I have,” said Tom. ‘‘There’s been many a year when Briner wasn’t. Think what it meant to him to lose everything— forty years’ work wiped out. Maybe I don’t know much about business, Mr. Dawson, but I do know this, that the one time a good man falls down is the one time to be charitable. Now, I don’t say that Briner is going to be trusted, as he was before You can watch his wheat. It’s easy enough to keep smut ont of the mill, if that’s all you want. What I do say is that you men ought to drive out to James Briner’s farm and clear this matter up. And if he did this thing because he’s been tempted past his powers, you ought to stand by him.”’ ‘‘We can’t,’”’ said Dawson. ‘The only ground yon could possibly do such a fool thing on is that it might be business—con- ciliation.”’ “I’11 declare,” said Shackner, mooning about unhappily, ‘‘you’re right—I was go- ing to anyhow.” *‘To what,’’ sharply rasped Dawson. “Oh—just drive out,”’ whined the other ‘James, James, I'd be willing to ad vance you a little, but—-"’ “But !”” exploded Dawson, under his breath. “Oh, I'd begrudge him every cent of it, Mr. Dawson, dear me. swore he terri- ‘Oh, ¥I The women, because they can see why a man falls, forgive him. The world seldom sees why. There were three loaded wag- ons, standing hoiseless at Briner’s barn ; the fourth had heen left at the gate. There were two days which seemed like Sundays. Nobody worked much, and James stalked twice into the sun. gazed bareheaded out over the scene, turned again and sat down in the bedroom. He sat for hows in there, with the blinds drawn. Mis. Briner wept, and brought him things to eat. Mand came and hugged him, and kissed his big hand. “You're a-haggin’ the devil,” was his remark, as he lapsed into infinite gloom. On Thursday morning, along the road, ‘drove Shackner and Tom in a buggy. Hav ing hitched the hose in front of the house, and come through the gate, they were ad- mitted to the parlor, whose shutters Mrs. Biiner threw open in haste, for the room had been dark for a month. She, face thrust forward in a white mockery of its customary pleasantness, and her body more bent, grasped the hand of each, and said in agitation : ‘‘He isn’t like himself; oh, Mr. Shack- | ner, don’t forget that he's getting old.” Shackner andjTom stood up, and Mand came in and sat on a sofa. Now Briner loomed in the door, entered, and stood by a what-not with his wife. ‘Oh, James, you’ve made me sick, said Shackner, his wide eye shining on the farm er. “What did yon do it for? Is it a debt? I'd begrudge every cent; but, say, now. this won’tdo—tnt, tut. How much is it? Or was it just a mistake ? *‘No,”’ said James, ‘‘it wasn’t a mistake. I took that smut and I put it in them wag- ons, and I took good wheat and I smeared it on top. If there's any mistake. the dev- il made it. Now, you men have been my friends, and I take it kindly that you’ve come out here. But you’d better goaway. For I say plainly, Mr. Shackner, I was tryin’ to stick you.’”” He walked to the window. ‘‘Look at them fields, look at that corn, look at these barns, Mr. Shack- ner, you know what I’ve done to get ’em. Well, they’re in soak, and they can stay there to kingdom come.’”’ A haggard look came over his face. ‘‘I’m busted.” Mrs. Briner wept aloud. Maud was resting her head against the back of the so- fa. “Why, James, I can’t see you busted,”’ complained Shackner. ‘‘I could lend you some. You don’t deserve it; I'd begrudge every cent of it—dear me. Wilkinson told me how much you lacked. That’s an aw- ful sum. I’ve made you a check. I hated to do it, my—bhut it’s on the corn, mind vou, and next year’s crop, don’t you for- get it; yon’re not going to get out of that. Bat I can’t see your farm go; we mightn’t get the wheat off of it—from Wilkinson. Here, take it—I'm just doing it because Jordan there made me. Jordan explained the thing. It's the way Jordan saw it. He mouthed around so. I begrudge you every cent of it. ‘“Take it away,’’ groaned Briner. ‘Now look here,”” quavered Shackner’s voice, ‘‘that time you fixed things at the bank for me—you recollect ?*’ “Aw——"" cried Briner, gazing out of the window. ‘You just did it as a pure matter of busi ness—to keep in touch with a good buying firm. Now don’tdeny it. Didn’t yon now?’ ‘Of course,” said James. °‘‘I didn’t have any more use for you.” Well, that’s what I’m doing. Now take it, James. Now, see here, .James.”’ Maud arose, walked to Shackner, and said: *'If you really mean it, Mr. Shack- ner, and will take my word that father will pay it back, I'll take it.”’ “Your word’s hetter’n his,’’ said Shack- ner, staring at Briner. She took it and laid it on the what-not. *‘Now don’t come round me about this avy more,’”’ said Shackner, walking out with a highly disgruntled air. ‘I’ve got vothing to do with the business—I’m semi retired. Briner at length sat down stifly on a chair, and his wife cameand clung to him. “Look here, young man,’’ said he after a long time to Tom, at whom he had heen staring. ‘“*Ain’t you the feller that made some crack about jasmines ?’’ Tom’s eyes turned to Maud. *‘Something about a violet farm,’’ con- tinued Briner. “That was'a joke, father. ‘‘Wuz it? What have you got to do with it? Say, are you still so fond of the mill- in’ business?’’ “I’m foud of Tom,’’ she said, with her head down. *‘I told you last night.’’ ‘““Tawm, Tawm,’’ mused Briner. ‘Young feller, do you want that girl ? Tom’s answer was not uncertain. ‘*Well”’—he meditated a long time— ‘“‘why don’t you git hold of her?’’—By Charles Fleming Embree, in McClure's Mag- azine, : Porcupines in the Hemlock Forests. ‘There are more hedgehogs or porcubpines, as the natives call them, in the hemlock forests of Northwestern Pennsylvania than anywhere in the east,’’ said an old Potter county woodsman. ‘‘They are curious creatures, and a great pest around lumber and hunting camps. A peculiarity of these spiny armored little beasts is their fond- ness for salt. If the four sides of a lumber shanty be salted from ground to roof the porcupines would eat it down over the heads of the inmates, and vot leave an un- salted splinter of it to mark where it stood. They do not care for a man or twenty men when there is a barrel of salt in camp, and they will persist in getting at it as long as one of them is left alive.” For Mayor of Philadelphia. Republican Leaders Select District Attorney Weaver. Insurance Commissioner Israel W. Dar- ham, the leader of the Republican organ- ization in Philadelphia, announced Friday night of last week that the party leaders unanimously decided upon John Weaver, the present district attorney, for the Re- publican nomination for mayor of Phila- delphia, to succeed Samuel H. Ashbridge. The mayorality election will take place in February. John Weaver was elected district attorney a year ago over P. F. Rothermel, Jr., the Union party candidate, after an exciting campaign. House Containing Kegs of Powder on Fire. A house at Windber, occupied by four Polish families, was set on fire by one of the inmates throwing a lighted cigarette in- to a keg of powder to see it explode. There were twenty six kegs of powder in the house, and when the explosion of the keg occurred a panic ensued. One woman more cool than the rest, directed the rescuing neighbors to the room where the other kegs were stored, and succeeded in having them nearly all removed. The house burned to the ground, but one Polish man, who oc- cupied an upper room, was roasted to death. Frightful Raliroad Accident. It Happened a Short Distance From the Little Sta- tion of Wanstead, in Ontario, on the Sarina Branch of the Grand Trunk Railways The Loss of Life is Twenty-eight—The Injured Number Con- siderably More and Ma'y of These May Die—The Express Was Running Nearly Two Hours Late and’ Was Making Fast Time, — The most frightful railroad accident in the annals of the past decade happened a short distance from the little station of Wanstead in Ontario on the Sarina branch of the Grand Trunk railway Friday night of last week. The trains in collision were the Pacific express and afreight. The express was running nearly two hours late and was making fast time. The freight was endeavoring to make a siding to get clear of the express but failed by a minute or two. There was a dreadful crash, the locomo- tives reared up and fell over in a diteh, the haggage car of the express telescoped the smoker and in an instant the shrieks and cries of the dying and the wounded filled the air. The loss of life is twenty-eight. The injured will number considerably more and many of these will die. NO DEATHS SATURDAY. LoxDoN, Ont., Dec. 28.—There were no deaths to-day among the persons injured in Friday unight’s collision at Wanstead on the Sarina branch of the Grand Trunk rail- road, between the westbound Pacific ex- press and an eastbound freight, in which twenty-eight persons lost their lives. To- night the Associated Press was informed at Victoria hospital that, while several of the injared are still in a serious condition it is expected that all will recover. The vody of Fireman Ricketts, of the express train, which was last night heliev- ed to be buried under the wrecked en- gines, was found today covered with snow in the ditch beside the track. One arm was completely torn off and the body was otherwise mangled. Death must have been instantaneous. It is helieved that the body was thrown clear of the engine and into the deep snow in the ditch, where in the storm and darkness the workers failed to find it on Friday night. Snow fel} rapidly all that night so that Rickett’s hody was covered and was not found. One of the men working at the wreck found the body under the snow. Tonight there is but one unidentified body in the morgue here, that of a woman who was ticketed, from Toronto to Duluth. The man’s body which was unidentified Friday night was identified as George D. Southern, of Lockport N. Y. STATEMENT MADE BY CARSON. Andrew Carson, the operator at Watford the first station east of the wreck, whose failure to deliver orders to Conductor Mec- Auliffe, of the Pacific express, to pass the freight at Wanstead, is said by the Grand Trunk officials to have caused the wreck, Sat- urday afternoon made to the Associated Press bis first statement since the wreck. He says he received the order for No. 5, the express to pass the freight at Wanstead at 9:48,but declares positively that a few minutes later Dispatcher 8S. G. Kerr, at London, called him and ordered him to ‘‘bust’’ or cancel, the order. He said : ‘‘About 9:45, after calling Wyoming and ascertaining that the freight was there, the dispatcher called me rapidly a half-dozen times. When I answered he told me to “bust’’ this order. I wrote ‘‘Bust it’’ across the order just as No. 5 was coming in. Conductor McAuliffe came in and ask- ed me what the order hoard was out against bim for. I told him that we had an order for him, but the dispatcher had ‘busted it He asked me to hurry and write him a clearance order, which I did. LEARNED THAT FREIGHT LEFT WYOM- ING. ‘‘After the train had started and was out of my reach, the dispatcher learned that the freight had left Wyoming. I told him I could not stop No. 5. az it had left. He immediately began calling King’s Court Junction, the station between Watford and Wanstead on the railroad wire, and I tried to raise them on a commercial wire. We both failed to do this, however, until after the express had passed the juuction.”’ Carson admitted that he knew it was against the rules of the company to cancel a train order without sending a substitute for it, but said that the dispatcher was his superior officer and he disliked to question his order or dispute his authority to take this action. Dispatcher Kerr’s order book, in the local Grand Trunk office, does not show that the order was ‘‘busted,’’ or cancelled, as Carson claims. According to the book, it was still in force and should have been delivered to the conductor of the express. Kerr bas not made any statement, even to the railroad officials, and will not until he takes the stand at the inquest. STRICTEST IN COMPANY'S CODE. Division Superintendent George G. Jones, of Toronto, says that the rule against can- celling, or ‘‘busting,’’ train orders is the strictest in the company’s code. ‘'I do not believe.’’ he said tonight, *‘that it has been violated since the Standard dispatching rules went into effect. Dispatcher Kerr is one of the best and most efficient dispatch- ers in our service. He is the operator who accompanied the train bearing the Duke and Duchess of York on the royal tour of Canada a year ago. I have every confi- dence in him.”’ Other Grand Trunk officials who were Present also expressed their confidence in err. : VERY PATHETIC FEATURE. One of the most pathetic features of the wreck is the triple loss sustained by the Bodley family, of Port Huron, in the death of Mrs. J. Bodley, herson,Clem Bod- ley, and granddaughter, little Lettie Lynzb, who died at the Victoria hospital. The bodies of nineteen of the victims have been shipped to their sorrowing relatives at home. The trunk of theas yet uniden- tified woman was located by the Grand Trunk officials and will be searched in an endeavor to find something with which to identify the woman. Decadence in Oll Stoves. The Rise in Oil Makes it too Expensive to Use. The recent coal famine caused the re- course of hundreds of people to oil stoves for heating and cooking. The demand for the stoves was so great that the manufac- turers could not fill their orders. The Standard Oil company put a stove on the market to stimulate the demand for oil, and lots of people found that the oil stove solved the problem of heating rooms on milder days, when the coal stove or furnace made too much heat. A change has come about, as people find their oil bills getting enormous. The Standard Oil company has raised the price two and one-half cents a gallon within the past few weeks, giving the increased de-~ mand as a reason. The city dealers report a large falling off in the demand for oil since the rise in price, as heating by oil stoves was expensive at the old price. As it stands now second-hand dealers are buy- ing oil stoves cheap.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers