Bellefonte, Pa., November 20, 1903.
erm————
THANKSGIVIN' JIM.
He always dodged "round in an old, ragged coat,
With a tattered blue comforter tied on his throat.
His dusty old cart used to rattle and bang
As he yelled through the village, *“Gid dap !"’ and
“Go 'lang !” >
You’d think from his looks that he wa’n’t wuth a
cent—
Was poorer than Poodue, to judge how he went.
But back in the country don’t reckon on style
To give ye a notion of any one’s pile.
When he died and they figgered his pus’nal es-
tate, :
He was mighty well fixed—was old “Squealin’
Jim Waite.”
But say, I'd advise ye to sorter look out
How ye say ‘“Squealin’ Jim’ when the’s widders
about,
They're likely to light on ye, hot tar and pitch,
And give ye some points as to what, where and
which;
For if ever a critter is reckoned a saint
By the widders ‘round here, I'll be dinged if he
hain’t.
For please understand that the widders call him,
Sheddin’ tears while they're sayin’ it—*“Thanks-
givin’ Jim.”
He was little. Why,
We’'n’t skerce knee high
To a garden toad. But was mighty spry!
He was all ofa whew;
If he’d things to do
»Twas a zip and a streak when Jim went through.
But his voice was twice as big as him,
And the boys all called him “‘Squealin’ Jim.”
He was always a-hurryin’ all through life,
And said there wa’'n’t time for to hunt up a wife,
So he kept bache’s hall and he worked like a dog
Jest whooped right along at a trottin’ horse jog.
There’s a yarn that the fellers that knew him
will tell ;
1f they want to set Jim out—and sel him out well,
He was bound for the city on bus’ness one day
And, whoosh ! scooted down to the depot, hooray !
The depot man says: ‘“Hain’t no rush, Mister
Waite,
For the train to the city is ten minutes late.”
Off flew Squealin’ Jim with his grip, on the run
And away down the track went he, hoofin’ like
fun.
When he tore out of sight, couldn’t see him for
dust,
And he squealed : *‘Train be jiggered.
there, now, fust!”—
So nervous and active he jest couldn’t wait
When they told him the train was a little mite
late.
I'll get
Now that was Jim!
He was stubbed and slim,
But it took a spry critter to stay up with him.
His height when he'd rise
Made you laugh. But his eyes
Let ye know that his soul wasn’t much undersize.
And some old widders we had in town
Insisted, 1eg’lar, he wore a crown.
As he whoopity-larruped along on his way
There were people who'd turn up their noses and
say
That Squealin’ Jim Waite wasn’t right in his
head;
He was “‘cranky as blazes,” the old growlers said’
1 can well understand that the things he would do
Seemed looney as time to that stingy old crew.
For a fact, there was no one jest like him in town;
He was most always actin’ the part of a clown.
He would say funny things in his queer, squealin’
style
And he talked so you’d hear him for more than a
mile.
But every Thanksgivin’ time Waite hé would
start
And clatter through town in his ratilin’ old cart.
And wkat do ye s’pose? He would whang down
the street,
Yank up at each widder’s; from under the seat
Would haul out a turkey or yaller legged chick
And holler : “Here, mother, h’ist out with ye,
quick !”
Then he’d toss down a bouncer right into her lap
And bolt off like fury with ‘‘G’lang, there! Gid
dap !”
Didn’t wait for no thanks—counldn’t work em on
him!
Couldn’t catch him to thank him—old Thanks-
givin’ Jim.
"Twas a queer idee
’Round town that he
Was oft’n his balance, and crazy’s could be.
They’d set and chaw
And stew and jaw
And projick on what he did it for.
But prob’ly in Heaven old Squealin’ Jim
Found lots of crazy folks jest like him.
—By Holman F. Day.
HANNAH JANE'S THANKSGIVING,
‘Come out, Cherry. Don’t you want to
come out ?’’
Hannah Jane fastened the door of the
cavary’s cage open with a twisted hairpin,
and the bird spread its beak at her, utter-
ing the fiercest scolding of which her little
throat was capable. :
She withdrew a pace, and out he flew,
perching on a picture frame, from which
inaccessible vantage he continued his bully-
ing challenge. :
‘The ingratitude of your sex!’ said
Hannah, laughing in a repressed way, as if
afraid someone would overhear her.
There was no danger. The walls of the
building were thick. Hannah Jane’s room
was her castle, invaded only by the cus-
tomers whose old gowns she made over.
Hannah Jave's was a humble line of
dressmaking, but none the less necessary.
She liked to go out by the day and sit at a
good home table for her three meals; but
she had learned how it heightened her
popularity to be willing to accept odd jobs
of sewing at her room, and so it was that
her meals were nearly all taken from the
little gas stove, which heated her pressing-
iron, and were shared only by the bellig-
erent canary, who considered Ler his vassal.
There was some good points in the ar-
rangement, because it gave Hannah Jane
opportunity to rest occasionally when she
was tired, and to read a little poetry.
She was a bit of a philosopher. "If she
sometimes felt ioclined to realize that
Cherry was a rather slender dependence
as sole companion and caretaker for a maid-
enlady who was getting on, she limited
herself to humorous literature.
It was only in her brightest moments
that she indulged in the luxury of melan-
choly; and how astonished Hannah Jane's
customers would have been to suspect that
she read poetry at all !
‘Laugh and the world laughs with you,
Weep and you weep alone.’
were the lines she often quoted to the can-
ary, feeling quite worldly wise and cynical
as she did so, and naively unconscious of
© the loneliness even of ber langhter.
"A popular writer has said of one class of
"women that if they live to be eighty they
‘atill die young.’ -
Of this class was Hannah ‘Jané. The
women who received her patient sugges-
tions for renovating their old clothes, call-
ed her a good natured. prim little thing,
and recommended her as reasonable.
She had lines in her forehead and silver
threads in hererimped front hair, and wore
spectacles while she sewed, and to the hur-
ried women whom she fitted she was mere-
ly a convenient machine; but Cherry knew
that she was still z girl who giggled at him,
and who, when the moon, was clear could
scarcely stay in her bed, but sat long by
the window murmuring rhymes laudatory
of the serene Queen of Heaven and seeing
such visions and dreaming such dreams as
come to the pure in heart.
The janitress of the building knew her as
well as anybody in the great city, for Han-
nah Jane bad more than once lent her a
helping hand, and at one time when the
little seamstress fell ill, and the rainy day
fund bad to be encroached upon for rent,
Mrs. Hogan had come, like a good Samari-
tan, to her aid.
One morning Hannah Jane met the jani-
tress in the hall.
“It’s verself I was wishin’ fer,”’ said
Mrs. Hogan with a groan. ‘I’m full o’
theamatiz this mornin’ and two o’ the
roomer’s hed left to do—Mr. Jenks and Mr.
Wyman. Would ye have time to help out
a poor body ?”’
“Just as lieve as not.”’ said Hannah
Jane, briskly. ‘‘You go right and keep
warm.’’
Mrs. Hogan departed, uttering blessings,
and the seamstress flitted down the corri-
dor and entered one of the rooms indicat-
ed.
There she whisked the bedclothes about
to the accompaniment of nimble considera-
tion as to whether the gray braid she had
bought to bind a customer’s skirt was a
good enough match.
Then, after a hasty dusting, she repaired
to the next room. Its character was very
different from the last. Hannah Jane sus-
pended judgment on the gray braid and ex-
amined the photographs of men and girle
standing abont.
She observed a pipe on the table, asmok-
ing jacket flung over a chair. A faint odor
of tobacco, which the air from the open
window had not entirely banished, smote
upon her senses not unpleasantly. A hasti-
ly opened laundry bundle lay on a chair.
Hannah Jane knew by sight and hearing
the young man who owned those starched
linens and the hose that had fallen to the
floor. She also recognized his long, firm
step as it passed her door, and the easy,
deep heaviness of Wyman’s voice had often
stirred her admiration.
She picked up his socks now with some-
thing like shyness, and mechanically turn-
ing them saw the effect of the vigorous
strides she so admired.
Hurriedly she examined all the socks in
the bundle. Not one but had its little or
great ventilating gaps. The sight was suf-
ficient to stir the inhibited tenderness of
the woman heart.
‘Poor fellow !”’ she murmured.
Then a positively exciting inspiration as-
sailed her. Supposing she were to mend
these socks and return them before their
owner came home. It was too bad. He
would never know.
Hannah Jane’s hands moved deftly while
she finished the work of the room and her
cheeks burned guiltily as she stole hack to
her apartment bearing an unaccustomed
burden.
‘‘A. Wyman’’ was written on a tape and
sewed to each sock. An envelope on the
table was addressed to Allen Wyman.
*‘A nice name. It suite him,”’ decided
Hannah Jane.
This was a red letter day to the little
dressmaker. No school girl could have
flushed more eagerly than she over her bit
of surreptitious benevolence.
She even turned her back to Cherry’s
cage as ‘she drew the iirst sock over her
hand, and when the bird flew to her shoul-
der she gave a little cry and tried to hide
her work.
‘Don’t you tell I’ she exclaimed.
That night when the long legs strode
past her door Hannah Jane lifted her little
shoulders and listened, with a warm con-
sciousness till Wyman’s door slammed.
“What will he say ?’’ she asked herself,
thinking of the carefully replaced hose.
Hannah Jane was as ignorant as the canary
of young men’s ways, or she wonld have
know how long it takes for comforts to stir
their curiosity.
After this theinteresiing day of the week
to the dressmaker was that on which the
laundry bundles were delivered.
She began to feel a proprietorship in the
flexible whistle with which A. Wyman sped
his own march through the hall night and
morning.
Her familiarity with his clothing increas-
ed and spread. There were no more but-
tons missing, or rips widening, or holes left
unpatched in the garments of the lucky
possessor of that musical voice and taking
physique, who littie dreamed that the rose
color of one woman’s life consisted in min-
istering invisibly to his needs.
Haunah Jane in these days often smiled
through her spectacles at her sewing, and
her customers, some of them, were moved
to marvel at the good cheer of the lonely
dressmaker.
Her day dreams took on more tangible
shape. ‘“What a wonderful thing it would
be to have a lover like Allen 1”?
This thought, often entertained, by im-
perceptible degrees captured Hannah Jane's
fancy, until hour after hour would pass in
gently by the dreamer, but at last hecom-
ing a habit of thought as precious as opium
to the victim. 2
She began to bid her fancied lover good-
bye as he passed in the morning, with a
tenderness that should have insured his
good fortunes through the day.
Boldly telling Mrs. Hogan that she was
in charge of Mr. Wyman’s mending she ob-
tained access to the room, which she kept
with an exquisite neatness quite foreign to
the abilities of the Irishwoman.
At night she welcomed him home with a
devotion none the less ardent that she had
to imagine the pausing of the footfail at her
door. and the word of tender greeting that
met her when in imagination she opened
it.
She ceased to be shy in handling the
young man’s belongings, for were they not
in a way part hers as well? She mourned
lovingly over an occasional spot of blood on
his shaving paper, and in short indulged
in an intoxication of devotion to her ideal.
A customer arriving one morning with a
pressing bit of work, was astonished at
Hannah Jane's firm refusal to promise it at
once. :
“You've never been unaccommodating
before,’’ ejaculated the irate woman. “I'm
sure there’s nobody you ought to favor
more than me. You just said a minute ago
you badn’t much work on hand.”
‘I can’t do it right off,” repeated Han-
nah Jane, gently, looking far beyond the
speaker. She knew just what clothing
would come home from the laundry, and
just what had to be done to it.
‘Very well, then, I'll never trouble you
again !”’ ejaculated the other, and flounced
away.
The dressmaker had lost a customer. She
turned to the canary.
‘Do you think he’ll bring me a rose to-
a delicious make believe, at first ridiculed |
night, Cherry—or some pinks? I like
vinks,’’ she whispered.
Hannah Jane was not crazy. She was
only having her first love affair, and like
measles it goes hard with the mature.
Sometimes she met Wyman in the hall.
What a happy face he had, and how the
light shone in his eyes as he gave a passing
greeting to the little woman, whose timid
yet searching glances amused him.
“It’s a fortune Mister Wyman’s after
gettin’,”” said Mrs. Hogan to the dressmak-
er one day. ‘‘Sure he often does be givin’
me money af late and sayin’ I’m the dandy
janitress.’”’
The color that swept under Hannah
Jane’s skin would once have made it
peachy.
Familiarity with her happy new duties
rendered the little woman hold and at lass
careless. One day she had just laid some
mended clothing into Wyman’s drawer and
was packing it into place when a sound
startled her.
She turned, and the sight that met her
took all the strength from her limbs. If
was Wyman himself, standing speechless
in the doorway, his lips apart. Hannah
Jane lost her head completely.
‘‘You’re too early !"’ she stammered.
“I am a little early. What'’—Wymun
smiled—*‘what can I do for you !”’
‘Your mending—I’ve just finished—I
was putting it away.” ;
‘What !”” Wyman looked pleased and
enlightened as he advanced toward her.
‘‘And. you are the Brownie who has haunt-
ed my den lately ? And I thought it was
Mrs. Hogan !”’ He uttered a laugh that
ravished Hannah Jane’s ears.
“I knew you sewed. I saw your sign.
Why, you have made a respectable being
of me!’ The young man continued to
gaze at her in puzzled fashion. ‘‘But the
mischief of itis, Mrs. Hogan has reaped
what you sewed. Ha, ha! That's pretty
good, isn’t it? Why didn’t you tell me
what you were doing? You want to sue
Mrs. Hogan right off.”
‘‘Leave that to me,’’ returned Hannah
Jane, blushing and trembling. She had
edged little by little toward the door, her
eyes held by his, and now she broke away
in a little trot for her room, where only the
canary knows what palpitating confidences
he received.
“Brownie! What a pretty
thought Hannah Jane.
The next day she again met Wyman in
the hall at an unaccustomed hour. His
arms were full of bundles.
‘‘Here’s the good Brownie lady again !"’
be cried cheerily, while the dressmaker, as
she paused, wondered if any other woman
ever had so many pleasant things bappen
to her.
*‘Here are some clothes that won’t re-
quire mending for a while,’’ he went on,
indicating his parcels; ‘‘but I tell you I
shall remember you for many a long day.
I'm glad I didn’t go away without know-
ing who was really my benefactress.’’
‘‘Go—go away !"’
“Yes.”” The young fellow flushed with
bis happiness. “I’m going to be married.’
He kept radiant eyes upon her.
The dressmaker’s lips contracted and
moved mutely.
**Yes; tomorrow at high noon you’ll he
rid of me.”’
‘‘By Jove, that little woman must need
the money !”’ was the thought Hannah
Jane’s face left with him as he moved on to
his room, suddenly sobered.
Cherry stirred uneasily on his perch that
night, and even trilled a soft and reproach-
ful serenade to remind his mistress of her
inconsiderateness.
It was midnight, yet both gas jets were
burning brightly, and Hannah Jane dill
sat, a book upside down in her lap, and an
idea !”?
i odd set smile on her lips.
What an empty, hare room it was!
What an empty, gray day—week—month
—year—no, no—years awaited her. She
dared not go to eleep and wake up anew to
the realization. Such a dead, dead weight
monotonous oppression settled upon
ler,
*'0, Cherry, don’t sing !’’ she moaned,
unobservant of the book that fell to the
floor as she rose and moved to the cage.
‘‘ ‘How can ye sing, ye little birds,
When I'm so wae and fu’ o’ cares?’ ”’
How did we use to get on—you and I— |
birdie? We did very well,”’ she said, soft- |
ly. ‘It’s dreadful so be an old fool, be-
cause they’re the worst kind, birdie.’
The canary, excited and daring, flew
straight through the open door to her neck
and pecked at it crossly. She closed her
hand on his little body and held him close,
as she walked softly up and down the
room. :
““Iv’s one o’ the girls in those pretty low
necked photographs,’’ she murmured, and
the next time she reached the burean she
stopped and resolutely scanned her baggard
face, the thin hair her restless hands bad
roffled, and her spare figure.
‘‘Ob, oh !”” she moaned, meeting her
piteous eyes. The silky mite she was cling-
ing to in the agony of her humiliation
writhed indignantly. She clasped her
hands over her faceand the canary whirred
back to his cage as to an ark of safety.
‘If I only knew how my soul lovks!”
she sobbed softly, her thin shoulders con-
valsed. “I might not feel so dreadful
ashamed !”’
The following day was Wednesday.
There was a card on Hannah Jane's door
which read, BACK THURSDAY.
She heard Wyman’s gay voice deploring
to Mrs. Hogan the fact that he could not
bid his new friend good bye, and soon af-
terward saw a letter stealing under her
door.
The long step and the gay whistle had
died away before she picked up the en-
velope. It contained a scribbled word of
farewell and a sum of money.
Still she sat there, deaf to the noises in
the street, deaf to the noises in the build-
ing, to all save the voices that spoke in her
inner ear, until toward evening thirst drove
her from her room.
She met Mrs. Hogan in the hall. The
Irishwoman threw up her hands, evidently
in wild excitement.
‘An’ ain’tit a dreadful thing, and I
can’t take care of him. I loike Misthur
Wyman, but ye know my rheumatiz and
““What has happened ?
Wyman ?”’
Hannah Jane, weak with fasting, leaned
against the wall.
‘‘Sick in his room, and the doctor lavin’
him, and I’ve just told him—'
Here a gray baired man came toward the
stairway.
‘‘Are you the doctor?’ cried Hannah
Jane, turning. “What has happened to
Ne Nyman ? Ilive here. What can I
0
The doctor bent his shaggy eyebrows in
quick scrutiny.
‘Several things,”’ he answered.
‘‘Come into my room.’’ Hannah Jane
threw open her door, and Mrs. Hogan limp-
ed away murmuring.
‘The evenitig papers are full of it.
Haven’t you seen the head lines?’ asked
the doctor.
Where is Mr.
‘‘Nothing.”’
‘“The poor fellow’s bride dropped dead
just as she reached the altar. Forgive me.
Take this chair. I didn’t know you bad a
personal interest. There now—I’m afraid
I’ve unfitted you to help me.”
“Mr. Wyman is stunned by the shock !”?
said Hannali Jane, faintly.
“I'm uot sure of his condition yet. The
whole situation is strange. As you may
know, Miss Frost was the poor relation of
rich people anxious to marry her off, and
they had no interest in Wyman, save as a
means to an end. I know them well. The
girl had heart trouble. The end came right
there. No one seemed to know what be-
came of Wyman after the catastrophe. He
was found in the street and brought here
and there was delay in getting me. He
may have had a fall. At any rate, he is
in a stupor, and if yon would stay with
him, until I can get a nurse over here—-—"’
‘‘Don’t send any nurse ! No one must
take care of him but me !”’ cried Hannah
Jane.
The doctor gazed, surprised, at her pale
little face.
“Very well, then,’’ he returned after a
moment’s hesitation. ‘‘Byt. morrow, un-
less he reacts well from his condition I
will try to get him into a hospital.”
‘‘Never !”’ exclaimed the other.
“Ah ! You are a relative ?’’
‘‘No—not exactly. A-—connection by—
by—"?
The doctor was too busy to care why the
eager, agitated woman was willing to help
him. The fact was enough, and Hannah
Jane accompanied him to the dismantled
room, where the strapped trunk of the
bridegroom still stood, while its owner, un-
conscious of the subversion of his world,
lay in what proved to be the first stage of
an attack of brain fever.
But it was not in this room that Wyman
first came back from the realm of his fan-
tasies. He lay in a place where the sun-
beams stole through the shade and hirds
fitted about.
‘Still dreams, dreams‘”’ he thought;
then some one coughed. It was a woman
whom he now first noticed.
She was sitting across the room, with a
cap on ber head and an apron over her
dress. With a pang never in after years
wholly forgotten. Wyman realized that
she was a nurse, that he had been ill and
why he had been ill.
The nurse’s work-worn hands pressed
convulsively together. for all at once there
came weak-long-drawn sobs from the bed.
For a while she let him weep, then she
drew near and bent over him in the shad-
ow, her own eyes raining.
‘The doctor will be here soon.
rest now, Mr. Wyman,’
‘“Torturers—torturers—to bring me back
to life! O Amy—and I might have been
with you !”
Haunah Jane bad grown familiar with
the name ere this.
**Is there anybody—your own people—
you’d like to have sent for! We couldn’t
find any address.” .
‘‘Nobody. I have nobody. Neither had
she. But we had each other.”
‘‘Poor boy !"”” Haunah Jane took his
band in both of hers and they wept heart-
brokenly together; and upon this unpro-
fessional weakness of the hitherto wise
purse walked the doctor. .
‘‘Here, here, my lad—and my lady !”
he exclaimed.
‘‘He knows everything, doctor !"’
‘‘And is that reason enough for you not
to know anything ?”’ demanded the doctor
briskly. He leaned over his patient.
“I understand, my boy; but we can’t
die just when we’d like to, and you have
some blessings yet. A little of the stimu-
lent, please. You want to get well, if
only to thank your nurse here. Such
devotion as hers isn’t to be bought. It’s
only women who can make love take the
place of sleep and muscle.’
Upon this Wyman looked long at Han-
nah Jane as she bent to him with a glass.
‘‘It’s the Brownie lady !”” he said in
feeble astonishment. :
It was the doctor’s turn to stare.
was a puzzling situation.
In another week Wyman sat up for the
first time. No one was more rejoiced than
Cherry, who had almost resigned himself
to an eternal night, and who welcomed the
partial lifting of the shadows with alter-
nate hymns of rejoicing and animated
scoldings for past hardships.
He had lightened weary hours for the
patient, with" whom he was always on
terms of armed neutrality, and now he
perched on the back of Wyman’s easychair
and sociably pulled his hair.
“The bells are ringing,” said the sick
man, watching Hannah Jane as she moved
about the room. ¢‘Is it Sunday ?"’
“No, it’s Thanksgiving Day.”
‘Oh ! Thanksgiving Day.’
Wyman’s hollow eyes studied the carpet,
now for weeks bare of shreds and clip-
pings.
‘‘Yes, and it is one for me, laddie, sure
enough; the best I ever had,” said Hah-
nah, cheerfully. She had doffed the mus-
lin cap and was dressed in her best black
gown. ‘‘Wait till you see the nice dinner
Mrs. Hogan is going to bring us a little
while.”
It was a good dinner, and Wyman’f
mournful big eyes brightened over it, for
his nurse was so happy, and Cherry so
absurd in bis assumption of the role of
taster to the company, as hisown hig frame
was crying out for food with a convales-
cent’s appetite.
When all was finally cleared away the
three took naps—Wyman on the bed. Han-
nah Jane in the big chair, and Cherry, his
feather jacket stuffed with celery, blinking
sleepily on the mantel piece.
At twilight Hannah Jane put some large
pieces of soft coal on the open stove, and
she and her patient sat before the fire.
The snow had begun to blow outside.
‘‘This is cosy,’’ she said. She had learn-
ed to smile above a heartache.
Wyman had days ago told her the story
of his short, swift courtship, ending as it
bad in total eclipse, and his sorrow was
hers. If only she could comfort him—
could be something more than a mere ciph-
er in his life.
Yet it never occurred to her to blame
him for his self-centered dejection, or to
dwell upon the uncaleulating sacrifices she
had made for him. Her eyes were fixed on
the oily flames, and so she did not know
that Wyman was observing her curiously.
A realization of the singularity of the
situation had been impressing him today
in his returning strength as never before.
‘‘Brownie,”’ he said at last. “It’s a
very, very strange thing you've done for
me.
“Why? What?”
Hannah Jane's face turned hot in the
firelight, for his tone was a new one.
‘‘The doctor said your loving devotion
couldn’t be bought. I’ll swear to that.’’
The dressmaker screened her face from
tho fire and him with one thin band, then
because it trembled she dropped it.
He went on, ‘You have given up your
work, have lost customers probabiy; at any
rate weeks of time, have overdone—-"’
‘No, no !”?
‘Now,’ bluntly, “would you have done
Try to
Here
all that for any forlorn chap ?
an angel ?”’
Hannah Jane cleared her throat.
‘‘I used to think you took care of my
clothes and my room with an eye to the
main chance. I don’t think so now.”
“Why don’t youn ?’’
The little woman was beginning to brace
herself to explain in some way the inex-
plicable.
‘‘Because you havn’t any. You’ve done
all this for some reason that 1’ve been
hunting for days.”
“Women do things without reason,’’
said Hannah Jane,
‘Not for such a length of time. I’ve hit
on something: maybe it’s hecause I’ve been
so light-headed. But I wish you’d tell me
if I’ve struck it. Am I like somebody vou
were once in love with 27’
All the girlish soul of Hannah Jane
blushed through her spare, careworn hody.
It would soon be over. Wyman would
soon be well and gone away, and again
there would be nothing in the world
but customers and the roofs, the moon and
the canary; but she would forever have the
memory of the delicious shame. and relief
and triumph of this moment.
She met the dark, insistent eyes as
Wyman bent toward her.
3 Yes,” she answered ; ‘‘you have guessed
it.”
‘‘Forgive me !”’ exclaimed the young
fellow. ‘“What can I say to you, Brownie?
It I could make another guess as clever,
and find out how in the world I am ever to
repay you ! You ought to go away and
have a rest; and how will your business
start up again ! My employers are hold-
ing on for me, but how about yours ?’’
*‘I don’t know, and I don’t care. I've
always been taken care of, Mr. Wyman.”’
‘Don’t you ever call me that again.
I’m Allen to you, and your Allen at that.
I'll take a hand in helping Heaven to help
you after this.’”’
Hannah Jane's eyes - filled with bright
tears, and her heart beat fast.
‘If I ean just hear you step and whistle
as you used to,’’ she said brokenly, ‘‘and
if I can only see you sometimes I shall be
repaid for everything.”?
‘‘You have been using your savings,’
said Wyman, reflectively.
‘“Well, they were mine.’ :
He drew his lips together in a thought-
ful, noiseless whistle.
‘‘See here, Brownie,’’ he said at last,
gently. ‘‘You’re alone and I'm alone.
Let’s have a little flat, where you can he a
swell modiste and I can be boarder. It
will keep me from going to pieces to be-
lieve that 1’'m some comfort to you.’’
Hannah Jane sat up very straight, her
eyes big and wistfal.
‘“You don’t mean it !”’ she ejaculated.
Her movement knocked down the tongs,
and Cherry, his luxurious siesta disturbed,
circled about the room, tweet-tweeting
angrily.
The little woman’s joy made Wyman
forget all woes of the moment. The cana-
ry iit on his head.
‘I shall have a home as well as yon,
you hegger !”’ he exclaimed.
“You won’t mind if I cry a bit,’’ said
Hannnh Jane, sobbing softly. ‘‘You don’t
know what it means—it’s only my way of
—of Thanksgiving !"’—Clara Louise Burn-
ham.
Are you
Emperor Willlam’s Ancestry.
His Father Died from Malignant Growth in His
Throat.
The recent operation to removea ‘‘be-
nevolent’’ growth from the throat of Em-
peror William, of Germany, recalls certain
similar facts concerning his ancestry.
Frederick III, the father of the present
emperor of Germany, died June 15th,1888,
after a reign of not quite three months,
from a malignant affection of the throat
which even before his accession had ren-
dered tracheotomy necessary. There was
a difference of opinion between the noted
English and German physicians who at-
tended the emperor as to whether the dis-
ease was a cancer, and efforts were made
to conceal the real nature of the malady.
Empress Frederick, mother of the pres-
ent emperor, died August 5th, 1901, and
while it was announced that dropsy was
the immediate cause of her death, she had
long been a sufferer from cancer.
Emperor William has long suffered from
a malady known in the medical world as
*‘otitis media’’—chronic inflammation of
the middle ear. It is a disease which can
be caused by local irritation, such as the
insertion of some foreign substance into
the ear; it can be caused by illness, such
as scarlet fever, but in most cases it is due
to blood taint.
A typical case presents the following
symptoms : To begin, there is a discharge
from the ear. The patient is subject to
convulsions. He drops to the ground as
thought shot; he froths at the mouth; the
pupils of his eyes become dilated and the
muscles of his body twitch. Then follows
a moment of calm, with another spasm of
violence. Another period of calm comes,
and then the patient remains save for some
time. During such periods there is melan-
chola, with the usual suicidal impulses.
These attacks are intermittent and occur
whenever the discharge from the ear is not
free and rapid. As the patient grows older
the attacks become more frequent and
eventually end in death, the immediate
cause being cancer, abscess or tumor of the
brain. :
Such is the specific disease from which
William II is suffering. In addition he
inherits tainted blood. Although the ene-
mics of the emperor have accused him of
follies and excesses that have injariously
affected his health, justice wonld direct
accusation not against him, but against
his ancestors.
Catherine IT, of Russia, the Messalina of
the North, whose shameful record stains
the page of history, died in 1796, leaving a
terrible heritage for her descendants. Her
son, Paul 1, was an epileptic and more
than half insane, and was murdered by
some of the nobles of his empire. He left
eight children, one of whom, the Princess
Maria, became through marriage the
Duchess of Saxe-Weimar. Her daughter,
the Princess Augusta; married the Prussian
Prince William, who afterward became
Emperor William I. As the Empress
Augusta was the grandmother of the pres-
Rank Vines and Rust Guard Tomb of
Zachary Taylor.
Zachary Taylor was once a name to con-
jure with in this country. Famous as an
Indian fighter in the days of Black Hawk,
and when the Seminoles held sway in the
everglades, conqueror of the Mexicans and
President of the United States from March
4, 1849, to July 9, 1850, he was one of those
rugged, fearless and determined characters
which always appeal strongly to the Anglo-
Saxon spirit. But he lived a long while
ago, when we consider how fast the world
moves, and even his deeds are forgotten
except by school children. The hooks will
tell us that he died in Washington. How
many know where he was buried?
‘‘At this season of the year,” says the
New Orleans Times-Democrat, ‘‘the first
falling leaves are beginning to drift upon
the slope of a hill that stands five miles
from Louisville, Ky., a little way off the
Brownsboro road, and block up the en-
trance to a massive stone tomb thatis lo-
cated there in Only occasionally is a pass-
erby attracted by she austere grandeur of
the sarcophagus to draw nearer and read
upon the slab over the entrance the name
and date:
Nara N aarti ttnaac eerste rae earers ita eent aes aatist ern teansa aera
Z. TAYLOR.
Died 1850.
**Yet here reposes Zachary Taylor, ‘Old
Rough and Ready,” twelfth President of
the United States, hero of the Black Hawk
and Florida Indian wars, the man who,
with 4000 soldiers, swept Santa Aunna’s
20,000 before him as Buena Vista and con-
guered Mexico. For more than half a cen-
tury the tomb of General Taylor has lacked
the care of a kindly hand. The ivy riots
over the weather-beaten blocks of granite
in the spring and summer, and almost
conceals the outline of the gray stone tomb.
The fastenings on the iron door are red
with rust, and no key has turned in the
ponderous lock for probably a quarter of a
century.
*‘A little to the east of the granite vault
stands the Taylor memorial shaft of white
marble. It, too, has hecome discolored
through the storm and shine of half a ceu-
tury. Surmounting the shaft is a statue of
General Taylor leaning upon his sword.
The statue, too, is beginning to disinte-
grate in spots. The inscription, which is
growing illegible, consists of General Tay-
lor’s last words: *
‘I bave endeavored to do my duty. I
am ready to die. My only regret is for
the friends I leave behind me.’
‘Visitors to the tomb of President Tay-
lor arerare. It is doubtful if half a dozen
tourists stop during a twelvemonth to
stand beside the last resting place of a
President of the United States aud a sol-
dier who occupies a conspicuous and pic-
turesque position in the nation’s history.
‘‘The old Taylor homestead, which
stands not far from the tomb, isfurnished
practically as it was during General Tay-
lor’s last days of abode therein. It is
tenanted by strangers, the last member of
the Taylor family having moved away
some twenty years ago.
y
Cuban Far ming.
A Big Field for the Right Sort of Young Amer=
icans.
‘‘For an energetic and enterprising man
who’ is limited toa small capital, the
Island of Cuba holds forth inducements
unrivaled anywhere in the States,” said
H.F. Kimbrough, to a representative of
the Washington ‘‘Post.”” Mr. Kimbrough
is one of the largest vegetable growers in
Cuba, and is visiting the Eastern cities of
the United States to secure special trans-
portation rates aud markets for his large
shipments. ‘‘A young mao with a capital
of $250 can lease ten acres, plant them in
tomatoes, complete a crop in six months,
and realize a net profitof from $250 to
$350 an acre. We have a transportation
rate from Guines, where my interests are
centred, that is 20 cents a crate lower on
tomatoes shipped to New York and Chi-
cago than from any pointin Florida, and
this includes the payment of duty. There
is good money in sugar cane and tobacco,
and when the market holds high fora
few weeks, as it did year before last, there
is a large profit in growing egg plants and
sweet peppers.
‘‘Land can be leased from the Spanish
and Cuban landowners at a yearly rental
of $225 a caballerias, which is composed of
about 33 1-3 acres. This land can be sub-
let to negroes for sugar raising at a rate of
$500 a caballerias, or for one-third of the
yield of sngar, delivered in the sugar house,
sacked for shipping. The laud leases from
the owners are drawn up by a notary
public, who is under a hond of about
$50,000. If there is any flaw in the title
he is responeible and in case of disposses-
sion because of a defective title damages in
full may be obtained. The penalty for
not paying a damage claim that is allowed
by law consists of a term of imprisonment
in the carcel, or penitentiary. The num-
ber of worthless and unprincipled men
who come down from the states bave caused
the Cubans to distrust all Americans.
*“ There is a big field for the right sort of
young Americans, even without capital.
I remember a young chap, named Roberts,
who landed in Havana winter before last
with $2.50 in his pocket. He managed to
secure a piece of ground and planted heavily
in egg plants. He had a run of sixty days
on this commodity, and during the time
the run lasted received more than $4 a crate
net. Another man went to Guines with $5
capital. He arrived there December 1,
1903, rented ten acres and left in June fol-
lowing with $1,800 clear profit in his pos-
session.
Miss Roosevelt Now Rides Astride.
Miss Alice Roosevelt has discarded the
side saddle and conventional riding habit
and now rides in divided skirts.
The announcement that Miss Roosevelt
was receiving instruction in the new style
of riding caused a flatter among conserva-
tive Washingtonians, but the president’s
daughter, and Mrs. Rider, who bas been
teaching her how to sit on a horse in what
she regards as the more rational method,
now pass through the parks mounted as-
tride without causing any more comment
ent emperor, itis not strange that he | than the presence of the president’s daugh-
should bave inherited some of the tainted | ter ordinarily provokes.
blood of her grandmother, Catherine 11.
Miss Roosevelt’s new riding costume is
But this is not the only strain of im- | a modest one of blue cloth, and she has
purity in his blood. Queen Louise of | changed to the new style of riding in such
Prussia died from cancer, although some
historians claim that it was consumption.
Her son, Frederick William IV, king of
Prussia, died insane, the consequence of a
disease of the ear, such as the present
emperor, his grandnephew, has.
There is still more taint, however, Queen
Victoria, the grandmother of the emperor,
was the niece of George IV, of Engiand.
He was absolutely insane and died under
restraint.
To sum up, William II, basa father, a
great-uncle, a great great-grandmother, a
great granduncle, a great grandmother and
a great grandfather, all of whom died from
either insanity or blood taint.
an unostentations manner that criticism
of her course has been avoided
——Clyde, the 17-year-old son of J. B.
Decker, of Huntingdon while out hunting
Monday morning shot himself through the
right foot, breaking two toes and lacerating
the under part of foot. He, in company
with Wilbur Corbin, was hunting near the
town and were waiting for rabbits, Clyde
resting the muzzle of his gun on the end of
his foot. The gun being a hammerless
one, he thoughtlessly touched trigger and
discharged the load through his foot, the
DOnSEnts passing completely through the
sole.