a
Bellefonte, Pa., January 31, 1908. *
——
GOLD
In a place where the glare of the mad:ing sun
tore
Through the air till it writhed with the travail
it bore
Where the red, blistered earth cried aloud in
its pain.
And with hot eracking lips ealled to heaven in
vain,
Where the womb of creation was sterile and
dead
As a shemummy lying a thousand years
dead,
Where the wind never erooned through the
branches of trees
Nor the flowers blushed red to the kiss of the
breeze,
Where the blind spawn of serpents are gat but
to die
And no winged thing on earrion search fouls
the sky,
A gibbering husk twenty million years old,
Shattered and tattered and battered and torn,
His eyes blind of sight and his reason spark
gone,
As naked nod helpless as when he was born—
Tumbled and stumbled and fumbled and fell
On a rock, where the sun, with the humor of
Hell,
Smote the raw bleeding edge of a fabulous
ledge
Of Gold, Gold, Gold, Gold, Gold !
—~ Herbert Kaufman, in Appleton's Magazine
A FLOCK OF GEESE.
Mis. Clara Emerson did a very charac-
teristic thing when informed of ber nvex-
pected poverty: she borrowed ten thousand
dollars of the man who brought her the
information. Nos that Mis. Emerson was
in the habit of borrowing promiscuously,
bat she always had been able to get what
she wanted by merely asking for it, and,
her busband being gone, it sremed the
most natural thing in the world to ask the
man who had bees made executor of his
will.
To give her due credit, Mrs. Emerson
did not at all appreciate the gravity of the
sitoation or the natore of the favor she
was asking. She knew, in a general way,
that there were such things as ‘‘hard
times,”” and she took it for granted that
she bad stumbled apon something of that
#0rt at 8 most inopportune moment. When
Eben (ber departed hushand) encountered
a period of financial depresion, he sided it
over by borrowing, and she saw no reason
why she shonld not do the same thing. It
never occurred to her that her predicament
was more than a mere temporary embar-
rassment.
But stranger than her cool request for
the money was the fact that Anthony Hale
let her have it. Of course, he was rich
euough to let ten thousand dollars go with-
out missing it, but bix friends would have
told you that it was pot his nature to he
wasteful. If it had heen a thousand, there
would have been less occasion for surprise;
if he had been socially ambitions, it mighs
bave been considered a good investment;
bat he cared nothing for society, had been
only a business associate of Emerson, and
was but slightly acquainted with Mrs.
Emerson. Still, in the oironmstances, he
might have been expeoted to offer her a
thousand fur ure while she was adjusting
herself to the pew sitnation. But ten
thousand is & good deal of money to throw
away, and he never could explain how he
happened to do it.
Mis. Emerson bad retired, with her two
daughters, to Maple Nook after her hus-
baud’s death, and here Hale bad come to
break the ~ad news that vothing would be
left of the estate after the debts were paid.
Emerson had made a splendid income, but
he bad saved nothing, possibly because of
his wile's social extravagances. These very
extravagances were going to make it ex-
ceptionally bard for her, 00; she was ac-
ocustomed to them, having beeu a society
leader for many years, and it wonid not be
easy to give them up. Forthermore, her
daughters were of marriageable age, which
made her continued social promivence all
the more necessary. So Hale was really
sorry for her, although he would have
laughed at the sugge tion that his sympa.
thy measured up toa ten thousand dollar
standard. Hale was not emotional; he was
a practical man of business.
“All my money, t00?'’ she asked when
she heard the news.
‘‘Everything,” answered Hale regretful-
ly. ‘It was all in hi« bande, yon know,
and he got into some unfortunate specnla-
tions toward the lass. You kept nothing
in your name." :
**No,"’ she said. *‘I tarned my property
over to him when we were married. I
never could take care of money.”
It occurred to Hale that Emerson had
not been remarkably successful in that line
himeell, but the occasion did not seem to
warrant any suggestion of that sors.
“He never was very lucky in specula.
tion,”’ explained Hale, ‘but he had the
ability that made his personal services com-
mand a bigh figare while he lived. Of
course that income ceases now.’
*‘Isn’t is soo provoking!" exclaimed Mrs.
Emerson, much as ¢he would have com-
mented on the information that something
bad gone wrong with a dinner she bad
planned. Hale did not think *‘provoking"’
quite the proper word, but he offered no
substitute. ‘‘I’ve got the girls sto lcok
after, 100,” Mis. Emerson weut on, her
brow clonding, ‘‘and it’s a very critical
time in their careers—one in ber second
season and the other just ready to begin her
first. | never knew anything so inoppor-
tape.”
Whether this referred to the death of
her husband, or merely to the resulting
financial embarrassment, Hale did nos feel
called upon to inquire. He had a general
understanding of the situation, which was
sufficient for bim. Mr. Emerson had been a
business man, considerably older than his
wife, and she was a society woman; for
many years they bad had little in common,
although Emerson bad been rather proud
of his wife’s social eminence and had oheer-
fully furnished her the money she desired.
There bad been no real companionship,
80 Hale was content to leave the inoppor-
tuneness veiled in onoertainly.
‘You seem to be starting wisely," he re-
How?" she asked i
ow asked in surprise.
‘*By coming to this quiet and inex
sive Dears . pen
‘ that is quite accidental!” she re.
turned. “‘It’s 80 much easier to keep out
of social gayety when you're where there
isn’t any, and I remembered that I once
came here for a rest-oure alter the fatigue
of a season. It seems an ideal place to | view
Ypeng 'd a part of the period of d
ne.
Hale agreed with her on
wire decidedly restful,
eep mourn
that: the
were sitting
' on the porch of a rambling old farmbouse, | much of promise in is.
| and a county road, little nsed, lay be- | he bad ween with Daisy, the elder daoghter,
tween them aud a grassy slope to the bay
tof an inlaud lake. The maples thas gave
the name to this secluded corner of the
lake were hehind and on either side of
them. Hall a mile away was a little hotel
| that made a pretense of doing a trifling
'»ummer-resort hosiness. Is was all »0
rasuic that cows pastured on the slope to
the bay and a fluok of geese waddled across
the lane that led up from the road.
“Whatever your reason,” said Hale, *‘is
i» a wise choice. Of course, you will have
to give up society, and ——"
“Oh, my dear sir,”’ interrupted Mrs,
Emerson protestiogly, ‘‘that is quite im-
possible!"’
“Bus, my dear madam,’’ returned Hale,
with some warmth, ‘‘nothing else is pos-
sible.”
*“Think of the girls!’’ urged Mrs. Emer-
son.
“It is onfortunare,”” said Hale; ‘but
you must look the sitaation fairly in the
face. [am sore you will on me for
speakiog plainly, for my knowledge of Mr.
Emerson's affairs seems to make thata
duty. Unless you have resonrces of which
I have no knowledge, it will he absolutely
necessary for you to give up society.”
Mrs. Emerson pondered this a moment
aod laughed. Hale was amazed. It seemed
incredible shat any one could laugh in thas
care free way after receiving the news that
he bad brought her.
“Ob, you don’t know society!’’ she as-
society, but society wonldn’t give me up.”
The geese, now waddling across the lawn,
attracted her attention, avd she watched
them with a smile. ‘‘Society ia like a
flock of geese,”’ she said, ‘and follows the
leader just as docilely—"'
**Until something happens to the lead-
er’ suggested Hale, determined to make
his point clear,
‘Nothing bas happened,’’ she retarned
“I could have roviety here, if [ wanted it;
I’m not sure it won't come anyhow.’
Hale shook hie head dounbtfnlly.
*‘Get your geese headed right, and don’t
do anything to startle them,’ she argued,
“and shere’s no tronble. That's what the
farmer tells me,”
“Well, shat has nothing to do with this
case,’’ he remarked.
*‘Exceps a« it explains why society won's
give we up.’’ she said, and then she point
ed so where one of her daughters and a
young man were strolling along the slope
to the bay. ‘‘He lost interest in the city
and the fashionable resorts when we came
here, and there are two others at the hotel
who have suddenly discovered that the
fishing is good. They don’t know a min-
vow from a whale, either,”
“That's vos sociesy,”’ he contended.
‘‘A part of is,” she insisted. ‘They're
all prominent socially.”
Is wa= disconraging, this task of trying
to make her take a practical view of the
sitaation. That certain young men still
fovnd her daughters attractive proved
nothing; Hale would have to be brutally
blunt.
“Mrs. Emerson,” he said, “you do not
seem to comprehend the faot that you have
vothing at all: the estate will bardly pay
the debts. The matter is ove of immediate
importance; I shall be glad to assist you,
baug—"
““Yes,”’ she interrupted carelessly, *'I
suppose | shall have to ask you for ten
thousand dollars."
“But, my dear madam!’ he protested.
~ “Why now?’ she asked. ‘‘You always
accommodated Eben.”
What could a man do with such an au
reasoning woman as that? She might under -
stand society, but she certainly bad no
comprehension af business—conld not see
why a loan to her, with absolately no re.
sonroes, was not the same as a loan to her
late husband, whose ahility bad been a
vonree of income. Her sablime confidence
seemed to put Hale in a tiance.
“Yes,” she went on calmly, ‘‘I shall
have to have that much. Could vou let
me have a cheok now?"
With generous forethought, Hale bad
brought his check book with him—a fact
tha: he regretted when he had time for
consideration. It had occurred to him that
o liste ready cash mighs be needed; it bad
not occurred to him that she sum would be
ten thousand dollars, or anything like is.
“I mass thiuk of the girls,” she said, as
she took him into the house, where there
were pens and ink. “Their future moss not
be jeoparized.”
Hale afterward decided that be must
have been hypnotized: nothing else, not
even his sympathy, would explain bis ad-
vancing ten thousand dollars on vothing.
But he gave her the check.
“I believe there's a note or something
I ought to sign, isn’t there?” she asked.
“I know Eben always had to do something
of that sort.
“I don’t think it’s necessary in this
case,”’ auswered Hale, rather ruefully. At
least he would be a graceful victim, if he
had to be one, and a note upon which be
never would think of forcing a collection
would be of no use to him. Besides, he
already cousidered this a loss,
“It’s so good of yon,’ she said gratefully;
“it makes me feel 50 much more comfort-
able.”
“What are your plans?” he inquired,
feeling that he had a personal interest in
terest in them now.
‘Oh, I don’t koow,’’ she replied; “I
may build.”
“*Build!"’ be exclaimed.
“Why, ves,” she returned, surprised hy
his tone. ‘If I’ve got to stay in this sleepy
country, I must bave a place to entertain.”
‘‘Bat, my dear madam,’”’ he protested,
almost plaintively, ‘‘you have no money
for anything of that sors.”
*I bave ten thousaud dollars,”’ she re-
torted, with a slight show of irritation at
his obtuseness. ‘Of course, I can’t do very
much with that, bot something suited to
this guiet neighborhood won't cost so very
much. Youn see 1 must remember my duty
to the girls.”
Hale gave up in despair; be could advise
nothing. Sbe had ten shousand dollars
to waste as she raw fit.
‘It’s getting awfully lonely down here,
$00,’ she added. ih really must bring some
congenial people down, if only to prove
the goose tion. I can’t join in any-
thing really lively, of course, but there's
no reason why I should make a cloister of
my retreat. It isn’t fair to the girls.”
Hale, now resigned to the inevitable,
merely nodded, and Pressatly lel to catoh
his traiv back to the city. He shoughs it
all over on the train, wondering at the ease
with which be had been separated from ten
thousand dollars. As first, he was barshly
sell-condemnatory: there was not even the
promise that the money would do any real
good so compensate bim for the loss. Then
her constant reference to ‘‘the girls’ re-
curred to him, and slowly there came over
him a new understanding of her point of
“wg George,’’ he exolaimed, ‘‘it’s un in-
vent ina natrimonial campaign —and
place | she may win!”
sured him. *‘I might be willing to give up | PO
‘something.
He reviewed the situation, and found | —
The young man
belonged to a rich and socially prowmivent
family ; she two others as she hotel were
decidedly ‘‘eligible,’”’ and he bad heard
that one of them was devoted to Esther.
What more natural than that a woman of
Mrs. Emerson's life and social aspirations
should look to society for the rebabilita-
tion of her fortunes? Incidentally, she
bad expressed a desire that nothing of her
present cironmstances shounld become
known. Wealth would He no particular
attraction to these mes, but it was impors-
ant that she should be able to continue in
the circles to which she had heen acoustom-
ed without creating comment.
“She may do it,” he reflected. *‘I never
was much on matrimonia! finance, bas it’s
probably her specialty. Perbaps I ougut
to bave taken a note for that money after
all ; she'll pay it if it ever happens to he
convenient, but a note might help with
Son-in-law.”
Mrs. Emerson looked complacently out
over the grassy siope that ran down to the
lake, and then smiled at the young man
who stood beside her.
“I am not much of a manager, Mr. Ash.
ton,’’ she said, *‘and I am so much in need
of belp and counsel that I am going to 1m-
pose ou your good natare a little.”
“Command me, Mrs. Emerson,” return-
ed young Ashton gallantly. “‘It will he a
pleasure to do anything that lies in my
wer."’
She smiled her thanks in a way thas
made bim feel he was heing taken almost
into the family circle : but a worldly per-
son might bave found something signifi-
cant in the fact that she was choosing as
her aide the richest of the young men who
had been attracted to Maple Nook,
“I have been puzzling over the best way
to lay out the grounds here,”’ she explain-
ed. “I shall have wome gardeners and
landscape people out from the city later,
bat there are some things I want to do
now. I've bought the place, you know.”
‘‘Bought the place ?'’ he repeated in sur-
prise.
‘Well, I own the strip from the house,
to the lake,’’ she said, “‘and that gives me
room for a pretty good summer place.”
“What's the farmer going *o do?" he
asked.
“Oh, he's going to move into a group of
old buildings at the other end of his farm,’
she answered. ‘You see, I just fell in
love with this lake frontage.’
“Is is delightful,” he conceded ; ‘‘a
charming spot.”
“I shall build next season, of course,”
she went oon, ‘‘bus I've got to make the
best of this building now. It’s not so bad—
old, but roomy—and I'm having some
things sent out from she city ; but the
grounds trouble me. We must have some
tennis-courts. Do you suppose yon and
Daisy could seleot the best place for them
avd superintend the work? ['ve engaged
the workmen, hut they must he told whas
to do, or they'll make a boteh of it.”
“I can imagine vo more enjoyable ocon-
pation,’’ he returned promptly, thinking
more of the partnership with Daisy than of
the work.
**8o good of you,” said Mrs. Emerson
gratefully. ‘‘It’s been so lonely here that
I'm planning to have one or two intimase
friends down from the city, and I feel that
[ mast get the place fixed up a little. I'm
brivgiog down some of my old servants to
take oharge of the bouse.”’
“I am ouly too glad to help you in any
way that I can,” Ashton assured her—and
be proved this by starting with Daisy in
search of the best location for the tennis
courts,
This joint responsibility, extending even
to the supervision of the men who were
finally pot to work, gave them a very
pleasant feeling of partnership.
Mrs. Emerson watched the pair content.
edly for a little while, and then retired to
the house to write a few notes.
To Carl Gage she extended an invitation
to come down for a week or so. ‘Thies is
uot wholly disinterested,”” she told him
frankly. ‘We want you to help us lay
out goil-linkse. We don’t know anything
ahout that, and you know all about is, so
Iam hoping yon will be good enough to
give us the henefit of your advice. The
kirls may bother you some with impractical
suggestions, bus you won’s mind that.”
Thea she asked Mrs. Worthington to
come down with her two daughters. “I
really muss have some congenial company,’’
she wiote, ‘‘and I am eure yon will be
willing to pus up with afew discomforts
for my sake. Besides, I want you so see
this place now, so that you can compare it
with whas it will he when I bave bad sime
to carry out my building and landscape
plans. I never was so enraptured with
natural beauties and opportunities before.”
And in a closing paragraph she added :
‘“‘Awlully glad to bave Jack come, il he
can tear himself away from business.”
SOR gr
sibly ng explai
Hale would bave th 1)
did. Of course, Hale knew nothing ol the
paragraph, but he did hear that Jaok
Worthington had followed his mother and
sisters to Maple Nook.
“She may do it,”” he mused, referring to th
Mrs. Emerson; ‘she’s getting a good col-
lection of eligible men down there, and
some mothers and sisters are a necessary
inconvenience of the game.’
Then he heard shat Carl Gage had gone,
and shat the little hotel was prospering
much as a resuls of the light of Mrs. Emer-
son's presence in the vicinity. She really
seemed to be a social magnes. Bus he was
not #o sure of ber wisdom now.
‘It seems to me she’s overdoing is," he
reflected. ‘‘She doesn’t need so many at
one time, but I suppose she fignres that
she’s got to hurry things some, aud doesn’t
want to overlook any chances."
A few days later his wife informed him
that she was going to run down to Maple
Nook for a week or so.
“What for ?'’ he asked quickly.
“Oh, we may want to build !"”’ she an-
swered.
That bad such a familiar sound that it
startled him, and be made basty objection.
“I'm wot doing any more building
there,’ be declared.
““What building have you ever done
there?’ she inquired surprised.
““None—as yet.”
“Then what are you talking abou?’
“I don’t know.”
She seemed to expect some further ex-
planation, but none was forthcoming.
“Oar oviy summer place,” she ventured
at lass, ‘‘is almost out of the world. Is
would be nice to have one where the bess
e go.”
Wh one set knew Jers waa such a
a year ago, eon ,
“But Mrs, Emerson
argued, as if that settled everything,
‘I have reason to know that,” he eaid
ny. bought —
“I Know is.”
ad presence anywhere is sufficient to
“*You know I don’t care anything about
rociety,’’ he interrupted.
Well, I've heard so much ahout the
Nowk that I want to go down there fora
week or 60 anyhow,’’ she declared. ‘You
veedn’t go.”
“That's different,” he returned, with
more ¢seerfuluess ‘I merely don’s wans
to buy up all there is of Maple Nook, and
that seems to he the outlook.”
‘Not at all," she assured him.
“Then go ahead.”
There was no good objection that he
could advance to this plan, but he was not
wholly satisfied. Hie wile was sometimes
rather impulsive in gratifying her whim»,
“And,” he shoughbt, 1 dou’s helieve I
want to contribute anything more so Mix,
's matrimonial campaign.” Bus
it was a risk that be had to take, even if is
did make him a little anxious, so he got
what consolation he cosld from she fact
that he had eausioned her.
Two days later bis son's absence from
dinner aroused momentary curiosity.
“Where's Toni 2’ he inquired.
“Why sir,” replied the butler, “Mr,
Tom went down to Maple Nook today so
join Mrs. Hale.”
“Oh!" ejaculated Hale, and then he add-
ed thoughtfully: “I wonder if I'll bave
to pay myself the ten thon<and dollars that
Mrs. Emerson horrawed of me! that wonld
be a good joke ’
But he only smiled rather grimly at the
joke.
Ir
The poreh of the rambling old farmhoanse
bad heen made more attractive iv many
ways. Pains, flowers and new chairs add-
ed much to iw beauty, and there were now
weither cows nor geese,
Mrs. Worthington had come and gone,
and other guests bad followed her; the
houose had not been a house of mourning,
although the summer had been spent gniet-
ly. The young people, of course, had had
their tennis and their golf, and a small
launch put the pieasares of the lake within
reach, but Mrs. Emerson had merely
sought to escape lonelineas by having a lit-
tie congenial company in the house—never |
a large party, bus a constantly changing
one. That the little hotel was crowded,
and that many of the young people there
spent mach of their time with * her daugh-
ters on the golf-links and tennis courts,
was not a thing for which she should be
eriticised.
Just now Mrs. Emerson was giving
much attention to Mrs. Hale, and the lat.
ter wa flattered thereby. Min. Hale, al
though her hushand was« rich and her fam-
ily irreproachable, never had got very close
to the inner citadel of society. Tom Hale
was at that very moment on the golf-links
with Esther Emerson, a fact that gratified
Mrs. Hale.
“Don’t you find it delightful here?"
asked Mis. Emerson.
“It is beautiful!” declared Mrs. Hale.
‘I do not think,” said Mrs. Emerson,
‘that [ ever saw a place that offered such
opportanities. Here it should be possible
to bave seclusion and exclusiveness.”’
‘ They demand pretty good prices,”
sighed Mrs. Hale.
“No wonder,” commented Mis Emwer-
son. “So many of my friends have been
anxious to buy. But I hope you have se-
cured a choice location."
“Yes,” returned Mrs. Hale thooghtfal-
ly; “I have.”
Mrs. Emerson's gaze wandered in the di-
rection of the golf links, ‘‘Because,’”’ she
said, ‘it seems as if it would be almost
necessary for us to be neighbors.”
; Mrs. Hale's heart gave a little flutter of
oy:
*I bave had so much trouble with Au-
thonv aboat it.”
Yes?" said Mrs. Emerson, with sympa-
thetic inquiry.
“Oh, yes,” returned Mrs. Hale; ‘‘I can’t
understand bis opposition to my plan, for
he is usnally very good ahout letting me
have my own way. Why, he has even
heen urging me to come home for the last
three or four weeks.”
‘Perhaps he misses you,’’ snggested Mrs.
Emerson.
‘That seems hardly the plausible expla.
nation,’ said Mrs. Hale, ‘‘because hie sug-
gested a Enropean trip, and he never has
ohjected to my staying as our place up in
the woods as long as I wanted.”
‘‘Men are mystifying sometimes,” com-
mented Mrs. Emerson, ‘but a resourceful
woman usually bas her way. Of course,
yoa finally convinced him.”
**No-o,"” faltered Mrs. Hale, ‘‘not exact-
ly. You see, I have my own bank-account,
for house and family expenses, and I took
the necessary money from that. It used it
about all up,’’ she added regretfully, ‘hut
he'll understand when I have a chance to
explain to him personally, and then I'll
get the money for building. I couldn’s
lose this opportunity.”
*‘Ot course not,’”’ Mrs. Emerson agreed.
Mrs. Hale was much strengthened by
Mrs. Emersons’s sympathetic comprehen-
sion; she was also much encouraged, not to
vay elated, on her son’s account. Meeting
the young man and Esther Emerson as she
was leaving, she gave him a significant
nod. in nence of which the couple
immediately a) before Mis. Emerson
on the poroh. e seemed quite ready for
em
“Like a rustic love-roene in a play,” she
commented, as they stood in front of her,
band in hand.
“It’s a real one,” declared the youth | Posi
earnestly.
“Ob, very real !"’ said the maid.
“I've come to ask you—'' the youth
“You're a nice boy, Tom,”” Mrs. Emer-
son interrupted. ‘‘I hope you didn’t think
you were going to surprise me.” Aud her
emile was so reassuring that he squeezed
the girl's band in a most plebeian way.
“You're willing?’ he exclaimed joyous-
ly.
‘It you're both quite sure—'’
*‘I never was so sure of anything in my
life!” cried the youth,
“I can’t live without him!’’ echoed the
maid,
“Not gefte so demonstrative, please,’
cautioned Mrs. Emerson. ‘We are visi-
ble from the road, you know.” ’
“I'll write to father as once,’’ said Tom.
“I am writing to him on a little business
matter,’ Mrs. Emerson, smiling
indulgently on the bappy couple. “I'll
Settise engagement to him, il you
wish.
*‘Oh, yes, all means!” urged Tom.
“It is so a of youn.”
‘‘Isn’s it?’ she asked, with something
quizzical in her tone. . :
A check dropped ous of the letter that
came to Anthony Hale from Mrs. Emerson.
He it aside, and gave his attention
"th letter, ' ‘ ha
am so grateful to you for your loan,
Mrs. Emerson w) “and I am that
I am able to #0 soon. I am in-
closing a oheck for ten thousand dollars. I
su there is interest or something, but
I don’t know how §o figure that. You'll
have to tell me if there is anything more
due. Please don't hesitate to do so, for I
. am financially very comfortable now.
AEN
~—1 don’t know just how —options or some
thing, my real-estate man tells me. Any-
bow, I got it, avd everybody was so good
about wating to hay when they beard |
was going to baild. Well, I am. It's a
fine piace, and it’s going to be reaily ex-
clasive. Of course, I wold through third
| parties, bus I own everything that's left,
{80 I am a good deal interested.
| “Idon’t know just what my profit is—
| five bundred 10 a shousand per cens., my
| real-estate man says ; but I vever did un-
| derstand peroentage. I used some of the
| money paid in to complete the purchase of
| the other land—sort of mysterious to me
how I did so much without Janything, bus
| my real estate man mavaged is, and very
likely you'll nnderstand. Anyhow, I've
| got a good deal of money and a lot of val-
| nable property that didn’t cost me any-
| thing.
**Perbaps the interest question may be
neglected, as it bas become something of a
family affair. Tum and Esther, my young.
er danghter, have just been in to see me
about a most momentous question. I have
learned to think highly of youor son, so I
readily gave my consent to their betrothal.
Daisy’s engagement to Mr. Gage will be
annonooed a listle later.”
Hale picked up the check, and almost
tipped over the chair. It was his wife's
check for teu thousand dollars, payable to
a certain Silas Higgins, indorsed by Hig:
gins to Clara Emerson, and indpreed ny
Mrs. Emerson to Anthonv Hale.
*‘Oh, yes, she herded she geese all right,”
he said, witha grim, bot amused, smile.
**She has repaid me with my own mopey.”’
He gazed abstractedly at the ceiling fora
while “I let her have it, and she’s paid
it back, and I'm still out ten thousand
| dollars, and she’s ahead of the game some-
| thing handsome.’’ he mused. “I'll have
|toget an expert acoountant to find out
| what's happened. Bot,” he added, “I
don’s want to he oo the outside when I
have business with that kind of an imprac-
tical woman, and Esther seems to he a
mighty nice girl. I don’t believe I am
| called npon to do anything bnt smile.’ —
By Elliott Flower, in Satorday Evening
ost.
Worse than Race Saleide.
“You see, I got all the land about here
In one of the reports of the State Fao-
tory commission, of Illinois, it was stated
that durivg one year child labor in that
State inoreased 39 per ceut. Daring this
same length of sime the increase in men
workers was 9 per cent, of women 16 per
cent.
It is intended now to pass a rigid law in
HAPPY PASTIME
—
It's lots of fun to skate, you know ;
And fun to const down hill,
It's fun to play at snowball, too,
And build snow forts until
Jack Frost does nip your nose and mitts,
And give your toes particular fits,
But greater fan it is to sit
Around the fire bright,
A-listening to xome thrilling tale
Your granupa tells at night.
For no one in this world below
Does know such tales as he does know.
When he was young such times they had—
Not like the present days—
All things were good und none were bad—
At least, so Grandpa says.
And Grandpa surely ought to know,
For he has watched this new time grow,
He tells of jolly “huskin’ bees,"
And “spellin’ schools™ also ;
Of “singin’ schools’ and *“quiltin’ bees,"
Where everybody'd go.
And when he talks it's well worth while
To note the joy in Grandpa's smile,
And so I say the greatest fun
Is round the fire bright,
A-listening to dear Grandpa's tales
Told on a Winter's night.
Maud Walker,
A A——————————
Denth of Prominemt Willtamsporter.
0. 8. Brown, owner and manager of the
Gazette and Bulletin and posswascer of
Williamsport, died in a room in the
Ko-er hospital on Tuesday morving, after
a long illness with diabetes,
OQiauge Sabin Brown was born at Wess
Almond, Allvgany county, New York, on
Nov. 15, 1840. and was therefore in his
sixty-eighth year.
Oraoge 8. Brown never married. He was
educated at Angelica Academy, Angelica,
N.Y, and av Alfred University. Afser
completing bis conse at the university he
read law in the office of Martin Grover,
afterward chief Justice of she Court of Ap-
peals of the Sate of New York.
During the civil war Mr. Brown was ap-
pointed to and served in the quartermas-
ter's department as acting assistant quar-
termaster, and had quite a military ex-
perience, being at one time located in New
Otleans. He ranked as licotenant in the
160th New York [ufausry.
He located in Williamsport in the year
1865, and engaged in the floor milling
business until 1868. For a number of
years he was mavager of the West Branch
| that State to prevent parents swearing false-
ly to the age of their children. For itis!
considered the quickest way to suppress |
such an outrage a~ child labor is to deprive |
the parent of the power to let the child |
work for wages, I
But these statistics showing how child |
labor is creasing prove conditions that
are mild in comparison with those met in
the South. There child labor flourishes in |
all its degradation, a worse crime than ever
slavery was, for the little ones do nos have |
even the privilege of growing to manhood
and womanhood, for after three or four |
of working in the cotton mills they
ie.
Children are started to work in the mills
at six years of age, occasiovally at five. The
mother generally works also, while the
husband and father stays at home, ostensi-
bly to do the work, but generally to spend
his time as the grosery or grog shop. Thee
meu always have large families aud no
doubt talk cant regarding the glories of
parenthood.
It is said that after a child bas been in
the mills one year he can never be tanght
to read. Workiog from 13 to 18 hours a
day awid the whirring machinery, stand. |
ing ou their feet watching always for brok-
en threads and mending them, shese babies
become mere waazened pigmies in whom
all sensation seems dead.
From 6 o'clock in the morning until 7 at
night they march back and forth in frout
of the spindles that whirr and whirr and
whirr with a never-ending roar, watching
for the broken threads. They do nos hear
one word of speech, for the noise is too
great. They are frightened into eternal
vigilance by the pantomime threats of their
overaeers, or, if too dull with weariness to
notice these pantomiames, they ate kicked
into renewed action,
ese wee creatares, whose lives are
finished before they bave reached their
teens, are working by the thonsands this
very day just as they bave been working
for many long weary days gone by. And
they work in this way that those who own
the mills may get a larger per cent on their
investment than shey could were adult
labor employed and shat their parents may
vot be obliged to support them.
It is bad enough that the capitalists will
encourage such au outrage. Bat what
about the parents whe not only consent to
their little ones working in these mille,
bat force them to do is and even lie about
their age, often sending them to work at
3 i of age and insisting that they are
|
These are the parents who have the
largest families. Meu have been known
to boast that they bad enougb children
working in the mills so they themselves
didn’t bave to work, but conid just ‘have
a good time.” Soch men do uot believe
in ‘“‘race suicide.’’ Ob, no ! Quite the op-
te.
So their little children are boro into the
world and hailed with rejoicing because
each one after 6 years of age cau earn some-
thing for the family. Io many oases the
mother’s attitude in this matter is no high-
er than the father’s.
This is one phase of the boasted glory of
parenthood.
This combination of the capitalist and
the parents who bring children into the
world that they may earn money for a few
years ard then die, is a blot on oar Nation
Greater thao slavery.
But what is being done ahont it ?
To look well you must be well. When
the figure loses its roundness and the face
its fairness, there is some disease as work
which is robbing the body of its vitalisy.
That disease will generally be found prey-
ing upon the delicate womanly organs.
The surest way to look well, therefore, is
to get well, and the sure way to get well is
to use Dr. Pierce's Favorite Prescription.
Themes ol ving have been Sure | by
its many have expressed er
ol A at the restoration of their good
looks, with the oure of local disease. Dr.
of “Favorite Prescription,” when there is
a ooonstipated habits of body to be over-
oome,
———Teacher— What are the properties of
bh Johuny ?
1 of heat are that is ex-
ny —
pands bodies while cold contracts them.
Teacher—Very good. Can you give me
an example ?
Johnoy—Yes'm. In summer, when it
ia very hot, the day is long; in winter, when
Pierce's Pleasant Pellets assist the action | ®™Y
Planing will owned hy Brown, Early &
Co., and J. H. Allen, but the newspaper
business was to be his forte, and in she
year 1887 he parohased the Gazette and
ietin from Charles E. Fritoher, now
connected with the state department at
Harrisburg, aod has since been its publish-
er. He was a shrewd business man, and he
«uccessfully conducted this vewspaper
during twenty-one years, improving it
from time to time until it hecame, as it is
now, the leading morning daily in the
West Branch Valley.
In Jauuary, 1903 five years ago, he was
appointed postmaster by President Roose-
velt, succeeding Charles W Scots, and
during his regime there were many im-
provements introduced in the office, the ser-
vice made more efficient, and the business
increased accordingly. His term as Post-
master expired a year ago, hut up to the
time of his death there had heen no new
appointment made,
Trinmphant Career for a Woman.
The growth of mental healing and the
aposheis of Mr«. Eddy are the ~abjeots of
she February installment of the history of
thie Christian Seciener movement. Miss
Milmine says *
“The first five years of Ms. Eddv’s life
in Boston bad been years of almost upin-
terrupted progress. Her college bad by
1887, grown to he a source of very consid-
erable income. Her classes now numbered
from thirty to fifty students each, and a
olass was instructed and graduated within
three weeks’ time. The course which was
formerly the only one taught at Mrs. Ed-
dy’s college was now called the ‘primary
course,” and she added what she termed a
‘normal course’ (being a review of the pri-
mary,) 8 course in ‘metaphysical obstes-
rics,’ and a course in ‘theology,’ in all of
which she was the ®ole instructor. Tuition
fees amounting to eight hundred dollars.
“Since she first began to teach her ‘Soi-
ence’ the story of her pablio life is simply
the story of how she kept her hold on is.
The very way in which she had come by
ber discovery made her always afraid of
losing it, and she was forever detecting
some student in the act of making off with
it. Even in Lynn, she slept, as it were,
with her band on the oradle.
‘Mis. Eddy’s controversy with Mr.
Dresser set her less infatuate students so
thinking. Many of them decided to inves-
tigate this Qnimby claim, and bought the
works of the Rev. Warren F. Evans, who
bad practiced Qunimby’s method of healing
hoth in New Hampshire and in Massachu-
setts, and who bad published two books
upon mental bealing before she first edition
of ‘Science and Health’ appeared.
‘‘After reading Dr. Evans, a naomber of
Mrs. Eddy’s strongest students quietly
dropped ous of her Christian Scientists’
Association forming the nucleus of what
was later to become she ‘New Thought’
movement.’
Mis. Eddy, seeing the daoger of liberal
investigation, quickly proceeded to ‘ster-
ilize the sources of mental science litera-
ture.” How she managed itis a story
worth reading.
— ‘Prohibition may beall right in its
way,’’ sighed the tall man inthe little
railroad station, ‘‘but ewer since it struck
this town I haven’t made a dollar.”
‘‘H'm,” responded she coffee-mill drum-
mer. ‘“‘I suppose you used to runa sa-
loon ?*
“No J"
“Tavern ?"’
“No.”
“Well, what could it bave been thas
prohibition drove out of business ?"’
“Why, Torkieh baths.”
—Young man,’’ said ber father,
“‘do yon smoke ”!
“I should way not !"’ declared the youth,
bastily. “I wonld covsider it disgraceful
to be seen with one of she vile things in
moath. I think all cigarette smokers
should be jailed. Why do you ask, sir?”
“Thought perhaps you could let me have
one,” said the old man, pointedly, “I
smoke ’em myself.”
‘Harry, did not hear your
Bother SI YI
“Course I did.”
“Then why don’ you go to her ?"’
“She's nervous. If I should go teo quick
she'd drop dead,” and Harry went on with
it is cold, it gete to be very short.
his playing as if nothing disturbed his
mind.
Co Te