Dewi
Bellefonte, Pa., February 7, 1908,
THE LEAP YEAR REFUSAL.
"Tis very kind, indeed, of you
To offer to become my wite ;
To say*you love me as you do
And wish to share my simple life,
But do not grieve at what | say,
Dear Maud, | really love another ;
In anger ao not go away,
I will consent to be your brother,
I'm sorry, Mand, I really am,
That you have learned to love me so ;
Fer me you should not care a—darn,
I never meant to be your beau.
Your husband, Maud, | cannot be,
My heart belongs unto another ;
I'm sorry you've proposed to me,
But | can only be your brother.
If you should ever want a friend,
I trust that you will send for me;
Un me, you always may depend,
I'll come to you, where'er | ve,
Surely there is some better man
Who'll gladly take you for his wife;
So fied him ~I am sure you can—
I'll be your brother all through life.
Oh, tell us, girls, how doex it round,
To hear the talk you've handed out
Now Leap Year's twisted things around.
How does it sound when sweethearts flout
Your fond proposals, as you've done,
And all your hopes are put to sleep?
Dost thou think this brother talk is fun
How do you like to loop the leap?
— Detroit Feee Press,
HIRAMS SON-IN-LAW,
Old Hiram Daboey was a man of few
prejudices, but their fewness in pumber
was amply made up for by strength of senti-
ment toward each. So ivtensely did old
Hiram object to all that appeared to him
objectionable that it would be bard so tell
whas was his pet aversion, Is would be
sale to say, however, that he hated uoth-
ing on earth moe than he did a
man school teacher. Yes ; a man teacher
might be placed at the head of she list,
In all the ten years of his School Tras.
teeship, this was the first time be bad al-
lowed a man to teach in his ‘‘de-striok.”
And it was a sort of forced choice with
him. The development of Satan in the
two Huggins boys had demonstrated that
women were unqualified on muscular
ronnds to ivstrues in District Number
ine.
Therefore, when it came to hire a fall
teacher, Hiram bitched up his wagon and
drove off to the county seat. He inter-
viewed the School Superintendent and filed
hia specifications for a teacher.
“] want a man, by gum! I want one
thet kin lick th’ hoots of’n two uv th’
meanest little cusses in ten States. They've
raised th’ devil in our de-strick fer er
couple uv years, now, jis’ because they've
got a all fired dashiu’ grown-up brother
with er gig an’ red cutter, thar ain’t airy
ol’ maid er ainy other kind uv er woman
thet'll skin them two hoys erlive ez they'd
oughter. I want er man, by Jerushy,thed’ll
snatob th’ tops av their heads off I"
The Superintendent 1208 a grave and be-
coming attention to these remarks. He
was an old-timer in his office, and well ac-
castomed to hearing how mean the Other
Fellow’s obildren are ! He sent out Stephen
Benson.
Stephen was a bright,good looking young
fellow. He bad won his education by a
bard fight, and bad stopped shore of col-
lege because of the imperative necessity to
earn. .
When he arrived and stated his business,
old Hiram iooked hum over with critical
eye. He thonght him too slim and pale to
make a first rate fighter, but then Hiram
did not expect to find an article in men
teachers that would «unit him in all partic-
ulars. I. was just a case of picking, the
beet of a had lot.
“Wal.”” he invited, ‘‘onm out ter th’
barn. I'll talk to ye while 1 polish my
bairness.”
Stephen balanced himself on a sawhuck,
while the old man took down a set of fine,
Yidiel-plaen barvess that hang ahout the
wall.
““Naow,’’ he drawled, holding up a bri-
dle bis, and squinting at it with one eye
shot. “Kin you cut cord-wood ?"’
*‘I dare say,” replied Stephen, unsmil-
ingly.
“Oh, you dare say,” mimicked Hiram,
“but kin you ?"’
‘Would that be inoloded in my duties
here?”
Hiram polished a knob with great atten-
tion before replying.
‘‘Nope,”” he answered, casually, “but I
"low you’ll need shet befs uv forearm.”
Stephen did not volunteer any ohserva-
tion to this, and Hiram spest avoiher two
minutes diligently scouring a buskle,
“Ever killed anybody ?"’ he asked, pres-
ently.
“No,”” answered Stephen, shortly. He
was at rifle lacking in philosophical pa-
tienoe with shis type of the rural school
guardian and his mental y
“Well, what kin you dot
“‘Ican teach your school, if that is what
you want done, and mavage it, too. If
there is anything else—'’
He had spoken with more heat than he
intended, but experience bad taught him
that there were times when a mild temper,
like patience, was not a virtue ; though
there was but little danger of bis erring in
that respect
Hiram rubbed slowly and carefully up
aud down the length of a pair of reins.
With a far-away expression, he wiped softly
and affectionately around and around the
big handsome collars. He appeared quite
oblivious of Stephen's existence. Stephen
rose and buttoned up his coat. It wasa
choleric eye that he to Hiram.
*‘Have you anything torther to say, Mr.
Dabney ?”’
‘‘About what ?"’ mildly inquired the old
fellow, drawing his grimy fiogers through
a wisp of chin whiskers, and looking up at
Stephen with a gaileless eye.
's lips were compressed thinly.
“I understood that you were looking for
a man to teach your school. I did not ride
twelve miles over these roads for fun. I
guess you've bad time enough to give me
my avswer,’’ said Swephen, and turned so-
ward the door. “I wish you good after-
noon.
“Oh, say, young man,” said Hiram, as
one communicating a trivial bit of news,
“‘you’re hired.”
“What ?"’ said Stephen, looking back-
, onappeased.
“1 said 2 woz hired, you an’ them
gimoraok omys uv yourn,”’ remarked
Hiram, iog pleasantly.
§ 54
For a moment it appeared as if Stephen
would scorn to be hired, but after a second
ut hat inastisian, he faced 8,
A ng one a a -
Fn yin cli gol i
“Look here, Mr. Dabney,” he said, ‘if
I am hired to seach your school, I intend to
be the teacher. [ am going todo things
exactly my way or pot at all. I guess you
understand.”
At this Hiram’s smile was almost boy-
ish, it wae so bland and guileless
“Oh, you're bired, all right,” he al-
firmed.
He added a hospitable invitation for
Stephen to stop overnight, bat Stephen de-
clined, saying that he had a bired horse
and wanted to take it back to town thas
nighs.
*“Wal, come in an’ git supper, ainshow.”’
Stephen thought it hetter not to reject
this extension of the olive branch, so he led
bis horse into the barn for a feed and ao-
companied the old man to the bose for the
six o'clock supper. And it was then and
there that he met and fell in love with
Mary Dabney. Mary was eighteen, and a
delicate, feminine edition of her father.
“That's my darter,’ was she formal in-
troduction Hiram accorded ; and Stephen
took her strong, shapely hand in a brief
olasp,and then tarned to grees Mra. Hiram,
a good, phlegmatio soul, remarkable for
nothing unless it was excellence in bisouit-
making. It was plain that Mary inherited
both her looks and personality from her
father; and that she was spoiled was as
patent as it was natoral.
After supper Stephen left, to return to
the district the following Sunday, ready to
open school Monday morsiug. He rather
wished it was in order thas he should hoard
with the Dabneys, bat it was a time honor-
ed oustom for the teacher to hoard with a
certain family who lived quite near the
schoolhouse, and Stephen felt that in some
respecte it was jnst as well for him not to be
domiciled with old man Dahney.
He did not know whether Mary would
attend school or not. He bad hoped for
some expression from her on the subjeot,
but had been disappointed ; and Monday
morning, as pupils of sll sizes and ages ar-
rived, and she was not amoung them, he
felt another disappointment. He would
have been somewhat consoled had he
known the conditions that had operated
against her so arriving. They were some-
what in this order :
Anout the middle of the year before
Mary bad ‘‘stopped school,”” because she
had arrived as tbat stage of arithmetio and
grammar where the then acting expounder
of learning gos completely stumped over
the complexities of Higher Mat! ematics as
extant in the last bondred pages of the
Grammar Sohool Arithmetic. So Mary
took her books home, and stayed there.
Now, without any particular eagerness
to asquire more education than incidental
school life shonld afford, sbe did make ap
her mind thas night at supper that she
would attend the coming term of school.
She was divided between a dewire to do this
and a hesitancy to let “‘Professor’’ Benson
find out how little she knew; but the very
earnest expression of hix gray eyes bad a
wonderful way of stirring her ambition
for farther culture, She turned and toss.
ed half the night over the problem, and
then decided that she would study so hard
that she wounld make a phenomenal show-
ing of intellect if she did not have much
to show for it, and that the game would
be worth the candle. Hilda Huggins was
going, and Hilda was as old as Mary. Ar
the thought of Hilda's blackberry eyes and
glossy raven hiaids and their possible in-
floence, Mary sat up iu bed with a stars.
That determined her
Next : Mary was not acoustomed to more
than mention her purposes to her parents.
Her reasons therefor she considered super-
flavus to them Moreover, Mary was deep.
Old Hiram was, locally, at least, prover-
bially deep, and Mary was like her father
iu this as in other respects.
Monday morning, with her books done
up iv a strap, and wearing ber new plaid
gingham dress, which she bad selected after
trying on ber entire wardrobe exclusive of
her party dresses and her one silk for
church, Mary descended to breakfasts. She
ostentatiously placed ber bas and books on
the corner of the table.
“Well, by Jimmy Pills!” exclaimed
ber father, genuinely sarprised, ‘where air
yon off to?”
**To school, of course,” responded Mary,
with an inflection that was intended to in-
dicate shat thar settled the matter.
*‘Goin’ to school !"' repeated her father.
‘‘Ye ain't goin’ to do no sich av er thing,”
he asserted positively. ‘“‘Ye shav’t go to
no school teached by no darn little man
teacher.’
“Why ?'’ asked Mary calmly, helping
herself to eggs and toast.
Hiram rauted and swore, and he made
the fatal mistake of switting her with what
in hin heart be did nas, could not, really
conceive to he trne—that she admired ‘‘thes
lantern-jawed wan teacher.”
This accusation ignited such a fire of real
indignation that Miss Mary, for one of the
few times in her life, broke into a storm of
tears as she left the room. She rao upstairs
and slammed the door with a bang that
shook she house, and looked herself in.
At noon she wonld not to her
motber’s call for divner. By the middle
of the afternoon, not being able to get any
response from ber, nor hear a sound. Mrs.
Hiram sought her husbaud aod told him in
a voice quavering with tears how uneasy
she was, and then burst into erying.
The upshot of the master was, of course.
that Hiram brought around Mary’s pony
Toesday morning for ber to ride to school.
Stephen looked up from his register just
in time to see her as she cantered into the
schoolyard. His heart gave a quick hound
with the shook of pleasure that sent the
blood flying to his face. He wae glad he
had seen her before she entered, as. it gave
him time to become com before he
greeted her; but his cheeks were still flush.
ed, and there was a oorrespondi
of color in Mary's face as she —
morniog’’ very primly. With less pretense,
Stephen came up and shook hands with
her and said he was glad to see her and as:
signed her a desk.
That was she beginning. In the weeks
that followed, not one ray of suspicion
dawoed on Hiram. He brought the black
pony around five mornings in the week
with the regularity of clockwork.
height
“Good
That Mary studied till past midnight orl
Query aight in her fom, Ret father was
happily unaware. That she was engaged
to be married to Stephen Benson, her fath-
er was likewise happily nuoaware. It had
come about upon the occasion of Stephen's
first visit to she family, one month after
school had began.
During the month Stephen and Mary had
fallen head over heels in love. It throbbed
in the very air around them. It vibrated
intrillsand waves with every look and
speech. With ber head bent demurely
BR
ev 1
rte
ml ree to a stupid youngsters
Jhoush looking in the directly opposite way
from her, knew precisely the attitude in
which Mary as that moment sat.
when he dismissed eohool, he said *
afternoon’’ to ber with the same formality
that he used with every pupil, young and
old alike. as she passed out, it seemed to
Stephen that a part of bis spirit went with
her. Her personality so dominated him
that be would almost speak aloud to her
after she bad been gone for hours. The
long wait Irom Friday afternoon till Mon-
day morning was a vista of lead-colored
hours, made endurable only by Ssephen’s
vivid fancies of Mary.
He mast have been tactful and clever in
the discharge of both his professional and
wooial duties. The Hoggins boys, those
two desperadoes that bad called him into
the district, either intimidated or hypoo-
tized, behaved themselves in an almo~t ob-
literative manner. No rumblings of dis.
satisfaction were heard from any quarter.
Nohody acoused him of being ‘‘partial”’ so
anybody's big sister or little hrother. He
seemed not to have called attention to his
methods, babits, clothes, or appetites. He
never betrayed a preference for visiting the
Dabney household, and made is almost the
last house on the list of district calls.
*‘Naow.’’ said Hiram, after they bad fin-
ished supper on that memorable Sanday
nighs, “‘we’ll go inter th’ parlor an’ hev'a
listle music.”
Mary played with aswing and lightoess
that was the gifs of she born music lover,
bat with the faulty execution of the whol
ly untaught, and this she koew, bus it had
never troabled her before
“I don’t want to play, pa,’’ she objected,
without affectation.
“Oh, pshaw, now, Mary !'' blostered
Hiram, ‘‘thet’s th’ way gals talk. Play
them jigs an’ things ye air everlastin’ play-
in’ for Ben Crocker, ev'ry Sad’dy vighs,
when he cums er courtivn’.”’
There was a mild and harmless pride in
Hiram’s hint. He had no objection to les-
ting ‘‘Professor’’ Benson understand that
if Mary did demean herse'f by going to
school, she had a “‘steady’’ bean all the
same, and that he was a ‘“‘courtin’’ beau,
at that !
And his words were just as effective as
ever he could have wished. They swept
over Stephen like a prickly needle blast.
They likewise struck Mary with an en-
tirely new force, for all of their accustom-
edness, and she darted a lightning glance
at Stephen, to meet his wide-eyed, startled
look. Then she blushed so furiously that
it was mistaken by Stepben for guilt, aod
he tarned cold and clammy with apprehen-
sion. He bad hardly questioned himself if
she loved him. His own love was so great
that he had imagined she must in some
fashion know it, and on her part respond.
And now Hiram’s words hecame a host
of little imps that flew about in the air,
mocking and grinning and capering, and
the more Mary blushed the colder grew
Stephen.
She had stumbled throogh swo or three
airs, leaving each ball finished, when Mrs.
Dahney’s voice was beard in breathy effort,
calling Hiram to come ont and help her let
dowao the cellar trap-door.
As Hiram tramped out, Mary let her
hands fall from the piano keys. “I think
that is enough,’’ she said, with a uvervous
laugh.
“Till Saturday night,’”’ said Stephen,
quickly, avd tben wished the words un-
spoken.
““That is just pa’s talk !"’ answered Ma-
ry, vexedly, her face aflame again.
“Oh, Mary, I love you !”’ Stephen was
actually affrighted when he heard the
inopportune words ;: but they seemed to
have tumbled out of his lips involuntarily.
There was an answering flash in Mary's
face
“I am so glad!”
“Mary !"'
“Don’t, Stephen ! Sis still I"’ oried Ma-
ry, hall laughing, and wanting to ory, for
very emotion. ‘‘Don’t let anybody see—
oh, Stephen !"’
Stephen had kissed her in spite of the
warning, and for a brief moment they
clasped hands in a perfect ecstasy of love.
Then Mary made him sit down, and pro-
tested that he must nos betray them, and
when Hiram retorned in she course of
another minute or so the ‘‘jigs and things®
thas were racing madly up and down the
piano keys filled him with inordinate pride
in his child’s accomplishments.
As the weeks passed along, it seemed to
Stephen that he could not keep up the con-
stant dissimulation. He wanted to cast
prudence to the winds and tell Hiram and
all the world chat he loved Mary, but Ma-
ry’¢ remoustrances were almoss fraatio at
this, and is took all her powers of persua-
sion to restrain this reckless imprudence in
those brief snatches of communion that love
finds a time and way for.
Meanwhile, Ben Crooker ‘‘set up’ to
Mary in a way thas afforded ber father in.
finite satisfaction ; and be looked forward
to Ben’s *‘speakin’ to him’’ as a near-at-
hand, pleasing certainty. And, in the
course of events, this, indeed, came to pass.
He was hanging meditatively over the pie
pen fence, when Ben approached with a
bangdog air that instantly revealed his
mission to Hiram.
“Say, Mr. Daboey, I guess you know
how it is about me and Mary,’ be ventar-
ed at last, kicking bashfally as a fence-
post.
“Wal,” responded Hiram, *‘I ain’t be'n
'n’ ye, hev’ I?"
. k'y, thaok'y,” Twpuniel Ben,
bloshing with gratitude embarrass.
ment. ‘‘But, Mary, now—well, now, she
says she don't care narthin’ ‘boat me, egz-
'ept,’’ he added with great bitterness, ‘‘ez
a frien.”
“A dam’ fiddlestinks !'’ exploded Hiram,
wrathfully, ‘‘thet’s pure gal contrariness!’’
“I thought, mebby, Mr. Dabney, ef you
wuz ter say er good word fer me, oncet in
er while,” snggested Ben, hopefully.
‘‘Ben,’’ said the old man, solemnly,
“when ye say thet it shows ye don’t know
a livin’ torm thing erbout gal kerickter.
Say er good word fer ye onoet, an’ thet
would be th’ last uv it, till she'd fergot th’
word. No, sir-reel I'll pitoh in an’ black-
guard ye fer everythin’, high and low,
good, bad, an’ indifferent. I'll swear ef I
her up on bread an’ water!”
Ben looked vastly alarmed.
‘‘Now, jest Itave it in my hands, Hen,”
adjored Hiram, ‘‘an’ reck’leot it don's
make no dif’rence how I seem ter mos. Ye
jest understand I'll be doin’ it ter help ye
Hiram, filled with complacency and
good-humor with bis own sagacity, lost no
time in taxing bis daughter with Mr.
Crocker’s intentions. Mary admitted that
it was #0 ; whereupon Hiram burst into
such a torrent of wrathful disparagement of
that young man’s character and charme
that it caused his daughter no little aston-
isbment.
“Why pa! Ithought you liked Ben"
“Liked I” mocked ain
-
“liked! Ye kin like er
raess, ef he’s uselul to keep off ther tramps
? th’ Bat
Sarena Sin bi 2 lt
naow, Mary, I ain’ goin’ ter fer vo
such uv er thing 1" be snorted.
“If you feel that way abous i wh
Bo SA Bol Ad .
place? I like him and like him to
me, but you don’t seem to believe
hear av her meanin’ ter marry ye, I'll lock
when I say that I am not going to marry
him,”’ she asserted.
“Oh, git ous,” sneered Hiram, “It
wouldn’s do no good ef [ did shoo him off
th’ place. Ef you woz uv a mind ter mar-
ry him, y'd make him elope with ye. No,
I'd druther keep an eye on him,
This insidious suggestion about elope-
ment was not withoat design, shough he
knew it was not necessary for anyhody to
put ‘‘idees into Mary's head.’”” What sore
ly puzzled him was why Mary did nos
want to marry Ben. What did she have
against him? Aod this was the trap that
at last caught the conspirator, one dav after
a particularly dasifal reply that she did
not want to marry Ben Crock«r. and for
patienc’ sake to quit talking ahout is.
“Then why don’s ye ?*’ snorted Hiram.
“Why not ?’ cried Miss Dabney, open-
ing her eyes in mock astonishment “Why
not, indeed !| Haven't yon heen setting
forth reasons enough? Meioy, do 1 want
to be locked iu a cold, dark cellar all the
rest of my life?
This was soo much for Hiram.
“Yes, mies,” he roared, ‘‘I should jest
like to know why not. He's ez fine er fel-
ler ez ye kin find in these Youuited States,
an’ I shud like ¢’ know why in tarnashan
you don’t want to marry him !”
“I will not marry a man who says ‘I
ween’ and ‘I bain’t’ ’’ she said scornfully,
with a toss of her head,
A match to a powder keg conld not have
heen wore instantaneous in process than
the inspiration which, at these words, burst
opon Hiram.
“So thet's th’ reason, is it? He ain't
educated to snit ye?"
And with that for a stars, old Hiram
worked himself into a perfect frenzy, threat-
ened to shoot the teacher, and wound np
hy forbidding her to go to school another
day.
It was a full minute after be had exhaus-
ted this tirade hefore Mary spoke, and then
it was in a tone so quiet that is gave ber
father a distinot shook.
“Very well, pa, since you are so opposed
toit. Butmay I not go and bring my
hooks home ?"’
““Naow, you come right erlong back, Ma-
ry.” he admonished.
“Yes, pa,’ answered Mary.
About noon she came riding back, her
book=« tied to the horn of her saddle. She
alighted and playfully tossed she bridle
into her father’s hands,
Then the early spring days began to melt
one into another ; and no mention was
made of school, and things glided smoothly
in she Dabney household. Mary maintain-
ed an attitade of lively cheerfulness,
She received Ben Crooker’s visits with
the same gash of high spirits. Waltzes,
jigs, and reels raced dizzily up and down
the piano keys on Saturday nights, and
Mary's strong, lark-like voice trilled high
in she old-fashioned ballads that she saug.
This state of affairs had continued for a
month when the Billingses finished their
great new barn and sent invitations
throughout the conntry for a ‘‘warmin.”’
Three days preceding the dance, Mary
spent in a whirl of excitement She con-
sributed 80 many spasmodic squeezes to hei
father’s neck that it was like to have suf:
fered dislocation. She raced out to the
gate to talk to Ben Crocker, when she
spied him riding past, till Ben was ready
to fall off his horse with dizzy joy.
“Ben, how many dances do you want
me to give youn Friday night 2”! she teased.
Ben got tongue-tied trying to express
bimsell in respouse to such titillation,
while Mary laughed in glee.
‘‘Listen, Ben, I'll make a bargain with
you. I will give you every dance—round
dances and quadrilles—from eight o'clock
to twelve, if you will do what I want you
to then."
For sach reward, Ben would have prom-
ised to put his head on a chopping block
and have it out off. Bat Mary would not
say what it was she wounld want him to do,
only made him promise solemnly, crossing
his heart three times, and calling fire,
earth, air, and water to witness the pledge.
Country dances there began hy eight
o'clock and lasted till four in she morning.
A little past seven the wagons began to ar-
rive and among the first was the Daboeys.’
Mary sprang out of the wagon almost
into Ben’s waiting arms, and with a flash
of laughter over her shoulder at her par-
ents, went away with bim—a vision of
loveliness in her new white dress which she
teased her mother into buying and making
for she occasion. As they disappeared, Hi-
jam Slane bis whiskers, delighted and
ul.
took Ben aside to impart the prom-
ise to which he had so solemnly committed
bimsell.
*‘Now, Ben, I am goiug to give youn every
dance till sa -time."’
‘Yes, yes,”’ he assented, eagerly.
*‘If you will do what I am going to ask
you to do then.’’ Ben gasped.
“Is is this, You must go away then.
Slip off without letting any one see you,
a home, and stay there, and
come over $0 our place as early as you can
in the morning.’
‘‘But what for, Mary ?"’ he stammered
in his distress.
Mary withdrew her band, and her smile
vanished and Ben wae engulfed ina great
wave of desolation,
“Ot course I will,” he made haste to as-
sure her. ‘“‘Ain’t I already give my
word ?”’
Mary smiled again.
‘‘Now get it straight, Ben, and pever
mind the reason why. At twelve o'clock
the folks will all stars to the house for sup-
per, and everybody will be all mixed up in
the crowd, and nobody will notice you
leave. Then slip away, get your horse,
and go straight home. And be sure to
come over as early as possible tomorrow
morning.”
“IT carrying out his promise was bard
when the time came, at least he lived
in enchantment for the next four hours.
Never was Paradise more illumined thao
that lantern-lit barn for Ben. Heavenly
music would never stir his blood like those
swinging reels. Transitory seconds when
Mary’s band left his for a obange in the
set were the only moments when he real-
ized that he was not living an immortaliz-
a el To a
o with a a at
her band as they separated in the crowd,
he rushed away and rode homeward, his
head in a thick maze with just one thought
to think, and that was that Be would see
Mary the first thing the next morning.
The davcers trooped to the honse, where
supper was ready, and the following hour
was one of confasion and m talk and
laughter. It was a fall hour supper,
the iadies were tuning Sortie ansiog
to begin again, before Mary’s mother
gan to cast her eye about for her daughter,
Sa ps, have you seen anythin’ of
Mary ?’
Futofe Hina Jd time to deride her
tears, Jen ngs came up.
“Mary asked me to give you this when
a-looking for her,’’ she said, band-
ng Mrs. Dabney a note,
With
fi Mrs. Dabney open-
ed the note —h
“Dear Pa and Ma, I bave eloped. Pai
once said I would if [ wanted to.” |
Mrs Dabney bad po objection to her
danghter’s marrying, and thought sbe had
chosen well ; algo, this bis of romance ap-
pealed to her, bas it was quite natural, of
coure. that she »hould go into an attack of
hysterics at the news,
Hiram experienced a sort of nonplosed
gratification. Is was beyond him why
Mary should elect to elope, bat since that
wax her way of doing it, far be is from him
to stop her.
“Le’s go home, Hi,” whimpered Ms.
Dabney, sopping at her eyes.
Ly what for? Why not fni«h out the
danc- | We can’t do nothin’ ‘bout it naow,”’
said Hiram. prou«ly.
If he could have bad a clairvoyant vision
of his daughter at the particular moment,
it woald have heen a sight to see how fast
he would have set shout doing something.
For at that precise moment Mary and
Stephen, in a livery-rig, were cating over
the brow of a hill some five miles en route
to the county seas. Stephen bad spent the
day in town, and bad arranged with she
minister, who was an old friend and one-
while teacher of his, to he ready to receive
them any time from midnight till dawn,
Ax late a» possible he bought the license,
and as night fell he drove ous and waited
near the Billingses’ place for Mary.
Mary bad taken the greatest enjnvment
in planning the elopement, and did nos
fear pursnit unless it was to persuade her
to retarn home for a proper wedding, for
che knew it wonld be understood by every-
hody that she had eloped with Ben. At
the shonght she langhed aloud and gave
Stephen's arm an ecstatic bog. Stephen,
nervous and happy, made the moment an
occasion to hestow another embrace. And
here oocarred one of those trying episodes
that prove the nnreliahlity of kindly fates.
It may bave been that Stephen uncou-
scionsly drew a tighter rein than nsual or
it may have heen that the horse became
suddenly cooxcientions abous aiding and
abetting such untoward proceedings and
decided so stop of his own accord. Howbeit,
he stopped stock still. For a moments his
deflection was not noticed by the caressing
lovers, and shen Stephen observed what
had oconrred and olicked for him to move
on, but he wonld not move. Stephen urged
him, but he remained standing. He ap:
plied the whip, bat she horse did not badge.
Meanwhile, Mary began laughing hys-
terioally.
“Steve, we will bave to walk to our
wedding! Yoo can’t do anything with a
halky horse. I am afraid to sit here any
longer. Pa might take a notion to start
out and bring me home for a proper wed-
ding, and when he finds thas itis yon I |
am eloping with is wounld not be so easy to |
do it again I" i
Stephen's desperation increased. He
made Mary get out. and gathered some
sticks and wrapped his pocket handkerchiel
about them, and lit the bunch and held it
ander the horse's belly. No martyr burn-
ed at stake ever stood with the calm indil-
ference of shis horse as the hair singed and
smoked.
“Oh, come on, Stephen, dear,” urged
Mary. “What does a iittle six miles
amount to? And if the pursuers come up
they will think we are somewhere pear.”
**Very well,” he replied, ‘“‘let’'s walk!"
With a final despairing look at the root:
ed equine, Stephen and Mary struck out
cheerfully over the rongh road with the gay
spirits of youth and health and love.
They arrived in due course at the min-
ister’s honse, where the family were wait
ing to receive them, were married, and hos-
pitably entertained.
The next morning Hiram, looking ont at
his kitchen door, eaw Ben Crocker riding
farionsly down the road. He chuckled.
“Look out, ma! ['m goin’ ter git my
gun. Yander coms the dad blasted son-in-
law uv oun!”
He went out to the gate still chuckling,
and Mrs. Hiram followed along, hysterical
switches in her throas. [It is not every
night that one dis«ipates till four in the
morning, and, in addition, has one’s only
danghter elope.
“Mornin’, Ben,” Hiram hailed, genial-
ly, *‘you great, blitherin’ scamp! Why
didn’s ye bring yer wife erlong ?"’
“Eb?’ wsaid Ben, foolishly. **What
d’ye mean?’
“Mean? Mary, av co’se. Thet wuz a
great trick uv yourn an’ hers.”
“Killme ef I know what ve're drivin’
at,” said Ben, earnestly. ‘‘I ain’s seen
her sence we broke ap for supper last
nighs.***
“Then who in dampashun did Mary
elope with ?”’
At this Mrs. Dabney burst into tears,
and Ben looked ae if he wanted to join
her; but the excitement of the old man was
such that it gave them all something to do pa
to keep him from flying into pieces while
they got him into his bet and coat and on
a horse headed for the county seas.
Mary was watching and spied her father
in she long distance. She went out and
perched on the gate poss. If she felt either
qualms or fears, her roguish face did not
reveal them.
“Hello, pa,’’ she greeted, blithely, *‘I
have been expecting you for an hour.”
Hiram drew rein and looked solemnly at
his daoghter.
*‘By gosh, Mary, will ye he good enough
to tell me who it wuz ye eloped with last
night 9"
*‘Certainly, pa,’’ agreed Mary, amiably;
‘it was Stephen Benson.”
There was a long and deadly still pause.
‘Wal, by gum,” said Hiram, at last,
‘'s0 thet's who it wuz, waz it?"
Mary smiled.
“Wal, it can’t be helped naow,’”’ ocom-
mented her father.
“You will like Stephen, pa,’ contributed
Mor
“Wal,” said pa, philosophically, “I
guess I kin git used to him. You swo hed
better cum out in time fer dinner, au’ we'll
talk it over.”’—By Lizzie Gaines Wilcox-
son, in Collier's.
Don't Wale,
Don’t wait if you are showing symptoms
of ‘‘lung trouble,” but get a bottle of Dr.
Pierce's Golden Medical Discovery and be-
gin its use. Where there is weakness, ob-
stinate cough, or spitting of blood its re-
medial action is marvelous. Mr. Corneli-
us MoCawley, of Leechburg, Armstrong
county, Pa., ‘‘had eighty-one hemorrhages,
ty spitting five pints of blosd a
one time’ to quote from his letter. He
was pertestiy cared by the use of ‘Golden
Medical Discovery.” When there is consti-
pation the sotion of the *‘Di ” is as-
sisted by the use of Dr. Pierce's Pleasant
Pellets.
— Ino the ration fed farm animals, either
alfalfa or olover should be given to balance
the corn. Either one of these legumes will
likewise be needed to ‘‘balance’’ the effects
of corn on she soil. Coosiderable plans
trogen, is removed from
corn, while alfalfa or clover
gathers & great deal of nitrogen from the
air and places it back in the soil.
FOR AND ABOUT WOmEN,
DAILY THOUGHT.
A light heart lives long. -gShakespeare.
The teacher was young and enthusiastic;
moreover, she was well beloved by her
pupils. When, therefore, she propoved to
turn off her own annval deloge of all sorts
aud conditions of valentines by celebrating
the day io the sohool, there was a chorus
of eager assent.
Tue morning was to be speut in work, as.
usual, with the difference thas there would
be twice as much so do, 80 as to leave the
alteruoon free for the festivities. The class
was a grammar one, composed of thirty
girls, anous 11 10 12 years of age.
For a week before she day arrived all the
iris bad been very busy making valentines
at home. Thue rule was shat each girl muss
make one for each classmate ; that she must
have no outside assistance of avy kind, and
that no owe should spend more than 30
ceut« ou materials, and as much less as she
could.
Sach a bustling and hurrying as there
was in the noon lanch hour of Fe
14! Aoxions mothers implored Mary or
Dollie $0 eat something before she wens
hack to school, always to receive the an-
swer that ‘‘there were filteen more valen-
tines to address.”
Many mysterions envelopes.—As each
pupil came into the classroom she banded
to the teacher thirty mysterious envelopes,
which promptly found their way into a
large basket on Miss Smith's desk, dis-
closing a fascinating pile beneath. Strange
to say, there were a handred errands to be
done, preventing small brains from puzz-
ling themselves too mach about forbidden
things !
Miss Smith bad been baosy, too, all
lancheow hour, avd the blackhoards were
resplendent. The plain February calendar
on the side board bad suddenly become a
thing of beauty by reason of much colored
chalk, some appropriate stencils aud a lissle
labor. Big red hearts, provided with dano-
ing arms and legs, adorned all the other
hoards, while in front was a large red chalk
sqaure, which the children were sure por-
tended some glorious surprise. Miss Smith
herself looked prettier than ever in a new
shirtwaist and a dainty collar.
The distribution of the valentines took
place immediately, as too long a wait
would have produced horedom, and nuth-
ing could have received any great degree
of attention so long as this important mat-
ter was not attended to. Amid breathless
excitement the envelopes were distributed
thirty for each, every one tightly sealed
and revealing no mark of identity of the
sender. Some of the children bad never
received a valentine before, and their de-
light waa pathetic. Most of the valentines
were pretty, and some of them were very
fanny. All sorts of waterials had been
osed in their making, and a great deal of
origivality and cleverness was displayed.
All this consumed abouts half an hour
and so Mis« Smith, fearful lest there should
be no time for the rest of the programme,
finally called a balt. Then for 15 minutes
she read them the story of Valentine's Day
the origin of the custom and a sketch of
the life of St. Valentine,
This done, she proposed a novel contest,
In the iarge red square in the front of the
room a olass valentine was to be made.
Each member of the olass was to add some-
thing to it, and when it was completed the
class was to vote on the most expert artis.
A wonderful creation. —Never was there
such an elaborate valentine as this | From
the cupid in the centre, to the really arsis-
tio lace at the edge, it was a medly of tints
and shades. Two girls work: d at the same
time aud each couple was given two min-
utes at the board. The box of colored
chalks was at their disposal, and they
made good use of it. By the nme it was
finished the principal came in to see it and
pronounced it a work of art.
By universal acclaim the prize, a fat, red
little heart shaped cake, «ruck through
with asugar dart, went 10 Bettina, the
lame little Italian girl, who executed she
beantifal lace paper (really white obalk
and charcoal) edge.
Fivaliy, Miss Smith passed around a
large box, from which each girl was to take
ont three things, and with them make a
valentine. There was any amount of varie.
ty from whioh to choose—peanute, candy
hearts, soraps of silk and of crepe—and
tissne paper, gilt and silver cord, bits of
baby ribbon, tiny pictures—the selection
was limitless. Ten minntes was the time
limit, and by that time every one had
finished. This time the prize was awarded
to Bertha, the baby of the class, for a fat
peanut ballet lady, dressed in red orepe
paper, and holding in ber twisted orepe
per arms a candy heart bearing the leg-
end ‘I love thee !’’ She hecame the prond
possessor of a small heart-shaped photo-
graph frame, for which, after many en-
treaties, Miss Smith promised her photo-
graph.
The clock pointed to quarter past three,
almost closing time, and Mies Smith was
wondering bow to fill in the extra quarter
of an boar, when her own surprise oconred.
After many nudges and giggles, the class
arose in a body, exclaimed breathlessly,
**Miss Smith, will you be our valentine ?"’
and subsided suddenly, while their leader
almost hutled at her a small cardboard box.
Within this was a large white satin pin-
cushion, on which every girl, uoder the
snpervision of the sewing teacher. had
written and outlined in vari-colored silk
her autograph. The handmade lace edg-
ing had been made by Bettina’s mother,
and paid for by the class.
Then, since a party is not a party at all
without refreshments, as the olass filed ont
after the teacher’s little speech of thanks,
each one was handed a heart-shaped cooky
and a little bag of peanuts.
Thus ended a most successful party. In
all, it cost the teacher 75 cents and about
two hours’ labor, but she was fully som-
pensated by the renewed bond between her
and her pupils. and was only too glad to
have found something to break the deadly
monotony of the weeks between Christmas
and Easter.
Even if nothing stronger than coffee be
on the table, a dinner is not a dinner un-
ess sow Solsie Bo, Wured. There are
many books wh appropriate toasts
may be given, and there are many old and
reliable standbys.
For instance,
—*‘‘Here’s to our sweethearts and wives ;
the latter always remain the former,
the former soon become the latter ;"
and thereis dear old Rip Van Winkle's
a
Sl