Bemorrait alan Bere] Bellefonte, Pa., July 23, 1909. THE BEAUTIFUL TOWN OF BELLE- FONTE. Written especialiy for the Warcumax by A Bailey, of Pitsburg, while on a visit bere during the week of the fourth of July. To a beautiful town in the mountains, Where the crystal streams flow 'oeath the sky We came for a summer vacation, One beautiful day in July. The mountains were covered with flowers, The gay trout basked in the stream, And everything seemed gay and happy, Like a beautiful midsummer dream, We saw the green valleys so fertile, We roamed through the woodland so cool, While the eattle stood under the willows, That spread o'er the clear erystal pool. The birds in the tree tops were singing, The bees hummed among the sweet flowers In the beantifu! valley at Bellefonte, Where we passed many long, pleasant hours, Oh, how different from our busy city, Where we see but the bustling throng; Where the noise of the street cars and wagons Hum ia our ears all day long. No wonder of this we grow weary, Aud long for a nice place of rest, And of all the places of beaty, 1 think old Beliefonte is the best, We sat by the clear running streamlet, As it peacefully flowed on it's way, And the murmuring sound of the water Seemed as if it ever would say: Come, leave the city behind you, With its rivers and still, maddy ponds And come to the valleys and mountains, In the beautiful land of Bellefonte. But our time of departure comes swiftly, We cannot stay here very long; We'll no longer see the clear brooklet, Or list’ toit's murmuring song. When once more in our own busy city, At the close of each long toilsome day, We will then sit alone and be thioking Of the beautiful scenes fur away, You may talk of your heantiful cities, Where the people are happy and gay, But my thoughts will ever be wandering To the beautiful land far away. You may praise the green hills of New Hamp- shire, Or the green sunny dells of Vermont, But the beauties of old Penusylvania, Lies in the town of Bellefonte, THE LITTLE SUPER. MacLeod backed the big compound mo. gul down past the string of dark green coaches tbat he had pulled for a hundred and fifty wiles, took the table with a slight jolt, and came toa stop in the roundhouse. As be swaoyg himself from the cab, Healy, the tarner, came up to him. “He's a great lad, thas av yours,” Hea- ly began, with a shake of his head—*'a teat lad ; but mind ye this, Jimmy Mao- , there’li be trouble for me an’ you an’ bim an’ the whole av us, if you don’t watch him. *“What's the matter this time, John 2” “Matter,” said Healy, ruefully; ‘“‘there’s matter enough. The little coss came blame near ronviog 429 into the pis a while back, so he did 2” “Where is he now ?'’ MacLeod asked, with a grin. “Devil a bit [ know. I chased him out, an’ he started for over hy the shops. An’ about an boar ago yonr missns come down an’ said the bboy was nowheres to be found, an’ that you was to look for him.” MacLeod pulled out his watoh. *‘Six- thirty. Well,” he said. “I'll go over and see if Grampy knows anything ahoat him. Next time the kid shows up around bere, John, you give him the soft side of a tom- my-bar, and send him home.” Healy scratched his head. “I will,” he said; “I'll do ut. He's a foine lad.” MacLeod crossed the yard to the gates of the big shops. They were still unlocked, and he went through into the storekeeper’s Grompy was sorting the brass time Shienks, He glanced up as MacLeod came “I suppose you'r lookin’ fer yer kid! again,’ be said sourly. | “That's what I am, Steve," MacLeod | returned, diplomatically dispensing with the other's nickname. “Well, us ain't here,” Grumpy an- nounced, returning to his checks. ‘I've ust been through the shops, an’ I'd seen m if be was.” The engineer's face clouded. ‘‘He must be somewhere about, Steve. John said | be saw him come over here, and the wile was down to the roundhouse looking | for him, 80 he didn’t go home. Let's go | through the shops and sce if we can't find | him.” : “‘Idon’s get no overtime fer chasin’ lost kids,” growled Grumpy. Nevertheless, he got up and walked through the door leading into the forge- shop, which MacLeod held open for him. The place was gloomy and deserted. Here and there a forge fire, dying, still glowed dully. At the end of the room the men stopped, and Grumpy, noting MacLeod's ing anxiety, gave surly comfort, ‘‘Wounldn's likely he here, anyhow,” he said. “‘Fisting-shop fer him; but we'll try the ine shop first on the way through.” The two eget forward, prying be. bind planers, Arille, shapers, and jathes. The machines took grotesque shapes in the deepeniog twilight, and in the silence, so Jutongiaon wito the usual noisy clang and clash of bis surroundings, MacLoed’s nervousness increased. He burried forward to the fitting shop. Engines on every band were standing over sheir respective pits in all stages of demoli- tion, some on wheels, some hlocked high toward the rafters, some stripped to the bare boiler shell. MacLeod climbed in and out of the cabs, while Grumpy peered into the pits. “Aw ! he ain’t here,” said Grumpy in disgust, wiping his bands on a piece of waste. ‘‘lI told you he wasn’t. He's home, mabbe, by now.” MacLeod shook his head. ‘“‘Bunty! Ho, Bat ee! he called. And agam: “Ban. There was no answer, and be turned to setrace his steps when Grampy caught him by the shoulder. The big iron door of the engine before them swung slowly back on its hinges, and from the front end there emerged a diminutive pair of shoes, topped by Siene shor socks that bad once been white, but now hang in grimy folds over the tops of the boots. A pair of but very dirty, bare into view as their owner forward on his stomach for a moment, seeking footing on ie T, beneath ; thea a very small boy, aged in an erstwhile immaculate linen sailor guflaw. Buoty blinked at bim reprovingly, and turned to bis father. “I's been fixin’ the ’iger-'ed,’’ he an- nounced gravely. MacLeod surveyed hiseon grimly. ““Fix- ing what ?’’ be demanded. “The ’iger-ed,”’ Banty repeated. Then reproacbfnlly: ‘Don’t oo know w'as a ’ig- er-'ed is 7"? “Ob.” said MacLeod, ‘‘the niggerhead, eb? Well, I guess there's another nigger- head will get some fixing when your moth- er sees yon, son." He picked the lad up in bis arms, and Bunty nestled confidingly, with one arm around his father’s neck. His tired little head sank down oo the paternal shoulder, and before they bad reached the gates Bun. ty was sound asleep. In the days that followed, Bunty found it no easy matter to elude his mother’s vig- ilance ; but that was only the beginning of hie troubles. The shop gates were always shut, and the latch was beyond his reach. bolts out of my engines, that’s what you're doing.” Stanton, belay Jo) go angelic ood, and glad 0 vent ngs, assent, MacDonald raised bis bead from the k 3 red tinge a _reoiment > is She « picked up pe, pack tslowly as be looked at and Saper. “I'm taking all re sending,’’ be said quies- ly. He over for the train-sheet and banded it to the Super. ‘You and MacLeod bere are growlin’about the sched- ule. It's your division, Stanton ; but I'm nos sure you know just what we're hand- ling every twenty-four bourse. It's push them through on top of each other some- bow, or tell them down-East we can’t bandle them. Do you want to do that 2” “No,” said Stanton, “I don’t; and what's more, I won't.” MacDonald nodded. ‘‘I rather figured that was your idea. Well, we've about all we can do without nagging one another. I’m vear in now, and so are you and Mac- Leod here, both of you. I've got to make time, esp or no Gap. There's so much moving there isn’t siding enough to cross them.” “‘You're right,” said Stanton ;‘‘we can’t afford to jump each other. We're all doing our best, and each of us knows it. How’s Number One and Two to-night *”’ MacDooald studied for a moment before be answered : ‘Number Ove is forty min- utes of, and Number Two's an hour to the Once he bad found them open, and had | bad marched holdly through, to find hia way barred by the only man of whom he stood in awe. Grumpy bad courtly ordered him away, and Bunty bad taken to his heels and ran until bis small body was breath. lesa, The roundhouse was no better. Old John would bave none of him, and Bunty marveled at the change. He was a nail- road man, and the shops were his heritage. His soul protested vigorously at the out- rage that was being heaped upon him. It took him some time to solve the prob- lem, but at last he found the way. Each afternoon Banty would trudge stardily along the track for a quarter of a mile to the upper end of the shops, where the big, wide engine doors were always open. Here four spur-tracks ran into the erecting shop, and Bunty found no difficulty in gaining admittance. Once safe among the fitting- gang, the little Super, as the men called | bim, would strut around with important air, inspecting the work with critical eyes. One lesson Bunty learned. Remember- ing his last interview with his mother, he took good care not to be locked in the shops again. So each night when the whistle blew he fell into line with the men, and secure in their protection, would file with them past Grampy as they handed in their time checks. And Grumpy, unmindfal of the spur-tracks, wondered how he got there, and scowled savagely. When Buoty was eix, bis father was holding down the swivel-chair in the Mas- ter Mechanic's office at the Hill Division, and Baaoty's allegiance to the shops waver- ed. Not from any sense of disloyalty; but with bis father’s promotion a new world opened to Bunty, aud fascinated him. It was now the yard-sbunter and headquar- ters that evgaged bis attention. The years, too, brought other changes to Bunty. The curls bad disappea cut vow like his father’s. Loong stockings had replaced tbe socks, and he wore real trousers; short ones, it is true, bus real trousers none the less, with pockets in them. When school was over, he would fly up and down the yard on the stubby little en- give, and Healy, doing the shunting then and forgetting past grievances, would let Bunty sit on the driver's seat. In time Bunty learned to pull the throttle, but the reveisiog-lever was too much for his small stature and the intricacies of the ‘‘air’’ | were still a little beyond him. But Healy swore he'd make a driver of him—and he id. The evenings at the office Bunty loved fally as well. Headquarters were not much to boast about in those days. That was befors competition forced a double- track system, and the train despatcher, with bis tissue sheets, still held wundis- puted eway. They called them ‘‘offices’” at the Junction ont of courtesy —juss she attic floor over the station, with one room to it. The floor space each man’s desk oo- cupied was bis office. ere Bunty would sit curled up in his father’s chair and listen to the men as they talked. Il it was anything abont a loco- motive, he understood ; if it was traffic or bridges or road-bed or dispatching, he wouid pucker his brows perplexedly and ask innumerable questions. But most of all be held MacDonald, the chief de<patch- er, in deep reverence. Once, to his boge delight, MacDonald, boldiog his band, bad let him tap out an order. Isis true that with the O. K. came back an inquiry as to the brand the June- tion despatcher bad been indulging in; but the sarcasm was lost on Buuty, for when MacDonald with a chuckle read off the reply, Buuty gravely asked il there was any avswer. MacDonald shook his head and laughed. *‘No, eon ; I guess not’ he said. ‘‘We've got to maintain our dig- nity, yoa know.” t winter, on top of the regular traffic, and that was not light, they hegan to push supplies from the East over the Hill Divi- sion, preparing to double track the road from the western side of the foot-hills as soon as sprivg opened up. And while the thermometer crept steadily to zero, the Hill Division sweltered. Everybody and everything got it, the shops and the road-beds, the train crews and the rolling-stock. What little sleep Stanton, the Super, got, he tin for- malating dream plans to le the basi- ness. Those that seemed good to him when he awoke were promptly vetoed by the barons of the General Office in the far- off East. MacLeod got nosleep. He raced from one end of the division to the other, and he did his best. Eogine crews had to tinker anything less thau a major injury for themselves : there was no room in the shops for them. But the men on the keys got it most of all. As the days wore into months, Mac- Dooald’s face grew careworn and haggard ; | « aud the irritability from overwork of the men about him added to his discomfort. Human nature needs a salesy-valve, and one night near the end of January when MacLeod aud Stanton and MacDonald were gathered at the office, with Bunty in his accustomed place in his father’s chair, the Master Mechanic cut loose. “It's up to you, MacDonald,” he aried savagely, bringing bis fist down with a crash on the desk. ‘“‘Thereain’t a pair of wheels on the division fit to pull a handoear, Every engine's a cripple, an’ getting lamer every doy. The sk ne ain’t built, nor never will be, that'll stand the schedule you're putting them on Sarough She hills, a Ssrough the Gap. 's a four per cent. on side, with the bed like an 8. You can’t make time there ; you've got nocrawl. You're pulling the stay- red, and his hair was | Stanton groaned. The Imperial Limited East and West, officially known on the train-sheets as One and Two, carried both the transcontinental mail and the de-lnxe passengers. Of late the East bad been making pertinent suggestions to the Divi- sion Soperintendent that it would be as well if those trains ran off the Hill Division with a little more regard for their estab- lished schedule. So Stanton groaved. He got up and put on his hat and coat prepar- atory to going home. ‘‘Look here,” he said from the doorway, ‘‘they’ll stand for ‘moss anything if we don't misuse One and Two. They're getting mighty eavage about that, aod they'll drop hard hefore long. You fellows have got to take care of those trains, if nothing else on the division moves. That's orders. I'll shoulder all kicks coming on the rest of the traffic. Good night.” When Bunty left the office that night and walked home with his father, he bad learned that there was another side to rail- roadivg besides the building and repairing of engines, and the delivery of magic tissne sheets to train crews that told them when and where to stop and how to thread their way through hills and plains on a single- track road, with heaps of other trains some going one way, some another. He under. stood vaguely and in a bazy kind of way that somewhere, many, many miles away, were men who sat in judgment on the doing: of his father and MacDonald and Stanton ; that these menwere to he obeyed, that their word was law. and that their names were President and Directors. So Baooty, trotting beside his (father, | pondered these things. Being too weighty | for him, he appealed : “Daddy, what's | President and Directors ?"’ MacLeod’s temper being still ruflled, he | answered shortly : ‘Fools, mostly.” | Bunty nodded gravely, and his ednoation | a3 a railroad man was almost complete. | The rest came quickly, and the Gap did it. The Gap ! There was not a man on the division, from track walker to Saperinten- dent, who would not jump like a nervous colt if you said ‘‘Gap’’ to them offhand and short-like. A peaceful stretch of track is looked, alittle crooked, as MacDovald said, bugging the side of the mountain at the highest point of the division. The | surronndings were undeniably grand, A | sheer drop of eighteen hundred feet to the canuon below, with the surrounding moun- tains rearing their snow capped peaks sky- ward, completed a picture of which the road bad electrotypes and which is used in their magazine-advertising. What the pio- ture did not show was the swo-miledrop to the eastward, and the one,a mile longer, to westward, where the road-bed took a straight four per cent. to the lower levels. So when Stanton or MacDonald or Mao- Leod, reading their magazines, saw the pio- ture, they shuddered, and, remembering past history and fearful of future, tarned the page hurriedly. But to Bunty the Gap possessed the fas- ciation of the unknown. He was wakened early the next morning by hie father’s voice talking excitedly over the special wire with headquarters about the Gap and a wreok. He sat bolt upright, and listened with all his might ; then he crawled noise- lessly out of bed, and began to dress hasti- ly. He beard his father speaking to his mother, and presently the front door hanged. Banty was dressed by thas time and be crept down-stairs and opened the door softly. It was just turning daylight as he started on a run for the yard. Is was vot far to the office,—a bundred yards or so,—and Bunty reached there in record time. Across the tracks by the roundhouse they were coupling on to the wrecker ; and answering hasty summons, men, running from all directions, were quickly gathering. Buayy hesi a minute on the plat- form, then he entered the station and tip- toed softly up the stairs. The office door was open, aod from the top stair Banty could see into the room. The night lamp was still burning on the despatcher’s desk, and MacDonald was sitting there, working with frantic baste to clear the line. In the centre of the room, the Super, bie father, and Williams, the wrecking boss, were standing. It's a freight smash,’’ Stanton was say- ing to Williams—*‘‘west edge of the Gap. You'll have rights h, and no limit on your permit. Tell Emmons if he doesn’t make it in better than ninety minutes he’il talk to me afterward. By the time you get there, Number One will be orawling up the grade. She’s pulling the Old Man's car, and that means get her through some- bow il you have to drop the wreck over She oy You al Jack own to Riley's to les pass, e o the patohiog u afterward. Understand ?"’ 8p Williame nodded, and glanced impa- tiently at MacDonald. The Super opened and shut his watoh. ‘Ready, ?" he asked shortly. “Just a minute,” MacDonald answered quietly. Bunty waited to bear no more. He turned and ran down the stairs and across the tracks as fast as his legs would carry him. He scrambled breathlessly up the steps of the tool-car and edged his way in among the men grouped near the door. He was fairly inside before noticed him. “‘Hello,”” oried Allen, ty’s hosom friend of the fitting-gang ‘here’s the title Super | What you d i new, kid?" m going up to the wreck, nty an- nounced sturdily. The men laughed. ‘“Well, I guess not much, you're not,” said Allen. “What do you think yoor father would say ?"’ “Nothing,” said Bunty, airily. *“‘Ijust comed from the office,’’ he added artfully, “and I'l] tell you about the wreck if you like.” The men grouped around him in a circle, “It's at the Gap,”’ Bunty began, spar- ring for time as through she window he saw Williams coming from she office at a run. “‘And it’s a freight train, and—and it’s all smashed up, aod —"’ The train started with a jerk that nearly took the men off their feet. As the same Ye William’s face appeared at the car oor. “All here boys ?"' he called. Then he socounced cheerfully: *‘The devil's to ap the line !"’ eanwhile, Banty, taking advantage of the interruption, bad squirmed bis way through the men to the far end of thea car, and the train had bumped over the switch- es 00 to the main live before they remem- bered him. Then it was too late. They banled bim out from behind a rampart of toole, where he bad intrenched himself, and Williams shook his fist, hall angrily, ball playlully, in Bunty’s face. “‘You little devil, what are you doing here, eh ?’’ he demanded. And Bunty aoswered as before: going up to the wreok.”’ ‘‘Hamph !"’ said Williawe, with a grin. ‘‘Well, I guess youn are, and I guess you'll be sorry, too, when you get back and your dad gets hold of youn.” But Bunty was safe now, and he only laughed. Break(fastless, he shared the men’s grub and hstened wide-eyed as they talked of wrecks in times gone by ; bat most of all he listened to the story of how his father, when he was palling Nomber Ove, had saved the Limited by sticking to his post almost in the face of certain death. Bun- ty’s lather was his hero, and his small soul glowed with happiness at the tale. He begged so bard for the story over again that Allen told it, and when he had finished, he slapped Bunty on the back. ‘‘And I guess you're a chip of the old block,” he said. And Bunty was very proud, squaring his shonlders, and planting his feet firmly to swing with the motion of the car, The speed of the train slackened as they strook the grade leading up the eastern side of the Gap. Williams ses the men bu«ily at work overhauling the kit. He paused an instant before Bunty. ‘'Look here, kid,” be said, shaking a warning fin- ger, ‘yon keep ont of the way, and don’t get into tronble. ”’ It wonld have taken more than words from Williams to have curbed Banty’s ea- gerness ; 80 when the train came to a stop and the men tumbled out of the car with a rush, he followed. What he saw caused him to purse his lips and cory excitedly, “Gee m Right in front of him a big mogul had turned turtle. Ditched by a spread rail, she had pulled three box-cars with her, and piled them ap, mostly in splinters, on the tender. They bad taken fire, and were barning forionsly. Behind these were eight or ten cars still on the roadbed, bat badly demolished from bumping over the ties when they bad left the raile, Still far ther down the track in the rear were the rest of she string, apparently uninjured. The snow was knee deep at the side of the track, but Banty plowéd mantally through it, climbing up the embankment to a place of vantage. His eyes blazed with excitement as he watched the scene before him and listened to the hoar:e shonts of the men, the crash of pick and ax, and, above it all, the sharp crackle of the fire as the flames, growing in volume, bit deeper and deeper into the wreck. Fiercely as the men fought, the fire, with its long start, kept them from makidg any head way against it, Already it had reached some of the cars standing on the track. From where Bunty stood he conld see the track dipping away io a long grade to the valley below. They called that grade the Devil's Slide, and the wreck was on the edge of is, with the caboose and some half dozen oars still resting on the incline. As he looked, far below him he saw a trail of smoke. It was Nomber Oue climbing the grade. By this time the excitement of his surroundings had worn off & little, and the arrival of the Limited offered a new at- traction. He clambered down from his perch and hegan to pick his way past the wreck. Williams, begrimed and dirty, was talking to Emmons. “‘I don’s like todo it,”’ Bun- ty beard Williams say, ‘‘but we'll have to hlow up thas box-car if we can’t stop the fire any other way, or we’ll have a blaze down the whole line. The train crew says there's turpentine—two cars of it—next the flat there, and if that catohes—Hi, there, kid,”” he broke off to yell, as he caught sight of Bunty, ‘‘you get back to the tool car, and stay there !"’ And Bunty ran—in the other direction. He knew Number One would stop a little the other side of the wreck, and that there would be a great big ten wheeler pulling ber, all as bright as a new dollar and glis- tening in paint and gold-leaf. When he pulled up breathless and happy by the side of Number One, Masters, the engineer, was giving Engine 801 an oil round, touching the journals critically with the hack of his hand as he moved along. At sight of Bunty, the engineer laid his oil-can on the slide-bars and grinned as he extended his hand. ‘‘How are youn, Bun- ty ?'' he asked. And Bunty, accepting the proffered band, replied gravely: ‘I'm pretty well, Mr. Masters, thank you.” “Glad to hear it, Bunty. get here ?”’ “I comed up with the wrecker-train. It’s a’ awful smash.” “Is itnow! Think they’ll bave the line cleared soon ?"’ *‘Oh, no,” Bunty replied, eying the cab of the hig engine wistfally. ‘Not for ever and ever so long.” Masters’ eyes followed Bunty’s glance. ‘“‘Want to ges up in the cab, Bunty ?"’ “Oh, please !"’ Bunty oried breathlessly. “All right,” said Masters, hoosting the lad through the gangway. Then warning- ly : “‘Don’t touch anythig.”” And Bunty promised. It was only four bundred yards up to the wreck ; but that was enough. Masters and his fireman left their and went te get a view at close quarters. When it was all over, it was up to the wrecking boss and the engine orew of Number One. williams swore he blocked the trucks of the cars on the inaline ; but Williams lied, and got olear. Masters and his mate had no obance to lie, for they breke rules, and they got their time. Be that as is , Bunty sat on she driver's seat of the Imperial Limited and watched the i, i fireman start up the track. He lost sight of the men long before they reached the wreck. They were still in plain view, but be was very busy : he was playing ‘pretend.’ Bunty’s imagination was vivid to make a fascinating one whenever he dulged in it, and that was often. But now it was almost reality, and his favoy was “I'm How did youn little taxed to supply what was lacking. | th bad just stopped at a station. He leaned ont of the cab window to yet the *, abead” si . Then bis band went throogh the motion of throwing over the reversing-lever and ing the throttle. And now he was off ; and faster. He rooked his body to and fro to supply the motion cf the cab. He sat very m and determined, peering straight ahead. He was booming along now at full speed. They were coming to a crossing. ‘‘T00-00-0, toot, toot I" cried Bunsy at the top of his shrill treble, for the rules said you must whistle at every crossing, and Bapoty knew the rules, Now they were coming to the next station, and he began to slow up. * Ding- dong, ding—"" Bang ! Bouty nearly fell from his seat wish fright. Ahead of bim, np the track, there was a column of smoke a« a mass of wreck- age rose io the air, and then a crash. Wil. liams had blown up a car. Buuty stared, fascioated, not at the explosion, but at the rear end of the wreck on the grade. He rubbed his eyes in bewilderment, then he scrambled over the side of the seat. He paased half-way off, looking again through the front window to make sure. There was no doubs of it : the cars were hegin- ning to roll down the track toward him. He waited for no more, bat rushed to the gangway to jump off. Then be stopped as the story Allan had told about his fatber came back to him. Banty’s heart thump- ed wildly as he turned white-faced and de- termined. No truly engineer wonld leave his train; his father had not, and Buoty did not. The reversing-lever was in the back noteh where Masters had lefs it when he stopped the train. It was Bunty’s task to reach and open the throttle. He climbed ap on the seat and stood op tiptoe. Leaning over, he grasped the lever with both bands and pulled is open. Whats little science of engine driving Bunty possessed, was lost in the terror that gripped him. The runaway cars were only a couple of hundred yards away now, and, gaining speed with every rail they traveled, spelt death and destroo- tion to the Imperial Limited, if they ever reached her. The men at the top of the grade were yelling their lungs out and wav- ing their arms in frantic warning. The train started with a a that threw Bunty back on the seat. For an instant the big drivers raced like pin-wheels, then they bis into the rails, and aided hy the grade, Number Ove began to back slowly down the hill. Bunty picked himself up, his little frame shaking with dry sobs. The freight-cars bad gained on him in the last minute, and had vearly reached him. Again he leaned over for the throttle, and hanging grimly to it, pulled it open another notch, and then another, and then wide open. 901 took it like a frightened thoroughbred. Rearing hersell from the track under her two handred and ten pounds of steam, she jumped into the cars behind her for a star- ter with a shock that played havoo with the passengers’ nerves, Theo she settled down to travel. The Devil's Slide is three miles loog, and some presty fair running has heen made on 18 in times of stress ; bat Banty holds the record, —is ’s good yet,— and Bunty was only an amateur. It wae neck and neck for a while, and there was almost a pile-up on the nose of 9801's pilot before she hegan to hold her own. Gradually she began to pnll away, aud by the time they were half-way down the hill the distance between her and the wrnant freight.cars was widening. The speed was terrific Pale and terror-stricken, Bunty now crouched on the driver's seat. Time and again the engineer's whistle in the cab over his bead signaled, now entreatiogly, now with frantic insistence. Bat Bnoty gave it no heed ; his only thought was for those cars in front of him that were always there. He cried to himself with little moans. There was a sickening slur as they flew round a carve. 901 heeled to the tangent, one set of drivers fairly lifted from the track. When she found her wheel base agnin, Bunty, shaken from his hold, was olingiog to the reversing-lever. He shut his eyes as he pulled himsell back to his seat. When be looked again, he saw the freight-cars his the curve above him, then slew as they jomped the track and, with a crash that reached bim above the roar and rattle of the train, the booming whir of the great drivers beneath him, go pitching headlong down the embankment. Bunty rose to his koees, and for the first time looked out of the side window, to find a new terror there as the rocks and trees and poles flashed dizzily by him. He tarn- ed and looked behind. A man was cling- ing to the band-rail of the mail car, and another, Lying dat, was crawling over the coal heaped high on the tender. Bunty dashed the tears from his eyes ; he was no ““fraidy’’ kid. He stood up, and holding on to the frame of the window, staggered toward the throttle. As he reached for it, 901 lurched madly, and Bunty lost his bal- ance and fell headlong upon the iron floor plate of the cab. Then it was all dark. Nuamber One pulled iato the Junction thas night ten hours late, and i¢ brought Banty. His father and Stanton and Mao- Donald and the shop-hands were on the platform. From the private car, which carried the tail-lights an elderly gentleman got off with Buuty in his arms. The men oheered, and while the Master Mechanic rushed forward to take his son, the Super and MacDonald drew back respectfully. “*Mr. MaoLeod,’’ said the old gentleman, with tears in his eyes, ‘‘you ought to he pretty proud of this listie lad.” Mae tried to speak, bus the words choked somehow. The old gentleman swung himeel! back upop the car. “Good-by, Bunty!” he And Banty, from the depshs of the blanket they had wrapped around bim, called back, ‘‘Good-by, sir !'’ When Bunty was propped up in bed, his father told him how the express messenger bad the train and carried him back into the Pullmans. Bunty listened gravely. ‘‘Yes,”” he said, nodding his head ; ‘‘they was awful good to me, and the mao that tooked me off the train told me stories, and then I told him some, too.” “What did you, tell him?” MacLeod asked. : “Oh, ’bout trains and shops and presi- dents and directors and—and lote of things.” “Presidents and directors I'’ said Mao- Leod, in surprise. “What did you tell bim about them ?’ “I told him what you said—that they was fools, and you knew, 'canse yon'd seen them.” MacLeod whistled softly. “And,” continued Bunty, ‘‘he laughed, and when I asked him what he was laugh i he gived me a piece of paper oo give it to you, and you'd tell me.” MacLeod groaned. time all righs,”’ he muttered. e paper, Bunty ?"’ “Guess it 's my “Where ’s He was engineer of the Limited, and they ‘‘He patted it in my pooket.” ot | humied MacLeod drew the chair with Bunty’s on it toward bim, and began a search. He fished out a narrow slip of paper and unfolded it on his knee. Is was a check for one thousand dollars payable to Master Bunty MacLeod, and signed by the President of the road.—By Frank L. Packard,in the Century Magazine, ——Do you know where to get your garden seeds in packages or by measure Sechier & Co. Titles at the Capital. It you should bappen to be in Washing- ton today, would you know how to pr . ly address the various distinguished people yon might chance to meet? We live in what is supposed to be a dem- ocratio country, where all men are at least born free and equal, and where we love to boast that The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The man's the goad for a’ that, and The honest man, though eer sae poor, Is king 0’ men for a’ that. Yet politeness and respect and conven- ience seem to call for some sort of titles, and even as we feel more respectful onr- selves when we say, ‘‘Yes, mother,” or “If you please, father,”” 80 we ourselves feel a bit elevated in rank when we are privilegd to address some one whose title shows that be bas won some degree of wis- dom, piety, fame or power. In order that our country shall hold its own as to customs of etiquette with older and more punctilions governments, we bave little by little established a formal list of tisles by which to designate those in official life. There are no printed guides to follow; the proper tities of polite usage must be learned from persons who have be- come initiated. Mr. Taft will now be addressed as “Mr. President.” In early days, the Chief Executive of the United States was always addressed as ‘‘Your Excellency,’’ but that custom bas entirely gone by. It is now considered correct, hoth in speaking and writing, to say simply, ‘Mr. President.” We also say, ‘Mr. Vice-President’’ and ‘Mr. Chief Justice” in addressing the per- sons who osoupy those positions. Cabinet officers are not “Secretary This or That,” bat ‘Mr. Secretary.” Senators, however, are addressed as ‘Senator Jones’ or ‘‘Sen- ator Brown.” The speaker of the Hose is called ‘Mr, Speaker,” and the fashion is growing of using the title ‘“‘Mr. Congressman’’ in ad- dressing members of the House. Foreign ministers are addressed as ““Mr. Minister.” In the case of Ambassadors the form ‘Your Excellency’ is used unless we happen to be very well acquainted, when we may say, ‘Mr. Ambassador.” The diplomat’s personal title of Baron, Count, or whatever it may be, ie seldom used. So you see, the plain every-day title of Mister i= after all deemed good enongh for almost anyone. — Christian Advocate. — Do you know we bave the old style sugar syrups, pure goods at 40 cents and 60 cents per gallon, Seohler & Co. Base-ball Up-10 Date, “The game was called with Molasses at the stick. Smallpox was catching. Coal was in the box and bad lots of steam. Horn was plaving first have and Fiddle second base. Corn was in the field and Apple was the nmpire. When Axe came to the bas he chopped; and Coal let Brick walk and Sawdust filled the bases, Song made a hit and Twenty made a score. Every Foot of ground kicked aud said Apple was rotten. Balloon started to pitch and finally went up in the air. Then Cherry tried it, bat he was a wild one. When Spider caught a fly the crowd cheered. Old Ice kept cool- ing the game until Coal burned him with a pitched ball, then you ought to bave heard Ice Cream. Cabbage had a good head and kept quiet. Old Grass covered lots of ground on the field. Orange refused to play aod Bread loated around and put bim out. In the fifth inning Wind began to blow about what be could do, and Hammer began to knock; then the trees began to leave. Knife was put out for cuttiog first base. There was lots of betting ou the game and Eggs went broke, bat Soap cleaned up. They all kicked when in the heat of the game Coal was put out and his future temporaril cooked, bat not until he bad roasted Por good and bardoo his pigheadedness. Balloon went up in the air again when Pigs to rook. The score was 1 to 0 when Apple told Fiddle to take the base. Oats was shocked, not baving a grain of sense. made another Lit and Trombone tried to slide, but was put out. Meat was playing for a big stake, but was put out at the ate, alter being roasted by the umpire. escore was 1 to 0 and the game was over. Door said if he bad pitched the game he would bave shai them out.” A Great Gif, Dr. Pierce’s Common Sense Medical Ad- viser, 1008 pages, is sent free on receipt of stamps to defray cost of mailing only. This great work contains the condensed wisdom of centaries added to the latest scientific discoveries concerning the origin and devel- ment of the human race. It tells the plain truth in plain Eoglish. Its medical information may be the means of saving bundreds of dollars. Send twenty-one cents in one-cent stamps for the book in paper covers, or thirty-one cents for cloth binding. Address Dr. R. V. Pierce, Buffalo, N. Y. —Seeking and blunderiog are so far that it is by seeking and blundering that we learn.—Goethe. — Remember you have ouce been Jouse, and pever forget you may one day be old. — Piggott. No woman shoald the diseases and disorders of the delicate womanly organs, which 0 many women suffer from until the last resource has been exhansted. Many a woman has appealed from the helpless, hopeless verdiot of the local physician to Dr. Pierce and had that verdict entirely set aside. A pew verdict has been render ed and that verdict awards the woman sound health. In over thirty years Dr. R. V. Pierce, assisted by bis staff of nearly a score of specialists, has treated and cured more than half a million women. Sick women, ly those suffering from long standing diseases of the womanly or- Ee i ae, etter, ence striotly private and sacredly confidential. Address Dr. R. V. Pierce, Buffalo, N. Y. —A true friend is one who makes uns do what we can.—Phelps. —— Do you know where to ges the finest canned goods and dried fruits, Sechler & Co.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers