Dewan.
Bellefonte, Pa., April 28, 1911.
“] USED TO KNOW YOUR MA.”
Stand up there, Henry Thompson. You have
heard the verdict read.
You're guilty. An’l guess it's best your ma is
with the dead.
“This would ‘a’ hurt her feelin's. She was tender.
hearted like,
An’ anybody's sorrow found her heart the place
to strike.
She died when you was little. You was brought
up by your pa.
1 got to do my duty— But—I used to know your
ma.’
You favor her a good deal, got her looks about
the eyes—
‘When she was young, | mind them; they was like
the summer skies.
¥ve watched you, Henry Thompson, while the
jury was out there;
“You've got your mother’s dimple, but you've got
your father’s hair,
‘Well, marriage is a lott'ry, an’ there's lots 0’
blanks, they say—
An’ she run off to marry. Seems as if "twas yes-
terday.
Your pa come here a stranger. He was always
flashy dressed,
An’ had some ways about him that I wouldn't call
thelbest.
But he was from the city, with the city’s dashin’
ways,
An’ half the girls was after him when he'd been
here two days.
“The rest of us would look at him with envy and
with awe,
You favor him a little—but you look more like
your ma.
‘What come o' him? You don’t know, 'ceptin’
that he went away?
Just left you to your kinfolks? Worked for board
and keep, you say.
Well, now, that wasn't pleasant; didn't give you
half a chance.
I'll put that down as a extenuatin’ circumstance.
This is a jedge’s duty. It's required o' him to
draw
A sensible conclusion—an’, I used to know your
ma.
She was a purty woman: had a sort o' dimplin®
smile
That peeped out like th’ sunshine almost every
little while.
Smile, Henry. . .. There, that's like it! Why*
I'd almost think that she
Had willed her smile to you, lad, for a sort o’ leg,
acy.
We used to go bob-sleddin’—had th’ big sled filled
with straw, .
An’ druv to spellin’-matches—that was fore she
met your pa.
The sentence of the court is— | suppose it's thir,
ty years
Sence I was at the huskin'-bee—an’ | found two
red ears.
Had two more ina minute! An’ they tingled for
a week,
But, Lord! There was a dimple in the middle cg
her cheek.
More coaxin’ than all other dimples that I ever
saw,
That was before she married—when | used to
know your ma.
How old are you? Nineteen? Well, that was her
age to a day
When word went round the settlement that she
had run away.
I've got a rose here somewheres: keep it in my
pocket-book,”
An’ bein’ you're her boy, I guess it's right for you
to look.
It's just a old fool's fancy—but she give it to me
then.
My eyes ain't what they once was— There!
They trouble me again.
We never heard much of her after her an’ him
had gane—
Just kept this rose to wither, while the years went
rollin’ un.
An’ then, a long time after, come a telegram that
read
How life an’ death is with us—you was born, and
she—was dead.
So, boy, I'm sorry for you bein’ brought up by
your pa,
An’ mostly absent treatment—when it should
have been your ma.
I'd go to church a Sunday— If you could ‘a’
heard her sing!
My, how her voice could make you feel as glad as
anything!
Some way it got right to yon: there was some-
thing in the tone
That made you think of angels singin’ round
about the throne.
‘Too bad she couldn't raise you. Never thought
much of your pa.
She would ‘a’ kept you from this—for, you see, |
knew your ma.
Well, so I never married. Just been sort 0’ keep-
in’ bach.
I reckon I was never what the girls would call a
“catch.”
An’ when a man lives single. whv, it’s funny how
it seems
He sees somebody smilin’ an’ can hear her voice
in dreams.
1 went when she was buried. If vou'd go out
there you might
See roses—always fresh ones—for they was her
favor-ite.
Stand up there, Henry Thompson. You have
heard the verdick here.
The jury says you're guilty. an’ the jedge’s course
is clear.
The sentence of this court is—that from prison
you are free,
Providin' that hereafter you will live along with
me!
1 know it ain't the statute, an’ it’s clear agin’ the
law,
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in a sensitive asking: “Why
don’t you get ric and live in that kind of
term of years he had resign
army to devote himself to fessional
work in a Western city. he had
been chosen to plan construct the im-
portant irrigation works by which the
ta
te, co-operati with the National
Government, h to reclaim an area of
desert.
when he had received a letter from Hen-
ry King, a financier and promoter of large
enterprises. This letter offered him
presidency, of the most important street
railway in State.
It had taken Selwin but a few minutes
to decide that this offer must be accept:
ed. He had hastened home to the State
Capital to present his resignation to the
Commission. The city was the place for
a man in the prime of life; the desert
was for the young who had their spurs to
win, and for the old and weatherbeaten
to die in. Exultantly, wrapped in dreams
joy the income of a millionaire.
Now he wondered gloomily if he had
made a great blunder.
Well, the bridge had been crossed, and
he would never feel more keenly hurt and
regretful, never more culpable or more
chided; and now let him put all that be-
hind him. He rose from the bench and
walked briskly along the path; there was
nothing like activity for taking a man out
of the dumps. by a fortunate chance
as he emerged from the avenue he met
Henry King, out for a late afternoon
stroll. Selwin shook hands with him with
a great gladness. “It’s odd I should have
met you,” Selwin said. "I ‘was just think-
quisites.
There would be gpecial ities
for investment—openings for to hold
remunerative offices in other companies
— “You see, Selwin,” said King, “this
desert job that you've had makes you an
especially valuable connection for
it’s made a national reputation.
Under gently stroking influence of
talk was soon restored to his
normal self-satisfaction.
evtldu: aliosd to >. .
laughed 4 'm
pretty prosperous. If fay ng
of his opulent future, he returned to en- | gazed
“Don't be * she
foolish, George, an-
“] shan't be; I'ma .
Er aan be
may be making you a present of the
He that she pleased—both
his gegen avag yo
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Bist
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Selwin took the with him
Fc Tg thie 1 WR Ba
his wife needless concern
on this day with a certain curiosity; he
tired of explaining to every one that
had thrown up the irrigation work for
“family reasons.”
That day he bough: the Dennison
Jlacesiav} fifty thousand Hoists in
cash go a on it a
Pl to» untae g54 or 2
or five had the
and this
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; his eyes on a heading in
that seemed to scorch them
He was reading the article when his wife
; | entered; he did not look up. She spoke
had Bor 3
to him twice, but he was al in the
stenographic report of all that the Com-
the | missioner had said to him and of his own
foolish and blundering excuses. There
was also a despatch from the little settle-
ment in the desert where the farmers
who were depending on the State irriga-
tion plans were cl “Panic Strick-
en by Selwin’s Retirement” was the head-
ing. So they had been leaning on him! | y
He had been in the desert only a month | The
told of their amazement,
thee on. his wif
e newspaper to his wife
with remark; "Here is something un-
pleasant for you to read, Sally.”
He saw her frightened look as the
words of the head line jumped at her;
he saw the quick rush of color to the
cheeks and the sad, downward droop of
her mouth as comprehension dawned.
By and by she sank back in her chair as
if overcome with faintness, but she held
the newspaper in her hands and read on.
Selwin turned, and, with one arm hang-
ing limply over the back of his chair,
at the carpet.
“George, is it true?”
“It's stenographer’s report of what
passed between us. | think he hasn't got
some things quite right—"
“It is true—what the commissioner
says—about your abandoning the work
when you were so needed—and for such
reasons?”
“Yes. 1 suppose it's true.”
her hand across her fore-
veil. Then she took up the newspaper
pe looked at it again for a while, list-
would have to run to cover. But rich
are not held in censure uf
Se Bringing win A lightly
gittered Sypicism, be did not guess how
prosperity for which you have
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importance in my eyes more
r importance in the eyes of
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i if
have put me in a hole; you have done
me an injury. [ shall be held ble
for recommending a quitter. I'm done
with you.”
Selwin protested, declared he would ex-
plain everything—and then became
aware that no one was listening to him.
He hung up the receiver and sat in a sort
of panic; what if all his friends shared
this man’s view? What if he had been
condemned by them all as bitterly as by
the Governor?
It occurred to him that it would be well
to visit King’s office ad rd if the con-
tract was yet ready for his signature.
King had promised to have it for him in
a day or two.
The financier’s manner was lacking in
cordiality, and Selwin, who had been ex-
pecting a cheery welcome, felt instantly
. “This is a very unfortunate
air, Mr. Selwin,” King said, shaking his
head gravely. "I am sorry that you
should have felt it necessary to refer in
any way to the offer which had been made
ou.
“I don’t look on this notoriety that I
am receiving as a permanently serious
matter,” Selwin asserted stoutly. “It will
blow over and be forgotten in a few
weeks.”
»%To this King made no answer, and
Selwin waited awkwardly. Then, in a
more formal tone, he asked if the lawyer
in charge of the matter was absent from
the city, and since in any event the new
president would not assume control for
another month it had not seemed neces-
sary to hasten the a ts.
Late in the afternoon Selwin bought an
evening newspaper and found himself the
subject of scathing editorial comment.
The reclamation of the desert was a mat-
ter in which State pride was deeply en-
listed; it was the most popular of all the
causes which had come before the State
Legislature. Selwin bought two other
newspapers, in which likewise he was
made the text of a preachment against
FL Sgn
newspapers home to e; but she
had read them, and because of them she
met him with eager sympathy and compas-
sion. “George,” she said, “you must not care
what the newspapers say. You will have
plenty of opportunities to redeem your-
.
George—if you had taken me into | sel
your confidence, let me understand—do
you think I could ever have consented to
this? My dear, my dear—couldn’t you
Sorrow for him and compassion had
succeeded reproach. She came to him
jan) Si00BbY is hair with her hand on
“
ret it,” he acknowledged de-
. "I don’t know—I 't see
other side until it was too late.
wasn't anything worse
He did not see her brows
this effort to minimize his culpability.
Blk wats done, however, with reproaching
m.
“Those poor people! I
aT ey
all they have! And now they may lose
all.”
But if it's too every
one can wait.—Well,—how is this going
to affect your future
“Not at all.”
“I'm not worrying about that,” he
answered. “But it’s an that a
man who is not a criminal can be held up
to execration in this way and have no
redress. Never mind, Sally; I'll live it
down. People's memories are conven-
magnate, and when we're installed in our
new in the mountains and show
that we're getting richer every
minate, you won't hear any criticism
“Haven't you given up that idea—of the
tains?”
moun
“Not much! Why, it's going to be the
fi kids you
The Dennison place trump
Ty he a oh the bet-
ter.”
i will induce me to live
“It's a question of taste, George—not
of expediency. It is more decent for
us for a while to—to be quiet and unas-
th, | be one whose reputation will cause him
1
eyes. “Since you think it will
help you—I will submit—I will live in
whatever place scribe.” "
“Good for you; I you'd see the
Bd my back 'm off
to face the music. ell, Sally”—he
t him to be gracious—"you're
ng by me anyway, like a good one.”
He stooped and kissed her, but she did
not respond to the kiss.
"You must understand,
now
be-
3
“Because of your lack of taste—and be-
cause, if you have no sensibilities of your
own, you do not consider those of your
e.”
This speech angered him; without mak- | tha
ing any reply he turned and left the
house
In the car, going down-town, he seated
himself next to an acquaintance, a law-
yer.
"Well, I seem still to be a newspaper
topic,” he began genially; he accepted the
lawyer's startled chill assent as due to
embarrassment, and he dilated to him re-
assuringly upon the whole affair. Half-
way through his story, something in the
lawyer's manner, curiously, quizzically
attentive, told him that he was babbling.
He subsided into a silence which was not
broken by his companion.
That morning he found that people
whom he knew hurried by him on the
street, as if afraid to stop and speak; he
himself glanced about furtively as he
walked.
He ventured into his club for luncheon;
the men there spoke to him, and
dropped away. None of them introduced
the subject of his resignation; when he
introduced it to two or three, they lis-
tened without comment.
In the afternoon he was requested over
the telephone to call at King's office. He
found the financier in an obviously more
friendly mood than on the previous day.
"Sit down, Mr. Selwin; sit down,” King
said, with an air of hospitality. “They're
still hammering you in the newspapers, I
see. Well, keep your courage up; I guess
some time it will all come out in the
wash. I hate to broach this at just this
moment, Mr. Selwin—but I suppose the
sooner we come to an unders the
better. I'm sorry, but that offer of the
presidency will have to be withdrawn.”
King paused; Selwin took a great swal-
low; then the blood rushed to his face
and he sprang up savagely.
“Wit wn nothing!” He stood over
King and shook a threatening finger. “It
can't be done. [ have Jour letter—your
agreement; you must abide by it.”
"Mr. Selwin, it ill becomes you to bring
up any question of fidelity to an agree-
ment,” replied King. "If you will allow
me, I will explain the situation to
and I will then make you a proposition.”
Selwin, after a moment’s indecision, re-
sumed his seat.
“To fill satisfactorily the presidency of
a t corporation such as ours, Mr.
win, a man must be Something more
than efficient in his profession. He must
to be looked upon favorably by other
in a measure ot t on Sopular and
legislative approval—could ai to carry
you as its president. ially could no
gk
at appear above the water are
chimney and the end of a small tube
which is inserted in the bottom of the
can and curves upward.
Through the chimney the foul air rises
and escapes. Into the tube rushes fresh
A to
give health and strength to the little birds
growing in the shells.
These chicks are as strong as any
chicks have ever been, and hatched in
this way it is claimed that they are out
of their shells one day earlier Fn when
a hen sits on the eggs.
Crying Spells.
There are some women who have “cry-
ing spells,” which seem to be entirely un-
accountable, and are generally attributed
in a vague way to “nerves.” A man hates
to see a woman cry under any circum-
stances, and these bursts of tears awaken
very little sympathy in him. They would
if he understood all the weakness and
misery that lie behind the tears. Dr.
Pierce's Favorite Prescription has bright.
ened many a home, given smiles for tears
to many a woman just because it removes
the cause of these nervous outbreaks.
Disease of the delicate womanly organs
will surely affect the entire nervous sys-
tem. “Favorite Prescription” cures these
diseases, and builds up a condition of
sound health. For nervous, hysterical
women there is no medicine to compare
with “Favorite Prescription.”
America Claims the Bean.
Until 1883 the bean was believed to have
originated in Asia. Researches among
the flora of ancient Peruvian sepulchres
show that it was known in antiquity in
Peru. No fewer than fifty different species
have been found in theold burying-places
and forty-nine of the fifty were distinctly
American. The sepulchres explored date
back to the poo beginning with the
and ending with the
portant
ancient of Peru.
common dried bean of modern commerce
was well known in the antique world long
before the discovery of Columbus.
The Tune of the Engine.
in the ture of the
a. agriculture He
engines |
running. Every engine has a tone of its
own, an neer, with
could unhesitatingly pick
out an to which he was accus.
tomed. As a locomotive roars along the
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begs?
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ET ———
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