pol
EN aN
oF
: A New
CHAPTER I.
“Tony”—For Short.
Another winter had lifted its icy
fingers from the Storm Country and
Lake Cayuga, and an early spring had
brought from the South the red-breast-
ed robins and thousands of other birds
to build their homes in the Forest
city, as Ithaca, N. Y,, is well called,
for to the south, the east, the west,
and even to the north where the lake
cut sharply around a corner, broad
forests stretched their lengths and
heights of leaf and bough on minia-
- ture mountains.
One evening on the western side of
the railroad tracks, a girl stood before
a small building over which, like ropes
of green, draped the branches of a
weeping willow tree. This building
was different from any of the other
habitations near it in that it was well
painted, and the door stood open all
day.
"Twas a strange little girl that
gazed up with searching eagerness at
the two lighted signs that had arrest-
ed her attention. In her arms she
held a diminutive guinea pig, and the
way she hugged it close demonstrated
her love for it.
“THE SALVATION ARMY,” she
spelled out and thoughtfully consid-
ered it.
“Everybody is welcome here,” she
read slowly. That meant that anyone
could enter if he wanted to, she de-
cided, and as Tonnibel Devon did
want to go in, she softly tiptoed up
the steps and peeped into the room.
As there was nobody in sight, she
sidled in and looked about.
“Welcome” was curved in letters of
red above a table, and the silent young
stranger sighed. She couldn’t under-
stand how a girl could be really wel-
come anywhere. Of course her moth-
er liked her and missed her when she
was away, but Tony knew of no other
place where she was really wanted
but the canal boat, called Mary and
Dirty Mary for short, which had been
_her home ever since she could re-
member.
“Glory be to God in the highest,”
swung in letters of gold across the
right wall, and to the left, “Stand Still
and See the Salvation of the Lord,”
kept her attention a little longer. She
didn’t know what they meant, but the
varied colors shining brilliant in the
bright light calmed her turbulent
spirit and made her happy. She
hugged the pig closer, bent her head
and kissed the top of its ear.
«] guess we're in a church, Gussie,”
she sald aloud, “and you mustn’t grunt
or squeal like you do on the Dirty
Mary. It's awful nice and quiet, ain't
it, honey?”
“Were you speaking to me?” said a
voice from near the door.
Tonnibel Devon struggled to her
feet, turned around and saw a young
man looking at her. A flame of red
rushed over the tanned skin, but be-
cause he was smiling and ‘kindly, she
smiled back, a dimple coming to life
at each corner of her mouth.
“Nope,” she flung out in confusion.
«1 was talkin’ to Gussie-Piglet here.
Mebbe her and me hadn’t ought to be
here. You can kick us out if you
want to.”
Philip MacCauley, the captain of
the Salvation army in Ithaca, bowed,
and then he laughed.
“Every one is welcome here,” he
quoted, coming forward. “Where'd
you come from? T've never seen you
before.”
“I'm staying up Hoghole way,” re-
plied Tony. “I ain’t been around
Ithaca long. This is an awful nice
room, ain’t it, huh?”
“Yes, very. We like it,” replied the
young man. “Sit down; don’t be in a
hurry. I want to talk to you.”
Tonnibel did sit down but not very
comfortably. She was embarrassed in
the presence of this handsome young
stranger, abashed in the glamor of his
uniform, and all the beauty of him.
With boyish admiration he was con-
templating the sparkle of her gray
eyes, shaded by long lashes as ebony
black as her hair which hung in ring-
lets to her waist. He decided that
she was very pretty, and that he liked
to have her in the Salvation army
quarters.
“Can't you stay for meeting this
evening?’ he asked presently. “We
have singing here.”
Tony's eyes deepened almost to lus-
trous black.
“Oh, T'd love that!” Then she shook
her head. “Nope,” she went on, “I got
to go home to mummy. She's all
alone! Mebbe when my daddy gets
back, I'll come some time and sit clean
through the night.”
For an instant the smile stayed
about the boy's lips, then gravity set-
tled once more over his earnest young
face.
“What's done in this place?” she
questioned after a while.
“Oh, we sing and read and pray,”
replied the boy. “We do everything
we can to help people. There's such a
~4ot of misery in the world.”
er
=r, Shadow
Shelferin
LPINES
Romance of the Storm Country :
of the
by GRACE
7A WHITE
“That's as true’s you're born,” came
back promptly from the parted red
lips. “I know that because my mother
is sick every day, and she cries too.
That's misery, ain't it?”
Captain MacCauley was used to
tales of woe, but he knew a panace&
for them. “Yes, it is so,” he said.
“Perhaps you could get her to come
here tome evening! Do you think you
could?”
“Daddy wouldn’t let her,” was the
reply, and she lifted unfathomable
saddened gray eyes to his. “You see
when a man owns a woman, and she
don’t do the things he tells her to, he
beats her, huh?”
There was mute pleading in her ex-
pression as she drew back on the
bench a little farther away from him.
Ah! He might have known that she
had been swept along by the relent-
less tide of brutality. He sighed a
little. He had seen enough of ignorant
men with their supreme egotism, to
know she told the truth.
“Your father is—is—cruel to your
mother, then?” he faltered.
She remained in deep thought for
the space of a few seconds.
.“A swat or two, mebbe more, ain’t
a killin’ thing to women folks,” was
the response she made confusedly at
length.
So unusual had been her answer
that Philip MacCauley gazed at her in
amazement.
“Have you ever heard of—of God?”
he asked finally, his own confusion ap-
parent in the stumble of his tongue.
Tonnibel laughed.
“I hear God d—n more’'n a hundred
times a day,” she replied. “Is that
what you mean?”
“Not quite,” answered Philip, star-
tled. “No! Not that.”
“Then what?’ demanded Tony.
“What kind of a God do you mean?”
“One that is good,” explained Phil-
ip. “There isn’t any God but the one
who helps—"
“My mummy?’ breathed the girl,
misty tears shadowing her eyes.
“Yes.”
“Where is he, then?” The words
shot forth ‘with such insistence that
something within 1’hilip MacCauley
rose to its demand.
“Some one’s got to be good to my
mother,” the girl ran on before he
could speak. ‘“She’s sick—and lonely.
Oh, I've got to do something for her.
Where's your helpin’ God, mister?”
“Right here in this place,” said
Philip, a strange emotion sweeping
over him. “In fact there isn’t any
place where God is not.”
“He wouldn't come in a dirty canal
boat, would He?’ demanded Tony,
breathlessly.
Astonished at such crudeness, Cap-
tain MacCauley shifted himself about
so he faced her squarely. Was it pre-
tended ignorance or innocence in the
searching gray eyes? Then he decided
that truth was stamped on every line
of the upturned face.
“Of course, everywhere,” he ex-
claimed brokenly. “Why, dear child—"
Tony Devon interrupted him swift-
ly. “Tell me how to manage it,” she
pleaded. “How can I wheedle your
God to the Dirty Mary?”
“To the what?’ was the question
the boy asked in shocked swiftness.
“The Dirty Mary,” repeated Tony.
“My mummy and me live on a canal
boat. Once she were just called
‘Mary. But she’s so d—d nasty, Ede
calls her the Dirty Mary. She's a
nice boat just the same as long as my
mummy’s there. But I can’t see how a
clean God could come on er. ... I
guess you're foolin’ me, mister.”
Philip swallowed hard. Then slowly
and gently he talked to her, trying to
make her understand as best he could
what he meant by God, Spirit.
“And you can help your mother, lit-
tle—what’s your name?”
“Tony, just Tonnibel,” she mumbled.
Then her voice rose and she uttered
sharply, “Now tell me how to help my
mother.”
Philip went to the altar and sorted
out a small card.
“his,” he said, coming back to her,
“has happy, loving thoughts written on
it. If you think these things all the
time—oh, how they will help both you
and your mother.”
Wonderingly she took it in her
fingers. The first thing that met her
eyes was a beautiful uplifted face of a
man and in his arms was a little lamb.
Underneath the picture was printed,
“Feed my sheep,” and directly under
that were the words, “Stand still and
see the salvation of the Lord.” Once
more her eyes sought the face above,
a face wherein lay all the pity and
love in the world.
Tony Devon caught a glimpse of the
lesson he was trying to teach, and
when she went out of the Salvation
army hall she held within the depths
of her a wonderfully new and utterly
strange emotion.
She was panting for breath when
she ran up the gangplank of the canal
boat.
A woman was busy brewing tea
when the girl slipped down the steps
of the cabin.
“You been gone a long time, Tony,”
mumbled Mrs. Devon. “Did you see
anything of your daddy?”
“Nope, and I squinted in every beer
hole in Ithaca,” Tony replied, “but—
but—but I found out something for
you. Listen! There's somebody on this
boat besides me, and you—and Gus-
sie.”
“Who?”
woman.
She shivered, fearing that the law
lay in wait for her absent husband.
“Who, brat?’ she repeated implor-
ingly.
Tonnibel bent over and
straight into the sad, wan face.
“God, just a plain lovin' God!” she
replied, her countenance expressing
unusual exaltation. “Sit a minute
came sharply from the
looked
while the tea’s makin’ good, and Til
tell you.”
Side by side they sat together on the
bunk while with lowered reverent
ee emer
thing unucral on his mind. she knew,
and she knew, too, it was about Ton-
nibel, for hadn't he asked for tne kid
the moment he'd returned?
“It's about time we was doing
things, Ede.” he said, turning grimly.
“I've waited as long as 1 dared. Rege
says ‘Paul ’endlehaven hasn't an inch
leeway before he's in his coffin.”
Mrs. Devon's face grew deathly
pale.
“What
faltered.
do you mean, honey?” she
von with his frowning brow, then at
length let her gaze settle on the wom-
an.
“1 spose 1 been doin’
hellish,” she ventured presently in a
low tone. “Have I, Edie?”
“Nope, not this time, Tony,” thrust
in Devon. “But we've got to tell you
something. You're gettin’ to be a wom- !
an, Tonnibel, and you got to do some-
“We live like rats in a hole.” took |
up the man, after a pause, “while if
Tony was made to do her part, we'd
be on easy street, That's what I mean.
We've got to have money and lots of
it. Reggie's willing to marry the kid
if you mind your business afterward.
His minrrvin’ her ain't sayin’ he'll stick
to her. But we got to have boodle,
and we can’t get it only through her.”
“He shan't have ‘er. the woman
said, with hard tones and flashing
eves. “How many times 've 1 got to
cay it over to von? If that's the why
i von've come to Hhaea. von might as
well turn the o'd scow north and go
baek arain flo’ a bun,” she went
Yon, "A dude and a fool and every-
thine else that's bad. He's a thief.
too.”
Devon langhed,
“Qo am 1 Ede.” said he. “So ‘re you
for that matter [If Reggie knew that
Tony was Paul Pendlehaven’s Kid, we
wouldn't cer one d——-n cent of her
money. fle snitehes from the Pendle
havens and his mother because he
“don't get ensh enonsh other ways, A
Side by Side They Sat Together on
the Bunk.
voice the girl told the story of .the
Shepherd who had said long ago with
infinite pity, “Feed my sheep.”
“And mummy,” the girl continued,
leaning her head against her mother’s
arm, “Darling mummy, that beautiful
man said, “Love’d make crooked
things straight,” and—and it’s £0.”
A look of unbelief came over Edith
Devon’s face.
“Fiddle,” she said in a disgusted
voice. “Tony, you ain't a brain in
your bean.”
“I don’t need any brains as long as I
got this, Edie,” the girl replied, lift-
ing the card she held. “Come on, let's
say these things over. Here's one
that'll keep—well, it'll help keep
daddy from beatin’ you.”
Mrs, Devon grasped the girl's arm
4 8
in sudden frenzy. ap
“You told some one Uriah Beats
me?’ she demanded sharply.
“Mebbe 1 did, and mebbe I didn’t,” |
answered Tony, slyly, “but these here
words about standin’ still and watch-
ing Salvation slam good all about will
keep pappy’s fists up his sleeves. Say
it, Edie,” she ended.
“I won’t,” said Edith, getting up
swiftly. “If there’s anything in it,
Tony, you can show me by gettin’ your
daddy back home. Mebbe he’s in jail.”
“ven if he was,” retorted the girl,
with a wise shake of her head, “lovin’
hard could make the coop-doors fly
wide open, and daddy’d flop out like a
dogfish flops into the lake. I'm goin’
to find out more some of these days,
and then I'll tell you all about it. Huh,
mummy ?”’
“Yes,” muttered Edith, “but I'm get-
ting a guess out of the days I spent
on this boat that God, or whoever
vou're talkin’ about, ain’t botherin’ his
head over the Dirty Mary, nor us
uther.”
CHAPTER Il.
The Master of the Dirty Mary.
A week before this story opens,
Uriah Devon had steamed the length
of the lake, anchoring his boat as near
Ithaca as he dared. Even to his wife,
Edith, he had not confided why he had
brought her to a town where yawning
prison doors gaped for her every pass-
ing hour.
“I won't go, Riah,” Mrs. Devon had
cried when her husband had made the
statement that he intended to visit
Ithaca. “You cculdn’t get me near
that place with a rope around my
neck.”
But the very fact that she now sat
on a small bench against the boat rail.
gazing moodily at the water, proved
that Uriah Devon had contrived to
have his way.
Occasionally Mrs. Devon lifted her
head to listen and turned her eyes to
the west where a narrow path zig-
zagged its length up the hill to the
boplevard. Into her tortured soul
had come a belief since the night be-
fore, that Tony's “Gloriest God,”
would send her man home,
Suddenly the sound of heavy foot-
steps in the forest path brought her
sharply around. At last he was com-
ing, this man she loved, perhaps
drunk, perhaps to beat her; but nev-
ertheless he was coming, and that was
all she cared about.
Uriah Devon slowly walked up the
gangplank in silence.
“Where you been?’ the woman
forced herself to say. But instead of
replying, he demanded:
“Where's Tonnibel?”
“I dunno,” was the answer. “A min-
ule ago she was over there not ten of
your legs’ jumps from here. . . .
Where you been all this week?”
‘He'd been on a terrible spree, she
decided. He looked as if he had been
drunk for days. That he hed some
i paying no heed to his words.
i zor it
feller’s got to heve spendin’ money.”
“Preity pickin’s.” sneered
Edith Devon “Stealin® from folks al-
<inall
most in the grave ain't my style. Reg- |
gie’s come second-story man, that
youn«e duffer is.”
“You sneaked Paul's kid,” taunted
Devon. “He wouldn't be almost in
his grave now if you'd Kept your
hands off'n Tony.”
The woman turned on him savagely.
wy
jet your hlasted Reggie
to steal
enough for us all from the Pendleha- |
vens.” she said “God knows they've
and to spare. [It's better'n
handin’ Tony over to 'im. He lives at
Pendlehaven’s, don’t he?”
“He won't do it,” cut in Devon.
“Reggie ain't got the nerve to burn his |
fingers too deep. Paul Pendelhaven’d
send him up for that, if he caught
him. My plan is to get Tony married
to Rege, and before the lid’s screwed
down on [Pendlehaven’s face, shove
the girl in between John Pendlehaven
and his precious cousin, Reggie's
mother. and then Rege and me gets
Tony’s money. see?”
Edith shivered.
“I hear what you say,” she mut-
tered, “and | ‘spose I'll do it if you!
promise not to tet that pup hurt Tony
when hie gets her.
eatin’ her head off.
ried—"
“You two men'll rag the kid to death
or do something worse to her,” grit-
ted the woman. “Well, you won't!
Rather'n have that I'll tell her she
ain't ours. I'll go right bold to Paul
PPendlebhaven and blurt him the truth.
I'll do it today if you keep naggin’ at
me.”
Devon studied her face, his own dis-
torted with rage.
“You'll do no such a
woman,” he retuiued, running his
tongue over his dry, cracked lips. “If
you get me in a temper you'd better
look out. Reggie knows Tonnibel’s
got rich folks, but he don’t know who
they are. You spill the beans, by G—d.
and the lake for yours.”
The woman's gaze sought the sheet
of blue water.
“She'll grow a beard a mile long be-
fore 1 tell “er,” she said finally, bring-
ing her eyes back to his face. “Tell
‘er yourself, and see how you like it!”
There was a ring of revolt in her
tones that brought an expressicn of
surprise to the man’s face, leaving it
angrily, frowningly red. But the
sound of a girl’s voice on the hill
brought him suddenly to his feet.
“There she is, by G—d,” he cried
abruptly. “Now if you want any more
lovin's from we—more’n that, if you
want to stay where I live, you got to
do my will.”
“Uriah, honey, darlin’,” cried Edith,
“don’t say that. [I've always stuck by
you.”
“Then keep a stickin’,” growled De-
von. “kor God's sake, if the brat ain’t
lugged hat pig clean up that pine
tree!”
Above them a giant pine tree lifted
its head far above its fellows. Among
its branches the man and woman could
plainly see the upper half of a girl's
figure settled in the crotch of an out-
tpreading limb, and clasped in two
slender arms was the small guinea
pig. She bobbed her head gravely,
held up the animal and shook it at
them.
Tony, herself, little knew why in
times of strife she sought
among these forest giants and came
always to happiness. They were ani-
mated beings in her mean little world
and because she had showered idola-
trous love on them they, from their
primeval grandeur, sent an answering
spark of life to her starved little soul.
The sight of Tony further enraged
Uriah. He waved her in.
“Now tell Ler outright, and get it
over, Ede.” he sald, sitting down again.
Reaching the canal boat, Tony stood
looking at her parents.
“Set d7 xn.” growled Devon.
Shiftiiz the pig a little, she dropped
down on the deck, She always dread-
ed these talks with her father and
mottier.” It usudlly ‘theant “they must
move on, or perhaps that a thrash.
jing was coming her way. From under
her long lashes she glimpsed first De-
thing, mad
A T—————- *
refuge |
. . . Best let’s wait
another vear before talkin’ marriage
to her, though”
; “Nothin® doin,” rasped the man.
“Tony's almost a woman, and ‘she’s
After she’s mar- |
thing for your mother and me.”
“I'm always wantin’ to do something
nice for you, Edie, darling,” she said.
looking at her mother. “Yap it out
quick. sweet, and I'll jump to do it!”
The woman began to cry softly.
“Go on, Edie,” said Uriah. “Why
in h—Il are you blubborin® over a
thing you can’t help?”
“But 1 can help it,” cried Edith,
“And what's more I will. Run away,
baby, and I'l have it out with your
pop while you're gone.”
Devon reached forward and ‘aid a
strong detaining hand on the girl’s
arm.
“It's this,” he got out between his
teeth. “You got to get married. You
heen livin on me long enough.”
The girl stared at him blankly.
“Get married.” she repeated dully.
“Who'd marry a brat like me? I'm
nothin® but a kid yet, and I'm goin’ to
stay right here with my mother. See?
I don’t have to—do I. mummy darlin’?”
“Your mas word ain't law on this
boat.” answered Uriah in an ugly
tone. “Mine is. though. Fire ahead,
Edie. and tell the kid my will.”
Mrs. Devon coughed spasmodically
and toyed with the fabric of her skirt.
A slender brown hand went up and
closed over her rwitching fingers.
“1 wouldn't marry any of the mutts
you know, daddy,” the girl burst out
in desperation. *So get that notion
clean out of your mind.”
Her face settled sullenly into little
lines that pursed up the lovely young
mouth. and Uriah Devon moved his
feet nervously. Perhaps his task
wasn’t going to be so easy after all.
“Kid,” he said huskily, “if you don’t
do what youre told, I'll make you.
You ain't too old to gad yet. And
something °
As if his name had brought him out
i
i
|
you'll be missin’ one of the best lick :
in’s you ever got if you mind what |
tell you.”
The girl eyed him curiously, making
a sidewise gesture with her head.
“Who's the duffer you've chose oul
for me?" she asked at length.
might as well tell me.”
“My friend, Reggie,” said Devon.
bending over and staring at her.
Tonnibel's mouth widened until tw
rows of teeth gleamed through the rec
of her lips. She made a wry face
“Nothin’ like that for me—eh, Edie?
Edith Devon was coming to a resolu
tion that meant trouble for herself anc
for Tonnibel.
“I ain't fought it all out with youl
daddy, kid.” she snifiled weakly. “You
get to the cabin and mend them olc
clothes.”
Uriah Devon laid his pipe beside
him and uttered an oath.
“you'll stay’ right ‘here, brat,” he
gritted, “and pay heed to me.”
“Uriah,” screamed the woman, “ii
you go on with this, I'l tell ‘er all |
know. I swear I will. Tony, honey
Tony, baby, I—I ain’t—"
With a roar the man sprang forwarc
and in his effort to reach his wife
knocked the girl flat on the deck
When Tonnibel rolled over and sat up
her mother was stretched along the
hoat rail. and Devon was standing
over her. She lay so dreadfully stil
and limp that the girl scrambled tc
her feet.
It wasn’t the same Tony who hac
come fearfully to them but a shor
period before with the little pig in hei
arms: nor the same girl who hac
swung in the treetops making play
fellows of the squirrels and answering
the shrill calls of the forest birds. She
seemed suddenly to have grown taller
and as she flung herself on Devon, the
very strength of her little body seni
him sprawling against the side of the
cabin. “Now you killed her, d—r
vou,” she screamed. “If you kick ‘er
—I'l—TI'll—" She dropped at the side
of her mother, her threat broken ir
two by the awful pallor on the wom
an’s face. “Oh, God, mummy darlin’
mummy darlin’,” she ended in a bit
ter cry.
Growling in rage, Devon turned or
her.
“Mebbe 1 have killed ’er,” said he
“If so, I'll make a good job of it and
finish you too.”
The girl rose before him, her eyes
7
“Go On and Finish Me.”
blazing into his, her little fist:
clench2d ‘ogether,
“Folks that murder other people
Pappy Devon,” she shot back, “ge
strapped in a chair, and they ge
lightning run through 'em. Go on an¢
finish up! Go on and finish me! I’
ruther have you kill me than make my
marry that old Reggie.”
“You '
i gold.
. seemed to speak them in her ringing
of the forest, Reginald Brown waiked
down the Hoghole path,
CHAPTER Ill.
The Picture of a Baby.
Tonnibel’'s heart jumped almost into
her throat, then seemed to cease beat-
ing. There stood her father growling,
enraged and drunk, and as if she were
dead and no longer able to help her
child, her mother lay almost within
touching distance. If Uriah carried
out his plans, then the horrid fellow
there would soon claim her as his
woman. That thought frightened her
! so that she stepped back as the new-
comer came upon the deck.
“What's the matter, Ry?” he asked
quite casually.
“He's killed mummy,” burst fofth
the girl. “And if both you fellers don’t
want to get pinched, you'd better
scoot offen this beat.”
Uriah laughed, and Reggie's high-
pitched eackle followed.
“Deen giving your woman a little
discipline, eh, pal?’ he demanded,
turning on Devon. “Well, they all
need it now and then. But she's the
liveliest breathing corpse | ever saw.
Did you hit ’er, Dev?”
“Yep.” growled the other man. “and
I'm goin’ to beat Tony. too. The im-
pudent brat says she wouldnt marry
vou if you was the last man livin’.
You watch the brat there, Rege, while
I duck Ede in the cabin.”
Tonnibel, wide-eyed and suffering,
saw her father lift her mother up in
his brawny arms and carry her down-
stairs, none too gently. When he had
disappeared, a throat sound made her
swing her eyes to the other man. He
was contemplating her with a smile,
an evil smile, such as she hated in
men. His white teeth seemed like
many gleaming knives, sharp, strong
and overhanging, his red lips spread-
ing away from them,
He took a step toward
stopped.
“Why so much fuss about nothing,
my little one?” he said, cooing.
“Daddy said I had to marry you,”
breathed the girl, brushing back a
stray curl from her brow. “But I
don’t! I'm goin’ to stay with my
mother on the Dirty Mary. There
ain’t no law forcing a girl to marry a
man she don’t like. And I hate you,
see? Huh?”
“Who spoke of a law?” smiled
Brown. “I didn’t! But I do know, my
little Tony-girl, that you'll say a very
meek ‘yes’ when I get through with
you.”
Tonnibel suddenly shuddered and a
hopeless, helpless feeling went In
waves over her. Oh, to be anywhere
in God’s clear. clean world! Away
from those gleaming lustful eyes! But
she saw no opportunity to escape.
Reginald Brown was blocking the
small space through which she must
fly if she were to be saved at all. She
knew very well if she could hide for
a little while the two men would drink
until they slept. Then she could come
back and help her mother. Plainly
she had heard the woman weeping be-
low in the cabin, and even more plain-
lv to her suffering ears came Devon's
blows, and after that—silence.
Her heart thumped like a hammer
against her side. Behind her lay the
shining lake. And one hasty glance
over her shoulder only added to her
fear. There was not a sign of a boat
anywhere. She was frantic enough to
scream if it would have done her any
good.
“I think I'll kiss you, my little bird,”
said Reggie, suddenly, narrowing his
eyes. “You're pretty enough for any-
one to want to kiss. By Jove, I never
realized until today just how much I
liked you. If I kissed you, well—per-
haps you'd change your mind about—
about things.”
Tonnibel slid backward to the boat
rail. When she touched it, she whirled
about and dove headlong into the lake.
When Reginald Brown saw the girl's
feet disappear under the water, he ut-
tered an oath and cried out. He hadn’t
expected such an action on her part.
He ran to the cabin steps and
screamed to Devor.
“She’s in the lake, Ry,” he shivered
as the other man sprang to the deck.
When Tonnibel felt the water over
her, she swept to the lake's bottom
with one long stroke. Then deftly she
rid herself of her dress skirt and be-
gan to swim swiftly under the water.
They were tense minutes that the
her and
| two men stood waiting, until suddenly
beyond them to the south a curly head
came above the water's edge. Then
: they leapt to the shore and raced to-
ward the place she must land. To
the panting girl it was a race for life.
Suddenly, like a flashing glimpse
{ from Heaven, the words, “Stand Still
| and See the Salvation of the Lord,”
fioated before her eyes like a flame of
Philip MacCauley’s deep voice
ears immediately after. “Goddy,” she
groaned. “Salvation of the Lord, oh,
darlin’ Salvation.”
(Continued next week.)
Viewing With Alarm.
“A man never knows how to appre-
ciate good health until he loses it,”
remarked the melancholy citizen.
“You are right about that,” said the
cheerful person. “Indisposed, eh?”
“Yes, my doctor has put me on a
diet. It’s just an hour until my din-
ner time and I'm as hungry as a
wolf.” :
“How long have you been on a di-
9”
“I start with my next meal.”—Bir-
mingham Age-Herald.
Suited.
Office Manager—I'd like to give you
a job, but there’s nothing for you to
do.
Young Applicant—That’s just the
kind of job I want.—Houston Post.
et