a Ly Now EY of the Storm Count ~ (Continued from last week). SYNOPSIS. CHAPTER l.—Lonely and almost friend- less, Tonnibel Devon, living on a canal boat, child of a brutal father and a worn- out, discouraged mother, wanders into a Salvation army hall at Ithaca, N. Y. There she meets a young Salvation army captain, Philip MacCauley. CHAPTER I11.-Uriah Devon, Tony's fa- ther, returns to the boat from a pro- tracted ‘‘spree,” and announces he has arranged for Tony to marry a worthless companion of his, Reginald Brown. Mrs. Devon objects, and Uriah beats her. She intimates there is a secret connected with Tonnibel. CHAPTER IIl.—In clothes that Uriah has brought Tony finds a baby’s picture with a notification of a reward for its return to a Doctor Pendlehaven. She goes to return the picture. Just then Ler feet touched the peb- bles on the bottom of the lake. With one wild leap she was on the shore and up the bank, Uriah screaming at her to stop. She heard the two men crashing after her. That her short, swift leaps could outdistance them for long if she tried for the boulevard, she had no hope. But all about ner were giant friends with outstretched arms, offer- ing her shelter. For one instant she paused. then sprang into the air. caught the lower branch of a great pine tree and like a squirrel scurried up it. A'most at the top, spanned over by the Ylue sky, she crawled out to the end of a big limb and clung to it. Beneath her the wen paused and shouted curses up at her. Tonnibel cared nothing for curses. She’d heard them all her life, used them, too, when she felt like it. Suddenly there came to her ears the lapping of a paddle in the lake. She flung up her head, peeped out and saw 8 canoe taking its leisurely way to- ward Ithaca. She bent over and looke:i down. “Daddy,” she cried, “there's some one rowin’ on the lake. I'm goin’ to holler like h—I1. And when he cores, I'll tell ’im how you banged Ede, and if she's croaked you’ll both get jaileo. Here's where 1 holler!” She sent out a quick birdlike trill, and the man in the canoe held his paddle suspended in the air as he studied the forest. This didn’t inter- est Tonnibel as much as did the fact that Devon and Reggie Brown jumped to their feet and raced away toward the boulevard. Tonnibel from her perch saw them disappear toward Ithaca before she slid to the ground. The man in the canoe, too, made but a short pause before he dipped his paddle and shot away. On the deck of the boat Tonnibel picked up Gus sie-Piglet and, dripping wet, went swiftly down the cabin steps. There she found her mother on the bunk, her face discolored by her husband's blows. She looked as if she were dead, and for a moment the forlorn child of the wilderness uttered heartbroken little cries for help. The cabin was cluttered In the struggle Uriah Devon had had with his wife. In despair Tony looked around. The old clothes daddy had brought home were strewn over the cabin floor. Tonnibel heaped them together, then began to examine then. They needed nothing but pressing. This she’d do to save her mother the work; and perhaps the fact that he had something ready to sell would make Uriah less brutal when he came back. In running her fingers over a coat, searching for small rents, Tony felt something between the lining and outside, a book it seemed like, which she hastily pulled out. It was small and much worn. There wasn't any money in it, in fact nothing but a pic- ture, wrapped up in paper. She looked at the picture curiously. A baby’s face smiled up at her, and anise She Looked at the Picture Curiously. her own lips curved a bit in answer to the laughing challenge in the little one's eyes. Then she turned it over. ” >= Shadow | Cap erin of the PINES by GRACE MILLER WHITE COPIRIGHT 2 Ce HARLAN” On the back was written: “My - baby, Caroline Pendlehaven, aged six months. If this picture is ever lost the finder will receive a money re- ward by returning it to Dr. Paul Pen- dlehaven, Pendlehaven Place, Ithaca, NY Money was what Edie needed, Money, food and a doctor. If she could find this Paul Pendlehaven, per- haps in exchange for the picture he would give her a bottle of medicine for her mother. Hastily changing her wet clothes, she slipped the baby’s pictured face into her blouse, turned down the lamp and crept from the canal boat and with Gussie in her arms was soon lost in the forest. CHAPTER IV, The Pendlehavens. In all of Tompkins county no family had more prestige than Pendlehavens’. John and Paul Pendlehaven had chosen medicine and surgery as their vocation when they were in college. John was a bachelor, and Paul a wid- ower. At the time this story opens the fatter was an invalid, his infirmity brought about by the death of his young wife, who had died at the birth of their daughter, and the disappear- ance of the little girl when she was but a year old. Pendlehaven place comprised a whole city block, on which stood a house, almost a mansion. In the family were John, Paul, and Mrs. Curtis and her two children, Katherine and Reginald. Mrs. Curtis was a sec- ond cousin to the Pendlehaven broth- ers and had made her home with them since her children had been left father- less. Mrs. Curtis had buried two hus- bands, Silas Curtis, the father of Ratherine, and Edmund Brown, the father of Reginald. For over a year now Paul Pendle- haven had not left his apartments in | the southern wing of the house. Many times he had told his brother, John | that he only waited with what pa- | tlence he could for the call to go! away, to follow after his girl-wife, and | perhaps, well, perhaps his child might | now be with Ler mother. ! On the day that Uriah Devon re turned trom his week's bout, Doctor | Pendleb zven was seated opposite his | cousin, Mrs. Curtis. at dinner. : “Sarah,” he hegan gravely, “1 wish | you'd consent to my toeking Regiuala in hand for a time, He wiil be ahso | lately ruined if something isn’t dete with Lim.” The coquettish smile which Mrs. Curtis always used in the presence of the eminent doctor left her face, and her lips drew down at the corners, “What's he done now?” she cried. “He isn’t going to college at all,” sald the doctor. “He won't pass any of his examinations if he doesn’t go to ; class and get his hours in. . . J” fle paused a moment and then went on, “Another thing 1 dislike to speak ; of, but I must. Reginald has no idea : of mine and thine. I'm very much | afraid he takes what doesn’t belonz to him,” Mrs. Curtis uttered a squeal. “Goodness gracious, you accuse hin of stealing,” she screamed. “I'm afraid he does. Sarah” he an- swered gently. “Constantly I'm miss ing money and things. It will hurt you to know that some one almost stripped my wardrobe of clothes, ani pow I find there isn’t much left for poor faul. Paul is very much dis tressed! 1 suppose If Reginald did take them, he thought they were of no value!” “Were they?’ queried Mrs, Curtis fenning over the table, still very nngry. “Whether they were or not, Sarah,” repliad Doctor Pendlehaven, ignoring his young cousin’s appeal, “they didn’t belong to him. And they were val uable to I'aul in that they held some: thing he prized highiy. It hasn't been my habit to interfere between you and vour children, Sarah, but I do wish vou'd ask the boy if he did take Paul's clothes. If he's sold them, I'll pay whatever the amount 1s.” : “How perfectly disgusting,” snapped Mrs. Curtis. “If the child did sell them. thinking they were no good. vou’d certainly not want them back from a second-hand shop.” ; Doctor Pendlehaven rose from the table. “Ask hin about the sults, Sarah,” he said, walking toward the door. “Perhaps If you tell him Paul will give him a hundred dollars for them ‘and the contents of thelr pockets, he'll look them up.” Mrs. Curtis rose with dignity, her damp handkerchief clenched In her hand. “I'll not Insult my only son,” she «ald distinctly. | With a gesture of despair, Doctor Pendlehaven went out of the room. For a moment after he’d gone, and the sound of his footsteps had been lost in the corridor, the mother stared | at her daughter, “The fact 1s,” she burst out, “it's e< brother?” he said gently. ™ Cousin John says, I haven't much In- fluence over Reggie, but I don’t be lieve he’s as bad as people say. In a little town like this a person can’t take a step sideways without old wags commenting on it. I hate Ithaca for just that reason.” “If Reggie’d behave himself,” re- plied the lady’s daughter in a bored tone, “he wouldn't have to be chat- tered about. My advice is, mamma, that you give him a good raking over. If you don’t mind your P's and Q's you'll never have Cousin John for your third husband, IT can tell you that. You're no nearer marrying him than you were ten years ago, as I can see.” “1 will, though, Miss Impudence,” flashed back the woman. “Paul won’t be much more than in his grave before Cousin John makes me his wife. 1 wish to heaven Paul would die, and— and I don’t notice with all your flirt- ing and maneuvering you're getting vour claws on Philip. . . . Ah, that shot told!” Katherine's face had gone red at the words, then very white. “How perfectly vile,” she exclaimed, with a cateh in her voice, Then she straightened up and laughed. “Well. I'm not forty-five years old and pre- tending I'm thirty-five, anyway. nor do 1 dye my hair, and flounce out with lace to prove I'in young. ‘There's a shot for you, mother darling!” The irate Mrs. Curtis rushed out of the room, followed by her daughter's mocking laugh. For three years Katherine had been madly, passionately in love with Philip MacCauley, an intimate friend of the family. The young man’s home adjoined hers, and during his orphaned boyhood he'd spent a great deal of his spare time at the Pendlehavens. But since he’d returned from France and had taken up the Salvation army work, a work which Katherine held in open contempt, the intimacy had about ceased. CHAPTER V. Doctor John Has a Visitor. After remaining hidden in the for- est for some time. Tonnibel stole along toward Ithaca in the gathering gloom, her heart filled with hope. To get some medicine for Edith, and to take back the picture to the father who had offered money for it, were the two things she wanted to do now. Her young mind was busy with plans for her mother. If she could find some work to do, and Edith would go with her, she would get well again. That evening, just after dinner, Dr. John Pendlehaven was sitting in his office, his mind disturbed, his heart aching for the sick brother upstairs, and he remembered that the first three or four years after the disappearance of Paul's daughter had been spent in a frantic search. All those working on the ease had finally decided that Edith Mindil. a young nurse who had cared fer the child most of the time since her mother had died and was de voted to her. had left home with the baby. He © _ up suddenly. foi distinctly there eame to him from the wile from porch the patter of feet like the soft footpads of some stealthy night-ani- mal. He turned his eyes on the open door that led to the porch- and then he rose. There before him stood a ginl, a silent girl ivokiee ai him beseech- ingly—a curintis deamnding express sion In her eyes, and she was bare footed, too. Fe didu’t speak, nor did he move forward. She was not a pa- tient, that he knew, for only the rich came to him for treatment. Suddenly she smiled and took two steps toward him. “Good evening.” he managed to say. “Paul Pend!elhiaven?’ came inp a Silent Girl. breath, and Doctor John shook his head. “Oh! I hoped you were!” was the swift reply. pore The voice was filled with touching pathos, and the young face hand grown suddenly grave. “I'm one Doctor Pendlehaven,” he sald. “Won't you sit down?” Tonnibel shook her head. She couldn't sit down In all this royal . splendor, she who had been used to canal boats and rough benches to sit on. “I'm kinda mussed up,” she sald in excuse. “I've come to make a dicker with—with Dr. Paul Pendlehaven.” “Tei me what you want of my “Do you want him to help you?” “Yep, a hull lot,” she responded, “a great lot. My mother’s awful sick. | But I can’t tell how she got that way, s0 don't ask me. But—but I thought i ward bend ‘she'd get well, didn't you? "back—" >aui’s baby She paused. drew out of her blouse the picture and handed it out, “I thought if I didn’t take any money for it, he'd help me. and mebbe wouldn't make me tell where I got it.” John Pendlehaven made no move ta touch the little card she was holding out to him, and Tennibel came nearer. Her fingers let go their hold on the picture, and it fell to the floor. And there before the startled man's eyes, she dropped down and began to sob, long bitter sobs such as John Pendle- haven had never heard from any of his own women kind. *1 want some one to help my mummy so bad,” came to hin from among the curls. Then ‘he shook himself, deep sym- pathy striking at him. “Listen to me, my dear; you've done my brother the greatest favor in the world by bringing back this picture.” He stooped and picked it up. “He loved it dearly; no money could have hought it.” mebbe if I brought Doctor Tonnibel’s eyes, filled with tears.’ gazed up at Linn and the red lips! trembled. “1 don’t want raoney.” she faltered. : “But my poor little mummy's sick. So I said to myself if the picture was | worth cash, then mebbe I could ger some medicine as a change off.” “We'll go to her instantly.” said! Pendiehaven. “Wait until I get my! hat and coat. vou brought this to him.” In a few minutes he was back, find: ing her standing where he had left her. Without a word they walked out in- to the night. As they passed the Salvation army quarters the girl turned her Lead and looked at it. But ste made no remark, and so rapid did she walk that Pendle- baven found himself taking long strides to keep up with her. To say he was surprised when they aurned from the bceulevard road to a path leading to the west shore of the lake would be putting it lightly. But he didn’t ask where they were going; somehow it made no difference to him. His strong, warm hand held the small brown one, and something in the touch of the girl's fingers made him thrill with pleasure. He found himself vow- ing that anything this strange child should ask of him, he'd do, no matter what it might be. They passed over a culvert through which water, In tumbling roars, took its way down the hill. Just on the north side the girl stopped. “Here we are to the ragged rocks,” she said. “There's the boat where my mummy is. See that little light? Stand here a minute till I come back and get you.” It had suddenly occurred to Tonni- hel that perhaps her father might have ventured home. If so, then she must prepare him for the doctor's com- ing. She went immediately to her mother and locked down upon her. The swollen lids were still closed and the wan white face brought a rush of tears to the girl's eyes. “I've trung some one to help you. dariin’,” she whispered, but the wom- ian made no move, if by chance she heard. Clambering up the steps, Tonnibe! was back at the doctor's side before he scarcely realized it. “Mummy's “Coma on.” Pendlehaven stooped over Edith De: von, gently taking her wrist in niu fingers. For some time he sat beside her. then mixing a draught, succeeded in pouring it down her throat. The weary lids didn't lift, but one thin arm came rigidly upward, then fell back Hmpy. “Some one struck her, eh? the doctor. “Yep,” replied the girl, and that was all. Pendlehaven didn't ask anything more. In accepting the picture he had tacitly proraised not to question her. What did it matter to him how the woman had conte into her present con- dition? He would do his utmost, his very best for the sake of the trembling child who had brought back the baby’s picture which might bring a new de- sire to live in his nrother, Paul. “Come outside.” he said at length, She'll alone,” she said. © assed rising. “I want to talk to you. sleep a long time, perhaps until morn- ing.” “She'll get well, huh?’ demanded Tonnibel, in a whisper, “sarddy,” he responded. “Of course.” The thought of her father coming home drunk fashed across the girl's mind. she's all right,” of her she said with a back- head. “You said 1 At the doctor's affirmative nod she went on: “Then I'll take you back up the hill, There Cefore Him Stood a Girl—a co you'll be safe.” “No,” said Pendlehaven, “No, I won't let you. I can find my way all right, but I can’t leave you ! like this.” “1 want to see the doc- : Tonnibel extended her hand. “I said I was going with you,” she answered crisply. “Come on, it'll be all hours before you get home now. I ain’t say- in’ I would leve to have you in the Dirty Mary with mummy and we, but you might get killed if you stay.” “And what about you?’ demanded P’endithaven. “Oh, I'm used to it,” she responded. “Somebody might give me a swat or two on my bean, but that won’t count for nothin’ !” When they reached the boulevard, he dropped her hand. “Now go back,” he said gently, can find my way. Will you come to- morrow at two, and let me know how she is? Or shall 1 come down?” “I'll hike to you,” answered Tonnl- bel. get lost, But—" “yj Il run back to mummy. “] Jdeu't want you to stay if | “If you're sure now you won't and I'll teil wy brother | firmiy. | eet home perfectly safe, child,” came in quick interruption, and “Geod-night. Thank yon for bringing me the picture and allowing me to come to your mother.” “1 shall CHAPTER VL “Tony” Cwearo an Oath, When Tonnil el bent over the bunk, she saw Ler mother’s eves were open. She smiled sadly down upon her, sot on a steo! and took one of the wom- an’s thin hands in hers. “Where's your daddy?” Mrs. Devon. “Hels core, Tony. was after hetter, huh, murmured mummy dear.” hreathed him, You're feelin’ a lot honey?” “Yep, but I'm thirsty, awful thirsty, | baby dear Tonnibel gave her a drink, and re- seated herself. “You're goin’ to get ejaculated. “I brought a awful nice doctor here when you were so sick. te's just gone, and he left vou them p'ils and that medicine in the glass.” i The woman stared at the speaker as if che hadn't beard rightly. A dactoryr she whined. coctor®” “Doctor Pendlehaven.” n'tel. “He's a real nice Pendlehaven.” dith struggled up on her elbew, “What'd you bring him here for%’ she eriod. Urial: hates ‘e¢in—" “I know that, mummy, her off with, tell me what to de. and daddy wasn’t » well,” she “What replied Ton- man—John ry Tony cut here. so 1 just went and got the dac- tor myself, IHere! You mustn't sit_nn.” “T will! 1 will! Now tell me all he enid from the beginning to end.” In siience Tonnibel helped her moth- er to a sitting position and wrapped the blankets aronnd her. Then she hexan to tell her what had happened, The only thing she omitted speaking of was the haby’s picture. “He were the only doctor I knew about,” she offered finally, flushing. “and he's the beautifulest man I ever saw Mebbe he'll come down tomor- row to see you.” Edith drepped back on the bed, shiv- ering inn desperation, “Get your clothes off, baby.” whispered. “Crawl in beside You're all wet.” “Take your medicine first, then 1 will,” said Tonnibel, “Here—" She picked up the glass and then stooé staring at the place she'd from. “Why, the doctor must have left this money,” she exclaimed. tak. ing up a roll of hills. “Look, Edie leak “Cot off your clothes,” repeated the woman, iimpassivoly, © 0 on tc Fed and go vo sleep.” In another moment (he girt off her fiothon the light and was in mother, F#'th was assured gir crawled out of the red ane Vehted the 'nmp. She tried to collee ber hor at's. to lay a plan for the fm ture “or hers if and husband. Join Pend'elinven had heen there! [Pendle she me one hac had hed striped hlown out hes te hor When slent, wet hy nd «he haven “be one pun in ahs world oh. droadad the mention of! And Tons Boot 2aia be would come back tom. row} She turned and looked at the sleep- ing face, half-hidden in the blankets. She had stolen this child from her father, and now she had to escape the eensequences of her wicked deed. She had to go away, and that quickly. If she had dared to face her husband's’ wrath, she would have, then and there, communicated with Paul Pen- diehaven. She reached out and touched Tonni- bel’'s face. “Raby, darlin’, wake up,” she said. “I want to ask you something!” Tony opened her slumber-laden eyes and smiled, “Don’t go to sleep again,” exclaimed kIrs. Devon, hoarsely. “Tell me this. Do you honest believe what you said about that thing on the card? About it bein’ holy?” “Yep,” asserted "ony, with drogp- ing eyelids. “You don’t want to hurt Uriah and me, do you, honey?” The girl shook her head slowly, and a doubtful shadow settling in her eyes, seemed to make her wider awake. “I wouldn’t hurt you, darlin,” she replied at length, “but sometimes, when daddy's beatin’ you, I feel like whackin’® the life out of him. Why, today—" Edith stopped her by a tug at her sleeve. “If vou swore by that card you brought, IT mean if you took an oath, would you keep it?” she asked hoarse- is. “You bet I would.” There was amazement, surprise and eagerness in the young voice. “Didn’t you tell me the feller said Jesus was a holy bird?” Tony nodded. Mrs. Devon gripped her fingers about the girl's arm. “Mebbe he’s in the Dirty Mary here, only vou can’t see him, baby dear?” The woman’s voice was slyly toned, hut she shivered in superstition. “He's right here,” afiirmed the girl, thinking of a boy's earnest uplifted face and vibrant assurances. “Then say after me what I'm thinkin’ of,” said Edith. Tony lifted her eyes to her mother’s, but drew back when she discovered how terrible she looked, white like a dead person. “T swear by the livin’ Jesus,” began Edith, and then she paused. “Say it,” she hissed. “l guess be thought some one | “I bate the Pendiehavens. “hit you was too sick tc! taken fi]. “T'swear by the livin’ Jesus,” Tony repeated fearfully. “I swear to my mummy never to say nothin’ mean against Uriah De- von. my daddy,” went on Mrs. Devon. Tony repeated this, too, almost frightened into fits. <een Per mother look and act so mys- teriously. “Now say this, keepin’ in your mind vou'll be blasted to hell if you break vour word, ‘T won't never tell that my father beat my poor mummy, or that he's a thief and a liar—” A thick teariess sob burst from the woman's lips and brought an ejaculation from the girl. “1 swear to it all she cried. “You darlin’, don’t you?” “Yes, I helieve you,” replied Edith, dally. “Crawl into bed, and go to sleep. baby dear.” Shiveringly Tony under the blanket. Then for more than an hour there was silence on the canal boat, silence that was broken only by the night noises outside. Then, extremely weak, the woman prepared herself to go out. It took her a long tinie to write a note she fied to leave for Tony. and when that was finished, she divided the money honey mummy,” believe me, Edie, Devon got back the doctor had left and stole softly from the beat, = * * * * * * It was in the full blaze of a morning «un that Tonnibel opened her eyes ané looked arcund the cabin, The other bunk wus empty. and her mother was not in the cabin. In her night clothes, Tonnibel went to the deck, shouting the name. “Edith,” her strong young voice repeating itself back from the woods in echues, Then she went down- stairs again and began to dress hastily. and everv moment her fear was growing. She spied the note pinned to the lamp handle and stared A Cance Slipped Under the Overhang ing Trees. at it mutely as if dreading to know its contents, but she unpinned it with fin core that seemed to be all thumbs Her lecs were shaking so she had te sit dov a to read it, "Pon enn, it began. “I'm going to look up Uriai, art of the meney, We might ome. You can go to work wheres if 1 don’t come back. Maybe you'll see me, Leave the but where she is so vour daddy car I took neec some soe day find her. I Jove you, darling. Remerm- ber about your swearing not to tell unt your Por, and dent tell I'm gone to find him, MUMMY.” Tonnibel gave a gasping sob. They nad all gone and left her stranded in a land of strangers. Because it was no longer her home, she began to love the silent old canal boat, and to wish with all her soul that Uriah and Edith would come walking down the cabin steps. For a long time she sat thinking, ooking out over the water, sometimes with tears flooding her lids, sometimes dry-eved with fright. After a while she got up, took Gussie to the lake, where, much to the little animal's disgust, she washed her with a scrubbing brush and soap. Then she carefully washed herself, letting her feet and legs hang over the end of the dock until they, too, were as clean as her little friend. It was while she was sitting there with the pig in her arms that a canoe slipped under the overhanging trees and came toward the canal boat swift- ly. She watched it coming with no show of Interest. Directly in front of lier the paddle remained suspended, and the boat came to a stop. Tonni- hel’s heart thumped, then seemed to fall to the pit of her stomach. Here, right before her, was the Salvation man. “How do you do?” he said, smiling at her. “I see you're having a nice time.” Tonnibel shook her head. “No, I ain't, and Gussie ain't, either,” she replied almost sullenly. By a skillful twist of the paddle, Philip MacCauley drew the canoe close to the dock, “Is this the boat you told me you lived on?’ he asked, climbing up be- side her and holding the canoe fast by a rope. “Yes, the Dirty Mary,” answered Tonnibel, with a little catch in her voice. “Now T live on her, I mean to- day.” “What do you mean by ‘now you live on her?” he asked. “Isn't this vour home? Didn't you tell me that?” (Continued next week.) —— “Bridget, I don’t want you to have so much company. Why, you have more callers in a day than I have in a week.” “Well, mum, perhaps if you'd try to be a little more agreea- ble you’d have as many friends as I have.”—Boston Transcript. ——Sulfstribe for the “Watchman.” She had never .
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers