eS ES
Demo Yan.
Bellefonte, Pa., November 17, 1922.
NOVEMBER DAYS.
‘Who said November's face was grim?
‘Who said her voice was harsh and sad?
I heard her sing in wood-paths dim,
I met her on the shore so glad,
So smiling, I could kiss her feet,
There never was a month so sweet,
October’s splendid robes, that hid
The beauty of the white-limbed trees,
Have dropped in tatters; yet amid
Their perfect forms the gazer sees
A proud wood-monarch, here and there,
Garments of wine-dipped crimson wear.
in precious flakes the autumnal gold
Is clinging to the forest's fringe;
Yon bare twig to the sun will hold
Each separate leaf, to show the tinge
Of glorious rose-light reddening through
Its jewels, beautiful as few.
Where short-lived wild flowers lived and
died,
The slanting sunbeams fall across
Vine-’broideries, woven from side to side,
Above mosaics of tinted moss
So does the Eternal Artist's skill
Hide beauty under beauty still.
And if no note of bee or bird
Through the rapt. stillness of the woods
Or the sea’s murmurous trance be heard,
A presence in these solitudes
Upon the spirit seems to press
The dew of God’s dear silences.
And if, out of some inner heaven,
With soft relenting, comes a day
.Whereto the heart of June is given,
All subtle scents and spicery
Through forest crypts and arches steal
With power unnumbered hurts to heal.
—Luecy Larcum.
THE INVISIBLE HUNTSMAN.
To understand this story you must
know Judge Wiltshire and his hunt-
ing daughter. The judge, after a dis-
tinguished career on the bench, had
retired to the old Wiltshire home in
Mirror River Valley, a broad valley
surrounded by mountains, there to
write a book on “Objective Evidence,”
or on some such subject. His wife be-
ing dead, Helen, his daughter, had
come to keep house—and to be with
him, for they were great pals.
But it is not with the judge's liter-
ary efforts nor with Helen’s house-
keeping virtues that we are to deal,
nor even with the comradeship be-
tween them, though without this com-
radeship the affair might have ended
very differently. The setting of this
story is the outdoor life they were
both so fond of; and in the plot a bird
dog is to play a strange part.
It is not so strange, though, that a
bird dog should come in, for both the
judge and Helen were lovers of bird
dogs, and both understood them with
the understanding that comes only to
those who hunt with them. And the
judge and Helen hunted a great deal
together. Nearly every afternoon,
when the leaves had turned crimson
and yellow, the judge, a tall, specta-
cled, strong-faced man with iron-gray
hair, and the girl, slim and very pret-
ty in hunting togs, set out on horse-
back, guns across saddles, and two or
more setters barking ahead. And on
these afternoons, while the western
end of the valley flamed up with the
sunset, they returned to the old house
on the hill, dogs trotting behind, and
the two of them riding close together,
for, as has been said before, they
were great pals.
In the morning the judge worked
hard in his library, while Helen busied
herself about the absurdly roomy old
house directing the darky servants,
who worshipped her, or motored after
the mail to the village, where the
judge and his hunting daughter were
great favorites. In the evenings they
sat before the fire reading, or playing
now and then a game of pinochle, the
judge’s favorite game. And so, until
his ambitious work was completed,
their life might have gone on, had not
Helen fallen in love—and had not the
judge seen a bewildered dog in a lit-
tered back yard.
There is no reason to inquire why
Helen should have fallen in love with
Victor Clark. She just did. Remorse-
fully, and the judge was to ascribe it
to her isolation from young folks out
here. She met Clark at the village ho-
tel, a mile away across the valley,
met him at the Hollow-een’ party she
herself had got up for the poor moun-
tain children. He was in these parts
temporarily, having obtained control
of large tracts of mountain forest.
Before his rise in the business world
he had been foreman in a lumber
camp, Certainly he was aggressive
enough and his rise dramatic enough
to capture the imagination of any
spirited girl. Followed calls at the
house and rides along the mountain
trails flaming with autumn colors, and
then one night in the library Helen
told her father: She was going to
marry Clark.
It took the judge completely by sur-
prise. It often takes fathers that
way. But, more, it filled him with
misgivings. In the brief interval of
silence following her declaration there
flashed into his mind the picture of
the bird dog in the littered back yard
of the village hotel.
Clark had invited the judge out to
see the dog. Helen was not present.
It was at Clark’s sharp command that
the dog had crawled out of the box.
There is no dog with so strong a
sense of comradeship for man as the
bird dog; for centuries the two have
associated together almost as equals,
in sports of the field. Yet this setter
stood outside his box with drooped
head and tail, and looked everywhere
but in men’s faces.
But Clark had seemed unaware of
anything unusual. “Just a two-year-
old, Judge,” he was saying. “Out of
Wild Rose by Peerless. Trained him
myself from a puppy. A stubborn
brute to begin with, believe me, but I
tamed him. Nobody ever hunted over
him but me. Nobody ever shot a gun
over him but me.”
Then Clark had smiled, pleasantly
enough for a man whose eyes were
get none too far apart, and had turn-
ed away, with never a glance for the
mountaineers who had ceme out in the
yard to see. And the heavy chain had
scraped harshly as the dog turned
re within ‘the darkness of his, 1 ]
PTs mo - night—Ilooked at him with helpless ap- though this was off their accustomed
This was the picture that flashed
box.
as he saw him. Now all these hopes : then he did not speak; instead, he dis-
fled, and out of her irrevocable future j mounted and opened a gate.
her eyes—so frank, so confident to It led into Ben Allen’s farm and,
peal. He sank down into his chair and ' hunting route, he nodded to Helen to
ominously into the judge’s mind. It |lit the cigar with hands that trem- | ride in. At his shrill whistle the set-
was interrupted by Helen’s question.
“You don’t mind very much, do you, !
5 | ter came back, and at the side of the
“Helen,” he spoke quietly and ten- | gate farthest from him darted
Dad?” she asked; and then, before he | derly, but his voice sounded strange to | through. Judge Wiltshire closed the
could reply, “You like him, don’t
you?”
The judge looked at her a bit help-
lessly. His familiar books seemed to
fade away suddenly into the back-
ground of his life. She was seated on
a low stool near the corner of the man-
tel, fingers laced about her knees, the
firelight falling ruddily over her. At
her feet lay old Ben and Jack, Eng-
lish setters, gravely studying the fire,
unmindful of the human drama going
on above them. Helen always let
them in. Her slender beauty struck
the judge afresh tonight, like a reve-
lation.
“You do—don’t you?” she repeated
tensely.
“I don’t know Jack,” he managed to
say at last (he had called her Jack
ever since she could remember); “I
don’t know whether I do or not.”
“Oh! she gasped. “That means you
don’t! I am sorry, Dad,” she added
with dignity, “for I am going to mar-
ry him, anyway.”
Judge Wiltshire did not sleep much
that night. Helen must live her own
life, make her own choice according to
her instincts and desires, he tried to
reason with himself. But more than
once he rose and smoked a cigar be-
fore the window, and he saw day dawn
pale through the trees.
At sunrise he rose and dressed in his
hunting clothes. In time of trouble he
always sought, if he could, the fields
and woods. His hopes ran high that
Helen would go with him. He would
make the opportunity of dropping a
diplomatic word or two concerning the
advisability of delay in such matters.
Maybe they would talk it over, out in
the open * * * But immediately
after breakfast Clark came for her.
They were going riding she had an-
nounced at the table, without looking
at her father. Her aloofness hurt him,
not for his sake but for hers. Likely
it hurt her, too. Her face this morn-
ing was set with resolution. Hereto-
fore she had been more girl than
woman. Now she was more woman
than girl.
The judge himself met Clark on the
columned portico. Clark was a tall,
powerfully built young man, aggres-
sive, and handsome in his riding
clothes, that were all they ought to be,
and then some more. The judge greet-
ed him cordially enough. There had
never been any lack of hospitality
here on the hill. If he looked with
rather a close, shrewd scrutiny into
the eyes, surely that’s the privilege of
a father in his position. Perhaps,
after all, he was wrong; perhaps you
ought not to judge a man by his dog;
perhaps the dog was naturally a cow-
ard and a cringer.
But in the eyes, in the set of the
mo Judge Wiltshire was afraid he
saw the'reason for that cringing dog—
something rash, cruel, selfish—a hard,
unnatural boyishness, an immaturity
of soul.
But of this scrutiny Clark seemed
unaware, just as he had been unaware
of the cringing of his dog in the lit-
tered yard. “I see you are shooting
today, Judge,” he said, leaning against
the banisters; “why don’t you go over
and get my dog Duke? Tell the man
at the hotel I say let you have him.
You’ll hunt with a real dog there.”
A moment the older man hesitated,
still looking the other in the eyes.
Then he accepted the offer. It wasn’t
his fault if Clark did not catch the un-
derlying warning in tone and words:
“I am going to take you at your
word, sir.”
And thus a dog came to play his
part in the life of a girl and a man
and a father. The remainder of that
day Judge Wiltshire hunted alene with
another man’s dog in the painted
mountain valley that echoed with the
staccato of his whistle and gun. One
of the chapters of his book was on
“The Testimony of Animals.” But he
was not thinking of his book.
It was dusk when, the dog trotting
at his horse’s heels, he rode once mere
into the back yard of the hotel, and,
dismounting, tied him to the kennel.
“Old boy,” he said compassionately
as he did so.
Helen had supper ready and was
waiting for him when he reached
home.
“Why, you didn’t get many birds,
did you?” she said as she took his
coat.
“I wasn’t hunting birds, Jack,” he
replied.
“Not birds? Then what?”
“The truth,” he said quietly.
She looked at him a moment with
disturbed, uncomprehending eyes.
Then she hurried into the kitchen to
turn the birds over to the cook, and
slowly the judge climbed the stairs to
his room.
The blow came after supper in the
library. Seated on a stool near the
corner of the mantel she announced
first, with the pride of a woman who
knows at last all about the coming and
goings of one certain man, that Clark
would be gone tomorrow on business;
that he was leaving tonight on the ten
o’clock train. Then—in order that
her father might see him in his best
and what seemed to her his truest
light—
“Dad, he says you are welcome to
use Duke again tomorrow. You know,
he trained him from a puppy and that
you are the only man except himselr
who ever shot over him. A compli-
ment, Dad.”
The rest had the finality of youth
that has decided.
“He is going away in a few days
for good. His business here is almost
ended. He wants me to marry him
right away, and go with him.”
“But you are not going to, Jack!”
the protest burst from him.
“Dad—1 think I will.
love him.”
Judge Wiltshire rose and fumbled
on the mantel for his cigars.
The room with its tiers of legal
books, its old furniture, its thousands
of associations, seemed to swim round
and round. All that day one thought
had consoled him: There would be
time; she would come to see the man
You see—I—-.
{gun a time or two, and it just sound-
i ed lonely. It'll be like old times, won't
himself, “has Mr. Clark ever taken : gate, and remounted. Even as he did
you to see his dog, child?” | so the drama he had witnessed yes-
“No, Dad. I suppose we have never ' terday had begun again—just as he
happened to ride by when Duke was had planned. :
there. He has told me about Duke,| Three large, fierce dogs, the canine
though. One of his ears is the color roughnecks of the community, were
of my hair, isn’t it?” | rushing from the Allen house toward
Sudden anger flushed the judge's |this invader of their domains. And
face. “Yes—and his eyes are the col- the young setter, already an eighth of
or of your eyes—and once they looked | a mile in advance of the horses, stood
at 2 man, Helen, as your eyes lock at | in the middle of the road awaiting the
me new!” | onslaught, tail erect as a plumed
“What do you mean?” she demand- | lance.
ed. ! They had to turn their horses out of
He did not reply. The plan was | the road to pass him as he stood there
born in an instant. What he had seen | menaced by snarling foes. They saw
she would see—see before another sun | the fierce, proud eyes that looked each
set. According to the evidence she, | enemy in the face as the three march-
too, would decide. There was no other | ed round and round in a stiff-legged
way now. ! parade. But they saw no tremor in
“Will you go shooting with me to- those fine-strung nerves and no
morrow, Jack?” ! shrinking in those rangy muscles.
She rose impulsively and came and |
sat on the arm of his chair.
ed. “You were lonely today, weren't | them about his business.
The judge
you, all by yourself? We heard your | stole a glance at the girl.
She was
| looking straight ahead and her face
was pale.
it? Tomorrow I We
mean. won't |
Not until they had ridden a consid- ' would be, the romance over, only a |
| erable distance did the young setter, :
“Of course I will, Dad,” she sooth- | having overawed his foes, gallop past
In the extensive broomstraw fields
looked “birdy,” asking him if he re- going to cry—not now. I have thought
| membered the time when they found it all out. I knew this morning—as
a covey by that old oak tree, trying : soon as we started. I just wanted to
bravely to make today like old times. be sure * * * Dad, he must not go
But gradually her talk languished. ' back—Duke, I mean. You must get
The shadow of that dog’s absent mas- | Duke away from him. Some way—
ter fell across them, too. The sun any way. I don’t care. I don’t care
rose high and shone down on them | for anything. Once today I hated
riding, more and more silent, their | you. You will, won’t you, Dad? Get
eyes on the swiftly circling and be- | him, I mean—not let him go back?”
wildered dog; then dismounting and The judge’s hands closed over hers.
advancing on him, who still cringed at | ‘“He’s not going back,” he said ten-
their near approach, and who still ; derly. “He’s going home with us. I
looked back as if for another figure | bought him, Jack—bought him last
than their own. | night.”
And all the time the judge saw, and | Then she was in his arms sobbing,
knew the girl saw, that absent figure, | for one of her dreams was over. But
a man impatient, rash, brutal-temper- | the judge, stroking the head buried in
ed, striding alone—he would hunt his shoulder, knew there would come
with no other—across the fields to- other and happier ones. And the
ward that high-spirited but sensitive | young setter must have known that
young setter; a man who at some | for him a new life had begun. For he
time had kicked him while he was on | did not shrink from her when she
the stand; who had beaten him for | stooped suddenly and caught his head
some chance mishap in retrieving; | between her hands. And as he trot-
who had missed, and, in anger at his | ted close to her horse’s heels there was
own poor marksmanship, turned upon ' in his eyes the quiet look of a dog
his dog; a man without a single | who has found at last all he had ever
sportsman’s ideal, with no imagina- hoped to find in this world.—By Sam-
tion and no tenderness, to whom a dog ' uel A. Derieux, in The American Mag-
| was only a dog, and to whom a woman azine.
woman. !
That all this was true, Judge Wilt-
‘ shire knew—knew as well as he knew
that the sun was now shining bland
and warm straight down upon them,
and that Helen had not spoken for a
long time. A terrible fear began to
PREHISTORIC RUIN IS FOUND.
Dr. J. Walter Fewkes, chief of the
bureau of American Ethnology,
Smithsonian Institution, who has re-
cently returned from a season of
archeological field work on the Mesa
quarrel, will we?”
“I won't even mention the cause of
the quarrel, Jack.”
“Neither will 1,” she promised; and
then, after a while, “I may think of it,
though.”
She left him soon after that. He
heard her light steps as she ran up
the old stairway. He waited until her
footfalls in the room above had ceas-
ed. Then he glanced at his watch.
There was plenty of time.
lot, without calling old Billy, he sad-
dled his horse, and on the side of the
house opposite her window rode away.
It was about an hour later when he
returned, put up the horse, and re-en-
tered the silent, deserted library. He
was a methodical man in business
matters. He sat down before the
desk, took out a check book, and made
on the stub an entry in four figures.
He smiled wryly.
“I'm glad he stung me,” he said to
himself.
He lit another cigar, leaned back in
the chair and looked at the picture of
the girl’s mother above the mantel,
with sleepless eyes. ’
In all that follows it must be re-
membered that Helen knew as much
about the bird dog as did her father.
She was his only child. Every Christ-
mas vacation, since she was old
enough to ride a horse, they had spent
out here hunting. She had helped
him train pups; she had gone with him
to field trials; professional bird dog
men respected her judgment.
Right in the beginning of the day
{ Judge Wiltshire’s resolution wavered.
That was when, on rising, he heard
Helen in the kitchen. She was super-
intending the preparation of their
lunch, that he knew. She was going
to make today like old times. For a
while he sat irresolutely on the edge
of the bed. Would it not be better to
tell her? But what girl in love ever
listened to her father? A voice
grown far more persuasive than his
would explain away anything that he
might say.
Face grave, he got into his hunting
clothes. She had breakfast ready and
was waiting when he came down. She
even joked him on his lateness on such
a morning. The sunlight of the robust
day out of doors was in her eyes, and
some of the color of a frost-crimson-
ed maple that, growing near the din-
ing-room window, turned it into the
likeness of a stained glass memorial to
autumn was in her cheeks. But for
all that she must have sensed some-
thing strange in this hunt.
“Dad,” she asked suddenly at the ta-
ble, “Old Billy says you told him just
now to keep old Ben and Jack up this
morning. Aren’t we going to take
them ?”
He tried to reply casually.
“No—just Duke.”
Elbows on the table she looked at
him suddenly with clear-eyed scrutiny,
as if she were holding her breath. In
her eyes he saw the touch of reproach,
the meaning of which he knew. He
was accepting for the second time the
favor of a man he did not like * * *
Then her manner changed. She had
forgiven him. Reaching across the ta-
ble she placed her hands over his.
“We are going to have a great day,
aren’t we, Dad?” she asked.
She ran up stairs to get her gun,
and he could hear her singing up
there. In the library, with fingers
that trembled a bit, he filled his pock-
ets with shells for them both, and
stuffed in the back of his weathered
hunting coat the lunch which Jane, the
cook, brought him. From the foot of
the stairs he called her. She walked
very close to his side down the hedge-
bordered front walk toward the old
mounting blocks where her ample-
skirted grandmothers used to ascend
into their commodious saddles.
To any one watching the two of
them that day, the hunt, or at least
part of it, would have seemed like any
other, except, perhaps, that the judge's
face was a little grim, and except for
the fact that, instead of hunting their
Sun dogs, they came after another
0g.
They found him chained to his box
in a damp corner of the rotting fence,
in the littered back yard of the village
hotel. At sight of them he rose quick-
ly with a rattle of his chain—a slim
young setter, his wavy, silken coat the
color of old ivory, one ear and half the
head a satiny auburn. His eyes, lus-
trous and intelligent, stared with
momentary eagerness at the tall fig-
ure of the judge. Then some one
slammed the back door of the hotel.
At the sound he turned abruptly and
started, tail tucked, for this box.
It was more a surprised gasp than
a statement that escaped the girl,
“Why—he’s yellow!”
The judge flushed as at an insult to
a friend. But he did not speak. It
was only after he and Helen, Duke
galloping ahead, had ridden half a
mile into the country that he replied
to the charge of cowardice. Even
that lay beyond the Allen farm they | form in his mind that some of the
came in sight of that which caused
them hurriedly to dismount. Guns
ready, they advanced dcross a field— .
two brown-clad figures, one tall, flor- :
hardness of the man had entered her
own soul, as he noted the firm mouth,
the uptilted chin, the eyes averted
more and more from him and the dog.
Out in the |
id, spectacled, the other slim, and like | Just once, as they remounted after
{a boy. Yonder in the sunlight the set- 2 covey, he thought he saw in her face
ter stood, head high, tail straight out, something weary, disillusioned.
| like a statue in ivory set up out there | “Are you tired, Jack?” he asked
Lin the strawfield. “Birds!” this statue A With sudden hope.
| d
proclaimed. | Pee
And gow it was hai this Dui 225 tired 7”
i gan to be different from any they had |
oy akon Ito As they drew near | They aie the lunch she had prepar-
| the motionless dog, his muscles, that | ed so joyously, on a fallen log in a
‘ had been so steady in the presence of | shallow birch wood, the lunch, which
| enemies, began to quiver, and the body | she quietly opened, spread out be-
to sink S
came quite close to him he glanced | at a distance (he would come no near-
i wildly around at them, as if half ex- er) the dog sat on his haunches, like
| pecting a blow. ; an unspoken reproach.
{| “Are you ready, Jack?”
judge’s voice was a bit tense. j asleed,
“Ready, Dad.” €
The eds rose with a whir. The “Come, Duke,” he said, and extended
guns barked. Yonder two quail tum- his hand. :
bled. “Fetch, Duke!” ordered the! The setter rose, hesitated, then
| judge. , came slowly toward ‘them, head low,
{© The setter ran swiftly into the straw tail tucked and slapping between hind
ahead. When he reappeared he held | legs. 4
a bird carefully in his mouth. His | “Come, old man,”
ears were thrown back as if he were ' judge. : :
swimming through the straw. His| He pricked his ears eagerly, as if
brown eyes were aglow with a sports- | he had heard in the human voice a
man’s joy. | tone he had not heard before.
But suddenly, before he reached he drew nearer, silken body low to the
| them, he stopped. He laid the bird ground and trembling, eyes aglow
: carefully down. He backed from it, a : With gratitude.
watchful, alarmed eye on the judge, = “That’s the boy,” encouraged the
who was coming toward him. The judge, smiling. “Come now.”
‘ voice of the girl was clear, cool: It happened in an instant.
{ “He must have bruised it, Dad.” hand reached out to caress, to reas-
| The judge’s mouth tightened, and sure. The setter leaped back from it,
| without looking at the bird he tossed ears ‘lattened, eyes gleaming with
it to her. Her face, he thought, flush- | wild alarm. :
'ed as she examined it. The judge; The exclamation that escaped the
‘knew the result of that examination. | judge was almost an oath. This most
{ He had inspected a half-dozen him- damning indictment of all he had not
| self yesterday. Hardly a feather of even remotely planned. That dog had
| that bird had been ruffled, except by been enticed with fair words, then
the shot that had brought it down. | struck with brutal fist. He stared at
The birds had scattered in a grove the girl as she sat motionless, chin in
| of oaks, toward which they hurried | hand, eyes fastened on some
now. Here, once, the judge missed-— spot. Could she, who loved and un-
missed on purpose, for he was a dead ' derstood a dog, keep silent in the face
shot. And now they saw another | of this? When she spoke, he gave up
strange thing: All eagerness in the the fight. Her voice sounded strange,
result, the dog had been watching the detached, full of aloof dignity.
flying bird. When it did not fall, he; “Are we going to hunt the rest of
turned as if bewildered. A moment . the day?” : =
he looked wildly about, then, tail tuck- | “No!” he said bitterly and
ed, he came crouching back to the | “We are going home, Helen.”
judge and lay down at the man’s feet, { Just a glimpse of her face he caught
as if he thought himself responsible underneath the hat brim as she rose
in some way for the poor marksman- | too.
ship—as if he half expected the man! “Aren't you going to feed him?”
to turn on him. | she asked casually.
Nor was it different when Helen | The setter gulped down a portion of
missed—missed not on purpose. He the food the judge mechanically set
came contritely back to her, also, and aside for him. Without finishing it,
lay down, panting, at her feet. But he wheeled and galloped to the edge
both times, when no punishment fol- | of the wood, where he waited, ears
lowed, he rose after a moment and |alert, for the order. More than meat
looked past them, a strained expres- | to him was the work he was born to
sion on his face, as if he expected to do. But the judge hardly noticed him
see another figure than theirs striding now. He only knew that the dog had
“Why should I be
reassured the
rose,
| But she looked him full in the face. |
into the straw; and as they tween them on a napkin. Off yonder
The “Why don’t you call him?” she i
The judge’s heart leaped with hope. !
Then |
The |
distant.
toward him through the woods. |
The third time this happened, the |
judge glanced at the girl. Her face
gave no sign. “Let’s get back to our !
horses, Jack,” he said. |
From the Allen farm they rode into |
a region of bold hills, covered with !
straw. Here,
swift ranging, the dog drew far away
come back and was follow.ng at their
heels as they made their way to the
horses.
Judge Wiltshire had failed in the
hardest fight he had ever made. Years
seemed to have passed since morning.
He did not look at the girl at his side.
in the course of his | He was thinking of her as if in some
past existence; a child running
from them until he was a mere speck | through the yard, a school-girl getting
of moving white against a distant hill. | her books in order, a college girl writ-
But when the judge, reining up, blew
command after command on his shriil, |
far-carrying whistle, he gave no sign!
of hearing. Even from the distance,
ing him at least some of her secrets.
He thought of the time when she
was a little mite and he had set her
astride a horse, of the arms that had
they could see that he was now hunt- | hung frantically about his neck as he
ing happily, merrily, as if his mind
were free at last from some burden;
as if he were far away from that dis-
turbing and powerful presence that he
thought always on the point of join-
ing the hunters.
“He must be deaf,” said the girl
quietly.
Judge Wiltshire did not reply. He
had thought so yesterday himself. He
bided his time, meanwhile by contin-
ued whistles bringing the dog in.
Soon afterward, when he galloped past
them, the judge unbreeched then
breeched his gun quickly. The sound
was hardly greater than the click of
a camera. To the experienced bird
dog it means that a man is getting
ready for the shot. At the slight
sound the dog checked himself, wheel-
ed about, and looked at the judge with
erect, expectant ears.
“Hie on, old man,” said the judge.
The setter stared at him, then at
the girl, then across the fields behind
them. Then he began to circle swift-
ly, nose to the ground, as if searching
lifted her. A thousand intimate mo-
ments recurred to him; grave ques-
tions she had asked, little rebellions
she had staged, growing tenderness
she had shown for all living things.
Be had been a blessing to him all his
ife.
Maybe she knew best now. Maybe
! some law stronger than his own tem-
porary judgments was directing her.
Maybe the law operated in a way he
could not see with his short vision,
and perhaps today he had only given
her useless pain in trying to avert the
inevitable.
Perhaps all this was true. Yet he
felt suddenly like an old man. His
big shoulders drooped as with the
weight of years, and as he made his
way through the straw, he stumbled.
“Dad mm
lapels of his hunting coat with both
hands, and her face was raised to his.
About them the fields still glistened
in the sun, and yonder their tethered
for other tracks than their own; then | horses watched them with erect, friv-
galloped away.
And so the strange hunt, like any
other'in its outward seeming, went on,
over the hills of straw, then along
brown creek bottoms, and through
patches of autumn woodland. But at
last even its outward aspect began to
change. At first, between coveys, the
olous ears.
“You haven’t had such a'great day,
after all, have you Dad?” she asked
with a little smile. Then her face
grew tragic in its intensity. “Did you
think I was very stupid, Dad? Do
you think I could—could—marry him
after what you have shown me—when
girl had talked to her father, freely,
spirvitedly, pointing out spots that
I hate him, when I loathe him? Do
you think I could? No—I am not
When he turned she caught the tall
Verde National Park, Colorado, re-
ports the unexpected unearthing of a
most interesting and instructive pre-
historic ruin to which he has given the
name of “Pipe Shrine House,” because
of the large number of tobacco pipes
which were found scattered in a cir-
cular shrine just as they had been
thrown there during ceremonial rites,
untold centuries ago.
Mesa Verde park was reserved from
settlement some years ago by Con-
- gress on account of the numerous cliff
dwellings in its canyon, but later it
was discovered that there were as
many pueblos on the open top of the
mesa as in the cliffs. These have far-
ed badly from the elements, on ac-
count of exposurre, and are now re-
| duced to mounds without walls above
: ground.
{ Last May Dr. Fewkes undertook the
excavation of a mound in the neigh-
i borhood of what is known to many
, motor tourists as Mummy lake.
| Out of the mound emerged a rec-
i tangular building about seventy feet
i square and one story high, accurate-
|ly oriented to the cardinal points of
| the compass, with a circular tower
[formerly fifteen to twenty feet high,
like a church steeple, midway in the
western wall. This tower is supposed
to have been for observation, and as
{it is very important for an agricul-
tural people to determine the seasons
, of the years, it was probably by
i watching the sun as it rises or sets
| that they determined the time for
planting and for other events.
i In the middle of this building was
i found a circular room twenty feet
' deep and about the same in diameter
"in which were found more than a doz-
.en clay pipes, numerous stone knives,
| pottery, idols and other objects. Pipes
‘of this kind have never before been
| found on the Mesa Verde.
A few feet south of the building,
i which was not a habitation but spe-
| cialized for ceremonies, there is a
Square room or shrine dedicated to
the mountain lion, a stone image of
which was found surrounded by wa-
ter-worn stones and other strangely
| formed stones. A similar shrine is
| found on the northeast corner of Pine
i Shrine House in which, among other
{ objects, was a small iron meteorite
and a slab of stone on which is de-
! picted a symbol of the sun.
| The cemeteries of the pueblos of
: the Mesa Verde are situated near their
' southeast corner, and while the bur-
(als in them have as a rule been re-
i moved by vandals, several interments
| Were found in the cemetery near Pipe
; Shrine House. One of these was left
without moving a single bone, and an
inclosure with a weather-proof roof
was erected over it, so that a visitor
can view a skeleton more than 500
years old, with food bowls and other
pieces of pottery just as they were
when left by relatives at that time.
This is said to be the first time care
has been taken to preserve for inspec-
tion a pre-Columbian skeleton of an
Indian in his own cemetery.
Punishing a Profiteer.
The report in the middle west of the
United States of a “driverless auto-
mobile” station along the lines of the
old livery stable, where one might hire
a “rig” and drive it oneself, affords
occasion for recalling a story about
the earlier institution which may serve
as a warning to any who would resort
to sharp practice. According to the
tale referred to, a traveling man once
said to the proprietor of a livery
| stable: -
“What is the price of a rig to go
over to Blankville ?”
“Ten dollars,” replied the smart sta-
: blekeeper.
After the journey had been taken,
the owner of the horse and buggy
said: “Twenty dollars.”
‘Asked to explain, he added, “Ten
dollars over and ten dollars back.”
The next time the traveling man
came he again inquired, “What is the
price for a rig to go over to Blank-
ville 2”
“Ten dollars,” again answered the
liveryman.
Several days later the traveling man
reappeared without the rig and hand-
ed the stableman $10.
“But where is my rig?” demanded
its owner.
“Oh, it is over at Blankville,” said
: his patron. “All I wanted to do was
to go over.”—Christian Science Moni-
tor.
26,000 New Oil Wells Yearly.
An average of about 26,000 new oil
wells have been drilled during each of
the last six years in order to obtain a
| sufficient supply of crude to satisfy
the constantly growing demand for oil
according to the American Petroleum
Institute. Of these 26,000 wells, 7,500
| were “gassers” or dry holes.
——Subscribe for the “Watchman.”