Deuoreaics ald
= Bellefonte, Pa, March 9, 1928
——————————————————————————
THE OUTCAST.
There dwelt a man in Galilee
Long centuries ago;
He dreamed that men could live by love
And for his dearest foe
He had no thought except to teach
The faith he grew to know:
His faith was simple as a song,
As fragrant as the May:
He learned it as he gathered flowers
Along the country way,
He learned it thinking of the stars
And toiling day bv day.
He saw in God a Father Heart
Who lived for every child,
Whose love was boundless as the sky,
Whose face forever smiled.
What happy days God gave his son,
By dawn and eve beguiled!
Alas! men spurned this friendly soul,
Rebuked his dream sincere;
They said he wronged almighty God,
Who ruled by hate and fear;
They cast him out, this son of love,
And left him, with a sneer.
He sits without the gate today
Amid the shadows dim,
While haughty priests ignore his plea
And chant their doctrines grim,—
And sometimes he must wonder why
Men turned their hearts from him!
—Thomas Curtis Clark.
——— ee ——
THE FABRIC OF ROYALTY.
Binks started up drowsily from the
arm which he had rested—just for a
moment—on the stair above him, and
listened. Some one was in his house.
He could smell the heavy aroma of
tobacco; and as he waited, he heard
the distant murmur of voices, men’s
voices.
Binks had called it his house for
many months. There was no one to
object, for no one else ever came here
now. Indeed, it had never been oc-
cupied since he could remember. It
was bolted and barred from the iron
gates in the high stone wall that sur-
rounded it to the tall wooden shut-
ters at the windows inside; but Binks
had no difficulty in getting in, in spite
of the iron brace on his bad leg, since
he had found the little door in the
basement wall—an underground route
thoughtfully provided by an early
Pelham for his dogs, and happily ov-
erlooked when the house was closed
In such hurry, years ago.
Binks came here often, and he al-
ways lingered for a moment at the
foot. of these stairs to throw back his
shoulders and look bravely up at the
gentleman with the lace collar and
the sword who gazed so haughtily at
him from the dark oak wall. Al-
though there were other ' portraits
staring or frowning or simpering at
Binks from the panels of the wide
hall, and lying in ambush in the rath-
er daunting shadows through which
the great stairway eircled upward, he
never felt any real lack of self-con-
fidence before any but this one. But
the gentleman with the lace collar was
too overwhelming to be casually
passed by. He did not need the legend,
“His Highness Frederick George Lou-
is,” which was cut into the frame in
tarnished gilt leters, to give him maj-
esty. That was the way a prince
should look—that arrogant nose,
those decp-set eyes, which seemed al-
ways about to flash in command, and
that firm mouth, with just the quiver
of a proud smile at the corners.
Binks supposed that princes always
looked like that. That was what
made them princes.
It was from Frederick George Lou-
is that the Pelhams had boasted of
their origin before the coming of the
family to America, three centuries
ago. Over the fireplace in the vast
hall was the family motte, Frederick
George Louis’ motto, “We Never Turn
our Backs.” Binks loved the swagger
«f that motto. It always made him
feel as he did when his father read
him at bedtime the story of the “Re-
venge”— about how the mad little
ship ran the gauntlet of fifty-three
mountain-like Spanish galleons. He
never listened to that poem without a
happy ache in his throat when his
papa came to the line, “For I never
turned my back upon Don or devil
vet;” and when he read, “For he said.
‘Fight on! Fight on!” Tho’ his ves-
sel was all but a wreck,” Binks had to
swallow and blink very hard to choke
down the hot, exultant tears that
sprang. At a glance one saw that
Frederick George Louis had never
turned his back.
He was one reason why Binks loved
his house. But there were other rea-
sons. He loved the cool and quiet of
the great, high chambers. Being there
was like being in church without any
minister to disturb you. There were
intricately carved arches over the
windows and doorways. There were
also great arched beams supporting
the lofty ceilings, which—lost as they
were in the shadows of the close-shut-
tered rooms—seemed as limitless and
mysterious as the night sky. As you
lay on the cool floor and let your
eyes follow their upward vault, you
had the feeling of being very light
and free, as if you could leap as pow-
erfully and lightly as they from corn-
ice to cornice. And as you sat here
on the stairway, magic lights fell on
your hands—rose and green and violet
“through the stained windows on the
landing above. Sometimes, if you sat
very still, you could even slip through
the cool, gray-green tapestry on the
opposite wall to an enchanted green-
wood beyond, where you jousted with
plumed knights and rescued beautiful
ladies from nameless dangers. Then
there was the wide window-seat in
the library. Binks had built a cir-
cular embattlement of red and black
volumes about the shiny spot his
trousers had polished through the dust
of years. There were alluring col-
cred pictures in those volumes, and
fascinating strange words like “nec-
romancy” and “leman” and “donjon”
and “palfrey.” After all, a bad leg
bad its advantages; it gave you time
to discover and dream over such de-
lightful things.
Today Binks had lingered for a long
time before His Highness Frederick
George Louis. He felt a heightened
interest in princes. Only this morn-
ing at breakfast, his father had read
a momentous paragraph from the pa-
per. The Crown Prince Charles Otto
of—couldn’t quite remember the name
was reported to have taken refuge in
America from the Bolshevist assas-
sins who had overthrown his govern- !
ment and killed his royal father. He
was traveling in-cog-ni-to, but in
Philadelphia he had been recognized
by the sagacious press, with two
members of his royal household. It
was assumed, father read, that the
prince wished to avoid publicity by
retiring to some secluded spot until
he had recovered from his wounds and
could rally his allies for a triumphant
return to his kingdom. Binks wished
very much that there had been a pic- |
ture of the prince. He wondered if he
looked like Frederick George Louis.
Now he realized that he must have
gone to sleep there on the bottom
step of the great stairway, thinking '
of Crown Prince Charles Otto. Of
course, he couldn’t still be dreaming,
for the leaves of the carved pillar at
the foot of the stairway were just as
substantial as ever under their years
of dust. Yet Binks clutched the edge
of the step in a daze of incredulity.
“Well, Prince, you sure picked neat
auarters—eh, Royale. Where d’yon
hear about this?”
The voice was thin, with a whine
that made you sure you would not like
the speaker. He must be just coming
into the great parlor that opened up-
on the hall. Behind him another
voice spoke. It was not at all loud—
rather lazy, in fact—but every word
was distinct, like velvet with a crack-
le.
“That’s one of my secrets,” the
voice said. “Leave those shutters
alone, Siebert.”
“Oh sure,” whined the thin voice.
“Anything Your Royal Highness com-
mands.” The speech ended with an
unpleasant, whinneying laugh.
Binks had to clap his hand over
his mouth to smother a gasp. Prince!
His Royal Highness! Why! Hardly
breathing, he drew himself up to the
railing and peered into the room. '
Of the two men visible, only one
was in uniform—a large, blond man
whose stubble of short beard shone !
like gold wires against his heavy,
purplish face. He wore a uniform of
olive drab, with shining high boots
and wide-cuffed gloves, like Binks’
papa’s chauffeur—all with the ap-
pearance of having been intended for
a smaller man. Now he turned an-
grily.
“Shut up,” he rumbled. “If you're
dying to advertise yourself to some |
huck constable, go out and set in that
car you wrecked for us down the road.
Prince don’t need no advertising; he’s
out for privacy.” :
Binks had become quite rigid with !
attention. Privacy! And this was a
secluded spot!
“I ain’t advertising,” whined the
other. “All I want is to get out of this
before something drops. We done:
what we agreed, didn’t we, after he
spilled the beans at Buck’s place? We
got him here; now I say let's pull out
while the goin’s good. We've got to
go some to get to Pittsburgh tonight.” |
The speaker was a shabby, elderly
man, with strangely restless, bright |
eyes in dark circles, and restless !
hands like ivory claws. He bit his |
nails incessantly—a thing even small
boys in private life are forbidden to
do. Distinctly perplexing in the no-:
|
|
|
i
ble follower of a banished prince.
“You're sure,” the big man was ad-
dressing some one just beyond Binks’
range of vision, “that you can see
from here if we set off the signal on
the hill there when things blow ov-
er?
“Sure,” said the crisp voice.
Binks had to clutch the marble Ve-
nus at the foot of the stairs in a
strangle-hold and lean far out and '
around to see the third man. He was
sitting by the long, carved table at |
one side of the fireplace, his 1e &5 .t, show you the castle? And you can | would permit.
spread before him, his hands deep in i
his pockets— a rather dejected figure,
despite the mocking smile that curled
his lips. No, he did not look at all |
like Frederick George Louis. It was |
cnly that one missed the flowing cape |
draped with so dashing a gesture
about the gentleman’s shoulders, and '
the swagger boots and gauntlets and
plumes. Even Binks missed, though
he did not analyze the lack, that flash
of high purpose, that air of invinci- |
bility which had so stirred him in the
princely Jacobean. Then the man in
the chair moved, and for the first time
the bandage about his right wrist was
visible, and the stain of fresh blood
on the shirt sleeve of the right arm,
which hung free of the coat. He was
wounded! Like a homing bird Binks’
hero-worshipping heart flew and nest-
led, quivering, under the hand of the
young man who stared, with such
haunting pathos in his hollow eyes,
into the great, empty fireplace.
“As Siebert graciously suggests,”
the young man was going on, “I did
spill the beans, and you've done your
share. No one has anything on you
yet, and the farther you get from me,
the better. If you'll take that path
I showed you through the trees, you
will get to the railway without being
seen. Better beat it.”
Now! Now they would fall upon
their knees and, kissing their hands,
protest that they would not leave him
—But they did not! They were going;
they were actually leaving the prince
alone, alone and wounded, with no one
3 stand between him and his wicked
oes!
As their footsteps died away at the
back of the big house, the young man
rose and walked about the room,
studying with that dark, brooding
look of his, here the carved table with
fluted legs, there the shadowy tapes-
try between the windows. He was
whistling to himself a gay little tune;
but when, on the farther threshold,
he turned, the tune was startlingly be-
lied by the haunted misery of his
eyes. Why, so one would expect a
banished prince to look!
The discovery was too much for
Binks. He lost his balance and shoot-
ng down the steps below him, made
a fittingly humble, if somewhat Sec
tacular appearance before roya by
prostrate upon his face and stomach,
This is an awful s’cluded spot.
the force of the exclamation with
which his entrance was greeted
it was evident, even to him,
had produced a gratifying sensation.
“I'm—I'm not crying,” he protest-
to his feet. “You—you can see for
yourself that I'm not crying. But it—
it kind of s’prised me.”
«It kind of surprised me,” the tall
young
was 2a
his tired eyes that encouraged Binks
to grin up at him as he dusted his
bruised hands on the seat of his ov-
eralls.
Binks was hideously embarrassed.
People in the stories he had read did
i not burst in upon princes headlong
like that. ‘Why, he might even be
It is improbable that Binks caught"
man told him curtly, but there |
flicker of something back in'
| taken for a spy in pay of the enemy!.
“Please,” he gulped again, “please
don’t mind me. I'm really just a little
boy. But I know all about you. My
‘ father read it from the paper this
! morning. And--"
He stopped in dismay.
“What,” demanded the prince,
, but slowly, he put his hand on the :
that he of the door behind him. i
i
|
i
Hands had |
tightened painfully on his shoulders. :
and ful,
{ Binks told him quickly.
ed in agonized gasps as he scrambled been locked ever since.
Finally Charles Otto shut his eyes ;
as if he were very tired, and ying ;
no
Ee —————
This Vicinity. Seeks Rest and Seclu-
sion.” Binks felt his whole head flush the floor.
a long, gray pencil as he stared at
“Siebert and Royle?” he
hot. He knew he would never be able ' asked at last without looking up.
to lie to Bunny if he should under-
Bunny's eyes twinkled, but his tone
“It’s no good, Your Highness,” ' stand and ask him. But how was it was respectful. “Your Highness can
“That one’s
But there are
lots of others.” |
“Ever since?” cut in His Highness.
He did not entirely turn around, i
and his voice was low, but there was
something in it that made Binks
jump. It was almost as if His High-
ness were afraid of something.
“Why, ever since—Oh, I guess I
didn’t tell you about that. Ever since
young Mr. Pelham went away. He—
he went kind of suddenly. It was!
funny, too, because he had just got
home from college. But my father!
never told me much about him.” i
“Perhaps,” hesitated Charles Otto,
still very low, “it was because he was
—the exception.”
“Sir?” said Binks, blinking. !
“You said they never turned their
backs—the Pelhams—except one. He
was the one?” |
“Well,” Binks’ manner was regret- '
“] guess he did turn his back.
his face was very white, “what did : And when his father heard, my father
you say your father read you 7”
“Why, about how your father,
when the Bol—Bol—the rabble beat |
and yelled at the gates.
And—and hoarse sharpness.
’ | says, he locked this door and threw
the
king, was shot before your eyes, but he died. It—it killed him—the thing
you wouldn‘t leave the palace, even ! his—"
away the key. And then, that night,
“No.” His Highness spoke with a,
“Not that! He
| how your soldiers carried you by ; had been ill for a long time!”
you must have known all about them,
force to safety on a ship for America,
,and—"
| Abruptly the princ
| given beneath him—the way Binks’
bad leg did sometimes. He was laugh-
ing weakly and mopping his forhead.
| With his well hand he drew a paper
| from his pocket and scanned the
“headlines.
{ head and. laughed again,
wrinkling his nose delightfully and
wiping his eyes with his handkerchief.
This informality on the part of roy-
alty was reassuring. Binks became
sunnily expansive.
“I s’pose the one in the uniform
was the captain of the guard,” he |
ventured. “And the little man who bit
his nails—he was the prime minister?
He didn’t look just like a prime min-
ister, but of course, when you're in—
incog—"
Again the prince choked and wiped
his eyes. “A little out at the elbows,”
he said brokenly, “like the rest of us,
but—"
“Oh, but I know all about that,”
Binks hastened to reassure him. “My
papa often reads to me about Bonnie
Prince Charlie, and how he was often
in rags and hungry. But you—why,
you aren’t really ragged at all,” he
added politely.
“You are very kind.” The Prince
raised an arm and ruefully inspect-
ed cuffs which showed an indubitable
fringe.
Again Binks was hideously embar-
rassed, but he edged a step nearer.
“Well, anyhow,” he told his guest
eagerly, “you're quite all right here.
0
one ever comes here now but me. No
one’s lived here for years.”
The prince seemed not to be listen-
ing. He sat quite motionless, staring
into the empty fireplace as if—why,
almost as if he were seeing things
there,
“And I--I think you would feel at
home here,” Binks hurried on.—It
was just like a story. He felt like a
noble vassal offering the refuge of
his castle to his hard-pressed liege.—
“Many, many years ago, the people
that owned this houtre had a prince in
the family.
house, too, and I could bring you ap-
ples and things, the way Flora Mac-
. Donald did to Prince Charlie, and—-
Oh, you can trust me! You can trust
me to the last ditch!” he ended, quite
"intoxicated by his triumphant excur-
, sion into heroic diction.
Passionately he yearned to swear
allegiance on his bended knees. And
now, Your Royal Highness,” he sug-
gested happily, “wouldn’t you like me
pick out the royal bedchamber.”
In the gloom of the hallway Binks
paused with a new impulse of hospi-
tality. “Perhaps,” he said, “you’d
like to look at the pictures as we go.
This is the prince I told you about.
His name is Frederick George Louis,
and he was a very brave man. He
died fighting. That's his motto over
the fireplace, ‘We never turn our
backs.” I think,” cried Binks in a lyric
burst, “it’s the finest motto I ever
heard, and I—I know you're just like
that,” he finished in a small voice.
Reverently and very sacredly he
brushed his cheek against the empty
sleeve that hung so still just by his
head. Then he wondered again if
' Prince Charles Otto was listening, for
he did not answer at all. He was
| staring hard at the portrait of Fred-
erick ‘George Louis—so hard that he
seemed to be looking through and be-
yond it.
“And all the Pelham men have been
like that,” Binks went, on, glowing in
his role of feudal bard. “All brave,
honorable men—all ‘cept one maybe.
Now, that one over the landing, with
the high white collar and long, white
hair is Augustus George Pelham.
When the British soldiers wanted to
live in his house he set fire to it and
burned it down right before their
eyes. And I call that being pretty
brave, too, don’t you, Your High-
ness?”
“Very brave indeed, my Lord Bink-
shop,” agreed Charles Otto. But al-
though the words were cordial, his
eyes were somber. The newly-made
peer wondered anxiously if he were
boring his royal guest.
“Well, I guess you'd rather go to
your roo—your chamber,” he declared
hastily. “I'll show you—"
But Charles Otto was not waiting
to be shown. He was going straight
up the dark winding stairs ahead of
Binks, as if he knew just what he
meant to do. Down the wide balcony,
past the rows of studded oak doors,
he went, until he came to the windows
opening on the veranda at the back of
the house. There he stood for a long
time, very still, looking off across the
woodland slope to the stream that
shimmered through a valley golden
with cowslips. The old house seemed
very cool and quiet and dark by con.
trast with that gay shimmering world
and very badly winded.
beyond.
a
e sat down at. to be coming here to stay,” he sai
the table, almost as if his legs had i last.
|
lawful good this time.” |
Binks stared. “Oh, well, of course, |
d at
“Well, there’s the milk wagon. |
I'd better go now. You said milk and
bread and apples, didn’t you? And
say, Your Highness, the cookies are
Although he waited patiently, there
Then he threw back his | was no response.
a long time, |
“Well—all right,” Binks said at last
|
(down abruptly at the table.
your eyes
“What matter wif® and child
My emperor, my emperor—in prison
curiously, suddenly turned the paper
and glanced at the headlines. For a
moment he reflected with narrowed
' eyes; then he loosened Binks’ shoul-
ders and turned away.
“Never mind, buddy,” he said quiet-
ly. “It doesn’t matter.”
Binks waited until, whistling loud-
ly, Bunny passed out at the front
gate and crossed to his side car. Now
he would go on down the road to
headquarters, and he would not pass
again until almost dinner time. That
was all right then. Shakily Binks
picked up his tray and sped towards
waiting royalty.
He found the prince again in the
great salon. When Binks entered, he
was standing very stiffly facing the
door, one hand resting, with knuckles
bone-white, upon the table before him,
the other in a pocket which bulged
abnormally. When he saw Binks, he
wondered why his hands were trem-
bling.
“Well?” asked the prince.
“It was only a policeman I know,”
Binks explained cheerfully. “He
asked had I seen any one come in
here, and I said, ‘No.’ I hadn’t. Say,
I'm awful glad I didn’t have to lie.”
The prince looked at him strangely.
“So am I,” he said, almost as if he
were surprised that it was so. Then
he looked with pathetic interest at
the tray.
“Now,” suggested Binks hopefully,
It’s really a quite nice |
| rather vaguely, and turned.
His Highness stirred, as if rousing
from a bad dream. “You'll remem-
| ber, Lord Binkshop,” he said hastily,
“no one must know—no one. Better
not come back if any one’s about.”
“eyes, elbows wriggling with the ro-
i mance of his inspiration. “If I see
any one, I'll—I'll sing very loudly,
like the jester when Richard the Lion-
Hearted was in the tower.”
“That wouldn’t be a bad idea,” as-
sented Charles Otto.
There was some delay about assem-
net, the housékeeper, was of a sus-
picious nature and stoutly insisted
upon Binks draining one whole glass
of milk before allowing him to escape
with the rest.
Binks had hardly stepped into the
open space beyond the hedge before
he realized that something had gone
wrong. A man in uniform was ad-
| vancing cautiously upon the house
! through the lane of lilac and willows
| that ran along side. The new Lord
Binkshop’s blood ran cold. If Prince
Charles Otto should show himself!
Now—now the signal!
It was in rather quavering tones
that he gave voice to his warning. He
thing rich in heroic tradition—“Scots
Wha Hae,” for instance, or “Will Ye
No Come Back Again?” But his ex-
tremity was great. Binks caught at
the first thing that came to mind—an
utterly forbidden bit of doggerel from
the repertoire of the chauffeur.
“Qh, it ain’t a-gun-a rain no more
no more.
It ain’t-a-gun-a rain no more
But how in the heck
Can I wash my neck
If it ain’t a-gun-a rain no more?”
i The uniformed figure in the iane
“whirled. Binks almost dropped his
‘tray in his relief. Not to have rec-
‘ognized that trim, gray tunic, those
‘ glossy boots! Binks had always con-
i sidered their wearer splendid enough
| to figure as the hero of the most thril-
(ling romances. Involuntarily he threw
‘up his head, stiffened his shoulders,
| and clicked his heels as nearly togeth-
ler as the brace on the right ankle
“Why, hello, Bunny!” he yelled and
peamed hospitably.
The tall young man with the stripes
grinned, too, as he approached with a
speed and lightness remarkable in so
big a young man. But he eyed Binks
as if he wished him elsewhere.
“My lunch,” Binks explained, a
trifle out of countenance as the eyes
focuded on the generously loaded tray.
I—I quite often bring it here.”
Though Binks’ tone was light, his
eyes were not quite steady, and his
receding color left his freckles high
and dry. Of course, the prince had
nothing to fear from Bunny, but he
had said, “No one must know—no
one.”
“Oh, and Bunny,” pursued Binks
with desperate guile, “my scooter that
you fixed goes faster than ever.”
“Fine!” said Lieutenant Bunstead
rather grimly. “I wonder whose auto-
mobile I'll be dragging you out from
under tomorrow.”
Binks had put down his tray to
caress the shining buckle of Bunny’s
belt. It was funny how different he
felt about Bunny and the prince. Bun-
ny, now—why there was nothing Bun-
ny was afraid of or couldn’t do; but
—well, Bunny did things for you. You
did things for Charles Otto.
“Binks,” said Lieutenant Bunstead
abruptly, “have you seen anyone come
in here today?”
Binks’ scalp crinkled, then he gave
a sigh of relief. Incontrovertibly he
had not seen any one come in.
“No sir,” he said very loudly, but
he was glad he had put his tray down.
It is hard to keep dishes from rattling
when your hands shake.
Bunny looked at him steadily for a
moment, before he took him by the
shoulders and faced him about. Binks
stood very straight, but his freckles
twinkled out from an ashen face. It
might have to be a lie now, and he
didn’t want to lie to Bunny.
“Binks, old man, what's on your
chest?”
Bunny’s voice came from far away,
for it was at this moment that the
thing happened that was almost the
undoing of Binks. Under Bunny's
arm was a paper folded so that only
one headline showed. It seemed to
Binks, as he stared, that he must be
screaming that headline aloud. It
read “Prince Charles Otto Believed in
Fr
“J"]] tell you what,” Binks stopped, '
bling His Highness’ lunch. Mrs. Ben- |
should, of course, have chosen some-
of a lieutenant of the state police !
don’t I stand behind you and—and understand,”
hand you things?”
| “My dear Lord Binkshop,”
' Highness, “in less time than you can
imagine, there will be nothing to
hand.”
It was almost true.
Charles Otto
things, quite as efficiently as if he
were mot a iprince, accustomed to
Already
' that old song went, the one that made ' set his mind at rest. The gentlemen
fill and your throat swell? | are traveling, quite safe, under escort:
to me? | worthy of their—er—their rank and
1” | reputations.” :
Bunny, who had been watching him
Binks was proud of them both,
' standing there so straight and brave
‘and pc’ite—proud, and quite shivery
with excitement. It was just a like
‘a scene from Ivanhoe or The Prison~
er of Zenda.
“It’s all right he assured the prince:
! cordially. “If Bunny says they're:
safe, they are. And you'll take the:
| prince where it’s safe, too, won't you,
Bunny? You see, I felt kind of re~
sponsible for him.”
“You haven’t anything on me, son,”
said Bunny heartily. Then he turned
again to the prince. “I am instructed
by my government to escort Your
Highness to a—a more fitting estab-
lishment until certain formalities are
disposed of. 1 even have with me a
trifling gift of—er jewelry, provided
by my thoughtful government. I won-
I der—would Your Highness rather—"”
| to preserve our incognito.
said His manage the thing on that basis?”
_ “We shall be most grateful,” put:
in Charles Otto with a quick glance.
laughed, a quick, short laugh, and sat at Binks, “if you will keep them for
Binks us until a more suitable occasion.”
|
“Well, since that’s settled,” sug-
gested the young lieutenant cheerful-
ly, “shall we start?”
“On one condition,” replied Charles:
Otto. He ‘looked slowly about the
great room, with the coat of arms
over the carved fireplace, and the:
chairs and tables and tapestries which:
the first Pelhams had brought with.
them from England. Then, though:
there was something almost pleading:
in the eyes turned upon the young of-
ficer, he drew himself up proudly.
“For reasons which you will readily
he went on, “we prefer
Can’t you.
i | think I can promise you,” Bunny"
spoke “very gravely, “that our busi--
‘ness can be carried on entirely—say,.
was handing himself |
myriads of liveried servitors behind .
i his seat. Binks curled up on one of
the armchairs by the fireplace and
| watched the feast in a gentle glow of
‘ self-approbation.
| “Of course, he wasn’t looking for
{you anyhow. Bunny hunts thieves
iand things—not princes. My papa
! yead me this morning about some men
! playing cards and shooting some one
(in a house down the road. I guess
maybe—"
| A timber creaked just outside the
“door. The prince turned in his chair,
| something stealthy and cat-like in the
movement. Again his hand disap-
peared in the pocket that bulged.
“That’s nothing, Your Highness,”
Binks assured him, “There are al-
ways noises here, like people walking
around and talking. I don’t guess
* you'll have to shoot.” He sighed a bit
regretfully. “I bet your enemies will
never find you here.
“what there is about princes that
makes them different from common
people. I'm not very brave, Your
Highness. That’s because of my leg
and not going to school with other
boys, Bunny says. I have to make
believe I'm not afraid lots of times
when I’m honestly scared to death;
{ but when I think of you, and how |
' your enemies killed the king and took
your throne and tried to kill you, I
—why, I feel just like Joanne d’Arc,
or Ivanhoe, or some one like that.
That’s because you’re Prince Charles
Otto, and—"
He broke off abruptly.
to was on his feet, his face tightened
into a scowling mask, one hand in the
coat pocket, the other supoprting his
weight as he leaned across the table.
Binks squirmed about in his chair.
In the doorway stood Bunny. Ux-
cept that his right hand rested cas-
‘ually at his gun in his belt, he stood
deferentially at attention. His blue
eyes were clear and steady as he ad-
dressed the prince.
“My humblest respects,
Charles Otto, alias Slim Prince, alias
Benton the Slicker.”
i Binks listened with reverent atten-
‘tion. Alias. now—that must be some
lofty foreign title. But what could
to Prince Charles
Bunny have to say
{ Otto?
“Ah,” breathed His Highness and
| stood straight and still and white,
looking at Lieutenant Bunstead. “So
'it was not just a board creaking.”
i “I hope Your Highness will excuse
me. I did take the liberty of listening
for a moment. Otherwise I might not
have been able to address you by—by
your proper title. And I have an im-
portant message for Your Highness.”
Bunny, too, was pale, and intent of
eve, and although he stood quite still,
he was breathing quickly. “It will be
best for you te come with me immedi-
“Ah?” said the prince again. He
was smiling now, a crooked smile, as
if at something not entirely funny.
“And if I don’t?”
«I don’t think Your Highness will
refuse,” answered Lieutenant Bun-
stead steadily. “The consequences
would be too distressing to—to your
loyal subject.”
Although two men continued to
look into each other eyes, it was al-
most as if both had turned to glance
at Binks, standing there wide-eyed
and intent.
“They left him, Bunny, both of
them,” almost sobbed Binks. “The
prime minister and Captain Royle—
and he’s wounded.”
There was an instant’s silence be-
fore Bunny said quietly, “You see for
yourself. And Your Highness will let
me advise you to remove the right
hand from the pocket? Thank you.”
Charles Otto's hand was visibly
trembling as he picked up a cigarette
from the table and lighted it. “As a
matter of curiosity,” he said unstead-
ily, “we might parley. How did you
come ‘to look for me—for us—here?””
“Well, Your Highness,” said Bun-
ny, and for the first time he permit-
ted himself a smile, “I knew some-
thing of your—your earlier relations’
with the Pelhams.”
“Ah?” murmured the prince again,
and the ash of his cigarette grew to
“I wonder,” he went on dreamily, |
under the name of Benton.”
“In that case,” agreed His High-
ness, “we are ready to trust our per-
son to your escort.”
Binks was delighted that these two,.
his most distinguished friends, should
have reached so amicable an under-
standing, but suddenly he was feel--
ing very desolate.
“Well, Your Highness,” he said, in
' a voice which he hoped did not betray
the lump in his throat, “well, Bunny"
can take lots better care of you than.
I can. But I—I never had a prince
before, you know, and we were just:
beginning te get acquainted, weren’t
we? Do I—do I kiss your hand?”
Charles Otto came over to him.
' where he stood, very high-headed and
very solemn eyed. He took the small
brown fist clenched at Binks’ side and’
shook it gravely.
5 “Our gratitude for your loyal serv-
ices is so great, my Lord Binkshop,””
he answered, and weary as his face
was, his smile was very warming,
| “that we prefer to shake hands. And
i
|
i
Charles Ot-
now, Lieutenant you will doubtless:
wish us to precede you.”
Binks watched the two men down
the elm-arched avenue to the great:
iron gate—Bunny, very alert and very
straight in his smart uniform; His:
Highness, shabby and walking with a
weary limp. Any one who didn’t
know might have taken Bunny for the:
prince. But Binks knew better now..
It was the way they made you feel
inside that made princes.
—Elinore Gowan Stone in Good!
Housekeeping.
Maryland Boys Sell Pine Cones.
Farmer boys of Maryland may de--
velop, according to county agent J. P..
Brown, an exceedingly profitable en--
terprise by following the lead of Dor-
chester county boys, who have found’
something with a sales value which
rreviously had been thrown away.
Acting under the direction of W. R..
McKnight, agricultural agent of Dor-
cester county, pine cones are being"
collected by farm boys of that county
"and shipped to the State forestry nur-
Prince;
sery at College Park, where the seeds:
are extracted by University experts..
The seed thus extracted from the
cones will be used in growing loblolly
pine seedlings for future sale and dis-
tribution to farmers of the Eastern:
, Shore, who in turn will use the trees
to beautify highways and their own
farms. A good seed year, according
to the state assistant forester, occurs
once in about three years and, there-
fore, it is necessary for the depart-
nent to lay in a three-year supply of
seed.
A number of forest plantations
started from seedlings from the state
department are now growing well in
various counties.
Seventeen members of the 4-H
clubs, at Hooper's Island and Crapo,,
have just shipped 145 bushels of the
cones to F. B.. Trenk, assistant state
forester, who is now settling with the
shippers on a basis of 85 cents a bush-
el. It is said that from the stand-
point of time expended the industry
is the most profitable in which 4-H’
club members have been engaged dur-
ing the yean.
Most of the cones are delivered to
neighboring schools, whence they are
sent to College Park.
Dorchester is said to be the first
county in which 4-H club members
have been engaged in actual forestry
work with their other duties along:
agricultural lines, and it is said there.
are few States in which work has
been done..
Thoroughbred Horses.
The bureau of animal industry says
that as far back as it knows there
are no race track regulations requir-
ing that only thoroughbreds enter a
race. However, a horse that is not a:
thoroughbred, unless he is exception-
al, would stand little chance against
a horse who has been bred from rac-
ing ancestors. Thoroughbred horses
in this country are registered solely
on the thoroughbredness of their an-
cestors: Registration in a thoroughe
bred society necessitates that both
the sire and the dam be registers] in
the society, which means that their
sive: and’ dam: were registered.