RB A Gp
DOWER.
My great-great-great grandsire was
Welsh,
LLlewellyn he was called,
And on Llangelan’s sloping hills,
By Cambrian ranges walled,
Great beasts and serfs at his command
Drew bread from that unfertile land.
And so it is I get from Wales
My courage which no one assails.
One gradnma came from London town
And one from sunny France;
One gave me all my soverness,
My haughty arrogance,
The confidence that England is
The world’s great social synthesis.
Yet all my French blood leaps and sings
When I behold earth's loveliest things!
That I might cool and canny be
i had a Scotch ancestor,
But once he walked Killarney’'s ways
And met a merry jester—
A fiddler with his violin
Tucked lovingly beneath his chin.
The fiddler’s daughter came dancing
after—
Ny little grandmother of tear and
laughter!
Oh Britain, you've made me sturdy and
strong,
By France, I am beauty-beguiled,
But the heart of me is Irish,
And mad and sad and wild.
—Virginia McCormick.
THINGS THAT ARE CAESAR’S.
Lucy Birchfield took her stand be-
fore the massive chimney-piece with
a determined air of possession. As
the new mistress of the house enter-
ed she turned sharply, not caring to
conceal the assertive spark in her
eye. Electa let fall the out-stretch-
ed hand that offered a timid hospi-
tality.
“Please be seated,’ ’ she said.
“You must be tired. It’s a long trip
out of town.” .
“A trip I'm used to, thank you!”
Lucy replied, the glow of owner-
ship deepening as she settled her-
self in a chair which was not the
one Electa had softly pushed for-
ward. “You seem to forget that
my people lived at Thorndale long
before you ever saw or heard of it.”
“Oh, I understand how ‘dear the
old place must be to you, and I do
hope you will always feel—”
“Dear to me! Why, It's home!
My father was born here, and my
grandfather left it to Aunt Rachel
because she loved it and had always
lived here. How could she let it go
out of the family? How could she?”
Lucy’s voice shook as she threw a
loyal glance around the dim wainscot.-
ed room lined with books collect-
ed by generations of Thornburys.
Electa paused. She wanted to be
patient with this irritated soul who
knew nothing of the peace that
made the present atmosphere of the
old house.
‘It is hard” she said at last,
“But there's a larger view. We
don't feel as you do about property.
In our work there’s no mine and
thine.”
“That’s easy, after you've got it
all! I'd like to know how long
this ‘work,’ as you call it, would go
on, or what you'd be doing with
yourself, if it weren't for Thornbury
money!”
“I'm not helpless,” flashed the
girl, with sudden spirit, her calm
beauty kindling in so unexpected a
way that Mrs. Birchfield felt her
self-erected pedestal tremble be-
neath her.
“Surely you know,” Electa went
on, “that I'll never use the money
for personal ends. I will use it as
she used it. I mean to carry out
all her wishes. I am bound by the
most sacred obligation, her trust in
me.”
“Her trust in you!
It’s incredible
—-putting a fortune into your hands:
like that, away from her natural
heirs forever!”
“Why not? The house where she
carried on a great work—"
“Pauperizing a set of lazy men
and women who ought to be out in
the world making a living!”
Electa’s faith in her work made
her careless of the sneer, but she
longed to justify the dear old friend
who had trusted her. “You know,”
she said, “how strongly Miss Thorn.
bury felt about the right and wrong
use of money.”
“Oh, I suppose she told you that
my husband was a gambler,” the
other interrupted hardily, “because
he took risks and lost money on the
Stock Exchange!
don’t blame him—not a bit.”
“She thought that he should have
been content. You had emough—"
“What did she know about enough
or you either? Does one ever have
enough when there are five chil-
dren? Oh, it’s too much; I can’t
bear it!” Lucy sprang up, passion-
ately striking her little hands to-
gether. “You shut yourselves away
from the world, you see nothing as
it really is, and then you attempt to
judge the rest of us; to decide what
we need or don’t need. I'm not
afraid to tell you what I believe! I
believe a family is the best thing on
God's earth, and family claims come
first, every time. I want my children
to take the place my father and
grandfather had before them, I want
them to be well-established, to live
with their own sort, to be proper
figures in the world they belong to,
That's their birthright, and you've
robbed them of it; you've schemed
to get it away from them, It takes
money, and lots of it too, to keep
one’s place in the world; there’s no
use pretending anything different.
I'm not a hpocrite; I say what I
think. T want my children to have
their place. That's my duty, and
it's my religion, too!”
Electa had risen and stood look-,
ing down at the little hard, hot
face and trembling hands. How
could she feel anything but love and
pity for this blind, starving soul?
Her arms went out in a movement
of tenderness.
“Oh, my dear, how unhappy you
must be! Don't you see how small
they are, how worthless, these things
that you are living for, that you
want for your children?”
Lucy drew back, ignoring the
reac. hands. Perhaps beneath
the tenderness she felt a touch of
that unconscious spiritual arrogance
that can see no way but its own.
She faced Electa with an unflinching
eye.
“They may be small, they may be
worthless—the things I want. But,
such as they are, I mean to get
them!”
Six months later the case of
Birchfield versus Cragin was under
way. ?
“Single women aren't fit to handle
property,” declared Mr. Sheldon, of
the law firm of Sheldon and Hollis-
ter, as he and his young partner
went up the courthouse steps to-
gether. “They're the natural prey
of the fakir, and the better they
are the quicker they get fooled. Wo-
men seem to lose all their common
sense unless they are tied down by
a husband and babies of their own.
Now this Miss Rachel Thornbury,
she was the salt of the earth—”
“Oh, it’s a perfectly clear case,”
John Hollister assented; the sort of
thing that happens all the time.
But I confess I'm puzzled by the
other woman, this Miss Cragin, I
can’t quite make her out. A fanatic,
of course—"
“Fanatic fiddlesticks! An adven-
turess—after the money from the
start. Don’t be fooled by her Fra
Angelica face and skimpy dress.”
“Not an adventuress,” said Hol-
lister. “I can’t believe that.”
“Well, wait till we get her on the
stand. We'll find out what she’s
made of when you begin to cross-
examine her, my boy. Don’t be
afraid of pricking her heart. She
hasn't any. A heart means fire, and
if it's there a flicker will get up
to the face occasionally. These cold
people who sit on the snow-bank
side of life—they are the schemers,
John, who get away with the goods.
But we'll pull up this one all right.”
It was the second - day of the
trial. After calling as witnesses
the family physician, and a few
relatives and friends who had been
frequent visitors at Thorndale, the
plaintiff had rested her case. She
had alleged that Electa Cragin, a
beneficiary and dependent of Mrs.
Thornbury, had taken advantage of
her situation by exercising undue
influence upon the testatrix at a
time when she was not of sound
and disposing mind by reason of ad-
vanced age and failing health, there-
by inducing her to destroy an
earlier will in favor of her niece
and heir-at law, Lucy Birchfield, and
to devise and bequeath her entire
estate to the said Electa Cragin.
Mrs. Birchfield’s witnesses had
produced a marked effect by their
Well, it’s true. I
| distinction and straightforward tes-
| timony. Electa had listened with a
failing heart, cut by every word—
for it was all true, yet true in a
way that made the words them-
selves seem false. True that she
had never left Miss Thornbury alone,
even with the physician. How should
she leave one who was so touchingly
dependent upon her, who clung to
her even more wistfully when oth-
ers were present? And true that
she had assumed control at Thorn-
dale as the work dropped from her
friend’s weakened hands. She had
thrown herself wholly into the
cause of her benefactress, sure of
her own motive, oblivious to pos-
sible imputations. And now! It
‘was an outrage that these worldly,
goods-burdened people should think
her bent on personal gain—she who,
with all the Thornbury estate in her
mame, felt no sense of possession.
She had gone from court in dismay.
Could she ever explain? Could she
make them see?
“No,” she told herself. “My own
words will be used against me.
| They cannot understand.”
| So on this second day she walked
into court as to an ordeal of
which she alone guessed. Lucy
Birchfield—very trig in a black
cloth suit, calculated to delight the
eye of the most exacting tailor, and
touched with youth and prettiness
by the unfailing cosmetic, excitement
—dropped her eyes as Electa took
her place at the other end of the
counsel table. The two women had
not met since their interview six
months before.
Visitors were gathering expectant-
ly, and Electa, with a chill of ap-
prehension, suddenly realized that it
was she whom their curious eyes
were seeking. But she gave no sign
of disquiet, and when her name was
calied moved forward to the ~ wit-
ness stand with the usual modest
composure that made part of her
quaint charm. The nun-like brown
dress which she wore failed to ob-
scure the youth of her figure, and
the little round hat which rested on
the coils of her copper-gleaming
hair seemed recently to disavow
its own primness,
“It is very effective to be differ-
rent,” Mrs. Birchfield cynically
whispered to Hollister; then flushed
| with annoyance at the warmth of
his assent.
But calm as Electa appeared, she
found it hard to breathe in this at-
mosphere of antagonism and resent-
ment. Yet she had never once
doubted her right to fight for her
inheritance. All her life she had
flamed with a longing to help and
save, and she accepted the fortune
as a mysterious fulfillment. She had
the martyr's ardent moments when
she felt herself chosen to uphold
the life of faith before a mocking
world, to fling the divine challenge
to the forces of evil, and her eager
imagination transformed even her
attorney to an appointed instrument
in this high warfare —though to the
uninitiated he would seem but im-
perfectly adapted to spiritual ends.
This ramble jointed personage now
walked back and forth in front of
his client as he questioned her, his
| mingling of jocularity ‘and ‘assur-
ance.
hands in his pockets, his manner a’
i But he soon proved his adroitness.
Quickly and easily he drew forth
| Electa’s story. The girl told how,
some six years eariler, she had giv-
en up in a public school
that she might devote hereself to
evangelistic work. She had always
meant to be a missionary. Her
very name bestowed upon her by a
‘Scotch father who had brought the
: deep religion of his rugged hills to
‘a Pennsylvania farm, bad set her
‘apart for a life of service. She
| spoke very simply; one could see
that she was too inexperienced to
realize what her own courage had
. been in throwing aside a bread-
! occupation for the sakeofa
: conviction and facing the world with
faith as her only asset. She told of
her meeting with Miss Thornbury,
who had immediately urged her to
help in the establishment of a mis-
sion at Thorndale. At first she had
hesitated. “I had to wait for a
leading,” she said, and on her lips
the worn phrase had no flavor of
cant. Pollock, the lawyer, dexter-
ously showed her throughout as the
trusted adviser of her old friend,
careful mever to abuse this confi-
dence, never to take the initiative,
Intent only upon the truth of her
answers, she was scarcely aware of
the court-room and of the favorable
impression made by her testimony.
Once she began an eager explana-
tion in reply to a question con-
cerning the nature of her teaching
when a sudden “I object” from the
counsel for the plaintiff cut sharply
across her eloquence.
“Irrelevant and immaterial,”
John Hollister.
Electa fell back, her cheeks help-
lessly aflame.
“There’s fire there—and a heart,”
thought Hollister in an unprofes-
sional instant.
Electa finally testified as to the
clearness of Miss Thornbury’s mind
when her last will was drawn, stat-
ing that she had not been present
and had been told nothing whatever
in regard to it. Mr. Pollock then
yielded to the counsel for the plain-
tiff. Electa had a wild impulse to
run. She felt that a relentless ma-
chine was opening to entrap her.
John Hollister drew his chair
forward for the cross-examination.
Their eyes met, and his were as
steady and candid as her own. In-
stantly she felt a soul in the ma-
chine. This man cared for some-
thing more than the winning or
losing of a case. The spirit of
justice in her sprang to meet the
spirit of justice in him.
He was very unlike the men she
had known—the missionaries, itin-
erant preachers, and reformed
drunkards of her little sphere. His
strong figure and well-made clothes
implied attention to corporeal
things, but there was a clear hint
of idealism in the face, marked as
it was with early lines of decision
and purpose,
There was nothing terrifying in
his deliberate manner, but the per-
tinence of his queries and his inti.
mate knowledge of her life astonish-
ed Electa. Gradually she began to
see that she was again revealing
herself, but how differently! It was
not herself! Or was it? The tone
and wording of each question --de-
termined the significance of the
answer. The same story—but so
different! She sat tingling, pilloried,
blindly awaiting the questions.
said
seemed to be playing a game in
which she was only a passive pawn.
ther.
But this grave, clear-eyed young
man pursued his tactics unruffled.
Thornbury’s
field 2”
“Yes.”
relative,
made a later will?”
“N-no, I didn’t know,” she an-
swered very low.
“You did not know? You had no
suspicion that you were the bene-
ficiary under a new will?”
“I did not know it. No one ever
told me.” Electa’s face whitened.
“But”—she stopped a moment, then
broke out suddenly—*“yes, I did sus-
pect, I did know, I was sure!”
The court room rippled with sur-
prise.
“You knew and you did not
know. Please be more definite,”
“No one told me,” she repeated.
“You mean then that you were
morally certain?”
“Yes.”
“And why had you this moral
certainty?”
“I knew her feeling about the
work—about money—that her mon-
ey was not her own to spend or be-
queath—it was dedicated.”
“Giving this money to you she,
so to speak, was carrying out her
purposes ?”
“She believed so—yes!”
lifted her head.
“You shared her
the use of money?”
“I shared it.”
“Was her conviction on this
point fully settled before you went
to live with her?"
“I don’t know—how can I tell?”
she faltered. “Her convictions grew
—we talked things over—”
“Her religious convictions were
partly the result of her association
and conversations with you?”
“She woula always ask me what
I thought and believed—yes?”
“And your thought and belief al-
ways had weight with her?”
She hardly heard her own answer
given blindly, stammeringly, for she
was very tired. The air of the sun-
ny court-room had grown stifling,
steamy with needless heat, and she
seemed to be trying to push her
way through a substance dnvisible
and baffling. A window had been
opened, letting in clinging, jerky
Sounds from the street which hurt
her like blows. The white-haired,
quizzy-eyed judge rocked in his chair
‘with “singiilar indifference. On her
left sat the jury, their faces like
twelve plates in row; the court
Electa
feeling about
“You knew also that she had;
Again and again her lawyer thrust the
an objection to the rescue. Arguing, | point of view. What did it prove,
wrangling, the opposing attorneys: this examination
She had thought it so easy to speak | inward effort to find the
the truth. Now she saw truth as | truth
double-faced, elusive, fleeing before ; facts.
|
“You knew that there had been called to the stand.
an earlier will in favor of Miss her Electa tried to arouse herself to
Mrs, Birch- | outer things. “What can Aunty have
|
stenographer wrote scratchily, and
she felt every stroke of his im-
perturbable pen; out of the assem-
bly, whiich swam before her, she
could detach Lucy Birchfield’s face
alone, looking back at her with nar-
rowed eyes and remote smile.
People began to move. It was the-
noon recess and the room emptied
quickly. Electa stumbled a little
as she stepped down from the wit-
ness stand and Pollock put out a
steadying hand.
“Good, Miss Cragin, good!” he
said in a loud whisper. “You held
your own; you're a first-rate wit-
ness,” And Lucy Birchfield’s smile
became less sure as she overheard.
Her son, a lad of seventeen, was
standing beside her. “Don’t worry,
mother; it'll come out all right
sure,” he said as he threw his arm
about her shoulders and led her
from the room.
Electa suddenly felt alone, No
sympathy was to be expected just
then from her disciples, that was
Plain, Having brought lunch bas-
kets to court, they were actively
concerned with hard-boiled eggs and
piles of thick sandwiches. Electa
turned from their homely banquet
with a shiver of distaste.
Struggling in the swirl of new
impressions, she crossed to the open
window and stood gazing out over
the roofs at the ragged crest of
hills beyond the river. Then earth
and sky grew black and she dropp-
ed to a chair, her eyes closed.
Instantly some one was at ner
side, holding a glass of water to
her lips.
“Drink this.” said the voice that
had pilloried her, and she obeyed.
The giddiness over, she looked up
at John Hollister, and flung a quick
little cry. ,
4‘Oh, don’t you know that I'm in
the right? Please say you believe
in me!”
He set the glass carefully down
on the window sill before he rei
plied.
“I can’t discuss the case with
you—you must see that it isn’t pos-
sible. And I can’t say that you are
in the right. But I do believe in
you,”
Electa lay awake that night.
Something was happening, some-
thing that she didn’t understand.
Never before had she experienced
this creeping, chilly self-distrust.
She had always been sure. Ané
what did this other thing mean?
This aching sense of common life
of the world with its warmth of |
human ties? Strong, real, compelling,
the things she had always denied |
rose to her, and the traditions—yes,
even the sacrifices and services—
shrank back and dwindled like the
Goode Deedes in the morality play
she had once seen. She tossed until
the November dawn began to glim- !
mer through the bare apple boughs
outside her window. Then, as she
lay quiet, at last an answer seemed
to shape itself out of the stillness
in old familiar words: “Forego de- |
sire, and thou shalt find rest.” |
On the third day the pensioners |
of Thorndale were called to the
stand, and one after another they |
offered the same testimony; the!
mental competence and indepen- |
dence of Miss Thornbury up to the:
day of her death. The accumula- |
tion of evidence brought no com-'
fort to Electa. For the first time
she found herself trying to realize
event from Lucy Birchfield’s
of witnesses?”
Gradually she lost consciousnes of
the progress of the case in her tense
soul of
in the confusing array of
An old negress, for years in the
service of Miss Thornbury and now |
doggedly attached to Electa, was’
At sight of
to tell?” she wondered. ‘Why should
Mr. Pollock summon her?”
Aunty smoothed out the folds of
her best black dress and played
consequentially with her bonnet
strings. Her high cheek bones shone
from the scrubbing they had reciev-
ed; cunning lurked in her lean,
brown face, and her beady eyes
suggested some primeval creature '
intent on self.preservation.
She was eager to speak, and Mr,
Pollock’s question, “Did you have
any talk with Miss Thornbury after
she was confined to her ved?”
brought a ready answer: |
“Oh, yas, sir!”
The lawyer seemed amused. :
“Well, tell us what conversation you |
had.” {
“It was this way. She was
speakin’ ’about the home yo’ know, |
sir, an’ she says to me lak this, !
‘Aunty, in case I die I want,’ she
say this to you,’—yo’stay here right
along, don’ yo’ never on no ’count |
go away fur to leave Miss ’Lecta.’ |
After she talk that-a-way, I says
‘I never heerd nothin’ ‘bout the way |
the home when yo’ pass over Jor-
dan, Miss Rachel,’ an’ she says,
‘Why I thought yo’ all knowed’
bout that. Ever’thing mus’ go on
jes the same lak it is now.'” i
Electa listened in amazement.
Was it possible that old Aunty, the
gossip of Thorndale, should have .
heard such significant words from '
her benefactress and yet have kept
silence? There had been much un-
easy speculation in the little com- |
munity during Miss Thornbury’s ill- |
ness, though Electa had honestly
done her best ito—suppress it.
Frightened, suspicious, she dared
not raise her eyes during Aunty’s
cross-examination. The old woman
showed a guarded shrewdness in |
her grasp of the issue. Bland and |
unconfused, never wavering, never
contradicting herself, she stuck |
persistently to ‘her statements. |
Even Hollister couldn’t help joining |
in the general laugh when she foil-
ed him two or three times by her
blank reiterations. She had been
thoroughly drilled. She left the |
stand, feeling her triumph, and
halted for FKlecta’s approval, but
the girl sat drooping.
Humiliation wrapped her as in a
flame. How could the lawyer think
about me? Do you s’pose I've gone
into this thing for charity?” He
{pounded his meaning into the
, did?
. went up to hide her face.
‘tried persuasion.
way. We'll talk it over after you've
know her so little after all these !
years of her teaching? A crumbling
tremor shook the foundations of
her life. Somewhere there had
been a fatal flaw. The court ad-
journed, bustling. John Hollister
was at her elbow gathering up
some books from the counsel table,
but she did not look at him. He
made a movement as if to speak,
then, respecting the silence of
misery, he left the room with only
a backward glance.
A hand fell familiarly on her
shoulder, insensible to her recoil.
“Come, Miss Cragin,” said Pol-
lock, “don’t be downhearted.” He
bent over her. She felt his breath
on her cheek and sickened. “It's
all going our way. The jury is with
you to a man, I'm keeping back the
best witnesses for the last.”
At that she found words. “No
more witnesses!” she cried. “This
case must not go on. I don’t know
how to stop itt, I don’t know the
legal method, but it must not go
on!”
“You didn’t like calling the old
darky? Oh, I see! Well, perhaps
that was a mistake. We didn’t
really need her. Our case is strong
enough.”
Her hands wrung a
“You don’t understand. It’s more
than that. I'm wrong—I won't
take the money! Now do you see?”
“Good God, girl, you are clean
crazy—that’s what I see! You won't
take the money! I like that! What
protest.
table. “Why, we can’t stop! Juggle
with the law like that? Make a fool
of the court? Besides, the other
side’s got no case. It’s you who are
in the right!” He ignored the dumb
shake of her head. “Of course you |
are right. Undue influence! They've
proved nothing! It was kindness,
care, attention—nothing that can
invalidate a will, She meant you
to have her property. You know
ity
“Because down in my heart I
meant to have it!”
He shifted roughly. “S’pose you
That's legitimate. We all get
what we can. She wanted you to
have it; that’s the point that con-
cerns us. It was her free will.”
“My will was hers. She thought
what I thought. Believed as I be-
lieved. And the secret wish of my
heart—O, God help me!” Her hands
He scowled down upon her, then
“Come, come, you mustn’t give
had a bit of lunch. You're all tired
out now. That's what’s the matter—
—you’re nervous!” And he believed
he had the clew to all feminine
caprice.
When the case was resumed at
one o'clock there was a general
impression that the defendant had
vindicated her position. It was ap-
parent, however, that Miss Cragin
was not in triumphant mood. The
contest had wearied her, But her
attorney’s swagger betrayed his
exultance. The Birchfields were
losing hope. Tom whispered dis-
gustedly to his wife: “Take a pret-
Ly red-headed girl with a go-to-
the-spot voice and put her on the
stand before twelve men, and you
can bet on the verdict every time.”
“Oh, you men! That’s the worst
of it.” Lucy dejectedly admitted
the perversities that sometimes con-
trol human affairs, but she was
plucky and meant that no one
should suspect what the loss of the
suit would cost her in disappoint-
ment and actual financial worry.
“You're game, Lucy,” murmured
Tom with an appreciative vivacity.
Electa sat in a trance-like still-
ness while the remaining witnesses
were called. A black-bearded
apostle from Thorndale offered some
conclusive evidence, and the case
became so one-sided that it ceased
to be interesting. People began to
wonder why it had ever occurred to
the Birchfields to try to set aside
so unequivocal a document. The
apostle acquitted himself neatly and
was leaving the stand when Electa
“Your honor, please. I must be
heard.” Her voice rang out through
the courtroom.
Every eye was turned toward
her. Pollock was on his feet, in-
terposing quickly.
our honor, I ask indulgence for
my client. She is not well, May I
have your permission to take her
to the consultation room?”
“Your honor,” said Electa, “can see
that I am perfectly well. My at-
torney has refused to speak for me.
I ask your leave to speak for my-
self.”
The judge looked at her search-
ingly, then bowed assent.
“We will allow the defendant to
be heard.”
In the quivering, expectant hush
of the court-room she spoke. It
seemed quite simple. She had only
to tell of what had passed in her
mind. Now that she knew her
way and could speak in utter sin-
cerity, not a presence embarrassed
her—not the judge, preoccupied
with the difficulties in legal
procedure she had thrust upon
him; not Pollock, balked and non-
plussed; not the plaintiff, dumb in
bewilderment, nor the jury straining
forward; nor the spectators, assur-
ed at last of their full meed of
sensation. In swift, sure words she
laid bare her conflict of motive.
At the end she spoke more slowly.
“Everything would have been dif-
ferent if I had been different,” she
said. “I can see that now. I'm
not so sure that I've always been
right. I don’t know! I only know
that I can never touch that money!”
Pollock cut in with apologies to
the court for her conduct. “This
is what comes, your honor, from
dealing with religious cranks!”
Then old Mr. Sheldon arose and
addressed the court.
“While compelled to admire this
young woman for her candor and
generosity, I suggest that we make
sure she realizes the import of what
and in all equity, when I say that
the defendant must not be permit-
ted to yield her claim to a fortune
on an impulse. She should let
the law take its natural course and
should the verdict be in her favor
she must be made to see that she
has a legal right to every penny.
She has, it appears to me, a mis.
conception of the legal significance
of the word “undue.”
Electa faced the old lawyer un-
moved from her purpose, though her
clasped hands strained at each oth-
er. Her eyes had the large full
look of one absorbed by the inner
vision.
“That's only the letter of the
law,” she said softly.
John Hollister, sitting at the oth-
er side of the counsel table, lifted
his head for the first time. His
eyes met hers in a long clear look
that was like the scattering of
mists. The inner light seemed to
come to her face in color, and with
new courage she spoke in the
voice that admits of no question:
“I am in the full possession of
every faculty, I know what I am
doing. I have thought and prayed.
And I beg your honor in the in.
terest of justice, to instruct the
jury to bring a verdict in favor of
the plaintiff.”
After the case had been dismissed
Lucy Birchfield came swiftly across
the room, her face broken and
softened, and the two women clasped
hands without a word. Mr. Sheldon
held open the courtroom door to
let them pass out together. Then
he turned to John Hollister.
“Well,” he said, clearing his
throat of an unusual obstacle, “I
was wrong. But who would expect
a woman to give up a fortune for
an abstract principle of justice?”
“You'd have expected it of a man?”
asked John.
“Oh, you know
bluffed Sheldon.
“I suppose it is—living up to
one’s principles—it’s so seldom
done.” 3
“That girl’s as clear as crystal,”
pursued Mr. Sheldon. “It's not
enough for her to see what's right,
she does it. Well she shan’t suffer.
We must keep an eye on her till
she gets started at something; we
must make it our business to look
after her, eh, John?”
“Yes,” said Hollister;
think we must.” :
He tried to speak carelessly, but
even Sheldon knew that he was
making a vow.—By Elizabeth Moor-
head, in Scribner's Magazine.
it’s quixotic,”
“I really
INDIVIDUAL THINKING,
URGED BY EDUCAOTORS.
Over use of text books in prefer-
ence to a natural, practical course
was assailed by educators at the
Western Pennsylvania Education
Conference.
Teach the boy and girls to think
and let them develop their creative
ability was the keynote of their ad-
dresses. The speakers ridiculed the
memorizing of useless facts and
other ideas presented through text
books.
Dr. Hughes Mearns, New York
University; R. G. Jones, superin-
tendent of schools, Cleveland, anc
Dr. Edwin H. Reeder, Columbia Uni.
versity, told educators to teach boys
and girls to do research work,
make their own experiments, anc
to seek information for themselves
instead of forcing text-book in.
formation on them.
“Supervision has measured teach.
ers for their ability to drive young
people into the class of obedient
verbal memorizers’”’ said Mearns.
“The power to exmaine is the
power to destroy, Testing childrer
for what text-book facts they have
retained makes easy bookkeeping
for the supervisor; with it he cax
keep his teachers to the mark o:
text-book instruction.
‘In the light of the marvelously
new things that are being descov
ered in youth power, the new educa
tionist is inviting the supervisor
officers to measure youth-growth a:
well as examination skill.”
Superintendent Jones said tha
custom-made education is designe:
to fit the wearer, is molded to sui
the mind of the individual.
“Public education,” he said, “oi
the other hand, may be regarded a
a ready-to-wear garment. Turne:
out for the masses, it follows th
styles with cheaper material tha)
the original models designed for up
per classes.”
Dr. Reeder said, “Let the childre
always suggest what to do. Follov
the natural interests of the boy
and girls. Children dislike adul
suggestions in preference to thei
natural interests.”
Twenty-five conferences were hel
to-day.
Dr. David Snedden, Columbia Uni
verisity, saw great benefits result
ing from education ona more scien
tific basis, He addressed the ger
eral meeting recently, in Syri
Mosque, urging the development c
education scientifically for the ber
efit of the pupil.
GOSHAWK NEST FOUND
IN PENNSYLVANIZ
Officers of the Game Commissio
again have recieved postive proc
that the goshawk, winged killer «¢
the far northern latitudes, som
times nests in Pennsylvania.
Jesse Logue, First Forks, Cam:
ron county, forwarded a mothe
bird and three young ones to tk
Commission for payment of the §
bounty on each. Logue is a brothe
of Chauncey E. Logue, State traj
ping instructor. Both are note
for their woodcraft ability.
The goshewk nest contained ti
the carcass of a ruffed grous
carefully stripped of all its featl
ers, which the mother bird hs
brought for the young. The mot]
er goshawk is credited with alwa)
carefully plucking the feathers fro:
a bird before offering it to ti
young.
The Cameron county nest was tl
that she would descend to dodging 'she is saying and doing before we ninth found in Pennsylvania ar
and quibbling? And did Aunty
go further. I speak for my client,
recorded by the Commission.