6 IN FOG AND MIST. Morning gray as any nun. Not a hint of coming sun. Fog and mist, across the dawn. Have their heavy ctrtalns drawn. Dripping branches, bare and hrown— Shall we smile or shall we frown? Hear the voices faint and far: "All unsightly as we are Every tree heart holds within Faith In nature's discipline. 80 we welcome skies like these, Welcome all her mysteries." Rose trees, shrouded In the gloom. Do you ever hope to bloom? "What of dreary mists outside? Happy secrets do we hide. All the glory of the rose. Do our folded buds inclose." Robin, In a world forlorn. Do you frown away the morn? Bhake of wing and swelling throat— "Nay, 1 sing my gayest note; Dear old world, it needs my lay. Under skies so dull and gray." Shall I then, when clouds arise. Meet them with despairing eyes? Eet my heart forget its faith, And my hope go down to death, While the world, the clouds among, Needs all faith and hope and song? —A. E. Woodworth, in Chicago Advance. j A CLEW BY WIRE | i Or, An Interrupted Current. •; E BY HOWARD M. YOST. § Copyright, 1896, by J. B. Lippincott Co. CHAPTER VI. — CONTINUED. The remainder of the forenoon was ■pent ingoing through the barns and over the farm. A small structure, twenty or thirty feet from the house, liad been used to do the cooking, baking, churning, washing and ironing in. We could not gain access to the cookinp house, as it had been called, the door being locked. There had been no care taken of this place, and I could hardly see through the dust and dirt which obscured the win dows, when I attempted to look inside. "There is nothing to be seen in there, anyhow," I said. But I remembered the pile of cakes and the loaves of bread which had issued from the old Dutch oven built in one side of tlie cook house. How I wish for some of the good things now! After a midday dinner, I harnessed the horse in the buggy. According to my instructions, my agent had provided me with a single rig, and I now pro posed to use it to drive Sarah home and then keep on down the road, past Sid ington Station, across the river to Twineburgli, in which place Mr. Sonn tag, my lawyer, resided. I had never seen Mr. Sonntag. My former agent had died nearly a year ago, and six months after his death Sonntag had bought the law business from the heirs. I had been advised of this fact by a circular letter from the present incum bent, giving references as to abilty, honesty, etc. Mr. Sonntag had also re quested me to allow him to assume management of my small estate. As Mr. Perry, the president of the bank, •was down among the names of refer ence, I was most willing to grant Mr. Sonr.tag's request, and wrote him to that effect. On the way to Sarah's house I un bosomed myself to the good old soul. I told her of my hopes regarding Flor ence, wild my fears that those hopes would never be realized. "Ach. yes," answered Sarah, "3'ou vill marry her some day. Just see how you've been brought both to de same place togedder. And I know she lofe3 5011." "You are more certain than I am of that," I answered, somewhat gloomily. "I have told you everything about my self, because I have no mother to con fide in; and you will 110 more violate my confidence than a mother would; of that I am certain." "Ach, Nel! I got 110 leetle vons of mine own," she answered, with trem bling voice. There were tears in her eyes, too, when she said: "I vould do as much for you as a mudder; I guess I vould, Nel." Her love was grateful to me, or phaned ns I had been for many years, and for the last year without a friend to console or advise me. "Bud yoil vas foolish, Nel, to say you not see her undil you fint de robbers," Sarah went on—"foolish of you, and hart for her, too. I bet you she haf lots of heartache." "What else could I do, though, in honor?" I exclaimed. "Veil, you are innocent, and she lofes you, and knows, too, dat you didn't rob de bank. So den it vould be no dis honor to drust her lofe and be happy In id." Sarah's logic found an echo In my heart. Perhaps it was unjust to Flor ence's love not to ask her to share my burden. 1 knew, if I could share any sorrow or trouble of hers, how happy I would be. We soon reached Sarah's house, and I reined up to allow her to alight. Then I continued on my way. Twineburgli was about two miles across the valley beyond Sidington. It was a lively little place, of about 2,000 inhabitants. One of the great trunk lines of railroad ran through the town. The road to Twineburgli crossed the track at Sidington station, near the depot. As I reined up my horse to a walk and glanced up and down the track before crossing, I saw the station agent standing on the edge of the platform. I nodded to the fellow and he an swered with a grin. Then, as he slowly came toward me, I stopped the horse and waited. | "You took the trunk, didn't you?" he asked. "Mr. Hunsicker came for it," I re plied. "I saw the trunk was gone when I came back," he said, in his lumbering fashion. "Did Jake take you over to H«tsonville?" I am much obliged to you for directing me to him," I said, shortly. "I thought mebbe he would." Having said this, he shifted his weight to the other foot. I patiently waited. "Nice country around Nelsonville," he finally went on. "Some of the city folks beginning to find it out and go there for the summer. Mr. Morley's been there six months now. Know Mr. Morley ?" "I am slightly acquainted with him," I replied. "Then there's another feller comes up from the city. Let's see—what's his name, now? He's got a little hut a mile or so from here, and comes up to hunt and fish. Guess he don't shoot verj' much. I never see him take any game back to town with him. Oh, yes, now I remember. His name's Jackson." I started in surprise and became a little more interested. "What? Not Horace Jackson?" I asked. "Yes, that's his name. Acquainted with him?" "I used to know Mr. Jackson quite well." "Seems to be a nice fellow," the agent remarked, reflectively. "A very pleasant gentleman. Oh, by the way," I went on, "is there a tele graph instrument at the depot?" "To be sure." "And I could send a message when ever I want to?" "Yes; that is, whenever I'm here." "Well, but supposing I had an im portant message to send when you are not here?" I asked. "Where could I find you?" "1 live up the track about a mile,"he replied. "This direction?" "Yes. The house is right by the track, just where the switch begins." "And what's your name?" "Ask for Hunter." It appeared to me that the fellow did not relish my questioning. He seemed to be ill at ease under it. "Does Jackson goto Mr. Morley's house when he comes up here?" I asked. "I guess he does, sometimes. lie ain't been up lately; not for five or six weeks. At least I haven't seen him." "Does Mr. Morley stay at Nelsonville all the time?" I asked. "Or does he go to town every day?" "He goes to the city three days in the week; sometimes more'n that. He takes the morning train here at Sidington, and conies up to Twineburgli on the afternoon train." I bowed my head and drove on. The fellow's words gave me food for thought. Horace Jackson a frequent visitor at the Morleys, or at least un til recently—why? I knew he had some business relations with Mr. Morley; Jackson himself had told me so. But then why did he not transact his busi ness at Mr. Morley's office in the city? No doubt he did, and therefore visited Nelsonville for another reason. Flor ence Morley was the attraction. IJe membering that she had passed me by without a greeting, my heart grew heavy with doubt. CHAPTER VII. The probability that I had a rival in the field, and one who had a free road while I was handicapped by the suspi cion of a crime, filled me with despera tion. Had I only followed my first im pulse, and not allowed a whole year to intervene without making an attempt to clear myself! If you want anything 1 of consequence done, do it yourself, was a maxim 1 had always believed in, and as far as possible followed out. Tsut in this one most important in stance, where the circumstances affect ed my whole life and promised to annul ell possibility of future happiness, I had held aloof with a supineness for which I could not now condemn myself strongly enough. I knew the bank officials had used every effort to recover their property. 1 knew the shrewdest detectives had been put on the case. Notwithstanding this, nothing had been discovered. How could I, then, hope to succeed! Where could I begin? There was not the least sign of a clew to work on. I soon drove into Twineburgli, and had no trouble in locating Mr. Sonn tag's office. An undersized old fellow with brist ling gray hair was seated at a desk, his back toward the door. He took no notice of me, and, after standing for a few minutes gazing at the back of his head, I made known my presence. "I wish to speak to Mr. Sonntag," I said. "Take a chair; be at leisure in a moment," came the answer, in quick, jerky tones. He did not even turn his head, but went on with his work. I sat down and looked around. It was a typical small-town lawyer's of fice I was in. There were a few law books in a small, rickety bookcase on one side of the room, a few rough wooden chairs, warranted to cause a backache only to look at them, a few old maps and calendars, most of the latter of former years, hanging on the walls, a wooden spittoon filled with sawdust on the floor, a rusty stove, from which the discolorations of the fires of the last winter had not been removed, standing in one corner, and, lastly, the desk before which was seat ed my agent and lawyer. I thought the old fellow, judging from his back, was in complete har mony with his surroundings; but I soon found I had misjudged the man. For when he finally arose, turned to ward mc and favored me with a search ing glance from a pair of the keenest steel-blue eyes 1 had ever seen, it was \cry evident Mr. Sonntag was not as rusty as his surroundings. There was something familiar to me about him. Had I met him before? I could not rememfoer. Arising, I was about to make myself known, but before I could utter a word he stepped briskly up to me and with a smile extended his hand. "I am giati is you." he began CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, APRIL 7, 1898. "Of course j'ou are my client, Mr. Nel son Conway?" "Yes, that is my name," I answered, somewhat surprised. "But, as you have probably never seen me before, al though your face does seem familiar, I should like to ask how you knew." "Nothing' remarkable about it at all. You wrote me from Paris, you remem ber, stating 1 the probable time of your arrival home. And, although 1 have been here only six months, I have got to know, by sight at least, every one about this place. Therefore I kneu you were a stranger, that Mr. Conway vas about due, and —well, there you have it. Have you just arrived ?" "I came yesterday noon." "Indeed. And where are you stop ping?" "Over at the old house, cf cotirse. Where else should I have gone?" "Oh, I supposed you would have put up at the hotel here in Twineburgh until we could get things in a little better shape for you at the homestead. How did you find things?" "Considering that the house has been vacant so many years, I was very agree ably surprised to note the good state of repair it is in," I replied. "I have tried to follow out the plans of my predecessor as far as possible. You think you will eftjoy yourself in Nelsonville?" he asked, flashing an in quiring glance at me. "Oh, yes. I hope to have absolute rest and peace, at any rate," I replied, somewhat hesitatingly, for my sojourn at the old house had certainly not be gun restfully. I had slept but little the night before. "Nothing about the arrangements I have made for your comfort to prevent it, is there?" he asked. "No. You have done well. I want to ask you, before I forget it, why did you have the cellar off of the old store room walled up?" A look of perplexity came over his face, and, as he did not seem to com prehend my question, I went on more explicitly: "There were two doorways, one lead ing to the storeroom and the other leading to the outside. Both these door ways have been built tip with solid masonry to correspond with the founda tion walls. I simply ask out of curios ity what your reasons were for having it done—not that I have any objection." My question was a simple enough one. Mr. Sonntag seemed to think it necessary to ponder over it, however. "Let me see. The cellar you have reference to is directly under the room you proposed in your letter of instruc tion to me to occupy?," he finally said. "Yes, and there used to be two doors to —" "And they have been built up?" he broke in. "Yes. Do j'ou not know about it?" I asked, in surprise. "No," he replied, shortly. "Then you did not have it done?" "Certainly not. I had nothing to do with it. Know nothing about it,"he 1 Florenee Morley. answered, decidedly. "If they are built up, it has been done within six weeks. For when I received your letter announcing your intention to occupy the house for a time, I went all through the place, and those doorways were not built up then. I even went into that cellar. It was a damp, musty hole, and I intended to call your attention to it and ask what you wished done about it." "Well, that's strange! Who could have done it!" I exclaimed, thoroughly perplexed. "How did you get into the storeroom? I had to kick open the door." "Oh, I had a key to the outside door, and got in that way. H'm! It is, as you say, very strange, indeed. But resume your seat, Mr. Conway." Again the thought occurred to me that I had met Mr. Sonntag, or at least seen him, somewhere before. "Did I ever meet you?" I asked, voic ing my thought. He glanced quickly at me, and then smiled as he said: "Look like some one you know, do I? One often meets peo ple who put them in mind of some one else. Now, regarding this cellar affair. Is there anyone you know who is in terested in your property?" he asked, in a brisk, business-like manner. "No one," I replied. "I am the last of my race—a lonely man, and one who is sick at heart, I was about to add." Mr. Sonntag's face became serious, and I thought there was a touch of pity on it. "Cheer up, Mr. Conway. The tables will turn some day, and you will for get the time of trouble and desponden cy," the old lawyer said, cheerily and hopefully; "perhaps sooner than you have any idea of. Now, then," he con tinued, returning to his brisk, business like manner, "some one has walled up those doorways. Who was it, and for what purpose? If it was done with the idea of a hiding-place, what was the thing to be hidden? Something which was never again to be reproduced, evi dently, or the room would not have been wholly sealed. Perhaps there was a secret entrance provided. But then, why should your property have been selected? Were you alone when the discovery was made?" "No, sir. A woman who used to act us nurse girl when I was a young one was with me. and also Mrs. Snyder, the widow who takes care of the house." "Yes, I know. I believe the old widow can be relied upon to say noth ing about the circumstances if she is told not to. now about the other, your old nurse?" "She would do anything possible for me. I was her idol when a child, and now devotion for me seems to have been augmented in proportion to my stature. Sarah is wholly trustworthy, and if I requested her not to mention the matter she would have her tongue cut out rather than breathe a word of it." "That's good. The discovery had best be kept secret," the old lawyer said, re flectively. "There is another thing Twish to men tion. thongh perhaps it is hardly worth dwelling upon. Mrs. Snyder thinks there is something strange about the house. And she has so succeeded in impressing my old nurse with the idea that Sarah is quite concerned about my staying. She seems to be imbued with an inexplicable fear that something harmful threatens me." "Indeed! What do you mean when you say there is something strange? You mean mysterious?" the old lawyer asked, in the manner he would have used in cross-examining a witness. "Yes; Mrs. Snyder claims to have seen mysterious lights at night, and heard strange noises." Mr. Sonntag's eyes lost their shrewd expression for a few moments; he re lapsed into deep thought. [TO BE CONTINUED.I THE RETIRED BURGLAR. Illil'rofcnnional InHtlnetn Snlinirrtrd in I'ntrlotic ICuiot lon. "Poking along the side of the house one niglil looking for the handiest cel lar window," said the retired burglar, "I brushed against a string hanging down the side of the house. Looking up I saw that, this string disappeared over the sill of a second-story window, and then I realized that it was Fourth of July morning, and I knew that the string was tied around the big toe of a boy who was then sound asleep, but had made a solemn contract with a neighbor's son to come and pull that string and wake him up »t exactly— When? That was the question. Two o'clock? Three o'clock? Four o'clock? When? I didn't know, and there wasn't any way of finding out. "It was then about quarter of two. Of course it would have been the part of common sense for me togo away, but I didn't. I took the chances and looked around the house. But I didn't find any thing that I wanted bad enough to carry it off. I didn't look very hard. To tell the truth I never came so near to feeling mean about my business as I did that morning. "It wasn't because I was working on a holiday. In my business we don't pay much attention to holidays, any way; we work right along just the same, but somehow this Fourth o' July busi ness, string out of the window, and all that kind o' touched me up. "I went up to the boy's room and found him sleeping sound as a nut. Fourth o' July things spread out on a table. Humph! Three or four packs of firecrackers not opened. One pack loose in a saucer, all ready to begin. Three or four pieces of punk. Two or three pin wheels, and two or three little bits of rockets. Pretty small outfit, take it, altogether, but the boy's heart was in it. Very likely he didn't real ize what Fourth o' July meant; I don't suppose he did; but it was a great day, all the same. "I looked out of the boy's window. This was in the country, or rather in a country town, and off in the distance I could hear guns now and then, and now and then a pistol; sometimes I could see the flash. Men celebrating. Drunk, maybe, 'round some tavern, but celebrating; celebrating their country, mine too, and I was aiound robbing people. "When I went past the string again I gr.ve it a yank; I thought I ought to have that much fun out of it, anyway, and hid be hind a currant bush and waited to see him poke his head out, which be did in about, a quarter of a minute. But he didn't see anybody —how could he when there wasn't anvbody there; and I suppose he must have thought he dreamt it. B'.'it he didn't—the string was pulled—l pulled it."—N. Y. Sun. Exit GrortP. The time was approaching midnight. The old gentleman was listening from a coign of vantage at. the head of the stairs. He had been there in his stock ing feet for as long as 32 minutes. The young man was lingering at the front door with the old gent's daugh ter. As a lingerer he was a success, and he was aided and abetted by the girl. This, also, the old gent knew, as well as several other interesting things That's why he became tired of lis tening at the head of the stairs. At las! he heard a shuffling of feet, "it's so hard to say 'good-night,' darling," tin young man said to the girl, who believed every word he uttered. As they always do before matrimony gets in its baleful work. "Don't say it, George," sang out tli* old man; "wait about live minute:* and say 'good morning.' " It was then the impediment in George's speech war removed, and, with at least 4% minute to spare, the girl closed the front door and George trotted along home.—Tit- Bits. —Female spiders are much largei and more ferocious than the males, ami often devour their husband's. Potatoes in Greenland never grov .larger than a marble. 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