6 THE OLD MAID. fler eyes like quiet pools are clear. Her placid face is sweet and fair. The frost of many a vanished year Lies in her hair. fihe has no memory of vows Exchanged beneath an April moon. Nor whispered converse 'neath the boughs Of rose-bright June. She never planned her wedding gown, Tills sweet old maiden true and good, For her life held no sacred crown Of motherhood. Vet to the shelter of her side The little orphan children press, Tls known she mothers far and wide The motherless. Vhe poor and suffering love her well, Such ready sympathy she shows; The sorrow-burdened freely tell To lier their woes. With fate she never wages strife— It must be since God knows best— And so she lives her useful life, Blessing and - blest. She strews the thorny path with flowers And turns the darkness into day. And aa we clasp her hand in ours We can but say: Dear friend, so rich in love and truth, With large, warm heart and steadlast mind, *Twas well for some that in your youth The men were blind. —Baltimore Sun. " Ijh© s -Copyright, 1599, by J. B. Lipplncott Com pany. All rights reserved. CHAPTER II. —Continued. "This bandage," said lirodnar, "seems to imply a doubt of you, Dick, but believe nie it has its proper use. In the future, if accident should con front you with the- woman, neither of you will be embarrassed. She will, it Is true, know your name, but unless she ehould look you up in days to come she will never see your face. Is that com fortable?—yes? Well, a moment and we are gone. Your hand, my friend, now, and your word of honor. You will not look on this woman's face, nor Keek in any way to discover from her, frotn me. or from anyone aught that I am seeking to conceal; under all cir cumstances you will yourself conceal ■from everyone the facts of this night's business; and .you accept the woman to whom we go as your wife with all the limitations I have outlined. I know that in your own heart you are re solved, but the honor of a woman is at stake, and you must promise me as ■ man toman." "As man toman, then, and upon the honor of Richard Somers, I promise. *.ead on!" The chance, passer-by who saw a blindfolded man led from the apartments of Dr. Francis ■Brodnar was not surprised. The ex planation was easy. But Somers him «elf was distinctly surprised at the length of the ride and the number of corners turned. It seemed to him that <he carriage traversed more than once the same road, for in spite of himself he could not but take notice of such things. Dr. I'rodnar descried the drift of his thoughts. "For a man to note the direction of • journey," he said, "is a natural, an almost automatic, action of the brain cells—an inheritance from both animal r .»i human ancestry. Therefor Dick, if I have sought to confuse you by my ■* >:eer route, it is only through dis trust of the original and savage 'imers, and to save all parties embar rassment. I trust few people. Here * v e are at last." Dismounting, he led bis companion on a pavement, through o narrow gateway, the gate of which he unlocked, along a gravel walk with shrubbery on both sides for about 60 paces, up two stone steps to a door that had neither bell nor knocker, and into a woman's room. How weak is human invention. Richard Somers gathered these facts without mental effort from small •igns. The footfall upon the pave ment, the search for the key, the clicking lock, the crowding, the gravel under foot, the touch of shrubbery, two steps at the door, and the inde finable air of every lady's room—the faint, blended odor of powders, toilet waters and pressed flowers. That it was the room of a refined woman he was sure in advance. Had he not been, there was the deep carpet into which his feet sank noiselessly. And it was plain that he had come Into a garden from a side street, since no residence would have opened from •a woman's room into a walk that led directly to a main street. Here, then, was a woman who lived upon a first floor with a private gar den at her disposal. He had heard the gentle plashing of water outside; there was a fountain in this garden. On the morrow lie had but to walk the city until he found the premises, ?lf he would. So much for the secrecy •of his friend Brodnar! By this time Richard Somers was a • deeply interested man. Despite his resolution to carry off the affair lightly, he began to feel the presence •af something like a tragedy. Where was the woman who was to make use «112 him blindly and go through the form of a marriage? Dimly at first, perhaps as a matter of logic, lie was k'.nscioua that she was in the room and near him. Then without more yea-son he became certain of it. The • soom was not dark, for he felt light upon his bandaged eyes. Instinctive ly he stretched out his hand. Then there was laid within it an other as soft as silken velvet and small and tremulous. The touch thrilled him frotn h-ead to foot; it was the hand of -a young woman—the timidity be longed to girlhood—and instantly a -deep sympathy moved him. It was indeed an urgent cause that forced her <Xnto this situation—forced her,because 0(10w aba wm and bur emotion shook the little hand. Instant ly his own hand closed above hers. "Be not afraid, my child," he said; "all will be well." Ills voice, low and sympathetic, was the first to break the silence of that room. The girl ceased crying and her hand lay quiet within his own. Then the doctor spoke in a whisper: "We are ready," he said to a third person; "make the ceremony as brief as possible." The other began: "Richard Somers, do you take this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together after God's holy ordinance in the holy state of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor and keep her in sickness and in health, and, for saking all others, keep thee only unto her. so long as ye both shall live?" There was silence, and then Richard Somers said gravely: "1 take this wom an to be my lawful wedded wife; and I shall comfort her, honor and keep her in sickness and in health, tot lie best of my ability, as long as I shall continue to be her wedded husband. Is that sufficient, sir. to answer all legal re quirements?" "That is sufficient," said the unknown speaker. "Frances, wilt thou have this man to be thy wedded husband—" "To honor him at all times and in all ■hours while life shall last?" said Som ers. interrupting. "I ask no more, no less." Then upon his hearing fell a clear, musical voice, flawless as the note of a dove, plaintive as the wind-harp of the pines: "Yes," it said, "to honor him at all times and in all hours while life shall last, whether in the days to come we meet again or we meet no more." He lifted his head quickly, his hand closed impulsively over hers, and a cry trem bled upon his lips. "That voice!" he said, deeply affected. "I have heard —but no!" —his chin sank upon his breast; "it cannot be." He caught the words of the unknown speaker beginning the invocation. "Xo! no!" he cried, almost fiercely, "it is a sacrilege!" "Then," said the speaker, "it is suf ficient to say that under authority vested in me by the state of Virginia I pronounce you man and wife." Som ers stood silent and depressed. There was a whispered consultation; the inner door opened softly and some one passed out. The scene and circumstances had powerfully affected the doctor. "There were difficulties I had not foreseen," he said, gravely, "but you have safely passed them, my friends. And now I must leave you. Dick, I have placed in your hands the honor of a woman—and my own. I will re turn for you before it is light. Re member! The gas is now extinguished and you may remove the bandage." He drew the girl towards him tender ly. "You may trust him implicitly. For the rest, all is now safe. Good night, and God bless you both." He laid his hand reverently upon the girl's head, clasped his friend's hand and would have passed out, but the hand he clasped restrained him, and Somers spoke feelingly as he drew him aside: "Is this necessary —this remaining? Think how —" "Absolutely! I read a decision last week, and I must have a marriage that will stand the test of the highest court." "You read a decision? Are you not acting under the advice of your law yers?" "Lawyers be hanged! I know Vir ginia law. A simple acknowledg- ! Wf > /'•/ / 6% / W 6 \r//ZvJl la &£ KfesiA SHE BENT FORWARD SUDDENLY, AND, HIDING HER FACE IN HER HANDS, RESTED THEM ON IHS KNEES. ment before a witness, with this ad dition, fixes everything. Don't sulk now, Dick: it won't be long." "I was not thinking of myself," said Somers. "Good night." He stood a moment in thought, then turned to his companion. In the darkened but not dark room he saw a slender, girl ish figure near him, the face bent for ward and hidden in her hands. "Come," he said, cheerfully, "let us sit down and talk it all over. It is true we are married, but that is no reason why we shouldn't be friends, I suppose. If you will find me a chair, I am sure you will confer a great fa vor. By the way, what shall I call you? 'Madam' or 'Mrs. Somers' sounds too awfully formal. Shall I say—" "Call me Frances," she said, simply. She understood without analyzing that he was trying to make it easier for her, and was grateful. "Frances! What a beautiful name! I like it already because it is the feminine of Francis. Yes, the arm chair will do, and I shall sit here by tlie table. And you? Oh, I seem to see you snug in the rocker in front. This, I suppose, is the proper arrange ment for a family party when the meter isn't working; but I know very little about it. I never was married before, and I suppose you are equally in the dark.". It made him happy to hear her friendly little laugh, even though it was instantly checked. "By the way," he continued, "do you I kuovv anything of me? I am to CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, APRIL 25, 1901. no questions concerning you, but I sup pose we may talk about me, may we not?" "I know that you are a friend of Dr. Brodnar, and what he has told me. You are a stranger in Richmond and a gentleman. But 1 would have known that you are a gentleman anyway." "Thank you, Miss Frances; that was nicely said." "Frances!" "Miss Frances!" lie insisted, "i am sorry," said the girl, after a moment's silence, "but if you wish, let it remain that way." "But I am curious to know how it was that you so quickly decided in my favor the question of gentility." "My mother told me, when 1 was lit tle, that any man in whose presence a girl or child feels at ease in a gentle man at heart, and somehow 1 trusted in yen from the moment you spoke. l!ut Dr. Brodnar told me —" "Well?" "Told me such beautiful things — stories of your life; I seemed to feel, sir, that 1 had known you always." "And what has Brodnar been saying of me? —I can blush unseen." "Ife told me you were brave—" "Mont men are. And at times all animals." "That you loved flowers, birds, horses, children and old people—" "Objects that can't get away from me. Goon." "That you are generous to a fault —" "Especially my own—or his." "And that no woman on God's green earth, those were his words, ever ap pealed to you for help in vain. He told me once he saw you get out of your car riage in Paris in your evening suit, pick up a drunken old woman who had fallen, and carry her to a house of ref uge—and, oh, sir, you did it because you said the noblest, the most sacred image on earth to a man should be a woman's form, the form like unto that of his mother—too sacred for the laughter and jeers of a city's idlers —" "1 indorse the sentiment, whosesoever it is. But what a sad gossip Brodnar is!" "But you did do this, didn't you?" "Would it please you to think that I did?" "Would it! Why, sir, it wai that that made me trust you!" "Trust me? You were crying!" "Because—because—this is a most strange position for you to find me in, Mr. Somers. I thought that I wouldn't care; and I did not, until you came. But I did then. And that is why I cried. Somehow, I felt that in spite of all at stake, it ought not to have happened this way." "I understand. But in my estimation, my child, you have sacrificed nothing." "You did not think so —but—but—" Tie took up the thought. "But you are grieved because you are saying: 'Now here is a gentleman who, I have suddenly discovered, I wish to respect me for myself, and as a refined, modest girl; and what must he think of one who is willing to be locked up here in a room with him all night!'"—the girl caught her breath and half rose from her chair—" 'and for what? I cannot even tell him. I am bound not to tell him. I must sit by and see him sacrifice himself to friend ship!' " "Oh, sir. do you think—" She bent forward suddenly and, hiding her face in her hands, rested them upon his knees. He placed his own hand lightly upon her head and wondered if it were treason to have discovered that he* hair was a mass of curls and clustering ringlets. "That is only what you were saying to yourself, not what I am thinking. When I called you 'child' I absolved you from all the crimes of womanhood. There are many actions that flow nat urally from childish hearts which carry not the slightest flavor of immodesty; and yet a woman may not copy them. So in this, my young friend." "Ah, you do not say 'my child'now!" "Xo, you have passed into woman hood with the consciousness of this error. I say error, because it is a sit uation that you should not have been placed in—no. not to save human life— not even to save your own; for the unscarred whiteness of a woman's soul is the priceless pearl of eternity, and not to be staked on earth. But the thought behind it all was not your own. You yielded under the pressure of fear and advice. Your objections were overcome, and you obeyed an elder per son in whom you had implicit confi dence. That is all, and I understand." "Then they did not tell you about me!" she whispered, breathlessly. "Xo; you have told me all that I know of you, here in the dark. You are ten der, modest, true and pure; and were j'ou mj- wife in truth, I would not be ashamed to tell this story to the world myself and own you as such after." The words fell from his lips so tender ly, so kindly, she took his hand in both of hers, and laid her face upon it, cry ing silently. "The blame of it all is on our friend, the doctor." he continued, deeply touched, and his voice a little unsteady. "What a tumultuous, headlong, hurri cane sort of fellow he is! There is no blame for you; for look, if I am here, how could you have resisted him? And it is only his judgment that was at fault, after all—only his judgment. Why. a truer heart never beat than Brodnar's." "Would it offend you if I ask a ques tion?" She had waited for composure, and now did not lift her head. "Why, no, of course." "You are right sure?" "llight sure." "Then, how could any gentleman consent to be placed in such a position as yours? You must have known how embarrassing it was to be for ine." His first inclination was to whistle out his astonishment, but he restrained him self. "You forget, my child—l see you hare backslided into childhood—you forget that in the first place I was appealed to in behalf of a woman and no gentleman may resist that. And then I had no rea son to suspect that I was to aiarrj[ a girl. It, might have been an experi enced widow. Indeed—" "But you are glad it wasn't, are you not?" she asked, anxiously. "Yes. my child." "Does my question then indicate that I am a child?" "Yes, my child." "I don't see why." "Because you are still—a child." £>he was not satisfied. "Mr. Somers, I want you to think well of me al ways, and the thought that I may meet you sometime doesn't em barrass me now. It would not embar rass me if I did meet you —even if I should meet you to-morrow. But 1 wish you to know all about me, and I am go ing to tell you everything from the be ginning." "Xo. indeed, you shall not," he said, quickly. She lifted her head, startled. "Why not —if 1 choose? 1 am not afraid to trust you." "No! no! Miss Frances." "Ah, I am a woman again!" "Yes, a woman of a charm so sweet and a heart so true that Kichard Som ers must arm himself. Not your honor, but mine, the honor of your husband is at stake, and you promised to regard that always." "And I shall, sir; only tell me how." "Why, I have promised my friend not to seek to find out. or permit anjone to tell me anything about you. I may not let even you inform me. You must not." She was silent, disturbed, and won dering at his intense earnestness. Then she said, in awe at the rnj-stery of it all: "\Yh<yi we part to-night we are to meet a.s friends no more? You may never take my hand in yours and speak kindly to me again? Oh, sir, you do not know, you do not know what your tenderness has done for the girl— no, the woman you call a child. You do not know what it is to have missed a father's care, a mother's—" "Hush!" he cried, "not one word more. You are making it hard —hard for me to keep faith with my friend. You are betraying his secret." She threw off his hand and arose suddenly, with an abandon of passion that over whelmed him. "What a mockery! what a mockery! I am ashamed —ashamed! It is I who am betrayed!" He had arisen also, full of emotion and almost unmanned. "Never—at my hands. I chose the words deliberately. I will honor and protect you —to the best of my ability; but my ability ends where my promise began. All is based upon my contract with Francis Brodnar, my friend." "Friend—friend!" she said, bitterly; "in God's name, sir, what am I to you?" He was too deeply affected to answer at once. When he did his voice was un steady. [To Re Continued.! OBEYING ORDERS. How Horace Greeley Iseil to Amuse Himself at the Expense ol' Ilia Uooil Wife. Fun at the expense of his wife, pro vided he were the originator of it, gave Horace Greeley much innocent pleasure—wherein he was not unlike many another man of less distin guished character. Illustrative is this incident, iound in Lippincott's: Mr. Greeley enjoyed a holiday in the country with the enthusiasm of a boy. All his cares and troubles worn left behind him, locked up in his desk in the Tribune office. Mrs. Greeley was different from her noted husband in this respect. She brought her cares along with her, and among them that of keeping Mr. Greeley within bounds. One day she kept at him till he said: "All right, mother; whatever you tell me to do the rest of the day I'll do." An hour or two later they were getting into a rowboait for a trip to lona island, a rural paradise sur rounded by the waters of the Hudson. Mrs. Greeley stepped in first, sat down, and placed her parasol with the handle resting on the seat and the other end on the bottom of the boat; then glancing up at Mr. Greeley, who was waiting to get into the boat, she called out: "Now, Horace, be sure to step on my parasol and break it getting into the boat." "All right, just as you say," re sponded Horace, cheerfully, and down came his foot on the parasol, and completely wrecked it. Mrs. Greeley looked daggers at him all the way to the island. Horace himself was in the best of moods, often chuckling softly to himself, as if he had just thought of a good joke. He made matters right when they got back to the Peekskill side by buy ing Mrs. Greeley a new parasol, and handing it to her with the bantering remark: "There, mother, is a brand-new sunshade for you, much finer than the old one; and now don't you ever tell me to step on it ttnless you ex pect me to do it. I always obey the orders of my superior officer." Hotter Than n Deed. When the Virginian who lived in the wretched log cabin with a fam ily of seven had told me that 40 acres of his land was a solid coal bed, I asked him if his deed was all right. "Never had no deed, sab," he rather proudly replied. "But have you no papers at all?" "No paper 't all, sail. I jest squat ted down 011 this ye re land 30 years ago, and hev bin yere ever since." "But if you nave no papers won't tilie owner come along soma day and bounce you?" "Not skassly, »ah—not skassly. That is to say, sah, that the real own er has come along three different times and tried it, and every time he got killed and had to give it up. Deeds and sieli things are all right 'nulT in their way, but my old gun, with a bar'l seven feet long, is a heap better right around jw."— Washington Post. HUNDREDS OF FARMS Owned by William Scully, Greatest of American Landlords. 111» l.nrgent lloldiiiitn Are in Central 1 lii IIOIN and in llute» Count Y, Mn. -How He Mal.eN llin* Land Pay W ell. William Scully owns a greater num ber of farms than any man in the United States. Their aggregate area is 200,000 acres. They are worth $lO,- 000,000. They are located in central Illinois, western .Missouri and Kan sas. They represent the accumula tion of 50 years of the life of their owner. He is the richest farmer in the rich est agricultural section in the world. His wealth the New York World es timates at $25,000,000. William Scully came to this coun try shortly after the Mexican war for the purpose of investing his money. He chose to put it into farming lauds. At that time he was William Scully, gentleman, of Ballecohey, Ireland. Now he is William Scully, American citizen, owner o" the John A. Logan residence in Washington, and multi millionaire. Ever since lie came to America he has been either Lord or Viscount Scully, although he never gave any body reason to believe that he held a title. He is not a lord. Neither is he a viscount. In 1897 the Illinois legislature modified the alien land-owner law. This law necessitated Mr. Scully's re moval to the United States and his naturalization prior to 1903. When the Scully agents went to Bates county. Mo., six years ago to purchase farm land there, people be came alarmed lest Scully import an undesirable tenantry. This critcism of Mr. Scully has covereu a period of more than 40 years. Not one word of WILLIAM SCULLY. (Irish Landlord Who Owns Scores oi Farms li: the West.) defense ever came from him. Criti cism seemed never to touch the rich Irishman. His policy was silence. Meanwhile the Scully acres contin ued to yield great crops. Nobody ever heard of a sale of Scully land except a farm purchased in Sanga mon county, 111., by former (iov. Richard J. Oglesby. Nobody ever heard of a mortgage on a Scully farm. At Butler, in Bates county, Mo., there are 125 Scully tenants, and they lease their lands for cash, paying from $1.25 to $2 an acre, and make their own improvements. The Scully agents are particular about leases. The farmer who applies for one of them must be a practical farmer. His stock must look well fed. His machinery must show good care. He must have a good reputa tion, be temperate and industrious and pay his debts. He must not quar rel with his neighbors. Three years ago Mr. Scully in creased his holdings in Bates county, Mo., to 43,000 acres, all purchased in cash at from $27 to $35 an acre. None of this land is encumbered. William Scully has visited Bates county sev eral times. He has inspected his farms and carried away samples of their soil in little paper sacks, lead ing his tenants there to believe he must have at his home samples of every piece of the land he owns. A year ago the people of Bates county voted on a proposition to build a new courthouse at Butler. Mr. Scully's agent wrote to him and in quired to know what he would ad vise his tenants to do. Mr. Scully an swered that they ought to vote for it The proposition carried. This richest of American farmers is a modest man of simple tastes. He dresses simply in dark clothes, with an old-fashioned black bow tie. He does not drink or use tobacco. He is a member of the Episcopal church. He is slightly bald. Mr. Scully spent several summers in Lincoln, 111., on one occasion bring ing his family. One of his sons mar ried a Lincoln girl. The family lived very simply and became popular. Mr. Scully devoted his whole time to his lands and his books. He was never known to come to Lincoln or to de part from there without having with him an armful of books, principally devoted to agriculture. Mr. Scully permits no detail of his business to escape him. He even sees that n new generation of scientific farmers will be on hand to take his place and the places of the men who work with him. He puts young men at work on the farms and then sends them to college at his own expense. Troi'M in <l»o I'liill!>i»iiH k n. Tn the Philippine islands there are about 400 species of trees. Of these only about 50 possess any commer cial value. VIRGINIA CHAIN GANG. Oliwolete System of PuniNhlncT I'clly Offender* Mill Olilnlnn in Pro- K'reMNive \m piirt Actva, I'p t(i date in almost all thing's, Now port News,VVa t cling-s to tlie obsolete idea of the chain gang. Jt is no un common .sight to turn a street corner ami ciime upon hall' a do/en negroes of all aua| hobbling about with ten pound attached to their ankles, their hands busy with brooms or shovels. There is about a yard of chain at* taehed to the ball at one end, and riv eted to a cuff going around the pris oner's ankle at the other end. Some PRISONERS IN CHAINS. (How Negro Jail liirds Are Employed at Newport News, Va.) of the negroes cleverly "pocket" the ball in the angle formed by the handle of the dust cart and the circular rim that holds the can, and move along, blithely singing some ragtime air. The chain gang is made up of men found guilty of petty offenses and sen tenced to a few days' labor by the mu nicipal magistrates. Usually the of fense is drunkenness or disorderly conduct. The men do not seem to mind this form of punishment, though the ctitzens are divided into two camps —those who approve of this cheap method of getting the asphalt swept and the gutters cleaned daily, and those who do not approve of the spec tacle afforded by tethered prisoners at large, and who maintain that the pun ishment is no deterrent. The negro populat ion livingin Blood town and the suburbs of Newport News is large, saloons are not scare, rum is plentiful and disorderly scenes are consequently frequent. The local .jail is rather small. If the prisoners were all kept there it would be congested, so the chi'.in gang idea obtains in this otherwise beginning of the new century city, whose rapid advance has been one of the features of the census of 1900. THE EARL OF CADOGAN. Appointed to ltetnlit HIM Post IIN I.ord Lieutenant of Ireland for Ail other l'nrliniiientnry Term. Karl Cadognn, lord lieutenant of Ire land. whom the new Salisbury minis try has decided to retain in his present position, was appointed to the place when the conservatives went into pow er in 1895. The earl is 01 years old, and has been prominent in British pol itics since he succeeded to the title on the death of his father in 1873. lie has been parliamentary under secre tary for state and for the col onies, and in 1878 he was mada THE EABL OF CADOGAN. (Reappointed Lord Lieutenant of Ireland for Another Term.) chief secretary for Ireland. When the conservatives secured the gov ernment in 1880 the earl was ap pointed lord privy seal, without a seat in the cabinet. In the year of his ascension to the earldom he married Beatrix, the daughter of the second earl of Craven. As wife of the lord lieutenant her entertainments in Dub lin have been notable, and her social sway the most brilliant of any vicereine of Ireland. Lord t'adogan's salary is SIOO,OOO per year. Municipal Telephone System. The municipal telephones estab lished at Tunhridge Wells, Eii&i&iid — the first in the country—have been warmly supported. The municipal telephones are cheaper by about ten dollars a year, and absolute secrecy is assured. The National Telephone company is now introducing the par ty system, under which subscribers are charged two pence a day, and is otherwise endeavoring to meet the opposition of the town council. XoifteleMN Milk Delivery, A dairyman in Indianapolis, Ind., supplies his patrons with what he calls "noiseless mifk." His wagons have rubber trees, his milkmen wear rubber-soled shoes, and he has sup plied each of his customers with a little rubber mat on which the vessels containing the milk are silently placed.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers