6 THE KNITTERS. AH hat! to the little brown fingers That pull the tlrst blossoms of life. And hail to the strong hand that lingers To calm the hot pulses of strife! But where, with the last light caressing Their thin silver tresses, they sit. Our hearts cull down Ivor and blessing Upon the old ladles that knit. Their hands have long since dropped the burden That age made too heavy to bear. And peace and repose are the guerdon That follows long labor and care. Ambition has burned down to embers; Hopes outgrow the old nest and flit. Alone with the love that remembers They sit by the fireside and knit. Where now Is thp full mending-basket. Not empty one day in the year? Speak gently and low as you ask it, Lest the dulled ear bent near you should hear. For the children have grown and departed, The work of the daylight Is gone; In the twilight of life, tender-hearted. The knitters are waiting for dawn. Full soon shall the light break above them, That shines from the City of Kest. Full soon shall we gather who love them. To fold their frail hands on the breast. Oh. evening of life, slow descending, Rest gently upon each white head, Till these fingers, the last stitches ending, Shall touch the lirst harp-strings In stead. —Curtis May, In Youth's Companion. BORN TO SERVE By Charles M. Sheldon, Author of"IN HIS STEPS,'' ''JOHN KING'S QUESTION CLASS," "EDWARD BLAKE,' ! Etc. (Copyright, IWUO, by Churieu M. akuidou.) CHAPTER IV.—CONTINUED. While her room was in process of reconstruction, Barbara had been go ing home to stay with her mother. Mrs. Clark was only partly reconciled to Barbara's choice ot a career; and when, tuis particular night, after the news of Mr. Morton's coming, Bar bara arrived quite early (having ex cused herself soon 0:1 the plea of be ing very tired), M-s. Clark noted the signs of trouble in Barbara's face, and instantly questioned her about it. "Your work is too hard, too eon fining, my dear. It is not at all the work for such a girl as you are, Bar bara. It will kill you." "No, mother, I don't think it will," Barbara replied, bravely. "But I don't see what good it is do ing to anyone. You are just slaving yourself to death like any ordinary servant. Your talents as a teacher are wasted. Vour social position is gone. You have buried yourself in a kitchen. Of what use is it? You might be in the wo -id like other peo ple, with some opportunities to rise and make the most of yourself, whereas now you are shut out from all the ordinary social ambitions and accomplishments of other girls—" "Mother, don't, please," cried Bar bara, and then to her mother's sur prise she suddenly broke down and began to cry softly. "There! I told you so! You are all worn out!" said her mother, com ing to her and putting a loving arm about her. "No, mother, I am not very tired m body. I'm just a little bit discour aged to-night," Barbara declared; and after a few minutes' crying, with her head in her mother's lap, she be pan to talk cheerfully of her plans. She was going to see Mrs. Vane again. She thought she could in a little time get Hilda interested and add one or two more to the inner circle. They were very kind to her at the Ward's. It was very much like home there. They were making a new room for her, and enlarging her kitchen. Bar bara spoke of this last with a playful reference to a laughing remark Mrs. Ward had made while talking of the enlargement of the kitchen: "You can set apart this new corner for com pany, unless you will use the parlor when your beaux come to call." "I don't think I shall ever need it, moth er; you are all the beau I want," added Barbara, gayly. Her mother shook her head. "What company can you ever have, Barbara? You have forfeited all expectation of it l)3 r putting yourself into your pres ent position. You are so situated that neither your inferiors nor your equals can meet with you socially. There is an impassable gulf between you and the young people of your own degree of education and refinement." "Not necessarily, mother," Barbara stoutly protested. Perhaps a lit tie unconsciously she was trying to give herself some hope. "Anyone Tor whom 1 might care as a friend in the «ocial world would not be influenced iby my position." "They couldn't help it, much as they wiight not wish to. Mrs. Ward is pow erless, Mrs. Vane with all her wealth and influence is powerless to give you any real standing in society. Try it and see." "I will," replied Barbara, as a plan occurred to her. "But, mother, why should I be shut out of any society I might choose to enter, simply because 1 am doing good, honest, useful labor with my hands?" "I do not think you ought to be shut out, of course. We have gone over the ground a hundred times. But your position does shut you out. It is not a question of ought, but it does." "Anyone I might care for would not regard my position," said Barbara, stoutly. "Nevertheless, Barbara, you know as well as anyone that because you are a hired girl in Mrs. Ward's house you do not have the place in society that you would have if you taught school in Crawford. Why, even in the ohurch it is clearly a fact that you cannot get the recognition that you would get if you were doing something else. Don't you yourself see that plainly enough?" Barbara was silent. She was going over in memory the last few Sundays at Marble Square church. Since that first Sunday when she had gone with Mrs. Ward she had been every week except one. She would have been n very stupid girl if she had not noticed the difference between her reception by different ladies in the church and that given other young- women. A few women to whom Mrs. Ward had warmly introduced her had treated her in every respect like anyone else, with neither a patronizing nur a hypo critical manner. She had been invited into a Bible class by the superintendent of the Sunday-school, and had been wel comed without any notice taken of her position; but, as the weeks went by, she was simply ignored by the major ity of people to whom Mrs. Ward had introduced lier. One invitation from a warm-hearted member of the class she had accepted, to take tea at her house; but her reception by other young ladies who met her there was not such as to encourage her togo again. As far as the church was concerned, she found herself simply passed by. There was no uncivil or coarse con tempt of her. There was simply an ignoring of her as a part of the Mar ble Square congregation. For various reasons she had not yet gone to the Endeavor society. It met on Sunday night before the preaching service, and so far she had reserved her Sun day nights as sacred to her mother, who did not feel able togo out. "I acknowledge what you say about the church, mother. But I may be partly to blame for it myself. I don't think the best people in Marble Square church think any the less of me for working as a servant." "Maybe not, and yet even the best people are almost unconsciously in fluenced by social habits and tradi tions. Why, even the minister is in fluenced by tliem. This new young man. Mr. —Mr. —what is his name?" "Morton," said Barbara, coloring; but her mother did not notice, as her eyes were very poor at night. "This Mr. Morton, according to Mrs. Vane, is nv- rkably good and sen sible and talented young man; but, if you were to join his church and be come a worker there, you could not expect him to ignure the fact that you were a servant girl. He could not even forget that fact when he was speaking to you." "I don't know why!" Barbara ex claimed almost sharply. "I only used him as an illustration of any educated Christian gentleman anywhere," said Mrs. Clark, looking some .hat surprised at Barbara's ex clamation. "A Christian gentleman," replied Barbara in a low tone, "would not make any distinction between a serv ant girl and a school-teacher." Mrs. Clark sighed. "It is useless for me to argue with you, Barbara. You will probably learn all the bitter ness of your position by painful facts. All the theories of social equality are beautiful, but very few of them amount to anything in the real world of society." "I don't care for society!" exclaimed Barbara. "That is, for society repre sented by wealth and fashion. But I don't believe any real Christian will ever make any cruel or false distinc tion between different kinds of labor." "It isn't that altogether," Mrs. Clark wearily said, as if too tired to continue. "It's a difference in social instincts and social feelings that sep arates people. You will find it out "YOU ARE ALL WORN OUT," SAID HER MOTHER. from experience in time, T am afraid." When Barbara went back to her work the next morning, it was with a resolution to do something' that perhaps the talk with her mother had suggested. In the afternoon she asked Mrs. Ward for leave to gc» and see Mrs. Van's, and it was readily granted. When she knocked at the door and Mrs. Vane heartily bade her ent<-r, she was more excited than she had been in a long time. "I want you to help me make n test, Mrs. Vane," Barbara said, as the old lady sat erect, confronting her and looking straight at her with those terrible eyes. Barbara, how ever, did not fear them. She under stood the character of Mrs. Vane thoroughly. "Tell me all about it, dear," said Mrs. Vane. Barbara went on, calming her excitement, but not her interest. When she was through Mrs. Vane said: "I am perfectly willing, my dear. But I think 1 know how it will come out, beforehand." "But 1 want to prove it for my self." "Very well," Mrs. Vane replied, with the nearest approach to a sigh i that Barbara had ever heard her CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, OCTOBER 3, 1901. utter, and Barbara finally departed ; to her work. If she had realized | what results would follow the test 1 Mrs. Vane was going to make for her, ; she could not have walked back so calmly. CHAPTER V. A TRUE SERVANT OF THE LORD. The "test," that Barbara had pro posed to Mrs. Vane was not any thing very remarkable, either as a test or as an experiment. Mrs. Vane was to invite several people to her house some evening and invite Bar bara with the rest, presenting licr to her guests and treating her in every way like all the otjiers. The curios ity that Barbara felt was in reality something in the nature of a protest against a remark made by her moth er that society would not accept, un der any conditions, a servant into its circle, and that not even Mrs. Vane with all her wealth and eccentricity and social standing could really do anything to remove the barrier that other people would at once throw up against her. No sooner had Barbara perceived that Mrs. Vane was perfectly willing to do what she asked, and indeed looked forward to it with a kind of peculiar zest, than she began to re gret having asked her. Nothing would be gained by it one way or the oth er, she said to herself hesitatingly as she pondered over it. What if she should be welcomed for herself? That would prove nothing and help noth ing. She would goto Mrs. Vane next day, and ask her to forgive a foolish impulse that had no good reason for existing; and that would be the end of it. But before she had found an after noon togo and see Mrs. Vane that energetic lady had invited her com pany, and it was too late. Barbara said to herself that she would re fuse her own invitation and not go, but Mrs. Vane next day wrote a char acteristic note urging Barbara not to disapoint her. "You must r.ot hesitate to romc for fear of putting; me in any awkward posi tion. my dear. I am Independent of any verdict of selfish society, and the few fri'r.ds who do know and love me will treat you as if you were a member of my own family, and you may be surprised at some things yourself. For I have found after a much longer life than yours that there ts still a gjod deal of human kind ness yet, even among people of wealth and so-called fashion. On the whole, how - ever, you will be doomed to meet with what yuu undoubtedly t xpect. Wealth and family connections and. above all, position are counted greatest in the kingdom of men. The time will come when the first shall be last and the last first; and, when that time comes, servant girls will be as good as duke's daughters and eat at the same banquets. You are not willing to wait until then; so come to my feast and prepare to be overlooked. Cut don't stay away for fear of hurting me. The only way you can hurt me is to misunderstand me. I don't mind that from my enemies. They don't know any better. But my friends ought to. Your friend, "AIRS. VANE." This letter put Barbara more or less at her ease; and, when the night of the gathering came, she went to it quite self-possessed and prepared i for anything. The reality of it she was not prepared for in the least, j and among all her experiences she counted this the most remarkable. It was to be rather a large gatlier | ing; and when Barbara arrived the front rooms were quite well filled. Mrs. Vane introduced her to three or four ladies standing in the front hall. J One of them was a young woman I about Barbara's age, elegantly dressed and very distinguished lo#k i ing, even to Barbara. Her name was Miss Dillingham. "My mother was a Dillingham," said Barbara, simply, as an opening remark for conversation. "Indeed. Your name is—" "Miss Clark," said Barbara. "0, yes, Miss GJark. What branch of the Dillinghams, may I ask? The Vermont Di 11 ingliams ?" "Yes. Mother's father was from Washington county." "How interesting!" The young woman smiled in a very interesting manner at Barbara. "Then we must be related somewhere. Our family is from Ihe same county. Is your fa ther living here in Crawford?" "Father died last year," said Bar bara, returning the young woman's look of interest. "It's rather strange I have not met you before," said Miss Dillingham. "You have been shut in on account of your father's death." She looked at Barbara's simple black silk dress, which was Barbara's one party dress, very plain, but in perfect taste in every way. "But 1 thought I knew all the Dillinghams of the Vermont I branch. Mother will want to meet you." "Is she here to-night?" asked Bar bara. "Yes. She's in the other room some where. Ah! There's the new minis ter of Marble Stfuare church, Mr. Morton!" Miss Dillingham exclaimed. "I didn't know that, he had come yet. I think he is perfectly splendid. Have you ever heard him preach?" "Yes, I heard him once," replied Barbara; and the next moment Mr. Morton had caught sight of them, and came out into the hall and greet ed them. "Good evening, Miss Clark. I'm very glad to meet you again. And you, Miss Dillingham," he said in his sim ple but hearty manner. "You are good at remembering names," said Barbara, because she could not think of anything brilliant to say. "I've understood that one of the difficulties for ministers is the task of remembering so many j Peo ple." "Yes, I've heard Uncle James say," j spoke up Miss Dniingham, brightly— j "Uncle James is rector of St. Mark's ■ in Crawford," she nodded by way of i explanation to Barbara —"I've beard him say that he could remember names that began with certain let ters, but that he was completely for getful of others. It must be very nice to have a distinguished memory for people's names. It is such a pleasing flattery to the people who are ad dressed. Every one like* to be re mem be red. He takes it as a special compliment." "I don't know that I can claim any special faculty in that direotion," the young 1 minister replied, smiling. "Your names come near the begin ning of the alphabet, C and D. Per haps that helps me. The farther on® gets into the alphabet, the more in tricate and difficult the matter be comes." "It's a very disappointing explana tion, Mr. Morton," said Miss Dilling ham, laughing. "We hoped, at least I diil, that it was something personal about ourselves that made you re member us." "What, for example?" said Morton, gravely. "For example, our —our looks, or—" Miss Dillingham turned to Barbara. "What should you say, Miss Clark?" "Or our occupations," suggested Barbara, coloring a little. "But we've no occupations," said Miss Dillingham, carelessly. "At least, I haven't any since finishing at Yassar. Mother wants me to study photography. What would you say, Mr. Morton?" "I?" The young man seemed un prepared for an answer. "0, 1 should say .you would take a very good pic ture." "Now, that's certainly a compli ment, isn't it. Miss Clark?" she ex claimed, laughing again. "And yet they told me you couldn't talk small talk, Mr. Morton." "I was trying to retrieve my blun der about the memory of the names," said Mr. Morton, laughing with them. "Hut, if you really want my opinion about the photography, I think it would be a good tiling for you to learn it.l believe everyone ought to have an occupation of some kind." "Even society young women?" "Yes, even they," Morton answered with his characteristic gravity, which, however, was not at .111 gloomy or morose. Young women like Miss Dil lingham liked it, and spoke of it. as fascinating. The reason it was fas cinating was that it revealed a genu ine seriousness in life. Not morbid, but interesting. "What would you have us do, then? What can society girls like Miss Clark and myself do?" Miss Dillingham asked the question seriously, or thought she did. "Beally, 1 am not competent to de termine your duty in the matter," the young man answered, looking earnestly at Barbara, although Miss Dillingham had asked the question. "Perhaps Miss Clark can answer bet ter than I can." [To Be Continued.] Southern Prognostication. The tamale man lias again become the subject for a good joke that is go ing the rounds. Among the crowds that came to Memphis to see the pres ident was a long, gawky specimen from the wilds of Kansas. That night he stopped to talk a few minutes with a chance acquaintance in the lobby of the Arlington and made the remark that there were some queer customs in vogue in Memphis. "How so?" asked the man he was talking to. "Why, gosh ding it," said he, "you folks have still got the town crier." "Crier your grandmother!" ex claimed the other. "You've been drinking Ileal street whisky, man." "Not much. I know he was the town crier, for I heard him a-calling the state of the weather, or rather the forecast fer to-morrow. It nearly gave me a conniption fit, for I thought the weather here was of the Christian sort. What did he say? Why, as I passed a fellow down on Main street, a chap in uniform with a big copper lantern, he sung out: " 'Hot to-morrow! Hot to-morrow! Hot west wind.' " Poor, abused tamale man!— Me mphis Scimitar. Sonivtliiniv In Reserve. A young lady had a train to catch, and chartered 'a cab, which unfortun ately was drawn by a very wretched horse. Having told cabby that- she had to reach the station in 20 minutes, away the vehicle dashed at five miles an hour. They had barely got 50 yards, how ever, before the lady put her head out of the window and requested the driver to whip the horse, as she would otherwise miss the train. He accord ingly did so. A little further on she asked him to administer the whip once more, as the cab was only just moving. Cabby again complied. Soon after she said: "Can't y.lll hit him 011 the head so as to wake him up a bit?" Looking at the young lady, the cabby exclaimed: "Well, miss, I've 'it the hanimal all over 'is bloomin' body except 'is left ear, and I'm savin' that for the last 'ill." —Londll n All swers. A ItcnMOiinhie Precaution. One of the stories which Levi Hut chins, the old-i.me clock-maker of Concord, New Hampshire, delight ed to tell related to the youth of Daniel Webster. One morning, said the old man, while I was taking breakfast at the tavi rn kept by Daniel's father, Daniel and his brother Ezekiel, who were little boys with dirty faces and snar ly hair, came to the table and asked me for bread and butter. I complied with their request, little thinking that they would become very distinguished men. Daniel dropped his piece of bread on the sandy floor and the buttered side, of course, was down. He looked at it a moment : then picked it up and showed it to j me, saying: I "What a pity! Please give me a j piece of bread buttered on both sides; j then if 1 let it fall one of the but j tered sides will be up."—Youth's Com ' puniou. JUDGE ELL TORRANCE, Mlnnenpollu Jurlnt Who Hun lleen Elected loiiiiiiniKlcr In Chief of tlie Grmi<] Army. Ell Torrance came of patriotic stock, his ancestors having served in the colonial and revolutionary wars, and in every subsequent war, including that of the preservation of the union. Although under military age, he was on June 20, 1861, enrolled as a pri vate in company A, Ninth Pennsyl vania reserves, and for almost three years carried a musket, participating in all the battles in which his regi ment was engaged, except when dis abled by wounds. His regiment was GEN. ELL TORRANCE. (New Commander in Chief of the Grand Array of the Republic.) among those that suffered severe losses in battle. On the lltli of May, 18G4, he was discharged with his regiment at Pittsburg, .Pa., by reason of expira tion of term of service, and on July 9 following reenlisted the service as second lieutenant of campany K, One Hundred anu Ninety-third Pennsyl vania volunteer infantry, and oil Oc tober 15, IS(H, was transferred to the Ninety-seventh regiment, Pennsyl vania volunteer infantry, and as signed to duty at Baltimore, where lie had the honor of guarding the body of the martyred president when it lay instate in Baltimore. On June 17, 1805, having barely reached his majority, he was finally dis charged from the service by reason of the close of the war. During the years since he joined the G. A. 11. he lias held the follow ing important positions: Judge ad vocate, department of Minnesota, 1S89; commander of John A. Rawlins post, 1890; judge advocate, depart ment of Minnesota, 1594; commander, department of Minnesota, 1595; judge advocate general to Commander in Chief Gobin, 1897-'9B; judge advocate general to James A. Sexton and W. C. Johnson, IS9B-*99; judge advocate general to Commander in Chief Al bert D. Shaw, 1899-1900. He also served as a member of the national council of administration and on im portant committees of the national encampment. FOURTH LEO'S TOWER. Quaint Old Structure In Which tlie l>ofie Spent the Greater I'art of L.a«t Summer. When summer began this year Pope Leo. according to custom, left his apartments ill the Vatican and went to the quaint old building which is known as "Leo the Fourth's Tower," and which has long been a favorite summer residence of the successors of St. Peter. The tower was constructed in the fifteenth century, and is situated on the northern side of the Vatican hill. k'' ' ■ i .if-- i ■ LEO THE FOURTH'S TOWER. (Favorite Summer Resort of His Holiness, the Fope.J Grim and unattractive is its massive exterior, but once inside the portals, the pope finds himself in a most de lightful home. The rooms are large, and are furnished comfortably though plainly, and from many of the -win dows there is an extensive view, which cannot fail to please a true poet like Pope Leo. Furthermore, the air here is cool and bracing, and the pope's phy sician is confident that it will aid greatly toward maintaining him in his normal good health. A lleply ivith it Stlnj*. A good anecdote is told by the bishop of Minnesota of the sarcastic powers of the Indians. "I was holding." says Bishop Whipple, "a service near an In dian village camp. My things were scattered about in a lodge, and when I was going out I asked the chief if it was safe to leave them there while I went to the village to hold a service. •Yes,' he said,''perfectly safe. There is not a white man within a hundred miles!' " I* o i son In Hornet'* StlnK, The pain produced by a hornet's sting is caused by a poison injected in to the wound, and is so instantaneous in its effect as to cause the attack of this insect to resemble a violent blow In the face. PERSONAL AND IMPERSONAL.. Lugi Carreno, a well-known Itomcn jiurna list. recent ly got < mploy ment as a AM- Moeiiited. Tsn't it strange to think of a word "wandering?" We like to hear a traveler tell his adventures, of the countries he has seen, the people he lias known, says ihe Springfield (Mass.) Republican. Do you know that some words are experienced travelers and could tell a wonderful tale of new lands and changed cus toms? Just take, for instance, the word "bureau." Should you think it had any connection with the word "fire?" In old Greek days there was n word "pur," or "fire." Then the Latins needed it for "fiery red," and they made it "burrus." Presently it wandered to France and became "buire," meaning "reddish brown." For a long time it lived there until it grew to be in modern French "bure," a rough woolen cloth. The Frenchmen used the cloth to cover their writing tables, so these were called "bureaus." Next the gov ernment officials borrowed the word, for their valuable papers were kept in the writing tables, so "bureau" came to mean a place of information or department of state. You know we use our bureaus for keeping our clothes. What do you think of that for a series of adventures? The word "bank" has an interesting like. Once it was "banco." a bench. You wonder where is the connection? Well, in Italy the Lombard Jews used benches in the market place for the exchange of money. As times grew prosperous they had to move to larger quarters. In Venice, 1 .">SO, was the first public bank started. Then you can think of other words from bench. The river bank, the bank of keys of the organ or a bank of clouds. Watermelon* Arc Fruit. Some men have never been willing to class the luscious "watermillion" as a vegetable and on Ibis point the T'nited States govt rum :t h s been forced to come to the darky's point of view. The decision has be en made by the general board of appraisers on a case arising at Nogales upon the right to import melons sis veg etables. The board decided vhat "the melon is known technically, popular ly and commercially as a fruit and therefore dutiable." The same view is taken technically by t e depart ment of agriculture and we may now rest assured that the staTus of the watermelon, muskmelon, canteloupe and their whole kindred has been raised a few points officially and per manently. Indio may now claim to be one of the most promising frr.it sections of the state without a tree in sight.—Chicago Chronicle. AVlicn lleo-l.lll<>n Cannot He >lmte. He e s lose industry in the time of ci der making, if that process lasts long er than a day. They hum and buzz around the mills or trough, swarm Over the pomace, and end by getting gloriously drunk as the cider get s hard. They will .duster thick along the edge of an open bucket, sucking, mucking, until sometimes, when they t<\v to fly away, they either tumble helplessly to the ground or describe zig-zag somer saultis extremely diverting. Thej will also feed supinely upon shallow pans of sugar and water set conveniently near, though richly clustered fields and woods may invite.—McClure's Maya slue.