6
&.OVE IS NO? BLIND.
WMV* I* not blind, but *ees through all dls-
Cttlae,
And that Is why we hear from day today
odd engagements causing much sur
prise,
And weddings passing strange in •very
vray.
••"What fan she see In him!" the critics say;
&av« ia not blind, but sees through all dis
guise;
those who cannot use his Roentgen
ray
At whom I>ove laughs and leaves them
to surmise.
"t flr.d ia y»Ti what all true lovers prize;
Tou find In me all I was meant to be;
X»<re Is n«'. blind, but sees through all dii
guite,
And Unds the charm—compatibility.
Ac 4 so when comes the day that we are
wed.
We'll smile at those who think them
selves more wise.
And live to prove the truth of what we've
said —
tove is not blind, but sees through all dis
guise.
—A. P. Hex, In Good Housekeeping.
I BORN TO SERVE
By Charles M. Sheldon,
Aactkor of " IN HIS STEPSJOHN KING' S
QUESTION CLASS," "EDWARD
BLAKE," Etc.
ICvyyrizlu, IVuo, by Charlen M. blioldou.)
CHAPTER VI.—CONTINUED.
"Mr. Ward has not been able to
get a. nurse yet, and—and —we have
zsot. begun to—look around for—a girl
—Carl's sudden illness—"
Til come back and help if you
me to," said Barbara, quietly.
Ail this time she had been holding
Carl's hand, lie clung to her with
feverish strength.
"And we'll have good times in the
fcifchen. And will yon make me an
other gingerbread man like Mr. Mor
ton, same's the one we made before?
Vou know, Barbara?"
"Yes, yes, little man, I will do any
thing for yon. We'll have good times
together again."
"And you'll stay always, won't you,
Barbara, always?"
"I'm going to stay, dear. Don't talk
a.r>y n>® e now," Barbara said gently.
And Carl seemed satisfied, dropping
Into a condition of stupor which the
doctor who called an hour later re
garded with grave attention.
While the doctor was attending to
•Carl and Mrs. Ward was anxiously
standing by him, Barbara slipped
down In to the dining-room, and found
Bia.tters In confusion as she had ex
pected. The breakfast dishes were
-still on the table, the kitchen fire
bad gone out, and all the rooms
downstairs were in disorder. She
quickly set to work to restore order;
and, when the doctor had gone and
Mrs. Ward had come down, Barbara
haul cleaned up the dishes and the
dining-room, and had begun to set
the kitchen to rights.
Mrs. Ward stepped out into the
kitchen; and, as Barbara was mov
ing into the dining-room for some
thing, she suddenly threw her arms
about her, and cried: "You don't
know what it means to me to have
jrou back again. We have had three
miserable days. Carl is a very sick
child. lam all worn out!" She then
•at down and cried nervously.
Barbara felt embarrassed at first
In the role of comforter. But she was
quick to see how dependent Mrs.
"Ward had become. It was, after all,
as woman to woman that they were
related now in their common anxiety
for Carl. And Barbara tried to cheer
the mother by every word of eneour
agement she could think of while she
■busied herself with the necessary de
rails of the kitchen work.
In the afternoon she went over to
'her mother's and told her what her
decision was. Mrs. Clark sadly con
sented, and did not make so strong
«a objection as Barbara had feared,
fioi the little trunk was carried again
to the old room, and Barbara real
ized that, her career had received a
tirvr beginning in some sense, she
hardly knew how. One thing she felt
♦cry strongly, however. And that was
that under the stress of need at the
Wards' she was doing exactly the
cigbt thing ingoing back to her life
of service there. Whatever the days
might have for her of opportunity
In the future for large service in the
greater problem, it was to her mind
very clear that her immediate duty
lay within (he circle of this one fam
ily that needed lier.
She realized this more and more
•cfrongly as the next few days
brought to her and the family a new
and sad experience. As Carl's con
dition grew worse, she spent more
•ad more of her time with him. Mrs.
Ward secured a good nurse, but Carl
cried in his delirium for Barbara, and
ehe sat with him many hours of every
day. She was with him when the
end came which they had all come to
know was inevitable. It will always
be one of the comforting thoughts of
Barbara's life that she won and held
the love of this child. All that came
to her long after. But, as this little
life slowly breathed itself out in
the early gray of that morning, with
the weeping father and mother and
the two boys as they gathered
around the bed, she felt a tender
sympathy for them all as if she, too,
had been one of the members of the
Cain/ily. Carl had insisted to the very
lajst on clinging to his mother and to
•Barbara. Each woman held a hand
•>* the child's soul went out of the
frail body to God who gave it.
Mi. Morton, who had been a fre
quent visitor at the house during the
trouble that had come upon it, was
sitting by Mr. Ward that morning.
When the end finally came, he
(kneeled down by Mr. Ward's side,
.and Barbara was conscious that the
minister's strong, right hand was laid
in compassion on the bereaved fa
ther's band as he prayed for conso
lation.
"O our Father," he cried, and his
voice brought a relief even in that
moment of sharp sorrow to the fam
ily, "mercifully reveal to us the hap
piness of the soul Thou hast just
caught upintoThy bosom. We know he
is safe in Thy arms. Comfort us with
the comfort which earth does not.
have to give; take us also into the
embrace of u love which gave an only
begotten Son for a dying and mourn
ing world. The God of comfort bless
this household. In the name of Christ,
Amen."
Two days later, after the funeral
service, at which Mr. Morton was
present as pastor and friend, Mrs.
Ward broke down completely and
went to bed, leaving the care of the
house and the family upon Barbara.
The girl bore up under the respon
sibility bravely. She was conscious
of the fact that she was necessary to
the comfort of a home. The bonds
of her service rested lightly on her,
because she knew she was of use in
the kingdom of God.
The relation between Mrs. Ward and
Barbara during those days of grief
became very close and affectionate.
Through all the older woman's nerv
ous and even irritable illness Barbara
nursed and attended her with ad
mirable patience, giving her the best
possible care and trying to relieve
her of every possible anxiety as to
the affairs of the house itself.
"You have been like a daughter to
me, Barbara," Mrs. Ward said to her
one day three weeks after Carl's
death. "I do not know what would
have become of us if you had not
come back." Barbara was arranging
her pillow; and, as she stooped down
over her, Mrs. Ward put an arm
about Barbara's neck, drew her down,
and kissed her. When Barbara raised
her head, the tears shone on her
face.
"Service lias been very sweet to me,
Mrs. Ward, since I returned. I have
liked to believe that I have been
needed."
"You have been a wonderful com
fort to us. You ari< like one of the
family since Carl's leaving us. We
shall never forget how he loved you."
"It will always be a very tender
memory to me," Barbara replied, and
the tears of the two women flowed to
gether, tears that brought comfort to
them and at the same time united
their sympahy for each other.
That evening, when Mr. Ward came
tip after his supper with Lewis (for
Alfred had gone back to college), Mrs.
Ward said, after expressing her
thanks that she was recovering
strength rapidly: "Kiehard, we owe
Barbara a great deal for all she has
done for us in our trouble. Isn't
there something we can do to show
it?"
"We certainly feel grateful to her,"
Mr. Ward said, with thoughtful eager
ness. "What do you think we can
do?"
"There's that money Aunt Wallace
left you in trust two years ago to edu
cate Carl when he should be ready to
enter college." Mrs. Ward's voice
faltered. "By the terms of the trust
the money can now be used for any
benevolent or philanthropic purpose.
I have heard Barbara mention a plan
that might succeed if it were wisely
carried out. She thinks that if a
building were put up in Crawford and
dedicated to the training of young
women for domestic service, prepar
ing thein for competent cooks and
housekeepers, that a great deal might
be done to elevate the labor of the
kitchen and bring intelligent Amer
ican girls into it. What do you think?"
"I think it is highly probable. At
any rate, anj-thing is preferable to the
condition of things we endured before
Barbara came. Anything is worth
trying that will by any possibility tend
to help matters."
"How much is Ailnt Wallace's leg
acy?"
"It amounts to about $1,500 now.
That would not go far toward such a
building as Barbara probably has in
mind."
"No, but it would be a beginning,
and I think I know where I could get
more togo with it." Mrs. Ward was
growing very interested, and Mr.
Ward was obliged to caution her
against excitement; so the matter
was dropped there.
But in a few days Mrs. Ward brought
up again in Barbara's presence.
"I think something could be done
with a properly equipped building,"
Barbara said in answer to a question
put by Mrs. Ward. They had discussed
the matter several times before Mrs.
Vane's invitation to Barbara to come
to her evening gathering. Mrs. Ward
had not yet hinted at any means for
realizing such a project.
"How much do you suppose such a
building would cost?" Mrs. Ward
asked, noting Barbara's growing in
terest.
"O, I've no real idea. Almost any
amount. It would cost a good deal to
maintain it, also. The greatest diffi
culty would be to secure a proper per
son for superintendent."
"And then the next thing would be
to get the girls to attend the house
keeping school."
"I think we could find plenty of
girls."
"I'm not so sanguine as you are, Bar
bara," Mrs. Ward answered, slowly.
"But Mr. Ward and 1 are willing to
show our faith in such an attempt by
given $2,000 towards the erection of
such a building."
She explained to Barbara Aunt Wal
lace's legacy, and added that Mr.
Ward hud offered to put SSOO more
with it to make it $2,000.
"I think Mrs. Vane and some of the
other ladies in our church and society
will give something, so that we can
begin with a pretty good building and
have enough to equip and run it. Sup
pose you go over and see Mrs. Vane
some day this week and have a talk
with her about it."
"I will," said Barbara, tingling with
eagerness. Something real and tan
gible seemed about to come to pass in
CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, OCTOBER 24, 1901.
her career. She grew excited as she
thought of possibilities. A building
of the kind she had dreamed of w-as
not by u»iy means an answer to the
servant girl problem, but it was at
least a real thing, and if the idea was
properly worked out it might result
in great things.
So she talked with herself as she
sung at her work that afternoon and
resolved togo over to Mrs. Vane's at
once, and yet even in the midst of her
growing excitement and her genuine
interest in her careef, Barbara was
not altogether free from a depression
that had its origin in the best felling
she had ever known. This fe'liiig
was her love for the young minister,
Mr. Morton. Barbara no longer tried
to conceal from herself that he had
become a real part of her life. The
trouble in the Ward household had all
tended indirectly to increase her ad
miration for him. With the tenderest
sympathy he had entered into the
family's grief. It was only natural
that in the weeks that followed Carl's
death Mr. Morton should call fre
quently at the house where he had
become such a familiar guest in col
lege days. Scarcely a day passed
when he did not drop in for a meal,
or to spend part of an evening.
In one way and another Barbara
met him a good deal. He was always
the same earnest, gentlemanly, kindly
speaker and listener. Gradually in
little moments of conversation when
Mrs. Ward was not able to comedown,
and Mr. Ward and Morton had lin
gered over a little talk on social ques
tions after tea, Barbara had i<tiken an
unconscious part in the discussion.
More than once she had with almost
guilty haste gone out of the sitting
room after one of those important
discussions in which she had revealed
a part of her ambitions to the young
minister and Mr. Ward; and in the
midst of her work, as she finished
some kitchen task, she reproached
her heart for yielding to what seemed
like a hopejess affection. But the
girl's life was opening into full blos
som under the spell of a power as old
as the human race, as divine an in
stinct, as religious a hunger, as hu
manity ever knew. She was more
than dimly conscious of all this, even
in the midst of her self-reproaches.
But the consciousness of her posi
tion as a household servant and of his
position as leader in the pulpit of the
most influential church in Crawford
was sharply painful. The gulf be
tween them was not very deep per
sonally. She was fully as well edu
cated along lines of general culture.
She was almost his equal in matters
of knowledge and perception. It was
the social distinction that separated
them. And, as the days went by and
she felt more and more the mental
stimulus of his presence and the at
tractiveness of his manner towards
her, she shrunk from the thought of
the suffering in the future which she
was making for herself in even allow
ing his life to become a part of hers.
All this was in her mind as she went
over to see Mrs. Vane that afternoon.
The new plan proposed by Mrs. Ward
and the gift of the money to make it
practical appealed to her ambition,
and she resolutely set herself to sat
isfy herself with the working out of
her ambitions for social service, say
ing to herself, not bitterly, but sadly:
"Barbara Clark, there is no place for
love in the life you have chosen. Am
bition is all you have any right to."
Ah, Barbara! Is that as far as you
have gone in the school of life? There
is nothing that can take love's place.
For there is nothing greater in the
kingdom of God. Ambition may keep
you busy. It can never fill the place
in your heart that God made to be
filled.
She found Mrs. Vane as nearly dis
turbed as she had ever seen her. Gen
erally the old lady was the personifi
cation of peace.
"What do you think?" was her
greeting to Barbara the moment she
entered the house. "Hilda has gone
and got married! To a worthless
young fellow after two months' ac
quaintance. The first I knew of it was
this morning. It seems he persuaded
her to marry him about a week ago.
To-day she says she must leave me to
go and live with him. I don't blame
her for that, but neither of them is
fit to be married. Hilda has no more
idea of what it means to make home
than—"
Just then the bell rang, and Mrs.
Vane went to the door. Barbara
heard her talking earnestly to some
one in the hall, and the next moment
she came in, followed by Mr. Morton.
"Mi.ss Clark, Mr. Morton," said the
old lady, who seemed to enjoy Bar
bara's sudden coloring. "Mr. Morton
thought he was interrupting some pri
vate conference if lie came in. I don't
know what you want, my dear; but I
know Mr. Morton is interested in your
plans, and he may be able to help in
some way."
"Yes," replied Mr. Morton with a
hesitation that Barbara had never no
ticed before in him, "I am truly in
terested in the problem Miss Clark is
trying to work out. I don't know that
I am competent to give advice in the
matter. There are some subjects that
even a preacher just out of the sem
inary does not dare to face. I think
the servant problem is one of them. 1
came in this afternoon, Mrs. Vane, to
see if you could help me in the new
social-settlement work we are plan
ning for Marble Square church."
"You want money out of me, young
man.l see it in your face." Mrs. Vane
gave him one of her sharpest looks.
"Goon, now! It's shameful for a
fine-looking young fallow like you to
come here and wheedle a poor old
woman like me out of her hard-earned
savings for your social experiments.
Is that what you've come after, too?"
she suddenly asked, wheeling around
toward Barbara.
"Yes," replied Barbara, laughing
with Mr. Morton at Mrs. Vane's pre
tended anger. "I have no social set
tlements to beg for, but I want you
to help me put up • building tor
training servants."
Mrs. Vane looked from Barbara to
Mr. Morton, and rubbed her nose vig
orously.
"I believe you arranged this on
filnught together. You conspired to
combine your good looks and your
blarney to rob me of necessities for
old age."
"Indeed we did not, Mrs. Vane," re
p Pied Morton, with a seriousness, that
Barbara thought unnecessary, know
ing Mrs. Vane's manner hs she did.
"I know nothing of Miss Clark's plan.
She came in first; and, if she gets all
your money for her work, I won't
complain."
"Get all you can, my dear," said
Mrs. Vane, grimly, turning to Bar
bara, who, with real enthusiasm, told
the story of Mrs. Ward's proposed
gift and the possibilities of such a
building if rightly managed.
Mrs. Vane listened quietly until
Barbara was through, and then said:
"I'll give $10,000."
"Ten—ten—thou—" Barbara began,
trembling.
"I might as well go; you've got it
all, Miss Clark," said Morton, rising
with mock gravity.
"Sit down, sir!" said Mrs. Vane,
while the sharp eyes twinkled at Bar
bara's confusion. "I said .SIO,OOO. I
don't think it's enough. I'll make it
more after the building is up. You
will need co4>ks and teachers and lots
of help in every way. The thing will
have to be endowed like a college. I
see great possibilities in it. But I
have never believed in scattering ef
fort. What is the reason this build
ing for the training of competent
servants cannot be a part of the so
cial settlement connected with the
Marble Square church? It is right in
line with the rest of the things you
propose, isn't it, Mr. Morton?"
[To Re Continued.]
LAST STROKE OF MISERY.
The Cilninx of MiNfortnne Heaped
1 |)»u a l'oor Heroine by
mi Antlior.
Lady Anne Barnard, whose life and
letters have just been edited by W. W.
Wilkins, was the author of the well
known Scotch ballad, "Auld Robin
Gray." Her story of the composition
of this ballad, as related to Sir Walter
Scott, is worth retelling.
There was an ancient Scotch melody,
she said, of which dad was passion
ately fond. , who lived before
your day, used to sing it to us at lial
carres. She did not object to its hav
ing improper words, although I did.
I longed to sing old Sophy's air to dif
ferent words and give to its plaintive
tones some little history of virtuous
distress in humble life, such as might
suit it. While attempting to effect this
in my closet, I called to my little sis
ter, who was the only person near me:
"I have been writing a ballad, my
dear. I am oppressing my heroine
with many misfortunes. I have al
ready sent her Jamie to sea, and
broken her father's arm, and made her
mother fall sick, and given her auld
Robin Gray for a lover; but I wish to
load her with a fifth sorrow within
the four lines, poor thing! Help me
to one."
My sister thought a moment, and
then, the elimax of misfortunes com
ing to her, called out:
"Steal the cow, Sister Annie!"
The cow was immediately "lifted"
by me, and the song completed.
The Appeal to Eipcrlenee.
Some of the inmates of a York
shire asylum were engaged in sawing
wood, and an attendant thought that
one old fellow, who appeared to be
working as hard as anybody, had not
much to show for his labor.
Approaching him, the attendant
soon discovered the cause of this.
The old man had turned his saw up
side down, with the teeth in the air,
and was working away with the back
of the tool.
"Here, I say, J—," remarked the
attendant, "what are you doing?
You'll never cut the wood in that
fashion. Turn the saw over!"
The old man paused and stared con
temptuously at the attendant.
"Did ta iver try a saw this way?"
he asked.
"Well, no," replied the attendant.
"Of course I havent."
"Then hod thy noise, mon," was the
instant rejoiner. "I've tried both
ways, I hev, and"—impressively—
"this is t' easiest." —London Spare
Moments.
IVltlt an Kye to llusi IICRM.
The old man was smoking his pipe
on the front porch as the young man
left the house.
"Things have changed since I was a
lad." suggested the old man.
"How so?" demanded the young
man.
"In my day when we went courting
we didn't burn one gas jet, let alone
two."
"Possibly," suggested the young
man pointedly, "if you had fallen heir
to some gas trust stock about that
time it would have made a difference."
Thereupon the old man went in the
house and told his daughter that when
it came to a question of getting a real
good business man in the family she
could have his consent at any time.—
Chicago Post.
A llad lircitk.
"What's the matter with Rod and
Mi.ss Culpepper?"
"They're mad, I believe. You know
Rod is a hunting enthusiast, and he
got in a dreamy mood the other night,
and asked Mi.ss Culpepper if she used
smokeless powder." lndianapolis
Sun.
A Necessary llacUKriiiind,
"Pessimistsare all right."
"What do you meaa?"
"If it were not for pessimists op
timists wouldn't cut any ice at all."—
Detroit Free Press.
IBSEN'S WHISKERS.
Am American (icnllfnun'i Eipe
rlence In KntorUininK the
_ Well-Known "Mnater."
One enthusiastic Ibsenite, while still
rabid, will content himself in future
with admiring' the "master" through
his works, writes Henry Dick, in New
Lippincott. Officially called upon to
reside in Norway for a season, he, after
meeting the playwright on several oc
casions, invited him to pay him a visit,
lie found Ibsen a most difficult guest,
lie was extremely sensitive and senti
mental and his feelings were con
stantly being hurt. The morning after
his arrival the guest did not appear at
breakfast. Instead a message arrived
that he wished to see the eldest son of
the house. As the eldest son was not
present, the puzzled host went to see
what the difficulty might be. It
MISS MAY PALMER.
"
(fsk. \\ rC T*L
Senator Chauncey M. Depew has announced that his marriage to Miss May
Palmer will take place at Paris at a date not yet set. Miss Palmer Is a daughter
of Mrs. Henry Palmer, who was one of the three Herman sisters of New Orleans,
famous for their beauty. Her family Is an old one in New York, but owing to her
having lived much abroad she is little Known at home. She was educated abroad,
speaks French, German and Italian fluently, and is a cultured musician. Tho
portrait Is from a photograph taken in London and reproduced in the New York
Herald. The bride-to-be is 25 years of at:e.
seemed that Ibsen desired the eldest j
son to act as a barber, that being the j
custom of the country. His host ex- j
plained that, in the first place, the eld
est son was absent, and, in the second, j
that had he been present the operation
would have been fraught with peril, for
the eldest son was conspicuously un
skilled. Ibsen was advised, therefore,
to seek professional assistance. As
there was nothing else to do, Ibsen,
weeping, departed and had his upper
lip attended to professionally.
LESSONS BY PHONOGRAPH.
A New Device in Teaching? Correct
I'rimu nclii t lon in Fureiitn
TonKiei.
Teaching modern languages by
means of the phonograph is a new ;
device. It is employed by some of !
the many correspondence schools J
GREAT ROCKING STONE OF TANDIL.
' v **
' / alllisllik
111
The largest rocking stone known is that of Tandil. near Buenos Ayres, in Ar
gentine. It weighs about 700,000 pounds and has been rocking for centuries. Its
pendulous movement, however, is so slow as to be imperceptible to the eye, but
If a bottle be placed under it near the point of support the ponderous mass soon
crushes it. Science maintains that the rocking is due to the unequal heating of
the stone by the sun, causing unequal expansion of the different parts. This
"piedra enobediza," as the natives call it, is one of the greatest curiosities of the
Argentine republic.
that have sprung up all over the
country in l»ie last year or two.
At the headquarters of the school
the teacher speaks the lesson into
the funnel of the machine. These
records are then mailed to the stu
dent, who may live a thousand mles
away, together with a phonograph
and several blank records.
In his own home the student sets
the phonograph going and listens
while it repeats as pure German,
Italian or French as the teacher
knows how to speak. Having learned
the lesson he repeats it to the talk
ing machine and sends the record
back to the school, where the teach
er criticises it for his benefit.
Printed lessons are sent out also,
but from the phonograph it is ns
eerted the pupil learns correct pro
nunciation as ha never could from
books, and almost as well as he
would from the instructor at first
hand.:
MONGOOSE AND SNAKEBITE.
Dlootl of thr Animal Contain* an Aa>
titoxln Which la Uritrurtlv*
to the Polaou.
There is probably no casualty more
appalling than snakebite, by reason of
the usually fatal result which follow#
the injury when the snake is of a high
ly venomous species, says the Lonron
Chronicle. Even a minute quantity of
the virus inj-'oted into the blood will
prove death dealing within a very
short period of time. Remedies for
snakebite have hitherto been limited
to attempts made to prevent the
spread of the poison through the sys
tem and to the fortifying of the pa
tient against collapse. Hut till within
very recent times nothing in the way
of antidote or specific cure for snake
bite was known. True, there have been
"snake stones' 4 —still used in the east
—which have been vaunted as specifics,
but from an examination of specimens
one finds them to be either pieces of
ordinary mineral or bits of bone or
pieces of plant roots. It is fairly safe
to say that if any case of snakebite is
said to be cured by the application of a
"snake stone" the bite was not that of
a poisonous species. Also it has been
said that the immunity of the mon
goose, the renowned snake killer, was
due to the animal eating some herb or
other which counterbalanced the ef
fect of the bite. Nobody, however, has
ever been able to discover this herb,
and it happens that a much more sci
entific explanation of the power of the
mongoose to resist the virus of the ser
pent is forthcoming. That explanation
rests on the fact that the blood of the
animal contains a principle (or "anti
toxin," as it may be named) which is
destructive to the poison of the snake,
or which, at any rate, renders the body
of the mongoose resistant to the action
of the venom.
Flowing of Metnla,
It is, perhaps, not generally known
that one of the most important prop
erties of metals employed in striking
coins and medals, and stamping and
shaping articles of jewelry, is that of
liowing under pressure. Standard sil
ver is remarkable for this property,
which precisely resembles the flowing
of a viscous fluid. The flow takes place
when the metal is subjected to rolling,
stamping or hammering, and the par
ticles of the metal are thus carried
into the sunken parts of the die with
out fracturing, and a perfect impres
sion is produced.
Virwinin'M Educated Xe»roe».
Virginia has more educated ne
groes than any other state in iluvsouth
in which disfranchisement for race rea«
sons has been adopted or proposed.