6
MAKING THE WEDDING GRAB.
When I was weeping, ,
In my pain I said:
"I weary of my life—would I were dead. 1
In silence sleeping, '
Where troubles are no more, nor cares, nor
tears,
Nor visionary hopes, nor fears
l-lke dark-night shadows all around us
creeping—
Would I were dead!"
wv re death but sleep.
Small harm to wish into the grave to creep,
And no more weep;
But were death life,
Far truer life than that men live on earth;
Were death but birth
To life where cares, and tears, and toll, and
strife
No lor.gt r are.
Hut which the Just alone
With other Just may share—
Could 1 still dare,
Whose days so little justice yet have
shown,
To set k an entrance through death's golden
gate? . ,I.tJte,
Nay! Rather for long season let me wait.
And with embroidery of love and prayer,
And ho'.y deeds, and suffering, prepare
The wedding garment tor the wedding
feast.
That I be not the lowest or the least
In that great throng.
Nor shamed the Royal Bridegroom's guests
to greet
Whose voices sweet
Catch up the ar.gt lie sor.g
A!id Holy. Holy, Holy, without end repeat.
—Frank C. Devas, S. J., in Catholic World.
V
My Strangest Case
BY GUY BOOTHBY.
Author of "Dr. Kikola," "The Beautiful
White Devii," "Pharos, The
Egyptian," Etc.
ICujOTiglitud, I'AJI, by Ward, Lock A Co.]
CHAPTER VI. —CONTINUED.
In reply he handed me a letter
Written on good note paper, but
without an address. It ran as fol
lows:
"Mr. Gideon Hayle returns thanks
for kind inquiries, and begs to in
form Mr. Fairfax that he is leaving
England today for Algiers."
"Jf he thinks lie is going to bluff
ene with that sort, of tale, he's very
much mistaken," I said. "I happen
to be aware of the fact that he left
for Southampton by the nine o'clock
train this morning. If I might
lia/.ard a guess as to where he was
going, I should say that his destina
tion is the Cape- But let him go
where he will, I'll have him yet. In
the meantime, send Williams to Char
ing Cross at once, lloberts to Vic
toria, and Dickson to St. Paul's.
Furnish each with a description of
the man they are to look after, be
particular about the scar upon his
left cheek, and if they see him tell
•them that they are not to lose sight
of him, happen what may. Let them
telegraph should they discover any
thing definite, and then go in pur
suit. In any ease I shall return from
Southampton to-night, and shall call
here at once."
Half an hour later I arrived at
Waterloo, took my ticket and board
ed the train for Southampton. When j
1 reached the port 1 was met at the \
station by my representative, who
informed me that he had seen noth
ing of the man I had described, al
though he had carefully looked for
iiim.
"We'll try the various shipping
offices first," I said. "I feel positive
ly certain that he came down here
by the nine o'clock train."
We drove from shipping office to
chipping office, and made the most
careful inquiries, but in every case
without success. Once we thought
we had discovered our man, only to
find, after wasting a precious hour,
that the clerk's description was alto
gether a wrong one, and that he re
sembled Hayle in no sort of way.
We boarded the South African mail
boat, but he was not among her pas
sengers; we overhauled the Ameri
can liner, with an equally barren re
sult. We paid cursory visits to the
principal hotels, but could hear no
tidings of him in any one of them.
As a matter of fact, if the man had
journeyed to Southampton, as I had
every reason to suppose he had done,
he must have disappeared into thin
air when he got there. The whole
affair was most bewildering, and I
scarcely knew what to think of it.
That the boots at the hotel had not
been hoodwinking me I felt assured
in my own mind. Ilis anger against
the man was too real to allow any
doubt upon that point. At last, hav
ing exhausted all our resources, and
not seeing what I could do further,
I returned to my subordinate's lodg
ings, where it" had been arranged
that telegrams should be addressed
to me. On my arrival there a yellow
envelope was handed to me. I tore
it open eagerly and withdrew the
■contents. It proved to be from Dick
son, and had been sent off from
Dover. I took my code-book from
»iy pocket and translated the mes
sage upon the back of the telegraph
form. It ran as follows:
"Man with triangular sear upon
left, cheek, brown bag and traveling
rug, boarded train at Heme Hill,
went through to Dover, and has
booked to Paris. Am following him
according to instructions."
"Then he slipped me after all," I
cried. "He must have gone onto
"Waterloo, crossed to Cannon street,
then onto London bridge. The
•cunning scoundrel! He must have
•made up his mind that the biggest
bluff he could play upon me was to
tell the truth, and, by Jove! he was
not very far wrong. However, those
laugh best who laugh last, and
though he has had a very fair
Innings so far, we will see whether
lie can beat me in the end. I'll get
back to town now, run down to Bish
opstowe tp-morrow morning to re
jiort progress, and then be off tc
4,'arib after iiim on Monday."
At. 8:45 that night, I reached Lon- s
don. At the same moment Mr. 1
Gideon Hayle was sitting down to a ]
charming little dinner at the Cafe 112
des Princes, and was smiling to him- 1
self as he thought of the success
that had attended the trick he had 1
played .npon me. 1
OTAPTER VIT.
When I reached the charming little (
Surrey village of Bishopstowe, I
could see that it bore out Kitwater's '
description of it. A prettier little '
place could scarcely have been dis- 1
covered, wih its tree-shaded high j 1
road, its cluster of thatched cottages, j '
its blacksmith's shop, rustic inn with 1
the signboard on a high post before '
the door, and, last but not least, the
quaint little church standing some
hundred yards back from the main 1
road, and approached from the lych- 1
gate by an avenue of limes.
"Here," I said to myself, "is n
place where a man might live to be j
100, undisturbed by the rush and j
bustle of the great world."
That was my feeling then, but j
since I have come to know it better,
and have been permitted an oppor- ;
tunity of seeing for myself some- j
thing of the inner life of the hamlet, ]
I have discovered that it is only the j
life of a great city, on a small scale. !
There is the same keen competition
jin trade, with the same jealousies j
; and bickerings. However, on this j
! peaceful Sunday morning it struck j
me as being delightful. There was :
an old-world quiet about it that was
vastly soothing. The rooks cawed (
lazily in the elms before the church j
as if they knew it were Sunday morn- ;
ing and a day of rest. A dog lay ex
tended in the middle of the road,
basking in the sunshine, a thing
which he would not have dared to do
on a weekday. Even the little
stream that runs under the old stone (
bridge, which marks the center of
the village, and then winds its tor- j
tuous course round the churchyard,
through the Squire's park, and then j
down the valley on its way to the ,
sea, seemed to flow somewhat more j
slowly than was its wont.
Feeling just in the humor for a lit- j
tie moralizing, I opened the lych
gate and entered the churchyard, j
The congregation were singing the |
last hymn, the Old Hundredth, if I :
remember rightly, and the sound of j
their united voices fitted perfectly j
into the whole scheme, giving it the j
one touch that was lacking. As I j
strolled along I glanced at the in
scriptions on the various tomb
stones, and endeavored to derive
from them some notion of the lives
and characters of those whose mem
ories they perpetuated.
"Sacred to the memory of Eras
mus Gunning, 27 years schoolmaster
of this parish. Horn 24th of March,
ISOG, and rested from his labors on
September the 19th, 187 G." Seating
myself on the low wall that sur
rounded the churchyard, I looked
down upon the river, and, while so
doing, reflected upon Erasmus Gun
ning. What had he been like, this
j ■.. IIMM
1 AS I STROLLED ALONG I GLANCED
AT THE INSCRIPTIONS ON THE
VARIOUS TOMBSTONES.
knight of the ferrule, who for 27
| years acted as pedagogue to this
, tiny hamlet? What good had he
[ done in his world? Had he realized
his life's ambition? Into many of
the congregation now worshiping
I yonder he must have driven the three
It's, possibly with the assistance of
, the faithful ferrule aforesaid, yet
. how many of them gave a thought to
I his memory! In this case the asser
tion that he "rested from his labors"
. was a trifle ambiguous. Consigning
I poor Erasmus to oblivion, I contin
j ued my walk. Presently my eyes
, caught an inscription that made me
, halt again. It was dedicated to the
; "Loving Memory of William Kitwa
ter, and Susan, his wife." I was still
, looking at it, when I heard a step
1 on the gravel-path behind me, and
. turning round, I found myself stand
! ing face to face with Miss Kit water.
To use the conventional phrase,
1 church had "come out," and the con
y gregation was even now making its
way down the broad avenue towards
s the high-road.
j "How do you do, Mr. Fairfax?" said
Miss Kitwater, giving me her hand
j as she spoke. "It is kind indeed of
0 you to come down. I hope you have
good news for us?"
e "I am inclined to consider it good
e news myself," I said. "I hope you
t will think so too."
□ She did not question me further
s about it then, but, asking me to ex
e cuse her for a moment, stepped over
(1 the little plot of ground where her
r dear ones lay, and plucked some of
r the dead leaves from the flowers
t that grew upon it. To my thinking
i- she was just what an honest English
•- girl should be; straightforward and
o gentle, looking the whole world in
the I ace with frank and honorable
CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, JUNE 12, 1902.
simplicity. When she had finished 1
her labor of love, which only occu
pied her a few moments, she sug
gested that we should stroll onto
her house.
"My unele will be wondering what
has become of me," she said, "and
he will also be most anxious to see
you."
"He does not accompany you to
church, then?"
"No," she answered. "He is so
conscious of his affliction that he
cannot bear it to be remarked. He
usually stays at home and walks up
and down a path in the garden,
brooding, I Tim afraid, over his treat
ment by Mr. Hayle. It goes to my
heftrt to see him."
"And Mr. Codd?"
"He, poor little man, spends most
of his time reading such works on
archaeology as he can obtain. It is
his one great study, and I am thank
ful he has such a hobby to distract
1 his mind from his own trouble."
| "Their coming to England must
I have made a great change in your
! life," I remarked.
! "It lias made a difference," she an
' swered. "But one should not lead
' one's life exactly to please one's self.
| They were in sore distress, and I am
i thankful that they came to me, and
! that I had the power to help them."
I This set me thinking. She spoke
| gravely, and I knew that she meant
what she said. Hut underlying it
j there was a suggestion that, for
! some reason or another, she had not
! been altogether favorably impressed
■by her visitors. Whether I was right
j in my suppositions I could not tell
' then, but I knew that I should in all
probability be permitted a better op
portunity of judging later on. We
; crossed the little bridge, and passed
along the high road for upwards of
1 a mile, until we found ourselves
I standing at the entrance to one of
J t lie prettiest little country resi
' dences it has ever been my lot to
' find. A drive, some 30 yards or so in
| length, led up to the house and was
| shaded by overhanging trees. The
house itself was of two stories and
was covered by creepers. The gar
den was scrupulously neat, and I fan
cied that I could detect its mistress'
hand in it. Shady walks led from it
j in various directions, and at the end
| of one of these I could discern a tall,
j restless figure, pacing up and down.
"There is my uncle," said the girl,
; referring to the figure I have just
; described. "That is his sole occupa
tion. lie likes it because it is the
only part of the garden in which he
can move about without a guide,
llow empty and hard his life must
seem to him now, Mr. Fairfax?"
"It must, indeed," I replied. "To
my thinking blindness is one of the
worst ills that can happen to a man.
It must be particularly hard to one
who has led such a vigorous life as
your unele has done."
I could almost have declared that
she shuddered at my words. Did she
know more about her uncle and his
past life than she liked to think
j about? I remembered one or two
I expressions he had let fall in his ex
citement when he had been talking
j to me, and how I had commented
! upon them as being strange words
to come from the lips of a mission
ary. I had often wondered whether
the story he had told me about their
life in China, and llayle's connection
with it, had been a true one. The
tenaciousness with which a China
man clings to the religion of his fore
fathers is proverbial, and I could not
remember having ever heard that a
mandarin, or an official of high rank,
had been converted to the Christian
faith. Even if he had, it struck me
as being highly improbable that he
would have been the possessor of
such princely treasure, and, even sup
posing that to be true, that he
would, at liis death, leave it to such
a man as Kitwater. No, I fancied if
we could only get at the truth of the
story, we should find that it was a
good deal more picturesque, not to
use a harsher term, than we imag
ined. For a moment I had almost
been tempted to believe that the
stones were Hayle's property, and
that these two men were conducting
their crusade with the intention of
robbing him of them. Yet, on
maturer reflection, this did not fit in.
There was the fact that they had cer
tainly been mutiliated as they de
scribed, and also their hatred of
Hayle to be weighed in one balance,
while Hayle's manifest fear of them
cotild be set in the other.
, "If lam not mistaken that is your
. step, Mr. Fairfax," said the blind
1 man, stopping suddenly in his walk,
■ and turning his sightless face in my
. direction. "It's wonderful how the
; loss of one's sight sharpens one's
, ears. I suppose yon met Margaret
: on the road?"
"I met Miss Kitwater in the
[ churchyard," I replied.
1 "A very good meeting place," he
[ chuckled, sarconically. "It's where
■ most of us meet each other sooner
. or later. Upon my word, I think the
, dead are luckier than the living. In
• any case they are more fortunate
; than poor devils like Codd and my
i self. But I am keeping you stand
ing, won't you sit down somewhere
I and tell me your news? I have been
1 almost counting the minutes for your
112 arrival. 1 know you would not be
> here to-day unless you had some
thing important to communicate to
1 me. You have found Hayle?"
1 He asked the question with fever
ish eagerness, as .if lie hoped within
" a few hours to be clutching at the
- other's throat. I could see that his
r niece noticed it too, and that she re
r coiled a little from him in conse
f quence. I thereupon set to work and
3 told them of all that had happened
j since I had last seen them, described
1 my lucky meeting with Hayle at
1 Charing Cross, my chase after him
1 across. London, the trick he had
1: 1 yiuy ' iuc at i' oxvvcil'k hotel, and iuj
consequent. fruitless journey to
Southampton.
"And he managed to escape you
after ail," said Kitwater. "That, man
would outwit the master of all liars
himself, lie is out of England by
this time, and we shall lose him."
"He has not escaped me," I re
plied, quietly. "I know where he is,
and I have got a man on his track."
"Then where is he?" asked Kit
water. "If you know where he is,
you ought to be with him yourself
instead of down here. You are paid
to conduct the case. How do you
know that your man may not bungle
it, and that we may not lose him
again?"
His tone was so rude and his man- j
ner so aggressive, that his niece was j
about to protest. I made a sign to j
her, however, not to do so.
"I don't think you need be afraid, j
Mr. Kitwater," I said more soothing- '
ly than I felt. "My man is a very I
clever and reliable fellow, and you j
may be sure that, having once set j
eyes on Mr. Hayle, he will not lose j
sight of him again. I shall leave for j
Paris to-morrow morning, and shall |
immediately let you know the result \
of my search. Will that suit you?" i
"It will suit me when I get hold of 1
Hayle," he replied. "Until then I
shall know 110 peace. Surely you :
must understand that?"
Then, imagining, perhaps, that he
had gone too far, he began to fawn '
upon me, and what was worse !
praised my methods of elucidating a '
mystery. I cannot say which I dis- j
liked the more. Indeed, had it not ,
been that I had promised Miss Kit- ,
water to take up the case, and that j
I did not want to disappoint her, I
believe I should have abandoned it I
there and then, out of sheer disgust, j
A little later our hostess proposed
that we should adjourn to the house, j
as it was nearly lunch-time. We did
so, and I was shown to a pretty bed
room to wash my hands. It was a ;
charming apartment, redolent of the ;
country, smelling of lavender, and,
after London, as fresh as a glimpse
of a new life. I looked about me, j
took in the cleanliness of everything, j
and contrasted it with my own dingy
apartments at Rickford's hotel, ■
where ilie view from the window was 1
not of meadows and breezy uplands,
but of red roofs, chimney-pots, and
constantly revolving cowls. I could
picture the view from this window in
the early morning, with the dew
upon the grass, and the blackbirds
whistling in the shrubbery. I am not |
a vain man, I think, but at this
juncture I stood before the looking
glass and surveyed myself. For the
first time in my life I could have
wished that I had been better-look
ing. At last I turned angrily away.
[To Be Continued.]
THE MAN WHO WAS ROBBED.
A Fable with u Moral Thnt Will lie
Very Generally Coincided
With.
A stranger in a strange land once
fell in with thieves, who found him on
a lonely road, beat him, robbed him,
and then tied him to a tree.
After a long wait another traveler
came by, and the stranger, in a weak
voice, pleaded for help, says Judge.
He told the story of his wrongs, and
the traveler said: "How sad!"
"I cried out, but my voice is not
strong, and my cries were of no avail,"
said the victim.
"How unfortunate!" said the trav
eler.
"And the robbers tied me so fast I
am utterly helpless."
"How interesting!"
"Interesting? Do you think it in
teresting to have been beaten and
robbed? Why, the thieves took all my
money except a small sum in my inside
pocket."
"How careless!" commented the
traveler.
Then, having satisfied himself that
the stranger's story was true, that he
was really tied securely, that his voice
was weak, and that there was a small
sum in an inside pocket, he secured
the small sum and went on his way.
Moral- —Hard-luck stories are seldom
successful.
She Gained Papa's Consent.
A pretty girl announced to papa her
engagement to dear Cholly. The old
man became very grave at once. Cholly
had a good salary, was to all appear
ances a nice, steady young man, "but
then," said papa, "let the engagement
be a long one, my dear. In that case
you will have time to find out each
other's faults and failings, and dis
cover serious defects of character
which would make you wretched for
life if you marry." "But, papa," in
terposed the sweet girl, "I object to
long engagements if they are so apt
to be broken, don't you know?" And
while the old Man meditated she
rushed off into the par!or to tell Cholly
it was all right and resume the yum
yum business.—Louisville Times.
No Tl> on 1; li tm.
"The postman just brought me Aunt
Jane's present," s«iid the poet's wife.
"What do you think of it?"
"I don't know," replied the poet, dis
turbed at work.
"But can't you think?"
"Gee whizz! llow do you expect me
to think now? I'm writing something
for the magazines."—Philadelphia
Press.
l'l» with the Timed,
Kind Lady—What is your name,
dear?
Little Girl—My name is Maine—
■ M-a-y-th-e.
"And the name of your dog?"
"His name is Fido—P-h-y-d-o-u-g-h!"
L —Columbus (O.) State Journal.
Flirt* and I.nve.
1 | Flirts laugh at love, and love
I ' laughs at tlirta. ■— Chicago Dully
r MVH'li.
ENTERPRISING TRIBE
The Chemehuevis Indians Have
Faith in Civilization.
Their Lrmllng Men Helleve That
What In Good for White Men
Must Ainu He Henelieial
to Hed Men.
[Special Arizona Letter]
LOCATED in two places on the
Colorado river, is to be found this
almost unknown tribe of the
North American Indians. One small
band is on the California side of the
river, near Fort Mohave, north of the
Needles, and the other is about 75
milei; south of Needles and has small
ranches on both sides of the river.
Few people know anything about t hem
and strange stories are told as to their
origin and classification.
Last February 1 made a trip down
the Colorado river in a boat, from
Needles to Yuma, and spent several
days with the Chenehuevis. 1 then
found out that they are not a separate
and distinct people. They are simply
renegade l'aintis, who, tired of living
in the sandy wastes of southern Ne
vada. wlieie water was scarce and
food often more so, determined to
emigrate to a more favorable region.
They sent out some of their wisest and
best men as explorers to "spy out the
land." These men visited the Mohave
Indians on the Colorado river, and,
finding the two unoccupied regions in
the territory practically controlled
by the Mohaves. made an amicable ar
rangement with them, whereby they
were to live in peace and security as
their near neighbors on condition that
when called upon they were to assist
the Mohaves in war. For some time
they were called Paintis, but the lead
ers of that people repudiated them.
They were not Paintis. They had for
saken the land of their forefathers.
They had made friends with the hated
"fish-eating Mohaves," and this was
CROSSING THE LITTLE COLORADO OX A CABLE.
proof of their degradation and con
tempt ibleness. For the Paintis, like
the Xavahos, do not eat fish, and re
gard all fish-eaters with loathing and
horror. Consequently they came to
spe ik of these renegades as friends
and neighbors of the Acliee-Mohaves,
acliee meaning fish. The white man,
hearing this name, twisted it into
Cbeucliuevi, hence the "new tribe of
Indians."
Though small in number, the two
bands not counting more than be
tween 200 and 300 souls, they are a
much superior people to the Mohaves.
In tins 1 was much and agreeably sur
prised, for, contrary to the Mohaves,
they have had nothing done for them
by the United States government. The
Mohaves have a large reservation, and
also two fine schools for their chil
dren, one at Parker, and the other at
: a i x V
\ | / :i v
|
CHEMEHI'EVI STORY TELLER.
Fort Mohave, both on the Colorado
river. They receive considerable ra
tions, ton, in the shape of beef and
flour, and being thus under the direct
influence of the Indian department,
one would naturally expect them to be
nearer to civilization than their neigh
bors. who have no school, no rations,
no influence to help them. Vet the re
verse is the case. In talking this over
with some of the leading Cheuehuevis
they expressed the idea very clearly
that they saw the advantage to them
selves of being "all same white man,"
so. voluntarily, they adopted his dress
and sought, as far as they could, to
walk in his ways.
Their houses are, as a rulp. very
neatly built. A square framework of
willows, with sustaining poles <if cot
tonwood at the corners, is construct
ed. generally square in shape, and on
this framework nttd is plastered by
hand. Here one has in its primitive
form the iv'tu of the skeleton
itee! structures of which our city sky»
scrapers are the latest evolution.
On the top or near by these houses,
or "kuns" as they call them, there i»
generally to be found a rude wicker
j circular construction, called a su-quin.
This is a kind of granary or storehouse
in which corn, beans, peas and other
edibles are kept. Its chief use, how
ever, is for the mesquite bean, of which
their drink is made. There are two
kinds of mesquites, one which has a
pod and beans somewhat similar to
our string beans, the other a very pe
culiar fruit in the shape of a bundle
of small vegetable screws.
Both kinds of mesquite are
put into a wooden mortar, called
I mar-r. Squatted down in front of it,
j the woman takes the Khu-wa, or pes
' tie, in both hands and pounds away
i until the "o-pi, or beans, are pretty
i well mashed. Then they are soaked
; in water for several hours, and the
j liquor drained oil' is their chief na
j tive drink. It. has a peculiar, half
! sweet, lialf-salty flavor, which, how
, ever, they seem to relish very
highly.
The men are great hunters, deer,
; and the lesser game, such as rabbits,
quail, squirrels, etc., abounding in
i the mountains and foothills near
' their homes. The quails, beautiful
! little creatures, are found on the
! river banks in great numbers, as are
| also ducks, geese, wild swans, etc.
When the time comes for corn
' planting, however, every man of the
1 tribe has his ground in readiness,
j and lie plants his corn, beans,
j melons, squash, chili and other veg
| etables, irrigating them when neces
! sary. Their method of planting corn
l is peculiarly their own. A space of
' a quarter or half a mile in length,
j and 50 to 100 feet in width, is cleared
lof willows. Then small basins or
| bowls are made in the earth, about a
! foot or a foot and a half in diame-
I ter. In the center of these bowls,
| the seed corn is planted. The whole
! field is then surrounded with wil
j lows and other brush, to keep out
the rabbits, and, to further prevent
i depredations, a brush shelter is con
structed. under which some one of
j the family is required to be con-
I stantlv on the watch.
The women keep their "kaas" quite
! neat, and do all the cooking-, grind
| ing the corn on the heavy stone nict
ates, as do the other Indians of Ari
zona. They are also expert basket
makers, although possessed of the
Paintis' hereditary ability, they
made very few baskets until a few
years ago, when they found there was
an increasing demand for them at a
good price. Acordingly, they began
to make them, and, being uncivilized,
worked conscientiously and faith
fully. and improved upon the baskets
of their forebears. In shape, weave
and design their baskets are very
beautiful, and consequently are much
sought after by collectors. Living
where river bank, well watered val
leys, foothills, mountains and desert
are all near by, they levy tribute
upon the plant life of all these vari
ous and varied native gardens Tor
the best basket making material. The
results are seen in the pure white
color of much of their work, the
fineness of the splint, this being
made possible by the toughness of
the fiber of the willows or other
plants used, and the charm of the
colored splints. The most beautiful
of these latter is made from the
root of a kind of palmetto, which
grows on the foothills, looking to
wards the desert. The cuticle is
peeled off and it becomes a rich,
dark, unfading brown, when dry.
I succeeded in purchasing 40 of
the C'hemehuevi baskets), of different
sizes and shapes, and ere long they
will grace a place in the Carnegie
museum, of Pittsburg. Pa.
The children are bright little raga
muffins. timid and shy before stran
gers at first, but, as soen as they feel
safe, full of fun and frolic. I found in
one place three orphan?. Father and
mother were dead, and they had been
taken by a widowed aunt, who was
caring for them to the best of her abil
ity, aided by other members of the
tribe. As soon as 1 knew the facts in
the case. I went down to my boat, and,
overhauling some old clothes in my
trunk, found stockings, shoes, and a
little dress for the girl, and various
garments for the two boys. Without
a word I began to put them on.and
what amazement, what delight, were
depicted on their little faces. As
soon as they were all "togged out"
tfiey rushed off to the next "kan"' to
show their new possessions, and in
five minutes 1 was besieged with moth
ers and sisters and brothers, all of
whom thought I might manage to tind
something for them or theirs ih the
larga trunk in the boat.
G. WHARTON JAMES.
Aiuirnkl}* Adjusted.
Mr. Bight—Mr. and Mrs. Lilight seem
so thoroughly congenial.
Mrs. Bight—Oh, yes. lie wants todo
all her thinking for her; and she is
willing' he should. —Detroit Free Press.