6 BEGGAR AND KING. Svvn'ii have points that wound us; for tune has gyves that sting— Better the dream of a beggar than the discontent of a King. Asleep in the nodding grasses, the beggar j he dreamed a dream: ills was a crown and scepter, rich In their jeweled gleam, Purple and gold and ermine lent liltn their pride supreme. Revel and rout and feasting centered about his throne; Yeoman and slave and noble yielded to him alone; Castle and Held and forest—all of them were his own. Waking, his dream was broken, as are the dreams of men; Idly he thoujrht upon It, laughed, and he murmured then: 4 'l may r-gair. my kingdom, for I will dream again." fretting within his palac?, there sat the king in thought; Doubts of his sway assailed him, oft with his fears lie fought— .Always, asleep or waking, he dreamed of a traitor's plot. Kings they must sit and wonder; beggars may rove and sing- Better the dreams of a beggar than the discontent of a king. —W. D. N., in Chicago Daily Tribune. D'ri and ! By IRVING BACIIELIER Author of " Eben Holdsn." "Darrel of the Biessed lsies," Etc. ( L (Copyright, 1901, by Lotliroji Publishing Company.) CHAPTISK I. —CONTINUED. There were six more days of travel In that, journey—travel so fraught with hardships, I wonder that soma days we had the heart to press on. More than all, 1 wonder that the frail body of my mother was equal to it. But 1 am writing no vain record of en durance. I have written enough to suggest what moving meant In the wilderness. There is hut one more color in the scenes of that journey. The fourth day after we left Chateau gay my grandmother fell ill and died suddenly there in the deep woods. We were far from any village, and sorrow slowed our steps. We pushed on, com ing soon to a sawmill and a small set tlement. They told us there was neither minister nor undertaker with in 40 miles. My father and D'ri made the coffin of planed lumber, and lined it with deerskin, and dug the grave on top of a high hill. When all was ready, my father, who had always been much given to profanity, albeit I know lie was a kindly and honest man with no irreverence in his heart, called D'ri aside. "D'ri," said he, "ye 've alwus been more proper-spoken than I hev. Say a word o' prayer?" "Don't much b'lieve I could," said he. thoughtfully. "I hev been t' meet in'. but I hain't never been no great band fer prajin'." "'T would n't sound right nohow fer me t' pray." said my father, "I got s' bind o' rough when I was in the army." " 'Fraid it'll come a leetle unhandy fer me." said D'ri, with a look of em barrassment, "but I don't never shirk a tough job ef it hes t' be done." Then he stepped forward, took off his faded hat, his brow wrinkling deep, and said, in a drawling preacher tone that had no sound of D'ri in it; "O God. tek care o' gran'ma. Help us t* goon careful an' when we 're riled, help us t' keep er mouths shet. O God, help the ol' cart, an' the ex in per tic'lar. An' don't be noway hard on us. Amen." CHAPTER 11. June was half over when we came to our new home in the town of Madrid —then a home only for the foxes and the fowls of the air and their wild kin of the forest. The road ran through a little valley thick with timber and rock-hound within a mile of us, all comfortably settled in small log houses. For temporary use we built a rude bark shanty that had a partition of blankets, living in this primitive manner until my father and D'ri had felled the timber and built a log house. VVe brought Hour from Ma lone —a dozen sacks or more—and while they were building I had to supply my mother with fish and game and berries for the table —a thing easy enough to do in that land of plenty. When the logs were cut and hewn I went away, horseback, to Canton for a jug of rum. I was all day and half the night going and coming, and fording the Grasse took me stirrups under. Then the neighbors came to the rais ing—a jolly company that shoutei "Hee, oh, liee!" as they lifted eacn heavy log to its place and grew noisier quaffing the odorous red rum, that had a mighty good look to me, although my father would not hear of my tast ing it. When it was all over there was nothing to pay but our gratitude. While they were building bunks I went off to sawmill with the oxen for boards and shingles. Then, short ly, we had a roof over us and floors to walk on and that luxury D'ri called a "pyaz," although it was not more than a mere shelf with a roof over it. We chinked the logs with moss and clay at first, putting up greased paper iu the window spaces. For months we knew not the luxury of the glass pane. That summer we "changed work" with the neighbors and after we had helped them awhile they turned to in the clearing of our farm. We felled the trees in long, bushy windrows, heap ing them up with brush and small wood when the chopping was over. That done, we fired the rows, filling the deep of heaven with smoke, as it seemed to me. and lighting the night with great billows of flame. By mid-autumn we had cleared to the stumps a strip half down the val ley from our door. Then we turned toon the land of our neighbors, my i time counting half, for I was sturdy j and could swing the ax to a line, and , ; f< lt a joy in seeing the chips tiy. But j i my father kept an eye on me, and held j I me back as with a leash. I My mother was often sorely tried j for the lack of things common as dirt these better days. Frequently our only baking-powder was white lye, made by dropping ash-cinders into water. Our cinders were made by letting the sap of green timber drip into hot ashes. Often deer's tallow, bear's grease, or raccoon's oil served for shortening, and the leaves of the wild raspberry for tea. Our neighbors went to mill at Canton —a journey of ! five days, going' and coming, with an ox team, and beset with many difficul ties. Then one of them hollowed the top of a stump for his mortar and tied his pestle to the bough of a tree. With a rope he drew the bough down, which, as it sprang back, lifted the pestle that ground his grain. But money was the rarest of all things in our neighborhood those days. Ptarlash, black-salts, West India pipe staves and rafts of timber brought cash, but no other products of the early settler. Late that fall my mother gave a dance, a rude but hearty pleas uring that followed a long conference in which my father had a part. They all agreed to turn to, after snowfall, on the river-land, cut a raft of timber, and send it, to Montreal in the spring. Our things had come, including D'ri's fiddle, so that we had chairs and bed steads and other accessories of life not common among our neighbors. My mother had a few jewels and some fine old furniture that her father had given her—really beautiful things, I have sihee come to know —and she showed them to those simple folk with a mighty pride in her eyes. Business over, D'ri took down his fiddle, that hting on the wall, and made the strings roar as he tuned them. Then he threw his long right leg over the other, and, as he drew the bow, "MY MOTHER GAVE ME A EL. THE SCHOOLING I HAD THAT WIN TER." his lig foot began to pat the floor a good pace away. His chin lifted, his fingers flew, his bow quickened, the notes seemed to whirl and scurry, light-footed as a rout of fairies. Mean ! while the toe of his right boot counted the increasing tempo until it came up and down like a ratchet. Darius Olin was mostly of a slow and sober manner. To cross his legs I and feel a fiddle seemed to throw his heart open and put him in full gear. Then his thoughts were quick, his eyes merry, his heart was a fountain of joy. He would lean forward, sway ing his head, and shouting "Yip!" as the bow hurried. D'ri Was a hard working man, but the feel of the fid dle warmed and limbered him from toe to finger. He was over-modest, making light of his skill if he ever spoke of it, and had no ear for a com pliment. While our elders were danc ing I and others of my age were play ing games in the kitchen—kissing games with a rush and tumble in them, pufs-in-t he-corner, hunt-the-squirrel, and the like. Even then I thought I was in love with pretty Rose Mer riman. She would never let me kiss her, even though I had caught her and had the right. My mother gave me all the school ing I had that winter. A year later they built a sclioolhouse, not quite a mile away, where I found more fun than learning. After two years I shouldered my ax and went to the river-land with the choppers every win ter morning. My father was stronger than any of them except D'ri, who could drive his ax to the bit every blow, day after day. Hp, had the strength of a giant, and no man I knew tried ever to cope with him. By the middle of May we began rolling in for the raft. As soon as they were floating, the logs were withed together and moored in sec tions. The bay became presently a quaking, redolent plain of timber. When we started the raft, early in June, that summer of 1810, and worked | it into the broad river with sweeps and poles, I was aboard with D'ri and six other men, bound for the big city of which I had heard so much. I was to visit the relatives of my mother and spend a year in the College de St. Pierre. We had a little frame house on a big platform, back of the middle section of the raft, with bunks in it, where we ate and slept and told stories. Eying on the platform there was a large flat stone that held our CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, JANUARY 5, 1905. flres for both cooking and comfort. D'ri called me in the dusk of the early morning, the first night out, and said we were near the Sault. I got up, rubbed my eyes, and felt a mighty thrill as I heard the roar of the great rapids and the creaking withes, and felt the lift of the speeding waters. D'ri said they had broken the raft into three parts, ours being hindmost. The roaring grew louder, until my shout was as a whisper in a hurricane. The logs began to heave and fall, and waves came rushing through them. Sheets of spray shot skyward, coming down like a shower. We were shaken as by an earthquake in the rough >v7L ter. Then the roar fell back of us. *nd the raft grew steady. "Gin us a tough twist," said D'ri, shouting down at me—"kind uv a twist o' the bit 'n' a kick 'n the side." It was coming daylight as we sailed into still water, and then D'ri put his hands to his mouth and hailed loudly, getting an answer out of the gloom ahead. "Gol-dum ef it hain't the power uv a thousan' painters!" D'ri continued, laughing as he spoke. "Never see nothin' jump 'n' kick 'n spit like thet air, 'less it hed fur on—never 'n all my born days." D'ri's sober face showed dimly now in the dawn. His hands were on his hips; his faded felt hat was tipped sideways. His boots and trousers were quarreling over that disputed ter ritory between his knees and ankles. His boots had checked the invasion. "Smooth water now," said he, thoughtfully. "Seems terribly still. Hain't a breath uv air stirrin'. Jeru shy Jane Pepper! Wha' does thet mean ?" He stepped aside quickly as some bits of bark and a small bough of hem lock fell at our feet. Then a shower of pine needles came slowly down, scattering over us and hitting the tim ber with a faint hiss. Before we could look up a dry stick as long as a log fell rattling on the platform. "Never seen no sech doin's afore," said D'ri, looking upward. "Things don't seem t' me t' be actin' egg/.ac'ly nat'ral —rait jest es I'd like t' see 'em." As the light came clearer, we saw clouds heaped black and blue over the tree-tops in the southwest. We stood a moment looking. The clouds were heaping higher, pulsing with light, roaring with thunder. What seemed to be a flock of pigeons rose suddenly above the far forest, and then fell as if they had all been shot. A gust of wind coasted down the still ether, flut tering like a rag and shaking out a few drops of rain. "Look there!" I shouted, pointing aloft. "Hark!" said D'ri, sharply, raising his hand of three fingers. We could hear a far sound like that of a great wagon rumbling on a stony road. "The Almighty's whippin' his bosses," said D'ri. "Looks es ef he was plun gin' 'em through the woods 'way yon der. Look a' thet air sky." The cloud-masses were looming rap idly. They had a glow like that of copper. "Tryin' to put a ruf on the world," my companion shouted. "Swingin" ther hammers hard on the rivets." A little peak of green vapor showed above the sky-line. It loomed high as we looked. It grew into a lofty col umn, reeling far above the forest. Be low it we could see a mighy heaving in the tree-tops. Something like an immense bird was hurtling and pir ouetting in the air above them. The tower of green looked now like a great flaring bucket hooped with fire and overflowing with darkness. Our ears were full of a mighy voice out of the heavens. A wind came roaring down some tideway of the air like water in a flume. It seemed to tap the sky. Before I could gather my thoughts we were in a torrent of rushing air, and the raft had begun to heave and toss. I felt D'ri take my hand In his. I could just see his face, for the morning had turned dark suddenly. His lips were moving, but I could hear nothing he said. Then he lay flat, pulling me down. Above and around all the noises that ever came to the ear of man—the beating of drums, the bellow ing of cattle, the crash of falling trees, the shriek of women, the rattle of ma chinery, the roar of waters, the crack of rifles, the blowing of trumpets, the braying of asses, and sounds of the like of which I had never heard and pray God I may not hear again, one and then another dominating the mighty chorus. Behind us, in the gloom, I could see, or thought I could see, the reeling mass of green plough ing the water, like a ship with chains of gold flashing over bulwarks of fire. In a moment something happened of which I have never had any definite notion. I felt the strong arm of D'ri clasping me tightly. I heard the thump and roll and rattle of logs heaping above us; I felt the water washing over me; but I could see nothing. I knew the raft had doubled; it would fall and grind our bones: but I made no effort to save myself. And thinking how helpless I felt is the last I re member of the great windfall of June S, 1810, the path of which may be seen now, 50 years after that memorable dr>y, and 1 suppose it will be visible long after my bones have crumbled. I thought I had been sleeping when I came to; at least, I had dreamed. I was in some place where it was dark and still. I could hear nothing but the drip of water; I could feel the arm of D'ri about me, and I called to him, and then I felt him stir. "Thet you, Itay?" said he, lifting his head. "Yes," I answered. "Where are we?" "Judas Priest! I ain' 110 idee. Jes' woke up. Been a-layin' here tryin' t' think. Ye hurt?" "Guess not," said I. "Ain't ye got no pains or aches no where 'n yer body?" "Head aches a little," said I. He rose to his elbow, and! made a light with bis fiiat and tinder, and | looked at me. "Got a goose-egg on yer for'ard," said he, and then 1 saw there was blood on his face. "Ef it hed n't been fer the withes J they 'd 'a' ground us t' powder." We were lying alongside the little house, and the logs were leaning to it above us. "Jerushy Jane Pepper!" D'ri ex- 1 claimed, rising to his kness. '"S what j I call a twister." He began to whittle a piece of the splintered platform. Then ho lit a shaving. "They's ground here," said he, as ha began to kindle a Are, "ground a-plenty right under us." The firelight gave us a good look : at our cave under the logs. It was about 10 feet long and probably as high. The logs had crashed through | the side of the house in one or two places, and its roof was a wreck. j "Hungry?" said D'ri, as he broke a piece of board on his knee. "Yes," I answered. "So 'm I," said he, "hungrier 'n a she-wolf. They's some bread 'n' veu'- son there 'n the house; we better try t' git 'em." An opening under (he logs let mo around the house corner to its door. I was able to work my way through j the latter, although it was choked with ; heavy timbers. Inside I could hear j the wash of the river, and through j its shattered window on the farther j wall I could see between the heaped logs a glow of sunlit water. I handed | our ax through a break in the wall, and then D'ri cut away some of the i baseboards and joined me. We had j our meal cooking in a few minutes— | our dinner, really, for D'ri said it was | near noon. Having eaten, we crawled i out of the window, and then D'ri be- 1 gan to pry the logs apart. "Ain't much 'fraid o' their tumblin' ' on us," said he. "They 're withed so j they 'll stick together." We got to another cave under the j logs, at the water's edge, after an hour 1 of crawling and prying. A side of the 1 raft was in the water. "Got t' dive,' said D'ri, "an' swim ! fer daylight." A long swim it was, but we came up I in clear water badly out of breath. ; We swam around the timber, scram- | bling over a dead cow, and up-shore. \ The ruined raft was torn and tumbled i into a very mountain of logs at the , edge of the water. The sun was shin- ! ing clear, and the air was still. Limbs j of trees, bits of torn cloth, a broken ; hay-rake, fragments of wool, a wagon- j wheel, and two dead sheep were scat tered along the shore. Where we had ! seen the whirlwind coming, the sky was clear, .and beneath it was a great ! gap in the woods, with ragged walls of evergreen. Here and there in the gap a stub was standing, trunk and limbs | naked. "Jerushy Jane Pepper!" D'ri ex- j claimed, with a pause after each word, j "It 's cut a swath wider 'n this river, i Don't b'lieve a mouse could 'a' lived j where the timber 's down over there. 1 " j Our sweepers and the other sections ! of the raft were nowhere in sight. [To He Continued.] Where tlic k Snob n Mistake. "Abroad one meets a good many snobs among travelers," said a Phila delphia man who has just returned j from Europe. "Here is an example: "In England with a party of tour- i ists, I visited a noted castle belonging to a well known peer. We were all strangers to the castle's noble owner, but there was one among us who did- ! n't care to admit the fact. He was a ! fat, pompous man of about middle j age and because none of us knew him he tried to impress us with his social j importance. So he said to the house- j keeper who was our guide: " 'How's the Duke?' " 'Very well, sir, thank you,' she re plied. "'ls Lady Gertrude also well?' " 'Very well, thank you.' " 'And the Duchess?' continued the pompous fellow. " 'The Duchess,' said the house keeper, 'has been dead for 25 years.' " —Philadelphia Press. Need for llaMte. In a Massachusetts seaport town many stories are still told of an ec- j centric old man who was a conspicuous ! figure in its streets 30 years ago. Not many years before he died he j married a young wife, who was a con- [ stant surprise to him. One day an old { friend met him hurrying along the j main street of the town, one arm held j out stiffly in front of him and carrying j a white paper parcel. "Don't touch me and don't detain j me!" he cried, as his friend ap- j proaclied. "What in the world is the matter?" ! asked the other. "Anybody sick up at j your house?" "Nobody's sick," answered the old man, over his shoulder, "but I'm fetch ing home a new bunnit for my wife, and I want to get there before the styles change."—Youth's Companion. Devouring tltr Bouquet. A short time ago a traveler entered a restaurant in Dublin to partake of j lunch. He took a seat at a table, and opposite him sat two young Irishmen, j In the center of the table stood a nice- j ly-arranged glass of celery, and at the j end of his meal he helped himself free- | ly to it, when he noticed one of the youths opposite looking at him very | suspiciously, and overheard him whis- j per to his mate: "Look, Moike, he's afther eating the flowers."—Tit-Bits. An lCx<iislier. Gusher —She told me 1 was the light of her life. Fluslier —Well, that was encourag ing. "Yes, but her father happened along | jusi 'hen and put the light ovfc"•» I Washington Star. ' | Who is | I Your j Clothier? I If it's R. SEGER & CO,. 0 you are getting the right | y kind of merchandise. There | 1 is no small or grand decep- t I tion practiced in their store. \ H Sustained bucccsh demon- ■ I Btratos that there is | 1 "growth in truth"in the i retailing of I NEW AND UP-TO-DATE | CLOTHING AT POPULAR I PRICES. R. SEGER & CO. I t-'XWv. I LOOK ELSEWHERE SSSI! ESE | ?*> S3O Bedroom Suits, solid 112t 1 )!" S4O Sideboard, quartered oak at vJZ'J oak, .J>uU W <s> $25 Bedroom Suits, solid S2O $22 Sideboard, quartered sl6 § fX A large line of Dressers from Chiffloniera of all kinds and M W up. prices. A large and elegant line of Tufted and Drop-head <3 ft Couches. Beauties and at bargain prices. $ Q. The finest line of Sewing Machines on the market, JyL 0 the "Domestic" and "Kldredge". All drop heads and Y? ft warranted. w A fine line of Dishes, common grade and China, in o sets and by the piece. $ i4k As I keep a full line of everything that goes to make W up a good Furniture store, it is useless to enumerate them ' ' Please call and see for yourself that I am telling you £L the tiuth, and if you don't buy, there is uo harm done, as ft Vt it ic no trouble to show goods. W | GEO. J. LaBAR. | 1 - ' ' —— S3 We promptly obtain U. S. asul I Bond in' Kiel, sketch or photo of lnventlc n for i' freereport on patentability. For free book, (' How to inr MADVO write 112 1 madam "".pith. Dean's E| A wife, certain relief for Suppressed 3 ■ Menstruation. Never known to fail. Hafc! H 13 Sure! Speedy! Satisfaction Guaranteed 8 H or money Refunded. Sent prepaid for i H fi.oo per pox. Win send t hem on t rls I, to Sw Kn be paid for when relieved. Samples Free, nj fcj UNITED MEDICAL CO., BOX T4. LANC»3TC» FA. Sold in Emporium by L. iTaggart aui. R. C. Dodson. */#£& EVERY WOMAN Sometimes ne3<ls a roliabto imlW T monthly regulating mediciuo, 'SM JL DR. PEAL'S PENNYROYAL RILLS, Aro prompt, safe and certain in result. Tho genu (no (ur. Peal's) never disappoint. 81.00 per boj\ Sold by B. C. Dodson, druggist, _~M i - .. dSOSfiSaSH 5^ Good j j Cedar ] I Shingles I i__ _j is B K WILL KEEP OUT THE ft Lxi RAIN. WE HAVE THEM ft ft IN ALL GRADES. []J. ) I II S g C. B. HOWARD & CO. jf In nJ 4 34*f J) COcrpcTpcrp crpqp =rSST9SSSP =;saas> SHSHSHSe SaSaSHSSSHSaS^ | SCHMELZ CO/sl I) " " n] ! Sluice Pipe. J tj - lr a g jj IMPROVE YOUR ROADS with uj n STEEL and WOOD SLUICING S u In ll The Steel pipe mads of cold rolled, Dl J] heavy sheet steel, "?ited so at to leave it fu 'J smooth laside. The pipe is covered with tfl J1 a preparation that makes it rust proof, fli TJ The wood pipe Is made of staves matched u] J1 and grouved, bound with heavy iron [u LU bands, treated chemically against rust 1/] i il and coated with a preparation that will [L j ll stand climate aud will practically ex- If] j J1 elude moisture. The entire length is of fL ; V even diameter. Obstructions will not IT ! il lodge in it. Manufactured in all sizes up fL ! li to SIXTY INCHES. IT il Write for catalogue and prices, or » [! i U postal card will bring to you a represen- IT | JJ tative with samples of our goods. pi J] What are Sluice Pipes Used For ? rU They are used on roads and highways _ to convey water under the road bed from *; • J streams and ditches to keep the road bed . * dry und prevent washouts in heavy rams :jj aud showers. Schmelz & Co., Coudersport, Pa. ' j i u In i £SHSHSHSHSH-«»-55^S2SE5a5SaiB
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