6
The Mystery
OF
Carney-Croft
By
JOSEPH BROWN COOKE
4£*pyfl(ht, IBU7, by Storr-l'reit Corporation.)
CHAPTER XVIII.
The Recall of the Wanderer.
I did not come down to breakfast
next day, and when luncheon was
served Miss Carney remained away
to be with Miss Weston, who was
confined to her room, if not to her
bed.
At dinner, which was a formal af
fair in honor of the rector and his
wife, Miss Carney greeted me cordial
.tjr and unaffectedly, but, beyond an
wanescent flush that lighted up her
face, and vanished as quickly as it
came, she gave no sign that my te
merity of the night before had made
the slightest impression upon her
mind. She was superbly gowned, and
iher manner, while natural and entire
ly unconstrained, impressed me as
being in a way, unusually thoughtful
and serious; yet at times her face
fairly glowed with the contented, sat
isfied expression of one whose cup
of happiness was filled and overflow
ing.
I knew what it meant, for I could
no longer hide the truth from myself
if I would, and yet I even then strove
to devise a plan by which I could
take myself away and out of her life
so that in time her heart would again
be free.
I did this in good faith, for, realiz
ing my unwortliiness as I did and
knowing well that many circum
.stances had conspired to give her an
•exalted opinion of me and my abil
ities, which, otherwise, she never
would have reached, I felt it my duty
to step aside and not stand in the
way of the far greater conquest that
she was surely destined to make.
No tongue can tell the extent to
which I regretted my act of tempo
rary weakness on the previous even
ing, and I cursed my indiscretion in
taking advantage of her hour of sor
row and despair when I should have
been strong enough to withstand the
tempter, if only by virtue of the great
and ever increasing magnitude of my
devotion. That she knew it now there
could be no doubt, and I knew with
equal certainty that she returned my
love with all the ardor of her great
warm heart.
Mr. Arthur Sedgewick, the rector,
proved to be a jovial sort of an indi
vidual, of the florid type and port
wine complexion, while his wife was
a demure little woman who regarded
liim with unconcealed admiration and
whose greatest satisfaction in life
was derived from half-stifled exclama
tions of mock horror at his constant
unconventional sallies and jests.
"So you saw all the plays in New
York?" he asked, as the conversation
imperceptibly took a theatrical turn.
"Oh, yes!" exclaimed Miss Carney,
in almost her childish enthusiasm.
"We went every night and to all the
matinees, too. We had not been in
an Knglish-speaking country in so
3ong that we fairly reveled in the
ater and we even saw Maud Adams
four times."
"You like her, then," I remarked,
for want of something better to say,
but feeling it my duty to show an in
terest clearly at variance with the
*rue object of my thoughts.
"Now, Mr. Ware, that is altogether
too bad!" returned Miss Carney, in
an obviously assumed tone of bad
inage. "You said that in exactly the
way that the traveler at sea greeted
his'roommate one morning, when he
observed politely, but with about as
much enthusiasm as you yourself have
Just shown, 'Good morning, old man,
I hope you are well; not that I care
a rap, but just to start the conversa
tion!' "
The rector's wife looked properly
•hocked, while her liege lord laughed
uproariously and cried:
"I heard that story when I was in
college, Miss Carney, but unless my
memory fails me, the wording was
somewhat different."
"112 expurgated it for your especial
'■benefit, sir," returned Miss Carney sol
emnly and then, in reply to my ques
tion, she added:
"L think Miss Adams is just too
sweet and dainty for anything. Is it
really true that she is married?"
"It has been rumored that she is
married to her manager," I replied,
"but I hardly think it possible, for
they are almest never together. You
.know, she spends her summers in
Massachusetts while he is in Lon
-•Jan, and, just as soon as he re
turns in the autumn, she always
starts for the west with the 'Little
.Minister —'"
"Mercy!" exclaimed the rector's
wife, in unfeigned astonishment,
while we all laughed in spito of our
selves, and the reverend- gentleman
fell into a violent fit of coughing
and dropped his fork on the floor.
When the general levity caused by
my remark had subsided sosiewhat,
and he was able to speak, he explain
ed: "The 'Little Minister,' my dear,
ta a play, and not a man. I must
take you to see it the next time we
are tn town."
"ls It a biblical play?" asked Mrs.
Sedgewick with interest.
"Oh, dear, no," replied Miss Car
ney. "Just the ordinary sort of a
play, with a man and a woman and
a whole lot of pathos and comedy
sandwiched in and spread around.
But it is very sweet and enjoyable.
Haven't you read the book?"
"No," returned Mrs. Sedgewick
seriously. "1 am so absorbed in
E. P. Roe's works just now that
I haven't time for anything else.
Don't you think he is a wonderful
writer?"
"I'm ashamed to confess that I've
never read him at all," said Miss
Carney sweetly, "but I hope to, some
day, however."
"Mrs. Sedgwick thinks that I only
care for biblical plays," broke in the
rector, hurriedly, as if to forestall any
discussion of his wife's favorite au
thor, "and I do think that good pro
ductions of that sort should be en
couraged and supported. The stage
and the pulpit go hand in hand in
educating the masses, and plays that
direct the mind toward nobler things
are worthy of every commendation
and the approval of all good citizens.
Many a man, who never gave a
thought to the Bible, has been led to
a careful study of the Scriptures after
witnessing a stirring drama founded
on Scriptural history and presented
with proper regard to accuracy and
detail."
"I am sure that is so!" exclaimed
Miss Carney, as a mischievous light
came into her eyes. "I remember once,
when we were coming away from a
most intensely interesting production
of 'Ben-Hur,' overhearing two people
engaged in a heated discussion as
to whether the Book of Hezekiah was
historical or prophetical. I don't
suppose the thought had ever en
tered their heads before, and I
"You Know, Anniels Grow ing Steadily W
have always meant to look it up my
self, but I have never done so.
Won't you tell me about It, Mr. Sedge
wick?"
"Hezekiah llezekiah," mused the
rector, puckering up his forehead and
rubbing his chin thoughtfully. ' You
know that is a book to which we
seldom refer, but —er —strictly speak
ing, Miss Carney, I feel that it
should be regarded—er—in the main
as—er —historical —although some au
thorities do —er —I believe —ex- —claim
—er —"
A merry laugh from Miss Carney
interrupted this learned speech and
her roguish eyes fairly beamed with
glee at the momentary discomfiture
of her guest, who had recovered him
self in an instant and exclaimed:
"I am afraid you are incorrigible,
Miss Carney, but I did not think
you would be so cruel to me of all
persons."
Miss Carney returned his good na
tured smile and said, apologetically:
"I expected you would refer me
to Mr. Ware for my answer or I
ehouldn't have dared to be ro rude,
but I thought it only courteous to
put the question to you first of
all."
As soon as dinner wae over she
excused herself for a moment to
visit Miss Weston and then joined the
other ladies in the drawing-room,
leaving Mr. Sedgewlck and me to
our cigars and benedictlne. I fear
I made a poor companion, for my
thoughts were far away and I realized
that, like myself, but with greater
success, Miss Carney had been wear
ing an air of forced gaity and good
spirits all the evening.
I was heartily glad when the guests
were ready to leave, and, although I
was tired from my practically sleep
less night, I wandered discomsolately
about the place until nearly ten, when
1 seated myself in a quiet corner of
the veranda to smoke a small cigar
before retiring to my room. My
brain was so overwhelmed with the
realization that my heart's desire lay
within my reach that 1 sat in a stupid
ly dazed sort of way revolving ihe
CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, TMURSDiAV, JULY 25, 1907
matter slowly In my mind and try
ing to determine the proper course
to pursue.
My cigar was nearly burned out
and I was on the point of going to
my room when a shadow fell across
the railing in front of me and Miss
Carney stood by my side.
"1 wondered if you would be here,"
she said, nervously. "I wanted to see
you, for there is something I forgot
to say to you last night."
She had slipped a long coat of
dainty brocaded stuff over her dinner
dress and, as she stood in the
light of the drawing-room window,
she made a picture worthy the brush
of the greatest genlr.s that ever
lived.
"I won't sit down, thank you," she
continued, interlocking her fingers
and playing with her rings as if
greatly agitated. "You know, Annie
is growing steadily worse, and the
doctor from the village says she
must have a nurse, so I have tele
graphed for two to come at once.
Oh! I thought that dinner would never
end."
She seemed to feel the chilliness of
the night air, but, declining my offer
to get her an additional wrap, she
drew the fur trimmed collar of her
cloak more closely about her neck,
and went on hurriedly:
"You remember I once told you
that Annie and Jack, my brother, had
some sort of a disagreement Just be
fore he went away and that he left
this country because of it. Well,
Annie told me some time ago that
I wa3 entirely wrong in my under
standing of the matter, and I have
wanted to tell you all about it so
many times, only I could never bring
myself to speak of it."
She paused, and I could see that
she was weeping softly, but I had
myself well in hand, and even be-
fore I could speak, she resumed
slowly:
"You saw Jack when he returned,
Mr. Ware, and you must know how I
feel about it all, but since Annie has
told me that he went away only be
cause, when she knew of the nature of
her disease and that her condition
was hopeless, she broke the en
gagement between them and insisted
upon his leaving her in the hope
that his love would finally die out,
1 cannot but look upon the matter
In a different light. That is why I
have tried to do everything in my
power for Annie, for, while at first
I merely valued her as a friend, I
now love her as a sister, but I have
never been able to bring myself
to a point where I could condone
Jack's behavior. He has my sym
pathy, of course, but he has no
reason to follow the course he has
and few or no excuses can be made
for him."
Her feelings overcame her at last
and, wiping away her tears, she sank
into the chair that I had left and
continued, plaintively:
"Annie speaks of him now almost
all the time, and the doctor asked me
about it, and when I told him he said
that if Jack could come to her at
once it might do her a world of good.
I know it is a dreadful risk to take
in many ways, for Annie did not
see him when he wa3 here before,
and has no idea of the depths to
which he has sunk, but perhaps he
would realize his position and do
better with her. What do you think
about it?"
"I hardly know what to say," I re
plied. "Have you spoken to Miss
Weston about sending for him?"
'T)h, yes," she returned, "and I
don't know what to do at all. When
ever I speak of Jack it only throws
her into a hysterical state, and just
as soon as she thinks I am out of
hearing she begins to say those dread
ful things I told you about. lam
afraid it is a matter we will hare
to decide for ourselves, Mr. Ware."
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
BAVED FROM DREAD FATE.
Kind Woman's Assistance Meant
Much to This Tramp.
A certain lady, noted for her kind
heart and open hand, was approached
not long ago by a man who l , with
tragic air, began:
"A man, madam, is forced by
the whip of hunger to many things
from which his very soul shrinks—
and so It is with me at this time. Un
less, madam, in the name of pity, you
give me assistance, I will be com
pelled to do something which I neror
before have done, which I would
greatly dislike to do."
Much impressed, the lady mad®
haste to place in his hand a five-dol
lar bill. As the man pocketed it
with profuse thanks, she inquired:
"And what is the dreadful thing
I have kept you from doing, my poor
man?"
"Work," was the brief and moura
fill reply.—Harper's Weekly.
WESTERN MEN IN NEW YORK.
Brains of Mountain and Prairie In De
mand In the Financial Center.
Ever since the early days, when D.
O. Mills, J. B. Haggin and James R.
Keene "emigrated" from California to
New York, the metropolis has been
drawing largely on the west and south
for its supply of "men who do things."
Theodore P. Shontj, both a southerner
and westerner, who has undertaken to
solve New York's great transit prob
lem, is the latest importation in re
sponse to the call of the east.
The promptness with which Thos. F.
Ryan, of Virginia, turned the Equit
able Life Assurance Society over to
its policyholders, who now elect a ma
jority of its Board of Directors, and
divested himself of the control of the
stock which he bought from Jas. H.
Hyde, and the success of the new
management of the Society under the
direction of President Paul Morton,
have created a demand for the strong
men of the south and west that is
greater than ever before. Under the
Morton management the Equitable has
made a better showing than any other
insurance company in the way of im
proved methods, economies and in
creased returns to policyholders.
E. H. Gary, head of the greatest cor
poration in the world —the U. S. Steel
Co. —John W. Gates, Henry C. Frick,
Norman B. Ream, Wm. H. Moore and
Daniel G. Reid are other westerners
who are among the biggest men in
New York.
Her Aim.
A man who runs a truck farm In
Virginia tells of the sad predicament
In which a colored man named Sam
Moore, who is in his employ, recently
found himself. Sam had had consid
erable difficulty in evading the on
slaughts of a dog from a neighboring
farm. Finally the dog got him, as
Sam kicked at him.
Sam's wife, hearing a tremendous
yell, rushed to the rescue of her hus
band. When she came up the dog had
fastened his teeth in the calf of Sam's
leg and was holding on for dear life.
Seizing a stone in the road, Sam's
wife was about to hurl it when Sam,
with wonderful presence of mind,
shouted:
"Mandy! Mandy! Don't frow dat
stone at de dawg! Frow it at me,
Mandy!"—Youth's Companion.
His Name for It.
I was once teaching a class of small
pupils in physiology in a rural school
and asked the class what name was
given to the bones of the head as a
whole. A little girl raised her hand.
"What is it, Lucy?" I asked.
"Skull!" she answered.
"Correct," said I; "but what other
name has it?" expecting some one to
answer "cranium." All were silent
for a while, then a little fellow who
seemed to be in a deep study quickly
raised his hand, his eyes sparkling
and a confident smila spreading on
his face.
"What is it, Henry?" I asked.
"Noggin," was his immediate reply.
—Judge's Library.
A SMALL SECRET.
Couldn't Understand the Taste of
His Customers.
Two men were discussing the var
ious food products now being supplied
in such variety and abundance.
One, a grocer, said, "I frequently try
a package or so of any certain article
before offering it to my trade, and in
that way sometimes form a different
idea than my customers have.
"For instance, I thought I would try
some Postum Food Coffee, to see what
reason there was for such a call for it.
At breakfast I didn't like it and supper
proved the same, so I naturally con
cluded that my taste was different
from that of the customers who bought
it right along.
"A day or two after, I waited on a
lady who was buying a 25c package
and told her I couldn't understand how
one could fancy the taste of Postum.
" 'I know just what is the matter,'
she said, 'you put the coffee boiler on
the stove for just fifte«n minutes, and
ten minutes of that time It simmered,
and perhaps five minutes it boiled;
now if you will have it left to boll full
fifteen minutes after it commences to
boil, you will find a delicious Java-like
beverage, rich in food value of gluten
and phosphates, so choice that you
will never abandon it, particularly
when you see the great gain in health.'
Well, I took another trial and sure
enough I joined the Postum army for
good, and life seems worth living since
I have gotten rid of my old time stom
ach and kidney troubles."
Postum is no sort of medicine, but
puro liquid food, and this, together
with a relief from coffee worked the
change. "There's a Reason."
Road "The Road to Wellville," is
pkgs.
Hozv the Quieter
Sort c/lmase
Themselves
"1 'By Julia Ward Hcnve 112
Newport Now Contrasted with
the Newport of Yesterday—Par
lor Amusements for the "Quieter
Sort"—Old Time Dance on the
Green—Famous Men and Wom
en Who Have Enjoyed Them
selves Simply— Cut and
Summer Schools of Philosophy
—Recreation vs. Amusement.
k ✓
(Copyright, by Joseph B. Bowles.)
(Julia Ward Howe, with her husband,
Dr. Samuel (Jridley Howe, th» eminent
philanthropist who died In ISTfi, worked
earnestly against slavery, becoming a
leader in the agitation carried on through
out New England. After the slavery
question was settled by the civl! war
Mrs. Howe took a prominent part in the
work for woman suffrage, prison reform
and international peace. Her "Battle
Hymn of the Republic" is known every
where and will always live. Among her
many works may be mentioned "Passion
Flowers," "I,ater Lyrics," "Memoir of 8.
G. Howe," "Life of Margaret Fuller" and
"Is Polite Society Polite?" Her children
are also famous, the best known of them
being Maud Howe Elliott and Laura
Richards. The Intimacy of her associa
tions with the great writers and thinkers
of the last half century is shown by the
present article.)
I am in Newport in the month of
October. The gay season has come
and gone. The gay world has driven
and dined and danced, seeking and
finding its accustomed plethora of friv
olous amusement. It has possibly
paid its bills and has certainly gone
its way. It has troubled itself little
with regard to the amusement of
those outside of its limits. Yet has
some diversion been furnished to man
kind at large by the report of its do
ings. Its taste has been more accord
ant with Roman luxury than with
Greek simplicity. Dinners in private
houses of from 80 to 100 plates are
far removed from the classic rule
which enjoined that guests at a ban
quet should not be less than three or
more than nine.
The faces of the gay people when
they departed were anything but gay.
They looked fagged and fatigued be
yond measure, and their banality of
facial expression was such as to strike
a chill to the heart of the beholder.
The writer, having haunted the pres
ent field of observation for some seven
decades, will here hazard some retro
spective notes on "things that have
been."
I might first speak of a Newport
season of 55 years ago, in which
George William Curtis and Thomas
Appleton, with the families of Poet
Longfellow and Dr. Howe, sojourned
together at the old Cliff house, now
replaced by the new Cliff hotel. Studi
ous inmates passed mornings in their
rooms. Sea bathing for those who en
joyed it also occupied much of the
forenoon. The afternoons were de
voted to rambles, out-of-door sketch
ing and driving, mostly along the
beautiful beaches. Now and then our
drive brought us to a teahouse, fa
mous for its inexhaustible supply of
hot griddle cakes. An occasional "hop
at the ocean" called away our young
people, but the crowning gayety of the
week was found in the Saturday even
ing gathering at this same Ocean
house, where elders sat or prome
naded while young couples danced to
their hearts' content, the ladies hold
ing their trains in one hand, as the
traditional mermaid is supposed to
hold her caudal appendage.
In those days one of the few resi
dents of Bellevue avenue issued invi
tations for a dance at his house. When
the music and the figures began the
Yankee serving man, recently hired,
exclaimed, "I won't stay to see those
people dance themselves to hell!"
and rushed wildly from the house,
leaving the refreshments to take care
of themselves.
Years passed in which the butter
fly hunt of fashion began to invade
our quiet, but not yet in aggressive
numbers. A summer came which
brought Bret Harte, Dr. Holland,
James Parton and Fanny Fern, Col.
T. W. Higginson and Helen Hunt to
the lovely seaside resort. Those con
genial spirits soon formed a habit of
coming together. We enjoyed many
sails across the bay and chowder
cooked on the sands of Jamestown,
which then boasted few houses and
only one small tavern. Our evenings
were enlivened by readings, parlor
dramas, charades and delightful con
versation. The enchanting season
came to an end all too quickly, never
to repeat itself, but never wholly to
perish from the memories of those
whom it had united in friendly in
tercourse.
The watering place presently camo
into absolute favor with the devotees
of fashionable life. Great attention
was given to display and entertain-
ments grew more and more formal
and expensive. Night was turned
into day and day afforded no time
for any thoughtful pursuit. What
did the "quieter sort" do under these
circumstances?
They united to form a small and
friendly association whose meetings
were held in private parlors. Re
freshments were limited to tea and
its concomitants or simple ices and
cake. A presiding officer, a small
committee charged with providing en
tertainments, a treasurer appointed
to receive and care for the very
moderate fees intended to cover the
expenses of correspondence and an
nouncement—these sufficed for a
quarter of a century to keep the club
in running order.
The entertainments offered to this
assemblage were sufficiently varied
in character. Men of science kindly
lent themselves to the object held in
view and instructive talks on many
questions of natural history were
given and enjoyed. Under this head
mention might be made of a botan
ical picnic, at which an expert in
that line of study led an adventurous
party into depths of cliff and valley,
to return laden with wild flowers,
which were duly dissected and ex
plained before an attentive audience.
Music and the parlor drama some
times brought lighter faculties into
play and in the region of litera
ture some rare ieiights were afford
ed us. flans Breitmann read us the
famous poem which gave him his
name. The Rev. George Ellis en
lightened us on themes of early
American history. Col. T. W. Hig
ginson unearthed for us the veritable
diary of a Newport belle of 100 years
ago. Memorable was a lecture on
Aristotle, given by the late Prof.
Davidson. The interest of this was
so great as to lead to more than one
especial gathering for the discussion
of the various directions in which
this "greatest of those who know"
led the intellectual advance of the
world.
Leaving for the moment the pur
lieus of Newport town, let me glance
a little at summer festivities in the
rural districts. In this connection I
recall a dance on the green, the grass
closely clipped for the occasion. The
time was golden September, the com
pany a dozen intimate heads of fam
ilies, with their young people, the
music an old-fashioned fiddler with
his instrument. On this smooth
sward the waltz, "fatal," some French
writer says,"to good dancing," can
not well be managed. But lancer 3
and "Portland fancy" succeed very
well. The time chosen is the very
heart of the lovely autumn day.
Papas and mammas sit cheerfully in
a pleasant mingling of sun and shade
and recall their own days of friski
ness. But when the Virginia reel
is called their feet refuse to keep
still. They take hands and join in
the mirthful exercises until they are
well tired out and by no means un
willing to taste an excellent "bouilla
baise," which is served, piping hot,
under the shelter of the oaks and
maples.
Shall I go back a little further and
recall a real "dance in a barn?" Not
the gymnastic which figures under
that name in * modern ballroom, but
a feast given by a city lady of 50
years since to celebrate the comple
tion of a new barn on her country
estate. She sends her invitations
through the village carpenter. He
asks whether he shall Invite old and
young. She replies, "By all means,
and the more the merrier."
So, at sundown, the rustic neigh
bors appear. The barn is lit with
lanterns and adorned with green
boughs. The tables are spread with
substantial viands. The air is redo
lent of the fragrance of hot coffee.
In a corner stands the fiddler and a
call is made for partners. Farmer
B. suggests that "Cousin Bob might
bring his bass," and so the 'cello
lends its dignity to the occasion. The
country folks execute their steps
with great good will. At intervals
they unite their voices in song:
"Last Tuesday night the wind was
west,
There was a husking in the east.'
And so on and so on until the rural
limits of frolic time are reached and
the barn is left to its future estate
of use.
The extension of camp life In our
country is a very encouraging sign
of progress. The breath of the woods
is fresh and invigorating and the
simple labors of the camp, shared
among its inmates, afford a lesson in
the direction of that plain living
which is said to be a condition of
high thinking. The summer camps
for boys, which have so multiplied of
late, provide abundantly for the ex
ercise of that superfluous energy
which renders the youngster when
"cabined, cribbed, confined" a terror
to orderly households.
What a camping out was that in
which Emerson, the elder Agassiz
and Lowell, with a chosen company
of friends, took refuge in the Adiron
dack solitudes! William Stillman,
who planned and conducted this out
ing "in the grand style," has spoken
of it at some length in his recently
published "Reminiscences." It al
ways remained in his mind as one of
the greatest events in his eventful
life. Mr. Emerson was moved to
celebrate this excursion in a poem
which I once had, with other friends,
the pleasure of hearing from his own
lips. As he read the now weil-known
lines his lace was lit up by pleasant
i-ecollections and ho even quoted
with humor the boatman's comment
! on the bad rowing of one of th«
j party, "Will you catch crabs?"
JULIA WARP HOWE.