Through Life. Entering lite, we come leartully Into the new and unknown, Trembling and terrified, tearfully luffing tile's burden alone; llraving its dangers more cheerfully When we the stronger have grown. B till, like old earth so roceivingly Taking the bad and the good- Taking, nor choosing, bulievingly Ever the best us we could; Sadly repenting, then grievingly Striving to do as wc should. Long may we wonder suspeotingly, Ingrates whom passions enslave, Scornlu'ly, proudly, rojectingly Serving the mercy God gave; Nor look to Him who protectingly His arm forth stretches to save. Thoughtlessly, carelessly, musingly, Playing at file's checkered game; Ever the tally-sheet losingly Scoreth a list to our name; Bravely our conscience accusingly Stirrcth our senses wilh shame. I/Hiking to conscience inquiringly, Thoughtlessness sccmeth u siu; Working and striving untiringly, So must the battle begin; Faith, hope and love will iuspiringly Teach us how life we may win. May we our duty do daretully, Strengthening, careworn, oppressed; Treading our way over carefully Through snares to homo ol the blest; Hopefully, cheerfully, prayerfully, Finding in heaven a rest' Striving with sin, sin enslavingly Holding us ever so last; Looking lor mercy most cravingly Through the dark clouds sweeping past; Tenderly, lovingly, savingly, Jesus redeemeth, at last. fiction Trnntcri}/!. ' 4 WATCH THE E0X!" The 6 :20 evening express. No. 39. was river an hour late that night. Cause enough, heaven knows. For twelve hours the storm had raged, and now in stead of showing any signs of breaking, the rain came down in torrents from the inky sky, and the thunder rolled ominously overhead. A bad storm to drive an engine through, as anybody would have known, and tbe wonder is that No. 29 was not three hours late in stead of one. Luke Granger, the trus tiest, nerviest engineer on the road, rounded the curve just below Red Ravine station at twenty-six minutes past seven. I breathed a sigh of relief when I taw the headlight cut a hole in the darkners. The station bridge might have given away in a storm like that, and I was beginning to get nervous over this thought. Somehow everything made me nerv ous that night. It was just the kind of weather when tilings look all out ol gear, anyway. Then, I suppose, the knowledge of that money package being due and fail ing to come on the 11:30. as it should have done, had its effect on me. I didn't relish the idea of keeping 813,000 in cash until the next day. Eldridge & Ricketson had been down themselves to meet the morning train, and If the package had come I could have turned it over to them at onct, and that would have been the end of the matter. But it didn't come. That's a way things have in this world, when you most want 'em. There wasn't a soul at the station that night except myself, and there were only two passengers who got off the train. I speak of 'em that way not meaning to he disrespectful, or make light of solemn things; only it's habit, I suppose; lor most people would say there was only one passenger that got off at Red Ravine, seeing that the second of 'em was carried out of the ex nrcss car in a wooden box. Usually when n body was coming on I got word beforehand, but this one took me quite by surprise, and added not a little to the nervousness already felt. "Who is it?" ' asked, as the box was carried into the station. The passenger who had got off the train, and who was a stranger to me, r answered mv inquiry. "The body is that of my sister-in law." said he. "She was the niece of Thomas Eldridge—doubtless you know him. Her death was very sudden. She is to be buried in Mr. Eidrigde'a lot here." "Then I suppose tho body is to be left in my charge until to-morrow?" said 1. " Yes," answered the stranger. "Do you suppose thai I can get to Mr El dridge'* myself to-night?' "Well, 1 replied, "It's a good four miles, and in such a storm as this—" " I'll wait until to-morrow," inter rupted tbe stranger. "There is some sort of a hotel here, isn't there?" "Yes, a good one. You'll have to fjot It, though; but it's only a matter ot quarter of a mile, and you can't miss your way, fpr the rood up the hill lends to the bouse." Here I made mv way out to the plat form again and made my way on the express car where the money package, which all along I hnd secrecy hoped wouldn't come, was delivered to me by the messenger. As he gave it to me he siid: " You'll want to keep a sharp eye on that, Billy. There's enough in it to make oneot your Red Ravtners put a bullet tlimigti your bead, and never give you the chance to object." "IV lookout for the Red Ravi nets, and the package too," said I, oonfi dently enough. But if the truth had been told, I didn't tike the suggestion which the messenger had made. The train moved off quickly, and I swung mv lantern, as was my habit, by way of bidding good-nigbt to Luke granger. Then I went into the station house with the little pnekage clutched tightly under my rubber coat, expecting to find the mnn there who had come on with tho body. But he had gone, being anxious, no doubt, to get to the hotel as quickly as possible. No 39 was the lvst train which stopped at Red Ravine until ten minutes past six the next morning. So my work for the night whs done, and I led only to lock up the doors, see that tilings were nil right about the plaoe. and sit down to my newspaper in the little room which served as my sleeping quarters. Twenty years had passed since I first found myself installed at Red Ravine a telegrnph operator in the mil way sta lion, llcing content with the humdrum sort of life, and faithful to my duties, ! 'iad come by degrees to attend to all the work which the place required. That ib, I was ticket agent, baggage-master ind keeper of the station, besides acting '.or the express company and continuing my charge of the telegraph kev. These uoinbincd labors made it pretty close work for nie, but they all yielded a very cHn for table income j and a# I was t *ouhled witli no unsatisfied ambitions, I counted myself well fixed. As I have intimated, I slept in the station, partly to keep guard on the company's property and partly from choice; being a bach elor and without kin, ! bad nothing to attract me elsewhere. My duties had grown a part of second nature, and I had lived in the little town so long that the younger generation had come to speak of me as " Old Billy." That was, I suppose, because my hair was get'ing gray joints a little stiff. The Red Revine station was a wooden buildirg, about forty feet long and twenty wide. It was divided into two compartments, the larger one being for freight and baggage, and the smaller one for passengers. My own little room was only a piece partitioned off from the freight quarter, and ten feet square, and connected by a door with a box of nn office in the passenger's room, which served both for selling tickets and holding the telegraph key. In this latter apartment, also, was placed the old-fashioned iron eafe, in wl ieh I locked up my valuable ex pres packages when any happened to come to Red Ravine. The village, 1 ougfft to ex plain, had grown up entirely through the influence of the great iron works of Eldridge & Ricketaon. There were rich beds of ore a few miles to the north, and these, bs well as the foundry, which employed 400 or 500 hands, were con trolled by the firm I have mentioned. There had been some trouble at tbe works recently—a strike or something growing out o! delay in paying the men their wages. This is how it happened that the 813,000 'money package came into my keeping for a niglit. Well, when I had made all snug about the station, and got off my wet clothing, I sat down comfortably with pipe and newspaper to enjoy my cus tomary reading. The storm outside continued to rage more and more fierce ly, but within, things were cosv as could be. But that night, things seemed all out of gear, as I have said. My pipe didn't soothe me as was its wont; try as I might, I couldn't get in terested in the newspaper; an uncom fortable feeling of dread—a feeling that some shadowy but horrible thing wot about to happen—possessed my mind " It all comes from that pesky money package," I muttered to mjself. "Wby couldn't it have got here on the 11:30 and saved mo the job of keeping it here over night!" .lustatthis momit came a terrific clap of thunder and a flash of lightning vivid enough to make the lamp dim. I had locked up the package in the sale and put the key—there was no combina tion lock—in my pocket. But I had not the largest faith in the security of the old safe. It had occurred to me often that a person could open it, even if he i wasn't a skillful cracksman. It was mv custom to leave my door open between my littlp room and the ticket office, so that if Red Ravine was called on the telegraph key I could hear it. The in strument had been clicking nway at a great rate for the past hour; but ns it was none of my business I had paid no attention to what was going over the wires I judged now from tlip ntarr.iss of tbe lightning and the jerking sounds of the instrument that the storm was playing the mischief with the messages. I passed into the ticket office where a light wns left burning, and stooq for sometime thinking whether the money package would be less exposed in ibe safe than it would be under the mat tn-ss of my tied, and I finally concluded that the latter would be the hardest for any possible thief to reach. So I took out the heavy brown envelope and stowed it awav under the mattress. Once more I sat down to my newpnper and pipe, but with no better success than before. The storm seemed now to have centered right over the little sta tion. I'eal after peal of thunder rent the air. and the lightning played about the sky like phosphorus on an inky back ground. If you have ever chanced to be in a telegraph office during a thunder storm, you may have seen the electric ity dash down the wires in away to make timid people nervous. Even veteran operators, like myself, wouldn't want to undertake to receive that* >rt of message. I was tempted to close the key, but the meaningless ticking rind a sort of fascination for me in the mood I then was. To occupy myself about something I relighted my lantern, went into the freight room, examined again the holts of the doors and the fastenings of t.ho windows, and returned to the room more worried and upset than evei. Juntas I was entering my own nest, the light of the lantern fell squarely on the wooden box. Oddly enough, until that moment I had forgotten all aboutthe dead young woman. Thinking so steadily of the 113,000 had, I suppose, driven the box out of my mind. But I can't say it was any comfort to have it brought back now; for a corpse is never the most cheerful of company, and, feeling ns I did then. I would a great deal rather have had no company at all. It must have been tbe imp of the per verse. 1 suppose, that impelled me, after the box had been brought back to my mind, to leave the door open so that 1 could sit and stare at it with morbid curiosity. As 1 have already said, my sleeping-npnriment was partitioned off from tbe freight room, and was con nected with the latter by a door. The body hnd been placed in such a position that when this door was open the head of the box was in sight. Two or three times I got up to shut the door, but some strange fatality drove me hack to my chair, and caused me to keep in view the box with its sad freight. All this time the storm raged, the thunder dis charged it' mighty batteries, the light ning flashed, and the mad ravings of the t< iegrmph continued. I cnuffl.t my hand trembling as I tried to refill my pipe. Nervousness, no doubt; but possibly an observer might have thought old Billy was frightened. I had just risen to wind the little clck on the shelf, when suddenly out of the hitherto meaningless ticking of the in strument sharply and distinctly came to my Qars these sounds: which in spoken words meant, " Watch the box." I stnrted as it a charge of electricity had shot through my frame. I could fairly feel my face grow white. I stood motionless, clutching tho back of my chair, and with my eyes riveted in a vacant stare at the table in thetclegraph office. I knew this was no work of an excited imagination. The words, tomy practical ear, were as plain ns if shouted in clarion tones. There had come no call for Red Ravine, and the message ended without signature or mark, but abruptly, as it had begun. More than that, it was not the writing of an opera tor on any section of the line. T would have sworu to that with as much posi tiveness as you would to the tones of a voice with which you are familiar. In the dot and dash alphabet we learn to distinguish who is handling the keys almost with as much accuracy as others distinguish handwriting. And in all my experience 1 had never heard the sounder click off a message like tl at. While I stood dazed and almost par alyzed (for you must remember tliatold Billy's nerves were strung to a terrible pitch that night) the rapid and unintel ligible click-click was resumed as if a demon had again got hold of the key. It was ully five minutes before I mustered courage enough to pass into the ticket office and sit down by the table myself. Not once hud I turned back to look at the box. Almost at the instant of my sitting down at the table the clicking stopped short, as it had done before, anil then these words were repeated: "Watch the box." 1 sprang up from the table, and, with the now strengthened conviction that it was no delusion, no fancy, but that the sound had come plainly over the wires, I felt my courage ictuming, and re solved to heed the mysterious warning. Tlic rolling of the thunder and the mad roar of the storm no longer depressed me. I stepped boldly back into my own room, and rested my eyes unflinch ingly on the mysterious "box. What was the mysterious freight? Why had the phantom of the storm sent those startling words over the wires? What unknown hand had reached out from the very lightning itself to warn me of some impending danger? These ques tions rushed through my mind as f felt the dread fear disappearing and found myself of a sudden growing strangely calm. Tho clock struck ten. I turned to the shelf, and with a hand that no longer trembled inserted the key, and wound it composedly. Would it be the last time that I should perform that simple task? No matter. Happier than mcst men, because content with my humble lot, it should never he said that old Billy flinched in the face of duty. For that night it was my duty—my one sacred, all-important duty—*o guard the treasure left to my keeping. And , guard it I would while life remained. W hrn I had finished winding the clock. I took down from the shelf an old rusty pistol which had lain for years undisturbed. It was not loaded, nor had I either powder or bullet anywhere in the station. But the weapon was an ugly looking one, and carried n sort of siicnt force in case of too aggressive argument. After examining the rusty lock.; I put the pistol on the table, lighted my pipe, and—closed the door that opened into tho freight-room. Now that 1 v.aa thoroughly myself again. I found it easy enough to shut out the sight of that ominous oblong box. It was not until the clock struck again —that is eleven—that I made up my mind to go to bed. All the time the storm held on, although the thunder hnd begun to rumble more distantly. I threw off my coat and slippers, put out the light in the ticket office, and turned that in my sleeping-room down to a low flame. Then I drew the money pack age from under the mattress and pinned it securely to my woolen shirt under my vest. This done, and the table so placed that I could reach both the lamp and the pistol, I opened the door into the freight room some three or lour inches and then threw myself upon the bed. Just as my bead touched the pillow the in strument, which had grown quiet now clicked off for the third time, loudly, distinctly, slowly, its words of warning: " Watch the box!" This time the warning wa not heeded. I had not gone to bed to sleep, but for the very purpose of watching the box. Standing as it did. with the head close to the door, and therefore close to the box itself, the bed afforded the vervbest point from which to keep an eye on tho suspicious freight. Had my faith in the telegraphic clicking been less, or had my own sense of great re sponsibility di - sorted me for a single moment, I should certain iy given up the job of watching as foolish, and in that case it is not likely that this narrative would ever have been written. But I believed in the thrice-repeated message, and did not let drowsiness overcome patience. Twelve, one,,two—how very slowly the hours se< med to drng themselves. The low flame of the lamp went out, as the oil went dry. What a relief It was to hear the clock strike! At last. somewhere about midnight, the storm had broken. I could seethe stars ns they came out, through the window in the freight room, which was on a line of vision with the box. How strangely still it seemed after the mighty mar of the storm and the sharp cinp of thunderl Not a clink from the instrument now. Not a sound save the sturdy ticking of the clock. Still I lay listening, watch ing, with faculties all alert and my eyes nlways on the oblong box. A little past two—perhaps ten minutes. The silence almost painful in its profoundness. Nothing but the tick tick of the clock, which, to my eager ear. had taken on this sound, which it kept repeating over and over. "W a tch the—box f Watch—the— box!" What was that? Not the clock, not the telegraphio In strument. No, it was tLe sound as of the grating of iron. Faint, very faint, yet still audible to my earl Breathing regular.* and deeply, aa one breathes in icep, I lay and listened. Another in terval of lilenc*, and tneti uie grating sound came again, this time a trifle louder than before. The light of the stars shining through the window made the objects in the freight-room just visi ble. Almost simultaneously with the second grating noise I saw the cover oi the wooden box rising slowly from the end furthest removed from the bed. I could feel my heart thumping away like a sledge hammer, but I continued to breathe heavily and to watch keenly. Gently and noiselessly the cover was pressed upward until it reached an angle which completely shut out from my view t'ae window beyond. A moment later the figure of a man enme out of t lie shadows, while the box cover >va• ,et down as noiselessly as it had betu raised. This then was the burden oi the box. This wns the meaning of the mys terious warning which the sounder bad spoken. With cat-like tread the figure moved toward the door of my room. Still I lay as in deep Bleep. On the threshold the ligure paused, and in a moment later a single ray of light like a silver thread pierced the darkness and fell upon the bed. Luckily it did not strike myface, and in an instant I closed my eyes. As I liad anticipated, the ray of light was directed toward my pillow, and by the sense of feeling I knew it rested on my face. Satisfied that I wns in deep slumber, the figure, still with cat-like tread, glided through the bed room and into the ticket office. My eyes were wide open again by this time. 1 he light from the dark lantern had in creased, hut its ravs were now turned toward the safe. Obviously the robber believed the treasure he sought was there. I waited until he knelt down to examine the lock, and then, witli steps as noise'ess as his own, I slipped from the bed and toward the half-opened door. So intent was he in examining the safe that it was net until I was within reach of him that he heard me. lie sprang to his feet, bringing the glass of the lantern lull into my face, and reaching for his revolver, which he lad laid upon the top of the safe. Hut he was too late. With the rusty old pistol, held by its long barrel, . dealt him a crushing blow on the head iust as his lingers grasped his own weapon. He fell heavily without uttering a gronn. The lantern was extinguished as it fell, and with trembling lingers I struck a match and lighted the lamp in the office. As iis rays fell upon the upturned face of the robber I saw that blood was flow ing from the wound I had inflirted, and I saw, too, thatiiis nvc was delicate in iti outlines and intelligent in expression. | 1 had time to notice no more, for I felt, I now that the danger was past, the need jof aid. So, after binding the uneon j scions man's feet and arms and bathing his head in cold water, I puliisi on my boots and overcoat and started in hot haste for the hotel. Half-way on the road I met a covcr< d carriage drawn by one horse. 1 took it to be the turn-out of Matthews, Hie hotel proprietor, and wondei ing what he could bo out for at that hour, I shouted hilt name. I got no response. 1 hen 1 cried out at the top of my voice: " I've killed a burglar down at the station!" Whoever wns in he carri vgc must have heard m, hut the horse only quickened his sharp trot, and disap j penred in the darkness. J They give me a good deal more credit, i the people of Red Ravine, for that night's , adventure, than I dese/ve. And I do not blame them for laughing at how things cane nut. For when a party of us_ got hack to the station my uncon scious burrlar had disappeared, and the tracks next in-rning showed that the covered carriage which I had met on the road had drawn up at the plat form. Who was in it? Well. I couldn't | swear, but I have a notion tha'. it con ( tained the gentleman who had come on j with the body. At all events, neither ! lie nor the body was cvei seen in the I town again. I had the satislaction of delivering the money package solely to Eloridge & Rickeston, but the check they gave me was not really merited. For what would have happened had it not been for the mysterious message which no man sent?— Washington I'oat. Rutin nay Horses. The horse that lias once acquired the habit of running away, says "The Book of the Horse," will bolt on the first opportunity. It you -upt his in tention the best plan is t-> check it the moment he begins to move, taking hold of one ri in with lx