Miiito
Ipilid Jglfe sail
THE OON8TITUTION-THE UNION AND THE ENFORCEMENT OP THE LAWS.
M. F. HOHWEIER,
MIFFLINTOWN. JUNIATA COUNTY. PENNA.. WEDNESDAY. APRIL 7. 1897.
NO. 17
VOL. LI.
CHAPTER XXII.
The telegram which reached Bertle'i
lodgings just before the travelers left tb
house was from Stella Moncrieff. "Cuiin
lit once." it said. "Vour father is away
but . am sure that he will welcome you.
It was not until four or five o'clock ot
the following day that the little part)
. 1 . . i. 1 .. S rr.A
u.aue abearance a. u V'
restnuir. A sad little party, indeed! toi'
Molly, the once merry, high-spirited girl,
bad come back a crushed and broken
hearted woman; and Bertie was bowed
down by sympathy for her troubles, a 11 J
Lady Yal bad sorrows of her owu. And
Stella, who received them, also bad bei
share of grief, and looked as it sue bad
tpent many hours of weariness aud a ub
iety during the year that bad elape
siuce Molly's marriage.
No question was asked or answered a!
first. Molly fell Into Stella's arms at
naturally as if she had been a child corn
lug home to her mother, and Stella folded
ber close to her breast, as if abe could not
bear to let her go. There was aomi
sweetness to be got out of this Bad home
coming, after all. And then Molly had til
te put to bed, and comforted, and tended,
and it was touching to see how gentl
the bad grown, how grateful for word
aud deeds of love.
Kingscott was for once as ignorant ol
Alan's whereabouts as. Stella; and bii
Ignorance was excessively annoying t
him. It would have been his greates!
possible delight to steal a march on Stells
and to represent ber to her husband at
defying his commands and utterly neg
tectiug his wishes; be could, he fancied
have drawn a very striking picture o:
"Stella in revolt," as he phrased it tt
himself, Stella opening the doors or Tor
resuiuir to the disobedient runawa)
daughter whom Alan bad never intended
to invite to his home again. This wai
all, no doubt, a fancy picture; but li
would have been extremely gratifying
to heighten its hues and intensify its dis
tinctness in Alan's eyes. The provoking
part of it was that Alan had not chosen
to leave him bis address. It was almost
the first time that this had happened; aud
Kingscott was obliged to see in it what
he had for a long time suspected, that
Alan did not trust him as much as in
former days, aud was rapidly learning t
dispense with his services.
Oue day Stella had taken the road that
led toward Dunkeld. and did not intend
to go Tery far. The day was cold but
bright, and walking was very pleasant
She went for some little distance, gather
ing a winter bouquet on her way a few
red berries, a yellow leaf or two, a moss
twig, aud by and by she began to rear
range ber little nosegay, looking down al
It instead of straight before her. So it
happened that she did not in the least se
that any one was approaching, aud when,
at the sound of a baiting footstep sli
raised ber eyes, she started violently tc
bud that they met those of her husband,
who was standing in the road before her
"Stella!" There was the most extraor
diuury pleasure In his face and voice.
Stella was conscious of something un
usual - something indefinably warm and
caressing which crept into his tone; bat
it was so quickly succeeded by coldneai
that she had scarcely time to realize 1'
before It was gone.
"I wanted to be alone for a time not
to be troubled with business letters," hi
went ou. "There was nothing for which
I was likely to be needed at home."
"I have a great deal to tell you," said
tStella, tremulously. "Molly is here."
"Molly V" She had somewhat expected
the quick, stern look of Inquiry, the bend
Ing of the haughty brows. "And her bus
band?"
"Her husband turned her out into th
street one cold, stormy night. She went
to Bertie's lodgings. They telegrapher
bere to know If she might come."
"Hannington turned her out? Turned
Molly out? hia wife?" He stopped short
tn the road, as if he could not go on, hit
lips working with emotion; suddenly h
broke out with a violent ejaculation:
"The acoundrel! the brute! And I not
here to horsewhip him! Well, what next?
What did she do? She came here of
tourse. Well?"
Then Stella repeated the whole story
as we know it, while Mr. Moncrieff lis
tened with growing indignation. Wbev
ha had finished he exclaimed:
I ought to bare been at home. I
ought never to have done such a wild
thing as to go off in that way, aa if I
did not care what befell any of you. 1
shall never forgive myself. But I cer
tainly bad an idea that I left au addresi
.with Macalister. I suppose I forgot it.
i meant to have important letters for
warded. I was a fool a fool. A selfish
fool, too, for I went for my own satis
faction only. If I tell you why I went,
Stella, I wonder whether you will think
it possible ever to forgive me for mj
neglect of you."
"Tell me," she said, aoftly.
"My dear," he said, stopping short and
looking fixedly at her, "I had been find
Ins; out that I could not bear the stat
of things between ns the life we led
any longer. And I went away that 1
Blight, in the course of s few lonely data,
settle oue or two matters with my con
science. I wanted to decide whether yon
were right or wrong' in the accusation
you brought against me. I thought
even on that night when we talked to
gether in the library that you were
wrong. Do you remember? But the more
I think of it. the more I am certain that
f od were right."
She wished that she could atop him
out the strange dumbness which had be
set har before made it impossible for bet
cc attar a w J; " "t U
"I acknowledge the truth of erytblni
that you said to me. I have beet harsh,
tyrannical, auspicious, overbearing. My
children did well to distrust my love; it
was not great enough to give them what
they needed. And you were right to re
proach me even to despise me, for I had
been wilfully blind to the light that shone
upon me-the light of the star that might
, .. , ... .
have guided me. It does guide Die in
spite of all: it leads me back to yourself.
1 come back, Stella, to tell you in all
humbleness and sincerity that I see mj
error, and that, aa far as it is possible ta
me. I do repent of it."
She forgot that they -vere in the open
roadway, where travelers might come aud
go at any moment. With a movement
so quick that it took him by surprise, she
threw her arms round his neck and looked
iuto bis face.
'-Oh. Alan, Alan, she said; "I bavt
been aa blind as you, and far, far more
uujuat than you. Did you believe uis
when 1 said that my love was dead)
Darling, I have loved you all the time.
Ob. it la good to have you here, to know
that you are home again, and that you
love me too!"
"My star! my blessed guiding star!" hi
murmured as, for the first time, their lipl
uiet in the loving kiss so long desired
10 long delayed so perfect when at last
it was given and received. "I ban
strayed from you too long; heaven help
ing me I will never leave you again, nevei
close my eyes again to your brightness,
you sweet star of my life."
CHAPTER XXIII.
was a new experience-to Molly to
It
bave ber father's arms about her, and
to recognize with a surprise and deligh'
the love that shone from his eyes, tbt
tenderness breathing in every accent ol
his voice. It was a revelation to her
She had never known, as she said naive
ly to Stella afterward, that her fathei
feared so much." She was too weak aud
languid to talk a great deal; but then
svas great comfort for ber in the assftr
ince of bis forgiveness, aud the kissei
that be pressed on the face of her baby
girl as well as upon ber owu.
' Clue auxiety alone possessed her. Sh
found it difficult to speak of her husband
without tears and agitation, aud the sub
ject of her marriage was therefore gener
ally avoided. But she insisted ou begging
ber father not to try to see Hannington
not to take any notice of the past, but tc
let ber stay quietly at Torresmuir, ' and
leave him to go his own way.
To Lady Val'a observant eye tht
change in the relations between Stella
aud Alau Moncrieff was very plain. She
saw at once, too, that her own presence
was something of a superfluity. Molly
was slowly recovering; Bertie and King
scott were outwardly civil companions to
sue another, although no longer friends
Lady Val felt herself one too'maiiy, aud
thought it better to announce her iinwe
Jiitte return to London.
Ou the second day of her arrival it
:owu she received a call from Captain
Itutberford. She bad written to tell him
tbut she was returning, aud was not at
all surprised to see him when he ap- 1
ueared. She noticed that be looked j
harassed and aqpioua, and she hastened
to give him, in her usual light and cheer-1
ful way, some reassuring news of Molly,
af whom she felt sure that he wanted
to hear.
"1 am glad she is safe at home," b
laid at length, with a heavy aigb.
"So am I," said Lady Val. briskly.
'But you look dreadfully worried. Char
ie. Anything wrong?"
"It'sJohn Hannington," muttered
Charlie.
"Well, what of him? la be not Is
Paris?"
"No. worse luck. He's at home as usual
and from what I bear he's drinking
himself to death."
"Drinking! Are you sure?"
"His servant went to Donald Vereker a
Jay or two ago and asked him to get bis
master to see "a doctor. Donald, having
heard of the way in which he had treated
his wife; refused to go near him. I loathe
John Hannington with all my heart. It
was almost impossible for me to inter
fcie. But I did what I could."
"What did you do, Charlie?"
"I hunted up the doctor that I knew
hey used to see sometimes. He would
lot go for a long time; he said it would
le au intrusion. However, I persuaded
liui; and he went thia afternoon, as if ta
uy a friendly call. He was admitted,
nd he saw John Hannington."
"Well?"
"He was in a very queer state," said
Captain Rutherford, slowly. "He was
Half stupefied. He must have been using
sonr. drug as well as drinking b.ndy.
He did not seem to resent the doctor's
visit, but he would not promise to follow
the advice that was given."
"Ob, that is dreadful!" said Lady Val
;utb a sadden shiver. "Can nothing b
done? I am his friend. I am the only j
friend he has left. I'll go to him and tell 1
him what he mast do.
The result of this visit was that Han
aington, thoroughly bumbled, agreed to
go to Torresmuir to beg his wife's for
giveness aud to see hia baby daughter.
The journey northward was somewhat
jnfortunate. Snow bad been falling
heavily in some parts of the country, an.1
a great drift impeded traffic In the neigh
borhood of Carlisle. He was so much
hindered that be did not arrive at Dun
keld until the afternoon of the next day
and then it seemed to him that the best
thing was to take a room at the hotel ami
write a note that night to Molly's father.
Mr. Moncrieff sent back word that be
-oGld com to him at fire o'clock next
I day. llacnington grew nervous anil un
easy as the day weut on, and soou after
' luncheon he determined to go for a lung
walk by way of working off bis disquiet
ude. A fancy took him to look onct
more at Tomgarrow, where his meetings
with Molly used to take place. He rencb
: id the narrow lane whirh led to the little
: lanilet. and walked slowly up the asceud
; Jig ground. The gathering darkness
: made him scarcely aware of the ap
j proaeh of another wayfarer from an oppo
I site direction until the two were almost
' face to face. And then Ilanniugton
roused himself from his reverie, and came
' to a sudden standstill, barriug the other
i man's advance.
; "I've word to say to you, Ralph
i Kingscott," be said, in harsh, decided
I tones.
Ralph Kingscott also stopped abort,
! stJ the two men looked into each other's
eyes.
' "What bare you to say?" said King
) scott-
I There was a scarcely suppressed im
patience in his tone. He glanced up and
down the narrow lane as if he wanted to
estimate his chance of escape from bis
Interlocutor.
"I want a good many things," replied
llauniugton, doggedly. "You have sev
eral matters to answer for. I want the
truth of thia story about Molly that Lady
Val has been telling me about. You kuow
is well as I do that she never took from
her father's bouse a farthing's worth that
did not belong to ber. 1 hear that you
: you of all people! helped to throw auspi-
! cion upon her."
' Kingscott laughed, but bis face had
I turned Dal-
"I know nothing about the robbery.
Appearances were against Molly and
yourself. 1 ouly agreed with Moncrieff io
thinking that you " Kingscott stopped
short. Hannington- had seized him in a
strong, masterful grip and was striking
him as a dog shakes a rat.
"You lie!" he said. . "And you know
that you lie!"
Kingscott was apparently much tbt
fteaker of the two men. He was shorter
and slighter than John Hannington; but
Hannington was out of training, and b.il
lately led a peculiarly exhausting aud
unhealthy kind of life. On the otbei
band, Ralph was less courageous thuu
his old acquaintance,, aud was incliued
to make bis way out of a dithcuii position
by cunning, where Hannington would
probably sink to brutality. His very
lips looked pale in the waning light, w hilf
Hannington'a face glowed with the burn
ing red of anger and excitement.
"Let me go!" said Kingscott.
"You will come with me to Dunkeld.
then?"
Not ir
"I'll make you."
"How long is it since you have been
so fond of your wife?" said Kingscott.
w ith a sneer.
It was an ill-advised remark. Hauning-
viti'a hnnr closed more tisrh'lv thfln ever
upon his collar. The two men oloseil
with one another; in the straggle it soou !
l.wnme evident that Hannineton's sune-
rior weight, as well as his frenzy oi
auger, told in nis tavor. itingscoti de
fended himself but feebly.
"There you are!" said Hannington at
ast, as he held bis opponent dowu upon
the ground and looked at him with grim
viudictiveness.
CHAPTER XXIV.
Tie bad slightly loosened his hold.
Kingscott wrenched his hand free and
thrust it Into an inner pocket. The re
port of a revolver rang out to startle the
silence of the lonely hills. To the man
who fired that shot it seemed as If its echo
would never die away. Although the
lonely lane in which he stood was far re
moved from the habitations of man, hs
could not but fancy that the sound would
rouse the avengers of blood and bring
them from scores of nooks and corners
to punish the murderer for his crime.
For Hannington had fallen to the
ground aud lay there as one dead, whil-i,
for a moment or two, Ralph Kingscott
crouching beside him watched and wait
ed for any sign of life. But none came.
He turned away and strode haatily up
the laue. He did not want to be seen lu
the high-road now. He would strike
across the fields, and take a devious route
toward Blairgowrie, thence to the nearest
seaport town. He meant to make the
best of his way to Spain.
When Hannington awoke to conscious
ness, he was dimly surprised to find fa
miliar faces were about him. He had
been carried to Torresmuir, for the man
who had discovered him knew that he
had married Mr. Moncrieff's daughter,
and had taken it for granted that he
would be nursed at bis father-in-law's
house.
He lay for the most part in a dreamy
state, not Buffering much pain, but grow
ing weaker every hour. It seemed to
him that he was wrapped in a sort of
mist, from which faces occasionally
emerged with puzzling distinctness. They
were all kind and friendly faces, but he
had not energy to respond much to the
kindness. Now it was Stella's soft eyes
that rested cn him pityingly; he roused
himself to ask ber to forgive him for all
that he had done. Then Alan Moncrieff
bent over him and asked him some ques
tions, and to these he did bis best to
reply. But it was hard to fix his atten
tion, to call his mind back from the float
ing nafsts in which it was enveloped.
"Had Ralph Kingscott anything to do
with this?" Alan asked.- There was a
pause, for the feeble answer came: "It
was all my fault"
"AU your fault? you had quarreled?"
"It was about Molly; I can't tell you
now. She never robbed you nor did I.
I believe that it was Kingscott."
"Yes; I believe that it was Kingscott"
"You know that it waa not Molly ?"
"I know I am sure of it"
"That's right," said Hannington, in a
tone of weary relief, and then lus eyes
closed and the mist seemed to have en
gulfed him once again.
When he opened his eyes they rested
on Molly's white, worn face. She was
sitting beside him.
"Molly," he said, feebly. "Is it really
Molly?"
. "Yes, dear Jack."
"There's something I wanted to say.
Will you forgive me, Molly?"
"I forgave you ever so long ago, Jack.
When baby came I forgave yon."
"You'll let me see it the baby before
I go?"
"She Is here," said Molly.
"I can't see it. Everything I3 so dark."
She guided his hand to the little head
of the child which was now given Into
ber arms. Then be asked if he might
kiss it
"It is a girl, isn't it?" he said. "She'll
be a comfort to you, Molly. Somebody
told me what you were going to call
her "
"Valencia," said Molly, softly.
"Valencia yes." A clearer look came
into his eyes; he lay silent for some mo
ments at If thinking deeply. "Molly,"
hs said, at lost, very gently, "if I had
lived, I meant to be a better husband to
you. I wanted to be a belter man. But
I haven't the chance.
"Jack," Molly aald, J'is there jw one
whom yon want to see 7" A sudden light
came into hia eyes. He looked at her
eagerly, but did not speak.
"I have sent for her," said Molly. "I
know von loved her. Jack: but you love
me a little, too. do you not?" It was a
piteous cry. But she was satisfied with
his answer.
"I love her In a different way, Molly. I
never injured her. It was all so different.
Child, forgive me and say good-by. I
love yon you. my wife."
But when they had exchanged the last
sad kiss, and he was left with his nurses.
It was noticed that he began to watch the
door as be had never watched it for
Molly's coming.
She was with him at last. Her face
came out of the mists and smiled bravely
upon him. She was always courageous,
nd she had made up her miud tbut she
would not distr2ss him by lamentations.
He was vaguely glad that she did not
cry as Molly did.
"Val," he said, with a faiut suiile of
welcome, "the end has come, yon see." -
"Not by your owu seeking. Jack." she
answered.. She had kuelt down beside
the bed and was pillowing his head niton
her arm. A sort of instinct told her w hat
was beat to be done for liiui.
"I would have beeu a better husbauJ
f I had lived, to that poor child. She
loves me. and I could have loved her and
I he child, too. You will be a friend to
them, will you not, Val? I leave them to
you."
"Yes, Jack. I will do all I can."
"She will marry again," said Hanulng
ton. quietly. "Rutherford, perhaps. I
hope she will. You can tell her so, if
ever the occasion comes, Val. And if she
has other children, and this little one
should be neglected, or if the child was
left motherless, then jo Val "
"She should be my child, then." said
Valencia, softly.
"Yes. that is what I wanted to hear
vou say. Kiss me, Val."
She bent to kiss him, and received his
lust breath upon her lips.
CHAPTER XXV.
The way in which John Hannington
came by his death remained for souie
time a mystery. Ralph Kingscott's eight
was not at first connected with it, except
by Alan Moncrieff in his own mind: and
the questions that he put to Hannington
aud that others also put, had not beeu
answered by the dying man with suffi
cient clearness to insure certainty."
When Alan Moncrieff looked into bis
own affairs, much that bad been puzzling
to him was explained. The fraud and
trickery of which ha bad been the dupe
for years made him stand aghast. Ralph
had gone on until discovery was immi
nent, and had then disappeared; he had
taken with him large sums of money
enough. Indeed, to constitute a nice little
fortune, on which he could subsist very
comfortably in a foreign land. Mon
crieff, in the first shock of the discovery,
was inclined to prosecute, but ths pub
licity of a prosecution would have been
ry painful to the whole family, and it
was decided tZlst ths matter had better
amK into ODUVlon.
About a month after Hannington'a
death, however, a letter arrived which
threw considerable light upon several
points. It wss addressed to Alan Mon
crieff, and the postmark was that of aa
obscure town In Spain. It was from
Ralph Kingscott himself.
"Hear Alan," it began, with an audaci
ty which almost took away Moncrieff's
breath, "I have just learned from the
newspapers that poor Hannington is dead,
i suppose he has told you how the affair
took place, and I need not make any
secret of the matter in writing to you,
but for my own satisfaction I wish to tell
you why I shot him as I did. The act
was not premeditated, but it seemed to
me unavoidable. He brought it on hia
owu head by his utter obstinacy and stu
pidity. "And now to business. I resolved to
make a fortune out of you. To this end
I sacrificed all that stood In the way.
Your coldness toward your children gave
uie a great many chances. Vou were so
easily suspicious of them that it was no
hard task to throw blame on them a
thousand times when they were perfectly
innocent I began with wishing to make
a competency; before long I wanted your
whole fortune. I resolved to make you
cast off both your children, and leave your
property to me by will. When that will
was made, I thought that yon would prob
ably soon give me possession of the es
tate. Because your affections are pretty
strong, although yon hide them with a
coating of ice, and when your heart and
spirit were broken, as I meant tbem to
be. by your son's dissipations and your
daughter's disgrace, you would not bear
yonr unhappiness long. You would either
hare gone out of your mind, under the
circumstances, Alan Moncrieff, or you
would have committed suicide. Knowing
you us I do, I feel sure of that. Bertie's
scrapes, too, were partially known to
Hannington, and I did not quite like the
idea of your hearing that 1 had been re
sponsible for most of them as be would
doubtless have informed you. In the
matter of the forged check, it is perhaps
only fair to sny as I wish to do the
handsome thing by you all In leaving the
country that Bertie was little to blame.
He had had considerable pressure pur
upon bim, aud he was so frightened of
yourself that be thought anything pref
erable to telling you the truth.
"1 will set your mind at rest on a point
which once disturbed you more than you
would allow the fate of that stone which
went by the name of 'The Luck of the
House.' It was I who took it away (as.
by the by, Molly, with unusual acumen,
always suspected), and for two reasons,
first, I wanted to have the stone tested,
as I had a notion that it might prove
more valuable than we thought But in
this I was wrong; the stone was intrin
sically worthless. Secondly, I knew tha1.
its disappearance would perplex and, per
haps, distress you, for the family super
stition had never been eradicated from
your mind. In tbi; I was right. I am
quite willing now, however, that you
should have the stone, if you can fiud it.
In a fit of unreasonable vexation at its
worthlessness, I flung It out of a window
In the tower, into the midst of a thickly
1 growing bed of bracken. It may be there
yet, for aught I know. If you can find
it, yon are welcome to it, and to all the
luck that it may brio- R. K."
Moncrieff read this letter with a feeling
of rage and shame of which he found it
difficult to rid himself. A search was
made for the stone, but proved unavail
ing. It must hirVe become imbedded in
the earth and overgrown with vegetation,
and probably, Moncrieff said, rather re
gretfully, would never be found at all.
He declared that he had no superstitious
feeling about it in the Tery least, but
Stella fancied that she could read a little
regret in his honest eyes.
Molly mourned her hnsband bitterly,
but she waa young still, and ber heart
had, after all, not bees broken. There
came a day when Captain Rutherford,
after two years of patient waiting, found
her alooe in the garden at Torresmuir,
aud asked her if she could trust him to
make ber life happy, and if she could ever
consent to be his wife. And Molly did
not aay o.
la the dsys that were to come, when
troop of children made gladness in Ruth
erford's hog.se. mad Mo.'i? wo vrjud of
their t.auty and (heir noisiness and their
mirth, even then John Hannington's fore
boding was not justified. His child was
never neglected, never set asloe for any
of the newcomers. Her mother and her
stepfather had Indeed a special tender
ness for her; she was their darling, and
in due time their helper and their com
fort But they never grudged her to their
old and true friend. Lady Valencia. In
her bouse, little Valencia Hannington
spent many weeks every year; she waa
Lady Val's greatest interest in life. Many
people said that Lady Valencia's great
wealth would some day be left to be
namesake, aod that Val Hannington
might yet be one of the richest women in
England, but that day does not seem
likely to dawn just yet For Lady Val
is as strong and brisk and active as she
ever was, and the only trace that her
great sorrow has left upon her Is a wist
ful sadness In her beautiful eyes, and
an ever-increasing tenderness for the
lonely, the sorrowful, the weak and per
haps, we may add, the wicked of the
earth.
With one more scene from the life at
Torresmuir, our story will fitly end.
It is a bright summer morning, and
Stella and her husband stand on the ter
race, discussing their plans for the day.
reading their letters and opening their
newspapers, after the pleasant fashion
that obtains at Torresmuir on sunny
mornings when the post comes in. Pres
ently Stella turns ber head, and laughs
for Tery happiness. A sturdy little fel
low, with great brewn eyes, comes stum
bling and panting np tbe slope of the hill
toward the terrace, with something tight
ly clasped in 'bis dimpled hand. Master
Alan makes his way straight to bis moth
er, throws himself upon ber with exuber
ant affection, and then displays what his
hand contains. It is an oddly shaped
stone something like a lump of dull
glass and at sight of it Mr. Moncrieff
utters an exclamation of pleasure and
surprise. I
"Where did you find that, my boy?" he
asks.
Alan the younger explains in broken
English that he fonnd it in the grass, and
that he thought it "pitty," and wanted
to bring it to "muzzer."
"It is a good omen," said Alan Mon
crieff, with a smile. "Stella, this is the
BtQUe that waa lost The boy has found
it at last"
Stella, with her child in her arms, tm-os
to him, smiling also.
"So he has brought back the luck of
the house," she exclaims.
But Alan auddenly looks grave. "No,
no." he answers, in a softer tone, as he
puts his hand upon her shoulder, and
looks into her eyes. "That came I0113
ago, when you, my star, bronght us your
sweet presence, and the love that has
brightened all our lives. Then yon
brought back to ns, Stella, The Luck of
ths House.' " (The end.)
A Pearl farm.
There is only one pearl farm In the
world. It le In the Torres Strait, at tbe
northern extremity of Australia, and
lielongs to James Clark, of Queensland.
Mr. Clark, who is known as "the king
of thi; pearl-fishers," originally stocked
it with a hundred and fifty thousand
pearl oysters. Now 1.500 men 200 of
whom are divers ami 250 vessels are
employed In harvesting the crop.
"I have beeu fifteen years engaged In
pearl-fishing." Mr. Clark told a corre
spondent of the Melbourne Age. "I
began In a small way, and have given
the fhjbcrles uiy close attention during
all this time. My experience has led
uie to the belief that, with proper intel
ligence In the selection of a place, one
can raise pearls and peari shells aa
easily as oue can raise oysters.
"1 started my farm three years ago,
aud have stocked it with shells which 1
obtained, lu many instances, far out
at sea. To grow shells successfully,
however, according to my experience
thus far. tbe water must uot be too
deep.
"My pearl-shell farm covers 5.0S9
square miles. Over most of It the wa
ter U shallow. In shallow water shells
attain tbe greatest size; and besides It
Is bard' on the divers to go down deep
for them.
"1 ship my pearls to Loudon in my
owu vessels. Tbe catch each year
runs, roughly speaking, from $200,000
worth up to almost five times that
amount."
Not Spoken as Spelled.
Tbe absurd e.ad sometimes extraor
dinary difference between tbe spelling
and pronunciation of English names
has been often commented upon. Sev
eral lists have been published, but they
are by no means complete. The follow
ing. It Is believed, are for the most part
.new: Woodnesborough, Winsbro;
Woodmancote, Woodmucket; Wymond
ham, Wlndam; Yaddlethorpe, Yal
thrup; Gainsborough, Gainsber; Ksk
dnle, Asbdale; Brampton Brian, Brawn;
Brigbthelmstone, Brytun; Hallaaon,
Horn; Meddletnorpe, Threlthrup; Ma
rylebone, Marrowbone; Ulrome, Oor
am; Cttoieter, Tuxlter; Ramplsham,
Ransom; Peyensey, Pinsy; Coxwold,
Cookwood; Crostwrigbt, Corsit; Holds
worth. Holder; Skiddaw, Sklddy.
Strachan should be pronounced
Strawn; Colquboun Is Koouoon, tbe ac
cent being on the last syllable; Beau
champ Is Beacbam; Duchesne should
be pronounced Dukarn; Betbune should
be Beeton; and in Abergavenny tbe av
U not sounded. Menzies Is pronounced
Mynges, Knollys as Knowls, Sandys
as Sands, Gower as Goor, and Milnes
as Mills. Glamis la Glarms; Geogbe
gan should be pronounced Gaygan, and
Uutbven is Riven. Boston Transcript
Their Advantage.
There are some things In which on r
English cousins have the advantage of
is.
An American millionaire, accustomed
to purchase anything be wanted, tried
to obtain from an Oxford gardener tbe
secret of tbe beautiful lawns which
make the pride of England or a por
tion of It.
"Tell me, my good man, how yon
manage It," be aald condescendingly,
putting bis band significantly Into bis
pocket.
"It werry simple, sir," replied tbe
gardener, quaintly. "You cuts It aa
close aa ever you can cut, and yon roll
it and cute It for 600 years."
To Keep Oat Weexls.
A thick sprinkling of sawdust ender
gravel on garden walks wQl jtp
weed STQWlng. ' "
REV. DR. TALMAGE
The Ecnleent Divine's Suada
Discourss.
Puticcl: "Our. Debt to the i reeks.
Tt.tT: "I a-n debtor both to the Greek!
anil to the barbarlnns." Roma-is L, 14.
" At this time, when that behemoth ot
nbominatiou11, Mohammedanism, after hv
in - Korved itself nn tne carcasses ot 100,000
Armenian, is tryinir to put its paws upon
nan of the fair -si of all nations, that of tbe
Ure.-k. 1 pieich thU sermon of sympathy
au 1 protest, for every intelligent tier-ton 00
this si te. Ilk 1 Paul, who wrote tha text, if
debtor to the Oreoks. Tbn present crisis t
emptiasizxd by tti suns of the Allie i Powers
of Europe, reidy to be unllmbered against
the Hellenes, and I am asked to speak out.
Paul, with a master Intellect ot the nges,
snt In brilliant Corintb, the irrett Aoro
Corintbus fortress frowuin from the height
jl 16! feet, and la the houm ot Onius,
where he was a gunst, a big I'tla of money
near him. which he was taking to Jerusalem
lor the poor.
In this letter to the Romans, whioh Chry
sostom a ImireJ so much that he had it read
to him twice a we -k, Paul practically says:
"I. the aposTle, am bankrupt I owe what I
cannot pav. but I will pay as lar te a percent
age as I can. It Is aa obligation for what
Greek literature and Oroek sculpture and
Greek architecture and Oroek prowess have
dono for me. 1 will pay all I can la install
ments of evangelism. I am insolvent to tbe
Greeks."
Hellas, as the Inhabitants call it, or ureece,
as we call lr, is lnsigoifluant In size, about a
tnird us large as the State of New York, hut
what It lacks in breaitn It makes up In
height, with its mountains Cylene and
Eta an t Taygetus nnd Tympbrestus.
each over 70011 feet In elevation, and
its Parnassus,-, over 8000. Just the
country tor mighty men to be born In, for in
all lauds the most of the Intellectual and
moral giants were not' born on -the plain,
but had for oradle the valley between two
mountains. Tbat country, nc part ot which
is more than forty miles from tbe sea, has
ma le its impress upon tbn world as no other
nation, nnd it to- lav holds rt first mortgage
of obligation upon all civilized people.
While we must leave to statesmanship and
diplomacy the settlement ot the lntrioate
questions which now Involve all Europe and
In lim.-tly all nations, it it time for all the
churches, a 1 schools, all universities, all
arts, all literatures, to sound out in the
most emphatic way the declaration, "I am
debtor to tbe Greeks."
In the first pla-e, we owe to their language
our New Testament. All of it was rtrsl writ
tea in Greek, except tbe book ot Matthew.
anJtlint, written In the Aratnw:in,laa;uage,
was soon put Into Greek by our saviour s
brother James. To the Greek laoguaije we
awm the he wrmnn ever nreachar) the bfeit
letters ever written, tbe best visions ever
kiniled. All the parables in Greek. All the
miracles in Greek. The sermon on the
mount la Greek. The story of Bethlehem,
ami Golivotha, and Oliver, and Jordan banks,
and Ga.i'ean beaches, an I Pauline embarka
tion, and Pentecostal tongues, and seven
trumpets that sounded ovor Pattnos, have
come to tha world in liquid, symmetric,
picturesque, philosophic, unrivaled Greek,
lostead ot the gibberish language tn which
many of the nations of the earth at
that time jabbereJ. Who can forget
Jt. and who can exaggerate its thril
ling Importance, tbat Christ and heaven
were introduced to ns In tbe language
of tbe Greeks, tbe language in which Homer
had suug, and Sophocles dramatized,
and Plato dialogued, and Sooratesdisooursed,
and Lycurgus legislated, and Demosthenes
thundered bis oration on "Tbe Crown"
Everlasting thanks to God that the waters ol
life were not handed to tbe world in the un
washed eupof corrupt languages from whlob
nations had been drinking, but In the clean,
bright, golden ltppe I, emerald bandied
chabce of the Hellones. Learnel Curtius
wrote a whole volume about the Greek verb.
Philologists century after century have been
meanuriug the symmetry of thac language,
la b n with elegy nod philippic drama an 1
comedy, "O lyssey" nud Iliad." but the
graudest thing that Greek language ever ac
complished was to give to the world tbe
bonedietion, the comfort, th irradiation,
the salvation, of the gospel of the Hon of
God. For tbat we are debtors to the Greeks.
From the Greeks the world learned how to
make history. Had there been no Herodotus
and Thucydiiles there would have been no
Macau lay or Bancroft. Had there been no
Hophocles in tr.igedy these would have been
uo Shakespeare. Had there been no Homer,
there woul-l have b en no Milton. The mo I
ern wlt, who are now or have beeu out on
the divine mission of making tbe world
laugn at the right time, can be traoed back
to Aristobane, the Athenian, and many of
the jocosities that are now tax-en as new had
their suggestions 2300 years ago in the flfty-
four comedies 01 tnat master 01 merriment.
Grecian mythology ha-, been the richest
mine from which orators and essayists
have drawn their illustrations and pa Tit
ers tho themes for their canvas, and, al
though now aa exbnuftel mine, Grecian
mythology has done a work that nota
Ing else could nave accomplished. Bo
reas, representing the nonh wind: Sisy
phus., rolling the stone up the bill, ouly
to ham the same thing to do over again;
Tantalus, with fruits above him that he
could not reach: Achillea, with hts arrows;
Icarus, with his waxen wings, flying too
n-ar the sun; the Centaur?, half-man and
haU-beast: Orph-us, with bis lyre; Atlas,
wiih the world on bis back all these and
more have helped literature, from tbe grad
uate's speech on commencement day to Ku
fus Choate's eulogium on Daniel Webster at
Durtmoutb. Tragedy nnd comedy were
born In tbe festivals of Dlooyains at Athens.
The lyrlo and elegiac and epic poetry of
Greece 600 years before Christ has its echoes
in th Tennvsoos, Longfeilows and Bryants ol
1800 and 1900 years after Cnrist. There is
not au effective pulpit or editorial chair or
professor's room or cultured parlor or intel
ligent farmhouse to-day in A-ner.i-a or
Europe that oould not appropriately employ
Paul's "jacu'atlon and say, "I am debtor to
the Greeks."
The art is this Paul bad got much of his
oratorical power of expression lrom tbe
Greeks. That he had stu iled tu-ir literal ura
was evident when, standing in the presence
of an audience of Grefk scholars on Mart'
hill, which overlooks Athens, he dared to
quote from one ofiboir own Greek poets,
either Clraulbus or Aratus, declaring, "As
oertain also ot your own poets have said,
For we are also bis offspring.' " And he
made accurate quotation, Cleautbus, one of
the poets, having written:
For we th'to offspring are. All things tbat
eroep
Are but the echo of the voice divine.
And Aratus, one-of their own poets, had
written:
Doth care perplex?
nigh?
Is lowering danger
We are his offspring, and to Jove we fly.
It was rather a risky thing for Paul to at
tempt to quote extemporaneously from a
poem in a language foreign to his and be
fore Greek scholars, but Paul di i It without
S'ammerlng and tnen acknowledged before
the most distinguished audience on the
planet his Indebte ine-s to the Greeks, cry
ing out in his oration, 'As one of your own
poets has said.
Furthermore, all the civilized world, like
Paul, is indebtei to tbe Greeks for architec
tnte. The world before the time of the
Greeks had built monoliths, obelisks, crom
Ijebs, sphinxes and pyramids, bat they were
mostly monumental, to the d-a-i whom th-y
failed to m:nor alize. We are not certaiu,
even, ot the names ol those ia whose com
memoration tbe pyramids were built. But
Greek architecture did most tortbe liv.ng.
Ignoring Egyptian precedents and borrow
ing nothing trom other nations, Greek archi
tecture carved its own columns, set its owt
pediments, adjusted its own entablatures
losndaU its own moldings and carried ou
as never before tbe three qualities of right
building, cal e l by an old author "flrtnltaa,
utliitas, venustas" namely, firmness, use.
t ulness, beauty. .
But there is another art in my mind the
most fascinating, elevating and Inspiring ot
all arts and the nearest to the divinefor
which all ths world owes a debt to the Hel
lenes that will never be paid. I mean sculp
ture. At least 650 years before Christ the
Greeks perpetuated tha human face and
form (a terra coiti aj4 marble. What
blessing to the human family tbat men and
womei, mightily useful, who oould live only
within a century may be p'erpetuated for five
or six or ton centunes? How I wish that
some sculptor contemporaneous with Christ
could have put His matchless form In mar
ble! But for every grand and exquisite
stntuo of Martin Luther, of John Knox, of
William Peun. ot Thomas Chalmers, ot
Wellington, of Lafayette, of any of the
great statesmen or emancipators or con
querors who adorn your parks or fill ths
niches of your academies, you are debtors to
the Greeks. They covered the Acropolis,
they gloritied the temples, they adorned tbe
cemeteries with statues, some In oedar, some
la ivory, some in silver, some In gold, some
la size diminutive an 1 some In size coloesal.
Thanks to Phidias, who worked la stone; to
Clenrchus, who workel ia bronze; to Doutas,
who worked iu gold, and to all ancient
cb'sels of commemoration! Do you not
realize that for many of the wonders ot
sculpture we are debtors to the Greeks?
Yea, for the science ot medicine, the great
srt of healing, we must thank the Greeks.
There is the immortal Greek doctor. Hippo
crates, who first opened the door for disease
to go out an I health to oome In. He first set
forth tbelmportanoe of cleanliness and sleep,
making tbe patient before treatment to be
washed and take slumber on the bide of a
sacrifice bast. He first discovered the im
portance or thorough prognosis and diag
nosis. He. formulated the famous oath ot
Hippocrates which is taken by ptyslclans of
our day. He emancipated medicine from
superstition, empiricism and prlestoraft. He
was the father of all tbe infirmaries, hospit
als aud medical colleges of the last twenty -:hree
centuries.
Furthermore, all the world Is obligated to
Bellas more than it can ever pay for its
heroics in tbe cause of liberty and right.
United Europe to-day ha 1 not better think
.bat the Grejk-i will not tight. There may
e fallings biclc and vacillations and tempor
try defeat, bat it Greece is right all Europe
Jaunot put ber down. The other nations
Mfore they open the portholes of their men-f-war
against that small kingdom had
jetter read of the battle of Marathon, where
10,000 Athenians, led on by Miltiades.
ariumphed over lOil.OOO of their enemies. At
that time. In Grwk council of war, Ave
rnerals were for beginning the battle and
Ive were against it. Calllmnchus presided
it tbn council ot war, had the deciding vote,
tnd Miltiades addressed him, saying:
"It now rests with you, Callimachus, either
0 enslave Athens, or, by insuring her free
lom. to winyoursellanJmmortality of fame,
lor never since the Atheniaus were a people
reretheyln such danger as they are in at
his moment. If they bow the knee to these
Uedes, they are to be given up to Hippias,
tnd you know what they will then have to
raffer, but If Athens comes victorious out of
:hls contest she has it in her power to become
:he first city of Greece. Your vote is to de
side whether we are to join battle or not. If
we do not bring on a battle presently, some
Tactious intrigue wilidisunlto tha Athenians,
snd the city will be betrayed to tbe Medes,
out if we tight before 1 here is anything rot
.en in the state of Atheus I believe that, pro
vided the goas will give fair field and no
'iror, a?? able to gnt the best of it in tbe
sngagement."
Tbat won the vote of Caliimaohas, and
100 a the hattte opened, and In full run the
nemoi .uutiade leu upon tne rersian nosts,
ihoutlng: "Oh, sons of Greece! Strike for
he freedom of your country! Strike for the
reedom of your children and your wives,
or the shrines of your fathers' gods and for
he sepulchors ot your sires! All, all are
tow staked ou the strife!" While only 192
reks fell, 6i i0 Persians lay dead upon the
leld, and many of the Asiatic hosts who
:00k to the war vessels ia the harbor were
tonsumed in the shipping. Persian oppres
ilon was rebuked, Greolan liberty was
tchieved, the c nise ot civillz-itlon was ad
canoe I, an 1 the western world and all un
ions have felt the heroics. Hid there been
10 Miltiades there might have been no
Washington.
Also at Thermopylae 300 G reels, along a
road only wido enough for a wheel track be
:weea a mountain and a marsh, died rather
:ban surrender. Had there beeu no Ther
nopylto there might have been no Bunker
Sill.' English Ma;naCharia nnd Declaration
f American Independence nnd the Hong of
itohert Burm. entitled "A Man's a Mm For !
1' That," wnr' ouly the long cdtlnued re- j
rarberation of what wassaidand tone twenty
ienturies beioru 111 that little kiadom that j
he Powers of Kurope are no wimp sing upon, j
3reH3e having again and again shown that ,
en men in tbe right are stronger than 100 j
nen in the wrong, tbe heroics of LeonMas
ind Aristides and Thenilstocles will not cnase !
heir mission until the last man on earth is I
is free as G -l inride itim. Thero is not on
lither side of thi A'lan io to-dav a republic j
hat cannot tnrhfiilly employ the words of
he text auJ say, "I am debtor to the 1
Jreeks." 1
But now wiw the practical question
Jow can we pav that dobt or a part of It i
?or we cannot pay more than ten per cent.
f that de'ot in wilt eh Paul acknowledged 1
itmself a bankrupt. By praying Almighty
3o,l that He help Greece in Its present war !
-itb Mohammedanism and the concerted I
implres of Europe. I know her queen, a !
loble. Christian woman, her face tbe throne
it all beneficence au-t loveliness, ber life an
xample of noble wifehood and motherhood.
3od help those palaces In these days of aw
ful exigency! Our Amerioan Senate did well
Ihe other day when in tbe capltol building
which owes to Greece its columnar impres
liveness they passed a hearty resolution of
lympathy for that nation. Would that all
tvho have pownt words tbat can be heard In
Europe would utt -r tbem now, when they
are so muoh needed! Let us repeat to tbem
In English what they centuries ago declared
to the world ia Greek. "Blessed are those
who are persecuted for righteousness' sake,
tor theirs Is ihe kingdom of heaven."
Another way of partly paying our debt to
tbe Greeks is hy higher appreciation ot the
learning an 1 snif sasrlltce of the men who In
our own liiu I stand for all tbat tbe nncient
Greeks stool. While here and there one
pomes to public approval and reward, the
most of th.-m live in privation or on salary
disgracefully snail. The scholars, the
archasologist", the artists, the literati most
of them live np three or four flights of stairs
and by small windows that do not let in tbe
full sunlight. You pass them every day io
your streets without any recognition. The
world caps tnem "nooiworms or "Lir.
Dryasdust," but if there bal been no book
worms or dry doctors of law and science and
theology there would have been no Apoca
lyptic nngel. Thev are the Groeisof out
Country aad time, and your obligation to
them is infinite.
ilut there Is 11 bettor way to pay them, and
tbat is by their personal salvation, wnicb
will never oome to them through books 01
through learnel presanta'.lon, because in
literature and intellectual realms they are
masters. Tney can ontargue, outquote, out
dogmatize you. Not lurougb tbe gate 01 the
head, but through the gate ot the heart, you
may capture tbem. When men ot learning
and might are brought to God, they are
brought by simplest story of what religion
cn do for a soul. They have lost children.
Oh, tell them bow Christ oomforted you
when you lost your bright boy or blue eyed
girl! They have found lite a strugg e.
Ob, tell them how Christ has helped vou all
the way through! They are iu bewilder
ment. Oh, tetl them with how many bamLs
of joy heaven beckons vou upward! "Wbeu
Gtee'k meets Greek, theu comes the tug ol
war," but when a warm hf arte 1 Christian
in eei s a man who needs pardon and sym
pathy and comtort nut eteru-tl life then
comes victory. ' If you can, by some incident
ot self sacrifice, bring to such vcholarly men
and women what Christ has dou for theit
eternal rescue, you may bring ita.m in.
Where Demosthenic eloquenos aud Homeri'
imiopirvmU fail, a fcindlv hoart throb may
sacaee 1. A gem leman of this city sends me
the statemeot what occurred a lew nays
nan amon? the mines ot British ColftSli.
It B-nno that Frank Conson and Jem
Smith were diira in tne narrow fchaft
of n mine. Thev had loaded au Iron
bucket with coal', and Jim Hemsworth,
standing above ground, was hauling
the bucket up by wirfdlass, when the
windlass broke, and the loaded bucket was
descending upon the two miners. Then Jim
P..miw,-rth . soinir what must be certain
death to the miners beneath, threw himself
againdj the eons of the whirling windlass,
and, though his ni-sh was torn nnd nis nones
were broken, he stopped the whirling wind
lass and nrreste-1 the descending bucket and
saved the lives o' the miners beneaiti. Ihe
superintendent of the mine flew to the res
cue Rnd blocked tb machinery. When Jim
Hemsworth's bleeding aud kronen body was
s.". Pleasure iu teHing about lt
he replied. "Oh, what's the difference so I tbat Ihey do not seem to mind the in
lotatM i saved ya.bos?" . I jury.
What an illustration jt wasof suffering for
others, and what a text from which to illus
trate tbn behavior ot our Christ, limping
and lacerate t and broken an 1 torn and
c-rushe t in the work of sop ing the descend
ing ruin that would have destroyol our
souls! Try such as-ene of vicarious suffering
ns this ou that man capable of overthrowing
all your arguments for tbe truth, nnd ho will
sit down and weep. Draw y.iur illustrations
from the classics, and It is to him an old
story, but Leyden Jars and electric batteries
and teleseopes and Grnnk drama will all sur
render to tbe story of Jim Ueruswort h's "Oh,
what's the difference so long as I saved the
boys?"
Then, it your illustrat on of Christ's self
joonfloe, drawn from some scene of to-day,
aud your story of what Christ has done for
you do not quite fetch him Into the right
way, just say to him, "Professor doctor
judge, why was it that Paul declared he was
a debtor to tbe Greeks?" And ask your
learned friend to take the Greek Testament
and translate for you. In bis own war. from
Greek into English, the splendid peroration
of Paul's sermon on Mars' hill, un
der the power of which the scholarly
Diooysius surrendered namely. "The
times of this ignorance God winked at.
but now commandeth all men everywhere
to repent, iecause He hath appointed a day
in which He will Ju Ige tbe world In right
eousness, by that man whom be ha'-h or
dained, whereof He hath given assurance
unto all men. In that He hath raised him
from tbe dead." By tbe time he has got
through the translation from tbe Greek I
think you will see hts lip tremble, and there
will eome a pallor on his lace like the pallor
on the sky at daybreak. By the eternal
salvation of that scholar, that great thinker,
that splendid man, you will have done some
thing to help pay your indebtedness to tbe
Greeks. And now to God the Father. God
tbe Son and God the Holy Ghost be honor
and glorv arid lominlon and victory and
song, world without end. Amen.
Pacing Without a Driver.
I'aciug horses are haid to bo ' ouiiii
into fashion again, uud tbe New York
Herald recently printed au account of
oue which really deserved to be fu
inous. She belongs iu Oshkosh. Wis.,
and has been trained by her owjt-r
though little training was necessary
to pace against time without a driver.
This, as tbe Herald observes, is a :iev
leparture in racing methods.
There is no pace-iimkeruo guiding,
uo whipping, no unjiu;;. 110 interference
or prompting of the mare iu any way.
Slie'knows her lines and goes tlii-oiigli
them without faltering, ami wl'.h -v i v
siu of full confidence in her o.u
knowledge ami ability.
She is led to a point about 1 muMr.-o
yards from tbe wire, and is iu perfect
action when she receives the wont "110"
from tbe starter in the jud -s' st.11-.1l.
On KeuVb tii8 word the liaii.liine a.iu
Iiial quickeiui ber speed, a'u i lii oisinl
the track she goes as tlnnuli i-iitia.ug.
iway. She keeps close to the in it rail,
seeiuiiiglv through Instinct, tiiuiigli wlie
never leaves the tract;. v;i -tin i it lu
in, I sed or not.
'very mile Is paced witliodt t 'itv.ik.
and as evenly ns thmili slie were
Aica.licd by n skillful driver. The dot
Iij of the performance and the dusti
ng beauty of t lie intelligent aniit.a! w'ti
ulinitatiiui wherever she appears, and
ihe tinisb is always attended wlta eu
ihiLstasl'c cheering.
A notable feature of the perfonuam-4
Is tiiat the hist quarter Is always tb-'
fastest, aud no demonstration from th-f
crowd ever makes her lose her stride,
or even slow up. After pus.siu- tbe
wire, Marion seems to know tli.it ber
task is completed, rind lier Vglit eyes
search the track for the groooi, who
stands ready with cooling blankets a
short distance up the stretch. When
blanketed she Is returned to the starter
for r: cognition, and views tlu applaud
ing crowds with au air of conscious
pride and satisfaction.
BABY GETS THE LETTER.
w, shore Matron Made Mi.erable
... r-i-,.. . ,
'"' "" Child'- frank.
Over on Bellevue place there Is a
yonug WOIuau wlio Is giving thanks
, ... . , 7.
tllat slle ,3 uut lu tlie penitentiary. One
whole day recently she spent In dread
of imprisonment at Juliet or at least as
au inmate of the county jail, and every
time she beard tbe rattle of a conilug
carette ou Rush street be grew faint,
fur she thought tbe patrol wagon was
mrely after her.
The unhappy young woman Is a great
favorite in the exclusive circles of the
north shore and Is tbe wife of a prom
inent young business man. She is the
proud mother of a little girl, who is
never denied anything that she wants,
and if she sees anything she generally
takes It. One morning recently the let
ter carrier called as usual at the house
and left a large package of notes, Uivl
tations and letters. Among them wad
one that belonged to the same number
iu another street. The young woman
sent It to the hall tree, to be given to
the postman at his next call. When
the carrier came the maid reported the
mistake, but could not find the letter.
The carrier made complaint about it,
aud said he must have It when he called
again.
The poor young matron by this time
was thoroughly frightened. With her
house maid she renewed tbe 6earcb,
but It proved fruitless. In her misery
her beautiful 3-year-old baby came m
from ber walk, accompanied by her
nurse. The mother took her little one
upon ber lap to recover her composure,
and asked the nursery maid If she had
seen anything of the lost letter. The
nurse thought a moment and then ex-
-laiined:
"I think the baby took it!"
One of the amusements of the little
one was to always carry something in
her hand when going out for a walk.
Upon thinking a moment she remem
bered that the child had something
white in her hand when they started
for a walk, but the nurse did not re
member seeing It after tbe first few
moments-. Then the young mother'a
misery began all over again. She knew
now that the penitentiary was her
doom, and she sat dow n and waited for
the letter carrier to come to seal her
fate. She met the postman on tne
front step as he made the rounds for
the third time that day and told him
that she was ready to take her punish
ment; that ber baby had carried the
'etter off and lost It.
"Yes. I know," returned Uncle Sam's
messenger. "I just delivered It. Some
one found It on the street this noon and
dropped It iu the mail box, and 1 Just
took It to his bouse." Chicago Cbron-'
icle.
Whpn Rums, nipn vet 1-mt-t thai. 4nl.A
'X