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O By Troy Allison O
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O i opyrnjht, 11M», b> M. M. (.'uuuiugliaw O
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o*o*o*o«o«o*co* ?o»o«o*o*o
Mrs. Johnson. *■ i.iiug unexpectedly
Into the dining ro hi. where the new
flrl was lay ing tli * cloth for dinner,
looked at her with ; sudden Inteutuess.
"Haven t you l> •-n crying, Johan
nashe asked kindly.
"Ach, it iss uot much," the woman
said, a refractorj- tear starting down
her che« ••it is, that America so
strange i ud the city—l the cows
mi* ai* . t» gar, en and making the
butter .< ." And her exceedingly
blond skin turned red with the effort
she made to keep the tears from com
ing In torreu: s.
Mr- J iuison's eyes looked medita
tive while •• tried to think what form
of comfort io offer.
"I'm s.,rry you are homesick; it's an
awful feeling; but cheer up," she said
sympathetic illy. "I'll give the cook
money for theater tickets, and you
••an both ; • to see that spectacular
thing the) - y is s > wonderful."
Joli.ii.n i liled gratefully. "You so
very g> i-»s," slie said us she went
toward the kitchen.
In the midst of his dinner Mr. John
son thought of something and com
menced laughing
"1 had a most unusual order today
from a customer down south He or
"1* Jo.. MOM MMB SIMPLY,
dered tt whole list of things, then cli
luai.-l with 'one wit.* f«»r a widower
of thirty tire.'"
Mrs Johnson's ey« were wide with
uabeix 112. "t'ljarle v ,!.>huson. you cer
tahili an* 'king' 'I he man couldn't
hm»* !.•»-'! • foolish as to ls» in ear
nest'"'
"It wan t for himself; it was for a
CMMrtr eu-tomer— a young widower
wit!, a d I; . farm on his hands that
La- b !.g to rack and ruin since
lUi \i iie ti.e
Mrs Johnson was evidently struck
with an Inspiration.
•-<»» <•»> i-y, I tow would Johanna
dj geste I enthusiastically.
*1 think slie n >uld do finely—just
Ml! the bill if - ie would go," Mr.
.. dubiously Hut if I
MKt down a piece of pink ami white
yellow haired jierlection as Johanna 1
am afraid I wouhl have au order from
every farmer in North Carolina and
would I*- for>t*d to ojk-ii a matrimonial
bureau."
"l#o you know nny ling aliout the
wldowtt'f Mr Johnson asked at
letigt h
~Ye*. Hayes wrote iae a letter and
gate a |*ii p. lure of liis life fr iin the
cradle to tl"- _rn • his v. fe's grave,"
he added, with a «rln appreciative of
his mtt. ivs be will abs ihitely vouch
for him and that if I can tind a woman '
who is suited to the man he described j
It will I* a good thing for her. By
Jove. I beliefe Johanna Is the ne plus 1
ultra if sl»e"ll go I'lty she can't talk |
twtter English."
"oh. her little foreign talk won't I
make any differen e. lie ean stand it. |
You ««»••. 1 m able to stand your Latin
or Freiwrh, whichever it is I can never
<ju:te determine fr »m your accent."
• ••••••
John Burden pulled the horses up
under tin- shade of an elm near the
door of t;.e ladies' waiting room and
handed the reins to his companion,
with a sheepish smile.
"Hold onto these, Mr Hayes. You
got me into this business, and you
must help see me through. I»o I look
much like a fool?"
Martin II ves. dealer in general mer
chandise < buek ed as he took the reins.
"No, sir. You are the personitleatiou
of the gay and festiv • bridegroom
ii.it an untie* ess : \ »,gn of fooli-im« > si
alcmt you of course, the new suit
an I the rosebud i?i your buttonhole
are allowable as Itetitting the occasion.
\l.fSt suit I had in stoek. old lioy.
flop* she'll like It "
Harden • i.j.'l his jecktie with
uiasy fln-rers "Clad all this Internal
tkfllg don't sll iw f>n the outside,
metes tn • tram in sight <;ee! Don't
believe Hum's i ,-r .|:iv niade as hot
as this."
lie made his way through the crowd
ar nid the de| t ■<l statioiie l himsel'
Wher** he .Il ll lg t lIT I I i-\\ of Ml*
{(•sseng-rs alighting from the train.
Tve been sta d and have travnled
I I i.il * Iv life," be coin
t hi. Uut if this aiu't
i.; I -a teiHxv ,n a novel, 1 never
t.i one.'*
• ■ >«ept on the I- .kout for a woman
.1 •• k i dress an l carry
ii a i I Johanna Horsier.
S J thus m I i t written that lie would
i it ; e , v is printed in large
i. - and t t'.; would probably
I no trouble . utity In a town
v «■ the ii.. - trave ers were few.
•i ill.inii i I l" .n. the train, her
• w . ,< s |«. a is wondering and as
didiltnh ll«ej • Ii«l when she landed
■it Amerl » -iv months Iwfore. She
|iaase<| le-tpl - Iv. am! Just then Bur
J«-a saw- the t ,-i|ue on the suit case.
He l<»okiil at the woman's face- its
blond faiine s au unusual style in a
southern town and the thermometer
•wilted t.» Jump s. veral degrees up
ward
"She looks ,ike like an angel!" he
muttered She will lw disappointed
tu me," and In- went to her anxiously
and diffidently
■ I'm John Burden lie said simply.
"You you did want me to come?"
Her voice trembled and he saw tears
tn her blue eyes.
"Vaut von * W ant vouT* liis tone
gained assurance. "Anybody with an
ounce of sense would want you to come
—and to stay," he said, his face radiant
as he took the suit case from her.
After the dinner with llayes at the
hotel and the quiet marriage ceremony
in the hotel parlor they drove the five
miles to Burden's farm and reached
there just at the beginning of the long
summer twilight.
Tl<€ c!!:..o".ag rose was in full bloom
over the veranda, and a flock of wliife
geese wej-e wandering through the gate
toward the barnyard.
"Do you like it?" he asked, his voice
almost a whisper.
"It is so nun It home." she gasped in
her halting English, "even the cows
that in the farmyard stand."
lie led her into the house and paused
before a sweet, clean room whose mus
lin curtains blew in and out the open
windows.
"This is your room," he said simply.
"Mine is across the hall, where I can
hear if you get afraid and call me."
His honest sunburned face was full
of kindftess, and although her compre
hension of English was limited, slie
caught a glimpse of his soul in a lan
i guage that is universal.
"Take off your L it, little woman. I
hear old Jenny putting supper on the
' table." He looked at the pale gold of
i her hair where her hat had pressed it
| tightly against her moist forehead, and
he hesitatingly touched it with his hand
. and freed it from her temples.
"1 hope you'll feel homelike and will
grow to love the farm—and maybe
i some time—me," he added timidly.
, "I like it all—and you," slie answered
softly.
THE ANCIENT INCAS.
They Knen Neither Idleufvtf Nor
ICielien \or Poverty.
The flocks of llamas belonged to the ;
sun and the Inca. It was death to
kill one. At certain seasons of the :
year they were collected from the hills !
uud shorn. Large numbers were sent
to supply food for the court and to be
used at the religious festivals and sac
rifices. Male llamas ouly were killed. !
The wo*>l belonged to the Inca and
%vas store*! iu the government deposi
tories and dealt out according as the
people's \\ants required. In this w-ay
they were provided with warm cloth- J
Ing. When they had worked up enough
wool into clothing for themselves they 1
were then employed iu working up |
material for the Inca. The distribu
tion of the wool and superintendence '
of its manufacture were in the hands
of officers appointed for the purpose, j
No oue was allowed to be idle. Idle
ness was a crime and was severely
punished.
All the mines belonged to the Inca 1
aud were worked for his benefit. The !
various employments were usually in ;
the hands of a few and became heredl- ;
tary. What the father was, that the
son became. A great part of the agri
cultural products was stored in grana
ries scattered up and down the couu
try aud was dealt out to the people as
required. It will thus be seen *hat ;
there was no chance for a man to be j
come rich, neither could he become j
poor. The spirit of speculation had no .
existence there. -Chambers' Journal.
THE BLACK BALL.
A C lever Scheme 'Mini Wan Spoiled
In I lie lira %\ liik.
Two young men in a French village
were called onto draw for conscrip
tion. Oue only was wanted to complete
the number, aud of the two who were
to draw one M as the son of a rich farm
er and the other the child of a poor
widow.
The farmer ingratiated himself with
the superintendent of the ballot and
promised him a present if he could find
means to prevent his son from going
2n the army. In order to accomplish
this the official put into the urn two
black balls Instead of one white and
one black ball. When the young men
came, he said:
"There are two balls, one black and
one white, in the urn. He who draws
the black one must serve. Your turn
Is first," pointing to the widow's son.
The latter, suspecting that all was
not fair, approached the urn and drew
one of the balls, which he immediately
swallowed without looking at it.
"Why," said the superintendent,
"have you done that?" . How are we to
know whether you have drawn a black
or a white ball?"
"Oh, that's very easy to discover,"
was the reply. "Let the other now
draw. If I have the black, he must
necessarily draw the white one."
There was no help for it, and the i
farmer's son, putting his hand into the !
urn. drew the remaining ball, which, to I
the satisfaction of the spectators, was
a black one.
FREAKS Of THE LAVA.
koine I orlnua liii'lilrntH of un Over
flow of \ muviu«.
At on*' house, which had been entire
ly surrounded by the flood, but not de
stroyed, one saw people, on top of the
mass of lava, entering the upper win
dows with a ladder and bringing forth
their household goods to transport
them to a place of safety. One vine
yard was surrounded on three sides by
this dividing current, and it was pos
sible to walk into it among the lines j
of trimmed vines and to perceive the j
fire still glowing In the towering walls
of lava on each side. The people at
tributed thi> remarkable phenomenon
to the miraculous Intervention of their
Madonna, "Our Lady of the Snows,"
with whose sacred image they had con
fronted the all devouring monster
sweeping implacably down on their ap
parently doomed homes.
Step by step the priests and the faith
ful sluging the litauy. retreated as the
uwful floo I swept on.and still the
sou,el of inghig and prayer rose above
the fearful roar of the torrent and the
thuud'-r of die mountain aliove, belch- :
lug forth from tli ■ central crater fiery 1
bombs and enormous swirls of cinder,
Baml and smoke, which rose t<, great
heights Yard by yard the lava swept
onward. Now a palatial villa would be
surrounded by the torrent, crushed
down and disappear In smoke; now a
weeping peasant would see his little j
cottage and vineyard. Ills all, go under
In an instant
One poor woman was thus watching
(lie fate of her earthly belongings from
u little eminence when a smaller crater
came roaring forth at her very feet.
She turned to flee, fell, rolled to the
bottom of the little hill, and the next
moment the lava flowed forth like the
foam from a glass of beer and swept
jver the spot where she had Iteen
standing an Instant before.—William
I*. Andrews in Century.
Jury V n* K*i»erlen«•«■«!.
"Flatman. I bear you were arrested
the other day for Insulting aud brow
beating a Janito.. How did you come
out ?"
"I was trie I r>r it and acquitted."
"On tfie gr.itind that It was justifi
able?'
"N .. the j iy • etlldtft be made to
liebeve such i thin; was possible."—
. Chicago Tribune.
& FOR
$2,000 EACH
By C. li. LEWIS
Copyright, liMi, by Kuby Douglas I
Young Jauies Harper, farmer, and
Sarah Lee, daughter of another farmer,
married for love. They had two or
three lovers' quarrels, as was quite on
the cards and very natural, but for two
i years after marriage no couple ever
. lived more happily. This state of af
; fairs might have continued at least two
i years longer but for Abuer Jones,
Esq., country justice of the peace and
j agent for the Farmers' Fire Insurance
company, and sewing machines of all
makes, bought and sold. lie made his
I appearance at the farmhouse one day.
"Well, Jim." he said, "what do you
and Sarah think? I've got the agency
for a life Insurance company and am
going to branch out a little. I want to
insure the i ot'.i of you. I've got Tom
Spooner and his wife. Bill Wheeler and
his wife, Silas Johnson and his wife
l and sever. 1 others, and I'm here to get
j you 1 want you lo take apiece,
l!" you die. S uah. Jim has got $2,000 to
buy you a monument, pay funeral ex-
P :i- sand o away to Niagara Falls
lo get ovc his grief. If you die, Jim,
Sa, i has gi. money to bury you de
• ii.. iid carry «>:i the farm without
t:> nsh off and marry again."
T.ie sqii w nt iulo further expla
| ■ :tlons, i: • talked life Insurance and
yeJ to dinner, lie talked life in
i:jc • ! stayed to supper. He
jta 1 iilV insurance and stayed until
j 9 o'. io . i'l the eve.ling. Then he
[ dr ;iiA two .losses of cider, ate three
fried cakes and a piece of mince pie
! and went home to make out two poli
cies fo • ' *'•» each.
Jim anil .'.irali had decided that such
: Insurance vas a good thing. Neither
wanted to •. but if death must come
they would not be seltish about It. It
would be a bond to draw them still
closer to ether. Iu the course of a
couple ot weeks the policies were de
livered.the premiums paid, and Squire
Jones stayed to dinner again and said
as he finished and wanted to lick his
plate, but remembered his dignity In
time:
"Now. then, young folks, this is the
best thing you have doue so far in your
lives. Keep on 1 jving. keeping up your
premiums they fall due, and don't
worry about the future. With S2,iH)U
coming to the survivor iu case of death
you nee.iu't either of you begrudge the
Astors or Yaiiderbilts. Sarah, you can
dress la the most expensive mourning,
aud Jim, you can wear patent leather
shoes and hear Niagara roar till you
get tired of it."
It was Squire Jones who was respon
sible for the Insurance, but it was Aunt
Deborah who was responsible for what
resulted. The policies had been care
fully laid away In the bottom bureau
drawer and the subject talked out
when Aunt Deborah came visiting one
afternoon. She had not been invited,
nor was she expected, but she proceed
el to make herself at home, and by and
by announced:
"Sarah, 1 have heard that you and
James have had your lives insured for
each other's benefit, but I told 'em you
were not the woman togo into any
thing like that."
"But we have," replied Sarah. "Wt
were insured two weeks ago."
"Upon u y soul! No one could have
made me believe it."
"But why? What's the matter."
"Sarah Harper, do you know that
yoti have the same as doomed yourself
to death?" asked Aunt Deborah, in a
hoarse whisper.
"What do you mean, Aunty?"
"I mean that there isn't a man on the
lace of this earth who wouldn't kill liis
wife for the sake of $2,000 in cash.
That insurance is a temptation to mur
der. Hundreds of wives have been
killed off every year, and you will be
one of them togo before another year
rolls over your head."
The young wife laughed merrily at
the idea, but Aunt Deborah grew more
solemn and serious, and said:
"Don't 112 »ol yourself, Sarah. Jim is
just a g»o 1 a husband as any of 'em,
but you have put temptation in his
way. Ile'll be thinking of them $2,000
:.I1 the time, and the longer he thinks
the easier It will come for him to
murder you. Two thousand dollars in
cash and you out of the way so that
he can marry again is more'u he can
stand up under. 1 shan't be a bit sur
prised any day to hear that you have
been found murdered. Squire Jones
ought to be prosecuted for coaxing you
into such a thing, and I'll tell him so
before the week is out."
Sarah continued to laugh and make
fun at the idea, and it was finally
dropped to take up soft soap and car
pet rags. When she set about getting
supper Aunt Deborah made a sneak
outdoors and caught the husband as he
came up from the cornfield.
"Well," she began, after he greeted
her. "you want Sarah to chop you up
with the a\" or pour melted lead In
your ears, I see?"
"What is it, aunty?"
"It ; that life insurance. Henry Har
per. I'm astonished at you. Do you
know how many wives killed their
husbands last year to get the insur
ance'-"
"A million perhaps, but Sarah Isn't
going to kid me."
"Time will tell. James: time will tell.
Sarah is sweet and lovely and inno
cent. but when there's $2,000 at stake
who can tell what a woman will do?
With tliis farm and all that money be
hiud her if she was a widow she cau
catch a better looking man than you."
The goo I nature*] young man con
'li. '•ad at the supper table
if' I-', -h I with him as they
> !ii 1 Aun* Deb >r.ih. but the old lady
c »nl i!"'d to shake her head and re
ply
"V> tit till ih" ax or the melted lead
'.ret ' . > <rk an.l then we'll see whether
the • is anything to laugh at or not."
ii it night at midnight Sarah woke
up with her heart beating rapidly. She
was ab nit 1 i nu I ,-e Henry with her el-,
bow when a su-l leu thought came tn
her Aunt Deli nah's grewsome predlc
' o came up, and she wondered If she
II aw aliened by s uite move on j
her hi: ii ind'-. part some move to take
• ■ ■ the throat. She smiled at first,
■i.ily ;he smile faded away.
I.i killed that the hus
baii I might profit by the Insurance. |
A;r t Deborah was always predicting,:
hut i the sin e time many of her pre- '
dieii . I i| ■ iii* true She knew that
Henrj loVe I h t with a great love, but
i ;iI . inmi. ior an ifour sh*
lay awake an I thought, and the longer j
she thought the more miserable she
was j
. i it had only fallen into a troubled I
sleep en tlie ilng barked and Henry j
awn! He did not get up for fear of I
disturbing hi . wife, and after listening I
' i the dor; for a few minutes t_. 1
thought ol Aunt Heboran s predictions
aud solemn face caine to his mind.
He grlnue.l at the idea of Sarah kill
iiig him off for that $2,000, and yet he
began to recall eases where wives had
done that same thing. She could pusli
him into the well, push Win dywn the
cellar stairs or dispose of him in other
ways to enable her to escape detection
and with that $2,000 she would be a
rich widow, and windmill men, wire
feuee men, piano agents aud men with
patent farm gates would tumble ovei
each other t > ask for her hand. She
might not even put a $lO headstone at
his grave.
There was constraint between them
when the couple woke up next morning
They tried t > make out that there
wasn't, but realized that there was.
Sarah claimed to have a headache, and
James said lie had a touch of rheuma
tism.
At noon when the husband came up
from the field he had l*;en thinking
things over and almost wished he had
turned Aunt Deborah out of the house.
She was a meddlesome, gossipy old
thing, and he would let nothing she
had said annoy him In the least.
Sarah had als > been thinking, and
about Ihe same thoughts, and so there
was a return «.f love and confidence.
It did not list thirty-six hours, how
ever. Ileury had to sharpen the ax,
aud Sarah saw him at it and felt that
he was contemplating a crime. Sarah
asked If the handle of a table knife
could not be made fast by a little
melted lead, and Ileury said to him
! self after answering her question:
"Ah, ha! Got melted lead on her
' mind, has she? Well, I've got to look
j out for my ears."
For the next four weeks the pair
were hypocrites toward each other.
! They dissembled aud deceived. They
thought black thoughts of each other.
' James wanted to sleep in the barn o'
nights, and Sarah wanted togo home
and tell her mother all about II
Things were hastening on toward a
separation when, as they sat on the
veranda one night after supper, say
ing little, but thinking a great deal,
farmer Joe Collins came driving along
and halted to say:
"Say, you f.-lks heard the news?"
"No. What is it?"
"It'll take your breath away "
"liut let's have it."
"Wall, that life insurance company
you are injured in lias busted taigher'n
Gilroy's kite!"
"Oh. James!"
"Oh, Sarah!"
And as they went dancing around
the veranda in eaeh other's arms Mi
Collins looked at them in astonish
ment and said to himself:
"By Ccorge, I ut they seem to be
durned glad of it!"
And so they were.
A Little MlNiinilerNtantlluK,
"A young lady I I now," said ijii
Englishman, " ;ot married last year In
London and had only been keeping
house a week or two when a cousin
in the country sent h-r a brace of
pheasants. Some people like to 'liang'
pheasants—to keep them a week or
two, lettinr them get 'high,' on the
ground that tin? fresh flesh is tough
and stringy. The cook knew this, but
her young ni'stress knew nothing pos
i I. cly nothing—of cooking.
"'l'lease. ina'am.' said the cook when
the pheasants" arrived, "do you like the
birds 'lghV
'" 'The bird's eye?' said the mistress,
puzzled.
" 'What 1 mean, ma'am,' the cook ex
plained, 'is that some folks likes their
birds stale.'
'""The tail?' repeated the mistress,
more puzzled than ever.
"And then, in order not to appear ig
norant. in the cook's eyes, she smiled
brightly and said:
" 'Prepare the birds, please, with the
eyes and the tail both.' "
DEATH BY A BOMB.
liiniKiiiiir> of Ihe Crimean
War by Tolstoi.
The following imaginary incident of
the Crimean war is found in Count Tol
fctoi's "Sevastopol: Ihe bomb, com
ing faster and faster aud nearer and
nearer, so that the sparks of its fuse
were already visible, descended. 'Lie
down!' some one shouted. They lay
flat on the ground. I'raskouhin, closing
his eyes, heard only the bomb crashing
down on the hard earth close by. A
second passed, which seemed an hour.
The bomb had not exploded. He open
ed his eyes and at that moment caught
112 sight of the glowing fuse of the bouih
riot a yard <>lf. Terror, cold terror, ex
cluding every other thought and feel
ing, seized his whole being. He covered
his face with his hands.
"Then he remembered the 12 rubles
he owed, a debt in St. Petersburg that
should have been paid long ago aud the
gypsy song he had suug that evening.
The woman he loved rose In his Im
agination, wearing a cap with lilac rib
bons, and yet, inseparable from all
these and from thousands of other rec
ollections, the present thought, the ex
pectation of death, did not leave him
for a moment. 'Perhaps It won't ex
plode,' and with desperate final de
cision he wished to open his eyes, but
at that instant a red flame pierced
through the still closed lids, and, with
a terrible crash, something struck him
in the middle of the chest."
"He jumped up and began to run, but,
stumbling over the saber that got be
tween his legs, fell on his side. 'Thank
God, I'm only bruised,' was his first
thought, and he wished to touch his
chest with his hand, but his arms seem
ed tied to his sides, and it felt as if a
vise were squeezing his head. Soldiers
flitted past him, and he counted them
unconsciously. Then lightning flashed
before his eyes, and he wondered
whether the shot were fired from a
mortar or cannon. 'Cannon, proba
bly, and here are more soldiers—five,
six. seven soldiers. They till pass by.'
He was suddenly filled with fear that
they would crush him. Ho wished to
shout that he was hurt, but his mouth
was so dry that his tongue clove to the
roof of his mouth.
"He felt it wet about his chest, and
this sensation of being wet made him
think of water. Fearing lest the sol
diers might trample on him, he tried to
shout "Take care with you,' but instead
of that he uttered such a terrible groan
that he was frightened to hear it. Then
other red fires began dancing before
his eyes, and it seemed to him that the
soldiers put stone-; on him. lie made
an effort to push "ff the stones, stretch
ed himself, and saw and heard and felt
nothing more. He had been killed on
the spot by a bomb splinter in the mid
dle of hi-; i."
I lie lOiifl nnd I lie Wettta.
The numerous kinds of west of
which the effete east solemnly dis
courses are enough to bewilder a
Philadelphia lawyer It will assure
you that besides "the middle west,"
a phras • th ' it employs continually
and with evident pleasure, there are
an eastern west, a western west, a
northern west aud a southern west!
Vet there Is only one east, and hardly
enough of that to swear by.—Call
'ne»dau
* A I
m |
Queen Luriines
Wishes-and Mine
By IK A WRIGHT HANSON
j • 'o|»j-ritfl,t, l!*»i, li\ Homer Siiraßiio ,
||J
At the fancy dress ball the profile of
Queen Lurline pleased me greatly, a
beautiful line from the gold banded, ;
decked forehead to the piquant
fliin where 1 remembered years before j
t. dimple had lurked.
"Your chin is charmingly the same,"
I murmured, bowing low before her.
"And your cheek, Gordon Bell."
I laughed. Slang from the lips of j
royalty is delightful; also I was pleas
ed that she had recognized me. I look
ed with distaste at the crowds.
"Do you know a bank whereon the '
wild thyme grows?" I asked seduc
tively.
"1 do. Let's find it."
It was down by the lake, and over j
nnd around was moonlight, caressing
Lurlino's face, and making her eyes '
glow like the gems in her dark hair.
"It has been nine years," she said j
presently.
"Nine years, two months and a day,"
I corrected. "Have you received your
money's worth?"
"I suppose so." she answered, color
lessly. " I used to think if I could have j
a gold watch and a piano I should be !
perfectly happy, but when they came '
so many other things came with them
that I felt like the child who has too
many ■ jfts at Christinas. I didn't
know which one to play witli first, and
so I got tired of them all."
Her dark eyes held a look that had ■
' no right i:i the eyes of three and 1
twenty.
"If youth, beauty and riches cannot j
bring you contentment you must be i
hard to please," I said.
She gave an impatient shrug. "And j
royalty you forget that or perhaps you
didn't know.l suppose lamto be the |
Princess < "asimir."
i "Lurline." I exclaimed, "you wouldn't!
! Why, he is a beast! His name isn't tit |
to be mentioned in a woman's pres- i
| ence."
"So I've heard." she answered calm- !
ly, "but he's a prince. Shouldn't Ire- |
ward my benefactress by making her
a mother in royalty, so to speak? I
think I shall tell him yes."
The queen leaned toward me and j
touched my arm. "Why don't you tell j
me of yourself, Gordle?" she asked,
wistfully. "And the old home and j
the schoolhouse are they still there? j
And the wintergreens and the old oak
tree?"
"1 have brought you a picture of the j
schoolhouse. The tree is gone. The j
wintergreen patch is there, but berries j
and leave- seem to have lost their fla- I
vor. I wonder why?"
She bent over ihe picture, which j
showed dimly in the moonlight.
"Do you remember when we used to j
sit oa the schoolhouse step after the j
others had gone and plav three wishes,
*
Gordle? If you could have three wish j
cs now. what would you ask for?"
"Power, position and pelf." I answer- !
ed promptly.
She sighed. "You are foolish. Gor
die, and I am surprised. Your letters
these nine years haven't sounded that
way."
Her mellow and full, needed |
just this note of ...lnc ; to make me
well n!-Ii foivet that I was only a vil
lage doctor ail'! > lie i heiress. She
mustn't marry th • i ince. but I must
remember my place, 1 had no right to
e.Milaiu to ! ,t H: 1 what niv three
wishes really i. -int.
"I.urline." I id. "the old school
master. crippled D k Gregg, still lives
in th * villa .re. When he knew 1 was
coming to see you he said: 'You'll not
find her changed, boy. except perhaps
taller s;nd i,i >rc winsome. The good
heart of little Lurline II dland could
not be tarnished b_\ I'aris or London or
the courts of the wicked." "
"Dear, blc i | ■ »!< 1 man!" I was sure
1 could i ",ect tears in her voice, but
she added -lightly: "Too bad you'll
have t > go back and tell him his mis
take isn't it? Take your queen in,
Gordia. It • ,twt be nearly time for me
to dance a stupid polka with the wick
ed prince."
I saw her the next day and the next
•tin! the day after. We reveled in remi
niscences of the time when we were
bo*, and girl together before the eccen
tric aad rich Mrs. Van Houter, struck
•y 'ie oroli a's great promise of beau
ty, had adopted her. 1 was fairly car
ried away with Lurline's charms, but
I prided myself on my strong will, and
the did not know how my arms aclieil
to hold her.
When we were together she was not
at home to the prince, for which I was
duly thankful, but 1 exerted all my
energies toward making her relalze the
horror of a union with him. She would
not argue, neither would she promise
to refuse hi in At last I appealed to
Mrs. Van Ilouter
"It is not right of you to let the child
sacrifice herself!" 1 blazed.
KlLLthe couch
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,\.i s. t ,i;i uouter regarded me lazll*'.
"Would you iniiiil telling me why you
don't want Lurline to marry the
prince?"
•'Hi' is a wreck, physical and moral,"
1 answered, trying to keep cool, "lie
is a drunl nrd. 1 should think these are
sufficient re., ons."
"H.-ive jon told them to LurlineV"
Yes. I Ml --lie is blinded by her grati
tude :o yoti. A young girl cannot real
what it means anyway."
• Ila\«» von no other reason, Gordon?"
1 l it i;iy fa< row hot. "I think
you .> v then' is If it weren't for
\ mi w retch -d money, Mrs. Van llou
b-r. I would marry I.iuiine Holland if
' 1 on Id I t me."
il what have you to offer her,
>s •
'! a i le.n hands and a tongue that
r ■•■ ii evil of a woman
• id n .iiic ut resources of a vil
li _« i >r." I added bitterly.
••I »: I shoui i advise you to tell
c■: lid so."
I < ii' i . i h"r: then I took up my
* 11>;>> i- impossible, Mrs. Van
1 I .mi i i a fortune hunter."
V. Vau 11 outer laughed. "Make
iii ens; on that score, Cor
•. I.i have lost every cent I had.
Only i.nrline M:d 1 know It yet, but
SOO l
•i '-rivingly rude, but 1 wait
> nor;-. I hastened into
t> i- ■ rd" i t.) I.urline.
• l Irl. I want to explain those
t.'o- • !i power, position and pelf.
It \ ■ n't ; >r '!> -niselves that I crav
i-i ii in -ar li'.t because 1 thought
li. .. po» e io>: iii* lit help me to win
y 'iii.' ar: • i is down between us
n • My >elo" •<!. l.iay I take you back
t i old home i the wintertrrcens?
I " :i lie oil ■:> yon Lurline."
1.11 » l.urKue'; face Hashed rose col
o •; f.•«'in ii v glu.'otrs eyes looked heav
e J too!, her into my arms, that were
so •'! 1 s.i : lail. and she whispered:
"Yon didn't ask me my three wishes.
Cor lie The first one was you. and
the second was yon. and the third was
you."
ilitil Xot llo'ii Intro*
tluccd t«i lliiko or lliiiiihu.
Alexandre I)uin:is, the elder, tells
this story in his diary: "One day Victor
Hugo and ! were dining wkh the Due
I>< >:f s. and anion;' the guests were
I.ord and I.uly I'almerston. Lord and
Lady Palm;Tstoti had come late. There
had been no time for an introduction
before dinner, and after dinner, while
\v • w -ii' 1 iking tea, the formality had
been forgotten. Young Due Decazes
came rp to me. 'My dear M. Dumas.'
he s->'d. 'l.ord I'almerston has begged
me !•> ask you to leave an empty chair
between yourself and Victor Hugo.' I
diil so.
"Lord I'almerston got up, took his
wife by the hand and brought her over
to us "Look ;:t the clock, my lady,' he
said. '\\ hat o'elock is it?' asked Lord
Palmeistou. "Thirty-five minutes past
li»." replied my ladv. 'Then remember.'
s.iid h • • hu-cuud. "that this evening at
thirty live i funics past 10 you were
■- Mi d between Victor Hugo and Alex
andre i> :nas and that such an honor
is not Ii:, •ly to happen to you twice in
a llfeiiuH*.'
"lie tit'ii tool; his wife by the hand
and took her back to her place at the
othi ;• side of the room without another
wo: i. Yo i see. he had not been intro
duce! either to Victor Hugo or me."
'lhe Valuable "Mj I*r«-lt>' Jane."
"My I'retty Jane" was one of the
most profitable songs to the publishers
ever written. Some years ago it
brought over iOO, yet all that Mr.
I-'itzball, tiie writer of the words, and
Sir Henry P.ishop, the composer of the
music, jointly received did not exceed
£lO. Fitzbail, to be sure, declared
that it took him just ten minutes to
write, and itishop thought so little of
his own selling tint lie had thrown the
manuscript nt » the waste paper bas
ket. from \ iiich it was fished out by
the in:,,, t ,f Vauxhall Gardens.
But. even >. the composer was surely
entitled i i a proportionate reward with
the publ -!,er, ami it is not consoling to
recall t! • circumstance that Bishop
ai 1 ..1 a pauper.—Chambers'
i 7 I
| The Home Paper |
of Danville. !
! i
! • i
Of course you read
j l* n j
I if
i THE T\EOPLE'S |J
MOPULAR
I APER.
!
Everybody I ; It. ;
* : r
I : i
Publisher Every Mot Except
l
i
Sunday
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No. nfc. Ny St. j
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Subscription c V-' el..
MAKE CALLS AT NIGHT.
TV* ii lin I- I.ii >fo in of Hie \r«li Ifidlee
of /,aii/ilmr.
The Yr.ib ladies of Zanzibar live in
great occlusion in the large white
houses. never »ill r out in the daytime
from one year's end to another, says
the Ma:i In-ster Cuardian. A little
cooking and s\ vetincat making is their
only recognized employment, though
some few of them ean do beautiful
silk embroidery. To lie on their beds
and be fanned by their slave girls is
the usual oc< upation of the richer
women.
If they w.Lijt tn \ :sit their friends, or,
its is i."ore oft ;i the ease, to perambu
late the town, 1 hey wait until 8 o'clock
in the evening when a gun is fired
warning all M< liammedan's that it is
the fifth and la -i hour of prayer; then
they may go out. Th'y are entirely
enveloped in I ,iyv mantles and their
face.; complet '.y hidden by very ugly
gilt mas!; . Ii oblong slits for the
eyes, and in;: ■ of tliein wear these
even in tlie p: .icy of their own homes.
Their <>ii' r i meats are trousers and
a tuni< iva •! i::»• r below the knee, which
is often lered and trimmed with
gold braid, 'hoy h;:\ » a number of
gold and silver ornaments, nose rings
and e.irri.. bracelets, anklets, and
so on.
They are v " v light in color, many of
them c. eai; I. Their features are
regular and ■ oo;l. and they have dark
eyes and •; . ■ black hair. They paint
under th i;• .-yes and stain their hands
anil nails a reddish color with senna.
If they want togo any distance from
home they ride through the narrow
streets on large white asses stained a
brick red, their slaves running by their
sides, but you generally meet them
stalking solemnly along, surrounded by
their slaves, who carry enormous lan
terns as big as a London street lamp.
Very often they do not return home
till 4 in the morning, when another
gun Is fired proclaiming the first hour
of prayer. It Is very awkward at times
■when you meet in the streets some of
these ladies whom you ought to know
and are greeted by them. You cannot
see their faces, it Is not always easy
to recognize a voice, and nothing would
offend them more than to ask their
names.
Libeled London.
When the most has been said against
London smoke nnd London fog, against
the dirt laden atmosphere and the noise
and worry of the metropolis, it is still
true that there are healthy people In
the capital. London lias not perhaps
deserved all the hard things that have
been said oft.- London Country Gen
tleman.
T ACKAWANNA RAILROAD.
BLOOMSBURG MVidlON
Delaware Lackawanna and Westeri
Railroad.
In Effect Jan. 1, 1905.
TRAINS LEAVE DANVILLE
EASTWARD.
7.07 a. m.daily tor Blooinsburg, Kingston
Wilkes-Barre and Seranton. Arriving
ton at 9.12 a. m., and connecting at Scrantoi,
with trains arriving at Philadelphia at -1.48 a
m.and New York City at 3.30 p. in.
10.19 a. in. weekly for Bloomsburg. Kingstou
VVilkes-Barre,Seranton and intermediate sta
tions, arriving at Seranton at 12.85 p.m. and
connecting there with trains for New York
City, Philadelphia and Buffalo.
2.11 weekly forßlooinsburg.Kingstou.Wllkeb
Barre. Seranton and intermediate mat ions
arriving at Seranton at 4.50 p. ni.
5.43 p. in.daily for Blooinsburg, Espy, Ply
mouth. Kingston, Wilkes-Barre, Pittston,
Seranton and intermediate station*, arriving
at Seranton at -.25 p. m.and connecting thert
with trainsarriviug at New York City at 0.5(
a - in.. Philadelpeia 10 a. in.and liutlalo 7a ui.
TRAINS A iRIVE AT DANVILLE
9.15 a.m. weekly from Seranton, PittNlon,
Kingston, Bloomsburgand intermediatesln
tions, leaving Seranton at 6.35 a. m., where li
connects with trains leaving New York City
at 1). 30 p. m., Philadelphia at 702 p.m. and
Buffalo at 10.30 a. in.
1".44 p. m.daily from Seranton Pittston.
Kingston, Berwick, Bloomsburg and Interme
diate stations, leaving Seranton at 10.10 a. ui.
and conneetingthere with train leaving Butt
alo at 2.25 a. in.
4.33 p. m. weekly om Seranton, Kingston.
Berwick. Bloomsburg and intermediate sta
tions, leaving Seranton at 1.55 p. in., where 11
connects with train leaving New York City
al 10.UU a. in., and Philadelphia at il.oo a. m.
9.05 p. in.daily from Seranton. Kingston
Pittston, Berwick. Blooinsburg and lnteriue
diate stations, leaving Seranton at fl.iffi p.m.,
where it connects with trains leaving Ivew
York City at 1.00 p. m„ Philadelphia al VI I!
p. m.and Butlolo at 9.3'.' a. m.
T. K. CIjAIIKK. Uen'l Sup't.
T. W. LICK. Uen. Pass. A«t.
mm...
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T7*IT .X-."B . TP