{winstonWorkl ]i —J By HONORE WILLSIE. \ V Copyright. IM7, by M. M. t lumlngham. A The sun was just rising behind the bluffs when Darrel strolled out onto the veranda of the bungalow. On the east shore the Mississippi was still •dark and gray with night shadows, but toward the dim line of Miuuesota the water was liquid crimson. Darrel, a fitK\ strong figure in his bathing trunks, shivered as he paused to look at tiie familiar beauty of tha great river. Then he took a breath thut swelled his deep chest and plung ed with great bounds down the bluff side to the river far beneath. When he returned, red aud dijipptng, Jim, his darky factotum, was setting the break fast table on the veranda, and In a short time Darrel was drinking his cof fee and looking out at the tendot spring green of the midstream islands. It was for over a year now that he had piqued the curiosity of the "na tives" by living alone on the bluff side. Two isolated facts, however, known to the gossips, accounted for all his ec centricities. Darrel was a writer and n New Yorker. They called him surly. They could not know that he was merely readjusting Ills lifelong theory of married happiness. They could not know that he was merely fighting to recover his old time buoyancy that had left him that spring morning when Elizabeth had told him that she was going to devote her life not to lilm, but to her "art." Darrel sighed, then rose abruptly. "Jim," he said, "Mr. Winston ma,, come today, so you had better watch the bend sharply about noon." "Yessah." "And you may as well fix up the guest room this morning." Jim looked around at the simple fur nishings of the porch and living room critically. Jim had served Darrel's fa ther and had privileges. "Am Mr. Winston very particular, sah ?" Darrel smiled. "I don't know, Jim. The publishers are sending him out to get illustrations for my book. This BHIC SAT IN SIWQiCE FOB A .MOMENT. will have to do." And he swung down the bluff side to the little pier where was tied a string of canoes and skiffs. He jumped into a canoe ami was off down the river, with beautiful long strokes of the paddle that told of many hours spent on the water. In fact, it was from the hours spent on this river that Darrei's book had grown. He had written it in a fervor of enthusiasm over the wonders of the Mississippi, and the publishers had received It Joy fully. Darrel had found a new field. The noon train drew slowly up to the station platform, and Darrel turned : away In disappointment. Hut one pas senger alighted, and that was a wo man. He glanced back once more to I make sure that he was not mistaken. Then he halted. There was something very familiar about the slender, well dressed figure standing hesitatingly at the far end of the platform. Suddenly the girl moved toward htm. "Oh, HoraceT' she cried. "Yes, Elizabeth," he replied quietly as If they had not parted over a year , ago. "Well, aren't you, glad to see me?" brightly. "And what are yon going to do with me?" "I don't know," said Dan-el to both questions. "What brought you hera, Elizabeth ?" The girl looked into his face, with her candid blue eyes full of wonder. "Why, Horace, didn't they send you j word that 1 was coming?" "They?* Who are 'they?*" Par- 1 risTß fingers were trembling a little. *Jilr. Tompkins, your publisher." Darrel sat down heavily on a truck, then arose. "They wrote me that they were going to send Winston. You— you know my old prejudice, Elizabeth." ; Elizabeth's beautiful mouth twitched, and her eyes twinkled. "You have al ways said that a woman could do only j 'pnetty' work; that she could put no strength Into her sketches. Come, Hor- ( ace? you are not very hospitable, are ! you'/" Darrel was himself again instantly, j "You see, I could have put up Winston, but I am going to take you to Mrs. Brnfly, who will be glad to have a , 'paying guest.' " That afternoon Elizabeth sat in the canoe facing Darrel. In her lap was a sketch book. Darrel had said nothtng j more concerning feminine artistic abil ity. He was struggling with the old disappointment and with the old lov« that, as if the Intervening years had been for nothing, had returned with I redoubled force at the sight of Eliza, beth's beauty. She was so dainty, so merry, so .winsome, that Darrel had been able to consider her for her art seriously. She was « thing to be adored and protected and slaved for. The toll of a profession was ridiculous ! considered with Elizabeth. Bhe sat looking at him In an inscru table sort of wav. "You must take mo I to the places you wnnt sketched Bret, I Homee, so that I won't get confused by sec lug too much else." They paddled slowly up to the foot | of Gniy Eagle. Darrel held the canoe : against the current and looked up at the magnificent bluff side, whose great j face was deep and cool with pines. | The Mississippi bluffs were new to ! Elizabeth. She sat In silence for a mo | mcut, looking at the grandeur of river i and shore. Then she liegau to sketch rapidly. All the brilliant spring after noon they paddled about In silence for j the most purt. Elizabeth slipped her i sketches as rapidly as they were fin ished Into her portfolio, anil Darrel did not ask to see them. He was grateful ' to Ellzalieth that she did not rhapso dize over the scenery. Words were ln ; ! adequate anil idle here. At last the girl, with a tired little sigh, slipped the last sketch into her portfolio. "Now, if you will come back to supper with me we will talk them over," she said. They sat on Mrs. Brady's porch just before sunset, and Elizabeth laid one of her sketches in Barrel's hands. Ho | gave a little start of surprise. How had she done It V The Mississippi, calm, swift and deep, In all Its potency of motion; then for miles bluff after bluff, : pushing Into water, stern, forbidding, yet lovely; the tenderness of the blue sky, the softness of ragged clouds, the - "Elizabeth." said Darrel, and his voice trembled a little, "1 diil not know that you could do this. This is better ! than Winston's best work." Elizabeth looked anxiously into Ills face. "Do you think that?" she said. Darrel again studied the sketch, "it is wonderful," he said. "You have told ! more in these few strong brush strokes than I have in my whole book. Eliza | betli," wistfully, "how could you un ; derstand so well?" Elizabeth clasped her hands softly in her lap. "Oh, but you see I've read the book and reread It, so I was pre pared to see all that you did. The book was as—as fine and strong as you are, Horace." The man rose and walked back and ! forth. "Elizabeth, can you ever for give me for being such a fool as to be little your work? Why, do you know, : I admire Winston's work so much that I was in the seventh heaven when I found that 1 could get him to do mj illustrating, and your work is far and away better than Ills." He turned (•toward the girl abruptly. "Elizabeth, why did you come?" | "Because"—the girl looked up at him bravely—"l wanted to se" you again, and"— She paused. "And?" suggested Darrel. "And when you asked for Winston I was glad to come. I always sign my work Winston. It Is my middle ; name, you know." ! Darrel drew her close to him. "But vour 'art?' " he questioned. "I—l wanted to see if a woman could," she whispered. "And a woman always shall," he said. " 'Winston' shall illustrate all my books." A Sailor Made Suit. On the summer day that Captain Collins embarked with his ten-year-old son for a lake trip on a lumber vessel the weather was hot and sultry. Tha j captain had more Important matten. I than his son's wardrobe on Ills mind, I and young Peter, with the sliortslght ; edness of excited youth, left home ] without his jacket. For two days the wind blew softly from the south, on the third day It switched suddenly to the north, bring Sag with it a cutting arctic coldness. Mrs. Collins, fingering the forgotten jacket, had visions of her thinly cla< eon turned blue with cold or perhaps already stricken with pneumonia. Two weeks later the travelers re turned, the father beaming, the boy i even more radiant In a bulging fianue garment of curious but ample cut. "You see," explained Captain Collins, 'Teter didn't have clothes enough, so 'we putin at the nearest port to buv him a coat But there was only one | store and not n ready made garment In ! the place, so I bought three yards of | red flannel and made him a suit" "Where," asked Mrs. Collins, trying not to laugh, "did you get the pattern'" "Used the boy," said the captain proudly. "Laid the flannel on the | deck, spread the boy on his back on I top and cut all round him with my jackknlfj. Then I laid him on Ills stomach and cut out the front How else could yon make a puttunu?"— Youth's Companion. Aboriginal "Capiat." In the "History of the Town of Mld dJeboro," V ass., there is a footnote quoted from the "New Eugland Me morial," which gives a curious exam ple of Indiun courts and the rules of practice In them. An Indian court In Barnstable coun ty, presided over by an Indian magis trate, Issued the following warrant to an Indian constable; "I Illhoudl, You Peter Waterman, Jeremy Wicket; Quick you take him. Fast you hold him. Straight you bring him , j Before me, "Hihoudl." - 5 ! Von Moltke at Cards. Count von Moltke, Germany's great field marshal, never lost a battle, and It annoyed him to lose a game of cards. A biographer says of bis old age: "The family were trained to let him win if they could without his noticing their maneuver, and they would reckon up ! the stuns to the smnllest amount. 'lt Is really wonderful that I have won In < spite of my bad play,' he remarked to me once rather suspiciously, but he j abided by the result" A Free Hand. "You sketch with a free hand, Miss Brownsmith," remarked the professor, who had Iteen critically examining her portfolio. "Entirely free," said the young lady i as she cast down her eyes In soft con fusion and waited for the professor to follow up the opening. Liberal, The new pastor of a country church ! said to one of his deacons, "I find that Brother Elnknm has very liberal re- j llglous views." "Yes," replied the deacon, "Brother j Linkum is more liberal In his views . than In his contributions." \ His Clever Ally I • 1 • ...Dy... » • W. CRAWFORD SHERLOCK. • : : Copyright, 1907, by Mary McKeon. * "Now.'Tip, something must be done, but how I'm going to do it is more than I know." Jim Granville stretched his great Vengtb on the grass beneath an old oak tree and addressed his fox terrier, who surveyed his master with evident inter est and understanding. There was a frown on the broad forehead of the young man and a troubled look In his big brown eyes. Tip sat on his haunches, wagging his diminutive stump of a tail vigorously, one eye fixed intently on bis master's face, while with the other he watched the movements of a squirrel on an over hauging branch. "I'm in love, Tip," continued Gran ville, flicking the ashes from his cigar with an Impatient gesture. "You know what that means, old fellow, since you've been paying your addresses to that little spaniel of Miss Browning's. Yet you can't understand why 1 don't tell the girl so and settle the whole matter, do you? Tip, canine affairs are different from human affairs. Men have responsibilities, and dogs don't. That's the whole difference in a nut shell." Tip gave a short bark, as if he fully comprehended the distinction, and Granville went on; "I have a pretty good Income, Tip, but it is not big enough to support two establishments. If I get married, my mother would have to live with us, and you know from your own experiences that she is a wo man of decided convictions." Tip shuddered at the remembrance of a whipping he bad received for tiio slight offense of chewing up one of Mrs. Granville's gloves in a moment of absentmindedness and then hung Ills head. "Well, Miss Browning also has de cided views on certain questions of life, and she and my mother disagree upon almost every subject. The nat- B IN THE tenter of the clearino btood WENTWoRTIf ANI> MRS. GRANVILLE. lira! result of bringing such opposite natures together and compelling them to live beneath the same roof would be trouble, Tip, serious trouble too. I would have to side with my wife against my mother or I would have to sido with my mother against my wife. In either case my position would be decidedly unpleasant. I don't expect you to fully understand this, old fel low. You were separated from your mother when you were too young to comprehend the meaning of filial af fection. Hut human beings are quite different and have a certain duty to perform in looking after their maternal relations. Now, these are the facts in \ the case. Tip, and something must be done, but I don't know what it is ! to be." The squirrel had disappeared from view, and Tip fixed his undivided at- j tention upou his master, evidently med- j Itatlng deeply over the perplexing prob lem. The stumpy tall ceased its pen-! dulum-llke motions, and his sharp ears were pricked up In an attitude of ear I nest attention. "This crisis has come upon us sud- j denly, my boy," pursued Granville aft er a few moments of silence. "Things were running along all right, and there was no necessity for Immediate action! until this big fellow from California— Wentworth's his name—came upon the scene. lie's been showing Miss Brown-; lng the most decided attention. Took her out three times last week in his auto and twice to the theater. In fact, I every time I went there she vas out with this confounded Went worth, and I haven't had a chance to say a word to her since he came." The terrier whined sympathetically. 1 and his master continued: "He's twice as old as she is, Tip, but that doesn't make any difference in these days, when men of sev- ty mar ry women of twenty. There ought to V>e a law passed that would prevent people from marrying when there is more than tive years difference in their ages, and if I ever goto congress I'll Introduce such a measure. That won't! help me now, though, and if I don'tj make a move he'll win out and leave ! me at the post. There you are. Tip.' I've unbosomed my secret soul to you, j the only friend in whom I can confide, ' and I look to you to straighten this j tangle out for me." If the fly that hovered about Tip's 1 head had been Wentworth, Granville's j anxiety would have been at an end. I After maklng'sure that his winged tor mentor would worry him no more Tip ' glanced around and espied the squirrel several rods away, engaged in making his morning meal from some crumbs that had been left in the woods. For getting his master's troubles. Tip dash ed off in pursuit, leaving Granville to solve the question that so greatly per plexed him. The young man, left to his own devices, lighted a fresh clgur | nin 1 began a mental calculation as t" , I the length of lime that must elapse be- ! I fore he could hope for sufficient In- | j come wherewith to maintain his moth- J ! er and wife In separate homes, pro- j i vklod, of course, that Wentworth did j ! not succeed in carrying off Miss ; j Browning before his eyes, j The calculation was interrupted by a series of ear splitting yelps, and Gran ville, fearing his pet had come to grief, j arose and hurried down the path along which Tip had disappeared. As he j ■ reached a clearing a hundred yards or • so away he stopped short, his eyes ! | resting upon a curious scene. | In the center of the Clearing stood | Wentworth and Mrs. Granville. The ' former had one arm around the latter's j waist, while, with his walking stick in : his disengaged hand, he was vlgorous ■ iy parrying the furious rushes of the 11 enraged Tip. "I'm so glad you've come, .Tim," cried , Mrs. Granville as her son drew near. i "You are just in time." "It looks as if I'm around at the wrong time," grimly returned the ! | young man as he proceeded to calm the excited Tip. "I don't quite under stand what it all means. I didn't know j i you knew Mr. Wentworth." "Not know Tom Wentworth!" ex claimed Mrs. Granville In surprise. ,! "Why, I've known him ever since I | was a child. He's Catherine Brown ing's uncle, you know, and while he was looking up his niece he found me out, and we've renewed our old friend- t ship. Tom tells me"—a pretty flush had crept into Mrs. Granville's cheeks, i and her forty-five years of life seemed to dwindle perceptibly—"that 1"- has cared for me ever since lie has known I me, and ho has persuaded me to go ' back to California with him if you I have 110 objections, Jiin. What do you ' I say?" ! "I won't stand in tlie way of your happiness, mother," declared Granville ij with an emphasis that Mrs. Granville 1 did not understand until Wentworth enlightened her. "I knew Jim would be all right," ob served the Mg Califoruian jovially, "lie's been making some plnus for himself, and I think we'd better make a double wedding of It." "You're a clever ally, Tip, even if you're only a dog," remarked Gran ville as he walked toward Miss Brown ing's home. "That wild bolt of your -1 brought about a solution of the whole matter." Marsh Cup Water Plant. The plant that I found in the Hud son bay region which is most worthy of notice grows in the mossy mus kegs, in places where there is little or no grass. It is remarkable for two reasons- the beauty of its flower and I its water containing properties. The leaves, which grow flat upon the : ground, are broad and green. The bell of the flower seems adapted as a nat ural reservoir for water, of which, from a large one, there can easily be obtained as much as an Egyptian cof fee cup will hold. But the beauty of It was that in tlie early autumn, when the nights were frosty, but the heat still excessive by day, the water it contained was always iced, for these charming flower bells are evidently constructed to resist frost, and as they close in toward the top they protect from the rays of the sun the lump off clear lco formed within the calyx nt night. The result of this was that often when toiling along at midday, hot and weary, through a stagnant swamp all I had to do to slake my thirst was to pluck a few of these j miraculous flowers to obtain so many ' j small cups full of delicious water, j each with a little lump of ice floating on the top.—Blackwood's Magazine. What Boys Learned 300 Years Ago. Schoolboys tii old England took to | Latin and Greek at an early age. At St. Saviour's Grammar school, South wark. In 1611 a pupil of seven years j an! ! ' i .>undEv :■ ' ! l No. ii t. vig-St. | I Subsc . 4 • \.f V; \ *•• ■ .rsn* ' ■ THE ZOO CATERER. Special Knowledge Required to Run a Wild Animals' Hotel. "To run a wild animals' hotel—for what is a 7.00 but that?—requires a lot of special knowledge," said an animal keeper. "How would you, for la stance, know how to provid® for a rhinoceros or a tapir? If you don't cater right for your animal guests, If you don't give them what they want, they pack up and quit the hotel, you know—that Is' to say, they die. It amounts to the same thing. "Yes, it takes special knowledge to feed a zoo. You wouldn't know, would you, that au elephant requires 150 pounds daily —no more, no less —of rice, hay, straw, roots, bread and bis cuit? "A hippo wants more. Give him roots, hay and g.-ass, 200 pounds of them, and he won't register a single kick. "A giraffe with its dainty appetite, asks only for fifty pounds a day of chaff, salad, grain and clover. "But don't offer vegetables to lions and tigers. Eight pounds apiece of raw horseflesh, with plenty of bone and gristle, Is their ration, year in and year out. "We have our farms, too, to supply our table, just as lots of other hotels do. Only our farms are queer ones. One is a mouse farm. Iu it, with the 'ielp of traps, we raise a tremendous annual crop. Another is a worm farm, where we produce yellow meal worms by the thousand for our birds "—Ex change. : 3lli NEW! Fl©lli\ble TIN SHOP sr all kind of Tin Roofing Spoutine and Cenersl Job Work Stoves. Heaters. Rantjoa, Furnaces, eto. PRIDES THE LOWEST! QIIILITT TDE BEST! JOHN HIXSOiV MO. 11« E. 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