! THE WEEK cf I x PROBATION. I 1 By MARTHA C. SANFORD. | 1 Copyrighted, 1908, by the Associated + I T Literary Press. J ■» ♦ ♦ * * '»• ** ■* ♦ * * ♦ ♦ * Donthy's love affairs had come to a crisis. Three proposals in as many j weeks put literally a stop to her co quetry. A decision had to be made. So she composed a form letter, brief and noncommittal, and mailed a copy to each of the three anxious aspirants, j It read as follows: My Dear Mr. : Pleaso do not como to see mo aguln for a week or until I give you permission. 1 am thinking things over. Very cordially yours. DOROTHY BRETT. Not that Dorothy seriously meant to do any tall amount of thinking. The week of probation would save her all \ that trouble. The test would be simple enough. Of the one whose absence should make her heart grow fonder— of that one Dorothy would feel sure. She wondered dreamily why all girls did not resort to a solution so cora mendably automatic. It was so silly to allow oneself to l>e consumed for a prolonged period with nerve racking j doubts and feverish fantasies. All one j hail to do was to assume a passive i frame of mind—and wait. When Reginald Warren received Dorothy's laconic instructions he laugh- J ed long and confidently. "So Dorothy actually believes it's j necessary to think it over." he com mented. "Rless her heart, she shall lie j allowed that privilege if she wants it. j As if there could be the least doubt!" > Right here Reginald broke off his j soliloquy and whistled, for in sorting | over his mail he had come upon an other envelope in Dorothy's handwrit- J Ing. It bore the name of Mr. Robert Butler, but was addressed by accident j to Reginald's street and number. Reginald balanced the letter tenta tively in his hand. "Flow many more, j I wonder?" he asked himself. "Shall I forward it to Rutler or return It to Dorothy?" In a misguided moment he decided upon the latter alternative. Dorothy was furious when the letter came back to her. She recognized Reg inald's handwriting and immediately consigned him to the oblivion he de- SHE WAITED IMPATIENTLY FOR CENTRAL TO GET THE NUMBER. served. How did he dare treat her | slip of the pen humorously, for that was what he had done, of course! Slie could tell It from the rollicking style of the penmanship. Had he been a gentleman he would have forwarded it \ to Robert and spared her the humilia tion of knowing what a telltale blunder she had made. Robert Butler of course profited by j bis rival's hasty faux pas—temporarily, that is—for, receiving no warning to j the contrary, he continued to call upon J Dorothy ami found her so engagingly gracious that liis emotions soared once j more to the point of a proposal. Simul- | taneously Dorothy's hospitality fell to j the freezing point, and the following j morning she mailed Robert his delayed i ultimatum. The week of probation went by with no word or sign from the third handle : ■of Dorothy's overfull loving cup. This unpardonable negligence piqued her < not a little. "Ned might at least have taken the trouble to find out if I really meant it," she argued, with proverbially feminine logic. "It's positive proof that he's in- ! different. Well, he'll find out that I can be indifferent too. I'll write to— j I'll write to Reginald Warren this very j night and tell him"— She took up her pen with an air of determination. One beginning after 1 another was dashed boldly off, read over with misgivings and finally dis carded. Reginald himself interrupted these j spasmodic outbursts. "Oh, I was just writing to you, Mr. Warren!" was Dorothy's more or less fluttering welcome. "Dorothy—my own!" Reginald ex claimed jubilantly. She saw the gleatn of happiness that ■ lighted his eyes and quickly drew her | hand away from his ardent clasp. "How did you dare to come before I hud written to tell you?" she asked de fensively. Reginald laughed easily. "Because I knew what you would write, dearest, and the week of my en forced absence Is up tonight, you know." The amazing assurance of tills lover atruck Dorothy dumb for the moment It was as though the man's real char acter had revealed itself in a flash. He had taken her answer for granted. Dorothy's vacillating little heart grew hot with rebellion and prompted her to take recourse in very daring strategy. "I was writing to tell you that I am engaged to some one else," she an- j nouneed bravely. Reginald stared at her. Slowly the j situation dawned upon him. "So Mr. Butler is the lucky man. then?" he answered sneeringly. "I did not reallzn that he was a rival until I got nis letter by mistake. uouDuess that was your acceptance of him, Miss *!.«♦ T *0 VOU. I Shall I certainly take pleasure iu congrmurac j ing him at ray first opportunity. Good i uight." ! "No, no; wait!" called Dorothy as soon as she could recover from the shock of this man's anger. But it was too late. "Heavens!" she gasped. "Suppose he ! announces my engagement to Robert j Butler!" She rushed to the telephone aud wait | ed impatiently for central to get the | number. j "Is this Mr. Butler? This is Dorothy ! Brett. What? You recognized my j voice the very first word? You were expecting me to call up?" (Dorothy made a very little face.) "Well, I just wanted to tell you that I am engaged to Ned Hamilton. What? You say he denied it this very afternoon? Well, you see, I wanted to tell you about it myself! Why, thank you. Mr. Butler, i I'm sure we shall be. Come to see me. j Good night." Again Dorothy waited with there • ceiver close to her little pink ear, this time with almost dancing anticipation. "Oh, Ned, is this really you? Where have you been all this week? It seems a month. It's my own fault. Well, Ned, could you possibly come over this evening? You can't? Got to take whom to the theater? Oh, your sister! Goodness! I thought you said Leices ter somebody. Well, do find some one ! else to take her. You see, I just tele- J phoned Mr. Butler that you and I are j engaged and— That's what I said— j engaged! I had to. Urn-hum. Now liurrj'!" ! Ned put on his "seven league boots" and hurried. i "Dorothy," he gasped when he i reached her, breathless, but happy, "do i you really mean that I'm the lucky I dog?" | "Of course!" she answered, laughing J at his boyish incredulity. "Who else did you s'pose?" "Why, I don't know, dearest. I guess | I was a bit shaky about Butler and that Warren fellow. Warren's beeii | boasting, in fact, that you'd soon an nounce your engagement to him." "The little beast!" exclaimed Dor ! othy, flushing. But lier anger died down as suddenly as it came. "Oh, Ned, I'm so happy!" she whis pered, for by this time Ned had her in his arms and was making up for lost time. "It was awfully risky of you leaving me alone for a whole week," she chided. "I came very near accept ing Reginald Warren not more than an hour ago." Ned loosened his hold of her slightly. "Out of spite," Dorothy added rogu ishly, " 'cause you didn't care enough to come for your answer." "But you asked me not to como till you gave me permission," he reminded her. "Didn't you see the special postscript on the inside of the envelope—on the flap?" Ned drew the envelope from his pocket. It had been cut open at the top. He folded back the flap. "If you get very anxious," he read, "you needn't wait" "Dorothy," he exclaimed, kissing her rapturously, "if I had only known!" "Men have no curiosity," she sighed happily, "and no imagination. They lose a lot of fun." An Extraordinary Dinner. Sir Frank Lascelles had some excit ing experiences in the course of his diplomatic career. He was with Sir Edward Malet in Paris in 1870 during the siege and the commune and told the story of an extraordinary dinner ' which they had at the embassy shortly | after a cannon ball had driven iu the | frout wall and reduced the kitchen to ruins. A general retreat was made to | the cellar And here the two English- I men solemnly arrayed themselves in ; dress clothes and sat down to dine in as much "state" as possible, amid a hopeless jumble of treasured bric-a brac, valuables, clocks, china, etc., for not a scrap of the usual ceremony and ; etiquette was waived despite the in congruous surroundings. "It looked like the haunt of brigands," Sir Ed ward wrote to a friend, "who had just ! ransacked a stately castle and brought the booty hither, while in the center in | vivid contrast of neatness with disor | del- was the table laid out for dinner, with its white tablecloth and silver j candlesticks and, to crown incongrui ties, Frank Lascolles and myself in ! evening dress and white ties, waited "ti by the stately butler and embassy I sen-ants."—London Tit-Bits. A Human Oddity. Most men are queer, but some are queerer. A prize winner in the sec j ond class drew the eyes of the entire j company upon him In amazement as ; they sat around a table in a downtown restaurant at luncheon. They had been discussing apartment house life | when one of the party turned to the man next him and asked: "By the way, Jim. how many rooms have you in your flat?" "Blessed if I know," said Jim. "My I wife can tell you 1 can't Never I counted 'em." "Well, isn't he a bird?" whl#;> red a man opposite. "Wonder if lie knows how many lugers and toes he luis?"- New York Giolie. A Golf Outrage. The Fnrl "112 Wemyss was on a Fife g.ilt course on one occasion IICCU!::;I i tiled I ; an "'d cad'ie. Ills lordship g->t his ball on one occasion so near i!i<* i hole that to play it was. as it appeared to him, superfluous. So he simply tip ped it in with the toe of his boot. The caddie revolted instanter, threw down the clubs and looked horrified. When he found words to speak it was to say, "nang it, me lord, gowf's i gowf!" Satin Ashes. Small Nellie read aloud from her Sunday school lesson as follows: "And the king of Nineveh covered himself with sackcloth and sat in ashes." Tills was a puzzler, and finally she said, "Mamma, what kind of ashes is satin ashes?"— Chicago News. Fault Finding. Nothing Is easier than fault finding. No talent, no self denial, no brains, no character is required to set up in the grumbling business, but those who are moved by a genuine desire to do good have little time for murmuring or com plaint. Most people who rob Peter to pay Paul forget the last part of the con tract ?fSP^S AND P P CAHBOU%&i W THEODORE ROOSEVELT^ (Copyright, 1593, by G. P. Putnam's Sons. Published under arrangement with G. P. Putnam's Bona, New York and London.] lu September I was I camped on the shores of I Kootenai Lake, having __l2iaan with me as companions, ftjAMUAJn John Willis and an im passive - looking Indian named Ammal. Coming across through the dense coniferous forests of northern Idaho we had struck the Kootenai River. Then we went down with the current as it wound iu half circles through a long alluvial valley of mixed marsh and woodland, hemmed in by lofty moun tains. The lake itself, when we reach ed it, stretched straight away like a great fiord, a hundred miles long and about three In breadth. The frowning and rugged Selkirks came down sheer to the water's edge. So straight were the rock walls that it was difficult for us to land with our batteau, save ui the places where the rapid mountain torrents entered the lake. We had come down from a week's fruitless hunting in the mountains; a week of excessive toll, iu a country where wo saw no game—for iu our ig norance we had wasted time, not go ing straight back to the high ranges, from which the game had not yet de scended. After three or four days of rest, and of feasting on trout—a wel come relief to the monotony of frying pan bread nnd coarsey salt pork—we were ready for another trial; and early one morning wo made the start. Hav ing to pack everything for a fortnight's use on our backs, through an excess ively rough country we of course traveled as light as possible. leaving almost all we had with the tout ami boat. We walked in single file, as is nec essary in thick woods. The white hunter led, and I followed, each with rifle on shoulder and pack on back Ammal, the Indian, pigeon toed along behind, carrying his pack, not as we did ours, but by help of a forehead band, which he sometimes shifted across his breast. The traveling through the tangled, brush choked for est, and along the bowlder strewn and precipitous mountain sides, was incon ceivably rough and difficult. An hour or two before sunset we were traveling, as usual, in Indian file, beside the stream, through an open wood of great hemlock trees. There was no breeze, and we made no sound as we marched, for our feet sunk noiselessly into the deep moss. Suddenly the hunter, who was lead ing. dropped down in his tracks, point ing upward; and some fifty feet be yond I saw the head and shoulders of a bear as he rose to make a sweep at some berries. lie was In a hollow where a tall, rank, prickly plant, with broad leaves, grew luxuriantly; and he was gathering its red l>erries. rising on his hind legs and sweeping them down into his mouth with his paw, and was much too Intent on his work to notice us, for his head was pointed the other way. The moment he rose again I fired, meaning to shoot through the shoulders, hut Instead, in the hur ry, taking him in the neck. Dowii he went, but whether hurt or not we could not see, for the second he was on all fours he was no longer visible, j Rather to my surprise he uttered no sound—for bear when hit or when charging often make a great noise—so I raced toward the edge of the hollow, the hunter close behind me, while Am mal danced about in the rear, verj much excited, as Indians always are I iu the presence of big game. The in stant wo reached the hollow nnd look ed down into it from the low bank on which we stood we saw by the sway ing of the tall plants that the bear was coming our way. The hunter was standing some ten feet distant, n hem lock trunk being between us; and the next moment the bear sprang clean up the bank the other side of the hem- j lock, and almost within arm's length i of my companion. I do not think he had intended to charge; he was prob ably confused by the bullet through his neck, and had by chance blundered out of the hollow in our direction; but when he saw the hunter so close he turned for him, his hair bristling an . his teeth showing. The man had no ' cartridge in his weapon, a.ul with his j pack ou could not have used it any how; and for a moment <t looked as if 1 lie stood a fair chance of being hurt. ' As the beast sprang out of the hollow | lie poised for a second on the edge of the bank to recover his balance, giving me a beautiful shot, as he stood side ways to me; the bullet struck between the eye and ear, and he fell as if hit with a pole axe. Our prize was a large black bear, j with two curious brown streaks down i his back, one on each si.le the spine. We skinned him and camped by the ' carcass, as it was growing late. To , take the chill off the evening air we built a huge fire, the logs roaring and \ crackling. To one side of it we made i our beds —of balsam and hemlock j boughs; we did not build a brush lean j to, because the night seemed likely to j bo clear. Then we supped on sugar j less tea, frying-pan bread, and quanti ties of bear meat, fried or roasted— and how very good It tasted only Owls to Kill Off Sparrows. They have discovered a way to thin out the obnoxious English sparrows in Erie, Pa. Two owls which have taken possession of one of the squirrel houses in a tree on the courthouse lawn at Erie have launched forth into the spar row eradication business. Janitor .avery noticed that the number of bird 0 was rapidly diminishing and the other day discovered the secret when lie had occasion to look Into the squirrel house. He found fli!" plrce literally filled with bones and feather.) which formerly hud constituted par's of the anatomies of spn rr l ""' those know who have gone tlirougß much hardship and some little hunger, and have worked violently for several days without flesh food. The morning after killing Bruin, we again took up our march, heading up stream, that we might goto its sources amidst the mountains, where the snow fields fed Its spriiigs. It was two fuli days' journey thither, but we took much longer to make it, as we kep! halting to hunt the adjoining moun tains. On such occasions Ammal wa • left as camp guard, while the white hunter and 1 would start by daybreak and return at dark utterly worn out by the excessive fatigue. We knew nothing of caribou, nor where to hunt for them; and we had been told that thus early In the season they were above tree limit on the mountain sides Until within a couple of days of turning our faces back towards tin lake we did not come across any cari bou, and saw but a few old signs; and we began to be fearful lest we should have to return without getting any, for our shoes had been cut to ribbons li the sharp rocks, we were almost on of flour, and therefore bad but lit 11. to eat. However, our perseverance was destined to be rewarded. The first day after reaching our final camp, we hunted across a set of spur and hollows, but saw nothing living The next day we started early, deter mined to take a long walk and follow the main stream up to its bead, or ai least übove timber line. The huntc struck so brisk a pace, pluugin} through thickets and leaping from log to log in tho slashes of fallen tim her, and from boulder to boulder i; crossing tho rock-slides, that I could hardly keep up to him, struggle as 1 would, and we each of us got Severn! ugly tumbles, saving our rifles at the expense of scraped hands nud bruised bodies. We went up one Bide of the stream, intending to come down the other; for the forest belt was narrow enough to hunt thoroughly. For two or three hours we toiled through dense growth. Then wo came to a spur of open hemlock forest; and no sooner had w< entered it than the hunter stopped and pointed exultingly to a well-marked game trail, in which it was easy at a glance to discern the great round foot prints of our quarry. We hunted care fully over the spur and found several trails, generally leading dowu along the ridge; we nlso found a number of beds, some old and some recent, usual ly placed where the animal could keep a lookout for any foe coming up from the valley. Thej- were merely slight hollows or identations In tho pine needles; and, like the game trails, were placed in localities similar tc those that would be chosen by Mack tail deer. The caribou droppings were also very plentiful; and there were signs of where they had browsed on the blueberry bushes, cropping off the Giving me a beautiful shot, as he stood sideways to me. berries, and also apparently of where they had hero and there plucked a mouthful of a peculiar kind of moss, or cropped off some little mushrooms. But the beasts themselves bad evident ly left the ridge, and we went on. After a little while the valley be came so high that the large timber ceased, and there were only occasional groves of spindling evergreens. Be yond the edge of the big timber was a large boggy tract, studded with little pools; and here cgaiti we found plenty of cariboo tracks. A caribou has an enormous foot, bigger than a cow's, and admirably adapted for traveling over snow or bogs; hence they can pass through places where the long slender hoofs of moose or deer, or the round hoofs of elk, would let their owners sink at once; and they are very difficult to kill by following on snow shoes—a method much in vogue among tho brutal game butchers for slaughter- Terrifying, Indeed. An authority upon chemistry wae lecturing before a well known worn ait's club and Illustrating his remarks with experiments. All went well un til he paused a moment and then said 'Tni very sorry, but I mnst ask anj of the ladles who use face powdoi containing bismuth to leave the room during this experiment, as tho g&Bei I in about to set free have a pecoltai afflnur for bismuth and turn It por Pie." Whereupon the eQttra audience saw* thaee courageous afstum ro«« and fled from the room. Ing the more helpless animals. Spread lug out l<ls great hoofs, and bending his legs till he walks almost on the joints, a caribou will travel swiftly over a crust through which a moose breaks at every stride, or through deep snow in which a deer cannot flounder fifty yards. Usually he trots; but when pressed he will spring awkward ly along, leaving tracks In the snow almost exactly like magnified Imprints of those of a great rabbit, the long marks of the two hind legs forming an angle with each other, while the forefeet make a large point nlmost be tween. The caribou had wandered all over the bogs and through the shallow pools, but evidently only at night or in the dusk, when feeding or In coming to drink: and we again went on. Soon the timber disappeared almost en tirely, and thick brushwood took Its place; we were In a high, bare alpine valley, the snow lying In drifts along the sides. In places there had been enormous rock-slides, entirely filling up the bottom, so that for a quarter of v The hunter crouc?ied down, while / ran noiselessly forward. a mile at a stretch the stream ran un derground. In the rock masses of this alpine valley we, as usual, saw many conies and hoary woodchucks. The caribou trails had ceased, and It was evident that the beasts were not nhend of us In the barren, treeless recesses between the mountains of rock and snow; and we turned back down the valley, crossing over to the opposite or south side of the stream. We had already eaten our scanty lunch, for it was afternoon. For sev eral miles of hard walking, through thicket, marsh, and rock-slide, wo saw no traces of the game. Then we reached the forest, which soon widen, ed out, and crept up the mountain sides; and we came to where another stream entered the one wo were follow ing. A high, steep shoulder between the two vallyes was covered with an open growth of great hemlock timber, and In tills we again found tho trails and beds plentiful. There was no breeze, and after beating through the forest nearly to its upper edge, we be gan togo down the ridge, or point ofi the shoulder. The comparative free- j dom from brushwood made it easy to walk without noise, and we descended! the steep incline with the utmost care, I scanning every object, and using every caution not to slip on tho hemlock needles, nor to strike a stone or break a stick with our feet The sign was very fresh, and when still half a mile or so from the bottom we at last came on three bull caribou. Instantly the hunter crouched down, | while Iran noiselessly forward be- < hind the shelter of a big hemlock | trunk until within fifty yards of the grazing and unconscious quarry. They ! were feeding with their heads up-hill, I but so greedily that they had not seen us; and they were rather difficult to see themselves, for their bodies har monized well In color with the brown tree-trunks and lichen-covered boul ders. Tho largest, a big bull with a good but by no means extraordinary head, was nearest As he stood fronting me with his head down I fired into his neck, breaking the bono, and he turn ed a tremendous back somersault. The other two halted a second in stun ned terror; then one, a yearling, rush ed past us up tho valley down which we had come, whilo the other, a large bull with small antlers, crossed right in front of me, at a canter, his neck thrust out, and his head—so coarse looking compared to the delicate out lines of an elk's—turned towards me. ITis movements seemed clumsy and awkward, utterly unlike those of a deer; but he haudl?d his great hoofs cleverly enough, and broke Into a headlong, -attling gallop as he went down t 1 J hillside, crashing through the saplings and eaplng over the fallen logs. There was a spur a little beyond, and up this he went at a swinging trot, halting when ho reached the top, and turning to look at mo once more. He was only a hundred yards away; and though I had not in tended to shoot him (for his head was not good), the temptation was sore; and I was glad when, in another sec ond, the stupid beast turned again and went off up the valley at a slashing run, Mixed. Mrs. Browne—She's forever com plaining, but I think she merely lacks stamina. Mrs. Malaprop—Oh, DO; she's got It; at any rate, thafs what the doc tor calls her disease. She can't sleep, yon know.—Exchange Willing to Take Chance*. The Man—l'd give anything it you would kiss me. The Maid—Bat the scientists say that kisses breed dis ease. The Man—Oh, never mind that Go ahead and make me an Invalid for life.—Philadelphia Inquirer. • AAA/ AAA/XAAAAAA/ A/AAAAAAA* * Journey's End \ By Forbe9 Dwitfht. Copyrighted. 1908, by Associated 6> Literary Press. •TVWWfVWTWT'yTVTVTVTVTi The mad gallop up the brldlb path ended at the bridge across the little pond. The girl drew rein close to the stone parapet and, calming her restive steed, whose every nerve seemed a-qulver with the excitement of the wild dash, sat quietly on the saddle staring with pensive eyes at the un ruffled water below. Dean ranged his own horse beside the girl's, smiling as he watched the glowing color in her cheeks. All about them the trees flaunted the gorgeous tints of late autumn—scarlet, ocher and more subdued shades blending Into a splendid, farreachlng vista. The crisp, clear air stirred the blood like wine. The girl laughed, a trifle uneasily. "We shouldn't be doing such things," she said severely. "Of course not," said Dean, with a chuckle. "We should have maintain ed a staid pace. We should have con tented ourselves »t the most with a measured trot It's tremendously wicked the way we smash all the con ventions of this park. We'll have a mounted officer on our trail yet Pleas ant prospect that A glorious gallop, all the same, wasn't it, and well worth the risk of incurring the displeasure of the law?" "Yes; it was glorious," the girl ad mitted. "Still, we shouldn't do it" "That's where half the fun comes in," said he. "Hang their old park and its rules! Do they think we'll limit " * " "TAKE ME TO YOUR GENTLE OLD CLERGY MAN." ourselves to a funereal pace such a day as this and with such a pair of stsppers?" "We really ought to," said she. Dean laughed. It was a pleasant almost boyish laugh. His big shoul ders were squared defiantly. "The things one ought to do are gen erally unpleasant;" he observed "Come on. We'll let them out once more." The girl shook her head "No! Oh, no!" she demurred. "Afraid?" he questioned. She nodded. "Of the rules they are pleased to hamper us with in this 2 by 4 plot of grass?" "No; not of that." she replied "Afraid of you, I think." "Of meV Oh, pshaw!" Again his laugh rang out but the girl turned to him with a sudden seri ousness. "You make me rather afraid of you at times," she said. "You tempt me to do reckless tilings. 1 don't know why it should be so, but It is. I would nev er in the world have thought of riding here with any one else as I have with you just now, and the strange part of it all is that I enjoy it so immensely." "Enjoy what?" "Doing the reckless things you in spire." Dean leaned toward her quickly. "I wish it were so," be declared. "I wish I really might Inspire you to reck less deeds. 1 wish I might"— "Now, please," the girl begged, with heightening color. "Ob, all right!" said he good natured ly. "I know the subject Is tabooed. T»II nhenrve the conventions von've Im posed upon me ana Keep my tongue to the funereal pace." He sat for a time staring silently Into the water. At last he straightened him self in the saddle. "I'd like another gallop," he remark ed, "a wilder one, a madder one. I'd like to get out of this little old park and go somewhere where there's a lev el stretch of road and no hampering rules of pace." A light came Into the girl's eyes. She threw back her bead and gathered up the reins. "So would I," she declared, a trifle breathlessly. Dean swung about to face her. There was a quiet smile on his lips. "Come, then," he said simply. "We really shouldn't" she objected. "Come," he repeated "I'm afraid when you speak in that fashion." "Come." He turned the horse from the bridge and headed for the gate at the farther side of the park. The girl followed si lently. "Where are you going?" she asked as be turned through the gate and made Cor the road that led Into the coun try. "To a place where we can let then out to our hearts' content," said he. Up the road through the afternoon sunshine they went at a sober pace, but once the city was fairly behind them Dean quickened the pace Faster they went and faster until they were teaming along at a mad gait Across level stretches and over the low hills they sped. The two horses had caught the spirit of the gallop and tore along at their best pace. The girl's cheeks were glowing; Dean's eyea sparkled ■tell ttv» «Tflt»mi»iit oft It - j nrv paust-u nuaiiy On the crest or a hill. Far behind them lay the city, Its position outlined against the sky by a smudge of blue smoke. Ahead of them lay a ragged line of hills, behind which glowed a sky red with the embers of the sunset "Well, that was a ride," said Dean, turning to the girl. "Wasn't It?" she cried. "But we must be starting back. See, the sun has set It will be quite dark If we don't hurry." "I wish I might Inspire you with a thorough recklessness," he said. "You have," she said breathlessly. "Then let's go Just one more mile," he urged She hesitated. "Come," she cried at last. Down the hill they thundered, across a bridge that spanned a little brook and up the rise on the other side. Again they drew rein. The gorgeous twilight colors were fading. Below them lay a little village, its lights al ready beginning to twinkle in the gloom. "Enough recklessness?" said he. "Never! This is just the beginning." "Now I'm afraid of you again," said she. "Oh, no, you're not afraid of me," he said, with a strange gentleness. "You're afraid of a few old, time worn conven tions. You're afraid of all those plans that have been made for your future— afraid to answer your own heart and go against them. You are afraid of yourself—that you may some time do as you want and thwart your mother's scheming for you. But you're not afraid of me." She began to tremble. "We must go back," she cried. "Look," said he. "Do you see that spire with the cross on it? Well, be side that spire.is a little rectory, and In the rectory is a gentle old clergy man. He's watching this road down hill even now. Dorothy, he's expecting us." "Oh!" she cried, turning her face away. "Shall we disappolut him?" he asked There was a long pause; then with out looking at him the girl started her horse down the hill. At the foot of It she stopped and resolutely faced Dean. Her cheeks were burning, but her eyes never faltered. "I am afraid of you," she said, "be cause you will always have your way with me. You will rule me as you like, do with me as you please, even as you have done this afternoon. Yes, I am very much afraid of you—but—but— take me to your gentle old clergyman. I am very happy even In my fear." IRVING AND MONTAGUE. On* of Their Practical Jokes That* Scared Their Friends. In Scott's "The Drama of Yesterday and Today" the author tells of a prac tical Joke play el by Henry Irving anil Harry Montague upon a number of their friends, and"ln Its execution was Been the first dawning glimmer of that tragic force that was ultimately to find expression In Hood's 'Dream of Eugeue Aram' and 'The Bells.' " Irving and Montague, hitherto the best allies, be gan to quarrel on their wny to a and their friends feared some tragic consequences. After luncheon both of the men disappeared. Smale's face turned deadly pale. lie felt that his worst fears were being realized. With one wild cry, "They're gone—what on earth has become of them?" he made a dash down tlte Dar gle over the rocks and bowlders, with the remainder of the picnic party at his heels. At the bottom of a "dreadful hollow behind the little wood" a fearful sight presented itself to the astonished friends. There on a stone sat Henry Irving In his shirt sleeves, his long hair matted over bis eyes, his thin hands and white face all smeared with blood, and dangling an opeu clasp knife. 110 was muttering to himself in a savage tone: "I've done it! I've done it! I said I would! I said I would!" Tom Smale In an agoug of fear rushed up to Irving, who waved him on one side with threatening gestures. "For God's sake, man," screamed tho distracted Smale, "tell us where he is!" Irving, scarcely moving a wusele, pointed to a heap of dead leaves and In sepulchral tones cried: "He's there there! I've dona for him! I've mur dered him!" Smale literally bounded to the heap and began flinging aside the leaves in every direction. Presently he found.' the body of Harry Montague lying face downward. Almost paralyzed with fear, Smale Just managed to turn the head around and found Montague con vulsed with laughter, with a pocket handkerchief la his mouth to prevent an explosion. Never was better acting seen on any stage. A Unique Symbol of Freedom. A curious custom Is observed In the village of Great Bookman, Surrey, England. When the wife of a trades man goes off for the usual summer holiday to the seaside one or two ex pert climbers ascend at midnight to the roof of the bouse and insert old brooms In the chimneys as a sign that the head of the house has the super vision of the domestic arrangements in addition to his ordinary work. Sill SEI! A Rella tol© TIN SHOP tor all kind of Tin Roofing, Spoutlne nnd Conoral Job Work. Stovoo, Hoatoro, Ran coo* Furnaces, oto. PRIBEB TUB LOWEST! QDiLITV TOE BEST! JOHN HIXSON 80. 11# B, FRONT XT.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers