! 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.