THE SUBSTITUTE, -4 Soldier Personates a Comrade to His Mother. '! By MURIEL E. GRAY. /Copyright. 1910. by American Press Asso ciation.] Among the young men who marched away to the Spanish-American war ■was Elmer Wilkinson, a boy of eight een. His mother was aa invalid aud gradually losing her eyesight. When she bade goodby to her young soldier son she said: "Dear boy, this Is the last time I shall ever see you. even If you re turn." "Don't talk that way, mother," he replied. "Perhaps you'll see me with a pair of straps on my shoulders." But the soldier never returned. He died in a hospital of a fever, leaving a message for his mother and sister with his captain, Wendell Clifford, to •deliver when he should return to the Vnited States. Wilkinson's death oc curred at the close of the war, and Clifford sailed north with his regi ment only a week later. Therefore no news of Wilkinson's death reached his home until It was brought by his captain. When one morning Dora Wilkinson received Captain Clifford's card her llrst thought was to keep from her mother any bad news he might bring from her brother. Mrs. Wilkinson at the time wus on the verge of nervous prostration, and Dora dared not im pose upon her any further strain. Entering the room where Clifford was waiting, she closed the door behind her, then in a low voice asked for news of her brother. The word she received was not altogether unexpect ed. for she had been informed of his "I'M GOISO TO MAMMA ON Ton." illness, but it was nevertheless a great shock. Clifford comforted her as well as he could. As soon as she had made some recovery she told him that on no account should her mother at present learn of her son's death. While they were conferring the door opened, and Dora's brother Harold, aged seven, came Into the room. Dora was distressed at his appearance, fear ing that he would tell his mother that an officer had called and she would ex pect news from her son. She exacted a promise from the boy that he would say nothing about Captain Clifford, offering a large bribe if he kept it. But Harold could no more know what was not to lie told without tell ing It than he could keep candy in his pocket without eating It. Leaving the room, he went straight to his moth er and told her there was a man down stalrs with brass buttons on his coat and a gold eagle on Ills cap. The llrst intimation of this to Dora was the mother's voice from above, crying: "My boy, my boy! Why don't you come up to your mother?" Dora's heart sank within her. "Go' to her," she said to Clifford. "She can't distinguish you from my brother. You'll havo to let her think you are he." "Coming, mother, dear," cried the captain cheerily. And he hastened up stairs, while Dora, seizing Harold, locked hiui lu his playroom, then Joined Clifford and her mother. She found the old lady with her arms about Clifford, patting and caressing him. Hearing a footstep, the mother said: "Is that you, Dora?" "Yes, mother." "Why should you have kept Elmer's arrival from me? Why didn't you bring him right up?" "He had but Just arrived." stam mered Dora. "We didn't like to give you too much Joy all at once," said the captain. For the ti:ne being the matter work ed well enough. Mrs. Wilkinson no ticed only that her son's voice was deeper than it had been, but he told her he had caught cold coming up on the transport. In order to get away from her he said he must report in camp at a certain hour. Going down stairs in company with Dora, they both stood for a few moments looking at each other In silence. "This must end In disaster," said Dora ruefully. "It can be kept up for some time," replied the captain reassuringly. "Not with Harold In the house." "You know I'm still In the service. I don't need to come very often to sea your mother." "That's fVtunate in one respect— in amitlfer unfortunate. She'll be worry ing all the while when you don't come." "I see. Well, call on me when you need me." "Thank yon. I must think of some way to break the matter to mother. I'll talk with the doctor about it." The same day Harold was packed off toon auut with a letter from Dora explaining the circumstances. Mrs. Wilkinson bore her supposed son's ab sence until her daughter thought that he had better coine again. The doctor had said that the invalid must not at present on any account be told of the deception and an occasional visit from Clifford would be well. So Clifford was sent for. He came and went and came and went a number of times. Mrs. Wilkinson improved rapidly, hav ing, as she supposed, her son with her again, but the matter of to her Elmer's death and the deception 1 that was being played upon her was put off from time to time. Mean while she was consulting an oculist, who told her that as soon as she had recovered sufficient nerve vigor to submit to an operation he could re store her eyesight She told him that she wished the operation performed at once. The posltiou for Dora and Captain Clifford was becoming critical. Dora dreaded the consequences of her act of mistaken kindness on her own and her mother's account, and Clifford dreaded it through sympathy. The doctor would not permit them to make n confession before the operation since it would render Mrs. Wilkinson the less able to bear up under the surgeon. Meanwhile Harold escaped from his aunt and suddenly appeared at home. Captain Clifford would rather have en countered a regiment of Spaniards, and Dora would Infinitely have pre ferred a mad bull. To make matters worse, Harold surprised the suppositi tious brother and sister by bursting unannounced into the room where they happened to be when he arrived. A common object, a secret sympathy, had done their work. Clifford was sitting beside Dora with his arm around her waist. "Oh, sis!" cried the boy. "I'm going to tell mamma on you." Clifford caught him half way up the staircase and brought him back. "How would you like togo to camp with me. Harold, and see the sol diers?" asked the officer. "Bully! Shall we go now?" "Right away." Seizing the boy's hand, the captain drew him to the front door. "Keep him as long as you can," whispered Dora. "May I drown him?" asked the cap tain In return. The case was too serious for even a smile from Dora, but she wished that the boy might be temporarily rendered Inanimate. Clifford had Harold with him half a day when it occurred to him to take him back to his aunt. A telephone to Dora secured the address and her ac quiescence. Dora made one grave mistake. She failed to Inform the oculist of the all important secret. Mrs. Wilkinson told him that she would like to surprise her son and daughter by having the operation performed without their knowledge and appear to them en dowed with her natural eyesight, lie fell in with her plan and assisted her to arrange matters to that end. Mrs. Wilkinson suggested that her supposed son and her daughter should visit Dora's grandmother, who had heard of the young soldier's return and was anxious to see him. Dora, realizing that she could explain matters to her grandmother, accepted the Invitation for herself and Clifford. The visit was made and the grandmother let into ihe secret. As soon as the pair had gone o:i the visit Mrs. Wilkinson telephoned her oc ulist, who sent a nurse aud a carriage for her. She was driven to his office and an operation successfully perform ed. The patient's eyes were bound tip. and she was told not to take the band age off till the next afternoon. Then she was sent back hotue in care of the nurse, who was to remain with her till the bandage was removed. The next afternoon the surprise that had been planned by Mrs. Wilkinson was to take place. The couple I hat had gone on the visit were to return at 4 o'clock, and Mrs. Wilkinson? was to take off the bandage upon their ar rival. A few minutes before 4 it was removed, anil when a carriage rolled up lo the sidewalk Mrs. Wilkinson was near the front door ready to spring into her son's arms when he entered. Suddenly the door was thrown open, and the young officer and Dora enter ed Mrs. Wilkinson was about to spring into Clifford's arms when she iaw that he was not her son. She drew back. "Why, mother!" exclaimed Dora, turning white. "Who Is this gentleman? I expected to see Elmer. I have submitted to an operation and can see quite well. 1 wished to surprise my boy." Clifford saw that the time had come for him to rise to the occasion. "Madam," he said, "I am your son's friend. I am more than that. I am, I trust, to take your son's place, to love you and cherish you as your OWD boy would do were he here with us But he Is not here. He died for his country aud asked me on Ills deathbed to tell you that his last thoughts were of the one he loved best in all the world—his mother." It was a sad ending to the poor wo man's surprise. The blow, if not sof tened at the time, was rendered lu the end more endurable by a devotion on the part o? the young soldier to hi? friend's and his wife's mother that last ed until that mother was called to Jol/» her own sou. The Crush. It was at aa afternoon tea, with tha usual musical accompaniment. The man's man had been literally dragged there, an unwilling victim, by a zeal ous friend who liked afternoon teas with a musical accompaniment Need less to say, the zealous friend was a ladles' man. The man's man was very unhappy. He had sulked and had positively re fused to be Introduced to the bevy of charming girls presiding at the tea tables, much to th« chagrin of the la dles' man, who naturally couldn't un derstand flie attitude of the man's man. It was Inexorable, from his point of view. But a ray of hope glim mered in his breast when the man's man rushed up to him, exclaiming: "I say, old fellow. Introduce me to the fat lady sitting over in the corner, will you?" The eyes of the ladles' man glis tened. "With the greatest of pleasure," ho cried, "iinve you got n crush on her?" ' Ko, > ' replied the man's man savage ly. "1 should say it was quite the other way. She's sitting on my hat!"— Philadelphia Ledger. A LDSNRT. It Restored a Child to the Home of Which He Had Been Robbed. By ALBERT J. FORBES. [Copyright, X9lO, by American Press Asso ciation.] While I was secretary of legation at Vienna, finding it necessary to see Count Czshardl, who was connected with the Austrian foreign office, on official business, I went to his country home, a couple of hours' ride from the capital. I found a mediaeval castle in excellent repair and standing in the center of a large tract of land. After driving more thnn a mile from the gateway I stood at last on the steps leading up to the main entrance of the castle. The outlook was charming. American though I nm to the core, I thought that I would not object to have been born to the inheritance of such a place. I found the count a cold, formal man, though he treated me with distinguish ed consideration. He was unmarried and lived alone—that is, if one can be said to live alone who is surrounded by secretaries, attendants and serv ants. I conferred with him upon the matter of business that brought me to see him and dined with him, after which, pleading occupation, he turned me over to one of his secretaries, a young man about my own age. I was pleased at this, for I had dreaded passing an evening with a man who was repulsive to me from the moment I first saw him. "Tell me something about this place. I am sure there are many interesting incidents in its history," I said to the secretary while we were smoking. "There is nothing In its history more Interesting to me than the recent change of owuershlp," he replied. "The count has only been In possession a year." "Please tell me all about it." "The last owner of the place and the title, of course, was Count nerbert Czshardl, a cousin of the present own- THE WINDOW WAS OCCUPIFD. er. lie had only daughters to succeed him and, according to the Salic law, at his death all would pass to ihe male nearest of kin. When Count Herbert was sixty years old and his countess was nearly tifty they claimed that a son had been born to them. August Czshardi, the present count, being nearest male of kin, disputed Ihe fact, claiming that a male newborn babe had been surreptitiously intro duced in order to prevent the title from passing out of Count Herbert's family at his death. "That was twelve years ago. Ten years ago Count Herbert died, and his cousin, August, instituted a suit in the courts for the possession of the title. He claimed that the babe, Franz, was not the son of Count Herbert and his wife Elizabeth, but of a peasant woman named Margaret Heck. The case passed through different courts, the CoUntess always being the winner until fourteen months ago, when Mar garet Heck confessed that the child was hers and she had given it for a consideration to the count and count ess. This put the present count in possession." "And what became of the boy?" 1 asked. "The courts gave him to his real mother, Margaret Heck, with whom ho is living as a peasant." "After living until he was twelve years old as the heir to this estate?" "Yes." I questioned my informer as to many points of evidence in the case and, among others, the question of family likeness. He told me that the boy did not resemble either his father or mother or any of the pictures in the gallery of family portraits. When I went up to my room togo to bed the secretary went with me to see that 1 had everything needful. "This is not a guest chamber," he said. "The rooms used for guests nre In the other wing. The rooms on this side were occupied by the last count. Count August does not use them. His own suits are now being decorated, so you are placed in here." I am as impressible as a woman in making up my mind about such mat ters as that which had been related to me, using Instinct rather than evi dence. The evidence may be false, but my Instincts are natural At any rate, I sympathized with this poor boy. Whether he was or was not the right ful heir, he had been brought up a noble. There is another womanly trait in me. I am timid in the dark. I don't look under the bed for burglars, but I carry an electric hand lamp with me wherever I go. That night I did not sleep well. I was thinking of the poor little fellow who had often doubtless played, per haps slept, in this very room. He had lived here in luxury ignorant of (he fate that awaited him and now was sleeping in a squalid room in a peas ant's hut. After lying awake till I heard the clock "In "the'tower strike 2 I got up, took my electric lamp and walked about the room. There were pictures on the wall, and I examined them by the light of my lamp One. a picture of an open window, *11! ar rested my attentlou before 1 went to bed froui the fact that the artist had not put anything iu the casement Why he should hare painted a win dow without gome (lowers or n bird cage or some one looking out of It ex cited my curiosity. Flashing my light upon this picture, I started with as tonishment. The window was occupied! I was at first too much absorbed in the phenomenon to notice who was the occupant. lam not superstitious. Indeed, I refer everything to a natural catee. It was no ghost looking at me. It was one who had been pnt there with some sort of paint that would only appear when illuminated by a certain Wind of artificial light. Doubtless It required electric or simi lar rays. But the figure in the window—a beautiful boy of twelve, with thick locks tumbled over his bead, a child's honest eyes, a mouth pursed up as children often do when Interested looked me straight in the face. My first thought was that he was the dispossessed lad. But, no. Little Franz was now twelve years old, and this boy could not be more than ten. In a corner my light revealed not the artist's name, but "Herbert David Paul Czshardi—lß32." It cccarred to me at once that this wt«» Count Herbert, the father of the distinct. Before 1 left tho castle I had figured out a possible solutiou to the case that had been, I believed, wrougly de cided by the courts. In returning to Vienna I learned the whereabouts of both the countess and little Franz. The boy was living with his peasant mother, and the countess was living in a humble cottage near by. I went first to see the boy. Scarcely a feature was different from those belonging to the portrait. Though I had nothing to gain or lose by this discovery, I uttered an ex clamation of delight. I had positive proof that little Franz was the son of | Count Herbert Czshardi. From the boy 1 went to call upon the couutess. I explained to her that 1 had passed a night at the castle in which she had lived and asked her if 1 she remembered tho picture of the vacant window. She replied that she did. It was there when she went there a bride. I asked if there was a picture extant of her husband when ten or eleven years old. Tears came Into her eyes as she said: "No, and there being none lost us our 1 case and turned my poor boy out." She listened with eagerness to my adventure in uiy bedchamber at the castle and fairly gasped for Joy when I had finished. She told nie that her husband had had a faint remembrance of a Japanese artist coining to the castle when he was a little boy and painting his portrait, but the count was then too young to recall anything but the fact. The countess sent immediately for her attorney and told him my story. He disbelieved so remarkable a tale, but admitted that children are liable to show a likeness to either of their parents when the parent was at the same age as the child. The lawyer was obliged to resort to chicanery lest August Czshardi might destroy the picture. He obtained an order of tho court for it and succeeded in getting it before Czshardi was aware that it was of any importance. 1 was present in the courtroom when, the case having been reopened, the picture was shown to the jury by daylight, then by electric rays, little Franz being present that they might see the likeness. The case was won. I was invited to escort the countess and her son to the castle the day they returned to it and to be their guest as long ns I would remain. Never shall I forget the delight, especially of the boy, at getting back to fHat with which he had been fumiliar since babyhood. The most touching scene of all was when he and his dog met In an embrace. The dog whined, and both cried for Joy. I was much Interested to know how the picture could have been painted. Different Chemists tried to find out the constituent that made it visible under certain light rays, but failed. In Japan there Is a famous painting a portion of which is only seen In 'he dark, but it is known that phosphorus !a the paint will produce this result. Why the picture that won the suit will appear only under electric rays Is a question that has not yet been solv ed. When it is we shall have a new discovery perhaps equal to the X ray. Big Hats In Colonial Days. The question of high hats at public places was of some moment, even In colonial days. In 17C9 tho church at Audover, Mass., put It to vote wheth er "the parish disapprove of the fe male sex sitting with their hats on in tho meeting house In time of divine service as being indecent." In the town of Abtngtoh in 1775 it was voted that it was "an Indecent way with the feminine sex to sit with their hats and bonnets on In worshiping God." Still another town voted that it was the "town's mind" that the women should take their bonnets off in meeting and hang them on the pegs. An Egg Worth Cackling Ovar. Charles Ellis of North Plalnfleld, N. 3., has a hen that luld n freak egg the other 1 day, the like of which has flerar been seen in North Plalnfleld before. The egg was of the shape of a dumb bell. The two bulbs were connected by a solid part. Bach bulb was soft shelled. In one was the yolk, and In the other was the white. Hardly. Hewitt—You should make hay while the sun shines. Jewett— I can't If I stick to my business of making um brellas.—New York Press. jt I The Crusade | | :=■: For a | 1 "Sane Fourth." 1 1} . 5 ■Ci-CrCTiilcCrtfii-ZirCrii'CrCiii ■ftirtrfqS'Cr jMrfrtW* lIK recent order of Mayor Gaynor of rli New York forbid ding the sale of fire works, firecrackers, etc., from June 10 to July 10 and edicts along the same lines • by the authorities In other communities have started a na tion wide movement to make the Fourth of July hereafter a noiseless one. One of the plans to bring this about Is the forming of a national organization, the work of which will be to call to the attention of every community the long list of Independence day casualties caused by-the use of explosives and In other ways induce them to confine the celebrations to parades, field sports, pyrotechnic displays safely and skill fully conducted, etc. This mutter of having what is called a "sane Fourth of July" has been agi tated for several years, but not since it started have so many executives taken it up and expressed their ap proval of the move as at present. President Taft has indorsed it and ex pressed his interest in it in a letter as follows: "I am heartily in sympathy with the movement to rid the celebration of our country's natal day of those distress ing accidents that might bo avoided and are merely due to a recklessness against which the public protest can not be too emphatic." Last year, owing to the work of those who aro agitating tho "sane , ■ 1 -IVIO AFTER THE CPXKBTtATtON. Fourth" idea, there were fewer acci dents thau on any Independence day in some years, tho statistics showing thirty deaths. This was an unusually small number, but In 1009 a number of cities had adopted the plan. Fig ures gathered show the number of people killed and maimed In the laßt seven successive observances of the national holiday was much greater than the combined losses of the Amer ican forces in seven important battles of the Revolution. During the last five years the death list totals 1,1 r.3 and the list of injured 21,520 Of the injured, 88 were totally blinded, 380 partially blinded, 388 lost legs, arms or hands and 1,0(37 lost fin gers. During the last seven years blank cartridges alone have gathered in a death harvest of 794. mostly boys between the ages of six anil elghteeu years. "Hut. gee, ma, how kin us fellers show how we licked the British?" mournfully asks the small boy of his mother when the matter Is laid before him. A way is being found all over the land. Here Is how Washington cele brated the Fourth last year: During the day there were patriotic public en tertainments at which the Declaration of Independence was rend aud patriot ic addresses delivered. Then thefre was an automobile floral parade, the cars being dc; crati',! with Bowers and flags, aud many other affairs that de lighted both yoiiu'j and old in the cap ital. At night there were many dis plays of fireworks, the abolition of which is no part of the program of those desiring a "Sane Fourth." They want fireworks, but want them han dled by experienced men so as to avoid accidents. Not one gunpowder acci dent was reported In Washington dur ing the day, while on the Fourth of 190S there were 104. In the cities that adopted the "sane Fourth" plans last year and In those preparing to do so in 1010 the pageant Idea predominates, with floats repre senting local historical scenes as well as those of national Interest. In Pitts burg over SIOO,OOO will be expended on the coming Fourth along these lines. The historical and artistic displays now being arranged promise to excel any thing of the kind ever before shown there. Besides the historical scenes, other floats will show the city's Indus trial greatness. Many excellent field sports have also been arranged to In terest the boys. The Tail of a Fiah. A fish's tall Is Its wings. Owing to the machinery of muscle set along Its spine and to Its cleaving form a trout or salmon can dart through the water at n tremendous pace, though its rap id flights, unlike the bird's, are not long ones, it Is soon tired. The water is not so friendly to flight as the air. The stroke of the fish's tail Is one of great power, and by menus of it and the writhing, snakelike flexion of the body a high speed is reached. The strength behind tills speed Is shown In the way a fish or sea mammal out of the water will raise Its tail and strike the ground or bout THE CASE OF HOMER BIRD, How a Man Was Made to See Himself as Others Saw Him. By CLARISSA MACKIE. ICopyrlght, 1910, by American Press Asso ciation.! The Village Improvement society had concluded a very interesting meeting aud was regaling itself upon the dain ties which the ladies had.provided. Mrs. Wixom nodded her head vigor ously over her plate of Ice cream. "Serves Homer Byrd right," she whis pered hoarsely in her neighbor's ear. "He don'Udeserve no light In front of his old place; most tumbledown old rat trap In Upper Village! The miserly old codger!" "They say he spends a good deal of money helping those who need It," said Esther Fray as she set down her cof fee cup and turned a reddening face to the excited little group. "I heard that he helped old .lake King last win ter when Jake broke his leg and"— "Just hear her talk!" That same evening shortly after the Village Improvement society went into HE SAT THERE ON A IiITTIiK IK'dSt SEAT. ild OTiraoia Diioa TT'»IU loclal session Mj. Ifypjx'r Byrd ed his way throitfli the moonlit uight toward the graveyard that surrounded the church. In his amis he bore great sheafs of white lilacs, which he in tended to place on his wife's grave. Scarcely a day passed that he did not visit the spot, and invariably he car ried some floral offering. And so It happened that as he knelt beside the green mound the harsh clack of voices in discussion Issued from tho lighted window of the church parlor, nnd as argument waxed heat edly and tho voices rose louder Homer Byrd was soon made acquainted with the various opinions which his towns women held toward him. He sat there on a little Iron seat with his head bowed In the upturned pnlrns of his hands. The moon mount ed toward the zenith. The members of the Improvement society noisily dispersed, and still he sat there In the silent plot back of the church think ing. When ho arose and shook back the long lock of gray hair that fell over his forehead there was a light of res olution in his thin face, a light that replaced the expression of dull de spair which had characterized his long period of grief for Mary Byrd. "God forgive me! I have been a coward! A coward I will be no longer!" The Homer Byrd place was a large, square brown house set In a wilder ness of trees and shrubs. The weather beaten roof showed through the bare branches In the winter, but when sum tner came the house was invisible. The fence that surrounded the ample grounds was sagging from the rotte.n posts, and an air of neglect and decay characterized the whole place. Within doors, where Homer Byrd oc cupied the south wing, it was bright and cheerful, but the remainder of the great house was closely shuttered and given over to mold and dnrkness. After the funeraj of Mary Byrd the horses and other stock had been sold, the great barns closed, the poultry yards deserted, and the large, prosper ous farm lay id!e and useless, while the master shut himself and his grief away behind closed doors. That was all until Homer Byrd heard the opinions expressed by the Village Improvement society. The next morning Miss Harriet Paine declared the news that Homer Byrd had gone to the city, and Upper Village knew no more of Its unworthy townsman until n fortnight had elapsed and he returned with two sharp look ing men who spent several days about the Byrd place, measuring and figur ing and talking earnestly together. Then they disappeared, and with one accord the curious element of the vil lage fell upon old Rachel Mills, who "did" for Homer Byrd, and eagerly sought for knowledge of the strange proceedings. "Fo" de lan', Mis' Paine, I dunno," protested old Itachel earnestly. "1 arsked Mr. Homer, and all he sayed was: 'l's gwlnd ter have more light, Itachel. I 'spects I needs more light, and I'm gwlne ter have It!' Slch queer doln's I never heard on—no, never!" The investigating Committee admit ted mat tney never had beard of such doings either. And as time went on the wonder grew, for an army of work men appeared as by magic to assist the few village artisans, and before long the Homer Byrd place began to assume Its former handsome appear ance. "And they say," proceeded Harriet Paine volubly, addressing tho assem bled members of tlffi "Improvement so ciety, "that tho whole house has been doue over, lie's had the shutters open ed and the carpets all took up, and most of them was mildewed and worth less. He's had the furniture all pol ished and tho walls papered and new ihaiiueiicrs for "e iHy put In. The floors are hard wood, and lie's bought new rugs mid lots of new things." "Mr. Wixom says he's buying stock for the farui." remarked Mrs. Wixom eagerly. "Yes, and they say he's going to farm it again on the same scale as he did before. There's a lan'seape man a-tix lng up the grouud. and 1 guess it'll b» the handsomest place in Upper Villugo now," continued Harriet enthusias- ' tically. "Like as uot he's going to be mar ried," remarked Adeline Dare, voicing the unspoken thought of the other women. "Who do you suppose is the one?" j asked Mrs. Wixom curiously. Theoth- I er women were silent. "I don't know/' remarked Adeline spitefully, "but 1 guess 1 know several who ain't the one!" Miss I'alne laughed scornfully. "It's ' well for them who realize they ain't got no L ha nee to up and say so." The widow Dare flushed angrily anil | turned her little gray eyes upon her tormentor. "And there's them who ain't never had a chance and never will who don't never say die!" Esther Fray looked with distressed eyes upon the quarreling women. To her delicate sensibilities the coarse | ness of their arguments was like K<» | many stinging I.lows, and she longed to escape to the quiet little cottage where she had lived alone for many years. The meeting had not adjourn ed, however, and timid Esther dared not make the first move, which might: attract attention to herself. The irrepressible Miss I'alne glared angrily at Adeline Dare and opened her thin lips to deliver a stinging re tort, when Mrs. Wixom broke in has tily. "Queer how he set to work all of a sudden, w.-.sn't it? You remember that night we was all a-talking about It in the church parlor here, and t!m very next day Homer Byrd went to New York, and when he came back ho had tho men with him." "Sure enough nnd—l declare, 1 never thought about it till this minute," said old Mrs. Smlthers eagerly, "but Johu said when he come out of the meeting that night he went around to sou if tho back blinds was closed and there sat Homer Byrd on his little iron seat a-looking at the grave which he'd cov ered with white laylocks. John didn't say nothing, but jest tiptoed back again." "That seat is most under the church windows," volunteered Mrs. WUon in a strained whisper. There was no reply. The members of the little group which had occupied i the corner by the window on that memorable night looked at oue anoth |er- fwtlrotst) ©Esther Fray was won dertt»fjaw«lthftpT»lpltating heart what sl'