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
<Jl~.iposae-.i3ed boy.
It was near dawn before I fei.
W-leep, and I tild n</t awaken till 9
the next morning. The picture of the
window was directly opposite me.
Though the sunlight was shining upon
it, it was truly a window, llad I been
dreaming? I thought not. Neverthe
less during the morning 1 shut out
what light I was able from the root*
tad examined tho picture again with
my lamp. Tho boy was there, but not
m> 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'<i
had sald'fhat might have betrayed tho
diffident interest she had always taken
in the silent, grief strlekeh tarn who
had been the subject of discussion.
She hoped none of the others would
remember that she had arisen to de
fend him.
Miss Harriet Paine laugh J hardily.
"I'm willing to stand by what I've said
about Homer Byrd," she said. v. ith a
reckless shrug of her shoulders. "1
guess Esther here'll stand hi his good
graces as well as anybody. She spoke
right up for him."
"Oh, Esther ain't bothering about no
men," interpolated Mis. Wixom, with
good natured appreciation of Esther's
confusion. "We don't want her to
either. If we lose our s. Voiteacher
I don't know what the children will
do."
To Esther's relief the meeting v. a:"'
called to order for another brief busi
ness session, and when it had finally
adjourned she slipped out and away to
her little cottage with a perturbation
that was unusual. She wished that
she had not opened her Hps to defend
Homer Byrd, for it had only attract
ed unwelcome attention to herself.
Homer Byrd continued to beautify
his house anil grounds with unabated
zeal. lie worked early and late witU
the laborers ami was here, there
and everywhere. llis bent shoulders
straightened, ids contra* te»l chest
broadened with the deep breaths of
wholesome air that lie inhaled, tils
eyes brightened and his step took ou
the elasticity of youth, for.after all.
Homer Byid was a young man in bia
forties, and when October came t her 9
was considerable bustle about the
place when the seanty crops from the
late season's plant.ng were garnered.
"It needs a i Stress uow," said
Homer Byrd, with a troubled look la
his eyes, and that night he dressed
himself with unusual care aud went
calling. And he went calling on other
nights thereafter, to the unabated In
terest of Upper Village.
"So it was Esther Fray after all,"
gabbled Harriet Paine after the wed
ding was over and the happy pair had
departed through the new gates, above
which hung a cluster of electric lights,
"and I expert Esther 'll be fool enough
togo up with him and put flowers ou
Mary Byrd's grave, Just as he's al
ways done."
And so she was, and there were few
In Upper Village that understood sav®
Esther nnd Homer and Mary Byrd.
flonri
• t'tjfotf *iJ ; ' *
A H.ollatol«
TO SHOP
Fer all kind tf Tin Roofln|,
•poutlncniul General
Job Work.
Stoves. Heaters, Ran*ee,
Furnaces, eto-
PRICES TAB LOWEST!
IjlllLlTf TUB BEST?
JOHN HIXSON
HO. lit L FRONT 71,