y Jf
Few people could guess why George
Oak worth, master of the national
school at Craigside, extended the pat
ronage of his friendship to. Dick Den
holme, drunkard and law-breaker.
He was a handsome, pale, intellectual
youth of twenty-five years, with a
taste for botanising and geological
speculation; while Dick, fifteen years
his senior, was a man of no taste what
ever, unless the taste for ale be counted
—a being whose rough and dissolute
aspect spc'.ce with such unblushing ef
frontery of his flagrant knavishness
that a little dissimulation might have
passed, in him, for a kind of negative
virtue.
Yet tho relationship which subsisted
between them was that of the most
intimate comrades. They lived in tho
same cottage: they spent their Satur
days in long excursions; and it was un
stood that those who wished to quarrel
with the young teacher might also
hope to indulge themselves in the hos
tility of Dick. The opinion was
boldly hazarded by some that, if the
truth could be told, George Oakworth
was no better than he ought to be, be
cause a man is known by the company
he keeps. There were othsrs who
pointed out that the schoolmaster, out
of motives of personal timidity, had
merely possessed himself of a stout de
fender. Not only were both these
views mistaken ones, but when the
friendship was struck up it was Dick
who took the initiative.
Alandoninga hopeful career and the
m rotricious insincerities of a big city,
George Oakworth had sought oblivion
aud honest dealing in a village com
munity. The first week of his duties
at the national school was disturbed
by an incident, which, trivial in it
self, sufficed to shape for a while his
course of life. He had begun with a
gentle hand, hoping to interest the
boys rather than to govern them; and
although some at times had fallen
happily asleep, and others, on the
back benches, had exhibited a morti
fying preference for the furtive game
called "noughts and crosses," he had
persevered with heroic good temper.
Hut one restless morning the sharp
crack of an explosive paper pellet
sounded on the wall behind him, and
the school burst out laughing. His
face flushed, and his practised eye
traveled at once to the delinquent,
an overgrown and lubberly youth
named Puggy Cullingworth, who was
accustomed to slaver on his copybook,
and whose father hadsenthim to school
at an age when it was uo longer pos
sible to teach him anything,
Puggy sat at tho end of a bench.
Advancing upon him slowly the teacher
administered a box on the ear which
smote, as the lightning smites, before
it was seen, and which set a big bell
booming in his head
The school felt that the incident
. had only commenced and was thrilled
with a gleeful expectancy. Puggy
had long been admired for his amazing
effrontery and unmanageable du lness.
He could fight any three small boys of
the normul school age, and it was
wed known that old Scaife, who kept
the school v%hen he first came to it,
did not dare to frown at him. Conse
quently when the effeminate now mas
ter, palo and unsuspecting, advanced
upon tho raw-boned hero and struck
him an impressive silence brooded in
the room. And the wide-eyed on
lookers were right The incident had
rot terminated. When the young
boor sprang to his feet with a cry of
rage the? domiuio gripped him by the
slack of his waisteo.it, kneading his
fists into the rebel's abdomen, and
rushed him down the schoolroom till
his luck struck the wall with a crash
that knocked all the breath out of his
body and all tho expression out of his
face.
"You big baby," he cried hoarsely.
"Go to your seat. If you had been
more of a man I'd have thrashed you!"
And, turning to the rest, he added,
with a quietness of manner that was
equally appalling with fury: "I wish
to treat this school as a seminary of
gentlemen; but I will be treated as a
g ntleinan myself."
\\ hich was rather fine, but rather
atove the heads of his juvenile audi
ence, whose hearts were beating fast
at ihe spectacle of this vivid and awful
example. Moreover, a clamorous bel
lowing A>f inarticulate threats and pro
tests burst the next moment from the
hum t<lod booby, and could not be sub
dued. Master Huggy Cullingworth was
put out of doors, and drifted home
wards, while a blessed state of recep
tivity came upon the smaller fry, and
his dismal uluations died away grue-
BO ne y into the far distunce.
Nevertheless, when the school as
sembled the next day, the master
noted a certain restlessness among his
pupils, the symptom of suppressed
anxiety. He got more stupid answers
than usual; and on several occasions,
at the sound of passing footsteps in the
road, all eyes were turned towards the
door. In vain he rattled on the desk
with his ruler; he only made the little
wretches nervous.
At last curiosity got the better of
him. ' Does any one know,"' he asked,
"why Cullingworth is not at school
this morning?"
AH hands went up.
"Well*" he said, pointing to the
youngest volunteer, a dumpy red
headed child with honest big blue
ejes.
"Please, teacher," that innocent
lisped; 4 'cause his father's comin' to
aluc yo' for what yo' did yusterda'."
"Very well," said the master.
• Slates away now, and get out your
history cards." Hut in spite of his
sang froid the feverish apprehensive
ness increased; and at last, when a
trampling of feet made itßelf heard on
the playground gravel, with the sound
of loud voices, the children mounted
the forms to look out of the windows.
"(Silence!" cried the master, in a sharp
metallic voica "Keep your places!"
The door was opened, and M if
pushed into the room by the pressure of
those behind them, several people
made a trailing 1 step or two forward
from the threshold, and paused sheep
ishly. All but the foremost took off
their caps, and ho was scowling 1 roy
ally.
"Well. *zentltmen," said the school
master. prompt to speak first, "to what
may 1 attribute this intrusion?''
Ephraim Cullingworth—whom he
had recognized by his unmistakable
likeness to the absent scapegrace—
strode out and answered. "None o' thi
dammned impidenco!" he shouted.
"Wilt a tak' itstandin' or liggin'?"
Mr. Oakworth's behavior was admir
able. "One moment, gentlemen,
please," ho said—his eyes had flashed
and then turned grave—"l am placed
here in charge' of your children, and.
whatever they may hear elsewhero, I
cannot have bad language in the school
room. We will discuss this affair out
side."
A murmur of approval passed through
the crowd. Walking quickly past his
antagonist, he stood with the key in
his hand while that individual, sulky
and irresolute as if he suspected a trick,
hesitated before following the rest intc
"r-LZ. . |
TIIB RESULT OF THE FIGHT WAS A COM
PLETE SUBPRISE.
the playground. Then, putting tho key
in liis pocket, ho handed his coat to the
nearest bystander—who happened to be
Dick Dcnholme—and said briefly, for
every one's hearing:
"I suppose you know what fair play
is in Cragside?"
"Corned to see it gi'en," Dick an
swered with a grin. The ring was
formed, and the stripling offered his
hand to his burly adversary.
"Keep that for my lad," he said, "an'
frame tha [get ready]!"
The result of the fight was a com
plete surprise. Less than five minutes
sufliced, amid a scene of unbridled en
thusiasm, to demonstrate the master's
supremacy. His challenger lay groan
ing, unable to respond to the call of
"Time," and he resumed his coat,
breathing hard, but without a scratch.
A shrill shout wont up within the school
house, whoso windows were thronged
with wide-eyed faces pressed against
tho glass.
Dick Denliolmo Rpoke up like the
funny man in. a melodrama. "Now
then!" he cried, above tho din of voices,
"ther' some on yo' calkin' o' what ye'd
da Are ye bahn to get agate? He's
here, is t' lad, an' just i' fettle [in
'form'], lie willn'tkeep yo' waitin'.—
What, ye're back'ard i' comin' forrard?
Well, then, he s'll feight wi' his coit
on. Six to one bar one—it's a fair
wager?"
llut the victorious dominie cut short
this flattering stream of banter. "Ex
cuse me," he said stiflly; "I think we
huve wasted too much time already. He
good enough to clear the playground
as soon as your man can go with you."
And he went in without further par
ley, leaving tliom to straggle away
with as much dignity as they could
muster.
If he had cared to think of it, George
Oak worth might have found in this re
contre the means of becoming popular;
but as it was, he only made the ac
quaintance of Dick. That uncomely
outlaw was so seized with admiration
of his skill as a boxer, that he regularly
waylaid him on the road home, and
kept him in conversation with queer
stories of village life. The sequel the
readers knows. It should be added,
however, that old Mrs. Denholme, who
soon afterwards became the toucher's
landlady, made him so comfortable, and
so plainly looked on him as her ne'er
do-weel's good angel, that ho found
himself very much at home; and
further, that Dick iiad fower occasions
for over-indulgence in malt liquor than
aforetime, and began to respect him
self accordingly.
In one particular only did Dick find
the schoolmaster an uncongenial
friend. He could never bring him to
talk sympathtically of affairs of the
heart Yet he made to him a most in
timate confession, which, until then,
had never passed his lips.
"Ye willn't hardly believe it," he
said —they were walking one afternoon
among the heather of the parish com
mon— "but there's a lass f Cragside
parish 'at'ould wed me to-morn if Aw
could but kaep teetotal. Aye, there
is. Aw'm a gaunless [stupid] fooil,
mate, that's what Aw am. Shoo's t'
grandest lass i' four parishes, an' Aw
do believe shoo fancies me! Hut—well,
tlia knows. Aw git droughen wi all
my mates but thee."
George Oak worth, prone on his back,
with his" hat tilted over his eyes, lis
tened to this touching avowal in abso
lute sileuce. Most people would have
divined that, in a man so youthful,
this kind of taciturnity indicated a re
cent disappointment; but Dick, in his
innocence, admired it despairingly as a
mark of superiority.
"Tha thinks Aw'm soft, mebbe," lie
said, raising himself on his elbow from
a similar position of reposa "But
tha's nivvor seen her. Eh, lad! shoo's
likeva fine mornin' i't' springtime. It
maks a man's blood dance just to look
at her!"
Hut the teacher's cynicism was not
long to be left undisturbed. On a
summer evening of the very next
week, as he struck into a wonted field
path on his way homewards, he came
face to face with a romantic adventure.
Wtlking with his gase bent upon the
ground, he became conscious of a
female figure standing right in his
path, and mechanically raised his eyes.
For an instant he faltered in his stride;
the girl's glance was upon him as if
she would speak, and in tho whole
course of his life he had not beheld so
sunerb a creature.
lier clear beauty of complexion, and
tho lusty health and strength whieh
confessed itself in every generous line
of her queenly figure, were the fea
tures which first amazed him. She
was clad in a hcmely print gown,
which might have fitted her when it WRS
new, but which she had so Autgrown
that its seams were bursting on tho
rounded arms, and it was only held
across the ample bosom by a few pre
carious buttons. Iler smooth and lus
trous brown hair was auburn where
it was touched by the sunlight, and
set on the back of her graceful lieud
she wore a huge straw sun-hat, in an
advanced stage of dilapidation.
"You mustn't go this Way," she
said, and advanced her hands as if she
would push him back; for he had been
about to pass her when she found her
tongue.
The teacher smiled, and raised his
hat with a town-bred courtesy.
"Why not?" said he, glad of the
chance to stop and feast his eyes upon
such fresh and salient loveliness. What
ripe, sweet lips she had! and how ten
der was the blue of her lustrous eyes!"
"Eh, you mustn't, Mr. Oakworth.
They've planned to fettle you down
yonder. I heard 'em planning it yes
ternight, when they were drunk, and
they're drunk to-day. They'll do it,
for sure." And then she became con
scious of his too eager gaze and of her
own astonishing boldness, and blushed
to the roots of her hair, nnd-looked the
picture of modest distress.
"I think ldare face them with you
to stand by me," said the gracelesc
rogue. "Are you going that way?"
"Me! Nay, I'm going home again, as
quick's my legs'll carry me!" And
witli a Parthian glance, that scorned to
rest upon him a thought longer than
it might have dono, she tripped away
along the path by which she had come.
Without the presence of mind to cry
"Good-bye!" or "Thank you!" George
Oakworth stood very stupidly looking
after her, and then—turned back to
follow. Once she glauccd over her
shoulder, porhaps to see if he had
heeded her warning; but, whether she
suspected his manoeuvre or was merely
satisfied, she looked behind no more.
Her pace quickoned presently into n
run, so rapid that, himself walking, he
could not keep her in sight; and com
ing soon afterwards to a place where
the road divided, he had to abandon the
pursuit.
It was within a month of this ad
venture that Mrs. Den holme's lodger,
in explanation of a sudden change in
his habits, volunteered the remark that
he thought it bad for his health to sit
up reading so late as he had been used
to do, because it deprived him of the
morning air. Nature, he declared,
never looked so beautiful as when the
dew was still on tho grass and the
smell of tho cool earth WRS in tho air.
And the simple soul, who almost loved
him, told him that he looked a vast
deal better for early Tising already—
"'pearter" was tho word slip employed.
All she wished was that he could per
suade "that idle lad" to got up earlier
toa Deary me! He lay abed some
times till nine o'clock, when the best
of the day was gone.
Stealing silently down stairs one
balmy morning at four o'clock 01
thereabouts Mr. Oakworth discovered
the cause of Dick's apparent slothful
ness. A couple of hares which he had
not noticed overnight lay on the slop
stone; and Dick was out in tho yard in
his stockinged feet, laboriously scrap
ing a coat of fresh soil from his bob
nailed boots. Palpably, he had notyet
been in bed. As their eyes met the
poacher started, but Mr. Oakworth,
merely shaking his head, turned and
went indoors ugain. On several occa-
THE GIRL'S GI.ANCK WAS UPON lII.M AS IP
SHE WOULD SPEAK,
sions he had seen his boon companion
come in of an evening with similar
spoils, which he was understood to
have "won in a raffle;" and Dick's
luck in raffles was so extraordinary
that he had thought it prudent not to
pry too closely into the method of
their manipulation. It did not occur
to him that on this occasion at all
eveirts his own behavior must appear a
little curiou9 in the eyes of Dick,
trained as ho was by his way of life in
habits of acute observation.
He hurried through the fields with
the rapid stride of a man who either
has too much in view, or is too famil
iar with his path, to spare a glance for
objects by the way.
Ten minutes passed, or something
less or more (time, we know, is not
counted by the clock alone), ere the
lithe and upright figure of Maggie
Cullingworth, first seen by him on a
certain evening which the reader wots
of, appeared in the trellised porch of
the kitchen-garden and moved sweetly
towards him into the home pasture.
Bhe was carelessly swinging a bask
ket, and thinking, you nre to suppose,
of nothing at all, which, as Ilnmlet
said, is a fair thought for maids tc
think. To and fro she went gathering
mushrooms to line her basket; and be
hind the stone wall a pair of ardent
loving eyes watched her till she was
hidden by an envious knoll. And
thereupon the owner of those geyes
turned aside down the darksome glen,
and made his way unseen to a dense
thicket of holly, where, in the dim
depth of it, thero was a natural alcove,
softly carpeted with dry leaves. And
here he waited again, his head in a
whirl
A rustle among the branches, and his
wood-nymph came peeping, lint as he
stepped eagerly forward she beat a
quick retreat, and stood laughing at
him from behind a hazel-bush and
shaking her lovely head, lie, the ras
cal. approaching her with a look of
tame supplication, made a sudden dash
and caught her round the waist to
snatch a kiss; but, adroitly, with a
moist palm laid upon his mouth, she
baulked the proffered embrace; and
still laughed upon him over her rosy
arui. The tantalizing situation! llcr
face so near his own that he could per
ceive the most marvellous now and
gleaming beauties in it, lier glorious
blue eves looking right into his, and
dancing with frank enjoyment of his
bullied ardor.
"Oh, Maggie!" he said, with a quick
piercing pang, "you promised"—and
let her go.
"Now then!" quoth Maggie, "you've
spilled all my mushrooms."
He began to pick them up, but she
would not let him do so much as that
for her, and hastened to do it herself,
ma<euvring all the time against an
other surprise.
"Well?" she asked, when they had
finished, and she stood facing him
with one hand on her hip. "Is that
all? Whore's your gathering?"
He had to confess that he had for
gotten to look for any.
Maggie tossed her head.
"Oh, Mr. Oakworth!" she said, mim
icing his doleful manner exactly, "you
promised!"
This rustic goddess, with her liberal
manners and her virtue ever on the qui
vive, put him quite out of counteuauce.
His glance rested upon her with an ex
pression she had not hitherto seen iu
aim—an expression grave and piercing,
before which her eyes fell and the beat
of her heart quickened. How pure
and womanly she seemed to him to be,
in that moment!
She understood, and did not meet his
glance. This open love was of a new
complexion. They walked side by side
down the glen into the pasture, neither
a word. Once or twice her
keen, familiar ear detected a crackling
1
THERE SHE SAT, HER THIN HANDS LYING
OPEN ON HER I,A P.
of fallen twigs in the underwood on
the opposite slope. She would have
been all eyes at the sound a few min
utes ago, but now she gave it no heed.
Hut in his roseate egotism the school
mate neglected Dick; and that affron
ted patron fell tragically away from
grace. Ho was drunk daily, and never
merry in his cups. Their long and in
timate rambles were ended; their
pleated ties of friendship had some
how come undone; Dick's budding
self-respect and his comrade's fostering
interest had vanished together—and
Dick was a lost man.
Coming homo one Friday evening,
glad that his labors for that week
were over, the insouciant lover found
his landlady shedding quiet tears as
she went about her work. In some
strange way ho was irritated; but
when ho had eaten the meal that she
spread for him, and had sat a while
smoking in the twilight, his heart
smote him, for ho realized on a sudden
that she must then have been sitting
for some time in silence and semi
darkness in the little scullery behind
the living-room. He arose and looked.
There she was indeed, her thin hands
lying open on her lap, her jaw fallen,
and her dim eyes gazing out of the
tiny window upon the last grey streaks
of daylight in the western sky. He
was shaken by a gruesome apprehen
sion on perceiving her so. She made
no sign, and it struck him that she
would look like that if she were dead.
"Mother!" he said, in a voice that
Rounded strange to himself. It was a
name ho had called her by sometimes,
half in jest and half in affection, and
now it came involuntarily to his lips.
She turned her head, and rose hastily
to. put away the tea-things.
"No, not that," lie smiled, holding
out his hand. "There's no hurry.
Hut what's the matter to-night,
mother?"
iShe tottered back into the kitchen,
and fumbled with the lock of a drawer,
from a corner of which she took out
something. "Reyk me down t' lamp,
wilt-a?" she said, "an' Aw'll let tha
see."
He took it down from the high man
telshelf; and when she had lighted it,
she laid before him on the bleached
harden cloth a framed pencil-sketch,
yellow with ago behind the glass that
had been put over it to keep the flies
off. It was the portrait of a chubby
boy, with his hair combed smoothly
down to his eyebrows, and a comical
look of speechless weariness on his
face.
"Aw wor thinkin'o' times goan," she
Raid, "an' they moidered mo a bit
Ye'd hardly fancy 'at ho wor ivver like
that w'd ye? Aw fancied, when yj
com'," she went on, "'at he mud git
steuiiicr like; an' ho did mend; but
latterly—Aw cannot tell what to think
on 't He used to drink just wi' his
mates like, as it leeted [happened]
they com' together. But there's sum
mat strange; he's nut been out o* liquor
for three wik, an'this nooinin'—they
browt him home, au' he—he didn't
knaw me."
The teacher was alarmed, and pro
foundly touched. Three weeks drunk,
and not to know it!
"We must have a doctor for him,"
he said—and unwittingly added the last
straw to the burden of the mother's
grief, for in Cragside a doctor is not
often called in except in grave cases.
A period §of delirium followed.
George Oakworth undertook the duties
of nurse, and sat with his friend for
three nights and two days, He found
him pitifully changed—unshaven and
dirty, yellow-skinned and haggard.
Ho saw him cower, and boggle,
and fight desperately, beset by phan
tom horrors; and, still more monstrous,
he saw the abject palsy of mind and
body which succeeded to the frenzy. It
was his part to oppose an unyielding
resistance to the tricks and entreaties
by wh'ch the miserable sufferer, with
|
THERE WAS A BUSTLE IN THE THICKET OP
HOLLY, ANI) MAGGIE STOOD GAZING
UPON THE TWO MEN.
incessant iteration, sought to regain
his liberty and renew his debauch.
Only in the small hours of Monday
morning, when Dick sank at last into
a healthy slumber, did ho cease from
the horrid vigil. Then, absolutely
worn out, he fell asloep instantly
where ho sat
Ho was roused by a click of the latch
on the bedroom door; but roused so
imperfectly that he did not at once
connect the sound with any cause.
Hut it was broad morning, and, start
ing up in fear of being late at school,
he saw that Dick was gone. He
bounded downstairs. As he entered
the kitchen, Dick was hurriedly clos
ing a drawer where both of them know
that the table knives were kept
George Oekworth strode to him.
"You fool!" he said.
The poor devil turned to him meekly
and moved toward the staircase again.
"It'll bide [keep|" he muttered.
Nonsense, man!" cried the young
fellow, sick with dismay. "I shall
want you for best man one of these
days."
Dick had the piteous gaze of a
wounded animal His eyes wandered.
"Ho doesn't knaw," he gasped.
"Cheer up, old man," urged his
nurse and preserver. "What is it I
don't know? Tell mo."
"Say nowt, mate," answered Dick
feebly, steadying himself by the wall
and avoiding his questioner's eyes,
"but it's my lass'atye're coortin'."
Mrs. Denholmc, coming down stairs
an hour later to begin the labors of the
little household, found George Oak
worth lying on the big sofa, his hands
under his head and his eyes fixed upon
the ceiling. If her sight had been good,
she would perhaps have been struck by
his excessive pallor; but he bade her
good morning pleasantly, almost ten
derly, and filled her with joy by an
nouncing confidently that her son was
himself again.
"I don't think," he said, "he'll
drink like that any more."
While she busied herself lighting a
fire, he went up to speak to the con
valescent Dick, who was sitting on
the bedstead, looked up shamefacedly
as he entered the room.
"Good-bye, old chap," said the
teacher, holding out his hand.
Dick started to his feet
"Ye—ye munnnot do that!" he cried-
Hut the hand was still extended, and
the teacher was even smiling.
"Aw willn't hev it!" he burst out,
hysterically. "Ye're a better man nor
me."
So George Oak worth laid hold of the
coarse fist that was clenched on his
comrade's knee, and grasped it warmly
with both hands.
"It's you that don't know," he said.
'Good-bye; and—God bless you!"
• A man feels like a coward at such
times, and the schoolmaster got out of
the house without saying a farewell to
Dick's mother. He could write for his
boxes when ho should need his books
again- Again? Would he ever have
the courage to begin life a third time?
Was it worth while?
Ho must leave some message for
Maggie, to make Dick's happiness sure
if he could. What a fool ho had been!
The first time, that was comprehen
sible; he had been green, eager, and
careless, and the woman had
been—well, none of thesa Hut a
second time 1, His cheeks burned and
his ears tingled, A country wench
had now the laugh upon him; a wench
that carried the perfume of hay and of
cows about her. How it pierced
through him to think of it, and of her
smile, so loyal and artless, and full of
the promise of sweet things, that he
could never look at her more than a
moment or so.
He found a pencil and a piece of
paper, and, still shaking, he wrote
some formal words of pitrting:
"DEAH MISS CULLINGWOBTH, —I am
going away, for I havo no right to see
you again. I was never worthy to be
your friend; but I assure you I did not
know till this morning about Dick
Make him happy. He loves you more
than he does his life. Good-bye.
There have been no pleasanter times
in all my life than those walks and
talks with you. Good-bye. For yov
there are happier thingß in store; but
I hope you will sometimes spare a kind
thought of remembrance for one who
is forever—YOUß DEVOTED ADMIRER "
lie folded the note, and fixed it with
bia scarf-pin upon the trunk of an old
tree, by the mouth of their holly-grove.
It pleased Him a little to think of ibe
scarf-pin as a keep-sake. It had been
his mother's gift to him, and there was
no woman else so worthy to keep it as
this rustic maiden for whom his heart
was bleeding. He must have been mad
to think of her for one instant as false,
as like
He had barely time to hide, warned
by the familiar click of a gate, before
she came in sight of the spot where ho
had been standing. He crouched
among the bushes, trembling at the
thought of being found there; and oh!
the dolorous pang that pierced him
when a little cry of joy announced
I that she had seen the note.
In the moments of dizzy throbbing
confusion and heart-sickness that fol
lowed he was vaguely conscious of
hearing a moan and something like a
fall; but when he came to himself,
starting and beginning to listen in - {
tently, he wondered whether it was ,
possible that he could have made those
sounds. But, if not —if it was Maggie,
and she was lying there! Heavens!
did she love him, then? and so much,
so strangely? lie came out from his
hiding-place, and stood, with white
face and listless hands, distracted with
indecision. He could not leave her so;
but to go to her was never to leave her
again.
A heavy hand clapped him on the
shoulder and shook him much as an
electric discharge shakes one.
"Dick!"
Of all men in the world the least
welcome. His eyes restless with a hid
den intent, and his manner betraying 1 a
frightful affectation of gaiety.
"Aye, Dick!" he said, with a short
laugh that sounded cynical and fierce.
"Dost think Aw didn't knaw wheer yo
do yo'r sweetheartin' ?"
The schoolmaster made a gesture of
desperation.
"For God's sake," ho burst out,
"don't let's quarrel here. Go and see
to that poor girl. I dare not,"
Dick laughed again as the younger
man began to speak; but at the allusion
siou Maggie, though ho could not have
understood it, his face grow suddenly
grave, and his lips moved queerly.
"Nay," he replied, Rpeaking quickly
and between gasps, "That's what
Aw've corned for. Yeknawnowt what
ye're doin'. If it bo agean her will--
an' thee goin' away, mate fro' Cragside
Dang it, we're mates, lad—we've
been like mates, choose how!"
The schoolmaster looked at him,
comprehending nothingyet
"Sitha, Aw willn't hev it! Dost hear?
Aw tell tha Aw cannot thoil *tl"
lie was shouting, and his faco was
like that of a furious man.
There was a rustle in the thicket
of holly, and Maggie, a vision of loveli
ness among the dark leaves, stood gaz
out upon the two men, very pale and
wild-eyed. A moment later, with a
tremulous cry of mingled fright and
joy, she had thrown herself upon the
schoolmaster's breast and was whisper
ing eagerly: "You won't go now! Oh,
say you won't go! I should die, I
think!"
Ho clasped her passionately, with a
great sob and the blindness of sudden
tears.
"Tha sees!" blurted Dick, unheeded;
"shoo're noan o' my lass. D'unnot
stand tlieer like a stuck sheep! Dang
tha, tha maks me wild!" And he
plunged headlong down the side of the
gorge.
Dick's matchmaking was discon
certed for a while by the unappeasable
sulkiuoss of Ephraim Cullingworth,
Maggie's turbulent and raffish father.
Hut she came of age a few months
later, and one bright morning in the
winter they were married quite liuppily
without his consent. The merrymak
ings at George Oakworth's new home
near the schoolhouso were presided
over by Dick in his predestined and
voluntary capacity of best man. At
their height they were interrupted by
the sudden appearanco of the malcon
tent, who came noisily in without
knocking, and waved asido the out
raged chairman, who had started up
with a prodigious look of ferocity.
"It's all right," ho said, with a bear
ish unceremoniousness which was
meant to pass for good humor.
"'Course it is. Hud tha's gitten a rare
wench for thi wife, George Oak worth.
Ilesn't ta now? By shoo's t' bon
niest i' ten darishes! Well, gio's thi
hand. Aw wodn't ha' let her goa, but,
dang it! tha's ta'en her—an' tha knaws
how to keep her, Aw judge."
Saying which, ho made a show of
"sparrirg," and burst out laughing at
himself, and at the joyfulness of their
welcome.
Love.
We sometimes meet with men whc
seem to think thnt any indulgence in
an affectionate feeling is weakness.
They will return from a journey and
greet their families with a distant
dignity, and move among their chil
dren with the cold and lofty splendor
of an iceberg surrounded by its broken
fragments. A father had better extin
guish his boy's eyes than take away
his heart. Indulge in the warm and ,
gushing emotions of filial, parental j
and fraternal lova Think it not n
weokness. God is love. Love Clod, !
love everybody and everything that is
lovely. Teach your children to love— j
to love the rose, the robin; to love their j
parents; to love their God. Let it be '
the studied object of their domestic '
culture to give them warm hearts and
ardent affections. Hind your whole
family together by these strong cords.
You cannot make them too strong.
Religion is love, love to God, love to
man.
The Wisest Way.
In nine caseß out of ten the better
course is, if a man cheats you, cease to i
deal with him. If he is abusive quit
his company, and if he slanders you I
take care to live so that nobody will j
believe him. No matter who he is or t
how he misuses you the wisest way is
let him alone; for there is nothing bet- \
ter than this cool, calm and quiet way 1
of dealing with the wrongs wo meet
with. Lies unheeded will die, fires un- i
fanned will die out, and quarrels 1
neglected become as dull as the now ,
all but extinct vol can a
If anything in the world will make I
a man feel badly it is unquestionably
a quar ret
,'J. c. mill's
MARKET.
I Flour, Bonny, No. 1. $1.85 per bag.
; Chop and feed, $1.15 per bag.
| Hani, 14c per pound.
I Lard, 124 c per pound,
i Shoulders, lie per pound.
| Codfish, !)e per pound.
; Mackerel, 10c per pound,
j Haddock. 5c per pound.
Bologna. 8c per pound.
1 3 pounds mixed cakes, 25c
| 3 pounds coffee cakes, 25c.
i 3 pounds ginger cakes, 25c.
j 4 pounds soda cakes, 25c.
Sodas by barrel, 44c per pound.
I 2 pounds sugar vanilla cakes, 25c.
I 5 pounds rice, 25c.
4 pounds rice, 25c.
5 pounds barley, 25c.
G pounds oat flake, 25c.
0 pounds oat meal, 25c.
5 pounds currants, 2oc.
5 pounds Valencia raisins, 25c.
3 pounds blue calf raisins 25c.
3 large bags salt. 25c.
G bars Octagon soap, 25c.
4 pounds Marseilles soap, 25c.
4 pounds oline soap, 25c.
Rookwood chocolate, 30c pound.
5 pounds tea, oolong A No. 1, SI.OO.
1 5 pounds English breafast tea, A No. 1,
SI.OO.
Blankets, white, 70c, 00c. SI.OO, $1.20,
$1.50, $1.75, $3.00, $5.00, SO.OO, SB,OO
and SO.OO.
Comforts or quilts, 50c, 75c, 00c, $1 00,
$1.25 to Downs' $5.00.
All kinds woolen dress goods, 20c yard;
double width, up to $1.75.
Come in and see our dry goods notions—
woolen, cotton and funny articles.
Men's working gloves and Sunday gloves,
underwear, etc.
Shoes, boots, slippers, gum hoots, rubber
shoes t felt boots, split boots, grain boots and
booties.
Carpets and oil cloths, rugs, mats, Brus
sels carpet, ingrain, rag, hemp, etc., I carry
the largest line in this town.
FURNITURE! Well, I can't say any
more than that I have $5,000 worth upstairs.
Parlor suits, bed room suits and beddings.
Ladies* and children's coats, all at half
price. SIO.OO coat for $5.00; SB.OO coat
for $4.00, etc.
My store is full of bargains all the time.
Drop in and C.
J. C. BERNER.
,W_, ...LEHIGH VALLEY
RAILROAD.
Antliraoitc coal used cxclu-
I sivefy, insuring cleanliness and
ARRANGEMENT OF PASSENGER TRAINS.
MAY 14, 1893.
LEAVE FREELAND.
0 05, 8 47, 9 40. 10 41 am, 1225, 1 2 27, 3 45,
4 55, 0 58, 7 12, 8 47 p m, for Drifton, Jeddo. burn
er Yard, Stockton and Hazleton.
0 05 a m, 1 32, 3 45, 4 55 p in, for Manch ('hunk,
Allontown, Bethlehem, Phila., Easton and New
r ork.
0 40 a in for Bethlehem, Easton and Phila.
7 20, 10 50 a in, 12 10,4 34 p in, (via Highland
ranch) for \\ hitc Haven, Glen Summit, Wilkes-
Harre, Pitts ton and L. and B. Junction.
SUNDAY TRAINS.
II 40 a m and 3 45 p m for Drifton, Jeddo, Luni
er Yard and Hazleton.
3 45 pm lor Delano, Mahnnoy City, Shenan
oali. New York and Philadelphia.
ARRIVE AT FREELAND.
5 50, 7 00, 7 26, 9 18, 10 56 a m, 12 16, 1 15, 2 18,
484, 6 58 and 887 p m, from Ha/.lctou, Stockton,
uiuber Yard, Jeddo and Drifton.
7 26, 9 18, HI 50 a in, 2 18, 4 84, 6 58 p m from
Delano, Mahanoy City and Shenandoah (via
New Boston Braneh).
r,. 1 ,V r>l P ; r> *V in d I' ,n from New York, Easton,
l liiladelphia, Bethlehem, Allentown and Mauch
Chunk.
9 18 and 10 56 a m, 1 15, 0 58 and 887 p in from
Huston, IMiilu., Bethlehem and Munch ('hunk.
9 18, 10 41 a in, 2 27,6 58 pm 1 rom White Haven,
0 Jen Summit, Wilkes-Barre, Pittston and L. and
B. Junction (via Highland Braneh).
SUNDAY TRAINS.
11 81 a in and 831 pm, from Hazleton, Lum
ber 4 ard, Jeddo and Drifton.
11 31 a m from Delano, Hazleton, Philadelphia
and Easton.
3 31 p in from Delano and Mahanoj' region.
For further information inquire of Ticket
Agents.
It H. WILBUK, Gen. Supt. Eastern Div.
A. W. NONNEMACHEU, Ass'tG. P. A.
South Bethlehem, Pa.
'1 HE DELAWARE, SUSQUEHANNA AND
A SCHUYLKILL RAILROAD.
Time table in effect September 3,1893.
Trains leave Dril'ton for Jeddo, Eckloy, Hazlc
Brook, Stockton, Beaver Meadow Koad, Bonn
and Hazleton Junction at 6 (JO, 6 19 a m, 12 1(1,
4 09 p m, daily except Sunday, and 7 08 a in, 2 88
p tn, Sunday.
Trains leave Drifton for Ilarwood, Cranberry,
Toinhicken and Derlnger at 600 a m, 12 10 p m,
daily except Sunday; and 7 08 a m, 2 88 p ni,
Sunday.
Trains leave Drifton for Oneida Junction,
llurwood Bond, Humboldt Koad, Oneida and
sheppton at 610a m, 1210, 4 Oil pm, daily except
Sunday; and 7 08 a m, 2 518 p m, Sunday.
Trains leave Hazleton Junction for Harwood,
( runnerry, romhickcn and Dcringcr at (187 a
j m, 1 49 p m, daily except Sunday; and 8 47 a m,
4 18 p m, Sunday.
Trains leave Hazleton Junction for Oneida
Junction, Harwood Boad, Humboldt Koad,
Oneida and Sheppton at 6 47, 9 10 a ill, 12 40, 4 89
p m, daily except Sunday; and 7 40 a m, 808 p
I m, Sunday.
Tr ills leave Derlnger for Toinhicken, Cran
berry, Harwood, Hazleton Junction, Bonn,
Beaver Meadow Boad. Stockton, llazle Brook,
Hekley, Jeddo and Drifton at 2 40, 607 p m,
' daily except Sunday; and 937 a m, 507 p m,
1 Sunday.
Trains leave Sheppton for Oneida, Humboldt
Boad, Harwood Boad, Oneida Junction, Hazle
ton .I unction a d Bonn at 7 62, 10 Hi a m, 115
5 25 p in, daily except Sunday; and 8 14 a ra, 3 45
i p m, Sunday.
Trains leave Sheppton for Beaver Meadow
Boad, Stockton, llazle Brook, Kekloy, Jeddo
and Drifton at 10 16 a m, 5 25 p m, daily, except
Sumlay; and 8 14 a m, 8 45 p in, Sunday.
Trains leave Hazleton Junction for Beaver
Meadow Boad, Stockton, Hazlc Brook, Eckloy,
Jeddo and Drifton at 10 88 a in, 8 11, 5 47, 688 p
m, daily, except Sunday; and 10iWa in, 5 88 p m,
Sunday.
All trains connect at Hazleton Junction with
electric cars for Hazleton, Jeaiusville, Auden-
Hed and other points on Lehigh Traction (Jo's.
Trains leaving Drifton at 6 10 am, Hazleton
Junction at 9 10 u in, and Sheppton at 7 52 a in,
J b" P ni, connect at Oneida function witli L. V.
B. B. trains east and west, •
Train leaving Drifton at 6 00 a in, makes con
nection at Do ringer wit li P. B. It. train for
Wilkes-Barre, Sunbury, Ilarrisburg, etc.
E. B. COX E, DAN IEL VOX E,
President, Superintendent.