KQm Poffe CHAPTER I. "What do you think ? Is It poor! or had?" The questioner was a little lollow seven or eight years of ape, and the question was propounded to his own shadow on the wall, for other company he lad none. He stood just within the half open door of the basement corridor if the convent church of St. Catherine. The corridor led into ono of the numer ous rooms set apart by the fathers tor certain of their workmen and a few priv ileged poor of both sexes. It adjoined the receiving vault, and the voice of the priest chanting the fun *ral prayers might be distinctly heard by anyone passing along the corridor. The little questioner had not asked him self the question apropos of nothing. Mis ' whole heart had been in the effort that i had called it forth. Mo had been prac tising alone, and, as he supposed, quite unseen, the Russian national dance—a lively dance indeed, and one demanding infinite agility. Pausing a second to take I reath, lie asked himself the momentous question, "Good or bad?" and catching sight of his shadow on the wall he ha 1 addrd. "What do you think?" "1 say ! good, for sure," he shouted, as he rm out of the door, through the great gates and into the place M chel, where, turniii" sharply and suddenly, he seemed to drop into the earth and disappear. He had only descended, w.tli one plunge, the j steep flight, of stone steps leading down into a chandler's shop, where cucumbers and black bread were to bo procured, a well as tallow candies and pottery of all | kinds. "A p und of black bread," lie de manded, in clear, ringing tones. While j waiting for it, w tit a snap of his fingers and an involuntary movement of his im patient and restless feet, "Good, very good, I think," he whispered to himself. "Good, very good," he again repeated i a ound, as tlie pound of black bread was thrust towards him. "Of course it is good," said the shop man. "Take it and be off." The boy laughed merrily as lie flew up j tlie stone steps, looking back an instant 1 before lie disappeared to show a saucy face to the merchant, and singing blithely as lie dashed back through the stone cor r dor and into a room, small, dark ami clos \ The day was gloriously bright thou 'h bitterly cold, and the boy was in high j spirits, though for what reason he could ] not have told. His young blood was j dancing in his veins, his feet keeping | time to s one inward melody, and his blue j eyes sparkling with glee. He hud hardly time to lay down the black bread when he hears a heavy step. He springs to open the door. "Here it is, my Dyuda," ai d he points to tie loaf. "My I)yada," (my uncle) lie pronounces in a caressing tone, with u little emphasis on the pronoun that is very touching to hear. "My Dyada" takes the loaf and cut-* one generous slice, and one small one; then, spri ikling both liberally with coarse salt, lie begins his breakfast • Take the big one this morning, Dyada; it is too much for me." Dyada shakes his hrad ami goes on eat ing, or pretending to cat. The boy makes no pretence, and eats his portion as he does everything, quickly, promptly | and begins to busy himself about the ! room, though there is nothing to do, nothing to arrange, nothing to put away. "Gavreel!" "Here I am, my Dyada." Dyada was fumbling in his pockets. He was old, partially paralyzed, and con sequently very slow in his movements. "Gavreel, kneel down." Gavreel obeyed, and Dyada placed his j trembling hand upon his head. Had the | boy looked up he would have s *en tears in toe dim old eyes; but ho did not look up "Gavreel," at length spoke the old man, "I must Irnv • you for a day ir two. This money is fir your bread; and the watch man's wife has promised me to give yoli a b >wl of soup each day. You are to- go to her for it. Hold out your hand." Gavreel held out his hand, and Dyada i counted into it five kopecks, the price oi ■ t\\ o pounds of bread. "Will y u t ike care of the place till 1 return, and he a good hoy, Gavreel?" "Yes, my Dyada; but would it not be j better if you were to take me along with you?" "Impossible. Gavreel. Surely you will I not be afraid to stay aloue one night, or two at most?" No, Gavreel would not be ufrai 1, but he would b.* very lonesome. '1 will come back as soon as lean, dear. Be good and brave. Lock the door when ever you go out; let no one enter, and bring no one in with you till my return Go into the church in the morning if you are cold." Gavred promised all these things, and follows 1 Dyada to the door aiul out into the courtyard of the church. He would have gone on still further had not Dyada s -tit him back. He would have plenty of time to prac tise his steps now; and he did till he was tired, for there was a strong spirit of rivalry raging in the hearts of the boys of the court, as to who should best dance the trepaka. He danced till he was so tired that he fell asleep on Dyatla's bed; and when he awoke it was so dark that he did not know for certain whether it was not the middle of the night. Presently lie heard a knocking at the door, and a voice calling him. It was the watchman, who, true to his work, had come to look after him. "Hey, what, asleep in the middle of the afternoonl Why didn't you come for your plate of soup, youngster?" Gavreel rubbed his eyes and looked up in the man's face, smiling the while. "Come, come," said the kind, rough voice; "there's a little left in the bottom of the pot yet;" and he led him away to his own room, a larger and a lighter oue than Dyuda's, and made him eat the ! plateful of cabbage-water they called soup, and a delicious salted cucumber be ai OK. and another good slice of black bread with salt,. Gavreel enjoyed these dainties immensely, and without invita tion he began to play with the chubby baby that was U (Idling after the watch man's wife as she went übout her house bold work. I'r sently he heard boys' voices outside, and knew that school was out, and he bade the baby Tonka, or little Timothy, good-i ye and ran out to joiu them in their sports. "Gavreel! Gavreel!" He was their (ho.-eu champion, and soon a ring was formed around him ami his rival, and there was a dancing-match, at which Gavreel was as usual victorious. With three ch ers for the winner they dispersed, and Gavreel returned to his lonely room and looked out of the window till he was tired. While kneeling on Dyada's bed, look ing tit of the window, he remembered that Dyad a had said that he might go into the church in the morning if he felt ••old, and he resolved to do so, for he loved to hear the tones of the organ. He fell asleep aga u, dreaming of t.ie music lie was to hear, and smiling at sight of the convent school boys filing into church with their sumkas, or satchels, strapped on their backs, and wishing he was one of them. The morning broke intensely dark and cold; the air was dense with frost, and the sun came in t forth, and Gavreel kept waiting and watching for morning to dawn, till at length the boys came out at : noon to take their recreation. Then he j flew out to them, aud found that the i promise 1 pleasure had been lost (the > church doors being closed till the next day). It was too • ark and cold for the j boys to remain out long; so he was left to himself. He was beginning to feel the j pangs of hunger, yet not caring for his black crust when thewatihman beckoned j to him to come for his soup This time 1 he was not taken into the room, for little Tiinka was asleep; so he carried his bowl ' away with him, and ate a little of its : s-vtry contents, and put the rest away ; lor Dyada when lie should arrive, tired, , cold and hungry. "He is sure to come sorn now," said j Gavreel to himself; "tho watchman I thought he might come at any moment, ; and so did the porter." Gavreel fought against sleep as long as ; he could that he might hear the very first ! sound of approaching footsteps; but con- | quered at last, ho forgot his watching and the growing cold and darkness and ; solitude, and slept sweetly. CHAPTER 11. Gavreel had a neighbor whom he had never seen, or at least had never particu larly noticed; she was not nil important or nil imposing personage—she slipped by one without attracting the least atten tion. She had been christened Marie Felicitas, but they called her "Felice," because of her happy face and disposi tion. Whence came the rose-bloom of her soft cheeks, the blue of her sweet eyes, the waves of soft, brown hair, the whiteness of tho little, shapely hands, and the even teeth? Above all, whence came the heavenly expression, the invari ably happy smile she wore? Who shall say? She was only one of the poor of the convent church—one of its pensioners— who received a tiny room in the basement I of the great edifice, that she aud her j mother die in peace after a long i Hie of goodly and most unselfish labor. J JJL j 'filttßir MiK "ONE OF THE PENSIONERS." Which was the mother and which the j daughter it would have been hard to telJ I at the first glance. Save that the elder j woman's eyes were darker, and that she I was a helpless invalid, while her daugh- j ter was very active for her age, there 1 was hardly any difference between them. Tuey had worked at flower-making for more than half a century, and their princi- , pal and favorite work was altar flowers, j or which they could never be induced to | accept pay. No wonder that they had not laid up treasures for the rust and ! the moth to consume. Finally the good mother died, and Felicie is alone. She has taken the "lit- j tie mothi r" to the Vihorge side and laid her away in a narrow 1 ttle grave, with a cross and crown of her own flowers lying upon the damp earth tliey shoveled so hastily into the narrow pit. Father X had come and closed the pure eyes, and Felicie had prepared her mother for the narrow bed where no cush ions were needed. Who would not envy you, old flower-maker? envy your pure life and peaceful death; hands that clung to nothing earthly; heart that beat never for self; ready feet that daily for seventy five years had f uiul the way to the altar steps! Good-bye, and pray for us, old flower-maker. "It is enough, mother," said Felicle, rising from her knees. She turned, smiling, from her mother's bed to her own, which was the same, only without the settle, that is to say, a couple of "cushions" on the hard floor. She took them up, dusted them, looked to see if they were quite whole—clean she knew they were—and went out aud knocked at her neighbor's door. She knew the half-paralyzerl old man well enough by sight, and guessed that another cushion or two would not be useless, either for himself or tho boy she had so often seen dancing about the court yard of the convent. She knocked a timid knock. Gavreel opened the door. "Give these to your Dyada, dear boy; they are clean and good, aud I do not want them any more." Gavreel looked in wonder at the smil ing little old woman. Felicie was hardly more than fifty-five; yet she was so well muffled up, and had such a stoop that, save for her bright face, you might have taken her for a hundred. Gavreel looked in wonder and shook his head. "He is not here," he managed to say after a pause. "He has gone utvay." "Hut he will come back," said Felicle. The lad shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, iu token of uncertainty she thought. "Are you quite alone, dear child?" A nod was the only answer. "Have you food and lire?" Food he a ad, but lire he could do without, be snid. "Let me come in," suid Felicle; "I will see for myself." But Gavreel would not suffer her to en ter, for tear of displeasing Dyada. "Then come with me," urged the good little creature. "I have fire and every thing; come, I am lonesome." It was hard to prevail upon Gavreel t do this; Dyada might come iu his absence and find the door locked. But Felicie found away to satisfy all his fears 011 that score by notifying the watchman and the gate porter as to where he was to be found. The wood carriers, whose duty it was to carry stacks of wood to the hun dred lodgings of the convent building, were also told, and they, one and all, good-naturedly promised to be 111 the lot kom for "my Dyada." The old man had been nicknamed by them thus iu playful mockery of Gavreel. When all this was done the little fellow put his hand into Felicie's hand and let himself he led away. He had 110 idea they were such near neighbors, and was delighted that he could himself hear Dyada's steps if he approached. Ho was so glad of the discovery that their doors were only a few feet apart that he fell to dancing while Felicle was unlocking her door. When the door was thrown open, and he saw the interior of what she called her gilded hovel, he danced and sang anil laughed with all his might. Felicie smiled back at him, to reassure hini, though noisy mirth jarred upon her at all times, and more especially just then. "This is good!" declared Gavreel. "Is it all yours? Oh what a wonderful, what a beauiilul placet All fiowars, just like a garden." lie had never seen nnything like it in his life, except in church. Suddenly lie j ceased his mirth and looked earnestly at Felicie. A thought, a fear had smitten him. like a sharp arriw. Who was tiiis smiling little being who hud tempte i him in her palace? Was she the dumovoy, the familiar spirit of every Russia.i house? and had she brought him her.- to do something terrible to him? He bucked towards the do >r, keeping his eyes on i ! her the while. Unconscious of his gaze ( Felicie was preparing their supper. Gavreel, like Hans Andersen's Fir Tree, I had never heard but one story, and that j was of a dumovoy that appeared in many forms, and could assume any shape at will, either beautiful or ugiy, and who j had power ov r children especially, una J could chatigu them into anything it | chose." "Perhaps Dyada has come," he strove ! to say, his hand on the door. "I will go , ' and see." "Take some supp >r first, dear; see, it is 1 all ready." She did not look at him. I She was both hungry an I thirsty, poor ; ' little creature; for since h -r communion J at the ear.y mass that morning noii.ing 1 had passe I her lips; and see.ug him ' mirthful and gay she thought him ali , 1 right. She made the sign of the cross ' slowly, reverently looking up at the pic- j tures of ilie Sacred Heart of Jesus and , the Immaculate Heart of Mary that hung, flower-:rained, together on the wall I above the settlehe I, and then s lid again, "Come, Gavreel, supper is r.-ady." Gavreel drew a long breatu. It wan j part of ids story that tlie dumovoy fled j fr< m t lie sign of the cross. "Wiki are you?" he asked. "I am Felicie, the fl wer-maker," she J answered, "the last an I oniy one now," ! she said to herself aloud. "Where ure the others?" asked Guv- ' reel. "One other," said Felicia. "She lias | 1 gone home to heaven." "Then she will see my mother." said i 1 Gavreel; "she said she was going there. 1 Tell me about your mother." 1 "Afti-r supper, dear. Coma now, take this nice cup of coffee and this lovely 1 cake a kind lady brought me, for I never eat cuk •; you shall have it ali; and see! j we have sugar and butter and white bread, which the kind ricu people brought when mother die i." "Why di n't they bring them before?" asked Gavreel; "didn't sue want them? ' "She did not care for such things, dear. They are for the rich, and we could do without them. Fat, dear; you must be hungry." Gavreel had never taste 1 such dainties; yet he ate sparingly of them, and piled i up very carefully at one side th i greater portion of what Felicie had heaped ou his plate. "Is this all for me?" he asked. "All for you? Yes, certainly; and why do you not eat it?" "I would like to keep it for Dyu-la." "So you shall, dear heart, and eat plenty besides, in honor of this day." "What day?" asked Gavreel. ' My dear mother's birthday." "Was she horn to-day? 1 thought you said she died." "She was horn to her new life in heaven this day," said Felicie smiling and look ing upwards. "Tell me about her," pleaded Gavreel. "But first I will see if my Dyudu bus come." lie ran out, hut soon returned to say that there was no sign of his coming. He looked so sad and disappointed that Felicie began to tell him about her mother, while her fingers busily shaped leaves. The child listened in wonder to her talk of God and heaven and angels. To interest him more, she placed her favorite pictures before him, and lie asked a thousand questions about the "Jjittlc Jesus," who interested him more than any of the others because He was most like himself. lie was happy for a long while thus engaged, nud was busily thinking how he could get his Dyada transformed into a carpenter like St. Joseph, and, if ho could, how pleas untiy they would work together. Felicie did not know that he was think ing Ids own thoughts thus, and kept on talking of the Divine Lord and His Blessed Mother, describing the miracles, and finally coming to the Lust Supper and the Betrayal. She was speaking in a soft, low voice that did not interfere with his own plans, till something made her appeal directly to him, and he had to answer. Then lie listened more attentively ail I became aware that Felicie was speaking in a very sorrowful strain, telling how the foster father was dead, and how the Child had grown to ho a man. and how He was be trayed and condemned to die. "This very little Jesus?" asked Gavreel, pointing to the picture. es, ' said Felicie; "this dear Lord wti ( led away to be nailed on the cross." Gavreel looked at her in horror. "You wish to mak ■ me cry," he said. | "I all afraid of you. O.i. do let me go to I my own Dyada. lit* never made me cry " ' Poor Feiicie wjh struck with remorse. "How c -ul.l I? How* could I?" she ask d herself. "O d-ar little la 1, do not fear. How could 1 know that you had never learned the story before? Come, we will go together an I sje it D/a la has como." i Xo, he had ..ol but Gavreel would not re-ent *r with her. He chose to creep into his own cold bed and wait and wait. Sme hours later Feiicie knocked softly at his door. Tnere was no answer, and she said to hers If: "He has come; they are both asleep." The next morning she arose e irly and cleaned and dusted her little room, pel- ; ished her chairs. < r her one chair, and the chest of drawers whereon was piled her ' wealth of *' wers. She then knelt and devoutly said her morning prayers. Some lime afterwards she donned her ancient little cloak, and close black hood, tied a black shawl over it, and under her pretty little chin, to >k her beads and her prayer-book, and her bit of candle t light herself out of the dark hall, ami j hurri *d to church. She had time to say a goo 1 many de cades of her bea Is, and yet th-re was no : sign of the doors being opened. She : usually arrived before the time, so she thought nothing of that; but she began ' to feel the cold an I got up otf her knees. to walk up and down to keep herself I from free/, ng. It was very dark, but she ! fancied there was a figure of some kind in I one corner, near the side door. She ap j pr ached to assure herself, and lo! there | all huddled up was little Gavreel, wait ! iug to get into the church to warm him -1 self. ! "My Dyada said I might come," he | pleaded in excuse. | "1 shoul I think you might, indeed," j she answered, cheerily; "but you must have made a mistske, and got up too early. Wait—l will go and ask the gate porter to tell me \% hat o'clock it is." She hurried off and goon came running back. "A good hour yet, my dear, Come, we shall have plenty of time to get warm before mass begins. Let us run." Gavreel could hardly move, ho was so benumbed with cold; but she helped him, and unresistingly led him to her iit le room, and wrapped him up. and put him on the be I. He was SOON asleep, and she left him there sleeping, and went io mass. He was still sleeping when she returned, and she sat down to her work, deferring the | reparation of her break ast till he should be awake to share it. To pass the time she chanted to herself I sacred hymns in low sweet tone—the dear i old Polish hymns of long ago. Gavreel I was awake ami listening to her for a long j time ere she was aware of it. He lost | patience, and he seemed to have forgotten I his fear of the night previous. ! Before he could be prevailed upon to i at Gavr el went once more to look out j for some signs of Dyada, hut he cume ! back with the same sad story, no sign of ! him. And s passed breakfast, dinner, ' supper; and in spite of the church music, : his play with the schoolboys, an I Felicie's stories, Gavreel could not for an instant lorget that Dyada came not. in the midst of the hilarious schoolboy game he would suddenly stop and look wistfully up tae road by which the old j man had departed. When the street lamps were lighted lie crept into his cold .it,tie room and flung himself on the bed !in a sort of dumb hopelessness. He did not cry; Indeed Feiicie learned later that jhe never cried. He had neyer been seen io relieve his childish heart l>v tears or j sobs. When in pain, or anger, or grief, 1 lie hid iiis childish face and thought his ! thoughts out in dumb silenc.*. She : sought liim soon after nightfall and ; .ound him thus, silent, cold, pensive, j She had much ado to make him rise j and accompany her, for lie feared to he I absent tor an instant lest his Dyada came, lie kept fancying he heard his steps and i misted upon opening the door at every I slightest sound- The hitter cold air ; blew in upon him, yet he felt it not, and begged so hard to be permitted to go home aud wait there that stie had t > yield an j unwilling consent. She insisted, how j ever, on making a little fire upon her own responsibility, but it would take a long time to expel the cold and damp from the I room. When morning broke and she went io bring him to his breakfast she ; .ound him very feverish and ill. He : staggered as he tried to follow her, and ' when the door was locked and he tried to Hide the great iron key us usual in his bosom, fearing that his pocket was not 1 sufficiently safe, he could not hold it, and it fell with a resounding noise upon the stone 11 our. ; "Let me put it away for you," said poor Felecie, who was sadly troubled at , i he sight of the poor lad. I "I promised not to part with it," he answered. She helped him to put it away and then led him in and did what she could to make him comfortable. But he sickened sorely in spite of her wise remedies, ami before night he was delirious. Feiicie was just putting on her black hood to run lor help when a heavy step on the stone floor with >ut and a heavy thump of a heavy stick against a neighboring door told her that Dyada had come at last. Gavreel heard nothing. Feiicie hurried out to prepare tin* old mail for the sail news of his boy's illness. •'1 feared it." he said. "You are the good flower-maker, 1 know; and I thank you for all you have done for him. May j I see him?" She led him in. The old man had J walked thirty miles that day, hut this did I not deter him from working all night on j the tender invalid, who at length seemed to recognize the touch of the caressing hand and murmured 'My Dyada." The old man shook his head in silence. Feiicie tried to euc uruge him by saying the maloily was only a cold, which would be all right in a few days, but the vener able watcher was not deceived. "Shall 1 tell you his story?" heat length ; asked. "Tuauk you for your confidence," said Feiicie. "It is short," said the old man, "and not new. His mother was my niece, my only sister's child. A spoiled pretty child as ever the sun shone on: the worse for her. She was the pride of our life, the innocent bright creature, and as ignor ant at the age of seventeen as the lad ly ing there. She had never had a frien lor a companion save the lit: It? children of our farm till then. With them she I danced and sang and played the life-long ! day. So it was till the day, the black j , day, when a Russian regiment was quartered iti our town, aud three Russian soldiers billeted upon my sister. "Due of them, a handsome, dashing fellow, won the child's affection, took her with him to the regimental chaplain, who was glad enough to mar y them, for by the marriage my sister's lands, houses, farms, all would pass into Kits , sitin hands, she being the only child of her widowed mother. The silly fool for- ( got, or never knew, that, should she ever | have a child of her own, it would have to ' be of its father's faith. I "S it was. Th sis her child." lie went away and looked down upot the boy, who was tos-ing restlessly upo hi* be I. "The villain borrowed money on every hand," continued the old man, coming I back, and again looking down upon tlis little flower-maker, as she arranged Lie petals of a rose with her (L*ft fingers, borrowed money on his wife's pr •spective inheritance, drank it, gambled it away, and then deserted her and her child in some Russian town, to which he had got himself transferred on purpose to sepa rate her from hr people. By some | means she got here in search of me, not knowing I was paralyzed. She knew I ! loved her always in spite of all. They had t tuke her to the hospital before long her health was broken. She begged me to keep the hoy and to bring him up in our own faith. "Keep him and love him is all that. I could do. To teach liim anything would be a capital offense. Not that I hesitate I for my own sake; but, had I attempted it, he would have been taken from me. Xow they may claim him at any moment. Though 1 am ready to lay down my life for him, yet 1 know that they will force me to give him up now that she has gone." "Has she gone?" asked Feiicie softly. "Yes, she is at rest. Yester morn they heaped the cold clo Is of earth upon her. I saw it thankfully. Poor wreck of our rare, bright little girl." The old man went hack to the heil and sank down beside it. Feiicie worked on in silence. Thus .no day and night, then many days and nights of anxious watching be fore Gavreel awoke to recognize his Dyada and smile upon him. But Le did so at last. "Who is she?" he asked, pointing to Feiicie. "That is good Feiicie, who has saved your life." "Good Feiicie," said Gavreel, thought fully, "yes—l remember her; she told me stories of the Christ Chil I, aud wanted to make me cry, hut 1 ran away." "She has been very goo I to you," said Dyada. ' Has she been good to you?" ques tioned Gavreel. "Yes, indeed, my dear one; better than I can say. "Then she may finish the story," said Gavreel; I will hear all from good Feiicie." "Did she tell yon that the rich people brought cakes and sugar, and lots of good things to her mother when she was dead?" The old man shook his head. "She told me," said Gavreel. "Do you think she wanted them, my Dyada?" "Who, dear?" "Why, the dead mother." "She wanted nothing dear, any more. The Lord took her to Himself." "I am very glad," said Gavreel. "When will Feiicie tell me the end of the story?" ! When ho was well once more he heard the whole story, and took it into his lov ing heart eagerly. Again ho danced about the courtyard, bright aud happy, making the sunshine of two lives. Feiicie found a thousand ways of doing him good, and took the whole responsibility upon herself. In an incredibly short space of time he knew his prayers, then his catechism, besides many sweet hymns. But of all this, and of other things greater and far more precious that she accomplished for his soul, thcro is uo use i in speaking now, lie was, indeed, a bright and beautiful Polish lad, though only poor old Dya la's nephew. Poor old Dyada! lie ha 1 been a brave soldier in his day, but was forced to live here, in exile and dire poverty; though, if he had never fought for his dear Poland, he might he living at his ease, with his only sister, on the dear ol I farm that she s ill held in spite of much injustice and persecution. One day, it was a bright day. too. for j the sun shone down hotly, and the blue j sky was cloudless, there came a knock at , the old man's door. "Enter." A Russian soldier of dissolute mien and | air stepped in He saluted, military fash ion, looking about the small room sharply. "You are Stanislas Ivanovitch?" The old man had arisen, but had nr power to answer. "1 came for my sou. Where is he?" "I CAMK FOK MY SON." It had come at last. The drunken, dis solute father had put forth his claim, and who could gainsay it? Not a Polish uncle, or grandmother, or auy Pole, since the hoy was a Russian subject, like ; his father. j Xo need of dwelling on the parting. He took away his sou, not because he wanted, or could or would keep him Quite the reverse. Gavreel was a big boy for his years; he could he made useful to the father; he was nine years of age. It was weeks and weeks before his uncle could trace him. Finally ho suc ceeded through the bureau < f addresses. The father had apprenticed him to an undertaker; to a rich undertaker, who kept besides the gorgeous fun *ral cars, ! all white and gold, and the sable plumed cars so imposing in their sombre richness, the poor, hare car, the platform on i wheels, on which the yellow hospital coffins were transported to the cemeteries ol the very poor. In the quarter as # gned to these rude vehicles, to the miserable br< ken-down skeletons they called horses, and to the drunken hostlers and rude stable boys and apprentices, our dancing Gavreel hail found a home. What a change was here! From Dy Ada's caressing voice and touch, from the lessons of Feiicie the flower maker, and 1 the companionship of the pleusaut school ' ELKHART CARRIAGE and HARNESS NFS. GO. /v Have wold to connimeri for 91 year". y—frYT.'JTi^rsr-.'arjr ApV 611 flfl saving thera tho deulor's profit. We are tho _ < . ylltUU Oldewtund I.urgewt manufacturers In Amor- y; :5% 1 ] lea selling Vehicle-Band Harness this wy-^' H* * w | pald.'we pay freight both wayslf not sat is tin -INL lAJTA tory. Warrant for J yours. Why pay an agent* 10 / / -i, , s/ A \ jIJ to#so to order f<>r you? Wrtto your own order. ( :"7/™' . A Boxing free. We tuko all risk of damage in V \ \V'i W )'\"-] eI " PP '" g 'WHOLESALE PRICES. JJJjfj /L / Spring Wagon 9, s3l to SSO. Guaranteed N0.731, Burrey. <-* Hitiiie as neii for loot Surreys, $65 to SIOO cSOtf* N0.37. Surrey lIurnOBB. same an sell for 1100 to si3o. Top Buggies, oj ibfcO - -""T^k. VS9BVHp! to SIOO. Farm Wagons, Wagonettes, f M\ /\ ' a mP\"f 1 ® c Viii'J*?? Top Buggy. £^=3^ no.3,farm wugon. Aadre W. B. PRATT, Sec'y, ELKHART, IND. boys, to these filthy stables, ami the com pany of swearing, drunken men and ! l j knew nothing more. | The horse took him home, and waited i quietly at the stable door till he should descend; but Gavreel kept his place till someone, noticing tho old hat, playfully knocked it off just for fun, ami beheld the ghastly little face They carried him in and put him on his ' little mat i ress of straw in the dark cor-! ner of the crowded room. The noisy mirth of the men was hushed. They spoke in whispers. They were very sorry for the dancing boy, and would nt have him die. Kvery remedy was tried, even to pouring hot brandy down his thro.it. One, kindest of all, ran for Felicie, who came quickly. I)yada could not come, he was himself dying fust, of a broken spirit. Felicie knelt beside Gavreel and called him softly by tender names. He opened j liis eyes and knew her, smiled, and asked J I for his I)yada. He even tried to tell her many things and to ask her questions; but only the lips moved; there was uo voice. St ill she understood him. Once he lau lied, and she almost ! th tight lie was delirious, but he formed i the words, "Little Jesus," and looked up, to show her that he knew he was go ing to Him. •Good Felicie." He had found a little voice at last. "What, dear Gavreel?" "Tell Dymla to come soon." "Yes, dear." "Good Felicie." "Yes, dear." "\\ ill you come soon, goo 1 Felicie?' "It the Lord wills, dear." "Come soon, go (1 Felicie, to Little Jesus and me." "L glit the lamp, good Felicie, please." , Felicie lighted a little end of a bless-I , candle that she always kept in her pocket now. It had been in h.-r dying mother's ; hand. The dying child smiled as he saw , the H cker of the red flame i "Will Little Jesus take me soon, good Felicie? I •>" *" tired—and sleepy." "Sleep, dear," murmured Felicie. And Gavreel slept. "It is better so," said Dyad A, when Felicia had told him all. "lie is at rest We shall meet tl.j sooner." American Messenger. I Wheeler & Wilson !NE"W HIGH ARM No. 9. ' 4 j ' "j\:- ' nrrLEx SEWING- MACHINE. SKWS EITHKK CHAIN OR LOCK STITCH. The lightest running, moat (tumble and moat ]H>pular machine in the world. Send for catalogue. Agents wanted. Rest goods. Rest terms. Address Wheeler & Wilson Mfg. Co., Philadelphia, Fa. J ("aveats, and Trade-Marks obtnhied, and nil I'AT-1 # cnt business conducted for MODERATE FEES. # 'OUR OFFICE IS OPPOSITE U. S. PATENT OFFICE' J and we can secure patent in less time than those \ A remote from Washington. # ' Send model, drawing or photo., with descrip-# stion. We advise, if patentable or not, free of £ 2charge. Our fee not due till patent is secured. S J A PAMPHLET, "How to Obtain Patents, ' with# J cost of same in the U. S. and foreign countries J 4 sent free. Address, # iC.A.SNOW&CO.j £ OPP. PATENT OFFICE, WASHINGTON. D. C. # Complexion Preservad , DR. HEBRA'S VIOLA CREAM fm Removes Freckles, Pimples. "T Liver - Moles, Blackheads, Sunburn and Ten, and re \ stores the Bklu to its orit^i ual freshness, producing a S&R - ' clear and healthy com- ISTCR- .NT.' plczion, Superior to all face preparations and perfectly harmless. At all druggists, or mulled for 50( ts. Bend for Circular. VIOLA SKIN SOAP < MMI'L.r b> omparm' l m n riviil Y>r (lie liur-. rv. Al'.soluti ly jmro uu.l delicately medi cated. At druKtrfMH, Price 25 Cents. G. C. BITTNEH a. CO.. TOLEDO, O. J b Jl% VLAV t ATS,TRADE MARks^n *W COPYRIGHTS.^ C'W I OBTAIN A I'ATENTF Kor Prompt ansivor and an honest opinion, write to I>J t N \ V <'!.. who have had nearly lilt y vears' experience In the patent husiness. Cointnunica tlon.s strict I v eontldcntial. A 11 :i mllinnh of In formation concernlUK Patents and how to ob. tain them sent tree. Also a catalogue of mechan ical and scientific books sent free. Patents taken through Munn & Co. reoeivo pnecial notice in the Seientilie A nicvien 11. and thus are brought widely before the public with out cost to the inventor. This splendid paper LSR'UIi 1 * 01 ' r ?. ,eKam 'y illustrated. Ims by far tho wnrh? 2L culat,on °T nny seientilie work m the ■E ;i• year Sample eoiues sent free Building Kditton, monthly. # • ,a vear. Sinplo ce V t9 - I F ' ver ? number cohtaina beau tiful plates, 111 colors, and photographs of new houses, with plans, enabling builders to show tho "HlSt dPHigns and seeur- contnots. Address . MLNN ii CO., NLW VOKK, 301 ISUOAVWAY. \ N ORDI \.W< I. LO provide lor the light lA. ing (D LIE -nvi isuiid alleys within tho borough of I I '-elaiuf. Re it ordained and enacted by the burgi-88 and L AVA ""iincil nt the boruiigli of Frecland, and if IS hereby orduim-d byauthoriti of ihe S.IIII(■. Unit the burgess and the president of council be and are hereby authorized mid ein • LOWERED to enter into a eonlra. R with the Free land L.leetric I.iglil, Meat and Power T'oiupaiiy I.IR the purpose id lighting the streets ami al leys ii. the borough ol Freeland for a term of ti\e years from the first day of August, A. I)., ism, on the following terms and conditions bights to be are lights of two thousand enn ille-power each, to be erected and kept in re- Pan by the Freeland Electric Light, flout and I ower ( ouipany, to be burned all night, ami every night of the week, ami to be lurnlshed along such streets and at such places as the borough of Freehold nni> re(|iiiu-. The num ber of lights not to be less* than llKeen (151. The borough ol Freeland !<> pu.\ for each and every light the sum ol one hundred dollars per annum in monthly payments, each montlilv paynu-nt to be made on or belore the :.'l>th for the lighting