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John Proposes to Sell the Farm and

 

 

Sarah Brown, Detective ;

Jim-non oiv “'riiic llllMll iiic'rice'rivic," “'riin TWIN DE-

tlii-iii “ down line.
was the case:

his iiiarblo bath-room, and Borrowdale’s zeal bad

So did Borrow< ale, when he mentioned it to him.

the thought had occurred to them both.

and fragi e that a breath of air might kill it—so
weak that it had to be kept hidden; honest daylight
and one

day the woman was called downstairs .by the foot-
man, who announced-~“Your son Wishes to see
you. ’

She did not regard a frown from the Indian, or, if

 

 

 

 

Fireside Ballads.

-< cw~4~~

Live a. Life of Base.

BY II. II. JOHNSON.

 

 

Jons.
” Well. Sary, we are growin’ old.
Wc‘Ve worked hard all our life

\Ve’ve had our ups and downs, of course,
> Like ev‘i'y man and Wife;
We started IlOUI‘ as poor could be.

But- Worked hard ev‘ry day,
And now We own this good old farm,
With money laid away.

“ I've been u-tliinkin’ quite a spell

'Twas time to take our case;

We've got enough to last us through
And live jest as we please. '

Our children now are all growed up,
(lot tum‘lies of their own,

And ‘iain't jest right for us to stay
On the old farm alone.

“ I seen a man in town today,

And told him ’bout our farm;

He said if what he heerd was true,
"l‘would suit him to a charm;

He said he’d come and look it off;
So, if he likes it w ll,

And offers what the farm is worth,
I tliiuk we‘d better sell.

“ The fences need some. fixin’ up;

The barn wants shinglin’, too,

And other things ought to be done
Which I’m too old to do.

I ain't so Spry as once. I was,
I'm gittin’ iiider lame;

And Sary, when I look at you,
I see you’re ’bout the same.

“ And so I thought We‘d sell the farm,

And buy a house in town,

And not work as we’Ve always done,
But kinder settle down.

We’ll spend the few remainin’ years
We’ve, got on earth to stay,

And take. the good of what we’ve got
In a nice, easy way.

” We'll keep the wagon and the horse,

And—yes—we’ll keep a cow,

So we can have our milk and cream
The same as we do now.

Now, Sary, don’t you think it best
That we should fix it so?

".l‘will be so nice to live in town,
I know you'll like to go.”

Saar.
“ Now, John. you needn’t talk no more;

I‘ve ot my word to say :—

We’ve ived here all these forty years,
And here we're goin‘ to stay!

We‘ve worked and slaved on this old farm
The best years of our life,

And if you’re bound to leave ltnow,
You’ll go without your wife!

“ Each room in this old house has got

its mem’ries of the past:

They‘ll cling around my poor old heart
As long as life shall last:

This dear old house has been our friend
Through years that’s past and gone;

Don’t as ' me now to give it up;—
I cannot do it, John.

“ No, John we both are now too old

To start in life anew,

And learn to live like city folks,
As we would have to do.

I’ve always loved this dear old farm,
Through all the years gone by;

Here. 1 have lived a happy life,
And here I want to die.”

 

on,

The Mystery of the Pavilion.
BY K. i“. HILL,
Titih'iVih-i,“ “’l‘lllfi MYH’I‘lCHIHl'H emu,"
(‘llAlVl‘ltllt x.
A Voicn A’l‘ Miimioii'r.
Sum” lliiows had studied the household, and got

‘9

ETC. , ETC,

One of two things she (or rather he.) was satisfied
lilitlierltandolf Church had died a natural death in

outrun his discretion, or some member of the house-
hold liad murdered him. -
Knowles had interviewed the undertaker, who
declared that the marks on Mr. Church’s neck were
the marks made by the neck-rest in the ice-box.
Why might not this be the case? What earthly

reason had any one to murder the young man? Ap-

parently, none whatever.

The servants all loved him for his generous, easy
nature.
son and a Church. One of his cousins, the rich one,

loved him because she. wanted to marry him; the

other cousin loved him because he was kind to her,

and felt for her in her unenviable position of the

slighted poor relation.

Out of all this houseful of lovin
would steal into that pavilion an
Church? . .

Oello, the Chunchos squaw? How ridiculous!

Knowles lau bed when the idea occurred to him.

strangle Mr.

They both laughed: but they did not forget that

The sus icion did not die, though it was so weak

team of common sense would surely cause
it to wit er up and perish.
Still it livec ,
wonderful vitality. It
strengthened.

ived ,

Oello hated Sarah Brown; so did the false Ubal-

dina Church. So did the French maid, Anette.

The keen eyes of the chambermaid seemed to
look right through these people and render them un-

comfortable.

One person the detective longed to see—that was

Oello’s son. _
It was some time before he was gratified; but one

Sarah Brown started for the housekeeper’s room.

she did, looked upon it in a friendly fashion.

She saw the son; but she did not understand
what he said when he addressed his mother, and for

tho good reason that he spoke Spanish.

Sarah Biown could not, of course, remain during

the. interview in the housekeeper’s room.
She staid ion
mind about Oel 0’s son.

“That is the man who can tell the secret of the
death in the pavilion if he likes,” was her conclu-

sion.

The next day Sarah went out for two hours. When
she returned she carried a large parcel.

The following day Oello went out and was gone all
the afternoon. She looked an ry when she returned.
She had an interview with liss Church and they
both grew excited over their conversation.

This much Knowles knew for, like some cham-
bcrinaids, Sarah was not above listening at ke -
holes; but what good was it when people spo e
Spanish? ,

That night a st range thin came to pass: Oello 8
room was a large one, at e end of the corridor.
On o'ne side of it was a spare chamber which was
never occupied by any member of the family, being
day. Oello’s door faced the Wide hall staircase, The
reserved for guests. At the other aide was a Sitting-
i-oom, where the ladies sat occasionally during the
house was of magnificent proportions and the In-
dian woman was really isolated from the rest of the
famil . She preferred to be so, for she had no
fricn 3 among the other servants. _

This room was large; two long windows over-
looked the garden, but not on one aide where the
pavilion reared its head. They were draped With

door.

and ('ince again the words were shouted after her as
3110 t ed.

sat before the fire with a book upon her knee.

was not reading, however, and she looked sad and
dejected.

' and turned 0 her mother.

" Ifamlolt‘ ( 71 im-II was murdered I”
The woman almost fell as she made a rush for the

Once more, before she reached it, came the voice;

She flew like a spirit to her daughter’s room. Sura
She

“ What's the matter?" she asked, as Oello darted
in, casting a terrified look behind her.
"Sura!" gasped the alfriglitcd woman, clasping
her daughter in her arms.

“ Hush! Are you mad?"
She shook off her mother’s arms and sprung to her
feet to close the door, which Oello had left wide
open.

“ No: but, my child—there is a spirit in my room.”
“ Nonsense!"

“ There is. truly. Itspoke to me—"
She trembled so violently that she could scarcely
stand. and her copper-tinted skin was a sickly yel-
low hue.
“ What absurd folly !" cried Sura, impatiently,
and she dafled a look of contempt on her mother.
“Come and see for yourself,” she added, for the girl
was superior to the mother‘s ignorant superstitions,
"No, no, not for millions of dollars!” answered
Oello, with a shudder.
f “1 Please yourself," replied her daughter, scorn-

ul y.
“ ! tell you I heard the ver words it uttered!”
Oello drew a chair to the re and seat ed herself.
“ Are you going to remain here?” inquired Sara,
coldlv.

“ Yes, I am.”

“ Very well. I‘ll look the door.”
She did so, and returning to her place took up her
book with a yawn.
Oell .‘s lack eyes fixed themselves on her daugh-
ter’s ace ith a peculiar expression.
Cer ainly the young lady had not shown much
sympathy with her mother’s terrors, and had ac-
corded her but a cold reception.
“ If you are not greatly interesFed in that book I’d
like to speak to you,” she said, after a silence of
some fifteen minutes.
“ Go on.”
The youn lady laid down the volume, languidly,
“ I saw Ubaldina to-day.”
“ So I am aware."
. “ Well, she has us in her power now.”

“In what way ?”
In 5 its of her assumed calmness the young lady
looke anxious.
.“ She has Randolf Church’s child in her posses-
810D.
 goes she know to whom it belongs?”

0"!

Carrying out his plan of deceiving both, Ernest
had instructed Ubaldina to feign ignorance of the
child’s parentage, and told his mother it was better
to keep his wife in the dark on the subject. Thus
both women were deceived.

“ Well, if she does not know whose child it is, I
cannot see why the fact of having possession of it
can change her much."

She spoke in a weary, half-contemptuous tone.
"She was changed before—she is tired of the false
life she is forced to lead.”

" Tired of her husband. I fully expected it from
the first."

“.She is not tired of Ernest.”

“ Well, what’s the matter then?” ,

“ She is afraid Mrs. Church may die and leave
everything to you.”

A glitter of triumph shone from the catlike eyes
of the impostor.

“ So she will,” she said, smiliugly.

“ i ,know what you think, but how can it avail
ou? ’

“ I don’t understand.”

“She will leave her fortune to her niece, Ubaldina

Church.”

“ Well, I am her niece, Ubaldina Church!"

“ What i"

Astonishment electrified Oello. She sprung to her
feet

“ See here,” said Sam, calmly signing to her mo-
ther to seat herself “ l’ll defy her. Let her prove
her identity if she can !"

“ But this was not what we agreed,” stammered
Oello.

"No matter; possession is nine points of the law.
l'm in possessmn of the name and the place.
her displace iiic—il'shc can .”’

took a curve of cruel determination. I
“ What!” cried Oello, in evulent astonishment.

course of action than you planned,” added Sura,
half defiantly.
“ You have and without consulting me?”

courage to assist me.”
“(lo on."

“ I‘ll keep my position. No one can put me out
of it. Mrs. Church is dying by inches. I am a fa-
voriteof hers and shall be her eiress. Be bold,and
let nothing frighten you."

“But Ernest?”

“ Defy him! Let them both do their worst.”

Let
. ain’t used to any one watching him that way—”
A cold glitter shone in her eyes and her thin lips

“ I’ve. been making up my mind to a far different

“Yes, for I am sure you do not lack skill and

“ But Ubaldina has the proofs of her birth. Her

“ Gone to see Mrs. Know,” replied the boy, who
was not at all shy.

f‘ Will you come with me and see the monkey?”

" that monkey ‘r“

“ Out here. Come and see.”

.He placed the child upon a chair and listened to
his cries of delight when the active little animal
climbed up to the windows of the. opposite house.
He also gave Dolf candy, which pleased him still
more.

“ Would .you like to go in the street and give the
monkey this if" asked the stranger,exhibiting a bright
quarter.

“ Oh, yes; but mamma says I must never go down
to the. door Without her or Christine.”

"Well, Christine is there. Besides, manima sent
me to take you for a walk. Where’s your hat?”
Nothing 10th, the child found his hat, his warm
plush coat, and knitted leggings and mits, all of
which the stranger hurriedly put on for him. They
then descended the stairs and passed out among the
children unnoticed. m. p! :2
They watched the monkey only for a moment.
Dolf putting the new quarter in the cup the animal
held out to iim.

“Now we will go in the car,” said Dolf’s new
friend.

Of course the boy was delighted, especially as he
was informed that he was going to Mrs. Know’s to
see mamma.

He rode quite a long distance, and then walked
several blocks; he was getting tired when they arc
rived at a house, and he was at once taken into a
parlor when his outside garments were removed.

“ Where’s mamma?” he asked, looking around
anxiously.

His new friend did not reply, but a lady came for-
ward and said, kindly:

“Mamma will soon be here.”

Dolf looked at her very hard. Children are keen
hysiognomists. He knew the lady was disposed to
e friendly, but he did not trust her.

The man who had enticed him from home had dis-
appeared, and he began to feel uneasy.

‘ I want mamma.”
His red lips began to quiver, and his blue eyes fill,
but Christine had told him " big boys ” never cried,
and he could not bear to be called “ a babyl,” so he
1lSJhi‘aveilsy choked back the sobs that rose to is little
roa .

“ Mamma will soon be here, dear.”

The lady seated herself beside him and removed
his one mitten.
“I guess the other is lost,” he said, looking the
lad in the face. Her e es were filled with wonder
an admiration at the oy’s pink and white baby
beauty, which seemed more beautiful to her on ac-
count of its novelty. She had been brought up
among the dark sons and daughters of Peru and
was unused to blonde children.
“You are a very pretty boy,” she said; “ has
mamma got any more?”
“ No—on’y me. I ain’t a baby.”
“ No, I see that you are not.
man,” said Ubaldina, artfully.
“Yes; when I’m big enough I’m going to look for
myypapa if he don’t come home."
baldina was delighted with the child’s company,
and took so much trouble to entertain him that he
remained quite content till night fell. Then his heart
grew very full; he wanted his mother.
In vain his new friend ave him fruit and candy,
toys and picture-books. e refused to be comforted,
{and at length forgot his manhood and criedloud and
ong.

Mrs. Stanard had prepared the landlady for this
by telling her of a poor lady who had been deserted
by her husband, and whose poverty induced her to
partd with her child, which, she added, she intended
to a opt.
Dolf’s loud cries and heavy sobs therefore at-
tracted no attention, and he at length cried himself
to sleep in a very handsome brass cot which had
been purchased for him by his new mamma.
His tears wet the beautiful rose-colored silk quilt,
and his little face was swollen and disfigured, but
he was still, at last, with a bunch of the lace which
trimmed his linen pillow grasped in his fat fist.

“ May I see him?’ asked the landlady, as she stole
in on tip-toe, curious to see " the baby.”
“ Yes,” replied Ubaldina, who sat by the crib with
the as turned down very low, scarcely daring to
breat e for fear of disturbing her treasure.
" He’s a lovely boy. It must have broken the
mother’s heart to give him 11 .”

“ She felt it of course, but hush !” Dolf stirred.
“ Come away,” whispered the landlady. “He

You are a little

“ How do you know?”

Ubaldina‘s ignorance on the subject of children
was simply complete. The landlady knew this and
took advantage of it.

“ Why, bless you, ain’tI raised six, and two little
blessed angels in Calvar ? I knows them.”

So Uhaldiiia followed er to the parlorand listened
to the. history of all the six from their births up.
How they took one ailment after the other till it
seemed incredible that they could still live and move
and have their being.

Ubaldina allowed her to talk on, and told her a
straight story about the boy which perfectly agreed
with what the landlady was able to extract from the
“prett dear” next day, by dint of what would be
terme by opposing counsel in court—“ leading
questions.”

.follaed by her mother.

His mother loved him because he was her

people, who

a frown.

bounty.”

with angry strides, her thin red lips pressed close to-
gether, her eyes flashing.

guardian may come to New York.”
“ Her guardian will do nothing of the sort. He
has not forgiven her for taking her moneywut of his
hands and giving it to her uncle.”
“ She may call upon her uncle.
is impracticable."

Sura bit her lips savagely.

“ I wish she had heart-disease also,” she said, with

No, your scheme

“ She has not. You will have to depend upon her

“Never!”
She sprang from her chair and paced the floor

“ I hate her!” she hissed.
“ I know you do.”

Dolf cried all the next day and most of the next
night—refused to eat, and droopcd so visibly that
his adopted mother grew frightened.

In the afternoon of the following day, however,
her husband appeared. Dolf knew him, and was
delighted to see him.

“ Will you take me to mamma?” he asked, eagerly
catching Stanard’s hand in his.

“Noz dear; mamma has gone away to look for
a a.’

1901f buried his face 0n the seat of a chair and
w t bitterly. _

baldina looked on compassmnately. She was
already attached to the little fellow. He was such a
noble, manly child.

“ Will she find him?” he asked, after a long cry
had in a measure eased his full heart.

The Indian woman watched her daughter with
keenest interest. '
Another watched them both —— the detective
Knowles, but he could not understand one word of
the conversation, which was carried on in Spanish.
He had formed a hiding-place in a large closet, and

by rearranging some plac ues he mana ed to con-
ceal a smal
the wall.

opening whic he had easi y made in

There he spent weary hours. but could discover

“I hope so, Dolf; but this lady is your new

mamma. Don’t on love her?”
The boy raise his head and regarded Ubaldina
earnestly.

“ I love her,” he said, slowly, while tears streamed
down his cheeks; “but she ain’t pretty like my own
mamma.” '

A heartless laugh was Stanard’s reply to this un-
fortunate remark. _

Mrs. Stanard’s face took on its dull glow .which

weak thou h it was; it possessed
and grew and

enough, however, to make up her

 

eavy plush curtains .of a deepl maroon color; the
furniture was in keeping, and t

wall-hangings were dark.

e appearance of the

chamber was somewhat gloomy for the carpet and ‘

'd at! osscssed no taste in fitting up
heefll‘hrgiliieiit t2)y Kinder it cheerful or homelike; no

little
looked bare and melancholy.

nick-knacks betrayed a woman’s presence; it

The bed was a very large one and stood next to ?

the guest—chamber, iii the corner by the wall.

It was midni lit and the Indian woman was pre-
aring for rest? The hour chimed from the great
Ball clock. As the last stroke sounded, a shrill V0106

exclaimed :‘ I”
“ Randon Church was murdered.

Oello dropped the hair-brush she had been using,

and her heart stood still.
From whence did the words proceed?
From the wall near her bed!

i

Again came the ominous words, spoken slowly I

with an accusing ring in their mysterious accents:

arrangement to keep him away from the fire was se-
curely fastcncd— the. windows safe and the matches

had been open for a short time while the landlady’s

nothing. for Cello and her daughter habitually used
the Spanish tongue when they conversed to ether.

Oello's terror over the unseen accuser—~her midnigh
visitor. He knew the supposed spirit voice had struck
terror to her heart. .
But never had he been engaged on such a. pecuhar
case: he was baffled at every turn. ' '
He did not understand one word of Spanish, and
to save his life he could not have found a motive for
the crime, if any had been committed.

Church had died a natural death.

 

CHAPTER XI.
Dow’s NEW noun.

CrmiSTiNE's statement that she had only left
Dolf for a very short time was one that was excusa-
ble under the circumstances, but not strictly true.

Like most retty girls Christine had an admirer.
He was emp 0 ed in a grocery-store near her home,
and she sometimes lingered longer than was strictly
necessary to make her little purchases.

Elna’s absence gave the girl an opportunity to
visit the store where Fritz’s white apron and red
cheeks shone to such advantage. _

Dolf promised to be a good boy, and the Wire gauze

all put away in the closet, the key of which was in
Christine’s apron pocket. .

Under the circumstances, she thought she might
slip out and purchase a trifle from her blue~eyed
adorer. _

Alas! the moments flew so fast in his company
that half an hour passed, and when Christine re-
turned hastil . with an anxious face, to the room
where she ha left the boy, he was gone!

Some one had visited the rooms in her absence&
the child's cloak and hat were missing and one 0
his mittens lay on the floor, dropped lay whoever
took him away. . .

Christine, wild With net and fear, eagerly ques-
tioned the people in t 6 house, but they had not
seen or heard anything unusual. The house door

children watched a monkey which accompanied an
organ- rinder on his musical way up the street. so.
the child might have slipped out among the other
children, or some stranger might have shp m. _

Dolf was gone and did not return Scan; for him
proved vain; no trace or track could be discovered,
and Elna’s grief had settled into dumb despair
when her friend, Mr. Stanard, called upon her.

He was full of sympathy, of course. He was
hopeful, too; he cheered the or, forlorn little mo-
ther, and insisted that the 0y would. be found.
Skilled detectives must be set to work; no time
mustbe lost, and off started the anxmus friend to
find or rescue the lost child. _ _

Elna thanked him warmly, with tears .lIl her big,
childlike eyes, and flushes of hope coming and go-
ing on her pure cheeks. He left her cheered and
comforted by his visn; but nothing came of it.
Days passed. and weeks elapsed, and still the child
was not restored to its broken-hearted mother. _

When Christine left him the child had played With
his blocks contentedly till he heard a footstep, and
saw a stranger enter the room. “ ,

“Well. Dolf,” said the new-comer, where 3

One thing, however, Knowles had seen--t aowasvé v

Like the coroner, he began to think Randolf

always appeared when she was angry

“So your mamma is very pretty?” she said,

L‘  ’9’

“Nonsense, Uba. Ever
I remember when I fancie
beauty.” _ .

“ Oh! yes; no doubt it is natural.”_

She passed it ofi.’ lightly; but she did not forget it.
She instantly determined to ascertain, by question-
ing the child, whether her husband had been in the
habit of visiting his mother.

This was an easy matter, and the boy answered
readily all her questions as soon as her husband left
them alone together.

Yes—that man came often to see them. Every
day? Yes. ‘Did his mother like him? Oh, yes.

How long had he been coming?

Oh, along time— weeks and weeks.

Before his father left? _

Dolf paused before replying to this query, and
tried to remember.

Yes—-he concluded; the gentleman came before
his father left.

Was he sure?

Oh, es; he was sure. I

Uballiina hit her lips, savagely. She was furiously
jealous of that child’s-mother, and rightly guessed
that she must be beautiful. .

“ So this accounts for the ver mysterious ab-
sences from home,” she muttere .savagely as she
walked up and down, clinching her hand and biting
her Ii 8.

" I’l‘l hire some one to take care of the boy, and
I’ll follow him.” .

She determined upon this course and lost no time
in carrying out her resolve. The first thin to be
done was to secure a nurse for the child. e next
was to disguise herself. She could not do this in the
house without exciting remark, for the landlady was
of an observant nature.

Finally she concluded the best 'way would be to
engage a room in some other portion of the city.

This idea she acted on, but it involved her in fresh
difficulties. How was she to find her husband when
she knew none of his resorts?

She studied for some time and at length thought
the best thing she could do was to engage the ser-
vices of an assistant.

Little did she think how serious were the matters
and secrets she prepared herself to unriddle. _

The chance remark innocently made by the child
was the key which was fated to unlock the whole
secret of his father’s fate.

child thinks the same.
my mother was a regular

 

CHAPTER XII.
THE VOICE AT MIDNIGHT.

Tim false Ubaldina Church was not quite proof
against her mother’s superstitious fears.

when Oello ran to her room, two nights after she
paid her first visit and declared in an agony of ter-
ror that the spirit had agam invaded her apartment,
the girl rose and accom anied the Peruvian woman
to the room which 0e lo stoutly declared to be
haunted .

“ I do not understand how you can be so foohsh,”
she said, impatiently.

“ Well, come and see.” - ‘

They entered the gloomy chamber where the gas

' “ If you are nervous why do you turn down the
lights?”
The question came from Sura’s lips impatientlv.
‘ I don’t," replied her mother. with a terrified
glance at the chandelier where four gas jets feebly
Egrned. Sura looked at them with her keen, catlike
zc.

“ That is odd ” she said slow! . Th
were all turned oh full .’ ,  e burners
Suddenly from the corner of the room came the
accusmg VOice—the same terrible sentence. slowly
re leate :

‘Randoff ('Iwrclz was murdered 1'”
Oello grasped Sura’s arm in the intensity of her
fear, and her eyes grew so large they seemed start-
ing from their sockets.
The girl also looked frightened. She rallied, how-
ever: dragging her arm out of her mother’s hands,
sh‘e darted across the roomfexclaiming:
ets iSpme one IS hidden under the bed or in the clos-

Shc searched the room unsu . ,
there! ccessfully , no one was

Again the mysterious words came to the terrified
women, for Sara was as much alarmed as her moth-
eifi‘hThen a? was silent.

I e as 0 its own accdrd sprun u and burned
brightly, revealin the pale. alfrighgied) faces of the
Indian woman an her daughter.

“ Well!”

“Well, there is a way to account for all this."

“ Account for it, then.”

Oello was thoroughly imbued with the idea that a
s irit was the midnight accuser. but Sura was not.
S ie had been educated too well to accept such an
explanation of the mystery. '
“1 am gomg to search the next room,” she said,
resolutely.

Taking some matches from a stand upon the
drgssmg-table, she started.

That room is locked I think,” remarked Oello
following her daughter, or no ower on earth woul
hggmduced her to remain a one in the “haunted
“ No, it is open. See!”

Sura threw the door wide 0 on and advancing

boldly. struck a match and lit t e gas. The guest-

chamber stood revealed, silent and tenantless.

“There!”

Oello’s terrors had increased. The room had but

one door, that opening on the corridor, and no one

could have left the guest-chamber and passed the

open door of Oello’s room without being seen.

Sura. looked surprised, but was still of the opinion

that the accusing voice could be accounted for.

a “This is a tiick, I do not doubt,” she said, half

n 1'] y.

ello shrugged her shoulders. “You are like all

well—educated people—too wise to believe what you

hear and see.”

She spoke in a low, earnest tone, and looked as

she felt—thoroughly frightened.

“ I am convmced that a person, and not a ghost,

uttered those words.”

“ Where is the person, then?”

A large warbrobe stood on the further side of the

room. Sura resolutely walked across the floor and

Earning the key which was in the look, she threw it
pen.

It was empty!

“Well, I’m at my wits’ end to account for your
unpleasant midnight visitor, I admit,” she con-
fessed, as she turned out the gas and left the room,

s; how can it be any living person who

speaks?”

“ I fear that new girl.”

“ Sarah Brown?”

“ Yes,_Sa.rah Brown.”

“ She is an unnecessary servant to feed and pay,

but she is harmless.”

“ I don’t think so.”

They were now in Sura’s chamber, the door shut

and locked.

“ What harm can she do?”

“ She is Borrowdale’s niece.”

“Well, what of it?”

“ Borrowdale is a spy.”

“You don’t mean that he suspects an thing?” and

Oello’s death-pale face grew a shade w iter.

" Yes, he suspects something.”

“ What makes you think so?”

Sura glanced around her with a catlike caution

peculiar to her.

She need not have feared listeners, however, for

they spoke, as they always did when conversing

alone, in Spanish.

“Yesterday,”she went on to say, “I was going

out, and as 1 came down-stairs Borrowdale and the

butler were in the hall talking. They did not hear

my footsteps and I caught a ragment of their con-

versation.”

“ What was it?”

The Indian was excited: her eyes blazed with an

anxious, feverish light, and her thin lips were parted.

At that moment the resemblance between mother

and daughter was absolutely startling.

“It was this—or rather this was all I heard: the

valet said ‘ I’ve been so frightened I’d be discharged

but they don’t suspect ;’ and the butler said, ‘Eveni

they did. it’s Mrs. Church who has all the say;’ and

Bormwdale answered, ‘ Yes, but she would be angry

if she thought I knew anything and kept it to my-

self.’ So, you see. they do suspect something, and

we are surrounded by dangers. ’
Oello reflected silently. “ I’m afraid to trust Ubal-

dina, and I dread Ernest.”

“What do you mean?” ,

“He is tired of her, and she is madly jealous of

him. If he makes her angry she will pause at noth-

in to have her revenge.”

ura laughed scornfully ——a joyless, heartless

laugh.
“ As I said before, my mind is made up; my feet

are on the athway to fortune; I’ll never turn aside;

I defy Uba dina!”
0e lo's fears were stronger, for she dreaded un-

known, unseen powers
No sleep visited the burning eyes of the-plotters

that ni ht. They tossed uneasily upon the downy

couch t ey shared, for Oello refused to return to her

own chamber.
The weight of a black crime is not easily borne,

and no truer words were ever spoken than these:
“ The way of the transgressor is hard I”

(To be oontinued—cqnmenced in No. 83.)

 

Interesting Foreign Facts.

 

IT is estimated that the ravages of wolves in
France cause an annual damage of 50,000,000
francs, or about $10,000,000.

PROFESSOR BOUCHARDAT attributes to the
vine powerful sanitary properties. He asserts
that wherever it is cultivated to any consider-
able extent there is a very sensible diminution
of intermittents. The virtue is attributed to
the action of the vine on the eflluvia which
cause fevsrs.

OUT of a total area of nearly 21,000,000 acres
the woods and copses of Ireland are now less
than 330.000 acres. In Great Britain out of
nearly 57,000,000 acres, 2,500,000 acres are now
thus returned. The forests of Europe are es-
timated to 00ver 500,000,000 acres, or nearly 20
per cent. of the surface of the Continent.

CANCER is increasing in Great Britain to an
alarming extent. The records of the Registrar
General‘s office show that there were 80,049
deaths from this disease during the ten years
from 1860—1869 inclusive, the annual average
being 248. During the years 1870—1879 the total
number of deaths from cancer was 111 301, and
the annual average was 320. Commercial pros-
perity and its corollary good living, are inti-
mately associated with the manifestations of
cancer. The disease finds its victims among the
rich rather than the poor.

PERHAPS the most curious battalion in an
army is the Norwegian Corps of Skaters. It IS
composed of picked men armed with rifles,
which they use with great precision. The skates
used are admirably adapted for traveling over
rough and broken ice and frozen snow, being
six inches broad, and between nine and ten
inches long. The soldiers can be maneuvered
upon the ice or over the snow-fields of the
mountains with a rapidilz equal to that of the
best trained cavalry; s an instance of the
speed at which they can go, it is stated that a
messenger attached to the-corps has accom-
plished 120 miles in eighteen hours and a half,
over mountains. . ‘

FARMERS in England are taking to beet-
growing. In Norfolk thev have undertaken to
grow this season at least 900 acres of sugar-beet
from selected seed, and on the faith of this an
association has been formed, which. long before
the beet is ready, will have $100,000 worth of
plant on the ground ready to make sugar as
fast as the rows come in. The farmer will get
$5 a ton for the white beet delivered at the
works, and as he can grow from fifteen I to
twenty tons to the acre he will, after allowmg
for heavy manuring and all cost of land, labor,
Seed, and transport, be able to reckon. even in
an indifferent season, upon a return of at least
$15 an acre, which must seem to him, after re-
cent experience, “ wealth beyond the dreams
of avarice,” as Doctor J obnson said of the rev-

 

burued low.

 

mamma?”

enues of Barclay’s brewery.

A DEAD POET.

BY EBEN E. REXFORD.

 

I saw him, where the tall ferns grew,
Bend down With low and loving word
To a shy flower, whose eye of blue
Smiled gladly when his voice was heard:
For there are men whose souls are kin
To every little flower they meet;
The trees’ great arms would fold them in.
And tell them secrets strange and sweet.
They hold communion with the wind,
And understand the birds and brooks,
And life’s best happiness they find
In reading out of Nature’s books.

Such man as this was he who saw
In that shy blossmn in the shade
The working of a changeless law—-
God’s love for what His hands had made.

He died; and o‘er his grave there grew
So many flowers there scarce was room

For one dear bird whose song he knew
To build its nest upon his tomb.

The wind sung softly, morn and night,
Above the poet’s resting-place,

And Nature bent in love to write
Her benedictions o‘er his face.

There, with the sweet companionship
Of things he loved, he rests to-day,
With kiss of peace upon his lip, .
And what he dreams of, who shall say?

Kit Fox,

The Border Boy Detective;

on,

Wilda, the Brand-Burner’s Daughter.

BY JOSEPH E. BADGER, JR.,

AUTHOR or “ MONTE mi,” “ son’wnsr NICK,” “ Kiss
or THE aus'rmas,” ETc., ETC.

CHAPTER X.
TWO or A KIND.

WITH a sound that resembled the snarl of

some wild beast rather than aught human; Carl

Wesendorf jerked a revolver from his belt and

faced the point from whence that mocking

voice proceeded, his face white and hard as that

of a corpse, his eyes glowing like balls of living

fire. He knew that his brutal murder had been

witnessed, and he was more than ready to

cover that crime by another of the same crim-
son dye.

“Show yourself, curse you!” he grated, sav-
agely, glaring around for a glimpse of the
mocker. “ One or a dozen. I don’t—”

“Two to one you don’t burn powder, old
man!” added the same voice, as the speaker
stepped into the open, confronting the assassin
with unarmed hands.

It seemed a foolhardy action, for swift as
thought the revolver covered him, but instead
of firing, Carl lVesendorf staggered back a
pace, lowering his weapon and averting his
face, no longer white with fear, but red as the
sunset glow.

He recognized his son, Victor YVesendorf, and
in the first glow of shame, he would ratherhave
faced a dozen of his most bitter enemies. Vil-
lain though he was, utterly unscrupulous in
his dealings with his fellow-men, his hands and
soul stained with a thousand crimes, Carl
Wesendorf had one redeeming virtue: his love
for his son. ‘

Many a lie had he told, many a devious trail
carefully hidden in order to keep his blackest
deeds from the knowledge of his son. Living
together as they did, it was impossible for him
to conceal everything, but Carl Wesendorf be-
lieved that, until now, the fact of his being at
the head of a regularly organized gang of
brand—burners was the darkest crime his boy
could positively charge him with.

“ W ell, you are a terror, gov’nor!” exclaimed
Victor, showing not the slightest trace of aver-
sion for the criminal or pity for his victim.
“ As neatly erformed as I could have done it
myself! 1 Dan Masters, wasn’t it?”

“He jumped on me—tried to stab me in the
back, and I killed him before I thought,” fal—
tered the father, flushing vividly as his son
laughed mockingly.

“Too thin, old fellow—decidedly too gauzy!
I saw the whole performance, and I’m glad of
it, too, for now I begin to see that there is some-
thin of the ‘pure quill’ in you yet!”

“ f you saw all, you must have heard me
charge him with treachery. He was going to
sell us out—had alread betrayed some of our
secrets to a cursed bloo hound—”

“That’s all right,” coarsely interrupted Vic-
tor. “Never oifer excuses for performing a
good deed. Dan ought to have left the world
long ago, and the legislature should vote you a.
medal for ridding Wilbarger of the buzzard.”

“ Then you don’t—it won’t make any differ-
ence—” _

Carl Wesendorf choked at the words he
wished to utter, but there was expression
enough in his yearning eyes to tell Victor his
meaning. lVith a gay, careless laugh, he
grasped the trembling hand, saying:

“Lord love you, gov’nor! I think all the
more of you for this little agricultural exploit.
We’re two of a kind, now—twins, rather than
father and son. But how about this horse?”

Carl Wesendorf had partially recovered his
wonted composure, and as Victor glanced to-
ward the animal ridden thither by the dead
.man, he replied promptly enough:

“Turn him loose and bury the trappings.
There’ll not be many questions asked concern-
ing Dan, for he had neither friends nor rela-
fives.”

This part of the business was quickly per-
formed. The bridle was tied to the saddle, and
with a long pole they were sunk deep in the
mire, the pole bein withdrawn and cast aside.

“ That disposes 0 him forever,” muttered the
sheriff. ,

“ If the job I’ve got on hand was as readily
managed, I’d give a pretty penny! You must
lend me a helping hand, gov!”

“You’ve been getting into another scrape,
Victor? Nothing really dangerous, I hope!”
hastily asked the sherifl’.

“ Not to me,” with a. short laugh. “ It may
end in a hanging-match, though, if things don t
work just right.”

“ So long as you don’t play the principal part
it matters little to me,” replied Wesendorf, with
an air of strong relief. “ Of course I’ll help you
all I can, but let’s get out of this hole first.
Song? one else may stumble on us, as you did on
me.

“I saw you a couple of miles off, but you
didn’t hear me call. As I needed your help, I
struck across to cut you ofif, and—you know the
rest,” carelessly uttered Victor.

Careful] covering over the little patch of
blood, Car Wesendorf followed the lead of his
promising ofl’s ring, who soon reached the spot
where he had eft his horse. He mounted, and
as .tbe rode away from the swam where the
dead rand- burner lay buried, ictor spoke
ra idly.

e told how it came about that Ernest Gale
and Calvin Taylor had a fight, which ended in
the death of too latter.

“ You never saw a man so thoroughly broken
up over a little thing like that, in all your life,”
he added, .with a hard laugh. “It wouldn’t
_ take much more to make the weak boy 0 clean
off his base. He looks on me as the on y thing
that stands between him and the gallows. Ah,
whisky, you’re the divill”

“You want me to do what? Help prove an
alibi?" asked the deputy sheriff, a shade of
anxiety darkening his eyes. “ If any one but
you had been with him, Victor 1”

“I’m mighty glad it happened just so!” do-
clared Victor, his voice growing more earnest,

 

 

 

one hand on his parent’s arm. “ Gov’nor, you
know how set I’ve been on corraling that dainty
bit, Wilda Gale. You know, too, that she gave
me the shake—that not even the.arguments of
the old man, urged on by your influence over

 

 

 

 

 

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