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Mr. Stamford had a very pompous manner; he
had acquired the. reputation, among people who
were not sharp enough to see. through him, of p03-
sessing great wisdom. He was slow in giving his
opinion for the reason that itis hard to express what
one hasn’t got.

To this gentleman Mabel went in her desperate
need of a e unselor.

Mr. Stamford was at home and received Miss Nel-
soniii his library.

lie received her with a manner pleasingly oom-
biiied of patronage of the poor relation, blended
with politeness due. to the representative of a rich
and important family.

Mabi l timidly told her story.

Mr. Stamford opened his well‘fed eyes in incredu—
lous amazement. Like all stupid people, he was
averse to believing that any person, place, or thing-,
was at all different. from what he had alwa s sup-
posed it to he. lie detested changes and innova-
tions; they disarranged his very small stock of ideas
and forced him to form new Opinions,

“ Why, you amaze me, Miss Nelson l” he gasped,
staring stupidly before him like a baffled ox.

“ Yes, I was very much surprised myself, and the
responsibility seemed so great that I thought I was
justified in Seeking your advice.”

“ Quite rightmperfectly right," assented the wise
man, pleased wit l tliishomiige.

“ What shall I do now, sir?"

Mr. Stamford was nonpliiscd, but. he. possessed
sufficient of the acumen of his profession to conceal
the fact,

“ \Vell, my dear lady, I advise you to wait, We
must investigate this claim and wait.”

“ But no one has advanced any claim, and Mrs.
Church is dying!" said Mabel, with a fear of the
man‘s incapacity to advise her faintly dawning in
her mind.

“ lint you can‘t rush matters, my good lady. You
have only the inerest shred of evidence, and all
we can do is to wait—”

“Wait for what?” asked Mabel, in bewilderment.

“Why, this woman will come forward if she has
any claim," explained Mr. Stamford, impatiently.

“ You cannot tell. Randolf may have married
under an assumed name. ”

Such a thought. would never have entered Mr.
Stamford ‘s head, but be grasped it and adopted it
as his own.

“ Exactly. and therefore I say—wait.”

“ But, Mrs. Church may die and never know that
she has a grandson ”

“ Well, if she does not, I cannot see that the de-
privation will have any injurious effect.”

“ but the injustice! Miss Church expects to in-
herit everything, and it is shameful that Randolf’s
wife and child are perhaps in poverty.”

“Miss Church is only one of Mrs. Church’s heirs-
at-law.”

“I know, but I think my aunt will most likely
leave the bulk of her fortune to my cousin, for she
does not like me.”

“Nonsense, my good lady! You are her sister’s
daughter, while iSs Church is only her husband’s
niece.

“ Nevertheless, she dislikes me,” persisted Mabel,
with usigh. It pained her to he disliked.

“I think you are. mistaken.”

“No, I am not, sir, but I need not take up any
more of your time,”

She bade the. lawyer farewell. with a haunting
fear that he. was a pompous fOol in her mind—the
mere thought. seeming like sacrilege.

“He’ll do nothing ” she decided, in her despair,
"and my aunt will die and never know.”

That night she scarcely slept. She. was tortured
hv the thought that Randolf Church’s wife and
child were suffering.

Her helplessness made her feel half-distracted.

What was she to do?

Toward morning she slept and dreamed. and,
strange to say, she dreamed of Borrowd ale—dreamed
that he found his master’s wife and child in great
distress.

“The very thingl” she said, on awakening in the
morning.

“Borrowdale may know something of Randolf’s
marriage. I’ll ask iin.”

It was a somewhat difficult matter to arrange an
interview with Borrowdale, for their talk must ne-
cessarily be private.

Chance favored her, however and she succeeded
in requesting the. valet to meet her in Mrs. Flutter's

arlor.
p The housekeeper was occupied, and they would
be alone for at least half an hour.

Mabel was seated in Mrs Flutter‘s easy-chair
when Borrowdalc entered the room. He wore a
grave face, and had he not been such a well-bred
servant would have. allowed the astonishment he
felt, by being requested to meet Mabel, to appear.

“ You wished to seenie. Miss Nelson?” he said, re-
spect fully, after closing the (icor.

“Yes lloirowdale. I am very much troubled by
soineth ng which I became aware of accidentally
shortly before Mr. Church’s death."

“ Yes, miss."

“ liorrowdale, you know that Mr. Church's for-
tune would bc his aou’s, if he had one?”

“ Certainly, miss.”

llorrowda o had great command over his face,
otherwise he would have suffered his thoughts to
find expression then, and his thought was—”Miss
Mabel has gone mad.”

“ \Vell, Borrowdale, don’t you think it is very
wrong for us to allow Mrs. Church to leave her
money and her son’s money to Miss Church, when
he left a wife and child?” -

Mabel was talking this way with a purpose. She
wished to awaken Borrowdale’s conscience, and she
felt sure the valet. knew all about his master’s mar-
ria e.

‘ A wife and child, miss?”

The utter helplessness and bewilderment of the
valet were so apparent that Mabel saw that she had
been mistaken. The man was not in his master’s
confidence.

“Excuse me for speaking in that way,” she went
on, at once. “I fancied you knew Mr. Church was
married.”

“Upon my honor, I did not,” responded the valet,
proniptl V. “ But, Miss Nelson. I think you are mis-
taken. It cannot be. possible that he was.”

“ He told me so himself,” answered Mabel, firmly.

Borrowdale knit his brows; he seemed endeavor-
ing to think something out.

“ Well, Miss Nelson, you amaze me ” he said,
slowl ; “but where are the wife and child ?”

“T at’s what I cannot tell.”

“ If he was married I should think his wife would
come here to inquire for him, and to claim her
r' hts.”

" But Mr. Church’s marriage wasa secret one and
he may, out of consideration for his mother, ave
married under an assumed name.”

“It is possible,” assented Borrowdale, thought-
fully; ” but if that is the case,'Miss Mabel, what are
we to do?”

Mabel did not reply, for she was in the position of
one who sought advice; she did not offer it.

“ The defective would say this threw a new light
on the. subject.”

The valet had unwittingly thought aloud.

" What detective?” asked Mabel, in amazement.

“ Why. miss, you know there was one here the day
Mr. Church’s body was found."

“ ilorrowdale, what is youridea about Mr. Church’s
death?”

Mabel’s face was very pale and grave, and her tone
was very impressive.

liorrowdalc rubbed his chin: he had lived in high-
toned families all his life, and he had learned that
the first duty of a welltraincd servant is to repress
liiiiiself—~-t,o lie dumb, deaf, and blind.

“ Why. miss,” said he evasively, “you know the
coroner said he died of heart-disease; it is in the
family.” , ,

.“I know it is; my mother (lied of it; but Mr.
Church was such a young, healthy man.” '

Borrowdalc looked at Miss Nelson for fully a min-
ute. He. was at a loss to know how he should act.
The. detective. had virtually abandoned the case. _He.
had almost come around to the coroner s opinion,
but Borrowdalc and the butler had not. ' _

The valet was helpless. Knowles. in 1118- capacny
of Sarah Brown, had accomplished very little. He
had frightened ()ello*tliat was all, and that proved
nothing. _ _

Miss Nelson had always been such a nonentity in
the. house that it seemed strange to appeal to her for
advice or assistance, but Borrowdale had little choice.
in the matter. She was already aware of some im-
portant secrets: in fact, she knew more than he did,
for she knew that Randolf had left a wife and child.
She was a. good woman, and must be, Borrowdale
reflected, a very sensible one to hold her tongue so

n .
lofknowlw has left me in the lurch,” he said to
himself. “ I’ll make a clean breast of the whole
business to Miss Nelson.”

He did so. He told her of his own andthe butler’s
sus icions—~of the detectivc’s presence in the house
an vain attempt to extort some eVidence from. the
Indian woman’s guilty fears. Mabel listened With a
very pale face and firmly-closed lips. She expressed
neither sur irise nor anger when the valet spoke of
the liberty he. had taken in thus introducmg a. detec-

ouse.
"Yfl’fiitg‘ifou m own res onsibility, Miss Mabel,”
he said in com- usion, “ or I could not rest till I
found out whether my master met With foul play
or not. I loved him.”

“ You did right, Borrowdalc. I am glad you feel
as I do on the subject, for I have always believed my
cousin was murdered. \Ve Will Work tegetl’er to
clear up the m stery, for I can speak ybpanisha I
have never usec it since I came here. heither Miss
Church nor the nurse know that_l understand it.
Send for your detective and I Will aSSist him. I,
too, loved my cousin, and please God we may Y?t
learn the terrible secret of that death in the pawl-
ion.” , .,

(To be conlin(zed—commenced in No. 8-3.)

 

Stories Told in the Round-House.

BY J. C. COVVDRICK.

 

 

The Lindenfield Ghot.

. “ SO. Tom Kingsland on are oi

1.1%“ ,Plary Sbgrpl are, I)iou?" sagid 0623:5137

e ou’ve e ‘ ' ' '
Sm]. at,IyyhOW!” en keeping the thing mighty
' “ That’s the Programme, I believe ” answered
Tom, a heartylooking young engineer, “but,
3’ 011 See I couldn’t very well tell you before. be—
caUSe I wasn’t sure of it myself till I tackled
Uncle Billy about it last Sunday, as he just told
fifnu- Jim“; as] get 3&1 invitation to the wed-

g. u 0 s, an ‘
un‘dfifik?‘ $011 my“), there ll be lots of cream

‘ el , om,” said Jim Hardin anoth ‘
0f tile group. “ all I can say i? that Erhd’lil‘g
a-gomg to. marry the finest gal on the whole
line of this road, and I wish you luck. And
110W. hOyS, as we’ve got the thing agoing, I
move that we call on Tom for the next story.”

. And I second the motion!” was the exclam-
ation heard on every hand,

“ Boys," said Joe Carter, rising, “it has been
regularly moved and seconded that Tom Kings-
land be called on to tell us a story. Are you
ready for the question?”

:‘ Question l” they cried.

‘All in favor of the motion will please to
hold up their right hand,” said Joe, and every
right hand in the room was raiscd, Tom’s ex-
cepted of course.
n()'t:iBoys,’I’ said he, :ylrgu’ve taken me at short

ce. never 0 a arn ' '
“’ouldn’t know how to beginy.” m my hfe.

“Oh, come now, that won’t do! We don’t
expect a high-toned story like they print in the
papers. but just some little adventure of your
own. Something that we know is all true,
and not just a .lot of far-fetched, made-up
stuff.”

“Did I ever tell you about the ghost the
boys used to see on the D. L. &; V. line?"
.tI":No!” was the unanimous shout, “let’s hear
1

“I was fireman on that road at the time,”
Tom began, “and was firing for Billy Taylor
on the Fast Freight. Billy was one of the best
fellows you ever saw. He was a doctor by
trade—or profession, but it didn’t suit him. so
he had given it up, learned to be a machinist,
and at last had taken to running an engine.

“ It used to be fun, I tell'you. to see the boys
go_ to Billyr when they got sick, explain their
ailings to him, and then to see him, all grease
and dirt, write out a prescription for them.
But he was no slouch of a doctor, Billy wasn’t,
and many a big bill be saved some of the boys
when they had sickness in their families, for
he would never take a cent of pay. He was an
engineer, he said, and got paid for it; but he
was a doctor to his friends without pay.

. “ There was an engineer on the road at that

time called Sleepy Dan. He was the sleepiest
mortal 'you ever saw. He had a sleepy look
about him even when he was wide awake; but
when he was asleep—well, he was asleep. Poor
fellow, he’s dead and gone, but; I must say that
he could sleep longer and sounder, and snore
louder than any other man I ever saw or heard
tell of.
.“ Why, be used to fall asleep right on his en-
gine. The firemen all knew his way though,
and looked out for him, otherwise there’s no
knowing the amount of mischief he wouldn’t-
have made.

“ I‘ve been out with him myself when, no
sooner would he leave a station than he’d fall
asleep, and then I’d have to wake him up for the
next one. It was his nature; he couldn’t help
it any more than he could fly.

“ But he got a fireman at last who Swore he’d
break on his sleeping on duty, or break his
neck. Poor devil, I’ll bet he’ll think of those
words as long as he lives.

“ One night they were out on their run, and
Dan fell asleep as usual. The fireman lighted a
red lantern, carried it around the front. of the
engine and placed it on the end of the running—
board of the engineer’s. Then he got back into
the cab again, and taking hold of the whistle—
rope he pulled an awful blast. Dan woke up
with a start, saw the red light right in front of
him, and thinking no doubt that he wasjust
about to crash into the rear end of a train he
jum ed out at the cab window. _

“ he fireman had only wanted to scare him a
little, and didn’t for a moment imagine that
any harm would come of it, but when he stop-

ed the train and they went back and picked
Ban up he was dead.

“ The engineer who took Dan’s run the next
night naturally thought of the poor fellow when
he came near to the spot where he was killed,
and you may imagine how he felt when he saw
something white come up on the track ahead of
him, stop for a second, and then cross over and
disappear. '

“ Of course he said at once that it was Sleepy
Dan’s ghost, and the report soon got noised
around that that part of the road was haunted.
Every once in a while some one would see the
ghost, and after Billy Taylor and I were put
on the Fast Freight it became our turn to see it
too.

“ The place where the ghost appeared was at
an old road crossing, about a mile from the town
of Lindenfield. We were going down the grade
there pretty lively, one night when suddenly we
saw the ghost come out of the woods and step
up on the track. It; stood there for a. moment
or so, and then it crossed over and disappeared.
We were not very close to it, but we could see
its shape well enough. It appeared to be a man
clothed in a long white g0wn. Abouta week
later we saw it again, and then for a. month or
two we didn’t see anything of it at all.

“ We saw it again at last, however, one

stormy night, but instead of crossing on over
the track as before, it stood still right in our
wa .
“yBilly called for brakes and plugged his en-
gine, but the rail was wet and he could not stop
in time to avoid striking the ghost. We were
hardly moving though when we did strike it,
and merely pushed it cfl‘ the track.

“ Billy and I jumped down and ran to it, and
there in her night-dress was a young and beau-
tiful woman.

“ lVe helped her to her feet, and she asked us
where she was. Billy told her, and she began
to weep. She said she wasin the habit of walk—
ing in her sleep, and seemed to be really fright-
tened when she realized the danger she had been

in. .

“ ‘ Where do you live?’ asked Billy.

“ ‘ Only a short distance down this old road,’
she answered, and then she begged Billy to take
her home.

“ ' Certainly I will,’said he. ‘Do you sup-
pose I would leave you here alone?’

“At that moment the conductor came run-
ning up to see what was the matter. Billy soon
explained it; to him,‘ and said:

“ ‘ You’ll have to send your flagman out fora.
few minutes, Dick, till I take this lady back to
her home.’ _

“ ‘ Can’t do it!’ the conductor exclaimed.
‘ This train is late now, and we must go on.
The lady came here alone; let her go_ back the
same way. Get on your engine, Sir, and go
ahead 1’

“Billy was so mad that I could see the fire
snap out of his eyes. . ’

“ ‘You can do as you please about gomg on,
he said, ‘ but I am not going a turn of the
wheels away from here till I see this lady safe
with her friends. But the best thing you can
do is to at your flagman out and protect the
train tilFI come back.’ And be led the lady
away down the road.

“ Lordy, but wasn’t that conductor mad!

“ ‘ Torn,’ he said to me, ‘ take hold of that en-
gine and run her through.’ _

“ ‘ Can’t do it,’ I replied. ‘ Firemen are not
allowed to handle engines on this road.’ '

“ Wasn’t be mad! He just fairly got right
up and howled. '

“ Billy came back in about twenty minutes,
and we went on.

“ But a day or two later he got one of those

i
:3

‘come-andssee-me ’ letters from the superinten-
dent. He' went down to the office, and there
he met his conductor, who had reported the
whole affair.

“ The superintendent repeated the report as
the conductor had made it to him and then
asked:
tht‘;’Mr. Taylor, what have you got to say to

is

“‘It is all true,’ said Billy, ‘true in every
particular.’

“ ‘ And you offer no excuse?’

:: :vacluse for What i’

e i, say for disobeyin our conductor.’

“‘Well,’ said Billy, ‘the gully excuse I can
offer for that is, if he had not sense enough to
know that he should see the lady to a place of
safety after his train had come within a hair’s
breadth of killing her, I had to act for him.’

“ ‘ Very ood,’ said the superintendent.
‘ Now, Mr. ells,’ to the conductor, ‘ can you
give any excuse for not seeing the lady to her
home after having almost run over her?’

“ ‘The lady could walk,’ said Wells, ‘ and she
knew the way to her home; and to take her
there was only a waste of time.’

“ ‘ Do you think so?’

“ ‘I do. Besides, the rules are very strict,
and the delay had to be reported; and you have
often said that no ordinary excuse will be ac-
cepted for departing from the rules.’

“ ‘Then you thought such an excuse would
be but ordinary?’

“ ‘ I certainly did.’

“ ‘Suppose the lady had been your wife or
your mother, how then?’

“ The conductor’s face flushed. He could not
answer.

“‘ Mr. Wells,’ said the superintendent, ‘ we
can give orders, and we can issue rules and reg-
ulations which, in the main, we expect to have
obeyed; but: we cannot possibly provide our
employees with brains and common sense. If
you had run over a cow or a horse, no doubt
you would have carried out the rules and de-
layed your train while you found the owner of
the animal, or put it out of its misery by knock-
ing it on the head with an axe; but having al-
most killed a lady you would leave her there
for the next train to run over. Mr. Taylor’s
action in this case was right.’

“ I tell you, boys, that fellow felt as cheap
as dirt.

“ After that I noticed that Billy had a good
dealof business at Lindenfield. He used to go
down there almost every Sunday.

“ At last he resigned his position on the road,
and I didn’t see him again for a year or more.

“I got to firing on an Express train after
awhile, and one day we had a special car for
Washington in our train.

“I happened to pass by it in the depot be-
fore we staried, when out from it stepped Billy
Taylor, as large as life.

“ Lordy, but be was tony!

“ He knew me the minute he saw me though,
and grasped right hold of my hand, black as it
was. He made me go into the car with him,
and there, boys, sat the lady who had played
the ghost in her sleep. Wasn’t she abeautyl
Well, she just was, and dressed like a prin-
cess.

“ ‘ Laura,’ said Billy, ‘this is Tom, my old
fireman. Tom, my wife,’

“ There was an old gentleman in the car too,
who he said was Senator Billows.

“ The long and the short of it was, boys, the
Lindenfield ghost was the only daughter of
Senator Billows, and Billy had married her.

“And now, Jim Harding, you got me into
telling a yarn, so it's your turn next.”

 

 

Her Willfulness.

BY MARY REED CROWELL.

 

 

FLOYD WARREN, grave, handsome, aristo-
cratic from his loosely-curling blonde hair to
his well-shaped feet, stood leaning against the
olive velvet, crimson - and - gold - and - blue em~
broidered lambrequin that draped the mantle
in his sister’s pretty little boudoir, and listened,
without the vestige of a smile, to her energetic
remarks, although a curiously mischievous spirit
lurked in his hazel eyes.

“ It’s too horridly reckless for anything!”
Mrs. St. Cyr exclaimed, tanning herself. “ En-
gaged to a girl you know so very little about!
Oh, Floyd, Floyd. I would never have imagined
you could be so silly.”

Then Mr. Warren smiled, and although, as a
rule, men, and men of thirty-five, do not par-
ticularly enjoy a. “ going over ” by their sisters,
he resigned himself with amused patience to his

 

temporary punishment.

So he stood his ground, his arms folded, lean-
ing lightly against the mantle, and looked down
upon Mrs. St. Cyr, pretty, golden haired, bright-
eyed. and a year~old matron of twenty-two.

“ No, I don’t suppose I know much more
about her than Philip did when he married
you, Beth, but—we all have to take our risks,
you know.”

“ But to think she is a poor, common girl—”

“Not uite,” be interrupted, good-naturedly.
“ Poor, admit, but not ‘ common ’ according
to your rendition of the term. She is a work-
ingtgirl. and is employed from eight to seven
in Madame Fromard’s hair emporium, and she
lives in a. tenement~house on Eighth avenue
with her parents—top floor, too. And her
name is Ida Inglis. And now you know all

on are likely to know of the future Mrs. Floyd
Warren, until she appears in the actual role of
sistervin-law to your Serene majesty.”

Mrs. St. Cyr frowned—and a most charming
little frown it was, too.

“ You are very considerate! Perhaps you
didn’t know you haven’t informed me that she
is beautiful as an angel, graceful as a gazelle?
They always are. you know!”

Her awful sarcasm fell as powerless as water
on a duck’s back.

“ Beautiful! Graceful! Beth, you ought to
see her! IVhy—”

And then Mrs. Beth shrugged her white or-
gand y shoulders.

“ Spare me, I beg!”

While at the selfsame moment, in the plain,
comfortable, yet almost shabby little parlor on
the top floor of No. 999 Eighth avenue, Mrs.
Inglis, pale, faded and jaded with the cares of
life, and the forever struggling to make impos-
sible ends meet, listened ecstatically to Ida’s
announcement of an engagement between her-
self and Floyd “’arren.

“ It’s too good to be true, dear! Only to
think, you’ll have a beautiful home, and every-
thing you want, and—money to buy what you
need! He is a gentleman, and so handsome,
with position and dignity. _Ida, darling, you
ought to be a proud, happy girl!”

And then Ida laughed—and such a laugh as
she had, like rippling cascades of silvery water,
or the sweet, soft murmur of a summer breeze
in a wood—it reminded you of anything that
was lovely and merry in its grave solemness.

“ Of course I am proud and happy, mamma
——naturally a girl would be under the circum-
stances, but—mamma! you must not think I
feel honored by Mr. Warren’s preference—no
man’s gracious preferences would make me feel
that I was honored. It is I who honor him!”

And the rich crimson leaped to Ida. Inglis’s
ivory —fair cheeks and a defiant flash to her eyes
that Mr. Floyd Warren had certainly not seen
there yet!

“And I had actually feared you were be-
coming interested in Paul Crawford! I am so
thankful, dear!”

“ Paul Crawford! As if I ever cared for him
beyond the fact of his being the best dancer in
the crowd, mammal”

“ Nor would Mr. Warren approve of him,
dear, he—” ‘ .

And then Ida. stooped over and Silenced the
mother with a loving little kiss.

“ I kn0w just what you mean, mamma dear—
Floyd would not approve of him, nor would 1,
except in the most conventional way. But one
thing is sure and certain, it would not do for
Floyd to presume to dictate to me about his

 

likings or dislikings, or my tastes or distastes.

 

He must take me as I am—Ida Inglis just as Ida
Inglis is, or—let me entirely alone!”

And in answer to Mrs. Inglis’s appalled look
Ida laughed merrily.

“ am an anomaly, am I not? And a dread-
ful creature, I know.”

“I wouldn’t have a hair of your head differ-
ent, darling—you are my dutiful, loving, noble
daughter!”

And with a warm glow in her heart, Ida went
off to} her daily work—such an “ anomaly,”
really, as she called herSelf. Proud, sensitive,
passmnate, honorable, truthful and independ-
ent despite her sensitiveness, frank and free,
cold and sarcastic by turns, she was like a hu-
man kaleidoscope, a character worth closest
study, well worth warmest interest and eager
Winning.

“ Love him? Love him f” she thought to her-
self—“ indeed I love him with all my heart and
soul and strength. The question is—does he love
me? And can I retain him always?”

' But with Floyd Warren’s nature—grave, posi—
tive, steady and firm as a rock bedded in the
sea—and hers, an inharmonious jarring was
suge tirgome at one tinAe or another.

11 1 came on one ugust moonli ht ni h ,
when Mr. Warren picked up an invitEtion gull
lying on the table in the Inglis parlor.

“Of course you’ll not go, Ida,” he said.

“ What! Not go to the moonlight dance at
Fern Dale?" she answered, quickly. “Why
should n’t I? All the other girls are going.”

“ It will be rather a promiscuous crowd.”

“But I am not an aristocrat, you know,” she
retorted, coolly.

“No, dear, that isn’t what I mean. But—I
understand the Judyth sisters, and the Craw-
fords, and the Watchleys are among the invited
guests, and, Ida—frankly, I would rather you
would not associate with such people.”

A saucy, cold little smile answered him.

“On that point, as on several others, we do
not agree.”

“ But you won’t go, Ida? To oblige me, dear-
est? I ask it as a personal favor.”

If his manly patience and considerate tender-
ness touched her, she gave no sign.

“ Indeed, I’ll not give it up! The music, the
moonlight, the dancing, the river—I worship
them all. It will be like a living dream-I’d

‘not miss it for all the world!”

He looked gravely at the Sweet, defiant face,
all aflush, and asked himself—after all, was
Beth right when she said men so recklessly mar—
ry girls knowing so little, really, of them?

“You must do just as you please, Ida. But,
remember, if you go in the very face of my
disapproval, I shall construe it into meaning but
one thing.” .

And his slow, patient speech only made Ida
more willful than ever.

“Go? Of course I’ll go, mamma,”she said,
after Warren had gone. “ If Lloyd does not
like it, I can’t help it! I told you he must take
me as I am, or else leave me!”

And go she did—the fairest, sweetest of them
all in her white lawn dress, so daintin made by
her own deft fingers, and she danced to her
heart’s content, laughed and sung, while, under
all, she was unspeakany miserable.

“Half a dozen of us are going ashore fora
fifteen minutes’ ramble, to get some spring-
water,” Clara Crawford said. “ Isn’t the cap-
tain good-natured, Ida? We want you to go,
too. Come 1”

And not pausing to consider the matter, Ida
followed the little group just rushing over the
gang-plank.

“ Wait a minute, girls!
are you?”

For in the somber darkness of the forest that
reached to the river’s edge, Ida had lost- sight
of the forward part of the party.

“It’s all right, Ida, don’t be in such a hurry!
They’ve taken a cross-cut Clara knows of, but
I’ll escort you by another road I know of.
Take my arm, won’t you?”

It was Paul Crawford’s voice, close in her
ear—Paul Crawford, with whom she was alone
in the dark, lonely place!

“Thank you, I’m going back to the boat,”
she said, sharply, angrily. “ I don’t like to be
here.

“ With me, you mean?” And he laughed un-
pleasantly. “ But I am of a different opinion.
I like both the place and the company exceed-
ingly well, and Clara has played the game into
my hands even better than I dared hope. There
they go new, back to the ‘ Siren,’—hardly had
time to sample the spring-water, have they?”

At the same instant the whistle shrieked.

‘ ‘ There isn’t a second to lose! We’ll be left!”
she cried, breathlessly.

“ Exactly! We will be left, just as I intend-
ed,”—and he stepped in front of Ida, planting
himself resolutely in the narrow path. “You
needn’t tremble so, Ida, we won’t stay here
long. I happen to know of a very pleasant
family who live not a mile from here, and we’ll
spend the evening there, and hava the waltz
you denied me on the way up. All’s fair in
love, you know, my proud little duchess!”

A wild shriek came from Ida’s pale lips, and
before her quiVering mouth had closed, a tall,
stalwart figure stepped up beside her, and Paul
Crawford fell like a log to the ground.

“ We haven’t a second to lose; come, Ida!”

And Floyd Warren linked her arm in his and
hurried her back just in time to spring aboard.

In a retired corner, as far as it was possible to
get from the music and dancing, Ida sat in her
chair, pale, crying, while Mr. Warren stood be-
side her, grave and pale too.

“ How came you here?” she asked, pres-
ently.

“ Because you needed a protector—thank
God l came!” he said impressively.

“ You can never forgive me I know,” she
sobbed. “ I have been so wild and willful, that I
know I deserve the reward you will bestow.
But, Floyd, before you say good-by forever, let
me tell you how sorry I am! If— if—I could do
it over, I would never defy your judgment or
authority again!”

And for answer, he stooped and kissed her
tenderly.

“ My darling, until you send me from you, I
shall never go! You are all that is sweet and
pure and true; for a little willfulness shall I spoil
my whole life?”

She gave him a look that thrilled him from
head to foot.

"I’ll never be willful again,” she answered
fervently. “From this hour you are master.”

And Mrs. St. Cyr declares there never was a
sister-in law equal to hers for dignity, gracious-
ness, sweetness ‘and general perfection, while
Mr. Warren—well, if he doesn’t adore his young
wife, then no man ever did—and not altogether
because in every action of her life, Ida Warren
shows her loyalty to her lord and master!

Clara, Isabel, where

 

TRAIN up a child in the way she should go,
and when she becomes a woman she will not be
always “just one minute too late.”

DR. GELLE, of Paris, has found that twenty
to twenty-five per cent. of children hear only
within a. limited range. Parents who have had
occasion to call the little ones into the house
when at play have long been aware of this cu-
rious fact. 0

“LOOK here. This piece of meat don’t; suit
me. It’s from the back of the animal’s neck,”
said an Austin man to a German butcher.
“Mine frien’, all dot beef vat I sells is back of
dot neck. Dere was nodding but horns in front
of dot neck. ”

BEFORE his marriage Mr. Brown was mostly
wont to praise the aristocratic manner in which
his wife “ banged” her hair: but now, since he
has become a happy Benedict, the burden of
his complaint is the cruel and unfeeling manner
in which she habitually bangs his hair.

ABOUT this time of the year the small boy
thinks he has found out all about the habits of
the “ bumble ” bee from his school-reader, and
then he goes out in the field and wrestles with
the active rinciple of a “bumble” in good
working or er, and finds out vastly more than
he ever knew before about this interesting an-
imal.

 

 

Popular Poems.

N.»—
THE KINIHS SHIPS.

 

BY CARL SPENCER.

 

Godhath so many ships upon the sea!
HIS are the merchantmen that carr treasure
The men-of-war, all bannered gallantfy, ’
The little fisherboats and barks of pleasure
On all this sea of time there is not one I
That sailed without the glorious Name thereon.

The winds go up and down upon the sea.

And some they lightly clasp, entreating kindly,
And waft them to the port “here they would be;
And other ships they buffet, long and blindly.
The cloud comes down on the great sinking deep,

And on the shore the watchers stand and weep.

And God hath many wrecks within the sea:
Oh, it is deep! I look in fear and wonder;
The wisdom throned above is dark to me,
Yet it is sweet to think His care is under:
That :et the sunken treasures may be drawn
Into is storehouse when the sea is gone.

So I, that sail in peril on the sea,
With my beloved, whom yet the waves may cover,
Say—God hath more than angel’s care of me,
And larger share than I in friend and lover.
Why weepye so, 6 watchers on the land?
This deep is but I 1e hollow of His hand?
—Boston Transcript.

 

10:

 

‘VASH DE DIRT OFF YER FACE.

When ole man Gab’el blows de win’ fru his ho'n,
0h, sinner, wash de dirt ofl yer face;

De folks’ll come er-runnin’ like do hogs arter co’n,
Oh, sinner, wash de dirt off yer face;

He’ll hug de holy men an’ kiss ’em on de jaw,
0h, Sinner, wash de dirt off yer face;

But alas fur de nigger whut hab trifled wid de law,
Oh, sinner, wash de dirt of! yer face.

on, Mars’ Moses, gimme yer han’,
An’ he’p me fur to come fru de gate,
Yer knO“"S,,Mal‘S’ Moses, dat I wanster jine do

an ,
’Fore de hour it hab grow’d too late, Mars’

oses,
’Fore de hour it hab grow'd too late.

De po’ worl’ly man eats de hoecake 0’ sin—
h, sinner, wash de dirt ofl’ yer face;
An’ when he chaws it up, oh, de debil how he grin.
Oh, sinner, wash de dirt ofl? yer face: '
De generated man eats de heabenl pie—
0 , sinner, wash de dirt off yer ace;
An’ den fling de crumbs in Mr. Satan’s eye—
Oh, sinner wash de dirt off yer face.

Oh, Mars’ Aaron, ring yer bell,
And let us all heah de good news,

Fur we all wanster drink frum de ’ternal well,
Wid gol’ all ober our shoes, Mars’ Aaron,
Wid gol’ all ober our shoes.

—Arkansaw T: areler.

 

ZO:

 

“I MEAN T0 ‘VAlT FOR JACK.”

 

BY FREDERICK LA NGBRIDGE.

Sweet Kate at Wyndham’s dairy, and Jack of Old-
ham Mill—

Oh, long they wood and fond they coo’d, a faithful
Jack and Jill!

But times were bad for lass and lad, and sadly both
confessed

’Twas not the thing to buy the ring before they'd
lined the nest.

“ Courage, lad!” said Katie. “Yes, we’ll have to

wax :
But though, my dear. it’s twenty year, I’ll take
no other mate.”

But England wanted Jacky, for war was in the air,
And arms more grim were pressed on him than
Katie’s bonny pair.
So all through Spain, in rough campaign, he chivied
bold Mossoo,
And firecll his gun and made him run like fun at Wa-
ter 00.
When the lads came around her, Katie bade
them ack.
“ There’s gir s enow for you to woo; I mean to
wait for Jack.”

The gray in Katie’s ringlets were mingled with the
brown,
When, bump~a~thump. an eager stump came pegging
through the town.
“ It’s me, you see, come back,” says he, “ except a
leg or so;
And safe and sound here’s twenty pound; so let the
parson know.”
Jingle, jangle, jingle! set the bells a-chime,
And health and bliss to love like this that bravely
bides its time. —Good Words.

 

:0:

 

ANOTHER LEAP YEAR DITTY.

Miss Susan Aramantha Sears
Did love and woo a comely lad,
But, all despite her plaints and tears,
A most distressing time she had;
She did not suit her lover’s dad.

 

The old man locked his lovely boy
Within a dark and lonesome room-—

Which did the gentle youth annoy
And plunge his soul in dismal gloom,
Likewise retard Miss Sears’s boom.

The old man bought a pair of shoes,
Which, by the gods of war, he swore
He would for dreadful purpose use
If e’er again, as heretofore,
The girl hung ’round his mansion door.

But late one night Miss Susan crept
In through the gateway, undismayed,
And, while the father soundly slept,
Beneath her lover’s window played
And sung a dulcet serenade.

And as she sweetly played and sung
She had no thought of harm, I ween:
When, lo! from out the darkness sprung
o Unbidden to the festive scene,
A bull-dog of ferocious mien!

The sight of that ferocious brute
Made Aramantha Sears turn pale.
She, shrieking. fled; he gave pursuit;
The fence, a leap, a. growl, a wail;
But why prolong this piteous tale?

Yet, to relieve you of suspense,
We’ll say, ‘mid sympathetic tears,
That though she nim bly cleared the fence,
Miss Susan Araniantha Sears
Without a bustle now appears.
—Bu7lmgton Hawkeye.

 

202

 

THE (30.1 ST-GU A RD.

 

BY EMILY HUNTINGTON MILLER.

 

Do you wonder what I am seeing,
In the heart of the fire, aglow
Like cliffs in a golden sunset,
With a summer sea below?
I see, away to the eastward,
The line of a storm-beat coast,
And I hear the tread of the hurrying waves
Like the tramp of a. mailed host.

Up and down in the darkness,
And over the frozen sand,
I hear the men of the coast-guard
Pacing along the strand.
Beaten by storm and tempest,
And drenched by the pelting rain,
From the shores of Carolina,
To the wind-swept bays of Maine.

No matter what storms are raging,
No matter how wild the night,

The leam of their swinging lanterns,
Shines out with a friendly light.

And many a shipwrecked sailor
Thanks God, with his gasping breath,

For the sturdy arms of the surfmen
That drew him away from death.

And so, when the wind is wailing,
And the air grows dim with sleet.

I think of the fearless watchers
Pacing along their beat.

I think of a wreck, fast breaking
In the surf of a rocky shore,

And the life-boat leaping onward
To the stroke of the bending oar.

I hear the shouts of the sailors,
The boom of the frozen sail,
And the creak of the icy halyards
Straining against the gale.
“ Courage!” the captain trumpets,
“They are sending help from land l”
God bless the men of the coast-guard,
And hold their lives in His hand!
—S!. Nicholas for .lfaich.

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

  

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