\‘\\ '
-.\- -

24.2
-.._. - 

 

 

‘3“
- I. - .\

 

 

FARMER JOHN IN THE TELE-
GRAPH OFFICE.

i BY H. H. JOHNSON.

 

“ Say, mister, what makes that there clickin’

And i'utilin' just like a machine?

I‘d'haw- asked ye afore, but was fearful
\ou‘d think I was mis‘ably green.

The telegraph, (lid ji c say, mister?
Does it make such a click-clic (in’ noise?

\Vell, I Vlillll When I get back to the Holler
I’ll have sonnthing to tell to the boys!

“Kin I just step inside there a minute,
Aim just take a peep at the thing?
I‘ve heerd n. good deal ‘bout the tel’graph,
But I‘m blamed if I don’t hope to swing
If I ever had any ioear
"l‘wus any such lookin’ consarn:
But ye know that the old sayin’ tells us
‘ As long as we live, we can l’arn.‘

" Say. how do ye send out the letters?
Do ye fasten ‘em own the wire?
I s’pose then they travel like lightnin’,
And incbbe a leetle mite sprver.
What! Ain’t Mat the way tnat ye do it?
Don’t laugh at me, mister young man!
For if ye think you can insult me,
I’ll wallop ye sure! and I can!

“ Of course it's all right: I forgive ye
if ye didn’t mean any offense;
But I know, if I ain‘ ((ldlcalt'd,
I’m a man of good sound common sense.
Ye don't mean to say that that rattlln’
Is words that the telegraph s eaks?
And plain as the words I am ta kiu’?
Well, now, if that don’t beat the Greeks!

“ It must take a long time to l’arn it,
‘ And a mighty good head, too, I think;
I don’t b’lieve my old or .ins could do it,

Not even if i had to sink!

I thought at the first ye was foolin’,
And feedin’ me rally for fun;

But ye look like an honest young feller,
And so I will take ye for one.

“ But when I get back to the Holler,
Won’t I make ’em just stick out their eyes
When I tell what I've l‘arned in your office?
I guess it will cause a surprise!
I thank ye for treatin’ me kindly,
And I'll take myself out o’ yer way;—
Drop in if ye come to the Holler;
~ And now I must bid ye good—day.”

 

 

 

Sirangfiiuries.

THE FOUNTAIN OP vYOUTH.
A Tale of Florida.

BY AGII.E PENNE.

 

THE last rays of the fastrdying sun gleamed
d0wn upon the tree-tops and bathed the savanna
/ with a soft flood of golden light. They danced
in countless ripples on the bosom of the dark
river that was rolling on so slowly to the ocean.

Florida—land of flowers; where the breath of
heaven smells wooingly and the birds sing ever
amid the fragrant blossoms of the magnolia and
. tho jessamine.

\ The sunbeams fell not only on the great virgin
I - forest, and the flower-studded savanna, and on
the somber river with its ceaseless flow, but on
human forms.

In a little green glade, close by the bank of
the river, carelessly clustered around a blazing
» fire, were a group of hardy soldiers—stout men-
! atarms were they—“ laced in steel.”
| Many a time had they pressed on to victory
under the proud banner of haughty Spain. And
now, under the lead of the daring soldier, Ponce
de Leon, they sought amid the flowery wilds of
Florida, not glory, but gold and eternal youth.

- And among the steel-clad and bearded soldiers
, } ~ stood an Indian chief—a stalwart savage—deck-

ed in the forest garb of deerskin. He was the
guide.

“ By the Virgin!” cried De Leon, with an im-
patient accent, “ how much further have we to

o, chief, are we reach the Fountain of Youth
‘ by the river with golden sands?”
“Two sleeps,” replied the Indian.
“ You are not deceiving us?"
“ The tongue of the White Heron is not forked;
he cannot lie to his paloface brother,” said the
l Appalachee chief, calmly.

An expression of doubt passed rapidly across

1 the bronzed face of the Spaniard, but he held

 

his tongue and kept his suspicions locked in his
heart.

As he turned his face from the Indian, as if he
feared that the keen-eyed savage might read his
thoughts, his glance fell upon one of his sol-
diers, who, apart from the rest, stood leaning
upon his musket, with an expression of gloom
upon his face.

The soldier was called Lope do Garcia: :1
l young and handsome fellow, with his dark eyes

and hair and his resolute but intelligent features
—young, handsome, yet a settled melanchoiy
seemed ever on his soul.

“ Pedro,” said De Leon, turning to his lieuten-
ant, a scarred and veteran soldier, who reclined
carols-sly on the sward by his side, “ a question
to you, comrade, mine. Why is it that Lope de
Garcia never smiles? Ayoung and handsome
blade, the blood should leap lightly in his veins,

ct he seems more fitted for a cowled monk than

or aught else, though brave to rashness and a
soldier tried.”

“ The boy and hard fortune have one hand-
in-hand,” replied the old soldier. “ is family
is one of the richest and noblest in Spain, and
he is the only son. Some three years ago he
met in Madrid a young and lovely girl. He
loved her at first sight, and she returned the
passion even before they had spoken a word to-
gether. Judge of the lovers’ dismay when they
discovered that their fathers were deadly ene-
mies. They planned a secret marriage, fled to-
gether, but the flight was discovered; they were
followed, the girl torn from her lover’s arms,
and in a convent was forced, by her parents, to
take the vail and vow that made her the bride
of heaven. Three months after the solemn cere-
mony that snatched the young life from the
gay and beautiful world, and gave it to the
Cloister‘s gloom, she died. Since that time, Lope
do Garcia has sought for death. He seeks for-
getfulness in the grave.”

“ Yet he lives!”

“ Yes; he seems to bear a charmed life; lead
and steel alike spare him. Now you know why
he never smiles or mingles in the merry song or
’ jest that rings around the camp-fire.” .

Lope de Garcia lifted up his head, saw his
captain’s eyes fastened upon him, and ap-
proached. , . i

“ Captain, have I your permismon to try for
game in yonder wood?”be asked, pOinting up
the river.

De Leon bowed assent. Lope left the savanna
and plunged into the thicket.

A half an hour or so he walked on; then he
came to an opening in the wood where the
savanna stretched down to the bank of the
stream.

In the covert of the underwood the young
soldier concealed himself. He thought that,
possibly,a deer might approach the water to
d k

,
l m . _ . .

Ten minutes had the soldier lamp in ambush,
when a light step broke on the stillness of the
savanna and forest.

‘ A young Indian girl attired in deerskin,
sayly fringed and feathered, approached the
stream.

The soldier could hardly believe the evidence
of his senses; the savage maid was the perfect
image of the Spanish girl he had loved and lost!

For the first time for many a long month, a
smile came over the features of the careworn
soldier. .

The girl stooped to lave her hand in the water.

An angry growl caused her to start with fear.

Over her head, crouched on a spreading
.", x branch, was a huge panther. . ,

_ His eyes glared like balls of _fire; certain

“q death for the helpless girl lurked in those Jaws
' of steel. . .

The huge tail of the forest king lashed the air.

 

 

 

 

 

carry death in its bound.

 

Then the smoke of a musket curled on the air,
and an ounce—ball plowed its way through the
brain of the beast. With a bowl of agony, the
panther—lord of the forest—dropped to the
earth, lifeless.

The eye of the Spaniard had been sure, his
hand quick. He stopped from his leafy cmei‘t.
The girl did not fly, but bounded to him and
knelt in homage at his feet.

But for the color of her skin, which had been
reddencd by the warm kiss of the sun-god- pro-
longed throngh many ages—the soldier would
have Sworn that he looked again upon the Span-
ish maid whose loss he mourned.

“ 'l‘elula owes her life to the white chief!”
cried the girl. ,

With wondering eyes, awed by the strange
likeness, Lope raised the girl from the ground.

“_\1Vhere are your brothers?” asked the forest-
mau .

“ How did you know that I had brothers?” said
the Spaniard, in astonishment.

“They came across the great lake in a big
canoe; they seek some wonderful spring whose
sands are yellow, and with them is the White
Heron, an Appalachee chief,” replied the girl,
with a smile.

“ Yes, you speak truth: do you know where
the Fountain of Youth is?” asked the Spaniard,
eagerly.

\Vith a sad smile, the girl pointed to the sky.

“ I do not understand,” Lope said.

“ In the spirit—land above can we find Eternal
Youth. The white-skins are betrayed. There
is no 5 ring with ellow sands in the flower-
land. he White eron leads the pale-faces
further and further from the great salt lake
that he may give them into the hands of his red
brothers.”

“ But, why do you betray your nation?” the
Spaniard asked.

“ Telula is not a daughter of the Appalacbee.
She was stolen when a child from her tribe far
beyond the great yellow river, there,” and she
pointed to the west. “ The pale-face has saved
the life of Telula; in turn, she will save him
from the red braves. Hush!” she cried, sudden-
ly, as she bent in a listening attitude. “ Dan-
ger is near; farewell; return to your brothers
guilntell them that the White Heron is a. trai-

or.

Then, light as abird, the girl bounded into the
wood and disappeared.

The Spaniard listened, but could hear no sound
except the whisper of the leaves stirred by the
balmy breeze.

He turned to retraco his steps.

Hardly had he entered the wood when a score
of dark forms Sprung upon him. Headlong he
was borne to the earth. He was a priSoner in
the hands of the red warriors.

They tied his wrists with stout thongs of deer-
skin, and then bore him to their camp, a league
or so from the river.

Short was the council of the Appalachee chiefs,
and speedy the sentence.

Lope de Garcia was to die at the torture-
stake.

The moon chased the dark clouds away, and
poured down a flood of silvery light upon the
little savanna.

A stake was planted in the soft loam, amid
the grass and flowers; and to it they tied the
helpless soldier. At his feet a heap of dried
sticks, his funeral pyre.

Coldly and silently the dauntless Spaniard
gazed upon his focs.

Around him danced the red chiefs in savage
glee. Taunt and gibe they flung at the pale-face,
but he answered not.

Then the fire was lit, and the smoke curled up-
ward around the prisoner’s head. The soldier
had sought the laurel wreath, and had won, in-
stead, the smoke crown of death.

He‘closed his eyes to meet his fate. Two faces
were before him—one, the pale Spanish girl who
had died for love of him amid a cloister’s gloom;
the gther, the sun-kissed features of the forest-
mai .

The flames leaped upward and shone upon the
polished corslet of the soldier. He felt their hot
breath and knew that death was nigh.

A murmured prayer to the Virgin Mother
came from his resolute lips.

Then, on the soft breeze, redolent with the
perfume of the wild flowers, rung the musket-
shots, and the war-cry of old Spain, “ Santiago
and set on l”

The rush of steel-laced men followsd. The
long Spanish rapiers gleamed in the moon-
beams, and soon wept red drops of savage blood.

The red chiefs gave way before the charge of
the fiery sons of Spain.

In the vastness of the thicket they sought re-
fuge from steel and fire.

Soft hands out the cords that bound the young
soldier; soft arms entwined themselves about his
neck, and on his lips he felt the warm pressure
of a woman’s loving kiss.

Telula, the Indian maid, had saved the man
she loved.

In the savanna by the river, with a gory rapier
thrust through his heart, iven by Ponce de
Leon’s hand, lay the White eron. ,

The girl had seen the capture of Lope, hastened
to the Spanish camp, denounced the traitor,
and led the soldiers to the rescue of their bro-
ther.

After a long and weary march, and many a
desperate fight. with the red chiefs, the Spaniards
reached their ship again.

The Fountain of Youth that fed the riVnr of

olden sands was never seen by mortal eyes, but
u the search for it in the flower-land, Lope de
Garcia won a treasure which not all the gold in
the world could purchase—the pure and passion-
ate love of the Indian maid. In her arms De
Garcia learned to forget the secret that the
Cloisters hid.

 

A Spring of Natural Vinegar.

 

THE drummer had finished telling a remark-
able story when an old man, who had been lis-
tening quietly squared his chair around and put
in:

“ That yarn of yours don’t surprise me a. bit,”
he said earnestly. “I used to live in the West
myself and had some strange experiences in the
mountains.”

“ As to ho w ’l" inquired the drummer with some
show of resentment.

“ Well, in every way. I was a cowboy and
miner, and stagedrivor and merchant and a
little of everything, but the oddest thing that
ever happened to me and knocked my chances
for becoming a millionaire silly took place in a
wild valley about a hundred miles from Den-
ver. I had gone there With my partnrr pros-
pecting, and one day in digging around sort of
promiscuous we struck a vein of pure soda,
white as snow and beautiful to look at. We.
drove a shaft into it to the depth of a hundred
feet and fOund there was enough in it to make
us rich, so went back to Denver and brought
out some capitalists and they were eager to buy
it on the spot. While the dicker was on and
just before we had agreed upon a price, a couple
of fellows found a s ur-tasting sormg about a
hundred feet up the hill, and they began to drill
a hole to see what it was. They found out
mighty quick, too, for they hit a vein of Vinegar
in about twenty feet and a big three-inch stream
on me out with a rush that they Couldn’t check,
and before anybody had time to do anything it
had swooped down the narrow gorge and was
running head on into our soda u ell.”

The old man stopped and the drummer asked
what difference that made.

“ Never saw an alkali and an acid combine, I
reckon, did you?" exalaimed the old man. “1
never saw the genuine thing myself an ii that
day and we all saw it than, when from the
mouth of that shaft there heaved up fifty feet
into the air a six—foot square column of sizz and

. lather and foam till you couldn’t see anything

else in the gorge. W o couldn’t stop the vinegar
and for a month she sizzed away, and there
wasn’t enough soda left in the pocket to tone up
a biscuit with.”

Then the old man, with a solemn look at the
drummer, got up and went off to bed.

 

 He was preparing for the spring which would

 

in...“ .._.--.¢.::~;. ,‘

AUTUMN.

BY EDWARD G. ALLANSON.

 

 

Oh. the glorious Autumn weather!
In the beauty of the morn—
Thi'ough the meadow by the Woodland,
Past the fields of waving corn;

Where the silent herds are feeding,
And the muAmur of the river

T. This the soul and leaves its music
Drifting on and on forever.

Oh, the peaceful Autumn weather!
In the glory of September,

Thoughts of love still linger with us,
0f the days that we. remember.

Yet no less we love the springtime,
With its pure sweet buds and flowers,
All its fragrant incenSe clinging
To our life’s first happy hours.

And I often think, while dreaming,
That our lives sl.ould ever be

Faithful as the changing seasons—
‘W'orking in true harmony.

And. though life may have its trials,
With its Winters cold and drear,

Still. the memory of the June-time
Should be with us all the year.

The Girl glam-Pilot;

The Death-Bell of the Reefs.

A Romance of Sea, Coast, and

 

 

Iniquit ous Imposture.

 

BY G. WALDO BROWNE.

CHAPTER I.
A STRANGE MEETING.

“ WHIP poor-will! . Whip-poor-will l WHIP-
POOR‘WILL!”

Above the sullen thunder of the waves, beating
the rock-bound shore, rung clear and shrill the
cryof the night bird.

The scene, from which the day was fast end-
ing in a night of murky gloom, was wild and
dismal.

On the one hand a broken, desolate range of
land, dotted here and there by patches of green
in a groundwork of dark-brewn; on the other
an expanse of angry, surf-lashed sea, from whose
depths dark-gray cliffs reared their forbidding
heads; above, a sky of inky blackness overshad-
owing sea and land.

Apparently unconscious of the deepening
gloom and of the rising storm, two men stood
upon the narrow beach, facing each other like
two duelists.

In truth, one of them held in his hands a pair
of pistols—hold them by the barrels while he
thrust the butts into the other’s face.

As the notes of the whipp0wil broke upon the
scans, he exclaimed:

“There is the cry of the bird again. Why
don’t you take one of the weapons, Wilfred
Morland? \Ve are losing valuable time!”

He was dark-featured. yet handsome, this man
who spoke so fiercely, but a latent fire gleamed
in his cold, gray eyes. Of medium height. fine

(physique, polished manners and respectable

dress, the man, Acton Marble, could not have
been more than tWenty-flve.

His companion may have been a year or two
older. He was taller, broader shouldered, with
blue eyes, auburn hair and tawny mustache.

As the other spoke he started back.

“ No—no, Mr. Marble; I cannot do it. I have
no quarrel with you—”

“ Bah! take one of them I" the other hissed,
“or prove yourself a cOWard. Here, quick, so
that we shall be ready to fire at the next cry of
the bird.”

“ But, why do you force this upon me?” asked
Morland, as be mechanically took one of the
pistols and allowed it to hang by his side.

“ You‘should acorn to ask that question, Wil-
fred Morland, when you know how you have
crossed my path.

“ Before you came my way was clear, but
with your wiles and lying stories you have
thwarted my dearest wishes and made of me a
mortal foe.

“ Both of us cannot live. One must die! I
have loaded one of these weapons; the other is
empty. You have taken your choice of them,
and it is as fair for you as for me. Be ready to
fire at the next cry of the bird and take your

‘chance—”

The notes of the whippowil again rung
upon the evening air.

Acton Marble stamped his foot with rage.

“Coward!” he cried, “were you as brave to
meet the wrath of men as you are to court the
smiles of women, this scene had been over are
this. For the last time dare you meet me like a
man, Wilfred Mm'land l”

The words seemed to have little effect upon
the other, for he smiled.

“ Ha! I see the drift of your anger now,” he
exclaimed. “ My stay at Cliffwood has brought
this about. You cannot bear to see me in the
company of Lena Riverton.”

“ You lie!” cried Marble, hotly. “ Dastard,
take that!” and he struck Morland sharply with
the flat of his hand.

Wilfred staggered- back, to quickly recover
himself, though the marks of the other’s hand
still crimsoned his cheek.

“ Now, dare you meet me?” demanded Marble,
hoarsely.

“ Yes, ruflian!” replied the aroused Morland.
“ Select your ground."

A grim smile played upon the sinister coun-
tenance of Marble, as they measured ofir' ten
paces and wheeled to face each other.

“ Fire at the next cry of the bird,” he cried,
with a ring of triumph in his tone.

It was a trying moment, but an unnatural
calmness seemed to rest upon the duelists, while
they listened and waited with bated breath for
the cry that was to si n the doom of one.

Slowly the moments dragged. while only the
thunderous boom of the breakers broke the si-
lence.

The sky grew momentarily blacker; the sea
more sullen and angry; but the duelists waited
in vain for the fatal warning. As if chained to
the spot they stood, neither daring to move.

Had the whipp0wil forgot its song!

Then, sounding above the tumult of the waves
with startling distinctness, was borne to their
ears the report of a gun.

They started with surprise, and Morland,
whose face was turned in that direction, glanced
wildly (met the white capped billows that rose
and fell with resistless fury.

Again the boom of the distant signal-call for
help blended with the thunder of the ele-
ments.

“ It is a ship in distress!” gasped Wilfred.

“ Curse the ship!” muttered Marble. “ You
had better look to your own welfare. That bird
won’t be forever silent.”

“ Good heavens! look there!” cried Mot-land,
forgetting for the time his precarious situation,
and pointing excitedly toward the sea.

The exclamation was so sudden and unex-
pected that Marble, too, forgot everything else
and gazed in the direction pointed out.

As far out upon the waves as could be seen in
the gloom, tossed on the stormy waters as light-
ly as the foam that capped the breakers, rode,
in the very teeth of the rising tempest, a boat!

It contained one occupant— a snow-white
figure!

Boom—boom—boom! rung out the signal-gun
over the storm-driven seas.

The boat with its solitary—

“ Whip poor—”

Quick as a flash the duelists turned to meet
each other.

The last note of the wild-bird was drowned by
the report of a. pistol.

With a low cry Wilfred Morland pressed his
hand to his side, and, staggering to and fro, fell

   

The hammer of his own pistol had descended
With a dull click, harmless.

f A cruel smile played upon Acton Marble’s
are.

“I will drag the body down by those rocks
where the tide will reach it,” he said, half~aloud.

This he did, and had barely accomplished his
heartless scheme, when the sound of footsteps
startled him.

. Turning with alarm he saw a man approach-
ing, already within hailing distance.

He seemed very feeble, and as he moved with
tottering steps, he leaned heavily upon a staff.

Marble watched him uneasily; and, anxious
to meet him as far from the place where lay the
body of his victim as possible, be advanced to-
ward the stronger with rapid strides.

“ Hello, old man!" he saluted; “this is hardly
a fitting night for such as you to be abroad.
See! the storm is rising fast.”

“ l’m used to storms,” murmured the other.
“But, did you see that boat upon the seal Who
can it be out on such a night?”

“ Only a woman, old man!”

“A woman?” gasped the other. “ Then my
old eyes did not decaive me. A woman? God
save her!”

“ Don’t start so, my aged friend. It was
no livmg—or at least, mortal woman. They
call her the Spirit of the Surf. She always ap-
pears before a storm.

“ Look! she has come in sight again! She
seems to be heading for this spot on the shore.
In x: minute she Will tack in another course.”

“ Ay, ay, sir; and you say she is a spir—
Hark! There is that gun again! Some ship is
in peril. My God, new it makes me shudder!”
and he shook like an aspen. “ Have boats gone
out to her rescue?”

“ Boats in the face of such a storm?” cried
Marble, in evident surprise. “ Why, man, you
must be crazy. But, pardon me; I see you are
a stranger in these parts.”

“Ay, ay, sir; I am a stranger here, though
the best years of my life were passed on this
coast.”

They Were standing side by side now, gazing
out over the broken expanse of angry water.

Marble turned, hoping to get aview of his
countenance, but the lower features were com-
pletely hidden by a bushy beard, while the cape
to his gray coat was so pulled about his head
that only a pair of steely gray eyes were visible.
His tone betrayed his disappointment.

“ I—-I do not believe I ever saw you before.”

“ We forget many whom we meet,” anSWered
the old man, evasively. “ Besides, I have been
away these twenty years.”

“ Ah, no wonder, then. Your name—what
may I call you?”

"My name has changed many times in my
life. l‘o—day I am Walf Ranger. Ugh! this raw

shelter.”

“ i will go with you,” decided Marble quickly,
anxious not to lose sight of the old intruder
just yet.

It would not do for the man to discover the
body of Morland, which lay behind the rocks,
quite out of sight, much to his murderer’s re-

19 .

” We shall have to part company if you walk
like that,” declared Ranger, when they had gone
a short distance. “ You forget my infirm-
ities.”

“Pardon me. I was thinking of other mat-
ters, and so walked faster than I intended. But,
see! we have no time to lose if we would escape
the storm. I feel the rain upon my hand now.”

“ Ay, ay, sir; but I am doing my best. IVhat
can have become of that boatman?”

“ Woman, you mean.”

“ True; I had forgotten. Ha! that poor ship
keeps up its firing. God pity— ’Pon my life,
it must be the Sea Jewel! She was due today.”

Acton Marble started back.

“No, no,”he hastened to say. “ The Jewel
is not due until to-morrow. My brother comes
on her—comes home after being abroad ten
years."

“ For your sake, then, I hope it is not the Sea
Jewel in such sore distress. But, hark! what
sound is that?”

CHAPTER II.

THE BELL OF WOLAND’S WRECK.

Clang—clang—CLANG!

Clearly the tone of the massive bell rung out
on the storm-laden air.

It was closely followed bya distant pea! of
thunder, telling that the tempest had begun its
war.

Then, for the last time, its hoarse sound near-
ly drowned by the roar of the breakers, was
borne to their ears from the ill-fated ship the
bOOm of the signal-gun!

Clang—clang—CLANG! again pealed forth the
deep-sounding bell.

“The warning from the good St. Julian!”
exclaimed the old man. “ Thank Heaven, the
ship will be guided safely to harbor!”

“ Don’t be too sure of that, my friend!” cried
Marble, an exultant ring in his tone. “The
bell of St. Julian has been silent this many

ears. Your warning comes from Woland’s

rock. Mind you not that the sound is too
far down the coast for St. Julian? Hark! it
comes from the Ribs of Death!”

His companion groaned.

“Woland’s Wreck—tho Ribs of Death!” he
repeated, buskily. “ Oh, my boy! my—l’

A lurid flash of lightning now blinded their
eyes, and the quick peal of thunder drowned the
old man’s quaking tone.

The glare of the elements lit with fearful
brilliancy for a moment the stormy scene, to
leave it in a gloom all the deeper for the unusual
i ht.

gActon Marble had looked in vain for the boat
with its slight occupant.

Then again the brazen throat of the bell sent
forth its resonant warning.

Walf Ranger caught his companion by the
arm, and his glittering eyes were fixed upon the
other's white face.

“ That bell l”he exclaimed, hoarsely. “ What
bodes it to yonder ship?”

“Nothing of good," replied the young man,
quickly. -“ But come; let’s seek shelter from the
storm ere we are drenched to—”

“ And do nothing for that poor ship?"

“ We can do nothing! It is preposterous to
think of it,” and Marble attempted to lead him
away.

“ But we can at least stay the foul fiend’s
hand that rings that. bell! Ha! there it is
again!”

“ Hold, old friend!” said the other, in alarm,
as the old man abruptly left him. “ Let me tell
you that it is the foul fiend’s hand in reality
which rings that bell. No mortal being, I dare
say. is nearer than you or I !”

IValf Ranger shivered—not from the storm:
he was oblivious of that, but a power more potent
convulsed his being.

“ You jest, when human lives are at stake.
You—”

“No jest! Have I not a brother on yonder
ship? But, come with me to the side of that
ruck; it will break the wind from us; and in a
few words I will explain to you the meaning of
the ringing of the bell of VVoland‘s “'reck.”

Una-villingly the other allowed himself to be
led to the designated spot. Night had now com-
pletely Veiled the scene, while the storm had
reached a furv that would have chilled the heart
less unmindful of its rage.

Beside the huge bowlder which over-topped
their heads, the twain were well protected from
the cutting blasts while only an occasional dash
of rain touched their forms.

“ The ship has ceased its firing,” said Marble.
“She has wisely concluded to stay outside the
offing, where she is safe unless carelessly han-
died.”

“ She has my prayer for her safety!” returned
Walf Ranger, solemnly. “ Hark! the bell still
keeps up its woeful clangor!” '

“And will while the storm lasts,” asvured
Marble. “ You said you Were acquainted here,
twenty years 3.2%), old man; then you must know
the story of Woland’s Wreck.”

 

heavily upon the beach.

“ No; my stay was very brief. Tell it to me

sir pierces to my marrow. I must seek

 

in as few words as possible,” he answered, impa-
tiently. “I am anxious to know the Worst.”

“Listen then. ll‘bew, how the storm rages!
I believe the wind is shifting to the north. Stand
further back to the right. There, that is better.
’Tis the sea—fiend’s own night!

“ Ay. it Hillel} have been such a storm as this
when the brig Aschope was driven upon these
rocks, half a century ago. At any rate, all on
board Were lost.

“ The fate of the Aschope caused the good
11' mks of St. Julian toplacea hell on the convent
that. lt< Warning tone might guide the incoming
ships snie to harbor. Were it daylight you
might see the ob! church from the crest of this
rock, for the building is standing yet, though
sadly in need of repair.

“ The bell more than fulfilled its mission, and
many Were the blessings showered upon the noble
men who caused its clear, massive notes to send.
a thrill of hope to the distressed mariners seeking
an entrance to our land-locked harbor along the
devious, winding passages.

“ Then the good monks passed away, and the
old bell hung silent. At irregular intervals, it
is true, it sent forth its impressive voice; but,
no one seemed to interest himself in the good
work, until at last the spiders built their webs
across its huge throat undisturbed.

“Several years later the bell disappeared.
But its disappearance was not long a mystery.
Further d0wn the coast stood Woland’s Abbey,
as it was called, between which and St. Julian
existed a deep rivalry. A dark-faced, evil-
minded man was this VVoland, despite his
sacerdotal garb; and his church was a queer
structure, more than half its length being built
out over the water, its piers the bowlders that
uproar their dark heads from the rugged shore.
It stood just below the granite jaws of the fear-
ful trap known as the Ribs of Death.

“ The very night following the disappearance
of the bell a fearful storm, not unlike this I
should say from the description I have heard of
it, swept the coast. In the midst of the ele—
mental strife the bell rung out its stirring tones
from Woland’s Abbey!

“ Before dark a ship had been seen beating up
the coast outside the offing, but no one dreamed
it would attempt to enter. It may have been
driven upon the reefs by the gala, but it is more
than likely that the notes of the bell lured it on
to attempt the devious passage I”

f‘Ay, that accursed bell!” cried the old man,
for the first time interrupting the speaker. “ It
did its terrible work! And we all thought it
was the bell of St. Julian. But, go on!”

“The doomedvvessel, it seemed, bore straight
down toward the bell—straight into the Ribs of
Death!” resumed Marble. “ She was lost, with
every soul on board! Her shattered timbers
strewed the shore the next morning. The bodies
of all those on board were picked up, I think, and
given burial just back of the abbey.”

“ All?” asked Walf Ranger, catching his com—
panion’s arm in a vise-like grip. “ Did all
perish?”

“So report said,” replied the young man, in
surprise.

“ Then report lied, for [was on that ship I

“ Does my grip feel like that of a dead man?
But go on with your story. I am impatient to
hear the rest. Though the dead are not sup—
posed to speak, they may listen.”

Acton Marble was awed into submission. He
feared the man beside him, feeling that he was
in the presence of a madman.

“ There is not much more to tell,” he contin-
ued. “ A swift retribution overtook Woland.
That very night the sea rose so high that a part
of his accursed sanctuary was washed away,
while he disappeared and was never seen after-
ward. From that day the place has been called
‘ Woland’s Wreck.’

“ But the strangest part of it all is that though
the bell sunk in the deep water by one of the big
bowlders, and lies there to this night, it always
sends forth its startling peals whenever there is
a storm! Rung by the foul fiend’s own hand, it
penis forth its notes of doom on every dark and
stormy night, as more than one doomed ship has
learned.”

“Bah!” cried Ranger, fiercely, pushing him
from the rock with a force that sent him out in-
to the blinding tempest. “ Do you think that I
have come back after twenty-two years to be
lieve such twaddle as that? I am going to
silence that bell or die in the attempt!”

Clangl clan g! CLANGI rung out the brazen
voice as if in defiance of his threat.

Pulling his heavy cape morevclosely about his
head, Walf Ranger strode away into the dark-
ness at a furious pace, seeming to have suddenly
thrown off the weight of at least a score of
years from his decrepit frame.

“ Hold on I” cried Acton Marble, “ I would
keep you company. It shall not be said that I
failed to do my duty when lives are at stake.”

“ Good! and as you know the country, it may
be you can pick a better course than I on such a
night as this.”

“ Follow me, then; walk close in my footsteps,
and see that you make no misstep.”

Bending his form to the biting blast,and pick-
ing his way along as best he could, the young
man led his companion down the rugged shore.

Once he spoke.

“Follow exactly in my steps now I” be com-
manded. “We are on the shelf of a ledge. A
misstep will send you into the sea full fifty feet
below.”

A flash of lightning following his words dis-
clooed only too vividly the truth of his speech.

Wali' Ranger, h0wever, gave no indication of
fear. With every electric flash be scanned his
surroundings with a precision that enabled him
to quicken his pace.

Ever and anon the clangor of the bell was
heard above the storm, telling them that they
were pursuing the right course.

It was nearly half a mile to Woland’s Wreck,
and to the impatient Ranger it seemed as if they
would never reach the spot.

At last Marble paused, saying:

“Now look sharp for the ruins of I‘Voland‘s
Abbey at the next flash. it 18 straight ahead.
The bell is among the bowlders in front of the
wreck.”

Nothing could be distinguished in the Siyginn
night, and Ranger waited for a favoring flash.
It seemed slow in coming, for minutes Were like
hours then. The rain beat mercilessly in their
faces, while the continual roar of the wind and
tide deafened them.

In the midst of their anxious watch Walf
Ranger’s restless gaze discovered a ruddy light
gleaming in the for distance from the course
whence they had come.

“ See! what iight is that?”

Acton Marble saw it for the first time, and a
low exclamation left his bus less lips.

“I—I do not know!” he faltered. “It must
be that some of the fishermen have started a
beacon light. There is the ship’s gun again!
She is off Specter’s Gap. She ignores the bell.
Old Neptune himself must be at the helm to pilot
her in on such a——”

The looked-for electric gleam cut short his
speech, and he closed his eyes to shut out the
blinding flash.

Walf Ranger’s gray eyes were not closed, how-
ever. He saw the shattered ruins of the old
abbey, with its naked timbers reaching out over
the frowning rocks and foam—capped waters.
The wild, broken coast was disclosed to him for
a considerable distance; the storm-driven sen
tossed and toiled in maddened fury before his
gaze. He beheld a scene that would nevor fade
from his memory, but looked in vain for the
bell, though its mournful clangor still best in
his ears.

“ Do you not notice that it has a muffled
sound now that we are near to it?" asked his
companion, as 11’ reading his thoughts. “ If you
will crawl out on yonder point of rock, which
you can see at the next flash, you will satisfy
yourself that the bell lies in the water below.”
Walf Ranger had seen the point indicated, so
without delay he cauticusly made his way to the
lace.

“ Crawl to the very end, but be careful you do
not lose your hold on the slippery stone,” cried
Marble, in warning.

But. the words had barely left his lips when he

 

 

 

 

 

    

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