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Home My WebLink AboutThe Exeter Advocate, 1895-10-4, Page 7COMIN' THRQ' THE RYE,' BY HELEN' B. MATIiERS. (CONTXNUnD.) Gegtge and I have the use of our ears, but of other faculties alar at all; although we aro out in a. held in broad daylight, we Flan not see an inch beyond our noses, and aaobocly can see us, unless, indeed, the two Mounds that represent ns may be suppos- ed to give some grotesque outlines of our shapos. In point of fact, we are snugly buried in the hay, Dolly and Basilan hav- ing oflloiated as aoxtons, and wo are weighed down almost as securely as though t 'solid earth, ane not heaps of dried grass, , were piled above us: Hay by the handful AS one thing, hay in the hunp is c, ,and with our arms and ' .straight and fiat, and an r City of the material heaped move about as easily as thong . we in a vise, Not to kill us, however, much cherishing, they have put a �jjcovering over our faces, so that full 1, -eyes, noses, and mouths are wi // pricking, irritating hay -dust, we able to draw breath and make our heard. In the distance are faintly a the shouts of the hay -makers an voices of the maid -servants, with latter this period appears to be flirtation and pleasure; shaking g ,the men's heels seeming 'to please. infinitely bettor than shaking Garp eaoh other's face.—"It is nob very Portable," says George, "but I am we are `;uried, because I shall be a talk to you." "If you are going to take advent my not being able to run away from to say things I don't want to hear," with a dignity that is much marred tremendous sneeze in its middle. "" eider it mean of you." "I don't think I have bothered much lately," he says, and through a bay his voioe has a hurt ring in it." "Indeed, you have not," I say, punctiously; and, indeed, since I gave a certain answer to a certain question ed doubtfully :a year ago, he has not t led me with one word of love, entreat anything else, but friendliness; " you have looked so sober lately, Goor though you were going to read me tare--" "Would it do any eood if I did?" • ""I don't know. One thing I can tell # you, though, you will never get a better chance of making me listen to you than you have now." There is a pause and a faint, windy murmur; I think George is sighing. ""Nell," he says, presently, and some- thing in his voice informs me that he is ;going to disburden himself of the matter that has been oppressing him lately, "I -wish you would not have anything to do 'with Mrs. Vasher." "I can't help it; I promised, you know." •"It was a great pity." "I think so too. But supposing you bad an enemy whom you believed to be dying, and be asked your forgiveness— wretched, cast down, broken, punished „heavily of God—would you refuse your ,tithe of mercy?" "If he was quite sure that he meant dy- ng, I might not, but I don't think it's very likely. Like Dolly, I am a good hater. If any than had behaved tome as that woman behaved to you, I should hate hien as long as I had a kick left in me. Besides, she is woll enough." "She is not; she may die at any min- ute, and that is why I forgave her" ("and for Wattle's sake," I add to myself). "Creaking doors bang longest," says -George, skeptically; "there's nothing like .a. bad complaint to go upon for a long lease of life. She may outlive us all." "I wonder if you and 1 will live to very old?" I say, thoughtfully. ""How udroll it would be it you ware a dried-up old bachelor at The Chase, I a dried-up old maid at the Manor House; you would be able to come and see me every evening, and we oould play double dummy whist, or draughts, if we were weak in our heads. It would bo quite proper for you to come When we aro both seventy or thereabouts. ;We shall wear spectacles, of course, but I' rho hope that never,never shall we stoop to the degrading practice of taking snuff." "`Don't be premature," says George; "you may love it when you come to that age." "Don't be nasty! And we shall go church every Sunday in Bath chairs, grandpapa and gra.ndmamana did, side side, only they went so slowly; we will run races. Perhaps we shall live to an eno mous age and be put in the `Lancet' eases.'" "I hopo not," says George, with a vag rustle of hay that sounds like shudderin '" Tho gradual tieoay, the loss first of o .sense, then another, the tastelessness an weariness of everything, the incessa ++raving for rest, must be terrible. I wou die swiftly, at my best, with my powers in full vigor, be remembered, not dawdle out of existence to the tune of folk's pity, so that when I really went I should be missed. The liveliest sensation one should experience on hearing of the death of a man should be that you are violently • . ahooked—grief should follow in due course." ""I think it would be very selfish of you if you die before me," I say, foolishly enough, "for if there is anything I should hate it would be to leave nobody behind to make a great howl over me. All my brothers and sisters would be married, of course, and have their own selves and fare- ilius to weep about. It must be unpleasant to live so long that people think it rather indecent of you to be so long about saying good -by, must it not?'' "Very. I don't think you and I will ever sit down to double dummy whist, though, Nell. I don't moan to rust all my .life out hero: I mean to try to do some- thing, be somebody." `Be good, my child, and lot who will be clover,' " I quote;. "thought if you do .succeed in doing anything remarkable, which I doubt, you must run back to S1- 4 -abridge and tell me all about it, for oh, I shall find it so dull here!" ""Well," says George, "you have more .spirit than any girl I ever saw or hoard of. Here you are, at the edge of twenty-two, makingup your mind calmly to a Long life in this wretched little village, with nothing to blank the monotony save tho. deaths and marriages of your family. I tell you it's monstrous, Noll, and you'll never do it." A rather loud mutter from Goorgo seems to announce the fact that he""can't under - .stand" soinething. , Presently --,""Nell if 0 "Yes.'' "You and I never talk: about Paul Vasbor." a Net, "But I want to talk to you aboe. him naw --play i?" do not answer for a moment; it is like something stabbing a fresh wound to speak of hint to any one who knows, but Goorgo• Yves so good to nio in that tetanal() time years ago—so good: "Yes, you nasty—only say it as quickly as you can, George," "`Then, Noll, can you tell ane why he ever canto back?" "Surely he had aright to coxae if he chose!" ""1 don't think he ought to have done it'." 'If I do not mind it,.I think you n I say, proudly; ""a man may he p to .manage his own affairs, may h Raving made this speech 1 insta pont mo of it, as is so often the wa Os foolish women. If only we sou to think first and speak after! "I. did not mean that, Geo know you only say it for my goo why should he not mine bank?"' "Because you love each other yell," says Goorgo, sadly, "beoau eight never to have met again, never." aso low n, - tent surely „tieou " ears can not lcatch my ve can • words, while the blood leaps into my were cheeks like a living thing and shames by too me. light ; "Not exactly afraid, Noll but both you as our and he have had more laid upon Your th the shoulders than mortals could well bear, aro still and, be angry with me if you will, but I servos must dare to speak the truth -there is edible danger," he says, slowly and reluctantly. d the If it is bitter to 1110 to listen, it is bitterer which still to him to speak. one of I '"Do you think," I say, trembling under rase at all the weight that binds me down, "that them : we are so weak, so worthless? o you ets in `think that I ever for one moment forget nom that he is another woman's husband?" blglad e td I "I know you do not," says George; "your behavior has always been perfect; � but oan you tell me front the bottom of age of yotlr heart that the mere sound of.his you, voice, the merest chance look at his face, I say I is not the greatest good this world oon- by a tains for you? True, you never forget that I eon- I he is another woman's husband, but do you ever forget that he was onne your lover— you that he is your lover still?" I1 the' He pauses a moment, but I do not an - him swer, and he goes on. cora• "Can any ono help seeing that- you are him I his idol, the very Dore of his heart; that his ask- ` eyes follow your every movement and roub- I step, his ears wait on your every word, that y, or he breaks off in the midst of a converse - 'only 1 tion if you speak andloses himself in what ge, as youare shying. a leo- "And do you known' I say, slowly, "that sauce be came back, three months ago. we have not so much as touched each other's hands?" "It would be far better if you did,"says George, with an impatient. sigh; "far bet- ter if you could, I mean. It is dangerous work, Nell ; you are walking pn thin ice— souse day he will break down, and— then—'' "Hush 1" I say, pale as death, "do you know what it is that you are saying—do you know that he loves me? You do not know Paul, or ine. We might meet each other for years and years, just as we 'do now, content with having a glimpse of each other now and then (I don't deny that it is my greatest happiness on earth to see. him, to hear his voice—it is sinful, I dare say, but it is human nature), and never ask, never dream, of being any more to each other—how can we ever be anything to each other all our life? And if this one consolation were taken from me; if I never saw his face—I could not bear. my life. Paul! Paull—and that is why. I love the child so passionately. I may not give a sign of the love I bear the father; there is no sin in loving the child. When Paul Dame bank, George, I was afraid, just as you are now; I seemed to see all the dan- ger of our meeting—and tried so hard to make myself cold, indifferent, uncaring; but I could not—only after the first meet- ing was over, I found it so much more easy than I had thought it would be—and I gradually got to' feel quite safe; and now, do you know that I am not afraid of see - be ing him? I am almost happy sometimes." Happy!" ories George, with a deep, strong urgency in his voice; "ay ! as happy as the man who lies down in the snow, and, abandoning himself to exquisite slumber that creeps over him, perishes miserably— Far better and more whole- some for you were your keen, sharp fears, your consciousness of danger, than your present easy sense of security." "George!" I say, sharply and suddenly. "what is it that you are afraid of—what do you mean?" There is the silence of a few seconds; brave man, true friend that he is, he pauses before he speaks words that may never be forgiven him. "I fear," he says, slowly, "that some day this existence will become so intoler- able that his love for you will break all bounds—and he will ask you to go away • 'enrol there is no other misfortune left for lier to week "She has tried, If ever' or a woman put another in the way of temptation, Mrs. Vasher rhes tried to put you. Not an op- portunity does she ever miss of bringing you ante her husband together: over and over again I have watched her menoeuvers Bed not, to have yen alone, and smiled at the un- conscious way conscious way in whielh you have felled ' o trot?" her—she has been acting a black and ntly re- Wicked part to yott both, though neither of y with yon sinew it." ld learn "ILet ono think," I say, slowly; "yes, I remember now, Rarely as I have been to rge. • I 'fele Towers, she has always contrived souse (1—but arouse for sanding us off together, But what should she do it for—what object Par too could she havehad?" se you "`God knows! To take your good name, perhaps," "Yes," I say, recalling her evil threat; throe maths ago, that "she would have niy good name, too." "But I can't believe it, Goorgo—I did not know any woman living could be as bad as that." " You remember the day of the garden - party at The 'Powers, when she took you into her rose -garden?" "Yes.'' "She hurried ane away with her,leaving yon and \rasher there alone, and when we got back to the lawn, she got rid of me cavalierly enough, and I lost sight of her. i should have liked to go back and fetch you, but I was not sure you would not con- sider it an interference, so I walked up and down in the outer garden leading to where you were, the two being divided by a thick plump of trees. Anyone inside of these trees could see what was gohig on in the rose -garden, but not from whero I was, and as I strolled past I saw a bit of pale yellow silk, about the size of a shilling, shining through the think loaves, and it told ane that Madame Silvia was hidden inside, watching you." "And you really believe that she means me evil?" "I am sure of it." "But what harm can she dome? I ask, persistently. "I don't see how she oan do any more." "Shall I tell you?" asks George, hesitat- ing. ,"Pest, She would lead you and her husband into evil, she would shame you to the dust; she would half forgive you for being and the girl Paul Tastier has loved so long and faithfully, if she could degrade you in Ms eyes and your own." "And this is the woman I forgave!" I say, below my breath; this is the mother of my little angel Wattle! You were right, George, to say I was like a man who has boon asleep in the snow. I have been asleep, but I am broad awake. "When du the Vashors go away?`.' "The middle of July." "When they come back, "I say, •slowly, "I will go away to Alice or Jack. I will never meet Paul again of my own free will. George! George! bow shall I ever get through my life without a sight of him now and then?" He does not answer, for what oan he say? Real comfort he has none to give me, false he will not offer me, so he says noth- ing, "'I am afraid you will be very lonely in• August, Nell," he says, presently; "every- body seems to bo going away but you," "I do not mind. It seems so odd papa's going to Scotland with you; ho has not been anywhere since be came back from New Zealand." "N-o.Dolly and your mother are going to the Lovelaces, are they not?" "Yes; and I am to keep house here. What a muddle it will be! I wish Jack were coming hone for August, not Sep - tem ber." "Ab ! you'll not speak to ine when he is here." "Wait and see." " They're not dead;" said Bashan's voice, sounding immediately over our bodies, "for I heard one of them speak," "We forgot all about you -1" says Dolly's fresh voice, with some dismay in it,as she too leans over our mounds. "`The fact is, we havebeen eating strawberries, and it does pass the time so quickly." And, alas! when we are disinterred and sit up on end, thirsty, scratched, blinking, disheveled, with our heads stuck as full of wisps of hay as a pin cusbion is full of pins, we find that Doily and Bashan have, with a greediness that has no parallel in those modern times, very literally confined their attention to eating thorn, for they have not brought one berry with which to cool our parched, and dry, and dusty throats. to as by r - as with hila. Dead silence. lie "And this is your opinion of my true g• lover?" I ask; "and do you think I should ne go with him,' pray?" d He did not answer. nt Oh, heavens I" I cry, with a tearless sob, id that I should have fallen so low as for you to think this of me!" "Have I thought it?" he cries, swiftly. God knows that in my eyes you are the most innocent of his creatures; but Nell —Nell, are you so strong, is he so strong, that you should fare better than many a woman as fair and pure and proud as you? I don't speak to you in fear but in warn- ing:.I am your brother now; I have taken oare of you for a long while past, and if ever any words of mine will keep you from sorrow I will speak them, though . you grew to hate me for speaking them to you." There is a long silence; then I say: "George, I thank you." "God bless you, darling!" he says, so impulsively that he seems to be flying straight through the impedimenta of hay that divides us; "yon are as plucky as you are good; not one woman in a thousand would take it as beautifully as you have done." 'George!" "Yes dear." "I don't think there was ever any fear —not much. But I had never thought of such a thing, nova; and, perhaps, if it had really come to that dreadful pass I should have been so astonished—I might have lost my head and done something wicked -but I don't think I should. However, thore is no fear now. Axe you always to be doing mo,good, clear, and am I never to do you any?" "You have boon the one flower to bright- en my dull gray garden." A bitter, bitter pain runs through my heart at his words„ is it not hard for him, hard? There ho is, free and young, loving me; hero anu I, free and young, loving somebody else, who is nob free to Iovo mo. Ohl why can not I pluck that other love out of my heart, and, putting my hand in This, snake his imperfect, spoiled life a Completed, happy ono? And I cannot. "Nell," he says, presently, "ado you re- member how I have always warned you against Mrs, Vasher—after she tried to make friends with you, I moan?" "I vermin bor. " Well, olio has been a worse'enemy to you lately than she over was befoto; and that is saying a good deal." " klow oan she be that?" I ask, startled CHAPTER II. We are out in the orchard, Wattle and 1, among the .unripe apples, that are day by day taking new shades of glossy redness on their fat green sides, and announcing to all whom it may concern that after their beautiful youth of pearly blossom, and the long interval of unlovely brownness and uselessnses, they are now rapidly nearing the respeotabilty and accomplished work of fruition. They need not be in such a hurry to ripen: they are better off swing- ing up there on the bough than chopped into small pieces by the nook's knife, or lost to sight through the agency of my young brothers' vigorous teeth and appe- tites. We have been pelting each other with them, Paul's little son and I, and now he has fallen fast asleep in my arms, and is far away in the undaunted dream- land of childhood. It is four weeks since he wentawav,four weeks since ho took my hand in his, and I left it there because I knew that hencefor- ward I waw going to make it ray care that I should never see his face again. As our eyes met, how the passion and misery leaped straight from his heart to the brown depths; how I trohnbled, recognizing clearly enough that George had n3t warn- ed me too soon, or too urgently! Ile never said a word beyond gond-by, nor did I people were all about us—but I saw wild words trembling on his lips, words that I thank Heaven he never spoke to Inc nor I listened to. Silvia carne and wished ine good -by; false to the last, she put her hand in mine (he had not touched it thou), and wished me well. And I held any peace and said nothing. I let hot think I had never sus- pected all her vile plots,for if I had spoken the words that lay at my heart, how should I have been able to see Wattle, who, like any other fashionable, heartless mother, she was ]caving to the' care of ser-, 0nt o vents? She bade her people bring hint to 8100, pehook e foux and open sohoo e0tirt 'rli dross with a4.rith toob porpl shape then, watering the fair lands of with blood until they reek, sowin meadows and volleys with dead thick as the grain of the sower in s time-- For the greed and pride mon, for the errors in diplomacy of more, the land is made ono hidoott ing sepulcher, that opens wide its month anci sends Its murdered cry of thousands• up before God— Ho brain reels and the heart siokons a reads, day by day, of the success of t forme weapon forged by man tv des all semblance of humanity in that God created in His own image! Is n sweet to triose poor fellows who h lay it down because one crowned oovets his neighbor's vineyard? I do not know whether the Empe France or the King of Prussia is i wrong; I never did. understand Tiny about polities, and never shall, but the sic10 of the French, for a woman son, that they are weakest. Thank He no brother or friend of mine is 1 midst of the fighting! I should ren very sure that lie would never oome for to one another or sister to whom will return, will there not be ninety bereft? Although every tongue in this re Siiverbridge wags from morning till of the news ""of the war," an ono less fatal to some than the deadly b flying in such abundance yonder in la France, has crept in upon us and se mark, first on one, then on another, drawn thein away out of our sight that strait and narrow 'bondage waits for us all. king or peddler, que kitchen -maid, sooner or later. His n is Death, and he�oomes, not peaceful„ naturally, but with a fiery burning b —with a strong olutoh at the throat, close, hot grasp, under which Ms vi burn and faint and wither—and bis name is Foyer. Mother had no idea ever was in the village when she we she would be in fear about the ohil and I have not written to tell Ler—s eldom has a holiday, and site would traight back. Nurse says these thing not to be run away from, and that oys will do bettor to stay where they nd Silverbridge' village is more th mile away, so we are not in the raids e danger. A terribl0 pang seizes m look down on Wattle's unconscious ncl I think that even now the phan and may be creeping out of the dark nto the light to touch him, my ange onso]ation, who is the one pure and eat thing my life contains. This child, with his bold, beaut ooks, with his father's eyes, and his inning, lovable ways, is the deligh y days; he is himself and my lost 1 n ono, It is Paul who looks at me ou splrnclid, wilful brown-' eyes; P ho lurks in the haughty curves of tittle anouth,arid smiles at me with all d resistless magic from these baby 1 nd to these he adds his fresh, unso oung heart and words, his eager, qu ve and ohildnike trust; and over al e innocence that only those who h ved very young children can tell of. I take out my watch—six o'clock, e nurse ought to bare fetched Watt' e, he should be in bed by now; she th tiresome and stupid. I am won g what can have become of her, w napkins, that ancient man, appears e scene, and his eye betokens trouble "What is the matter?" I ask, quick "It's Symonds, Miss Nell; she is do th the fever. She had scarcely got b The Towers when she fell ill, and— very bad case, the doctor says." Symonds! Wattle's nurse—the worn whose charge hehasbeen up to the ti was seized with the fever! Oh, Watt the! if any hear could break, I think aid break now, as i listen to Simpki rds. `Do you think he looks feverish?" I a sharp voice that does not sound 11 own; "do you know how people ]o en they are going to have the fever?" `indeed, Miss Neil, I can not tell you says, sadly. "`Their throats just g sand their faces fluehed, and then G es thein—at ]east, that was how er poor souls when in the village. Be silent, I cry, harshly. Do you wa drive me. mad?" stoop over my darling's face, and m s grow to it. Is it here already—do tick under this beautiful guise, th dly, deadly fever? You'll not be sending him back to T were, Miss Nell?" asks Simpkins, wit e hesitation ; ""it wouldn't ho safe there are the young gentlemen here thonght of," put my hand to my head in thought He can not go back there," I say alon he must stay Here. Could he not b somewhere a long way from the res ase there is any infection?" h, my darling, my darling, that y it should come to ""if!") There's the room adjoining the school as was fitted up as a bedroom fo Jack last year, wh0n he spraine ankle," says Simpkins, thoughtfully Th a long way from the nurseries down a passage: don't you think tha do, miss?" Yes, that will do," I say, feverishly and have it prepared at once, and as se to have the bed made up instantly 1 come in when all is ready. Oh le, Wattle!" I say,' with a shudder long -drawn sob, as Simpkins goes y, "could. I bear to lose you, my Sower, ngel?" t his face gives me no answer. The Lashes lie heavy and shadowy on the th fair cheeks; ho looks as healthy trong and vigorous as ever he did in fe before, but soniohow, somehow, I to see the outstretched hand waiting uoh him. hand is cool enough as I take it in and we go back through the long ws to the house: He is backward his talk yet; but he has a language own that 1 understand, and we talk unniost shibboleth as we go along. The house seems very cool and quiet the outside world, and Wattle seems what awed and takes a firmer dutch hand as we go down the long stone ge, on whose matting so many vigor - mire of feet had stamped tip fund in their day, and reached the 5011001 a battered old place enough ; walls, books, floor, and chairs, the one as dine - France g the, bodies pring.. of two a few s, gap- searlet of tens w the ie ohne he. in- h out which, of life ave to head ror of n the thing I tak0 '8 rea- avers,. n the ke so bank a mail -nine mote night n7, no inlets belle t his and into that en or arae rand reath and a vie other that nt, or dren, he so come 5 are the are; an a t of eas face, tom i1 eee 1 of per- ifui own t of over ut of aul the the ips, iled iok 1 is ave and e at is der - hen upon ly. wn ac$ it's an me ie! it ns' cry, ke ok 11 et ori the nt y es at he 1h to d, 0 t a 1 s s b a th I a h 1 w m ti w 1' of a y lo th lo th fly bo in Si th wi to a in see Wa wo wo in my wh he SOT e tak nth to eye it 1 Clea To sem but be I `so put in c rea0 d room Mas his and mi „ "Go aur I wit Watt ing,' away a Rn black smog and s his 1i seem to to His mine, shade with of his rho f Th . after sumo at say passe 011e down room. It is ble as the other. A little passage runs f this room into another of the seine formerly a place of resort for old s, lturiber, and sulky or ill-used peo- now it is hare and primitive, with its poster, scanty chairs. plain toilet -table, ill -Used washstand. The windows fag to the ground like those of the 1 -mean, and looking out over the , fere' open. bed is made, and I proceed to ung Wattle who is evidently Mild) struck. the novelty of everything. He is not (1, though, and he doe§ 3105 cry; lie 1s rave a boy for that. I am wondering execlly what I can put on hixn le the oe, d at k ,40 for Infants arta Children.. OTH 1E52E1, Do You now that raregorlc, Bateman's Drops, C.{odfrey's Cordial, znany so-called Soothing *Syrups, mai most remedies for children are conapeocd of opium or morphine ? Do Ten Ellow that opium and morphine are otupefying narcotic poisons ? :no YOU !Ku ow that in most couatries druggists are not permitted to sell narcotics oithout labeling them poisons ? ZA 'Ten Know that you should not pemlib any mediciae to be given your child znless you or your physician know of what kis composed ? Do Yen 'Clow ths,t Castoria is a purely vegetable preparation, and that a list of it.; ingredients is published with every bottle ? Ao You Know that cactoria is tho prescription of tho famous Dr. Samuel Pitcher. Peat it haebeen in nse for nearly thirty years, and that more Castoria is now mild than •o: all other remedies for children combined ? irov___LEILem that the Patent Orace Department of the United States, and of Yther countries, have issued exclusive right to Dr. Pitcher and his assigns to use the word CaStOria " and its formula, and that to imitate them is a state prison offense 1 7.)0 You Know that one of the reasons for granting this government protection:ens means° Castoria had bebn proven to be absolutely harmless? Do You Know that 35 average 'doses of Castoria are furnished for 35 cents, or one cent dose ? Do TOTS Know that when possessed of this perfect preparation, your children rn....) bo kept well, and that you may have unbroken rest ? Well, these things are worth Imowing. They axe facts. siunature of is on every Children Cry for Pitcher's Castoria. UNDER THE COTTAR'S ROOF. A Touching Story From Life in Soon Land. With a hand on his shoulder, and looking kindly into Lownie's eyes, the doctor gently broke the truth, as he stood at the door before leaving. "Lownie," he said, "she canna live oot the nicht," Lownie seemed to be in a dream.. The purple hills glowed in the setting sun, and the flowers that speckled meadow and upland were M brighter, richer colors than in the height of day. The scene was never more beautiful than in this early autumn time. And. it was on such an evening, down by the burn, -when Lownie and Mary took each other by the hand and sealed. the compact of their affection. Its low, gurgling sounds were as music to.their ears and filled their hearts with a peace and joy unspeakable. It seemed. like yesterday when the first bloom was on Mary's cheek and her eyes sparkled as though her whole heart was in them. None was more beautiful than she in all the country side ; and Ifary's disposition was like a ray. of sunshine, and attract- ed and warmed and brightened wher- ever she went. The burn still sang its way through the meadow, and it look- ed now as it did that evening, fifteen years before, like a bar of burnished gold. What happiness had been his in all that time ! Mary had remained the same—only grown more precious as the years went by. But for her the load would sometimes have borne him down. When he would think g:lumly of their small means and a growing family, she would clear the clouds away with a song or words of cheerfulness and hope. y, ay," sighed Lownie, "Mary had ay faith that God. wad provide for's, an' th.e crater was ay richt." He remembered that sb.e had always met him at the brae head on his way home after his clay's work. "Come awa, Lownie, my man, I'm waitin' for ye." He seemed to hear the words now, though she had lain on her bed for WeHekeshad always looked forward. to the evenings at the ingle, with wife and bairns. They were like a benediction on his life ; and they lightened the burdens of anorher clay. Mary sat at one side, the bairns played on the hearth, and he read a newspaper or a book. When the little ones had been put to bed, man and. wife would "crack ower the day," until they :took the books and returned thanks to the God that watched over them. The pleasure of retrospection made Lownie for a mo- ment forget his miser3r. Then with a sudden sh.ock the words of the doctoz came back to him : "Lownie, she canna live oot the nicht." He groaned, walked inside, forgetting to close the door, and sat down by the bedside. Mary seemed to be asleep, but opened her eyes when she heard Lownien foot. "Mary, my lass, is there onything I can dae tor ye ?" making an effort to suppress the feelings that were almost bursting, "No, Lownie, dear. I'm braw an comfortable." Then, after a lause, she The well used Bible was brought from its piece on the mantelpiece, and Lownie waited for Mary to speak. "Read. the Minder and twenty-first ps.alm," she said. piste Sao whenever likee to have Man, and lie has tome neariy every day'. Mr. and Mrs, Veinier went away together, but she was going on some visits, to return hero in September, while ho was to join the Tem- pests and nape, later, in Argyllshire; he is with them now, X suppose, as the 12tli is already past. (When lie comes back in September I shall be gone to Alice and it will be a long, long while before I come back again), And while our sportsmen are shooting away so contentedly at the grouse, with no other ohjeet than to prove themselves' good shots, tout make a good meal off the len pooe birds', other men aro shooting, hack- or n Wei and hewing at (atoll Othet like heads th ono of baley'S old night•garInents (To BE CONT N ED.) died about tarelve years age. words as a prayer from his own heart. "Thae's grand promises, Lownie, clear lippen tae them." Then she Lownie's voice quivered. as the peti- tion escaped .his lipe ; When he rOse Mary's face was aalm, "Mary, my darling !" said Lownie. with a sob as he leaned toward. her witb a face almost of despair. In the gathering gloom a halo seem. ed to oridirele her head. and a smile rested on her tnee, Lownie recalled. the words of the psalm and took comfort, Tie) sassaar tees, Detver, Col,, neat, 16.—A speclal to the Tinies erom Hot Springs, Wyo., eases t—The bones foetal by Prof, 3. L. %rhea Baby was Sick, we gave her castone. When she was a Child, she cried for Castoria, When she became Miss, she clung to Castorie., When she had Children, site gave them Castoria. MOST SUCCESSFUL REMEDY FoR Mari OR BEAST. Certaizt in its effects and never blisters. Read proOfs below: Box 62,_Carman,Henderson Co., Ill., sett 28, '04.: Deur Sirs- Pleas:: send mo ono of your Norse Books and oblige. I have used a great deal of your Randall's Spann Cure with good success: it is a wonderful medicine. I once had a mare that bad =Ow:Hat tipuvin and five bottles cured her. I keep a bottle on hand all the time. Dr. B. J. ICESDALL CO. CANTON, aro, Apr. 3, '92. "Kendall's Spaviu Cure," with much success. I ' Dear .Sirs -d bave used several linttles of your ja think it the best Liniment I over used. Have re- movectone Curb, mie Blood Sinivlii and ;allied) two Bone SpavIno. Rave recommended it to 1 several of my friends who aro much pleased with i For Sale by all DrugSistS, or address g ENOSOURGH FALLS, VT. BROKE TRE RECORD. The Blonde Brakeman Tells of a Fast Run on a Montana Train. The Railroad Club met Tuesday even- ing in the usual place, and after a short business session the' boys drifted into "shop" conversation. The recent fast run of the general manager's special from Hope to Missoula was commented on, and the talk on fast runs became general. Several stories of remarkable time made on cliifferent occasions were related, and when the blonde brake- man got the floor he saw he was ex- lected to break the record. And he "Speaking of fast runs," said he, "why, that little Montana Union Line lays over anything I ever saw. No Dutch clocks or anything else to hold a man. down there. I worked for that road. When Bob Smith was dispatcher, and when he told the boys to 'wheel 'era' we all knew what it meant. One day we were going north and. were de- layed in various ways until we reached Stewart. Bob wired tJae Con. at that point that he wanted our train to get to Garrison just as quick as God would let us. We had a clear track when we started, and it wasn't long before the telegraph poles looked like a picket 'fence. The 'biggest burst of speed was reserved for the home stretch—from Deer Lodge to Garrison, 11 miles. We dicln.'t stop at Deer Lodge, but as we approached that place the engineer sounded the whistle as usual—and you may take my head for a Coot -ball if the 'Slow' si,gn in the Garrison yards wasn t passed by our train before that whistle had ceased to sound !" This inade the beys look weary, but the "braky" hadn't finished yet. He continued : "Well, we put our train away and were resting ones:elves, when. we glanced. up the traek and saw a dark streak approaching at a lightning gait. We were astounded for an instant, but as it slowed up we readily recogniZed it as the shadow of the train we had just brought in," And the boys all rose up, and after presenting 116 ralatot with A re nlarly signed license the club adjourn° . Whattop, of Columbia College, Near I) York, neat the head of histoile Bitter o Creek, and pronounced by him the Mary it Favorite Neale. Aeeording to statistics, Mary is the most °pia of Chtistian names, followed in mile George Sarah james, Charles, '