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The Exeter Times, 1888-4-5, Page 7(NOW FiRsT PuBLIMED ) LTKE AND UNLIKE. [ALL RiGnms RESEIWZD.) By M. E. BRADDON, Author:of "Lam AuDLEy'S $HOUT," 1" Wye -ramie WnInn," Era, Dr°. CHAPTER IX,—Non Thz AvEltAan GIRL. "Adrian" saki Helen in the breakfast room next morning, "1 want to go home." It was half -past nine o'clock. Bceakfast was over, and Lady Hatfield had gone off to her hothouses and morning interview with the head gardener. It was a hunting day, and Valenttge was lolling in an easy chair by the fireplace, waiting for his horse to be brought to theadoor. Helen and Adrian were standing in front of the window watching the drizzling rain. It was a Devonshire morning, wet and warm, with a low grey sky, and a mist from the neighbouring sea. "Go home, dearest, but why ?" "First, I have been here muoh too *long already, I have no doubt the Tradlneeys and Toffstaffs are talking about my wing here, and expatiating upon my [pauperism: 'Hardly bread to eat at home poor crea- ture!' and so on. But that is a:detail. My pecondly ia more important. Leo and the governor went to Paris osteneibly for a few, days, and have stayed -three weeks. "Darling, if you knew how it sets my teeth on edge to hear you say the governor." "Then in future it shall be MY Fatnen," with a solemn air. "But if I really were your darling, nothing I could say would ever set your teeth on edge. However, as I was saying, those people have stayed too long in Paris. They must be spending a great deal of money—somebody told me the Bristol was dear. • "It is not cheap." "1 shall order thcm home immediately, and the only way to make them obey is to go home myself. As long as he --my father ••—knows I am provided for here, he will puraue his reckless career abroad." "We can't epare you yet awhile, Helen," said Adrian, tenderly. "You have become the daughter of the house. My mother couldn't do without you. We shall Oily let you go home in .time to get your frooks ready for your metamorphosis. I believe the leer which insists upon new frocks as a preliminary of marriage is like the laws of the. Medes and Persians, and altereth not with the march of enlightenment." "Perhaps when a man marries a girl out of the gutter, he does it to escape being bothered about her trousseau," said Valen- tine ; "and that when a fellow runs away with annther man's wife, it is for the sake of skipping the horrors of the marriage cere- mony and the ordeal by wedding presents." "No, Helen, we can't spare you yet," pur- sued Adrian, ignoring his brother's re- ' marks. , "No, Helen, we can't spare you yet," echoed Valentine, from his easy chair. "There's my horse. I'd better be off pretty akarg1* a long way to Tadpole Pond." Hetiraped up, took his hat and 'whip, and ,t hurried out. Adrian and Helen watched him mount and ride away, tall and straight as an arrow, wearing his weather - stained; scarlet ooat and black velvet cap with an easy grace, as much at home on the fidgetty impatient hunter as he had been in his easy chair. • w_ The horse went straight on end, while Helen and Adrian were watching, and his progress for the 'first few hundred yards seemed to be more upon two legs than on four. "Oh; ho* I envy him, how I should like' to be going with him," cried Helen, spon- taneously, forgetting that only a few min- utes before she had been trying to get her- self out of that house, l deeming that she could not exist beneathIhe same roof with Valentine Belfield. "Would he take me next Friday, do you think, ? Would you mind ?" "Would I mind ? Well, no, not if you really are for hunting so very much." "6 Care for it,. I adore it. Why, you know it is my passion. I wish with all eny heart it were not. Just for once in a way, that I may see a little more of your picturesque country, she pleaded." "1 could drive you all over Devonshire, Helen." "Oh, but there is no fun in driving; and there are lota of places where you could not drive—break-neck hills, and boggy bits of moorland, woods and winding streams. The oiily properY to see a country is hunting, when one's blood is up and one's horse is on fire with eagerness to go. You'll let me hunt a little more before the season is over—just once or twice, or so—won't you, Adrian? Think how very good I have been for the last three weeks." , This was said with the air of a martyr. "My poor, self storificing Helen," said her lover, half sad and half ironical. "Yes, you must hunt, I suppose. You must go and hazard that life on which hangs my own in the most break -neck country in England. I will go out with you and potter about while you follow Valentine, who always takes the very wildest line and will lead you over some of the worst ground in Devon- shire.' 'Then may I send for my little Irish nuire to -morrow? Your horses have charm- ing manners, but they are not quick enough for houndEi. Norah Crehaa is nothing much to look at, but she can go :lite the wind." Naturally, Helen had her way. The Irish mare was sent for that afternoon, and the young lady said no more about her desire to go back to Morcomb. ' She tried to forget Valentine's offence and her owa indignation. "After all he is to be my brother," she told herself. His presence in the house was a disturbing infinencw ; even the expectation of bis return -fluttered her spirits a little as she sat at work kvith Ledy Belfield that afternoon, while tile rain pattered against the windows j She was not very fond of needlework, but she had felt constrained to put on an air of occupation in the long wet afternoons, lest her future mother-in-law should fake offence at her idleness. Int This afternoon her thoughts were in the steep breakneck lanes or on the brewn bar- ren moorland, rather than with her basket of many -colored silks, or the bunch of pop. pies which she was stitching athriechanically, caring very little whether the shading came out well or ill, stopping every now and then to stifle a yawn, Adrian WAS in the library writing letters, and the two women were alone together. "What dreadful weather for the hunt- ing," said Lady Belfield, lookingup at the window for the twentieth time in half an " They won't mind it," exclaimed ,ileleri, with a regretful air. " What deem rain matter if they have a run. There is nothing more enjoyable than dashing through wind end bad weather after a good fox. It is only when one is standing about in a hope. law condition that one minds ithe ram. I only wish I Were with them under that downpour." "My deat Helen, I hope you will never forget that Adrian has been strongly warn. ed against hunting." ' I am not likely to forget it," answered Helen, with a touch of pettishness. "And you won't tempt him to disobey his doctor, will you, dear ?" " Of course not. But I :hippos° , there will be no harm in my going out with Mr. 13elfleld next Friday. I should not give him any trouble. I can always take care of myself." "Any harm—no, I suppose not," replied Lady Belfield, with an air which implied that she thought the proposition somewhat incorrect. Valentine came home earlier than usual. The day had been unsatisfactory. He had had two of his best horses out, and there had not been work enough for one. Ile went ofe to change his clothes in no very agreeable humor. It was dusk when he left his dressing -room, but the lamp was lighted , in the corridor and there was light enough for him to see the face of a girl whom ,he met half way between his room and the open gallery above the ball. She was dressed in the Abbey livery of dark red merino and long white apron. She wore the rauslin mob clap of the Abbey housemaids; but she looked no more like them than if she had been a duchess who had juet put on that costume in a frolic. Her dark eyes flashed upon Valentine Belfield like a danger signal. He pulled rp euddenlyeand stood face to face with her. "What in the devil's name brings you here ?" he exclaimed. • "I hope you are not sorry to gee me, Mr. Belfield." "Never mind what I am. Tell me what devikty has brought you here, in that get up. You are not a servant here, I hope." "But I am. I have been living here more than a month. There was no devility in it I assure you. It was my first and only friend, the Vicar'who got me the place— and ib was LadyBelfield's kindness whieh made room for me. I have been trying to improve myself," she added, looking up at him shyly. "1 get a glimpse of yourmother and of other ladies now and then, and I am trying to find out what ladies are like and how they behave, that I may learn to be a lady." "You are a fool," muttered Valentine, scornfully. "Your wildness was your charm. What have-y*8u to do with ladies of mymother's status? You were a beau i. ti- ful, ignorant creature knowing nothing of the world and its dud, deadly -lively ways. You were a woman for a -man toslove—a splendid, untamed, perhaps untameable, being, for whom a man might go to the devil. Do you suppose that eleatreplated gentility will improve you? Do you think your missy blood will show to advantage in a Paris bonnet and gown ?" "1 think that if I am ever to be a gentle- man's wife I must first learn to be a lady," she answered gravely. "Come, Madge, don't be a fool," said Valentine with a touch of tenderness, put- ting his arm around her, and trying to draw her towards him. She drew herself away from him, pushed him from her with an arm which was a good deal stronger than the average young lady's He laughed at her vehemence. "By Jove," he cried, "was that a speci- men of your new manners? Is that Hercu- lean etyle your idea of gentility? Why, my girl, ladies are like lilies, they snap at a gust of wind. Listen here, Madge, there's no use in our talking nonsense. You know I am ridiculously fond of you, and that I would do anything in reason to make you happy; but there ia no use in our talking about marriage. You must have seen a little more ot what life is like since you have been under this roof, and 5 ou must be. gin to understand that,--" He hesitated, leokine down at his em- broidered slippers—the mother's gift—at a loss how to end a sentence that would not end in brutal admission. "1 must understand that gentlemen don't marry girls of my class," said Madge, finish- ing his sentence for him, with those brilliant eyes of hers fixed with steady gaze upon his , downcast countenance. He could feel their i light, was conscious of that earnest scrutiny, I though his eyelids were lowered. 6' Was 1 that what you were going to say ?" "Something like that." "Well, that's what I don't understand. i W'hat I do understand is that if a plan loves I a girl well enough he will have her for his ) wife however low she may be. If he really , , and truly loves her, he deems,' b want to bring shame upon her. It is only half-hearted love , that would do that. If a man loves in earnest, and with his whole heart, he . will , marry the girl he loves. Yes, if he were a . duke, and she a girl of blemished character. There is nothing against my character, Mr, , BelfieId, and you know it. So you had best I understand at once that I shall never be anything more to you than your mother's i servant—unless I am your wife." I "That's hard upon me, seeing that I am a younger son and not a free agent. Dukes I can do as they like, but 1 can't You know I am passionately fond of you, Madge. Come, child, don't be unreasonable.'.' I Again he tried to draw her nearer to him, 1 to bring those lips close to his own, and en- tangle those flashing glances of hers in the light of his own dark eyes, which were hard- ly less brilliant "My dearest girl," he pleaded, "you know I adore you. What more osn you vva,nt to know. You ought never to have I put yourself into this false position. A ser - 1 vane you 1 The queen of beauty handling ' a broom I You should have listened to me, : Madge. I know of the sweeteee little cot- ! -tap, in a garden on the bank of the Ched, 'far away from your vile ewamp. A gentle- ( man's cottage, half hidden under flowering 'weepers, with a verandah, where a fellow ' could smoke his cigarette after dinner in the ' mummer evenings, and A WM1101180, Where ' A fellow could keep bit boat. You would be in your place, Madge, in that cottage, with a couple of servants to wait upon you. Why should we not be happy, sweet? This world was made for love and loners. "This world was made for honest men and women, You are te:sceundref. Yes, you are right, I was a fool to come to this house. But the temptation was too great—to see you—to be near you." "Yeti might be more than that, awe e one. You might be with me elegem if you would. Will you go with MO to -mor tOW to Ste that cottage, Kedge. You could slip out at the hack of the house quietly, and I could pick you hp near tho Stables, and drive you in an hour. The place would not look so pretty as in summer, but it is al. ways picturesque—inid-Medge," pleadingly, "we might be happy there." Y "No," she thieWeted resolutely, not With the air of a woman who means yes; " I could never be happy that way." "Your mother was of another way of thinking, Madge." "How dare you throw my mother's shame in my face. What do you know of my mother V' t "1 have had the honor of meeting hor in London eociety," he answered with a mali- cious sparkle in his eyes. "And I do not even know if she is alive" "Oh, :she is a lady who has made hewed a reputation in London, I mum you. When was it I met her? About five years ago, 1 think, my second year at Oxford. I was up in town on the quiet, went to a theatre, and supper party afterwards—a sporting nobleman's party. Your mother was there. Mature, gone to seed a little, perhaps, but remedial ly handsome still, and dressed an only a woman of genius knows how to dress at forty, dressed to melte forty more attrae- tive , than. twenty. Your rnother would never wear a housemaid's cap, or trundle a broom, I can assure you. She knows her own value too well. She has better senee." "What is her name in Laden? I have never heard of her by any name but my own, Madge." "Ob, she has a name of 'greater dignity than that. I was introduced to her as Mrs. Mandeville. There was a Major Mande- ville about whom people told some curious stories, but I did not see much of him." "Do you know- where my mother is living now !" "No, child. But I daresay I could find out. Do you want to know ?" "Yes, I want to know all I can about my mother. Even if she is a wicked woman, leading a bad life, she is more to me than any other woman on this earth. The day may come when she will want my help." "1 fancy she is too clover for that, Madge ; but I ha-ve no doubt she would be glad to see you, if it were only to be re- minded how handsome she was twenty yeara ago." A bell rang in a lobby below, the servants tea -bell. , "1 must go," said Madge, hurriedly, and and so they parted, Madge to the back stairs and the servant's hall, Valentine to his mother's drawing -room, where tea had been waiting for him for a quarter of an hour, La dy Belfield excusing herself for keeping Helen and Adrian waiting, on the ground that afternoon tea was more to the return- ing sportsman than to anyone else. "And it is so much nicer for us all to have our tea together," she said. "Don't apologize, mother," said Adrian, smiling at her, "as if we didn't know that your tea would be worse than tasteless if you began without Valentine." "You have not been so expeditious as usual, Val," said the mother, as her young- er son sauntered into the room in velvet jacket and slippers, and with A Byronic throat. "1 was wetter than usual, mother, and taking off my boots was like drawing double teeth,' he answered, as he seated himself by Lady Belfield's elbow, and attacked a pile of toast 1 He looked across at Helen, who was sit- ting on the other side of,the fireplace with , her workbasket in her lap, the image of I propriety. He looked at her critically, as 1 he sipped his tea and munched his toast, icomparing her delicate beauty Yit ith that darkly brilliant face he had lust now been •gazing upon. No two faces could have been more distinct in their beauty, more widely diverse in their characteristics. In Helen's' countenance, the lightness of a frivolous and shallow nature wa,sas obvious as her beauty; in that other face there were suggestions.of the sublime inpassion or in thought, thefaoe of a woman strong for good or evil. There was a relief in watohing the play of Helen's countenance after the passionate earnestnesa and flied purpose of that other face, so full of evil augury to him, the would-be seducer. - Here he could gaze un - appalled. ' "How pretty she is, just as butterflies and flowers that last a day are pretty," he said to himself, "and how soon a sensible man would get tired of her. Perhaps she may do for my brother all the same,' he went on, musing lazily as he ate and drank, " he is a dilletante, loves prettiness in every- thing, from architecture to book binding. Yes, eho may succeed in making him happy, shallow as she is. He will play theorgan to her, expatiate upon Bach and Beethoven, read Shelley and Keats to her, and she will pretend to )3e interested, andthey will get on pretty well together in their nambyPam- by way." He could read Helen's thonghts easily enough as he watched her face in the lamp- light. Her eyes were cast down for the most part on her teacup or her work -basket, but now and then she glanced shyly, inquisitive- ly, in his direotion. "She feels embarassed still on account of yesterday's eseapade," he said to himselt, "yet she is monstrous curious about me, would like to know what manner of man I am; would like to be friends." He condescended to desoribe his day pleasantly, when ho had taken the edge off his appetite, and then asked Helen why she was not out. . "The Toffetaffs and the Traduceys were full of inquiries about you, thinking it such a pity you don't hunt now. 4 ou seemed to enjoy it so much, th.eyisaid." "They wore not over civil to me when I was out, said Helen; "1 shouldn't ride to hounds for the pleasure of their society— but, but," faltering a little, and with a de- precating glance at Adrian, "1 should very much like to get one or two more days be- fore the end of the season." "One or two more days," cried Valentine, "What bosh 1 You muat go every day— get every chance you can. There are horses enough to give you two a day if you like. i I hope Adrian iinot so selfish as to want to keep you at home." - "Does it rank as selfishnese Val, for a man to want' his wife's society. If Helen were to hunt tha ee days a week after we are married, it would be a kind of semi -divorce for whieh I am not prepared." "All the more reason that she should make the most of her time while she is sin. gle," retorted Valentine. "11 I were you, Helen, I would not be denied a single day. I would make the most of my freedom in anticipation of th life of captivity." "1 shall not think it captivity," mun, neural Helen, with her sweetest smile; and Adrian was content. There was a telegram from Colonel Dever - ill next morning to announce his arrival in London. He would be at Morennb next day with Major and Mu. Baddeley, and hoped to find Helen at home. "Then I shall not have to trouble' you, Mr Belfield," said Helen, "Frank is devoted to hunting, and he will take care of Leo and me—if, if you don't mind iny having one or two more days Adrian." "You will 1.;c: out Ok my jurisdiction, Hel- on—if you really must go home." "Oh, indeed I mastrather is very per- emptory. I ought to go, dear Lady Belfield, though I am heart 'broken Ot ending this happy visit," "it will not be lousy dear, before this house is your home,' answered Constance Belfield gently. 1 Do you know that this is a very uncivil way of throwing me over, lielen," mid Val- entine laughingly. "You engage a ma,n to allow you the country—a man who knows every inch of the ground ; and then you inform him that a, certain Major Baddeley, Who perhaps never put his nose in North Devon before, will be ever so much better a guide." "Only because he is an old friend, almost a relation." And ain I an enemy : and am I not to be a relation ?" I think you know what I mean, Mr. Belfield." She was going to newer her telegram. Quicker in his movements always than his brother, Valentine sprang to the door. Why am I Mr. Belfield ?" he asked in a lowered voice, as he opened it for her, "Why not Valentine as well as Frank ?" "Oh, I could not—not yet," she said, "Strangers yet? Strangers, after the day before yesterday ?" in still lower tones, detaining her on the threshold. She flushed crimson, looked at him angri- ly, and passed him as if he were dirt. " The -butterfly is not without spirit," he thought, as he went back to the table to finialt his breakfadt. He did not see Helen again till, they met at the cover side, where he was preeented by her to Mrs. Baddeley, who was in high glee at returning to country life after her Parisian dissipations. "What did we see? Everything 1" she answered, when Valentine ,questioned her about "Le petit Muff," the last burlesque opera whioh was convulsing the boulevard and commanding forty francs for a stall. "We sent for an agent on the morning after our arrival, gave him a list of the pieces we wanted to see, and gave him carte blanche aa to the price of seats. The tickets were dear, but we saw all the pieces which native Parisians had been waiting for months to see. It is the only way." "Yes, it is the only way," said Major Baddeley, a fat fair man, who looked too • heavy for his horse, and whose province in life was to be his wife's echo. 'Valentine contrived to show his future sister-in-law the way, in spite of Major Badcleley's prior claim as an established brother-in-law. He led her up and down break -neck hills, and forded the stream in all manner of risky places. Those two never lost sight of the hounds, nor of each other, and were the first in at the death after the professionals. When the Bad- deleys came up, Helen and Valentine had dismounted, and were standing side by side on the brink of the stream that had just been reddened by Reynard's blood. (go BE OONTLIIIIED.) Courting in the Country. Select the girl. Agree with :the girl's father in politics and the mother in religion. If you have a rival keep an eye onlim ; if he is a widower Keep two oyes on him. Don't say to the girl you have no bad hab- its. It will be enough for you to say that you never heard yourself smoke -in your steep. Don't put sweet stuff on paper. If you do you will hear it read in after years, when your wife has some special purpose in inflicting upon you the severest punishment known to a married man. Go home at a reasonable hour in the evening. Don't wait until a girl has to throw her whole mind into a yawn that she cannot (foyer with both hands. A little thing like that might cause a coolness at the very beginning of the af- fair. In cold weather finish saying good- night intim house. Don't stretch it all the way to the garden gate, and thus lay the feundation for future' asthma, bronchitis, neuralgia and ohronic catarrh to help you to worry the girl to death after she has mar- ried you. Don't misrepresent your financial condition. It is very annoying to a young bride who has pictured for herself a life of luxury in your ancestral halls to learn too late that you expect her to ask a bald-head- ed parent who has been uniformly kind to her to take her in out of the cold. Don't be too soft. Don't say, "These little hands shall never do a stroke of work when thoY are mine ; and You shall have nothing to do in our home Vat to sit all day long and chirp at the eanaries," as if any sensible woman could be happy fooling away time in that sort of style, and a girl has a fine, retentive memory for soft things aud silly promises of courtship, and occasionally, in after years, when she is washing the dinner dishes or patching. the west end of- your trousers, she will remind you of them in a cold, sarcastic tone. Wonted Fires, Dr. Keate of Eton was a stalwart flogger. His crowning achievement was that of whip- ping one hundred boys on a single summer night. His pupil, Rev, C. A. Wilkinson, in his Reminiacences of Eton, pleads loyally that Keate had a "better side, and that he merely suppressed his natural kindliness)? heart. Long use however must have made this task of supra ession easy, for even in his old age, when he had retired from the great theatre of flagellation to the peaceful- ness of a Hampshire living, the wonted i fires occasionally glowed even n his ashes, as is humorously proved by the following story. "'Don't answer me, sir? I'll flog you directly l'" relates Mr. Wilkinson, was, it may be said, a stereotyped phrase in the head -master's book for twenty-seven years of his life; and even after this it sometimes cropped up. I remember some years afterwards, when I was his curate, I was blowing up one of my Hampshire bump. 'tins after church for irregularity of mis- behaviour. The boy stood with his mouth open and hat on his head, and was just be- ginning to make some 02CCUSO, when my old rector strutted up, sturdy still in his gait and full of apparent ire, which he always put on in his old communication with the boys at Eton; and, probably fancying him- self there, with the never failing umbrella in his hand, he poked off the village boy s hat, as he each Whet's, this, sir? Don't answer me, sir 1 Take off your -hat, sir! I'll flog you directly 1'" What's the Matter? Didst ever feel, my love," said he- 6.1he twain 'neath atarbeams Orel ing— " A thrill no tongue can e'er express, And yet 'tie vain controlling; A setnething that o'erwhelms the tout And quite o ercomes tit) senses, A ceaseless throb that through each vein Its influence dispenses 03,nst tell me what it is, my own ?" Then fondly looked he at her, "In course, you goose." she tartly add : " It's corns—that's what's the matter I" The choirs of the :aux& of England in - elude 154,000 voluntary and 10,000 paid male singers, and 57,000 voluntary and 2,1.00 paid female singers. Ali the &dare of Meonole Wis., are in- terested. in Abel Williard'e teeth. Abel is 89 yeata old and after several years of tooth - kat exietertee, he is now cutting a new Pet of tipper tooth. He is hurrying to gee through before Minimer, for every one ktiOWS how :hag:Irene the hot season is to persona who are teething, YOUNG FOLKS. THE TALE OF A TRACK. A sToBT Von THE EuTE, "But the hurtin'eet thing is, mother's sioli and she's a' awful good mother, siok or well, Rank. I guess I won't go. S'poein' I'd ask her might' I go with you to make Charley Norton give us maple -sugar, I know what ehe'd say—she'd say, No, Daniel.' An' so I'm sure I won't go." "You're a fool, Dan. Ain't that ste Stub?" And Henry Uncarfer sauntered on, followed by Stub, a scowling ohunk of a dog, always at his young master's heels, trying to cock the ears that had been cropped, and wag the tail cruelty had cut oft. Henry was the most distinguished young vagabond of his country community, the provocation of schoo1-m:4mm in Winter, a young bear in the way of smaller boys in Summer. There had been several days of March thaw, and he felt Imre that little Charley would have to be "driving the kettles" in his father's sugar -bush to save the extra run of sap. Hence he had set out for it raid on the boiling.place. And mis- chief, as well as misery, loving company, he had Linked Daniel Downs to go along; but the mother -culture in him declined. A little farther on he found his mate in Robert Waters, the boy of a farmer in good standing. aCtoodleke," he said, "to scare a /aid and sweeten' up the kidnappers in the dark." Across lots at dusk strode the pair, with Stub in their wake. Crossing an orchard, they skirted a mound of earth, conewhaped, several feet high, with here and there a straw in sight. "Agnew—th' ole stingy—" said Henry, " 's got oome fancy russets buried there, I'll bet.' "Why not open the pile for 'im, Hank ?" "All right, Bob, it's done. You're my style." Entering the woods of Canadian maple they soon halted, and Henry drew from his pocket an old black apron, tore it:in two, cut rough eyrie and month in each piece, and a moment later the two boys were masked; and with a handful of mud Stub was soon made a dog of another color. They walked in silence close up to the kettles and young Charley Norton and without a word signalled him to b3 off'. But his father having told him to stay, he stuck. One of his school -book inspirations had been, "The boy stood on the burning deck." So the hooded pair seized each an arm of Casablanca the second, and they tied him hand to foot with his own rope, then laid him tenderly back upon the straw beneath, his own shanty roof. Coolly the novices at bulldozing now dipped into a barrel half the contents of the sweeter kettle, roused the fire under it, and started rapidly toward home. Charley protested vigorously against being left there all n ight, but neither the pair nor the painted dog uttered a bark of explanation. Teta Isenhour later the boys in veils sat by the boiling fire munching Roxbury rus- sets, while between them lay a gram sack perhaps a quarter full of reserved stomach ache. For an hour or more, without a word, by turns they sat and munched, then stood and drank of the syruping kettle. Later Robert arose, stretched, rubbed both hands over his distended waistband, and turned round, facing out into the dark of the woods. Suddenly his eyes fell upon a moving light, low down, and away in the direction of their prisoner's home. Quickly he touch- ed his comrade and pointed; Henry looked, and even his mask f rowned. They knew it was Mr. Norton and his lantern corning to see why Charley didn't come. Catching up the sack of unfinished apples, Henry silently led Robert and Stub again into the dark toward home, leaving their victim worse confounded than before, and in the kettle they left their regrets. Before morning the weather turned cold, the mud froze, a light snow fell, and the marks of the night were covered. A few days, later, however, the weather was again warm, and Farmer Agnew went into his orchard "to fetch a basket of those crisp russets from the apple mound." Instead he fetched home wrath against the rascals that had uncapped to the frost his twenty bushels of spring comforts. He'd catch 'em, he said, and they'd "catch it." Meeting Mr. Norton the two went back to the orchard scenting scamp tracks; and they found some. They noted first: that all the foot tracks. wore boys' boots; and looking oloeer they found only two pairs represented, one pair of which was mis- mated, consisting of two left foot boots, one of them run over at the side and clewn at the heel. The other pair, too, was odd, having left the in of a diamond formed by carpet tacks en the sole. But the queerest track the thief had left behind was the impression of a small dog sitting upon his haunches in the moist sand and forgetting to take his stub of a, tail in under cover. "A short tail," observed Mr. Agnew, "but it will help to unfold a long tale." Mr. Norton mentioned the outrage upon Charley, and the presence of ruseet cores before the fire, adding : " These troubles must be twins; the cause of one is father of both," Next morning Mr. Agnew rode about the neighborhood and told the Uncarfers, the Downses, and other poor families, that he was going to open his apple mound that afternoon and if they'd let their boys come over with bags he'd give 'em all snug loads. So afternoon found Messrs, Agnew end Norton, end one substantial, jolly.looking stranger early in the orchard. This after- noon the air was again frosty, and the old traoks stood up in good shape. Henry Uncarfer soon came up slapping kat year's weeds with it grain bag; 33an- iel Downs came with a pillow ease neatly folded, and his pants neatly patched ; Billy Pond, and Johnny Shepherd, and Tommy Stark also was there. Robert Waters had net been invited, for his peer le were not of the "pocr " nor himself of the sus- pected. But, passing the orchard, he saw the 'boys, hopped over the fence, and was welcome. Just as he came up the "substantial stranger" was saying, in an oft -hand et ay, whh it finger toward the diamond track, "Boys, that's the print of a rather neat boot—that square toe and that tack dia- mond on the sole. I'll bet a five.cent ehinplaater there isn't it boy here that can match that track." Now Robert hadn t permanently forgotten his late evening of mischief, but he thought Messrs. Agnew and Norton had, and the stranger, of course, ,was not interested, So, after all the other boys had looked at their boots and steed back; Robert recognized his own, and geld, "Guess, inviter, P11 take yer five cents," Then fitting his foot snugly into the footprint, he added, "See! jiSt it fit ; fork over, please I" "Ho'O alma that diamond?" "411,41' Rebert threw up his new boot aria. showed the figure in bright tack heads. The three adults exchanged aetoniehed glaaces'thinking of the farnilY he bailed from. Then the Wenger opened his -wallet and gave the by thet wee offspring of the war--Unele Sam five emit 110te. I declage, Bob,' mumbled Henry, "m- a luelcy feller." "Well, boy," aaid the strenger, mooing slowly abeut, with one eye on the ground, " here's the old track of another queer beot —a ir of 'em—both left feoters, and one run over at the tide an' down at the heel. What boy'll fill theee track:3 for five cents" "Mo 1 me l'' eagerly answered Henry, throwing down the bag and shuffling to the, front. Ur. Agnew had already noticed on the bag in Henryei hand a grease -spot that look- ed familiar to him ; so, while the other men ancl boys huddled about Henry and the tracks, he stepped back and with his foot, straightened out the folds the bag had fallen into. Behold 1 The initiate of his own name looked up at him through a dirty face-- a. charcoal attempt telide them. Of course, Henry Uncarfer took that left - booted prize; nor did any other boy seem to wish he wore such boots. "I'm sorry for you other boys," said the jolly stranger with a wink at Mr. Norton ; but perhaps we can find something more to try on ;" and he led the half-dozen to the opposite side of the mound. Why, yes," he said, with a laugh of surprise, as he reached that side, here's a track there oan't one of you fill, ril bet a. dinee;" and he pointed to an oval and divid- ed depression, with a short handle at one side. The boys all wondered and laughed, and. Mr. Norton wondered out loud what it could be, "It looks," Denial said, "as where some dog set down to wait for some other fel- low." "If that's so," said the stranger—." an' I guess your right, Master Downs—you boys ' must give the dogs a chance. They sayn you know, that every dog has his day;. so maybe this is the day of one of your doge Now, I don't say a dog is worth two boys; still, the dog that can fit that ground-reste, if he's here, shall have a dime.' "Heah, Watch!" "Heal, Zeck 1" "lies,E;'- Stub 1' Heah, Toweer I' quickly shouted the boys to their pets. Watch came up first; and being told there was money enough at stake to buy hilik bones for a week, he Bet down, like e. good dog. But he covered altogether too much: ground, and proved that the dog for the dime must be shot of tail. So Master - Tommy got laughed at for entering en& a. dog at that prize -match. Then the other dogs were lo oked oxen and Henry, jumping at this new chance for wealth, collared Stub. Stub sulked and growled that he wouldn't take that chair, but finally was tripped into that sand -mold, caudal abbreviation and all, the stranger "admitting" that he'd lost, as no hickory meat ever fitted it nut- shell better. " The two farmers smiled approvingly, as Henry, mach envied by the other boya,, shoved that dime into one of the vast pock- ets in his vast pants. "That's a very truthful dog," observed Mr. Agnew to Henry. "Do you an' him. 7- always go together " sew " drawled Henry. "tTs sticks closer'n twins—sleeps together. Dogs is good stoek, and a shortstailer pays best this time o' year, ye see, don't ye ; an now,, roister, if ye don' rain' n-dumpin' in them, apples you tol' dad we could hey for the fetchin, PR tote'm home." Mr. Agnew half-filled his own stolen:hag. with the remark that be was sorry the ap- ples all froze—he should have to take better. care of his fruit next fall; but if soon used,,. they'd be better'n no sauce in springtime. Henry whistled for Stub, and, without thanks for apples or cash, trotted of!; and the other boys, all well loaded, soon follow- ed. The men were satisfied, especially the - substantial stranger, who, by the way, wan. a village constable'with experleace at trap- ping rogues into telling more truth thane they meant to. He went home that night, but: came early next morning with warrants to arrest Robert a,nd Henry, and search their homes. Calling to inquire about roads he'd travel- ed forty times, he dropped into easy chat, with the mothers about their boys, and dis- covered that, on the night of the trouble, both had been out quite late, and towardr. morning had come down with what Mrs. Uncarfer termed "the orampinest kind e couar-morpm.". Also he found the Agnew sack in the Uncarfer pantry, and a half- dozen sanded, unfrozen russets under Henry's bed. The mother broom-sticked the officer; but he only smiled, as though used to that elms of mothers, then put onto the boy the handcuffs --the " comealongs"—and took him away. Robert's mother begged for him, then broke down in tears. The officer didn't smile that time, but said he was sorry he, had to take him. Robert himself was bad- ' ly frightened, and at once confessed to both the apple -stealing and the sap -bush scrape. Mr. Waters drove right to town with Robert and the constable and bailed hie boy till trial day; but nobody offered tat bail Henry, and he lay a week in jail. At the end of that time, there came into court as witnesses MI the men and boys who had been present at the trial of tracks hi the orchard; and even Stub came to tell. his tale. Bat after Robert's confession anti the constable's story of the tracks, the Oaclx, and the tpples put to bed, Henry saw that further lying wouldn't win, and he too own- ed up. Then the little court pronounced ilia solemn sentence upon each of the boys ; fine of ten dollars 6,nd costs; and, in default of payment, .six months in the reform school. Robert's father, of course,at once paid his boy's fine, then hurried him home to his sorrowing mother. And he said to his wife: " Sarah, guess we'll know after this where Bob in o' nights." Bat there wasn't any body present who thought it would be Worth ten dollen to tho community to have " Hank" 1h:ceder at largo six months right through the fruit and watermelon season; and to the reform school straightway he went. The tap -bush ease Mr. Norton said he'd - hold ova the boys for good behavior. A.—" I hope you are not gniug to any balls duringLent." B.—" io, indeed ; the i only balls I ntend to patronize during Lent are fish balls." Isn't it good'for man to be alone? Just try to shave and have your eldest male off- spring playing round your anklen with 0 piece of string and the second ono milting yOu to draw an elephant on the dressing table with a hail, and then BCC 1 It IS reported from Witecrly, Ohio, that on Feb, Ill, 1887, Lizzie Long during a re- vival of teligion went into it trance and an, nounced that she t mita aio exotis otto later, Ott On the nth of last February, the Val hour speelfied, Lizzie Long mea.