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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Herald, 1907-11-15, Page 3e and IA'14'tJbn +VfalA NIMI Al'V t'VAWdcCN Maud read well and fluently, though in a low voice and with a blushing cheek, and Mr. Ipsy was satisfied, and. took the book from her hands, and said he must put her in Miss Spooner's Tes- tament class. "But, if you please, sir, I want to go in that lady's class,' said. Maud, timidly, indicating Mrs. Daniel Hunter. Mr. Ipsy's eyebrows flew up in . sur- prise, then puckered down in a frown. "What, what, what; what, do you say? What lady?" he asked, quickly and nervously. "Mrs. Hunter, sir, if you please." "Eh? What? My conscience! Little girls are not to choose what class they are to go into." "But, sir, if you please, I came here to go into Mrs. Hunter's class," per- sisted Maud, gently, letting her eyes linger on the form of the lady. It happened that these words caught Mrs. Bunter's ears, and she looked up, saw the child, and beckoned Mr. Ipsy. Mr. Ipsy sprang to her bidding, "like Xyphiae to his aura." "What is it, Mr. Ipsy?" she asked. "Why, madam, that little trouble- some child has taken a fancy to go into your class, and no other. Really it is very natural that she should feel this preference, which, I fancy, is shared by all the pupils in the school—they would all, doubtless, prefer the honor of Mrs. Hunter's valuable instructions, but, real- ly, all cannot have it." "But since the little one alone asks it, is it not fair to presunclass?ethat Andshe alone desires to be in my why may she not come?" "Madam—a—your complement is fill- ed up." "I can take another. I will take her with pleasure, Mr. Ipsy" "But, madam, really -this little girl— " " He paused in embarrassment. Mrs- Hunter relieved him by saying: "You are the superintendent of the school, Mr. Ipsy, and if you see a proper cause to refuse my request, I withdraw it, of course—deferring to your—posi- tion" "Madam, Mrs. Hunter—most certainly it is I who am honored in submitting to your. better judgment. I 'ent go and bring the little girl to you, Mr. Ipsy, dancing back to Maud, to whom he glibly said, "Mrs. Hunter is so good to say she will take you, miss:" "Oh,I knew she would! I knew she would!" said the child to herself, with a look of earnest, deep thanksgiving. And I4 t. tookherMrs. Hunter bend and. led hcruptothe pew was bending over a book with one of her pupils. "Here is your new pupil, madam," said the superintendent. And Mrs. Hunter lifted her beautiful countenance and looked upon the little girl. And the long -severed mother and child -were face to face. Their eyes met. Maud dropped hers ne in the presence of of some holy angel, and the lady, as she gazed upon the supernal beauty of the child, felt a thrill pass through her heart. She took the little one by the hand—there was a comfort in clasping that soft little hand in her own—she drew the child in, and placed her beside her. The delicate white muslin on the other side shrunk awstuff, but the lady m the contact dse brown sweetly down upon the little gilookedrl, and, still clasp- ing her small hand, asked gently: "What is your name, love?" "Sylvia Grove," answered the child. "I remember that name. You are Mrs. O'Leary's little girl?" "Yes, ma'am but not her daughter— my dear mother was lost at sea—but she is good to me as she can be, and I love her dearly" The eyes grave face e of lady lingered hild . She the t sweet, strange interest in her words—she would fain have asked her, "Do you re- member your lost mother, love?"—her 1 1 ' l - hitt to d y I Oo gaiters, evell covered, And defended by I seldom speak so pain, a cannot bel gum elastic overshoes+. 1iated's little "Mrs. ft" ' O'Leary, I am ,neither surprised beets were old and leaky ,stip raised iter dovelike eves appealingly from them tc nor displeased -that you eho+xld speak so, I will leave you for the present. Whew you have had time to refleet,.and, above el, to pray, you will probably, view this matter with clearer mental vision. And remember that my offer holds good from this time forth. 1 will bid you good. - morning." His noble face was full of sorrow as he pressed her hand, and turned to leave the house. In the flower -yard stood -Afield, gath- ering a bunch of flowers.. The child. recognized the great, man, and looked up into his great, majestic, grief-stricken countenance, with feelings' of blended wonder, compassion and awe—in a mo- ment after, she stepped up to him, and silently offered her flowers, With a man- ner so simple, so childlike,. yet so pro- foundly deferential. He looked down at her, and the cloud slowly passed from his farce; he, a lover of all children, saw in this child's beau- tiful countenance something that touch- ed the profoundest depths of his heart. Notwithstanding the' difference in com- plexion, Maudwas what her mother lead been when Daniel hunter first met her on the boat, only Maud was far more beautiful, more heavenly -a sort of lit- tle Augusta idealized, transfigured, made an angel of—or what the spirtual body of little Augusta might have been. He took her offered flowers with one hand, and laid the other benignly on her head, while he gazed. into those half -veiled, starry eyes. And then, with a sudden impulse, he sat down on a rustic seat, and drew her up to his breast. In the strength of her father's hand, in the gaze of his eyes, she felt, without knowing it, the mighty,. the irresistible attraction of nature; self -forgetful, she suddenly buried her head in his bosom, and clasped both arms armed his neck in the strong, vital,thrillingsP, new-born, deathless love! And to him it was a revelation; not that ho understood it fully, but it was so diferent from Honoria's formal, life- less embrace. This was the real, living, involuntary proof of affection, that his heart had hungered for in vain. But he wondered why she gave it, and why it did not surprise him. "It is because I love children so much, and children have an intuitive knowledge of those who sincerely love them," be said to himself. And most tenderly, when the little girl's arms relaxed their' clinging clasp, most tenderly he caressed her, murmuring, at intervals: "What a'loving, loving child! What a heart she bas! 'What a simple, loving trustful heart! Everyone must love her! Does not everyone love you, darling?" He might have sat there an hour talk- ing to and caressing the child, had not Ellen come out into the yard. "You have a very, sweet little girl here, Mrs. O'Leary,', he said, as he gave Maud a parting. kiss, and: set . her off his knees, and got up t o• "It' is Sylvia Grove, an orphan, a dis- tant relative of my poor Willie's, sir." "I hope you will think of the plan I proposed to you, Mrs. O'Leary, and I should be glad if you would permit me to be of service to this little girl, also," said Mr. Hunter, as he got into his sad- dle. a "I will thinle of it, sir." "Good -morning, madam. Good -by, dear little Sylvia," said Daniel Hunter, as he rode away. "Oh, he took the flowers with Mini— he took the flowers with hind" mur- mured Maud, in a low voice to herself. "What flowers, Sylvia?" "The flowers I gave hini, Ellen." "Yes, you little imp, you!" exclaimed old Ashihag, coming up, "and do werry next time I catches of you bein' so for- rard to offer flowers to .a big bug like 137.arse Donnel Hunter, I -I'll tell Mr. Bill Ipsy1 Dar!„ CHAPTER XVIII. One fresh, spring " morning Maud started out for a ramble and somehow came upon the narrow bridle path lead- ing to Hawlet Hall. Here she stopped her skipping, and became, for a moment grave and thoughtful. She 'recognized the path—knew where it led.. She was seized with a disposition to walk it — not quite to Howlet . Hall — not sax miles from home -she did not in- tend that—but a strange attraction drew her on to follow—she did not know how far—and she followed it. It led her, by a windiug path, up through the &tented cedars to the bleak mountain top; and then by a winding path down through the dwarf pines to the wooded valley below—to .the broad, beautiful valley, where the great fdrest waved like the heavy sea, on the fat -distant, oppo- site side of which rose, likea rooky coast, the mountains that enclosed How- let Hall. A narrow, slippery footway, nettle of fragments of rock, led. across a deep, swampy road. Maud began to cross carefully, keeping her eyes fixed upon the path ---fixed so pertinaeeously upon the stones \vbeve she was placing leer feet that she did not even perceive the approach of another foot. passenger from the thicket of cedars ori the other side— or know that anyone, wns meeting her, until the shadow fell across her feet. Then she looked un. Thera before her, on the narrow footpath; steed a very young lady, of very imperious look and manner, who drew her slight figua•e up to its stateliest inches, and stood still. as expecting our Oaaid. to give way. It was totally impossible to pass eaeh other—it was almost equally so to turn back on that narrow, unsteady, slippery .footing, without falling plump into the mud. One or the other of diem would leave to ns.i>rnt 4•1., s r• •.n ' ., . n �a „ i. -n �� the stones into the deep mire, which wnulii 1,.• i r+ 1 '' down by attemptinc to mush on or turn back. Little Maud, with an instinctive, sense of justice, looked down at her own and her oprement'e feet, 'to sae who was heat provides fnr slush a moldy venture. The young lady wore nips natpnt MOT' " o r far if brought them together. They said no more then, for at that moment the .young minister appeared in front of the rails, before the organ, to close the exerdises of the school. In an instant all were silent. A short exhor- tation, a prayer, a hymn, and the bene diction followed, and then the children were dismissed. The pupils •who had neither parents nor guardians with pews below stairs, emained in the gallery, un- der the charge of the superintendent. Meas. Hunter arose to go. "Have you a seat down stairs, love?" she inquired of Maud, who had lingered behind all her classmates. "Yes, ma'am. Falconer will take me to it." "Why do you stop, then, little one?" "I wanted to stay as long as you did, ma'am." "Well,'I am going now, love, so good - by," said Mrs. Hunter, pressing the little soft hand; but Maucl's face was raised to hers with a look of such wistful, trusting love and veneration that the lady suddenly stooped down and kissed hex—once—twice—again—she could not help it! She pressed the child to her bosons, and then, with slow self -recol- lection, released her, saying: "Good -by, love. You are a sweet, sweet child. 1 know you aro a ,good child. Good -by, love," and dismissed. her. In the course of the week Daniel Bun- ter paid Ellen a visit, to make known to her the important discovery com- municated to himself by the bishop. Never in the course of his life, perhaps, ha a ore painful late .a owed upon the great politician. But Daniel Hunter discharged it most worthily. The reve- lation did not surprise Ellen the least— it agitated her dreadfully, as ail allusion to that darkest tragedy ever did. When Mr. Hunter had imparted all that he knew of that most deplorable matter, Ellen replied: "We always knew Willie's innocence, sir, and we always hoped it would be found out. He was a martyr, sir—his death was a ghastly legal murder. Sit I have heard et taught that a conseiou•3! nest of innocence would bear one up through persecution and death. I know now how that can be, for it was his con- sciousness of innocence that made death so very bitter to him --it was our faith in his, innocence that made, his death so very bitter to us for with him and us, the galling sense of injustice was added to all the other suffering. I know not how much guilt may add to sorrow, for I am not in the confidence of guilty breasts." Daniel Hunter was standing with his fine head uncovered before her. He took her hand respectfully, and said: "Mrs. O'Leary, you must not look upon me as the executioner of your bus - band --a young man whom I found or- dered for death the day upon which I carne into office. With the law and the testimony before me. I could not inter- fere to save him. How much I regretted my inability then how much more I regret it now—is known only to God. Vire will not talk of the past! 'It' comes not back again.' We will talk of the fu- ture. Ellen, I desire to make reparation as far as I can for what you have suf- fered. You have a fine boy. Will you allow me to educate him—to send him to a college, and establish him in busi- ness or a profession?" He paused for her answer. But Ellen withdrew her hand, and cov- ered up her face and wept. He waited patiently until she wiped her eyes, and lifted up her face and re- plied: "Sir, I am disposed to be grateful to you, and to aceept your kind offers for my son,but oompunction struggles against gratitude, sir. I do not know whether it is right to feelgrateful—whether it is right to take any favor from you— whether it would not be treason to him who is gone—and whether, indeed, your patronage would not be like the high the face of the young lady, to meet there all insolent, questioning look, as who should say: "How dare you keep me waiting?" And then raising her head arrogantly, she said, with an evident impression that such an announcement ought to turn our child at once into the mud: "I am Miss la:unter." "Mrs. Hunter's little girl?" exclaimed Maud, raising her eyes, full of deep re- verence for the name. • Mis Honoria deigned no reply, save a hanged dobwvn iontof tite he ud anddlet her steep go past. But another pair of eyes had seen this play of insolence and love, and they were fixed tenderly, lingeringly upon our little girl as the climbed back upon the foot- way. And as. Maucl regained her foot- ing, she lifted up her eyes and saw upon the other aide of the road the beautiful form of Mrs. Daniel Hunter, holding her hands out toward her. Maud hastened, springing front stone to stone toward the lady, with the strange, deep impres- sion. that she had found what she had set out that morning to meet. "Carefuly, my child, carefully,," said Mrs. Hunter, as the little girl elared with two bounds the last intervening distance between them and stood before her. "Why did you go into the mire, my love?" "It was to let your little girl pans, lady." "I wish you were my little girl, sweet child, but how came you so far from home, love?" "I set off for a walk by myself, and didn't know how far it was till • 1 got here, lady." "Does Mrs. O'Leary consent that you should take such long, lonely walks?" "No, lady, and I must hurry back." "What—having walked five miles, to walk back again—making ten—it would tire you nearly to death, my child. Come, we are taking a pleasant ride this fine morning. Won't you go with us? We acre going first to the Summit, and then round tq Silver Creek to see Mrs. O'Leary, and we can take you home Boner then you could walk thither. Will you go?" "Do you mean I am to ride with you, lady, and you will take me home?" ask- ed Maud, with sparkling eyes. "Yes, love, I should like to do so" At this moment the carriage card plunging along down the heavy Maud was helped in tenderly, and Mrs. Hunter called to Honoria, and together they drove to Silver Creek, where they arrived late in the afternoon. Ellen was surprised and pleased to see them, es- pecially with her little truant in their company. The objeet of Mrs. Hunter in making this visit was to influence Ellen. in favor. of allowing her son to be edu- cated by Mr. Hunter, They had a long. private intertien in the course of whiell Mrs. Hunter said: "You lmow, my dear Ellen, that if any one had wantonly injured you, there is ve— and, nothing ,eft you to Mr. Hunter never wantonly but to f wronged one of God's creatures, from the smallest to the greatest. And now he earnestly desires to repair, as far as he can, the injustice you have suffered at the hands of the law. He knows, and we all know, that the utmost he could do would be but as nothing to the wrong you have suffered; if lie could give you his owl. life, it would not bring back the departed, or compensate you for his loss, but he earnestly desires to do what he can thank you, Mrs. Hunter. I certain- ly ertain- Iet de- cideh Iiank you. must write to ut I atlnroGoodriel. first." They then left the bedroom where this interview had taken place, and passed into the parlor. where Miss Honoria sat waiting in sullen dignity, lit ity, and Maud stood. arranging "And now 1 have a favor to ask of you, Mrs. O'Leary," said the lady, lifting her beautiful eyes with a look almost of entreaty to the face of Ellen, and taking the hand of the child. "Will you let this dear title girl come to see Inc if I send the carriage for her?" "Certainly; I thank you very muds for the interest you take in her, Mr's. Hunter" "Then you will let he mom?" "Certainly, madam." It was time to take leave --it was high time to be off yet still the lady lingered, holding the hand of the child. "It is almost too much t oask you for your one wee lamb,yct if you could let her go home -with me this evening and spend a week. I would bring her back at the end of that time." "I should have no objection, i1Irs. Hun- ter, only --look at her! The child has not got her spring clothing yet" Still the lady held the child's hand, and looked down lovingly upon hes, thinking, "she is beautiful in anything— she it as beautiful in this brown, stiff frock as a mods ruse in its brown moss" And then she said: "Mrs. O'Leary, since this child is an arphn,n, why not permit me to join you in providing for her? I am—for the sake of the a igen 1 lest—I am the motb,- er of the orp A pause. "At least, let nee take her homefor week and fit her out in spring You cannot refuse me this pleasure, El- len." Ellen could not. there wars so much pmoti•ou, feelinq, love, entreaty in the ladv's look and tone, and eo Maud re- sumed her hood and went away with Mrs. Hunter to spend a week. tern hp teentereeed.l A FARMER'S TRIALS. Weak and, Worn Out Through Over- ' work and Long Hours. The farmer's life is always a hard one, but if he is weak or suffering it is .• almost unbearable. The hours are long 1 and the work so hard that none but the strongest canstand .it. An illustra- tion of the effect of hard, work on the system is given by Mr. George Hunts - berg, a farmer of Spry, Ont. He saga: • "I have lived nearly all my life in the Bruce peninsula. I am a farmer,. and have always had my share o hhard mwonrk„ and like a good many system.thougInthis 1 was re was no vmistaken, for about a year and a half ago I began to go gradually down hill. I would tire at the least exertion; my appetite failed me; I had a severe pain in my side and around my heart. The doctor told me 1 was suffering from pernicious anaemia- , that Iwas almost bloodless. I doctored for six months, but instead of improving I grew so weak that I could hardly move without assistance. I lost flesh till I was almost a skeleton. A friendbenefitfrom Stokes Bay told me of the great she had derived from the use of Dr. Williams' Pink Pills and advised me to , try them. Ivty sister-in-law had also ' received great benefit from their use, so I decided to give them a trial. After • using the pills about a month I began to • gain strength, and from that on I im- proved rapidly. New blood seemed to course through my veins; my appetite improved; the pain left my side and heart, and I gained in weight. After using about a dozen boxes of the pills I was again enjoying the best of health. I have nothing but praise for Dr. Wil- liams' Pink after medicall t eatPment�hail failed—Ithey curedereally believe they saved my life." Good blood is the easecret such £d diseases Keep the blood. pure as annemit, rheumatism, sciatica, indiges- tion, heart palpitation, eczema and the secret ills of women will not exist. The most perfect blood tonic and nerve re- storer in the world is Dr. Williams' Pink Pills. Sold by all medicine dealers oe.by mail at 50 cents a box or six boxes for $2.60 from The Dr.. Williams Medicine Co., Brockville. Ont. thoughts formed the question—but that was not the time nor place for converse- priest's thirty pieces of silver—the price ' time irrelevant to the purpose that of blood—unblessing and unblessed! Sir, • Most pe. ; ' e know that if they Raabe been sick they need Scot..p' �• ! 'c .soon to bring back health and strength. But the strongest point about Scott's Ear ak damn is that you don't have to bei stick to get results from it. It keeps up the athlete's strength, puts fat on thin eople, makes a fretful baby' happy, brings color to a pale girl's cheeks, and pre. vents coughs, colds and consumption. F od in concentrated form for sick and well, young and old, ricin and poor. And it contains no drugs and no alcohol. ALL DfRUOOIS'"S9 SOO., AND $1.40. u 0,1 410410041•04.0 4 ;ic z,0 �9„5�+-4 i 4-Wi fr 0 SENTENCE SERMONS. Humor is the echo of suspicion, Forced he mistake their onesty never has any for Lpeople Lots of p P sympathy The lofty work often falls to the low- ly in spirit. The greatest sermons are those out- side of sentences. The water of lite is not found in the ice -cooler church. The crooked saint will have a hard time at the strait gate. The saddest infidelity is being faith - lees to the beet we know. When a maxi; is a god to himself, lee is the opposite to all others. It is Riley to attribute to foes the fail- ures due to our own faults. 'The major blessings often Boone from what we call the minor virtues. The best cure for a destroying love of the world is the divine love of the world. It is easy to make a dollar go at long way when you get up speed cat the down grade. 4 . • A WARNING TO MOTHERS. There are unscrupulous dealers who for the sake of trifling gain are willing to sacrifice the health—perhaps the lives —of little ones. This is proved by the fact that there are a number of imita- tions of Baby's Own Tablets offered. The mother can protect her child by seeing that the full name Baby's Own Tablets and the four-leaved clover with child's head on each leaf, is found on the outside wrapper around every box. Do not take anything else as you may endanger your child's life. If you cannot get the genu- ine tablets from your dealer, send 2It cents to The Dr. 'Williams Medicine Co., Brockville, Ont., and get a box by matt post paid.. Instruction for Drivers. Technical education in the Austrian capital sometimes breaks out in uneet- Tested places. The latest development m this field is the establishment of a school for teamsters, under the auspices of the Wagon Drivers' Association. In future all young men desirous of pilot- ing light or heavy wagons through the city streets must first pursue a practical and theoretical course of study in the ars of driving in this school. For the theoretical branch a special lesson book has been compiled. Students will have to pass an examination, after which they will receive diplomas entit- ling them to a driver's license. Team- sters who ran produce a two months' testimonial from their present employers will bo given licenses without examina- tion. The new school is the outcome of a similar institution for cab drivers, whi& was started some months ago with very satisfactory results.—Vienna, Oor- reespondence Pall Mall Gazette. Dolly—Molly Wolcott told me a month ago that her, new gown we going to bo a dream. Polly—Well, that 18, 011 it is, so far. Fier husband won't give her the mon-