The Huron News-Record, 1891-08-26, Page 3Efflu1sou
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'THE STORY OF MARY 1VORS.
She was a dressmaker, nut a
fashionable dressmaker, not a West
End dressmaker, not au employer of
other dressmakers ; she was not
called Mine. I"elicie or Mine.
Sybille, or anything but plain ;Mary
Ivors. She went out for so much a
day—hell a crown, I think, with
-dinner and tea. The dinners placed
before her were for the most pert
what are called plain—a cut of cold
beef and a waxy potato. The best
part of dome' to a daily dress.
smelter is the rest ; her tea was taken
among the needles:and thread and
the remnants, without rest to speak
-of. Yet she preferred tea to din•
ner; the latter is a strengthener, but
the former a hea'teuer, as all women
.know, and many men. She lived
4 by herself in a respectable family,
with whom she had breakfast and
supper ; her room was ou the ground
-floor, back, which looked out on
somebody else's garden wall—you
-could see a Virginia creeper on the
top for four months in the year.
.Sometimes a branch hung over and
tanned crimson in the Autumn.
The place where site lived was in a
back street leading out of a side
:street in the Mile End load,.
Mary was a country girl allured
-to town by the prospects of good
work and good pay and by the per-
suasions of an aunt. She was as
neat and comely a girl to look at as
-one may expect to find anywhere :
she stood five feet eight in herstock-
ings, she was big limbed, strong and
.active, a girl who was by no moans
afraid of anything within reason,
that called itself a man ; a girl
.greatly respected by all who knew
her. Partly by the introduction of
her aunt, who was in the same pro-
fession, and partly by resson of the
aunt's untimely decease, which left
:a gap or vacancy in dreesmakery,
Mary was getting on very well.
Her clientele lay mostly in and
about the region north of Tower
Hill, which is not very far from the
'Mile End Road. A penny fare
morning and evening covers most
sof the way. To students of London
-this corner of the city is interesting
in many ways, as, for instance, that
it is the only part of the city pro-
per where there is a population.
'Courts, holes and corners there are
here and there in other parte, but
,there the people live over their
_. shops_in_thaniain-.t.haro.ugh.fares-anad
tin the private houses in the streets
'leading fiotn them. Have they
not America Square all their own ?
It was, in fact, in America Square
that Mary had her most useful
friends. Especially she was in de-
mand at Nickel's, where, had she
wished, she might have been em-
ployed, I believe, the whole year
iround, because Frau Nickel, who
ran this establishment for purposes
-of profit as a select hoarding -house
or private hotel for German gentle-
men connected with commerce,
*round the girl everything that she
.8eeired, trustworthy, no shirker of
.work, respectful, clever, neat, and
full of professional ideas. The
Frau was always ready, over ready,
perhaps, to take one of her own sex
to her heart ; she was equally ready
to cast off this bosom friend on a
•suspicion of falsehood, treachery,
-or lese-amitie of any kind. Friend-
ships rapidly formed are like riches
,quickly amassed. That is to say,
they are to melt away as rapidly
and, like them, as easily to vanish
into thin air, and as happens some-
times to the really warm heated,
Mrs. Nickel was too apt to lend
Toady belief to anything that was
told her.
- ''Biwa—Mary' wart -young; -'sad--vitt
good work, and comely to gaze upon,
it is net neceesa>;,y to explain that
she had a young than. He waa a
very nice young wan, older than
herself by six or seven years, which
made up for his being shorter than
herself by four inches. He was
neat in his dress, and he had aoleen
face, innocent of beard ; pale cheeks,
black hair ; black eyes, rather long,
of the almond pattern, soft, dark,
expressive eyes, such as used to be
dreamed about in the days of im-
agination end Don Juan ; a neat
figure neatly dressed, and oft hands,
which seemed never to have done a
day's work. A handsome man,
perhaps, by those who like the type.
He was a commercial traveller, and
was generally away upon his busi•
ness. What it was that he repre
vented Mary never inquired. Hie
relations, he said, were all in
America ; he was alone—and here
he sighed. He was a poetical young
man, and would read her verses
which he said he had written for
her. He loved sentimental songs;
he would weep when he heard
the 'Lost Chord" sung at the music
hall. He also liked those stories iu
which the girl is hunted down by
the villain, sinking from one misery
to another, until at length she leaps
into the dark, cold river, after mur-
muring from the bridge the sweetest
things into the depths below. He
could also play upon the flute very
movingl y.
Harold Vere—he had such a
beautiful name !--was so much in
love with Mary that he wanted to
hear all about herbusiness affairs; the
houses she went to, the people who
employed her, their means and their
possessions. Most of the peoplo
were tolerably well•to do shop-
keol'ers. The young man after a
time ceased to ask about them, but
he showed a strange and pertinac-
ious curiosity about Mrs. Nickel
and her private hotel. The house
seemed to interest him—was it
always full of Germans ? \Vero
there many rooms? '►'hey were,
perhaps, out all day? The hostess
interested him. Did she sit with
Mary while the work was going on I
Did she talk about Money ? Did
she seem rich ? Had she shown
Mary any of her fine things?
Mary told him all she knew. Mrs.
Nickel bristled in and out of the
room all day, except between 2 and
3, when she went to sleep for au
hour ; it was the sleepy time of the
day. All the guests were out ; the
hall -porter dozed ; the house was
very quiet at that time. Mrs.
Nickel was not very rich, Mary
supposed; she did not know; no
one could tell. Mrs. Nickel had
some beautiful rings and chains,
which she kept in her cupboard in
a little tin box with her cash; she
had once shown her these treasures.
Mary worked in the room where
this cupboard stood. Other things
her young man asked her ; other
things Mary replied.
On Saturdays Mary, like the rest
of the working world, had a half -
holiday. She knocked off at 2 or
thereabouts. At other houses on
that day she had no dinner. Prut
at the private hotel, where there
was always abundance of food, and
that of the best, she took dinner
with the Frau Nickel as usual.
CHAPTER Ii.
It was a Saturday in September;
the day was bright and the air
warm. Mary was happier than
usual ; Harold was coming back.
They were going out together some-
where—by tram and train—into
the country; they would have tea
in some quiet place. They would
come home in the evening hand in
hand, happy Harold murmuring
soft things.
She told Mrs. Nickel at dinner
about her lover. The good lady
was truly sympathetic ; a love story
moved her deeply ; she had been
young herself; she inquired if he
was steady and respectable ; what
trade he followed ; if he drank ; if
he had a good temper; if he was in
good health. To all these questions
Mary replied satisfactorily. 'My
dear,' said Mrs. -Nickel—she pro-
nounced
ronounced it 'my Tear,' but never
mind, and she took Mary's hands
in her own soft, plump hands—`you
are going to be a happy woman.
Nothing, my dear, makes a woman
happier than a good husband and a
house full of children. And when
shall you marry, my dear ?'
'I don't know. Harold says he
thinks he can marry now in a very
few months.' After dinner Mrs.
Nickel sat for a few minutes talking
over the glowing prospect stretching
fair and far before her young friend
and protege. Then site grew sleepy,
and rising slowly, for she was an
adipose person, she went upstairs
anti lay down upon her bed, and
dreaming that she was buying a
wedding present fell asleep.
Two o'clock struck. Mary collect-
ed her work, and put it carefully
away on the side table ready for
Monday, when she was to return
for it. Then she put on her hat
and jacket and left the room. She
remembered afterwards that the cup-
board door was standing open with
the cash box in full sight.
The house was quiet ; the Ger-
man commercial gentlemen were
away in the city or elsewhere pro-
mrotine-tho-great•'cortnnerciat inter-.
este of their country ; the Service
having recently taken, in, atoka$e
were resting or alu'lnbering ;the hall
porter slumbered on bis chair.
Mary passed out noiselessly. Now,
as she went down the steps into the
Square, she might have observed,
had she looked to the left, a face
that was furtively •watching the door
of the private hotel Prow a corner
where the Square is connected with -
the Minories by a little street. But
she did not turn to the left at all ;
she tdtrned to the right and walked
rapidly away. Then this face be,
came, a figure, none other thap the
figure of Harold Vere, Mary's
young Wan. Harold made straight
for the private hotel ; he walked up
the steps ; he pushed open the door
of Mrs. Niutkel's private room ; he
looked round and he went in.
He carne out immediately after-
wards, and noiselessly stepped out
of the house.
Mrs. Nickel, upstairs, slumbered.
In the kitchen the cook anti the
housemaids nodded ; in the hall the
hall porter droned and grunted. A
peaceful, slumberous private hotel
it was. And Mary sat iu the tram
going home, where Harold was to
meet her.
An hour afterwards he came;
Mary knew his knoc k, and ran to
let him iii. He was smiling, happy,
joyful ; she had never known him to
welcome low with so much joy in
words and manner ; it overcame her
to think that this man, so clever, so
beautiful, should love her so much.
`Well, I ant quite ready, clear,' she
said,
'So am I; let us lose no time,
then. September will soon be over,
and Winter comes, But you know,
dear, there is no Winter where love
rules the heart—can there he ?'
Mary went out first, awl IIarolri
was just closing the door. 'Stop !'
he said, 'I've forgotten my stick.'
He did close the door by rtecideltt as
he ran into the house again, but
came out a moment afterwards.
'There?' he said, 'that's done with.'
He turned very red for sortie reason.
'Mary, toy dear, I believe that in
six months' time we shall be able to
marry, Only six months to wait."
CHAPTER 111.
At 3 o'clock Mrs. Nickel came
downstairs awake and rather cross.
At the sound of her heavy step
the hall porter sat up opened his
eyes, stood up and went to the
docr, looking about the Square
watchfully, as a hall porter should.
At the sound of her heavy step
the Service in tine kitchen woke up
and, began to bustle around. She
went into her own room.
Mary Ivors was gone ; that she
expected; she got out her accounts
and began to add up and to examine.
Presently it became necessary to
count her cash. She got qp and
looked in the cupboard for the cash
box. It was not on the lowest shelf ;
she looked on the second, but it was
not there ; and on the third, the
highest, it was not there. With a
itttie anxiety she returned to the
lowest shelf, and worked her way
back again with the same result.
Than she began with feverish haste
to pull everythine. out of the cup-
board in order to find the cash -box.
When the contents lay scatter about
the sofa and the table she realized
that the cash box was not there.
It might be in her bed roon ; she
often took it upstairs with her. She
hurried up to look, the cash box was
not there. She returned ; she rang
the bell with violence.
When the whole house had been
searched, and all the boxes of the
servants, and the trembling women
of the house were reduced to misery
and to tears, and her own rage had
brought her almost to sinking—she
would have sunk but for a half
wine -glass of Kirschen Schnapps —
she bethought her of the hall port-
er.
:Tell me,' she cried, 'you have
-been -as-lee-p, you -have -let -a -thief
into the house.' No. He assured
her that he had not only been stand
ing ou the doorstep. No one had
passed out except Miss Ivors, time
dressmaker ; no one had come in at
all.
Then an iuspirat-ion came to Mre.
Nickel.
'Mary Ivors !' she cried, gasping,
'Oh, Mary Ivors ! I've loaded her
with kindness, and she repays me—
Oh !—she repays me—by stealing
cry cash box.'
Mary and her lover had tea at II
ford when the sun wentdown. They
came back by train ; they reached
the house at 8 o'clock. They part-
ed on the door step—that is, they
were parting—when the door was
thrown open. In the narrow pass-
age stood a policeman and Mrs.
Nickel.
'Mary Ivors ! Mary Ivors !' cried
Mrs. Nickel, bursting into tears
—`I made you my friend—I loved
you—and now you steal my cash-
box !'
`Steal your cash box?' criJd
Mary.
'Steal ? My girl steal?' cried
Harold, stepping to the front, 'who
dares to say that my girl is a thief ?'
'Ltrcly let -bin' -bolt,' quid'-th'e
policeman. 'Found under the prig -
ogee lied• up ift iter own hand.
kerghaef be empty,
QU4PT R IV.
Mary had no defense. She did
not know who put the box under
her bed. Site had nothing whatever
to say -nothing. And there was
the case, simple and dead against
her. Nobody had been in her room
except herself—nobody could have
been there—and there was the box,
tied up in her own pocket handker-
chief—the box with Mre. Nickle's
name upon it—and empty. There-
fore, in. the eyes of the Court, and of
everybody, she had not only stolen
the cash box, but she had made away
with the contents. ' Where had she
placed them ?
On Monday she stood in the dock
—the shameful dock—white faced,
with quivering eyelids arid trembling
lips ; the whole scene seemed a play,
one of her young man's favorite
melodramas—in which,sontehow,she
was not in her usual place—the
front row of the pit. Now and then
she clutched the front of the dock.
She had a s elicitor, engaged for her
by Harold, and this fond and true
lover stood below her and held her
hand ; but she had nothing to say to
the solicitor which might help hint.
She knew nothing ; she had no sus.
picion.
Mrs. Nickel gave her evidence iu
the manner common to warmheart-
ed and einotiorial people, with many
sobs and chokiugs, which did honor
to her warmth of heart.
The policeman proved finding the
box under the bad. The thing was
quite clear. The magistrate said he
would neat the case summarily.
He sentenced the girl to six 'tootle
hard Iabors
Mrs. Nickel made her way out of
the court weeping loudly.
Harold seized Mary's hand as she
was led off, whispering "My de. r,
my dear, I belieye in you ; I believe
in you always, Wait patiently, and
you'll find toe true.'
So they bundled her away, and
the girl who was so proud and happy
the day before was now a prisoner
for six months. The time was noth
ing. Sooner or later sire would be
out again, and a convict --always for
the rest of her days— a convict !
She had one little drop of comfort—
all the time that she remained in
prison she thought over the brave
words of her lover—the truest,
noblest lover the girl had found.
As for this young nobleman, he
left the court with streaming eyes ;
the situation was indeed fall of tra•
gedy. A hundred yards from the
court he cheered up and began to
laugh gently. 'Poor dear Mary !'
he said. 'She's the best of the lot,
end the most useful. I told her we
should get married in six months.
They always get six months."
lie spent the evening at a moving
melodrama, where Ile wept his
handkerchief into a dripping rag,
with a young lady of considerable
personal attractions, but not of
Mary's style. In such matters Iiar-
old's taste wan catholic.
CHAPTER V.
On the morning that Mary came
out her lover met her at the gates.
'Don't cry my dear,' he whispered,
taking both her hands and kissing
them. 'I've made it all right. We
shall be married when you've had
some breakfast, at the registrar's,
and at breakfast we'll talk over our
piens. Oh ! who—who could have
done this thing ? I've advertised ;
I've been to Mrs. Nickel and got a
description of the contents of the
box, and I've advertised for
rings and watches and things. But
be was a crafty thief ! A villain-
ous, cruel thief ? It was nota man ;
it was one of the women of the hotel,
my dear. That is certain. Never
mind. Come let us forget the past.
Yon look thin, dear. Of course.
We shall soon make you strong
again. Yon shall forget the past.
You shall live in a little nest, all
love and happiness. Come.'
Two veers later Mary Vere—
Ivors no longer --sett, on a Saturday
afternoon, in her house.,at Kentish
Town. On the blind, which was
down, I,ecause it was Saturday after
pooh, was written.her name—"Mary
Vere, Dress -'raker." She carried
on her trade in that suburb, which is
a long way from the Mile End Road.
Nobody knew anything of her past
troubles ; site had a nice little busi-
ness ; she had a good husband ; she
had the most lovely baby seen—like
herself, big strong and hearty. Ex-
cept for the doleful memory of that
trial, and sentence, and imprison-
ment, she was perfectly happy. All
day long she worked among her
girls, while the baby slept in the era
die, or sprawled about the floor, or
lay in her lap. In the evening she
sat and thought about her husband,
who was for the most part away,
travelling for the commercial good
of hie country.
The house was one of those six -
roomed houses common in the poor-
er suburbs. Two rooms in the base•
nlent ; two on the ground floor,
reined about Rix feet,and two above ;
a little garden behind. The base-
ment contained the kitchen and a
workroom ; the ground floor, a
Heideb4etilir'" in frbiif and the parlor
behind ; above, a large bedroom and
small bedfavt! t.ut the "sparer regiw,
The last was occupied by some stores.
of aswplea--Mary knew not what
—belonging to the husband, who
kept the door looked and carried the
key about with him always. It was
a Blue Beard's Chamber but the
wife never thought of it or was
tempted to look into it until this un,
lucky afternoon, when, alone in the
house, her baby asleep, she was
putting things to rights in her own
room. Never once till this after-
noon, when she was tempted, and
fell, like Eve.
' What does he kr ep in the room I
whispered the 'Tempter, 'Something
valuable ; something that lie wishes
to surprise you with. Would you
lake to see it?'
The Tempter went on whispering
for a long time. Fora long time
Mary took no notice of hits. Then
he changed his talk.
'If it were quite easy for y oil to
open time door and to look ia,would•
n't you do it ? Just try the key of
your own room.'
She !latrine(' ; she turned red ; she
turned pale Sire took the key of
her own room uud tried the lock.
It fitted ; it turned. She opened
the door, looking round guiltily.
She went in. There stood in the
middle of the room a large box bound
with iron. Nothing else was in the
room at all. And in the lock was a
key, and that key belonged to a
bunch of keys which her husband
always carried, lIe nrnst have I• -ft
them there when he was last in
town.
Maly lifted the lid of the box
Within were bundles of papers and
packets tied up neatly. She took
up one of the bundles of papers
They were neatly folded, tied to-
gether and indorsed. On the out-
side was written 'Clara Jenkins,
[louse. of Correction, Chester, six
mot.tlrs h tad, Julie, 1b6G,' M sty
oper,e I the. euudle' I.t, was a packet
of letters, ill•wri'•ten, ill spr-lied,
from Clara. The letters ran from
1887 to 1891. They begun soune-
tu.o 'Dearest Harold' and some.
times 'Dearest Ilushand.' Mary
put them back with a sickening
heart. She took up another indorsed
'Matilda Palm! r, suuuuari y dealt,
six mouths hard, Liverpool, 1888.'
This, too, ao'taimed I.-tters up to
date, all addressed to her dearest
Harold or her dearest husband,
Then another and another and an-
other. There were twenty of them.
Her husband had twenty.oue wives,
then, and every one had served a
terra of six months hard.
Mary laid down the bundles, her
cheeks aflame.
Site tried to think what was best
to be done. She could think of
nothing. Then she mechanically
opened one of the packets tied tip in
brown paper. It contained rings.
Among them she saw the two rings
which had been it Mrs.Nickel'n cash-
box. She opener/ another packet.
These were brooches, among them
Nre. Nickel's brooch. She opened a
third. Bracelets, among them Mrs.
Nickel's bracelet. And then a
fourth. Watches, among them Mre
Nickel's watch. And a fifth.
Chains, amot:g them Mrs. Nickel's
chain.
She made no more delay. She
put the papers in her reticule, tied
u(, the rings and things, gathered
up her baby and took a cab—actual-
ly took a cal—to America square.
Here there was presently sbch
weeping and lamentations as night
have been heard on Tower Hill.
On Sunday morning her husband
Came hours. He returned smiling,
happy, pleaseI to be under his own
roof once more.
His wife, however, stool in the
doorway, a hug stick in her hand.
'Oh ! viilian !' she crie 1.
He recoiled. She was so big and
so strong, and she looked so terrible
that he recoiled.
'[ know all,' she went on.' 'You
have twenty .wives besides me.
You have caused them all to be in
prison, and you live upon their
gratitude. You go from house to
house, and you live upon the wife
who works for you. And in this
house you have stored the things
you have stolen. Wretch ! but you
come here no more. If you dare to
cross this threshold I will break
every bone in your body. Go !
your box and all the jewels, arid the
letters and all—are in the hands of
time police, and they will take you
up as soon as they have read the
letters. Go—get out of their way
if you can—and remember; not one
farthing shell you ever get from me
if you were to lie starving befo• a tr e
on the cold kerb.'
The man turned and fled I
think he will never come back, and
what the police have done, and what
the other women involved in the
ruin which wrought for them have
done, I know not.
—Samuel Boyer, church organist,
of Berks county, Pa., puts in a
claim to the championship. He
says he has listened to over 9,000
sermons and never fell asleep over
one of them. He deserves a medal
as big as a door mat.
Some people are constantly troubled
with boils no sooner does one heal than
another makes its appearance. A
thorough course of Ayer's Sarsaparilla,
the .,kepi . 4f- blood-.par_i&ers, °eff eel airly
puts an end to the annoyance, We re-
commend a trial.
=GINNING GMT T]X—
PElIM NT.
New York World : The Irish
land purchase bill passed the House
of Commons on June 15. The first
ut' the large estates to come under
its operation are throes of Lord Lar -
gat), situted in the counties of Arm-
agh and Down.
The bill provided for the issue of
$175,000,000 of bonds, bearing in•
terest at 2 per cent. to be devoted
to buying out landlords who want
to sell and assisting tenants
who want to buy. The valuation of
a farts is fixed at sixteen years of its
present rental, so that a farm pay-
ing a rent of $200 a year could be
bought for $3,200. The landlord
is paid hie $3,200 in 2i per cent
stock, the annual interest on which
is $88. The tenant gets for the
first live years, alter assuming the
burden of repaying the government
for its purchase, a reduction of 20
per cent. un his rent. That is, his
annual payments are limited to the
sum of $160. This amounts to 5
per cent on the purchase money, and
one-titth of it, or $32 a year, goes
to form au insuratioa fund. At the
end of five years the government
takes fur forty -years annual payments
of $128 being 4 per cent on the purr
chase price, and • then the former
tenant, all the titne paying the equi-
valent of a greatly reduced rental,
owns the farm.
It would appear Irmo the terms
of purchase of the Lurgau estates
that they represented a rental of
neatly $80,000 a year. The owner
will find his income reduced to a
little over $35,000 a year, but he
will have no trouble collecting it,
and can readily convert his 2i psi
cent stuck into cash and reinvest
the, proceeds If the number of
tenants is correctly stated the aver-
age holding must be very small.
The first saving iu rental will ag-
gregate to them over $16,000 a
year.
POOR YEA11 FOR FRUIT-G1?OWs
Er.
New York 7'ribuae: .1s the Tri.
beer predicted some time ago would
be the case, New Yorkers are delug
ed with fruits of every variety, from
almost everywhere, at almost their
own price, this summer, This may
possibly be news to the housewife
who purchases of the uptown grocers,
who charge 5 cents apiece for Bart-
lett pears; or about 200 per cent pro-
fit, but to the thrifty shopper fruit is
luxury so far as price is concerned.
The prophet who said the Dela-
ware peach crop was a failure this
year was for once wrong. and trains
are arriving In Jersey City at 2 a. m.
daily bringing luscious peaches pick-
ed the previous day, which are speed-
ily transferred by trucks to New
York and thence to the various re..
tail markets. Arrivals have been as
high as 40,000 half.bushel baskets
daily and these are likely to contin-
ue till October. New Jersey, too,
swells the receipts by 5,000 to 10,000
baskets, and a good quality of peach-
es can be boug„t for 75o.
The season will not be a pecuniary
success to the growers, as large quan-
tities of peaches have been sold at
from 25 to 50 cents per basket, which
does not pay expenses. From New
York State, particularly from the
Iludson River district, immense quan-
tities of apples, peare,berries, and oth-
er fruits arrive every morning, which
are selling at very low prices. One
dollar for a barrel of apples or a bus-
hel of Barlett pears should be cheap
enough for anybody. It isa signifi-
cant fact that in the vicinity of Ro-
chester some fine apricots are being
produced, equal in quality to the
California product.
California shippers suffer severely
also, and are much discouraged over
the exceptionally low prices that
have ruled during the past month.
Up to the present the prices are ful-
ly 75 per cent less than they were
last year, while the quality is equal
to last season's. The present range
of prices, as compared with the sim-
ilar period of last year, is as hollows :
1890. 1891.
Bartlett pears, in boxes of one bushel $3.00 $2.00
Crawford peaches, in boxes of one
peck 1.75 75
Plums of every variety, in boxes of
one peck 2.00 76
Prunes of every variety, in boxes of
one peck 2.00 76
This year's results mean heavy loss-
es to the speculator and shipper,
but in spite of this about ten car -load
daily, each containing about 800 pack-
ages of all these varieties, are sold on
the Star Union Dock, at Vestry
street, at auction by E. L. Goodsell.
—'I'le Rev. W. J. Flanders, of
Sylvania, Ga., has created some-
thing of a sensation among his
Methodist brethren by preaching a
sermon in defence of Judas Iscariot.
He said he bad always felt sorry for
Judas, and he believed that he was
a good man and highly trusted by
his associates—for they had made
him their treasurer. In regard to
time betrayal, he thought that Judas,
seeing how poor they all were, and
fearing that they might soon he in
greater need, offered to betray his
master in order to get more money
in the treasury, thinking that when
they came to take him Christ would
Y'els —th vie with -telt --
power.
a
•
2,44.1