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^ " 1S8VED SEXX-WEEKL^ ^ ^ l. m. grist & sons, Publishers. T __ % ^amitg getcspger: ^or the promotion of the political, gocial, Agricultural, and Conimet[cial gnterestsof the ^people- { ^o^e?c^ established 1855. YORKVILLE, S. P., WEDNESDAY, MARCH 6, 19Q1. ]STO. 19. BY TTAROliD Copyright, 1900, by Harold McGrath. CHAPTER XVI. There were intervals during the three months which followed when 1 believed that I was walking In a dream and i waking would And me grubbing at my i desk In New York. It was so unreal . for these days?mosaic romance In the ^ heart of prosaic fact! Was there ever B the like? It was real enough, however, B In the daytime, when the roar of LonW don hammered at my tears, but when I olnna In mw rmm It ARSIimpd the i A oat aivuv uij ?wu< ? ??? , hazy garments of a dream. Sometimes | j I caught myself listening for Hillars, a footstep In the corridor, and 1 would , take my pipe from my mouth and wait | expectantly. But the door never open- i ed. and the footsteps always passed on. , Often In my dreams I stood by the rlv- | er again. There Is solace In these deep, j wide streams. We come and go?our ( hopes, our loves, our ambitions. Na- < ture alone remains. Should I ever behold Gretchen again? Perhaps. Yet i there was no thrill at the thought If ever 1 beheld her again. It would be , when she was placed beyond the glance | of my eye. the touch of my hand. She < was mine?aye. as a dream might be; , something 1 possessed, but could not ( hold. Helgho! The faces that peer at j us from the firelight shadows! They ] troop along in a ghostly cavalcade, and | the winds that creep over the window < r sill and under the door?who can say > that they are not the echoes of voices | we once heard in the past? t I was often on the verge of sending j In my resignation, but I would remem- \ ber in time that work meant bread and , butter?and forgetfulness. When 1 re- < turned to the office, few questions were , asked, though my assistant looked j montr e\t thorn ronrnflohfnllv. 1 told 1 him tbat Hillars had died abroad and that be bad been buried on the continent at bis request all of which was true, but only half of it I did my best to keep the duel a secret but it finally came out It was the topic In the clubs, for Hillars had been well known In political and literary circles. But In a month or so the affair subsided. The |L world never stops very long, even when it loses one of its best friends. One late October morning I received a note which read: John Winthrop: Dear Sir?I am In London for a few daya, homeward bound from a trip to Egypt, and as we are cousins and "orphans, too," I should like the pleasure of making your acquaintance. Trusting that I shall find you at leisure, 1 am, your humble ^ servant, Philip Pembroke. "Ah," said I, "that Louisianian cousin of mine, who rnav or may not live the year out" recalliug the old lawyer's words. "He seems to hang on pretty well. I hope he'll be interesting. Few rich men are. He writes like a polite creditor. What did the old fellow say was the matter with him? Heart trouble or consumption? I can't r remember." I threw the note aside < and touched up some of my dispatches. Precisely at 10 o'clock the door open- 1 ed, and a man came In. lie was fashionably dressed, a mixture of Piccadilly and Broadway in taste. He was 1 tall, slender, but well formed, and his blond mustache shone out distinctly 6 against a background of tanned skin. 1 ^ He had flue blue eyes. "Have 1 the pleasure of speaking to ' John Wintbrop of New York?" he began, taking oif his hat. 1 rose. "1 am the man." He pre- ' sented his card, and on it 1 read. "Philip Pembroke." i "Philip Pembroke!" 1 exclaimed. 1 "Evidently you are surprised?" show- 1 lng a set of strong white teeth. ' "Truthfully I am." I said, taking Ids ' band. "You see." 1 added apologetical- ' ly, "your family lawyer?that is?he * gave me the?er?impression that you J were a sickly fellow?one foot in the grave or something like. 1 was not ex- * petting a man of your build." The smile broadened into a deep * laugh, and a merry one. I thought enviously. It was so long since I had 1 laughed. 1 "That was a hobby of the old fel- ' low," he replied. "When 1 was a boy, I bad palpitation of the heart. He ' never got rid of the idea that I might ( die at any moment. He was always warning me about violent exercises. 1 the good old soul. Peace to his ashes!" "He is dead?" f "Yes. When I took to traveling, he all but had nervous prostration. 1 sup ' pose he told you about that will 1 made in your favor. It was done to ' please him. Still." lie added soberly, "it stands. I travel a deal, and no one knows what :nay happen. And so you are the John Winthrop my dad treated ' so shabbily? Oh. don't protest: he did. 1 1 should have hunted you up long ago and given you a solid hank account. ' only I knew that the son of my aunt ' must necessarily be a gentleman and 1 ^ therefore would not look favorably un on such a proceeding." "Thank you." said 1. The fellow pleased me. "And then 1 did not know but what you cared nothing for money." "True. A journalist doesn't care anything about money. The life is too easy and pleasant, and most of the things he needs are thrown In, as they say." This bit of sarcasm did not pass. My cousin laughed again that merry laugh of his. "I think we shall become great friends." he said. "I like frankness." "My remark in its literal sense was the antithesis of frankness." "Ah. you said too much not to be frank. Frankness Is one of the reasons why I do not get on well with the women. 1 cun't He In the right place, and when I do it is geuerally ten times worse than the plain truth." MAOGRATH. "You're a man of the world, I see." "No: merely a spectator." "Well, you have the price of admission. With me it's a free pass. Some day we will compare notes." "Who is your banker?" "Banker? I have none.- I distrust banks. They take your mite and invest it in what nots, and sometimes when you go for It It is not there." "And then again it multiplies so mileklv Hint von have more than von I-** ?- * " kuow what to do with, eh?" "As to that 1 cannot say. It is hearsay, rumor. So far as I know it may be so. Experience has any number of teachers. The trouble is we cannot 3tudy under them all. Necessity has been my principal instructor. Sometimes she has larruped me soundly, though I was a model scholar. You will go to luncheon with me?" "If you will promise to dine with me this evening." And 1 promised. For an hour or more we chatted up >n congenial topics. .He was surprisingly well informed. He had seen more >f the world than I. though he had not observed it so closely. As we were about to leave the door opened, and Pbyllfc. Ethel and her husband. Mr. Holland, eutered. For a moment the room was filled with the fragrance of October air and the essence of violets, rhey had been in town a week. They Sad been "doing" the Strand, so Ethel mid. and thought they would make me a brief visit to see how "it was done," the foreign corresponding. Mr. Wentworth and his wife were already domi?!led at B . and the young people were going over to enjoy the winter festivities. Phyllis was unchanged, [low like (Jretchen. 1 thought. While Ethel was engaging my cousin's attention I conducted Phyllis through the office. "What a place to work in!" said Phvllis. lauchine. The lauirh awaken Hi a vague thrill. "Dust, dust?everywhere dust. You need a woman to look ifter you. Jack." As I did not reply, she looked quickly at me. and. seeing that my face was grave, she flushed. "Forgive me, Jack," impulsively. "1 did not think." I answered her with a reassuring smile. "How long are you to remain In town?' I asked to disembarrass her. "We leave day after tomorrow, Saturday?a day or two In Paris, and then we go on. Every one in New York is talking about your book. 1 knew that you were capable." "I hope every one Is buying li," said [, passing over her last observation. "Was It here that you wrote It?" "Oh, no. It was written in my ooms under the most favorable clr:umstances." "I thought so. This is a very dreary )lace." "Perhaps I like it for that reason." Her eyes were two interrogation joints, but I preteuded not to see. "What nice eyes your cousin has," ihe said, side glancing. With a wo nan u is always a umu s cjcs. "And bis father was the man who eft you the fortune?" "Yes." I answered, with a short augh. Of course I had never told Phyllis of that thousand dollar check. "You must run over this winter and see us," she said. "I anticipate uothng but diuners, balls and diplomatic eceptions. I have never beeu there. ;t will all be new to me. Think of seeng Egypt, the holy lauds. Russia. France ahd Spain and yet not seeiug he very heart of the continent! Thank jooduess. 1 know the language." "And will she not be a sensation?" clued in Ethel. "A decided sensation." said I. scruinizing the beautiful face so near me. EVbat if they met, as probably they rvould? Phyllis and Gretcheu? "Pbylis." said I suddenly, "where were you ooru V" "Where was 1 born?" with a wonderng little laugh. "In America. Where lid you suppose?" "Eden," said 1. "1 wasn't sure, so 1 isked." "I do not know how to take that." ihe said, with mock severity. "Oh. I meant Eden when it was paridlse!" I hastened to say. "Yes." put in Pembroke. "Please go back. Miss I.andors, and begin the world all over again." "Phyllis," said I In a whisper, "have you ever met that remarkable affinity if yours?" I regretted the words tin* moment they had crossed my lips. "Yes. you are changed, as I said the other night." distrustfully. "There is something in your voice that is changed. You have grown cynical. But your question was impertinent. Have you found yours?" 1 was expecting this. "Yes," I said, i i hmi now I am sure UlllC 1 Uiuu^au 4 ??MW I .. of It. Some day I shall tell you an Interesting story." "We came up to ask you to dine with us this evening." she said, trailing her brown gloved finger over the dusty desk. "Are you at liberty?" "No: I have only just met my cousin and have promised to dine with him." "If that is all. bring him along. I like his face." We passed out of the tilerooin. "Phyllis, we must he going, dear," said Ethel. I led Phyllis down the narrow stairs. A handsome victoria stood at the curb. "I shall be pleased to hear your story," said she. It occurred to me that the tale might not he to her liking, so I said. "Hut it Is one of those disagreeable storiesone where all should end nicely, but doesn't: one which ends leaving the hero, the heroine and the reader dissatisfied with the world in general and the author, who is fate, in particular." I knew that she was puzzled. She wasn't quite sure that I was not referring to the old affair. "If the story Is one 1 never heard before," suspiciously, "1 should like to hear It." "And does It not occur to you." throwing back the robes so that she might step Into the victoria, "that fate has a special grudge against me? Once was not enough, but it must be twice." "And she does not love you? Are you quite sure/ you poor reuows She squeezed my hand kindly. "Shall I be candid with you?" with the faintest flicker of coquetry In her smile. "As In the old days." said I. glancing over my shoulder to see how near the others were. A groom Is never to be considered. "Yes. as In the old days." "Well. I have often regretted that 1 did not accept you as an experiment." Then I knew that she did not understand. "You must not think I am Jesting." said I seriously. "The story Is of the bittersweet kind. The heroine loves me. cannot be mine." "Loves you?" with a slight start "How do you know?" "She has told me so." lowering my voice. Frankness of this sort to a woman who has rejected you has a peculiar 1 effect. The coquetry faded from her smile, and there was a perceptible contraction of the brows. Her eyes, which were looking into mine, shifted to the back of the groom. No. I shall , never understand a woman. She should have been the most sympathetic worn- 1 an In the world, yet she appeared to ] be annoyed. "What's all this between you and Phyllis?" asked Ethel, coming up. "There Is uothlng between her and uie," said I. "Well, there should be." she retorted. "That Is the trouble." My observation was: "1 have always held that Immediately a woman gets ^ married she makes it her business to see that uli old bachelors are lugged out and disposed of to old maids." "1 shall uever forgive that," Phyllis declared; "never." < "Then I shall always have the exquisite pleasure of beiug a supplicant for your pardon. It is delightful to sue pardon of a beautiful woman." Phyllis sniffed. "Forgive him at once." said Ethel, "If only for that pretty speech." Mr. Holland pulled out his watch suggestively. "Well," I said. "I see that I am keeping you from your lunch. Goodby, 4-tll Rinnan nrV?nn I choll nnntlnilQ liiCll, nil UiUUCli U UCU * ouuu VUL41.UUV at length on the evils"? "William," interrupted Ethel, addressing the groom, "drive on." And so they left us. "Shall we go to lunch now?" I asked ?f Pembroke. "Yes." rather dreamily, I thought "Do you know," with sudden animation, "she is a remarkably beautiful woman?" "Yes, she is." After all, the sight of Phyllis had rather upset me. "I had a glimpse of her In Vienna last winter," went on Pembroke. "I never knew who she was." "Vienna!" 1 exclaimed. "Yes. It was at a concert. Her face Was indelibly graven on my memory. I asked a neighbor who she was, but when I went to point her out she was gone. I should like to sec more of her." So Gretcheu had been In Vienna, and poor Hillars had never known. I took Pembroke to the club that afternoon, and we dallied in the billiard room till time to dress for dinner. Din ner came. But Phyllis forgot to ask me about th? story, at which I grew puzzled, considering what I know of woman's curiosity. And she devoted most of her time to Pembroke, who did not mind. Later we went to the thea ......... 1..., !,-?r, iy ill...,., o n.l ( IdMil IT [jIUUULIIUll \J 1 \JIIIUCI V 1UU Sullivan. Whenever I glanced at Pliyl- 1 lis I fell to wondering how Gretchen ' would have looked in evening dress. 1 Yes. Phyllis was certainly beautiful. ' uncommonly. For years I had wor- ' shlped at her shrine, and then?how lit- ' tie we know of the heart! I was rath ' er abstracted during the performance, and many of my replies went wide the ' mark. ' As we were leaving the foyer Phyllis said. ".lack, n man has been staring 1 me out of countenance." 1 "Pembroke?" I laughed. ' "No. And. moreover, the eta re was 1 accompanied by the most irritating 1 sneer." "Point him out to me when we ' reach the street." 1 said, humoring 1 what I thought to be a fancy, "autl ' I'll put a head on him." The sneer was probably meant for an ogle. Heuuty has its annoyances 1 as well as its compensations. As we came under the glare of the outside lights Phyllis' hand tightened on my ' arm. 1 "Look! There he Is. nud he is mak I Ing for us." At the sight of that face, with Itshooked nose, its waxed mustache and imperial. I took a deep breath and 1 held it. In the quick glance I saw that 1 his right arm hung stitlly at Ids side. 1 I attempted to slip into the crowd, but without success. He lifted his hat. smiling into the astonished face ' of Phyllis. 1 "The Princess Ilildcgarde"? Hut < with those three words the sentence 1 on his lips came to an end. Amaze tueut replaced the smile. lie stepped back. Phyllis' eyes expressed scornful ' surprise. What she understood to be ' rudeness 1 knew to be a mistake. He ' had mlstakeu her to be Gretchen, Just as I had mistaken Gretchen to be Phyllis. It was a situation which I enjoyed. All this was but momentary We passed on. "Was the man crazy?" asked Pliyl i lis as we moved toward the carriages, where we sow Pembroke waving his hand. "Not exactly crazy," 1 answered. i "The Princess Hlldegarde. Did he not call me that?", "He did." "He must have mistaken me for some one else, then." "The very thing," said 1. "I wonder what he is doing here in London?" "Mercy 1 Do you know him?" "Slightly." We were almost at the carriage. "I am sorry to say that he is a great personage In this very court which you are so soon to grace." He lifted Ms hat, entiling Into the astonr J Ished face of Phyllis. 1 "How strange! I'm afraid we shan't get on." \ Pembroke and I dismissed our carriage. We were going back to the club. Ethel and her husband were already seated in their carriage. Said Phyllis as I assisted her to enter. "And who is this Princess Hildegarde?" "The most beautiful woman in all the world," I answered, with enthusiasm. "You will meet her also." "I do not believe I shall like her either," said Phyllis. "Good night" And the door swung to. TO BE CONTINUED. JESS AND JOHNNY. By Annie Hamilton Donnell. Copyright, 1900, by the Author. "Miss it? Johnny? That he will! He's too likely a chap?goin to be foreman, certain?to be wastiu himself like that. B'gosh, man, it'd be the ruination o' Johnny!" "You quit comin down on Jess, Tim Bradlee! There ain't no other girl teudiu looms to these works"? . "Oh, Jess is good enough; she's all right I wouldn't Jgwk further myself 4 If I didn't have my little old woman a'ready. Jess is all right, but there's the little un und the granny. That's j where Johnny'd miss it." ' "Yes. sure; there's the little un and j the granny." The second voice had dubious notes In It. There seemed no room for fur- j Cher argument. Noonings, ut the Liberty woolen mills, the men stood round In little groups of threes or fours, clluklng their dinner pails as a needless whet to their appetites. It was a breach of etiquette In the unwritten code of Liberty woolen mills' law to opeu the dinner palls too 30on. The girl operatives collected In the open windows or by themselves out In the yard?all but .Jess. Jess went borne at noon, though it was a long walk back and forth. She shot past the two speakers now, her lithe, beautiful ligure balanced straight ahead. Of course she had heard. The little shabby mau who had tuken her part Hdgeted nervously. "You'd ought to watch out, Tim," muttered. "Watch out!" retorted the other. 'You can't watch out for comets scootIn acrost your tracks. Jess Is a reg'lar ;omet." The barren road, thick with white lust and scorching with stored up sun rays, stretched away from the great looming bulks of the "works" as if making a bee line to escape from them, j Dimly, at its terminus, oue could dls- f tiugulsb the rows upon rows of little i houses flanked by two big boarding t louses that made up Liberty. Liberty! t 1'he name was such a misfit. It was i Hio nn? thin<? wimtiner in the little set i dement?liberty. j Jessie Biuuey?or just Jess, as every one called her?sped down the hot f roadway. She was going home to the ? little un and granny, and trying to r outrun Johnny. Both spurs urged her j on with equal incentives. She knew g Johnny was behind?she could hear the pound of his big feet on the road, E muflied by the carpet of white dust, i She was so familiar with the sound, t Ahead?way ahead?the little un was j waiting. Jess was familiar with that j too. The tiny, stooped figure always waited. , "Jess, Jess!" Johnny called, pleading- j ly. A little flavor of injury was in the j sound of his voice. It was most a ( pity, after braving the men's jeers, to , be treated this way. Johnny cherished j the sweet memory of three red letter t noonings when Jess, like the little un, f had waited. lie made the raoat of them?It seemed so likely they would have to suffice for him. "Jess! I say. Jess!" The girl forged ahead steadily. "But there's the little un and the granny? that's where Johuuy'd miss It," sounded in her ears. She had known It bofore?yes, yes, certainly?but the men's voices made It distinctly clear to her now. The reiteration in her brain? "There's the little 1111 and the granny? the little un and the granny"?only underlined it. "I've found It out In plenty o' time," Jess congratulated herself grimly. Her thin, handsome face was set in lines of pain. The pounding steps behind changed their time abruptly. With a spurt of speed Johnny shot by her, and faced her in the dusty road. "Jess, little girl," he said humbly. His good, brown face was wistful in its pleading. "You'll let me speak to you a mTuute, Jess? A minute ain't much to ask, now, Is It?" "No, no; let me go past, Johnny. I've got to. Granuy's waiting for her tea, and the little un"? "Must wait too. I'll make It up to the little un, Jess. What I've got to say Is that I?I love you, Jess. I do It as honest and hearty as a man ever loved a woman ever. The Lord A'mlghty knows I do. I want you to let me marry you, Jess. I want to have a right to take care o' you, Jess. Jess!" He had hurried over the little speech as If time were precious, but the cry at the end came from his soul. He had his hard brown hands out to her. "Let me go past, Johnny; let me go past!" cried Jess fiercely. She could not trust herself to look at blm. It was her only safeguard. "Answer me straight out, Jess Blnney!" demanded Johnny, with stern despair. "Ain't I got the right to be answered same as other men? Ain't I? Ain't I waited long enough for an answer? No, no; not that, Jess! Don't say you don't love me! I?I know that But I want you anyway. I'll be that good to you, little girl! I'll take that care o' you"? Jess stared down the white roadway unseeingly. Even the little un's bowed figure, waiting, did not come \tlthln her vision. She began to speak in a harsh, strained voice. "You want me to answer straight aut?ain't that what you said, Johnny? Well, it won't take long, it's so short" For one instant Jess let her eyes meet Johnny's. She towered, straight and pitiless, between him and the sun. "No," she said quietly. "Now let me go past Johnny." The little un was whimpering softly to himself. Jess held out her hand to him with gentle conciliation. She was always gentle with the little un, and for her sake every one else was gentle too. He was tiny and weird, and his little childish face peered out through a tangle of yellow hair. It was not a misfit, this uame. He would always be a little un in body and in mind. "I'm hunger-y," he wailed. "You'd lust's lieves I'd be hunger-y?yes, you svould loo! You?you want me to be bunger-y!" "Why, little un! Why, little un!" :rooned Jess soothingly, the mother sound In her voice. The little un could lot remember any other mother but Tess. For six of his seven years she aad mothered his misshapen, stunted Jttle body tenderly. "Why, little un, and sister was goln :o give you such a nice puddin today! With"? She bent over and whispered some:hing in his ear. "Plums!" shrieked the little un 'Plums In it?plums!" "Five of 'em, little un?all In your jiece," Jess said, smiling in her pain, tor her heart was like a stone In her ireast She could look back and sec lohuny slouching back along the white, 4 He belongs to me. I'm gotn to marry him." i flaring road. She had sent' dim away i rom her. How could she mind the ooms day after day without Johnny's , ender words In her ears and Johnny j o wait outside and walk home with , ier? How could she bear the unend- t ng grind of her young life without j Tohnny? r The vista of years that opened be- i 'ore her and reached into the dim per- ? ipeetlve of old age?old age like granly's?stifled her and killed her courage, t Her feet stumbled heavily along be- j side the little uu's. t Granny wus waiting too. There was e scarcely time to get the plain little neal nnd hurry back at the clang of c he factory bell. There was no time for e fess to eat. but It did not matter to f ler. 1 Weeks crept by until they were nonths, and It was crisp, late fall. 1 Since that hot, white day when John- t ly overtook her and the little un waited. whimpering. Johnny had never t svulked home with her. He had taken c lis answer stolidly and gone about t imong his looms with the plodding ? step of an old man. Jess had missed lis sweet, shrill whistle above the muf- 1 led thunder of machines. Johnny had ilways whistled loudly for Jess to f lear. She had told him once that It J -l- ?4!>Ai?f?a Vaw ho noror f JLIUriUUUU llic UUUl O. fT uv HVfv. svhlstled at all. When he met Jess, it was just a grave nod of his head he 1 jave her. t On one of the autumn days Jess took ? :he little un to the works with her be- 1 ;ause granny was ailing and bis noise fretted her sadly. He had never been J imong the looms times enough to get * ased to their whirring, ceaseless actlvty. The novelty of It amused him, and I for a long time he crouched contented- i y by Jess. He was so still she forgot E it last that he was there, and when he ;rept away on a little trip of discovery < ' 3lie did not notice. She was minding n Per loom in a daze of broken dreams e ind only the mechanical training of her jyes to detect Imperfections and the s prompt response .of her fingers to eor- ? rect them prevented trouble. Her well drilled sight and muscles stood guard while she dreamed. In the middle of the afternoon a commotion awse at the farther end of the great room. People ran about, and there were excited shouts and one shrill, clear, frightened cry like a child's. Jess' eyes and ears were untrained to such sounds. They failed to reach her. She worked on dreamily. Some one beside her shook her arm and shrieked at her. "Jess! Quick, Jess! Somebody's caught in the shaftin. Let's go?oh, hear 'em shoutin! Hurry, can't you?" But Jess woke slowly from her dreams. She was the last one to mix In the excited little crowd. The girls and men were waiting for her with solemn faces. They made a straight path for her to the motionless form ou the floor. The little un, with torn clothes, stumbled out of somebody's arms and met her half way. "I'm killed! Oh, Jess, I'm killed!" he 1.^1 ll+finiiaiTT m a nnni? llttla I SUUUfU lUUJUUUVUOiJi Liio iivnv i twisted body was quivering like a little 3liriveled leaf In tbe wind. "I'm killed all to pieces?It kept goln round and round. It wouldn't stop?Jess, Jess, listen!" But tbe girl bad tbrust him aside and larted ahead to Johnny, on tbe floor. He lay In a crushed heap, and even the men covered their eyes. One or two svere sobbing like the little un. "Where we goln to carry him to?" muttered Tim Bradlee huskily. "Johniy didn't have no home nor no folks." He used the past tense unconscious* y. This was not Johnny now?It had >een. The girls stood about, wring* ng their hands hysterically. "He warn't worth It?such a little lumpbacked thing," somebody said ihrilly. "Sh. can't you? Do you want Jess :o hear?" cried some one else. But here was no danger. Jess was wiping :he blood from Johnny's face. She ?ad only heard Tim Bradlee. With a udden movement she stood before him. "Carry Johnny to my house, Tim," ihe said quietly. "He belongs to me. ,'m goln to marry him." The girl's voice rang out distinctly, rhere was no quiver of doubt or of ihame In It. She faced them all splen* Udly. One of the girls uttered a nerrous sound that might have been a sob >r a laugh. Jess caught the look on ler face. "I am goln to marry Johnny," she epeated sharply. "Oh, you needn't ook that way, Moll Dlxey! Johnny iln't dead. He belongs to me, and I ell you I'm goln to marry him. Won't lomebody carry him to my house? Has mybody gone for a doctor?" "Yes, yes, two of the boys," voluneered many voices. "He'd ought to be lere Inside o' the 'arf 'our. Stlddy, x>ys?easy!" If Johnny had been a baby Instead >f a brawny, crushed giant, they could lot have carried him more tenderly lown the straight road outlined In rlmson and gold. Relays followed, ind the poor, unconscious load was ihlfted occasionally with the gentletess of mothers handling their babies. Tess and the little un went on ahead. Che child was sobbing still under his >reath, and his little torn clothes tr&lld, unnoticed, behind blm. The hor or of the terrible minute before Johnly sprang to bis rescue was overlceen or his unbalanced little mind. "I'm killed! I'm killed!" he moaned vltb patient reiteration. "You'd Just is Iieves I'd be killed, Jess; yes, you vould too! You ain't sorry." And Jess was uot even thinking of :he little uu. She had forgotten blm .'or once. When Johnny woke out of his stupor, ie thought he had gone to heaven and >nc of the angels was bending over lira. She was very sweet and gentle. iVhy. it is Jess! Then Jess bad gone ;o heaven too? Johnny experienced a lense or rener ai me mougut. n vouldn't be real heaven without Jess. "Jess. little girl," he whispered, 'wheu'd you come?" "Sh! Johnny, don't talk. Yea, It's ne. It's Jess. I'm taking care o' you. Kou've had a kind o'?o' sickness. Sh!" And Johnny closed his eyes again, vlth a great joy mastering his pain. Howly. very slowly, his awful bruises rlelded to the gentle ministry of naure and Jess. Very slowly Johnny umbered back to life. The little settleuent of Liberty had been under snow i month or more before he saw It Lgain. At first Jess had staid away from he works to nurse him; then she had jradually trusted him more and more o granny. She could not lose the mon;y she earned at the looms. One day Johnny sat up In bed and lemaiuled a looking glass. Jess was it the factory. The little un sat on the 'oot of the bed playing with a bit of >r!glit string. "Say. little un, you know what a ooklu glass Is. hey? Well, you run ind fetch me one," said Johnny. "I know!" the little un cried delight' fdly. "I've got one myself. It came iut o' a winder, and you can look hrough it and see the trees and the mow"? "No, no! Ask granny. Granny'll mow," the sick man said fretfully. Granny came In with the looking rlp.ss, as a last resout, behind her, for ress hud said no. She looked fright ned. "There, there, Johnny! There, there! I'nn trn H<?ht to sleeo and :rit rested ip, or, if you'd rutker, I'll fetch you In iome beautiful porridge. Jess made t," she added artfully. "Fetch me a lookin glass!" roared fohnuy. "I've been feelin over my ace?there's somethin wrong with it." Poor Johnny! It was all wrong. He tad hazarded and lost all his rough uauly beauty. The thin face on the rillow was wasted and marred. "Granny, I'll get out o' bed if you lon't fetch it." lie persisted, and grnnly yielded weakly. The little un peerd over Johnny's shoulder as he looked. "Ain't you kombly, Johnny?" he piped brilly. ".My, your face is all crossvays!" When Jess came home, Johnny's face was turned away. He covered ft with bis great lean hands. "Johnny, Johnny," quavered Jess, but she knew the mischief was done. It had to come. All her tenderness and foresight could not ward it off. Granny had only precipitated It a little. How Jess had watched the terrible wounds heal slowly Into ugly seams and suffered for Johnny! Not for herself, for what did Jess care for the ugliness that blighted Johnny's handsome face forever? It was still Johnny's face, and Johnny belonged to her. She was going to marry Johnny. But her heart ached for blm. She could hardly bear It. Today, speeding down the long stretch of roadway from the works, she had wished her face, too, could be seamed and marred like Johnny's. Jess knew the fresh, sweet beauty of her own face, and the contrast hurt her for Johnny. "Poor Johnny!" murmured Jess. Another difficulty loomed over her?ber public avowal before the men and girls the day of Johnny's sacrifice. Every word of It stood out like clear handwriting on the wall. They had all heard?all but Johnny. What would he think when be heard of it, too, outside, as he would be sure to do? He was getting stronger all the time. Soon he would be out again, and some of the boys would let the secret out. But that trouble settled Itself while Jess stood and looked down at Johnny's hidden face. The pity and the love In her soul crowded out everything else. She kept soothing the big white hands with her fingers over and over, and then she leaued down and kissed them. Johnny quivered from head to foot "Johnny!" Jess cried. "Johnny, look up, look up! Please, dear!" She forced away his hands with gentle firmness. She was looking down at him, laughing a little, shyly. A wave of crimson crept up across her sweet face. "What I've got to say Is that I? love you, Johnny. The Lord Almighty knows I do. I want you to let me marry you. Johnny, you've got to! I said I was golu to. I told them all I was that day you saved the little un." The rest she whispered with her face In his neck as she knelt beside the bed. "Johnny, answer me straight out," she breathed. "Haven't I got a right to be answered same as?other women?" She was laughing softly under her breath, but he could feel the hot blood In her face. "I'm goln to marry you, Johnny," whispered Jess. "I love you, dear." The little un stooped stealthily out to granny. His uncanny, strange child's face was full of awe, and he prodded granny's arm excitedly with a little sharp forefinger. "My, Jess is klssin Johnny!" he shrilled. "An Johnny's klssin Jess!" WISE AND OTHERWISE. How Various Editors Look at Various Subjects. Philadelphia Record: The chairman of the house committee on appropriations, Mr. Cannon, got up from his seat on Monday last and laying his hand upon his stomach, decried the exaggerated statements of extravagance which have been sent forth to the press on the authority of members of congress. The grand total of appropriation of the short session, he impressively declared, is only $694,118,595 (omitting the $53,000,000 to be paid into the sinking fund). Only two million dollars to be paid out during every day in the year! Truly a congress that has succeeded in holding down appropriations so that only two million dollars a day are requirt-d to Iv.-ep the wheels turning may well turn up its eyes in deprecation when charged with extravagance! Manufacturer's Record: The South Carolina legislature acted wisely in refusing to consider a resolution condemning the action of United States senator McLaurln in making a speech favoring the development of American shipbuilding. The attitude of Senator McLaurin on a number of great national questions now before congress has been criticised In South Carolina. This criticism has not prevented him from doing what he is convinced will be for the best Interests of his state and of his section. His position may not accord with that of machine polities. That does not imply that he may not be acting as a statesman instead of as a politician; the latter looks to immediate good for himself, the former plans for the ultimate welfare of his people. Naturally, the politician opposes the statesman. But the statesman has the assurance that the grip of the politician upon the people is weakening, and that the day is not far distant when the people will look for leadership to the man who sees in a senatorial career more than an opportunity for office brokerage. New York Evening Post: The annexation of Cuba is the goal to which the administration is definitely marching. The denial of independence meana the certain and speedy incorporation of the island in the American union. The original annexationists are chuckling over the realization of their aims more speedily than they had dared to hope. Mutiny of Recruits.?A party of 400 U. S. recruits, on the way to San Francisco, for the Philippines, mutinied Wednesday, after passing St. Louis, says a Kansas City dispatch of Thursday. The officers were unable to quell the outbreak and telegraphic orders were sent to Leavenworth for the immediate dispatch of troops to suppress the disorder. Company "I," U. S. Infantry arrived last night to meet the train. When it arrived, Officer Parney received word that the officers had been compelled to go around Kansas City and the party was on the way to El Paso, Texas. A squad of regulars therefore left for El Paso.