Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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L x. GRISTS SONS, Pubiuhew.} ? sjM'S Udrajaptr: <Jfor (kg fromotion of (he fiotitical, ?oqial. ^gricuUniial and dJomnmtrial Jntergats of th< |?ojlg. { te??o^c"p1 If ESTABLISHED 1835/ YORKVILLE, 8. C., TUESDAY, OCTOBER 12, 1909. NO. 82." mmmnm i w m \m m mm m ?w mm w THE BIR' By ETTA 1 * III r CHAPTER XV?Continued. Sibyl arose. Her mother had not yet offered her a caress. She waited a moment in vague expectation, but Mrs. Arnault turned her face from her tall, handsome daughter and closed her eyes. "Come," called Rebecca, and led the way out into the passage, with the young girl following sadly after. "You will be glad." she said, standing on the threshold of the ro<an pre pared for Sibyl, and shading the light so that it struck redly across her stolid face?"you will be glad, before you have been a month here, that we left you so long at St. Catharine's." "What do you mean?" demanded Sibyl. "Is my mother mad?" "The same as she has been for years," answered Rebecca Hardin. Sibyl grew pale. "That explains all. And my father? No one has ever mentioned him to me; but surely I have a father, living or dead?" "Dead," replied Rebecca, in her hard, cold voice. "He parted your mother % from her own people, for she was born a Jewess. He broke her heart. Never speak of him. And now, good-night Tou are tired, I see, and sorrowful?go and rest." The next moment Sibyl stood in her deathly still chamber, alone. "A Jewess!" she shuddered. "From ^ that taint in my blood, then. I take my tar black eyes and hair." She went to her window, drew back the drapery therefrom and looked out. ?Wash! wash! At the foot of the long gardep she heard It again?the great, heart-broken sea. It seemed calling her like a voice from some lost stage of existence, familiar and yet strange. With her sad, proud face bowed on her hands she listened. All that she had so long yearned for was now gained. She had reached home?she had found her mother; and yet, with that mournful sea sounding In her ears, and an intolerable pain and loneliness and dlsappolptment tugging at her heart, she now stretched out her arms to the 4 darkness and to those sad, washing waves with a wild despairing cry. "Oh, I am lost and alone!" sobbed Sibyl. "Lost and alone!" ^ CHAPTER XVI. 8om* Leave* From Paulctte'* Journal. June 15.?From my heart I do distrust Hilda Burr. I chanced this morning to stumble upon her as she! sat looking over a pile of household linen in the grim old dining-room. Snej & glanced up quickly with one of her meaningless smiles. "Will you not be seated?" she said? she is always particularly polite to me. "I was Just pondering upon your odd little name, Miss Rale. It is quite rare?I do not remember to have ever heard it but once before." "Indeed," said I. "And the person who then bore it was a comedy actress?'Little Pauiette,* they called her on the bills. It's not at all likely you ever saw her." "I? Certainly I have!" I cried, airily; "hosts of times! She always drew crowded houses?I recollect her well." And then, for I was not anxious to pursue the subject, I asked, "Has anything unusual happened about the y house? Everybody seems to be missing this morning?guardy, Mr. Trent? yes, everybody." Miss Burr shook some crumpled sprigs of lavender from out the linen. "There has ben a stabbling affair 4 . betwixt Crisp and another black at one of the neighboring estates. Rose, my maid, the cause. The general went over to investigate. As for Crisp, he is dead." ^ With that she gathered up her linen and went away. I dawdled about the room awhile, looking at the portraits on the panels, my eyes wandering constantly, with a sort of horrible fascination, to the brown, boyish face V of the strippling Arthur Guilte, which hung above me in a shadow. A week has passed since Hilda Burr read aloud to me the tidings of St. John's death. "I am free," I said, and shuddered as I said it. r>id I ever love him? No. His mem ory seems like a hideous nightmare. A great shock and horror went over me at news of his death; but grief? the mad, despairing grief of love?no, I have felt none of that! I sat down at Hilda's piano, which she keeps in this room and, mor to drown my own thoughts than anything else, began to 4* play. An old Scotch song that Sibyl Arnault used to sing at St. Catharine's came bubbling to my lips. "Hear what Highland Nora said. The earlie's son I will not wed, Should all the race of nature die, ^ And none be left but he and I, For all the good, for all the gear, And all the lands both far and near, That ever valor lost or won, I would not wed the earlie's son." The piano stood in a corner, directly urder Arthur Guilte's portrait. As I sat my back was to the deep window embowered in dog roses. Suddenly I ^ seemed to hear from that quarter a movement, a deep-drawn sigh. The delusion was so strong that, turning with a great thrill, I fancied I saw the shadow of a human figure stretching betwixt me and the light: * but the next moment it vanished. Only the dog-roses and the jasmin danced there In the wind. The arpeggios were bounding out from my finger ends again when the door opened and a step crossed the room and paused at my side. I looked up and saw Mr. George Trent. "Nay, do not rise," he said, hurriedly. "What a blessing to find you here alone! You have held aloof from me these past few days as from a pestilence." "I was not aware of it." I answered, as carelessly as I could. "Have you, also, been seeking Crisp's murderer?" <0 "Yes; but in vain. He is not to be found, and pretty Rose Is In trouble. Talleyrand never heard of a disaster without asking what woman was at Pli.IIADM W. PIERCE. iMMMMMMMUMyHUMAAfeyttMHIMMiK the bottom of It?a very nice fellow, he! Pray, don't let me disturb you." "I have played enough," I answered, rising, for there was a look in Mr. Trent's face which I did not like. "Let us go and find Hilda Burr." "Let us not, by any means," he replied, trying to draw me to a seat. "What do we care about Hilda Burr? Do you begrudge me a minute's tete-atete, Paulette? The woman who can inspire a grand passion ought to have the grace to listen to it" The next moment he seized my hands nnrt rnvorpH them With klS8e8. Those frightful, tigerish eyes of his shone with preternatural brlllancy. "I love you, Paulette!" he cried, passionately. "I have loved you from the moment of your first entrance at yonder door. Do not draw back?do not struggle. Paulette, darling! you distrust, you torment me beyond endurance. Why do I linger here at Hazel Hall day after day? The general's business with me is over?I ought to be gone; but I cannot?I cannot, till you give me some word of hope, Paulette!" Dumfounded beyond measure, my first Impulse was flight; but I checked It and answered, with a forced laugh: "You surprise me greatly. I have always supposed you to be Miss Burr's lover. This Is surely some stupid Jest." "You have supposed nothing of the kind!" he cried, furiously. "You must have guessed, you must have seen, my passion from the first, Paulette. Jest! You know better. Do I look like a man who is Jesting?" I tried to draw myself up loftily. "Then, Mr. Trent, I beg to say that I am sorry, but I cannot listen to you further. Allow me to withdraw." He put himself hastily before me. His face wore an ugly, smiling pallor. "You yield, then, to the general's plans?" said he. "You reserve yourself, according to his wishes, for his precious heir, Arthur Guilte?" "I decline to talk with you further," I answered; "let me pass." But he stood like a rock. VI warn you to think twice, Paulette," he said, In a threatening voice. "Do not make me your enemy. I hold all these Guiltes in my hand. I am by nature as vengeful as a Mohawk. Why do you reject my suit?why regard me so coldly? Has that brown Don Carlos on the wall already laid a spell upon you?" I felt my veins swelling with angry blood. "I reject your suit," I answered, "be??? u Viofafni tn mp No other taUOC It IP IIUbVAM* ?w. ... person has any part?no other need be mentioned in the matter." "My dear child, 'the best laid plans of mice and men'?you know the rest This is a house divided against itself. How gladly would I have been your ally! You little simpleton! why do you put on that charming stage air with me? Must I, then, leave you to these Guiltes? Faith, I cannot?I will not!" He seized me in a fierce embrace. I tore myself back, crying out angrily. As I did so a step sounded on the veranda. Through that same rosewreathed window round which my startled fancies had clung like bees the last half hour, a man stepped quickly into the room. Shall I ever cease to see that figure, as it stood one moment steadfastly regarding Trent and me? It was lithe, tall, handsome. The face that crowned it was dark with the sun of a hundred climes; bold, brown, yet melancholy In look, and half covered with a pointed Vandyke beard. Releasing me, Trent recoiled a step and stared at him. t r,r>f hoar mv nnmo mentioned here?" said the newcomer, his dark eyes flaming under his knitted black brows. "Sorry to Interrupt you; but, talk of angels, you know, and they will appear. My dear Trent, what little pleasantry is this?" My discomfited suitor stood like a post?as stiff and silent. The newcomer advanced. "What!" he cried, nonchalantly, "you do not know me? Now, with you time and chance have dealt more kindly. Moreover, I could not fail to recognize you in the antipodes, for I set my mark upon you years ago." On the lawyer's forehead I have noticed an ugly scar. At this speech its outlines turned to a dull, burning red. The rest of his face was pale. "Yes, yes, it must be!" he burst out. "Where the deuce do you come from? You were not expected for a fortnight yet." "I came direct from Havre," answerer the other, coolly. "Unexpected pleasures are always the keenest." "Certainly; charmed to see you, I'm sure," answered Trent, with a somewhat ghastly smile; "and our adoring greatuncle, the general?what a surprise for him!" The owner of the Vandyke beard turned to me. A swarthy color darkened furthermore the bronze of his face. "You forget this lady," he said to Trent. "My uncle's ward, I presume?" As his eyes met mine I felt, I know not why, a creeping chill run over me from head to foot. I could hardly command myself to make my society bow. "Miss Rale," said Trent, with some embarrassment; "the general, no doubt, has mentioned her in his letters?" "Certainly. And you leave me to add that I am Arthur Gullte, now and always at her service," said the newcomer. Yes; Arthur Gullte, the hero, the adventurer, the heir of Hazel Hall, the pride of the general's heart?he it was who stood before me. How marvelously like some handsome Lara he looked! I tried to think of some civil speech, but the words died on my lips In a murmur; and at that moment the door opened and Hilda Burr?who. I believe, had not been five paced from f 1PP*S|H \^^HpD^rv3f:' ^ H ^jjitii^a^?:V:?^-* GEORGE GLOVER, SON OF MR MAY REOPEN LEG Frequent reports have been elrcul Mrs. Mary Baker Eddy, bead of the C particularly her son, George Glover, w case was In the courts two years ago neys had reached a settlement with M slon of a share of her wealth. It ha ratified this settlement It was recent attorneys were about to take steps to a that he might come Into prompt posses of Mrs. Eddy's death the kevhole since Trent's entrance ? appeared on the threshold. She darted one look at me, another at the lawyer, then rushed toward Arthur Quilte with extended hands. 'Great heavens! Is it?yes, It must be, Arthur; but how changed! When did you arrive, and where Is the general, and does he know? Ah, and you are making friends already with our pretty Paulette! And what Is the matter with you, Mr. Trent?" "My feelings are too many for me," answered Mr. Trent, with a bland smile. "And you ask too many questions at once, my dear Hilda." "I arrived from Baltimore a half hour ago," said Arthur Guilte. "I have seen the general?met him on the road, In fact?" And then I waited to hear no more, but slipped behind Hilda Burr's taller figure-and made noiselessly off up the stair. So he had come, unexpected, unannounced, this Arthur Guilte. How long, I wonder, had he been standing outside that rose-wreathed window? The house is In confusion, the general wild with Joy. I think him very stern and brown and handsome, tms neir. I shall be sure to hate him with all my heart. Does he know any thing: of that absurd matter which the general broached to me? I think not. He does not appear like a man who would do his wooing by proxy. Why does it give me such unaccountable chills to look at him? June 17.?Hazel Hall is filled with rejoicing. The general gave an outdoor fete in his honor yesterday. 1 made a Watteau shepherdess of myself and opened the dance with him on the wide, green lawn. Plenty of neighboring gentry the general had gathered tncpthor all hent on oaving homage to the fortunate heir of Hazel Hall. "You alone give me no welcome by word or look," he said to me, reproachfully. "Do not I? I did not suppose that anything of the kind was expected of me," I answered. "A great deal is expected of you," said Arthur Guilte, in a low voice. "Since we are to dwell indefinitely under the same roof, shall we not be friends. Look at your legal admirer watching us yonder. He will not soon forget the tete-a-tete I interrupted on the morning of my arrival." I felt myself color violently. "There seems to be little love lost betwixt you two." ' Very little. He leaves tomorrow for the north. It Is plain that either your presence or mine can no longer oe endured." The next dance the general led me out with the air of an old-time cavalier. "Well, little Pollv." he be^an. dryly. "do you think the young scoundrel passable?" "If you allude to your heir, guardy, he Is not young- -he looks past thirty, and quite old and blase. Pray, what do you mean by the word passable?" "Handsome, then?" "Not particularly." He looked at me reproachfully. "Interesting, as you women use the term?" "I think not. Who is that brunette with whom he is flirting?" "The richest heiress in Maryland. A striking pair, are they not?" "Very. Pity your brown hero would not fall in love with her, guardy. How very tame such trilles must seem, though, after the Apaches and the polar circle and the eastern plagues." I was sitting in a nook of the piazza, watching the waning of the fete, the moon coming up in the east, the colored lights among the trees, hearing Arthur Guilte and the brunette heiress singing old Ben Johnson's song of "Drink to me only with thine eyes," in the long drawing room behind, when a hand pushed back the mass of creepers that curled and clung about me, and I looked up and saw George Trent. "Bid me good-by, Paulette, will you not?" said he. "Good-by," I answered coldly. His eyes shone like coals in the dusk as he stood. "Vnn will not pvnn n*k whither I ero. hard heart! or If I shall ever return? Can I take any message of yours to friends at the north?" "I have no friends In the north," I answered, shortly. S. MAST BAKER EDDY, WHO AL PROCEEDINGS. ated recently that litigation Involving hrlstlan Science church, and her heirs, as likely to be reopened. When this It was reported that Mrs. Eddy's attorr. Glover whereby he came Into possess since been denied that Mrs. Eddy ly stated In Boston that Mr. Glover's afeguard the Interests of their client so sion of his 8hare of the estate in case There was silence. I arose. "Paulette!" he cried, "stop! I cannot take 'No* for an answer. Think once more of my love. Am I?must ] always be hateful to you?" The man is, without doubt, an arrant hypocrite, but there was now a passion In his voice unmistakably genuine. "I gave you my answer?my Irrevocable answer?two days ago," I replied, "Was it so pleasant that you wish me to repeat it? To tell the truth, I think it best that one of us should now leave Hazel Hall." He looked at me darkly, wickedly, scending to the breakfast-room, encountered Hilda Burr, pale, bilious and in one of those loose morning toilets which make her look so venerable. "Did you arise," said I carelessly, "in time to see Mr. Trent off?" She turned upon me, and if looks could kill I should have perished there and then. "Yes," she broke out, "he is gone and all because of you?you, with your pink and white face, like a china shepherdess! I wish from my heartdo you hear? from my heart?that you had died before the general ever brought you here!" This amiable outbreak quite overcame me for a moment. "I deeply regret." said I, "that Mr. Trent has wasted any sentiment on me which might have been of value to you. As, however, I never in any way sought the gift, I do not see how you can hold me culpable." Hilda set her teeth. "You false cat!" she hissed, "you are?who knows what you are? Not the general, surely. Oh, the folly of an old dotard! But I will say no more. I know your power over him. He would, no doubt, turn me from the house this very day should you bid him." Then the door opened, and the general himself and Arthur Ouilte entered. My dear old friend crossed quickly over to me as I stood looking out on the lawn. "Ah, little Polly," he said, lowering his voice, "I see you have been quarreling vith Hilda!" "She hates me profoundly." "No doubt?no doubt. I know of but one thing that Hilda does not hateMr. George Trent. Don't let her disturb you, Polly. See! I have brought you a little grift." He had in his hand an old Jewelbox. Opening it as he spoke, I saw lying thertln a necklace of large, luminous pearls, in a quaint, antique setting. With his own hands he clasped It round my throat. "Now," he said, regarding me with a troubled face, "you look like a certain Lady Guilte who wore this same necklace at the court of dull Queene Anne many a long year ago, and whose portrait is still preserved at Kensington. Do you see the likeness, Arthur?" The brown-bearded person thus appealed to stared at me with a mock, critical air. Vfta U In ?o?nf morlro/1 Kiif tho nrnu_ ent wearer seems to be a great improvement over the former one." I snatched off the pearls In haste. "How kind of you to give me this, guardy," I stammered. "Very kind," said Hilda Burr, spitefully; "particularly as I supposed ail the family Jewels were to be saved for Arthur's wife." June 18.?Hilda and I dined alone together. To escape her rather tedious society as soon as the meal was finished, I ordered my Kentucky mare donned a lovely violet colored habll which arrived yesterday from Baltimore, and rode off, unattended, dowr the charming road bordering the bay. I was born. I think, for a rider. Hac Jean Rale been the proprietor of a circus tent Instead of a third-rate comedj actor, I might, with proper training have proved to him an estimable blessing. Whisky and I already understand each other marvelously. We set forth, determined to maks an afternoon of it, and for a while, at least, all went well. But the weathei was Intensely hot. As Sydney Smith says. "One longed to take off one's flesh and sit in one's bones." I looked nn at tho cront trlorlncr auri nnrl snu with joy a scud gathering over it. Thf hall we soon left far behind?the ba> vanished also. We came to divers branching ways, leading I knew nol 'whither. Into one of these Whisk\ turned of her own will, and carried me off along the shore of a black, sullen creek, through oak and pine growth and underbrush that snapped gayly under her fleet hoofs. Here we went on for a long time in all the luxury of solitude and silence, when, of a sudden, upon my face fell a drop of rain. I looked up. The lone landscape ' lay dark and .desolate before me. Overhead the sky was like ink. Thunder muttered In the west. I turned Whisky about and started homeward. WTII J MM <?M<t mlMAo tha Tiro w aratv IYV 11UC1 auu W ilUOi IUU ?T 1*J o>VFT| | and the darkness deepened at everyl step. The poor brute began to grow restive at the continuous flashes of lightning and the ceaseless thunder breaking over us. Presently, as if all the windows of heaven were opened, the rain began to pour. '.'Fast?furious?down it came! No human habitation was in sight. I knew not which way to turn. Waiting, however, for no hint from me, Whisky tore through the undergrowth, over a stretch of sun-baked clay and brought up with a Jerk before an old shanty, standing under Borne pines at the head of the muddy creek. Its door, I saw, was closed. I rode up to it, rapped thereon with my riding whip. ' "Open!" I called. I No answer. (Drenched and dripping, I slipped out >f the saddle, tried the latch and found t fast "Break and enter I must!" thought I, and finding the fastenings of the poorest I strained and shook them till they yielded, and I ran into the shanty. It was dark, dirty, empty. Some half-burned brands lay about the wide hearth. Marks of feet were on the clay floor. A faint odor of burned bacon seemed to pervade the place. Evidently its occupants were not far away. I stood in the door, looking out witn dismay at the prospect. The rain poured in sheets. Cloud and storm fell down on all things like a pall, and nroaontiv fltnim of a. man leaned. tall and dark, out of the undergrowth, , and rushing toward the shanty, con- ( fronted me face to face on the threshold. , A man, brawny, black, tattered, : gaunt, wild-eyed! He stood and look ed at me, an appalling object Indeed, as , seen by the fading light of the place. , "Missus!" he cried, "hi! You are , 1 the little missus from Hazel Hall!" , I retreated a step. , He remained in the door, Ailing it , ' with his burly frame. "Who are you?" I demanded. "One 1 of the general's servants?' ' He extended his hands to me. , "No, missus; I am Pindar?poor j Pindar! I see you at the Hall the nlgnt j > you come from the north. I am Rose's j sweetheart." I 1 "Rose's sweetheart! The wretch , 1 who killed Crisp!" I advanced boldly ( to the door. ' "Let me pass out," I said with all ; the authority I could muster. "I en- ( r tered here only to escape the storm." , 1 "No, missus," he answered never , moving an Inch. "This my house, j 1 You come, you break my door?now ( 1 you stay. Storm not over yet." 1 I grew sick and faint. , "What do you want of me?" I de- ( > manded. He stretched forth his hands again. ( "Money, missus! White folks all round chasing poor nigger. He can't j ~ ?"" ?mAnntr RAJO Qa-PflP gei tiway vviuiuui muuvj. faithful, to bring: some, but she lie. 1 Missus have plenty. She fill Pindar'* 1 hands." "Money!" I answered. "I have not so much as a penny!" "Missus has rings, then?Jewels," he urged. I drew off my gauntlets and showed him my hands utterly bare. "Missus has a chain round her pret- ' ty throat," next said the wretch, his 1 rolling eyes catching the gleam of gold 1 above the color of my habit. "My chain!" I gasped, clutching 1 tightly the most precious thing I have : on earth?the golden links, the queer, 1 old charms that adorned my poor 1 branded throat when Jean Rale found me screeching on the rocks of old Cape Ann far away. "Give you my chain? ' Never!" He leered at me hideously. "Then, missus don't leave Pindar's 1 shanty! Yah! Hazel Hall's long way 1 ; off?nobody find missus here. S'pose 1 I serve you like I did Crisp?toss ' pretty white body into the creek yon- 1 ; der?take hoss?be off?who know?" 1 I grew deadly cold The full peril 1 of my situation rushed over me in a 1 breath?the nignt lauing wunuui, where Whisky was tramping restlessi ly?that black, murderous wretch con- 1 fronting me within, barring my egress, threatening my life. Shriek? Who 1 , would hear? t He drew nearer, waxing Impatient. 1 "Give Pindar the chain!" he cried, 1 i shrilly. "Quick! or I take It like this, ( i missus!" and he made a dash at my 1 throat. 1 ' I had my whip In hand?the only 1 weapon of defense within reach. As 1 , that horrible grasp closed on me I struck the black full In the face with 1 the long, smart, stinging lash. The 1 blow was keen and unexpected. His hand dropped! With a cry I dashed ( past him to the door. As I did so 1 1 , heard without a loud tramping, and a man sprang to meet me over the 1 - ? * I iUA tnresnoia. ai signi ui mm me umv-n I bounded into the air, broke free and 1 I fled like the wind out of the shanty. 1 rushed forward, and was caught In the < s arms of Arthur Gullte. 1 "Miss Rale! Great God!" he cried, 1 i his brown, severe face as pale as a : , woman's. "Who was that?" t "The black, Pindar," I gasped, "who 1 murdered Crisp!" 1 "Here?with you?" I held his arm In a paroxysm of ter- 1 1 ror. "I was taking refuge In this place ' from the storm. He attempted to rob , me. Would have done so, doubtless, had you not appeared. Yes! and kill- ; 1 ed me, too!" xrio tirooth enme hurried and thick. i He looked at me so strangely that J t could not bear It. I drew back from 1 r him and walked toward the door, i "Pray, what fortunate chance led i you here?" I asked. I "I learned from Hilda that you had r gone off alone," he answered. "I saw ? the storm rising and set out In pur' suit. I followed your trail?an art I i learned in the far west." He looked t forth at the shanty door. "The black r scoundrel Is gone, and to pursue hlin would be in vain. I will content myself with reporting his case to the general." "Meanwhile, may I ask you to take me home?" I said, quaking, womanlike, after the danger was over. "A special Providence must have sent you to my help. How can I thank you?" His eyes dwelt again with an overmastering look on my face. "Thank me," he murmured, "for that which not for my life would I have missed? Hush! Let us not speak of it! We must wait a little till tne storm passes. Tou have nothing now to fear. That rascal will not come back." I leaned against the wall, draggled and colorless. He stood near by, still breathing those short, agitated breaths. We waited in deep silence. Presently the rain began to subside. "May not we venture forth now?" I asked at last. He made an assenting gesture. We shut the shanty door and went out to the horses. As he stretched forth his dark, handsome hand to help me into the saddle, and my own, ungloved and trembling, touched it, an electric shock seemed to hash tingling over me. Faint and giddy, I leaned against Whisky. "Paulette!" Around me pressed his swift, fierce arm. I was drawn breathlessly back against his heart. He bent low over "Paulette!" he repeated, with his dark face upon mine, 'T love you!" (To be Continued.) CIRCU8E8. Old and New and the Greatest Drawing Card. Before the one-ring days and going back a few centuries, the circus was represented in the person of a mountebank, a thln-vlsaged, clean-shaven man who hitched his trapeze to the sturdy limb of a village oak and did feats to the ill-concealed amazement of a people who respected God somewhat, but the devil and his black magic a great deal more. A long and high Jump this?from mountebank to modern hippodrome, from a man who lived under his hat to a tented city which houses as many as 26,000 people in one day and regularly furnishes food, shelter and transportation for 1,200 more, to say notningr or a nospnai, a puaiumce wu a. commissary where one can purchase almost anything from a postage stamp to a suit of overalls, writes William Allen Johnston in Harper's Weekly. The big show today Is as highly specialized and deviously organized as Is our greatest business institution, its maintenance costs a thousand dollars an hour. Tes, it's a long jump from the mountebank; but, after all, things haven't changed so much in some ways. A man who was running a trick pony and dog show last year added a thriller to his programme in the way of a dangerous dying trapeze act To the delight of his pockets, but the Intense disgust of his trainer's soul, the floor receipts almost doubled. He had two men at the door one night who asked the outgoing crowds which part Df the show they liked best?the rick animals or the acrobats. They answered as one, "the acrobats!" Danger?danger to other human lives and limbs?that's the drawing :ard, after all, excepting only the children who are too young to be gory minded and who find most delight in the clowns. We grownups like the 'thrillers"?the more deadly the better. THE BLACK DUCK. Many Dangers Await the Young of the Adirondack Visitor. An interesting summer resident of the Adirondacks, says the New York Sun, is the black duck. Those persons who have a fancy for moving through the innumerable small streams of the lake regions now and then come upon little families of these birds, usually a mother and From six to ten ducklings. At the first sight of an approaching boat the mother gives a warning quack and the little ducklings dive and disappear in the bush at the side of the stream. Now and then a man clever enough to guess where the diving ducklings are likely to come up can catch one in a landing net. Mostly, however, the downy little chaps pop up at a safe distance and scuttle Into the brush, where they are effectually hidden as young partridges in the blueberry thickets. When the ducklings have disappeared the mother duck proceeds to play her instinctive maternal wiles upon the intruding stranger. She swims lamely Just ahead of the boat or flutters along for many yards as If with a broken wing until she feels 3ure that her little family is well out of harm's way. Then she, herself, seeks safety in flight. The other day a canoeist in a narrow stream came upon a mother duck who displayed a variation of her accustomed tactics In the presence of an enemy. After her young had disappeared she rose and made large circles around the canoe at an elevation of twenty or thirty feet. While she was thus busied a hawk discovered her and evidently thought her conduct suspicious. The mother duck also discovered the hawk, and as she circled she uttered warning cries to her brood that kept the young safe under cover. In early summer v/hon the young black ducks are stll'. small the brood Is larger than It is apt to be by this time of year. The lact Is that the mother black duck hps a great many maternal cares and embarrassments. There is a widespread taste in the wilderness for young ducklings. The whole little family sleeps on the surface of the water In shallows where boats are not apt to intrude and where the young are safe from prowling foxes There are, however, aquatic enemies: a hungry trout might take a fancy to a duckling's foot, and there are big turtles that could drag down a half grown ducking or perhaps even the mother herself. The young are never safe in the daylight hours from hawks until the time comes for their late autumn flight southward. The black duck is a good table bird, but man is the least dangerous enemy of these little families of the lakes and creeks. Miscellaneous Reading. PARI8 POLICE PUZZLE. Child 3teals 3,000 Franca From Alleged Mother Whom K Denies. A strange, lost child is perplexing the Paris police, says the London Telegraph. An Armenian mother in her to be taken care of by the child's grandfather In Syria. Having heard that the grandfather had died, she went to Syria to fetch the child. On th'e way the little girl showed a terrible temper, and did all the mischief that she could. On reaching the Lyons railway station in Paris she sat down in the waiting room and fell asleep. During that time she alleges the child took the bag In which she had all her money, amounting to some 3000f., and gave It to some strange women, who disappeared. When she awoke she slapped the child, who then ran away Into the street and she did not know what become of her until she saw her picture In the papers. The child, who does not understand a word of the mother's language, was then told what she had said, and denied it all. For a whole hour the little one contradicted It in every detail. She said that the woman was not her mother. Until three weeks ago she had never seen the woman. It is not true that her grandfather la dead. She knew her real mother very well, for she left Syria only a year ago, and got married again in a town not far 'from Jerusalem. She added: "This woman came one day to my grandfather's house when I was alone. She told me that my grandfather was waiting for me in the train. I got in and he was not there. The train started away and I cried and wanted to go back. Then this woman beat me, and the train went on. At Beyrouth she took me on a big steamer, and we went to Port Said, Alexandria, and Marseilles. As soon as we got to Paris I took the first chance and ran away from her. I do not want to be with the woman any more. She has beaten me and made me suffer. I want to go back to grandpapa. She says that my name is Annette: It is not true. I am called Marianne." After this both the alleged mother and the child had a fit of crying, and between the two contradictory statements the police are unable to make out the truth. Curiously enough, however, the child is wonderfully like the woman who claims to be her mother. PAYING THOMAS ATKINS. The British Army's Extensive Financial Machinery In Operation. When It is said that something like ?30,000 are disbursed to British troops every day of the year, it will be recognized that pay day in the army requires very extensive machinery to carry things out without a hitch, says Answers. Each company pay sergeant forms estimates every week of the amount of cash required to pay his men; these are passed to the orderly room clerk, who summarizes them, then dispatches them to the station paymaster. The latter places checks for the amounts stated to the credit of the respective companies in the regimental bank. He notifies how much is due to each man, and all the company pay sergeant has to do is to mark up a dally pay and mess bock and supply the paymaster with particulars of all changes affecting the pay of his men. Estimates for men on the staff, garrison policemen, schoolmasters and schoolmistress, etc., are prepared and submitted by the orderly room clerk to the district paymaster, who Issues checks direct. The station paymaster audits all ac counts and claims and transmits them to the war office for final audit. Every effort Is made to keep cash balances as low as possible. A margin of only ?10 Is allowed on the month's working If a pay list contains less than 160 accounts, and only ?20 may be owed the paymaster If more than 150 soldiers are dealt with. A station paymaster's cash balances every month must not exceed ?10 for each subaccountant, with a minimum of ?100; and the limit for a district paymaster Is one-fourth of the total it*"-'. InnluSaS In tha account. CApClIUUUl C luvtuwvvi ... ? ? By these means it is hoped altogether to avoid over payment and irrecoverable losses. On active service the machinery is naturally apt to get dislocated. In the past it has been the custom for all pay lists to be kept at the base of operations, a rough book only being claiming' tne gin as ner aaugmer, dui the latter disclaims her mother. The tangle Is Inextricable. The girl Is only 6 years old, but talks with astonishing volubility. She happened of her own accord to call upon a policeman one day, but as she could not speak any apparently known language, he took her to the police station, where all the experts and< interpreters at first failed to understand what the girl wanted. Finally, It turned out that she spoke some sort of Armenian dialect, and an Interpreter was found. She then said that she had been taken away from her grandfather's home In Syria by a strange woman, who ./anted to take her to America, and who had In fact, brought her as far as Paris. The little girl said that she had taken tne first opportunity to run away from the woman. The police were astonished at the fluency with which the girl talked, and were about to send her temporarily to a home, when the strange woman ol whom she had spoken turned up, and said that the child was her daughter. *'I am not your daughter," retorted the ann **T Ifraiv m \r mAthnr fihfl isinc? vnv. a nuvn 1*1/ iuvmiw* Id very different from this person.*1 The police were seriously embarrassed. They put off the Inquiry for the day to obtain a second interpreter, for the mother, or alleged mother, herself speaks a strange mixture of English and French. As soon as the two were again confronted with each other, the precocious child threw up her hands and looked at the young woman in horror. "She is not my mother," she exclaimed. The woman then told her story. She said that she was born at Marseilles, but went to New Tork when very young. She married an Italian In New Tork when she was 14 years of age, and had the child. Her husband died the day that the child was born. She kept the baby one year, then sent kept In the field, and doles issued the troops whenever available. But two or three months often elapse, In such circumstances, without Tommy receiving a penny of the pay due to him, , and private soldiers returned from South Africa with as much as ?120 . each to their credit With pay lists, receipts and mlscel, laneous accounts getting lost In the post or burnt or captured by the ene, my, and with thousands of men de. tached from their regiments or passing I backwards and forwards through tne base of operations, it is no wonder that the direst confusion existed, and , that thousands of pounds were paid away in mistake beyond recovery. | The proposal is now that Tommy , shall carry his own little pay list on active service with him, all payments | being duly entered thereon and not a penny being paid until the book is produced, and can show a credit balance. The pay of army officers Is arranged by what are called army , agents. They are In reality army bankers and comprise three great , London firms, who receive credit direct from the war office for the , amounts due to officers under their charge, and then notify the latter that , they may draw to the amounts specified. Their premises In the West End , consist of a perfect net work of offices, ; apportioned to the different regiments, [ each under a chief accountant and clerk, and, at certain periods of the , year, are invaded at all hours of the i day by officers in mufti, who present > their claims, have them examined and initiated by the accountant, and then , proceed below to draw the needful . cash. The complicated and Ingenious system is said to be one of the most perfect of its kind In the world, seeing that the accounts of all the ever/than<rln<v nfflran nt hundreds of red merits are kept, and money sent all over the world, with scarcely ever a financial slip of any sort The officers' allowances?such as extra duty pay, command pay, Colonial or field allowance, eta, are paid by the district paymaster through the adju; tant of a regiment GH08T8 IN COUNTRY HOU8E. Two Seen In On# Evening at 8ir George Sitwell's Place., , Two ghosts have been seen in one evening at Renishaw, the residence of Sir George Sitwell, near Chesterfield, says the Pall Mall Gasette. Renishaw-is an old house dating from 1625, and more than one ghostly legend is associated with it Sir George, who formerly sat In parliament for Scarborough, Is a great antiquary and a good sportsman. He was instrumental In capturing a "spirit" at the London headquarters for the spiritualists In 1880. Lady Ida Sitwell is the sister of the present Earl of Londesborough. Sir George Sitwell's story appears In the Dally Mall as follows: "Last Saturday two ghosts were seen at Renishaw. Lady Ida had been to Scarborough to attend the Lifeboat Ball, at which she sat up until 4 o'clock In the morning, and had returned home that morning. After dinner the party of six?I was absent i fft. a fan, Vinura AAt In a drawing room upstairs. Lady Ida on a sofa facing the open door. Looking up after speaking to a friend on her left, she saw In the passage outside the figure of a woman, apparently a servant, with gray hair and white cap, the upper part of the dress blue, the skirt dark. The arms were at full length and the hands clasped. This figure moved with a very slow, furtive, gliding motion, as if wishing to escape notice, straight toward the head of the old staircase, which I removed 20 years ago. Lady Ida called out, "Who's that? Who's that?" then the name of the housekeeper; then to those who were nearest the door, "Run out and see who It is; run out at once." Two rushed out, but no one was there. The others Joined them and searched the hall and passages upstairs. As they were coming down one of the party, Miss R., who was a little away from the rest, exclaimed: "I do believe that's the ghost" There, in the full light of the archway below, within 20 feet of her, just where the door of the old ghost room used to stand until I removed it to put the present staircase in its place, she saw the figure of a lady with dark hair and dress, lost in painful thought and oblivious of everything about her. The dress was fuller than the modem fashion, the figure, though opaque, cast, no shadow. It moved with a curious gliding motion Into the darkness and melted away at or within a yard of the spot where a doorway, now walled up, led from the staircase to the hall. There Is no doubt that these figures were actually seen as described. They were not ghosts, but phantasms?reversed Impressions of something seen In the past and now projected from an overtired and an excited brain. In both cases the curious gliding movement, the absence of shadow, the absolute stillness or the figures, which moved neither hand nor head and hardly seemed to breathe, point to that conclusion. Such an experience goes far toward solving the ghost problem. Ghosts are sometimes met with, but they are not ghosts. Lee at Appomattox. Men who saw the defeated general when he came forth from the chamber where he had signed the articles of capitulation, say that he paused a moment as his eyes rested once more on the Virginia hills, smote his hands together, as though in some excess of Inward agony, then mounted his gray horse, Traveler, and rode calmly away, says a recent writer. If that was the very Gethsemane of his trials, vet he must have had then one moment of supreme, If chastened, joy. He rode quietly down the lane leading from the scene of capitulation he passed into view of his men?of such as remained of them. The news of the surrender had got abroad, and they were waiting, grief stricken and dejected, upon the hillsides when they caught sight of their old commander on the gray horse. Then occurred one of the most notable scenes in the history of the war. In an instant they were about him, bare-headed, with tearwet faces, thronging him, kissing his hand, his boots, his saddle; weeping, cheering him amid their tears, shouting his name to the very skies. He said: "Men, we have fought through the war together. I have done my best for you. My heart is too full to say more."