i. M. grist s sons, Pnbu.hen.} I jM? fcurepapeii: Jfor ?n promotion of the political, Social, ^jricultura! ami CTomuicrriat .interests of the people { tn^t!^?^J'JS2m~iTstABM8HEb~l8gg.
YORK VILLE, s7c., TUESDAY, OCTORER 3, 19tl". " >107797
ri|
A DAR]
*
4> By ETTA ^
CHAPTER XI?Continued.
Mercy Poole did not approach her
guests again during their stay at the
inn. They saw no more or ner. n was
the housemaid who always appeared
at their call, and supplied them with j
the abundant entertainment for which
the old tavern was famous.
Night came, and Fairy was put to
sleep in the room adjoining Mrs. Iris's
chamber. The latter person had murdered
slumber. She tossed and turned
on her plump feather pillows?she
chafed and sighed the dark hours
away, "and said "Thank Heaven!"
when she saw the east grow rosy. As
soon as the child was up she called
her to her side and embraced her.
"Fairy, kiss mamma," she said. "You
must do your utmost for me today,
child. Hannah, have you ordered the
depot carriage to take us to the
Woods?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Where is our mannish, rampant
landlady this morning? I could not
drive her from my thoughts all night."
"I'm glad to say I've not seen her?
she gives me the shivers with her
high-black looks."
A little before midday the sound of
wheels was heard in the street outside.
Mrs. Iris looked forth, expecting
to see the rattle-trap from the station;
K,,? iai at thtt dnnr nf thp inn Rtood a
landau, drawn by a pair of horses, and
driven by a black coachman in livery.
At the same moment the house-maid
came running up the stairs with a
message.
"The carriage from Greylock Woods
has just come for Mrs. Greylock and
her child," she said,
i He had sent his own equipage for
her. Surely that was a good omen.
The color flew into her pretty, faded
face, her black eyes sparkled.
"Quick, Hannah!" she cried, breathlessly;
"put on your bonnet and
shawl; you must come with me. And
dress the child and make her lovely?
my chief reliance is upon the child."
' Hannah obeyed. She was almost as
agitated as her mistress. The unpaid
wages of two years arose in her memory.
Possibly this rich man might liquidate
her mistress's debts. The two
descended the stairs, and took their
places in the carriage, and the blooded
horses turned from the Inn door and
flew along the sunny road, from Blackport
town to the gates of Greylock
Woods.
Mrs. Iris leaned back among the soft
cushions of the landau, holding to
Fairy as to a sheet anchor, and keenly
enjoying, through all her indolent being.
the luxury of a decent vehicle
once more. Her heart was in a tumult
of hope and fear. Was it to triumph
-V? oVl Ck. n'OO noil.
%JI UlSa^^UIIIllllClil uiai 0IIV < uu vw>
ed? The gate of the Woods stood
open, as If in welcome, and Fairy began
to clap her tiny hands.
"Oh, the pretty place!" she cried;
"here it is, mamma?the pretty place!"
And Mrs. Iris, under her breath, answered:
"Yes, child. Look, and see how
lovely it is, and know that all this will
go to a stranger, unless you can wrest
it from him!"
f Under the chestnuts, up the main
avenue they went, but not to the door
of the villa. The black coachman had
received his orders. To Iris Grey lock's
surprise he left the dust-brown house
behind him, and drove on, past hotbeds
and vineries, past a fish-pond, with a
rustic bridge and tool-house, past
knoll and hollow and cool clumps of
evergreens, until, at last, he came to a
cottage in the very heart of the Woods
?a full half-mile distant from the villa,
and quite out of sight of it. Here
the carriage stopped.
Mrs. Iris looked, and saw a pretty,
white, martin-box of a house, with
fantastic peaks and gables, and a
piazza, where a gay-colored hammock
was swinging in the wind. From foundation
to ridgepole, its entire front
was hung with roses, now in full
bloom?yellow and crimson, dazzling
white and superb pink, sweetbrier and
blush?they rioted and flaunted at every
window, they hung like banners
<innr? thpv covered the
piazza as with a screen. As the driver
drew up his horses at the entrance of
the cottage, a fat, comfortable female
figure descended the steps, to meet
the occupants of the carriage?Mrs.
Hopkins, the housekeeper of the villa.
r "I am to show you al>out the house,"
she said, as she made her bow to Mrs.
Iris. "It is Mr. Oreylock's order. He
wants you to see everything here.
He will be coming directly to talk
with you. Give me the child." She
took Fairy in her arms; the tears fell
on her honest cheeks. "And this is the
poor Master Rob's daughter! Lord
bless her? She has her father's blue
eyes and yellow hair."
Mrs. Iris alighted, wondering at this
odd turn of affairs. Under the swinging
roses she limped into the cottage,
hanging to Hannah Johnson's arm.
Hopkins, as guide, preceded them, and
began to throw open the doors on
either side of the pretty wainscoted
hall.
There was a drawing-room in terracotta
and peacock-blue, with tables
and cabinets in ebony and brass, a
velvet carpet, atid many costly nicknacks.
There was a boudoir in pink,
with pictures on the walls, and a piano
in a corner. There was a gem of a
dining-room, with a deep rose-smothered
hay-window, in which a maidservant
was spreading a lunch of cold
chicken and mayonnaise, cakes and
fruit. There were kitchen-offices, and
above stairs, airy chambers and a
nursery full of sunshine and the breath
of (lowers.
For years Mr. Greyloek has rented
this <ottage," said Hopkins, "but a few
days ago the tenant left, which was
fortunate. We have done our best to
put the rooms in order?most of the
things came from the villa. Hark!
There goes the bell. Mr. Greyloek has
come, and he will want you at once."
Mrs. Iris left Hannah Johnson above
f stairs, and taking Fairy's hand, by direction
of Hopkins, she limped down
*
K DEED |i
*
W. PIERCE *
4*
#$*9$e*?ce,?*s?*444e'f**$i9?'44
i
to the terra-cotta and blue drawingroom.
Yes. Godfrey Greylock was there,
walking about the apartment, and
looking uncommonly grim and hostile
?not at all like a relenting father-inlaw.
"Madam," he began, "I sent my own
carriage for you that I might get
through this disagreeable business as
quickly as possible."
He never glanced at Fairy, who
made, as she stood at Iris Greylock's
knee, a patch of living sunshine in the
room.
Perhaps he could not trust himself
today to meet the violet eyes that were
so like those of his dead son.
"I have duly considered our conversation
of yesterday," he went on, "and
the wants of yourself and child. My
housekeeper has shown you this cottage?do
you find It pleasant?desira.ble?"
"Decidedly."
"I do not choose that Robert Greylock's
daughter shall remain homeless,
or become a subject for public charity;
and since you must be looked upon as
a natural appendage to the child, it is
necessary to provide for you also."
"You are very kind."
He gave her a piercing, distasteful
glance.
"I offer you Rose Cottage as a permanent
abode?upon certain conditions.
Choose your own servants,
your own mode of living. I engage to
pay your bills, and to provide you
with every needful comfort."
"I have debts." 1
"They shall be settled at once."
She flung her arm around Fairy.
"And the conditions?"
He continued to pace up and down
the room, always passing the child 1
with averted eyes.
"You are to live here in strict se- i
elusion. You are never to receive visitors,
and never to go beyond my gates
without my knowledge and consent. I
rule absolutely in my own borders, i
This cottage is situated at a good distance
from the villa, and > our household
and mine must not co.^e in con- 1
tact?I do not wish to be remin*>d too
frequently of your proximity.
"Go on."
"You are to obey my wishes in all
things, but you are not to cross my
path or hold any communication with
me which is not absolutely necessary." i
Her arm tightened around Fairy.
She was very pale?with disappoint- <
ment or rage, perhaps.
"Remember, madam, it is solely for
the child's sake that I offer you this I
home." J
"For the child's sake I accept it."
"Very* well. Expect no more than 1
this from me, either now or in the fu- '
ture. All that I said to you yesterday
I repeat today. My will is made and '
my heir chosen."
Her eyes flashed. 1
"Pardon a mother's curiosity?may 1 1
. 1
asK nis name:
"Sir Gervase Greylock of Sussex, 1
England?you must acknowledge that '
It sounds well." 1
She nodded, with a bitter smile,
"And now, madam, all other matters
you can settle with my housekeeper.
Give her a list of the servants you '
wish to keep, and of every needed 1
thing which you do not find here. '
Send your bills to me for settlement, 1
until the day when you disregard my
commands?at that time I shall wash
my hands of your forever. Betwixt
you and me there can be nothing but
hostility?nevertheless the child shall !
not suffer. Farewell; I trust that we
may have no occasion to meet again."
He bowed and moved toward the
door. The interview was over. Iris
Greylock touched the child?a word
from her rosebud lips might have been '
potent just then, but Fairy only drew 1
the closer to the mourning skirts, and
remained stubbornly silent. Today
she was afraid of the stern, gray man 1
who passed her with averted eyes. 1
Neither the fear of punishment nor the
hope of reward could induce her to
utter a syllable. So he went without
hearing her voice.
Mrs. Iris made haste to summon
Hannah Johnson. The tempting lunch
in the bay-window of the dining-room
was waiting, and her crape bonnet and
veil began to make her head ache.
Without ceremony she tossed off these
emblems of woe, and broke into a
queer laugh.
"Look around, Hannah Johnson,"
she said; "this is our future home!
* ? ? -a
we are xo live nere, anu v*ounc.? un...lock
is to be our jailor. Oh, that heart
of flint, that soul of ice! How I hate
the man! I am never to go beyond his
Rates without his permission, I am
never to venture into his august presence:
but he will feed and clothe us,
and the wages due you will be at last
be paid."
"Lord be praised!" cried Hannah,
with fervor. "One can't always live
on air and promises, ma'am."
"His servants will watch me. I
shall be buried as deep as the
Pharaohs. You see how the house
stands, alone in a wilderness?amusement
must be unknown here. Life
will seem as dismal as death. I shall
feel like a prisoner in a cell; but it is
Oreylock Woods, Hannah, and at last,
at last, I?Robert's despised widow?
have found entrance here!"
"Exactly, ma'am."
"It is a step in the right direction?
a beginning which may lead to great
results. Heaven knows it will be hard
to bear such an existence, even for a
time; but I will soon find a way to improve
the conditions upon which 1 am
to live here. Oh, it was all that 1 eouhl
do to keep from screaming with rage
in his face as he talked to me just
now! Well, life in the ogre's den hegins
fron this hour. Hannah, and it
must he an improvement upon our
Boston hoarding-house. I am quite
ready for the chicken and mayonnaise
in the next room."
She lifted Kair.v suddenly upon her
lap. There was a wicked look in her
black eyes as she bent hack the golden
head, and carefully scanned the child's
rose-leaf beauty.
"I have work for you, petite," she
almost hissed. "You have opened a
door for me into my enemy's stronghold,
but you must do more?much
more! You are to conquer the man
outright; you are to avenge all the insults
he has heaped upon me; you are
to make him my spoil, and yourself the
heiress of Greyloek Woods. You are
to snatch away the great expectations
of Sir Gervase. the English heir; you
are to give me riches, ease, power, and
to be my obedient daughter, with no
will but mine. All this will be difficult,
perhaps dangerous, but you can
do it, and you must!"
"Woe be to the child if she fails!"
muttered Hannah Johnson, under her
breath.
CHAPTER XII.
Polly Speaks Again.
On a small, white bed, in a coo), still
hospital room, I lay wrestling with
death. My fidelity to Nan had cost me
dear, indeed! I was bruised and brok.0
en; I was racked in every limb with
unspeakable pangs. My bandaged
head, from which some hand had cut
away the matted black hair, throbbed
with delirious visions. A window at
the head of the bed sent a shaft of
light quivering across the spotless
counterpane that covered my helpless
body, and up that luminous way I was
always striving to climb. Somewhere
at the end of it I fancied that Nan
waited. I must find her?even in the
midst of physical torments and mental
aberration, I could not forget my long
and luckless guest. I wore myself out
with mad efforts to mount the track of
the sunshine and go seeking lost Nan
far off through the shining window.
In those terrible days, neither Dr.
Steele, 6f the medical staff of the hospital,
nor his nephew, Dick Vandine,
a student attacned to tne same establishment,
believed that I had a
chance of recovery.
"But these street Arabs and their
kind are hard to kill," I heard the doctor
say, in one of my brief moments
of semi-consciousness; "the tenacity
which they exhibit in holding on to
their worthless lives is often wonderful."
He was a hum-drum man, with a
dejected air; his nephew, on the contrary,
overflowed with the wildest of
spirits.
"Poor little beggar!" answered the
latter; "I shall not soon forget the
sickening sensation which I experienced
as I saw the horses trampling
her."
"You will soon get used to all these
things, lad."
My feeble hands made a vague
..-.^cement along the coverlid.
"Stop the carriage!" I whispered,
hoarsely. "Nan is in it?my little sister
Nan. I've been hunting for her
these three years, and I'll die if I can't
speak to her once?just once!"
"That's the way she goes on, day in
and day out," said Vandine. "Somehow,
I'm awfully sorry for the little
wretch! She cannot be more than
nine or ten years old, though she looks
as ancient and wizened as a mummy."
"Pooh! You've no business to be
sorry for anybody," answered Dr.
Steele; "a physician who begins to
waste sympathy on his patients is
lost."
Dick Vandine grinned. Being a pe
culiarly light-hearted, devil-may-care
fellow, he was not likely to suffer from
i surplus of sympathy; but the case of
the street beggar, the recipient of his
charity, who had been run over?
crushed?almost annihilated before his
very eyes, interested him.
There was also a kindly-faced nurse
who came often to my bed to minister
to my wants?an angel of mercy she
seemed to me; and Dr. Steele and his
nephew held frequent conversations
regarding my condition
I was delirious r ot of the time, and
I talked a great deal about Nan and
Harmony Alley?I was back In the attic,
smarting under the blows of Granny
Scrag's stick?I was fighting with
Pietro on the stair?I was shivering in
the rain and sleet of twilight streets.
There was no chapter in my brief life
which I did not live over anew in that
hospital bed?which I did not rave
over to my attendants. Dick Vandine
and Dr. Steele, and the kindly-hearted
nurse soon knew my whole story.
It was a long, hard struggle?so long
and so hard that a cynic might have
asked why a life that was worth nothing,
even to its possessor, should be so
unnecessarily prolonged. I was tenacious?I
clung to existence like a barnacle
to a ship's keel. Despite my
frightful injuries, and in defiance of
all rules and precedents, I, the wretched
slave of Granny Scrag, cheated
death and lived.
One day I opened my hollow eyes,
with a conscious gaze, on the face of
Vandine, who chanced to be bending
over me, helping the nurse to adjust
a bandage.
"By Jove! she's come to herself!"
cried the young fellow, joyfully. "Halloo,
Polly! How do you feel, my
dear?"
I stared up into his plain, florid
countenance with preternatural solemnity.
"Where's Nan?" I answered.
"Really I can't say," replied Mr.
Vandine, airily; "but without doubt,
she will turn up soon."
"I saw her in the carriage."
"Did you, though? It was a rather
unlucky sight for you."
Another memory forced itself upon
me.
"Say, where's the quarter you gave
me just before I was knocked under
the wheels?"
He burst into a ringing laugh.
"That's right, Polly!?keep a strict
account of your small change. The
quarter is safe. I found it clinched
fou? iii vimr niiiir little fist when you
arrived here at the hospital. Behold
your treasure!"
He thrust a hand into his pocket,
brought to view the piece of money in
question, and tucked it under my pillow.
"Do not speak another word," he
said, "but take this dose like a good
girl. It's plain that you are bound to
pull through, after all."
I swallowed the medicine which he
held to my lips, and fell into an easy
slumber. That was the beginning of
my convalescence.
In the days that followed I saw a
great deal of Dick Vandine. His interest
in me did not decrease. At this
time, I think, he regarded me as a
unique professional study. God only
knows how he obtained his exceeding <
power over me. He was simply a gay, '
rollicking, devil-may-care student, not 1
particularly brilliant, and surely with I
no personal beauty: nevertheless I, the
ignorant, friendless street waif, looked <
upon him and saw an Apollo without 1
blemish, a hero, a god. I would have 3
walked over hot plowshares at his bid- 1
ding?I would have gone through up- 1
lifted seas at his call. My adoration <
for him becanre as blind, as devoted, 1
as a Parsee's for his sacred fire. I was 1
only a child, but with my first look in ?
his careless eyes, I think the unfor- ?
tunate passion began?the mad, hope- 1
less love, which was destined, aiasf to 1
make the anguish and despair of my 1
future. As I began to mend, he often i
used to question me about myself.
"Did you never know father or {
mother, Polly?" he asked on one occa- r
sion, and I shook my head and an- ?
swered, "never!" 1
','But what is your family name?"
"I've no name but Polly, as I told you f
the first time you spoke to me on the a
street."
"And this little lost Nan that you
love so well?did she fare no better?" c
"She was just Nan, as I was Polly." t
"Strange! I suspect the uncon- t
scionable Scrag hag never told you r
anything about your parents?" e
"No; oh, no." ?
"And you dared not question her <3
about the matter?" t
"Often I did, sir, but she always an- (
swered me with a rap of her stick."
Mr. Vandine meditated. s
"Then, of course, you cannot be sure c
that Nan was your sister?" r
My wizened face wrinkled with v
doubt. H
"I suppose not; but, oh, sir, she p
ought to be my sister?It would seem r
a dreadful thing if she wasn't, because o
I love her so! Granny Scrag always t
treated her better than me?she did r
not beat her as much?she was kinder
to her in every way?I was glad of I
that. Indeed, Nan seemed made of r
finer stuff than I." c
He smiled whimsically. I
"You brave, generous little Polly! d
Wliot a tnimn vnn nrp?n Pennine
? ? -...r ? j
heroine of the gutter! Now here's the ii
whole matter for you in a nutshell: 8
Some one took a fancy to Nan's pretty r
face?for you say she was uncommon- s
ly pretty?and adopted her out of f
hand, with the full consent of her le- o
gal guardian, or grandmother, or r
whatever the crone is?in which case, j
all is lawful and above-board, and
you will have to resign yourself to the
inevitable?that is, let Nan go, and 8
console your noble little heart with \
thinking that her lines have fallen in a
pleasant places." d
"I shall find her some day," I said, 8
with determination. "She was in the p
carriage, but she didn't see me; I t
screamed, but she didn't hear. I shall
grow up, and earn money, and go out 8
and hunt for her through the world." d
He shook his head. v
"Better not, Polly; she may not t
thank you for your trouble; she may
not care to be found by you. This is h
an ungrateful world, my child. Think 8
of yourself a little. Do you suppose p
Granny Scrag is fretting about you at a
the present time? Does she fancy 8
you have skipped off in the wake of
Nan?" b
I grew pale with fright. tl
"Oh, sir, she hasn't been here, I hope, e
asking for me? She doesn't know h
where I am?" t!
"No, Polly, she has not been here, a
and she probably doesn't know or care n
whether you are dead or alive. By- 8
and-by you will be discharged from n
the hospital. Are you going back to p
Harmony Alley then?" o
I gasped with terror. g
"No! oh, gracious goodness, no! y
Not for the world, sir! I'd drown my- d
self first; I'd run under the horses' feet c
again and stay there." h
"Then you will never return to the j
fond arms of Granny Scrag?" n
"Never." r
"Quite right," said Vandine, in his c
careless, off-hand way. "I wouldn't, if s
I were you. Something will turn up, I o
dare say, before you leave this place.
We'll get you admitted to an orphan \
asylum or a home for destitute chil- e
dren." n
I shook my head. p
"I shouldn't like that, sir; I would g
sooner take care of myself." v
He laughed. v
"You're rather small for the task, r
Polly; rather deficient as regards k
l.rawn and sinew, both of which are b
requisite to push one's self on successfully
in this greedy world." t
The time for my departure from the b
hospital came all too soon. The clean, \
orderly, quiet place had grown posl- b
tivel.v dear to me. There, for the first ?
time in my life, I had found kindness e
and comfort and care. How reluctant t
I felt to leave the spot where I had
suffered so much! How hard it was s
for me to say good-by to the sweet- p
faced nurse, to Dr. Steele, to Dick h
Vandine! And where was I to go? In
what corner of the great city could I o
find a shelter? * b
"I suppose you do not know of any g
right-minded person who is anxious 1
to adopt a well-grown infant, eh?" n
said Dick Vandine to his uncle, at s
this critical stage in my affairs.
"I confess that I do not," replied the b
doctor, dryly. " I
"It's hard to send Polly back to the a
beastlv trrandmother who has abused
her so long; it's hard to turn her into v
the street. Of course she will not be 8
capable of shifting for herself for a s
long time to come." f
"Why do you trouble yourself about f
the girl?" cried Dr. Steele, impatient- s
ly. "She is nothing to you. If you be- g
gin your career in this way, Dick, you v
will soon be up to the neck in diftkul- t
ties." J,
Vandine shrugged his shoulilers. a
"Why cannot you make a place for c
Polly in your own house, uncle?" he s
said, boldly. "She might do the gen- a
erally useful in the nursery, wait on a
Aunt Emily and mind the baby; there's
always one to mind, you know."
The doctor stared at his nephew a li
moment, then, as his mind ran nim- l
l?ly over his domestic economy, the ji
fashion of his countenance changed. I
"That's a brilliant idea of yours, u
Dick," he answered, dryly. "When I a
have time I will think of the matter."
The doctor's household was not one s
in which the machinery of everyday ji
life ran with even tolerable smooth- d
ness. He was not a rich man, and his y
wife, a confirmed nervous invalid, t
loved not the onerous tasks with t
which, as the mother of a riotous t
brood, she was constantly overwhelm- y
id. A week after the conversation
betwixt uncle and nephew I left the
lospital to become a member of the
Steele household.
To Dick Vandine fell the duty of
conducting me to my new home.
Dressed in some cast-off clothes of the
foung Steeles, which the doctor had
Drought to me, and in which my bony
ittle figure had a painfully fantastic,
)Ut-of-place look, I went down to the
eception-room of the hospital to wait
'or Vandine. The kind nurse who had
ittlred me in my second-hand finery,
ind done her utmost to make me look
ess grotesque and ridiculous in It,
dssed me good-by, and put in my
land a banknote and a pocket Testanent.
"God bless you, Polly!" she said,
fently; "be a good girl, and when you
naster your alphabet, as you will
imong the young Steeles read this
ittle book for my sake,"
"I will, ma'am," I answered, and
lung my thin arms around her neck
md wept bitterly.
In pranced Vandine.
"Halloo!" he cried, suppressing with
lifficulty a grin at the figure I cut, "is
his?can this be Polly? What a guy
hey've made of you, to be sure! All
eady? Then here we go! Wipe your
yes, my dear. You'll get on with the
Steeles fast enough. There's a baker's
lozen of them, and a nice, lively lot
hey are! Nothing dull in that house!
7ome on!"
It was late in the afternoon of a
tormv flnv nnH n flrenrv hlnr nf mint
ind rain hung over the alty, as I turned
ny back on the hospital and set forth
vith Dick Vandine to find the Steeles.
rhe young fellow hailed a street car,
laced me within, and took a seat by
ny side. If he was ashamed of my
>dd appearance he did not show it, and
here was no merriment in his face
iow, only grave doubt.
"You're such a frail little creature,
^lly," he said, "that I feel dubious
egarding your physical ability to
ope with the doctor's robust brood,
lowever, you're in for it now, my
lear; it was the best I could do for
ou. You see I've neither money nor
nfluence, nor any other desirable posession.
I live with my widowed
nother, and pursue my studies under
uch difficulties as naturally arise
rdm a short purse and a multiplicity
f wants. Heaven above! the Steeles
nust be an improvement on Harmony
illey and Granny Scrag!"
"Yes, oh, yes!" said I, cheerfully.
It was fairly dark when the car
topped at the corner of a street, and
Vandine tucked me under his arm and
scended the steps of the Steele resllence.
We were admitted by a sliphod,
greasy maid, whom repeated
mils at the bell finally summoned from
he shades below.
"The mistress is in the nursery," she
aid to Vandine, and plunged again
lown the kitchen stair, up which was
rafted the odor of a dinner, burning
o a crisp.
^Pome on, Polly," said-Vandine, and
ie boldly led the way up a staircase
trewn with dolls and broken toys and
ileces of rejected bread and butter,
nd opened the door of the Steele nurery.
The room was comfortable enough,
ut its general confusion was somehing
appalling. The chairs were evrywhere
but on their legs; the cover
ad been dragged from the table, and
hat article of furniture appropriated
s a seat of observation for part of the
olsy crowd. Books, toys, discarded
hoes and pinafores, and two or three
lischievous puppies who were ehewng
up the rugs, made disorder from
ne end of the place to the other,
lome half-dozen boys and girls, all
ounger than myself, romped up and
own the room like juvenile Comanhes,
bellowing at the top of their
ealthy lungs, to the distraction of the
octor's wife?a faded, irritable wonan,
who sat in the midst of the
acket, holding a baby still in long
lothes?a crowing, kicking baby, who
eemed mightily amused at the antics
f his elders.
"Good-evening, bedlamites!" cried
rcndine, from the doorway. "Goodvenlng,
Aunt Emily? How do you
nanage to keep your head in this
ande.-nonium? I've brought this little
irl from the hospital?your new serant,
you know. But, 'pon my soul!"
rith a significant glance around the
oom, "I suspect it would have been
inder In me to have taken her straight
ack to Harmony Alley."
The little Steeles, diverted from
heir frolic, charged upon Dick in a
ody, and the puppies followed after.
Vhile he was defending himself from
ioth children and quarhupeds, Mrs.
iteele turned and looked at me. Her
yes were faded and hard; critical,
oo, and disapproving.
"Of what was the doctor thinking."
he cried, sharply, "when he sent this
igmy here? Why, she is too small by
alf, Dick, to be of any service to me."
"Lord love you, aunt," roared Dick,
ver the noise of the children and the
arklng of the dogs, "the choicest
oods are done up in small parcels,
'ry her?she's a treasure, and we may
aturally hope that she'll be larger and
tronger by-and-by."
Mrs. Steele dropped the crowing
aby into my arms so suddenly that
staggered and nearly lost my balnce.
"Take him," she said, "and let us see
that you can do with him. Generally
peaking, he dislikes strangers." By
ome happy chance the rosy little
ellow looked in my poor, pinched
ace, and, as. if reassured by what he
?... hi? flnvvnv cheek
.gainst my neck and cooed like a
rood-pigeon. The hard eyes of the
ired mother softened. The children
aughed, and left Vandine to crowd
nd cling around me. I strained the
hild to my shoulder with all my
trength, which, alas! was not much,
nd he hugged me with two chubby
rms and crowed joyfully.
"That is odd," said Mrs. Steele.
You can stay, Polly. It is plain that
ic will be good with you, and by-and y,
I dare say, I can make you useful
n various ways about the house.
)lck, you must remain and dine with
is?the children have not seen you for
. long time."
"Good heaven! not if I know myelf!"
cried Vandine. "That is?beg
iardon?I've another engagement. My
lear aunt, I stand in deadly terror of
our nursery. How thoughtful of you
o provide these youngsters with inchhick
boots?how good for the shins of
heir friends and relatives! I entreat
ou all to be as easy with poor Polly
as possible. She is miserably weak as
yet?hasn't had time to get her
strength up, you know."
As he beat a masterly retreat toward
the door I, staggering under the weight
of the baby, followed him, with unspeakable
yearning in my wasted, dark
face.
"From Scylla to Charybdis," muttered
Vandine! "from the frying-pan irto
the fire! I'm afraid this is what our
new move amounts to, Polly. But,
brace up! I'll drop in often to see
hnvu vrm cpt nn with thp Infant "
"Oh, will you?" I cried, joyfully,I
with the tears in my hollow eyes.
"Of course. I am the nephew of the
house, you know. Don't cry, dear.
Why, bless me, are you so sorry to ,
part, Polly?" as two great drops roll- i
ed down my cheeks. "This will never
do. Keep up your spirits, and mind
you don't drop the kid?he's too heavy
for you, by half. And now, au revolr,
as the French say."
I was so forlorn and friendless, and,
I dare say, so sad and pitiful to look
at, as I stood there with the child In
my arms, that, moved by some compassionate
impulse, Dick Vandine bent
suddenly and kissed me. That caress
marked an epoch in my life.
His careless, good-natured face
lighted the nursery door for an instant;
the children ran after him.
screaming protests against his departure.
I heard his gay laugh as he eluded
their clutching hands, then he was
gone, and all the light of the day with
him. I
(To Be Continued.) I
1
ITAI \f A M n TIIDL/CV
linn nnw wniAi. i
Comparative Strength of the Two Nations
Now at War.
The trouble between Turkey and
Italy which culminated last Friday afternoon
in a declaration of war at
Rome, dates back to 1878, when with
the making of the treaty concluding
the Russo-Turko war, the powers are
understood to have agreed to permit
Italy a "pacific penetration of Tripoli."
Turkey claims that this right has
been respected ever since. Italy has
colonized Tripoli until her interests in
that African province are very great.
She has asserted, however, that her
subjects have been mistreated by the
Ottoman authority and constantly discriminated
against. Frequent disputes
have arisen but the prolonged negotiations
have never resulted satisfactorily
to Itly.
At the time that the Franco-German
differences regarding Morocco
were acute, Italy turned her attention
again to Tripoli and in subsequent negotiations
with Constantinople set
forth that many outrages against her
subjects had been perpetrated and for
which no redress has been made. She
assumed a decisive attitude and presently
began the mobilization of her
army and navy.
Italy's standing army in 1910-11 <
numbered approximately 225,000 men
and 14,000 officers, but a far greater
number could be put in the field In
case of necessity. The Italian navy
consists in vessels commissioned, built
or building, fifteen battleships, nine
armored cruisers, seventeen unarmored
cruisers and gun vessels, thirty-six
destroyers, an equal number of firstclass
torpedo boats and twenty-two
submarines. In the naval force there
are approximately 31,000 men. As a
whole the Italian navy is generally
ranked fifth among nations. As seamen
the Italians are skilled and ingenuous.
They have constructed some
remarkable war vessels.
Naval lists show that Turkey has a
fighting strength of nine coast defense
ironclads, five protected cruisers, six
torpedo vessels, one gunboat, twentyone
torpedoboat destroyers, twentyseven
torpedoboats and two submarines.
As compared with the greater
nations this array is a negligible quantity.
The nominal strength of the
Turkish navy Is 929 officers, 30,000
sailors, besides about 9,000 marines.
The empire is divided into seven
army corps districts and there are two
independent divisions at Medina and
Tripoli respectively. The total fighting
strength is close to a million men
and by the existing recruiting laws all
Musselmans are liable to military service.
Ploughman Frost.
It is a well known fact that water in
the act of freezing expands considerably
and with a force that is irresistible.
It is the freezing of water in
their crevices and pores that causes
the rocks to be gradually worn down
and "weathered," as it is called, Into
soil. It is this also which is continually
reducing the soil to finer fragments,
breaks up hard clogs and mellows
the ground.
Fall ploughing or spading assists this
effect by breaking up the compact soil
into lumps, which are further broken
into small particles. As water and air
can act only upon the surface of these
particles, it is clear that the smaller
they are, the more surface is exposed
to the weather and the soil is made
soluble.
If a block of hard soil of 12 cubic
inches is exposed to the weather 834
square inches only are affected; if it
is broken up into cubes of 1 Inch 10,368
square inches are exposed to these
beneficial influences, and the amount
affected increases as the soil is further
broken up.
This fact shows how greatly the effect
of frost benefits the soil, and
therefore how necessary it is that the
land should be fall ploughed and opportunity
given for this beneficial action
of the weather.?Harper's Weekly.
Honesty Extraordinary.?A traveler {
writing in an Italian magazine says j
that the Swiss canton of Tlclno Is Inhabited
by the most honest folk it is *
possible to imagine. In most of the ^
Ticinese villages, the writer says, the c
oldest inhabitants do not remember t
any case of thieving, however petty, J
within a lifetime. Lost objects when
found must never be taken away; they \
must be left where they were dropped 1
or placed in a conspicuous position so t
that the rightful owner can find his s
property more easily. The case is i
cited of an American woman tourist ^
who lost her purse on an excursion in t
the Val Capriasca. The purse con- a
tained gold coin and a jeweled watch. s
Upon returning from her trip she j
found the purse with its contents in- i
tact on a little heap of leaves, so f
placed that it could not fail to attract .
her attention.?New York Sun.
MUCHRAKERS AND HISTORY, !
]
Reputation of National Figures Dwin-1
die Before Facts. (
BIG MEN WHO WERE NOT SQUARE. ,
One Reason Why the Old Timers Ap- J
peared to Be So Much Better Than j
Men of the Present Generation, It ?
That History Has Sought to Forget a
What Was Bad and Remembered r
Only That Which Was Good.
r
The ancients made gods of their
geniuses; today we venerate them. a
The mere fact of being called a great 8
man confers necessarily all qualities ?
and all virtues. We have a natural n
tendency to consider our neighbor a
bigger fool than ourselves, but when p
public opinion has marked a man d
genius we simply stand back and re- f
gard him with awe. No matter what ?
may be said to the contrary, and no 0
matter how little we like it, Americans p
are at heart hero worshippers of the c
most rabid type. The gullibility with n
which we accept the George Washing- |]
ton cherry tree story is sufficient proof h
}f the fact. ?
In recent years we have taken su- c
preme pleasure In muckraking the ca- F
reers of our contemporaries. Lurid a
, 41. 14 fi
IIICI Utruilt' wnino ua> c ouunu uo ((Wf
?ome of our favorites have stolen cart d
loads of money and caused buckets of n
blood to be shed, in the operation. It e
has pleased us mightily to see these ^
pietty heroes and demigods fall before h
the onslaught of the space writers. *
The chance to chuck our would-be J
ifreat men In the ribs tickled us half v
to death. But the few brave men who b
lave tried to show us the weaknesses d
>f our national heroes have been ^
treated as men and fools. h
In reality, however, human nature v
s much the same whether disguised as t'
i ditch digger or a statesman. There j
8 an old French -proverb which says F
:hat "No man is a hero to his valet," Jj
ind the biographies of great men of v
ill times and countries have borne out
:he truth of the assertion. Carlyle s
tortured his wife and Donizetti acted g
the brute to his family, while Rous- b
leau abandoned his; Bacon trafficked tl
with justice; Villon becamf a thief, jj
ind Casanova was accused of swind- j
ing. Most foreign celeorites have w
ben made to totter on their pedestals, ?
sut we hold up a warning hand to all [j
who attempt to touch our own. v,
It Is not merely because we hold a
>ur famous men sacred that we object jj
to historical muckraking; It is largely
jecause such research wounds our
'amily pride. The genealogical socie- 0
ties cannot bring themselves to take a c
philosophical view of disparaging an- n
enni-prnlne their ancestors, a
Staid New England matrons And it tl
perfectly disgusting to be told that n
:he only ancestor on whom their only h
.iaims to aristocracy rest was a sheep p
itealer. Of course they ought to be tl
proud of the fact that he had sense h
mough to steal sheep, but they can- i
tot seem to see it that way. s<
Hence they try to suppress the j
facts. It is bad enough to be obliged
:o change dates and shift birthplaces tl
'or the purpose of making some de- jj
nirable celebrity sprout on one's fam- ri
iy tree without standing calmly by a
.vhile the cherished fruit rots on the w
incestral branch. Instead these as- b
iociations for the manufacture of fl
mpeccabie family trees perpetuate h
ill the complimentary legends they c<
'an find and try to bury in oblivion t<
til the disparaging facts that others p
nay present to them. si
The historians, too. are largely re- o;
sponsible for the distortion of the a
ruth. They are altogether too pa- t<
:riotic to allow swindlers and bank n
obbers to creep into our national nr
ilstory. They are afraid the other
tations might snicker behind our
jacks if they found it out. They
lung to the story of George Washngton's
hatchet with bulldog telacity
until England proved to them f<
onclusively that it was a myth. Then p
hey had to fall back on the statenent,
and blandly thought that they *
lad thereby saved their country's si
lonor. _ si
There was one historian, though, t|
vho a while ago mustered up his
ourage and told a few facts about b
he patriots of '76. But he, poor Ji
nan. nearly had his hair pulled out u
>y the roots for his pains. He had
rodden on the tender feet of some
if the finest families. And his fel- tl
ow historians held up their hands
in horror at the thought that there n
;ould be a man so lacking In the true
American spirit and sense of Justice, w
is they called it, that he would make tl
public such heinous truths. It was
inly by rare good fortune that he
?scaped having a commission appointed
to iook into his sanity, and "
t Is certain that if such a commission T
Pad started operations on him he ^
vould have been declared as crazy as
x loon. No one who destroys a famly
legend or wounds a nation's pride o
'an escape the wrath of his outraged 3
,'ictlms If they once get him in their
lands.
This ruthless destroyer of respec- c
able ancestors was John H. Stark, 1(
he Boston historian. He was really tl
lot so insane as people hoped he t|
,vas. All the aceervations which he
nade were found on investigation 0
o be correct. Everything was done p
hen to hush the matter up, but a
hose whose forefathers had not been
mpeached took intense pleasure in p
ecalling it. Mr. Stark's researches ei
vere by no means exhaustive. Other
shady heroes have been discovered ^
since. It was only the other day
hat it became generally known that d
ienry Clay and Daniel Webster had s(
>unked a bank. Those who have tl
iot uprooted the men from their
lative soils and tried to graft them
>n their own geneological shrubbery
sill appreciate the open-handed and It
leat way in which the trick was p,
urned.
It seems that the salary which 81
Jenry Clay received while in the emiloy
of the government was not suf*
* " - TUU onnma
lcieru ror ni? neeua. mis
lomewhat peculiar, as he was always
veil paid, and life in Washington in 11
hose days was not so costly as it tr
s today by far. If the facts could
>e found some interesting material
night be dug up on the subject of
tow he spent his money. But per- 01
taps it would be well to wait un'il j,,
lis outraged descendants have recov red
from the shock caused by the ?'
iresent discovery. Pi
The famous statesman tried in tc
very possible way to get enough
noney into his possession to ma;?e
loth ends meet, but he found it a ai
lifflcult proposition. One day he V
bund himself completely "broke," and tr
vith a pressing need for $250. He
learched his brains for some way in
vhlch he could obtain the money el
vithout borrowing it. He seemed to a
lislike to pay any money back after he of
nice got it into his possession, and,
infortunately, most of his friends c<
leemed to know it. At last a clever it
dea came to him. T
He went to the Riggs Bank in ..
Washington and marched boldly up to
he cashier. He held his head proudly h
md looked the frightened banker d
itraight in the eye. bi
"I want to negotiate a loan of 5250," f
le said in his deep, gruff voice, that (
lad always been so effective on the P
loor of the senate. q
"Certainly," returned the cashier. jr
'please be seated."
"You can let me have it on my per- "
lonal note, I suppose?" said Clay, as
hough there could be no doubt of it.
'Well," answered the other suavey,
"It is the Invariable rule of the bank
o require that a note be Indorsed."
"Who can I get to do that?" asked
?lay.
"Any one who Is known here."
"Will Dan'l Webster do?"
"Oh, yes," replied the cashier; "Mr,
Webster will do very well."
Thereupon the impoverished statesnan
set out In search of his co-orator.
4e found him at home in rather a deeded
state of mind, but Clay was too
tnxlous to get his $250 to be perturbed
>y the other's feelings, so he went
itralght to the root of the matter.
"Dan'l," he said, "I'm trying to borow
$250 and they tell me at the bank
hat they will give It to me on my
?ersonal note If you will Indorse it."
Wuhalor hrlffhtonoi) un Immprilnfplv
,nd interrupted him before he could
ay another word.
"That's Just the thing1!" he cried.
I've got to have $250 myself. If you'll
nake it $500 I'll sign it."
This Clay was perfectly willing to
lo. As soon as Clay had indorsed the
aper he returned to the bank and
rew $500, which he divided with his
riend. That note has never been paid,
nd is still preserved at the Rlsrgs Nplonal
Bank as an example of the folly
f trusting human beings, and as a
roof of the cleverness with which
ertaln heroes can imDOse on a bank.
As a purloiner of other people's
loney. Benjamin Franklin was as well
itentioned as Clay and "Webster, but
e was not nearly so shrewd. He was
little too fat and puffy to enable him
[> make his getaway. The government
aught him at it and fired him.
Yanklln was 67 years old at the time,
nd that may in some measure account
or his lack of skill.
The facts of the grand old man's
ellnquency are very scanty, which is
lost unfortunate. It would be intersting
to see the methods he employed
nd find out, if possible, at what point
e made his mistake. All we know
9 that while he was postmgster at
toston he got all his pin money by
obbing the . mails, when the head of
he department found it out Franklin
k'as promptly turned out. He escaped
0 Philadelphia and nothing more was
one about the affair. His descendnts
were shocked when It became
nown. They had been so proud of
aving as an ancestor the only man
'ho had signed all four of the most
uportant documents In the history of
1 TT.U.J >k. runloratlnn n#
IIC UlillCU Oiaico me Lreviaiauvu v*
ndepenJence, the treaty alliance with
^ance, the peace pact with Great
tritaln and the constitution?and who
ad also tamed the lightning and inented
the Franklin stove.
Samuel Adams had much the same
cheme as the one which Franklin
ungled so woefully. But he was more
uccessful in a way. He was caught, to
e sure, but he didn't have to return
lie money. At one time he had a job a?
ix collector for Boston. During his
enure of office he salted down a cool
5,000 for use in the future when the
rolf might come around howling. The
nly inartistic bit of work he did was
3 leave a letter lying around which .
icriminated him. (This letter, by the
ray, is still in existence.) When the
uthoritles found that Samuel Adams
)st his position, he refused to give up
is money, and his sureties had to pay
: for him.
John Hancock was the best brigand
f all the patriots. As a defaulter he
ould have given pointers to many a
lodern bank clerk who thought hlmelf
clever. He was a real knight of
lie jimmy and the dark lantern. He
ever did anything by halves. When
e signed the Declaration of Indeendence
he wrote his name so large
hat, as he said, King George didn't
ave to put his glasses on to read it.
'he same thoroughness is to be oberved
in the way in which he looted
iarvard college.
In 1774 the trustees of that instltulon
elected him treasurer. In so doig
they considered their patriotism
ither more than their prudence. The
mount of money paid over to him
ras upward of $77,000. A considerale
portion of this clung to Hancock's
ngers and finally found its way into
is pockets. For twenty years the
orporation begged and entreated him
> give It back. They threatened to
rosecute him; they put his bond in
ult just as Adams's was, but it was
f no avail. He turned a deaf ear to
II thalr anfrantlas and it wan onlv af
?r his death in 1793 that his heirs
lade restitution. The settlement was
lade in 1795, but the college had lost
526 Interest.?Pittsburg Leader.
8accharin.
Saccharin, which was discovered a
jw years ago by Dr. Ira Remsen, now
resident of Johns' Hopkins universif,
assisted by others, is in its pure
tate Ave hundred times as sweet as
ugar. In its commercial form it is
hree hundred times as sweet. It has
een used extensively in sweetening
ims, cakes, pies and soda-water sirps.
Tet it is not a sugar, and it is
sserted that it is not assimilated by
he stomach.
Four years ago a government comlission,
headed by President Remsen,
ras asked to look Into the propriety of
he use of saccharin in food. It has
itely reported that saccharin is one
f those substances the use of which
i forbidden by the pure-food law.
'he government has consequently orered
that after July 1st no food
weetened with it may be sold In any
f the territories, or shipped from one
tate to another.
Similar action was taken by practially
all the governments of Europe a
>ng time ago. Last year an internalonal
conference was held in Paris for
he purpose of making plans to stamp
ut the trade In saccharin. The imortation
of It into Italy Is forbidden,
nd Its manufacture for medicinal
urposes is In the hands of the govrnment.
Even its medicinal value is disputed,
ike aniline dyes, It is a coal-tar prouct.
In excess it causes nausea and
imetimes death. It is charged that
le laws against it in Europe were
assed at the demand of the manufacirers
of cane or beet sugar, but when
s inventor in America Joins in a reort
condemning its use in place of
jgar, such charges may be disrearded.
Ancient Rome's Libraries.?The
braries of ancient Rome were imlense
and splendid. Lucullus,
hose name is associated with table
ixuries, expended much of his wealth
n books. His library, says Plutarch,
nd "walks callerlfs and cabinets
pen to all visitors." Julius Caesar
roposed to open this library definitely
> the public.
How were these vast libraries, in
Edition to the book shops, filled?
fith his trained staff of readers and
anscribers, a publisher could turn
ut an edition of any work at very
Heap rates, and almost at a moment's
otice. There was no initial expense
f typesetting before a single copy
)uld be produced, no ruinous extras
\ the shape of printers' corrections,
he manuscript came from the auior;
the publisher handed it over to
Is slave, and if a book of modest
Imensions, the complete edition could
e ready, if necessary, within twenty>ur
hours. Actually, then, books were
roduced and sold more easily and
uickly in ancient Rome than they are
i modern London.?T. P.'s London
feekly.
i