Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, February 21, 1913, Image 1
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e?ttbmshed 1855* YORKVILLE. 8. C., FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 2l71913. ~~ KTO. 15.
* ? THE AMERICA
?
I
By ETTA ?
I
lylOOIOC'IOD'I'CKyrtKyi
(CHAPTER XXV?Continued.) ]
Dismayed, bewildered, she stood confronting:
this unexpected and almost (
Incomprehensible misfortune. _ Discor
do's threat in the haunted house rush- (
oh hnpir urton her memory. He had de- >
celved the Blacks with his falsehoods ]
?made them to doubt her, Mercy?set
their hearts against her, perhaps! his i
conviction came upon her with a great <
shock. Whither had they gone? How i
could she find and undeceive them? 1
She remembered the banking house. <
Yal would be there?there he was to be 1
found every working day in the week. 1
She had only to hasten thither then <
and tell him all. i
Mercy departed from Seedy Court, 1
and reached State street long before f
the banking house was open. Nothing 1
was left for her to do but hover about 1
Its vicinity, walking up and down, too t
desperate and anxious to care for any- f
thing but the errand which had brought i
her there. She looked in vain for Val. i
People began to crowd into the street t
but he cune not. <
Presently a handsome carriage drove 1
up to the door of Sardls & Co., and a 1
man, tall, imposing, autocratic, alighted
and entered. Business, then, had T
begun. Mercy glided straight after the J
important-looking person?straight in
to the handsome banking room, where 8
the clerks had now assembled to their r
daily work. She cast one wild look 8
around. Val was not there!
"Oh, sir, will you tell me where I r
can find Mr. Black?" 8
She spoke to the gentleman who had J
entered before her. He turned and saw 1
her standing Just inside the door?a c
forlorn little figure in a shabby gown J
and crumpled hat and shawl, her beau- !
tiful face as colorless as ashes, the gol- j
den hair disordered about it, the great ?
sorrowful eyes heavy with unshed r
tears. Cullen Sardis gave a percepti- ?
ble start. 1
"Mr. Valentine Black," sir," faltered
Mercy, an unspeakable eagerness and "
' ' ""IT. '
anxiety Dreatcing into ner ?uitc.
1b one of the clerks. I do not see him.
Is he here this morning?"
"Black!" answered Cullen Sardis,
gazing In a sort of fascinated curiosity
at the wan. uplifted face. "No, he Is
not here?he sailed for England two
or three days ago."
"England!"
The room, the cold, high-bred face
of the speaker, whirled before Mercy's
eyes.
"Oh, sir, you cannot mean It?you
must be mistaken!"
"Not at all," answered the banker. "I
will call Mr. Phillips to tell you about
It You are some relative of Mr.
Black's?"
She wrung her hands Involuntarily.
"I am his promised wife, sir."
Mr. Sardis elevated his gray brows.
"And do you not know of his recent
good fortune?"
"No, sir. I have been away?out of
the city, sir, for nine days."
Mr. Sardis motioned to his head
clerk, who came out from behind a
handsome railing and approached the
two. The banker whispered something
In his ear and walked away to a private
room. Jacob Phillips went up to
Mercy Dill.
"Our late clerk, Mr. Valentine Black,"
he began, as If he were giving business
details to some customer, "has
fallen heir to a title and fortune in
England. He is, or will be, a baronet
Nine days ago an English lawyer, who t
J 'v A mnHoo tr\ fiAorrh '"or 1
Ilfctu UCC1I octn WU %W
the rightful heir, found him out, und
acquainted him with his good luck. He
sailed at once with Miss Black, for his
new possessions. It appears that his
father was the younger son of a noble
family, and was disinherited because of
a low marriage, qpd that his name was
not Black, but Arbuckle. You look
faint?be seated."
Mercy clutched the door to save herself
from falling.
"A baronet!?Val! I am very ignorant
sir?I suppose I do not quite understand
It. He was so poor and humble,
sir?almost as humble and as poor
as I!"
Phillips seemed impressed with the
girl's appearance.
"It Is quite true. Can I do anything
for you?" he said.
She caught her breath, as if choking.
"Oh, sir, he left some word for me
did he not?some message?"
"Not here."
"Did he say nothing about me?oh,
try to remember?nothing?"
"I fear not?I am sure not."
She turned blindly, groping with one hand
to find the door. t
"Thank you?I will go now?I am
sorry to have troubled you." ?
How she reached the open air she s
never knew, but presently she found <
herself upon the street again, feeling i
as stunned and helpless as if some one I
had dealt her a blow. Val rich and a
baronet!?Val gone to England with I
Miss Affry, leaving no word for her?
it was incomprehensible! Should she '
. go down to the wharf and throw her- 1
self into the water and so make an end I
of this confusion of brain, this agony
of heart that assailed her? The deep 1
religion which controlled the girl's na- '
ture strangled that temptation at its 1
birth. She crossed one street and 1
turned Into another, never Knowing >
what she was doing, for the pavement 1
seemed to heave under her feet, and J
everything was blurred and misty be- <
fore her eyes and, led by some blind 1
instinct, went on and stopped at last
at the Aid Society rooms.
Here a new disappointment awaited |
her, though she was now incapable of
feeling or even comprehending it. The '
rooms were closed. Work had failed,
and the door was fast against applicants.
Ignorant of this fact, however,
and because she was too weak to stand. '
Mercy sat down mechanically upon the I
topmost stair to await the appearance 1
of the matron.
Hour after hour went by. Nobody I
came to open the rooms. Now and
then some person passed by, stared at I
the beautiful, pinched face and blank, i
desolate eyes of the waiting girl, but
I spoke no word to her. 1
Morning dwindled into noon. Still
Mercy did not move. She was hungry
and faint; she was homeless, friendless,
penniless. The only thing of value
she possessed in the world?the only
thing by which she might secure, perhaps,
a little food or a night's lodging,
was Val's ring, shining there, mocking
and bright, on her cold hand?sooner
than part with that she would die a
hundred deaths.
After a long time a man mounted
the stair and gave Mercy a surly
glance.
"You'd better move on, girl," he
said; "it's growing dark here."
Growing dark! She cast a frightened
look around. Yes, it was quite true.
She had been there the entire day. The
matron was not coming.
Mercy descended to the street and
walked away?whither, she neither
knew nor cared.
Was there any one in the wide world
to whom she could go now? No one!
The evening lights began to glimmer.
People jostled her along the pavement
?happy people, hastening to friends
and home. Nobody paid any heed to
the shabby girl with the wild, white
beautiful face and the blank, lost air.
She was but one small atom in the
great maelstrom.
Darkness settled down upon the
multitudinous roofs. Carriages rumbled
by, bearing happy girls to concert
and play; but here was one as fair as
the fairest, a pure as the purest, wandering.
forsaken, hungry and hopeless,
and. like the dove outside the ark,
without a resting place for the sole of
her foot. In all the great city there was
IN COUNTESS ?
?
PIERCE. |
%\
KKyKtoixxyi^KKyi I
not upon this night so forlorn a crea- 1
ture as Mercy Dill. And yet some an- 1
gel was guiding her tired steps all the
while?guiding them straight to meet I
Et certain strange event that waited to 1
change entirely her whole dark, Joy- 1
ess life. 1
It was half-past seven by the clocks ]
when she found herself at the entrance *
of a small West End square. Her con- 1
fused brain had at last conceived the *
forlorn purpose of returning to Seedy ?
Dourt and passing another night on j
the steps of deserted No. 10. As she 1
eached a corner where the street end- *
?d and the square began, her sad eyes 8
were attracted to a big building Just ^
jefore her?an imposing hotel, all I
igleam with lights from garret to
>asement. Even as Mercy looked, a girl '
n a rich evening dress came to one of
he brilliant, lace-draped windows, 0
ihowed a smiling, high-bred face for a c
noment, flirted a costly fan, adjusted 0
i bracelet and then vanished. Before 8
he entrance several carriages waited, v
imong others, one that was to convey
i guest of the house to an evening &
rain at a neighboring depot. n
As Mercy held by that fascination 8
vhich ease and luxury always have for
vant, stood wistfully surveying the *
lghted windows, a human figure crept 8
itealthily down another street on the
ight of the hotel, and paused in the ?
ihadow at the corner of the building. *
It was a woman In shawl and bonlet
and coarse gown, with a haggard,
ihrunken face, round which some dis- b
trdered wisps of black hair strayed. 1
ier shawl was dragged down upon
>ne side of her body, and in its shelter a
>ne hand was held out of sight Standng
with only the width of the crossng
betwixt her and Mercy, she gazed
ntently toward the entrance of the 8
lotel, her figure bent, her head uplift- * '
d her wasted face alert and wolfish. "
t was Moll Dill.
Had the woman been drinking? Asluredly
not. She looked gaunt and ill. d
t feverish hunger consumed her, but Jj
lot for food or drink.
Mercy gave a great start; then ran y
lulckly, and laid her hand upon the 0
urklng shape, glad indeed to find the n
ast and only being in the world upon
vhom she had a claim.
"Mother!" J!
Moll leaped violently, and turned on jhe
speaker like a beast at bay. 11
"What! Is it you?" she answered, In ?
i hoarse, surprised whisper, and the
ildden right hand made a curious, *
onvulsed movement under her shawl. J
'Step back a little?speak low?where 11
lave you been?"
"It is a long story, mother," answer- d
(d Mercy, wearily, and making no re- v
ilstance as the other thrust her back *
n the shadow of th? wall. 11
"You look as If death had struck
rou. Fool! what made you leave your 8
over on your wedding-day?" e
"Come with me," said Mercy, "and I
vill tell you all." 1
Moll stared darkly at her child. .
"Come with you?where?" she hiss- "
(d. "The house In Seedy Court is shut .
ip. Have you found another home? n
iave you any place to lay your head w
n tonight?" ?
"No." d
Moll Dill struck the wall so fiercely a
vith her clinched hand that the blood 8
itarted from the bruised flesh.
"Have you any money, girl?"
"No." f
"No more have I. I left my place in ?
he country when I heard you were n
ost, and came back here to look for
j/mi o?h TVs ha#i a hundred devils In
f vv?, ?I*U * ?v "~v? ? ?? ^
ne ever since?raging devils, tearing 11
ne by day and night!" ?
Something in the woman's wasted 1
ace struck a strange terror to Mercy's v
leart. F
"Mother, you frighten me! You are
lick. Let us move on. I will beg a ?
ihelter somewhere tonight, and tomor- 8
ow I will find work. Oh, come! what
ire you doing here?"
"Hist! I'll murder you if you cry v
>ut like that! I'm waiting to speak 8
vith a?friend." She rolled this last
vord like a sweet morsel on her wick- 8
?d tongue. "Do you see this big ho- .
:el? There's a man inside it who can F
lelp us if he will?a man worth his J1
nilllons?steeping in luxury while you 1
ind I starvb?-curse him! Go and wait r
lor me on the other side of the square. 0
[ can't stir from this spot until I have
i word with that man."
"Who Is he?" said Mercy, blankly. *
'What is he to us?" ,
"He's a cruel devil!" hissed Moll.
'Stand back! Don't come so near me
?don't ask questions. Off with you, I F
lay!" f
"No." said Mercy, firmly, "I will
lot leave you for a moment. There is
lomething wrong with you tonight.
Home with me, mother?come with .
Tie! You are prowling here for no
rood!" t
With a face full of baffled fury, Moll *
:urned and struck the girl a blow. *
"I'd trample you, if it wasn't for
aringing a crowd around!" she whiskered.
savagely. "Loose my shawl? 8
so:
As this last syllable quivered on her
wrathful lips a servant issued from
the hotel, bearing a gentleman's valise,
which he placed in the depot carriage
waiting at the curbstone. Immediate- t
ly after, two persons appeared in the
door and descended the steps together.
One was Jacob Phillips, the other, ?
Sardis, the banker. The latter was
talking earnestly to his old, gray clerk
?so earnestly that he looked neither
to the right hand nor the left and cer
talnly saw nothing of the two women. *
Moll Dill made a menacing gesture to ?
tier daughter.
"That is the man!" she whispered.
'Stay here while I speak to him."
She glided round the corner of the .
hotel and approached the pair as they
paused before the carriage. Undismayed
by blow or threat, impelled by j
the great, nameles3 fear that was tugging
at her heart, Mercy followed her. J
"Good-by, Phillips. I think I have ,
given you the necessary instructions,"
said Cullen Sardis.
"Good-by, sir. I wish you a pleasant
Journey," answered the old clerk. ,
"My regards to Miss Beatrix."
The two shook hands. The banker's ,
cold, stern profile was turned toward (
the woman creeping along the pave- ^
ment. How eloquent was his whole (
stately person of wealth, importance, (
oqqot r%ii minor* hnnnpt nvpr her ,
brows, and, averting her face a little,
went up to him and twitched his sleeve.
"Money!" she muttered, extending
her grimy left pa'm.
He turned, saw what he thought to
be a common beggar, shook off her
touch, and answeied:
"No."
"Money, sir, for God's sake!" she
urged, with stifled vehemence.
"No, I tell you?move on!" he replied,
not deigning this time to glance j
at her.
Swift as lightning she flung back
the trailing end of her shawl, showing
the hidden right hand at last, and the
thing which it clutched, with the con- <
centrated rage and hate of many a i
year. i
"Curse you! take that from Moll!"
she cried, in a voice that rang half
way across the square.
A leap, an ugly gleam of coarse |
steel and then a piercing shriek in a <
girl's voice, "Mother! mother!" the ]
rush of something betwixt the weapon i
of the woman and the breast of the i
man, and Mercy Dill's hot blood spurt- i
ed out upon the banker as, with a cry i
of horror and amazement?a cry of <
recognition, too?he caught her falling
body on his arm. 1
And Moll? Do vn clattered her red- <
dened knife, as if it had been struck i
violently from her murderous hand.
With protruding eyeballs she stared at
Cullen Sardis and the bleeding figure
he held, then turned to fly; but before
she had taken a dozen steps, staggered
and sank, without word or sound, a
writhing, convulsed heap, to the pavement.
CHAPTER XXVI.
Changes.
In a moment the spot swarmed with
a gaping, curious crowd. From lip to
lip the news passed that a drunken
woman had stabbed a young girl and
fallen in a fit
"Take her to your own house, Phillip?,"
said Cullen Sardis. hastily placing
his Inanimate burden in the arms
Klo nlnrlr "Pnr flrnVn flakp lpf thftrp
be no scandal! I will attend to the?
;he other."
An officer lifted Moll Dill from the
javement She was foaming at the
nouth and writhing In frightful con;ortlons.
He exchanged a few words
vlth Cullen Sardls; then a carriage
vas called, and the woman conveyed
o the nearest hospital, where she was
blaced in a private room and the best
nedlcal attendance summoned to her
lid. A servant took the banker's valse
from the depot carriage and bore 1
t back to the hotel?Cullen Sardls
vould not leave the city tonight. The ]
raping crowd dispersed and went Its '
vay, with its curiosity for the most j
art ungratlfled.
A little later, at the quiet hospital (
vhlther the outcast had been carried, 1
n the parlor of the sovereign surgeon
f the place, who was an old college 1
lass-mate and warm personal friend '
f the banker, Cullen Sardls, haggard I
jid uneasy, waited for tidings of his 1
yould-be murderess.
A door opened at last, and the sur- <
:eon himself appeared?a small, thin 1
nan with a firm mouth and calmly 1
peculative eye. f
"Spasms of the heart," he said, In a 1
dw voice that was vibrant with secret I
ympathy. '
The banker stood with downcast
yes and a cold, rigid face that be- <
rayed no agitation. 1
"Is she likely to recover?" <
"No. Her constitution Is shattered '
y excesses. It is doubtful If she lasts 1
he night out." '
Cullen Sardls grasped his friend's 1
rm convulsively.
"Is she conscious?" 1
"No."
,.t_ tt . i
in netitcii d name, uiiug uci w *?v
enses for a few moments! It is a mater
of the greatest importance?she
as something to tell me!"
"I will do what I can."
Yes, that wicked, wasted life was
rawing now to a sudden close. The
aurderous hand had done its last work
'he restless brain, maddened with long
ears of drink and ineffectual agonies
f hate, remorse and despair, lay dorriant
under a terrible weight
Swiftly the end was coming. Stretchd
on her white bed, Moll Dill awaited
t, senseless as a log, and not far away
fullen Sardis, the banker, whom an
ndulgent fortune had lifted far, far <
bove such creatures of the gutter? <
!ul!en Sardis, I say, walked the sur- '
eon's parlor in a maze of troubled '
hought unable to quit the place, will- j
ng to barter half of his earthly pos- '
essions for speech with this miserable '
ylng outcast. Verily, his aristocratic 1
/lfe and peerless daughter would have 1
wondered greatly to see him then and <
here.
It was almost morning when the sur- '
eon came to the door again and look- '
d in at his friend. '
"She is conscious. Come!" was all '
hat he said.
In utter silence Cullen Sardis fol- 1
jwed him to the bedside of Moll Dill. '
She was lying upon her pillow, her 1
ands moving 7n a ghastly, uncertain (
/ay over the counterpane, her black 1
yes set in a fixed stare. The attendant ?
rew back from the bed aa tne Danaer >
pproached. She recognized him in- 1
tantly. A wild gleam shot into her 1
avernous eyes; with a stifled cry, she '
ought to lift herself up. He bent over 1
ler. A name which he had not spoken
or many years fell mechanically from !
lis ashy lips:
"Marie!" '
She heard it; a shudder passed over
ler wretched figure. The subdued 1
learn of the night-lamp wavered along
he bed over the awful face of the 1
poman, who seemed strangely out of '
lace in a scene like this. j
"Then I did not kill you!" she gasp- '
d, burying her long fingers convulively
in the counterpane. 1
Was it regret at the failure of her
nurderous attempt, or relief only,
vhich sent a spasm over her death- 1
tricken face?
"Where's Mercy?" Then with a 1
hriek she added: "Did I kill her?" 1
The banker could not answer, for
laving been at the hospital all night, 1
ie knew nothing of the condition of '
he girl who had saved his life at the
rvA?Vior\a r? f *V?ft oo ori flon nf hor I
ion, pti a w me oavt iuvv| v* ?v?
iwn.
"Whom do you mean by Mercy?" he
aid. scarcely able to control his 1
oice. 1
"The girl?the girl!" whispered Moll 1
>111. 1
"On your soul, tell me the truth! Is
hat the child who was once called
Jabel?the child that you stole nine- 1
een years ago?"
She nodded.
"Yes?yes! Did I kill her, I say?"
He drew back a step and passed his
iand across his eyes.
"I hope not?I trust not. Merciful
leaven! what an unutterable curse 1
ou have been, alike to yourself and
o me!" he groaned.
Moll Dill glared up at him with 1
lomething of her old ferocity; but her
trength was too far spent to give It j
rolce.
"The girl?the girl!" she whispered 1
igaln. 1
Sardis drew nearer to the bed. '
"I am listening. What do you wish '
o say?"
"Take care of her. Don't visit any 1
ilns upon her head. You are rich?take 1
:are of her!" I
"I will!" answered Cullen Sardis. 1
Moll Dill shrank suddenly Into her <
)illow, as if clutched in an Invisible 1
rrasp. The hands in the counterpane
rrew rigid and still. If the banker had ]
urther questions in mind it was now
oo late to give them voice.
"Tell?Mercy?to?forgive"?
These words, spoken with great dif- 1
Iculty, closed the drama of a dark, 1
tad, perverted life. The surgeon and
tttendant hurried to the bed. Moll Dill 1
leaved herself up once on the latter's
lustainlng arm. There was a groan,
hen silence. With a face like ashes,
Jullen Sardis cast one look upon tht
lead, and turned and rushed from the
oom. 1
Half an hour later he left the hospl:al,
and, haggard from want of sleep
ind the wear and tear of many dark
Lhoughts, he set his face toward a reared
street In a highly respectable,
:hough not fashionable, South End
luarter. A pure, sweet wind was
ibroad; the dawn hung tremulously in
the primrose sky; the city?that part
if it at least?was still sleeping. God
lave mercy on the dark soul which
had passed with the night!
Cullen Sardis mounted the steps of
in unpretending house and rang the
bell. It was the home of Jacob Philips,
and that small, gray, perplexed
man appearea in person 10 aamu nis
master.
"Is she living?"
That was the banker's first question,
put In an agitated voice.
"Yes," answered Phillips.
"Is she much hurt?"
"Yes."
As the two stood face to face in the
(van morning. Phillips thought he had
never seen his master look so weary
and worn and troubled.
"I wish to see her for a moment," he
Phillips led the way up a softly carpeted
stair. At its head a gray-haired,
placid-faced woman, gentle and motherly
of mein met them?Jacob Phillips'
wife. Without making any comment
upon the invasion which she had
suffered in her quiet, childless home,
Bhe beckoned the banker along a corridor,
noiselessly opened a door and
entered a room beyond.
It was a cool white chamber.
Through its curtained windows the
dawn was just struggling. A soft gray
carpet covered the floor. Glasses and
vials of medicine stood on the toilet
table. In one corner was a bed, and
upon It a human shape lay stretched,
as cold and motionless as the dead?
Mercy Dill.
Her eyes were closed; the black
lashes clung' heavily to her marble
cheek. Her golden hair, spread out on
the pillow, made a sort of mocking
glory about the ghastly rigidity of her
face. All her own garments had been
removed, and others of fine linen substituted,
so that she was as white as
Blaine when she drifted down the river
to her burial.
Cullen Sardis stepped forward and
looked down at her as she lay?the girl
who had saved his life, the girl who
Moll Dill, in dying, had left to his care.
There was something more than curiosity
In his eyes?something more
than the natural Interest which he
might be expected to feel in this young
person.
"What does the surgeon say of her?"
he whispered to Mrs. Phillips.
- I US- a
"?ie Bays ul&l ner iuc imiigo u/ I?
thread."
"The wound waa dangerous, then?"
"Mortal, I'm afraid, sir. She la unconscious,
as you see. I cannot bear to
look at her; yet she frightens me; she
Is the picture of death. I am sure she
cannot live."
He bent over the insensible girl
touched her hand, laid his Angers on
her slim, almost pulseless wrist, then
retreated silently from the chamber.
The old gray clerk and his gentle-faced
wife meekly followed the man of
money below stairs.
"The person who attempted my life
Is dead," said Cullen Sardis glancing
slgnlAcantly at Phillips. "I owe this
girl a debt of gratitude which must be
suitably paid. I shall send to you immediately
the best nurse to be found in
the city. I shall rely on you to do your
jtmost to save her. No pains nor expense
must be spared; it Is of the
rreatest Importance to me that she
should live. My dear old friend, I de-|
jend upon you In this emergency; see
that you do not fall me."
Phillips grasped the hand which his
?mployer held out to him In earnest
ippeal. No words were spoken, but
Cullen Sardis knew well that he had
snllsted these people, body and soul,
In the cause of the wounded girl who
iad been thrust so abruptly upon their
protection. If money and skill and
matching could save her, then would
she be saved.
Not many hours after, a plain hearse
Allowed by a single close carriage,
jore all that remained of Moll Dill out
>f that city, where she had suffered
ind sinned so much to a quiet grave
In a lovely green corner of Woodlawn.
The close carriage contained two genllemen?Cullen
Sardls and the old
:lerk who shared all his secrets. This
pair stood by in profound and sullen
lilence and witnessed the outcast's burial,
after which they returned to the
:ity, and the banker departed at once
to join his ward among the mountains,
leaving Mercy Dill to the charge of
Jacob Phillips and his wife.
Day succeeded day. Autumn had
:ome, and Mercy lay in her white
chamber, sinking, fainting, dying in
the agony of fever and delirium. Now
9he was a child again, starving and
freezing in some North End attic with
tier wretched mother; now she was
flying from her dark, wicked persecutor,
Dlscordo; then it was Val Black's
lame upon which she called with pitejus
pleading?the lover who had loved
tier for a little space and then left her
:o her fate, while he himself went
iway to fortune and happiness over
the great sea. Sometimes she was sewng
for bread in her chamber at Seedy
Court, singing her Gospel hymns and
,n the midst of her delirium and weakness
her glorious young voice would
areak free and ring through the darkened
chamber, sweet as an angel's
from heaven. Sometimes she was dead,
md lying stark and motionless in a
:ool, green grave, and she heard the
stealthy footsteps of the world over
tier head, and the whisper of voices
that seemed afraid to disturb her repose.
"It is time to telegraph again to Mr.
Sardis." ,
"Was it not a great pity to cut oft
ler beautiful hair?"
"No flowers in the room, Mrs. Philips?the
doctor will not allow it."
Mercy tried to lift her hand. The effort
cave creat acony to her whole
body. She shrieked aloud. Some one
rushed to her side, bent over her and
leld a glass to her lips.
"Where am I?" she tried to ask; but
ler hollow voice was thin as voices
from the grave.
"With friends, my dear child," was
the answer.
"That cannot be?I have no friends,"
protested Mercy, and fell asleep with
the words on her lips.
After many days she became aware
that she was lying In some downy,
white place, full of warmth and silence
?that cautious feet trod about her?
anxious, kindly faces watched her. She
was not dead; on the contrary, she
was drifting back from the dark gates
toward life and strength again. At
first her mind was too feeble for questions;
but one day she awoke and
found a man standing by her bedside.
"You are better," he said, gently.
She did not answer, only looked up
at him attentively, conscious In the
midst of all her weakness that somewhere
she had seen that face before.
"You are better," he repeated. "You
will soon be well."
"Who are you?" said Mercy.
"The person whose life you saved,"
answered the man.
"Where Is my mother?" she gasped.
"Be calm. Do not think of her. By
and-by you shall know all."
As her strength returned many facts
Jawned upon Mercy's comprehension.
She was In some blessed refuge where
she was being cared for most constantly,
most tenderly. The tall,
strong woman who was always by her
bed was the nurse. The small, gray
lady who often leaned down and kissed
her and called her "dear child" was
the mistress of the house. The cold,
?rave gentleman who appeared not
only at long intervals in fhe chamber,
and who came from some unknown
distance, was the man she had seen i.
the banking house of Sardls & Co., the
man her mother had sought to kill?
yea, it was Cullen Sardls himself, for
she heard the name frequently spoken
by the small, gray lady. Every moment
a great, guardian watchfulness
compassed her about. She was fed
upon strange delicacies; rare fruits
and flowers appeared daily on the table
by her bed. For the first time in
her life she felt the blessed delight of
being protected cherished, thought of.
Aye, truly, she was with friends!
One morning the little gray woman
came to her side and said, sweetly:
"Now that you are growing stronger
my dear, I think I had better tell you
who we are, and how you chance to be
with us," which she at once proceeded
to do.
Mercy gazed at her with great, hollow,
moon-like eyes.
"You are all very, very good," she
faltered, feebly. "I'm afraid I can never
thank you as I ought. Why Is Mr.
Sardls so kind to me?" ,
"Good gracious! my dear child, of
course he feels very grateful to you?
it would be strange if he did not" replied
Mrs. Phillips, hastily. "With all
his wealth, he is a man of great good
feeling. I want you to be well and
strong when next he sees you. He is
now in New York, and is not likely to
visit Boston for some weeks, but we
send him daily news of you."
Val's employer! How strange and
unreal it seemed to Mercy! She was
bewildered, she was grateful, but she
had not forgotten her wretched mother.
She asked for her with such persistency
that Mrs. Phillips was obliged,
at last, to tell her the truth.
"My dear," she said, tenderly, taking
the girl's shadowy hands in her own,
I hope you are strong enough to bear
what I shall say. Your mother died a
few hours after she had nearly taken
your life?by mistake of course. You
have talked a great deal In your delirium,
and I know, without being told,
that you must have suffered extraordinary
things with that woman?oh,
dear! what have I done? Taste this
cordial?quick!"
But the little gray lady was too late;
Mercy had fainted helplessly away.
She was young, and in spite of past
hardship and privation, her constltu
tion was good. The terrible wound
made by Moll Dill's knife healed rapidly.
One day Cullen Sardis appeared
again at the house of his clerk. The
autumn was far advanced then, the
trees were bare and covered with sleel
and snow. The banker found Mercy
seated in an easy-chair before a glowing
grate, clothed in a dress of some
soft, black material, which Mrs. Phillips
had provided for her. Her beautiful
face was as white and shadowy
as a waning moon, and in its wasted
contours the violet eyes looked supernaturally
large and dark. All her golden
length of hair had been shorn away,
and the remnant of it clung in a fringe
of babyish rings and curls about her
throat and forehead, giving her an odd,
childish air.
"I rejoice to find you out of danger,"
said the banker, in a peculiarly gentle
voice. "I have come aJl the way from
New York to talk with you."
She lifted her large, patient eyes. It
was an angelic face, and Cullen Sardis
felt its beauty and innocence as he
had felt nothing before for many A
long year.
"I am glad you are come," she answered,
simply. "I have much?very
much to thank you for. Oh, sir, what
would have become of me but for
you?"
| He grew very grave.
j "But for me you would not nave
been hurt at all. You received your
wound In my cause, remember. The
least I could do was to provide proper
care for you. I am In your debt, my
child, not you In mine. I doubt If I can
ever quite cancel accounts with you. I
came here today to hear the story of
your life, Mercy. Tell it to me, and
omit nothing:?try to forget nothing. 1
want to know everything possible concerning
you."
Mrs. Phillips, who was sewing In a
window, arose at this juncture and left
the room. Mercy and her new friend
were alone and together. He drew a
chair to the lire and sat down expectantly.
Mercy fixed upon him her
great earnest eyes.
"You knew my mother?" she said.
A curious change swept his highbred
face.
"Yes?many years ago."
"And she tried to kill you! Oh, sir,
she must have been mad!"
"Quite likely?sometime we will
talk about that; but first I must know
how and where your life has been lived.
Mercy. Begin?I am impatient!"
She had nothing to conceal. Beginning
with her first recollections of
poverty and want in a North End tenement-house,
she went on through the
succeeding years, faithfully relating
their whole story of misery and privation?all
that she had endured with
Moll Dill, until she arrived at the few
months spent with the Blacks at Seedy
Court. Here her voice faltered, and
the painful color arose in her white
cheek; but something in Cullen Sardls'a
face encouraged her to proceed?
the deep pain and sympathy of his
look made her feel that he was sorry
for her, and was profoundly stirred by
all she said.
"Ca nrt " h? nrmiri an ah? hMllfltad:
"keep nothing1 from me. I am more
anxious than I can tell you to hear
your whole story."
She told him of Val Black's love, of
her attempted marriage, of her Imprisonment
by Dlscordo. her escape
and her last interview with Moll Dill,
pregnant with such unexpected results.
The banker arose from his chair and
walked across the chamber like a man
unable to control himself. Presently he
paused by her side.
"The scoundrel!" he cried. "Have
you no clue to his whereabouts? What
was he like??this Dlscordo."
No, Mercy had no clue; but she described
his appearance so accurately
that Cullen Sard Is gave an Involuntary
start.
"A striking portrait! I know a person
who might answer to It very well,
were he a vagabond teacher of music
Instead of a gentleman moving in the
highest circles of society. As it is,"
with a faint smile, "I think I can
scarcely accuse him of being Dlscordo.
These Italians bear a marked resemblance
to each other, and have I suppose,
the aame tricks of speech. It
would be w-dl, perhaps, to offer a reward
for .he villain's apprehension.
What punishment would you like to
mete out to him, Mercy?"
She shook her fair head.
"None. I am safe?he can harm me
no more, and I wish never to see his
face again or hear his name. Don't try;
to find him. Is It not better to let him
go?to forget him altogether?"
Cullen Sardis laid his hand on the
back of her chair.
"And that other person?Valentine
Black who was once a clerk In my
banking-house. I have taken pains to
learn something about his change of
fortune, Mercy. I know men's hearts,
and I fear he was only too ready to be
deceived by Dlscordo, and wash his
hands of you when his rare luck came.
My poor child, do you love him still?"
Her bosom heaved, her small hands
worked convulsively; then a great
storm of pent-up sobs shook her from
head to foot. The banker, alarmed beyond
measure, caught her In his arms.
"Mercy, Is it as serious as this? He
is an English baronet. He has forgotten
your very existence by this time.
A great, hulking lout, if I remember
rightly?not the man to take any girl's
fancy. Dear child be calm?you will
do yourself Injury."
She wept as If her heart would
break. It was many moments before
the storm passed; then, with a great
effort, she looked up at the banker, a
strange, solemn light In her great, wet
eyes.
"He was the first person who ever
cared for me In the least?who was
ever kind to me. I am glad?oh, so
glad!?for his fortune?glad that he
will never be Ill-paid or overworked or
pinched with poverty more. If he has
wronged me in any way, I forgive him
freely, freely! I bless him from my
heart; from my heart I pray that he
will be happy In his new life. Men are
not always happy, I suppose, even
though they are rich and great. It is
as If he were dead, you know, and
.k K.,? T aha II
had ever seen upon it. "Never, Mercy!
Your old life Is dead and buried; every
tie that bound you to it is now dissolved.
I have other plans for you."
She arose to her feet in her great
agitation, her face all startled and
amazed.
"You sir!"
"I! You are alone in this world.
Henceforth I am your guardian?you
belong to me. Remember the gratitude
I owe you. Resign all care for
yourself?I know far better than you
what your needs are. You will remain
in this house until your strength is
fully established; after that you will
immediately be sent to school. Forget
your o!d life from this moment, and
take no further thought for your future.
As God hears me. you shall never,
so long as I can prevent it, hnow
want in any form again!"
With a cry of mingled surprise and
Joy she sank upon her knees at his
feet.
"Oh, sir, you are Jesting with me?
you cannot mean it! What am I that
you should do this for me?"
He snatched her up; his face was
(jttaaeu imu uiiumci nuuu, uuv *
never forget him?never, never!"
Cullen Sardis took another turn
around the room.
"You are young, Mercy; you have
much to learn," he said, almost sternly.
"Your life, I see, has been one long
torment, without a single bright spot
anywhere in it. To me your courage
and endurance seem marvelous. You
brave, patient girl! You noble heroic
girl! Would to God I could have rescued
you from your misery long ago,
Don't look so startled"?and here a
sickly smile crept over his agitated
lips?"I should be an ingrate, Indeed
if I did not henceforth regard your
welfare as my own. Now that we have
disposed of your past, Mercy, let us
discuss your future."
"My future!" The tears thickened
in her mournful eyes; her sweet, spiritless
mouth drooped; she looked at
the glowing fire, twisting her white
fingers nervously together. "It will be
like my past, I suppose. I shall go back
to the old work, somewhere; I shall
earn my bread again, somehow."
"Never!" He smiled down upon her,
his cold aristocratic face wearing such
? a a noHhor wlfA nor ftauiirhter
I convulsed with some sudden, strong
emotion.
I "In Heaven's name, don't kneel to
> me! I am not Jesting. Hush?not a
i word more?I cannot bear it! To com;
pensate you for your past suffering is
now impossible; but I may help you,
perhaps, to forget it. Kiss me my poor
! child."
He took her pale face in his hands,
and pressed his lips to It with remorse*
ful, yearning tenderness.
"Kiss me once Mercy."
She obeyed, and, as she did so, she
saw that his eyes were full of tears.
A few days later, Mercy Dill was
placed at school. And so it was that
Cullen Sardis found a ward, of whose
existence, singularly enough, he never
spoke, either to wife, or daughter, or
friend.
(To be Continued.)
' ENGLAND'S SHIPPING KING
He Is 8ir Owen PhHIips, a Man of
Varied Activities.
All the British business world is talking
pf the amazing enterprise of Sir
Owen Phillips, familiarly styled the colossus
of shipping, says London Letter.
Still on the right side of 60, his exploits
as a business builder have placed him
in the very front line of the magnates
of commerce.
All this has been achieved in seven
strenuous years. Sir Owen Phillips
first began to make good when he took
charge of the affairs of the Royal Mall
Steam Packet company, which he reorganized
and raised to a position of
financial security. This done, he cooperated
with Lord Pirrie in the formation
of the large shipping trade
managed by the late Sir Alfred Jones,
and amalgamated the two interests
into one concern with a capital of $10,000,000.
Realizing the importance of the future
opportunities in the far east that
will follow the opening of the Panama
canal, he secured control of the Pacific
Steam Navigation company and atone
bound became a magnate in the South
American shipping trade. By the subsequent
purchase of the Forwood Line
he secured a considerable share of the
Mediterranean and North American
trade, and he has now entered the
South African field by the absorption
of the Union-Castle line. By this final
deal sir uwen jpnimps Dccomeu uubb ui
the greatest mercantile fleet any one
man has ever controlled, totaling 300
ships, with a tonnage of 1,270,000.
Merchants are now asking one another
if the Phillips combination Is out after
a corner in shipping, and persistent rumor
has already marked out the Orient
line as the next prize.
Before Sir Owen Phillips hustled to
such startling effect in British shipping
circles, he sampled life as a politician
and entered parliament as a liberal
member for a Welsh constituency. He
did not offer himself for re-election at
the last general election, and thus cut
short a promising political career.
In spite, however, of his shipping
combine. Sir Owen Is not a man of one
idea. He is one of the active presidents
of the London and Southwestern railroad
and of the St Thomas Dock Engineering
company, vice chairman of
the port of London, authority and
chairman of the West African section
of the London Chamber of Commerce.
And as he is also actively Interested In
various philanthropic Institutions, one
wonders what leisure he has at his disposal
to use any of his four London
clubs, or to visit Amroth castle, his
magnificent residence In Pembroke
snire.
He is one of three brothers, all well
over six feet in height and all selfmade
millionaires. These sons of a
Welsh parson, lost their father early
and their mother, a sister of the fifth
Baron Wynford, devoted herself to securing
the best education for her boys,
for she had no fortune to give them.
She has succeeded beyond her hopes,
Besides the colossus of shipping, there
is Lord St. Davids a name to conjure
with in big financial undertakings all
over the world, and Col. Ivor Phillips,
M. P., for Southampton, whose political
and military record has been in keeping
with the family prowess in other
fields.
Tobacco and Brains,?That over 90
per cent of all boys who fail in the
grammar and high schools are smokers
is asserted by Prof. M. V. O'Shea of
the University of Wisconsin, as quoted
in the university's Press Bulletin
(Madison, December 16.) The tobacco
evil, he declares, is the most serious
one that the public schools have to
contend with. We read:
"Most boys do not learn to smoke because
they like tobacco, but because
their school fellows stroke. It is a social
thing with a boy. By doing it he
thinks he is one of 'the crowd' and
not an 'outsider.' Unruly boys are al
moat always addidted to the cigarette
habit. Smoking robs pupils of their
docility. Records kept of the work of
students who were not addicted to the
smoking habit when they entered the
high school but who acquired it later,
show that not only did these pupils become
harder to manage, but the quality
of their school work also declined
greatly. What a hold the smoking evil
has gained on public school boys is indicated
by the statements made by a
number of high school principals who
declare that from 50 to 80 per cent of
high school pupils are now using cigarettes.
It is an Interesting fact that
the strongest sentiment against smoking
has arisen in communities in which
the raising of tobacco is the principal
industry. Tobacco men do not want
young boys in their own community to
smoke, and in a number of places in
Wisconsin, various organizations have
taken a stand against smoking by
school children."?Literary Digest.
Sea Island Growers Quit.?In the
opinion of Savannah Sea Island dealers
the production of this cotton can
no longer oe prunuioie. ueuiuse rs&yw
tlan la running it out of the m&rket.
Egyptian is produced and delivered in
the United States at a cost which Sea
Island growers cannot meet. For manufacturing
purposes it is declared to
be as good, if not better. Egyptian now
fixes the demand and price for Sea
Island, which has thus become a mere
supplementary crop. In consequence of
these conditions the Sea Island factors
of Savannah have decided not to assist
in financing Sea Island growers.
They advise the abandonment of this
crop. Their course merely reflects the
opinion which has become general in
Savannah, Charleston and other centers
of Sea Island cultivation, as also
among the growers themselves. It seem
to be agreed that Sea Island is doomed.
The Sea Island growers are now
turning to short cotton and, probably
wun more judgment to irucamg crops.
While they reconcile themselves to the
apparent necessity of planting: comparatively
little of their long staple
the market for our Piedmont long staple
growers, who need fear nothing
from Egyptian, is in a general way
enlarged.?Charlotte Observer,
? Greenwood Index: The Rev. Dr.
Samuel T. Hallman, of Spartanburg, a
prominent Lutheran minister, has
found an interesting and profitable
pastime in the manufacture of violins.
Although he was 67 years old when he.
made his first violin it was so excellent
an Instrument that he found no difficulty
in selling it for $75. The work
was all done by hand, and Dr. Hallman
fashioned the various parts himself. He
has Just finished a violin, which he
says, is far superior in tone and workmanship
to any he has ever made before.
The tone is brilliant, resonant, of
far-carrying power, and of a uniform
quality. The bottom was carved out of
a maple bedpost, known to be 150 years
old, and the top is of wood said to be
more than 200 years old.
ijftisttltancoug Stadia#.
WILSON'8 VIEW OF HI8 JOB
Embodied in Lectures While He Wei
President of Princeton.
Four years before his election to th<
presidency, while still at the head ol
Princeton university, Woodrow Wilsor
expressed his views of the presidential
office, In a series of lectures that were
printed In book form under the title ol
"Constitutional Government In the
United States," says the Kansas City
Star. These lectures are of especial Interest
In view of recent events.
In tbe first Dlace. he insists that the
office "really does not demand actual
experience in affairs so much as particular
qualities of mind and character
which we are at least as likely to find
outside the ranks of our public men as
within them." These qualities, he explains,
mean that the man "would
seem to the country in some sort, an
embodiment of the character, and purpose
it wishes its government to have
?a man who understands his own day
and the needs of the country, and who
has the personality and initiative to enforce
his views both upon the people
and upon congress."
In other words, a leader of public
opinion, rather than an experienced
politician, is to be desired.
"The president" Mr. Wilson continues,
"may stand, if he will, a little
outside party and insist as it were,
on the general opinion. The president
may also, if he will, stand within the
party counsels and use the advantages
of his power and personal force to control
actual programme.!. If he leads the
nation, his party can hardly resist him.
His office is anything he has the sagacity
and force to make it."
But timid souls inquire, does not the
UUI1BIUUUUU BCl UUUUUO VU UIO (A/TTCt
of the presidents? Tea, the presidentelect
replies, but the constitution Is
"not a mere lawyers' document; It Is
a vehicle of life, and its spirit is always
the spirit of the age."
Some presidents have restrained
themselves from using their full power
because of conscientious scruples. But
In the view of the president-elect, the
makers of the constitution were not
enacting the Whig theory of the separation
of the powers of government
Into law. So they left the president at
liberty "to be as big a man as he can."
If congress be overborne by him it Is
only "because the president has the nation
behind him and congress has not''
What becomes, then, of the soulful
contention of patriots of generations
that "this should be a government of
laws and not of men?" Well, on Page
17 of his book Mr. Wilson comes out
bluntly: "There never was such a government
Constitute them how you
will, governments are always governments
of men, and no part of any government
Is better than the men to
whom that part Is Intrusted."
Evidently the president-elect holds
himself free to lead his party to meet
the demands made by modern Industrial
conditions. In carrying out this
practical theory of presidential leadership
he will have the support of all
progressives.
8CENE8 OF PEACE PACT8
8ome Famous Modern Treaties and
Where They Were 8igned.
The French capital has been the
scene of several peace pacts, some of
which have had a mighty influence on
the destiny of the British empire. This
remark applies with force to the agreement
which brought the Seven Years'
war to a close in 1763. In the course of
this war, in which the English and the
French were the chief combatants, we
acquired Canada, and by dive's victory
at Plassey established our position
in India. Twenty years later we sign*
ed a further treaty in Paris whereby
we acknowledged the independence of
the United States. At the same time
we made peace with France, Holland,
and Spain, with each of whom, in turn,
we had become involved in war through
our futile attempt to conquer the
American colonies. Paris was also
ho wen# of the treaty which, in 1866
marked the conclusion of the Crimean
war.
At a period when The Hague has become
the synonym of peace It is Interesting
to remember that at Ryswlck, a
village two miles from the Dutch capital,
was drawn up the treaty which
ended the eight years' war between
William III of England and Louis XIV
of France. In the course of this war
we achieved one of our greatest nava!
victories?off Cape La Hogue, in 1692.
Holland was destined to be the scene,
a few years later, of another treaty
much more important In its bearing
upon British history. Utrecht, now
known as a university town, was the
place at which England reaped the
fruits of Marlborough's great victories
over the generals of Louis XIV. Here,
In 1713, there passed Into British possession
Newfoundland, Nova Scotia,
Hudson Bay territory, and Gibraltar.
Alx-la-Chappelle, the German city
chosen as his capital by Charlemagne
Is intimately associated with the close
of more than one great conflict. Beautifully
situated near the frontiers of
Holland and Belgium, its waters attract
thousands of visitors every year
from many parts of Europe. A notable
treaty signed here In 1748 was that
which concluded the war of the Austrian
Succession. In this war England
successfully tooK tne pare 01 ataxia
Theresa, who, on succeeding: to the dominions
of her father, the emperor of
Austria, was attacked by France,
Prussia and Bavaria.
More famous in the history of Alxla-Chapelle
is the congress of 1818.
This congress met to arrange the withdrawal
from France of the Allies' army
of occupation, which had entered that
country on the downfall of Napoleon.
The congress was a brilliant assembly
of sovereigns and statesmen. The emperor
Alexander I of Russia, the Emperor
Francis I of Austria, and King Frederick
William of Prussia attended in
person. The Duke of Wellington and
Lord Castlereagh represented Qreat
Britain.
Three years earlier a congress had
assembled at Vienna. "Never before,"
says one writer, "had Europe seen such
a collection of rank and talent." The
four allies?Great Britain, Austria,
Russia and Prussia, who had united to
secure the overthrow of Napoleon,
were represented at this congress, together
with the minor powers of Europe.
The object of the assembly was
to readjust the map in view of the abdication
of Napoleon. The escape of
the latter from Elba and the subse
quent oattie or waierioo largeiy neutralized
the decisions of the congress.
Nowadays we hear nothing of Tilsit,
yet every schoolboy knows the name of
this town in East Prussia, situated on
the banks of the Memel. It is famous
as the scene of the treaty concluded
between the Emperor Alexander I of
Russia and Napoleon, who met for the
purpoae on a raft moored In the middle
of the stream. The treaty which creat
ed the kingdom of Westphalia Is notable
as attesting Napoleon's supremacy
over the German princes.
Of treaties which have concluded
great modern wars, Zurich, in Switzerland,
witnessed that which effected the
s expulsion of the Austrlans from Italy
, and crowned the labors of Cavour and
Garibaldi.?Tit-Bits.
THE BULGARIAN ARMY.
Organization Moves Like Clockwork
and Shows Fine Discipline.
A correspondent of the London Telegraph
writes that the Bulgarian army Is
a wonderful organization and moves
| like clockwork. Continuing he says:
When driving through the mountains
I have been frequently astonished to
see long lines of ox carts heavily laden
wun army stores siowiy piooaing along
and wondered how such primitive
tranaport could be adequate to a modern
army.
The needful explanation was afforded
me at Koatendll, where I have hod occasion
to aee one of these commissariats
in full operation. All the ox carta
in the adjoining departments had been
requisitioned to the number of 1,000.
They were then divided Into Ave sections
of 200 carts each. The drivers,
with their whips, astrakhan or ordinary
sheep wool caps and long sheepskin or
goat hair coats, look picturesque beside
their two small Greek oxen or African
buffaloes. Every day 200 cars are
laden and they start away at a slow
pace, the driver walking before his
team, humming an air or smoking a cigarette.
He thus trudges up and down
the mountain roads for a distance of
fifteen kilometres, or nine and a half
miles, which Is one day's march. Then
he lights a fire for himself at the roadside,
has a warm meal, feeds his oxen
or buffaloes and lies down to sleep on
straw near the cart or In a barn. If a
farmhouse Is near.
Next day he covers another nine or
ten miles. Here his load la taken Into
horse-drawn carta, which carry It more
rapidly to the nearest fighting troops,
perhaps twenty miles away. The teamster
then returns, taking two days, as
he had on the outward trip, and on the
fifth day rests while his cart la being
reloaded.
Only bread was thus transported
from Kostendll. It was In good, round,
appetizing loaves, weighing two pounds
of half wheat half rye bread, which rej
mains soft and palatable for fifteen
! days. I had partaken of it myself, as
no other was available. The entire
population lives on this bread now. No
one thinks of baking any other during
time of war.
Life In these places Is now entirely
absorbed by the war. Two-thirds of
me inopi are inui aiiu uic unuma us
carrying rifle* and wearing uniform*.
All bakeries have been requisitioned for
the army and axe baking army bread
day and night Women and children
are helping. School-boys and students
wear neat uniforms and help where
they can. The students are clerks at
the railway stations or public offices
and act as police and contable*. On
leaving my hotel I saw a young student
scarcely more than fifteen, in uniform,
dragging a long sabre by his aide. He
was the village policeman and was
' proud of his office.
A Kaiser 8tory.?The following anecdote
of the kaiser Is taken from Excelsior,
whery it is stated to be vouched
for by a member of the German
Tacht club. The Hohenzollern was entering
a Norwegian harbor some time
ago. The kaiser became very impatient
with the slow progress made, and
himself Sounded the telegraph to quicken
up the speed. Immediately, to the
kaiser's great amazement, the pilot, a
gray-headed Norwegian named Norohuns,
rushed to the speaking-tube and
shouted to the engineers: "Slow, slow.
Pay no attention to the telegraph!"
The kaiser's anger was great at the affront
"Pilot, .... consider yourself
under arrest" "I shall not leave
this place," replied the pilot without
turning a hair. "I am in command of
the ship, and no one?not even an emperor?shall
give me orders." The end
of the story is inevitable. "The officers
present looked at each other in
silence," it continues, "knowing that all
the rules of the sea were on the pilot's
side; but they were amazed to see his
majesty leave the bridge and allow the
pilot to take the yacht through the
straights without Interference." The
finale reads like any fairy story. The
next day the kaiser's bad humor had
entirely disappeared, and he bestowed
a decoration on the old pilot, at the
same time appointing him his official
pilot In Norwegian watera?Westminster
Oazetti.
Electricity and Its Uses.
There was an old sign In a downtown
window which read:
"We will be a mother to you."
It was a standing Invitation for lone
bachelors to go inside and be patched
and mended and have buttons resewed.
But If a couple of enterprising women
offered to be a mother to a comparatively
few men, what name shall we
anniv tn alentriHtv ? I? there anything
-ffv V - ? ? - _
now that the electric current la not
called upon to perform?
In some homes It not only lights the
house, but warns it of burglars. It
rings the front door bell and sweeps the
floor. It curls milady's hair and brushes
the husband's shoes. If the house gets
ablaze it rings the Are alarms. Attached
to a fan it makes a cool breeze
on a hot day and in winter it warms
the room. It summons you to the telephone
and then carries your message
hundreds of miles in any direction. It
brings the servant with a cup of coffee
to your breakfast table, while at the
same time it whirls the brush that
grooms your horse in the stable. If it
does not run your automobile, at least
it saves the husky arm of your chauffeur
by starting the engine for him.
Hitched to a brush, this elusive but allpowerful
force will polish your silverware.
or it will massage your face.
By car It will carry a man to his office,
where all the motive power In his
place of business Is supplied by this
weirdest of all nature's forces. For the
farmer, electricity can and does do
wonderful things. It first separates the
cream from the milk and then churns
the butter. It does the family laundry
and cuts the feed for the cattle. Coupled
to a saw, electricity converts a tree
Into firewood. It grinds the flour for
bread and shells the corn for horses.
With a little suction apparatus, electricity
wil snatch the dust from your
beloved books and make your picture
frames look like new. It enables you
to talk across an ocean and pretty soon
no one will come to Philadelphia or go
away from it except in a railway pulled
by this invisible monster.
And to think that one who lived only
so short a while ago as Abraham Lincoln
never saw an electric light!?Philadelphia
Ledger.