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DO NOT BORROW TROUBLE. at a tiro*. There may never be a to-morrow. Only a day •• —„■ — w . Only a day at a time, and that wo can live. We tonow Th» trouble we cannot bear la only the trouble we borrow, Vnd the trials that never como are the ones that fret us sa» Only a atop at a time. It may be the angels bend o’er ua To boar ns above the stones that wound our feet by the way. The step that is hardest of all Is not the one Just before us. And the path wo dread the most may be smoothed another day. ON THE SOUTH SIDE —* HEY haJ been in six room flats and nine room bouses, up stairs and down, through block after bl >ck of be- w i 1 d e r i n g streets, in all the dust and heat of an early spring day; so, when her aunt stopped in front of another cflice, Sara gave a little gasp of de spair before resigning herself to the inevitable. That it was inevitable she well knew, for Aunt Jane never did anything by halves, and when she was house huntihg, allowed no real estate signs to escape her watchful eye. As they went in, a gray haired man came forward to meet them with the businesslike air of courtesy that Bara had come to consider more provoking than rudeness. A young man at a desk in the corner glanced up indifferently, bnt continued to look, with a strange expression on his face. Sara saw him, and conscious that her cheeks were reddening, turned abruptly abont to examine the cards on the bulletin board. That one quick glance had bronglt back the scenes of the pleas antest summer Sara had ever known— the summer when Alan Slocum had spoiled it all by quarreling with her. How could she ever have been so careless as not to notice the sign over the door? He was probably thinking at that very moment that her appear ance there was a matter of her own conniving. What a long, tiresome talk her aunt was having with the senior partner! Sara could catch bits of sentences here and there, abont furnaces, calcimine, and hardwood, so she knew they had gone from the ab stract to the concrete. By the time she had read the list of houses and flats four times over, the agent turned from her aunt to the young man, and Sara’s. heart sank as she heard his ‘wdMs. • s “If yon have nothing else on hand, Al,” he said, “I wish yon’d take these ladies over to the Kitnbark Avenne house for me. I’ve got to wait for Brooks. ” The young man bowed, and, picking up his hat, followed them ont of the office. He ignored Sara almost com pletely, and, walking by her aunt, be gan to speak of the desirable quali ties of Woodlawn. “It is very pretty here,” said Aunt Jane. “I had almost despaired of finding a house in so popular a local ity when my niece discovered your sign.” “I didn’t discover it,” said Sara rather hastily. “You spoke of the of fice.” “Well, what difference does it make? So much more credit to me,” her aunt said easily. “My sister broke her leg at the last minute, and I am doing her house hunting for her,” she added, turning to the young man at her side. Alan Slocum smiled sympathetically. “It is extremely wearing work,” he said pleasantly. “From what part of the city did yon come, Mrs. ” “Mrs. Harris,” replied Aunt Jane. “From the far north side, and it’s going to cost a small fortune to get them moved down here, too.” It was something of a relief to get to the house at last. “Hard wood in both rooms, yon no^ lice, Bara,” her aunt was saying. “Gas grate, bay window, side porch—let’s see the pantry. That turn in the stairs will make a good place for the clock,” she went on, as she started on a tour of inspection of the second floor. 4 ‘Five bed rooms. Which will you have. Bara?” “The second, I suppose,” said Sara somewhat listlessly. “Mother’ll have the front." “There’s a pretty little balcony out side of your window, you see,” said Aunt Jane. “Yes,” said Sara slowly. “A cor dial invitation to strolling burglars.” “I declare, you’re the most provok ing Rud I ever saw," her aunt said wearily. “After Tvc come all the way from Edgewater to select a honse for yon, yon might, at least, take a little interest in the one I select.” “I do, Aunt Jane," said Sara, try ing to speak lightly. “1’m just tired, I suppose.” “Well, you hurry along and buy the tickets for home,” said Aunt Jane, re lenting, 4 -and I’ll go over to the office with Mr. ” “Jarvis,” said Alan, without wink ing. “Jarvis, I’ll take the honse, subject to approval, if tl^at is satisfactory." Sara hnrried away and bought her tickets for the express to the city, glad of a few minutes in which to collect her thoughts. Sho walked up and down outside the turnstile and tried to persnade herself that she wished Alan Slocum in the moon rather than on the next street to her future home. She gave np trying, however, for she could not think connectedly, owing to the shrill cries of a newsboy and the diabolical whistle of a popcorn stand. Aunt Jane hove in sight before long, and they went through the stile to gether. “Such a nice young man, that Mr. Jarvis, Bara,” said her aunt. “Did yon notice him?” “I never heard the name before,” said Sara, peering up the track in the wrong direction. “What did you do abont the house?” “I thought the safest thing to do was to take it,” Aunt Jane said. “Mr. Jarvis said there were three people to see it this morning and five yesterday, so I was afraid to wait.” They day they moved it rained—a cold, disheartening drizzle, that made Sara exceedingly low spirited and rather bitter in regard to wet feet and spots on her rosewood piano. There were delays in getting off, for Aunt Jane had to see that everything was securely packed, that the movers were not intoxicated, and that the jan itor’s wife did not forget to clean up after them; so, by the time Sara’s well nigh distracted mother had been es corted to the home of a kindly neigh bor, and Aunt Jane had gone back for the fourth time to tell her brother-in- law not to forget the ioe box on the last load, Bara felt sure that the slow est of wagons must have reached the new home. The long journey over at last, her feeble attempt at rejoicing was sud denly checked at the sight of the van backed np to the oarb with the dining room furniture strewn over the lawn for companionship. “Looks like a summer garden,” said Sara, trying to discover whether the canary was drowned. “Some one had sense enough to cover the things, any way.” A man on the seat, stack so; into a box' at his fset and" head aronnd the side. “We can’t git in,” ho said in kindly explanation. “There ain’t any key here.” “We took some o’ them things out first,” said a man who was sitting de jectedly on the tailboard, “and then we couldn’t git ’em back again, so we left ’em out.” “Leave the bird with me, Sara,” said Annt Jane rather sharply, “and go to the office for the key at once.” Sara started off willingly enough, though the water was swishing and squashing in her rubbers, and her head ached. It was pleasanter to walk than to stand still—until she remem bered where she was going, and then she wished her annt had sent one of the men. She felt she could not go into the office again, and cast about eagerly for a substitute. Across the street a small boy was strolling along, kicking oat his left foot at each step to make a loose sole flap back into place, and idly slashing at paddles with a switch as he passed. Sara hailed him. For the indneement of a nickel, the youth consented to walk half a block and deliver a message, and Bara, somewhat relieved, lowered her umbrella in the shelter of » friendly drug store. By the time she was beginning to wonder what had be come of him, the boy returned, flapping his foot with renewed energy, and, planting himself in front of her, piped up: “First thing, I want my nickel!” Sara was in haste, so forbearing to re prove him, she paid her debt and de manded to know the result of the errand. “Feller says he ain’t never seen me before, and he’s sorry, but some one he knows is got ter come for the key.” Bara's face flushed, and she hesitated a minute. It was a choice between an awkward position and no home, so she chose the lesser evil and made her way to the office. Alan met her at the door. *’I trust you will pardon me, madam,” he said courteously, “for making yon come out in the rain, but I believe yon see that I could not think of giving the key of any honse to a little street gamin.” “The key should have been at the house,” said Sara stiffly. “Our furni ture is being ruined, so I will be obliged to you if you will give me the key as quickly as possible.” “Certainly, at once,” said Alan, who seemed to have difficulty in finding it. “This is it. If you would like it,, j madam, I will stop at the honse ou myl way home to see if there is anythin) to be done there.” Sara wondered if she had ever told! him how much she hated to be called* “madam." “Thank you,” she said coldly. “If there’is anything else father will come for it.” Alan opened her umbrella for and, with a frigid nod, she etarted rapidly for home, toying to think out some way to explain her delay to the poor, forlorn lady awaiting her. Bara’s spirits were at low ebb, and there was no prospect of their rising again for many a weary day. For two weeks it rained steadily, the canary refused to sing, the chimney smoked, the pipes leaked, the plumbers struck, and Sara,, unable to get away from her disturbing thoughts, “settled” with praiseworthy diligence. She had told herself many times before that it was easy to forget; but now, with little else to think of, she found it was only too easy to remember. As she put things away,'or unpacked boxes, she was con- scions of trying to soothe a queer, constant pain by giving free rein to her memory. As she laid the sheets on the linen shelf, she left with them the remembrance of boat rides and tennis games, of drives and of dances; and when she dropped a dinner plate on the’iitchen floor, it was because she ht^l come in the course of her thinking, to wonder if, after all, Alan was entirely to blame for the trouble that had sent him back to the city so soon. Finally, the sun shone upon the world again—weakly, to be sure, but still with enough strength to dry up some of the puddles on the front steps, though it failed to bring into Bara’s eyes t^e light that formerly lurked there. Like the little girl, Bara had discovered that her doll was stuffed with sawdust, and with the egoism of a pessimist she imagined it was the only one ever fashioned in that wise. On the first bright day Mr. Mait land came home early to take his wife for a drive, and Sara, declining to join them, welcomed an opportunity to be miserable by herself. She wan dered abont the house listlessly for a time, and then, sitting at her piano, she wailed ont all the sentimental bal lads in her collection, until she came to one that Alan had spoiled for her by his theatrical rendition of it in his times (^hilarity. She started it, but, rememinring his emotional stagger as he sang “I go where honor calls me,” she gave it up, and, bringing both hands down on the keys with a bang, cried “Oh, djar!” in a mournful, homesick wail that betokened^ the nearness of tears. Then, hearing a slight noise behind her, she abruptly wheeled about on the piano stool and faced Alan Slocum, with the quick ing in her chee mr pardon, "^e said, and od he waa^toJDxm. not chilly tr Iou have the advantage me, sir.” Alan cocked his head on one side. “Yes,” he said, no whit discon certed, “in being able to sit opposite you.” The benevolent old gentleman half rose, and Sara, in a panic, discovered that be was intending to champion her color fl» “I be]j Sara fan &e.” •ose. “My father is not at |he said distantly^ “Is there [T can do for you?” at time will Mr. Maitland re- Man asked, looking at his to be “The you saw Sara home,” anythini “At w turn?” watch. “Possibly not for two hours,” Sara replied Recklessly. “Will you come in and v ait?” Alan rjaised his eyebrows. “I think not,” h'» said, quietly. “It is half past five) now. I will leave the lease with yod> if you will be kind enough to give it to your father wheij he re turns." j “Certainly, as soon as he comes in.” Sara toJk the formidable-looking docu ment add bowed him out with a cold “Good ! evening, Mr. Jarvis,” that froze poor Alan’s boyish spirits Whatever he had intended to say was left uni aid, and he strode away with a swingh ig step and his head held high in the i ur. If he had looked around and set >n the miserable face watching him frjm behind the curtain, he would have cPme back; but he didn’t. The: e were many errands to be done in tow a that week, so Sara undertook them < ne bright morning, in a fren zied c esiro to be doing something rather than to be longer in lonely idle ness. The express had gone when she re iched the station, so she leisurely moun •od the “local” stairs and strolled along the platform, looking into the cars f >* one where she could be undis- turbe 1 for the next hour. The car next be smoker held a gay party of youn ' people intent on an excursion, and t ieir Irfttghter so jarred on Sara’s lonel ness that she quickened her steps to the second car. Her© the pros ect was pleasant, with the excep tion f three children racing up and dowi the aisle, so Sara passed on to the «t car, which she virtually had to h 'self. Across the aisle was a benevolent-looking old gentleman, a side seat a man was so bnsily ig a newspaper that she coaid thing of him save eight fingers Vo long legs. train started up by the time read over her shopping list loulated her expenses, so she Ijst in her purse again, and up to find that the young man led np his paper and was look er with the familiar, quizzical f Alan Slocum. She looked « window, bnt the qniek color l nto her cheeks, and she e had not come. Her atten- apparently riveted on the ire her, bnt she was fnlly Alan had come across to seat facing her, before he Horning,” he said genially, is a pleasant sight again, cause. “Why, you’re Mr. Jarvis, sure.” she said rather hastily, ceiling of the back room leaks.” Tne old gentleman sat down again. “Would you like to have me come and look at it?” Alan asked soberly. “It does worlds of good to have the agent come and look at a leak for a half hour or so every day.” Sara bit her lip and said nothing. “Or perhaps you’d rather I’d biro a substitute,” said Alan, 4 ‘and stand across the street until he comes back —without the leak?” “Send a sensible man to mend the roof,” said Sara sharply,” and it’s all I’ll ask—of you.” “I have fibbed, hyperbolized, and everlastingly perjured myself to get you into Woodlawn,” said Alan tragi cally. “and this is my reward.” Sara refused to smile. “I shall be obliged to you if you will take your old seat,” she said coldly, “and that is all.” Alan’s face fell. “I don’t know how you feel about it, Sara,” he replied in a grave, tired voice, “but I’m heartily sick of this confounded stranger busi ness, and I want to be—friends again. Don’t you?” “I said strangers, and it’s going to be strangers,” said Sara, with strange stubbornness, shrugging her shoulders indifferently. “Perhaps if I had not hesitated the first summer I mat yon, I might have had a show,” said Alan deliberately. “But Pm a slow fellow when I really care, and I did go tremendously ad mire you. That Davenport slid in ahead of me and I had to step ont.” Sara clasped and unclasped her purse nervously, but said nothing. “The next summer was better,” said Alau, continuing with rather a bitter smile. “I had a long vacation, and you were good to me. You were South all the winter, and I thought you were glad to see me—poor fool that I was! Davenport didn’t turn up at all that year, and I didn’t feel sorry. I was glad you’d turned him down, because I was a heathen, and I didn’t know that even the truest and best of girls can make a man suffer like the dickens. I know it now.” white. She :tr trart her to* eyes, and her lips trembled. “Oh, Alan, why didn’t yon tell me?” she cried, with a liU.'esobin her voice. “How could I know that you cared?” “My dear, my dear, how I did care!” he said slowly. “How I do care still!” The color came back to Sara’s face, and a queer little smile brought the light into her eyes. “I am what is accounted a lucky fel low,” Alan said in the same strained voice. “I have had comforts and pleas ures and luxuries all my life, and have not cared for one of them. I would give them all for thtfL which I want most and cannot have'” “You’re a spoiled child,” said Sara with an odd little laugh. “You cry, and vou don’t know what you cry for.”* “I don’t want to know any plainer than I do now,” Alan gravely replied. “It’s too confonndedly hard to bear.” “You never asked me what I thought,” said Sara gently. “Hasn’t it entered your head lhat a girl can care, sometimes, too?” The train slowed up for a station with a great deal of noise and a bustle of people passing up and down. The old gentleman rose sleepily and tum bled ont upon the platform. He passed down, and it was qniet again. After a time a band of men with mops and brooms appeared at th© door of the car and began to clear up. The conductor, coming to a decision after much hesitancy, stuck his head in at the other door: “Randolph Street!” he called. “As far as we go. All out, please 1”—Em ma Lee Walton, in the Puritan. (proud of her presence of are more i turned toward him with a * meat. SCIENTIFIC AND INDUSTRIAL Tuberculosis is in England and Wales the cause of fourteen per cent, of all male and 13 J of all female deaths. Some interesting observations con cerning the physiological effects of electric currents have been made by M. Dubois. He finds that the effect depends much more upon voltage than upon intensity. Lord Kelvin holds that the internal heat of the earth has nothing to do with the climates. The earth, he says, might be of the temperature of white hot iron two thousand feet below the surface, or at the freezing point fifty feet below, withont at all affecting a climate. In the French navy it has been found that the electric search light employed on men of war injuriously af fects the eyes of seamen who have to work about the light, and dark blue spectacles are supplied to them- for protection. Brown eyes are less af fected than gray or blue ones, the rea son suggested being that the former heavily charged with pig- SPORTSMEN » TOURISTS! THEE SEIM HR LINE —BEACHES ALL THE FAMOUS- HUNTING AND FISHING —OF— Virginia and the Carolinas, Commencing June 1st, Summer Tourist Tlckeis on sale at all Stations. Stop Over Privileges Allowed all Tourists. Sports men's Bicycles Carried Free. Solid Pullman Vestibuled Limited Trains. Train Servioe Unequaled. No Extra Fares. E. ST. JOHN, H. W. B. GLOYEB, Yice-Prai. k Gen. M'g’r. Traffic Manager. T. J. ANDEBSOM, Gen’V Pas*. Agent. General Offlees: - - Portsmouth, Va. South Carsllna and Gnorgia It. R.C*. “The Chableston Line." Januiti < U-4, 1807. BAST DAILY. WEST D Iv Augusta 6 20 a Iv Chsrlestc ar Aiken.. 7 08 a Iv Cola mb] arKingv’lelO 10 a Iv Kingvi ar Corbia. 10 55 a ar Aiken. arCharls’tnll 00 a ar Augu BAST DAILY. I WK3T Iv Augusta 3 20 p Iv Cbarli ar Aiken., 4 07 p Iv Colum arKingv*!© 9 20 p Iv King ar Ool’bialO 10 p ar Aike* arCh’rls’tu 8 00 p ar bAMDttNBRANCH, HOBTH. lvKiugv’lel023 a Iv Ch arOamdenll 65 a ar Kin, IvKingv’le 6 00 a Iv Cam ar Camden 8 25 a ar Kiu AIKEN ACCOMMODA! Daily except Sunda; Iv Augusta 6 40 p ur. Aiken. 7 80 p Iv Aikei ar August! Condensed Schedule In Effect Aug/1. 1897. SOUTHBOUND No. 35 No. 23 No. 53 AM PM P M Lv. Florence 800 - T -* Lv. Klngstree... 8 59 Ar. Lanes 4 18 915 Lv. Lanes 915 7 52 Ar. Charleston.. 620 10 50 9 25 A M PM PM NORTHBOUND No. 78 No 32. No. 52 AM PM A M Lv. C harleston. 5 80 500 7 00 Ar. Lanes G3G 826 Lv. Lanes 686 Lv. Klngstree 7 23 Ar. Florence 8 25 7 05 AM PM AM NORTH akd SOUTH, Via De Through sleepers to and from York. Iv Augusta 3 05 p Iv New York 9 _ ar Rlohm’d 8 40 a Iv Wash’gt’n 8 iQi srWash’ton 7 00 a Iv Rtohm’nd 7 81 4 ar New Y’k 1 23 p ar Aogusta. 8 Id • Connections at Oharlsston with New York steamers, also with steamers log Jacksonville, Fla., on tailing datem and at Angusta with the Georgia RoaC to and from all points West and Sout^ also at Blaokavilla with the Carolina Midland Railroad to and from Bara* well Connections with Southern Rail way at Columbia to all point* in upper South and North Carolina. S. 8. Bowzn, L. A. Eksrsob, | Uon. Manager. Traffic Manager*! IfUNTIC com LINE. NOBTHEASTEBN RAILBOAD OF SOUTH CAROLINA. No 52 runs through to Columbia via Cen tral Railroad of South Carolina. Trains Nos. 78 and 32 run via 'Wilson and Fayetteville—Short Line—and make close connection for all points North, Trains on C. A D. IL R. leave Florence daily except Sunday 8 55 a m, arrive Dar lington 9 28 a m, Cheraw 10 40 a m. Wadee- boro 2 25 p m. Leave Florence dally except Sunday 8 10 p m, arrive ParlJngtoa 8 40 p m, Hartsville 9 35 p m. Bennettsville 9 30 p m, Gibson 10 00 p m. Leave Florence Sun day only 900 a m, arrives Darlington 9 27 a m.Hartes ville 10 10 a m. Leaves Gibson daily exoept Sunday 615 a m, Bennetteville6 41 am, arrive Darlington 7 40 a m. Leave Harts. IHe daily exoept Sunday 6 80 am, arrive Darlington 7 15 am, leave Darlington 7 45 a m, arrive Florence 815 a m. Leave Wadeeboro daily except Sunday 8 00 p m, Cheraw 6 15 p m, Darling ton 6 29 p m, arrive Florence 7 00 p m. Leave Hartsvllle Sunday only 7 00 a m, Dar lington 7 45 a m, arrive Florence 8 10 a m. J. B. KENLY, JNO. F. DIVINE, Gen’i Manager. Gea’l Sup’t. T. M. EMERSON, Trtfflc Manager. H. M. EMERSON, GenT Paw. Agent. i - • mMm. j