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J THE LEDGER: GAFFNEY, S. C., AUGUST 4, 1808. THE WAY OF A MAID. Mu' wn^ n in nil rt notion? sirnni^e <'oncemins ninn. Ili i fancn n took n goodly rnngc, Ah vcman'ri run. She f?id she loved nn eye of uray— My own are hlue. 1 would I eould in any wry Have changed their hue. The mu of hair that pleusi d hi r hcsl Was hrnwn, she said. Which caused me oft supreme unrest— My own is rid. Her taste in “nose" was aquiline. Oh, cruel rub! In vulgar parlance one like mine Is termed a snub! She liked a stalely man end tall— Alas, my fate Has blc.-sud mo with u stature small Not five feet eight. She doted on a figure slim. Without a douht I could not satisfy that whim, For I am stout. And, knowing this, how eould I dare, A boor like me, To ask that maid her life to share— My wife to be? And yet I did! Egregious ass, I must confess! I popped the question, and, alas, Bho answered, “Yes!” —Sydney Bulletin. A MAN'S PART. • A boy and girl walked silently side lay side down the long, winding path tinder the trees. In the house behind them the rest of the household were at breakfast. They came at last to a wicket leading into the lane. Me went through and after a moment held it for her. She went through and stood beside him. Me looked down on her even ad miringly. He despised girls; ho always had despised them. They were useful and' preferably beautiful, but compar ed to men physically, mentally and morally simply a negligible quantity. But he had a prejudice in favor of her. She was his own. This time yesterday she had not been his own—except in contemplation. He could recall now the ridiculous feeling of unworthiness he had had as he told her he loved her. Mary drew her finger slowly down the barrel of bis gun. ' ^ “Poor little rabbits!” she said. He had been on the point of again mentioning the everlasting love and protection he intended for her, together with his conviction that she, and she alone, could minister to his personal comfort, but how could a man when a girl said things like that? “Nonsense!” lie said, and jerked his gun away quite irritably. Mary handed him his tin of sand wiches and went half a step back to ward the gate, and then turned again and looked up at him. She had clear eyes, like an undisturbed pool. “What time shall you be back?” she asked. Even her voice did not reproach him. “Oh, I don't know. Why?” “We’re going to call on this new bride and bridegroom honeymooning down here.” “But that has nothing to do with me. ’ ’ “N-no.” She looked uncertainly up the lane. “Has it?” “No.” lie bent his head to kiss her, but did not arrive at doing it. “I thought—I thought,” said Mary, “I thought perhaps if I wasn’t at homo when you got back you’d bo disappoint ed.” “Well, I must come heme when I’ve done, Mustn’t I?” “Of course,” said Mary. His gun was hocked in his left arm. He put his right round Mary’s shoulder. “When you are my wife,” he said, “you will bo very glad for me to shoot rabbits.” Ho put his hand under her chin and lifted her face, and again the feeling came over him that there was something holy about Mary—something ever so much better than himself Ho kissed her hastily and straightened himself, to realize in his superior inches how all round superior he really was. Mary’s finger was round his top but ton. “Shall you always love me?” she whispered. “It’s so wonderful!” “Of course. How eau you ask such absurd questions?” “And you’ll never want to love any body else?” "When a man has once chosen, he has chosen. It’s women who chop and change about, and a man never ought to forgive a woman who does.” He embraced her again, much pleased that he was able to do it without drop ping his gun. At high noon ho lay in the shade of the trees and several small dead things lay between him and his dog. He looked up at the sky and wished Mary had hud more sandwiches cut. She would have to learn what a man’s appetite was, and while ho thought of Mary and while what lie had drunk from his flask was still hot in his throat and half way down under his waistcoat it seemed to him that he loved her very much. Probably no man had ever loved a girl quite so much, and it was passing com fortable to bo in love, but perhaps it would be even more comfortable to be married. Then the warmnoss in his throat and down under his waistcoat became a de licious vagueness of ideas. He perceiv ed that the sky was extremely blue up there, and that the wind madeau agree able sound among the leaves. He wished Mary could have been there. Love, they say, is a state of mind. He was in that state of mind. Then he heard: Light down, light down now, true Thoauw, And lean your bond upon my km*»; Abide and rest a little Hjmoo And I will show you forllea throe. He opened his eyes half way. They were a tidy sort of birds in these woods, and—snore. Oh, nee you not yon narrow road, 8o tbloli bowit wl’ thorns and brloraT That U the path of rightnotiMnow, Though after It but tins- inquires. , He opened his eyes wide. Was rome- thing flame colored flashing through the ( lower brunches? Were thoM dancing eyes turned on him and turned away ! again? Was the voice infinitely sweet, ' or— And see you not yon bonnie road That winds about the ferine brae? That is the road to fair Klfiund, Where thou and I this night maun gae. He sat up. He looked all round. Was i that a hand beckoning? He got up. His deg got up too. “Lie still,” he said ronghlj*, “and look after the things.” He went a little way unconsciously. A flame colored shape seemed to fly be fore. He followed where it seemed to fly, or’ was it a shaft of sunlight that only appeared to fly, as the leaves moved to and fro in tbb wind? It disappeared. When it disappeared, ho knew it had been there. He went faster and faster after it. Suddenly from a clump of hushes bright eyes looked out on him. When' ho had wrenched his eager way into and out of the clump, the shape was far away in front. He saw her small feet as she staid an instant to loosen a branch of dog rose that held he” dress. _ jero was now no turning back. Still ho pursued, and still she flew before. All at once she leaned down over a spring, ir do a cup of her hands and drank. S shook the drops from her fingers, locking l«ick at him—looking straight but t him, and then she rose up and danced away again. A thrill ran all through him. There was a sud den turn in his blood. Ho felt the first faint stir of the world old desire to pur sue and enjoy, and perhaps slay. He tpok his ham out of his pocket and walke d faster On she went to the edge of the wood and hesitat' d an instant on the brink of the wide dit h. “Now she is mine!” ho exulted. Even as he thought it she stood on the other side and turned and wived a hand, and she smiled. After that things were different. In his sun helmet and shooting coat am' gaiters was a primeval hunter. In the fl. me colored gown that l|gup(jriority of man. “Do yon lovo me?” If he died, he must ask that. “No.” “Why not?” “I will iMft love you.” “Love me,” ho cutreated, “or kill me. 1 ’ “I will not love you.” He pat liis arms around her waist and strained them till she breathed in pain. “Will you not love me?” “I will not love you.” He lifted his head and kissed her. I “Now you are a man,” she said. “And you will love me?” “I will not love you. But you may love me—fur an hour.” When the sun had moved the shadows ! of the leaves nn hour’s space fartln r to- | ward the east, a voice came calling ; through the wood. “That is my husband,” she said, I “calling me.” His arms droppe d away from her. “Your husband?” “My husband.” She turned her head on his shoulder and laughed up at him. “How long have you been married?” ! “A whole week.” “And”— “And you’re the first other man I’ve i seen. Happy you! A whole week!” | He sprang up, so that she fell on to the ground. He hoped she was hurt. Ho | heard her mocking laugh ring on the air : as he clove his furious way through the j trees. lie was afraid she was not hurt. On and on he went, stumbling, cursing, j blind. The bushes aud branches crashed ! as he passed The birds and small crea tures flew from before him. Hours afterward he stumbled over something in his path. It was his gun, I lying in the wet grass, with the little dead rabbits stretched beside it. Ho thought he had never seen that gun be fore, never shot those rabbits. His dog i got stiffly up and wagged a numb, for- | giving tail. He remembered Mary—and the proud THE ALBINO BEAVER. Ad THIS FREAK OF NATURE ONE Or THE RAREST OF ANIMALS. A R^nchinnn’s Stcrr of Why Reavers Fell Tree* and Ruilil Dams. The Value of the Little Animals to the Cattlemen of Montana. last year had noi dreamed of was the ( only spoil worth more than the fiercest lion or the fattest hind. Along in the shade of the trees where j the grass was still dew wet he saw only i her. Coming noai r and nearer he fol- i lowed. She stooped to her knees, kissed [ a lamb she had surprised asleep, looked ; once more behind at him, swiftly rose ’ aud fleeted on. Ho had caught her. No. i Once more she sprang across tne ditch i and was gone from his sight into the 1 wood. With a cry of disappointment J and rage he sprang after her—sprang 1 and stumbled m his haste and fell and | hurt himself. When he hurt himself, i he remembered Mary. With hanging head and strange, wild feelings surging ! in him he tore himself up and went on. ; Nothing round him but green. As he | went ho snapped the twigs with Ins hands, aud when anything lay in his j path ho set his heel on it aud ground his teeth. In the thickest part of the wood, in a small clearing, at last he saw her. She lay against the big roots.of a tree, and the sunlight hurried backward and for ward over her. He was not thinking of Mary now’. He went-straight up to her and threw himself on the grass beside her. She lay still, her chin resting in her hand, her elbow on a thrown up root, still pant ing. She did not look at him, aud she did nut speak. Her eyes bad never moved. After a long time, “ Why did you fol low me?” she asked. “You know,” ho said, “ ‘the road to fair Elfiaud. ’ ” And ho nodded stu- pidly. Ho was dimly aware that the eyes were all at once turned on him and that some way beneath them there ran a curving, uncertain lino of red through which she spoke. “Why did you follow me?” she said again. He had nothing to say. “Why?” she asked. “You know why!” Her other hand lay in the grass. He put his near it. She did not take it away. A burning heat, a shivering cold, possessed him as she still gazed at him and still said: “Why?” He buried his face in the grass. He could not speak. There was nothing to say. He longed to do something, but there was nothing he cou’d do. A little mocking laugh rang in his ears. For shame he eould not lift up his head. “Boy!” “I am no boy!” he cried. His eyes were wet as he flung up his head aud faced her. “I”— “You what?” She gathered grass and flung it lightly in his face. His cheeks flamed. “I could crash you with one hand and put out your little life. Do you think you could withstand my strength for one moment. You have no muscles and sinews—like a man. I could com mand you and make yon obey me—be cause, after all, you’re only a woman!” He threw buck his head and burned her with his young eyes. “You would follow me to the world's end, though your hand never so much as touched my hand. To kiss mo once you would die because I am a woman. ” He sank slowly down and down, his eyes never leaving hers. “For me you would give your life, for mo you would do the basest deed, for me you would sell your soul, because I am a woman. ” Ho was like a candle slowly shrink ing in a great heat. Insensibly he drew nearer and nearer, till at last he lay at her feet gazing, dumbly gazing up at her. She smiled. She smiled the soul out of him, smiled till there was no more will, no more thought, no more memory in him. His lips moved. “I love you.” “For how long?” “Forever. ” “And nobody else?” “And nobody else?” “In the whole world?'* “In the whole world.” His head fell down on her kneee. t thought he swooned. Slowly ho went homeward in the dusk. His head hung low, his gun he hardly held. To be unworthy of Mary’s slightest regard! Mary’s, whoso eyes should forever have waited on him, her Jord and her god. A light step came near and stopped. He looked up. Mary stood there in white from head to foot. She held up her face. Ho did not kiss her. “You are so late, and 1 was so fright ened! What was it?” Silently he took the rabbits out of his ; pocket and showed them to her. One ( fell to the ground, and ho left it there. “All day! Only killing?” He looked at her. “Mary”— “Yes, dear.” She held out her hand. He hesitated, and at last took it. “I am so glad to have you back! It seems sillv now to have been frightened.” “Mary”—' “Yes, clear. You’re tired, aren't you?” she said. “So am I. Wo drove all those miles, and then the bride was not at home. ” • •••••• Suddenly he turned on her. “Mary,” he said fiercely, “have you ever loved any man but me?” Her eyes looked up into his. They were clear, like a pool. “I should not dare to offer you my love if I had,” she said simply. “And I should never forgive you if you did,” he said from between his teeth. “No womaii must love twice.” “And a man?” she said idly and with no mind to dispute, whatever the an swer might lx*. “And a man?” He was silent.—Constance Cottercll in Sketch. The Value of Sport. The nation which governs almost one-fourth of the earth’s population, and upon the whole governs well, spends over $.200,000,000 annually upon sport, and has invested in the same way an even greater sum. Perhaps there is no higher test of a man’s all round abil ities than his power to govern wisely. At any rate it is a truth to be borne in mind in this connection that the govern ing races today are races of sportsmen. The people who play games are inherit ing the earth, perhaps because it makes them meek. As a matter of fact, wo think it does just that among other things. The French do not play games, and Mr. Benjamin Kidd lias shown how the population of France is steadily de creasing, the deaths having outnumber ed the births there foi several years past. The Spaniards do not play games, and travelers in and students of Spain and the Spanish agree that their two most salient characteristics are over weening personal pride aud cruelty. The Chinese despise unnecessary physic al exercise, ami cun scarcely be driven to fight, even for tboir country.— Outing. Done Muzzle*. The muzzle occasionally scon on a horse in the Street is to keep the animal from biting. But muzzles are ordinarily used on horses in their stalls to keep them from eating their bedding, and they are most commonly used on run ning and (rotting horses in training. These horses are trained with great care, and it is important that they shall eat only the food that is provided for them. Horse muzzles are made of wire and leather. More muzzles of wire than of leather are sold, the wire muzzle be ing the cheaper. A wire muzzle can be bought for 75 cents. The most expensive muzzle costp $4. It is handsomely made of fine materials, and in called a box muzzle—not on account of its shape, but because it is likely to be used in a horse that is kept iu a box stall.—Now York Sun. He Stationary. “Who wrote of the sew*« ae«i of man, Johnny?” “William Shakespeare.” “And are there seven ages of wom an?” ”1 guess so, but she sticks by one of ’em all the time.”—Harper's Bazar. “I believe I am <lie only white per son that ever trappi d or killed an adult albino beaver,” said Thomas Gilroy, an ex-rauchn:an of Montana. “Albino beavers an* the rarest of animals, and the only specimens I ever saw besides the one I trapped wen* two cubs captur ed by an Indian on Wind river more than :10 years ago. There were four young beavers in the nest this Indian secured, and two of them were black. The mother of the litter was captured with them, and she was black. There is another very rare beaver in the north west region. This is the golden beaver, bearing the choicest of all fur. The golden beaver is almost as rare as the white beaver, the albino being merely a freak of nature, while the golden beaver is a species. This beaver was not known in this country until about 1S80, when the first specimen was discovered in the Mink river region. “I wasn’t iu the trapping business when I caught the albino beaver, or per haps I wouldn’t have had the chance to bag him and the 84 others I got with him. I had heard a good many wonder ful stories about how beavers chopped down trees, and, being anxious to sco how far from the truth some of these stories were, I found where beavers were at work in a piece of cedar woods through which a branch of tho Wind river flowed. I chose a bright moon light night to watch the beavers at their tree chopping. I hid myself before night fall near tho spot. “Soon after nightfall a beaver came out of the water, went straight to aj good sized cedar tree and began wor at it with his teeth without a moment’ delay. While he was at work anothe beaver appeared from the river, and a he drew himself out of the water to th bank where tho moon shone full upo; him I saw that lie was as white u| snow. The white beaver selected a tre| and went vigorously to work felling i I don’t believe a woodchopper with h ax could have felled those trees ani quicker than those beavers did wit| their chiselliko teeth. “Long before I had come into pe sonal contact with the beaver I h read iu the books that tho beavers bu dams for the purpose of making a swi ming and fishing pond. After I beg taking an interest in beavers I for. that the book explanation was us rid uloua as it was lackfng iu fact. I fou that the beaver does not eat fish or fl of any kind, but subsists entirely tender roots aud barks, which are pi tiful during tho summer, but ceasi provide nutritious or hunger allij qrr.lities whey tho cold season i hand, so the beaver builds dams to vide against the pinch of hunger du: the winter. The instinct of the be; teaches him that these substances merged in water will keep green, f: and nutritious all winter long, selects a spot where this food g abundant near tho shores and dam stream so that the water will be 1 back over the young willows and as and cottonwoods and held there, the bark on them is kept soft, juicj tender, and the beaver has his stc nutritious food to draw upon all long. If there is no growth of woods convenient for overflowing beaver cuts down willows, cottoni or aspens—the cottonwood heinj favorite—floats tliem to tho dam,] them to the bottom, fixes them below the freezing depth, and as fresh atrd tender as if tliej growing on the hanks and quickei the spring sunshine and rains. “As to tho colony of beavers thl attracted my attention, I watcheif its dam building, in the course tho beavers chopped down a gc cedar trees. That was all very ii ing and instructive, but it wasn’ itable to tho owner of tho timber,] agent I was, aud, as my chief dut the quest of timber thieves, I com] that here were some well worth 1c after, and I resolved to break colony without delay. By ir among the trappers I learned soimj about how they went to work td beavers, and I set five traps in thJ ony’s pond. I caught a beaver in| trap seven consecutive nights, last beaver I caught was tho hi one. I sold the albino to au tourist for $40 in gold. “The share I took iu the work! populating the northwest of the f after that was considerable, but got into the cattle business I wa aud would gladly have given ery dollar I received for their and it would have made a big I could have put tho beavers bacli for I found that, although tho wasn't worth as much as a fat money, there wasn’t a cattle^ Montana that wouldn’t give up steer in his herd to save the 1| beaver any day in the year, just tho beavers were dam builders. | wonderful instinct of the beivt interest tho ranchmen a little had they any sentiment iu their j to protect the beaver. But wat constant necessity on tho cattl in tho dry climate of Montana ly, where tho streams and wat are few and far between. Thg more beavers in Montana—u are yet porhapa—than anywbe the United States. By build! dams wherever they might the water supply to bo hoard^ oonld bo in no other way. suited tho cattlemen, and to while any other game or fnr| animal may be exterminated dissenting voice from them, is assured of the friendship « lion of the ranchmen. ”—For Press. ui