CHAPTER XI.—(Continued.}
Caussidiere started in surprise; he
was not accustomed to such plain
speaking.
"Madame is severe,” he replied, with
a sarcastic smile. “She does not ap
prove of the morals of my nation? No?
Tet parhleu! they compare not un
favorably with those of pious Scot
land!”
This rebuS rather disconcerted the
plain spoken lady, who turned up the
path Impatiently, while the French
man shrugged his shoulders and looked
loftily indignant. Marjorie, who had
watched the preceding passage at arms
with no little anxiety, not quite follow
ing the conversation, glanced implor
ingly at Caussidiere.
V'' “Don’t mind Miss Hetherington,” she
W said, when the lady was out of hear
f ing. “What Mr. Lorraine, says of her
is true; her bark’s waur than her bite,
and she means no offense.” .. .■
“Who is she, my childJ^Oh, I re
member, the eccentric old lady whom
you visited yesterday."
Marjorie nodded; and at that mo
ment Mr. Lorraine came down the path,
followed by Solomon, and met Miss
Hetherington, who began talking to
him vehemently.
“She is not very polite,” muttered
Caussidiere; “and see, she is already
abusing me to your guardian.”
He held out his hand.
“Good-bye! I shall see you, perhaps,
later in the day.” ^
“Perhaps. Oh, monsieur, you are not
offended?”
“Not at all,” replied Caussidiere,
though the look with which he re
garded his late antagonist rather be
lied his words. “I forgive her for your
sake, my child!”
• • • * • . *
Marjorie did not go to church again
that day. She had a headache and
kept her room. It .was altogether a
gloomy afternoon. Mr. Lorraine, se
cretly troubled in his mind, had diffi
culty in concentrating his thoughts on
his religious duties, and Solomon pre
served an- invincible taciturnity. So
the day passed away, and evening
*> came.
There was no evening service, for
\Mr. Lorraine was too infirm to conduct
Alhree services in one day. After a dls
J&ial tea, to which Marjorie came down,
'the minister sat reading a volume of
sermons, and presently Marjorie left
the room, put on her hat, and strolled
into the garden.
It was a beautiful evening, and the
moon was rising over the far-off hills.
With her head still aching wearily, the
girl wandered out upon the road and
Into the churchyard. She crept close
to the western wall and looked for a
long time at one of the tombstones.
Then, sighing deeply, she came out
and strolled up the village.
The bright weather and the fresh air
enticed her on and on till she came
to the rural bridge above the Annan
Water.
All was still and peaceful; not a
sound, not a breath disturbed the Sab
bath silence. She leaned over the stone
parapet and looked sadly down.
Her thoughts were wandering far
away—flowing, flowing with the mur
muring stream. She had fallen into a
waking dream, when she heard a foot
step behind her. She started and ut
tered a low cty as she saw a dark fig
ure approaching in the moonlight.
CHAPTER XU.
HE figure advanced
rapidly, and in a
moment Marjorie
recognized her tu
tor.
“Monsieur Caus
sidiere!” she cried.
“Yes,” returned
the French man
quietly, “it is I!”
“He took her
hand in his, and
found it cold and trembling.
"I have frightened you,” he said.
“Yes, monsieur; I was startled be
cause I did not hear you coming, and I
seemed to be far away.”
She seemed strangely sad and pre
occupied tonight. After the French
man had joined her she relapsed into
her former dream; she folded her arms
upon the bridge again, and fixed her
sad eyes upon the flowing river. Caus
sidlere, partaking of the mood, looked
downward, too.
“You love the water, Marjorie?”
“Yes; it is my kith and kin.”
“You have been here for hours, have
you not? I sought you at the manse
In vain.”
x waa uut uea*, monsieur, i was in
the kirkyard among the graves.”
“Among the graves?” returned the
Frenchman, looking anxiously at her.
"A strange place for you to wander ie,
my child! It Is only when we have
seen trouble and lost friends that we
seek such places. For me It would be
fitting, perhaps, but for you it Is dif
ferent. You are so young and should
be so happy.”
“Ah, yes!” sighed Marjorie. “I am
happy enough.”
“And yet you sadden the days that
should be the brightest by wandering
near the dead. Why did you go to the
churchyard, little one?”
“Why, monsieur? To see my’ moth
er’s grave.”
“Your mother's grave? I thought
you did not know your mother?”
“They say site was my mother,” re- j
turned Marjorie, quickly. “She was
found drowned in Annan Water—was
it not dreadful, monsieur?—and she
was buried yonder in the kirkyard
when I was a little child.”
“And you think she was your moth
er?”
“They say so, monsieur, but I do n6t
think it is true.”
“No?”
“I have gone to her grave and stayed
by it, and tried to think they are right,
but I cannot—I aye come away as I
did tonight and look at Annan Water,
and feel it more my kin.”
“Marjorie!”
"Yes, monsieur!”
“I fancy you are right, child; per
haps your mother lives.”
“Ah, you think that?”
“More; she is perhaps watching over
you, though she cannot speak. She
may reveal herself some day.”
“You believe so, monsieur?” repeated
Marjorie, her face brightening with
Joy.
“It is very probable, my child. You
are not of the canaille, Marjorie. When
I first saw you I knew that; then I
heard your story, and it interested me.
I thought, ‘We are strangely alike—we
are like two of a country cast adrift in
a foreign land, but our destinies seem
to be one. She is exiled from her kin
dred; 1 am exiled from my home. She
has a kindly heart and will understand
me; we must be friends, Marjprie, will
He held out hla hand, and the girl
took it.
“You are very good, monsieur,” she
answered simply.
"Then you must treat me as a friend,
Indeed, little one!” he answered. “I
will take no money for your lessons. It
is a pleasure for me to teach you, and
—and Mr. Lorraine is not rich.”
“Mr. Lorraine?” said Marjorie, open
ing her blue eyes; “it is not Mr. Lor
raine who pays for my schooling, but
Miss Hetherington.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes; that is so. Mr. Lorraine did
not wish to have me taught beyond my
station; but Miss Hetherington said I
must learn.”
Caussldlere seemed to reflect pro
foundly.
“Miss Hetherington is a philanthrop
ic lady, then?”
“Do you think so, monsieur?”
“Do not you think so, Marjorie, since
she is universally kind and generous?”
“Ah,” returned Marjorie, "I do not
think she is always generous, mon
sieur; but she is very kind to me. Why
she has almost kept me ever since I
was a child.”
To this the Frenchman did not reply;
he seemed somewhat disturbed; he iit
a cigar and watched Marjorie through
the clouds of smoke. Presently the
clock in the church tower struck the
hour, and Marjorie started.
“I must be walking home,” she said.
She began to move across the bridge,
the Frenchman keeping beside her.
They walked steadily onward, and
now they reached the door of the inn.
Marjorie paused and held forth her
hand.
“Good-night, monsieur,” she said.
“Good-night!—shall I not walk with
jou to the manse, little one?”
Marjorie shook her head.
“I would rather walk there alone.”
The Frenchman shrugged his shoul
ders.
“Eh bien! since you wish it I will
think you are right. Good-night, my
little friend, and au revolr.”
He took the hand which she had ex
tended toward him, raised it toward
his lips, then patted it as if he had been
patting the fingers of a child; it was
this air of fatherly friendliness which
made her trust him, and which won for
him all the sympathy of her affection
ate heart.
When Caussldlere imprinted a kiss
upon her hand she neither blushed nor
drew it away, but she said softly:
“Good night, monsieur, God bless
you!” at which the Frenchman kissed
her hand again, then, turning quickly,
entered the inn.
Marjorie turned, too, feeling her kind
little heart overflowing, and walked
away down the moonlit road. She had
not gone many steps when she was
abruptly joined by a man. She did not
start nor seem surprised; indeed,
while she was parting with the French
man she had seen John Sutherland
watching her from the opposite side of
the road.
“Good-evening, Johnnie," said Mar
jorie, quietly. “Why did you not come
forward to speak to Monsieur Cau3si
diere?"
The young man started, but made no
answer.
“Johnnie, what is wrong?” she asked.
He paused, and looked at her.
“Marjorie,” he said, “tell me what
you were doing with that man?”
It was no time for his reproaches;
her whole soul rose in revolt.
“With that man?” she repeated, an
grily. “Do you mean with Monsieur
Caussidiere?”
“Yes, with that villainous French
man,” he returned, driven recklessly
onward by his anger. “Why are you
always in his company, Marjorie An
nan?”
Marjorie drew herself proudly up.
Had the Frenchman seen her then, he
would have little doubt as to the stock
whence she came.
“I am in his company because I am
his friend,” she answered, proudly.
“Yes, his friend; and as his friend I
will not hear him Insulted. Good*
night.”
She walked quickly away, but in a
moment he was again beside her.
"Marjorie, will you not listen to
me?”
“No, I will not,” returned the girl,
angrily. “Whatever you have to say
against Monsieur Caussldiere you shall
not say to me. He was right; you
are all against him, and you are the
worst of all. Do you think it is just or
kind to abuse a man simply because
he is a stranger* and unfortunate? What
has Monsieur Caussldiere ever done to
you that you should dislike him so
much?”
The young man stared at her flushed
cheeks and angry eyes; then he ex
claimed:
“Marjorie, answer me! Tell me it's
not possible, that you care for yon
man?"
She flushed crimson and turned
away.
“I care for anyone,” she answered,
evasively, “who Is alone and who
wants a friend. Monsieur Caussldiere
has been very kind to me—and I am
sorry for him.”
"You are more than that, Marjorie—
but take care, for I know he Is a scoun
drel.”
“How dare you say so?” returned
Marjorie. “You are a coward, Johnnie
Sutherland. If he were here you would
not speak like that.” . .
“I would say the same to him as to
you. If he were not a scoundred he
would not entice you from your home.”
This was too much for Marjorie. She
uttered an Indignant exclamation, and,
without deigning to reply, hastened
rapidly away. This time he did not
hasten after her; and almost before he
could recover from his surprise she had
entered the manse door.
CHAPTER XIII.
FTER the scene
with Marjorie on
Sunday night,Suth
erland was in a
state of despair; for
two days he walked
about In misery; on
the third day his
resolution was fixed
and he determined
to act. He went up
to the Castle and
sought an interview with Miss Heth
erington, to whom he told of the scene
which he had had with Marjorie, of her
anger against himself, and of her con
stant meetings with the stranger. Miss
Hetherington listened with averted
head, and laughed grimly when he had
done.
"I see how" It Is,” she said; “’tis the
old tale; twa lads and a lassie. But I
dinna like the French man, Johnnie,
no more than yourself. I’ll speak
with Mr. Lorraine; maybe ’tis his work
to keep the bairnie right, though he
does his work ill. I’m thinking. You’re
a good lad, Johnnie, and as to Marjorie,
she’s a short-sighted eedict not to see
wha’s her friend.”
She spoke lightly and cheerfully; but
the moment Sutherland disappeared
both her face and manner changed.
“The lad was right,” she said. “Love
has made him keen sighted, and he has
told me the truth. Marjorie is In dan
ger. Now is the time when she needs
the care o’ kind folk to keep her frae
the one false step that ruins all. Mar
jorie Annan, what shall I do for you,
my bairn?”
She stood for a time meditating;
then she looked at her watch and found
it was still early in the day; she sum
moned her old servant, ordered her car
riage, and a quarter of an hour later
was driving away toward the town of
Dumfries.
Hardly had she loft when the French
man came .to the castle, and, by dint of
bribing the old serving man, Sandy
Sloan, with a golden sovereign, was
permitted to view the different rooms.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
RARE WORKS OF ART.
Treasures or the Goncourt Brothers
Brine Great Prices.
All the great pictures In the Gon
court collection have now been sold at
the Hotel Drouot and have realized
696,000 francs, or £27,840, says a Paris
letter. It is to be noted that the broth
ers Goncourt, as related in the famous
diary, often pinched themselves In or
der to purchase pictures and art ob
jects for their collection. They would
undoubtedly be surprised If they wers
alive to read the prices obtained at the
recent sale for old drawings and en
gravings which they picked up years
ago on the Paris quays and elsewhere
for a few gold or silver pieces. They
were keen dilettanti and knew good
works of art when they saw them, but
they could hardly have realized that a
sketch by the younger Moreau, for
which they paid about a dollar, would
be purchased years afterwards for hun
dreds of dollars. There is now every
prospect that the Goncourt academy
may become an accomplished fact, and
that the literary legatees, as well as the
poor relations, may receive something
worth having out of the estate. When
Edmond de Gouncourt died It was con
fidently assertc by many that his
artistic collections would not realize
£8,000, whereas his pictures and en
gravings alone have already brought in
more than treble that amount.
Only a Little Premature.
“I can’t hear a suit that isn’t pend
ing,” said a judge to a young lawyer
who was seeking advice.
"I know it isn’t pending,” replied the
ycung man, in some confusion, "but it
is about to pend.”—The Green Bag.
The Indian population of the Domin
ion of Canada is said to be 122,000, of
whom about 38,000 are Roman Catho
lics, and the same number Protestants,
■ ' f
ABOUT CHEAP WHEAT
PRODUCT OF ARGENTINA
GROWN BY.PEON LABOR.
Primitive Kathode of Italian Parmera
—Favorable Boll and Beaeoee. Cheap
Labor and Long Boon—fe'actora That
Regulate Market Prices,
As tlie future price of wheat la main
ly dependent upon the Argentina wheat
crop, to be harvested about December
next.lt is Interesting to study the meth
ods of cultivation there. The South
American wheat farms are mostly held
by Italians who use peon labor. Their
methods are primitive and of the
cheapest character, and their expenses
are very small.
That portion of the Argentine repub
lic at present devoted to wheat culture
includes the provinces of Santa Fe,
Buenos Ayres and Entre Rios,with the
south portion of the provincce of Cor
doba (the province corresponding to
the “state” in the United States), and
the total area of this stretch of country
Is about equal to the combined areas of
England and France. Only about one
third of the land within convenient
distance of railways already construct
ed being as yet under cultivation. It is
obvious that there Is room for consid
erable development even under the
present conditions of transportation.
The surface Qf this great section of
country is level and free from stones,
devoid of timber, with few streams,
having a rich soil, a temperate climate
(average summer temperature 74 de
grees F., and average winter tempera
ture 67 degrees F.), and usually a plen
tiful rainfall, also during the spring
months constantly recurring night
dews.
The general character of the soil is
the same In all parts, varying some
what in fertility according to the near
ness to or remoteness from the great
river Parana or the estuary known as
River Plate. The soil is composed of a
loose vegetable layer of black loam of 6
to 36 inches in depth, and under this
layer is usually found a deep subsoil
of a clayey, sandy character, and, lower
still, hard clay. This last named strat
um holds the rainfall, enabling .the
ground to stand a long drought without
seriously affecting the roots of the
wheat plant.
It can be safely stated that an aver
age of favorable seasons may be looked
VESSELS LOADING GRAIN AT THE BARRANCA ROSARIO.
for, and that a serious failure of the
crop, as in the year 1889, when, owing
to damage by rain, the export surplus
only amounted to 100,non quarters, is
unlikely to recur, because the wheat
growing area has extended to such an
extent that it measures some 750 miles
from north to south, and 150 miles east
and west, with somewhat different cli
mates, and Including districts as far
apart as London and Madrid, or Min
acouia auu auuioiaua,
The earliest settlers were Swiss, and
colonists of that nationality are today
among the best farmers In the country,
living well In every way and proving
themselves successful agriculturists.
The small farmers throughout the
country are almost always Italians,who
originally came from Piedmont or the
plains of Lombardy, very few having
either previous knowledge of agricul
ture or any capital to start with, but
they are keen for money, and work
hard in their own way, having quite
enough sense to learn from experience
by slow degrees the best way to grow
wheat, although they are desperately
mean in any expenditure, and have a
strong inclination always to Increase
their acreage and trust to a favorable
season. $
By working fifteen or sixteen hours
one man can plow two or two and a
half acres per diem with a single plow,
or four or five acres on broken land
with a double plow, and if provided
with sufficient bullocks, and urged to
do so by good condition of the land and
suitable weather, will keep up this
work for a considerable time.
At very few of the 200 to 300 railway
stations where wheat is shipped are
found more than the most necessary
buildings, such as one or two general
stores, bakeries and smithies, and,
very much to the disappointment of the
buyers of station lots, there seems no
disposition to build country towns or
create any local industries, except for
the making of simple agricultural im
plements, and there are no local cen
ters or markets.
Land being very plentiful, and very
easy to work in the Argentine Repub
lic, a family usually take up from 250
to 400 acres, and cultivates os much
as they can. The land is bought some
times for cash, or more usually to be
paid for by Installments spread over
four to seven years; or Is rented by
yearly tenancy; but under a very gen
eral and most convenient arrangement
land owners are almost always willing
to have their land worked by any de
cent colonist “on shares,’* receiving
HAULING WHEAT TO MARKET.
from 8 up to 50 per ceftt of the prod
uct of every crop according to the fa
cilities given to the tenant, and this
system of working on shares is by far
the most usual, and seems to bo suited
lo the present state of the country.
It the tenant is a poor man the land
owner may build the very simple mud
house that shelters the family and also
supply bullocks, plows, seed and sup
plies until the first harvest, and the
landlord then takes 60 per cent of the
crop, but if only the use of land is
given 8 to 1 per cent of the produce
goes to the land owner as rent; his pro
portion is naturally larger on land that
is in a specially favorable position. If
the crop is a failure the tenant may
skip, having lost a year, but the land
owner has had his land broken up, and
is content to put that advantage against
his money loss.
! The family would provide themselves
with vegetables from the farm, and
other household expenses and neces
sary clothing would cost about £2 per
month, and can be reduced according
to the frugality and meanness of the
family.
Good land situated conveniently near
to a railway station and within 100
miles of a port, may be valued at £1 (95
gold) per acre, and the farm can be
worked by the colonist, assisted by a
young son and by one hired peon all
the year round, and by two extra peons
at harvest. About 175 acres can be
sown with wheat, and the remainder
of the land used for pasturing the ani
mals and growing a little maize (corn).
Housework will be done by the wife,
who also looks after some cows and
poultry.
Owing to the want of accurate infor
mation from the multitude of small
farms, it is very difficult to say what
the average yield per acre really 1b in
any year, and, although it has been
customary to consider that the aver
age Santa Fe is not over 10 to 11 bush
els per acre (similar to United States
averages), probably 13 bushels is near
er the mark for the entire country and
15 for good farms; because, in recent
years, farmers have often threshed out
25 bushels, and sometimes up to 35 and
even 45 bushels, while anything under
10 bushels is exceptional now that
farming has Improved somewhat.
REPUBLICAN OPINION.
Ex-Candidate Bryan seems to be of
the impression that he and silver are
THE Democratic party. Despite the
fact that such time honored and expe
rienced leaders as Senator Gorman and
Chairman Jones and others, who were
active in political life before Bryan was
born, have urged the abandonment of
the silver Issues in New York, Mr.
Bryan has written a letter urging just
the reverse of this. In that letter he
Insists that the Democrats of Greater
New York should, and indeed must, en
dorse the national platform, which, of
course, means the free and unlimited
coinage of sliver at the ratio of 16 to 1
without the consent or co-operation of
any other nation; also renomlnatton
of William Jennings Bryan in the year
of our Lord 1900—particularly the lat
ter. It is understood in inner Demo
cratlo circles that there are a tew Dem
ocrats In New York city and state who
are Inclined to the opinion that the
Judgment of such men as Mr. Gorman,
Chairman Jones, ex-Oovernor Boles
and other men of long experience Is
quite as valuable as that of the Boy
Orator of the Platte. What will he the
outcome of It nobody knows nor can
foretell, though the indications point
to a widening of the breach in Demo
cratic ranks and a loss by Mr. Bryan of
very much of the support and friend
ship of the leaders of the party which
he seemed to have until he chose to
defy them by Interfering in New York
election, with which he has no place or
part.
What has become of that 11,500
speech which Mr. Bryan was to deliver
at the Ohio silver camp-meeting? Also,
what has become of the camp-meeting
itself? It seems to have been as flat
a failure as Bryan’s paid "explanation”
of why silver and wheat have parted
company.
There is something of a contrast be
tween conditions under the McKinley
administration and those under tho
Cleveland administration. It is but a
short time since President Cleveland
was selling bords to bring gold into
the treasury, while now the McKinley
administration Is actually rejecting of
fers of gold which come to it from
various parts of the country.
The mad rush of the leaders of tho
late Popocracy for a new issue to take
the place of the exploded silver theory
has resulted in the nomination of Hen
ry George for mayor of Greater New
York by a large element of the Demo
cratic party of that city. Mr. George,
as is well known, is the chief apostle
of the single tax idea, and his nomina
tion by a large element of the *;arty in
that city strengthens the belief which
has been growing for months that the
leaders of that party would adopt the *
single tax theory to take tho place of
the discarded free silver proposition of
last year.
The United States had in 1873 IS
cents per capita in silver, and now has
$8.77 per capita. Belgium then had
$2.88 per capita; now she has $8.71 per
capita, Italy had then 86 cents per
capita; now she has $1.86. The Neth
erlands had then $9.66 per capita; now
she has $11.96. Austria-Hungary then
had $1.11 per capita; now she has $2.76.
Australasia had $1.15 per capita; ndw
she has $1.49. Sweden in 1873 had 98
cents per capita in silver; now she has
$1 per capita. Norway had 89 cents
per capita; now $1 per capita. Russia
then had 23 cents per capita; now 38
cents per capita. The only nations
which have at all decreased are Great
Britain, France, Germany, and Den
mark. Great Britain’s per capita is
$2.96 instead of $2.99; that of France
has fallen from $13.86 to $12.94; that of
Denmark from $4.16 to $2.35, and that
of Germany from $7.47 to $4.20 per cap
ita. This data will be of interest in
the campaigns of this fall where the
sliver question is discussed. If it is
made an issue anywhere again.
•Japan Imports Cheap Labor.
It la intereating to note that Japan
la Importing cheap laborera from Korea
to work in her coal minea. Five years
ago, the wages of carpenters were 33
cents a day. Now they advertise that
their wages have risen to 80 cents a day
—say Is. 8d. (40 cents In United States
currency). The bogey of Japanese
cheap labor, which many English writ-;
ers are so fond of calling up from the
(to them) vasty deepa of the unknown
east, Is as illusory as any other phan
tom.—"London and China Telegraph.*’
Our opinion is that the “bogey” is
still a living reality, as far as the
United States Is concerned. A matter
of 40 cents a day for the wages of car
penters may be an illusory phantom to
the poorly paid carpenters of England,
but while carpenters are earning two
and three dollars a day In the United
States they desire to be protected
against the products of 40 cent
"bogies.”
SANTA FE—ITALIAN COLONISTS CLEANING WHEAT.
