Story of Francis Cludde
A Romance of Queen Mary's Reign.
BY STANLEY J. WEYMAN.
CHAPTER VII—Continued.
s I did wonder, for the name of the
jav and brilliant duchess of Suffolk
was well known, even to me, n coun
try lad. Her former husband, Charles
Brandon, duke of Suffolk, had been not
only the one trusted and constant
friend of King Henry VIII, but the
king's brotherlnlaw, his first wife
having been Mary, princess of England
and queen dowager of France. fjite In
his splendid and proaperoua career the
duke had married Katherine, the heir
ess of Lord Willoughby de Eresby, and
■he it was who stood before me, still
young and handsome. After her hue
's ■■ band's death she had made England
ring with her name, first by a love
match with a Lincolnshire squire, and
■econdly, by her fearless and outspoken
defense of the reformers. I did wonder
Indeed how she had come to be wan
dering in the streets at daybreak, an
object of a chance passer's chivalry
and pity.
, , "It is simple enough," she said dryly.
*1 tm rich, I am a Protestant, and I
bave an enemy. When I do not like a
i person, I speak »Ut. Do I not, Rich
| ard ?"
a "You do. Indeed, my dear," he an
swered, smiling.
"And once I spoke out to Bishop
Gardiner. What! Do you know about
Stephen Gardiner?”
:| For I had started at the name, after
which I could scarcely have concealed
>f my knowledge If I would. So I an
ti owered simply, "Yes; I have seen
him.” I was thinking how wonderful
this was. These people had been ut
ter strangers to me until a day or two
before, yet now we were all looking out
together from the deck of a Dutch boat
•n the low Dutch landscape, united j
1 by one tie, the enmity of the same
(man.
"He Is a man to be dreaded," the I
duchess continued, her eyes resting on ,
her baby, which lay asleep on my bun
dle of rugs, and 1 guessed wliat fear j
It was had tamed her pride to flight,
f “His power In England Is absolute. We j
| learned that It was his purpose to at- '
I rest me and determined to leave Eng
land. But our very household was full I
of oplee, and though we chose a time '
I when Clarence, our steward, whom we j
had long suspected of being Gardiner's .
? chief tool, was away, Philip, his deputy, j
I gained a clew to our design and |
watched us. We gave hint the slip '
i with difficulty, leaving our luggage, but j
he dogged and overtook us, and the |
rest you know."
I bowed. As I gazed at her my ad- '
miration, I knew, shone In my eyes. I
She looked, as she stood on the deck, !
an exile and fugitive, so gay. so bright,
00 indomitable, that In herself she was
at once a warranty and an omen of
better times. The breeze had height
ened her color and loosened here and
there a tress of her nuburn hair. No I
wonder Master Bertie looked proudly !
on his duchess.
Suddenly a thing I had clean forgot-'
ten flashed Into my mind, and I thrust !
my hand Into my pocket. The action \
was so abrupt that It attracted their :
attention, and when I pulled out a |
packet—two packets—there were three !
pairs of eyes upon me. The seal dangled 1
grout one missive. "What have you got
there?" the duchess asked briskly, for ;
■he was a woman and curious. "Do :
you carry the deeds of your property
about with you?”
No,” 1 said, not unwilling to make
k small sensation. "This touches your j
grace."
"Hush!" she cried, raising one Im-1
oerlous finger. "Transgressing already?:
From this time forth I am Mistress
Bertram, remember. But come," she ;
went on. eyeing the packet with the j
•seal Inquisitively, "how does it touch
me 7"
I put it silently Into her hands, and
•he opened It and read a few lines, her
husband peeping over her shoulder. As
•he read her brow darkened, her eyes
grew hard. Master Bertie's face changed i
with hers, and they both peeped sud
•enly at me over the edge of the parch
ment. suspicion and hostility In their
glances. "How came you by this, young
Mr?" h* said slowly, after a long pause.
"Have we escaped Peter to fall into'
the hands of Paul?”
"No, no!" I cried hurriedly. 1 saw
that 1 had made a greater sensation
than 1 had bargained for. I hastened
to tell them how I had met with Gar
diner's servant at Stony Stratford, and
hpw 1 had become possessed of his cre
dentials. They laughed, of course. In
deed they laughed so loudly that the
placid Dutchmen, standing aft with
their hands in their breeches pockets,
•fared open-mouthed at us. and the
kindred cattle on the bank looked mild
ly up from the knee deep grass.
"Aqd what was the other packet?"
the duchess asked presently, "is that
It in your hand?"
"Yes." I answered, holding It up with
•ome reluctance. "It seems to be a
letter addressed to Mistress Clarence."
“Clarence!” she cried. "Clarence!"
resting the hand she was extending.
"What! Here Is our friend again, ihen.
What Is In It? You have opened It?"
"No.”
"Tou have not? Then quick, open
It!" she exclaimed. "This, too, touches
us, I will bet a penny. Del us see at
once what It contains. Clarence in
deed! Perhaps we may have him on
the hip yet, the arch traitor!"
But 1 held the pocketbook hack,
though my cheeks reddened, ami I
knew I must seem foolish. They made
certain that this letter was a communi
cation to some spy. probably to mar
ine# himself under cover of a feminine
address. Perhaps it was. but It bore a
woman s name, and It was sealed, and.
foolish though 1 might be. I would not
betray the woman's secret.
"No. madam." 1 said, confused, awk
ward. stammering, yet withholding it
with a secret obstinacy. "Pardon me
If 1 do not obey you—If I do not let this
be opened. It may he what you say.
I added, with an effort, "but It may
also contain an honest secret, and that
a woman's."
"What do you say?" cried the duch
ess. “Here are scruples!" At that lun
husband smiled, and 1 looked In denpai:
from hlin to Mistress Anne. Would sh*
sympathize with my feelings'.' l foum
that she had turned her back on m
and was gazing over the able, "lx
you really mean,” continued the ditch
ess. tapping her foot sharply on deck
'“Uat voj are not going to open that
you foolish boy?”
“I do, with your grace's leave," I an
s waved »
"Or without my grace's leave: Thn
Is what you mean," she retor.e.l pel
tlshly a red spot on each cheek. "Whei
people will not do what 1 ask. It Is ...
ways grace! grace! grace! Km i k .o>
then, now."
I dared not smile, and I wou.d no
look up, lest my heart should tall t.
and 1 would give her her way.
"You foolish boy!” sue again s.u
and ar.K.ed. Then with a toss of hi
head she went away, her husband fol
lowing her obediently.
1 feared that she was grievously of
fended, and 1 got up restlessly and
went across the deck to the rail on
which Mistress Anne was leaning,
meaning to say something which would
gain for me her sympathy, perhaps her
advice. But the words died on my lips,
for as I approached she turned her
face abruptly toward me. and It was
so white, so haggard, so drawn, that I
uttered a cry of alarm. “You are 111!"
I exclaimed. "Bet me call the duch
ess!"
She gripped my sleeve almost fiercely.
"Hush!” she muttered. "Do nothing of
the kind. I am not well. It is the
water. But It will pass off. If you do
not notice It. I hate to be noticed," she
added, with an angry shrug.
I was full of pity for her and re
proached myself sorely. "What a selfish
brute I have been!” I said. "You have
watched by me night after night and
nursed me day after day, and I have
scarcely thanked you. And now you
are 111 yourself. It Is my fault!”
She looked at me. a wan smile on her
face. "A little, perhaps,” she an
swered faintly. "But It Is chiefly the
water. 1 shall be better presently.
About that letter. Did you not come
to speak to me about It?”
“Never mind It now,” I said anxious
ly. "Will you not He down on the
rugs Rwhile? Bet me give you my
place," I pleaded.
"No, no!" Bhe cried impatiently, and
seeing I vexed her by my Importunity
I desisted. "The letter." she went on.
“You will open It by and by?"
"No," I said slowly, considering, to
tell the truth, the strength of my reso
lution, "I think I shall not.”
"You will, you will!" she repeated,
wtih a kind of scorn. "The duchess
will ask you again, and you will give it
to her. Of course you will!"
i Her tone was strangely querul
| ous, and her eyes continually
flashed keen, biting glances at
me. But I thought only that
I she was 111 and excited, and I fancied It
! was best to humor her. "Well, perhaps
1 I shall,” I said soothingly. "Possibly.
• It Is hard to refuse her anything, and
! yet I hope I may not. The girl—It may
be a girl's secret."
I "Well?" she asked, interrupting me
! abruptly, her voice harsh and unmusl
! cal. "What of her?” She laid her hand
| on her bosom us though to still some
secret pain. I looked at her, anxious
| and wondering, but she had again
! averted her face. "What of her?" she
1 repeated.
“Only that—I would not willingly
: hurt her!" I bburted out.
She did not answer. She stood a mo
, ment; then, to my surprise, she turned
i away without a word, and merely com
i mandlng me by a gesture of the hand
| not to follow walked slowly away. I
j watched her cross the deck and pass
I through the doorway into the deck
i house. She did not once turn her face,
i and my only fear was that she was ill,
j more seriously ill, perhaps, than she
t had acknowledged.
! -
CHAPTER VIII.
As the day went on, therefore, I
looked eagerly for Mistress Anne's re
1 turn, but she appeared no more, though
: I maintained a close watch on the cab
in door. All the afternoon, too, the
| duchess kept away from me, and I
feared that I had seriously offended
her, so that It was with no very pleas
ant anticipations that, going Into that
part of the deckhouse which served us
for a common room, to see If the even
ing meal was set, I found only the
duchess and Master Bertie prepared to
sit down to It. I suppose that some
thing of my feelings was expressed In
| my face, for while I was yet half way
between door and table my lady gave
' way to a peal of merriment.
"Come, sit down and do not be
afraid!" she cried pleasantly, her gray
i eyes still full of laughter. “I vow the
: lad thinks I shall eat him. Nay, when
all Is said and done, I like you the bet
ter, Sir Knight Errant, for your
scruples. I see that you are determined
! to act up to your name. But that re
1 minds me,” she added In a more serl
ious vein. "We have been frank with
you. You must be equally frank with
us. What are we to call you, pray?"
I looked down at my plate and felt
’ my face grow scarlet. The wound
which the discovery of my father's
treachery had dealt me had begun to
heal, in the action, the movement, the
adventure or the last fortnight, I had
well night lost sight of the blot on my
escutcheon, of the shame which had
driven me from hbme. But the ques
tlon, "What are we to call you?" re
. vlved the smart, and revived It with an
added pang. It had been very well. In
i theory, to proudly discard my old
j name. It was painful In practice to be
unable to answer the duchess: "I am
la Cludde of Coton, nephew of Sir An
thony, formerly esquire of the body to
! King Henry. I am no unworthy follow
: er and associate even for you,” and to
have Instead to reply: “I have no
. name. 1 am nobody. I have all to
I make und win." Yet this was my 111
I fortune.
j Her woman's eye saw my trouble as
I hesitated, confused and doubting
what 1 should reply. "Come,” she said
good naluredly, trying to reassure me.
"You are of gentle birth. Of that we
i feel sure."
I shook my head. “Nay, I am of no
: birth, madam," I answered hurriedly.
"I have no name, or at any rate, no
name that I ean be proud of. Call me
' -call me. If It please you, Francis
' Carey."
“It Is a good name.” quoth Master
Bertie, pausing with his knife suspend
i Pd In the air. "A right good Protestant
! name!"
"Hut I have no claim to It,” I re
joined, more and more hurt. "I have
; Hl1 In make. I am a new- man. Yet do
! not fear!” I added quickly us I saw
what 1 took to be a cloud of doubt
cross by lady's face. "I will follow
‘ you no less faithfully for that!"
"Well," said the duchess, a smile
again transforming her open features,
i "1 will answer for that. Muster Carey.
! Iieeds are better than names, and as
" tor being a new man, what with Pagets
‘ and Cavendishes and Spencers, we have
s naught but new men nowadays. So
“ ' h*er up!" she continued kindly. "And
we will poke no questions at you,
though I doubt whether you do not
• possess more birth and breeding than
you would have us think. And if, when
- we return to England, as I trust we
may before we are old men and women,
I we can advance your cause, then let us
have your secret. No one can say that
J1 Katherine Willoughby ever forgot her
- friend."
Or forgave her enentv overqutekly "
quoth her nusband naively.
II She tapped his knuckles with the
" ••'.cl: of her knife for that, and under
eovor of this small diversion I had time
■ to regain my composure. But the mat
1 ter left me sore at heart and more than
a little homesick. And I sought leave
to retire early.
"You are right!" said the duchess,
rising graciously. "Tonight, after be
ing out in the air, you will sleep sound
ly, and tomorrow you will be a new
man," with a faint smile. "Believe me,
I am not ungrateful. Master Francis,
and I will diligently seek occasion to
repay both your gallant defense of the
ether day and your future service." She
gave me her hand to kiss, and I bent
over It. "Now,” she continued, "do
homage to my baby, and then I shall
consider that you are really one of us
and pledged to our cause."
I kissed the tiny fist held out to me,
a soft pink thing looking like some
dainty seashell. Master Bertie cordially
grasped my hand. And so under the
oil lamp In the neat cabin of that old
Dutch boat, somewhere on the Waal
between tlorcum and Nlmuegen, we
plighted our troth to one another, and
in a sense I became one of them.
I went to my berth cheered and en
couraged by their kindness. But the
Interview, satisfactory as it was, had
set up no little excitement In my brain,
and It was long before I slept. When I
did, I had a strange dream. I dreamed
that I was sitting In the hall at Coton,
and that Petronilla was standing on the
dais looking fixedly at me with gentle,
sorrowful eyps. I wanted to go to her,
but I could not move. Every dreamer
knows the sensation. I tried to call to
her, ,o ask her what was the matter,
and why she so looked at me. But I
could utter no sound. And still she
continued to fix me with the same, sad,
reproachful eyes, In which I read a
warning, yet could not ask its mean
ing.
I struggled so hard that at last the
spell was in a degree broken. Follow
ing the direction of her eyes, I looked
down at myself and saw fastened to
the breast of my doublet the knot of
bluo velvet which she. had made for
my sword hilt, and which I had ever
since carried In my bosom. More, I
saw, with a singular feeling of anger
and sorrow, that a hand which came
over my shoulder was tugging hard at
the ribbon In the attempt to remove It.
This gave me horrible concern, yet at
the moment I could not move nor do
anything to prevent it. At last, making
a stupendous effort, I awoke, my last
experience, dreaming, being of the
strange hand working at my breast.
My first waking idea was the same, so
that I threw out my arms and
cried aloud and sat up. "Ugh!”
1 exclaimed, trembling in the in
tensity of my relief as I looked about
and welcomed the now familiar sur
roundings. "It was only a dream. It
was-”
I stopped abruptly, my eyes falling
on a form lurking in the doorway. I
could sc" it only dimly by the light of
a hanging lamp, which smoked and
burned redly overhead. Yet I could see
it. It was real, substantial—a walk
ing figure. Nevertheless a faint touch
of superstitious terror still-clung to me.
"Speak, please!” I asked. "Who is it?"
"It is only I,” answered a soft voice,
well known to me—Mistress Anne's.
"I came In to see how you were,” she
continued, advancing a little, "and
whether you were sleeping. I am
afraid I awoke you. But you seemed.”
she added, “to be having such painful
dreams that perhaps It was as well I
did."
I was fumbling In my breast while
she spoke, and certainly, whether In
my sleep I had undone the fastenings
or had loosened them Intentionally be
fore I lay down—though I could not
remember doing so—my doublet and
shirt were open at the breast. The vel
vet knot was safe,however, In that tiny
Inner pocket beside the letter, and I
breathed again. "I am very glad you
did awake me!” I replied, looking
gratefully at her. “I was having a hor
rible dream. But how good It was
of you to think of me. when you are
not well yourself, too.”
“Oh. I am better,” she murmured!,
her eyes, which glistened In the light,
fixed steadily on me. "Much better.
Now go to sleep again, and happier
dreams to you. After tonight,” she
added pleasantly, ”1 shall no longer
consider you an Invalid nor lntrdue
upon you.”
And she was gone before I could re
iterate my thanks. The door fell to.
and I was alone, full of kindly feelings
toward her and of thankfulness that
my horrible vision had no foundation.
"Thank heaven!” I murmured more
than once as I lay down. "It was only
a dream.”
Next day we reached Nimuegen.
where we staid a sort time. Leaving
that place In the afternoon, 24 hours'
Journeying, partly by river, partly If
I remember rightly, by canal, brought
us to the neighborhood of Arnheim on
the Rhine. It was the first of March
but the opening month belled fts repu
tation. There was a brightness, a soft
ness In the air and a consequent feel
ing as of spring which would better
have befitted the middle of April \n
day we remained on deck enjoying the
kindliness of nature, which was es
pecially grateful to me. In whom the
sap of health was begnnlng to spring
again, and we were still there when
one of those gorgeous sunsets which
are peculiar to that country began to
fling Its hues Rcross our path. We
turned a Jutting promontory, the boat
began to fall off, and the captain caine
up, his errand to tell us that our Jour
ney was done.
(Continued Next Week.)
Gypsy Song.
In the drizzling mist, with th« snow high
piled.
In the winter night. In the forest wild.
1 heard the wolves with their ravenous
howl,
I heard the screaming note of the owl;
Wllle wau wau wau!
WTlle wo wo wo:
Wlto hu!
I shot, one. day, a cat in the ditch—
The dear black cat of Anna, the wttch;
Upon me. at night, seven were-wolvea
came down.
Seven women they were, from out of tho
lows.
Wllle wau wau wau!
Wllle wo wo wo!
Wlto hu!
I knew them all; aye, I knew them
straight;
First. Anna, then Ursula, Hhre and Kate,
And Barbara, Hazy, and Bet as well:
And forming a ring, they began to yell:
Wllle wau wau wau!
WiHe wo wo wo!
Wlto hu!
Then called I their names with angry
threat:
"What wouldst thou, Anna? What
wouldst thou. Bet?"
At hearing my voice, themselves they
shook.
And howling and yelling, to flight they
took.
Wllle wau wau waul
Wllle wo wo wo!
Who hu!
—Johann Goetha
After five years work, Australia's
great transcontinental. rabbit-proof
fence has been completed. Its length is
2.036 miles, and the cost of Its erec
tion has been nearly £250.000. It Is
furnished at Intervals of five or six
miles with systems of traps, in which
hundreds of rabbits are captured and
destroyed dally. Inside the barrier
there appears as yet no trace of thetr
presence.
The product of the British shipyards
amounts to 20 or S5 per cent of the
woild's output.
A consciousness of love and affection
makes plain the path when* a..*,
treads.
I
CW«T.i«z,By
W.H.IIEWT
<i«E^r MlWRMrj
«ESEK**,
It was the most exciting episode In
the calm of Miss Thornton's existence.
She stood on the busy north pave
ment of the Strand. It was a foggy
afternoon in November. The clocks
had Just struck 5. She kept quite
still amid all the bustle of the great
London thoroughfare, her eyes tlxed
on a bank on the opposite side of the
road. Sometimes a string of vehicles
or foot passengers obstructed her view
of the door which she watched as a cat
watches a mouse’s hole. At such times
she craned her neck in all directions,
so anxious was she not to lose sight of
the bank.
It was evident from the fact that she
stood so far away and did not cross
the road to a spot whence she would
have had a less obstructed view, that
■he did not wish to be seen by the per
son or persona whom she waited to
see.
Sometimes she consulted her small
gold watch by the aid of the light
which emanated from the shop win
dows and the street lamps and made
the fog visible. The person or persons
for whom she was waiting must have
been late.
Presently she darted along the pave
ment toward Charley Cross. A young
man had come out of the bank door
and gone In that direction. With feline
discretion she tracked him, keeping
ever to her own side of the road. He
turned up by St. Martin’s church and
"Well, ma’am just you come wltk me
and peep."
“No. I don't want to see anything.
You must tell me all and”
Here, in a significant way, she took
out her purse.
"But, ma’am, It’s difficult to explain,
and If you’d only just take a look at
them.”
"Them?” exclaimed Miss Thornton,
in her most scornful tone.
"Yes, ma’am,” just one little peep,”
and, going to a place screened oft from
the counter, the girl pushed back a
thick curtain from a square window,
showing a little room, In which the
young gentleman sat at a table, while
close beside him was a rather pretty
girl with a bush of frizzy brown hair,
and neatly dressed In black with a
dainty white apron. Just at the mo
ment when the curtain was pulled back
the girl spemed to be patting the young
gentleman on the cheek, laughing
meanwhile with a shrill ripple that
seemed to Miss Thornton to be an aud
ible quintessence of the minx’s forward
ness.
Miss Thornton almost screamed.
“I don’t want to see any more,” she
said, and, dropping a sovereign into the
delighted girl’s hand, she fled the un
holy place.
• • *
In her cosy drawing room Miss
Thornton awaited with palpitating eag
erness the arrival of her nephew. His
i in ■
•vent along Charing Cross road, across
Oxford street, and on through Totten
ham Court road, holding ever a north
ward course. He walked quickly and
It was only with difficulty that she
could maintain his pace. When she
passed under the street lamps, her pale,
eager J^ace showed how tired she was.
On and on he strode, until he
reached a somewhat disreputable look
ing street, pretty far north. Here he
suddenly disappeared into a little shop
which had red blinds aglow with the
Interior Illumination. She stood on the
pavement, panting, hesitating, ques
tioning. What could he be doing here'.’
It could not be for any good purpose
that he had come to this suspicious
looking place, whose rucTdy blinds hid
Its contents and its business. She
stayed there hesitating for several
minutes. Then she resolutely opened
the door, also red with an Illuminated
blind, and entered.
She was quite taken aback for the
scene and the odor. It was an eating
house. In wooden boxes or compart
ments, like old fashioned church pews
on an exaggerated scale, sat perhaps a
dozen people, some of them evidently
not belonging to the aristocracy, eating
with undisguised appetites. A quick
glariee around showed her that the per
son whom she had been following was
not there. She went up to the counter,
behind which stood, staring at her with
inquisitive eyes, a pert looking young
lady who, to any more appreciative
taste than Miss Thornton's might have
appeared not altogether ill looking.
"Hasn't a young gentleman just come
In here?” she asked.
"There are a number of young gen
tlemen here." replied the girl, with a
comprehensive sweep of the hand.
"I mean a gentleman," reiterated
Miss Thornton, with a very marked em
phasis on the word, and; a quick glance
of scorn at the shady features In the
pews.
•'Perhaps you mean Mr. Creighton?”
“I do.”
"You wish to see him?”
"Yes. But before I see him I should
like to speak with some responsible
person. Can I see your master or mis
tress?”
"The manageress has pricked her
Anger, ma'am, and can't be seen. Per
haps I shall doc”
Miss Thornton was too agitated to
nolee very particularly the girl's rude
ness.
"Perhaps so. I only want to ask a
few questions.”
"AJl right, ma'am. I’m ready."
"Please tell me exactly why Mr.
Creighton comes here. I am respon
sible for him and must know the truth,
j If you will reveal all I will reward
you.”
The maid's eyes had a new glitter in
them. Here was a chance not often
thrown In her way.
"Walt a minute, ma'am, and I’ll see
what I can do.”
She went into a neighboring room—
the kitchen evidently—where her voice
, was Indistinctly heard playing a low
toned duet with that of another maiden.
In about two minutes she returned.
“Now. ma’am,” she said, “I’ll tell you
all 1 know. Mr. Creighton comes In
here every evening except Sunday, and
has tea In a private room."
"Yes?”
"That’s all."
i "Nonsense. Why should he have tea
here? He can get all he wants at
home "
"I don't know anything about that,
ma'am. He comes and he has his teas,
and he pays for ’em."
-And does he take tea quite alone?”
"Well, ma'am"
She hesitated.
"Mind, I want you to tell me every
' thing, and I promise you shall not be
the loser by It."
"Well, ma’am. 1 suppose he is al
1 ways alone—except for—for"
1 ■ "Except what?"
1 "Except for the”
, “do on. Quick!”
, i “The girl who”
I “The girl?"
parents, who were in India, had put
him in a London bank and left him for
Miss Thornton to look after. She had
rejoiced in having him, for she was a
woman with well developed views con
cerning the training of youths and
their safe conduct through the muddy
waters of degenerate day. And It Is not
every spinster who has an opportunity
of experimenting. Old-maidish to the
finger tips, she tried to be a kind of
breakwater to this youth, keeping from
him all the troubled and bitter waters
of the sea of life that would otherwise
have beaten upon him. But after he
had been only a few minutes with her,
she felt that her power over him was
lessen lug, and that there were corners
of hiw life to which she did not pene
trate. Ht» recent habit of coming home
late for dinner worried her a good deal.
There was no excuse for It. Between
the closing of the bank and dinner tlime
four hours elapsed. What did he do
with himself In this interval? She had
failed to find out. He maintained a
stubborn reticence. And so U was
that the lady braced herself to the
quest upon which we have seen her.
Christopher was later than usual to
night. When she heard him coming she
trembled all over.
"Well, aunt,” he said, “you have the
best of it here. It's miserably foggy
In the streets.”
She knew it only too well. She said:
•'Chris, I know all."
Her tone was almost comically sol
emn.
He smiled.
"Yes? And so do I. Here's your
sovereign back again."
Miss Thornton sank into a chair,
daring at the shining coin he held out
o her.
Assuming. In Ills turn, a took of sol
emnity, Christopher continued:
“I am sorry, aunt, that you did not
trust me more. You would have been
saved from being the victim of a prac
tical joke. The thing was Just arranged
oh the spot by the two waitress girls.
I tell you I was pretty considerably
taken aback by the creature's Impu
dence; but I'm afraid that if I’d known
you were looking on I should have
laughed. The girls were frank enough
to tell me all about it afterward. I
rowed them well, of course, made them
give back the sovereign, and foreswore
the place altogether."
"Then you won't see her again—you
promise me."
“See her again? What do you men?
see her?”
“What! Do you think I go there to
see that minx of a waitress? Haven't
I told you that the scene was impro
vised for your benefit and your bribe?"
"But what do you go there for?"
"Why, for the kippers, of course."
"The kip-”
"The kip”
"Yes; the kippers, the bloaters and
the haddocks"
Miss Thornton sat with open mouth.
"You know aunt, that I asked you
often, months ago, to let me have cured
fish. You told me that such things were
vulgar, plebeian, and all that kind of
thing, and would not let me have
them. Well, that made me want them
all the more. I felt I could not drag
through the day without a bloater or
a kipper with my afternoon tea; so,
as you would not let me have them at
home, I went out for them. That's all.
And. I say, anut, that shop's the best
In London for fish teas and suppers.
But I’m not going there again. Per
haps you'll let me have my afternoon
kipper at home now?”
"Well, yes, my boy, if you are so set
on It.”
"Thank you, aunt."
“But I think you'd better have It In
the breakfast room. It wouldn't be so
noticeable when we have visitors."
"I mean you won’t go anywhere else
to." And on these terms the pact was
made.
A man who was knocked down by a
hansom cab In Essex road, Islington,
London, had the stump of his wooden
leg broken, and a large number of sll
: ver and copper coins dropped out of It.
. """" ■' -■»
The Sighing of the Reed*.
I heard tlje sighing of the reeds
In the gray pool tn the green land.
The sea-wind in the long reeds sighing
Between the green hill and the sand.
I heard the sighing of the reeds
Night after night, day after day,
And I forgot old age. and dying.
And youth that love3, and love’s decay,
I heard the sighing of the reeds
At noontide and at evening,
i And some old dream I had forgotten
I seemed to be remembering.
I heard the sighing of the reeds;
Is It in vain, is it in vain?
That some old peace I had forgotten
Is crying to come back again?
—Arthur Symons.
Folded Hands.
I toil no more—my day is done;
How much I wrought I may not know*
I watch the low descending sun
And see the night approaching, slow.
My day's work as it Is must stand,
For labor's Joy no more is mine;
The tools drop from my nervless hand.
My dim eyes see no mark or line.
I little thought to leave It so—
Unfinished, to the plan untrue;
Another day I thought to know.
When I might change or start anew.
With weary hands I now must see
Another's skill my task complete;
The gift of use Is gone from me—
The gift that makes all life seem sweet.
The pleasant labor of the day.
The following hours of yvelcomp rest—
These from my life have passed away.
No longer has It aim or guest;
I sit and wait—and all the hours
The happy past before me stands;
With dimming eyes and failing power*
I live the life of folded hands.
—Ninette M. Lowater. in New York Sun.
Mona Machree,
From the Catholic Standard and Time*.
Mona Machree, I’m the wanderin' crea
ture now,
O’er the aea
Slave of r.o lass, but a lover of natur®
now.
Careless an’ free.
Nature, the goddess of myriad graces.
Pours forlorn lovers a balm that efface*
Scars from the heart, in theae smilin'
new' places
Far to the eastward an’ far to the south
of you.
Sweet are the grapes that she give* me
to eat,
Red are her pomegranates, luscious an*
sweet.
Dreamy the breath of her flowers in th®
heat—
But, oh, the red mouth of you,
Mona Machree.
Mona Machree, though If* here that th®
money is,
Rather for me.
Dreams an’ drowsed rovin’* through
blooms where the honey is,
Wild as a bee.
She. the new' goddess to whom I’m be
holden.
Snares me in days that are scented an'
golden
E’en as the tresses your temples en
foldin’.
Aye. an’ the blue, when the sun has for
saken it.
Blossoms with jewels, night lamp* of her
throne.
Bright as two passionless eyes I hay®
known.
Ah. fct is here that my heart is m.y own—
But, oh. the dull ache In it,
Mona Machree.
—T. A. Daly.
Paying Debts in Japan.
Foreigners in Japan find a great oppor
tunity to purchase curios at the beginning
of each new' year. Everyone in Japan i»
expected to clear up his books and pay ht*
debts by the last day of the old* year. Th®
tradesmen send in their yards—more often*
miles—of bills to “the honorable lady ®f
the house,” and presents are politely ex
changed all around. Shopkeepers hold bar
gain sates to enable them to pay th®
wholesale houses, and' if- a man cannot
raise sufficient money to pay his creditor*
ft is not an uncommon thing for him to*
sell off sufficient or even all of his prop
erty at a sacrifice to enable him to meet
the new year with a smiling face. Th®*
only other honorable wfay out of hi® dif
ftcuiltie® is for him to commit suicide.
COFFEE EYES.
I* Arts Slowly but rnsii»lly !*»•*
<lnee» BUadMn.
The curious effect of slow dally poi
soning aud the gradual building In of
disease as a result, is shown in num
bers of cases where the eyes are af-,
fected by coffee.
A case in point will illustrate:
A lady in Oswego, Mont., experi
enced a slow but sure disease settling
upon her eyes In the form of increas
ing weakness and shooting pains with
wavy, dancing tines of light, so vivid
thut nothing else could be seen for
minutes at a time.
She says:
“This gradual failure of sight alarm
ed me and l naturally began a very
earnest quest for the cause. About
this time I was told that coffee poison
ing sometimes took that form, and
while I didn’t believe that coffee wan
the cause of my trouble, I concluded'
to quit It and see.
“I took up Postum Food Coffee lit
spite of the jokes sf Husband whoso
experience with one cup at a neighbor’*
was unsatisfactory. Well, I mad*
Postum strictly according to directions,!
boiling It a little longer, because of;
our high altitude. The result was
charming. I have now used Postum
in place of coffee for about 3 months
and tny eyes are well, never paining
me or showing any weakness. 1 know
to a certainty that the cause of the
trouble was coffee and the cure was in
quitting It and building up the nervous
system on Postum, for that was abso
lutely the only change I made In diet
and 1 took no medicine.
“My nursing baby has been kept In a
perfectly bealthy state since 1 have
used Postum.
"Mr. -■, a friend, discarded cof
fee aud took oil Postum to see If he
could be rid of his dyspepsia and fre
quent headaches. The change pro
duced a most remarkable improvement
quickly."
"There’s a Reason.” Name given by
Postum Co.. Battle Creek, Mich. '
