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A Stiff One.
Tt was raining outside, and little in
terrogative Irma was in one of her
worst, or at least most trying moods.
Father, busily writing at his desk, had
already reproved her several times for
bothering him with useless questions.
"/ say, pa, what
"Ask your mother!”
"Honest, pa, this Isn't a silly one
this time,”
“All right, this onoe. What Is It?”
‘‘Well, If the end of the world was to
come, and tho earth was destroyed
while a man was up ir. an airship,
where would ho land when he came
down?”
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Endurance of the Horse.
"What is a fair day's work for a
horso?” is a frequent question and very
difficult to answer. The London bus
horse does 18 mile* a. day at a ra^) of
seven miles an hour In double harness
with a four-ton bus; a pair of post
horses used to do 26 miles with a one
ion coach at eight miles going and at
si* returning.
"I have known the horses in the
heavy deer van of H. M. Buckhounds
to do over 80 miles In a day,” says a
writer In Country Life in America, “but
they were never worked more than
twice a week. A good horse will trot
his 20 to 30 miles a day for several
days consecutively, but cannot keep it
up; he may do 60 miles in one day, but
then must have a rest tho next.
“Small horses, other things being
equal, stand more work and recover
more quickly than big horses. Some
remarkable instances of the powers of
ponies are given in William Day's book,
which records a run of 107 miles In 14
hours by two hoys on ponies and one
of 172 miles in 23 hours by a 12-hand
pony (led), which beat tho coach from
London to Exeter; tho time given in
cluded all stops.
“Town work, on account of the fre
quent stops and tho hard pavement,
Induces fatigue, and especially leg
weariness, sooner than country work.
Two horses worked well within their
powers will always prove more eco
nomical in tlie end than one that is
habitually driven to the utmost limit
of his capacity.
“There ure, however, many cases
where from different causes ono horso
represents what the schoolboy called
the ‘irreducible maximum;' then the
animal par excellence to be bought is
tho cob, though lie will not ho too easy
to llnd In this country, where the love
of fast trotters has dominated the ques
tion of general utility.
“Yet the true cob, sturdy in build,
with plenty of bone but enough blood
to keep him from being sluggish, is one
of tho most useful specimens of the
equine race. Well under 16 hands, he
Is easy to mount and sufficiently short
In his stride to be a comfortable hack
for even elderly men, and he is up to
quite a considerable weight; In harness
he Is sprightly, quite fast enough for
ordinary purposes, ami being low and
thick Is capable of a surprising power
of draught.
“In England, where he is as common
as lie is rare hero, ho is the mainstay
of the small and the general drudge of
the large establishment, and is usually
an ornament to hoth. He should carry
his head well, have undeniably good
shoulders, a short back and powerful
quarters, being, in short, a big horse
in a small compass."
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50e.
A bill has been introduced In the
South Carolina legislature making pro
vision for a monument to the women of
the confederacy, and the project has
been received with much favor by the
press. In urging an appropriation the
Columbia State says: “The women of
tho confederacy endured tho privations
and hardships of war, without Its sus
taining excitements. They waited and
worked, theirs was the torture of sus
pense.”
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and turf goods houses, or sent, express paid, by the manufacturers.
SPOHN MEDICAL COMPANY, Chemists, Goshen, Ind.
1
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THE CORRECT SHOE EOR STYLE, S
EASE AND GOOD WEAR
BTou could never hope to buy a more stylish or serviceable
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V buy inferior shoes when, with the same
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MILWAUKEE. WISCONSIN
L nann ~ ..—•*
Th* Passage.
Many a year la In Its grave
Since I creased this restless wave.
And the evening, fair as ever,
Shines on ruin, rock and river.
Then, In this same boat, beside.
Sat two comrades, old and tried;
One wlthall a father's truth.
One with all the Are of youth.
One on earth In science wrought.
And his grave In silence sought:
But the younger, brighter form,
Passed In battle and In storm.
So, whene'er I turn mine eye
Back upon the days gone by,
Saddening thoughts of friends come o’er
me,
Friends who closed their course befor* me.
Yet what binds us, friend to friend,
But that soul with soul can blend;
Soul-like were those hours of yore—
Let us walk In soul once morel
Take, O boatman, twice thy feel
Take—I give It willingly—
For, Invisible to thee.
Spirits twain have crossed with me.
—Johann Ludwig Uhland
A Denial from High Authority.
From National Food Magazlno, Chicago.
Dr. H. W. Wiley, chlof chemist of
the agricultural department, has de
manded of tho Calumet Baking Pow
der company, of Chicago, that it cease
the publication of alleged certificates
or statements that he had endorsed
the Calumet Baking Powder, or re
ported in favor of Its purity, whole
someness or superiority. Such state
ments, he says, are false.
Dr. Wiley never served upon a com
mittee of awards, as alleged nor signed
such a report or certificate, nor did he
ever Indorse the Calumet Baking pow
der In any way. On the contrary. Dr.
Wiley testified before a congressional
committee relative to aluin In food, as
follows: "As I have said repeatedly, I
do not use It In my own home, and
would not use alum In bread If I knew
It. Alum Is Injurious."
It seems that Dr. Wiley’s demand
that tho Calumet company should cease
these publications, which are, he says,
"against the truth,” was not compiled
with, although he says he has done
all he could "to stop the base and In
excusable use of his name.”
The public will share In Dr. Wiley's
indignation that his name and official
position should be fraudulently used
to aid In foisting upon consumers a
food compound made from Ingredients
which the doctor has publicly declared
to bo Injurious.
No Plaoe for Him.
It was one of those deep gTowlIng
basso arias which hang Indefinitely on
the edge of a real tune without ever
quite hitting It. And the man in the
party had no use for It at all.
When it was over the girl turned to
him. •
“Ah!" she remarked. "Is that not
lovely—perfectly lovely?—that ‘Aria to
My Absent Love?'”
He looked at her.
“So that's what It Is, eh?” he ex
claimed, “why I had doped It out as
an ‘Ode to a Chuck Steak.’ ’’
They attended no more concerts to
gether that season.
Bulgaria Is sufficiently In the public
eye just now to compensate her for a
total eclipse that lasted for three or
four centuries. Between the oblitera
tion of mediaeval Bulgaria by the con
quering Turk and her very modern
resurrection, she disappeared more
completely than Poland ever has. The
very name of Bulgaria was remembered
only by the learned. Sir Charles Eliot
points out that In Journeying from Bul
garia to Constantinople in 1834 King
lake must have passed straight across
Bulgaria. Yet, when describing his
travels In '*othen,” he makes no al
lusion to the country or Us inhabi
tants.
A Generous Gift.
Professor Munyon has just issued a
most beautiful, useful and complete al
manac. It contains not only all the sci
entific information concerning the moon’s
phases, in all the latitudes, but has Illus
trated articles on how to reau character
by phrenology, palmistry and birth
month. It also tells aii about card read
ing, birth stones and their meaning, and
gives the interpretation of dreams. It
teaehes beauty culture, manicuring, gives
weights and measures and antidotes for
poison. In fact, it is a Magazine Al
manac, that not only gives valuable in
formation, but will afford much amuse
ment for every member of the family,
especially for parties and evening enter
tainments. Farmers and people in the
rural districts will find this Almanac al
most invaluable.
It will be sent to anyone absolutely
free on application to the Munyon Rem
edy Company, Philadelphia, Pa.
Those Tireless Dogs.
Sir Leopold McCUntock, the Arctic ex
plorer, who died recently, was once giving
an account of his experiences amid the
Ice Helds of the north.
"We certainly would have traveled
much farther," he explained, "had not our
dogs given out at a critical moment."
"But," exclaimed a lady, who had been
listening very Intently, "I thought that
Eskimo dogs were perfectly tireless crea
tures.”
Sir Leopold's face wore a whimsically
gloomy expression as he replied, “I—er—
speak In a culinary sense, miss.”
The Will to Do Wrong.
From the Homiletic Review.
We cannot will the evil, and be saved
from all the consequences and fruits of
evil. If we were only reasonable men,
If we only believed It was a reasonable
world that wo live In, we should not be
lieve in such a fool's paradise. The Idea
of a man willing an evil, and then ex
pecting in some strange magical way to
be saved from the results of the evil! The
evil Is already done when the heart Is
wholly given up to It, and sooner or later
we must have our way. We persist, we
tempt God for It, we desire It, we long
after It. we want nothing elge but this;
we seek It, we will have It. we must have
It. Take It, man, take tt, the sin and the
curse, the desire and the sting. “God said
unto Balaam, Go, and God's anger was
kindled because he went.”
A Domestic Eye Remedy
Compounded by Experienc'd I’hyilrlana.
Conforms to Tore Food and Drugs lews.
Wins Friends Wherever Used. • Aalj Drug
gists for Murine Eye Remedy. Try Murlns
In Your Eyes. You Will Like Murine.
Chicago has started a vigorous cru
sade to compel physicians to report
contagious diseases, and as a salutary
lesson two physicians have been mulct
ed $10 each for failing to record cases
of diphtheria.
A Syrian business directory has Just
been Issued In New York, and a sec
ond edition will be turned out next
fall. The book contains Information
both In the English and Syrian lan
guages.
Smart Girl.
When caught beneath the mistletoe
She ran in perfect dread
lie was a man; of course she ran.
In circles, be It said.
P UTNAN FADELESS DYES
Color more goods krlgkler aad laslar colors Ikao aay olker dye. Oae I Oc package colors all llfccra. Tkey dye la cold woler kIkaa oay oilier dye. Too caa dya
aay gamed arilkaal riggiog apart. Write lor baa kookiei Ha* ta Dye. OiaaU aad MU tolars. MOfiHOE »'#> *J G CO. Quincy. Illinois
I ___
The House of the Black |
By F. L Pattee Ring (Copyright, 1905 fj
I ^——————■
CHAPTER I.
THE AFFAIR AT TRESSLER'S
FARM.
When the great architect had fin
ished building the earth, he dumped
the chips and debris into the center of
Pennsylvania, and men called the heap
the Seven Mountains.
They are not mountains at all, but
long ridges like giant furrows plowed
deep Into the very sandstone and left
ragged and chaotic. Straight on they
go for leagues, making a right line of
the horizon, the second and third
ridges following as If drawn with a
pantograph. Here and there is a wild
slash across the furrow, a rip into the
very foundations of the range, and
through the rock-snarl at the bottom
worms a scared little stream. It is a
gap—so they call it—and If one can
wriggle through the Jagged litter and
the rhododendron, spiked like a wire
tangle, it will lead him into the next
valley, which is often a narrow gut full
of torn sandstone and matted scrub,
where only tho rattlesnake may freely
go. Often there is a bend in the fur
rows, a mad swirl as if the primal
dough had been stirred witli a giant
mixer. Then the furrows run straight
again.
Thus the Seven Mountains, a ragged
hole in the heart of the east, where
the wild turkey still wakes the morn
ing, where the bear and the deer still
flourish, and where the eagle and the
buzzard wing undisturbed. The ridge
sides, rising sheer, and as steep as rock
debris will lie, are like the tailings of
mighty stone quarries. A few dead
scrags of trees break the sky line; here
and there in the rock chaos are scrub
oak thickets blasted by fire, and in the
angle of the V always a little brook
filtering through the rhododendron tan
gle. Then comes ridges and mighty
breaks and Jagged cliffs and right
angle turns, and sometimes there are
the ruthless tracks of lumbermen—val
leys choked up with hemlock tops
snarled into the rhododendron, ram
shackle sawmills long since deserted,
winding "dinky" roads rusted out long
ago and half burled in the fire growth,
and the effect of It all is indescribably
lonely and wild.
But the valleys are not all of them
V-shaped and littered. There are places
where the riders leap far asunder leav
ing a ribbon of bottom land, the seat
of prosperous farms. Sometimes there
are small, shut-in valleys, like pockets
In the range, the homes of secluded
communities—a cozy bunch of farms
strung on a winding road and bounded
sharply by two gaps and the stone line
at the foot of the ridges. And of these
might be counted the alluvial banks
of Heller's Run. better known on the
local maps as Hell Bottom.
So much for geography.
It was December the fifth, Dan
Tressler's butchering day, as anyone in
the valley could have told as early as
the preceding June. The sign was
right and the moon was "in the up.”
Squire Hartswick, lord of the Bottom,
had butchered on Thanksgiving day;
Jake Kisterbock had duly followed, and
now by every valley right it was Dan
Tressler’s day. Things are not done
by chance among the thrifty "Dutch.”
Baer's almanac and the tradition of the
fathers rule central Pennsy'vania with
despotic sway.
There was no lack of help. A "meet
in’ ” on Sunday at the Bottom church
brings out a goodly number, If the
weather be fine; a funeral gathers the
old people; a “sehnittin’ ” in the fall,
the young; but a “butcherin’ ” calls
for everybody not "bed-fast," be the
weather what it may. Not that all the
Inhabitants, hit or miss, are called.
“Invitations
For your ’lotions”
goes the valley proverb, but the rule
bars no one; for another valley saying
is to the effect that nobody can “fire
a stone” at random in any of the
"Dutch” valleys and not hit his second
cousin.
It promised Ideal butcherfhg weather.
As early as four In the morning
lanterns were dancing like fireflies. All
was bustle and din. Water was heat
ing in copper kettles—the valley’s sup
ply of kettles; scalding tubs were roll
ing upon temporary blockings; scrap
ing tables were arising; knives were
grinding, the sound coming up a dull
creaking from behind the corncrlbs:
and the boys, eager and excited, were
scurrying hither and back in the half
light, shouted at and commanded until
they were like "hens with their heads
off.” In the kitchen the housewife,
calm but pale, was presiding like a
general at the outset of a campaign,
for the valley eaters, like a flock of
buzzards, were to descend at noon, and
she well knew that her dinner, good or
bad, would be a topic for a year to
come.
It was one of those clear, crisp morn
ings when there is a steel ring in the
oir and one’s breath floats out like
whiffs of smoke. An inch of frowsy
snow had whisked over everything the
day before, and it had grown colder
during the night. In the east over the
black silhouette of Nance mountain,
hung long iron bars of cloud, untouched
as yet by the approaching dawn. From
the valley there came up a faint mur
mur, which on the vibrant air. soon
became distinguishable as the grumble
of wheels over a frozen road. Dan
Tressler caught it and straightened up
over hie grindstone.
“Bet yeh that’s oid Miff still. Yas?
Hear them wheels clunk?” He ran his
thumb critically over the knife edge,
then slopped the stone with water from
a gourd. “Old Miff 'd set up all night
’fore he'd let anybody get to a butch
erin’ ’fore he did wunst. Turn ’er right
up smart, Jakey."
He was a picturesque figure as he
crouched over the Hying stone in the
uncertain light, his grizzled beard al
most swe ping the knife in his hands
and Ills eyes blinking small and sharp
behind iron-bowed spectacles. He j
wore a "warmus,” which fitted
tightly at the waist, and a wool
en cap pulled down over his
ears. He was an eager little man, who
on great occasions like this went about
on the dog-trot. A wagon drove heav
ily into the yard, and with a nervous
jerk he wheeled about to meet it, the
long knife flourishing in his hand.
“Wal, now, who'd ’a' thought it
wunst? It’s yoyi sure enough, ain’t it
r.ow, Miff? And you here. Maria? Wal,
by Chimminy! How gehts? Jump
right out now; the woman's in there
crazy's a bedbug still. Better go right
in and help ’er out. Here, puht yer
boss right in the barn, Miff. There
you be.” He was bustling jerkily about
the wagon.
“That's a fine day. Dan."
“Yes, sir-r-r-! By Chimminy, here
comes Lem!” Another farm wagon
drove into the yard, and then another
and another. The crowd was appear
ing. The little man fairly danced in
Ids progress “from rig to rig, like a
weasel in a trap," as Lem Fisher
phrased it.
The bustle was increasing. Roadside
and yard were filling rapidly with farm
—^«
wagons of all varieties, and with
horses. No time was lost; each man
had brought some Implement that it
was his especial duty to furnish at a
butchering—pulley blocks, hooks, ket
tles, knives—and each knew his part
and went at it Instantly without or
ders. The women and the girls went
straight into the house, where they
took their places with an order and
dispatch gained by the experience of
many outcherings.
"Ah, here’s old Poppy a'ready. Here,
let me help you out. Poppy. Chust you
wait a minute wunst." But the old
man did not hear. Horse, wagon and
man seemed incredibly old. Without a
word he hoisted himself over the wheel
with unchecked wheezes and groans,
then straightened up slowly and looked
about him. Then he hardened into a
stiff pose, with hl3 gaze fixed intently
on the south.
"What is it, Poppy?” asked Dan
anxiously. "That’s going to be a fine
dsy? Yas?”
“Pet day, young man; t’at’s a pet
day. Chust you remember what I’se
a-tellin’ yeh still. Chust you look t’ere
wunst.” He stretched a wavering hand
out toward the south. “Beware of
goat’s hair in t’e sky a’ready.
Ummmmmm!" He said It in the same
awful tone that the soothsayer must
have used when he said, "Beware the
Ides of March.”
Despite the lire prediction, the morn
ing was breaking clear and sharp. The
iron bars over old Nance wrere soften
ing into copper and bronze; the black
smudge in the south was growing into
the semblance of a wooded ridge, cut
sharply against the pale sky.
A belated vehicle drove Into the yard,
and a shout greeted it.
“It’s Ulie, boys! Here’s Ulie a’ready.”
"Sleepy! Oh, my! Jest you see them
eyes wunst.”
"Get home in time for breakfast,
Ulie?”
A plump, middle-aged man climbed
from his wagon, and. proceeded with
preternatural gravity to tie his horse
to the fence. Apparently he had heard
no word of the raillery. It was as if
the undertaker had arrived at the fu
neral, and was arranging the hearse.
As he turned, however, a sheepish grin
began to spread over his face, and at
the sight of the crowd began to
laugh.
“Think you’re dretful smart still,
now don’t yeh?’’ he snapped, pulling off
his big coat with vigor, and taking his
customary place. Then the chaffing
fell sharp and thick, like rice at a wed
ding.
“Who was it, Ulie, last night? Come
tell us. Dew.”
“Say, better get your courage up
quick, Ulie. The ruie for sparkin’ Is
that the gal’s jest as afraid of you as
you be of her.”
"Oh, pshaw', Ulie! Finish it right up
slap and be done with it. It's awful
bad on yeh, this settin’ up so late
nights when you’re gettin’ along in
years. Boys can stan’ it, but it’s death
on you old critters.”
When a country gathering gets start
ed on this track there is no logical end.
No quarter is given, nor is it usually
asked. Shouts of merry laughter went
up at every hit. The victim seemed
irritable and angry; he snapped and
growled and bustled over his work with
unnecessary vigor, but a close observer
might have detected that in reality he
was enjoying the raillery.
"Pretty smart, ain’t yeh? Heh?” he
spluttered. “ 'Spose you mind your
own business awhile? I’ve known folks
to get rich jest by minding their own
business." He was greeted with snick
ers. “Wal, then,” he exploded, as if
hopelessly at bay, "let me tell yeh one
thing wunst. I was out last night, and
I seen something that would scare the
very devil himself.” The snickers broke
into guffaws,
"Lord! is she that ugly, Ulie?”
“You jest wait a minute, fellers. I
was out last night till midnight—on
business, you know—and ”
Again they interrupted him. Ulie
Drlbelbis. as all knew, had as his first
business the securing of wife number
three.
"Strike a bargain in yeh business,
did yeh?”
“I—was—out—on—business,” he re -
peated with studied deliberation, “and
at just 12 o'clock, midnight, I was in
sight of the old Heller house, and,"
lowering his voice, “I seen something."
“What was it, Ulie?” A strange hush
had fallen over the crowd. They had
all to a man stopped working, and
were looking at him in a curious way.
“Tell us, Ulie. What was it?”
"Oh, nothing much.” He was work
ing away as if unconscious of the In
terest he had suddenly aroused. “Say,
this is a good hog, Dan. Spring wats,
wan’t he?”
“Ulie, what W'as it? Tell us what
you seen."
“Oh, boys, don’t ask me about it.
Please don’t. It makes me creep all
bver. Oh, my Lord! I wouldn’t go
through that again for a thousand dol
lars. No, suli—a thousand dollars." He
glanced up with a shade of terror in
his face, and he shivered perceptibly.
‘Mow many hogs you got, Dan?” He
changed the subject with a visible ef
fort. “Reckon we can do ’em all to
day?”
“Come, out with it, Ulie. What was
it, Ulie?” They had gathered about
him, and were looking into his face
with round eyes.
“Kind of a reddish, sicklsh light in
the winder wunst. that kept sort of
wa-a-a-a-verin’ and beckonin’,”
"Is that all? That was the moon
shinin’ on the glass still. You was
seairt, Ulie?”
“Cloudy night last night, and you-urs
know it. Dark's the devil's pocket
a'ready. Wasn't even any stars, and
you-uns knows it. And that light
shined wa-a-a-ay out on the snow,
makin’ it look jest like blood. Oh, ray
lord! And don’t you ask me what I
heard. I can't stan’ it. My God, men:
—say, le’s talk about something else.
Say, Dan, when did yeh begin to feed
these hogs? Did ye-”
"What was it, Ulie? What did yeh
hear?” There was an awed tone in
the voice.
“Well, suh, I heard most an awful
noise a'ready. An awful noise!” He
lowered ills voice to a shuddering whis
per.
"How* did it sound, Ulie?” Lem
Fisher’s face had turned to a tallow
white.
"A great, long laugh, like a crazy
man's laugh—a laugh that never come
from no living man's mouth; no suh.
It made my hair go right up straight
like a cat's back. Then I heard the
awfulest swearin’—a kind of hollow,
gaspin' swearin’ and cursin', as If
somi body was being strangled to death.
Somethin’ seemed to take right hold of
my throat and grip it up hard, so I
couldn't brfeathe. 1 never heard no
voice like that, never in my life. "There
was no doubting the honest horror In
the man's face.
“Oh, pshaw!” came a disgusted voice.
"Somebody was up in that old shanty—
■ tramps probably. If you're looking for
| ghosts, you'll find ghosts, I’ll tell yeh
_
that. Folks shoot bear that art loaded
for bear." .
"You look ahere, Amos Hardin ,
wunst. What do you ’spose I sc ?n this
morning? Heh?" The company gath
ered nearer. “When I come over this
morning I went up dost, and, suh,” his
voice breaking, “there wan't no tarok
tn the snow anywhere round it—noth
ing but that black, dead man’s ring
a’rcady. A11 round the house that aw
ful black ring, but there hadn't been
no track.”
“Han’t been no track in there all
winter, yetst,” spoke up a voice. They
all fell to work again In silence. Thero
was a look of horror on all faces.
"Wonder if Al Farthing has saw
anything?" Lem Fisher was the tirst
to speak. "Wonder what he thinks of
this devlishness?"
"Bet you won’t never know. Al’»
the most closest-mouthed man I ever
seen still. If he’d saw old Heller with
his own eyes a’ready, he wouldn't say
a word about it. No, suh.”
"Say, did yeh ever think there might
be something strange about It?” Lem
Fisher half dosed his eyes and looked
knowingly at the group.
“Now, don’t you go to hintin’ about
Al. Don't you do It. He's square 's a
die. Yessuh." Dan Tressler bustled In
stantly, as if the remark was a per
sonal thrust. “Al’s a square man, and
the best friend ew-uns have got in this
walley still. Yessuh. He say^s as how
heHl pay 5 cents a bushel more for our
corn than the squire will, and he’s go
ing to have a big load of flour coma
for 50 cents a barrel less than what
we-uns are a-paying. Yessuh. He sayes
it Is a mean shame the way Ira Harts
wlck’s been bleedln’ us. He’s been out
and saw things, Al has, and he knows
what prices Is a’ready. 1 essuh. I
inwited him over to the butcherin’ to
day and he’s coming until 8.”
“Youlnwlted him?” They all straight
ened up and looked at the man.
"Yessuh, I did,” doggedly. "It’s a
mean shame to leave him out every
time jest because he ain’t relation and
the squire’s kreiseled at him. I lnwlted
him, and his boys too.”
"But you know SquireHartswlck-"
“I don’t care a chincapin. No sir.
There was a note of bravado in the
voice. It was the tone of the small boy
at noonday bragging about ghosts. "If
Squire Hartswick don’t like Al Farth
ing, I can't help it. Al's done the fair
thing by me, and I’m going to do It by
him wunst.”
“Al rmiv ho all vitrVif hut it ain't nnftn
»uaji uc au i uui k an* t ouitv
in this walley to butt up against the
<*ld squire. I’ll tell yeh that. You’d
better go slow, Dan.”
“There's going to be a tarnation big
explosion in this here walley if A1
Farthing keeps on. Puht that down in
your awmnick a’ready. There can't be
two kings in this Bottom still. You
mind waht I tell yeh."
Dan started to retort, thought better
of It, and relapsed Into silence.
Allen Farthing had moved Into the
valley the preceding April, coming from
no one knew just where. He had
bought the old Heller farm from a real
estate agency in whose hands it had
been placed by Squire Hartswiek, and
had started in with energy to bring up
the place from Its forlorn condition. He
had found the fences flat, the buildings
in a ruinous state, and the land fast
running to cockle weed and bushes. In
ono season, however, he had got the
old place into a fairly respectable way.
But the advent of the new family had
troubled the valley. Alien Farthing
was a singularly silent man, and hi»
boys were like him. There was an ele
ment of mystery In the affair that was
maddening to the little community, ac
customed as it was to know all the
minutest details of neighbors’ lives.
Tho Farthings, in spite of many sub
terfuges, and of sly traps set to learn
of their past, disclosed nothing, and the
whispers rapidly grew into open gossip.
Who were these people? Why had they
moved to this secluded little nook?
Why had they bought, of all places in
the world, the notorious Heller farm
that for years had kept a tenant only
for a few months at most? Why had
they not complained of the ghostly
revels in the deserted cabin not a
quarter of a mile away? There waa
something mysterious and even un
canny about tViese people.
(Continued Next Week.)
A Natural Error.
From the New York Tribune. 40
A group of aeronauts were telling bal
loon stories :n the smoking room of a
Chicago hotel. Captain H. E. Honey
well, who, writh the Fielding-Antonio
balloon, was later to win renown,
laughed and said:
"The great Elyot mad^ a balloon
ascent from Charleston one h»t sum
mer afternoon. A thunder storm came
up. Elyot, amid buckets of rain, the
roar of thunder and the flash of light
ning, was blown about like thistle
down. On toward midnight he found
himself over a plantation and threw
out his anchor—a grapnel at the end
of a long rope.
"It happened that a colored man had
died in one of the huts of this planta
tion. The funeral was to take place in
the morning. A dozen friends of the
dead man sat in the soft summer night
before the hut, telling ghost stories.
"Suddenly, in the darkness above
ttiem they heard strange noises—a flap
ping as of great wings, menacing cries.
And they saw dimly a formless black
shape.
“All but one man ran. This old man,
as he cowered on his stool, had the ill
luck to be seized by the grapnel.
“The grapnel, going at a great pace,
whirled' hirn up four or five feet tn the
air and jerked him along at the rate
of 35 miles or so an hour.
“ ‘O, massa. massa!’ he yelled,
squirming and kicking in that strange
flight, T’se not de one! I’se not de *
cawpsc! Dick’s In de house, dah! In
he house, dah!’ ”
According to the Journal des De
bats, of Paris, a comic song of IS
verses, the words and musiq of which
are by Richard Wagner, is to be put
up at auction, with other manuscripts,
in Berlin. ‘The ditty is dedicated to his
host of the hotel at Lelpsic at which
the composer stayed when on the way
to Berlin to confer with his committees
regarding the founding of the Bayreuth
opera house. It is dated April 2^
1871. _ _
AS MANY AS HE CAN.
Sambo — Rambo. does yo’ nex’ 4a*
neighbor keep chickens f
Rambo—Well—er—huh—huh! He keep*
•a. many ex he kin. Yaxxuhl 1