|A Belated;!
I Traveler |
The Woman Who Saw the <!
World In Her Own < J
Home. o
By HARRIET M. ABBOT o
Copyright, 1910, by American Press < >
^ Association. < *
The village of Enderley was looking
forward to an era of prosperity. When
a stripling in the postoffice called it
a boom Deacon Carder launched forth
into a tirade against such a proposi
tion.
"Butterworth’s givin1 good, wages,”
he said, "but you wait till he gits in
a pussol id foreign hands.”
"Easy, Carder, easy! They do say
he's buying land all along the river
road and going to put up these new
fangled model tenements,” pacified
the postmaster.
Passing down the street, the deacon
saw young Jack Butterworth rapping
tit the door of the Dyer girls and ex
claimed:
"Either on 'em old 'nough to be
his grandmother, an' Analine bed
ridden at that. Humph! Prob'ly he's
up to his pa’s tricks an’ wantin’ to
buy there nu' start a hifalutin sul
phite mill. Stuff an' nonsense, 1 say!”
Meantime the young man was vigor
ously using the ancient knocker on the
door of the small white house, but, re
ceiving no response, was about to turn
away when the sudden shrill blast of
a horn from within assured him that
the dwelling was not tenantless.
"I’m coming,” called a high pitched
voice, and a wiry little old lady in
gingham gown and flapping sunbonnet
appeared from the garden at the rear.
“Deary me! I was out getting butter
beans, and when I heard sister’s horn
1 was all of a fluster. But come right
in now, do!
"Sister, this is Mr. Butterworth,” in
troduced Miss Caroline deprecatingly.
But the sister, an invalid, waved her
hand with impatience. “Don't mind
me. I ain’t to home. Been in Japan
the whole afternoon. Just going to
ride out in one o’ them jinny gocarts
this minute. Say,” she continued ir
relevantly, with a birdlike change of
demeanor, “did you hear my horn?”
She proudly tapped an old cornet as
she spoke.
“Hear it, Miss Analine! My ears are
ringing yet. Do you play often?” he
asked, with lingering amusement.
“Sister doesn’t really play,” Miss
Caroline hastened to explain.
"No, but she can blow like old Bo
rax,” the invalid rejoined, with a
shrewd twinkle in her eyes.
"Boreas, Boreas, you mean, sister,”
corrected the other gently.
"Well, I call him Borax.” There was
the insistence of a spoiled child in the
sick woman's tone. “One toot means
'Some one at the door.’ Two toots
mean ‘I want you myself.’ ’’
Then she gravely observed, “The jin
ny gocart's waiting,” and withdrew
her interest from the conversation.
“I’m afraid it’s hopeless,” he admit
ted ruefully to his father afterward.
“If the Dyer place didn’t happen to be
located exactly as it is—fairly adjoin
ing the ‘river road' property—of course
we’d never give it another thought.
And what would ever induce that
quaint old pair to give up their home?
Those poor souls! By the way, father,
have you ever seen Miss Analine, the
bedridden one, who has a mania for
traveling and so pretends »he's con
stantly on the road?”
All, IIUIICI »YUl 111 UIUIUIUCU
edly on his oflice desk before answer
ing. “No, but I should think the
change would suit the old lady to a T
from all accounts.
"By Jove, father, do you know I be
lieve I have a scheme! I'm deter
mined to win yet, but I’ll keep my
plan to myself for the present.”
"Well, success to you, Jack,” was
the hearty wish as the paternal gaze
rested admiringly on the animated
face. “I Judge the Dyer ‘girls’ are
likely to have a persistent caller.”
Subsequent events proved the truth
of the prophecy, for the following aft
ernoon saw the runabout ngain before
the old house. The front door was
ajar, and Miss Aualine called with un
wonted graciousness: “Come in! Come
In if you want to! Caroline’s over to
Mis’ Skillins, but I’m just getting back
from Venice myself. I’ll be home in
a jiffy. My,” she exulted, “but It’s
fine gondoliug on the Grand canal!”
She breathed u sigh of rapture as she
looked up.
“Enderley, too, is an uncommonly
pretty place to any one who has an
eye for natural beauty,” he finally
ventured.
Miss Analine’s face clouded. “May
be," she assented reluctantly.
“The town is improving fast," pur
sued the undaunted youth, launching
into a glowing account of recent
changes and bettered conditions.
“Down in the village, now, on Main
street, there’s so much pnssing it’s
sometimes absolutely lively.”
The black eyes in the withered coun
tenance shone with speculative appre
ciation, and the speaker resumed: “I
should think you and Miss Caroline
would—ahem!—take a notion one of
these days to move down in the midst
of things, where you’d have more
neighbors. Haven’t you ever thought
of selling the farm and taking a small
er place there?”
Mr. Butterworth, Sr., would have de
tected germs of diplomatic talent in
the apparent innocence with which the
question was proffered, but the old
lady was wholly unsuspicious and re
torted with t sniff of scorn: “What
Yankee would ever lack gumption bad
enough to buy this farm, do you sup
pose? Caroline cau’t raise a thing on
it but hay ’n’ potatoes ’n’ pusley, with
a mess of butter beaus now ’n’ then.
Besides, though I’m away from home
a good deal myself, I do seem to need
this place for a kind of depot.”
An expression of sly humor lighted
the invalid’s countenance, but her lis
tener's manner was merely one of
grave attention. “I see,” he remarked
quietly. “But, Miss Anallne, some peo
ple travel in their own private cars.
IIow would it strike you and your sis
tre if you could get a good price for
the farm and still keep the house here
for a sort of car perhaps? Travel in
it to your new home, say?”
“Young man, be you crazy?” Ited
spots burned in the faded cheeks, and
there was stern interrogation in the
voice.
msieu, aiiss .vnaiino, was uie ear
nest entreaty, and in reassuring tones
the plan was little by little unfolded
by which the Butterworth company
might gain possession of the coveted
land and yet the two old ladies be at
the same time enriched, while, best of
all, the belated traveler could at last
take a trip in very truth.
Therefore when Miss Caroline made
her tardy appearance she found her
sister sitting upright in excitement, so
engrossed in conversation with Jack
Butterworth that she was utterly ob
livious to the fact that Snooks, the
gray kitten, wras playing with the map
of Africa in a way which threatened
the immediate destruction of the dark
continent.
“Caroline,” summoned an imperious
voice, “it's high time you got here.
We’re going to sell tills farm, you 'n'
I, and take a trip abroad. My, but
won't the Enderley folks stare!”
"Remember,” admonished the auto
crat, “not a word of this is to be lisped
till we’re ready to start on our trip.
Won't it give Enderley a turn, though!”
She chuckled as she packed her books
and maps in a neat pile on the stand
at the side of the bed. "Tomorrow,
sister,” she proclaimed, “we'll begin
to make over my brown alpaca for a
traveling dress. I wonder if rutiles or
bias folds would look best for any one
going away.”
But there was no reply, for the mind
of the other was busy with both pros
pect and retrospect. “How can I give
up the dear old place?” she finally
asked, with a groan. “But such an
offer as he made! ’Twould seem like
flying in the face of Providence to
refuse. Laud sakes, though, how up
set I am!” she wailed.
“That’s just it,” retorted the invalid
with asperity. “It’s ‘land sakes’ and
nothing else. Haven’t we still got the
house, and aren’t we going to live in
a good lot down next to the Baptist
minister’s when we get home from
our travels? Caroline Dyer, if you’d
been around the world as much as
some folks you'd likely have more
sense than you’ve ever got yet. I
should think you'd go now and get
supper with a glad heart like a Chris
tian. I feel to eat a hefty meal my
self.” Thus admonished, the mourn
ful one wus forced to bestir herself.
Succeeding morrows rolled into the
present and then the past until one
morning a smiling youth arrived wdth
the gay anouncement: “The private
car is ready and horses are in sight
for the—baggage, shall I say? ‘All
aboard,’ Miss Analine?”
“Wait till my bonnet and shawl’s
on,” commanded the bedridden trav
eler. Then, noting an involuntary
smile, she grimly added, “When you’re
making a real start for the first time
in a good many years, young man, I
think you’ll want to go seemly and
prepared.”
iumn nuamic »* v_v_i vimv.» l
stages of her triumphal progress, and
the unusual excitement served as a
bracing tonic. “We stop down by the
Carder farm tonight,” she announced
on the second day with the manner of
one about to behold untold glories,
but it was the following noon that a
discovery was made which thrilled
Miss Caroline with the awakening of
a hope long deferred.
She was getting dinner at what they
termed a “way station” when she re
marked with a perturbed expression,
“I declare, Analine, I’m coming to be
as forgetful as old Grandma Skillins.
Why, I should have vowed I had a
big piece of berry pie in the butt’ry
for your dinner, but there ain’t so
much as a bite.”
She looked at the scanty repast with
regret, but great was her nmazeinent
to hear her sister acknowledge with a
mixture of pride and contrition, “Come
to think of it, that must have been the
identical pie I ate last night."
Miss Caroline dropped into a chair.
“Analine Dyer,” she gasped, “tell me
the truth! Uow'd you happen to get
that when ’twas in the butt’ry?”
There was no attempt at conceal
ment, but a characteristic explanation
was in readiness. “Don’t get flustered,
Caroline. You net as floppy as if you
was car sick. You see, ’twas this way:
I got to sort of dwelling on the sub
ject of China in the night, and from
thinking how pesky the famine was
there I happened to feel a hankering
for something to nibble on myself, and
I found I could and did get to the
butt'ry. So there, that’s all. Now,
there’s no call to take on,” she finish
ed, for Miss Caroline had thrown her
apron over her head and was rocking
back and forth, shedding tears of joy.
The room seemed suddenly filled
with contentment. A vista of peace
ful days in which to continue their
brief journey together toward the set
ting sun opened before the pair, and
two old hands were tightly clasped in
each other as a cheery voice outside
called “All aboard!”
MR. BINNEY'S FAILURE.
Opinions by Neighbo-s, Creditors «nc
His Family.
Mr. Binney failed iu business.
One of Ids neighbors said, "At last?"
Another neighbor said: "1 though!
they were going it pretty strong for a
man of his income. : till, l diun't tike
to say anything at the time."
A third neighbor said: Mb, Pm so
sorry! My deal, we must go over and
give Mrs. Binney our deepest sympa
thy. I'm dying to see how she is luk
ing it."
One brother-in-law said: "if he find
lent me that $500 I asked him for last
year he'd have been that much ahead,
anyway. Much good it did him to
keep it. Too bad. though, of cou.se."
Another brother-in-law said: "Sly oid
boy, Binney. lie's got it sailed away
somewhere, all right. Don't you wor
ry.”
Ills batcher said: "Now, a poor fu.tn
like me has to pay his debts as lie
goes along. All the same. I'm not
worrying about the $20 lie owes me,
but i'll bet you if 1 owed anybody $20
they'd make my life a misery till they
got it.”
His wife's best friend (to Mrs. Kin
ney): "Now, my dear, you mustn't
mind any of the awful tilings you
hear. At a time like this people will
talk.”
A friend: "A man must either have
exceptional capital or exceptional abil
ity to succeed in business nowadays,
l’oor Kinney, as it happens, had nei
ther.”
A second friend: “How much will
he be able to pay? Tweuty-tlve cents
on the dollar? How did there come to
be so much? Did Binney overlook it?”
A third friend: “Ninety-live per cent
of business enterprises are unprofita
ble. There’s nothing like a steady,
well paying position.”
A knowing acquaintance, "Wise old
Binney.”
His daughters, “We must hold our
heads up higher than ever or people
will say that we are ashamed.”
Ills wife, “He’ll be home more now,
and that Is everything.”
Binney: “Whew! Thank heaven it’s
over. Now I’ve got to hustle and* get
a job.”—New York Sun.
A CITY OF DANGERS.
Going Out at Night In Mosul Means
Imperiling One’s Life.
Mosul, ou tlie western bank of the
Tigris, is described in “The Short Cut
to India,” by David Fraser, as a place
of some difficulty for the residents.
I’rices of every mortal thing are dear
er than anywhere else in Turkey.
Water is procured only from the Ti
gris, and every drop required must be
carried therefrom in skins upon don
keys. Two pounds a month is a very
ordinary expenditure on this essential
and provides but a scanty bath.
To go out at night is to place one’s
life in jeopardy. To walk across the
bridge In broad daylight IS’ a d&trger
owing to the frailty of the structure.
The bridge is a wonderful affair and
yields an income of some thousands
of pounds annually to the contractor
who farms it from the government.
Three hundred yards of it is solid ma
sonry and the remaining 150 yards a
wooden platform laid upon a row of
,
I
11 made.with
11! _ _ j A I
!1 Baring
}| *’“• Powder
Jf| Royal is the only baking powder made
from Royal Grape Cream of Tartar f'
*>
r as
•
crazy boats.
Where the bridge of boats abuts the
shore at one end and the stone bridge
at the other are the points of danger,
for owing to the height of the river,
when I was there the joinings were at
a slope of forty-five degrees and con
sisted of narrow gangways up which
people, sheep, cattle, donkeys, mules,
horses and camels had to scramble.
No wonder there were many fallings
into the water—dangerous water, too—
for it coursed like a cataract between
the boats and swirled and boiled In
lierce eddies and whirlpools below the
bridge.
One poor Znbtie, with rifle slung and
bandoliers strapped across his chest,
was walking across when his horse
slipped at the ascent to the boat part
of the bridge, and both fell into the
water. The horse was rescued, but
the man was drowned. Life has small
value in Mosul, however, and nobody
bothered to mend the huge holes in
the bridge or to make its passage less
precarious.
A Hard Lot.
Nicaragua has been distinguished
even among Central American repub
lics by the number of its revolutions.
Discovered by Columbus, it takes its
name from the chjef who.ruled.it at
the limp of ils exploration by Dmria.
in 1522. Of its earliest rulers it has
been said that “the first lmd been a
murderer, the second a murderer and
rebel, the third murdered the second,
the fourth was a forger and the fifth
a murderer and rebel." Nicaragua
abounds in prehistoric remains, and in
some parts, It is said, the inhabitants
still supply themselves with pottery
from the vast quantities preserved be
low the surface.
Off Duty.
Winfred, six years old, was tying pa
per boots upon the kitten’s paws when
ills aunt remonstrated with him for
teasing the kitten, saying, “I thought
you belonged to the Band of Mercy.”
“Yes. auntie, 1 do,” said Winfred,
“but,” he added apologetically, “my
badge is on my other coat."—Delineator.
Either Way.
Silicus—I can’t decide which one of
those two girls I want to marry.
Cynicus—Well, marry either one of
them and you'll discover that you got
the wrong one.—Philadelphia Record.
The Foolish Maiden.
Crawford—So your daughter loves
poetry? Crabshaw—Worse than that.
She’s fallen in love with one of those
fellows who write it.—Judge.
Queer Legal Oaths.
In Siberia, in the wild Ostayaks layj
courts, the natives swear by the newly
severed head of a bear, whicli is im
plored to subsequently rend and de
vour them should they perjure them
selves, while in Assam the opposing
witnesses lay hold of a chicken by its
feet and retain each one-half ns the
clerk of the court chops it in two. By
undergoing this ceremony they are
considered to be pledged to a like fate
In the event of their swearing falsely. .
—Chicago Journal.
Saved Hia Life.
“Don’t chide me for carrying a re
volver. Tliis little gun saved my life
once.”
“How exciting! Tell me about it.”
“I was starving, and I pawned it.”—
Cleveland Deader.
The Scornful.
“What are the seats of the scorn
ful?"
“Didn’t you ever have n friend pass
you perched up in a flue automobile?”
—Louisville Courier-Journal.
i<’lre and sword are but slow en
gines of destruction in comparison
wfvh 1 lie bnlibler.—Steele,
BALADIN NO. 45747. I
. ■' g 1 —a -• gg——5 t 11 -- I - MB EBB S 3HB3 II
m ^
The above picture is a true likeness of BALADIN No. 45747 imported from
l France by lams of St. Paul, Nebraska. He is known as the John Colbert
horse. He is a blue roan, a good looker and actor and weighs a ton at the
| present time. He can be seen for the coming season at his owners stable in
O 'Neill, Nebraska.
D. A DOYLE, Owner.
