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About The frontier. (O'Neill City, Holt County, Neb.) 1880-1965 | View Entire Issue (Aug. 27, 1914)
GRUEL WAR FORGES US TO USEHOMESPFS Monsieur Is Busy Cutting Down Enemies—Has No Time For Fashions. If this war lasts for several months •r a year and It the Germans succeed In entering tho city of Paris and the Parisian modistes, designers and mil liners are so busy In the affairs of war that they have no time to devote to their chosen work and If the supply of Parisian gowns and hats Is completely •hut off from America by war's cruel blockade-- well, what are stylish girls going to wear tills fall and winter? These are the questions mere man Is asking Just Imagine what life will be like when there ere no French styles to make vigorous demands upon tho purse. Picture tho dismay that will overcome the members of our most dressy families when they realize that there Isn’t even tho slightest possibility of making their associates believe their fall suits benr a Parisian label and that the only remaining source of supply Is tho mere American shops where even the families that keep only two scul lery maids and one car may also buy their goods. Life certainly will be fuU *f primeval privations. Protecting Own Dome. There’ll bo no new French styles ambling along out avenues so long as Pierrot, the designer, is toting a "gat" <sa Ills shoulder at about six francerln K* a month. He’ll have ull tho deslgn g he can do to keep Ids uniform In feondlllon for dress parade and he will biat naturally be obliged to allow the bants of stylish American women to to hang, as they say In pentltentlary Hrcles. And the same Is true of the tapper design' rs of the great Amerl hui lid. No patriotic Frenchman would pink of wasting Ids time and talent on t feather-and-frllls crown sheet for an Iowa society leader when he’s already tverworked keeping Ids, own dome tin ier cover and tefuuln'f German bullets the right to punch hatpin holes In Ids tat. Tim same upplles to Paquin, •recoil. Worth and other famous de Jgners. If monsieur does get back from tiie Wftr in time to resume his scissors, teedle and thread uml tapellnc Ids mind rill doubtless stray far from his work, we can expect such creations us Bel gian tunics trimmed with German •chrapnel, Liege bonnets a la bayonet fcnd Servian skirts with Austrian hobble •ffects. Crlmso* will probably be the ruling eolor chosen with a strong leaning to ward other loud colors and smoke ef fects. However there’s one consoling thought In the morbid situation. If France succeeds In enlisting nil Its clever designers and dressmakers, It may be the means of bringing to an end this universal attempt to Imitate the Venus de Milo style of gown. For It m doubtful if any American dress maker has the supre.mo talent neces sary to plus the removal of even an other seam from the 1914 gown and •till allow the wearer to get by the rulings of the National Board of Cen - •orahlp. They May Keep Warm. 80 with all hopes of surpassing the French in their own line gone glim mering, H Is possible tho American designer will start a style of his own. and In the opposite extreme. Per haps he will decree that stylish women will wear sufficient clothing to keep warm this winter—and perhaps he won t. But If the war continues for six months. American dresmukers will ob « ,u<:? a standing with native ^ « will take tho French a "« «»• *• regain the footing they id before the war broke out. It wlil mean a heavy demand for United "'f'88 •t.yle ahjl workmanship and the ■atlsfaction will be general. Such, nt t**>„vlew held by those engaged r8tR,l ®Rd of the style game. v-°--0.-Ur?8, a f?w, Parisian gowns will .thl®„ faJ,' . Tllos® that were to. t!?8 United States before TfZ T** declared will be on display designers who went to .ff1* u.tlle-.Bumrner season prob a^ wlH be able to bring back a few •amplea of advanced styles. But the quantity will be far below that of •ther years. User* of linen also will find that this •omrnodlty Is becoming scarce because ^ war. -Shipments have ceased •ntlrely and when the present supply a substitute must bo found. This problem Is already solved gowerer. as cotton has been found to C? an excellent substitute for linen expected**0 *n th® PrtC® °f cotton ls -.r. mart With Money Matters? In the American Magazine a man who has hud 25 years matrimonial ex wiles “A Husband s Story.” in which h© tells about the part that woney plays lu marriage. Following is •« extract: —ha™ heat'll many persons say, With serious cant, that money does not 5a?!?ln,:ss Y«‘ m l study my taarrled life I cannot recall even one 5. arT. °r dl3«Sro®ment or mlsun(le,r. standing that could not be traced dl weuy to money matters.” Looks Crazy. A Trtn^crafy? ‘ PaPa' 'Sn t marnma Just Papa—Why do you think so, mv son’ Tommy Well, the other day I wits ■flaying In the rain am! she made me some In and take a bath. Bill Sufzer Aqain. That sound like a seltzer siphon In fiction Is "the same old Bill” assuring the tunld up-state voters that a ballot for him Is a bullet for the bosses. The diseases to which caisson work ars are subject, according to a French authority. tire due to the fact that. When air Is compressed hydraulically « loses nearly one-fifth of Its oxygen. Lifters and Loaners. ■Chore are two kinds of people on earth to rn. day; Just two kinds of people, no more, I say: slot the rich and the poor, "“or to count a man's wealth Tou must first know the state of his eon science and health, Wot the humble and proud, for In life's _little span Who puts on vain airs Is not counted a man, Wot the happy and sad, for the swift fly lng years Wring each man his laughter and each man his tears. Wo! the two kinds of people on earth I mean Are the people who lift, and the people who lean, Wherever you go you will And the world’s masses Are always .divided In Just the two classes. And, oddly enough, you will And. too. I wean, Caere's only one lifter to twenty who lean, la which class are you? Are you easing the load ■Of overtaxed lifters who oil down the road? Or are you the leaner, who lets others bear Wour portion of labor, and worry and oars? —Ella Wheeler Wilcox. Ataajce of Exlraordinaiy DMuclwn TheMakshal Z^Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews AoAar The Perfect Tribute, eta tWrHlh, TW Utt. IferHK C.WMOI. _ (CHAPTER XXVIII—(Continued). Francois stood regarding her. with frank admiration In every muscle of his face. He smiled, the same gentle amused smile with which he had ad dressed the portrait. "Tou never talk | too much for me. Mademoiselle. It Is a pleasure to me always to hear your ; vocle," he answered in the deep tone 1 of a Frenchman, the tone that has ever a half not of tragedy, as of some race memory which centuries do not wipe out. "Only,” he went en speaking in French, "one must not talk English. That Is breaking the law, you remem ber, Mademoiselle.” She answered very prettily In his •wn tongue, in words that halted a little. "Very well, Monsieur. I will do .my best." He still gazed at her smiling, without speaking. One could under stand that, to a girl of more self-con tained people, this open homage of manner, this affectionate gentleness, might seem io mean more than a brotherly loyalty. The girl's pulse was beating fast as she made an effort for conversation. "V.'hat were you think ing of as you looked at the lire when I came in, Monsieur? It had an air of being something pleasant. Did I not say all that beautifully?" she finished In English. He corrected a lame verb with serious accuracy and she repeated the word, and laughed happily. "But you ha vent's said yet what you were thinking about.” The largo brown eyeH turned on hers. "It was of my old home in France, Mademoiselle, when I was very little," he said : imply. "A large fire of logs makes me think of that." “Tell me about it." she begged with quick Interest. “Will you? Was there always a lire at your house?" “But no. Mademoiselle—not, of course, in the summer. It was of the winter time 1 thought, when the neighbors came, in the evening, and we sat about the hearth, sometimes 20 people, each at Ills different duty, and my brothers and sisters were there, and the dear grand-mere was there and—” he stopped. "Does Mademoiselle really wish to hear how it was in that old farmhouse of ours. In the shadow of the Jura mountains?" "Indeed, Mademoiselle wishes It," she assured him. “It will be a trip to Europe. I am sure 1 shall speak bet ter French for going to France for 10 minutes, and being among the French people, your friends. Wait now, till I am comfortable." Bhe turned a deep chair so that It faced him, and dropped Into it. "But a footstool for me," slit ordered. ns southern women order the men they care for—-and the men they do not. And she settled back with her little feet on it and smiled tit him. For a moment the man's brilliant gaze rested on her and tlie girl saw it and thrilled to it. "Now, monsieur, raeon tez-mol uno histolre," she spoke softly. Francois Beaupru's look Honed from her to the fire, and the air of gazing at something far away came again. "It Is a picture I see as 1 think or that time of iny childhood," he began, as if ' speaking to himself. "A picture many times painted in home-like colors on my brain. Many a nlglit in the winter I have sat, a little boy, by tin side of my grandmother, at that great hearth, and have looked and have set a all the faces, harve heard till the voltes and the fire crackling, and the spinning wheel whirring, even as 1 .set- them and hear them tonight. I was always close by the grandinere, for I was the dear est of the children to her. Sometimes leng after my bed time 1 sat there, but very quietly, for fear that my mother might remember and send me to bed: yet she liked to please the grandinere, so I stayed often longer than the others. It was a great room, and across one corner was the hearth which was raised like a throne, mademoiselle, from the floor, 12 feet wide. Une burned logs six feet long within It. and from up the chimney swung the eiematllere —the chains from which were tiling the kettles. It was the house of a peasant, mademoiselle knows, yet It was the best house in the village. Often, of a November night, the neighbors would corte in, perhaps a dozen, perhaps more, and the young men had their work—they arranged the flax for spin ning. It might be—and the young girls prepared apples to dry. and the moth ers' knitting needles flashed back and forth on the stockings for our winter wear, and the grandmere would be spinning linen threads for our clothing —whirr, whirr—I can hear the low sound of her wheel. And always I, Francois, would be on the stool at her side, watching and listening. For my father was a great reeonteur, and he told stories of the war and of the leg ends of that country. It was an an cient country you must know, made moiselle, and the name of our village Itsef was from the Romans. Vieques was the name, and that as you know, mademoiselle, comes from the Batin word vlcus, a village. So that there wero old castles In ruin In those parts and tales of burled treasure, and ghosts In armor guarding tt, and great dogs that breathed flame, and other things pleasantly horrible to the ear of a little boy. On thu cold nights, as the fire roared up the chimney and the grandmothers' wheel whirred softly, my father and the other men told these tales, and I listened, quiet as a mouse in my corner, and from time to time I saw a young man lean over and whisper In the ear of one of the girls, and 1 wondered why her face became red as the firelight. "And from time to time one of the men, as he talked, rose up and strode across the room to the great oak table where lav always on a wooden plate a long loaf of black bread, with a knife, and always a glass and a bottle of eau de-vie—brandy. And I remember how manly It looked to me, watching, when I saw him take the loaf tinder Ills arm and hold it, and slice oft boldly a great piece of the fresh rye bread, and pour out a glass of brandy and toss it off as he ate the bread. The stories seemed to grow better after the teller had done that. "And always I waited, even through the tale of the ghost and the fire breathing hound, till the talk should swing round, as It did ever toward the end. to the stories of Napoleon that were fresh tn men’s minds In those days, it was as if I sat on needles be fore my bedtime came, yet I did not dare to be restless and move about for fear that my mother might send me suddenly to lied. But I always gave a Blgh of content and always the grand mere patted my head softly to hear It, when my father cleared his throat and began— " 'There Is a small thing that hap pened when the emperor was march ing'—and then he was launched on his tale." A great hickory log fall, rolled out 14 | toward the hearth. The carved ; nympiie and shepherds scented to frown In deep disapproval at this Ir regularity, and the girl in the deep chair smiled, but the man sprang up and put the log back In place with quick efficiency. He stood silent by the tall mantelpiece, deep yet In his reverie, as the flames caught the wood again and sparkled and sputtered. "Did any of them ever see Napoleon —those men who talked about him?” the girl asked. The Frenchman turned a queer look on her, and did not answer. "Did any of your family ever see him, monsieur?" she asked again. The alert figure stepped backward, sat down again on the gilded chair and leaned forward consideringly. Fran cois nodded as If to the Are. “But yes, mademoiselle,” he said, In a whisper. "Oh, tell me!” the girl cried, all In terest. "Who was It? How was It? It couldn’t be”—she hesitated—“your self! If you, whom I know so well, should have seen the emperor!” She caught a deep breath of excitement. Thi3 was another Lucy Hampton from the serious young mistress of Roan oke House whom the country people knew. ’’Quickly Monsieur, tell me If It was yourself!” Francois turned his eyes on her. “Yes, Mademoiselle,” he answered. A log slipped and slid and the sparks caught a new surface and flew aloft in a crackling uproar; tho elAsh light showered brilliancy on the girl’s fair hair as she bent forward with her white teeth gleaming, her blue eyes shining, stirred with the dramatic air of the Frenchman. With a catch of her breath— iwu nave wren sne saia, and then, impetuously, “Tell me about it!” Rut, though he smiled at her with that affectionate amusement which she seemed, of all sentiments, ofteneet to inspire in him, he did net answer. “Monsieur! you will not refuse to tell me when T want to know so much!” she pleaded, and went on. “How old were you? Did he sneak to you? What did he say to you?” And the Frenchman laughed as if at a dear child who W'as absurd. “Mad emoiselle asks many questions—w’hich shall I answrer?” he demanded, and the tone to her ear was the tone of love, and she trembled to hear it. “Answer”—she began, and stammer ed and flushed, and stopped. Francois went on. Uttle thinking what damage he was doing with that un conscious charm of voice and look. "It *s as Mademoiselle wishes, most certainlv. I will even answer Mad emoiselle’s two questions at once to please her. It was when I was not oulte three years old. Mademoiselle, at home in the farm house in the valley of Cm Jura.” “ Vnd lie spoke to vou. to your own self0 Are you sure*?” “Rut vos. im spoke to me, Mad crm'^'dlo." "Whet did he say?” The smile on Francois* face went out and into Its place swept an Intensity of feeling* he answered solemnly “There were hut Cf'TV words Mademoiselle hut thev have veen much fo my life. Thev shall lead o'v life. *f Hod pleases, those words shall lend it to the fate which they forofnM •• “What were the words?” whispered the gir], impressed with awe. Francois suddenly stood erect and stretched out Ids arm ns if to hold a sword. “ ‘Rise Chevalier Francois Reaupre. one dav a Marshal of France under another Napoleon.’” he repated dramatically. "Those were the words the emperor said.” CHAPTER XXIX. THE STORY AGAIN. The girl, her face lifted to him. looked bewildered. "I don't understand." The visionary eyes stared at her un certainly. “1 have never told this thing," he said in n low tone. "Ah—but it’s only ms." begged the girl. "Only you. Mademoiselle!" His voice went on ns if reflecting aloud. "It is the guiding star of my life—that story; yet I may tell it"—h» paused—"to 'only you.' ” Again the girl quivered, feeling the intensity, mistaking its meaning. "I should be glad if you would tell it,” shs spoke almost in a whisper, but Francois, flouting backward on a strong tide to those old beloved days, did not notice. In his mind was the memory of the great entry of the farm house, and the children crowding about the grand mother. and the gentle old voice, now gone into silence, which had told the tale. The sunshine luy in patches on the floor, the breeze tossed the red and yellow tulips in the garden, and through the open door he saw his mother move about the kitchen get ting dinner ready before the father should come in from the fields. All the early life, long dissolved in the past, materialized before him. and his heart ached with a longing to speak of them, to relieve thus the pressure of the crowding thoughts of home. "It may seem a simple affair to you. Mademoiselle—I can not tell that. It has affected my life. The way of It was this: Napoleon marched to Ger many in the year 1813, and passed with his staff through our village. The house of my father was the largest in the village, and it was chosen to be, for an hour, the emperor’s headquar ters, and the emperor held a council of war, he and his generals, there. I, a child of three, was sleeping in a room which opened from the great room, and I wakened with the sound of voices, and ran in, unnoticed, for they were all bent over the table, look ing at the maps and lists of the mayor —and I pulled at tho sword of Marshal Ney. And the marshal, turning quick ly, knocked me over. I cried out. and my grandmother ran to me, and I have often heard her tell how she peeped from the door under the shoulder of the big sentry who would not let her pass, and how she saw a young gen eral pick me up and set me on my feet, and how all the great officers laughed when he said that the sword was in contest between Marshal Ney and me. And how, then, the young general sug gested that, to settle the point amic ably, the marshal should draw his sword, and give me the accolade—the blow of knighting. And so mademois elle, to shorten the tale, it was not the marshal, but the emperor himself who chose to do it. He made me kneel be fore him, 1—a baby—and he struck my shoulder the blow of the accolade, and said the word which 1 have told you." Francois sprang to his feet and stood as he repeated oace more the emperor’s words. His voice shook. “Rise Chevalier Francois Bea^pre, one day a marshal of France under an other Bonaparte,’ ” he cried, thrilled through with the words which he re peated. The girl leaning forward, watched him; with a gasp she spoke. "Then— that is why you are really Chevalier Beaupre? Did the emperor have the j right to—to knight you?” “But yes, mademoiselle,” Fancois an ! swered with decision. “1 have studied the question, and I believe that the accolade—the knighting—was always a right of the monarchs of Fiance, dis used, perhapt at times, hut yet held in abeyance, a right. My family did not agree with me. My father, who was very practical, thought that it was a mere joke of the emperor's—or if not a joke, then a caprice which carried no i weight. But the seigneur—the General [ Gourgaud, who was one of Napoleon’s officers, and others, mademoniselle, be lieve as I do. And to my mind it is im possible tiiat tlie emperor’s word should carry no weight. There has never lived on earth a man of so enormous a force, and even the smallest acts of his were history. If the emperor ordained, then, that a little child of the people, a peasant, should be a noble—why, it was well within his power—it was done. And I am that child.” The glance ef his brilliant eyes met hers with a frank calmness which showed that he claimed nothing which he did not feek that tills haphazard nobility had lived in his soul and grown with Ills growth, and come to be part of him. With a gentle humility, very winning as It sprang from his gentle pride, he went on. "I know, mademoiselle, that I am a peasant and that I must be content with a Email place in life at the pres ent. I knew this. And even that posi tion which I have is more than my brothers. Far you must know, madem oiselle, that the others grew up to be farmers or tradesmen.” He hesitated and then in a few words told her of General Gourgaud, the seigneur of Vie ques, and how he had given the peasant boy all the opportunities which his own son could have had. And as he talked he remembered how, after his father’s ruin, ho had stood Inside the bare, lit tle, new cottage and watched through tho window his mother standing at the gate and talking to the seigneur, who held Llsette’s bridle. It seemed to him he could see the dark braided liair of La Claire, coiled around her head, and the deep point of her white neck hand kerchief, as she stood with her back to him, and the big bow of the apron tied about her waist. The picture came vividly. And it opened his heart so that he talked on, and told this strang er in a strange land many things that had lain close and silent in his heart. He teld her about the general's gruff ness, which could not hide his good ness; and how he had come to be the child of the castle as well as of the cottage; something of Pietro also he told her; but he did not mention Allxe. "You spoke of three chfldren, mon sieur; who was the third?" asked Lucy. Francois went on as if he had not heard the question. "It was a happy life, mademoiselle,” he said. “And it has been so ever since—even, for the most part, in prison. I have wondered at times if the world is all filled with such kind people as I have met, or if It Is just my good luck." Lucy Hampton had been reading aloud to her sick black mammy that day, and some of the words of the book she had read came to her, and seemed to fit. “The kingdom of God is within you,” she quoted softly, to Francois. Then she considered a moment. “Monsieur, would it be impertinent for me to ask you—a question a per sonal question?” "I think not, mademoiselle” he smiled at her. She went on, hesitating a little. "Fa ther was talking of how Prince Louis Bonaparte served, r few years ago, with the Italian revolutionists. I won dered if—if by chance you had fought under him.” lie shook his head. "I had not that happiness, mademoiselle.” "The heir of the Bonapartes now is that Prince Louis Napoleon, is it not?” she questioned. "Yes, mademoiselle.” "And he made an attempt on the city of Strasburg, a few months ago, and was tried for it—and all that—father talked about it so much I could not help knowing a little about it. but 1 don’t remember distinctly." ‘‘But certainly, mademoiselle. It was int? prince. “Then, haven’t they Just done some thing to him? Isn't there something people are interested in Just now about that Prince Louis?” The grave bright smile flashed out at her. "In truth, mademoiselle, there is. The prince was shipped by his Jail ers on the frigate Andromede more than four months ago, for what port is unknown. One has not heard of him lately, and there are fears that he may have suffered shipwreck. But I do not fear. It is the hope of France, It is France’s destiny which the Andromede carries. It will carry that cargo safe ly. The young prince will yet come to his own. and I—and perhaps you. made moiselle—wo knows?—will cry for him ’Vive l'Empereur'!” The tone full of feeling thrilled through the girl. She flushed and stam mered as she went on, but Francois, carried away by his enthusiasm, did not think of it. "If you will let me ask you Just one question more, monsieur, I will promise not to ask any after.” The flicker of amusement lighted his face. "Ask me 1,000. mademoiselle." "No, only one. Did that seigneur— that General Gourgaud—did he have any—any daughter?" The Frenchman rose In a business like way, the way of a teacher of lan guage at the end of a lesson. "One.” he answered briefly in a mat ter-of-fact tone. And then. "Made moiselle has talked enchantingly well this evening, but I have perhaps talked too much. I may have tired made moiselle. I have the honor to wish you a good evening.” His heels together, he stood In the doorway and made Ills bow. "An plaislr de vous revolr.” he said, and was gone. CHAPTER XXX. THE PRINCE COMES. The glittering morning sunlight of late March flooded the eastern dining room of Roanoke House. As the bare branches of the trees outside moved up and down in the biting breeze, the shad ows danced on brown blackness of wainscoted walls, and against that deep background Lucy Hampton's gold head shone as Madonna heads shine from dim canvasses. A fire blazed on the hearth; hot dishes steamed on the table; the girl’s face, the cracking fire, the polished silver reflected from pol ished mahogany; the soft-shod, solic itous service of a white aproned negro; all this made the room fragrant with homeliness in spite of the fact that one could see ones breath in the air. But they were used to it—the hardy Vir ginians of those days of open fires and no furnaces, of many luxuries and few comforts, and in happy ignorance of world progress, they suffered cheerful ly and were strong. Colonel Henry Hampton faced a por trait of the first Henry Hampton, of Roanoke, stately with brass buttons and sliver lace, set In the panels 75 years before, Luey toed concluded her broiled chicken and bacon and hot bread, and now as he. late for break fast always, followed In her wake, he read the Norfolk & Portsmouth Her ald, with which a colored boy had that morning ridden out from Norfolk, eight miles away. It was before the time of daily papers, except in a large city or two. and this of once a week was an event: a boy was sent into Norfolk the day before its publication that the colonel might have It at the earliest moment. The colonel’s heavy-dragoon type of face was handsome and weak: a bushy mustache jutted from beneath his tine nose, as if in an effort to make it sol dierly and masculine. The features were modeled on the big-boned, lean [features of men who had done things: | only the spirit was left out. It was as if a man who inherited his ancestor’s massive silver platters had no meat to put on them. Ills uncertain eyes, under their splendid brows, wandered from column to column of the little sheet, leaving this and that article unfin ished, and as he read he reported hits of news to his daughter. “How would you like to see a live prince. Lucy?” he inquired. “The Her ald states that we have one with us, not 10 miles from Roanoke. Prince Louis Napoleon was landed from the Andromede, In Norfolk, only yesterday. Poor young man,” he went on condes cendingly, “he has no money, 1 under stand, and here he is stranded in a strange country with his fortune to make, and no assets but a title. It's little that will help him in the states!” Colonel Hampton glanced over to see if she were listening to his words of wisdom; he liked an attentive audience. He was enchanted with her expression. She had dropped knife and fork and, with her blue eyes stretched wide, her white teeth shining, was drinking his sentences. “Father! Is Prince Louis in Norfolk? How can it be? Monsieur Beaupre was talking to me about him last night, and he did not dream of his coming here. Surely he would have known if the prince were expected.” Colonel Hampton smiled sarcastical ly. “You will find that your father occasionally knows more than even Monsieur Beaupre, and even on French questions, I may add,” he announced, from a mountain height. “But in one point you are right, my dear. The prince was not expected by any one, not even by the great Chevalier 'Beau pre. He was exiled from France, as you may or may not know, some four and a half months ago, on account of his attempt on Strasburg, and was sent out on the Andromede, with sealed orders. No one knew his destination until he landed, on the 29th, in Norfolk. There the colonel got up and walked to the fireplace and stood with his back to the blaze, and his legs far apart, masterfully. “There my dear, I have given you a dose of history for a female mind. How are you going to amuse your little self today?” The female mind paid no attentloln to the digression. Lucy had long ago, finally if unconsciously, put her fa ther's personality into its right place. "Father, is the prince ieally poor and alone in this country?” “Poor—yes, I fancy—1 am quite cer tain, in fact. Alor.e— that depends. The authorities of Norfolk received him with some distinction, the Herald states, but he is putting up at the inn one would conclude that he was not an invited guest at many of our great houses." Lucy flew like a bird across to the fireplace. Her hand went up to either side of the colonel’s face. "Father, quick! Have Thunder saddled, and ride in—quick, father—and bring the prince out here to stay with us. Give the order to Sambo, or I shall.” Colonel Hampton’s eves widened with surprise. “Why, but Lucy,” he str.m mared. “Why—but why should I? What claim have we—” "Oh, nonsense," and Lucy shook her head impatiently. "Who has more? Aren’t we Virginians of the James river princes in our own country, too? Hasn’t our family reigned in Roanoke longer than ever his reigned in Europe? Haven't we enough house room and servants to make him as comfortable as in a palace? But that Isn't the most important. It Is a shame to us all, father, that no one has invited him before, that a strange gentleman of high station should have to lodge at an inn. Why hasn’t Cousin George Har rison asked him to Brandon? And the Carters at Shirley, and the people at Berkeley—what do they mean by not asking him? But we won’t let Virgin ian hospitality be stained. We will ask him. You will ride to Norfolk at once, will you not, father dear?” The touch on his check was pleasant to the vain and affectionate man, but the spirit of the girl's speech, the sug gestion of the courtesy due from him as a reigning prince, to this other prince forlorn and exiled, this was pleasanter. He pursed his lips and smiled down. "Out of the mouth of babes,” he re marked, and drew his brows together as if under stress of large machinery behind them. “My little girl, you have rather a sensible idea. I had over looked before, that’’—he cleared his tlnoat and black Aaron standing tray In hand across the room, jumped and duller his eyes—“that,” he continued, “a man of my importance has duties of hospitality, even to a foreigner who comes without introduction into th9 country.” "Introduction—bother!" remarked the daughter. "The idea of a nephew of the emperor of France needing ’— she stopped. This was the wrong line of argument. "I think he will be de lighted to come to Roanoke House," she went on. "It is so beautiful even in winter," and she looked proudly about the fine room and the portraits on its walls looked back at her proud ly too. “Many distinguished guests have been delighted to vloit Roanoke," Colonel Hampton answered stiffly. "The bank rupt sprig of a parvenu royalty—” “Father—what horrid big words! I haven’t any idea what they mean," the girl Interrupted, "except that you're abusing Prince Louis, who is probably having a bad breakfast in that stuffy inn. Go along, father, bring him out to Roanoke, and we’ll show him what Virginia breakfasts are like.” Colonel Hampton’s sense of impor tance was tickled by the thought of having for a guest a scion of so fa mous a house; his genuine instinct of kindliness was aroused; moreover, time hung on his hands these late winter days, and the plan appealed to him as a diversion. “Aaron, tell Sambo to saddle Thun der.” he ordered. Prince Louis, in his dingy parlor at the inn. looked at his visitor from be tween half-shut eyelids, and measured him. soul and body. He considered the invitation for a silent moment. This was one of the great men of the coun try. The prince had already heard his name and the name of his historic home. It was well to have influential friends, more particularly as no letter awaited him as he had hoped from his uncle, Joseph Bonaparte, with the American introductions for which he had asked. A visit of a few days at this place of Roanoke could do no harm and might lead to good. "I thank you very much, Monsieur le Colonel." he said gravely, yet gracious ly. "You are most good to desire that I visit you. I will do so with pleasure." The people of Norfolk were awake to the fact that an exiled prince had sud denly dropped among them, and when I aa aquiHne-futed, forelgn-looklcg. email, young man rode out from th« city by Colonel Hamptonte side, sitting his horse like an accomplished cavalry man, more fhan ene citizen turned to look with comprehending interest. To a southerner it would seem not out of proportion that the czar of Russia and the monarchs of England and France should together visit his city, and in offering them his best he would rest I content as to their entertainment, which is surely the well-bred attitude. So that the good people of Norfolk who stopped to gaze a moment at the fu ture emperor of France, the kinsman of one of earth’s greatest conquerors, | were not unduly impressed. One and I another lifted his hat and bowed deeply to Colonel Hampton with a smile of approval. It was right, it was traditional, that the Hamptons of Roanoke house should take charge of a distinguished stranger, and, more over, it was extremely pleasant for the stranger. And impassive Prince Louis, who appeared to look at nothing, missed neither the self-respecting in terest of t^e citizens in himself, nor <heir profounder sense of the impor tance of his host. Very little passed within range of those dull gray eyes which was not filed away for refer ence in the mind behind the mask. Out they rode through the sun lighted, wind-whipped country, dozing restfully through its last winter’s nap, stirring already at the step of lively April on the threshold. The air was sharp, and nipped at the prince’s fin gers and toes, but it was exhilaration to be across a horse again, and the exile’s spirit—the case-hardened heart of steel which failure and misfortune never broke till it broke forever at Sedan—grew buoyant. That “some thing about the outside of a horse which is good for the inside of a man” w’orked its subtle charm on this fin ished horseman and horse lover, and he was gently responsive as the colonel talked iiuentlv on. It was on his own affairs that the colonel talked, of his thousands of acres, his hundreds of slaves, his meth ods, his crops, his tobacco, and then of his family and their history here in Virginia, and at last, most absorbing topic of all, he talked of himself. He explained to the prince how it was that he came to speak French so well, and not a gleam in the filmy gray gaze betrayed the prince’s opinion. But a pause came in the stream of words, and Prince Louis’ resonant voice filled it. onel, that there is in these parts a Frenchman of—of instruction—a man whom I might use as a secretary? I shall have need tomorrow to write let ters. Would you know of such a man. Monsieur le Colonel?" Nothing pleased Monsieur le Colonel more than to be master of the situation. "Most certainly,” he answered blandly and felt that the prince must notice how no demand could find Colonel Hampton at a loss. “Most certainly. My daughter's French master would be the very fellow. He is intelligent and well educated, and what is, more he is a most ardent adherent of your family, prince. He has talked to Miss Hamp ton with such a vehement enthusiasm that, by the Lord Harry. I believe she expects to see you fly in with wings, sir—I believe she does,” and the col onel laughed loudly and heartily. It was as good a joke as he had ever made. A vague movement twisted the muscles of the prince’s mouth, but it was n regretful smile. He was won dering. if the inn parlor would net have been better than this fine landscape and good horse with Colonel Hamp ton’s steady conversation. But he had plenty of French politeness. “It !a good of mademoiselle to give me her favor,” he said graciously. “Made moiselle is voting—a little girl?” V^ua'vujucu iicA i vvcca./ Always Travel First Class. From the Wall Street Journal. An employee of a brokerage firm about to go abroad for a brief vacation, was considering whether he would pay for a first class passage on the steamer, or travel second class and thereby save about $250. His dilemma reached the ears of one of his principals, who un dertook to settle the question. "My boy, always travel first class when you can afford it. It pays, some times," was the advice, backed up by practical illustratioin. "One of tha largest silk mill owners In this coun try," continued tne principal, “about 25 years ago, was precisely In your po sition; He then represented In this country a Scotch firm of cotton thread manufacturers. His firm wanted to have a consultation with him regarding / an extension of the business in tha United States and Canada, and sum moned him to the home office for that purpose, all expenses to be defrayed by the firm. He was of the thrifty Scotch character, and hesitated about travel ing in the saloon, even though his firm expected him to do so. untl he got tha advice of a friend—"it pays to travel first class.” On his way over to Glasgow he met as a. traveling companion a silk manu facturer from Paterson, N. J. In tha course of the 10 days' voyage they had many heart to heart talks, from which the silk mill owner learned what tha young man had accomplished for tha thread manufacturers and the abject of his trip to Scotland. Finally the silk manufacturer asked him what salary he was getting, and he frankly an swered '$40 a week.' ‘Well, said tha silk man, my mission abroad at this time is to get a manager for my mills, as well as to buy raw silk. I do not want to influence you in vour action with your firm, but my opinion Is that they are not paying you what you ara worth. Undoubtedly tney will advance your salary before vou leave Scotland again, but If they offer you anything less than $10,008 a year you can have that amount from me, and the posi tion as manager of one of the largest silk mills in the United States "The young man pleaded that he did not know anything about silk manu- "• facturing, but his would-be employer replied that that did not matter- he could soon learn all that was neces’sarv about it for his position. When he ar rived in Glasgow he told his employers of the offer he had had, and they strongly advised him to accept it Ha isu.n<?w part owner of that silk'mill which has grown considerably since he became manager.” The tale carries Its own moral. Makinq a Great Nation. Not serried ranks with dags unfurled Not armored ships that gird the world Not hoarded wealth or busy mills Not cattle on a thousand lulls Not sages wise, or schools or'laws Not boasted deeds in freedom's cause All these may be and yet the state In eye of God be far from great l'hat land is great which knows the T.ord U hose sons are guided by His word ’ here justice rules 'Iwixt man and man. Where love controls in act and plan ^ Where breathing in his native air Each soul finds joy In praise and prayer— riius may our country good and great He God's delight—man's best estate. Alexander Blackburn. The diseases to which caisson work ers are subject, according to a French authority, are due to the fact that, when air is compressed hydraulically It loses nearly one-fifth of its oxygen. Mrs. Sarah E. Stewart, age 88, ha4 \ held an uninterrupted membership for 82 years in the Belfast, Me., Methodist Sunday sshool.