1 mi mi mi£~V f MARY MIDTHORNE 1 BY GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON. Author of “Graust&rk," “Truxton King.” etc. Copyright, 1911. By Dodd. Mead A Co. Jjj O llll III! IUI CHAPTER X "But God isn’t going to Judge you for a while, understand that. You’ll be judged by men, before God gets a chance to forgive you. God isn't going to hold this against you, so why should you give your fellow man a chance to do you harm? You're not guilty of mur der, but—well, I guess you’re beginning to understand. I’m thinking for you and for Mary, my boy, and I’m think ing hard. You can trust me. I will do what is right and Just, for I know what these damned brutes of men do when they get on a Jury, or when they set out to hound a fellow creature to his grave. I am your judge, Eric. You are the only witness I shall examine, and I win acquit you of all blame on your own word. You may not sleep well to night, but tomorrow you will realize that you did what could not be helped and that the God you speak of took away Chetwynd’s life—God and a com munity that does not keep its bridges in repair. Now, tell me slowly, care fully, just what brought on the fight.” Eric told the story from beginning to end, from the instant he saw Chet wynd on the bridge to his disappear ance over the edge. ”1 couldn’t stand it any longer when he said that about my sister. I Just had to fight. It was a fair fight, too— as fair as I know how. I—I watched for my chance to get in that blow you taught me. I—well, that’s all.” "He deserved the licking,'’ said Ad am, a grim smile on his lips. "And I won't say he didn’t deserve the pun ishment God gave him, too. He was a rascal, Eric—a nasty rascal. I can tell you who that letter was from. It was from a woman in New Y’ork, a woman on whom he was spending thou sands of dollars that didn’t belong to him.” “Didn’t belong to him?” “Yes. I suppose you believed all that private instruction rot, too, the same as his father and mother did. Well, I’ve got a few rare facts to lay before the Blagdens.” There was such utter vindictiveness In his manner of speech that Eric looked at him In wonder. “Oh, I don’t profess love for your fine Blagdens,” said Adam gruffly. “Horace and I used to play together when we were little chaps. Oswald Bright was another of my playmates. I was a poor sailorman’s son; they were of the elect. I knew your mother, Eric, when she was a tiny little girl. But our family left Corinth long before she was in shoe top frocks, and I never saw her afterwards. That's neither here nor there. I’ve never forgotten the scurvy trick Horace played on me in school. Somebody in our room was stealing things from the desks of the other scholars. Horace openly accused me of it. I was driven out in disgrace. Not one of my old playmates would look at me, except Oswald Bright. By George, he was a great judge, even in those days. He defended me on all oc casions, and he—he pulled me out of the water once when I actually tried to drown myself because I was so un happy. He put new courage into me. “My father moved to Gloucester a few months afterward, but one day Os wald wrote me a letter saying they had caught the real thief in the act of pil fering, and he confessed to the whole range of thefts. He was sent to the nouse or correction ana provea a oaa 101 all the rest of his life. But I never for got Horace Blagden’s charge against me. Years passed before he grudgingly apologized to me at Bright's suggestion. I don’t mind saying I’ve never liked your Uncle Horace, and that's putting It gently. Now my turn has come. He'll squirm when I tell him the name of the man who got away with the bank's money a few months ago. It will turn his hair greyer than it is when he finds out for a certainty that It wasn’t John Payson who took it.” “Payson? The teller who used to be —” “In Chetwynd's place.” completed Adam grimly. "A lot of money was taken out about the time Payson left the bank. Your uncle sent for me. He was determined Jack was the thief. I went to work. For weeks and weeks I watched every move that fellow made, not so much for the purpose of finding him guilty to please Horace Blagden, but to establish his innocence to please myself. Payson was no more guilty of robbing that bank than you are, and I was sure of it from the be ginning. Horace wouldn’t have It so. He Insisted that I keep after him. He said he’d ‘get him’ if it took years. Well, I told him I’d find the thief, I didn't care how long it took. So I stuck to the case, chiefly to clear Jack Payson. His dad was my best friend when we were boys, and his mother is one of the finest women in the world. She's a widow now and Jack supports her. Tomorrow I’m going up to Hor ace Blagden’s house to make a charge against the real thief." Eric was leaning forward, staring at the hard set face of the speaker, his eyes wide with understanding. “You don't mean—Chetwynd?” he cried. l do mean tjnetwyna. He was tne thief. I have positive proof. He took $7,000 out of sealed packages in the vault the second day after he went into the bank to be instructed by Payson. They kept these packages there for emergency cases, being a safe old New England bank, you know.” His grin was the quintessence of Irony. "The money was not missed for weeks, but as some smaller bills had disappeared from the cage just before Payson left, it was recalled, and suspicion fell on him.” "Ohetwynd stole all that money?” "He needed it,” chuckled Adam re flectively. "It’s an expensive luxury, keeping a girl in fine clothes, carriages and champagne, let me tell you that. He met her when he was in college, and she knew he was too good to let slip. So she hung on. She got most of the $7,000 down there in little old New York, and she laughed at him behind his back. I've had more than one friendly chat with her, and I've drunk some of his champagne, al though he didn’t know of it. 1 may add that she looked on me as a rich ranch owner from the far west. She didn’t know me for the original Adam. I got a good deal out of Miss Bunnie De Vine. Yes, my boy, I ran your cousin right down to the ground. A day or two ago I laid it all before Judge Bright. He begged me to let the matter drop. But I refused. I had told Horace I’d find the thief, and that it wouldn’t be poor Jack Payson. So there you are! Tomorrow I’m go ing to make public my discovery and ask for the arrest of Chetwynd Blag den for embezzlement.” He leaned back against the rock and watched tjie varying expressions In Eric’s face- amazement and perplex ity being paramount. “His arrest7” cried he. with a swift,, 17 Involuntary glance toward the ravine. "Why—why, how can you arrest him now ? He's—he's—” "That’s Just the point,” said Adam composedly. "But I can bring charges against him, can’t I?” ”1 don’t understand you, Mr. Carr.” "Of course, I can’t arrest him for the very good reason that he got wind of my intention and skipped out—we’ll say today.” Eric looked his perplexity. “Don’t you catch my meaning?” asked Adam, with his first sign of en thusiasm. "Chetwynd isn't dead. Not at all. He skipped out to avoid arrest." "I—1 see,” murmured the other, light breaking in on him. "I went through his pockets down there in the cut,” went on Adam. "He had $500 in bills. He was certain that I knew everything. Judge Bright told him enough last night to open his eyes pretty thoroughly. He brought that money out here to buy me off. He was desperate, and he was willing to risk discovery at the bank in order to get me off his back, so to Bpcak. So, you see, all this makes it very simple for us. When 1 go in tomorrow to accuse him of the crime, he won't be there. His father will say that he hasn’t been at home since noon today. Then, I’ll tell him why. He has vamosed, that’s all there Is to It.” He leaned back and studied his young friend's face once more, this time being relieved to see signs of hope and credulity there. “Oh. if T rnn nnlv Ifppn them frnm finding out,” said Eric, in agitated, eager tones. “I—I don’t want to go to prison, Mr. Carr. I wonder—I wonder if we can do it. You can do your part, I know, but can I face them? I—I never told a lie in my life.” "You won’t have to tell one now. You keep your lips closed. Don’t breathe a word to a soul—never, so long as you live, my boy.” "But 1 will have to sit by and Join in the talk about him at home.” “There won’t be much said about him at home, I’ll promise you that. His name won’t be mentioned there.” “But how will Uncle Horace explain his disappearance? You forget that.” “I intend to explain it,” said Adam grimly. ”1 have all my proof in hand. The story goes to the newspapers to morrow—all of it." “Oh, you can’t do that! It would kill Uncle Horace.” Eric was gen uinely grieved. "Horace Blagden hasn’t enough money, all told, to buy my silence. I’ve waited years for the chance to strike back at him. Nothing on earth can stay the blow—nothing!" Eric watched his convulsed face in a sort of stupefaction for a few mo ments. Then his mind abruptly re turned to his own affairs. "They will find the body,” he half whispered. “I will attend to that. No one will ever see that body after 12 o'clock to night, unless the sea dries up and leaves its bottom bare. No, my boy, Chetwynd’s name will never be men tioned by his father after tomorrow. As for you, you won’t have any choice in the matter. Your uncle will give you your orders. No one will be allowed to mention his name in his home, or in his presence if he can prevent it. That’s how he will take it. I’m sorry for one thing, Eric, but I won’t hold it as a grudge against you. You deprived me of the Joy of putting that young scoundrel where he belongs—be hind the bars. I have said to myself I’d bury him in a prison cell. I can't do that now, but I will bury him somewhere else.” "You—you are a hard man, Mr. Carr. I didn’t believe any man could be so bitter, so hard.” “We won’t talk about that, if you please,” said the other coldly. “You can thank your lucky stars that I am a hard man, and that I am your friend. You’d be in a devil of a mess, if I were not Just what I am. Now, here are your books and papers. I picked ’em up for you. Take them and go as if nothing had happened.” “I can’t do it! I’ll dream of him all the rest of-” “Rubbish! You’re young and you’ll sleep a long sight better than you would if you were in a cell, waiting for the hangman’s noose. You have not committed murder. Bear that in mind, always. It was an accident. Can’t you say that to yourself, over and over again? You know it is true. Time will do the rest for you. Now, get along home." The man arose and imperious ly motioned for his companion to be off down the slope. Eric hesitated. “What—what are you going to do9” “I am going to walk part way with you.” 'And leave—leave it there alone?” “Oh, it won’t run away,” said Adam. "Besides, you forget it isn’t there. It’s on the way to New York to meet Bun nie De Vinne.” It was grim humor. The speaker himself chuckled over it, and Eric, in a sort of hysterical terror, Joined in with a harsh, staccato laugh that was cut short by the sharp command of his conscience. As they came out upon the bridge, Adam Carr grasped his companion by the arm and hurried him across, as if there were devils and witches behind them. “I did that to keep you from looking dow’n into the ravine,” he announced, in response to the look of amazement in Eric’s eyes. They walked rapidly down the nar row, fast darkening road, between som ber rocks and shaggy brushwood, with out so much as a single look backward. Neither spoke for a long time. At last Adam Carr broke the silence by remarking, in the most casual way: “I left the 500 in his pocket.” Eric looked up from the road, which he had been covering with long, rigid strides. "I’m glad of that, Mr. Carr.” "He stole it, but that’s no reason why I should steal it from him. I guess the bank won’t go to the wall if it never gets back." rxu, i guess uui, sauu r,nc uiecuuu kally. The sky grew darker. Ix>ng, thin shadows from the slope above advanced to meet them as they strode Into the falling dusk, shadows that seemed to point eternally backward over the shoulder of the wretched boy, as If tell ing him of the long, black road that Chetwynd’s ghost was traversing in the painful effort to catch up to him, ciushed and mangled, but still revenge ful. Again Adam spoke. They were near the upper gate to the Seaman’s home, and his father would be waiting for him there. "Judge Bright had him up there last night to see if he couldn’t get him to give up this girl in New York. He didn’t mention the embezzlement, but he sort of opened Chetwynd’s eye* to, a good many things. The Judge made me promise to give him the chance to wring an honest confession out of him. But Chetwynd wasn’t the kind to con fess a wrong. He couldn’t. He was a Blagden. So he told the Judge to go to the devil and left the house." "See here, Mr. Carr, you’ve got to tell me just what you’re going to do with—with Chetwynd's body. I-■" “Sh! Not so loud, my boy. Well, if you must know. I’ll tell you. There’s no moon tonight. If you should hap pen to be strolling along Stone Wall at 11 or 12 tonight, and if you possess the eyes of a cat, you will see a small boat put out to set from a point near the mouth of the ravine. There will be two men in that boat, one dead, one alive. The living-’’ Eric grasped his arm in an ecstasy of horror. "You’re not going to row out to sea alone with—with it in the boat with you?” “Of course. I’m not afraid of ghosts. If I was, I’d be haunted all the time. You see, Eric, in my time I’ve killed a man or two. I’ve had to do it or be killed myself, just as you might have been. Yes, I’m going to take him five or six miles out, and leave him there. He will go down in an old iron chest of mine, and the whole Atlantic ocean will not be strong enough to budge that chest, once it touches bottom.” "God in heaven!” groaned the boy. all a-tremble with the horror of this grewsome declaration. "You’ve heard father sing that song about 'dead men’s chests,’ haven’t you?” went on Adam calmly. "Well,—” "For heaven’s sake, don’t!” cried the boy. "I’m sorry, Eric,” said the other, lay ing his hand on the boy’s arm. "I guess I’m a rather cold blooded chap. I didn’t mean to upset you so.” "Mr. Carr, I w-ant you to take me along with you tonight,” said Eric, ab ruptly halting in the middle of the road, a strong note of resoluteness in his voice. "What ?’• "Yes, I mean it. If you are going to do it in that way, I want to be with you. It’s this way, Mr. Carr: if I’ve got to keep quiet all my life about what I’ve done, I must be sure in my own mind that the—that he is really out there at the bottom of the sea. I’ve got to know it for myself.” "Don’t you trust me?” asked Adam *ith a queer little smile. ‘T’ve got to know it for myself,” re peated Eric resolutely. Adam resumed his rapid pace with out replying. His head was bent and his hands were pushed deep into his coat pockets. Erick kept close to his side. After 20 rods or more had been covered in silence, Bave for the hard breathing of the two pedestrians, the detective turned to his companion. “I guess you’re right. You will want to be sure, won’t you? Come to Fish er’s Landing at 10 o’clock. I’ll be there with a boat.” Eric shuddered. "It’s—it’s going to be horrible,” he said, striving to set his chattering teeth. They could see old Jabez at the gate, 100 yards ahead. He was smoking and at peace with the world. Eric wondered if he would ever be at peace with the world again. "Uncle Horace and Aunt Rena will expect Chetwynd to come back some day,” he mused aloud. "They’ll never get over expecting him. It will always be that way with them. I don't believe I can stand It Mr. Carr. They’ll won der where he is, whether he’s well or ill, trouble or out of it, well cared for or starving. It’s—it’s terrible to think of.” "My boy,” said Adam quietly, “you’ve saved them from a great deal worse trouble than all that. Some men ought to die young." CHAPTER XI. THE SHADOWS FALL. It was long after 2 o’clock in the morning when Eric, drenched by the sea mists, stole across the lawn and let himself Into the darkened house on the hill, through a window he had left un fastened at the time of his stealthy de parture several hours before. He was faint from the horrors of that mid night excursion. His legs trembled be neath him as he crept up the stair case and down the long hall to his room. An Impulse, grewsome enough, caused him to pause for an Instant be fore the closed door of Chetwynd’s room. He listened there for a moment and then hurried on as If afraid that the door would open In his face to re veal the figure of—Chetwynd himself. The house was as still as death it self. He knew that his uncle and aunt were sleeping soundly In the big blue room overlooking the street, In serene ignorance of what the morning was to bring to them. Somehow, he had the uncanny feeling that this was the last night on which they would sleep soundly and in peace. In his own room at last, he softly opened the door leading to the smaller one occupied by Mary. He could not see her for the darkness, but in time his heart beats subsided so that his ears could detect the soft, regular breathing of the girl In the white bed across the room. (Continued next week.) "Bob” Burdett’s Resolutions. From National Magazine. Because I am born into a world of many imperfections and daily tempta tions; because I have many faults al ready and am liable to acquire others, I resolve that I will make my faults my virtues. I will be proud—too proud—to think a foul thought; too proud to do a vile deed. I will hate a lie; I will despise a deception; 1 will scorn a mean action. I will fear temptations, and avoid them if I can, but I will fight them if I must, and will fight them to the death, show ing no quarter. I will slay my enemies by making them my friends, which is far better than making them my brothers. For brothers are not always friends, but true friends are always better than brothers. I will be cruel to my faults, no mat ter how pleasant they may seem to be to me. I will “pluck out my right eye," if it sees falsely and crookedly for me; I will “cut off my right hand” should it deal treacherously with me. Com fanlonshlps that lead me into evil ways will renounce if I cannot transform them into righteousness. I will fear to do wrong because of the misery I might cause myself and bring upon others; I will fear to go wrong, ever so little a way, lest I might lose myself and those who trust me as a guide. So I will make my pride, my hates, my fears, my cruelties, my temptations —all my faults and evil propensities— “captives of my bow and spear,” cap tured in fair, honorable, openly declared war and straightforward battle. And I will compel them to bow down to me and to serve me, even as conquerors in all ages have made life slaves of tlieir captives. Thus will I strive to make it come true in my life that “best men are molded out of faults.” Robert J. Burdette, Dated. Sunnycrest, Pasadena, February 18, 1914. The best paid servant among the female staff In the employ of the Eng lish royal family Is the chief house keeper, who receives a salary of $1,750 a year. She occupies a most respon sible position, as the whole organiza tion and management of all the maid servants is under her control. Ntneteen-year-old Catherine Stin son has announced her intention of undertaking an aeroplane flight from New York to San Francisco and will start about June 1 in a 00-horse power machine. PETE’S GOLD MINE. /Copyright. 1915, by the McClure News paper Syndicate.) Shaggy Pete was only a dusty, gray burro, but then Pete had sense. Now, a burro is a small, tough donkey used in the west for climbing mountains and hauling things to mining camps, and is not generally supposed to have much brains. But Pete was different. He took as good care of little Ada as if he were a nurse with cap and apron, and would even pretend to go to sleep while she pulled herself up on his back by his tall. Pete belonged to Ada's father. Mr. Bedford, who had come out to Colo rado in the spring to get strong in the crisp mountain air. But the father soon found his small fund of money getting low and wondered what he could do to support his family until he got entirely well. Knowing that the mountains were full of mining camps, and wishing to 3nd a gold mine for himself, he began to spend days climbing among the huge rocks, looking for the peculiar stone V* ,i vtUjrr." i mmm n /-/ ' called quartz, through which run veins of gold like tiny, silken threads. But every evening he would return tired out and empty handed. Even Ada no ticed th.e worried look on his face and her mother’s tears, though she could not understand the trouble. But at last one evening a terrible thing happened. For when the father came ho said sadly that he would have to sell dear old Fete because his money had all been spent. And they would have to go down to some town and the father find work, though If he could stay a few months longer on the mountain he would be a well man. Ada knew that her father was to take Pete away to sell at noon the next day, so directly after breakfast she put on his bridle and climbed on his back. Then with her chubby legs bumping against hts sides she set out, following a path across the mountain, winding through the pines until they stood at the top of a high rock. Just below was a grassy bit of level ground hidden by towering trees. She meant to hide her p.et so her father could not find him. So she climbed down from Pete’s back and began to pull on the bridle as she slid down the rock. But the tiny feet slipped and the child fell, rolling over and over down the slanting face of the cliff, till she landed, bruised, but not hurt, on the grass at the bot tom. In falling she had Jerked Pete, too, and he fell, but not In exactly the same direction as Ada. Kicking and knocking rocks about, he came bounc ing down to the bottom, then scrambled to his feet and began to nibble the fine grass. But little Ada commenced to cry. Then at the top of her voice she screamed for her father, but no sound came In answer from the big, silent mountains. The sun rose higher and higher and she knew it must be dinner tlpie, for she was so hungry. Then it began to sink toward the west and the shadows creep out. Just where Pete had kicked out a big chunk of rock when falling, she noticed a bright re flection from the cliff, and as the sink ing sun shone on the face of the rock she saw long veins of yellow that glinted and winked at the shining rays. Then with her little hands she has tily fathered up the bits of rock that had fallen on the grass. They, too, were full of tiny threads of gleaming metal. And the child knew that at last she had found that for which her fath er had so long looked In vain—gold. Just then she heard a voice calling and some one running up the path. With a glad cry she answered back, and In a moment her father stood at the top of the rock, full In the light of the setting sun. ’’Oh, father, father!" she cried, so delighted with her find that she for got her bruls.es, "look what I have found. It's gold—and Pete did it.” It took the father but a few seconds to scramble down and clasp his little daughter In his arms. And when she showed him the shining yellow In the rocks Peter had broken off and the big place on the cliff where It glistened in large veins, the father shouted with Joy. A very happv man and child they were as they climbed home and man aged to drag Pete along, and, of course, Pete was not sold. And when Mr. Bed ford built a beautiful home on the mountain near the gold mine, Pete had a fine, warm stable, and everybody called the place Pete’s Mine. Miss Country Store Forum. From the Toledo Blade. Something was lost, and It was no little thing, when the debaters around the stove In the country grocery store ceased to set .tle the affairs of the nation. It was a custom that greatly tickled the professional humorists. The stage bur lesqued It. The song writers made sport of it. Fiction writers dressed It In dia lect and presented It to readers as the absurdest practice of which Americans were guilty. It has been laughed wellnlgh out of existence. There came to the evening debate the farmer who all day at the plow had been thinking. The village carpenter brought the thoughts that had been maturing while he wielded saw and hammer. The postmaster spoke from an official stand point, the school teacher from the schol astic. The local minister cited the scrip tures and often there was some law stu dent ready to recite the statutes glibly If not particularly to the point The results of discussion may have been ridiculous more often than not. But al ways they represented the crystallized public opinion of the section. We have nothing now that quite takes Its place. Editors speak for themselves. Politicians have their own Interests at heart. The flood of telegrams which poured In on the president In the last few days was the opinions of the Individuals who wrote the messages. But In Lincoln’s day, such tele grams would have been the mobilized opinions of the countryside and the com munities whence they came. Laughter has destroyed an Institution which, at such a time as this, would be beyond price. One on Billy Sunday. From the Boston Transcript. Billy Sunday stopped a petvsboy In Philadelphia the other day and In quired the way to the postoffice. "Up one block and turn to the right,” said the boy. “You seem a bright little fellow,” said Sunday. "Do you know who I am ?'• “Nope!" "I’m Billy Sunday, and If you’ll come to my meeting tonight I’ll show you the way to heaven.” "Aw, go on!” answered the young ster; “you didn’t even know the way to the postoffice.’’ ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmtmmmmrnmmii ■■■ ■■ i ■ " m u —iWWiWWB——w—WMiMa— Children Cry for Fletcher’s The Kind You Have Always Bought, and which has been la use lor over 30 years, has borne the signature of >5^ — and has been made under his per /V. . Bonal supervision since its infancy. » #t cure. Trial Free. The Soap to cleanse and purify, the Ointment to soothe and heal. Relief rest and sleep follow the use of these supercreamy emollients and Indicate speedy and complete healment in most cases of young and old, even when the usual remedies have utterly failed. Sample each free by mall with Rook. Address postcard, Cutlcura, Dept. XT* Boston. Sold everywhere.—Adv. Much More Important. 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