I
INTERNATIONAL PRESS ASSOCIATION.
. *vnr<n vvvrfi /p^u.iui BK t. i mii«t ho tnld her trniihlprl hoart found
V»ni * • —— —
The nurse, having lifted little Leon
Into the bed, returned to her chair be
side the fire, while Marjorie put her
■nn around the1 little fellow’s shoul
ders and presently fell asleep.
Now that the fever had actually
passed away, Marjorie's convalescence
was rapid.
She still kept to her bed, being too
weak even to move without assistance,
and during tlrt day little Leon was con
stantly with her. She asked a few
questions, and the more she heard the
more her curiosity was aroused.
One day she Inquired for the grave
lady whose face she dimly remembered
to have seen, and who she now heard
was the mistress of the house. In the
afternoon the lady came to the bed
side.
Marjorie was sitting up in bed that
prnnned up by pillows, looking the
rery ghost of what Mir cnee been;
while on the bed beside her was little
Leon, surrounded by his toys. He look
ed up, laughed, and clapped his hands
when Miss Dove came In, but she only
smiled and gently rebuked him for his
boisterousness,
Then she sat down beside the bed,
and tookjMwJorla's hand.
•■Weir my child,” she said, "so
you are rapidly getting well.”
For a moment Marjorie was silent—
she could not speak. The tears were
blinding her eyes and ehoklng her
▼oice, but she bent her head and kissed
the hand that had saved her.
“Come, come," said Miss Dove, "you
must not give way like this. You have
to tell me all about yourself, for at
nsaonnl T Irn/iw ahanllltplv nnthimf "
With an effort, Marjorie conquered
ber emotion and dried her tears. Hut
what h^d slje to tell?—nothing, It
•eemed, except that she was friendless
and alone.
"Nay,” said the lady, gently. "You
are not that; from the moment, you en
tered this door you had friends. But
tell me, my child, how was It I found
you and your child starving upon my
threshold? You have a husband, per
haps? Is he alive or dead?”
Marjorie shook her head.
"He isbdrqt, tp Paris, madame.’'
"And his name is Caussldiere, la It
not? So Leon has told me.”
"Yes, madame. Monsieur Causel
diere.”
"We must seek him out," continued
Miss Dove. "Such conduct Is not to
be endured. A man has no right to
bring his wife to a foreign country and
then desert her.”
"Ah, no,” cried Marjorie; "you must
#ot do that. I wild, leave the house
whenever you Wish, madame, but do
not force me to see him again.”
Miss Dove looked at her for a mo
ment In silence; then she rang for the
nurse, lifted Leon from the bed, and
•enlfelm away.
"Now, my child,” she said, when the
two women were alone, "tell me your
■tory.“ N*
And Marjorie told It, or as much of It
*s she could recall^ She told of her
•arly life In the quaint old manse In
Annandale with Mr. Lorraine Solomon
ana mysie; oi aims noineringiou, ariu
of the Frenohmen who came with hlB
apeciouB tongue and wooed her away.
Then »he told of her life in Paris, of
her gradual estrangement from all her
friends, and finally of her desertion by
the man whom until then she had be
lieved to be her husband.
"So,” said the lady, when she had
finished, "ytfii were married by the
English law. and the man is in reality
not your husband. Weil, the only
thing we can do Is to leave him alone
altogether, and apply to your friends.”
Marjorie shook her head.
"That Is useless, madame,” she said.
"When my little boy had naught but
starvation before him I wrote to roy
mother in Annandale, but ahe did not
answer me.”
• Is that so?"
"Yee, madame, It Is true.”
“It Is very strange,” she said, "but
we muBt bc« what can he done, Mar
jorie -may 1 call you Marjorie? In the
meantime you must not think of all
these sad things. You must amuse
yourself with l^eon and get well quick
ly, and my task will be the lighter."
After this Interview Miss Dove visit
ed Marjorie every day. and sometimes
aat (or an hour or more by her bedside;
and wlieu at length the Invalid, who
galoed strength every day, waa able
to rise from her bed, ahe lay upon a
couch by the window, and watched the
aunshine creeping into the streata.
It waa nut like Marjorie to remain
Idle when there was so much to be
4oce. and as the weakness passed away
her brain began to work, planning fur
the future. She had several schemes
made when she spoke of them one
Wight to Mice Ihivs
The lady listened quietly, then ahe
acid
"You would rather remain in lAtrls,
JMdfJb'ie than go home*"
"Mad*w*, I have no hum* **
"Yau have Annandale facile "
dha shoo* her head
-ladeed n la at n»» home mmbI I
i Z 8!
little comfort In the thought of a meet
ing with Miss Hetherington.
At last, after long reflection, she
spoke:
‘‘I know my mother—she is my
mother—is very good; but it has all
been a fatality since I was born, and I
can hardly realize yet that we are so
close akin. Ah! If I had but known,
madame! If she had but told me at
the first, I should never have left Scot
land, or known so much sorrow!”
Miss Dove sighed In sympathetic ac
quiescence.
"It is a sad story,” she replied.
"Your mother, proud lady as she is,
has been a great sinner; but she has
been terribly punished. Surely, my
child, you do not bear any anger
against her In your heart?"
"None, madame; but she Is so strange
and proud. I am almost afraid of her
still."
"And you have other loving friends,”
continued the lady, nmtllnfi kindly,
"Do you remember Mr. Sutherland?"
"Johnnie Sutherland?" cried Mar
jorie, joyfully. “Who told yon of him?”
"Himself. He is back here In Paris.”
Marjorie uttered u cry of delight.
"You have seen him? You have spok
en to him? He knows—"
"He knows everything, my child; and
he Is waiting below till I give him the
signal 10 come up. > an you near 10 see
him?”
There was no need to ask that ques
tion. Marjorie's flushed cheek and
sparkling eye had answered It long be
fore. Miss Dove stole quietly from the
room, and almost Immediately reap
peared, followed by Sutherland him
self.
"Marjorie! my poor Marjorie!” he
cried, seizing her hands and almost
sobbing.
Hut who was this that Marjorie saw
approaching, through the mist of her
o.wn Joyful tears? A stooping figure,
leaning upon a staff, turning toward
her a haggard fr 3, and stretching out
a trembling palsied hand, it was Miss
Hetherington, trembling and weeping,
all the harsh lineaments softened with
the yearning of a mother's love.
“My bairn! my bairn!"
“Oh, mother! mother!” cried Mar
jorie; and mother and daughter clung
together, reunited in a passionate em
brace.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
HEY took her home
with her little boy
to Annandale, and
there In the old
Castle Marjorie
soon recovered her
health and her
strength. It
was winter still;
the landscape was
white with snow,
the trees hung
heavily under the icy load, and a blue
mask of ice covered the flowing An
nan from bank to bank; but tq Mar
jorie all was gladsome and familiar as
she moved about from scene to scene.
She wore black, like a widow, and so
did little Leon; and. indeed, it w'as a
common report everywhere that her
husband was dead, and that she was
left alone.
As to Miss Hetherington’s secret, all
the world knew it now, for the swift
tongue ui 81'duuai naa Deen busy be
fore Marjorie’s return. Heedless of the
shame, heedless of all things In the
world, save her joy In the possession
of her daughter, the grand old lady re
mained in deep seclusion In her lonely
ancestral home.
In these sad, yet happy days, who
could be gentler than Miss Hetherlng
ton? The mask of her pride fell off
forever, and showed a mother’s loving
face, sweetened with humility and
heavenly pity. She wag worn and fee
ble, and looked very old; but whenever
Marjorie was near she was happiness
Itself.
The fullest measure of her love, how
ever, was reserved for Marjorie's child.
Little I<eon had no fear of her. and
soon. In his pretty broken Knglish,
learned to call her “grandmamma."
“We began wl’ a bar sinister." said
the lady one day. as they sat together;
“but there’s no blame and no shame,
Marjorie, on you and yours. Your son
is the heir of Annandale."
“Oh. mother," cried Marjorie, sadly,
“how ran that be? 1 ain a mother, but
no wife.’*
“You're wife to yon Kr*urhmnn," an
swered Mias llelherlngtoii, “ay, his
lawful wedded wife by the Kngiuh and
the Heoltish law Out there In Kranao
| he might rejtgi you by the law of man
> but here In ifc otland. you re hie true
wife stilt, though I wish with all my
I heart, you were his widow instead."
“Is that so. mother*"
“True as gospel. Ilaijort* li e wl' me
! the shame Itsa, like Ike bfigkt speck ef
ntoud u« Ike kande of the Ikanes wife,
which even the perfumes of Araby
■ , ottlduA glcanae aws *“
’■ lam t talk of that, mother!" cried
Marjorie emhigrtng the rtld lady 1
1 am sure you are got to blame "
"And you can forgive me my honny
halve *"
*1 have nothing tic forgive vau were
deceived as as I hava heen Oh
mother men nee wr. sed’ | thmh they
kaca evil fceartn-"
The «M indy baobecl b»gg an I h>nd!y
——^—g
In her daughter’s face; then she said,
with a loving smile:
"I ken one man that has the heart
of a king—ay. of an angel, Marjorie.”
‘‘Who, mother?”
‘‘Who but Johnnie Sutherland? my
blessings on the lad! But for him, I
should have lost my bairn forever, and
it was for his sake, Marjorie, that I
wished ye were a widow Indeed!”
Marjorie flushed a deep crimson and
turned her head away. Sutherland's
unswerving devotion had not failed to
touch her deeply, and she understood
It now In all its passionate depth and
strength; but she still felt herself un
der the shadow of her old sorrow, and
she knew that the tie which bound her
to Caussidlere could only be broken by
death.
Thus time passed on, until the dreary
desolate winter of that terrible year,
so memorable to France and French
men, set in with all It* vigor. There
was little Joy for Sutherland. Indeed,
his trials were becoming almost more
than he could bear, and he was wonder
ing whether or not, after all, he should
Ipave his home and Marjorie, when
there came a piece of news which fair
ly stunned him.
It came In the shape of a letter and
a paper from his Parisian artist friend.
The letter, after a few preparatory
words, ran as follows:
"You may be shocked, but I hardly
think you will be sorry to hear of the
death of your little friend’s husband,
Leon Caussidlere. He disappeared In a
. most mysterious manner, and 1b sup
posed to have been privately put to
death. What he was, Heaven knows!
but he mixed a good deal In politics,
and Judging from what you told me
about him, I shouldn’t be at all sur
prised to hear that he was a spy. Well,
at any rate, whatever he was he )s gone
—peace be to his soul, and I fancy the
world will get on a good deal better
without him than with him. At any
rate, a certain part of it will, I know!
With this I send a paper, that you may
read the official account of the death
of your friend, and know that there j
Is no mistake about it.”
Having finished the letter, Suther- I
1_Jt ...__ .» * l. .. nnnr>M_ala n no rt I .
down Us columns; came upon a mark- |
ed paragraph, and read as follows In I
the French tongue:
"Caussldiere, holding an officer's j 1
commission under the Committee of 1
Public Safety, has been convicted of
treasonable practices and put to death.
He was tried by military tribunal, and
executed yesterday.”
Sutherland put down the paper and j
held his hands to his head; he was
like a man dazed. Was he glad? No, j
he would not allow himself to feel glad
—to rejoice In the death of a fellow
creature, even though he was his en
emy.
And yet, if Caussldiere was dead,
Marjorie was free. The very thought
seemed to turn his brain. He put both
the letter and the paper In his pocket,
and went up to his room. He could not
work, but he sat down among his pict
ures and tried to think.
What must be do? Go to Marjorie?
No, he could not do that—for she would
detect the Joy In his face and voice,
and her sensitive nature would recoil
from him, and that he could not bear.
He must not see her; other lips than
his must tell the news.
He remained all the morning shut
up In his room, but In the afternoon
he left the house, and walked slowly
across the fields toward Annandale
Castle.
(TO BB COXTIXCEO.)
COAL AND IRON.
Showing That Orest Britain fe Wot
Holding Her Own,
Statistics show that, whereas Great
Britain in 1840 produced 76 per cent of
U1C wiji IU o Duppi/ ui u»at, ai mr pi CD" *
et time It produces only 34 per eent, ‘
syys Nature. Atlantic liners no longer 1
carry coal from Great Britain for the
return Journey; they now take In
American coal, and no less than 1,500,
000 tons of American coal were thus i
consumed In 1895. The condition of the 1
Iron manufacturing Industries has ol- s
way* exercised a most Important lnfln- ‘
ence on the production of coal so that *
a large demand for Iron draws with 1
it a large demand for mineral fuel. Dur- 1
Ing the last twenty-live years the
world's production of pig Iron has In
creased from 12,000,000 to 26,000,000
tons; but the share taken by l
Great Britain has fallen from i
48.8 per cent to 29 per cent, (
while that of the United States *
has increased from 14.1 per cent to
26.2 per cent, that of Germany from
11.4 per cent to 21.4 per cent, and that
of Kusala front 3 per rent to 4.7 per j
rent. Indeed, Iron la now being lm- |
| ported from the United States Into this i
country, and. Incredible as It may
seem, the railway station at Middles- I
borough, the renter of the Iron trade, i
la built of Iron brought from Belgium, i
Surely, then, the author of "Our Coal | i
Resource* at the Close of the Nine- j
i leenlb Century'' Is hardly right In ! .
! thinking that British coal and Iron |
still hold their own He arguee that
other countries of Kurop* are eshaust- , ,
lag their roal supplies Just as Greet
Britain yet the llguree he gives show
that tiermsiM has in reserve, within a
depth of 3,ouo feet. log.uOu.tMD taai ton*
of n»al. as 'uuipared with osr St dad.
tsst mm Iona within s depth of 4,oou f»#t
%nd this eat I Mate dose nod Include
brown coal. of which Germany raises
HusM.wtM tuna annually.
ytuisM* • h***e M in* tSentvs# IsSnoy
tilth*Mo midst has usually bean es
mred by the snalelul method *4 cut- *
Gag down the trees The recent die j
covers that the bates fuvntsh n purse i
•ad ino,* copious supp-y til gum (hag
the trees promisee to peseta e a g>*at
1 change ta that Industry
BAZAINE'S TWO LOVES.
|la Fwond Wife's Resemblance to the
First One.
Bazalne, when a colonel, came across
little Spanish girl of great beauty
nd personal attractions, who seemed
o him out of place amid her surround
tigs, says the Century. He picked up
he little wild rose as It grew on the
oadslde, and conceived the no
Ion of transplanting It. He took
he child to Paris, where he
?ft her In a convent to be ed
cated. On his return to Paris after
everal years of brilliant campaigning
e fell In love with her, and, breaking
hrough all rules of French matrlmo
lal usage, married her. After several
ears of happy married life the general
eft her to take command of the army
ti Mexico. While he was away on this
xpedltlon the news of her death
eached him. After a funeral mass,
fhlch he heard with his officers, he re
Ired to his tent and. alone, fought the
ardest of battles and conquered his
wn heart. In a few days he returned
o his duty and no one ever knew
rhat had passed In his Innermost soul,
'wo years later a ball was given at
he quartler-general. Bazzalne, who
ad lately been promoted to the rank
f marshal (1864). had stopped for a
aoment to say a few words, when one
f his guests, a young Mexican girl,
rho was standing by, suddenly stopped
ear us, having torn her dress. Pins
tere produced, the dnmaged ruffie wuh
epaired and the girl passed on. "Who
j It?" asked the marshal, evidently
ouch struck with her appearance. “It
a extraordinary,” he muttered, "how
such she reminds me of my wife." He
ooked distrait, and shortly afterward
xcused himself and wandered off In
he direction Millie. <ie la rerra nuu
aken. The courtship was a short one.
faxlmlllan, In order to facilitate a
inion which he deemed to be In the
nterest of hls government, gave the
oung girl as a dowry the palace of
Ian Cosine, valued at 1100,000; and
hue was May united to December. Two
hlldren were born to the marshal, one
if them In Mexico, and never was fath
r prouder of hls young wife and of
ler offspring than was the marshal.
THE CHESHIRE CHEESE.
'he Fauioua Old-Time tendon Uee
taarant.
Of course, everybody who does lion
Ion goes to the famous Cheshire Cheese
n Fleet street for luncheon. It Is one
if the show places an ancient tavern
hat has retained all Its early charac
erlstlcs from the plain furniture of Its
tuffy, little crowded coffee room to
he rough pewter mugs In which Is
lerved your ale or “bitter.” If you are
n luck you’ll be sure to get the cov
ited seat at the head of the table near
he old fashioned fireplace, labeled In
irass tablet as Samuel Johnson’s fav
irlte corner. Here, on the stralght
lacked, hard wooden settee, in the
awdust and sand, and amid smoke and
llrt and smell of cookery sat Johnson,
vlth pipe and bowl holding forth to
he clever gentlemen of hls day and
ssoclation. Even the sight of the
irass tablet and the big grease spot on
he wall that still bears the Impress
if his learned head do not Inspire me
,s I ought to be Inspired; for I cannot
ippreciate this fad for dirty surround
ngs In which to eat. Perhaps John
on had no better place to go In hls
Ime, but we certainly have. The
heese, however, is apparently typical
if all of the historic Inns of the older
ivlllzation, and one wonders why the
xquisltleg and learned of that time
hould have preferred such environ
aent to the elegant clubs and general
lecency of life. Was good wine, cook
ry and personal freedom known only
o those public hostelrles—the tap
oom of the sanded floor? Yet all En
llsh literature, from Shakespeare
[own to Dickens, reeks with the odor
f the pot-house.—Pittsburg Dispatch.
Of abort Duration.
Wife-Hare's one of my new photo
raphe, dear; what do you think of It?
iusband—There's something unnatur
.1 about It. Taken by the instantane
us process, was It not? Wife—Yes,
ut how can you tell? Husband—Oh, 1
aerely supposed so on account of thr
apose about the mouth.
Another Posur for Pa.
Willie—Say, pa, Is the earth round
Ike a hall? Pa—Yes. Willie. Willie—
md does people live on the other side
f It? Pa—Certainly, my bou. Willie
-Why don't they fall off?
FASHIONS FROM PARIS.
The Russian blouse as an outdoor
imrment Is vary much worn, but nut
n fur, as tbs fashion will be too evau*
ecent for that.
The shirts are worn so very lung
>oth before and behind, that they are
tow carried over the ertn, displaying
o great advantage magnificent silk pet- j
Icoata
Hlack and white Is a perfect rage.
Hid Is vsry espenslve. as white chiffon
Hid satin bodices soil most easily, es
pecially as they are worn under Jackets
tnd cloaks.
White glovee are ettll very fashion ,
ible, but they are n«d so universal as j
last season With gray costumes grav
llo.ee are worn and with green gown* ;
inn glovee are seen
With black d leasee biocide petti
«mta teden with la-, are the latest
•tide The •*reels of Paris are so
tturb cleaner than sure that all this
■itkea lusurtnnee la piMMlhle
I be hair la Parte Is sue worn quite
itu.mihlv brushed Up at the be k tike
the ugly fashion of twsaty-ffve years
Itfh* 11 t A A«>t At* I A« ttof
loltifA ftAil Ab*»%* Mw #A#A
fKv 4rt*« ««))Aiii !*»*> Ait *=a»«#aa‘**aa1#
fcigll |A I |ff ** t|tl| Ifit||t4 tttlt
% |»(aU«4 Ml
RACEW'ITHAGRIZZLY
FEW years ago
while engaged In
cutting timber In
California I had
frequently occasion
to ride back and
forth between two
lumber camps,
about ten mllea
apart. 1 went on
horseback, and
was always armed
with a pair of Colt's live-shooters,
which I carried In bolster* attached to
a belt around my waist. I started on
one of these trips at 3 o’clock In tba
afternoon of a hot August day, and at
the end of five or six miles I began to
suffer a good deal from thirst. After
awhile I came to a piece of dry bot
tom land, acroaa which ran a sluggish
little stream, not more than four or
flvs Inches wide. I dismounted to
drink from It, hut It was so shallow
that I could not do ao without getting
the sand and sediment on Its bottom
Into my mouth. So I followed It up
for some distance, and found that Ita
source was a small pool at the foot of
a long, narrow ridge of rock rising a
few feet above the surface of the
ground.
To the right of the spring I noticed
the upturned roots of a gigantic tree
that had been blown down. Between
fts trunk and the ridges of rock the
wind had heaped up the dead leave*
of the preceding summer.
There was n flat stone lying near at
hand, and I knelt upon It to drink.
Before doing so I ran my arm through
the bridle reins and held them In the
crook of my elbow. As I raised my
head from drinking I heard a rustling
In the leaves behind the trunk of the
tree. Looking up I saw two little griz
zly cubs, about the size of large cats,
coming from behind the roots. The
moment they Haw me they scampereu
back out of sight. At the same In
stant, and before I had time to get
up, there was a sudden backward pull
upon the bridle reins, which first
slipped them up under my armpit, then
Jerked me over on my back. Glancing
up at my horse, I saw him with his
head lowered, his ears pointed for
ward and hts nostrils distended, gaz
ing Intently before him. I was on my
feet In an Instant. I saw a long, slab
sided female grizzly coming along the
trunk of the tree from Its top toward
the roots. Just as I caught sight of
her she left the tree and swung herself
down on the ground. I had kept my
hold upon the reins, and started at
once to mount my horse. But when he
saw the bear on the ground, he began
to rear and plunge, and nothing pre
vented him from pulling away from me
altogether but the fact that the bridle
had a powerful curb bit, which was
buckled tightly to bis lower Jaw.
Before I had time to think, the bear
was upon us. The horse never had ,
taken bU eyes off her for a moment, I
and Just as she came In reach he
whirled around on bis forelegs, as on
I /l/J
"I PUT A BALL BEHIND HER LEFT
SHOULDER."
a pivot, and lashed out with his bind
legs with all the strength be had. He
had been shod only a day or two be
fore, and bis rough new iron heels
landed squarely on the bear’s left
shoulder as she was aiming to pass
him to get at me. The force of the
blow sent her sprawling over on ber
right side. But unfortunately just as
be delivered it, he threw his bead sud
denly downwards, as a horse always
does in making a vicious kick with
both legs, and, my hold upon the reins
being momentarily relaxed In the ex
citement of the bear'a rush at me. he
pulled them nut of my band, and the
next moment he was oft at full speed.
Before I could get my pistol out of
my bait the bear rallied from the
knock-down blow she had been given
and came at me on three legs with a
vicious growl. There was nothing for
me to do but to run for my life. I
did not have more than ten or fifteen
feet the start uf her. but luckily I was
a good sprinter with plenty uf speed
and bottom Hut fur all of that,
when I looked back over my shoulder
I saw that the old grtaaly was gaining
-on me Crippled as she was, she still
W..4 naa ea.sire. w<uut lee* than I kail sa,l
thla advantage waa talltugg agalnat
Die Mo I nude atraighl fur • lra«
anna distance ahead
It aaa a giant In alia, halng ami
alghl feat through at th« Haight of my
hand. Itelo* that height Ita trunk area
conical la shape and apraad out at the
roota to a diameter of at laaal twelve
feet Thla gave ue a circular race
courea thirty ala feet li t,* and I had
to comment** aprintlag around It the
gcomant I raarhad It.
Tha shape of lha couraa waa de*-lt
adit la a* favor. f**r la ruaMag In
•m'h a email clrala aha had to lean In
toward lha iraa and dig her clawa lato
lha ground to heap from living uff at
a taagaat Thla ahe evidentU found It
hard to do. with her ahonlder arlp*
ptad tad ita* foreleg too Um» fur h«<
tw put It on tha gr o I ai all t‘oo
sequently she dI9 not run by any
means as fast after reaching the tree
as she had done In her straight course
towards It. So I found It comparative
ly easy to keep out of her reach as she
chased me around It. In fact, I soon
found myself behind Instead of before
her. But In her blind rage she did not
notice this change In our relative posi
tions. especially as I took good care not
to get too close to her. but to keep only
her haunches In sight as she galloped
around the tree In front of me.
After our race had lasted some two
or three minutes she began to slacken
her pace, and finally stopped and sat
down so suddenly that I almost ran up
on her before I could check myself:
But I dodged back before she saw me,
and stood peeping at her around the
edge of the tree, with my feet braced
to start again at a moment's notice.
After panting awhile she turned her
head lastly around and looked back
over her shoulder. The Instant she
saw me she whirled around and came
at me again, and we had a second heat
In the opposite direction. It lasted
about ss long and ended precisely as
the first had done. When It was over
I felt pretty confident that she could
not catch up with me, and I resolved
that I would assume the aggressive m>
self. So when she stopped again, at
the end of the third heat, and was sit
ting at an angle with the circumference
of the tree, with her side exposed, l
drew my pistol and put a hall behind
her left shoulder. It was the signal
for another fast and furious race. But
although her rage and pain seemed to
put new energy Into her, I still kept
out of her reach, and the heat ended
as the others had done.
To make a long story short, this al
ternate raring, resting and shooting
was kept up until 1 had emptied Into
her body all the balls In one of my
pistols. In her rage she was foumlng
at the mouth, aDd 1 was encouraged
and delighted when I saw the froth on
her lips colored a deep red. It showed
il.i _l.. j i__ |n f ho tuncra
and I knew that this would soon tell
on her wind. Moreover, at the end of
the last race we had run ahe looked
back and growled at me a good while
before coming at roe again. It was
plain that she wan giving out, and I
now felt sure that ahe would not over
take me and that my life waa safe.
This of course gave me new strength
and courage, and I began to force mat
ters. The next time she halted I did
not give her a moment to rest, but sent
in another ball as soon as she stopped.
I kept this up until she had In her
eight out of the ten balls In my piBtols.
This, with a broken shoulder, was
about all she could stand. When I shot
her the last time she did not begin the
chase again, as she fcad done before,
but merely lifted her lip with an angry
snarl, and shook her head from side to
side, I thought It best to keep the two
remaining halls In reserve. In a few
moments she dropped down and turned
over on her side. I still had a whole
some fear of her recuperative powers,
and did not care to stay to see tne end.
1 was only too glad to part company
with her on any terms. As soon as I
was sure she would not follow me, I
left the tree and ran for the camp,
reaching it in safety. But my horse did^
not put in his appearance until 9
o’clock the next morning when he
sauntered quietly In, browsing tho
grass as he came along.
The next day I went hack with two
companions to see what had become of
the bear. We found It dead, and while
skinning the body 1 discovered that In
reality I owed my life to my horse; the
blow he had given the bear had com
pletely shattered her shouldered blade.
But for this handicap she would in all
probability have overtaken and killed
me before I reached the shelter of the
tree.
The Coco* tint hr it Vegetable Fond
In its life-supporting qualities the
cocoanut Is quite equal to the beat of
other vegetable products that have been
ranked above it, and although these
nutritive qualities are admitted, the
amount of nutrition derived is much
greater than Is generally supposed. As
an example, we may refer to the ac
count that has been published of a
vessel which left San Francisco with
four hundred passengers for Sydney.
Running short of stores, they were
obliged to put In at a port, where a
large quantity of cocoauuts were ob
tained. The remainder of the passage
was attended with heavy weather, and
the vessel became water logged, only
reaching Sydney after a perilous voy
age of eighty days. Owing to the ex
treme length of the voyage, their pro
visions ran out, and men, women and
children were reduced to an exclusive
diet of cocoanut, and owing to the
scarcity of these, the quantity appor
tioned was in the proportion of one
cocoanut to each adult. Notwithstand
ing this diet, wholly unrelieved by
any change, uot a life was lost and not
a single case of Illness occurred, all tha
On JI..B In n I, nnu llku nnS
well uourUlied cuiulltlou.
la tlM NainamUl lOinrlMMI.
Klla I Mil you hear about Mio Shop
lelgh'a tuarrtag** Haul* Why. no;
• hen <tl<l It occur? Klla l,a«t **eh.
tih* married a Boor walhar In ona of th*
big depart want store# Haiti* Had ah*
known hltu long' Klla Ho. h* ah<i«*d
har to Ih* counter wh*r* ah* w*nt*d to
make a email pun hna*. and whll* ah*
**• watting lor her change he wooml
and won her. and *o they war* war
rled __ _
Jttll LIU* • WwtMlh,
Urn. I pperten Answer the door ball.
Mart, and My that I n not at n«ma
Maty AH right, mow Mr*, t pp*rt*«
tt«e minute* lat*rt Who an* it. Mary!
Ma»* Mi* throwneioa* and her daugh
ter M»» l pperten What did thny
eat »n. * you I 'M theta t ••« nut nt
!••»*»•* Mart they ant4 How tmt
lunate.'*
