(■
CHAPTER XXX1W—(CoNTiKt bd.) | implanted in the heart of a loving wo
the old man In the garden, looking un
usually bright and hale; but bis talk
was still confused; he mingled the
present with the past, and continued
to speak of Marjorie, and to address
her. as If she were still a child.
The sun was setting when they left
him, turning their steps toward An
nandale Castle. They lingered slowly
along the road, talking of indifferent
things, and sweetly happy In each
other’s society, till It was growing
dark.
Then Marjorie held out her hand.
"Let me go with you to the Castle
gate,” said Sutherland eagerly.
"Not to-night," answered Marjorie.
"Pray, let me walk alone, with only lit
tle Leon."
Very unwillingly he acquiesced, ami
suffered her to depart. He watched her
sadly till her figure disappeared In the
darkness, moving toward the lonely
brid across the Annan.
Having wished Sutherland good
night, Marjorie took the child by the
hand and walked hack across the meud
ows toward the Castle. It was a peace
ful gloaming; the stars were shining
brightly, the air was Imlmy; so she
sauntered along, thinking dreamily of
the past.
She walked up by the bridge, and
looked down at Annan Water, (lowing
peacefully onward.
As Bhe looked nhe mused. Her life
had begun with trouble, but surely all
that was over now. Her days In Paris
seemed to be fading rapidly Into tie
dimness of the past; there was a broken
link In her chain of experience, that
was all. Yes, she would forget It, and j
remember only the days which she had
passed at Annandale.
And yet how could she do so? There
was the child, little I-eon, who looked
at her with her father's eyes, and spoke
his childish prattle In tones so like
those of the dead man. that they some
times made her shudder. Hhe lifted the
hoy In her arms.
"Leon.” she said, "do you remember
Paris, my child do you rememher
your father?”
The child looked at her. and half j
shrunk hack In fear. How changed she ;
had become! Her cheeks were hurtling
feverishly, her eyes sparkling.
"Mamma,” said the boy, half draw
ing from her, "what Is the matter?”
"Nothing, darling,” she said.
She pressed him fondly to her, and
set him again upon the ground. They
walked on a few steps farther, when
she paused again, sat down upon the
grass, and took the boy upon her
knee.
"Leon,” she said, patting his cheek
and soothing back his hair. "You love
Annandale, do you not?”
"Yes, mamma, and grandmamma,
and Mr. Sutherland.”
“And—and you wrould he able to for- j
THEATRICAL TOPICS.
CURRENT NEWS AND GOSSIP
OF THE STAGE.
\ I'rlmt •* m Tl»« “IKIaok
(•rdintr Rooii to llt» I’ro<lnc#d In
Niw York Th« Average l.lfw of •
Good Vole#—Yarlou« Topic*.
EV. JOHN TAL
HOT SMITH of New
York, who 1. wide
ly known among
the clergy and held
In high esteem by
his ecclesiastical
superiors, has writ
ten a drama en
titled "The Black
Cardinal." It Is
said that a Broad
way manager will bring It out some
time tills season. It Is a historical
Irama, and Its plot Is founded on the
struggle between Napoleon I. and Pope
Plus VII., a struggle full of Interest
ind teeming with dramatic Incidents.
The student of history will recall that
Vapoleon at one time Imprisoned the
people and carried off with him to
Paris a large number of the cardinals.
Among these later was the Cardinal
Consalvi, a renowned diplomat who
iad been Pius’ secretary of state. Later
an when the emperor divorced Jose
phine and married Marie Louise of
Austria, thirteen of the cardinals,
leaded by Consalvi, refused to attend
he wedding ceremony on the ground
hat Josephine’s divorce was not valid.
As a punishment for his boldness In
bus defying the emperor, Consalvi
waB exiled to Lyons and forbidden to
wear the red robes of his office. Hence
Ihe title of the play. The drama Is
in five acts. The first transpires in
Paris on the night before Napoleon’s
marriage, and Ihe emperor, supported
:iy King Jerome and Kouehe, the min
ister of police, is striving to persuade
the cardinal to give his countenance
:o the ceremony. The second act takes
place In the palace of the Tullleries, at
he reception to the new empress. Con
salvi attends and Is Ignotnlniously ex
pelled by Napoleon's servants. In the
’hlrd act Consalvi Is visited In his ex
ile at Lyons by Kouehe, who offers him
Ihe papacy if he will give his support
Emma Calve suddenly discovered that
the dark blue velvet dress she wears
In the last act was still too “new look
ing” for the occasion. A few minutes
before she had to appear on the stage
the bystanders behind the scenes were
horrified to see the priraa donna sud
denly roll over and over on the dusty
floor. Thinking that a serious acci
dent had befallen her, the frightened
stage manager and half a dozen scene
shifters rushed to her assistance.
"Keep away," said the actress, "let
me take the glose oft my dress.”
Bandelaire, on the subject of criti
cism, has some unconventional con
victions. “I believe sincerely,” he says,
"that the best criticism is that which is
entertaining and pfletlc; not that, cold
and algebraic, which, pretending to
explain everything, knows neither hate
nor love, and strips Itself willingly of
every kind of temperament, but—inas
much as a beautiful picture Is nature
reflected by a painter—thut criticism
which will be this same picture re
flected by a sensitive and intelligent
mind. Thus the best review may be
a sonnet or an elegy. But this kind of
criticism is reserved for anthologies
and poetic readers. As for criticism
In the true sense of the word, I hope
that philosophers will understand what
! am aliout to say: To be Just, to have
any reason for its existence, criticism
should be partial, passionate, political
—that is to say, made from a stand
point of exclusive vision, but vision
that sweeps the largest horizon.”
Both Salvlnl and Itossl were pupils
of (he great Italian actor, Gustave Mo
dena, and Salvlni lately returned tem
porarily to the stage, in Venice, to give
» performance to Increase the fund for
the erection of a monument to Modena.
Modena's patriotic opinions, which of
ten led him to leave the stage and take
tip arms or devote himself for a time
to revolutionary Journalism, forced
him to exile himself. There were
times, too, when, reduced to penury, he
bad to get a living alternately as print
er, corrector of proofs, horse broker
and cheesemonger. On the change of
government In Florence he was elected
deputy by 10,000 votes, and In the Tus
can assembly he delivered one speech
which even now Is quoted as a model of
parliamentary eloquence. In that no
ble oration he upheld the Imperious
a Kir VAN WINKLE.
An Iinllaua Soldier Recovers Hi* ties*
son Lost 111 War(
Ws.hlfiRlos Letter.
A noticeable personage among flinso
to be met along the avenue and in the
hotel lobbies of Washington during the
past few days h is been an ex-soldier,
the circumstances of whose career
since the war have vested him with a
peculiar interest. Early in lHtt‘2 he.
then a young man, enlisted at his
home in Southern Indiana, and was
assigned to a regiment that was active
ly engaged during the whole war. The
young soldier made himself useful,
was always in the thickest of the fray,
and was promoted to be an oflicer. in
one of the last battles fought hefon
the final surrender, while leading a
charge, the young captain was struck
in the head by a I all, and fell. His
soldiers, with whom lie was a great fa
vorite. carried him to the rear, where
lie had every attention. Then he was
conveyed to Washington and plaeed in
one of" the hospitals, and, after a long
period of suffering, his wounds healed,
but his reason had fled. He was of
ficially declare I insane, and plaeed in
an asylum near Washington, where fie
remained twenty years in this condi
tion. A few months ago his reason
returned, and he is today as sane it
man as lives. He says the past is a
blank, lie can scarcely comprehend
that he i. not the same young man t hat
lie was twenty years ago. He has found
some of his o< nirade. here, and thc-o -
have treated him witli great kindness.
He can describe scenes and incidents
of the war witli ns much (dearness ie
if they had taken place but a few
inontiis ago. Among the friends he
has rec ently made is ex-secretary of
He knew that at that hour Marjorie
would be from home, wandering In the
fields, perhaps, with her little boy, or i
visiting some of her old village friends.
Feeling strong in this hope, he hurried
on toward the Castle.
He found Miss Hetherington alone.
She was glad to see him, hut rated him
soundly on what she termed his neg
lect.
"It Is not for me to control ye If ye 1
riinna wish to come, Johnnie Suther
land,” she said. "You're your own i
malster. and ye can gang your own
gait, but it’s fCireely fair to Marjorie, c
Shc'B lonesome, poor lassie, and she i
takes it ill that ye come so seldom.'' I
"Miss Hetherington," returned Suth
erland, “I stayed away not because I
wished, but because I took too much
pleasure in coming. I love Marjorie.
I’ve loved her ever since I was a lad, i
and I shall love her till I die. I 1
couldn't come before, knowing she had i
a husband; but it's for you to say now i
whether I may come in or not.”
“For me? What do you mean, John
nie- Sutherland?''
For answer he put both the letter
and paper in her hand, and hade her
read. She did read; eagerly at first, -
hut as she proceeded her hand tre m
bled, the tears streamed from her eyes
and the paper fell from her grasp.
"(lod forgive me!” she cried; "it's
an evil thing to rejoice at the death
of a fellow-creature, yet 1 canna but 1
rejoice. He broke the heart of my poor 1
bairn, and he tried to crush down me,
hut Heaven be praised! we are both
free now. Johnnie Sutherland, you say
man, and now that causstutere nao
tone to his last a(count, a deep and
lacred pity took possession of his vlc
Im's heart.
Kutherland sawf the signs of change
vlth some anxiety, but had sufficient
irlsdom to wait until time should com
plete its work and efTace the French
man's memory from Marjorie's mind.
A'hen they met he spoke little to her
if love, or of the tender hope which
pound them together; his talk was
ather of the old childish days, when
hey were all in all to one another;
pf old friends and old recollections,
inch as sweeten life. He was very
;entlc and respectful to her; only show
ng In his eyes tfce constancy of his
ender devotion, never harshly ex
pressing It in passionate words.
Hut if Sutherland was patient and
lelf-contaloed, it was far different wltlt
he impulsive lady of the Castle. No
looner was she made aware of the true
date of affairs than she was anxious
hat the marriage should take place
it once.
"I'm an old woman now, Marjorie,"
the cried, “and the days of my life are
lumbered. Before I gang awa' let me
pec you a happy bride—let me lie sure
rou have a friend and protector while
in asleep among the mools."
Sh<- was sitting In her boudoir in
ler great arm-chair, looking haggard
tnd old Indeed. The fire in her black
•yes had faded away, giving place to a
Ireamy and wistful pity; but now and
tgaln, as on the present occasion, it
lashed tip like the gleam upon the
ilackenlng brand.
Marjorie, who was seated ewing by
per mother's side, sadly shook her
lead.
"I cannot think of it yet," site re
plied, "I feel It would he sacrilege,”
"Sacrilege, say you?" returned Miss
"'ri., .... _11. ..
mat yon love tier.' vveei, im man.
You’re a good lad. Comfort her if you
tan, and may God bless ye both.”
That very night Marjorie learned the
news from Miss Hetherington. The old
lady told it with a ring of joy in her
voice, but Marjorie listened with a
shudder. After all. the man was her
husband. Despite his cruelty, she had
once almost loved him: and, though she
C'tuld not mourn him as a widow
should, she tried to respect the dead.
But it was only for a while; then the
cloud lifted, and she almost thanked
God that she was free.
Sutherland now became a constant
visitor at the Castle, and sometimes it
seemed to him and to Marjorie also
that their early days had returned; the
same, yet not the same, for the old
Castle looked bright and genial now,
and It was, moreover, presided over by
a bright, genial mistress.
Things could not last thus forever.
Marjorie knew it; and one eveulug she
was awakened from her strange dream.
She had been out during the afternoon
with her little hoy, and as they were
walking back toward the Castle they
were Joined by Sutherland. For a time
the three remained walking together,
little Been clinging on to Sutherland's
hand; but after a while the child ran
on to pluck some flowers, and left the
two together.
“How he loves you!” said Marjorie,
noting the child's backward glance; "I
don't think he will ever forget the ride
you gave him on the roundabouts at
the Champs Elyseeayou were very
kind to him; you were very kind to us
both.”
She paused, but he said nothing;
presently she raised her eyes, and she
saw that he was looking fixedly at her.
She blushed and turned her head aside,
hut he gained possession of her hand.
"Marjorie,'' he said, "you kpow why
I was kind to you, do you not? It was
because I loved you, Marjorie. I love
you now—I shall always love you; tell
me, will you some day be my wife?”
The word was spoken, either for good
or evil, and he stood like a man await
ing his death sentence. For a time she
slitl nnt tiMU.tr - wlit-n uho Mirtuul har
face toward him it was quite mini.
"Have you thought well?" she said.
"I um not what I was. I am almost
an old woman now. und there Is my
boy."
"Let him he my hoy. Marjorie; do not
say No!"’
She turned toward him and put both
her hands in his
"1 say 'Ye*.'" she answered, "with
all my heart, hut not yet not yet!"
loiter ou that evening, when Itttle
l.eon lay peacefully sleeping in his cot.
sud Mis* Helherlngton was dosing in
her easy < hair, Marjorie. • reeping from
the houee. sail'' I In tie t’astle grounds
to think over her new-found happiness
• lone. Was It all leal, she ask'd her
self, or only a dream * Could It tie true
that eht after all her Iroublt would
find so much p> a< e ’ It seemed Strangs
jr*t it must I- liu» Yes she was free
•t l**f
t llAfll.H XXXV
ITKH lh* routes
•ion of hsi love fu«
rtuiherlaad. and the
promise hi* H*»* I
had wrung from
her Irewldtag tip* ,
Marjorie was not a
Hill* Mounted
Again and again i
she re preached
heteel* for waul ml
Mrllly to t'suswt
glen* Ms-'
hearted and eouid gut r*adll» I rget
what the man heal >.*. • !■•»(. to her
lataile «» the vhtwo Kr forgir«g«es
'on Frenchman, when he beguiled you
iwa’, and poisoned your young life,
ny bairn. You owed hlrn no duty liv
ng, and you owe him none dead. Up
was an 111 Ilmmer, and thank Cod he's
n his grave!”
"Ah, do not speak ill of him now.
t he has sinned he has been punished.
Fo die—so young.”
And Marjorie's gentle eyes filled with
ears.
"If he wasna ripe, do you think he
would he gathered?” exclaimed Miss
Hetherlngton, with something of her
aid fierceness of manner. "My certie,
he was ripe—and rotten; Lord forgive
me for miscalling the dead! But, Mar
jorie, my bairn, you're o’er tender
hearted. Forget the past! Forget ev
erything but the happy future that lies
before you! Think you’re Just a young
lass marrying for the first time, and
marrying as good a lad as ever wore
shoon north o’ the Tweed."
Marjorie rose from her seat, and
walking to the window, looked dream
ily down at the Castle garden, still
tangled as a maze and overgrown with
weeds. As she did so, she heard a
child's voice, calling in French:
"Maman! Maman!"
It was little Leon, playing in the old
garden, attended by a Scottish serving
maid, who had been taken on as nurse.
Wo ua tar u r i/irio Io/ih Inn <1..... n . i
looking up with a face bright as sun
shine, waved his hands to her in de
light.
"How can I think as you say," she
said, glancing round at her mother,
"when I have my hoy to remind me
that I am a widow? After all, he's my
husband's chlld-a gift that makes
amends for all my sorrow."
As she spoke she kissed her hand
fondly to the child, and looked down at
him through streaming tears of love,
"Weel, weel,” said the old lady,
soothingly; "I'm no saying but that it's
weel to forget and forgl'e. Only your
life must not be wasted. Marjorie! I
must see you settled down Itefure I
gang."
"You will not leave me. dear moth
er!" answered Marjorie, returning to
her side and hendlug over her So,
no; you art* well and strong."
"What’s that the auld sang ays?
returned Miss Hetherlngtoii smooth
ing the girl's hair with her wrinkled
hand, as site repeated thoughtful))
'I hear a voice you cannot to >
That says I must not stay
I see a hand you cannot see
That Irerkon* me away '
That's it Marjorie! I n an old woman
ilow old before ID) tltue litet has
been kind tu me, far kinder than I d«
serve, hut the grass will soon he green
on my grave lit the klrkvard (art m>
Sleep tti prate! Matty lidiititti doth
•rlwnd at my Ul> «tu« and I •trail km
you will netei oatri a friend
dm it tender tearurulbg had its weight
with Marjwrte inti it failed tn > uiuintv
bet er ruplea altogether dhe , ,t) Ie
tnaibed tn the •tradea of hey form*'
sorrow. fearful and ashamed tu par*
a* .h» could have done at otre step,
into tbe toll sunabtn- of tt<- pea* *i..,
brighter life.
Mo tbe days passed on lit) at last
there m varied an event ru sttaag*, •«
aneepee ted and spirit • >out*diiu« that
It threats red N a time to Orix our he
rota* Into turlon and deapair
On* summer afterntsro Mar pore- a
evOMpoahhl by little lawn met dot bn
land In tha village and aalhed with
bint 19 iaSemobr «*M*g* I h> y fvogd
111*- UICU'MUI unit: v>'- lit ■ IA
Paris?”
“And papa?”
“My darling, your father Is dead.”
She pressed the child to her again;
raised her eyes and looked straight In
to the face of her husband.
Caussidiere!
It was Indeed he, or his spirit, stand
ing there In the starlight. With his pale
face turned toward her, his eyes look
ing straight Into hers. For a moment
they looked tipon one another—he made
a movement toward her, when, with a
wild cry, Marjorie clasped her child
still closer to her, and sank back
swooning upon the ground.
When she recovered her senses sho
was still lying where she had fallen;
the child was kneeling beside her, cry
ing bitterly, and Caussidiere, the man,
and not his spirit, was bending above I
her. When she opened her eyes, he I
smiled, and took her hand.
“It is I, little one,” he said. "Do not
be afraid.”
With a shudder she withdrew her
hand, and rose to her feet and fac-d
him.
(TO BE COST!SCEO )
HARSH ENVIRONMENT.
———
TK»a« IVnple Are Si unit'll l»y It Mur*
Surely Thun liy Itereillly,
In I.imousin there Is a barren range
of low hills which lies along the divid
ing line between the departments of
Dordogne, Correze and Haute-Vienne,
about half way between Perigueux am!
Limoges, says Popular Science Month
ly. The water courses show the loca- !
tIon of these uplands. They extend ‘
over mi area ahou< Keventv-ttve miles
long anil half as wide, wherein average !
human misery U most profound. I arose |
ignursnc.i pit vails There is more II- ,
literary than In any other part of |
Trance. The contrast In staturs.even
with the low averuge of all the sur
rminding region. Is clearly marked hy
the daik ilm There are tutor fed tr hits [
of equal illnilnuthetiei.il elsewhere to
the Hottth aud toe l.iit mine are so ’
• Mended III Ml extreme Two-tlllrd*
Ilf tile mm are la low live feet three
IIP hen tu bright. 111 Mime of the run
nut ms slid the women are ihtru or ,
more Inline shorter even than thla
(inn man III leu |« below fimr feet
eleven Inches in siwture This I* not
due to face for r.-vetal ta-lel types
are cquallv sti.ni. I In this way within
th" »*mr sted It la priniarth due to
aeiieiHti.il of - older Him to a harsh
i Itlttdle to a soil whuh Is worthies*
lor agt* iliore to a itrpli dtat of
la tled i hrstuol* aud ttsgtiwui water
and to NloSSlttl . dwelltsgx in th<
deep narrow an* damp ■ alien* (Mill
turther i«o>il mat b* Iwuul i« show
that these p. op;.- ar« not stnnt**f t-y
mi krtsliisit nluence for it has
be«II shown thsl .hlMten born her*
bill who migrate and gtuw up eta*
where, at* normal la heigh* while
lino beta . i« where km who are swh
pet ta this ewvitMWm*w< during the 1
growing inrto* ef youth M« piwgs-r
ttvtMlvIy iirth-l
CLAUDIA CARLSTEDT.
to .Napoleon, i he last two acts trans
pire at Versailles, when, in the pres
ence of both Napoleon and Pope Plus
VII., Consaivi is bitterly humiliated.
In the end, however, he triumphs over
his Imperial foeman, and returns to
Home with the (tope after the famous
and disastrous Russian campaign.
Claudia Carlstedt was born in Bos
ton In !S7*>, her father being a musk
teacher, latter a removal to Chicago
III., was made. In lx<*3. at seventeen
years of age, sin* joined the chorus ol
the Calhoun Opera Company for u
Western tour She remained with the
company about six weeks, and then
left it in Otegon and returned to hei
borne in Chi* ak '. In the summer ol
lySS she again went on the nage, thii
time in ' Idtlir Robinson Crusoe,’
which was written tty Harry It Smith
and produced at the Schiller Theater
Chit ago, with Kddlt Koy as the star
I luring that engagement \ll»« Cart
«t»dt was engaged by Ktrki U Sheik
for lb*- role ol Netoerta. in The \Visa r
of the Site altd made tier first appear
ante In New York in that o|tera, hei
striking personality at oat* attractlni
favorable attention t he follow ill)
gea.i m she played with The viand.*
rut,” taring rather eon*pk Huttsl)
pia*ed though Without lilies to repea1
mi itisei In sing (Hiring the pant sum
torr she appear*d fn Ike Whirl of thi
Town at the Casino, Sb» then sign*-,
with the Id.*) • kb* Manager I.
Sk*tie Jis* <ere.t that vftn* fhtrlate I
had a • r a. a* haul > deep auireltu I ol VI
w t ‘ It h* odefsludte-l lies U t* • It It
(he YV lagttl uf the Nik* ami lb*
* cttlNI k*w t>Mratio waits song n
tki .e. .<«d a t of Ike idols Kit’ Wat
sopeelaity artne* fur her at kts t«
n * «| (ikr h alill Sill Ike Idol i
H*» ’ t»mpah > and M te*els tag psl«
alike |sr k»* pbsg and surging
(ts Ik# frti nighl of **pphii at rkt
Nuesa U* l*h » r*> soil* M o*
necessity of Home being the founda
tion, the keystone of the unity of Italy,
thus becoming the precursor In this
idea of the great flavour.
Julia Marlowe appears to have made
a hit with “The Countess Valeska."
There Is no doubt that the play has
many qualities to recommend It to the
general public, especially In thn second
and third acts, while Miss Marlows
M i l V M IHUlWK.
h*i*tif It 111 la k*l
tarlixx. emu attk k*i ntal :ut»r*.
lamina i>!.n *>•*»» mxl ' rliii* appear
I in hat* t mm In Ik* > imu luaiu* Ikal
i j Nti ik* Ot**i" I* M*itk*r a |i*at
n»r * a»i*4 flit t*4 ik*i llr limn
Irma* * ik|*i“'ii4ilu» «tll ant raah
i j *n>.>n* kw IihmM* whit* Ku*a In
rjr *■»•*■• It*It*It la a *>»all t*iM Him
It*i i> te*i u ii iii* ita*t*<i*ti fur ik*
►ad ut Ku#fctua«** «kUk ik* irttu*
«*a*r«ti» *...*■■»*.• h*»»a4 k*» A*
ixuiiaa iu ik* l**i| Mall ilaamt* k*t
•ft fak*r 4« •••!>•• Ik* ktUMM* wt Ik*
(naliKika
)i:m case, ami lias had Ins application
for a pension made special by thucom
niissioner of Pensions, who also took
an interest in the matter, and within a
few days lie will receive 1*10,000 of
hack pension money, with which he in j
tends going into business.
-———■ -
Mr. fSwesnt’y’s Cat in Fly Time.
HIM Nyc.
Hut I was going to speak more ir.
particular about .Mr. hweeney’s eat
Mr. Sweeney had a large eat named
Dr. Mary Walker, of which lie was
very fond. Dr. Mary Walker reniaine I
at the drug store all the time, and vva
known all over St. Paul as a ipiict and
reserved eat. If Dr. Mary Walker took
in the town after office hours, nobody
• eerned to know anything about it.
She would he around bright and cheer
ful the next morning, and .attend lo
iter duties at the s ore just as though
nothing whatever had ever happened.
One day last summer Mr. Sweeney
left a large plate of fly-paper with wa
ter on it in flic window, hoping t<
gather in a few (plai t- of flics in a de
ceased stale. Dr. Mary Walker used
to go to this window during (he after
noon and look out upon the busy street
while she called up plea-ant memo
rics of her past life. That afternoon
she thought she would call up souk
more memories, so she went over on
the counter, and from there jumped
down on the window-sill, landing with
all four feet in the plate of wall-paper.
At first she regarded it as a joke and
treated the matter very lightly, hut la
ter on she observed that the lly-pa| et
stuck to her feet with great tenacity
of purpose. .She controlled herself
and acted in tins coole-t, manner, i
possible, though you could have seen
that mentally she sullcred intensi ly.
Shu sat down a moment to more ful
ly outline a plan for the future. In do
ing so she made a great mistake. I he
ge-ture resulted in gluing the fly-paper
to her person in such a way tliat tin
edge turned up iu the must abrupt
manner, and caused her great incon
venience.
Some one at that time laughed in a
coarse and heartless way, and 1 wish
you could have ceen the look of pain
that Dr. Mary Walker gave him.
Then she went away. Shu did not
go around the prescription ease as the
rest of usdid, hut strolled through the
middle of it and so on out through the
glass door at the tear of the store.
We did not see her go through the
glass door, hut we found pieces of fly
paper and fur on the ragged edges of
a large aperture in the glas-*, and we
kind of jumped to the conclusion that
Dr. Mary W alker had taken that direc
tion in retiring from the room.
Dr. Mary Walker never returned to
St. l'aul, and her exact whereabouts
are not known, though every cflbrl
was made to Iit • 1 her. Fragments of
fly-paper and I rmdle hair were h tavd
its far we»t as the Yellowstone Nation
al l*ark and a- far north as the llritisli
line. I lit the doctor herself was not
found. Mv own theory is that -he
turned her how to thu west SO as to
catch the strong etc telly gale on her
(|Uarter, With the >n I she had sei aiofc f
Inr tail pointing towaidthe zenith,
the ehnnee- for Dr Marv Walker's im
mediate return are extremely -lim,
Mrs. (hlld’s China.
I'klMrll.hl* rillir*
It Is doubtful if there is a I ■ 13 ill III,
VOlllll |*\ V\ IM’IV 111 * • I 4* |x ,i«* f II11- It III x || rv
of thf tiillli* ill ill I'll )u«l* ft|*!tt;t, «ir
where -o much nttciil on is g,veil to
dinner table deeor.itum. <t| f,i,. ihi-r *
hits bun a rage lor what itiav Is
termed .1 niter ta> le brie a !*ru. It is
itl-ob lido thu* M. 4 outgo W 4 liihls
has Ihclihcst table decorations n, Pbtl
; adi lplo i xhc hits a great many very
rn'.l.'l'll.'llgt Ml. II at Itu -.l |.| |||. mix,
rnrn | 1 n ramli I ilu a amt gnlil |||V
ii ihi. nit Jt»r ih»M‘i nu-ri'l Mm* tart# h, ,i
»rt< itt tun* run lw |>r.«ur.<t in fctt
ri>|»- >ln. it taiii In fc.xxn % * in* i.f 11,,,
Hiiftl i .4 tit linn* liiurr l.lalr-t in
lit.. . i.iintix n, xi. «, .tl.r In..
!•» Hrt mIii. Mini.,n mill I V|M Ian4»
• ml .« nil a* mrirti, n. .« ruin
art* allk anl i’arh a grin Manx ul
br. I'ial . k tw- >'» «» mm*.4 lt >i,.|i..|
a
I* >**’ 'lit| . fit. t> |ti la tilt l||t’ I.H.k *
11 I ’ • ■ I* . a .1
'•‘ i* I " . .I.Mi,. r *1 In n‘x |«tt|,m
Mr. ilt.Mtian, niltunt any iliHt. nl
I», ttl a lai.li IW.I, Mtluw. . I *Im. n
i «. a il h i.• nt ntM<x|*fc.Muft wt
MM»» ur fin.iatt,
M inn pry, Man . U . »|„* Uailtaa r*.
tiMiihm. nit. tlfittf an annua* kHtfitwaa
nl f,' i««imi,
