MY HALF SISTER
XXX By ELTON HARRIS XXX
CHAFTER VI.—(Continued.)
Week after week dragged oil In
weary sameness. No one ever came
to call, sometimes there was hardly
a servant in the house. Madame grew
liaiiy more silent and morose, and
while she absolutely adored the
ground her little French dandy of a
.‘on stepped upon, they often hitd fierce
quarrels in private.
Madame's only amusement was reck
less driving, and the sight of ttie mail
phaeton with its fiery chestnuts tear
ing about the country, and madams,
sitting square and glim in the driving
seat, grew a familiar one round Rev
erton. Henri generally declined to ac
company her; he had not nerve to
stand It, nor had Kate; but Mollie oft
en went, for she rather enjoyed it, and
it had the great advantage of taking
f her out of Henri's society for a time.
"It Is all very well!” exclaimed Reg
gie half angrily. “Let her break her
own neck if it pleases her, but she has
no business to break yours!’’
It was a glorious spring afternoon,
bright sunshine was (loo ling the quaint
old Reverton High street, and the
phaeton had no sooner drawn up with
a clatter before the post office, and
madame gone in, than Mr. Anstruth
cr’s tall, soldiery form appeared at
the Conservative club doorway oppo
site, and he lost no time In coming
round to Mollies side. The groom
was at the excited horses’ heads, so
they could talk unrestrainedly, and as
Reggie’s brown face was upturned to
Moliie's, and his blue eyes sought hers,
they were certainly making the most
of their chance.
"I don't mind; she drives very
well,” she replied. ‘ You never saw
such strong bands as she has!"
"She drives as if she were pos
sessed!” be retorted. “I don't like—
well, it is not fit for you to be whirled
^ round the country like a tornado.”
“It is better than stopping at home,”
Mollie answered, laughing. “You see,
there is no room for Henri.”
“Henri!" said Mr. Anstruther, with
ft slight grimace. “One rarely sees
you nowadays without that detestable
little tailor's block. There. Mollie, 1
beg your pardon; you may like him,
but you are not going to throw t er
r your old friends for your new, are
you? The mater and Joyce declare
that they believe you are not allowed
to come to see them. Tell me, is it
true?”
“I am afraid it is, Reggie,” was the
response, given dolefully. “Please beg
them not to think me ungrateful. It
Is not very nice at Chalfont; but I shall
do the best.”
“It is a burning shame!” he burst
out hotly. “What right have they to
make you unhappy? I should like to
wring their necks.”
“Don’t be bloodthirsty”— and she
laughed. "And I do not intend to
be unhappy, especially if you will ex
plan to Mrs. Anstruther—”
“All right,” replied Reggie prompt
ly; then persuasively: “Mollie, don’t
you think that it is very selfish of you
to wear those violets, when you see
that I have none?”
“I had not thought of it in that
light,” she said demurely. "Poor lit
tle Kate gathered them for me.”
“Suppose you see how they look in
my coat?”
“Well, I don’t wish to be selfish,”
she said, unfastening them, and lean
ing down to put them in his out- i
stretched hand.
Reggie caught the hand, flowers and
all, and, as he looked up into those
beautiful soft grey eyes that had
played such havoc with his heart, he
raid, with quickening breath:
‘‘Look here, Mollle, I hate to think
of you miserable; it is more than I—
than any fellow can stand. Oh.
bother! here she comes! I can see
her feathers bobbiug through the door.
When shall I see you again?"
"Impossible to say. for madame and
Henri seem to have taken a dislike to
—everyone. But don't worry, 1 am not
miserable; at least, not very; tell
Joyce.”
"And Henri do you like him? Is he
a pretty good sort?" he demanded
hastily.
But madame had caught sight of a
pair of broad shoulders, a closely
cropped sunny head, and ere Motile
could reply she had swept out, her
glance falling with equal disfavor on
Reggie fastening the violets in hit; but
tonhole. and Mollte's smiling face
"You are making a long stay in Rev
ertou this time Mr. Anatrutber," she
■aid Llandiy, as ■!>» gathered up th#
reins.
"Yes. thsre la no pUc- like home,
and I have heaps of friend* here!" b«
answered pleasantly, ruLing hU hat.
"By the way. Madame Imbola. I hope
the rumor I heard at the tlub this afi
ertUMin Is true- that the police
some important clue rei.p,ttle.g | or
Mr Bar town's assailant?"
hit a moment B a dams limed I, »r
eyee wdb a quick, wild Cane* on him
reminding V«ii»« k >«»• how of a aaeag
aniii il eanght In a trap but the n i>
hpiski ib* had rwovankd fc**” ill w th
S de'e u.ii ■ I rt ft, i I in- « el
Mlkiiy
"Tfcts In newk to me, tub *d, for I
have heard no such thing. How is it
we have not been told—we, who have
the heat right to know; we. who have
longed and looked for the truth to be
found out. all this weary year? No, I
cannot believe it; 1 fear to hope!
Look, I am 'quite overcome at the
thought! Tell me all you know!”
She was overcome. She had worked
herself up as she proceeded, yet the
girl at her side felt that the reason she
gave was not the true one, and again
it occurred to her that madame knew
more than she had ever told; yet she
might be misjudging her. Perhaps she
had cared for Mr. Barlowe with some
thing of the fierce tenderness she
showed for Henri!
But she had little time to think.
Madame ascertained all Reggie knew,
and chatted a few minute/ with self- j
possession; but directly she had
turned the horses’ heads and they were
leaving Reverton behind, her face
grew black as a thunder-cloud, her lips
wert> pressed together in a thin line,
and her eyes, burning with a somber
fire, glanced over the horses' heads un
seclngly as she urged them on.
Never did Mollie forget that drive!
How much faster did she mean to go?
she thought, In real terror. She was a
brave girl, with nerves well under con
trol; but it was mad—mad to tear
along like this. She was absolutely
obliged to hold on tight as they swayed
from side to side; while, as they
shaved past a heavy wagon and swept
round a corner, she saw that the groom
at the back was standing up In his
seat watching the road anxiously, his
face chalky and white.
She tried to remonstrate once or
twice, so did the man; hut madame
only answered impatiently, and, if
possible, went faster, and it seemed a
Providence indeed that the roads were
quiet that afternoon. Many times
Mollie glanced up at the set face beside
her, lighted by a fierce look of exulta
tion, as trees and hedges vanished
from sight almost before seen, and the
wind blew cold on their faces. Was
she trying to drive away from her own
thoughts, flying where no man pur
sued?
Mollie could scarcely believe her own
good fortune when she once more
alighted at the hall door of Chalfont,
safe and sound. Kate came running to
meet them, and as madame caught
sight of her it evidently recalled some
thing to her mind, for she paused and
turned to Mollie with a frown.
"You seemed to be talking very
earnestly with that young Anstruth
er," she said abruptly. "What was it
about?’’
"Nothing that would interest you,
madame,” she answered politely.
’ 1 am your guardian, and Insist upon
knowing.” Then, as Mollie’s frank
face was turned upon her, madame
either remembered the old proverb
about taking a horse to the water, but
failing to make him drink; or that the
L’Estrange were a family of soldiers,
and that the fighting spirit was flash
ing resentfully from those gray eyes
now, for she added hastily: "I know
the world; you do not; and I forbid
you to give flowers to gentlemen. Yes,
Kate, my precious one, you should give
your violets to auntie, not to your half
sister, who did not value them.” And
she swept away in quest of her son.
"They were hers, to do as she
pleased with,” the child called after
her sulkily, as Bhe hung round Mollie,
and made grimaces after her retreat
ing relative. "You see, Mollie, you
ought to have given them to Henri,
who Is so good, so adorable, so
sweet!”
"Hush! hush, Kate!" said the elder
girl quickly. Angry as she was she
would not encourage the child against
her aunt, and she walked to the door
and stood looking out into the sun
shine with misty yes. "Love thine
enemies." she thought. "Overcome
evil with good.” Oh, it was really too
hard; she could not try.
The groom's voice speaking to the
gardener, who was bedding out the
tulips in the borders, here came wafted
towards her.
'Tomorrow I gives notice. Yea, I
lose my place, sure enough; but if I
sticks It. who would look to the missus
and kids when I lose my life? See
them 'orsna all lathered up? Several
times l thought we were done. We
were bound to go and the young lady,
she aat us still well, I never see her
equal for pluck and the wheels
ground away,"
God had b»- -n very good to her. and
brought her safely through danger,
thought Mollie remorsefully, and yet
she had Ju*t been grumbling' Then
she wondered what Iteggie would have
felt had they been killed, and then she
saw Kate's «h irp. h.isel eyes watch
ing her Intently, si she took her hand
and raced round the garden until they
mine t9 the aWtHg. Splendid With BeW
rupee.
' Why, Kat* how la tills' she orbit
’ I Hue *ht It Would be alee to us ,
the swlug mtr mot to r had -put up,
muttered the ungraciously
And when hlollie pulled her .loan ,
no the seat ty her tide and kls»«d her |
thin cheek the blushed quite guilt.ly. |
IS If detected In solo * « rims'
CHAPTER VII.
Dinner was very late that day, for
Henri did not return home from a
visit to the police station until tor.H
after the usual hour, and then MMlin
heard him tell his mother that th»
rumor must have originated through
some tramp being taken up with cus
pieious articles in his possession; but
otherwise the inspector had no further
clue to the perpetrator of the crime.
It was a warm night, almost sultry,
and Mollie opened the long French
windows and went out onto the pan
tiles, leaving them alone, though
Henri's high tones sneering at the
English police, and at madame for be
lieving all she heard, reached her for
some time.
How soft and fresh the air felt; how
high above her head the myriads of
stars wire twinkling in the vast
vaults of heaven! There was a whis
per of coming summer in the little
breeze that just lifted the curls on her
brow, speaking of the primroses that
were blooming down by the stream,
the violets in the shady woods. The
roof covering the pantiles was sup
ported by iron pillars, and the aceno
was the same as from her bedroom
window, which was just above. Rut
Mollie never tired of it, and was stand
ing in dreamy thought, when a voko
close to her startled her.
“Ah! mademoiselle. I have found
you at last. I have been looking for
you everywhere!” said Henri briskly,
closing the glass doors. "You enjoy
the lovely night—-yes?’’
"Anyone would, monsieur,” Mollio
replied, adding mischievously: "Sure
ly It makes you think of Paris—the
lights, music, dancing, and all that
kind of thing—does It not?”
"You are laughing at me, medemol
selle,” be said, with a very genuine
sigh as the vision rose before him.
“But tell me, would you not like to
go there, see all these things—are you
not tired of being here?”
“Oh, no. Why, when I was in Ger
many I was Just longing to be home
to watch the flowers come out, to
ramble in the woods.”
Henri shrugged his shoulders and
glanced down at his dainty boots.
"Yet it is very unpleasant for you,"
he argued. "My mother is peculiar.
She has never recovered from the shock
of her brother's sudden death. Two
years with her would appal me, were
I a girl. And had I the chance of
going to beautiful Paris, having a
home of my own, a husband devoted
to me, I should take it, would not
you?"
"No!" said Mollie quickly, suppress
ing a gasp of dismay. "Besides, what
good would they be to me if I were
not devoted, too. I am going in” and
she moved to the window.
"Stay, do not be so cruel!” and he
stepped In front of her. "You know I
love, adore you. Only say, ‘Henri, 1
return your ardent affection, and will
be yours!’ and my life will be spent
in making you happy.”
"But I don't—I never could!” slit
cried, not waiting to choose her words
in her hurry. "Nor do you love me,
Henri, so let us say no more about it.”
"1 tell you I do!” protested he sul
lenly. “Why do you doubt me? Con
sent, and I will carry you to my gay
Paris and teach you to love!" And he
came nearer and laid a hand on her
arm.
Instinctively she shrank back. HJs
face, saliow and cunning, was too near
to be pleasant; his black eyes were
fixed, with an expression of assured
triumph, on hers. Clearly to be read
in them was the conviction that he,
Henri Dubois, was hardly likely to
be refused, that no girl could resist
when he pleaded. And yet there was
a certain admiration there too, which
she had felt and haied for the last
few weeks.
(To be Continued.)
Killing of I'up Hulls Her.
Mrs. Richard Ferguson ("Oran
Passmore”) of tue "McCarthy Mis
haps” company threw a bottle at a
Fort Wayne, Cincinnati and Louisville
baggageman at Muncie, Ind., recently,
because her pet bull pup, which she
had been compelled to put in his car
at Hartford City, was killed by falling
parcels en route to Muncie. The man
dodged, and the bottle was shattered
on the side of the car. Other th^splans
and railroad men interfered and peace
was restored. The company boarded
the train at Hartford City, but the con
ductor refused to allow Mrs. Ferguson
and another woman in the troupe to
take their pets into the passenger
coach. Mrs. Ferguson says her pet
was worth $10, and she has filed a
claim with the company. The bottle
hurled at the baggageman was used to
feed the dog and was full of milk,
which nplashed over the trainmen In
the ear. Ferguson says he was aston
ished at his wife's poor aim. as she
was once a crack baseball pitcher.
■foglUh Were I'nnelstiborljr.
The Hue d'Orleans, whose sister is
marned to the new king of Italy's
cousin an I heir-presumptive, has been
nimble to sell York house, Twicken
ham. The ex-prluee of France has.
therefore, decided to *hul the place up.
ave tor a caretaker, for three yearn
Possibly he hop.* In that tune his
curious behavior will have been for
gotten by the Fngllsh and the! he can
>mce more claim neighborly relations
there The due was recently at M%
rienbad Ilia sister, the Ihicbeatc
d Aosta. »&» always a great favorite
in tingle ml Sh* u In curious con
4ii>l to t' new *|ue u of Italy, Mu|
fair, but fur ray <1 htghn*v»a la. In her
own alyl*, on* of the handsome**
worn** In Ihtrup* The gueen *04 the
a t h»»*. togc'lter a** a wonderfully
Nn '» t Ulf the one tome He the
»tn«r hi ad.
TALM AGE'S SERMON.
COMFORTINO WORDS TO THOSE
IN DECLINING YEARS.
Rome Thoughts Suggested by the Invi
tation to Christ to Abide Overnight
In an Oriental Village —The Kteraui
He.ling l’lnco.
(Copyright, 1900, by Louis Klopsch.)
Washington, Oct. 7.—In this sermon
Dr. Talmage discourses upon the invi
tation given to Christ to stay over
night in tho oriental village and
makes some consolatory suggestions.
The text is Luke xxiv, 29, "Abide with
us, for it is toward evening."
Two villagers, having concluded
their errand in Jerusalem, have started
out at the city gate and are on their
way to Emmaus, the place of their
residence. They go with a sad heart.
Jesus, who had been their admiration
and their Joy, has been basely massa
cred and entombed. As with sad face
and broken heart they pass on their
way a stranger accosts them. They
tell lutn their anxieties and bitterness
of soul. He in turn, talks to them,
mightily expounding the Scriptures.
He throws over them the fascination
of Intelligent conversation. They for
get tho time and notice not the objects
they pass and before they are aware
have come up In front of their house.
They pause before the entrance and
attempt to persuade the stranger to
tarry with them. They press upon him
their hospitalities. Night is coming
on and he may meet a prowling wild
beast or be obliged to lie unsheltered
from the dew. He cannot go much
further now. Why not atop there and
continue their pleasant conversation?
They take him by the arm and they
Insist upon hts coming In, addressing
him In the words, "Abide with us, for
It Is toward evening." The lamps are
lighted, tho table Is spread, pleasant
sodalities are enkindled. They rejoice
In the presence of the stranger guest.
He asks a blessing upon the bread
they eat, and he hands a piece of It
to each. Suddenly, and with over
whelming power tho thought flashes
upon the astounded people—It Is the
Lord! And as they sit In breathless
wonder, looking upon the resurrected
body of Jesus, he vanished. The In
terview ended. He was gone.
Our UrnatMt Need.
The great want of all is to have Je
sus abide with them. It Is a dismal
thing to be getting old without the re
juvenating influence of religion. When
we stop on the down grade of life and
see that it dips to the cold verge of the
cold river, we want to behold some
one near who will help us across it.
When the sight loses Its power to
glance and gather up, we need the
faith that can Illumine. When we feel
the failure of the ear, we need the
clear tones of that voice which In
olden times broke up the silence of
the deaf with cadence of mercy. When
the axmeu of death hew down whole
forests of strength and beauty around
us, and we are left in solitude, we need
the dove of divine mercy to sing In
our branches. When the shadows be
gin to fall and we feel that the day Is
far spent, we need most of all to sup
plicate the beneflclent Jesus in the
prayer of the villagers, "Abide with
us, for It is toward evening.’’
The request of the text is an appro
priate exclamation for all those who
are approaching the gloomy hour of
temptation. There is nothing easier
than to be good natured when every
thing pleases, or to be humble when
there is nothing to puff us up or for
giving when we have not been assailed
or honest when we have no Induce
ment to fraud. But you have felt the
grapple of some temptation. Your na
ture at some time quaked and groaned
under the Infernal force. You felt
that the devil was after you. You saw
your Christian forces retreating. Yon
feared that you would fail in the awful
wrestle with sin and be thrown into
the dust. The gloom thickened. The
first Indications of the night were
seen.
The Source of Strength.
When the night of the soul came on
and all the denizens of darkness came
riding upon the winds of perdition,
who gave strength to the soul? Who
gave calmness to the heart? Who
broke the spell of Infernal enchant
ment? He who heard the request of
the villagers, "Abide with us, for It
Is toward evening." One of the forts
of France was attacked und the out
works were taken before night. The
besteglng army lay down, thinking
that there was but little to do In the
morning and that the soldiery In the
fort could be easily made to surrender.
Hut during the night, through a back
stairs, they escaped Into the country.
In the morning the besieging army
sprang upon the battlements, but
fouud that their prey was gone. Ho
when we are assaulted by temptation,
there Is always some secret stair by
watch we might get off (lod will not
allow us to he tempted abovo what
we are able, hut with every temptation
will bring a way of escape that we
may be able to bear It.
The prayer of the test is appropriate
for all who are anticipating sorrow.
The greatest folly that ever grew on
thta planet is the ndsm y to borrow
trouble Hut there are times when np
prua> hiag sorrow ta so evident that
We need lo he RotklRg «*pe. lal prepa
rations for Its routing One of your
children has la'ely become a favorite
The >ry of that child *lrik>'a deeper
I«tu the heart th an the cry i f all the
others. * at think m . about It V c»
■ Iv« it metre attention n >t Ihviii >• It
h any mom of a tn msw than ths
Other* h'lt a ■ . > , u • iota I ,
frail. There I* som lltta* la the cheek
la lha •)• and Ih the walk that ttecksa
I
you quite sure that the leaves of the
flower are going to be scattered. Th«
utmost nursing and medical attend- ,
ance are Ineffectual. The pulse be
comes feeble, the complexion lighter, j
the step weaker, the laugh fainter. No
more romping for that one through
hall and parlor. The nursery is dark
ened by an approaching calamity. The
heart feels with mournful anticipation
that the sun is going down. Night
speeds on. It Is toward evening.
l?ft'Anr«* Sheet.
You had a considerable estate and
felt independent, in five minutes on
one fair balance sheet you could see
just how you stood with the world.
But there on me complications; some
thing that you Imagined impossible
happened. The best friends you had
{/roved traitor to your Interests. A
sudden crash of national inlsfortuno
prostrated your credit You may feel
anxious about where you are standing
and fear that the next turn of the
commercial wheel will bring you pros
trate. You foresee what you consider
certain defalcation. You think of the
anguish of telling your friends that
you are not worth a dollar. You know
not how you will ever bring your
children home from school. You won
der how you will stand the selling of
your library or the moving into a
plainer house. The misfortunes of life
have accumulated. You wonder what
makes the sky so dark. It Is toward
evening.
Trouble is an apothecary that mixes
a great many drafts, bitter and sour
and nauseous, and you must drink
some one of thern. Trouble puts up a
gn at many packs, and you must car
ry some one of them. There Is no
sandal so think and well adjusted but
some thorn will strike through it.
There Is no sound so sweet but the un
dertaker’s screwdriver grates through
It. In this swift shuttle of the heart
some of the threads must break. The
Journey from Jerusalem to Emmaus
will soon be ended. Our Bible, our
common sense, our observation, reiter
ate in tones that we cannot mistake
and ought not to disregard, it is to
ward evening.
Fighting Agulimt Mlnfortunn.
Listen to Paul's battle shout with j
misfortune. Hark to the mounting
Latimer's lire song. Look ut the glory !
that hath reft the dungeon and filled I
the earth and heavens with the crash
of the falling manacles of despotism.
And then look at those who have tried
to cure themselves by human pre
scriptions. attempting to heal gangrene
with patch of court plaster and to stop
the plague of dying empires with the
quackery of earthly wisdom. Nothing
can speak peace to the soul, nothing
can unstrap our crushing burdens,
nothing can overcome our spiritual
foes, nothing can open our eyes to
see the surrounding horses and chari
ots of salvation that fill all the moun
tains, but the voice and command of
him who stopped one night at Era
maus.
The words of the text are pertinent
to 11s all from the fact that we are
nearing the evening of death. I have
heard It said that we ought to live as
though each moment were to be our
last. I do not believe that theory. As
far as preparation is concerned, we
ought always to be ready. Hut we
cannot always be thlnklug of death,
for we have duties In life that demand
our attention. When a man is selling
goods, It Is his business to think of
the bargain he Is making. When a
man is pleading in the courts it Is his
duty to think of the Interests of his
clients. When a clerk Is adding up
uccounts, it Is his duty to keep his
mind upon the column of figures. He
who fills up his life with thoughts of
death Is far from being the highest
style of Christian. I knew a man who
used often to say at night, “I wish I
might die before morning!" He Is
now an infidel. But there are times
when we can and ought to give our
selves to the contemplation of that
solemn moment when the soul time
ends and eternity begins. We must go
through that one pass. There is
no roundabout way, no bypath, no cir
cuitous route. Die we must, and it
will be to us a shameful occurrence
or a time of admirable behavior. Our
friends may stretch out their hands to
keep us back, but no imploratlon on
their part can hinder us. They might
offer large retainers, but death would
not take the fee. The breath will fail,
and the eyes will dose, and the heart
will stop. You may hang the couch
with gorgeous tapestry, hut what does
death care for bed eurtalns?
Th* Kt«triml ItwtlnK I'liw*'.
This ought not to be u depressing
theme. Who wants to live here for
ever? The world has always treated
me well, and every day l fuel less and
less like scolding and coin plaining,
but yet I would not want to make this
my eternal residence. I love to wat*»
the douds and bathe my soul in the
blue sea of heaven, hut I expect when
the (imminent Is rolled away as a
scroll to see a new heaven, grander,
higher und more glorious. You ought
to tie willing to exdiaiige your body
that has headaches and sideat hea and
weaknesses Innumerable, that limps
with the alone bruise or festers with
the thorn or flames on the funeral
pyrg of fevera, for an Incorruptible
body and an eye that blinks not be
fore the Jasper gates and the great
while throne lint l»i»c. n (hal and
this there Is an hour about which no
man •huuld be reckless nr fuolberdy, I
doubt not y«mr courage, hut I tell you
that you will went »>un< thing better
than a etruag arm, a good aim and a
trusty sword when you -ome to your
last battle You wtil n**.| a better
Hit* than any you have in your ward
rube t i hiep you warm la that pl*<r>4,
t'lrvumvIaiK ea do not make m
mm h different*. It may he brlg.l day
when yes puth oft from the planet
or It may be dark night, and while
the owl is hooting from the forest. It
may bo spring, and your soul may go
out among the blossoms, apple or
chards, swinging their censers in the
way. It may be winter and the earth
in a snow shroud. It may be autumn
and the forests set on fire by the re
treating year; dead nature laid out in
state. It may be with your wife's
hand In your hand or you may be In
a strange hotel with a servant faithful
to the last. It may be In the rail train,
shot off the switch and tumbling In
long reverberation down the embank
ment—crash! crash! I know not the
time; I know not the mode, but the
days of our life are being subtracted
away, and we shall come down to the
time when we have but ten days left,
then nine days, then eight days, then
seven days, six days, five days, four
days, three days, two days, one day.
Then hours, three hours, two hours,
one hour. Then only minutes left,
five minutes, four minutes, three min
utes, two minutes, one minute.
Urn rocnlii*
You are almost through with the
abuse and backbiting of enemies. They
will call you no more by evil names.
Your good deeds will not longer be
misinterpreted or your honor filched.
The troubles of earth will end In the
felicities of heaven! Toward evening!
The bereavements of earth will soon
be lifted! You will not much longer
stand pouring your grief in the tomb
like llachaei weeping for her children
or David mourning for Absalom. Brok
en hearts bound up. Wounds healed.
Tears wiped away. Sorrows terminat
ed. No more sounding of the dead
march! Toward evening! Death will
come, sweet as slumbers to the eyelids
of the babe, as full rations to a starv
ing soldier, as evening hour to the ex
hausted workman. The sky will take
on Its sunset glow, every cloud a lire
psalm, every lake a glassy mirror; the
foreKts transfigured; delicate mists
climbing the air. Your friends will
announce It; your pulses will beat it;
your Joys will ring it; your lips will
whisper It: “Toward evening.”
STORY OF A BEAVER.
An Ynteri ntlng An«e«lote About h ('up
tlv. l'an:i(ll*n.
A. D. Bartlett, son of the late su
perintendent of the London Zoo, has
an Interesting story of a captive Ca
nadian heaver. A large willow tree
in the gardens had blown down. A
branch about twelve feet long and
thirty inches in circumference was
firmly fixed in the ground In the beav
er’s Inclosure. Then the beaver was
watched to see what he would do. The
beaver soon visited the spot, and,
walking around the limb, commenced
to bite off the bark and gnaw the wood
about twelve Inches from the ground.
The rapidity of his progress was as
tonishing. He seemed to put his
whole strength Into his task, although
he left off every few minutes to rest
and look upward, as If to determine
which way the tree would fall. Now
and then he went Into his pond, which
was about three feet from the base of
the tree. Then he would come out
again with renewed energy, and his
powerful teeth would set at work anew
upon the branch. About 4 o’clock, to
the surprise of those who saw him, he
left Ills work and came hastily toward
the Iron fenco. The cause of this sud
den movement was soon apparent. He
had heard in the distance the sound
of the wheelbarrow, which was brought
daily to his paddock, and from which
he was anxiously expecting his sup
per. The keeper, not wishing to dis
appoint the heaver, although sorry to
see his task interrupted, gave him his
usual allowance of carrots and bread.
The fellow ate it, and was seen swim
ming about the pool until about 5:30.
Then he returned to his work. In ten
minutes the "tree” fell to the ground.
Afterward the beaver cut the log into
three convenient lengths, one of which
ho used in the under part of his house.
PAWNEE ROCK.
Histone Indian lialtle Spot Disappear
ing Year After Year.
Nine miles northeast of Larned,
Kan., is a low, disintegrating pile of
red sandstone, which is all that is
now left of the once imposing Pawnee
rock. This rock, which received its
name? from the tribe of Indians known
as the Pawnees, has an interesting his
tory—a history acquired during the
time when this part of the country
was a wild and dreary desert, Inhabit
ed only by the Indians and herds of
roaming buffalo. On this rock have
been waged many bloody conflicts be
tween the Indians and travelers of the
famous Hauta Fe trail, and also be
tween the different tribes of plalua In
dians. Surrounded by vast prairies
! with the trail running along its base,
it afforded a good hiding place and
j battle ground for the savages. In its
primitive state Pawnee rock rose to
a considerable height, and from Its
summit a beautiful panorama spread
, before the lover of nature, and even
now. from Its reduced height, can be
j seen for miles a widespread landscape.
Comparatively little remains to be
seen of that once Imposing promon
tory of the Kansas "desert," for the
hand of man has done more In twenty
years to efface It from the earth than
the elements In centiiriea of time. The
material obtained by the destruction
| of thin landmark of the early days, la
used In the roast rvM ton of dwi-IIli g«,
bridges, etc , by the tnhshitanta In the
fertile valleys surrounding this spot.
rwlw. ImM Mtutgreap^Me
* You have traveled abroad*" In*
' qn!M*d th* well-meaning rouvcrsAtioa
allsl. And th-- man vlw worries a bo at
words .n»wer. 1 study "feasibly you
» • . » . I
could h tv* b*< n * hr >««! without travel*
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