JOHN BURT By FREDERICK UPHAM ADAMS «• “The Kidnapped Millionaires.” “Colonel Monroe's Doctrine." Etc. • COPTHIGHT, 1903, BT FbzDEUXCK UPHJlH Anma All rlfbts reserved ~aa~> s COPTHIGHT, 1903. BT A. J. Dbiiil Biddle CHAPTER XXXIII—-Continued. “You are very good to come at this hour.” the sufferer said. “I spoke to you this evening of my dear friend from California. Miss Carden, allow me to present him. God bless you both!” And thus they met, after the weary flight of years. Tenderly laying Blake back on the pillows, John clasped Jessie’s hands and looked in her face. .‘‘John!” “Jessie!” “Take her in your arms, John! Don’t mind me. She loves-” His voice died with a whisper, and, with a long-drawn sigh, he closed his eyes. “He’s dying! Call the doctor!” ex claimed Jessie, fear and pity chasing the love light from her eyes. “Don’t send for him, I’m all right now,” pleaded Blake, opening his eyes. “Let me lie here and talk to you. The sight of you two is better thaa all the drugs or instruments. I have something to tell you—Miss Car den. I-” “You promised not to talk,” inter rupted John Burt, with a look at Blake which had all the effect of a command. “Let me say just a word!" he ex claimed. “To see you two together, and to hold your hands in mine af ter all that ha9 happened, gives me new courage and renewed ambition.” The subdued sound of conversation came from the adjoining room. All of Blake’s faculties seemed abnor mally acute. - “Is not that Edith’s voice?” he asked. “She is in the other room,” said Jessie. “Let her come in,” pleaded Blake. John made a gesture of disapproval. “I should like to see her, but you know best, I suppose, John,” he said. Dr. Harkness entered the room and signaled to John that the interview must end. Blake gallantly raised Jessie’s hand to his lips. “Good-bye, until I’m better,” he said, almost gaily. “You and John have saved my life.” John escorted Jessie to the door, whispered a few words and returned to Blake’s side. “You’re a god, John!” said Blake, f he grasped the patriarch’s hand. “You dropped me off the Segregansett in the right place and at the right time. Destiny orders all these things, and old destiny and I are chums. I’ll tell you all about it, Captain Burt, when we have lots of time.” Linked arm in arm the old captain and his first mate entered the wide door of the Burt farmhouse. Never had the great oaken table up held such a dinner. Mrs. Jasper was temporarily supplanted by a chef from Boston. Rare old plate came, for the first time in John's recollection, from mysterious chests stored away in the attic. Those who surrounded the board never will forget the invocation offered by Peter Burt when he blessed the food. The shadows which dark ened his life had all been lifted, and the austere cloud passed from his features as fog before a quickening gale. • • * • • Glistening in a new coat of paint, the Standish bobbed at the landing ; when John helped Jessie on board. They had accepted Sam Round’s in vitation to a clambake at Churchill’s Grove, and Sam asked all his old friends and neighbors. For the first time in the memory of the living gen eration Peter Burt attended an out ing. Under the giant pines he sat with John Hawkins and told and lis tened to tales of the sea. The Standish pointed her bow out towards Minor's Light, and picked her way between threatening rocks. Un der the shadow of Black Reef John dropped the anchor and watched the line until it became taut as the incom ing tide swept them near the rocks. Above his head he could see the spot where he had knelt as a boy and listened to Peter Burt while he prayed to the God who ruled the storm. For ; some minutes no words were spoken. “Do you remember the last time we were here, Jessie?” he asked. “Yes, John,” without raising her eyes. “Do you remember what I said to I you that day, Jessie?” “I—I think I do, John.” It may have been the reflection of the sun, but a touch of crimson came to her cheeks. “It was a long time ago, j John, and perhaps I’ve forgotten just [ what you said. Can you repeat it?” "John!" ‘Jeso&r in a low tone. “You are the only man in the world worthy the love of such a woman.” It is merciful to draw the curtain over the two hours which followed. At last a moment come when the | grave face of Dr. Harkness was touched with a smile of professional pride, as he drew from an incision a flattened, jagged piece of lead. The patient glanced at it with pain-dis torted eyes, and then sank into a sleep, the awakening from which meant so much in deciding for life or death. CHAPTER XXXIV. The End. Peter Burt stood by the gateway and shaded his eyes with his hand as he gazed down the road. Two weeks before that day he had re ceiveo his first letter from John. It briefly and modestly recited the story of his struggles and of his success, and ended with an account of the tragedy which resulted in the death of Arthur Morris and the wounding of Blake. The old-fashioned clock had sound- i ed the midday hour, and Peter Burt ! looked beyond the turn of the road, where the yellow-brown of dust had dulled the green of foliage. Respond ing to the touch of a whip a spirited team of horses dashed ahead as they reached the summit of the hill. Sam Rounds was driving, and a stranger to Peter Burt was beside him. John Burt and Jessie were in the rear seat “God is very good to us, John,” said Peter Burt, as he took his grandson's hand and looked, through glad tears, into his face. His stern old face grew tender as he turned to Jessie Carden. “An old man’s blessing on your pretty head,” he said, gently touching the folds of her hair with his huge palm. “You are very beautiful, my daughter, and it is God’s will that you shall be happy. I am glad to see j you again, Samuel.” He looked searchlngly at the silent ! man in the front seat “I do not know you, sir,” he said, extending his hand, “but any friend of my grandson’s is welcome to such hospitality as a Burt can offer.” “Aye, aye, sir; Captain Burt! -My name’s Hawkins—John Hawkins, and I’m coming ashore,” said the gentle man, stepping from the carriage. Peter Burt grasped him by the shoulders and stared into his face. “Jack Hawkins! Jack Hawkins, of the Segregansett! The dead has come to life, and God is good to his serv ant! Forgive me, Hawkins, as He has forgiven me!” ”>Tothing to forgive. Captain Burt!” exclaimed John Hawkins, heartily, as An arm reached out and the little hand was firmly clasped. “I told you that I loved you. Jessie.” he said. The imprisoned hand made no attempt to escape. “I told you that that love was my inspiration; that no woman on earth should share it; that no matter whatever befell you—sunshine or rain, happiness or sorrow—that my ambition was to see you showered with all the blessings God can grant to a good woman; I said that if a day came when I had a right to ask your love in return that I should do so, making no claim on our old friendship. And then you said something, Jessie—do you re member what you said, darling?” “I said that 1 wanted you to love me, but not to speak of it again— until I said you could,” said Jessie, lifting her laughing eyes. ‘‘You can say it again—if you wish to, John.” Two soft arms were around his neck and two sweet lips met his. “You knew I would wait for you, John, didn’t you?” • • • « • John Burt’s modest mansion stands on the crest of the hill which slopes down to the old farmhouse. It com mands a superb view of the crescent sweep of ocean beach, and also of the more quiet beauties of Hingbam bay. Verdant terraces and winding paths and roads come to the edge of the yard surrounding the old homestead, but no gardener’s hand has been per mitted to touch the quaint surround ings, sacred to the ancestral founder of the house of Burt. In the long summer days Jessie’s children play about Peter Burt’s knees. Nearly five score years have passed over his head. His shoulders are bent, and the voice falters at times, but his eyes preserve the spark of their wonted fires. Watched and cared for by those who love him, he calmly awaits the coming of the reaper, into whose gar ner long since have been gathered the atoms of his generation. A few miles away another mansion fronts the ocean. James Blake and his fair Edith have been blessed with two children and with each other's love. A roguish boy bears the name of John, and a dainty little miss re sponds to the name of Jessie. James Blake is now in fact as well as in name the head of the great firm so conspicuous in this narrative. In a thousand ways he has merited the confidence reposed in him by John Burt. Generous as yet, almost to a fault, he has acquired with responsi bility that breadth of view and poise of judgment which found its highest expression in the man who made his success possible. Retiring from active business when most men are making a start, Johj Burt has devoted his time to the study of statesmanship in its purest > sense. Political honors have crowded upon him. There are thousands who share the confident faith of his lov ing wife that the highest place in the gift of the people shall seme day crown his career. There are frequent reunions in the old farmhouse or on the spacious lawns surrounding John Burt's resi dence. Once a year Sam Rounds su perintends a clambake, and John Hawkins always manages to be pres ent. To the latter’s inquiries con cerning the future Mrs. Rounds, Sam turns a grinning, untroubled face. “No man in Rocky Woods is a bach elor until he is way past sixty,” Sam declares, “an’ I’m spry yet as a colt in clover. Sometimes Ma Rounds is a bit doubtful erbout my matrimonial chances, but I has hopes; I still has hopes. Edith, may I help you to some more of them clams? Jessie, please pass young Master Burt’s plate; it's empty already. How that boy grows! He's coming up like sparrowgrass af ter a rain.” Mrs. Rounds bustles around, her eyes bright with the joy of being busy. “You set down, Ma Rounds,” com mands Sam in a hopeless tone. “You set right down and let us young folks wait on the table. I can’t break her of workin’, John; I swan, I just can’t do nothin’ with her. Well,” raising a glass of sparkling cider, “here’s God bless all good people, an’ happy days tew all of ye!” (The End.) HARD WORK TO KILL BEAR. North Carolina Men Evidently Not the Marksmen Their Fathers Were. Some of the citizens of the Ashland section had a novel experience in killing a big black bear recently. He was discovered passing across the bottoms of the Bushnell plantation about noon, by Alfred Jones, a color ed tenant on the place, who notified all the farmers in the neighborhood. A number of men came with their dogs and their guns and proceeded to locate the beast. The dogs 900n struck the track end several of the hunters got within close range at 2 o’clock. Five or six loads were fired into him before he had apparently noticed any onslaught. Firing continued for several hours with slight effect, and several fierce fights between the dogs and the bear occurred, but he apparently made no effort to attack any of the huntsmen. Late in the afternoon, after consid erable dodging in a thick swamp, he climbed a large tree. Several shots were fired at him from below, and he went out on a limb which was so small it broke under his weight. When he fell to the ground Mr. Ed Harrill was at very close range and got a good aim at a point just below’ the heart, which ended the conflict. Mr. Summers, who sent for his wagon, carried the bear to the near est scales and found that he weighed 267 pounds.—Charlotte Observer. Where Racing Manners Win. Manners are becoming more and more important to the success of harness horses that are expected to race in good company and make any sort of a showing. The overanxious trotter or pacer will take so much out of himself in scoring that a horse of less speed than he himself pos sesses will beat him handily before the race is ended. The horse that cannot be placed at the will of his driver after the word is given will not win any race worth talking about. Neither *will the horse of opposite temperament—the sort that must be “reefer" and rallied from start to finish. The winning trotter must have ambition enough to beat tffe other horses in the race, speed enough tc meet them on equal terms in that particular, and the willingness to let his driver decide when the brush foi the front shall be made. That sort of horse is a rare bird, and when you find one and expect him to win th^ee or four races in a row you must add to his other good qualities those of being a good shipper, a first-class feeder and the ability to stand a change of track and water every week.—Los Angeles Times. nuuyu vii viifliiiwvi mm* Joseph Chamberlain’s list of jokes includes this one on himself: On one occasion he was Invited to Liverpool to make a speech. It was to be a great celebration. The mayor, who was to preside at the meeting, had arranged a fine dinner for the guest of honor. A distinguished as sembly surrounded the table, and at the right of the host sat Mr. Cham berlain. For a couple of hours the company chatted over their food, and finally the coffee was served. It was at this juncture that the mayor lean ed over and whispered to Mr. Cham berlain : “Your excellency, shall we let the crowd enjoy itself a while longer, or had we better have your speech?"— New York Times. World’s Largest Monolith. London Engineering illustrates and describes the largest monolith yet built. Two of these structures form the foundations for the roundheads at the entrance of the new Midland Rail way Company’s harbor at Heysham, in Morcambe bay. The roundheads are three hundred feet apart, and only a short distance removed from the main channel formed by Heysham lake. They are built on mQnoliths, which constituted one of the most interesting features of the works, for, being fifty five feet in diameter, they were the largest constructed in connection with harbor works. Scientific Englieh Farming. At Farlngdon, Berkshire, farming has been raised to a science. Mr. George Adams, of the royal prize farm, Wadley house, farms some 4,000 acres, of which about half is arable and half pasture. He employs from 200 to 250 laborers, milks 500 cows daily, keeps about forty Shire brood mares, a score of breeding sows, and from 3,000 to 4.000 laying hens, grows about 1,000 acres of grain, besides attending to other multifarious items in the ordl nary course of farm practice. About 1.000 acres of meadow hay are har vested annually. All the work, cut ting, carrying and ricking, is done by piecework.—Tid-Blts. A Wish. I wish I were my lady’s veil. Softly to lie against her cheek. Where dimples piay at hide and seek And rosy blushes flush and pale. I’m sure that I should never fail To feel a charm when she would speak; I'm sure her glances would prevail And draw me closer to her cheek. If wishes were of some avail. But pshaw, they're only vain and wTcak, An idle dream—a childish freak— And vet. and yet, the thoughts assail I wish I were my lady’s veil. —Chicago Chronicle. | “Whatever possessed you,” said | Miss Cordelia, “to quarrel with her?” “I didn’t. It was she who quarreled with me.” “Don’t be an Adam.” Bert ignored the case of Adam. “If I could see her alone.” he said gently —‘alone accidentally.” “Accidentally, of course. That’s where I come in?” “Why not?” “Because I am on her side.” “But so”—radiantly—“am L Al ways on her side.” “I see. And I don’t see any hope for you.” “Then I’m sorry to be a nuisance, Miss Cordelia, but,” settling himself like a rock. “I must stay until she comes. She comes often, doesn she?” Miss Cordelia began to laugh. “Why,” she asked, “don't you write to her?” ‘I want to be sure that Bhe cares before—well, one doesn’t like to be a hound for nothing.” “And how will you be made sure?” "Oh, the minute I see her.” “And then—?” Miss Cordelia leaned toward him with her own eyes twink ling. “Then I’ll kidnap her,” cried i ert, and sprang to his feet. “If she cares, Miss Cordelia, upon my soul—I’ll kid nap her.” “Oh, how young and silly,” said Miss Cordelia, and sighed. “Listen. It’s quite sensible,” Bert : explained joyously. “The engagement was talked about you know; every one discovered it.” “Yes,” Miss Cordelia assented and smiled. “Now the break is being talked about. And Nixie, poor little ~irl, ; hates the whole business.” “It’s quite likely.” Miss Cordel.a put in drily, “that she especially hates the talk going on about you an disappoint him.” “But there’s one thing, Nixie.’ This somewhat later. “Oh. is there?” “You haven’t your mind at all on Neilie Carl, have you?” “Well,” said Nixie and softly laughed, “I don’t see why you should kidnap the wrong girl.” So they dashed on toward the bish op.—San Francisco Call. Excuses the Girts Gave. “Our outlook for basket ball lsn’1 very bright this year,” remarked the captain of the senior basket ball team of a well known woman’s college, as she held in her hands a number oi resignations from girls who last yeai were enthusiastic players. “Our worst loss is going to be oui center, who doesn't return to college this year because she is going to gel married. Of course, I can forgive her. but just listen to the excuses the oth ers offer: “One girl writes that she can't pla> this year because the game makes he* hands large, and her father objects to that. Another says she can’t play be cause she always loses her temper when the umpire calls a foul on her. and that her mother is afraid she’ll become a regular ‘cross patch.’ I did expect something better of our little goal defender, but here is her resignation along with others, saying that she met a girl this summer who had played in that position at Bryn Mawr for three years, and she was such an aggressive, assertive person that she’s afraid if she play goal de fender any longer she will become like the Bryn Mawr woman.”—Philadel phia Press. Hoar’s Grim Humor. An aged Baltimorean, a classmate of Senator Hoar’s at Harvard, was talking about the distinguished states man. “One day, when Senator Hoar’s health had just begun to be feeble,” he said, “he and I fell into a discus sion of our various aches and weak nesses. “The spectacle of two old men com plaining together in this way had its humorous side, and Senator Hoar was always quick to see humor. Interrupt ing me in a description of a chronic rheumatic trouble, he said: “ ‘Howard, you and I, going on like this, remind me of Lord Chesterfield and Lord Tyrawley. They both, in their old age, were feeble, but they both put the best foot forward^ they carried themselves as well as we do. One day, though, meeting somewhere, they began to recount their ills and in firmities. While they were talking, a younger man joined them; thereupon they changed the subject at once, and in explanation of the change Lora Chesterfield said, smiling quietly: .Tyrawley and I have been dead these two years, sir, but we don’t choose to have it known.” ’ ’ Getting the Money’s Worth. Mrs. Lane was young and inexperi enced, but certain principles of econ omy had been instilled into her from childhood. She knew that since one could send ten words in a telegram for 25 cents and any smaller number cost the same amount, it was an ob vious waste of money to send less than the ten. She had also been taught by her eminently practical husband that in sending a telegram one should “keep to the matter in hand,” and avoid all confusion of words. On the occasion of Mr. Lane’s first absence from home, he seat a telegram from Chicago, say ing, “Are you all right? Answer. Blank Hotel, Chicago.” Mrs. Lane knew* she must be wise, economical and speedy, for Mr. Lane was making a flying trip, and had told her ?.e could not plan on his where abouts long enough ahead to have a letter sent. She spent a few moments in agitated thought, and then proudly wrote the following message: “Yes. Yes. Yes. I am very well in deed, thank you.”—Youth’s Com panion. God's Greatest Gift. God pity those who know not touch of hands— Who dwell from all their fellows far apart. Who. isolated in unpeopled lands. Know not a friend's communion, heart to heart! But pity these—ah. pity these the more— Who of the populous town a desert make. Pent in a solitude upon whose shore The tides of sweet compassion never break! These are the dread Saharas we inclose About our lives when love we put away; Amid life's roses, not a scent of rose; Amid fhe blossoming, nothing but de cay. But if *tis love we search for, knowledge comes. And love that passeth knowledge—God is there! Who seek the love of hearts find in their homes Peace at the threshold, angels on the stair. —Munsey's Magazine. Had High Opinion of Carleton. Will Carleton while traveling re cently in a stagecoach among the Green mountains is said to have fall en into a literary conversation with a prosperous farmer. In the course of conversation the farmer, who had no suspicion of the author’s identity, quoted from Mr. Carleton’s poems to illustrate some points he was trying to make. “Oh, that's from Carleton!” said the poet, “and I never have been In the habit of believing half he said.” The farmer eyed him a moment somewhat contemptuously. “Well, stranger,” he retorted slowly, “I don’t know you nor I don’t want to be uncivil, but if you ever know half as much as Will Carleton does you’ll know twice as much as you do now.” Little Alfred’s Squelcher. Emma and Alfred, 4 and 5 years oid, respectively, had been kept in doors several days because of slight colds, the boy, who was the more affected, being in bed. They had been looking forward to a visit from their Aunt Judith, a favorite with both. The door bell rang and a visitor was announced down stairs. It proved to be a neighbor. When she had gone, little Emma, half crying, said: “I wish ’at had been Aunt Dudith; I’m just dying to see Aunt Dudith.” The boy couldn’t brook thi3 Rivalry in affection, for he quickly broke in with: “I’m dylnger than jau, ’cause I’m bed” WOMAN LEADER OF REBELS. Macedonia Insurgents Fight Fiercely Behind Female Captain. Although it is by no means uncom mon to find Bulgarian women fighting side by side with their husbands in the fierce Macedonian struggle, up to the present no organized band has recognized a woman as its chief. The last band of fifteen men leaving Pet ritch, in Bulgaria, was. however, led by a woman named Doskalitza, whose fierce fanaticism has made her the ter ror of the district which she haunts. She recently attacked the Greek vil lage of Gumeniza, and set fire to four houses whose owners had gone over to the Exarchate. As a Greek woman in one of these houses rushed forth and cursed her, Doskalitza stabbed her to the heart. A certain halo of romance hang; over this masculine heroine. She is said to be a member of a distinguish ed Dubnitza family, and was forme ly betrothed to a Bulgarian officer who fell fighting at the head of his Korn itadjis, with Turkish soldiers, at Mon astir. With his dying breath he im plored his fiancee to avenge nis death. Upon receiving the message Doska litza bought weapons, armed fifteen men of the neighborhood, and de parted for Macedonia. The authorities have offered a reward of ten Turkish pounds for her head. ouiuci my a uc«g ripe. Soldering a lead pipe is like a good many other operations—it is easy when you know how, but exceed ingly difficult when you don't. The reason for this is that unless the sol dering bolt is of the proper temper ature, and properly handled, it is very apt to melt a hole in the lead pipe and so make matters worse instead of better. The edges of toe part to be soldered should be scraped bright and clean and powdered resin used as a flux. The bolt must not be too hot, and great care must be taken not to allow it to approach too near the pipe for fear of melting it. The proper way is to hold it directly above the place to be soldered and touching it with the solder allow the latter to drop on the spot desired. Failure will probably attend the first attempt, but practice will make perfect. Cement for Leather to Metal. A German authority recommends the following method of cementing leather to metal: Digest one part crushed nutgalls in eight parts dis tilled water for six hours, and strain; also macerate glue with its own weight of water for twenty-four hours and then melt by heating. Roughen the surface of the metal by scratching with a file and then after wards washing off in hot water. Warm the infusion of the nutgalls and spread on the leather, and smear the glue on the roughened surface of the metal; apply the surfaces together and dry gently. If properly done the leather adheres firmly to the metal. A simpler method is to melt together equal parts asphalt and gutta percha. apply hot to the surfaces of the leather and mental, and dry under pressure. Next weak we com mence bhe publication of NARY DEVEREUX'S powerful historical novel Lafitte of Louisiana A story dealing with the acquisition of the territory of Louisiana. HEXT WEEK American Nurses in Japan. One of the American volunteer nurses at Hiroshima says: “Our work has become interesting, and since we have understood the men and ways of the hospital better we can find enough work to keep us quite busy all day, and we enjoy it. The men are such good patients, and we do not have to depend much on the Japanese nurses to explain when the men try to make their wanta known to us, except of course, with the very sick ones. Their own nurses understand their wants at once, but we always want to do what we can to help. We are beginning to feel that we are really a part of the hospital and enjoy working with the Japanese nurses.” In Line for European Thrones. Four of the great-grandchildren of King Christian of Denmark are in the direct line of succession to imperial or royal thrones. These are Prince Georgios, a son of the crown prince of Greece; Prince Albert Edward, son of the Prince of Wales; Prince Freder ick, son of Prince Christian of Den mark, and the Czarowitz Alexis, heir to the Russian throne. Overdoing It. Homer—When it comes to cleanli ness, my wife’s the limit.” Neighbors—Indeed! Homer—Yes, she even scrubbed the coalbin last week before she would let the man put the coal in.” Pulling Him In. Ida —Yes, Ernestine threw her young man overboard. May—And then wrote to him the next day. Ida—Oh, yes. She said it wa3 her duty to drop him a line. Brought Suit for Ten Cents. Henry Haughey, who runs the mail wagon between Flemingsburg. Ky., and Sharpsburg, sued a merchant along the route for 10 cents the other day. After the suit was filed it was compromised before trial. Money Left for Good Purpose. The late Col. William Austine in his will bequeathed $50,000 to establish a hospital in Battleboro, Vt., “for the temporary treatment of strangers and local invalid* peculiarly situated."