The Christmas Guest
BY CHARLES H. CRANDALL. f|
Cold sweeps the wind in every hill and valley, Hi
Its kisses glaze the rivers and the sea, F|
It drives its steeds through avenue and alley, KB
And laughs to see the shivering people flee. O
Yet by the hearthfire glowing the north wind shall not rest, ml
Where glad hands are bestowing cheer for the Christmas |f|
Guest.
Good people all, wherever ye are dwelling,
In crowded streets or on the lonely farm,
Join in the Christmas message, sweetly swelling,
And make each home a haven bright and warm,
' For hearts, if true and lowly,
The manger-cradles are,
Where comes the Child-Guest holy
With love, the guiding Star.
I
1 - - - - - - - ------ - * I
MOTHER’S CHRISTMAS
By SUSAN HUBBARD MARTIN
V_ ^
There were three girls of them, all
merry, light-hearted and thoughtless,
but this evening a new seriousness
■was upon them. For one thing, moth
er had gone to bed with a sharp neu
ralgic attack that somehow was be
coming, of late, a too frequent occur
rence. Another was that father had
just given them their Christmas al
lowance, for it was the 18th of Novem
ber, and they had already begun to
plan for the great day.
"Girls,” he had said, as he handed
each one a crisp $10 bill, "this year
(you must really make this do. Don’t
spend it and expect more, for it will
not be forthcoming. Times are hard,
money not easy to get and necessary
expenses must be met, so remember
that while we all love Christmas, as
■indeed we ought, yet we are not ex
pected to give more than we are able.
.‘Peace on earth, good will to men,’
means more than a mad rush at bar
gain counters, when one endeavors to
make $10 do the work of $25. We all
jtry to do too much, and under the
strain the sweet old merry Christmas
'of long ago has lost its charm.”
He had put on his overcoat and gone
out, and Mag, Joyce and Fan sat and
(looked at one another.
"I’ve simply got to give Bess a more
[expensive present than I did last
iyear,” said Mag, gloomily, gazing at
:the fire. “Just imagine my humilia
tion Christmas day when she sent me
that beautiful watch fob, and all I had
(given her was a little picture in a
(plain oak frame. I blush now at the
(thought of it.”
; "Don’t say a word,” broke in Fan,
(tragically. “I suffer mortification of
(the spirit a hundred times when I
[think of the little I can give. Ten dol
lars and 27 friends and relations to
make presents to.”
Joyce looked up. Joyce was the
.youngest, and she wore a brown school
dress. Her chestnut curls were tied
;with scarlet ribbons. “I say,” she be
|gan quickly, “that’s time the Christ
Jmas reformation began in this fam
ily. Three girls, Pan 17, Mag 16 and
[I 14%. Not one of us able to earn a
; penny, and all straining every nerve
jto make it harder for father and do
something we can’t afford. I’m like
,dad. Christmas don't mean a mad
l rush at bargain counters to buy things
for people who half the time don’t
.care for 'em when they get ’em. Use
less and impossible articles, too, most
of ’em are, but we poor misguided
(mortals will take ’em just because
(they’re marked down from $1.15 to
49 cents. The facts in our case are
jthese, father’s poor, he works hard,
iand mother isn’t well. I say it's time
to stop. I shall simply tell Bell (and
who has a dearer friend than she is,
I'd like to know) that all I can give
her is a set of mats for her dressing
jtable. I’ll make ’em as pretty as I
jean, and there'll be lots of love to go
with ’em, but there I’ll stop.”
“But she’ll give you something
lhandsome,” put in Mag.
"Can’t help it,” replied Joyce, “her
jfether’s rich and mine isn’t. If she
thinks any the less of me for it, why
ehe’U have to do it. Last year we
.spent all we had and didn’t have one
cent left to remember mother with,
and I went up to the attic Christmas
jafternqon and cried about it. That
(reminds me. I’m going up to see how
she is.”
I
Mag sighed. “Isn't. Joyce a. charac
ter?” she said to Fan when the young
er sister was safely out of the room.
"Joyce,” replied Fan, decisively, "is.
a dear. I wish we were more like her.
I'm not sure, too,” she added, thought
fully, “but that she is right."
“Oh, don’t you preach,” cried Mag,
“we've got obligations, we have j
friends, and the result is our $10 will '
Joyce looked at It also. The sleeve*
bad been patched, the eollnr mended.
Joyce remembered with a sudden
pang It was the best one mother had.
She swept the wrapper off the chair
and took up the little worn slippers,
then she went down into the sitting
room. Mag and Fan were still there.
"Girls,” cried Joyce, dramatically,
holding up the old wrapper, "do you
think we girls ought to make Christ
mas presents when our mother has to
wear clothes like this? See how she’s
patched the sleeves, and the eollar,
too, and just look at these slippers!”
The girls did look, and an Joyce held
them up, the poor Bhabby little slip
pers, a stillness fell upon them. Each
girl remembered the patient figure in
the worn slippers that went about a
ceaseless round of duties day by day,
with no thought of relaxation of en
joyment. The work mu3t be done,
father’s meals must be on time, the
girls must have their company and
their holidays. There was little time
or money left for her when three
young girls were properly fed and
clothed. And as Mag, Fan and Joyce
looked at the patched, threadbare
wrapper, it told a tale more eloquent
than any words, representing to these
three hitherto thoughtless daughters
the sacrifices daily made for them, and
never mentioned.
Fan wiped a tear away: so did Mag.
Joyce's eyes were already full.
“If we don’t take better care of
mother, perhaps we won't have her
very long,” said Joyce, solemnly.
“Girls,” she added, “let’s do some
thing. Say we put five dollars out of
our ten away for her. ami fix up her
things. I will, anyway. I’m going to
get her a handsome pair of Juliets all
trimmed in black fur, and stuff
enough to make her a pretty dressing
sacque. Mag, will you make it?”
Mag sprang up. "Yes, I will, Joyce,”
she cried, “and I will give |5 too. I
never realized that mother was wear
ing quite as poor clothes as these."
"I’ll give five," said Fan, slowly.
"We haven’t money enough to go
round anyway. Let us be brave and
tell our friends so. Perhaps in the
end they’ll thank us for it."
When mother came downstairs that
Christmas morning, she gave a start
of surprise. A gay little wreath of
holly hung by the window. Attached
to it was a large white £ard which
bore these words:
MUTttHiKS UHKlBTMAo.
May She Have Many of Them.”
A pretty brown wrapper with velvet
collar and cuffs hung over the back
of her favorite chair. A dainty pair
of house shoes lay beside it, trimmed
in black fur. Near them was a dress
ing sacque, soft and warm, of some
gray material finished off by a touch
of scarlet and a bow of ribbon. A
shoulder shawl of white and blue1
hung over one arm of the chair. Two
pairs of kid gloves lay across it. On
the sofa was a handsome comforter
of pink silkaline artistically knotted
with blue. ‘This was Fan’s gift, and
On Christmas Morning.
melt in their behalf like snow before
the sun. I’d be ashamed to look them
in the face if it didn’t.’’
Joyce crept softly into her mother's
room. The light was turned down
low. The iigure on the bed did not
stir. Joyce slipped over and looked
down at the pale sleeper. “Darling
mother,’’ she whispered, “how white
i her cheeks are, and her hands, too,
how thin. I wish I might kiss them.
I’m glad she's gone to sleep. Per
haps when she wakes the pain will
be gone."
She turned to go away, but a pair
of slippers sitting side by side at the
foot of the bed arrested her. She
stooped and picked one up, stroking
it softly. Joyce was always the affec
tionate one of the family. Then she
looked at it. The sole was pitifully
thin, and there was u 1 title break in
one side. Mother's wrapper lay care
fully folded over the back of a chair, j
where she had put it. even in her pain. ;
had been bought with a portion of her
money and made over at Aunt Ra
chel’s so there could be no danger of
detection. There were aprons, too,
and handkerchiefs sheer and fine.
Father had given these.
Mother stood still, then seeing the
new expression in her children’s faces,
she took a step forward. "Praise the
Lord,’’ she sang in her heart, but aloud
she could only say': “My blessed,
blessed girls," as she gathered them
each one into her tender and loviof
arms.—Ram's Horn.
Just Like a Woman.
She received a Christmas present.
Her friends all said 'twas nice:
But she was awfully disappointed—
For she couldn’t learn the pries.
—Cincinnati Enquirer.
Mournful Thought.
How oft on Christmas morning.
Our Joyous greetings mocking,
We find a ten-cent present
In a silk ten-dollar stocking.
—J udge.
A HAPPY CHRISTMAS.
^It Is Best Made by Remembering the
Christ Spirit of Kindliness.
: A happy Christmas to grown people
;and a merry Christmas to the chil
dren! And let it be a happy Christ
mas; for that one day put away wor
ries and disagreeable feelings, and en
ter into the real spirit of Christmas,
which is to give happiness into some
human life. It is not in the giving of
presents atone that is the true Christ
mas; it ia in bestowing kind words,
hind looks aad smiles where there Is
not always sunshin^. Why do people
so often think Christmas a burden,
and wish the holiday season past?
Why should the sad and sorrowful
look forward to it as a dread anni
versary? This is the worst form of
selfishness. Christ mj is should be a
day of self-forgetfulness and of think
ing of some one else’s life, and how it
can be made brighter. There is a
great deal of sadness and worry In all
stations of life.
And the children! Does anyone
ever notice the wistful faces peering
tato the fascinating shop windows at
this season, and remember that prob
ably this ia their owners’ only glimpse
of Christmas? That in their whole
miserable existence never a penny has
been handled by them of their very
own? Let the childless one and the
sorrowful one, as well as those who
daily take their walks abroad, think
of this, and each one in his own way
do his best to gladden some life, and
by doing so feel by Christmas night
that there is something after all
worth doing and living tor in this old
world, and the new year will be pre
pared tor by ending the old one well.
St. Louis.—The violent death of
Robert M. Snyder, a Kansas City mil
lionaire, has written finis after the
world’s most remarkable crusade
against bribery. The death of Snyder
is the climax of a series of misfor
tunes and tragedies that has pursued
so relentlessly the men who were
caught in the boodle trap sprung by
Joseph W. Folk four years ago, that
the question has been asked whether
fate has not joined hands with the
law to heap punishment upon their
heads.
Twenty-two men were indicted by
St. Louis grand juries for participation
In three great briberies, in which more
than $300,000 was paid for the votes
of assemblymen. Misfortune of some
kind—death, insanity, want or loss of
fortune—has visited the families of 16
of them. Three of them are dead.
Snyder, whose case was probably
the most celebrated or all, was under
indictment in St. Louis when he was
thrown out of his automobile within
a few blocks of his magnificent home,
on Independence boulevard, Kansas
City, on the night of October 27, and
killed. When the circuit attorney of
St. Louis a few days later entered a
nolle prosequi in the case the docket of
the criminal courts was cleared of all
the boodle cases which Folk instituted
during the two years that he had brib
ery under investigation.
But seven men weie sent to the pen
itentiary for bribery. One other is
under sentence, but his case is pending
In the supreme court. But not one of
the men—even those who escaped the
penitentiary by turning state's evi
uence—would pass through the ex
periences of the last four years for all
the bribe money that the wealthiest
corporation of the country could put
up to buy votes. The lawmaker who
Is tempted to sell his vote may learn
something to his advantage by study
!ifg carefully the unpleasant experi
ences of the men who gave and re
ceived bribes in St. Louis.
Began Boodle Crusade.
If the St. Louis boodlers sowed the
wind they reaped the tornado. Next
to Snyder, Charles H. Turner, who
died broken-hearted in New York last
summer, a virtual outcast from St.
Louis, where he made a fortune
amounting to millions of dollars, was
the most lavish bribe giver exposed
during the fight against corruption.
He was the first man caught. When
the late “Red” Galvin, a veteran news
paper reporter, walked into the office
of Folk early in January, 1902, and
told him that Charles H. Turner and
Philip Stock, his legislative agent,
had placed $147,500 in escrow in two
trust companies’ vaults to bribe the
municipal assembly to pass a fran
chise bill for the Suburban Street Rail
way company, the boodle crusade be
gan. Two days later Turner was vir
tually on his knees before the circuit
attorney begging for mercy. The only
alternative to the penitentiary was to
go on the witness stand and tell the
whole corrupt and shameful story. He
chose the alternative. At the time of
his exposure he was president of a big i
trust company as well as of the street
railway company. He was promptly
retired, and pretty soon the stock
holders of the trust company decided
that they needed another man at the
head of the institution.
Turner found that he could not re
main in business in St. Louis, in spite
of his big fortune. He went to New
York and was almost forgotten in his
old home—save for his perfidy in brib
ing the city’s lawmakers—when he
died, of a broken heart.
Snyder’s last days were full of
trouble. Within the month of his
death the bleaching bones of his son,
Cary M. Snyder, were found in a lone
ly spot near Hillsboro, Ore. The
young man, a fugitive rrom justice for
two years, had probably been mur
dered by one of a band of robbers of
which he was a member. On the very
night that the elder Snyder died the
widow of his son confessed that her
dead husband was a member of an
organized band of robbers, who had
been cracking safes throughout the
western country. Cary Snyder kept
his father in constant trouble for near
ly three years before he was killed.
R. M. Snyder went to St. Louis in
the spring of 1898 and consummated a
daring and colossal bribery, in a street
railway franchise bill, says the New
York Herald.
Snyder Convicted.
After one of the most notable legal
battles In the west, in which Folk
fought against an array of the finest
legal talent that money could hire,
Snyder was convicted and sentenced
to five years in the penitentiary. The
case went to the supreme court and
was reversed on a technicality. Be
fore it could be tried again Folk went
out of office, having been elected gov
ernor. The Snyder case was one of
the few that he passed down to Ar
thur N. Sager, his successor. Last
May Sager nolle pressed the case and
issued a new information against
Snyder. The case was called for trial
in Septetmber, but owing to the ab
sence of material witnesses for the
state, it was again nolle pressed and a
new information sworn out. At the
same time -Sager indicted Frederick
G. TJthoff for perjury, charging him
with swearing falsely before the grand
jury when the Snyder case was under
investigation four years ago, Uthoff
having since been a non-resident of the
state. He issued an information i
against William H. Ritter, a former |
member of the house of delegates, i
who voted for Snyder’s franchise bill, I
charging him with conspiring to hold
Snyder up for money as a considera
tion for not testifying against him.
This case was standing against
Snyder when death entered the final
nolle prosequi. The cases against Ut
hoff and Ritter, growing indirectly
out of a bribery committed some years
ago, are the only entries on the court
dockets to remind St. Louis of her
famous municipal scandals.
Ed. Butler, the boss politician, who
was three times indicted and twice
tried for bribery, has had his troubles,
too. Butler was first indicted for at
tempting to bribe members of the
board of health to award him a con
tract for handling the city garbage.
He was tried in Columbia, Mo., convict
ed and sentenced to three years in the
penitentiary, but escaped when the
supreme court decided that as the
members of the board of health were
not officials they could not be bribed.
He was next indicted for handling a
boodle fund cf $47,500 to have passed
a bill providing for the lighting of the
streets with gas instead of electricity.
He was acquitted of this charge at Ful
ton, Mo., and in that respect consid
ered himself lucky. Soon after his
first indictment his son-in-law, John
Parle, died. Before he was tried on
the second indictment his favorite
son, John R. Butler, who had been
faithful to the old man’s interests, fell
sick and died. This blow broke But
ler's heart and hurt him worse than
all of Folk's prosecutions.
Kelly’s Evidence Needed.
There was one man only among the
former members of the house of dele
gates who knew where the $47,500
came from that was paid for the votes
of the combine members in the city
lighting deal. That was former Speak
er Charles F. Kelly. It had been de
veloped that Kelly received the money
lrom Edward Butler, and Butler was
promptly indicted. But in this trans
action Butler was simply acting as a
“friend.” Kelly’s evidence was neces
sary to establish the identity of the
man who stood in Butler’s shadow.
Folk knew who he was—so did the
public, but Kelly had the only evidence
that would indict the man—who was
ten times a millionaire.
Folk had Kelly before the grand jury
on the afternoon of September 8, 1902,
and was gradually forcing .a confes
sion out of him. Emissaries of the
boodlers were at once dispatched to
the four courts where the inquisition
was in progress to get into communi
cation with Kelly. While Folk was in
the Grand jury room these men
reached Kelly’s ear and he quietly
slipped away. A few minutes after
Kelly left the anterooms of the grand
jury’s headquarters his absence w'as
d.3covered and deputy sheriffs were
sent in every direction to find him and
bring him in. Kelly probably never
will forget his experiences of the next
12 hours. He was held a prisoner by
the men he was about to betray, and
hustled oft to a quarry in a remote
portion of the city. One of the men
who was subsequently sent to the pen
itentiary for bribery was left to guard
him. He spent the night in a shed
that stood on the brink of the quarry
pond. Early the next morning Kelly
w’as put on a train at one of the su
burban stations and was hurried off
by the most direct route to Canada.
He did not stop there, and upon reach
ing the Atlantic coast took the first
steamer for Europe. Not a word was
heard as to his whereabauts during
the next two months. On November
29, one day after the statute of limi
tations had hecome operative against
the participants in the city lighting
bribery deal, Kelly landed in New
York and was met by a son of Edward
Butler, who conveyed to him the news
that three days before his 12-year-old
son, his favorite child, had been buried
and that his wife was then lying at
the point of death.
Kelly hastened home. Whatever
testimony he might be able to give
was then of no value to the state. He
had no sooner reached St. Louis than
he was arrested, an indictment having
been voted against him by the very
grand jury that he ran away from. A
few weeks later Kelly became insane
and was confined for months in St.
Vincent’s asylum. Careful treatment
in a measure restored his mind. Folk
took pity on him and permitted him
to turn state’s evidence in a minor
case.
The indictments against him were
nolle prosequied. With this burden
lifted from his mind his mental facul
ties underwent a gradual rehabilita
tion, and he is now trying to build up
again the business that went to ruin
during the time that he was involved
in trouble.
Of the seven men sent to the peni
tentiary only three are in stripes, the
sentences of the others having expir
ed. Gov. Folk has announced that two
of these men, both of whom he prose
cuted when he was circuit attorney,
will be pardoned. The two men who
will be the recipients of executive
clemency are Julius Lehmann and
Emile Hartmann. Lehmann is serv
ing a seven years’ sentence and Hart
mann six years for bribery in connec
tion with the city lighting bill.
In Permanent Exile.
Ellis Wainwright, a millionaire
brewer, who was a director in the Su
burban Railway company when it at
tempted to buy up the council and
house of delegates, has been exiled in
Paris for more than four years. An
indictment for bribery is pending
against him in St. Louis and he dare
not return.
Charles Gutke, a former member of
the house of delegates, was indicted
for bribery in September, 1902. So
many of the boodlers had run away
to escape punishment that the courts
would not accept bail at less than $20,
000. Ed. Butler signed bonds until
he would not be accepted on more. As
a consequence Gutke was confined in
jail for six months. During that time
his 19-year-old son Eugene was strick
en down with galloping consumption
and died. Gutke was later permitted
to turn state’s evidence and escaped
prosecution.
Charles Kratz was the first member
of the city council to be indicted for
bribery. He was charged with par
ticipation in the Suburban deal, and,
like Murrell, he fled to Mexico before
his case came t.o trial.
After two years’ persistent work
Folk succeeded in influencing the Unit
ed States government to make a
treaty with Mexico covering the crime
of bribery. The attorney general of
the United States construed this
treaty to be retroactive, and under
governor, and when he was tried at
Butler, Mo., he was acquitted. Before
he was tried one of his children died.
Never Saw His First Born.
Charles E. Denny was considered
one of the brightest members of the
old house of delegates. He was a rail
road employe and had an excellent
reputation until Folk caught him and
slapped three indictments on his
back—two for bribery and one for
perjury. Denny had just been mar
ried, and a few months after the wed
ding bells rang he was bundled up by
the sheriff and hustled off to the peni
tentiary. While he was a prisoner a
babe was bom in his household, but
he never saw the face of his first born,
as death carried it away before its
father’s term ended.
Louis Decker, a liveryman, is the
only member of the old house of dele
gates combine who was convicted
after Folk quit the circuit attorney's
office. His conviction hastened the
death of his aged mother, which oc
curred a few weeks after the jury
found him guilty.
Edmund Berscb, once a prosperous
insurance broker, was the first, of the
house of delegates combine to begin a
term of service in the penitentiary.
His mind gave way under the strain,
and he spent the greater part of his
18 months imprisonment in the hos
pital. When he left the penitentiary
he was broken in health—a mental
and physical wreck.
One Man Escaped Fate.
Just one man—John Schnettler—
who elected to stand trial on the
charges preferred against him, has
escaped without some misfortune oth
er than the penitentiary sentence im
posed upon him. He has served out
his sentence.
These are what may be called the
tragedies of the St. Louis boodle cru
sade. The facts are strange—almost
startling. The boodler’s punishment
in the penitentiary was the least of
their suffering. They saw their chil
dren scorned by other children in the
schools and on the streets. They saw
their faithful wives, heartbroken, fall
at the feet of the law their husbands
had outraged, and plead for mercy that
could not be given. These men were
haughty, brazen; when in the zenith
of their power as corruptionists, they
sacrificed every interest of the people
for the money of franchise grabbers.
But they have had their punishment.
The man who is about to sell his vote
for money may determine for himself
whether fate joined hands with law
to scourge the recreant public servants
in St. Louis. He may at least find in
their unhappy experiences some lesson
that may put a check upon him when
he reaches for the forbidden gold—a
its provisions Kratz was extradited.
Scarcely had he returned to St. Louis,
in the spring of 1903, when he was at
tacked with appendicitis and for
months hovered between life and
death. His sickness, however, might
have been considered a turn of for
tune in his favor, because it enabled
him to get his case carried on the
dockets until after Folk was elected
—- M
lesson that will impel him to hew
straight to the line of duty.
Complete Manual Training.
The city of Dublin municipal tech
nical schools embrace in their curric
ulum classes In plumbing, metal plate
work, enameling of metal and art iron
work.
DYES BEARD TO WIN BRIDE.
Whiskers Don’t Match Wedding
'Dress, So Hue Is Changed.
A romance of the French Canadian
settlement to the north of here came
to an untimely and sad ending a week
ago because an indulgent aunt pre
sented the bride with a scarlet wed
ding dress, says a New York World
correspondent at Carver, Ont. This
may seem an odd cause for breaking
off a love afTalr that had been prog
ressing ardently for a couple of years,
but it did, temporarily.
- Peter Lovejoy and Marie Larocquc
announced their engagement a year
ago and when pretty Marie's prosper
ous aunt in Montreal heard of it she
straightway wrote a letter to her fa
vorite niece telling her that her wed
ding gift should be the bridal gown
and asking her to select the color.
Marie has dark hair, rosy cheeks and
an artistic temperament, and, after
due thought she asked for a deep ma
roon, thinking that would go best with
her brilliant brunette complexion.
la dun time the covleted parcel ar
rived hy express and stage and Marie.
opened it. Instead of maroon the
handsome cloth was a pinkish red and
pretty Marie almost swooned.
‘‘Why. what In the world is the
matter?” demanded Mrs. Rarocque,
throwing the wondrous garment over
her daughter’s shoulders. “It har
monizes to a T.”
“Send for Peter,” demanded the
girl, vainly trying to suppress her hys
terical sobs. “Send for Peter, quick.”
Then Mrs. Larocque saw. Peter is
tor was) the possessor of long and
luxuriant whiskers grown in abun
dance to cover an ugly scar on his
The Holocaust.
The hot words leaped from his lips.
His ears were scorched by her
vehemence.
His eyys leaped into a blase of wrath.
His eyes burned with resentment.
He opened his lips to reply; every word
was a coal.
Her cheeks named suddenly.
His face was lurid with anger.
• • •
She went out slowly.
• • •
Even as he crumpled into e heap on
the table the smoldering remnants of his
rage gleamed fitfully through the ashes
chin. Those whiskers would never go
with that gown, the scar would never
go at a wedding and there was no
time to change the dress. This may
be hazy to mankind, but women will
understand.
It was up to the mother to explain
to Peter, for the daughter couldn’t
trust herself to look at him in the
same room with the wondrous gar
ment, so as gently as she could she
broke the news. But if good Mrs.
Larocque had any idea that she was
going to lose her prospective son-in
law by so simple a combination as
of despair that veiled his countenance.—
Life.
If at All.
Oh. little Afterthought, I wish
You had not come to me.
For with myself I otherwise
Quite satisfied should be.
You’re excellent, but I deplore
That you should not have come before.
Why is It that you are not prompt.
But saunter In Instead,
When all the things I’ve done are done.
And all I’ve said Is said?
Of nuisances you are the worst;
Don’t some unless you come at first!
in the ecstacies of unbounded delight
dress, whiskers and scar, she was
happily disappointed..
That’s nothing at all," he declared
as cheerfully as the circumstance*
would permit; ‘ we’ll use a little dye.”
"On the dress?” gasped the nervous
woman.
“No, ma’am; on the whiskers,-’ re
plied Peter, with determination.
Mrs. Larocque was filled with con
flicting emotions. She wondered what
the neighbors would say, how her
daughter would take it and if the dye
could be washed ptt when the gown
wore out. She was sorely perplexed,
but Peter settled all questions once
and for all.
“By to-morrow morning every hair
on my head will match this,” he dfr
dared, taking a locket from his
pocket filled with Marie’s hirsute em
bellishment. “I’ll match that dress or
die in the attempt.”
It was a pretty good match, if i<;
did take three trials, and the coupin
were married according to program.
The neighbors marveled, but. being
of the polite kind, said nothing, and IE
anyone secreted a guilty conscience ifc
wasn’t Peter.
