UMPED by thunder!’*
was Sandy’s com
ment as he labori
ously spelled out the
regulation claim
notice. showing Its
white si>ot on the
bark of a giant tir:
"C I a i in ' s been
Jumped by one A. Harrows.
He leaned his ax against the foot of
the tree, pushed his ding> old white
hat hack on his shook of brick-red
hair, hitched up his trousers b> the
belt and again read the notice. There
was no mistaking it. There was a
rival claimant for this patch of timber
in the almost impenetrable wilderness
of the Olvmpics. where tor more than
a year he had abided with the proud
feeling of possession.
Claim-jumping, in a mining way.
•was not a new thing to him, but here
in the big woods i; s. emed a little out
of place. It was bewildering, and the
method of its lighting would he new.
lie sat down on a small log and
looked at the staring white sign, as if
trying t'> iva;l from it a solution of the
difficulty. He might tear the notice
off th tree, but that wouldn't do any
good. Xow. if only it were a mining
claim, tin prof • would he simple,
namely, take a gun and fill the • jump
er" full i f lead.
IT - path led through timber such as
hut few men know: it was a Titanic
fores' monstri es in which lie
wanci n od a pigmy.
Around one of these obstructions
the trouble 1 Sand' came in sight of
his cabin, where it nestled in a little
clearing, with all its evidences of
habitation. From the doorway a
three-legged dog an-. e and. with much
effort, gave a home g acting. Even in
the stress of his trouble the tall mas
ter stopped long enough to pet the
•waiting head and take a kindly look
into the eyes that sought his.
"Dick." he said, "we’ve been pards
ever since 1 dragged you out from un
der a st.re t car. ";••• down in Seattle,
and wo ve most always had some kind
of a home since then: but now they're
-gom to tr;- to taKo tins one away irom
.us and make us hit the trail again."
Dick seemed to understand, al
though he said nothing. He was not
.a talkative dog, his strong point being
sympathy. He felt the gravity of the
isitr.atiun, and hobbled after his mas
ter into the cabin.
"Thar yon go again," Sandy re
proachfully said as he entered, this
time addressing his remarks to a mis
chievous wood-niisi- - who calmly sat
on a shelf and looked r.t him while
washing off with his diminutive fore
,paws the unmistakable signs of flour
dust from his whiskers.
"Here I lugs a sack of flour 20
miles Into the woods, and you jest
won t let il alone, even when I makes
friends with you and feeds you till
you're fat." The mouse showed no
sign of fear, and with twinkling eyes
continued his toilet, as Sandy, with
arms akimbo, stood in front of him
and delivered his scolding. "Well, you
littie cuss." be concluded, “you ain't
like men. you don't know no better."
He laid a coaxing hand on the edge of
the she it, and the mouse accepted the
truce b\ scampering up Sandy's arm
to his shoulder.
Sandy prepared his homely woods
mans meal, finished it with a woods
man s appetite and seated himself with
flighted pipe on a bench in front of
his cabin. But this night there were
no interludes of whistling or singing:
his trouble was upon him. it seemed
strange that through all the years,
stretching away btc-k to those of the
desert sands, when he had been al
ternately packer, cow-puncher, miner,
or woodsman, he who loved peace and
quie should be compelled always to
fight, and fight, and fight. Now he was
facing another fight. Old Miss Trou
ble must have been mv godmother."
lie said aloud, as he prepared far his
nigi'.‘ s rest. “1 hai after the peac
fttl Hie, hut 1 m gain' to kill any damn
man that tries to git this claim, an'
the man might as well he A. Burrows
as otherwise known as Sandy,
Smith."
It iiati been many months since the
heavy Colt s was taken down from its
peg upon the cabin wall, but when
Sandy started into the woods on the
following morning it was grimly
strapped around his hip, and his belt
was filled with cartridges. And this
was not the last day when the gun
sagged against his thigh, as lie tra
versed his little domain, patiently wait
ing for the appearance of “A. Bur
rows."
When the time came, it was almost
as a surprise. It was one bright fore
noon when the air was redolent with
the ftagrance of bloom, and the dew
lay heavily in the hollows of the tan
gled blackberry and rhododendron
bushes, that the storm burst. Sandy
bad grown somewhat, older in these
days of waiting. His quick ear caught
the unusual sound of voices and bv
the tree where the first location-notice
had been posted, he waited.
Through the woods, with axes
gleaming across Hie packs on their
backs, with rifles in hand, and steady
tread, came four woodmen.
Sandy wasted no time in civilities.
“Lookin' fur this?" he queried, point
ing at the wrhite claim-notice which
stared at them unwinkingly.
' Ef that s the Burrows location, we
shore are." came the reply front the
man who was evidently the leader of
the party.
“Well, that's it, and ye kin save yer
eyesight," said Sandy- grimly. “But it
ain't goin' to do ye no good, because 1
owns this claim, and I reckon I'm
goin’ to keep on ownin' it."
“The hell you are! We been sent
up here to put a cabin on it, and 1
reckon we re goin' to keep on and do
it,” came the retort. "Ef there's any
dispute about it, it's up to you to go
to the cote and fix it. We're goin' to
For a Woman’s Need
By ROY NORTON
(Copyright, by Joseph B. Bowles.)
nuua ana. wnat s more, we nev
humped into squatters a heap o' times
afore this."
The arrivals had slipped off their
packs and were clustered around their
leader. Sandy had held his temper
well, but now “Miss Trouble” was
here. He lashed out with his knotted
right fist, caught the foreman a ham
merlike blow on the chin and doubled
him up in the air. Here was a kind of
squatter that hadn't been met before.
A whirlwind couldn't have worked
faster. The four struck at him. and
kicked him, and endeavored to bring
him to the ground. He felt himself
being overpowered, and worked bis
hand to the butt of his revolver. It
spoke with one quick snap, and the
snarl was untangled.
One man seized a useless shoulder,
through which the bullet had torn its
way, and the others sprang for their
weapons. Sandy tried to wing one of
them, ar.il found that his remaining
cartridges were defective.
This wouldn't do. H; must take to
cover and put in fresh ones. He
jumped, with long leaps, toward one of
the harriers of fallen trees and sought
shelter. As lie dropped down behind
liis logs, two rifle bullets sang danger
ously past his head, and went "flick
Ilicking" through the tree tops.
Sandy stood behind a log. with
feverish energy threw out the carl
ridges which had failed him in his
need, and inserted fresh ones from his
belt Then he clambered along to a
point where he could catch a sight ot
a mut*. misses were not in ms line.
It must be the fault of the cartridges
again.
Once more he emptied his pistol and
carefully inspected eacli load as he
placed it in its chamber. “Too bad,"
lie nmsed, "to lose that last shot! Fel
lers that sell no-account cartridges
like these ought ter have the law on
'em. Ooin' ter smash that feller one,
next time I see him.
Then the battle became slow. Sandy
couldn't work larther around bis bar
ricade and. peep as In* would, lie could
catch no sight of an enemy. Well,
they being the strongest, it was "up
to” them to come and hunt him. He
would wait.
Fees hummed busily through the
air, seeking the blossoms of the wood
land for the gathering of their spoil.
The birds returned and began their
twittering, and from off in tin* forest
a woodpecker's hammer recommenced
a tapping into the hark. In Ihp dis
tance the cooing of a wild pigeon lent
a melancholy note. The time crept
forward and, on each side, the com
bat ants waited for the next move.
Sandy was getting restless and had al
most resolved to take a chance on
creeping in a wide detour around his
m *n. and by this flanking movement
to gain a shot or two.
From back of him came a sound of
footsteps, padding across the needles.
He threw himself at length upon the
ground and wriggled his way to a
place where no shot mfght reach. So
liis enemies had "heat him to it," and
near nere a minute ago. ana 1 nave
fallen off a log into the bushes, and I
can't get up, and there may be whole
herds of bears down here in the dark,
for all 1 can see. Why don't you help
me?"
"Jest keep yer shirt on a minute.”
Sandy called reassuringly, "and I'll get
around and help you. I'm a trifle busy
out in front just now." Then he tried
to make the wait easier by assuring
her that the li ar had hiked, and there
wa'n't noth'll down there to hurt
her."
"But why don't you come at once?"
the voice insisti'd.
"(lot tn kill a few fellers out here
; in front litst," Sandy apologized. "Kf
; it wa'n't for that, I'd come now.”
j The voice was silent for a moment,
i as the woman evidently tried to think
I over a situation that made it r.eces
| sary for a man to "kill a few fellers"
! before cotiling to in r aid.
| "Hey, you!” came a masculine voice
; from out in front,
j "Yep," responded Sandy,
i "Woman back thar?"
I " Yep."
"Must b" Missus Burrows. S'pose
| we call it quits till we talk to her.”
Sandy's gun went back into bis hol
ster with a muffled snip. So this voice
was Mrs. Burrows, the wife of A.
Burrows, the man who was trying to
rob Sandy of ail he had in the world!
It made no difference, she was a wom
an and in distress. The light could
wait. He would accept tlie* truce;
but it should be merely a truce, and
SHE WAS SOBBING AS HE CAME TO HER.
his battlefield, and took a survey. Not
a target was in sight. He worked his
way hack, cut a stick, and shoved his
hat upward to the top of the log. try
ing to draw his enemies' fire. It was
effective and the old hat went sailing
to the ground behind him. He rushed
to a point of observation and took an
other look, but nowhere was an enemy
in sight. Not even a rifle barrel pro
truded from behind any of the forest
giants, who calmly furnished shelter.
Sandy recovered the hat. and from
a new point of vantage tried his ruse.
It failed to attract attention. Plainly
his opponents were enemies of no
mean caliber. An old trick could be
played upon them once, but that was
all. He must either retreat or use
new tactics. Tile first alternative was
untenable, because he "never had run
yit,” and the second meant a recon
i noiter. Sandy made bis way around
the thicket, and by the aid of another
J fallen log gained an angle, from which
he peered. An elbow was in sight. He
would practice on that.
“Whang" went his pistol, and the
elbow lurched violently, and smoth
ered oaths told that the shot had been
well aimed. Sandy smiled. The joy
of battle was on him. He felt that
' exultation which comes from deadly
strife. He wanted to yell, it would
have helped him, he felt sure. He
caught sight of. a head and fired, but
evidently missed. That bothered him
were rounding him up? Woe be to
the first one who came in sight! What
was tiie fool doing, anyway?
“Woof.” came a snort from the
rear. Sandy recognized the sound as
being the satisfied grunt of a brown
bear who, in fancied security, had
made his way to a thicket of blackber
ries. But what was that other sound?
More footsteps, and then a louder
snort from the bear, a woman’s
scream, and the noise of tearing thick
ets as the animal plunged through the
underbrush in flight.
The red headed one. forgetful of
danger, with curiosity at highest pitch,
his composure startled by this won
derful occurrence of that unusual
sound—a woman's voice—stretched
liis head over his rear breastwork and
yelled "Hello!" '
In liis excitement he raised his head
too high, and a rifle ball went whiz
zing through the top of his hat. Sandy
ducked down, while from out in front
a man's voice broke into curses direct
ed at the one who had fired the shot.
“Can't you see," the voice expostu
lated, “that maybe she's in range over
there—you damn fool!”
Sandy paid no heed to this remark,
and it is doubtful if he even heard it,
because all his attention was attracted
toward the great unusual, the feminine
side.
"Help! Help!" the woman's voice
called. “Ugh! There was a great big
i:i) more. They couldn't have his ;
claim.
"It's a go," he called to the enemy,
and then, trusting to the chivalry of
tile frontier, paid no more attention
to them and devoted himself to the I
rescue of the feminine voice.
Down in a cleft, between two great
trees that had given up their lives and
had sought rest on the ground, en
meshed in blackberry bushes, with
torn garments and disheveled hair, he
found her. She was sobbing as he
came. He reassured her ami had led
her from the thicket out into the open
before his late ad*ersaries tame upon
them.
They grouped themselves silently
around. Sandy glared at them uncom
promisingly. Two of them had rudely
bandaged arms, and one had the hag
gard look of a man who has lost much
blood. Dimly the woman realized that
she had interrupted a tragedy.
"Oh. you are hurt!" she said, as she
looked at the men. Then, turning to
Sandy, she continued: "You see, these
men work for me. I bought a claim
from a locator down in Seattle, and
hired those men to come and build my
cabin—and now—and now two of
them are hurt."
She turned toward them as Sandy
sternly motioned to them to keep si
lence. They saw from his attitude that
something inexplicable had happened,
and acquiesced. They stood awkward
iv, winie sue loosen irom one 10 me
other in vague questioning.
“You see. I fell, and my rifle went
off—and—and, well, I got scratched
jest a leetie mite." said the man with
the shattered elbow, and Sandy loved
him for1 the lie.
“Yes, jest an accident,” glibly
chimed in the foreman.
They looked from one to the other, i
and the foreman brought relief by
suggesting that it was time to make
camp. One man began the opening of
their packs, while the wounded were
cared for. Sandy took grim satisfac
tion from the thought that the shot
that caught the elbow had been a good
one. But there was the woman.
"So you are A. Burrows'?" he said.
"Yes. You see, my full name is
Anna, hut 1 have been writing it with
the initial so long, since my husband
died, that it comes natural now.' And
her laughter smote tq on him as a
blow.
Here was Iris enemy—a woman.
And it was her men whom he had
fought, and it was her claim-notice
that threatened him, and she a widow,
who had paid money to professional
locators to put her upon his ground.
Yes—his ground! Ground that he had
paid for with money and labored ef- j
fort, and by following the maze of the
law’s technicalities. "His home!" The
home that he had built and loved with
a tenderness that came of years of
longing for it. Anyway, thinking took
time, and he mas: find the right way
out.
So Sandy told Mrs. Burrows that he j
had a good cabin below there, and
that she must he his guest that night
at least, and until her men got a camp
established. He urged his hospitality, j
and the foreman added his insistence.
As they walked down the trail and
came in sight of its homely comfort,
she went into ecstasies over its trim
ness and pici uresqueness. and over
the great, majestic view of peaks and
valleys that stretched away in the dis
tance from the brow of the hill. But
every word of praise, that hut a few
days ago would have gladdened the
big man's heart, was as a knife-thrust,
searching out and opening up to him 1
those things which lie had always seen
and felt, hut could not have put into
words.
For once Dick got no word of greet
ing. Two big, rough hands held the
head up where the eyes could he
looked into, but his master was be
yond words. Could he have spoken he
would have said: "Dick. Dick, they
want our home.”
li wasn't a very reassuring tale that
Sandy listened to that night, and when
he went out to roll himself into his
blankets beneath the stars, having
surrendered his rooftree to his guest,
sleep failed to close his eyelids. He
was fighting a battle which must he
alone.
The widow had no other means
than those which had been paid to the
locators ("timber sharks,” Sandy si
lently called them*, and had come into
these solitudes to make for herself
and her son a home which would ren
der them independent when the lum
ber companies came with the big
mills to turn the giant trees into gold.
The wait would not lie long, especial
ly as this claim was one of the most
desirable in the region. Two or three
years at the most, and Mrs. Burrows
would he surrounded by farms instead I
of by forests, and she would be be
yond want for life. But Sandy had
seen that and more. too. For in this
cabin, which rested on tile hill back
of him. was that consummation of his
years of dreams—a "home." Every
log in the humble idle had been
squared with infinite care and senti
ment; every shelf and homely con
venience within it had carried a por
tion of his heart; and every •shake"
in the roof had been to him but one
step more toward a permanent shel
ter
What should he do? What could he
do? To contest the claim was. of
course, to win. because his title was
clear and unimpeachable. But to do
so would end the dreams cf a woman,
a creature of the weaker sex, a por- j
tion of mankind that was to he fought
for instead of against, that was to be |
treated tenderly and with reverence, j
that was unable to fight its own bat
tles
In the cabin, yonder, she slept,
dreaming even more beautiful dreams
than Sandy had ever known, of a
home to he. And, worst of all. she
probably thought the real owner was a
■'squatter." one of t iicse shiftless, ig- »
nominous tramps of the wilderness,
despised by all 1 homesteaders" as
well as by Sandy Smith.
Dick came and. with a cold muzzle,
tiled to explain that he was surprised
at, his own sleeplessness, and was in
sympathy with liis master's. And from
the dog Sandy took comfort.
“You old rascal." he said, patting j
the head which had been laid trusting- '
iy beside his, "you're worth a dozen
timber sharks, an' you don't suffer as
much as lots of men. Your game
ain't been an easy one, either, what
with losin' your leg. .lest go to sleep
and thank the Lord that you got your
tail left. There's a heap o' satisfac
tion in bein' able to wag along."
When her men reported at the cabin
door in the morning, they found it
open, the morning meal out of the
way. and Sandy busily making up a
pack. Again he glowered at them and I
Hold Fortunes in Jewels
Immense Amounts Placed in Safes of
New York Hotels.
"You would be surprised to know
the number of jewels stored in this
hotel every night." remarked the clerk
of a New York hotel, as he locked a
package in the safe given to him by
one of the maids, and returned the key
to her. "I'll wager,” he continued
"that there is close to $2,000,000 worth
in that safe,” pointing to a big vault
behind the desk. It is widely knowr
that many women now making then
homes at the big hotels have costl\
jewels. When not worn these jewel!
are put in the safety deposit vaults o
their hotel. The management of fash
ionable places take every precautiot
to safeguard the jewels in their vaults.
Besides having a secret-service man
constantly on watch each guest is pro
; vided with a key to his compartment
in the vault. The old way of signing
your name to a slip of paper and re
ceiving your valuables has fallen into
disuse. “When a key to the vault is
lost." said the clerk, “we have to send
for a locksmith belonging to the com
pany that made the safe. In this way
’ it is impossible for the compartment
to be opened without the consent of
, the owner.
Taking a Long Breath
New York Subway Steps Not the
Place for Lung Cleaning.
"I don't know whether I ant partic
ularly stupid about the matter," re
marked the absent-minded man, "but
every time I attempt this taking a
long deep breath' game that every one
advises me to try in the winter time,
1 run into something that certainly
can't be good for my lungs. Now, to
day I thought of the tip just as I
was about to go down into the subway
at Forty-second street. I took a long
breath at the head of the stairs just
as a train came along and sent a
whirlwind of heated and none too
agreeable air up the stairs. That is
what I inhaled that time. When 1
got down to.the City Hall station i
thought to myself: "Here's the place
to try the game again and get some
good, pure -atmosphere into these trou
blesome lungs.of mine.’ Before I could
stop myself I had drawn in a line lot
of smoke from a furnace where they j
were boiling tar to roof the new sta
tion of the bridge approach. I’m going
to pick some other place than the sub
way steps to clean my lungs after this,
you can bet.”—X'ev. York Press.
took satisfaction from the appearance
of the bandaged ones. He clumped
into the cabin and took down the mol
dering pack-straps from their peg,
drew them tightly around his canvas
covered blankets in which were
wrapped his bacon, beans, flour and
tea: he added the frying pan, coffee pot
and ax to the outer lashings. Then he
swung the pack to his back and set
tled his shoulders into the arm-straps.
He picked up the rifle at his feet, and
stood in the cabin door.
"Missus Burrows." lie said, his
voice husky with emotion, "you kin
have this cabin and ail that's in it.
It's on your land, you know, because
I ain't nothin' but a squatter. Hope
you like the place."
Before she could reply, he was gone
out to where her 111011 squatted on a
log.
“Damn you!" ho snarled as he stood j
before them. "Don't think I'm leavin'
because there's four of you. I'm goin' i
‘•What Did You Do It For?”
on off out into the west, somewhere
where there ain't no stakes, to take a
new claim. An' unless it's a woman
who jumps it. there ain't men enough
in the Olympics to take the new claim
away frum me.”
The thrusting of Dick's nose inlo
his unoccupied hand aroused other
thoughts. He turned back to the ojten
door wherein stood tite woman.
' I'd be much obliged if you'd take
good care of Dick fur me," he said,
"because he cain't travel much. 1 had
to lug him on my buck most of the
way up here, an' I've got a long ways
to go—maybe the trail won't never
end. Be good to him. He's a good
fellow, even if he ain't got but three
legs."
Then, with a final scowl at the men,
he swung cm and into the darkness of
the woods, while behind him a crip
pled dog threw his head into the air
and howled mournfully, it was the
farewell of desolation.
Weeks of weary quest i assed over
Sandy's tired head. Go as he would,
there was no spot open to him. no
place whit h could be considered de
sirable. that welcomed him as a claim
ant. ami no niche wherein he might
with security rebuild his home. Time
and again he had faced starvation,
and'always hardship and fatigue had
been his oniy companions, it was
useless. He had decided, with a weary
heart, to make his way hack out of
this country where everything wortli
having had been taken, go to Seattle
and turn his fare to the far north.
His route led him near the old home.
He hungered for a sight of Dick and
for the companionship of his great
sympathetic eyes and caressing nose.
The tms took on a familiar look as 1
he neared his old border-line, and he
thought bitterly of his relinquishment
of all that life had held for him there. |
He came suddenly on a new clearing
and a new cabin, and stopped in j
amazement.
A sunny-faced worsen stepped to the
open door, and a dog sprang past her
awkwardly, making his way with
mouthings of welcome to Sandy's side.
The man knelt on the ground and took
the big. kindly beast's head in his
hands and held it against his face.
Here at last was a friend.
"What did you do it for?" Mrs. Bur
rows asked. "The locators came the \
day after you left, and said that there j
had been a mistake, and that my claim I
was the one adjoining yours. They
said that you clearly owned the one
which you lived on: and then I heard
all about the fight. We tried to find
you. but you hail gone, no one knew
wh re. After they had built Ibis for
me. I took care of your place, too. be- |
cause both Dick and I knew you would
come back some time. Why did you !
ever give it up? Go hack to it. It’s i
yours, and we have all been keeping 1
it for you."
“Two of us is winkin' for her now." I
said a man with a bandaged arm who
came up. “and we want to lie your !
friends. You're worth knowing.”
Sandy, overjoy ed and dazed, walked |
down the trail.
There before him, with freshly j
planted (lowers in front of the cabin,
and other marked evidences of im
provement and attention. stood
"home." In the fading light of the
west, where the dying sun lighted up ;
their snow-clad peaks and left in |
shadow their somber forests,.stood the |
hills—-his hills—unchanged and wait- j
ing and welcoming.
A weary man .entered the silent
cabin where everything stood as of !
old, and bowed his head upon his i
hands over the little pine table, while |
his body was shaken with sobs. And j
at his feet a crippled dog nestled with
a great sigh of contentment.
FATHER OF OIL KING
NEW TALE OF DUAL LIFE OF
ROCKEFELLER PERE.
Chicagoan, with Dr. William Leving
•ton for Twelve Years, Says Man
Admitted He Was Parent
of Famous John D.
New York.—Many additional facts
about the dual life led by Dr. William
Avery Rockefeller, father of John D.
Rockefeller, are supplied by Dr.
Charles H. Johnston, bis assistant anil
business partner for 12 years. In
those years Dr. Rockefeller went
under the name of Dr. William Lev
ingston, but to his partner, D: John
ston, so the latter declares, he re
vealed the secret of his life—that he
was Rockefeller and that John D.
Rockefeller was his son.
Dr. Johnston is president of the Col
lege of Medicine and Surgery in Chi
cago. He explains:
“It was in 1871 that I paid him
$1,000 and became his student and as
sistant. He was living then in Free
port, Ii!., as Dr. William Levingston.
and he never posed under any other
name thereafter. His wife. Mrs. Mar
garet Allen Levingston, 'Ling yet in
Freeport, was one of the sweetest
women I ever knew. I did not know
until years afterward that he had two
wives, one the mother of John D.
Rockefeller. She lives in Cleve
land. O.
“Dr. Levingston and I traveled over
all the west, through Illinois. Wiscon
sin. Minnesota, the Dakotas. Iowa, Ne
braska and Kansas. It is not true that
he sold medicines in the street He
had a fine team of horses, the lies'
that money could buy, and a fine car- “
tiage in which we drove from town
to town. He would have a string of
eight or ten towns at once. He would
drive into a town, scatter handbills, in
v. hich the great Dr. Levingston as
serted that he could cure all diseases. #
and we would have a suite of rooms
at the best hotel, and to the doctor
there would come the sick and the
halt and the lame. In all cases of com
mon ailments he could detect the
cause almost at a glance.
"He made a great deal of money.
He often took in $200 in u day, and if
t:e took only $100 he thought it a poor
day's business.
"I knew from the first that there
was some deep mystery in his life, but
it was several years before I suspect
ed that be was Rockefeller, and it was
several years more before he ac
knowledged to me that his name was
Df>. W.LEV/NGsSTON
William A. Rockefeller and that John
D. Rockefeller was his son.
“In all the years 1 was with him the
old man went twice a year to Cleve
land and stayed a week or two. He
told me he went there to look after
his money invested with John D
Rockefeller, and he would tell me
wonderful stories of John D.'s shrewd
ness and great wealth."
Dr. Johnston showed several letters,
postmarked Cleveland. O.. and signed
William Levingston, M. D.
"I first learned positively that Dr.
Levingston was Dr. Rockefeller when
he was injured on a ranch in North
Dakota and thought he was going to
die. He and I went to North Dakota
together in 1S81, and took up adjoin
ing homestead claims where the town
of Park River is. We were building
a shed for a cattle shelter and in lift
ing a heavy log he strained himself.
He was an old man then, and h -
thought he had ruptured an intestine.
The pain was great and he thought, he
was dying. I asked him if I should
send for his wife. Mrs. Levingston, if
he should die, and he said: "No; noti
fy John D. Rockefeller, but be very
careful and let no one else know it. >
"When he got well I told him I
knew- he was John D. Rockefeller's
father. At first he denied it and then
he said it was true. He told me that
the reason he kept it secret was that
he found it necessary in his younger
days to assume a name because ho
was practicing medicine without li
cense. He might be arrested any time
and he did not wish to disgrace the
name of Rockefeller because of his
children. He stuck to the name later,
he said, because it was then too late
honorably to take his right name.”
Makeup of French Families.
The number of French families, that
is to say households with or veithout
children, is estimated at 11,315.000. Of
this total 1.S04.720 families have no
children, 2.96G.171 have one child.
2.661,978 have two children, 1,643.425
have three, 987,392 have four, 366,768
have five, 327,241 have six. 182,998
have seven, 94,729 have eight, 44,728
have nine, 20.639 have ten, S.305 have
eleven, 3.50S have twelve, 1,437 have
thirteen, 554 have fourteen. 249 have
fifteen, 79 have sixteen, 34 have seven
teen and finally 45 families have eigh
teen or mere.—Republique Franeaise.
Purvshmen: for Luxemburg Tramps.
Tie Luxemburg government is treat
ing incorrigible vagabonds to bread
and water for the first four days of '
their imprisonment, and to the lowest
scale of ordinary diet twice a week
afterward. The prisons are said to be
emptying fast.