SYNOPSIS
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CHAPTER IX.
Tn* Caatlr Children
T b*«t» aaa a farm In ih* Valley [
IbsSuttstao- it* mile* it was from
Viragos which a a* a dependence of
CS* srignp-ory . for rpaturw* th* cam*
tan > Sad Said it. and it was con
IdarH «fe* richest bolding for a ta-as
aat In that part of the world. Jitt i
Sow (So family all at once rats* to :
«a cod It aaa seccoaory to find new
i*o*itu and ’a* general bffered the [
idaee to L* Kraaqota and La Claire. 1
K'r* ta their Seat day* they had not ,
Sbtu an prospen-tM a* thia would
m*k- tins Hat what aboit Fran-!
rods* Tb* general glowered at them
(Tom da-eft eye*.
1 Sere * aloay* a o< rew sc mew here J
fa ererj good Hang Tfc.» time It's |
ISe hoy *
TSife was a alienee, tlaire Tens i
Mod
*Tt a til go hard wi*h the lad to j
gi»* a* tip" she brought oat softly ,
-He won t gite you op; 1 should not
nwptict him :f he gave you up. ' the j
geocrol thundered. and tb* two p»aa
aat* Sc.-iiSed more freely Thu great -
gtaod famtuse was not. after all. the
prsre of their son.
By degrees the three came to ah
sadematiding. A tutor was to be en
caged for the throe children: Francois
*•* to U»e at the castle a* if—It
•kcpuld he explained to him—he were
«m*og away u» school, and every Fri
doy ho O'as to walk to the Ferine du
-the Farm -and stay with
h»» » until Sunday afternoon
T»i» Be* order of things mas well
•••tied W«fT mil months bad
mti*r the gong ot the Marquis Zappl
b*d than in three or four months
More something happened
I'ruioti mas alone with the general
♦be* the leuer rosw His eye* mere
Os bis seigneur's fare as he read the
better and the boy saw the blood rush
^brorngh the meather-hardened skin is
» bewwn-red flood, and the® fade out.
’•wring It gray. The boy had never
Seem the genera! lock so. With that,
lb* big arm mere thrown out or. the
'•aide and the big grizzled bead fell
'art* tbesa
Them be lifted his head and told
fbe boy bom the friend shorn he had
«**md lately after eo many years of
e-parmtloa tid gone a»ay not to come
hark is that life, and how Pietro mas
faiberieas Francois, holding tightly
•mi** both fists to the general s hand,
fastened wide-eyed, struck to the heart
“Hail .he had a brave life, my
•esgnemr—it is the best thing that
•there ta. My mother said so. My
brasher told mo that we shall am le
later, when we are with the good
t-od to think that we ever feared
death on this earth. For she says one
amends a long Urn# with the rood God
«•*dr. aad one* de*r friend* come,
•rd it t» phaoat *nd It to for a long.
P-mg uw. utile here it to. after all.
!•** short. la not that true, my
Aeigaewrf My mother *a!d It."
• t little Pietro had to he told what
had ha|a|«ened and how the general
*•» new to be a father to him as
he might, and A Use and Francois
■toeatd he hi* sister and brother He
took the blow dumbly and went about
hto fctu<3.e» neat morning, but for
meat data he could not play, and
Aaijr Franco** coaid make him apeak
Me waa handsome-extraordinarily
haadi nwie —and a k»vaM~ good child.
Wt do* ta initiative where Francois
ready. ahy where Franco!* was
friends with all the world steady
golag where the peaaant boy waa bril
liant. Between the two of such con
trafctiag tjpea., waa an unshaken bond
from the drat, and nt this age It
■wad to he the little peaaant whc
had everything to give. Smaller phys
Icatly. weaker la muscle than the big
honed ana of North Italy, he yet took
«atto aaturaliy an attitude of protec
tion and guidance, and Pietro accept
ed It without hesitation
Tow year* slid past noiselessly, an
aottced. and H was vacation time; It
»•* Augurt of the year 1S2*. The old
rbatoas of Vituses—the ruin—lay
'bark behind the corn fields and smiled
A tall lad of fourteen, another hoy.
ftoghtor. quicker, darker, and a little
-girt of eleven in a short white dress,
wandered through tfaa ruins, talking
-namantly now sliest now. filling the
jgnm place »Ha easy laughter again
Altse and Francois and Pietro were
gtwwiag *p. tbs genecai already
grumbled word* about kittens turning
IM« cats, as be sockad at them.
"last behind tne great stone there."
Alia# formulated, "was 'ha dog's bed
room Of coarse, a great monsieur
like the dog had bis owe bedroom—
yea, sad office, too—«ad maybe his
And the Joke was enough on that
lazy day of vacation to set peals of
laaghter ringing through the ruins
Altsv topped laughing suddenly.
"Who to thatg" she demanded. Her
opes wow Kfv< to the bill rising be
hii> » cii't (sound, gad the glance
*&>■■ S.
if the others followed hers. A young I
man. a boy. was coming lightly down
•be slope, and something in his figure
and movement made it impossible
even at a distance that It should be
an. one of the village. He saw them,
and cati'.e forward, and his cap was
off quickly as he glanced at Alixe.
But with a keen look at the three, it
was Francois to whom he spoke.
"I* this France?" he asked.
But yes. Monsieur,” Francois an- ;
sacred wondering—and in a moment
be wondered more The strange boy.
his cap flung from him. dropped on
his knees and kissed the grass that
grew over the Roman governor’s foun
dations With that he was standing
again, looking at them unashamed
from his quiet gray eyes.
"it * the first time I have touched
the toil of France since I was seven
years old." he stated, not as if to
excuse bis act, but as if explaining
someth.ng historical. And was silent.
The strange boy talked very little:
they could not recollect that he asked
questions, after his first startling
question: yet here was Alixe, the very
spirited and proud little Alixe. anxious
to make him understand everything of
their own affairs.
"I am Alixe.” she began — and
stopped short, seized with shyness.
Was it courtesy to explain to the
voting monsieur about her distln- I
guished father? She found herself j
nJdenly in an agon) of confusion ■
Then the stranger made a low bow
and spoke in the gentlest friendly
tones.
"!i is enough. It is a charming
name Mademoiselle Alixe I believe
I shall now think it the most charm
ing same in France.”
she has more of a name than that,
however. Monsieur,” and Francois
stepped across the grass and stood by
th»- little girl, her knight, unconscious
of the part he played. "It is a very
grand name, the other one. For our
'-eiRTieur. the father of Alixe. is Mon- j
>-.■ :r the Baron Gaspard Gourgaud. a
general of Napoleon himself; was in
deed with the Kmperor at St. Helena."
Francois had no false modesty, no
feif-oonscioosness; he felt that he had
placed Altxe’s standing now in the i
t>»*t light possible. The strange boy j
felt it, too. it seemed, for he started !
as Francoia spoke of Napoleon; his 1
reserved face brightened and his cap ;
was off and sweeping low as he bowed
again to Alixe more deeply. Francois
was delighted. It was in him to en
jov dramatic effect, as it is in most!
Frenchmen. He faced about to Pietro. j
"This one. Monsieur.” he went on. I
much taken with himself as master of
ceremonies, "is Monsieur the Marquis
Zappi of Italy. His father also fought
for the great captain.”
The quiet strange boy Interrupted !
swiftly. ”1 know,” he said. “Of the
Italian corps under Prince Eugene;
also on the staff of Lannes. 1 know
the name well.” and he had Pietro's
hand In a firm grasp and was looking
into the lad's embarrassed face with
hie dreamy keen eyes
The children, surprised, were yet
loo young to wonder that a boy scarce
ly older than themselves should have
the army of Napoleon at hts fingers'
ends: he gare them no time to think
about it
"One sees without names, that you
are of the noblesse." he said simply,
embracing the three in his sleepy
glance. He turned to Francois. "And
you. Monsieur the spokesman? You
are also of a great Bonapartist house?"
Francois stood straight and slim;
his well knit young body in his mili
tary dress was carried with all .the
assurance of an aristocrat. He smiled
his brilliant exquisite smile Into the
! older boy'e face.
"Me—I am a peasant.” he said cheer
fully. ”1 have no house."
"He is a peasant—yes. But he is
our brother. Pietro’s and mine, and no
“I Am Louis Bonaparte.”
prince is better than Francois—not
i one.”
"Or half so good," Pietro put in with
j his slow tones.
"You are likely right,” the stranger
agreed laconically.
And then without questions asked,
| in rapid eager sentences, the three
I had told him how it was; how Fran
cois, refusing to leave the cottage, was
yet the son of the castle. With that
they were talking about the village of
Vieques, and its antiqrity, and then
of the old chateau; and one told the
legend of the treasure and of the
guardian dog.
“Just over the wall there is the
opening where he appeared to old
Pierre Tremblay," Francois pointed
out
“I think I should like to climb the
wall.” the stranger said.
And he did. The others watching
anxiously, he crawled out on the un
certain pile ten feet In air. A big
stone crashed behind hiih; he crawled
on. Then there was a hoarse rumble
of loosened masonry, and down came '
the great blocks close to his hands—
lie was slipping! And. above, the wall
swayed. Then, in the instant of time j
before the catastrophe, Francois had .
sprung like a cat into the center of
danger and pushed the other boy, vio- ,
lently reeling, across the grass out of j
harm's way.
Alixe screamed once sharply. Fran- j
cols lay motionless on his face and the ]
great stones rained around him. It '
was all over in a moment; in a mo-1
meut more a shout of joy rose from !
Pietro, for Francois lifted his head !
and began crawling difficultly, with
Pietro’s help, out of the debris.
“I have to thank you for my life.
Monsieur the peasant." the stranger
said, and held out his hand. "More
over. itrls seldom that a prophecy Is eo
quickly fulfilled. You said a few min
utes ago that you should one day do
a thing worth while for a Bonaparte.
You have done it. You have saved my
life.”
Francois’ hand crept to his cap and
he pulled it off and stood bareheaded.
"Monsieur, who are you?" he
brought out.
The strange boy’s vanishing smile
brightened his face a second "I am
Louis Bonaparte." he eaid quietly.
The little court of three stood about
the young Prince, silent. And in a
moment, in a few sentences, he had
told them how. the day before, he had
been seized with a hunger for the air
of France, which he had not breathed
since, as a boy of seven, his mother
had escaped with him from Paris dur
ing the Hundred Days. He told them
how the desire to stand on French soil
had possessed him. till at !ast he had ■
run away from his tutor and had found
the path from his exiled home, the
castle of Arenenberg. in the canton of
Thurgovie. in Switzerland, over the
mountains into the Jura valley.
"It is imprudent.” he finished the
tale calmly. “The government would !
turn on all its big engines in an uproar
to catch one schoolboy, if it was
known. But} had to do it." He threw
back his head and filled his lungs with
a great breath. "The air of France."
he whispered in an ecstasy.
For two houfe more they told sto- \
ries and played games through the ■
soft old ruins of the savage old strong
hold, as light-heartedly, as carelessly
as if there were no wars or intrigues
or politics or plots which had been
ana were to De close to the lives of
all of them Till, as the red round
sun went down behind the mountain
of the Rose, Francois' quick eye
caught sight of a figure swinging rap
idly down the mountain road where
the Prince had come.
"But look, Louis.” he called from be
hind the rock where he was preparing,
as a robber baron, to swoop down on
Prince Louis convoying Alixe as an
escaped nun to Pietro’s monastery in
another corner.
And the boy Prince, suddenly grave,
shaded his eye with his hand and
gazed up the mountain. Then his
hand fell and he sighed. “The adven
ture is over." he said. ‘T must go
back to the Prince business. It is
Monsieur Lebas."
Monsieur Lebae, the tutor, arrived
shortly in anything but a playful hu
mor. The boy's mother. Queen Hor
tense, was in Rome, and he was re
sponsible; he had been frightened to
the verge of madness by the prince's
escapade.
The playmates were separated
swiftly. Monsieur Lebas refused with
something like horror the eager sug
gestion that he and his charge should
spend the night at the chateau. The
Prince must be gotten off French
ground without a moment's delay.
CHAPTER X.
The Promise.
"Mon Dieu!" said the general.
It was six years later. At the new
chateau not a blade of grass seemed
changed. The general stood In the
midst of close-cropped millions of
blades of grass as he stopped short
on the sloping lawn which led down
to the white stone steps which led to
the sunken garden. Alixe. In her rid
ing habit, with a feather In her hat,
and gauntleted gloves on her hands,
was so lovely as to be startling. She
looked at the ground, half shy, half
laughing, and beat the grass with her
riding-whip. Francois was leaning
j toward her and talking, and the gen
eral, coming slowly down the lawn,
felt a flood of pride rise in him as he
looked at this successful picture of a
boy which he had done so much to
fashion. The two had been riding to
gether, and Francois appeared, as
most men do, at his best in riding
clothes. With that, as the general
marched slowly down the velvet elope,
unseen by them, regarding them his
girl and his boy. this happy sister and
brother—with that the brother lifted
his sister’s hand and. bending over it.
kissed it slowly, in a planner unmis
takably unbrotherly.
"Mon Dieu!” gasped the general,
and turned on his heel and marched
back to his library.
All that afternoon he stayed shut
up in the library'- At dinner he was
taciturn.
The next morning the general sent
for Francois to come to him in the
library. A letter had been brought a
short time before and was lying open
on the table by his hand.
"Francois," began the general in his
deep abrupt tones. “I am in trouble.
Will you help me?"
"Yes, my Seigneur,” said Francois
quickly.
The general glared at him, frown
ing. “We shall see.” he said again,
and then—suddenly as a shot from a
cannon—“Does Alixe love you, Fran
cois?”
“I—I think not, my Seigneur,” he
answered in a low voice.
“I am hurting you.” the deep voice;
said—and only one or two people In
the world had heard that voice so full
of tenderness. “I am hurting my son.
But listen, Francois. It was the dear
est wish of 'Pietro’s father—it has
been my dearest wish for years—that
Alixe and Pietro should one day be
married. It is that which would be
the crown of a friendship forged in
the fires of battle-tlelds. tempered in
the freezing starving snow fields of
Russia, finished—I hope never finished
for all eternity."
Francois, his head bent, his eyes on
the general’s hand which held his, an
swered very quietly. “I see," he said.
“You would not take her from Pie
tro. who, I am sure, loves her?"
Francois looked up sharply, but the
general did not notice. He spoke
slowly. “I promised Pietro’s father”—
the boy seemed to be out of breath—
“to be Pietro’s friend—always," he
said.
The general smiled then and let the
fingers go. and turned to the letter
on the table before him. “Good!” he
said. ‘‘You are always what I wish,
Francois." and it was quite evident
that the load was off his mind.
CHAPTER XI.
With All My Soul.
The general swung around to the
lad. “Francois, this letter is about
Alixe Turned Sharply.
you.” He tapped the rustling paper j
"Pietro wantB you to come to him as
hta secretary.”
Francois’ large eyes lifted to the j
general's face, inquiring, startled. I
childlike. "Pietro!" he said slowly. .
"I had not thought of that."
“Yet you knew that Pietro was
heart and soul in the plots of the j
Italian patriots?”
“Yes."
"But you had not thought of going
to help him fight?"
"No. my seigneur. I had thought
only of the fight for which I must be
ready here.”
"This Italian business will be good
practice,” said the general, as a man
of today might speak of a tennis tour
nament. “And you and Pietro will be
enchanted to be together again."
Francois smiled, and something in
the smile wrung the general’s heart.
“Francois, you are not going to be
unhappy about little Alixe?"
Quickly Francois threw back, as if
he had not heard the question: "My
Seigneur. I will go to Pietro: it will
be the best thing possible—action and
training, and good old Pietro for a
comrade. My Seigneur, may I go to
morrow?”
•'Tomorrow!" The general was
startled now. "A thousand thunders,
but you are a sudden lad! Yet it will
be no harder to give you up tomorrow
than it would be next month. Yes, to
morrow, then, let it be.”
Francois stood up, slim, young, alert
and steady, yet somehow not as the
boy who had come In to the general
an hour before; more, perhaps, as a
man who had been through a battle
and come out very tired, with the
noise of the fighting in bis ears.
"I will go to the farm tonight, to
my mother and my father. And this
afternoon I will ride with Alixe. if you
do not want me for the book, my
Seigneur—and if she will go. May 1
ask you not to tell Alixe of this—to
leave it to me to tell her?”
"Yes." agreed the general doubt
fully. "But you will be oereful not
to—upset her, Francois?"
“I will be careful."
“And—and you will do what you
can to help Pietro, will you not, my
son?”
A quick contraction twisted Fran
cois' sensitive mouth and was gone,
but this time the general saw. "You
may trust me. my Seigneur,” the boy
said, and moved to the door; but the
general called to him as his hand
touched the latch.
"Francoie!”
“Yes. my Seigneur." He faced about,
steady and grave, and stood bolding
the door.
“Francois, my son—I have not hurt
you—very much? You do not love
Alixe—deeply? Do you love her, Fran
cois?"
There was a shock of stillness in the
old dim library. Through the window
—where the children’s shouts had
come in ten years before to the mar
quis and the general—one heard now
in the quiet the sudden staccato of a
late cricket. The general, breathing
anxiously, looked at Francoie. Fran
cois standing like a statue. The gen
eral repeated his question softly,
breathlessly. “Do you love her, Fran
cois?”
With that the great eyes biased and
the whole face of the boy lighted as
if a fire had flamed inside a lantern.
He threw back his head.
"With all my soul,” he said. “And
forever.” 1
A rushing mountain stream*— white
veiled in the falling, black-brows in
;he foam-flecked pools—tumbled,
splashed, brawled down the mountain;
the mountain hung over, shadowy;
banka of fern held the rampant brook
In chains of green. Alixe and Fran
colae, riding slowly in the coolness of
the road below, looked up and saw it
all, familiar, beautiful, full of old as
sociations.
"One misses Pietro,” Francois said.
"He always wanted to ride past the
Trou du Gouverneur.’ ”
A Roman legend had given this
name to the deep pool of the brook
by the road: it was said that the cruel
old governor had used It, two thousand
years back, for drowning refractory
peasants. Alixe gazed steadily at the
dark murmuring water.
“Yes. one misses him. Is life like
that, do you suppose. Francois? One
grows up with people, and they get
to be as much a part of living as the
air. or one’s hands—and then, sud
denly, one is told that they are go
ing away. And that ends it. One
must do without air, without hands.
What a world, Francois!”
"We are not meant to like It too
much. I believe, Alixe," said Francois
sunnily. “It is just en passant, this
world, when you stop to consider.
This is school, this life. I gather. My
mother says it Is not very important
if one has a good seat in the school
room or a bad; if one sits near one's
playmates or is sent to another cor
ner. so long as one is a good child
and works heartily at one’s lessons.
It Is only for a day—and then we go
home, where all that is made right
Not a bad idea of my mother's, is it,
Alixe?”
"Your mother is a wonderful wom
an.” Alixe answered thoughtfully.
“She lives like that. She never let
things trouble her, not even when your
father lost everything. Did she, Fran
cois?”
"No," said Francois. "She is one of
the few people who know what the
real things are and live in them. It
is hard to do that. I can not. I care
so bitterly for what 1 want. "It ie”—
Francois hesitated—"it is very hard
for me to give up—what 1 want.” He
stumbled over the words; his voice
shook so that Alixe shifted in the
saddle and looked at him inquiringlv.
" Alixe — dear” — then Francois
stopped. "You need not be afraid that
I shall have more than Pietro," he be
gan uncertainly. "For it is not going
to be so. He will have what—what I
would give my life for.” Then he
hurried on. "I see how it is.” he said
gently, “and you are right to care so
loyally for Pietro, -le is worth it
And you must never care less, Alixe
—never forget him because he has
gone away. He will come back.” The
boy spoke with effort, slowly, but
Alixe was too much occupied with her
own tumultuous thoughts to notice.
“He will surely come back and—be
long to you more than ever. He will
come back distinguished and covered
w;ith honors, perhaps, and then—and
then—Alitte, do you see the chestnut
tree at the corner that turns to the
chateau* It is a good bit of soft road
—we will race to that tree—shall we?
And then 1 will tell you something.”
The horses raced merrily; Alixe sat
close to the saddle with the light
swinging seat, the delicate hand on
the bridle, which were part of her
perfect horsemanship, and over and
over as he watched her ride Francois
said to himself:
"I will give my happiness for the
Seigneur’s—1 said it. and I will. 1
will be a friend to Pietro always—I
said it, and I will.”
Over and over the horses’ flying feet
pouDded out that self-command, and at
length the music of the multiplying
hoof beats grew slower, and with tight
ening rein they drew in and stopped
under the big chestnut. Alixe was
laughing, exhilarated, lovely.
"Wasn't it a good race? Didn’t
they go deliciously?" she threw at
him. And then, "We will go arouni
by the Delesmontes Road; it Is onl7
three miles farther, and it is early
in the afternoon; there is nothing to
do.”
Francois spoke slowly. "I am afraid
—1 must not, Alixe. I am going to
the farm tonight.”
"To the farm'.” Alixe looked at
him in surprise. “But you were not
to go over till tomorrow. My father
and I will ride over with you. Have
you forgotten?”
“No,” said Francois, "I have not for
gotten—no. indeed. But I am going
away tomorrow, Alixe.”
"Going away?” Alixe turned sharp
ly. and her deep blue glance searched
his eyes. "What do you mean, Fran
cois?” And then, imperiously; “Don't
tease me. Francois! 1 don't like It."
Francois steadied, hardened his face
very carefully, and answered: “I am
not teasing you, Alixe. 1 did not tell
you before because—" he stopped, for
his voice was going wrong—"because
I thought we would have our ride just
as usual today. I only knew about it
myself this morning. I am going to !
Pietro.”
“Going—to Pietro!” Alixe was gasp- j
ing painfully. "Francois—it is a jok*
—tell me it is a poor joke. Quick! '
she ordered. “I won't have you play j
with me, torture me!”
"It is not a joke.” The boy’s eyes
were held by a superhuman effort oa
the buckle of the bridle-rein lying on
his knee. "There was a letter from
Pietro this morning. The seigneur
! wishes me td go. I wish to go. I go
tomorrow.”
“Going tomorrow!” The girl's voice
was a wail. “You—taken away from
me!" Then in a flash: "I hate Pietro!
He is cruel—he thinks only of bim
! self. He wants you—but I want you j
too. How can I live without you.
Francois?" Then softly, hurriedly,
while the world reeled about the boy.
sitting statue-like in his saddle: “It
is just as I said. You are as much
a part of my life as the air I breathe—
and you and my father and Pietro say
quite calmly. The air is to be taken ;
away—you must do without it.' I
can not. I will choke!” She pulled at
her collar suddenly, as if the choking
were a physical present fact.
No slightest motion, no shade of
inflection missed Francois; still he .
sat motionless, his eyes on the little
brass buckle, his lips eet in a line,
without a word, without a look toward
her. And suddenly Alixe, with another
quick blue glance from under her long
lashes—Alixe, hurt, reckless, desper
ate, had struck her horse a sharp blow j
—and she was in the road before him,
galloping away.
rit* urr gu. uc aai yuici a
l time. As she turned in, still gallop
I tng. at the high stone gateway of the
chateau, his eyes came back again to
the little shining buckle. It seemed
the only thing tangible in a dream- j
universe of rapture and agony. Over
and over he heard the words she had
said—words which must mean—what*
Had they meant it? Had he possibly
been mistaken? No—the utter happi
ness which came with the memory of
the soft hurried voice must mean the
truth—she cared for him. and then j
over and over and over he said, half
aloud, through hie set teeth:
"I said that I would give tny happi- !
ness for my seigneur’s; I said that '
I would be a friend to Pietro; I will.”
(TO BE CONTINUED >
Home, Sweet Home.
A well known player was talking
about a brilliant but unsuccessful dis
ciple of Blackstone.
"His habits are to blame for his fail
ure,” said he. “One of his remarks
I illustrates his habits well. He said
to me in the Union club:
“ ’There's no place like home—espe
cially at 2 or 3 a. m., wheh you’ve ex
hausted the pleasures of all the other
places, and you're tired, and every
thing shut up anyway.' ”
OWNED BY INFAMOUS TRAITOR
Wisconsin Man Ha* Ink Well That
Once Wa* the Property of Bene
dict Arnold.
Among the possessions of F. A.
Phillips, living at Casy Bluff. Wis.,
is an inkwell, said by the owner to
date back to Revolutionary war times.
The inkwell has been in the family
since the time of the conflict of the
American colonies against Great Brit
ain.
Mr Phillips came into possession
of the relic in 1864. it having been
handed down to him by his father,
and his father got it in turn from
his grandfather, who captured it
among other things at a little log
cabin near West Point at about the
time Benedict Arnold was figuring on
selling l that strategic point to the
British, but took French leave when
he learned that the Colonial soldiers
were after him.
This ink well, it is stated by Mr.
Phillips, is the one that furnished the
ink for the document Arnold signed
giving the British possession of West
Point, and was found among other of
Arnold’s possessions after his hasty
leave taking of the place where the
documents were signed and sealed.
It Is supposed to have been made in
F>ngland and brought u this country.
Tt is an oM affair—this can be seen
from the fact that It is made for
quills instead of pens, as a common
pen will not enter the holes bored for
dipping. It is square, with a quill
hole at each corner and a large one '
in the center for receiving the ink.
The well is of stone, a queer compo
sition which on first sight resembles
flint or marble, but on closer examina
tion it is found that it may be cut
with a knife much the same as soap
stone.
,It Is highly polished, nicely carved
and is about three inches square and
an inch and a half deep.—New York
World.
An Improving World.
A somewhat old-fashioned Bostonian
who more than a score of years ago
was very prominent in public life re
marked recently: “I have observed
with interest quite a change in the
personal habits of men during the
paet 25 years. It used to be very
common to see business and profes
sional men, as well as those in public
life and holding official positions,
wearing silk hats and Prince Albert
coats every day In the week, and if
they smoked at all they smoked cl
ears. Nowadays eilk hats are rarely
seen on week days downtown, anyway,
and cigarette smoking seems to be
quite the thing. I do not think the
new fashion is quite so dignified or
manly as the old, but on the whole 1
am convinced the world is growing
better all the time."
ENDS DMA,
“Pape’s Diapepsin” cures sick,
sour stomachs in five minutes
—Time It!
"Really does” put bad stomachs in
order—"really does" overcome indiges
tlOD. dyspepsia, gas, heartburn and
sourness in five minutes—that—just
that—makes Pape’s Diapepsin the lar
gest selling stomach regulator in the
world. If what you eat ferments into
stubborn lumps, you belch gas and
eructate sour, undigested food and
acid; head is dizzy and aches; breath
foul; tongue coated; your insides filled
with bile and indigestible waste re
member the moment "Pape’s Diapep
sin” comes in contact with the stomach
all such distress vanishes. It's truly
astonishing—almost marvelous, and
the joy Is its harmlessness.
A large flfty-cent case of Pape's Dia
pepsln will give you a hundred dollars
worth of satisfaction.
It’s worth its weight in gold to men
and women who can’t get their stom
achs regulated. It belongs in your
home—should always be kept handy
in case of & sick, sour, upset stomach
during the day or at night. It’s the
quickest, surest and most harmless
stomach doctor In the world.—Adv.
Marriage is a tie, which may ac
count for the fact that so many fel
lows are roped in.
Red Cross Ball Blue gives double value
for your money, goes twice as far aa any
other. Ask your grocer. Adv.
Don't burn your bridges behind you
On the other hand, don’t burn them
in front of you, either.
T reasure.
Rooster—What’s troubling you, m ■
dear?
Hen—I've mislaid an egg —Judge.
Dr. Pierce's Pleasant Pellets regulate
and invigorate stomach, liver and bowel'
•Sugar-coated, tiny granules, easy to take as
candy. Adv.
An Invitation.
l>elighted Young Lady (to youni;
man she has been dancing withi
Oh, I could dance to heaven with
you!
Young Man—And can you reverse ’
—Life.
Words Without Rhymes.
There are many words in English
tflat have no rhyme. As given in
"The Ryhmers' Lexicon,” by Andrew
Lang, they are as follows: Aitch, alb.
amongst, avenge. bilge, bourn,
breadth, brusk, bulb, coif, conch, culm,
cusp, depth, doth, eighth, fifth, film,
forge, forth, fugue, gulf, hemp, lounge,
mauve, month, morgue, mourned,
ninth, oblige, of, pearl, pint, porch,
pork, poulp. prestige, puss, recumb,
sauce, scare, scarf, sixth, spoilt, swoln,
sylph, tenth, torsk, twelfth/ un
plagued, volt, warmth, wasp, wharves,
width, with, wolf, wolves.
GIRLS! GIRLS! TRY IT,
BEAUTIFY YOUR HAIR
Make It Thick, Glossy, Wavy, Luxur
iant and Remove Dandruff—Real
Surprise for You.
Tour hair becomes light, wavy, fluf
fy. abundant and appears as soft, lus
trous and beautiful as a young girl's
after a "Danderine hair cleanse." Just
try this—moisten a cloth with a little
Danderine and carefully draw it
through your hair, taking one small
strand at a time. This will cleanse
the hair of dust, dirt and excessive oil
and in just a few moments you have
doubled the beauty of your hair.
Besides beautifying the hair at once,
Danderine dissolves every particle of
dandruff; cleanses, purifies and invig
orates the scalp, forever stopping itch
ing and falling hair.
But what will please you most will
be after a few weeks' use when you
will actually see new hair—fine and
downy at first—yes—but really new
hair—growing all over the scalp If
you care for pretty, soft hair and lots
of it, surely get a 25 cent bottle of
Knowlton^s Danderine from any store
and just try it. Adv.
Corner Repartee.
The man with the "I Am Blind" sign
on his breast smelled of gin. but he
looked pathetic. I stopped in front
of him. He held out his tin cup. I
had my suspicions.
Eyeing him carefully I drew from
my pocket a large roll of bank bills. 1
saw him shudder.
“It is the chilly breeze," he hastily
explained.
I wasn't satisfied.
“Come, I said, “if you leave this
corner and go somewhere else I will
give you a bank bill.”
“Sure," I will, he eagerly replied.
“Taking a $1 from the roll. I put it
in his hands.
“Thanks for the dollar," be said as
he picked up his stool.
My suspicions rushed back.
"How do you know it is a dollar?" I
demanded.
“I was sure you would give me the
smallest bill you had about you," he
said, and shambled along.
I think he had me there.—Cleveland
Plain Dealer.
Presence of Mind.
A tramp called at Mr. Cobb's house
one morning.
“I've walked many miles to see
you, sir," he said, “because people
told me you were very kind to poor,
unfortunate fellows like me.”
“Indeed!" said the old gentleman
"And are you going back the same
way?”
“Yes, sir," was the answer.
“Well,” said Mr. Cobb, “just con
tradict that rumor as you go, will you ?
Good morning.”—Lappincott's.
A man never realizes how cheap talk
Is until some woman offers him a
penny for his thoughts.
