Nebraska Newspapers

    MARY RttMQND ANDREWS
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SYNOPSIS
- ..«* m auger. • peasant bat— -f
>i fa. after aa *a>u»i« itwtOrtt «■
•Mrt Aarvhal X-** Agate*. * iwk a
<V»k>r at fnu»r Iq ih, Kauprror V»
Will ■» U> pr. aifewtt. <1 that IM b»>
■»€••! Mr d*l tm a E.arai.al .4 Knar
•rMSrr >»<vr IteMpwt' tl tbr •*» of
*•» I rat. or tum Ourn: Bum ‘
* •—uigauC Mhi with *M»r '**•
••M-fatv*! Savgiilx lint at the
1 A ». .t.er of the Kmp re j-»er
be Bret Ike U>) * iiutf’Mtlot
eampelgne The tr->
Mmto a « _f.r t.— c r-eal and
Stf» at the fnrataUl b. I a ret. lire gen
eral aag Me route iU|« a ho > athpaucned
ant ibe ce«rrai qarUr Mai»<Awo Mar
<wa* y-ir at IA aur I’etr-r arrive at
the iStteaa Ttr general *gr«—* to rare
feu the Matuutt aaa a hire tie former
*■—» ta Aamm Tie Munutt uk» FYnn
•OSs ta hr a Irkad *»t ht* am. T»— ba|
a»ereality pr mile-a Ftwaw-efe* IP—* to the
•Nns tm ti v e Haro or >-*«• <t—* tear
>*g Fb-trw aa a aarl «f the general
tttr Plena an* FawwvUS meet a ■tiaac
ha* aha prt.vea a» be fnan 1 elite Xa
pat--* KYaauen «a<ea bte life The geo
•» Annua t'raama Inn AJI*«. and
•WUrwrW a prutuar from ban that h» wUl
•el labrfut teleeui lie girl and PWr#
Fra:, ate cuea la Inii aa ■ecrefary to
hurt Igttnra Hor-er.ee plana tt.e escape
at t—r ana U.:a Napoleon bv ■f'.aguiamg
fete and Marvtuir Zapr- ae her 1*1 hey*
fcaanee tae.ee liaej-u &ld< * P’-acu.
•he ta 111. la thr an a*— of Hetietar and
1 junta 1 —i ae. d ae !e-ui# brut.ter I ran
note Uni the Aoatriaae fr<a» the hotel *1
bru* th» prince aad hla tmUher to ee
♦ a*er frannae ta a pfeNmur of the Aua
inaw tor It. mia l* the --astir owned
h» Pietro ta Italy. He SreNit in lb
guard «• at p-.etra'e rod faaitlv nnaali.
and ttunugh htae ae-nde word to hi*
Truant* at hie t-llgtit TW gen.ru’. AHvr
and Pietro plane Francot*' eaip Fran
«-ut* mrm a now from Ptetre eaplalts
tnc ta detail bow ta eeeape feom Me
petaue Attar awaive him on h<*r*ebeek
aad trade haul to hie fnende on board
the An—i -an eathaw trenl Ur "l/>vrly
herr ' flu M aa a real of Ham
Nnmpten on the "terdf larf." P» to
fea.nn ta ntup Ptorru# relate ta
Ytrymi Lfeer Hampton fall* In tov r
wot. Fran--ate
CHAPTER XXIII—Continued
Thu female mind paid no after.lion
ta the dngniMim Lory had long
«c> finally If Gpeonartoualy. pot her
father's personality into its right
plat*
Fitter ts the prince really poor
ajhd Bloae ib this country*
"Poor—yes. ! fancy—I to suite cur
la*B. ta fad- Alone—that depends
Thu authorities of Norfolk received
him Blth MB* distinction. the Herald
stares hat he is potting up at the inn
—on* would conclude that he aras an
huied guest at many at our great
Lscy flow like a bird across to the
fireplace Her hands went up to eitb
rr side of ths colonel s face. "Father,
puck' Have Thunder saddled and
ride in—quick, father and bring the
prtace out here to stay with us Give
the order Id Sambo, or 1 shall “
Csisad Hampton s eyes widened
with surprise “Why. hut Lucy." he
stammered “Why—hut why should
V What claim have we—“
Ofe nonsense." aad Lucy shook her
pead impatiently “Who has more
glairs* Aren't we Virginians of the
aaa river princes ia our own coun
try. loo* Haaat oar family reigned
la Uoaaoke longer than ever his
reigned ia Europe* Haven't we
•wongh house room aad servants to
make kim as comfortable as in a pal
see* Hut that tun t the most impor
taut It is a shame to as all father,
that no ana has invited him before,
tint a strange gentleman of high a'a
uw should have to lodge at an inn.
Why haaa t Cousin George Harrison
ashed him ta Brandon* And the Car
ters at Shirley, and the people at
Bevkeiey vhat do they mean by not
asktpg him* Bat we won t let Vir
ginian hospitality be stained We will
ask aim You will ride to Norfolk at
once, will you not. father dear?”
The touch oa his cheek was pleas
ant to the vala aad affectionate man.
haf the spirit of the girt s speech, the
aoggeatloa of the courtesy due from
him as a reigning prince, to this other
prtace forlorn and exiled, this was
pleasanter He panned bis lips and
smiled dow a
"Oat «f the month of babes.' be re
marked. sod drew bis brows together
as if wader »treat at largs machinery
h hind them. “My little girl, you
#• Considered the levitation for a Si
teat Moment.
he*- rather a sensible idea. I bad
nverhmked before, that"—be cleared
bin throat aad Mack Aaron standing
tray in band across the room, jumped
aad foiled bis eyes- that." be eonUn
aad. ~a man of my importance has du
ties of hospitality, even to a foreigner
who oomse without Introduction into
"Aaroa, tail Sambo to saddle Thun
• • e e • •
Pnaee Louis, In bis dingy parlor at
the tas. looked at bid rlsftor from be
twaea half-shut eyelids, and measured
him. soul aad body. He considered
the tarnation for n silent moment
This was aae of the great men of the
country The prince had alteady
beard bis name aad the name of bis
bMtnrir home, It was well to hare
laSaeolial friends, more particularly
as as letter awaited him as be had
hoped from his uncle. Joseph Bonn*
parte, wttb the American introduc
|ax far which be had asked. A vi&it
of a few days at this place of Roan
oke could do no harm and might lead
to good
1 thank you very much. Monsieur
le Colonel.' he said gravely, yet gra
ciously "You are most good to de
sire that 1 visit you. 1 will do so
I with pleasure."
Out they rode through the sun
lighted. wind-whipped country, dozing
restfully through its last winter's nap.
stirring already at the step of lively
April on the threshold The air was
sharp, and nipped at the prince's fin
gers and toes, but it was exhilaration
to be across a horse again, and the
exiles spirit the case-hardened heart
of steel which failure and misfortune
never broke till it broke forever at
Ssedan -grew baoyant. That "some
thing about the outside of a horse
a hu b is good for the inside of a man"
worked its subtle charm on this fin
ished horseman and horse lover, and
he was gently responsive as the col
onel talked fluently on.
‘ Does it so happen. Monsieur le
Colonel, that there is »n these parts
a Frenchman of—of instruction—a
man whom 1 might use as a secretary?
1 shall have need tomorrow to write
letters Would you know of such a
man. Monaieur le Colonel?"
Nothing pleased Monsieur le Col
onel more than to be master of the sit
uation "Most certainly,' he an
swered blandly and felt that the
pnnce must notice how no demand
could find Colonel Hampton at a loss.
Most certainly. My daughter's
French master would be the very fel
low He is intelligent and well edu
cated. and what is more, he is a most
ardent adherent of your family, prince.
le has talked to Miss Hampton with
such a vehement enthusiasm that, by
the laird Harry. 1 believe she expects
to see you fly in with wings, sir—I be
■ieve she does ' and the colonel laugh
"d loudly and heartily. It was as good
a joke as he had ever made.
And before them, at that mo
rn-nt. rose a stately picture A
.urge old house, built of dark red brick
t nought from England, towered sud
denly from out of the bare trees of its
park like a monument of calm hos
pitality. lu steep roof was set with
dormer windows; Its copings and Its
casements were white stone; a white
stone terrace stretched before It. At
one front, as they came, was the car
riage entrance, and the squares of a
formal English garden, walled with
box hedges, lay sleeping before the
springtime; at the opposite side a
w ;de lawn fell to a -massive brick wall,
spaced with stone pillars, guarding
the grounds from the flowing of the
James river Colonel Hampton gazed
at the home of his people and then at
his geest, and he cast the harness of
his smallnesses and stood out in the
simple and large cordiality which is
the heritage above others of southern
people.
"V cur are welcome to Roanoke,
prince." he said.
CHAPTER XXIV.
Brother*.
Colonel Hampton's study was dark
from floor to ceiling with brown oak
wainscoting and was lightened by a
dull brightness of portraits. An an
cestor in a scarlet coat, the red turn
ed yellow and brown with time; an
ancestress in dimmed glory of blue
satin and lace and pearls; a judge in
his wig and gown, gave the small
room importance. A broad window
; looked through bare branches, lacy
; black against sky, across a rolling
■ country and groups of woodland.
On the morning of the first day of
j April. 1837. Prince Louis Napoleon
| Bonaparte stood at this window, star
; ing at brown fields and trying to trace
a 1 keness between this new world
and the ancient country which he call
, ed his, France, where, since he was
seven years old, he had been allowed
\ to spend but a few weeks; France,
wh ch had freshly exiled him; France,
j the thought of which ruled him, as he
meant one day to rule her; France, for
! whom he was eating his heart out to
; day. as always, thousands of miles
1 from her shores.
He recalled the happy life at Aren
j pn»erg, in Switzerland, and the work
and play and soldierly training which
all pointed, in the boy's mind, to one
« nd—to serve France—a service which
did not at that time mean sovereign
ty, for the Duke of Reichstadt, Na
poleon s son. was alive and the head
I of the house of Bonaparte. He
thought of his short career, his and
his well beloved brother's together,
J * ith the Italian insurgents against the
Austrians, and the lonely man's heart
i lea**d for his own people as he went
I over again that time of excitement
! aad sorrow, ending with the older
boy's death at Forli and his own 111
j ness and narrow escape from capture.
"What a mother!" he cried aloud,
tossing qp his hands with French dem
i onstrati veness, as the memory came
! to him of the days in Ancona when he
' lay at death s door, hidden in the very
room next that of the Austrian gen
eral. saved only at last by the mar
velous mother’s wit and courage. The
j journey through Italy to France, that
| was drama enough for one life. Rec
ognized at every turn, betrayed never,
| and ending with—Prince Louis smiled
his slow dim senile—a fitting ending
Indeed to days whose every minute
was adventure. He thought of the
landlord of the Inn, the old cavalry
man; the young Frenchman—Beaupre
—that was the name; it was set In his
memory; had been in that tenacious
memory since an afternoon of 1824,
when a runaway schoolboy prince had
slipped over the Jura, and played with
three other children, about a ruined
castle; he saw Ftancrls Beaupre take
reverently In his hand the sword which
Napoleon had heid—and then the
alarm! That vas a fine sight—the
dash of the youngster through the
startled mob of Austrians; the flying
«eap to the horse; the skirmish to get'
free, and. at last, the rush of the
chase. He had seen It all, watching
quietly while his mother and the land
lord Implored him to bide himself.
That young Frenchman—if he should
be alive—if ever he should meet him
again Prince Louis would not forget.
It was psychological that he should
have been thinking this when a knock
sounded deferentially on the door of
the room. But picturesque coinci
dences happen in lives as well as on
the stage; in Louis Napoleon's there
was more than one. “Entrez!" he
called sharply, and then, “Come in!”
The door swung slowly and Aaron,
white-aproned and white-eyeballed,
stood in it.
“Marse Prince," he stated with a dig
nity of service which crowned heads
| could not daunt, “ole Marse sen’ me
; bring you dis hyer Marse Bopray."
A light figure stepped before the
black and white of Aaron, and halted,
and bowed profoundly. The light from
; the window shone on his face and the
dark immense eyes that lifted toward
Prince Louis, and for a moment he
stared, puzzled. Was he in the pres
ent? Surely this man was part of the
past which he had been reviewing.
; Surely be had played a role in the
prince's history—where? With a
Hashing thought into the years he
knew
'Mon ami!" cried Louis Bonaparte,
and sprang forward and stretched out
both hands, his royalty forgotten in
the delight of seeing a face which re
called his youth and his mother.
Francois, two minutes later, found
himself standing, bursting with loyal
ty and pride, with the prince's hands
clasping his, and the prince's trans
formed face beaming on him.
"You rode like the devil," said the
prince. “But the Austrians had the
horses. That poor Bleu-bleu! How
did you get away? Where have you
been? Mon Dieu, but we looked for
you. Zappi and I!"
“But no. your highness, I did not
get away,” smiled Francois Beaupre
as if imparting a joyful bit of news.
"They caught me.”
And he told briefly his story of the
five years in prison, of the desperate
escape, of the rescue and voyage to
America, of his wrecked health, not
yet re-established. Through the ac
count shone the unconquerable French
gaiety. Another thing there was
which a Frenchman and a Bonaparte
could not fail to see—that the thought
of his service to the house of Bona
“Mon Ami," Cried Louis Bonaparte.
parte had been a sustaining pride,
and the hope of future service an in
spiring hope.
Superstition and gratitude laid hold
together on the prince's troubled
: mind. He threw himself back into
Colonel Hampton's leather arm-chair,
throne-like in impressiveness and size;
j the mask of impassivity closed on his
i colorless featues.
“Sit there. Monsieur,” he ordered,
"and tell me your life.”
Simply, yet dramatically as was his
gift, the young man went over the
tale which he had told to Lucy Hamp
ton. that and more. And the prince
listened to every word. He. too, had
the French sensitiveness to theatrical
effect, and his over-wrought imagina
1 tlon seemed to see the hand of destiny
visibly Joining this story to his. Here
was a legacy from Napoleon; an in
strument created by his uncle, which
j he, the heir, should use. There was
; a long silence when Francois had fin
ished. and Louis' deep-pitched voice
! broke it
■' ‘One day perhaps a marshal of
; France under another Bonaparte,’" he
! repeated thoughtfully. "It was the
| accolade, the old right of royality."
: and gazed. If reflecting, at the other
I man's face.
Heightened color told how much It
meant to Francois Beanpre to hear
! those words spoken by the prince.
"My prince. I will tell you—though
it may be of little moment to know—
that it is not for my own advance
ment that I care. It is the truth that
I would throw away a hundred lives
S if I had them, to see the house of Bon
aparte rule France. It is only so, I
I believe, that France can become great
1 once more. We need heroes to lead
; us, we Frenchmen, not shopkeeper
kings such as Louis Phillippe; if it has
not a hero the nation loses courage,
and its interest in national life. But
the very name of Napoleon is inspira
tion—it pricks the blood; a monarch
of that name on France’s throne, and
our country will wake, will live. You,
my prince, are the hope of the house
j of Napoleon."
With a quick step forward he threw
himself on his knees before the quiet
1 figure in the throne-like chair; he seis
ed the prince's hand and, head benL
1 kissed it with passion. There was a
line of color in each cheek as his face
lifted, and his brilliant look was shot
with a tear.
"If I may die believing that I have
helped to win your throne, I ahati die
In happiness.”
Prince Louis had his mother's warm
heart, and this went to it He put his
hand on the other's shoulder, famil
iarly as if the two were equals, kins
men.
The brotherly touch on Francois’
shoulder was withdrawn, and with gen
tle dignity, with a glance, the prince
lifted him to his feet, and Francois
stood happy, dazed, before him. He
found himself telling his plans, his
methods, his efforts to fit himself for
the usefulness that might be on the
way.
*T have studied enormously, my
prince. All known books on warlike
subjects, all I could borrow or steal I
have studied. Ah, yes! I know much
of these things.”
Louis Bonaparte, with an exhaustive ,
military education, a power of appli
cation and absorption beyond most
men in Europe, let the gleam of a
smile escape. He listened with close
attention while Francois told of his
organization of the youth of the neigh
borhood into a cavalry company, and
of their drill twice a week.
“And you are the captain, Mon
sieur?”
Francois smiled a crafty, worldly
wise smile—or perhaps it was as if a
child would seem crafty and worldly
wise. "No, my prince," he answered,
shaking his head sagely. "That would
not be best. I am little known, a for
eigner. They think much of their old
families, the people of these parts.
So that it Is better for the success
of the company that the captain should
be of the nobility of the country. One
sees that. So the captain of the com
pany is Monsieur Henry Hampton, the
younger, the kinsman of Monsieur le
Colonel, and a young man of great
goodness, and the best of friends to
me. Everything that I can do for his
pleasure is my own pleasure.”
The prince turned his expression
less gaze on the animated face. “Mad
emoiselle Lucy likes the young mon
sieur?"
"But yes, my prince—she likes ev
ery one. Mademoiselle Lucy. It is sun
shine, he- kindness; it falls every
where and blesses where it falls. She
loves Henry—as a brother.”
"As a brother!” the prince repeated
consideringly. “Yes, a brother. You
find Mademoiselle Lucy of—of a kind
disposition."
“Beyond words, and most charm
ing," Francois answered steadily, and
flushed a little. He felt himself being
probed. With that the facile, myste
rious, keen mind of the prince leaped,
it seemed, a world-wide chasm. "That
most winning little girl of the ruined
chateau of Vieques—our playmate
Alixe—you remember how she stated,
'I am Alixe,' and was at once ship
wrecked with embarrassment?”
"I remember," Francois said shortly,
and was conscious that he breathed
quickly and that his throat was dry,
and that the prince knew of both trou
bles.
“Is she still 'Alixe'—the same
Alixe?" inquired the prince, turning os
tentatiously to the window. “Has she
grown up as sweet and fresh and bril
liant a flower as the rosebud prom
ised?"
Francois, hearing his own heart
beat, attempted to answer in a par
ticularly casual manner, which is a dif
ficult and sophisticated trick. He fail
ed at it. “They say—I think—she
has—oh. but yes. and—I think"—he
stammered and the prince cut short
his sufferings. “Ah, yes! I see that
it is with you, as with Monsieur Hen
ry, a case of devoted brotherhood. You
love her as a brother—you will not
boast of her.
“You have done well, Chevalier
Beaupre. You have done so well that
when the time is ripe again—it will
not be long—for Strasburg must be
wiped out in success—that I shall send
for you to help me, and I shall know
that you will be ready. I see that
the star which leads us both is the
only light which shines for you. It
holds your undivided soul, Chevalier
—I am right?”
Francois turned his swiftly chang
ing face toward the speaker, drawn
with a feeling which swept over him;
for a moment he did not answer. Then
he spoke in a low tone.
“When a knight of the old time j
went to battle," he said, “he wore on
his helmet the badge of his lady and
carried the thought of her in his heart j
A man fights better so.”
And the silent prince understood.
CHAPTER XXV.
How Lucy Told.
The prince was gone. There had
been festivities and formalities, great |
dinners, gatherings of the Virginia no
bility to do honor to his highness at!
Roanoke house and elsewhere.; every
where the Chevalier Beaupre had been
distinguished by his highness' most
marked favor. And Lucy Hampton’s
eyes had shone with quiet delight to
see it and to see the effect on her fa
ther. For the colonel, confused in his
mind as to how it might be true, re
luctantly acknowledged that there :
must be something of importance I
about this Chevalier Beaupre. that a j
prince should treat him as s brother. 1
He believed that it wol-.~ be best to
treat him—he also—at least as s gen
tleman. So the French lessons were
continued and the Jefferson troop was
encouraged, and Francois was asked
often to Roanoke house. And as the
months rolled on he tried with every'
thoughtful and considerate effort. tc
express to the little lady of the manor
his gratitude for the goodness of her
family. It troubled him more than a
little that the early friendliness and
intimacy of Harry Hampton seemed to :
be wearing off. The boy did not come
so often to Carnifax, and when he
came he did not stay for hours, for 1
days sometimes, as was his way at |
first. He was uneasy with his friend, i
and his friend wondered and did not!
understand, hut hesitated to push a :
way into the lad’s heart. "He will j
tell me in time." thought Francois,
and, sure of his own innocence, wait
ed for the time.
Meantime he was going home. Go
ing, much against the advice of the
Norfolk doctor, who warned him that j
he was not yet well or strong, that j
the out-of-door life in the mild Vir
ginia climate should be continued per
haps for two years more, before he
went back to the agitation and effort
of a Bonapartist agent in France. But
he could not wait; he must see his old
home, his mother, his father, and all
the unforgotten faces. He longed to
watch the black lashes curl upward
from the blue of Allxe’e eyes. He
longed to hear her clear voice with
its boyish note of courage. It would
put new life into him, that voice. It
was seven years now and more since
he had left them all at a day’s notice
to go to Pietro in Italy—to a living
death of live years, to many undream
ed of happenings. The fever was on
him and he must go home.
There was to he a‘celebration for
the new and very fashionable cavalry
troop of which Francois was the nn-j
official backbone and author. In the
great grassy paddock at Bayly’s Folly
the proud mother of elghteen-year-old
Caperton Bayly—first lieutenant, and
the most finished horseman in the Vir
ginia country—had invited the gentry
from miles about to feast with her and
to watch her son and his friends show
how the Chevalier Beaupre had made
them into soldiers. They came in
shoals, driving from far off over bad
roads in big lurching chariots, or rid
ing in gay companies, mostly of older
men and girls and young boys, be
cause all of the gilded youth were in
the ranks that day.
When the drill was over there was to
be rough riding and jumping. Hur
dles were swiftly dragged out and
placed in a manner of ring.
“This one is very close to the bank.”
i —-.
She Found Herself Holding Francois
Dark Head in Her Arms.
said Lucy Hampton, standing by Blue
bird and watching as the negroes
placed the bars. "If a horse refused
and turned sharp and was foolish, he
-might go over. And the bank is
steep."
“Lucy, you are a grandmotherly per
son." Clifford Stewart—who was an
other girl—threw at her. “You would
like them all to ride in wadded wool
dressing gowns, and to have a wall
padded with cotton batting to guard
them.” And Lucy smiled and believed
herself overcautious.
The excited horses came dancing up
to the barriers and lifted and were
over, with or without rapping, but not
one, for the first round, refusing.
Then the bars were raised six inches;
six inches in mid-air is a large space
when one must Jump it. Caperton
Bayly went at it first; his mother
watched breathless as he flew for
ward. sitting erect, intense, his young
eyes gleaming. Over went his great
horse Traveler, and over the next and
the next—4ll of them; but the white
heels had struck the top bar twice—
the beautiful, spirited performance
was not perfect. Harry Hampton
came next; all of the kindly multitude
gazed eagerly, hoping that the boy to
whom life had given less than the
others might win this honor he want
ed. The first bars without rapping;
the second; and a suppressed sound of
satisfaction, which might soon be a
great roar of pleasure, hummed over
the field. Black Hawk came rushing,
snorting, pulling up to the third jump,
the jump where Lucy stood. And as
he came a little girl, high in a car
riage, a chariot as one said then, flour
ished her scarlet parasol in the air,
and lost hold of it, and it flew like a
huge red bird into the course, close
to the hurdle. And Black Hawk,
strung to the highest point of his
thoroughbred nerves. Eaw. and a hor
ror of the flaming living thing, as it
seemed, caught him. and he swerved
at the bar and bolted—bolted straight
for the steep slope.
A gasp went up from the three hun
dred, four hundred people; the boy
was dashing to death; no one stirred;
every muscle was rigid—the specta
tors were paralyzed. Not all. Fran
cois from his babyhood had known
how to think quickly, and these boys
were his pride and his care; he had
thought of that possible danger which
Lucy had forseen; when the jumping
began, tnounted on his mare Aquarelle,
he was posted near the head of the
slope, not twenty yards from the hur
dle, to be at hand in any contingency.
When Harry’s horse bolted, one touch
put Aquarelle into motion. Like a
line of brown light she dashed at right
angles to the runaway—a line drawn
to Intercept the line of Black Hawk’s
flight There was silence over the ^
neid—one second—-two seconds—the
lines shot to the aDgle—then it came
—the shock they awaited.
Black Hawk, rushing, saw the other
coming and swerved at the last mo
ment—too late. The animals collided,
not with full force, yet for a moment
it looked like nothing but death for
riders and mounts. Harry Hampton
was thrown backward to the level i
field; Black Hawk galloped off, frantic
and unhurt, across it; Aquarelle, one
saw, lay on the very edge of the drop
and was scrambling to her feet with
liveliness enough to assure her safe- ;
ty; of Francois there wii no sign. In ;
half a minute the breathless still
crowd was in an uproar, and a hun- i
dred men were jostling one another
to reach the scene of the accident, j
It was two minutes, perhaps, before
Caperton Bayly, with a negro boy at ;
his heels, with Jack Littleton and :
Harry Wise and a dozen other lads :
racing back of him, had plunged over !
the drop of land where Francois hatj
disappeared. Two minutes are enough
sometimes for a large event. In that
two minutes Lucy Hampton, without
conscious volition, by an instinct as
simple and imperative as a bird’, in
stinct to shield her young, bad slipped
from her horse Bluebird and flown
across tbe level and down over the
! steep bank till she found herself hold
ing Francois' dark bead in her arms
and heard her own voice saying words
she bad never said even to herself.
*‘I love you, I love you." she said,
and if all the world beard she did not
know or care. There w >s no world
for her at that minute out the mat)
lying with his head against her heart j
—dead it might be, but dead or alive, j
dearest. “I love you—love you—love
you,” she repeated, as If the soul were
rushing out of her ia the words.
With that the luminous great eyes
opened, and Francois was looking at
her, and she knew that he had heard.
And then the training of a lifetime, of
centuries, flooded back into her, and
1 womanly reticence and maidenly
shame and the feelings and attitude ;
which are not primeval, as she had
been primeval for that one mad mo
ment. She drew back as she felt him
trying to lift himself, and left him free
and was on her feet, and then with a
shock she was aware of another pres
ence; turning she looked up into the i
angry glow of her cousin's eyes. He '
was not looking at her, but at the man
who, dazed, hurt, was trying painfully
! to pull himself up. Harry Hampton
glared at him.
"We will settle this later," he
brought out through his teeth. “I hope
; I can kill you” And Lucy cried out:
"Shame!" she cried. "He has just
saved your life!"
"Damn him!” said Harry Hampton.
“I do not want my life at his hands.
I hate him more for saving me. Damn
him!"
And Francois, clutching at a bush,
things reeling about him unsteadily,
j looked up, friendly, wistful, at the boy
[ cursing him.
With that there was an influx ol
population; the whole world, appar
ently, tumbled down the steep bank,
every one far too preoccupied with
help for the hero to remark Harry
Hampton's grim humor.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Bobbie Bums’ Granddaughter.
An action has been entered in Dum
fries sheriff court by Miss Annie Beck
ett Burns of Cheltenham, the only sur
viving granddaughter of the Scottish
poet, claiming "to have herself, as the
nearest of kin, declared executrix of
certain hitherto unconfirmed personal
estate of the said Robert Burns.” This
ia a sequel to the recent announce
ment that the Liverpool Athenaeum
had sold for £5,000 the two volumes
of Burns' poems and better known as
the Glenriddell manuscripts, and that
they were likely to go to America, an
announcement which brought strong
protests from Lord Roseberry, Dr. Wil
liam Wallace and others.—Westmin
ster Gazette.
Old American Coins.
Robert Morris, the financier of the
Confederation, early in 1783, arranged
with Benjamin Dudley to strike off
some "pattern pieces" that could be
placed before congress. On April 2
Dudley delivered to Morris some
pieces, which were in reality the first
coin struck having the name "United
States coin.” The particular speci
mens are known to numismatists as
the "Nova Constellatio Paterus.”
They were of silver and denominated
the "mark" and "quint.” The first
coins struck by the United States
mint were some half dimes, in 1792.
DUCHESS MUST HAVE SMILED
Little Milliner Faithfully Obeyed In
structions That She Thought
Had Been Given Her.
Mr. Lane of Washington was not
only a page in the senate in the days
of Webster and Clay, but, through the
fact that his uncle kept a book store
where these statesmen were accus
tomed to while away their leisure
hours, came to know them intimately
on their social side, declared that
Webster, while not given to story-tell
ing, had one favorite little Joke that
he would tell whenever the occasion
seemed opportune.
This, according to Mr. I jane, was
the story:
There arrived at Boston a certain
duches from one of the great nations
of Europe. Desiring to have some
headgear suitable for her inland
travels constructed, she sent for the
most prominent milliner In the city
to come to her apartments at the
Revere house, then the principal hotel
in New England.
The local milliner was sent all a
flutter at the distinction shown her,
but she was a province-bred little
woman of a democratic country and
knew not the “egg-dance conventions"
of Court society. Accordingly, desir
ing to know in what manner she
should deport herself in the presence
of the titled lady she applied to the
wife at one of the Adamses, who
was a customer of hers, and who had
spent some time at foreign courts.
"Oh, all that's necessary," explained
Mrs. Adams, 'is to bow low when you
are ushered into the presence of the
duchess and say. ‘Your Grace.’ ’’
Thus coached in court etiquette the
little milliner betook herself to the
Revere house and sent word to the
duchess.
As she was ushered into the pres
ence of that lofty person, she bent
low, and, with a sweeping courtesy,
said:
"May the Lord make us thankful for
what we are about to receive!"
The Slash.
Paul Poiret, the famous French
dressmaker, was asked by a New York
reporter if he thought woman’s pres
ent mode of dress made for morality.
"I do not deal in morality," M.
Poiret replied. “I deal in beauty.”
Then, apropos of the slashed skirt
he told a story.
“A young lady in a white dinner
gown,” he said, ‘‘stood under a blazing
electrolier, and. swinging round before
her fiance, she asked:
“ ‘How does my new dress show upf
" “Up almost to the knee,’ the young
man replied. Those white silk stock
ings with gold clocks are beautiful.’ ”
Sign.
A Bundle on the end of a stick is a
pretty sure sign that the man wht
carries it has lost his firip—Puc*.
MRS. WILLIAMS’
LONG SICKNESS
IHelds To Lydia E. Pink
ham’s Vegetable
Compound.
Elkhart, Ind.:— "I suffered for four
teen years from organic inflammation,
iemale weakness,
pain and irregulari
ties. The pains in
my sides were in
creased by walking
or standing on my
feet and I had such
awful bearing down
feeiingB, was de
pressed in spirits
and became thin and
pale with dull,heavy
eyes. I had six doc
tors from whom I received only tempo
rary relief. I decided to give Lydia EL
Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound a fair
trial and also the Sanative Wash. I have
now used the remedies for four months
and cannot express my thanks for what
tney have done for me.
“ If these lines will be of any benefit
you have my permission to publish
them.” —Mrs. Sadie Williams, 455
j ames Street, Elkhart, Indiana.
Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Com
pound, made from native roots and herbs,
contains no narcotic or harmful drugs,
ano to-day holds the record of being the
most successful remedy for female ills
we knew of, anc> thou sands of voluntary
testimonials on file in the Pinkham
laboratory at Lynn, Mass., seem to
prove this fact.
If you have the slightest doubt
that Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegeta
ble Compound will help you,w rite
to Lydia E.Pinkham MedicineCo.
(confidential) Lynn,Mass., for ad
vice. Your letter will be opened,
read and answered by a woman,
and held in strict confidence.
The Army of
Constipation
'* Growing Smaller Every Day.
CARTER’S LITTLE
LIVES PILLS are
responsible — they a
not only give relief^
— they psrma
nc-ntlycure
ti jjt.cn. Mil
lions usei
them tor Kt
Bc!iojin**», ^
Carters
■ ITTLE
IIVER
[pills.
indigesuoB, hick Headache, Sallow Ska.
SMALL PILL, SMALL DOSE SMALL PRICE
Genuine must bear Signature
I RELIEVES
1_ SORE EYES
W. N. U- OMAHA, NO. 14-1914.
The Thieving Ear of Corn.
Twelve ears of corn will plant an
acre. If one of the planted ears hap
pens to be "no good” there is a
twelfth of an acre missing. An acre
of corn may be worth thirty to forty
dollars, so to discover a thieving ear
is worth from two and a half to three
and a half dollars. One can pick out
the ears of poor germination at slight
cost, if he will test his corn before
he becomes rushed with spring work.
And while about It rejeot the ears
that although germinating do not send
up strong, vigorous stalks. Lusty, vig
orous young things grow surest into
profit, whether they be pigs, lambs,
colts or cornstalks.—Breeder's Ga
zette.
King George in France.
During the visit of King George and
Queen Mary to Paris his majesty will
be present at the annual spring review
of the Paris garrison on April 22. Tha
review will be held, as in previous
years, at Vincennes. The review is
generally held in March, but out of
compliment to King Geogre it has been
delayed this year.
Definition of a Crisis.
"Pa, the paper says there's a crisis
in Mexico. What’s a crisis?”
"A scarcity of news, my bov."—
Life.
Ef you wish beautiful, clear, white
clothes, use Red Cross Ball Blue. At all
good grocers. Adv.
When the man Is getting tha worst
of the argument he is sure to say:
‘•Well, that’s just like a woman!”
Divorcee are more difficult to obtain
ia England than in any other civilized
< ountry.
- *
Putnam Fadeless Dyes do not stain
the kettle. Adv.
A bad memory is a cheerful liar's
nightmare.
IW.L.DOUGLASl
SHOES
Mel's !£2S!2‘£>&s5j
Women's Ul
MIM«s, Boys,Children!
SI.80 SI.78$2*2 BO*3l
B*OW Bw*i«»«« in |
1870; «•• »*l
^ fMk»r
^ |I,»».J0,|4,\
W mrd»4.80.^Ml
W fr th« *•"«. 1
$ 1,006,2
l ttSPSSMml
ThM to the rcaeori we five you Uie
I Maevalueelort3.00.Vs.Su. $4.(0
l and $4.AO noiwlihf'enrtlng Uie
K eaormoue Increaae In the coat of
3K leather. Our atendarda have
A not been lowered and the prise
—. a toyouremalneibeeame.
mm XU your dealer to show yn
the Undo! W.L. Douflae ehoee so
la settlor ter $3.00. t^SuT$4.03 aid
t4.sa You will then be convinced
that W.L.Douflae ahoea are abno
lutaiyae food as other makea sold at
k hither prleaa The only dUtentiee
I to the price
TAKK NO AUHTITUTl.
■aka pnlu wttkaal V. L. raulaa' un
ataapad ak tka WIN. If W. L. Doafrlaa
akeaa ara aot for tala la joar aictaltp. ordar
I dlracf from factory. Akoaaforaaaryaakbar
L at tka (kaillj at all priaaa. poataaa fraa.
Iky Wrtta tka Ulaatiatad catalop tkowfna >«ar
I ta ordar by mall. W. I D000LAI1.
tar *1* Apart mat. Brocktok. Mw.
Western Canada Lands
The richest Mixed Fannin* lands in Western
are in the Battleford District. The soil
Is a deep t>lack loam on clay subsoil and lands
can be purchased at from $10 per acre up. Ex
cellent water in abundance, and railroad facili
ties and *ood markets Write for list of selected
properties to L. ft. GOOD, Secretary, 5 »ard
•f Trade. Da ttleierd. Saskatchewan, Canada