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THE HESPERIAN
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In the evening, when ho could no longer
see his dear angel, ho would sit with folded
hands listening to his father and Henri toll
stories of their better days. Sometimes ho
would laugh aloud when they wore merry,
or again would gravely wonder when his
father spoke of his mother, the- pretty, light
haired, blue-eyed lady, for ho had never
even seen her.
Dark days came to the Ronnard room,
days of tOBsing fever, when tho little boy
lay raving, with his father always at his side.
"The bells the bells they must
ring the bells for me now the stairs
whore is Ga-
-Gabriel!"
are so steep, I can't climb
briel mother! Gabriel !-
Then for a time, perhaps for a long, long
time, he would lie quietly sleeping, and tho
weary father would go down to the street to
attend to their wants. Thus the days wore
on, and the little boy, tnoy thought, waB
growing bettor.
Tho people of tho busy street stood still
one day to listen. Tho bells wore ringing,
not for a marriage nor a death, but so
strangely; first faintly and slowly loudly
then a sudden hush.
Men then climbed the steep and winding
stairs to the belfry.
Upon the floor lay a 'little boy with yellow
hair, and dark brown-eyes, which now wore
strange and wide. His hands were all
bruised and bleeding. Close by his sido
was a single feather, soft and beautifully
white. Amy C. Bkunek.
A DELICATE QUESTION
Mr. Charles Do Peystor Thompkinson
steadied himself with an effort, and for tho
third time read through the note that had
just boon brought him. Yos, there could bo
no mistake. There it was in neatly formed,
"thready" letters:
Deal Mr. Thompkinson:
I accept with much pleasure your invitation
for the theatre Friday evening, November tenth.
Sincerely,
Dardanelle Durham.
Still keeping his ey.es on this note, he
staggered to his table, seized a email folded
shoot of pink' paper lying there, and read:
Miss Verbena Watson is charmed to accept the
kind invitation of Mr. Charles DePeyster Thomp
kinson for the theatre Friday evening, November
tenth.
Mr. Charles DePeyster Thompkinson sank
into a chair with a groan, and let fall the
two notes on the table. "Some ruffian has
played a trick on mo," was his first thought;
and having no moan opinion of himself and
his dignity, which ho often told his friends
was not to bo trifled with, ho was muttering
to himself throats to "punch the head" of
the follow that did it, should he ever be
found out, when a possible solution flashed
over him.
"Let mo think," said Mr. Charles Do
Peystor Thompkinson, "I - meant to ask
Verbena to tho theatre, and to accept Miss
Durham's invitation to cards next week.
Can it bo that, still thinking of the first note,
I inadvertently wrote the sumo in the'socond?
No, for I well remember composing an ac
ceptance. It it must be that I took up
ono of those practice notes I had written to
Verbena, 'Mr. Charles Do Peyster Thomp
kinson requests tho pleasure of your com
pany to, etc.,' and directed it, instead of
tho right ono, to La Durham. Yob, that
must be what I did."
Ho arose and walked back and forth un
steadily for a few moments. Then, throw
ing himself into his favorite oratorical atti
tude, and absent-mindedly raising his right"
hand toward the coiling, he tried to reason .
out within him what to do.
"In tho first place," ho said, "I must go
with ono or tho other because I have
already bought the tickets. So the sudden
death of Bomo distant relative preventing my
attending tho theatre that evening would do
me no good. In tho second place, I can't
take both because they hate each other too
much," and ho smilod complacently in tho
mirror, "and because I haven't got three
tickets. No, I have got to choose botween
them, that's all."
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