Evening Star Newspaper, April 4, 1896, Page 20

THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, ®opsright, 1896, by Bacheller, Johnson & Bacheller.) PART I. Of all the good men that Lincolnshire Bave to England to make her proud, strong and handsome, none was stronger, prouder and more handsome than John Enderby, whom King Charles made a knight against his will. A “Your gracious majesty,” said John En- fierby, when the king was come to Boston town on the business of draining the Hol- land fen and other matters more important and more secret, “the honor your majesty would confer is well beyond a poor man like myself, for all Lincolnshire knows that I am driven to many shifts to keep myself above water. Times have been hard these many years, and, craving your ma- Jesty’s pardcn, our taxes have been heavy.” “Do you refuse knighthood of his majes- ty?” said Lord Rippingdale, with a sneer, and patting the neck of his black stallion with a gloved hand. “The king may command my life, my Lord Rippingdale,” was Enderby's reply, “he may take me, body and bones and blood, for his service, but my poor name must remain as it is when his majesty de- mands too high a price for honoring it.” “Treason,” said Lord Rippingdale, just s0 much above his breath as the king might hear. “This in our presence!” sald the kins, tapping his foot upon the ground, his brows contracting, and the narrow dig- nity of the divine right lifting nis nostrils petulantly. “No treason, may it please your majes- ty,” said Enderby, “and it were better to speak boldly to the king’s face than to be isloyal behind his back. My estates will not bear the tax which the patent of this knighthood involves. I can serve the tountry no better as Sir John Enderby than as plain John Enderby, and I can serve my children best by shepherding my shat- tered fortunes for their sakes.” For a mcment Charles seemed thought- ful, as though Enderby’s reasons appealed to him, but Lord Rippingdale had now the chance which for ten years he had in- vited, and he would not let it pass. “The honor which his majesty offers, my good Lincolnshire squire, is more to your children than the few loaves and fishes which you might leave them. We all know how miserly John Enderby has grown!” Lord Rippingdale had touched the tender- est spot in the king’s mind. His vanity was ho less than his impecuniosity, and this was the third time in one day he had been de- feated in his efforts to confer an honor, and act a price beyond all reason for that jonor. The gentlemen he had sought had found business elsewhere, and were not to seen when his messengers called at their gstates. It was not the king’s way to give anything for nothing. Some of these gen- tlemen had been benefited by the draining of the Holland fens, which the king had undertaken, reserving a stout portion of the land for himself, but John Enderby bene- fited nothing, for his estates lay further north, and near the sea, nor far from the town of Mablethorpe. He had paid all the taxes which the king had levied, and had not murmured beyond his own threshold. He spoke his mind with candor, and to him the king was still a man to whom the truth was to be told with a directness, which was the highest honor one man might show an- other. “Rank treason,” repeated Lord Ripping- ale, loudly. “Enderby has been in bad company, your: majesty. If you are not wholly with the king, you are against him. ‘He that is not with me is against me, and he that gathereth not with me scattereth abroad.’ ” A sudden anger seized the king, and, turn- Ing, he set foot in the stirrup, muttering something to himself which boded no good for John Enderby. A gentleman held the stirrup while he mounted, and, with Lord Rippingdale beside him in the saddle, he turned and spoke to Enderby. Self-will and resentment were in his tone. “Knight of Enderby we have made you,” he said. “and Knight of Enderby you will remain. Look to it that you pay the fees for the granting of “Your ma , reaching out his hand in protest, “I will not have this greatness you would thrust upon me. Did your majesty need, and speak to me as one gentleman to another in his need, then would I part with the last inch of my lan but to barter my estate for a gift that I have no heart nor use for—your majesty, I earnot do it!” The Fand of the king twisted in his bridle rein, ana his body stiffened in anger. “See to it, my Lord Rippingdale,” he said, “tiat our knight here pays to the last Penny for the courtesy of the patent. You shall levy upon his estate.” “We are both gentlemen, your majesty, and my rights within the law are no less ees your majesty’s,” said Enderby, stout- “The gentleman forgets that the king is the fountain of all law,” said Lord Rip- Pingdale obliquely to the king. “We will make one new statute for this stubborn knight,” said Charles; “even a writ of outlawry. His estates shall be con- fiscate to the crown. Go seek a king and country better suited to your tastes, our rebel knight of Enderby.” “I am still an Enderby of Enderby, and & man of Lincolnshire, your majesty,” said the squire, as the king rode toward Boston Church, where presently he should pray after this fashion with his subjects there ssembled: “Most heartily we beseech Thee with Thy favor to behold our most gracious sover- eign King Charles. Endue him plenteousl with heavenly gifts; grant him in heal! and wealth long to live; strengthen him hat he may attain everlasting joy and fe- ity.” With a heavy heart Enderby turned home- wards; that is, towards Mablethrope upon the coast, which lies between Saltficet Haven and Skegness, two ports that are places of mark in the history of the king- dom, as all the world knows. “You: injesty * * * I will not have this greatness.” dale his mind was violent. Years be- re, in a quarrel between the Harl of Lind- sey and Lord Rippingdale, upon a public matter which parliament settled after- wards, he had sided with the Earl of Lind- sey. The two earls had been reconciled af- terwards, but Lord Rippingdale had never forgiven Enderby. In Enderby’s brain ideas worked some- what heavily; but today his slumberous gizensth was infused with a spirit of ac- lon and the warmth of a pervasive idea. ‘There was no darkness in his thoughis, but his pulse beat heavily and he could feel the veins throbbing under his ear impetu- ously. Once or twice as he rode on in the ig afternoon he muttered to himself. Now it was: “My Lord Rippingdale, iIn- ror “Not even for a king!" or “Sir john Enderby, forsooth! Sir John Ender- a forsooth!” Once again he spoke, rein- fe in his horse beside a tall cross at four corners, near Stickford by the East Fen. Taking off his hat-he prayed: , “Thou just God, do Thou judge between my king and myself *Thou knowest that I have striven as an honest gentleman to do right before all men. When I have seen my sin, oh, Lord, I have repented! Now I have come upon perilous times, the PitfaHs are set for my feet. Oh, Lord, establish me in’ true sttength! Not for my sake do I ask that Thou wilt be with me and Thy wisdom comfort me, but for the sake of my good children. Wilt Thou spare my life in these troubles until they be well formed; till the lad have the bones of a man, and the girl the wise thought of a woman—for she hath no mother to shield and teach her. And if this be a wrong prayer, oh, God, forgive it,.fer I am but a blundering squire, whose tongue tells lame- ly what his heart feets.”” 5 His head was bowed over his horse's neck, his face turned to the cross, his ey: were shut, and he did rot notice the strange and grotesque figure that suddenly eppeared from among the low bushes by the fen near by. It was an odd creature perched upon stilts, one of those persons called the stilt- walkers. They were no friends of the King, nor of the Earl of Lindsey, nor of my Lord Rippingdale, for the draining of these fens tcok from them their means of living. They were messengers, post- men and carriers across the wide stretch of country from Spilsby, even down to the river Whitam, and from Boston Deep down to Market Deeping and over to the sea. Since these fens were drained one might travel from Market Deeping to. The. Wolds without wetting a foot. “Aw’ll trooble thee a moment,. maister,” eaid the peasant. “A stilt-walker beant nowt i" the woorld. Howsome’er, aw’ve a weoord to speak ’n thy ear.’ Enderby reined in his horse, and with a nod of complaisance (for he was a man ever kind to the poor, and patient with those who fared ill in the world) he waited for the other to speak. “Thoo'’rt the great Enderby of Enderby, maister,” said the peasant, ducking his head ‘and then putting on his cap: “aw’ve known thee sin tha wast no bigger nor a bit grass- "opper i’ the field. Wilt tha ride long, Sir Jchn Enderby, and aw’l! walk aside thee, mia gray nag with thy sorrel,”..He glanced om humorously at his own long wooden legs. Cane Enderby turned his horse round and pro- ceeded on his way slowly, the old man strid- ing along beside him like a stork: “Why do you dub me knight?” he asked, his eyes searching the face of the old man. “Why shoulcna aw call thee knight if the king calls thee knight? It is the dooty of a common man to call thee Sir John and tak off his hat at saying o’ it.” His hat came off, and he nodded in such an odd way that Enderby burst cut into a good honest laugh. “Dooth tha rememba little Tom Dowsby that went hoonting with thee when tha wert not yet come to age?” con- tinued the sttlt-walker. “Doost tha remem- ba when, for-a jest, thee and me stopped the lord bishop, tha own uncle, in the highway at midnight, and took his poorse from him, and the rich gold chain from his neck? And doost tha rememba that tha would have his apron, too, for tha said that if it kept a bishop clean, wouldna it keep highwaymen clean, whose work was not so clean as a bishop’s? Sir John En- derby, aw loove thee better than the king, an’ aw loove thee better than my Lord Rip- pin’dale—ah, theere’s a sour heart in a geodly body!" ase Jokn Enderby reined up his horse and looked the stilt-waiker in the face. “Are you little Tom Dowsby?” said he; “are you that scamp?” He laughed all at once as though he had not a trouble in the world. “And do you keep up your evil practices? Do you still waylay bishops?” “If aw confessed to keaven or man, aw would confess to thee, Sir John Enderby; know you that I am Sir John “Even in Sleaford town aw kem to know it. Aw stocd no further from his’ majesty and Lord Rippingdale than aw stand from you, when the pair talked by the Great Boar inn. Where doost tha sleep tonight?’ “At Spilsby.” “Tonight the king sleeps at Sutterby on The Wolds. "Tis well for thee tha doost not bide wi’ his majesty. Theer, aw’ve done thee a service “What service have you done me?” ‘Aw've told thee that tha moost sleep by Spilsby when the king sleeps at Sutter- by. Fare-thee-well, maister.” offing his cap once more, the stilt-walk- er suddenly stopped, and, turning aside, made his way~wtth an dlmost incredible swiftness across the. fea,gaking the ditches with huge grotesque strides. Enderby looked back and watched him for a mo- ment curiously. PART AL. Suddenly theznants words began to re- peat themselves in Enderhy’s head: “To- night the king sfééps at Sutterby on The Wolds. ‘Tis well-fog-thee~thAt doost not Enderby Looked Back, and Watched Him for a Moment Curiously. bide wi’ his majesty.” Presently a dozen vague ideas began to take form. The man had come to warn him not to join the king at Sutterby. There was some plot against Charles! These stilt-walkers were tools in the hands of the king’s foes, who were growing more powerful every day. He would sleep tonight not at Spilsby, but at Sutterby! He was a loyal subject; no harm that he could prevent should come to the king. Before you come to Sutterby on The Wolds, as you travel north to the fen land, there is a combe through which the high- wey passes, and a stream which has on one sidé many rocks and boulders and on the other a sort of hedge of trees and shrubs. It was here that the enemies of the king—that is, some stilt-walkera, with two dishonorable gentlemen who had suf- fered from the king’s oppressions—placed themselves to waylay his majesty. Lord Rippingdale had published it abroad that the king’s route was toward Horncastle, but at Stickney by the fens the royal party separated, most of the company passing on to Horncastle, while Charles, Lord Ripping- dale and two other cavaliers proceeded on @ secret visit to a gentleman at Louth. It was dark when the king and his com- pany came to the combe. Lord Ripping- dale suggested to his majesty that one of the gentlemen should ride ahead to guard against surprise or ambush, but the king laughed and said that his shire of Lincoln bred no brigands, and he rode on. He was in the coach with a gentleman beside him, and Lord Rippingdale rode upon the right. Almost as the hoofs of the leaders plunged into the stream there came the whinny of a horse from among the boulders. Alarmied, the coachman whipped up his team and pore Rippingdale ciapped his hand upon his swol Even as he did it two men sprang out from among the rocks, seized the horses’ heads, and a dozen others swarmed round, all masked and armed, and called upon the King’s party to surrender, and to deliver up their valuables. One rufflan made to seize the bridle of Lord Rippingdale’s horse, sword came down and sever- ed the fellow’s hand at the wrist, “Villain!” he shouted, “@o you know oe you attack?" ‘or answer, shots rang out; and as the King’s gentlemen gathered close to the coach to defend him, the king himself open- ed the door and stepped out. As he did s0 @ stilt struck him on the head. Its owner had aimed it at Lord Rippingdale; but as my lord’s horse plunged it missed him and struck the king fair upon the crown of the head. He swayed, groaned and fell back into the open door of the coach. Lord Rippingdale was at once beside him, sword drawn, and fighting gallantly. “Scoundrels!” he cried, ‘will you kill your king?” “We will have the money which the king carries,” cried one of his assailants. “The price of three knighthoods and the taxes of two shires we will have!” One of the king’s gentlemen had fallen and another was wounded. Lord Ripping- dale was hard pressed, but in what seemed the last extremity of the king and his party there came a shout from the other side of the stream: “God save the king! For the king! For the king!” A dozen horsemen splashed their way across the stream, and with swords and Pistols drove through the king’s assailants and surrounded his coach. The rufflans made an attempt to rally and resist the onset, but presently broke and ran, pursued ‘by a half dozen of his majesty’s defenders. Five of the assailants were killed and sev- eral were wounded. As Lord pingdale turned to Charles , the coach door was opened upon the other side, a. light was thrust in, and over the unconscious body of the king my lord recognized John Enderby. “His majesty’—began John Enderby. “His majesty is better," replied Lord Rippingdale, as the king’s eyes half opened. “You lead these gentlemen? This should bring you a barony, Sir John,” my lord added, half graciously, half satirically— for the hon truth of this man’s nature vexed him. “The king will thank you.” “John Enderby wants no reward for being a loyal subject, my lord,” answered Enderby. Then, with another glance at the king, in which he knew that his majesty was re- covered, he took off his hat, bowed, and, mounting his horse, rode away without a word. 5 At Sutterby the gentlemen received gra- cious tnanks of the king, who had been here delivered from the first act of violence made against h'm in his reign. Of the part which Enderby had played Lord Rippingdale said no more to the king than this: : “Sir John Enderby was one of these gen- tlemen who saved your majesty’s life, Might it not seem to your majesty that— “Was he of them?” interrupted the king, Kindly; then, all at once, out of his hurt vanity and narrow self-will, he added, pet- ulantly: ‘When he hath paid for the pat- ent of his knighthood, then will we wel- come him to us, and make him Baron of Enderby.” Next day whea Enderby entered the great iron gates of the grounds of En- derby House the bell was ringing for noon. The house was lorg and low, with a fine tower in the center, and two wings ran back, forming the countyard, which would have been entirely inclosed had the stables moved up to complete the square. ; When Enderby came out into the broad sweep of grass and lawn, flanked on either side by commendable trees, the sun shin- ing brightly, the rcoks fiying overhead, and. the smell of ripe summer in the air, he drew up his horse and sat looking before him. “To lose it! To lose it!’ he said, and a frown gathered upon his forehead. Even as he looked the figure of a girl appeared in the great doorway. Catching sight of the horseman, she clapped her hands and waved them delightedly. Enderby’s face cleared, as the sun breaks through a mass of clouds and lightens all the landscape. The slumbrous eyes glowed, the square head came up. In five min- utes he had dismounted at the great stone steps and was clasping hils daughter in his arms. “Felicity, my dear daughter!” he said, tenderly and gravely. i She threw back her head with a gayety which bespoke the bubbling laughter in her heart, and said: “Booh! to thy solemn voice. Oh, thou great bear, dost thou love me with tears. in_ thine eyes?” She took his hand and drew him inside the house, where, laying aside his hat and Lord Rippingdale Was at Once Be- side Him * * * Fighting Gallantly. gloves and sword, they passed into the great library. “Come, now, tell me all of the places thou hast been to,” she said, perching her- self on his armchair. He told her and she counted them off one by one upon her fingers. - “That is ninety miles of travel thou hast had. What is the most pleasing thing thou hast geen?” “It was in Stickford by the Fen,” he an- swered, af:er a perplexed pause. “There was an old man upon the roadside with his head bowed in his hands. Some lads were making sport of him, for he seemed 80 woe-begone and old. Two cavaliers of the king came by. One of them stopped and drove the lads away, then going to the old man, he said: ‘Friend, what is thy trouble?” The old man ed his melan- choly face and answered: ‘Aw’m afeared, sir.’ ‘What fear you?’ inquired the young gentleman. ‘I fear ma wife, sir,’ replied the old man. At that the other cavalier sat beck in his saddle and guffawed merrily. ‘Well, Dick,’ said he to his friend, ‘that is the worst fear in this world. Ah, Dick, theu hast never been married.’ ‘Why do you fear your wife?’ asked Dick. ‘Aw've Leen robbed of ma horse and saddle and twelve skeins o’ wool. Aw'm lost, aw’m rvined and shall raise ma head nevermore. To ma wife aw shall ne'er return.’ ‘Tut, tut, man,’ said Dick, ‘get back to your wife. You are master of your own house, you rule the roost. What is a wife? A wife's a woman. You are a man. You are bigger and stronger, your bones are harder. Get home and wear a furious face and bat- ter in the door and say: “What, ho, thou huzzy!’’ Why, man, fear you the wife of your bosom?’ The old man raised his head and said: ‘Thou doost not know ma wife or tha wouldst not speak like that.’ At that Dick laughed and said: ‘Fellow, I do pity thee; and taking the old man by the shoulders, he lifted him on his own horse and took him to the village fair, and there tought him twelve skeins of wool and sent him on his way rejoicing, with a horse worth twenty times his own.” With her chin in her hands the girl had listened intently to the story. When it was finished she said: “What didst thou say was the gentle- man’s name?” “His friend called him Dick. He is a poor knight, one Sir Richard Mowbray of Lei- cester, called at court and elsewhere Happy Dick Mowbray, for they do say a happier and braver heart never wore the king’s uniform.”” “Indeed, I should like to know that Sir Richard Mowbray. And, tell me now, who is the greatest person thou hast seen in thy absence?” “I saw the king—at Boston town.” “The king! The king!” Her eyes light- ened, her hands clapped merrily. “What did he say to thee? Now. now, there is that dark light in thine eyes again. I will not have it so!” With her thumbs she daintily drew down the eyelids and opened them again. “There, that’s better. Now what did the king say to thee?” “He said to me that I should be Sir John Enderby of Enderby.” “A knight! A knight! He made thee a knight?" she asked gayly. She slipped from his knee and courtesied before him, then eeing the heaviness of his look, she added: jooh! Sir John Enderby, why dost thou look so grave? Is knighthood so big a bur- den chou dost groan under it?” “Come here, my lass," he said gently. “Thou art young, but day by day thy wis- dom grows, and I can trust thce. It is better thou shouldst know from my own Mps the peril this knighthood brings, than that trouble should suddenly fall and thou be_unprepared.” Drawing her closely to him he told her the story of his peeing with the king; of Lord Rippingdale; of the king's threat to levy upon his estates and to issue a writ of outlawry against him. PART It. For a moment the girl trembled, and Enderby felt her hands grow cold in his own, for she had a quick and sensitive na- ture and passionate intelligence and im- agination. “Father,” she said, pantingly, “the king would make thee outlaw, would seize upon thy estates;“*because thou wouldst not pay the price $f a-paltry knighthood!” Sud- denly her fac¥flushed, the blood.came back with a rush, and she stood upon her feet. “I woutd foliéw thee to-the world’s end rather tan that thou shouldst pay one penny for that honor. The king offered thee knighthood? Why, two hundred years before the king was born, an Enderby was Tike a knighthood! now! ‘Thou dldst rieht, thou didet rights. Her fingers clasped in eager emp! “Dost thou Mot sce, my child,” said he, “‘that gny_houf,the king’s trocps may sdr- round our house #nd take me prisoner and ‘Separate thee fram m2? I see but one thing to do; even to také thee at once from here and piace thes with thy aunt, Mistress Falkingham, in Shrewsbury.” » “Father,” the girl saidy.Sthou shalt not put me away from thee. Let the king's en’surround Enderby House, and the sol- diers and my Lord Rippingdale levy upon the estates of Enderby. Neither his maj- esty nor my Lord Rippingdale dare put a finger upon me—I would tear -thelr eyes out!” ¥ Enderby smiled half sadly at her, and answered: “The fear of a woman js one of the woret fears in this world. Booh!” So ludicrously did he imitate her own man- ner of a few, moments Lefore that humor drove away the fiush of anger from her tie and she sat upon his chalr arm and said: “But we will not part; we will stand here till the king an” Lord Rippingdale do their worst, is it not so, father?” He patted her head caressingly. “Thou sayest right, my lass; we will re- main at Enderby. Where is thy brother Garrett?” “He is gone over to Mablethorpe, but will return within the hour,” she replied. At that moment there was a sound of heofs in the courtyard. Running to the rear window of the library, Mistress Fe- licity clapped her hands and said: “Tt is he—Garrett.” Ten minutes afterward the young man tered., He, was about two years clder than his sister; that Is, seventeen. He was very. tall for his age, with dark hair and a pale, dry face, and of distinguished bear- ing. Unlike. his father, he was slim and cefully built, with po breadth or power to his shculders, but an athletic suppleness and a refinement almost womanlike. He Torben emphe king? the ting Dr ; overbearing, self-willed, was tenacious,’ mt, and also somewhat bad somewhat sile tempered. There was-excttement in his eye as he en- tered. He came straight to his father, giv- ing a nod to Mistress Felicity, who twisted her head in a demure little way as if in mockery of his !mportant manner. “Booh!—my lord duke!’ she said, almost under her breath. “Well, my son,” said Enderby, him his hand, “your face has none so cheerful a look. Hast thou no welcome for thy father?” “I am glad‘that you are home again, sir.” said young Enderby, more dutifully than cordially. There was silenee for a moment. “You do mot? ask..my:inowetti said father, eyeing him debatingly. “I have your néws, sir,” was the young man’s half sullen reply. His sister came near her father, where she could look her brother straight in the face, and her deep blue eyes fixed upon him intently. The smile almost faded from her lips, and her square chin seemed sud- denly to take on an air of seriousness and giving his strength. “Well, sir?” asked his father, “That you, sir, have refused a knight- hood of the king, that he insists upon your ‘keeping’ it; that he is about to levy uyon your estates, and that you, are outlawed from England.” ‘And what think you about the matter?* asked his father. “I think tt is a gentleman's duty to take the kiag’s gifts without question,” answer- eduthesyoung-tian, Mt i Balen) “Whether ‘the king be just or not, eh? Where 'woutd England “have "Héen, “my son, if the barons had submitted to King John? ‘Where would the Endérbys have been ha@ they not withstood the purposes of Queen Mury? Come, come, the king has a chance to prove himself as John Enderby has Proven himself. Midst other news, heard you not that last night I led a dozen gen- tlemen to the rescue of the king?” “Twas said in the village that his maj- esty would remove his interdict and make you a baron, sir, if you met his levy for the knighthood.” “That I shall never do! Answer me, my son, do you stand with the king or with your father in this?” “I am an Enderby,” answered the youth, moodtly “and I stand with the head of cur ise.”” That ight as candles were. being, light- ed, three score of the king’s men, headed by Lord Rippingdale, placed themselves be- fcre the house, and an officer was sent forward to summon forth John Enderby. Enderby had guthered his men together, and they were posted for defense at the doorways and entrances, and along the battlements. The windows were all heav- ily shuttered and barred. The young officer commissioned to de- mand an interview with Enderby came forward and knocked at the great entrance door. It opened presently and showed with- in the hallway a dozen men well armed. Enderby came forward to meet him. “I am Sir Richard Mowbray,” said the newcomer. “I.am sent by Lord Ripping- dale, who arrives on a mission from his majesty.” Enderby, recognizing his visitor, mild in his reply. “Sir Richard Mowbray, I pray you tell Lord Rippingdale that he is welcome—as commissioner of the king.’ Mowbray smiled and bowed. “My lord begs me to ask that you will ccme forth and speak with him, Sir John?” “My compliments to Lord Rippingdale, Sir Richard, and say that I can better en- tertain iis majesty’s commissioner within my own OEE ren “And all who wait with him?” asked the young offfter, with a dry sort of sinile. “My lord and hig officers and gentlemen, but not his troo; Mowbray bowed,‘and ag he liftea his head agait he saw the face of Mistress Fellcity jJooking thr € doorway of the li- rary. Their; ¢) met. On a sudden a new impuls to his thoughts. by,” said he, “I know ‘an you are, and I think I know th : ou feel. But, as one gentleman ‘other, permit me @ word of counsel. Y’fwere better to humor my Lord .Rippingfale ‘énd to yield up to the king’s demas than to lose all. Lack of money and ¢@tate;that is hard enough on a single may like me, but with a gentleman who has thd care of a daughter, perhaps” —his look in met. the young lady's face ~“the casé is harder. A little yielding on your part—’ 2% *% will apt iia ‘was Enderby’s reply. ywhray, bowed onge,.more, and retired withe it more speaking. oy In a few, moments he returned, Lord Rip- pingdale with him. The entrance doors were once more opened «and my lord, in a temper, at once began: “You press your courtesies too far, Sir John Enderby.” “Less strenuously than the gentlemen of the road pressed their discourtesies upon Hee phe and yourself last night, my lord.”” “Iam come upon that businéss. For your bravery and loyalty, if you will accept the knighthood, and pay the sum set as the courtesy for the patent, his majesty will welcome you at court and raise you to a barony. But his majesty must see that his dignity be not injured.” “The. king may have my life and all my goods as a gift, but I will not give either by these. indirect means. -It does not lie in ® poor squire like me to offend the king’s dignity.” “You are resolved?” “I am _ resolved,” answered Enderby, stubbornly. “Then you must bear the consequences, and yield up your estates and person into my hands. Yourself and your family are under arrest, to be dealt with hereafter as his majesty sees fit.” “I will not- yield up my estates, nor my person, nor my son and daughter, of my free will.” With an incredulous smile Rippingdale Was about to leave and enter upon a siege of the house, when he saw young Ender- by, and caught a strange look in his face. . “Young gentleman,” said he, “are you a cipher in this game? A barony hangs on this. Are you as stubborn and unruly as the head of your house?” Garrett Enderby made no reply, but turn-| 4 Sight im a Maine Pond Which De- | The ed and walked into the library, his father's and sister’s eyes following him in doubt and dismay, for the chance was his at that moment to prove himself. 3 A moment afterward Lord Rippingdale was placing his men to attack the house, disposing of some to secure a timber to “I am Sir Richard Mowbray.” batter in the door, and of others to make assaults upon the rear of the building. En- derby had placed his men advantageously to resist attack, giving the defense of the rear of the house to his son. Mistress Felicity he had sent to an upper room in the care of ker aunt. Presently the king’s men began the ac- tion, firing wherever a figure showed itself, and carrying a log to batter in the en- trance door. Enderby’s men did good work, bringing down four of the besiegers at the first volley. Those who carried the log hesitated for & moment, and Enderby called gncourag- ingly to his men. At this exciting moment, while calling to his men, he saw what struck him dumb— his son hurrying forward with a flag of truce to Lord Rippingdaie! Instantly my lord commanded his men to retire. “My God!” said Sir John, with a groan, “my son—my only son!—a traitor!” And turning to his men he bade them cease firing. Throwing open the entrance doors he stood upon the steps and waited for Lord Rippingdale. “You see, Sir John Enderby, your son—” began my lord. “It was to maintain my rights, and for ™my son’s sake and my daughter's that I resisted the command of the king,” inter- rupted the distressed and dishonored gen- tleman, “but now—" “But now you yield?” He inclined his head, then looking down to the place where his son stood, he said: “My son—my only son!” And his eyes filled with tears. His distress was so moving that even my lord was constrained to say: “He did it for your sake. His majesty will” With a gesture of despair Enderby turn- ed and entered the house and passed into the library, where he found his daughter. Pale and tearful she threw herself into his arms. At 11 o'clock that night as they sat in the same room, while Lord Rippingdale and his officers supped in the dining room, Sir Richard Mowbray hurriedly entered. “Come quickly,” said he, “the way is ciear—here by this window—the sentinels are drunk! You will find horses by the gate of the grape garden, and two of your serving men mounted. They will take you to a hiding place on the coast—I have in- structed them.”” : As he talked he helped them through the window, und bade them good-bye hurriedly, Lut he did not let Mistress Fe hand “Come quickly,” said he, “the way is clear. drop till he had kissed it and wished her a whispered Gods; When they had gone he listened for a time, but hearing no sound of surprise or discovery he returned to the supper room, where Garrett Enderby sat drinking with Lord Rippingdale and the cavaliers. (To be corcluded April 11.) ———+oe______ Written for The Evening Star. The Monroe Doctrine. By Hosea Bigelow, Jr. Alr: Yankee Doodle. Says Jonathan, says he ter John, have this Yankee notion, You'd better keep the other side Of the Atlantic ocean. We've had a tussle with you twice, And do not care for fighting, Hopecially with relatives, Just at this present writing. “But, then, if you should still insist, And want ter try conclurions, ‘We'll give the lion's tall a twist, And scatter his delusions. And first, this statement would we make, Just as a sort of fecler: You'll stop your pest’ring little girls, ‘Ter wit: Venezuela! “She has a right ter her own things, She has a right ter freedom; Her brood of eagle-birls ter breed, ‘To nurse “em and ter feed "em. She has a right ter keep her school, And call it what she’s mind ter, And you shan't go 8 tagging round, John Bullying behind her." Chorus Says Jonathan, says he ter John, “I have this Yankee notion: You'd better keep the other side Of the Atlantic ocean.” —— The Hollander and His Pipe. From the New York Times. The custom of smoking is so prevalent in Holland that a genuine Dutch boor, instead of describing distances between places by miles ov hours, will say a town or hours is so many pipes away. Thus a man may reach Delft from Rotterdam in four pipes, but if he go to The Hague he will consume seven pipes during the journey. All Dutch- men of the lower class, and not a few in the higher walks of life, carry in their pockets all the requisites fér smoking—aa enormous box holding at least half a pound of tobacco, a pipe of clay or ivory (accord- ing to inclination or means), instruments to cleanse it, & pricker to remove obstructions the stem, a cover of brass to prevent the sparks or ashes from fiying about, and e bountiful supply of matches. A Dutch- man in Holland without a pipe would be a Yara avis—and such pipes! Some of them are of an antiquity which entitles them to veneration, but certainly not to respect, and so monstrous in size that as weapons of offense or defense they would certainly Prove formidable. A Texas View. From Texas Sifter. An agricultural exchange asks: “How can we prevent cider from working?” You might get it a government position, APRIL 4, 1896-TWENTY-SIX PAGES. Highest of all-in Leavening Power.— Latest U.S. Gov't Report Royal Baki Powder ABSOLUTELY PURE CARIBOU IN A HERD. lghted the Hunters. From the New York Sun. “I was trout fishing early one summer up in Scmerset county, Me.,” said a New York sportsman. “My camp was on the shore of one of the many small lakes that sbound in that part of the state. One evening, just at sunset, my guide came in, all a-quiver with excitement. If you want to se2 something that neither you nor any other man will ever be likely to gee again,” said he, ‘just sneak down to the pond with me.” “I crept stealthily in his wake down through the thick timber to the edge of the lake. It was still light enough at the upper end of the lake, where we were camped, and which was not in the shadow of the hills, for us to see plainly a quarter of a mile alcng the margin of the water. The guide cautiously parted the dense growth of young birches that fringed the edge of the lake on that side. “Look yonder!’ he whispered. “I looked and my heart almost jamped out of my mouth. The sight was almost past believing. All along the upper shore of the lake, standing belly deep among the lily pods, in various attitudes of grace and statelincss, the water was alive wiih cari- bou.. Magnificently antiered bulls stamped and snorted and tossed their kingly heads among meek-faced cows, while in and out among them sporied a drove of velvet- coated. calves. “We counted fifty-seven bulis and cows, and almost every cow had ‘® proprietary interest in at least one calf. We watched this remarkable congregation of caribou in silence—the rignt being too much for speech—until the shadows of evening began drawing deeply about them, and we cou'd have seen them only dimly a few minutes later. Then my guide whis- pered: “We'll pull on ‘em just once, anyhow, and see how many we can drop.” “Selecting each of us a big bull, we fired. A terriied chorus of snorts followed the discharge of the guns. There was a sound of water in great commotion for a inc- ment, and the next instant the woods were filled With the crashing of the flying herd through the thick brush. My guide and I sent the contents of our second berrels after the caribou as they rushed in a con- fused and thickly bunched mass from the water. In less time than it takes to tell all wes as quiet as if nothing had occurred to disturb the solitude of the great wilde: ress. In the water, their huge hulks sho’ ing above the broad mat of lily pads, lay the dead bodies of the two old bulls we had lected as our first targets. On the edge of the lake, one with his head in the water and his flanks stretched on the shore, and the other with his antlers lifted high on land, his hind parts buried among the lilies, lay two other bulls, the victims of the two chance shots that followed the herd in its flight. “I've seen a good many caribou in my the guide—who was Nat Moore, time Maine's greatest caribou “but the natural history of Maine never calculated on me or any one else ever getting in among such a congregation of *em_as that was.’ “Two or three seasons after that thirty caribou came into that same iake while Nat was there. He shot one, and expected to see the rest of the herd dash instantly away into the wcods. To the old guide's surprise, Instead of the rest scampering away, they seemed to be panic stricken, and huddled together in the pond, snorting and splashing the water about. It wasn’t until Nat kad shot and killed seven of the drove that the survivors recovered their wits and removed themselves without any more ado cut of the reach of his deadly aim. This was twenty years ago. I have been on those Maine waters every year, alnost, since then. and have never seen but three caribou thére in all that time, and ti Is last year, killing one, HOW TO THREAT BURN: A Berlia Physician Introduces 2 New Remedy in the Application of ‘Thiol. From Current Literature. According to a Bertin ph: highly approved as an applic treatment of burns in all lezices Phe first step is to wash the surface with a very weak solution of corrosive sublimate, then remove whatever cuticle hangs loose, taking care not to break any blisters that are whole. The burn is dusted with pow- dered boric acid, then the entire burned surface and a considerable portion of the healthy skin around it are painted with a solution of equal parts of thiol and water, then a layer of g¥eased cotton is kept in place with a bandage. This is undoubtedly a very scientific way to handle a burn, but for the masses of people, many of whom I:ve some distance from drug stores and sloctors, there is noth- ing better than the old-time application of pure lard and flour. It is well worth while tor every housekeeper to buy some pounds of pure leaf lard, render :t with the utmost care and put it while piping hot into pots or bottles that may be hermetically sealed. A cupful of lard, mixed with flour, to form a soft paste, may be applied to a burn without loss of time. The experience of years has deronstrated that if this appli- cation is followed up there will be neither scar nor irritation following the healing of the injured part. —_- see. The Dear Creatures. From the Wilmington Del.) Star. “Oh, yes, my husband has been a col- lector of curios and such things for a num- ber of years.” “Was he in that business when he mar- ried you?” “Yes, indeed.” “I thought so.” ——— THE \FLYING DUTCHMAN. Mirage Probably the Origin of the Well-Known Sen Story. From the 8t. Louis Republic. The atmosphere in the vicinity of the Cape of Good Hope has that peculiar power of unequal reffaction which produces the spectral mirages so well known to the early settlers on the great plains and to all travelers and explorers in desert re- gions. This unequal blending of the rays of the ligat gives rise to what are known as “spectral loomings,” by which is meant the apparent suspension of ships and other objects in midair. The peculiar properties of the atmosphere over that portion of the ocean mentioned have been known since men first “rounded the cape” in their voyages from western Europe to the In- dies, and the regular appearance of the mirage at that point is responsible for the legend of the * Ship,” otherwise known as the “Flying Dutchman.” According to the story, a Dutch captain, homeward bound from the East Indies, met with long-continued bad weather while trying to “round the cape.” This feries of squalls was coupled with other circumstances which made “turning the cape” next to impossible. The wind was “dead ahead” and the weather was dark and foggy. At the time when the brave little Dutch captain was making a final effort to get off in a northwesterly direc- tion, and was about to make a failure of ft, the mate and the sailors advised him to turn back and seek shelter in a neigh- boring harbor until the gale was over. But this he refused to do, swearing that he intended to “turn the cape” if he had to beat back and forth along that shore until the day of judgment. For this burst of Profanity, so the tradition says, he was doomed to steer against the blustery winds forever. The sails of his ship, so those who believe in the legend say, have become bleached with age, and {ts sides and bot- tom worm-eaten and jecayed in the long struggle which has ever since been kept up between the cursed vessel and the ele- ments. The little Dutch captain and his crew, like all persons living under a spell, continue to exist, knowing their condit:on, but unable to help themselves. Ship cap- tains who have sighted the doomed vessel time and again during the past cen- tury and a half report that the crew of the cursed Dutch vessel appear to be living skeletors. Yet they continue to live un- der the blighting eff2:ts of what was brought on by their master’s rashness. They cannot lower a boat they are so Weak. Yet they occasionally hail passing vessels, imploring to be rescued from their awful fate. Such is the story of the “Flying Dutch- man,” which, no doubt, originated through ignorant, superstitious sailors viewing the mirage in awe-stricken terror. ——+o-+—____ COLOR OF WOMEN’S EYEs. The Mere Question of Pigment Hae Settled Many a Man’s Fate. From the Tadies’ Home Journal. . Did you ever notice that men always instinctively put confidence in a girl with blue eyes, and have their suspicions of the girl with brilliant biack ones, and will you kindly tell me why? Is it that the impid blue eye, transparent and gentle, Suggests all the soft, womanly virtues, and ‘because he thinks he can see through it, clecr down into that blue-eyed girl's soul, that she is the kind of girl he fancies she is? I think it is, but some of the ereatest little frauds I know are the purry, kitteny, girls with big innocent blue eyes. Blazing black eyes, ind the rich, warm colors which dark-skinned women have to wear suggest energy and brilliance and no end of intellect. Men look into such eyes and seem not to be able to see beiow the sur- face. They have not the pleasure of a long, deep gaze into immeasurable depihs. And so they think her designing and clever, and, perhaps (God save the mark!), even intellectual, when, perhaps, she has a wealth of love and devotion and he stored up behind that impulsive dispos: and those dazzling black eves, which ud do ard dare more in a minute for some man she had set that great heart of hers upon, than your cool-blooded, tranquil blonde would do in forty years. A mere question of pigment in the eye has wae | many @ man's fate in life, and establish him with a wife who turned out to be very different from the girl he fondly thought he was getting. A Defense Against German Bands, From the Philadelphia Record. A German band composed of four piecer stopped in front of a Norris street saloon yesterday afternoon and started to play “Annie Rooney.” A crowd of urchins, at- tracted by the music, soon gathered around the musicians. Then a mischievous-looking boy aPpeared on the scene sucking a large iemon, He waited until the band was the midst of the tune, and then he pumncned through the crowd, and, standing in thq midet of the musicians, started to suck lemon with all his might and main. T! effect was instentaneous, the sounds issue ing from the brass instruments becam€ feeble, and at last they ceased altogether, and the four Germans, whose mouths wer dripping moisture and all puckered up, made a break for the little fellow, threat« ening him with terrible punishment. The little fellow made his way through thq crowd, however, and soon showed the four Germans a clean pair of heels. o-—_—___ His Meaning. From the Pittsburg Chronicle-Telegraph. Bellefield—“What did you mean by saying that Spiffins was a man of rare intelli« gence? That isn’t the way In which he ig usually regarded.” Bloomfield—“I mean that his gleams of intelligence are so far apart as to be very Benevolent Old Gentleman—‘NXow, then, little boy, that little girl? Don’t you know it’s verycruel?” Rude Little Boy—"Garn! Wot's the trouble? She's my swectheart!"—Punch, what do you mean by bullying