Evening Star Newspaper, January 16, 1897, Page 17

MOON WONG ESTES ESESESESE Written for The E Chapter XVI—C Saturday Star. From Last The meaning is that I am going to hear what danger my father was in yesterday, and to be with him if he is in danger to- dav” The help! good woman held up her hands in ss dismay. Was ever human being, anxious to do her duty to all, harassed by two such ungovernable persons since the world began? she asked herself. But for once she made exactly the remark to cope with the situation. “The time has come sooner than I ex- pected. Your father has forbidden you to go to the office, and when he sees that you have disobeyed him at such a time as this he will furfous. Then you will know what I have to stand. The impetuous girl paused in her prep- arations. “Then why do you exasperate me beyond endurance by refusing to tell me what hap- pened?” “I refuse! I refuse you nothing. Better would it have been for me if I had when you were younger; then you would think twice before you flung all obedience to the winds. You have only to ask what you want to know, and listen with patience while it is told to you.” have asked you a dozen times.” “How you do exaggerate! I call it exag- eration, although I might, perhaps, be for- given for using a harsher term. Exacti- tude of statement is more—” Will you tell me, or shall I go?” “Have I not just said that I will tell you anything? What is it you want to know? Your own ridiculous conduct has driven everything out of my head.” “You said my father had defied the men, and was in danger yesterday.” “Oh, that! After seeing the police guard Mr. Hope and Mr. Monkton through the lawless mob, what must your father do but show how brave he was compared with his superiors. He came out of the gates alone, and walked through the mob.” “What did he sa: “He didn't say anything.” ‘Then how did he defy the men?” ood gracious, child, how stupid you are! When men are driven to extremiiles, surely his coming out among them—and he the cause of it all—was defiance enough. But a full account fs in the paper I bought at the station; it is on the hail table, where you would have seen it if you could have kept your temper. Read it if you want io. It is not me you are disobeying when you do so. Remember, it was your father who did not want you to see the pape: he day proved a long one to Edna Sart- be well, and when her father did not return at the usual hour she became more and more anxious. Her stepmother said noth- ing about the delay as the hours passed, but began to assume that air of patient resignation which became ner so well. Din- ner rved to the minute, and at the ac moment the table was cleared. or twic chided egrette for her don’t wish to ask you twice, Edna. You heard what I said.’ “Please do not send me away until father comes. I am so anxious! Let me sit up in- stead of you. I can’t sleep if I do go to | bed. Won't you let me sit up in your | ace } te martyred look came into the thin face of her stepmother—the look which told of trials uncomplainingly borne. i “I have always sat up for your father, and always shall, so long as we are spared to each other. For the third time I ask you to go to bed.” The sat where she was, the red flag of rebellion in her cheek. ‘The glint of suppressed anger in Mrs. Sartwell's eye showed th point had been reached where one the other of them had to leave the room defeated. The elder woman exhibited her forbearance by speak- & in the same level tone throughout. > you intend to obey me, Edna?” No, I do not.” Sartwell went on with her se-ving, rs @ little straighter in the back, perhaps, ut not otherwise visibly disturbed by the unjustifiable conduct of the girl. In each ter Edna’s prompt replies there for a few moments. rlier part of the ¢ Edna, yourself to speak to me and | rd me in a manner which I hoped | regret when opportunity for | ‘The Girl Sat Down on a Hassock and Laid Her Head on Her Father's Knee. reflect was given. I expected some expression of contrition from you. Have you reflected, Edna? Yes Mrs. artwell threaded her needle with almost excessive deliberation. ‘And what has been the result?” T r than I did.” « of the tall clock on the land- hoed through the house. Edna list- d intently for a quick, firm step on the THE MUTABLE MANY, BY ROBERT BARR. s (Copyright, 1896, by Robert Barr.) ON OMON DOE DOW WOW OWOWOWD) we kee Koes ESC SESCSOIOLES CS) gravel, but all outside was silent. Added to your—if I use the word inso- lence it Is because I can think of no other term with which to characterize the re- marks you haye addressed to me—added to your insolence is now disobedience. If I ating the case no one can be more than I to be corrected, in the to correct you,” or nipping thread with her teeth drawing a deep, wavering sigh, Mra, said every household, Edna, some one ommand and others ol When 1 shall gladly lay down the of what poor authority is delegated to me. but until that time comes I shall be mistress in my own house. Your father freely and of his own choice gave me that authority, and he, not you, is the proper person to revoke it, if It pleases him to do go. I shall therefore say nothing more Until he retu Then he must choose be- tween us. If you are to be mistress here I shall bow my head without a word and leave this house, praying that peace and eve! blessing may remain within it.” Something of the self-sacrificing resigna- tion breathing through these measured Words must have touched the hardened heart of the girl, for she buried her face in her hands and began to weep—a certain wign of defeat. But she evident deter- Mined not to give her antagonist the satis- faction fairly wor by so admirable a dis- sertation upon the correct conduct of a well-ordered household. “It is always poor father,” she sobbed. “With all the trouble and anxiety already on his mind, he must be worried when he comes home by our miserable squabbles.” “I never squabble, Edna. Neither do I ever use such an undignified word. Where you got it I'm sure I do not know, but it was not from me. If you wish your father not to be troubled, then you should act so that it would not be necessary to appeal to him. It is no wish of mine to add to his cares—far otherwise. Are you ready to obey me now?” “Yes.” The girl rose and went rather uncertain- ly to the door, her eyes filled with tears. “You have not kissed me good night, Edna.” She kissed her stepmother on the cheek and went to her room, flinging herself, dressed as she was, on her bed, sobbing. Yet she listened for that step on the gravel which did not come. At last she rose, ar- ranged her hair for the night, and bathed her face, so that her father, if he came home and saw her, should not know she had been crying. Wrapping herself in her dressing gown, she sat by the window and listened intently and anxiously. It was after midnight when the last train came in, and some minutes later her quick ear heard the long-expected step far down the street, but it was not the quick, nervous tread she was accustomed to. It was the step of a tired man. She thought of softly calling to him from the window, but did not. Holding her door ajar, she heard the murmur of her stepmother’s voice, and oc- casionally the shorter, gruffer note of her father’s evidently monosyllabic replies. After what seemed an interminable time, her stepmother came up alone, and the door of her room closed. Edna, holding her breath, slipped noise- lessly out of her room and down the stairs. “STARVED TO DEATH,” REPLIED THE “and what is to be done now? “Oh, we are just where we were. I'll wait a. few dave jpoca:-and the do not come baci iy i tate Hacet Ww a hew fet. Edo! sr do that except as a it resort, but’ lt won't be with very much longer. No ae you know all about ‘it, so to to bed at o1 and sleep soundly. be allowed, you know.” He kissed her and ately on the shouldet. The girl, with a guilty feeling in her heart, crept upstairs as noiselessly aS she had descended. Chapter XVII. Albert Langly found a new and absorb- ing interest in life. This interest was friendship, the pleasures of which the or- ganist had never before experienced during his lonely and studious existence. He be- came a constant visitor at Braunt’s rooms, and began teaching Jessie the rudiments of music, finding her a willing and apt pupil as well as a very silent one. Her gaunt face and large sorrowful eyes haunt- ed him wherever he went, while she looked upon him with an awe such as,she would have bestowed upon a being from another world, which, perhaps, he was, for he cer- tainly had little relationship with this eager, money-seeking planet. Joe Braunt was quite content to sit in his armchair and smoke. However small the money is for the housekeeping a workingman will generally contrive to provide himself with tobacco. As often as not Braunt was absent when his daughter had her music lesson, for Mrs. Grundy has little to say about the domestic arrangements of the extreme poor. The entire absence of all world wis- dom in the young man would have made it difficult for any one to explain to him why two people who loved music should not be together as often as opportunity offered, had there been any one who took interest enough in him or in her to attempt such an explanation. The girl, who had even more than her father’s worship of har- mony, was fascinated by the organist’s marvelous skill upon the instrument to which he had devoted his Nfe, before her solemn eyes had lured his musical soul into their mystic influence. The two were lov- ers without either of them suspecting it. Once Langly persuaded Braunt And his daughter to go to the empty church with him and hear the grand organ. The work- man and the girl sat together in the wilder- ness of vacant pews, and listened en- tranced while the somber rhythm of the “Dead March” filled the deserted edifice. Langly played one selection after another, for the love of the music and the love of his audience. It was a concert such ar the mad King of Bavaria might have lon cannot tted her affection- JURYMAN, The steps were kind to her, and did not creak. She opened the door of the dining room, and appeared as silently as if she were a ghost. Her father started from his chair, and it required all his habitual self- nd to repress the exclamation that to his lips. ‘Heaven help us, my dearest girl; do you want to frighten your old fat out of what little wits he has ieft kim?” he whis- pered. “Why aren't you asleep? She gently closed the door, then ran to him and threw her arms about his neck. “Oh, father, are you safe? You are not hurt?” “Hurt! Why, what would hurt me, ycu silly baby?” He ruffled her hair, pulling it over her eyes. “You've been dreaming; I believe you are talking in your sleep now. Why are you not in bed?” “I couldn’t sleep till you came home. What kept you so late, father?” “Now, this is more than the law requires of aman. Have I to make explanations to two women every night I come home by the late train?” The girl sat down on a hassock, and laid her head on her father’s knee, he smooth- ing her hair caressingly. “What is all this pother about, Edna? Why are you so anxious at my being Gut late?” “I was afraid you were in danger; I read what was said in the paper about your de- fying the men, and—and— Sartwell laughed quietly. “My dear girl, if you are going to begin life by believing all you see in the papers, you will have an uneasy time of it. I can tell you something much more startling which has not yet appeared in print.” “What is that, father?” asked the girl, oking up at him. “That you have been a most unruly child all day, causing deep anxiety to those re- sponsible for your upbringing.” Edna sank her head ag: father’s knee. she said, “that is quite true. have been dreadfully wicked and rebelli saying things I ought not to have said.” “And leaving unsaid the things—ah, well, none of us are quite perfect. It is a bless- ing there is such a thing as forgiveness of sins, otherwise, most of us would come badly off.” ‘Somehow, when you are here, nothing seems to matter, and any worries of the day appear small and trivial, and I wonder why they troubled me, but when you are away—well, it's different altogether.” “That is very flattering to me, Edna, but you musn’t imagine I'm to be cajoled into omitting the scolding you know you de- serve. No, I can see through your diplo- It won't do, my dear girl, it won't upon her It isn’t diplomacy or flattery; it’s true. rl take my scolding inost meekly if you tell me what happened today.” “I refuse to bargain with a confessed rebel. Still, as I must get you off to bed before morning, I will tell you what hap- pened. An attempt was made to settle the strike today. The men had a meeting to- night, and I waited at my club to hear the outecme. I had a man at the meeting who was to bring me the result of the vote as soon as it was taken. A young man—one of the strikers, but the only man of brains among them—saw me this afternoon, and made certain proposals that I accepted. Gibbons was to be renounced and a deputa- tion of the men was to come to me. We should probably have settled the matter in ten minutes, if it had come off.” “Then he failed, after all his trouble?” “Who failed?” “The—the young man you speak of.” Edna found her rele of deceiver a difficult one. She was glad her father could not see her face, and bitterly regretted giving Marsten a promise not to tell of his visit. “Yes, he failed. Of course, there was not tme to canvass the men properly, and at the meeting Gibbons, who is a glib talker, won over enough to defeat the efforts of the others. Ii wasn't much of a victory, but sufficient for the purpose. They had, I un- derstand, a very stormy meeting, and Gib- bons won by some dozen votes or therea- ute?” hearkened to in lonely state, but heard now by a man without a penny in his pocket and hardly a crust to eat in his squalid rooms. Whether the deft fingers of the Bavarian player soothed for the moment the demon that tortured the king, as the skill of David lulled the disquiet of Saul, who can say? But the enchanted touch of the solitary organist on the ivory keys transported his lsteners into a world where hunger was unknown. The stillness of the great church, untrou- bled by outside sounds; the reverberation of harmony from the dim, lofty, vaulted roof; the awakening of unexpected echoes lurking in dark corners, added to the sol- emnity of the music, gave the hearers and performer a sense of being cut adrift from the babel beyond. The church for the time being was an oasis of peace in a vast des- ert of turmoil. Never again could Langly persuade Braunt to accompany him to the church. Some memaries are too precious to be mo- lested, and he who risks the repetition of an experience of perfect bliss prepares for himself a possible disillusion. “Nay, my lad,” he said, “we'll let that rest. Some day, maybe, if I'm ever like beginning to forget what I’ve heard, I'll go beck, but not now. I would go stark mu- sic-mad if I often heard playing like yon; in fact, I think scmetimes I'm half daft al- ready.” i But Jessie often accompanied the organ- ist to the quiet church, neither of them thinking of propriety or impropriety; and, luckily, they were unseen by either the sex- ton or his wife, who would have raised a to-do in the sacred interests of fitting and proper conduct. Sometimes the girl sat with him in the organ loft, watching him as he played, but more often she occupied one of the pews, the better to hear the in- strument in eorrect perspective. Jessie had inherited from her father the taciturnity which characterized him, and her natural reticence was augmented by her shyness. There was seldom any conversation be- tween the two in the church; each appear- ed abundantly satisfied by the fact that the other was there. They might almost have been mute lovers, for any use spoken language was to them. Once, on comirg down the narrow stair which led from the organ loft, Langly thought she had gone, so strangely desert- ed did the church seem. Even in the day time the gas had to be lighted when serv- ice was held, for the windows were of stained glass, and the church was closely surrounded by tall buildings. The atmos- Phere in that grim quarter was rarely clear, and the interior of the church was always dim. Langly peered shortsightedly through the gloom, but could not descry her. A feeling of vague alarm took posses- sicn of him, until, hurrying up the aisle, ne saw she was in her place, with her head resting cn the hymn book board of the pew, apparently asleep. He touched her gently on the shoulder, and, when she slowly raised her head, saw that she had been silently weeping. “What is the matter, dear?” he whisper- ed, bending over her. “I feel afraid—afraid of something--I don’t know what. The church grew black dark suddenly, and the music faded away. I thovght I was sinking, sinking down, and no one to save me.” She shuddered as she spoke, and rose uncertainly to her feet, tottering slightly on stepping into the aisle. “It was like a bad dream,” she added, with long-Grawn, quivering breath. He slipped his arm about her waist, sup- poe her as they walked down the aisle ogether, “It's the darkness of the church,” he said, “and perhaps the sadness of music. Til play something more cheerful next time you come I play too much in the minor keys.’ At the door she asked him to stop a mo- ment before going out. She dried her eyes, but ineffectually; for, leaning against the stone wall, she began to cry again in a despondent, helpless way that wrung the young man’s heart within him. “Jeasie, Jessie,” he faitered, not knowing what to do or say. “I feel ill and weak,” she sobbed. shall be all right again presently.” coy i dll i THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, JANUARY 16, 1897-94 'PaG#s. “Come and. we will have tea somewhere. That will cheer you up. They went away to gether, and he took her to a place where tea_was to be had. She sat there dejectedly, leaning her head on her hand, while ¢he refreshments were being brought; he #6 her, in melan- choly silence. She took some sips of the tea, but could not frink)it, shaking her head wher he offered her the buttered bread. - “f must get home,” she said at last. “i can't eat: I shall pepetter there.” They walked slo#ly to Rose Garden court, and at No. 3 he helped her up the sordid stair, she clifging breathlessly to the shaky rail at every step or two, he thankful there was Dut one flight to climb. Braunt sat in his armchair, an angry cloud on his brow. He mann his gruffest mood, looking at them wi! théy entered with surly displeasure, but he said nothing. it was the evening after’the men, with their small majority, had, resolved to continue the strike, and Braunt pipe was cold. Not another scrap of tobacco could be gathered, although he had turned out every pocket in hope of finding a crumb or two. Jessie sank into a chair, her white face turning appealingly, alternately frcm her father to her frierid, evidently fearing at something harsh might be said, for she knew her father was rough spoken when ill pleased. “Jessie is not well,” said the organist. Braunt did not answer him, but croseed over to his daughter, and, smoothing her hair, said more gently tian she expected: “What's wrong, lassie? Art hungry?” “No, no,” murmured the girl, eagerly. “We had tea before we came in. I’m not Langly, slow as he was to comprehend, saw that Braunt, at least, had been witn- out food, perhaps for long. He had sev- eral times offered him money from his cwn seanty store, but it had always been re- fused, sometimes In a manner not alto- gether friendly. The organist went quict- ly out, leaving father and daughter alone together. “Would you like me to get some one to come in—some woman?” said Braunt, anx- ‘We don’t know our neighbors, but would come in if she knew you were Ill. The girl shook her head. “I want none—naught but just to rest a little. It will all pass away soon. I need but resi.” The father returned to his chair, and they sat silent in the gathering darkness. Presently the door was pushed open, and Langly entered with parcels in his arms. He placed a loaf on the table with the rest of his burdens, and put on the cmpty hearth the newspaper, that held a penny- werth of coals. Braunt glared at him, speechless for a moment; then cried out, indignantly: “I'll ha’ none o’ thy charity, my lad, d—d if 1 will!” Before Langly could reply, tremblingly to her feet. “Don’t, father, don’t,” she wailed; then, swaying as she attempted to walk toward him, she fell suddenly in a heap on the floor. Langly sprang forward, but Braunt brushed him roughly aside, and, stooping over his daughter, lifted her light form in his arms, speaking soothingly and caress- ingly to her. He carried her to the bed and placed her lovingly upon it. “Run!” he cried to Langly. “Run for a doctor. There's one down Light street. There’s something main wrong here, I'm feared.” ‘The young man needed no second telling. The doctor objected to go to Rose Garden court; he had his own patients to attend to, id. He knew there was little to be got out of the court. “I am organist at Jessie rose Martyr's,” replied the messenger, eagerly. “I will see you paid.”” “Oh, its not that,” said the doctor. “Who generally attends to people in the court? There must be some one. “I don’t know,” answered Langly, have no time to find out. gent. Come!” So the doctor, grunybling+for this kind of practice was out of his line—went with him. « They found Braunt-anxiots!y chafing the hands of the girl. “You've been long about it, they entered. 3 Neither answered, and the doctor went quickly to the bed, with thé seemingly cal- “and I ‘The case is ur- he cried, as lous indifference of @ man’ to whom such { Scenes are matters of hourly routine. He placed his fingers upon her wrist, bent Fis ear down to her breast, thén put his hand on her smooth, white brow, “Has she been long ffl?” he asked, sharply. “Jessie was alway® weakly,” the father, “Oh, well, you know, I can’t grant a death certificate under these circumstances. There will most likely be an inquest.” “Good God!” shrieked Braunt. “An in- quest! You don’t mean to s@ay—you can't mean it!—Jessie is not dead?” Yes, she is dead. I can do no good here. I'll let the coroner know, and he can do as he pleases. I have no doubt it is all right, but we are bound to act according to the law, you know. Good night!” Braunt threw himself upon the bed in a storm of grief; Langly stood by the side of the dead girl, stunned. He took her limp, thin hand in his, and gazed down upon her, dazed and tearless. Her father rose and paced the room, alternately pleading with fate and cursing it. Suddenly he turned on Langly like a madman. “What are you doing here?” he roared. “It was your interference that caused her last words to be troubled. Get you gone and leave-us alone.” Langly turred from the bed and walked slowly to the door without a word, Braunt following him with his lowering, bloodshot eyes. The young man paused irresolutely at the door, leaned his arm against it and bowed his head in hopeless anguish. “Heaven help me!” he said, despairingly, “I loved her, too.” Braunt looked at him a_ moment, comprehending at first. Gradually anger faded from his face. “Did you so, lad?" he said, gently, at last. “I didn’t know—I didn’t know. For- give me my brutish temper. God knows it should be broken by this time. I’m crazy, lad, and know not what I say. I have not a penny piece in the world, nor where to go to get aught. My lassie shall not have a pauper’s funeral in this heartless town. No, not if I have to take her in my arms as I ha’ oft done, and trudge wi’ her to the north, sleeping under the hedges by the way. Yes, that’s what I'll do. We'll be tramping to the ‘Dead March’ then. It will keep us company. We'll rest at night in the green fields under the trees, away from the smoke and din, alone together. Ah, God! I'll begin the journey now and tramp all night to be quit o’ this Babylon ere the morning.’’ “No, no,” cried Langly, catching his arm. “You mustn’t do that. You must hear what the coroner says.” “What has the coroner or any one else to do with-me or her?” “It is the law; you must obey it."” “What care I for the law? What's it done for either me or Jessie? I'll have no pauper funeral, law or no law.” “There won't be a pauper funeral. There are kind hearts in London, as well as in the north. Promise me you'll do nothing until I see if I can get the money.” “I promise,” said Braunt, sinking into his chair. “I doubt if I could walk far tonight, even if I tried. But leave me now, lad, and come back again later. I itant to be alone and think.” . eh Langly left the roorti, and! on the landing met Marsten, whom Ke did not know, but who he saw was about to enter. “Don't go in,” he witispéyed. “He wants to be alone.” ne) - “Is there anything Wrong?” asked Mars- ten, alarmed at the ve of'the other. not the “Yes, his daughter }¥ deaf.” “Dead! Good God! "How? An accident?” “No. She has been if for’ weeks, but no one thought of this. Yessfé died about an hour since—unexpectedly, ‘Are you a friend of his?” ; 98 “Yea.” “Then you must hefff do. Come down into* can talk.” 2 ‘me—tell me what to ‘the eOurt, where we d j in the main corridor of the post office. | queen bee, and she is valued at $10. ee we ce ee eee “Braun no » and he will n have his daughter burica “by We must get money. I but I_ have very little ‘will willing! mote I “T hi ten, “ have pi it, i seit, though I t give all I have. If it was would not ask help from any one.” ge," said Mars- get more somehow. thust lone of the men have any, or they would ivé it. Yesterday I could have gone to well; but today, unfortunately, I have quarreled with him, bitterly and irretriev- ably, I fear. Although he said nothing to ine, I can’t go to him. But there is Bar- nard Hope. Yes, he’s the man. He helped Braunt When there was trouble with the Police. I don’t like to go to Barnard Hope —fof certain reasons I don’t care to be in- debted to him. Would you mind going? He lives in Chelsea.” “No. ill do anything I can. I have pronitsed.” “Then I would go tonight if I were you. Tomorrow !s his ‘at home’ day, and there wil! be a lot of people there. It will be difficult to see him then, and we can’t wait until the day after. His address is Craigen- puttech House, Chelsea. If you fail, I will see his father, so one or other of us is sure to get the money.” : “T will go at once,” said Langly. > It was a long journey to Chelsea, and when the tired organist reached the place he found Barney had a theater party on, with a dance to follow, and would not like- ly be home that night. It was uncertain when he would return in the morning, but he would be sure to be back at 3 o'clock, as his ‘at home’ friends would begin to gather at that hour, so Barney’s servant said. The wearied man tramped back and reached Rose Garden court about mid- night. He rapped at Braunt’s door, and, receiving no answer, pushed it open after & moment's hesitation. He feared the head- strong, impatient man might, after all, have carried out his resolution, and left with his burden for the north, but he found nothing changed. Braunt sat there with his head in his hands, and gave him no greeting. “I am to have the money tomorrow,” Langly said, feeling sure it would not be refused. Braunt made no-answer, and taking one look at the silent figure on the bed, whose face seemed now like that of a little child, the young man departed as quietly as he had entered. Mrs. Scimmins met him on the stairs. She wanted to know all about it. She sald that the women of the court, when they heard of the death, had offered their help, but Braunt had acted like a brute, and had driven them away with fearful oaths. She was sure something was wrong. The coroner had been there and thought 80, too. There was to be an inquest at the Vestry Hall in the morning. A summons had been left for Langly to attend and give his evi- dence. “But I'm going to Chelsea in the morn- ing,” cried the young man, aghast. “I know nothing, except that Jessie had been “You saw her die, they say. Braunt ad- mitted that. You will have to attend the inquest, or they will send a policeman af- ter you.” Langly did not sleep that night, and was gaunt and haggard in the morning. The coroner's jury trooped up the stair, and, after looking at the dead girl, adjourned to the Vestry Hall. Langly gave his evi- dence, and leaving the room at once, hov- ered about the door, waiting for Braunt, wh) remained in the Vestry Hall. At last he came out, with white face, siaring straight ahead of nim. “What did they say?” asked Langly the other did not answer, striding t the curious crowd as if he saw not! “What was the verdict?” inquired a by- stander of one of the jurymen as he came out. “Sta ved to death,” replicd the man. (To be continued.) — soon t= CHEAP RIDING. This Queen Travels Around the World for Ten Cents. From the St. Louis Republic. “Ever see a queen and her suite travel around the world on a ten-cent postage stamp?” “No,” promptly responded the reporter as he shook hands with a man of middle age who stood at one of the writing d “Well, here is one who is about to depart on a jourrey to the Samoan Islands, and if you desire it you may see her before she go You know my pet hobby is raising fine bees, and I have frequent demands from all parts ot the world for my stock, so here, you see, I am just filling onc order.” He laid a little wooden box upon the desk. “You will notice that there are two litle circular compartments in this royal car- riage, one in which the queen is kept, and the other for her suite, and,” he con- tinued, by way of explanation, “this little plug in the center of the box is solidified, candied honey, which will furnish food to the regal party until they arrive at their destiration. “The compartments are covered with a fine wire gauze to prevent the escape of the insects. “This large one in the first compartment, the one with the delicately shaped long body and beautiful markings, is an Italian Lhave | queens valued all the way from $2 to $25. “The others in the second compartment are the suite or worker bees that will ac- company her on the trip, not only for com- pany, but also for the heat they will pro- duce to keep her comfortable on the stormy voyage over the great cold seas. “After we have the bees safely stowed away in their proper compartments we switch this little lid around and fasten it with a tiny wee the ends, and on its top surface the address of the consignee is written, the stamp is affixed, and away goes her majesty—a queen sold into slavery for the trifling sum of $10, and sent to her destination on a ten-cent stamp. ‘Seems funny, doesn’t it?” “Yes, but do you not lose many of these valuable bees by shipping them this way?” “Not at all; I have been sending out just such insects for five years past, and not a single bee has left my apiary that has not reached its destination in O. K. order, and in that time I have forwarded to and re- ceived bees from all parts of the civilized world. “Bee culture has grown so rapidly in the United States that there are few farmers now who have not a substantial apiary and who do not net a handsome income each year from the honey the bees yield, and besides the farmers there are thousands of gentlemen and ladies who are apiarists purely from the fascination the hobby af- fords.” 00 Negro Melodies in Irish Brogue. From Harper's Bazar. “My funniest experience on the home- ward trip from Southampton,” says a wo- man who has lately completely the latter, “was the singing, one evening, of negro melodies by a young Englishman who crossed with us. He convulsed his au dience, most of whom were Americans, and several southerners, not by his success, but his want of it. An Englishman imitating a southern darky is as out of place as a Scotchman at a circus. This one sang ‘Linger Longer, Lou,’ and ‘I Climbed to Hebben on tne Golden Stair,’ with a rich Trish brogue that was the more amusing because it was given with the confident air of being a perfect mimicry of a plantation singer.” A Wine Precaution From the Cleveland Leader. ‘Say, pa,” said Johnny, “TI jist heard Mrs. Billings tell Mr. Billings that ma was the man of our house. What did she mean “Here,” said Johnny’s pa, “is a quarter. Never let your mother know about this. It would be a terrible shock to her. Now | run away and play like a nice little boy.” preeeeces New An year. If for any reason get it direct from the publisher. Hb bddsddsssssdscsses Newest Thing of the This house is somewhat noted for doing things quickly. idea—and presto, the thing itself! A few days ago THE PURITAN was a conception; to-day it is a fact. This is the way we do things. It isdramatic. There is a hum about it that is an inspiration. Hurried work does not show the effect of the polishing stone ; but to be alive-- a tangible fact—with imperfections, is better than to be a The Puritan is here—this is the concrete fact. Everybody will want this first number; you will want the first number. Initial numbers always go to a premium. ‘The Puritan is a large quarto; the price, 10 cents a month—$l a ‘our new! FRANK A. MUNSEY, Publisher, 1 asesse Year cannot supply you, you can why An Authority on Old-Time Fights, but Falled in From the Chicago Post. “So you've had a fight, have you?” sald the old man. The boy was so badly out of breath that it was a minute or two before he could get wind enough to say, “Yep,” and somehow the old man didn’t seem to regard the breathlessness as a particularly auspicious omen. “Did you lick him?” he asked. “Nit,” replied the boy, with that bril- liancy of repartee that is peculiar to boy: “I guess you didn’t follow your poor old father’s advice,” said the old man. “I sup- pose you thought you knew more about it than he ever had a chance to learn and went at the other fellow with some new- fangled uppercuts or swings or something of that sort and let him get in unger your guard while you were figuring out scientific points of some new blow. Scienc is all right, I suppose, in a fight by round where there have been all the usual pre- liminaries, but I've seen the time when a scientific fighter would get the tar licked out of him while he was getting his s-tence ready for use. Now, when I was a boy and I saw there was a fight ning on I aimed to get in first blow, “That's my way id the bo: “It is, eh?” returned the old man. “Well, I don’t see how a boy can get licked If h in on that system, unless he's too | with the first blow. I tell you when as a boy,” and the old man begen to get excited, “my aim was to swipe him first and swipe him hard. I'd just land him one over the eye or under the chin and ii would be ali over. You see, when you paste a fellow in the ear you want to| him a hot one, and then——” 1 then suppose he lands on a brick interrupted the boy. “W-what?" asked the old man, rather startled. “Suppose he lands on a brick pile when you hit him and gets up with a half a brick in each hand, what's the next move in the system that never failed when you were a boy “My boy,” said the old man severel: after a minute of thoughtful, calm consid- eration of the subject, “fighting is a bad business at best, and I am surprised that you should expect your father to give you advice that would be cure to lead you into trouble and very likely would tend toward the cultivation of a boisterous, quarrei- some disposition. Now run out and play and don’t bother me any more.” ——+o+—____ NEW YEAR IN RUSSI The Czar’s Kissing Co: et — Two Weeks of Festivities. From the New York Sun. = New Year customs in Russia are interest- ing. In the morning the princes of the im- perial family, personages of the court, functionaries of the capital, and servants of the palace come in regular order to pre- sent their homages and good wishes to the emperor, who kisses all the members of his family and all the high officials three times, according to the Russian fashion. On Easter Sunday the emperor is obliged by custom to kiss in the same manner every individual he meets, even the lowest of his subjects, the most miserable of beg- | gars. This kiss is Intended to call the Rus- sians’ attention to the fact that they are all brothers in the orthodox religion. But on New Year day the emperor gives his fraternal kiss, as we have said, to his family and the high functionaries’ tn his service only; and the people in the streets kiss each other, whether they are acquaint- ed with each othér or not. The favored ones who have been kissed by the czar are permitted to kiss the hand of the empress. The ceremony of hand kissing was sup- pressed for a time, Alexander TIT. The festivities commence on the 2ist of December and are ended on the 6th of January. During these two weeks the young people gather together to play games and to dance. On New Year day, at breakfast, dinner and supper, the guest: standing around the table, touch glasses, drink the health of the emperor and offer good wishes to each other. Masters give presents to their servants, but don’t give presents to each other, as they do on Christmas. On Christmas day, in all the families, the table is set with profusion, and hospitality is offered to everybody. In high society they drink champagne, while the common people drink brandy. At this time, also, they devote them- selves to augural practices. They throw melted lead into water, and from the fig- ures formed by the suddenly cooled metal they endeavor to make horoscopes. The young girls try to learn whether they will be married, and to know something of the face, the qualities and the fortune of their future husbands. At midnight they sit down between two mirrors, by the side of | which two candles are placed. They look into one mirror and into the other until they can see twelve lights. In this way some of the girls fancy they see in the | mirror the image of their fiance, and that gives them hope. There is also the Epiphany, the day of kings. It is the first feast of the Russian year. The blessing of water is carried on with great pomp. The emperor, preceded by the clergy of the orthodox church, pre- sided over by the Bishop of Novgorod, pro- ceeds from the winter palace to the Neva, where a wooden chapel is erected. It is surmounted by a cross, and in the interior there are paintings representing the bap- tism of Christ. A hole is made in the ice, the assistants but it was re-estab- | lished a few years ago, under the reign of | = recite the usual prayer, and in front of the altar, where there are relics and holy books, the bishop plunges the cross Into the water of the river three times. Then, with a lit- tle water, which he takes up in a precious vase, he sprinkles the assistants. In turn the people approach the hole, and each one carries away some of the holy, water. —_+o-+—____ FILLING A BULLDOG’S TEETH. With Hesitation, but Success, From the New York Son. A powerful and ferocious bulldog, owned by Dr. Ward of Scranton, Pa., enjo: the distinction of having a big gold filling in one of his incisors, and a good many citi- zens, who have caught a gleam of the gold in his mouth, wonder how the filling was | dcne. Some think it was done through hypnotic influence by the doctor over the dog, while others insist that it was through the dog's Implicit obedience to his master's | command. The bulldog’s name is Gem. He ugly in appearance as a prize winner in a | dog show. His nose is a mass of wrinkles, and his eyes have a wicked gleam for any. is as one but his master and Mrs. Ward. His affection for them, however, knows no bounds. When Gem was discove' een hi day clasping his muzzle | rolling over and over on the floor. | moaning. his mouth was examined, and it was found that there was a big cavity in one of the incisors. It was de | dentist should be consulted. found that it would be necessary to a rubber dam, and he promised to fill the | cavity provided Gem was etherized. This | was done, and the operation s consid=- ered a successful one, although Gem | dently thought otherwise. Some time af | ward the filling came out, and Gem's t, for re- ration with was worse than his fi fused to submit to another op | eth At the first sniff of the anae tic | he not only added a score of wrinkies to | those already in his nose, but showed his | teeth in so dangerous a way that the den tist refused to proceed. Dr. Ward insisted that he could make Gem stand on the table | and have the tooth filled without wincing. | The dentist was dubious about trusting his hand between the brute’s jaws, but finally consented to try. Gem was put on the table and his master steod in front of him, kept his eyes fixed on Gem's, and told him to open his mouth. Gem did'so, and a rubber dam was soon adjusted in place. The dentist set to work with the instrument of torture called a burr, and one of Gem's ears went down in a threatening way, while the other re- mained cocked. The doctor held one finger raised and kept his eyes fixed on Gem's, that never wandered from his master's gaze. The attitude of Gem's ears proved | a barometer of his sufferings, when the | burr touched a spot close to the nerve. When both ears went down the dentist knew he had gone as far as dogs’ nature would let him go. Gem's eyes never wan- dered from the doctor's In the hour and a haff the dentist was at work. Gem stood | the final polishing, and when his master | gave the word for him to get down from the table Gem danced with demonstrations of joy at his release. Since that day he has no trouble in masticating the biggest beef bone. | state | Why They Laughed. | From Judge. He was a famous pianist and his jong hair and beard were his pride and joy. They were at the theater and the scenes of the play occurred in a barber shop. Suddenly he begun to laugh heartily. “What is the matter? I see nothing funny on the stage,” she inquired. “I was just thinking,” said he, “how tho people would applaud if I should go up ea the stage and have my hair cut and ect | shaved. She was silent. Suddenly she began to laugh. “What amuses vou?” he inquired. “IL don’t see anything funny occurring.” “I was just thinking.” she said. “how foolish you would feel if the audience en- cored yi SS SS No Chinese Rate of Wages. From the Portland Oregonian. A few years ago the comparatively few Chinese in our northwest Pacific states were to be expelled because their low scale of wages and lving put our own working people at disadvantage. We all remem- ber the uproar on this subject eight or ten years ago. But now we are told by self- appointed champions of labor that the con- | ditions of our own working people, their hopes and prospects, would be improved by acceptance of the monetary and industrial systems of Japan, China and Mexico! This is the grave argument of our populist newspapers, and they find delight in print- ing statements like those of D. P. Thomp- son and others, who virtually advise the working people of this country to create by their votes such conditions here as exist in those paradises. But we cannot | find that these suggestions get much ap- plause from our working people. oe Hook and Crook. From Up-to-Date. “Falow in New York got rich last year by inventing a copper-plated glove.” “Who'd want to wear it—candidate for President when he goes on a handshaking trip’ ‘0; but there is quite a demand for it in the city. These grangers have got in the habit of sewing fish hooks in their pockets | when they go to town.” eee he es i TTT TIT TTR eal Puy cre | Ag ii : ont A LILO PIII S LAAN IASI IIIA GAIAM EIA OILS NAO S, eh rd aE AE bs Oe Hi Hi LOLI 0 LG)