Evening Star Newspaper, August 7, 1897, Page 20

20 TWO AMERICANS —_+—_—_ BY BRFT HARTE. ————— . by Bret Harte.) Star. Perhaps if there was anything important migration of the Maynard family to the singu- E pe it rested solely upon lar fact that Mr. Maynard did not go there - in the exp ion of marrying his daugh- noebieman. A arleston mer- house represented twe honor- had, thirty years ago, spect which did not re- quire extraneeus aid and foreign support, is exceedingly probable that his intention of spending a few years abroad had no ulterior motive other than pleas- ure seeking and the observation of many tLings—p-ineipally of the past—which his own country did not possess. His future aud that of his family lay in his own land, yet. with practical common sense, he ad- justed himself temporarily to his new sur- roundings. In doing so he nae eee io earn of others, and others had something (idatn of him. He found that the best people had a high simplicity equal to own. correcied their impressions that @ southerner had more or less negro blood in his veins, and that, although a siave owner, he did not necessarily represer* an aristoc With a distinguishing dialect of which he was not ashamed, a frank familiarity of approach, joined to an in- Vineible courtesy of manner which made cen bis republican “Sir” equal to the or- address to royalty, he was always d and seldom misunderstood. When it was unfortunate for those who zood him. His type was as dis- ard original as his cousin's, the man, whom it was not the fashion imitate. So that, whether in the hotel of a capital, the kursaal of a spa, m| to a thant, and it ry respecte Le was misu the humbler pension of a Swiss village, he was always characteristic. Less so was THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, AUGUST 7, 1897-24 PAGES. ly: “Pardon, your majesty is France!’ She retained this childish fearlessness as the poor student of the Conservatoire, went alone all over Paris with her maiden skirts untarnished by the gilded dust of the boulevards or the filth of by-ways; knew all the best shops for her friends and the cheapest for her own scant purchases; dis- covered breakfasts for a few sous with pale seamstresses whose sadness she un- derstood, and reckless chorus girls, whose gayety she didn't. She knew where the eariiest chestnut buds were to be found in the Bois, when the slopes of the Buttes Chaumont were green, and which was the old woman who sold the cheapest flowers before the Madeleine. Alone and independ- ent, she earned the affection of Mme. Bibe- lot, the concierge, and, what was more, her confidence. Her outgoings and incom- ings were never questioned. The little American could take care of herself—ah, if her son Jacques were only as reason- able! Mi Maynard might have made more friends had she cared. She might have joined hands with the innocent and light-hearted poverty of the coterie of her ewn artistic compatriots, but something in her blood made her distrust Bohemian- ism. Her poverty was something to her too sacred for jest or companionship—her own artistic alm was too long and earnest for mere temporary enthusiasms. She might have found friends in her own pro- fession. Her professor opened the sacred doors of his family circle to the young American girl. She appreciated the deli- cacy, refinement and cheerful equal re- sponsibilities of that French household—so widely different from the accepted Anglo- Saxon belief—but there were certain re- strictions that rightly or wrongly galled her American habits of girlish freedom, and she resolutely tripped past the first etage four or five flights higher to her at- tic, hte free sky, and independence. Here she sometimes met another kind of independence in Monsieur Alphonse, aged twenty-two years, and she who ought to have been Mme. Alphonse, aged seventeen years, and they often exchanged greetings on the landing with great respect toward each other, and oddly enough, no confusion er distrailt. Later they even borrowed each other's matches without fear and without reproach, until one day Monsieur Alphonse’s parents took him away, and the desolated sol-disant Mme. Alphonse in a SHE WAS TALKING QITE CONFIDENTIALLY. . who, with the chameleon quality transplanted countrywomen, was ¢ Parisian in dress. Still less so daughter, who had by this time ab- oe the peculiarities of her French, rman and Italian governesses. Yet rer had yet learned to evade their na- :—or apologize for it. Maynard and his family remained three years in Europe, his stay hav- been prolonged by political excite- own state of South Carolina. apt to knock the insularity people: distance from one’s own inetive locality gives a wider range to vision, and the retired merchant fore- ruin in his state's politics, and from viewpeint of all Europe beheld, in- ad of th usual collection of individual s s. his whole country. But, ‘the ex- cilement imereasing, he was finally im- pelled to reiurn in the faint hope of do- ins something to allay it, taking his wife with him, but leaving his daughter at a school m Paris. At about this time, how- ever. a single cannon shot fired at the rational tlag on Fort Sumter shook the whole country,reverberated even in Europe, sending some earnest hearts back to do ttle for state or country, sending others rm nto inglorious exile, but, sad- esi of all, knocking over the school bench of the girl at the Paris Penstonnat. For that shot had sunk Maynard's ships at the Charleston wharv seattered his piled | bales awaiting shipment at the and dr6ve him a ruined man into Home Guard” against his better judg- t. Helen Maynard, like a good girl, implored her father to let her return share his risks. By the answer was ntil this nine days’ madness ng was over. That madness \ six years, outlived Maynard, whose vubting head bit the dust at uff: outlived his colorless widow left Nelly a penniless orphan. encugh of her country was left in le her to make her courageous and independ- ent of her past. They say that when she the news she cried a little and then tter and what was left of her last monthly allowance in Madame Ablas’ lap. Madame was devastated. “But pover 1 and desolated angel!—wha: you? shall get s 2 the desolated angel with ingenuous candor, “for I better French and English than the other girls. and I shall teach them until I get into the Conservatoire, for I have a voice. You yourself have told papa so.” Frem such angelic directness there 3 ne appeal. Madame Ablas had she had a French mana- riminating instinct. The ehoolgirl was installed in a k—her bosom friends and became her pupils. To and they were maint she sold her smarte: dresses, wels and trinkets at a ood figure—and put the money away nst the Conservatoire in the future. worked ha everything but you know, mis Lat dai ghy she endured patiently commiseration. “I'd have said to Miss De ‘famous house of Laine . of New York. ver my position here may be not one to be patronized by a tape s daughter. My case is not such a very ‘sad one,” thank you! and I prefer not to be spoken of as having seen ‘better days’ by people who haven't. There! Don't rap your desk with your pencil when you speak to me, or I shall call out ‘Cash! be- fore t ! So regrettable an temper naturally alienated ccmpatriots who were un- sensitive of their origin, and as they 4 a considerable colony who were n reveling In the dregs of the empire of certain of duly 1 the last orgies of a tottering court eventually cost her her place. A republican so aristocratic was not to be lerated by the true-born Americans who paid court to De Morny for the phosphor- escent splendors of St. Cioud and the Tuil- - aid Miss Helen lost their favor. Bat she had alreadysaved enough for tho Conservatoire and a little attic in a very tall house in a very narrow street that trickled into the ceaseless flow of the Rae Lafayette. Here for four years she trotted ckward and forward regularly to her with the freshness of youth and the set purpose of maturity. Here, or shine, summer or winter, in the mellow season when the large cafes ex- panded upler the white sunchine into an everflow of litile tables on the pavement, or when the red glow of the brasserie through frosty panes on the turned- ollars of pinched Parisians who hurried y. she was always to be se-n. Half Paris had looked into her clear gray €yes and passed on; a smaller and not very youthful portion of Paris had turned an] “followed her with small advantage to itself and happily no fear to her. For even in her young womanhood she kept her child's love and knowledge of that great city; she even had an innocent cam- erie with street sweepers, kiosk keep- rain ers and lemonade venders, and the stern- — : of conciergedom melted before her. nt s whalesome, practical child's experi- she naturally avoided or overlooked what would not have interested a child, and so kept her freshness and a certain national shrewd simplicity invincible. There is a story told of her girthood that. playing in the Tuileries gardens, she was approached by a gentleman with &@ waxed mustache, and a still more waxen cheek beneath ti heavy-lidded eyes. There was an exchange of polite amenities. “And your name, ma petite?” ‘Helen, responded the young girl, naively. “Wha yours?” “Ah.” said the kind gentleman, gallantly, pulling at his mustache: “if you are Helen, I am Paris.” The young girl Faised her clear eyes to his and said grave- cheerful burst of confidence gave Helen ‘her private opinion of monsieur, and from her seventeen years’ experience warned the American infant of twenty against possible similar complications. One day, it was near the examination for prizes, and her funds were running low, she was obliged to seek one of those hum- bler restaurants she knew®of, for her tru- gal breakfast. But she was not hungry. and after a few mouthfuls left her meal unfinished as a young man entered and half abstractedly took a seat at her table. She had already moved before the comptoir to pay her few sous, when, chancing to look up in a mirror which hung above the counter reflecting the interior of the cafe, she saw the stranger, after casting a hur- red glance around him, remove from her plate the broken roll and even the crumbs she had left and as hurriedly sweep them in his pocket handkerchief. There was nothing very strange in this; she had seen something like it before in these humbler cafes_it was a crib for the birds in the Tuileries gardens, or the poor artist’s sub- stitute for rubber in correcting his crayon drawing! But there was a singular flush- ing of his handsome face in the act that stirred her with a strange pity, made her ewn cheek hot with sympathy and com. pelled her to look at him more attentiv The back that was turned toward her was broad shouldered and symmetrical, and showed a frame that seemed to require stronger nourishment than the simple cof- fee and roll he had ordered and was de- vouring slowly. His clothes, well made though worn, fitted him in a smart soldier-like way and accented his decided military bearing. The singular use of his left hand in lifting his cup made her uneasy, until a slight move- ment revealed the fact that his right sleeve Was empty and pinned to his coat. He was one-armed. She turned her compassionate eyes aside, yet lingered to make a few pur- chases at the counter, as he paid his bill and walked away. But she was surprised to see that he tendered the waiter the un- exampled gratuity of a sou. Perhaps he Was some eccentric Englishman; he cer- tainly did not look lke a Frenchman. She had quite forgotten the incident and in the afternoon had strolled with a few fellow pupils into the galleries of the Lou- vre. It was “copying day,” and as her friends loitered around the easels of the ifferent students with the easy conscious- ness of being themselves “artists,” she stroll2d_on somewhat abstractedly before them. Her own art was too serious to per- mit her much sympathy with another, and in the chatter of her companions with the young painters a certain levity disturbed her. Suddenly she stopped; she had reach- ed a less frequented room; there was a single easel at one side, but the stool be- fore it was empty and its late occupant was standing in a recess by the window with his back toward her: he had drawn a silk handkerchief from his pocket. She recognized his square shoulders, she recog- nized the handkerchief, and as he unrolled it she recognized the fragments of her morning breakfast as he began to eat them. It was the one-armed man. She remained so motionless and breath- less that he finished his scant meal with- cut noticing her, and even resumed his place before the easel without being aware of her preserce. The noise of approaching “I’ve Been Alone Five Years.” feet gave a fresh impulse to her o' and "she “moved ‘toward “him. But he wa! vi- dently accustomed to these interruptions, and worked on steadily without turning: his heed. As the other foctsteps passed her she was emboldened to take a position be- hind him and glance at his work. It was an arch‘tectural study of one of Canaletto's palaces. Even her inexperienced eyes were struck with its vigor and fidelity. But she was also conscious of a sense of disap- pointment. Why was he not, like the others, copying one of the masterpieces? Becoming at last aware of a motionless weman behind, he arose, and, with a slight gesture of courtesy and a half-hesitating “Vous verrez, mieux la, mademoiselie,” moved to one side. “Thank you,” said Miss Maynard, glish, “But I did not want to ‘disturb you.’ He glanced quickly at her face for the first time. “Ah, you are English,’ said. “No! I am American.” ee His face Nghtened. “So am LL” “I thought so,” she said, , in En- “From my bad French?” “No. Because you did not look up to see if the woman you were polite to was old or young.” = He smiled. “And you, mademoiselle, you did not murmur a compliment to the copy over the artist’s back.” She smiled, too—yet with a little pang over the bread. But she was relieved to see that he evidently had not recognized her. “You are modest,” she said. ‘‘You do not attempt masterpieces.” “Oh, no. The giants like Titian and Cor- reggio must be served with both hands. I have only cone,” he said, half lightly, haif sedly. “But you have been a soldier,” she sald, with quick intuiticn. “Not much. Only during our war—until I was compelled to handle nothing larger than-a palette knife. Then I came home to New York, and as I was no use there I came here to study.” = “I am from Bout Carolina: uietly, with a rising color. “He put his palette down and glariced at her black dress. “Yes,” she went on, dog- gedly, “my father lost all his property and was killed in battle with the northerners; I am an orphan—a pupil of the conserva- tcire.” It was never her custom to allude to her family or her lost fortunes; she knew not why she did it now, but some- thing impelled her to rid her mind of it to him at once. Yet she was pained at his ve and pitying face. olan aa Sorry,” he said, simply. Then after a pause he added, with a gentle smile, “At all events, you and I will not quarrel here under the wings, of the French eagles which shelter us both.” “{ only wanted to explain why I was alone in Paris,” she said, a little less ag- ively. eTfle replied by unhooking his palette,which was ingeniously fastened by a strap over his shoulder under the missing arm, an opened a portfolio of sketches at his side. “Perhaps they may interest you more than the copy, which I have attempted only to get at this man’s method. They are sketch- es I have done here.” ‘There was a buttress of Notre Dame, a black arch of the Pont Neuf, part of an old courtyard in the Faubourg St. Germain— all very fresh and striking. Yet with the recollection of his poverty in her mind she could not help saying: “But !f you copied one of these masterpieces—you know you could sell it. There is always a demand for tha: work.” “Yes,” he replied, “but these help me in my line, which is architectural study. It is perhaps not very ambiticus,” he added, thoughtfully, “but,” brightening up again, “IT sell these sketches, too. They are quite marketable, I assure you.” Helen’s heart sank again. She remem- hered now to have seen such sketches— ske doubted not they wpre his—in the cheap shops in the Rue Poissoniere ticketed at a few francs each. She was silent as he pa- tientuy turned them over. Suddenly she ut- tered a little cry. He had just uncovered a little sketch of what seemed at first sight only a confused cluster of rooftops, dormer windows and chimneys, level with the sky line. But it was bathed in the white sunshine of Paris against the blue sky she knew so well. There, too, were the gritty crystals and rust of the tiles, the red, brown and green- ish mosses of the gutters, and lower down the more vivid colors of geraniums and pansies in flower pots under the white dim- ity curtains which hid the small panes of garret windows, yet every sordid detail touched and transfigured with the poetry and romance of youth and genius. “You have seen this?” she eaid. “Yes. It 1s a study from my window. One must g) high for such effects. You would be surprised if you could see how different the air and sunshine—’ “No,” she interrupted gently, “I have seen it.” - “You?” he repeated, gazing at her curi- ously. Helen ran the point of her slim finger along the sketch until it reached a tiny dermer window in the left-hand corner, half hidden by an irregular chimney stack. The curtains were closely drawn. Keeping her finger upon the spot she said, interrog- atively: “And you see that window?” Yes, quite plainly. I remember it was pineye open Se the room seemed empty early mornin, curtains rere aia 'o evening, when the “It {s my room,” she said simply. Their eyes met with this sudden confes- sion of their equal Poverty. “And mine,” he said gayly, “from which this view was taken, Is in the rea therciieeatee es wand still higher up on They both laughed as seratnt ae been remov. got e incident of the bread in her rel Then they compared notes of their yen Periences, of their different concierges, of their housekeeping, of the cheap stores, and the cheaper restaurants of Paris ox. cept one. She told him her name and learned that his was Phili or, if she pleased, Major Ostrander. Suddenly glane. ing at her companions, who were ostenta- tiously lingering at a little distance, she became conscious for the first time that she was talking quite confidentially to a very handsome man, and for a brief. moment wished, she knew not why, that he had been plainer. This momentary restraint Was accented by the entrance of a lady and gentleman—rather distingue in dress and bearing—who had stopped before them and were eying equally the artist, his work, and his companion with somewhat insolent curiosity. Helen felt herself stiffening, her companion drew himself up with soldierly rigidity. For a moment it seemed as if under that banal influence they would part with ceremonious continental politeness, but suddenly their hands met in a national handshake and with a frank smile they separated. A Helen rejoined her companions. ‘ have made a conquest of the recent quired but unknown Greek statue?” said Mademoiselle Renee lightly. “You should take up a subseription to restore his arm, ma petite, if there is a modern sculptor who can do it. You might suggest it to the two Russian cognoscenti, who have been hovering around him as if they wanted to buy him as well as his work. Madame la Princesse is rich enough to indulge her ar- tistic taste.” “It is a countryman of mine,” said Helen simply. “He certainly does not Speak French,” said mademoiselle mis- chievously. “Nor think it,” responded Helen with equal vivacity. Nevertheless, she wished she had seen him alone. She thought nothing more of him that day in her finishing exercises. But the next morning as she went to open her window after dressing she drew back with a new consciousness, and then, making a, peep hole in the curtain, looked over the opposite roofs. She had seen them many times be- fore, but now they had acquired a new pic- turesqueness, which, as her view was of course the reverse of the poor painter's sketch, must have been a transfigured memory of her own. Then she glanced curiously along the line of windows level with hers; all these, however, with their occasional revelations of the menage be- hind them, were also familiar to her, but now she began to wonder which was his. A singular interest at last impelled her to lift her eyes. Higher in the corner house, and so near the roof that it scarcely seemed possible for a grown man to stand upright behind it, was an oeil de boeuf looking down upon the other roofs, and framed in that circular opening like a vignette was the handsome face of Major Ostrander. His eyes seemed to be turned toward her win- dow. Her first impulse was to open it and recognize him with a friendly nod. But an odd mingling of mischief and shyness made her turn away quickly. Nevertheless, she met him the next morn- ing walking slowly so near her house that their encounter might have been scarcely accidental on his part. She walked with him as far as the Conservatoire. In the light of the open street she thought he looked pale and hollow-cheeked; she won- dered if it was from his enforced frugality, and was trying to conceive some elaborate plan of obliging him to accept her hospi- tality, at least for a single meal, when he said: “I think you have brought me luck, Miss Maynard.” Helen opened her eyes wonderingly. “The two Russion connoisseurs who star- ed at us so rudely were pleased, however, to also stare at my work. They offered me a fabulous sum for one of my sketches. It didn’t seem to me quite the square thing to old Favel, the picture dealer, whom I had forced to take a lot at one-fiftieth the price; so I simply referred them to him.” “No,” said Helen, indignantly, “you were not so foolish!” Ostrander laughed. “I am afraid what you call my folly didn’t avail, for they wanted what they saw in my portfolio.” “Of course,” said Helen. “Why, that sketch of the housetop alone was worth a hundred times more than what you-—’ She st . She did not lke to reveal that she knew what he got for his pictures, and added, “more than any of those usur- ers would give.” es aa iernee rates sims wth oe] 0 : , 8! 1 yel with a be genes that left her silent. = She did not him again for several days. The preparation for her examination left her no time, and her earnest concen- tration in her work fully she said, if some singular re- ed. Helen even for- jo you y ac- thoughts. She was , but not dis- turbed, on the the awards-to see him the a of anxious parents and ions. Miss Helen Maynard did not get the first An accessit was not know until prize, nor yet the second. r only award. She did terward that this had long been a foregone’ conclusion of her teachers, on account of some intrinsic de- fect in her voice. She,@id not know until long afterward that theshandsome painter’s nervousness on t! océasion had attracted even the sympathy of Some of those whd were near him. r she herself had been calm and collected: No one else knew how crushing was the blow which shatteted ter hopes and made ler three years of labor and privation a useless struggle. Yet, though no longer a pupil, she could still teach; her master had found her a small patronage that saved her from destitution. That. night she circled up quite cheerfully in her usual swallow flight to her nest under the eaves, and even twittered on the landing a little over the condolences of the concierge, who knew— my God! what a beast the director of the Conservatoire was, and how he could be bribed—but when &t last her brown head sank on her pillow she cried—Jjust a little. But what was all this to that next morn- ing, the glerious spring morning which bathed all the roofs of Paris with warmth and hope, rekindling enthusiasm and ambi- tion in the breast of youth, and gilding even much of the sordid dirt below. It seemed quite natural that she should meet Maj. Ostrander not many yards away as she sallied out. In that bright spring sun- shine and the hopeful spring of their youth they even laughed at the previous day's disappointment Ah! what a claque it was, after all. For himself, he, Ostrander,would much rather see that satin-faced Parisian girl who got the prize smirking at the crit- ics from the boards of the Grand Opera than his countrywoman! The Conserv2- toire settled things for Paris; but Paris wasn’t the world! America would come to the fore yet in art of all kinds; there was a free academy there now; there should be a conservataire of its own. Of course, Paris schooling and Paris experience weren't to be despised in art, but, thank heaven, she had that, and no directors could take it from her! This and much More, until, comparing notes, they sud- denly found that they were both free for that day. Why should they not take ad- vantage of that rare weather and rarer opportunity to make a little suburban ex- cursion? But where? There was the Bois; but that was still Paris. Fontainebleau? Too far; there were always artists sketch- ing in the forest, and he would like for that day to “sink the shop.” Versailles? Ah, yes! Versailies! Thither they went. It was not new to either of them; Ostrander knew it as an ar- tist and as an American reader of that French historic romance—a reader who hurried over the sham intrigues of the Oeil de Boeuf, the sham pastorals of the Petit Trianon, and the sham heroics of a shifty court to get'to Lafayette. Helen knew it as a child who has dodged these lersons from her patriotic father, but had enjoyed the woods, the park, the terraces— and particularly the aurant at the park gates. That day they took it like a bey and gizl—with the amused, omniscient tol- erance of youth for a past so inferior to the present. Ostrander thought this gray- eyed, independent American-French girl far superior to the obsequious filles d’ hon- neur whose brocades had rustled through those quinquonces, and Helen vaguely re- alized the truth of her fellow pupil's mis- chievous criticism of her eompanion that day at the Louvre. Surely there was no ciassical statue here comparable to the ove-armed soldier painter. All this was as yet free from either sentiment or passion, and was only the frank pride of friendship. But oddly enough their mere presence and companionship seemed to excite in others that tenderness they had not yet felt them- selves. Family greups watched the hand- some pair in their innocent confidences, and with French exuberant recognition of sentiment thought them the incarnation of love! Something in their manifest equal- ity of condition kept even the vainest and most susceptible of spectators from at- tempted rivalry or cynical interruption. And when at last they dropped side by side on a sun-warmed ktoné bench on the ter- race, and Helen, inclining her brown head toward her companion, informed him of the difficulty she had experienced in getting gumbo soup, rice apd chicken, corn cakes, or any of her favorite home dishes in Paris, an exhausted but gallant boulevar- dier rose from a ‘contiguous bench and, politely lifting his hat to the handsome couple, turned slowly away from those tender confidences; he -would not permit himself to hear : . But the shadow “of ‘the trees began to lengthen, casting proad bars across the alle, and the sun sank lower to the level of their eyes. They were; quite surprised on looking around a.sfew: moments later to discover that the gardens were quite de- serted, and: Qstrander; on consulting his watch, found that they had just lost a train which the other pleasure seekers had evidently availed thems2lves of. No mat- ter, there was another train an hour later. ‘They could still linger for a few moments in the brief sunset, and then dine at the lccal restaurant before they left. They both laughed at their forgetfulness, und then, without knowing why, suddenly lapsed into silence. A faint wind blew in their faces and thrilled the thin leaves above their heads. Nothing else moved. The long windows of the palace in that sunset light seemed to glisten again with the in- cendiary fires of the revolution, and then went cut blankly and abruptly. The two ccmpaniors felt that they possessed the terrace and all its memories as completely as the shadows who had lived and died there. “I am so glad we have had this day to- gether,” said the painter, with a very con- scious breaking of the silence, “for I am leaving Paris tomorrow.” Helen raised her eyes quickly to his. “For a few days only,” he continued. “My Russian customers—perhaps I ought to say my patrons—have given me a com- mission to make a study of an old chateau which the princess lately bought.” A swift recollection of her fellow pupil’s raillery regarding the princess’ possible at- titude toward the painter came over her, and gave a strange artificiality to her re- sponse. “I suppose you will enjoy tt very much,” she suid, dryly. % pias “No,” he returned with the frankness that she had lacked. “I'd much rather stay in Paris, but,” he added with a faint smile, “it's a question of money, and that is not to be despised. Yet, I-I somehow feel that I am deserting you, leaving you Bee all alone in Parts,” “I've been alone here for five years,” she said with a bitterness she had never felt before, “and I suppose I’m accustomed to Nevertheless she leaned a little forwar. with her fawn-colored lashes dropped ver her eyes, which were bent upon the ground und the point of the parasol she was hold- ing with her little gloved hands between her knees. He wondered why she did not lcok up; he did not know that it was part- ly because there were tears in her eyes and partly for another reason. As she had leaned forward his arm had quite uncon- sciously moved along the back of the bench where her shoulders had rested and she ceuld not have resumed her position ex. cept oa his ee embrace. ad not thought of it. Hi in a greater ubstraction. That “innnite tenderness, far above a woman's, the ten. derness of strength and manliness toward weakness and delicacy, the tenderness that iccks down and not up, was already pos- Sereing him. An instinct of protection drew him nearer this bowed but charming figure, end if he then noticed tnat the shoulders were pretty..and the curves of the slim waist symamargical, it was rather with a feeling of timidity and a haif con- sciousness of unchivalrous thought. Yet why sheuld he not. try to keep the brave and honest girl néar“him always? Why skculd he not claim the right to protect her? Why should they,,not, they who were alone in @ strange land, join their two lonely lives for mutualihelp and happiness? A sudden perception = of delicacy, the thought that he sHould“have spoken before her failure at the fonsfrvatoire had made her feel her helple$sness, brought a slight color to his cheek.,, Would it not seem to her that he was taking an unfair advan- tage of her misfo¥tuné? Yet it would be So easy now to 8) ‘Moving arm around her avaist while hi work for her and protect her with "the other. The other! His eye fell on his empty sleeve. Ah! he Kad forgotten thats: Hethad but one arm! He rose up abrupthy—so abruptly that Helen, rising too, almost touched the arm that was hurriedly witHd: accidental contact, Which sent @ vague tremor thrcvgh the young girl’s frame, there was still time for him spoken. But he only: said: “Perhaps we had better dine.” “ save one! They even spoke repeating their little expedition return from the country, while in their secret hearts they both resolved never to see each other again. Yet by that sign each knew that this was love, and were beth proud of each other's pride which kept it a secret. The train was late, and it was past 10 o'clock when they at last appeared before the corcierge of Helen's home. During their journey, and while passing through the crowds at the station and in the streets, Ostrander had exhibited a new and grave guardianship over the young girl, and on the first landing, after a scrutinizing and an almost fierce glance at one or two of Helen’s odd féllow lodgers, he had ex- tended his protection so far as to accom- pany her up the four flights to the landing of her apartment. Here he tcok leave of her with a grave courtesy that half pained, half pleased he: She watched his broad shoulders and di gling sleeve as he went down the stairs, and then hurriedly turned, entered her rocm and locked the door. The smile had faded from her lips. Going to the window, she pressed ker hot eyelids against the cool glass and looked out upon the stars nearly level with the dlack roofs around her. She stcod there some moments until another star appeared higher up against the roof ridge—the star she was looking for. But here the glass pane before her eyes became presently dim with moistur: She was obliged to rub it out with her bandkerchief—yet somehow it soon became again clouded. At which she turned sharp- ly away and went to bed. (Concluded next week.) —— MARGUERITE’S REPLY. The Transaction Could Not Have Been Concluded on a Wheel. From the Cleveland Leader. “Darling!” The word was spoken with such fervor and suddenness that the maiden almost lost her grip upen the handle bars. Blushes overspread her beautiful features, ! but Horace Middleton could not see them, | owing to the fact that her back was toward him. They were mounted upon a tandem, and for half an hour had been spinning smooth- ly along beneath overhanging branches, hearing only the twittering of the happy birds above them and ihe whirring of the wheels upon the smooth, hard road. “Darling!” the young man said again, and there was a tremulous earnestness in his voice that could not be misunderstood. But Marguerite Pillsbury did not.reply. She only gripped the handle bars more firmly and put so much weight upon the pedals that the tandem shot forward as if some one had given it a push from behind. A sickening doubt took possession of Hor- ace Middleton, and for a moment it seemed if he would reel and fall by the way would indeed have done so if the i girl in front of him had not kept a firm tread and steady hand. For a minute or two, that se med an age onward. s flashed he had loved the ardor of s warm, sunny ad he cared to div - u silence was beyond his understanding. d it mean that she returned his love or that she spurned him? For a moment he perhaps she was too full of n for utterance, but then he noticed s almost running the wheel her- self, and it occurred to him that she was hurrying to get home and be rid of him. At last the suspense became too great to be borne, and he decided that he must know his fate without further delay. “Darling,” he cried, silen : In low, sweet tones the maiden replied: “[’m looking for a good piace to stop. It would be useless to attempt to conclude this transaction on a wheel.” —- +00 Baby's Brenkfast. From Harper's Bazar. A baby falls ill easily; but an old phy- sician’ once told us that by reason of thi very vitality it lives through much more proporticnately than an older person does. But one thirg it will not live through, and that is the work of poisonous ptomaines in its stomach. The baby whose happy mother nurses it herself or whose healthy wet nurse dces has nothing to fear from but the poor darling brought up on the bottle is in deadly darger from the thousand and one contrivances in relation to its little table furniture of bottle and ibe, which either a desire to help or a to scll has changed and improved and eia to multiplicity. Of course it is self-e i, after one has lost a chil from cholera infantum, that the long fle ble tube inside the bottle, despite the best efforts, could never have been thoroughly cleansed, and that while one sought to do ber best by the dear baby, her own hand was administering to him, every two or bh hours, with smiles and kiss “his of daily microbes. The only ‘safe thing in the contingency of using a bottle is a clear glass flask with a silver mouth- i n be kept perfectly clean with- Every atom of it can be why are you deposit. hed by scalding water, can be seen and Weshed and rinsed and brushed; and noth- ing else can. But even having the best bottle is not enough; one must also have the best milk; out reai end we are assur that if the miik is more than twe hours’ from the cow it is dangerous unless sterilized. We used to be tcld that a child should have the milk of only one cow; but that probably was a groping toward the truth that milk changes rapidly, and to the infant organ- ism poisonously. The proc of steriliza- ticn is very simple and easy and can ve done by any one with little effort and skculd be accepted as a necessary process in every hcuse where there is a baby de- pendent or the milk. When it is so, there will be far fewer instances of death before a_year of life has been lived, and of arms that ache with emptiness. ———_+-e+— Not “So Sudden” This Time. From the Inman Review. A young fellow in town was surprised the other day. He proposed to a girl, and in- stead of her saying, “It is so sudden,” she said, “It’s about time.” + e+ ____ An Optical Delusion. From the Fifegende Blatter. ‘Oh, mother, father is going “Thank Icon “Want” ads. in The Star because bal- heaven, my son, it is only a | they bring AD NEWS FOR BOYS The Peanut Crop is Likely to Be Short This Year. FEW PRODUCTS HAVE SO MANY USES Are Good to Eat. ALSO MAKE FINE OLIVE OIL Written for The Evening Sta’ A CCORDING TO ALL preaictions, the pe: nut crop of the Unit- ed States is going to be short this year. But this does not mean (hat the sup- ply wiil not be suflt- ctent to satisfy Uncle Sam's small boy: for peanuts are rais- ed in many countries besides our own, and the cost of importa- ticn is not great erough to increase the price materially. This particular product of the earth is known in the United States by a greater variety of names, perhaps, than any other that Is so universally popular. In various parts of the south it is the “ground nut,” the “ground pea,” the “goober” (some- times spelled “gouber”) and the “pindar.” Over in England it is often called the “monkey gut,” and this leads to the infer- ence that in Africa and South Africa, where it grows wild, its edible quality first became known to man because the mon- key fed on it. One of its names all over Europe is “‘manilla nut,” and this comes, no doubt, from the fact that it is exten- sively grown in the Philippine Islands— where the Spaniards are now trying to put cown an insurrection—of which Manilla is the capital. In France it is the “pistache de terre,” from its similarity to the pis- tachio nut In taste and the uses to which it may be put. At this season of the year those who grow peanuts are kept busy attending to a ut Vines. Stacking Pe: the cultivation of the crop. The seeds are put in the ground in May, late enough to avoid the latest frosts. Until a few years ago, peanuts were planted by hand, but now a machine is generally used which ‘es them in rows three feet apart, dis- tes the phosphate which is almost al- ways used as a fertilizer, drops the “beans,” as the seeds are often called, in groups of three, covers them with two inches of soil and rolls the earth firmly— all in one operation. The cultivation of the peanut crop is very similar to the cul- tivation of potatoes, both the “cultivator,” hauled by a horse or mule, and the hoe be- ing used. Late in July a top dressing of land plaster ts applied. Country-bred boys, beth north and south, will understand all this without further explanation; and city lads, with whom the peanut is probably as universally popular as with the country boys, can learn all about the “cultivator” during their summer vacations, for it is an implement that is used by farmers every- where. An hiteresting Growth. The vines of the peanut begin to bloom wher they are eight or ten inches long, the blorsoms being of a bright yellow color ard very profuse. The flowers, however, ere sterile; that is, they “are not followed by seeds, as are the blossoms of most plants, even the potato, which, like the peanut, develoos the edible product be- neath the surface of the soil. Nature is extremely interesting in her method of providing for the propagation of the pea- nut. As the ficwer fades, a sharp-pointed stem grows out from the base of the plant, turns downward and buries itself in the ground. On the end of this stem are form- ed the pods, or “nuts,” some little distance underground, and the plant needs no hu- man attention whatever from the time of this pod formation tll it is ready for harvesting. The harvesting takes place late in Oc- tcher or early in November. Care is al- Ways exercised to get this work out of the way before frost comes, though if pessible it is put off until just before the first visit of the icy-breathed visitor from the north. Formerly peanuts were taken out of the ground by hand, somewhat after the man- ner in which potatoes are harvested; but progressive peanut growers now use a plow with 2 “peanut point,” which is run along- side each row so as to cut off the deep growing tap root. After this plow work- men follow with strong, broad forks, with which they lift the vines and roots from the ground and lay them on the ridge of soil that has been freshly turned by the plow. For a day the pods are allowed to dry in the sun; then the vines are stacked for curing, each stack being built about a pole that has been driven into the ground | for that purpose. When thoroughly cured the nuis are removed from the roots, some- times by hand and sometimes by machi- nery. The latter is the quicker, more eco- ncmical methed, but the nuts suffer from it to some extent, and some growers who wish to get the highest prices adhere to the old way of hand picking. The ma- chines are worked by steam power, and both in appearance and principle are some- what similar to the machines used in threshing wheat. At Harvest Time. Besides the machine for picking the nuts from the vines, still another has been in- troduced. It is called “the blower,” and its function is to grade the nuts and free them from whatever impurities have been left by the previous process. In this ma- chine the nuts pass through a very strong artificial blast, from the force of which the heavicst are first released, to fall into the proper receptacle for the first grade, and soon. By this means about four grades of nuts are secured; thore of the last grade— the very light ones—being practically worthless, especially as they are mixed With bits of roots, broken shells, etc. It is generally necessary to do some hand pick- ing even after the blower, and this work is performed by women and children. All these operations are lumped together by peanut growers and dealers under the com- prehensive term “refinirg,” and sometimes a part of the refining is done at the “fac- tories,” or establishments for the purchase and shipment of the nuts, that have been established in all peanut-growing regions within the past few ycars. Most readers, probably, think peanuts are raised solely that they may be eaten by boys, but this is a mistaken notion. Few products of the soil are put to a great- er variety of uses. The vines idediy Known by Many Names, but All to Every Father a Mother. There are two kinds of babies in the world—the kind who have too little nourishment and the Kind who bave too mach, The first kind of babies starve because their stomachs are too weak to digest the amount of food necessary for their growth and beauthful de- e ind are overfed, with cate stomach and intestines are tnflamed, and, as every mother knows, thoa- sands of infants die yearly when warm weather begins from stomach and bowel disorders, Opiates, soothing syraps and eathartics, however nil, are not what is demanded. Go to the root of the trouble, assist the child's digestion, give the ttle stomach the ald necessgry to thoronghly and promptly digest its food and the little one will thrive and grow and gladden the mother's beart » give perfect digestion to the child it is only necessary to give in a pleasant form the harmless Gigestives contained in the well-known tab fold in drug stores under the name of Stuart Dyspepsia Tablets, Stuart's Tablets contain no so- but are composed of pepsin, pure vids, starch digestives and are put rm, with sugar of milk, very Pleasant to the taste and have been used for years as the safest, best remedy for any form of indigestion and stomach troubles in adults, but receutly many remarkable cures have been made the cases of weakly babies who failed to grow and thrive as A Buffalo mother a short time ago who despaired of the life of her babe was so delighted with the results from giving the child these tablets that she went before the notary public of Erie county, N. ¥., and made the following affidavit: Gentlemen: Stuart's Dyspepsia Tablets were recommended to me for my two-months’ old by: Which was sick and puny and the doctors said w suffering from indigesti I took the child to the hospital, but there found no relief. A friend mentioned the Stuart Tablets and I procured. a box from my dragzist and used only the lance sweet lozenges In the box and was delighted to find they were just the thing for my baby. I feel justitied ying that Stuart's Dyspepsia Tablets saved my child's Ife. Mrs. W. T. DETHLOPY. Subscribed and sworn to before me this 12th day of April, 1897. HENRY KARIS, Notary Public in and for Erle Go., N. ¥. how dling or delicate, the will accomplish wonders in increasing fiexh, appetite and growth. Use only the large sweet tablets in every box. Pull sized boxes are sold by oll druggists for 50 cents, and no parent should neglect the use of this safe remedy for all Stomach and bowel troubles if the cil ts ailing in any way reganling its food or assimilation. Stuart's Dyspepsia Tablets has been ‘known for years as the best preparation for all stomach trou- bles, whether in adults or mfants. up in lozenge tory of the peanut. It is now extensively grown in Africa, South America, India, China and the Malayan Archipelego. in Europe peanuts are extensively grown only in Spain; <M over the continent they are used mostly for their ofl, and the great markets there draw their supply mostly from the west coast of Africa. India and Brazil consume most of the great crops grown in those countries. In this country the peanuts is a staple in Virginia, the Carolinas and Georgia. Besides it is raised to some extent in nearly all the southern states, and its cultivation in southern Cali- fornia is increasing every year. The annual procuct in the United States varies from 2,000,000 to 5,000,000, bushels, and practically all of this immense quantity is used here. Three varieties are grown in the United States; the white, the red and the Spanish. The white peanut has two kernels only in each pod, and this is also true of the Span- ish nut, which is considerably smaiier, however, than the white variety and has a mugh milder flavor. The third variety, the red peanuts, often has as many as three or four kernels in each shell and is larger than either of the other varieties. Peanut connoisseurs say the Spanish nuts are the best, the white ones next best, and the big red ones last in quality. But it curio circumstance that the peanut eaters of t city of New York the biggest peanut mar- ket in the United States, prefer these big red nuts to all others. Pretty Hot. , From the Chicago Post. “Yes,” be said, with some show of tem- per, “you're just the kind of a woman to spend $10,000 a year on dress alone.’ “Oh, no, I'm not,” she replied, eetly. “If I were I would have married a ditfer- ent kind of a man.” And the more he thought of it the more Satisfied he became that it was a hot one. — Don’t Go to Alaska All Grocers Sell It. Cleans Everything. Made only by THE N. K. FAIRBANK COMPANY, Chicago. Boston. St. Louis. New York. Philadelphia. Places, the essentials of life that are exhausted ry dincane, high iiving, overwork, Worry, excesses, abuse, ete, 1£12 Chestnut strest, Philadelphia, mh18-théss2t Lambago and all Nervons oe oie Tet af ttoatrme-w Satie Fey Aricity, ‘as yy a ee Wo st. 3X. gives seliet, ana