Evening Star Newspaper, April 14, 1900, Page 21

THE EVENING . STAR, SATURDAY, APRIL 14, 1900-26 PAGES, meet, ey Fa hill er the name of Little Sana R. Crockett. R. Crockett.) Synopsis of Previous Installments. ames Stansfield of New Milan, in corm: randson, young Philip, meets 1s son Philip and his son's Mark. They quarrel. Sir taking his grandson. That his dissolute son tady outside to lay the crime t Philip has witnessed He t her's chief Vinphray Spurway, who succeeds 1 murderers brought to justle ed to be hanged and his wo- transported. Myste- s, seeks out his pany with his fn a pa fm house Jonet Wr, nant, havi wife, finds he: ompany of Sparway stuf tries to murder bnt does not quite “ed. She taken away to Abercairn her som in charge of ‘Anna Mark, who teaches are worth quite boys. Stil they are excellent ough she deats him at her to which they m9. Philip's lawser uncle, brings Domine Ringrose, a small tly after his fs shocked and woty am myste- the exke of ay Spurway from me as much as comts three, small sword. and tind 5 dead. ed by rob- “1 meant fo Te afterward Philip’ bis ¥ ; ‘ : ay, robbi r I with Sant M grows. vlo- Ansa somewbat ne is about to + the truth— ewn dangh Another Rico. It holds and Philip Stansfield, who ba the encounter with bestile ognizes his wife. He and the governor to fit out turn to the isle and W's trens! He plans ng it from the burning Is with Philip and Will and Anna, who Is diszuised. reaches the Istand. and they n's trensure Mark orders the boiling m by elute © cer into CHAPTER XLIX. Hanged in Chain nd all the retreat. | rifled were -mo n go with me,” said that I do not He. We sand bring back red apart with Eborra te expert man who y served with Capt. Key on an- edge of the sea, at a place pleasant sandy bay, we Our chains were kind than the rest t for our chafed skin 2 weight of the belt thigh bones. in the cauldrc case we walt curious that ed and d were no ¢ them. And when Nid of the } : ry The LISLE of the’ | off } shone a 1 7s, ik) tied in and out their warrens. The smaller were green In color, but the big warty seniors were as gruy and bloodthirsty of asp>ct as If they had been formed out of the roek itself. Beneath these again appeared the fringe of white surf, the deep indigo pine reefs sunk in the azure of the Caribbean sez with the sun beginning to sink comf.rtebly in the west. Anna went to and fro among us dealing out what provender had been landel from the ship. Se so ccompanied her, and at the k ck aga f rock a fire was lighte], the smoke dispersed itself among the tangled mass of creep2rs hanging dow1 frum the cliff. And so quickly do men in these cutland- ish places reconcile themselves to death and change that, if it were not Will and I who ourselves had been delivered from death, I do not think that any of those who waited the going down of the sun so much thought of the two men who an hour az had gone whirling into that fiery gehenna locked in each other's arms. The commandante and th? grand inquisi- tor talked together, summoning drst this one and then that to assist them by his counsel. About an hour before sunset brought the news that very vere to be seen, and that the village ap- to be deserted. I judged, however, borra, who knew every foot of the jungle, had permitted the man to see mcre than he wished. There were three ships in ch of them appear-d to » watch. few pirates ed only b; and I we ly anxious to h with Eborra after his r rh, latter kept car>fully away from . busying himself about the fire under the € iff where Anna was cooking. The grand inquisitor watched him with his small twin- kling nd the half caste much as looked in our direction. however, A a came r to us with som d beef Jaid upon plate a y fre ad tender. rra bids us keep well in the r- ar,” aid. smiling and of pointing to the strips of beef as if a s how we liked them. “Thy at the nd of shot we are to drop off and Le mong the under ull he us Will and T each shot a questi jon at her, but she only laughed merrily and nodded \“ S she tri to the fire. ing believe we we y fellows who were not con- at we had gotten, but wished tent wi sundown it was dark, Side of a creek full * was what they e to “eek,” pr > upward twirl of the: i in went the pol- nete the part with t wait Most of us several t write down he ed I desired to assist Anna but she preferred to pe way, only taking my hapa ch or swamp happened to be for her to leap. fo! for fur- offered culars, but ve 1 Thus the whole »wed Eborra through a kind avannah unt He was # long detour in order to avoid the » which we could still see flickering the high woods. But the light was rand w we ike autumnal sheet i s peen the night before. bluish swamp fog which came up from ks spread sidew. uN it was as could do to see the men in of # it oe have been easy to “drop off" here and none the But the ‘all prospect of hiding a bere fever was not inviting enough. W ; wait, according to the half- Tuctions, till the guns began to flies continually je flying almost into our « again into the pall of mist ii wonder if they know thelr way ay or Where they are going?” I whisperol. Foc I was ever brone to notice trifles at the ong time when my thoughts ought to have been upon more serious matters ho ate going where?” growled Will whose legs were paining him, where one of two of the prickles had broken off In the “The fireflie: ted across us, and vanishing said I. But Will did not ow any interest. He was sore and mixer, able and felt the beginnings of a tenden to shiver. He muttered a wish with regard to the fireflies Which consorted IH with his recent confession of churc Sngland Fecent ¢ ch of England “I would be content are going!’ he add. Zs About he a the ‘ word was passed along the ranks that now we must ady to fall on at an moment. Ebort reported that the pirate village w. » could hear a restless cock cro few minutes, and More than once a whiff as of hot wood ashes chilled hearths of man. | “SB¢S back of this ensued so long a it seemed to have io end. J the stillness the toads croak- rer at hand the whisper of the nging his men for the issault 21 waited hand in hand. Will Bowman opened his mouth and inelin. ed his ear into the darkness. A gun went below us, sharp as a signal—then the of a bugle. The commandante order in Spanish. There h through the underwood. Crack! The guns were it you—quick!"” said ay to the left. We pricked ourselves on -of-the-moor, stumbled which sent heavy globes down forthwith to break our heads. Then after a breathing run of a quarter of an hour, having left the attack of the Span- jards well away to the right, we crouched on some open ground at the foot of a clump of tall trees. The rattle of musketry be- heath us grew almost continuous. We could hear the Spaniards going bravely at it. their high screaming shout rising and falling. But what was that which answer- ed? Not the wild pirate yell! It was—no. it could not be—yet surely it was a cheer— the mouth-filling, heart-stirring cry which men of English speech make all over the world when they fight for the mastery. The moon had risen ayd the mist grown juminons about us. Suddenly Anna Gescr, ed me and I felt swift fear run coursingly through her. What is that. Phillp—Oh, what are pointed above our heads, tle clearer. der a great row retched their There appeared into the 7 : limbs arms of s . hurrying us a tumbled over gourds, the bush called ff ‘The moon We had stopped un- of tall forest trees which branches stiffly right at Were so many that the line mist on either hand. hone gaunt and white, tons tasticaly dis- e terror which arm. d dead man ill, turning only slow he rope twisted and un- frozen cold. There was ¥ over our heads. Look- coud that he was ng s, the scarce-dimmed metal glinting In the cold gray of the mist-chok- the first Sau! Mark by the priests and af Don Nicholas, I judge them was unwilling to b> sa man and one who lant them in authority. y on the sea edge among r the shade of wild al! this mysteriously from » white coral sand, trundling 4. as It were, shaking dust of thelr holes. r their grsat claws clicking allors’ scissors as they s:uc- ed_moon. Then we heard Eborra laugh. In such a pl = it was a sound to chill the blood. ‘or heaven's seke—speak, Eborra, who are these?” I hardly knew my own voice a blown leaf Eborra danced @ quickstep and clapped his hands. “Pirates—buceanes Capt. Key and his he cried. ‘The English sailors have hanged them. There are three ships of war in the bay. Now the Spaniards find much rare treasure. Harken! There they go. Eborra warn the English cap- tain. Pimiento—red pepper.in the pod, the Spaniards will get tonight. No more chains —no more slave gang! The English have taken the Isle of the Winds. We just Eborra returned with his companion. They wait here a little till the botheration past. Then we will go down! Ho, Capt. Key and your bloody pirates—now you swing by the neck! Hitch farther along; Leave plenty room for Don Nicholas and the lit- tle black priest!” And again Eborra danced his weird dance In the feeble light of the moon, as the crackling of firearms thinned out and the hurrahs grew louder beneath us. “Now we go down—but Eborra first to make all safe!”’ ‘The half-caste left us down by the eastern | shore, where the liberty men used to take their walks. It was almost daybreak, though as yet there was no sign of the day, for the false dawn had Jong passed and the moon was eclipsed by the high trees we had left behind us, Over the reef passages we could see the mist beginning to break and whirl away in rolling cloudlets, as peat reek does from a low chimney on a windy day. The wings of sea mews glanced white as they swept low over us, screaming shrilly for the com. ing of the morning. We waited long, Will was muttering to himself, I could not tell what. Anna and I kept very close to- gether. Suddenly we heard Eborra’s whistle. I answered him. The half-caste hounded joy- ously toward us. Soon we could discern bim plainly, a lithe black figure against the white coral sand. Behind him strode a tall, stout man, cloaked and hatted from head to foot. Something familiar struck me, something which sent my heart into my mouth. But Anna suddenly dropped my ° SHE THREW BACK HER VEIL AND FELL WHEEPING INTO HIS ARMS. slave drivers, whom the marines andq‘sailor- men chivyied ali over the tslahd hares are coursed on the holms of M: And they received as lttle mercy 9S pogk puss when caught. i As soon as the capture of the castie and town was assured—and they ere carried at one charge, as it were, thé! mere wind of the assailants’ attact—Uniphray and a strong party hastened~toward the monastery of St. John and the convent of St. Mary of Brozas. At the first brpath of the assault upon the town many of the blacks and mulattoes, thinking that the pi- rates had come, and that a petiod ‘6f unl- versal rapine would begin. maée aniassault upon the nunnery, They had even liber- ated some of the worst of the, chain. gang, brutal ruffians sentenced for ¢rimes done on the Islands, not heretics from olf Spain like Jean Carrel of Carcassonne and his brethren. ” The nuns had barricaded themselves in their chapel, and when we arrived the ruf- fians were engaged in smoking them out like bees. We could hear their loud shout- ings and see the reek beginning to swirl up from the gates and door against which the faggots were piled. “Now let them have it. lads!" cried Um- phray to his men, and the Scottish muskets Went off in a volley. The blacks and con- victs ran like caged rats, and were shot down as they fied or bayoneted as_ they crouched in corners. Then we called that the doors be opened, but the crying of the servitors and the chantios of the sisters for a time prevented them from hearing us. Meanwhile, however, in spite of our scat- tering it outside the fire was gaining rap- idly, and there was no time to lose. So Umphray and his ship’s captain slung a mahogany pole for a battering ram and forthwith drove in the doors. ‘We streamed in, and Anna, who knew the place, led us at once to the chapel. I shall Mever forget the sight which greeted us when she threw open the doors—the whole interior lit as for a high festival, the silver Jamps a-swing in the choir, the tall candles shining down on the gold and tinsel of the decorations. And on the floor we saw, as it were, a crowd of dark forms, the sisters rank on rank, all kneeling with clasped hands, their crucifixes upheld as {f to with- stand in the name of the Most Merciful the inroads of the brutal mob. In the very midst I discerned my mother. She was kneeling beside Sister Agatha. She wore the dress of a neophyte of the order. She did not see elther Anna or myself. But when the Yorkshireman's great figure, crowned with its steeple hat, filled up the doorway, she rose to her feet with a sudden glad cry * she cried. “he has God has sent me —Umphray We are saved, with my uncle should fall out well, at the Great House of New Milns. When we landed there was a prodigious gathering of folk on the quay to meet us, and foremost among those who stood there was Provost Gregory Partan. “Oh, lads, lads,” he cried, ere we got up the steps. ‘saw ye ocht o’ my bonny ship. the Corramantee—that I in mine innocence delivered into the hands of wicked and de- signing men?" He cried the words down to us before we had time to grasp a hand or answer any of the warm greetings which were showered upon us. “The Corramantee was a common pirate, sir,” said Umphray sternly, “and the men you put in charge of her were—' r Here he stopped as if not willing to say anything against the dead or perhaps be- cause he thought of Anna and me. “Oh, sirce me, dinna say that they turned out blackguards—the like was never Kenned! And sae muckle o’ my guid gear in their handlin’. Is there npcht saved—nocht ava’ o' a’ ny adventure?” “Stand out of my way, Provost Partan—I have nothing to do with you,” said the Englishman, “the deaths of many are upon your conscience!” “Na, na, guid Master Spurway. say not so," cried the provost, in some distress. “I was but as a lamb in the midst of wolves. I kenned nathing o’ ony ill doings beyond the seas’ “Sir,” cried Umphray, with decision, ‘the blood of those young children entrapped into your foul hole of a limekiln, sold into slavery, dead or dying of ill usage and cruelty in cane brake and plantation shall never cease to lie at your door!” “No at mine—no at mine——" wailed the provost, “tak' tent o’ your words. It can- na be proven that ever I handled a plack o' the price. What kenned I 0’ ony nefari- ous practices? But tell me, guid Maister Spurway, is there like to be no a farthin’ savit? Is a’ tint even unto the uttermost? Aweel—aweel, gin that be sae, the Lord’s wull be dune! {t fs indeed a blessed thing to hae the consolations of releegion in yin’s heart—aye, a great and solit comfort We three left.the provost to this _consola- tion and proceeded on our wa The little house in the vennel was empty, the key in the possession of a neighbor who had had the kindness to keep on figes in the winter season. But we did not bide there. Much more remained for us to do. And oh, when we had gotten us horses and taken the track over the hills, it was a joy beyond words to feel the caller air blow in our faces, to discern the Miln house shin- ing afar among its willow copses, and to hear the weir singing and the mill wheel clattering on as of yore, The weavers were all at their tasks as if Umphray had simply hand and sprang forward. With a sharp king cry she flung herself into the tall n’s arm: I saw his gray beard drop upon the girl's head. The mist whirled away. There was a rapid flush of dawn fn the east. “Umphray Spurway!” cried Will Bowman and I with one voice. And Umphray Spur- way it was. CHAPTER L. The Witch's Death Song. | “Tell the dog that if so much as a hair Jof her head be touched I will twist his } wizened neck. Higher than Haman will I hang him, and all his slave-driving tortur- ing crew! Tell him that!” It is not necessary to say that the words were those of Umphray Spurway. The great Yorkshireman was never care- ful of his speech. As soon as he heard where my mother was he proceeded to the store room in which the prisoners were con- ed wi mn] uard of sailors and there, also, wounded in the shoulder, but bearing his misfortunes with the philosophy of a man and the courage of a Spanish gen- jeman. i oeput the fn rpreter was not needed. ‘The fittle inquisitor answered for himself in his quaint and creaky English. “gir,” he said, “the lady is better than well, All day she sings with Sister Agatha. Syery night she prays. ME chait soon atop all that. I anall have er on board the ship in half an hour.” y “impossible,” chirruped the father in- quisitor. “The lady has cast aside this vorle pnounced its vanities. She is now worlear or the Convent of St. Mary of 0 She has taken the solemn vows. See Ge Tneak ot Cromwell you by the head 0} |, or voureste will take the vows off, or I’ shall jake vour head from off your shoulders and level to the ground the Convent of St. Mary of Brozas. 1 swear it by i Tgat he did not finish, The little Jesutt It shall be as the up his hands. She has not yet taken the he ‘The vow is not final. sister will black vell : ¥ i : ot Port Vhile we sailed for the Island o! orto: Bee Um pnray told us all that had passed since we were carried off, and I had left him standing over his own open grave in the limekiin of Provost Partan. He told how by favor of the king's advocate he had gotten letters of introduction to the goy- ernors of Jamaica and Barbadoes, com- manding them to put at his disposition all is majesty’s available sea forces within jurisdiction. Armed with this he hur- ried to Abercairn, where he had put into commission the best and soundest fighting brig that ever cleared from any Scottish anchorage. Her he had armed under let- ters of marque, and put a notable crew aboard, all the most daring blades of half a dozen ports. He told us how long-he had searched before he discovered the where- abouts of the buccaneers’ city of refuge from one of the foPmer crew married in Barbadoes and settled -down to respecta- bility upon his gains. Then he proceeded to recount now he and the commanders of his majesty’s two ves- sels had arrived too late to capture their rey, but just In time to take Capt. Key 1 his desperadoes after a stiff fight. The ptain and the ringleaders had been promptly hanged for one hundred enormi- ties, even as Saul Mark and Philip Stans- field would have been—and that in spite of Capt. Key's quasi-commission from the governor of the New England plantations. ‘They were just about to burn the place and depart when Eborra was brought in with his strange message. The rest we knew. As to those who had been left benind in Scotland, Umphray Spurway had no very recent ne: My poor grandmother was dead, and my Uncle John in full posses- sion of all the properties. That was all he could tell me. 5 “But we will filt him,” sald Umphray, “and that a8 soon as we get your mother out of the clutches of those gentry! He Indicated the poop where the grand in- quisitor and Don Nicholas were walking up and down in grave converse. . . ° . . . * It is not necessary that I should write down the tale of the sack of Porto Rico by the English. It {s written in-all the his- tories of these parts, as well as by Mr. Champlain, the Frenchman, in his very en- tertaining travels. Besides,’ there are things that it Is not very pleasant to remember as being done by men of our. nation. Yet, though an immense booty was taken, there was no brutality to women and little vin- dictiveness, save to the more cruel of the Umph would And with her old quick impulsiveness she let beads, crucifix and psalter drop clatter- ing upon the floor. She threw back her veil and white forehead band and fell weeping into his arms. “You have been so long, Umphray—so very long!’ she moaned without lifting her forehead from his breast. * . . , Spurway, even as:I knew He . . . “I like this better than being a nun,” said my mother, some days after, when we were once more on board the ship, and we all stood about her. Umphray had gone below to find a plaid to wrap about her, for the wind of the Atlantic was shrewd from the north. We were all happily on board the Mary, as Umphray had called his vessel—that is, all save Eborra and Janet Mark. The lat~ ter welcomed her commandante back with happiness in her eyes, scarcely dimmed by the fact that his majesty’s marines had made firewood of the red and gold coach. The news of Saul Mark's death (and per- haps also that of my father) had made a new woman of her, From this time forth she went no more in fear of the mouse in the wainscot. And Don Nicholas, re-estab- lished in his governorship with little loss, save of the household gear that had been stolen, kissed with more than his ancient affection the plump hand of Donna Juanita Silveda. The grand Inquisitor was shipped back to Spain by the San Esteban, which, having been left on the opposite side of the Isle of the Winds, escaped capture and came to Porto Rico three days after the English had taken ship again. Her majesty’s ves- sels, however, broke up the chain gangs and gave all a free passage to Jamaica or New England, where they were to be per- mitted to settle. Jean Carrel, however, elected to return with Umphray Spurway, having a desire to learn the English and Scottish weaving. And so he came on board with us, improving daily with the sea breezes and the stern Scots’ dizt of catmeal three times a day. It was our one unhappiness to leave Eborra behind us. We would have given much to bring him with us. Umphray of- fered him a livelihood if he would return. But at the thought of a new country and settled habits he declined. “Eborra will dic out of the woods!” he sald, smiling. ‘He will go back to the Isle of the Winds and keep guard over Mor- gan’s treasure.” So, since no better might be, Umphray gave him muskets and ammunition, to- gether with a half-decked boat which he bought for him in Porto Rico. He would take no money, but we loaded his little ship with all that makes wealth tn these parts. Before he bade us good-bye he told us that bis mother was dead. She died the same night Philip Stansfield had leaped into the flery abyss with Saul Mark in his arms. She had stood upon a point of rock near the castle all the evening, muttering incanta- ticns and stretching her hands out toward the sea, till some of the guard hgd threat= ened to shoot her for a witch. But soon after midnight she had broken into agong, singing In a glad, strong voice, hike t of @ young woman. No white man knew the Meaning of that song, but down i the negro quarters the blacks crouche®® and sweated with fear in the darkness. “That is the death-song!" they whis- pered. beah surely comes now to claim his own!” And from the sea horizon towaia the Isle of the Winds there came a nk of a mighty thundering. 3 In the morning the sentinel 1aKed: and lo! There upon the rock lay the witch we- man dead, prone on her face even a che had fallen, her skinny arms ang c’ hed hands stretched out toward the. og her desire. . ® s CHAPTER LI, © Tutor at Law. I It was night pice ie arrived in the town of Abercairn. The Mary cast anchor, by a curlous chance, almost in the same place fiom which the Corramantee had set sail. It seemed almost marvelously strange to sit on deck in the earliest morning and see the glimmer of the little whitewashed row of-houses about the quay, and then as ‘the dawn came on, to listen to the cocks ‘be- ginning to crow in the scattered landward farm towns. Hoy ae In the morning I was to go to claimymy inheritance without delay, Wil Bowman and Umphray Spurway accompanying mie. Anna and my mother were to remain on board till we made ‘things re: for them @t the Miln House, or if eg ' stepped out to show hospitality to a cus- tomer, ¥et neither did we tarry our desire was to dé so. My uncle was re- ported at home, He had spent much of his ume lately at the great house, oftentimes riding all the way from his law business in Edinburgh. It was the deep silence of noon, a brood- ing day sullen with great heat, when I turned down the avenue past the lodge yett, where I had so often played. I could not help looking for the window through which—but I had other matters to think upon today. Will Bowman was on one side of me, Umphray on the other. I was surely coming to my own at last. Then came the turn of the avenue at which, high above the great beeches, [ saw the turrets of the house of New Milns. All was in excellent order, better, 1 think, than in my = father’s time. ee “He will show fight,” sald Will; the man will never give up all this a strugg! 4 “Give it up he shall—I judge him to be lawyer enough to know that he must,” said Umphray, the corners of his mouth going grimly down. “Philip, lad, are you here, great as “surely without feared to face him? Weuld you desire wit- ne se: ? We will come in with you if you are! I laughed and shook my “TI trow no, proverb, “1 na the tod But all the same my heart was beating rarely when I left them at the angle of the green plantation nearest to the front door. I marched straight up the steps and fted the knocker, wondering to find my- self so near It. It used to be so high above my head. About and within brooded a silence which could be felt, and the noise of my knocking reverberated down the passages like thunder. Yet for all of my courage I put my hand in my coat tail where a pistol was hidden when at last I heard steps come slowly and a little totteringly down the hall. The door swung cautiously back, and lo! be- fore me, clad in his ancient bottle-green coat, I saw—Caleb Clinkaberry! His hair was brushed more carefully from one side to the other of his bald head in a kind of unequal and make-shift thatch- ing. At sight of me he gasped and fell back a step. “Is it a spirit—a visitation—my poor lad’s head. aid I, answering them in a who has faced the lion fears ghost?” he cried. “No,” sald I, holding out my hand heartily, “I am indeed your lad in the flesh. But what do you here, Caleb? Where is my uncle? Ken you that my mother is home safe and sound?” “‘Soothly—soothly,” cried the old man, “hasten me not. Your mother, did you say, my little Mary come home? The Lord of the high mercies be thanked. I have prayed Him for this. Your uncle—why, your uncle is ben there in his study at this moment. You will find him a changed man. And little Mary home again! Faith, I must pack my box and make me ready—for the Httle Mary is come home. She will not know where to find a petticoat in the Yett house till old Caleb finds them for her. Yet is the place all in order. Would it please you to step down there?” “Presently, presently, Caleb,’ said T. aay I must see my uncl2—take me to our will and pleasure, sir—aye—aye, but he minds me of Sir James—the very moral of Sir James. Mary's child, grown to be a man. Take you to your uncle, said you? Yea and verily, that will I, and bide at the door also to hear what shall befall between you!” And with his grandest air the ancient major domo preceded me to the room that had been my grandfather's, the same in which we had all sat at our wine that night when Sir James brought me home from the change house. He threw open the door wide to the wall. “Sir Philip Stansfield, an jt please you, Master John,” he announced, like a herald ushering in a prince, At that moment I was watching my uncl3. He had been sitting at a desk read- ing a book. And at the sound of the name he rose to his full height, gripping the tall back of the chair and staring at me as I stood in the doorway. “I bid you good day, Uncle John!” I said, I fear too much like a challenge. .“Good day to you, young gentleman! said he, courteously, not taking his eyes from my face. “I want mine own, Uncle John,” I con- unuea; “this house and estate. They are main My uncle bowed with one hand on his heart. - a Bray’ we ey you be and what you set up for being, young sir?” said he, throwing his head backward and speak- ink @s cool as the precentor Treading out the lines two by two on sacrament Sab- bath morning. Yet for all that T could see very well that he knew me. I had my reply ready. “I am Philip Stansfield, son of Philip and grandson of Sir James, your nephew, and proprietor of the lands and heritages of New Milns and Moreham, as indeed very well you know. “Gently, gently,” said he, “the burden of proof lies on you. There has been some small breach of continuity. You will, I presume, allow so much. You are able, then, I take it, to make good your claim by reputable witnesses, who have had know!- edge of you during all the time of your ab- sence from Scotland?” can,” I answered firmly. “Meaning those gentlemen down there,” he said, shrewdly, indicating with his thumb the spot on the cdge of the planta- tion where I had left Will Bowman and Umphray Spurway. “Well, yes,” I answered, lamely enough. being, to tell the truth, a little taken aback and not knowing what to make of my uncle's attitude. “I wish they would keep off the g your grass, that is, if the title be good “That the Fifteen shall decide,” said I, grandly. “Doubtless, doubtless," murmured my uncle John, still looking out of the window, “and pray what can good Umphray, the cloth weaver, prove?” “That he found me a prisoner among the Spanish!" I answered. “A good claim to a Protestant estate any- where in these islands!” he said, bowing ironically. “And the limber young gentle- man who Is kicking sods out of the sward with his heels—your sods, what is—what may have been his connection with you?” “Uncle John,” said I, a little nettled, “‘you carry it off very well, but all the same you krew that you meant te kidnap me, to murder me “Nephew, presumptive,” returned he, quite unmoved, “these words are action- able. Take notice, Caleb Clinkaberry, you with your ear at the keyhole out there, I may need you for a_ witness.” “You set on Saul Mark, in whose com- pany I last saw you, to carry me off with thirty other poor lads to sell for slaves in the Carolina plantations. “And pray, sir, if it be a fair question, hew much did you bring?” “Tut, said I, impatiently; ble—' “Sir, “Do to this estate? Ss, “you quib- Deny me at your peril!" “I deny you not (1 wish to heaven these gentlemen would either come in or away). But I will ask you a questi ing you are the per: style you assume, do you own me as you tutor nominate, as well as your tutor legi- tum or tutor at law?” I suppose you are both. stand not the law terms.” It is not required. Well, de Tama sir, lawyer—a successful, I trust a fairly com- petent, one. If you wish, I will give you my advice, for which you will pay me at the usual rates. They shall be taxed by the court if you wish it.” ‘miled. I began to find my Uncle John tly entertaining. He paused to catch my assent, as a min- ister does at a baptism, and then he un- locked a little cupboard in the wall close by his hand. “Here,” he said, uu will find duplicate copies of all accounts of my intromissions ince the death of Sir James Stansfield. The originals of which these certified du- plicates are, of course, in my office in Edin- burgh. Now, sir, for my advice—supposing that these grass-kicking gentlemen (whose hamstrings God confound!) can establish our title, actions will lie betwixt us—dl- recta et contraria tutelae, as we phrase it— for count and reckoning of time of tutelage. Sir, I am going to Edinburgh immediatety Shall I have th next derunt Unele John. tonished. Little “I daresay not,” am utterly as- said he, smiling, coldly but pleasantly; “neither, to tell the truth, did I. So Jong as you remained in foreign parts I was your heir of destination; but there was always a possibility, now happily fructified into some probability—I speak without prejudice—that you haye returned. In that case 1 am your curator, and these are my accounts, which, I trust, you will find correct, with natural deductions for my_ expe: in your service. If you find, as I think you will, that the estates are in good heart,"and that under my manage- ment nothing has been neglected, why, sir, I have a good law business in Edinburgh, as any lawyer will tell you, and several noble gentlemen do me the honor to trust me as their agent and doer. What ‘say you? Shall I continue to act as yours?” “Why, Uncle John,” I stammered, “I have not considered” “I mean, supposing that you are satisfied with my present intromissions?" I held out my hand. For the time being I forgot all about Saul Mark. I only re- membered that my uncle used to make me paper boats to sail on the pond. They had a sail amidships and generally capsized a yard from shore. He took my hand and shook it slightly, more, however, as a duty than a privilege. “Ah, that is better,” he said. “It is al- ways best to keep these perquisites within families if possible. And there may be a good many pickings which are as well in the hands of a Stansfield as in those of any Dalrymple that ever ate pig meat.” He handed me a bunch of keys from a nail at his elbow. “You will find the servants ctvil, though Caleb behind the door there (he raised his voice) is getting into his dotage——” We heard feet clattering indignantly down the corridor. “The liquor and wines are in the large gardevin behind the curtain in the corner. This is the key of the cellar. The brandy is fair, the claret excellent. Good day to you, sir.” He took his hat from a peg and with only a slight wave of the hand went to- ward the door, leaving me astonished and dumfounded. ‘As he was going out he turned with his fingers on the handle. “And, pardon me, if you wish to have any turf left, ask these gentlemen to come on to the gravel And with that he was gone. I heard the pounding of a horse's hoofs beneath, and, going mechanically to the window, I saw my uncle riding down the avenue. And he never so much as turned his head to look at the great house of New Miins, which had been his for so long a time. I went down to the front door, hardly able to speak for sheer astonishment. Then I beckoned to Umphray and Will and told them what had happened from the very first word, while all was still fresh in my memory. “Did he not take it well?” I said. “Could ever any one have expected him to take it_s0?” Umphray Spurway smiled and slowly nodded his head with a satisfied air. “Blood—blood—” he said, “that is where sure of moving at the j blood tells. or me IT should simply have broken your head and kicked Fou down the stairs, young man.” “And IT” also agreed Will Bowman, Por bath day in mine own house of New Mil ‘his day, at the morning diet of wr Mr. John Bell was more than om Greich, and that young imp, James. tigued me with his sling restles He takes the quality from near tive, though he cannot sling stones « as she could mother and Umphray toda: thow I laughed) standing wv uncomfortably at the plate, for moth had made him accept the ¢ idership against his will. Though born Episco- palian,” she said. ve always been a convinced Presbyterian at heart. And 59 must you be Umphray Whereupon Umphray promised. His face was by ordinary grave as I passed bim this morning, yet methinks his farther ey lid quivered. Nowadays we ser but little of Wil! Bowman—far less than I could wish. I mentioned this to my mother, ant asked her if she could imagine a reason. “Why, of course,” she cried (we were alone together); “did you not know? He Was always in love with Anna!” “That Is nonsense, mothe: T answer for the thing greatly astonished me. “ I have been with him all these y noticed nothing. Neither, 1 am sure, did Anna! Then it was that my mother laughed heartily; but the inwardness of her mirth 1 could not perceive. “Trust a woman to know when a man loves her,” she said, when she had finished, “and for all that you think of her, your Anna is just like the rest. Afterward we went into th> kirk, and the service was a solemn and appropriate one, though Mr. Bell was well nigh an hour and a half at his discourse. He has been lec- turing through “Canticles” for the past four years and a half, and so naturally he could not find much that was new to say. But his text was exceedingly comfortable to me, and when he gave it out Anna Mark put her hand into mine round our Jamie's back. It was “Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it!” And it came into my head, sitting thus with my wife's hand in mine (but secretly and as if to curb th> imp) that I should tell my mother of Philip Stansfield and his last words, which I had never done. I had spared her (as I thought) on board the » finding her strang nd upset with troubles » was happily wedded and ¢ > Miln house. Nothing could fright her Sh would go straight and tell U what- ever secret he might pre So sending on Anna with I told my mother all as w ho he Englishman. 1 as I could— y Capt. Stansfield had said at the las ‘ell her that I did it for her sake!” But at the first sound of my late father's name she cried out, sudderingly: “I do not care to hear. of Philip Stansfield or ey were both men of wrath And then, letting go my arm me, calling loudly on her husba “Um- Phray, do not go so fast. I war You so headstrong and inconsiderate. et that at this present I am not , Mary,” said Umphray, turned back toward us My mother stooped to pull her kirt little up to show her preity she took Umphray's arm with a little hay py jerk of p: sion. To hide a smi Anna's ayes met mine I turned to Imp over the stile “James,” 1 d him, ste: Mr. Bell's text this mornin “I forget,” he answered, prompt as echo from the wood, “but I killed six flies on the bookboard!” And as I ufted him down IT met gently, and shoes n t the :, “what was Anna’s eyes once again over our bairn's shoulder, and from what 1 saw in them I knew that she would never forget th <t of Mr. John Bell th onsecutive le ire and addi tion upon the Song of Solomon. “Many waters canno! can the floods dr commonly called quench love, neither His Idea, From Life. She—“I have been thinking o ding, dear, and our future lif He—“And have you got everything ar- ranged?" She—“Everything. You know how me- thodical I am and how I like to plan ahead.” He—That’s right. I'm glad I'm going to marry a girl like that.” er our wed- She—“And now about the wedding. It will be a church wedding, of course. He—“Oh, certainly.” She—“And with regard to the trip. I've been thinking it all over, dear, and I be- Neve, after all, a few months in Europe will be the best thing we could do.” He (his salary is two thousand nine hun- dred)—“Do you think so?" She—“Oh, yes. Then, after we get back, won't it be nice to pick out a nice, cozy house? So much better than an apartment. I know just what J want.” He—“Fine.” She—“You might buy one.” He—“Of course. That's eas: She—“They are so cheap n A friend of mine got one the other day—how much did she pay for it? Vhy, it wasn’t more than thirty thousan He—“Dirt cheap. Will one be enough?’ She—“Of course, you goose! We'll nm one with a stable, though. And what do you think, dear, shall it be automobiles or horses?” He—‘“Both. She—“I was afraid you might think that too expensive.” He (weakly)—“Oh, not at all. I don’t mind a little thing like that. How many servants?” She—“Well, if we are economical we can get along with five. And now, dear, there is only one thing more that um ocan help me with. When shall we have the wed- ding?” He—“Do you really want me to decide that She—“Yes,<I do.” = He—“Oh, I am not particular. fourteen years from today.” ecsesrbecais Vernal Horrors. From the Chicago Record. Joe—“‘Aren’t you rejoiced that outdoor sports have begun again?” “Qutdoor sports? Oh, say—you don't mean it’s time to beat carpets again, do you?” Say about THE PREVAILING From Sketch, ST Baswes— te Jovial Friend—“Why, old man, what Volunteer Major (Savagely)—“Paint fleth fool that’s made the same joke.” MASCULINE HUMOR, that nose at ‘the front? * course! You're the twen-