Evening Star Newspaper, October 9, 1921, Page 60

r gt ' THE SUNDAY STA WASHINGTON, .D. ¢, OGTOBEE 9, 192{_PART Z. THE EMPE ROR HAD RIAN — — — A Complete Story by Bernice Bro EPHZIBAH PRESTON scraped into the earthenware crock the leavings of cottage cheese and johnnycake that would do for the chickens, rinsed out the dishpan, and put on the shelves of the black walnut cupboard the supper plates and cups, still warm from the washing. A thousand times she had washed and arranged them in & pile on the shelf, the heavy, cheap ones from the Green Mountain Emporium at the bottom, the delicate ones, adorned with fluted edges gnd tiny single roses, on the top. These plates had come all the way from Vermont when, long Years bes fore, Zeke Preston had sold the rocky farm, cupped deep in the hills, and come west to the land of broad pas- tures. There are no mountains in Towa, nor a swift-flowing river, but the farmer boys who came out of New England brought into a low-lying prairie the old names of Green Moun- tain and Roaring Brook. From the table she picked up the scarlet cover by its four corne 80 that the crumbs could not escape. and opened the door of the kitchen. Outside it was April. Over the fields hung the delicate low mist of early spring, and the air was sweet with the fragrance of turned earth and new woodland. A pair of gluttonous sparrows, still awake, chirped and fluttered about the crumbs till a dog. bounding down the lane, scattered them Into protesting flight. Ten_feet behind the dog came a boy. He was out of breath, and the color burned under his clear skin. “Gee.” he gasped, as he reached the steps, “T'll bet you've had supper a'ready.” Hephzibah Preston smiled at the ingenuousness of the boy's remark. He was late, scandalously late, and he knew it, but his manner was cas- ual. For a long second she watched him skeptically. “Well, T ain’t goin® to bet against you,” she answered finally. An instant their eves held each other, while the boy dug the point of his copper-toed boot into the soft earth of the path. “Or I'll bet you saved somethin’ out for me—any- ways.” With instinctive artistry of appeal he smiled at her. “And I'll bet there's ple.” * ¥ ¥ ¥ OGETHER they went into the kitchen. It was darker now, and the boy lighted the big kerosene drip that stood on the table. she asked at last, “where Shielding her hand with a dish towel, she drew the plate of supper out of the oven. “It's hot” she warned. “Now eat it quick, 'fore Zeke comes—and leave somethin' for Stranger.’ Stephen made a rapid and equitable division of the fried mush and pot: toes while the dog watched him, eyes blinking and mouth watering with expectation. Hephzibah shook the grate of the stove and took off her apron. Then she sat down in the hickery rocker that had been her mother’s. “What kept you?" she finally demanded. or a minute he regarded her speculatively. His mood was expan- sive: t's a secret. With the wisdom of instinctive tact Hephzibah did not press him. “It's a secret,” he went omn, ‘“but I It's for the exercises * His eyes were shin- ing, and the old-fashioned, three- pronged fork hung now, neglected, from the rim of his plate “Stevle,” she cautioned supper. Why, you ain’ yet." Stephen was like that. The blood in his veins was not Preston blood, slow- pulsed and phlegmatic. Hephzibah Preston did not understand him. his etrange intensities, his brave enthus- fasms, his despondencies. He had a mind ‘more subtle, finer-grained than hers. Perhaps back in that past, of which rone of them were sure, lived a race of poets and heroes. 'There were beauty and laughter d trag: edy for his_inheritance. Hephzibah Preston could not analyse him, but she loved him with the shy affection of a childless woman, and that love aye her wisdom. = milk, “Drink ~ your amended. . “How can I eat and tell you both “fore Zeke comes in?’ he demanded. His logic was relentless. “Well, eaf now, and you kin come out to the barn with me afterward to see if the new calf's warm enough.” “Zeke ought to look after the crit- ters hisself,” the boy contended. “Why, you and me and Stranger has got more knack with cows than he has” At the mention of his name the dog, stretched out now before the stove, flopped his tail sharply against the bare floor, and the boy and the woman exchanged a quick smile of apprecia- tion. Stephen, dropped down on his knees and roMed the dog’s head gent- ly from side to side. “Gee, he's an understanding dog, ain’t he, Aunt Hephzibah? I reckon I ject couldn’t stand it if anythin’ should happen to him.” She smiled down at him gravely. ‘Nothin® will,” she said, and she hoped she was speaking the truth. Zeke was long in the barn that evening. The cow with the new calf was still feverish, and Zeke arranged and rearranged the clean straw for her bed and the rough gunny-sack cover. It was true. =Zeke haaw:o talent for critters, such as_was sessed by Dolfi Terschak, Si Smart’ hired man, or even by Smart himself. Another man than Zeke would have sent for Dolf, with his gentle black eyes and strong, blunted fingers. Dolfl was the witch doctor of Green Mountain, Jowa. Some farmers are jike that, wise with a curious, intui- tive knowledge. An ignorant Bo- hemian immigrant, he could neither diagnose nor explain, but he could cure. Zeke wanted Dolfi now, but the witch doctor was Smart's hired man, and Zeke owed money to Smart. Be- sides, Zeke was no man to ask favors. In a curious, dumb way he felt every man's hand was against him, and his hand was against every man. Into the easy-going, generous, loose-fisted middle west he brought a tradition of. struggle, too grim and too deep to forget. Life on that barren New England farm had etched with the acld of poverty something bitter and Jasting on to his soul. There he had farmed as & man does to keep from starvation. In Iowa oné® farmed to grow rich. MEN held more land than they could cultivate. They sowed and reaped with shameless extravaganc but the land forgave them. Only Zeke couldn’t forgive. Most of ail, he hated Smart, the squire of the coun- ty. Smart broke all the canons of thrift and good sense, and each year added acres to his lands and cattle to his herds. About Si Smart there was something almost magnificent. He had come out a ploneer, ahead of the railroad, leaving a prosperous up- state New York farm to the care of a less turous brother. Upon the unbroken acres of rolling prairie he had staked his dollars and his dreams and his youth. One cannot ploneer with a half soul and succeed. Si Smart succeeded. Everything he touched yielded him profit. He was like the King of the Golden River to whose land the Jocusts never came, or drought, or flood. The whole country paid tribute to him. He was a veritable Cedric the Saxon, and Zeke was a Gurth with the brass ring of debt soldered around his neck. If the cow died, so would the calf, and the rent was due on the forty meres Zeke. leased from the squire. The barn was deep in shadow now and silent, except for the short, harsh bruthlni of the sick beast. Zeke busied himself with a dosen incom sequential tasks. His anxiety drove him into an aimless activity which, in his heart, he knew to be futile. In the kitchen Stephen washed uj his dishes and brought in' the woor from the shed. Then he drew up a chair to the table. The light from the nish your et nothin’ too,” she * K K K h Rob! | 3 health of lamp showed hair still his skin and cul the delicate the w: hi n, but possesseqd of of energy one -’elaon n:a- ir & coun- try lad, & nervous restlessness, PN- phetic both of success and of fallurs. “I reckon I better tell you all.” he ‘cause I want you should ask ' for me from Zek: She looked at him sharply, and a shade of anxlety clouded her fac “We're buildin’ somethin’ ove: s{ Smart’s old efovuh-d “It's a surprise for ti 7 school rCis Nobody knows byt me and Bill te and Red snd the ‘erschak kids and the dob. “Quite & b 'h for to keep one ge- ;m:-d“mtl'vhl bak smiled. “What you His eyes shining with excitement, he waited a minute for the dramatic effec —chariot!” There was blank amazement on Hephsibah's face. With curious eyes she watched him. Were all boys lik this one, or had ago, brought a strangell her from the orphan asylum in Des The exer: is to before the schoolhouse. First -with the girls and he expalined, “then speeches and poems from the poetry bool ‘Then Bill White's goin® to give a ora. tion from Shakespeare—an: at’ ‘where the charlot comes in."” Perh. this was lucid, but Heph- sibah remained unenlightened. “I don't h an. 'Cot not, conceded. “T ain’t through yet. His oration is a Roman —an s 5 aroul s head, and we coma drivin’ up in a chariot, ilke they used to t Tnd he jumps out and gives his ora. on. Hephsibah shook her head dublous. e kinda silly to me,” sh It was silly, perha, but not to Stephen or to Red or Bill White or the Terschaks. Nothing is foolish 's make-belleve, if s believed playing Indian, or pirates, or in Hood, or Shake: re. In the crossroads schoolhou: near Gr Mountain, Jows, the older of the chil- dren—for the school was ungraded— had read Jullus Caesar, and because Jacob Sears, who was working his way through law school, belleved it was at, 30 did the fourteen rangy, freckle-faced farmer lads whom he taught. Jacob Bears, gentle and {dealistic. might never become a great lawyer, but he was a great teacher. Into a dreary crossroads school he brought that something which may be called appreciation. Long after they had forgotten his name, the rangy lads ‘who been Jacob Sear’s pupils re- tained the imprint of his spirit and still cared for the things he loved. On the bottom shelf of the cup- board, t to tl Bible, Stephen found his history book, torn and dog- eared. With eager fingers he turned over the pages till he found an old stone cut of Hadrian’s chariot. he explained, the book spread open on the table in front of H'Dhflbl’l’:. t here’s the part that's important. I want Zeke should loan his double harnes: He had no way of know. ing the pleading that burned {n his ‘“We just gotta have one, Aunt Hephzobah, or_the whole thing will fall through. D'you think he might, " he questioned. “D’you think away from the ace. Why must maybe? he_might Hephsibah earnes youth care so intensely? Why should it so recklessly court disappoint- ment? “You see, Aunt Hephsibah, I gotta reason for askin™ " He realizing in some looked in his special stopped again, vague way how clumsy and danger- ous words may be. ‘ou see, some of the fellahs think we're poor and unsuccessful and that Zeke's tig besides. Then there's somethin’ else,” he went on, “and this is hard to ex- plain, even to you. You s every- body knows I was placed out, and that makes me sorta different. T thought if Zeke would do somethin’ for me once—like other boys’ par- ents do—it would sorta make me seem more regular” He stoppe: suddenly, embarrassed and shy. “I dunno as I ought to have said that— even to yo * ¥ x % HBPHZIBAH PRESTON. understood. She, too, knew the misery of being different, for neither she nor Zeke had fitted Into the new country. She knew Zeke would think the chariot was foolishness, even as she did. Besides, she knew Zeke was worried. “I d’n'( know, Stevie,” she OVER AT SI SMART'S COWSHED THEY WERE BUILDING A “SURPRISE”—A CHARIOT DE ae said, “you could ask him. But ask him quietlike and polits, ,and don’t explain much, like you did to me.” She had little faith in Zeke's sy pathy for pageantry. In her heart she knew she should spare both Zeke and Stephen the clash that was surely im- pending. There was only & thou- sandth chance Zeke would yleld Hephsibah took it—and lost. One glance at the heavy, work- ‘weary face of her husband as he en- tered the kitchen convinced her the ehariot would be only a phantom ve- hicle. He was dejected and worried and his ill nature vented itself on the boy. He szuspected Stephen stopped off Smart's, on the way home from school, to play with the Terschaks—and 8! Smart was his enemy. Besides, Dolfi Teraschak had come neither from Vermont nor New York, hence his progeny, the number of which was legion, belon outside the pale. Zeke consid the Ter- schaks “durned furriners” and no fit n pl ed ou! ‘Go to bed,” he growled at Stephen. The lad jumped. “Could I ask you somethin' first, Uncle Zeke?’ he pleaded. eyebrows drew into a brist- line across his forehead. : the do!}?l Zeke' be unjustified. He had only one dou- ble harness, and he needed it. Zeke ‘was no rich squire like Si Smart. His belongings were few. Beside, some- thing might happen to his loan, and Zeke possessed no margin of re- soyrce to cover gccidents. Stephen knew this. Could the boy be mad, or Just impydent? t uden! "Git out of this room and git to bed,” Zeke shouted. “Had about ortent of more rain, and the boy's lootsteps dragged, Hopefully the dog barked up at him, and with elaborate good nature laid a stick at his feef. Stephen ignored the invitation. Even the capture of a chipmunk, aring still his winter coat of glossy fur, failed to arouse either interest or ad- miration. Stephen was desperate. If only he hadn’t thought up the chariot 14 and offered Zeke's harness! For & general to surrender is a sorry busi- ness. He could not admit yet he had falled. Something must happen. pride and his dictatorshlp were at stak * k% % AT the crest of the hill a bend of the road brought him in sight of Smart's acres, the windbreak of cedar hedge to the north, the pleas- the conviction in his voice.. -“But I'll kill somebody -else first.” “"< ‘The situation: was saved by the ar- rival of Red, astride a plowhorse and leading another, head down and dis- pirited, by a halter. It was ifme to start for school, and :here was still much to be accomplished. * Stephen enjoyed the drama of such occasions as thesa when, for & few brief mo- ments, he tasted the joys of ;dictator- ship. The boy was & miniature Smart, though little did either dream of his kinship to the other. Stephen ruled more by a sort of instinctive tact than by force. After all,-he was shorter than Bill .and Red and most of the Terschaks. He won dnly be- cause he possessed more imagination than they did. Under Stephen’s direction the har- ness was fitted to.the two solemn horses. and the chariot, brave in its L ‘went back to the house. to the man hunt, and the searchers After an eternity of twenty minutes Stephen crept out from the bushes. He be- 1lieved it must be midnight, or maybe 1 o'clock, though the windows of Smart's kitchen still glowed, yellow squares of light against the darkness. Like a shadow, the boy crept up to the door of the barn and listened. Inside he could hear the soft pad of t as he wandered about. he whispered. “Strang- er, good-bye. I'll probably never see you any more." A low whine answered him, but it ended in a yip of joy. His master would not degert him! Reckless of the cost, the boy flung himself agalinst the door and with savage hands wrung the knob this way and that. The door creaked, but it did not yield, not even the fraction of an inch. STEPHEN LIFTED HIS EYES TO THE ANGRY SQUIRE’S. “¥FI'S MY DOG YOU GOT LOCKED IN YOUR BARN. IT WAS ME STOLE YOUR HARNESS,” HE SAID FAINTLY. enough of your nonsens day. A hot flush stained the boy’ lchle';kl. got no call to say ft’ hind the bravado lurked tears of anger and ppointmen! “‘Stephen. Hephsibah’ came a command. “Go to bed.” For a second his deflance still burned—but Hephzibah seldom com- manded. His shoulders drooped. “Gee,” he stumbled, and a half sob caught in his throat—'‘gee, you're tightwads, both of yo This was a lie, and he knew it, but the bitterness of childhood disap- pointment {s hard to bear. Up in his gable room he stared for a long time at the patch of moon- light on the unpainted bare floor. He would have to tell the boys he had failed—he who had been the prime mover. At last there came footsteps It was Hephzibah. she whispered. eyes stared up at ‘Course,” he answered. She sat down on the edge of the bed, a little timidly. “Couldn’t you see it was best you shouldn’t worry Zeke?’ she said, finally. For a long time there was silence. “Stevie?” A sob, choking, unrestrained, hide- ous, broke the stiliness. ‘With a sudden tenderness she leaned over and stroked the head buried deep in the pillo “Stevie, don’t cry. Again there was silence; then the l.i‘eld turned slowly on the pillow: “I n't. - “Maybe somethin’ will happen,” she comforted- jomethin’ you ain't ex- pectin'— “Maybe.” And it did. her. T g Af 'S PROUD Country schools in Iowa closed early, for lgbor was scarce, and even a hoy of fourteen could become a hand. Hours long, o slant-seated plow, these youngsters rode while the blade rolled back the great fur- rows of éarth slowly. Slowly! When the delicate yellow-green corn ap- peared, they rode again on the culti- vators. This is arduous work, for the false step of a ho or any bungling when the team wheels at the end of the row means irreparable 6. Being a boy on a farm in Jowa was a solemn business in thos days—es the deep-etched faces and work-calloused ds of the men they became bear witness. Accordingly, exercises at the cross- roads mmfll{a'm e were scheduled for Friday afternoon, early that April, day morning 'u‘ ‘l half holi- nger. ti to tramped Stephen and the St Kg. It was g gray day, heavy witl | for one ant brick house, built like the one Si had left in New York state, the great red barns for the hay, the grain cribs, the Terschaks' cottage and the long, low sheds for the cattle. Un- known to Si Smart, the last of these sheds housed a wooden chariot, de- signed after a stone cut of the proud car of Hadrian. Stephen came in the front drive- way and walked past the house t ward the barn. Smart's hay barn was always an adventur It was big and shadowy and sweet smelling. Pigeons nested in the cupola, and swallows clustered under the high eaves. Just to postpone %nlns' to the cowshed, Stephen and the dog turned in at the door, the Stranger already sniffing eagerly at a suspicious hole under the harness racks. Idly the boy fol- lowed him, diverted by the dog’s ex- citement. Then his eyes' foaused. There, not two feet before him, hung a tangled paradise of harness—old and rusty and unpolished, new and resplendent, with nickel trimmings and brass buckles. For a second he hesitated, and his heart pounded in his throat. Then he looked around sharply. He was alone. With eager fingers he appraised the straps and made a selectiol It was a new harnes: nd the leather felt like satin to his fingers. Tucking it under his arm, he ran out of the stable and around to thé shed. The Terschaks were there already, brown-eyed and doclle. Red was bringing the horses over from his father’s pasture, and Bill White a rived, the toga rolled tightly under his arm. Into a pile of shavings Stephen tossed the harne: He hated some way to touch it, look at it. What was the matter? It was a beautiful harness, and he would re- turn it right after the exercises. No- body would be the wiser. Slowly Bill unrolled the toga, ardu- ously executed for him by his sister, and his bi ‘With blazing eyes he looked “I ain’t goin to wear 1 “Looks jest like a This was insurrection, but without doubt Bill had a case. “Well, it ain't,” Stephen argued. “Al the Ro- mans usta wear 'em, like the picture in the book. “Then you wear it,” Bill retorted, “if you think it's so elegant.” “But I ain’t making the oration,” Stephen argued. Stephen would have been delighted to be the star actor. Indeed, the only reason Bill had been chosen was be- his voice had alresdy attsl 1id and -unfiinching bass. Bill t4 hti ‘wall n?m ."F;’d‘l, u:v.'\ saines B ir’rwu.r There was no mistaking|. paint and trappings, drawn up and| There attached. Bill consented to wear around his forehead a band of white cheesecloth, cut from a flour sack, if the others would too. Out of the back lane from Smart's meadow proceeded an amazing spec- tacle. The deep ruts of the road tossed the lurching vehicle from side to stde, like a ship in midchannel, and the Jowa Romans clung. desper- ately to the none too stable dash- board. Behind a thicket of willows, near the schoolhouse, they concealed it until the singing and poetry speak- ing. Then, at a signal, Stephen and Bill and Red reappeared, with the fillets of Rome around their temples, urging the two de!pon?ent plow-horses into a gallop. The time and labor expended were all out of proportion to the audience. The dosen freckle-faced youngsters were curious and duly impressed, and the scattering of parents, coerced into coming, were startled. Bill's ora- tion. it must be confessed, was over- shadowed by the elaborateness of the stage setting. Only Jacob Sears, to whom this had been no secret, was pleased. It meant more to him than a schoolboy’s prank. It meant’ that even to Bill White the “grandeur that was Rome” could never fade entirely. At the end of the program he made a speech and shook hands with the charfoteers. Stephen's cup of hap- piness was overflowing. He bhad no way of knowing what had transpired back fn Smart's hay barn and the snares that were laid for the harness thief. Sl SMART was, by nature, an easy- going man, bluff and generous. But, like Cedric, the Saxon, his tem- per was Gaelic. Smart had planned to drive his new team of bays into Green Mountain to the surrey, and this was the harness demeanded on such occasions. Not only was the harness new, but he wanted it at that particular moment. He was genuine- 1y_angry. Whoever made off with harness, by thunder, he'd lay hands on, by gad and he would! In the west a grudging sunset had faded into twilight when the chariot was concealed again in the cowshed and Red had departed with the plow- horses. The purloined harness over his arm, Stephen made a circuitous trip to the hay barn, his dog at his heels. At this time the men would be'u supper. He was comparatively safe. ‘The big door was drawn to for the night, and Stephen opened with cau- tious fingers the small one at the side. Inside the barn it was almost dark, and he heard no noise. Lured by the scent. of a squirrel or rat, the dog disappeared into a distant corner. In a panic of nervousness Stephen slipped the harness over a peg on the wall and turned toward the door. Suddenly, on the stairs from the base- ment, where the horses were Kkept, sounded _ footsteps, _each moment closer. For a second the boy stood as though he were paralyzed. One moment more and he would be caught. He was desperate. In the gloom of the corner appeared a figure. It was Smart. With an oath the man started forward, then he stumbled fell. An overturned wheelbarrow can impede the prog- ress of even a Cedric. Like & weasel in a runway, the boy fled for the door and banged it roughly behind him. He must hide. To the west of the barn stood a thicket of currant bushes. Flat on his stomach, the boy crept under them, so agilely that scarce a leaf flickered. It was the work of a second. Two minutes later the door was slammed again, and the voice of Si Smart challenged the barnyard. “You -tor-no;hln’.a. 'fi‘kkg" yellow rat,” he bellows get you' Then came a scratching at the closed door and the sound of a whin- ing, high pitched and pleading. Un- he currant b\luhu|stephen heard t. The dog was a prisoner. i y ,"‘srnnrt muttered. “must be his dog I shut In there.” There was 2 moment of silence, when it seemed to Stephen the beating of his heart would suffocate him. Surely Smart, too, must hear it! The man at the door chuckled gruffly. “Well, by gad, the: dog stays!” And a heavy key turned in s protesting lock. Then Si Smart roused the hired nd the chase was on. Time and passed by Stephen, but clod, and the darkness was kind. It was lonely under the currant bushes, and the damp earth was cold. He wondered how much * * x ¥ le there. This was| c Well, e an’ going on living. He was 2’5&?::'"".4‘. eo‘wlr& Bm, would hate him and Zeke. Only. Hephsibah by : T uain trom 3 barn sounded a long Again from th mourning wail, ending in s geries of tive yaps, -} , log— and he had deserted him. How hideous he was, agonising! Darkness had -v‘l’:utly put sn end l | as excitement and delight in the dog's bark now. This must be a new sort of game. With his paws he sprang time and again against the wooden panels. It was no use. Once more Stephen pressed his lips against the keyhole. “I can’t help you none, old boy,” he whispered. “You gotta stay in there and starve, and it's all my fault.” Then because he had no other place to go, he started home. Over the fringe of willow hedge a new moon rose, delicate and distant, and from the sky behind it the sapphire blue of evening had not departed. one of those nights in spring of a strange, intangible beauty that wound with their very loveliness. Even the flelds where, half drunk with fatigue, he had trudged in the wake of the plow, plucking morning- glory weeds, seemed beautiful to him. This was his country, his land—and from now on he must be an exile, an outcast, a criminal. He had wanted to go to the high school in Green Mountain next year with the other boys, even though Zeke thought edu- cation was foolishness. Well, he could never think of going now! With the scourge of remorse, cruel as only youth can be cruel, Stephen tashed himself. * % ¥ X JIE was skirting the field that Zeke rented from Smart. Another turn and he would be home. But the next turnebrought him a surprise. Across the cow yard, miry with the trampling of cattle, streamed a pale radiance. Curiously Stephen approached and peered into the stable. The meager flicker of a lantern conjured up strange bulky shadows beneath the rafters. The air was warm with the smell of beasts and drowsy with the sound of breathing. Only one sound broke the quiet, the pitiful, choking moan of suffering. Old Grimple was dying. In the doorway Stephen waited. Suddenly he saw_ Zeke straighten up and steady himself against the side of the stall. His face was gray with fatigue and drawn with anxiety. Stephen slid back into the dark- ness, past the sheds, around to the kitchen. There was a light here too, and Hephzibah looked up sharply when he entered. tevie——" The quick relief on her face startled him. She still trust- ed him. “Stevie, I'm glad you come.” He walked over to her and awk- wardly touched her sleeve. “Zeke don’t know nothin’ about ft, she hurried on, “but I think you and me ought to send word over to Smart and ask Dolfi to come. Stephen looked away from the quick pleading in her face. It was long moment before he answere reckon s ¢+ Again there was silence in the kitchen while the clock that had come all the way from Bennington whirred and rattled. “I reckon so,” he re- peated. He wanted to put his head in her lap and tell her everything. He wanted to feel her arms around him—just as when he was a little boy—but a curious, boyish chivalry restrained him. She had enough to bear already. With something that was meant to be a smile he met her eyes. “Guess I better be steppin’ along then,” he blustered, I ketch Dolfi 'fore he hits the hay. The lines of anxiety smoothed out of Hephzibah's face. “Don’t say Zeke did_the askin',” she cautioned. He shook his head. mumbled. Again he trampled across the fields beneath the misty April starlight. He wasn't thinking of anything now. Fate had caught him up and was hurling him toward disaster. Nothing could rescue him now, and a sort of peace descended. Besides, he must save Zeke's cow. Grimple was a good beast, and her calves were al- ways red with humorous white noses. “Calico critters,” Hephzibah called them. As he passed Smart’s barn he lis- tened a second for the bark of his dog. But no sound reached him, and he did not call. He had said good-bye to Stranger. Without hesitating at the kitchen, he walked around to the front door. Like a man in a trance he pressed his knuckles against the wooden panels of the door, but he did not strike it. His hand would no longer obey him. Then he tried to call, but the voice had gone from his throat. Was he to fall in this, too? Must he forever wear the brand of coward as well as of thief? Suddenly the big door opened, and Smart, poker in hand. stood framed in the brightness. ‘“Well, hello,” he id. “Thought I heard somebody me up on the porch. He smiled a little sheepishly and held out the ki “S'long,” he full flowering of a Grand Rapids cab- inetmaker's fancy. It seemed to the boy he had never beheld so magnif: cent a room. rt patent rocker that ran on squinted up at Stephen. “You're the boy that was placed out on Zeke Preston’s farm, ain’t you?" Stephen nodded. Smart shifted the union plug com- fortably to the other ch . “Well, get enough to eat at Zeke's?” he de- manded. This wasn’t meant unkindly, but flush of resentment stained the bo: cheeks. “'Course I do,” he retorted. 's eyes appraised him. nce hgd won hig in- he repeated, ain’t Just paying me a friendly visit this evemnf are you?' Stephen twisted the cap in his fin- gers. “No, sir; I ain” For a long moment he stood silent. In the Brus- sels carpet was woven a design of green roses. For a long time after- ward that color of green made him feel slightly ill. “No, eir; I came over to ask you if Dolfi could come over to see our cow. Grimple, she’s sick,” he raced on, his eyes glowing with ex- citement, “awful sick. Seems like maybe she’d dle «nd Zeke don’t know There was no ‘'only Hephzibah. Zeke’s got too much pride to ask favors—' ly from a man he’s owin’ to. * k¥ * SMAR'I'S eyebrows drew into & quiz- zical frown. “What do you mean —favors?’ he said. *“I've got moth- ing against Zeke. Besides, I remem- ber Grimple. She's out of old Betsy that I sold to Hemple two years ago come next August.” Smart could not see any animal suffer, especially a creature that had even remotely be- longed to him. ' “Run around and raise up Dolfi,” he ordered. “I reckon he’s not dead asleep yet.” On the instant the boy turned to g0. Then he stopped. This time the color had gone from his cheeks and the lines around his mouth were too deep for a boy's. “Mr. Smart,” he be- gan. “I ain't told you all yet—all you oughta know afore you go sendin’ Dolfi to help us. The change in the boy's face did not escape him. “Well? €ll—" He was as white now as the cloth on the black walnut table. “It's my dog you got locked up in your barn. It was me that was in there this evenin' when you hollered at him"—Stephen’'s voice was thin with excitement and so low the man sensed rather than heard the |words—*it” was me stole your har- ne: Smart had risen and the two stood | facing each other. “What were you : doing there this evening?’ he d manded. “Stealing another?’ The boy shook his head: *“Puttin’ eyes were burning “I don't belleve you, thundered. “Come out to the bar Under the shelf in the kitchen, where the milk pans drained, Smart picked up a lantern and lighted it. Stephen saw how his fingers trembled as he held the match to the wick. Over the gravel driveway the two walked, Smart's heels grinding the pebbles into noisy protest. At the door of the barn he paused for the key. The bark of the dog broke the silence. 'You wait here,” the man ordered. Again came the bark of old Stranger, Joyous and impatient. For a long moment Stephen waited. “Don't I get even to see my dog?" he pleaded, “not even to tell him nothin'?" Smart was taking no chances: “You wait till I see to that harness. That with h It was | d Again the big farmer was startled. Before he had come west he had gone one year to the university, and it had been a long time since he had heard any reference to the days of the Caesars. “Where'd you learn that. word?" He hadn't meant to be di. verted, but the boy had aroused his curiosity. “Oh, in the history book. It's R man,” he explained, “only in tho: days they used to give people as hostages, 'stead of just animals” Again came a bark of supplication and something like a sob caught in the boy’s throat. “Only sometimes I think animals are nicer than people —'specially dogs.” Smart, grunted and pushed open the door, only to bang it viciously behind him. In a brief moment he reap- peared, the dog sniffing and yipping at his heels. “Go around and get Dolfi. TlI hitch up.” “Kin Stranger go with me?™ he questioned. The boy and the dog assumed that Smart's grunt was affirmative. In ten minutes the spring wagon stood ready. “Git in here,” Smart ordered. Over the muddy wheel the boy clambered and on to the driver's seat beside Smart. Dolfi, still dazed with sleep, lay stretched-on the thin straw. covering the box. and the dog trotted along underneath the wagon. For a long time no one spoke, and Stephen watched the reins flop up and down on the broad backs of the horses. ‘What was Smart going to do? Would they put him In prison? His mind conjured up & thousand hideous pos- sibilities. “Why'd you take that harness?” Smart asked finally. Stephen hesitated a moment. *Sounds kinda silly to tell.” he admitted, grudgingly. “Even Hephzibah thought s0, and Zeke—well, I reckon Zeke thought I was crazy. But, then, Zeke ain’t got much 'magination.” Something like a chucklé came from Smart's throat. But he only said: “Go on,” and his voice was gruff. In a speech full of half-finished sentences, boyish. embarrassed, and very earnest, Stephen explained about the chariot and the exercises and Bill ‘White's oration. “Everybody brought somethin’ toward makin’ the chariot,” he finished, “and I promised a har- nes: He hesitated a minute. *1 guess I was overhopin® ittle when I counted on usin’ Zeke" Again the man chuckled. “I never heard the word overhopin’, but I reckon it's a good oné—in connection with getting anything out of Zeke.” But Stephen hadn’t meant to make sport of Zeke. 'You ain’t unde standin’ e right, Mr. Smart” he proteste “Zeke and I—we're diff’- rent—" He stopped suddenly, grop- ing for the right words. “We're 8 diff'rent run of sheep. But Zeke ain't a mean man at all. He ain’t had it easy, what with the spring rains makin’ a slew of his pasture and Grimple sick and alt the time thinkin® about what he's owin' to you” All the self-consciousness was gone now in the earnestness of his appeal “Sometimes I think he must dread y:\;‘ oote than he'd dread the fires of_hel This bit of New England theology (1 delighted the squire. *“Y'do, do you? he queried. ‘“Well, it ain’t my fault if Zek: 3nly a quarter-section it “No, sir: I suppose it ain't” Again there was silence except for the clump of the horses’ hoofs and the squeaking of the wagon. They |the had almost arrived before Smart spoke again. “Well, you ain’t ex- plained yet why you took my hars ness.’ * % ¥ % TEE boy hung his head. “No,” he sald, “but this sorta leads up. You gee, I kinda hated to say we wWas poor and I couldn’t contribute nothin’ to the exercises—exceptin' my pres- ence. Then I just saw all your har- nesses—'bout & thousand of ‘em, hangin’ there. And well—I reckon I just didn’t think, acted.” He stopped suddenly, numb with mise: ‘It seemed muc! ort of a thief around here | da; y.” he muttered. ‘““Thought I wouldn’t take any chance Got the fello; dog locked up in my barn now,” he chuckled. “Come in. Dumbly Stephen followed him into the dinjng room. It was a comfortable place with red geraniums on the sill and black walnut furniture. The side- board, with its thousand scrolls and tiny wooden cupolas, represented the “Go around to the stsble with Dolf) Slnn'.h. i‘ ‘:;daud. “T'll just ::;D in en—unless you need m "‘un. have 3 little talk ,:ma Mrs. P Silently Stephe the ki ¢5 door Closs bewing the, squire. ‘W Hephzibah would have to know o pposed. n’t until 11 o’clock that nigH that the Preston family got to be though Stephen had been sent up stairs at once. On his cot im gable room he lay, s at patch of moonlight on the unpsaints flopr. Well, no matter what haj pened to him now, Stranger was and Grimple would get well and th would be more calico calves wiy Wwhite noses. Even though he werl an outcast and a wanderer, it woul be pleasant to remember he h helped to save Grimple. Suddenly there was a creak on th stairs, and Hephzibah entered. Sh had an old coat of Zeke's around hel for it was cold up there. “Stevie she whispered. “Aunt Hephzibah—" She came over and sat down b side him. “I don't know as I ough to tell you thi she began. a sort of a secret. But, some way, ::_l_nk T've got to, because you're i It seemed to Stephen his hi top beating. about Smart,” she went o s he ain’t in any hurry at a for t rent money, and If we nee Dolfl just to ask for him. But, no here comes the queer part” Sh| stopped again, puszled about how explain. “He says you ought to g to high school next year in Gree Mountain, and then maybe to colle, wyer, like Judge Squires. boy's eyes were black wit] amagement. “What's he mean, Aun Hephszibah 7 With gentle hands she smoothe, the covers down around him, just a| she had “one when he was et boy. “Hs says you made out for Zeke that was better thi lawyer could of done. He says h usta think Zeke was slow to D and get mad at him, but now he sa; he understands more.” was a long moment b Stephen could ask her the guestio: that burned in his heart. *Did—di ae 71" anythin® about me?” he sall ally. “Yes,” she sald, “that's the part. He sald you was a fine, up standing boy and no coward, b you had too much imagination fo] would “It's Again there was silence In the bed| room. “And he szid you could borrow hi harness as often as you had a chariol race—and no questions asked” Shi looked down at him and smiled. “He’ funny, ain’t he?" For a long time the boy considered then he spoke, very slowly: *I thin he must be the understandin’est pe son in the worldi—next to you.” She patted his hand in the dark ness. “Good night, then—Mr. Lawyer. |Capital Sidelights BY WILL P. KENNEDY, President Harding has a taste fo spring onions and he's going to havi them all the year round. Waiter F Brown, the President's personal rep| resentative on the committes reor| ganizing the administrative brazch of the government, is going to gro these onions for Mr. Harding on tI ‘White House grounds. ‘While they were having dinner to| gether at the White House the othel night the President remarked abou his fondness for spring onions and ex pressed regret that he could not ge! them here. Whereupon Mr. Browyg suggested that Lieut. Col. C. O. Sher rill, epgineer officer in charge of th ‘White House grounds, ought to find place about twenty feet square for onion patch and if he did Mr. Browx volunteered to grow the onions. Mrs. Harding, when appealed to in half-joking way by the President, sup. orted the proposition. The next da r. Brown encountered Lieut. Col Sherrill and put it up to him. Sher. rill topk it seriously and has marked off the ound for the onion pat 80, now Brown has to make good. > * 3 %% ‘Walter ¥. Brown is no mean gar- dener, by the way. It's one of h! hobbies and he has a “very wonder. ful garden” at his home in Toledo, Ohto. He likes to make things gro that do not care to grow in that lati tude. His specialty i{s corn. He h developed a twelve-row yellow ban. tam corn which is very hardy. An. other favorite crop is French artl: - Brown also grows some beauti ful flowers and likes the fall bloom best, such as zinnias, chrysanthemum and aster: e prefers their riot off vivid coloring, decking themselves up gaudy and gay. Mr. Brown has a pic: turesque way of describing them, say- ing they are like the old maids, fo! it's their last chance to perform thels destiny by coming out In brilllant col ors to attract the last of the love bees, The spring flowers, he points out, ar more modest and pale in coloring, be. cause they can afford to wait pleid out their favorite bees. as they hav the whole season ahead of them. * % % % ‘Walter F. Brown, although stacked] up by President Harding against th big, cold-blooded business job of r organizing the administrative branel of the government 80 as to get th utmost economy and efficiency fo many years to come, yet has a ver: tender heart and finds his favorit work In running a big children’ home. He is president of the board of trustees of the Lucas County Chil- dren’s Home, in Ohlo. He also tak: & very great interest in the Humane| Boclety. Just now Mr. Brown's chief worry| is because when he leaves Toledo and| comes to Washington every one thinks| e having a fine vacation here. When he runs back to Toledo for couple of weeks to attend to business| on that end folks here think he is away on & vacation—whereas, he isn tting & chance at all to do what he| kes best to do. * % % % Uncle Sam is trying to build up 2| straightforward, trust: y service —where there is no place for a liar. Secretary Hoover recently demand: ed the resignation of one of his mo: important bureau chiefs because he llrund out that official had told him & e. Lying_is an unpardonable offense n the Navy. This was empl BE s e tendent of the Na: cade: - , who s midship. man said: “High standards of character are vital in a military organisation. Men in other walks of life may trifie with truth in every-day and little as a consequence. We e funda- to the Lack- o lflfll!t b tolerant. cannot be so mental of an officer’s val service i3 his trustworthiness. ing that, he lacks all.” * % %% The “L. C.” is a motor boat which has attracted much attention along the shores of Chesapeake bay and ti historic Potomac river. Aboard the “L. C.” Lewis H. Carris, the new ad- ministrative head of the Federal Board for Vocational Education, takes his recreation. There he spends many nighbts and all of his of leave. He has steered the “L. C." through all the New Jersey waters and has traversed the entire shore from Wash- ington to Boston. Mr, Carris has been constantly in % | the teaching profession since his high shabby it all comparison with {fi the kitchen 2 light still burned and |ran boy knew that Hephzibsh was waiting. When the horses stopped. Dolfi woke with a yawn. school days, when he was eighteen. He struggled hl coll Whil clothes-pressing establishment. He took graduste work in Columbis, his master recel ‘while uul'lhi: achool in Newark, N. J. /