The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, July 27, 1902, Page 5

THE SUNDAY CALL. e > Ying onbe. but sup- said his Only a crust. And before sacked Mr ent e kingdom of ter this Law. doubtful m if he pair. ! The oid He managed > the loft, the hay and before he - u have en wounded,” he said then. Yes—here.” The man put his hand upon the front of his shirt; blood stained it. “I see. I will bring water and arnica. I will dress the wound as well as I can. I em sorry ¢ not call a pt for you, b er— “If you do, blow my brains out,” interrupted the outlaw. “I thought es much. to Pray do not explain the situati “Old Nathan Roar. The deputy fired ten times. Lord! he missed every time! Your Sheriff wasn't there.” “No,” observed Mr. Law, bringing the lantern up the ladder to examine the wound, “Deacon Hopwell attended the weekly conference first.> “I Gon’t know any place but the Con- nectiout Vealley, where such & thing could bappen,” mused the murderer, with the interest of & traveled man in local feat- ures. “Yes you hurt me, of course. But you &o it very well. I'm afraid it's & bad wound it? You needn’t say what you think, t Never mind! You are & good man. 1 am obliged to you, sir. I—thank you." The wounded bis head sank man closed his eyes, and J “Are you going to turn me off?” he asked feebly “Ni said the minister. m against me?” ment’s silence in the The answer came in a troubled tone. revealed to me that I ought You are my guest.” 04 man,” repeated the “Now go, for God's vour reputable bed. I'm safest the style of this strang- variable,” mused the » the fellow's grammar rray to the ring, and rfect unconcern. cfast next day Mr. the barn loft. Evi slept. He brought only 1 eggs, for Mrs. Doom solid- gerator, to fend off 2 the poultry yard. his breakfast in a jous. half grateful. He in the darkest corner of the loft. At every creak In the old timbers he started and shook. “I wo have believed I was such ? & coward,” he said petulantly. “but I % R iel SoBEEp LT TLE IN NER TRE e~ rEoor Wi En JHE CRME You knc w 1 did it. You Iad 1ain't won't either. do 1t the min conver time to ter n repent He w oW Yo town—a r and 1 struck thought ra g to get into these duds But I ran on a while. Then ur house. 1 of ighbor out buried him the and turned he observed abrupt- around. 1 brother of yours out ke him.” juainted Mr. nd sank again istances of his Were with Law. His “Did you know poor 1 sent you r. He yes, I was ere pals in a mine hearted chap, you.’ me I wa at the r a while ething like ve me no—no details, “He was drc wned at a baptism,” replied the outlaw prompt “Was one of the converts? Was he imme d Did he die penitent?”’ cried the minister with pathetic eagerness The adv r hesitated perceptibly. If he felt a griping temptation mercifully to deiude this good man he hardly whether it came of heaven or of hell held kis hand ew He to de his eves and looked from under it at the minister. “I'll be if I can cheat you!” he broke out. “No, he wasn't immersed. You see, he £et the stakes out too far in the river— overnight, just for a lark, to see the fun d one of the converts she went over her depth, and the parson couldn’t swim. Josh, he went after her and she grabbed him, you see. He went down, but some of the other boys saved the girl. He went to glory, I can tell you. He was the hero of the place for a year. The name of it was Devil's Jaw, perhaps you remember. Ol, he died respectably, you needn’t fear for that!” “If he died unpardoned,” groaned the minister, “if he were not saved through the blood of the Redeemer—my heart will break! My heart will break!” he wailed. He covered his face with his wrinkled hands. “God have mercy on me!” muttered the murderer, staring. At the sound of these words the minister lifted his gray head. Like a soldier he sprang to his sacred post. “My brother,” he said quietly, ‘“‘suf- fer me not to forget your soul's salvation in my personal afflictions. God is mercy— I would interpret him to you. Suffer me to lead you into eternal lif He spoke with winning, almost woman- 1y, tenderness. The outlaw continued to regard him steadily. “I hope you preach as you act,” he said softly. “You are a good man. I thank you, sir. T'll think the matter over.” He turned his face to the barn wall again and would say no more. Mr. Law dressed his ugly wound in silence. The next two weeks passed to the min- jster like the crisis of a story told in short, sharp sentences and compressed to an intensity that was half-pain, half- exalted pleasure as the end approached. Unused as he was to maneuver, the concealment of the murderer went hard with his transparent life. But it never occurred to Adam Law to give him up. He managed the affair with a kind of di- vine skill, with which he seemed to be endowed by some invisible agency. Lie, he would not. He boldly explained to Mrs. Doom that he was making some changes in the barn the bbit Roar—whom, he added, he was en- that he had engaged services deavoring life. thereby to lead into a better Babbit appeared on Monday morn- Photographic Pointers For Amateurs NE of the best lessons that the young photographer can learn is the selection of his views with due relation to their proper boundaries in the finished print. The first step in this lesson must be the study of the composition of each view on the finder or ground glass, and the thing to be borne constantly in mind is the relationship that each part must bear to the others. After selecting a general view for an exposure place the camera in such a po- sition that the principal objects of inter- est shall group themselves near enough to the center of the plate to allow of some trimming on the finished print be- fore mounting. By this it should not be supposed that they are all to be grouped in the exact center, which in almost all cases wodld be bad composition, but only that they be so arranged as to allow some latitude for trimming on either side of the print, and that prominent objects forming a part of the picture are not so near the edge of the plate than an undue portion of any one must be sacrificed to the knife when the operation of trimming takes place. In scenes where a road, a brook, a line of fence or any arrangement of trees or principal objects forms a continuous line of any kind, great care should be exer- cised that this line be not made too prominent, and in no case must it be al- lowed to run from the foreground straightaway Into the distance without scmething to break its continuity. As a general rule, a line of this nature should be carried partly across the view and there met by another line less prominent, which, in turn, may again be broken further in the distance by the distant hills or horizon line. In other words, let the eye be carried from one side of the view into the middle distance in one direction and there diverted, to be again carried in the same direction as the first, which did not require her assistance; and rather than having all lines converge di- YUDOLED RaRINGY THE se173 f/‘ 35 oF THE &rME Ty Srate A AN Fravee croue meo” of ing and the minister's brown searched him shrewdly. “I put you on parole of honor, Babbit Roar,” he said at length. “Repair for me my old box-stalls and construct two new windows yonder. I have heard that you are skillful with the plane and saw. And, Babbit, listen to me. I keep some valuables in the loft, in 'a place unknown to any. While you remain in my service you are the private watchman of my prremises. Lay your hand on nothing above the ladder and inform me if loafers visit the yard. Am I justified in trusting you, Babbit Roar?” “You bet!” said Bab. The village drunkard went to work, stald at work, kept sober and kept faith. He, slept in the chaise-house. Mr. Law boarded him. Heaping plates of the best in the house went regularly to the new hired man. From this superabundance the minister contrived to feed his outlaw after dark, and when Bab was dispatched upon extemporaneous errands. The minister wore a high, elate expres- sion. The next Sabbath he preached upon the “Love of the Redeemer to the World.” The villagers scoured the woods and the river. The murdered, man was buried. The circus moved over to East Hartford; and a girl sobbed a little in her dressing- room, when she came off the ring. The agitation about the murder fell to e dull interest. Thus eight days went by. One morning the minister found his wretched guest in high fever. 1 expected it,” said the wounded man. “It's got to come. Don’t mind it. I'm sorry to be so much trouble.” “Our village physician is an excellent man,” ventured Mr. Law. If I felt that he could be trusted eyes “There isn’'t a — soul on this earth I'd trust but you!” cried the murderer. “Un- less,” he added, “it's that drunkard vou're trying your hand on below. Darn queer watchman, that! I near him some- times when you ain’t around. ‘If I only had the lick!” he says. ‘Just one off the rectly to one point or cross the print from side to side. In cases where figures form prominent objects of interest in any view care must be taken to space the margins of the picture with reference to the direction in which the figures appear to be moving. If, for instance, a flgure appears prom- inently in the foreground of a landscape composition it is almost invariably better to arrange and trim such a print so that more space remains in front of the figure than behind it. In this way the figure will seem to be entering the fleld of vision. The same rule holds good In fig- ure work in interiors, figures appearing to enter a room having always more of grace and dignity than if placed nearer the edge of the picture toward which they are facing. It is not often that the best pictures are obtainable by printing and mounting the whole of the view shown on any glven plate, as it frequently happens that certain parts of the view, if properly se- lected, will afford better pictorial com- position and produce much more artistio results than if the whole view be printed as photographed. It is therefore advisa- ble, when printing is in operation, to make a trial print showing the whole ot a glven negative and then subject it te study with a view to selecting, for pem manent use, that part of it which makes the best picture. No better method of determining this can be suggested than to cut two pleces of paper in the shape of the letter L, each large enough to cover two sides of the print in question. By placing these two movable masks over the trial print, the arms of each L pointing in opposite directions and over- lapping each other, any portion of either side, top and bottom of the view may be masked and the L shaped papers movesd abeut until the proper portion of the view to be printed has been found. The nega- tive should then be marked or masked rim of a gin-sling! But I won’t, he says. ‘He’s trusted me and by — I'll be wuth it, it I choke for itI’ The fellow never comes into the loft—I'd throttle him if he d1d,” was the calm finale. That night when the minister brought the supper, the outlaw said sharply: “Turn the lantern, won't you? I want to look at you.” Mr. Law hung the lantern on a nail in the ratier. It swung and vibrated and stopped. The light fell upon the faces of the two men quite clearly. Babbitt was in the chaise-house. The barn was deserted and still. Only the old horse whinnied for her master, and the cow chewed her cud softly in the dark. “Adam|” said the murderer in a thrill- ing voice. The Rev. Adam Law fell back and stared at the man. He began to tremble. But, on his set tace, not a spark of recog- nition sprung. s “I knew you, Adam, the first time I heard you speak. That night—you came in and sald: ‘I must go back after the lantern.” Don’t you know how you al- ways forgot the lantern? I've trotted back and got it for you—in father’s barn —a hundred times. I wouldn’t have be- lieved you were over ten years old, when I heard you say those words. Then I thought I wouldn’t let on. But I guess I'd better. I'm a pretty sick man, Adam. I hope you won't be sorry that I let it out—at last.” “My brother Joshua is dead,” replied the minister stolidly. “My poor brother died. I had tho paper. He was drowned. You told me so yourself. You said he died an impenitent man. I have shown you hespitality under difficult conditions, sir. I do not think it manly in you to claim to be a member of my family —now.” He turned and walked a few steps across the hay-mow. “Joshua was a wild boy,” continued the Reverend Adam Law. *“He drank some- in such & way that its lines may be fol- lowed in future printing, and by observ- ing this method a great manyspecimens of very pretty picture work may be pro- duced which would be entirely lost if the ‘whole view were printed. No better proof of this statement can be found than a practical application of the method, and for this purpose any of the numerous prints already turned out will afford material for a trial. It is a ‘mistake often made to suppose that the whole negative should be printed simply because it has been exposed and devel- oped. The study of foreground compositions in photography offers some of the most delightful possibilities to be found in its entire range. Groups of grasses, ferns, brakes and individual forms such as the common mullein stalk present endless possibilities of pictorial reproduction and very excellent material for enlargement and decorative work of many kinds. Such subjects as these must, of course, be pho- tographed only when they are at perfect rest and mnot disturbed by winds. To the student of photography who has not ex- perimented along these lines a trial will be of interest. A well known maker of dry plates ad- vocates the use of formaline, in place of alum, for hardening the flim after de- velopment, particularly in hot weather, claiming that the decomposition resulting from a mixture of the alum and the hypo is injurfous to the fllm of the negative. He advises that the plate, immediately after development and before mixing, should be washed for two or three min- utes and placed for the same length of time in a bath made up of one ounce of formaline to twenty ounces of water. The plate should then be rinsed and fixed in the hypo bath as usual. Treated in this way the film will dry quickly and become tough and hard, and danger of frilling will be almost wholly averted times. But none of my father’s household ever committed —a murder.” His voice sank. And he was not plous. It sprang to his lips to say: “Do you think you will get any more out of me by palming off such a story? But they quivered and closed. 3 “I have done about all I could for you,” he did say, aloud. “But I do not recogniza you,” he added. “I never saw you before. You must excuse me if I fail to admit the proof that you are of my kin.” “Very well,” said the other, in a disap- pointed tone. He seemed to doze soon after this; and the conversation was not resumed. But that night, when Mrs. Doom was sound asleep on her respectabdle pillow, the minister stole out like a truant boy, to his barn. He climbed into the loft softly, with the lantern. The wounded man was sitting up glar- ing before him. He held the pitchfork in both hands. “Oh, I thought you were the Sheriff. You scared me horribly.” “What did you mean to do, if it had been?" asked the murderer's host, a littls coldly. “Run him through, of course.” The minister sat down in silence on the hay. He swung the lantern close to the face of his wretched guest. He seemed uncomfortable and unhappy. “I do not see the resemblance,” he mut- tered. ‘“Not a trace. Not a feature. The whole affair is very strange. I feel that I need the guidance of God.” “Look here, Adam,” sald the voice from the hay suddenly; “don’t you a thing that looks like me?” “Joshua had curly hair and a delicate complexion,” urged Mr. Law. “He was a bandsome lad. He was his mother’s idol. She petted him and spoiled him.” “Yes, and father made up for it, didn’t he Do you remember when he licked me with a halter for cutting prayers?” “My little brother had a beautiful smile,” rursued Mr. Law, now trembling visibly. ““He was as innocent as an angel. He never meant to do wrong."” A sudden sunshine ran over the dark face of the murderer. “There! Yes! Yes! — He smiled like that!” So cried the minister, in an agita- tion that shook his aged frame from head to foot. “Don’t you remember how I got kicked out of Sunday school for laughing? Don't you remember how fond I was of blue- berry ple? And these pickled nasturtiums mother raade to pleass me? See! I can show you the scar on my knee whers I fell over the scythe the year our old sor- rel had the colt with four white feet. You took care of me—for three weeks: you were born a saint, Adam; your wings ‘were cut before your teeth. “Don’t you know how you hunted me up the winter I got lost in the snow in Dead Man's Cut—how you dragged me home on your sled, two miles in a bliz- zard? We didn’t call 'em blizzards then. ‘Who was that Elder Brother in the Bible, Adam, that never failed a fellow? 1 was a pesky little chap, always into some- PAUVGHTER thing. You never lickea me—no, nor you never bullied me. I always knew where to find you! Say, Ada When did mother die? I hope she didn’t have that cataract she expected in her eye. She didn’t get blind, did she? Oh, I'm glad [ hid in your barn. I hope you ain’t sorry you took care of me—are you? You won’t have to let on. You needn’'t own Adam. I'll be out of your way soon, T'm sorry I lied about that im- business. I sent the newspaper ¥ 1 thought you'd feel better (o think I was a goner. I don't believe, on it paid.” ' sald Adam Law, weeping aloud as no soul but his dead wife ha:l ever seen him weep, and she but once. “the truth is holy above ail holiness in heaven or earth. If, indeed, you speak God's truth—"" “For once I do, so help me!” interpo- lated Joshua, hoarsely. “Then I ask your pardon, little broth I ought to have known you at the . I ought not to have doubted you Forgive me, Joshua!” “Good God, Adam!” cried Joshua. “What a man he made when he made you!™ . To Mrs. Doom’s unconcealed and uncon trolled dismay, Mr. Law slept now in the barn every night; and day and night he watched the wounded man. They talked together, but not much, for the ref was far too fll. Once he said: “Adam, do you remember when we saved up 53 cents to get that woollen thing for mother, when she had those headaches?” Sometimes he would mutter somethir like this: “Say, Adam, I've been thinking of that pillow fight in the trundle-bed, when we smushed the water-pitcher.” Or else: “Why didn’t you cuss back when I smothered you with the comforter because your teeth chattered so while you said your prayers that awful January night?” To the long tragedy of his wandering years he never once alluded. The elder brother asked him nothing, but once with great timidity said: “Joshua, if you do love me, after all, it would comfort me, dear boy, if you would make your peace with God.” “I will think the matter over,” replied Joshua again. Perhaps he did, For one wild night, when a thunder storm had rolled over the village, he turned upon the hay and put his hand into his brother's hands and seemed to nestle toward him, as if they had been little boys upon the trundle- bed sixty years ago. And in a pleasart, beyish volce, he said distinctly: “If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.” There was a noise in the barn below. Steps fell, and stopped. Voices sounded, and hushed. Bab Roar could be heard in vigilant whispers protesting that the minister was out of town, was gone to church, was fi. his study, was sick a-bed. Bab seemed to wrestle mightily, and with temporary suc- cess, to decoy a group of suspicious m- truders into the back yard. There they stopped, consulting. They stood beside Mrs. Law’'s rosebushes. The thunder-storm dled to its last drop. The moonlight broke through a crack into the loft. The scent of the cinnamon roses came up on the wet air. Was that sweet, dead woman breathing through them—try- ing to talk? ‘““Adam,” sald Joshua sleepily, “if we ain’t too big boys—would you mind it if you should kiss me good-night?” LN RN e gihae g The transfigured face of the village drunkard, pale and abstinent, appeared at the top of the ladder. “I can’t keep 'em back no longer, sir. {"ve done my tarnel best. But here they 0! Mrs. Doom’s severe shoulders shoved their way up the ladder, behind Bab Roar. “Such a scandal, sir!” she gasped. Deacon Hopwell, the deputy, Deacon Sleeper and Nathan Roar followed the housekeeper into the loft. “Bir,” began the Sheriff, “tt is our pain- ful duty to anneunce to you that we have come to arrest this murderer, that in de- flance of the laws of God and man. and to the mortification of the church, we have tracked at this late day, bencath your sacred roof, and protected by your holy profession. “In the name of the commonwealth of Connecttout”™t “Brethren,” sald Rev. Adam Law, with A dazsling, happy smile, “do your duty, as I have tried to do my own. I am ex- periencing great peace of mind as you perceive. I trust, sirs, that he whom ye seek has been pardoned by divine love, for, indeed, he seemed to show the signs of grace before he foll asleep—as ys be- hold him. “Gentlemen! mother. prompt. . He 1is the son of my Deal with us as your hearts To their credit, be it said, their hearts prompted them to back down the ladder and to leave him alone with his dead. Only the drunkard dared to remain. Bab took oft his old cap. “If you think I'm wuth i, sir,” he said, “maybe 1 might help you better than them pious o Nevertheless it leaves a quiet spot in the heart to know that the parish begged to send a delegation to the private fun- eral and that Deacon Sleeper and Deacon Hopwell themselves carried their old pas- tor's only brother to the family lot be- hind the meeting-house. The soprano offered her services and softly sang: Wide the doors and warm the welcome; Evening brings us home. Dusk enfolds the Father's mansion, ‘Wandering hearts—ch, come! Loving, longing Elder Brother— Call the children home! But Mrs. Wayle picked the cinnamon roses for the grave and took off the thorns. It was all she could do. She said she thought they looked kinder cheerful to cover things up. N