The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, August 17, 1902, Page 6

. THE SUNDAY CALL. Copyright, 1902, by Robert Howell Russell. TS bright afternoon,” said the Old ttleman, “when Sioux Sam en’ the infant Enright Peegs Tutt is camped down on the shady side of the New York Store where it's some Sioux Sam, by way of meetin’ us appeals of young Enright Peets, reveals to him how Moh-Kwa, the , feeds Fireheart to the Catfish. ht Peets nacherally listens y'ears, for that child shore does enjoy tales a whole lot. *“*Ope day,’ says Sloux Sam, ‘Moh-Kwa, the Wise Bear, has a quarrel with Ish- koo-dah, the Fire. Moh-Kwa was gone from home two days, for Moh-Kwa had found a large patch of ripe blackberries, an’ he said it was prudent to stay an’ eat them all up lest some other man shouid find them. So Moh-Kwa stayed: an’ though he ate very hard the wi time an’ never slept, so many an’ fat were the blackberries, it took two suns to eat one them * “When Moh-Kwa came into his cavern, he found Ish-koo-dah, the Fire, grown small an’ hot an’ angry for it had mot been fed for two days§ Moh-Kwa gave the Fire a bundle of dry wood to eat, an’ when the Fire's stomach was full an’ it had grown big an’ bright with plenty, it sat up on its bed of coals an’ found fault with Moh-Kwa for his neglect. The Fire sald, “An’ should you neglect me again for two days I will know I am not want- ed an’ shall leave you an’ go away. Moh-Kwa was much tired with sleep, s vered Ish-koo-dah, also you are hard to suit. 1f I give you greén wood you will not eat it; if the wood be wet, you turn a Nothing but old dry wood will you cept. Beggars like you should not own such fine tastes. An’ do you think, Fire, I Lave much to do a an’ many places to go—1, Moh-Kwa, who am as busy as the bees in the month of blossom: v time to stay ever by your side to p new dry wood to eat? Go to; you are moré trouble than a papoose!” * ‘Ish-koo-dah, the Fire, did mot say for the Fire's feelings oh-Kwa, who was heavy bors over the blackberries, lay took a big sleep. When Moh- Kwa awoke he sat blinking in the dark- ness of his cavern, for Ish-koo-dah while Moh-Kwa slept had gone out an' left night behind. ‘For five days Moh-Kwa had no fire, a1’ it made his heart bad; for while Moh- Kwa could his food raw an’ never czred for that, he could not smoke his kinnikinick unless Ish-koo-dah, the Fire, was there to light his pipe for him. For five days Mob-Kwa smoked no kinniki- nick; an’ Moh-Kwa got angry because of it an’ roared an’ shouted up an’ down the canyons, an’ to show he didn't care Moh- Kwa smashed his redstone pipe on a rock. But in his stomach Moh-Kwa cared, an’ would have traded Ish-koo-dah, the Fire, four armsful of dry cedar Jjust to have him light his kinnikinick but once. But Ish-koo-dah, the- Fire, gone out an’ would not come back. e e e “None Continued From Page Five. was 'Twas now my turn to be astonished, and going to the Baroness, I looked over and read the scrawling sig- ames Marvin, Minister of the and Deborah’s and mine, and the t above them. Then I turned to her with something rising in my throat: “You have kept this all the time?” I asked She nodded. nd you would not let me keep it?” I esked again sir! for I valued it more than you. That you did not, madam! nor half as much, then!" said 1, defiantly. “That 1 did, good sir! and fifty times as much then!” said she, with a courtesy. CHAPTER XXIV. THE IDEA OF MISTRESS DEBBY. “Well, madam, you seem greatly pleased with yourself,” said I, a week later, as we rode two stanch beasts morthward toward Tarrytown. “Thank you, sir I am quite at my ease. I trust that your Highness is pleased with me,” and Debby looked across at me with & species of self-contained smile from un- der the hood, or cap, or whatever the thing she wore was called. It was this self-same smile, which I had noted throughout the day and which seemed (o conceal something, that made me put the query. “Madam,” said I, “I have the honor to love your ladyship, and it would be diffi- cult for you to displease me at the mo- ment.” “Do not be so sure, Monsieur Men‘nl You have a very bad temper, as I—" “Oh, have 17 “Yes, now that I think of it, you have frequently treated me atrociously.” “When, if it please you?” ““Well, once on a time, when a certain wayward maiden—" “ ‘Openhand, the good Sioux an’ great hunter, heard Moh-Kwa roaring for hjs kinnikinick. An’ Openhand told him he behaved badly, like a young squaw who wants new feathers an’ can’t get them. Then Openhand gave Moh-Kwa another pipe an’ brought the Fire from his own lodge; an’ again Moh-Kwa's c#vern blazed with Ish-koo-dah, the Fire, in the middle of the floor, an’ Moh-Kwa smoked his kinnikinick. An’ Moh-Kwa's heart felt good an’ soft an’ pleasant, like the sunset in the month of Fruit. Also, he gave Ish-koo-dah plenty of wood to eat, an’ never scolded him for being always hurgry. “ *All the Sjoux loved Openhand; for no one went by his lodge empty but Open- hand gave him a piece of buffalo meat; an’ if a Sioux was cold he put a blanket atout his shoulders. An’ for this he was named *“Openhand,” an’ the Sioux were never tired of talking good talk of Open- hand, an’ the noise of his praises never died out. ** ‘Fireheart, the chief of the Sioux, hated Openhand because he was s6 much loved. Fireheart was himself sulky\an’ hard, an’ his hand was shut U’hl like a beaver trap that is sprung, an’ it would not open to give anything away. Those who came hungry went hungry for all of Fircheart, an’ if they were cold, they were cold. Fireheart wrapped his rob the closer, an’ was the warmest whenever he thought the frost wolf was gnawing others. “I do not rule the fce,” said Fireheart; “hunger does not come or go on its war trail by my orders. An’ if the Sioux freeze or starve an’ Pau-guk, the Death, walks among the lodges, it is be-= ause the time is Pau-guk's an’ I cannot So Fireheart kept his blankets buffalo meat for himself an' his Blackbird, an’ gave nothing away. son, An’ for these things, Fireheart was hated while Openhand w: praised, an’ the breast of Fireheart was so eaten with his wrath against Openhand that it seemed as though Ish-koo-dah had gone into Fireheart's bosom an’ made a camp. “* “Fireheart would have called Pau-guk to his elbow an’ killed Openhand; but Fireneart was not sure. The Openhand moved as quick as a fish in the Yellow- stone, an’ stood as tall an’ strong as the big pine on the hill; there were no three warriors, the bravest of the Sioux, who could have gone on the trail of Open- hand an’ shown his skelp on their re- turn, for Openhand was a mighty fighter an’ bad a big heart. so that even Fear himself was afrajd of Openband an’ never dared come where he was. » ** ‘Fireheart knew well that he could not fight with Openhand, for to find this out he made his strongest medicine an’ called Jee-bi the Spirit, and Jee-bi talked with Pau-guk, the Death, an’ asked Pau-guk if Fireheart went on the trail of Openhand to take his skelp which one Pau-guk would have at the trail's end. An' Pau- guk said he would have Fireheart, for Openhand would surely kill him. When Jee-bi, the Spirit, told Fireheart the word of Pau-guk, the sour chief saw then thaj he must go'a new trail with his hate, # Fireheart smoked an’ smoked many pipes; but the thoughts of Openhand an- how he was loved by the Sioux made his ildren! children!” cried the Baron- 'Stop your bickering, and tell ‘me what in heaven's name this means,"" ess, So we sat her down between us and.teld her; with much more “bickering,” as'she called it, the only part of the story she had not already heard. “Wayward maiden! I should think so “When a certain wayward maiden ask- €d a churlish horseman to help her from her broken coach, and he started to ride rodeog g Ah, but Debby dear, I did not know ou then.” “There is no question of that just now.” “Well 7" “Again, when some one, being but a weak and shy girl—"" “God save the mar] and fiddlesticks “When a very shy maiden objected to having a highwayman climb in at her chamber window—" “Not at all,” said I, for that was still a sore point. “Not at all. 'Twas the hall window, in the first place; and, fur- thermore, I would have you to know, Debby, that you might have recognized an honest man, and believed, too, that T would never have intruded myself upon you had it not been for your own good.” “If I mistake not,” said she, with a sweet and innocent smile, “‘some great lord said but a moment ago that he had no temper and could not be irritated by Good again! Weak “I said just so,” I persisted, in truth a bit disturbed by the innocent demeanor I knew now so well, “but it is not fair to throw such things in my face.” She doubled up in the saddle and laughed merrily for a moment, and then, looking up at me, she said: “‘Merton, dear, if you could but look at that great serious face of yours once in the while, you would certainly die of laughing.” Character as Read _in Faces S friends or foes, it has been aptly said our faces serve not only to identify us, but also to give us a character before the world, and this is at least certain—that at the sight of a fresh face an impression is cre- sted, some more or less definite opinion of the new acquaintance unconsciously formed, and we are repelled or we remain indifferent or become immediately sensi- ble of a desire to gain or to avoid a fur- ther intimacy. Among children and women this is es- pecially the case and amounts to an in- stinct. How many times have we not each heard some woman or many women say of different individuals: “So-and-8o0 has an awfully jolly face” “I liked Mrs. Blank at once, she has such & good, kind face,” or “I never could bear Br. B—; I knew the moment I saw him he was not to be trusted.” This reading of the face is intuitive ap- perently, yet it must be agreed that the face exhibits certain signs and symbols which even children recognize, although they cannot analyze or explain them. The physiognomist divides the faces in- to three so-called grand classes—the ob- Jong face, the round face and the pyri- form or pear-shaped face. Each one of these types has many vari- ations, but the classification may be made in a gengral way within the three. The oblong face is one which would fit more readily into an oval than a round or pear-shaped diagram. For mere physical beauty the oblong or oval face has the highest standing, and the srtists who paint youthful beauty en- deavor to get what is called the pure g oval to the face. Individuals with an oblong or oval face are naturally of a strong and active na- ture, with keen powers of perception and much jmagination. They are sélf-reliant and persevering. : They are not, strictly speaking, highly intellectual, although they are often tal- ented. They are constant in friendship and strong in their affections. The round face belongs usually to a sub- Ject whose neck is short, shoulders broad and round, chest full, and in whom a tenlency of stoutness in middle life is in- dicated by the plumpness of youth. The round-face woman very often has small feet and hands. In character the round-faced subject is lively, amiable, im- puisive and frequently fickle. The woman with the rounded outline has the scintillation, but not the depth of the diamond. She lacks persistence, and she loves ease too much to do any serious and patient plodding, which we all know must be done to reach desirable results in everyday life. The round-face woman is the most companionable of friends. She is called, far and near, good natured, and deserves the appellation. # The pyriform face indicates the intel- lectual type. The woman with the pear- shaped face has a high, broad forehead, finely modeled. Her meck is siender, she is tall rather than short, her chest is not broad, frequently, on the contrary, it is narrow. She has intelligent eyes and she never abpears, at least in youth, to have great physical endurance. The subject with this face is endowed with a brilliant imagination and almost always is possessed of real literary talent. Many great actresses have had the pear- shaped face. he: L kinrikinick bitter,. Still, Fireheart smok- ed; an’ at last the ithought came that if he could not kill Openhand, he would kill the Young Wolf, who was Openhand's sun. When this thought folded its wings an’ perched in the mind of Fireheart, he called for the evil Lynx, who was Fire- beart’s friend, an’ since he was the wick- edest of the Sioux, would do what Fire- heart said." 5 “‘The Lynx came an’ sat with Fire- heart in his lodge; an’ the lodge was closed tight so that none might listen an’ because it was cold. Then Fireheart told the Lynx to go with his war-ax when the next sun was up an’ beat out the brains of the Young Wolf. “An’ when he is dead,” said Fireheart, ‘“you must bring me the Young Wolf's heart to eat. Then 1 will bave my revenge on Openhand, his father, whom I hate; an’ whenever I meet the Openhand I will laugh with the thought that I have eaten his son's heart.” : “ ‘But there was one who .listened to Fireheart while he gave his orders to ‘the evil Lynx, although she was no Sioux. This was the widow of the Great Rattle- snake of the Rocks, who had long be- fcre been slain by Yellow Face, his brother medicine. The widow having hunted long an’ hard had crawled into the lodge of Fireheart to warm herself while she rested. An' as she slept be- neath a buffalo robe, the noise-of Fire- heart talking to the evil Lynx woke the widow up; an’ so she sat up under her buffalo robe an’ heard every word, for a squaw is always curieus an’ would sooner hear new talk than find a string of’ beads. ‘‘*That night as Moh-Kwa smoked by Ish-koodah, the Fire, an’ fed it dry sticks, S0 would not leave him again, the widow came an’ warmed herself by Moh- Kwa's side. An' Moh-Kwa asked the widow how she fared; an’ the widow while hungry said she was well, only that her heart was made heavy by the words of Fireheart. Then the widow told Moh- Kwa what Fireheart. had asked the-evil Lynx to do, an’ how for his revenge against Openhand he would eat the Young Wolf's heart. * ‘Moh-Kwa listened to the widow with his head on one side, for he would not lose a word; an’ when she had done, Moh-Kwa was so pleased that he put down his pipe an’ went to a nest which was built on the side of the cavern an’ teok down a young owl an’ gave it to the widow to eat.” An’ the:widow thanked Moh-Kwa an’ swallowed the little owl, while the old owl flew all about the cav- ern, telling the other owls what Moh. Kwa had done. The owls were angry an’ shouted at Moh-Kwa, “The. catfish said you were a Pawnee! But you are worse; You are a'Shoshone, Moh-Kwa; yes, you are even a Siwash! Birdrobber, little owlkiller, you an’ your rattlesnake widow Brave’ “My face, Mistress Deborah, is no doubt But she turned her horse suddenly to- ward me and put her little gloved hand over my mouth. “You stupid! Never tell me I cannot anger you. Dost not know, sir, that\l shall have to spend all the time you have off duty teaching you some kind of a sense of humor? Why, Merton; my friend, I could make you so mad in two seconds that you would jump up and down and kick the furniture, and doubt- less draw that huge sword of yours and brandish it over my head.” “‘Come here, madam, and I will chastise your disrespectful mouth now,” and turned toward her. But she sent her nag kiting ahead at a gallop, and I started hot in pursuit—angry, pleased, and above ail, s0_happy with her for my compaujpn that I forgot all else—forgot our preseAt posl- tion, until I saw a_ British soldier step into’ the road ahead of us and call her to a halt. 1 was by her side in an instant; and, giving my passes to the picket, fol- lowed him into the guardhouse of( the Tarrytown outpost. As we turned into the same room where I had had so narrow an escepe but a few months before, a familiar voice cried out: “How de do, Captain Hazeltine”—and 1 turned with a start to see the officer called Majoribanks, who had been so muddled on that memorable day. He took the passes as a matter of course, and as he read said: ““You look {ll, captain; somewhat thin- ner than when I saw you—" Then his eye caught what he was reading, and he stopped. ‘‘Mistress Deborah Philipse,” he read aloud, “and Captain Merton! ‘What is this, sir?” , I was on the golnt of replying when Debby plucked him by the sleeve and made a sign with her head to signify that he was to send the picket out of the rocm. He seemed to understand; and when we were alone she spoke before I couid get in a word. “Captain Hazeltine goes frequently un- der assumed names, sir, by special or- cers.” ,"" said the officer, somewhat doubt- fully, 'still fingering the papers. Then I Lethought me, and took out the pass giv- en me by the' commander-in-chiet: “Here's the old one, captain, if it be of any use to you.” How Moh-Kwa Fed. .are both Siwashes!” But Moh-Kwa paid no heed; he did not like the owls, for they stole his meat; an’ when he would sleep, a company of the older owls would get together an’ hold a big talk that was like thunder in Moh-Kwa's cavern an’ kept him awake. Moh-Kwa said at last that if. the owls called the widow who was his guest a Siwash again, he would give her two more baby owls. - With that the ©ld owls perched on thelr points of rocks an’ were silent, for they feared Moh-Kwa an’ he knew he was not their friend. “ ‘When the widow had eaten her little owl, shé curled up to sleep two weeks, for such was the widow's habit when she had eaten enough. An’ she snored pleas- antly, feathers an’ owl-down were blowa out through her nose, but the young owl was gone forever. “ ‘Moh-Kwa left the widow sleeping an’ went down the canyon in the morning to mcet the evil Lynx where he knew he wculd pass close by the bank of the Yel- lowstone. An’ when Moh-Kwa saw the evil Lynx creeping along with his war-ax in his hand on the trail of the Young Wolf's heart, he gave a great shout: “Ah! Lynx, I've.got you!" an' started for the Lynx with his’paws spread. For Moh-Kwa loved the Openhand, who brought back to him Ish-koo-dah, the Fire, when it had gone out of Moh-Kwa's cavern an' would not return. “‘But Moh-Kwa did not reach the Lynx, for up a. tree swarmed the Lynx out of Moh-Kwa's reach. When Moh- Kwa saw the evil Lynx hugging close to the tree, the new thought made Moh- Kwa laugh. “I will see what the Cat- fish people will think of the Lynx,” said Moh-Kwa. An’ with that he reached up with his great arms an’ began to bend down ‘the tree like a whip. When Moh- Kwa had bent the tree enough, he let it 8o free; an’ the-tree sprang straight like an osage orange bow. It was so swift an’ like a whip that the Lynx could not hold on, but went whirling out over the river like a wild diick when Its wing is braken by an arrow; an’ then the Lynx splashed into the Yellowstone. * ‘When the Lynx struck splashing into the Yellowstone, -all the - Catfish people rushed for him with the Big Chief of the Catfish at their head. Also, Ah-Meek, the Beaver, was angry, for Ah-Meek was crossing the Yellowstone with a bun- dle of bulrushes in his mouth to help build his winter house on the bank, an’ the Lynx struck so near to Ah-Meek that the waves washed his face an’ whiskers, an’ he was startled an’ lost the bulrushes out of his mouth an’ they were washed a i‘h-Meek, who was angry, an’ the Catfish, who were hungry, charged on the Lynx; but the Lynx was not far enough ‘from the shore for them, an’ while the Catfish - pinched him an’ Ah-Meek; the beaver, clawed him, the Lynx crawled — out on the bank an’ was safe. * ‘But Moh-Kwa met the Lynx when he crawled out of the Yellowstone looking like Dah-hin-dah, the Bullfrog, an’ Moh- Kwa picked him up with his paws to throw him back. But a second new thought came; an’ although the Catfish screamed at him an’ Ah-Meek, who had lost his bulrushes, was black with anger, Moh-Kwa did not throw the Lynx ‘back into the river, but stood him on his feet ar’ told him what to do. An’ when Moh- Kwa gave him the orders the Lynx prom- ised to obey. * ‘Moh-Kwa killed a fawn, an’ the Lynx took its heart in hi$ hand an’ went with it to Fireheart an’ said it was the heart of Young Wolf. An’ Fireheart roasted it an’ ate it, thinking it was Young Wolf's heart. For g day was the Fireheart glad, for he felt strong an’ warm with the thought that now he was revenged against Openhand; an’ Fireheart longed to tell Openhand that he had eaten his son’s heart. ‘ ‘But Fireheart was too wise to make this boast, for he knew that Openhand whether with knife or lance or arrow would give him at once to Pau-guk, an’ that would end his revenge. ‘* ‘Still Fireheart thought he would go to Openhand’s lodge an’ feed his eyes an’ ears with Openhand’s groans an’ mourn- ings when now his son, the Young Wolf, was gone. But when Fireheart came to the lodge of Openhand he was made cold to meet the Young Wolf, who was start- ing forth to hunt. Fireheart spoke with the Young Wolf to make sure he had been cheated, an’ then he went back to kill the Lynx. But Fireheart was too late; the Lynx had not waited; now he was gone with his squaws an’ his ponies an’ his blankets to become 2 Pawnee. The Lynx was tired of being a"Sioux. ' “ ‘When the widow’'s sleep was out Moh-Kwa sent her to hide in the lodge of Fireheart to hear next what he would plan. The widow went gladly, for Moh- Kwa promised four more small young owls just out of the egg. The widow lay under the buffalo robe an’ heard the words of Fireheart. In a week she came back to Moh-Kwa an' told him what Fireheart planned. ‘ ‘Fireheart had sent twenty ponies to the Blackfoot chief, Dull Knife, where be lived on the banks of the Little Big- horn. Also, Fireheat sent these words in the mouth of his runners: “My son and the son of my enemy will come to your camp in one moon. You will marry the Rosebud, your daughter, to my son, while the son of my enemy you wili tie an’ give to your young men to shoot at with their arrows until he is dead an’ afterward until they have had enough sport. My son will bring you a white arrow; the son of my enemy will bring you a black arrow.” B e S e S Q “ ‘Moh-Kwa laughed when he heard this from the widow’s lips; an’ because she had been faithful, Moh-Kwa gave her the four small owls just from the egg. An’ the older owls took it quietly an’ only whispered their anges; for Moh-Kwa sald that if they screamed an’ shcuted when now he must sit down an’ think until his head ached, he would knock down every nest. s “ “When his plan was ripe Fireheart put on a good face an’ went to the lodge of Openhand an’ gave him a red blanket an’ said he was Openhand’s friend. An’ Openhand and all the Sioux said this must be true because of the red blanket; for Fireheart was never known to give any- thing away before. “ ‘Openhand an’ Fireheart sat down an’ smoked; for Moh-Kwa had never told how Fireheart had sent the Lynx for the Young Wolf’s heart. Moh-Kwa never told tales; moreover Moh-Kwa had also his own plans as well as Fireheart. “ “When Openhand an’ Fireheart came to part, an’ Fireheart was to go again to his own lodge, he asked that Openhand send his son Yourg Wolf with , Black- bird, who would go to wed the young squaw Rosebud where she dwelt with Dull Knife, her father, in their camp on the Little Bighorn. YAn’ Openhand did not hesitate, but said, “Yes,” an' the Young Wolf himself was glad to go, like all boys who hope to see new scenes. “*As Young Wolf an’ the Blackbird next day rode away, Fireheart stuck a black arrow in the cowskin quiver of Young Wolf an’ a white arrow in that of the Blackbird, saying, “Give these to the Dull XKnife that he may know you are my sons an’ come from me, an’ treat you with much love.” “‘Four days the young men traveled to reach Dull Knife's camp on the Little Bighorn. In the night of their last camp Moh-Kwa came silently, an’ while the young men slept swapped Fireheart’s ar- rows; an’ when' they rode to the lodge of Dull Knife, an’ while the scowling Black- feet gathered about—for the sight of a Sioux gives a Blackfoot a bad heart—the black arrow was in the quiver of the Blackbird an’ the white arrow in that of Yofing Wolf. “How!" sald the young man to Dull Knife. “How! how!” said Dull Knife. “An’ now, my sons, where are the ar- rows which are your countersigns?” “ “When the young men took out the ar- rows they saw that they had been changed; but they knew not their mes- sage an’ thought no difference would come. So they made no talk, since that would lose time; an’ Young Wolf gave Dull Knife the white arrow, while the Blackbird gave him the black arrow. An’ holding an arrow in each hand—one white, one black—Dull Knife said: “For the twenty ponies which we have got the Blackfeet will carry forth the word of Fireheart; for the Blackfeet keep their treaties, being honest men.” «‘An’ so it turns out that, the Blackbird 1s shot full ef arrows until he bristles like the quills on the back of Kagh, the Hedgepig. But Young Wolf is taken to the Rosebud an’ they are married. The Young Wolf would have said “No!” for R e e g il -=the Romance of the “Quite _right, captain! _Quite Tight! Pardon my hesitation, but to be frank .with you, several men escaped—prisoners, you understand—but a_day or s0 ago on stolen passports, and I had a reprimand from General Patterson that will last me for a good long life to come.” And so we hurried forth and northward. “Debby.” said I, shortly, “Debby, upon my soul you have fifty times the wit that 1 have.” It does not need for you to tell me that, sir!” said she. , “‘Another instant and you would have %aid: ‘Sir officer, I am Merton Balfort, American, fighting ugainst bis Majesty the King! Hang me 1f you ¥, but remember that I am none of your British soldier, nor yet a spy of that great monarch.’ " “Your pardon, mistress, ‘his the King’?" % “Ah, dear si said she, bowing low in her saddle. ‘“Tis my first lesson, eh? Pardon me. 1 should have sald ‘that dis- , monarch—er—man, George the Majesty “Debby,” said I,” “you are an angel! ‘Will you draw yéur horse up and permit me to kiss your ladyship?” “No, sir, T will not! I do not think I chould allow it in any case just now, but certainly not upon the highway. And I wish you to understand, Merton Balfort, that 1 am not yet a rebel—er—that is, th George the Third is still King."” Yes, Mistress Balfort.” Up came her face toward me at the mention of her new name, and leaning over her horse she put her hand in mine, and sald not a word as we rode along. “I am too happy to stand it, Debby,” said I, presently. “Well,” I should be happy, too,” said she, “if I knew how we were to live in tne’ near future.” 2 “If you think of that so seriously, why is it that all day you have been chuckling t oursel{?"" ‘'Oh, mnever mind! I have certain thoughts, and—and—certain knowledge of my own.” me."” ell “Not for the world.” “Tell me this instant! I am your hus- band.” “Sakes! You begin so soon, do you? Very well, then, listen to this; I will tell you not one single word! Now what doth thy noble husbandness say to that?” “I say ’tis outrageous and unwifely! But let it lie; for here are we come to the house where we may stay for the night, and tbat ends it.” It was the home of a man whom Ather- ton had bidden us to by note, saying that we would get good food and lodging, and no questions asked. And, indeed, we were in sore need of rest and comfort! [ had urged pushing on thus far that we might clear the foul neutral country ahead of us the next day while daylight held, and make the camp at Verplancks by the next night. But, good horse- woman as Debby was, she was nigh done for, and was more than willing to retire as soon as she had eaten. Early in the morning we Were again off, and, still noting that my fair_companion had something on her mind, I was mar- veling what it might be, when the lay of the land along the road began to look fa- miliar and I recognized ahead of us the old tavern kept by Gowan as it lay hiding itself under the hill. I turned quickly to Debby and found her smiling mysterious- 1y at me. You know the spot?” I asked. 'Quite well,” said she, “and I have a mind to stop, and visit Master Gowan.” ““Not by any means!"” said I decidedly. “The place may be the house of our wed; aing, but just now ’tis no place for you. “And yet I would stop there a while, and—will!” What a world of vigor was there in that last word! I urged, commanded,—nay, tried force.— but to no purpose. In we must go. So, dismounting, I called for a hand to take our horses, and in we went a second time to the dim old tavern. < Never shall I forget the little chuckle behind me as I stopped suddenly on the sill and saw—sitting as if in camp, per- fectly at their ease—John Acton, with a huge pewter of ale before him, Robert Curtis—or Philipse, as he should be called—and, sitting at the same table be- tween these two, that somber old rob- ber Marvin. Up_ rose the three as I turned to De- borah and saw in an instant that she knew all—nay, that she had done the planning _to bring it about. “Aha! Merton, my friend, here you be at lget!" cried Acton, shaking us by the hand. Curtis smiled quietly and gave me his friendly handclasp, and I had begun to express surprise when Acton turned me about and cried: “Here, man! Here is the Reverend James Marvin to welcome ye!” “Marvin,” said I, slowly, “you are a = PRotoGraphic Pointers For Amatelrs «2 HE study of lightning flashes is a subject which has had a good deal of attention from sclentists, but of which very little is yet positively known. The amateur photographer, even though he be the veriest beginner, may aid materially in the development o2 this study if he will go about it ear- nestly and with patience. Of “course, lightning can only be suc- cessfully photographed at night, but at this season of the year the opportunities are so numerous and most of the light- ning flashes so brilliant and spectacular that this fleld of operation should open up a very interesting lire of work. The main points to be remembered are thes That a position should be selected in a vance, facing the direction from which most of the thunderstorms appear, and the camera focused upon a point in the extreme distance. A mark should be made upon the bed of the camera so that this focus may be found at any time, even in the dark. When the storm is seen approaching the camera should be placed in position and focused by this mark, taking care that it is so placed as to show a bit of the horizon line. or line of buildings, which will form the base line of the picture showing the flash, and aid in location of direction, etc. Let the worker then wait until the flashes seem to have reached their maxi- mum of intensity, at which time a plate should be exposed by drawing the slide of the holder and unclipping the lens. Each flash will act as its own shutter, and as soon as the flash has goné the slide should be replaced, the lens cov- ered and a new plate inserted Unless the flashes are of extreme brilliancy the iens should be worked with a stop of about F. 8 or F. 16 and the plate devel- C-ged for full detail without reference to the shadows. It is not unlikely of course 1hat a number of plates may be exposed in this way without obtaining the result sought, but two or three good negatives as the result of a summer’s work should well repay onge for the labor and malerial expended in obtalning them. It is not at all unlikely that the results obtained in this way will prove of direct value in the scientific study of this mysterious phe- nomenon. It should not. be necessary to remind the worker under these conditions that the camera and plates, as well as him- self, may to advantage be protected from the rain usually accompanying electrical storms. Pyro stains are not as universally a trade mark of the amateur as they were a few years since, but pyrq as a developer has still many advocates and users, and its stain is always an objectionable feat- ure on the hami; and nails of the user. These stains may be removed by the ap- plication of a paste made of ammonium persulphate mixed with water and rubbed carefully into the stained parts. If the stains are old and of long standing chlo- ride of lime may be applied in the same way. mixed with vinegar. Either of these applications should be equally useful in the removing of stains from most of the ;lewer developing agents, as well as from yro. ~ The tourist photographer or the camera worker on vacation Is often confrogted Wwith the problem of development nd ‘washing of one or more negatives for trial or other purposes where a sufficient quan- lll‘ of water for thorough wa!hlnfi is cult to obtain. In cases of this kind small negatives may easily be washed after development by a simple bathing for a few moments in a soup plate of wa- ter, at the same time carefully workin, over the face of the negative with a tuff of absorbent cotton. After this has been done the negative may Dbe placed !ace‘ downward in an ordinary kitchen bow! or hand basin and left over night. The hypo in the film being heaver than water naturally _fills the bottom of the basin, and naturally working in this way is very thorough. Two negatives may usually be goaked in the same bowl by placing them crossways one above the other. After several hours of this washing they should have a final rinse before drying. 1t not infrequently happens that in the copying of old manuscript or legal docu- ments, the yellow stain resuiting from age renders it almost impossible to distinguisn in the negative, between the writing and the paper on which it is written. The use of isockromatic plates, sensitive to the yellow rays, will prove of great assistance in work of this kind. In some cases the application of a color screen in cenjunc- tion with the isochromatic plate will al- 50 be found of advantage. It must be re- membered, however, that the time of ex- posure where a color screen is used is very much longer than where the same exposure is made without it. 1In cases where work of this kind is to be done, the amateur is advised to experiment with or without the screen and carefully make notes of the. results obtained. Too little attention is paid to experimenting and re- cording the results of suoh experiments in the field of photography. A rural subject offering ma})v pleas- ing compositions, especially delightful to city visitors, will be found the harvest- ing fields where the typical work of the farmer presents phases of life both un- usual and picturesque. In compositions of this kind enough of the lanscave or sur- roundings should be included to give to the larger objects in the foreground a suitable setting wd explanation for their existence, as we as to establish a scale of relative size and proportion. . thieving scoundrel, and I have a mind to run this blade through your belly! “And yet,” said the cool villain, “it was- I married ye to the girl ye would most have!” “Married me, you scoundrel?” cried L “Aye, at the point of a pistol!” A ‘And would ye have me undo it now?" hat is none of your affair, man! Do you get out of here before I send you to the place where you belong! Tut, tut! Merton,” laughed Acton, “the Reverend Doctlcrd( here by the spe- cial invitation of a lady.” 1 wheeled about and looked at Debby. “You see, rton, dear—'and for the first time sincé I had known her I belleve she was a bit uneasy—“you see I did not feel judt sure I was really—you see—I dldn’t—" “Feel quite sure whether she was Mis- tress Balfort, or Philipse, or King’s sub- ect, or rebel, or—"" 1 “‘Merton,” interrupted Curtis, “this was all arranged by Debby, and we are here to_witness the wedding.” * I looked again at her and found her brown eyes grown large with anxiety. And, for my sins, T csufiht the glint of a big tear ready to break Yoose at the first signal. What could a big fool like me do but take her hand and turn, again to the scoundrel_that, somehow, I could not feel much real anger against. “Marvin, you thief,” said I, *because of this fair lady you go free for this once. Do you marry me to her here and now! But if I ever run across you again I'll siit you in two—I will, so help me—" But I could get no further, for even Curtis be- gan to laugh at such a wedding. And so there in that same grim room the old wretch did indeed marry us -gtln. while Debby placed a hand that shook now a little in mine, and looked up at me as I had never known her to look at me before, with a faith and trust and gentle- ness that I swore to heaven should never go from her face and heart so long as I could give my poor life to keep them there. And beside us stood John Acton— serious, too, for the moment—and Robert Curtis Ph.lipse, her brother, with a sad- ness upon him that nothing could ever lift, for that his life was seared by this war that had bereft him of all family ties. Deborah gave answer to the simple service in_a low, gentle voice; and when we were done I kissed her for her brave heart and her dear self, and—be it con- L¢ did not understand; but Duil Knife showed him first a war ax an’ next the Rosebud. An’ the Rosebud was more beautiful in the eye of vAuth than any war ax; besides Young Welf was four days’ mar’h from the lodge of his father, Openhand. Thinking all which, the Young Wolf did not say “No,” but said “Yes,” an’ at the wedding there was a great feast, for the Dull Knife was a big chief an’ rich. ‘ “ ‘Ma-ma, the Woodpecker; stood on the top of a dead tree an’ saw the wedding; an’ when,it was over he flew $traight an’ told Moh-Kwa so that Moh-Kwa might know. When Young Wolf an’ the Rose- bud on their return were a day's ride from the Sioux, Moh-Kwa went to the lodge of Fireheart an® sald: “Come, great plotter, an’ meet your son am’ his new squaw.” An' Fireheart came, because Moh-Kwa took him by his beits an’' ran r with him; for Moh-Kwa was so big an’ strong he could run with a pony an’ its rider in his mouth. “ ‘Moh-Kwa told Fireheart how the Blackbird gave Dull Knife the black ar- row an’ was shot with all the arrows of five quivers. Fireheart groaned like the buffalo when he dies.. Then Moh-Kwa showed him where Young Wolf came on with the beautiful Rosebud; and that he was followed by twenty pack ponies which carried the presents of Dull Knife for his daughter an’ his new,son. “An" now,” said Moh-Kwa, “you have seen enough; for you have seen that you made your foe happy an’ killed your own son. Also, I have cheated the Catflsh twice; once with the big medicine Elk an’ once with the Lynx, both of whom I gave to the Catfish an’ took back. It is true, I have cheated the good Catfish who wers once my friends, an’ now they speak hard of me; an’ call me a ‘Pawnee,” u:'-;. v;a;lo ngth or the Yellowstone from 3- ls?)u{'l to the Big Falls. “However, Moh- Kwa has somy ll:l‘ l‘or Ul.b!i:tkfll:n'th‘}; :?;&?‘3,““11'.0 river will ring with - KW' es.” M'?"lsé‘ ;'dtl:-£wa carried Fireheart to the Yellowstone, an’ he sang an’ shouted for all the Catfish people to come. Then Moh-¢ Kwa took Fireheart to a deep place in the river, a long ways from the bank. An’ Mch-Kwa held Fireheart while the big Chief of the Catfish got a strong hold an’ his squaw—who was bigger than the big Catfish CRief—got also a strong hold. An' what other Catfish were there took their holds. An’ then Moh-Kwa let Fire- heart slip from between his paws, an” with a swish an’ a swirl the Catfish people snatched Fire- heart under the water an’ tore him to pieces. For many days the Yellowstone was bank-full of good words for Moh- Kwa; an’ all the Catfish said he was a Sioux an’ no cheat of a Pawnee who gives take back. or'“b"’l'thonl dght in his cavern Moh-Kwa sat by Ish-koto-dah, the Fire, a’ smoked an ’told the widow the story an’ how it all began, by Openhand bringing the Fire back to Ris friend when they had quar- reled anjthe Fire had gone out an’ would not return. An’ while Moh-Kwa told the tale to the widow not an owl said a word or even whispered, but blinked in silence each on his perch; for the widow seemed lean an’ slim as she Ipy by the fire an’ listened, an’ the owls_ theught it would be foolish to remind./Moh-Kwa of their presence. & /fessed—In general thanks to God that she , should come so.freely to be with me for as long as He should give us life. And so the little ceremony was done. “Merton,” said. Curtis, as we sat down to some food, “I have a message for you that means much, I suspect,” and he gave me a s’reut official pac! e that I knew came from nuu}quanen as soon as my eye lit upon it. 1 was for letting it lie for the time, but Debby was for insisting on opening it to see what it might mean. And so I broke the seal and found over our commander’s great hand my appoint- ment to be a major under dear old Put- nam, and with this an order to join my regiment in Connecticut at once. Acton slapped me on the back; Curtls ravely shook me by the hand, and Debw y—aye, what would Debby do now?"” ‘glvgl you '(Zi-w I_"alk - ‘“Why not, dear?” said she stmpl simply, as unhesitatingly as she hl’l’;l‘; the same thing every tim _—e =3 ¥y e from that day And so in the early afternoon fHose two tried friends by the h].nd’ “::: bade them farewell, as we started riding eastward. Both were ordered South, to g0 they knéw not where. Whether we thres gzotuld ;\;e; meet t‘}f‘:fin nodem.n could tell. ut a igher authorit; should never be. e As T sald when I be; this scrawl, thirty vears have gone siaee thar day, and we have lived our life together till T have passed the half century. Our lot lay in camps for more than two years yet, and then peace and something that is even greater came to our devastated land; and peace and quiet came to Debby and to me. My lot has, after all, been a happy one, and I cannot complafn, Those two friends of mine went further and farther southward, until at last th came with the great cnm.?n the now historic village o g There they saw and siege that gave us “American” before all more in the trench: Sotithern town. o> Y THE END. —_— Facts andFigures About Ink OR all ordinary writing pur- poses,” said a man acquainted with the ink trade, “colored inks, once used to some extent, have now been almost entirely superseded by black'ink. They are still made, and in many colors; and red ink is still, as ever, a standard for various special uses in counting rooms. “Then various other colored inks are sometimes used in counting rooms, as in the preparation of statements or exhib- its, in which, for purposes of conven- ience, the several divisions are made each in a separate coior. But for the ordinary purposes colored ink, as violet, have gone alllmoa( whoily out of use; black is the thing. “Among the inks for special uses might be mentioned white ink, made for writ- ing with on black paper, and especially employed for writing cards for window displays and like purposes. “Black inks ape-largely comprised be- tween the blacks and the blue-blacks; the former putting on biack as it leaves the pen, and the latter putting on blue and turning black. There is now used in this country more blue-black than black, and the proportion of blue-black sold is in- creasing. 2 ‘“‘Countries have their peculiarities in this respect. In France, for exam; more black ink is used; while E: ¢ ple, land has lcng been distinctively a blue-black ccuntry. “Writing ink is sold in a great variety of packages, ranging from two-ounce bettles to sixty-gallon ®casks. School Lx-nrdl! are the chief purchasers by the a el. “Amcng the smaller packa there still sold annually tho\;':‘andl! of m‘;; the pyramid-shaped bottles of the time- hulnored !%Ipe. once lum'an-nhh univer- sal use. n some rem parts mig! bethlllnk'oulflltlllbtfnm‘r!lnn: other form, and the pyra EC1d. . Tact, more of Joss mverpuBor now been largely supplant- bottles of improved shapes, user. e “There have been made in { this country various lmprovqm:’:'t:l," i\'l:” a view to ter ncy ink bottles, ©which in the ro.?fl and chiefly from 'r‘c::e T K ink? The € great consumers O " fommercial and finaneial u:en. decided- Yiaa"k is, to be sure, an article of world- Tage Jse, and it is ‘used in millions of lomes. and it might be thought that the :tx'rexale consumption of these millions L users would be the greater. But even n a letter-writing househoid they are not Wwriting letters all the while, and a bottie o(._:nk might last some time. n counting fooms and offices, on other hand, men are using ink all ::: tme, and they are critical users, who must have not alone good ink, but fresh ink, in clean inkstands, and :.hinn. and so, common as m"'fie'g;'s#lf it I8 In the world's offices and Tooms that the greater amount ':o u“:e‘q;n‘ ‘American writing Inks exported? Tg. Wherever Ink is used. American inks arg scld to some extent in Germany, Eng'and, Holland, Spain and Italy. The sales are made almost entirely for the office trade. 1 should say that a third of the ink new Used in the offices and counting rooms of the ccuntries I have is of Amert. ¢an manufacture, with thie proportionate cnsumption o erican inks th‘-;le‘binp m:.:‘. . all the “These cost them more than hey would have to pay for inks made In'ln- :(l;l«‘).i but they buy them, ne in guantities, sim- le reason that i::‘: the Besiin the worla. A