Bloomington Progress, Volume 17, Number 43, Bloomington, Monroe County, 26 December 1883 — Page 1

wmm PROGRESS.

KSTABUUIUSI) A. D. 1839.

PUBLISHED EVERY WEDHESDAY

BLOOM I NCTON, IWDI"-

Republican Paper Devoted to tho Advanooraojit oi' the Local Interests of Monroe County.

w Established A.D., 1835. VL()()MlN(iT(N, INDIANA, WEDNESDAY. DEC EM 15 EK 2(, 1W3. New Series.- VOL. XVII. -NO. 43.

.-,7 .Srrtt and CbHege .iwww. ) ... -

REPUBLICAN PROCESS. A VALUABLE ADVERTISING MEDIUM, Circulates Among ttie Best Farmers ia Monroe County,

ASHES OF ROSES.

BY L.ILY M. CURRY.

PARTI.

The old house stood alone, quite

clone, among fields of snow, traced here and there with hedges of evergreen along paths else hidden; oat from, the little town, on a road which '.led. southward to other towns as silent and uneventful. It was a rare old homestead, even thus remote from other dwellings roomy, luxurious, with wealth's conceptions and royal with welcome for friends. A rare old place for a visits at Christmas no less than at other seasons for therein was never known a cold corner, never a chill spare room, an icy sheet, a frosted window-pane! A huge furnace in the cellar sent up streams of delicious warmth, which here and there found supplement in glowing grate fires ruddy as the setting son. Great solace was evident in the rosy depths of flame great solace and delight, to the mistress of the Loose, the quiet, elderly woman who, for thirty years, had ruled here, alone for the most part, especially until Clarice had come. Yet her life had not been one of unhappiness; she, Lucretia Chauning, at 60, could look back upon the past and say it had been well worth living. And Clarice would brighten all the later days Clarke (no relative) whom she had adopted as niece a half-score years before, and striven to do for as she would for an own child. Sometimes Miss Channing's only brother, older, not over-like herself, found time to run hither from the great city and spend a day or two, filled with his politics his speculations, his lingering greed for gain. Iiittle and bent he was, with many a cynical chuckle and nasty sarcasm, and seemed to delight in arriving when least expected. Yet he ever received his due of respect and deference even they humored him by Btrict observance of his request that no carriage be sent to wait for any late train. . There were others who always came at the Christmas season; theFieldings, Clem and Charley, children of a cousin, Victor Keene, a physician, and his wife Myra, also distant connections, besides a school-girl friend or two of Clarice. In the past there had also been Elmer Keene, now abroad, and Bobert McClure, his chum and protege. Even though Hies Channing had not herself enjoyed this flood of youth and music and. laughter, she would still have made them welcome for Clarice's sake. No mother could have been truer or wiser to Clarke than was she. She felt it no sacrifice when she took the girl to the city to spend a January, or to the seaside for a. midsummer month. The remainder of the time in the two years since Clarice had left school they had spent happily enough by themselves in' the great house out among its own far-reaching meadows. Cere they could bring the latest wonders of art, and enjoy them in restful leisure; here was home and its exceeding tenderness and peace. It was lacking two days of Christmas, and the house was filled with a quietude that presaged coming joys. Everywhere was the delicious evenness of temperature, from the great velvetcarpeted drawing-room to the smallest upper chamber, through whose dormer window came the faint light of the winter sunset. And in her own apartment, facing the glow of firelight, Miss Channing rocked slowly to and fro in an ample chair, while Clarice stood leaning upon the low mantel, a sweet and gracious presence. Tall, with perfect outline, though slenderly built; fair, with a face both classic and tender, and wondrous shadowy eyes, gray springs in the fuller light. She leaned gracefully ; her gray, close-clinging dress, was perfect in tailor-fit, perfect in it one hue relieved only by the cluster of Jacqueminot rosee glowing on her bosom. Miss Channing rocked slowly to and fro in her favorite chair, still holding her favorite magazine though she had not read for an hour. There was something in her countenance indicative of slow judgment, unswerving purpose, nothing unkindly, however, or cruel. Clarice recounted the preparations of the day in a cheery voice a voice that seemed to have never thrilled with pain or passion. "The same as usual. Aunt; the front eahmber for Uncle Bowland, the pink room to Nettie and Nell, the Fieldings in the blue room, Victor and Myra in the gold room and Mr. McClure in the red." Miss Channing rocked more slowly. "Mr. McClure will not be here this year." Clarice repeated the words in a wondering tone: "Will not be here; why, aunt, did yon forget to ask him?" "No, I did not forget." There was silence the sheerest silence then Clarice spoke in a low voice; "And you are not going to ask him?" "I am not," But why, aunt There was only calm and respect ia the query. "Because, my dear, it is not advisable. It would have been bard to omit hjmhad not jjgmPT bent fittest Ia-

' deed, I think it happened most fortunately so." "What has he done to forfeit our friendship, aunt?" "Nothing especial, my dear. But, candidly, it is as well for tho young man that he be not thrown in your society don't interrupt, Clarice. Close, observation, when we last met Mr. McClure, convinced me that he might easily become too greatly interested in. you. That is all I have to say, my dear." "That is the only reason, aunt?" "The main reason. It is difficult to say what sort of man he may be growing. Poverty is against him; poverty and a quick, passionate nature. He seems inclined to communistic notions. I have no sympathy with Communists or Socialists or Nihilists. That is all, Clarice; and now I must go down and speak with Jane." Clarice went slowly out of the room and down the winding corridor to her own apartment; there she shut herself in and sat by the window to look upon the dusk and the white fields. "Aunt," she said, speaking har thoughts aloud, with a tinge of bitterness, "you have spoiled my Christmas ; but I will not spoil yours, for you are an old woman an old woman, and you have been good to me. I will try not to show disappointment, but it is cruel, cruel!" She said no more, Imt sat there in the dusk, thinking very rapidly and trying to feel less grieved. What would Christmas be, now that he would not come? What were all the others, if that one earnest face, with its clear blue eyes, looked no response? That hopeful, handsome face, with its crisp chestnut locks at the temples. She had not seen him since October, when he had come out with Elmer, just' before Elmer had sailed. They had corresponded at intervals. She wondered if her aunt had thought of this. Her aunt was the last person on earth to pry into another's correspondence even to examining a postmark. Ah, yes, her aunt was nobly just to her! But to Bobert Bobert, so brave, so honest, so full of youth's enthusiasm ! Poverty? Yes, sore poverty was against him. Elmer Keene had told her something once about a rich man having defrauded Bobert, a rich man who knew well that which he was doing when he took advantage of legal quibble and and a day's lapse to so possess what Bobert should have gained his mother's heritage. But Bobert had never learned the name or identity of the defrauder. Bobert was peculiar in some respects. "Communistic!" she wondered if this were Communism, a great heart yearning toward all the oppressed, the suffering ones of earth. If he were a rich man, or even fairly fixed, she knew what he would be doing just now. He would be going and sending from house to house among the low, the ignorant, the sorrowing, with bread and meat aud tenderness for soul and body, and blessings for the Christmas day so near approaching. Oh, it was cruel! She rose and walked slowly to and fro. How calmly her aunt had dismissed it! How effectually ! She knew too well the utter vanity of reopening the subject. She almost regretted she had not let her heart cry out for him, saying, "Aunt, for my sake, let him come." But he had never said that he loved her, aud should she be the first? Impossible! Her face grew hot in the darkness. Still she conlu not give him up thus. She must seo him once more, if only once. She had no thought of wronging her aunt's confidence, for her aunt had ever been just, and justice begets justice wherever its touch has been felt. But she would write him tomorrow, in any event. He should know that if all else were different, she remained unchanged. Thus resolved she went down to the sitting-room, and as they sat at dinner, her face was unclouded and beautiful. Miss Channing had possibly forgotten the conversation and the evening slipped quietly away. But Clarice retired only to toss feverishly all night long and realize that she stood face to face with her first trouble. She would not write, she determined, but telegraph instead, when on tho morrow she went to town. It occupied her mind to word out this message : I did not know until a lew hour. since that you bad not bc-n asked this year. My aunt has always attended to audi mutters, and supposed it to be as usual. J cannot toll you how pained I am though were you hero I might convince you. Remember, though other things be different, I am still tho same Answer this if possible, that X may know you believe me. I shall be in town some houra. Ol.ARH'K. Yes, she would say at least this much. He should know that she was his friend,

if nothing more!

PAHT if. The morning had risen white as a sanctified spirit, and with love upon the shining fields. Clarice was eager to be off. "You must have the carriage," said Miss Channing. "I dare say you would prefer the cutter, but it would never hold your par celd, "

Clarice gave gentle assent, rnul soon after was leaning back among the cushions and listening with infinite satisfaction to the oringing snow beneath tho wheels, as the carriage progressed toward Cattling. They crossed tho railroad, and turned to tho north again, the sun slanting warmly through tho windows, then entered the old wooden bridge, spanning a wide, frozen river. Having arrived in town, Clarice first dispatohed her message, then wont about some errands. When these were done she returned to the telegraph office and found his reply awaiting her. With nervous hasto she opened it and read : I will bo lu Cattling on Christmas cvo, at the Depot hotel. She rode home in a quiver of delight. Tomorrow! Ha was coming to-morrow for her sake. Ho loved her, then ho loved her ! . "How bright you look, my dear," her aunt said kindly.

as ho reached tho signature, "she must cavo a little." And what- had Clarice written? 1 want io see you so much: but the company lias arrived, am! I f cart ely know w hat to do. Clearly, I cannot come to town tonight, nor do I know how lens you can remain. You remember the little school-house half n milo bolow my home? Could you drive out there at 8:30? I will run down and wait in the porch. It did not seem to her sho had written boldly, unwomanly. Sho felt so innocent, so earnest i.t heart, that sho had uo thought of j osublo misconstruction. McClure looked at his watch it was not yet 6. Ho still held the lqttor with fond, firm clasp. "God bless her!" he repeated, and wondered if the Christmas past were half as much to her as to himself; if it wore possiblo she remembered the flower sho had given him the crimson rose, her favorite blossom? The luscious crimson ros3 that

he had always treasured, oven when it; a year ago to-night? It has never loft

"Are you afraid of mo?" sho said softly. "Clarieo!" "Bobert !"

"Oh, my darling, my own wife! Can j you love mo is it true?" j His arm encircled her and held her j safe, while slow tears of happiness

gathered in her eyes and fell upon his shoulder. "New hope! Now life!" he cried rapturously. "Clarice, I will win namo and honor for your sake. Tho thought of you is like tho thought of the angels in heaven, lifting mo up out of my meaner self. I tread new heights; there is kceu, sweet strength within me!" "Oh, hush, hush," she whispered gently, "you make mo ashamed of my poor girlhood. I have done nothing, becotrfe nothing but yours!" "Aline, mine!" he reiterated. "Shall I tell you, dear, of the rose you gave mo

of roses,' sealed

He went down after a little and took j "I always cared for you!" a cup of coffee; then he obtained a; "And, now," she said, after t mohorse and a clumsy cutter, in which to j ineut, "I must return." drive to the school-house. j Ho hold her very closo aud murNot a bad horse, ha said to himself, . mured his tenderness, though a little skittish at moments. " "My darling, my angel '. My brave

Ho wished there wore a bridge this ! sweetheart!

side of the railroad trestle-work, so that he need not cross the track in town and recvoss a mile beyond the river. However, he enjoyed the crisp air and tho pure, delicious moon-iise. Tho lights of the town twinkled faintly behind him ; the distance wideuod. Ho was soon out on the open road beyond the river. He had reached the railroad and was sweeping swiftly onward, when the horse shied at an empty freight car upon a siding, and, breaking from control, dashed into a snow-bank. But the boorish little cutter tlid not overturn, and, Robert, clutching tightly tho reins, brought the animal, after a moment, into a moderate pace. They went on so, and slackened by and by at the school house, where in tho little porch stood waiting a graceful form, warm wrapped in a loug seal cloak, with a wido bonnet framing her beauteous face. He sprang to the ground with one glad cry, one word more ho could not utter "Clarice !' "I knew you would come," sho said, in a voice that thrilled him through and through. He tied tho horse and stopped within the shadow of tho porch.

"it was so good oi you," he saul, so

unspeakably good enough."

"VOU ARE VEItY JJKK YOUH FATHER. DID YOU KNOW I KNEW YOUR FATHER YEARS AUOV" "lam happy, Aunt," said Clarice, j was ashes. " Ashes of roses!" ho said, i mo; it lies upon my heart, though it is

impetuously. i tenderly, aud his haud sought tho only ashes 'ashes

It seemed to her the great house had j pocket nest his heart, where tho littlo from the air even."

never looked so beautiful as now, with I package lav, of rose-dust. I "Yon eared for me so long?''

its evergreen wreathings, its luxury, its parted curtains, where the sunlight entered and blessed with abundance. She realized what a home it had been and what had been Miss Channing's goodness through all these years.- A goodness not to be set aside or forgotten through any cause on earth. Como what might, she would be grateful and honest. Bat first she must see him. Come to-morrow ! Come to-morrow, quickly, when she should see him on Christmas eve! But how to meet him? Sho had not thought of this. The visitors were expected in the morning. Bobert would not suffer from any embarrassing encounter unless Uncle Bowland should chance to arrive also by tho same train that of early evening. She hoped the old gentleman woidd come as heretofore on Christmas day. She had no great love for Uncle Eon laud. His fierce little eyes would i'erret Bobert out; his sharp, sarcastic tongue make note of it to all the visitors. He might even point his remarks to bring confusion upon her. She did not fancy he liked her well. After another restless night, downed another day of dazzling sunshine. The carriage, sent down to meet the guests, returned with a merry crowd cf six, one of the gentlemen riding outside. Clarice was sincere in her welcome of dainty-blonde Myra, and rosy-cheeked Nettie and Nell, fresh from tho life and light .of the great city. Sho had pleasant words and cordial for the young men. Lunch w as waiting with all they liked best. Thero was good skating on the river, and sleigh-rides in prospect. There was a new billiard table to be tried. In the evening there would be singing and dancing, and so

He would not let her see aught of bitterness iu his mood that she were going back to tho music and merriment while he must return alone to the town and see her no more for weary days. "You will write me, Clarice?" "Very often, Bobert, and long for your replies." She lay a moment in his arms then suddenly withdrew. "Good-night," she said, "and goodby." He untied the horse and sprang into the sleigh, from which he leaned for one last kiss. "God bless yon, Claric., and make your Christmas happy. Good-night." He knew she preferred that he leave her here. He might have driven her to her own gate, but he fancied she wanted to go back leisurely and grow composed ere facing the glad company. It was half-past 7, their usual dinner hour, when she entered the drawingroom, apparently cheerful. She strove to do her part, and let none read her heart; none should know how sorely she missed the absent. Not one.

As the evening progressed, the old

j house seemed to brim with joy. Here I were swinging footsteps to slow waltz j melodies, and chorused songs of col- : lege life, and shining eyes and crimson

I cannot thank you 1 nPs under tlie glitter and m tho warmth of luxury, while only a few miles off, at

lonely soul would in an hour's short

"It was vou who were aood " she an-: 1110 m towu. a

have

wage hereo space.

war

swered geatlv, "to como as vou

done." "I was glad to come, more glad than

she thought, said Clarice, they might 1 1 can tell, to find that you wore my manage a little sporf. jfriond; that though all else were "We miss Elmer." saidMvra. sinriino-1 olmno-nl n ofill !.. u, "

her coffee with dainty grace. I want vou to.believo that," she put ! am Plnne $ain tlown thero at tho "And Bob McClure," put in Charley . in, eagerly" : railroad crossing; drove, feeling new 1'ielding. ; i d0, i ao." His voice trembled. "In i !re,,th ,md Vm? n life' nw do"

"Isn't Bob coming?" asked Dr. i all mr toil, m disheartening luok. mv I slre lor 1116 ltselt' au Ju art lMrV

Keene, glancing up from his salad. failures, I have thought of yon as true, "No," said Miss Channing, serenely, steadfast. It has helped me." "I havo not asked him."

In the interval of silenco, Myra gad if I have boon of any little help," j aboeitglanced furtively at Clarice, but tho j she said, softly, "or comfort. And that ; 's roolu was 0v alt,v tuo utr girl's face was utterly placid, even j j3 what I wanted to say to you to-night ; keenness; ho was glad to throw himself smiling without a flush or quiver. ; to-night - Christmas evo it is, you ' U1J0U ue bed and cover his face, to "I was mistaken," thought Myra. know; that I longed to help yon m J dream of her by snatches. Would the "She does not care for him." ' word or deed, or both. That I should ; 'mo ovel" como when lie might call her Clarice was thinking very hard - not, would not, disguise my friendship ! ''s rms? When tho jewels sho

l'ART ill. He drove back to tho town holding the reins oarefnlly lest tho horse would

1 nctiea witn excess ol ambition. 1'oor ! heart ! Bo downcast of lute and warmed i only by the rose-dust resting always

thinking how she could manage to soo him that night. He must not bo kept waiting until the morning he, who had come so far at her merest calling. No, shs must and would see him, if she walked miles to do so. An hour later she had written a note and dispatched it to Cattling by the stable-boy, for whom she arranged other errands. After that sho found herself joyous at heart and keen as the others for skating on the river. At dusk the train from tho city came thundering into Cattling, and a young man alighted, passing quickly through the station and crossing the road to the depot hotel. Having engaged a room, with firo, ho discovered a letter awaiting him. It was from Clarice and contained but a few words. He took it up into his room and there sat reading by the cylinder stove, "God bless her," be said,

for that wore dishonest. It is (rue." ! wol' the rich clothing bo through lum

she hesitated; "it is trno that ,v j provided? Aud all might havo been so aunt " ' ; different but for the miserly old scoun"That your aunt dislikes we," ho ' dvel who had robbed him with wanton finished tho sentence for her, aud sho I avidity. "Scoundrel !" ho said, through

continued quickly : "But sho has been good to

j his tooth. "If ever came chance to romo pay, vengeance would be sweet. But

wonderfully good for 1 am no kin of hers; it would be. heartless, wicked, were I to speak against her or deceive her. I could not do so. But why should I fear?" "Ah, why?" ho echoed, dreamily. Then a new energy came into his voice, "It has done mo good to bo with you. Clarice, great good. You havo given me courage, tho sweetest Christmas gift. And, Clarice, if ever thero come a day when I daro to speak, daro to tell yon all that you have been aud are to mo " Tho moonlight fell like peace upon her face.

the old villain would live on aud prosper, while he. he must oven be shut out from the light aud love of her darling face." No! ho would not grow latter. She loved him ; she would bo faithful. Ho would win all ov die for her sake. He would go back to the city in the morning; his return ticket was already purchased, aud after paying his hotel bill a few penuies would remain. Ho was just that poverty-stricken at the present moment. Hut Clarice should never know what an effort he had mado iu coining to seo her. Ho lay musing thus nuUl tho late traiu

came in, a littlo past 11, and reminded him to go down and examine the timetable as to his morning departure. A lounger or two remained in the warmth of the otherwise cheerless office. Tho landlord himself had been across to take iu any traveler who might halt on h"s way, and was even now returning wij.h one, a little old man, at whoso querulous voice McClure started and buried his face in a country newspaper. "A nice a nice set of folks, not to have sent me the carriage !" complained tho newly-arrived. "A nice, careless, neglectful set!" His face, thin and cleau-shaven, gave less token of age than his vocal quaver. His bright eyes, skimming the room, saw only tho back of Robert's head. "But they were not expecting you tonight, Mr. Channing," tho landlord pleaded. "What do you know about it?" was tho sharp rejoinder. "I'll give you a good room for the night, Mr. Channing" "You'll givo mo a team to drive out. A team I can drive myself and send in to-morrow." It ended in his getting the identical horse that Bobert had driven earlier in the evening. And Bobert, with face still hidden in the newspaper, chuckled audibly. Tho old scoundrel would

hud it raro fun holding the skittish beast out there on the lonely road beyond tho railroad crossing. The old scoundrel who had cheated and robbed him, and but for whom he might stand to-night by the side of her ho loved, sweet Clarice! He rejoiced at the jingle of tho brils as the old man drove away. He returned to his room and found it very cozy. Ho wondered if Bowland Channing would eome to any grief. No, such villains always escaped. Yet if the old man bo injured or meet his death out there how shocked they would all bo even Clarice! Ho started nervously. Ho had not thought oi this before. It would be a greater shock thr.n if she should learn what ho had hidden from her as from the rest, that Bowland Channing was his crudest foe. Well, it was too late now ; he had no money to hire a horse and follow; to spoak to the landlord would be absurd, ho would be laughed at. Besides, what cared ho for the old miser ? But Clarice! It annoyed him ; he could not dismiss tho reproachful voice which seemed dinning in his ear: "An old man! an old man!" It bothered him so that he paced the room of a quarter of hour. He then threw off his coat and went to draw the curtain. How white and still the night! The triad was down and it was growing steadily colder. Fancy tho old man lying senseless or crippled out there beyond tho railroad crossing till after daybreak. What a Chrismas gift to be carried in through the fair sunlit morning to Clarice, who had such tender reverence for her elders ! Pshaw! Whit silly thoughts! An npsettal would not injure the old miser (though the bones of the old were brittle) unless he were dragged or stuuned. Fiva minutes later he was buttoning his coat closely about him and leav'ng the hotel. It might be folly, merest folly, but something urged him out into the night. He thought of how he might save distance by striking southward direct and crossing the railroad bridgo The trestles would be slippery, but he was sure-footed. More than once he named himself simpleton, yet strode on southward in the white, increasing coldness. It was not a long journey to the railroad trestlework, having gained which he slackened his pace, stepping cautiously from beam to beam. He hoped no train was due, for the bridge was old and closesided ; there would be no escape. The thought had scarcely entered his mind when a low murmur ran through the structure. He turned to look back aud was struck dumb. He stood so for a moment. "Good God!" he cried, but could not move. A blinding bight approached; the bridge trembled! With sudden, reckless strength he stooped, and laying firm hold upon a beam, slipped through the trestlework and hung snspotided only by his hands. One word was on his lips; one name within his heart, "Clarice!" Tho crashing thunder above him lasted but a brief moment; then a stinging pain crept from his middle linger up the muscles of his arm, as if a coal of fire had fallen upon his hand. He looked up into tho moonlit sky again. It could havo been but a locomotive, ho thought, as ho drew himself up with no great trouble, stronglimbed, athletic fellow that ho was. Then he went on, thinking littlo of his own late danger, even tho pain of his hand whero the red coal had burnt. He vent on unshaken, following the track after leaving the bridge, and so coming at length to the crossing. By the roadside, beyond, lay something dark, nncatiuy ! That was all. lie went slowly toward it. dreading to face a dath ho might havo provented. Still ho could not delay too loug. Heaven knew whero horso ami cutter had brought up ! He bent and examined tho dark heap, lie was not surprised ; he had known it must be ho, else he would not havo come following after. It seemed only natural. Ho had como neither soon uor late. He was in time, perhaps, aud his enemy

lay at his feet. Wan the old man worse than stunned ? It mattered little, yet he could not rouse him. There was a disianoo of three miles between them and tho great house, or any habitation. But there was one thing, one thing only, to be done to convey the old man to his home. He, Bobert McClure, against whom those gates had been closed, must thrust himself upon them with unexpected tidings of calamity. And could the old man bo left lying here alone? Alone, helpless, unconscious, in the bitter cold, while McClure traversed that distance

and returned with aid? If only ho could manage so they might never know who had brought Bowland Channing home! But supposing tho old man died without speaking? It would havo an ugljr look. No, there was but one way. Let them put the meanest construction upon it; let them think what they might; he would not shirk his duty. He must gather his enemy up in his arms, like a child, a helpless child, and carry him slowly on to tho great house yonder. The snow crackled beneath his feet; it was still growing colder. He smiled grimly, wondering what they would say. It must be midnight now; but the dancing and music would still be iu progress. As he toiled onward he felt curiously indifferent to their possible opinion. Let them cavil as they might. He was doing his duty tardily it was true, but his duty. There were lights in the drawingroom, warm lights shining through heavy curtains. Tho rest was like a dream, his staggering upon the sideporch and knocking heavily. Presently some one peered forth half suspiciously. "I have brought Mr. Channing home," was all he remembered saying, till he knew himself standing alone with Miss Channing and striving to tell her about it "I was at the hotel," he said, "and learned they had given him a skittish horso that I myself had driven earlier in the evening. I feared an accident and followed on foot I found him at the railroad crossing. It took a good while to carry him up." "You carried him up from the crossing! Three miles!" said Miss Channing sharply. "Why are you standing? You are exhausted ! Sit down at ouce." She turned and filled him a glass of wine. Dr. Keene was attending to Cowland Channing in an upper chamber. All merriment was hushed and sot aside. McClure sank into a chair and looked about him dazedly. He was iu tho long dining-room, where he had often been before. And this was Christmas eve ! Miss Chanuiug came back with the wine, and stood regarding him with a curious expression.

He lifted his hand, the warmth of

room caused it to pain terribly. He saw her note the action. "It is a burn," he said, faintly, "a littlo painful." "A burn?" "Yes- I crossed on the railroad bridge and a stray engine overtook me. I had to drop through the trestles and hold by my hands." He told it carelessly, half apologetically, and as he ceased a sharp cry rang through the room. Clarice was standing in the doorway, with terror in her lovely eyes. Sho came swiftly forward. "You did that! To save him! Victor told me. Victor knew, but I never did, how you were wrotfged !" Her cries wero half-hysterical, and Miss Channing interposed. "Clarice, my dear, go and see about a room for Bobert, and ask Victor what to do for the burn." She had called him Bobert! Clarice' wheeled like a flash and went out. She must have feltnow that her aunt would be just. " "How did you come to be in Cattling?" Miss Channing asked after a moment "I had come on business," he answered quietly. "I was telegraphed to come." "Ah? And Bowland was your enemy? You consider that he defrauded you?" "I have always known it," said Bobert, unhesitatingly. "And yet you brought him home," she mused aloud. "Will you tell me why you took the trouble to think o his safety ?" Bobert waited a moment, then answered, with softened voice, "I thought of Clarice.'' "You thought of Clarice? You love Clarice?" "I love Clarice," he repeated, with infinite tenderness. "It is 8ry plainly to be seen," said the lady, dryly. "We will discuss it to-morrow, tiood-night." And she swept from tho room. Clarice came back to him aud led him to his chamber, but he had grown faint and could scarcely see her face. Dr. Keeno came in and dressed the wound, and Hobert fell asleep and slept heavily. When ho awakened the sun was shining sweetly on dear familiar walls, and there was strange peace in tho young man's heart. Kowlauil Channing had come to hims If and was seeking an explanation of the affair. "I fancy thc.t beggar of a McCluvo was mixed up somehow in the matter," ho whined potutantly. Miss ( 'banning gave him a swift ivbuke : "Uowlaiid, the yonug nun carried 'on iu his anus for thi-o.' miles- and laved our lifo,"

And is Read by Every Memtwp of Each Family.

Vile Patent Medicine AdteHitemenU Ad

mitted to that Column.

There was a moment's silence, then

the little miser sneered as usual. "Ah, did ho so?" Miss Channing went suddenly out aud sent for Bobert to come to her own apartment when he should have breakfasted. He came at once. ' "Sit down," she said; "I want to talk with yon. You are very like your father. Did you know I knew your father years ago? Ah, yes, wo were good friends tho best of frioads." She rose and nnloske 1 a cabinet, deep in a recess of which she sought and fonnd a tiuy box. Then she came back to her rocking-chair. "What do you suppose thero is in thu box?" sho asked, smiling grimly..

After a moment's hesitation, he an

swered, with reverent tenderness:

"Ashes of roses!" Miss Channing sprang to her feet ' "How could you know?" she cried. With touch as reverent as bad been his speech, Bobert drew from his

pocket the sealed packet held ever

precious, the dust of the rose that Clarice had given him long before. j No words wero spoken for a spaceno sigh fell on the silence of the room! The sunlight came golden through tho window lace; the snow-birds cheeped without. ' Then slowly arose Miss Channing and spoke with tremb'iug voice: "I have made a mistake a groat mistake! 1 have wronged yon. Let it pass and let us bo friends. I think' Clarice will like to speak with you. I; think she may explain better. So saying she left the room. And ai moment later Clarice entered saying' softly: "Aunt has sent you a Christmasgift. WTiU you take it? It is I.

HANG UP YOUR SOCKS AHl STOCKINGS. BVHEI.ES STAXJUBO. 'Twaa Christmas eve and from a ebair Near which tat mamma softly rocking: Suspended hung, ill-mated pair. Dear Jacky'g sock and Jennie's stocking. The wee sm sock, home-made and gray. Was united to tta sturdy boot. Which kept the winter storms at bay. And safely bonsid the dimpled foot. The lassie's stockings, fine and new. Came o'er tho waves from sunny France Around the stripes of varied hne A prisoned rainbow feeme 1 to dance. 1 he mother galea at the twain. As she still sits there softly rocking A mist of tears liie tummer rain, Hides Jacy's sock and Jennie's stocking. "Oh, Father, dear!" she softly prays. "My darlimt children's feet e'er guide. Oh, lead them through the pleasant way And keep tbcm ever near Thy side." Another prayer, as fervent quite. Was wafted from the little ted. Where, Ride by side, that self -same night. With folded hands and upraised bead. The i hlldrea aaked their Dean )t Friend. (Whll. 'neath thWr room mamma was rocking! "Dear Jesus! ptaue Kris Kriugle send. To nil up hoih our nock and stocking. As if in amwer to their prayer. Mamma had ceased her s'eady rocking. And lo! what curious chaaxes ate Iu Jasky's sock tad Jennie's stocking. From top to toe they 're both swelled oat With queer-shaped bunches, odd and funny. They aurely cannot ho!d the gout They must be bon-bons sweet, as houuy. The linyscui, so short and small. Is qnorly pie d out from the toe. Below whic'i swing a rubber ball. And top that's warranted to go. Above the leg a whip sticis out A wooly dog loots calmly down. Conjecturing what it's all about, And whether he should barker frown. From out the stocking's top see! peep That Joyous, beaming little face A lovely doll! whose ringlets sweep Far downward with unconscious grace. She's fenced around with little toys. That glance out here and there Oay tokens of the Christmas joys Which good Santa Clans doth bear. The mother sits again to think Ones more the chair is gently rosUng Tho dog and doUy seem to wink Crocs Jacky's sock and Jenny's stocking.

Inlns's Christinas. When Irving was reproached for describing an English Christmas which he had never seen, he replied that, although . everything that he had described might not be seen at any single house, yet all of it could be seen somewhere in England at Christmas. He might have answered, also, that the spirit of what he had described was visible everywhere in Christendom on Christmas day. Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes Wherein onr Saviour's Mrth is celebrated. The bird of dawning singeth all night long; And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad: The nights are wholesome, then no planets strike. No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to coaim. So hallow' il and so gracious is the time. This is the Christmas sentiment of today, as it was of Shakespeare's tune. It is the most human and findly of seasons, ns fully penetrated and irradiated with the feeling of human brotherhood, 'which w the essential spirit of Christianity, as the month of June with sunshine and the balmy breath of roses. Santa Claus coming down the chimney loaded with gifts is but the symbol of the gracious influence whioh at this time descends from heaven into every heart The day dawns with a benediction; it passes in holiday happiness; aud ends iu soft ond pensive regret It could not bo the most beautiful of festivals if it wero doctrinal, or dogmatic, or theological, or local. It is a universal holiday because it ia the jubilee of a universal sentiment, moulded only by a new epoch, and subtly adapted to newer forms of the old faith. heorg IK Curti, in Harper' Magazine.

The Christian Xeaen'jr says "Wo once offended a brother by changing a seiitentv, and yet the only thing wo cut out was the announcement that some old mother in Israel had dif"l cholera infantum,"