Crawfordsville Weekly Journal, Crawfordsville, Montgomery County, 16 March 1894 — Page 6

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THE OLD MILL MYSTERY

By Arthur W. Marchmont, B. A.

A«thor Of Miser Hondloy's Secret," Power," "By Whose Hand,"

44

Isa," Ac., Ac.

loepyrteht, lJffi. the Author

CiTAi'TKH 11 —Continued.

His relations with Mary Ashworth "were characteristic. They had been •together in the Tillage from the time 'they were children and there was a •sort of tacit understanding between them that each belonged to the other, •and that they were to be married some day: but nothing had ever been spoken openly about marriage. There were, indeed, hindrances to a marriage. "Tom's father was alive, too crippled to •work, and thus dependent upon him while Mary's mother forced the girl to maintain her, being herself idle, thriftless, and given to occasional wild tits of drinking.

The two discussed all their plans, troubles, worries and hopes together in the frankest way. The man turned to the girl for advice in many matters while there was not an act of life in which Mary did not try to act as she judged Tom would have wished her. She had never thought of any man as a possible lover but Tom Roy lance, and shaped all her life to accord with the •idea that when he thought the time fitting, he would arrange, for their marriage.

Neither spoke for a minute or two after Tom's last speech he had no •wish to carry the topic further, while 'Mary was anxious to get away from Subject of Reuben Gorringe altogether and when they spoke again it was of other matters, until the girl, thinking she could detect some symptoms of restlessness about her companion, began to question him. "Is anything the matter?-'sheasked. "You seem out of sorts. What is it? Anything wrong at home?" "No, not more than usual," he said. "Your father's not worse, is he?" "No. lie was asking for you, though. (He misses you when you let a day pass without coming in. He always says there's something about you that seems to make his pains less racking," and he smiled in a pleased way to the girl, who smiled back. "That's his way. He's a wonder to bear pain, and no mistake. I'll go in to-night. But if it not that that's rworrying you, what is it?" "Is it about tha mill?" "Yes. It's that lazy fellow, Gibeon jjPrawle, again. I wish the fellow were out of Walkden Bridge altogether. You know the way he can talk to the folk, and how he can turn them this way and that. "Well, lie's got the sack to-day, and he vows he can bring out the men unless Gorringe takes him on again. And you know Gorringe." "lie's the last man to give way in such a thing." "That's as plain as a loom, but I'm thinking there may be trouble," and Tom's brow was puckered with a good many frowns of perplexity. "What was Gibeon discharged for?" asked Mary Ashwort h. "Why, because lie's a lazy, loafing, do-naught: and Gorringe, who does know when a man works and when he loafs, swears he won't have him about the place doing naught, but getting the rest of the hands all in a tangle. So he paid him oil' to-day and bundled him out of the place neck and crop." "So he is a lazy fellow, everybody knows that." said Mary, energetically, "and most will be glad he's gone." "He's not gone yet, and that's the mess." "But what is it to you or to anyone else, Tom, whether Mr. Gorringe keeps him on or sends him away?" "Oh, if you belonged to the union you'd know how to answer that question yourself. This is how it stands:

Gibeon has got the ear of all the officers of the society, except me, and he can make them believe that Gorringe has sacked him, not because he's an idle chap, but because the boss knows he is ••.•..powerful in the society, and is aiming a blow at the union through Gibeon.

Do you see that? Well, if he succeeds in that—and I'm pretty well sure he will—he in ay easily get 'ein to make it a union job. and then there'll be mischief. Now you see why I'm a bit worried." "But why does it affect you so much, Tom?" asked the girl. "You surely aren deceived about Gibeon being idle and a loafer?" "No, not likely. But, then, don't you see, a fellow must stick by the union. Even if your cause isn't as good as you'd like it to be, you must take the good yarn with the bad in ••.•'..•.that matter. You see, as local secretary, I'm scarcely a free agent, my lass, in such a matter. I'm no champion of Gibeon but, then. I feel that I can scarce go against the society. It's pull devil, pull baker in my case, and no mistake." "But j'ou can tell them your opinion, can't you, Tom?" asked the girl, who had grown grave at the way her companion had spoken. "Yes, I can do that: but I haven't the gift of the gab that Gibeon has, nor a tithe of the influence he has, either." "What shall you do?" "I'm thinking I shall stand out against Gibeon, at any risk, lass and that's the truth, though if things came to a pass I shan't fancy playing 'knobstick.' I reckon that's only another name for traitor." "I don't see why a man's a traitor for doing what he thinks is right," said Mary Ashwortli, firmly. "I know if I were sure a certain course were the right one, I'd take it in the face of anything." "Oh yes you girls are always so jolly firm about doing what's right—when you don't have to do it," answered

Tom Roylanee, a little irritably. To him, it was a very great matter even to think of taking sides against his fellow unionists. "1 didn't mean to annoy you," said Marv. eentlv—seeing1 at onra that h«r

answer hail grated

MsdellBt

oil

him. "I only-

hoped to strengthen you in doing right. 1 know it will be a big wrench for you to go against the rest." "I don't say that shall do that. There may be no cause." "When is it to be decided?" asked Mary. "We've a meeting to-night: and it's close on time, too." They had turned in their walk and were now near to Walkden Bridge again. "There's Gibeon."

The man of whom they had been speaking, Gibeon Prawle, caught sight of them at. the .same moment, and, crossing the road, caine towards them. "Will you go round and see father, Mary?" asked Tom, hurriedly, before the other man joined them. "And don't tell him auglit about this business." "Good evening, Mary good evening, Tom," said Gibeon Prawle, as he joined them. lie was a good-looking man of some six and twenty,with bold, regular

features, under a mass of curly fair hair. "\7ou'recoming to the meeting, of course, Tom?" he said and then turned to Mary. "I suppose Tom here's been telling you I'm in disgrace" he laughed noisily as he said this—"and that Reuben Gorringe thinks he can kick me out of the mill. The hound! But the man who kicks a stone wall mayhap will break his foot rather than the wall. He's just like a beggar set on horseback, but instead of riding to the devil he wants to make the horse kick other folk there. It's only the other day he was a hand himself, for all his currish pride. But it's strange to me if I don't make him sorry he ever interfered with me and an angry, malignant expression made his face anything but pleasant to look upon. "I hope you won't hurt others in your plan to revenge yourself, Gibeon," said Mary, firmly. "That's like you, Mary. Always hard on me and he tried to laugh lightly to cover a real vexation. "You never would give me credit for anything but doing the wrong thing in the wrong way. Besides, as Tom will tell you, this is not my question only it's a society matter. Gorringe knows I've worked hard for the union, and he's got a knife into me in consequence. He hates the union like poison."

Tom and Mary interchanged rapid glances. "It seems to me it's a question between you and Mr. Gorringe, and nobody else," answered Mary "and if you bring anyone else into it you'll be doing what you have no right or call to do," "Yes, that's a woman's view of all society bothers," answered Gideon Trawle, lightly. "But Tom here knows better, don't you, Tom?" "Tom agrees with me," said Mary, quietly and at the reply Gibeon cast a rapid and rather vindictive glance at the other man. and said, shortly: "Well, its not for you or Tom here to settle, but for the society to decide and it's time for the meeting. Good night. Mary. Better feelings to you, and less bitterness and with that they separated.

CHAPTER 111.

nder-

THE TUHF.VI'ENRIJ STRIKE.

Tom Roylanee had not at all estimated the strength of Prawle's influence over his workmen. He told the facts of his dismissal in a skillful manner, so as to leave as far in the background as possible the manager's real motive in discharging him and he cleverly made the most of every grievance of which he had ever heard.

Gibeon fellow

In addition to this he primed one or two of his special friends to back him up, and to declare that the society had no choice but to make his quarrel theirs and to insist upon his being taken on again. "I haven't paid my money to the society for ten years and more," said one, "to be trod on like this and I ain't going to stand it. We aren't worms, are we, for Gorringe to tread on us nor slaves, for him to thrash, just as he likes? What I saj* is this, that the life of a man ain't worth living if he's got to feel as a manager can just take the bread out of his mouth and leave his wife and young 'uns without bite or sup, just when lie pleases. And it comes to this, as we aren't safe, not one of us, if we're to be bullied here and sacked there as a manager chooses. A man's a man, I saj\ and ought to be treated as such," and the approbation that greeted the speaker showed that he represented the views of several who were present —the majority, as it seemed to Tom. "I suppose we don't deny as Gibeon has done a lot for the society, do we?" asked another man. and the question was answered in a way that made the subject of it glance rather triumphantljT at Tom. "Well then, if he's stuck by the society, I say the society should stick by him. Wc ain't cowards, are we, to be afraid o' one man?"

Things continued in this way until several of those present had spoken, and at last they turned to Tom Roy lance and asked him his opinion. "I've no manner of doubt about what we ought to do," said Tom, readily, speaking in a firm, decided voice. "This is Gibeon Prawle's matter and no one else's. The reason he's been sacked is one which those who've worked with him know perfectly well —he don't do the work properly, lie knows that well enough," and Tom looked resolutely round at a number of the men who murmured and muttered their objections, and then turned and faced Gibeon, who jumped to his feet eagerly to contradict what was said. "Let me speak," said Tom, "you've had j'our turn. All that has been said about the other matters is right enough,no doubt, but it's naught to do with Gibeon. I speak for myself and I say I've always had good pay from Gorringe for good work, and there ain't a man can say otherwise

And I've alwaj's found him willing to listen to anj'tliing in reason. My vote '11 be given for letting Gibeon settle the job for himself and I shall stand by^the boss." "There was he sat down

some appiause when I y°u'?

Pluck will always win a

cheer, and it was a plucky speech, and made one or two who thought with him speak their minds.

But there were more on the other side, and after some rather heated talk they appointed a deputation to see the manager on the next day, to try to get Gibeon Prawle reinstated.

Reuben Gorringe met the men readily enough but would not give way an ineli. "No. no, my men. You know me and you know my ways. When I say a thing I mean it. Gibeon Prawle's a loafer and not a worker, and there's no room in any mill or shed in my care for men who shirk their work. This is a .matter between him and me. and the society's got naught to do with it. All the other little things you've mentioned we can talk about, and I'll do all I can to meet you. But I won't take Gibeon back. Mr. Coode"—this was the proprietor of the mill—"and I have talked over this matter of Gibeon, and lie's left it to me absolutely

and ray answer is this, if I shut the old mill up till it drops in ruins, I won't have him back."

And from this position nothing could move him. And the men wentaway with grave f«'iees and consulted, and then came back and began to talk of striking. "You can strike if you wish. Tomorrow if von like," said Gorringe, resolutely. "It'll make no difference to me. Every hand who's ever been in the place knows that for good work I give good pay and that in every matter 1 can meet you in, I meet you. But you shan't force me to take back a lazy, gabbling loafer. It's not right. I've no quarrel with the society and if you force one on me I shall fight you."

When they pressed for arbitration, he said it was no use. lie would not consent to agree to any arbitrator who tried to prevent him from getting rid of a lazy workman.

But he saw that many of them were on the side of the discharged man, and he made his arrangements accordingly. lie judged as accurately as he could how many of the men were likely to go out, and he arranged to bring a number of non-unionists from a distance to take their places.

There was much debating, and long and anxious discussion but at length it was resolved to send in the notices. There were several dissentients, and among them Tom Roylanee, who was encouraged in his attitude by Mary Ashwortli.

Before the climax was reached and tho struggle came to a. head, Gibeon, who heard of this, sought her out to try and gain her to his side. "Mary, why are you against me?" he asked her, when he met her as she was leaving the mill, one evening. "I am not against you, Gibeon. What do you mean?" "Yes, you are and you're trying to set others against me, too. Tom Roylance." "It is not against you I am acting," she saidj "but I want to prevent you having the chance to hurt others. This is your quarrel, and yours only and yon know it. Trying to bring others into it will do you no good and will injure them."

I know that you are against me— aye, lass, and seem to have been so always. Why don't you like me?"

I've given you no reason to think that," said Mary, simply. "I hope I have not been unkind to you, or to anyone." -,'iC don't mean that. You couldn't be unkind

to

any living tiling." he

said, earnestly. "Hut you don't like me. Why can't I have your good will? Can't you try and take my part now?" "No, Gibeon not in this," answered Mary, candidly.

They walked a few paces in silence, and when they reached Mary's cottage he followed her inside. "Don't you know that I want you to be on my side?" "Don't you see why this thing hurts me?" lie began to speak with more warmth of feeling than he had yet shown. "Don't you know, or can't you guess that what hurts me is that 1 shall have to leave Walkden Bridge?" "Well, the world is wide, and if I were a man I'd rather see something of it than be cooped up here all one's days."

Ah. but suppose there was a reason why it was a pleasure to be 'cooped up.'as you call it. Suppose there was some one from whom one doesn't want to be driven away. What then?" "Oh, oh, 1 didn't know that was the state of the case. Who is it?" she asked, half banteringly.

But the next instant she repented the question for Gibeon Prawle seized her hand in his and ran his arm round her waist, holding her close to his side while his words came thick and fast. "It's you. Mary. I've tried to make you feel it, to make you know that you are more to rue than all the world besides. I love you, -Mary, my darling. You can do with me what you will. If j'ou love me. and will be my little wife, I'll work hard for you as I have never worked yet. Ah, Mary, my—"

But as soon as Mary recovered from her astonishment she struggled to free herself from his grasp. "Don't, Gibeon. Let me go! Leave me alone. Don't touch me! I've never said aught to you to make you speak in this way to me. Don't touch me again," she cried, as he tried to take her again in his arms, "or you'll make me hate you," and she shuddered with an involuntary gesture of repugnance. "Do you mean that?" he asked, looking at her steadily. "Yes, I do. Of course, I do. When did I ever say a word to make you think I could marry you?" "Then you won't marrry me? And j'ou mean to quarrel with me? You'd rather do that, eh?" "I don't want to quarrel with you or with anyone, Gibeon. But I can't marry you." "You mean to marry Tom Roylanee. I suppose?" The words came very angrily, sounding like a threat. "I don't mean to ask you who I am to marry, and if you weren't a coward

be

ashamed to say such a thing."

4*r e®

thats like -a las. Tryintr to

fence an awkwara question with a bit of big talk. But see here, j-ou won't marry him. So you may look out, both Of _yOU."

The girl smiled scornfully, but did not answer. "Ah, j-ou may smile. But if I chose to open my mouth he wouldn't carry his head half so high as he does at present, I can tell you. And as for the strike that's coming, lie may look to himself. If he thinks, or you think, that he will be allowed to turn knobstick, you are both mistaken. I came to you to-day to try and make peace between us all. 1 didn't mean to let my tongue and mjr feelings run away with me, but you won't have peace, and so there's an end to it."

Mary said nothing while he was speaking, but the instant he had finished she went to the door and opened it. "Go," shf: cried, pointing to the door.

Gibeon Prawle looked at her, speechless with anger, his handsome face frowning and flushed with rage. Then, twisting his cap in his clenched hands, he exclaimed: "Do you mean to turn me out like a dog, without even a kind word or a look?" he asked. "I can have no kind words for anyone who has said what you have, today," answered Mary, resolutely. "But 1 bear no malice."

The man had to pass close to her on leaving the room, and as he was moving away a sudden temptation seemed to come over him, and he threw his arms round her and clasped her tightly to him as he exclaimed: "You shall kiss me then. Mary, even if j-ou won't throw me a kind word," and he drew her to him and strove to press his lips to hers.

She struggled with all her strength to escape from his grasp, and, finding she could not, called out loudlj' for help. "You'd better yield to mo," cried the coward, between his teeth, "for my blood's up, and 1 won't answer for tho consequences." "Help, help!" called Marj', renewing her struggles.

Then the door of the cottage was thrown open quickly, hurried steps passed along the passage, and Tom Roj-lance burst into the room.

In a moment he had thrown himself upon Gibeon Prawle, and, seizing him bj' the throat, a desperate struggle ensued, in the midst of which, Gibeon, suddenly breaking away from the other man, pushed him back on to a chair, and with muttered curses and threats rushed out of the room.

CHAPTER IV.

SAVANNAH MOH11YN.

The days that followed were days of trouble and doubt. Gibeon Prawle's influence with the men prevailed the strike was determined upon, and the notices were given in.

After the scene in Mary's cottage there was no longer room for doubt in Tom's mind as to which side he would take, and he declared strongly and angrilj' against Gibeon.

This brought about much ill-feeling, and Tom was threatened more than once with what would happen if he turned "knobstick." Others, however, more cautious and friendly, urged him to leave the place and not flj' in the face of the majority. "We must obey the vote of the majority," said they, "no matter what the cause may be. This giving in by the minority is the very life-blood of all trades unions." "Then I'll have no more to do with trades unions," answered Tom, resolutely. "What I sajr is that I'll never be a partj' to championing such a fellow as Gibeon." "But it .isn't championing him. but standing by the union, lad, that you've got to think of in this matter." "Then let the union take a sensible line and act justlj-. D'ye think I haven't worked for the union? Nay, you know

I have, and that there's no firmer believer than I in the right of the men to stand or fall together when the cause is just. But not to protect such fellows as Gibeon Prawle. If the cause were a good one, I'd starve till everj' blessed ounce of flesh wasted off my bones before I'd give in but not for a skunk like that."

And tliej' could not move him. The j' went to Mary to see whether she would influence him for after the time when he had rushed in to protect her, he had let it be known that they two were to be married but Mary would not hear a word against Tom. She thought he was doing the right thing and said so.

Reuben Gorringe went to Tom some few days before the notices expired, and spoke to him. "What are j'ou going'to do in this matter, Tom?" he asked. "I'm going on with my work," he said. "But you're local secretary of the union." "I was. IVe resigned^ I've left the society—at least they as good as turned me out, when I wouldn't strike." "Come to the office, I want to speak to you," and when they were alone, he said: "Have you no influence to stop this folly?" "No, none. I have tried, but the men are determined to stand by Gibeon," said Tom. "They are fools, and that's the long and short of it. What about the women?" "I don't think many of them will go out, if any do. I've heard one or two talk about giving in a notice, but don't think they will. They know what strike pay means too well to quarrel with their victuals for a shifty scoundrel like Gibeon Prawle." "They can't beat me," said the manager, resolutely. "Whatabout Gibeon?" said Gorringe, after a pause. "What's j'our candid opinion about him?" "I don't want to talk of him. He's a scoundrel and a cowardly frightener of women," said Tom, his eyes brightening with anger. "What do you mean? is it because he is the man concerned that you stand by me and against the society?" asked

Gorriittre. loo kin or anarc.himrlv at the

other. "Yes, that's about the size of it," answered Tom. "If he came back to the mill we should leave." "We?" said Reuben Gorringe, quickly and suspiciously. "Yes. Marj' and I have settled that. We neither of us work where he was. We're going to be married, you know, when this trouble's passed over a bit."

The manager had bent over a drawer at his table while this was said, and made no answer for quite a minute, seeming to be searching for something he could not find. At last ho got up from his chair, and continued the search with his back to Tom. "Oh, are j'ou?" he said, in a voice meant to be indifferent. "We shall wait till after this business of the strike," said Tom, all unconscious of the effect likely to be produced by his words.

Reuben Gorringe was a long time searching what he did not find, and when at length he turned to Tom he said: "I wanted to show you a sample of short-stapled stuff that I think we can use but I can't put my hand on it now. You must come in present]j'. If you hold by me in this bother j'ou understand it'll be for j'our good. I shall want to have some one to depend upon."

Tom thought as he went out that the manager was looking unusually worried and bothered. And he might have thought the matter still more serious had he seen Reuben Gorringe directly the latter was left alone. The manager locked the office door and gave himself up to deep thought a set, hard, desperate look fixing all the muscles of his faee in a rigid, thoughtful, malignant expression.

But Tom saw nothing of this, and thought so little of what he seen that when he told Mary what had passed at the interview he scarcely deemed it worth while to mention to her that he had spoken of their coming marriage.

But Marj' was thoughtful, and though she said nothing to Tom she recalled Reuben Gorringe's words, and was vaguelj' uneasj' for a daj' or two.

At the end of that time, however, Reuben, looking haggard and troubled, went to her, and finding her alone spoke to her about the marriage, and his words were kind. "I heard the news from Tom," he said, "and I was—was glad that it was no other man. I thought I should like to see j'ou alone for.a minute and tell you I was glad."

Mary smiled very'sweetly at the implied praise of her lover, and thanked Gorringe for his words. "I thought, too," he continued, speaking not without some effort, "that I should like just to tell you that I am sorry for what I maj' have said the last time we—we were together. I can't tell j'ou that my feeling for j'ou is changed in one respect," he said, smiling sadly: "perhaps it would be a good thing if I could. That feeling will never change. Mary, but I will bury it and hide it, and play at pretending that it's dead. Tom and j'ou are acting well by me in this strike bother, and I'll do what I can for j-ou both. I'll show you that if I'm not to be chosen before another man, at least I ean be man enough to bear no malice toward him. Give me your hand, my lass,"' he took it and pressed his lips to it. "God bless j'ou, and make you as liappj" as 1 wish you to be."

The girl said nothing—could find nothing to say. being touched by his words but let her hand rest in his for a moment and then drew it gently away, saj-ing after a long pause:

I hope we shall be friends nor had she even the faintest spark of suspicion that he was not absolutely sincere in all his words.

Yes, we shall be friends, and there is something I can ask j'ou to do as a first proof of it. You can do it, i. think. It is something connected with this business of the strike. I have arranged, as j'ou know, for the places of some of the men who are going out to be taken by women whom I am bringing to Walkden Bridge. There maybe a little difficulty in getting some of them housed, and I want to know if j'ou can take one of them here." "Oil, j'es, easily," answered Mary, readilj'. "Who is it? Where does she come from?" "She is a weaver, named Savannah Morbyn and she comes from the other side of the county." "When will she be here?" ,,To-morrow evening, so as to be ready for the next day." "Do you know anj'tliing about her?— her character, I mean?" asked Marj'. "I know her to be a good hand, steady and reliable. A good girl, I believe," and then he left.

Tom,was pleased when Mary told him as much of the interview as was necessary to explain the reason of the new hand coming into the cottage, and drew from it a good omen as to their future relations with Gorringe. He on his side also had good news, for the manager had offered him abetter position in the mill, to act partly as overlooker and partly to find employment in the office, a position showing trust and confidence and bringing better wages.

Mary looked on this as a further proof of Gorringe's sincerity in wish ing to show his friendship, and was both glad and grateful.

In the evening, therefore, she set to work with a light heart to make the cottage ready for the visitor, and the next day as soon as the day's work was done she hurried to the cottage and found the stranger had already arrived, "Are j'ou Savannah Morbyn?" she asked, looking curiously at the girl whom she found sitting with her hat and jacket still on. "Yes and you, I can see, are Mary Ashworth. I knew you at once from the description given to me."

The stranger got up from her chair and went holding out both her hands to Mary, who placed hers in them, confidently and readily, and looked into the other's face.

As she touched the girl's hands and met the gaze of her eyes, Mary felt If shrink as if with instinctive

v.

distrust. "You are cold," said the newcomer, who tried to draw the girl closer to her. "I am tired, I think," said Mary, moving away from her. "The work has been very hard and—and I want my tea." It was a lame conclusion, but the girl could not explain nor account for the feeling which took possession of her.

She took Savannah up the narrow staircase and left her in the bedroom she was to occupj', while she herself went to that in which her mother and herself were to sleep, and tried to shake off the feeling that oppressed her. They had tea, and when Tom came in to speak of the arrangements for the next morning he found them together. "And is this Tom—j-our Tom?" said Savannah, rising and smiling to Marj'.

She put her hand into Tom's and clasped his firmly in her own while sha looked at him fixedly out of her deep v:'olet eyes.

And as he held her hand and gazed at her, devouring with his ej'es the ravishing and voluptuous beauty of her face, and the full, rich, graceful form, he felt that such a woman as this had never before stood clasping his hand in hers, and reading his very soul with ej'es that seemed to burn into every nook and cranny of his mind. lie stood holding her hand, and felt as though he could not turn away •from the ej'es that riveted his, holding him as in chains which he had no wish to loose, until she herself released him.

There seemed some subtle power in the woman that he had never met with before it maddened him, and even the pained and seared look which he saw on Mary Asliworth's pale face did not serve to recall him wholly to himself, nor make him conscious of anything except a strange, fierce, passionate pleasure in the company of this wondrously beautiful creature. He was like a man intoxicated.

(To lie Caiitin

GAKFIKL1).

at

dies Champion has another girl his house. Mrs. Ella Vaugundy is some better at this writing.

There are four more weeks of Miss Swisher's school. Maj' McCoy is assisting Mrs. Huffman in her work.

Willis and Homer I-'lannigan were in this vicinitj- Sunday. Dave Hinford and son sawed wood for Charley Cornel Monday.

Miss Eiiie Wilkinson spent last Saturday and Sunday in Ladoga. Billy Moore, wife and daughter spent last Wednesday at George Boyland's.

Several from this place attended church at Smartsburg Sundaj- night. •JeJf McDaniel left last Thursday for Iowa. Ilis family will start the first of the week.

If anyone wants to get married just go to Darlington, as they average two or more a week there.

There will be two new buildings put up at this place soon, a house for Rev. Wainscott and a blacksmith shop.

Rev. Wainscott will be with us to till his regular appointment next Saturday night, and Sundaj'. All are invited to attend.

Sundaj- school was well last Sunday. Mr. Jackson. fordville, being present gavt ant talk to the school.

attended of Crawa pleas-

smaktsiht:*

Health good in this town.

4''

There is talk of a wedding soon. Come everj'body to our meeting. Glen Martin lias a new girl at his house.

Sherman Moore saj's lie has set a trap to catch a heron if lie ean. Herons are in good demand.

To California.

Persons contemplating a trip to the icific coast should bear in mind that all through trains start from Chicago. In order to secure ample accommodations and desirable locations in these through trains the tourist should arrange to take the train at the starting point. It costs no more and the time is the same as other routes requiring numerous changes and other annoj'ances. Our extremely low cut prieos. will be made known upon application.

L. A. CI.AKK, Agt. Monon.

itiK'klen's Arnica Salve.

The best salve in the world for Cuts Bruises, 'Sores, Ulcers, Salt Rlieum, Fever Sores, Tetter, Chapped Hands, Chilblains, Corns, and all Skin Eruptions, and positively cures Piles, or no pay required. It is guaranteed to give perfect satisfaction or money refunded. Price 25 cents per box. For sale by Cotton Rife's, the Progress Pharrn* acj'.

THE breath of a chronic catarrh patient is often so offensive that he becomes an object of disgust. After a time ulceration sets in, the spongy bones are attacked, and frequently destroyed. A constant source of discomfort is the dripping of the purulent secretions into the throat, sometimes producing inveterate bronchitis, which-, is usually the exciting cause of pulmonary disease. The brilliant results bj' its use for

years

past properly desig­

nate Ely's Cream Balm as by far the best and only cure. Call upon your druggist for it.

A Forty Mile Ride.

E. R. Swetman, of Fairfax Station, Virginia, says: "A party came forty miles to my store for Chamberlain's Cough Remedy and bought a dozen bottles. The remedy is a great favorite in this vicinity and has performed some, wonderful cures here." It is intended especially for coughs, colds, croup and whooping cough and is a favorite wherever known. For sale by Nye & Booe, 111 north Washington street, opposite the court house.

ATTEND the Bischof's.

great Walker Sale, at

FOB tags see THE JOURNAL CO., PBINTEBS.

FOB dodgers see THE JOUBNAL CO., PBINTEBS.