Decatur Daily Democrat, Volume 7, Number 297, Decatur, Adams County, 15 December 1909 — Page 2

0»O-»O»O*O'»-O*'OO*O'*O-*O»O*O-»-O | The bishop’s j I Kitten ; 7 ♦ ♦ A Christmas Story ♦ f — ° o By FRANK H SWEET. ♦ Copyright, 19uj, by American I*res« ♦ O Association. ° o It was Christmas eve. The secretary lad paper and pencil ready and a typewriter beside him. The bishop of Winchester sat in the window in a straight backed chair, for it appeared that he eould not even allow himself the luxury of resting when he might have rested. "A note of thanks from the president of the board of managers of the Home For the Homeless," kiid the secretary, opening another letter, with a little sigh of relief, for lie was near the end of the pile. "He says that your magnificent contribution has saved the borne from serious difficulties and that this will enable them to go through the winter comfortably.” "No answer needed," said the bishop briefly. “A letter from Mr. Hanlon for help for a poor family. He says he has found a family in great distress, and be looks to you for advice and assistance.” "He doesn't need advice. He needs assistance. Tell him to draw on me and do what he thinks necessary.” "A letter from Mr. Quinta rd in reference to young Cooper, the theological student. He has married and so has forfeited bis right to continue his eourse and enter upon his career unless you are willing to make an exception tn bis case.” The bishop's face flushed and his lips set in a line like iron. "Write Mr. Quintard.” he said In icy tones, "that he will please convey to the young man my compliments and tell him that since be has put his nose to the grindstone he may keep it there. He is to tell him from me that be can seek out some humble employment for himself." “Are you going out. sir?” asked the secretary as the bishop put on his overcoat. "Yes.” replied the great man simply. "1 promised to give a talk to the workingmen tonight at the Dayton mission.” There was a world of personal history in the simple answer, it was a eold and dismal night, and the fire was burning cheerily in the grate, yet this man, who might have taken bis ease, was going to the farthest extremity of the city to talk to grimy workingmen. The secretary watched him with wonder and curiosity in bis face. The hard, stern, unbending man. the self sacrificing sympathizer with the poor—what contradictions were in this man's nature! The mission stood in the midst of a thickly settled district populated chiefly by the workmen from the foundries and mills that abounded there. The mission house was small and plain and not too comfortable, as the bishop knew, for he bad spoken there before. To his surprise, the doors were closed and the place was dark. "Strange." he said to himself. “I did not think I was too early.” Nothing stirred about the house except a little furry kitten which sat on the steps and rent the air with agonized bowls. "Mercy, what a voice!” exclaimed the bishop uneasily. "Are you cold, poor little kitty?" Looking up and down the street to see that no one was coming, be took the tiny kitten up and stroked its bead. It opened its mouth wide and wailed for something it missed and could not explain, it surely must be almost frozen. No one was coming yet. The bishop unbuttoned his over-

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coat at the top and thrust the kitten in. "If 1 see any one coming I can take it out.” he thought. “Perhaps one of the workmen will take it home to the children.” Lulled by the warmth, the kitten was quiet for a moment, but all at once it realized that there was something else needed. It crawled up, put out its head and howled louder than ever. "Mercy on us!” exclaimed the bishop. “It must lie hungry. If the men would only come"— Sure enough, there wns some one walking up the street with a rapid swing. But be was about to pass when the bishop stopped him. “Pardon me. my friefid.” he said, "but 1 expected there would be service in this house tonight. Can you tell me”— “No; it’s Christmas night,” said the man. hurraing on. He had mistaken ttie night, and all tills Jong journey! “Too bad. kitty." he said to the head which was just beneath ids chin and which was giving utterance to the wildest and most hopeless bowls. "As I have nothing else to do, though, perhaps 1 might find a place where they would give you a little milk and maybe adopt you.” A little distance farther on there was a house where there was a Are in the front room, and he could hear a man's voice within. Ah, here was the place! A man would understand the situation. A ring at the bell and the door was flung open and a man stood on the threshold. “That you. Fred?” he asked, peering into the darkness. "No, it is not Fred,” replied the bishop mildly, and then he repeated his formula. “See here, my man,” said the person in the doorway, "1 don't know whether you’re crazy or on a jag. but you’d better burry on. for it is mighty near time for the copper on this beat to git around.” The bishop drew his splendid figure erect and walked on. "All men are becoming pessimists,” he said to himself and the kitten. Perhaps it was this gloomy thought that made the kitten open its mouth and surpass ail its previous efforts in the way of soul stirring wails. The bishop set his lips in a bard line. "I’m going to find something for this kitten to eat," he said, half aloud, and when the bishop said things in iiiat way it was as well for circumstances to yield. A tiny cottage stood at a street cor-ner-such a tiny cottage that it seemed to have been crowded into the corner as an afterthought when the place was already full. There was a light in the front room, and as the bishop had grown desperate be walked up the small stoop and rang the bell. A young man o|>ened the door. There was an electric light a few feet away, and liie bishop saw by it that the young man had a pale face and that his hair was tumbled as though by restless fingers. While he was noting these things be was telling about the kitten. "I have applied to several people.” be added, "but they seem to look upon me as a dangerous and suspicious character. 1 bope you will be more generous in your judgment.” The young man had started at the sound of bis voice, but he opened the door wider. “Come in,” be said. “I think we will be able to find the kitten something to eat.” A slender slip of a girl arose from her seat near the tire and went into the other room. She came back presently with a sancer of milk and set it and the kitten down on a rug. and then the bishop sat down, too, at their Invitation, and they laughed with one accord at the enthusiastic manner in which the kitten crawled bodily into that saucer of milk and lapped and choked and lapped and strangled again as though it would never have enough. “The poor little thing was hungry, very hungry,” said its benefactor pityingly. While the kitten drank the bishop was looking around the poor, neat little room, with its bare floor shining white and its pitiful little adornings. And from the room his eyes wandered to the girl, who was down on her knees by the fire wiping the milk from the kitten’s paws and making it fit for decent society. She was a lovely girl, with large, tender brown eyes, and her hair was filled with gold in the firelight, and there was a dimple in the midst of the bloom on her left cheek. When had the bishop of Winchester ever noticed the bloom on a woman's cheek before or the dimple in the midst of it?

"Really, this is very pleasant,” he said, warming under the genial influence of the neat little room and the lovely girl and the fine young man with the Intellectual face. “I am glad that 1 found the kitten, for it has been the cause of my making some pleasant friends. You must give me your name, • for 1 have no disposition to lose friends so pleasantly found." Something had been weighing on the mind of the young man ever since his guest bad come into the room. Now he arose and stood before the bishop, his eyes kindling. “My name is Cooper.” he said, with an Intrepidity which the bishop could not but recognize even in the midst of his amazement. “I am a student of theology. 1 lack a year of finishing my course. A month ago 1 married, and today you sent me word that since 1 bad put my nose to the grindstone X could keep it there. There was silence in the room for some moments. Then the bishop arose, and began to button his overcoat, “I am glad I came in.” be said gen-| tly, looking at. the young yuan. "Aid,

so you hate been married a month? Have courage, my boy. We all nave our grindstones, and our noses are kept pretty constantly nt them in the course of the years, but no matter so they don't grind away any of our hearts. And tills Is the little wife who was more and better than a career? Well, perhaps she is. She reminds me of a girl I knew long ago. You wop’t mind my taking the little kitten borne with me, will you?" And the two young people stood amazed while he put the kitten inside his overcoat and then shook bands with them warmly before he departed. The next morning when the secretary entered the study he paused and leaned against the door a moment and passed his hands across his eyes. Could that be the bishop of Winchester sitting in his accustomed place, with a white kitten climbing over him and biting his ears and bumping its head against bis chin? "Oh. you're here. Daniel!" said the bishop, catching sight of him. “Sit down there for a moment and take this for Mr. Quintard.” And the secretary steadied his reeling faculties while the bishop dictated: Dear Quintard—l have reconsidered my decision in regard to young Cooper. 1 have some evidence that goes to show that he will make a useful man. and you may assure him from me that he will be allowed to continue his course: also please ascertain if he is at all cramped in his circumstances, and if so consider me your banker and help him as he needs it without letting him know to whom he is indebted. You can manage this. 1 Know. "I must be dreaming.” said the secretary to himself, but as he looked again to convince himself there was the bishop of Winchester smiling at the kitten, which was clawing at the leaves of one of the abstract books on the table and turning somersaults down the open pages.

The Man-of-w»r Bird. The frigate pelican, or man-of-war bird. Is usually met with by travelers tn the tropics. Although when stripped of its feathers it is hardly larger than a pigeon, yet no man can touch at the same time the tips of its extended wings. The long wing bones are exceedingly light, and the whole apparatus of air cells is extremely developed, so that its real weight is very trifling. It flies at a great height above the water and from that elevation pounces down on fish, especially preferring the poor, persecuted flying fish for its prey. According to some authors. the name of man-of-war bird was given to it because its appearance was said to foretell the coming of a ship, probably because the frigate pelican and real frigates are equally adverse to storms, and both like to come into harbor if the weather threatens. Too Risky. In boring for oil when the drill rogr-bes The depth where it allows gas to escape every precaution is taken against igniting it lest there should be a destructive explosion. This necessary precaution gives point to the following story, told by a writer in the Pittsburg .News: "I can deal with men.” growled a grizzled oil driller, “but a woman can outdo the best of us. “1 brought in a well in Vlrginny right close to the kitchen door of a little farmhouse. Just as we were getting to the ticklish point, where smoking wasn’t allowed within forty rods, out comes the farmer’s wife and goes to bnilding a big fire in a Dutch oven. “Mebby 1 didn’t kick, but she just showed me a batch of dough an' said if she didn’t bake it ’twould spoil, if I wanted the fire out 1 had got to pay for the dough—ten dollars too. She just dared me to touch that Dutch oven, an’ I didn’t touch it either. I just gave her the ten. “Mebby we didn’t get that fire out quick. If the well had broken loose it would have blown me an' the whole farmhouse out of sight “No. sir; i don't want any more dealings with women. They’re too risky.’’ Spider Web as a Styptic. A spider’s web, an old cure for bleeding, is an uncleanly application, as it is generally procured from the most neglected corner in a room and is consequently laden with dust. The earliest reference to this remedy in our language seems to be in a translation of that curious encyclopedic work of the middle ages “De Proprietaribus Rerun/.” where we rend. “Coppe webbe that is white ttol clene staunchyth blood.” But as I have seen it applied to a cut finger it has been anything but white and clean. There is another reference in Shakespeare's “Midsummer Night’s Dream.” when Bottom, the weaver, says to the fairy Cobweb, “I shall desire of you more acquaintance, good master Cobweb: if I cut my finger I shall make bold with you.” As a styptic, bowever. it must be acknowledged a spider's web as somewhat effective. In a case of excessive hemorrhage after the extraction of a tooth a dentist applied a cobweb with most satisfactory results.—Hospital.

Broke. They were drinking soda in the Gentlewoman’s club. “I wish," said the fat one with gray hair, “that you could break my daughter Nell of bridge.” The young one in pink smiled faintly. “I did break her last night,” she said.—Brooklyn Citizen. Judicial. *Trosy old Judge Talkit got hold of Smythe the other day and treated the poor fellow to a regular judicial proceeding.” “What was it?” “First he arrested his progress and then he tried his patience.”—Baltimore American.

Military Rats. An old military dictionary tells us that rats were sometimes used in war for the purpose of firing powder magazines by means of lighted matches tied to their tails. We cannot offhand recall any historical instance of tills, but presumably it did occur, seeing that Marshal Vauban laid down special rules for counteracting it. Anyhow, the dodge is as old as Samson, who. you may recall, used foxes In a similar way for a somewhat similar purpose. As to the royal rat catcher, we may add that he bad a special official livery. According to Pennant's "British Zoology." it consisted of a scarlet costume, embroidered with yellow worsted, in which were figures of mice destroying wheat sheaves. By the way. rats were not the only animals honored with a special catcher. Leicester, for instance, used to pay a yearly salary of £1 Ils. Cd. to Its municipal mole catcher. — London Standard. A Riotous Pack. Uncle Eben—l tell ye that it’s excessive indulgence in pleasure that kills so many men. Unele Ezra—You're right on that. Eben. Those fellows that stay up till 9 o’clock pitchin’ quoits by lantern light won't realize it till their eyes begin to fail 'em.— Puck. Unlucky For Hit Side. “So you cling to that childish superstition about thirteen being unlucky," said the traveler. “Yes,” answered the other. “Can’t get away frem it.” “But see how completely ft is disproved. This glorious country started with thirteen colonies." "Very true. Bift I am an Englishman.”—Washington Star. Drinking and Smoking In Korea. The Koreans are inveterate smokers of green tobacco, which they use in pipes with tiny bowls and stems two or three feet long. They stick their pipes down the back of the neck when not using them. There is a deal of drinking, too, though they have many proverbs against it—" Heaven and earth are too small for a drunken man.” “White whisky makes a red face.” “There is no bottom to the appetite for drink.” An Incident of Travel. In Nuremberg, having occasion to ask my way, I said in my best Meisterschaft to a gentleman passing: “Koennen sie mir vielleicht sagan wie man nacb das Deutschen museum geht?" Imagine my mortification when he replied: “I am going that way. I will show you.” We walked on. and, learning that I was an American and had traveled in England, he said: “I am professor of English here. That is why I speak English so well. But I didn't been in England already once yet.”—Lippincott’s.

fc?-(SPECIAL TO DECATUR’S BEST STORE)‘to® When Santa Arrives % What will he have for the Husband, Sweetheart, Mother, Daughter or Son CnCPI Al Come in, pick out what you want, pay part or all of it and we will allow you 5 Jl LvIAL: per cent discount for cash before the article is delivered, ai dwe will lay it away and delix er it the day before Christmas. Something for the home makes the most acceptable Christmas Present. Parlor Davenport, An Easy Couch I P ar ior Table ’ i A Library Table ’ Christmas I Combination Book Christmas \ A Mublo Cabinet Jr 11 ' ' Caee Presents For eanor chair or Mn . t2 es .* • the Parior / Parlor Lamp. , Magazine Stand I Parlor Mirror, rCOOm. I A Writing Desk ’ Reading Lamp or A Piano Bench. Tambourette I New Extension Table / Metal and Brass Bed Christmas \ New Sideboard Christmas i PreSentS fOr / China Closet Presents for Morris reclining ohalr the Dining , Dinlng Boom Chßirß the Bed * c>, e vai O1 „, Dnnm I Room / Book case ’ Pictures on the walls | ■^• n Easy Rocker Couch We offer Factory Prices on King Pianos GIVE US A CALL Moses Meyer

| Closing Out - Fancy China Sale 1 fl , ' ■ rß' ' 1 g fi ■ We have decided to close out our line of handsome, fancy China KTC ware, to make room for other lines, and have decided to give the Christmas shoppers the greatest opportunity, evt r cflfifd gL in Decatur, on this line of goods. Any thing in thin department can be purchased at this sale whjch begins at once and continues during the Christmas season at a i 33 1-3 °| o DISCOUNT | This is an almost unheard of offer,coming as it does when you are seeking bargains for Christmas presents. This gives you an opportunity to remember your friends and save money while doing it. Hurry if you want the choice. I ' i fl , , - — ” S | TRUE. & RUNYON. |

“A play as sweet as new mown hay” is the phrase used by Charles E. Brown, the well known writer, to describe "Wintergreen Farm,” which is to t»e presented here at the opera house December 16th. Mr. Brown, along with his newspaper work, has won some reputation as a contributor of VCTse to the magazines, and being a lover of the folk-song of the country,

a drama typical of the people of any community, whether his own Hoosier state, or old New England, appealed strongly to the ruling passion in him. While others, in matter of fact language, have highly praised this beautiful pastral play, Charles E. Brown, in one sentence that is a prose-poem in itself, says: “Bruce Chesterman’s drama, ‘Wintergreen Farm,’ is a plhy

as sweet as the new mown hay, awakening that longing that comes to every man's heart, the longing to creep back through the stretch of years, and open the old wicket gata that led to home.” o FOR SALE —Saloon, two miles south of Fort Wayne. Good buildings and good business. 3t

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