Decatur Democrat, Volume 42, Number 1, Decatur, Adams County, 17 March 1898 — Page 6

Baby Mine!

I' j yII 31

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C(EUR D’ALENE. BY HARY HALLOCK FOOTE. (Copyright, 1894, by Mary Hallock Foote.] [TO BE CONTINUED.] Darcie’s face wore such an odd, embarrassed, defensive expression that Miss Bingham laughed' out loud, a sudden girlish peal that sent light shivers through the young man’s nerves; then, as suddenly, her eyes brimmed up with tears. She leaned a little toward him, and' asked confidingly: “Where is my father?” “He is in bed, I assure you; he’s quite used' up, you know.” She sighed. “I believe I can’t eat any supper; thanks, so much.” “Oh, do—won't you try? I know the stuff's abominable.” “No, it isn’t at all; it’s very nice. But if you had anything to tell me, you would tell me, wouldn’t you?” “Undoubtedly,” Darcie assured her. She did not believe him; but there was nothing to be done but wait for the facts to develop. Darcie was not conscious-how intense was his observation of the girl, while his thoughts were busy with her situation, and; his own rather mad plan for taking her father’s place. How should he put it before her? In the meantime, how lovely she was! The wind had burned' her lips and cheeks. and> roughened her fair hair, which made a soft nimbus, in the firelight, around her glowing face: the fire was in league with the windiand rain, weaving spells of light and shadow to enhance the charms of color, and feminine expression in line and attitude. Darcie must have looked what he could not say. “You —you are not an American, are you, Mr. —” Miss Bingham hesitated questioning!]’. “Darcie,” the presumptive owner of that name subjoined). "Mr. Darcie?” the girl repeated. “No”—he dwelt upon the word as if trying to recall her question—“no; I’m a British tenderfoot —not so tender as I was last April.” His accent pleased- her very much, though she would not have chosen to acknowledge it: her lips parted in a smile as she repeated his “last April,” under her breath, the broad “a” as broadly as possible. “I'm rather glad, on the whole, that you’re not an American,” she said'. “We are all Americans, and it gets a bit tiresome,” she added, with another gleam. “And besides, it helps to account for things.”

“Does it?” said Darcie. “I’m very g’.ad if it does. Could you impart some of your light to me?” “Well,” she hesitated, “if you had been an American—with something about you which seems to place you—it would seem odd. that one should never have heard of you. I know very few people, of course, because I'm a tenderfoot myself; but my father knows everybody. All the men. who come from the east —with letters, you know—sooner or later always visit the mine. This is very absurd, of me. There’s really no reason why I should insist upon accounting for you. But if you are from the other side, you may know some of our Big Horn people? Some of them are very swell, I believe.” “I know a good many people on the other side who are not swell,” Darcie replied evasively. “But do you know any one of our syndicate?” the girl persisted. “Os course we think everybody has heard of the Dig Horn who has ever heard of the Coeur d’Alene.” “Excuse me,” said Darcie, clumsily; “I think your shoes are too close to the fire. It’s a great bore I can’t be accounted for in the usual way,” he continued. on resuming his seat: “still, the chances are I’m better as a riddle without the answer. ,The answer is sure to be stupid. Let usuissume that you have placed me, even if you have misplaced me a trifle; it can do no harm for one night. And it may give you that confidence which—which gives me confi-

dence to —a—offer you my escort to the mine.” “Am I in need of an escort?” Miss Bingham asked in astonishment. She saw no reason for so much confidence in her confidence on the part of an interesting,certainly. but rather inexplicable youngstranger. “Quite so. I mean, temporarily. Your father—he’s quite well; but as I’ve told you. he’s unconscionably tired.. It would be positive cruelty to ask him to turn out again to-night. I'm taking for granted, out of modesty, I assure you, in view of our accommodations, that you’d rather go home.” “We must both go home,” said Miss Bingham, rising quickly. “I can’t imagine why you should, think my father is not able!” But her imagination was assisting her vividly at that moment, and painful prescience born of unyouthful experience was shedding its light upon Darcie’s remarkable proposition and the awkwardness of his reasons. “I did not say he wasn’t able,” he desperately interposed; “he’s forty fathoms deep in sleep. Why drag him out when I’m so entirely at your service? That’s a brute of a horse of his for mountain work.” “What, Colonel? Why he’s a perfect rocking-chair!” “I mean—getting chilled, you know, lie’s a heavy man in the saddle. He's —he’s not very used to riding, is he?” “Why. he never walks!” “Pray have a little consideration.” “I must see'if he is well.” “But” — “But this is the very excess of consideration! Please let me speak to my father!” Darcie retreated to the fire, with a gesture of despair to Mike, who made a sudden clatter with his saucepans, while Faith, under cover of the shadow at the far side of the cabin, satisfied herself as to her father’s condition. Mike was right in assuming that she had seen him “that way” before. “Oh, this is too much!” confessed to herself the heartsick girl. “I think he might have spared me this. And those poor things trying to keep it from me with their silly excuses! Os course they must know what ails him. What shall I do? I’m certain they don’t wish me to stay; he all but asked me to go, and no wonder —they hhve enough with him on their hands. Yes; I must go back and stop the inquiries at the mine; I must tell a few more lies. No; I will not cry. They shall not know that I know. I will be as innocent as they think me.” She had remained some time by the side of the bed, long enough to gain control of herself, as she thought. When she came forward into the light, the hot color burned in her cheeks, her head was high, her eyes wide and bright. “She takes it beautifully,” thought Darcie, scarcely permitting himself to look at her; “but who knows how she takes it w-hen she is alone withit!”

“Yes; I think I had better go back to the mine,” said Faith, coldly, “if—if either of you gentlemen will take me. My father is too tired; it would be too selfish of me not to let him sleep.” She fixed her eyes upon Darcie as if daring him to doubt that she believed what she was saying. “But I will go. Our people might be anxious. Can we start, do you think, pretty soon?” “We might wait an hour,” said Darcie, gently, “and still reach the mine before ten.” “An hour! But the rain has stopped, I think. That roaring is the gulch.” Mike stepped to the window to take a look at the weather. “It’s a wildish night,” he reported, “but there’s nothing the matter wid startin’ now, if the lady wishes. I can see the crown o’ the full moon risin' the summit; she’ll be high and clear before ye'll come to the funny’ part av the grade. The thrail is shinin' with wet; it’s as plain as the lines on me pa’m. Will ye have up the h.irses or no?” “Oh, yes; the horses, please.” McGowan went out. The wind sucked the door to after him with a loud slam and a lump of dried mud fell from a chink in the wall. There was a moment’s silence; then Faith threw away all concealment in one tragic look. “Did you ever hear of such a thing as this!” “I may say I’ve never heard of anything else,” said Darcie, recklessly; “the thing is so common.” “Oh, but not like this!” “Why, if it’s possible at all, there’s no reason it shouldn’t happen anywhere or anyhow. It's not a matter of inten- j tion, and it’s the commonest accident in the world.” “That makes it so much better!” flashed the girl, with a glance of her proud, hurt eyes. “I mentioned the fact merely.” “I would be ashamed to mention it; if I did I would call it —what it is!” Darcie smiled. “You call it an accident just to comfort me, as we all lie to one another about a disgrace that cannot be hid. It does not comfort ine much to be told that all men are so—liable—and all women”—her lips quivered. “Why, this is my father!” She broke down and hid her face. Presently Darcie said, gently: “You take it so much too hard.” “I take it hard that you should expect me to take it any other way,” she cried, with passionate explicitness. “Are English women so philosophical?” “Ah, we cannot discuss it.” “I shoiUd think not, when my heart is breaking with it!” She drew in her breath quickly, stifling a sob. “Mr. Darcie,” she whispered. “Dear Miss Bingham?” There was a pause. Faith's eyes searched his face and Darcie trembled, lookingdown. He was very’ handsome, standing before her on his manhood, under her pure testing eyes; but she saw now only v. hat she was seeking so truth in him, though she might have been helped by the outward shape of him to perceive the truth. She was not less a child than other girls of her age, notwithstanding the unhappy progress she

had lately made in worldly knowledge. “Well." she said at last, “you know me better in this one hour than my dearest friends at home will ever know me. It is a strange, terrible thing that you should have to come into my life in this way. It is a dreadful liberty we have taken —forcing our troubles upon you in your own house.” Darcie’s chest rose, but he did not speak. “1 want to ask you—yet it’s such a sillv thing—do men talk of this sort of “You taKe it much too hard.” ‘accident’—among themselves, generally—the thing being so common?" “I don’t know what some men do; do you think I shall make common talk of a trouble of yours?” “And Mike ? Will you tell him, please, how ‘hard’ I take it?” “1 can answer for Mike,” said Darcie; “but I will speak to him if you wish.” “It’s not that I doubt either of you” —Darcie winced a little at this free classification—“but seeing it so differently, you know, you might make light of it. i should wish it never to be mentioned —even to excuse it.” “You mistake me; I don’t excuse it. As an accident, touching your father, a man would say it is nothing. But, as a sorrow affecting you, it is anything you please. It is monstrous; and it shall be guarded as 1 would guard a trouble of my own.” “Ah,” said Faith, musing bitterly, “men are more charitable than women, I suppose; they see so much more of the world. But what would they think of us if we laid traps for our ow n weaknesses and then claimed to be pitied for falling into them!” Darcie looked at her with profound tenderness, and resorted to pulling his mustache in lieu of speech. “There comes that poor, good Mike — splashing through the mud!” she exclaimed, laughing helplessly through the tears she had vowed she would not shed. "How very excellent of him to do all the work, w-hile we sit here talking!” "Mike chooses his own part,” said Darcie, with dignity; "but we can change parts if you prefer. Would you rather have him to go home with you?” "That's not for me to say.” Faith eluded the little trap that had been set for her. “It would not become me to choose between two such friends in need. lam simply a parcel left on your hands, to be delivered at the mine. The least one of you, if there is a least, is only too good for me.”

“I’m the least one of us in several senses of the word,” said Darcie, con- ' tentedly. “So on grounds of humility you will have to put up with me. I will deliver the parcel safely, and,” he added in a low voice, “so much of your trouble as I have unwillingly seen tonight I think you may trust me with.” “I would trust you with all my troubles, and I have more than one,” Faith answered, impulsively. She raised the sweetest eyes, all bright and large with teats, to his—eyes of gratitude and absurd belief. And Darcie forgot that he had anything in his consciousness to settle with before he could . meet such a look from her eyes or receive such a trust. Mike remarked him uneasily, and confided to the fire his opinion that “wan fool makes many,” and that “the ould man is not the only wan that’s off his base this night!” He held open the door of the cabin, and let its light shine out, while Darcie put the young lady into her saddle. The restive horses sprang about over the stones, and, one behind the other, clattered down the ledge where the trail was narrow and steep. The girl looked back, and Mike for long afterward could not forget the sweet, half-appre-hensive glance she gave Darcie as he drove his horse forward to her side. The wet trees closed and shut them in. “That’s the way he settles the question av inshtinc’,” said Mike, as he shut the cabin door. “I’ll be bound he niver gev her the ch’ice, but just sided in for himself. He’s a very limber lad, and I have not the measure ar him in me mind, entirely. But I’m wid him; I’m solid for ye, me little Darcie.” 11. AN EQUIVOCAL POSITION. The manager's residence at thi Big Horn is the first house above the bridge, where the wagon road joins the trail. It has a high gallery across the secondstory front, overlooking the gulch, which is reached by long windows from the rooms opening upon it, and by an outside staircase from the ground. The gallery forms the roof of a ce-ment-floored porch in front of the lower entrance, a favorite evening lounging-place for the men employed at the mine when they are fortunate enough to be op good terms with Miss Steers, the manager’s housekeeper. On the night of Mr. Bingham’s detention at the Black Dwarf, two friends of Miss Steers and several friends of theirs were sitting on chairs tipped back against the house wall, under the shadow of the gallery, talking in lowvoices and not smoking, an unusual precaution, denoting secrecy. They ceased speaking as soon as horses’ feet

were heard approaching, but concluding that, as they came byway of the trail, it must be the manager returning home with his daughter, they did not trouble to look out. The moon was shining on the wet roofs, sheening them with silver; the tamarack timber up the gulch supplied the contrast of pitch-blackness broadened by impenetrable masses of shadow. Gleams from the house-lights revealed the figures of two young people who had dismounted and were parting at the foot of the gallery stairs. •1 will say good night here, and so many thanks!” The girl’s voice trembled on the stillness. “That’s not her father.” one of the listeners whispered. The men became mute, scarcely breathing from excess of attention. “I would ask you to come in, but I have my little part, you know—and I should hate to have you hear me say it,” Faith apologized. She spoke with greater freedom, in a full, low voice charged with womanly feeling. The ride through the dark woods had proved to be one of those perilous short cuts to sudden intimacy, for better or worse, by which the way of acquaintanceship is abridged for the young and fearless. The life of the frontier is remarkably productive of such opportunities, and it seems to be a question of family and past history with the high contracting parties, whether these facile roads lead to the divorce courts and the newspapers, or to those faithful and inconspicuous comradeships which we all know of, and seldom read of, in the published stories of the west; western marriages being like western mortgages—'t is the ones that don’t pay interest of which we chiefly hear. [TO BE CONTINUED.] “I Was Weak, Nervous and Run Down.” I want to testify to the good Brown's Cure has done me. I was weak, nervous and run down in vitality when I comineneed taking it; it has done everything for me and I am now a new being. A number of my friends also speak with gratitude of the good your medicine has done them it is indeed a grand remedy. Yours Gratefully, Mrs. L. V. Criig, 907 Mass. Ave., Indianapolis, Ind. Such is the testimony of thousands concerning Brown's Cure, a Perfect Family medicine, the best remedy known for the liver, kidneys and bowels, a positive cure for dyspepsia and all l>owel troubles, sick headache, nervousness, constipation and loss of sleep. If you suffer try this great remedy and find health and happiness. Sold by Page Blackburn. Price 75 cents. Yi-Ki cures corns and warts. 15c. Educate Year Bowels With Cascarets. Candy Cathartic, cure constipation forever 10c. 25c. If C. C. C fail, druecists refund money Thirty-Six Carloads of Ammunition. Tampa, Fla., March 15.—1 t was learned today that 36 carloads of ammunition was the full shipment ordered to this place. Only 16 carloads have yet arrived, but the balance is expected tonight. The two carloads of torpedoes and torpedo buoys, said to be for the protection of Tampa bay, have not yet been unloaded.

Springtime is Sick Time

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Tone UpWilh Swifts Specific

A Mother's Misery, The story of this woman is the every day history of thousands who are suffering as she did; who can be cured as she was ; who will thank her for showing them the way to good health.

The most remarkable thing about Mrs. Nellie J. Lord, of Strafford Corner, N. PL, is that she is alive to-day. No one, perhaps, is more surprised at this than Mrs. Lord herself. She looks back at the day when she stood on the verge of death and shudders. She looks ahead at a life of happiness with her children, her husband and her home with a joy that only a mother can realize. Mrs. Lord is the mother of three children, two of whom are twins; until the twins came nothing marred the joy of her life. Then she was attacked with heart failure and for a year was unable to attend to the ordinary duties of the home. In describing her own experience Mrs. Lord says: "I had heart failure so bad I was often thought to be dead. " With this I had neuralgia of the stomach so bad it was necessary to give me morphine to deaden the pain. "Sometimes the doctors gave me temporary relief, but in the end it seemed as if my suffering was multiplied. " Medicine did me no good and was but an aggravation. " I was so thin my nearest friends failed to recognize me. " No one thought I would live. " I was in despair and thought that my

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French shipping is slowly but steadily declining. In 1860 there were 500 candidates for examination for masters’ mates and in 1890 only 125.

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days were numbered. My mother brought me Dr. Williams’ Pink Pills for Pale People and the first box made me feel better. 1 continued the treatment and to-day 1 am well. " When I commenced to take the pills I weighed 120 pounds: now I weigh J 46 and feel that my recovery is permanent. “I owe my happiness and my health to Dr. Williams’ Pink Pills. My husband was benefited by them. I have recommended them to many of my friends and will be glad if any word of mine will direct others to the road of good health.” Dr. Williams' Pink Pills for Pale People have cured many cases of almost similar nature. The vital elements in Mrs. Lord’s blood were defident The haemoglobin was exhausted. She was unfit for the strain she was compelled to undergo. Her nervous system was shattered and her vitality dropped below the danger point A collapse was inevitable. Dr. Williams’ Pink Pills cured her by supplying the lacking constituents of health by filling the veins with blood rich in the requisite element of life. The heart resumed its normal action; the nervous system was restored to a state of harmony, and the neuralgic affection disappeared. Dr. Williams’ Pink Pills are sold by druggists everywhere, who believe them to be one of the most efficacious medicines the century has produced.

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