Democratic Press, Volume 1, Number 4, Decatur, Adams County, 8 November 1894 — Page 7

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'%&« >- ■- MSLife* CHAPTER lll.—Continued. She had e tripped and seen him off joyfully, and he had had no idea of going where he should not have gone, norof doing what he should not have done, until informed by Donald, or rather by Donald's liege lady of his high misden eanor. He was now disposed to return evil for good, and instead of saying "Thank you” to his landlauvfor a merry afternoon's excellent sport, to slip through her fingers, and let her cook her unsavory dinner for some one else. “I should like to see the Haymonds again. ’ was. however, all he said. "Then come up and dine with me,” replied Jerry promptly. ‘Do -I am sure you may. lam sure gyanny would let me ask you.” “Are you sure?” said Bellenden, un able to help smiling at the childish form the invitation had taken. "But then you see. I do not know your grandmamma, and—” "It is not granny’s house, you know; it is mine,” anxiously. “Oh, I understand.” “And if I ask you,” the spoilt child again asserting itself in her tone; "if I ask you ” “I need no other invitation, certainly.” said he courteously. “Only, you see you are really too kind. You do not even know my name.” " Well, what is your name?” "Bellenden. But I wilt tell you what I can do. Miss Campbell—” "Don't call me .Miss Campbell; it makes me feel foolish. " “But in my turn, [ don't know your name 1 mean your other name.” “It is Geraldine, but no one calls me that except Cecil.” (“Cecil aga.n, ’ thought he. Cecil is privileged. I presume. What am I to call you, then?" he inquired aloud, “Why, Jerry, of course. Every one does.” “Very’ well, Jerry.” But shesaw he was laughing. She was so changeful, so whem-ical, this sprite of a etiieftainess, that one moment it would be "my castle," "my moor,” "my" everything. and the next she was asking him to call her “Jerry!” One thing, however, was < lear. that what she asked must be done: and amazed at himself for the readiness with which he fell in wi h her humors, Bellenden only hoped the adventure would proceed as cheerily as it. had begun. “Well then, Jerry, what am I to do now?" he dutifully proceeded, “Am I to get your cousin to bring me up with him? Am I to tell him you invited me?” "If you could, do without telling him that”’ “Oh, 1 could, of course. But why do you mind? Will yon not tell your grandmother?” for it struck him that unless some one were told, he could not very well accept of such haphazard hospitality. “Os course I’ll tell granny.” The child's eyes opened. “I tell granny everything. She doesn't matter." explained the candid grandchild: "and I don't see why I should mind Cecil, either,” added she bravely, “only that, I don't like to vex my poor dear, and it he were to lecture me. it would vex her. It is not for myself I mind,” concluded she with earnest emphasis. “She sha'n t be vexed,” said Bellenden quietly. "I can manage that. Good-by, then, till we meet again. I must go down now or 1 shall be too late. Is it straight down, through the woods?” “Yes. you can't go wrong. Goodbye. Dinner is at half-past seven.” And he felt the palm of a warm, wet little hand in his or a moment, and all perception of unco .th garb and eccentric headgear vanished in the light of a pair of bright eyes looking full into his. “By Jove! w hat a nice child!” he thought. He was only just in time when the boat came in long before the few passengers had landed, the slim figure of Cecil Haymond, arrayed in the long light traveling coat which was then the mode, was clearly discernible on the gangway, while the usual paraphernalia of a sport-man - the gun ease, rod, smart portmanteau, and railway rug whicu was visible below —could have belonged to no one else on board. As swiftly as he was himself distinguished, did he distinguish Capt. Bellenden of the First Life Guards, the principal guest and smartest man of the party assembled at a bachelor cousin's for the Ascot week the previous Juno. Y'oung Haymond bad thought a great deal of being included in that party, had often s nee referred to it, and casually mentioned as people will, , you know that Bellenden had been there. He had not met Bellenden since, and the point now was, would Bellenden know him again 9 Had the meeting taken place anywhere else, anywhere but in that lonely spot, he would hardly have expected recognition but per aps anJ just as he was :oubting andcogitating, his mind was sot at rest in the mos, satisfactory manner possible. He was not only’ known but hailed, and hailed with remarkable cordiality and fervor, his hand warmly grasped, and his acquaintanceship claimed without the slightest shade ot hesitation. He had hardiy ever been more gratified. He who had been the veriest nonentity at the Ascot meeting, who had not exchanged above a dozen or two sentences with the great man of the party, and who had felt the distance between him. a lad of nineteen in his first year at Oxlord, and Capt. Bellenden. a man of the world and certain y ten years, if no r ore. his senior, as quite immeasurable, now to be met on equal terms and in the easiest fashion! .

I There could be but one solution of the problem. "Stopping at my grandmother’s, I suppose?’ he suggested at once, with this thought in his mind, that some , I one must have sent the traveler there for a night's lodging on his way to more congenial haunts. Os course Inehmarew Castle would a’ways be a I re per table pla -e to send any one to, I ano some friend had probably given I Bellenden an introduction, and but I Bellenden's first words dispelled the idea. "Indeed I am not so happy.” he said, carelessly. “There is where I am stopping.' pointing to the wretched little inn at the head of the pier. "1 am on my way farther up the loch, anu am fairly caught and landed here for the ■ want of the means of proceeding.” He then explained his -ad plight mor fully, though affecting to treat tin ! whole as a jest, and without throwing . out hint or suggestion of any jiossible , amendment. "Oh. I shall do well enough.” he con luded. "and 1 can get on to Kincraig first thing to-morrow: I only wish you would come and spend the evening with me. Hut you are going on to friends. 1 suppose?” “To Inchmarew —over there-yes. I’ll tell you what.” saidCeeil suddenly, . “vou must really come there too. You must indeed. There is no one but my grandmother. .Mrs. Cambell, and my cousin, a little giri, to whom the place belongs. Mrs. Campbe ll is a most hospitable old lady, and if I were to go up without you. directly I told her. you were here, it would only be a case of sending down the dog-cart again at . once. And see the rain is beginning again. It is going to be a beastly nigiit. You had much better come up while it is only as slight as this; there will be a downpour by-and-by. lean ass .re you. you may trust me that it will be all right." “I upon my word, you are too kind.” *Vnt ut all. !am only mv gruntl mother's spokesman. Here you. Hector, get out Capt. Bellenden’s things from the inn. and put them into the dog dart with mine. And. I say, tell Mrs. Maconochie it will be all right." i “But supposing the house is full.’” “Inchmarew full! Oh, you have not seen the castle yet. It is a huge place. But at present they have nobody, for my cousin is so young that they are living as quietly as possible." "I have met your cousin already, and she gave me permission to fish in tne stream. I have had a capital afternoon's trouting in consequence.” "Have you? I’m glad of that. If the boat had come in sooner. I had meant to run up to some of the high pools before dinner. I knew the water would be good.” “Your co sin kindly showed me the high pools herself.” • Really? Oh. you have met Geraldine herself, then? Put the gun-case in here. Hector, along with mine. The portmaneau can go at William's feet, cant it? Anything more? Rugs. Why. yes, they can stay here, if you like, but there's lots of room. Now. will you get up?” And the two mounted: and of so little consequence did it seem to be in young Haymond's eyes whether or no his young cousin had been casual iy met for a passing minute, or had been spent the whole afternoon with, that Bellenden did not think it worth his while to inform him on the subject. CHAPTER IV. PLAYFELLOWS. “ ‘And which am I meat like?’ she said : Your C'hioo, or your nut brown maid?' ” Driving along. Cecil chatted merrily, with a sense of doing the honors natural to one who, as their nearest male relative, took the bottom of the table, inspected the kennels, and reported upon the stables, whenever he visited the ladies of Inchmarew.” He was now in the apolegetic vein. The property, he confined, was being nursed at present. There was a good deal of retrenchment going on. The grounds were not kept up as they had been. His grandfather had knocked off a lot of under-strappers and useless hangers on The gardens too. had been ridiculously expensive, and she had curtailed them considerably. < If course,when his cousincamc of age, these things would be different. She could then do as she chose; but for the present he thought his grandmother was very wise to spend as little as need be. It was not as if they were living in the world with more of the kind. To all of this his companion cheerfully assented, as he would have dune to almost anything at the moment. The relief of getting away from the hovel, the thought of which had grown more insupportable than ever during the past half-hour, was so intense that he would have permitted Mrs. Campbell to knock off every gardener on the place, and curtail her I expenditure in every direction, so tongas he was given a decent dinner to eat an I a decent bed to sleep. There was, however, no call for such indulgence. A brief experience sufficed to show that the boyish brag of a youth, anxious to enhance the dignity of all connected with him, was on the present occasion making a great deal out ol a very little. There might be retrenchment there was certainly no discomfort nor disorder anywhere. A respectable elderly ma or-domo stood in the doorway to receive the new arrival, and a trim lad in a quiet but neat livery ran down the steps.and began to take out the luggage" with deft dispatch. Mrs. Campbell, Mr. Raymond was informed, was in the drawing-room awaiting him. ana Belj lenden, who lingered for a moment affecting to be occupied with his belongings, but in reality to allow a moment for explanation, had soon the satisfaction of seeing the stately dame emerge from a distant doorway, escorted by her nephew, all eagerness to present his friend. For an expected guest she could wait within the ante-chamber: but courtesy to a stranger, and one not assured of a welcome, sent her forth to meet him. He feit at once all that he might now hope for. His own manner, always easy and engaging, at once rose with the occasion, ana he bowed over the hand held out to him with therevArencem « courtier. “He is charmirir." thought she. “Never was such luck,” thought he. Each smiled at the other, and the good understanding was comp ete. “It is going to be a very wet night.

, I fear, ’said Mrs. Campbell, glancing I outside, as the raindrops now begin to i beat heavily against the tall, narrow ' windows. - ‘l fear. Cecil that there is ! not much chain e of your having a fine daj- tor the moor to-morrow. I eonI suited our weather wise oid gardener Macdonald on the subject, and he shook his head. Unfortunately for you, we have had a long spell of tine weather. it has been really too fine of late, and every one began to fear it could not last much louger. You know that August is never our best month, and one cannot expect summer weather to last forever. ” "ao, we can’t, grandmamma,” Cecil only smiled to himself, and only smiled to remember how often he had heard the same before. It seemed to him that he had heard it ever since he could remember the time-worn apology for the mists of Inchmarew. And y et how nearly he loved the place, and its inmates, its very rains, and Hoods, and cloud-capped mountain-peaks were sacred in his eves, and he would not have let Bellenden into the secret of its infirmity for the world. Who could ay but what the morning might see viorious sunshine and melting warmth; and if so, why not have been prepared for it? “1 have no doubt it will clear i by-and-by,” be said readily: “and let it rain as much as it will to-night, there's no harm done. Grandmamma, can we have a fire in the billiard-room this evening? I dare say Capt. Bellenden would like a game of billiards after dinner.” "Certainly, my dear.” And the order was given. “And let the fire be lit at once,” added the old lady, anxious to do everything well. “The room may be a little damp: " in explanation I to Bellenden, “for it has not been used i this summer.” I “Not been used this summer! Good I heavens!” inwardly ejaculated he. ! “And I am to play on a table not used this summer!” It was a blow, and he was only just able to avoid showing that it was one. “lam afraid it will not be in very good condition, ' continued Cecil Rayj mond, who was but half a degree more i learned on the subject than his grandmother. “But you must make allowances. and, anyway, it s better thaudoing nothing.” "And, anyway, it is a very great deal better than sitting in the midst of i peat-reek and whisky at the "Ferry i Inn!” reflected his friend. And the I thought restored his former equanim- ; ity as if by magic. He had, as he was wont to say of himself, the knack of being civil." Accustomed to luxury, and courted by prosperity, he was yet of so happy a temperament, that ill-fortune could not daunt, nor adverse circumstances ruffle him. To escape either, he would, indeed, as we know, exert ingenuity and address: but, had these tailed, no one would have heard more of the matter. He would have smoked a philosophical cigar, gone to bed, and proceeded on his journey the next day without an oath or a grumble. He was by no means a bad sort of fellow. He now dressed himself for dinner serenely, with scarce a moment's regret for the services of the valet, who had been sent on to Kincraig by another and a swifter route, and whose absence had been a real satisfaction to his master during the terrible anticil pations of the afternoon. He was not I by any means so dependent on the very i fine gentleman as Monsieur Pierre supI posed, and could calmly pa :k his own portmanteau, and put on his own coat when compelled by necessity to do so. By nature he was a very handsome man and cured singularly" little about it. By art he was a perfectly dressed man and that, he considered, was every one's business rather than his own. He went to the best tailor, hatter. hair-cutter, and boot-maker in town, and he could do no more. If the result was not satisfactory, it was no iaullof his, and, in consequence, no misgiving nor uneasine.-s on the subject ever disturbed his mind. Sooner than any other person, he now descended to the drawing-room. "Oh, I'm the first,” he began, half aloud. “What has become of my little fisher-lassie, 1 wonder? Is she going to I give me the slip? Or —stop: here she comes.” It was, however, no fisher-lassie who now appeared. It was the daintiest little maiden in the world, shy and rosy, half pleased, half frightened, and altogether charming, who advanced up the room. To be more ext act. it was erry. in the very best SunI day frock she could muster, starched ; and crimped till it stood out on every side: Jerry with the fleece of golden hair brushed and smoothed and shining. with a little gold chain round her plumb arm. [TO BE CONTINUED. | An Apple. Jerry and Frank were two horses hitched to a yellow car. All the morning they had gone back and forth, patiently, with only a rest now and then, but now Jerry was beginning to feel rebellious: he was tired, and it was getting h iter every square. Jerry was not by nature such a meek horse as was Frank, but then, too, he had not been a city carhorse as long as Frank had been. Frank knew the only way to do was to go on and on. whether you were tire 1 or not: the driver had it all to say. By the time 'erry had made up his miud to be stubborn, the driver stopped the horses on a switch to wait until the car a s juare away had passed. Light there on the curbstone sat a a little bootblack. Gn the pavement lay his torn cap, and he let people go by unnoticed as he rubbed an apple on his jacket to make it shiny. A sweet lady had given it to him, and be was just over his surprise and getting ready to eat, when he looked up and saw Jerry standing near and looking at the apple longingly with his pitiful eyes. The little bootblack understood. There was not much time u think, the other car was not far away, but he wondered how nc would feel if he was that horse; and quick as a dash he broke the apple in two and put one piece in Jerry’s mouth and the other in Frank’s. It was delicious. Jerry forgot about being stubborn as they started on, and 1-rank forgot his acillug buucs, while the little ragged bootblack ran away, calling after a man with dusty shoes, "Have a shine, mister?”—Youth's Companion.

WHERE TIME SLEEPS. :harac t efi studies on an ISLAND. •‘ull of Traditu.n and the Romance of the Old Smuggler Days--lt Lies Off the Virginia Coast and Has Maintained All Its Old-T . Primitiveness. In the year 1645a shiploaded wit jlooded horses was sent from Engand by the London Company to the iolonists at Jamestown. While makng for the mouth of Chesapeake Bay his ship was wrecked on Assateague shoals. The Indians who then inlabited Assateague and its sister aland, Chincoteague, piloted the survivors of the crew and cargo across lie bay to tile mainland, and as a regard were presented with a number >f horses, which they’ took with hern to their island homos. These lorses outlived their savage masters, ind long after the Indian tribe had lecome extinct they’ roamed over the sland, subsisting upon the sparse pastures which the place afforded. Under the hardship and exposure to vhich they were subjected they deteriorated rapidly and became the iiminutive, sturdy ponies that they ire to-day. It was these herds of wild ponies hat first attracted settlers to Assn■eague Island. A small settlement iprang up about eighty years ago, >ne-half of which looked after the tonies, while the others devoted .hemselves to fishing and hunting. Fhese people to-day are in many rejects as primitive as their ancestors vere. They are a rough lot, utterly teedlessof the laws of the State, but very hospitable and good-hearted and lossessing more religion than you vould find among the same number >f people in a much more civilized community. Before crossing to Assateague Isand I spent a few days at Cliinco-

—, _ —. . ■ THE WILD PONIES ON ASSOTEAGUE ISLAND.

.eague. One evening I asked Capt. datthews, the hotel-keeper, what here was to be found on Assaeague. “Well, suh, ” he answered, “faint nuch of a place. Tha’ hain't mo’n i hundred head o’ people here. They speak of people as they do of :attle down here.) Tha’s some good luntin’ tha’ and fishin’, and may’be ze c’n pick up a few f ahpin, but ye von’t have much of a good time, rhat’s the lighthouse—es that’ll nt’rest ye—an’ the life-savin’ station, and the wild ponies Oh, yes —ye don’t want t’ fail f see old Ken Pester. He’s the oldest pussun ; O' " A ' . I? — X' r !: ’RASP - fc" f - "| •■ ■ -— - • 'nJ-® 7 ?z. % ASSOTEAGUE LIGHTHOUSE. ’round heah, an’ he’s great on raisin’ wild ponies. Es ye catch ’im in the right spirit he’ll tell ye some stories about the smugglers. He used fbe one o' them, they say, but I can’t tell as t ! that, it being befo’ my time. Anyway, ye’ll find Uncle Ken a mighty’ interestin’ chap.” As I prepared to start he said to me: "Tha’s one thing I fo’got U teli ye. Take care an’ don’t get any sand in yo’ shoes. Tha’s an old sayin’ 'round heah that es ye once get sand in yo' shoes ye’ll never leave the place. Either ye settle down an’ stay heah all y r o’ life, o’ somethin’ happens't ye. I'm not a superstitious man, but es ye take my advice, suh, ye’ll be ca’hful not t’ get 'ny sand in yo" shoes.” From the standpoint of a sportsman or a gourmand, Assateague Island is little short of paradise. Heine once said that heaven, according to the gourmand’s idea, is a place where roast ducks fly about in great numbers with a dish of excellent gravy in their bill. Although the ducks insist upon flying about in their natural state, there are enough of them to make a gourmand’s heart leap with delight and give a sports-

man happy dreams fi >r the rest of his life. In their proper season, wild ducks of all varieties, plover, snipe, brant, willet, yellow-legs and curfew almost fly’ into your face in their eagerness to be caught; bluefish, halibut, weakfish, black perch, drum and flounders dart past one another in their anxiety to seize the hook, and terrapin—luscious, S4O-a-dozen ■jskCHINCOTEAGUE CUSTOM HOUSE. mond-back terrapin—crawl out of the water (so Capt. Matthews said) and clung to your trouser legs, entreating most pitifully with their eyes to be cooked a la Trenton and eaten. The next day I saw Ken Jester. Picture to yourself a man of 85 years, of stout build, with a round, weatherbeaten countenance, half encircled by a bushy’ fringe of thick, gray hair, blue eyes, undimmed by age and a frank, hearty smile that made you like tlie man at firstsight—and there you have Ken Jester. I found him in his cottage, a small, one-story afair. that boasted of only two rooms. His wife, who is in her 70th year,

was spinning wool at an old-fashioned spinning-wheel. There were two fishermen in the room when I entered, but with the exception of a pleasant "Good day, sir,” they did not utter a word. Following Capt. Matthews’ advice, I began by asking Uncle Ken about the wild ponies, of which he owns more than any other man on the island. He answered very freely and soon warmed up to the subject, telling me many interesting things connected with the breeding of these ponies. In this way we began conversation, and pretty soon Uncle Ken was in a quite loquacious mood. “Finally she went into the woods, thinking that perhaps Tom had fallen asleep somewhere. Just as she reached the hill where the lighthouse now stands she saw him walking across the open with his arm around another girl. She walked right up to him and slapped his face, and then, without saying a word, turned on her heels and went back home. Tom knew there was going to be trouble, but he wasn't quite sure how it was going to come. "He took the other girl home, and then joined the fellows in the boats. When they all came back from the ship Sarah was standing on the shore as if nothing had happened. "The next day Sarah wrote a letter to Washington telling all about the West India man and the smuggling of the night before. Nobody knew anything about this until three yy J* ' h <? ch»>e ch SRI £.5 WHERE ASSOTEAGUE ISLAND IS. weeks later, when two revenue chaps came to Assateague and went straight to old man Field’s house. When they came out Sarah was with. them. She took them down the road to Thornton’s house, where Tom was sitting in the sand, whittling. I remember that part of it very well, for I was sitting beside Tom When Sarah saw him her face became as white as a sheet of paper. “ ‘There he is,’ she said. ‘That’s Tom Thornton.’ ‘ ’Tolu jumped up, pale ill the face. ‘What’s wanted?’ he asked. “ ‘You’ll have to come along with us,’ one of the revenue chaps said

'You’re wanted for smuggling.' Tort ; opened his mouth as though he wen going to say something, but instead Returned to me and whispered: ‘Tel the boys it's all right. 11l keep my mouth shut.’ Then he gave Sarah Field a look which I shall never forget. even if I live to be 100 years old. The revenue men had come from the mainland in their own boat, and they’ took Torn Thornton back with ; them. That was about 2 o'clock in ■ the afternoon. That night Sarah Field ' went into the woods to the same hill ! where she had caught Tom and sat down to think the matter over. I . gues< she felt pretty sorry for what she had done but nobody ever knew, for Sarah Field was never seen alive again. Late that night her father and her brothers went out to look for her with lanterns and dogs. When they came to the woods the dogs began to bark. A few minutes later they found her. She was lying on the ground with her throat cut from ear to ear. ■ I he next day the revenue officers came again. Tom Thornton had escaped and had stolen one of their boats. They found the boat the next day drifting down the bay, but no one ever heard of Tom Thornton again."—[RudolphE. Block,intheN. Y. Recorder. He Raises Owls. D. B. Dickinson, a naturalist and taxidermist, who lives on the banks of the Passaic River, near Chatham, N. J., has for years been engaged in the cultivation of owls. He has what may be termed an "owlery.” He used to raise owls by inducing old birds to nest upon his place. The inducements he offered were in attractive sections of hollow logs, closed at the ends and provided with convenient holes. Owls like that sort of thing, and, as a result, Mr. Dickinson kept his ‘‘owlery" well stocked with tame specimens, which he took as fledglings from the nests and raised by hand. He has made a neat sum out of the business, because there is always a good and profitable market for stuffed owls. Now Mr. Dickinson is obtaining his owls in a different way’. A few years ago the Chatham Fish and Game Protective Association began to pay’ liberal bounties for the capture and slaughter of hawks and owls, and the boys of the neighborhood took advantage of the offer to make some pocket money. Knowing the habits of hawks and owls, they began to trap them m the easiest manner possible, by placing a small steel trap upon a stake or pole set up in a meadow or open field. The traps are fastened to the poles with a light chain and require no baiting. At night they capture owls and in day time hawks. Mr. Dickinson says that these devices perceptibly decreased the number of hawks and owls of all kinds. They never catch crows, however, because these wise birds know too much to alight upon the poles. Some time ago the secretary of the Society got tired of this task, and delegated Mr. Dickinson to do the work for the privilege of keeping the trapped birds, the society’ refunding to him all he paid out in bounties. Since then Mr. Dickinson has secured many specimens which were difficult to procure in any’ other way, and among them several monkey faced owls, which are quite rare in this latitude. The trapped birds are seldom injured, and are much better for the taxidermist’s purpose than specimens which have been shot.—[New York Adveitser. How to Squeeze a Lemon. There are lemon squeezers and lemon squeezers, but I wouldn’t use one of them, writes a correspondent. The acid on metal makes the juice taste metallic, and the wooden ones are apt to leave a bad taste. Besides that, if you use a lemon squeezer y’ou are sure to get a lot of the essential oil out of the rind of the lemon, and that is rank poison to the stomach. The best way to get the juice from a lemon is to roll it till it is soft, then cut off the end and insert a silver knife and scrape the pulp out into the dish. That way you get all the good of the lemon and none of the bad. Roll it under your hand on a hard table or put the lemon down on the floor and roll it lightly under your feet. Then wipe it off before squeezing. Never leave the seeds of a lemon in the pulp that you take out. The seeds will make the juice very’ bitter in half an hour after taken from the lemon.—[New York World. An Enemy of the Pines. The Pascagoula Democrat-Star tells about some mysterious worm, which, it says, bears a strong resemblance to the army’ worm, and has attacked the pine forests near Vancleave, Miss. The worm made its appearance but a few days ago, and has already stripped the leaves clean from large sections of trees. It is said that the worms are so numerous in some places that the limbs of the smaller trees bend beneath their weight, So fur their attacks have been confined to the pine trees, and the land owners and mill men are very apprehensive as to what the effect of their ravages will be on the trees. It is a matter that ought to have the prom; t attention of the authorities of the Agricultural Department. So large a part of the wealth of Southern Mississippi is its pine industries that any serious injury to the pine woods would be a serious blow to the prosperity of the Stcte.— [New Orleans Picayune. Hungary will soon celebrate its one thousandth anniversary.