Greenfield Republican, Greenfield, Hancock County, 5 July 1894 — Page 6

There was a slight smile about her •lips as she spoke, and there was a ghost of a smile on the Disagreeable Man's face. "Wh\ do you talk with that disagreeable Swede? he said suddenly. ''He is a wretched low foreigner. Have you heard some of his views?" "Some of them," answered Bernardine cheerfully. "One of his views is really amusing that it is very rude of you to read the newspaper during meal-time and he asks if it is an English custom. I tell him it depends entirely on the Englishman. and the Englishman's neighbor,"

So she, too. had her raps at him. •but alwavs in the kindest way. Ho had a curious effect on her. His very bitterness seemed to check in its growth her own bitterness. The cup of poison of which he himself had drunk deep, he passed on to lier. She drank of it. and it did not /oison her. She was morbid, and she needed cheerful companionship. His dismal companionship and his •hard way of looking at life ought by rights to have oppressed her. Instead of which she became less sorrowful.

Was the Disagreeable Man, perhaps, a reader of character? Did he know-how to help her in his own grim, gruff way? He himself had Buffered so much perhaps he did .know.

CHAPTER VIII.

TIIE STOItY MOVES ON AT LAST. Bernardine was playing chess one day with the Swedish Professor. On the Kurhaus terrace the guests were sunning themselves, wrapped up warmly to protect themselves from the cold, and well provided with parasols to protect themselves from the glare. Some were reading, some were playing cards or Russian dominoes. and others were doing nothing. There was a good deal of fun, and a great deal of screaming amongst the Portuguese colony. The little danscuse and three gentlemen acuuaintances were drinking cotlee and not behaving too quietly. Pretty Fraulein Miller was leaning over her baiconv carrying on a conversation with a picturesque Spanish youth below. Most of the English party had gone sledging and toboganning. Mrs. Reffold had invited Bernardine to join them, but she had refused. Mrs. Reffold's •friends were anything but attractive to Bernardine, although she *ifced Mrs. Reffold herself imn'/^nsj^ly, There was no special reason why she should like her she certainly had no cause to admire her every-jay behavior. nor her neglect of her invalid husband, who was passing away, uncared for in the present, and not likely to be mourned for in the future. Mrs. Reffold was gay, careless and beautiful. She understood nothing about nursing, and cared less. So a trained nurse looked after Mr. Reffold, and Mrs. Reffold vent sledging. "Dear "Wilfrid is so unselfish," she said. "He will not have me stay at home. But I feel very selfish." That was her stock remark. Most people answered her by saying: "Oh, no, Mrs. RelTold: don't say that." But when she made the remark to Bernardino, and expected the usual reply, Bernardine said instead: "'"Mr, Reffold seems lonely." "Oh. he has a trained nurse, and she can read to him." said Mrs. Reffold hurriedly. She seemed ruffled, "I had a trained nurse once," replied- Bernardine, "and she could read, but would not. She said it hurt her throat." "Dea»" me, how very unfortunate for you," said Mrs. Reffold. "Ah, there is Captain Graham calling. I -must not keep the sledges waiting."

That was a few days ago, but today, when Bernardine was playing chess with the Swedish Professor, Mrs. Reffold came to her. There was a curious mixture of shyness and abandon in Mrs. Reffold's manner. "Miss Holme," she said, "I have thought of such a splendid idea. Willyou go and see Mr. Reffold this afternoon? That would be a tiie little change for m."

Bernardine smiled. "If you wish it," she answered. Mrs. Reffold nodded and hastened away, and Bernardine continued her game, and, having finished it, rose to go.

The RofTolds were rich, and lived in a suite of apartments in the more luxurious part of the Kurhaus. Bernardine knocked at the door, and the nurse came to open it. "Mrs. RelTold asks me to visit Mr. Reffold," Bernardine said and the nurse showed her into the pleasant sitting room:

Mr. Reffold was lying on the sofa. He looked up as Bernardine came in, and a smile of pleasure spread over his wan face. "I don't know whether I intrude," said Bernardine, "But Mrs. Reffold said I might come to see you."

Mr. Reffold signed to the nurse to ijwithdraw. She had never before spoken to

PASS IN Ti EE

BY BEATRICE HABBADEN.

PART 1.— CHAPTER VII—CONTINUED.

"There is only one man my intellectual equal in Petershof, and he is not here anv more," he said gravely. "Now I come to remember, he died. That is the worst of making friendships here people die.1' "Still, it is something to be left king of the intellectual world," said Bernardine. '"I never thought of you in that light."

him. 'She had often seen him lying bv himself in the su/isliine. "Are you paid for coming to me?" he asked eagerly.

The words seemed rude enough, but there was no rudeness in the manner. "No, I am not paid," she said gently: and then she took a chair and sat near him. "Ah, that's well," he said, with a sigh of relief. "I'm so tired of paid service. To know that things are done for me because a certain number of francs are given so that these things may be done—well, one gets wreary of it that's all

There was bitterness in every word he spoke. "I lie here," he said, "and the loneliness of it—the loneliness of it!" "Shall I read to you?" she asked kindly. She did not know what to say to him. "I want to talk first," he replied.

"I

want to talk first to some one who is not paid for talking to me. I have often watched you, and wondered who you were. Why do you look so sad? No one is waiting for you to die?" "Don't talk like that?" she said and she bent over hiin and arranged the cushions for him more comfortably. He looked "just like a great lank tired child. "Are you one of iny wife's friends?" he asked. "I don't suppose I am," she answered gently "but I like her, all the same. Indeed, I like her very much. And I think her beautiful." "Ah. she is beautiful!" he said eagerly. "Doesn't she look splendid in her furs? By Jove, you are right! She is a beautiful woman. I am proud of her."

Then the smile faded from her face. "Beautiful," he said half to himself. "but hard." "Come now." said Bernardine "you are surrounded with books and newspapers. What shall I read to you?" "No one reads what I want," he answered peavishly. "My tastes are not their taste. I don't suppose vou would care to read what I want to hear." "Well,'' she said cheerily, "try me. Make your choice." "Verv well, the Sporting and Dramatic," he said. "Read every word of that. And about that theatrical divorce case. And every word of that, too. Don't you skip, and cheao me."

She laughed and settled herself down to amuse him. And he listened contentedly. "That is something like literature," he said once or twice. "I can understand papers of that sort going like wild-fire."

When he was tired of being read to, she talked to him in a manner that would have astonished the Disagreeable Man not of books nor learning, but cf people she had met and of places she had seen and there was fuu in everything she said. She knew London well, and she could tell him about the Jewish and the Chinese quarters, and about her adventures in company with a man who took her here, there and every where.

She made him some tea, and she cheered the poor fellow as he had not been cheered for months. "You're just a little brick!" he said, when she was leaving. Then once more he added eagerly: "And you're not to be paid, are you?'' "Not St single &©-<*?' she laughed. "What a strange idea of yours!'' "You are not offend-ed?" he said anxiously. "But you can't think what a difference it makes to me. You are not offended?" "Not ir, the least?" she answered. "I know quite well how you mean it. You want a little kindness with nothing at the back of it. Now, good-bye!"

He called her when she was outside the door. "I say, will you come agaiu soon?" "Yes, I will come to-morrow." "Do you know you've been a little brick. I hope I haven't tired you. You are only a bit of a thing yourself. But by Jove, you know how to put a fellow in a good temper!"

When Mrs. Reffold went down to table-d'hote that night, she met Bernardine on the stairs,and stopped to speak with her. "We've had a splendid afternoon," she said "and we've arranged to go again to-morrow at the same time. Such a pity you don't come! Oh, by the way, I thank you for going to see my husband, hope he didn't tire you. He is a little querulous, I think. He so enjoyed your visit. Poor fellow! it is sad to see him so ill, isn't it?"

1

CHAPTER IX.

BERNARDINE PREACHES. After this, scarcely a day passed but Bernardine went to see Mr. Reffold. The most experienced eye could have known that he was becoming rapidly worse. Marie, the chambermaid, knew it, and spoke of it frequently to Bernardine. "The jjoor lonely fellow!" she said, time after time.

Every one, except Mrs. Reffold, seemed to recognize that Mr. Reffold's days were numbered. Either she did not or would not understand. She made no alteration in the disposal of her time sledging parties and skating picnics were the order o£ ike d*y: she was

thoroughly pleased with herself, and received the attentions of her admirers as a matter of course. The Petershof climate had got into her head and it is a well-known fact that this glorious air has the effect on some people of banishing from their minds all inconvenient notions of duty and devotion, and all memory of the special object of their sojourn in Petershof. The coolness and calmness with which such people ignore their responsibilities, or allow strangers to assume them, would be an occasion for humor, if it were not an opportunity for indignation though indeed it would take a very exceptionally sober-minded spectator not to get some fun out of the blissful self-satisfaction and unconsciousness which characterizes the most negligent of "care-takers.

Mrs. Reffold was not the only sinner in this respect. It would have been interesting to get together a tea-party of invalids alone, and set the ball rolling about the respective behaviors of their respective friends. Not a pleasing chronicle no very choice pages to add to the book of real life still valuable items in their way, representative of the actual as opposed' to the ideal. In most instances there would have been ample testimony to that cruel monster I known as Neglect. I Bernardine spoke once to the Disagreeable Man on this subject. She spoke with indignation, and he answered with indifference, shrugging his shoulders. "These things occur," he said, "It is not that they are worse here than everywhere else it is simply

that they are together in an accumulated mass, and, as such, strike us with tremendous force. I myself am I accustomed to these exhibitions of selfishness and neglect. I should be astonished if they did not take place.

Don't mix yourself up with anything. If people are neglected, they are neglected, and there is the end of it. To imagine that you or I are going to do any good by filling up the breach, is simply an insanity leading to unnecessarily disagreeable consequences. I know you go to see Mr. Reffold. Take my advice, and keep away." "You speak like a Calvinist," she answered' rather ruffled, with the quintessence of self-protectiveness "and I don't believe you mean a word you say." "My dear youngwoman," he said, "we are not living in a poetry book bound with gilt edges. We are living in a paper-backed volume of prose. Be sensible. Don't ruffle yourself on account of other people. Don't even trouble to criticise them it is oulv a nuisance to .yourself. All this simply points back to my first suggestion fill up your time with some hobby, cheese-mites or the influenza bacillus, and then you will be quite content to let people be neglected, lonely, and to die. You will look upon it as an ordinary and natural process." I She waved her hand as though to stop him. "There are days," she said, "when

I can't bear to talk with you. And this is one of them." "I am sorry," he answered, quite gently for him. And he moved away from her, and started for his usual lonely walk.

Bernardine turned home, intending to go to see Mr. Reffold. He had become quite attached to her, and looked forward eagerly for her visits. He said her voice was gentle and her manner quiet there was no bustling vitality about her to irritate his worn nerves. He was probably an empty-headed, stupid fellow but it was none the less sad to see him passing away.

He called her "Little Brick." He said that no other epithet suited her so exactly. He was quite satisfied now that she was not paid for coming to see him. As for the reading, no one could road the Sporting and Dramatic News and the Era so well as Little Brick. Sometimes he spoke with her about his wife, but only in general tones of bitterness, and not always complainingly. She listened and said nothing. "I'm a chap that wants very little," he said once. "Those who want little, get nothing."

That was all he said, but Bernardine knew to whom he referred. To-day, as Bernai'dine was on her way back to the Kurhaus, she was thinking constantly of Mrs. Reffold, and wondering whether she ought to be made to realize that her husband was becoming rapidly worse. Whilst engrossed with this thought, a long train of sledges and toboggans passed her. The sound of the bells and the noisy merriment made her look up, and she saw beautiful Mrs. Reffold amongst the pleasureseekers. "If only I dared tell her now," said Bernardine to herself, "loudly and before them all."

Then a more sensible mood came over her. "After all, it is not my affair," she said.

And the sledges passed away out of hearing. When Bernardine sat with Mr. Reffold that afternoon she did not mention that she had seen his wife. He coughed a great deal, and seemed to be worse than usual, and complained of fever. But he liked to have her and would not hear of her going. "Stay," he said, "it is not much pleasure to you, but is a great pleasure to me."

There was an anxious look on his face, such a look as people wear when they wish to ask some question of great moment, but dare not tycffin-

At last he seemed to summon up courage.

1'Little

Brick," he said, in a weak,

lour voice, "I have something oa my mind. You won't laugh I know. You're not that sort. I know you're clever and thoughtful, and all that you could tell me more than all thr parsons put together. I know you're clever my wife says so. She says that only a very clever woman would wear such boots and hats."

Bernardine smiled. "Well," she said, kindly, "tell me." "You must have thought a good deal, I suppose," he continued, "about life and death, and that sort of thing. I've never thought at all. Does it matter, Little Brick? It's too late now, I can't begin to think. But speak to me tell me what you think. Do you believe we get another chance, and are glad to behave less like curs and brutes? Or is it all ended in that lonely little churchyard here? I've never troubled about these things before, but now I am so near that gloomy little churchyard—well, it makes me wonder. As for the Bible, I never cared to read it. I was never much of a reader, though I've got through two or three firework novels and sporting stories. Does it matter. Little Brick?" "How do I know?" she said gently. "How does any one know. People say they know" but it is all a great mystery. Everything that we say can be but a guess. People have gone mad over their guessing, or they have broken their hearts. But still the mystery remains and we can not solve it." "If you don't know anything, Little Brick," he said, "at least tell me what you think and don't be too learned remember I am anly a brainless fellow."

He seemed to be waiting eagerly for her answer. "If I were }rou," she said, "1 should not worry. Just make up your mind to do better when you get another chance. On.e can't do more than that. That is what I shall think of: That God will give each of us another chance, and that each one of us will take it and do better—I and you and every one. So there is no need to fret over failure, when one hopes one may be allowed to redeem that failure later on. Besides which, life is very hard. Why, we our­

selves

recognize that. If there be a

God, some intelligence greater than human intelligence, he will understand better than ourselves that life is very hard and difficult, and he will be astonished not because we arc not better, but because we are not worse. At least, that would be my notion of a God. I should not worry if I were you. Just make up your mind to do better if you get the chance, and be content with that." "If that is what you think, Little Brick," he answered, "it is quite good enough for me. And it does not matter about prayers and the Bible, and ali that sort of thing?" "I don't think it matters," she said. "I never have thought such things mattered. What does matter, is to judge gently, and not to come down like a sledge-hammer on other people's feelings. Who are we, any of us, that we should be hard on others?" "And not come down like a sledgehammer on other people's feelings,' he repeated slowly. "I wonder if I have ever judged gently." "I believe you have," she answered.

He shook his head. "No," he said "I have been a paltry fellow. I have been lying here, and elsewhere, too, eating my heart away with bitterness, until you came. Since then I have sometimes forgotten to feel bitter. A little kindness does away with a great deal of bitterness."

He turned wearily on his side. "I think I could sleep, Little Brick," he said, almost in a whisper. "I want to dream about your sermon. And I'm not to worry, am I?" "No," she answered, as she stepped noiselessly across the room "you are not to worry."

CHAPTER X.

THE DISAGREEABLE MAN IS SEEN IN A NEW LIGHT. One specially fine morning a knockcame at Bernardine's door. She opened it, and found Robert Allitsen standing there trying to recover his breath. "I am going to Loschwitz, a village about twelve miles off,"he said. "And I have ordered a sledge. Do you care to come too?" "If I may pay my share," she said. "Of course," he answered: "I did not suppose you would like to be paid for any better than I should like to pay for you."

Bernardine laughed. "When do we start?" she asked. "Now," he answered. "Bring a rug, and also that shawl of yours which is always falling down, and come at once without any fuss. We shall be out for the. whole day. What about Mrs. Grundy? We could manage to take her if you wished, but she would not be comfortable sitting amongst the photographic apparatus, and I certainly should not give up my seat to her." "Then leave her at home," said Bernardine cheerily.

And so they settled it. In less than a quarter of an hour they had started aud Bernardine leaned luxuriously back to eujoy to the full her first sledge ride.

It was all new to her the swift passing through the crisp air without any sensation of motion the sleepy tinkling of the bells on the horses' heads the noiseless cutting through of the snow path.

All these weeks she had known nothing of the country, and now she found herself in the snow fairyland

of which the Disagreeable Man had} often spoken to her. Around vast plains of untouched snov, whiter than any dream of whiteness, jeweled by the sunshine with priceless diamonds, numberless as the sands of the sea. The great pines bearing their burden of snow patiently, others less patient, having shaken themselves free from what the heavens had sent them to bear. And now the streams, flowing on reluctantly over ice-coated rocks, and the ice cathedrals formed by the icicles between the rocks.

And always the same silence, save' for the tinkling of the horses' bells. On the heights the quaint chalets, some merely huts for storing wood on others, farms, or the homes of peasants snme dark brown, almost black, betraying their age others of a paler hue, showing that the sun had not yet mellowed them into a deep rich color. And on all alike, the fringe of icicles. A wonderful white world.

It was a long time before Bernardine even wished to speak. This beautiful whiteness may become monotonous after a time, but there is something vei*y awe-inspiring about it, something which catches' the soul and holds it.

The Disagreeable Man sat quietly by her side. Once or twice he bent forward to protect the camera when the sledge gave a lurch.

After some time they met a procession of sledges laden with timber: and August, the driver, and Robert Allitscn exchanged some fun and merriment with the drivers in their quaint blue smocks. The noise of the conversation, and the excitement of getting past the sledges, brought Bernardine back to speech again. "I have never before enjoyed anything so mueh," she said. "So you have found your tongue," he said. "Do you mind talking a little now? I feel rather lonely."

This was said in such a pathetic, aggrieved tone, that Bernardine I laughed and looked at her companion. His face wore an unusually bright expression. He was evi dently out to enjoy himself. "You talk," she said "and tell me all about the country." (TO BE CONTINUED.)

OLD MAMMY'S VIGIL.

APathetic Story of a Southern Land Boom.

Clarksdale. Miss., Special, June 19.

I A rich S3rndicate desired to buy a plantation belonging to John Clark, On the plantation, in a lonely cabin, lives Aunt Dilsie, an aged colored woman, and near by is the grave of her former master's daughter. Her old master told Aunt Dilsie she could have the place, but she must guard the little grave. When the offer cf sale came, Clark went to see Aunt

Dilsie to tell her the pl?ce would be sold. She looked him straight in the eye and said: "Old marsta putmeheah to mine little missus grabe, an' heah's wha ole marsta lin' me when his speret comes. Yo' lcan't sell dis place, no how, Marsta John." Then she threw herself upon the mound, and Clark could hear her talking to her dead mistress. "Dey wanted to sell yo', but,bress de sweetmissus, dey ncbber sells yo' grabe while Aunt Dilsie lib. Ole marsta gib me dis place an' heah's wha' I stays till Gabriel wakes us all up in de mawnin' an' I put my missus in do arms of ole marsta, jess as he uster hoi' her. Bress vo' soul honey, did you t'ink Aunt Dilsie let 'em sell vo'? Don' yo' min'. Dey ain' nuffin' goin' to hu't yo' while Aunt Dilsie heah."

The next day Clark again called on Aunt Dilsie to argue with her and insist that she had no title to the place, and that he would give her a much better home. She replied: '"Marsta John, yo' kan't sell dis place nohow. Ole Marsta gib it to me, an' yo' don't do nothin' with my little missis, who done sleep for thirty years right whah dese brack hands holped dem lay her. Dar she be, an' heah I be when ole marsta die, an' heah he fin' us when he comes. I don't know nuffin bout no title an' dem highfalutin' tings, but I do know dis cabin am mine, an' heah dis cabin stays till I tote de little missus 'cross de ribber. May be dark night, Marsta John, when Gabriel.come, an' how my little missus goin' to do lessen her ole brack mammy heah to holp her? G'long, Marsta John! Iain' goin' hab no words about it."

And the sale fell through, Clark refusing to disturb the spirit title. In a storm which came through Clarksdale a short time afterward the cabin was blown down, but still Aunt Dilsie refused to leave the spot, and another was built where the old oue had stood. One morning nor body was found stretched upon the grave of her young "missus," and now the little girl and her black mammy rest side by side, awaiting the trumpet call.

This is a true but pathetic story of the recent land boom that struck this region a short time ago.

Chauncev M. Depew is having a mausoleum built in the Peekskill cemetery as a memorial to his deceased wife. In this little rural burying ground rest the bodies of all his ancestors. The grave of his mother is marked by a handsome monument, and it is his wish to similarly ornament that of his wife. The design selected is severely classical and simple, and the mausoleum will be constructed in solid granite, to last for all time. Its cost will reach about $20,000..

A TOBACCO HEART.

Thousands of Americans Can't Got Insurance Because Tobacco Has Destroyed the Heart Action and

Wrecked the Nervous System—No-To-Bac Works Many Miraculous Cures,

Di

LANSON,

N. Y.—Engineer O. N.

Bates stepped off Engine No. 47 with a long oiler in one hand and a bunch of blue waste in the other. Not a bystander there could help remarking his youthful, healthy look and active, vigorous movements, and contrasting his appearance with his condition two months ago.

Say, Colonel, how well you look!" "Yes, I am well better than have been for years." "What have you been doing?" "Oh. not much. No-to-bac curt, me of the tobacco habit and brace\ me mentally and physically. In fact, made me a new man in more wa\rs than one. I had no appetite couldn't sleep: now I sleep like a baby and eat three times a day with a relish, for the first time in years. My heart action is regular and no longer a bar to increased life insurance. You know the throttle pulling requires a pretty steady nerve, and my nerves are O. K. now. One box and a quarter of No-to-bac cured me completely in ten days, after using tobacco forty years. No-to-bac is sold by all druggists and made by 1 he Sterling Remedy Company of New York and Chicago You ought to get one of their littl books called Don't Tobacco Spit am Smoke Your Life Away,' and posi youi-self. They send them free to my one that writes. It cost me t-2.'b0 to get cured, and I spent three Dr four dollars a week for tobacco. If I had failed to get cured I would nave gotten my money back, as the! makers guarantee three boxes to ?ure any case. I have recommended the use of No-to-bac to fifteen of the DOVS on the line, and every one of them, so far as I know, has been jured."

The cab bell rang, the engineer .•limbed up quickly 3n the footboard, iud the big train rolled away.

LEGS NOT A NECESSITY.

The Motor Cycle Drives Itself—A Gallon of Coal Oil Throws Muscle in the Shade.

I

^cw York Sun The latest conception of the invenve geniuses who cater to the require-* nents of the wheel world is the m^J or cycle. The novelty is in tended1v :o take the place of buggies and carnages, and is designed to be of service at ail seasons of the year and in •very kind of going.

The tires are fully four inches in1 liameter and vibration is reduced to minimum. The motive power is sroduced by coal oil, and as soon as ,he rider takes his seat securely the nachine does the rest. A gallon of )il will drive the single-seat motor *00 miles, while twice the quantity x-ill send the new four-wheeled contrivance a similar distance with :hree passengers aboard.

FOR ONE TO RIDE ON.

Tn recent legal proceedings in" London regarding the noise and vi-^' bration caused by a neigboring fac-t icry, a phonograph was used to re-| cord these noises and reproduce^, them in court, at the suggestion o(| Prof. S. P. Thompson.

A New York manufacturing jew**

now little Brownie scarfpins at surdly high prices to adorn the] gal inents rich.

I

The four- wheeler seems destined to a long lease of popularity. It practically consists of two ladies bicycles connected by a carriage seat in which three passengers can seat themselves comfortably. The speed can be controlled at the operators », will, but just how fast a "scorcher" mav send it along will not be known with any degree of accuracy until the practical speed trial is held on bome date in the near future. I

A HI CYCLE HUILT FOR TWO.

The designer has been long before the public with his airship theories and now that he has got down to terra firma the chances are that his ideas will be found of practical utilit.y. Experts who have examined the two types of cycle shown in the accompanying cuts think they are destined to play a prominent pari among the season's inventions, Should a tithe of the inventor's hopes be realized, the public must be prepared to see citizens gliding along with far less waste of energy than is .,, required to climb an elevator stair?,? or sprint from the sidewalk to catc? a surface car. With a motor cvek-y a gallon of coal oil, and a box ot, matches, Ihe veriest cripple will be able to hold his own with the most: muscular prodigy bestriding a wheel.^

'I

the little children of tbi|