Greencastle Star Press, Greencastle, Putnam County, 30 December 1893 — Page 2

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As the policeman took him off. the baffled vilmin’s eye fell on Hope, who stood with folded arms, and looked down on him with lowering brow and the deep indignation of the just, and

yet with haughty triumph.

That eloquent look was a revelation

to Monekton.

“Ah," he cried “it was you."

Hope's only reply was this: “You double felon, false accuser, and thief,

you are eauglit in your own trap."

And this he thundered at him with such sudden power that the thief went cringing out. and even those who remained were awed. Rut Hope never told anybody except Walter Clifford that he had undone Monckton’s work in the lobby; and then the poor boy fell upon his neck, and kissed his hand. To run forward a little: Monekton was tried, and made no defense. He dared not call Hope as his witness, for it was dear Hope must have seen him commit the theft and attempt the villainy. But the false accusation leaked out as well as the theft. A previous conviction was proved, and the indignant judge gave him fourteen years. Thus was Bartley's fafal secret in mortal peril on the day it first existed; y et on that very day it was saved from exposure, and buried deep in a jail. Bartley set Hope over ids business, and was never heard of for months. Then he turned up in Sussex with a littie girl, who had been saved from diphtheria by tracheotomy, and some un-

known quack.

There was a scar to prove it. Thetender parent pointed it out triumphantly, and railed at the regular practitioners

of medicine.

CHAPTER IV. AN OLD SERVANT. Walter Clifford returned home prettv well weaned from trade, and anxious to propitiate Ins father.hut well aware that on ids way to reconciliation he must pass through probation. He slipped into Clifford Hall at night, and commenced Ids approaches by going to the butler's pantry- Here lie was safe, and knew it: a faithful old butler of the antique and provincial breed isapt to be more unreasonably paternal than Rater himself. Next morning this worthy butler, who for several years had been a very good servant, anil for the next seven years rather a bad one. and would now have been a bard master if the Colonel had not been too great a Tartar to stand it, appeared before Ids superior with an air sliglitly respectful, slightly aggressive. and very dogged. “There is a young gentleman would be glad to speak to you, if you will let him.” “Who is he?” asked the Colonel, though by old John's manner he divined. “Can't ve guess?” “Don't "know why I should. It is your business to announce my visitors." “Oh. I 'll announce him, when 1 am made safe that he will be welcome.’* “What! isn't lie sure of a welcome?— good, dutiful son like him?” “Well. sir. he deserves a welcome. -Wliv, be is the returning prodigal.” “We are not told that /tc deserved a welcome.” “What signifies?—he got one, and Scripture is the rule of life for men of our age. nme ur are nut nf the army.” “I think you had better let him plead his own cause. John: and if betakes the tone you do. lie will get turned out of the house pretty quick:asyou will some of these days, Mr. Barker.'’ “We sha’h't go. neither of us,” said Mr. Baker, but with a sudden tone of affectionate respect, which disarmed the words of their true meaning. He added, hanging his head for the first time. “Poor young gentleman! afraid to face his own father!” “What’s he afraid of ?” asked the Colonel. roughly. “Of you cursing and swearing at him,” said John. "Cursing and swearing!” cried the Colonel—“a thing I never do now. Cursing and swearing, indeed! You be !” “There you go.” said old John. “Come. Colonel, be a father. What lias the poor boy done?” “He lias deserted—a thing I have seen a fellow shot for, and lie lias left me a prey to parental anxieties.” “And so lie lias me, for that matter. But 1 forgive him. Anyway. I should like to hear his story before I condemn him. Why, he’s only nineteen and four months, come Martinmas. Besides, how do we know?—he may have had some very good reason for going.” “Ills age makes that probable.doesn't “I dare say it was after some girl, sir.” “Call that a good reason?” “1 call it a strong one. Haven't you never found it?” (the Colonel was betrayed into winking). “From sixteen to sixty a woman will draw a man where a horse can't.” “Since that is so.” said the Colonel, dryly, “you can tell him to come to breakfast.” “Am I to say that from you?” “No: you can take that much upon yourself. I have known you presume a good deal more than that, John.” “Well, sir,” said John, hanging his head for a moment, “old servants are lileo old friends—they do presume a hit; but then" (raising Ins head proudly] “they care for their masters, young and old. New servants, sir—why, this lot that we've got now, they would not shed a tear for you if you was to he hanged.” “Why should they?” said the Colonel. “ \ man is not hanged for building churches. Come, beat a retreat. I’ve bad enough of you. 5see there’s a good breakfast." “Oil,” said John, “I've took care of that." When the Colonel came down he found Ids son leaning against the man-tel-piece; but heleft itdirectly and stood erect, for the Colonel had drilled him with liis own hands. “Ugh!” said the Colonel, giving a snort peculiar to himself, but lie thought, MIow handsome the dog is!” and was proud of him secretly, only lie would not show it. “Good-morning, sir,” said the young man, with civil respect. “Your most obedient, sir, said the old man, stiffly. After that neither spoke for some time, and the old butler glided about like a cat, helping both of them, especially the young one, to various delicacies bum the side table. When he had stuffed them pretty well, lie retired softly and listened at the dour- Neither of

the gentlemen was m a hurrv to break the ice: each waited for the other. Walter made thetirst remark—“What

delicious tea!”

“As good as wh’re you come from?” inquired Colonel Cliffonl. insidiously.

“A deal better.'' said Walter.

“By-the-bye," said the Colonel.“where

do von come from?”

Walter mentioned the town.

“You astonish me,” said the Colonel. |“1 maile mu, o ou had b-eu enjoying the

jy>'ir“as;ir<‘s f P.c capital.”

".My purse wouldn i nave stood ihal,

sir.”^

“Very few purses can,” said Colonel Clifford. Then, in an off-hand way, "Have you brought heralong with you?” “Certainly not,” said Walter, off his

guard. “Her? Who?”

“Why. the girl that decoyed you from

your father's roof.”

"No girl decoyed me from here, sir,

upon my honor.”

“Whom are we talking about, then?

Who is In i f”

“Her? Why. Lucy Monekton.” “And who is Lucy Monekton?” “Why, the girl 1 fell in love with, and

she deceived me nicely: but I found her

out in time.”

“And so you came home to snivel?” “No, sir. I didn’t; I’m not such a muff. I'm too much your son to love any wqman long w hen I have learned to despise her. I came home to apologize, and to place myself under your orders, if you will forgive me. and lind some-

thing useful for me to do.”

“So I will, my bov; there’s my hand. Now out with it. What did you go awav for, since it wasn't a petticoat?” “Well, sir, I am afraid I shall offend

you.”

“Not a bit of it. after I've given you niv hand. Come, now, what was it?” Walter pondered and hesitated, but at last hit upon a way to explain. “Sir,” said he. “until I was six years old they used to give me peaches from Oddington House; but one tine day the supply stopped, and I uttered a small howl to my nurse. Old John heard me, and told the Oddington was sold, house,

garden, estate, and all.” Colonel Clifford snorted.

Walter resumed, modestIvbut firmly: “I was thirteen; I used to fish in a brook that ran near Drayton Park. One day 1 was lishing there, when a brown velveteen chap stopped me. and told me I was trespassing. ‘Trespassing!' said v '1 have tished here all my lire; I am Walter Clifford, and this belongs to my father.’ ‘Well,’ said the man. ‘I've heerd it did belong to Colonel Clifford oust, but now it belongs to Muster Mills; bo you must ilsh in your own water, young gentleman, leave ourn to us as Owns it.' Till I was eighteen I used to shoot snipes in a rushy bottom near < ’alverlev ('hurch. <)ne day a fellow in black velveteen, and gaiters up to bis middle, warned me out of that in the

name of Muster Cannon.”

Colonel Clifford, who had been drumming on the table all this time, looked uneasy, and muttered, with some little air of compunction: “They have plucked my feathers deucedly, that's a fact. Ilang that fellow Stevens, persuading me to keep race-horsesjit’s all his fault. Well, sir, proceed with your observa-

tions.”

Well. I inquired who could afford to buy what we were too poor to keep, and I found these wealthy purchasers were all in trade, not one of them a gentle-

man.”

“You might have guessed that "said Colonel Clifford; “it is as much as a gentleman can do to live outof juilnowYes, sir,” said Walter. “Cotton had bought one of these estates, tallow another. and lueifer-matches the other.” “Plague take them all three!” roared

the Colonel.

“Well, then. sir."said Walter.”! could not help thinking there must he some magic in trade, and I had better go into it. 1 didn’t think you would consent to

row ’’

So for a time Walter administered his father's estate, and it was very instructive. Walter soon cut the expenses down to the income, which was amide, and even paid off the one mortgage that encumbered this noble estate at five per cent., only four per cent, of which was really lingered by the mortgagee; the balance went to a' go-between, though no go-lie tween was ever wanted, forany solicitor in (lie country would have found the money in a week at four per

cent.

The old gentleman was delighted.and engaged Ills own son as steward at a liberal salary; and so Walter Clifford iouiHl employment and a fair income without going away from home agaiu.

CHAPTER V. MARY'S PERIL.

Whilst Mr. Bartley’s business was improving under Hope’s management, Hope himself was groaning under his entire separation from Ids daughter. Bartley promised him this should not he; bill among Hope's good qualities was a singular fidelity to bis employers, and he was also a man who never broke his word. So when Bartley showed him that the true parentage of’ Grace Hope —now called Mary Bartley—could never be disguised unless her memory of him was interrupted and puzzled before she grew older, and that she as well as the world must be made to believe Bartley was her father, lie assented, and it was two years before lie ventured to come

near his own daughter.

But he demanded to see her at a distance. himself unseen, and this was arranged. He provided liimself with a powerful binocular of the kind that is now used at sea. instead of the unwieldy old telescope, and the little girl was paraded by the nurse, who was in the secret. She played about in the sight of tills strange spy. Sin* was plump, she was rosy, she was full of lire and spirit. Joy idled the father’s heart; but then came a tiitter pang to think that he had faded out of tier joyous life; by-and-by lie could set- her no longer, for a mist came from ids heart to his eyes; he bowed his head and went back to bis business, his prosperity, and Ids solitude. These experiments were repeated at times. Moreover, Bartley had the tact never to write to him on business without telling him something about Ids girl, her clever sayings, her pretty wavs, her quickness at learning from all her teachers, and so on. When she was eight years old a foreign agent was required in Bartley's business, and Hope agreed to start this agency and keep it going till some more ordinary person

could be intrusted to work it.

Blithe refused to leave England without seeing Ids daughter with Ids own eyes and hearing her voice. However, still faithful to his pledge, he prepared a disguise; he actually grew a mustache and heal'd for this tender motive only, and changed his whole style of dress; he wore a crimson neck-tie and darkgreen gloves with a plaid suit, which combination he abhorred as a painter and our respected readers abominate, for surely it was some such perverse combination that made a French dressmaker lift her hands to heaven and say "(JhiUi' immoralUe!” So then Bartley himself took Ids little girl for a walk, and met Mr. Hope in an appointed spot not far from his own house. Poor Hope saw them coming, and Ids heartbeat high. “Ah!” said Bartley,feigning surprise; “why, it's Mr. Hope. How do vou do, Hope? This is my little girl. Mary, mv dear, this is an did friend of

mine. Give 1dm your hand.”

The girl looked in Hope's face, and

did not recognize him.

Fine girl for her years, isn’t she?” said Bartley; “healthy and strong, and quick at her lessons: and. what's better still, she is a good girl, a very good girl. “Papa!” Raid the child, blushing, and bid her face behind Bartley’s elbow, till

that. I wasn't game to defy you; so I > but one eye, with which she watched

did a meanish thing, and slipped away

into a merchant's office.”

And made your fortune in three months?” inquired the Colonel. “No, I didn't; and don't think trade

is the tiling for me. I saw a deal of avarice and meanness, and a thief of a clerk got Ids master to suspect me of dishonesty; so I snapped my lingers at them all. and here I am. But,” said the poor young fellow, “I do wish, father, vou would put me into somethiug where 1 can make a little money, so that when thin estate comes to be sold, 1 may be

the purchaser.”

Colonel Clifford started up in great

emotion.

"Sell Clifford Hall, where I was born, and you were born, and everybody was born! Those estates I sold were only outlaying properties." "Thej were beautiful ones," said Wal» ter. “I never see such peaches now.” "As you did when you were six years old,” suggested the Colonel. “No, nor you never will. I’ve been six myself. Lord knows when it was, though!” “But, sir, I don't see anv such trout, and no such haunts for snipe.” “Do vou mean to insult me?” cried the Colonel, rather suddenly. “This is what we are come to now. Here’s a brat of six be. ins taking notes against his own fathe*-; and he improves on the Scotch poet- -he doesn’t print’em. No, be accumulates them cannily until be is twenty,but never says a word. Heloads bis gun up to the muzzle, and waits, as the vears roll on, with his linstock in his band, and one line day at break-fast he fires his treble charge of grape-shot at his own father.” At this moment the steward entered. “Jackson.” said the Colonel, in the very same tone he was speaking in. “put up my race-iiorses to auction by public advertisement.” “But. sir. Jenny has got fomn at Derby, and the brown colt at Nottingham, aiul the six-year-old gelding at a handicap at Chester, and the chestnut is entered for tlie Hyllinger next year.” “Sell them with their engagements." “And the trainer, sir?" “Give him ids warning.” , “And the jockey?” . “Discharge him on the spot, and take him by the ear out of the premises before be poisons the lot. Keep one of the stable-boys, and let my groom do the

rest ”

“But who is to take them to the place of auction, sir?” “Nobody. I'll have the auction here, and sell them where they stand. Submit all your books of account to this young gentleman.” The steward looked a little blue, and Walter remonstrated gently. “To me, father?” “Why, you can cipher, can't ye?" “Ratner; it is tlie nest tiling 1 do.” “And you have been in trade, haven’t “ IVhy, yes.” “Then you will detect plenty of swindles, if you find out one in ten. Above all, cut down my expenditure te my income. A gentleman of tlie nineteenth century, sharpened by trade, can easily do tiial. Sell Clifford Hall? I'd rather live on the rabbits and the pigeons and tlie blackbirds, and tlie car]) in tlie pond, and drive to church in tlie wheelbar-

tbe effect of these eulogies upon the

strange gentleman.

“She is all a father could wish,” said

Hope, tenderly.

Instantly the girl started from her position, and stood wrapt in thought; ner beautiful eyes wore a strange look of dreamy intelligence, and both could see she was searching tlie past for that

voice.

Bartley drew back, tliat the girl might not see liim, and held up his linger. Hope gave a slight nod of acquiescence, aim spoke no more. Bartley invited him to take an early dinner, and talk business. Before he left be saw his child more than once; indeed, Bartley paraded her accomplishments. She played the piano to Hope; she rode her little Shetland pony for Hope;she danced a minuet with singular grace for so young a girl; she conversed with her governess in French, or sometliing very like it, and she worked a little sewingmachine, all to please tlie strange gentleman: and w hatever she was asked to do she did with a w inning smile, and without a particle of false modesty, or tin* real egotism which is at tlie bottom of false modesty. Anybody who knew William Hope intimately might almost recognize his daughter in tins versatile little mind with its faculty of learning so many dissimilar things. Hone left for the continent with a proud heart, a joyful heart, and a sore heart. .She was lovely, she was healthy, she was happy, she was accomplished, but she was liis no longer, not even in name;her i"M*\-,as being gained by a stranger, and there was a barrier of iron, as well as tlie English Uhannel,between William Hope and his own Mary Bartley. It would weary the reader were we to detail the small events bearing on tiie part of tlie story which took place during the next five years. Hope got a peep at Ids daughter now and then. On one of his visits to Bartley the latter complained that lie laid nothing to—his legitimate business at home and abroad could now run alone. He said to Hope “I can sit hereand speculate. I want to be something myself; I think I will take a farm just to occupy me aud amuse

ms."

“It will not amuse you unless you make money by it." suggested Hope. "And nobody can do that now-a-davs. Farms don’t pay.” “Ploughing and sowing don’t pay.but brains and money pay wherever found together.” “What, on a farm?” “Why not, sir? You have only to go with the times. Observe the condition of produce; grain too cheap for a farmer because continents can export grain with little loss; fruit dear; meat dear, because cattle cannot be driven and sailed without risk of life and loss of weight; agricultural labor rising,and in winter unproductive, because to farm means to plough and sow, and reap and mow. and lose money. But meet those conditions. Breed cattle, sheep, and horses, and make the farm their feed-ing-ground. (iive fifty acres to fruit; have a little factory on the land for winter OM, and so utilize all your farm hands, and the village worn u, who are cheaper laborers tlian tpwp f and T

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think you will make a Blue money, be-1 “It is (it*t*|>**i- than usual: but see, it is sides what you make in gratuitous eggs, only up to my knee.__I could cross it

poultry, fruit, horses to ride, and cart tilings from tin* house—items which seldom figure in a farmer's books as money, but we stricter accountants know thev

are."

without the stones. You go round, dear, and I’ll explain against you come

home.”

“Not until I've seen you safe over.” “That you will soon see,” said the girl,

IM II1“ ~ ‘ ’ ’ J - -* » *

I'll do it.” said Bartley, “if you'll be j and,fearing a more authoritative intermy neighbor, and work it with me, and ferenee. she gathered up her skirts and xyiteh the share market at home and j planted one dainty foot on the first stepatiroad. ping-stone, another on the next, and so

Hope acquiesced joyfully, to be near 1

^ DU’llX , (kllt’lliVl ’’II IIIT lit .\ l . (1111 i Ft on to the fourth; and if she bad been a

, , , . lK>y she would have cleared them all. for the sheep, short j jpj t folding | R >r skirts instead of keep>t water, enough | j n jr i )Pr arms to balance herself, and

wearing idiotic shoes, her heels slipped on the fifth stone, which was ratner slimy, and she fell into the middle of the current with a little scream. To her amazement she found that the stream, though shallow, carried her off her feet, and though she recovered them, sin* could not keep them,but was alternately up and down, and driven along, all the time floundering. Oh, then she screamed with terror, and tlie poor governess ran screaming too. and making idle clutches from the bank,but

powerless to aid.

Then, as the current deepened, the poor girl lost her feet altogether, and was carried on toward the deep water, Hinging her arms high and screaming,

Shesawin Hope an affection she thought | ,, " t 1 poweriessL At first she was buoyed

. Ifis* - . ,, ... - -

bis daughter Afnd they found a farm in

Sussex, with hills for grass for colts, plenty of

arable land and artificial grasses for their purpose, and a grand sunny slope j for their fruit trees, fruit bushes, and strawberries, with which last alone they |

paid the rent.

Hope lived by himself, but not far j from bis child, and often, when she; went abroad, Ids loving eves watched her every movement through ids binocular, which might lie described as an opera-glass ten inches long, with a small field, but telescopic power. Grace Hope, whom we will now cal' Mary Bartley, since everybody but her father, who generally avoided'/ier name, j called her so, was a well-grown girl of thirteen, healthy, happy, beautiful, and j accomplished. She was tlie germ of a i woman, and coulddetect who loved her.

. Ill . .I\\ n nopeananeenonsne inoiigni uj, |, v ], er clothes, and particularly by a sppfff SIIISsll

atfusli. for she could push, and why f a( , p

iloViin She lost hope, and being no common c m t'g'ish * * * ° S0 ^■“°t il K 11 * ulio spirit, she gamed resignation; she left

Hope himself was loyal and guarded, and kept his affection witliinbounds;and a sore struggle it was. He never allowed himself to kiss her, though he was sore tempted one day, when he bought her a cream-colored 'pony.and she tiling her arms round his neck before Mr. Bartley and kissed him eagerly; but lie was so bashful that the girl laughed at him. and said, half pertly, “Excuse tlie liberty, but if you will be such a duck, why. you must take tlie consequences. Said Bartley, pompously, “You must not expect middle-aged men to be as demonstrative as very young ladies; but be lias as much real affection for you as

you have for him.”

screaming, and said to Everett, “Pray

for me.”

But tlie next moment hope revived, and fear with it—this is a law of nature —for a man. bareheaded and his hair flying, came galloping on a barebacked pony, shouting and screaming with terror louder than both the women. lie urged the pony furiously to the stream; then the beast planted liis feet together, and with the impulse thus given Hope threw himself over the pony’shead into the water, and had his arm round bis child in a moment. He lashed out with the other hand across the stream. But it was so powerful now a* it neared the lasher that they made far more way 011-

“Then lie has

„ .. ward to destruction than they did across ; . d ?„’S a L 1 i^V d the stream; still they ilid m ar the bank

she. sweetly. Botli the men were silent, and Mary looked to one and tlie other,

and seemed a little puzzled.

One morning Mary Bartley and her governess walked to a neighboringtown and enjoyed the sacred delight of shopping. They came back by a short-cut, which made it necessary to cross a certain brook, or rivulet, called the Lyn. This was a rapid stream, and in places pretty dee]); but in one particular part it was shallow, and crossed by large stepping-stones, two-thirds of which were generally above water. The village girls, including Mary Bartley, used all to trip over these stones, and think nothing of it, though the brook went 1

a little. But the laslier roared neater and nearer, and tlie stream pulled them to it with iron force. They wore close to it now. Then a willowbougli gave them om* chance. Hope grasped it.a* 4 pulled with iron strength. From t. bough he got to tlie branch, and finally clutched the stem of tlie tree, just as bis feet were lifted up bv the rushing water, and both lives hung upon that willow-tree. The girl was on Ids left arm. and ids right arm round the wil-

low.

“Grace,” said he, feigning calmness. “Put your arm around my neck, Mary.” “Yes. dear,” said she, firmly. “Now don't hurry yourself—(/irre’a no

right fall; after that, running no longer down a decline, it became rather a languid stream. Mary and her governess came to this ford and found it swollen by recent rains, and foaming and curling round tlie stepping-stones, and their tops only were out of tlie water now. Tlie governess at once objected to pass tins current. “Well, but,” said Mary, “the other way is a mile round, and papa expects us to be punctual at meals, and I am, oh, so hungry! Dear Miss Everett, I have crossed it a hundred times.” "But the water is so deep.” _ .

She did so. “Now take hold of tlie bank with your left hand; but don't let go of me." ”Yes, dear,” said the little heroine, whose fear was gone now she had Hope to take care of her. Then Hope clutched tlie tree with his left hand, pushed Mary on shore with ids right, and very soon had her in his ari ins on terra firma. But now came a change tliat confounded Mary Bartley, to whom a man w as a very superior being; only not always intelligible. CONTINUED NEXT WEEK.