Nappanee Advance-News, Volume 14, Number 7, Nappanee, Elkhart County, 5 May 1892 — Page 3

DUTY* PATH. Oat from the harbor of youth’s bay There leads the path of pleasure; With eager steps we walk that way To brim Joy’s largest measure. But when with morn’s departing beas Goes youth's last precious minute, : We sigh " ’twas but a fevered dream—- ; l There’s nothing In it" Then on our vision dawns afar The goal of glory, gleaming Like some great radiant, solar star, And sets us longing, dreaming. Forgetting nil things left behind, We strain each nerve to win it, But when ’tis ours—alas! we find There’s nothing in it We turn our sad, reluctant gaze Upon the path of duty; Its barren, uninviting ways Are void of bloom and beauty. v et in that road, though dark and cold, It seems as we begin it, As we press on—lo I wo behold There’s Heaven in it. —Ella W. Wilcox, in Ladies’ Homo JourMh ' CAST OUT, But Not Forsaken BY BERNARD BIGSBY. ICopyrlght, 1899, by A N. Kellogg Newspaper CoJ CHAPTER XV.— CONTINUBD. “Ah, sir, you hfive taken a load off my mind. Now hear my 6tory. My name is Aaron Gore. I was born on Sir Harry’s estate, played with him when a boy, served him as a man, and traitorously sold him to his enemies, when lie had none near him but my•elf in whom to put his trust.” Beads of agony stood on the man’s brow, as he uttered these words. “You see, sir,” he continued, “it all came about of the doings of Capt. Frank Archer.” “Frank Archer! Who is he?” “Sometimes I think he is only a man like the rest of us, but at other times I believe he is a devil in human shape, for surely no fiend could hav wrought more mischief than he has done. He has been at the bottom of all my misery. If he were to show himself in this room I do not know that I dare tell you what has happened.” / “Well, he is not here and should not harm you if he were. Speak out, man,” Arthur said, impatiently. “Yes, I must bo quick,” the man groaned. “1 feel already weaker,” then, evidently nerving himself for the Supreme effort, he poured forth his story of crime in hurried words, sometimes unintelligible, but conveying to his breathless listener its full meaning. “I must write this down, if I can only fiDd means to do so, and you must sign it,” Arthur said, when he had finished. Aaron Gore's reply was to the point: “You will find several lead pencils with the package of papers under ray pillow, sir.” “Ah, yes, here they are. Now yon lie back and rest, whilst I write your deposition.” Arid this is what Artlier Dunbar wrote, easting every now and then an anxious glance at the sick man, who lay Watching his pencil as it moved rapidly over the paper: "I, Aaron Gore, believing myself on the point of death, do make the following statement, which 1 solemnly declare to be true: That I was in the service of Sir Ilarry Orahame as valet when ‘hat gentleman was taken sick of the fever at Kistmun, in India, during the early part of January of last year; that there was also in attendance on the sick baronet his friend, Capt. Frank Archer; that Sir Harry Grahaino had prepared a will leaving the greater part of Ills fortune to Miss Kate Grahame, his adopted daughter; that 1 entered into conspiracy with Capt. Frank Archer to prevent the accomplishment of this act; that Capt. Archer Induced me to aid him in this fraud by a bribe of one hundred pounds and a promise of a thousand pounds if our scheme proved successful; that, in pursuance of this plan, a groom in Sir Harry’s service who lay on the point of death stricken with a fever Contracted at the same time as his master, on a hunting expedition in the

AAIiOK OOBK'S STATEMENT. Jungles, was palmed off on the doctor of the Forty-seventh regiment as the baronet; that this doctor gave the certificate of cause of death and burial permit, fully believing that the dead man was Sir Harry Grahame; that the sick baronet was carried by us to the sea coast and shipped in charge of Capt. Archer to Colombo, whence he was removed to"the interior of Ceylon; that I, acting under orders of Capt. Archer, remained at Kistmun in charge of the supposed deceased baronet's effects; that I received a telegram from .John Colburn, an attorney in London, who was also in the conspiracy, ordering me to proceed at once to Colombo, where 1 should find instructions how to reach Capt. Archer in his retreat; that 1 was to make my way toshim and warn him that two men had left England witli the purpose of discovering the whereabouts of the baronet, whom they believed to be still alive; that 1 sailed for Colombo, found a sealed packet of instructions there, prepared for such an emergency; that I started on my jonrncy in charge of Altai Uhooli, M vi the chiefs of •

Village tinder who** protection Archer was living; that we reached the end at Oar passage along the Qnagla river, sent a war-canoe down the stream with instructions to take prisoners any Europeans they might meet, and remain on guard at a given spot until they Were notified to return; that on undei* taking the journey across the wilderness I was seized with the jungle fever, of which I am now dying; and that I heartily repent of my wickedness, and Implore the forgiveness of my wronged ■aster, whose release, I humbly pray Ood, may be speedily accomplished.” The dying man signed this irregular document with feeble hand, for the currant of his life was fast ebbing. “Yon quite understand that I am going to use your papers and charts?" Dunbar asked. CHAPTER XVL AN EVELESS EDEN. There were strange doings in that chamber in the woods, Arthur Dunbar thought, when he awoke the mornings after Aaron Gore’s untimely end; for how could the corpse have been removed without his awakening? And where had the Cingalese girl betaken herself? Yes, he was alone; and the object of his sudden desertion filled him with surprise. That his young nurse had left him for good was self-apparent, for she had tied the dog by a piece of cord to the root of a tree at the entrance of the rude apartment. t He was half glad to be alone, yet regretful that the opportunity had been denied him of making her understand how grateful he Was for her tender solicitude, especially when he saw that to the last she had been mindful of his interests; for his knapsack, rifle and ammunition were placed ready to his hand, and a skin bag lay beside them filled with dried meat and the heavy, sodden maize cakes, which did duty for bread in that region. All these prepar ations spoke as plainly as word# that the unknown friends, who had been playing special providence to him, meant him to take bis immediate departure. His first act was to examine the outside of the dwelling which had so long afforded him shelter. He found it to be simply a cave in the solid rock, partly natural, partly the work of man, and doubtless one of the many little temples of liuddha, abandoned as a place of worship centuries ago, which are to be found all over this interesting country. His next task was to examine Gore's papers, the most valuable of which was a chart and a long description of the country lie would have to travel. From this it appeared that he was even now within a few days' march of the place where Capt. Frank Archer had carried the victim of his treachery. This was described as a ruined city. Arthur Dunbar had read enough to know that there were hundreds of such mysterious ruins scattered over the face of tlie country, even in neighborhoods now almost inaccessible —cities of remote eras, displaying in their moldering fragments relies of a civilization far in advance of tlie barbarian inhabitants scattered over the miserable villages in the present day. Needless to relate Arthur's tramp over the rough path through the woods, of the risks he ran and the dangers he encountered. Behold him as he steps from the dark shadows of the forest one moonlight night into the broad expanse of a lovely plain, and gazes awestruck at the ruins of a city, once magnificent, whose grandeur lias vanished like a taie that is told. The palaces have fallen, the walls have tottered to their foundation, the leopard crouches in the porch of the temple, the owl roosts in its casements, the jackal roams its deserted streets. Only the great granite slabs of Buddha, mocking time, stand perfect in their lonely grandeur. Gigantic idols, before whom millions once bowed, vacantly stare at tlie utter desolation. No man can say what fate befell those hosts of heathens, who, centuries before the time of Christ, trod the streets of this once fair city. Arthur Dunbar gazed at the sight in solemn awe; then, calling the dog to his side, he sought shelter under a ruined gateway, to await the dawn of the day, which he knew would be so fateful to him. His hours of precious sleep were short. When the blazing sun dawned, he realized more fully the beauty of his surroundings. He was on the verge of a plain studded with beautiful trees, among which the palm towered hi graceful majesty. Peacocks spread their gaudy plumage as they strutted over the green turf, pelicans floated like huge balls of snow in the air, and great white land cranes stood as still as though they were carved in marble. But hark! the gurgling, sweet, soft sounds of the bulbul and the crponing melody of the juDgle partridge. But Dunbar's spirit was too vexed for him to revel in the glory of beautiful scenery; for he fully realized the dangers of his position. Keeping under the shadows of the crumbling walls, he threaded his way through the labyrinth of ruins, his dog well at heel, and every sense acute for a coming peril; but the only things which startled him were the huge liz"ards which scuttled away to their lairs in the rocks. As for the birds aDd monkeys, they paid no attention to him, for most of them were sacred animals among the natives and utterly indifferent to the approach of man's footsteps. No sign of human habitation among these dismantled halls. Ah, yes—the scene bursts upon him with startling suddenness—an open clearing, a spacious wooden house with a broad verandah, a well built bungalow, in fact, and, sitting on a rocking chair, a man, while another stands beside him rifle in hand and evidently equipped for a banting expedition—and, both Europeans. Before he can stay him, the dog Ims sprung from his side and is fnwnlngly caressing the man reclining on the chair, literally howling in the ecstacy of his joy at the meeting. Before Dunbar can spring behind the friendly shelter of a rock, the man with the rifle advances and challenges him. At a glance Dunbar assured himself that the tall; erect, handsome man at

fifty approaching him waa the redoubtable Frank Archer, and he had shrewfi suspicions that the one In the chair was Mr Harry Orahame. Tlie young American had no time In prepare a story suitable to the occasion, thrust as he was by accident into the heat of the adventure; and it was very creditable to his natural courage and peace of mind that he advanced without a tremor on his handsome countenance—nay, even with a smile. “I presume I have the honor of addressing Capt. Archer?” he asked. “What do yon want with Capt. Archer?” was the stern response, neither denying nor admitting the identity. “Some papers belonging to him have accidentally fallen into my possession, and I have come a tedious journey to restore them to him.” “That is very kind of yon. May I ask, sir, how you came by these documents? My name is Archer, and they are doubtless mine.” “By the oddest accident that ever befell me,” Dunbar said, frankly. “I have been on a shooting expedition up the country. Coming down the lake I was attracted by a stream that led inland, and following its course reached a place in the woods where 1 oonld land. Here I was abandoned by nay coolies, and had a rough time of ft. Chance led me to a deserted temple, where I found a white man lying in the agonies of death. He had just time to give me the papers he was carrying to you and extort a promise from me that I would deliver them to you TmtOUGII THE LABYRINTH OF RUISB. when he breathed his last. Voilct tout! I am here!” “You said, sir, I think, that you were coming down the lake, when this happened?” Dunbar saw in a moment the importance of tlie question, and resolved on equvoeation. “What I said I meant," lie replied sternly, "but, had I known that my exertions would be so little appreciated, I-” His boldness disarmed suspicion. “Nay, my dear sir, do not feel disappointed at your reception. I have reason to know that persons were coming vp the river, whose motives were not as friendly as yours. Yon have done me a great service by bringing me these papers, and another by affording me the opportunity of welcoming a countryman to these wilds, where white visitors are as rare as they are highly esteemed. Fray, let me take you to your quarters—” Dunbar expressed his thanks without faltering, though he felt there was a something under the courteous manner and high-bred politeness of his host which would quickly rise to the surface If his real intentions were onee fathomed —a case of the velvet glove lined with a coat of mail. “By the bye,” said Archer, as he led him toward the bungalow, “I must prepare you for a little unpleasant experience—tlie gentleman you see sitting on the verandah—you would not take him for a lunatic, now, would you?” “Indeed, I would not,” Arthur replied, gazing with interest on the handsome, though wasted, features of the invalid, who was fondling the dog. “Yet lie is mad as a March hare, as they say—not dangerously insane; but crotchety. Why, my dear fellow, it is for his sake that I am here; for they said that the cliiyate and that sort of thing might have a beneficial effect on him—fact, I assure you.” “You are generosity itself, Capt. Archer; now, what is the form of your friend’s malady?” "Hysteria nnd tricks of the imagination —supposes himself to be persons of consequence—once he had the idea that he was the duke of Wellington; now I think liis pet illusion is that he is Sir Harry Orahame, the hero of the Indian mutiny.” “Ah, how sad; but I have met with hundreds of such cases.” “Yes, sail indeed, for the poor fellow is still in the prime of life. And now, let me warn you. We humor these little tricks of the imagination.” “Os course—l understand." “So that it would be kind of you to carry on the deception.” “Certainly. 1 will be discreet.” “Occasionally he breaks out, in which case I liavcj a reserve of brute force in the shape of a stout Englishman, once a trooper In my regiment, who lias strength enough to manage him.” “You did not tell me the name of your invalid, Capt. Archer 9” “No! And for family reasons I do not care to do so. With us he goes by the name of the particular hero with whom he for the time being is identify?, ing himself.” “As Sir Harry Orahame,for Instance?” “Exactly. Now let mo introduce you. By what name, by the bye?" Arthur Dunbar dashed boldly at a pseudonym. “Arthur—John Arthur,I** 1 ** he said,without a blush. "One of the Arthurs of Derbyshire?" “Exactly.” “Then, by Jove, 1 know one of your kinsmea—l’lers Calverly Arthur, of the Queen's Bays—as gay a lad os ever crossed a horse or .threw a main of dice."

"Ah, poor Plersf* Otftw sighed, Hypocritically. “Yes, poor beggar, be went to the dogs— lock, stock and barrel, but be Was a good sort befors he got Into the bands of the Jews.” Then followed the Introduction to the baronet, who acknowledged the ceremony with a vacant stare, and betook himself again to stroking the dogte head, which the loving creature had rested on his knee, his brown eyes peering into his master’s face with an intensity which was almost human In Its mute expression. Dun bar gladly accepted Capt. Archer’s invitation to spend a few days under his hospitable roof, his host assuring him that there was an abundance of game in the neighborhood, and that he would eventually send him on his way towards Colombo. To tell the truth, Capt. Archer was rather glad of the young man’s visit; first because it relieved the monotony of the dull life he led, and secondly because it would be • good card to play to send a young man of high family back to civilization with the report that tlie European gentleman. assuming to be Sir Harry Grahame waa merely a harmless lunatlo under the kind care of friends who sacrificed their own comfort to give him the benefit of a residence in a climate peculiar* ly adapted for his particular malady. One glance at Joe Bradley, the reserved brute force, tlie power behind the throne, was enough to convince Dunbar that he was a villain of the lowest type of human degradation, whose only redeeming quality was a blind love of ardent sp.i its which ho drank morning, noon and night, and which kept him in a state of bemuddled stupor. Two native servants completed the menage of this small establishment. One thing that had puzzled Dunba? was the absence of the hordes of Cingalese who were said to infest this region —large villages of people living in a state of semi-barbarism, stories of whose, ferocity and lawlessness had reached his ears in Colombo, where every one was eager to add his share to the terrible tales of their misdoings, lie had seen no sign of them; the country appeared almost uninhabited, and he came to the conclusion that the Information which had reached him had been either exaggerated or was altogether false. But, on the second day after liis arrival, this pleasant delusion was dispelled; for just as they were about to start on a hunting excursion Capt. Archer received a message by ■ runner, which brought a cloud on hi* brow and a torrent of strong word* from his lips. [TO BE CONTINUED.] DINING CARS DON’T PAY. Railroad Men Say They Would I>o Away with Them If They Conlcl. “It is imagined by nearly every traveler who pays seventy-five cents or on* dollar for a meal on a dining car that the company is reaping a wonderful harvest,” said a traveling passenger agent of one of the leading roads in America to a Toledo Blade reporter, “but the figures will soon convince the most skeptical that the project is a losing one to the companies and all would dispense with the dining ear service if they only could. “It is the great competition existing between the different roads and the desire on tlie part of the public for rapid transit that force the companies to place dining cars on their through trains. Ail of tlie great trunk-line road* are putting on faster and faster train* every month. “As soon as one company puts on a train that will cover the distance between any two important points quicker than the other roads can then all the rest of the roads set to work to reduce tlip time and inside of two or three months some other road will announce a train that will make the distance fit teen, thirty, forty-five minutes or an hour quicker than its rival'. “And so It goes. If any of those fast trains should stop twenty minutes at a station where a dining hall is then the trains with the dining cars attached would reach the point of destination all the way from forty minutes to an hour earlier, and the result would be that they would carry a majority of the traveling public. “It is not cheap meals the people who travel on railroads want so much to-day as rapid transportation. Last year the Pullman Car Company served five million meals on their dining cars, and profits realized did not pay one per cent, upon the investment. A leading western road last year lost thirty-six thousand dollars on the dining cai service.” FIGHT WITH A PANTHER. The Inspiration That Saved a Louisiana Planter’s Life. A sugar planter in Louisiana bought a plantation which had been lying wild for many years and was consequently swarming with game. While It was being cleared ready for cultivation he put in his time hunting. One day he shot a deer and was riding home with the game across the horse when a piercing scream resounded through the brake. lie knew it to be a panther, but had no idea it was following Him until the scream sounded again close by. Then lie noticed that the deer was bleeding a little, nnd realized that the panther was following the trail. Still he felt do fear, and was amazed as well ns horrified when the beast sprang upon his back from the rear. In an Instant he was knocked off his horse, the gun fell from his hand and the horse galloped nway with all speed. In another instant the panther fastened its teeth in the planter’s arm and it was all he could do to guard his throat. After wrestling thus tor * minute or two there catne nn inspiration that certainly saved his life. With his disengaged hand he caught up a handful of dust and (lung It into the cat’s eyes. Blinded and terrified by the loss of sight, the beast ho (vied with pain, and, relinquishing Its hold, began to claw up the road. The plantoi tvos quick to rise and get bis gun, and before the panther hod cleared Its eye* of the dust he settled It* ontlo* with two well-dtreotadbuUst*.—Holden Day*,

FOR LITTLE PEOPLE IN DAVY'B POCKET. Tbs pocket was full; but aevsra string, Nor marble, nor ball, nor any each thing. Nor knife nor pencil oonld I see As be climbed on my lap and choired it to WO With his little hand he began to pour Pile after pile of Us hoarded store On Us clean white apron, and then divide In halves this drift of a nameless tide. “Eat some, Auntie 1 It's good,” he said. Lifting a crumb that was not bread, And crunching it with Us row of pearls; "Eat some, Ann tie; it’s good lor girls.”, Never a feast like this was spread, Since the old king Nebuchadnezzar fed On the summer fields that tempting lie V nder the sun of the Syrian sky. There were tramps of camels, and ponies’ eat*, Trunks of elephants, horns of steers, Tails of ostriches, feet of docks, And wings of the fowl that crows and clucks. Clinging among these birds and beasts On which small Davy eagerly feasts Were wilted leaves, and I said: "You eat Your dinner of greens and dainty meat.” "It's just sheep’s sorrel,” he answered m*, ’And my animals are all broke, you see; It Isn’t greens, and It Isn’t meat; Take some. Auntie, It’s good to eat.” Never a pocket held before, You will quite agree, such abundant store; For all the zones hod come to say How the world, for a child, keeps holiday. —Jane L. Patterson, In Wide Awake. BABIES AND BIRDIES. The Good Example Set by Little Birds for L-ttle Children. It was bedtime. Mamma was softly singing to Bs oy-boy, while Curly head and Goldilocks contentedly ate their supper of bread and milk. In the old apple-tree near the window four baby robins were going to bed. “My dears,” said Mamma Robin, “I have a story to tell you.” “A story! Oh, jolly!” exclaimed Flipsy, Snipsy and little Peepsy. Robsy, tlie biggest, balanced himself on the edge of the nest, inquiring pertly: “Has it a moral, ma?” “Get back into the nest at once, my son,’’said Mamma Robin; “anddon’task impertinent questions.” Robsy, somewhat abashed, obeyed, and ’Mamma Robin began: “This morning I was breakfasting in the cherry-tree yonder, when suddenly, in the garden below, rose such a screaming and scuffling that I nearly fell from my perch with fright. Tlie two young mortals from the house close by were struggling with each other for the possession of a little garden spade. “ ‘Give it to me!’screamed Goldilocks, her pretty face disfigured by passion. ‘I will have it!’ ‘You shan't!’ shouted Curlyhead, scrowling fearfully, ‘I want it myself.’ Just then their mamma came out to see what the matter was, and as she led them away X heard her sorrowfully repeating: " ‘Birds in their little nests agree, and ’tis a shocking sight When children of one family fall ont, and scratch and fight.' “I flew home quite proud to think that my children, in their little nests, were examples for mortals a hundred times as big.” Here Mamma Robin paused impressively, and glanced round the nest. Robsy pretended to yawn behind his wing, while the three others dropped their little heads upon their breasts, and sighed. <T “Imagine my distress and mbrtiflcation,” she went on, “when I found a quarrel, almost as fierce as a human one, raging in my peaceful home.” Little Peepsy nestled close to Mamma Robin, crying softly, while the other* said meekly: “We're sorry, ma!” “Well,well,” said Mamma Robin, “I’ll not scold you, but don’t you think, if we birds are held up as'examples of behavior to mortal children, we should take care how we behave?” “Yes, ma, we will be good, truly!” they answered, Robsy loudest of all. “Good-night, then, and pleasant dreams,” said Mamma Robin, spreading her wings and tucking them all gently in.—Our Little Ones.

SUSY’S PLAYHOUSE. How a Little Girl Enjoyed Herself With Home-Made Playthings. Susy lived on the prairie, and had never seen a horse-car, or a shop, and as for dolls, she only knew them through pictures. “What a very unhappy little girl Susy must have been,” I hear you say. Well, she was not, by any means. During the summer she spent most of her time on her great playground—the prairie; but in the winter—when the snow filled the air, and piled high against the little house—there would be weeks sometimes when Susy never went out of doors. But she was not unhappy even then, for she had her playhouse in one corner of the living room. "A playhouse! If she could get a playhouse, why "could she not get a doll?” I hear yon ask. Now listen quietly, and I will tell you. Susy’s father and mother owned a good many books, and of those, Susy made her house. First, with the largest ones, she made the wails of her house; then with the ■mailer ones she divided it aft Into rooms, leaving little openings for doors. The house had no roof. Into the rooms' she put her people, which were large, middle-sized, and small spools from her mother's basket. The large and mid-dle-sized spools were mother and father; the little ones, children, and one very large one, was the grandfather. Oh! the scrapes that those spool children got Into. One boy—through disobedience—was almost caught by the Indians—which were black spools, with bits of bright worsted for feathers. Another was lost out on the prairie In a blizzard, and was only saved by hi* faithful dog, and dragged Into the house by oae am. The prairie was* targe space under the table. Then the spool children had to learn to read, just as Busy Blake had learned to read —and a hard time they often had, for spool children do not lore their book* No, Susy was net unhappy; she sang and plajed over tsr book-playhouse, with her spool-people, far more chewfolly and contentedly than many a little girl with a real playhouse and “trail doll*”—Little Man and Women.

CARAWAY FLOWERS. ■Mb Seed Planted Grew a Who'le Pet Itt Itself. When little Roy and his mother morafl Into their new house, there were ma flowers in the front yard. Roy was 80 fond of flowers that this was a great flrief to him. “I am going to plant some flowero Fight away,” he said; “I want our front yard to look like the one next door," for the yard of the next house, which was divided by a hedge from their own, was full of all kinds of lovely flowers. As soon as the boxes were unpacked Roy got out his little spade aDd rake and spent the whole morning digging In a plot of ground under the diningroom windows. He was too busy to notice that a little girl was peeping at him through the thick hedge, very much interested in hik work. “What are you doing, Hqy7” asked hie mother that afternoon, when she saw him standing by his little plot of ground with a tin cup in his hand. “I am planting some seeds, mamma; I found them in a little tin box in one at yonr dishes,” Roy answered. “Let me see,” said his mother. Roy ran to her with the tin cup. It was half full of caraway seeds that Mr*. Helm had bought to put In cake. She laughed as she handed the cup* back to him. “Do you expeot to raise caraway flowers?” she asked. “Yes, mamma, and I hope they’ll b* pretty,” Roy answered. “Anyhow, they are all the seeds I could find.” He made little holes In the ground, and dropped the caraway seeds in, covering them up, and patting the earth down with his fat little hands. And all the time the little girl next door wa* watching him through the hedge. She had heard what he had said to his moth er. The next morning Roy got up very early. “I want to go ont to pick you some flowers, mamma,” he said. “There won't be any flowers there, dear,” said his mother. But Roy went ont to see, and soon he came racing back with his hands full of geraniums and pansies. “Look, look, mamma,” he said, all my caraway seeds have come up, and every one has grown a whole pot for itself in the ground. I can just see the rims.” Mrs. Helm went to the dining-room window and looked out. Roy’s garden was indeed full of flowers. She did not understand it until she saw the little girl, with a smiling face, looking through the hedge. Then she knew where the flowers had come from. Roy called them his “caraway flowers” and every morning all Bummer long he had a little bouquet to bring his mother to put on the breakfast table. And the little girl next door used to laugh to herself when she saw him picking them.—Florence B. Hallowell, in Examiner. ' 1 A DINNER PARTY. How Harry Ate Dinner With Some !*• tlngulshed Gentlemen* Harry Bamum had not lived many weeks in Mapleford, but in that short time he had grown to he a fast friend of Walter Morgan's, and he thought Walter the very nicest boy in the world. So one Saturday morning, when Walter came to ask Harry to spend the day with him, it was no wonder that Harry was delighted to go. But he was a very bashful boy, and had never seen Walter’s father and mother, or his sister, and as they neared the house he began to grow nervous at thought of it. He comforted himself with thinking that if they were at all like Walter he should not be afraid of them. Then anew fearstruok him. “There won't he any company at your house, will there?” he asked. “Well,” said Walter. In an off-hand way, “there'll be a railroad director, and a deacon, and a Sunday-school sn* perintendent, and a mayor, and a bank president, and a poet, and a civil engineer to dinner—that's all!” “Ah!” gasped Harry. “Why, It’* a dinner party!” and he drew back. "Nonsense!” said Walter. "Come along! I won’t, let anybody hurt you,” and his eyes twinkled mischievously. It was only after much urging that Harry could be induced to go on; hut even the thought of a dinner party could not let him be sad in Walter’s gay company; aqd Walter’s mother and slater were so kind to their little guest that he half forgot that he disliked strangers. When dinner was announced, Hams looked In vain for the great men with the high-sounding titles, whom Walter had said were to be there. But there were only Mr. and Mrs. Morgan, Walter’s sister, and the twq beys. What could It mean! Harry found heneed not be at all afraid of Walter’*, father; he said all sorts of pleasant things to Harry, and put choice bitsof this and that upon his plate; till Hairy thought Walter's father wae almost aa nice as Walter himself. Finally, he found a chance to say-,. In a low voice, to his friend! "The other folks dldnft come, did they?” Then Walter laughed outright, aaba said: "Why, father 1* all of. them!” “Walter!” exclaimed Mr. Morgan, la what was meant to be a item ton*; bat In which was a good deal of fun, “h*V§ you been playing that stale jolrsagalnf But Walter, though ft bit of a tease, had told nothing but the tra*h, fur his father was ft railroad’ director, mayor, poet, and all the rest; and Harry liked Walter none the less that he had mada him the victim of his pet Joke. —Youth’a Companion. - "A-Orowtoa. 1 * ■ i Little Charles cam* into hi* father’* store tired and perspiring. “Witt Charles,” said his father, “what 1* in* matter with you? What hate you been doing?” "O papa, I’ve been “Crowing?” “Why, yea! Don’t yon know? With n rw bar!"— Yeuth’u Comp*akm._^^____ -The sms* of Mr Miration la not *; contrtvauce to take tor.—Cl**. D. Ham*