People's Pilot, Volume 3, Number 38, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 9 March 1894 — Page 7

HER PICTUKE. *o long—a hundred years agol The orchard stood all white, Because her face ha* caught the glow Of summer just In sight, ltd she looked beyond its boughs, I know, For her eyes bold Heaven's light * My Cicely," the letters old Seem written through a tear; How tenderly the story's told Of him who put them here! The passing of her hair’s young gold Took light from all the year. • My Cicely”—’twere easily said To such a one as sho: Me thinks the leaves they whispered, The blossoms bent to see. When on God’s world her smile it shed As she doth smile at mol "My Cicely," somewhere to-day The grass blows at your feet; Yet these old letters plainly say How one spring was complete. Because that time you passed this way Earth found a thing so sweetl ••Virginia W Cloud, in Ladies’ Home Journal.

MATT A TALE OF A CARAVAN

BY ROBERT BUCHANAN.

CHAPTER IV.— Continued.

Oh, how hot it was oat there on the widelcss waves! For some time Matt pulled on in silence, but at last she could bear it no longer and rested on her oars, with the warm perspiration streaming down her freckled face. “Pull away, Matt,” snid the man, not looking at her. “You ain’t tired, not you!” With a long-drawn breath Matt drew in the oars, and, swift as thought, peeled c-1f her jacket and pulled off her hat, leaving her head exposed to the burning sun. Now, the silk gown she wore had evidently been used by its original owner as a festal raiment, for it had been cut low, and had short sleeves. So Matt’s shoulders and arms were perfectly bare, and very white they looked in contrast with her sunfreckled hands, her sun-burnt face and her warm brown neck. Her bust was as yet undeveloped, but her neck and shoulders were fine, and her arms beautifully molded. Altogether, her friend the painter, could he have seen her just then, would have regarded her with increasing admiration. Freed from the incumbrance of her Jacket, she now pulled away with easy grace and skill. Further and further the boat receded from the shore, till the promontorj they had left was a couple of miles away. Suddenly William Jones made a sign to the girl to stop, and stood up in the boat to reoonnoiter. The object at which he bad been gazing so long was now clearlj visible, tt consisted of something black doating on a glassy stretch of water, aad sur-

“PULL AWAY, MATT,” SAID THE MAN.

pounded by fragments of loose scum or foam; it was to all appearance motionless, but was, in reality, drifting wearily shoreward on the flowing tide. William Jones now evinced increasing excitement, and urged his companion to hurry quickly forward —which she did, putting out all her strength in a series of rapid and powerful strokes. Another quarter of an hour brought them to the spot where the object was floating. Trembling with eagerness, the man leaned over the boat’s side with outstretched hands. As he did so, Matt turned her head away with a curious gesture of dread. “What is it, William Jones?” she asked, not looking at him. “It isn’t—you know—one o’ them?” “No, it ain’t,” replied the man, leaning over the side of the coble and tilting the gunwale almost to the water’s edge. “Too early for them, Matt. If they comes it won’t be till Sunday’s tide. They’re down at the bottom now and ain’t yet rose. Easy! Lean t’other wayl So there —look out!” As he tpoke he struggled with something in the water, and at last, with an effort which almost capsized the boat, pulled it in. Matt looked now and saw that it was a small, flat, wooden trunk, covered with pieces of slimy weed. Floating near it were several pieces of splintered wood which seemed to have formed part of a boat. These, too, William secured and threw down on the footboard beneath him.

“It’s a box, that’s what it is,” cried Matt. “It’s a box, surely,” said Jones. “And it’s locked, too. And, look ye now. I misdoubt there’s nowt inside, or mayhap it would have sunk. Howsomever, we’ll see!” After an unavailing - effort to force it open with his hands, he drew forth a large clasp-knife, worked away at the lock, and tried to force open the lid, which soon yielded to his efforts, as the action of the salt water had already begun to rot the wood. On being thus opened, the box ■'was found to contain only a couple of coarse linen shirts, an old newspaper, two or three biscuits and half a bottle of some dark fluid. After examining these articles one by one William Jones threw them back into the box with gestures of disgust, retaining only toe bottle, which he unsorlred anu applied to his lips. “Hum!” ho said, smacking his lips end nodding at Matt. Then, recorktng the bottle carefully, be returned it

tc the box, and, standing up, reconnoitered the sea on every side. But nothing else rewarded his eager search; he threw himself down in the stern of the boat and ordered Matt to pull back to shore. As they went he closed one eye thoughtfully, and mused aloud: “Night before last it blew half a gale from the south’ard. This here box came awash from the east coast of Ireland. Maybe it was a big ship as was lost; them planks was a part of a wessel’s long-boat More’s coming if the wind don’t come up from the nor’rard. The moon's full to-night and to-morrow. I’ll tell the old ’un, and keep a sharp lookout off the Caldron p’int” Matt rowed on steadily till they came within a quarter of a mile of the shore, when William Jones stood up again and reconnoitered the prospect inland. “Pull in, Matt!” he said, after a minute, “all’s square!” Soon afterwards the boat reached the rocks. William Jones sprang out, and, running up to the platform above,took another survey. This being satisfactory, he ran down again and lifted the box out of the boat, carrying it with ease under one arm. “Make the boat fast,” be said, in a husky whisper; “and bring them bits o’ wood along with yon for the fire. I’ll cut on to the cottage with this here. It ain’t much, but it’s summat; so I’ll carry it clean out o’ sight before them precious coast guards come smelling about.” With these words he clambered up the rocks with his burden, leaving Matt to follow leisurely in his wake.

CHAPTER V. CONCLUDES WITH A KISS. Not far from the spot where William Jones had landed, and removed some little distance from the deserted village, with its desolate main street and roofless habitations, there stood a low, one-storied cottage, quite as black and forbidding looking as any of the abandoned dwellings in its vicinity. It was built of stone and roofed with slate, but the doorway was composed of old ship’s timber, and the one small window it contained had originally formed the window of a ship’s cabin. Over the door was placed, like a sign, the woodei'- figure-head of a young woman, naked To the waist, holding a mirror in her, hand and regarding herself with remarkable complacency, despite the fact tl\at accident had deprived her of a nose and one eye, and that the beautiful r*jd complexion and jet-black hair she had once possessed had been entirely washed away by the action of the elements, leaving her all over of a leprous pallor. The rest of the building, oti I have suggested, was of sinister blackness, though here and there it was sprinkled with wet sea sand. Sand, too, lay on every side, covered a small patch originally meant for a garden, and drifted thickly up to the very door. To this cottage William Jones ran with his treasure-trove, and, entering without ceremony, found himself in almost total darkness; for the light which crept through the blackened panes of the small window was only just sufficient to make darkness visible. But this worthy seaside character, having, in addition to a cat’s predatory instincts, something of scat’s power of vision, clearly discerned everything in the chamber he just entered —a rude, storri-paved kitchen, with an open fireplace, and no grate, black rafters overhead, from which suspended sundry lean pieces of bacon, a couple of woo len chairs, a table and, in one correr, a sort of bed in the wall, where a human figure was reposing. Setting dow n the trunk he marched right over to the bed, and unceremoniously shook the Individual lying upon it, whom he discovered to be a man, muttering in a heavy sleep. Finding that he did not wake with shaking, William Jones bent down and cried lustily in his ear; “Wreck! wreck ashore!”

The effect was instantaneous. The figure rose up in bed, disclosing the head and shoulders of a very old man, who wore a red cotton nightcap, and whose hair and beard were 1 white as snow. “Eh? Wheer? Wheer?” he cried, in a shrill treble, looking vacantly around him. “Wake up, ?Id ’un!” seizing him and shaking him again, “it’s me, William Jones.” “William? Is it my son William?” returned the old man, peering out into the darkness. “Yes father. Look, ye now, you was a-talking again in your sleep, you was. A good thing no one heerd you but ycur son William. Some o’ these days you’ll be letting summat out, you will, if you go on like this.” The old man shook his head feebly, then, clasping his hands together in a kind of rapture, he looked at his son and said:

“Yes, William, I was a-dreaming. Oh, it was such a heavingly dream! I was a-standing on the shore, William, and it was a-blowing hard from the east, and all at once I see a ship, as big 1 as an Incuaman, come in wi’ all sail set. and go ashore; and Ilooked round, William dear, and there was no one nigh but you and me: and, when she broke up, I see gold and silver and jewels come washing ashore just like floating weeds, and the drowned, every one of ’em, had rings on their fingers, and gold watches and cheens, and, more’n that, that their hands were full of shining gold; and one of ’em —a lady, William —had a bright diamond ring, as big as a walnut: but when I tried to pull it off, it wouldn’t come; and just as I pulled outmyleetle knife to cut the finger off, and put it in my pocket, you shook me, William, and woke me up. Oh, it was a heavingly dream!” William Jones had listened with illdlsguised interest to the early part of this speech, but nn its conclusion, he gave another grunt of nn dissembled disgust ' “Well, you’re awake now, old *un; sc jump up. I’ve brought summat home. Look sharp* and get a light*”

Thereupon the old man, who was fully dressed, in it pair of old woolen trousers and a guernsey, slipped from the bed and began fumbling about the room. He soon found what he wanted —a box of matches and a rude, homemade caDdle, fashioned of a long, coarse reed dipped in sheep’s tallow; but owing to the fact that he was exceedingly feeble and tremulous, he was so long in lighting up that his gentle son grew impatient. “Here, give ’un to me!” said WiUiain. “You're wasting them matches just as if they cost nowt A precious father you are and no mistake.” The candle being lighted and burning with a feeble flame he informed the old man of what he had found. In a moment the latter was down on his knees, opening the box and greedily

MONK STOOD IN THE DOORWAY.

examining its contents. But William pushed him impatiently away and closed the lid with a bang. “Tbeer, enough o’ that, old ’un! You hold the light while I carry the box in and put it away.” “All right, William dear—all right,” returned the old man, obeying gleefully. “I know’d we should have luck, by that beautiful dream.” The two men—one holding the light and the other carrying the trunk—passed through a door at the back of the kitchen and entered an inner chamber. This chamber, too, contained a window, which was So blocked up, however, by lumber of all kinds that little or no daylight entered. Piled up in great confusion were old sacks, some partly full, some empty, colls of rope, broken oars, broken fragments of ships’ planks, rotten and barnacled, a small boat’s rudder, dirty sails, several oilskin coats, bits of iron ballast and other flotsam and jetsam; so that the chamber had a salt and fish like smell, suggesting the hold of some vessel. But in one corner of the room was a small wooden bed, with a mattress and coarse bed clothing, and hanging on a nail close to it were certain feminine attire which the owner of the caravan would have recognized as the garb worn by Matt on the morning of her first appearance. Placing the box down, William Jones carefully covered it with a portion of an old sail.

“It’s summat, but it ain’t much,” ho muttered, discontentedly. “Lucky them coast guards didn’t see me come ashore. If they did, though, it wouldn’t signify; for what’s floating on the sea belongs to him as finds it.” A sound startled him as he spoke, and, looking round suspiciously, he saw Matt entering the room loaded with broken wood. But she was not alone; standing behind her in the shadow was a man —none other, indeed, than Monk, of Mpnkshurst. While Matt entered the room to throw down her load of wood Monk stood in the doorway. His quick eye had noted the movements of father and son. “More plunder, William Jones?” he asked, grimly. In a moment William Jones was transformed. The keen expression of his face changed to one of mingled stupidity and sadness; he began to whine. “More plunder, Mr. Monk?” he said. “No, no; the days for finding that is gone. Matt and me has been on the shore foraging for a bit of firewood—that be all. Put it down, Matt; put it down.” Matt did as she was told; opening her arms, she threw her load into a corner of the room; then William Jones hurried the whole party back into the kitchen. The men seated themselves on benches, but Matt moved about the room to get a light. The light, as well as everything else, was a living illustration of the meanness of William Jones. It consisted, not of a candle, but of a long rush which had been gathered from the marshes by Matt and afterwards dried and dipped in grease by William Jones. Matt lighted it and fixed it in a little iron niche which was evidently made for the purpose and which was attached to a table near the hearth. When the work was finished she threw off her hat and jacket, retired to the iurther end of the hearth and sat down on the floor. During the whole of this time Mr. Monk had bee) i watching her gloomily; and he had been watched in his turn by William Jones. At last the latter spoke: “Matt’s growed,” said he; “she’s growed wonderful. Lord bless us! she’s a bit changed she is sin that night when you found her down on the shore. Why, her own friends wouldn’t know her!” Mr. Monk stared and frowned- “ Her friends?” he said —“what friends?” “Why, them as owns her,” continued William Jones. “If they wasn’t all drowned In the ship wnat she came ashore from, they must be somewheer. Mayhap some day they’ll find her and vreward me for bringin’ her up a good gal—that’s what I alius tell her.” “So that’s what you always tell h%r, do you?” returned ' Monk, grimly. “Then you’re a fool for your pains. The girl’s got no friends —haven't I told you that before?'* “Certainly you have, Mr. Monk.” re

turned William Jones, meekly; “ami look ye now, I think” — “You’ve no right to think,” thundered Monk; 4 ’you’re not paid for thinking; you've paid for keeping the girl, and what more do you want? Matt,” he continued, is a softer tone, "come to me.” But Matt didn’t hear—or at any rate, did not heed, for she made no movement. Then Monk, gazing intently at her, gave vent to the same remark that William Jones had done a few hours before. “Where have yon been to-day, ” he said, “to have on that frock?” Again Matt hung her head and wm silent. Monlc repeated his question, and, seeing that he was determined to have an anfcwer, sho threw up hex head defiantly and said, with a tone of pride in her voice: “I put it on to bo took!" “To be took?” repeated Monk. “Yes,” returned Matt; “to have my likeness took. There be a painter chap here that lives in a cart; he's took it.” It was curious to note the changes in Mr. Monk’s face. At first ho’ tried to appear amiable; then his face gradually darkened into a look of angry suspicion. Matt never once withdrew her eyes from him —his very presence seemed to arouse aU that was bad in her, and she glanced at him through her tangled locks in much the same manner as a shaggy terrier puppy might gaze at a bull which it would fain attack, but feared on account of its superior strength. “Matt,” said Mr. Monk again, “como here.”

This time she obeyed; she rose slowly from her seat and went reluctantly to his side. “Matt, look me in the face,” he said. “Do you know who this painter is?” Matt shook her head. “How many times have you Been him?” “Twice.” “And what has ho said to you?” “A lot o’ things.” “TeU me one thing.” “He asked me who my mother was, and I told him I hadn’t got hone.” Mr. Monk’s face once more grew black as night. “So,” he said, “poking and prying and asking questions. I thought aa much. He’s a scoundrelly vagabond.” “No, he ain’t,” said Matt, bluntly. “Matt, my girl,” said Mr. Monk, taking no notice of her interruption, “I want you to promise me something.” “What is it?” “Not to go near that painter again!" Matt shook her head. [to be continued.]

YELLOWSTONE FOSSIL FORESTS.

Siliclfled Stamps or Trees Which Dloomod Thousands of Years Ago. These standing %ilicified stumps and fallen trees were found varying in diameter from one to seven feet, says • writer in the Popular Science Monthly. Two sections of trees were found so perfect that the rings of annual growth throughout could be counted, except a few, fifteen or twenty, near the heart and bark. One tree measuring three feet in diameter, had two hundred and twenty-two rings of growth, and another of threo feet five inches in diameter had two hundred and fortythree —this without any allowance for a few missing rings at the center and toward the bark. The larger of these trees was half the size the largest seen. Many were found varying in diameter from five to seven feet, but none of this size was seen exposing the rings throughout the entire section. Judging from the closeness of the rings in certain well-preserved por tions of these larger trees many of them must have been at least five hundred years in attaining their growth, if the rings were truly annual. Taking one-half this number, two hundred and fifty years, as the more probable age of the successive forests at this point, it is seen that the earliest of these tree? were living more than two thousand years before the last, during which time there were alternating conditions of growth and accumulation •! volcanic material. This estimate mab?.u no allowance for the time necessary for the formation of a soil upon th% volcanic material, which at first sight would seem necessary for the support of such a vigorous vegetation. It iD not probable, however, that any considerable time was necessary for thix purpose, for, with rare exceptions, each succeeding forest took root and began to grow very promptly after the destruction of its predecessor. In most cases the destroying flood consisted of mud, ashes, conglomerate and other volcanic material, which formed an excellent base for vegetation, and it wai doubtless covered with a luxuriant growth as soon as it was dried or cooled sufficiently, and this would requiro only a short time.

High Stools for Kitchens.

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French English.

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McCLURE’S MAGAZINE For 1894. Thr editors of McClure’s Mage, sine aim to publish the Best Literature ...AND THE... Mast Interesting Knowledge End to make every line in the mag*. »ine both instructive and enter, taining. 100 r\BN AND WOnEN PAMOU? Ilf uteraturb and achievement win b* represented In McClure's Magazine, either •• authors of articles or as participants I* dialogues and Interviews, or as subsets si articles. Stevenson’s New Novel. A ROMANCE OP THE _ SOUTH SEAS, by Robert Louis Stevenson and Lloyd L Nm Ccbourne, will run through four rt •umbers, beginning with Jan- V&A. sfl »ery. This story is one of thriU- jJjV/ jT ing adventure and mysterious happenings, reminding one as “ Treasure Island,” and of “ The “ Wrecker." •*' William Dean Howells Will contribute a serial steep rjaA t 0 nin through three numbers, •-'rN. more especially for younger O readers, and, like all his stories Jp for young people, it will be juM “ interesting to their eldsrs. i vy' Short Stories *•"«■» will be contributed by moap well-known writers, among others i Bret Harte, Joel Chandler Harris, Conan Doyls, Frank R. Stockton, Harriet Prescstt Spofford, “Q" Clark Russell, Rudysrd Kipling, Octave Thanet, and I. Zangwlll. Real Conversations. Intervlsws, Intimate Personal Sketches, bsuP Studies of dreat flan In Action, will contlnua to be marked features of coming issues. Under this heading are announced the following : D. L. HOODY, the nan and his work, bp PROFESSOR HENRY DRUfiriOND. This is the first complete study es Mr. Moody's career which has ever been prepared. Gladstone, Tu/J/'' As a Leader of Men, f/ ft y\[ By HAROLD FREDERIC. <ll, Mm Philip D. Armour. By ARTHUR WARREN. Mr. Armour is probably the greatest merchant In the history of tho world. He is also a great philanthropist. This article will present the many sides of his activities, and will be fully illustrated. Bismarck, U JOT At his Greatest, ARCHIBALD FORBBR. Ruskin at Home. By n. H. SPIELHAN. Pierre Loti, A personal sketch, by d-sOO®. HADADB ADAn. (4 Alphonse Daudet, Jules Vsrns, | Sardou, Andrew Carnegie ' Archdeacon Farrar, omtm s- —n Dumas, ths Youngsr. H Y\ Camll. Flamarion, CHARLES A. DANA * re the * ub i ecU ol oxides hi X - tlle f° rm °f IntetTlews, in which fVsgjg* the matter is mainly autobioWmaYa&ljjk/Mfly graphical. These articles in many cases give full length portraits of their subjects, the stories oi Out their lives, struggles, achievements and successes. These articles will be fully Illustrated.

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