Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 10, Number 40, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 3 April 1880 — Page 6

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THE MAIL

§#§a

A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE.

THE BAB Y'8 P1C1 URE.

"'Wo mut carry oar beautiful baby to town Bome«day when the weather Is fair," we •aid "We must dress him op In his prettiest -gown,

And wave the hair on the top of his head For all hhi coualus and all his aunt* Declare it's shameful and every way blameiul iTo have bad no pictare of him this year." Me was three months old when we took blra before,

As he lay like a lamb on his mamma's lap And the darling now has a twelvemonth more

Of bewildering graces from sock to cap. Just look at his dear little langhing face At therosebad mouth, at the violet eyes! Why, the photograph taker, that vanity shaker,

Will think this time we have brought him a prize! "We carried our cklld to the town one day,

The skies were soft and the air was cool, We robed him richly in fine arrayRibbons and laces, and Bwissand tulle. He looked like a prince in the artist's chair,

Sitting erect, and brave, and grand, With his big red apple he scarce could grapple,

Held close in the palm of his dimpled hand,

"He is taking it now!" We held our breat h! We furtively peeped from behind the screen!

What a pose!" we whispered, then, still as deatu, "Waited—and baby was all serene "Till the critical moment, when, behold,

The sun wascatchlng that lovely look, Such a terrible roar. It shook the floor! And that was the picture the swift son took:

A wrinkled face and close shut eyes, And a mouth that's opened so very wide, That our dear little sister, slryl wise,

Declares she can see the cry inside. Aunts anu cousins and grandmothers dear, Haven't got over their anger yet LBut we thought twas fuuay and paid our money, jcor that strange phase oi our precious jet,

Ah! children, older than baby, think, Dear little children blithe and sweet, With your curls of gold and your cheeks of plnu. ,,

Au'i your naughty tempers, sudden and fleet— What an awful tlilug it would be lor you

If un artist should happen along some

And observing the pouting, the frown or the floating, ,, Should take a picture of you that way! —Christian Register.

Scribner's Monthly.

A Summer's Diversion.

3,1?UA SCHAYER.

•For one /don't trust them yallerhaired, smooth spoken women! I never see one on 'em yet that wa'n't full o' Sa-

It was Mrs. Rtioda Squires who uttered the above words, and she uttered them with considerable unnecessary clatter of the dishes she was engaged in •washing. Abby Ann, a lank, dyspeptio looking girl of fifteen or sixteen, was wiping the same, while the farmer hlm«seir was putting the finishing touches to his evening toilet. That toilet oonslsted, as usual, of a good wash at the pump, the turning down of his shirt sleeves, and a brief, application of the family comb, which occupied convenient wall pocket at one hide of the small kitchen mirror-rafter which the worthy farmer •considered himself in full dress, and ready for any social emergency likely to occur at Uigglns' Four Corners. •No,' suid Abby Ann, in response to her mother's remark, 'she aiut no beauty but her clothes fit elegant. I wish I hed the pattern o' that white polonay o' thorn, but I wouldn't ask her for It—no, not to save her!' she added, In praiseworthy emulation ol the maternal

S^'Oh,

the

you women folks!' interposed

the farmer. 'You're as full of onvy an' back bitin' us a beeohnut's full o' meat! Beauty! Why, ye don't know what beauty means. I toll yon she is a beauty—a real high steppln' out an' out beauty!'

Iitt

'She's as old as 1 be. every bit!' Mrs. Squires snapped. 'An'she

color

halntgotno

in her cheeks—au' a widder at that!' ... a Farmer Squires turned slowly around and deliberately surveyed the stooping, wlrv figure of his wile from the small, rusty 'pug' which adorned the back of her aggressive little head, and the enereetlo, sharp, moving elbows, down

to

hem ol hor stiffly starched calico

^Look hero, Rhody,' said he, a quizzical look on his shrewd, freckled countenance, 'you've seen Gil Stmmonses thoroughbred? Wall—that mare Is nigh onto two year older'n our old Sal, but I do Bw ft

Undoubtedly the red signal which flamed from Mrs. Sqires's sallow cheeks warned her husband that bo had said more than enough, for he came to a sudden pause, selzsd upon a pair of colossal cowhide shoes, upon which he had just bestowed an unusual degree of attention in the way of polish, and disappeared in the direction of the barn. •He's list as big fool as ever!' she eiaoulated. 'The Lord knows I didn't want no city lolks a wearin'out my carpet#, an' drinktn* up my cream, an' tarnlti' up their noses at me! But no— ever eenco he heared that Deacon Fogg -.made nigh unto a htindord dollars last year a keepin' summer boarders, his

Angers has been itchlu'an' his mouth a waterin\ an' nothiu' for'l but I must alave myself to death al summer for a pack o' stuekup

She paused—lor a soft rustle of garments and a faint perfume filled the kitchen, and turning, Mrs. Squires beheld the object of her vituperation standing before ber.

She was certainly yellow haired, and though not 'every bit as old* as her hostess, a woman whose first youth was past: yet so far as delicately turned outlines, aud pearly fairness of skin go, she might

have

U|jer

S

been twenty. The eyes

which met Mrs. Squires' own pale orbs were ot an intense, yet soft* black, heavy lidded and languid, aud looked out from beneath their go.'den fringes with aeaim, slaw if hardly worth tfoeir look «t all. A

suiile,

putelv eo«ivetwsal, yet ex-

oeedlug!y»weet the^rrar-iouso*** of good omnilnR, srled the tine, wott

mere presence made the room

aeem small ana m«*«, and Mrs. Squire#, into whose soured and jealous usiure the aspect of be od grace ale like a sharp add, .-.l under a freshly awakened sense of her own physical insignificance.

She received her nwt with a defiant insolence, which eeold however her evident ct.»arrM»men't, Abby Ann retreated tgnominlooaly t* Mad the gutry door. 'I ca—" to wk if Mr. Sqnlres rocc^dod In find I nome ooe to take us at,' Mid the lady. *He thought be cooid.'

Her voice was deep toned and sweet, her manner conciliatory. 'I believe he did,' Mrs. Squires re-j plied, curtly. 'Abby Ann, go tell your father Mis' Jerome wants him.'

Abby Ann obeyed, aDd the lady passed out into the front hall, and to the open door. A cascade of filmy lace and muslin floated irom her shoulders and trailed across the shiny oilcloth.

As the last frill swept across the threshold, Mrs. Squires closed the door with a ebarp report.

Before the door a little girl was playing on the green slope, while an elderiy woman with a grave, kindly face sat looking on. ..

Farmer Squires, summoned by his daughter, came round the corner of the bouse. He touched bis straw hat awkwardly. •They's a young feller,' he said, 'that lives a mile or so up the river, that has a tiptop team—a kivered kerridge an' a fustrate young boss. His folks has seen better days, the Grangers has, an'Rob is proud &3 Lucifer, but tbey's a big mortgage on the farm, an' he's 'mazln ambitious ter pay it off. So when I told bim about you, be said he'd see about it. He wouldn't let no woman drive his hoss, but he thought mebbe he'd drive ye round bisself. Shouldn't wonder if he was up to-night.' 'I wish he might come,' said the lady. •My physician said I must ride every day, and I am too cowardly to drive if the horse were ever so gentle.' 'No—I guess you couldn't hold in Rob's colt with them wrists,' said he, glancing admiringly at the slender, jeweled hands. 'I shouldn't wonder if that was Rob now.'

At this moment whefels were beard rapidly approaching, and a carriage appeared in sight. A young man was driving He held the reins with firm hand, keeping his eyes fixed upon the fine stepping animal, turned dexterously up the slope, brought the horse to a standstill before the door and sprang lightly to the ground.

He was a remarkable looking young fellow, tall above the average, and finely proportioned. Hair and mustache were dark, eyes of an indescribable dusky gray, and shaded by thick, black brows, A proud yet frank smile rested on his handsome face. 'Hello, Rob,' said Farmer Squires. 'Here's the lariy that wanted ter see ye. Mister Granger, Mis'Jerome.'

The lady bowed, with a trace of hauteur in her manner at first, but she looked with one ol her slow glances into the young man's face, and then extended her band, and the white fingers rested for an Instant in his brown palm. Granger returned her greeting with a bow far from awkward, while a rich color surged into his sun browned face. •That is a magnificent horse of yours, Mr. Granger" said Mrs. Jerome. "I hope he is tractable. I was nearly killed in a runaway once, and since then I am very timid.' 'Oh, ho is very gentle,' said Granger, caressing the fiery creature's beautiful head, 'if you like, I will take you for a drive now—if it is not too late.' 'Certainly, I would like It very much. 'Nettie,' she said, turning to the woman, 'bring my hat and Llll's, and some wraps.'

The woman obeyed, and In a few moments Mrs. Jerome and her child were whirling over the lovely country road. Their departure was witnessed by the entire Squires iamily, including an obese dog of Bomnolect habits, and old Sal, the gray mare, who thrust her serious face over the stone wall opposite, and gazed contemplatively down the road after the retreating carriage. •Do you think you will be afraid?' asked Granger, as be belrad Mrs. Jerome to alight. 'Oh no,' she answered, with a very charming smile* 'The horse is as docile as he is fiery. I shall enjoy the riding immensely. Do

you

every day?' '1 shall try to—at least for the present'

Mrs. Jerome watched the carriage out of sight. 'How verv interesting!'she was thinking. 'Who would dream of finding such a face here! And yet—I don't knowone would hardly find such a face out in the world. Perhaps it will not be so dull after all. I thought they were all like Squires!'

For several succeeding weeks there was seldom a day when the fiery black horse and comfortable old carriage did not appear before the farm house door, and but few of those days when Mrs. Jerome did not avail herself of the opportunity, sometimes accompanied by the child and Nettie, oftener by the child alone.

The interest and curiosity with which young Granger had inspired Mrs. Jerome in the beginulng, deepened continually. A true son of the soil, descendant of a long line of farmers, whence came this remarkable physical beauty, this refinod, almost poetic, temperament, making it impossible for him, In spile of the unconventionallty of his manner, to do a rude or ungraceful act? It was against tradition, she thought— against precedent. It puzzled and fascinated her. Sbe found It Impossible to treat him as an inferior, notwithstanding the relation in which he stood to her. Indeed, she soon ceased to think of that at all. The books she took with her upon their drives were seldom opened. She found it pleasanter to lie back In the corner of the carriage, and watch the shifting panorama of hill and forest and lake through which they were driving. That the handsome head with its clustering locks and clear cut profile, which was always between ber and the landscape, proved a serious obstructic to the view, and that her eyes quite as often occupied themselves with studylog the play of those mobile lips, and the nervous tension of those sun browned bands upon the reins, were, perhaps, natural sna unavoidable.

She talked with him a great deal, too, in her careless, fluent way, or rather to him, for the conversation on Granger part was limited to an occasional eager question, a flash of his fine eyes, or an appreciative smile at some witty turn. Sho talked of many things, but with delicate Gust avoided such themes as might prove embarrassing to an unsophisticated mind—including books.

It was, therefore, with a little shock of surprise that she one day found him buried in the pages of Tennyson, a volume of whose poems she had left upon the carriage seat while she and Li 11 explored a neighboring pasture for rasp­

He was "lying at full length in the sweet fern, one arm beneath his head, bis face e**rer and absorbed. He did not notice ber approach, and abe had been standing near him for some moments before l\e became aware of ber presence. Then, closing the book, be sprang to bit feet. •So you read poetry, Mr. Granger?' site said, arching ber straight brows sitebUy, 'Sometimes,' be answered. *1 hare read a good many of the old poets. Mv grandfather left a small library, which came into my possession.' •Then you have read Shakapeare began the lady. •Yes/ interrupted Granger, 'Sbak-

TEHRlU HAUTE SATURDAY

speare, and Milton, and Pope, and Burns. Is it so strange?' he asked, turningupon her one of his swift glances. •If one plowman may write poetry another plowman may read it, I suppose.*

He spoke with bitterness, a deep flush rising to his temples. •And have you read modern authors too 'Very little. There is no opportunity here. There is nothing here—nothing!' he answered, flinging aside a handful of leaves he had unwittingly gathered. •Wby do you stay here, then

The question sprang, almost without volition, from ber lips. Sbe would gladly have recalled it the next moment.

Granger gave her another swift elance, and it seemed to ber that he repressed the answer which was already upon bis tongue. A strange, bitter smile came to his lips. •Let the shoe maker stick to Lis last, he said, turning toward the carriage, •and the farmer to his plow.'

During the homeward ride be was even more taciturn than nsuaL At the door, Mrs. Jerome offered bim the volume of TennyBon. He accepted It, with bnt few words.

When he returned it, a few days later, it opened of itself, and between the leaves lay a small cluster of wild roses, and some lines were faintly marked. Tbey were these: "When she made pacse, I knew not for delight

Because with sudden motion from tne

She raiseinier piercing orbs and filled with light The interval of sound. 'Cleopatra!' Mrs. Jerome repeated softly, 'and like her, I thought there were 'no men to govern in this wood. Poor fellow!'

It waB a few days, perhaps a week, later, when Mrs. Jerome, who to the mystification of her host and hostess had received no letters, and, to the best of their knowledge, had written none, up to this time, followed a sudden impulse, and wrote the following eplstie: •My

dear friend and physician

You advised, no, commanded me, to eschew the world for a season, utterly and completely. I have obeyed you to the letter. I will spare you detailsenough tbat I am gaining, and, wonderful to say. I am not in the least ennuyee. On the contrary. The cream is delicious, the spring water exquisite, the scenery lovely. Even the people interest me. I am your debtor, as never before, and beg leave to sign myseif.

Your grateful friend and patient, Helen Jerome. •P. S.—It would amuse me to know what the world sayj of my disappearance. Keep my secret, on your very soul. H.J.'

Midsummer came, and passed, and Mrs. Jerome stili lingered. In her

Erable.

ursult of health she had been IndefatThere was hardly a road throughout the region which had been left untried, hardly a forest path unex plored, or a mountain spring untasted. 'For a woman that sets up for delicate,' remarked Mrs. Squires, as from her point of observation behind the window blinds she watched Mrs. Jerome spring with a girl's elastic grace from the carriage, 'lor a woman tbat sets up for delicate, she can stan' more ridln' around, an' scramblin' up mountains, than any woman I ever see. I couldn't do it— that's sure an' sartain!" "It's sperrit, Rhody, sperrlt. Them's the kind o' women that'll go through fire and flood to git what they're af e»-.' 'Yes, an' drag everybody along with 'em, If they wants to,' added Mrs. Squires, meaningly.

There was one^plaoa^to which they rode which held a pedOMr charm for Mrs. Jerome,—a small lake, deep set among the hills and

lying

shadow. Great

think you can come

always in the

pines

grew down to its

brink and hung far out over its surface, which was almo.t hidden by thickly growing reeds and the broad leaves and shining cups of water lilies. Dragon flies darted over it, and a dreamy silence invested it. A boat lay moored at the foot of the tangled path which led from the road, and they often left the carriage, and rowed and floated about until nigntfall among the reeds and lilies.

They were floating in this way, near the close of a sultry August afternoon. Lill lay coiled upon a shawl in the bottom of the boat, her arms full of lilies whose lithe stems she was twining toether, talking to herself, meanwhile, a pretty fashion of her own.

Granger was seated in the bow of tbe boat, with folded arms, and eyes fixed upon the ark water. His face was pale and moody. It had worn that expression often of late, and be had fallen into a habit of long intervals of silence and abstraction.

The beautiful woman who sat opposite him, idly trailing one hand, whiter and rosier than the lily it held, in the water, seemed also under some unusual influence. She had not spoken for some time. Now and then she would raise the white lids of her wonderful eyes, and let them sweep slowly over the downcast face of Granger.

The dusky water lay around them still as death, reflecting in black masses the overhanging pines. The air was warm and full of heavy odors and drowsv sounds, through which a bird's brief song rang out, now and then, thrillingly sweet.

The atmosphere seemed to Mrs. Jerome to become every moment more oppressive. A singular agitation began to stir in her breast, which showed itself in

a

faint streak of red upon either cheek. At last this feeling became unendurable, and sbe started with a sudden motion which caused the boat to rock perilously.

Granger, roused by this movement, seized the oars, and with askillful stroke brought tbe boat again to rest. •Will you row across to tbe other side?' tbe lady said. *1 saw some rare orchids there which must be in bloom by this time.'

Granger took up the oars again ana rowed as directed. When tbe orchids had been found and gathered, at Mrs. Jerome's request be spread her a shawl beoeath a tree, and seated himself near her. .. •How beautiful it is here!' she said, after a pause. 'I would like to stay and see tbe moon rise over those pines. It rises early to-night. Yon don't mind Ntaying si added, lor king at Granger. •No—" bt Hoswered, slowly, *1 don mind it in tL« least.' •How different it most look here in winter!'sbe said presently. •Yes as different as life and death. •I cannot bear to think I shall pever see It again/ sb© said, alter aooibar and longer pause, 'and yet I must leave it so soon!' 'Soon!' Granger eoboed, with a start. •You are going away soon, then?' be aaked, in a husky voice. •Yes—very soon—in two weeks, think.'

Granger made no reply, He bent his head and began searching among the leaves and moss. His eyes fell upon one of the lady's basds, which lay carelessly by ber tide, all its perfection and the splendor of its Jewels relieved against the crimson background of the shawl.

He could not look away from it, bat bent lower and, lover, until his hair and

JiV-blNXS'G-

his qniek breath swept across the air fingers. At the touch a wonderful change passed over tbe woman. She started anck trembled violently—her face grew soft and tender. Sbe raised the hand which was upon ber lap, bent forward and laid it, hesitatingly, tremblingly, upon tbe bowed, boyish head. •Robert! Robert!' sbe whispered.

Granger raised his head. For a moment, which seemed an age, the two looked into each other's face. Hers was full of yearning tenderness and suffused with blushes—bis, rigid and incredulous, yet lighted up with a wild joy. A hoarse cry broke from his lips—he thrust aside the hand which lingered upon his head, sprang to his feet, and went away.

Tbe color faded from Mrs. Jerome's face. She sat, for a moment, as if turned to atone, ber eyes dilated and flushing, fixed upon Granger's retreating figure. Then, with an Impetuous gesture, she rose and went to look for LIU. A scream from the little girl fell upon her ears at the same moment. Sbe had strayed out upon a log which extended far into the water, and stood poised, like a bird, upon its extreme end. Round her darted a blue mailed dragon fly, against which tbe little arms were vainly beating. Mrs. Jerome sprang toward her, but Granger was already there. As he gave tbe frightened child into her mother's arms, he looked into her face. She returned his imploring gaze with a haughty glance, and walked swiftly toward the boat. He took his seat in the bow and rowed across tbe lake, his white face set shoreward. Lill buried ber scared little face in her mother's lap, and no one spoke. As they landed, a great, dark bird rose suddenly out of the bushes, and with a hideous, mocking cry, like the laugh of a maniac, swept across the water. The woman started and drew tbe child closer to her breast.

Tbey drove along in silence until within a mile of the Squire's farm, when, without a word, Granger turned into a road over which their drives bad never before extended. It was evldentlv a by-way, and little used, for grass grew thickly between the ruts. On the brow of a hill be halted.

Below, in the valley, far back from tbe road side, stood an old, square mansion, of a style unusual in tnat region. It must have been a place of consequence in its day and generation. The roof was hipped and broken by dormer windows, and a carved lintel crowned the doorway. An air of age and decay hung about it and the huge, black barns with sunken roofs, and the orchard, full of gnarled and barren trees, which flanked it. A broad, grass grown avenue, stiffly bordered by disheveled looking Lombardy poplars, led up to the door.

Granger turned slowly, and looked full into Mrs. Jerome's face. His own was terribly agitated. Douht, questioning, passionate appeal, spoke from every feature. •That is tbe old Granger place,' he said, in a strange, choked voice, with a gesture toward the bouse, 'and that'—as a woman appeared for in instant in the doorway—'that woman—is my wifeV

Mrs. Jerome's lips parted, and a quick breath escaped them. The desperate look in Granger's face intensified. His eyes seemed to pierce into ber inmost soul. His lips moved as If to speak again, but speech failed him.

It was but a passing ripplo on the surface of her high bred calm. A smile, the slow, sweet, slightly scornful smile be knew so well, came to her lips again. Sbe raised her eyeglasses and glanced carelessly over the scene. •Nice old place 1' she aad, in ber soft indifferent way. an air about it, really!'

Granger turned and lashed the horse into a gallop. His toeth were Bet—his blue-gray eyes flashed.

When the door was reached he lifted the woman and her child from the carriage, and drove madly away, the Impact of tbe wheels with tbe rocky read sending out fierce sparks as .tbey whirled along.

Mrs. Jerome gathered her lilies Into her arms and went slowly up to her room.

Several days passed ,and Robert Granger did not appear. The harvest was now at Its height, and the larmers prolonged their labors until sunset, and often later. This was tbe ostensible reason for his remaining away. During these days Mrs. Jerome was in a restless mood. She wandered continually about the woods and fields near the farmhouse, remaining out far into the bright, dewless nights. One evening she complained of headache, and remained indoors, sitting in negligee by the window, looking listlessly out over tbe orohard. Nettie came in from a stroll with Lill, and gave her mistress a letter. 'We met Mr. Granger, and he gave me this madam,' sbe said, respectfully, but ber glance rested with some curiosity upon the face of Mrs. Jerome as sbe spoke.

The letter remained unopened upon her lap long after Nettie had gone with the child to her room. Finally, sbe tore tbe envelope open and read: "What is the use of struggling any longer You have seen, from tbe first day, that I was ontlrely at your mercy. There have been times when I thought you were coldly and deliberately trying your power over mo and there have been other other times when I thought you were laugblng at me, and I did not care, so long as I could see your face and hear your voloe. I never allowed myself to think of the end. Now all Is changed. What has happened I am too miserable—and too madly bappy— to think clearly but. unless I am quite insane, I have beard your voice speaking my name, and I bave seen In your face a look which meant—no, I cannot write it! It was something I have never dared dream of, and I cannot believe it, even now and yet, I cannot forget that moment! IT it is a sin to write this—If it is a wrong to you—I swear I bave never meant to sin, and I would have kept silent forever but for tbat moment. Then, too, it flashed upon me for tbe first time tbat you did not know I was not free to love you. It must be tbat you did not know—the doubt is an Insult to your womanhood—and yet, when I tried to make sure of this, now you baffled me! Bnt still tbat moment remains nnforgottea. Wbat does it all mean I must bave an answer! I shall come to-morrow, at tbe nsual time. If you refuse to see me, laball understand. If not—wbat tben? R. G."

Tbe letter fell to tbe floor, and Heleb Jerome sat for awhile with heaving breast and hands clasped tightly over her Then she rose and paced np and down the chamber, pausing at length before one of the photographs—a strange wierd thing. Through somber, lurid vapors swept the figures of two lovers, with wild, wan faces, clasped in an sternal embrace of anguish. Sbe looked at the

picture

brooding face. In the dusk tie floating figures seemed to expend into living forms, their lipe to alter audible cries of

d^l£ven

at tbat price

She shuddered as the words escaped

MAUj.

her lips, snd ttfcned away. There was a tap at the door, and before she could speak, a woman entered—a spare, plain featured woman, dressed in a dark cotton gown and coarse straw hat. There was something gentle, yet resolute, in her manner, as sbe ca*ne toward rs. Jerome, her eyes full of repressed, yet eager, scrutiny. 'Good evenin', ma'am,' she said, extending a vinaigrette of filigree aud crystal. "I was oomin' up this way an' I thought I'd bring ye your bottle. Leastways, I s'poseit's yourn. It fell out o' Rob's pocket.'

Sbe let her eyes wander while she was speaking over the falling golden hair, the rich robe-de-chambre, and back to the beautiful proud face. •Thank you, it is mine,' said Mrs. Jerome. 'Are you Robert Granger's mother •No, ma'am. I am bis wife's mother. My name is Mary Rogers.'

Mrs. Jerome went to the window and seated herself. The hem of her dress brushed against the letter, and she stooped and picked it up, crushing it in her hand. The visitor did not offer to go. Sbe had even removed her hat, and stood nervously twisting its ribbons in ber hard, brown fingers. •Will you sit down, Mrs. Rogers?'

The woman sank upon a chair without speaking. She was visibly embarrassed, moving ber bands and feet restlessly about, and then bursting into sudden speech. •I've got sometbln' I want to say to ye, Mis' Jerome. It's kind o' bard to begin—harder'n I thought 'twould be.'

She spoke in a strained, trembling voice, with many pauses. •It's something that ought to be said, an' there's nobody to say It but me. Perhaps—you don't know—that folks round here is a talkin' about—about you an' Rob.'

Mrs. Jerome smiled—a soornful smile which showed her beautiful teeth. The woman saw it, and her swarthy face flushed. •I don't suppose it matters to you, ma'am, if tbey be,' she said, bitterly, 'an' it ain't on your account I come. It's on Ruby's aocount. Ruby's my darter Ob, Mis' Jerome'—sbe dropped her iudignant tone, and spoke pieadingly— •you don't look a bit like a wicked woman, only proud, an' used to bavin' men praise ve, an' I'm sure if you could see Ruby you'd pity ber, ma'am. She's a worryin' an' breakin' her heart over Rob's neglectln' of her so, but she don't know what folks is a sayin'. I've kep' it from her so far, but I'm afeard I can't keep it much longer, for folks keeps a thro win' out 'n' hintiu' round, and il Ruby should find it out—the way sbe is now—it'd kill her!'

She stopped, sobbing and rocking ber self to and fro. •I never wanted her to hev Rob Granger,' she began, speaking hurriedly, 'an' I tried tooenderit all I could. But 'twa'n't no use. I knew 'twould oome to this, sooner or later. 'Twas in his father, an' It's in him. The Grangers was all of 'em alike—proud an' high sperrltted, an' never knowin' their own minds two days at a time. It's in the blood, an' readin' po'try an' sich don't make it no better. I knowed Ruby wa'n't no match Rob she's gentle an' quiet, an' ain't got much book larnln'. But ber heart was sot on him, poor gal!'

And again she paused, sobbing gently and wiping her eyes on her apron. Mrs. Jerome rose and went over to her. A wonderful change had passed over her Every trace of prid© and scoru had faded from her face. She was gentle, almost timid, in manner, as she stood before the weeping woman. •Mrs. Rogers,' she said, kindly, 'lean not how sorry I am, It is all unnecessary, 1 assure you. It is -rety foolish of people to talk. I shall see that you have no more trouble on my—on this account. If I bad known'—she hesitated, stammering. 'You see, M™ Rogers, I did not even know that Robert Granger was married. If I bad,

^Tbe^woman looked up incredulously. The blood tingled hot through Mrs. Jerome's veins as she answered, with a sting of humiliation at ber position •It may seem strange—it is strange, but no one has ever mentioned it to me until—a few days ago. Besides, as I tell you, there is no need for talk. There shaU be none. You can go home Iu perfect confidence that you will have no further cause for trouble—that lean prevent.'

Mrs. Rogers rose and took the lady's solt hand in hers. 'God bless ye, ma'am. Ye'll do wbat Is right, I know. You must forgive me for thinking wrong of ye, but tben you see

She broke off In confusion. 'It Is no matter,' said Mrs. Jerome. •You did not know me, of course. Goodnight.'

When tbe door hi»d closed upon ber visitor, she stood for awhile motionless, leaning ber bead against tbe window frame. •Strange,' she said to herself, 'that she reminds me of—mother! It must bave been ber voice.'

A breeze strayed in at the window, and brought up to her face tbe scent of tbe lilies which stood in a dish upon the bureau. She seized the bowl with a hasty gesture, and threw the flowers far out into the orchard.

Mrs. Jerome arwse very early tbe next morning and went down for a breath of the fresh, sweet air, Early as it

Although, under ordinary circumstances, not a woman to care for a pretext for anything she chose to do, sbe allowed the reception of this letter to serve in the present instance as an ex ewe for ber immediate departure—for sbe bad resolved to go away at once.

Tbe surprise of Mr. Squires when ber intention was made known to bim was great, and tinged with melancholy—a melancholy which bis wife by no means glared. But bis feelings were considerably ansuged by tbe ameunt of the check handed bim by Nettie, wblcb was far greater than kebsd sny reason to

e*'Imi«bt'a'

along time with a

GATARRK

A PHYSICIAN'S TE8TIM0NY. SO Yean a Physician. 12 Years a fbrer. Tried Regular Remedies.

Tried Patent Medicines. Permanently cured by

SANFORD'S RADICAL CUI MESSRS.

WEEKS a POTTER,—sirs: I

practised medicine for thirty yearn, and been a sufferer myself for fcwelvo years wit. tarrh la tlio nasal passages, fauces and bavo used everything in tbo materia motion1laryi. cnt any permanent relief, until Anally I was ind to try a patent medicine (something tliat xro

Sathuta

are very loth to do). I tried

lrera others until I grot hold of yonre. I foil, the directions to the letter, and am happy have had a permanent cure. Tour kaDJ CURE Is certainly a happy combination fo cure of that most unpleasant and daogcrov diS6S808e

Tours, respectfully, d.w:gray m.d„

OfDr.b. W. Gray 4s 8on, Physle!ao» Digging. Muscatine, low»

UUSCITCOC, Iowa,March 27,1ST?. jc.

The ralno of this remedy must not bo ovcrlc la the cure of those

SYMPATHETIC DISEASE

Affections of tho Eyo, Ear. Throat, Lnnp Bronchial Tubes which In many cases acco: a severo case of Catarrh. Tho inflamed a: cased condition of the raucous membrane cause of all these troubles and until tho fj has been brought properly under the Influeo tho RADICAL. CvlKE, perfect freedom from cannot be reasonably expected.

It Is but three voars sluco SAJ» FORD'S CAL CURE was placed before tlio irtlbUf1. that short time It littw found lis way from I" California, and Is everywhere acknowic druggists and phvainiitna to bo tho moat aw preparation for tho thorough treatment of Ci over compounded. Tho fact will bo deem moro importance when it Is coupled with the mcnt that within tiro years over 290 di remedies for Catarrh have been placed on 8i to-day, with one or two exceptions, their cannot be recalled bv the best-Informed di Advertising may succeed In fot clng ft fett but, unless tho^remedy possess undoubted si medical properties, it Is absolutely ccrtaln into merited obscurity.

Each package of BAKFOHD'S RADICAL! Contains Dr. Unnforrt's Improved Inlmli-i: with directions for Its use In nil cnfiH.

SI.00.full

Sold by all wholesale an il retail druc ealers throughout the United Ptates nmuik WEEKS & POTTKU. General Ajjcnls Mitf* sale Druggists Boston, Mass.

IS SIMPLY WONDERF/i

Kikostok, Mnor.,) April 20,18TT.

I consider CouLixs'Voltaio 1 Plaster the best plaster lever 1 saw, and am rccommendinff ,:3 i-j them to all. 1

C. McMobrow IIUMK. IlX., -J April 18,1S77.

Ithnsdonemy uovmorcgood thau all other medicines Hy now goes to school, for tlioflrstr

time

In three years.

ELIZA JAN E Duffuud. Emma,

III..

April 2,1877.

Tllkethconelgotwell. Tlicy aro tbo bcM plasters, no doubt, in tho world. 8.1..

1

McGill.

Asn Gtjovb,

Mo.,

March S3,1877.

Accept my thanks for tho rrooil Ocrlrrit from tho twoCOL j.inb" I'LASTBna sent liinoftgo. TV.

C.Moorb.som#mo

COLLINS' VOLTAIC PLAS

for local pains, lamcnees, eorencsa, wo. numbness, and Inflammation of the lungs Kidneys, spleen, bowuls, hlpdder, heart, i» clcs. Is equal to an army ol doctors aud^i plants and shrubs. /f||

Prloo, S55 cents. 1 1"""

\5old, by^ all VTholeaalo^ and ^Retail Dr

INDORSED BY

PHYSICIANS, CLERGYMEN THE AFFLICTED EVERYWHt

THE OREATEST MEDIC TRIUMPH OF THE Aflt TOTTS' PILLS

IMP'

got Rob to take '6m down

to the station,

if

I'd only known it

sooner,' he remarked to bis wife, In Mrs. Jerome's bearing,'but

I seen hlmsn

hour ago drivin' like thunder down towardHiPgbam, sn' bo wont be back Continued on Seventh Page.

Db. Tott hn ceedod in combli thesa pUla thai foro antagonist! tlesof a String Poboativ®, or B1TT1NO TONH

CURE SICK HEADACHE.

TOTT'S PILLS

CURE DYSPEPSIA.

Thoir first a* cffectls tolncr appetite by can food to prop Blmllate. Tbw tern is nonris'i. by their tonic ac tho dlgettlvo regular and be. vacoationa ar daced.

TOTT'S PILLS

CUBE CONSTIPATION.

TOTT'S PILLS

CUBE PILES.

TIITT'S PILLS

The rapidlt which PERSON lnlli '.ence c. pills, indicates daptabilitj" to tho body, cdc efficacy in curb vons debility, choly. dyspcpMt Incrq/Uio tatutc' rfabncM of t" chronic const andimrartitKl Btrcngth to tne

CURE FEVER AND AGUE.

TUTTS PILLS

CURE BILIOUS COLIC.

TOTT'S PILLS

Cure

KIDNEY

Complaint.

TUTTSPILLS

was,

the

farmer bad been to tbe village to distribute his milk, and came rattling up tbe road with bis wagon full of empty cans. He drove up to tbe door, and, with an air of Importance, handed the lady letter, staring inquisitively at ber haggard face aa he did so. The letter was merely a friendly one from her physician, in answer to ber own, and said, among other things: •Van Caesalear is in town. All my ingenuity was called Into action in tbe effort to answer bis persistent inquiries in regard to you. As glad as I am tbat you are so content, and inured to human suffering as I am supposed to be, I could not but feel a pang of sympathy for bim. His state a melancholy one. Tbe world has long since ceased conjecturing as to your whereabouts. You are one of Those privileged beings who are at liberty to dosnu date. Your mysterious disappears pee is pnt down with your other eccentricities.'

CURE TORPID LIVER.

TliTT'" LLS

Price 25 c-.

mh

53 Mnrrui 701

T£

It 5s to* t*wt Blood Purlfter. if? latcn every function to more and tuna benefit ,1

Dnmpiila, W «t»« "I

Itjr, etc., are cared by ., JMt

iftjtfeBIt

and Hcx

uncqtjaled a# an Aw L"

family, and v. cb, •. payment if

fiottn*

of two

Mica pnefc*

oQ

cf

Safe Rome, sold by Dt & Dealer^ loine eve*} iH.H.Warni "•««!I

Diabetes

CVH

SAFE glTThRi s*rf Ntfcvwi SAIf F"-

BOCHEStt mmu*db

At Wholesale byGuHck*

I

if?

I