Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 17, Number 38, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 12 March 1887 — Page 2

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AN ORIGINAL 'Pft

CHAPTER VI.—Continued.

Fire miles away, on tlie other side of the village, at the moment Mr. Morrison was leaving her, a little vagabond boy walked barefoot along the turnpike road. He was anywhere from 6 to 10 years old. He did not know how old ho was himself and surely nobody else knew or eared. Ho belonged to nobody. He had dropped from the clouds, for all anybody knew or cared.

Mis1 Simpkins, that stirring, industrious creature, found him curled up asleep in an empty hencoop when she went to take down the shutter* and open her grocery at 5 o'clock, as usual, ono morning.

She shook him vigorously. "Here, you!" seiil rho, "wbc&o child are you? What are you doin' hero?"

The child sat up suddenly. Ho rubbed his eyes, and stared about him. "Whoso child are you?" repeated Mrs. Simpkins. "Dumio." "How'd you get into that there hencoop?" "Dunno."

She shook him by his ragged collar again. "None o' yer lyin' tcr ma What's yer name?" "Dunno." "Don't that bang anything, now?" ejaculated the woman. "Tell me yer name, or I'll talio a stick to you, you littlo riprobato." "That's it," said tho boy. "They call me Little Hip. I'm tho fatherless. I set on the church steps. Moll plays she's my mother. We set on tho church steps an' I wear a r-nrd that says on it 'Pity tho Blinclund tho Fatherless.' Pcoplo conies along ind drops pennies into a tin cup. Wo was ,' oin' to anew place, 'cause tho p'lico found out she wusn'fc blind. I reckon Mfll got drunk an' forgot me," said ho, composedly. "Say, gimme some breakfast, or I'll show you circus trick."

Tho Infant squnml off and lowered his bristly head, as if about to butt into the small grocer wife, ftoat fashioi:. Ho would undoubtedly have do no so, but tho wiry littlo woman was litho as a cat and strong. On the instaut she caught Little Rip, sat down upon tho hen coop and spanked him till she was out of breath. The child yelled liko a hyena in tho meantime, till all the windows in the neighborhood were raised to see what the unearthly noiso was about. "There," said Mis' Simpkins, "I'll teach you to sasa mo, you little rip!"

He ate ravenously the breakfast she gave him presently. "Land sake!" said she to Jim Sweet, "jist look at that child eat 1 He's got a faeo for all the world liko a starved young pigeon. Ho ain't a bad lookin' young 'un either, if he was clcaned up, with them blue eyes. If that hair was washed out and combed, 'twould be as yaller an' shiny as Pot Carstone's. Looks as though his folks might ha' been somebody."

What tho child had told Mis' Simpkins was absolutely all that could bo found out about him. He was nobody's child. Nobody could tell whence he came. Ho hung about the grocery for two days. Mis' Simpkins fed him. On the third day, sho turned from waiting on a customer, and caught the dirty little hand of this terrible infant thrust into the tobacco case. He was stealing her best ten cent cigars. She pounced upon him and threw him out of the shop in righteous

"You little ri probate I Ef I had the lines around your neck, I bet ye'd stretch 'em I Lenime kitch you in this store agin I"

Tho child ran off in all haste, and disappeared around the corner. In spite of Mis' Simpkins he hod abstracted one of the cigars. Ho was minded to learn to smoke. He wandered out into the country. He went a long way, so as to be sure ho was out of the sight of the village, and the hawk eye of Mrs. Simpkim. Then ho lit tho cigar, and still wandered farther and farther. He did not know where ho was going, and did not think about it. Little Rip put tho roll of weed between his lips, and puffed away bravely, swaggering and taking long steps, as he had seen young men da Shortly bo began to feel very had, but he kept stoutly on, with a devotion worthy of abetter cause. The mall carrier passed by in his buckboard wagon. "Twas the most rediclous sight I ever wen," said ho afterwards. "Thar wus the little cuss, lettin'on he wus smokin'. The cigar had a great long ash on it. He ditched it between his fingers, joss so, like he'd seen big fellers da He was desput ashy around the gills and so sick he staggered, but thar ha

cocked his mite of a bead up and went on, as big as Ginornl Jackson." But at last there came a moment when even little Rip's giant will gavo out His legs failed him. II" felt suro he was dying, with that awful feeling in his stomach. Ho was only a baby after all Ho crawled to the roadside and lay down besido a huge stone. He groaned and cried bitterly, as many a big boy would like to do, but doesn't dare, when ho smoke* his first cigar.

That same afternoon CoL Carstone said to Sam: "Bring out Ulysses. I must break that colt It's going to bo a tough job, toa But I'll give him a lesson this afternoon."

Tho children's pet had grown a magnificent animal. Ho was a splendid sorrel, with a thin, quivering nostril, an arched neck and a flashing eye. The colonel eyed him closely as Sam led him from the stable.

Mrs. Carstone came out with her baby in her arm* to see him mount "Take care, Tom, dear," said she. "Ha looks wicked." "I never yet saw tho animal I couldnt master. And a man who can manage a horse can always manage a woman. They're much alike. You must pet and master thorn at the same time. The man who can do that is always a very good fellow, too, I've noticed, eh, wifer

He patted the horse on the neck. "Ho, Lvs, ho, Ixv. You look a little ugly, but we'll soon take that out of you."

The beftutiftil creature shied and reared, but Col Carstone at length got upon his back, and was off. He was a famous honeman, and an enthusiastic lover of horses. Of the colt Clyams he bad great expectation* The animal had proved unexpectedly hard to brain, however. He bebavctl right creditably that afternoon though, and his master took him farther than ho had meant to do, beyond the village, on the State Line turnpike. It was on this road that poor little Rip had lain down, sick enough to die. Ho was a qoeoi M, ht lying there curled around like a catw .Jir, and making the outlandish, groaning not* he wa*

Tho beano saw him and -shied desperately. Hfc» master spurred him on. He refused to budgo forward a step, but turned half around backward** and danced with rage and terror. The boy saw tho rearing, plunging hone, aad started to run. This affrighted the beast still mora. The cotooefli Mood was jap,

COPYBIOHTED STORY,

Carstone.

By ELIZA ARCHAED.

[Copyrighted by the American Press Association.]

Jfre

dBillS

"Stop where you are, you imp of Satan," he roared at the boy. The horse became almost unmanageable even for his practiced hand. "I'll break you of this nonsense, or I'll break your neck," he said between his teeth. But ho was entirely steady and cool toward the horse. "Come, Lys," he said, encouragingly, "come—on, onP Ho pressed the spurs into the crcature at the same time.

In three seconds it was over. The animal gave a snort of fury. He reared perpendicularly in the air, and fell over backwards. The colonel, preserving still his presence of mind, had barely time to free bis foo\ Ho was flung violently upon his head into the broken stone of the road.

The horse's neck was broken.

HOUSE AXD RIDER.

The sun went down, the shadows deepened over tho lonely State Lino turnpike. Horse and rider lay there still in the road. -v

\T„'

CHAPTER VII. V/ 'f FATHER AND DAUGHTER.

Till the shadows gathered Shirley sat there under the willows. Her heart seemed dead within her. Sho was only 16. She was very strong. Her ancestors on her father's side of tho house hail lived to be 100 years old, some of them. Sho was like her father's side of the house. Would eho live to be 100 years old and have to keep on facing sorrows and disappointments like this all the time? Then lifo was serious business. "Shirley! Shirley I Where are you Come up to the house, quick!"

It was her brother Tom calling. She gavo a start. Was it really growing dusk? Sho hastened to the house. Her mother met her at the porch. "Where have you been all this time?" she asked. Then, without waiting for an answer, she ran on: "Your father rode tho sorrel colt away this afternoon. Ho has not como back. I'm afraid something has happened to him. What shall I do?"

Shirley gathered herself up. Her heart gave a bound, and then stopped with an awful stillness. "Which way did he go?" she asked. "Towards Linwood." "Where's Sam?" "Sam has gone to a negro wedding, and won't be back to-night"

Tho children gathered around while they talked, and watched Shirley with frightened, pleading eyes. It was Shirley they all turned to in their troubles, ovon then. Sho was herself in a moment, the good, brave daughter again. "(Jet the pony, Tom, and come with me,* she said.

She went to the stable and saddled Penelope, Ulysses' mate. In livo minutes she and Tom were on the road to Linwood. Through the gathering gloom thoy sped liko tho wind. By the light streaming from the window they discerned a group of persons at the door of Simpkins' grocery. A small boy was telling something to the rest, throwing his arms about in excitement It was the baby tramp, littlo Rip. Shirley heard these words: "He spoke to me sassy, and he says, 'Stop, there, you little devil.' Geel but ho said it sassy. Then he kicked his heels into the horse's sides, an' he spoke to him like he was tho boss, and told him to go on. But the horse shook his head to tell him he wouldn't Then tho horse jumped on his hiud legs like this, and fell ovor. Tho man was th rowed out into the road. The horse didn't get up again, and the man didnt get up again. They're layin' out thero in the road yet, you hot!"

Shirley listened with pale lips. "It is my father!'' sho exclaimed. -Where was it, boy?" "Out there," said the child, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "It's out on the State Lino turnpike. Come Tom, quick." T'j§

She was off again, like the wind. "Good Lord, 'twas Col. Carstone l" exclaimed Mis' Simpkins. "What if she goes out alone in the dark and finds her father dead? Men I follow her quick!"

Friendly souls, half a down stalwart men, pursued the girl as rapidly as they might on horseback. A wagon was hastily got in readiness and sent after.

Never again had Shirley a ride like that She was a strong, hopeful girl, and always looked at the bright side. But now she was overwhelmed with an awful presentiment of something, she knew not what From the first moment she expected the worst

Four miles out from Linwood the State Lino pike passed through a wide, lonely valley, wooded at the sides and fringed with a dense, damp undergrowth of bushes. It was tho middle of Juna The sky was overcast with blackness so that scarcely a star shone. Yet the valley was lit by ten million lamps. An innumerable swarm of fireflies danced above the undergrowth. The damp air was one glow of intermitting, phosphorescent light Never before, or afterward, did Shirley see fireflies in such agleam of splendor. In after years she never looked at one of these light bringing creatures that it did not recall that night

Into the heart of this valley, into tho blackness set off by millions of infinitesimal, flickering stars: into the loneliness and silence, Shirley and bar awed young brother roda. They saw two motionless, formless objects lying dark against the dim, white turnpike. A nameless terror clutched their young hearts with an icy baud. Tom gave a cry which was echoed back from the hillsides.

They dismounted. The friendly riders that galloped up a little later found Shirley sitting in the middle of the lonely road with somathing in her lap, unknowingly swaying back and forth, aad moaning: "O my father! My father!"

Little Tom stood close bertdte her, holding the horses, and wseffag bitterly. It was a sight to weaken the stoutest besots.

And still the myriml fireflies danced up and

TERRE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING

down, and gi«nnwl through the blackness with their quivering, weird sparkles. It was the thoughtfulness of little Mis' Simpkins that sent the doctor down the road. Ho examined tho cold, senseless form, "He is not dead," he told them. "He is still breathing! Lift him into the wagon. There! Careful! Get back and give him air. Shirloy, get in, and hold your father's head On your lap. Jim Sweet, lead her horsie and mine. I will go in the wagon, too."

So, through the darkness, the mournful train headed toward the stone house. Gentlo and kindly, if rough hands, laid CoL Carstone in his own bed that night His wife wept and moaned as ono bereft of her senses. It was Shirley who directed tho men where to place him Shirloy who took tho doctor's directions and listened to his verdict Shirley who sat beside her father's couch and watched with sharpened eyesight for sign of returning consciousness.

The patient bad suffered concussion of the brain, and was in a state of stupor. How severe the injury was- could not bo as yet ascertained. Ail night Shirley sat there. At daylight tho rustic neighbors and ,peoplo from the village poured into the house. The porch was "full of them. They gathered in tho broad hallways and peered over one another's ehoulders through the dcor and windows. Hero was an event, something out of the usual. They were making the most of it, like a Fourth of July or a suicide. There was nobody to keep them off.

As tiie sun began to climb tho heavens, the injured man stirred faintly. Tho first row of the gaping crew reported the fact duly to the row behind, and so the report spread througl tho ranks. Struggling on the outskirts was tow-headed Hughie Carter, little Mis' Simpkins' nephew. That worthy dame was unable to be present in the house of affliction at the first sLreak of dawn, owing to being "stuck at home" by the necessity of opening tho grocery. But she hounded Sim Simpkins oat of bed an hour earlier than usual, stationed him behind the window with tho box of blacking and the two clothespins in it, and was off with celerity to join her neighbors at the stono bouse. Hughie, at tho steps, saw her afar off. coming up the path. Straightway ho sung out the news to her, at tho top of his piping voice: "Aunt Sal! Sa-a-y! Aunt Sally! Aunt Sal-1! Ho's a-comin to!"

Tho patieut heard it He opened his eyes, saw bis faithful daughter, and then turned them slowly about the room. He, looked about tho room, and saw that be was there in his own bed. Then ho perceived the gaping crew at tho door and windows. Ho frowned. He turned his questioning eyes on Shirley. Theso be the first words he spake on returning to consciousness. Let them be duly recorded: "Why is the house filled with this ungrammatical pack!" 'Sh, father," said Shirley, "they are the neighbors, don't you see?"

Shirley was extremely sensitive about hurting people's feelings. So was her father when he was in his right mind. But now he was only half in his right mind, consequently he was off his guard and honest He scanned the throng once more. "Very ignorant and uncultured persons habitually hold their mouths open," said he, slowly and solemnly. "Turn thom out, Shirley."

There is not a tragedy in lifo but has Its comic side. Even Hamlet bad his merry gravedigger.

Col. Carstone recovered, to all appearances, and went about as usual. Shirley's own little private grief had lost its sharpness in the dread shadow of that other greater sorrow which had passed so awfully near them.

The girl's mind ran once more on her poem. Her father sympathized, with her hopes and ambitions entirely. £e was her counselor and confidant in all things. All things? Perhaps there was just one little corner of her heart that she kept veiled from him. Perhaps, too, this adored and adoring father knew more even about that little corner than Shirley thought for.

There was something peculiarly beautiful and touching in this love between father and daughter. They were much alike. They were of strong, intense nature, both, so that far more than the common tie between parent and child bound them together, to begin. But there was also superadded to this common tie an intellectual good comradeship lacking between most fathers and daughters. They were very near to each other and very much to each other. "I mean to study and practice writing for two years, papa," said Shirley. When I am 18 I shall begin my poem. It is to be all about women. I won't have a man in it, except only just enough to hang the plot on. I'm tired of reading about men and fighting. Women have been slighted in history and poetry since the World began. 'Moderate honors are suitable to women,' says Tiberius. It be so no more. I will not have it so. Tho hero of my poem shall be a woman."

So the girl read and pondered, and dreamed the days away. The poem took shape. Her heroine should be a kingly woman, such as the world never saw before, but should see many a time hereafter, in the coming ages. She should be a woman, strung and shining, head and shoulders above all the nsc, like Agamemnon, king of men. Hawthorne alone, of all the writers Shirley read, bad felt the thrill of her heroine's coining pnweuoe. Heater, in tho "Scarlet Letter," heard her «id trancing footsteps:

At some brighter period, «rbea the world should be ripe for it, ia Heaven's own time, a new truUi

wiD be revealed, in order to establish the wboU relation between man aad woman on a surer ground of mutual happiness. The angel and apostle of the ooming revelation must bo a woman indeed, but lofty, pure and beautiful, and wise, moreover, not through dusky grief, but the ethereal medium of joy.

As Shirley read and thought, she wu led on to look deeper into the currents of human existence. It came to her that her imagination would create a beautiful lifo that should bo an eternal benediction to womankind. Women, the world over, would read the poem, and heroine of hers should be an inspiration to them. The toilers, tho troubled, the heart broken, tho weak among women should gather strength and hope from her pages. Her poem—hers—Shirley's—«houkl sing a strain of lofty music that would ring around the world.

And then? Youth is strong and fiery and elastic. Her thoughts suddenly divsd down into the veiled corner of her heart And they sang a song that to brr ear was as sweet as that which should echo found tho world. They sang this:

Perbaps the master will bear it too, and oomebackl

CHAPTER VIIL A CHAXGK.

Shirley became impatient to begin her

CoL Oarsfcoto seemed to sat well, and for time appeared quite the suna But after a month or two, it became evident be was not the same. He had been an unusually tmim, «lf controlled nun before the accident tbat befell him on the State Line turnpike. Especially, though by nature quickly angry, be had bad his temper singularly well in hand. Shirley potind that he bad become

unaccountably irritable. The slightest cause, a trifle, threw him into an uncontrollable rage. The first time she observed this thoy were riding together in the little light carriage. Her father was driving. A boy started up before them in the road, then slunk to one «M«- He was the forlornest tatterdemalion of a child, a mass of rags and dirt He was a picture to excite profound pity, being stunted and starved looking, with stooping shoulders and narrow, hollow chest He had largo blue eyes, that looked glassy above bis thin cheeks. But they were shifting furtive eyes, as if wont to glance from ffjdft to side, looking for a blow from behind, or for something to lay hands on, and make off with. He was a wee, hungry faced creature. "What a pitiful looking child," said Shirley. "That? That's the littlo devil that lost me the sorrel colt Got out of the way, there, youl"

CoL Carstone gave the child a cut across the poor little shoulders with bis whip. The child cried with pain. "Why, father!" said Shirley."How could you do tliafP' "Let him keep out of my sight, then."

In all his lifo he had never spoken so before. She said nothing not a word till tbey reached home. Neither did the colonel But Shirley straightway gathered up sonio of Percy's clothes, a bosket of the food that is dear to the appetite of a boy, and went back to the road, and found the half starved creature, and fed and comforted him. 'Twas poor littlo Rip, the baby tramp. Sho interceded with the local authorities for him. He did not belong to Linwood parts, or indeod anywhere else. "We can do nothing for him. He's nono of ours," they said. "But you can't turn him out to starve, can your she asked.

They "reckoned" they couldn't do tbat, hardly. So aftor somo delay, and much hemming and hawing, Rip, Nobody's child, was sent to the county poorliouse. There ho had food and shelter, such as they were. Thero wo leave him, for tho present But ho will come in again. Though he did not belong to Linwood, he belongs to this story.

The brief fit of anger which surprised Shirley so that day in her father was only the first of many like it He who was wont to bo the sweetest, merriest of men to his family became a terror to them at times. What had come over their father? He realised the change himself, at times, and begged the forgiveness and forbearance of his wife and daughter in a humble way that brought tears to their eyes.

He was not well in other respects either. He dragged his limbs with a sense of pain and heaviness, though he went about the mill and farm still, and followed the old ways. One day he sat in the porch with tho children and their mother, looking out at the peaceful valley below. A sudden gust of wind blew a speck of something into his eye. Tho speck proved to be a poisouous gnat. It blinded him. The eye becamo presently so swollen and painful that it was necessary to shut out the light Shirley bound a bandage about tho wounded eye. "Stop, Shirley," said he "don't cover up both eyes!" "I didn't papa I only bound up the right eye."

He passod his hand across the left eye to mnlrn sure. He opened and closed the lid several times.

Then he sat in utter silence a moment "God helpmel"he said at length, "I am going blind in my left eye!"

It was too true. The sight of the eye was all gone but the faintest glimmering of a gray fliko twilight He was unable to distinguish ono object from another with that oye. Other signs of failing powers followed. His memory had been clear and powerful. Now he lost recollection of important matters. Images of people and events became confused in his brain. He forgot sometimes the names of his children, and called one by the name of another. A pain in his head troubled him.

With a sinking heart the faithful daughter watched these signs. It was unutterably sad to see such symptoms of decay in this man of princely heart and brain. At last the girl observed that her father could not speak certain words distinctly any more. His articulation was thick and difficult, like tbat of a drunken man. But this wait not the worst Others, outside of tho stono house, -began to notice the chango, too, and to talk of it Ere long the everlasting Mis' Simpkins tackled black Sam in the village. Said ihe: "It's beginnin' to be whimpered about among folks hyer in town that CoL Carstone is losin' of his mind." "What in thunder you talkin'aboutf' replied Sam, with an indignant air. Ho had heard CoL Carstone say that and thought it sounded high toned.

That there might be no possibility of misunderstanding, Mis' Simpkins camo out flat footed with tho question: "Boss goin' crazy, ain't he?" flared up mightily. The honor of the Carstone family hong upon him. Ho felt tho responsibility of the occasion. Ho answered: "Goramitey, Mis' Simpkins 1 Linwood people's a pack o' po' white trash, da'te what de} or*. Folks what's got plenty brains don't gocrazy. It don't run in der families. It's only yer po' trash dat loses der mins, an' dey lose 'em huntin' arter other people's business. I specte to hyar dat all Linwood's moved into de loonattic asylum befo' long. Yah] yah!" With a twinkle of whiteteetb, and a bobbing of gray head, Sam turned his back on Uuwood.

But he looked very gratis when next day CoL Carstone said ho meant to start that afternoon to the city. A look of intelligence passed between Shirley and the old servitor. "Papa," said Shirley, "don't you think Sam had better go with you?" It irritated him. "I think," he answered, "that I am still capable of taking care of myself." "Oh, well, no offense, CoL Carstone," said Shirley, lightly. Sho thought to soothe bis wounded pride. "It will be a relief to you to getaway from taking care of the troublesome pack of us here."

Her father's brief anger wa3 over. He turned his eye upon the group that gathered to see him off, the handsome, merry children, the beautiful, elder daughter, and the tender, pretty mother of them aiL Ho glanced from ono to another with a look of love and pride. Then ho kissed them, ono after another, which was a work of time, thero were so many oftbem. A new baby had taken the plaoo of the old one. There were always babies in the stone boose. Tho father kissed the tiny newcomer last of alL Then bo placed it in Shirieyt arms, not his wife's. And be said: "Take care of your mother, Shirley. Take care of tbem alL"

Those were his last words to them He descended the hill with his J»gbtly dragging gait, and they saw him no more.

In many a day the coiond hpd not frit so well as be did next morning. A sense of exhilaration and a feeling of youth and lightness lifted him quite beyond the gloom that had pressed himfor weeks. He was passionately food of music. In earlier days he himself bad been an amateur singer of no common ability. A famous prima donna was singinginoperainCbesterton this very week. On the evening of that day "Norma" was to be given. It was one of his old favorite*

MATT.

Tender memories were joined with it for him. It was at a performance of "Norma" he first met his wife. Through twenty-five years of happy life that night smiled back on him.

What a lily of a girl his Alice was then, in her white dress and white gloves, with flowers in her hair. Not at all like Shirley. Their daughter was of a stronger mold-1—and he was glad of it, perhaps, but if over there was a flower maiden on earth, his sweet Alice had been one. If ever wife was faithful, tender, and lovely, the flower maiden had been so to hiin. How happy, thrice happy, she had made him. His lot had been blessed above that of common men. He smiled as he thought of all this.

The airs in tho fine old composition were CoL Carstone's especial favorites, and they were enchantingly sung. Ho listened liko a bird to catch each golden note, and smiled with exquisite happiness, as the sweet, well remembered strains floated to his ear.

It was tha opening of the season. The audience was a brilliant one. Hundreds of refined and cultured musical people had gathered to givo warm gi-eeting to their prized singers. Tho ladies were in light, flower-like dresses, fairly rivaling the loveliness of nature's own blossoms, likewise scattered there in profusion. Tho lights shono like stars. Tho air was sweet with perfume and melody. The scene was like a fairy garden. Not one who was thero ever forgot it.

In one of tho pauses of the noble music a hush like the breath of night fell on tho great audience. They were stilled till almost a heart beat could bo heard.

Into tho midst of (his exquisite silence, after this strain of celestial* melody, a bloodcurdling cry broke. A man was seen to fall forward. It was Col. Carstone. He had been stricken dead in one moment

Examination revealed that bo had received a fatal brain injury from the fall in the State Line road months before. Tho wonder was he had lived so long.

They took his body home to the stone house. Death bad conquered. Never a^ain would the busy brain work and tho strong arm be lifted to protect his own. Never, though they die of hunger, or bo driven out homeless. Though their innocent blood cry to heaven, that which lies thero in the coffin will nofc hear.

Yet Death, the victor, laid his hand lightly upon the dead man. Tho marble liko counter nance took on a beauty, nobleness, yea, a majesty, that glorified it beyond any comeliness tile face of tho living man over wore. It was so grand a beauty that even tho rustic neighbors noted it, andspokoof it years afterward. VVhutever was good in his nature lay revealed, undisturbed longer by passion br weakness. Death the Destroyer was Death the Beautifier.

So Thomas Carstone slept with his fathers. "Well," said Mis' Simpkins, "he had an insurance of $10,000 on his lifo, and overything comfortable about him. Ho was prepared to die."

Was it from tho clouds the voice seemed to come that said to Shirley: "Take caro of your mother, Shirley. Take care of them alL

CHAPTER IX. |i

.'-•t'L't. FALLEN FORTUNES. It was a rainy day. Smoko was sullenly making its way out of tho stono houso chimney, liko a boy sent to school against his will.

A year has passed since the close of tho last chapter. Not much had happened to our people in that year. Yet it had been enough to chango the destiny of somo of thom for life. It had brought poverty to tho stone house. The death of CoL Carstone revealed tho fact that the friend who had invested his fortune for him had been false to the trust. Not enough remained to give bread to tho children.

Shirley was the head of tho family. From her mother down to the 8-year-old Harry all leaned upon her, and looked to her to tell them what to do next

What then? Shirley's soul had been full to overflowing of her own thoughts and hopes. Now she put her own thoughts and hopes in a corner and began to think and hope for other people.

The false friend's invebtmentu had swallowed nearly all. Even the mill and the farm had to go. Interest had been paid regularly during tho Colonel's lifetime, so that he had no knowlcdgo of tho stato his affairs were in. Thero were debts in many directions too. Tho old family lawyer was ablo to keep only the stono houso for tho Carstones. A heavy debt bung over even that. This was tho condition of things.

Soinobody hod to go to work. "Well," said KatyTringle, tho old maid, who always carried a black basket with a flapping lid on each side, "them Carstone young ones ain't no totter than other folks' children! I reckon they'll find outworkin' folks' victuals aint all white bread now. They'll have to break up. Them biggest ones is old enough to do chores for their board."

Must tho family in the stone house bo scattered? It was enough to make the generations of Carstones that had been born and lived and died there turn over in their graves.

Shirloy was a dreamer, and intensely imaginative. This is to be remembered in tracing the chango her life took on at this time, and the history of it afterward. Tho story of lofty ideas and horoic action made always an impression on her mind that held liko iron. Beyond a doubt the poetry, the history and drama that George Morrison read to her had much to do with shaping her life. Following sages and martyrs gone before, she climbed tin beights of generous and daring thought, murmuring ever more to her own soul, "Such thoughts I will think too." Did she hear of great and noblo deed, her heart throbbed quicker and her eyes grew dewy with sympathy, and eho unconsciously said, "Such deeds I, too, will do when tho time comes."

Nay, sho went a step farther, pondering as rfifl did still the old question sho bad asked her papa in childhood, "Has a girl as much as a boy? She answered it to herself as die grew older, saying with tho deep, wise conclusion of unspoiled girlhood, "What strong, heroic men have done, strong, boroio women can do.

She had said she would be wise and steadfast when the time came that demanded strength and wittlom. Was the time ripe? Sho had dreamed of shining occasion for heroism. Was it to como now in this sorrowful, wholly unlooked for wayf Above all, and after all her dreams, was it in such pour, commonplace guise that her occasion pre* sen ted itoelf at last? That was tho most disheartening of anything. All who are young, aspiring and human must have felt tho same. She did not doubt ber own powers. Sbe had the faith in berself that comes of a consciousness at strength. It was not vaaity. Itwas something very different The two wisest men sbe knew had bad infinite faith in ber, and had infinite belief in the strength of a good woman, tliey were ber father and her teacher. In these days of trial her mind ran continually on that beloved teacher, the things be had told her, the brave, sweet wisdom be had spoken.

Out of the beautiful past his voice said to her now: "Reconcile yourself to the inevitable. "A really great soul is great also in Bifle

If it is not to be cor lotto fill grand

requirements, we may at least fill amal] quircments in a grand way. If ever there comes a clashing of forces in your mind, Shirley, so that you cannot seem to know what & best, remember this: Do the duty that lies nearest you. That will surely lead you into the light And never lose courage—never give upl"

[TO BK CONTINUED.]

What makes the breath so fragrant, pure? What makes the rosy gums endure? What makes the teeth so pearly white? What makes the mouth a dear delight? Tis 8OZODONT, that precious boo'n Which none can use too late, too soon.

It is Never Too Late

to cleanse the teeth, and render the breath odoriferous with Fragrant SOZODONT, but it is best to use this Vegetable Elixir before the teeth begin to fail, and the breath to lose its freshness. "Spalding's," celebrated Glue, useful and true. .a tjt.,

We Caution All Against Them. The unprecedented success and merit of Ely's Croam Balm—a real cure for catarrh, hay fever and cold in head—has induced many adventurers to place catarrh medicines bearing some resemblance in appearance, stylo or name upon the market, inorder to trado upon tno reputation of Ely's Cream Balm. Don b« deceived. Buy only Ely's Cream Balm. Many in your immediate locality will testify in highest commendation of it. A particle is applied into each nostril no pain agreeable to use. Price 60 cents.

Itch and scratches of every kind cured in 30 minutes by Woolford's Sanitary Lotion. Use no other. This nover fails. Sold by W. C. Buntin, Druggist, Torre Haute, Ind. tf.

M- this foituon iiu.uly pvery one noeOg to rise (torn

"tI tonic, I It ON entfiM intc svery ph.\ tiuUii'H prescription for Uioeo who ueed building

BROPra

•THE

J3ESTTUHIE

For Weakness, l.iuwUiidc, Inrii of Kiicrjrr* etc., it IIA8 Nil KljLA1-5 xn1 It She ouly Iron medicino that not It Enriches tho )liood| l:ivlco»nicH llio System, Restores Appetite, AltwKiiri'ntlflii

It doo« not blacken or injure tho teeth, omiiv* kirdwho or product) ooruitip*tl»n—ut/itr Jnm »i .• o.r»no On. a. H. Binklkt,a loading physician of tiprliw jinM Ohio, gays:

Urdu's Iron Blttflrs It thoronghly Rood trodlin. 1 use it in my wnctjco, and find its noti.in wt- .* I! other forum of ir n. In wonknosa, or it low n- :•.! -n tho nystoin, llr.iwn'n Iron Bit-torn i*

WHIM

iikiwIIj

'Mhva neoemtly. li is n.11 that is clnimod fur it." Da. Vf. N. Watkiw, r.10 Thirty-moond Ktiwt, otown. D. O.. Hiys: Drown'o Iron Bitters fa Ha Tunio of the ngn. No^lnnn better, It ciwtet appotiie, glvoe ctrength ana Improve* digestion." Genuine hiwi *bore

Trade Murk and oromred md linos

ou wrapper. Toko no oilier. Mode only by

::uowm chemicalco.,ualtimojuk, mi.

k) H'

Wr'

A man who has practiced medicine vi for 40 years ought to know salt from Bugar read what he says:

Toledo, O., Jan. 10,1887.

Messrs. F. J. Cheney A Co.—GentlemenI have been In tho general practice of medicine for most -10 years, and would say that In all & my practice aud experience, have never seen a prescription that I could prescribe with as much eonfldence of success as I can Hall's Catarrh Cure, manufactured by you. Have prescribed it a grout .. many times and Its olt'ect is won•a derful, and would say In eoiirlusion that I have yet to And a ease of Catarrh that It would not cure, if they would take It according to directions. Yours truly,

L. L. G0R8UCH, M. J. Oillce, 21ft Huminit Ht.

AVe will give 8100 for any case of Catarrh that can not bo cured with Hall's Catarrh Cure. Taken Internally.

F. J. CHENEY & CO., Props., Toledo, O. •arHold by Druggists. 75 cts. i.X

p-p1 ...

Wsmm

PISO'S CUB* FOB COJUtTMITIOH free from opinm in any form, and therefore perfectly safe.

It cannot be asserted tbat everr case of ConiumpUon may be cured brthls medicine, butttls truo tbat thousands of lives wll I be saved If they de not delay too long.

If yon have a Cough without dl»ease of the lungs, so much the better. A few doses are all you need. But If you neglect this easy means of safety the sllgbt cough may become a serious matter, and several bottles will be required to cure yoa.

Prioe,tt cents. By druggists.

SAVES JMONEYS

One box or these pill* will many dollar* in dorter's bills* Tbey are •peelally prepared am a

Family Medicine,

it ltd supplies a want le»* «1 J* Tb«r remove unhealthy aeeamnlatlons rroni the body* without sansea «rj[riplnv. Adapted to young: snd old. Pries,

SOLlD EVEKrWHEBJE.

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TELLS THE WHOLE STORY

FOR THE 0ARD£K£R:THE FAWER-AMD TH0SL' WHO LOWE PUWT5-^D nj)WERSi„^r«5 •JCVAUQHAN-42 MU£ ST-'-CHICAW

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