Newspaper Page Text
September 15, 1909. TH
day a few weeks later, there was a letter
for her. "It's got a city postmark," her
mother told her briskly. "It isn't your
Aunt Ernestine's writing, and I shouldn't
wonder if it might be from that Miss
Pendleton."
Slowly, but with swift-beating heart,
Hulda opened the letter. A slip of blue
paper, luiuea twice, nuiiered to the floor,
and her mother picked it up and spread
it upon her knee. Then she caught her
breath.
"Hulda Wylie, it's a check for twentyfive
dollars made payable to you. Did
you ever hear such a thing? Read what
she says."
Hesitatingly, Hulda obeyed. Her voice
faint and husky at first, cleared and grew
stronger as she realized that Miss Pendleton
had been on her guard and her
secret was still safe.
My dear Hulda:
Since my return I have thought often
of the many kindnesses you showed me
while at your home. I am enclosing a
small check which I wish you to spend
for something you will thoroughly enjoy,
and which I hope is at least a partial
discharge of my indebtedness.
Sincerely your friend,
Charlotte Ross Pendleton.
"Well, If that Isn't kind of her," exclaimed
Hulda'B mother, beaming. "Talk
of indebtedness, whert she paid up her
bills as prompt as sunrise. 1 guess she
took a great fancy to you, Hulda. You
did wait on her nice, though nothing
more than any boarder would have a
right tn ptnort Tliat'o nnlto o u*n~ p?
?u?w ? ? ~?^v.~v? A mmv o ^uiiv a tunc IUI "
tune, isn't it? Twenty-five dollars. Why,
when I was at your age "
But Hulda was no longer listening. She
had read between the lines. Miss Pendleton
was not showing her appreciation
of any kindness she had received from
Hulda during the summer. She was paying
for the blue pitcher.
All at once the girl realized that she
had come to a turning point. Her deception
had started without her realizing
it, in shyness and diffidence. Then when
she was well enough acquainted to explain,
she had grown to take satisfaction
in the admiration which Miss Pendleton
lavished on the blue pitcher. Later, matters
had become so complicated, that every
day made it easier to go along the
same path, harder to face about. The
slip of paper on her mother's knee told
her how 'far she had strayed from safety
and right. For to take Miss Pendleton's
check was perilously close to dishonesty.
A brown head dropped suddenly into
Mrs. Wylie's lap. Hot tears sprinkled
her gingham apron. "O mother," a choking
voice cried, "O mother! I don't know
how I can, but I've got to tell you everything
"
It was a long letter that Hulda wrote
Miss Pendleton, and its length was not
the only reason why it took a long time
to write it. Postponing an explanation
Invariably makes it hard. But when
Hulda signed her name, she had one comfortable
assurance. Whether Miss Pendleton
understood the rest or not, she
would not fail to comprehend that Hulda
E PRESBYTERIAN OF THE SOL
Wylle was done with deception forever.
Apparently Miss - endleton did under
stand. The letter that came in reply was
very womanly and sweet. Indeed, it
seemed that she as well as Hulda had
learned a lesson.
"'I've been ashamed often," Miss Pendie
wrote, "to think I encouraged your
hiding the breaking of the pitcher from
j>uut muiuer. Ana mat isn't all. 1 am
afraid I've pretended to a knowledge of
many things I know very little about.
Old china was only one of a number. I
am just as ignorant of art and music,
though i have lined to assume the airs
of a person who is well-informed. You
have one advantage over me, my dear,
you have discovered your mistake much
earlier than I have done, and will not
have as hard a time in breaking up a
bad habit."
Mrs. Wylie read the letter over twice
in silence. Then she took her glasses
and polished them vigorously.
"If the. pieces of that blue pitcher are
around here anywhere," said Mrs. Wylie
to her daughter, "you bring them to me.
and I'll see if I can cement it so that it
will stick together, even if it won't hold
water. That pitcher wasn't an heirloom,
to be sure, but I think, after all
that's happened, it had better be."?
Churchman.
THE MISSING BOLT.
By J. Marvin Nichols.
It happened on one of those eommer
riai mgnways mat nave played their
part in the opening of the great Northwest.
The horrible catastrophe took
place where feats of splendid engineering
were in constant evidence. The belts
of steel stretched themselves across a
fertile valley of unsurpassed beauty. The
ascent was made around awful precipices
and far up the distant granite hills.
Through unapproachable grandeur?
high up into the eternal hills?the railway
found its course. At a given point
one of these royal gorges must be crossed.
For ages, through this terrific rent in
the earth, the restless, dashing, turbulent
waters had made their way. The
uea 01 tne mountain stream had gone
down until immeasurable depths had
been reached. To stand on the overhanging
wall and look down into the awful
abyss makes one dizzy. To stand on
the water's edge for an upward look reveals
nothing but the stars in a far-off
firmament. Amidst the sublime solitude
of these everlasting hills, one waits for
Jehovah to break the silence.
Across this mighty chasm the structure
was thrown upon which were laid
the threads of steel. It was a nieco nt
wondrous skill.' The day of its completion
was past. The contractor delivered
his work under the guarantee that
the bridge would sustain any load that
might be moved upon it. For years it
endured the constant and excessive
strain. To all appearances it was able to
hold up any weight. But, by constant
use and some degree of neglect, an apparently
insignificant bolt lost its place
in that bridge.
JTH. 19
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A great load was moved upon it. A
quiver, a swaying above those awful
depths? a careening, now a crash?a
shriek of unspeakable horror?a pitch toward
death?the dying echo far down the
canyon?a passing tremor as the earth
received the shock upon her bosom?and
unbroken silence sets in again.
How strong was that bridge? Of what
avail was all its apparent strength? How
much stronger the structure than at its
ncancsi pouur was not the measure of
its strength at its point of weakness?
Ah! We must stand still until we have
learned the lesson. Here's the principle
that underlies the whole realm of human
action. Here's the Qnal definition of
character. Here's the last statement of
all that is majestic in manhood. Would
that we might know the secret?the
measure of strength is forever at the
point of weakness. In other words, character
is no stronger than at its weakest
point. We know our strength of character
as we discover our weakness.
The great apostle Paul discovered this
fundamental principle: "For when I am
weak, then am I strong." Not weakness
In strength, but that the very consciousness
of its existence enables us to set
up a defense at the very point where the
entire character is in constant jeopardy.
What matters all our apparent greatness?
The secret sin?the real point of
weakness?is the identical measure beyond
which no limit of strength ever
reaches.?Cumberland Presbyterian.
THE TWO HEAPS.
"I see in this world," said Rev. John
Newton, "two heaps?one of human happiness
and one of misery; now, if I can
take but the smallest bit from the second
heap, and add to the first, I carry a
point. If, as I go home, a child has
dropped a half-penny, and if, by giving
it another, I can wipe away its tears, I
foci +V.O* T 1 -? - -
>?? iiinL i nave uoiie someintng. I
should be glad. Indeed, to do great things,
but I will not neglect such little ones as
this."
As a countryman was sowing his held,
two London hllPlfa hannnn?/i ? J
~ U??K|/VUVU W UC I 1U"
ing by. One of them, thinking to make
fun of the old put (as they styled him),
called out to him, "Well, honest countryman,
it is you that sow, but It's we that
reap the fruit"! "Mayhap it may
be so, master," bawled the codntryman:
"I am sowing hemp"!