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4 nyia— — Hi in """’jT i.H ***”—«- ’<f^Efejrj®T^ ! ’-*’-‘-S'--''•'■••'•ftx : ''?s’^»-*i > *^W®^‘^>W>FV ,, i" vSKjRfc %^>< < >3 ' -T* , L ,„. ~'"~u^—r insult Lassie by leabin’ huh outside he ma’s own gate, an’ pears ’termined like not to set he foot inside de house do’. Marse Phil sut’nly got sump’n on he min’, dat’s one thing, to’ sho!” The next minute Mrs. Prentiss ap peared in the doorway. Her quick mother-ear had caught the sound of the young man’s voice, and she needed no summons from Jerry. She was a comely little matron of forty five, with soft brown eyes. She hardly came up to Phil’s shoulder, and the strapping fellow bent low to kiss her. “I have been expecting to see you here, Philip,” she said; “though 1 hardly looked for your arrival at this hour of the day! Did you ride from the city?” noting his costume. “Where did you spend the night, and where is your horse?” “My! Mother, you are as good at rapid-fire questioning as was Napo leon himself. Yes, ma’am, I rode, and Lassie is hitched at the gate, and as I didn’t leave Baltimore till nearly nine last night, you can answer your own question as to where I rested!” “Oh, Philip, you and Lassie must both be tired, after your all-night traveling! You must eat a hot break fast —it will be ready in a few min utes, now—and then take a good nap.” “Thank you, little Mother: but 1 took an hour's snooze down the road awhile ago, and feel as fresh and bright as this splendid spring morn ing itself. I have no doubt I shall enjoy my breakfast when I get around to it, but—the first thing, 1 must see the Judge. I have sent word by Jerry that 1 am waiting out here for him.” “Well, 1 hear him coming. I will go and see about preparations for breakfast.” And Mrs. Prentiss hur ried away. She was a wise little woman, and knew full well the peculiar circum stances in which her husband and her son now found themselves as to each other; also that the latter was a young man who could seldom be accused of not knowing his own mind, when once made up, so that, whatever course of action he had decided upon, in the present instance, would be carried out in any event. So she left them to have their in terview alone. Judge Prentiss and his stepson had always been good friends, and it was with a cheery: “Well, Philip, my boy, it has been a long while since you last favored Prentiss Hall with your presence,” that the Judge step ped out onto the piazza and gave the young man a warm handshake. Yet to Phil’s quick, perhaps suspicious eye, there was a trace of embarrass ed constraint in the Judge's manner. Phil drove at once to the point. “Yes, Judge, it is quite a while since I visited you here. And, from present prospects, it is likely to be even longer ere I do so again. Ur gent business has brought me to Frederick, and it was natural that I should wish to see my mother. “But I fully realize, sir, that in the existing state of public affairs it might be anything but agreeable to you to have me stopping under your roof. There are busy times just ahead here, and, as you know, Judge, T shall not play an idle part: you also know what that part will be. I wished to do you the courtesy of seeing you and letting you know that I appreciate your position, sir, before proceeding to take up quarters in the town.” “Philip, you always were a thoughtful boy!” (Phil thought he detected a note of relief in the Judge’s voice). “But you can, at least, take breakfast with us and have your horse fed before going on to Frederick. Yon know you can safely do that much, from the stand points of both of us: you have not yet joined the fray just opening up over in the village.” And the older man laughed, a trifle nervously. “Thank you, Judge; but it is only a matter of a couple of miles further, and there are matters I should see to without delay. After all, sir, if I proceed at once there will be no possible excuse hereafter for a charge against you of having shelter ed one of the ‘rebel ringleaders.’ As I reminded you a moment ago, my position and projected course are well known to you: it is no great distance to Washington, you. know, and you are well known in high circles there.” “Philip, my boy, I hope you are not hurt.” The Judge took a turn about the piazza, (his hands clasped under his coat-tails), and appeared ill at ease. “Really, my boy, aren’t you mak ing a mistake? You are young, Philip—very young—and can well afford to leave the shaping of these matters to older heads; your position is a purely voluntary, unofficial one, you know. That would not prevent your adopting what course you think best, when the issue is once made up, so to speak. Meantime, there could be no impropriety in my having you stay here as my wife’s son, as well as a private citizen. In any event, you know this State is right under the guns of Washington; so, with a view to the practical side of the ques tion, considering your own material interests as a property owner of Maryland, would it not be just as well for you to go a little slow just at present? “Still,” the Judge hastily added, marking the young man’s contracting brow and flashing eye, “I suppose your mind is fully made up, and any attempt at argument or persuasion is useless, even on the part of an old man like myself!” “Quite right, Judge; utterly use less. My determination is as firmly fixed as is yours, and, stand or fall, I am irrevocably identified with Maryland and the South. I thank you for your present interest in me, sir, and for all your past kindness to me. But I shall bid you good day as soon as I see my mother for a minute again.” The Judge went to summon his wife, and appeared not to find It necessary to return with her to the piazza. Possibly he regarded the proud young fellow’s closing remark as a dismissal. As she came out on the porch the second time, Mrs. Prentiss regarded her son solicitous ly. “You will stay with us, Philip, at least today, will you not?” she asked, as if divining the trend of his interview with the Judge. “No, Mother dearest; not another hour. It is best thus. I cannot say how long my stay in Frederick will be, nor where I shall go when I leave there. The future of both myself and my 'State is just now full of doubt and uncertainty. I surely hope to be able to see you again soon, but —I shall bid you goodbye, Mother, here and now!” “Oh, Philip, my son, my son! To what terrible end are events shap ing?” And the little mother buried her face on his breast as she burst into tears. Hers was indeed a trying position; her only living and dearly loved son —through force of circumstances and his own deliberate choice—shut out from free access to her home; her husband, from birth and tradition, siding against her people and her State; herself the victim and chief sufferer in a divided household! Woman’s Work. “There, there, Mother; as you used to teach me when a little child, we are in the hands of our Father above, and all things are in His protecting care!” A minute or two he stood, support ing his mother’s form in his strong, tender clasp, and soothing her with loving caresses. Then, as she be came more composed, he led her over to one of the seats ranged at each end of the broad piazza, and seated himself beside her. He allowed him self fifteen minutes further talk, in cluding in part some necessary in structions as to the management of things at Ellerton, in case he should be unable to give them any further attention. Then, as Lassie’s impa tient, remonstrant neigh sounded from the road, he arose to go. “And one thing more, Mother,” he said, holding tight her hand, but strangely enough looking off over the Judge’s broad, rolling fields —not down into her brown eyes with his blue ones, as before. “You will see that Miss Pillsbury and —and Mar ion Palmer, in Baltimore, are in formed that I am not staying at Prentiss Hall, and shall not?” Mrs. Prentiss was both wise and discreet; she was, moreover, a wo man. Whatever she may have known, or may not have known, of the state of affairs between the Northern beau ty and her son, she had not learned from Phil’s lips. Now she answered simply: “I will see that they know.” Another son 1 embrace and linger* ing kiss; another “Goodbye, Mother dear,” and Mrs. Prentiss, with a fervent, “Goodbye, God bless and preserve you, my son,” smiled brave ly up into the young man’s sternly set sac as many and many a noble mother was doing daily throughout the length and breadth of the Southland, keeping up a brave expression at the dread moment of parting, but shedding many a tear of anguish, alone, when the last goodbye had been said. It was these same noble women of the South, who, in many cases, literally buckled the sword in place as they bade the de fenders of their homes Godspeed in going forth to meet the invader. A similar tribute might well have been rendered the Southern women gen erally to that paid by the great Stone wall Jackson to the patriotic daugh ters of the Valley of Virginia: “God bless the women of the Valley; they are worth fighting for!” Phil’s actions were as much in disfavor with Lassie as with the scandalized Jerry. She knew it was breakfast time, and past, and after the jaunt of the night before she B physical and spiritual elements is the very foundation of health. One who is con stantly looking for defects i i others sees little or nothing of the beautiful either in mankind or in Nature. It is said that what one sees in others is but a reflection of self. This may or may not be true, but there is no questi-in that he may absorb or assimilate, so to speak, the faults he per ceives in bis fellowmen -until he becomes a veritable receptacle for any adverse con ditions thrown out by those with whom he comes in touch.— Alice M. Long. Every duty we omit obscures some truth we might have known. A distinguished writer has said: “To no woman can we give higher p-aise than to say of her she is a perfect nurse. For, to find a perfect nurse we must find a wo man with a head so well furnished, a heart so good, and a temper so sweet, that she might also be termed a perfect woman.’ Neither a borrower, nor a lender be; For loan oft loses both itself and friend, And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. —Shakespeare. Beware of losing or wasting inches of time—they are the little foxes that run away with many days. So much can be done in them and with them—often the very things for which we sigh hopelessly. Fill them, every one. Keep something handy—something that fits the interval. Remember that a famous law book was written because a lord chancellor chose not to be idle throughout the fifteen minutes his wife made him wait each day for din ner. Recall, too, all the men, noble and For Woman’s Work. REFLECTIONS. EAUriFUL, I right ar.d hopeful thoughts are conducive to harmony, and harmony cf the mental, moral, was full ready for a good feed of hay and oats. Yet here was her master, after leaving her tied outside the gate of this prosperous looking Maryland farm house for a half hour and more,, deliberately proceeding to mount and ride on, she knew not how much farther, as if on this fresh April morn ing, there were no such things as hungry horses in the world. She tossed her mane, champed the bit. and half turned that same pretty head to look around at her rider with inquiring, reproachful eyes; then— concluding that this was a small mat ter, after all, for good friends to fall out over, and responding readily to Phil’s signal—she broke into a smart lope down the road to Fred erick town, two miles away. “Yes, I know you are tired and hungry, little gal, and have well earned your breakfast: you shall have it, too, before ~you are thirty minutes older,” and Phil patted the mare's neck as he spoke. “But you see, Lassie,” he confided. I really could not embarrass the Judge by asking him to keep two such arrant ‘Rebels,’ (he would style • it), as you and I. Os course I sup pose we might have accepted hie Honor's invitation to breakfast with him, and I may have appeared a bit churlish in refusing same: still, there is no time like the present to' begin, when you have a definite line of ac tion mapped out. “And then, too. Lassie,” very confidentially, “such complete and early severance of dip lomatic relations will serve all the more strongly, when it reaches Milady’s ears, (as reach them it speedily shall), to convince her that I am really and truly out of the way at Prentiss Hall, and she will have the less hesitancy in carrying out her original plan of coming on there from Baltimore again. Whatever else she may think of me, she shall have no occasion to look upon me as a cad, ready to take an unfair advantage of circumstances, or need lessly to embarrass a lady. She will find in Phil Elliott a good hard fight er to the end of the chapter, but, at all events, one who will fight fair. And fighting there is, a plenty, in. store for both of us, I am thinking, little gal, so the day ot battle has dawned!” Half cheerily, half sadly was this soliloquy delivered, to be followed by a long silence as Lassie cantered along the well traveled highway, her master sitting erect and rigid in the saddle, his thoughts busy with Balti more and the very recent past—with; Frederick and the immediate future. (Continued next month.) eminent, who have climbed to the heights by saving inches of time. All of us can not hope to become likewise eminent, but we can reasonably and easily make our selves happy with things wrought in the fragmentary moments which we might un thriltily leave vacant. You will find as you look back upon your life that the moments that stand out, the moments when you have really lived, are the moments when you have done things in a spirit of love. As memory scans the past, above and beyond all the transi tory pleasures of life, there leap forward those supreme hours when you have been enabled to do unnoticed kindnesses to those round about you, things too trifling to speak of, but which you feel have entered into your eternal life. I have seen almost all the beautiful things God has made, I have enjoyed almost every pleas ure that Ho has p'annel fjt man; and yet as I look back I see standing out above all the life that has gone, four or five short experiences when the love of God reflected itself in some poor imitation, some small act of love of mine, and these seem to ba the things which alone of all one’s life abide. Everything else in all our lives is transitory. Every other good is visionary. But the acts of love which no man knows about, or can ever know about—they never fail.— Henry Drummond. * May every soul that touches mine, be it the sligh eet contact, get therefrom some goo),some li,tie grace, one kindly thought, one inspiration yet unfelt, one bit of cour age for the darkening sky, one gleam of faith to brave the thickening ills of life, one glimpse of brighter skies beyond the gathering mist, to make this life worth, while and heaven a surer heritagel'* MARCH, 1910.