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men, and how they had gone into the store, and just after nightfall were to meet, coming from oppo site directions, in the thicket-at the turn of the road, the old woman grew rigid as she glated fit hen “An* did yOn know what dat itteail? Did you kiioW who dat dey talkin * ’bout? No, ho! you prec ious lamb!’’ she cried) snatching the child to het bosotth “Yoh innocent) Weanlin’ lamb!” And then she fell into silence so stern and unapproachable that Polly ate her bread and milk ahd fell asleep wondering and shuddering at the recollection of the two men, and listening for the fall of the horse’s hoofs, as the dusk deepened into night and the Stars came out, and still Joe had not returned. Aunt Betty went to the door, then she walked out to the road, where she looked up and down, and listened, It was three miles to Graham’s, Mr. Hol leman Would hardly be back under an hour yet. Joe Was but a boy when he should come, If only there Were some man she could trust for “sense and jedgment, ’’ as she put it. As for Pete Nowell she Would as soon have thought of looking to Polly in such extremity, for all the respect she had for that gentleman’s courage and ability. She went back: and sat down on the door step. A light was burning on Cherry Mountain. “Some more o’ dem doin’s over dar,” she muttered. “It don’t bode no good to somebody, whatever ’t is.” She called to mind how the Widow Barton’s son had been taken for a revenue man and shot, and Squire Doolittle when getting too close on the trail of some illicit work had disappeared, spirited away off the high road at midday, and old Cowhorn—“But he warn’t noth in’ but buckra,” she had said at the time, turning a stony heart to the “buckra” wife and children, as “the quality” negroes never failed to do. Jkt the sharp crack of a rifle she started, alert like some wild animal. The cry of a screech-owl had been the only sound that broke the stillness. As the old woman sat stiff and motionless with ear and eye straining into the night, she felt Polly at her side. The child had risen and dressed herself, even to her beloved poke-bonnet. She shuddered as she sat down on the step at her feet and clasped the faith ful knees with clinging arms. “They said they would kill him—the man with the money!” she whispered, as fear quivered through her form. Two horsemen w’ere approaching slowly, their steeds walking, and neither rider making speech or sound. As they emerged from the darkness and their shadows took shape a most violent shaking seized Polly. “It’s those men!” she gasped, under her breath. “Set still, chile!” said Aunt Betty, and rising she sat down again, allowing the folds of her voluminous cotton dress and apron completely to envelop the little figure on the step. The two horsemen stopped at the rack, and presently were coming toward the house. As they advanced she sat still, waiting, her hand touching that part of her dress which covered Polly’s head. “Why Betty, what in the world?” said the doc tor’s voice. “Lawd, Marse Audley, is dat you?” She had been brave and fierce enough to meet any enemy that might come, but at the sound of her master’s voice she was weak as water. A poke-bonnet peer ed out from under her skirts, and Polly struggled forth. “Polly! My little Polly! What can all this mean?” said the doctor ift increasing amazement. “But of that you can tell me later—it is enough to see you well and safe. Betty, I must have some refreshment at once, and this gentleman with me. We must push right on. I expected Graham—is be here? We must all three reach home to-night.” “Well, I reckon not to-night, Marse Audley,” said Aunt Betty, a little dryly. Fear having taken something from her dignity, it was ready to reas sert itself. “How did you yet here nohow—dat’s what I want to know?” “Came around the other way, by Glenn’s Mill,” he answered, impatiently. “And there is no time to lose—this man has an appointment some miles on.” Then she told him what Polly had overheard, t and of the men then lying in wait in the thicket The Golden Age for September 13, IDOG. at the turn of the road) and Dolly described thettt both, the tall and the short One, and the horses they rbde—the oiie a dark bay, the other a gray. The doctor and his companion looked at each other, but drew aside as Graham, Holleman and Joe rode up and joined them. After a short consultation the doctor returned to where Aunt Betty and Polly were still sitting, “We will go on at once,” he said. “This man with mo is a United States officer, and will have business with those two men. He was expecting to come on them ten miles further on. Holleman and Graham will go with us.” “Now, Maise Audley, es de good Lawd done spar ed yer out o’ the han’ o’ de enemy once dis night, dey ain’t no use in yo’ runnin’ ’im down, kase I take if, Graham or Holleman ain’t neither one the jawbone of an ass with which you gwine slew dem Philistine. You gwine git kilt, dat’s what you is!” At this Polly clung to her father, and began to sob convulsively. The truth was dawning upon her. “Oh, father, let me go, too!” she cried. “I must go—l will go!” Without a word the doctor turned to his' son. “Joe,” he said, “hitch the roan colt to Holleman’s buggy and bring Polly and Aunt Betty. We will all get home by midnight. We will wait for yon just beyond the thicket at the turn of the road.” And the four rode quietly away. Joe’s disappointment at being thus left behind made none the less quick his movements in getting the horse to the buggy, and bundling Aunt Betty and Polly in he seized the whip grumbling, “The two worst men on Cherry Mountain caught right here, and me left to take care of nurses and ba bies! Golly! if I could get there!” and laying on the lash at every step. As they came within a few yards of the thicket some one was coming back to meet them. It was the doctor. He reined up beside the buggy and took Polly in his arms, crushing the poke-bonnet tight against his breast; then saying simply, “She will ride with me,” rode ahead to where there were five men instead of three awaiting him. “Lawd!” mumbled Aunt Betty, “Jes’ sposin’ I hadn’t er brung dat child! Whar’d Marse Audley er been now?” —Florence L. Tucker. Meeting of Methodist Superintendents at Trinity Church, Atlanta. An event of inestimable importance to the Sun day Schools of the Methodist Church was the recent meeting of the Superintendents of the various Sun day Schools of the North Georgia Conference. There were more than two hundred Superintendents pres ent and the meeting developed into a sort of In stitute in which the fundamentals of Sunday School work were taught in the most approved and practi cal manner. The proper conduct of a Sunday school is a matter of vital importance to any denomination, as the work done therein should inchide more than mere Bible study and should reach the very founda tion of the faith from both a spiritual and practical point of view. That this cannot be reached save through the most persistent effort, together with various lines of experience, has long been accepted, but reforms in Sunday School work are slow and often the results reached are discouraging. In the meeting just had, however, the speakers were of a class who were in position to offer help ful hints, practical suggestions and valuable instruc tion to Sunday School workers. There were a large number of these workers present and the programs of the different meetings would form almost a com pendium for Sunday School management and or ganization if the addresses were compiled and printed. Prof. H. M. Hamil, D.D., Superintendent of train ing work of the M. E. Church, South, conducted the meeting and addressed the rallv on the following subjects: “What the Sunday School is doing for Methodism;” “How to Organize and Grade a Sun day School;” “A Half Hour with Christ;” “The Synoptic Gospels;” “Co-operation of Pastor and Superintendent.” Dr. Hamil also led the Rural Sunday School Conference, while Mrs. Hamil gave a helpful and delightful talk on * ‘The Superintend ent and the Primary Department.” Other speakers were Rev. S. S. Belk, Mr. J. B. Green, John R. Pepper, M. M. Davies and John D. Walker. Prof. A. C. Boatman of Wesley Memorial Sunday School led the song services which added much to the impressiveness of the meetings. The visiting delegates to the “Rally” numbered about 200 and in addition to the meetings mention ed there were social diversions prepared for them by the citizens of Atlanta and of Decatur. It is believed that the occasion will prove prac tically helpful to all who were fortunate enough to be in attendance. Father Cummings, once superintendent of the Little Wanderers’ Home, attended a watch-night service and closed his testimony by saying: “It may be but a month longer that I shall be here, perhaps a week, or even before the close of another day I may be gone.” He had hardly seated himself when a young man in the back of the vestry start ed the old song, “Oh, why do you wait, dear broth er, oh, why do you tarry so long?” Rather unusual maneuvering in the line of con versational strategy is illustrated by the following incident: A lady, sending a green servant to answer the doorbell, said: “If anybody asks if I am in, give an evasive answer.” The servant scon returned. “Who was it?” asked the mistress. “A gentleman who wanted to see you. ma’am, and 1 gave him an evasive answer.” “What did you say?” “I ask ed him if his grandmother was a monkey?” • "* After paying attention to a lady’s pet lap-dog', a gentleman asked its name. “I call the dear crea ture ‘Perchance,’ ” she answered. “Surely a strange name for your delightful pet, ma’am.”' “D’yon think so, really? 1 named it after Byron’s dog. Don’t you remember wrere he says, ‘Per chance the dog will howl’?”—Selected. “Is there anything you don’t need that 1 might take?” asked the slovenly old junk man, watching Subbubs packing his goods on the moving van. “Yes,” snapped Subbubs, “a bath.” Such a Grandfather.—A young man was being examined by a life insurance official as to his fam ily record. Among other questions the following was asked: “Os what did your grandfather die?” The applicant hesitated a few moments, and then stammered out: “I-I’m not sure, bur I think he died in infancy.”—Lippincott’s Magazine. Properly Pious.— Pious propriety reached high tide in the case of a man who was about to under go an operation for appendicitis, and he declared that he did not want the operation performed until his pastor could be present. “Why do you want your pastor present?” asked the physician. “Because I wish to be opened with prayer,” was the reply.—Lippincott’s Magazine. Her Contribution.— Visiting Philanthropist: Good morning-, madam. I am collecting for the Drunk ards’ Horne. Mrs. McGuire: Shure, I’m glad of it, sor. If ye come around tonight yez can take my husband.—Harper’s Week Iy. The Last Plea— Last summer there died ar \\ ashington a lawyer who for many years bad shock ed a large number of his friends bv his rather lib eral views touching religion, according to Harper’s Weekly. A friend of the deceased, who cut short a Cana dian trip to hurry back to Washington for the purpose of attending the last rites of his colleague, entered the late lawyer’s home some minutes after the .beginning of the service. “What part of the service is this?” he inquired in a whisper of another legal friend standing in the crowded hallway. “I’ve just come myself,” said the other, “but I believe they’ve opened for the defease.” 7