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In fact, only one
novelist could
have conceived
so remarkable a
talc. And that
novelist is Eden
Phlllpotts.
Mlnnto stood by her father-in-law
and examined the mark* ho Indicated.
It waa clear that acme heavy body
had crashed over the edge ot the
quarry and fallen six feet Into a bod
of f.<rn beneath. .While the man ex
amined the ground, Minnie niched up
a feather or two, regarded the clotted
blooil beneath, aud wondered whether
It T mo irom a dead pheasant or a
llvinjg poacher. She peeped down
ainotTg the fern, then started, bent,
dowd, picked up a small object and
put It Into her pocket quietly. When
the 1 teep< r returned she was looking
li )t> sslv at the wound on the quarry.
Tie nan must have fallen heavy.
If tv as a man,” she said.
•T le Dowl looks arter his own."
answ sred Mr. Sweetland. " 'Twould
havi broke the neck of any honest
c ap, no doubt."
Th ty pioceeded a mile Into the
swee recesses of the woods. Then
Minn e stood on the scene of the tnur
tier, »nd regarded, not without emo
tion, the spot where her husband waa
decla -i to have killed Adam Thorpe.
Hie father gloomily pointed out the
place where Daniel’s sun had been
discovered by Titus Sim.
"It have aged the poor wretch twen
ty ye tr," he said. "Sim be a hang-dog
creature now, an’ sltnks past me as
though he was to blame for Dan’s
downfall. But I won’t have that. He
only klone his duty. There was the
gun. and’ he had to show it. ’Tls all
summed up in that. How did it come
to be there. If my Bon wes not? An’
wny for did he run away kill
himself. If he had the power to prove
himself guiltless? Who can answer
those questions?”
•• ’Tis for me to do it,” replied Min
nie. “An' right’s on my side, father. If
he was dead, 'tis for me to live to
right his memory; but he be living,
so tis tor me to clear him more than
ever, so that he may come back aDd
stand alore your face again like an
honest man.”
"iNatvery-never I’’ he answered,
ihatls wtiere us picked up Thorpe:
an' that s where the gnu was; an’
there, alongside that fallen tree in
the braratiles, was the spot where
t’other black-guard got me down an
nearly hammered the life out of me.*
The girl looked round about her
and nodded.
"wuw you go about your business,
for I lay this is not a pleasant place
to you,” she said.
I'll just peep around, if you please.”
"There's no eyes of all them tluit
have searched here was so bright as
yours, my dear; but think ’twice afore
you waste your time here. ’Tis not
iikely you’ll find aught: an’ you And
anything more than others have found
g't:r most certain to be sorrow.”
"I don’t think it. My heart tells me
as there be that hid here as will pay
for finuing. I’ve felt it all along, an’
neveimnore than to-day.”
"Se*k then, an if you can find my
son's Jnnocence, me an’ his mother
will bless you for evermore, when us
wakes and when us lies down. You’ve
my leave to come here as often as
you will, an’ I’ll tell Thomas an’ the
others that you’m free of tho woods.
Your fetch ’e out ’pon (he side of Ham
eldon; then to the high road han't
above'n jpile.”
The old man left her, and Minnie,
sitting down upon the fallen tree
which he had pointed out, made a
quiet and systematic plan of
But her thoughts were divided 1)0'
tween this present site and that where
on she had stood half an hour earl
ier. Now she had mapped out the reg
ion of the fray and began her work
where baniel’s gun had been dlcovered
by Titus Sint. Sbe took a reel of stout
white thread from her socket, and
with sticks marked out a space of
three square yards. Then yard by
yard she went over the ground, lift
ing every leaf and examining every
inch of grass and soil. Not an atom
of ground escaped this most laborious
scrutiny. With immense patience and
care she pursued the task, and. at the
end of three hours in the silent heart
of the woods, she had inspected six
square yards.
Nothing rewarded the examination#;:
but only a very trifling tract ont of
that involved was yetwinspected, and
Minnie, having carefully marked the
portion investigated, left Middlecott
lower Hundred and prepared to re
turn home.
She still lived at Hangman's Hut,
and the fifty pounds with which Dan
iei had ( started life promised to keep
her tnere until time should pass and
news of ,ier husband reach he?. Al
ready the wonder waned, and /oiks
begun to talk of the “widow Sweee
land " and ask each other how long
she must in decency remain alone
before taking another husband. That
Titus Sim would be the man few doubt
ed. He iften visited her, and he strove
valiantly in many directions to dis
cover the secret of Thorpe's death.
IVt-w't "» he pre w et»|ed si the shad
ow cf a clue; then, again, ho bepamo
(its, u as uujji; ot e\p,aiia
lion vanished and the problem evad
ed him.
Threee nights after Minnie's first (
great search. Mr. Sim called upon hes.
Of ’ate be had seen her not seldom,
because the family at Middlecott was \
away and the servants consequently!
enjoyed unusual leisure.
Titus found Mrs. Baer with her!
neighbor, for the Inn-keeper's wife j
oftqn spent an evening hour with the 1
lonely girl, and Mr. Beer also would
occasionally run over if business was*
quiet. Bti/ his motive were selfish, i
for Minie proved a good listener, and j
thought she did not praise the fat
man's poetry, she was always pre
pared to give it respectful hearing.
The footman knocked and entered, |
according to liis custom; then sat by ,
Daniel Sweetland
A GREAT AMD FASCINATING CHARACTER CREATION
( Copyright, 1906, Eden Phillpotti. All Rights Rat,rued)
SatA6wra-
the tire and streched his gaitered legs
to the blase.
"A rough night,” he said. “I had a
regular fight with the wind coming up
over the heath; but you’in snug e
nough seemingly. I do welcome these
days when our people are away, for
they give me a chance to be in the
air. Sometimes I’m sore tempted to
throw up this life and get out-of-door
work again.”
"You wasn't meant for a flunkey,
I’m sure,” declared Mrs. Beer. "I
never can think 'tis a very dignified
calling for a grown man; though, of
course ,the quality must have 'em.”
“You was almost so fond of the
woods and the wild things as my Dan
iel was," declared Minnie.
“True for you,” he answered. “True
for you, Mrs. Sweetland.”
"I dare say you get a breath of (he
woods now an’ again while the folks
I are away?”
“AII 1 can. These stirring times
1 make me long to be a gamekeeper—
-1 just like wheu the country goes to war
|we men all want to be soldiers. I'm
afraid poor old Sweetland gets beyond
his work. There’s been more trouble
in the preserves since Sir Reginald
; went to Scotland."
This Information apaprently re
minded the mistress of Hangman's
! Hilt that she had offered Titus no hos
pitality.
"I’ll draw some cider for ’e. 'Tis
I ail I've got. Dan promised never to
drink nought else after we was mar
ried. An' if you want for to smoke,
please do it. Mrs. Beer an’ me both
like the smell.”
The footman pulled out a pouch of
tobacco and a pipe from his pocket;
and as he did so he groaned.
"What’s the matter?” Inquired Mrs.
Beer. "That's the noise my old man
makes in his sleep when the rhdumat
ics be at him.”
“My side. I had a cruel dig in the
ribs two days among. Slipped and
fell on the cellar stairs with a scuttle
o' coals. I thought I'd broke every
bone in my body. And a pang shoots
through an' through my side yet when
I move my right arm. But 'tis better
than ’twas.”
Minnie expressed active rerget and
j brought Mr. Sint a cushion for his
; back. His bright eyes looked round
the little comfortable room hungrily.
He ulready pictured the time when he
might fill a dead tnun's shoes, for he
was among the many who believed
ilia. Daniel Sweetland had In reality
perished and would be heard of no
more. Minnie had not undecieved
hint.
Now the mistress of Hangman’s
Hut poured her visitor out his drink,
then sat and watched the tobacco
smoke curl from his lips. Presently
she spoke.
“Do you ever use that wooden pipe
what my Dan gived 'e? 'Twas cut
very cunning in the shape of a fox's
mask wi li’l black beads for eyes. I
should like to think as you smoke it
: sometimes an’ remember him as gived;
1 it to you.”
“An' so I do. 'Tis my best pipe— 1
for great occasions only. There's
nought belongs to me 1 treasure more.
1 had it. betwist me teeth only this;
morning.”
The woman looked at him and nod
i ded gravely. There was nothing in
j her face that showed his speech par
ticularly Interested her. And yet, in
.wide ignorance of facts, Sim had
spoken words that might some day
j lead to hts discomfiture and ruin. For
i he had lied, and Mrs. Sweetland knew
it.
He drank and talked on, and sug
gested in his speech and ideas a man
of simple rectitude and honorable
.tnind. His admiration for Minnie he
made no attempt to conceal. It pres
ently fired Mrs. Beer into a rather
personal remark.
“laird! what a couple you'd make!”
she said, eyeing them. “I do hope, to
say it without rudeness, as you'll sec
your way, my dear; for Titus here be
cut out for you, an' everybody lx; of
the same' opinion. Wheu a man's
saved enough to open a public house,
that man’s a right to look high for his
partner, and he has a right to the re
spect of us females. Take the case
of my Beer. He waited, so patient as
Job, till the critical cash was to his
name in the bank at Moreton. Then
he fllnged over service as gardener up
to Areherton and lifted his eyes to
me; but not afore he’d got throo fig
ures to his name. An’ wo all know
..,at Mr. Sim be a very snug man.”
I won. deny it,” said Titus.
"’Twould be idle to do so. I am a
sung man as young men go. The
guests at Middlecoot are generous,
and uve pound notes soon mount up.
But we mustn't, talk of that. Mrs.
hwcetlanu hopes that my poor trlcnd
an’ her dear husband be still in the
land of the living. An’ though it cuts
the ground from beneath men. I hope
so too. Have 'e heard 'bout drunk
ard Parkinson? -hey say he's not
likely to get over his last bout. Now
there's a man famed for poaching
since childhood, and and as clever at
it as any chap exer I heard of. It
strides me that he knows a lot more
than his ie*.ow creatures have heard
him speak. Anyway, I'm going to see
him tomorrow, if he’s well enough to
see me. He's not above a bit of sport
by night still, though I guesss he's
shot his last bird now, poor chap! Put
a gun in that man’s hand, an’ he was
sober In a minute. 'Twas an instinct
with him."
Minnie listened and said nothing.
She appeared to be working on a piece
of red flannel, but in reality her mind
and attention were elsewhere. She
I had private reasons for a close per
sonal scrutiny of ntus, and now, from
under veiled lids, observed his every
action, his dress, his peech.
The man clearly endured physical
pain from lime to tlme.He moved bis
right shoulder gingerly and occasion
ally, forgetting it, puckered his mouth
into the expression of suffering, when
a twinge reminded him of his acci
dent. He was clad in an old shoot
Ing jacket and breeches, the gift of
one of his master’s guests at the end
of a shooting season. One leg was
torn and the rent had been carefullv
draw together. His gaiters were fas
teed with yellow horn buttons; but
upon the right leg a button was miss
ing. It had, however, been replaced
with a black one.
Sim smoked and finished his cider;
then he loaded his pipe again, talked
ten minutes longer and prepared to
depart.
T was forgetting,” ho said. “Mrs.
Sweetland, at the lodge, sent a special
message by me. She wants for you
to come down and take supper along
with her to-morrow. An’ she was so
kind as to ask me also. And I said as
I would do it and be proud to see you
borne after, if agreeable to you.”
Then Minnie locked up. brought In
“I'll come gladly. I shall be at More
ton to-morrow. My fowls have be
ginned to lay finely, an' I hope to have
a dozen eggs for market.”
"An 1 may I see you home after?"
If you've a mind to, thought there's
no need—a married woman like me.”
"You’m so brave. Good night—good
night! See how the moon Is shining
on the fog-banks. There’ll come rain
before morning, for the wind's fallen
a lot already."
He departed, and soon afterwards
Mrs. beer also returned to her home.
THE AUGUSTA HERALD.
Seventh ot Tlw
Herald Series in
Brilliant Fiction
Complete Novel.
Each Month
Without Extra
Cost.
front his kennel her sole companion
—a great yellow mongrel dog. loved
of Daniel—and then locked the door.
Next site turned out from a draw
er In the kitchen table a piece of brok
en wood and examined It very close
ly. It wns the bowl of a pipe broket,
roughly from the stem. The fragment
had been curved to represent a fox’s
mask, and upon the bottom of It were
cut In small letters "T. 8. from D. 8."
Minnie Sweetland collected soma of
the stmds of Mr. Sim’s tobacco uud
compared It with that still pressed
Into the broken pipe. Thus, while tho
footman walked home well satlsAud
with the progress of events, and full
of dreams for his future prosperity
she. upon whom It rested, hud mado
a remarkable discovery. That Titus
Sim was Involved In the murder of
Thorpe, Minnie could not guess or
prove; but tnat he was Implicated in
the recent raid—that tt was, In fact,
Sim who haa fallen in the quarry— It
seemed impossible to doubt.
Mrs. Sweetland’s lirst thought was
to tell her father-in-law upon the
following day. But sho abandoned the
idea. ‘TH go on alone," she said to
herself, "I’ll prove afore all the world
that he tol the truth; an’ maybe I’ll
live to bring the truth to light. An’ If
there’s danger in It. let the danger
fall cn me. I never was ufeard of a
human, an’ never will be. please Bod.”
CHARTER IX
In Middlacott Lower Hundred
'At this Junction it Is enough to **
late of Titus Sim that he honestiv oe
lieved his old friend was dead, and
hoped with all his heart to marry the
widow. With no little self-control he
concealed his ambitions, but the fact
tuat others saw the propriety of the
match Impressed hint and .since not a
few onpenly that he might fittingly
wed the young wife, he began to sound
Minnie herself upon the question
There came a day after Christmas
when Titus did groom's worn ana rode
with a message from his muster to
Two Bridges, nigh Prlncetown. He
pulled up his horse on the return
I Journey and stopped to drink at the
j “Warren Inn.” Mr. Beer was in the
har alone, and he touched the matter
nearest the other’s heart.
! "Seeing we’m without company for
the minute," said Johnny. “I can read
’e a bit of my last verses, Sim; an'
though you han’t addicted to poetry
as I know about, yet you’ll do well to
listen patient, for the matter has to
do with you in a manner of speaking,
though 'tls poetry. In fact, you be men
tioned by name.”
The footman, who never quarreled
with any man, declared deep Interest,
and Johnny drew a piece of foolscap
from his pocket, unrolled it. set *
glass on the top, then spread out the
sheet and read with that deliberate
and loving unactlon pecaullar to u.ie
who recites his own composition.
“’Tis the whole tragedy of two
young, youthful lives told In a rhy
me,” he explained. “I’ve took the tale
so far as It has got like. Now ’tls for
you to make history, so us l can write
the next verses."
Then the poet began;
"O, 'twas a direful business sure
When out come Sweetland from
church dftir.
And, almost afore, he'd kissed his wife,
To find himself tried for his dear life.
Then up he sprang: policemen three
They wasn't half so spry as he.
And even Corder, as come from Plytn-
Mouth, he couldn't get quits with him.
But cruel sad and wlsht the tale,
For Daniel from this mortal vale.
Did take his leave; but there’s no
mirth
Down in the bowels of the earth,
Where he oe uow—-excuse my groans.
For fitches aud weasels do pick his
bones.
And that young woman sweet and
slim.
She never was no wife for hint.
Though she have lost her maiden
name,
fihe'm just a maiden al the same.
And Sweetland s her name and
sweet’s her nature—
So sweet as any mortal creature.
And here, upon the Moor so desolate,
Sbe lives, like a bird as have lost, its
mate.
All in a lonesome nest sho bides;
Near by a little old river glides;
And Dan will never come no more,
he
Is in the Laud of eternal glrUy.
For that. I s*ear, who pens this Verse,
Though soirn- was better and some
was worse.
Yet never would that straight young
Dan
Have shed the blood of any man.
But. now who stmll come forth and
say,
Til take this poor young girl 'away
And marry her arid give her joy
To atone for her unfortunate boy'?
I ask the question far aud near,
And answer comes as clear as clear:
For Titus Sim, he loved her well,
And nothing but death true love shall
quell.
And therefore I do hope afore long
He win make good this humble song; j
And no chan will be happier than j
Titus Sim
It minnie Sweetland will wife along
with him."
“There!” said Mr. Beer. “Every
rhyme out, of my own head. An’ what
d’you think of It?"
" 'Tis very fine poetry, and true,
which all poetry is not to my certain
knowledge,” answered Titus. “I have
chances to dip Into gentlefolks' books,
and the nonsensical rhymes they have
l„ ', rn would much surprise you. But
here's rhyme and reason both, I’m
sure. 'Tis a beautiful poem, an I
should be very much obliged for a
.copy.”
You Should Not Fail to Read
DANIEL SWEETLAND
PHILLPOTT’S FAMOUS ACTION NOVEL
Cut out the Sections as they appear in the Herald and save them to read at your leisure.
“If 'twill fire you on to your duty,
you shall have It: uu' If she takes
you. I'll add a bit to it," said Mr.
Beer. "If you think It. rhyme as 1
often do," he added, " 'tis fifty pounds
against n nag of nuts but you fre
quently hit on a bit of wisdom. I’ve
often boon maxed at my own clever
ness. But. I never surprise my wife.
If I found out a way of turning moor
stone Into solid gold, she'd merely
say that she knowed all along 'twas
in mo to do It, Therefore 1 hope you’ll
j take the hint like a man. an' offer
; marriage so soon as you can. You've
I got the good wishes of the psrlsh be
hind you In the adventure; an’ that’s
'half the battle, no douot.”
j “I'm thinking It's too soon,” sutd
i Titus. "Between you and me, Mr.
Beer, ’tls my dream and hope to have
her, but time must pass. In the upper
circles they wait a year afore they
approach a bereft female, and though
1 needn't he asked to keep off It so
long ns that, still three months isn't
enough, I'm afraid. She was very fond
of Dan, remember."
I suppose three months Is not
enough, bh you say." admitted John
ny, "especially as she won't have it
that he's dead. There's a crack
brained thought in her poor young
heart that Daniel didn't mako away
with himself at all; au’ of course as
the ashes of the poor chap will never
he seen by mortal eye until the last
Trump, 'tls Impossible to prove sho*
wrong. For my part I've said that I
reckon he’s dead; but at tho same
time. 1 never shall know why he made
away with himself until we stand fac
to face beyond the grave. Then that
will be the fust question I ax the
man. 'Whatever did ’e do such a ter
rlble rash thing for, Dan?’ I shall ax
h.m as we meet in a golden street.
"I wish 1 could think with you that
he didn't no 11 —shoot Thorpe. 1
mean;; hut I’m only too sure of It.
What I believe is this; that Rtx Bark
lnsou and Dan did the Job between
them, uud that poor Dan shot the uu
der-keopor while Parkinson tried to
knock the life out of Dan's father. Of
course Rtx denied It when I taxed
him. However, truth will out— at
Doomsday, if not before, un', be it as
l it will, there's no reason why I
shouldn't ask the girl I love to marry
me now she'B freu to. I'll do it come
the springtime, if not before.”
Mr. Beer applauded the resolve.
“I'm sure right an' law be on your
side. The Church likewise, for that
matter. Parson never would hold
Minnie to that marriage. She’w free,
no doubt What you've got. to do in
to convince her loving mind that
Daniel be in glory, as my verses say;
then she ll let un bide an’ turn her
attention to you, ir she’s so wise as
1 think. Shall you live up-along to
Hangman a Hut if she takes you?”
1 “No, I shan’t. I mean to go to
Moreton. I’ve a thought to take a lit
tle shop these, if sha likes tlie Idea.’
j “Better try for ’ a public.’ Drink be
even a more certain support, than food.
If I don’t know Moreton men. who
should? I tell you that they put bread
second to beer every day of the year.
I made a rhyme about It that they
wrote up in Sam Merritt’s bar. If
you like ?’’
"Not now, master,” said Titus.
“Though I’ll wager ’tls a very clever
rhyme. If you made 11. And I’ll keep
tn mind ati you’ve said. Now t must
get going, else 111 be late for din
ner.”
TUT fOOTHAN PULLED OUT A POW
OF TOBACCO AND PIPE FROM HJS POCKITi?)
HE WD 50 HE CROAKED
Sint rodo off and It chanced, as the
dltnpsy light faded anil the brief splen
dor of winter sunset lighted tho west,
that he met young Mrs. Sweetland
herself returning home. Mluute was
riding a pony which Mr, Beer lent
her when sho wanted it. She had
been ut Mlddlecott Lodge amt in the
coverts also, for her search was not
r taxed, and, when oportunity offered,
she continued It,
Little remained to he done. That
day she had paid' her eighteenth visit,
to the spot of evil fam I and for the
first time since the beginning of the
s arch the girl believed herself re
warded. Most laborious and faithful
had been her scrutiny. Sha told her
self that to leave a twig unturned
t mlght he to lose the chance of re
establishing her husband's good re
pute. She tolled with a patience only
possible to a woman; ami now. while
hut. three or four more yards remained
to he searched, a significant fragment
came to the light. Yet It was uot
near the spot, where Daniel's gun hail
leen discovered. That tract, despite
a survey microscopical in Its minute
ness, yielded her nothing hut a flake
of flint. The arrowhead, for such It
was. had told an antiquary of some
old Panmnnlun warrior from palaeo
llthlc days; hut. to Minnie Sweetland
it meant nothing, and she threw it
aside without Interest. Then, where
Matthew Sweetland had suffered hie
cruel healing, the searcher came upon
a yellow horn button, ft reminded
her Instantly of Sim's leathern gait
era, and she stood silent In the silent
woods and stared before her. Thus
it scented that her husband's closest
dearest friend was Identified with the
snot, of the murder. But even In the
flush of discovery the young woman
.perceived how slight and vain whs
such a clew unsupported, if the but
ton was Titus Sim's, it proved noth
big against him, since all men know
that he had been early on the scene
of tho fray. But her heart leapt,
though her head warned it, and she
left, the wods full of hope renewed.
Returning from this discovery, Min
nie niet Sim. Then they pulled up
their horses and spoke together.
"I do wish you'd come down off the
Moor to live, Mrs. Sweetland. ’Tis
much too cold aud lonely for a female
up-along these winter days."
"I like It. 'Tls a stern life an’
keeps a body patient. You've got to
light u hit wi’ nature. It makes ft
woman brave to have to do that. I-ast
nlvht the foxes got to my chicks an'
killed three of 'em."
"I'm sorry, indeed!"
‘"Twill larn me to be wiser."
"To think wlmt It is to be a few
miles'Ui-aror the sun! At least I sup
pose ’tls that. They've heard from
Mr. Henry. Sir Reginald was reading
lout a lot of Ills letter at luncheon to
| day. Such a place us that Tobago be!
|All palm-trees, and lofty mountains,
- au<l flowers, mid birds and butterflies,
and sweltering sunshine, and niggers,
s and cocoanuts uud sugar-cane. A dif
ferent. world, If words mean anything.
Mr. Henry has a pretty pen, seem
ingly. I wish to Cod I'd been edu
cated and could write so easy and
flowing. Ah to the Overseer of the
estates, I didn't hear about that. 'Twas
only a bit’here and there Sir Reginald
read out to her ladyship.”
"Have they heard anything 'bout (he
pheasant thieves?”
"Not a syllable. Drunkard Parkin
son swears on his oath he had no
hand In tt, though for my part I sus
pect him. And what d'you think?
Matthew Sweetland waa at me only
yesterday to throw tip my Indoor
work ami turn keeper again! He
knows 1 understand the work almost
so well as Dun himself did. But I'va
got my Ideas, it nil depends on—on
other parties what I do. I’ve told the
old in.iii that he must wait for my
answer till next midsummer day.”
"He's always praising you an’ wish
ing how my Daniel had been mora
like you.”
“No. No! I wasn't a patch on
Daniel. Still, 1 know tho outdoor
jvork and love It, too.”
Minnie thought of her button.
"You'd want a wife then. A game
keeper'* life is a bard one. I suppose
If you do that, you’ll take the north
cottage and Thomas will get warn
ing?”
"Yes—l should have his place; he'a
not much good. But as to a wife
well, If you ask me, I think a keeper's
better without one. Men will talk to
their wives; an’ women will talk
again to other women. They can't
help It. A man whose business 'tls
to keep secrets and run the chance
of sudden death, had better hide sin
gle. So It depends—as I told you jnst
now—'pon other parties. Come next
midsummer, I ehall ask a certain
party a certain question; and If the
answer Is ‘yes,* there'll be no game
keeping for me; and If the answer Is
'no'—well. I’d rather not think of
that. There come times In hts life
when a strong man can’t take 'no*
for an answer.”
Minnie sat on her pony with one
hand in her pocket. She fingered the
hqyn button and spoke.
"You want somebody to look after
you. A girl's eyes be sharp where
she takes an Interest. I wonder your
master have never called you to ac
count for that black button on your
gaiter. ’Tls very untidy. If you was
un outdoor man, you’d never dare to
go about like that."
"Quite right/' he admitted. "To
think your sharp eyes have seen—
but what don’t they see—even to a
button? It do make me feel a proud
man all the same, that you can have
bestowed the least thought from your
beautiful mind on such a thing.”
"I catcbed sight of It somo time
ago. If you remind me one day, I’ll
sew a yellow one on for 'e. I've got
one. ’Twill match t'otherg an' look
more pretty than that black one."
"I'm afraid It won’t match the oth
ers, my dear, for Ihey'ni notched
around the edge and be peculiar. But
your button will he more to me than
all the rest, and If ’tls yellow In color,
’twill pass very well; and thank you
kindly for the thought.”
"Next time yoi* come up. then?”
"That will ho Sunday night, if I
may."
She nodded.
“Good night and bless you for ycur
kind words,” said Mr. Sim very fer
vently.
“Good night,” she answered, and
went her way.
No definite course of action had
prompted her to this strange offer.
Her only wish wa* to get a closer
view of the gaiter and compare the
button she had found with those npOD
It. Now. as sho rode on, a thousand
plans passed through her mind, but
not pleased her, and she began doubt
fully to speculate upon the necessity
of seeking help In this enterprise. The
danger grew. Let Sim once suspeat.
and she could not guess the result.
| If he had himself destroyed the keep
er, and In cold blood plotted the sub
sequent destruction of Daniel Sweet
land. then he would stick at nothing.
Minnie very clearly perceived the ne
cessity for caution. She also saw the
direction in which Sim's thoughts
were turning. That he would ask her
to marry blru wheu midsummer came
! was certain. She only hoped that,
long before summer returned the
• truth might have dawned upon her
darkness and her husband be by her
• side again.
Daniel was In her thoughts and her
young heart yearned for him as she
returned to her lonely dwelling. Then,
as If to answer the longing, great
news greeted ner and the day closed
in splendor brighter than any sunset
i-gbt.
Mr. Boer was wiatlng for the pony
when Minnie arrived at the “Warren
Inn,” and sbe marked, despite the
gloaming, that, his mouth was full of
news.
"Wonders never cease, hut be on
the Increase,” he began. “An* well
you know that when I break out Into
poetry I've generally got something
cm iny mind. Well, so I have. On
light iroin your horse an’ I'll give 'e
a present. What could be better than
a postman's letter? An' from foreign
parts, If you’ll believe me. though I
didn't know, my dear, as you'd got
frieiius in the distance.”
“Dan!" she said. “Tis Dan. my
heart says it.”
To be Continued.
ERUPTION BURVIVOR’S STRANGE
STORY.
The tramp steamer Peabody, which
was wrecked In the Poles erupMoo
lias one survivor, who has returned
to the friends who believed him
uead. His Incredibly exciting story
is told In full by Kden Phlllpotta In
"Daniel Sweetland,” a masterpiece,
which this paper will publish exclu
sively and serially, beginning Novem
ber 4th, before its appearance as a
book It is seventh of the Authors
and Newspapers' Association’s famous
flUti'MU wfe.