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Friday, December 26, 1924. r S* ^ XXX X A**ata x xn nCX lI T I IIHHIlirTggT»»t««»r«»»»rry« ELEPHANTS BOARD k, | * J j j » AND KEEP ! « ! It Cost Nothing—That J ' Horrors Wonderful Gift. But, Oh, the J of Ownership That Followed. n By ELEANOR [ Author PORTER , [ of “Pollyanna, n u Just David,” Etc. < Copyrtsht by BUuor H. Porto. J iUi i n s i i ssstrtimiTtiii 9 f in mrumHiimimiS 14 ha l raIned a11 d *y Raymond ’ spatting along the wet slipperiness of the drenched pavements, it seemed as if it had al ways rained, and always would rain, Helen was tired, blue and ashamed ashamed because she was blue; blue because she was tired; and tired be cause—wearily her mind reviewed her day. „ ad dra e *g e d herself out ©f bed L . . _ St ? a ; P f, V !’ but even then *»er 8 , . “ ad been hastened to untidy half an completion by the queru lous Insistence of her mother’s frequent “You know, Helen—you must know how utterly Impossible It is for me to lift my head until I’ve had my coffee! Aren’t you almost ready?” Mrs. Ray mond had wakened earlier than usual that morning, and she could never en dure to lie In bed when not asleep. With one shoe unbuttoned and no collar on, Helen had prepared the cof fee ; then had come the delicate task of getting the semi-invalid up and dressed, It had all resulted as Helen had feared that it would result—she was late; and tardiness at Henderson & Henderson’s meant a sharp reprimand, and In time, a fine. Helen’s place in the huge department store was behind a counter where spangled nets and embroidered chiffons were sold. It had seemed to Helen today that half the world must be giving a ball to which the other half was Invited, so con slant—in spite of the rain—were the calls for her wares. *> Annoyances at the counter had been more frequent today than usual, Helen thought. Perhaps the t#!n had made people croes. Helen’s list of sales had been short In spite of her Incessant labor—and the list of sales was what Henderson & Henderson looked at when a promotion was being con sidered. ^ In!nl.L . nd , . th .. a I°r , lta,1 „ ’ h . r rafterh0 „ ° f the ' lr ’ spangles, tu the » light k. chatter of coming of care-free We girls ^“ g8 the ' 0,6 youth, marry and 7? love, lws and laughter Youth and love, and laughter.” Un consciously Helen repeated the words s J^ r ,ed lf Utterly I 0Uth as ^- she she VC ; * g f° <M?r? the fh miibm milkman? the a floorwalker? oh, yes, and there was the postman. Laughter? Lfn Z°, r f nember T, hC ? ShC w had seen anything funny-really funny en 8 t0 Ug Of nr all «i| this *M Helen w thought «. v- as she plodded wearily homeward; of this, and more. At home there would be supper !° and n ,HL the are noon ’ dishes mothro to to clear get to away, bed, ber breath sbarP ! y 88 8b tb “ gbt °* tbe dltme J;’ Sh ® hoped l ba ‘ . “ had ,?°* been codflsh-and-cream Mrs. Mason. J, rLa Codfish ' k r, twice 8t SPCak a week might do, but five times! (Mrs. Mason was the neighbor who, for a small sum each day, brought Mrs. Raymond her dinner fully cooked.) There was a waist to iron and some mending to do. Helen sighed now. She was almost home, but Involuntarily her speed slackened. Unmistakably she dreaded to go home. At the shabby door of the apartment house Helen half closed her umbrella and shook It fiercely. Then, as If free ing herself from something as obnox ious as was the rain, she threw back her head and shook that, too. A mo ment later, carefully carrying the drip ping umbrella, she hurried up three flights of stairs and unlocked the door of the rear suite. “My, but tt sprinkles! Did you know It?” she cried cheerily to the little wom an sitting by the west window. (.. Sprinkles’ 1 Helen, how can you speak like that when you know what a dreadful day It Is 1” fretted the woman. “But, then, you don’t know. You never do know. If you had to Just sit here and stare and stare and stare at that rain all day, as I do, perhaps you would know.” “Perhaps,” smiled Helen oddly—she was staring Just then at the havoc that that same rain had wrought In what hud been a fairly good hat. Her mothers glance followed hers. “Helen, that can’t be—your hat!” cried the woman, aghast. Helen smiled quizzically. “Do you know that’s exactly what I was think ing myself, mother! It can’t be—but it is. ’But It’s utterly, utterly reined! “Yes, ma’am. »» “And j*»u haven’t any other that’s ■really decent! ■ No, ma’am.” The wonuci sighed impattewtly. “Helen, how can you answer like that when you know what It means to spoil that hat? Can't anything dampen your absurd high spirits?” “High spirits 1" breathed the glrL A quick dash leaped to her eyes. Clothed In dry garments a little later, Helen set about the evening’s tasks. “Helen,” called a doleful voice from the sitting room. “Yes, mother.” “She brought codfish again today— five times this week; and you know how I dislike codfish! »» “Yes, I know, dear. I’m so sorry! •» “ ’Sorry’: But that doesn’t feed Tou me. must spenk to her, Helen, i can’t eat codfish like that. You must speak tonight when you take the dishes back.” «« Very well, mother; but—well, you know we don’t pay very much.” “Then pay more. I'm sure I shouldn't think you’d grudge me enough to eat, Helen.” “Mother! How can you say a thing like that!” Helen’s voice shook. It was at the supper table that Helen’s mother brought out the letter. “You don’t ask, nor seem to care,” she began with a curious air of injured triumph, “but I’ve go! a letter frrn Herbert. The younger woman fltfdied. Why, of course, I care,” she retorted cheerily. “What does he say?” ■ He wrote It several days ago. It got missent. But It’s such a nice let ter !” They always are. It • i It asks particularly how I am, and says he’s sorry I have to suffer. He cares.” Only the swift red In Helen’s cheeks showed that the daughter understood the emphasis. “Of course he cares,” she answered smoothly. u And he sent me a present, too— money 1” Mrs. Raymond’s usually fret jful Helen whine carried a ring of exultation. lifted her head eagerly. "Money?” “Yes. A new crisp dollar bilL He 'told me to get something pretty—some little trinket that I’d U».” “But a dollar—only a dollar,” mur mured Helen. “Now youlre needing'a wrapper, but that—” “A wrapper, Indeed!” Interrupted Mrs. Raymond In ’ fine scorn. “A wrapper isn’t a ’trinket’ for mel I’d have wrappers anyway, of course. But then, I might have known. You never think I need anything but wrappers and—and codfish! I—I’m glad I’ve got ,one chlld that—that appreciates! And Mrs - Raymond lifted her handker chief to her eyes Across the ‘able Helen caught her i lower Up between her teeth. For a 'moment she did not speak; then very ! gently she said: "Mother, you didn’t quite mean that, r m sure. You know very well that I |Td dress you In silks and velvets, and I feed you on strawberries and cream, L if I CO uld. It’s only that-that- But ever mllld . Use tbe dollar as you » lease - dear - Isn’t «‘ere something ! some uttle thing you would like?” Mrs. Raymond lowered her handker chief Her grieved eyes looked re proachfully across at her daughter, « ra tho ught of-a tie; a lace tie jwlth pretty euds; a nice tie. You know ! how I like nice things! ii “Of course, you do; and you shall have It, too,” cried Helen. “I’ll bring some home tomorrow night for you to ^ct from. Now, that will be fine, won’t it?” The other drew a resigned sigh. «« « Fine’! That’s just like you, Helen. You never appreciate, never realize. Perhaps you think It’s ‘fine’ to stay mewed up at home here and have ties brought to you Instead of going out yourself to the store and buying them, like other women!” Helen did not answer. As well she knew, she did not need to. Her mother, once started on this subject, asked only for a listener. Wearily the girl rose to her feet and began to clear the table. ti And it Isn’t as-If he didn’t have his hands full, just running over full with his business and all,” continued Mrs. Raymond. “You know how successful he Is, Helen. Now, there’s that club— what was It, president or treasurer that they made him? Anyhow, tt was some thing; and that shows how popular he is. And you know every letter tells us something new. I’m sure It isn’t any wonder I’m proud of him; and relieved, too—I did hope some one of my chil dren would amount to something; and I'm sure Herbert has." There was a pause. Herbert's sister was washing the dishes now, hurriedly, nervously. Herbert’s mother watched her with dissatisfied eyes. “Now, there's you, Helen, and your music,” she began again, after a long righ. “Yon know how disappointed I was' about that. »* “Oh, but piano practice doesn’t help to sell goods across the ceuuter," oh served Helen dully. “At least, I never heard that it did.” "Sell goods,” moaned the other. it Always something a boat selling goods! Helen, can’t you get your ml»d for one moment off that dreadful stone, and think of something higher?” "But it’s the store that brings as In our bread and butter—and codfish,” added Helen, half under her breath. It was a foolish allusion, born of a much-tired spirit; and Helen regretted the words the moment they had left her lips. Yes. that’s exactly what It brings codfish," gloomed Mrs. Raymond. “I’m glad you at least realize that.” There was no reply, Helen was working faster now. Her cheeks were pink, and her hands trembled. As soon as jwsslble, she piled Mrs. Mason’s dinner dishes neatly on the tray and hurried out with them. “It's only me, Mrs. Mason, with the dlshes,” she said a moment later, as her neighbor peered out into the hall GRIFFIN DAILY NEWS In answer to the knock at the door. "I'm a little late tonight" “Oh, to be sure,. Miss Raymond; coroe in—come In. Why, child, what alls you?” cried the woman, as Helen stepped into the light. > "Ails me? Why nothing," laughed the girl evasively. As she set the tray down and turned to go, the elder woman, by a sudden movement, confronted her, “See here, Miss Helen, It ain’t none o’ my business, I know, but I’ve just got to speak- Your eyes are all teary, and your cheeks have got two red spots in ’em. You’ve been erytn’. I know j you have. You’re so thin I could Just blow' you over with a good big breath, And 1 know what's the matter. You’re all wore out. You’re doin’ too much, No mortal wroman can work both day and night 1" ’ “But I don’t—quite,’’ stamixered the girl. Besides, there is so much to be done. You know, mother—though she Isn’t very sick—can do but little for herself. “Yes, I know she don’t—seem to. But isn't there someone else that could help? • i The girl stirred restlessly. Her eyes sought for a means of escape. “Why, no, of course not. There Isn’t anyone,” she murmured. "You are very kind, really, Mrs. Mason, but I must go—now. »» The other did not move. She was standing directly before the hall door. “There’s—your brother." "Why how did you come to know .that I had—a brother?” “Know It!" scoffed Mrs. Mason. “I have known your mother for a year— ‘ever since she moved here; and as If a body could know her and not hear of : him! He’s the very apple of her eye. !Why can’t he—help? Wouldn’t he, If ,he knew?” i ■ Why Mrs. Mason, of course I He .has—he does,” declared the girl quick ly, the red deepening In her cheeks, j "He—he sent her money only today.” ** Yea, I know; she told roe—of that, *» l Mrs. Mason’s voice was significant In jits Jshe smoothness. was going to get “Your her—a mother tie.” said “Yes, ^ f a tie,” repeated Helen, with feverish lightness; “lace, you know. Mother does so kwe pretty things I Oh, and by the way,” hurried on the girl breathlessly, “If you don’t mind—about the dinners, you know. Mother doesn’t care for codftsb-ancbcream, and If yon could just substitute something else, I I’ll pay more, of course! I’d expect to >do that. I’ve been thinking for some ‘time that you ought to have at least iten cents a day more—If you could manage—on that. And—thank you; If you would remember about—fhe cod fish. And now I really must—go! »» she finished. “Well, of all things! Now what have I said?” muttered the puzzled woman, staring after her visitor. “Ten cents •a day more, Indeed! And where, for 'the land’s sake, 1 b the poor lamb going to find thatY’ Ix>ng hours later in the Raymond flat, after the mending was done, the waist Ironed, and the mother’s queru lous tongue had been silenced by sleep, the “poor lamb” sat down with her little account book and tried to dis cover just that—where she was going to find the extra ten cents a day to ] DUy off Mrs. Mason’s codfish, j The It did shone, not rain indeed, the next If morning. It sun ns never had rained, and never would rain. There was the same apologetic rush ID the morning, the same Succession of buyers and at the counter, the same glitter and sparkle and chatter—the youth, and love, and laughter. TJjiep at night the surprise. j Helen Raymond went home to find a little flat dominated by a new a presence so big and breezy that consciously she sniffed the air as If were entering a pine grove instead a stuffy, four-room city flat. Helen, he knows Herbert, my bert,” announced Mrs. Raymond turously; and ns she seemed to [no further introduction was the young man rose to his feet and added with a smile:— ; My name Is Carroll—Jack I Miss Raymond, I suppose, ‘ brother—er—suggested that I call, as 1 was In the city.” “Of course you’d call,” Mrs. Raymond. “As if we weren’t I .ways glad to see any friend of boy’s. Helen, why don’t you say thing? Why don’t you welcome Carroll? M I haven’t had much chance mother,” smiled the girl In some barrassment. “Perhaps I—I caught my breath.” Not that Mr. Carroll ought to of course,” resumed Mrs. plaintively. “And he won't when knows you, and sees how moderate are. You know Herbert Is so quick, she added, turning to Herbert’s “l s her murmured the man; and the odd something in his voice ,looked up quickly to find the ,eyes full upon her. “You see, I’m sure, after all, that I do know he continued lightly, still with that somethin In his voice. mother hfls been telling me lots things—about Herbert" “Yea-; we’ve been having each a visit together,” sighed Mrs. “You see, he understands, Carroll does. Again Helen glanced up and met stranger's eyes. She caught her sharply and looked away, ! And yet—It was not of Herbert he talked during the next ten minutes. jit was of Mrs. Raymond and her daughter, of their life at home and at the store. It was a gay ten minutes, for the man laughed at the whimsical playfulness with which Miss Raymond off the pitiful Uttle tale of the daily struggle for existence. If he de tected the nervousness In the telling, he did not show It. He did frown once; but that wia when Herbert's mother sighed apologetically: S *4 Yofi mustn’t mind all she says, Mr. Carrol!. Helen never did seem to real- , lie the serious side of life, nor what I suffer; but that Is Helen’s way. "After nil, It must *)e a way that helps smooth thirds over some,” he had retorted warmly, At the end of ten minutes,* Herbert's friend rose to his feet and said that he must go. He added that he would come again, If he might; and to Miss Raymond he said very low—but very Impressively—that she would see him soon, very soon. It was no surprise, .therefore, to Helen, to encounter the big, tall fellow not twepty feet from jher doorway when she started for the ‘store the next morning. “Good morning. I thought you’d do this,” she began hurriedly. “We can talk as we walk. Now, tell me, please, quick. What is It about—Herbert?” “Then you—know?” “Not much; only suspect. I know everything Isn’t quite—right.” “But your mother doesn’t know— even that much?” “No, no! You saw that, didn’t you? I was so glad you did, and didn’t speak I He is her pet, and she’s so proud of him! It . Yes, I know,” nodded the wan grim ly. "1 saw—that." The girl lifted her chin. “And mother has a right to be proud of him. Herbert Is fine. It Is only that—that—” She weakened percep tibly. "Was It—money?” she faltered. “Y-yes." Carroll spoke with evident reluctance. His eyes looked down al most tenderly at the girl with the still uplifted chin. “It—It Is rather serious this time. He asked me to call and— and make It plain to you. I had told him I was coming up to town on busi ness, and I promised. But—good Heav ens, Miss Raymond, I — I can’t tell you I” “But you must. I’ll have to know," cried the girl sharply. All the pride had fled now. “And you needn't fear. I know what It is. He wants money to settle debts. I’ve sent It before— once. That Is it—Isn’t It?" "Yes, only It’s—Lt’S a particularly bed job this time,” stammered the other. “You see, It—It’s club money.” “How much—was It?” Carroll sighed in relief. “Miss Raymond, you’re a—a brick— I to take it like that,” he cried brokenly. “I don't know another girl who— It was—well, a hundred dollars will cover it; but he’s got to have It—tomorrow." “I'll send It." “But how—forgive me, Miss Ray mond, but last night you were telling me that—that—” He flushed, and came to a helpless pause. “How can I get It?” she supplied wearily. “We’ve a little In the bank— a very little laid by for a rainy day; but it will cover that. Mr. Carroll, how did he come to—do It?” It was a short story, soon told—the usual story ef a pleasure - loving thoughtless youth, tempted beyond his strength. Carroll softened It where he could, and ended with: “I asked Bert to let me make It good, somehow, but he wouldn’t, Miss mond. He—he just wouldn’t 1” “Of course he wouldn’t,” the girl sharply. Then, In a voice: “Thank you Just the same. don’t you see? Twould have done good. I’d have had to pay you. . . No, no, don’t say any more, please, »i she begged. In answer to the words that leaped to his lips. have beea kind—very Kind. Now, one kindness more, if you will,” hurried on. “Come tonight I leave you now—It's the store, around the corner. But tonight have the money. It’s In my name, I can get It without ing. You understand? Without mother’s—knowing. You Wl t hout—mother’s—kno wl ng.” “I understand,” he nodded as he wrung her hand to turned ingly away. ______________ When Helen reached home that she found the little flat dominated again by the big, breezy presence Herbert’s friend. I've been telling him more Herbert,” Mrs. Raymond began, ously, as soon as Helen entered room. At the /door some minutes later, roll found a small packet thrust Ills fingers. He caught both the and the packet In a firm clasp. “You’re true blue, little girl, breathed tremulously, “and I’m to keep tabs on Bert after this. make him keep straight for for j'ou. He’s only a bit weak, all. And you’ll see me again very soon—very spon,” he finished, he crushed her hand In a grip hurt. Then he turned and away, as If Ills eyes did not see clearly. <• Now, wasn’t he nice?” Mrs. Raymond, as the girl closed hall door. M And—didn’t he say he’d call again some time? >* “Tes, mother. “Well, rm sure, I hope he will. Isn’t Herbert, of course, ibut he Herbert.” He—does, mother." There was little break In Helen’s voice, but Raymond did not notice It. “Dearie me! Well, he’s gone and I am hungry. My dinner seem to please, somehow.” - “Why, mother. It was it?” ** N-no. It was chicken. But like enough It will be codfish Helen Raymond dreamed that night, and she dreamed of love, and youth, snd laughter. But It was not the shimmer of spangled tulle nor the chat ter of merry girls that called It forth. It was the look In a pair of steadfast ■blue eyes, and the grip of a strong man’s band. t THAT ANGEL BOY ,v H* ;§§ gang Like an Angel, Bat His Trip to the Country Will Be Long Remembered. By ELEANOR PORTER Author of “ Pollyanna,” « Just David,” Etc. : , Copyright hy Eleanor H. Perter. stsHE A room was very still. The gaunt figure on the bed lay motion less save for a slight lifting of the chest at long intervals. The face was turned toward the wall, leaving a trail of thin gray halr-wlsps across the pil low'. Just outside the door two physi cians talked together In low tones. “If there could be something that would rouse her,” murmured one; “something that would prick her will power and goad It Into action! “I suppose you’ve thought of—her, her son?” Inquired the other. "Oh, yes. Jed was sent for long ago, but he had gone somewhere Into the Interior on a prospecting trip, and was very hard to reach. He has not been home for years, anyway, and the Nortons—James Is Mrs. Darling’s nephew—have been making all the capital they can out of it, and have been prejudicing her against him— qnlte unjustly, In my opinion, for I think It's nothing more nor less than thoughtlessness on ie boy’s part.” Back In the sick-room the old woman still lay motionless on the bed. She was wondering—and as she had A ii “Jim—Aunt Abby fiat Up 10 Minutas In Bad Today!” wondered so often before—why It took so long to die. Tor days now she had been trying to die, decently and in order. Ella and Jim were very kind; but, after all they were not Jed, and Jed was away—hopelessly away. did not even want to come back, so Ella and Jim said. There was the money, too. She did not like to think of the money. They were talking now—Ella Jim—out In the other room. “You gee,” said Jim, “as long as got ter go ter town termorrer, it f eema a pity not ter do it all up once. I could order the coffin an’ undertaker—It’s only a question of few hours, anyway, an’ it seems a pity ter make another trip—Jest that I” In the bedroom the old stirred suddenly. A fierce anger sprang Instantly llfo “Jest fer that," Jim had said, “that” was her death. It was worth, it seemed, even an extra to town! And she had done so bo much for those two out there “Let’s see; terday’s Monday,” went on. “We might fix the for Saturday, I guess, an’ I’ll tell folks at the store ter spread It. tin’ It on Sat’day’ll give us a extry time If she shouldn’t happen go soon’s as we expect—though ain’t much fear o’ that now, I she's so low. An’ it’ll save me half a day ter do it all up this It was snowing hard when Jim back from town Tuesday night. “Whew i It’s a reg'lar blizzard,” begnn, but he stopped short at the pression on his wife’s face. En»r “Jim—Aunt Abby sat up ten utes In bed terday. She called toast an’ tea.” Jim dropped Into a chair, “But she—hank It all, cornin’ termorrer with the coffin l” “You hadn’t been gone an hour she began to stir an’ notice moaned Ella. “Gosh!" groaned Jim. “Who’d thought it? ’Course ’t ain’t that grudge the old lady’s livin'," he hurriedly, "bot Jest now it’s handy, things bein’ as they be.” It did not snow much through night, hut In the early morning It gan with Increased severity. The rose, too, and by the time Herrick, undertaker, drove into tbe yard, storm had become a blizzard. “I cale’lated if I didn’t get this coffin here purty quick there be no gettln' It here yet called Herrick cheerfully, "Sb-h f Herrick, look out t" he pered hoarsely. “She ain't dead You’ll have ter go back.” “Go back 1“ snorted Herrick. man alive, ’twas us much as my ’ 1" ' y” - Page ». m v. 3;;ng A.” A_,_ _. worth to get here. There won't he no goln’ back yet awhile fer mo nor no one else, I cale’late.” * Sil It was not without talk and a great deal of commotion that the untimely addition to James Norton’s household mi effects was finally ''“posited to the darkened parlor. Jim, perspiring, red faced, and palpably nervous, was pass ing on tiptoe through the sitting room when a quavering relce from the bed room brought him to a halt \Tim, 1* that your w “Yes, Aunt Abby. II i "Who’s comb? Jim’s face grew white, then red. “C-come?" he stammered. "Yes, 1 heard a sleigh and voices. Who Is It?” «< Why, jest—Jest a man on—on busi ness,” All day It snowed and all that night; nor did the dawn of Friday bring clear skies. The sick woman was better. At noon the sun came out, and the wind died Into fitful gusts. The two men attacked the drifts with a will, and made a path to the gate. They even attempted to break out the road, and Herrick harnessed his horse and started for home; but he had not gone 10 rods before be was forced to turn back. ‘”Taln’t no use," he grumbled. “I calc’late I’m booked here till th^rack o’ deem!" ® “An’ termorrer’s the fun’ral,” groaned Jim. “An’ I can’t git nowhere —nowhere ter tell ’em not to come!’ Saturday dashed fair and cold. Early In the morning the casket was moved from the parlor to the attic. It was almost two o’clock when loud voices and the crunch of heavy teams told that the road-breakers had come. ■ i I set ter work first thing on this road,” said the man triumphantly to Ella as he stood, shovel In hand, at the door. “The parson's right behind an’ there's a lot more behind him. Gorry! I was afraid I wouldn't gl( here In time, but the fun'ral wan’l till two, was It?” “There’s a mistake,” Ella said faintly. “There ain’t no fun’ral. Aunt Abby’s better.” The man stared, then he whittled softly. Mrs. Darling heard the bells of the first arrival. 1 “I guess mebbe Til git up an’ set up a spell,” she announced calmly to Blla. That’s Parson Gerry's voice, an* 1 want ter se him.” “But, Aunt Abby-” began Ella feverishly. “Well, I declare 1 If there ain’t an other sleigh drivln’ in,” cried the old woman excitedly, sitting np in bed and peering through the little window. *. Must be they’re glvin’ us a s'prtse party. Now, hurry, Ella, an’ git them slippers. I ain’t a-goln’ to lose none o’ the fun!” In state. In the big rocking-chair, the old woman received her guests. One by one the days passed, and Jim anti EUa ceased to tremble every time the old woman opened her lips. There was still that fearsome thing In the attic. “If she should find out," EUa had said, “ 'twould be the end of the money —fer us.” “But she ath’t a-goln’ ter find out,” Jim had retorted. The “funeral" was a week old when Mrs. Darltng came into the si tting room one day, fully dressed. "I put on all my do's,” she said smilingly. In answer to Ella’s shocked exclamation. *T got restless, somehow, an’ sick o’ wrappers, Besides, I want to walk around the house a little.” And she limped across the floor to the ball door. “But, Aunt Abby, where ye gpln’ now?” faltered Ella. “Jest up in the attic, I wanted teT nee — She stopped In apparent sur prise. Ella and Jim had sprung to their feet. “But you mustn’t!—you ain’t strong enough !—you'll fall!—there’s nothin’ there!" they exclaimed wildly, talking l*°'b together and hurrying forward; “Oh, I guess ’tw<m't klll me,” Baid ~ the old woman, and the hall door closed sharply behind her. “It's all—up!” breathed Jim. Fully fifteen minutes passed before the old woman came back. "It’s real pretty,” she said. "I alters did like gray.” M Gray?” stammered Ella. Yes!—fer coffins, ye know.” Jim made a sudden movement, and started to speak; but the old woman raised her hand. “You don’t need ter say anythin’." ahe Interposed cheerfully. “I Jest wanted ter make sure where twas, so I went up. You see, Jed’s cdmln’ home, an' I thought he might feel—queer If he run onto It, casual like.” “Jed—cornin’ home!” The old woman smiled oddly. “Oh, I didn't tell ye, did i? The doctor had this telegram yesterdav. an’ brought It over to me. Ye know he was here last night. Read It." And ahe pulled frdm her pocket a crumpled ■Up of paper. And Jim read: «» Shall be there the 8th. For God’s •ake don’t let me be too late. "J. D. Darllne ”