Newspaper Page Text
18
THE MISSING MISER,
11V \V ILTGR JRHROI.D,
Copyrighted, ISIiS, by Walter Jerrolil.
I.
The time wap the evening of a summer’s
day; the place a small Surrey village with
in thirty miles of 1 ,on<l on; the immediate
scene an old-fashioned brick-and-timber
cottage, standing at the extreme end of
the village and inhabited by an old soli
tary, Gregory Garlow by namt
Gregory was a man of pyer seventy, a
recluse, who was something of a mystery
to the whole of the neighborhood. The
present generation knew him on,y as an
eccentric old fellow who lived by himself,
spending very few shillings each week on
his living. The younger folk called him a
••miser,” hut their elders thought that
they knew better, seeing that each month
he was known to receive a postal order
for one pound from someone in London,
presumably a wealthier relative.
On the July evening on which our story
opens the old man might have been seen
in the large brick-floored silting room of
his cottage, and could any of the villag
ers have glanced in they would have con
cluded at once that he well merited the
title of miser so liberally bestowed upon
him by the juveniles. Daylight was rap
idly fading, so he lit a tin oil-lamp which
hung from th great center 1 11 am which
crossed the ceiling supporting the others,
and went to the window to draw across
It the heavy piece of stuff which did duty'
for a curtain.
As he did this he failed to notice a
man's face that was quickly withdrawn
from tire diamond-leaded panes against
which it had been pressed, but he did ob
serve that the gate was open at the end
of the red-tiled path which ran ta t ween
borders well tilled with a flourishing l*>-
tato crop.
At once all his fears were alert. Who
could have opened his gate? He turned
to the table in feverish haste, seized some
papers, and pushed them into his pocket,
and then catching up the gold and silver
which he had been counting, pushed it
into a coarse linen bag and went to the
open hearth, with Its quaint, old-fashion
ed, overhanging chimney. Ho stooped un
der the front of this and stood up to put
his small hoard on the deep shelf at Hie
side. His head and shoulders wen hidden
by the front of the chimney, and he did
not, therefore, see a strange man enter
the room, and was indeed totally unaware
of the presence of any Intruder until he
beard a muttered—
" Damn the old hunks, where have he
and his money got to?”
The poor old man trembled with double
fear—for himself and for his precious
money—as he stooped down in a cramped
posture on the hearth and looked out with
livid face and horror-struck eyes at the
speaker. The latter heard the slight
movement which the old man made, and
rushed upon him, hissing:
"That's where you keep your money,
Is it?”
Poor old Garlow was dragged rudely
from the hearth and began shrieking for
assistance as loudly as his worn-out
strength would permit.
“Help! help!” in piteous tones, rang out
his aged treble.
"You’d best be quiet,” said the other,
with a muttered oath; "and you’d best
give up some of that money quietly.”
“No; leave me. Help! help!” and the old
fellow, with strength born of despair In
realising that he must help himself, turn
ed on the robber.
The latter, younger by nearly half a
century, seized the other by the throat
and swore that If he did not hold his
tongue It would be the worse for him.
Firmly gripping his victim he shook him
backwards and forwards, and as the old
man’s grasp on his arms suddenly relaxed,
threw him to the floor.
"So much ttie better,” said his assail
ant; “perhaps you’ll be quiet for a min
ute or two now.”
Saying this, he stooped within the chim
ney and stood up as the old man had
done. Striking a match he peered over
on to the sooty brick shelf at the side.
On this he found the bag which he had
seen on the table and a smaller one. Seiz
ing them as the match which he held
burnt his fingers and went out, he ad
vanced Into the middle of the room.
He looked at the old man lying inert
upon the floor.
“Perhaps, you old fool, you’ll be more
generous to a visitor next time.”
On the point of leaving the cottage with
his booty a sudden horror seized him, and
he glanced again at the man whom he
had so roughly handled, went up to him
and turned him over on his back.
“My God! he’s dead!”
The robber started with terror at the
crime which he had committed for the
possession of a few pounds. Then the in
stinct of self-preservation asserted itself,
and he dragged the body across the room
to the hearth. As he did so a paper fell
from one of its pockets. The man picked
it up. and saw on it inscribed, “Last Will
and Testament.”
“Your last will, Is it?" he said pushing
It hack into the pocket from which it had
fallen; "well there it is, and much good
may it do you ”
By dint of much struggling and pushing
he succeeded in getting tlie- body up on to
the shelf from which he had just tuken
t lie money .The brick recess was only about
two feel deep by iwo and a half in length,
and the old man’s limp limbs hung over do
what his murdered might.
Some distance above tile shelving bricks
an iron bar crossed the chimney—probably
used at some lime for hanging bacon dur
ing the process of smoking. Catching sight
of this ihe stranger brought a ehuir on lo
tlie hearth, and standing on it succeeded
in getting the old man's body Into an up
right posiure between the liar and the wall
and tied him to the former by his neck
cloth, so that his head hung partly over It
while bis feet rested on the shelf.
•‘That'll not easily lie seen,” said the
murderer, as he shifted the chair back
into the room, “an' if it is they’ll think the
old bloke ‘nnged Tsself." Then lie look the
lamp and fleered upwards,and turned away
again in horror and fear, the light shin
ing directly on the old white face, which
eeemed io Ire glaring downwards.
‘ It's to be hoped tlie chimney don’t want
sweeping yet,” said the man to himself as
he drew back w ith a face scarcely it ss
pallid than that of his vicCim. Carefully
locking the front door he went lo make
his escape by the back way. In the yard
he paused and wondered if "it” was really
safe from detection. Terrified at the very
suspicion of discovery, he caught sight
of u heap of lime and other materials
where old Garlow had been engaged in
erecting a pigsiy.
A fresh thought seemed lo strike the
man, and muttering “Urn sure the chim
ney ain't safe,” he returned once more to
the scene of tiis crime, Inspired by anew
idea of hiding till tract's of tlie dt< and
JX.
At the opposite end of the straggling vil
large of Thornely to that where Gariow s
cottage was situated lived tlie one person
in t xim. net tor whom till' old man eviiict I
nny real affection. So far as the world
knew—the world that is 10 say the vil.’ag
i rs -Mary Mardeau was Gregory Harlow's
oniy lb ing relative, and she was the or
phan child or his niece, who bad been th.
oil y Child of his only sister. It Is true
' hut . w 8 supposed that the old man
I Unght be the pensioner of a richer relative
, w ho did not care to acknowledge the kin
| ship, but this was a mere ingenious sur
| rnise to account for the monthly arrival of
■ i postal ordi r for twenty shillings.
Mary, herself, too, afforded delectable
| fare for the local gossips. At the time ot
our story she was a beautiful girl of eigh
• teen, and she had lived, fever since her ar
j rival In the village a slip of a child of ten,
I with a widow who kept a school for small
'children. Mrs. Page could give but little
! information about her charge. All sh
im. tv was that Mary was a very nice oblig
; ing child, and that every quarter day
brought a regular and liberal remittance
| from a London solicitor.
Mary, on her first arrival at Thornely,
j t.ad Been but little of her elderly relative
I but as she grt w up front girlhood to young
: womanhood her brighl ami winsome fa*.**.
and h. in. at ways had won the old mail’s
I In art. and lie was quite willing that she
should come to his solitary cottage twice,
or sometimes three times a week lo “tidy
up” for him. Even with her, however, he
was reticent as to Iter family history, a
matter on which as she grew older she
naturally became more curious. Ail that
she could learn from him was that many
years before when quite a young man lie
bad taken part in the California gold rush
j and had returned to England worse off
than when he left it; hail returned to find
his only sister dead, she having married
and left a baby girl—Mary’s mother. Of
her latex history he knew, or, professed
to know, Vtothing.
‘tMaybe you’ll know when you are
older; you’re but u child as yet. He
satisfied as you are.”
The girl would often have liked to ques
tion him further, as to who it was ttiat
paid Mrs. Page quarterly for her keep,
and at the same time sent her a suffi
ciency of pocket money, but Uncle Greg
would put a slop to such discussion by
saying (hat it must be “some old fool or
another with more money than wit,” and
she had to be content—or at least had to
put up with ignorance.
Pleased as the old fellow had been for
the last two or three years at the young
girl's frequent visits, he would liut h*ar
of tier coming to live with him in the
cottage. Last of all would lie have en
tertained such a notion during the few
months which immediately preceded this
eventful July. For within those months
Mary hud been foolish enough to (all In
love with and win the affectionate hom
age of a young artist, Francis Shirley,
who had stayed for some weeks in the
village that lie might sketch the varied
beauties of the sandy common on the
edge of which the village stood, and of
the leafy lanes which abound in the
ip ighborltood.
Shf hud, indeed, not only fallen In love
with the artist, but on the very evening
on which our story opens, when they had
been wandering in these very same lanes,
she had replied to his low-spoken ad
dresses with a whispered promise to be
come his wife.
In doing so, however, she smiled, and
said that she was something of a mys
tery, and he had not better bind up his
fate with hers, for lie didn't know what
she might turn out to be.
"Darling," he replied, "what docs it
matter? You cannot turn out to be any
thing but my Mary.”
“I don’t know that, Frank,” she said,
dropping her voice almost to a whisper,
over this first use of her lover’s Christian
name; "think of my Uncle Greg.”
“Your uncle is an brick.”
said the young man, warmly. "You see,
you don’t know who his sister married, nor
who your mother married.” .
"And very little about whom it Is that
I'm going to marry,” broke in Mary, with
half-tearful jocularity, for never .’lid her
ignorance as to one side of her family
history pain her more than at this blissful
lime,
‘He was but a landscape painter,’ is
ali that anyone will be able to say of
your husband, for, dearest, 1 am no Lord
Burleigh in masquerade,” Frank said,
stealing his arm around her waist as he
recognized the pathetic note In he r voice.
"Thank you, sir,” said she, with smil
ing, mock humility, and adapting Tenny
son's lines;
“ ‘You are but a landscape painter,
And a village maiden me.’ ”
“Ah!” returned he, “perhapne it Is the
‘vllage maid' who is the imixwtter, and 1
shall find you suddenly becoming a Lady
Burleigh and soaring away into society
with a capital S, and leaving the poor
landscape punter to go down, down, down
until he becomes a curbstone artist and
‘Chalks Christ anti mackerel on the flags
And does exlr< mely ill.' ”
Thus they talked on all the meaningful
nonsense of youg lovers who have just
found their bliss in the acknowledgment
of mutual affection.
By tx strange freak of fate the conver
sation on which we have been prying had
taken place during the same early hours
of the July evening on which so terribly
different a scene had been enacted at the
cottage of Gregory Garlow.
When the newly-engaged couple separ
ated tit Mrs. Page’s garden gate it was
arranged that Frank, whose third stay in
the vlllge had just come to an end, should
go with Mary to her uncle’s cottage on
the following morning before returning
to Isjitdon, that he might get his suit
sanctioned by the girl's only known rela
tive.
Laughing and talking at noon the next
day they went up the red-tiled path to the
old man's place.
’’Naughty uncle," said Mary to her com
panion, “he ought to begin and dig his po
tatoes, for see their flowers are beginning
to fade,” and she plucked a piece of the
beautiful blossom of the homely vegetable.
But no Uncle Greg was visible io receive
her reproaches. The door and windows of
the cottage, to tlie girl’s great surprise,
were severely closed.
“It's funny,” sqid Mary, commenting on
this fact, “for uncle generally has them all
Open. Me must be up long before this.”
Then her eyes caught sight of the cur
tain across one of the windows partially
overgrown l.y a vagrant vine.
“Oh! Frank, can he be 1.11?”
They tried the front door. It was fast.
They knocked and received no response;
knocked again, but still without effect.
“Let us try the back,” she said, a nerv
ous dread catching at her heart, though
she added with affected cheerfulness, “i>er
haps he’s pottering over the wonderful
pigsty he is building."
They passed round the collage, and saw
brlcklime and cement as though the old
man had but just left them. The back
door a iso was shut fast. Shirley look, and
through the keyhole and declared that
the kiy was still in it. They returned io
tlie front of the house and found that tlie
key was not ,ti that lock. This made the
lio*ilion of affairs stranger still. Mary ho
gf n to f.i l sure that her uncle was ill,
and her lover, too, began naturally to feel
somewhat nervous on her account.
•You see, deur," he said, in attempted
explanation, "your uncle ntty have got
up very earlj- and gone out, for the door
has probably been lock'd from the outside
or cist why should the key have been re
moved?”
"Uncle Greg always gets up early,” re
plied the girl emphatically," and would
never hate gone out leaving the curtain
up like that.”
“Well, dearest, if you wish it we will
get the door forced open.”
"Oh. do. I-rank, for 1 feel sure that un
ele m ty lie ill and wanting our help."
As they were debating, the i>o!i" man
who dill duty for the whole law-abiding
village tvus seen coming along the road.
THE MOUSING NEWS: SUNDAY, AUGUST 14, 189a
Frank Shirley hailed him, and he Boon
formed a third in the puzzled group.
"Weil, sir, what is it I'm wanted for?"
sael tlie constable in his best official man
ner, though ihe knew the "artist chap"
quite well, and had been familiar with
Mary ever since her firri arrival in the
vi lage.
“We cannot make Mr. Garlow hear,
for all our knocking, and are afraid that
he may lie ill, and would like to force the
door. ’ ’
“H’m.” saiil the policeman, as he stoop
ed stiffly, and peered through the key
hole. "key ain’t in the door.”
“No. 1 had seen that.”
"Mayn't the old < hap have gone out?”
♦‘Look at that," said Mary, and pointed
to the agitating stuff which darkened the
window of the sitting room.
"Weil, miss, it do stem curious at this
time of the day. Now. tf you suspected
foul play we could have cause to break
in.”
"Surely we can do so ir we fear the old
man is ill?" said Frank, in rising indigna
tion.
"Well,” pursued the self-important of
ficial, “ 'e is Miss Mardem's relative, an'
if she wishes it I’ll soon find a way in.”
"I wish it." said Mary simplv.
Police Constable Tiffin tapped the end of
his stout stick through one of the diamond
panes of the window, methodically knock
ed away the jagged edges of glass, and
putting his hand through the aperture,
easily opened the window, and got
through into the room. Frank followed
hint with agility, and they soon discover
ed that tlie Old man’s bed had not been
slept iii—that lie was nowhere on tlie
premises. They unlocked the back door
and admitted Mary. Each room of the
cottage was searched through; everything
wore the usual aspect to which one of
the three was will used. Nothing was
disturbed; bu! no Gregory Garlow was to
be seen.
Thcrevvas nothing for it but to conject
ure as io where the old man could have
gone ho mysteriously, and to patiently
await his return. The constable kepi
watch an.l ward at the cottage and Frank
and Mary promised to send the village
odd-job man along at once to repair the
window. “H’m!” murmured the police
man to himself as the two went down
the toad. "They’re a well-made couple,
anyhow. Shouldn’t wonder!"
“What it was he “shouldn’t wonder”
at a listener would not have been able
(o ascertain, though it may he imagined
that the policeman had shrewdly guessed
the tender relations of his two late com
panions.
♦**•**•*
The mysterious disappearance of Greg
ory Garlow afforded a fruitful topic of dis
cussion with the villagers of Thornely,
most of whom liked to know a little more
about their neighbors’ business than they
ever troulilid to know of their own. Many
were the conjectures started as one after
the other attempted to account for the un
accountable. It was recallexl by some of
the elders that the absentee has as a
young taken part in the great gold rush,
and it was suggested that he might have
got fired onee more with a greed for gold—
a suggestion favored by the childish talk
of him as "miser.”
Those same young people who called
him miser soon had rumors of their own
flying about the village, for one of their
number gifted with a more vivid imagina
tion than his fellows thought it not un
likely that the devil had come suddenly
and claimed the miser, and even went the
length of lightening the effect of his
theory by declaring that he had distinctly
smelt sulphur on passing the cottage.
Day after dnv passed, and even week
after week, and still no news was receiv
ed about the missing man. Mary Mar
deau was divided between an indefinable
fear over her uncle's prolonged absence
and true delight over the love which had
come to her. She was persuaded to leave
Thornely for a week to visit her lover's
family at Hampstead, but Insisted on
staying away no longer from the village
in ease the old man should arrive and
wonder at her being away.
Thus it came about that Francis Shir
ley took up permanent lodgings in Thorne
ly and divided his time pretty equally be
tween his art and his fiancee. He had
heard of the rumor that Gregory Garlow
had gone gold hunting, and tim'd to chaff
Mary over it, saying that perhaps Hie
old man had gone to seek a dowry for her.
“Seriously,” he added, "I wish he’d told
us that he was going, and how long he
intended to be away for me might have
married at once and settled, down in his
cot lage.”
When six months had passed, and stilt
nothing was known as to the whereabouts
of the old man It began to lie freely dis
cussed in Hie village whether Mary, as
presumable heir, ought not to take posses
sion of the cottage. She had paid fre
quent visits to it during the six months
that had elapsed, and kept the place clean
and tidy "in case uncle should return as
suddenly as he went."
She and Frank, 100. took the garden in
hand, and kept it in order; then, as au
tumn advanced, she had fires frequently
going that cite place might not be allowed
to get damp.
Winter gave way lo spring, and the mys
tery seemed no nearer solution; month by
month the usual London letters had arriv
ed for Mr. Gregory Garlow. and month by
month they had been pigeon-holed by the
village grocer-postmaster pending the nld
man- return.
Local gossip on the subject had even be
gun to flag when it was revived one day
early in March by the arrival of a stranger
in Ihe village, w ho it was soon known had
made straight for the postoffice and there
asked tola- directed to Mr. Garlow’s house.
The postmaster's wifi , who happened to be
on duty, stared.
"Mr. Garlow. s!r?”
“Yes, Garlow; I spoke plainly enough, I
believe,” answered the visitor with some
irritation.
“Well, it’s like this, sir, I can direct
you to his cottage soon enough, but you
won’t find him there, sir, as maybe you'll
know.”
"I know nothing of the kind. Where Is
lie then?”
"That's what we don’t know, sir. He
went off, or leastways, lie disappeared, last
July, and hasn't been heard of since by
anyone in Thornley. We’ve quite a number
of letters wailing for him.”
“Those letters—" the lawyer, for such it
was, began, and then broke off: "His niece,
Miss Mardeau, is she in the village?”
"Yes, sir, at Mrs. Page’s, but 1 saw her
go by half an hour ago with Mr. Shirley;
they've gone to Mr. Garlow’s cottage, I
expect, for they spend a lot of time keep
ing the garden there straight,"
"And this Mr. Shirley, who Is he?”
"He’s the young gentleman she’s going
to marry.”
”i will go to the cottage and see her.”
Speaking thus, Thomas Jarvis, solicitor
of the firm of Jarvis. Tunnicliffe and Jar
vis, of Hedfordrow, London, left tlie shop
and walked thoughtfully down the village.
He had gone some distance when he saw
a vine-covered cottage standing some fifty
or sixty feet back from the road, and in
the intervening garden a man and a maid
leaning over a border sowing seeds with
their heads in very close proximity.
"The turtle-doves, I’ll be bound.” said
Ihe man of ihe law, as he turned in at the
gate, which he closed with a snap to give
warning of his approach. Tlie two started
up with surprise, and saw the usual spec
tacle of a gentleman In frock coat and si.k
hat Saluting Mary, Mr. Jariis said:
’’Miss Mardeau, 1 beileve.”
”1 am Mary Mardeau.”
“And I am Mr. Thomas Jarvis, solicitor
said the new conn r, handing her Ills busi
ness card.
“Have you brought news of uncle?” ehe
ask* and. excitedly.
"1 have Just learned. Miss Mardeau, of
Mr. Gaflow’s extraordinary disappear-
Gan we not gel indoors for a short
liuic, for in these very fciruugc circuui
Fiance* I must te!l you some things of
which you may not have heard.”
Tlie three went into ihe cottage by the
back ivay, me from door remaining a seal
ed entrance, and th< re the solicitor told
the following sto-v. having duly as ertain
"l that Francis Shirley was in verity the
girl’s affianced hit ml, and not only said
to be such by village tattlers.
"Your uncle, as you are aware. Miss
Mardeau, was, or is, a very eccentric man.
So far as I know you are his only relative,
nnd you, even' be has chosen to keep in
ignorance of hig true position. Mr. Garlow
was, or Is, probably, thought to be a poor
man.”
Mary bowed nt to the statement.
“He was nothing of the kind. He chose
it was one phase of his eccentricity—that
out of his money wM h 1 had invested for
him and the Inter' si thereon accruing, that
I should send him one pound a month, anil
that I should also send a cheque each
quarter to Mrs. Page for your mainten
ance.
"Oh! that is the mystery of it." exclaim
ed Mary. “Unci' would never tell me who
paid for me, nor indeed anything about my
parents.”
“Mr. Garlow. w hen he came back a rich
man from California many years ago
bought this cottag- . and began living his
eccentric solitary life, though slid a eorri
|aratively young man. He had come back
hoping to provide for his sister, but found
her dead. He provided for her daughter,
your mother, as he has done for you, until
she disgraced her elf irretrievably in his
eyes by marrying a foreigner—M. Emile
Mardeau, a young French artist of great
promise of whom you may have heard.
Your father and mother both died about
the time that you were ten years old, and
since ihen your uncle has. unknown to
you, and through me, acted as your guard
ian.”
So the whole mystery was cleared, and
although Mr. Jarvis was not able to throw
any light on Garlow’s strange vanishing,
Mary felt grateful to him for enlightening
her as to her own birth and also as to the
fact of her being so entirely indebted to
the seemingly self-centred old solitary, her
uncle.
“Pending our learning something of your
uncle’s whereabouts, or of his fate, for we
cannot Ignore the fact that he was up
wards of seventy years of age, we must
even goon as we are.” thus the old lawyer
concluded his talk with the young couple,
though he did not see fit to go on and ex
plain that Gregory Garlow’s fortune hav
ing been practically untouched had very
materially increased during the many
years that its owner had been living the
life of a poor cottager. Nor did he see fit
to explain that in the event of the old
man’s death without a will Mary was the
sole litir to all his wealth.
it was by no means reassuring to find
that the old man’s solicitor, who was re
sponsible for the safe guarding of his
money, knew nothing of his whereabouts.
Shirley though that something must
have happened to Uncle Greg, although he
knew that a very diligent search had
been instituted far and near. Mary clung
tenaciously to the idea that her uncle
would yet been seen one day working in
his garden as though nothing had hap
pened.
About a month after the visit of Mr. Jar
vis another surprising event happened. A
large envelope was one morning handed to
Mary as she was in her uncle’s garden.
It bore the following superscription:
“To the Vine-covered Cottage,
“At the end of Thornley,
"Surrey.”
At first she demurred at opening a let
ter not explicitly directed to hersedf. hut
was afterwards persuaded to do so, when
there was found Inside a very large old
fashioned key, and the following note
from the matron of the infirmary attached
to a workhouse in one of the Midland
counties:—
•• ‘A man. name unknown, died here yes
terday. He would give no particulars of
himself, but asked to have this key—the
only thing contained in his pockets—for
warded as I do it herewith. The body v.ill
be buried two days from now.”
"Oh! Frank, can it be uncle, do you
think'.” ’ i
“I cannot tell, dearest, but I will go at
onee anti find out.”
“On, if it should be! How dreadful to
die In a workhouse infirmary, away from
everybody. But,” she added, with a sud
den access of the practical, "we had bet
ter see whether it is the front door key.”
They tried. It was!
Francis Shirley had a fruitless and
yet further mystifying journey up lo the
midlands, for when he arrived at the in
firmary, he found that the man who had
died, and who had sent the key to Thorn
ley, was a young fellow about 30 years of
age, and apparently a tramp.
IV.
On a bright July day, just one year af
ter she had promised to do so, Mary Mar
deau became Mrs. Francis Shirley. The
wedding took place quietly at Thornley
Church, Mr. Jarvis, the solicitor, making
a special journey to the village to act
as her uncle's representative and give
away the bride.
Nothing had been heard of Uncle Greg,
and it seemed as though nothing would
lie heard of him. A brief honeymoon,
spent walking amid the Welsh mountains,
having come to an end, the young couple
settled down in "the vine-covered cottage
at the end of Thornley.”
Beautifully did they realize that "love
in a cottage,” the charms of which have
been so often sung; although Mary often
thought wistjEJuliy of her poor old uncle
and benefactor—his fifty pounds a year,
still faithfully remitted by Mr. Jarvis,
formed no inconsiderable portion of their
joint income—and wondered what could
have become of him.
Nearly two years of married life had
come and gone, and a small chubby Greg
ory reigned supreme in Vine Cottage.
Mary had insisted, on his arrival, that
he should share his father’s and her un
cle's names, and he was duly chronicled
ns Gregory Francis Shirley.
One day in June—just upon three years
after the old man’s disappearance—s“cou
ple of young swallows tumbled down the
sitting room chimney, and Mary called her
husband to see to them. He was sitting
before his easel in the garden trying to
place upon canvas a counterfeit present
ment of his tiny son, but at once went in
and caught ihe fluttering birds and put
them out on the tiled roof. Then he re
turned to look up the chimney to see if
there were any others.
"Mary, here's a rum go,” he said, from
the liearih, his head and shoulders up the
soot-grimmed chimney, “your uncle must
have been a miser, after all; look here,”
and he rubbed where a tiny golden speck
showed amid the rough cement.
"But, Frank,” said his wife, who had
joined him, “those bricks are much newer
than the rest of the chimney. And how
carelessly and roughly they’ve been put
up; they seem to have toppled over against
the wall.”
"So they have, you observant little wo
man. Perhaps your uncle put them there
and we’ve lighted upon his secret hoard.”
Mary did not iike even her husband lo
Jest over her uncle as miser, and made
him desist. Meanwhile Frank was pulling
at some bricks that seemed looser than
the other, and suddenly he said.
"Get out quickly, Mary, I believe the
bally lot is coming down.”
Even as he spoke, and as Mary got from
under the projecting chimney the bricks
came down with a run that nearly overset
Frank, while Ihe soot and (lust nlmost
blinded him as he felt his way into the
room.
"Frank, are you hurt?”
"No dear, but don’t look, IPs 100 terri
ble!”
It was too late to say "don’t look,” Mary
liaJ already caught sight of ihe ghastly
object, which had fallen with the bricks.
t'onliucd on Page Twenty.
I SPANISH UN’S TERRIBLE
EXPERIENCE!
The Difference Betwean Spain's
Brutality to Women and
Anglo-Saxon Humanity.
Among all the incidents of the Spanish-
American war, one of those which best
illustrates the Spanish character is the
story of a wealthy woman refugee driven
from Santiago by the fear of bombard
ment returning again to find her home
and property pillaged and destroyed by
soldiers of her own race and blood.
Imagine, if you can, such an occur
rence in an American or an English army!
Imagine any one of the hundred inhu
manities and atrocities toward women
which characterize the Spanish race be
ing duplicated under the rule of an Anglo-
Saxon nation! Impossible!
No wonder so many frightened refu
gees look upon the American army as
MM 3®S§!
fclkl -if
“NO WONDER TBAT SPANISH REFUGEES SEEK AMERICAN PROTECTION."
their deliverance from the hands of a
brutal and inhuman mob.
The way a nation treats its women is
the mark of its standing among the world
of nations, and shows in an instant its
state of civilization or of savagery.
THE AMERICAN SENTIMENT.
Americans exalt their women as the
better part of the nation, and render them
such (rue, devoted homage as womankind
receives in no other country in the world.
It is not mere lip-service nor the shal
low gallantry which parades itself in fine
phrases and extravagant compliments. It
is the simple and sincere deference of
genuine manhood towards the sex which
includes their mothers, sisters, sweet
hearts and wives.
How fully do American women appre
ciate and reciprocate this obvious senti
ment of American manhood? It is a ques
tion worth looking into. Do the women of
oi r country fully realize the opportunities
for happiness and power which lie within
their grasp? If they should lose a large
proportion of the queenly heritage so freely
accorded and which rightfully belongs to
them, where lies the blame; and wherein
is the redress?
HOW IT IS SOMETIMES THWARTED.
Many a woman—many a thousand wo
men—throughout this land where woman
kind is loved and reverenced, lead lives
of constant misery and sorrow. Many a
woman feels that her daily lot is wretch
ed and unhappy beyond description. Shu
is weighted down by a crushing burden
of physical weakness that her husband
cannot understand, and for which he does
not know how to make allowance, simply
because he is a man.
He forgets- if Indeed he ever realizes —
that a woman’s entire existence, mental
as well as physical, is itound up in and
identified with the delicate and important
special organism of womanhood. When a
woman is peevish, fretful, nervous, full of
aches, pains and constant miseries, he wall
seldom attribute them to their actual
cause.
WHERE THE BLAME LIES.
lie will binme a woman’s temper for
what is rightfully due to a condition of
disease and weakness. He will forget his
loyalty and patience; grow careless of her
feelings, neglecilui and even perhaps un
kind. What should l>e the delight anf
comfort of domestic life is embittered and
sometimes almost destroyed through mu
tual ignorance of the great fundamental
facts which control and color the woman's
physical life.
Should there not be a more thorough
confidence and frank understanding be
tween husbands and wives, and between
mothers and daughters on this all import
ant subject? Ought not everyone concern
ed to make this problem of repairing the
physical capacity, upon which all other
capability depends, the foremost object of
their earnest solicitude?
The kindest of husbands cannot fully
sympathize with what he does not under
stand. However terribly a woman suffers
she hates to be complaining of ill-health
all the time; she hates to acknowledge
that she has any weakness of this nature,
if she calls in the doctor, nine times in
ten the Inexperienced local practitioner
does not diagnose the trouble correctly. He
prescribes for liver disease or heart-weak
ness; or he may say: "Your nerves and
stomach need a little toning up; that's
all.” He will seldom recognize the fact
that the real trouble is in the organs dis
tinctly feminine, the special, intricate and
sensitive structure which fits a woman for
wifehood and motherhood.
WHY WOMEN HESITATE.
When a sensitive modest woman once
fairly realizes the cause of the continual
aches and pains that are sapping her vi
tality and making her life a failure, one
of the first thoughts that eome to her is
a dread of the mortifying questioning, ex
aminations and local applications which
doctors so uniformly insist upon; and it
seems to her almost as if it were better
to endure her constant pains and miseries
than submit to this embarrassing ordeal.
ONE WOMAN’S EXPERIENCE.
The fact that such an alternative is en
tirely needless; that there is a perfect and
unfailing remedy by which her troubles
may he absolutely cured in the privacy of
her own home without resort to these re
pugnant methods, comes to many a wo
man like a revelation of mercy and deliv
erance. “For one year I suffered more
than tongue can express,” says Mrs. Lily
Heckart, of Bartlesville, Cherokee Nation,
Indian Territory; ”1 was in bed nearly all
the lime. I was scarcely able to work half
of tlie time. I coud not even dress myself.
God alone knows what 1 suffered. I had
falling of the womb so badly that at
times I could not be turned in bed. I suf
fered from palpitation of the iieart. I
would often faint away and it seemed as
if I never would recover. I had sick
headache nearly all the time, and also had
St. Vitus' Dance*. At the commencement
of the monthly period the misery would be
so great that I would lie nearly crazy;
this w'ould last from twelve to twenty
four hours and I would suffer untold
agony: When I w*ould stand on my feet
it seemed as though the top of my head
would come off, and I had almost lost
memory when I commenced using Dr.
Pierce’s medicines. I had doctored with
five different physicians, but they did me
no good. They finally said they had done
all they couid. .
WHAT HER DOCTORS SAID.
“One of these doctors, of forty years’
experience, said to me: ‘I can’t do you any
good, so why not try Dr. R. V. Pierce’s
Favorite Prescription?’ So 1 decided to
write to Dr. Pierce and describe my troub
bs. He wrote me a nice, fatherly, kind
letter in reply, and I followed his advice.
I took, three bottles each of Dr. Pierce's
Favorite Prescription and ‘Golden Medical
Discovery,’ and by the time I had finished
these I had no symptoms of the old dis
ease. I was soon able to do all my work.
I now do all of my own sewing and am
heavier than ever before; I weigh 145
pounds, and my husband says I look the
same as when I was young. Life is a
pleasure to me now, instead of a burden
as it was before I commenced using Dr.
Pierce’s medicines. I can now enjoy the
society of my friends, and Dr. Pierce’s
medicines have done me more good than
all the doctors ever did.
“Three of my neighbors have used Dr.
Pierce’s medicines and it has helped them
all. I will take no other medicine but Dr.
Pierce's and I recommend it to all my
friends. I am willing to answer any let
ters of inquiry if stamps are enclosed for
reply."
AN EMINENT SPECIALIST.
This superb remedy was devised by an
educated and experienced physician who
for thirty years has lieen at the head of
one of the representative medical insti
tutions of America: The Invalid’s Hotel
and Surgical Institute of Buffalo, N. Y.
Here Dr. Pierce as chief consulting phy
sician, has successfully treated more
cases of chronic feminine diseases than
any other physician in the United Stares.
There never was another medicine de
vised which restored complete health and
pure vital capacity to the womanly organ
ism so promptly and radically as this
matchless "Favorite Prescription.” It ab
solutely dispels all abnormal and diseased
conditions peculiar to women, however se
vere and obstinate they may appear.
THERE IS NO OTHER.
It is the only medicine invented by a
skilled and eminent specialist which ban
ishes the anxieties of prospective moVher
liood, and releaves the trying ordeal of
all its dangers and a large proportion of
its pains and discomforts. “I began taking
your ‘Favorite Prescription’ in August,
1897, and took it until after my baby was
born in November,” writes Mrs. Mollie E.
Grimes of Flomaton, Escambia County!
Ala. “I took three bottles of the ‘Favor
ite Prescription’ and one bottle of your
iittle ‘Pellets,’ and oh, what an appetite
they did give me!
"My baby is now three months old ahd
weighs fifteen pounds and a half. When
she was born she was the fattest little
baby girl you ever saw. She was the
largest one of all my babies, and at the
birth I had an easier and shorter time than
I ever had. I suffered everything that
flesh could suffer with ail the rest of my
children, and I was also subject to mis
carriage.
“After having this trouble twice I was
almost heartbroken to. think I could not
raise any more children and had io suffer
as I did. I took your ‘Favorite Prescrip
tion’ and also vour little ‘Pellets’ (I do not
forget them for they act like a charm),
and now* I am the happy mother of a fine
baby girl. I am stouter and healthier than
I ever was. I think ail prospective moth
ers should use Dr. Pierce's Favorite Pre
scription. I cannot praise it enough, for
I believe it saved my baby’s life. What
your medicine did for me I want pub
lished.”
IT INVOLVES NO DANGER.
No alcohol nor opiate, no false stimu
lant, no dangerous narcotic of any sort
or description whatever, enters into the
composition of this great “Prescription.”
It is utterly free from all those delusive
elements which so largely compose various
compounds,” “malt extracts,” and so
called “tonics.” which tend to give a mere
temporary exhileration followed by severe
depression, and are liable. If persisted in,
to awaken a morbid Intemperate craving
for alcoholic stimulants. Dr. Pierce's Fa
vorite Prescription is a temperance rem
edy, pure and simple. The strength it
gives is temperate strength; true nerve
force; genuine, sound, enduring vitality.
Di alers in medicines everywhere are pro
vided with this great “Prescription" and
will supply it on request. Any druggist
who attempts to foist a substitute upon
his cusioiners in place of what they ask
for, clearly shows at once his lack of
business honesty and his contempt f, -
their judgment. Do not be misled or bv
guiled. If you have made up your rn i.t
that Dr. Pierce’s Favorite Prescription u
the remedy you need, stick to it, and insist
upon that and nothing else.
A HUSBAND'S DUTY.
Every husband of a suffering wife everv
mother of a delicate, ailing daughter
should make it a business to write to nr’
R. V. Pierce, at Buffalo, N. Y„ for a let
ter or sound, sensible, professional advice'
which will be sent promptly, and entirely
without charge. In any case, where de
sirahie and practicable. Dr. Pierce w m
suggest special self-treatment at home
without a physician's aid.
Inviolable confidence is of course the un
varying rule that governs every communU
cation received by Dr. Pierce, No letter
is ever published without the writer’s ex
press permission. No sensitive woman need
hesitate to seek so certain a relief which
involves no sacrifice of time or privacy.
A GRAND VOLUME FREE.
Every family should possess a copy 0 f
Dr. Pierce's great thousand-page illustrat
ed Common Sense Medical Advi-cr—a mag
nificent home medical library in one vo’-
ume. Nearly a million copies were sold
at $1.50 each, but a free copy in strong pa
per covers will now be sent for the bare
cost of mailing, 21 one-cent stamps; or for
31 stamps, a heavier, handsomer, cloth
bound couy.
PilrPll
l-PASHf-sf
Removes all Corns, Btxnions and Warts, jEV
without pain, speedily and permanently fL*
All sell ABBOTT’3
* East Indian Corn Paint.
tin oil tin pm cm
SUNDAY SCHEDULE.
isle oi Hope, AioniGOiriery and ah Hoy station
CARS RUN AS FOLLOWS (City Time):
For Isle of Hope—Leave Bolton street,
9:07 a. m.; leave Second avenue, 10:15, 11:15
a. m., 12:15, 1:15, 2:15, 3:15, 4:15, 5:15, 6:15.
7:15, 8:15, 8:30 p. m.
For Montgomery and Bethesda—9:o7 a.
m. from Bolton street, and 10:15 a. rn., 1:13
p. m., 3:15 p. m. and 6:15 p. m. from Sec
ond avenue, connect with cars at Sand
fly.
Leave Isle of Hope 8:17, 10:15, 11:15 a. m
12:15, 1:15, 2:15, 3:15, 4:15, 5:15, 6:15, 7:15, 9
and 10 p. in.
Cars from Thunderbolt to Isle of Hope
every hour after 2:00 p. m. until 7 p. m
Leave Montgomery 7:35, 9:35 a. m., 12:35
and 2:35 and 5:35 p. m.
Leave Isle of Hope for Thunderbolt at
2:00 and hourly afterwards until 7:30 p. m.
B. B. Neal, F. P. Millard
President. Vice President
NEAL-MILLARD CO.
Hay and Will taker Streets.
Dealers in
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For Safe Cheap,
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Jacksonville, Fla*