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VOLUME XL
Atlanta, Ga., Week Ending March 29, 1902
NUMBER FOUK
?5he
Bells
By HARRIET PRES*
COXX SPOFFORD
L FRANK BAUM
An
Wrllf.'n for Isfte Sunny South
S it was, of what use was
life to her? She was mar
ried to a man who. she
said to herself, evidently
cared no whit abo|t her.
There had been no mar-
r i a ft e settlements. o f
course, for wh?n Harry
Carlisle's father dropped a
million in Wall street and
presently died, he left his
son With an ineome which,
with his habit of life and
thought, was little more
than a subsistence But of anything like
that she had never thought; ajl she
thought was that marriage meant love,
adoration, companionship—and for a short
period she had found it so. And in that
time who carried in face and manner
such radiant bliss as Harry Carlisle's
beautiful young wife?
“Beautiful?" said Doras Fraeme. “But
possibly. Unique, perhaps captivating, I
grant you.”
He was not beautiful himself certainly,
enjoying the distinction of being as ugly
;< man as society could tolerate; hut he
was clever, somewhat distinguished in
the matter of athletics and the hunting
oi big game; and he was immensely rich.
He had not been an especial friend of
Harry Carlisle's; indeeel. Harry had been
heard to say, before his marriage, that
the less he saw of him the better he like 1
lum. But it was not long after the wed
ding that Harry wondered how he could
have been so mistak'n in Frneme, a
whole-hearted fellow, and pathetically
unfortunate in that he could never hope
to win tiie love of a woman.
J ni sun 1 <lon t see why," Agnes said,
a little petulantly, being displeased that
her husband had chosen to loiter with
Fraeme rather than come back to her.
"A m in is not married for his beauty.
Sometimes the uglier a man is the more
a woman loves him."
“Oh, if you mean pity!"
"I don't. J mean fascination. Oh? looks,
and looks again, till one finds character,
and—and,*—something else. I don't know
v hat.”
"One would find wit and a charm of
manner and a sort of princely generos'tv
,1< Fr«eme. Why, if . you'll believe me,
when I happened to say that yachting
h: ti; Mediterranean was beyond my
means. aTThongh not beyond my desires,
lie put the l.impad at my disposal. In
deed. he rither urged it And. by George!
I've half a mind to accept it!"
"Oh, Harry, and leave me!" she cried,
pausing wiili the brush in hand that
swt;11 her long, resplendent hair.
"Heave you, my precious? of course
not! You are to go along."
"At his expense?”
"At whose eise's?"
"oil, never!”
"But why not? I couldn't afford any
thing like that, you know, worst lucJT.
We would simply he his guests, as
jnigiu lit oi. land. Others will be of the
"Oil, no, no! It would be too much ob
ligation. J—1 shouldn’t like it. J couldn’t
do it.” And she brushed her hair more
i ipidiy, and if her husband had looked
at h'-r reflection in the glass he would
have seep her great violet eyes flashing,
and directly afterwards the soft lull 1^>
trembling.
"Too late,” he said, lightly. “I have
promised.”
"Without consulting me?"
"Oil, come now, Agnes, what wo hi an
ever had to he consulted and weigh pros
and cons when a yachting trip up the
.Mediterranean was concerned?”
"This woman!” cried Agnes. "And I
absolutely refuse to go."
"Wliat excuses are you going to give?"
“Excuses? None!"
"And I?”
"You seem to have been thinking only
of yourself, and you must make your
own excuses.”
"1 shall do nothing of the sort. I shall
SO."
"Very well." And she caught up her
dressing gown, and, wrapped in its rosy
folds, sailed out of the room like an an
gry young goddess. It was their lirst
quarrel; perhaps, she thought—if in her
towering passion she thought at all—that
by making it violent it would be their
last.
"Well, I don't know what this means,"
murmured Mr. Carlisle. "But if I take
backwater now, 1 shall have to do so the
rest of my life.” So he went to bed, an*},
bring very tired, and the hour late, in
spite of himself lie went to sleep. When
lie awoke it was far into the day, and
Mrs. Carlisle. Aileen said, had taken a
little bag and gone into the country.
For a moment Mr. Carlisle was struck
aback, as he phrased it, even his language
sympathetically feeling the yachting
rever. "I'm ali at sea." he said. But, as
he flattered himself, he knew his wife
better than she knew herself; and he
casually remarked to Aileen that she
would presently he hack, and he went
about putting up and sending off his be
longings; and, as a further preliminary
step, when he went out he took to the
bank for safe keeping the few jewels he
had given his wife.
He was right in his remark to Aileen.
Before night Mrs. Carlisle had returned,
her heart tender and sore. She felt then
as a garden »»f -flowers might feel when a
chill wind blows over it amf turns the
dew to ice, as she saw the last of Harry's
Posed especially f-.*r The Sunny South by Xe llie-Kate Mans ton.—Photo by Edwards.
TShe Master’s Coming'—By Frank L Stanton
TN a desolate night and lonely—afar in a desolate land,
'■*" I waited the Master’s coining—the touch of His healing hand.
The gates of His house were guarded, and sealed with a seal of stone,
Yet still for His steps I waited, and wept in the dark alone.
II
And I said: “When the guards are dreaming I will steal to Ilis couch
of rest;
He will think of my weary vigils and welcome me to his breast.”
But lo! when the seal was broken, the couch where my Master lav
Held only 11 is shining garments: — they had taken my Lord away!
Ill
Then my soul, in its grief and anguish, lay down in the dark to die,
Under a hopeless heaven, under a starless sky ;
But my dreams were all of the Master—dear as my soul was dear,
And, waking, I saw the glory of His beautiful presence there.
And He said, as I fell and worshipped : “Arise, and the Master see—
Behold the thorns that have crowned him—'the wounds that were
made for thee ! ”
it. * * 7=■
I wait for the Master’s coming now, as in days gone by,
Under a hopeful heaven, under a sunlit sky J
And still, when the guards are dreaming, I steal to His couch of rest,
His smile through the darkness lightens and welcomes me to His
breast.
boxes toady for delivery. But she
thought, almost at once: "He is a man of
the world. Doubtless he knows best. I
may he only a mistaken fool, /t's
nasty vanity that saw anything in that
man's glances, i’ll do as Harry says.”
And. opening drawers and presses, the
lirst tiling she found was that her jewels
were gone.
Consternation ruled the next few in
stants. She accused the maid in her
mind. And then, in a flash, site knew
better. Harry had taken them! Oh. no,
not to dispose of! She thought nothing
like that for one instant. But he had
taken them so that while he was gone she
should not make herself beautiful with
them—so that site should stay at home
disconsolate. "My jewels, my poor little
jewels'." she cried. And when Harrj
came home that evening, confident and
gay. saying:
"Aha! I knew you would change your
mind. And so you are making ready."
"I am making ready for dinner,” she
said, with the air of a displeased princess.
"Oh. come now. Agnes, what's the
sense of this? Angry with me because I
want to give you a charming trip.”
"1 thought it was Mr. Fraeme giving
the trip," the tinkle of ice in her tones.
“Oh, well, just as you please. But it
won't matter who gives it when the March
winds are howling here next month and
the yacht is lying in blue water among
the Greek islands, a ruined temple on the
deep, every breath blown over orange
flowers—”
"Not in the least, ns I shall know noth
ing about it.’’ And ap at that moment
an expected guest arrived, and directly
afterwards dinner was announced, there
was nothing more to say.
“Time and tide wait for no man.” said
Harry Carlisle, as, a couple of hours
later. _ he was told that his cab was at
the door. "And I shall have to leave you,
as we sail on the tide in half an hour,
and there is barely time." As he bent
to kiss his wife, only hericold cheek was
.turned toward him; and the next mo
ment. in a flame of anger, he was gone.
Ten minutes later, tide or no tide, the
hell rang violently. Harry Carlisle was
hack again. He was going, oh. yes, he
was going—be hanged if he wasn't! But
it was impossible for him to part from
his wife in the way. And, perhaps— per
haps—she would rush some things into
a couple of boxes, he and Aileen helping,
and come along after all. As he dashed
in she was coming down the narrow hall,
in her opera cloak, a scarf of rose-col
ored gauze wrapped about the burning
beauty of head and face. “Have you for
gotten something?” she said, with icy
sweetness. “Aileen will find it for you.
Mr. Van Doon is taking me in for the
last act of ’Tartarus.’ Good-bye again.”
And she sailed out, with Mr. Van Doon
beside her, before another word could be
said. And if Mr. Van Doon thought this
was the manner of society, lie would have
forgiven a breach of decorum in favor of
something more warm.
But if any one had looked upon Agnes
Carlisle an hour after that midnight,
they would have seen her face down and
heating her hands on the floor, in an
agony of grief and terror.
She had not fully believed that her hus
band would go. that he would really leave
her—and they not six months married!
They had better never had been mar
ried! she cried. Tt was impossible that
he should love her and be capable of this!
He had tired of her—he had tired of her
already! All his protestations of love
were deceit. He had been keeping up the
pretence because there was nothing else
to do!
She had no one to whom to go—no home,
no nearer friends. All her life she must
endure this loss of love, this neglect, this
cruelty, this insufferable pretence. No
man who loved his wife would have gone
from her so. Harry! Oh. her Harry!
She dragged herself up when daylight
came at last, took off her evening dress
for the sake of appearan.ees before the
maid, and hurried through some apology
for a morning toilet.
“There will not be much to do while
Mr. Carlisle is away, Aileen,” she said.
“And after you have set the apartment
in order, you can have the day.”
It seemed as though she would stifle
herself unless she had the place to her
self that she might get used to her mis
ery.
Nevertheless, at nightfall, after a long
and hitter day, spent in going from room
to room, like a wild creature, it suddenly
crossed her mini] that Harry might have
he#n practicing a ruse, or might possibly
have been punishing her contumacy, and
would he back for dinner. It was mas
terful; but she could afford to laugh at
it. The color sprang to her white cheeks
at the fancy, the light to her eyes; she
hurried to dress her lovely hair the way
he liked it best, to put on her gown of
lavender liberty that he had said made
her look like the spirit of a rose coming
out of twilight. They would have to go
out for dinner—for there was no dinner
in the house; but that would bo all in
the way of festivity. And when at last
the bell did ring, her heart gave a great
leap, a surge of love and joyousness
swept her from head to foot and she ran
to throw open the door, and stood there,
magnificently lovely, before the gaze of
Mr. Doras Fraeme.
“I—I—I—why—how—I supposed you were
out at sea!”
“At sea? I?" he said, stepping inside
and closing the door, and without invita
tion throwing off the coat that hung ioose-
Uy cn his shoulders. "Far from it. as you
perceive. I lent the yacht to my friend.
But 1 had no idea that Carlisle wotv.a go
without you. What under— Ah. well.
Continue d on eighth page
Written for CAe 'itm r-> rw ,?r utb
l HERE are eggs and eggs,"
as tie* old lady truthfully
said many years ago. Some
eggs develop into chickens
and are. in ilia- time, con
verted into pits or broils
or hashed for salad, thus
maintaining their r< pota
tions for good taste ’■> the.
last, while their surviving
friends, the chicken livers,
cherish their memories
with real tend era- ss and
pick, canniballike, til*
bones thrown them at their evening meal.
Other eggs develop mild their fates in
come mixed. and they have n * clear ideas
of their proper destinies; in which un
savory condition th< y often tak< !-* flight
and attach themselves to wandering ac
tors, ranting politicians or others who
brave popular indignation Slitl others
cast their shells In the fr .sh.v -v- of youth,
and lend their giiver and gold to the
perfection of angels' food, custards, or
Charlotte <le Russo; or, perhaps, settle
the dispute in the coffee-pot or decorate
papa's beard at the breakfast table or
have stirring times with the cook in the
kitchen.
So, you see, eggs an- prone to many
art ventures in this queer world, and their
lives are marvelously varied anrt quaint;
no hen being able to guess, when she
leaves her new egg in the nest, what its
destiny may be.
Now, this is the story of one particu
lar egg which, though of humble birth
and Insignificant prospects, had a heart
of gold that led to the ultimate happiness
of a very nice little girl. But the story
doesn’t begin with the egg.
It begin? with old Jeff Grasper, who
hart more money than he could spenrt-
or would spend, anyhow. "And that's
the reason I have it!” chuckled the old
rogue; “’cause if I spent it for slick
clothes and nice-tasting food, or gave it
to ev’ry beggar who asked, why, any
fool 'ud know I’d soon be a beggar my
self!"
i.iko alll misers old Jeff ke; t most of
his money hidden away in secret places,
be could often get it out to count and
gloat over; but in the pocket of his
threadbare trousers he always carried a
number of shining gold pieces, so that
he might jingle them together as he
shuffled down the street and clutch at
them lovingly with his long, bony Au
gers.
One day, about the middle of March,
as old Jeff was walking down the lane
at the back of the village, he was stop
ped by a shivering, thin-faced girl, who
exclaimed:
"Please, sir* give me something to buy
bread with!"
Beggars were the bane of Jiff's life.
“No!” he snarled. "I won’t.”
••j—I've never asked help before,"
pleaded the child, wistfully; "but it's
boon a hard winter.’ and—and we’re so
hungry at home!"
“'Tain’t my fault.” retorted old Jeff.
“I ain't to blame if folks squander Pi- ir
money an' then starve to death. Get out
of my way. you imp!"
"Rut mother is sick." urged little Nan.
lifting her pinched face to his. "I
wouldn’t beg for myself—it's only for
her, sir. only for mother!”
The man drew his hand from his pocket
with a fierce gesture—so fierce, indeed,
that a small gold piece leaped out after it
ami fell unheeded to the ground. And he
shook his fist excitedly in the child's face
as he shouted:
"Out o’ my way, you mlser’lile beggar!
What do I care how sick your mother is?
'Tain't my fault. Out o' my way. or I'll
call the constable!”
Then little Nan shrank away from the
glare of his hard, selfish eyes, and draw
ing up her shawl to shield her face from
the wind, she walked slowly down the
lane. Jeff passed the other way, mut
tering ami growling angrily, and against
the frozen earth lay glittering the neg
lected gold piece.
I wish Nan had found it and bought
food and medicine for her sick mother.
The poor weman needed them. I'm sure;
but in that case there would he no won
derful story to tell of the Easter egg,
and the time came when Nan and her
mother needed help more than on the
day she stopped old Jeff in the lane, and
they both passed on anil left the gold
piece lying.
There were eyes in that neighborhood
sharper than the angry ones of the man
or the frightened ones of the child, and
they belonged to Teazer. the red-breasted,
bronze-hackled old rooster.
Teazer came clucking across the lane
a few moments after Nan and old Jeff
parted, and as he walked he turned his
head this way and that so his bright
eyes might miss no scrap of/ food that
lay about. And so he spied the go'd
piece.
Attracted by the sparkling metal,
Teazer stopped and uttered a succession
of shrill cries. Afterwards he peeked at
the gold with his bill, and decided it
was not good to eat. He was for leaving
it, then, and actually walked several
steps before he thought better of it, and
returned to view the bright yellow coin
again.
Teazer was no thoughtless, empty-head
ed young cockerel; he hail attained to
years of discretion, and knew very well
Continued on last page
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