Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

j V N mm n 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 1! U; % m ; : «*( y