Newspaper Page Text
MAY 12. 1902.
THE SUNNY SOUTH
FIFTH TAGS
0 -••••••e-»-e‘*-e-*-e-*-e'*-e-»-e-*-a-i
»e-*-e>*-e->-e-*-e-»-e-*-e-*-e-«-e.
| Starvation Wages and Endless Hours
'P 'P For Laborers In Russia
• *«'*•*§*«»•*«»•*•*•*•■*•***
i By FREDERIC J. HASKIN.
Written for The SUNNY SOUTH
HERE could be no better
way of making the Amer
ican laboring man app-—
elate the fortunate cw
tions that surround h a,
than to bring to his notice
the cheerless stato of the
brt ad-winner in Russia. It j
requires only the compari- |
son of the hampered and*
famished life of the one,
with the privileged and
prosperous existence of the
other, to show that the
yanltee toiler is extremely favored. A
gentleman living in Moscow told me
about having a dress suit made in that
place. He gave the order to a tailoring
linn, who furnished the material and sent
it out to b? made in a Jewish family.
Afterwards the tailor who made the suit
told the owner that all he got for the
work was 75 cents. I-Ie said further that
by utilizing the whole time of his entire
family he could earn only two or three
dollars a week.
The shoemaker in Russia has no shop,
because he cannot afford to pay rent.
The people think so little of having their
footwear repaired that the artisan must
get out where people can see him or he
will attract no customers. So he wan
ders about the streets, carrying his tools
with him. The photographer has no difli-
•ulty in getting a snap-shot of a way
farer sitting barefooted on the sidewalk,
with a co'obier near by in the act oi
making ntcessary repairs. A few cents
tay is ihe best return the itinerant
may expect for his exposure in tramping
endlessly through the dismal streets in
all kinds of weather.
LETTER OF FORT SUMPTER
The Russian carpenter is a peculiar
genius whose principal tool Is the ax. Al
though his skill is confined mostly to this
one implement, he is famous for his skill
with it. As far back as the Philadelphia
exposition the carpenters from the land
of the czar created a sensation among
other craftsmen, when they reported at
the site where the Russian building was
be constructed, with no tools other
than axes. To the surprise of the on
lookers they not only constructed the
house in first-class style, but made beau
tiful decorations which were almost lace
like in their fineness. Yet skilled car
penters in Russia earn only 75 cents a
day.
Electrical workers are not very expert
because their industry was slow in getting
a start in the country. When it was pro
pose j to light the streets of the various
•itics in Russia, the officials objected to
the innovation. The mayor of Moscow op
posed it by saying that those who wished
to go about at night should carry lan
terns. It is only recently that lights were
placed In tihe great St. Isaac’s Cathedral
at St. Petersburg. Formerly each wor
shipper was supposed to bring his own
candle to light him in and out of the
holy edifice.
BOILER MAKERS UNRELIABLE.
It is commonly remarked that the em
ployer of boiler makers who .would make
any headway with his contracts ntusL
ha\:e two sets of workmen, one to be on
duty while the other gets drunk. The
fact that the Russian so frequently in
capacitated by drink is not so much due
to heavy consumption, as to his inability
to stand even moderate indulgence. The
common drink is vodka, a white liquor
much weaker than whisky. Though the
average American could drink ten or
twelve glasses of it, the Russian is so
poorly fed that even a little of It makes
l;im drunk.
The manner in which the Russian fire
men conduct themselves when, there 'is a
conflagration is a good sample of the in
capacity which Is general throughout the
country Their equipment is little better
than that of a bucket brigade, and they
wear heavy metal caps which are sure to
become heated if the wearer gets near
the tire. They seldom get near the llames,
however, but endeavor to preveiu their
spread by pulling away filberts. They
put in t'iie most of their time standing
around smoking cigarettes, while the small
boys of the neighborhood do the work.
One of the best proofs of the debased
condition of labor in Russia is afforded
by tile swarms of hungry hack drivers
m all the cities, in St. Petersburg alone
there are over 12,000 public hacks, which
a-i'e used during the summer months, while
during tire winter over 20.000 sledges are
at the disposal of fjhe public. The drivers
of these are farmers who have to supple
ment their labor in the countrv by work,
ing a portion of each year in the city.
It seems a iv*y that the honorable and
independent calling of the agriculturist
snouid be so depressed that its members
cannot make a livelihood 'from it, and are
forced to leave their homes for a portion
of each year to do the work of metro
politan menials, yet this is the case in
Russia.
LODGING AND COFFEE.
There are several companies which em
ploy these men, and the general rule Js
uuat each driver must turn in SI.50
every night. Ail he takes in over that
amount he may keep for himself. Any
day* that he fails to turn In the stipu
laved sum the shortage is enuered against
him to be made upon succeeding days.
The drivers are given a place to sleep,
and are provided with coffee in the morn
ing, but aside from this they have to
huy ail tneir food. Those who manage
to earn SI0 a month consider themselves
in good luck.
Although St. Petersburg has next to
no street car service, there being noth
ing .but a horse car line on the principal
thoroughfare, opposition to the hack
drivers is afforded by the Ice railways.
There are three of these lines that oper
ate across and up and down the river.
Their concession is only for the winter.
After six months of operation the cars
are retired for the remainder of the year.
The fare aaros -. the river on the ice rail
way is only 1 cent, while the men who
operate the sledges charge 2 1-2 cents
for each passenger.
The Russian peasant’s marvelous power
Two Men and a
of bearing extremes of heat and cold
contributes lo his ability as a coach
man. When one of them takes his mas
ter or mistress out for the evening, be
never thinks of seeking shelter and re
turning for them at the appointed time
.but sits patiently on his 'box hour after
hour. Though the cold may be intense
■he is muffled in numerous layers of ap
parel until he resembles the fat man in
a side show. Because he can snooze so
tranquilly when exposed to zero weather,
he has been called a first cousin of Ihe
polar bear.
THE VILLAGE INDUSTRIES.
There are 8.000.000 people employed in
what is known as the village industries
of Russia. This branch of labor was
established partly on account of the long
winters necessitating some occupation
aside from outdoor work for the people
of tine farm communities, and because
it was contrary to their desire to leave
home during the dull season. During
the .primitive period of this economic de
velopment the bead of each household
would invest his surplus cash in a stock
of raw material, which would be worked
up by members of the family and dis
posed of at a small profit to the bazaars
The idea developed until the people or
a whole village or district became spe
cialists in the manufacture of some par
ticular article. In the province of Vlad
imir the Inhabitants of a number of vil
lages live by painting ikons. In an
other locality the residents of nineteen
villages are exclusively employed in the
manufacture of axes. Eighty villages
turn out cutlery, and fully 200 commum-
tics are engaged in making nails. Thi.
range of the products produced in this
way also includes household utensils,
articles of pottery, leather goods, mat
tings, toys and needlework.
In one. of these villages an old woman
will be the superintendent of a company
of little girls, who are put to the task of
spinning flax in a primitive wu>. S a
manages the little laborers by reciting
folk stories and reading s»ange tales
from old books. In a nearby house some
old man whose infirmities will not per
mit of his doing 'physical lal>or. Will have
change of a crowd of boys engaged in
making wicker work. At intervals dur
ing each day the little people arc given
a recess the same as if they were in
school. If the weather is too bad for
them to romp out of doors, the'* are al
lowed to sing and talk, especially if the
character i'f the work tlhey ace doing does
not require close attention.
INCREASE OF POVERTY.
The concentration of capital has greatly
damaged the village industry in Russia,
like it 'has crushed the small operator
everywhere. The managers of the cooper
ative enterprises found that they were
forced to take less an d less for their toil
until they became so poor that they could
hardly reatlze the bare necessities of life.
Every member of the household, from
grandchild to grandmother, has to be do
ing Something to contribute to the family
income. Thus we find the strong mem
bers of the family in a factory or at work
in the city, while the old and young at
tend to the farm. As soon as a boy gets
to be sixteen or seventeen years of age,
lie is forced to marry some strong girl
so that there', will be another helper in
the house. These marriages are often
made without any pretense of affection,
and result in immediate separation, the
only advantage of the union being that
the girl's labor goes to the household to
which she has been joined.
The art of cotton spinning and cotton
weaving is an old institution in Russia.
geneflations.'jt did not advance beyond
the cottage Industry stage, the yarn being
distributed among the peasants to be
worked up in tlheir homes, but later it
became modernized. In the time of Cath
erine there were 120 cloth factories oper
ating on a small scale. Ten of these were
located in Moscow. In discussing the in
dustrial conditions of that period a writer
says: “One sees women of all ages from
fourteen to sixty. All are attired In rags,
and even the young girls have worn-out
and prematurely wrinkled faces. They
have had no childhood nor any youth.
They bend over their stands eighteen
Cobbler Working in Street.
hours out of every twenty-four, and re
ceive for their labor only $17.50 a year.’’
At the present time 83 per cent of the
workers 5 n the textile trade are women.
The scale of wages is larger now than
w.hen the above was written, but they
still get barely enough to Keep life in their
bodies, it is not surprising that people
who are impoverished to such an extent
as this, should join in revolutionary
schemes that promise to improve their
lot.
THE SLAV’S DAY OFF.
In order to lighten the hard life of the
poor classes the government maintains
parks for their amusement in the sum
mer time. These places are equipped
with merry-go-rounds, shooting galleries,
open air pantomimes, shows, music, tests
of strength appliances, etc. There are
185 annual holidays in Russia, and on
ach of these occasions the humble sub
jects of the czar may be seen at the
resorts standing stupidly around, munch
ing sunflower seeds, playing accordions, i making as many as forty-five or fifty
or drinking tea. The gramophone is a persons in one room. Such a condition
source of never ending delight to them, may ‘be better imagined than described.
I saw a stalwart muzhik peeking into; The poor mortals are huddled together
the funnel of a machine with a puzzled, without privacy or convenience of any
expi ession that did not reflect as much sort. The curses of a drunkard are min-
inteliigenco as shown by the canine in j gied with the sobs of thie wife he is
the well known advertisement called “his beating, a sick baby wails for want of
masters voice.’ attenticn, and all the functions ,of life
When the income of those engaged in are exposed to the plain view of who-
villagc industries became so small that j ever chances to look into this nest of
j they were, forced to take employment in j misery. “Home, Sweet Home’’ is indeed
the enterprises that capital had devcl- a misnomer for the average factory
oped, they were subjected to many' worker in Russia.
: — +
The Man in the Loft
abuses which wrecked their health and
destroyed their happiness. For instance,
when the manufacture of lucifer matches
began, the employees of the factory
were made to work in close rooms and
soon contracted an insidious and painful
disease on account of the air being
tainted with the fumes of phosphorus.
Daws hare been enacted to protect fac
tory workers, but the visitor to these es
tablishments can still sec enough wretch
edness in an hour to give hint the night
mare for a month.
Many of the employers feed and house
their laborers on the same premises
where they work. The food consists
chiefly of thick soup and coarse bread.
Frequently ten families will be lodged
in one room no larger than an ordinary
sleeping room. This will be divided into
what are called corners. There will be
a bed and a tiny strip of floor curtained
off where will live a father, mother and
two or three children. Each apartment
contains ten or more of these corners.
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SCALED
WHISKEY PRE1
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RC
Continued from First Page.
straight. Det me tell you a story. It’s
truth—the story of my own life, indeed.’’
There was a momentary silence, and
then for the second time Enderby told
the story of his downfall and disgrace,
as he had told it on that never-to-be-
forgotten summer evening in the hay
loft in far-away England.
‘‘You got away?’’ Spencer asked, when
Enderby finished."
“Yes.” A light came into his eyes.
“I’ll tell you that, too—what I never
told another living soul, hut—'good heav
ens! I have it. Your, voice! I heard
it that very day!”
He started for a minute at Spencer.
“Do you know a place not 10 miles
from the sea in South Dcvn where the
moor ends, and a village lies hidden
in trees and hay fields? I think they
call it Dittle Cranlcigh.”
Harry Spencer started from his chair.
“Why, man, it's my home," he stam
mered; “my governor’s the parson there.
You don’t mean to say you know it?"
“Listen. I got away—it was a hot
August afternoon last year. I crawled
Into a hay loft in some one’s yard and
For an instant lie could not grasp the
magnitude of these tidings; then his
whole being was filled with thanksgiv
ing.
He could go back to Daphne at pnee.
Their waiting was nearly over.
By ANN ONNE.
T was through the Instru
mentality of Gilbert Lloyd
that Fernle was outlawed
and a warrant Issued for
his arrest. There was clr-
stantial evidence only to
prove that he shot the
surly old hutkeeper on
RIppleford ou-tstatlon. who
was known to be a man
of no friends and many
enemies, and who lived,
according to local gossip.
In constant terror of his
life from a mate, on whom he had
turned queen’s evidence years ago. But
on that night Gilbert Lloyd’s Important
■mare had disappeared from the paddock
at the outS'tatlon, and was known to be
in the hands of the wild range dweller,
who had l!ved on the possessions of his
fellow men for so many years. There
was much fo -prove I hat the hutkeeper
had disturbed Fernie at his work, and
had been shot In the back while running
away to give the alarm.
“Fernle might be a bushranger and
dare-devil at ithe best, but he would nev
er shoot an unarmed man In the back.”
said his supporters In the district; hut
they were a shady lot themselves, and
Gilbert Lloyd, 'who had lately bought
RIppleford. swore that he would rid Mis
district of ithe outlaw, who seemed lo
consider that a stray sheep or bullock
was his due So long ns'it came from the
rick folks' 'flock or herds.
Gilbert was more than ever keen aho :t
this matter because he fancied that to
■ accomplish It would give him a bet’e-
| fooling among bis neighbors. Before h"
I had come to the district he had breo
j a society darling, and be was nnnoved
; to see that all his town accomplishments
I were as naught In the eves of the silent,
i sunburned young Irishmen, simply hc-
i cause be couldn’t ride through timber.
! and was unlearned In bus hern ft. H<>
| had _wooed and won the beauty of 'he
1 district, and he was unpleasantlv sur
prised to see that she was commiserate!
with Instead of congratulated upon bo-
conquest. Now his chance had come to
•do something which thev had failed 'o
do. The stealing of his favorite mare
had enraged him beyond expression, for
Fernle had swaggered into the wayside
inn bar the day before and asserted
laughingly that the next time be took
something from Rippleford It would be
valuable.
This was after Lloyd had failed to
convict him of killing a sheep in he
river paddocks: Its skin had been tanned
and forwarded to him by a halfwitted
black boy soon afterward. Now that
chance had given his enemy Into lrs
hands. Gilbert used all his energy and
Influence to convict him. Black trackers
had come up from Polnsettia. and a first-
class detective. Fernle and his attend
ant sprite—a young Dawson black follow
—had been traced to a cave in the Bar
rier range, and the police were draw ng
a cordon round the place. It was an
noying that upon the very night that the
capture would be made Rose Western,
his financee. and his sister, Maude
Lloyd, should choose to arrive by coach
at the bush town. The capture of Fer
nie would rouse It to fever heat, and the
girls were safest and best at Rippleford.
There was no one to escort them there
but Lloyd himself. a.nd it was with a
feeling of annoyance that he made the
necessary arrangements to drive out with
them in the chill of a spring dawning
from the bush hotel, where the attend
ants scowled uncomfortably at him, and
the rough servant girl refused to wait
upon him, a,nd openly gave her opinion
of his character to the grinning black
woman in the kitchen.
To add to his worries. Ben Johnson,
the driver, was usually drunk. He
climbed to his high seat on the station
t'rap. with cheerful remarks that he
“hoped the ladies would ’skuse him. but
a gentleman had to .drink when othe.
gent^imen shouted for him.” Rose and
Maude (a schoolgirl just grown up, and
in her first long frock) were rather nei-
vous. , .
“Had you not better take the reins,
Gilbert?" said Rose, in a low voice.
Gilbert could no more drive four horses
than he could fly, and he assured the
girls that Ben, though drunk, could drive
far better than the average man sober;
and he was right to a certain extent
While in the cheerful stage Bon could
drive, and Rosa was so delighted at
seeing the road which led to her old
liome-for it was from the Westerns
that Gilbert had bought Rippleford—that
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your while If you will drive us to Ripple
ford; my man is useless, as you see.”
“Yes, I was Just about to offer. I'm
camped by Scrubby Creek, half a mile j Q U { C Kly Cures Dandruff. Stops Falling
back, but my mate will look after things.
You don’t drive yourself?”
“What does it matter to you whether
I drive or not? I don’t choose to. You
will be well paid to do it, my man,” he
added mor e genially, as lie noticed the
stranger’s eyes flash at the first part of
his sentence. “Yes. I shall be well paid,'*
said the man, reflectively; “well, all
aboard; your leaders have bad too much
corn to be patient while we argue.” And
he turned to help Rose Into the trap, and
then got In himself. “Thought I’d catch
my horse and go to see the fun with the
police and Fernle.’’ he volunteered, as he
cracked the whip and whistled to the
team. "Heard the little miss scream, and
so followed your tracks, and here I atn."
“I hope they won’t find him,” said Miss
Western. “I saw Fernle once when I was
a little girl; he was the handsomest boy
one could see. He was living with his
adopted people at Nerenby then, before
they quarreled and he ran away.”
Gilbert turned away so that Rose should
not see his face, for the passion of jeal
ousy had transformed it terribly. That
was the key to Lloyd's character, the
voice which swamped all his finer feelings,
and which mastered him completely. A
year ago Rose had spoken to him of Fer
nie. and had used the same words, add
ing. “I would love to meet him again. His
life has been so romantic, if one can be
lieve all one hears; and lie is so very
handsome—a idtal man.”
Gilbert had not forgotten or forgotten
■her words.
“Look!" whispered Maude; “it seems to
me that our new driver is quite too lovely
for anything. Watcii when the wind lifts
up his awful old hat brim. Now he is
handsome. Quite puts voti-r ideal Fernie
into the shade. Rose." “Rose’s ideal Fer
nie is a cowardly murderer,'' said Gilbert,
coldly. "Perhaps because T am a mere
man T fail to see the beauty of that char
acter.”
“Was that ever proved, Gilbert?” said
Ro=e. “One cannot reconcile it at all
with what one lins always heard of Fernie
Ericson. r admit he leads a terrible life,
hut I do not think he would shoot an
unarmed man.' 1
"Well, we Shall see. You.r ideal will
swing in a Sydney jail before the year is
out; ihe chain of evidence is too strong
for him, and the crown is doing a good
work in ridding the district of a scoun
drel.”
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fell asleep. When I woke up two people ... _ _
were sitting in the entrance to the loft;!* 01 ^5? Margaret Penrose, will
talking—a e ! rl and -i man I lav law I be w,th l,s - s, ' e thinks you knew her
talking a g.rl ana a man. I lay low | , uar , y years ago. and may like to renew
till the man went—to join some chil- yoim old acquaintance/*
dren's game, I gathered—then I ventured; Margaret Penrose! Margaret—the wom-
to look out. The girl saw me. She was | an he had loved and lost; it was incredi-
Knderhy saw him off a few days later,
hut refused all his pleadings to go back
to England.
“My dear fellow, you forget I'm
only an escaped prisoner; but will you
tell Miss Ward I've kept my promise to
her? Sho'll know what I mean.” „„
“1 can tell her more than that. I I s ne soon forgot her fears. Maude was
can tell her that you saved me—body
and soul,” said Harry Spencer. “What
ever debt you owed her, Enderby, you've
paid off. Good-by, we'll meet again some
day, old fellow.”
Enderby smiled and watched the train
out of sight. Then he went hack to his
lonely, but not unhappy, life. Three
years after Harry Spencer's departure
for England a letter came from hint
saying that he and his wife were ar
riving shortly in that colony on a tour.
They both hoped to meet their old friend,
Richard Enderby, again, and would be
with him almost as soon as this letter
which was to announce their coming.
There was a postscript that made the
man’s heart almost stand still with
wonder and joy.
"My wife desires me to tell you that
more of an angel than any other woman
I ever met—save one. She listened to
my story, got me food and drink, proin.
ised to help me. I hid again. She spoke
to some one outside—the man who had
been with her. Later she brought me
an old suit 'of clothes he had given her.
She gat me away in her pony carriage,
and I escaped 'in safety to this country.
But—'I heard your voice that day, I am
sure. And the name of my deliverer
was Daphne Ward.”
blefi impossible, that happiness was to
come to him at last—with her. He had
never heard of her; he had imagined her
to be dead or married—gone out of his
ken altogether. And here—she was com
ing to him, with the woman who had
saved him from despair!
Richard Enderby never knew how he
endured that day and the next. On the
third after his receipt of the letter Harry
Spencer and Ills wife and friend arrived,
and Enderby almost reluctantly went to
the hotel at once to see them. He found
. . , both Harry and his wife radiant with
The other uttered a cry of amazement -happiness «nd health, but almost to his
as a hundred lights burst upon him. relief they received hire alone. He glanced
Now he knew why she had wanted that round the room, but Margaret was not
old suit. I there. He feared, and yet longed, to meet
“Why, man,” he said, "Daphne Ward; b .? r: but , he stifled bis feelings while
is my future wife. It was mv suit she I Har . r Y arK ? Daphine talj-d. Then Harry
r ... , .. . ..'vanished for some reason, and his wife
gave ^ you. I was with her that vei> j followed suit a few minutes later, say-
day -’ | ing that she would send. Margaret Pen-
There was a short silence. Then Har-1 rose—her dear friend and companion—to
ry Spencer held out his hand. j him, and would he be kind enough to
“We’re friends from this onward,” he entertain her for half an hour, while
said, a little husky; "aren’t we, Ender-; s * le and Harry did some unpacking? It
jj..,., was a thin, transparent excuse, the man
Thev shook hands sllentlv and then saw ’ but U served - and he smiled an un-
They shook hands silently, and tnen accustomed smile as he f ound himself
Harry left. alone waiting—waiting for Margaret.
Two letters were lying on Harry Spen-1 When she came in he felt as if the
cer’s table when he got back to his j past seven years fell from him like an
far too young and enthusiastic to worry,
and rather enjoyed the sharp turns and
swerves of tlir big station wagonette.
Although she may not have realized it.
it was a great deal for the sake of
Rippleford that Rose had accepted Gil
bert Lloyd, and siic had enjoyed the
congratulations of hir Sydney friends
and the kudos that society gives to tne
girl who is making a good match. Gil
bert was goo d looking, too, in a small,
fair, dapper style, and Miss Western felt
, at peace with the world as they flew
along the red scrub road, with the glori
ous scents of the forest around them
and the freshness of the spring dawn
to fill their young hearts with the wine
and joy of living. And Gilbert, gazing
at the sweet, interesting face of his be
loved, was fain to be content also, for
Rose was very pretty, with her wavy _ .
flaxen hair and dark eyes and brows and, in spite of Maude's cries and Rose s
said. “Suppose he did not do it?
Gilbert laughed. -‘He will hang for it,
anuyway,” he said. “I. for one, am fuiiy
convinced of 'his guilt.”
“I’ve not too much time," said the
driver, suddenly turning the horses into
the scrub; “there’s a good short cut to
Rippleford this way.”
There certainly was a sort of path, but
so. overgrown that t'he girls had to bend
this way and that to escape the sandal
wood boughs; and Rose was about to re
monstrate when the horses were brought
to a standstill and the driver turned on
his seal so that he faced them. “Now.
hands up, all of you!’* he said, cheerfully.
“Fernie is not caught yet. you see.” And
he whipped a revolver from his shirt: and
covered Gilbert neatly. “I don ’t wish to
hurt either of you ladies.” he added; “but
neither of you must move, or try to call
for help. My black fellow is behind us
and he will watch you.”
With one accord the terrified girls look
ed behind. les, there against the trunk
* anda,woo d stood a tall and rather
villainous-looking aboriginal. He was
also armed, and the restless stamping of
tethered horses could be heard now and
then from the scrub on the right
“Down you get, Lloyd! And make no
uss about it. You can keep your hands
steady by handing- over those notes you
got at the bank this morning. Be quick
or I 11 shoot. If I'm to swing for cer
tain, it's going to be on a true charge
anyway.”
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yon will stand those six blows rather
than let this happen. I know that lie
will keep his word, and I would rea'lly
rather die than give him what he asks.
Don't let him kiss me. Gilbert; don’t.”
“Really, Rose,” said Lloyd, fretf'uliy,
“you have very little feeling and very
little love for me if—let—us end this
wretched affair, if possible—the ropes are
cutting my shoulders in ipieces—you are
very heartless—Rose.”
The girl looked round wildly. “Maude.”
she cried “can't you wake Johnson? Is
pul , . he dead or what, that he does not
Gilbert turned white, but his especial help us?”
“Johnson was drugged pretty success
fully, and won’t wake up for some hours
vet. No, Miss Rose, your only hope of
escirpe is from your brave lover. Speak
up, Lloyd; say you will take your lick
ing like a man, and let the girl off.
“Gilbert, don't—don't let him have the
satisfaction of being able to say that
vou let him kiss me to save yourself
from a little pain.” said the girl again.
She was pleading more for h'*r ideal
than for herself, but Gilbert’s eyes did
not meet hers.
“Don't be a fool. Rose.” he said. Do
you think 1 want the brute to touch
you? It would hurt me more than it
hurt you; but you arc not the girl that
I take you for if you allow a nigger to
strike the man you arc going to marry
soon.”
••Oh, very well." said Rose, with a
-ardness in her voice a determination
in her violet eyes. She raised he r face
to the eager, sun-browned one. and did
not resist when Fernie drew her gently
toward him, so closely that her flaxen
hair touched his rough blue linen shirt,
but when he stooped to kits her cheek
she gave her lips instead, and flushed
rose-red a't his warm embrace.
Gilbert saw it all, and turned as white
as she was roseate. . ,
“And now you must go. Forme. said,
the girl; “take your horses and seek
safety. " ' " ^
clue
he knew that her love and hope had | and Gilbert's excited shouts, and
quarters. One in Daphne’s handwriting
brought the iblood to his face. If En
derby had not intervened, what might
not his downfall have been? For her
dear sake he wold never touch a card
again—heaven helping him. He put that
letter aside to enjoy at his leisure, and
tore the other open. Its contents dazed
him. There was no pretense about this
letter from the lawyers in Lincoln’s Inn
Fields, who wrote to acquaint him of
his uncle’s death, and the fact that the
old man had bequeathed the greater part
of his vast wealth to his beloved nephew, j to.'
Harry Spencer. The lawyers further 1 “Fan you forgive, Margaret, all the
added that they would be glad to see suffering and shame I caused you? All
Mr. Spencer when he could make It cou- J the—"
veriient to come home, and that it was j “Why, you were forgiven long ago.
his uncle’s earnest hope that his heir Dick,” she said, softly, “but the present
would reside on the family estates Inland future must be nr.rren to me If 1
Devonshire. (may not spend them with you.”
old garment. His youth and his love
came back in a great surging flood, and
as he looked ipto her sweet, grave eyes
giving character to her creamy-tinted
countenance, for her beauty was such
that no man once realizing it ever for- sandalwood^ Rose had tried to shout for
that no ..t-rtiim nuite aiiart 1,p] P* bl,t Fernie threatened to shrlbt ner
got her, owning an attraction quite apa i ]over , f 8he djd go and rnoreovfa . > ha!d
fear was not firearms just then. Perhaps
he knew he would not toe shot before
tho girls. Rose's cheeks colored faitnly
as she heard his defiant answer:
"Shoot, then, and take the notes; I’m
not going to give them to you.”
Gilbert, dear! Give him the money,”
she cried; “it is nothing besides our lives.
You coward!” she added, turning toward
the handsome,threatening face. "So you
do shoot unarmed men, after all.”
Fernie s face flushed. “Every man
shoots vermin at sight,” he retorted.
“That man has given his time and
money to hounding me down. I admit
he began the chase In good faith, but I
know, and you will know, too, some uay,
that a week ago he received the clew
to the real murderer; he alone knows of
it beside myself, but he suppressed it,
and I can prove it. Shall I prove Tf,
Gilbert Lloyd, and break a good wom
an's belief in you?"
Gilbert did not answer, but Fernie saw
the look of agony in his eyes. "Do you
expect me to believe that?” said Rose
scornfully. "There would have to be
proof indeed before the world would
take the word of an outlaw.”
"Well, you may be right. Miss West
ern. I shall be glad to let him off with
a lighter punishment for your sake, and
the good words you spoke for Fernie
Ericson this morning. Here” (he shout- - . , ,, )Q —
ed to the nigger), "bring the rope and i man humbly. 1 ve been - a ’ iru h l nth ’“
tie this ’gentleman' to .that sandalwood, >’°'i and yours todav b °
and be quick about it.” about putting things straight, the police
The black was a Hersules in strength, k r W „ r !," e f r ^ ™„ T shfu be gfad
nd, in spite of Maude’s cries and Roses! ^"hnut \\nrd. fion' > 1 - ^
bitter words Gilbert was dragged from^Jnowthat yo- fa h isjustffled when
the wagonette and securely tied to thej >™ r ” a ' d e ™ n as \ t wi i; , )e directly.
}-Iere, you black daisy! untie that rope
and bring up the horses," he added
y. The police shall have that other
,.uv tonight; you escape by some seef-t
entrance to the Limestone Craig, t S“P-
ipose; at any rate, the way is open be
fore you now.”
“Thank you; Miss Western,” said the
from beauty of feature after all.
Suddenly, without a word of warning,
Ben Johnson collapsed in a heap on the
floor of the trap, and Gilbert sprang to
his feet and seized the reins. “You
brute!” he said, as he strove to get the
leaders in hand. “You can take your
check and walk for this.” But a loud
snore was his only answer.
“Don’t drag them back like that, Gil
bert. Ste, you are pulling the leaders
separate ways," cried Rose, rising to
her feet; “and you haven't got the other
two reins at all.” Gilbert grew crimson
with rage. The horses seemed to him
to be all trying to back" into the trap
at once, and to add to the confusion
Maude began to scream.
With an exclamation of fear Miss
Western tried to clamber over the seat
to reach the tangled reins. Being a
bush girl, she saw the extent of the
danger, and she realized at once that
Gilbert was helpless. “Can I be of any
use?” The calm, full voice rang above
the confused sounds of snapping harnes
never quito died during those years of
silence and starvation of heart. There
was room for happiness yet.
"Margaret!” he sale?, hoarsely. “Mar
garet—I can’t believe that it is really
you. I never forgot—nor could you. I
thlr.k—what were were to each other long
ago. before—before—”
“Hush! Don’t let us speak of the past.
That is all over and dov; with; there is
only the present and t«e future to look
to
Rose Western the very- notes of It
brought relief.
There was a man on the road; he had
materialized from empty space or from
the pine* poles round about. She did
not stop to argue from whence he came;
that he understood horses she knew at
once when he went to the scared lead
ers' heads and quieted them gently.’ In
a few seconds the contusion ceased, and
giving Gilbert the reins to hold, she
sprang to the ground to help the stranger
repair a broken swingle-bar.
“My good fellow,” said Gilbert, noting
the man’s rough bush turnout of mole-
akin and leggings, 'V will make it worth
i, '
her arm securely while he gave directions
to the grinning black fellow to cut a
couple of knoTt.v myall 'boughs into cruel
looking switches.
“I’m going to thrash the truth out of
roughly. A few minutes more and Rose
heard the pound of their horses' hoofs
ringing fainter and ;ainter down the
rough scrub road. Gilbert was busily
shaking) Ben Johnson into sensibility.
“Como. come. Rose.” 1 “”'
he said loudly.
this dandy lover of vours. Miss West-! but uneasily. "Cheer up. dear heart,
ern,” ho said. “You are too good for his j We’ve had a bad . adventure, but have
kind, and he’ll tell the truth about the! won through safely, thanks to you.”
real clew fast enough when the nigger Rose did not answer save by a look, and
lays the lash on.’
“For God’s sake, man, don’t,” cried
Gilbert. ‘'Rose. Rose, stop him; I could
not stand it. My God! I shall die!” he
shrieked, overcome with the terror of
his position.
“No, rest assured you won’t die; but
I’m going to bring you pretty near it.
The man who would send an Innocent
fellow creature to certain death for a
spite alone itsn’t worth killing. Get to
work.” he finished, turning to the black,
who drew the stick through the air, and
brought it down on Gilbert’s shoulders
with a stinging swish. Rose turned sick
and faint, and Fernie felt her away.
“Stop!” he shouted, and the nigger let
the stick fall. “Look here. Miss West
ern. I’ll let your fine Tover off o*i one
condition. Will you both agree?”'
Rose pulled herself together, eagerly
scanning the dark face above her. “What
is it?" she said. “He shall give all the
money he has; you can have my rings,
my watch—everything.”
"No; I want something from you more
precious. I want you to kiss me—only
once.”
“How dare you?” cried the girl, striv
ing to break from his hold. “No! I
should rather die first, far rather, and
so would Gilbert. You have promised
uot to kill him, and you won’t break
your word,” she added hastily.
word sometimes? No. I won’t kill him
and our friend here will let him off with
six more ‘lashes’ (ft most. If you refuse
to give me the kiss, which will let him
off altogether."
“Tall kilo, Gilbert," cried the girl, "that k
his lown eyes 'fell before her gaze.
Verily Fernie. the lshmaei. had taken
something worth stealing from his ene
my this tfmo—nothing more or less than
a girl’s pure faith.
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