Newspaper Page Text
“With Eyes That See Wot
•Oh, that mint mammy mould makm a book/
Conducted By R W Me Ad am
Under the Lamp
With Ute BooKs
Anthony Overman.
PRIAM araOHEUSON'S novel
"Anthony O v e r m a n,"
■which has Just Ibeen
brought out t>y Doubleday,
Page & Co.. Is the most se
rious and artistic work so
■far of this brilliant young
California author. Love,
Journalism, religion and
union labor figure In this
very absorbing story. The
hero, whose name gives
the book its title, is a
dreamer who lives In a
mountain retreat, where lie has estaib-
lishreil an altruistic community. A clever
San Francisco newspaper woman writes
a sensantional article albouit him. She
persuades him to come to San Francisco
and go into t<ho newspaper work, for she
had already fallen .promptly in love with
him. The rest of the story deals with
Overman's experiences In San Francisco
where he takes u.p the cause of unionism.
Since San Francisco is the moat strongly
■unionized' city In the United States, hav
ing a union labor mayor, the significance
of Overman’s work is apparent. The
story Is a. succession of dramatic inci
dents, which provo the faith and worth
of the Idealist. In “Anthony Overman ’
.Miss Miohelson gives a view of Bohe
mian newspaper life in the most Bohe
mian of American cities, and attached
to this hook is the peculiar and unde
niable interest that the scenes than are
described have Been forever removed.
The San Francisco that Robert Louis
Stevenson and his comrades of the Bo
hemian Club knew and loved is given a
permanent setting In this story.
In Search of Life.
For the .past ten years Goldwln Smith
has from time to time eontribuieu to The
New York Sun letters, short articles and
answers to questions put to him co
respondents In that paper, the object of
them all being a seeking for light on the
religious question. These papers, long
and short, have been gathered up into a
small volume, "In Search of Light,” no
change whatever having been made in
their tendency or form In the transfer
from newspaper to volume.
It Is hardly necessary to say that the
volume is one of deep Interest, chal
lenging the attention of thoughtful read
ers, whatever tbelr attitude may be to
the subjects discussed. Goldwln Smith
Is a deep thinker, an earnest seeker after
tTiith in all matters, religious and secu
lar, with a broad tplnd. free from dog
matism. That the subject of the volume
Is of strong Interest and of practical
importance at the present time Is sug
gested by the fact that a secular Jour
nal In England within three months re
ceived 8,000 communications seeking fo.-
ligbt on the religious question.—The Mac
millan Co.. New York; The Burrows
■Brothers Co.
The Secret Life.
"The Secret Life,’ 1 evidently written by
a woman, is further declared on the title
page to be "The Book of a Heretic.
From Its very nature It would be too
much to expect that the author of such
a book would be daring enough to place
her name on the title page, and yet
there Is no really good reason why she
should. In her early years It seems she
discovered that she was the Tiresome
Child, who asked questions Instead of
accepting statements as they were made
and whose fate was to be frequently
slapped and put to bed for expressing
opinions not conformed to the conven
tional or that should have been uttered
at some other time, or not at all. De
siring a quiet life she resolved to mane
a confidant only of a secret diary, to the
pages of which she confided such com
ments on many things as she did not
car® to free her mind about to the cou-
,pan“ present lest she should be meta
phorically "spanked and put to bed.” The
result Is a book in diary form which
thinking people will appreciate.—John
Lane Co., New York.
Study of European History.
In the study of modern Europe, it*
political organizations and Its economic
problems, the student will find invaluable
information and guidance in "Notes on
the History and Political Institutions of
the Old World,” by Edward Preissig, and
(published by G. P. Putnam's Sons. Now
that the eyes of the world are centered
on Russia, this book gives one a sure
sense of proportion in viewing the Euro
pean situation, and defines values which
might otherwise be overlooked.
The peculiar merit of this book lies In
the fact that it offers to students in a
single volume an epitome of the two sub
jects named in the title, and makes this
Information accessible in a convenient
and inexpensive form. The course of the
histories of the various old world coun
tries and the development of their po
litical Institutions are placed side by side
and followed from ancient times to the
end of the nineteenth century.
Ibsen’s Letters.
With the death of Henrik Ibeen eoore*
of appreciations harve been published In
all parts of the world, for this titanic
Norwegian was a world man In the
breadth end altitude of his thought.
As a social prophet he ds essentially of
this age. when we find that the old
forms have served their purpose and
thus having fulfilled their purpose are of
the value of outworn garments or use
less lumber which we doom ourselves
to carry. Ibsen probably more than
any other great man suffered from en
thusiastic misinterpretation; but there
is the calm, sure personal note In the
recent expressions of William Archer, to
whom and his brother we owe gratitude
for a splendid translation of thirteen of
the master’s prose drama*; Edmund
Cosse, his personal friend, and that
veritable scientist and Hteratueur, Have
lock Ellis.
With all the varied expressions re
garding Ibsen, the best metod of secur
ing an estimate of the man and his pur
pose Is through a reading of his letters.
They have been collected In a most in
viting volume and are published by Duf-
field & Co., New York. The translation
is by John Nllsen Laurvlk. The collec
tion is brought together 'by Ibsen'a son,
who, few Americans know, was at one
time In his country’s diplomatic service
at Washington.
They have been brilliantly rendered
into English and annotated by a versa
tile young Norwegian.
Written during the period of Ibsen'a
greatest literary activity, and comment
ing (freely on his own work, they are an
illumination of Ibsen himself, his mental
habits and his methods, that renders his
writings much more intelligible than his
readers have ever dared to hope. There
are, besides. In the letters much wit, hu
mor and charaeterlsttc comment on well-
known men and events.
Cotton.
The book entitled "Cotton” by Charles
W. Burkett and Clarence H. J’oe, which
Doubleday, Page & Co., have Just brought
out. Is the most important and compre
hensive work on. tills subject yet pro
duced. It is not only a practical specific
guide to the whole large subject, but it
is an assemblage of all possible facts
with their (world-wide significance. The
relation of cotton, not only to the whole
economic and social life of the south, but
to the whole country is explained; every
process of its development Is intepreted.
In short, tills book takes cotton from
the seed until It goes out to clothe and
succor Hie world. The illustrations are
one of flic striking features of this book,
for they tell the whole interesting story
of the plan that is the basis of the denii-
r.amt Industry of the globe. The authors
are well-known men; Mr. Burkett is pro
fessor of agriculture in the North Caro
lina college of agriculture and mechan
ic arts; Mr. Poe is the editor of "The
Piogressive Farmer,” of Raleigh, N. C.,
anil has been a frequent contributor To
the World's Work and other leading mag
azines. ’‘Coetoil” is one of the volumes
of the interesting Farm Library which
will Include books on "Soil,” “Farm Ani
mals, ” "Farm Equip •lents,” "Fruits and
Vegetables,” and "Fanning as a Busi
ness.”
The Voice in the Street.
One cannot read "The Voice in the
Street" without hearing the jangle and
the roar, the clatter and the clash of
New York’s streets. The author,
Ernest Poole, has caught the effect and
he makes the reader catcli it. too. But
the noises of the metropolis are not
what the author means by his title. The
voice he writes of is that of a street
urhin. “Lucky Jim.” under 12. and a
gambler. It is discovered that he has
a voice, that lie can sing. He becomes
the boy soprano in a. popular restau
rant. and the proprietor, caring nothing
for the future of the boy, but only for
bis own pecuniary gain, makes the hoy
overstrain Ills voice, and drugs him,
when his strength seems to fall, in or
der to keep him to his task. An old
fiddler In the orchestra conies to the
boy’s rescue. After a while the old
fiddler's daughter, in order to provide
means to help the boy cultivate his
voice, steals (from the homes of the
rich in which -fbe sews, and Dago Joe,
a street chum of Jim’s, sells the ‘Toot. ’
The results are almost tragic. A. 13.
Barnes & Co., New York.
Weiss' Commentary.
An English translation of Professor
Bernhard Weiss' commentary on the New
Testament has been issued in four vol
umes by Funk & Wagnalls. The trans
lation is tile work of Professor George
H. Schodde and Professor Epipdianius
Wilson. Professor Weiss, of Berlin, is
numbered among the iforemost living New
Testament scholars. This work may he
said to be the crowning effort of Ids
long and crowning effort of his losg
and crowded life- While the work is not
encumbered with an abundance of arche
ological and similar outside matter, that
tnay or may not add to the.clearness of
the interpretation, its results are based
on the best scholarship of the day in
every paJticular. in fact. Professor See-
berg, of Berlin, says; “The terseness of
the master no less than the sedateness
of the erudite scholar, and the unfailing
tact of the man who (for more than a
generation has followed the calling of
teacher, give his work an almost unique
value.” It is thoroughly evangelical and
is not a work about the Bible, but is one
that directly introduces us into the Bible.
—Funk & Wagnalls, New York.
Publication Notes.
Messrs. G. P. Putnam's Sons, of New
York and London, announce that in Oc
tober next they will begin the publica
tion of Putnam’s Monthly, which will
constitute a reissue of the magazine firs*
published by the late George P. Putnam
In 1853. With the new Putnam's will
be incorporated the Orltic Mligazlnev
which has been Issued by Messrs. Put
nam's Sons since 1898.
"Twilight Fairy Tales” and "The En
chanted I^and” are two volumes of chil
dren’s stories, respectively by Mrs. Bal-
lington Bootn and Louey Chisholm, which
the Putnams plans «> bring out early in
the autumn. The first named book
evinces the same knowledge of chil
dren’s tastes and feelings and the same
graciousness and delicacy of sentiment
which made Mrs. Ballington Booth's
earlier books of fairy stories popular.
The author of "The Enchanted Land” is
following up, with this volume, a previ
ous series of stories which scored a suc
cess with little people some time since.
The leading holiday book announced by
The Baker & Taylor Company for this
autumn Is "Katrina,” by Roy Rolfe Gil
son, which Is scheduled for October I.
The charm and subtlety of Mr. Gilson's
earlier stories reach their highest point
here in the tale of a newspaper man
who lives over again the love of his
youth In the little daughter of the wom
an he lost. There are six illustrations in
color by Alice Barber Stephens which
are executed with extraordinary sympa
thy. Mrs. Stephens illustrated Mr. Gil
son's "In ®ie Morning ulow,” which en
joyed so great a popularity, and still 13
in great demand.
Of the younger literary men, few have
shown greater promise or have been
recognised by critics of style and greater
skill in plot building than Owen Johnson.
His "Arrows of the Almighty” attracted
an extraordinary amount of attention for
a first book, and “In the Name of Liber
ty” was a picture of tne French revolu
tion in the guise of fiction which has
scarcely been surpassed. The Baker &
Taylor Company now announce for Sep
tember 16 “Max Fargus,” which is a.
tale of a strong man’s revenge. The
story combines a splendid mystery with
some wonderful character sketches, yet
it Is as far from the typical New York
novel of Wall street and Sifth avenue
On September I The Baker & Taylor
Company will Issue the first of Its fall
fiction, "Power Lot," by carah P. Mc
Lean Greene, the author of "Vesty of the
Basins,” “Cape Cod Folks” and “Deacon
Lysander." In this book Mrs. Greene
goes back to the strong, quaint folks of
the north Atlantic coast—Nova Scotia
this time—where she tells of the develop
ment of a dissolute city lad, practically
exiled into this rugged community. The
strong, humorous characters with whom
he has to deal give a splendid chance for
'Mrs. Greene's quaint stories, while at
the same time there is much strength In
the tale of Robert Hilton's growth and
struggle.
President Eliot, of Harvard, dpes not
view the amassing of wealth by the “fa
vored few” with alarm. He sees counter
balancing forces at work, which will
operate ag successfully in the future as
they have done In the past. In this day
of shrieking and denunciation, his calm
appraisal of the situation Is of value. His
hook on "Great Riches,” soon to be pub
lished by Thomas Y. Crowell & Co., wiH
attract attention.
There Is no writer so well qualified by
education and mentally equipped, as Gen
eral Charles King to tell In story of the
life and environments of an American
soldier. lie was graduated at West
Point, spent many years in the service,
and commander a brigade in the Philip
pines during the earlier months of the In
surrections there in 1899, and so his new
story, "Lieutenant Sandy Rav,”- will deal
with army life there in the Philippines.
The admirers of Oscar Wilde's plays
will be pleased to know that F. M.
Buckles & Co. have in press “The
Duchess of Padua,” which will be pub
lished in the same style as their edition
of his poems.
One of the important autumn novels
will be “The Dragon Painter,” the new
Japanese romance by Sidney McCall, au
thor of "Truth Dexter” and "The Breath
of the Gods." A story of unusual power
by one of the few authors capable of
interpreting the inner life of the people
of Japan “The Dragon Painter” is said
to possess more popular qualities than
did "The Breath of the Gods.” Sidney
McCall's new novel, which will be hand
somely illustrated, will be published by
Little, Brown & Co.
General A. W. Greely, Arctic explorer,
for many years chief signal officer of
the United States army and at present
in charge of the Pacific division, with
headquarters at San Francisco, has pre
pared a "Handbook of Polar Discov
eries,” which Little. Brown & Co., Bos
ton, will issue this fall. This 'book will
contain an authoritative resume of Polar
explorations from the earliest voyages
to the present time, it being based on
his earlier "Handbook of Arctic Dis
coveries.” The material has been
brought up-to-date, and a summary has
been added of the brilliant achievements
of adventurers in the frozen north with
in the ten years that have elapsed since
it was published.
Laura E. Richards, the author of "Cap
tain January,” "The Golden Windows,”
etc., has completed a second book of
fables for old and young, which will be
published in the fall under the title "The
Silver Crown,” by Little, Brown & Co.
It will be a companion volume to 'Tne
Uolden Windows," and will be handsome
ly illustrated.
A young lady entered a Toronto re
tail book store a short time since and
inquired from the gentlenlanly clek (a
married man, by the way) If they had a
book suitable for an old gentleman who
has been married fifty years. Without
a moment's hesitation, the clerk reached
for a copy of Parkman s "A Half Cen
tury of Conflict.”
By special arrangement with The Jlew
York Herald Company, Duffield & Co.
are to issue "Little Nemo in Slumber-
land” in book form. The artist-author
of this attractive series, Winsor McCay,
is already known as a draughtsman of
much skill and imagination, among his
creations being "Sammy Sneeze” and
"Dreams of the Welsh 'Rabbit Fiend.”
The most important article on the scien
tific aspect of the California earthquake
hi s rto published, or likely to be pub-
lisned, appears in the current issue of
The Popular Science Monthly. Its au
thor, G. K. Gilbert, of the United States
geological survey, is the foremost geolo
gist of the country, and perhaps of the
world. He was at Berkeley at the time
of the earthquake, and made a special
study of ail the geological conditions as
a member of a commission appointed by
the governor of the state. LTnlike some
scientific men. Mr. Gilbert writes clearly
and well, and his article is interesting
as well as authoritative.
IN THE PRESIDENT’S ANTEROOM
(Joe Mitchell Chappie in National Maga
zine..)
In the anteroom adjoining the presi
dent's office the walls ure severely plain
covered with green burlap. About the
only decoration Is a lonesome whisk
broow, hanging near the window, which
gives the suggestion that It may be well
to have a "brush up.” physical and men
tal, before "meeting the president.” It
was one day In early summer that I was
there, and I sat looking about me at the
hats strewn here and there, and the
bouquets of flowers adorning the room.
As the gentlemen returned, the silk hats
left behind them were easily selected by
personal Intuition—for there are no
checks given out.
While waiting I was observing, casual
ly, that never failing source of Interest—
the visitors.
There wa s one portly gentleman who
could not resist the Impulse to take a
nap—he nodded now and then, woke up
with a start, and slowly wavered off
again. Then there was a lady who was
very much concerned with her dress and
hair—the combs which kept It in place
seemed to require constant rearrange
ment. And evidences or masculine vani
ty were not lacking either, for two
young men close to me were constantly
adjusting their trousers, firs tone leg
and then the other—drawing them up,
patting out creases, then adjusting their
cuffs, their collars ana neckties, then
another yank to the trousers, until I
could, see the hosiery, which was of all
the colors of the rain-bow, decorated with
the widest wall paper style and initials
embroidered on either side.
Near by was a young man who dusted
his boots every few minutes with his
handkerchief. Inspecting them meantime
for microscopic atoms of dust. It is curi
ous how we each betrayed our peculiari
ties In these moments of waiting and re
laxation. What did I do? Well, perhaps
I was just as funny, too,. trying to keep
a balky collar under the coat lapel.
By C. RANDOLPH RICHFIELD.
HE man crouched over
little cooking etova,
covetous of every
wave of warmth that
escaped him and spent
Itself on the cold,
damp air of the cabin.
The hand that held
■the letter he was read
ing shook under the
grip of the Inexorable
malaria; with the
other hand he con
stantly brushed his
lank, black hair from his forehead,
wearily. He wbs only a young man—
scarcely more than 30, but hard living
and hard working, and, perhaps, hard
thinking, had left their marks uipon hie
handsome face.
"Mv Own Precious Boy—I hope you
are quite well. Call me selfish if you
will, darling, but It is my hope as I dic
tate this that you are not prospering,
but are so wearied by ycur long exile
as to be willing to return home. My
own proclous boy. darkness has fallen
upon me; the old eyes that have done
so much weeping—for husband, for chil
dren, for friends—have almost suddenly
shut me from ’the visible world. 1 am
blind, Jimmy, and my loneliness has be
come more intolerable than ever. I shall
never see you again, Jimmy. You can
not conceive what that means to me.
For the last four years—ever since you
left home, indeed—I have been longing
to see my deur big boy ago in; and now
1 may hear you, feel your strong arms
about me, kiss you, in my old age receive
strength from your youth—but I shah
never see you. * • •
“You are all that Is left and I ask
you to come home to me, Jimmy boy.
I lay no great stress on the request,
dear, because I know you will come if
it is a reasonable request; you have al
ways been a true son, and I know you
would never have left me If It had not
been for that cruel girl. But she and
her husband no longer live in tills coun
try to make it distasteful to you, and I
have moved to this little town to be
nearer 'the sea, across whose bosom you
must come if you are ever to return to
me. So that you could come back and
settle down with me, and lead me in my
blindness, without anything to remind
you of the old sorrow that drove you
from under your mother's wing. There
is no one here who knows you br your
sorrow, my darling, and since 1 inher
ited your Aunt Jane's fortune, I have
been In most satisfactory circumstances,
as I think I told you when I sent you a
remittance last.
"I won't say more. Jest I should In
duce you to return against your own
inclinations; I will simply close my eyes
to the dim suggestion of light which
clone is visible to me and fancy I can
see you here, Jimmy. I am dictating
this to Miss Weston, my lady compun
ion, just ns I should write It If I hai
eyes to see. And I enclose you a re
mittance. Your fondly loving mother,
"RACHEL MARGIN.”
His strong face twitching, the man
lowered the letter and stared into the
open trap of the little stove with swim
ming eyes.
“Poor old soul!” he murmured, soft
ly.
Then he hid his face In his hands
and tried to think coherently. The irony
of the affair stimulated his imagination,
and the pathos of it stirred the sym
pathy of his nature so that he felt a
sense of personal sorrow, as he mlgnt
have done If she had been his own
mother.
He pictured her sitting by her fireside
with her blind eyes turned to the glare,
and her knitting or books, or whatever
she had used to while away her em.'ty
hours, pushed aside for ever. He fan
cied she was wondering what her Jim
my's answer to her letter would he; he
guessed she would speculate whether h;
or a letter from him would arrive first—
by the earliest mallboat.
And the man raised his head suddenly
and glanced at the form of the dead man
In the corner. And he groaned.
"I won’t write and tell her!” he crie-
fiercely. "That I will not do!” He sprang
up and began walking about the cabin
with feeble steps. "But she must have
a letter by the next mall, poor soul.
Oh. if I—” He stopped suddenly, and,
Paning against the ajmb of the dooi.
tried to conquer the tears that his emo
tion. playing on Ills physical weakness,
forced into his eyes.
He sat down again at the stove an I
rrperused the letter. Presently he rose
and got paper, pen and ink from a
locker, and began to write.
“My own darling mother," he wrote:
then paused, reflectively. "I am dictat
ing this to my pal, John Wilson, as I'm '
—again he paused—"just now suffering
.with a touch of malanla. Don't oe
alarmed, dear mother; It isn't serlo is,
but It makes one's hand shake so that
I can't write myself. I shall be all right
again In a few days, and then—”
. "And. then—what?” he muttered. “If
there's nothing serious the matter, wliat
should prevent him writing or keep
him away from her? I could keep it
up for a few weeks, ,hen her common
sense would tell her he'd be well enough
to write or dangerously bad; and the
poor soul—I don't know!” he said,
wearily, tossing the scarcely-begun let
ter Into the stove, and glancing over
Mrs. Margin's again.
**• • • I may hear you, feel your
strong arms about me. kiss you, In my
old age receive strength from your
youth—but I shall never see you. - • •
There Is no one here who knows you or
your sorrow, my darling, and since I
Inherited your Aunt Jane’s fortune I
have been In most satisfactory circum
stances. * • • I will simply close my
eyes • • • and fancy I can see you
here, Jimmy. • • •”
He dropped the letter and laid his
hot face in his hands.
"John, John,” he muttered, sternly,
presently, "It's only your vile selfishness
that has put the Idea Into your head.
Don't think it! Don’t Imagine you’re
disposed to attempt such a risky thing
to brighten the last few years of a lov-
Jng old 'woman’s lonely life; you are
thinking of yourself. If you were rich,
with dear family ties and all you wanted.
It might he generous and noble, although
ridiculously Improbable; but circum
stanced as you are. without a soul to
call you by name, at the end of your
tether. It ought to be obvious to you
that you are thinking of yourself and
trying to Imagine it would be In the old
lady’s Interests.”
He was silent for a long time, and al
most motionless. When he did move his
mind was settled; and, picking up a
spade, he .went out of the cabin to dig a
grave.
• * • • •
"Jimmy, Jimmy—you have come?”
pay'much attention.slie looked so ddread
and, turning towards the door, groped
for him. He looked at her and hesitated,
an expression of fear entering his face
as he realized suddenly that the cue was
cast; that he had bartered his Identity
with the dead, and must In future live
by subterfuge., Then he stepped up to
her and took her outstretched hands.
“Yes, I have come,” he whispered,
brokenly. "Have I taken you too much
by surprise?”
“No—oh, no,” she answered, turning
her face up to Ills as if she were strug
gling against her (blindness to see him.
“No; I felt you would come, my dar
ling; I felt in my heart you would come.”
"And you are happy—you will not feel
lonely now?” he asked, eently, as he led
her to the sofa in the wide window of
the handsome room. “You are not blind
now. for I am your eyes.”
She gave a little gasp o>f happiness,
anil leant sideways upon his shoulder,
fondling one oif his hands excite dy.
And he looked down at her s lv ry
head, and, bonding, kissed he. It was
an honest kiss; it was the token of his
dedication of his life to her so long as
she should live; the waster of a lonely
life had found a service he could render
to another by fraud.
And the fraud (proved less difficult
to maintain than he had expected. He
and James Margin, although not hound
by any ties of real friendship, had been
such inscpernble companions In misfor
tune that their adventures and ex
periences had been almost Identical; so
few lies were told.
Once or twice he detected an inclina
tion on his "mother's'’ part to broach
the subject of the girl whose cruel con
duct had driven her son from her into
exile, but he had forestalled her by
hinting that the subject was distasteful
to him; a hint she had readily accepted.
And because she felt that memory must
not be revived by any reference what
ever to the past she allowed it to bury
its dead, with her own hopes for hi*
future secreted In her heart.
Nor were there technical difficulties.
There was no one who had know
Jimmy Margin to confront him, but the
mother herself, and by the tender devo
tion which seemed to come quite
natural to him, he stifled any instinc
tive suspicion that may have arisen Im
perceptibly in her mind. In a word,
■the swindle was entirely lacking of
dramatic episodes; only his own heart
rose against him, only his own con
science condemned him as an Impostor.
It was. perhaps, In conceding a point
to his conscience that he arrived most
approximately to discovery. He had
often turned over in his mind the mat
ter of Jimmy's Inheritance. There was
no doubt that Mrs. Margin would be
queath the whole of her (fortune, except
for a grateful bequest to Miss Weston,
to him, and lie did not wish It so; he
had. Indeed, determined that it would
be absolutely Impossible to accept It,
especially as there would be no excuse
whatever for containing to pose as
James Margin after the old lady's deatu.
But the difficulty was that, if the for
tune were left to him by will, by re
fusing it he would throw It, If not into
chancery, then certainly to some distant
and unknown relative of Mrs. Margin s,
whom she should not desire should have it.
■It was necessary, therefore, that the
fortune Bhould be willed away from him,
and there was no question In his mind
that Miss Weston should receive it, for
there was no one In the world, apart
from himself, whom the old lady loved,
hut Margaret Weston.
Mrs. Margin and John Wilson were sit
ting on the sands one glorious summer
day—she in a deckchair and he on a rug
beside her. He had been reading to her
somewhat spasmodically, because he
broke off occasionally to "see for her,”
as he called it—to tell her of things pass
ing under her blind eyes.
Just now his eyes were turned from
his book towards the tall, graceful figure
of Margaret IV'eston, who had strolled
down to the edge of the receding sea,
and was standing watching a little
launch making round an outputting cliff,
where the currents were notoriously
strong and dangerous.
"Mother,” he said, softly, ”1 want to
speak to you about—about a delicate mat
ter—about money—I suppose you have
made a will in which the name of
James Margin stands somewhat conspicu
ously?”
"Yes," she answered, smiling. “But
why will you persist In referring to
yourself In that way—as If you were a
third person?”
"Do I?” he said, conscious of It for
the first time. “Well, 1 won't. But
what I want to say is yon must make
a new will, or add a condlcll, so that
Margaret gets the money. I don't want
It. I don't need It; but she, being alone
as far as financial resources are con
cerned, will need it; and she deserves
well of you. A man can do without
money and always fall on his feet.” He
dropped his words one by one, aware
how empty his arguments sounded.
"Dear, noble Jimmy,” she murmured,
holding a hand out to him and smiling
tenderly. "But there is enough for both;
I have amply provided for her. And—
and—”
She checked herself, pursing her lips
thoughtfully.
"But 1 won't accept anything,” he an
swered, a note of rebellion In his voice.
"I absolutely refuse It. And f shall do
so. even If my act should divert the
money to the crown."
“Jimmy!” she exclaimed In surprise.
“Dear mother," he returned. more
gently, "do It to please me. I won't
argue the matter with you, and I won't
disclose my reasons; but ■”
“But, my dear boy—"
"Do it to pleas® me," (he repeated, dog
gedly.
"Give me some reason.” she said, turn
ing towards him.
"No; I don’t want to convent you to
my views—a want you to do it because
I ask you.”
She leant back In (her chair and re
mained silent 'for some moments. Gradu
ally a smile stole into her face.
“Very well,” she answered, faintly; “It
shall be as you wish.”
He sighed wl.h relief. He had never
■been so near to betraying himseir, even
■which ihe was prepared to do to carry
his point; and he was grateful that It had
not been necessary. He wanted to carry
the fraud to the end, that she might
never know her boy had died In a Cana-
d’an cabin, and that he, John, had tricked
her Into loving him.
Mrs. Margan was far from Interpreting
the episode correctly, and from that time
forth she gave John and Margaret Wes
son greater opportunities for being alone
together than ehe had done before, for
hitherto she had doubted whether he was
sufficiently cured of the old wound to
■have remarked how sweet and pretty a
woman Margaret was. But It seemed to.
her that her son was slow to seise the
opportunities She created, and that Mar
garet was wont to treat him as if she
were not certain of him. And thus one
day, after a foreboding attack of weak
ness. she touched upon her dearest wish
to both of them severally. Perhaps never
before had she so keenly missed the sense
Of sight which would have enabled her
to read their hearts by their faces, as
ehe could not by 'the words and pauses.
John divined her meaning very prom
John divined her meaning very
promptly.
"You are suggesting her as a wife for
me, mother?” he said. In a hollow tone.
"Have you not seen enough of her to
understand her sweet disposition?" Mrs.
Margin, answered, interrogatively. She
would make you an Ideal wife, Jimmy. I
love her, and I should be happy, indeed,
to know you love each o:her.
He was silent for a time, and she won
dered at the pause; she could not see the
strained look In his eyes, or the pressure
of his lips; and so she failed to guess
what desperate hope and hopeless despair
she had aroused within him.
"It is impossible,” he said, at length,
speaking abruptly.
"Your tope alarms me, darling! You
don't moan you have contracted—”
"A marriage?” he laughed harshly.
••No-no. But It is not less impossible
thun If I had. Don't talk of it, mother."
. “The old, old sore," she thought. Still
she was not without hope, and later
she tactfully approached the subject with
Margaret. She told lier the story of
Jimmy's broken faith In women.
"What are you thinking?" she inquired,
when Margaret remained silent after the
recital.
“I scarcely know,” replied the girl,
vaguely.
“My child,” said Mrs. Margin, taking
her hands. “1 can be frank with you
because you love me, and you know 1
would not urge you against your own
inclinations; it is my dearest wish that
you should marry my boy. 1 believe
you couid. If any woman could, make
him happy; and he would be worthy of
you.”
“Such a son a3 he is—so devoted, so
thoughtful—could only be a good hus
band,” Margaret murmured.
“My dearest girl!” exclaimed the old
woman. "How happy you make me. L>o
you mean you would marry him if lie
asked you?”
"Oh. don't—don't jump at conclusions
like that, dear.” cried the girl, fright
ened. “I didn't mean that—I didn't mean
even to imply it. I respect him more
than any man I have ever known—more.
I honor him. And—yes.” she added, drop
ping her voice to a whisper. "I love him.
dear Mrs. Margin; but you must never
tell him so. or hint of it to him. You
won't will you; oh, promise me you
won't?”
Of course not! Do you think I should
so abuse your confidence, even to gain my
own ends? It is a secret between us.
darling. But I hope he will lead you to
tell him yourself before I leave you both."
“Don’t speak of leaving us. dear: wo
are both so fond of you, and you nc»
as a link binding us together for a
time.”
But there was something prophetic* in
Mrs. Margin's words, ror only a fort
night later she fell ill, and it quickly
became apparent that she would never
be well again.
It was a great blow to John and Mar
garet. John had never before quito
realized how happy he had been, in spite
Of his conscience, or 'how deeply In his
heart she had planted the love he had
never been able to bestow upon his own
mother. And it was not only that he
would lose her, but there was Marga
ret. There could be no excuse for con
tinuing the im'posture after Mrs. Mar
gin's death.
The end came somewhat suddenly, but
not so much so that the dear old lady
was unprepared. Margaret was with
her, when phe felt her heart give a sud
den wrench, and a restful sense of weak
ness stole over her.
She sent for John—“my Jimmy," she
whispered. He hurried into the room,
looking whiter than she, with his jaw
set firmly.
Margaret knelt at the other side of
the bed, and it was a little dry sob from
her that broke the silence.
"Oh, don’t you cry for me,” murmured
the old woman, with a smile that had
something of the serenity of the future
In it; "I am happy, and I have been
happy, thanks to you, my dear ones.
Only one wish have I to be fulfilled. Take
her hand, Jimmy—take It, and let me
hear you tell her that you love her.”
John started and turned a 'haggard face
to^the girl. She kept her eyes averted
until she detected by a furtive glance
something behind the look of fear in his;
then she looked fully at him, expectantly,
yet doubtfully.
"Tell her. Jimmy. I know it—I have
felt sure of It,” murmured the dying
woman; "but let me hear you tell her. '
Margaret, ’ he whispered, breathless
ly. I love you!” Then the {Mission
swept over him; he had told her what
he would never have let her know, do
let her truly know. "I loye you better
than—there are no words to tell you
how I love you!” he panted, his dark
oyos gleaming.
"And I love, Jimmy,” answered the
girl.
He watched anxiously the dying wom
an s lips. Would she speak? Had she
heard? He raised himself, and bending
oyer her he kissed h«r. As he drew
back her lips parted In an exquisite
smile, while a breath like a deep sign
escaped her.
Margaret rose uickly. as If she guessed
the meaning of the sigh, and leant ore:'
tpe bed, her tears dimming her signt.
Then she straightened herself and, riiaw-
tng n_r brtath painfully, whispered:
"She died happy, John, in the knowl
edge that we love each other.”
He stared at her blanklv, and swept
his fdrehead with his hand.
"John?” he repeated, dully. "Yes, my
name s John—John Wilson. I'm glad
you’ve found It out; I meant- but I
don’t understand!”
I found, some months ago, your pho:o,
1° a letter written by James Margin,
and he had written across it, ‘My pai,
John Wilson,' I knew then who you
were; till then I had only guessed w.io
Sou were not—by your writing.”
"You guessed—you know! And yet at
her deathbed you could tell her that you
loved—a man you knew to be a thief?”
he said, hoarsely.
"A most honorable thief,” she mur
mured, her eyes gleaming proudly at
him through her tears. “I often wished
that sjie could know you as I did. and
love gou as John Wilson as I do. But
It was best—”
She stole round to his side, while he
watched her In boundlee* amuwmtnt at
her word*.
"You made the little last of her life
supremely happy,” she whispered, look
ing up at horn. “You are not a thief,
for you gave more than you received.
Look—at her smile! She must know
now; she must have met him. Do you
think she loves you less because shs
know*?*’
She laid her hands upon his arm and
drew closer to him.
"I love you, John,” she murmured.
He. threw a doubtful, questioning look
at the sweet, smiling face of Mrs. Mar
gin; then, turning quickly to Margaret,
he took her In his arms.