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The Key
of Heaven
(Copyright, 1906.)
By KATHARINE TYNAN.
T was a long. long time now
since John Hurst 1.ad left
Greenliays farm and liad
come into the town to live,
and lie was crowing old;
yet the’O was hardly a
crass blade there he dll
not remember. That is to
say. although Hie blades
had sprung many a tim;
tn wly since lie had ceased
to lie master there, he
on hi ye: if he shut his
'■yes. see how they shone dull silver-gray
when the wind rippl'd them; how in the*
summer the. turned hrown in the mead
ows with the seeding; how the sun and
the cloud used to chase each other over
tl i ill of a summer day. lie could re
call the oats, little spears at first above
'lie brown i.uili. then a mass of soft,
tossing green with the vivid scarlet of an
occasional poppy against the greenness -
to he sure. Joint called the floppies Mir!.'
and was too good a farmer to he please i
with the color effect.
lie could see the corn grow to yellow
gol,i and t lien to white gold 'With a
thought of pink in it. He could hear
the_ little symbols of the barley. lie
could see the larks rising over the past-
l-rt-s. lie could smell the new-mown
hay. and hear the clear rivulets running
in tile ditches. I Its sleep was tilled with
the old deli ions sounds and sig'ats and
smells at night.
Then there was the farmhouse, long
a mi low t :atchrd. the. rooms full of
■reel, light, witn tong, narrow passages
nd steps up and down into all the
.oopis. the small s.inure windows
a op in : iie thick walls and hung w ith
gay chintz curtains.
People with new- angled ideas might
have thought the rooms dark. There
were great four-post mahogany bed
steads. There wre spotless mirrors
with the gilt frames covered in yellow
g. uzo. because of the flies. There were
tii c-scroons in tile grates in summer
made of colored paper. It was till beauti-
b in liis dreams to John Ilurst. beuuti-
: :! almost as heaven; and lie was shut
out from it forever.
It would never have happened if Lord
St. !.ngor or her ladyship had lived. His
lordship would have given John time
to recover from the had seasons and to
1 ay. But when 'John asked for time
there overe only the trustees for the
>oung heir to tie dealt with, and they
were as far avvav as London. Jollll fed
that lie might as well be banging bis
head against a stone wall as appealing
to those inexorable faces behind tiie dry
lawyers’ letters.
1 He was never one to make a good case
for himself. lie might have pierced
through the lawyer's clerk and the law
yer and tile black broadcloth that cov-
. cred the breasts of the trustees, and
found kind hearts there, hut he was no
penman, and when he was hade to go
tie went.
.Master Hilary -to he su;e. lie .was Lord
St. Loger now—would never have let it
be if he had been a man and not a.
child.
U by, the very last day John had gone
to tin- castle to deliver up iho keys of
tile O S, where lie had been bred ami
oo'i:. and bis fathers before him a great
i'' it was- -Master Hilary had come run
ning to him live: the deeply-carpeted
floors, and had flung u fond arm about
his neck.
"T nm coming to see you soon again.
John." in had said: "and you will give
me ti ride on the pony, and Annie will
cive me respliorry jam and cake and
liilk ns Mrs. Ilurst use ( | to do."
"I’m sure you'll he kindly welcome,
your lordship,'' John liad responded.
What was the use of depressing the child
by telling hint that these things were
done with forever?
Things would have been different, too.
if ids lordship's urn-le. Major St. Iktger,
had been at home; but he had been some
where in the depths of darkest Africa
when John had left Greenliays; and,
for all John knew, lie might he there
still.
To all intents and purposes the St.
Legors liad ceased to exist for John Hurst
since lie came to town. That heavenly
country, with its bejt of dark woods on
the horizon, its wide green fields and
i pin ml spaces, was as much out of John't
ken as though It. was heaven itself—in
deed, more so. for John hail the simple
fajth lie had learned at his mother's
km e. and he touched with heaven when
ho prayed.
The children were very unwilling that
John slinulil work at all. seeing that lie
was growing old and hid always worked
so hard. There were a good many of
Continued on Fourth Page.
• <»n »•— ViO'('iit'i'|'i'3.i‘| i'C'<i'l-i't'i'l'i't'i’t'i'9'i |
What The Christ = Child Gave
1 i
By LOLLIE BELLE WYLIE
I
! Written for . The SUNNY SOUTH
I.
r was the week before
Christmas. Christmas fell
on Sunday.
In an elegant home on
Cue Esplanade. John Mull-
is-lon and Eliza, his wife,
sat before a tire. that
crackled merrily through
a pile of |i-ti logs.
"Another lonely Christ
mas with no little stock
ing in bang:" the man was
saying.
"Lonely enough.’’ sighed
tiie woman, 'Shaking tin* ravelings of
thread from a tiny while outing gown on
which siie had been sewing.
"Dearie." she added, "tlie* Christ-child
still forgets us. I wisp ife would re
mem her."
Making more baby things, wifie. 1
see.'” interposed John, kindly. ‘"I am
sure the Christ-child will reward you
sometime. Your faith i, s «o strong.”
‘ He will in Jlis own good time, here
or hereafter." smiled Mrs. Mullision.
"It wouldn’t seem like Christmas in
tiie home if the baby things failed you,
would It wifie?”
“Or the—the pilgrimage," said Mrs. Mul-
liston.
Suddenly the tears came into tiie wom
an'.-; eyes and she cried rehelliously.
"M hy, oil. why did the Good Sheppard
take my one wee lamb away. Were
there not enough in His fold?”
“There, tiierc. little woman.” comfort
ed John M'illusion, patting his wife with
Jiis big fat hands. "I see tears dangerous,
ly near the surface. Come let me ki.-s
them away."
"I am nervous and overwrought,’’
apologized .Mrs. Mulliston, looking lov
ingly at her husband.
"I know—I know all about tiie feeling.
It comes when you work too haru, or
flunk too much, and you've been very
busy with both for several weeks. Steady
sewing gets close to one's nerves. Come,
show me what you have made."
1 wenty years betore, when John and
Eliza Mulliston were young and hope
ful. the currents of their life had met
and mingled with that nr a little life that
was flowing on to the mighty sea of eter
nity. For one brief year they had expe
rienced tiie wonderful privilege of pa
renthood. and then when Christmas pass.
od. they had only .previous memories of a.
tiny stocking that hung at tiie fireij)acc.
and tiie fragrance of their baby’s brief
life.
"rite Lord lends. He does not give,
and seeing that our rose was sweet. He
took her back.’’ they said, and it £om-
forted them to say it.
It had been a custom ever since, at
each Christmas tide, for Mrs. Mulliston
in make a complete outfit for a baby,
and no matter where she was, in wliat
town or country, to slip into some church
on Christmas morning and lav her offer
ing on tiie altar, marked "Fur the poor
est baby in the parish." This was her
sweet memorial to the little grave iu the
cemetery.
The privilege, sacred and dear, of be
ing able to do this was respected by
John Mulliston. and save only himself
no one knew of the mysterious box that
was found once each year on sonic
altar marked for the poorest baby in tiie
parish. The divine Instinct of mother
hood was in the woman's heart, and It
mattered not what creed tiie church held,
or what denomination, she left her gift
wi... tears and prayers where it would
be found.
"('ome, show me tiie things." Mul
liston repeated, spreading his hand over
the heap of whiteness.
And as his wife laid the garments, one
by one. across his knee, he praised them,
and patted them, and called them “cute"
and “dainty" and “jiust too pretty for
anything.'” for John liad learned to say
the things a woman loves to hear re
peated.
Once when their grief was fresh, he
had asked. ,
"Why don't you adopt a child, wifie?
It would pleasure us both to hear light
laughter in the house, and surely in this
great world we can find some little one
who needs tiie wealth of love and care
we have to bestow."
"That's very true, dear.ie. but somehow,
T feel that if I but wait, the Christ-
child will pity my loneliness, and in
.-nine mysterious way send my prayer
an answer. The gift must come front
the heaven. I will not seek it els&r
where."
"I wisii site did have a child," thought
John -Mulliston later, when his wife had
gathered up the little garments and
went about singing a low lullaby in the
next room.
"By George. I believe—’’ A thought
liad come so suddenly upon John that
it lifted him’ to his feet.
"l believe li! do it I" he cried. "I
will. I will do it at once." And with
a hurried excuse t i his wife, he let':
the homo with the dad-rest sort of 1 i111 • •
smiles tucking in the corners of ids am-
He Watched Her As She Knelt Silently Before the Altar.
was up all night with a patient. Slie
died an hour ago, and left me just what
pie mouth, and wrinkling more deeply tiie
lines about lii.s laughing- eyes.
II.
Christmas morning dawned bright and
crisp in New Orleans a few daw lati;i
By the earliest hour the streets were
thronged with merry-eyed, laughing eliil-
dren, and hurrying men and women, who
laughed happily as they passed eaeh
ot her.
It was scareely later than 8 o'clock
when Jolm Mulliston turned tlie* key in
his office door. He had come for the
mail. For one especial letter. Running
each missive lightly through his fingers,
lie laid the last one down with a sigh
of disappointment. His fSce fell. The
smile that usually rested on his lips
faded.
"It seems it couldn’t be accomplished,"
he said, “and I thought it would be so
easy. Maybe he didn't get my last mes
sage.”
John Mulliston went to the telephone
and callied up Ln\ Gaston DeBecle's
number. 1
"Hello:”
The hello was an answer to* lits'own,
but it came from the doorway, where a
tall, round, jolly man stood pulling off
his gloves.
"Well, well. Doc: T was just trying to
get you. 1 am terribly disappointed.
Couldn't manage to help my little
scheme along?"
■■Sure! I couldn't get you word, as T
ui
VS 111
"Good: And you've come to arrange
with me. Let's be quick, for my wife
starts to the Church of the Blessed
Christ-Child at 10 o'clock; and it's half
past 8 now."
“There’s nothing to arrange,” replied
Dr. DeBeele. "The father, a stevedore
on one of the Mississippi boats, was
killed hy accident a few weeks ago. and
the mother contracted a cold which car
ried her off this morning. They were
highly respectable people, cousins or my
wife, and I am sure you will have noth
ing to complain of in the future.”
"Thank; but let's go. I'm impatient to
put the scheme in motion."
A moment lathi* and the two men
were whirling along in the doctor's au
tomobile.
Their way led beyond tiie busy thor
oughfares, into pleasant roads, where
llowers bloomed gayfy, and birds sang
l>iit lily
Presently they arrived at a low adobe
wall entered by means of a big iron
gate upheld between two straight col
umns of stone.
Within a garden was giving out in
bower tongue all sorts of promises of
spring an 1 fragrant messages from
shimmering trees.
It was tin* home of Dr. DeBeele. and Mrs.
DeBi elr. his wife, stood in the doorway
holding carefully a targe basket.
"You will not have, time to inspect the
contents.” Mrs. DeBeele said briskly:
“'but it's to the king's own taste. I'll
stand for its pleasing both you and
your wife. Now take it and hurry; the
service begins in. less than an hour, and
you haven't much time."
John Mulliston took the precious pack
age and got back, into the automobile,
fur the doctor had ordered the chauffeur
to take him to the Church of the Blessed
i 'lirist-Child.
No one noticed him as lie sat back in
the soft cushions,, toying with tiie lable
that hung upon the handle of the basket
or saw him write:
"For the poorest of God's creatures,
tiie childless woman."
"I think." said lie, "that will impress
her. Ah. here we are at the church:"
An organ reverberated on the air. A
glad, triumphant "Amen:" floated above
the music, and a procession of choir
boys filed out of the church, followed
by two white robed preachers, and dis
appeared in the sacristy. Then came the
congregation, and the empty church
grew silent.
Slaking his way cautiously into tlai
building with the basket, John Mullision
deposited it at tiie font of the altar.
Having done tHis, with nerves aquiver,
lie crept into the shadow of one of tiie
tall old pews and watched and waited
the coming of his wife.
III.
Meantime, Mrs. Mulliston was hurry
ing hither and thither through tiie house
straightening the chairs, and doing i
thousand and one housewifely tilings,
for tiie Christmas dinner that was to
follow her visit to the Church of the
Blessed Chrlst-Cliild.
The baby gift box, too had to be pack
ed and tied, for there were pins and putts.
Continued on Fourth Page.
Eleanors
Mother
(Copyright 1 , 1900.)
By G. B. SURGIN'.
Author ‘'Tiie Shutters of Silence,’’ Etc
CHAPTER I.
LEANOR'S heart and imag
ination alike were starve I
S! • was not illowed to g>
to subm ban dances, to
take part in local theatri
cals, n r to read Di'-kens.
“All these tilings are so
vulgar." sni.i -Mrs. Sin p-
a rd—(her husband’s fam
ily liad originally heen
"Slie'pperds." but hail
drifted into being "she
t ards"—presutnabl v fem
inine pantlie: .=—o:i account
of the refining influences <>' s : It a
name—“ami cannot be tolerated." There
fore. Eleanor was told ;o hold herself
aloof "from tiie vulgar crowd." She
was to he refined, haught*. ex,-In five, to
lemernber. though poor, that sue had
blue blood tin very cold weather Mrs
.Sh": lord's nose displayed most of tin'
family hi ic blood) :n her veins, and tii .r.
people around them, though well-
mi aning, were "bourgeois." Mrs. Shoa
l'd was a chronic invalid. That is to
say. she had nothing whatever the mat
ti-.- with her exoep: general selfishness
and a lazy disinclination to button h-
own boots. .So beautiful Eleanor iworkei
Ike a slave to gratify her mother's
whims, and buttoned the aforesaid boots,
i )nee. when slie had been goaded to des-
per.ation. she pinched her mother's m-
sieji with the buttonhook, and had the.
i.'ensure of seeing her mot .ey become
"bourgeois" for five minr.i c Hitherto,
Kieanor had never imagined that her
mm her could
“Give sorrow words”
in s .eh vigorous Anglo-Saxon terms, and
slie never repeated the experiment with
the buttonhook.
Slie was a beautiful girl, with violet
• i s. long curling eyelashes, and thick
brows, which gave her exquisite eyes an
i xpression of :efined joyousm-ss. Her
figure was good, she liad a lovely mouth
and teeth, and an adorable nose. And,
a, art from lien one dread clime with tiie
buttonhook, she had always been a good
c'rl. Now she fold herself that she was
about to commit a worse crime . than
•the buttonhook enisode. for she ua I
dared to fall in lovo with a “bourgeois ’
yo - mg man—a dashing, handsome voting
.olioitor. Dick Poynter was the kind
of man to make any nice girl happy,
lie knew what iie wanted, and. iu mod
i ration, he generally go! it. He wanted
Eleanor very badly, and determined to
win her. But Mrs. Shepard disliked him,
an ( |* suspected him of "a lack of those
i!"lii|ite refinements of life without which
we are ns the beasts of the field." Hence,
when slie detected symptoms in Dick of
being in love with Eleanor, she made
pointed allusions—they were as sharp as
tier nose—to the necessity for a girl of
Eleanor's family marrying into the peer
age. She always alluded to it as "the
peerage." as though it were tile only
i ne. and Dick Poynter. who never ex
pected to be able to buy a peerage, lie-
can to grow angry.
The Poynter family were a hopelessly
cheerful. commonplace. good-looking
"crowd." consisting of three or four
buxom, handsome girl- .in,] two younger
liii.tliers. with white-haired, handsome
parents, who loved tlicir children, and
were determined to make them happy,
lienee, .when Christmas approached. Mr.
Lind Mrs. Poynter sent for Dick to their
own particular sanctum to discuss his
: ff.iirs.
"Time you settled down. Dick, my hoy,”
e.-ii,l Mr. Poynter.
“She's a sweet, beautiful girl,” said
the old Indy.
"My dear dad! My dear mother! What's
all tiiis about?"
Mr. Poynter dug JDieck in tiie fifth
rib. after tile approved manner of the
Old Testament warriors. “Your mother
and T see it all. my hoy. You can’t
humbug us. You’re getting thin becattso
you haven’t the pluek to ask her.”
Dick flushed for a moment. "I won't
lie a humbug, you dear old thirds. You
mean Eleanor?"
" 'And the boy gussed right the very
first time,” hummed Mr. Poynter. who
still possessed the remains of a fine
tenor. "Go and ask her. Dick; go and
ask her. A lovely girl like that is hound
to be snapped up by someone else if you
shilly-shally. AVhv, when I made love
to your mother. T just put my arm ”
"S-sshl" said tiie old lady, blushing
like a girl. "That's not to he talked
about. You were very forward in those
days."
“Forward! Should think I was." Tiie
old man laughed. “1 was rapid, that's
Continued on Fourth Page.
Glory To the New-Born King” i