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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