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Miss Conover
She had given her name as Kate
Conover, and had come to accept
the position of governess in toe
family.
knocked Presently the lady of the house
and entered t|ie room. Ev¬
idently she was much pleased with
the new arrival, for her ©yes rested
upon a sweet, frank face, a graceluL
compact form^and an attire as neat
as it was sensible.
“I hardly expected to find you so
young,” Mrs. Cameron said.
“No?” asked Miss Conover. “St&l
—you will find me proficient.”
“Oh, to be sure ” Mrs. Cameron
hurriedly said. “Please walk down
to breakfast.”
The breakfast room reached, she
sa id:
“Miss Conover — Brice Ruther¬
ford, my nephew.”
The name startled the young lad|r
so much that her self possession al¬
most failed her. She bowed m rec¬
ognition of the introduction, and
then turned her attention to the
two children who were to be under
her charge.
During the morning meal ah#
cast several furtive glanew at
Brice Rutherford. He Was young,
handsome, refined, with perhaps
rather an exalted opinion of him¬
self.
It was not remarkable that dur¬
ing the summer he began to take
considerable interest in the pretty
little governess. He was thrown al¬
most daily in her society, and her
frankness was especially charming
to him because he was not much
disposed to be frank himself.
His interest at last assumed a
more fervent shape and finally led
him to make a declaration of love.
A look of triumph crossed her face,
but it escaped his notice, for she
was seated in the shadow.
“This isn't unexpected,” she re¬
plied, “but”—
Brice Rutherford frowned at the
remark and waited for her to con¬
clude it.
“You see, you don't know any¬
thing about me,” she said, starting
in afresh.
“Oh, but I flatter myself I do,”
was his reply. “I never act without
proper consideration.”
“1 mean as to my—my—antece¬
dents,” Miss Conover said, “As to
my—my—purposes”—
“I don't care about your antece¬
dents,” he interrupted, "and as lor
your purposes I hope one of them
will be to make me as happy as
you can!”
“Oh, to be sure,” replied she,
“Well, I am glad that we under¬
stand each other, and”-—
“But 1 don't know that we do,”
interrupted she in turn, “I know
not that recall you proposed that I accepted to me, but you.” I can¬
<‘Oh I” he ejaculated, with a crest-
fallen look.
Miss Conover laughed hold softly and
said, “I am willing to your
offer under advisement
“That will not satisfy me/' he
replied. rejoined she. p “I
“But it must/'
think 1 am according you a great
deal.”
“Well, maybe you are/' he said
with a grimace. “I can't say that
I’m excessively grateful.”
“I'll give you mv answer in Sep-
tern her. Miss C onover tep lied.
“That isn’t far off, you know.”
“Well, no, it isn’t/' assented he,
am! that closed the conversation.
In the early part of September
business took him into the city
and he was absent a week. When
he returned to his aunt’s country
seat, he found that the Tfretty little
governess was no longer there. He
was almost dumfounaed.
“Where is she?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” replied Mrs.
Cameron. "Among her friends, no
doubt.”
“She is coming back?”
“No, much to my regret children.* and the
disappointment Rutherford of the stared
Brice at the
carpet.
“Did she leave a message for
»e?” he asked.
__
The Toccoa %
Record
Toccoa, Georgia, October 17 1902.
“A letter, at least,” replied Mrs.
Cameron. “I notice that there is
one on her bureau directed to you.”
He hurried upstairs in a manner
not in keeping with his habitual
dignity.. When he opened the en¬
velope, he was surprised to find one
of his own letters in it, although
he had never written to her. A
look of consternation spread over
his face as he read it.
In his boyhood he had had a little
sweetheart named Rose Ralston. It
was of stipulated between the parents
both that the two should be mar¬
ried when they were old enough.
He was sent to school on the con¬
tinent, where he stayed until he
had attained his majority. He then
wrote home, declining to renew the
attachment of his boyhood or to
carry out the stipulations. Indeed,
so emphatic was he that one or two
sentences were unkind, because un¬
called for.
He stared at the letter in a dazed
way.
“How did Miss Conover get hold
of it ?” he asked himself, “and what
was her object in redirecting it to
me? She promised to give me her
decision”—
He broke the line of his thought
with a sharp exclamation.
“I've solvfed the mystery,” he mut¬
tered. “Kate Conover is Rose Ral¬
ston. She is a Httle flirt and fan¬
cies that she's got even with me."
He closed his conjectures with
fanity. an expression which was near pro¬
Aunt Rachel,” he said, when he
bad rejoined his aunt, “do you know
that Mies Conover is Rose Ral¬
ston V 9
“Impossible 1” exclaimed Mrs.
Cameron.
“But, aunt, she is.”
“Did she say so?”
“No. Do you think her coming
here was—was—planned?”
“Why, no, Brioe. It came about
by accident. She didn't know you
were here or that I am your aunt.”
“You are sure of that?”
“Of course I am. What does she
say in the letter ?”
“It isn't from her.”
“Eh! Who, then?”
under “Why did she masquerade here
another name?” evaded Brice.
“Why should she masquerade any¬
where?”
“My dear boy, I can't answer
that,” Mrs. Cameron said. “I am
not convinced that she did.”
“Well, it doesn't matter much
anyhow,” Rutherford rejoined,
which was a bold falsehood, for he
knew that it mattered a good deal
to him.
A year later found Kate Conover
standing in a grove in the Yellow¬
stone park. She was looking down
a long vista of charming scenery,
her face bronzed, her form plump
and the blue in her eyes deeper and
sweeter than ever.
She heard footsteps behind her,
and on turning around beheld a
handsome, sun browned tourist, A
second, and her face grew very red,
for the man was Brice Rutherford.
She had punished him, to be sure,
but she bad also punished herself.
He relieved her of her embar¬
rassment gracefulness. by offering hie hand with
easy
‘Til now take your answer/' he
said.
“What answer?” she asked, with
renewed blushes.
“This is September” he re-
minded.
“Oh!” ejaculated she. “So it is,
but I named last September. I left
you my answer.”
“But there wasn't anything in it
for me, or else I was too stupid to
see it. It may have implied”—
“Yes, it implied,” she interrupted,
with “Oh, a charming little laugh.
bother that idiotic let er!”
Brice cried.
“And your stumpy, romping,
freckled faced tomboy sweetheart,
Rose Ralston,” added she, quoting
from the letter.
“I meant nothing by it. and I'm
sorry I wrote it,” replied Brice, get¬ “I
ting red in the face in turn.
eomd not foresee that I'd after¬
ward meet Rose Ralston in Kate
Conover and fall in love with her.
You have two names, and you
“Good Will to All Men.’
should not be punctilious about as¬
suming a third. Mine is at your
service. Please give me the answer
you “Well, promised.”
Brice,” she said, her blue
eyes dancing with fun, “I am not
able to recall the question with
much distinctness, If you will re-
peat it in the same attitude with the
same fervor and with the same wild,
waiting look in your eyes, perhaps
I may be able”—
“Oh, I couldn't,” interrupted
Brice, laughing. “One such effort
ih a lifetime is enough. I haven't
yet recovered the energy which I
expended on that occasion. You in¬
tend to accept me, but you are too
—too—modest to say so. I will not
insist, you know.”
“Oh, thank you,” she replied. “It
is a—gr a eat relief to me.”
And, as they were married be¬
fore the close of the year, it is pre¬
sumed that they reached an under¬
standing at last.
The Folly of Oversensitiveness.
Oversensitive people are usually
very fine grained, highly organized
and intelligent, and if they would
overcome this weakness would be¬
come This capable, conscientious work¬
ers. failing—for it is a failing,
and a very serious one, too—is an
exaggerated form of self conscious¬
ness, which, while entirely different
from egotism or conceit, causes self
to loom up in such large propor¬
tions on the mental retina as to
overshadow everything else. The
victim of it feels that wherever he
goes, whatever he does, he is the
center of observation and that all
eyes, all thoughts are focused upon
him. He imagines that people are
criticising his movements and his
person and making fun at his ex-
pense, when in reality they are not
thinking him.—Success. of him and perhaps did
not see
WAYS OF THE SHAD.
Their Migrations and How They Live
at Spawning Time.
Shad fishing is hard and precari¬
ous work. The fisherman must
count on having his clothes always
soaked with icy April water. Often,
too, the nets come in empty, and
then there is nothing to do but to
make another cast and hope for bet¬
ter luck.
A remarkable fact noticed by fish¬
ermen is that the identical shad ap¬
parently frequent the same streams
year after year. To prove this they
point out that those taken in Flor¬
ida waters are smaller than shad
caught in the north, while in dif¬
ferent streams the fish differ in form,
thickness and shape.
After entering the rivers the shad
take little if any food previous to
spawning, but afterward they will
bite at flies or any shining object
floating in the water. They have
even been known to snap at artifi¬
cial bait. The toothless mouth of
the adult is unfit for feeding upon
anything except minute animal mat¬
ter found in the water. Food is rare¬
ly found in their stomachs, the only
substance commonly seen there be¬
ing black something closely resembling
mud. From this it is sup¬
posed that the shad swim with
mouths extended, swallowing the
animal life that swarms in the wa¬
ter and on this grooving plump and
sweet.—Outing.
Character In Umbrellas.
One's character is said to be re¬
vealed with infallible accuracy by
the way he holds and carries an um¬
brella. One enthusiast, who has
made a study of the public's umbrel¬
la manners, has announced that he
would want no better guide in choos¬
ing his wife than to watch her furl
and carry her umbrella.
The man who pokes you in the
ribs with his umbrella, for instance,
does not alone announce by such an
act that he is rude or careless. To
the experienced eye he actually lays
bare the innermost secrets of his
character.
The man or woman who carries
an umbrella with the point back¬
ward and downward is unassertive.
On the other hand, persons who in
the walking handles, carry their umbrellas by
with the points contin¬
ually exfendejl or pointing forward.
Successor to Toccoa Times and Toccoa Heirs.
will be found seif’assertive and en¬
ergetic. The pedestrian who grabs
an umbrella in the middle and goes
forging ahead with it in this posi¬
tion is likelv to be found alert,
of a selfish, even conceited
tion.
-
Speed of Dogs.
Greyhounds are the swiftest dogs
known, and scientists say that they
are the swiftest of all four footed
animals. Trained hounds can trav-
el at the rate of eighteen to twenty-
three yards a second, which is about
the speed attained by a carrier
pigeon. These dogs are bred for
speed alone. Every other consider-
ation is lost sight of, and only the
machinery that makes for motion
and endurance is cultivated.
Foxhounds are also very fast trav¬
elers, going at the rate of nearly
eighteen yards a second. M. Duso-
lier, the noted French scientist, has
pointed out in his statistics on the
speed trotting of animals along that with little their fox ter¬
riers mas¬
cycle ters who are driving or riding a bi¬
cover mile after mile without
a touch of fatigue or distress.
Many animals akin to dogs show
even greater endurance. A wolf can
travel fifty or sixty miles in a night
and be ready for a similar journey
the following night.
“Book” Muslin.
A correspondent asks, “Won't you
oblige by saying why the word
Took' is a]i>plied to muslin ?”
The idea that book muslin derives
its name from the peculiar manner
in which it is made up for sale—>
namely, folded in yards and each
yard doubled in again on itself in
such a way that the process of open¬
ing it strongly resembles the open¬
ing of a book—is ingenious, but in¬
correct. The word has its origin in
Buke, which was erroneously writ¬
ten “Book,” the district in India
where it was first made. It was not
until 1780 that the manufacture of
British muslins became a rival to
those in India. India muslins are
still famous for preserving their
whiteness.
Wire Used For Pins.
Perhaps as striking a figure as
can be adduced in relation to wire
is its consumption in the pinmaking
industry. With but few exceptions,
all pins are made from brass wire,
and the daily production of pins in
Great Britain is placed by compe¬
tent authorities at 50,000,000, of
which Birmingham supplies about
three-fourths. How this stupendous
output is consumed affords matter
of no small wonderment, and when
the proverbial trifling value of each
individual pin is further borne in
mind the interest in this branch of
the wire industry will be still fur¬
ther augmented.—Chambers' Jour¬
nal.
A Simple Change.
The little daughter of the house
watched the minister who was mak¬
ing a visit very closely and finally
sat draw down beside him and began to
on her slate.
“What are you doing ?” asked the
clergyman.
“I'm making your picture/' said
the child.
The minister sat very still, and
the child worked away earnestly.
Then she stopped and compared her
work with the original and shook
her head.
“I don't like it much,” she said.
(( 3 Tain't a great deal like you. I
think I'll put a tail to it and call it
a dog.”
A Somewhat Clever Rat.
The Pioneer tells a story of a rat
which on one occasion was caught
alive on a ship and thrown over-
board. A sea gull was floating by
the side of the ship. Immediately
there ensued a battle royal, and the
rat strangled the sea gull to death,
He then sat upon the carcass of the
sea gull, unfurled its left wing to
catch the wind and, working the
right shore! wing as an oar, set sail for the
p *u Mow Wlu^Vwi
If OB ftitftslMa
V . Mo. • In lota. Nt
Mo. 4 O
MAXIMS OF A WITTY ABBE,
A Notable Eighteenth Century Figure
In French Society.
^ orae of the maxims and anecdotes
of Nicholas de Cliamfort, the witty
abbe, who during the latter half of
the eighteenth century was such a
notable figure in French society,
have been translated by Mr. W. G.
Hutchison and published by a Lon-
don firm. Here are some samples
of the abbe’s wit as rendered by the
translator:
“Living is a disease from the
pains of which sleep eases us every
sixteen hours. Sleep is but a pailia-
tive; death alone is the cure.”
“The worst wasted of all days is
that in which one has not laughed.”
a > Tis not generally known how
much wit a man requires to avoid
being “The ridiculous.”
best philosophical attitude
to adopt toward the world is a union
of the sarcasm of gayety with the
indulgence of contempt.”
“Society would be a interested charming af¬
fair if we were only in
one another.”
“There is no history worthy of
attention save that of free nations.
The history of nations under the
sway of despotism is no more than
a collection of anecdotes.”
Some of his anecdotes are good.
Mme. de Talmont, seeing M. de
Richelieu neglecting her to pay at¬
tentions to Mme. de Brionne, a very
beautiful woman, but said to be
rather stupid, remarked to him,
“You are not blind, marshal, but t
cannot help thinking you a little
deaf.”
Mile. Duthe having lost a lover
and the affair causing some talk, a
man who called to see her found her
playing the harp and said with sur¬
prise: “Good heavens! I was ex¬
pecting to find you desolated with
grief.” “Ah,” she exclaimed in a
pathetic tone, “you onght to have
seen me yesterday!”
A woman was at a performance
of the tragedy of “Merope” and did
not weep. Surprise was expressed.
“I could cry my eyes out/’ she said,
“but I have to go out to supper to¬
night.”
What Causes Fogs.
Fogs are, generally speaking,
caused by the precipitation of the
moisture of the atmosphere. They
are formed when a warm stratum
of atmosphere comes in contact with
a cold stratum or with a portion of
the earth's surface, as a hill, by
which it is cooled so that it can no
longer hold as much moMure in so¬
lution as before. This causes the
frequent When fogs in mountain regions.
a cola stratum of air comes
over a moist, warm part of the
garth’s surface, a fog is also formed.
This is the cause of the mists that
appear over lakes, rivers and marsh¬
es in the evening, since the water i a
then warmer than the atmosphere
above it. The blackness and density by
of London fogs are caused the
simple fact that the mist formed in
the upper air mingles with the as¬
cending clouds of smoke from hun¬
dreds of thousands of chimneys and,
descending, brings the smoke with it
and settles like a pall above the
buildings and in the streets of the
city.
_
A Boy Who Did Hit Duty.
A gentleman went into a fancy
shop one i day to buy something. It
was tle boy early, and and he the shopkeepers alone lit¬
were in the
house. The shopkeeper had to go
upstairs to get his cash box in order
to procure some change, but before
doing so he went into the little room
the next boy: to the shop and whispered to
“Watch the gentleman that he
doesn t steal anything, and, brmg-
out, sat him on the coun-
^ er *
As soon M he shopkeep er re-
turned the child sang out: Pa,^he
didn't steal anything. I watched
him.” L ondon Tit-Bits.
To Cure • Coidla mao IMy.
ftop tho Cough and Work off tht
coM *