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JOUBNAL AND MESSENGrEB.
THE FAMILY JOURNAL—NEWS—POLITIGS-iLITERATURE—AGRICULTURE—DOMESTIC NEWS, Etc—PRICE *2.00 TER ANNUM.
GEORGIA TEL APH BUILDING
ESTABLISHED 1826.
MACONTi FRIDAT, SEPTEMBER 9, 1881.
VOLUME LY-NO. 36
SKELETON KEYS.
BY D CHRISTIE MURRAY.
CHAPTER I.
A sombre landscape and a fading light,
One straight rosd on a level plain running
darkley to the east, and with a sombre
gleam stretched back to the patch of sil
ver in tbo west. A doloful place and time,
and two doleful figures plodding away
from the silver gleam to assail the wall of
darkness in the east. Splash, splash, sido
by side, and the bitter wind in their ears
with a shriek, and not another sound for
an hour. • »
Tiburce Mensean, native of Paris, six
fed high, powerfully built, but attenua
ted and ragged; John Jones, native of
London, short in suture, sturdily made,
but attenuated and ragged: the were the
doleful two who tramped together. They
were human scarecrows both, but the
Frenchman was the raggeder of tbo two
and tiio more downcast. John Jones,
bullet-headed, fair haired, aud of a natur
al cheerful countenance, went miserably
enough, to bo sure, but now and again he
rammed the shocking bad hat ha wore a
little closer to Ills head, and always when
be did so he smiled as if something pleas
ed him. Tiburco Mansean watched this
gesture furtively, -and between times
awaited U furtively, and never a word
said. Tiburce lived by his wiu; and
though upon occasion^ they profited him
Uttlc, they were sharp. He had found
opportunity for the study of Holy Writ in
sevetal institutions sopported by the En
glish government, aud one text curiosly
attacked his memory now, recurring to his
miud every tiino John Jones rammed the
shocking bad list a little tighter—‘Whore
the treasure is there will the heart be
also.’
Uucompromlngofilcials in bine uniforms
bad on several occasions described Ti
burco iu public. The phra30 they used
was curt, severe, aud widely inclusive
Mo> cover, it never varied.
*Do you know anything of tiio prisoner?'
So ran the question wbicli drew forth the
descriptive criticism. Tbo descriptive
critic in blue uniform responded:
‘Habitual crimnal.'
To do Tiburco justice, he looked the
part. Leave a dark complcxioned man
unshaved for a week, half-starred for a
month, dro s him in rags, aud let the rags
be dirty, put a bitter devil of resentment
iu his breast, and though he were a curate
to begin with, these things would tell un-
favoably upon his aspect. A man who
lives by hb wits should be observaut, and
Tiburce watched all things that seemed
worth watching ‘with lidless dragon eye.'
'Whenever John Jones's hand went up to
lib hat—and it did so with unnecessary
frequency—the fingers seemed to stay a
little after fixing the hat more firmly, and
there was a llUle movement in them as
though they felt something, and then
John Jones smilled as if ho had folt the
something and was satbfled.
Tiburce Mcnscau made continuous fur
tive notes of thb preceding. What was a
tramp likely to Lave concealed in bis
shocking bad hat? Half-a-crown? Haif
a-sovereign? A bank-note? A stolen rii
of value? Tiburce bad known sui
things.
Suddenly Tiburce Menseau stopped short
and cursed in a tautological piUols, blend
ing damns and sacrea.
‘What’s tbo matter?’said Jobn Jones,
stopping also and facing bim.
•Is there no end to the road?’ asked the
other, with a curse upon the dreary high
way.
‘Five miles yet,* said John. ‘A good
five miles.*
Tiburce Menseau, taking refuge in his
native language, cursed each individual
mile in the five, and lib companion made
another start. Tiburce took one step af
ter him and stopped again to curse the
five miles collectively.
‘Take it easy,* said Jobn Jones; and hb
hand went up to hb hat again. He began
to sing to no particular tune:
Then merrily bent the footpath way,
And merrily over the stile, ha!
A merry heart goes all the day,
I our sad tires in a mile, ha!
He went clear through that quaint ditty,
and ended with a prolonged note between
a howl and groan, he sent hb band to bb
hat once more and smilled cheerfully.
‘Where the treasure b,’ thought scrawl
ing Tiburce, always watchful of the ges
ture. It grew so dark that they could
hardly keep the road. Suddenly Tiburce
Menseau tripped and fell against John
Jones, as accidently to knock ofl* hb liat.
‘Pardon!’ said Tiburce, aud groping in
the darkuess picked up the hat, and pass
ing his thin, thievish lingers swiftly round
within the lining, felt and held a little
package no larger than a penny-piece. It
came away wiio a slight tearing feel as
though it was gumed or pasted to the hat.
This did not detain the skillful .Tiburce
half a second, and tLe thing was done
with such delicate rapidity that even in
day light it might have escaped notice. I
have knocked your hat ofT,’ said Tiburco.
Thb filthy road is filled with ruts and
holes. Oil, I have it. Here you are.’
The wiud howled so that Tiburce bad
to repeat hb last words. John Jones was
groping wildly with both hands in mud
and water. He felt greedily for the hat,
and meeting the outstretched hands of the
opologetlc Tiburce, took it and felt with
in the I hieing, at first assuredly, and then
rapidly and undecidedly. Then, with a
wild yell, he was down on bis knees m
the mud and water groping wrist deep.
‘What’s the matter?’cried Tiburce, hug
ging the little parcel in his hand. Sure
ly or value surely. Ebe why should
such care of It, and why such a cry of
rage and dispair at loosing it?
John Jones made no reply, but went
about on band and knees In the mud, still
groping.
‘Wliat’s the matter?’ cried Tiburce again,
touching him oil tho shoulder. ‘Have you
lost anything?*
‘Lost!’said John Jones, voicelessly, ‘who
can tell what I have lost!’ and be groped
on in the mud, while Tiburce waited witli
signal patience. Tho search came to
nothing, but It went on until the searcher’s
bones were numbed, and until bis hands
could no longer feel the ground ho groped
°n. Then with heavy heart ha staggered
to his feet.
‘See.’sa’.dTiburce, pointing through the
noavy darkness, ‘there are lights. There
•• the town. Have you found what you
lost?’
With no answer, but with no suspicion,
the stiiT-sct Briton splashed on again
through the uuseon mud. Once or twice
he gave a heavy and heartrendering groan,
hsuof grief and half of rage.
‘StreTy,’ said Tiburce to himself, tight
ening the grip of lib fingers on tho pack-
•6*, •surely valuable.’
Splash, splash, for half an hour through
mud and darkness, and never a word
spoke. Jobn Jones was thinking all the
an.', in Ijiuer ilbpair was calling ccr-
*Aiu things to mind.
Chapter II.
Ipon’t cry, Nell!’
Thb kind of advbe b often easy to give
eoali&rd to obey. For once it was as
hard to give as to follow. The adviser’s
“•twitched suspiciously, as though he
jpse'y wanted to copy the example set him
"f the advised. But stiff-bum, bullet-
headed young EuglUUman would rather
i than weep, aud he controlled himself.
T have never cried through it all until
“®W,’ said the girl between her sobs; ‘aud
* your noble Kindness that makes me
now,
said the ballet-beaded young
There were three people in the room—
a pretty girl ofjtwenty, with a face disfigur
ed with tears, and a slight but graceful
form, attired in mourning; a young man,
with no special pretensions to good look,
butstrong and manly, with very honest
gray eyes; a middle-aged woman, gaunt
aud spare, with a spiteful face, and eyes a
little redish at the Tim. The room in
which they stood was almost bare of fur-
nature, aud oblong spaces on the walls,
where tha paper showed fresher than else
where, spoke of the recent removal of pic
tures and mirrors, and gave tho place
dismantled look.
‘Rubbish'.’ said the bullot-lieadeil young
man. . .
‘And rubbbh I say,’ said tho spitefal-
looking female. ‘Noble kindness! Ob, ah!
Noble fiddle-slick! Don’t talk to me.’
Neither of her companions evincing the
slightest desire to speak to her, the spite-
ful-loeking female looked more spiteful
still, and sniffing with much emphasis,
said, <Ob, ah!’ again, and added, ‘Likely
story.’
Ho lias always said’—the girl was speak-
iDg—‘that I was well provided for, but
now thb cruel bill of sale has taken every
thing.’
‘There b still the tree hold of the lioose ; ’
said the yonng man.
‘l’retty freehold! said the middle-aged
female. ‘Rotten, tumble-down old place,
two miles from everywhere, and not a
decent road in a mile of it. It was just
like the old idiot to build here.’
‘Ann,’ said the girl iu a voice of author
ity, ‘how dare you.”
‘Ob, ab!’ said Ibe woman again. ‘How
dare 1? To be sure! Where’s my year’s
wages with your bllb of sales, eh? It’s fit
and proper for a decent, liard-workln’
woman to be done out of her money by
an old hunk like him, ain’t it?’
‘Haven’t you had money enough to pay
Ann her wages'.” asked the yo ung man.
‘Money or no,’ satd the woman, ‘she
hasn’t paid ’em. That’s all I know.’
The girl only shook her head and wept
anew. The young fellow drew a lean
cbanioise-leather bag from bb poeket.
‘How much?’ ho asked, surveying the
woman sternly.
‘Five pounds,’ she answered, ‘not to
speak of I ay in’ him oat and waiting here
to be paid.’
Tho young man counted out flvo sover
eigns from the lean bag, which forebore
to give forth one clink as he put it back
into his pocket.
‘There is your money. As soon as you
can arrange to go, I shall be glad for you
to leave.’
Tho woman took the money disdainfully
and went her way. The young man ad
vanced to the girl and put hb arms about
her wabt aud kbsed her.
‘It’s very hard, my darling,’ he said; ‘but
it will only bring us together the sooner.
I shall fiud employment somewhere soon,
and then wo must get married and face
the woild together.’
Tiio girl made no resistance to thb pro
gramme, and he went on: ‘I’m not al
together sorry that you are poor, you
know, for if you had been rich I should
never have had the check to tell you that
I loved you. That isn’t altogether sel
fish, Nell, for I shall make you happier
than any amount of money would.’
It was oddly said, but Unlocked likely to
be true. Those gray eyes of hb, and his
square, plain, manly face were very hon
est, aud provocative of faith. They heard
the banging the spiteful woman made in
racking her belongings, bat beyond the
act that the girl said once that Ann had
been cruel and ungrateful, they took no
notice of it. The young man sat down,
and drew the girl beside him on a sofa,
and made love to her, and dried her eyes
with hb handkerchief, and by the time the
spiteful female got licr tranks downstairs,
with much reiterated bumping from step
to step, the poor grief-worn thing was
smiling at him, though through eyes
which still bad a suspicion of tears in them.
By and by the young man made a dive
to hb watch-pocket to see what time it
was, but hb thumb and fingera encoutercd
nothing but pawn tickets. Ho withdrew
them with a smile which was somewhat
grim. The spiteful female knocked at tbo
door, and, without waiting a response,
entered.
‘There’s nothing to eat in the house,’
she said. ‘Am I agoin’ to be drove out
without a crust?’
The girl’s face flushed, and then became
deadly white, and she returned no answer;
but after a struggle, which her quivering
features clearly indicated, she burst anew
into tears. Tho young man stooped and
whbpeisd into her car:
‘Is that true?’
‘Yes,’ she sobbed in answer. ‘I have
ho money—not a penny.’
‘Right about face. March!’ said the
young man rising. The spiteful female,
who had como in for the express purpose
of firing tliis spiteful shaft, went out ex
ultant. ‘That being the case,’ said tho
young man cheerfully, when the woman
had gone, ‘you must let me be your bank
er.’ He drew forth the lean chamoise-
Icather purse again, and from it extracted
one last sovereign, wbicli he laid upon the
table. ‘And now,’ h • added, ‘there is no
more time to lose. I must go back and
look for employment at once. I will send
more money in a day or two, somehow.’
‘Ob, Walter,’said the girl, clinging to
him, I can’t sleep in this house alone. I
dare not. There is nothing in it that be
longs to me. They will take away every
thing to-morrow.’
‘Have you nowhere to go?’ he asked
gravely.
‘Nowhere,’ she answered. Tho bullet
headed young Briton’s lip quivered, and
a tear sprang with a sling into each honest
gray eye as he looked down at her.
‘I will go into the village,’ ho said after
_ momentary pause, to make sure tbjit
liu own voice was steady and should sound
cheerful in her ears, ‘and get rooms for
you.’
He kbsed her and went away, and in
the coarse of an hour and a half returned,
trundling a wheel-harrow before him.
‘Pack up!’ ho said cheerfully; ‘I’ve got
.. stunning placo for you.’ He lit bb pipe
and sat upon the handle of the wheel
barrow. Tell mo when you,re ready,’
lie called through tho open door, ‘and I’ll
carry your traps down, Nell.’ Then he
smoked with au aspect of deliberate jolli
ty, belied by an occasional suspicious
winking of the honest gray eyes and a
suspicious quiver In the upper lip. When
the girl came down again she saw that he
was alone.
‘Walter,’she said, 'you cannot wheel
my tilings into the village.’
‘Why not?’said he, squaring his wide
shoulders and lifting a stalwart arm. <1
wheeled three hundredweight a measured
mile without resting, in my last term.
Won a tenner that way. Went into train
ing for it a fortnight. I’m a great hand
at a wheelbarrow.’
•I know you’re strong enough,’ she an
swered with a sad, admiriDg smile; ‘but
you musn’t do it, really.’
‘Dignity be biowed, my dear,’ said the
youug man. ‘Are the traps ready? Tell
me the room?’
He went up stairs in obedience to her
directions—reluctantly given after further
protest—and brought down two boxes,
neither of which looked very heavy in his
muscular arms.
‘Now,’ he said, ‘you’re not a part of
thb procession beyond the top of the hill,
and you’ll go Into the village through the
fields. Everybody knows me here, and
I’m Waller Mackenzie if I wheeled a
pyramid of barrows, and stood on my
house. Better luck for us where we’re
going. Come along, dear. A brave heart!’
He trundled the wheelbarrow along,
and began to sing to no particular tunc:
Then merrily Lent the footpath way,
And merrily over the stile, ha!
A merry heart goes all the day,
Yonr sad tires in a mile, lia!’
Now and tliep, the road being lonely,
he lightened labor with a hiss. The spe
cified hill top being reached, he directed
lib companion to tho house ho had chosen
for her, and they parted for a while; amt
Waller Mackenzie, B. A., of Oriel, and
bairlstcr-at-law, rolled hb wheelbarrow
down hill, the lighter perhaps that he had
not a six-pence in his pocket or anywhere
in the wide, wide world.
‘I’ve got a clear field and no favor,’ he
said as lie went. ‘Except Neil’s,’ he add
ed iu revision. ‘I’ll wo-k for her if I
turn cabman. I’ll knock some golden
chips otr some odd corners of tins thunder
ing old planet before I’ve done with it.
See if I don’t.’
Ho met tiio object of hb selicitude at
the door of her new home and gavo her
in charge of a decent, clean-looking, old
village woman, and then, having wheeled
the harrow into a little tool-house at the
back of the garden, he returned to say
‘Good-by.’ With promises of an early re
turn from London, and a whisper that he
would send more money toon, he went
his way to the railway station
‘Got a return ticket, anyhow,’ ho said
to himself. ‘There’s grab in ray cham
bers for a couple of days, and Billy will
be borne then. Get some coin from Billy.
Good sort, Billy is, and lias lots of the
needful.’ Don’t know when I shall be
able to pay him back. Must get some
thing to do. Bar ain’t my line. Cum
min* business—mighty lion-slayer—that’s
my form, or might be, if there was no
Nelly. Foor little girl! Must get some
thing to do and get married. Not provi
dent. Can’t afford to bo provident. Should
feel like a sweep if I tried to be provident.
Nelly must be taken care of, and the only
way is to marry her—take care of at once—
only way to marry at once. Hero’s tho
train.’
Walter Mackenzie reached London in
due time, and walked from Euston to his
chambers in Gray's Inn. Two letters
awaited bim. One of these was in a
familiar {hand, and told him that hb
friend was away for another six months’
yachting in the Mediterranean. No chance
of help in that qnarter. The next letter
looked legal, l'robably a dun; but it
came from Liverpool, and he had no cred
itor there. Ho read it uneageriy enough
at first, but having got through it capered
round the room and snapped hb lingers,
and roared ‘Hurrah!’ again, and again,
and again.
‘Sir,’ the letter ran, ‘acting on the In
structions of the lato Jobn Launceston
Barclay, of Ashford Warren, we beg to
inform you that wo have iu our hands a
safe which is only to be opened in your
presence and in onr office. We shall bo
glad to sec you hero at your earliest con
venience.’
Tho letter boro signature, ‘Tbwaite and
Tolby.'
•All right Thwaite and Tolby,* said
Walter Mackenzie, ‘I’ll be with you like
a bird. Old Barclay knew that Noll and
I would marry. lie had tho money after
all. Everybody knew he bad money,
though nobody guessed where it was or
how bo kept it.’
So full of hopes aud queer snrmbes, ho
began exultantly to plan for the future,
when it struck him iu a rather chill way
that he had to go to Liverpool, and had
no money. Tho scanty furniture of his
chambers did not beiou" to him. He had
sold his law books, and pawned almost
everything pawnable, to bury hb sweet-
lieart’s great uncle, and to relievo ber later
necessities. He began to ransack his
wardrobe. Half a dozen shirts, ono very
elderly shabby suit of clothes; one pair of
ivory-backed brushes; and away through
the dusk went the barrbter to tho sign of
the triune globes of gold. My uncle’s
Myrmidon surveyed tbo lot with depreca
tory air, and offered less by half a crown
than the third class fare to Liverpool.
‘Take ’em over the counter,’ said the
bullet-headed Briton. I’il bo back in
Jive minutes.’
He dived out of tho shop into Qolborn.
and went hurriedly back to hb chambers.
Finding a fi.it hat there he rammed it
into an old leather hat-box and returned.
Again reaching my uncle’s he opened tho
bat-box, took offhls guinea castor, much
worn, but decent still, and assumed the
felt.
‘Half-a-crown on that lot,’ besaldcheer-
fally.
‘Two shillin’,’said my uncle’s myrmid
on.
‘Givo mo tiio old coat out of the port
manteau,’said the harristei>at-law. lie
emptied tiio pockets of tho new coat ho
had on, took off that garment, and assum
ed the old ono. ‘Now how much?’
‘Go yer an extra five bob on this,’ said
the myrmidon, having carefully examin
ed the coat with an especial cyo to scams
button-holes, cuffs, and lining.
‘That will do.’
‘Name?’ said the myrmidon.
•John Jones.’
‘Address?’
‘Seven Dials.’
The Myrmidon grinned aud enbstituted
‘Holbora.’ He slammed tho silver and
copper on the counter and pushed the
ticket across it. A second later, looking
a trifle shabby, tho hurrying John Jones
was in the street again, and five minutes
later wa? seated in hb chambers consult
ing a time table.
‘I fancy I shall do best to go at once,’
he said aloud. ‘Rug and overcoat both
cone. Night journey. Don’t like it.’
There he took a mental stand, and witli
an air of much scorn and severity address
ed himself: ‘Look here, young man.
What you liko and what you have to do
are very ofion very different things. You
do your duty, and shut yonr trap, and
cease to grumble. That’s j our lay, young
man. D’yohear mo now? Ha! would
you? Very well, then!’
Reaching Liverpool while tho day was
yet scarcely alive, lie walked into a second-
rate coffee-house and breakfased, dawd
ling over the local morning papers aud an
odd number of Punch, old enough for its
jokes to have acquired a sort of freshness.
Ten o’clock came at last and ho started
for the office of Messers. Thwalte and
Tolby. On tho road the announcement,
‘Wash and hrash-np, two-pence,’ appear
ed before him, and a glance at the mir
rored window assured bim that two
pence so expended would be wisely be
stowed. ilo had not many two-pences,
but ho had tho wash and brash-up not-
withstanding, and in spite of tho crum
pled felt and seedy coat be looked a gen
tleman.
Neither the great Tolby nor the greater
Thwaite had yet arrived when he reached
their office, and he sat down to wait, be
ginning a new study of tho local papers
and yesterday’s Times. After a weary
waiting Thwalte and Tolby came, elderly,
fresh-colored gentlemen, so much alike
that they might have seemed Jobn Doe
and Richard Roe in person.
•Our business is very simple, Mr. Mack
enzie,’ said Mr. Thwalte; ‘very simple.
Onr late client, Hr. Barclay, himself ac
companied this safe to the office.’ Mr.
Thwalte waved hb hand behind him, and
it was not yet certain which safe was al
luded to. The visitor was curious on that
point. ‘In our presence he put a seal
upon the lock.’ Ah, then, that was the
safe with the sprawling red seal upon the
fortnight after hb death, and then only In
your presence and ours. The specified
time having expired, and we three being
present, we may, I presume, at once open
the safe and hand its contents over to
your care. That is the limit of our in
structions.’
With grave interest tho young barrister
and the junior partner stood by while Mr.
Thwaite demolished the seal by two or
three smart taps with a big key, and then
witli a smaller key turned the lock. The
doer came heavily back, for it was a big
safe, and the hinges seemed somewhat
dull. None knew wl-at he expected to
oee; but there was at least an idea In each
mind that thoro would be something more
in so large a safe than a single blue envel
ope. Yet that was all. Mr. Thwaite
gravely handed it to tiio chilled and won
dering Mackenzie. There was his own
name written, and after it the words:
‘To be opened at once.’
‘The mountain in labor,’ said Walter,
nodding at the safe, ‘has brought forth a
mouse.’ ......
‘Perhaps not, Mr. Mackenzie, perhaps
not,’ said the junior partner.
Tho envelope being removed, revealed
a single page of note-paper and a packet no
bigger than a penny-piece. The packet
was tightly folded, and carefully gummed.
The single page of note-paper contained
these*words only: ‘It b my wbh that
Walter Mackenzie should carry this pack
age to Ellen Barclay, my groat-nieco, and
should open it In her presence.’
Well! That was all. There was obvi
ously notbiug to do bat say ‘Good morn
ing* and go about their respective busi
nesses. The partners smiled, and looked
serious, and said that Mr. Barclay was
always a singular man from his youth
up. They trusted that Mr. Mackenzie
would find matters satisfactory yet. They
bowed Mr. Mackenzie out civilly; and Mr.
Mackenzie with a packet of unknown con
tents no bigger than a penny-piece, Was
standing with wondering indecision in the
street, and asking bimsolf vaguely what
was to be done. How far to Ashford
Warren? to begin with. Two-pence for
a glass of beer and a look at a ABU time
table. One hundred aud liinety.eight
miles. Mr. Mackenzie, with lib glass of
beer untasted before him, looked dismally
at that record. Call it two hundred miles.
Call bb possible rato of travel on foot
three and thirty miles a day. Cali it a
six day’s journey. How to live in the
meantime. Total funds, two and three-
pence-lialf-penny. ‘Tour-pcncc-halfpenny
per diem and a halfpenny to spars. Ho
drank hb glass of beer aud walked into
tbe street again.
Bullet headed, square set, with honest
gray eyes and plain manly countenance;
puzzled, but not downcast, he stood and
planned. Not a brilliant man, not a
clever fellow by any meaus. Tho prob
lem was very simple—borrow the fare
from the lawyers. There was a solution.
Not for him, though. He began to walk
to walk, set hb first stage iu hb mind, In
quired his way, keptstolidly on. Tramp,
tramp, tramp, tramp, a set, regular, raeas-
, ured swine. He was in splendid training,
I and the miles went by—miles of streets
miles of suburbs, miles of country roads,
country towns and scattered villages
The little package rested r. a limp
chamobe-loather purso otherwise empty.
He drew it ont as he went, and looked
at it, and there clearly impressed upon the
paper in a blurred outline, like the begin
ning of a heel-ball copy of an old brass,
was the outline of a small key. He could
follow the same outline with his fingers.
It seemed probable that the key was in
tended for a lock, somewbare or other,
and that the lock protected something.
He put the littlo packet carefully bacx
again, and munching fragments of bb loaf
marched on, castle building. Five and
thirty miles since morning. Exhausted
nature said, ‘Do no more;’ sturdy will
ofthe bullet-headed Briton said, ‘Another
mile.’ Six and thirty miles sinco morning.
Exhausted nature cried out. ‘Beware a
breakdown!’ Said tho bullet headed
Briton stumbling sorely, ‘One mile more.’
And so the fight went on until forty miles
were finished. Feet raw with much gall
ing. Honest gray eyes dim with great
fatigue and pain. Boots wrecked, shoulders
bent, plain, resolute countenance pale and
worn, with streaks of rain-drawn dye
from forehead to chin, dbtillod from the
crumpled felt. He sold his waist-coat
for sixpence to an old-clothes mau in tho
next town he came to, and bought food,
aud pegged along munching. As he
munched he sighted a miserable figure
ahead, and by and by overtook it. Tbo
miserable figure threw him a salutation in
a foreign accent. He returuedit aud went
on, not being in the mood for converse
with any body. But looking hack ho saw
that tho man looked pale and weak, and
so waited for him to como up.
•Huugry, mate?’sa'.d tho barristor-at-
‘Haif dead,’ said tho man witli forcigu
accent.
Walter shared hb loaf, and the other
fell ravenously at it without a tluiuk-
you.
head to do it. There, lock the outside I keyhole. ‘He left written instructions
j door, and give me the key. Good-by, old I that the safe most not be ope not until a
‘How far are you going?’ asked tho En
glishman.
‘Ten miles a day,’ said the foreigner,
with a groan and a French anathema.
‘Good-day and good luck to you.’ Tho
barrister-at-law was ahead again, moan
ing to do much more than teu miles that
day; but before tcu miles wore done, or
for that matter five, tbo rain catno down
in such drenching torrents that he took
refage in an open barn, and tbither camo
tho Frenchman also, dripping wet and
looking scarce alive. They sat upon straw
and watched tho rain as it pelted down.
Walter shared hb last pipe <ff tobacco
with the miserable stranger, and the two
fell to talking together, and shared con
fidences so far as to tell each other noth
ing that was true. The barrbter trotted
out hb simple alias of John Jones, and
announced his destination 03 Seven Dials.
The Frenchman gave hb name as Tiburce
Menseau, and frankly avowed himself
without a destination. The rain subsided
a littlo and they made another start, but
before they had gone a mile it came down
worse than ever, and they took shelter in
another outhouse.
‘Where shall you sleep to-night?’ asked
John Jones.
•At the next workhouse,’ said Tiburce
Mansoau. They will give me bed and
supper, aud although they will mako mo
work before I go, they will give me bread
for breakfast. That is something, let me
tell you, when a man is starving.’
‘Something—yes,’ said John Jones, and
fell a thinking.
John Jones was faint; John Jones was
weary and foredone. For a- dweller in
Seven Dlab he entertained a singular ob
jection to sleeping in a workhouse. Yet
where clso could he rest? Who wouid
give him shelter?
‘Nell shan’t suffer from any fine-mouth
ed freak of mine,’ said the ballet-headed.
‘I’m not going to break down to oblige
anybody’s notions of pride. You’ll lio in
tbe workhouse to-night, Jobn Jones, as
befits your Seven Dlab breeding.’
When the rain ceased again they plod
ded on once more, and, turning matters
over in bU bullet head, John Jones deter
mined to cacher his little packet. So,
finding a crumb of two of bread, be mois
tened them into paste between hb lips,
and retiring behind a bay-stack, be smear
ed the glutinous softened bread upon oue
side of tbe paper packet, and fastened it
within the leather lining of hb felt hat.
Who knew what treasure he carried there?
Not he; though he had all sort of visions.
The visions were all for Nell, but Nell
belonged to a hungry tramp whose boots
were broken, aud who carried El Dorado
in bis hat.
The two travelers slept in a country
workhouse, and Tiburce Menseau, before
eutering, had his own little treasure to
cacher. He hid it high above a door-jamb
in the broken wall of the very workhouse
ha slept in. The wall looked on bare
fields at the very edge oftbecouutry town,
aud the little treasure was nothing but a
small bunch of skeleton'keys, necessary,
perhaps, for some future operation Tiburce
may have had iu mind.
Chatter III.
When Tiburce Menseau , opened the
stolen packet he found nothing but a tiny
key and a little scrap of paper folded
round it. But the paper bore an inscrip
tion:
‘My dear Nell,—If Walter has been
true tn you, you will know what to do
when yon receive thb package. The key
fits a box. The box will be found in tbe
stable wall, live bricks from tbe fire-place
in the leftside, aud six bricks from the
tloor. I mean, of course, the stable at
Ashford Warren. If Walter has been
true, you can have my blessing from the
grave and marry him. I am dead more
than a fortnight when you get thb. Pover
ty is a great aud true touchstone. You
will know your fneud by this time. I
gave a bill of saleto test Walter. Your
dead Uncle, .
, Johjt Launceston Barclay.’
What romance beyond hbken lay here
troubled Tiburce Menseau little. He
would weave his own romance out of the
letter, and it even more than the key it
self, was the key to wealth. The posses
sion of this scrap of paper and key prt
heart into his scoundrel body, aud he
walked like a new man. He began to
make inquiries as to the whereabouts of
Ashford Warren, but for a week or two
lia wandered off on false scents, and be
ing at last set on the right track by a pass
ing drover, he struggleaon with his thiev
ish fingers itebiug all the way to be at the
box of which he held the key. John
Jones’ cry of rage at losing tbe key had
such a tone of misery' and trouble in it
that soma men, remembering it, might
have found Its echo vexing. Tiburce
went untroubled on that score.
Inquiries, carefully directed, led him to
Ashford Warren. Renewed inquiries,
carefully directed, led him to tbe fact that
a Mr. Barclay had died there about a
month ago—five weeks maybe—at a lone
ly house a long way from tbe village.
Other inquiries led him to the house it
self. He went by night, with a tallow can
dle and a box of matches in hb pocket.
He had walked about the lonely place by
day and had ascertained that it was un
tenable, but to his dbmay had seen no
sign of anything that looked line a stable.
Now he prowled rouqd the place in the
dark, and having tried two doors and
found them locked, he pulled out from
his pocket hb little rusted handle of skel
eton keys, aud stealthily weut through
tho have aud empty rooms. Coming on a
third door, hitherto untried, he set his
skeleton key to the lock and entered. The
air of the room was damp and musty, and
there was a scent of old straw in it. He
closed the door lit a match, and looked
round. He saw a brick floor and bare
wall*, and a ceiling with rough white
washed cross-beams. On one wall the
remnants of a rack aud manger, a rusted
chain still trailing in broken bits of rot
ting straw, and facing these fragments a
wide fireplace without a grate. High
above the door a as an unglazed barred
window, covered by a shatter which clos
ed from tlie oujside. Tbe thief lit hb
candle, locked the door, and made a sur
vey. It was easy to see that the wide
fireplace had never held a fire, for tbe
whitewash on the bricks within its shaft
boro no stain of smoke, bat was green and
yellow with old rains. Looking up it he
could ace the sky, almost light in contrast
with the darkness of tho chimney. The
shaft had been left uncompleted, aud rose
to the height of not more than ten feet
from tho ground. A bar crossed it near
the top. looking thin aud spidery against
the dull night skr. One glance showed
tbbwayol'escapeincaseof any chance
discovery. Tiburce was a coward, but he
kept hb wils about him m spite of the aw
ful beating of lib heart. ‘Five bricks
from tho fireplace on the left side, and six
bricks from tho floor.’ There was no mark
ef removal there. The whitewash was old
and soiled, and seemed to have been
undisturbed for at least a year or two. To
the trough, which had once served as a
manger, hung scraps of broken hoop-iron
which bad bound the rough boards to
gether. With one ot the scraps Tiburce
went to work, and bit by bit he scratched
away the sandy, yielding mortar until the
brick was loosened and could be drawn
away. To sharp wits like those of Ti
burco Menseau there were signs enough
ot a former removal when once the scratch
ing had carried him an inch deep. It was
evident that tho brick had not been built
into the’wail as it thenstood^ndjhla heart
beat with a pulsation more and more ter
rible as tho obstacle yielded, and he peer
ed Into the hollow. Ho pushed in hb
hand almost as fearsomely as if he bad
known of tho presence of a rattlesnake
there, and his fingers encouutcrcd a co:d,
smooth surface. Tho box!
Hb heart gave ono awful leap, and al
most slopped. The sweat stood on hb
forehead in great beads. He was taint
ami giddy with excitement, but recover*
inghimscir lie began to tear away the
bricks surrounding the hollow already
made. They came down easily, the san
dy inortar having no cohesion in it, aud
now ho gripped the box and held it with
trembling hands upon the floor, aud with
greedy eyes knelt over it, panting, and
sweating and quaking, like tho triumph
ing, cowardly, hungry, wayworn thief he
was. Hb hand shook so he could hardly
hold the key, and ho was a full minute,
which seemed eternal, la fitting it to the
key-hole. It turned, the lid opened be
neath hb shaky fingers, and he saw a Bank
of England note for five pounds spread
out straight, and clean, and new. The
Bank of England note just fitted tho box,
and below It lay another, and another,
and another, for at least a hundred crisp
and wealthy pages. Then came clean,
crisp, and new, Bank of England notes
for ten, for ten, for ten, until hb greedy
fingers turned up thirty or forty in a fold,
and lie was among notes for twenty, for
twenty, for twenty, until the greedy fin
gers clutched auotlier fold, and he was
among notes fbr fifty, fifty, fifty, clean to
the bottom ofthe cash box. He laid bb
throbbing forehead a, aiust the cold wall,
and drew the box to him, and feebly re
stored tbe notes and smoothed them down.
Mechanically he took up from tho floor
tbe scrap of written paper which had en
folded tbe key, and laying that on the top
of the notes he closed aud locked the cash-
box.
Now Ashford Warren enjoyed the ad
vantage of a Parish Union, the ceutre of
which was four miles away. The official
centre of the Parish Union was the Un
ion workhouse. Two Irish tramps, woe
fully broken aud amazingly hungry, had
missed their way, and had got in the dark
ness of the early winter night into tbe
road which led to the deserted house, un
der tbe impression that it was the road
which led to Ashford Warren.
Tiburce Menseau heard footsteps, and
listened with hb hands on tbe cash-box,
and hb hearUn his mouth. The seeps
came nearer, and he blew out hb candle
and lbtened again, quaking. Think bow
thief and coward shook as tbe steps drew
near! Then came a knock at the door of
be John Jones returned ? Think how he
shook at that fancy.
Messieurs the Irish reapers rapped again
and finding no response, grew bolder anc
began to try the doors. Their footsteps
came round the house nearer and nearer
to tbe place where Tiburce crouched.
Then desperation lent him sudden eneigy.
He bnttoned hb ragged coat over the cash-
box, and pushed oue end of it between hb
hungry ribs aud tbe waistband of bb tatter
ed trousers,and with stealthy step m sde for
the chimney. Up went his head as a hand
was laid upon tbe door and shook its fas
tening. He felt about wildly with his
bands and feet. The chimney was built
with projecting bricks and be began to as
cend. He had ouly two or three feet to
climb before hb band could grasp the bar
at the top. Messieurs the tramps were set
ting their shoulders at tbe door, and be was
half delirous with terror. The space was
growing narrower. Could he force him
self beyond tbe bar ? At any cooler time
he might have hesitated, but now lie
struggled like a madman to get past it.
Tbe door gave way with a crash; be miss
ed hb footing, bb bands failed, he drop
ped hb chin upon the bar,
aud the hack of hb head
upon a projecting brick: three inches to
this side or to that bo would have fallen
clear. In the dead silence that followed
the crashing fall of the door the tramps
heard a horrible gurgling voice and a hol
low sound of struggling, and with a su
perstitious terror pinching at their souls,
they turned with one accord, and lied
with the widespread fear of the dumb,
dark night about them.
Chapter IV.
John Jones, after hb second night in a
workhouse, walked back along the gloomy
road on which lie lost hb packet. Day
after day, with tho stout heart aching, he
tramped along wearily, wearily, and at
last reached the llUle village where he
had left hb love. She was penniless by
this time, beyond a doubt. He had been
eight days away. Eight days ? It looked
like eighty years. He had a week’s beard
upon his lace, aud he was caked with
mud. He was as forlorn-looking a tramp
as one might find in England. It was
growing dark as he sat upon a stone fence
aud looked down at the little village. In
the growing darkness a rustic boy of about
ten years of age came up-hill, making hb
way to tbe village.
‘Are you going to Ashford ?* asked tbe
tramp.
‘Ees,’said the boy; ‘Ibe.’ And he
edged away with ope defensive elbow
raised.
‘Don’t be afraid of me. I won’t hurt
you. Do you know Mrs. Norton’s cot
tage?’
•Ees, I do,’said the boy across hb el
bow, resentfully.
•Miss Barclay lives there,’ said the
tramp. ‘Will you go to the bouse and say
that Mr. Mackenzie wauts to see Mbs Bar
clay at the railway station ? Can you re
member that?
‘Ees,’ aald the boy again.
•Mr. Mackenzie. Don’t forget. At the
railway station.’
‘Alii roight,’ said the youthful rustic,
aud clattered away in hob-nailed sboou.
Somewhat doubtful of the delivery of
his message, tbe forlorn young man made
his way towards the railway station, and
waited in the unligbted lane which led to
iL He bad not to wait very long. A light
and eager footstep came down the lane,
and dark as it was he fancied the knew
the figure:
‘Is that yon, Nell ?’ be asked. ‘Walter!’
she answered in a startled voice. ‘Where
are you?’
‘Here,’ be said, ‘don’t be frightened.
I’m such a spectacle, I didn’t want you to
see me Iu the daylight. I’ve walked from
Liverpool.*
‘Walked from Liverpool ?’ she cried.
Ho told hb story, and told it to hb own
disadvantage with many terms of self-
dispaiagement. She heard it all, and
then to his amazement she laughed—a
littlo laugh of honest humor. If she could
have seen him she would not have laugh
ed, but she knew nothing of hb hunger or
his privatious. These he had excluded
from hb narrative.
‘Poor Walter,’ said she. ‘I wondered
why you did not write or come to me. I
suppose the packet was about the money.
It doesn’t matter for the money has been
found.’
‘Found?’
‘Yes. Found. Mr. Netheriy, the lawyer
at Wharton,had a cash-box to be delivered
tome three weeks after unce’s death. It
was soiled three years ago, and there was
a thousand pounds in it, all in new Bank
of England notes. Every body said it was
like poor uucle to leave his money iu that
way. He made no will, it seems, but he
had nobody belonging to him in the
world but me. Wo have a thousand
pounds, Walter.’
‘Was there a key to the, cash-box?’ be
asked.
‘No,’she said. ‘We broke the wax
away, and the blacksmith came aud pick
ed the lock.’
‘What an extraordinary jackdaw the old
bird was,’ said he to himself.
‘Everybody knows about it,’ said the
girl, ‘and everybody says there must be
more money hidden away somewhere in
the same strange way. For at one time
he was kuowu to be quite rich.’
•Ah!’ said he, ‘very likely.’
‘How strangely you speak,’ she said.
‘You have caught a dreadful cold. Come
to the cottage.’
‘No,* said he, ‘I can’t come In to-night.’
Deadlock again in John Jones’ affairs.
Was there no way of banishing John
Jones altogether?
'Why not?’ she asxedhlm.
•I’ve walked from Liverpool,’ he said.
‘I’m a shocking spectacle.’
‘Nonsense,’ urged Nell. ‘Mrs. Nortoo
will let you wash and brush your hair,
and you will be presentable enough. She
will be glad to see you. Oh.! she b such
a dear old woman.’
•Yes, I dare say.’
‘How oddly you talk to-night.’ Sbe
seized hb arm in a girlish, imperious, lov
ing way. Come with me. Why, Walter,
what b thb?’
He felt like a roughcast wall. Sbe ran
ber bands about ber sleeves aud should
ers and felt hb fluttering rags.
•Walter, what b it?”
‘Mud,’ he said stolidly. ‘Mud aud rags.’
Then he added, as though that explained
it all, ’I've walked from Liverpool.’
She began to realize the situation.
“You had no money ?’
‘Haven’t seen a cent this five days,’ said
be doggedlyi
‘Then you have been hungry? you have
walked to find me, starving ail the way,
to bring that wretched unlucky parcel.
Oh! you poor, breve, suffering dear.’
‘Don’t cry, my darling,’ he said tender
ly. ‘It’s ell over, and it was much for a
man. It sounds bad for a girl to think
or, but bieet you, lots of men do it every
year.’
‘You are hungry now?’ sbe said re
proachfully. ‘I know you are. And, you
cruel boy, you never said a word to me
about it.’
'Had other things to talk about,’ said
John Jones defensively.
Take my purse,’ said she imperiously,
thrusting it into his hand, and go away
and make yourself decent, and eat some
thing.’
‘very well,’ said John Jones, accepting
the situation. He had given ber all be
had, and he loved her too well to have
any qualms about taking help from her.
‘My uncle has all my things.’
the house, and fell like the knock of doom | ‘Where b he ?’ asked Nell innocently,
on the shaking coward’s heart. Could thb ' ‘Jit resides in London, my dear,’ said
Jobn Jones gravely. ‘In Holbom.’
‘Then you had better so to London,’
she answered simply, ‘and get yonr things
from him. Yon can go to-night. Get
something to eat before you start.’
‘No,’ he said, ‘I cannot show up any
where. I should disgrace you. It’s only
an boar by train. It’s about the time tbe
train went, I think, ian*t It?*
‘That’s the signal,’ she cried. ‘Goat
once. Good-bye.’
The ted lamp gleamed high In air two
hundred yards away.’ John Jones kiss
ed Welter Mackensie’ssweeihear^end ran
to tbe station. He slouched tbe shocking
bad hat, and demanded a third-class tick
et for London. Then he sew that tbe
parse held several sovereigns and a banc
note or two neatly folded. He reached
Euston. and made for the Tottenham
Court Road, where many of tbe shops
were atill ablaxe with gas. Straight luto
the shop of a tailor who sold ready made
dothlog plung»d Jobn Jonee, demanding
to be elotbed. The shopmen were at first
for ejecting him, but became civil at the
sight ot hb purse. A neighboring boot
maker being summoned, brought many
pair of boota in a blue bag. New under
clothing, a new shirt, a new suit of clothes,
new boots, and a new hat being set with
John Jones In a private room, there en
sued a rapid transformation scene. Wal
ter Mackenzie, barrister-at-law, emerged
from tbe apartment John Jones bad en
tered, and John Jones, of the Seven Dials,
went out of being fbrever.
From lhattimetortb Walter Mackenzie’s
luck underwent a favorable change. An
uncle of his—not the ODe In Holbora—
died and left him money. He prospered
at tbe bar, and be married aud had chil
dren, and lived reputably aud honorably.
The dead baud enriched his wife with two
more oddly-rendered bequests. Nell used
sometimes to excuse a little extra ex
penditure on the pretended supposition
that John Launceston Barclay’s funds
were not yet all paid in, but years went
by, aDd the last of the old man seemed
long since to have been heard.
The old house ol Ashford Warren had
been put into tbe market, but nobody
would buy it, so it was dropped out of tha
market again and was forgotten. Bat as
time went on a new railway happened to
be started in that districted the boose bad
to come down. Walter McKenzie on a
spare day went to meet the company’s
lawyer—an old acquaintance—and dis
cuss compensation. He would have left
the mere business to an agent, but he had
whim about the maltsr.
•You won’t want much for this tumble-
down old shed,’ said tbe lawyer.
•I don’t know,WrestalI,’ said the barris
ter. <1 don’t know. I valued the old
piece highly once.
‘Oh! Ah, yes?said Wrestall. ‘Love’s
oung dream. Mrs. Ma.kenzle lived here,
remember.’
‘They used that place for a stable,’ said
Walter laughing. ‘It was intended for a
washhouse, I believe, bat the old man
bought a donkey for Nell when she was
quite a baby. X broke tbe brute Xn« I re
member.’
He laughed and sighed at that romantic
reminiscence, and putting a foot on the
prostrate door, be entered tbe stable. The
wood lied into Under at his step and let
hi in through to the brick floor—It was so
old and rotten • ■
‘Hilioi’ cried Wrestall, ‘what’s that?’
‘What’s what'.” asked the barrister.
His companion stooped to pick some
thing from the ground. The something
brought a little old-fashioned square lock
withlt.
‘Skeleton keys,’he said. ‘Inside the
door, too, and tbe bolt shot. I’m a naUre
detective,’ the lawyer added laughing
ly. ‘Now, you know,’ he went on, with a
half-smiling, mock gravity, ‘that a man
can’t lock the door on the inside after
leaving a room. The only place of exit is
the chimney.’
•You establish your mystery,’ said Mac
kenzie lightly. ‘Where’s the motive tor
locking one’s self iu and going up tbe
chimney?’
•Never mind the motive,’ said the law
yer, laughing openly. ‘Let’s investigate
tbe mystery.”
So saying he stooped and peered up the
chimney, and withdrew his head so hasti
ly that he knocked his hat off. Then it
was Mackenzie’s turn to laugh, bu there
was such a look ou the lawyers face that
the laugh louud an abrupt termination,
•What’s tbe matter?* he asked.
‘Look and see,’ said tbe lawyer, gasp
ing—scared and pale.
He looked, and rose after the look al
most as pale as his companion.
‘There’s a skeleton hanging there,’ be
said.
‘Ay,’ satd the lawyer, ‘and a skeleton
key to the skeleton keys, I fancy. That
seems likely to be a true word, spoken
iu random Jest, when I picked up these
keys.’
They stood looking at each other a long
time, pale and silent.
‘The few rags there are look ready to
fall to dust,' said Walter, breaking tbe si
lence. He put bis stick in the chimney
and moved it slightly, when, as it there
needed only a sign to bring It down, tbe
whole ghastly thing came tumbling loose
into tbe grateless hearth, aud with the
falling ell something with a metalic
crash. The two recoiled, and wheu the
smother of woolen dust had cleared itself
away, the lawyer, advancing cried, ‘the
motive,’ and with tbe crook of bis walking
stick dragged up a small cash-box by the
handle. The key was In tbe keyhole, and
with wrinkled features of disgust, and a
finger and thumb which only just toui-lied
it, lie unlocked the box, and there before
them lay eight thousand pounds, in Bank
of England notes, aud on top of them the
paper which Tiburce Menseau, habitual
criminal, had stolen froth one John Jones,
a tramp from Liverpool. There was noth
ing by which to identify Tiburce, but
Walter McKenzie had no doubt of him,
nor bad the lawyer, when be heard the
story. .
MBA. BUMXKTl’a COIBAUEOI’A
ACT.
Tfes Creator of HsrMaM laFlrtima
Ta-Ta. '
Philadelphia Timet.
That Washington organization known as
the Mrs. R. B. Hayes Tempernuoe Society
has disbanded. tv hether it will be missed
or not time must determine; whether it
ever did any good while it was in existence
may never be known. Tbe soaiety has
probably been oompelled to disband by the
seand&lous conduct of the doctors now
employed at the White House. They have
been giving the President all sorts of in
toxicating liquors, and this has shocked the
society oat ot existence.
taster tterlsad's Oplaiea ef Dixt-
MUtJT.
Interview i» the Washington Star.
Suppose, instead of being shot, that the
President had met with a railroad aocident
whereby he lost both his hands. This
would debar him from signing his name,
bat it would not create roch on inability
that be oould not act as President so long
his mind wat clear. Henoe, the iogioai
conclusion is, that an inability to act means
the loss of mental capacity, and not physi
cal incapacity.
What Jeha egalsar *<«■■ ltaevr ef
Washington Republic.
I see it stated by Mr. Tburlow Weed, in a
recent chapter of his reminiacenoee, that
some fifty years ago, at a dinner given by
a private gentleman of New York, at which
John Quincy Adams was one of the guests,
there were .fifteen varieties of Madei
ra wine on the table, and that such an
expert and connoisseur was Mr. Adams
that he was able to name nine of the varie-
tias by the teste and bouquet without see
ing the labels on tbe bottles. And yet this
winebibber was a very respectable mem
ber of society and a very good President.
From the Hew l'trk Timet.
Mrs. France* Hodgson Burnett, tha
well known novelist, appeared in a new
character at Long Beach, on Friday, when
she saved the life of Mr. Lore Anderson,
the executor of the Longworth estate in
Cincinnati. The story of this brave act
cannot be better given than In the words
of the heroine herself, who thus told it to
a reporter yesterday:
“Mr. Anderson and his wife came to the
hotel on Thursday. I did not know them
very weli before, but when ‘That Lass o'
Lowrie's was published Mr. Anderson
wrote me a most kind letter, one that waa
very pleasant to get. During the day
Mr. Anderson, his wife and myself were
together almost all tbe time and we be
came great friends. . 1 had not been wall
fbr some days and Mr. Anderson
proposed that we should take a bath be
fore breakfast, as he thought one would
give us an appetite. Accordingly on Fri
day morning Mr. and Mrs. Anderson and
I went down to the bathing bouses. It
was so early that the bath men were not
there, aud we could see no one except
ourselves upon the beach. Mrs. Ander
son did not intend tb bathe, and when £
came oat ready for the water I saw Mr.
Anderson coming at the same time down
towards the bridge over the creek. The
water at this creek is sometimes quite
deep and sometimes quite shallow. It
varies with tbe tide, you know. Mr. An
derson went out on the bridge and dived
off. I have always been nervous wheu I
s e people diving, because some years ago
some ot my friends lost a brother who
broke bis neck plunging into shallow
water, aud 1 have never got over the effect
which their grief had on me. To this
day, when I see a gentleman dive, I al
most hold my breath until 1 see him
come up. Well, when Mr. Anderson
dove ott the little bridge, bis wife
and I were standing on the shore. He
did not come up for a moment, and when
lie did h» face only came out of the wa
ter os far as his chin. He cried out iu a
horrible tone: ‘Oh, God ! ’ and his wife
called out: ‘What is the matter, Lvrz; are
you hurt?’ He made no answer, but
began to sink again. Mrs. Anderson
suited off at once, .screaming for help,
but there was no odo there. Then I ran
into the water aud pullc.d him on shore.
The water was not deep, not more than
three feet,I should think, aud 1 did not
know what to do except to get him out of
tbe water as soon as possible. He looked
horrible; his head huug over, and I was
afraid he was dead. I carried him on
shore and laid him down, and then Mrs.
Anderson came with some mou she had
found and they carried him up to the ho
tel.
“Mr. Anderson tells me that he was
perfectly conscious all of the time aud
knew what he should do, although he was
utterly unable to do anything. It must
have been horrible for him to realize that
be was sinking aud not able to step tbe
few feet necessary to make him safe. The
only thing I am surprised at ia my being
able to carry him, for he is a heavy mao'
and and I am not vety strong. Dr. Mor
ton attended him, aud to-day, 1 am glad
to eav, he is much better. His arms and
shoulders hurt him, but ho can move thsip,
although with some pain. It is a wonder
ful thing thing that he is not more hurt
than be is, and we are ail vety thankful
that it has not turned out to be a very bad
accident.”
Mr*. Burnett, who is of rather slight
figure and does not enjoy robust health
hardly seemed to realize in telling this
story that sha had done anything at all
out of the ordinary run.
Dr. Morton, tbe physician in charge of
Mr. Anderson, said, when asked about
the case: “Mr. Anderson is suffering
from a slight wrench of the spine and a
severe strain of the cords and muscles of
the neck aud shoulders. When be struck,
the head was thrown violently forward,
the neck being bent very suddenly. This
la the origin of the strain. There are no
symptoms of paralysis, nor do I anticipate
any trouble of that ktud. He is much
better to-day, and i hope to see him out
in a few days. The water in which he
dove could not hare been more than three
feet deep, and it is a wouderful thing that
he did not break his neck.”
A PEBS1AX LEGEXIt.
Revised Version of ms Old Story and
tb* Moral.
From the Burlington Uawhegt.
When Malekel Adib left the home of
his childhood that he might go west and
salt a mine and grow up with tbo country
after unloading upon some smart fellows
dowu in tbe provinces, his mother gave
him forty pieces of silver and made him
promise never to tell a lie. “Go, my
son,” she said, in a voice hiuky with hair
pins, ‘ go; we may never meet again, and
if we do I will probably be married be
fore you come back, and it wouldn’t be
pleavant for you to live at borne and have
to call some square headed old mufti
‘pa.’ ”
The youth went, and the party he trav
eled with was assau ed b road agents
who shot the driver, cut open the mail
bags, blew open the express box, and
went through the passengers. When oue
of the robbers asked tbe boy how much
he had, he replied with surprising candor:
“1 have ten dinars sewed up In my gar
ments.”
Tbe robber laughed a hoarse, guttural
laugh in the United States language, and
passed on to an elderly man, thinking tbe
boy lied. Another robber asked the boy
the same question, and receiving the same
answer, laughed as' did bis comrade.
Finally the chief called Malek to him and
asked what he had. The boy replied:
“I have already toll two of your people
that I have ten dinars sewed up in my
gray clothes.”
The chief ordered his clothes to be rip
ped open, and found tbe money.
“And how,” he asked, “came you to tell
this?”
“Because,” replied the boy, «i would
not be false to my mother, whom I sol
emnly promised never to tell a lie.”
“Aw, cheese that 1” the robber chief re
plied; “that’s too diaphanous, stripling; it
won’t laundry. Stand him on his head,
feiiows, aud tap him for all he’s worth.”
So the robbers stood Malek on his head
and pouuded tbe sole* of his feet with the
bastinadoes until he disgorged from va
rious secret pockets, belts, double shoe
soles, and from the straw and cushions of
the coach 125 dinars, a gold watch, a lot
of Erie stock, seven railroad passes, some
promissory notes, a new derringer, photo
graphs of Maude Granger ana Sarah
Bernhardt, a marked poker deck, a flask
of old cabinet whisky, some chewing
tobacco, a diamond pin and a blood
stone ring, a package of counterfeit tens
and a s) nog-shot. They then cut off hia
neck and tossed him over into the can
yon.
“That,” said the robber chief, as he
locketed tbe balk of tbe swag, “will teach
dm to keep his promise to his mother the
next time. Always play awful close on a
man who tries the honesty lay on a road
agent.”
SntLlks OthsrlWks.
Washington Republican.
Jay Gould controls $650,000,000, but he
always thumps a watermelon before bay
ing it, and insists on down weight when,
purchasing a pound of sugar.