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SYNOPSIS.
Le Comte de Sabron, captain ot French
cavalry, takes to his quarters to raise by
hand a motherless Irish terrier pup, and
names it Pltchoune. He dines with the
Marquise d'Esclignac and meets Miss
Julia Redmond, American heiress, who
sings for him an English ballad that
lingers in his memory. Trying to save
Pitchoune's life, he declines a second in
vitation to dinner because of a "very sick
friend.” No more invitations come from
the Chateau d'Esclignac. Pltchoune,
though lame from his accident, thrives
and is devoted to his master. 3abron and
Pltchoune meet the Marquise and Miss
Redmond and after the story of Pitchoune
Is told Sabron Is forgiven and invited to
dinner again. Sabron is ordered to Al
giers.
CHAPTER Vl— Continued.
Pitchoune, whose eyes had followed
9 the cat out of sight, sprang upon his
master and seemed quite ready for
the new departure.
“I shall at least have you," Sabron
said. “It will be your first campaign.
We shall have some famous runs and
I shall introduce you to a camel and
make you acquainted with several
donkeys, not to speak of the historic
Arab steeds. You will see, my friend,
that there are other animals besides
yourself in creation."
“ A telegram for mon capitaine.”
Brunet came in with the blue envelope
which Sabron tore open.
You will take with you neither horses
nor dogs.
X
It was an order from the minister of
war, just such a one as was sent to
some half-dozen other young ofiicers,
all of whom, no doubt, felt more or
less discomfited.
Sabron twisted the telegram, put it
in the fireplace and lighted his ciga
rette with it, watching Pitchoune who,
finding himself a comfortable corner
in the armchair, had settled down for
a nap.
“So,” nodded the young man aloud,
“I shall not even have Pitchoune.”
He smoked, musing. In the rigid dis
cipline of his soldier’s life he was used
to obedience. His softened eyes, how
ever, and his nervous fingers as they
pulled at his mustache, showed that
the command had touched him.
“What shall I do with you, old fel
low?”
Although Sabron’s voice was low,
the dog, whose head was down upon
his paws, turned his bright brown
eyes on his master with so much con
fidence and affection that it completed
the work. Sabron walked across the
floor, smoking, the spurs on his heels
clanking, the light shining on his bril
liant boots and on his uniform. He
was a splendid-looking man with race
and breeding, and he combined with
his masculine force the gentleness of
a woman.
“They want me to be lonely,” he
thought. “All that the chiefs consider
is the soldier —not the man —even the
tompanionship of my dog is denied
me. What do they think I am going
to do out there in the long eastern
evenings?” He reflected. “What does
the world expect an uncompanioned
wanderer to do?” There are many
things and the less thought about
them, the better.
“A letter for Monsieur le Capitaine.”
Brunet returned with a note which he
presented stiffly, and Pitchoune, who
chose in his little brain to imagine
Brunet an intruder, sprang from the
chair like lightning, rushed at the
servant, seized the leg of his panta
loons and began to worry them, growl
ing, Brunet regarding him with adora
tion. Sabron had not thought aloud
the last words of the telegram, which
he had used to light his cigarette.
. . . Nor will It be necessary to take
a personal servant. The Indigenes are
capable ordonnances.
As he took the letter from Brunet's
salver he said curtly:
“I am ordered to Algiers and I shall
not take horses nor Pitchoune.”
The dog, at mention of his name,
set Brunet’s leg free and stood quiet,
his head lifted.
“Nor you either, mon brave Bru
net.” Sabron put his hand on his
servant’s shoulder, the first familiarity
he had ever shown a man who served
him with devotion, and who would
have given his life to save his mas
ter’s. “Those,” said the officer curtly,
“are the orders from headquarters, and
the least said about them the better.”
The ruddy cheek of the servant
turned pale. He mechanically touched
his forehead.
“Bien, mon Capitaine,” he mur
mured, with a little catch in his voice.
He stood at attention, then wheeled
and without being dismissed, stalked
out of the room.
Pltchoune did not follow. He re
mained immovable like a little dog cut
from bronze; he understood—who
shall say—how much of the conversa
tion? Sabron threw away his ciga
rette, then read his letter by the man
tlepiece, leaning his arm upon it. He
read slowly. He had broken the seal
slowly. It was the first letter he had
ever seen in this handwriting. It was
written in French and ran thus:
Monsieur—My aunt wishes me to ask
you it you will come to us tor a little
musicale tomorrow afternoon. We hope
you will be free, and I hope, she added,
that you will bring Pitchoune. Not that
I think he will care for the music, but
afterward perhaps he will run with us as
we walk to the gate. My aunt wishes me
to say that she has learned from the col
onel that you have been ordered to Al
giers. In this way she says that we shall
have an opportunity of wishing you bon
voyage, and I say I hope Pitchoune will
be a comfort to you.
The letter ended in the usual formal
French fashion. Sabron, turning the
letter and rereading it, found that it
completed the work that had been go
ing on in his lonely heart. He stood
long, musing.
Pitchoune laid himself down on the
rug, his bright little head between his
paws, his affectionate eyes on his mas
ter. The firelight shone on them both,
the musing young officer and the al
most human-hearted little beast. So
Brunet found them when he came in
with the lamp shortly, and as he set
it down on the table and its light
shone on him, Sabron, glancing at the
ordonnance, saw that his eyes were
red, and liked him none the less for it.
CHAPTER VII.
A Soldier’s Dog.
“It is just as I thought,” he told
Pitchoune. “I took you into my life,
you little rascal, against my will, and
how, although it’s not your fault, you
are making me regret it. I shall end,
Pitchoune, by being a cynic and mis
ogynist, and learn to make idols of
my career and my troops alone. Aftqr
a.ll, they may be tiresome, but they
don’t hurt as you do, and some other
things as well.”
Pitchoune, being invited to the
musicale at the Chateau d’Esclignac,
went along with his master, running be
hind the captain’s horse. It was a
heavenly January day, soft and mild,
full of sunlight and delicious odors,
and over the towers of King Rene’s
castle the sky banners were made of
celestial blue.
The officer found the house full, of
people. He thought it hard that he
might not have had one more intimate
picture to add to his collection. When
he entered the room a young man was
playing a violoncello. There was a
group at the piano, and among the peo
ple the only ones he clearly saw were
the hostess, Madame d’Esclignac in
a gorgeous velvet frock, then Miss
Redmond, who stood by the window,
listening to the music. She saw him
come in and smiled to him, and from
that moment his eyes hardly left her.
What the music was that afternoon
the Count de Sabron could not have
i
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He Stood Long Musing.
told very intelligently. Much of it was
sweet, all of it was touching, but when
Miss Redmond stood to sing and chose
the little song of which he had made
a lullaby, and sang it divinely, Sab
ron, his hands clasped behind his back
and his head a little bent, still looking
at her, thought that his heart would
break. It was horrible to go away and
not tell her. It was cowardly to feel
so much and not be able to speak it.
And he felt that he might be equal
to some wild deed, such as crossing
the room violently, putting his hand
over her slender one and saying:
“I am a soldier; I have nothing but a
soldier’s life. I am going to Africa
tomorrow. Come with me; I want you.
come!"
All of which, slightly impossible and
quite out of the question, nevertheless
charmed and soothed him. The words
of her English song, almost barbaric
to him because incomprehensible, fell
on his. ears Its melody was already
part of him.
“Monsieur de Sabron,” said Madame
d’Esclignac, “you are going away to
morrow?"
“Yes, Madame.”
“I expect you will be engaged in
some awful native skirmishes. Per
haps you will even be able to send
back a tiger skin.” '
“There are no tigers in that part of
Africa, Madame.”
The young soldier's dark eyes rest-
THE BULLETIN, IRWINTON, GEORGIA.
ed almost hostilely on the gorgeous
marquise in her red gown. He felt
that she was glad to have him go. He
wanted to say: “I shall come back,
however; I shall come back and when
I return" > . . but he knew that
quch a boast, or even such a hope was
fruitless.
His colonel had told him only the
day before that Miss Redmond was
one of the richest American heiresses,
and there was a question of a duke or
a prince and heaven only knew what
in the way of titles. As the marquise
moved away her progress was some
thing like the rolling of an elegant
velvet chair, and while his feelings
were still disturbed Miss Redmond
crossed the room to him. Before Sab
ron quite knew how they had been
able to escape the others dr leave the
room, he was standing with her in the
winter garden where the sunlight
came in through trellises and the
perfume of the warmed plants was
heavy and sweet. Before them flowed
the Rhone, golden in the winter's light.
The blue river swept its waves around
old Tarascon and the battlements of
King Rene’s towers.
“You are going to Algiers tomorrow,
Monsieur de Sabron?” Miss Redmond
smiled, and how was Sabron to real
ize that she could not very well have
wept there and then, had she wished
to do so?
“Yes,” he said. “I adore my regi
ment. I love my work. I have al
ways wanted to see colonial service.”
"Have you? It is delightful to find
one’s ambitions and desires satisfied,”
said Miss Redmond. "I have always
longed to see the desert. It must be
beautiful. Os course you are going to
take Pitchoune?”
“Ah!” exclaimed Sabron, •that is
just what I am not going to do.”
“What!” she cried. You are never
going to' leave that darling dog be
hind you?”
“I must, unfortunately. My superior
officers do not allow me to take horses
or dogs, or even my servant.”
“Heavens!” she exclaimed. “What
brutes they are! Why, Pitchoune will
die of a broken heart.” Then she
said: “You are leaving him with your
man servant?”
Sabron shook his head.
“Brunet would not be able to keep
him.”
“Ah!” she breathed. “He is looking
for a home? Is he? If so, would you
. . . might I take care of Pit
choune?”
The Frenchman impulsively put out
his hand, and she laid her own in it.
“You are too good,” he murmured.
“Thank you. Pitchoune will thank
you.”
He kissed her hand. That was all.
From within the salon came the
noise of voices, and the bow of the
violoncellist was beginning a new con
certo. They stood looking at- each
other. No condition could have pre
vented it although the Marquise
d'Esclignac was rolling toward them
across the polished floor of the music
room. As though Sabron realize^ that
he might never see this lovely young
woman again, probably never would
see her, and wanted before he left to
have something made clear, he asked
quickly:
• “Could you, Mademoiselle, in a word
or two tell me the meaning of the Eng
lish song you sang?”
She flushed and laughed slightly.
“Well, it is not very easy to put it
in prose,” she hesitated. “Things
sound so differently in music and
poetry; but it means,” she said in
French, bravely, “why, it is a sort of
prayer that someone you love very
much should be kept safe night and
day. That’s about all. There is a lit
tle sadness in It, as though,” and her
cheeks glowed, “as if there was a sort
of separation. It means . . .”
“Ah!” breathed the officer deeply,
“I understand. Thank you."
And just then Madame d'Esclignac
rolled up between them and with an
unmistakable satisfaction presented to
her niece the gentleman she had se
cured.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Your Own Home.
William L. Price in “The House ox
the Democrat,” gave us a description
of his ideal dwelling in words so ge
nial and simple, and full of such pic
turesque feeling, that they seem a fit
ting preface to an article on the plan
ning of a home. “The rooms,” hr
said, “shall be ample and low; wide
windowed, deep-seated, spacious, cool
by reason of shadows in summer,
warmed by the ruddy glow of fire
sides in winter; open to wistful sum
mer airs, tight closed against the win
try blasts; a house, a home, a shrine."
One cannot but wish that every
homebuilder and architect would
learn these words by heart, and hold
them as a constant reminder—for in
that one prophetic sentence seems to
be condensed the very spirit of
home.
The atmosphere of comfort and rest
fulness cannot be attained, however,
without much wise and thoughtful
planning. Its roots are in the prac
tical, the seemingly commonplace—•
which, rightly treated, results in last
ing homelike charm. —The Craftsman.
Chinese Currency.
Currency in China has had all sorts
of surprises for the layman, but the
present situation is simply extraor
dinary. There is now found to be an
actual plethora of dollars and small
coins, and since last August the Chi
nese have been melting them and con
verting them into sycee. The reason
why dollars are being melted is that
large issues of the provincial mints
have found no use in the market, and
as all Chinese accounts are in taels
the present price of the dollar is not
very conducive to its- existence and
circulation.
Mumional
smsmi
Lesson
(Ty E. O. SELLERS, Acting Director of
Sunday School Course, The Moody Bible
Institute, Chicago, III.)
LESSON FOR APRIL 18
THE SHEPHERD’S PSALM.
LESSON TEXT—Psalm 23.
GOLDEN TEXT—The Lord is my Shep
herd.—Ps. 23:1.
This is the most famous of the
shepherd king's writings. Probably
written in his later life, he borrows
his figure from the experience of his
youth. The relation of the lamb to
David is a type to him of his rela
tions to God. Israel's greatest poet
had ample time for meditation in the
days of his youth as he followed the
occupation of shepherd. His playing
on the harp is famous and he made
the first official use of music in the
worship of Jehovah (see I Chron. 15:
15-24). The word “Psalm” is from the
Greek, and first meant a stringed in
strument. The Hebrew title of this
book is “Praises.” Ot the 150 psalms
David is expressly credited with 73/
To fully study this, the sweetest of
all psalms, we must consider it verse
by verse.
(1) “My Shepherd.” The lamb is
David. The Shepherd is Jehovah. The
time is man’s natural time on earth.
The rest is in the future. This Shep
herd so provides that the lamb “shall
not want.” It is his business to care
for his sheep. We are the sheep.
Jesus is the Shepherd, and his sheep
obey his voice (John 10:4, 5). We
shall not want for food, for drink, for
grace, for quietness, for companion
ship, for guidance and for welcome
back to the fold at the end of the day
or in the time of storm.
(2) “He le^jth me.” “The Lord is
my Shepherd because (a) he bought
me: (b) he feeds me; (c) he leads me.”
—Robertson. To fully comprehend
the deep significance of this psalm we
must try to know the land of Palestine
and the habits of eastern shepherds;
how they feed their flocks, know
them by name, and keep constant
vigil against the danger of flood and
wild beasts. The Lord is an individ
ual shepherd, interested in the one
as well as the whole, and as such at
tends to each individual’s need. He
provides a place for us to “lie down
in pastures of tender grass;” he also
causes us to walk beside “waters of
quietness.” He makes us to lie down
at times and he knows where to lead,
providing at the same time both food
and drink.
(3) “He restoreth my soul.” The
Shepherd- revives our faintness. If
the lamb is too weak, he carries it “in
his bosom” until it is revived. Many
are the ways he revives us. A word,
a sentence, a paragraph, or an experi
ence will ofttimes restore the sick,
weary, sorrowful or sin-buffeted child
of God. He also leads—remember he
does not drive —and his paths are
paths of pleasantness and of peace.
His paths are “right tracks.” not the
delusive ones of sin. We cannot
walk in these paths without his leader
ship, without his strengthening rest,
without the invigorating food and
drink which is provided for us by the
Good Shepherd.
(4) “Yea though I walk.” Just as
every need has been and will be pro
vided for (Phil. 4:19) even so will
every fear be banished. The flock has
passed beyond the “tender grass and
“waters of quietness” into new and
strange experiences, into the “valley
of deepest darkness,” not alone the
experience of physical death but all
of life's experiences that are shroud
ed by thick, impenetrable darkness,
for the Christian does not always walk
in paths of light. Sometimes we scarce
ly see the Shepherd, but we may al
ways hear his voice. Dark valleys
may lie between two excellent pas
turage grounds even as Bunyan sug
gests in Pilgrim’s Progress. Death
is a shadow, not a substance, for the
sting of sin has been removed (I
Cor. 15:54-57). Why not fear? “For
thou art with me” and he is stronger
than any possible enemy. There are
dangers which we cannot cope with,
but as he is with us “we are able.”
(5) “My cup runneth over.” Here
the figure changes. Jehovah is now
the bountiful host. What a repast he
has spread! David as a shepherd and
as a fugitive from Saul knew the pinch
of hunger and the-satisfaction of eat
ing in peace, in the very presence of
his enemies, man and beast. They
that are Christ's have enemies (John
15:19; II Tim. 3:12), but as our Host
he has spread a banquet in their very
presence while the world goes on
feeding upon the husks. He also anoints
our heads with the “oil of gladness,"
the Holy Spirit (Acts 10:38; I John
2:20, 27 R. V.). For the ancient feast
this anointing was an essential prep
aration.
(6) “I shall dwell . . . forever.”
Goodness and mercy pursue the psalm
ist in marked contrast with' the calam
ity and the angel of judgment which
follow the wicked (Ps. 35:6; 140:11).
There is a perpetuity of blessing as
well as the penalty of sin. The psalm
ist leaves the feast for his dwelling
house which shall abide “to length
of days.” This is to be interpreted
in its fullness only by the New Testa
ment (John 14:1-3; I Thess. 4:16, 17).
Everlasting fellowship, communion
and companionship with the Chief
Shepherd, the “great Shepherd of the
sheep.”
French Market Coffee
The Wonderful Old Secret Blend
is best for this climate
TN the coffee growing countries, good coffee, roasted
A like French Market Coffee, is regarded as a neces
sity, a healthful stimulant to aid digestion. Hot climates
create a desire for stimulants, and the one great healthftil,
stimulating drink is coffee, not the ordinary roasts of coffee,
but the rich roasts which contain no heavy oils, and though superbly stim*
Hlating, will not irritate the most tender stomach.
I French Market Coffee]
The Wonderful Old Secret Blend
Coffee like French Market Coffee is served in Paris,
Vienna, Rio de Janiero, Bogota and Mexico, but in none of these cities will
you find coffee like the ordinary American roasts.
Send IO cents for 12 cup sample and booklet of the
Story of French Market
1 Pound Cans - - $ .25
4 Pound Pails - - 1.00
French Market Mills, New Orleans, La. II
New Orleans Coffee Co., LtcL, Props.
Most of Us Are.
“Young man, are you the victim
of habit?”
“Os habits, sir—other people's.”—
Boston Evening Transcript.
It Takes the Fire Out
To take the fire out of a burn or
scald quickly use Hanford’s Balsam ot
Myrrh. Apply it lightly at once and
the inflamed skin should be quickly
cooled. Be prepared for accidents by
always having a bottle on hand. Adv.
When a woman does suffer In si
lence she feels that she is entitled to
a life-long pension.
Lots of people are married secretly,
but the whole world knows when they
are divorced.
Quite So.
“What are the best fruits of court
ship?"
“I should say dates and pairs.”
Improving.
Redd—ls he improving in his golf?
Greene —Oh, yes. He can say “fore”
in three languages now.
For weak joints apply Hanford’s
Balsam thoroughly and well rubbed in. i
Adv.
Getting Used to it.
Bacon —I should think it would be a
good thing for the men on the dread
naughts to serve a time on the sub
marines first.
Egbert —Why so?
“It wouldn't seem so strange then
when they went to the bottom.”
The reasons for
Certain-teed Roofing
Every buyer needs the proper assur
ance, when he pays for the best
quality, that a second or third quality
IwSi will not be delivered. The market
is flooded with too many brands.
Some manufacturers with poor facil*
JmA ities too often meet competition by
cutting quality. Some wholesalers
buy any old quality, put their labels on it, and
•ay it is the best. Our Certain-teed label is backed by the
written guarantee of the world’s largest manufacturer of
asphalt roofings. It gives each buyer the assurance wanted,
and our unequalled facilities for manufacturing enable us to
sell it at a very reasonable price.
These are the reasons for
Certain-teed
Roofing
We invite every one interested to come to our mills and see how we make the
goods. We know that our Certain-teed Roofing is the best quality that we can
make. It’s the best quality that can be made to last and remain waterproof on the
roof. It is made with that one purpose in view. We also make cheap grade,
poor quality roofings to meet the demand for very temporary roofs, but the
Certain-teed label goes only on our best quality, longest life product. It is the
grade which carries our Company name and endorsement and guarantee — 1-ply
S years, 2-ply 10 years, 3-ply IS years.
If you want the right quality and want to be sure you are getting what you pay for. insist
outlie Certain-teed label. The price is reasonable. No one can tell the quality of a piece of
roofmgbv lookingatit. Themanisnot living who can take three kinds of roofing of differ
ent qualities and tell with an y degree of accuracy the length of time each one will last oa the
roof. He cannot tell their relative values by
looking at them. Why take the chance of
guessing - , when you can get the safest guar
antee on the beat quality goods at a reason
able price.
If for any reason you do not care for the high
est quality—if you want a temporary roof, we
also make goods sold at the lowest price on
the market, because we have unequalled fa
cilities,and are making approximately a third
of the entire asphalt roofing and building
papers of the whole world's supply. Our
facilities enable us to beat all competition on
price goods as well as on Certain-teed quality.
The difference between the total cost of the
goods, the freight, the laying.etc., between
Suality goods and price goods is insignificant.
t is much better policy to cut out the guessing
and let the manufacturer of reel responsibility
insure you on all the vital points. He knows
what he puts into the goods and what they
will do—you can then insist upon getting
everything as represented.
General Roofing Mfg. Co.
HorU’J laryrst nanufact-urnrs nf Rxifing
and Building Papers
New Y«rk City Bwto, CUcat, PituUrri
nUufeMua AUutt Clmtu4 IMnit St. Luh
Ciaduati KtuuCity Miuei^Et SuFrudK,
SuMto UUu Haabu* Sjiuy
The aviator who is taken up by a
society leader can always return the
compliment.
For inflamed sore eyes apply Han
ford's Balsam lightly to the closed
lids. It should relieve in five minutes.
Adv.
Means to the End.
“The doctor advises me to eat slow
ly and sparingly.”
“Then don't tip the waiter.”
Explanation.
“Pa, what's a mailed fist?”
“It's the letter I am trying to make
out just now, son.”
For bruises use Hanford's Balsam.
Adv.
A Difference.
“I thought they didn't allow wait
ers to take tips in this restaurant?”
said the lawyer at the table.
“We don't, sir.” replied the waiter.
“I saw that man at the next table
give you a tip just now."
“No, sir, that was not a tip, sir;
that was a retainer.”
Made since 1846 —Hanford's Balsam.
■ Adv.
Looks Wrong.
Patience —This paper says Chicago
reports two divorces to each 12 mar
riages.
Patrice —That seems an awful small
number of divorces.
“Why so?"
“Because Chicago has so many
more lawyers than ministers.”
LET'S BOOST BUSINESS
Lest Politico—Mora Prosperity
We have had enough starvation business—
enough of political "cure-alls” of every party,
with their smashing and bustin'—enough of
politicians who promise economy and honesty
tn order to get into office and then practice un
heard of extravagances and then play for votes
or party rather than for principle and right, etc.
The cost of living is not going down. Let’S go
after good times and make enough money to pay
for thecost of aliving, whatever it may be. We
don't want cheap living—we want good business
and good times for everybody and if we all pull
together we will get them.
The game of the politician is to promise every
thing. Many of them ought to be prosecuted
for fraud on account of the difference between
what they promise and what they deliver.
They're worse than the business man who over^
advertjsestbeqnanty of his goods. Let the bus
iness interests, from the laborer to the superin
tendent. from the office boy to the president,
from the hired man on the farm to the owner of
the farm, remember that they have a common
Interest in good business and a square deal in
business. Stop listening to the fakers and let’s
boost ourselves back into good times. It can be
done. No more knockers and false prophets are
wanted. We are going to be too busy to listen
to any except those who promise "good busi
ness” legislation.