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So Dan M aloft e lay In prison for awhile, and was at last brought to trial. The facts which the jury had to consider were these: No one had seen Dan after Mr. Hardburn left home. A pistol which was in the house had been used to shoot him with. Dan declared that he had not crossed the threshold, yet there were the marks of a crutch from the gate to the woods, down to the spot where the murdered man lay and back again, and Dan came into a fortune on his death. During the trial his manner, his words, his pallid face, his evident ter¬ ror, even before Mr. Hardburn had been found, were all described and set down against him. One of his brothers was in prison for man¬ slaughter, and the race was bad. The jury only brought in the ver¬ dict all expected when they brought in that of “Gulity of murder in the first degree,” and when asked what he could say in his own defense Dan only answered: "How could any one believe that I could kill him?” So Dan was condemned to be hung by the neck until he was dead, and all the world said it was only what might be expected of Malone’s boy—that he should turn and bite the hand that fed him. Even when tho dreadful day came there was little pity felt for him. Such a traitor, every one felt, deserved hanging. Simon and Betty both came in for a comfortable legacy, and the prop¬ erty went to a charity in case of Dan’s death, and Simon took his leg¬ acy and lived in a little house that he bought, and for a man of humble sta¬ tion was very well off. He lived thus ten years, adding to his means by driving people to and from the sta¬ tion when he felt like it, and married a buxom wife. One day, however, the wagon of which he was so proud came to grief. Simon was thrown out and taken home in a dying condition. As he lay on his bed, attended by his weep¬ ing wife, more than bodily torments seemed to rack him, and he begged for a priest. The priest came, and at the end of the confession to which he listened summoned the magistrate. This is what was taken down in his presence and that of the priest from Simon’s own lips: "Father Steck says I must tell the truth before I leave the world or I can have no absolution. I wouldn’t tell it if I had a chance of life, but it doesn’t matter now. < < I lived with old Mr. Hardburn ten years ago. I’d lived with him quite a time, and he thought a good deal of me. At last he took a boy to live with him—Dan Malone, a lame fellow—and he thought of no one else after that. I hated Dan; he was no better than I, and the old man made a will, leaving him all he had. He put me in the will for $3000, too, but I wasn’t satisfied. One day the old man got a lot of money paid him. It was a mortgage; he put it in his pocket and went to fish. I knew he was down in the woods alone, and I thought if any one could knock him senseless he could get the money, and then I thought of my legacy. If he was dead I could have that, too. Dan Malone was sick that day; I saw him in bed; he was asleep. I went and got a pistol there was in the house, and then I saw Dan’s crutch outside the door; he’d got so he could walk about, the house pretty well without it. He’d had costly doctors called in to him, and I thought a minute, and I took it. I wasn’t going to have my shoes measured if anything happened to the old man, and the crutch seemed to be a good thing to knock him on the lipad with, too. I tied my leg up by a handkerchief and went down into the woods, leaning on the crutch as if I was lame. No one saw me. The old man was fishing. I went be¬ hind him and hit him on the head and took his money and his watch as he lay senseless. I wouldn’t have killed him if he hadn’t come to and called out, ‘Good heavens! it’s Si¬ mon!' Then I had to. I hid the watch in the tree, meaning to get it again some day, and I limped home as I had come. If any one saw me from a distance they thought it was Dan. I left the crutch where I’d found it. No one was near. No one suspected me. Dan was arrested and tried and hung. I would have saved him if I could without hurting my¬ self, but that was not possible. I here swear that he was as innocent as a babe, and that I did the deed he was hung for. *> Simon lived just long enough to sign this confession, and long ago re¬ pentant hands set a stone over poor Dan’s neglected grave with his sad story upon it. It was a poor atone¬ ment to the victim of circumstantial evidence.—From Good Literature. Automobiles Prohibited in Bermuda. Consul W. Maxwell Greene, of Hamilton, reports that the act prohib¬ iting the use of all motor cars in the colony of Bermuda, and to be in force indefinitely, passed both houses of the Legislature, and on May 11 it received the signature of the Govern¬ or and therefore became a law. Some people would never get men¬ tioned at all if they were not talked about behind their backs. r THE MARK * B OF THE CRUTCH. * B Ucronex(k 1 - n 0 0y MARY °-J KYLE DALLAS • ©f I - ft Old Adam Hardburn was always accounted very eccentric, but when lie adopted Malone’s boy people thought that his eccentricity amount¬ ed to madness. The Malones were a bad lot, and this boy was not, as far as any one knew, better than any other of the family. Moreover, he had fallen from a tree which he was robbing of peaches in his youth, and crippled himself so that he must al¬ ways walk with a crutch. What did old Adam want of him? But Adam cared nothing for criticism; he knew that no one ever pleased all the world yet, and when his friends prophesied that he would he sorry he laughed in their faces. Old Malone was dead, two of the boys were In jail, one gone away upon a voyage. He had found Dan deserted in the miserable hut they had inhabited, friendless, with no one to help him to such work as he could do, and he had taken him home. "There could not be a better boy, » > old Adam said, and after Dan had been with him two years he was still so much of this opinion that he made a will in his favor. Dan Malone, the old ruffian's lame boy, had come to be the prospective heir of the largest estate in the place. He was a gehtle looking boy, who grew refined in manner and learned rapidly, hut even when he had come to be one-and-twenty people were still prejudiced against him. Adam's venture might turn out well, but they do ibted it. i t last something happened that seened to prove that they were all right. 01.1 Adam was very fond of fishing. Some.imes he spent long days beside a cert ’.in trout stream, and often his hoy, a: he called Dan was with him, hut on t summer day Dan was not well anti Adam went out alone. The hired man was chopping wood in an¬ other direction, and the old woman who was led and cooked kept to her kitchen. But about 8 o'clock that evening Dan, very pale and with a strange look in his eyer, came into a neighbor’s house. "I came because I v anted help, •' he said. “Mr. Ilardbuvu went away to fish this morning. I was sick. I grow giddy when 1 try to stand. I can’t go after him, and he’s not home yet. I wanted Simon to go, but he says his master is old enough to take care of himself, and has probably gone somewhere to supper. But that's not like Mr. Hardburn; besides he had on his fishing hat and a linen jacket. I wish some one would do what I find I am unable to do. I’m alarmed—very much alarmed. ’ * The neighbors were kind. The men started out for the trout stream, and the women comforted Dan, tell¬ ing him that good news would soon come; that it was too cool for sun¬ stroke, and that the stream was too shallow to be dangerous. But the young man sat paling and shivering, partly with illness and partly with anxiety, until news came. It* was the worst news possible. Mr. Hardburn had been found dead, shot through the head. A pistol lay near him, and his pockets were turned inside out, and his watch was gone. When Dan heard the news he fainted away, and for awhile every one sympathized with him. But soon the tide turned. Detectives came down from the city and made explorations and inquiries. The watch was found in a hollow tree and all along the soft wood path were very peculiar footsteps. They traced them from tho woods to the gate of the old man’s home; the mark of a shoe, and where the other shoe print, should have been, a puncture. Some one hns been here who walked with a crutch was the conclusion. In the whole village was but one who used a crutch—young Dan Ma¬ lone. The clouds of suspicion began to gather. Dan declared that he had been ill in bed all day, but Simon, the man, knew nothing of Dan's where¬ abouts from tile time he left home until he returned, and Betty only knew that he had not come home to dinner. The pistol with which Mr. Hardburn had been murdered was one that was always kept in his own dining room. And finally Dan, and no other, had an object to attain by the old man’s death. Poor Dan was arrested, aitd his agony was very great. "What do they think of mo?” he cried. "Is money anything in com¬ parison with a friend such as I have lost? I had all I wanted. He was like a father to me. How can you think I would harm a hair of his dear head?” But say what he would, no one be¬ lieved him. They had no proof that he had been ill in bed; no proof that he had not been to the woods; in¬ deed, there were the marks of his crutch, and that the watch had been hidden, not carried off, was the proof that no thief had been the murderer. NIGHT REFUGES IN PARIS. Last Resource of the Stranded Hrnencan— A Charity of Which He Can Avail Hirnself When Everything Else Fails—Graft of Cer¬ tain Arnerican Beggars—The Story of a Man Who Got a Fresh Start. - •- hpnor us with’a brief visit are gener¬ ally derelicts who have lingered so long in Paris, ever descending the social ladder, that they have reached the state where distinctions of na¬ tionality mean very little to them. I remember one or two cases which don’t quite come under this hopeless category—stories of men who weren’t nondescript wretches without ties of home or country, but were merely temporary victims of an unkind des¬ tiny. “We Frenchmen are wont to stand aghast at the adaptability of Amer¬ icans, amazed at their conquest of ob¬ stacles that would seem overwhelm¬ ing to us. The train hand who be¬ comes a railroad president, the call boy who eventually owns his own theatre—these tales astound our European conservatism. “Well, one case In point which I recollect is a good example of your transatlantic elasticity. A ball was given for the benefit of one of our refuges in one of the big hotels. “During the evening a substantial looking man, clean shaven—an Amer¬ ican, I knew at first glance—came up to me and said he bad once visited our head refuge. I said that I had probably not had the pleasure of showing him around. He answered, ‘No, hardly,’ that he had not come to inspect the premises, but to beg a night’s lodging. Then he told me his story. “It appears that some years be¬ fore he was a buyer for an American firm, coming to Paris twice every twelve months. He took to drinking heavily and once when over here he made some big business blunder and his firm discharged him. “Instead of going home and seek¬ ing another position he stayed on, wasting his time in cafes, going from bad to worse. At last he took to begging. After several successive bad days when he had been turned out of one wine shop after another, he fell in with a day laborer also out of a job. This laborer proposed that they both spend the night at one of the refuges. “The next morning the American awoke soberer than he had been for many a week. No doubt his close contact with the dregs of Paris had made him feel how much of an out¬ cast he had become. “In this repentant mood a man who had formerly known him in the States ran across him and consented to give him work. Soon the ex-buyer re¬ turned to America and eventually se¬ cured a good position. After a lapse of years he came to Paris again, and hearing that there was to be a bail for the benefit of the asiles he pur¬ chased a ticket—they cost $4—and thus amply cancelled his debt of hos¬ pitality. “Another time an American artist stayed one night here. I think he came more in search of impressions than charity. Later he painted a scene representing the men eating their rations before retiring. I for¬ get his name, hut he is now illusirat ing for one of the French political weeklies. The picture was exhibited in the Salon and he sent us a framed copy. “That gift was acceptable enough. But you should see some of the things offered by well meaning but im¬ practicable benefactors and bene¬ factresses. ” The Baron led the way across the sun flooded court of the principal refuge, which accommodates nightly 300 homeless soldiers of fortune. The court was lined with tubs of flower¬ ing plants, a witnes to the French¬ man’s infallible instinct for alleviat¬ ing the sordid by the artistic. He unlocked the door to a huge storeroom in the basement. There, among other things, were a richly in¬ laid but dust covered chest of draw¬ ers, a shabby dress suit and a Psyche glass, an exile from some Louis Quinze boudoir. “Yes,” the president smiled in an¬ swer to his visitor's amazement, “the course of charity doesn’t always run smooth. In that chest of drawers are a clown’s costume, a pair of gilt slip¬ pers and several discarded decollete gowns. “Still such gifts are fortunately rare, and ordinarily we cannot com¬ plain of the public’s lack of generos ity. These Asiles—and there are four in Paris accommodating in all $500 persons a night—are maintained by charity, although they enjoy the protection of the State. We have re¬ ceived donations from all nationali¬ ties, Lady Wallace, widow of the well known English art collector, left us large sums, and an American woman, Mrs. Maxwell Heddle, be queathed more than 1,000,000 francs. So you see America need not feel that she is. getting something for nothing when her homeless citizens are our guests for a night.” If you have ever been in Paris and have passed many idle hours in front of the Cafe de la Paix you cannot have failed to make the acquaintance of the stranded American, writes the Paris correspondent of the New York Sun. He haunts the big hotels, the restaurants and the boulevards, ever on the alert for the unwary. He has reduced the spotting of his prey to a science. He recognizes a possible victim In the bluff, genial gentleman who loudly proclaims to bystanders in the hotel lobby the fact that no bartender in Paris can make cocktails like those to be had on the coast and that the show at the Moulin Rogue is disheartening to those ac¬ customed to entertainments offered by the Orpheum circuit, in short that America is the only country to be con¬ sidered anyway. The stranded Amer¬ ican knows that it will be the fault of his oratory only if the Westerner doesn’t give some substantial evi¬ dence of sympathy after listening to his well planned tale of overdue re¬ mittances. If this benefactor were to return the following year he would probably encounter the identical petitioner, perhaps a trifle more shabbily dressed, plying his trade along the Avenue de l’Opera or the Champs Elysees. And the Westerner would then realize that this business of fleecing the unsuspecting is an estab¬ lished occupation for many. Long ago these men exhausted all official and charitable resources. Then finding that playing upon the credulity of the public pays better than any employment they could fill they regularly join the Society for the Subjection of Easy Marks. They seem to find their profession in the main advantageous, although seasons of prosperity may be followed by times of woeful depression. And when these adverse times come, what hap¬ pens? The stranded American gives up his comfortable lodgings and moves to some attic in Montmartre. Then if hard luck continues he ceases to have r*ny address at all until the goddess of fortune smiles on him once more. During these off seasons he sleeps on the uninviting benches of the parks until he is asked to move on, or he foregathers with the scum of Parisian humanity along the quays. An infinitesimal minority of these ex¬ iled waifs turn their steps toward the “Asiles de nuit,” free night refuges for the homeless and penniless of all the lands, the last resort for the foot sore and heart sore. They who enter the severe portals, topped with the protective three col¬ ored flag aiid “Liberty, Equality, Fra¬ ternity,” must leave all vestige of pride behind. Those grim institu¬ tions ‘are no respecters of rank or person. Pickpockets and cutthroats sleep side by side with clerks, pro¬ fessional men and day labor s whose only offense is that they have come down in the world. The American whom unkind cir¬ cumstances have led to one of these homes finds that he must wait in a bare hall, its only furniture benches and a giant crucifix, until an officer takes down the names and the one time occupation of all present. He will then receive a piece of coarse bread and a mug of water. Then all will be ushered into the basement and told to prepare for the compulsory shower hath. After they have donned the nightshirts supplied by the institution their own clothing is sewed up in separate sacks and put through a process of purification by steam. Then in a dormitory fitted up in monastic simplicity with iron cots, each labelled with the name of the donor, all forget the nightmares of the day in the kindly oblivion of sleep. By 8 in the morning each guest of a night—the refuge’s hospitality is limited to three nights for each vis¬ itor—has gone, and the dormitories are subjected to the regenerative in¬ fluences of sunshine, fresh air, soap and water. The Americans w r ho have slept under our roof? The Baron de Livois, president of the asiles, re¬ peated the Sun correspondent’s ques¬ tion. “Yes, certainly there have been a few from time to time, though we have more South Americans. Of the 68,000 who registered here this year, forty-six were Americans, and I should say that only ten or at the most fifteen were citizens of the United States. “You will understand that the American must have sunk pretty low, must have exhausted the patience of his fellow countrymen, before com¬ ing here. The tourist from across the seas doesn’t usually consider a night's sojourn under our roofs as a necessary part of his sightseeing pro¬ gram,” he added with a smile. The citizens of the republic whs A m HOUSEHOLD # i .-.AFFAIRS I KEEPING PATENT LEATHER. Patent leather is always doubtful leather to buy, as no one will guar¬ antee how long it will wear. If the shoes are cleaned and oiled frequent¬ ly with sweet oil or vaseline, they will keep in good condition and last very much longer than if they are left alone.—Philadelphia Ledger. CLEANING CANE CHAIRS. To clean and restore the elasticity of cane-bottom chairs, turn the chair and with hot water and a sponge sat¬ urate the cane-work thoroughly, if the chair is dirty, use soap. After¬ ward set the chair to dry out of doors and the seat will be taut as when new.—Indianapolis News. USES OF PAPER. The careful housewife has a use for everything, and the daily papers are by no means an inconsiderate factor toward insuring a clean kitch¬ en. For instance, a supply of paper folded in eight and hung up over the kitchen sink will be found most con¬ venient to slip under a hot kettle that has just been lifted from the stove. A store of full-sized printed sheets should likewise he kept in the kitchen table drawer, so that there, is always one handy to spread over the table if necessary during work, which can afterward be burned.—New Haven Register. EFFECTIVE CURTAINS. Unbleached Russia crash can Ire used for making very effective cur¬ tains. Turn a three-inch hem on the right side and baste on a two and one-half inch band of goldenrod yel¬ low linen so that one edge covers the raw edges of the hem. Leave the edges of the linen raw and button¬ hole on both edges with coarse brown silk. Near the inner edge of the curtain outline two stems in brown, going up from the band of yellow, and top them with a four-petalled yellow flower, butterholed around with the brown and with a center of dark red. Make a valance across the top of the* window on which button¬ hole simply a narrow hand of linen.—. New Haven Register. DON’T BE A HOARDER. Don’t dust and clean the same old things you never intend to use and put them back in the same place to be house-cleaned another year. Here is what a woman found in her attic: An old tricycle that no one ever intended to ride, a big bundle of old wall paper, two piles of dusty old magazines that no one ever wanted to read, old-fashioned curtain fix¬ tures that were broken, hangers full of old clothes, paper boxes heaped high full of “trash” and an old broken rocker. When asked what she was keeping them for, she admitted that she didn’t know. She was persuaded to get rid of the stuff, and that attic is now a cheerful little room, cozy as can be, the gathering place of her friends instead of a dingy old trash room. So don’t save your things to give them away when they are no good to any one. Give them away as soon as you find they are of no use to you. They will help some one in some way. —Philadelphia Ledger. M\ % ml 1 H Has Cheese Omelet—Break six eggs into a dish ami stir them gently. Add one-half cupful of grated or chipped cheese, salt and pepper to taste, and one-fourth teaspoonful of extract of beef dissolved in one tablespoonful of boiling milk. Melt two tablespoon¬ fuls of butter in the pan, turn in the mixture and cook slowly. Cut in quarters and turn when brown. Apple Bread—Stew about ten ap¬ ples and when done whip them till they are quite light; have one part apples, two parts flour, the usual quantity of yeast, salt, and a little sugar; knead well and set to rise for twelve hours; bake then in long loaves. If the apples are juicy no water will be needed except that used to dissolve the yeast; bake in same manner that is used for baking other bread. Chocolate Bread Pudding—Two cups stale entire wheat breadcrumbs, four cups scalded milk, two squares chocolate, three-fourths cup sugar, two eggs, one-fourth level teaspoon¬ ful salt, one teaspoonful vanilla. Add the milk to the bread and let stand twenty minutes, Melt the chocolate over hot -water, Add enough of the milk to make thin enough to pour, then add it to the bread. Add the sugar, eggs beaten slightly, salt and vanilla. Pour into a buttered baking dish and hake one hour in a moderate Serve with hard sauce.