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.
