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F A C N
~ The Other Woman
. ASERIAL OF INTIMATE APPEAL |
Louise Finds That Her Little Girl Is Devotedly
Attached to Mrs. Hampton.
By Virginia Terhune Van De
Water.
CHAPTER LVII.
(Copyright, 1917, Star Company.)
HAVE said that my mother-in-law
I never inquired into our affairs aft.
er the plain talk she and I had
on the day that I lunched with her.
Yet, in spite of this new regime, she
was always willing to be on hand if
we needed her. She was constantly
doing kindnesses, yet was never ob
trusive enough to warrant me in re
senting them.
I realized that with each passing
week my husband found her more nec.
essary. The phrase “We will ask
mother,” or “Let's see what mother
thinks” was on his llps even more
frequently than when we were first
married. T tried to be amused at the
habit. At times I found it difficult to
be patient with it.
But sorrow and experience were
teaching me, although slowly, and 1
did not speak out my irritation as
impulsively as T had once done,
Jack was fond of society, and now
that Baby Lou was well and strong,'
he often insisted on accepting invita
tions for himself and me to run out
of town for week-ends., He also liked
to take me with him upon his Hhorti
business trips. We were geldom
away from home for more than a few
days at a time, but even so, neither
of us would have been willing to leave
Lou alone in the house with only
hirelings to care for her.
Mrs. Hampton was the logical per
son to stay with the child. Jack took
this as a matter of course., At first
1 hesltated to ask such a favor of
her.
“It is a good deal to expect your
mother to leave her own comfortable
rooms and come to our house for our
convenience,” 1 protested once when
he suggested to her that she look after
TLou during one of our brief absences.
Mrs. Hampton laughed at my ob-
Jections. “You do not know what a
Joy it is to me to stay with my little
granddaughter,” she declared. “We
have good times together, don't we,
Sweetheart?” taking the child upon
her lap.
An Adoring Child.
Lou threw her arms about her
grandmother's neck and hugged her
violently.
“Gran'muvver must come and stay,”
she insisted. "I yuve granmuvver.”
“There's the answer,” Jack teased.
“Seeing that pair together, and noting
the beatific expression on mother's
face, can you doubt whether she
wants to exchange her own quarters
for the abode of Her Royal Highnees,
Princess Lou?”
“Are you sure you don't mind, Mrs,
Hampton—l mean that it is not In
convenlent to you?”" I Insisted.
'Bho stopped laughing. “It is a great
happiness to come, my dear,” she as
sured me. “Not only am I honored
#t the trust reposed in me, but it is a
Joy to have the opportunity of being
with Lou. You forget that she is my
only grandchild. It makes life easier
‘when 1 see that she loves me and
that some one depends upon me."”
Do You Know That
WWW
The Laps, who have been settled for
centuries past in the northern parts
of the Scandinavian peninsula and Rus.
sla, were orignally nomads subsisting on
their reindeer herds, but they are now
settling among the inhabitats of the
country.
- B -
Throughout the tropical Orient the
‘patives empldy a substitute for tobacco
consisting of a slice of arica-palm nut,
wrapped in betel leaf, flavored with a
fine lime made of native seashells and
colored with carmine.
. - -
it 18 claimed that the sunniest spots
in the United Kingdom are the Channel
Islands, which enjoy sunshine during
399 per cent of the time the sun is
above the horizon in the course of a
vear. -
~ * B =
. Ix is asserted that the best marksmen
are usually those with blge or grav
5
Are You Following *“The Hidden Hand’’ Here Each Day? It Is a Thrilling and Romantic Story
TR GIRORGIANS @ MAGAZI
As always when she spoke thus,
Jack’s face became tender.
“Dear mother,’ he said compassion
ately, “don’t talk like that. You must
know how necessary you are to Louise
and me, and how essential to our hap
piness.”
“Thank you, darling,” she acknowl
edged, patting his cheek. “Now, tell
me when you children want me to
come.”
She had not given me time to sec
ond Jack's speech. Did she fear that
there might be an awkward silence
while 1 tried to frame a suitable re
mark that would be truthful also? 1
admired her tact in avoiding facing
this issue. 1 also regretted that, in
spite of my best endeavors, she sus
pected that I could not honestly echo
my husband’s words of affection for
and dependence upon her,
Yet when I was away it was good
to know that my child was in safe
hands. Once, when Jack and T were
in Boston, there occurred a bad fire in
[the house next door to our own. Mrs.
‘ Hampton telegraphed at once that our
‘home and baby were perfectly safe.
j"Nohod,\' was even frightened,” she
added.
The Perfect Mother.
At first it seemed to me ridiculous
to send us this message. We would
have leirned the facts when we
reached home.
But when, in the New York eve
ning papers—which Jack bought in
the hotel lobby-—we read accounts of
the destruction of our neighbor's
handsome property, Jack called myl
attention to his mother's wisdom and‘
kindly forethought. |
“Just fancy how frightened we
would have been had we seen these
notices and recelved no word from
her,” he remarked.
And T was forced to agree that Mrs.
Hampton had done the right and wise
thing in telegraphing as she did, al
though at first the lengthy message
had struck me as a work of superero
gation and as a bit of sensatlot;allsm
that could have been dispensed with,
Each time that we came back from
one of our visits 1 saw more clearly
how dearly my little girl loved Mrs.
Hampton. The child was always ju
bilant with joy at our return, but she
would burst into tears later when her
grandmother bade her good-bye.
“l want gran-muvver to stay!” she
would sob.
I.v‘old myself I did not mind these
occurrences. Yet one day I felt a sud
den pang when Lou asked when her
father and 1 were going away.
“Why?" I demanded. “You don't
want us to go, do you, darling?” |
“No,” she said slowly, “only I do
want gran-muvver to come.”
My husbard laughed with pleaauro‘
at this speech. |
“Can you beat it!” he exclaimed.
“Even Baby recognizes that not a sin- ;
gle member of this family could get
along without mother. Bless her, shei
deserves all the love we all give her!”
I hoped he was not offended by my
silence. 1 assured myself that it was
not the silence of jealousy.
" (To Be Continued.) |
One of the largest and most cumber
some forms of money is found in Central
Africa, whege the natives use a cruci
form ingot of copper ore more than 10
inches long.
- - - -
A rich Chinaman’s servants receive no
salary, but their perquisites amount to
much more than the salaries paid in less
wealthy households.
. . - -
Costa Rica now manufactures and ex.
ports Portland cement, a quarry of ap
propriate stone having been recently dis
covered. ¥
* - - -
In Russia no photogrnpher may prac
tice his art without a license.
# - - *
It is said that a single swallow will
devour 6,000 flies in a day.
- . »
There is a Bible written on palm
leaves in Gottingen University.
- - .
Asia contains more than half of the
people in the world. 5
THE HIDDEN HAND "’
The Dying Grand Duke Explainé the Significance of Doris’s
Strangely Shaped Locket.
; SYNOPSIS.
. Doris Whitney, heiress of Judson
Whitney, coming to the library to
!meet her father, finds him shot and
‘a stranger who was calling on him
‘nlso shot. She calls help «nd the
dylng man accuses his secretary,
Jack Ramsey, of shooting him. Whit
ney dies and the stranger, who
proves to be the Grand Duke, Alex
levitch, tells Doris that she is his
daughter, that she was condemned to
rdeath when a “baby by the Czar on
[thv representations of a mad Monk,
’rbusoon. that she would exercise a
‘malignant influence over the ruler’s
life. The Duke was exiled.
i
| ARTHUR B. REEVE,
iCrntor of the “Craig Kennedy”
~ mystery stories, which appear ex
i clusively in Cosmopolitan Maga
i zine, g
| EPISODE 1.
' 'The Gauntlet of Death.”’
| (Copyright, 1917, St# Company.)
3~ HE Grand Duke again
A paused in his recital. Doris
listened, petrified at the
tale. Could it be ture? Was not
Judson Whitney her own father?
‘Was her father really this
stranger?
\
| 5 &
| Abner, on his part, was listen
-13 3 s & s
ing with growing avidity. It was
easy to see what passed in his
mind. As for Dr. Scarley, he
still listened, but with his face
averted and hard set. Verda
was startled, Ramsey impassive.
The voice of the Grand Duke
again recalled the overwrought
listeners to themselves.
““After nearly eighteen years
of exile,”’ he resumed, ‘‘the Em
peror sent for me secretly. . 1
did net know what to expect.
Perhaps T was to be executed,
though for what T did not know.
I did not care. T had lost all.
‘“As I entered the throne room,
the Emperor extended his hand.
Unreconsiled, I refused his hand.
To my utter surprise, he drew
back almost in fright—of me!
Quickly he dismissed his at
tendants. Then he came close to
me and whispered, I could searce
ly believeswhat I heard.
““Your daughter is alive. I
did not kill the baby.’
““The words rang in my ears.
Could it be true!? s
“* “C'ome with me,” ordered the
Emperor.
‘“He lead the way from the
throne room, and T followed in
a daze, not knowing where 1 was
going until suddenly T realized
that T was in his inner strong
room, bomb-proof, lined with
steel. He closed and bolted the
steel door.
“‘Be seated,’ he continued, as he
pulled open a locked door on the wall,
disclosing a sort of cabinet.
“Then he related to me the strange
tale—how eighteen years before,
when I had been dismissed into exile,
he had left the throne room with
f{aucon, how he had dismissed the
Mad Monk at the door of this very
room, promising to make away with
the baby. In this room he waited
with the * child wuntil there was
brought to him a young American
railroad engineer, Judson Whitney." |
There was @ thrill at the mefltionj
of the name, as all crowded clouov‘,l
drinking“in the strange tale. ‘
“l 1 leave you to guess,” continud i
tne Grand Duke, “whether there we:e
ulterior motives in the mind of the
Emperor as he thought over the
prophecy that the baby would one
day be the most beautiful womun in
the world. At lease, I know this,
thal the agreement was signed by
<udson Whitney, forced by the Em
peror. i
%I, Judson Whitney, an American,
in consideration of railroad contracts.
from the Emperor.\ple-lge' mysell to
WEDNESDAY, NOV. 28, 1917.
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A recent photograph of
in “The Hid
take care of one infant child, de
livered to me this.day, and heret‘)y
agree to sufrender her on her
eigl:iteenth birthday.
“(Sighed) JUDSON WHITNEY.
“Then,” raced on the Grand Duke,
“the Emperor told me that he took
a piece of blackened paper. On it
he placed the two hands of the baby,
covering the palms with the black.
Then on a perfectly white sheet of
The Ring and the Cake
By ADDIE F. MITCHELL.
I ANET, you make ahsolutely the
best cakes in the world. They
. fairly melt in one’'s mouth.”
“I'm glad you like them, Lucile,”
answered Janet, wondering what her
cousin wanted of her now; for Lu
cile’s compliments to herself un
usually exacted a toll.
She had not long to wait. “And
tomorrow is Webb Saxton’s birthday,
and I wohder if you won't make a
Lady Baltimore and let me give to
him as a present. You know what a
fiend he is for cake. And then, dear,
don't tell him that you made it—let
him believe it was I—he will enjoy it
| the more.”
“I will make the cake, of course,
Lucile. And I am not likely to give
its history to Webb. We are not in
the habit of holding long and vol
uminous conversations on any
theme.” In spite of her efforts to
speak pleasantly, there was just the
slightest trace of bitterness in her
tone.
Janet was an orphan, and she had
| been brought up in the home of her
uncle, the father of Lucile. And, like
others who partake of this diet, she
had not found the bread of depend
ence sweet. She was heart-sick to
make her own living, but her uncle—
a proud, stern old man-—had strictly
forbidden it. No woman in his family
had ever worked—she would cast a
reflection upon his generosity, an put
a blot upon the name of Whitney.
And so there seemed to be nothing
she could do but to stay on and take
what was given to her, and to sub
mit to being always put into the
background by Lucile.
As Janet made her preparations for
the cake the spirit of revolt erew
'more and more within her. Why did
the family try o persistently to keep
“her from the room when yvoung men
called, especially Webb Saxton? She
was glad to be making a cake for
l“’ebb. of course—here she flushed
though there was no one gear to see
'—-—but why should Lucile receive the
credit for it, as she did for so many
‘things to which she—Janet—was
Justly entitled?
~ Sheé remembered that only yester
day Mrs. Talhot, the dressmaker, had
said that some one had said that
‘some one else had said that Webb
Saxton had 4dnformed another, that
when he married his wife must be a
good housekeeper and cook, and that
‘no amount of other accomplishments
could make up for a defect in these,
the essential ones. And no doubt
these sentiments, and Lucile's desire
to pose as the maker of the birth
day cake, stood in the relation of
cause and effect. 1‘
Janet thought of all these things
’:‘s she sifted the fleur, and, uncon
sciously she gave little vicious shakes
to the sifter that sent a white cloud
streaming into the bowl Suddenly
she stopped, with the sifter still in
her hands, and an odd expression
‘(’amev’mto her face. An idea so dar-
Doris Kenyon, the star
den Hand.” -
raper he lald the little ha.pz]s, leav
ing on the white ‘paper the hand
nrirts, which nevervéhange through
out life, y )
“Next, he took. two packets of
metal, in each of which was a curious
depression In the side. 'The Em
peror also had two Jjewel-studded
lockets.”
| The Secret Locket.
. The Grand Duke fingered that
ing as to almost take away her
breath. “I'll do it!” she declared, “T'll
do it!” and she put on a deflant air,
and set her lips together in a line,
straight and firm.
The next evening Webb called to
convey his thanks for the birthday
cake. That cake was a masterpiece,
he affirmed—it spelled the topmost
peak in culinary art—the gods on
Mt. Olympus had nothing on him
with their old nector and ambrosia,
and this delectable confection she had
sent to him would make the tables in
the old gormandizing days of Rome
look like thirty cents. So, in a very
eloquent manner, he sang the Rubai
vat of the cake.
“Yes,” said Lucile, “I was thinking
al Ithe time I was making it, how well
vou would enjoy it. I would allow no
one near me, for I wanted that cake
to be my very own.”
“That was certainly sweet of you,”
he said. “But you have missed noth
ing, Lucile?”’ i
“Missed nothing? Why, no,” she
replied, looking . surprised.
They were interrupted by the en
trance of Janet. She semed much
agitated. ‘“Lucile,” she asked in a
trembling voice, “have you seen any
thing of my ring—mother's wedding
ring? T had it on yesterday morning,
but I have not sen it since.”
“No,"” answered Lucile, coldly, “how
should T have seen it?”
“Is this the ring vou lost?" queried
Webb as he took a plain cold ring
from his pocket. “I found it in my
birthday cake.”
“Yes, that is it. Thank you very
much.” She took the ring with down
cast eyes, and left the room.
Lucile’s face was flery red. “I can’t
think how that ring got in that cake,”
the stammered.
“Strange things happen sometimes,”
said Webb, dryly: and that was all
the comments that were made.
Webb went home in a thoughtful
mood. Lucile was a beautiful girl,
and he had been perilously near a
proposal; but her evident deceit had
drawn him away from the brink.
As times went by, he found himself
thinking more and more of Janet’s
sweet pale face, and out of the
shapely hand that had been extended
toward him for the ring. And he
wondered how he had been so blind
as to never notice before that she was
an unusually attractive girl. At last
the desire grew up in his heart to
give Janet a dlamond rir;(g as a com
panion to the gold ape He had found
in the birthday cake.
And the night after “he had ex
pressed his love for Janet she went
to her room and took the little gold
band from her finger. She fondled
it loveingly and kissed it again and
again. ‘“Dear ring.” she said, “I love
vou with all my heart. T had a feel
ing the day 1 cast you in the batter
that you would return ‘o me after
many days, bringing in the sheavee ™
Janet's metaphors wers a trifle
mixed, but she was a thoroughly
happy girl
'about the neck of Doris, who drewvl
back. |
To me then he showed that the
locked pressed into the depression
on the face of the packet would
open it. He had torn the sheet of
‘paper, he said, in half, and in each
packet he had placed one hand print
—in one the right, in the other the
left hand print of the baby. Then
he had closed the packets. One lock-;
et he placed about the neck of the
baby as he handed her to Judson
Whitney and bade him take her te
America. ‘
“As the Emperor told me of what
‘he had done lo long ago, I reached
for the packet. He drgw it back in
alarm. ‘Wait,’ he cried, ‘that is an
explosive packet. If you press the
Bpring in this case, you will ne blown
apart. It can be opened ,only with
the secret locket, which fits into the
side with its seven jewels, each in
its right place.” -
“I drew back frightened,” continuea
the Grand Duke, “but the Emperor
~opened the packet with the locket.
Sure enough, there was the hand
print. He closed it and handed it to
‘me. Never had I dreamed of such a
welcome mission. . It was nothing else
than to go to America, to find the
girl with the locket that would open
}lhls explosive case and whose hand
iprlnts now correspond with those of
:
the baby hand.
“If I produce her—my daughter—on
her eighteenth birthday, and the pre
aiction”does not come true, he, the
Emperor himself, has given me his
word that he will execute Rascgn as a
charlatan and a lar for his wicked
prophecy.”
The old man was nearly overcome
with excitement at the marvelous re
cital. Doris fingered the locket now
almost fearfully. Was it all true?
Her father had never—she stopped.
Who was her father;.’. Who was she?
She glanced at her flance. His sane
‘was still averted. Flatt moved over,
icrassly, and examined the locket. ‘
~ Evidently the strength of the Duke
‘was ebbing, for he was seized with a |
fit of coughing as he resumed, weak- |
Ix: J
RAMSAY ACCUSED.
“Tonight I called on Judson Whit
ney. I was ushered in here by the
butler. Mr, Whitney was alone. As 1
began to tell him he grew more and
more angry. Just then there entered
a young man, whom I gathered to be
his secretary. Mr. Whitney haa
scarcely begun talking to him, when
this young man saw the explosive
case in my hand. He tried to seize it.
I kept hold of it, struggling and
throwing him off. Angry as Mr. Whit
ney had been at me, he was furious
at the secretary. -
“At the height of the altercation the
voung man leaped back, drew a re
volver with the thing you Americans
call a silencer, and fired. Mr. Whit
ney fell. T leaped at the man, but he
fired at me. It is the last I remember
—until I revived here.”
Flatt snapped shut his notebook
looking menacingly at Ramsay, while
Doris swayed and would have fainted
had not Uncle Abner caught her. The
Grand Duke, weak from his coughing
fits, begged for her handy for some
expression of filial love, but Deoris
knew not what to do or say.
“Get up,” demanded Flatt ap
proaching Ramsay.
Silently Ramsay obeyed as the de
tectives hustled him toward the divan.
“Is this the man?” shot out Flatt.
“Yes—yes,” cried the Grand Duke,
almost in a frenzy now.
He reached into his breast as if to
find the explosive case, and a cry es
caped him. It was gone! :
“You—their,” he cried, staggering
forward. “Give it back.”
The Grand Duke lurched forward,
tottered and fell—dead at the feet of
the young secretary.
For the first time now Dr. Scarley,
seeing that his services as a medical
man were needed again, turned from
the fireplace. A hurried examination
told only teco plainly that the man
wag dead.
As Scarley rose, Doris clung to him.
“I, too, with to tell what I know,” she
cried in a tremulous voice. “I saw
him nere *
{To Be Continued Tomerrow.)
Nights With Uncle Remus
LXlX—Brother Fox’s Fish-Trap
By JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS.
HE- little boy wanted Uncle|
T Remus to sing some monre;}
but before the old man ceuld
either consent or refuse, the notes of
a horn were heard in the distance.
Uncle Remus lifted his hand to com
mand silence, and bent his head in
an attitude of atfention.
“Des listen at dat!” he exclaimed,
with some show of indignation. “Dat
ain’t nothin’ in de roun’ worl’ but ole
man Plato wid dat tin hawn er his’n,
en I boun’ you he's a-drivin’ de six
mule waggin, en de waggin full er
niggers sum de River place, en let
‘lone dat, I boun’ you deyer niggers
strung out behime de waggin for
mo’'n a mile, en deyer all er comin’
fer ter eat us all out'n house en
home, des ’kaze dey year folks say
Chris-mus mos’ yer. Hit's mighty
kuse unter me dat ole man Plato
ain’t done toot dat hawn full er holes
l.long 'fo’ dis.
“Yit I ain’t blamin’ um, ” Uncle
Remus went out, with a sigh, after a
little pause. ‘“Dem ar niggers bin
livin’ 'way off dar on de River place
whar dey ain’t no w'ite folks twel
dey er done in about run’'d wil’. I
ain’t a -blamin’ um, dat I ain't.”
Plato’s horn—a long tin bugle'—
‘was by no means unmusical. Its
range was limited, but in Plato’s
hands its few notes were both power
ful and sweet. Presently the wagon
arrived, and a for a few minutes all
was confusion, the negroes on the
Home place running to greet the
newcomers, who were mostly their
relatives. A stranger hearing the
shouts and outcreis of these people
would have been at a loss to account
for the commotion.
Even Uncle Remus went to his
cabin door, and, with the little boy
by his side, looked out upon the
scene—a tumult lit up by torches of
resinous pine. The old man and the
child were recognized, and for a few
moments the air was filled with cries
of—
“ Howdy, Unk Remus! Howdy,
little Marster!”
After a while Uncle Remus closed
his door, laid away his tools, and
drew his chair in front of the wide
hearth, The child went and stood
beside him, leaning his head against
the old negro's shoulder, and the
two—old age and youth, one living
in the Past and the other looking
forward only to the Future—gazed
into the bed of glowing embers illu
minated by a thin, flickering flame..
Probably they saw nothing there,
each being busy with his own sim-l
ple thoughts; but their shadows, en-’
larged out of all proportion, and‘
looking over their shoulders from‘
the wall behind them, must have
seen something, for, clinging to
gother, they kept up a most inces
sant pantomime; and Plato’s horn,
which sounded again, to call the
‘negroes to supper after their jour
{ney, though it aroused Uncle Remus
iand the child from the contemplation
‘of the fire, had no perceptible effect
upon the Shadows.
“Dar go de wittles!” said Uncle
Remus, straightening himself, “Dey
ltells me dat dem ar niggers on de
River place got appetitite same ez a
mule. Let 'lone de vittles wa't dey
gits from Mars John, dey eats oodles
en oodles er fish. Ole man Plato say
dat de nigger on de River place w’at
ain't got a fish-baskit in de river er
some intruss (1) in a fishtrap ain’t
no ’'count w’atsomever.”
) Here Uncle Remus suddenly
slapped himself upon the leg, and
ilaughted uproariously; and when the
little boy asked him what the matter
‘was, he cried out:
~ “Well], sir! Es I ain’t de fergitten
est ole nigger twix’ dis en Phillimer
delphy! Yer 't is mos’ Chris'mus en
F ain’t tell you '’hout how Brer Rabbit
do Brer Fox w'ence dey bofe un um
live on de river. I dunner w’'at de
name er sense gitten’ de marter 'long
wid me.”
Of course the little boy wanted to
know all about it, and Uncle Remus
proceedéd:
“One time Brer Fox en Brer Rab
bit live on de river. Atter dey bin
livin’ dar so long a time, Brer Fox
'low dat he got a mighty hankerin’
atter sump’'n’ 'sides fresh meat, en he
say he b'leeve he make ’im a fish
trap. Brer Rabbit say he wish Brer
Fox mighty well, but he ain’t honin’
atter fish hisse'f, en es he is he ain’t
got no time fer ter make no fish
trap.
“No. marter fer dat, Brer Fox, he
tuck'n got ’'im out some timber, he
did, en he wuk nights fer ter make
dat trap. Den w'en he git it done, he
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tuck’'n hunt 'im a good place fer ter
set it, end e way he sweat over dat
ar trap Wuz a sin—dat 't wuz.
“Yit atter so long a time, he got
'er sot, en den he tuck'n wash he
face en han's en go home. All de
time he ’'uz fixin’ un it up, Brer Rab
bit 'uz settin’ on de bank watchin®
'ip. He sot dar, he did, en play in
de water, en cut switches fer tep
w'ip at de snake-doctors (2), en all
dat time Brer Fox, he pull en haul
en tote rocks fer ter hol’ dat trap
endurin’ a freshet.
“Brer Fox went home en res’ hise.
se'f, en bimeby he go down fer ter
see es dey any fish in he trap. He
sorter fear'n er snakes, but he feel
'roun’ an’ he feel 'roun’, yit he ain't
feel no fish. Den he go off.
“Bimeby, 'long todes de las’ er de
week, he go down en feel 'roun’ 'g’in,
yit he ain’t feel no fish. Hit keep on
dis a-way twel Brer Fox git sorter
fag out. He go en he feel, but dey
ain’'t no fish dar. Atter w’'ile, one
day, he see de signs whar somebody
’bin robbin’ he trap, en he ’low ter
hisse’f dat he’ll des in ’bout Watch
en fine out who des somebody is.
“Den he tuck'n got in he boat en
paddle und’ de bushes on de bank
en watch he fishtrap. He watch all
de mornin’; nobody ain't come. He
watch all endurin’ er atter dinner;
nobody ain’t come. 'Long todes night,
night, w'en he des 'bout makin’ ready
ifer ter paddle off home, he year fuss
ron t'er side de river, en lo enJeholes,
Iyer come Brer Rabbit polin’ a boat
todes Brer Fox fishtrap.
“Look lak he dunner how to use a
paddle, en he des had ’'im a long
pole, en he'd stan’ up in de behime
part er he boat, en put de een’ er de
pole ’'gin’ de bottom, en shove ’er
right ahead.
Brer Fox git mighty mad w’en he
see dis, but he watch en wait. He
'low ter hisse’f, he did, dat he kin
paddle a boat pearter dan anybody
kin pole um’ en he say he sho’ly
gwine ketch Brer Rabbit dis time.
“Brer Rabbit pole up ter de fishe
trap, en feel 'roun’ en pull out a great
big mud-cat; den he retch in en pull
out 'n’er big mud-cat; den he pull out
a big blue cat, en it keep on dis
a-way twel he git de finest mess er
fish you mos’ ever laid yo’ eyes on.
“Des "bout dat time, Brer Fox pade
dle out sum und’ de bushes, en makes
todes Brer Rabbit, en he hollers out:
“‘Ah-yi! Youer de man w’'at bin
robbin’ my fishtrap dis long time! I
got you dis time! Oh, you nee’'nter
try ter run! I got yow dis time sho’!’
“No sooned said dan no sooner
done. Brer Rabbit fling he fish in he
[boat en grab up de pole en push off,
en he had mo’ fun gittin’ 'way sum
dar dan he y’ever had befo’ in all he
born days put terge’er.”
“Why didn’t Brer Fox catch him,
Uncle gemus?" asked the little boy.
“Shoo! Honey, you sho’ly done lose
yo' min’ ’bou Brer Rabbit.”
“Well, I don’t see how he could get
away.”
.~ “Es you'd er bin dar you'd er seed
it, dat you would. Brer Fox, he wuz
dar, en he seed it. en Brer Rabbit, he
seed it, en e‘en down'ter ole Brer
Bullfrog a-sttin’ on de bank, he seed
it. Now, den,” continued Uncle Re
mus, spreading out the palm of his 4
left hand like a map and pointing at
it with the forefinger of his right,
“w'en Brer Rabbit pole he boat, he
bleedz ter set in de behime een’ en
w'en Brer Fox paddle he boat,}c
bledz ter set in de behime een’. mt
bein’ de state er de condition, hew
Brer Fox gwine ketch ’'im? I Pt
'sputin’ but w'at he Kin pa!:;e
pearter dan Brer Rabbit, but de long
en de shorts un it is, de pearter Brer
Fox paddle de pearter Brer Rabbit
gO.” g
The little boy looked p
“Well, 1 don’t see how,” X~
claimed. G
“Well, sir!” continued Uncle ¥
mus, “w’en de nose er Brer, Fox boat
git close ter Brer Rabbit boat all
Brer Rabbit got ter do in de roun’
worl’ is ter take he pole en put it 'gin’
Brer Fox boat en push hisse'f out de
way. De harder he push Brer Fox
boat back, de pearter he push he own
boat forrerd. Hit look mighty easy
ter ole Brer Bullfrog settin’ on de
bank, en all Brer Fox kin do is ter
shake he fist en grit he toof, w'ileg
Brer Rabbit sail off wid de fish.”
(1) Interest.
(2) Dragonfiies.
; (Copyright, 1881, 1883, 1909 and 1911,
by The Century Company; 1883, b,
Joel Chandler Harris: 1911, by Esthay
La Rgse Harris. ALL RIGHTS Rfi
SERVED. Printed by permission
and by special arrangement with
Houghton Mifflin Coempany.)
Tomorrow—Brother Rabbit Res.
cues Brother Terrapin