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.~ The Other Woman
$ A SERIAL OF INTIMATE APPEAL
Louise Finds That Her Little Girl Is Devotedly
Attached to Mrs. Hampton.
By Virginia Terhune Van De
Water.
CHAPTER LVII.
(Copyright, 1817, Star Company:)
HAVE said that my mother-in-law
l 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 kindn'esses, yet was never ob
n*usive" enough to warrant me in re
senting them.
1 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 lips even more
frequently than when we were first
married. I tried to be amused at the
habit. At times I found it difficult to
Le patient with it. »
But sorrow and experience were
faching me, although slowly, and I
did not speak out my irritation as
impulsively as I 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 short{
business trips. We were ; seldom
away from home for more than a few
days at a time, but even so, neither‘
of us would have been willing to leave |
LLou 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
I hesitated to ask such a favor of
her, !
“It is a good deal to expect your
mother to leave her ewn comfortable
rooms and come to our house for our
convenience,” 1 protested once when
he suggested to her that she look after(
Lou 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. l
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 Highness,
Princess Lou?”
“Are you sure you don’t mind, Mrs.
filampton—l mean that it is not in-'
convenient to you?” I insisted.
She stopped laughing. “It is a great
pappiness to come, my dear,” she as
gured me. ‘“Not only am I honored
at the trust reposed in me, but it is a
jov 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—
'he Laps, who have been settled for
senturies past in the northern parts
of the Scandinavian peninsula and Rus
-41, were orignally nomads subsisting on
their reindeer herds, but they are now
gettling among the inhabitnts of the
country. >
* . -
nroughout the tropical Orient the
,atives employ a substitute for tobacco
_onsisting of a slice of ariea-palm nut,
wrapped In betel leaf, flavored with a
(e lime made of native seashells and
colored with carmine.
* * -
|+ is claimed that the sunniest spots
in the United Kingdom are the Channel
jelands, which enjoy sunshine during
369 per cent of the time the sun is
above the horizon in the course of a
year.
» * *
It is asserted that the best marksmen
ave usually those with bine or gray
eyves.
Are You Following ““The Hidden Hand’’ Here Each Day? It Is a Thrilling and Romantic Story
THEGERORGIANSEMACAZINEPAGE
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, tel}
me when vou 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 T tried to frame a suitable re
mark that would be truthful also? l‘
admired *fer tact in avoiding t‘acing‘
this issue. I also regretted that, in
spite of my best endeavors, she sus-l‘
pected that I could not honestly e(‘hoi
my husband’s words of affection for}
and dependence upon her, }
Yet when I was away it was goodl
to know that my child was in safe
hands. Once, ‘,when Jack and I were
in Boston, there occurred a bad fire in
the house next door to our own. Mrs.
Hambton telegraphed at once that our
home and baby were perfectly safe.
“Nobody was even frightened,” she
added.
The Perfect Mother.
At first it seemed to me ridiculous
to send us this message. We would
have learned the facts when we
reached home. |
But when, in the Kew York eve-%
ning papers—which Jack bought .inl
the hotel lobby—we read accounts ofj
the destruction of our” neighbor's|
handsome property, Jack called my
attention to his mother’'s wisdom and
kindly forethought.
“Just fancy how frightened we
would have been had we s=en these
notices and received no word from!
her,” he remarked. |
And I 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-l
gation and as a bit of sensationalism
that could have been dispensed with.
Each time that we came back from
one of our visits I 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 told 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 pleasure
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, she
deserves all the love we all give her!"l
I hoped he was not offended by my
silence. I 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, where the natives use a cruci
form ingot of copper ore more than 10
inches long. o
- - -
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 photographer may prac
tice his art without a license.
- . -
It is sald that a single swallow will
devour 6,000 files in a day.
- o .
There is a Bible written on palm
leaves in Gottingen University.
- - -
Asia contains more than half of the
péople in the world.
THE HIDDEN HAND ™:o° |
"~ The Dying Grand Duke Explains 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
also shot. She calls help und the
dying 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 {s his
daughter, that she was condemned to
'death when a” baby by the Czar on
the representations of a mad Monk,
Rascon, that she would exercise a
malignant influence over the ruler’s
life. The Duke was exiled.
ARTHUR B. REEVE, |
Creator of the ‘Craig Kennedy”
mystery stories, which appear ex
clusively in Cosmopolitan Maga
~ zine.
~ EPISODE 1.
“'The Gauntlet of Death.”’
| (Copyright, 1917, Star Company.)
vHE Grand Duke again
4 Daused in his recital. Doris
listened, petrified at the
tale. Could it be ture? Was not
IJudson Whitney her own father?
)
i“Was her father really this
istranger?
\ s s
~ Abner, on his part, was listen
a o § At
ing with growing avidity. It was
easy to see what passed in his
i .
‘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. . I
did not know what "to expect.
Perhaps I was to be executed,
though for what I did not know.
I did not care. I 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 scarce
ly believe what I heard. |
““Your daughter is alive. I‘
did not kill the baby.’
““The words rang in my ears.
Could it be true?
“ “Come with me,’ order\ed the‘
Emperor. '
‘““He lead the way from the!
throne room, and 1 followed in
a daze, not knowing where I was
going until suddenly I realized
that I 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.i
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
Rascon, how he had dismissed the
Mad Monk at the door of this very
room, promising to make away wlthl
the baby. In this room he waited
with the child until there was
brought to him a young American
railroad engineer, Judson Whitney.”
There was a thrill at the mention
of the name, as all crowded closer,
drinking in the strange tale. ]
“I leave you to guess,”’” continued
tne Grand Dukg, "“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 woman in
tne world. At lease, I know this,
that the agreement was signed by
Judson Whitney, forced by the Em
peror.
“‘I, Judson Whitney, an American,
in consideration of railroad contracts
irom the Emperor, pledge myself to
WEDNESDAY, NOV. 28, 1917.
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A recent photograph of Doris ‘Kenyon, the star
in “The Hidden Hand.”
take care of one Infant child, de
livered to me this day, and hereby
agree to surrender her on her
eigl:'teenth birthday.
‘ (Signed) 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 bhaby,
covering the palms with the black.
Then on a perfectly white sheet of
. The Ring and the Cake
ANET, you make absolutely the
best cakes in the world. They
fairly melt in one’s mouth.”
“I'm glad you like them, Luclle,”
answered Janet, wondering what lier
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 wonder if you won't make a
Lady Baltimore and let me give to
him as a present. You know what a
fiend he ig for cake. And then, dear,
don’t tell him that you made jt—llet
him belleve 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 wag 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-sf™& to
make her own living, but her uncle—
a proud, stern old man—had strictly
forbidden {t. No woman in his family
had ever worked—she would cast a
reflection upon his generosity, an put
a blot upon the name of Wliritney.
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 gpirit of revolt grew
more and more within her. Why did
the family try so persistently to keep
her from the room when young men
called, especially Webb Saxton? She
was glad to be making a cake for
Webb, of course—here she flushed
though there was no one near to seel
—but why should Lucile receive the
credit for it, as she did for so many
things to which she—Janet—was
justly entitled?
She remembered that only yester
day Mrs. Talbot, the dressmaker, had
said that some one had 9aid that
some one else had said that Webb
Saxton had informed 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 c¢ake, stood In the relation of
cause and effect.
Janet thought of all these things
a® she sifted the flour, 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
came into her face. An idea so dar
raper he¢ laid the little hands, leav
ing on the white paper the bhand
wrirts, which never change through
out life,
“Next, he took two pac‘.\cls of
metal, in each of which was a curious
depression in the side. The Em
peror also had two jewel-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 defiant 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
yat of the cake.
“Yes,” said Lucile, “I was thinking
al Ithe time [ was making it, how well
you would enjoy it. I would allow no
one near me, for 1 wanted that cake
to be my very own.”
“That was certainly sweet of you,”
he said. *“But you have missed noth
ing, Lucile?’
“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 volce, “have you seen any
thing of my ring—mother's wedding
ring? I had it on yesterday morning,
but I have not sen it since.”
“No,” answered Lucile. coldly, “how
should 1 have seen it?”
“Is this the ring you lost?”’ queried
Webi, 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 fiery 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.
Ag 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 bhefore that she was
an unusually attractive girl. At last
the desire grew up in his heart to
give Janet a diamond ring as a com
panion to the gold one 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 agaln and
again. “Dear ring,’”’ she said, “I love
vou with all my heart, 1 had a feel
ing the day I cast you in the batter
that you woulid return to me. after
manyv dayvs, ’rinzlnz in the sheaves”
Janet’s mftaphors were a trifle
mixed, but she was a thoroughly
happy girl.
abogt the neck of Doris, who drew
back. ;
To me then he showel thai the
locked pressed into the depression
on the face of the packet would
open it. He had torn the sheet of
paper, he sald, 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 to
America.
“As the Emperor told me of what
he had done so long ago, I reached
for the packet. He drew ‘t hack in
alarm. ‘Wait,” he ecried, ‘that is an
explosive packet. If you press the
spring in this case, you will ve blown
apart. It can be opened only with
the secret locket, which fits into the
slde 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 J 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
this explosive case and whose hand
prints now correspond with those of
the baby hand.
“If I produce her—my daughter—on
her eighteenth birthday, and the pre
‘,dictlon doeq not come true, he, the
Emperor himself, has given me his
‘word that he will execute Rascon as a
charlatan and a liar for his wickea
‘ 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 fa~e
was still averted. Flatt moved over,
crasely, 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
ly:
RAMSAY ACCUSED.
“Tonight I called on Judson Whit
ney. I was ushered in here by the
butler. Mr. Whitney was alone. As I
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
young man leaped back, drew a re
volver with the thing you Amerlcans
call a silencer, and flre_d. Mr. Whit
ney fell. I leaped at the man, but he
fired at me. It Is the last I remember
—until T revived here.” |
Flatt snapped shut his notebook
looking menacingly at Ramsay, while
Dorils swayed and would have fainted
had not Uncle Ab;mer caught her. The
Grand Duke, weak from his coughing
fits, begged for her hand, for some
ex?resslon of filial love, but Doris
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, i
“Is this the man?” shot out Flatt.
“Yes—yes,” cried the Grand l)ukn,!
almost in a frenzy now. |
He reached into his breast as if to |
find the explosive case, and a cry es- 1
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 examin:nion‘
told only too plainly that the man
was dead.
As Scarley rose, Doris clung to him.
“1, too, with to tell what I know,” she
cried in a tremulous voice. “I saw
him nere.” :
(To, Be Continued Tomorrow.)
Nights With Uncle Remus!
§ LXlX—Brother Fox’s Fish-Trap
By JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS. f’
l HE little boy wanted Uncle
T Remus to sing some monre;
' but before the old man e¢could
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 attention.
| “Des listen at dat!” he exclaimed,
}with some show of indignation. “Dat
‘aln'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
st‘rung 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
llong '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 recogunized, and for a few
moments the air was filled with cries
of—
“ Howdy, Unk Remus! Howdy,
little Marster!”
After a while Uhcle Remus closed
his door, laid away his tools, and
drew his chair l‘ront 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-‘
ple thoughtss 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
gether, they kept up a most inces-i
sant pantomime; and Plato’'s horn,
‘whlch sounded again, to call the‘
negroes to supper after their jour-‘
‘ney, though it aroused Uncle Remus |
and the child from the contemplation
of the fire, had no perceptible effect
upon the Shadows.
“Dar go de vittles!” said Uncle
Remus, straightening himself. “Dey
tells 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
;laughted 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'mussen
I ain’t tell you 'bout how Brer Rabbit
do Brer Fox w'ence dey bofe un um
live on de river. I dunner w’at del
name er sense gitten' de marter 'long
wid me.”
Of course the little boy wanted to
know all about it, and Uncle Remus
; proceeded:
~ “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
g g 3
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Be WA e o ST
B
S o A AR A ISR S
tuck’n hunt 'im a good place fer
set it, end e way he sweat ovef ‘3
ar trap wuz a sin—dat 't wuz. '.
“Yit atter so long a time, he '»f“‘t
‘er sot, en den he tuck'n wash he
face en han’s en go home. All
time he 'uz fixin’ un it up, Brer Rab
bit 'uz settin’ on de bank watchin®
'im. He sot dar, he did, en:‘xflgl n
de water, en cut switches fer
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. -l
“Brer Fox went home en res’ his
se'f, en bimeby he go down fer tel
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’ @ 1 G
week, he go down en feel "roun’ ’g’
yit he ain’t feel no fish. Hit keey 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'fle, oni
day, he see de signs whar somebody
bin robbin’ he trap, en he ’low! ter
hisse’f dat he’ll des in ’'bout wateh
en fine out who de somebody fs. .
“Den he tuck'n got in he boat em
paddle und’ de bushes on de .bank
en watch he fishtrap. He watch a 3
Ide mornin’; nobody ain’t come. He
watch all endurin’ er atter dinner;
’uobody ain't come. 'Long todes night,
lnight, w'en he des 'bout makin’ ready
fer ter paddle off home, he year 1S ;
}o‘n t'er side de river, en lo en behgl
yer come Brer Rabbit polin’ a boat
todes Brer Fox fishtrap. 4
“Look lak he dunner how to use a
paddle, en he des had ’im a loi
pole, en he'd stan’ Jp in de ~ me
part er he boat, en put de een’ er de
pole ’gin’ de bottom, en shove ‘er.
right ahead. gy
Brer Fox git mighty mad vfd_’ ,'
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 gho'ly
gwine ketch Brer Rabbit.dis time.
“Brer Rabbit pole up ter ‘dé. fish
trap, en feel 'roun’ en pull out a'great
big mud-cat; den he retch in e 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' eyeson.
“Des 'bout dat time, Brer Fox, pad
ldle 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! }f.é
got you.dis time! Oh, you nee'nfer
try ter run! [ got you dis time sho't"
“No sooned said dan no sogner
done. Brer Rabbit fling he fish in he
lboat en grab up de pole en push g 7
len he had mo’ fun gittin’ 'way sum
dar dan he y'ever had befo’ in all he
'born days put terge'er.” v
“Why didn’t Brer Fox catch him,
Uncle Remus?” asked the little box”:
“Shoo! Honey, you sho’ly done l%
yo' min’ ’bou Brer Rabbit.” " : ‘\g
“Well, I don’t see how he could get
away.” e
“Es you'd er bin dar you'd er seed
’it, dat you would. Brer Fox, he
dar, en he,seed it. en Brer Rabbit, be
seed it, en e‘en down ter ole~Brer
Bullfrog a-sttin’ on de bank, he seed
it. Now, den,” continued Uncle '
mus, spreading out the palm of his
left hand like a map and pointing at
it with the forefinger of his might,
“w'en Brer Rabbit pole he huif
bleedz ter set in de behime GQ: n
w'en Brer Fox paddle he boat, he
bledz ter set in de behime een’. .Dat
bein’ de state er de condition, how
Brer Fox gwine ketch 'im? I, ain’ :
'sputin’ “but w'at he Kkin''paddle
pearter dan Brer Rabbit, but de long
en de shorts un it is, de pearter Brer
Fox paddle de pearter Brer Rabbit
go.” “d ;ht
The little boy looked pittZzled.
“Well, T don't see how,” hes ex
claimed. e o
“Well, sir!” continued Uncle Re
mus, “w’en de nose er Brer Fox b “
git close ter Brer Rabbit boat all
Brer Rabbit got ter do in do "-*:;'
worl’ is ter take he pole en put it "gin®
Brer Fox boat en push hisse'f out "
way. De harder he push Brer Fox:
boat back, de pearter he push he own
boat forrerd. Hit look mighty easy
ter ole Brer Bulifrog settin’ on de.
bank. en’ all Brer Fox kin do is ter.
shake he fist en grit he toof, w'iles:
Brer Rabbit sail off wid de fish.” =
(1) Interest. .
(2) Dragonflies.
i o
(Copyright, 1881, 1883, 1909 and 1911,
by The Century Company; 1883, b
Joel Chandler Harris: 1911, by Esthe
La Rose Harris. ALL RIGHTS RE
SERVED. Printed by permission ¢
and by special arrangement “wil
Houghton Mifflin Company.) * =&
Tomorrow—Brother Rabhit Res
cues Brother Terrapim.