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The Other Woman
A SERIAL OF INTIMATE APPEAL
Louise Finds That Her Little Girl Is Devotedly
Attached o Mrs. Hampton.
By Virginia Terhune Van De
Water.
CHAPTER LVIL.
(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 lips 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 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 mo:'e 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
I hesitated 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,” I 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.
ILou 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.
Hampton—l mean that it is not in
convenient to you?” I insisted.
She stopped laughing. “It is a great
happiness to come, my dear,” she as
gured me. ‘“Not only am I honored
at 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 I see that she loves me and
that some one depends upon me."” ‘
Do You Know That
The Laps, who have been settled for
centuries past in the northern parts
of the Scandinavian peninsula and Rus
gia, were orignally nomads gubsisting on
their reindeer herds, but they are now
settling among the inhabitnts of the
country.
- . 8
Throughout the tropical Orient the
,atives employ 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.
» . -
1t is claimed that the sunniest spots
in the United Kingdom are the Channel
lJelands, which enjoy sunshine during
29.9 per cent of the time the sun is
ghove the horizon in the course of a
year. g
* - *
it is asserted that the best marksmen
are usually those with blue or gray
Ayes.
Are You Following ““The Hidden Hand’’ Here Each Day? It Is a Thrilling and Romantic Story
THHEGREORGIAN S @ MAGCAZ INE-PAGE
~ As always when she spoke thus,
Jack’s face became tender.
“Dear mother," he said combassion
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 I tried to frame a suitable re
mark that would be truthful also? I
admired her tact in avoiding facing
this issue. I 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 I 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.
“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 New York eve
ning papers—which Jack bought in
the hotel lobby—we read accounts of
the destruction ofA 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 seen 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 telegrafihing_ as shé did, al
though at first the lengthy message
had struck me as a work of superero
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.
“I want gran-muvver to stay!” she
would sob.
I told myself I did not mind these
occurrences. Yet one day I fel{ a sud
den pang when L.ou asked when her
father and I 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 geti
along without mother. Bless her, she
deserves all the love we all give he: !"‘
I hoped he was not offended by my |
silence. I assured myself that it was
not the silence of jealousy. |
(To Be Continued.) 1
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.
. - w
In Russia no photographer may prac
tice his art without a license.
E * -
It is sald 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.
The Dying Grand Duke Explains the Si b
Stranegel;pS(iltl:;eti ;(?Zz:tlf T
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 and 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 is 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 Dbaused 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 ?
l Abner, on his part, was listen
ling 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
lagain 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,” ordered the
Emperor.
‘“‘He lead the way from the
throne room, and I 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,
disclosing a sort of cabimet.
“Then he related to me the strange
tale—how eighteen years before,
when T 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 with
the baby. In this room he waited
with the child until there was
brought to him a young Ameriean
rallroad engineer, Judson Whitney,”
There was a thrill at the mention
of the name, as all crowded closev:,
drinking in the strange tale,
“T leave you to guess,” continued
the Grand Duke, “whether there were
ulterior motives in the mind «f the
Emperor as he thought over the
prophecy that the baby would one
day be the most beautiful woman in
the 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
lrom 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
eigliteenth 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 haby,
covering the palms with the black.
Tren 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, 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 [ 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 it—llet
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 wase given to her, and to sub
mit to being always put into the
background by Luclle.
As Janet made her preparations for
the cake the spirit of revolt erew
more and more within her. Why did
the family try so persistently to keep
her from the room when young men
called, especially Webh Saxton? She
was glad to be making a cake for
Webb, of course—here she flushed
though there was no one near 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? P
She remembered that only vester
day Mrs. Talbot, the dressmaker, had
said that some one had said that
some one else had said that Webb
Saxton had informed another, that
when he married hie 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.
Janet thought of all these things
ag 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 hc laid the little hands, leav
ing on the white paper the hand
orirts, which never change through
out life.
“Next, he took two packets of
metal, in each of which was a curious
depression in the side. The Em
peror also had two jewel-studded
10(kets.'f
The Secret Locket.
The Grand Duke fingered that
ing as to almost take away her
breath. ‘“T'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
vat 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 I 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 voice, “have you seen any
thing of my ring—mother's wedding
ring? I had it on yesterday morning,
but T have not sen it since.”
“No,” answered Lucile, coldly, “how
should I have seen {t?”
“Is this the ring you 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 fiery red. “I can’t
think how that ring got in that cake,”
the stammered.
“Strange things happen sometimes,”
sald Webb, dryly; and that was all
the comments that were made.
Webb went home in a thoughtful
mood. TLucile 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 bv, 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 lin 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
bhand 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 I cast vou in the batter
that you would return to me after
many days, bringing in the sheave<”
Janet's metaphors were a trifle
mixed, hut she was a thoroughly
happy girl.
about the neck of Doris, who drew
back.
To me then he showel that 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 it hack in
alarm. ‘Wait,’ he cried, ‘that is an
explosive packet. If you press the
spring 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,” continueda
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
this explosive case and whose hand
prints now correspond with those of
the baby hand.
e l'produce her—my daughter—on
her eighteenth birthday, and the pre
diction does 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 sane
was still averted. Flatt moved over,
crassly, and examjned the locket.
1 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 1
began to tell him he grew more and
more angry. Just then there entered
a young man, whom I gathéred to be
his secretary. Mr. Whitney had
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 Americans
call a silencer, and fired. Mr. Whit
ney féll. I 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 hand, for some
expression 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,
“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. “Glve 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 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.) ‘
' MTO B s WETeaR. Wy e
Nights With Uncle Remi#
% 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 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
ain’t nothin’ in de roun’ worl’ but ole
man Plato wid dat tin hawn er his'n,
en [ 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
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 toels, and
drew his chbair 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-‘
ple thoughts; but their shadows, en-‘
larged out of all proportion, and
looking over their shoulders frofil}
the wall behind them, must have‘
seen something, for, clinging to-!
gether, 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
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 oodlesl
‘en oodles er fish. Ole man Plato say‘
dat de nigger on de River place w'at
laln’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'mus en
I ain’t tell you 'bout how Bier 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
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
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tuck’n hunt 'im a good place
set it, end e way he sweat ov ‘;f'
ar trap wuz a sin—dat 't wuz .
“Yit atter so long a time, 3;A
‘er sot, en den he tuck'n wash
face en han’s en go home. 'All
time he 'uz fixin’ un it up, Brer | '
bit 'uz settin’ on de bank watek
'im. He sot dar, he did, en play
)de water, en cut swltcher“
wip at de snake-doctors (2), en
dat time Brer Fox, he pull en B
en tote rocks fer ter hol’ d&
endurin’ a freshet. sk A
“Brer Fox went home en
se'f, en bimeby he go down;u_:
see es dey any fish in he tfig;
sorter fear'n er snakes, but he !
‘roun’ an’ he feel 'roun’, yit he al
feel no fish. Den he go off.
“Bimeby, 'long todes de las’ er
week, he go down en feel 'roun’ ’g
yit he ain’t feel no fish. Hit keep
dis a-way twel Brer Fox git sos
‘fag out. He go en he feel, but ¢
ain’t no fish dar. Atter w'ile, ¢
day, he see de signs whar somebe
’bin robbin’. he trap, en he ‘low
‘hisse’t dat he'll des in ’bout wal
en fine out who de somebody fs. 2
“Den he tuck'n got in he boat
paddle und’ de bushes on debs
en watch he fishtrap. He
\de mornin’; nobody ain’t come, |
watch all endurin’ er atter ding
’nobody ain’t come. 'Long todes ni
night, w'en he des *bout makin’ re
‘fer ter paddle off home, he yfll
on ter side de river, en 1o en beho!
yer come Brer Rabbit polin’ a b
todes Brer Fox fishtrap. ¢ e
“Look lak he dunner how to usi
paddle, en he des had 'im a K
pole, en he'd stan’ up in de .
part er he boat, en put de een’ er
pole 'gin’ de bottom, en shaye |
right ahead. e
Brer Fox git mighty mad w'en
see dis, but he watch en wait. |
‘low ter hisse'f, he did, dat he |
paddle a boat pearter dan any fl
kin pole um’ en he say he sh
gwine ketch Brer Rabbit dis time.
“Brer Rabbit pole up ter de f
trap, en feel 'roun’ en pull out a gr
big mud-cat; den he retch in~9s
out 'n’er big mud-cat; den he pull :
a big blue cat, en it keep on
a-way twel he git de finest mess
fish you mos’ ever laid yo’ eyes on
| “Des 'bout dat time, Brer Fox p
Idle out sum und’ de bushes, en mal
todes Brer Rabbit, en he hollers o
“‘Ah-yi! Youer de man wat |
robbin’ my fishtrap dis long time!
got you dis time! Oh, you .Kn.r"" )
try ter run! I got you dis time sh
’ “No sooned said dan no 800!
done. Brer Rabbit fling he fish in
| boat en grab up de pole en pu h
en he had mo’ fun gittin’ 'wdx
ar dan he y’ever had befo’ in all
born days put terge’er.” o 4
| “Why didn't Brer Fox catch hi
lUncle Remus?”’ asked the l!t@fl
“Shoo! Honey, you sho’ly done Ig
yo’ min’ 'bou Brer Rabbit.”
“Well, I don’t see how he could
away.” il "
“Ff you'd er bin dar you'd ér se
it, dat you would. Brer Fox, he w
dar, en he seed it. en Brer Rabbit,
seed it, en e‘en down ter ole Bf
Bullfrog a-sttin’ on de bank, he se
it. Now, den,” continued Ufi&‘}!
mus, spreading out the palm of |
left hand like a map and pointh
it with the forefinger of his rig
“w'en Brer Rabbit pole he
bleedz ter set in de behime een’
w'en Brer Fox paddle he «
bledz ter set in de behime een’. B
hein’ de state er de conditiom, h
Brer Fox gwine ketch 'im? ¥ ai
'sputin’ but w'at he kin ¢
pearter dan Brer Rabbit, but de lo
en de shorts un it is, de pearter Br
Fox paddle de pearter Brer Rabl
go.” < fi“".
The little boy looked puzzle
“Well, I don’'t see how,” he ;j,
claimed. £y
“Well, sir!” continued Uncle ¥
mus, “w'en de nose er Brer Fox
git close ter Brer Rabbit boat #
Brer Rabbit got ter do in de rog
worl’ is ter take he pole en put it gt
Brér Fox boat en push hisse’f ouf
way. De harder he push Brer B
boat back, de pearter he push he L
boat forrerd. Hit look mighty ea
ter ole Brer Bullfrog settin’ 0!;1
bank. en all Brer Fox kin do
shake he fist en grit he toof, wf
Brer Rabbit sail off wid de fish."
(1) Interest. ¥ v,,g
(2) Dragonflies. o
(Copyright, 1881, 1883, 1909 and §
by The Century Company; :;;";‘
Joel Chandler Harris: 1911, by Hst
La Rose Harris. ALL RIGHTS!
SERVED. Printed by permissio
and by special arrangement
Houghton Mifflin {ompany.) =&
% i
Tomorrow—Brother Rabbit ¥
" cues Brother Terrapin.