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SBMML mi TQ “The Story of Waitstill Baxter” Copyright, 1913, by Kate Douglas Wiggin Author of “Rebecca of Sunny brook Farm" PROLOGUE. Strength and interest of quie lives in the New England o three-quarters of a century 05 provide the framework of “Th< Story of Waitstill Baxter." Thai is the skeleton. The flesh ana blood of human beings, I’vint and loving and moving m a worla of their own that is a mimafurt picture of the greater world ou side, are also there. The star ts a cross section of life as set and described by a woman wh< has been well called “America .-, greatest living woman t.ovelist. Amid the hills of New England are many men and women lik. Waitstill and Patience Baxte and their father, Ivory Boynto and his afflicted mother an> funny Cephas Cole, who woo hopefully, but with small chanc of success. They find their wa into books but seldom, for takes a master hand to descrit faithfully the doings of rei people. And that is the reaso why “The Story of Waitsti < Baxter” has won highest prais. from critics who know a gooi book when they see one. (Continued from Yesterday.) ( “Goody, goody: Come along!” am Patty clapped her hands In triumph “Have you got the pencil and tin needle and the waxed silk? Then bring the camphor bottle to revive me and the coral pendants, too, just to give me courage. Hurry up! It’s 10 o’clock. I was born at sunrise, so I’m ‘going on’ eighteen and can't waste any time!” *••**•• Foxwell Baxter was ordinarily called “Old Foxy” by the boys of the district and also, it is to be feared, by the men gathered for evening conference at the various taverns, or at one of the rival village stores. He had a small farm of fifteen or twenty acres, with a pasture, a wood lot and a hayfleld, but the principal source of his Income came from trad ing. His sign bore the usual legend. “West India Goods and Groceries,” and probably the most profitable ar tides In his stock were rum, mo lasses, sugar and tobacco, but there were chests of rice, tea, coffee and spices, barrels of pork in brine, as well as piles of cotton and woolen cloth on the shelves above the counter. His shop window, seldom dusted or set In order, held a few clay pipes, some glass jars of peppermint or sassafras lozenges, black licorice, stick caudj and sugar gooseberries. These daln ties were seldom renewed, for It was only a very bold child or one with an ungovernable appetite for sweets who would have spent his penny at Foxj Baxter’s store. • He was thought a sharp and shrewc trader, but bis honesty was never ques tloned. Indeed, the only trait in bi character that ever came up for gen eral discussion was his extraordinary unbelievable, colossal meanness. Thi so eclipsed every other passion In tbi man and loomed so bulklly and lnsls tently In the foreground that had b cherished a second vice no one wouh have observed It and if be really di> possess a casual virtue it could scarci ly have reared Its head In such ugl company. It might be said, to defend the fai sane of the church, that Mr. Baxter' deaconhood did not Include very activ service In the courts of the Lord. II had “experienced rellglun” at fifteei and made profession of bis faith, bu all well brought up boys and girls db the Mine !f those days—their parent saw to that! If chunge of convlctloi or backsliding occurred later on tha was not their business! At the rip* age of twenty-five be was selected b fill a vacancy and became a deacon thinking it might be good for trade, a- It was. for some years. He was very active at the time of the "Cochran* craze.” since any defense of the creo that Included lively detective work am Incessant spying on his neighbors wa> particularly in bis line, but for many years now. though he had been regular in attendance at church, be bud nevei officiated at communion and bis dett conal services had gradually lapsed into the passing of the contributloi box, a task of which be never wearieo it was such a keen pleasure to mak* :KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN other people yield their pennies for a good cause without adding his own! Deacon Baxter had now been a wid ower for nine years, and the oommun ity had almost relinquished the idea ol his seeking a fourth wife. This was a matter of some regret, for there was a general feeling that it would he a gooo thing for the Baxter girls to hare Bonn one to help with the housework and act as a buffer between them and their grim and irascible parent As for 111 women of the village, they were morti fied that the Deacon had been able to secure three wives and refused to be Here that the universe held anywhen a creature benighted enough to becont his fourth. The first, lie it said, was a mere ign runt girl, and he a beardless youth 01 twenty, who may not have showu his true qualities so early In life. She bore bim two sons, and it was a matter of comment at the time that she called them, respectively, .lob and Moses, hop ing that the endurance and meekness connected with these names might somehow help them in their future re lations with their father. Pneumonia, coupled with profound discouragement, carried her off in a few years to rnuke room for the second wife, Waitstill’s mother, who was of diffeji nt fiber and greatly his superior. She uas a fine handsome girl, the orphan daughter 01 up country gentlefolks who had died when she was eighteen, leaving het alone in the world and penniless. Baxter, after a few days’ acquaint ance, drove into the dooryard of the house where she was a visitor and showing her his two curly headed boys, suddenly asked her to come and bt their stepmother. She assented, parti} because she had nothing else to do with her existence so far as she coultt see, and also because she fell in lovi with the children at first sight and for got, as girls will, that it was theh father whom she was marrying. She was as plucky and clever nncl spirited as she was handsome, and sin made a bruve fight of it with Foxy, long enough to bring a daughter into the world, to name her Waitstill ami start her a little way on her life jour ney—then she, too, gave up the strug gle and died. Typhoid fever it was. combined with complete loss of lllu slons and a kind of despairing rage at having made so complete a failure ol her existence. The next year Mr. Baxter, being un usually busy, offered a man a good young heifer if he would jog about the country a little and pick him up a housekeeper, a likely woman who would if she proved energetic, econom ical and amiable be eventually raised to the proud position of bis wife. If she was young, healthy, smart, tidy, capable and a good manager, able to milk the cows, harness the horse and make good butter he would give a dol lar and a half a week. The woman was found, and, incredible as it may seem, she said “yes” when the deacon, whose ardor was kindled at having paid three months’ wages, proposed a speedy marriage. The two boya by this time had reached the age of dis cretion. and one of them evinced the fact by promptly running away to parts unknown, never to be heard from afterward; while the other, a reckless and unhappy lad. was drowned while running on the logs in the river. Old Foxy showed little outward sign of his loss. His third wife, the one originally se cured for a housekeeper, bore him a girl, very much to his disgust, a girl named Patience, and great was Walt still's delight at this addition to the dull household. The mother was a timid, colorless, docile creature, but Patience nevertheless was a sparkling, bright eyed baby, who speedily became the very center of the universe to the older child. So the months and years wore on drearily enough until when Patience was eight the third Mrs. Baxter succumbed after the manner of her predecessors and slipped away from a life that had grown intolerable. The trouble was diagnosed as "liver complaint," but scarcity of proper food, no new frocks or kind word*, hard work and continual bullythg may possibly have been contributory causes Dr. Perry thought so. for be had wit nessed three most contented deaths in the Baxter house. The ladles were all members of the church and hud pre oumably made their peace with God. but tbo good doctor fancied that their pleasure In JolDing the angels was mild compared with their relief at parting with the deacon. "I know I hadn't ought to put the care on you. Waitstill, and you oal} fourteen." poor Mrs. Baxter sighed, us the yo ung girl was wutchiug with (up one night w ueu the end seemed draw ing near. “I’ve made out to live till now when Patience Is old enough to dress herself and help round, but I'm all beat out and can’t try any more." “Do you mean I'm to take your place, be a mother to Patience and keep house and everything?’’ asked Wait still quaveringly. “I don't see but you'll have to, un less your father marries again. He’ll never hire help, you know that!” “X won't have another mother in this house,” flashed the girl. "There's been three here and that's enough! If he brings anybody home I'll take Pa tience and run away, as Job did. or If he leaves ine alone I’ll wash and iron and scrub and cook till Patience grows up. and then we'll go off to gether and hide somewhere I’m four teen. Oil. mother, how soon could I be married and take Patience to live with me? Do you think anybody will ever want me?" "Don't marry for a home, Waitstill! Your bwn mother did that, and so did I, and we were both punished for It! You've been a great help, and I’ve had a sight of comfort out of the baby, but I wouldn't go through it again, not even for her! You're real smart and capable for your age. and you've done your full share of the work every day. even w hen you were at sehool. You can get along all right." "I don't know how I'm going to do everything alone." said the girl, fore ing hack her tears "You’ve always made the brown bread, and mine will never suit father 1 suppose 1 enn wash, but I don't know how to iron starehed clothes, nor make pickles, and oh! I can never kill a rooster, mother. It's no use to aak me to! I'm not big enongn to be the head of the favnfly/* Mrs Baxter turned her pale, tired fare awny from WaitstHl's appealing eyes. “1 know." she said faintly. "I hate to leave you to bear the brunt alone, but I must! * * * Take good care of Patience and don't let her get into trou ble. * * * You won't, will you?” “I’ll be promised Waitstill, sobbing quietly. "I’ll do my best.” “You've got more courage than ever I had; dou't you s’pose you can stiffen up and defend yourself a little mite? Your father’d ought to be opposed, for his own good, but I’ve never seen any body that dared do it.” Then, after a pause, she said with a flash of spirit. "Anyhow. Waitstill, he’s your father after all. He's no blood relation of mine, and 1 can't stand him another day; that’s the reason I’m willing to die.’’ * * * * * » * Ivory Boynton lifted the bars thnt divided bis land from the highroad and walked slowly toward the house. It was April, but there were still patches of snow here and there, fast meltinfe under a drizzling rain. It was a gray world, a bleak, black and brown world, above and below. The sky was leaden; the road und the footpath were deep in a muddy ooze flecked with white The tree trunks, black, with bare branches, were outlined against the gray aky; nevertheless, spring bad been on the way for a week, and a few sunny days would bring the yearly miracle for which all hearts were long lng. Ivory was season wise, and his quick eye had caught many a sign as he walked through the woods from his schoolbouse. A new and different colot haunted the tree tops, and one bad only to look closely at the elm buds to see that they were beginning to swell. Some fat robins bad been bonnclng about In the schoolyard at noon, and the sparrows bad been chirping and twittering on the fence rails. Yes, the winter was over, and Ivory was glad, for It bad meant no coasting and skat ing and sleighing for him, but long walks In deep snow or slush, long even lngs, good for study, but short days and greater loneliness for his mother He could see her now as he neared the bouse, standing In the open doorway, her hand shading her eyes, watching, always watching, for some one who never came. “Spring Is on the way, mother, but it isn’t here yet, so don’t stand there In the rain,'* he called. “Look at the nose gay I gathered for you as I came through the woods. Here are pussy willows and red maple blossoms and mayflowers. would you believe It?” Lois Boynton took the handful of budding things and sniffed their fra grance. “You’re late tonight, Ivory,” she said. "Rod wanted his supper early so that be could go off to singing school, but 1 kept something warm for you, and I’ll make yon a freah cup of tea.” CHAPTER 111, Something of a Hero. IVORY went into the little shed room off the kitchen, changed bis muddy boots for slippers and made himself generally tidy, then be came hack to the living room bring ing a pine knot which be flung on the fire, waking It to a brilliant flame. “We can be as lavish as we like with the stumps now, mother, for aprlng Is coming,” be said, ea be eat down to Iris meal. “I’ve been looking out more thau usual this afternoon," abe replied “There's hardly any snow left, and though tile walking la so bad I've been rather expecting your father before night You remember be said when be went away In January that be sbonld be back before the mayflowera bloom pri **** (To Be Continued Tomorrow.) THE AUGUSTA HERALD, AUGUSTA, GA. They show the young man when he STARTS with the whiskey. But they do not show him when he FINISHES. Here we show you both sides of the medal, the be ginning and the end. Gambling, Drugs, Whiskey— Shun Them m They Begin and End Alike—And There Is No Limit to Their Power For Evil. Copyright, 1914, by th« Star Company. The worst vice In the world Is gambling. For It makes the honored man a thief, wrecks the family, de stroys ambition, makes real effort Im possible. Therefore public gambling Is the greatest curse. And next to gambling the worst curse Is the drug habit—cocaine, opium, morphine. It wrecks the will, makes the truthful man a liar, makes good work Impossible—and its end is death. And the third curse is whiskey— weakening the will power, doing slow ly and with heart-breaking certainty the work of destruction. All of these forces for evil begin in the same way. The younger gambler, the man who first trifles with the danger of drugs, the man who begins with whiskey and Its gaiety—they are all happy to start with. But in the end, one Is as miserable as the other. The life of youth is burned out, hope goes, blackness and fog settle down. The gambler, the drug fiend, and the whiskey victim alike know, when it Is too late, what lies the told, how inevitable the end was. A good deal of talent Is used in this country In the preparation of whiskey advertising. We give you on this page a striking picture—a fair Imitation of the ordi nary style of whiskey advertising. But we put In on the right, a lit tle out of the picture, an extra truth THAT THE WHISKEY ADVERTISE MENT LEAVES OUT. We show you the whiskey drinker BEFORE AND AFTER. We show you how whiskey starts, and how It ends. first, the little glass. HO LITTLE, SO INOFFENSIVE, HO SOCIABLE, WITH HO MANY EXCUSES TO BACK IT. It is held in tho air, and a pair of Those Pretty Whiskey Advertisements clear, bright eyes and a good, strong, well meaning face say “What can this do to me?" Look at the man on the edge of the picture and you will SEE what it can do. And after you have looked at this picture, and read this editorial —one of thousands that we have written — make up your mind to leave alone the three curses of our day, gambling, drugs and whiskey—AND ESPECIAL LY WHISKEY, WHICH IS OFTEN AN INTRODUCTION TO THE OTH ER TWO. WHY BHE WEPT. Apropos of the numerous Influen tial malefactors whose prison terms are either annulled or cut down to nearly nothing, Mayor Brand Whit lock of Toledo said a short while ago: “Is it a good thing for the public to let these men out so mmn'! "I was sympathising one afternoon with a poor woman whoso husband had Just been sent to jail. She was weeping bitterly, and I said to her: “‘Now, don't take It so hard. Two years Is a long sentence, I know, hut he may not have to serve It all. Con victs who behave themselves often times get out months before their ap pointed time.’ “ 'That's Just It,’ she replied, still sobbing. 'Henry can be an angel when he likes.’ ” —Llpplncott's. ANOTHER* INSTANCE. "I see,” said the sad young man, “that Ermltrude has a new automo bile.” "Yes, her papa gave her a dandy,” burbled the Joyful youth. “And how does she like it?” “She says she Is madly in love with It.” “Another case where man Is dis placed by machinery!" exclaimed the sad young man, going out and apply ing for membership In anarchists' club.—Cleveland Plain Dealer. ALERT. “What Is your wife’s attitude to ward your coming home late?" , “It's one of watchful waiting."— Exchange. We show you the pretty whiskey advertisement, the smiling young boy, just out of nis teem-’ And we show you what the whiskey advertisement D ' NOT SHOW YOU, the same young man . few yean ter when be has given that whiskey A THOROUGH TRIAL. (See editorial.) Why Send a Child to School at Six Years of Age? “Why send a child to school at six years—much less at four or five? “Theoretically, a child is supposed to enter school at six, because it is supposed to take him eight years, at five hours a day, to prepare for high school, which is at present the end of the elementary schools. “Probably it will take him eight years if he begins at six with 70 other children, writes Ella Frances Lynch, in the Pictorial Review. But it has been conclusively proved that if classes afe small enough so that a teacher can reach her individual pupils, four years of schooling begun at 10 years of age will result in pupils even better pre pared for high school than those who begin at six! This is because the 10-year-old brings to his studies a more mature mind, and can master in a few months’ work what would take a year beginning at six. And bear in mind that the six-year-old spends five hours a day in school—not necessarily in learning. In nearly all the schools the size of the lower grade makes it necessary for the teacher to give out an endless variety of so-called “busy work.” This means spelling to be copied again and again, copies of "number work” to be followed “until both sides of the slate are full.” In this way the teacher is enabled to attend to the needs of a small group at a time, the only way she really can teach anything to young children. The other children are in school, but not learning. So the public school wastes not only time but the energy of the children in its care, turning their efforts into mere mcrchanical repretition until the brain is weary and stupefied. Could anything be less educational? ”It is a severe arraignment that I make—that the pub lic school stupidly and wantonly wastes public funds, human initiative and human energy and stultifies instead of stimulating efficiency.” —Ella Francis Lynch, in Pictorial Review. A LOBT JOB. A young boy got a Job with a Scot tish farmer once. “Ye'll sloop In tho barn,” tho fnrm or said, "and I'll export you to bo out lu tho field Ilka morn at 4 o'clock." "Very well, air,” aald the boy. SEVEN But the first morning he overslept a little, and It was 4:30 when he reached the field. The farmer, leaning on hla hoc, gave him a black look. "Where have ye been all '.he fore noon?” he growled.