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FOUR “T he Story of Waitstill Baxter” N Kill Dougin Wlggln f* Author of "Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm" PROLOGUE. * Strength and interest of quie Uvea in /he Now England oj three-quarter a of a century age provide the framework of “The Story of Wailetill Baxter." That ie the ekeleton. The fleeh and blood of human beings, living and loving and moving in a world of their own that te a mtniaturi picture of the greater world out eide, are aleo there. The eiory te a oroee section of life am eeer. and deeortbed by a woman wht has been well called “America’* greatest living woman novelist. ' Amid the hills of New England are many men and women llki Waitstill and Patienoe Baxter and their father. Ivory Boynton and hie afflicted mother and funny Cephas Cote, who woot hopefully, bat with email chana of Moogit They find their way into books but seldom, for ii takes a master hand to describe faithfully the doings of rea. people. And that is the reason why “The Story of Waitstill Baxter" has won highest praise from orilioe who know a good book when they see one. (Continued from Yesterday.) ".Ted'a 'bout right lu sizin' up the Wldder TUlaou." wait Mr. Day's timid contribution to the argument. "I nlo'l a resilin' mini, but from wlmt folks re port I should think she ini one o’ them critters that set ou rocks bewil dertn' an' beditrllln' men folks otrt o' tbelr senses—screens. I think they call ’em—a reg’lnr screen Is what that wo BHD la. I guess!'' "There, there, Abel, jrou wouldn'4 know a syreen ts you found one In your baked beans, so don't tnke away a woman's character on hearsay.' 1 , Ami Mra. Day, having shut up her hue!,and aa was her bounden duty as a wife and a Christian, tteil Iter bonnet strtnp a little tighter and looked distinctly pleased with herself. "Abel ain't startin' any new goeslp,'' waa Aunt Abby'a opinion, aa she aprang to bis rescue "One or two more holes to a colander don't make much dlfrence— Bartholomew, we're certainly goto’ to bo late tbla morn in wo're about the last team on the road,' and Aant Abby glanced uervonsly be bind. "Btder Boone ain’t begun tbe openin' prayer, though, or we should know It You can hear hltn pray a mile away, when tbe wind's right I do hate to be late to meetln'. The alder alien takes notice; tbe folka In the wing pewa alien gnpea an' stores and the eholr peeks through the cur tain, taktn’ netoe of everything you've got oa year back. I hope to the land they'll chord and keep together a little mite better'll they’ve don# lately, that's all 1 caa aay. If tbe Lord Is right In our midst, aa the Bible says, be can't think mack of our singers thla sum gner!” "They're Improvin', now that Plinj Waterhouse plays Uia Addle," Mrs Day remarked pacifically. There was times tn the anthem when they kept together conald'able well last Sunday They didn't always chord, but there they cborded aot»e! Wo're moat there bow, Abby, don't forget! Cephas won't ring the last bell till be knows hta own folks is crosstn' the common!" Those were days of conscientious churrbgotng- and every pew In th« house was crowded. Tbe pulpit was • built on pillar* that raised It sis feet higher titan the floor. Tbe top was matt teoed sad covered with red velvet '■urtuoauted by a bugs gilt edged Bible There was a wlDdow In tbe tower tfuough which Cephas Cole couki look tatn the church and whllo tolling th« bell ooald keep watch for #>e minister Always exactly oa time, he would come in, walk alowly up tbe right hand atale. mount the pulpit stairs, enter and close the door after hint Then Cephas would give one tremendous pull to warn lolt arers on tbe steps, a pull that meant "Parson's lu tbe pulpltr and was act ad upon soconllngly Opening the big Bible. tbe minister raised hta right band Impressively, and, saying, “Let na pnty," the whole congregation roe, in their pewa with a great rustling and bowed their beads devoutly for the In aeeatioa. generally jt thnt day one of Isaac Watts’. The singers, fifteen or twenty In number, eat In a rained gallery opposite the pul pit, and there was a rod In front hung with red cnrtalo* to hide them when Bitting down. Any one was free to Join, which perhnpn accounted for Aunt Ahby’a stricture* a* to time and tune. Jed Morrill, "hlasphsmious" as he was considered hy that acrimonious ludy. wan the leader, and a good one too There would be a great whispering and buzzing when Deacon Bit inner, with bis big fiddle, and Pliny Wuter bouse, with hla smaller one. would try to get In accord with Humphrey Baker and bis clarionet. All went well when Humphrey wo* there to glee the sure keyuote, but In his abaence Jed Morrill would use hla tuning fork When the key wutt finally secured hy all concerned Jed would raise hla stick, beat one measure to set the time, aud all Joined In or fell In, according to their several abilities. It was not al ways a perfect Ibing In the way of a start, but they were well together at the end of the (lint line, and when, as now, the choir numbered a goodly num ber of voices and there were 300 or 400 In the pews nothing more Inspiring In Its peculiar way was ever heard than the congregational singing of such splendid hymns ns "Old Hundred," “Dnke Street” or “Coronation." Waitstill led the trebles, and Ivor) was at the far end of the choir In the basses, but each wus conscious of the other’s presence. This morning he could hear her noble voice rising a lit tie above, or, perhaps, from Us qnnl lty, separating Itself somehow, ever so little, from the others. How full of strength nud hope It was. her voice' How ateudfnat to the pitch! How gold en Its color! Uow moving In Its ores cendoit llow the words flowed from her lips, not as If they had been writ ten years ago. but as If they were thi expression of her own faith! Then .were many In the congregation who were stirred, they knew not why, when there chanced to be only a few “carry Ing the air” and they could really heat Waitstill Baxter aluglug some dear old hymn, full of sacred memories, like— WhUe thee 1 soak, protecting Power, He ruy vein wishes stilled. And may this mneecrated hour With hatter hopes be filled “There may be them In Boston that can slug louder, and they may lie able to run up a little higher than Wattetlll but the (ideation la, could sny of 'em make Auut Ahhy Cole shed tears?" Tilts was Jed Morrill's tribute to hb best soprano. Thera were Punday evening prayer meetings, too, held at "early candle light," when Waitstill and Buoy Mor rill would make a duet of “By cool SI loam's shady rill." or the favorite “Naomi," and the two fresh young voices, rising and falling In the tender thirds of the old tunes, melted all hearts to new willingness of sacrifice. Father, whet e'er of earthly Thy eov'reign will denies. Accepted et lliy throne of grass I.M tide petition rise Olve me a calm, a thankful heart. From every murmur free. The blreetnc of thy grace Impart, And let me live to thee. ITow iTory loTed to hear Waitstill slug these lineal How they eased hla burden as they were easing hers, fall ing on hla Impatient, longing heart Ilka evening dew On thirsty grnadt CHAPTER X. The Green Eyed Monster, "TITHIIK Thro 1 Beck. Protect m/ lug Power," *u th* Brut V V h i mn on this particular Sunday morning, and It usually held Patty* rather vagrant at tention to the and. though It failed to do so today Tbr Patter* occupied 000 of th* wing pswa, a position always to be envied. a» one could so* the singer* without turning around and alao ob servo everybody In the congregation tbrtr entrance, garments, behavior and eapectally their bonneta—wltbont being In the leant ludlgcrvet or seeming to have a roving eye Lawyer Wilson's pew waa the oec ond in frout of the Baiters In the aatne wing, and Patty, seated decoronaly but nnwtlUngly bealde her father, waa tm patiently awaiting the entrance of the family, kuowlng that Mark would he with them if he had returned from Bos ton. Timothy Grant, th* parish clerk, had the pow In between and afforded a moot odtfylng spectacle to th* com munity, as there were a*von young 'lrani* of a rhun-bgvlng ago. and the ladle* of tl|* congregation were always counting them, reckoning how many mar* were In tbsir cradles at home and trying to xuoea tram Mr*. GrepP* Uv* iy or chastened countenance whether any new ones bad been born since the Sunday before. Patty settled herself comfortably and put her foot on the wooden "cricket,” raising her buff calico a little on the congregation side, Just enough to show an Inch or two of petticoat The petti coat was a* modestly long as the frock Itself, and disclosing a bit of It was nothing more heinous than a casual exhibition of good needlework. Deacon Baxter furnished only the unbleached muslin for his daughters’ undergar ments, but twelve little tucks laborious ly done by hand, elaborate Inch wide edging, crocheted from white spool cot ton and days of bleaching on the grass In the sun will make a petticoat that can he shown in church with some Jus tifiable pride. The Wilsons came up the aisle a mo ment later than was their usual hoblt. Just after the parson bad ascended the pulpit. Mrs. Wilson always entered the pew drat and sat In the far end. Patty had looked at her admiringly and with a certain reeling of proprie torship for several Sundays. There was obviously no such desirable moth er-in-law In the meeting bouse. Her changeable silk dress was the latest mode, her shawl of black llama lace expressed wealth In every delicate mesh, and her bonnet had a distinction that could only have emanated from Portland or Boston. Ellen Wilson usu ally came next, with as much of a smile to Tatty In passlDg as shattered venture In the deacon's presence, and after her sidled In her younger slater, Selina, commonly called "Billy,” and with considerable reason. Mark bud cotue home! Patty dared not look up, hut she felt bis approach behind the others, although her eyes Bought the floor and Jier cheeks hung out signals of abashed but certain wel come. (the heard the family settle in tbelr aents somewhat haatlly, the click of tbe pew door and the sound of Law yer Wilson'a cane aa be stood It la tha corner; then the parson rose to pray, and Patty closed her eyea with the rest of the congregation. Opening them when Elder Boone rose to announce the hymn, they fell amazed, resentful, uncomprehending— on tbe spectacle of Mnrk Wilson find ing tbe place in the book for a strange young woman who sot beside him. Mark himself had on a new suit and wore a seal ring that Patty bad never observed before, while the dress, pe lisse and hat of the unknown were of a nature that no girl in Patty’s posi tion. and particularly of Patty’s dispo sition, could hive regarded without a desire to tear them from her person nnd stamp them underfoot or. better still, flaunt them herself and show tbe world how they should be worn! Mark found the place In the hymn book for tbe creature, shared it with her. and once, when tbe Grant twins wriggled und Patty secured a better view, once. Mark shifted bis hand on tbs page ao that bis thumb touched that of his pretty neighbor, who dtd sot remove hers aa if she fouud tbe proximity either unpleasant or lmprop er. Patty compared her own miserable attire with that of tbe bated rival in front, and also contrasted Lawyer WU son's appearance with that of har fa ther; the former, well dressed in the style of a gentleman of tbe time. In broadcloth, with fine linen, nnd a tall silk bat carefully placed on the floor of the pew. while Deacon Baxter wore bomeapun made of wool from bis own sheep, span and woven, dyed and fin ished, at the fulling mill In tbe vil lage, and carried a battered felt hat that bad been n matter of ridicule these dozen years. The deacon would be buried In two coats, Jed Morrill al ways said, for be owned Just that number and would be too mean to leave either of 'em behind him. Tbe sermon waa fifty minutes long, time enough for a deal of thinking. Many a housewife, not wholly ortho dox. cut and made over all her chil dren's clothsa. lu Imagination; planned the putting up of her fruit, the mak ing of her preserves aod pickles, and arrauged her meals for the next week, during tbe pmgrasa of those sermons. Patty watched the parson turn leaf after leaf nntll the final one was reach ed. Then came the last hymn, when the people stretched tbelr acbdpa limbs and rising, turned thetr back aa the mlutster aud faced the choir. Patty looked at WAttsttll and wished that she could put her throbbing bead on bar sisterly shoulder and cry—mostly with rage The benediction waa said, and with tbe final "Amen" tbe pews wars opened aod the worshipers crowd ed Into the narrow atslaa And moved toward tbe doors. Patty's plaus were all made. She waa out of her pew before the Wilsons could possibly leave theirs and to her progress down tbe stale securely an nexed her old admirer. Old Dr. Perry, as wetl as bla son. Philip. Passing the singing seats, she picked np the hum ble Cephas and carried btm along to her wake, chatting and talking with her little party while her father waa at the horse sheds making ready to go home between services. »* was bis habit, a cold bits being always set out oo the kitchen table according to his orders. By means of these clever maneuvers Patty made herself tbe fo cus of attention when the Wilson par ty came out on tbe steps and vouch safed Mark only a nonchalant nod. atrtly flinging a little greeting with the nod. Just a "How d'ye do. Marlrt Dtd von have a good time in Boston?" (To Be Continued Tomorrow.) “I SAW IT IN THE HERALD” THE AUGUSTA HERALD, AUGUSTA, GA. — m—em —p—gp————— mm —— meeernwememmmmm e^— <mma ■—i —a——————■' i i■ ■ . ■ .■ i j i - n .». This demon of want hovers over humanity. Nearly all of ue feel his presence and know that his clutching hands are there. How can we get out of his shadow ? (See Editorial at bottom.) “THE FEAR OF WANT” That Is the Ghost Haunting Almost Every American— The Rich Often, the Poor Always. Copyrighted, ltl4, by the Star Company. Have you a little demon in your home—or a tall, powerful devil with clutching fingers towfering above you? Do you talk to yourself sometimes and have friends ask you, “What are you thinking about?” Do you look at yourself in the glass and say: “I am getting older. I have not so long to work. What have I to show for the years that I have worked? What shall I do when the working time is over ?” . Do you feel like an animal driven and hunted un able to sleep at night getting out of bed nervously in the morning forming good resolutions hastily, wondering, planning and occasionally lapsing into despair ? Do not think that your your condition is unusual. YOU ABE ONLY THE AVERAGE AMERICAN. The girl compelled to earn her own living; The old man with the white hair wishing that some body would give him A CHANCE to earn his living; The man with a family getting bigger, more numer ous and more hungry; • The woman left dependant with young children—all have this “fear of want” towering above them. Why, in a world of plenty, a world that could sup port five thousand million more human beings easily, do we all live worried and die harrassed? Why is the rich man worrying for fear that he will not be able to keep his TOO MUCH, and the poor man worrying for fear that he will lose his TOO LITTLE ? Whaf can be done to change this wretched condition of want and anxiety ? Nothing at all, perhaps, for the present. We are driven by a force that we do not understand. The lash on our back is the lash that has been there since the cave days, when the man worried not about his rent, but about the bear below or the other cave man higher up. The lash that drove the Savage up to “civi lisation" is the same lash that will drive US from what we CALL civilization to a condition of real decency, perhaps. Wo MUST worry, we must fret, we must fear, young and old, rich and poor, UNTIL WE HAVE SOLVED OUR PROBLEM As a race, and as individuals, the fear of want is the necessary goad driving us on and up from our low civilization. As individuals, separately and selfishly, but in the long run for the good of all, we mav strive to get rid of this Tfe M 3M® GG Fisa(gj ss FocHnnr® demon with the sharp ears and the clutching fingers that stands above us. We can think, control ourselves, save, deny ourselves today, in order that we may say yes tomorrow. Above all, let us realize that we DO stand in this shadow of fear. Let us sympathize with the others that stand in the shadow with us. Let us work for the day when, by united, unselfish action, men working to make other men happy instead of working to make themselves richer, WE MAY ALL GET RID OF THIS ECONOMIC DEMON, THANKS TO EDUCATION, WE HAVE GOT RID OF OUR BELIEF IN THAT OTHER DEMON—WITH THE CLOVEN FOOT AND THE SHARP POINTED TAIL, We can make unreal the demon of anxiety also. We can drive out this devil of want with education., in telligence and brotherly co-operation if we will-*-;is we have driven out that other old-fashioned devil with his pitchfork and his brimstone. Daily Pattern MlO.—A DAINTY LITTL EMODEL. Girl’* Apron. This simple practical garment may do duty an a dreee or an apron. It has sufficient fulness, and Is cut with body and strove In one. The fulness over the back Is held In place with » belt. The design Is good for percale, lawn. TUESDAY, MAY 19. dimity, ytnfrtia.™, cambric, chambray or crossbar muslin. It may be trim bed as desired, and cut with round cr square neck edge. The pattern is cut in five sizes: 2,4, 6. 8 and 10 years. It requires 1 7-8 yard of 36-inch ma terial for a 6-year size A pattern of this illustration mailed to apy address on receipt of 10c In silver or stamps. Ne. Mize Name Street ead Ne. City •«••••••»•i•••■■ Btate •••«•••• DISCOVERED. (By Jim Manee.) Somebody swiped my garden. And. say, I'm feelin’ bad; Somebody bring my flowers back. 'Cause that would make me glad. My garden was so pretty. Oh where, oh where's tt at? And then my aster broke the news. “Tour garden’s on my hat." P. S. —Rsolved, hereafter I’ll plant vegetables. HOMELIKE SMELL EXTRA. European Innkeeper— How do you like you room? . American Tourist (jokingly)—Seems Just like home Makes me feel a» If I was back In New York. The room emetls of sewer gas. Innkeeper (to clerk)—Add five shill* Inga for sswer gas.—Chicago News