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About The Augusta daily herald. (Augusta, Ga.) 1908-1914 | View Entire Issue (Jan. 23, 1909)
SATURDAY, JAN. 23. The Disappearing House (By Simon T. Stern.) It was a warm summer night and I had ensconsed myself comfortably in the roomy Morris chair under the reading lamp. I was reading, and the tale, a detective story written by a master hand wat so engrossing that I had quite forgotten time and space and my surroundings, when a loud knock at the door. “(X.,ie in.” Back to earth I flew with a heavy thud; my momentary discomfiture was all Icjg .when I beheld the bland ly smiling pectacled countenanpe of my frlendV the Expert. “John Dowe, how d’ye,” said I. “Good evening, Mr. Attorney,” he replied. “I suppose the legal mind is angry at being disturbed in its perusal of an erudite volume of re ports.” “On the contrary. I was persuing a detective story. I had reached tha chapter where the detective, reach ing the trail of hts victim, draws his revolver and ” "To be continued in our next,” he interposed, smiling. “Since my learn ed legal friend is engaged in the pur suit of romantic criminality, read that.” I took the proffered newspaper. Across the top, in flaring headlines, I read the following startling an nouncement: GIGANTIC ROBBERY IN BROAD DAYLIGHT! ..THE SEVENTIETH NATIONAL BANK IS ROBBED OF SIOO,- 000 IN GOLD! Cashier missing—All search unavail ing—Five- thousand dollars offered for return of the money, or for information that will lead to the capture of the guilty ones—Vault repaired only yesterday afternoon. “What of it?” I enquired. "I am going to get that reward,” he answered, calmly. “And you, too, We’ll go to share and share alike. Is it a go?” “Of course, it's a go, as far as I am concerned. But how and why and when I can be of any assistance in 1 hi- matter I am at a loss to un derstand. Come, you are jesting.” On tbe contrary,” he replied, and his eyes gleamed, “I never was more serious in my life. The fact is that . have already planned out my entire course of procedure. I always, wanted to be a great crime-detector and this is my chance —our chance. Do you see that last line of that spread head?” I read it carefully. "The vault was repaired only yesterday after noon.” 4% The Planters Loan and Saving Dank 705 Broad Street. The Oldest Savings Bank In The City. In successful operation 38 yeare and growing more popu lar with tha people andatrong er in their confidence each year. In eelecting a bank for your Savlnga Account do not fall to investigate the facilities and strength of this bank. Resources Over $1,000,000.00 Safe as “Safest.” The same careful attention to small accounts aa to the larger ones. Deposits may be made by mall. L. C. HAYNE, President. CHAB. C. HOWARD, Cashier. If any of your friends should not know that we are located on Broad and Jackson Streets and that we are looking for them “Tell them” and about our soda water. HOWARD'S SAVOY. The Place of Service, Quality, Reputation. NEW ARRIVALS IN SMART THINGS « Large Real Tortoise-Shell Barrettes. | Back Combs, gold mountings and plain. Rhine Stone Hat Pins, new styles. Real Coral Necklaces. Pretty Gold Bandeaux. Little Finger Rings set with Coral, Cameo, and Turquoise. Wm, Schweigert & Co. “What of it?” I asked. “Well, that is one of the main lines to the situation. Do you happen to remember the story of the Three Cubes that I told one night at the club?” The tale of the Wingate vault? Perfectly,” I replied. “It was the story of the eccentric metal worker who bequeathed a vault supposedly impenetrable and three cubes to his relatives. Each cube contained the portion of the key which fitted a tre foil lock. His relatives labored and labored, and finally in desperation secured your distinguished services, and paid you a large retainer. They expected the vault would contain millions; instead of that when the vault was opened they found only three golden dollars.” “Your memory is excellent.’ ’ he said at the close of my recital. "Do you see that?” and he drew from his pocket a curious three-pronged key. “What of it?” “That,” said my friend, “is a copy of the key. It will open the Win gate vault. On it, unless 1 am sore ly mistaken, depends the solution of the bank robbery. Listen closely, and I will tell you what has occurred since 1 told that tale.” My friend was apparently tremen dously excited; he ignored my invita tion to take a seat; walking up and down the apartment, like a caged ti ger, while he proceeded with his story. “You will remember I told that story at the Kaleidoscope club. There -were about twenty of you there to listen and you sat in a circle with myself in the center. Did you chance to notice a tall, spare individual, clean-shaven and smug, with a deep scar over his right eye, who sat on the' extreme edge of the circle?” “Of course I did; that’s Steve Ma pleton. I know Steve well; they call him your rival. He is employed by the Merrit Vault company.” “Right you are,” said he. “He is my rival, and a safe expert of un questioned ability. Did you notice that Steve was wildly engrossed in the tale? “I did not; that -is, I failed to no tice he was more interested than any of the rest of the crowd.” “Well, he was. After the others had left he kept me there until long after midnight, going over every de tail and trifle connected with the matter. He asked question innumer able. Was the story true? Where did the men live? How long since it happened? Was the house still there" Was the vault still in existence? Was it in the house? Had the house been sold? Was it for sale? All these I DON’T DEPEND ON LUCK A MAN FOUND FIVE DOLLARS. HE WAS LUCKY. DON’T DEPEND ON LUCK. BANK YOUR SPARE MONEY NOW. YOU CAN HAVE IT WHEN YOU NEED IT. ITS AN EASY THING TO SAVE MONEY. THE HARD EST PART IS THE BEGINNING. WE PAY YOU 4 PER CENT. INTEREST & COMPOUND IT SEMI ANNUALLY. Irish-American Bank, “The Bank For Your Savings” A GIGANTIC MUSICAL BELL One of the four giant musical bells to he placed in the forty-sixth story of the Metropolitan Life building, New York. The man standing by the hell is six feet high. answered; and many beside. I as sured him of the truth of my ad venture and referred him to Lawyer Van Tine. After that I forgot all about the event. “Three months iater I learned that the house, vault and all, had been sold. Unusual secrecy surrounded the name of the purchaser. I searched the county records; only to find that title had been taken in the name of one of Van Tine’s clerks. Though 1 could not learn the name of the real owner, I had my suspicions—” “Stephen Mapleton?” I suggested. “The legal mind leaps to conclu sions,” said Dowe. “Don’t anticipate my story.’ Then he went on. “I was very much interested in the old house, and whenever I passed that way—l live up in Belmont, as you know—l left the road and took a look at the scene of my strange adven ture. One Sunday, about eight months ago, I noticed a strange thing; the house, you will remember stood on the crest of a high hill, and was completely removed from every trace of civilization surrounding it. At the base of the hill, on the side away the road, there was a stream. On the opposite side of the stream there is a stretch of wood land. The stream marks the boun dary between the Wingate property and a public park. As I went up the hill that afternoon I noticed they were building a high wail around the house. The wall was almost finished and the house quite hidden behind It. Three watchmen—all foreigners— guarded the wall and denied my fur ther approach. “I started to ask questions. In Eng lish, of course; they shrugged their shoulders, indicating that they failed to understand. When I tried French I met with similar response. Finally I spoke in Italian—my knowledge of that language, you know, is very lim ited; they laughed, but gave no an swer. At last I gave up in despair and came away. After that, I went into the grounds regularly. On each visit I found my foreigners. At last, one Sunday when I went there, there was no one to be seen. Complete stillness ruled; broken only by the splashing of the stream below. It was dusk as I approached the fence. “In vain I sought for an opening in the huge structure. Then, cautiously, for fear of interruption, I bored a hole in the fence with my pocket knife. I placed my eye to the hole and looked in. The house had disap peared! “For a moment I was stunned. I rubbed my eyes to convince myself that I was awake. I looked again. There was no doubt of it. The Win gate house had vanished. Inside of the enclosure there was nothing to be seen but a stretch of greensward, similar in all respects to the lawn outside. Not a trace of the habitation that had once marked the spot re mained. "A week lat,er the fence was re moved; removed mysteriously, for none of the neighbors saw it done. Where once the house had stood there was an open field!” "But didn’t the neighbors hear or see anything while the removal was going on?” I asked. “They heard hammering and the ring of shovels at night,” he said. "At first the sounds were loud; then they became fainter and fainter, and for the past two months not a sound has been heard. - / One man observed that as long as the hammering continued the stream below ran muddy. It runs swiftly at that point, you know. From that day to this,” concluded my friend, “nobody has heard or knows aught of the disappearing house.” "But what has that to do with the Seventieth National Bank robbery?” I ventured. "The legal mind is logical," said Dowe. “The house has everything to do with it. At present I can tell you no more. The best detectives is the city are working on the case, and we shall permit them to go on for a while. I will call on you Thursday morning at 9 o'clock. Make no ap pointments for that day or the next; I will have need of all of your time.” With that he departed as unexpected THE AUGUSTA HERALD ly as he had and I was left alone with my thoughts. For three weary hours 1 pondered the problem of the missing money, trying to connect it with the Wingate vault. All in vain. That Dowe had a theory of his own I was certain; personally 1 could in no way connect the two. And so I waited. As the days went on I watched the papers eagerly. From them I learned that the cashier of the hank was miss ing; he left the office on the evening of the robbery and had not been heard from since. The night watchman at the bank had witnessed his departure; he carried only an umbrella and had no package of any kind. By Thursday I had quite given up hope of ever sharing in the reward. I picked up the morning paper. I read the heading. These were the first words that greeted my eye: It was learned yesterday that Steph en Mapleton, the expert who repaired the bank vault on behalf of the Merritt corporation, has been missing since lie left the bank last Friday afternoon." Dowe was right after all. Mapleton was in the game. Anxiously I awaited his arrival. Promptly at 9 o’clock he entered the of fice. "Come with me, Mr. Attorney,” he said. He was smiling broadly. "Did you see the papers this morning?" “I did. Tou weren’t far off, after all. Please do not keep me In suspense any longer than you can help. At first, I must confess I imagined your enthusi asm had carried you somewhat afield. 1 was mistaken. What next?" “Put on your hat and coat. That Is the logical next stap. Itemember, in this matter you are retained as friend, not as attorney. I need you as witness and as companion. First of all, we shall pay a social call on the president of the Sev entieth National bank We met the president in his office. At first we were denied admittance. Dowe's card, however, once shown, acted as an open-sesame. “Good day, Mr. Dowe,” said the presi dent, pleasantly. “I hope you have not called to repair our vault; we have had sorry experience In that direction re cently.” “No, Mr. Barrett; I have called to re trieve your loss, i nls is my friend, Mr. Attorney. He will assist me in the good work. Is the reward still open?" “It Is. Five thousand dollars to the man who recovers the money, or who brings Information that will enable us to capture the culprit.” Dowe nodded to me; I nodded back to show him his witness was quite awake to his duties. “It may seem strange, Mr Barrett," said Dowe, "mat I, who usually prevent thefts, should engage In a pursuit of this kind. It is my only offense; in this particular matter. I have as you Wail street men term it, inside Information. Would you mind telling me Just what occurred in fTSe bank on Friday after noon.” "Certainly not, Mr. Dowe. I hope you will be the successful party. It was on Friday that we moved Into these quar ters. We placed all our specie in the outer vault In the basement. We wanted some gold at noon; but we were unable to open the door; our cashier informed us the door could not b« opened. Then we sent to the Merritt company and they sent Mr. Mapleton. He came with his tools.” "In a bag?” asked Dowe. "Yes, a large black bag. Our cashier, Mp. Crompton, accompanied him down to the vault. They were downstairs about an hour. At the end of that time Crompton returned and told us the door was ail right. "In the meantime Mapleton had left?" "I suppose so. The next morning Crompton, for the first time In twenty years, failed to put In an appearance. That Is all I know.” When we reached the sidewalk Dowe nudged me In the ribs. “It's as easy as rolling off a log," said he ecstatically. "Here lies the solution of the mystery,” and he held out the three-pronged key. Six o’clock that evening found me at Dowe’s home. He lived In a pretty sub urban place, about a mile from the Win- gate property. I found him there—l had been delayed downtown a bit—standing on the balcony of his home, playing with a chubby Infant. Reside him stood his young wife. “You don’t look like a pair of great detectives," she said laughingly; "Jim has promised me a. new bonnet out of tile proceeds. If that be any incentive why go ahead and do your best. “And I’ll buy the baby the finest per ambulator that was ever built,” 1 add ed with enthusiasm. We left shortly afterwards. We wer both armed; Dowe had suggested it as a measured of precaution. Beside that he carried a small lantern, and a short crow-bar. “1 have been prospect’tig all the af ternoon." he said to me as we started, “and if we do not earn that reward, 1 shall be a muchly disappointed citizen.’ "You seem to take it coolly enough Before you were as nervous as an eel. Now-, a cake of Ice is enthusiastic com pared to you.” “Yes, because it is all over but the shouting. I’ll offer you a thousand dol lars for your share of the proceeds now.” "No,” said I, "let us earn it first. As for myself, I am as-much in (lie dark as ever." Al his direction we traveled along the upper road until we reached edge of the park. Then we crossed a rustic bridge ami followed the stream on its souther ly hank until we reached the patch of woods opposite the hill on which Win gate house had stood. “Do you see anything there?” asked Dowe pointing. No more Jesting now; he had recalled his earlier enthusiastic earnestness. “Nothing.” I answered in the gath ering gloom. “Come, I’ll show you.” We crossed the stream —It was shallow at that point—until we reached the base of the hill. Without hesitation Dowe pushed aside a patch of sodd/ng, disclosing a large circular iron cover. “What is that?” “Looks like a manhole covering a sow er,” • said I. "Is it? Look elofcor." He lifted the Iron disc with his bar. 1 whistled. Straight down into the earth ran a flight of stone steps. "We’re going down," said my com panion. “Carry your gun in your hand. I’ll go first with the lamp and the bar. Watt until 1 have reached the bottom.” I watched him as he descended. Down, down, he went, until 1 thought that ho would never stop. At last there was a faint hallo. 1 followed, replaced the Iron cover. At the bottom 1 paused. “Are you there;' I asked. “Yes," came the response, In a whis per. "We won’t light up yet. I’ll go ahead; you can ho . on to my coat. Whatever you do, don’t filghten; keep your gun ready.” (’old sweat stood on my brow ns I followed him along the passageway. Af ter all’ he was right. But how had ho found It. out? What if we were dis covered? Was the gold really there? These and a myriad of like questions surged through my bewildered brain as we stumbled along in the uncanny black ness. At length we came to a turning. Dowe lit tlie lamp. "Stay here till I come back,” he said. Jn a moment he and the light had disappeared around a corner. Five, ten minutes went by; he did not return. I started to follow. At that Instant he I started to follow. At that instant he came back. "Como, Mr. Attorney,” lie said in a voice that trembled with excitement, "I’ll show you what. became of the disappearing house.” The passage broadened. Of n sudden we were swept with a. rush of cold air, and the darkness seemed to extend and stretch up around and on ail sides of us. We were in a great deep cavern. Dowe started forward. I heard the clat ter of his feet on a wooden stairway. Then he held the lamp high above his head. In n. flash T saw and comprehended. Before me sunk bodily into the bowels of the earth stood the disappearing house. I>owe rushed into the open doorway. I leaped up the stair and followed; fol lower! him along the hall and down info the cellar stairway. At the foot of the steps he stumbled and fell. At the same instant the light went out. and ■wo were plunged into Inky darkness. "Give, me a match quick," he cried. "There’s somebody here. I stumbled over him.” My hand trembled ns f handed him a light. The tiny wlek sputtered and smoked; then grew large. It was Dowe who spoke. "The cashier—dead!’ Oner- more Dowe moved forward. I heard the grating of a heavy key. A door swung open, and my companion and the light were lost to view. Presently he reappeared. This time he was strangely calm. "Mr. Attorney," said he, "the reward is ours, Tve got the missing money, ft Is in a tool-bag, and beside that tool bag lies the body of fitephen Mapleton!” Here endeth the story of the vault. This time 'lwas no one told It me; for I was there myself. BALTIMORE'B BIRTHDAY. BALTIMORE. — The Monumental City this day attains the respectable old age of 179 years, for Saturday is lhe city’s birthday, the anniversary of the day in 1730 on which the com missioners appointed by the Provis ional Assembly *of Maryland, assisted by Surveyor Philip Jones, Jr., met on the hanks of the Patapsco rivhr and laid cut the new metropolis of the state. THIS MUSCOGEE PLANTER’S TROUBLES COME NOT SINGLY COLUMBUS, Ga.—While George K. Glenn, a Muscogee county planter, was In the city prosecuting negroes who had stolen from him, his barn was burned, at a loss of $1,500. It Is thought that the fire was Incendi ary. CHRISTIAN WORKERS MEET. WASHINGTON. Preliminary to* the consecration of the new Eplsco pal Bishop of Washington, a mass meeting of Christian workers will be held Sunday In Convention hall. The gathering Is expected to he one of the largest and most Impressive of Its kind ever held in the national capital. jtfn interesting Vigil (By Suzanne Antrobus.) Jump. Jump! Down, sir. Bruce-named-for-kings, scion of a noble retriever race, your self king of canines. See! We have left the white village behind, and hero we go scampering away, like children at play. To the wind with care. We are two comrades, you and I, so free —so free —like the air. What did we come for? Don’t gaze at me with such painful decorum. It’s embarrassing to feel your look, for the soul of man —my soul —is not tit for the scrutiny of an honest dog like you. An idle venture this? Ah, good dog; It is Christmas eve, a day when old memories haunt and apparitions walk silently before us. Bark? Bark? Hush! hush! my romping compan ion. It is growing dusk, and you will wage the torpid bees that already | sleep in their houses over by yonder orchard fence. Scamper? Scamper? What else arc we but two fools? But all the world keeps Its anniver saries, and why should we not hold ours In our own way? Pawing again? There, good dog. with wistful faith. We are making a trip to Happy Land. Laughing? Your laugh Is between a smile and a tear. 1 fancy there Is sadness in it. Yes, I insist. We are going to Happy 1/and. > Let love come once, and even more-the place we met her In will nlways be Happy Land. See. 1 walk with a quick gait, along a lhard rat-seamed way that winds with the sombre bayou, down there. Over hero are the cotton fields and Ihe cabins and off yonder the dim woods, and ahead behind those tall oaks—- You are tender now with your shag gy brown head so close. Over there was Happy Land and tills is how we are koeping our anni versary. Ah, my heart! It sloppt)>l beating for a moment, and I am trembling like a woman, A foot’c errand? I grant you that. But once in a while, all lhe world makes such jour neys—to the land of the might-have been. A falter in my voice? Not so my lordly dog. That was nil long ago, and though 1 remember like a vision seen in sleep, it was one of the things, a brief dreant, that could not last. Jump? Jump? Quiet, sir. You scatter the dusty leaves like a wanton breeze. Feel the air. It iff like a caress, and how silent! Up yonder, see Andromeda sailing like a veritable goddess on a jeweled sea. God speaks earnestly in His silence. A furtive wind just passed us. Ah! how good is the fra grance of (he roses, and listen! Away off yonder in the little cabin near the gin house, n negro fiddles to his piccaninnies. How the violin-souls wall through the darkness! Bark? Bark? Mark! It Is the song she sang. 1 laugh good dog, good dog. I have not laughed In five years. Imt, there are subtle voices In that, refrain mat speak to me. Closed? Closer? You press so near to tne; you make me think. She was soft In her ways, and affectionate like you. That was her song— Scamper? Scamper? Now you are gone. Alas! I thought to feel the pressure of something that loves me—even a dog. Run, run, then back again? Coquetry .b not only horn In wom en. Believe me there Is close kin dred between you two—and some hit mans. i recall the rose-petal fresh ness of her skin, the droop of her l head as an amorous lily hangs on its I stem. Limping? Poor dog! ft is a thorn in your foot that troubles you. I touch it gentlv, for a caress from a loving hand Is solace for all pain. Aye, comrade? Sky gazing? Yes, yes, my Bruce. How foolish I am! jx walking dream to be blot ted by reality. See the stars off yonder tangled In that trailing web of silver clouds, and hear the bull frogs’ sonorous calls from the lake, and the owl’s hoot. How many years Is it since I ve felt any caress save yours old fellow—how many years? Paw? Pa\*> Down—and let my hand rest on you. I was only wiping away a tear. Just then I suddenly looked hack ! behind the years back there to that, shadowy past, where under a mound of rose leaves I hurled a love that was hard to strangle. You remember? No. You were a baby, and young things forget. She was not for me to lover It was for family Interests, and she was affianced In infancy to another, but she filled my life with Joy, and we forgot—See that, moon, I Bruce? How she smiles? I swear I 1 ran detect a cynical droop In her bow, hut thnt is a way moons have. Laughing. Walk ff.ster old brown dog. It. Is growing late. The train comes through at daylight, and we will make It. 1 only want to see the old place once more. I know she has gone, and the house must be empty, but those hallowed walls will not be dumb to me. Sniffing. Drop your muzzle. Roses? What do you know of the tender significance of a delicately petaled flower? Oh! the fragrance, and the glory they made on the gallery over yonder—such a quaint nook, with trel- I Used columns and open spaces where thYi moonlight, out, of sheer joy laugh ed down at us. I kissed her hand In the shadows, and all In a moment something came to us drifted on the wing* of forgetfulness like an echo of a lost dream. We had strange fan cies—visions mayhap, but they brought sweeter, purer thoughts than all others. She was mine and I was hers, for love was ours. Bark? Bark? Stop that, sir. Decidedly old fel- PAGE THREE low, you are a timely reminder. An awakening must always come. The rewards of love are only memories— ! that is all we get out of It in the end. Man lives to find the emptiness and , vanity of that he prizes most. Sun, ; moon, clouds, ttees, winds—all ! change. Why not love? Leap? There, keep quiet. Your foot la j well again, it is easily mended lik* ; the heart of a woman. Up? Up? I No. sir. Down! I know what -i’ou would say if you could talk. Heaven has given dogs wonderful majesty of expression by look, and dumb things speak louder to nte than some tongues. Moving slowly? Well, it Is shadowy here. And was that a firefly gleaming like a tiny lantern against the darkness? I thought l heard a voice. Maybe it was her soul speaking to mine—or ft I must he the reeds down there in the I bayou quarreling with the rusher. Listening? Long ago there came a night, when we stood under the shadow of yon ! cypress, A mocking wind blew | through the w illows, and tossed drift ing hawthorne blossoms at our feet. ;The stars were veiled In mist, and | the night bird’s refrain had a sad ness in 11. She crept close In my I arms and kisses full of fiery pathos ;olosed my lips—a silence—then, "It |is the last,” she whispered. “We have been dreaming, and now I am i awake. Love Is a chimera which ! crowns a mad moment with bliss. It |is too sweet to last, but the memory | will fill our lives with color and frag ; ranee —alw'ays." 1 You know what happened? i Y'es, the battle was lost, for she went away In the darkness—l never saw her again, but the pain Is here. In my heart, yet. Oh, I agree with you, sir. She was not a woman, but a beautiful, trivial thing with a butterfly soul. Skulking? Are you jealous of memories? True, they give form and substance to many a dream, but they vanish In the whirl of reality and we realize that a mo ntenl —the measure of a sigh—la- all there is of happiness. Bark? Bark? I wonder If she Is happy, with alt money can give she did not love him, but the mesmeric color of hia gold turned her brain. Bark? Stop thtfi Jumping, sir. That light In the old window Is not for us. She Is far from here, and doubtless ne groes keep Christmas vigil In the an clenl house. Lie still at the foot of the steps while l softly cross the gal lery there. In len minute* I will have looked In al the window—hej window once. Each glance will bring .t thought of her, and another Christ mas even when 1 kissed her under the mistletoe there. Hark! It | R the old song again, and the voice—how strangely like hers. You are rest less tonight. Did I not hid you stay down at the foot of the stairs? Whine? Whine? To he sure, old fellow. We are both sad. Alt, God that there was no awakening front some dreams. All the world knows n dog’s faith Is stronger than a woman’s. Kissing my hands? Thank you brown friend. You are a comfort In pain. Now 1 advance to the window and shut my eyes, lest the sudden vision of the dear room dazzle me with Its likeness to long ago. Paw? Paw? He quiet, sir. Bark? Bark? You excite my curiosity, and I am listening. Bark? I see, my dog—the figure at the piano— the bronze of that woman's hair shlr/Knerlng softly above her white forehead —her voice—all—all ure like Margaret. A smothered yelp, and you dart through the window. This moment Is pain, for I am alone God! that dogs and women are so alike- a caress from a slender white hand, and you, my brown comrade I loved so well —you too are gone from me. Bark? Bark? Am I mad? 1 hear a woman’s voice —so tender, so low. she is speaking to you, my dog. * Is It not so? It was a mistake from the beginning. He of the gold went out of her life as carelessly as the strain of a waltz tune. It Is me she loved —she loves me now— Leap. Ah, brave dog! how can you tear the spotless whiteness of her virginal robe—the lamp flareß under the ca ress of the breeze, and drifting rose petals from the crimson creeper at the casement fall on the whiteness like flecks of blood. Margaret? A gasp! a cry! and in a moment she Is so near, so close, and we are alone. Bark? Bark? Bark? Leap, bark, bay at. the moon, good dog! You see, we’ve come to Happy Land. I told you so. Ah! a new awakening Is ours, and all is glad nesß. Merry Christmas to you! Merry love--love —that makes Christmas in our hearts. New Creation of Soul Kisses | A Caress in Confections Sold by all our Sales Amenta aad •I oar Fifty Retail Stores
