Newspaper Page Text
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
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A Caress in Confections
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