in stopping at the steamship office to put off his date of sailing for a fortnight. V RANSOM took good care that Mrs. Sollow should know the details of his conference with Clarke, as far as that beastly last remark. Miss Green had not appeared since his return. That evening, however, while he was having a cigar in the garden, one of the salon windows opened, and she stepped forth. Ransom felt a little tumult of exultation, as she crossed the gravel to where he was standing beside the old ivy. The last glimmer of light was fading from the western towers of Notre Dame. The organist of St. Severin was practising some bass fugue that threw a certain solemnity into the evening. The pension was still at table, busy over the Mademoiselle Clover mystery, which had leaked a little. It was whispered that Miss Grayer had written a sonnet about it. "I couldn't let you go without seeing you-and thanking you for all you have done," the note of humiliation in her clear voice was awkward. "I ought to tell you that I see you were right. You conquered after all!" That word "conquer" upset Ransom. "I am not going, at least at present." She threw him one searching glance as if to estimate the price which he might expect for his prophecies, advice, and service. "You are detained?" "You said once that women grow to love their masters, those who have helped them." She turned half away as if chilled by the night-air, which was coming in freshly from the Seine. "Did I? I have learned that one must be careful in the choice of masters;" a little mockery lurked in this speech. Just then Brown strolled into the garden, the first time Ransom had found him inopportune. Miss Green smiled at Ransom, and walked back to the house. "What a heavenly night!" Brown remarked. There was something so platitudinously calm and assured in this observation that Ransom felt convinced that a wedding might come from the intimacies of the pension. It could not be his, however. The direct method of attack, at any rate in the case of women, struck him at that moment as futile. By Charles Prescott Shermon SPRING has her changeful skies, her waking leaves- She smiles," How well-beloved a queen I am!" When wild winds make the giant pines their harp, Only to those who miss a presence dear The thorns of Winter's holly-crown are sharp, T SQUIRE KAYLEY'S CONCLUSIONS By Sarah Barnwell Elliott HERE is a certain family likeness in all small country towns that is quite consistent with a wide divergence in manners and customs, and one thing common to all is a "leading citizen." He is generally a good man, for after all it is the upright who best weather the storm and find permanent haven in the faith of their fellow-men. The town of Greenville, like all her family, was extremely self-important, and when her "leading citizen," Mr. Joshua Kayley-commonly called Squire Kayley -was sent to Congress, Greenville became absolutely sure of the large place she filled in the public eye, and felt glad for the rest of the world that a teacher should go out from such a place as Greenville. In return, Squire Kayley felt deeply grateful for the honor done him; was proud of his town, of his county, and of his State, and went to his post determined to do all possible credit to his native region. As has been intimated, Squire Kayley was an upright man; he was also a modest and an observant man, honestly desirous of thinking and doing right, and when he reached Washington he found much food for thought. He did not make many remarks during his term of office, but in a quiet way he made many investigations, and arrived at some astonishing conclusions. He found, among other things, that the West and the South were looked on as being uncivilized because of what in those regions were called "difficulties," not to speak of lynchings and other modes of supplementing the law. He found out also, that in quieter regions, instead of "a word and a blow," people brought action for "assault and battery," and "alienating affections," and "breach of promise," and the rest of it— delicate matters which in his experience had always been settled by a bullet or a caning. Not being a bloodthirsty man, he pondered much on these things, and determined at last that he would try the experiment of making his native town more lawabiding. It was a herculean task, and he had serious doubts as to his success, but he was determined to try, for although Greenville could not boast that every man in her graveyard had died with his boots on, she could nevertheless bring to mind a long list of sons who had begun their march on the "lonely road" well shod. He was sitting on the hotel piazza with a number of his constituents one afternoon after his return home, and while a negro handed about glasses filled with a topazcolored mixture, crushed ice, mint, and straws, Squire Kayley told this story. "A man up yonder," he began, "made some remarks about another man, a stranger from another region of the country; a few days afterward the man was on the cars when the stranger walked up to him and, taking him by the nose, pulled him all the way down the car.” Gosh!" exclaimed one listener. "Did you stay for the funeral? asked another. "He didn't shoot," Squire Kayley answered; "he brought in a charge of assault and battery, and got two thousand dollars damages." His audience groaned. You needn't groan," the Squire went on, with a steadiness in his tone and words such as a man puts into his actions when he is about to light a fuse-" that feller had a level head. He had followed so quick that his nose wasn't hurt, and two thousand dollars is a lots better poultice for a man's honor than a feller-man's blood." A dead silence followed this remark, and Squire Kayley, tilting his chair back against the wall, pulled gently at the straw in his glass. After a few moments a young fellow sitting on the railing of the piazza asked: "An' you'd sue for damages, Squire ?" "I ain't sure, Nick," Squire Kayley answered, slowly. "I hope I won't be tried, but I think the fellow had a level head." "An' two thousand dollars is a heap er money," said another young fellow, thoughtfully. ""Tain't so much the money, Loftus," the Squire answered, “as not shedding blood. They're lots more peaceable up yonder than we are, and they haven't got it by killing each other, either; and they're lots richer, too, and a good deal of it has come through being law-abiding." "Dang my soul, if you ain't changed!" cried an old fellow, jerking his rockingchair round so as to face Squire Kayley. "I'd noticed thet you'd smoothed your words a heap, an' had cut your hair short, an' shaved your face clean, but I hedn't looked for no fu'ther change, an' this is too much when you say you'd let a feller pull yo' nose an' be satisfied with two thousand dollars." "I'd let you pull it for one, Uncle Adam," Squire Kayley answered, smiling. There was a general laugh, but not a hearty one, for their leading citizen was announcing doctrines that would have branded any other townsman as a coward. "There was another man," the Squire went on; "a feller began to carry on with his wife; we'll suppose that he did what he could to stop it, then after watching awhile and seeing that things were hopeless, he brought action for alienating his wife's affections and gained his suit and five thousand dollars." "Damn it, man, you didn't think thet was right!" Uncle Adam cried again, growing very red in the face, while the other listeners looked at the Squire pleadingly as if imploring him not to commit himself beyond redemption. "Why not?" the Squire asked, taking another pull at his straw-" nothing could heal the hurt the woman had done him, and a woman as far gone as that didn't deserve to have blood spilt for her, and to leave her on the other feller's hands, at the same time taking away his money, seems to me the most dismal punishment on the face of the earth." "But, Squire, could you have held yourself?" cried Nick. "I ain't sure," the Squire answered, again," and I won't be tried, being a bachelor; but that feller had a level head." Loftus did not venture to remark again on the money, and Uncle Adam and the others having sunk into wondering silence, the Squire went on : "There was a fellow engaged to a girl; first thing she knew he was married to another girl; she sued for breach of promise and got her money." "Fur God's sake, Joshua Kayley!" Uncle Adam pleaded, for the third time, and now with a tone of despair in his voice, "you wouldn't er let yo' daughter do thet?" The Squire shook his head. "No," he said, "seeing I'm a bachelor, I wouldn't, but I do draw the line there. I don't know what I'd do to a man who should ill-treat my daughter, if I had one-but she shouldn't do anything; all the same, the girl had a level head. And I'll tell you," he went on, rising to his feet and waving his glass to emphasize his words "I'll tell you that the people up yonder have got the right end of the stick. You'll not get peace nor honor by killing people, and you'll not make money by paying lawyers to defend you in murder trials-and we don't gain credit nor bring capital to our country by riots and difficulties; and they call us barbarous and uncivilized, they do, and we've got to change we got to become law-abiding. I love Greenville, and I love you all, and you've all got to help me change this town. God knows, and you know, that I ain't a coward, and if you could hear them talk about us and our ways, and read their papers about us and our doings, you'd try to help me ; and he resumed his seat. There was a moment's silence, then Uncle Adam brought his hand down sharply on the arm of his chair. "It's no use talkin', Josh," he said, "we ain't been raised that way, an' we ain't a goin' to change into no pulin' complainers to the law, nor patch up our dishonor with money. Why, Josh, even the niggers would scorn such talk, an' for the land's sake, stop it." There was a chuckle from the doorway, where the negro waiter had paused to listen. as if with restrained mirth. "Lawd, Boss," he said, "'tain't no use talkin' to niggers; it's too easy furrum to shoot en run, en dat's w'at a nigger'll do ev'y time." "An' the whites 'll shoot an' stan' to it!" cried Uncle Adam; "an' you've gone all wrong, Josh." Squire Kayley shook his head. "No, Uncle Adam," he answered, "I'm right. People, and 'specially boys, seem to think that there's some kind of glory in defending what they call their honor, and half the time it's bad temper or bad liquor. But there's no glory in a cold-blooded lawsuit, and if they knew that they'd have to go into court and have their lives and their characters turned inside out, they'd control themselves a little better." A tall young woman, very much overdressed, was seen coming down the street on the other side. Nick slipped off the railing on to the pavement and, stepping across quickly, joined her. The group on the hotel piazza was silent, watching the couple out of sight. Then Uncle Adam said: "It beats me why Nick Tobin's wife is forever passin' this hotel. To my certain knowledge she's been by three times today." Maybe she has business down town," suggested the Squire. "Loftus Beesley's smilin' like he knows," was another suggestion. Uncle Adam nudged Loftus. "Not long ago," he said, "we mighter thought it was 'cause Loftus was a settin' here." "Well, she's gone," said Squire Kayley, sharply; "and I can't see how it's our business what she's gone for." Uncle Adam looked at the speaker for a moment, the color mounting to his face, 'It seems to me, Joshua Kayley,” he answered, "thet you're losin' yo' mind. If I choose to make it my business who passes this hotel, I'm goin' to make it my business; an' if I choose to say thet Nick Tobin's wife spen's her life gaddin' roun' these streets, I'm goin' to say it; an' I'll Squire Kayley turned. "You there, add thet when Nick's in town she does Sam?" he said. "I'm glad of it, you can spen' her time on the streets, an' when he's help me, too; you can go and tell the travellin', or with his firm over in the city, niggers what I say, and tell 'em I'm she spen's it at home receivin' the boys. right." An' fu'thermo' Loftus is one o' them boys; The negro bent double over his waiter an' I'll instruct you again-Nick suspicions it, an' he leaves the Seelye boys, his own cousins, on guard when he's gone, 'cause Nick's got no man to help him, an' the girl's own people can't do nothin' with her -now, what do you say?" "That I'm mighty sorry for Nick," Squire Kayley answered, quietly; "he's a good fellow, a little hasty, but straight, and the least his friends can do is not to trifle with his wife behind his back, nor make her the subject of public comments; and I'll stand by Nick, and I'll stand by her for his sake. We all ought to." Loftus moved uneasily, then joined Uncle Adam, who had risen, and with a very much disgusted expression, stood looking down on Squire Kayley. "I wish yo' new doctrines good luck,. Josh," the old man said, sarcastically; "but I'm an ole bottle, an' the preacher says new wine busts ole bottles, an' I'm 'fraid o' bustin' if I takes in any mo', an' then you'd bring a suit for damages, so I'm goin'." Squire Kayley laughed. 46 You can't make me mad, Uncle Adam," he said, "and you can say anything you please. Some day you'll see that I'm right." Of course Squire Kayley's new doctrines were the town's talk in a few hours, and the women with one accord took his part. Squire Kayley was right, they declared, was always right, and if he had broken up that hotbed of scandal that collected every afternoon on the hotel piazza he had done a good work. Women scarcely liked to pass the hotel, and although Letty Tobin deserved to be talked about because of her scandalous behavior with Loftus Beesley, still they were glad that the Squire had spoken plainly, even if in so doing he had taken Letty's part. Further, if he could persuade their sons and husbands to stop bullying each other, they would look on him as their deliverer from many anxieties and evils, and they would try to help him. The next thing Greenville knew an action for assault and battery was brought by Sam, the waiter at the hotel, against Uncle Adam Dozier, the autocrat of the hotel piazza. The excitement was intense. Of course Sam had come at once to Squire Kayley, and of course Squire Kayley could not refuse the case. He did his best to persuade Sam from it, for Uncle Adam had often before whacked Sam with his walking-stick, but though perfectly amiable, Sam stood to his point. The town was in a fume. Squire Kayley's popularity wasted like snow under a July sun, and there were no words capable of expressing Uncle Adam's sensations, nor any reputable printer who would have put his language in type. The women, hitherto solid for Squire Kayley as the only man in town, besides the clergy, who was always sober, were divided, for though they detested Uncle Adam as an old reprobate with an unscrupulous tongue-still, the case was a negro against a white man, which brought many feelings other than justice into full play. However, through it all Squire Kayley was "quiet and peaceable and full of compassion," and he gained his case, and Sam his money, and Uncle Adam, having exhausted his vocabulary, took out his vengeance in an ostentatious and belligerent avoidance of the Squire. But time, humanity's one patent medicine that really cures all, soothed Uncle Adam, and as Sam had discreetly disappeared, the old man resumed his position on the hotel piazza, where each day he used Squire Kayley's new doctrines as a peg on which to hang an ever-enlarging book of lamentations over the old times, and declared that since Sam's victory "every nigger in town was tryin' to git licked, which would be mighty good furrum but for the money which the Squire hed attached. For everybody knew that a thrashin' was a nigger's best frien', while money was a pitfall of danger "--but that "the nex' time he hit, he'd hit to kill, then Josh Kayley could have the pleasure of puttin' him in the penitentiary." Furthermore he said that he hoped "thet no other Greenville man would ever go to Washington if it was goin' to ruin him like it had ruined Josh. Josh had gone away an ole time gen'leman, but only the omniscient Almighty knew what he had changed into 'fore he got back." The occurrence had its effect, however, as object-lessons always do, and, as the Squire observed, "Uncle Adam had ceased his gentle play with his walking-stick." Greenville resumed its deadly stillness after this, until the first cold snap in the |