Puslapio vaizdai

in' him every day. She watches the “What ails Jabez?” wondered the Coltrain night 'n mornin'. It 'ud make onel. “Somethin's happened.” yoh sick to see her old face when it goes Nutt hurried up the steps. “Mail's in, by.”

gentlemen. Two circulars an' this letNatuhlly,” the Colonel struck in ter. Foh Miss Dilly. I just run over pompously, “we want to make Miss with it; I thought


"When she saw the writing on the envelope she turned and went to her own room and shut the door."

Dilly happy to-morrow, long o' the rest. Quite right, quite right!” exclaimed She doan forget none of us in her knit- Father Ruggles. “It may be —” tin's an buyin's' I'll warrant! I says to The men all rose in their excitement. the Squire hyah, “suppose de clarin'"Do you give it to her, Squire," said the com-bine, 'n buy somethin' wuth while— old minister. “You've been her best a cheer or new calico or somethin'.' But friend." he says, “Whah's de use ?' he says, 'she Miss Dilly came up the steps. The wants nothin' but her brother. Kin we Squire handed her the letter without a give her her brother?' So thahs how it word. His red, pudgy face fell into is !” filling his pipe, with a gloomy nod. queer grimaces as he watched her.

The men glanced furtively at Miss “Foh me! A letter! Foh - ?Dilly, who, in her blue gown and white The blood stopped in her old body as apron, stood in the yard below feeding a she took it, smiling but very pale. noisy flock of chickens.

When she saw the writing on the envelThe sun going down through a frosty ope she turned and went to her own sky threw red lights upon the vast white room and shut the door. plains and the cluster of little gray The news spread. In ten minutes the houses huddled closely together. Their whole clarin' was gathered on the gallery. hoods of feathered, crusted snow made “It may not be from Colonel James them almost picturesque,

at all,” suggested Jabez. “It may be on Across the road came a black, paunchy business. figure. It was Nutt the carpenter, who “ Business! Doan be an ass, Jabez kept the post-office in a box in his shop. Nutt," said the Colonel.

The station waited breathless.

of providential that the Colonel shud She came out at last, her face shining come on this Christmas. Father Rugwith a great inward peace.

gles hyah 'n all. The station kin give “Jem,” she said to them in a low, him a suitable reception. Ef the turquiet ice,“ has gone back to our house keys only hold out! I count on you foh on the Old Black, an' put it an' the farm the coffee, Royall." to rights, and him an' me is to live thah to- You kin. But it isn't victuals I'm gether. He's comin’to-night on the train.” keerin' foh, sah,” said the Colonel, with a

Nobody spoke. The tremendous tid- quaver of genuine feeling in his voice. ings took their breath.

"It's thet pore soul yonder. Goda“An’-an’ when is yoh a-goin', Miss mighty hes sent her her Christmas gift, Dilly ? ” gasped Sam, who was the first shore. Hyar's the train, gentlemen!” to recover.

It rolled up the track, stopped. “Not jest rightaway. He'll stay hyah A short, heavy man, with gray hair a week, to see his old friends,” she said. and a kind, resolute face, came out on “An'—thah's the train !” Then she the platform. broke down and began to tremble and “ Thet's him! Thet's Jem!” shouted cry. The women gathered about her the Colonel. Then they all broke into a and cried too, while they smoothed her rousing cheer, pressing round him, warhair and re-pinned her handkerchiefs. ing their hats, and shaking his hand,

The men hurried down to meet the after the hearty Southern fashion. train.

“She's up thah, Colonel,” said the “What an occasion to-morrow'll be !” Squire. “Go right away up, sah. She's panted Squire Barr. “It's nothin' short been waitin' a long time.”


By Lizette Woodworth Reese.

Oh, you who love me not, tell me some way
Whereby I may forget you for a space ;
Nay, clean forget you and your lovely face-
Yet well I know how vain this

prayer I pray.
All weathers hold you. Can I make the May
Forbid her boughs blow white in every place?
Or rob June of her rose that comes apace ?
Cheat of their charm the elder months and gray ?
Aye, were you dead, you could not be forgot;
So sparse the bloom along the lanes would be;
Such sweetness out the briery hedges fled ;
My tears would fall that you had loved me not;
And bitterer tears that you had gone from me;
Living you break my heart, so would you dead !

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By Robert Louis Stevenson.



IN that day, I was sit- and to be clear with you, I am a little

ting in my room a concerned lest it should be at some to little before supper, me. I have saved my life so often, Mr. when John Paul burst I forget your name, which is a very open the door with no good one—that faith, I would be very civility of knocking, loath to lose it after all. And the son and told me there was of a ramrod, whom I believe I saw be

one below that wish- fore Carlisle . . ed to speak with the steward; sneering “O, sir,” said I, “you can trust Macat the name of my office.

conochie until to-morrow.” I asked what manner of man, and “ Well, and it's a delight to hear you what his name was; and this disclosed say so,” says the stranger. “The truth the cause of John's ill humor; for it ap- is that my name is not a very suitable peared the visitor refused to name him- one in this country of Scotland. With self except to me, a sore affront to the a gentleman like you, my dear man, I major-domo's consequence.

would have no concealments, of course; "Well,” said I, smiling a little, “I and by your leave, I'll just breathe it in will see what he wants.”

your ear. They call me Francis Burke: I found in the entrance hall a big man Colonel Francis Burke; and I am here very plainly habited and wrapped in a at a most damnable risk to myself, to seal cloak, like one new landed, as in- see your masters—if you'll excuse me, deed he was. Not far off Macconochie my good man, for giving them the name, was standing, with his tongue out of his for I'm sure it's a circumstance I would mouth and his hand upon his chin, like never have guessed from your appeara dull fellow thinking hard ; and the ance. And if you would just be so very stranger, who had brought his cloak obliging as to take my name to them, about his face, appeared uneasy. He you might say that I come bearing lethad no sooner seen me coming than he ters which I am sure they will be very went to meet me with an effusive man- rejoiced to have the reading of.” ner.

Colonel Francis Burke was one of the “My dear man,” said he, "a thousand Prince's Irishmen, that did his cause apologies for disturbing you, but I'm in such an infinity of hurt and were so the most awkward position. And there's much distasted of the Scots at the time a son of a ramrod there that I should of the rebellion ; and it came at once know the looks of, and more by token I into the mind, how the Master of Balbelieve that he knows mine. Being in lantrae had astonished all men by going this family, sir, and in a place of some with that party. In the same moment, responsibility (which was the cause I a strong foreboding of the truth postook the liberty to send for you) you sessed my soul. are doubtless of the honest party ?” “If you will step in here," said I open

“You may be sure at least,” says I, ing a chamber door, “I will let my lord " that all of that party are quite safe in know.” Durrisdeer.”

“And I am sure it is very good of “My dear man, it is my very thought,” you, Mr. What is your name,” says the says he. "You see I have just been set Colonel. on shore here by a very honest man, Up to the hall I went, slow footed. whose name I cannot remember, and There they were all three, my old lord who is to stand off and on for me till in his place, Mrs. Henry at work by the morning, at some danger to himself; window, Mr. Henry (as was much his

your service.

custom) pacing the low end. In the if I know anything of his habits, he will midst was the table laid for supper. I be drawing in his chair to & piece told them briefly what I had to say. of dinner.—Bedad, I believe the lady's My old lord lay back in his seat. Mrs. fainting.” Henry sprang up standing with a me Mrs. Henry was indeed the color of chanical motion, and she and her hus- death, and drooped against the window band stared in each other's eyes across frame. But when Mr. Henry made a the room; it was the strangest, chal- movement as if to run to her, she lenging look these two exchanged, and straightened with a sort of shiver. “I as they looked, the color faded in their am well,” she said, with her white lips. faces. Then Mr. Henry turned to me; Mr. Henry stopped, and his face had not to speak, only to sign with his fin- a strong twitch of anger. The next ger; but that was enough, and I went moment he had turned to the Colonel. down again for the Colonel.

“You must not blame yourself,” says he, When we returned, these three were “ for this effect on Mrs. Durie. It is in much the same position I had left only natural; we were all brought up them in ; I believe no word had passed. like brother and sister.”

“My lord Durrisdeer no doubt?" Mrs. Henry looked at her husband with says the Colonel, bowing, and my lord something like relief or even gratitude. bowed in answer. “And this,” contin- In my way of thinking, that speech was ues the Colonel, “should be the Master the first step he made in her good of Ballantrae?”

graces. “I have never taken that name," said “You must try to forgive me, Mrs. Mr. Henry; “but I am Henry Durie at Durie, for indeed and I am just an Irish

savage,” said the Colonel ; ' “and I deThen the Colonel turns to Mrs. Henry, serve to be shot for not breaking the bowing with his hat upon his heart matter more artistically to a lady. But and the most killing airs of gallantry. here are the Master's own letters; one “There can be no mistake about so fine for each of the three of you; and tc be a figure of a lady,” says he. “I address sure (if I know anything of my friend's the seductive Miss Alison, of whom I genius) he will tell his own story with a have so often heard ? ”

better grace.” Once more husband and wife ex He brought the three letters forth as changed a look.

he spoke, arranged them by their super"I am Mrs. Henry Durie,” said she; scriptions, presented the first to my lord, "but before my marriage my name was who took it greedily, and advanced toAlison Graeme.”

wards Mrs. Henry holding out the secThen my lord spoke up.

“I am an

ond. old man, Colonel Burke,” said he, “and But the lady waved it back. “ To a frail one. It will be mercy on your my husband,” says she, with a choked part to be expeditious. Do you bring voice. me news of-of he hesitated, and The Colonel was a quick man, but at then the words broke from him with a this he was somewhat nonplussed. “To singular change of voice—“my son?be sure,” says he, “how very dull of me!

“My dear lord, I will be round with To be sure. But he still held the you like a soldier,” said the Colonel. letter. “I do.”

At last Mr. Henry reached forth his My lord held out a wavering hand; hand, and there was nothing to be done he seemed to wave a signal, but whether but give it up. Mr. Henry took the letit was to give him time or to speak on ters (both hers and his own) and looked

more than we could guess. At upon their outside, with his brows knit length, he got out the one word- hard as if he were thinking. He had surgood ?"

prised me all through by his excellent Why, the

very best in the creation !” behavior; but he was to excel himself. cries the Colonel. “For my good friend “Let me give you a hand to your and admired comrade is at this hour in room,” said he to his wife. “This has the fine city of Paris, and as like as not, come something of the suddenest; and



I was

at any rate, you will wish to read your ACCOUNT OF THE MASTER'S WANDERINGS. letter by yourself.”

From the Manuscript of the Chevalier de Burke. Again she looked upon him with the same thought of wonder; but he gave

I left Ruthven (it's hardly her no time, coming straight to where necessary to remark) with much greater she stood. “It will be better so, believe satisfaction than I had come to it; but me," said he ; “Colonel Burke is too con- whether I missed my way in the deserts, siderate not to excuse you.” And with or whether my companions failed me, I that he took her hand by the fingers, soon found myself alone. This was a and led her from the hall.

predicament very disagreeable ; for I Mrs. Henry returned no more that never understood this horrid country or night; and when Mr. Henry went to savage people, and the last stroke of the visit her next morning, as I heard long Prince's withdrawal had made us of the afterwards, she gave him the letter Irish more unpopular than ever. again, still unopened.

reflecting on my poor chances, when I “O, read it and be done!” he had cried. saw another horseman on the hill, whom "Spare me that,” said she.

I supposed at first to have been a phanAnd by these two speeches, to my way tom, the news of his death in the very of thinking, each undid a great part of front at Culloden being current in the what they had previously done well. army generally. This was the Master But the letter, sure enough, came into of Ballantrae, my Lord Durrisdeer's son, my hands, and by me was burned, a young nobleman of the rarest gallantunopened.

ry and parts, and equally designed by To be very exact as to the adventures nature to adorn a court and to


lauof the Master after Culloden, I wrote not rels in a field. Our meeting was the long ago to Colonel Burke, now a Chev- more welcome to both, as he was one of alier of the Order of St. Louis, begging the few Scots who had used the Irish him for some notes in writing, since I with consideration, and as he might now could scarce depend upon my memory be of very high utility in aiding my esat so great an interval. To confess the


Yet what founded our particular truth, I have been somewhat embar- friendship was a circumstance by itself, rassed by his response ; for he sent me as romantic as any fable of King Arthe complete memoirs of his life, touch- thur. . ing only in places on the Master ; run- This was on the second day of our ning to a much greater length than my flight, after we had slept one night in whole story, and not everywhere (as it the rain upon the inclination of a mounseems to me) designed for edification. tain. There was an Appin man, Alan He begged in his letter, dated from Et- Black Stewart (or some such name,* but tenheim, that I would find a publisher I have seen him since in France), who for the whole, after I had made what chanced to be passing the same way, use of it I required ; and I think I shall and had a jealousy of my companion. best answer my own purpose and fulfil Very uncivil expressions his wishes by printing certain parts of changed ; and Stewart calls upon the it in full. In this way my readers will Master to alight and have it out. have a detailed and I believe a very gen- 'Why, Mr. Stewart,” says the Master, uine account of some essential matters ; “I think at the present time, I would and if any publisher should take a fancy prefer to run a race with you." And to the Chevalier's manner of narration, with the word claps spurs to his horse. he knows where to apply for the rest, of Stewart ran after us, a childish thing which there is plenty at his service. I to do, for more than a mile; and I could put in my first extract here, so that it not help laughing as I looked back at may stand in the place of what the Chev- last and saw him on a hill, holding his alier told us over our wine in the hall hand to his side and nearly burst with of Durrisdeer ; but you are to suppose running. it was not the brutal fact, but a very varnished version that he offered to my lord.


Stewart, afterwards notorious as the Appin murderer?


* Note by Mr. Mackellar : Should not this be Alan Breck

The Chevalier is sometimes very weak on names.

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