ter-night afore I gives in an inch. But they won't risk it. Ye see, this pore woman with money hed ter hev a next frien', an' I feel eenymost shore thet the Lord sent me down ter act out the part. He air pullin' the wires, an' I'm goin' through the motions. Them men air bustin' afeard they air in deep water now. They won't bother her no more."

Two hours later, when the strangers had long gone, the pleasant little nurse slipped into the dining-room, where the strange visitor was eating a sumptuous meal under the obsequious attentions of Louella.

"She wants to see you when you have finished your supper, Mr. Gladden."

"Pa Gladden, darter, ter all nice, brave girls like you shorely be. Waal, I 've been fed like a preacher, ef I don't look like one, an' ez soon ez Loueller finds me a shoe-bresh, I wull step up."

His heart smote him as he looked at the Iwan and withered old face before him.

"I heard you- every word," she said. "Who sent you here to save me from that dreadful thing?"

"Ef ye hev ast fer help, air thar any special need fer ye ter question, Mis' Judy?"

"Man, how I have prayed to believe in some one that was true and honest!"

Seeing that Death had set his seal upon her, Pa Gladden was very gentle. So she heard of the long memory of her suffering face, and of the grace-giving tramp through the springtime woods. The worn woman listened eagerly.

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"Do you know of that grave out there?" A man thet durrected me said it war Mr. Judy's own."

"A sign of folly. He made a will when he brought me here. It bound me to stay here, him to leave me his money. He swore in those days that no man should ever seek me save over his grave, and he said he would be buried in the very doorway. He wanted what he wanted, body and soul. There he lies, but the path goes around. No one came; they were afraid. The Judy money brought bad luck; nobody wanted it, man or woman. Listen" -and she told it off on her long fingers. "Old Vince Judy was paralyzed while swearing. Gilbert Judy was stabbed in the back and robbed in Mexico. Vince Judy, my husband that was, was bad to the core.

I knew it when I married him. I wanted the money those days. He was killed by a horse. Not one of them died a peaceful death, and here I lie, uneasy in mind and suffering in body. I want to tell you," went on the old woman. "They brought him home and laid him in that roomthere; and I went in and nursed him to the end. I went in there, and I stayed with him; and when he came to die, I made him tear up his last will. I got up on the bed on my knees and told him I would have the money-that the law would give me my share anyhow, and I would have it all."

"Ye must hev a powerful object tellin' me," said Pa Gladden, "fer ye air talkin' beyant yer strength. Waal, ye got the money, an' hev lived with it fer years. An' now ye can't take it with ye, so ye kin leave it ter the glory o' God. Thet money should do good, an' wipe out them black sins done in its name. Ye kin shorely make it a blessin' an' not a cuss."

"But the way?" cried the sick woman. "If I knew the way I would have peace. I have prayed for something to help me decide."

"It does 'pear like I hev been sort o' choosed out ter help an' ter console ye," said Pa Gladden. "But I hain't hed no glimmer o' my dooty toward thet money. Ef ye hev no objections, we hed better lift up our souls in prayer erbout this matter." He knelt down.

"God o' redeemin' love, thet hez shorely durrected me here ter help an' ter counsel our sister, look down on this pore, sufferin' one. She air wishin' ter atone an' ter be guided by thy hand in placin' suttin sinmoney whar it wull shorely redeem itself. Look down on her desires, an' guide her, an' give her everlastin' peace, an' let thy servant help her."

Mrs. Judy wiped the tears from her

eyes.

"You do believe I will be saved, don't you?"

"Believe? Why, Mis' Judy, I am plumb shore. Ye war settin' here, day an' night, implorin' o' the Lord fer help; an' me, afur off, air sent ye, over stick, brake, an' stone. In Bible times thar war speerits sent ter men on special occasions; but, it seems, the Lord works more ez human ter human. If I air chosen ter set down in jedgment on this money, I wull try ter

"You must do it," said the sick woman, "and there is no time to lose. Two weeks only the doctors have given me. I know about the property, and it is in order, but my pen drops when I go to say what shall be done with it. I have made no will.”

"Ye fergits thet ye air an' hev been turrible ill an' weak," soothed Pa Gladden, "an' the mind air allers hinged right on ter the body. Now I wanter peruse on this matter a leetle. Mebbe, ef the Lord sent me, he wull let my mind churn up suthin' er other thet wull suit ye. In my time I hev engineered some few things erlong, but thar hev allers been a great movin' power ter my back."

It was not until nine o'clock the next morning that Pa Gladden asked to see Mrs. Judy again. His "perusin'" was much more profound and deliberate than ever before. That first night he walked through the wide rooms restlessly until Louella came to show him where he was to sleep. His rest was like that of a child, and he awoke at dawn to go on a long tramp through dewy woods. He returned laden with late violets and dogwood blooms for Mrs. Judy. His breakfast had waited some time, but Louella was only too glad to serve him.

"Don' yuh-all go 'way none," she said. "I jes thinks I hez ter run ebery day. I hears quare cryin's some nights. Ef thet nuss heared dem, she nebbah stay ter git 'er hat on. My Lawd, Mr. Good Man, don' yuh leab us erlone none!"

"It might be angels' speerits whisperin', likely ez any other," said Pa Gladden. "Don' yer remember in the Bible whar he gives angels charge o' folks?"

Louella was ghastly.

"Mist' Man, yuh-all got a good, brave heart, but I can't stay hyar. I don' wanter meet no angels. I hain't good enough."

Mrs. Judy spoke when he went to her. "I have slept peacefully," she said.

"Truly thet air cheerin'," returned the farmer, "an' ye must shorely hev some one with ye, ef we hev ter tie them down with the idee o' dooty. I hev walked with yer trouble, an' slep' with it in my heart, Mis' Judy, an' shorely thet air makin' it like my own. Mis' Judy, ter lay out sinmoney air a most solemn trust. Jes s'pose ye war walkin' 'long with me on the other

Eden, an' approachin' the tree o' life, like it says in thet soothin' hymn. Now, ef we war lookin' over ter this pore, troubled place we hev allers lived on, jes these same premises, whut would ye like ter see roun' here, Mis' Judy?"

The deep eyes looked at him as if striving to read his thought; but Pa Gladden was smiling.

"I'm seein' this big, fine yeller house gay an' heartsome-lookin' ez it hev never been yet," he went on; "all the doors an' the windys open, an' music, an' lots o' leetle childern runnin' all over the premises an' this big house-lot. An' they air throwin' roses an' daisies over thet stun whar the name air cut. It air truly a beautiful sight. Some o' them childern air cripples in leetle chairs an' wagons, an' thar air nusses erbout ter keer fer the babies tumblin' in the grass. It 'pears ter me thet these leetle childern air from the towns whar thar air no fresh air ner green stuff. Thet air whut I sees-an', Mis' Judy, it air shorely the thing thet hez its roots deepes' down; fer it 'pears ter me thet yer money kin hev no better uses than ter do fer leetle childern when they air sick er helpless."

"Roses and daisies on that stoneplaced there by little hands?"

"Every day in the summer-time!" cried Pa Gladden; "an' laffin' eroun' it, knowin' ye war so friendly to all o' 'em, an' wanted 'em ter be happy. Talk erbout yer memory bein' green! Why, Mis' Judy, yer memory would jes flower right out afore the hull world. 'Mis' Judy,' folks would say, 'oh, she had the kind heart in her! She left every cent to pore sick childern.' Thar would be thet grand picture of ye thet air down in the hall. It air shorely a thing wuth comin' miles ter see. Ter them leetle folks thet wull be passin' in an' out o' here fer years an' years yer would allers be thet most beautiful Mis' Judy thet air hangin' up thar-ha'ntin' their dreams an' leetle idees o' fairies an' princesses an' sech fancy folks. Now, Mis' Judy, thet air my idee, lookin' over from the other side. I dunno jes how it wull strike ye― but it air shorely my fust glimmer o' light."

The dawn of a smile was in the old woman's eyes.

"It is a good idea, and it comforts me. But, Pa Gladden, come nearer. Tell me

Pa Gladden's reply was prompt:

"No, Mis' Judy, no. The pore childern wull shorely need all thet ye hev. Besides, my Drusilly an' me an' my adopted darter, Persephone Riggs, would not like ter hev money thet hed any taint erbout it, fust er last. We air pore enough, but air a leetle petic'lar ez ter airnin' an' ter gittin' jes right. Ye hev said yerself thet the Judy money must atone fer black sin, an' ye air right. Ef ye comes ter any peace erlong o' this visit, I hev been more 'n paid fer my tromp."

Later the sick woman begged to hear of Pa Gladden's life and his experiences. Quite his genial and loquacious self, the farmer pictured, before the invalid, his life in the Long Valley, the Dutch and the Crossroads settlements, and told of all those happenings that were marked with white stones, such as that of the little Christmas fellow, the saving of "leetle Billy," and the rescue of his adopted daughter. These took on a new meaning to him as he watched her face brighten and her lips part in something akin to a smile.

Air it all balanced up now, Mis' Judy?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied; "there does n't seem to be anything to worry about."

Thank God, thank God! Now shorely I must be movin' on. My farm-work air now pluckin' me by the heel, although I hed some done by Aby Early while I tuk this hollerday. But thar air one thing I wanter do, Mis' Judy: I wull not leave ye here alone. Ef ye air agreeable, I wull ast my adopted darter Persephone Riggs, fer my sake, ter visit ye. She wull shorely do her Christian dooty. Ye must treat her fairly, Mis' Judy, an' remember thet she air the very apple o' my eye."

III

PA GLADDEN, warned by the collie's barking, looked out of the door of the big barn. A figure, bareheaded, running and laughing, came over the slope toward him.

gathered up from the reach of bush and brier in one hand, that also carried a pair of large shiny shoes. From under the other arm dangled a pair of trousers and a clean shirt, while the hand on that side held a black tie, a handkerchief, and a collar.

"Sence Gabriel blowed his horn!" exclaimed Pa Gladden, “here comes my hull Sunday wardrobe propelled by Persephone. Thar must be a sore an' suddint need o' my makin' a splendiferous appearance up ter the house. Waal, I'll be gittin' ready fer them clothes, I wull."

He was lathered to the eyelids when Persephone jumped in upon him. "What are you doing? Why, you must have seen me coming!'

"My eyesight hain't failin' me yet," returned Pa Gladden, dryly. "I seen my galluses flyin' when ye rounded thet hill, an' a clean shirt clasped ag'in' ye a second later. I'm agreeable ter any happenin' on hand thet air callin' fer any sech performance on yer part. Now whut air up? Hev we got a s'prise-party?"

"Something like it," laughed Persephone; "a whole carriage-load of men, anyhow. There are Dr. Torrence and a stranger, Elder Becks and Dr. Briskett. I did n't wait to hear what they were here for, but as soon as I saw who it was, I grabbed your things and ran right out here to fix you up nice."

"Ye air shorely a comfort," said Pa Gladden; "an' ef ye wull jes step out an' peruse the landscape over fer erbout a second er two, I wull then thank ye kindly ter struggle with me over thet collar an' tie. Then we wull sa'nter up the path tergether, like we wore good clothes ter do our chores in every day, an' no mistake erbout it. I wonder jes whut hev brung all o' 'em here ter oncet. I swanny, I air plumb in a fidget."

one,

"They are your friends," said Persephas she retreated, "so don't get nervous. I am sure it 's good news. Dr. Briskett was cracking jokes out in the road."

In a few moments the pair walked briskly back over the path. Ma Gladden, her hand over her eyes, was ringing the big bell vigorously.

"I thort Persephone sorter went inter the airth," she beamed on her recon

structed spouse, "but I see thet she hed ample reasons fer absentin' herself. They air settin' on the front porch, laughin' an' jokin'."

The four men had disposed themselves as if entirely at home.

"Yes, we are going to stay to dinner, Ma Gladden," said the doctor. "We brought some news, though, that we all want you folks to hear. So sit down and hear it first. It will give you a good appetite. Have you had any dreams or anything lately, Pa Gladden?"

Pa blushed rosy red and looked embarrassed.

"I know ye like ter poke fun at me, doc, but ye hain't ez old ner ez l'arned ez ye wull be some day. I hev been leadin' a hard-workin', common existence. I guess the Lord air musin' on somebody else jes now."

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He has not forgotten you, Pa Gladden," said Dr. Torrence. Did you know that a Mrs. Vincent Judy's will was opened in the city last Saturday? She had put it into a trust company's hands right after making it, and it was not to be opened for a month."

"Waal, waal!" said Pa Gladden. "I takes it kindly thet ye all come cl'ar up here ter tell me erbout it. I do calkilate thet she made a sort o' home fer pore childern, did n't she, now?"

"How do you know? Yes; she left her beautiful home as a convalescent hospital for poor children and her fortune to keep it up. Dr. Briskett, a gentleman appointed by the trust company, and myself are the trustees. Whose work is this, we would like to know?" asked the clergyman.

Pa Gladden looked his astonishment. “Waal, I told her all erbout ye, ter be shore," said he, "but I never hed the least idee my words would cut any sech ice ez thet. I am shore thet home wull be run right an' prupperly. Waal, thet air fine news. Ter be shore it air!"

"Persephone gets a hundred dollars and a good horse," said Doc Briskett, humorously. "We will have her riding it at all the fairs, and making a great sensation."

"Not she," retorted Pa Gladden; "Persephone war n't cut out fer showin' off in public. An' jedgin' from the way she kim

Pa Gladden glanced from Dr. Torrence to Elder Becks and on to Dr. Briskett.

"I shorely dunno which one, I air so close boun' ter ye all. But doc, here, air uster givin' out good an' bad news. Whut air it, doc?"

Dr. Briskett cleared his throat.

"Well, Mrs. Judy left you her own little fortune, except the hundred dollars to Persephone. It has never been mixed up with the Judy money, but, left her by her father, has been hidden in a bank for years. It is about ten thousand dollars now, a nice little nest-egg to get old on. We are really beginning to think that you are a pretty slick whistle. She states that you alone brought her great peace of mind in her last days, and when everything else had failed. We are rejoicing with your good luck, Pa Gladden; but we are also mighty curious to know how you met her, and what passed between you and her. This is a city lawyer that Dr. Torrence brought down here to hear the story."

Pa Gladden rubbed his hands together, and stared at the men.

"I kin tell ye," he said slowly, "but whether ye wull believe it or not air another thing."

He told the story, and there was a silence when he finished, although Ma Gladden's eyes were wet with tears.

"Ye men may think me clean daft," he finished, "but ye hev hed the God's truth. An' I wull say, erlong with yer Ma Gladden, thet yer news hev give us a mighty fine appetite fer dinner, an' thet ef it takes every yeller-legged fowl on this place ter git up a prupper meal fer ye all, we suttinly won't grudge it ter ye. Fly to, Persephone an' Ma Gladden, an' we wull show these here city chaps thet all the dreamin' we do out here don't interfere with our squar' meals an' our appetites in disposin' of them same."

T

HE walking delegates of a higher civilization, who have nothing to divide, look upon the notion of property as a purely artificial creation of human society. According to these advanced philosophers, the time will come when no man shall be allowed to call anything his. The beneficent law which takes away an author's rights in his own books just at the period when old age is creeping upon him seems to me a handsome stride toward the longed-for millennium.

I NOTICE the announcement of a new edition of "The Two First Centuries of Florentine Literature," by Professor Pasquale Villari. I am not acquainted with the work in question, but I trust that Professor Villari makes it plain to the reader how both centuries happened to be first.

AMERICAN humorists are nearly as ephemeral as the flowers that bloom in the spring. Each generation has its own crop, and, as a rule, insists on cultivating a new kind. That of 1860, if it were to break into blossom at the present moment, would probably be left to fade upon the stem. Humor is a delicate shrub, with the passing hectic flush of its time. The currenttopic variety is especially subject to very early frosts, as is also the dialectic species. Mark Twain's humor is not to be classed with the fragile plants; it has a serious root striking deep down into rich earth, and I think it will go on flowering indefinitely.

A NOT too enchanting glimpse of Tennyson is incidentally given by Charles Brookfield, the English actor, in his "Random Recollections." Mr. Brookfield's father was, on one occasion, dining at the Oxford and Cambridge Club with George Venables, Frank Lushington, Alfred Tennyson,

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and others. "After dinner," relates the random recollector," the poet insisted upon putting his feet on the table, tilting back his chair more Americano. There were strangers in the room, and he was expostulated with for his uncouthness, but in vain. 'Do put down your feet!' pleaded his host. 'Why should I?' retorted Tennyson. 'I'm very comfortable as I am.' 'Every one 's staring at you,' said another. 'Let 'em stare,' replied the poet, placidly. 'Alfred,' said my father, 'people will think you 're Longfellow.' Down went the feet." That more Americano of Brookfield the younger is delicious with its fine insular flavor, but the holding up of Longfellow

the soul of gentleness, the prince of courtesy-as a bugaboo of bad manners is simply inimitable. It will take England years and years to detect the full unconscious humor of it.

À propos de bottes. The difference between an English audience and a French audience at the theater is marked. The Frenchman brings down a witticism on the wing. The Briton pauses for it to alight and give him reasonable time for deliberate aim. In English playhouses an appreciable number of seconds usually precede the smile or the ripple of laughter that follows a facetious turn of the least fineness. I disclaim all responsibility for this statement of my personal observation, since it has recently been indorsed by one of London's most eminent actors.

THE fate of the man who does not hesitate is that of the woman who does.

DR. HOLMES had an odd liking for ingenious desk-accessories in the way of pencilsharpeners, paper-weights, penholders, etc. The latest contrivances in this fashionprobably dropped down to him by the inventor angling for a nibble of commenda