The Sunday Oregonian., January 28, 1900, Image 22

THE SUNDxYY ORBGONIAN, POKTLAKD, JANUARY 28, 1900.
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Synopsis o Previous Chapters.
Sir James Stansfleld, of New Mllns, in. cora
pany"'Trfth his grandson, young- Philip, meets
In an Innhouse his son .Philip and his son's
paramour. Janet Mark. They quarrel. Sir
James goes home, taking along his grandson.
That night he Is murdered by his dissolute
son and Janet Mark. They take his body out
side and lay it upon, an ice floe, in the effort
to fasten the crime upon other shoulders. But
the boy Philip has witnessed the crime. He
tells his grandfather's -chief tenant. Humphrey
6purway. and Spur-way succeeds in having- the
real murderer brought to justice. He Is sen
tenced to be hanged, his -woman accomplice to
be transported. Mysteriously Philip Stansfleld
escapes the gallows, seeKs out his wife, finds
herln the company of Spurway, and tries to
murder hor, but does not quite succeed. She
Is taken away to Abercalrn for cure, leaving
her son, young Philip, m charge of Spurway
and in the company of little Anna Mark, from
whom he learns that in ome ways girls are
worth quite as much as bos. Ptor example, in
the time of the cattle droving, when Master
Spurway bought .his winter 'beasts in the mart.
Annajbeats Philip in helping to cut 'them out.
Still" they are excellent friends, even though
she beats him at her studies in the school to
which they go together. John Stansfleld, Phlf
ip's lawyer, brings in a new teacher. Dominie
Ulngrose, a small man, with wonderful eyes.
Shortly after his coming the countryside is
shocked and thrilled with a number of bloody
and mysterious murders, evidently for the sake
of robbery. Business calls Humphrey Spurway
from home. In his absence a. big packing case,
purporting to be full of fine Spanish wool. Is
-delivered to "Will Bowman, Humphrey's clerk.
He 3uts it in the weaving shed. That night
Philip, playing about it, sees shining through
the gauze of the packing case a pair of eyes.
He calls Will Bowman, who counts three, then
stabs the packing case with a small sword.
Blood flows. They open the case, and find
Dominie Hingrose inside, apparently dead.
Shortly after the house is attacked by robbers,
whom Kingrose had meant to let in. They are
beaten off, but afterwards Philip's mother re
fuses to let him spend the holidays at New
Mllns.
Copyright, 1900, by S. R. Crockett.)
CHAPTER XVIII. (Continued).
So, home to my mother I went to the
little house in the Vennel, whose gable
looks on the port and out on the sea
washing the very sand before our doors,
a mighty chance for a laddie bred on
the hills. Before me as I drew on my
Greeks were hundreds of masts of the
harbor of Abercalrn, the tall sea-going
ships "riding without at their anchor
holds, the coastwise schooners dimpling
on the swell midway, and a score of
smacks packed along the quay like her
rings in a barrel.
Then such rolling, tarry sailors as
slouched and smoked along the sea front,
such curious, oiled curls, pierced ears,
strange oaths, jolly shiver -my-timbers
comrades. All the sullen, melancholy
eour humors of the Covenanting hills
seemed in an hour blown away by the
unburnt mirth and many-tongued jovial
ity of the seaport of Abercalrn.
My mother, Tiowever, liad a new
grievance. She had often pressed it upon
Umphray Spurway that "he was not the
person to bring up a well-grown girl verg
ing upon 14 or IE, who would soon spring
up Into a woman. And so my mother or
dered to take Anna Mark as lier daughter
and bring her up with me in our little
house at Abercairn.
"She needs other governance than
yours," said my mother to Master Spur
way. "What skills It that she can shoot
and fleh and play backsword as well as
any man In 10 parishes? She Is not a
man and the doing of these things will
only shame her the more."
Here I protested vehemently and was
promptly jut to silence with an asperity
quite foreign to my mother's nature.
"You know nothing about the matter,
Philip. B.un your ways out and play."
So for the time I went, ill enough
pleased, and left my mother to press her
project upon Umphray Spurway in her
own manner, which doubtless slie did
with all success. For there was nothing
then or ever that .Umphray would not do
to please my mother.
But when I came in again, I said to her,
"Mother, what ails you and Little Anna
Mark? Why do you not like her?"
It was a surely simple question enough,
yet must my mother fall a-trembllng and
looking at me with a pale and perturbed
countenance.
".Listen, Philip." she said. "I liave had
enough of this Little Anna Mark. Ever
smce you went to the Mlln house It has
been "Little Anna Mark' this, and 'Lit
tle Anna Mark' that, as often as you
come "back. And when Umphray Master
Spurway, I mean comes in to drink his
dish of tea, it Is Little Anna all over
again. And a wildcat madam at the best,
I warrant she Is, growing up among men
there In that mlllhouse."
"Why. mother, they all love her," said
I, to try her. "Umphray himself"
But at this she stamped her foot. "I
will hear nothing more concerning the
minx, neither now nor agalnj" she said;
and -so went up to her own chamber,
slamming the door after her.
Then, some lime after, when she had
forgotten her strange angers, I asked
her again. "But, mother, if you are so
set against our Little Anna, why Is It
that you desire her to come hither, and be
with me in one house?"
"I desire tne thing itself not greatly,"
said my mother. "But, Indeed, one cannot
see the girl being brought up like a
heathen among a lot of men, and for n
guardian ,and companion having only that
great, soft heart of an Umphray Spur
way." This was knocking down my two Idols
at one hlow; so I made answer: "Why,
mother, what has Umphray done that you
have grown to dislike him? I am sure he
Is ever fond enough of you."
Whereat my mother dashed her hand to
her brow, pretending that her hair was
falling over her eyes (which it was not
nor ever could).
"I misllke none," she said, "but I can
not hear to see silliness. And In this
Umphray has been foolish from the be
ginning!" I knew that it was time to stop, so I
said no moro at that time. But. as may
be supposed, I thought much about the
matter, and the more I thought the less
could I see light. Finally I judged that
it must be on account of her mother,
who had been sent away across the seas
to the Carollnas. that my mother hated
little Anna. It could not be that she
was jealous of a girl like her. living In
one house with Umphray Spurway, who
was old enough to be her father. :No, in
deed, that was clean impossible.
But when next I saw Anna I got a still
greater surprise. The manner of It was
as follows: I was going one morning to
the .grammar school with Nicholas Kld
ston, in Abercairn, with my books in a
strap under my arm, when I met William
Bowman rldlnp Into the town. At this
I was most mightily rejoiced, and, throw
ing my books hastily under a bench In
tf
a cobbler's shop, where I was acquainted,
I ran after him
"Let rne up
before you on your
beast!" I cried.
"I -will do better than that for you.
I Philip, ' he replied; I will give you the
beast itself for the day, If you like to
risk it that is, if you are not afraid of
the master's birch for truancy tomorrow
morning."
"Umph Nicholas Kldston, indeed! I
dare him to meddle me," I made answer.
"I care so little for him that I will ride
past the school door."
And, Indeed, I had feared my school
master once for all the day when first 1
went to school, hy drawing a dirk on him
when he bade me untrues. That and the
fear of my famous father did the busi
ness. So, without further thought of my
schooling, I accompanied Will to his sta
ble at the King's Arms in the High street
of Abercalrn. As he went he told me his
business.
"I am going on board a scow to exam
ine bills of lading with the captain. He
is from Hull with a cargo of looms and
foreign yarns. The customs themselves
will take a full day. Then there are his
charges and allowances to be gone over.
Now I was bid to tell you that little Anna
Mark would fence you for a silver dollar
at the back of the Mlln house, and that
Umphray Spurway would be all day wool
buying at Moreham fair. Ton can put
the two and two together, I hope."
Will Bowman kept his countenance as
he spoke. Indeed, It sounded very like
a trysting of lad and lass. But neither
Anna nor I thought at all of that. We
were comrades that was all. But never
theless I longed to see her, and I did
not believe that she could fence me. In
deed, I chuckled to myself, for I had been
taking lessons in the art from one Ser
geant Jtobert Arthur, sometime of Bu
chan's foot, but who, as he put it, had
been promoted for drunkenness, and was
now living In taverns and passing as a
veteran of the wars.
It was (as I have elsewhere said) a good
12 miles by the ordinary well-trodden roads
to New Milns, but ther,e was a pass or
slip through the hills behind Abercairn
by which the distance was no more than
seven, a good hour's ride only to one that
knew the paths. So, when Will had baited
his horse and rested it half an hour, I
got across the saddle and rode out of the
town by devious ways so that my mother
would not hear of my evasion.
It was not my habit to go home to din
ner, for which indeed there was no time,
my mother's house lying at the far end of
the town from the grammar school of
Nicholas Kldston. So the day was mine
own till bedtime.
In little ore than an hour I found my
self at New Milns. For as soon as the
beast got its head homeward there was no
need of whip or spur. Comrade, pasture
and manger or perhaps simply the desire
for home pulled the rein so that presently
the great square of Umphray Spurway's
mill lay beneath me, and there, by the
mill wheel (as Will had said), was Little
Anna Mark. At sight of her I could
hardly get my steed quick enough into the
stable and call on Robin Green to take
the care of the beast oft my hands. I
wanted so greatly to run to my comrade,
to tread my old pastures, and forget all
in the clean downward thresh of the wa
ter from the mill wheel, the singing of
the weir, and Little Anna's voice scold
ing me for minding her foolish message
and coming at all.
Now if any one thinks this is going to
turn out a love tale she Is grievously mis
taken. For, indeed, Anna and I were
far above that kind of thing.
On the contrary, we did nothing but
spar and taunt one another, and for a
long time there was scarce a civil word
spoken between us. But these I need
not write down, though I can remember
them well enough.
But the serious part I will write. And
in the aftercome that proved grave enough
for me.
It was not our custom, to shake hands
when we met, much less but of that we
had not as much as thought at that time.
Not I at least.
So little Anna and I sat down on the
broad wooden edge of the pool below the
mill wheel, the same into which the man
had fallen the night of the attack. Here
we swung our legs and watched the min
nows circling calmly In the cool back
wash, till at a certain point they dived
heels over head under the impetuous down
rush of the mill stream, were tumbled deep
In the brown turmoil of the pool, and
after a time emerged beaten and breathleS3
In the shallows once more. It seemed so
good to be a fish and wear no clothes on
such a day. For it had grown hot as I
rode over the hills, and down In the shel
tered valley there was lot a breath of air
stirring.
"How will you like it," I said, "when
you come to Abercairn to live with my
mother? There are no weirs to sing or
pools to dabble your feet in there, excepting
salt water ones among the dulse and the
sandjumpers."
"I might like it well enough," she re
plied, very composedly, "only I am not
coming to Abercalrn to live with you
or your mother either!"
I could not conceal my astonishment.
"But," I remonstrated, "I know it has
been settled so. For I heard my mother
persuade Umphray Spurway to it."
"Oh," she made answer, without looking
at me, "so your mother persuaded Umph
ray to It against his will, did she?"
"Certainly, Little Anna," I made an
swer, "I heard it with my own ears."
"Through the keyhole, I suppose,"
she said scornfully. But as that was her
manner, I paid no heed. (It was true all
the same.)
"Well," she went on, "It will surprise
you to hear that I am not coming to
Abercairn. I do not propose to exchange
a house where I am welcome for one
where I am not Besides, my father has
come back to th'is country. And I am
not going to Abercalrn to be snapped ofE
In some foreign ship to help Saul Mark
at his dice tables or to mind his monkey
in the sleeping booth."
Both these things came like a thunder
clap on me.
Anna. Mark would not come to us. Her
father was back In Scotland.
And now, so curious is the heart of a
boy I had cared little or nothing hitherto
about Anna coming to our house In the
Vennel, save to consider how she would
agree with my mother, and how late the
pair of us would be allowed to play on
the quay. But now, so soon as I knew
that she would not come, I was In a
mighty taking to make her promise nay,
even to take her back with me there and
then upon the beast I had left in the
stable.
"You would go to school in Abercalrn,"
I urged, "and learn also those things
which which lasses ought to learn. For
you know, after all, you are a lassie. You
cannot change that!" . -
"Yes," she answered with great scorn
turning up her npse. "J am a. Jassie, And I
PtctUres Av C
WVi V PH
gj gp $
j because I do not wear knee breeches I
must forsooth sit all day stitching at a
sampler so fine Great A,' plain Great B,
plain little B, flourish B Anna Mark Her
Sampler. Be a good girl and you will
succeed in life and be a nuisance to all
your loving friends." No, thank you,
Philip Stansfleld, I would rather a thou
sand times go help my father with his
cartes and his monkey!"
Of course her father possessed no
monkey. It was only a manner of speak
ing the girl had.
So we talked and talked, nor did we
make any better of it. Anna would not
come to be pressed in a mold like a jelly.
She could not be fitted to Mistress Prls
cilla Allan's set of ladylike manners. The
day might come when my mother would
put her out of the mill house, but that
day had not come.
At this last insinuation I fired .up and
asked her what she meant by speaking
so of my mother, that my mother was a
good woman, .as she ought to know.
Which was true enough, but I had not
learned then that the best of women are"
not always fair to one another especially
when the same number of years which
will bring one of them to 19 will land the
other at 40.
So Anna and I swung our legs and
talked, while the sun mounted higher till
we were almost out of the shade of the
great beech which grew over the lade.
"Now come to single stick in the wool
shed," she cried, suddenly starting up,
"and L will make you all over blue marks
to carry back to Abercalrn. It will save
Dominie Nicholas the trouble of birching
you tomorrow."
I was about to consent when a pair of
shadows fell across the pool. We looked
up, and lo! there on the opposite bank
stood her father, Saul Mark, and my own
uncle John.
CHAPTER XIX.
Sir Harry Morgan's Treasure.
At sight of these two I started to my
feet and made as if I would escape. But
the two men stood looking at us with
such kindly and smiling countenances that
my suspicions were allayed, the more so
that little Anna sat still where she was,
pulling the tart herb called "soorocks"
from the moist crevices and crunching
the stalks between her small, white teeth.
"This, then, is his grandfarther's heir
a fine lad," said Saul Mark, after a
while.
"And this your daughter?" Inquired my
uncle, turning to his companion like one
who seeks confirmation, rather than like
one who asks a question.
"How is It, Philip," he went on, "that
wo see you so seldom at the Great House,
which in a manner belongs to you? That
is not well done to your grandmother."
"I am at school, uncle," I said, not
knowing well what else to say.
"So I see," said he, smiling- at little
Anna Mark. "It is a pleasant sort of
tutelage. I myself have learned much at
such an academy."
That was the way my uncle John
talked ever, not speaking plain, but in
long lawyer's words and mostly with
some other meaning than that which
appeared on Jhe surface.
"You were about to play singlestick,"
said Saul Mark. "I used to play myself.
Will you have a bout with me, Anna?"
"Agreed," said his daughter, rising
quickly, and leading the way about the
mill house to the wool room. As he
entered I saw Saul Mark glance around,
as If to verify a description.
"Master Umphray is perchance not at
home today?" he said.
"No," said Anna. In answer, "but there
are half a hundred weavers all husy with
their looms."
And she opened a door into the weaving-
room wnere were a crowd of men and the
creaking clatter of many looms and shut
tles. Then Anna went and found some
singlesticks, and she and her father fell
to. Saul Mark had been the finest player
on Glasgow Green op the eve of St.
John (which Is their head night for these
ploys in the west). But now he had
grown a little stiff, and it was not long,
whether by accident or intent, before
Anna got within his guard and cracked
his crown so that a thin thread of scar
let trickled down his bniw. He flung
down the stick smiling and mopping his
head.
"First blood!" he said, "I did not think
that the day would come when a girl
could crack the pate of Saul Mark! Mas
ter John, do you try her."
But my uncle declined, saying that he
was a man of peace, and that combats
of wit were all that were allowed to
gentlemen of the long robe. So Saul Mark
'bade me take the stick, which, when I
had done, Anna and I played a very fast
bout, as was our wont, the sallow man
with the .rings In his ears applauding
every good and clever stroke. We did
not spare each other, she and I, and
when a halt was called we were both out
of breath, but Anna manifestly the victor.
"Good schooling!" said Saul Mark, nod
ding his head.
"Scottsh courtship!" echoed Mr. John
Stansfleld smiling, for which I did not
thank him. And Anna cast the sticks on
a shelf and turned haughtily away.
The two men did not stay long at the
Mlln house after this, being as I think
apprehensive lest Umphray Spurway
would return. And so Anna and I were
left to ourselves. We watched them going
slowly and in dnep converse across the
fields towards the great house of New
Milns.
Anna looked long at them under her
hand.
"We are quaintly fitted in the matter
of fathers, you and I, Philip," she said,
with a strange look on her face. I
thought she was going to add, "And
mothers!" But she did not. Indeed, I
know not whether she remembered her
own mother or whether any had ever
spoken to her of Janet Marks, the Carolina
slave.
"Now, you will have a bite of dinner,
and be going: on your way," she said.
"With so many loving frlend3 in the
neighborhood you cannot be too 'soon
within the Vennel port of Abercalrn. I
did wrong to bring you here!"
But with one thing and another it was
after 5 of the clock when I took my
beast from Robin Green and cried a last
good-by to my comrade. She stood by
the white thorn tree at the gable end,
and the westerly sun was rosy on her
face. There was a light In her eyes
which smiled upon me, though her mouth
was grave. I did not offer even to take
her hand, which was a regret to me after
wards, r
So in this fashion I rode away from
the door of the Miln house, which I loved
so well, and from Anna Mark, my dear
companion and playmate of many years.
I had mastered the steeps of the hill
and was making my way quickly through
the perilous bypaths of the hills when
night fell. I will not admit that I was
frightened, but drew a long breath when
at last, like a gray sheet hung midway
& sky, unspotted and unwrinkled, the sea j
broke upon my vision through a gap in
the hllis.
After this the night fell sharply, and
the dusk seemed almost to speed eastward
like a swift-footed runner, as a purple
cloud, edged with a rim of ,llvlng gold,
rose, towered and crenellated, shutting
out the sunset glow.
I was passing a little darksome loaning
which leads to a lonely grange house
called the Hermitage, when I heard the
sound of horses' feet behind me. I turned
apprehensively in my saddle, or rather In
Will Bowman's saddle. I could see a
dusky shape turn into the main road be
hind me. The shape seemed familiar, and
a spasm of fear took hold of me. I put my
flnger-into my waistcoat pocket, where (a
foolish boy's trick) I carried a pinch or
two of powder loose, as another might
carry snuff. Then I took out the pistol
Anna Mark had pressed upon me, one that
had been left behind on the night of the
attack, silver-mounted and a gentlemanly
weapon, though without crest or device.
With the pinch of powder I primed and
cocked it, and was just setting it in the
holster again, when a voice said at my
left hand: "So you are a soldier already.
You travel armed, I see a very excellent
habit in these uncertain times!"
The speaker was Saul Mark, habited in
a long cloak of black, and wearing a hat
with a feather. He was mounted on the
very gray horse my father used to ride
in the old days be'fore my grandfather's
death.
I told Saul Mark how I had come by the
weapon, and he was interested greatly
to hear of the attack and all that con
cerned it. I told him also of little Anna's
bravery, and how she had delivered me"
from the dead man come alive again.
"Ah, lad," he said, "you have In you.
the true stuff for adventure. I can see
that. 'Tls a pity that you will be a rich
man; and never know the sweets of travel,
save in a coach and four! or see stranger
places than the cities between here and
London."
I told him that, on the contrary, I had
fir
IT "WAS SURELY A SIMPLE QUESTION EXOUGH, YET MUST MY MOTHER
FALL A-TREMBLING.
a natural inclination for the sea (which,
indeed, most boys have), and that I hoped
to enter his majesty's navy and help to
fight the French. ,
"That Is good enough," he said, grave
ly, "but there is better!"
Then there at once was I all agog to
know what could be better or more ad
venturous than fighting the French in the
royal navy.
He leaned toward me a little as I gaped
open-mouthed at him from the back of my
jogging beast.
"Did you ever hear of Sir Harry Mor
gan?" he said.
"No," I answered, much taken down by
my ignorance, "who might he be?"
"He was a great buccaneer," he an
swered in a hushed, tone. "Harry Mor
gan took Panama and many fine cities,
and was a terror to the Spaniards all his
days."
"But there are no buccaneers now," I
said, "and if there were, how am I to find
them?"
"It is called privateering now," he said.
"but it brings in the moldores and pieces
of eight all the same."
I was eager to hear more, but he
seemed all at once to wax mightily reti
cent. So we rode silent to the gate of
the city. Then he seemed 'to take a reso
lution. "I will tell him," he murmured loud
enough for me to hear. "I care not what
the captain says!"
He turned to me.
"Master Philip," he said, "If you are
man to come with me tonight for half
an hour, I will show you such a sight
as no lad of your age In broad Scotland
has seen. I have here in this town of
Abercairn the treasure of Sir Henry
Morgan, the buccaneer, the spoil of a
score of plundered cities. It is waiting
safe transport across the north water to
Amsterdam, where the diamonds and pre
cious stones are to be- cut and reset.
There are gold pieces of every tribe and
denomination, arms and armor of all
sorts, swords and daggers by the hun
dred, Indian dresses, bows and arrows,
chain mail and leather fringed dresses
made for great Peruvian Incas. Many of
these are of little value," he added softly.
"I know not but that the captain might
permit me to give you one or two of them
to take home to your mother."
"Who is' the captain?" I said. "I can
not go unless I know where I am going."
"Oh," said my companion lightly, "take
your horse to stable first. He will not
be needed tonight, and then come with
me. You will surely not be afraid to go
to the houso of the chief magistrate of
this city. He it is whjo is our receiver
and supercargo Besides you can bring
your pistol."
It seemed to me Impossible that there
could be the least danger in accompanying
Saul Mark to the house of Provost Greg
ory Partan, shipowner and merchant of
the town of Abercalrn. And the thought
of the suits of armor,' the damascened
swords, and above all the Indian bows
and arrows tempted me beyond the power
of words to express. I thought that if I
could only show myself to Little Anna
Mark in the costume of an Indian orr.ve
with feather plume, bow and arrow and
tomahawk, there would be nothing more
left to live for.
So I stabled my horse at the King's
Arms without waiting to inquire whether,
WH1 Btfwman had returned or not. Saul
'Mark awaited me at the door. '
"Follow me," ho said, "and remember,
be silent. This Is a secret we tell to but
few. And there Is a company of horse
quartered in the town."
We went down the High street to the
house of that douce man. Mr. Gregory
Partan, shipmaster and merchant. My
guide pasneel quickly to a side door un
der a low-browcd arch, which opened at
the gable end of the provost's house. He
knocked twice.
After a moment the door was opened
an Inch and I heard the rattle of a chain.
"Who's there?" said a voice.
"A friend to see the treasura!" said Saul
Mark.
"His name?"
"Master Philip Stansfleld, the younger,
whose mother Hws in the Vennel!"
"A decent woman," said a voice; "let
him come in and see the treasure."
I recognized the provost's voice. I had
heard It often enough on the quay up- 1
raised in chaffering ana bandinage with
the sailors and master mariners, of whom
he had ever a number about him. So I
felt safe, and my ideas of Saul Marie were
much altered by the deference which I
heard so important a man pay to him.
"Now, quiet," he said, "give me your
hand. The first part of the way Is dark!"
I followed him down a long passage,
still further down a flight of steps, and
finally we stood on a hard floor of
crumbly stone which rang hollow under
foot.
"Walt a moment here till I get a light,"
said my guide. He lt go my hand and
left me standing there in the midst. The
next moment a heavy door clanged behind
him and I heard the sound of shooting
bolts.
"Saul Saul Mark," I cried, "where are
you? Let me out! Let me out!"
For now it came to me that I had been
tricked. I called on the provost till I was
hoarse. I shouted entreaties, reproaches,
threatenlngs. I felt all round the walls,
bruising my hands as I did so. They were
of stone and solid, yet, with a curious
crumbly dryish feeling everywhere. My
prison houso appeared to come to a point
over my head. The iron door at the side
by which I had "entered was now blocked
up by stone like the rest, and quite Indis
tinguishable. The Egyptian dark of the place could be
felt lying like a weight on the eyelids.
Exhausted, and desperate, I sat me down
on the cold stone floor and wept.
CHAPTER XX.
On the Trail of the Hunter.
Now I must so back to where I left
little Anna Mark. And full time, too, for
such a numbskull as I have proved my
self hath occupied the tale long enough.
I will relate what happened to her, for
I have reason to knew it as well as If
it had happened to piyself or, in fact,
fully better.
I left Anna, as all may remember, by
the westerly gable of Umphray Spur
way's house of New Milns when, in the
evening sunshine, I rode away over the
hills well enough conceited with myself,
which is no unusual habit of mind in 1G
when it hath spent an hour or two in
the company of an honest young lass.
Well, as I say, I left Anna standing
under the flowering thorn which Umphray
had fetched all the way from Yorkshire
why, no one exactly knew. It may be
that one like it grew in his mother's gar
den on the edge of the wold, or, perhaps,
once on a time he, too, had left a young
maiden standing under the white May and
smiling even as Anna had now smiled
upon me.
Anna Mark stood a while looking after
me under her hand, and I, for very pride
of my horsemanship and the straljrhtness
of my back, did not turn round in the sad
dle. Then, since William Bowman was in
Abercalrn and Umphray himself not yet
home, she went off to the ordering of do
mestic matters In the Mlln house, and to
see that the foreman weavers shut and
barred all the doors properly, for In this
matter Umphray Spurway trusted her
wholly, as, indeed, well he might.
And while she was within doors the sun
began to sink, and the coolness of even
ing to come up out of the ground. By
and by Anna went out to the hillside pas
tures at the back to And JOey F.organ,
the herd boy of the Miln, who ought lo
have had the cows home by that time.
She was promising to herself what she
would certainly do to Joey when shu
caught him. Walking with the swing 1
knew so well, and whistling like a Untie,
she sped swift and light over the bent.
But all suddenly she saw that which made
her stop stock still one moment and the
next drop out of sight into a copse of tall
broom.
The heather grows low down on the
hills above Umphray's, those same purple
hills I had ridden into half an hour be
fore. The gorse and whin-bloom reach
up the burn sides to meet it, and all about
there is scattered a bewilderment of rocky
knolls and great gray stones as big as
cothouscs. Anna JJark was turning the
corner of one of these huge boUlders when
a couple of score of yards beneath her
She saw two men speaking together like
folk who have secrets to hide. One, the
smaller and more thickly set, was Saul
Mark, her own father. The other was a
much taller, more commanding man, in a
laced coat, which, though they stood in
the shado;w, glittered in the bright reflec
tion from the western sky. It was of pale
blue cloth, and the braiding was of no
pattern which bespoke a soldier of the
king. Saul Mark was standing with his
hat off before the man in the blue coat,
and listening with an air of much respect.
The latter appeared to be giving certain
orders, for, as he finished speaking. Anna
saw her father salute, and presently mount
the horse whose bridle-rein had been
passed through his arm. He rode off as
hard as he could go In the direction of
the Tinkler's Slap, the nearest nass
through the hills to the town of Aber
cairn. The tall, swarthy man stood awhile look
ing after him, and then, turning abruptly
on his heel, he strode past the broom-bush
in which Anna was hidden so closely that
she could feci the ground shake with his
heavy tread as he went.
Then it came Into her head that Saul
Mark, her father, had been ordered to ride
after me for some purpose of immediate
treachery. She remembered the look on
her father's face as he had watched us
across the little linn of Klrkconnel that
very afternoon, and do what she would she
could net get the sense cf Impending dan
ger out of her mind.
Anna looked about for Joey and the New
Mlln kye. She could tiee the last of them
passing in through the great gate and a
couple of weavers standing on either side
to make all fast so soon as they were
safe. Then there came to the girl one of
those quick Impulses which, far more than
ordered and reasonable resolves, rule and
order woman's conduct.
Anna resolved to follow her father
through the hill-gap. to find out for what
purpose he had ridden off so hotly upon
my trail, and to find out who the tall
man might be whose orders he had taken
like a servitor standing In the presence
of his master. All which Indeed she
achieved before the night was out. though
not In the fashion she anticipated.
Now, with Anna to think was simul
taneously to act, which circumstance
made her so dangerous at fencing and
the singlestick play. So It chanced that
as Saul Mark rode northward by the
Tinkler's Slap to intercept me, he had a
long, limber slip of a girl tracking like a
sleuth hound hard upon his trail. For the
first part of her pursuit It was not hard
to keep her father In sight. He did not
ride well, but rather with the seaman's
roll and lack of both comfort and elegance
in the saddle. Besides, the pass was dif
ficult and enough even for a good horse
man and in the daytime. What it was to
Saul Mark in the gray deeps of the gloam
ing, only Saul himself knew, and so far
he ha3 kept his counsel. But to Anna all
this was child's play. She had wandered
on the hills with Muckle Saunders Mac
millan, till she could run as llghtfoot over
the heather and morass as one of his
scouring collies. The moorland night was
to her as the day, being, as I often cast
up to her, eyed like a cat.
And so while Saul Mark was every mo
ment gripping and slackening his beast's
rein, and cursing under his breath each
time It stumbled, Anna was watching every
movement with eyes which could distin
guish the twinkle of the wide silver ear
rings in his ears every time his beast
plunged over a mossy boulder or wandered
aside "from the fairway of that perilous
and breakneck path.
When at last Saul debouched upon mo at
the meeting of the hill roads on the brae
face overlooking the twinkling lights of
Abercalrn, Anna was not 100 yards in our
rear. Yet such was the resolution of her
heart that she did not betray herself either
then or afterwards. Such a lass as little
Anna Mark there was not in broad Scot
landno, nor ever will be. That heart of
hers beat as steady and true between the
instant Jaws of danger as when she sat in
Moreham kirk listening to the minister's
sermon. And always, come stress or ease
ment, the merry eyes of laughter or the
grinning sockets of death himself, her
brain abode under her broad white brow
as cool and unruffled as beneath some over
hanging rock in the forest you may And
in summer heats the caller water of some
crystal well.
So It .chanced that while Saul the father
played me for one silly gull, gorging me
with the bait of lies, which I swallowed
greedy-tooth, hook and all, his daughter
Anna played him for another, and from a
safe distance kept us both under observa
tion. -
And had she been left to herself, there
is little doubt that she would have pre
vented all the evils which followed. But
as ill chance would have It. not a score of
yards from the entrance of the town, who
should come across her but Will Bowman.
He had been walking with his arm about
a girl's waist, more for something to
do than for any pleasure there might be
in courting the not too Impervious dam
sels of the town of Abercalrn. But at
the sight of Htt!e Anna with kilted coats
linking It through the busy streets. Will
dropped his companion's arm Incontinent
and took after her as hard as he could
go. He thought it was likely that Anna
had come over the hills with me to look
for Umphray Spurway, and he knew that
It would not make any peace that she
should seek him where he wa3 to be found
at that moment that Is, to be plain. In
the little house by the Vennel corner,
where he sat sipping his glass and devour
ing my mother with his eyes.
So on the slanted shoulder of the girl
as she went up the lighted street of Ab
ercairn at a harvester's trot, fell the hand
of Will Bowman.
"Anna," he said breathlessly, "what in
the world of sin are you doing so far
from home? You that should be in your
warm bed behind barred doors In the
house of New Mllns?"
She tried to escape from his restraint
but Will's hand was overs trong. She nev
er could turn him about her little finger
as she did me aye, and for the matter
of that, Umphray Spurway also.
"Let me go let me go, Will Bowman!"
she gasped. "Do not hinder me. It is a
matter of life and death. I am following
Philip and my father."
"Your father?" repeated Will after her,
speaking like a man in a maze.
"Yes; let me go! Or, better still, come
with me. They pa&sed up this street a
moment ago, and we will lose them If we
are not quick!"
But it was not In Will Bowman's power
on this occasion to be quick. Beauty
scorned was upon him. The lady whose
arm he had so unceremoniously dropped
was a certain Tib Rorrison, who earned
her daily bread, in the fish trade of Aber
calrn. Now, why flsh dealing should pro
duce In women a certain rough readiness
of wit and raspiness of -tongue Is not per
fectly clear. But the fact could not be
doubted while Tib was explaining to Will
and little Anna what she thought of
them.
"Ye menseless, landward-bred hound 1"
she cried, shaking her red list, solid as a
quarter of beef, a bare Inch under Will's
nose, "ken ye so little o' Isobel Rorri
son that ye wad dare to mlstryst her, to
tak' up wl' a silly partan o' a bairn like
this. And you. Mistress Babbyclouts,
that thinks wl' thae winkin' een o' yours
to tak' Tib Rorrison's lad frae her on tne
high street o' Abercalrn for a bodle I
wad tear the bonny faqe o ye till It Is a'
rlg-an' furr like a new-plowed field. Aye,
an' Tib wad do It, too were It not that
skelpin wad fit ye better, ye pennyworth
o' whitey-broon thread tied in a wisp!
"Na. an I'll no stand oot o' your road.
Will Crack-tryst! And I'll no haud my
Impident tongue. What care I if a the
toon kens? What business had ye to
speer me oot to walk to Lucky Bodden's
booth wl' ye, and partake o' spiced gin
gerbread and fardin saveloys, forbye the
best o" tinpenny ale? Aye, lasses, that
did he. the deceivln thief, an' he shallna
leave thae plaln-stanes he Is standin on
till he has treated no only me, Tib Rorri
son, but every ither honest lad and lass
within hearin' o thesoond o my voice!"
"That's right, Tib! Gle him his kail
through the reek!" chorused the crowd;
."gar him scunner. Tear the e'en oot o'
that wee besome that garred hint llchtly
you !"
"Faith wad I, gin it were me, the randy
that she Is!"
"Aye, an' me. A herd lass, nocht bet
ter!" "If Tib has only spunk In her ava.
she'll never stand the like o that."
Such were . the Interruptions, all obvi
ously provocative, which reached the ear
of the already militant lady. Mistress Iso
bel Rorrison, as she squared her arms and
strode up so close to Anna Mark that
even in the dusky flare of the torches
from the booths Anna couM see the red
of her weather-beaten complexion, netted
and marly like the reticulations on a blad
der. A fire was beginning to burn in
Anna's eve. and her hand stole down
toward the dirk she carried in her satchel
pocket. But Will noted the signs of com
ing trouble, and, putting his hand Into hte
pocket, he drew out half a dozen silver
coins and held them out to Tib.
"There," he said; "I will stand treat.
This is my master's daughter, and she
is seeking him ower late to be left on
the street of AberCairn by hersel. Tak'
the siller, Tib. and bear nae malice. And
the next time I come to Abercairn I swear
ye shall hae Lucky Bodden's candy-stall,
stool and a', gin ye like."
Tib, though ' considerably mollified,
would not at once give in, being In the
presence of so many witnesses.
"Gle your dirty siller to wha ye like.
Will Bowman," she cried, changing her
ground; "when Tib Rorrison sets tryst wl
a lad' it's neither for the sake o siller
nor yet tlpenny ale, I wad hae ye ken!"
Will, anxious .tor 'be out of the crowd,
looked around for some one he knew.
He espied the hftstler from the King's
Arms. ,
"Hey, Jock Pettigrew, ye are no sae
prood as Tib. Here's five silver shillings,
sterling money. Gang doon to Lucky's
and treat every lad and lass that will
follow ye, gein' Tib first choice o' the
saveloys. Guid nicht, TIbl Eat your fill
and dinna bear malice!"
And so, under cover of the cheering and
back-clapping. Will and Anna escapci
down the high street of Abercairn. '
(To be- continued.)
Gljrautic Omelet.
A company of tho Third African French
battalion stationed at Ker (Tunis) recently
enjoyed the mest gJtanwtte omelet ev r
made. At the rqust: of the farmers 'i
the neighborhood, the soldiers were t "t
on an expedition to ann ht!at the swarms
of sparrows which ;were playing ha c
with the crops. Their work flnfehed, t y
brought back as spalls of war 50i eg -which
the regimental cook raided w. h
many pounds of otlwr Ingredierts nl
made into an omelet' nearly seven feet It
circumference.
THE PALATIAL
&&-
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Not n clnrlc o01cc lu the bulltllnsri
nbHuIutcly flrciirof: elcetr'.e Ii.-hti
and Hrtoaian water; perfect annltu
tion itutl tliorongrh 't'utihiUuu. ite
rators run duy aal nijfht.
, Hoots.
AXDETCPON-. GUSTAV. Atterney-ai-Law . MJ
ASSOCIATED rRESS; E. 1. Powell. MSr . 3UU
BANKERS' LIFE ASSOCIATION, of lus
Molne?. la.; C A. McCargar, State Ae" i 2 3
BEHN'XE. H. V. Frln, Ternta Shorthand
School 211
BENJAMIN'. IC W.. Dentkit 3U
KINSWANGSR. DR. O. S.. Phys. & Sur 4U 4:3
BRUERE. DR. G. E.. f'hy4clan . 412-4I1 414
BUSTEED. RICHAHD. Flug Tobacco U,2 Cj
CATJK1N. G. E. District Agnt Trae.t?i
Insurance Co...... ....- 7Z5
CAKDWELL. DR. J. B cCa '
CLARK. HAROLD, Dentist 3.
CLEM, E. A. &. CO.. Muting Properties 3'5 3iJ
COLUMBIA TELEPHONE COMPANY
c4-aas-6.uT cts-ou r.3
CORNELIUS. C. W., Phys. and Surgeon . . 200
COVER. P. C. Cashier Bqultabte Life ,. aJJ
COLLIER. I" J. fubttsher: S. P. McGuIre.
Manager 4;s tta
DAT. J. G & I. N 3:3
DAVIS. NAPOLEON. PresWent Columbia
Telephone Co.... 007
DICKSON. DR. J. F.. Physician Tin 7U
DRAKE. DR. II B. Physician 512 3U 3 4
DUNHAM. MRS. GEO. A 77
EDITORIAL ROOMS ElRhtn User
EQUITABLE LIFH ASSURANCK SOC U'TY.
L. Samuel. Manager; F. C. Covsr. Ofh er Z 8
EVENING TELEGRAM 325 Aider a.-o:
FALLOWS. MRS. M. A., Manager Womea'a
Dept. Mutual Rewrve Fund Lite, of New
York ........ erz
FENTON. J. D.. Physician and Surgeon. 500 3 0
FENTON, DR. HICKS C. Eye and Ear .. "U
FENTON. MATTHEW F.. Deattet C3
FIDELITY MUTUAL. LIFE ASS'N. E. C.
Stark. Manager 301
FRENCH SCHOOL, (by conversation). Dr A.
Muzzarelll, Manager . 730
GALVANI. W. H.. Engineer an.1 Drauga'a-
man .. ., 0C0
GEARY. DIL EDWARD P.. PSyslcl.in an!
Surgeon .212 213
GIESY. A. J.. Physleiqn and Surgeon... Tta 7'u
GODDARD. E. C & CO.. Fool wear, ground
floor :C Sir i str-at
GOLDMAN. WILLIAM. Mnnger Manhattan
Life Insurance Co.. of Nw York 203 210
it '1 'KSK S.. Attrney-at-Law.......G;?
GRENIER. MISS BEATRICE. Dentist 703
HAMMOND. A. B... 310
HEIDINGER. GEO. A. & CO.. Pianos and
Organ 131 s.v1' St.
HOLLISTER. DR. O. C. Phyi A Surg . Su 303
IDLEMAN. C. M.. Attorney-at-Law 4117-13
KADY. MARK T.. Manager Pacific Ncr-V
west Mutual Reserve Fund Life Aso. fio4 603
LAMONT. JOHN. VIce-PresWent and Gen
eral Manager Columbia Telephone Co... . C03
LITTLEFIELD. II. R.. Phys. and Surgeon 200
MACRUM. W. S.. Sec. Oregon Camera Ciub 214
MACKAY, DR. A. E.. Ptys. ami Surs....7.i-7U
MAXWELL. DR. W. B.. Phy A Surg "12 3
McCARGAR. C A.. State Agent Bankers'
Life Association ...3u2 3f1
McCOY. NEWTON. Attorny-at-LaYv"7.'.. 7.713
McFADEN. MISS IDA ffi.. Stenographer 201
McGINN. HENRY E.. Attomey-a:-Law..rU-3ia
McKELL. T. J.. Manufacturera" Representa
tive 303
MILLER. DR HERBERT C. Dentist an!
Oral Surgeon .... e0S-G0a
MOsSMAN. DR. E. P.. Dentist 512-313 314
MANHATTAN LIFE INSURANCE CO.. of
New York. W. Goldman. Manager .. 200 2ID
McELROY. DR. J. G.. Phys. . Surg 701-7i2 7UJ
McFARLAND. E. B.. Secretary Coiumb.a
Telephone Co..... ... COB
McGUIRE. S. P.. Manager P. F. Collier
Publisher 4I5-UU
McKIM. MAURICE. Attorney-at-Law 300
MUTUAL LIFE INSURANCE CO.. of New
York; Wm. S. Pond. State Mgr 404-4O3-403
MUTUAL RESERVE FUND LIFE ASS'N.
M. T. Kadyv Mgr. Pacific Northwest.. G0 C03
NICHOLAS. HORACE B. AUOTy-at Law .71J
NILES. M. L.. Gwhler Manhattan Life In
surance Co.. at New York ,. ....2P3
OREGON INFIRMARY OF OSTEOPATHY.
Dr. L. B. Smith. Osteopath 40-n
OPEGON CAMRRA CLUB...,. ..214-21 ."-21 r 2'7
PKHNIN SHORTHAND SCHOOL: H. W.
Behnke. Prln. ...211
TGND. WM. S.. State Manager MututI Life
Ins. Co. of New York.... 401 403-HMJ
PORTLAND EYE AND EAR INFIRMARY..
............ ....Oround floor. 133 Sixth s:ree
PORTLAND PRESS CLUB 713
PROTZMAN EUGENE C. Superintendent
Agenclei Mutual Reserve Fund Lire, of
New York vu
PUTNAM'S SONS. G. P., Publisher B13
QT'IMBY. L. P. W.. Game and Forestry
Wn-dea 7IB-717
REED A MALCOLM. Optician. . 133 Sixth -er
RFED. V C . Fish Commlionr...... .... i7
RYAN. J. B.. Attorney-at-law 417
!ALT'BURY. GEO. N.. Section Director. V
S. Weather Bureau 819
SAMUEL. L.. Manager Equitable Life ... 3 0
SANDFORD. A. C. A CO . Pobltaher' Agts Z'.3
SC'RIBNER'S SONS. CHA3.. Publishers:
J Hob'on. Manager U15-3T1-3J?
SHERWOOD. J. .W.. Deputy Supreme Com
mander. K. O. T. M . stT
SMITH. DR. L B.. iteopnth 4CS-S09
CONS OF THE AMERirtN REVOLT'TIDX 5. 9
STARK E. C Executive ?peclal. Ftdell y
Mutual Life Association of Phtla.. Pa ..,.. 2n
STARR & COLE Pyrography 43
STEEL. G. A. Forest Inspector 2' 3
STUART. TELL. Attorney-at-Law... Sl3 fTP CT"
FTOLTE. DR CIIAS. E.. Dentist... 7'U 713
SURGEON OF THE 3. P.-RY.'AND N P
TERMINAL CO ,70a
STROWBRtDGE. THOS H.. Kxeetitlv Spe
cial Agent Mutual Life, of New York. .. 4n
SUPERINTENDENT'S OFFICE .... 2rl
TUCKKR. DR GEO F Dentist R! C '
U. S WEATHER BUREAU . . Ortfl 907 H ' J 3
U. S. LIGHTHOUSE ENGINEERS. 1VK
DIST.. Captain W C Langittt. Corps oZ
Engineers. O. S. A...... $0J
U. S. ENGINEER OFFICE. RIVER A.N1
HARBOR IMPROVEMENTS. CnptaH W.
C. Langfltt. Corps of Engineers. U. S. A S!8
WALKER. WILL H.. President Oreg-m
Camera Club . .. 2U-213-2T 2'7
WATERMAN. C. H.. Cashier Mutual L '
of Npw York . . -"'i
WATKINS. Miss E. L.. Purchasing AKf - 7:3
WEATHERRED. MRS. EUYT5I. Grand
retary Native Daughter . ..... . . 7 r 717
WHITE. MISS L. E.. Ass'c Sec Oregon Cjtv
era Club 2M
WILSON. DR. EDWARD N.. Phys. & Su- "04 J
WILSON. DR. GEO F.. Phys. & Surg 70C 7 7
WILSON. DR. HOLT a. Phys. & Surg 5' 7-3"3
WOOD. DR. W. L.. PhysHelnn 412 VZ V
WILLAMETTE VALLEY TELEPH. CO... CI3
A few-more clcjrnnt odec tiirt Iv
had "or npplylnc to Portlaail Trust
Company of Orcson, 10i Tltirtl t., o
to tlc rent clerk In the building.
OREBOil BUG
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