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About Corvallis gazette. (Corvallis, Benton County, Or.) 1900-1909 | View Entire Issue (Feb. 5, 1904)
Second Cousin 5arah by the avthor or -Anne judge. srtMSTen." "little mate kirby.- ETC.. ETC. 8 CHAPTER VL Long before Reuben Calwick had made " up his mind to rise the next morning, tiny knuckles had rapped significantly and persistently at his bedroom door. Reuben did not answer, although he smiled in his half-sleep, and knew that Tots was astir, anxious to see him, to hear his voice, to know all about the big doll that he had told her last night was coming home with his lugsage. At the fifth or sixth sum mons Reuben Culwick condescended to inform the young lady on the other side of the door that he should be in his room in ten minutes, and that he requested the favor of Tots' company to breakfast. Tots, a ragged, unkempt, fair-haired, blue-eyed child, had been found on the steps of the Prince Regent public house after twelve o'clock had struck, and the drinkers had been turned into the road way. No one knew anything about her, and she knew very little concerning her self. She said something about mother and father in an inarticulate fashion common to her eighteen months of exist ence, and she cried for mother for five minutes after the policeman had shaken her from sleep. It was a commonplace incident of poor neighborhoods. The only novelty about this affair was the interest of the man with the beard, who lodged at the firework shop. He took her under his protection and said that she should stay at the house in Hope street and be cared for till the morning. No inquiries were ever made concern ing Tots, though Reuben advertised and the police stations put up a bill on their blackboard along with their "Found Deads," "Burglaries" , and "Murders;" Tots was never passed over to the parish. When Tots was scrubbed and combed by Lucy Jennings she was a bright-enough specimen of babyhood, and in twenty-four -hours she had forgotten father and moth er and taken so desperately to Reuben Culwick that the strong man never found it in his heart to set her from his charity again. It was a wild idea, the Jenningses thought, but they came to terms with the lodger for the extra trouble involved by the care of the child while he thought it was best to be done, until thinking over it became less of a habit and love be came a stronger element in Tots' favor and pleaded for her until the day of which we speak. For eighteen months had Reuben Cul wick been the protector of Tots, and Tots had lived in a world of imaginary uncles and aunts, and there was never now a talk of her going away. Ren ben had ac cepted an immense responsibility, and the weight of it had not oppressed him much. He had been a harder and sterner man before the child's affection for him had changed his character a little. Sitting at the table watching her that day, with his life far clearer before him than it had been, he thought Tots would be like a daughter to him if he lived and if she lived. He should never marry, and would be able to take care of Tots until some respectable young fellow gave her a home and a name, and he was left alone to fight out the rest of his battle. What that battle was to be like, Reu ben Culwick was hardly certain. Once ho had thought that he was cut out for an author, that publishers would be run ning after him, and the critical press singing his praise and glory; but he was almost certain not quite that he had found his level on the Penny Trumpet, and that a few pounds a week would be the maximum sum which his abilities, such as they were, might be able to pro cure him. Tots and he were having breakfast to gether, and Tots was asking a hundred questions, when the first post brought him a bulky packet and two letters. Lucy made some little show of dusting the fur niture with the corners of her apron, and then went reluctantly toward the door. Reuben had not made a dash at bis let ters, after his usual fashion, and im parled the general nature of the con tents, and she said at last: "Yon are not curious about your cor respondents to-day." "I can guess all about them." "I dare say you can," said Lucy, half disdainfully; "one's from a woman. What a change to your life after this dreary street, and us dreary people!" Reuben looked at her intently as be broke the envelope of his letter. She v as out of sorts still; he had not remarked It so much before, but she was certainly a disagreeable kind of old-young woman, and particularly plain and thin. Hers was a hard life, keeping a house and a simple-minded brother in order, looking after a lodger and Tots, and not saving money. Poor old girl! what had she to make life bearable even? and why should he cross her temper, and put her out for the day? "She writes a good hand," said Reu ben. "Who?" "The girl in gray silk." "I don't know who the girl in gray Fllk Is; I have never heard you speak of her before." "No." said Reuben, "I suppose not. She was at my father's house yesterday morning, and I wondered who she was, and where she had dropped from. A pretty girl. too. Hallo!" "You are asked to return," exclaimed Lucy: "your father's heart has softened toward you, and heaven wills a happier time for you, as I said that it would." "You are very kind, but this is from my second-cousin Sarah." "Sh is pretty, too, I suppose?" said Lucy, with a twanging voice. "Ahem! I don't know I dare say she might be, if highly got up for the occa sion. By the way, you might, with your extensive chapel connection, hear of something for Sarah. That poor old woman, Sarah the First," added Reuben, thoughtfully, "may pass away at any moment, and I should like to be ready with a home for her. " Reuben Culwick settled down la his old groove the following day; life went on with him steadily, and there was no shadow of discontent upon the path of his pursuing. A few evenings later he met Lucy as he was returning from a walk with Tots. "What a time yoa have been! she said. Deevishly; "did yon not sax that yoa were coming home early this after moon? I wanted yoa to write a letter before the five o'clock post went oat the country post-" "The country post what for?" asked Reuben. "I have found a situation for that girl." "What girl Sarah Eastbell?" "Yes. Didn't you say, sneeringly and mockingly enough, certainly, that with my extensive chapel connection I might hear of something for her? The girl at the" baker's, where we deal, is silly enough to get married the week after next; there will be wanted some one to take her place, to weigh the bread and put the right money for it into the till af terward. I have answered for the hon esty of this second-cousin of yours." "Thank you," said Reuben, thought fully; "I wish there had been less pub licity about the berth and less of the till." He posted his letter. The answer came at length, in a thick, sprawling, down hill hand, which the blind woman might have written herself, and which was certainly Sarah Eastbell's. It was an ill-spelt and rambling epistle. It came hoping that Reuben was well, as it -left the writer and Cousin Sarah at present, and it thanked him for his thought of that cousin, who was a good girl, and would not leave her grandmother under any consideration now. Sarah was very happy and contented where she was; but it might be as well for Reuben not to trouble any more about what Mrs. East bell had said concerning a situation for her granddanghter. This epistle put Reuben Culwick out a little. It annoyed him more than he cared to confess it even puzzled him. Why had the grandmother altered her mind in so sudden and abrupt a fashion she who was very anxions concerning her grandchild's future when he had call ed at the almshouses of St. Oswald's? He would go for a long walk, and con sider the matter attentively. It was a gala night at the Saxe-Gotha, next door but two, and there was a heap of dirty boys and girls hanging about the front door, where a row of colored lamps indicated the place to pay before admittance was gained to the splendors beyond. He had to battle his way through this little mob, and in crossing the road he ran against a young woman, to whom he offered an apology for his clumsiness, and who muttered back something in re turn, and then made so quick and side long a movement from him that his at tention was directed toward her again. Second-cousin Sarah! Was he dreaming? Had he got the girl so deeply impressed upon his mind that his thoughts had conjured up her wraith? He stood looking after her watching her proceed down Hope street as though she knew the place by heart; and as she passed under the gas lamp with her head very much bent forward, and a thin rag of a shawl drawn tightly round her, the black and white dress seemed even to the observant man in the background a familiar pattern, the alternate stripes of which he had last seen from the gateway of the alms houses. "Why am I troubling myself about her at all?" he said. "What am I to her, What is she to me? Even if that were the girl suddenly turning up in my neigh borhood, at a time when her grandmother would have me believe that she was down in Worcester What!" he exclaimed, aloud, "it is she!" The female in advance had suddenly paused on the pavement of Hope street, injudiciously stopping beneath a second gas lamp, and looked carefully and eager ly in the direction whence she had come, as if to reassure herself that no one was following at her heels. After an unceremonious scattering of the boys and girls before the entrance to the Saxe-Gotha Gardens, the woman darted into the establishment itself, as if the sixpence for admission might con stitute an insurmountable barrier be tween herself and him who followed her, or as if he would not believe in any one with whom he was acquainted entering the place; but Reuben Culwick was in hot haste, and gained upon her rapidly. CHAPTER VII. Reuben Culwick lost time at the pay office. He passed along an avenue of stnnted trees into the gardens, which he entered for the first time in his life, and looked round very keenly, but there was no trace of Second-cousin Sarah. He looked at the orchestra; he glanced up at the acrobat, who glared down at him as at a new patron of the arts; he strolled from the crowd to a little grass plat, where was a time-stained fountain a stone boy with a broken nose squirting a jet of water from a shell, with a row of paper lanterns within the basin, where some dips were flaring; and he parsed from the grass plat to the extremity of the garden, where were John Jennings" fireworks, a scanty collection of .mal formed objects reared upon high poles to give an idea of importance and magni tude, and waiting John Jennings' pleas ure to burst into smoke and flame. There was a figure crouching by the principal set-piece, and Reuben went toward it. and discovered his landlord. He would have backed away, but John had recog nized him. "Why, Mr. Reuben, what can you pos sibly want here?" he exclaimed, scram bling to his feet. "What are you looking round for?" "For a girl in a black shawl and a striped cotton dress." "Good gracious!" exclaimed John. "She came in here, and I folowed her," continued Reuben "a pale-faced girl, with big black staring eyes. Have you seen a girl like that about?" "Hundreds poor wretches." "N6 a girl with a white, sorrowful face, sach as she has. I am sure it was she." "She who r "Oh, never mind,' said Reuben, pat on his guard at last; "this is the business of your first floor, private and confidential, and momentous. "Not a word of this to Lucy. Reuben Calwick moved restlessly about the gardens, scanning the pleasure seek ers, glaring into the arbors, looking down the dark avenues, and into the refresh ment saloon. Bat there was no sign of Sarah Eastbell no black and whit striped dress even to identify its wearer. He lingered till the last, and went mood ily back to his lodgings, certain in his own mind that Sarah Eastbell had seen him and avoided him. There was another Sarah EastbeU on his mind, too the old woman at St. Oswald's, down in Worcestershire. What was she doing, prostrate and blind, with out her nurse, and without a friend ? He took up the current number of the Penny Trump jet to refresh 'himself with nn ar ticle of his own composition, and then en advertisement stared at him in the face. "Cheap Excursion to Worcester, Malvern and Gloucester." Reuben counted his shillings carefully, looked up at the ceil ing, and went into an elaborate mental calculation on the spot. Yes, he would go away again. . The next day he was in Worcester walking up the Tithing as if the place be longed to him. He passed through the gateway and entered the square court yard, where he stood looking round him as if for his Second-cousin Sarah, whose appearance seemed wanting to complete the picture. The door of his aunt's room was open, and he walked toward it, and entered the apartment, where all was as he expected to find it. The old woman lay in her bed as he had seen her last, a quiet, patient, watchful woman, and there was no one with her. Surely it was only yesterday since he had called at St. Os wald's. "Who's there?" said Sarah Eastbell, sharply, as he entered. "Your nephew," he answered, walking to the bedside. "You received my letter about Sarah?" "Yes. It was kind of yoa to think of her." "Where is she?" said Reuben. "Well," replied Mrs. Eastbell; "she has gone away for, a little change. She will be back soon." "Is she in London?" "Yes.", "What made Sarah leave you?" "Why, Tom came back from sea. Her brother a fine strapping young " fello -v, who has got on in the world. He ?ame here to see me at once," the old lady con tinued, "and insisted upon giving Sally a bit of a change before he went away on board ship again, and the child wanted change, and they said looked ill, and so I persuaded her to go." "Has she written to you since?" "To be sure. There's a letter of hers on the mantelpiece now." Reuben Culwick walked across and took down a letter therefrom. To his surprise it was addressed to two persons, the second one being communicated with a lead pencil at the top of the paper. "Don't read this to grandmother," was written in lead pencil, and in quite a lady's hand. "Keep her as cheerful as you can without me. Let her think that I am coming back soon that I am happy with Tom, and that he is very kind. I can't think of breaking the truth to her yet, that I can never, never come back any more." , "Who reads the letters to you, aunt?" he asked curiously. "Mrs. Muggeridge or her niece, gener ally, because the old lady stammers dreadful." "Now, why are all these people hum bugging this poor woman?" muttered Reuben, as he took a great handful of his beard into consideration with him. While he meditated, a very sallow face, chiseled deeply with ridges, peered round the room door, and two greenish eyes blinked at him through spectacles with wide horn rims. "One moment, Mrs. Muggeridge," Reu ben hastened to say. "I want you or your niece to tell me about Mrs. East bell's granddaughter where she has gone, and why she has gone." "My niece!" said Mrs. Muggeridge, shaking her head again. "Ah! that's a little trick to keep that poor old soul go ing a bit till we take her off to the ceme tery, which can't be very long now. The young lady thought it would be the better plan not to tell her anything." "What young lady?" "She who comes once or twice a day now, just to see her. Why, here she is, to be sure." (To be continued.) Bare of a. Place. ' Employment Agent Any recommen dations from your last place? Applicant No. "Where did you work last?" "In a railroad restaurant." - 'Discharged?" "Yes." "What for?" "I made the coffee too strong, an' cut the meat too thick." "Say! here's two dollars. Walt a few days, and I'll try to work you into my boarding house." New York Weekly An Echo. "Nothing but work and worry day after day," sighed Mrs. Peck. "I sup pose I'll never rest in peace until I'm in my grave." "And neither will I, my dear," meek ly rejoined the poor man, who was known to the community at large as Mrs. Peck's husband. Truthful Maid. "Where are you going, my pretty maid?" "I really don't know, sir," she said. "But you steer the auto, my pretty maid." "That's why I don't know, sir," she said. Parental Advice. " ' Young Monkey Dad, I'm going to be the guest of honor at a dinner given by some leaders of the "400" to-night. Old Monkey Well, for heaven's sake, try to control your feelings! Don't look any more bored than you can possibly help. Puck. Bare to Attract. Rod rick I am tired of being medi ocre, I would like to attract some at tention in the world. Van Albert H'm! Get a pair of squeaky shoes. At Lonsr Branch. Impecune Which of old Moneypen ny's daughters are you going to pro pose to? Foreign Count Oh, the youngest one first. Judge Large Instates in England. The thirty-four largest estates In Britain average 183,000 acres apiece. THE IROQUOIS "" fry1- V'X1!"V' SCENE WITHIN THE BURNING BUILDING WHEN THE FLAMES LEAPED FROM THE STAGE AND MADNESS SEIZED THE AUDIENCE. The fire at the Iroquois Theater in Chicago was the most appalling of Chicago's disasters. In loss of life and In horrible details it stands first in the list of calamitous events in the history of the city. More lives were lost in the theater fire than in the Fort Dearborn massacre, in the Lady Elgin disaster, in the burning of Crosby's Opera House, or in the great fire of 1871. More lives were lost in that half hour's panic than In any other hotel or theater fire in recent times. In the holiday week of 1903, in the most, enterprising city of the most progressive of nations, in the newest theater of a city that has given more attention to the building and equipment of amusement halls than any other in the West, occurred one of the most appalling tragedies of the age. The death list is larger than that of a bloody battle, and the horrors of-the death struggle of the hundreds who lost their lives were more terrible than any battle. The disaster was one of the worst of Its kind in the history of the world. A holiday audience, composed mainly of women and children, in attendance upon a showy extravaganza, suddenly found itself trapped and In Imminent peril of death in a hideous form. With an advancing wave of flame and smoke beating upon them, the terrified people began a desper ate rush to escape. The theater is the newest in the city and was supposed to be as nearly fireproof as a theater can be made. The builders had the opportunity to take advantage of every known safety device and to draw upon the lessons of experience In the construction of such buildings in all lands. Presumably equipped with sufficient exits and with every precau tion which human intelligence could devise, inspected and approved by city officials, this playhouse showed itself to be only a deathtrap. There was a fireman on the stage, but his efforts, such as they were, amounted to noth ing. There was a "fireproof asbestos curtain" which would not work and which seems only to have served to turn the flames more directly upon the audience. There were exits supposed to be adequate, but they were choked and impassable almost upon the instant of the first frenzied rush for safety. FIRST PICTURE BOSTON IN ABOUT THE YEAR 1725. This view of Boston, made about 100 years after the town was first settled, is the earliest picture of any place, building or landmark of any kind in New England, known to be in existence. Any existing picture of the kind purporting to be of an earlier date than this one, and there are a few, is spurious. This earliest pictorial representation, of any scene in New England, but three copies of which are now preserved, one of them in the Bostonian So ciety's collection, in the old State House, was engraved on copper, in London, by J. Carwitham, from whom it derived its name of "The Carwitham View," probably between the years 1724 and 1734. It was probably sketched by some local amateur artist in 1723, at which time the Boston newspapers were soliciting subscriptions for the engraving of a view answering this description. The engraving was offered for sale here in 1725, and if this is the one, slight additions must have been made by some engravers about ten years'later, since this view contains the spire of the present Old South Church, not built until 1729, as well as the Hollis street church, erected In 1731. Although the so-called Price's view of Boston was published a few years after this one, yet the Carwitham view remained the popular one as late as 1800. In fact, the specimens now preserved belong to an edition printed from the plate as late as 1779, in response to a desire among the people of England to know something in regard to the appearance of the place that gave birth to the revolution. It is inscribed, "A Southeast View of the City of Boston, in North America," though Boston was not entitled to be desig nated as a city until forty years later. , With a population of perhaps 12,000 at that time, Boston had twelve churches, although but eleven show in the picture. WHY THERE IS A WISHBONE. Scientific Explanation of It Existence in Our Edible Fowls. Charles J. Maynard, a well-known man of science, told the members of the Boston Scientific society at a recent meeting the reasons for the existence of what is known as the wishbone in iwis To beein with, the speaker de plored the lack of knowledge that ex ists regarding the structure or. me uuruo internally. "For example," said he," "It is doubtful if five men in the United States know much about the anatomy of the common robin. The ornitholo Hsta know all about external charac ters, the color, arrangement and num ber of the feathers, metnoas or mgnt, habits and the' like, but exceedingly little about the interiors of the birds they study." Classifications have been made largely by externals, when study the anatomv must be a very im portant part of the subject. He had himself begun witn tne anatomy, ana more than twenty years ago, in some of his publications, he dared to sepa rate the owls from the hawks. They had been placed in the same order, and have so remained till very recently. Now others have separated them even more widely than Mr. Maynard did so long ago. His deductions were from a knowledge of the anatomy. The wish bone Is called by scientists THEATER FIRE. OF BOSTON. the furcula and is in realllty the union of what are in man the two separate collar bones. These in the birds re ceive the brunt of the strokes of the wing that turn the creature in its flight. Few realize the strength of stroke of the bird's wing. It is said that a swan has been known to break a man's leg by a blow of its wing, and in a like manner the wing-beatings of the larger birds are dangerous If they strike the head or face. If, therefore, a large bird is in the habit of making sudden turns to right or left in its flight it must be fitted with a wishbone com petent to withstand the great strain of the wing stroke on one side. For thds reason we find in the eagle and like birds of quickly turning flight a furcula that is a perfect Roman arch, widely at variance with the Gothic arch which is the shape of the wish bone of our common fowls. The eagle's furcula is a solid rounded arch, everywhere equally strong, and not de veloping those points of weakness that make our sport of breaking the wish bone possible. A bachelor may have no excuse for living, but the average married man has to dig up two or three excuses a week. - Freshness of youth often spoil the ma a. My Lungs "An attack of la grippe left me with a bad cough. My friends said I had consumption. I then tried Ayer's Cherry Pectoral and it cured me promptly." A. K. Randies, Nokomis, 111. You forgot to buy a bot tle of Ayer's Cherry Pec- toral when your cold first came on, so you let it run along. Even now, with all your hard coughing, it will not disappoint you. There's a record of sixty years to fall back on. Three alzea: 25c., enough for an ordinary cold; 60c., Just right for broachltia. hoarm nesa, hard colds, etc; (I, moat economical fox chronic cues and to keep on hand. i. C. AXK CO., Lowell, Mais. Not a Believer. Miss Elderly You mustn't believe all you hear. Mrs. Malaprop I dont. Nor half I say. Large Congregation Expected. Cy Higrass Heerd 'bout Decum Billins' fall? Hi Sigrass Ye don't tell! What did he fall from? Cy Higrass From grace. He-he! They're goin' to church 'im next Sun day morning. Baltimore American. Knew the Man. "I see that Planus, who was your architect, is building a house for him self now." "Is he," exclaimed the victim. "I'll bet he'll cheat himself." Phila delphia Press. Miss Rose Peterson, Secre tary Parkdale Tennis Club, Chi cago, from experience advises all young girls who have pains and sickness peculiar to their sex, to use Lydia E. Pinkham's Vege table Compound. How many beautiful young girls de velop into worn, listless and hopeless women, simply because sufficient atten tion has not been paid to their physical development. No woman is exempt from physical weakness and periodic pain, and young girls just budding into womanhood should be carefully guided physically as well as morally. Another woman, Miss Hannah E. Mershon, Col lingswood, H". J., says : "1 thought I would write and teU you that, by following your kind ad vice, I feel like a new person. I waa always thin and delicate, and so weak that I could hardly do anything. Men struation was irregular; " I tried a bottle of your Vegetable Comnound and beiran to feel hetter right away. I continued its use, and am now well and strong, and men struate regularly. I cannot say enough for what your medicine did for me. 5000 forfait If original of about lattar prosing ganulnanatt cannot be products!. Lydia E. 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