Hillsboro independent., November 07, 1902, Image 4

juooooooooooooj
to Of
Rocks!
to
JO
Br RALPH CONNOR S'X
Coitllnwil from V.-V, Viei?.
jGeT thcu for hie."
"Tomorrow will do. Go to sleep now.
snd we shall arrange everything to
morrow," I urged.
Xi),-' he said fiercely; "tonight, now!"
In half an hour they were listening,
ui!e nuil grief stricken, to the story of
their father's death.
I'oor Graeme was relentless In Ills
self condemnation as ho told bow,
through hl "cursed folly." old Nelson
wan killed. The three Craig, Graeme
and Nelson had come as fur na Victo
ria together. There they left Craig
and came on to Han Francisco. In uu
evil hour Graeme met companion of
other and evil days, and It was not
long till the old fever came upon him.
In vtilii Nelson warned and pleaded.
The reaction from the monotony uud
, poverty of cump life to the excitement
iimiI luxury of the Sim Francisco gaiu
iixit palaces swung Grnemo quite off
hia feet, and all that Nelson could do
wag to follow from place to pluce nud
keep wntch.
'And there lie would alt," fuld
Graeme In a hard, bitter rolce, "wait-
liui 11 nil watching often till the way
morning IlKlit. while my madness held
mo fatet to tlie ftble. One night"
here he paused a moment, put Ilia face
In hia hunda and shuddered, but quick
ly he was master of himself again and
wont on In. the anine hard voice "ono
night my partner and I were playing
'two men who hud done us up before.
I knew they were cheating, lit could
not detect them, Game after game
they won till I was furious at my
stupidity In net being able to catch
them. Happening to gliince at Nelson
In the corner, I caught a meaning
look, and, looking again, he threw uiu
a signal. I knew at once what the
fraud was and next game charged tlio
fellow with It. He gave me the lie.
I struck bis mouth, but before I could
draw my gun his partner had mo by
the arms. What followed I hardly
know. While I was struggling to get
free I saw him reach for his weapon,
but as he drew It Nelson sprang across
'the table and bore him down. When
the row was over, three men luy on
the floor. One was Nelson. Ho took
the shot meant for ine."
Again tbo story paused.
"And the man that shot blmr
. I started ut the Intense fierceness In
the voice and, looking uion the girl.
saw her eyes blazing with a terrible
light.
"Ho Is dead," answered Graeme In
differently.
"You killed lilm?" she asked eagerly
Graeme looked at her curiously uud
answered slowly:
I did not mean to. Itu came at mo.
I struck him harder than I knew, He
never moved."
She drew a sigh of satisfaction and
waited.
"I got him to..o private ward, had
the best doctor In the city and sent for
Lralg to Victoria. For turee days w
thought he would live lie wa keen to
get home-but by the time Craig came
we had given up hope. Oh, but I wa
thankful to see Craig eouio In, and th
Joy in the old man's eyes was beautiful
to see! There was no pain at last and
no fear. Ho would not allow me to re
proach myself, saying over and over,
'You would have done the sajne for
me, as I would, fast enough, "and It is
better me than you. I am old and done.
Ion will do much good yet for (he
boys. And he kept looking at me till
I could only promise to do my best.
"But I nin glad I told him bow much
good bo bad done me during the last
year, for he seemed to think that too
good to bo trne, and when Craig told
him bow he had helped the hoys in
the camp and how Sandy and HnptlHte
and the Camplx-lls would always bi
better men for his life among then
the old man's face actually shone us I
llglrt were coining through, nud wit
surprise and Joy be kept ou saying
'Do you think so? Do you think bo?
l'erhaps so, erhaps so." At the last be
talked of Christmas night at the camp.
lou were there, you reiuemlicr. Craig
had been holding a service, and some
thing happened, I don't know what
but they both knew."
"I know," I said, and I saw again th
picture of the old man under the pine.
upon his knees In the snow, with his
rice turned up to the stars.
uatevcr It was. It was In bis mind
at the very last, and I can never forget
lils face as he turned It to Craig. One
hears of such things. I had often, but
had never put much faith In them. But
Joy, rapture, triumph these are what
yere In bis face as be said, bis breath
coming short:
"'You said he wouldn't fall me you
rere right not once not once he stuck
to mo I'm glad he told me thank
l.od-for you you allowed-me-I'll
seo him anil-tell him' And Craig,
ko.f-llng Isolde him so steady-1 was
netinvlng like a fool-smiled down
through his streaming tears Into the
dim eyes so brightly till they could see
no more. Thank him for that! He help;
Id I lie old man through, and he helped
tie, too. Hint night, thank God!"
And Graeme's voice, hard till now,
broke in a soli.
fie bad forgotten ns and was back
. beslclo his passing friend, and all his
self control could not keep back the
flowing tears.
"It was his life for mine," he said
hnsklly.
The brother aud sister were quietly
weepln, but spoke no word, though I
knew Graeme was waiting for thein.
. I took up the word and told of what
I bad known of Nelson and his Influ
ence npon the men of Mack Hock.
Tliey listened eagerly enough, but still
without speaking. There seemed noth
ing to say till I UEgestet) to Graeme
that be must get some rest The the
Ctrl turned to him and. Impulsively put
ting out her hand, said:
"Oh, It la all so sad, but bow ran wa i
ever thank you?"
"Thank uie?" gasped Craeme. "Can
you fdrglre met 1 brought him to his
death."
"No, uo! You must not aay so!" tha
answered hurriedly. "You would bare
done the same for him."
"God knows I would," said Graeme
earnestly, "nnd God bless jou for yoor
words!"
Aud 1 was thankful to sea tho tears
start In bl dry, burning eyes.
Wa carried blui to the old homo tn
the country, that be might He by the
side of the wife he had loved and
wronged. A few friends met us at the
wayside station and followed In sad
procession along the country road that
wound past farms and through woods
and at last up to the ascent where the
quaint old wooden church, black with
the rains and snows of tuauy years,
f tood among Its silent graves. The lit
tle graveyard sloped gently toward tha
letting sun, and from it one could see.
far on every side, the fields of grain
and meadowland that wandered oil
over softly undulating hills to meet the
maple woods at the horizon, dark,
green and cool. Here and there white
farmhouses, with great barns standing
near, looked out from clustering or
chards. Up. the grass grown walk and
through tbo crowding mounds, over
which waves uncut the long, tangling
grass, we bear our friend and let him
gently down Into tho kindly bosom of
Mother Earth, dark, moist and warm.
The sound of a distant cowbell mingles
with the voice of the Inst prayer; the
clods drop heavily with heart startling
echo; the mound Is heaped cud shaped
by kludly friends, sharing with one
another the tusk; the long, rough 'soils
are laid over and patted Into pluce; the
old ulnlster tubes furewell in a few
words of gentle sympathy; tha brother
and sister, with lingering looks at the
tiro graves side by side, the old and
the uew. step Into the farmcr'a car
riage and drive away: the sexton locks
the gate nud goes home, aud we are
left outside alone.
Then we went buck and stood by
Nelson's grave.
After a long silence Graeme spoke.
"Connor, he did not grudge bis life to
mo, nnd I think," aud here the words
came slowly, "I understand now what
that moans. 'Who loved nio and gave
himself for me.' "
Then, taking off bis bat, be said rev
erently: .
"By God's help, Nelson's life shall
not .end, but shall go ou. Yes, old
man," looking down upon the grave,
"I'm with you," and, lifting up bis face
to the calm sky, "God help me to be
true!" '
Then be turned and walked briskly
away, as' one might who bad pressing
business or us soldiers march from a
comrade's grave to a merry tune, not
that they have forgotten, but they
bare still to fight.
And this was the way old man Nel
son came home.
CHAPTER XIV. ,
GRAEME'S NEW BlRTlT.
ITEltE was more left In that
grave than old man Nelson's
dead body. It seemed to me
thnt Graeme left part at least
ot his old self there with his dead
friend and comrade in the quiet coun
try churchyard. 4 waited long for the
old careless, reckless spirit to appear,
but he was never the same again. The
change was unmistakable, but bard to
define. Ho seemed to have resolved
bla life Into a definite purpose. He
was bardly so comfortable a fellow to
bo with; he made me feel even more
lassy and useless than was my wont,
but I respected lilm more and liked
him none tho less. As a lion he was
not a success. He would not roar.
This was disappointing to me and to
bla friends and mine, who had been
watting bis return with eager expecta
tion of tales of thrilling and blood
thirsty adventure.
His first days were spent In making
right, or as nearly right as be could,
the break that drove him to the west
His old firm nnd 1 have had more re
aped for the humanity of lawyers ever
since behaved really well. They prov
ed the restoration of their confidence
In bis integrity and ability by offering
Mm a place in the firm, which, how
ever, be would not nccept. Then, when
he felt clean, as he said, bo posted off
home, taking me with him. During
tho rallwny Journey of four hours he
hardly spoke, but when we had left
tho town behind and had fairly got
upon the country road thnt led toward
tho home ten miles, away his sieecb
came to 111 in In a great flow, iris spir
its ran over. Ho was like a boy re
turning from his first college term. HIb
very face wore the boy's oen, Inno
cent, earnest look that used to attract
men to hi in lu his first college year.
His delight In the fields and woods. In
the sweet country air and the sunlight,
was without hound. How often had
we driven this road together In the
old days!
Every turn was familiar. The swamp
Where the tamaracks stood straight and
rlini out of their beds of moss: the
brule. us .we used to ca!l it, where tho
pine slumps, huge and I Inckened, were
half hidden by the i:rw growth of pei
lars and soft maples: t!:e big bill.
Where we used to cct ot:t and walk
when the roads were had; toe orchards. '
where the harvest nrplcs were best'
and most accessible til hud their
memories.
It was one of tliore nrrfcrt r.ftr-r.
noons that so often crime in the early1
Canadian rummer before nature grows'
weary with the heat 1 !.e white gravel
ro.-idn.-is trimmed on either side with
turf of living green, close cropped by
ne siieep that wandered in flocks along i
its whole lcm.t!i. Beyond the plctur- '
csijhe snake fciiei-s Ktrctched the fields
of springing grain, cf varying shades of !
preen, with here r.nd there a darjc '
brown patch, marking a turnip field r
summer fallow, and far hack Were the
woods of maple and beech and elm,
with here and there tho tufted top of a
mighty pine, the lonely representative
of n vanished race, standing clear
bove the humbler trees.
As we drove through the big swamp.
where the yawning, haunted gully
plunges down to Its gloomy di pt lis,
raeme reminded me of that night
when our horse saw something in th.it
same gully and refused to go past, nnd
felt again, though It was brond day
light, something of the grewsomeness
that shivered down my buck as I saw
n the moonlight the glen in of a white
thing not far through the pine trunks.
As we came Bearer home the bouses
became familiar. Every house had Its
tale. We had en ten or slept In most
of Ihciu: we hrd wcuipieel tipples and.
cherries and plum from their
chard, openly as guests or secretly, 'as
muraudcr. under cover of night th
more delightful way. I Ivor. All, nap
py days, with these Innocent crimes
and Heeling remorses, how bravely wa
faced tliiin. and how ga.vly we lived
them, ami bow yearningly we look
buck at them now! The sun was Just
dipping Into the trt-etops of the distant
woods behind as we came to the top
of the last hill that oM-rlnoked the val
ley In which lay the village of Illver
dale. Wooded bills stood about It on
three sides, und where the bills faded
out thei e.luy the millpoiiu sleeping and
smiling In the sun. Through the vil
lage ran the white road, up past tba
old frame church and on to the white
manse hiding among the trees. That
wus Graeme's home and mine, too, for
1 had never known another worthy of
the name. W held up our team to
look down over the valley, with its
rampart of wooded bills, its shining
pond and Its nestling -village. The
beauty, the peace, the warm, loving
homeliness of the sceue. cuine about
our hearts; but. being men, wa could
On J no words.
"Let's go!" cried Graeme, 'and dowir
the bill we tore and rocked and sway
ed, to the uuiazeuieut of the steady
team, whose education from the earli
est years hnd Impressed upon their
minds the criminality of attempting to
do anything but walk carefully dowu a
bill, ut least for two-thirds of the way.
Through the village. In a cloud of dust,
we swept, catching a glimpse of a well
known face here and there and flinging
a salutation as we passed, leaving the
owner of the face rooted to his plnce In
astonishment at the sight of Graeme
whirling on In-htsold time, well known
reckless manner. Only old Duuc Mc-
i i.eoa was equal to lue moment, for as
Graeme called out. "Hello, Dune!" the
old man lifted up bis bands and called
back lu an awed voice:
"Bless my soul! Is It yourself?"
"Stands bis whisky well, poor ' old
chap!" was Graeme's comment.
As we nca red the church he pulled
up his team, and we went quietly past
the sleepers then1, then again on tho
full run dowu the gentle slope, over
I the little brook aud up to the gnte. He
ad hardly got bis team pulled up be
fore, flinging me the lines, he was out
over the wheel, for coming down the
walk, with her bands lifted high, was
a dainty little lady, with the fuce of
r.u angel. In a moment Graeme bad
her in his arms. I beard the faint cry,
Jiy boy,, my boy!" and got. clown on
the other side to attend to my off
horse, surprised to find my hands trem
bling and my ryes full of tears. Back
upon the steps stood an old gentleman.
with white hair and (lowing beard,
handsome, straight aud stately.
Graeme's father, waiting his turn,
"Welcome borne,, my lad!" was bis
greeting ns be kissed bis son, and the
tremor of his voice and the sight of the
two men kissing each other, like wom
en, sent me again to my horses' beads.
"There's Connor, mother!" shouted
out Graeme, and the dainty little lady,
in tier black silk nnd white lace, came
out to me quickly, with outstretched
bands.
"You, too, nre welcome borne," she
said and kissed me.
I stood with my hat off, saying some
thing about being glad to come, but
wishing that I could get away before
I should make quite a fool of myself,
for as I looked down upon that beauti
ful face, pale, except for a faint flush
upon each faded cheek, and read the
story of pain endured and conquered,
nnd as I thought of all the long years
cf waiting and of rain hoping, 1 found
my throat dry and sore, and the words
would not come. But her quick sense
needed no words, and she came to my
help.
"You will find Jack at the stable,"
she said, smiling. "He ought to have
boon hero.
Tlio stnble! Why lincl I nqt thought
of thnt before? Thankfully now my
words came:
"lea, certainly. I'll find him, Mrs.
Graeme. I suppose he's as much of a
scalH'K-raee as ever."" And off I went
to- look up Graeme's young brother,
who hud jrlven every promise In the
old dirya of developing Into aa stirring
n rascal ns one could desire, but who,
as I found out later, had not lived
these years lu his mother's home for
nothing.
"Ob, Jncli's a good boy!"- she an
swered, smiling again, as she turned
toward the other two, now waiting for
her upon the walk.
The week that followed was a happy
one for 'us all, but for the mother It
wns fufl to the brim with Joy. Her
sweet face was full of content, and In
her eyes rested n great peace. Our
clays were spent driving about among
the hills or strolling through the ma
ple woods or down. Into the tamarack
swamp, where the pitcher plants and
the swamp lilies and the marigold
waved above the deep moss. In the
evenings we snt under the trees on the
lawn till the stars came out and the
night dews drove us In. Like two lov
ers, Graeme and his mother would
wander off together, leaving Jack and
tne to each other. Jack was reading
for divinity and was really a fine, man
ly fellow, with all his brother's turn
for Rugby, and I took to him amazing
ly, but after the dnv wns over we
would gather about the supper table,
' nnd the talk would be of all things
, ntider heaven art, football, theology.
, ine mother would lead In all. How
iulck she was, hew bright her fancy,
how subtle her Intellect, and through
, nil a gentle grnce, very winning and
, beautiful to sec!
Do what I would. Graeme would
talk little. of the mountains and bis
fife there.
"My lion will not roar, Mrs. Graeme,"
I complained. "He simply will not"
"You should twist his tall,"- aald
Jack.
"Thnt seems to bo the difficulty;
.Tack," said his mother, "to get bold of
his tale."
"Oh, mother." groaned Jack, "you
never did aneb a thing before! How
rould yon? u It this baleful western
Influence?"
"I shall reform. Jack," aba replied
brightly.
'Hut, seriously. Graeme." I rnmnn.
.. uuHiH iu ten your people,
-i i i ,
l,n, 1-1 . To,om B)C Pw
imp,. ,.,d Graem. and then fell int4
it ..'."-r-
U.t 1 ww Craeutt a. a new man th.
4tht he talked theolorr wHh his
Ait her. The old minister was a splen
did Calvinlst. of heroic typ. and s be
discoursed of God'a sovereignty and
election bla face glowed and bla voice
rang out.
uraeme llsteued Intently, now and
then putting In a question, aa one
would a keen knife thrust Into a foe,
but the old uittJi knew bis ground and
moved easily among his Ideas, demol
ishing the enemy aa be appeared with
Jaunty grace. In the full Dow of bla
triumphant argument Graeme turned
to him with sudden seriousness.
l-cok here, father. 1 waa born a
Calvinlst, and 1 can't aee bow any one
with a level head rau bold auvthine
else than that the Ahnlghty has some
Idea as to bow be wants to rnu bis uni
verse, and be means to carry out his
Idea and ia carrying; It out. But what
woum you ao In a case like this?"
Then be told the storv cf roor Billv
Breen, bis fight and hia defeat.
would you preach election to that
chap?" .
The mother's eyes were shining with
tears.
The old gentleman blew bla nose Ilka
a trumpet and then said gravely:
"No, my boy. You don't feed babes
with meat But what came to blmr'
Then Graeme asked me to fluish the
tela. After I had finished the story of
Billy's flnnl triumph and of Craig's
part In It they sat long silent till the
minister, cleurlng I. a throat bard aud
blowlug bis nose uore like a trumpet
than ever, said, wi'tu great emphasis:
Thank God for such a man In such
a place! 1 wish there were more of us
like him."
"I should like to see yon out there.
sir," said Graeme admiringly. "You'd
get them, but you wouldn't have time
for election."
"Yes. yes," said his father warmly;
1 should love to have-a chance JuSt
lo preach election to those poor lads.
Would I were twenty years younger;
It Is worth a mans life, said
Graeme earnestly.
His younger brother tnrned bis face
eagerly toward the mother. l-"or an
swer she slipped her band luto his nnd
said softly, while ber eyes shone like
stars:
Some day,. Jack, pffrbupa. God
knows."
But Jack only looked steadily at her,
smiling a little nnd patting ber band.
You'd thine there, mother," said
Graeme, smiling upon ber. "You'd bet
ter come with me."
She started and said faintly;
"With your It was the first bint be
had given of bis purpose. "You are
going back?"
"What as a missionary?" said Jack.
"Not to preach. Jack I'm not ortho
dox enough." looking at bis father and
shaking bis bend "but to build rail
roads ane! lend a band to sonpoor
chap If I can."
"Could you not find work nearer
borne, my boy?" asked the father.
'There Is plenty of both kinds near us
bore Kiirelv."
"Lots of work, but pot mine, I fear,"
answered Oraenie, keeping Ills eyes
away from his mother's face. "A man
must do his own work." . .
His voice was quiet and resolute.
and, glancing at the beautiful face at
the end of the table, I saw iu the pale
lips and yearning eyes that the mother
was offering up ber firstborn, that an
cient sacrifice. But not all the agony
of sacrifice could wring from her en
treaty or complaint In the Waring of
ber sons. That was for other ears and
for tbo silent bours of the night. And
next morning, when she came down to
meet us, her face was wan and weary,
but it wore the peace of victory and a
glory not of earth. Her greeting was
full of dignity, sweet and gentle, but
when she came to Graeme she lingered
over him and kissed him twice, and
that was all that any of us ever saw
I'f thnt sore fight.
At the end of the week I took leave
of them and last of all of tho mother.
She hesitated Just a moment, then
suddenly put ber bands upon my sboul-
ders and kissed nm, saying softly
"ou are his friend. You will some
times come to tuel"
Ulndly, If I may," I bnstenpd to an
swer, for the sweet, brave face was
too much to bear, and till she left us
for tliut world of which she was a
part I kept my word, to my own great
and lasting good.
When Uraeme met me In tho rlty at
the end(of the summer, he brought ma
uer love ana men Durst rortn:
"Connor, do you know, I have Just
discovered my mother. I have never
known her till this summer." 1
"Mire fool you," I answered, for of
ten had 1, who had never known
mother, envied him bis.
Yes; that Is true," be answered
shortly, "but you cannot see until you
have eyes."
Iti-fore he set out again for the west
I gnve lilm a supper, asking the men
who hud been with us In the old var
sity days. I wus doubtful ns to the
wisdom of this and was persuaded
only by Graeme'a eager assent to my
proposal.
Certainly; let's have them." be said.
I shall be nwfully glad to see them.
Greut stuff they were."
"But I don't know. Graeme. You see
well, bang It you know you're dif
ferent, you know."
He looked at me curiously.
I hoie I run still stand a good sup
per, and If the boys can't stnnd me,
why, PTnii't help it I'll do anything
but roar, and don't you begin to work
off your menagerie act. Now, you bear
me!"
Well, it Is rather bard lines that
when I hare bren talking up my lion
for a year and then finally secure him
he will not roar."
"Serves you right," be replied quite
heartlessly. "Hut I'll tell you what
I'll do I'll feed! Don't you worry,"
be added soothingly. "The supper will
go."
And go It did. Tbe supper was of tba
best, the v4ncs Best class. I bad asked
Graeme about the wines.
"Do as yon like, old man," was bia
answer. "It's your supper. But," bs
added, "are the men all straight?"
I ran them over in my mind.
"Yes, I think so,"
"If not don't yon help them down,
and anyway you can't be too careful.
But don't mind me. I am quit of tba
whole business from tbis out."
So I ventured wines, for tbs last
tim- . ,,ri,,1i
"Beetles," wbosc nlcknsme wss pro-
Phetlc of his futur. fsme as a bugman,
,be fo(JW, lrr,TerOTlllr M. "8tun.
IT" Smith, a demon bowler; "Iolly"
Upitlkfi ilow ,TW tna lur(
AYceefable Preparation for As
similating the food and Regula
ting itte SiJiuaclts arsHJowels of
Promotes Dige9lionJCheerfur
ness and Rest.Contdins neither
Optunt.Morphuie nor Mineral
Mr Narcotic.
JmnOUarSiMW.HrCHSK
Mx.Smit '
Aperfecl Remedy- forConslipa-J
nuii, aum oiuukii n.uiarrnocaj
I a t - i - .
"units AOi ivuistuila .rcwnsnw
rtess and Loss or SLEEP.
Facsimile Signature oT
NEW YORK.'
" "JIT "
. i I
exact copr or wrapper.
ill
kit
s
Li
11
ailif
PAHK AND WASHINGTON, POflTlAND, OREGON
The school where thorough
lwaya given; where confidence
is taught exactly as books are kept
made easy ; where penmanship
book keepers and stenographers
life; where thousands more will be.
A. P. ARMSTRONG,
when be held the halfback Jlue with
Graeme and used to make my heart
stand still at bis cool deliberation. But
he was never known to fumble or funk,
and somehow he always got us opt safe
enough. Then there were Rattray
"Rat" for short who, from a swell,
bad developed into a cynic with a
sneer, awfully clever and a good
enough fellow at heart; little "Wig"
Martin, the sharpest quarter ever seen,
and Barney Lundy, canter scrimmage,
whose terrlflc roar and rush had often
struck terror to the enemy's heart and
who was Graeme's slave. Such was
the party.
As the supper went on my fears be
gan to vanish, for if Graeme did not
roar he did tbe next best thing ate and
talked quite up to bis old form. Now
we played our matches over again, bit
terly lamenting the "ifs" that had lost
us tho championships and wildly ap
proving the tackles that had saved and
tho runs that had made the varsity
crowd go mad with delight and had
won for us, and as their names came
up In talk we learned how life hud
gone with - those who bad been our
comrades of ten years ago. Some suc
cess had lifted to high places, some
failure had left upon the rocks, and a
few lay in tbelr graves.
But as the evening wore on I began J
to wish that I bad left out tbe wines,
for the men began to drop an occasion
al oath, though I had let them know
during the summer that Graeme was
nut the man he bad been. But Graeme
smoked and talked and heeded not till
Rattray swore by that name most sn
cred of all ever borne by man. Then
Graeme opened upon him In a cool,
alow way;
"What an awful fool a man is to
damn things ss you do. Rat! Things
are not damned. It Is men who are,
and that Is too bad to be talked much
about. But when a man flings out of
bis foul mouth the name of Jesus
Christ" here be lowered his voice
Vlt's a shame; It's more It's a crime."
There was dead silence. Then Rat
tray replied:.
"I suppose you're right enough. It Is
bad form. But crime is rather strong,
I think."
"Not If ynn consider who It Is," said
Graeme, with emphasis.
"Ob, come now!" broke In Beetles.
"Religion is all right It Is a good
thing and, I believe, a necessary thing
for tbe Nice. But no one takes serious
ly any longer the Christ myth."
"What almut your mother, Beetles7"
put In Wig Martin.
Beetles consigned him to the pit and
wss silent, for his father was an Epis
copal clergyman and bis mother a
saintly .woman.
"I fooled with that for some time,
Beetles, but It won't do. You can't
build a religion that will take the dev
il out of a man on a myth. That won't
do the trick. I don't want to argue
about It, but I am quite convinced the
myth theory Is not reasonable, and; be
sides, It won't work."
' "Will tbe other work?" ssked Rat
tray, with a sneer.
"Sure," aald Graeme. "I've seen it"
"Where?" challenged Rattray. "I
kaven't seen much ot it"
"Yes, you have, Rattray; you know
ou hive," aald Wig sgaln.
But Rattray Ignored him.
"I'll tell you, boys," said Graeme.
"I wsnt you to know .anyway why I
believe what I do."
Then he told tbem the story of old
msn Nelson, from tbe old coast days,
before I knew him, to tbe end. He
told tba story well. Tbe stem light
ATOii
For Infants and Children.
The Kind You Have
Always Bought
Bears the
Signature)
In
Use
For Over'
Thirty Years
TMK CCNTAU COteMV, NCW TORN CITY.
work is . done; where the reason is
is developed; where hookkcepitij
in business ; where shorthand is
is at its best ; where, hundreds of
have been educated for success in
Open all the year. Catalogue fri
LL. Q., PRINCIPAL
anil tne victory or tli l ie r , :l (no clf
sncrlllce anil the pal'li:: .o! the cleat h
apiH'iilcd to these- i:ii-ii. who loved li-lit
nnd could iniili rstaiii) s u-i-iiii-
"llmt s why I believe lu Jesus Christ,
nncl that s why I think it, n crime to
Uillhls mime nboiiL"
"I wish to hea veil, I could say that,"
Bald Beetles.
"Keep wishing hard' enough', nud It
will come to you," said Graeme.
"Look here, old chap," Raid Rattray.
"You're quite riIit about th's. I'm
willing to own uu Wig hi correct. I
know n few at leust of that stamp, but
most of those' who go In for tliut sort
of thing are not much account."
"For ten years. Rattray'." wiid Graeme
In a downright matter of fact way,
"vou nnd I have tried, this mirt of
thing," tapping n bottle, "nnd wo got
out of It ull there Is to be got, paid
well for It, tiKi.'and, fauyli. you know
It's not goml enough, ami tho more you.
go in for it tlic more you cur.o vour-
liolf. 8o I h-iive quit this, and I am
going In for the oilier."
"What? Gc.'iig In for preaching:'"
"Not much railroading, money in It
and lending n h.-md to fellows on the
rocks."
"I say, eloii't yon want n cent-r for
wansr' said big Barney In his Corp
voice. .
"Kvery man must play his g.'mio in
Ills place, old c hap. I'd like to see you
lackle it, though, right well," said
Graeine'eariicstly.
And so ho did In tlio after years, and
good tackling It was. Hut that Is an
other story.
But, I say. Graeme," persixtcd Bee
tles, "aliout this business do you mi an
to say you go the whole thing-Jonah,
you know, nnd the rest of it':"
Graeme hesitated, then said:
"I haven't much of a creed. Beetles;
don't really know bow much I believe.
But" by this' time he was standing
"I do know that good Is good, and 'had
Is bad, and good mid hud are nut tlio
sume, and I know it mail's a fool to fol-
low the one nnd a wiser mnij to-follow
the other, and," lowering hi voice, "I
believe God Is nt tho back of n man
who wants to get done withlud
tried all that folly," sweeping his hnud
over the glasses and bottles, "and all
that goes with Jt, mid I've (lone with
It."
"I'll go you that far," roared big Bar
ney, following bis old captain as of
yoro. .
"Good man," said Graeme, striking
bands with him.
"Put me down," said little Wig cheer
fully. Then I took up tiip word, for the re
rose before lue the scene in the league
saloon, and I saw the lieiiutiful faco
with the deep, shining eye s, and I was
speaking for he-r again. I told theni of
Craig and his fight for these men's
lives. I told t iiem, too. of how I had
been ti;o Indolent to bc-in. "I'm," I
said."I inn going this fur from tonight."
And I swept the lotlU s iulo the chain
pague tub.
"I say," said I'olly Lindsay, coming
up In his old style-, slow, but sure, "let's
nil go In, say, for tie years."
And so wo did. We dielu't sign any
thing, but every man shook hands with
Graeme.
And as I told Craig nhoiit this n ye ar
late r, nlieii he was on his way liae k
from his old land trip to join Crie-io
In the mountains, he threw up Ms lii-ad
in the old wsy nnd s.-iid: "it wus we ll
done. It imuet have bei-n worth see
ing. Old man Nelson's work' Is not
done yet Tell me again." Aud bs
I ! f . H m W
CASTOR A
INTERESTING
PACT2MC--
When eO le are i mitein j.'.n mf n t,;
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.:N-U I'a C illi -Mini. (' - J , lo o l
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l'i
lllnuti l'..l.l.-e Slecpiiij!
on through lriii;j-.
utnl ( liaii Or
tin i jr- t'.ir pi vice
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II ncii tiled. Mi
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ten-1- e
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urk tlie I n kc-t ;i ot to w-ll
ticket c r
THE WISCONSIN PUNfiJAli LINU.
Uiiwt riifi!nvtioii :ii c li . ii.., an I .
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on. 1'ns. Ai;t.,
Milwa.uk-e.tt i'-.
i Jai. A. 'l. .,
i -iii-Ih! Agent,
"Iti Murk
PORTLAND-ASTORIA Rente.
Str. "BAILEY GATZERT"
lUily lloiiml 'IrinK c-cept iimluy
TIME CARD
:ivo
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.rtaii.l...
to. in
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THE' DALLES PORT
LAND ROUTE
STR "TAHOMA"
AMI
'METLAKO"
liilnee u
in II. i a il, Th
JMIIc uuil
Nay Point-.
Trips Kxcei.t Sunday.
iMli))-
TIME CARD
Sir. I'ahiimu"
I.v. Poi tl.mil Moil. Wed. l'ri.T
l.v. P.illej Tiiee. i liur. Sat 7
Mr. "Mct'nU"
l.v. Poitlaml Tcies. Thnr. Sat... 7.
I.v. Dalles Sinn. Wed. I'ri 7
in.
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U"Thia Route lias the Grandest
Scenic! Attractions on lairth.
MEALS THE VERY BEST
Landing and Ollhe: Ko:it Aider Street.
Both I'luniei, Main .'.r-l
PORTLAND, l)"l;ir.ON.
J. W.('Ki rcill O, agt The Dalle
A.J.T.lYl.tMf, gt Astoria.
J. i', y Y.lTf, agt Vancouver, .
MOM OKI) & HYEKS, ugta Wliife
Salmon.
A. K. I I'M.KR nuts Hood
J.iver.
llntle-r,
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VY.H. Ill II.EP,
J1)ll il. TOT T L.v,
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IIKXKY I..VSTEAD, (arson, Wail,
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mneJc in" gi iivcr tlu- whole f e-eiic, with
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But when 1 loUr Mrs. Minor after
two years had pone sue only wild, "Old
things are passed away; all. things nre
lioeoino now," but tho light glowed In
her eyes till I could not see their color.
But all. that, too, is another story..
C'J YEARS'
tXPERIENCE
' ri Copvrichts 4c.
flnl-iUT i.,-,.rc ,i;, r , ,,, ,,,,, . ,nihor rt
i"fit frv ii1
I'tlfeitH t L
ti (lirmtfl) Si ii I. it M t rv
,11 . r.e J Mir fiTiirint- UM I
tit -!.', in thtf
r,i . i ' """'el m.k1. I ,r,.l f
rillll,-n . ..,,.,. .,, ',.r,A,.
ti'.V. 'r'"" ' .. .-..I.V.
n. JNN & Co."'8'"'"'. Npw York
kUmU oiW. Cli, V W V.'.i" ,1.',' l! V;'
This .,m-;,.,r I. n cr- ho, of ti, Reni,ins
Laxative r.romo Quinine T.n.iet,
lew remedy that cure, ,(, ,n mnr. ,,,,,
OAHVoniA.
trs tlis Ir-3 K.r.ti V u Ihm lm P.hjj!
l!
ar Ins.
TO tlK CONTINUED.
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rif.t-lA-iftf-r'JivH'. I
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