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About Lexington weekly budget. (Lexington, Morrow County, Or.) 188?-1??? | View Entire Issue (Nov. 28, 1889)
LEXINGTON WEEKLY BUDGET.
LEXINGTON, MORROW COUNTY, OREGON, THURSDAY, NOV. 28, 1889.
PUBLISHED EVEBI THURSDAY EVENING
SNOW & WHITSON
I t RMS 07 SUBSCRIPTION:
Ons Tear, $1.00
Six Months, ...... 50 cents.
Invariably In advance.
Bates of Advertising i
One square (ten lines or less), first Insertion
11.00; each subsequent Insertion, 90 cents.
Special rates with regular advertisers.
All transient advertlsementa must be paid tor
Of every description executed with neatness and
Jj P. SHIPLEY, M. D.,
Medicine, Surgery & Midwifery,
JJ P. SINE,
Attorney-at-Law and Notary Public,
Attorney for the North American Attorneys
and Tradesmen's Protective Union of Connec
ticut. pSANK KELLOGG,
Attorney-at-Law and Notary Public,
Money to loan on improved farms. Office In
First National Bank.
Q O. BOON,
Constable and Collector,
Will attend to auctioneering.
MRS. BATE PAB8ILL,
Notary Public and Conveyancer,
Deeds, Mortgages and all others Legal Instru
wenta car fully drawn. Applications for rltate
and School Lauds made.aud Pensions obtained.
pRANE H. SNOW,
Land Agent and Notary Public,
Filings taken on government land. Real
estate advertised and sold on commission. New
comers are invited to call and be filled full of
solid facts about the ad'antages of Morrow
country. Office hour '.urn 7 A. u. to midnight,
T9 1T.WAV4 flV riFflf ln PBV.P R KB Tfl
A do anything in bis line in a seat and work
manlike manner. Horses shod with care and
Shop on O St., Leilnyton, Or.
G. W. BROCK,
Wagon anil Carriage Mate,
Arcade Street , Bet, C and Dt
Lciiiif tou, - Oregon.
Livery & Feed Stable
NELSE MAGNUSON, Proprietor.
HORSES BOARDED BT THE
" DAY OR WEEK.
Outfits Furnished fur CvaituarelaJ Mia
at Reasonable) Rates.
, LL KINDS OF Tl'RNOUTS AND SADDLE
L Horsct at the disposal of patrons.
The King's Dust.
"Thou shalt die," the priest snid to the king
"Ttiou stinlt vanish like the leiives of spring
Like the riut of any common thing
0'e day thou upon the winds ahull hlnwl"
"Nay, nut so," the king said. "1 shall stay
While the irrent sun In the sky makes day;
Heaven and earl h, when I do, pass away.
In my tonib 1 wait till all things go!"
Then the king died. And with myrrh and
Washed with palm-wine swathed in linen
Rolled In tinphtha-nim and under guard
Of his stradtiist lonih, they lnil the king.
Century tied to century; still he lay
Whole us when they hid him first away.
Sooth, the priest had nothing more to say,
He, It seemed, the king, knew everything.
One day armies, with the trump of doom,
Overthrew the huge blocks of the tnuih;
Arrowy sunbeams soarohod its chambered
Dedouin camped about the snnd-blown spot.
Little Arabs, answering to their name.
With a broken mummy led the flume,
Then a wind amnng the ashes oame
Blew them lightly, and the king was notl
Harriet Piescntt Bpoffnrd, in Sr. Nicholas.
"Very well, Clare; if you wish me to
leave all my money to some asylum,
you are going just tho right way to
bring it about. When I first saw
Frauk's noble face, 1 made up my mind
that he was the husband I should
choose for you."
"Aunt June, I don't want your for
tune if Frank Aimes is to go with it.
I bate him! the great, awkward "
"No, no Clare, don't call him names.
He's one of the noblest men God ever
made, and if some day you do not dis
cover it yourself, you are not what I
think you. Never mind saying any
more on the subject now, but bear in
mind that I shall never give my con
sent for you to become Clarence Hol
land i wifo."
Clare was only a little woman bnt
nature had made up in quality what
he had withheld in quttntity; for a
prettier, daintier, sweeter little thing,
with her sea-blue eyes and rings of
yellow hair, it would have been bard
She bad only been with lior Aunt
Jane a year, and it was bile at school
she bad met the man to whom she had
given her heart.
Up in her room Clare took a tiny
note from her pocket and opened it.
"My adored Clare, it began; and then
the foolish child kissed it, while her
blue eyes kindled, as she exclaimed to
"No one shall ever part us!"
When she went down to the library
there was Frank. Clare gave him her
band, and then rotronted to her favorite
easy-chair, and watched him furtively,
with the words lit;.' aunt bad spoken
ringing through her mind: "One of
the noblest men God ever made."
Uy-and-by they strolled out into the
moon-lit garden, and walked three
abreast down the broad paths, with
their sweet-scented borders of old
fashioned flowers on either side, until
Aunt Jane suddenly remembered some
thing to be done and went in.
Then Clare began to tremble, for alio
instinctively knew what was coming,
as she saw the abseut dreamy look in
her companion's eyes quickly change
to a bright gleam. He turned and
looked down upon her.
"Clare," he said softly, "don't you
know what I am going to say to you?"
Clare did not answer.
Then impetuously sweeping Iter little
figure right off her fuet, he clasped her
close to his heart, as he exclaimed:
"I knew you must have seen that I
loved you, my darling."
Willi a crimson flush on her fair face,
Clare forced herself from biiu.
"Frank Aimes! you are making a
mistake. 1 do not love you!"
The young man's cheek blanched as
"Not love me! Oh, Clare, can it be
that I have been deceived all this time?
that what I saw in your eyes was only
frieudship? Oh, my darling, is there
no hope for me?
Clare's head drooped as she heard
the ring of sharp puiu iu bis earnest
I am very sorry for this. Frank; but
Indeed there is no hope, for I love
Tnere was a deep silence for a while,
ss Frank Aimes' hopes of happiness
ebbed away. He seemed to have taken
leave of youth aud all its sweet
illusions before he spoke again.
"I never suspected this," he fullered.
"I wouldn't have spoken so if 1
had, though I couldu't have helped
The honest grief In his face brought
tears to Clare's eyes.
"I am so sorrj" sho said; and then
tbev walked quietly into the house to
gether. Clare went up to her room and sat
down by the open window. The shadows
grew darker and darker, and still she
was motionless. Strange thoughts
were surging through the girl's mind.
She wondered at herself that Frank's
unexpected embrace had not made her
more angry, and again she felt the
clasp of his manly arms, and saw the
tender look in hi eyes, aud involun
tarily the question arose in her mind:
"Am I making the mistake, instead of
Frank?" She had not seen Clarence for
a long while, and unconsciously her
ideas of life were beginning to change,
and her growing womanliness to recog
nize the worth of such a character as
But she had given Clarence her
promise, and, yes, she loved him as
much as ever so she thought
Frank had gone, and the weeks went
by. Every now and then came letters
from Clarence to Clare.
Aunt Jane looked on. Frank had
told her of his rejection; but not a
word on the subject did she say to her
niece. One day, some months 'after, as
tbey were both sewing in the sitting
room. Aunt Jane said:
"Clare, I've been thinking that this
old house must be very stupid for a
young thing like you. While Frank
was here, of course it was different;
but now, how would you like to fill the
house with company for a few weeks,
and have a gay time?"
"Oh, auntie, that would be fuu; but
whom would you askP"
"Well, I've been thinking that I
shouldn't let an old prejudice stand in
the way of my dear niece's happiness.
Suppose we say first, Mr. Holland."
"Your dear, good old aunty!" ex
claimed Clare, springing to her aunt's
side, and almost smothering her with
Aunt Jane smiled a rather peculiar
smile as she disengaged herself and
straightened her rumpled cap. Then
she went on:
"There are your school friends, Tiny
Pateman and" Lulu Grant, and we'll
send for Frank. Of course, by this
time, he's gotten over his sore feel
ings." She said this looking keenly into
Clare's face which had fallen some
what at the mention of Frank's name.
"It u a ott now and write the notes.
Ask three more young ladies and a
gentleman, whoever you choose, and
I'll try aud make them enjoy them
selves." Afler Clare had gone the old lady's
face still kept ils peculiar smile as she
"It may be foolish of me, to put her
right in his way: But no. I know bis
stock, and I run no risk."
The gay company came.
Such lively times as they all had!
Such glorious moonlight sails on the
lake! Such picnics in the woods!
Such magnificent tableaux! for which
Aunt Jane brought out all her treasures
of velvets and satins from their great
jM'uuk nuu come, and Clare con
fessed to herself that Aunt Jane was
right. No one would have picked him
out for a victim of unrequited love as
he laughed and jested with piquant
Tiny, who evidently looked with favor
upon her tall cavalier. Clare knew
that she ought to be pleased that it
was so; but all unconsciously she
missed the kindly glances that hud
once been all for her, aud felt some
thing hieli, if it wasn't jealousy, was
akin to it, as she saw his tall form dis
appearing under the trees, with the
brilliant Tiny leaning confidingly on
All this time Aunt Jane was not idle,
and she talked with Clarence Holland.
and drew him out. She saw that her
former judgment of him had been
correct. The time was approaching
when the pleasant party were to
separate, and one morning. Aunt Jane
and Lulu Grant and Mr. Holland were
in the breakfast-room, waiting for the
rest to make their appearance, when
the conversation turned upon wills.
"Well," said Lulu Grunt, "I for one
shan't care if I never am rich, for then
no one will quarrel about my money
after I am gone."
"I shall guard against that," said
Aunt Jane, "for in my will I shall en
dow a worthy charity which Dr. Morse
has often spoken to me about."
Lulu looked up into tite old 'lady's
face as she spoke, and her quick
woman's wits understood the quizzical
expression she saw there. Not so,
however, Clarence Holland. He was
very absent all through the meal; and
after breakfast went up to bis room,
complaining that the heat gave him a
headache. The next day he was gone,
and a short note on Clare's bureau told
the reason. He had been called away
on business, he said, and, besides, be
felt that it was so palpable that her
love for him hnd gone, that it was
better he should go and leave her free.
It was an incoherent note; but when
Clare showed it to Aunt Jane she un
"The mercenary wretch! I read
him right. It was what I said about
my will that has caused this. Thank
your Heavenly Father, ray child, that
your eyes have been opened at last."
"Aunty, my eyes have been opened
for some time. I knew I ditl not love
bini, but I bad given him my promise."
The house seemed very lonely when
they had all gone; but the loneliness
was good for Clare. She grew to
miss the familar form and voice she
bad been used to notice so little;
and to wish that Frank would come
Then came a letter to Aunt Jane:
"Mt Dear Friend, You will be surprised
when you receive litis to know that 1 atn out
In Egypt fighting the Arabs that is expecting
to; we have bad no encounter as yet. I
wanted to come and bid you and Miss Clare
Sod-bye, but it was all so sudden. My friend,
ajor Hugh Fielding eocnmpantes me. Tou
have known, my dear friend, of my lore for
your niece. Of course, all that Is past: but,
all the same, 1 feel as If I am Just as well here
as anvwhere else. Never! helt'ss, wherever I
may tie, 1 shall alway s remember you with
the same affectionate respoot. Yours sin
cerely, "Frank Aimes,"
Aunt Jane burst into tears.
"Oh, Clare; see what you have done!"
Clare read the lettf in silence, and a
pallor crept over ht. .ace as she awoke
to know what she had suspected for a
long time was true, and that the love
she had once refused was the one thing
in the world that she now longed for.
"If he dies, I shall never forgive ray.
self, aunty," she said, at last, in a
choked voice, and they mingled their
Then how eagerly the papers were
Tho Arabs were causing a great deal
of trouble, and news came from time
to time of skirmishes, and of officers
killed or wounded. And one day with
letters dancing iu fantastio shapes be
fore her eyes. Clare read that a final
engagement had taken place, result
ing in the victory of our troops; and a
little further down, under the list of
the killed the name of Frank Aimes.
Fortwo month AuntJane smothered
ber own sorrow as she leaned over the
bod where her niece lay, and heard
the anguished cry:
"Frank! Frank! It is I who have
Then the crisis came and the doctors
said their patient would live.
Time passed, till one day AuntJane
came into the room where, bolstered
up in an arm-chair, was Clare, a mere
shitdow of her former self.
"What are you thinking about, little
"Auuty! Aunty! Why did I get
better? What use is there of my liv
ing, wbeu 1 wretched I! sent him I
loved to his death? Oil, auuty! It is
more than I can bear!"
The tears forced themselves through
the thin fingers as she covered her face
with her bands. Aunt Jane did not
"ptpeak. There was a slight movement
in the room, and Clare raised her head
Then a piercing cry of unutterable
gladness rang out!" "
A manly figure knelt by her side; his
arms were around her; and Frank (for
it was he) spoke:
"Darling. I have heard it from your
own lips. You love me!"
But Clare had tainted. The jov was
too much for her feeble frame. When
she came back to consciousness, and
saw Frank bending over her, regard
less of Aunt Jane who, indeed, was
too much overcome to notice she
wound her soft arms round his neck,
and as he felt the tremulous kiss upon
his lips he knew that at last the love
be had coveted so long was his.
It did not take long to tell of his
capture by the savage foe, and of his
escape and joyful greeting from his
comrades, who had mourued him as
lie Was a Seer.
"There' goin' to be some trouble
around before long," said the babby
man as he stopped iu front of the other
man, forcing him to pause in bis pro
gress. "It's agoin' to be very serus,
too," he continued, in a tone of grave
import, without waiting for the other to
speak. "How do I know? Because I
have a presentiment. I'm a-havin' 'em
all the time, jest as some folk have the
chicken-pox and croup and typhoid
fever. They sort o' come onto me aud-
dint-like, an' keep a-bearin' down and
a-settin' onto me until whatever they're
of upa an happens er until I kin dissl
pate 'em In another way.
"I've bad 'em pretty steddy fur nigh
onto six months now, so durn ateddy 'at
1 ban t bad no time to do anything else
but have 'em. Two er three timea
they're sort o' crowded onto one another
like, an then It mighty nigb Dusts me,
I've had 'em about all these great hor
rors and casualties and murders, an
they'se been a good many lately. It keeps
me aort o' busy keepin' out o' the way
o thuies. When you ve got a present!
men t you an't a-huntin' no danger or
open bridges or fights or slouchy coal
boles or things, I tell you; you're a-dodg'
"I reckon they'll be too much fer me
one o these days, be continued sadly,
"It aorto wear on a feller to know
things is goin' to happen an' to not know
what it is. It's especially wearin' when
a feller an't had notbia' much to eat or
drink for a day or two particular drink.
I feel two or three of em a pressin
pretty hard now," he went on, "an' I'll
warn you to look out for somethin' to
happen. I feel one more as tells me that
a good looUin' man like you. a gent with
a goodbusiuess an' a family an' a bank
account, a well-dressed gent with an
office an' a sign on the door an't agoin'
to refuse to help me to git a little some-
tbin to dissipate em with."
And the presentiment for once was
not false, for two minutes later the man
afflicted with the presentiments was dis
ipating them in such an economical
way that tbe compounder inquired aar
castically if be didn't want soup and
towels with tbat b&lh. Chicago Mail.
Accounted For. mm
Young lady Why do you sigh and
look at me like s foolf
Lovesick Youth O. Mis Emily, with
what tenderness do you brush the in
ecti from the plant. How 1 wiah I
waa a rosebush to be cared for by your
jt'uaa OS T-IO. s-a !("
cr- j '
The Discoverer Who Did Not Know He
Bad Found a Fortune.
In last Sundav's "Talking Machine"
a story was told of the adventure of
Dr. S. B. Thompson with Ute Indians
in the mountains 150 miles beyond
Denver about 1851), in which it was
said tbat he never saw or heard from
his partner afterward. The story was
told the writer by a relative of Dr.
Thompson, who heard it from him
shortly after the war. Now Dr. Thomp
son comes forward with the statement
that since then he has heard from bis
The Dartner was George Fryer, and
in tbe background was another serni-
partner, one (Jhutlee, a sort or uulucky
but sanguine grub staker, who always
was on the verge of striking it We
left Fryer working his way up one side
the canyon, while Dr. Thompson took
the other and fell into the hands of
the Utes. Missing his partner Fryer
kept on, finding here and there Bigns
of gold, but hardly enough to pay for
the trouble of cradling or working a
pocket, finally be reached the end ol
his tether. With only enough provi
sions to keep him alive on half rations
until he readied the outskirts ot civili
zation, he retraced his steps, throwing
into the bottom of bis burros pack
saddle a few pieces of sleazy brown
rock whicii he had broken with bis
pick from the outcropping of a ledge
near the turning point. These speci
mens had attracted his attention more
by their weight than from any out
ward indication of value.
Arriving in Denver Fryer dumped
the net results of his unprofitable trip
into his trunk and hustled around for
another grub stake, securing which he
started again in another direction in
search of gold. So matters rau on
through the years of the war. Not
every one could be a soldior; so Fryer
hunted gold, sometimes iu company
with Chaffee, sometimes alone. Dr.
Thompson had abandoued the field
and was atteuding more serious affairs
than broken legs as a surgeon in the
Fryer had the usual fortune of the
prospector sometimes striking a lead
and gutting a few hundred ahead,
then losing it all in sinking a shaft
which hat nothing at the bottom of it
short of China. One day, some ten
vears after the adventure with the
Utes, Fryer was down in Denver, and
down in luck. Overhauling bis dun
nage he came across those specimens.
These he carefully picked out and,
more from curiosity than hope, took
them to an assayer. The assayer look
ed them over and weighed them iu his
"H'm! carbonates," be said. "Come
When Fryer bud gone he took a
hammer, luid a piece of tbe rock in
the hollow of an iron plate, and pound
ed it up fine. Then be swept up the
pulverized mass carefully, weighed it,
put it in a small crucible, which was
placed in a portable furnace, and tbe
flame turned on. There were two or
three other processes, and then the
contents of the vessel were poured
into a pail of water. As the lip of the
crucible fell below the horizontal a
streak of dazzling whiteness shot out
and full hissing through the water,
hardening into prolesque and goblin
shapes at the bottom. At the risk of
burning bis fingers the assayer plung
ed bis hands in after it. As he held it
up a smile played across his face a
purely professional smile. But he im
mediately set to work, aud, pounding
up ail tbe specimens, went through
the process again. Again a still
larger stream of gleaming metal hissed
through the water.
Tbeu he w. iglied it, made a few cal
culations on a piece of paper, which
be carefully folded up and put in his
pocket, closed up the office, went
across the street and took a big drink
of whisky. When bis customer came
tbe next day the assayer was very
ealm and nonchalant. '"Had he as
sayed the stuff?" "Yes," rather indif
ferently. "How had it turned out?"
"Oh, so, sol By the wav, where did
Mr. Frver find the stuff?"
Mr. Fryer grinned a very sarcastic
and knowing grin. "In the bottom of
bis trunk. Could he afford the gentle
man any further information about bis
The assaver sighed. Tbe bird was
too old. He picked the paper from
his pocket and threw it across the ta
ble. "Five dollars."
Fryer opened the paper and glanced
at the figures. He had the face of a
poker-player in front of a jack-pot
with four kings, ace high,, but he.
couldn't help whistling through his
upper teeth. "Silver, 986 ounces to
the ton. You couldn't make it an even
thousand, could you?'1 said he to his
He couldn't; but 986 ounces was
enough. It took Fryer a month to
make his preparations, dodge tbe spies
who learned of his strike, get off up
the canyon, and relocate his find. A
few months later Leadville was born,
and before long Fryer sold tbat ledge
for $350,000. Chaffeecaught on about
that time, made $3,000,000 or $4,000.
000, and came to the United States
senate. One of tbe Grant boy mar
ried bis daughter. Any one in Lead
ville will point out Fryer's bill.
"How much do you gin'rally git for a
Job like this?" asked a rural bridegroom
of the minister wbo married him.
"The law allows me a dollar."
"Well, great Scott, man, here' yer
dollar. 1 dou't wader go to law 'bout
ltl Reckon I'll have trouble enough
now, anyhow." l'im$.
A Day In a Russian Prison
From George Kennun's article in the
Century on "The Convict Miues of
Kara," we quoto the following: "Hard
lahor convicts at Kara receive a daily
ration consisting of three pounds of
blu ck rve-bread; about four ounces of
meat, including the bone; a small
quautity of barley, which is generally
put into the water in which the meat
is boiled for the purpose of making
soup; and a little brick tea. Occa
sionally they have potatoes or a few
leaves of cabbage; but such luxuries
are bought with money made by extra
work, or saved by petty 'economies' iu
other ways. This ration seemed to me
ample iu quantity, but lacking in
variety and very deflcient in vegeta
bles. The bread, which I tasted, was
perhaps as good as that oaten by Rus
sian pensants generally; but it was
very moist and sticky, aud pieces taken
from tho center of the loaf could be
rolled back into dough in one's hands.
The meat, which I saw weighed out to
the convicts after it had been boiled
and cut up into pieces about as large
as dice, did not have an inviting ap
pearance, and suggested to my mind
small refuse scraps intended for use as
soap-grease. The daily meals of the
convicts wcro arranged as follows:
In the morning, after the roll-call, or
Verification,' breakfast, consisting of
brick tea and black rye-bread, was
served to the prisoners in their colls.
The working parties then set out on
foot for the gold placers, carrying
with them bread and tea for lunch.
This mid-day meal was eaten in the
open air beside a camp-fire, regardless
of weather, and sometimes in fierce
winter storms. Late in the afternoon
the convicts returned on foot to their
cells and ate on thuir sleoping-plat-forms
tbe first hearty and nourishing
meal of the day, consisting of hot soup,
meat, bread, and perhaps a little more
brick tea. After the evening verifica
tion they were locked up for the night,
and lay down to sleep in closely packed
rows on the 'nares,' or sleeping
benches, without removing their cloth
ing, and without making any prepara
tions for the night beyond bringing in
the 'parashas,' or excrement buckets,
spreading down their thin patchwork
crazy-quilts, and rolling up some of
their spare clothing to put under their
heads. The clothing furnished to a
hard-labor convict at Kara consists
or should, by law, consist of one
coarse linen shirt and one pair of linen
trousers every six months; one cap,
one pair of thick trousers, and one
gray overcoat every year; a 'polusbu
ba' (pol-oo-shoo-ba), or outer coat of
sheepskin, every two years; one pair
of 'broduias' (brode-nee-yas), or loose
leather boots, every three and a half
months in winter; and one pair of
'kuti' (kot-tee), or low shoes, every
twenty-two days in summer. The
quality of tbe food and clothing furn
ished by the government may be in.
furred from the fact that tbe cost of
maintaining a bard-labor convict at
the mines is about $50 for a' year, a
little less than fourteen cents a day."
CARL DUNDfcrTS ADVICE.
A Few Words Especially Addressed ta the
Boys and Girls of America.
Dear Children: You vhas all right
Doan' let somepody make vou belief
dot you doan' haf some good times. If
I could pe some shilds again I kick up
my heels like a bird und doan' care
for nopody. I shall nefer be shmall
again, und wear some knee-breeches
und play horse mit a broom-stick, und
vhen I reflect on dot I feels some lumps
in my throat.
Vhen a man comes along und says
he vhas glad he vbasn't some shildrens
any more doan you pelief him. He
says dot pecause he doan' take any
comfort and doan' want nopody else
to. He vhas lame und cross, und. his
bones ache, und bis head vbas growing
bald, und he vbas sbealous of you und
Maype it vhas petter for me dot I
vbas a girl, but I doan' know. It vhas
awful nice to be a sweet young girl,
und to be called angels, und to Tiaf der
poyg look at you so shently like a
sheep. If you vhas a girl doan' you
be ashamed of it. Dot vhas all right,
und according to Iloyle. Maype you
can't climb trees, run out nights und
go in swimming py der mill pond, but
il you go py a circus you vhas in der
front seats, und somepody always pays
for your ice cream und puys your
ticket to der picnic. If I vhus a girl I
keep my face so clean ash nefer vhas.
I make my voice sbust like music. 1
walk along mit a nip! nip! nipl I
keep my bands white und my hair
combed, und vhen somepody meets me
und says: "Hello, Susan, how you
vhas?" I answer him: "If you blease,
sir, my name vhas Birdie, und I vbas
so weller ash nefer vhas." If I could
be a leedle girl, 1 learn bow to sew,
und knit, und make some bread, and
shplit wood, und bring up coal, und
wash dishes, und boe in der garden,
und den vhen I growe oop und vhas
married my husband would say: "Ah!
noble womans, you vhas der capital
prize in der lottery!"
How bully it vhas to be some boys.
He doan' baf some taxes to pay no
pody talks politics by him he doan'
baf some barns dot burn down with no
insurance. Nopody wants to borrow
money of him no gas bills to pay
nopody comes to insure his life. All
he has to dj vhas to go by der school
house, play marbles, fly kites, see der
circus procession, eat sweet-cakes und
grow oop to be governor.
Dot vhas all. shildrens. Doan' you
be troubled. It vhas all right. You
Vbas getting along petter a could be
expected by der circumstances, nnd all
you baf to do vhas to wipe off your
noses und speak noltings to nopody.