THE WIDOW NAIRN.By the Author of "Natalie's Ordeal."

“Euphie Lyn," "A Vain Sacri-fice,” Etc.

CHAPTER VI.

A Midnight Visit.•Uec shot noiselessly back into his

room, closing the door, but not latch-ing it and through the thin chink h

astonished eyes beheld his mother, pale

as death, usher in the laird, buttonedup to the chin in a light overcoat andwith a close cap drawn down over his

eye\Vhat terrible trick is this you have

played mi.‘

boy?" he demanded, sternly, as he

looked around and unbuttoned his

C°“Hush-sh!" breathed Mrs. Nairn,

softlv. "He is asleep.’“It is just as well.” said the 'ami.

seating himself. "I have much to say- Say no,” said Mrs. Nairn, stopping

within the screen and sitting down op-

posite him. Only, please, speaksoft'ly.”

“In the first place, why is it that i

only know now and by accident of his

existence and yours? What does it all

mean?”"It simply means, Alexander, that 1

have preferred self-effacement ratherthan that I should stand in the way ofyour advancement.”

“What! Was that letter of yours alla lie, then? Were you not on boardthe Neruda when she was wreckedcoming from Cornwall? What did you

mean by-——”Mrs. Nairn held up her hand implor-

ingly, her face was white and strangely

calm.“Listen to me, Alexander. When

you jestingly wrote to me in Cornwallstating that but for me you might havehad a splendid chance in life; that your

uncle had decided to leave you all hismoney on condition that you marriedthe daughter of his friend, the richbrewer, I laughed, and also in jest re-plied that you must on no account al-low me to stand in your way. I don’tthink 1 at all regretted being in theway; for, us it was, you were in a

fairly good position, your salary inyour uncle’s office was quite sufficientfor a comfortable Independence and byall the arts known to man you hadwooed and won me. Besides, I thought

I know you so thoroughly, for had 1not nursed you back from the verygates of death? To me, as you alwayssaid, as the doctors repeatedly toldyou, you owed your life. The rumorsI heard then did not affect me at all,for were you not mine? One day, how-ever, 1 was at last startled by a para-graph in the newspaper, stating that amarriage was about to be arranged be-tween you and your uncle's ward, arich heiress.”

"That was a falsehood,” interposedthe laird, hotly. “There wasn’t theslightest foundation for such a state-

ment at that time.”Perhaps, but 1 did not know that.

I tried to laugh at the Idea of you be-ing false to me, hut your last two let-ters had seemed so cold

“Not cold. Margaret. I was worriedto death by my uncle at the time; 1was also deliberating whether to tellhim the truth or continue waiting aswe had agreed to. i suppose it hadshown in my letters.”

“it did. That and the paragraph de-cided me. 1 wrote to you at once, stat-ing that 1 was coming over In the Ne-

ruda and asking you to meet me at the

hoti 1 on the evening of her arrival.The Neruda, as you know, waswrecked, but 1 was not drowned, asyou naturally supposed. Where andhow 1 was picked up I know not. Ion'y know that a man thrust a life-

preserver over my shoulders and the

next moment 1 was swept into theroaring surge. When I became con-scious 1 was told, chiefly by signs, that

I had been picked up by a French ves-sel and had for days lain unconsciousfrom a blow 1 had received on thehead. I was in a fisherman's cottage

on the Breton coast and my recovery

was slow and tedious. 1 do not thinkI should ever have recovered had itnot been for my overpowering desire

to get back to you. As soon as 1 wasable to write 1 wrote to you

•You wrote! 1 got no letter!"‘Then it must somehow have been

lost. Getting no answer, I worried and

grew ill again tco ill to travel, but at

last I recovered sufficiently to set outfor tjondon. I bad sufficient means;

my purse was found in my pocket andthey were kind and honest people. 1

arrived in London to find that it wasyour wedding day! You had just been

married and were oft to the continent.There was a long pause here. Both

looked into 'he fire—he with tioubledeyes and knit brows; she with a hard,

sharp expression, pressing her lips to-

gether tightly."How was I to know, Margaret.

Your name was among the list ol the

drowned."“U was not that I thought of,' she

broke o it, passionately. It was yourhaste—your haste—in ten short weeksyou had forgotten n;e and marriedyour uncle's ward. I hope you werehappy." she added, with a curt, de-risive laugh. “1 suppose you said to

her what you said to me—that youloved her and that she was the onlywoman in all the world for you?"

The laird did not answer or move.His eyes were riveted on the fire. Shecontinued;

"Let no one say that we die onlyonce in this world. Shakespeare says:'Cowards die many times before theirdeath.' So do women, in a differentway; women who are not cowards.Death cannot he any more bitter thanlife sometimes. I know 1 cannot dieny more than I did that day, when I

saw myself and my love and my mem-oiy so thrust behind your back."

The laird groaned and sank his headupon his hand and again there was si-lence.

• Why did you not come or write orsend me word?" he asked, with heavyeyes,

"I? Not I! I saw then that yourjest had been no jest, but a terribletruth; that 1 had been standing in thoway of fortune coming to you; that 1had been swept out of the way you hadrushed to secure the prize; that yourlove had been but a fleeting passion,easily transferred."

"You are mistaken. Margaret,” saidthe laird, "I neither forgot nor ceasedto love you, I made no pretense oflove to the woman I married. Theproposal did not come from me. butfrom my uncle, who, as you know, wasvery masterful and seeing me unwill-ing he committed me by proposing forme. 1 told my proposed wife that 1had no heart to offer her, but that 1was prepared to do my duty as far asin me lay. If she felt she could marryme with this understanding well andgood; it was all 1 had to offer, 1 sup-pose she must have been somehow in-fatuated, for she accepted me on theseterms and my unde hurried on themairiage.”"So you did not love her, Alexander?"

said Mrs. Nairn, looking at himeagerly.

"1 have explained enough to showyou why 1 acted as I did, believing youto be dead. In fact, I was so miserableand distracted over your loss that 1let myself drift. 1 sought ambition asa solace for your loss. Great heavens,why did you not write again and againand so prevented this?"

"How could I dream of your imme-diate marriage, even alter the rumors1 had heard? .Anyway, I very soon de-cided. You thought me dead evidently.I decided to remain dead to you. Iwent back to Brittany, to the kind peo-ple whom 1 had left and there yourson was born. When he was a littlelad, I came over here to Scotland, tothis quiet village, which you werenever likely (o enter and the peopletook for granted that 1 was a widow.Widowed, indeed, and my hoy father-less!"

"It is terrible! Terrible!”"Shall I ever forget that day when 1

saw you slop in front of the house,with the child in your arms? Do youknow 1 was behind the door shaking,as if from palsy? I tried to got awaythat very day, but il was impossibleI—l was not rich, as you may imagineand I had leased the house, for anotherthree years. 1 resolved to stay in-doors to keep out of your way. Thenyour wife came one day and I forgotmyself. She did not come back aminever will. You were away a gooddeal of Hie time. 1 began to think whyshould 1 drift out into the world be-cause of yen? Besides shall I con-fess it?—l had grown reconciled lo be-ing near you; 1 liked to hear of yonoccasionally; 1 have been wickedenough to be glad your wife has nochildren.’’

"But about the boy, Margaret?” saidthe laird, rousing himself. "1 see yonhave both taken my name '

"Why not?” said Mrs. Nairn, icily."Oh, lam not at all displeased. But

tho boy must be educated. He earnin'be allowed to run wild. If 1 have donerashly you have had your revenge thisday. I don’t know yet how 1 did notcry out when I saw you in court today."

"About educating the hoy,” said Mrs.Nairn, ignoring his last words. "Asman and wife at our own fireside wemight have consulted over the matter.Seeing you have a wife at, Birka’, hatleaves you an outsider. His educationlias not been neglected. He has beenat a hoys' school for some years. Youcannot say a word in the matter.”

“Yon are hard, bitterly hard, Margaret.”

Certain experiences have made in”so My lover used to say 1 was alto-gether too soft-hearted.”

"What a terrible mistake it lias allbeen!"

“I wonder," said Mrs. Nairn, in amusing tone, as she looked at himpityingly, "1 wonder if you really lovedme us you professed to do?"

The laird did not answer at once.He rose and began pacing Hie floor inmanifest agitation. Mrs. Nairn startedup and restrained him.

"Hush, oli, hush!” sin whispered.“The tramp of your feel will wakenhim."

With a sudden impulse he turned,threw his arms about her and held herby sheer strength.

"Margaret! Margaret! Nay, but youshall hear me. I was rash, weak, des-perate, weakly ambitious if you will,but I have paid greatly for it. I ama most miserable man. Look in rayface and see whether I speak Un-truth. I have not known one happyday since 1 wrote you that jesting let-ter. I will tell you the whole truth.The prospect of what might have b-enhad we never met did tempt- me for amoment, but that moment bad passedbefore I Jested over it with you. Yourlove was more to me than anythingthe world could offer, but when Ithought you wer; lost forever what di Ianything matter? As well this life asary 1 thought, and so forged jjychains. Even now, knowing what Ido "

Please don't! Be at rest! I shallnever disturb your domestic relations.As for Alec ——"

"Margaret,” he said, releasing herand sitting down again, ‘ let me do afather's part by him.”

Mrs. Nairn shook her head sadly."Will you allow me to do nothing

whatever for you, Margaret? Youknow I ha’*e r right to provide foryou ’’

“Oh, oh, no! In the circumstances it,is impossible. Let the prst be past.

IOWA COI'NTV DEMOCRAT: MINEKAL I'OiM. WiStONSIN. KKIiHVAKV 27. |BS>.

I 1 am really glad to Lave seen andspoken with you once more; although1 had hoped to keep myself hidden tothe end. There will be less hard feeling on my side now ;we will under-stand. both of us how it all happenedand how we are to stand for the future.Life has its compensations, ;oo; I havemy boy- and you," she could not resist this little shot of womanly vindictivencss, "you have your wife andfortune and (let us suppose it, anyway)happiness."

"How hard a woman eau be!" saidthe laird, looking at her beseechingly.

"Nay. Alexander, hut how hard awoman oan be made.'

“Margaret," he said, rising and ex-tending hiss hand to her, which she,however, did net taso. "I suppose imust not come or see you again? Igather that from your manner."

"Certainly not " she said, with deci-sion ; "that is not to be thought of.No! No! If you attempt to come hereagain it will drivi me out of the placeI have come to like really well. I havemy reputation as a respectable widowto sustain. They called me a widow,took it for granted when I came herean? 1 knew too much of the world toenlighten tin m. And am I not wid-owed in the crudest sense of theword?"

"Then is it to he good-by, Margaret?"he said, still offering his hand.

She took it now and his lingersdosed on iters tightly.

"Yes-good-by and God be vvi’ ye,for our boy's sake," she faltered, break-ing down at last and covering her eyeswith her hand.

The laird's ruddy and handsome fa< ehad blanched it the whiteness of lrown, lie looked down upon tier shadedface with features struggling with in-ward emotion, noting His own ringstill upon her finger the ring he badgiven her when they wore betrothedeighteen years ago

"Good-by, then, Margaret,” he said,at last. "It we never meet again, willyou believe the last word 1 leave withyou?"

"Yes," she answered, looking up withher eyes full of pain she could nothide, “1 believe you will speak sin-cerely, Surely you could not do other-wise now."

"Then, Margaret, I love you yet, andalways will to my dying day," he saidhuskily and turning away he gropedthrough the dark passage and let him-self out into the night.

Mrs. Nairn stood where he left herfor some minutes and then turned andthrew herself upon the bed. sobbingbitterly. Inside the room door .•vice,who had seen and heard all, turnedwith a long, shuddering sigli hack tobed. In these last few minutes hisboyhood had died within him; he ha 1become a man all at or ■(>. knowing Igood and evii, understanding manytilings he had wondered at in pastthoughtless years, seeing clearly beforehim the one tiling to tie done.

"He wants to make a man of me,does he?” he mattered under idsbreath. "I'll let him see I can make aman of myself."

When, utterly worn out with weep-ing, Mrs. Nairn at lust fell asleep, shebecame dimly aware of Alee coveringher up with some warm blankets andagain through sorrowful mists of sleepsin’ half-eonseiously felt his warm lipson her check and was lie crying? Orwas il fancy, that hot drop upon herslumbering face? Alas, the pressureof sleep on the heavy heart was not tohe thiovvu off; a faint smile was allHie response she was able to give andpresently she was again ingulfed inslumber.

H was well on in the day when shewas aroused hy a knocking at Hie shopdoor, and, wondering why Ale had notopened it and taken off the shutter,she rose and finding Iv'vaeU dressed,proceeded (o Hie door.

But where was Alee? Her customerwas served and gone but where wasthe boy? Not in his room; not in theyard, as she could see from Ids win-dow hut what was this paper ad-dressed "To my mother" on his table?

Mrs. Nairn brought the note out andsitting down in tin casy-chair openedit with trembling hands. Only a fewlines tut how much they contained!

"My Dear Mother; 1 suppose It waswrong, hut I heard all that passed. Ican’t slay here and know I am the souof a man whom I cannot call father.He wants to make a man of me itseems; I prefer to make a man of my-self. I’ll he better away than here, forif I should meet Idm I might betempted to blacken his eyes for himIf you can forgive, I can't and sha'n't,either. Sec if I do. But you keepyour mind easy, mother; you haven’tkissed ami cuddled and preached allthat good into me for nothing, as you'llfind out some day, and if you don’thear from me. Mil I come hack thenjust believe in me all the more, evenif lam the town’s terror. Your lovingson. A I,EC."Alas. alas, this was the bitterest blow

of all. She had said life had compen-sations; that she had her boy wherewas her hoy now? Gone- thinking. asshe could see, the worst, the veryworst.

CHAPTER VII.

The March of the Plague.it is not to be expected that such an

episode as happened in the courthousetha' day would be allowed to pass un-noticed in such a place as Cantlehowe.The ?a< t of Alec Nairn being baled be-fore the Justice on a charge of poach-ing had filled the little court-room tosuffocation and there were not want-ing those who declared the Intentionof openly denouncing John Todd ashaving instigated this prosecution forsheer spite, in hope that the boy wouldbe hardly treated by the Justice. Butno one had been prepared for the sud

den. swift tableau which they reallysaw. T!::it something more than wasvisible on the surface lay under it allwas plant to the most stupid onlooker;and vvl.cn next day the carrier broughttitc news that he had met Alec Nairnwith a raveling bag over his shouldersome eight miles west of the town,traveling toward Burntisland at to'clock n t'.u’ morning, the wonder andthe mystery increased.

This was followed by another rumor,that Mis Nairn was about to leave thetown a'ugether, and a vague regret, akindly pity for the quiet woman who,had lived so nnobstrusively amongthem, began to be felt. Where wasshe going,’ Where could she go? theydemanded, where she could he better!or bette> liked than in Knnttehovve?

But suddenly ailtthis speculation andgossip ceased, was swallowed up and Isilenced, hushed into an awed stillnessby the one thought present in everymind, the dread in every eye, the wordon ev iry lip "cholcia!"

For months back there had been reports of the ravages of the plague inother lauds; the newspapers had oddparagraphs hero and there about it.how it was creeping down by the Baltic, along the shores of the Mcditirrancan in Franco and elsewhere. Butto the dwellers in Kantiehovve thesewere all vague foreign places, millionsof miles away; the heathen land theysent missionaries to; and ay. ’deed ay,it was very pitiful that the poorthings, even if they were heathen an icatholics, should be dying in hundredsand in thousands like (lies in an earlyfrost So they said and went joggingon in their uneventful lives, when thewhole town was startled one day bythe appearance in the papers of a giganlic headline;

"KHOLKUA IN EDINBURGH."In Edinburgh! Across the water

there' The people lifted up their eyesand looked over to where the couchanllion was outlined dimly amid the bluehaze that overhung the beautiful cityand a great fear fell upon them. Thisfear was la no way allayed by the ofticial posters stuck up at all availablestreet corners posters headed ‘ Kholera" and commanding all and sundryto al once clean up unsavory hackpremises, to cart away al! refuse to I tieoutside of the town, and to have allwalls of closets and cellars and stableswashed with hot lime forthwith.

Apparently it had never occurred to(he sanitary authorities to order Hitsto be done until the scourge was uponthem; and the terror these preparationsfor lighting it inspired struck thohearts of the weak and apprehensivewith premonitory chills.

Ami now il had crossed (he Forth,crept nearer and nearer; it was in atown u few miles (o the northwest, In

a colliery district, mowing down (he

piople like grass; people wham theyknow; the living of yesterday swellingthe death lists of today.

\t last It reached Kantiehovve andone and another and yet another wasreported as down with he dreadscourge. Then the people grew paralysed with terror, for half (he townwere soon in its terrible grip. Hit andfour in a household down al once, notone aide to help another.

At tliis crisis Mrs. Nairn one daycov< rod up her shelves with paper,drew down hoc shop-window blind,turned the ki y in the lock and wontinto the village to nurse Hie sick

(To He Continued.)

BEYOND.

The crier and moans of the fallenFrom the stricken field 1 hear,

And my soul is stirred to answer,To shout them a word of cheer;

For 1 see how the Lord of BattlePoints on with guiding hand

To where beyond the failureThere is siill a happy land.

Look up, look forth to the future,Tho' your eyes are dim and weak,

Tho’ the storms that heat about youHide tin light of the hope you seek;

Arise 'ncath the heat of the tempest,To the height of your manhood

stand,And you IJ see that beyond the failure

There is slili a happy land.

Through Hie buttle ye win to conquest,Hy the pain and Hie woe ye are

blest;For only the children of sot row

Can win to the gates of rest.Long since by Hie J/rd of Battle

Tho strife was nobly plannedFor the brave beyond the failure

There is still a happy laud.

WHEN PEOPLE MAY DANCE.

At a gathering of King's Daughtersat Loudon, Out., the oiler day, Mrs.Graham of Toronto, on being asked ifdancing should ho tolerated, replied"\es, hut only In the morning, an hourbefore breakfast, and then the womanshould dance with her husband orbrother.” 'nils encouragement of jmorning dancing, at a time when,morning prayers are said to he falling iinto disuse, may possibly strike someChristians as unwise. Ami there aresedate beads of families, not necessar-ily Christian, who would kick vigor-ously if they were asked la dance anhour before reading the morning paperand going to business Farmers, also,who have to begin work early In themorning, will be apt to complain, ifthis dancing rule should he enforced.

FIRE IN AFRICA.

Johannesburg. Africa, Feb. 25- Firecaused 1376,000 damage to dry goodsand other stores, warehouses, etc.,Monday

Bayard and Salisbury hobnobbed Jover Venezuela.

.Story from the Swedish.The Betrothal of Kia Maori! and Jo-

hannes Isaksson By i'hnre S.

Usually o\ ory community has a fewindividuals that oan l>o called orig-inals, and by their originality attaina classical fame, and among severalsuch characters l remember old KiaMoot'd and the provincial letter car-rier. Johannes Isaksson,

Kia Maor.. had her little history andher proud recollections, in spite of herhumble station in life. Ever since shewas a child, and long after her had attained the gracefulness in figure of abarrel, she had been in the services ofthe barons of Svanaholm, and whenthe old haroii departed this life, likeall other barons, and his son. theyoung honorable, succeeded his father,feeling his aesthetic mind suffer fromdaily beholding old Kin's corpulence,Kia was pensioned off and given a cot(age on the estate and enough pasture:ground to support m comfort thefemale of the bull, in other words acow of tho regulation pattern andsi/.e.

Old Kin. had it most comfortable inher old age. Not a party, wedding,christening or funeral took place formiles around but what old Kia must bethere and cook, and as Kia was not byany means bashful, her larder wasconstantly provided with the choicestof eatables and drinkables.

Old Kia was certainly not a beauty.She sported a pair of mustaches thatwere the envy of the young men in thevillage. Her form partook more of theresemblance of a Hutch cheese than asylph, and to behold Kia sailingdown the village street like a galleyunder full sail was a sight for thegods. Of course. Kia was not to blamefor her appearance; that was acceptedas a freak of the Creator; but Kill wasof such extremely moral temperamentthat as soon as she discovered thatany young man and woman in herneighborhood were spooning, or an en-gagement reported, Kia did her best tobreak or hinder It, claiming (t was allfrivolity and the work <d' the evil one.Of course, Kia claimed to be promptedonly by the best intentions, but thislittle streak of virtue in old Kia wasnot appreciated by the young people,and Kin was considered a good lawfulsubject fot all the pranks that the de-praved minds of the young village pcopie were capable of and young peo-ple's minds in our modern limes arevery elastic,

imagine, (hen, the glorious rumorthat spread that old Kia herself hadbeen made subject for the lane’ of thee\il one. and that the object of hertender, maidenly love was the eld let-ter carrier. Johannes, And to thinkof the consequences of letting loveloose in such a big body as Kin's, theresult may well be considered serious,and the villagers were on the Up-toeof expectation.

Old Johannes had, early In life, beena steward on a big entitle anti assoelated with city people, and even metforeigners, ana acquired a high tonedlanguage and manner which, all com-bined, bad eonqm red old Kin's maidenreserve.

One day Johannes bad called at Kill'scottage to deliver a letter, and as thiswas something so extraordinary anevent in Kin's life, Johannes mustperforce remain and rend the commitideation. M turned out to he a not 111cation that Kia bud Inherited the re-spectable mm of 1,000 rlx-dollars from

| a member of the noble family ofI Svanaholin, and Kia had, (berefore,[the attraction of an heiress for Jobannes.

Km, on her part, eoasld ‘red Jo-hannes an a great man. Was not bislanguage like wind she sometimes bmlbeard at Bvanaholm? Ami did he notrepresent his man sly the king’.; postOffice depai I meld ? The best of every-thing from Kin's larder was pli'iil betore Johannes, rnd be was feastedIke a king. The satisfaction was mu-

tual, for ns Johannes said one day"Mams'-dl Kia, it Is so pleasurable tovisit here, when one lias assueloiledwith ed|liented persons, and again innverse with an equivoke and cynic femab ."

Old Kia Just sal I here, (be pictureof astonishment at the big words, ofwhich she did not understand themeaning, bid it (banned (lie old girl,and Jolituim s' learning was rewarded

: with pancakes and frequent glasses of'something Kia claimed kept ilnunm

; i Ism out of the bones.| Johannes would have been made of| stone if such attention had not

, touched his heart or Ids stomach. IfKlu or Johannes first made the prepo

I sltlon to visit the village pastor andrequest ibid, the banns ho publishedbetween them will forever remain a

| mystery. (In Sweden It Is the customfor the pastor to read the names fromthe pulpit after service on Sunday olthose that intend to marry, and lidsis done for three Sundays in succes-sion.)

both Fla and Johannes knew thatif their Intention became known tothe villagers they would he exposed tomuch unpleasantness from the youngpeople, ami they decided on a planthat they thought was very clever.This was for Johannes and Fla tostun dressed in their ordinary every-day dress by separate routes, anti thento meet at the edge of the forest,where they could put on their Sundaycostume, which they would bring withthem tied up In a bundle.

The two benighted old souls hadmany a good laugh at the clever way iIn which they would fool their tor-mentors.

The day finally arrived, and early |In the morning Johannes started out,carrying with him his Sunday dress,;tied up in a bundle. Unfortunately,;

he was compelled to pass through thev illage street, and here he was ac-costed with the inquiry by one of thoyoung fellows of the village "wherethe postmaster was going to so earlyin the morning? Oh." repliedJohannes, and he tried ot look digni-fied. just peregrinating terra Anna.”Johannes expected the big wordswould astonish his tormentor, but theboy stuck t i him and succeeded indiscovering that Johannes' Sundaycoat was in the bundle. The villagerswere at once informed of the fact, andJohannes was followed at a distanceby one of tho boys. Soon Kia wassc-.u waddling through (h villagestreet, also carrying a bundle, and thevillagers were now sure that some-thing was about to happen, Fla way(ollowed, and was seen to enter thelorest . Here she met Johannes, antboih were busy taking off their every,-lav dress, when, with a horrible ye'll.Hie entire population of the villagewas so n approaching. "Look out forthe wolves! they cried, "they are hiting everybody. Flu and Johannesdid not stand on ceremony. In histhinnel underwear, leaving his Sundaydress behind, Johannes sprinted forfor the village church, followed hyKia in her red petticoat, with the vil-lager;. running behind them, veiling"Wolf!"

The minister was baptising AholldKristina's child, when tho door to thosacristy was hurst open, and Kin,breathing like a whale from her exer-tion, rolled In. followed hy Johannes,bareheaded and In ids flannels.

The minister and the baptizingparly were almost seared out of theirw its. "My friends! My friends! Havevou escaped from highwaymen, or hasthe evil spirit entered into you?"

"No," said Kia, with the little voiceshe could command, after her rapidrunning. "Begging tho worthy pas-tor's pardon, no oilier spirit has en-tered lu us hut to come hero ami re-quest the worthy pastor to read thebanns ovei me and Johannes nextSunday. But the villagers say thewolves were after them, and 1 havelost my Sunday dress, and Johannes"

and here Kia had lo stop for lack ofbreath, and Johannes tried to crawlunder a table to hide himself.

The minister was not slow lo see thejoke ami understand the situation.Repressing as far as possible his In-clination to laugh, he requested Kin•iml Johannes to appioach his table,and addressed them on tho sanctity ofmatrimony. When the pastor wenthome to Ills dinner he and Ida sextonhad a good laugh al probably the odd-est pair of lovers ever lo appear beforea minister.

And as for the village people, (heyyelled and cried ami hurrahed untilJohannes, as he later confided lo Kin,over a tumbler of something refresh-ing. "he had never In his lift- been soextemporaneously frustrated, and thathe expected every minute to hestricken with obfuscation,"

EVERYBODY HAS A FETICH.

Superstition of Good or Evil FortuneThat Affect the Meat of Men,

A young Englishman during r. recent''Veiling in Bohemia produced the tradi-tional crooked sixpence from his pocketand (eld how Cecil Rhodes had hlltei(K The possessor would not part withH for many times Its value. Every-body laughed at the superstition, hut,as II turned out, nearly every manpresent had some fetich. Neither heof the crooked sixpence nor any ofIds companions quite believed in thoefficacy of Ids ehtmn, hut each liked todally with the superstition. One ofthe company carried an old George Ilf.penny lo Jingle with loose change litIds pocket. Another opening a llttloe'gnrelte ease, showed a hit of rattle-snake skin, supposed to exercise a.subtle Influence upon poker hands. Itwas a cosmopolitan little company ofdecidedly modern quality, sufficientlyskeptical about many things that mostgood persons believe, hut a majorityof Its men.hers carried charms to bringgood luck.

If every su- li company could he in-duced to make a show of pocket piecesand a frank avowal of superstitiouslightly held hut not quite disregarded,the showing would rather astonishloiks Gnu believe Gils a skeptical ago.The lali English hangman, Murwood,made a pretty penny hy selling liltsof rope with uncanny histories, Thecoral heads brought home from Europeus presents lo children are really de-signed to keep off evil spirits. Thobranches of the coral are supposed,like the horns of a horseshoe, to wardoff ill luck. Amber heads are wornhy many excellent persons to keep offerysipelas. There must he a goodn any New Yorkers carrying the rab-bit's foot. A young woman was seennot very long ago to stoop down ona wet and muddy day, pick up a horse-shoe from the pavement of Fifth ave-nue, and tuck It away under her water-proof. None of the great ocean linerssails from this port on Friday. Thecrescents of gold and Ivory worn onthe watch chain by many persons areamulets to keep off evil spirits. Hereagain Is the horn or prong, as in thohorseshoe. This crescent is one of thecommonest forms for the so-calledwatch charms. - New York Sun,

Bismarck said to a party of Ameri-can travelers, who called upon himlast summer; "It was Frederick theGreat who was the first neutral sover-eign in Europe lo recognize Americanindependence; r.or have the friendlyrelations then established ever sufferedIleast interruption, ns I can testifyno less from my own experience thanfrom tlyj papers in the Prussian ar-chives.”

Charles Rodman, farmer, was assas-sinated at Anthony, Kans.

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