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Newspaper Page Text
By Victor Redcliffe.
(Copyright by W. G. Chapman.)
"Stop that man!"
The ne'er-do-well of the town,
Jack Hazeldean, put down a side al
ley with half a dozen men, women
and children in hot pursuit, the
watchman's rattle crackling out its
hideous notes of alarm. It was no
unusual thing for Jack to create a
commotion The storekeepers did not
'Stranger, Aren't You?"
move from their doorways, but look
ed upon it as a bit of fun and frolic,
all except one. This was a green
grocer into whose tub of eggs Jack
had mischeviously tipped a lurching
"Hold on!" ordered a stern voice
as Jack, his pursuers eluded, darted
across a garden space making for
Den country and escurity.
-ecogmzed the minister of
i 1 his uncle regularly, and
he occasionally, attended. He looked
abashed, but made a detour of the
muscular outstretched hand.
"You'll end at the gallows!" the
discomfitted divine roared after the
"I'm sorry now," confessed Jack,
plunging into the woods.
"That's too late to think of,
though. Uncle said it was a parting
of the ways last frolic. This shuts
me out, sure."
Jack had an abundance of time in
which to think, for slowing down he
planned out a march of over twenty
five miles. That would take him out
of the county. He had no intention
of going back home. He was twenty-
two, long past school days, but two
years he had simply hung around,
made a failure of everything his. un
cle put him at and was a sad dog
generally and a sad failure.
His impetuous freaks were always
getting him into trouble. He could
not resist the promptings of mischief,
and these were fertile in his case.
Many a bill for his reckless fun bis
surly, sordid uncle had paid for in
good Canadian coin.
"I'll mend it all," resolved Jack.
"I'll strike out into new fields. Sure,
I have been a disgrace to uncle and
no credit to the town, so me for
strange faces and a fresh start in
Jack trudged on the long night
through, reflected and sobered down.
As all "nature woke up with the early
dawn he seemed to feel a new life
stirring within him. As he passed
along more of a path than a road, he
became conscious of the echo of a
painful, grumbling voice. Peering
through a hedge he saw an old man
standing in the center of a little
His hand was on one hip, as if to
suppress some vagrant ache. His foot
rested on a spade. He had apparently
dug up a few shovels full of earth
and his strength had failed him.
"I can't do it!" he groaned in a
whining tone, "I can't risk asking the