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Newspaper Page Text
a summer hotel Then the truth be
gan to leak out
j The dream of William Barry's life
j was to maintain a summer home for
tired mothers and weak and ailing
children, gathered from the poorer
quarters of the big city, 25 miles dis
tant In this work they had the co
operation of a leading philanthropic
association in the metropolis. Arnold
9 was to devote his skill as a physician
free to jthe inmates of the home.
Nurses and, matrons were employed.
1 A spacious and comfortable edifice
arose on the crest of the hill, and the
evening when the place burst into a
blaze of electric light all the town
"Humph!" sneered Hackett "a fool
and his money."
And then, out of pure perversity,
emulation and vanity the lonely old
money-maker determined to vaunt
the possibilities of nis ill-gotten
wealth by erecting, half a mile away
from the palatial home he had built,
a family mausoleum. His selfish pride
craved some kind of a tribute to his
wealth. By the time the mausoleum
was completed Hackett had expend
ed well on toward $100,000.
It was a handsome show piece of
extravagance, nothing more, yet
Hackett cherished it as the apple of
his eye. He went past it at least once
a day. He had columns describing
it in the newspapers. He ruled, the
moneybags nabob of the town, and
foolishly believed that he. was the en
vied of all men.
He was sadly disappointed when,
at the end of a year, Felice came
home from boarding school and set
tled down into the cheerless like he
had marked out for her. She had no
JP heart in the big sprawling mansion,
the mausoleum cast a grewsome
spell over her spirits. The stern de
cision of her irrational father that
she should not even notice the
Barrys chilled her as would a win
try blast a delicate, lovely flower.
Twice she met Arnold Barry. Her
father learned of it He exacted a
T promise from her that she would dis
continue all communication with the
Barrys, and her gentle heart nearly
"It will stand forever!" vaunted
Hackett one day to a fellow towns
man, the sweep of his hand proudly
taking in the grand mausoleum.
"Dunno, Hackett," dissented the
practical neighbor. "They tell me it's
got a floating foundation, as they call
it. Used to be quicksand where the
river sweeps around just below it."
"Nonsense!" declared Hackett,
raspingly. "It's built for the ages !"
The week went by. Poor, mourn
ing Felice grew paler and more quiet
Her father wandered uneasily about
the lonely mansion. Then came a
three days' deluge. Just at dusk, as
Lthe weather cleared, he crossed the
fturbid swollen stream to view the
monument that had cost him a for
tune. "Solid as rock they won't soon
forget the name of Hackett!" he tried
to console himself by saying.
' Then he started back, horrified.
He saw the cliff side crumble. He
saw the great mausoleum swerve, its
undermined foundation give way, and
it seemed to disintegrate and slide
into the roaring stream below before
his appalled vision.
He had built on the sand mauso
leum and happiness. He was chilled,
frightened. He turned his back upon
his wasted labor with a hollow groan.
Was heaven reproaching him; was
fate mocking? How hollow the gains
of all his pride and scheming! He
halted, trembling, as the sound of a
joyous hymn of praise was borne to
his hearing on the evening's breeze.
He saw the children's home all
ablaze with the glory of the setting
sun, he heard care-free juvenile
voices chanting gratitude and con
tent Ah! how completely had the
Barrys carried out their great life
dream to make others happy!
He was shivering like a leaf as he
reached home. There the sad, re
signed face of his lonely daughter