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Abbeville progress. (Abbeville, Vermilion Parish, La.) 1913-1944, September 13, 1913, Image 5

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Persistent link: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn88064057/1913-09-13/ed-1/seq-5/

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What Is Con
version?
SREV. . W. POPE
TEXT--"Except ye be converted and
become as little children, ye shall not
enter Into the kingdom of heaven."
Let us consider
first some things
which are not
conversion, but
which are often
mistaken for it.
To improve
one's life is not
conversion. It is
a common opinion
that if one will
drop all bad hab
its and cultivate
good ones, read
the Bible and go
to church, he can
make himself a
Christian in a
short time. This is a mistake. The
Christian life is not simply an im
provement of the old life, but a dif
ferent kind of a life altogether, name
ly, a life of obedience to Christ. Suap
pose you had a sour apple tree which
you wished to convert into a sweet
apple tree. What would you do?
Would you dig about it and prune it
and scrape the bark? No, indeed. A
hundred years of such improvement
would not make the tree bear sweet
apples, but the introduction of a graft
from a sweet apple tree would do it
very quickly. Even so a lifetime
spent In improving one's habits does
not make one a Christian. but the en
trance of Jesus Christ into the heart
by the surrender of the will, will do it
in a moment 'People do not become
Christians by improving their life,
but by accepting Jesus Christ "He
that hath the Son bath life; and he
that hath not the Son of God hath not
life." (I John 5:12.)
What is Conversion?
The word convert means to "turn
about" As applied to spiritual things,
It means a turning of the soul unato
God. "All we like sheep have gone
astray; we have.turned every one to
his own way." The real essence of
sin is this, that the sinner is de
termined to have his own way. It may
not be the worst way in the world. It
lmay not be an immoral way, or a vi.
eleis way, but it is his way and not
God's way, which he ought to follow.
The only surs for the sinner to
pursue is to turn about, to abandon
his way, and to ascept God's way.
"Let the wicked forsake his way; and
the unrighteous man his thoughts. and
let him retmus unto the Lord, and he
will have marw upon him." Coaeve
eoa. then, is a ttraing t the soel
ateo God, a surrender of the will to
the divine will, n aesoptanme of
la'C6Chrit e'sur Lord san Massr.
SWhen the M, reaisig the folly
Sfurther resistanes nay srr
dais his wil to the' Lrd Jesus, the
enmurs a pest change. God forgives
his sins, and so Changes his heart that
he-efoth he love God's way better
than his own way. "A new heart will
I ghye nT, a4 a new spirit will I put
withiL yes-And I will put my spirit
withibn lo ad ecsue you to walk tin
y statctis" (Usekt. 26:26. 2). The
snmaer no longer has a controvery
with God. The great question of fe
is settled, and henceforth his aim is
to know sad do the will e God.
Iqnueese Leanding to Conaveres.
The Word of God is a very eective
agesa It is ihe a mirrorin which
thpp ser s hims as he really in
That is why Christ bids us preach
the miopel to every eaeture beeamse
there is lf in it. "The Wordof God
is daive, d powerful, and sharper
tlhan say twoedged swod." One esn
hardly read the Bible eontinuosly
" and et bhe mad to rmlise that he is
a siner ad sued a Savior.
On oMe oceslon a man sad to
me: om tihe proai whbc I
head in my howbood I was led to sep
pors t when bec heauie a Chris.
isa, it was eaoeesary for bhi to go
ejed a *essee of hert. or semernr
tla 'Is s Mbok weh yen have lan.,
d m, teache that what is rsemed
Buamap ya hge . et purpe New
was pen ume telme wienh is right
sad wisbh is wreag" I replie:
"They sa hnh t right; yen cou ae*
•d-agse pa h Iatrtt pu dhenod tr;
m eoulM nt mirb It love whLt K
ns-atse ha !ed ante yesn " "io, I
S · s nste".he said. *'r .pyo sed
wtdae ya Purse. easMld ea et
as Int Jea ?' "Oetu " he rer
."Wd," atu I, "r pe wit
2N . . ... tChrisr
"t O ."I epidst Us
.* wa Is,
7, e a . - t
9. ENSQ(IIIMRN
&RIN AptadG4bN~ER,
CANINEEWl AN~Lc
Coirwrt 1Ijdranaa t-Mý1. CO.
SYNOPSIS. ti
Bill Cannon. the bonansa king, and his
daughter, Rose, who had passed up Mrs. tl
Cornellus Ryan's ball at San Francisco to
accompany her father, arrive at Antelope. h
Dominick Ryan calls on his mother to L]
beg a ball invitation for his wife, and is
refused. The determined old lady refuses
to recognize her daughter-in-law. Dom- s
inick had been trapped into a marriage
with Bernice Iverson, a stenographer. b
several years his senior She squanders his 11
money, they have frequent quarrels, and
he slips away. Cannon and his daughter a
are snowed in at Antelope. Dominick a
Ryan is rescued from storm in uncon
scious condition and brought to Antelope
hotel. Antelope is cut off by storm. Rose a
Cannon nurses Dominick back to life.
Two weeks later Bernice discovers in a
paper where husband is and writes letter t
trying to smooth over difficulties between
them. Dominick at last is able to join
fellow snowbound prisoners in hotel par- y
lor. He loses temper over talk of Buford.
an actor. After three weeks, end of im
prisonment is seen. Telegrams and mall I
arrive. Dominick gets letter from wSfe.
Tells Rose he doesn't love wife, and never
did. Stormbound people begin to depart. t
Rose and Dominick embrace, father sees
them and demands an explanation. Rose's
brother Gene is made manager of ranch. I
and is to get it if he stays sober a year.
CHAPTER IX4-(Contnued.)
At dinner that evening Gene was
very talkative. He told of his life on
the ranch, of its methodical monot
ony, of its seclusion, for he saw little
of his neighbors and seldom went in =
to the town. Rose listened with eager
interest, and the old man with a sulky,
glowering attention. At intervals he
shot a piercing look at his boy, eytng
him sidewise with a cogitating intent
ness of observation. His remarks
were few, but Gene was so loquacios
that there was little opportunity for
another voice to be beard. He prat
tied on like a happy child, recounting
the minutest details of his life after
the fashion of those who live much
alone.
In the light of the crystal lamp that
spread a ruffled shade of yellow silk
over the center of the table, he was
seen to be quite unlike his father or
sister. His jet-black hair and uniform
ly pale skin resembled his mother's.
but his face in its full, rounded con
tours, slightly turaed-up nose, and
eyebrows as thick as strips of fur,
had a heaviness hers had lacked.
Some people thought him good-lookbag,
and there was a sort of unusual, Latin
picturesqueness in the combination of
his curly black hair, which he wore
rising up in a bulwark of waves from
his forehead, his white skin, and the
small, dark mustache, delicate as an
eyebrow, that shaded his upper ip. It
was one of his father's rievmeass
against him that he would have made
a pretty girl, and that his soft, aeo
tionate character would have bee
quite charming in a woman. Now,
listening to him, it seemed to the
older man a i It were Just the kiMand
of talk one might expect from Gene.
The father had dlfculty ina suappress
Lug a snort of derision when be heard
the yeoung man resmtaing to Rose his
troubles with his Chinese ook.
Before dinner was over Gene e
esed himsey on the plea that he was
going to the theater.
"'m such a haysepe now," be said
as he rose, "that I don't want to miss
a thing. Havent seen a play for six
months and I'm Jst crasy to see say
thing, "Monte Christo," "Uncle Tom's
Cabin," "East Lynne." Im not par
ticular, anythng'll suit me."
"Don't you go over to San leisd"
growled his father sulkily. "They
have plays there sometimes, I sup
pose."
"Oh, yes, but I'm keeping out of
harm's way. The boys in San IuAs
don't understand and I'm not going to
put myself in the way of temptation.
You know, father, I want that ranch."
He turned a laughing glance on his
father; and the old man, with a sheep
ishly-dlscomlted expression, grunted
an unintelligible reply and bent over
his plate.
He did not raise his head till Gene
had left the room, when, looking up.
he leaned back in his chair sad said
rtth a plaintive sih:
"What a dammed fool that boy is"
Roe wasu ap i ms at emea
wh, mapa. hbow san lnu say thatt
MSpeelallu when yeu hew be's mto
pgiwd. Itea wendeef. Re another
man. You es Im ba miniae hes
amt beean dr1 lL he takes emeh an
niteresat In everytMg ad is so full
"Is ber" sad be father dryl.
"Mkyb si~ bU tt dsat sm t im
treses 3ing a aemned .su
"Team uniset iO Gene. iW i
y Olakhbes a cisel
"Just he .. he peas is be sae.
Ya might as wll me why Ithk
th west. irt' - at  doee, .
whenrJ s tt ei d rue ms'Ia
kpse a tller ao ld' * a the
w1 a hudred years a b esep
su ye The. me's elm . or
i* da y mess mes nari i m aies
and bet 'ishe had down. Lest night
at 3e&by 3r they wri$ tseling ae
that Vts wlt testbe qerater there
se ·W-nim sha' get him a psi'
isa he nvih e MShh.pe ad Pagis.
Cable Carpan. in whb she's a leas.
ali g* iv a e hee he' d
gar eIt.a en a 'mash lbet
aI was lmgmsms a cheer sor
IhnI s
ay biean
tion wages, just because she wants to
spite his wife."
He looked at his daughter across
the table with narrowed eyes. "What
have you got to say for yourself after
that, young woman?" he demanded.
Rose had evidently nothing to say.
She raised her eyebrows and shook
her head by way of reply. Her face.
in the flood of lamplight, looked pale
and tired. She was evidently distrait
and depressed; a very different-look
ing Rose from the girl he had taken
away with.him four weeks earlier.
He regarded her for an anxiously-on
templative moment and then said:
"What's the matter? Seems to me
you look sort'er peaked."
"I "' she queried with a surprised
start. "Why, I'm quite welL"
"Well's you were before you went
up to the mins?"
A color came into her cheeks and
she lowered her eyes:
"I'm a little tired. I think, and that
always makes me look pale. It was
a hard sort of trip, all those hours in
the sleigh, and that hotel at Rocky
Bar was a dreadful place. I couldn't
sleep. There was a cow somewhere
near-it sounded as if it were in the
next room-end the roosters all be
gan to crow in the middle of the night
I'll be all right to-morrow."
Her father drew his coffee-cup
toward him and &ropped in a lump of
sugar. No word had passed between
him and his daughter as to the scene
he had witnessed two days before in
the parlor of Perley's Hotel. She was
Ignorant of the fact that be had seen
it and be intended that she should re
main ignorant of it But the next
morning he had had an interview with
Dominick Ryan, in which the young
man, confronted with angry questions
and goaded past reserve by shame and
pain, had confessed the misery of his
marriage and the love that in an un
guarded moment had slipped beyond
his control.
Cannon had said little to him. Be
yond telling him that he must not
see Miss Cannon again, his comments
on Dominick's confessions had been
brief and non-committal. It was not
his business to preach to Delia Ry
an's boy. and a large experience of
men had given him a practically lim
itless tolerance of any and all lapses
of which the human animal is capable.
They only coneerned him as they bore
on his own aairs. In this particular
ease they did bear on his affals, close
ly and importantly, on the afftr of
all others dearest and nearest to him
-the happiness oa his daughter. He
knew that In this three weeks ot it
prisenment she had come to feel for
Domlnick Ryan a sentiment she had
never belore felt for any man. He
had seen her in the young ntan's
arms, and, knowig Rose as he knew
her, that was emuLh.
Driving down from Antelope In the
sleigh he thought about it hard, hard
er than h had ever before In his life
tbougt of any sentimental omplica
tion. He was esaged-coldly and
grimly earsd-hatt his girl should
have stumbled Into such a pitfall. But
it was not his habit to waste time and
frce* in the indulgence of proitless
U I
ýýifl1 p1
w4O O - 0
f='
w /b. t~ whew haWuin
wb . :sr weed -N i
sleigh beside him. She was unqes
tionably pale, pale and listless, her Y
body wrapped in enveloping furs, sunk
in an attitude of weariress, her eyes to
full of dejected reverie. Even to his if
blindly-groping, masculine perceptions
her distrait looks, her dispirited si- gi
lence, told of melancholy preoccupa- C
tion. She was not happy-his Rose, C
who, if she had wanted it and he could
have bought, begged or stolen it, di
would have had the moon. R
To-night, in her white dress, the b,
mellow radiance of the lamp throw- H
ing out her figure against the shadowy ft
richness of the dining-room walls, she C
bore the same appearance of despon- a
p dency. Her luster was dimmed, her a
delicate skin had lost its dazzling, sep
arated bloom of pink and white, her k
glance was absent and unresponsive. li
Never, since the death of her mother,
now ten years back, had he seen her h
when it was so obvious that she har- I
bored an inner, unexpressed sense of n
trouble.
"I guess 'the city's the best place for a
you," he said. "Roughing it don't t
seem to suit you if cows and chickens
keep you awake all night. I've seen
the time when the hotel at Rocky Bar
would have been considered the top e
notch of luxury. I wish you could see
the places your mother lived in when '
I first took her up here. You're a
spoiled girl, Rose Cannon."
"Who spoiled me, I wonder?" she
I said, looking at him with a gleam of
humor in her eyes.
L "We're not calling names to-night,"
he answered, "anyway, not sirce
I Gene's gone. All my desire to throw
things and be ugly vanishes when that
t boy gets out. 80 the noises at Rocky
Bar kept you awake?"
"Yes, and I was wakeful, anyway."
F She looked down at her cup, stir
t ring her coffee. He thought she ap
s peared conscious and said:
"What made you wakeful, guilty
conscience?"
"Guilty consclence!" she repeated
in a tone that was full of indignant
p surprise. "Why should I have a guilty
f conscience t'
a "Lord knows! Don't fire off these
e conundrums at me. I don't know all
n your secrets, honey."
s She did not answer. He glanced
a furtively at her and saw that her face
had flushed. He took a cigar from
t the box the butler had set at his el
h bow and bit off the end.
g "How should I know the secrets of
s a young lady like you? A long time
d ago, perhaps, I used to, after your
a mother died and you were my little
a- Rosey, fourteen years old. Lord, how
d cunning you were then! Just begin
ning to lengthen out, a little woman
s and a little girl, both in one. You
t didn't have secrets in those days or
s wakeful nights either."
a He applied a match to the end of
t the cigar and drew at it, his ears
º- strained for his daughter's reply. 8be
It again made none and he shot a quick
I glance at her. She was still stirring
a her coffee, her eyebrows drawn to
a gather, her eyes on the swirl of brown
S in the cuap. He settled himself in his
r chair, a bulky figure, his clothes
º ribbed with creases, his head low be
t tween his shoulders, and a reek at
n cigar smoke iding from his lips.
4 "How'd you like it up there, any
s- way "
or "Up where?"
A "Up at Antelope. It was a sort of
4 strange, new experience for yoe."
'a "Oh, I liked it so much-I loved pert
Siof t. Iliked the people Rauch better
than the people down here, Mrs. Per
i ley, and Cora, and Perley, and Wil
'- longbiby-did you ever mnow a- nicer
le man than WilloughbyT--nd Judge
s- Washburne. He was a real gentl
i man, not only in his manners but
id down in his heart. And ren Perley's
at boy, he was so natural and awkward
id and honest. I felt different from what
SI do here, more myself, less as ot -
-M. tht.W wmr IbMsh m to is
t1Nop I O't .2WV3'N toI so w
a"~ to s la I trlt 4oIt I m iob
art wf I t te io---It'd ho
a rr S -ms 9 I wems bdmg-4m.
gernuttat`ýlcº>ok s o[
u s --r
a U--rr' WIrr rr 1 bun?"
-·,
"How'd you hke Dominick Ryan?
You haven't said anything about him." It
Her voice, in answering, sounded hi
low and careful. She spoke slowly, as to
if considering her words: w
"I thought he was very nice, and ai
good-looking, too. He's not a bit like w
Cornelia Ryan, or his mother, either. t
Cornelia has such red hair."
"No, looks like the old man. Good
deal like him in character, too. Con a&
Ryan was the best teller in the world. n
but not hard enough, not enough grit. n
His wife had it though, had enough al
for both. If it hadn't been for her, tl
Con would never have amounted to ti
anything-too soft and good-natured,
and the boy's like him." t
"How?" She raised her head and b
looked directly at him, her lips slight- s
ly parted. I
"Soft, too, just the same way, soft- I
hearted. An easy mark for any one 14
with a hard-luck story and not too 14
many scruples. Why did he marry l
that woman? I don't know anything ii
about it, but I'd like to bet she saw t
the stuff he was made of and cried d
and teased and nagged till she got 8
him to do it." a
"I don't see that he could have done
anything else."
"That's a woman's-a young girl's
view. That's the view Dominick him
self probably took. It's the sort of
idea you might exriect him to have.
something ornamental and impracti
cal, that's all right to keep in the cup
board and take out and dust, but that
don't do for every-day use. That sort I
of thing is all very well for a girl,
but it doesn't do for a man. It's not I
for this world and our times. Maybe
it was all right when a feller went I
round in armor, fighting for unknown
damsels, but it won't go in California
to-day. The woman was a working
woman, she wasn't any green girl.
She earned her living in an omce full
of men, and I guess there wasn't
much she didn't know. She saw
through Dominick and gathered him
in. It's all very well to be chival
rous, but you don't want to be a con
founded fool."
"Are you a 'confounded fool' when
you're doing what you think right?"
"It depends on what you think right.
honey. If it's going to break up your
life, cut you off from your kind, make
an outcast of you frot. your own
folks, and a poverty-stricken outcast
at that, you're a confounded fool to
think it's right. You oughtn't to let
yourself think so. That kind .of a
moral attitude is a luxury. Women
can cutivate it because they don't
have to get out in the world and fight.
They keep indoors and get taken care
of, and the queer ideas they have
don't hurt anybody. But men-"
He stopped, realizing that perhaps
he was talking too frankly. He had
long known that Rose harbored these
Utopian theories on duty and honor,
which he thought very nice and pretty
for her and which went gracefully
with her character as a sheltered,
cherished, and unworldly maiden. It
was his desire to see what effct the
conversation was having on her that
made him deal so unceremoniously
with Ideals of conduct which were all
very well for Bill Canaon's daughter
but were ruinous for Dominick' Ryan.
"If you live In the world you've got
to cut your cloth by its measure," he
continued. "Look at that poor devil,
tied to a woman that's not going to
let him go if she can help it, that be
doesn't care for-"
"How do you know be doMst ears
for herT" "The interruption aeme in
a toue of startled surprise sad Rose
stared at him, her eyes wide ith It.
lper a momat the old ma was at
a loss. would have told any lie
n rather than have let her guess his
'. knowledge of the situation and the in-
d formation given him by Dominick. He
t realised that his seal had made him
, Imprudently garrulous, and, h. al
at her with a slightly stupid exprem
saon, said in a low tone of self-iasti
cation:
"Well, that's my idea. I guessed it.
I've heard one thing and another here
and there and I've come to the con
clusion that there's no love lost be
tween them. It's the natural outcome
of the situation, anyway."
"Yes, perhaps," she murmured. 8e
placed, her elbow 'on the table and
press)d the tips of her Lagers agatainst
her cheel. Her hand and rm, re
vealed by. her loose oe sleeve, looked
as it cat out of Ivory.
"And then," weat on her father re
morsielessly, "the results t betng a
confounaded tool dean't stop right thiee.
That's one. e the worst thgs ofr al
lowing yourself the luxury of foolis
ness. They u son-rll righ along
ik a wakl started on a dews-htll
Sra Soe day that bio' Imeet th
right woman-th one he really wants,
the e that belns to him Hell
bi able Ii saai t al risht i t hen.
And th m hel raie jin what he%
dlan ana wheat hs up aglnt, and
lagers fiom her aek t her fsre
head, where shel) geem rubaed t
p ad d i w ~
"Ist that shset th sas ofit" he
qrk es when sne aid m r
"Te, gea5be" as said in a vetee
"It'l he a pety tg prepedltle
v and It's blend io happen. A iseset
in leve. And he'd e wed a won
Ia. 'he'd ma e; r hap. 3e' a
used hasad lest tsr see ales sist,"
her ,oread. ear bet suetnd there
shading her yes w- a semont the
ia·pn-bin vienw pmeaiated itas
th ihaslradses wa rtno..o..- a
a  m i i a a sisles -o feel -.
ing:
"Dy lied. rm ay air the per
rastun of eseds e The sound
lem t him hdr a i Insant sad he
-sse -r the arm 4 his ebsir, is
Sdigr i l loft hand,
"I melgs anbln op the tale, shuns
L" pink In *o hWaW t, her a er
her -I - awdel e wide dsh
i as her e ea i ae amrse
"Yes, I'm tfred," her voice came a I
little hoarse and she did not look at d
him. At the doorway she stopped, her n
hand on the edge of the portiere, and r
without turning, cleared her throat
and said: "The cow and the chickens d
were too much for me. I'm too sleepy I
to talk any more. Good night, papa."
"Good night, Rosey," he answered. d
The portiere fell softly behind her, f
and her footfall was lost in the thick- d
ness of the carpets. Though he had f
not seen her face, her father had an a
alarming, and almost terrifying idea, f
that his darling had left the table in F
tears.
He sat on for some time, stonily mo
tionless, save for the movement of I
his lips as he puffed out clouds of I
smoke. The soft-footed servants.
coming to clear the table, fled before I
I his growled command to "get out and.
let me alone." As he smoked be
looked straight before him with
fixed, unwinking eyes, his face set
in furrows of thought. At long in
tervals he stirred in his chair, pon
derously, like an inert, heavy animal.
and now and then he emitted a short
sound, like a grunted comment on
some thought, which, by its biting
suddenness, seemed to force an ejac
ulation out of him.
CHAPTER X.
Dominick Comes Home.
Three days after the return of the
Cannons, Dominick Ryan also came
home. He had answered Berny's let
ter the day the Cannons left, a few
hours after that interview with the
Bonanza King, in which, driven to
bay by the old man's questions, be
had torn the veil from his married
life.
After that there was a period of
several hours when he sat in his room
thinking over what had happened. It
seemed to him that he had played
a dastardly part. He saw himself a
creature of monumental, gross selfish
ness, who had cajoled a young girl,
in a moment of softness and senti
ment, into an action which had done
nothing but distress and humiliate
her. He, who should have been the
strong one, had been weak It was
he who should have seen how things
were going; he, the married man, who
had allowed himself to feel and to
yield to a love that ought to have been
hidden forever in his own heart.
He felt that it would be a sort 'of
expiation to go back to his wife. That
was where he belonged. Rose must
*1*
JILAF._
·di%
~"
"4
I 'S
Hewd4 Yest Like Degglghtek yavant you Hi Saidi Anything Abort
4wi Yo ie siik /.
Amer sagi erse bb pat.e. have a
ple sa Lhs thoughts, or Seot, a son
begflsg snlge, i. bh oemeer. He
had a wie. e matter waht sari
was, she was the woma s had mas
hee. She had ot sestrved him. It
was e who had doe her a wls.
Is his raw stats, his were s ill
trHt wih the in*mor! 'o that ma
Pests mraeaos, he sew ay twlr
her own pomst of view. Hs lost th
mr the eomplosaut miatres a
the pietm a the aved wis, a
whose sie them wa mpach tk e mid.
ashdrmsss eshed Ils visio s ad
asregrted his ss" oa caipahibty. if
she hada ugly teper. had It nsot
bees mmdted ad aggravated hp
th tre tmost she had reevved from
his eg y if they had maintaaed
a dii seat atttude towar her, the
por St mght base bees te a
pasut, easIag pIros. In am
other was she had bees a good wie.
bota 'arriage no ther man
bad ort a glaef troam her. she
had a.ta esous aas urd Dm~o
oa that fact. sad s hMr his part, a
it to be trUe She had struggd to
keep a cenefortable home e thir
mall lseoi. If sie waI mno OlIa
It al her caut? He? ad t **p her
we baers he uaerriad her, i months
of the desest tatmasl hed mads his
acqminted with: ep bible of hr
derase. It-weM s eIer'y1 aial
pwied sat dopjelvq r t a35 a
myma is the adii4oidpsl of a adrdw.i
_..i...a ,
eg';iii iY A
Ing he had for her. It was the ten
dereet, th,, mtst womanly letter, ilee
ny had ever \ritt,,n himnt. A note of
real appeal Foutiidi through it. She
had htumilikt, r r-elf, asked his par
don, bt'eou: lht of hlini to ri-turn. As
lie though' f, It, the vision of her
alone in the flat. Ibereft of frliend'S.
dully devoid of any occupnatlon, scorn
ful of her old comip:nions, fawningly
desirous of making ntiw ones who re
fused to know her. smote him with
an almost sicker.ing sfense of its pitl
fulness. He felt sorry for her not
alone because of her position, but be
cause of what she was, what her own
disposition had made twr. She would
never change, her llmitations were
fixed. She would go on longing for
the same flesh-pots to the end, b.llev
ing that they represented the highest
and beet.
Berny had realized that her letter
was a skillful and movling prt.ductlon,
but she did not know that it w;as to
gain a hundredfold in persuasive
power by falling on a guilty con
science. It put an end to Dominlck's
revolt, It quenched tLbe last sparks of
the mutinous rage which had taken
him to Antelope. That sameno after
noon in his frigid bedroom at the heo
tel, he answered it. His reply was
short, only a few lines. In these he
stated that he would be back on the
following Saturday, the tenderness of
his Injured foot making an earlier
move impossible.
The letter reached BIerny Friday
and threw her into a state of febrile
excitement. Her deadly dread of Dom
inlck's returning to his family had
never quite died out. It kept recur
ring, sweeping in upon her in moods
of depression, and making her feel
chilled and frightened. Now she knew
he was coming back to her, evidently
not lovingly disposed-the letter was
too terse and cold for that--but, at
any rate, he was coming home. Once
there, she would set all 6er wits to
work, use every art of which she was
mistress, to make him forget the
quarrel and enter in upon a new era
of sweet reasonableness and mutual
consideration.
She set about this by cleaning the
house and buying new curtains for the
sitting-room. Such purifications and
garnishments would have agreeably
impressed her on a home-coming and
she thought they would D)ominick, In
the past year she had become much
more extravagant than she had been
formerly, a characteristic which had
arisen In her from a state of rasped
W WRIS ra.I Rya'ss Mam 5OW b
 ,med her. Sho was qpat e"k l-n
I debt to arl trss tradespeoat a -
to dresamakers, and miniler th
owed nss that would have astounded
her hbadead ad he known at thle.
This di e.t preveut her oreigh s t
Frther coMlrttasn his eto - ~ , Y"
brina m new dr ss in wloeb to rst
im and a new hat to weir ths •frst
time they wen cato , tsether. eow
she was to pay for them adornmentse
she did. not know nor car. ,The ooesc
sloe was so tImportat that It zcusd
any eatravagamos, a iUlto
whose ..pinched. dr e ata s
dress wa a presoMmd u geus was
pladlto have a ruasoe tot `idding ew
glories to her wardrobe.
(noT 3 CONTovIWD.)
Childre's Peod.
The cildren, espeeaM . boys, are
Sa hearty race of people a tclc days
- most cases, and they want a lot et
food of the more suhbtantial nater,
such as ied chicken, corned best,, -eh
or clam chowder, sad other foods in
which they can have a liberal and as
o provias, as will as the eoatr.
nsavle wants to the ask mad It
r--ly satte , w1Isad reaut do
itM li iglag the clame. or as least
pcklang the ua a .father dlts them
res tle. beac. Tp girls will enjoy
pickiag berries. If there are any to
lek.ad then to hoelpng to cook the
ftod . the camping crudity which
ds.- wiapkea true plcnec of the
1 le
... _ Poor Rich.
ý ~,Is uep verty consists h Mst
feeding Cae por. Half the mtlsonawes
'r e A uRM dos i know how m ;eb
lg pge o4A- lhntl Ceoate.#

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