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lift* The Doctor was at work over his manuscripts in one corner of fehe little dining-room, and his wife was asleep over the Are in another, when the mes senger arrived. "Sapristi!" said the Doctor, "you should have sent for me before. It was a case for hurry." And he followed the messenger as he was, in his slip pers and skull-cap. The Inn was not thirty yards away, but the messenger did not atop there (he went In at one door and out by an other into the court, and then led the way by a flight of steps beside the stable, to the loft where the mounte bank lay sick. If Doctor Desprez were to live a thousand years, he would never forget his arrival in that room for not only was the scene picturesque, but the moment made a date in his exist ence. We reckon our lives, I hardly know wihy, from the date of our first sorry appearance in society, as if from a first humiliation for no actor can come upon the stage with a worse grace. Not to go further back, which •would be judged too curious, there are subsequently many moving and decis ive accidents in the lives of all which •would make as logical a period as this of birt'h. And here, for instance, Doctor Desprez, a man past forty, who bad made what is called a failure in life, and was moreover married, found' himself at a new point of departure wfhen he opened the door of the loft above Tentalllon's stable. It was a large place, lighted only by a. single candle set upon the floor. The mountebank lay on his back upon a pallet a large manv with a "Quixotic nose inflamed with drinking. Madame Tentaillon stooped over him, applying a hot water and mustard embrocation to his feetj and on a chair close by sat a little fellow of eleven or twelve, with bis feet dangling. These three were the only occupants, except the shadows, feut tihe shadows were a company in themselves the extent of the room exaggerated them to a gigantic size, and from the low position of the candle the light struck upward and produced deformed foreshortenings. The mounte bank's profile was enlarged upon the •wall in caricature, and it was strange to see his nose shorten and lengthen as the flame was blown about by draughts. As for Madame Tentaillon, her shadow was no more than a gross bump of shoulders, with now and again a hemisphere of head. The chair legs were spindled out as long as stilts, and the boy sat perched atop of them. It was the boy who took the Doctor's fancy. He had a great arched skull, the forehead and the hands of a musi cian, and a pair of haunting eyes. It •was not merely that these eyes were large, or steady, or the softest ruddy Ibrown. There was a look.in them, be sides, which thrilled the Doctor, and made him half uneasy. He was sure foe bad seen such* a look before, and yet he could not remember how or where. It was as if this boy, who was quite a stranger to him, had the eye3 of an old friend or an old enemy. And the boy would give him no peace he seemed profoundly indifferent to what was going on, or rather abstracted from it in a svperior contemplation, beating gently Tith his feet against the bars of the chair, and holding his bands folded on bis lap. But, lor all •that, his eyes kfpt following th* Doc tor about the room with a thoughtful fixity of gaze. Desprez could not tell whether be was fascinating thw boy, or the boy was fascinating him. He feusied himself over the sick man: he put questions, he felt bis pufse, he jeBted, be grew a little hot and swore: and still, whenever he looked round, re W«££ tjie bro.fii eyes waiting for BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. INTERNATIONAL PRESS ASSOCIATION. CHAPTER I. HEY had sent for the doctor from 'Bourron before six. About eight some vi a a round for the per formance and were told how matters stood. It seemed a liberty for a mountebank to fall 111 like real people, and they made off again In dudgeon. By ten Madame Tentaillon waB gravely alarmed, and had sent down the street /or Doctor Desprez. PELT HIS PULSE. his with the same inquiring, melan choly gaze. At last the Doctor hit on the solu tion at a leap.- He remembered the look now. The little fellow, although he was as straight as a dart, had th« eyes that go usually with a crooked back he was not at all deformed, and yet a deformed person seemed to be looking at you from below his brows. The Doctor drew along breath, he was so much relieved to find a theory (for he loved theories) and to explain away his interest. For all that, he despatched the in valid with unusual haste, and, still kneeling with one knee on the floor, turned a little round and looked the boy over at his leisure. The boy was not in the least put out, but looked placidly back at the Doctor. "Is this your father?" asked Des prez. "Oh, no," returned the boy "my master." "Are you fond of him?" continued the Doctor. "No, sir," said the boy. Madame Tentaillon and Desprez ex changed expressive glances. "That is bad, my man," resumed the latter, wltih a shade of sternness "Every one should be fond of the dy ing, or conceal their sentiments and your master here is dying. If I have watched a bird a little while stealing my cherries, I have a thought of dis appointment when he flies away over my garden wall, and I see him steer for the forest and vanish. How much more a creature such as this, so strong, so astute, so richly endowed with facul ties! When I think that, in a few hours, the speech will be silenced, the breath extinct, and even the shadow vanished from the wall, I who never saw him, this lady who knew him only as a guest, are touched with some affection." The boy -was silent for a little, and appeared to be reflecting. "You did not know him," he replied at last. "He waB a toad man." "He is a "little pagan," said the land lady. "For that matter, they are all the same, these mountebanks, tumblers, artists, and what not. They have no interior." But the Doctor was still scrutinizing the ljttle pagan, his eyebrows knotted and uplifted. "What is your name?" he asked. "Jean-Marie," said the lad. Desprez leaped upon him with one of his sudden flashes of excitement, and felt his head all over fpaa an ethnological point of view. "Celtic, Celtic!" he said. "Celtic!" cried Madame Tentaillon, who had perhaps confounded the word' with hydrocephalous. "Poor lad! is it dangerous?" "That depends," returned the Doctor, grimly. And then once more address ing the boy: "And what do you do for your living, Jean-Marie?" he inquired. "I tumble," was the answer. "So! Tumble?" repeated Desprez. "Probably healthful. I hazard the guess, Madame Tentaillon, that tumb ling is a healthful way of life. And have you never done anything else but tumble?" "Before I learned that, I used to steal," answered Jean-Marie gravely. "Upon my word!" cried the Doctor. "You are a nice little man for your age. Madame, when my confrere comes from Bourron, you will com municate my unfavorable opinion. I leave the case in bis hands but of course, on any alarming symptom, above all if there should, be a sign of rally, do not hesitate to knock me up. I am a doctor no longer, I thank God but I have been one. Good night, madame. Good sleep to you, Jean Marie." I CHAPTER II. OCTOR DESPREZ always rose early. Before the smoke arose, before the first cart rattled over the bridge to iliCT-day's labor in the fields, he was to be found wandering in his garden. Now be would pick a bunch of grapes npsj be would eat a big gear under the 0 trellis now he woultf dr.iw all aorta of fancies on the path with the end of his cane now he would go dowji andj watch the river running endlessly past the timber landing-place at which he| moored his boat. There was no time, he used to say, for making theories like the early morning. "I risa earlier than any one else the village," he once boasted. "It is a fair consequence that I know more aftd wish to do less with my knowledge." The doctor was a connoisseur of sun rises, and loved a good theatrical effect to usher in the day. He had a theory of dew, by which he could predict the weather. Indeed, most things served him to that end the sound of the bells from all the neighboring villages, the smell of the forest, the visits and the behavior of both birds and fishes, the look of the plants in his garden, the disposition of cloud, the color of the light, and last, although not least, the arsenal of meteorological Instruments in a louvre-boarded hutch upon the lawn. Ever since he had settled at Gretz, he had been growing more and more into the local meteorologist, the unpaid champion of the local climate. He thought at first there was no place so healthful in the arrondissement. By the end of the second year, he pro tested there was none so wholesome in the whole department. And for some time before he met Jean-Marie he had been prepared to challenge all France and the better part of Europe for a rival to his chosen spot. "Doctor," he would say— "doctor is a foul word. It should not be used to ladles. It implies disease. I remark it, as a flaw in our civilization that we have not the proper horror of disease. Now I, for my part, have washed my hands of it I have renounced my laur eation I am no doctor I am only a worshiper of the true goddess Hygeia. Ah, believe me, it is she who has the cesius. And here, in this exiguous hamlet, has she placed her shrine here she dwells and lavishes her gifts here I walk with her in the early morning, and she shows me how strong she has made the peasants, how fruitful she has made the fields, how the trees grow up tall and comely under her eyes, and the fishes in the river 'become clean and agile at her presence—Rheuma tism!" he would cry, on some malapert interruption. "O, yes. I believe we do have a little rheumatism. That could hardly be avoided, you know, on a river. And of course the place stands a little low and the meadows are marshy, there's no doubt. But my dear Air, look at Bourron! Bourron stands high. Bourron is close to the forest plenty of ozone there, you would say. Well, compared with Gretz, Bour ron is a perfect, chambles." The morning %after he had been sum moned to the dying mountebank, the Doctor visited the wharf at the tail of his garden, and had a long look at the running water. This he called prayer but whether his adorations were ad dressed to the goddess Hygeia or some more orthodox deity, never plainly ap peared. For he had uttered doubtful oracles, sometimes declaring that a river was a type of bodily health, sometimes extolling it as a great moral preacher, continually preaching peace, continuity, and diligence to man's tor mented spirits. After he had watched a mile or so of the clear water running by before his eyes, seen a fish or two come to the surface with a gleam of silver, and sufficiently admired the long shadows of the trees falling half across the river from the opposite b!mk with patches of moving sunlight in between, he strolled once more up the garden and through his house into the street, feeling cool and renovated. (TO BB.COKTIMUED.I 'AFTER TWENTY YEARS. Mira .Bascom Found She Was Still Beautiful. He did not call on her that first even lng, though he walked past the gate four times, unaware of the fact ibhat behind one of those slanting shutters a pale v*iman stood watching him pass and repass, says Lippincott's. The nun in her self-elected cell had and made use of means of communication with the world, in the shape generally of Jimmy the choreboy. She knew whose was the tall figure on the side walk. She stood at the window when she could no longer see him she heard his slow footsteps go by for the last time and die away. Half an hour later she went upstairs to (her bedroom. Be tween its two windows hung a long, old-fashioned mirror, with carved can delabra on either side. She lighted the three candles in each. The mirror showed a tall, slim figure, a fp.ee as col orless as an anemone, an abundance of auburn hair carefully arranged. Mira Bascom studied this reflection closely. Then she unlocked a black-walnut chest which stood in a corner and lifted out its contents till she came to a mass of pale muslin, which diffused an odor of lavender as she shook it out. It was a white gown with lilac sprigs, made with the full skirts and sleeves of a bygone fashion. She put it on, fastened the belt of lilac ribbon, which still fitted exactly, and, standing again before the mirror, loosened slightly the bands of her beautiful wavy hair and pulled it into little curls about her ftfee. It was a vision of youtih which looked back at her from the glass. Not a thread of gray showed in the bair the fine lines about the placid eyes were invisible. The had the dead whiteness of things kept from the sun. But as she gazed a del icate flush overspread (her face, her red-brown eyes 1ft up till their color matched ber hair she smiled. in startled triumph* She was still beau tiful. Then a swift change c&me over ber. She blew out all but one of the candles and, turning her back on the mirror, took off her gown with cold, shaking fingers. ... OLD DEAD WOOD TRAIL ONLY ONE ROBBERY IN TWEN TY-FIVE YEARS. IXsed to Be the Headquarter* for Btace Hold-Up Men The Gold Trains— Steel Express Cars Have Changed Things. a While road agents are busy in the West holding up trains and securing from $10,000 to $50,000, every fifteen Says an express train brings into Omaha, Neb., from the great Home Jtake mines more than $200,000 In gold, ind the extraordinary aggregation of terasure is never disturbed by high waymen. Probably no proposition in the West is surrounded with a greater halo of fomance and exciting adventure than ifforts of the Homestake people to get their treasure to Eastern banks, and though the advent of the railroad robbed the affair of much of its roman tic features, the semi-monthly trip of the treasure guards from the Dead wood mines to Omaha with from $200, J00 to $300,000 in pure gold is not wholly devoid of interest. For more than a decade "Shotgun" Dick Bullock, brother of Deadwood Dick,the famous old sheriff of pioneer fame, has had charge of these shipments, and he boasts that he never lost a dpllar. About the fifteenth and the last of each month "Shotgun Dick," as Bul lock is familiarly known to hundreds of people between Omaha and Dead wood, can be seen sitting in the rear of a dray loaded with the small treas ure box, termed the "strong box," of the Homestake company, sauntering along from the company's office to the express office. He carries with him the old-style Winchester pump shot gun. It is loaded with charges cf buckshot, twenty to the cartridge, and its explosion has about the same ef fect as would the firing of a charge of shrapnel. To the express car Dick Bullock follows the money, and sits with his feet dangling from the door of the car while the men lift the heavy safe into the receptacle which is to carry it to Omaha. From Deadwood to Rapid City the distance is 50 miles, and the line of road passes through the treasure was carried overland in the stage coach, and half a dozen shot gun messengers accompanied each ship ment. It is considered marvelous that this Homestake treasure has not been taken from the train, or at least, that an at tempt in that direction has not been made in these fifteen years. In fact, only once has an effort been made to rob the train carrying Deadwood treas ure in twenty years. Bullock was not aboard that day, but Sam Wilson, another "gritty" man, was. He prompt ly shot the leader, Jo Wells, and his only assistant at once surrendered. This occurred in the big gulch between Deadwood and Rapid City. The last great hold-up of the Dead wood treasure coach was in 1878, just before the road was completed to Deadwood. At that time the treasure was transferred by stage. At Buffalo Gap the gang of "Laughing Sam" Carey and "Curley" Wilson ambushed the messengers. Wade Ellis, the gam est shotgun messenger that ever de fended a pile of gold for pay, was in charge and he had three assistants, mountains, and some most inviting cuts for hold-up purposes. For this distance "Shotgun Dick" pays some at tention to business, for if the treasure box is overtaken by bandits it will be in this piece of mountains. After the train has passed beyond Rapid City and is speeding toward Omaha, Dick Bullock makes himself at home. Some times he is to be found down in the passenger coaches, but wherever he is he carries his old shotgun. Dick Bullock is one of the few old express messengers left who guarded millions in the old days on the lum bering old Concord coaches. He has been under fire from Lame Johnny's gang, "Laughing Sam" Carey's men, "Curley" Wilson's notorious outfit and a number of other desperate bands of road agents of lesser fame. But that was a quarter of a century ago, when They were in one of the first iron coaches put into use by the Wells-Far go people. It was a common old Con cord coach, lined with quarter-inch iron for protection against the bullets of bandits. The messengers felt so secure that they boasted of the vast treasure they would carry—$100,000 in pure gold— and even sent word to the bandit gang of "Laughing Sam" that they were coming. The bandits in a moment of recklessness concluded they would show the Homestake people that their old Iron coach was no better as a treasure box than any other. The out laws went to the stage station at the gap ahead of the stage, and bound the men in charge, then hiding them selves in the station awaited the ar rival of the stage coach. When the horses were drawn up by Hank Rich ardson, and the guards leaped out, all unsuspicious of danger, the outlaws opened fire. The driver and two of the guards were killed at the first shot. Ellis took refuge behind a tree and shot two of the bandits dead. He was in a position that promised to cause the outlaws trouble. They could not shoot him and could not leave their refuge without his shooting them. Finally, "Curly" Wilson, a big, strap ping fellow, picked up one of the stable men whom the bandits had bound and laid in the trough of the stable, and holding him in front of him with one hand, made the fellow a human shield, and with the other he proceeded to operate a six-shooter. Thus equipped he marched straight toward Wade's hiding place. There was nothing for Ellis to do but either kill the helpless man or run, and he ran. Then the i*l outlaws proceeded to take tbe money. It was in bar* of $12,500. They placed the treasure in a two-horse wagon and started overland toward the Missouri river. The wagon was traced to the river near Niobrara, Neb. As an evi dence of the furious rate of speed the team was being driven at, a number of bars of gold—three in all—were picked up along the route, which had Jolted out of the wagon. This was all ever secured of the stolen money. Wilson and Carey were never cap tured, and lived to spend the money. The two outlaws mutilated the faces of their two dead companions by cut ting them with knives so that the authorities would not be able to Iden tify them and thus connect the band with the robbery. The dead bodies were left as they had fallen at the Buffalo Gap station. This was the last time the Deadwood treasure coach was held up. HAS TICKED FIVE CENTURIES Famous Old Clock In Kouen Has Kept Time for 510 Years. From the Cincinnati Enquirer: Rouen, one of the principal cities of France, and the greatest seat of its cotton manufacture, possesses the old est public clocks in the world. The great Rouen clock has held its place in that city for 610 years and is the pride of its citizens. Placed in 1389, it has been running without interrup tion from that day to this, requiring nothing except cleaning and a few trifling repairs of its accessory parts. The great clock has Bp# BO accustomed the citizens to look upon its exacti tude as a matter of course that when, in 1572, the breaking of a wire pre vent its sounding 5 o'clock one morn ing, the population was in a state of consternation. The magistratea sum moned the custodian—Gulllaume Pe tit—and remonstrated gravely with him. Until 1712 the great clock had no pendulum. For 323 years it had no other regulator than a "foliot," an appartus unknown to the majority of modern clock makers. The pendulum in clock work was Introduced in 1659, but so well satisfied were the people of Rouen with the time keeping qual ities of their famous old clock that fifty-three years were allowed to pass before a pendulum was substituted for the "foliot." Equipped with this new apparatus it has continued to this day to strike the hours and chime the quarters. Spanish Cave Dwellers of To-day. We commonly refer the cave dwell ers to pre-historic times, but there are still some of these people in parts of Europe that are considered civiliz ed. Their primitive dwellings are, in some cases, natural caves, and in oth ers have been hewn out of the rocks. Some of these homes in Spain are de scribed by a writer. He says: "There is no need of an alms house in Alcala. One side of the hill above the town is honey-combed with caves, which are used by the poor as dwellings, free of rent and taxes. These caves run in tiers, with paths between them, and before each is a garden in which grow the prickly pear, fig, vilas, maize and vegetables. The combination of rock and foliage gives the whole hillside that singular appearance of rocky fertility seen only in southern lands, and particularly in the presence of cactus growth. The people seemed quite as comfortably situated as many who lived in houses, and in general appearance the alms house hill of Alca la was more attractive than the gipsy quarter of Granada. Doubtless these caves have the advantage over ordi nary houses of being warmer in win ter and cooler in summer." Mosquitoes New to England. •From Aimslee's Magazine: English people will tell you that in their happy isle there are no such things as mos quitoes. One gets pretty well used to this kind of talk, but in this particular instance the boast holds good,or,rather, did hold good until within the last few years. It is not alone dollars that the summer tourist has brought to London. Mosquitoes have been imported, and they have distressed the British more than the American visitors. Probably the name is a potent one to conjure with, and some idea of what terrible things are expected of mosquitoes may be learned from this simple tale of the north countree: Some miners in re mote workings of a Yorkshire colliery reported to the superintendent that they had been much annoyed by the bites of mosquitotes, and found a large and energetic colony of yellow banded wasps—"yaller jackets," if you like that better. vviM ifSl3S A Cultured Monarch. King Oscar II, king of Norway and Sweden, is one of the most cultur ed men in Europe. He is remarkable in literature, his works comprising musical compositions, verse, fiction, and many volumes on technical sub jects, and he has also translated into Swedish Gothe's Faust, which alone is a very great undertaking. He is a fine speaker, and in his youth had such a remarkably fine and well train ed voice that it was considered one of his greatest gifts. The king, though now an old man, has a splendid pres ence, and in manner is simple and un affected. He spends many months of the year at Tullgarn, his grand old castle on the edge of the cliffs over hanging t*he sea, and one of his great est pleasures is drilling his little an so iV The Surgical Mania. Watts—These doctors are given too much to cutting, I think. Potts—Right Whenever an open question as to dis ease arises the right thing is an open patient.—Indianapolis JournaL UNIQUE WINDOW IN CLUBHOUSE* Made to Order for a Han Who Was Separated from His, Wife. .'Si If In the Klnloch club, at St Louis,• there is a stained glass window with an odd history, says the St Louis Re public. It is not an ordinary window,, with its parts joined by frames of lead, but is of the finest kind of colored ca thedral glass, so perfectly joined that the seams are not visible. It is paneled in shape, and in the colored glass ap pears the face and form of a beautiful: woman. She is in the costume of &: dancer, and her skirts fall but little be low the knees. The figure is perfect In its proportions, and the face is one of surprising beauty. When the club house was finished the art committee* looked around for something unique in the way of decoration. They found it in Chicago, where they had gone ex ploring. Entering the art store they told the dealer they wanted to see tha choicest thing he had. The dealer re plied that he had a beautiful colored window panel, which was left on bis: hands through a peculiar chain oft circumstances. A rich Chicagoan had,! Immediately after marrying, decided that as a part of the decoration of his new home he would have a window in! which the face and form of his wife would appear. He got together the' necessary photographs in appropriate* costumes and brought them to the glass window concern, where estimates were made as to the probable cost. He wanted naught but the best, and was not content to have the picture painted: or burnt into the glass.1 He wanted the work done in the actual colored' glass. The dealer was obliged to send' the photographs and an extended ex planation of what was wanted abroadJ and there the window was made. It took months for Its completion, and when it was finished and returned the dealer notified his rich patron. But the window never found a place in the rich man's house. They had been mar ried long enough to become estranged and divorced. The rich man had com pleted the house he had built for his bride and was living alon& in it There were enough sad memories about £ho bouse without having the face of thei woman from whom he had separated' looking down on him from one of tbe great windows, so the work was never accepted. That is the reason the mem* hers of the Klnloch club were able to get sucb a truly beautiful and origi nal window as a decoration for their mantel. t'lj-.W'" COLOR SCHEME. Should Be Carefully Studied In Furnish" lng Various Rooms. There are rooms In some houses that produce a sense of irritation on nerve and brain on those who are sensitive to color, so crude and harsh and jarring are the arrangements of the same. Go, into another room in some other house, where all the colors soothe and delight* and you will find soft olives and dull blue and blue-greens, having an Inde scribably gentle influence. The blue^ green or olive prevails in the carpet, the ground being deep blue and the all over pattern soft olive and dull blue. The olive prevails In the long curtains, and takes on rather golden tone, while the sash curtains are entirely of the softest dull blue India silk, trimmed with tassel braid to match. The Hol land shades are in ecru. There is an absence of conspicuous figures, pattern, and ground. A bit of pale rose or yellow, or old gold, or dull red, may be used in such a room. An old fan, for example, ornamented with a bow of pale rose satin and displayed against a light olive wall, tells for much more than against a wall flowered or JPW Stronger Than SteeL It is difficult to realize that so fra gile looking a concern as a spider'si web is proportionately one of the strongest things in existence. The or dinary spider's thread would support without breaking a weight of three grains. Now a bar of-steel one inch in diameter will sustain fifty tons. If you take the diameter of a spider's thread, and calculate what weight the same thread an inch in diameter would support, the conclusion arrived at is no less than seventy-four tons, which means that the strength of tbe seemingly feeble thread is, as near as possible, as much as one and a half times that of the steel. if* Eel Choked on a Rat* A monster eel has been found dead in Hempston Leat, one of the Dart tributaries of England, it having ap parently been choked by a water rat it had tried to swallow, and which was partly protruding from its mouth. The eel also contained a young moor hen. In trying to swallow both bird and rat the eel lost his life. Not the Same.'J V'VHv,. Ethel—"He told me he made his money in wheat." Edith (triumphant ly)—"I felt sure I had seen his face before. That's the fellow that leaves us our bread mornings in the city."— Leslie's Weekly. Czar's Military Household. The military household of the czar is composed of 98 officers of various ranks, 83 of whom belong to the army and 15 to the navy. Nineteen mem bers of the royal family are included in this list The Matrimonial State. Wagg—I am about to enter the state of matrimony. Wigg—Who is the lucky woman? Wagg—Oh, I'm simply going to take a trip to Utah.—Cleve land Leader.