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6 THE HOMESTEADER. Wind-swept and fire-swept and swept with bitter rain— This was the world I came to when I came across the sea— Bun-drenched and panting, a pregnant, waiting plain Calling out to humankind, calling out to me! Leafy lanes and gentle skies and little fields all green— This was the world I came from when I fared across the sea— The mansion and the village and the farmhouse in between. Never any room for more, never room for me! I’ve fought the wind and braved It I cringe to it no more! I’ve fought the creeping fire back and cheered to see it die. I’ve shut the bitter rain outside, and safe within my door, Laughed to think I feared a thing not as strong as 11 X mind the long white road that ran between the hedgerows neat, In that little, strange old world I left behind me long ago. . I mind the air so full of bells at evening, far and sweet — All and all for some one else —I had leave to go! And this is what I came to when I camo across the sea, Mlles and miles of unused sky and miles of unturned loam, And miles of room for some one else and miles of room for me— The cry of exile changing to the sweeter cry of “Home I” OfeX hr t ’’ J wiliwiß The morning was fine. A freshness »f spring was in the air. The thrushes Bang in the branches and the sparrows twittered on the dusty surface of the road. AH nature smiled. But Mr. Henry Cadgitt did not He had ex perienced a lamentable chapter of ac cidents since he had left the workhouse where he had spent the night For ex ample, a man had offered him work. And though an elderly lady whom he had approached with a request for a meal had given him one, she had pro tested that he looked ill, and had stood •▼er him while he draifk a whole tum bler of cold camomile tea. It was in Tain that he had assured her that the medical faculty had been unanimous in recommending hot whisky and water for his complaint She favored her fwn prescription. Small wonder then that nature’s smile awoke no answering emotion in his breast. Indeed, as he hobbled along the path, he got it into his bead that she was smiling at him; and her levity did nothing to Improve his temper. Mr. Cadgitt was venerable In years, though not In appearance. Few would have taken him for more than sixty, though he had passed that age by ten Jong years. No doubt his comparative youthfulness was due to the care with which, during a long life, he had re frained from labor. True, he was al ways looking for a Job; but then he was equally careful not to find one. Already the sun was high In the heavens, and he began to think about a second meal. A little before him the Tillage of Sunny dale nestled in the val ley. As he entered It, a cottage upon his right hand attracted his attention. It was small, but wonderfully neat. The lilac and hawthorn were In bloom •bout it, and the garden was bright with spring blossoms. Seated in a ehair by the door was an old man of venerable appearance. His face, though lined with years, was free from care. His white beard flowed down his breast Upon his coat a medal with four clasps glittered in the sunlight. He sat in dreamy meditation, puffing Idly at a short clay pipe. He was more than venerable; he was even a noble •Id man. Mr. Cadgitt approached, and leaned •ver the hedge. “M&te,” he said, “you ’avn’t a bit o’ baccy as you could spare to a poor bloke wot’s down on ’is luck?’ The veteran waved him away majes tically. “Go away,” he said, “I don’t give to beggars.” Something In the voice touched a 11m chord of memory in Mr. Cadgltt’s mind. ‘•Well, I’m biowed!” he said, too as tonished to go more fully into the de tails of that process. “If it alnt Sam Snider! Wot cheer, Sam? Who’d ’ave thought of meeting you ’ere? You’ve been getting on in the world, blowed If you 'aven’t! I’d never ave known you if you ’adn’t spoke.” The veteran looked annoyed. “I dont know you,” he said. “Go away, I tell you. Don’t come here dis turbing an old soldier wat ’as fought for his country.” Mr. Cadgitt grinned. “Where?” he asked, concisely. “In the -Crimea,” replied the other, proudly. “Alma. Inkerman. Balaclava, Sebastopol.” He fingered the clasps on his medal with loving care. For a moment Mr. Cadgitt was im pressed. His jaw dropped, and he looked hard at the occupant of the cot tage as though he half thought he had made a mistake. Then he grinned again, and raised his finger impressive ly. “At the time of the Crimean war,’ he said, slowly, “you were selling win kles from a barter in Seven Dials. Wots the little game, Sam? It ain’t no use trying to get round me. Don’t you juund on a pal, and I won’t.” He pushed aside the little wicket gate and entered the garden. The vet eran looked at him with every symp tom of annoyance; and then, as the readiest way of getting rid of him, owned up. “I don’t mind telling you,” he said, “if you’ll promise not to give it away. I was tramping the country same as you are now, when I met the owner of this ’ere medal. Poor chap, ’e died by the roadside, and the parish burled ’lm. I didn’t see what use they had for his medal, so I took it. By-and-bye, I came to this village. There were an old lady here, and she seen me wearing it She stopped me In the street, and me all about It. She ’ad a hus band when she was young that ’ad got killed out there. I told ’er ’ow I ’ad saved the guns at Inkerman and charged at Balaclava; later it come out that ’er husband ’ad died in my arms. After that she couldn’t do enough for me. Ten shilling a week she gives me, and this cottage to live in. It’s a good lay if you’re up to It. You take my tip and try it on when you get far enough from ’ere.” “I will,” said Mr. Cadgitt, with fervent admiration. “To think of your ’aving the brains to think of it! It’s fair astonishing.’ “Never you mind my brains,” said the warrior, annoyed. “Don’t think It’s as easy as shelling peas. It ain’t. I’ve ’ad to look sharp, I tell you. I’ve ’ad to read up a bit of history. She lends me books about the Crimea, so I manage all right.” “I once ’ad a copy of a life of Gen eral Gordon,” said Mr. Cadgitt, with a melancholy shake of his head. “I pinched it off a bookstall when the owner wasn’t looking, and pawned it for one and sixpence. I wish I ’adn’t now—pawned it, I mean. It’d ’ave come in useful.” “That’s your ignorance,” said Mr. Snider, contemptuously. “General Gor don weren’t in the Crimea. It were Lord Raglan. And Marshal Canrobert was leading the French.” “Go on,” said Mr. Cadgitt. “We wasn’t fighting the French. We was fighting the Rooslans.” “That’s your ignorance again,” said Mr. Snider, contemptuously as before. “It ain’t no use your trying the game. Henery. You’d only make a hash of It.” “I’ll work *ard,” said Mr. Cadgitt, eagerly. “I tell you wot it is, Sam. You take me up to the old lady and tell er as I’m a pal of yours that fought through the war with you. Tell ’er as I was in at ’er husband’s death like you was. We can share this ’ere cot tage. It’ll hold two comfortable. And you can pitch the yarns until I get the hang of them.” Mr. Snider regarded him with aston ished asperity. “You always had a cheek,” he re marked, “but this caps all. I’ve given you the tip. Go and find an old lady as ’as lost ’er husband in the Crimea for yourself.” “There ain’t too many of ’em about,” pleaded Mr. Cadgitt. “I’d rather ’ave a share of this one. She could keep the two of us as easy as one.” “No,” said Mr. Snider, decisively. “No, it wouldn’t do. You see, Henery, you don’t look the part. Anyone might take me for an old soldier; whereas you —you look like —like —” He paused for an appropriate simile. Mr. Cadgitt danced before him upon the path, black with rage. “Well,” he shrieked; “say it! say it! Wot do I look like? Say it if you’re a man, and I’ll give you a clip on the jaw as’ll make you wish you’d been killed in the Crimea yourself.” “I ain’t saying anything against you except that it wouldn’t do,” replied the veteran, calmly judicial. “If you was to say as you’d worn Her Majesty’s uni form, they’d think as there ’ad been GRANT COUNTY HERALD, LANCASTER, WISCONSIN. broad arrows on It. You’ll ’ave to find another way of earning your living.” “I’m going to find one now,” said Mr. Cadgitt, turning away, vindictively. “And when I ’ave found one, you’ll be looking out for a Job yourself.” He marched down the path and on the road. As he turned the corner of the village street, he became aware of an elderly lady advancing in his direc tion. There was something in the dig nified sorrow in her face that made him pause. Mr. Cadgitt was a man of in stinct. Instinct told him that this lady was going to the cottage he had left. Instinct told him that she was Sam’s patroness. And instinct bade him strike whilst the iron was hot. “Beg your pardon, mum,” he whined, “but could you spare a trifle for an old soldier?” The lady looked at him with a sud den, quick interest. “A soldier!” she said. “And where have you fought, my man?” “Most anywheres, mum,’ replied Mr. Cadgitt, cautiously. “I were in the Crimea.” The lady’s interest quickened. ‘'Ah,” she said, softly. “My husband fought in the Crimea.” “Did he now?” said Mr. Cadgitt, with a very fair affectation of surprise. “What might his name have been now?” “He was Captain Alwin,” she an swered. “Did you know him?” “My old officer!” exclaimed Mr. Cad gitt, ecstatically. Suddenly his face dropped. “But he were killed there, mum!” he said, in dulcet tones of sym pathy. “Perhaps it ain’t the same.” “No,” replied the lady, sadly. “It was the same. He was killed by a Russian bullet.” She was evidently moved. Her eyes filled with tears. “Ah, well,” said Mr. Cadgitt, gently. “He couldn’t ’elp it, poor fellow. And perhaps ’e’s better off where ’e Is than me, that was swindled something cruel when I got back from the war.” “Swindled!” exclaimed the lady, sur prised. “How swindled, my good man?” “It were this way, your ladyship,” said Mr. Cadgitt. “When I got ’ome from the war I fell into bad company. ’There was a low, sneaking fellow of the name of Samuel Snider, who got me into bad ways—drinking and such. At that time ’e ’ad a winkle barter in a low part of London, but ’e lost ’is trade by poisoning ’is customers with bad shell fish. ’E wanted me to sell ’im my medal as I’d fought so ’ard to gain. ’E said if ’e ’ad a medal like that ’e could earn a living for ’isself easier than selling winkles. But I said no. I’d sooner part with life Itself. When ’e found as ’e couldn’t get it by fair means, ’e tried others; for ’e were a man as’d stick at nothing. ’E put a drop o’ summat in my drink one night, and when I w’oke the medal was gone and ’e was gone, and I was left penniless and destitute.” He drew his sleeve across his eyes to wipe away the tears of honest emotion. “This,” said Mrs. Alwin, with kind ling eyes, ”is a very strange story, my man.” x Mr. Cadgitt felt himself that it did him credit; but he only murmured a platitude about truth and fiction. “And wot drives me mad is this, mum,” he said. “I could stand being penniless. I could stand destitution. But when I think of that man as is somewhere about with my medal im posing on the charity of kind ’earted folk, it fair drives me crazy.” The old lady drew herself up. “Come with me,” she said. “This must be seen to.” “You don’t mean to say as you know him!” said Mr. Cadgitt, with every evi dence of surprise. “You don’t mean to say as it’s ’ere as ’e’s been imposing on people?” “He is certainly here,” said Mrs. Al win, firmly. “Well, now, to think of that!” said Mr. Cadgitt. ‘'l’ll go with you, mum, and expose ’im. Mmd you, though, it don’t do to let ’im ’ave too much of a say. ’E were a very persuasive man when I knew ’im and ’ad read that many books about the Crimea that ’e knew more about it than us that was there. Don’t you let ’im say a word, or ’e’ll persuade you of anything.” “I shall inquire into the matter with strict Impartiality,” said Mrs. Alwin, severely. t “That’s right, mum,” said Mr. Cad gitt, cocealing his disappointment as best he might. “No man could ask more than that. You be strictly impar tial and shut ’im up the moment ’e opens ’is mouth.” He turned and followed her to the cottage. The veteran in the chair noted their approach. His heart fail ed him; and, feeling that perhaps half a loaf was better than no bread, he made a rapid change in his plan of campaign. Summoning a smile of pleasure and astonishment, he held out his hand to Mr. Cadgitt. “Why!” he exclaimed, “if it ain’t my old pal, Henry Cadgitt, wot fought alongside of me in the Crimea.” Mr. Cadgitt was so taken aback that he responded. “Why!” he exclaimed, incautiously, charmed at this apparent solution of the difficulty. “If it ain’t Sam Snider as was wounded by the Frenchles at the battle of Inkerman!” They shook hands wih simulated en thusiasm. Into their rejoicings the voice of Mrs. Alwin broke acidly. “He said,” she remarked, indicating Mr. Cadgitt, but addressing Snider, “that at the time of the Crimea you were selling shell-fish in London.” “’E lies ’.” said Sam, venemously, jerking away his hand as though he had been stung. “It were ’lm wat were selling winkles.” “But you said Just now,” she retort ed, “that he fought alongside you.” Had Sam been the laast bit readier the catastrophe might have been avert ed. But for the moment his fluency deserted him; and that moment was a heart-searching one, in which truth appeared so nakedly that both the vet erans blushed and were silent. When Mrs. Alwin spoke again there was a new note in her voice. “I see,” she said, slowly, “I have been deceived. I have a good mind to prosecute you both.” “It’s very ’ard,” said Sam, “when your ’usband died in my arms.” “In our arms,” said Mr. Cadgitt, still hopeful of half the loaf. She turned upon them wrathfully. “Never soil his name with your lips again!” she cried. “If either of you is within ten miles of this place to morrow, I’ll give you in charge for en deavoring to obtain money on false pretenses.” She turned and left them. • • • • • * Left together, Mr. Snider told Mr. Cadgitt his opinion of him with what politlcans would call “no uncertain voice.” Mr. Cadgitt. at a loss for ver bal retaliation, replied by a blow on the jaw. The ensuing fight was watch ed by one or two urchins truant from school; and from their reports it was generally conceded in the village that the battle of Inkerman itself could have been nothing to it. MEDIAEVAL POMP FOR KAISER. Heralds, Sauires and Bedizened Pal freys at 13th Century Ceremony. Emperor William gratified his love for the pomp and show of feudal times at the dedicating of the restored Hohen-Koenlgsburg, one of the most ancient castles in lower Alsace, says a New York World dispatch from Strassburg. The restoration cost $550,000. The emperor and empress, accom panied by a brilliant suite, arrived there from Vienna for the ceremony, which was designed with elaborate re gard for the customs of many centu ries ago, the castle dating back to the thirteenth century. It passed into the possession of the emperor in 1899, and since then it has been in process of restoration under the direction of Prof. Bodo Ebhardt, the recognized authority on ancient castles. Other antiquarians find fault with the restoration, claiming it does not truly represent the castle as it stood in the days of feudal splendor. The castle, however, experienced several architectural changes in bygone centu ries. In 1402 it was partly destroyed by the bishop of Strassburg. It was restored, but In 1633 it again suffered when It was bombarded and burned by the Swedes. Wednesday’s ceremony was most brilliant. In front of the castle gates a medieval tent was pitched from which the emperor, the empress and their guests watched the historical en try of the brothers Von Sickingen, when the latter received the castle from the Imperial warden, or when, in other words, the castle passed from imperial into private possession. Trumpets sounded a fanfare, the castle gates were opened, and from the forest at the foot of the hill came a herald, who recited a prologue. Then a procession marched up the hill and passed before the emperor into the castleyard. The three brothers Von Sickingen, on magnificently caparison ed palfreys, rode at the head, follow ed by a squire bearing their standard with blunderbuses, two-handed swords and long pikes of the period, pieces of artillery from the thirty years’ war, forage carts, ammunition wagons, camp followers, squires and huntsmen. Extraordinary care had been taken to reproduce exactly the uniforms and accouterments of medieval German soldiery and many of the weapons car ried were originals from private col lections. After a banquet in the Hall of the Burg, at which the emperor presided, the procession reformed and marched through the gayly decorated streets of Schlettstadt. MEXICO CITY POLICE. Street Lantern* that Keep Them Vigilant at Night. “When I visited Mexico,” said an artist, “I found Innumerable things of interest, but that which gained my notice particularly was the police sys tem. In the City of Mexico the police at night are stationed at short inter vals apart in the street. Each police man has a lantern, which is placed on a stand in the center of the street. It is his duty to remain in easy striking distance of the lantern at all times, so chat he will be on hand in case of an emergency. “Any person who is able to reach the lamp and lift it from its hook be fore the policeman interferes is entitled to a reward of SSOO. Any policeman who loses his lantern Is subject to in stant and dishonorable dismissal. Thia is to insure constant vigilance on their part and to require their presence at a certain point at all times. At first I regarded the thing as a joke, and I tried to get possession of the police lantern. But then I found that I was greatly mistaken. Not once, although I exercised extreme caution, was I quick enough for the policeman od watch. “The City of Mexico is one of the best policed communities in tDe world Policemen are always on hand when one requires them, and it is virtually impossible for desperadoes to operate In the open.”—New York Telegram. COST OF LIVING NOWADAYS. Bas It Come Down Since the Panic of 1907 or Nott The London Economist figures a de cline in average cost of commodities during the first four months of 1908 of 7 per cent and a decline from the high point of last year to May of 15 r i per cent. Bradstreet’s index number of New York prices shows a fall here of 12% per cent from the high level of last year. Both agree that staple prices are now the lowest in three years. But this conclusion Is likely to be disputed by any householder. His liv ing expenses have not decreased, ex cept through buying less; the average citizen will# say it now costs more to live than before the panic. And he is right, If necessaries of life alone are considered. Bread and meat, which enter first Into actual daily cost of living, show In the one case an ad vance of just 25 per cent over March, 1907, and for the other a decline of 2 per cent —this latter being in whole sale prices, and probably not reaching the consumer. Bradstreet’s figures show that prices of packed provisions are down 9 per cent from last year, fruits 30 per cent, and leather, textiles, drugs coal and oil something like 10 per cent. But they do not reckon in the price of canned vegetables, which, as with flour, are higher, because of the bad growing weather of 1907, or the numerous preserves into whose compo sition enters sugar, which has ad vanced in price. Instead, the Brad street’s table includes metals like iron, tin and copper, which have fall en 30 to 50 per cent from a year ago, but which cut an altogether minor fig ure in current expenses. The best sign of future reduction In cost of living is the promise of good crops in 1908; the worst is the reviv ing tendency to speculate rise In prices. The most perplexing consider ation is, who got or Is getting the benefit of the fall in meat and cotton goods at first hand? Not the consum er, apparently. WW® Glass windows are still scarce In the City of Mexico. England has about 13,000 square miles of coal fields. Jena is to have a biological (phylo genetic) museum as a memorial of Prof. Haeckel. The gray and black Agropplna moth of Brazil Is thirteen inches from wing tip to wing tip. Nearly $4,000,000 had to be paid in Geneva last December in legacy taxes when the Baroness Adolph Rothschild died. The latest wonder is the installatior at the London Hippodrome of a series of tiny machines that silently generate sea air Into the auditorium. A record apple harvest is expected Ir Devon and Somerset, England. There is every possibility of 1908 proving the greatest apple year known in these counties. Eight medals awarded to Major C Stuart, Including the small gold meda; for the battle of Roleia and the Armj of India medal with five clasps, realized $1,050 at auction In London. France has three-fifths of an acre ol forest to each inhabitant. That coun try Imports annually $30,000,000 worth of wood. State forests there yield an nually $1.75 an acre, and cost 95 cent! annually. For having “cocoanuts” made of iron, weighing twenty-one pounds each, or the front rows of her stand at a fair, so that they could not be knocked off, Sarah Hayer was fined sls and her sod $2.50 at Nuneaton, England. The French gardening methods by which an acre of ground is made tc yield $2,433 to $2,920 per annum by th€ forcing hot bed process has been intro duced in England. Vegetables are pro duced all the year and are forced by i steady temperature of 90 degrees. A Mole Catcher. A farm manager at Fodderty, Ding wall, Scotland, watching a mole catch er at work, saw sea gulls hovering over and occasionally alighting upon a turnip field in which the observer and others were at work. A particularly large and handsome bird attracted his attention by the graceful way it floated slowly over the drills, Intently scan ning the surface of the ground. Sud denly, steadying Itself a moment, 11 dropped, dug its bill Into the heaving ground, and rose with a mole for its prey. Resting a few minutes, it grace fully began again a further search for prey. In a few minutes a second mole was unearthed. Best Time to Smoke. It is quite certain that much may be done to diminish the risk of tobac co amblyopia by paying attention tc certain points of personal hygiene, says Hospital. For Instance, a rule should be made never to smoke upon an empty stom ach, but as far as possible only after meals. It Is absolutely bad to smoke before dinner, and equally bad tc smoke late at night to keep awake at one’s work. It should also be forbidden to chew the cigar between the teeth, as many smokers are wont to do. There are two ways of meeting a trouble; either give It no attention al all, or give it a great deal of atten tion promptly. Old Favorites Get Up and Bar the Door. It fell about the Martinmass time, And a gay time it was then, O! When our gudewife had puddins to mak*, And she boiled them in the pan, O ! The wind blew cauld from north to south. And blew into the floor, O 1 Quoth oor gudeman to oor gudewife, “Get up and bar the door, O I” “My hand is in my housewifeskep, Gudeman, as ye may see, O I And it should na be barr’d this hunnei years, It’ll be no barr’d by me, O!” They made a paction ’tween them two, They made It firm and sure, O I Whoever should spak the foremost word. Should rise and bar the door, O 1 1 Then by there cam’ two gentlemen, At twelve o’clock at night, O I And they could see neither house nor ha’, Nor coal nor candle light, O I And, oh, but they were cauld and weet, An’ It was an aufu’ nicht, O I And when they saw the open door, Their hearts lap at the sicht, O 1 “Now, whether is this a rich man’s house, O whether It is a poor, O?” But ne’er a word wad ane o’ them speak, For barring o’ the door, O I Then first they ate the white puddings, And syne they ate the black, O ! Tho’ muckle thought the gudewife to hersel’, Yet ne’er a word she spak’, O ! Then the ane unto the other said — “Here, man, tak’ ye my knife, O I Do ye tak ass the auld man’s beard. An’ I’ll kiss the gudewife, O I” “But there’s nae water in the house, , And what will we do then, O?“ “What ails you at the puddin’ bree, That boils into the pan, O?” ■' I t O up then started our gudeman, And an angry was he, O I “Will ye kiss my wife before my een, And scaud me wi’ puddin* bree, O ” Then up and started our gudewife, Gied three skips on the floor, O * “Gudeman, ye’ve spoken the foremost word, Get up and bar the door, O I” STUCK IN THE ASPHALT. Secretary Taft’a Experience or. a Newly Paved Street. Certain anxious engineers of the Dis trict of Columbia are seeking to ascer tain to whom they shall charge $269.87 worth of asphalt In which Secretary Taft floundered and from which he was rescued with difficulty. One evening recently the Secretary and Arthur I. Vorys, of Ohio, his cam paign manager, dined at the New Wil lard with Senator Warner. At 9:30 the department carriage called for the pair, and they started for the War De partment. Pat McQuade, driver of Secretaries of War for more than forty years, was on the box. The fast-trotting bays whirled the carriage around the White House el lipse and Into 17th street on the west side of the State, War and Navy build ing. Then their pace was almost In stantly checked and McQuade came near to being flung from his seat. At the same moment a squat man, with a Hibernian accent and an Inspiring flow of profanity, rushed out of the darkness, waving his arm. “Git out av It! Git out av It!” he shrilled. “Don’t yez know It’s wet asphalt yer drivln’ in?" “Gwan; sure I’ve got the Sicretary of War wid me," retorted McQuade, scornfully. “Ol don’t care If ye’ve got the Prisi dent of the United States; git out av it," Insisted the watchman. “Let’s get out of here, Vorys,’’ said Taft, after he had listened for a mo ment to the argument between the watchman and the coachman. He walked forward a pace and stuck. Vorys, profiting by the experience of his chief, perched for a moment on the edge of the carriage, like a bird poised for flight, and then Jumped wide. He nearly went down In the sticky stuff, but righted himself quickly and for the sidewalk. Being much lighter than Taft, he finaly made solid footing. The street at this point Is wide, and although the Secretary of War was making a valiant, fight, he was get ting bogged worse and worse In the morass. Vorys at last found a board, which he dragged to the curb and thrust Into the quagmire. Then he walked upon it and lent the Secretary a helping hand. It required some work to get the Taft feet loose, and at one time they discussed the ad visability of cutting the Secretary’s shoelace and leaving the shoes, but eventually the rescue was effected. The Old, Old Story. Old Lady (reading a letter froffi her son in college)—Lor’ sakes alive, Jo siar, if John bain’t gone an’ done It! An’ he no hand fer the gals, nuther! Her Worse Half-—Wut’s the trouble, Samanthy? Old Lady—Why, he says he’s fallen In love with Belle —er —Belle Lettres. —Brooklyn Life. When a man has managed to save a little money, people think he is childish, and don’t know how to take care of it Every man believes that he carrier, the heavy end of the log.