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The St. Charles herald. [volume] (Hahnville, La.) 1873-1993, November 03, 1917, Image 5

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Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn85034322/1917-11-03/ed-1/seq-5/

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A l.h the world loves a lover, and all tli** world chortles with de
liuht "l)i !i a charming Kiri fascinates an avowed woman-hater
and trains him to eat quietly out of her hand. In the story which
we offer hero, the charming heroine does nothin* so couimon
b- I ce as to fascinate one man; she fascinates dozens. And in the end
she has not one woman-hater eating out of her hand, hut three of the
crustiest bachelors you ever saw following her around like faithful
dog-. "The Hillman" is altogether delightful, uud we feel sure our
readers will enjoy the serial thoroughly.
THE EDITOR.
CHAPTER I.
Louise was leaning back among the
cushions of the motionless car. The
moon hud not yet risen, but a faint and
luminous glow, spreading like a halo ,
Bbout the topmost peak of the ragged j
line of hills, heralded its approach. ;
Her eyes swept the hillsides, vainly j
yet without curiosity, for any sign of a j
human dwelling. Her chauffeur and
her maid stood lalking heatedly to
gether near the radiator.
Louise leaned forward and called to
he chauffeur.
"Charles," she asked, "what has hap
icned? Are we really stranded here?"
The man's head emerged from the
bonnet. He came round to the side of
he car.
"I am very sorry, madam," he re
ported, "but something has gone wrong
>vith the magneto. I shall have to take
it to pieces before I can teil exactly
what is wrong. It will take several
hours and it ought to be done by day
light. Perhaps I had better go and see
whether there isn't a farm somewhere
near."
"And leave us here aloneV" Aline ex
claimed indignantly.
Her mistress smiled at her reassur
ingly.
"What have we to fear, you foolish
girl? For myself, I would like better
than anything to remain here until the
moon comes over the top of that round
hill. But listen ! There is no neces
sity for Charles to leave us."
They all turned their heads. From
wme distance behind there came,
faintly at first, but more distinctly
every moment, the sound of horse's
hoofs. Louder and louder came the
sound. Louise gave a little cry as a
man on horseback appeared in sight
Ht the crest of the hill. The narrow
!
!
I
.
j
I
i
»trip of road seemed suddenly dwarfed, n
In unreasonable portion of the horizon
blotted out. In the half light there
was something almost awesome in the
unusual size of the horse and of the
man who rode it.
"It is a world of goblins, this. Aline!" j
ter mistress exclaimed softly. "What
's it that comes?"
"It is a human being. Dieu merci!"
ihe maid replied, with a matter-of-fact
little sigh of content.
A few moments later horse and rider
were beside the car.
"Has anything happened?" the new
comer asked, dismounting and raising
bis whip to his cap.
"I have broken down," Louise said.
'Please tell us what you would advise
us to do. Is there a village near, or
m inn, or even a barn? Or shall we
nave to spend the night in the car?"
"The nearest village," he replied, "is
twelve miles away. Fortunately, my
as
invn home is close by. I shall be very j
j
to
U
1
S'
*k
'fH
"■'Yeti Are Indeed a Good Samaritan."
loused_ î an ù my brother—if you will
honor us. I am afraid I cannot offer his
you very much In the way of entertain
ment—
ttu; rose briskly to her feet and
beamed upon him.
the
"you are indeed a good Samaritan!"
she exclaimed. "A roof is more than
îve had dared to hope for, although by
when one looks up at this wondered
sky and breathes this air, one wonders,
perhaps, whether a roof, after all. Is
Mich a blessing." ,
"It gets very cold toward morning,
be young man said practically.
"Of course " she assented. "Aline,
you will bring my dressing-bag and fol
?«w a* This gentleman Is kind enough
^ after » slwtfer for th« night, Dear
ing
rut', you really are almost as tall as
you appeared !" she added, as she stood
by his side. "For the first time in my
life you make me feel undersized."
He looked down at her, a little more
, at his ease now' by reason of the friend
j liness of her manner, ulthough he had
; still the air of one embarked upon an
j adventure, the outcome of which was
a j to be regarded with some qualms. She
"us OI little more than medium height,
and his first impressions of her were
that she was thin, and too pale to he
good-looking; that he** eyes were large
! and .-oft. with eyebrows more clearly
! defined than is usual among English
women; and that she moved without
seeming to walk.
*T suppose I :.m tall," he admitted,
as they started off along the road,
'"ne doesn't notice it around here. My
name is John Strangewey, and our
house is just behind that clump of
I ,r " s there, on the top of the hill. We
. will do our best to nmkt- you comfort
j nble. he added a little doubtfully ;
I "but th«'re are only my brother and
myself, and we have no women serv
i nuts in the house."
"A roof of uny sort will be a luxury."
she assured bim. "I only hope that we
shall not be a trouble to you in any
way."
"And your name, please?" he asked.
She was a little amazed at his direct
ness, but she answered him without
hesitation.
"My name," she told him, "is Lou
ise."
He leaned down toward her, a little
puzzled.
"Louise. But your surname?"
She laughed softly. It occurred to
him thut nothing like her laugh had
ever been heard on that gray-walled
stretch of mountain road.
"Never mind ! I am traveling ificog
n ito. Who I am. or where I am goin
'—well, what does that matter to any
body? Perhaps 1 do not know myself.
You can imagine, if you like, that we
came from the heart of your hills, and
that tomorrow they will open again and
j welcome us back.
"I don't think there are any motor
cars in fairyland," he objected,
"We represent a new edition of fairy
lore," she told him. "Modern romance,
you know, includes motor-cars and
even French maids."
"All the same," he protested, with
masculine bluntness, "I really don't
see how I eau introduce you to my
brother as 'Louise from fairyland.* "
She evaded the point.
"Tell me about your brother. Is he
as tall as you, and is he younger or
older?"
"He is nearly twenty years older,"
her companion replied. "He is about
my height, but he stoops more than I
j do, and his hair is gray. 1 am afraid
j that you may find him a little pecu
liar."
Her escort paused and swung open a
white gate on their left-hand side. Be
fore them was an ascent which seemed
to her. in the dim light, to be abso
lutely precipitous.
"It isn't so bad as it looks," he as
sured her, "and I am afraid it's the
only way up. The house is at the bend
there, barely fifty yards away. You
can see a light through the trees."
"You must help me, then, please,"
she begged.
He stooped down toward her. She
linked her fingers together through his
left arm and, leaning a little heavily
upon him, began the ascent. He was
conscious of some subtle fragrance
from her clothes, a perfume strangely
different from the odor of the ghost
like flowers that bordered the steep
path up which they were climbing. Her
arms, slight, warm things though they
were, and great though his own
streugth, felt suddenly like a yoke. At
every step he seemed to feel their
weight more insistent—a weight not
physical, solely due to this rush of un
expected emotions.
She looked around her almost in
wonder as her companion paus»*d with
his hand upon a little iron gate. From j
behind that jagged stretch of hills in
the distance the moon had now ap- (
peared. Before her was a garden,
austere-looking with its prim flower
beds, the trees all bent in the name
direction, fashioned after one pattern
by the winds. Beyond was the house
" '
a long, low building, part of it cov
ered with some kind of creeper.
As they stepped across the last few
yards of lawn, the black, oak door
which they were approaching suddenly
opened. A tall, elderly man stood look
ing Inquiringly ont. He shaded his
eyes with his hands.
"I
"Is that you. brother?" be asked
doubtfully. j
u.-lier»
com
•lohn Strang»
puiiion into the square, oak-paneled
hall, hung with many trophies of the
chase, a few oil-paintings, here and
there some sporting prints. It was
lighted only with a single lamp which
stood upon a round, polished table in
the center of the white-flagged floor.
"This lady's motor-ear has broken
down, Stephen," John explained, turn
ing a little nervously toward his broth
er. "I found them in the road, just
at the bottom of the hill. Site and her
I servants will spend the night here. I
I have explained that there is no village
;or inn for a g .....1 many miles." j
Louise turned graciously toward the |
elder man, who was standing grimly
apart. Even in those few seconds, her
quick sensibilities warned her of the I
j
j
j
j
n


vO-;
I
.
:
His Bow Was Stiff and Unçordial.
f
j
j
j
(
hostility which lurked behind the tight
ly closed lips and steel-gray eyes. His j
bow was stiff and uncordial, and he
made no movement to offer his hand. !
"We are not used to welcoming la
dies at Peak Hall, madam," he said.
"I am afraid that you will find us
somewhat unprepared for guests."
"I ask for nothing more than a roof," j
Louise assured him. j
John threw his hnt and whip upon
the round table and stood in the center
of the stone floor. She caught a
glance which flashed between the two
men—of appeal from the one, of icy
resentment from the other.
"We can at least add to the roof a
bed and some supper—and a welcome,'
John declared. "It
phen?"
that not so, Ste-jMy
The older man turned deliberately j
away. It was as if he had not heard (
his brother's words.
"I will go and find Jennings," he
said. "He must be told about the serv
ants." i
Louise watched the disappearing fig- !
ure until it was out of sight. Then she
looked up into the face of the younger
man, who was standing by her side.
"I am sorry," she murmured apolo
getically. "I am afraid that your
brother is not pleased at this sudden
intrusion. Really, we shall give you
very little trouble."
He answered her with a sudden
eager enthusiasm. He seemed far more
natural then than at any time since he
had ridden up from out of the shad
ows to take his place in her life.
"I won't apologize for Stephen," he
said. "He is a little crotchety. You
must please be kind and not notice.
You must let me, if I can, offer you.
welcome enough for us both."
CHAPTER II.
Louise, with a heavy, silver-plated
candlestick in her hand, stood upon the
uneven floor of the bedroom to which
she had been conducted, looking up at
the oak-framed family tree which hung
above the broad chimney-piece. She
examined the coat of arms emblazoned
in the corner, and peered curiously at
the last neatly printed addition, which
indicated Stephen and John Strange
wey as the sole survivors of a dimin
ishing line. When at lust she turned
away, she found the name upon her
lips.
"Strangewey !" she murmured. "John
Strangewey! It is really curious bow
that name brings with it a sense of
familiarity. It Is so unusual, too. And
wimt an unusual-looking person! I>
you think. Aline, that you ever -
(anyone so superbly handsome?"
The maid's little grimace was ox
pressive.
"Never, madam," she replie»!. "And
yet fo think of it—a gentleman, a ner
son of intelligence, who lives here al
ways, outside the world, with just a
i
terrible old man servant, the only do
mestic in the house ! Nearly all the
cooking is done at the bailiff's, a quar
ter of a mile away."
Louise nodded thoughtfully.
"It is very strange," she admitted.
"I should like to understand It. Per
haps," she added, half to herself, "some
;
j
(
day I shall."
She passed acroas the room, and on
li
way paused before an
glass, before which were
two silver candlesticks
lighted wax candles. She !»
j
j lastly at her own reflection,
j the figure of a girl, it f
(standing her twentv-s»
old cheval
suspended
continuing
iked stead
A little
smile parted her lips. In the bedroom
of this quaint farmhouse she wa
ing upon a face and a figure which the
illustrated papers and the enterprise
of the modern photographer had com
bined to make familiar to the world—
-mod, notwit h
n years. Her
I j soft, white blouse was open at the
j neck, displaying a beautifully rounded
j throat. Her eyes dwelt upon the oval
| face, with its strong, yet mobile fen
tures; its lips a little full, perhaps, but
soft and sensitive; at the masses of
I brown hair drawn low over ht*r ears.
j This was herself, then. How would
j she seem to these two men downstairs,
j she asked herself—the dour, grim inas
j ter of the house, and her more youthful
rescuer, whose coming had somehow
touched her fancy? They saw so litt!»'
of her sex. They seemed, in a sens»*, to
he in league against it. Would they
find out that they were entertaining
an angel unawares?
Sh<* thought with a gratified smile
of her Incognito. It was a real trial
of her strength, this! When she turned
away from the mirror the smile .-till
lingere
d upon
her lips, a soft light of
atlticip;
at ion w
as shining in her eyes.
John
met !
lier at the foot of the
stairs.
She
noticed with some sur
. iiri.se that lie
was wearing tin* dinner
jacket
and bit
lck ti»' of civilization.
"Will you come thi
: he begged. "Supper i,
Ile held open the do
rooms on the other sid»
; way, please?"
quite ready."
ir of one of the
of the hall, and
f she passed into a low dining room, dim
fly lit with shaded lamps. The elder
j brother rose from his chair as they en
tered, although his salutation was
j even grimmer than bis first welcome,
j lie was wearing a dress-coat of old
( fashioned cut, and a black stock, and
he remained standing, without any
j smile or word of greeting, until she
h(ul taken her seat. Behind his chair j
! stood a very ancient manservant in a !
[gray pepper-and-snlt suit, with a white
whose expression, at the entrance j
°f this unexpected guest, seemed eu- I
jriously to reflect the inhospitable in-(of
j stlncts of his master.
j The table was laid with all manner
of cold dishes, supplemented by others
upon the sideboard. There were pots
of jam and honey, a silver teapot and
silver spoons and forks of quaint de
sign, strangely cut glass, and a great
Dresden bowl filled with flowers.
"I am afraid." John remarked, "that
you are not used to dining at this hour.
Ste-jMy brother and I are old-fashioned in
jour customs. If we had had a little !
j longer notice—" j
( "I never in my life saw anything!
(that looked so delicious as your cold
chicken," Louise declared. "May I
have some—and some ham? I believe
i that you must farm some land your
! selves. Everything looks as if ir were
homemade or homegrown."
"We are certainly farmers." John ad
mitted, with a smile, "and I don't think
there is much here that isn't of our
own production. The farm buildings
are at some distance away from the
house. There is quite a little colony
at the back, and the woman who super
intends the dairy lives there. In the
house we are entirely independent of (
your sex. We manage, somehow or
other, with Jennings here and two j
boys." j
"You are not both woman-haters. I
hope?"
Her younger host flashed a warning
glance at Louise, but it was too late*.
Stephen had laid down his knife and
fork and was leaning in her direction.
"Madam," he intervened, "since you
have asked the* question, I will confess
j that I have never known any good
i come to a man of our family from tin*
friendship or service of women. Our
family history, if ever you should come
to know it, would amply justify my
brother and myself for our attitude to
ward your sex."
"Stephen !" John remonstrated, a
slight frown upon his face. "Need you
weary our gutest with your peculiar
views? It is scarcely polite, to say the
least of it."
The older man sa*, for n moment,
grim and silent.
"Perhaps you are right, brother." li**
admitted. "This lady did not seek our
i company, but it may interest tier to
(know that she is the first woman who
has crossed the threshold »ff I Val; Hall
[for a matter of six years."
Louise looked fr»>rn one to tin* other.
Hal£ incredulously.
"Do
you really
mean
ii V
Is that fit
i
orally
true?" she
- asked
[ John.
"Ab
solut ly,"
th»* y
man as
sured
her ; "but
please
n.*im
•mber that
; you are none the
less h
»art il
y welcoma
j here.
We have
few women
neighbors,
( anil intercourse
with
them
seems to
have slipped out of our lives. Tell rue.
how far have you come today, and
where did yon hope to sleep tonight?"
Louise h»»sitated for a moment. For
some reason or other, the question
seemed to bring with it some disturb
ing thought.
"I was motoring from Edinburgh.
J As regards fouit
| my mind,
| Kerala!. M
tcivsting r:
( went on.
had
1 rath
j-turn»
ittcr t
'Tell t
; her.
. feral.
It siiunds ox
Do you li V»
round?"
"My brother," ,(
not been farther i
est market town
hoped Vi r>.
is not at all an .
talk about," -
• «bout your i;
■t delightfully ps
lure* all the >c
.n
told her. "has
than the m-ar
iiearly twenty
years.
Her
mont.
"But you go to 1
"1 was there eig!
thon I hav
Carlisle er Kendai
near Kendal for
year—territorial tr
grew is und with nstouisli
:i sometimes?"
rs ago. Since
not been fnnher away than
1 go into camp
tret- weeks every
ning, you know."
how do y
lo you do
"But
What «
asked.
"Farm," he arts"
our daily occupatio;
ment we hunt, shoo
sons pass before "<
pass y
Ii your
air Utile
;i if ?" -la
•d. "Farming
Then for anno
• nd fish. The -•
know it."
li
ne
strangev
aimed cheeks and
if his form, then
• n-t agricultural a
iis appear ince. r l
.veil as intelligeno*
1 appraisingly
Not
at
Shi* opiin
:
| iin«*<!
one sill»*
(i.n.e i
iis prop.-;
j
• it i
s a very
i she sa
lid; "but
eotilpr
ciietisibie
s «iir.- ii uving a
nf-tiie-way corn»
John's lips \vt
Stephen once tin
"Life means a
of us, madam," 1
John
landing his >un
* splendid vigor
as nothing in the
I built Jiiss- manner or
•re was bum >r as
• ni his clear, gray
the books which
room were at
I Ids hobby.
. iife, no d >uht,"
luiw it seems i:i
ti'.ink of a man like
..ys >.n such an our
op?u to reply, but
intervened.
T.-rent thing to each
sa d sternly. "There
are many born with the lust for cities
and the crowded places in their hearts
born with the de-ire to mingle witii
their fellows, to absorb the convention
al vices oml virtues, to become one of
the multitude. It lias been different
(with us Strangevveys."
j Jennings, at n sign from his master,
! removed the tea equipage, evidently ,
(produced in honor of their visitor. '
j Three tail-stemmed glasses were
I placed upon rhe table, and a decanter
in-(of port reverently produced.
two into a fit of abstraction. Her eyes
were fixed upon th-- opposite wall,
from which, out of their faded frames,
a row of gritn-lookmg men and women,
startlingly like her two hosts, seemed
to frown down upon lier.
"Is that your father?" she asked,
moving her head toward one of the
portraits.
' My grandfather. John Strnngewey."
! Stephen told her.
j "Was he or.e of the wanderers?"
"He left Cumberland only twice
during his life. He was master of
Louise had fallen for a moment or :
hounds, magistrate, colonel in the yeo
manry of that period, and three times
refused to stand for parliament." j
"John Strange" * y !" Louise repeat-j
'cd softly to herself. *T was looking at ;
your family tree upstairs," she went i
on. "It is curious how both my mai»l j
and myself wore struck with a sense
of familiarity about the name, as if
we had heard or read something about
it quite lately."
Her words were almost carelessly
spoken, but -he was conscious of the
somewhat ominous silence which en
sued. Sin* glanced tip womleringiy
and intercepted a rapid look passing
between the* two men. More puzzled
than ever, -he turned toward John as
or an explanation. He had ri
sornewh
t* :•
*ruj
>ti y to h
is feet, and his
hand w
.s u
»Oil
the hue
k of li»*r
■hair.
"Will
it h»
di
tag eeal
le to you
if my
'•brother
saio
;ex
a pipe?
' he aske
1. "1
tri»-d to
hav
c our little
»'.rawing
room
prepare
! fox

U, but t
la* fire ha
- not
been lit
for
o i<
>iig that
the room.
I am
afraid, 1
s qti
te i
mpossib
e."
"Do b
*t rn
• sr
ay here
with you,
" she
begged.
' iirn
I
hope th
it both •>
you
will smoke.
1 a
»ii quite
used to i
John
whet
•led
Up i!t
easy eliai
r for
her. St
•pin
1, S
Iff and
upright, s
it on
the O?li
r sii
c o
f the he
irth. He
took
the tobii
.....,
:,i- .
uoi pipe
that his i
rntli
er hud
■»reu
gh*
him. and slowly
filled
the bow
"With
yoi
ir
•»■riiii'oii
>n. then.
mu
darn," In
• uni
1. u
s he stnn k a mat
ch.
Louis*
Stil
led
graciou
sly. Son
e iti
stirict. protiq
tod
her
stifle her
own
< ravin j
C ,.*
11 <•
garotte
and ket-j
her
littb
All ti
rout»!
and. ni»,
once mo
looking !
Old »USe
tim»- h<
the fuel
idea ia Imr pocket,
ye- were wandering
Suddenly sie- rose
-ur:
tie
table,
V of gl
Itll V
•rtrai■
"So that
i- von
■ g- i
Ifather?" -Ill
re
marked ti
> John
. V.'uo
had followed
lie
r. Is vo
t;r fur
In r no
here?"
He .-book
lav hc:i
i-1.
My fatli
»I s I
-rirait
was never
pu
inti-d."
■•t*;; th.
truth,
John,"
Stephen en
(joined, riling in his place and setting
'
a
,
led the lives Oral meant us to lead. t
down his pipe. "\V»* Strangewey»
were hillfolk and farmers, by descent
an*! destiny, for more than four hun
dred years. Our place is her«* upon
the land, almost among the clouds, and
those of u» who have realized it have
temp
Î into the
Not une
n « tj r mm
lere. The
low lands
brought holier up
piettnvs are not here. They are m
worthy to be here. '
M-pht-ll set down the eundh-ticks
in. ! returned to his place. Loui-i . "ith
her hands clasped behind her back.
gl
meed
toward
John, who still stood
by
her s
ide.
"Tell
me." she
is'keii hint, "have
m
lie of
vour pe<
Pie
who went out into
th
• worl
i dorn* w
ell
for Themselves?"
"Sear«
»•ly one,'
' hi
admitted.
Not
one,"
St»
then interrupted.
[adani
'' In* wa
nt on. turning toward
I.i
uise.
'lest my
W'l
Iconic to you this
o'.
ning
should ii
avi
seemed inhospita
hi
\ let
me ti
li
you this; Every
St
rangewey who
lia
s left our county.
at
d tro
Ition th.
• ii
iwmvard path of
failure.
UiS
so
tit th*- instance or
on
e of y
•nr so\.
TI
at is why those of
n'
who
inhorii
lu
family. spirit look
as
;anee
upon all
st r
mge wonn ii. That
is
why n
» woman
is »
ver welcome with
in
this 1
«•use."
i.Ollisi
r» Miln.'
1 he
r scat in tin- » a<y
air.
•I an
so sorry.
' she murmured.
lot
»king
lown at
h«*!
slipper. "1 . i,ulil
! lo
T help
br.a.-kiiu
do
wn here, could I?"
•Nor
•ould my
hr
tthcr fail to offer
Xi
a tin
hospital
rv
>f this roof," Ste
Vi
ea adt
uitted.
Th
• incident was un
f"
•tuiiat
■ but itn
•vit:
ible. it is a -nut
to
• for î
egn t th:
it w
»> have so little to
of!
or you
in the v
ay
of entertninnn-nt
Ii*
> r,»e
to his
]V v
'i'll»* floor had
«.{
and.
Jentllug
s v.
as standing there
\\ i
li a <
irnili st h
k upon a massive sil
w
• sal\
er. Be!
.inii
him was Aline.
•V
»»ti ar
• doubt!
•ss
fatigued by your
journey, madam," Stepln n concluded.
Louise made a little grimace, bur she
ros»* at once to her feet. Flic tinder
stood quite well that she was being
sent to bed. an«i she shivered a little
when she looked at th<- hour—lmrelv
ten o'clock. Yet it was all in keeping.
From the doorway she looked back in
to the room, in which nothing seemed
to bave been touched for centuries,
stood upon the threshold to hid her
btial good-night, fully conscious of ilu*
complete anachronism of her presence
there.
Her smile for Stephen was respectful
ilIu ^ dignity. As she glanced to
ward John. however, something
flashed in 1e r eyes and quivered at tin
corners of lier lips, something which
escaped her control, something which
made him grip for a moment the back
of the chair against which he stood.
j
;
i
j
Sv
itfTr.
Ni
m
N
0
It
n
/
m
"Those of Ug Who Inherit the Family
Spirit Look Askance Upon At*
Strange Women."
Tluei. between the old manservant,
who insisted upou carrying h»*r candle
to her room, and her maid, who walked
behind, she crossed th>* white stone
hall and stepped slowly up the broad
flight ol' stairs.
Louise has quite an interesting
little chat with John before she
resumes her journey, and in his
mind is awakened something
that hasn't been stirred for a
very long time,
ro i;t; * • »xtintku
Her Memory Faulty.
.She wa-» middle-aged, stylishly
•_'<»" ne»! and apparently sane. And -.(;»
\\:i- looking at tin* paintings in the
Corcoran (îaliery of Art through a.
gold-framed lorgnette, that dangled
from :i jev,ele»l gold chain.
Another woman was standing before
a canvas, and, in a desire for informa
tion, or. perhaps, for th** sak»„* of social
interchange, th<* lady of the lorgnette
inquired, affably ;
"Is that a picture of the death of
the Lord?"
"No, madam ; it represents the mar
tyrdom of St. Sebastian."
"Ah, I see. I have the poorest mem
ory. I knew that they killed the
Lord, of course, hut 1 dlsremembersA
j<>«t hovr."—Washington Star,

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