Vilas County news. [volume], October 14, 1908, Image 6

About Vilas County news. [volume] (Eagle River, Vilas County, Wis.) 1896-1927

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Continued.
‘Doctor, it is not true at all. That
is, I have a sort of trouble or pain,
but it is all over Eve. I have been
very unhappy about the loss of her
money and that has fretted me
greatly.’
‘I foresaw it would be lost.’
‘Yes it islost, but Eve shall he no
loser.’
‘Look here, Miss Jordan, a beautiful
face is like a beautiful song, charming
in itself, but infinitely better wilh an
ccompaniment.’
‘What do you mean, Mr. Coyshe?’
‘A sweet girl may have beauty and
jniability, but though these may be
excellent legs for the matrimonial
stool, a third must be added to pre
vent an upset, and that—metallic.’
Barbara made no reply. The auda
city and impudence of the young sur
geon took the power, to reply from her.
‘You have not given me that fiddle,
said Coyshe.
T am not sure you will carry it
carefully,’ answered Barbara; never
the less she resigned it to him.
'When you part from me let the boy
have it. I will not ride into Morwell
cumbered with it.’
‘A doctor,’ said Coyshe, ‘if he is to
succeed in his profession, must be en
dowed with instinct as well as science.
A cat does not know what ails it, but
it knows when it is out of sorts; in
stinct teaches it to swallow a blade
of grass. Instinct with us discovers
the disorder, science points out the
remedy. I may say without boasting
that I am brimming with instinct—
you have had a specimen or two —and
I have passed splendid examinations,
so that testifies to my science. Beer
Alston cannot retain me long, my
proper sphere is London. I under
stand the Duke has heard of me,
and said to someone whom I will not
name, that if I come to town he will
introduce me. If once started on the
rails I must run to success. Now 1
want a word with you inconfidence,
Miss Jordan. That boy is sufficiently
in the rear not to hear. You will be
mum, I trust?’
Barbara slightly nodded her assent.
I confess to you that I have been
struck with your sister, Miss Eve.
Who oould fail to see her and not be
come a worshipper? She is a radiant
star: I have never seen anyone so
beautiful, and she is as good as she is
beautiful.’
‘lndeed, indeed she is,’ said Barbara,
aarnestly.
‘Montecuculli said,’ continued the
surgeon, ‘that in war three things are
necessary: money; secondly, money;
thirdly, money. In love it is the
same. We may regret it, but it is un
deniable.’
Barbara did not know what to say.
The assurance of the young man im
posed on her; she did not like him
particularly, but he was superior in
culture i*. most of the young men she
knew, who had no ideas beyond hunt
ing and shooting.
After a little while of consideration,
she said, ‘Do you think you would
make Eve happy?’
‘I am sure of it. I have all the in
stincts of the familyman in me. A
man may marry a score of times and
be father of fifty children, without in
stinct. developing the special features
of domesticity. They are born in a
man, not acquired. Pater-familias
nascitur. non fit.’
Have you spoken to my father?’
‘No, not yet; I am only feeling my
wav. I don’t mind telling you what
brought me into notice with the Duke.
He was 311 last autumn when down at
Endsleigh for the shooting, and his
physician was sent for. I met the doc
tor at the Bedford Inn at Tavistock;
some of us of the faculty had an even
ing together, and this Grace’s condi
tion was discussed, casually ot course.
I said nothing. We were smoking
and drinking rum and water. There
was something in his Grace’s condi
tion which puzzled his physician, and
he clearly did not understand how to
treat the case. I knew. I have in
stinct. Some rum had been
spilled on the table; I dipped the end
of my pipe in it. and scribbled a pre
scription on ihe mahogany. I saw
the eye of the doctor on it. I have
reason to believe he used my remedy.
It answered. He is not ungrateful. I
say no more. A city set on a hill can
not be hid. Beer Alston is a bushel
covering a light. Wait.’
Barbara said nothing. She rode on.
deep in thought. The surgeon jogged
at her side, his protruding water-blue
eyes peering in all directions.
’You think your sister will not be
penniless?’ he said.
Tam certain she will not. Now
that my aunt has provided for me.
Eve will have Morwell after my
father’s death, and I am sure she is
welcome to what comes to me from
n.v aunt till then.’
’Halt!’ exclaimed the surgeon.
Barbara drew rein simultaneously
with Mr. Coyshe.
'Who are you there, watching, fol
lowing us. skulking behind bushes and
hedges?’ shouted Coyshe.
’What is it?’ asked Miss Jordan,
surprised and alarmed.
EVE
BY
S. BARING GOULD
The surgeon did not answer, but
raised to his shoulder a stick he car
ried.
‘Answer! Who are you? Show your
self, or I fire!’
‘Doctor Coyshe,’ exclaimed Barbara,
forbear in pity!’
‘My dear Miss Jordan,’ he said in a
Jow tone, ‘set your mind at rest. 1
have only an umbrella stick, of which
all the apparatus is blown away ex
cept the catch. Who is there?’ be
cried, again presenting his stick.
‘Once, twiceP —click went the catch.
I f I call three and fire, your blood be
on your own head!’
There issued in response a scream,
piercing in its shrillness, inhuman in
its tone.
Barbara shuddered, and her horse
plunged.
A mocking burst of laughter ensued,
and then forth from the bushes into
the road leaped an impish boy, who
drew a bow over the catgut of a fid
dle under his chin, and ran along be
fore them, laughing, leaping, and
evoking uncouth and shrill screams
from his instrument.
‘A pizy,’ said the surgeon. ‘I knew
by instinct one was dodging us.
Fortunately I could not lay my hand
on a riding whip this morning, and so
took my old umbrella stick. Now,
farewell. So you think Miss Eve will
have Morwell, and the matrimonial
stool its golden leg? That is right.’
CHAPTER XV.
At The Quay.
On the day of Barbara’s departure
Eve attended diligently to the duties
of the house, and found that every
thing was in such order that she was
content to believe that all would go
on of its own accord in the old way,
without her supervision, de
clined next day, and was pretermitted
on the third.
Jasper did not appear for mid-day
dinner; he was busy on the old quay.
He saw that it must be put to rights.
The woods could be thinned, the cdp
pice shredded for bark, and bark put
on a barge at the bottom of the almost
precipitous slope, and so sent to the
tanyards at Davenport. There was
waste of labor in carrying the bark up
the hills and then carting it to Beer
Ferris, some ten miles.
No wonder that, as Mr. Jordan com
plained, the bark was unremunefative.
The profit was eaten up by the waste
lul transport. It was the same with
the timber. There was demand for
oak and pine at the dockyards, and
any amount was grown in the woods
of Morwell.
So Jasper asked leave to have the
quay put to lights, and Mr. Jordan
consented. He must supervise pio
ceedings himself, so he remained the
greater part of the day by the river
edge. The ascent to Morwell House
was arduous if attempted directly up
the steep fall, long if he went by the
zigzag through the wood. It would
take him a stiff three quarters of an
hour to reach the house and half-an
hour to return. Accordingly he asked
that his dinner might be sent him.
On the third day, to Eve’s dismay,
she found that she had forgotten to
let him have his food, both that day
and the preceding. He had made no
remark when he came back the day
before. Eve’s conscience smote her
a convalescent left for nine or ten
h. urs without food.
When she recalled her promise to 1
send it him she found that there was!
no one to send. In shame and selt
reproach, she packed a little basket,
and resolved to carry it to him The
day was lovely. She put her broad
brimmed straw hat, trimmed with for
get-me-not bows, on her head, and
started on her walk.
The bank of the Tamar falls from
high moorland many hundreds of feet
to the water’s edge. In some places
the rocks rise in sheer precipices wiSi
gullies of coppice and heather between
them. Elsewhere the fall is less
abrupt, and allows trees to grow, and
the ricTfcess of the soil and the friable
nature of the rock allows them to
grow to considerable dimensions.
From Morwell House a long detour
through beautiful forest, affording
peeps of mountains and water, gave
the easiest descent to the quay, but
Eve reserved this road for the ascent,
and slid merrily down the narrow
corkscrew path in the brushwood be
tween the crags, which afforded the
quickest way down to the water’s
edge.
‘Oh, Mr. Jasper!’ she exclaimed.
‘I have sinned, through my forgetful
ness; but see, to make amends, I have
brought you a little bottle of papa’s
Burgundy and a wee pot of red cur
rant jelly for the cold mutton.’
‘And you have come yourself to
overwhelm me with a sense of grati
tude.’
Oh. Mr. Jasper. I am so ashamed of
my naughtiness. I assure you I nearly
cried. Babt—T mean Barbara —would
never have forgotten. She remem
bers everything. Her head is a per
fect store-closet, where all filings are
in place and measured and weighed
and on their proper shelves. You
had no dinner yesterday.’
‘To-day’s is a banquet that makes
up for all deficiencies.’
Eve liked Jasper; she had few to
converse with, very few acquaintan
ces, no friends, and she was delighted
to be able to have a chat with anyone,
especially if that person flattered her
—and who did not? Everyone natur
ally offered incense before her; she
almost demanded it as a right. The
Tamar formed a little bay umSer a
J wall of rock. A few ruins marked the
site of the storehouses and boatsheds
of the abbots. The sun glittered on
the water, forming of it a blazing mir
ror, and the dancing light was re
flected back by the flower-wreathed
rocks.
¥
‘Where are the men?’ asked Eve. •
‘Gone into the wood to fell some
pines. We must drive piles into the
I bed of the river, and lay beams on
.them for a basement.’
‘Oh,’ said Eve listlessly, ‘I don’t un
derstand about basements and all
that.’ She seated herself on a log.
‘How pleasant it is here with the
flicker of the water in one's face and
eyes, and a sense of being without
! shadow! Mr. Jasper, d 0 you believe
in pixies.’
‘What do you mean, Miss?’
‘The little imps who live in the
mines and on she moors, and play mis
chievous tricks on mortals. They
have the nature of spirits, and yet
they have human shapes, and are like
old men or boys. They watch treas
ures and veins of ore, and when mor
tals approach the mental, they decoy
the -trespassers away.’
‘Like the lapwing that pretends to
be wounded, and so lures you fr<An its
precious eggs. Do you believe iu
pixies?’
Eve laughed and shook her pretty
head. ‘I think so, Mr. Jasper, for I
have seen one’
‘What was he like?’
’I do not know, I only caught glimp
ses of him. Do not laugh satirically
lam serious. I did see something,
but I don’t know exactly what I saw.
‘That is not a very convincing rea
son for the existence of pixies.’
Eve drew her little feet together,
and folded her arms in her lap, and
smiled, and tossed her head. She
had taken off her hat, and the sun
glorified her shining head.
Jasper looked admiringly at her.
‘Are you not afraid of a sunstroke.
Miss Eve?’
‘O dear no! The sun cannot harm
me. I love him so passionately. O
Mr. Jasper! I wish sometimes I lived
far away in another country where
there are no wet days and grey skies
and muggy atmospheres, and where
the hedges do not drip, and the' lanes
do not stand ankle deep in mud, and
the old walls exude moisture indoors,
and one’s pretty shoes do not go
mouldy if not wiped over daily. I
should like to be in a land like Italy,
where all the people sing and dance
and keep holiday, and the bells in the
towers are ever ringing, and the lads
have bunches of gold and silver flow
ers in their hats, and the girls have
scarlet skirts, and the village musi
cians sit in a cart adorned with birch
branches and ribands and roses, and
the trumpets go t.u-tu! and the drums
bung-bung!—l have read about it,
and cried for vexation that I was not
there.’
'But the pixy?’
‘I would banish all pixies and black
Copplestones and Whish hounds; they
belong to rocks and moors and dark
ness and storm I hate gloom and iso
lation.’
‘You are happy at Morwell, Miss
Eve. One has but to look in your
face and see it. Not a crabbed Hine of
care, not the track of a tear, all
smoothness and smiles.’
The girl twinkled with pleasure, and
said, ‘That is because we are in mid
summer; wait till winter and see what
becomes of me. Then lam sad
enough. We are shut in for five months
NO CHANCE.
Natlca—Had any serious love affairs yet?
Natalie—No. and 1 never will have here. Why, the water In the creek Isn’t
ever four feet deep anywhere. How can a girl get beyond her depth and be rea
ched in such a puddle aa that?
—six months—seven almost, by mud
and water. O, how the winds howl!
How the trees toss and roar! How
the rain patters! That is not plea
sant. I wish, I do wish, I were a
squirrel; then I would coil myselt in
a corner lined with moss, and crack
nuts in a doze till the sun came again
and woke me up with the flowers.
Then I would throw out all my
cracked nutshells with both paws, and
leap to the foot of a tree, run up it,
and skip from branch, and swing in
the summer sunshine on the topmost
twig. O, Mr. Jasper, how much wiser
than we the swallows are! I would
rather be a swallow than a squirrel,
and sail away when I felt frost to the
land of eternal summer, into the blaz
ing eye of the sun.’
‘But as you have no wings ’
‘I sit and mope and talk to Barbara
about cows and cabbages, and to
father about any nonsense that comes
into my head.’
‘As yet you have given me no de
scription of the pixy.’
‘How can I. when I scarce saw him?
I will tell you exactly what happened,
if you will not curl up the corner of
your lips, as though mocking me
That papa never does. I tell him all
the rhodomontade I can, and he lis
tens gravely, and frightens and
abashes me sometimes by swallowing
it whole.’
‘Where did you see, or not see, the
pixy?’
‘On my way to you. I heard some
thing stirring in the wood, and I half
saw what 1 took to be a boy, or a
little man the size of a boy. When I
stood still, he stood; when I moved. I
fancied he moved. I heard the
crackle of sticks and the stir of the
bushes. I am sure of nothing.’
‘Were you frightened?’
‘No; puzzled, not frightened. If this
had occurred at night, it would have
been different. I thought it might
have been a red-deer; they are here
sometimes, strayed from Exmoor, and
have such pretty heads and soft
eyes; but this w r as not. I fancied
once I saw a queer little face peering
at me from behind a pine tree. I
uttered a feeble cry and ran on.’
‘I know exactly what it was,’ said
Jasper, with a grave smile. ‘There
is a pixy lives in the Raven Rock; he
has a smithy far down in the heart of
the cliff, and there he works all win
ter at a vein of pure gold, hammering
and turning the golden cups and
marsh marigolds with which to strew
the pastures and watercourses it*
spring. But it is dull for the pixy
sitting alone without light; he has no
one to love and care for him, and,
though the gold glows in his forge, his
little heart is cold. He has been
dreaming all winter of a sweet fairy
he saw last summer wearing a crown
of marigold, wading in cuckoo flow
ers, and now he has come forth to cap
ture that fairy and drawn her down
into his stony palace.’
‘To waste her days,’ laughed Eve,
‘in sighing for the sun, whilst her
roses wither and her eyes grow dim,
away from the twitter of the birds and
the scent of the gorse. He shan’t
have me.’ Then, after a pause, dur
ing which she gathered some mari
golds and put them into her hat, she
said, half seriously, half jestingly, ‘Do
you believe in pixies?’
‘You must not ask me. I have seen
but one fairy in all my life, and she
now sits before me.’
‘Mr. Jasper.’ said Eve. with a dim
ple in her cheek, in recognition of the
compliment,—‘Mr. Jasper, do you know
my mother is a mystery to me as
much as pixies and fairies and white
ladies?’
‘No, I was not aware of that.’
‘She was called, like me, Eve.’
I had a sister of that name who is
dead, and my mother’s name was Eve.
She is dead.’
‘I did not think the name was
so common/ and the girl, I
Veils Must Match Tall Hats
This to be a story of veils and
dainty neckwear —two accessories
which tend to make lovely woman
lovelier.
There is a charming old legend
wherein it is said that the idea of
veils was conceived one evening at
sunset by a woman who sat on the
brow of a hill watching the clouds as
they drifted. As the billows of rose
and amber and softest gray floated
softly by she watched them as they
broke and, spreading, grew long and
filrvy in appearance, and the thought
came to her, “I might be the most
beautiful woman in the world if I
could only shroud my head and
shoulders in clouds like that.”
The thought, once born, grew rap
idly. The woman gathered into her
house many women and they toiled
and spun until at last they succeeded
in weaving a web as filmy as a sun
set cloud. Then experiments were
made with dyes, and finally one
night the woman seated herself in
her room, which was piled with
mounds and billows of beautiful
veils. She wound them, one by one,
about her head and shoulders, pink
veils, gray veils, amber veils, and
each one was more beautiful than the
last.
At last, in a mist of filmy rose
color, she ran out and called her
neighbors to come and see. Coming,
they saw and envied and desired,
and as for a woman to desire is to
have, veils came into vogue and have
ever since been a most important fac
tor in feminine wearing apparel.
Contrasts are not Permitted.
This season veils will be worn to
match the hats. Indeed, women will
be most particular that this is the
case. They will not allow a shade of
difference. Manufacturers, therefore,
must conform to the requirements by
putting out veilings in the latest
shades as well as in the black and
white and staple colors. There must
be wistaria veils, and sand colored
veils, and veils of taupe in order to
please the fastidious woman of 1908.
The butterfly veil will be worn with
the larger hats. It is gathered on
teither silk elastic or narrow baby rib
bon around the crown of the hat. The
lower edge of the veil is gathered on
to something like a glove elastic,
only wider, and two satin ribbons are
fancied we were the only two Eves that
ever were. I do not know what my
mother’s other name was. Is not that
extraordinary?’
Jasper Babb made no reply.
‘I have been reading "Undine.’
Have you >read tthat istory? O, it
has made me so excited. The write.'
says that it was founded on what he
read in an old author, and that author,
Paracelsus, is one papa believes in.
So, I suppose, there is some truth in
the tale. The story of my mother is
quite like that of Undine. One night
my father heard a cry on the moor,
and he went to the place, and found
my mother all alone. She was with
him for a year and a day, and would
have stayed longer if my father could
have refrained from asking her name.
When he did that she was forced to
leave him. She was never seen again,'
’Miss Eve, this cannot be true.’
‘I do not know. That is what old
Betsy Davy told me. Papa never
speaks of her. He has been an al
tered man since she left him. He
put up the stone cross on the moor at
the spot where he found her. I like
to fancy there was something mys
terious in her. I can’t ask papa, and
Bab was —I mean Barbara —was too
young at the time to remember any
thing about it.’
'This is very strange.’
‘Betsy Davy says that my father
was not properly married to her, be
cause he could not get a priest to per
form the ceremony without knowing
what she was.’
‘My dear Miss Eve, instead of lis
tening to the cock-and bull stories ’
‘Mr. Jasper! How can you—how
can you use such an expression? The
story is very pretty and romantic, and
not at all like things of this century.
I dare say there is some truth in it.
‘I am far from any intention of of
fending you, dear young lady; hut I
venture to offer you a piece of advice.
Do not listen to 'die tales; do not en
courage people of a lower class to
speak to you about your mother; ask
your father what you want to know,
he will tell you; and take my word
for it, romance there always must be
in love, but there will be nothing of
what you imagine, with a fancy set on
fire by “Undine.” ’
Her volatile mind had flown else
where.
i]\tr. JaspeiV she ,sa. ; d, ‘have you
ever been to a theater?’
‘Yes.’
‘O, I should like it above everything
else. I dream of it. We have Inch
bald’s “British Theater’’ in the library,
and it is my dearest reading. Barbara
likes a cookery book or a book on
farming; I cannot abide them. Do
you know what Mr. Coyshe said the
other day when I was rattling on be
fore him and papa? He said I had
missed my vocation, and ought to
have been on the stage. What do you
think?’
‘I think a loving and merciful Pro
vidence has done best to put such a
precious treasure here where it can
best be preserved ’
‘I don’t agree with you at all,’ said
attached at the ends of the back.
When tied the face of the wearer of
v the veil looks as if it were in a butter
fly net.
The small, thickly scattered che
nille dot is going to be worn again,
but probably will not be so much in
favor as the larger dots. Large dots
are supposed to have a peculiarly co
quettish and becoming tendency, and,
despite the fact that they are injuri
ous to the eyes, women will wear
them.
Veils for second mourning are made
of Tosca and Brussels nets, and in
many cases of regular veiling nets.
They are a yard and a quarter long
and from sixteen to eighteen inches
wide, bordered at the ends from one
to four rows. The veils fall over the
face and are gracefully draped at the
back of the hat.
Ruche and “Ruff” Neckwear.
Neckwear this year runs to the
ruche and the “ruff.” Anything which
will stand out will be popular. Nets
and molines are extremely popular,
as are batiste and ribbons edged with
net.
The latest things in jabots are built
on the order of the fan. They are nar
row at the neck and flare out gradual
ly in accordion plaits or tiny tucks
or dainty rufllings. To be strictly
truthful, however, it may be said that
anything lacy or fluffy is correct in
the fancy neckwear —provided that it
is clean.
Tailored neckpieces maintain their
customary severity. Now and then
you come across one that has added
a touch of frivolity but the general
tendency is for the tailored collar
to remain a tailored collar and
eschew anything which pertains to
the frivolous.
There will be seme linen and em
broidered collars, but not many.
Dutch collars will be worn by young
girls, but women will not find much
use for them. In fact, for the really
up to date woman there will be little
chance for separate collars, as her
dresses will be made all in one piece
and her blouses will be few and also
have collars attached. Many women,
however, will cling in spite of every
thing to the convenient shirt waist
and for these women a knowledge of
the latest neckwear is a necessity.
Eve, standing up. ‘I think Mr. Coy
she showed great sense. Anyhow, 1
should like to see a theater —O, above
everything in the world! Papa thinks
of Rome or the Holy Land; but I say
—a theater. I can’t help it; I think,
it, and must say it. Good-bye! I have
things my sister left that I must at
tend to. I wish she were back. Oh,
Mr. Jasper, do not you?’
‘Everyone will be pleased to wel
come her home.’
Because I have let everything go
to sixes and sevens, eh?’
‘For her own sake.’
‘Well, I do miss her dreadfully, do
not you?’
He did not answer. She cast him
another good-bye, and danced off into
the wood, swinging her hat by the
blue ribands.
To be continued.
The Cost of a Calf.
In an experiment to ascertain the
cost of raising a calf, Prof. Shaw, of
Michigan station, took a dairy calf
and kept an accurate account of the
expense of feeding for one year from
its birth. The amount of feeds used
in that time were 381 pounds of whole
milk, 2,568 pounds of skim milk, 1,26 i
pounds of silage, 219 pounds of beet
pulp, 1,254 pounds of hay, 1,247 pounds
of grain, 147 pounds of roots, 14
pounds of alfalfa meal and 50 pounds
of green corn. The grain ration con
sisted of three parts each of corn and
oats and one part of bran and oil
meal. At the end of the year the calf
weighed 800 pounds at a cost of $28.55
for feed. The calf was a Holstein
Rural Press.
Pla n but Sufficient.
The late Josiah W. Leeds of Phil
adelphia was notable for his lifelong
fight against immodesty. Mr. Leeds
reformed the theatrical poster, be
elevated painting, and in a number oi
cases he even succeeded in having
nude statuary draped.
He loved simplicity as he loved
modesty. Ostentation he abhorred —
especially the ostentation of funerals
and cemeteries. He used often to
quote an epitaph that he had once
seen in a secluded graveyard.
This epitaph, which was cut on the
simplest, cheapest stone it is possi
ble to Imagine, said;
“The monument is very plain, no
doubt, but all the money in the world
would not have brought our poor dear
father back to us again.’’
Sincere.
“Sir,” said the young man respect
fully. “I am a poor man and you are
a millionaire. It seems presumptious
in me, no doubt, to aspire to the hand
of your daughter. But my love for her
Is so great that I cannot be stopped
by such considerations. Love scorns
conventions and conveniences. Ah,
sir, will yon give her to me?”
The old magnate seemed Interested.
“But which of my four daughters do
you want?” he asked, not unkindly.
Eagerly, the suitor made answer;
“Oh, I’ll leave that to you, sir!”—
Cleveland Leader.