KEZIAH COFEIN
Josepk C. Lincoln
Author of'
Gij'Whitt aJceafo PUc«
Hlu«ivftiioß« hu
Ellsworth ‘Youn^
Copyritf&t.Sfof'by ZXAppleton 8- Compaq
BYNOPBIB.
Mr*. Kezlah Coffin, supposed widow, la
arranged to move from Trumet to Bos
ton, following the death of her brother,
for whom she had kept house. Kyan
Popper, widower, offers marriage, and Is
Indignantly refused. Cupt. Elkanah Dan
iels* leader of the Regular church offers
Kezlah a place as housekeeper for the
Ew minister, and she decides to remain
TYumet. Kezlah takes charge of Rev.
hn Ellery, the new minister, and gives
m advice as to his conduct toward
members of the parish. Ellery causes a
aensatlon by attending a ’’Come-outer*’
fleeting. Ellery’s presence Is bitterly re
lented by Eben Hammond, leader of the
fleeting. Grace apologizes for her
guardian and Ellery escorts her home In
•he rain. Capt. Nat Hammond. Eben’s
lon, becomes a hero by bringing the
jacket Into port safely through fog and
Jtorm. Ellery finds Kezlah writing a let
ter to Bomb one. Inclosing money In re
sponse to a demand. She Is curiously
Jtartled when Informed of the arrival of
/fat. Nat calls on Kezlah, and It devel
ops that they have been lovers since
*outh. Daniels remonstrnte* with Ellery
tor attending "Come-outer” meeting. El
ory Is caught by the tide and Is rescued
07 Nat. They become friends. Ellery
fleets Grace while walking In the fields.
And learn* that she walks there every
Sunday. The clergyman takes dinner
lundays with the Daniels. Annabel, the
captain’s daughter, exerts herself to
Sake an Impression on him. She no
ces with vexation his desire to got away
•vary Sunday at a certain time. She
watches him through a spy glass. Nat
again Importunes Kezlah to marry him.
He Bays he haa had a qva.rel with hla
father, who wants him to marry Grace.
Ellery aaks Grace to marry him. She
confesses that she loves him, but says
•he fears to displease her guardian. El
k.nah Daniels tells Eben about the meet
ings between Ellery and Orace. Eben
declares he will make Grace choose be
tween him and the preacher. Grace flnda
him In c. faint, following the excitement
ef Klkanah'a vlalt.
CHAPTER Xl.—(Continued.)
"Well, doctor?" übe asked anxiously.
Th« stout, gray-halred old physician
—be bad practiced In Trumet for near
ly thirty years—shook hie head.
-Not a single chance," he whispered.
“He may possibly live till morning,
bnt I doubt If he lasts an hour. It’s
bis heart. I've expected It at any
time."
Captain Nat was standing at the
door of the bedroom. Hla face waa
drawn and he bad seemingly grown
years older slnoe noon.
“He's come to himself, doc,” he
whispered. "He don’t remember how
It happened or anything. And he
wants us all. Why! why, Kezlah! are
you here? You can come In. too. I
know dad likee you and I guess—
Walt a minute; I'll ask him.” He
etepped back Into the bedroom. "Yee."
he nodded, returning, "you come. too.
He wants you."
The little room. Captain Eben'a own.
was more like a skipper's cabin than
a chamber on land. In the corner
stood the captain's big boots and his
oilskins hung about them. His Sun
day cane was there also. And on the
bureau waa a worn, heavy Bible
Dr. Parker brushed by the others
and bent over the bed.
"Well, cap'n,” he said cheerily,
"how's she headed? How are you feel
ing now?"
The old face on the pillow smiled
feebly.
"She's headed for home, 1 guess,
due,” said Captain Eben. -Bound for
hume, and the harbor light broad
abeam. I cal'late."
“Oh. no! you’ll make a good many
voyages yet."
"Not In this bulk, I won't, doctor. I
hope I'll have a new command pretty
■oun. I'm trustin' In my owners and I
guess they'll do the fair thing by me.
Halloo, Oracle, girl! Well, your old
uncle's on his beam ends, ain't he?”
Ilrace glanced fearfully at hla face.
When he spoke her name she shrank
back, aa If she feared what he might
aay. But he only smiled as, with the
tears streaming down her face, she
beat over and kissed him.
-There! there!" be protested. "You
mustn’t cry. What are you cryla*
about me for? I'm lit and ready for
the sea I’m goln' to gall." His eyes
wandered from his son to Mrs. Coflln.
For an Instant he seemed puziled.
Then be laid:
“ 'Evenln,' Kexlah. 1 don't know
hrhy you're here, but—”
*T beard that Grace waa alone and
that you was sick, Eben. So I come
right down, to help If I could."
"Thank ye. You’re a good-hearted
woman, Kezlah, even though you ain’t
seen the true light yet. And you're
louzekeeper for that hired priest—a—
Or—” He paused, and a troubled look
oame over bis face.
"What la It, dad?" asked Nat.
“I—l Where's Oracle? Bhe’s here,
ain't she?"
"Yet, uncle. I'm here. Here 1 am/'
■aid the girl. Hla fingers groped for
her band and seized lb
"Yes, yes. you're here," murmured
Captain Eben. “I—l—for a minute or
■o, I—l had an awful dream about you,
Oracle. I dreamed— Never mind.
Doc, answer me this now, true and
honest, man to man: Can you keep
me here for just a little spell longer?
Can you? Try) Ten minutes, say.
Can you?"
“Of course I can. Cap'n Hammond,
what are you—"
"Belay, I tell you. Yes, I guess 'twaa
a dream. It had to be, but 'twaa so
sort of real that I— How long have
I been this way?”
“Oh, a little while! Now Just-— 1 "
"Hush! Don't pull your hand away,
Oracle. Nat. give me yours. That's
lb Now I put them two hands to
gether. See, doctor? See, Kezlah?"
‘‘Don’t, uncle, don't!” pleaded Orace.
"Don't worr/- about me. Think of
yourself, please.”
‘‘S-sh-sh! Don't put me off. Just
listen. 1 want you to marry my boy,
after I'm gone. I want you to say you
will—say It now, go's I can hear lb
Will you, Oracle?"
Grace would have withdrawn her
hand, but he would not let her. He
clung to It and to that of his son with
all hla failing strength.
“Will you, Oracle?" he begged. "It’s
the last thing I’m goln' to ask of you.
I’ve tried to be sort of good to you.
In my way, and—"
"Don’t, don’t!" she sobbed. “Let me
think a minute, uncle, dear. Oh, do
let me think!”
“Won’t you aay It for me, Oracle?”
pleaded Captain Eben. She heßltated
no longer.
“Yes, uncle,” she answered through
tears, “If Nat wants me he can have
me.”
Kezlah clasped her hands. Captain
Eben s face lit up with a great joy.
"Thank the Almighty!" be ex
claimed. "Lord, Ido thank you Nat,
boy, you're conslder'ble older than Bhe
Is and you'll have to plan for her. You
be a good husband to her all her days,
won’t ye? Why, what are you waitin’
for? Why don’t you answer me?”
Nat groaned alouJ.
"A minute dad,” he stammered.
“Just give me a minute, for Heaven
sakes! Jtezlah —”
"Kezlah!" repeated Eben. "Kezlah?
What are you talkin’ to her for? She
knows there couldn't be no better
match In the world. You do know It,
don't ye. Kezlah?"
“Yes," said Kezlah slowly. “I guess
—1 guess you're right, Eben.”
‘‘Kezlah Coffin," cried Nat Ham
mond, “do you tell me to marry
Grace?”
"Yes, Nat, I—l think your father’s
rlghb”
"Then—then —what difference does
All right, dad. Just aa Orace says.”
“Thank God!” cried Captain Eben.
“Doctor, you and Mrs. Coflln are wit
nesses to this. There! now my decks
are clear and I'd better get ready to
land. Oracle, girl, tbe Good Book's
over there on tbe bureau. Read me a
chapter, won't you?”
An bour later Kezlab sat alone In
tbe dining room. She had Btolen away
when the reading began. Dr. Parker,
walking very softly, came to ber and
laid bis hand on ber shoulder.
"He's gone," be said simply.
CHAPTER XII.
In Which Kezlah Breaks the News
It was nearly live o'clock, gray dawn
of what waa to be a clear, beautiful
summer morning, when Kezlah softly
lifted tbe latch and entered tbe par
sonage. All nlgbt abe bad been busy
st tbe Hammond tavern. Busy wltb
the doctor and the undertaker, wbo
bad been called from bis bed by young
Hlgglna; busy with Orace, soothing
her, comforting he.* as best she could,
and petting ber t.s a mother might
pet a stricken cb-ld. Tbe poor girl
was on tbe verge of prostration, and
from hysterical spasms of sobs and
weeping passed to stretches of silent,
dry-eyed agony wllch were harder to
witness and much store to be feared.
“It Is all my fault," she repeated
over and over again. "All my fault!
“Kezlah Coffin I” Cried Nat Hammond,
“Do You Tall Mo to Marry Graoa?”
I killed him! I killed him. Aunt Ke
zlah! What shall I do? Oh, why
couldn't I have died Instead? It would
have been ao much better, batter for
everybody/’
Dr. Parker was very anxious.
“She must reit/' be told Mn. Cof
fin “She must, or her brain will give
way. I'm going to give her something
to make her aleep and you muat 'get
her to take It."
Bo Kezlah tried and, at last, Orace
did take the drug. In a little while
she was sleeping, uneasily and with
moans and aobblngg, but Bleeping, nev
ertheless.
“Now lt’a your turn, Kezlah/’ said
the doctor. “Yam go bom, new and
rest, yourself. W s don’t need yon sny
more Just now. .Now you go home.
You've bad a bard nlgbt, like the rest
of us.”
How bard he bad no Idea. And Ke
zlah, aa she wearily entered the par
sonage, realized that tbe morning
would be perhaps tbe hardest of all.
For upon her rested the responsibility
of seeing that the minister’s secret
was kept. And she, aDd no other,
must break the news to him.
Tbe dining room was dark and
gloomy. She lighted tbe lamp. Then
she beard a door open and Ellery's
voice, as be called down the stairs.
"Who is it?” be demanded. “Mrs.
Coflln?"
She was startled. “Yes," she said
softly, after a moment. "Yes, Mr. El
lery, It’s me.”
“It’s morning,” said the minister.
“Are you sick? Has anything hap
pened ?”
"Yea,” she answered slowly, “some
thin’ haß happened. Are you dressed?
Could you come down?”
He replied that he would be down
In a moment. When he came be
found her standing by the table wait
ing for him. The look of her face In
the lamplight shocked him.
'Why, Mtb. Coflln!” he exclaimed.
"What Is It? You look as if you had
been through some dreadful experi
ence."
Her heart went out to him. She
held out both her hands.
"You poor boy," she cried, "I’m try
ing to tell you one of the hardest
things a body can tell. Yes, Borne one
Is dead, but that ain't all. Eben Ham
mond, poor soul. Is out of his troubles
and gone.”
“Eben Hammond 1 Captain Eben?
Dead! Why, why—"
"Yes, Eben’s gone. He was took
down Budden and died about ten
o’clock last night. I was there and—”
“Captain Eben dead! Why, he waa
as well aa—as — She said— Oh, I
must go! I must go at once!”
He was on hi.--- way to the door, but
she held It shut.
"No," she said gravely, “you mustn't
go. John—you won’t mind me callin’
you John. I'm old enough, pretty nigh,
to be your mother, and I’ve come to
feel almost as If I was. John, you’ve
got to stay here with me. You can't
go to that house. You can't go to
her.”
“Mrs. Coflln. what are you saying?
Do you know— Have you— ’’
“Yea. I know all about It. I know
about tbe meetln’a In the pines and
all. Oh, why didn't you trust me and
tell me? If you had, all would have
been so much better!"
He looked at her In utter amaze
ment. Tbe blood rushed to his face.
"You know that?” he whispered.
“Yea, I know.”
“Did she tell—”
“NO, nobody told. That Is, only a
little. I got a hint and I susplcloned
somethin' afore. The reßt I saw with
my own eyea."
He was now white, but his Jaw shot
forward and his teeth clOßed.
“If you do know,” he said, "you
must realize that my place la with
her. Now, when she 1b In trouble—”
"It ain't the congregation, John,"
she said. “Nor Trumet, nor your min
istry. That means more'n you think
It does, now; but It ain't that You
mustn’t go to her because—well, be
cause she don’t want you to.”
"Doesn’t want me? I know better.”
He laughed In supreme scorn.
"She doesn’t want you, John. She
wouldn’t see you If you went She
would send you away again, sure, sar
tln aure. She would. And if you
didn't go when she sent you, you
wouldn't be the man I hope you are
John, you mustn't see Orace again.
She ain't yours. She belongs to some
one else.
“John, Orace Van Horne it goln' to
marry Cap’n Nat Hammond. .There!
that’s the livin' truth.”
She led him over to the rocking
chair and gently forced him Into It. He
obeyed, although with no apparent
realization of what he was doing. Still
with her hand on his shoulder she
went on speaking. She told him of
her visit to the Hammond tavern, say
ing nothing of Mr. Pepper's call nor
of ber own experience In the grove.
She told of Captain Eben's seizure, of
what tbe doctor said, and of the old
Come-Outer's return to consciousness.
Then she described the scene In the
sick room and how Nat and Orace had
plighted, troth. He listened, at first
stunned and stolid, then grow
ing Impatience.
“So you see,” she Bald. "It’s settled;
they’re engaged, and Dr. Parker will
tell everybody of the engagement this
very mori-ln. It wan't any great sur
prise to me. Those who have been
brought up together; 'twas tbe natu
ral thing that was almost bound to
happen. Eben’s heart was set on It
for years. And she'll have a good
husband, John, that I know. And she'll
do ber best to make him happy. He's
a good man and— '■
"But I know—“
"Do you suppose she would come
to you It she knew It would be your
ruin?"
He hesitated. The last time they
met, ajea before—no, only the previ
ous afternoon—she had told him It
was his happiness and hla future only
that she thought of He choked and
drew hla hand across his eyes.
“Mrs. Coflln,’’ he said, "you tell me
It will be her ruin. You tell me so.
You say she doesn't want me. I tell
you that the only thing that will keep
me from her Is hearing that from her
own lips. When she tells me to leave
her 1 will, and not before."
“Shell tell you, John; ehe'U tell you.
And I know Grace. She’s made up her
mind and won’t change It. But I do
ask you this; I ask you not to go now.
Wait a little while, do. I left her
asleep, worn out by what ahe’s been
through and under the effects of the
doctor's steepin' medicine. He said
She must rest sir be was afraid her
brain would give out. For her sake,
then, wait a little. Then, If you don't
hear from her, maybe I can arrange a
meetln' plaoe where you can see ber
without anyone's k.iowln’ It I'll try.
But do wait a little while, for her
sake, won’t you?”
At last he was listening and hesi
tating.
“Won't you?” begged Kezian.
"Yes," he answered slowly. "I’ll
wait I’ll wait until noon, somehow, If
I can. I’ll try. But not a minute
later. Not one. You don’t know what
you’re talking about, Mrs. Coffin."
"Yes, I do. I know well. And I
thank you for her sake.”
But he did not have to wait until
noon. At six o’clock, through the dew
soaked grass of the yard, came tbe
Hlggln» boy. For the first time In bis
short life he had been awake all night
and he moved slowly.
The housekeeper opened the door.
Ike held up an envelope, clutched In a
grimy hand.
"It’s for you, Mrs. Kezlah,” he said.
"Oracle she sent It. There ain’t no
answer."
Mrs. Coffin closed the door And tore
open the envelope. Within was an
other addressed. In Grace’s handwrit
ing, to Mr. Ellery. The housekeepet
entered the study, handed it to him
and turned away.
"Dear John,” wrote Grace. “I pre
sume Aunt Kezlah has told you of
uncle's death and of my promise tc
Nat. It Is true. 1 am going to marry
him. I am sure this Is right and for
tbe best. Our friendship was a mis
take and you must not see me again.
Please don't try.
"GRACE VAN HORNE.”
Beneath waa another paragraph.
“Don’t worry about me. I shall be
happy, I am sure. And I shall hope
that you may be. I shall pray for
that."
The note feil to the floor with a
“John, What Are You Going to Do?”
rustle that sounded loud In the still
ness. Then Kezlah heard the minis
ter’s step. She turned. He was mov
ing slowly across tbe room.
“John, what are you goln' to do?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know/'
he said. “Go away somewhere, first
of all. I guess. Go somewhere and—
and try to live It down. I can’t, of
course, but I must try."
She put out her band. “I know it’ll
be hard/' she said, “stayin’ here, I
mean. But your duty to others— ■“
“Don’t you think we've heard enough
about duty to others? How about my
duty to myself?"
"I guess that’s the last thing we
ought to think about In the world, If
we do try to be fair and square. Your
church thinks a heap of you, John.
They build on you. You’ve done more
In the little while you've been here
than Mr. Langley did In his last fifteen
years." *
"You’ve never been asked to sit
quietly by and Bee the one you love
more than all the world marry some
one else.”
"How do you know 1 ain't? How do
you know I ain't doin’ Juat that now?"
“Mrs. Coffin!”
“John Ellery, you listen to me. You
think I’m a homely old woman, prob
ably, set In my ways as an eight-day
clock. I guess I look like It and act
like 1L But 1 ain't so awful old—on
tbe edge of forty, that's all. And
when I was your age I wa'n’t so awful
homely, either. I had fellers aplenty
hsngtn’ round and I could have jnar
rled any one of a dozen. This ain't
boastin'; land knows I'm fur from
that. I was brought up In this town
and even when I was a girl at school
there was only one boy I cared two
straws about. He and I went to pic
nics together and to parties and every
where. Folks used to laugh and say
we was keepln’ comp'ny, even then.
"Well, when I was eighteen, after fa
ther died, I went up to New Bedford
to woik In a store there. Wanted to
earn my own way. And this youni
feller I’m tellln' you about went away
to sea, but every time he come home
from a voyage he come to see me and
things went on that way till we wai
promised to edeb other. The engage
ment wa'n’t announced, but 'Jwai so
Just the same. We'd have been mar
rled in another year. And then wt
quarreled.
" 'Twas a fool quarrel, same as that
kind gen’rally are. As much my fault
as his and as much his as mine, I cal'
late. Anyhow, we waa both proud, ot
thought we was, and neither would
give In. And he says to me, ‘You'll bs
sorry after I'm gone. You'll wish m«
back, then/ And says 1, bein’ a fool,
‘I guess not. There's other fish In th«
sea.' He tailed and I did wish him
back, but I wouldn't write fuat and
neither would he. And then come an
other man.”
Bhe paused, hesitated, and then ooa
tlnuad.
(TO NX CONTINUED.!
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WAS NO PLACE FOR LUCINY
Mammy Would Not Allow Daughter
to Stay Where Cooking Was Done
Without Human Agency.
Mammy Lou was visiting Lucindy.
The latter lifted a boiling pot off the
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covered it closely and pushed it under
the table.
"What’s yuh agoin’ t’ do wid dat
pot?”
“I’se a-goin’ to cook dem beans In
de fireless cooker.”
Mammy rose, a scared, hunted look
on her wrinkled face. “Does yuh
mean t* tell me yuh a-goin’ t* bile
dem beans without fiah?”
Lucindy nodded. Mammy backed
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TWO CARBUNCLES ON NECK
Veterans' Home, Napa Co., Cal. —“1
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Adv.
One at a Time.
She —When we are married, dear,
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He —Certainly, darling. But try to
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Evidently Wai.
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You can obtain a bottle at any drug
store for fifty cents or one dollar. The
latter size Is usually bought by fam
ilies who already know its value. Re
sults are always guaranteed or money
will be refunded.
If no member of your family has
ever used Syrup Pepsin and you
would like to make a personal trial
of It before buying It in the regular
way of a druggist, send your address
—a postal will do—to Dr. W. B. Cald
well, 203 Washington St., Monticello,
111., and a free sample bottle will be
mailed you.
Make the Liver
Do its Duty
Nine times in ten when the liver is
right the stomach and bowels are right.
CARTER’S LITTLE
LIVER PILLS
gently but firmly com-^ —
oel a lazy liver In Mill ll<
do its duty.
Cures ■ ?,XK!
stipation, In- lIVER
digestion, | PILLS.
Sick W*. ■
Headache,
and Distress After Eating.
SMALL PILL, SMALL DOSE, SMALL PRICB.
Genuine must bear Signature
Stiff Joints
Sprains,Bruizes
are relieved at once by an applica
tion of Sloan’s Liniment. Don’t
rub, just lay on lightly.
“ Sloan’n Liniment ban done more
good than anything I have ever tried
for ntiif joint*. 1 got my hand hart ao
badly that I had to stop work right In
the busiest time of the year. 1 thought
at tint that 1 would have to have my
hand taken otf, but 1 got a bottle of
Sloan'n Liniment and cured my hand."
Wii.toa Whekllr, Morrl* Ala.
Good for Broken Sinews
G. G. Jo.vu, Baldwin, L. L, write* t
—"1 used Sloan’n Liniment for broken
sinews above the knee cap caused by a
fall and to my great satisfaction waa
able to rename work In less than thro*
week* after the accident."
SLOANS
LINIMENT
Pine for Sprain
Mb. Hkmrt A. Voehl. 84 Somerset
St.. Plainfield, N. J. t writes : " A
friend sprained his ankle so badly
that It went black. He laughed when
I told him that I would have him oat
In a week. I applied Sloan’s Liniment
and In fonr days he was working and
said Sloan’s was a right good Lini
ment."
Sloan’s Book
on horses, oattla, V CjflVl
sheep and / ■ f|/
poultry sent free. G yU
Boston, Mma,|j|
J.v/
Darning on Your Sewing Machini
Attachment Me with fall directions. Stocking*
linens, clothing, nnderwser. Agent* Wanted.
Addreas. HENRY FRIEDENHEIT,
318 Culbertson Building. Oklahoma City. Oklo.
10 One specimens of rock and
Panama
FREE TO ALL SUFFERERS
If yon feel “oat of sorted—"ran down**or”*o! tbs
blues.’’sudor from kidney,bladder,nervous disease*
medical book ever written. It tolls nil aboat the**
and yon oan decide for yourself If Ittstbe remedy ftt*
roar allmenu. Don't send a oenu It s absolutely
FKM* No "follow-ap "circulars. Dr.LeClereMeX
Co.. Havers lock HU., Hampstead, l —toe, la*
BiK'