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THE BABY'S BED.
mast have n crAdlc," The fair yotma mother sAid "He rmi^t h»-ve a place of his ytSTjr Tc u«*tlc liis precious head hlutll have a downy pillow. And a oo»»rl«t soft and whiU% Aad the latticc work shall In- Wh.io wqtW With ribbons dainty and bright" "Oh. yes be uiilht have !i rrailltil" Tbe proad yonng father krM, Aa he smoothed with (rtniuVuit* fixtfera Ti prettj, euri nevrtui liv&tb "He will take a world of eouifrwT. An he slowly, sleepily »\vinu&. Half waking ami half dreaming, his mother nx'kM him and stag*." So planned the fond younsr But jwirceta. As they matched their darling'* grace— Te( they di 1 not buy a eratllo K«»r i lie resting pin/* they hoi ^ht a liny ca»k»t A» white fu th« drifted snow. And tbeir hearts wore well nigh brakes With a sudden weight of woo. And they lail the beautiful baby In a icd of hi* very own. And strewed it with nrnilux and tlttos. And rocee white and half Mown: A ixl 1 lis pillow w i* .»ofi umi tluwny. The Moec-e-im eoven 1 his lirr-aat, And he slept and needed no rocking To deepen Uis quiet r*wt. -Lillian Grey in Good IIotHtktefiai. LIVING IN PAPER BAGS. jNr he's going to marry Yum-Yarn, He's going to marry Yum-Yum, Yum-Yma, He's going to marry Yam-Yarn. This last note is drawled ont in a mis erable attempt at a profound ba»? by the frashest, aweetest, clearest voice in the world, and is followed by a ml very peal of laughter bo like a bird's joyous trill that for a moment I am inclined to think it is only a continuation of the chorus of the little »ongstirB that have lieen Hinging outside my window all morning. Uot a moment's reflection convinces mo otherwise, and I rise slow ly from my desk, where I have been straggling all morning with a perplex ing account book, and glance out of mv window in the direction whence the sound proceeds. It is one of tho loveliest, sunniest May days. The sky is cloudless—bine. Tho orchard ia powdered with snowy apple blossoms, which last night's rain has washed from the trees, and standing un der them, rifling them of their remain ing glories, are my sister Genevieve and her devoted lover, Charley Somers. This young man has been, to use Uie house maid's expression, "hanging around" Vieve for many months, and while he is not particularly brilliant nor particular ly wise, he is good and kind, and what is more—at least to us in onr financial em barrassments—rich. Vieve has many admirers, for she is lovely and winsome, but willful in the extreme. At present her choice seems to waver between this young man and another—a Professor .Moore, in our col lege—which college is the pride and de light of our- village. The latter met Genevieve last season at a famous water ing placc, whither she had been taken by one of onr friends, a gay, worldly woman who delights to act as chaperon to lovely young girls, as an excuse for mingling in the gayeties of euch places herself, and then when the season is over"allows them to drift back to their quiet, dull country homes and narrow, sordid lives. Whether this is a wise or useful experi ence for vonng girls I very much doubt, but at any rate it has not 8j»iled lJ* no vieve. She comes back to us fresh and gay and smiling as ever takes up the old burdens with only an occasional ont bmik when some pressing economy ia needed, or something which she considers especially mean has to be done because there is no money with which *o do better. We are very poor. My mother died when Vieve was three years old and our brother still a baby. Tome these chil dren are my life. For their dear sake* no sacrifice is too great. Our old coun try home is lovely and comfortably fitted up, but when my father died, five years ago, we found ourselves almost destitute, with only the barest pittance for an in come. This I am trying bravely to eke out until our boy is old enough to put his shoulder to th6 wheel. Anything to keep the old home together and kwp my lovely young sister under my wing, rather than send her out, in her beauti ful freshness, to labor for her daily bread and grow hardened in so doing. We have the most, absurdly ridiculous nicknames. I was christened Elauor in the delusive hope, 1 suppose, that 1 would grow up into a tall, stately princess, to do credit and honor to tho house. But, alas* like many human hopes—all vain! To tiie whole neighborhood Miss Elanor West 'Wily a dtuupv, stout little spin Str- glasses awry on her nose and an criasting account book in her hand. Later in life Genevieve dnbbed me Eve, because of my inordinate curioHity-- still later Adam, because, she asserted laugh ingly, I had the curiosity of Eve and Adam combined. So this latter has grown to be my constant appellation. We have all sorts of quaint names for her. The boy was christened Ethclbert, tat in my younger days, acting as a mother to him, I called him "Treasure" mostly. This soon shortened into "Trtdge" in our familiar, affectionate way so Tredge he is, and Tredge he Will be to the end of the chapter. GLiucing out of the window 1 see "Vteve and Mr. Somers sauntering slowly t«l*rard the house. She is bright and gay—he, m»»ody and det^perate looking, Vi^ve swings Iter broad hat carelessly on her arm, and I see that tile wicked door, while he up»*u me a^ ourte ojw, cv^t—vxry euol—gxxl morning XW Kl.t nor." .-hornI-* ont through tbe gat". 0»i»Ti!'Vi rnshw in with i twi^teiott* w*old not, Ad—1 could uot be mean I and small, you know." She throws herself at my feet, her head upon my knees, know her eyes wander ing out to the orchard, where, evidently, a very tragic st one has taken place. She goes on hurriedly: •I I suid if Charley Somers erer proposed to me again I would accept. 1 know I said I was tired of this pinchimr life—for" tiraidly, "you know it is piiK ',• ing. Ad, dear. 1 know I said I had liea of the great incou vouience of living in trunks—I tried that last season in tin mountains even the lesser inconvenience of living in bureau drawers. I know li said last week, when I came home from Mi's. Graham's, with here]e£„,it, artisan hoiuse and pantries .sto Ut*! literal!) overflowing with the good things of lifV —I said 1 could not endure living in papei bags any longer—I know I did but, Ad, when Charley today offered me his hand —full, yes, full, Ad, of every comfort and luxury- somehow," she says, hesi tatingly, "1 could uot. I don't know why, but 1 couldn't." "Well, dear," I don't "All light," I say, teasingly, "but take care you never want any Moore." "Adam!" she says, sternly shaking her finger at me as she rises, with the faint est blush upon her face, "if yon are evetf guilty again of such an execrable pun I shall bring Charley right in and make you marry him offhand, to savo our fam ily honor, and, better, our credit!" The next evening, as it is growing dusk, I am sitting on the front piazza amid clustering vines, whose fragrant blooms are bending them down, waiting for Vieve to come home from dress parade on College Hill. The moon is slowly rising, aud I know she has wan dered into a walk with some one of her fervent devotees, and will likely come home with another victim dangling at her heels. I have scarcely thought this until I see her approoching—with two victims—Mr. Soiuers and Geoffry Moore. How she has inveigled Charley into her toils again, aft|^ yesterday's exploit, 1 cannot imagine—but there he is, and to him she is chatting gaylv, glibly, almost ignoring tho stately professor who walks gravely beside them. I cannot shut my eyes to the difference between these men, though one is rich, the other poor. Alas! that I have grown so mercenary and little—even over the question of my dfttling's heart! The one—gay, debonair. but shallow. The other—noble, manly, such a sure, safe protector and guide for my wayward Genevieve but then, those little, cramping ills of poverty! The night is so lovely that they sit down beside yn reply slowly, love him" "That's it, Adam,"shosays, positively, "I don't aud can't so, dear old Ad, it's paper bags a little longer." "All right dear," I say meeldjr "if you feel that way, but—if yon eouM, you know—of course, only if me on the piazza, aud now —sure that she has snared her bird safely again—she turns the battery of her irre sistible forces upon the professor, and is provoking, bewitching, exasperating, all in one breath. In some way the conver sation turns upon rank and wealth aud their advantages. "1 shall never marry except for love. of course," she says "but then 1 never could love any one but a man who can give me all the luxury of wealth." Tbe first sentence evidently to snub poor Charley. The last to frown down any presumptuous advances on the part of the professor. "1 do not believe that, Miss Gene vieve," he says gravely. "You belie yourself. What good to a true woman's heart are all the comforts and dainty things that wealth can purchase if there be no love? What good the honor and rank of a thousand dead ancestors if the present man le wanting in nobleness?" "A great deal," she says decidedly. I should want to know that his family had been great and—wealthy, for ages aud ages—with old family portraits handed down for general ion.s-r-coats of arms and all that sort of thiug. Why, even as to ourselves," she adds with a curious twin klein her eyes, "Ad, what is our family insignia—our old heraldic coat of arms?" This with a gracious, questioning glance at me, when she knows we have always been nobodies. "What did you say, Adam, dear!" "Oh, Vieve!" 1 stammer in reply, "why will yon try to turn everything into ridi cule? You know I cannot" "Ad," she says, "you are too modest. You underrate your own descriptive abilities. Well! I can't describe, but 1 can draw. Mr.vMoore, will you kindly lend me a card and a pencil?" And that gentleman producing these articles, that audacious girl draws a very creditable grocery paper bag aud gravely hands it to him. He glances at it in a mystified manner. "To make it more perfect," she says recklessly, "you might inflate it a little —a very little, weo bit, for there ia very little iu it, Ad, dear, isn't there?"* Three days later, Vieve and the pro- feesor have gone out riding. She was c»raied the poor young man 'very dainty looking and gay when they 'vvniis until he looks like giri ha* with veritable But I ub* see that familiar look, as though he had made up hO is fiercely plucking them off. and as his mind to risk all and try his fate. My thfcy pas-, tlir.tr,gh the hall the floor i? heart is stirred to its depths, for there is with toe delicate, dainty tilings light, shallow love to be easily set *rhich hv has cast from him. She gives BM» wicked glance &* they pass mv a set 7 '•Well. Ad. whou^xtir Oh /Vic 1. i&v "that wmcg maa ha* and far# n gpun. I toner."' N Ik*k,*dear uld Ad," she admit#. thfrik this time is the last i out, but to me his face had an un- Aside. This man will never forget, and yet Vieve will never wed poverty. She cannot love the rich man, so mil have none of lain bhe does not lore2—ah, i-i that true? 1 am afraid she loves the poor man—bat at all events she will not marry lnui. So there is nothing left, as we children used to say when we counted the buttons on our dresses, but "beggar man" and -'thief." God forbid! They came in quite late. She has a ftnsh upon her smooth, round cheek, hat troubled look in her eyes. He is t«7 and quiet as he lingers on the piaxxa a few minutes. When he has gone she comes in very qui? tlv. When 1 assist her to remove her riding dress she says: "Ad, dear, this ride has given tne such a fearful headache that I cannot see any •f those chattering toys tonight. E-nw tain thorn for me, please, wb»*| yi u that's a dear!" This is all she says to me, although 1 know there is something wrong, 1 late that night, when the "boys" are i gone, I find her with her fair he*d 1 in the moonlight iu the window. "Don't light the lamp yet," she sa) as I come in. "I want to tell yoga. Ad. dear. This hasn't been quite like the rest," very wearily and sadly, "for Hi' him very much, but oh, Ad. we beeu poor so long. I could not wr yon all so much by not doing better !'or than this. "if you you could, how nice it would be!" "Yes," she says, laughing merrily, "very nice, but I am afraid I offended him this time beyond redemption. 1 am afraid. Ad. dear," slowly, "1 behaved very badly, for do yon know there rushed over my mind the picture of me 'toddling away on my wedding day with tbe lord high executioner,' and I behaved —yes, very badly, Adam. I don't want Charley, Ad. I want nobody but you." Why will they all fall in lot® with Vieve? "Miss Elanor," he says, his voice •lightly trembling, "I shall never forget your great kindness to me. May God bless you for 1.000 But ho is true, Ad, so we won't laugh over it, yon know." face is turned away from me a motne: "Well, it is settled now, so go to bed. dear. I will come directly. "Vieve," 1 began passionately, "ifyon care for this man'don't wreck bis own life and his" "Hush, Ad!" she interrupts. "It is all over. 1 guess I'll have to take Charley yet." A week later Vieve and I are in the parlor reading when Professor Moore comes in, very pale, but resolute, to say goodby. He is going away, he says, as he found he could give -up his present position for a better, "and," he adds bit terly, "this place has become unendur able to me." I glance at Vieve. She is deadly it! I shall probably never see you again" He jtauses—my hand trembles and I turn away. "Vieve," he says, hurriedly, "goodby." "Goodby," she says, her face very pale. "I am sorry—I know you can never care for me again—I know you never will" "Vieve," he interrupts gravely. "1 shall always love you as I do now, but"—r "I know," she replies pettishly. "You are disappointed with me. You thought I was better, nobler, truer." 1 am provoked with her. Womanlike, she is trying to make him still think well of her. even when she has bidden him leave her. "Hush, Vieve," he says. "Goodby. It is all over now." He lets her hand fall and turns away to leave the room. "Adam!" she cries passionately, "don't let him go!" I do not move. If anything in to be done, she must do it, "Geoffrey!" she says softly, crimson ing at her own audacity. He pluses ir resolutely. "Geoffrey," still more softly and going nearer to him. "It is not ail over. 1 do care for you. Stay! I love you very dearly and I am willing to be your wife as you asked me." He tnrns and takes her in his arms. I am softly crying to myself by this time, for sbe is noble and true after all. "I do love you." she says, bravely, but her face is half hidden. "1 don't mind poverty—with you." This with an in describable, adoring look, which takes away the last remnants of doubt the young man has left. Then she looks up at him with eyes full of laughter and says, "I just love to live in paper bags!" At that I leave in disgust. Two months afterward they are mar ried. But his little secret is out. He is wealthy—far wealthier than Mr. Somers, and had only used this ruse to see if Vieve was true enough to love him for himself. When the wedding cards came out everybody was a little mystified, for, while very elaborate and costly, the outside cover tore a quaint design, much resembling the ordinary j»aper bag used by tradesmen generally. z- lined Ko. pale, and the scarlet roses at her fair throat are trembling. lie has but a moment in which to say goodby, so I extend my hand, feeling very regretful that we must lose this noble, true friend* Bnt being Pro fessor Moore's they were pronounced "quite unique—so artistic, you know." But where did they ever get the idea? Vieve casts down her eyes very de murely and says: "I can imtgine, Ad, can you' "—Betty M. Thomas in Pittsburg Bulletin. ,4n TTnrxpected Solution. At a Sunday school service a clergy man was explaining to a number smart little urchins the necessity uVon f^tarrh thr* $24. ''"e Tyler Curtain Desks 821 and $24 Net Spot Cash. Ho. 4007 AntKrf°«h *t!»n'1»nl Tyler Beaka, 4ft. Aln. long by Sift. Win. ht«h. Mice and Dust Pref. Zine K.-ttom urxt^r lr:«wt-r patent: —IT of of Christian profession in order properly to enjoy the blessings of Providence in this world, and, to make it apparent to the youthful mind, he said: "For instance, I want to introdnco water into my hou«e. I turn it on. Tho pipes and faucets and every convenience are in good order, but I get no water. Can any of you tell me why I don't get any water?" He expected the children to see that it was because he had not made connec tion with the main in the street. The boyb looked perplexed. They could not see why the water should refuse to run into his premises after such faultiest plumbing. "Can no one tell me what I have neg lected?"' reiterated the good man. look ing at the many wondering faces bowed down by the weight of the problem. "1 know," Hqueakwd a little five-year old. don't pay up!"—LippincotVfe. i' Dtmger of Theater Fire#. "lt'n a wonder to me," says au actmn, "that there are not more theater fireo. Many dreeing rooms have unprotected gas jet*, the long flames swaying with every draft. Only the other night my Gainsborough hat. loaded with feathers, ignited aud blazed to ruins on my head, Then the girls are often so careless. Id 1 the ha»te of quick changes a stub candle is set up in its own grease on a wooden shelf aud often forgotten when the girl rushes to the tstage. Of course there are people around to watch for such careless acts, but it would not be hard to have no one to set* them in time." Which is told not to produce disquiet* but to enlores extra caution^—Xsw York Times. llraas Curtain ri!i.-lici! Onk Writing Table fl Tum bler lock one lock securing all drawer** S heavy eartlbonrd Filing Cuptxiara liiomi l'aneled Finished Hack KxU-nsiii Ann Slider, Weight g#0 ll». Prlee, F. O. B. at Factory. tMB4 laet. Also t.OOO Antique Ash Desks. 400M. Same ubove.eicoj.t mtulo "f 1 aolely by the Solid Aaii'ine A*i), Kooil us O.ik. W eight *H» lb*, fflce o. I* nt Factory. SHI Snipped from our ImliHiifH'" factory direct. Marie anil sold TYLER DESK CO., St. Louis. Mo. IBOpMf C«t»!ornc nt I!«nit Coui'fr., Drnki, (it ia colon terpt ever printed. Ittocs fr*e« wa**. THE & I City News EVERY DAY. ADVERTISE IX The Daily Leader. Its readers consult its columns for bargains in MERCHANDISE HOUSE SUPPLIES, E IT CONTAINS A complete resume of the lolal events of the city and iipintry. IT CIRCULATES Extensively among tbe farmers, and is unequaled as an ad vertising medium. Job 1 he DajlyLkadeu's r- job printing department is complete in every detail. Orders for work v will re- ceivo prompt attention, and satis in ngftt-ty T^P 1*4 IA. laC«iW |(WR» *U IfiV V* JF v Y 4s ".<p></p>MADISON •THE OF SOUTH DAKOTA. MADISON the r. The Streets Illuminated by 12 —18 LIGHT*t» HY— ELECTRICITY. Arc Lights. Tbe Most Complete Plant In the State. State Chautauqua ASSEMBLY GROUNDS At LAKE MADISON, three and one-half miles southeast of the^city. Connected by Motor line A Large Number of State Meetings to be held at the Chautauqua Grounds this summer. 1 The Lake provided with the Steamer Freight and Passenger Division of the S. M. Div. of the C., M. & St. P. Rerunning north and west. 4kCity a. The seat of the State Normal School. Value of Normal buildings, $55,000. The Normal School is now in ses sion, with over 125 students from various parts oI the state in attendance. Excellent City Schools. New Central School build ing just completed at a cost of 815,000. MADISON Is the home of Nine* Churches! Excellent Society. Stone and Brick Business Buildings MADISON IS THRI Fine Brick I O-Stall Round Ho»se. MADISON Is a great Grain Market. Pour El evators, Flat House and Roller Mill 1100 Cars of Grain shipped from Lake county since Sept. 1st. Lake County has NEVER Experienced a Crop Failure. CITY PROPERTY And FARM LANDS can be purchased at reasonable prices. HOMESEKKEBS are cordially invited to settle in this community. For additional particulars concerning the resources of this section, prices of City Property, Farm Lands, etc., etc., CHAS. B. KENNEDY. of Mad ison," capable of carrying 100 persons. A Beautiful Sheet of Water, Eight Miles Long and Two Miles Wide. Two and one-half mil**H wont of the city surrounded by beautiful gTQves of natural timber. MADISON Madison, South Dakota,