LOVE'S TREASUBE TROVE.
"Was it for this I perjured myself?
Was it for this I let my lorer believe
me a frivolous and unfeeling coquette,
and broke my own heart? Oh, how
could she have been so wicked—my
pretty Lulu, for whom I sacrificed so
much?"
Before the quaint, oval window of
the dim, sweet-smelling garret Diane
Rosmond again perused the fateful let
ter.
She had discovered it a moment
before, while rummaging through the
contents of an old cedar chest, search
ing for a certain azure brocade which
she desired to utilize in the trimming
of an evening gown.
She had found the letter among a
quantity of laces and ribbons which
had once belonged to the dead Lulu.
And the sight of her own name on
the yellowed paper had caused her to
unfold the torn and crumpled page.
With a single glance over what was
Bcawled thereon, her heart seemed
turning to ice, her brain to fire.
"To insure her happiness I sacrificed
my own I forced my lover to despise
me I have lived lonely and scorned
all thesk years and after all she never
can#!1/or him! —it was all pretense!
Oh, how could my pretty Lulu be so
base, so inhuman?"
Suddenly Diai^1 flung the letter from
her, as if it were some venomous
thing she feared no less than loathed.
She started to her feet and fled down
the stairs as if pursued by some af
frighting specter.
She clutched at her throat as if
strangling. And her great blue eyes,
dry, smarted and dilated—stared
straight before her into vacancy.
She was living over again those
years of agony, intensified a thousand
fold by the knowledge that her sacrifice
and sorrow had all been vain—and
worse!
Down the stairs, through the broad
and lofty hall, and out into the quaint
old garden—she rushed like a wild
creature.
She was conscious of but one im
pulse, of but one desire and that was
to be alone in some safe solitude where
she could weep and wail as she would
beyond the curious gaze of every hu
man being.
"I gave my love to her I blighted
my own life, and let poor Keith despise
me and she never cared for him," was
the burden of her bitter anguish".
Through the fragrant garden in the
last rod glow of the sunset, over a
curious old stile, down a path between
dark soughing lirs, and so to a secluded
spot beside the blue lake—she sped
like a fugitive spirit.
Here at least no one would intrude
upon her grief. Here she could weep
her heart out in secret and after
awhile perhaps she should be her com
posed and passive self again.
And here in a little dingle carpeted
with pine needles and shut in by som
ber juniper bushes, she threw herself
face downward upon the ground and
wrestled with the agony which almost
threatened reason itself.
Lulu!—"the pretty Lulu"'—was her
eldest sister.
She was a handsome and fascinating
girl with dark, magnetic eyes, hair like
a crown of burnished copper, and skin
like all almond flower.
Diane loved her witlithe un reasoning,
extravagant worship which a very
young girl sometimes conceives for an
attractive woman much older than
herself.
To Diane her sister was a goddess,
lovely beyond all comparison, faultless
as an angel—a perfect being, who
could do no wrong, and think no evil!
This idolatrous affection amused
Lulu vastly, and she did not hesitate
to impose upon it, and to use it when
ever she could secure some advantage
thereby.
Except for an aged grandmother, the
Bisters Ave re quite alone in the world,
and they had no fortune except the
small share they might inherit some
time when the family homestead
should be sold or divided at the grand
mother's death.
Lulu was ambitious, and fond of the
pomps and vanities of the world, and
ft was because Keith Trevlvn possessed
riches and social rank that she coveted
the distinction of being his wife.
But it was the blue-eyed Diane, with
her exquisite grace and enchanting
smile, whom the young man loved.
Lulu's wiles and fascinations were all
wasted for naught, lie sought the
sweet Diane oftener and yet more
often, and finally, the two were be
trothed and their wedding day appoint
Oil
But
Lulu had one
last
maneuver in
re
serve.
All at once she appeared languid and
dejected and ill. Her pallid face, her
mournful eyes, the tears which she was
always trying to conceal, apparently—
all these 'things distressed her young
sister unspeakably.
"Why don't you tell me what troubles
you, Lulu? Don't, you know, dearest,
i would help you if I could?" the lat
ter said to her finally.
"You could help me, my dear child.
But I am not sellisli enough to test the
affection you profess for :ne. And, be
sides, so long as you are happy it don't
matter if we are miserable," was the
wily answer of the unscrupulous Lulu.
"We?" Diane repeated, with a sudden
pang of sickening dread. "Whom do
you mean, Lulu'.'"
And Lulu, after a paroxysm of tears
and a cunning pretense of reluctance,
allowed herself to bo coaxed into a
confession.
"It is wrong of you, dearest, to 'nsist.
You' wouldn't, I'm sure, if you could
know how you make me hate myself.
And Keith will be so sorry I yielded
to your entreaties," she whimpered,
piteously.
"But why is Keith miserable? Why
don't you tell me all?" Diane persisted,
her heart as heavy as lead in her bosom.
Again Lulu indulged in convulsive
weeping—again she pretended to be
forced into an unwilling admission.
"My sweet little sister, why don't
you let me aUt-A'V" she sobbed re
proachfully. "You will hate me when
you know how Ave h!l ve deceived you.
But we couldn't beacon should bo un
happy, and Keith atfti I couldn't help
loving each other. And after our
marriage I am going away somewlieie,
so Keith and I will never see each
other again. You will forgive me when
I'm gone, dearest the grave will soon
cover my errors. -I can't lose my love
and live."
And aiea Diane hid the thorn in her
heart, and brave as any martyr who
ever smiled at the stake, she assumed
a cheerful manner and exerted all her
power to comfort the sister she idol
ized.
"Don't cry, pretty Lulu. I love you
best of all the world, dearest, and I
wotdd die before I would marry Jreith
Trevlyn now. You shall be his wife,
dearest," Diane declared, with a sud
den energy which set the other's pulses
dancing with wicked triumph.
"My sweet little sister," said the lat
ter, affecting the most, affectionate so
licitude, "you must let everything be
just as it is your happiness is dearer
to Keith and me than our own. Of
course, though, if you don't really care
for him, as I have often suspected,
we should bless you for being frank
and brave."
It was then Diane perjured her inno
cent lips for the sake of her worshiped
sister.
It was then she coined the falsehood
which was to force her bonny young
lover into the arms of another.
"I don't, care for him at all," she as
sorted with a flippant laugh. "I have
never carnl for him, ami I mean to
convince him of it at the first opportu
nity."
She not only convinced Keith Trev
lyn that she had been coquetting with
him, but she also impressed him with
the singular feeling that he had some
how encouraged her sister in an in
fatuation with himself.
This impression Lulu strengthened
daily by every art of which she was
mistress.
A few months afterward she became
his wife. And immediately after the
marriage they went to a far Western
city, where they remained.
What. Diane suffered only heaven
and her own heart knew. But she had
been comforted somewhat by the re
flection that she had saved her adored
sister from misery.
And now, even tnat doubtful consola
tion was wrested from her.
That fatal letter proved her sacri
fice needless so far as her sister's liap
piness was concerned.
Lulu had never cared for young Trev
lyn. She had cared only for the ease
and pleasure and wordly pomp his
riches would insure her.
She sneered at Diane's goodness,
made a mock of Trevlyn's boyish sim
plicity, and exulted in the stratagem
which parted the two.
The letter was the erased ahd in
terlined original of one she had penned
to an intimate friend immediately after
her marriage.
She died more than three years ago,
and scarcely twelve months after her
marriajpe.
But that was only an added pang to
Diane's bitter grief. The knowledge
of her idolized sister's sin against her
was heart-breaking but the death of
Lulu, mislirived- overwhelmed her with
a shuddering horror.
It was little wonder she lay there be
neath the pines, half stunned, and
writhing as if with bodily torture.
If only she had confessed it all to
Keith. If I had not perjured myself
so uselessly I could bear his contempt
but now 1 cannot," she wailed.
At length she staggered to her feet.
At the same instant, she heard a slirill
seream of childish terror, and as she
glanced toward the lake she saw a tiny
boat, drifting aimlessly to and fro in
the breeze about a hundred yards from
shore. The sole occupant of the boat
was a little fellow about three years of
age, and he was standing erect, frantic
with fear at the darkness settling over
everything, and at his own inability to
direct his craft.
Even as Diane looked at him it
tipped to one side under his reckless
movements, and he tumbled into the
lake.
Luckily, lier dory was moored to the
bank not l'ar off, and in a few seconds
she was rowing out to help the little
fellow who was clinging bravely to his
water filled boat.
As she drew him into the dory a
larger loat suddenly darted round a
wooded point, the powerful strokes of
the rower's oars impelling it forward
at racing speed until it slackened at
last alongside her own.
"My papa!" shouted the child, spring
ing from Diane's knees.
'"'Well, my boy," said the gentleman,
"running away proved a bad business,
didn't it? You are hardly big enough
to paddle your own canoe, are
Diane! Ah, heaven, Diane!"
Keith Trevlyn had been in the vicin
ity for a number of days, although he
had not ventured to Seek his old love.
The child was so faint and shaken
that their care for him spared them
much of the embarrassment natural
to such a meeting.
But Diane's eyes drooped before his
impassioned look when he begged that
his boy might rest for awhile at her
house before undertaking the long row
Lack to his hotel.
She knew that he loved lv-r -.ill], that,
he had always loved her. ivci.» If he
boiieved she had once trifled tvith him.
As he followed her up the path
through the sweet old garden, she
heard him suddenly speak her name in
a strangely agitated manner.
She turned to see liiiu staring with
blazing eyes at a crumpled paper which
he had just extricated from a thorny
rose branch.
Whether it hail dropped from the
garret window when she flung it from
her in agony, or whether she had
dragged it down stairs in her skirts as
she thnl into the garden. Diane did not
kiiow. But the wind had evidently
wafted it to that spot and lodged it
in the rose bush.
It fluttered in the breeze as Trevlyn
passed, and in the amber sunset glow
he had espied his own name penned
across the page.
"I suspected something like this," he
said in a voice scarcely audible with
emotion. "I suspected it from the
first. I was only a boy, or 1 should
have acted differently—I would have
held you to your promise, love, in spite
of yourself! Oh, my martyr, oh, my
ever-loved, if you could know how I
have yearned for you! And you do
care for me a little, don't you, Diane?"
"A little? Oh, Keith!" she answered
with a sudden rush of tears.
It was well for Trevlyn's little son
that he was in no very serious need of
care at the moment. For his father
had placed him on the ground, and he
stood there forgotten.
Diane was in her lover's arms, half
smothered by the kisses of which she
had so long been cheated.
Never was there a more ecstatic re
union. That momentous letter—Love's
trea.sure-t.rove—had crowned their hap
piness with the bliss of a perfect faith
vvnich would abide with them forever.
SPEEDILY OPENED THE SAFE.
How Two Bnrjtlnr* Earned the Re
ward Offered, by a Manufacturer.
Some time ago a firm announced in
the papers, as an advertisement, that it
had produced an absolutely burglar
proof safe, and to back up the state
ment offered the sum of $1,000 in gold
to any one who could get into the safe
in the time usually allotted safe bloAV
ers, says a writer in the Globe-Demo
crat. The money was to be placed in
side the safe, and it became the prop
erty of the openers the moment, the
feat was accomplished. This challenge
Avas allowed to go unnoticed for some
time, but finally one day a letter was
received from New York city, written
in a disguised hand, in which it Avas
proposed that the writer and his com
rade should make a trial at the Safe,
but the firm must agree to grant im
munity to the authors of the proposi
tion. as the climate of Massachusetts
I)ad not been to their liking for several
years. The missive was signed by
"Teddy, the Piper," and an immediate
reply was asked. The firm, anxious to
put. the safe to a practical test, made
all necessary arrangements with the
Ncav York "gents." and immmunity was
granted them if they should be success
ful. A day was set for a public trial,
and promptly at o'clock in the morn
ing taa'o nattily-dressed young felloAvs
stepped off the train and asked to be
directed to the oflices of the company.
They carried nothing about them ex
cept small hand bags, which they
seemed to guard with speeial care.
A number of citizens and rival manu
facturers had been invited to the test,
as the inventors felt confident of the
impregnability of the safe and wanted
to get the benefit of the advertisement.
The young men were ushered into the
office and the terms of the test were
announced. The New Yorkers were
to be given one hour in which to do
tlieir work, and no unusual noise Avas
to accompany it. Nor were they to
have any other assistance than is usu
ally afforded to the practical safe
blower. The $1,000 AA'as placed in the
safe, and it was publicly guaranteed
to them should they be successful.
At 11 o'clock sharp, "Teddy the Pi
per" and his pal went to work. Their
first act Avas to remove their shoes and
coats. The latter wore placed in front
of the safe to drown the noise of foot
falls. The next thing was to open their
handbags, out of which drills, chisels,
a "hog-jawed" screw. poAvder aud fuse
Avere taken. The liog-jawed screw was
the first tool taken up. It was a pecu
liar instrument, having two thick,
heavy jaws hke a bull dog. The jaws
wero controlled by a screw of terrific
poAver. easily Avorked by a short piece
of steel which could be inserted Into
notches. That part of the instrument
containing the notches resembled a
wagon hub without, the spokes. The
Avhole affair could be taken apart and
put. in a handbag no larger than those
usually earned by ladie.s. This tool
Avas set on the floor and its iron jaws
placed around the knob of the safe.
The two men worked with the greatest
quiet and rapidity, one laying out the
tools and the other adjusting them.
The screAv placed on the knob, it was
rapidly tightened up. and inside of
tAvo minutes the knob was literally
dragged out by the roots. It came Avith
a slow Avreucliing noise which must
have reached the hearts of manufact
urers.
No time was lost, however. One of
the men had the power and fuse ready,
and the former was inserted in the
hcle. The coats were picked up and
thrown over the front of the safe to
smother the noise, the fuse was lighted
aud the operators stepped behind the
safe. In a moment there was a muf
fled explosion and the entire front of
the safe was split open in jagged
creases. The whole system of bolts
and inner machinery Avas exposed to
vieAA'. A
feAV
raps with a chisel and
Teddy gave the bolts a sharp jerk.
They responded to his touch and he
swung open the door. Beaching in he
seized the bag of coin, and. in a few
minutes the professionals were ready
to depart.
As Teddy was about to leave-one of
the firm asked him: 'Can a safe be
made burglar-proof?'
"Yes." replied Teddy.
"How?" the manufacturer asked in
a pleading tone.
"If I would tell you that my business
Avould bo gone," replied Teddy, and.
bidding the party a polite good'day, he
and his comrade left the city on the
next train. The job took just twenty
minutes.
MUSIC TO BANISH INSOMNIA.
A London Physician's Ingenious
Plun for Banishing Midnight Tor
ture.
Music as a curative agent has been
known and valued since the earliest
ages, and the recently established
Guild of St. Cecilia, in London, whose
professed object is to apply the sooth
ing influence of melody to patients in
hospitals and elsewhere, is only carry
ing out the prescriptions of physicians
who flourished 2,000 years ago. The
Athenian doctors "banished fever by
a song." Thales found music most
efficacious in the plague, and Aulus
Gellius went so far as to maintain that
it produced a beneficial effect in case
of bites and stings. In their work on
"Psychological Medicine" Drs. Bucknil
and Tuke remarked that music is the
first recorded remedy employed for the
relief of madness. A novel, and possi
bly a useful, suggestion in the same di
rection is mentioned by Dr. J. G. Black
man. It is that a music box, worked
by an electric motor, might be advan
tageously employed in cases of insom
nia. Some care, no doubt, woul'd have
to be exercised to see that the mechan
ism worked properly before it Avas
started, as nothing Avould bo more like
ly to drive sleep permanently away
than a musical box out of tune or lia
ble to unaccountable and abnormal
spurts of energy. It Avould also be try
ing to a nervous patient in the st'illy
night if the electric- current Avere turned
off altogether and the box became sud
denly silent. It is possible that a bur
glar in one's bed room might be soothed
and induced to surrender his booty by
the unexpected strains of "Home,
Sweet Home," but it is also possible
that he might not. One or two interest
ing instances are recorded in the arti
cle of the benefit whisli has resulted
in hospitals from the musical treatment
and the sleepless soul might do vrorse
than try the prescription contained in
it.—London Medical Gazette*
A FAN FANCY.
"There it hangs, between the study
of roses and that violet placque—my
silk spangled fan with its ivory sticks
and silver chain. If that fan could
talk, Avhat tales it would tell!"
And my little actress friend sighed
as she picked up the white violets that
Harry had sent her that morning.
"Has it a history, Yi?" I asked with
interest.
Most of her souvenirs had, and I
knew she would tell me about if such
were the case.
She told lie much that happened be
fore she "went on the road," and al
though we all kneAV her as "Violet," a
rising little star, her past life was
disclosed to no one, except in the feAV
little incidents she told me during our
confidential chats.
There was no reply to my question
for a minute or so Vi continued to de
molish the
floAA'ers
and gaze dreamily
at the pretty fan.
At last she looked up, and commenced
what
I
saw was going to be quite a ro
mance, and so
I
give the conversation
here, just as it occurred.
"Well, it was the year before I en
tered the 'profession,' when papa was
alive and things were going smoothly.
We had money then, and didn't care
how much of it was spent. I thought
nothing of running up bills at the stores
of five and six hundred dollars—why,
papa didn't even fuss at paying them,
and mamma used to say I was born
Avith a silver spoon, and knew hoAV to
use it.
"It was the week we received invita
tions to the Van H's ball that I got this
fan, to harmonize with the
feAV
neAV gOAvn
papa let me get in honor of the occa
sion. The robe was a plain one. but
it AA'as green and shimtnery, and when I
got off my cloak and things the night
of the ball, Dick said I looked like Un
dine, with my gold hair and Avatery
dress.' Dick always made such queer
comparisons."
Another sigh from Yi's pretty lips.
"And AA'lio was 'Dick,' pray?"
I
ven
tured to ask, a little mystified.
"Oh, yes how stupid of me I forgot
you didn't know him. Why, he was my
lover—then," with a scornful em
phasis ou the last word.
"Well, that night AA'as a dream! I
danced with all the catches of the even
ing. and received tAvo proposals, which
I, of course, refused, for Dick and I
were as good as engaged, although
neither of its eA'er spoke of it.
"Things went along merrily and suc
cessfully for moi but I greAA* tired of
it all, and Avhen Dick came to claim a
Avaltz, I was blissfully glad. Of course,
Ave didn't dance, but sat it out on one
fit' those rustic chairs concealed by a
curtained recess, placed conveniently
far from the mazy dancers.
At first Dick seemed morose, and in
clined rather to grumble at my popu
larity. But I assured him it was use
less for him to be such a jealous boy,
as he knew of whom 1 was thinking
all the time. At that he put his arm
around me .and kissed me behind the
fan. We settled it that night, and I
Avore a diamond ring on my third linger.
For a
months we Avere so happy!
Then papa died, and Ave lost all our
property, even to the house we lived
in. Mamma's health failed and I was
depended upon to furnish bread for.
with the exception of a few hundred
dollars, we were penniless."
"Do you mean to tell me that your
Dick deserted you, then?" I asked, try
ing to conceal the scorn I felt for her
sweetheart, whom I had pictured as a
jealous, unreasonable, aristocratic
prig.
"No, no, you are wrong he stood by
us, and wanted me to marry him then
and there," Yi said, Avith a look in her
blue eyes that boded ill for any one
Ayho dared malign her lost love. I
didn't, dare, but kept my opinions of
him to myself. I oidy-vetured to ask:
"Did you refuse him, then?"
"Certainly I did. Do you suppose I
Avould burden him with tAvo to sup
port? You see there was my mother
as AA'ell, for she was an invalid and
could not live alone and Dick was only
a young lawyer, AAith a rising practice,
to be sure, but not enough income to
support a family of three, Refuse him?
Well, I guess 1 did!"
1 understood. I've got that kind of
"-'ide myself, and I couldn't help lean
ing over and kissing her on the spot.
"And Avhat happened then, mv dear
little heroine?" 1 asked, svmpatheti
cally.
This little love story was making me
feel very sorry for Vi, for it Avas so un
expected of her. We had ahvays
thought that she was the last one to
fall in love.
"Then I AA'as offered a position on the
stage, and as I had no other means of
support (.1 didn't want to hire out,"
she laughed through her tears), "I ac
cepted the offer and when 1 told Dick
about it, he raved and stormed, and
said he wouldn't have his Avife on the
stage. Then I gently reminded him
that I wasn't tied in the knot of mat
rimony just yet, and. being free to
do as I pleased, would most certainly
accept the position, and, iu fact, had
accepted it already. He
greAV
more
and more ferocious, and said a lot of
things Avliich he didn't suppose Avould
hurt me—you see he Avas so anxious
to dissuade me—but every avc rd he uj
tered seemed to bum like hot iron,
and at last
I
fose up in all dignity,
and left him then ami thei'«\
"The next day I sent back the soli
taire, and a package of his notes and
letters, with some oilier trinkets for
I had made up my mind to support
mother and to do in the way which
had opened up so conveniently. 1 al
Avays had a talent for the dramatic
style, as I guess Dick was obliged to
acknowledge after feis dismissal that
morning"—another sunlit— "and I had
exalted ideas of making a name for
myself in years come."
"And so you ar\ Vi darling, you are
becoming quite famous," I said com
fortingly.
"All, but that doesn't satisfy me now
that I have lost Dick—he was wrorth all
the names in the Avorld!"
Well, but this wasn't hearing the
rest of the story, so I only squeezed
her hand, and remarked that I was
Avaiting for the sequel.
"When I sent back his letters," she
commenced again, "he sat right down
and wrote me a long letter—oh, it
was about fourteen pages toolscap—
and I never knew what was in it."
"You didn't send it back!" I cried
in astonishment.
"I did just that. You see, if I had
read it, my dear, I would have never
had the strength to keep my resolution,
and I knew it was best for Dick that
he should forget all about poor little
me. So back went the letter, breaking
my heart as it dropped into the letter
box, and the curtain rang down on the
last act."
"Oh, surely not the last act," I said
in astonishment. "Was he content to
let you slip out of his life hke that?"
"He didn't let me. We moved, and
he lost trace of me after that. He
doesn't know where I am, and yet he
is right here in the city."
"Vi, and have you heard from him?
Have you seen him? Why don't you
tell him to come here?"
"Oh, you little match-mender, no, I
haven't seen liim, and he has not seen
me but I have read things about him,
for you must know he is famous now,
and has, I suppose, quite forgotten
that 1 ever existed."
Then Vi buret into tears, and said in
a smothered way that he was engaged
to an heiress, and that she, Vi, wished
her, the heiress, joy.
"Well. VI, why do you keep the fan
on the Avail?" I asked curiously.
"To remind me of my unfitness, and
to harden me against the old love for
Dick."
"Dick? Dick avIio? You haven't told
me the hero's name."
"Have I not? And do you really care
to know his name? Well, it is Richard
Carmichael, LL. D. perhaps you have
heard of him," Vi answered proudly.
"Heard of him!" I almost screamed
"Avhy, he is my very first cousin, and
I see him every week or so. And you,
you are the girl he talks about some
times—the one that proved fickle and
broke his heart. Oh, Violet!"
She didn't faint or sAvoon, as the
heroine is supposed to do in the novel,
but sat bolt upright, looking at me
with her big blue eyes. Then Ave cried
for A ery s\ mpatliy, and kissed and
cried again for, somehow, I couldn't
blame Yi, even though it was Cousin
Dick that she had so mistreated.
Instead. I made up my mind to set
tle matters. I knew that Vi was proud
and 1 wasn't sure about that heiress
report. I didn't, think it was true,
for i kneAV hoAv Dick loved my little
friend but then men are curious, and
he might feel that it was folly to stay
single all his life because one woman
had proved false, or rather, he thought
she was falsi1, I kneAV better but any
way. I did uot mean to raise any hopes
in Vi's poor heart until I was sure of
my hero.
So when I got up and crossed the
room for my bonnet, I told Vi that I
would see her at dress rehearsal that
night I also took doAvn the fan, and
before Vi could ask what it all meant,
I Avas off. calling through the door that
I would give her the fan when I saw
her again.
Then I made for Dick's hotel with the
speed of a bill collector, and got there
in time for dinner. I found Dick just
going to dinner.
I alloAved him to escort me to the
gorgeous dining room, but my appetite
was conspicuous by its absence.
This Avas such an unusual occurrence
Avith me that Dick seemed real anxious
and hastened to suggest a tonic.
I told liim, however, that it was not
necessary—and then I fumed in impa
tience Avhile he ate one of the biggest
dinners I ever sat down to.
All things must have end some time,
and even Dick's dinner Avas at last
satisfactorily disposed of.
Then aato migrated to the parlor, and
I sat down on the sofa by him and
began:
"Dick"—very bravely—"do you love
anybody in particular just now?"
He looked surprised, and I saw a
puzzled expression come into his eyes
then:
"Why, of course, petite cousin I
love you in particular, and particularly
"Please hush your nonsense. Dick,"
I interrupted. "I'm not fishing for
compliments, or trying to take advant
age of leap year, but are you engaged
to anybody? Please tell uie."
By tlris time he Avas growing sus
picious.
"Who's been filling your head with
stories?" he asked impatiently. "I am
not engaged to anybody, nor do I ex
pect to be."
And he frowned as though the
thought hurt him.
"Oh! I'm so glad, I'm so glad, for 1
want you to marry Vi," and then as he
started at the name. I drew
closer to him and blurted out the
Avhole thing in my impulsive way. I
always do botch things. But Dick
didn't seem angry, or scornful, or
anything but just glad and he asked
me where she AA'as stopping, and 1
told him, anil then I spoke of dress re
hearsal, anil said that she would be
there—and anyway, it Avas time to
start- anil he called a cab (1 love cabs)
and off we went to the theater.
Dick just besieged me with ques
tions about her, and, of course, I was
just wild to tell all I kneAV. Iioav good
and sweet she was, and how slie never
looked at a boy but Harry—here he
froAvneil—and Iioav even Harry Avas
merely given a boAV when they met
and that AA*as all at this he looked
more pleased—and then I spoke of her
undying devotion to him (Dick) and her
pride in his fame—and numerous other
qua 1 ties which math her the dearest
girl in the Avorld (in which he fully
agreed Avith me), and then the cab
stopped at the ba k door of the theater
and 1 hopped out. We had it all ar
ranged. and Dick kneAV what to do.
As I came in late, Vi stepped up and
kissed me, and then it Avas my turn to
rehearse my part. 1 forgot and was
prompted three times, and then said
the Avrong lines.
At last Ave were through, and I cap
tured Violet.
"Won't you refcnm in my cab, dear"?"
She looked up la surprise, and said:
"1 have a carrier? at the door."
"No, no! I Avar.t to talk to you, and
Cabby has diectiona Avhere to go. Send
your coachman off', or get in aud 1 will
speak to him."
Then I pushed h«r into my cab,
and the door slammed. I went off to
her carriage and got in by my lonely
self.
You may believe I had full time to
meditate on what 1 had dime, as the
carriage (Vi's carriage) sped along
through the night air. It Avas done,
though, and if everything turned out
all right, they would call me a "match
Hiender" indeed. If everything didn't
turn out all right—well, it was .'oo hop.
rible to think of, so I wouldn't allow
such an idea to worry me.
Then the grating of the wheel's on
the curb told me home was reached
and I jumped out, glad to be able to
have some rest. My dreams that night
would fill a fairy tale book with untold
wonders.
The next day brought Dick and Vi,
all beaming anil happy, to my third
story, front. They came to give me
blessings innumerable, and to—get the
fan! Do you believe, I had forgotten
that fan until this moment! There it
was, in the inside pocket of my cloak,
just as I had placed it, forlorn and for
gotten. and yet I had meant to have
it play the principal part in the drama,
in the match mending of my little he
roine and my big hero.
RDBBED AN EAGLE'S NEST.
The Dangerons Feat Performed hjr
Two I.adH in California.
A few days ago Albert Leoni's two
yoimg sons, Frank and Fred, were out
hunting near Amador, Cal., when they
spied a nest in the top of a big pine
tree, says the Kecord. Frank climbed
up to investigate the discovery of
what they concluded was an owl's nest.
It was fully a hundred feet up there
but the venturesome lad reached the
nest. About this time a monster bird
sailed out of the nest, and, after cir
cling around, made a dive at Frank,
but the limbs saved the boy from be
ing struck and dashed to the ground.
The wings of the big bird just brushed
his hat. Fred Avas posted doAvn below
with his gun, and realizing that hi.4
brother was in danger he got a sight
on the enemy and let drive with all
the charge he had, which was small
shot. Fred's aim must have been
true, for the bird immediately showed
signs of distress and wandered off a
short distance AAith one Aving somewhat
out of gear. Fred kept plugging away
at her birdship whenever she came
around. In the meanwhile Frank re
lieved the nest of tavo young, owlish
looking bunches of feathers and an egg
about the dimensions of a barnyard
turkey's product, and after considera
ble difficulty conveyed his booty to the
ground. The boys then proceeded
home, followed by the parent bird,
which could only be kept at a safe dis
tance by discharging the gun. Upon
informing their father of their es
capade the boys Avere slightly fright
ened at learning that their supposed
wild goose was a bald eagle, which
has% frequented that neighborhood for
fifteen years past. Mr. Leoui Avas up
from his ranch oh Tuesday and exhibit
ed ilie young eagles. He informed the
Kecord that the parent bird must be
fully teu feet from tip to tip. The
boys, the eldest of whom is not past
twelve, are modest little fellows, who
don't seem to consider that they have
performed any Avonderful feat. How
ever, they are regarded as uncrowned
heroes by their playmates.
IN TANGIER.
There Are Hundred of Slaved to Be
Seen livoryntu-re.
Tangier's beauty lies in --o many dif
ferent things—in the monklike garb of
the men and in the white mnffied
figures of the women in the brilliancy
of the sky, and of the sea dashing upon
the rock and tossing the feluccas with
their three-cornered sails from side to
side and in the green towers of the
mosques and the listless leaves of the
royal palms rising from the center of
a mass of white roofs and, above all,
in the color and movement of the ba
zars and streets. The streets repre
sent absolute equality. They are at
the widest but three yards across, and
every one has something to sell, or at
least something to say, for they all
talk and shout at once, and cry at
their donkeys or abuse whoever touch
es them.
A Avater carrier, with his goat skin
bag on his back anil his finger on the
tube through which the Avater comes,
jostles you on one side, and a slave as
black and shiny as a patent leather
boot shoves you on the other as he
makes Avay l'or his master on a fine
Avhite Arabian horse AAith brilliant
trappings and a huge contempt for the
donkeys in his way. It is worth going
to Tangier if for no other reason tli
to see a slave, and to grasp the fart
that he cost anywhere from $100 to
§500.
To the older generation this may not
seem worth Avhile. but to the present,
generation—those of it who were born
after Richmond was taken—it is a new
and momentous sensation to look at a
man as line and stalwart and human
as one of your own people, and feel
that he cannot strike for higher wages,
or even serve as a parlor car porter
or OAvn a barber shop, but must Avork
out for life the $L'00 his owner paid for
him at Fez.—Harper s Weekly.
JUinuet Parties.
One of the recent fads is a minuet
party this has a peculiar effect where
fanciful costumes, picture'' costumes,
as they are called, are introduced'. :,At
a recent fashionable party a minuet
was danced by the bridal party, the
bride and groom leading off the dance,
Minuet parties are said to be most con
ducive to wedding parties,, l'or, among
other things, a minuet party is a charm
ing manner for fostering friendships
—almost as good as private theatvi als.
One retains the same partner at all
the practices, of course, and, if a care
ful selection has been made, this is an
advantage, as American girls, who en
courage the idea, even if there be no
minuet in question, know well. A
great deal in a minuet party depends i\
the inise en scene.—Philadelphia
quirer. v.— .-!' -. ,,
The MiMHina Link.
The hand organ has often beeti Voted*
a nuisance, but never before, probably,
for the reason that it set up too high
a standard.
Edith had beefl tq church for the first
time.
s
1 t4
"And what did you think of it?**
asked her mother.
"1 didn't like the organ very weil:'^'
"Why not?"
'Tause there wasn't any monkey
with it."—Harvard Lampoon.